Diet, Dessert and Dogs

Back when I was an undergraduate at the University of Windsor, my first boyfriend and I (hiya, Mark! How’s tricks?) would regularly venture across the Ambassador bridge to the Greektown in Detroit (quite literally, a stone’s throw away).  That’s where I first tasted saganaki–kefalotyri cheese (like an aristocratic feta) doused in brandy and set aflame in the pan, right by your table, to raucous chants of “OPA!” and clapping from anyone in the vicinity.  The semi-melted cheese, crispy on the outsideand soft on the inside, was chewy, melty, oily, salty (basically any adjective ending in “-y”) and I absolutely adored it plonked on big, cushy pieces of Greek bread.

When the HH and I got together, we lived near the Greek area of Toronto and regularly indulged in our fair share of saganaki as well. Then I was diagnosed with IBS and changed my diet dramatically. Basically, I abandoned saganaki along with the rest of the restaurant’s menu–it was all Greek to me (or, at least, to my digestive system).

But there was one item in which I could still indulge, and still eat with gusto and impunity: dolmades.    

Even if you don’t recognize the name, you’re probably familiar with these bite-sized stuffed grape leaves.  Like my mother’s cabbage rolls of yore, the dolmades use smaller, softer grape leaves and roll them around a log of rice filling.  And while they are most often served with ground meat, they can be found in vegetarian versions as well, which I enjoy immensely.

I’ve always dreamt of making my own, home-made, dolmades. It’s a shame, then, that I’m just basically too lazy to do so.  Who wants to spend 3 hours of prepping and rolling just so the HH and I can devour them in 10 minutes?  And that’s where Deconstruction came in.

In university, I “studied” a literary theory called Deconstruction, which supposedly demonstrated how language has no inherent meaning, and words are just representations of our preconceived, culturally determined notions (the approach was characterized, primarily, by the generous use of parentheses, dashes and slashes in their writing.) 

Well, I hated Deconstruction. In fact, if someone had (de)constructed Deconstruction and left it to fade into oblivion in its little de/con(structed) sentence frag(me)nts, I would not have minded one bit. I recall sitting round seminar tables during my M.A. degree and squirming as I listened to the other students pontificate about Lacan, Foucault, Derrida, and a non-linear group of other the(or)ists.  I kept thinking, “What the heck are these people talking about?! This makes no sense to me.”  (Later, after years of psychological trauma believing I was a numbskulled cretin, I discovered that none of them actually knew what they were talking about, either; they were just better at tossing around all that postmodern, poststructuralist, etymological, phenomenological mumbo-jumbo). 

My favorite use of this approach was the (now famous) re-structuring of the word “therapist” as “(the)rapist,” supposedly exposing our culturally-specific, misogynistic, subtext of the word. But I think the theory reached its all-time apex of absurdity in the form of a book we were asked to study as PhD students, in which the author filled individual (separate, unbound) pages with random words, piled the pages into a box like a set of stationery, then asked the students to dump the contents of the box onto a large table, shuffle the pages, and critique the results. I don’t remember any of the “re-visioning” of the text we came up with, but I am fairly certain that many a PhD student who’d “read” that book had a good, long supply of birdcage liners for many years to follow.

And so, in an ironic return to the reviled principles of Deconstruction, I decided to focus my attention not on the hidden meanings in the structure of words, but in the hidden flavors in the structure of grape leaves. The resultant Mediterranean Rice Casserole is an unconventional, unstructured mixture of brown rice, chopped collards (which stand in for grape leaves here) and spices reminiscent of the original dish.  It both is/and is not an accurate rendition of dolmades, and your interpretation of its flavor shifts constantly, depending on the particular arrangement–never the same twice–of individual elements in each specific bite.

The flavors will remind you of a long-ago meal in a Greek restaurant.  At the same time, the structure of the dish will remind you of a child’s kaleidoscope, ever shifting as you peer into the tube. Is there any way to interpret a consistent meaning for this dish?  Is there any signficance to the particular arrangement of fragmented colors in the casserole?  Can we extract some symbolic, gender-specific and pre-existing cultural stereotype from this dish?

Naw. So let’s just forget about all that theory, get ready to eat, and heartily par(take) of this de/lec(table) meal.

OPA!

“Mum, you’re really not making any sense here. . . but can we deconstruct the leftovers?” 

Mediterranean Rice Casserole

A great way to use up extra rice and any kind of green leafy vegetables, this dish comes together quickly and works well as both a main course or a side. 

2 cups (500 ml.) cooked brown rice

1/4 cup (60 ml.) organic extra-virgin olive oil

1/4 cup (60 ml.) lightly roasted pine nuts or slivered almonds

1/2 cup (125 ml.) raisins

1 large onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, minced or finely grated

1/2 cup (125 ml.) chopped parsley

juice of one medium lemon (about 3 Tbsp. or 45 ml.)

2 Tbsp.(30 ml.) balsamic vinegar

large bunch spinach, collards, or chard, washed and chopped

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) dried dill weed

2 tsp. (10 ml.) dried thyme

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) ground cinnamon

3/4 tsp. (3.5 ml.) ground allspice

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) paprika

sea salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 350F (180C). In a large pot or dutch oven, heat oil over medium-high heat.  Add onions and garlic and sauté until onion is golden brown, around 10 minutes. Add remaining ingredients except for rice and stir well.  Turn heat to minimum, cover, and let simmer for about 5 minutes to combine flavours and allow greens to wilt.

Add rice and mix well.  Turn the mixture into a greased casserole and bake until heated through, about 20 minutes.  Makes 8 side dish servings or 4 entree servings.  May be frozen.

When it comes right down to it, (and like most Canadians), I’m pretty happy living in this country.  Oh, sure, I complain about the health care system and the excessive taxes, but secretly I’m proud.  When I went to Europe, I openly displayed a Maple Leaf on my backpack (in those days, only actual Canadians did that). I don’t mind the stereotype that we’re all hockey-and-beer obsessed (both of which I can’t stand), since it seems to be balanced by another stereotype, that we’re the peacekeepers of the world. 

Over the years, I’ve also appreciated the fact that, as opposed to a “melting pot,” we here in Canuk Country offer a “multicultural mosaic.” Because Toronto is one of the most multi-cultural cities in the world, its denizens contribute generously to that multi-faceted, multi-colored variegation.  A quick mental tally tells me I’ve taught students from six continents and almost 70 countries over the years. 

In an English class a few years back, I received a collection of essays from students who’d immigrated to Canada.  They told stories about landing at the Toronto airport on December 25th, wearing only a T-shirt and shorts; or having an in-house bathroom (with running water!) for the first time; reuniting with siblings they hadn’t seen for a dozen or more years; or being introduced to ”Canadian” food (ie McDonald’s).  They also told stories about the information pamphlets they’d received from the government before they arrived. 

These days, they informed me, our multicultural populace is no longer referred to as a “mosaic.”  In fact, these days it seems Canada is more than just a peaceful, tolerant, polite country.

Canada, you see, is a salad.

Yep, that’s how the Canadian government, in all its gubernatorial solemnity, describes our great land.  Does this sound suspiciously like an episode of Rick Mercer’s Talking to Americans?  Would that it were.  You see, a salad is presumably the perfect metaphor for our diverse population:  just as with a colorful tossed salad, people from all around the world are welcome to join us in this big bowl o’ Canada.  Once squished together in that ol’ Salad Bowl of the North, we mingle and mix, yet the separate elements each retain their individual characters, colors, and flavors–a harmonious coexistence, the sum greater than the individual parts; yet we never meld into each other.  As Doug and Bob McKenzie might say, Beauty!

