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I purchased Fritz’s recipe collection at an auction because buying old cookbooks and handwritten recipes is one of my favorite hobbies. Some people golf. I spend Friday nights with vintage recipe cards scattered all around me.

I know her name was Fritz because tucked into the middle of the yellowed recipe cards was a handwritten note:

Bernice, I seized $3.00. Will pay you back Friday, honest!
Fritz

I don’t know whether Bernice ever got her three dollars back, but in the early 1950s that would have been the equivalent of nearly forty dollars today. Bernice was probably keeping close tabs on Fritz after that.

The note was written on yellowed hotel stationery from a Detroit hotel that no longer exists. On the back, Fritz had scribbled a barbecue sauce recipe that cuts off at the bottom, leaving us forever unable to know what happened after the paprika.

Click here for more of Fritz’s Story

That unfinished recipe tells you almost everything you need to know about this collection. Fritz was constantly jotting recipes down wherever she could find space—on stationery, scrap paper, note backs, and recipe cards—in a hurried, slanted cursive that suggests a busy woman trying to keep up with a very full life.

She carefully credited the friends who shared their favorites with her, which is how this little stack became filled with names like Bernice’s Anise Cookies, Wilma’s Chocolate Cake, Brownie’s Spring Tonic (which raises several questions), and Marion’s Baked Beans.

Fritz lived in Detroit in the early 1950’s. Motor City was humming with factories, hotels, supper clubs, and neighborhood gatherings, and Fritz seems to have been right in the middle of it all. Many of her recipes were written on hotel stationery, which makes me wonder if she worked there—or perhaps simply spent enough time around community dinners and social gatherings to keep her pockets full of borrowed recipes.

Downtown Detroit in the early 1950’s. Photo Credit: Wayne State University Library

I think I would have liked Fritz. I think we all would have liked Fritz.

Full of personality, full of life, and clearly full of friends. This little stack of recipes tells a big story. She was a busy woman, running off to work, borrowing money from friends or roommates as she dashed out the door, and writing down every recipe she liked. Sometimes she finished them, sometimes she didn’t, relying on her memory for the details she didn’t have time to write down.

One thing is certain: this was not a woman who spent her days alone. Her recipe cards are covered in smudges, side notes, and little adjustments, proof that these dishes were made again and again, shared among friends, tested at tables, and passed around often enough to become worth saving.

Don’t you wish, just for a moment, you could join her as she rushed to her next social outing?

There were plenty of fascinating recipes in Fritz’s collection, but these old fashioned baked beans immediately caught my eye. I had never made homemade baked beans completely from scratch, and I was curious whether a slow-baked vintage version could really beat the familiar can on today’s grocery shelf.

It absolutely can.

These beans bake low and slow until the sauce turns thick and rich, the onions melt down into sweetness, and the bacon infuses every bite with smoky flavor. They are hearty, deeply comforting, and exactly the kind of old-fashioned side dish that deserves a permanent place beside summer cookouts, church suppers, and family dinners.

Why You’ll Love These Old Fashioned Baked Beans

• Slow-baked for deep smoky, sweet-savory flavor
• Thick, rich sauce that clings to every bean
• True from-scratch vintage comfort food
• Perfect make-ahead side dish for cookouts and potlucks

Tips to Get the Best Flavor

• Use thick-cut bacon for more richness
• Don’t rush the baking time, this recipe develops flavor slowly
• Taste near the end and adjust seasoning if needed
• Let the beans rest before serving for the best texture

Step by Step Instructions

First, soak your beans overnight.

I used my favorite pot, named Big Blue, who will be bequeathed to my kids in my will.

After you soak the beans overnight, drain them, rinse them, and then parboil them in an oven-safe pot or Dutch oven. (I had to Google what parboil means. Partially boil.)

Here’s how you do it:

Run your water about an inch or so above your rinsed beans and bring them to a boil.

Boil until the “skins flow open”, which takes about 30 minutes.

The skins should just be starting open with tiny splits at the seams, and a few skins will be starting to lift.

Drain your beans and give them a rinse to remove any loose skins that are floating around.

Preheat oven to 300 degrees.

Take 3-4 slices of thick-cut bacon and cut them into big pieces. Lay those pieces across the bottom of your pot.

Layer an onion over the top (optional). We don’t mind onion around here, so I left mine in big chunks.

Boil a cup of water. Add mustard, sugar, molasses and salt.

Whisk together and pour over beans.

Add enough water to cover your beans by about half an inch, maybe a little more.

Cover and put into oven. These are going to bake for a total of nine hours.

After a few hours, check on the beans. They should be starting to absorb the liquid.

Take six slices of bacon and layer them on top of the beans.

Cover them again and keep checking on them over the next five hours. If they begin to look dry on the top layer, add some water.

During the last hour of baking, take off the lid and bake until beans are thick, tender, and the bacon is beautifully cooked on top.