So when I came up with this idea for a salad to contribute to Lisa and Holler’s No Croutons Required event, I immediately thought of this Canadian metaphor.  Not only is the salad a fusion of different colors and flavors, it’s also filled with items hailing from countries around the globe–Swiss “cheese,” mangoes from Southeast Asia, basil (originally) from India, balsamic vinegar from Italy–and perfect for a Canadian salad. In my mind, I envisioned a newfangled version of Caprese salad , except with a twist–the combination of mango and tomato offering an unexpected contrast in both color and flavor alongside the mild cheese and perfumed basil. (In this case, of course, the cheese in question would be “Un-Cheese,” the “Mostarella” from Joanne Stepaniuk’s Ultimate Uncheese Cookbook). Since Holler was asking for salads with cheese, this seemed the perfect occasion to finally try one of the “block” cheeses in the book.

The “Mostarella” started out well: I ground some oats and mixed them with nutritional yeast, soymilk, and a few other ingredients.  And while the mixture did appear a little too soft when I spread it in the mold, the recipe had cautioned that it needed overnight refrigeration to set, so I popped it in the fridge and waited. 

To my horror, the next morning it was still more like cheese sauce than cheese.  Oh, well, back to the cutting board.  Attempt number two: this time, I used a recipe for mild Swiss “cheese.”  With 5 tablespoons of agar, I had a feeling this one would set.  And set it did!  It produced a mild, firm yet soft, slightly tangy cheese with a hint of that acerbic zing characterizing most Swiss cheese.  I cut it into cubes and prepared the salad.

Based on this recipe (and switching basil for the cilantro), the salad sounded as if it would be a perfectly compatible match for the cheese.  Unfortunately, this international vegetable bowl didn’t produce the same harmonious result as a tossed Canada.  The mango and tomato competed for gustarory prominence, while the dressing seemed out of place against the sweet mango and basil.  In fact, I must admit that the only part of this salad I truly enjoyed was the “cheese.” 

I know the event asked for salad with cheese, but I just wouldn’t feel right recommending this salad recipe.  However, if you’d like to try some homemade vegan Swiss cheese, here’s a terrific choice.  I know: just eat it in Toronto, Canada, and you can pretend it’s surrounded by tossed salad.

Vegan Swiss Cheese

This cheese is lighter than dairy cheese, and not as filling (so you can eat more!). It holds its shape perfectly, so it can be sliced, cubed, or grated–and it lasts up to 5 days in the fridge.

 1-1/2 cups (375 ml.)  water

5 Tbsp. (75 ml.) agar flakes

1/2 cup (125 ml.) chopped raw cashews

1/4 cup (60 ml.) nutritional yeast flakes

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) fresh lemon juice

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) sesame tahini

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) onion powder

2 tsp. (10 ml.) dijon mustard

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) garlic powder

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) dry mustard powder

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) ground coriander

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) salt, or to taste

Lightly oil a 3-cup (750 ml.) plastic storage container and set aside.

Combine the water and agar in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, stirring often, until dissolved, about 5 to 10 minutes.  Transfer to a blender and add the remaining ingredients. Process several minutes until completely smooth, scraping down the sides of the blender jar as necessary.  Pour into prepared container and cool uncovered in the refrigerator. When completely cool, cover and chill several hours or overnight. To serve, turn out of the container and slice or cut into cubes. Store leftovers in the refrigerator.  Will keep 5 to 7 days.

[NB: A huge "THANK YOU" to all of you who sent good wishes my way yesterday. I really wasn't intending to sound so "woe-is-me" (I do that quite enough around the diet issues, thank you), but just reflecting on how the day could elicit positive vibes for all concerned.  Your comments sure worked toward that end for me, though: big hugs to all of you! ]

In my mind, here’s the perfect way to wake up on a Sunday morning: 

Outside, the weather is balmy. A mild breeze whispers through the slightly opened window, curtains undulating softly with each invisible breath.  The sun makes its presence known through the diaphanous curtain as it tickles the pillows of our bed with little sparkles of laughing light. Elsie pads quietly over to my side of the bed and, as gently as a rose petal floating to the ground, taps my open palm with her soft, moist nose. I open my eyes slowly. Glancing toward the window, I stretch luxuriously and think, ”Ahh, yes! Another lovely, sunny Sunday! This is a perfect time to have. . . BREAKFAST.” 

Unfortunately, the reality yesterday morning was more like this scenario:

It’s dark; the cold, clammy night air refuses to release its death grip on the house, barreling its way into the room through the open window.  Thin and defenseless, the curtains ripple and flap, rousing me with their wistful ”flltt, flltt, fllllltttt” tapping an SOS against the pane.  Chaser thumps enthusiastically over to my side of the bed and, with a serviceable impersonation of an approaching foghorn, targets my exposed ear with her wet, cold nose. My eyes pop awake and dart toward the window: monochrome grey sky, raindrops still clinging to the glass. Outside, there’s a constant flutter of leaves pelted by rain.  I jerk upright, reach for the bedside lamp and lament, “Aaarrghh!  Another crappy, rainy, gloomy Sunday.” But wait; pause. My smile returns, and I reconsider: ”Oh, well.  Typical Toronto day. But at least it’s time for–BREAKFAST!”

Like bright copper kettles and whiskers on kittens, breakfast does seem to make everything a little better, doesn’t it?

Well, as soon as I read about the second Recipe Remix blog event, hosted by Robin of Made with Love and Danielle of Make No Little Meals, I knew I had to enter. The event focuses on breakfast foods, asking bloggers to “remix” a traditional food in a new way.  Admittedly, the breakfast pickings were pretty slim (ah, if only I could say as much for my thighs): six dishes, five of which contained eggs, and all of which contained wheat–both no-no’s for this brekkie lover.  Initially, I narrowed the choice down to pancakes, crepes, or French toast. 

Now, as much as I love pancakes and crepes, I’d already dealt with both of those on this blog. Time for a new challenge.  But why, oh why did it have to be French toast?  I hate French toast.  Okay, maybe that’s being slightly dishonest.  The truth is, I TOTALLY, WHOLLY, ENTIRELY, COMPLETELY, ABSOLUTELY hate French toast. Can’t stand it. Never touch the stuff. Blech! French Toast is my mortal enemy! And I’m really not particularly fond of it, either.

I’m not sure why I developed this bone-chilling aversion to what is, arguably, a well-loved (and certainly popular) breakfast staple.  Perhaps it was my mother’s tendency to use approximately half a tub of margarine when frying the stuff, resulting in that previously unknown breakfast delicacy, Deep Fried Brick.  Despite the slices fairly floating in grease like aging Floridians at the pool, the toast inevitably still turned out slightly scorched on the outside.  At that point, my mom would stack the slabs on a plate (no blotting on a paper towel for her!) and douse them in corn syrup. The heavy, unctuous substance would spread, a slowly oozing blob that was eventually absorbed by the top slice, leaving it wet, weighted, and about as appetizing as a kitchen sponge just lifted from the bucket of grey, murky, muddy water. Ooh, yum. French toast, anyone?

I knew had to get over my childhood toast trauma.  I decided to approach it like an episode of Iron Chef: I’d been challenged to transform the lowly pain grillé into something mouth-watering, something delectable.  Was I up to the task?  Alas, I couldn’t think of anything.  I was at a loss; I was afraid I’d blow it.  In fact, I was certain I’d be. . . well, toast.

But this blog event was called Recipe REMIX, which meant I had carte blanche to change up the dish any way I wanted.  And who ever said that French Toast has to be fried?  In fact, it was the preparation method alone that rendered the stuff unpalatable to me; change the method, change the result.  Eliminating the frying would also result in a lighter, airier product.  I decided to bake the dish instead, after breaking the bread into smaller bits so they could soak up the liquid ingredients while nestled in a single soufflée dish: a French Toast casserole.

Working with a fairly standard (egg- and dairy-free, of course) mixture for soaking French toast, I added a few extra touches, such as a splash of berry liqueur or some mixed berries as a reminder of spring, a means to elicit that sunshine I missed so much in the morning.

As the mixture baked and browned, the bits of bread continued to soak up the batter, expanding and puffing like a male dove preening for a mate.  It rose up so much, in fact, with such a fluffy and almost mousse-like texture, that I decided to call it “French Toast Soufflé.” 

We ate it warm, bites of spongy, soft bread punctuated with bursts of juicy berries; but it could easily be served cold.  And while I didn’t have time to make any soy-free whipped cream yesterday, a dollop of cream would be the perfect accompaniment to a bowl of this fruity, light and delectable dish. 

Go on, indulge.  Why not have a big bowl for breakfast? It will make the rest of the day seem that much better.

 French Toast Soufflé with Summer Berries

I think this is what someone like Nigella would call a “summer pudding,” though I’ve never had one of those.  It would be a fabulous dish for a springtime brunch buffet, or even as a dessert following a light summer meal. 

8-10 slices stale sourdough spelt or kamut bread

1/4 cup (60 ml.) old-fashioned rolled oats

2-1/2 cups (620 ml.) vanilla rice or soy milk

1 tsp. (5 ml.) pure vanilla extract

1/2 cup (125 ml.) agave nectar

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) organic cornstarch or arrowroot powder

2-3 Tbsp. (30-45 ml.) berry liqueur (framboise, cherry, etc.–I used Cloudberry, but it’s pretty rare)

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) fresh lemon juice or 1/2 tsp. lemon extract

1-1/2 - 2 cups (325 to 500 ml.) fresh or frozen mixed berries

Preheat oven to 350 F (180 C).  Lightly grease a nonreactive (glass or ceramic) pan or soufflé dish.

Break the bread into bite-sized chunks and place in a large bowl.

In a blender, grind the oats until they are the consistency of a coarse meal.  Add the remaining ingredients except for the berries and blend until smooth.  Poor the mixture over the bread in the bowl, pushing the bread down with the back of a spoon so that all pieces are submerged.  Allow to sit 20-30 minutes, pressing the bread back down occasionally, until the bread is completely soaked through (there may still be liquid left in the bottom of the bowl; this is fine).

When the bread is all soaked, spoon half the bread slices and half the remaining liquid into the prepared pan.  Top with about 2/3 of the mixed berries.  Cover the berries with the rest of the bread and liquid, then top with the last 1/3 of the berries. 

Bake in preheated oven 40-50 minutes, until puffed and golden and a knife inserted in the centre comes out wet but clean.  Allow to cool at least 10 minutes before serving.  Serve warm, at room temperature, or cold.  Makes about 8 servings.  This is best served the day it’s made, though it can be re-heated the next day.

[That's our little Vanilla, in the middle]

So, I heard somewhere that it’s hockey season now.  Oh, don’t look so surprised: despite having been raised in Montreal (a hockey town if ever there was one), I am indifferent to the sticks-and-pucks revelry. Personally, I’d rather read about the latest face-off between, say, brownies and blondies than between the Habs and the Flyers.

In fact, I can’t say that I’m too interested in any team sports–or, come to think of it, any sports at all. Is it any wonder?  Perpetually the “anchor” in tug-of-war; too uncoordinated to hit a baseball with a screen door; lacking even the modicum of balance necessary for hockey (though I did go skating, once, when I was about 15, soley to impress a guy I had a crush on.  Oh, I made a lasting impression, all right–somewhere on the upper right thigh, just where my skate sliced through the flesh, if memory serves.)

This is not to imply that I don’t enjoy a good competition with myself every now and again, in a constant effort to improve on my own “personal best.” (And speaking of competitions, I’ve just gotta say it: time to wave goodbye to Jason Castro, don’t you think?). I’m forever asking questions like, “Can I increase my speed on the treadmill this week?”  “Can I accomplish a bicep curl with a 15-pound weight?”  “Can I use up every single veggie from our weekly organic box?” “Can I manage to sweep my kitchen floor every day three times a week monthly before the dust bunnies take up permanent residence on the living room couch?”–and so on.

(”You know, Mum, we’d be happy to chase those bunnies for you.  And while we’re on the subject, why are they allowed on the couch when we’re not?”)

As far as I’m concerned, a little healthy competition in the kitchen can only be a good thing. In order to improve a recipe-in-progress, I might tinker with it 10 or a dozen times to get it right, often in a single day (why, yes, it’s true: I don’t have anything better to do!). Is the muffin better with agave or maple syrup?–let’s bake a new batch and find out!  Should I use barley flour or oat in the apple bars?–only another round of baking will tell! Can the cashew cookies stand up to cardamom, or would ginger be better?–let’s test ‘em out and see!

This somewhat peculiar proclivity in the kitchen was the impetus behind a strange experiment last week, one I conducted after receiving my copy of Carole Walter’s James Beard Award-winning cookbook, Great Coffee Cakes, Sticky Buns, Muffins & More, in the mail. As some of you may recall, my recipe for Maple-Walnut cookies won the book in a recent Cookthink Root Source Challenge for recipes based on maple syrup. (Hmm.  Yes, I suppose that made me “competitive,” though of course not in the athletic sense.)

As soon as I ripped open the package, I was charmed by the clean, clear layout, the stunning full-color photographs and the innovative, precisely written recipes (200 of them!). And even though it’s filled with traditional recipes with conventional ingredients (think eggs, milk, butter, etc.), the book focuses on homey, classic treats, which are fairly easily adaptable to NAG principles.

Virtually everything in the book appealed to me, from the Vanilla Bean Poundcake to the Irish Whiskey Cake to the Apricot and Dried Pineapple Muffins to the Fig and Walnut Loaf.  Lest you think the book is partial to goodies baked in pans, Walter also includes recipes for cookies, bars, biscuits, strudel, danish, buns and braids–plus many more treats shaped by hand.

My gaze lit upon a recipe called “Favorite Vanilla Muffins.” Vanilla muffins?  Sure, I’d sampled many a vanilla cake in my time, but never a vanilla muffin. With its denser, moister texture, might a muffin be a better foundation to showcase the fragrant, floral tones of pure vanilla extract? A competition was in order!

I thought about the differences between the two.  Like the Olson twins (though of course, in this case, actually connected to food), muffins and cupcakes are the same, but different.  Both are single-serving renditions of a larger baked good (loaf or cake); both sport domed tops, flat bottoms and angled sides often encased in frilly paper liners. To muddy the batters even further, both may (but are not required to) contain chopped fruits, nuts, or chocolate.

A few Googled pages later, I discovered that the cupcake versus muffin debate was already in full swing among bloggers and other writers (two good sources are recipezaar’s concise take on the issue, and the more detailed viewpoint on Curious Foodie’s blog).

How, I wondered, would that Favorite Vanilla Muffin stand up against its cakey counterpart? I decided to bake one of each (both using my adaptations of Walter’s recipes) and compare the results. Granted, my creations (no matter how delectable) would never be exactly as Walter intended; but I was okay with that. I chose a Classic Sour Cream Cinnamon and Nut Coffee Cake (without the cinnamon/nut filling) for my cupcake, mostly because, like the muffin recipe, it called for sour cream (and I needed to use up the tofu-based batch I’d be concocting). That would leave me with one vanilla; two vanilla (any more than that and we’d have the unfortunate Milli Vanilla).

[Coffeecake cupcake--with its intended filling. Get a load of that cinnamon-pecan swirl!]

Which won the competition? As expected, the muffins were heavier and denser. In fact, apart from the shape, they were a different animal entirely. For some reason, in these particular muffins, the vanilla essence proclaimed its presence assertively, even before you bit into the soft, moist interior; the sweet, floral aroma fairly radiates. And even though I knew my “sour cream” was soy-based, there was an incredible richness to these muffins that rendered them filling and satisfying; no need for fruit or fillers.

The cupcakes, for their part, were equally delectable.  Undisputably more delicate with a tender crumb, the cakes were lighter both in texture and color. The vanilla essence here was definitely noticeable as well, though in a more understated fashion.  Like pitting Ella against Diana singing Cole Porter classics: each transformed the outcome into something unique and exceptional, though clearly hailing from the same original concept.

So, in the end, it was a tie.  Two winners–two delicious baked goods to eat.  Everybody wins!

Since the recipes highlight vanilla, I thought this would be a perfect entry for the Master Baker Challenge, hosted by Master Baker.

Vanilla Muffins and Cinnamon-Pecan Cupcakes (inspired by recipes in Carole Walter’s Great Coffee Cakes, Sticky Buns, Muffins & More)

 [Left to Right: Cinnamon-Pecan Coffeecake Cupcake; Vanilla Muffin; Vanilla Muffin with Cashew-Cardamom variation]

For the “Sour Cream” (makes enough for one batch of each, muffins and cupcakes):

12 oz. (350 g.) firm silken tofu, such as Mori-Nu

2 tsp. (10 ml.) agave nectar

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) lemon juice

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) smooth cashew butter

Blend all ingredients in a food processor or blender, until perfectly smooth.

For the Vanilla Muffins:

1/2 cup (125 ml.) “sour cream” (half the batch)

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) coconut butter, melted

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.)  pure vanilla extract

1/2 cup plus 2 Tbsp. (150 ml.) agave nectar

2 tsp. (10 ml.) Salba (ground chia seeds)

1 tsp. (5 ml.) apple cider vinegar

1-1/2 cups (220 g.) light spelt flour

1 tsp. (5 ml.) baking powder

1/2 tsp. sea salt

1/2 tsp. baking soda

Preheat oven to 350F (180C).  Line 9 muffin cups with paper liners for large muffins, or 12 cups for smaller muffins, or spray with nonstick spray.

In a medium sized bowl, combine the sour cream and melted coconut butter; whisk until well incorporated.  Whisk in the vanilla, agave nectar, salba and vinegar and set aside.

In a larger bowl, sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.  Stir the wet ingredients into the dry until well moistened (don’t worry if there are a few small dry spots here and there).

Using a scoop or large spoon, fill cups 3/4 full for larger muffins or 2/3 full for smaller muffins. Bake in preheated oven 20-25 minutes, rotating pan halfway through, until a tester inserted in center comes out clean.  Cool five minutes in pan before removing to cooling rack.  These freeze well.

Cashew-Cardamom variation:  Mix together 1/2 cup (125 ml.) chopped cashews with 2 Tbsp. (15 ml.) Sucanat and 1/4 tsp. (2 ml.) cardamom. When ready to scoop the muffins, fill each cup halfway.  Top with a spoonful of the cashew mixture and cover with another spoon of batter.  Bake as above.

For the Cinnamon-Pecan Coffeecake Cupcakes:

1/2 cup (125 ml.) “sour cream” (half of the batch)

1/4 cup (60 ml.) sunflower or other light-tasting oil

1/2 cup (125 ml.) pure maple syrup

1 tsp. (5 ml.) Salba (ground chia seeds)

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) water

1 tsp. pure vanilla extract

1 cup (140 g.) light spelt flour

1 tsp. (5 ml.) baking powder

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) baking soda

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) sea salt

Optional Cinnamon-Nut Filling:

1/2 cup chopped toasted pecans

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) Sucanat

1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350 F (180C).  Line 6 muffin cups with paper liners for large cupcakes, or 8 cups for smaller cupcakes, or spray with nonstick spray.

In a medium sized bowl, combine the sour cream, oil, maple syrup, Salba, water, and vanilla until well mixed.  Set aside.

In a larger bowl, sift the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and sea salt.  Pour the wet mixture over the dry and whisk until well combined. 

Fill each muffin cup about half full. Top with about 1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) of the nut filling, then cover with more batter.  You can draw a knife through the mixture once if you like to create a little swirl inside (but not more than once, or the filling will become too blended with the batter). 

Bake the cupcakes in preheated oven for 25-35 minutes, until the tops are golden and a tester inserted in center comes out clean.  Allow to cool 5 minute before removing to a cooling rack.  These freeze well.

Well, it’s been pretty hectic over here in the DDD household. For the past couple of days, I’ve been slogging away at course prep for a course that deals with diaries and personal journals.  (Did you know, for instance, that  the first online diary, or weblog –today known simply as “blog”–was begun in 1994?  Or that psychiatrists and psychologists often ask their patients to use free association or stream-of-consciousness in journals as a way to dredge up old, repressed conflicts or neuroses?)  Okay–enough work for now!  Time for a snack break. 

Ah, but what to eat?  Hmmm. . . .well, funny, but peanut butter popped into my head. Oh, yeah, baby–peanut butter!  I love it.  It’s creamy, it’s delicious, it’s full of–well, nuts. (Oh.  Hmmm. Is that a bad thing, that I just said “nuts”?  Really, I didn’t mean anything by it. . .sometimes, you know, a peanut is just a peanut.).  Peanut butter was one of my favorite foods in childhood.  (Not that I’m trying to re-live my childhood, or anything.) Of course, nowadays, peanut butter is quite often troublesome, potentially deadly, even–all those peanut allergies and sensitivities. . . which is quite sad, actually. All because we were fed too much of it when we were kids. And now we’re paying for it! Where’s the justice in that? I mean, HOW COULD MY MOTHER DO THAT TO ME? Oh, yes, it’s becoming all too clear: It’s all my mother’s fault!  I may never get over it. . . I think I’m getting a complex. . .   

Well, any Freudian issues aside, I must admit that I do remain a bit conflicted about the stuff.  Although I so enjoy the flavor of it, there’s really nothing elegant about peanut butter (on its own, anyway). For many of us, it’s simply a quick, cheap, and easy base for a meal, something we rely on when either time or funds are scarce; and it’s one of the first foods we eschew as soon as we can afford anything better.  And of course there’s the allergy thing, too.

Perhaps worse, peanuts sometimes harbor potentially deadly toxins. As you probably know, the peanut is actually a legume, not a nut; and its shell, being somewhat soft and porous, functions as a perfect hiding place for a variety of molds, foremost among them something called aflatoxin.  When I first read about this particularly virulent fungus and its affinity for peanuts, I stopped eating peanut products that same day. 

And while aflatoxins are generally found only in minute amounts in peanut products (their levels are monitored, ostensibly), they are, nevertheless, twenty times more toxic than DDT, promoting liver damage and a variety of cancers. Unfortunately, organic peanut butter isn’t exempt, even though it’s free of many other carcinogens (read: pesticides, additives).

Well, after a bit of debate, I welcomed my childhood friend back into my home and diet–my feelings for it were just too deeply rooted–but in relatively small quantities.  Besides, the legendary legume still boasts many very positive attributes, and the benefits seemed to equalize the drawbacks.  For instance, peanuts also contain heart-healthy monounsaturated fats; they provide just as many antioxidants as fruit (which would, theoretically, balance out some of the nasty aflatoxin effects); they contain many cancer fighting compounds (again, anti-aflatoxin), and, along with nuts in general, are said to help with weight loss (I am SO on it!).

But was there a way to incorporate the plebeian peanut into the realm of adult tastes? True, you can find peanut butter in a variety of Thai dishes, which I love, or the less-spicy Chinese sauces.  And I made good use of PB in one of my favorite soups of all time, Moroccan Spiced Tomato Soup.

But today, I wanted to find something else.  Something a little more mature.  A little more sophisticated.  A little more. . .baked.

I suppose I could have taken an easy route and opted for that old standard, Peanut Butter Cookies.  With their characteristic cross-hatch and crispy bottoms, they’re a homey, cheerful and somewhat quaint rendering of PB.  And then there’s this bread, which I’ve been salivating over for quite some time.  Looks fabulous, doesn’t it?  But it requires the dreaded yeast, and I just couldn’t shake my anxiety over that one quite yet (is it an Edible Complex? Is it peanut envy?).

In the end, I decided to try something from my copy of the Damn Tasty! cookbook by Kris Holechek, which I bought some time ago and still hadn’t used. (Unfortunately, the book is no longer in print). I flipped to the recipe for Basic Biscuits–quick, easy, familiar–and made a couple of quick adaptations. 

The result was a light (flaky, almost), very appealing biscuit with the added dimension of peanut butter. At the same time, the biscuits are sturdy enough to cut in half and slather with a favorite topping (in my case–more PB!). 

Later, served with a little apple butter, they were reminiscent of those long-ago sandwiches of my childhood. 

Which is a good thing.

No, really.  

Because I used an ice-cream scoop to create uniformly sized biscuits,  I thought this would be a great submission for Joelen’s Tasty Tools event, this month highlighting scoops.

Peanut Butter Biscuits (adapted from Damn! Tasty Vegan)

These are light and not too sweet, with a subtle peanut butter flavor. Like a peanut-butter enhanced whole-wheat biscuit, they exude nutrition, healthfulness and subconscious id-related urges.

1 cup plus 1 Tbsp. (150 g.) light spelt flour

1 cup (140 g.) whole spelt flour

1/2 tsp. (5 ml.) sea salt (be sure you’re using UNsalted PB, unless you like them really salty!)

1 Tbsp. plus 1 tsp. (20 ml.) baking powder

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) agave nectar

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) sunflower or other light-tasting oil

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) smooth or crunchy all-natural peanut butter

3/4 cup (180 ml.) unflavored soymilk or almond milk

1 tsp. (5 ml.) apple cider vinegar

Preheat oven to 425 F (220 C). Line a cookie sheet with parchment or spray with nonstick spray.

In a large bowl, sift the flours, salt (if using) and baking powder.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the agave nectar, oil, and peanut butter until smooth.  Slowly add the milk and whisk until you have a homogeneous mixture; then add the vinegar.

Pour the wet mixture over the dry ingredients and stir to blend.  You’ll have a soft dough.  Using a large ice-cream scoop, scoop out portions of the dough and place about 2 inches (5 cm) apart on the cookie sheet.  Wet your palms and flatten each biscuit slightly. 

Bake in preheated oven for 10-15 minutes, until puffed and browned on the edges.  Makes 8 biscuits.  May be frozen.

I thought I’d take a few minutes before heading out for a long trail-walk with The Girls (it’s a long weekend over here, and they’re thrilled to have us both at home–ALL DAY!!) to post a few newsy notes. 

So, if you drop in only for the recipes or the witty repartee (I suppose that since I don’t hear your replies, it’s actually just “partee”), then you may wish to skip this entry and wait for the next.  But if you do, you might just miss something important. . . not that I’m saying you should stay, or anything. . . it’s entirely up to you. . .  

News Bit Number One:

For those of you who may have missed it or don’t look for such things, I recently added a Recipe Index (under “Pages,” at right).  I’ve categorized according to general food types, but if I’ve missed one you want to see, please let me know.  I must say that I was quite surprised at the number of gluten free options in the list, since I can actually eat gluten (some) without problems.  Still, I suppose a NAG diet inclines naturally toward GF foods.  (And chocolate is, after all, gluten free).

News Bit Number Two:

Next week, I’m planning to focus on another Lucky Comestible; this time, it’s quinoa.  While I’m not entirely ready to host a full-fledged blogging event, I would love to hear about your own adventures with quinoa, and any recipes you’ve made or blogged about.  You can leave a link in the comments or let me know via email and I’ll add a link to your recipe at the end of my posts.  Would love to see more quinoa in the world!

News Bit Number Three:

I am just thrilled over this one!  A while back, I entered the Root Source Challenge for Maple Syrup, with my post on Maple-Walnut Cookies.  Well, my little recipe won the challenge!  I can’t wait to see my new baking book!  If you missed the original post, it’s right here.

 News Bit Number Four:

Well, now that I’ve introduced the idea of blogs being rewarded, I’m ready for the most important news bit today:  After much contemplation, I’m finally going to suggest my own “Excellence” Awards.  I was given this honor by the lovely Romina of Vegan Eating for One, and have been mulling it over ever since.  There are soooo many excellent bloggers out there, how to choose?  And, even harder, how to choose only FIVE?

Well, it was a difficult choice, indeed.  And I apologize to all of you I don’t mention here.  I regularly read ALL of the blogs in my blogroll, plus about 30-40 more at this point; I think you are all excellent, or I wouldn’t be reading! 

So I made my choice based on a few delimiting principles. Anyone who’s already received accolades for whatever reason was automatically disqualified; I want to spread the appreciation around (and if I’ve doubled up on an award, that’s my oversight; sorry!). I also wanted to choose blogs that were not necessarily recipe-based; I pinpointed those I found quirky, or undiscovered gems, or something a little off the beaten track. . . just my own little idiosyncracies there, I guess. 

So here goes.  My own choices for Excellent bloggers include (in alphabetical order):

• Deb at Altered Plates.  I love Deb’s take on baking; Everything she does looks so delicious, I want to make all of her recipes!  And she introduced coconut flour to me, something for which I am eternally grateful
• Annie at Forest Street Kitchen.  Even though our styles of cooking may differ, Annie is a wonderful writer with a wry, satiric take on so many things.  I enjoy her perspective and she always makes me laugh.  And, now, she’s a celebrity!
• Lucy at Nourish Me.  Her photos are awe-inspiring, her writing is poetic, and her recipes are all NAG-friendly; I always look forward to her blog posts. All that, and she writes from my favorite country on Earth. 
• Megan at Reflections in the Snow-Covered Hills.  No recipes, or much about food at all, really; just a uniquely wry, usually hilarious and slightly twisted view of the world. . . just up my alley. 
• Lizzie at The Good Eatah.  With relatively new gluten and dairy dietary restrictions, Lizzie still manages to cook up a bunch of yummy foods, always with an upbeat attitude. And I do enjoy those pix of Henry!

Hope you all check out these wonderful blogs. As I said above, there are many more than just five Excellent blogs out there, but now I’ll have to rely on those ladies to go out and pick five of their own. 

Hope everyone’s enjoying a fabulous long weekend, whether or not you celebrate Easter .

Knock, knock.

Who’s there?

Gnocchi.

Gnocchi Who?

Gnocchi your socks off.

What?

Gnocchi three times.

Excuse me?

“Gnocchi Three Times on the Ceiling if You Wa-ant Me. . . Twice on the Pipes. . .”

Okay, I think that’s quite enough.  

You shouldn’t gnocchi a guy when he’s down. 

I said that’s it!  That’s all I’m gonna take!

Oh, come on. Be nice to me.  I went to the School of Hard Gnocchis.

All right, buddy, you asked for it– 

Look, don’t gnocchi it ’til you try it.

*    *   *   *   *   *

Now, judging by my little preamble here, you might surmise that I don’t take my gnocchi quite as seriously as I should.  I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth.  I fully understand the gravitas of gnocchi, believe me; in fact, I take them just as seriously as my job (extremely); or saving for retirement (nerve-rackingly); or even the well-being of The Girls (all-consumingly). 

(”Well, Mum, you know that we both take your well-being very seriously too, right?  Because if anything ever happened to you, how would we get our dinner?”)

I am well aware that the genesis of a good gnocchi is more art than skill; and also that I am, in that particular realm at least, neither artistically inclined nor very skilled.  Because the process usually requires planning, talent, and the equanimity of a Stepford wife, I have rarely ventured to attempt the challenge.  A shame, really, as I adore gnocchi.

In my long-ago wheat-eating days, I would snatch any opportunity to sample one of those freshly pinched and simmered Italian dumplings.  The HH and I patronized quite a range of small, family-owned Italian restaurants in our early days, and each boasted its own version of the little pasta pillows: smothered in Arrabiata with extra jalapenos mounded on the side; lightly pan-fried in olive oil, then sprinkled liberally with springy sage and dusted with freshly grated Parmesan; tossed gently in a vodka cream sauce with black olives and capers–I loved them all. I loved the slightly gooey exterior, the softly yielding chew, the smooth and subtle flavor that demanded a potato ricer to achieve.

Before today, I had yet to sample a spelt-based version of gnocchi.  (Seems they don’t serve spelt gnocchi in most Italian restaurants I’ve frequented. Quel surprise!). The few times I endeavored to cook up some of the light, spud-based morsels using a traditional recipe in the past, the result was a total flop.  Either the gnocchi were so hard and dense that they could be shot from a BB gun, or they turned out so soft and mushy that one might wonder where the pasta was hiding in this white, slushy gruel. And yet. . . and yet. . . they persisted in beckoning to me.  

So, last night, I threw caution to the winds, and allowed my passion for the little rascals to lead me into temptation.  I knew I’d likely get gnocchi’d up for my efforts, but just didn’t care.  After all, the outcome would be a bowl brimming with my delicious, darling pasta babies! Besides, I thought gnocchi would be the perfect submission to Ruth’s weekly Presto Pasta Night over at Once Upon a Feast.

I started with a fairly simple recipe for Spiced Carrot Gnocchi that I found in Gourmet Vegetarian by Jane Price, and adapted it according to my own dietary restrictions: no eggs and no wheat (replaced with silken tofu and a combination of whole spelt and oat flours, respectively).  I topped the gnocchi with a creamy, cheesy sauce of my own invention (I’ve had great luck with sauces in the past, thankfully), and sprinkled some chopped fresh parsley over top. 

How did it end up?  Well, let’s just say that the sauce was rich, creamy, and delicious, as expected.  As to my experiments with my potato nemesis? Well, I must confess that, once again, success eluded me.  Don’t get me wrong–they weren’t awful; in fact, the mildly sweet and dense chewiness was well complemented by the velvety, cheesy sauce.  Still, if you’re looking for the traditional version of this pasta, you won’t be satisfied with these. 

And I hate to admit it, I think I will finally put this kitchen quest behind me, once and for all.  That’s right–it’s time to gnocchi it off for good.

Spiced Carrot Gnocchi in Cream Sauce

The contrast between the dense, slightly chewy gnocchi and the velvety sauce is a pleasing one. These gnocchi were a little heavy and slightly sweet; if you’re okay with non-traditional pasta, you may enjoy these.

Spiced Carrot Gnocchi

Adapted from Gourmet Vegetarian by Jane Price

about 1/2 pound (200 g.) carrots, peeled and cut into chunks

2 cups (280 g.) whole spelt flour

3/4 cup (90 g.) whole oat flour

6 oz. (about 150 g.) silken firm tofu (such as Mori-Nu)

1 tsp. (5 ml.) ground Salba (chia seeds) or 1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) ground flax seeds

1 tsp. (5 ml.) lemon juice

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) Garam Masala

Boil carrots in lightly salted water until tender; cool. While carrots are boiling, prepare Creamy Sauce (below); keep barely warm, covered, while you prepare the gnocchi.

Process carrots and tofu in a food processor until smooth.  Add the Salba, lemon juice and Garam Masala and process again to mix.  Turn into a large bowl.

Add the flours to the bowl and stir to mix (use your hands if necessary).  This will make a very soft, sticky dough (add more flour if needed until you can handle the dough).

Coat hands with flour and roll dough into long rolls about the width of your index finger (3/4 inch or 2 cm. thick).  Slice each roll into pieces about 1 inch (2.5 cm.) long. Press each lightly with the tines of a fork to create the typical gnocchi ridges.

Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to the boil.  Lower heat to medium-low and add gnocchi, about a dozen or 15 at a time.  Boil until the gnocchi rise to the surface, then remove with a slotted spoon.  Keep warm until you boil the rest of the gnocchi.

When all the gnocchi are cooked, top with Creamy Sauce. Sprinkle with freshly chopped parsley, if desired.  Makes 4 large servings. 

 Creamy Sauce

This is an Alfredo-style sauce that would work beautifully over any kind of pasta.

1/2 cup (120 ml.) smooth cashew butter

1-1/2 Tbsp. (25 ml.) light miso

3 T. (45 ml.) lemon juice

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) nutritional yeast

1 tsp. (5 ml.) onion powder

1/4 tsp. (2.5 ml.) garlic powder

1/8 tsp. (1.5 ml.) smoked paprika

1/2 cup (120 ml.) vegetable broth

1/2 cup (120 ml.) plain soymilk (not sweetened)

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) organic cornstarch

In a blender, blend all ingredients until you have a smooth mixture.  Pour this into a small pot and heat over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, until sauce begins to bubble.  Simmer for about a minute, stirring constantly to prevent scorching, then pour over desired pasta.  If you prefer a thicker sauce, spoon out about 1/4 cup sauce and place in a small bowl, then mix with another teaspoon of cornstarch.  Return the mixture to the pot and simmer for another minute or so before using. 

I considered going back to basics and entitling this post, simply, ”Bread and Spread,” but decided against the too-generic descriptor (even though it does offer up a lovely rhyme).  But these two foods, when eaten together, really could inspire poetry (if you’ll forgive the extended metaphor), so I opted for my slightly rhapsodic title instead.  And besides, with Easter coming up tomorrow, “pastoral” seemed like the right choice.

I’ve been hankering after this Potato Bread ever since I read about it a while back on Johanna’s blog (and originally posted on Redacted Recipes). Johanna’s version of the recipe, bespeckled with little amethyst wisps of grated purple potatoes, was not only visually beautiful, but her post also described the bread itself–its taste and texture–as veritably irresistible. 

Now, I’m not a huge fan of bread per se (I rarely, if ever, eat sandwiches–though I made an exception for a Tempeh Ruben a while back).  If I do eat bread, I want it to be the dense, dark, whole-grain kind that originated in an anonymous Eastern European country.  This sounded like just the ticket, so I set about altering the ingredients to render them a bit more NAG-friendly.

In the end, I baked this bread three times (I forced myself to stop at three, because I also ended up eating most of each one!). Because the original recipe contained cheese, I substituted nutritional yeast to provide a similar flavor.  My first effort (right) contained a bit too much yeast, I’m afraid, and the sharp astringency was a little overpowering.  With attempt number two, I halved the yeast, but added diced avocado to emulate  chunks of soft feta cheese scattered throughout the bread (photo below). 

 (Ehm, er. . . wouldn’t recommend this one.  I might try the avoca-cheese again in future, but I’d use much less and definitely cut the chunks very small; that way, it might just work). 

Third time was definitely the charm:  I introduced chopped roma tomato and subbed fresh dill instead of thyme.  Number Three (photo below) was, by far, my favorite.

As Johanna attested, this bread was fantastic.  Even though mine isn’t quite as pretty to look at as hers, the moist, dense interior and perfectly balanced flavors of the green onion, cheesiness, and potato worked in agreeable harmony.  Each bite provided a slightly different mosaic of flavors, each with its own unique configuration and gustatory sparkle. I, too, had to stop myself from consuming too much of this delightful loaf at one sitting.

And while it was stellar all on its own, the bread also made a perfect base for a favorite spread of mine, Carrot Pâté. I created the latter recipe about five years ago (when I first started teaching cooking classes), as a way to veganize a fabulous pâté I’d been preparing for over 10 years before that (back when favorite recipes had to be clipped from magazine pages and preserved in file folders).   

Most of the carrots we consume around here tend toward the pre-peeled, miniature variety (aka “baby carrots”). Those are what we feed The Girls as treats, and, equally often,  as “dessert” after dinner.  And although Elsie adores the minis (and will even occasionally bare her teeth at Chaser for the culinary privilege), she turns her wet, black nose up with disdain at the regular, full-sized kind.  (Once, I ran out of the miniatures, and tried feeding her ordinary organic carrots. I took great care to cut them into strips approximately the same size as baby carrots. She examined my offering like a mortician views a corpse, let out a little contemptuous snort, and walked away.  Huh?)  Have you ever known a DOG that’s a picky eater? And not only that–this is a dog whose puppyhood was characterized by eating poo for dessert! But no; no regular carrots for this Prima Donna.

“Um, excuse me, Mum, but if I might just interject to point out that the baby carrots are harvested much earlier in the growth cycle and are, therefore, significantly sweeter?  And also that you didn’t peel those big ones, either, Mum.  So they still retained all those little bumps and ridges on the exterior, which was rather irritating to my sensitive gums and teeth.  Just saying.”

And while it’s technically a  pâté, I actually prefer to eat this for breakfast.  With the sweetness of carrots and light, custardy texture courtesy of silken tofu, it’s a perfect morning accompaniment.  Along with the bread, you’ll be getting your morning serving of protein, veggies, and carbs, all in one delicious repast.  In fact, this would be an ideal pairing for a leisurely Easter Brunch, if you haven’t got your entire menu set already.

I thought this meal would be a great submission to Weekend Breakfast Blogging, which was created by Nandita at Saffron Trail and is being hosted this month by Mansi of Fun and Food.  The theme this month is “Balanced Breakfast Meals.”

(”Actually, Mum, I love this pâté even when you make it with “those” carrots. Pureeing the carrots makes them so much more palatable. So please feel free to share.“)

And to those of you who celebrate it, Happy Easter, all!

Cheesy Onion Potato Bread and Carrot Pâté

Cheesy Onion Potato Bread

adapted from Green Gourmet Giraffe

You will quickly become addicted to this hearty, moist, and filling bread–be warned!  I’ve included my own adaptation of the recipe here. 

1-3/4 cups light spelt flour

2 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. sea salt

1/2 tsp. smoked paprika

1 Yukon Gold potato, grated

2 Tbsp. nutritional yeast

5 green onions (white and light green part only), finely sliced

1-2 Tbsp. freshly chopped dill

1 small Roma tomato, chopped

1 Tbsp. ground flax seeds

1/2-2/3 cup plain soymilk, as required

1 tsp. grainy Dijon mustard

Preheat oven to 375F (190C).  Lightly grease a cookie sheet, or line with parchment paper.

In a measuring cup, mix together the flax, 1/2 cup soymilk, and mustard; set aside.

In a medium mixing bowl, sSift flour, baking powder, salt, and paprika.  Add the grated potato, nutritional yeast, onions, dill, and tomato and toss with your hands until all the vegetables are coated.

Pour the wet mixture over the flour mixture and toss with a fork until everthing comes together in “a sticky, shaggy dough” (at this point, if the dough is too dry, add the remaining soymilk).

Transfer the dough to the baking sheet and shape it into a domed round. Bake for 40-45 minutes, turning once around halfway through, until the top of the bread is deep golden and the loaf has a slightly hollow sound when tapped on the bottom.  Allow to cool before devouring.  May be frozen.

Vegan Carrot Pâté

If you consider carrots as mundane, plain-Jane, plebeian roots to be served only when drenched in sweet glaze or when playing second fiddle in a duo with peas, you’re in for a real treat with this pâté. 

1 pound (450 g.) carrots (about 10 medium carrots)

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) olive oil
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) malt vinegar
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) light miso
1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) dried thyme
1-1/2 c. (about 370 ml.) firm silken tofu (such as Mori-Nu)
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) organic cornstarch
1/2 c. (120 ml.) chopped fresh parsley or cilantro  Preheat oven to 325 F. Grease a small loaf pan, line with waxed paper, and grease paper. Set aside.  (Note: You may also bake the pâté in individual mini loaf pans; simply spray each pan well with nonstick spray before filling). Cook carrots, covered, in lightly salted water until tender. Drain and cool.In a food processor, whir the carrots until well pureed. Add remaining ingredients and process until completely smooth and no traces of tofu remain.

 Pour the mixture into the loaf pan. Bake in preheated oven for 50-60 minutes, until a knife inserted in centre comes out clean.

 Let cool on a rack. Refrigerate at least 4 hours or overnight. To unmold, loosen edges slightly and turn out onto a platter. Remove waxed paper and garnish as desired. Spread on crackers or bread.

Makes about 16 slices (8-10 servings).

It occurred to me yesterday that the last three food posts on this blog have all been desserts.  Is this my chocolate withdrawal talking?  Well, maybe so, but that means a contrapuntal savory dish must make its appearance today.  No; more than just savory–we need something spicy.  No; more than just spicy; we need something SPICE-EEEE!  Aye, Carumba!! And I have just the thing. . . .

One of the aspects of blogging I love is reading about others writers’ food adventures.  By reading food blogs, you can vicariously cook and eat almost anything, without lifting so much as a measuring spoon. Another great byproduct is how blogging encourages you to try cooking something new almost daily, stretching your culinary muscles and gustatory acumen. Would I naturally think to peruse my cookbooks in search of a novel pasta dish every week?  Not likely.  Would I ordinarily wax poetic about rice pudding in any other context?  Negative.  Would I customarily resurrect old standards that I haven’t thought about in years?  Certainly not. And yet, today, that’s exactly what I’ve done!

When I read about this month’s No Croutons Required challenge hosted by Holler at Tinned Tomatoes and Lisa at Lisa’s Kitchen, I immediately decided to rummage through my old recipes to locate this particular soup. Back when we were first together, the HH and I would devour this soup at least once a week for several months at a time.  In those days, the HH pounced at the opportunity to share dinner prep (what we won’t do in the first flush of a new relationship!).  At that time, we cooked together almost every evening. These days, on the other hand, after the HH arrives home from work and we’ve walked  The Girls  we often embark on a game of verbal ping-pong:

Me: “What should we do for dinner?” (Subtext: I don’t really feel like doing anything for dinner.)

HH: “I dunno.  Um, did you cook anything yet?” (Subtext: What the heck were you doing here all day?”)

Me: “No.  I was waiting for you to get home from work before deciding.” (Subtext: I’ll be damned if I lift so much as a finger without your help, buster! Just because I work at home doesn’t mean I don’t work hard, too, you know. I’d appreciate just a little acknowledgement of what I do, if you don’t mind.)

HH: “Hmm.  How about pizza?” (Subtext: I am lazy and don’t feel like cooking.)

Me: “You know I don’t eat pizza!” (Subtext: How could you forget that I don’t eat wheat, or cheese, or sugar-laden pizza sauce??? Don’t you pay attention to what’s been going on here for the past eight years?  Don’t you ever notice what I do or do not eat??  Don’t you ever think of anyone besides YOURSELF??  Oh, I see what’s going on here. I see now how little you appreciate me.  Oh, don’t try to deny it.  It’s clear that you’ve never really cared for me!  You’ve never really loved me at all!  Otherwise how could you even suggest–)

HH: “Are you sure?  Well, okay, sweetie, if that’s what you want, that’s fine with me. (Subtext: Great. I really would prefer to go out.  Man, she’s the greatest.  Man,  I love this woman. )

Okay, maybe that wasn’t exactly our daily conversation, but we did go out to dinner a lot in those days.  

These days, on a slightly tighter budget after my two years away from work, we tend to throw together something quick and easy, or something I’ve come across in search of blog recipes.  The HH plays sous-chef and chops or slices according to my directives.  He sets the table and plays with The Girls while the dish finishes cooking.  And gee, he doesn’t even mind waiting for me to photograph our daily dinners.  (Man, he really is the greatest.  Man, I love that guy!)

Okay, sappy interlude is now over. Back to the soup.

This is one of the first Indian recipes I ever tried, shortly after I went off wheat, eggs, dairy, etc..  I discovered fairly quickly that my dietary restrictions could be met easily in Asian restaurants, primarily Indian or Thai.  As we visited one after the other restaurant in our neighbourhood, I also quickly discovered that I adored Indian food–and that I wanted to learn how to make it myself. 

This soup comes from the first Indian cookbook I bought, The New Indian Cooking Course, by Manisha Kanani and Shehzad Husain.  It is incredibly easy, quick, and delicious.  Not overpowering, there’s still enough zing in the soup to imprint its spicy tingle on your tongue after the bowl is emptied–perfect for the No Croutons Required event. 

(PS  I’ve finally posted a photo for another fantastic spicy soup, the Moroccan Tomato Soup that I wrote about back in December (and which the HH and I enjoyed again recently).  If you like spice, head on over and take a look! )

Spiced Cauliflower Soup

Adapted From The New Indian Cooking Course

This soup is a great way to incorporate cauliflower, a vegetable that isn’t particularly exciting on its own. For a more powerful spice, increase the amount of ginger and cumin accordingly.  

1 large onion, chopped

3-4 cloves garlic, chopped

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) extra virgin olive oil

1 large potato, diced

1 small cauliflower, chopped

1/2 cup water

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) grated ginger root

2 tsp. (10 ml.) ground turmeric

1 tsp. (5 ml.) ground cumin

1 tsp. (5 ml.) black mustard seeds

2 tsp. (10 ml.) ground coriander

4 cups (1 liter) vegetable stock

1 cup  (250 ml.) or more, to taste, unsweetened soymilk

salt and pepper to taste

fresh cilantro for garnish, if desired

Heat the oil in a large pot or dutch oven over medium heat.  Add the onion and garlic, and sauté until the onion is translucent.  Add the potato and cauliflower with the water; cover and simmer for about 10 minutes.

Add the ginger and spices.  Stir well, and cook for another 2 minutes, stirring occasionally. Pour in the stock and season with salt and pepper to taste.  Bring to the boil, then cover and simmer for about 20 minutes, until all the vegetables are soft. Stir in the soymilk.

In a blender, puree the soup in batches until smooth.  (If your blender does not have a glass bowl, allow the soup to cool a bit first).  Return to the pot and reheat just until heated through, about 5 minutes.  Serve immediately.  Garnish with cilantro if desired.

Make 4-6 servings.  Freezes well.

Despite my constant whining about winter (When, oh when will it finally be over?? How much longer must I endure this bleak, bleached, desolate wasteland of frigid snow? How many more days must I suffer through this torturous, crystalline hell on earth? ), I fully recognize that the season Below Zero does have at least a few minor benefits. 

For one, you get to cuddle closer to your honey while watching Battlestar Gallactica or a DVD.  You feel justified when you stay home from that excruciatingly boring dinner meeting (”but the roads were impossible. . . “).  You have a legitimate reason to cover up your all-time high weight of mumblemumbleundisclosednumber pounds and wear loose sweaters.

And then, when the season finally begins to wane, you have the opportunity to eat fresh maple syrup.

Although technically, the trees aren’t tapped until early spring, in Canada you can purchase real maple syrup year-round (yay!). When I first changed my diet and left white sugar in the dust, maple syrup quickly became one of my baking staples.  Its subtle, buttery, vaguely smoky and intensely sweet flavor is the perfect enhancement for so many foods–pancakes, of course, but also baked beans, scrambles, chocolate pudding, even some noodle dishes or casseroles.  Whether you enjoy the lighter grades that contain a higher water content (the syrup darkens in color, thickens somewhat and intensifies in flavor as it’s condensed) or the richer, darker varieties, true maple syrup is a unique and noteworthy enjoyment.

When we were kids, I never realized that what my mom referred to as “maple syrup” was actually artificially-flavored corn syrup.  My dad and sisters loved the stuff, and would slather it on a stack of pancakes so thickly that the syrup soaked right through to the cake on the very bottom of the pile, rendering them all a soggy, sticky mess. 

I could never warm up to those heavy, dense, wet cakes.  It wasn’t until I began to purchase pure maple syrup as an adult that I truly learned to appreciate pancakes.  At first, I was skeptical, cutting just a corner of the pancake and tentatively dipping it into a little pool of syrup on my plate, as if I were testing lakewater with my big toe; but once I experienced that authentic light and sugary elixir, I felt comfortable pouring it on and plunging in with gusto.

Tasting genuine maple syrup also called to mind a childhood event when I was lucky enough to sample the “real thing” away from our corn syrup-infused kitchen at home.  Once, on an extra-curricular school trip in April, our grade three class visited a maple farm north of the city.  There, we attended an event known as “Sugaring Off.”  (To this day, the term sounds vaguely like an expletive to me: “Why, you sonofa–just sugar off!”  “Oh, yeah?  Well you sugar off! And your mother wears army boots, too!”)

The maple farmers would hold these events just as the sap began to run, using freshly tapped syrup.  They’d heat it just enough so that it caramelized instantly when poured over a base of pristine, white, freshly scooped snow that had been spread evenly across a long metal table.  Immediately, the syrup was transformed into toffee against the frosted snow, and we kids wielded soup spoons, scooping in a frenzy of delight as we dug in and all shared the huge slab of sweetness. 

Of course, these days, the practise would be banned for hygienic purposes. When I was a kid, however, no one worried about the snow harboring parasites, or fox pee, or fungus-infested decomposing pine cones. . . we just ate it.  We all double-dipped, even triple-dipped, sharing the same enormous, rectangular, metal plate. And it was delicious.  Like soft, warm, just-cooked caramel. . . . oh, how I loved it!

 So when I heard about this week’s Root Source challenge to create a recipe with maple syrup, I knew I had to participate.  Since I’ve been baking exclusively with natural sweeteners for the past few years, anyway, this task didn’t strike me as very different from what I’ve already been doing. And while I had a few maple syrup-based recipes in my repertoire, I wanted to create something original for this event.

Since I’m off chocolate for the time being, I considered other foods with which maple syrup can be paired successfully.  One of the most common combinations–walnuts and maple syrup–exists precisely because these two ingredients complement each other so well. So I decided this was no time to buck tradition; maple and walnut it is!

The result of my kitchen playtime is these Maple-Walnut Cookies.  They’re light, crisp, and really showcase the unique flavor of the syrup, especially the day after you bake them, when the flavors mature. If you prefer a chewy cookie, reduce the baking time by two or three minutes. 

 Maple-Walnut Cookies

Because this was a test batch, I made a relatively small quantity.  You should be able to double this without any problems.

1/2 cup (50 g.) walnut halves

1/4 cup (30 g.) ground flax seeds

1/4 cup plus 2 Tbsp. (45 g.) whole barley flour

1/4 tsp. baking soda

1/4 tsp. baking powder

1/4 tsp. sea salt

2 Tbsp. tahini (sesame paste)

1/2 tsp. pure vanilla extract

1/3 cup pure maple syrup

1/4 tsp. apple cider vinegar

Preheat oven to 350F.  Lightly grease a cookie sheet, or line with parchment paper.

In the bowl of a food processor, process the walnuts, flax, barley flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt together until you have a fine meal. The nuts should be finely ground into the mix; no large pieces of nut should be detectable. 

Add the tahini, vanilla, maple syrup and apple cider vinegar to the processor.  Pulse or process on low speed until the mixture comes together to a sticky dough.

 Using a small ice cream scoop or tablespoon, scoop balls of dough and place on the cookie sheet about 2 inches apart.  Wet your hands and flatten each cookie slightly (or use the back of a glass).

Bake about 10 minutes, until golden brown, turning the sheet once about halfway through.  Cool before removing from sheet.  Makes about 15 cookies. These freeze well.

[Ed. Note--This recipe won the CookThink Recipe Challenge for Maple Syrup, and was published on the CookThink site.  Almost as exciting as a good sugaring off party!]