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.

It’s a truism when discussing the era of flower children and Woodstock to say, ”If you remember the ’60s, you probably weren’t there.”  When it comes to the 1980s, however, those of us who lived through it are more likely to lament, ”I remember it all–if only I could forget!” Still, the Era of All Things Excessive (also known as the “Me” Decade) did have its touchstones.   

Let’s see: if you (a) know what a “social X-Ray” refers to; (b) can name the performers who sang “Ebony and Ivory“; (c) own one of the original Cabbage Patch Dolls; (d) know where Expo ‘86 took place; and (e) have seen the only movie in which Julia Roberts was actually any good, then you, like I, were most likely cognizant of the 1980s–like it or not. 

And yet, I can’t help but feel nostalgic for those times.  I mean, how can anyone forget the heady 80s, with their typical Yuppie motto of ”More is More”?  As a PhD student on her own in the Big City of Toronto, it was in the 80s that I finally became comfortable perceiving myself as an “adult.”  Working as both a don in residence and a teaching assistant at university, I supported myself while studying and carrying on an active social life, as only someone in the early throes of adulthood can do. With a built-in social network (three of my close friends from childhood had already moved here years before) and PhD seminars filled with interesting new classmates (as well as the occasional crush), I was happy to spend my time memorizing Beowulf by day, then taking on the town by night. 

80s urban professionals were regularly amused by showy sportscars, massive parties, both private and public (raves made their appearance in the 80s), big hair (remember Boy George?), big fashion (ah, yes, Amazonian shoulder pads) and even bigger earrings.  I recall encountering a colleague in the hallway at work one day, feeling pretty snappy, bedecked as I was with a pair of my favorite gold-wire earrings. He took one glance my way and sniped, ”Wow, how’d you get those hamster wheels to stay attached to your earlobes?”. 

Ah, yes, pretty much everything from the 1980s was excessive and self-indulgent.  And the food?  Oh, my, the food. . . .

The 1980s were epitomized by everything rich, from Gordon Gekko to Double-Chocolate-Hazelnut-Caramel-Cream Cheesecake.  Foods were elaborate and multi-layered, and nobody ever worried about saturated fat, cream, too much red meat, organic, or whether the tiramisu was made with whole-grain ladyfingers. No one had ever heard of Omega 3s, let alone ingested them, and restaurants were just getting their fingers wet with the new food architecture that mandated aesthetics over taste.  In those days, I’d spend hours cooking and baking for dinner parties, multiple courses and desserts that could, on their own, drain the stock of an entire dairy farm for a day.  

One of the best-selling cookbooks of the time was The Silver Palate Cookbook, by Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins.  Two regular New York gals who’d made a name for themselves by operating one of the most successful little gourmet shops in the city’s history, these women finally collaborated on a cookbook and were instantly rewarded with an overwhelming, almost cult-like following. 

Like most of my friends, I possess a well-worn copy of the maroon and white-covered tome, its edges fraying a little and pages splotched with grease stains.  From the side, my book appears to have donned a jagged, fringed winter scarf, as little strips of sticky-notes, marking recipes I wished to try, peek out from almost every page.   One in particular, Chicken Marbella, was cooked so many times that I had to replace the sticky note on more than one occasion.

Well, for some reason, while I lay supine in bed for ten days, my mind kept wandering back to that darned Chicken Marbella.  Maybe I was a little delirious; maybe the muscle relaxants brought with them delusions of poultry; or maybe I was just ravenous since I couldn’t get up to feed myself, subsisting on the meager, dried-out muffin the HH left on the bed each morning before he trotted off to work.  Whatever the catalyst, I craved that dish.  So, as soon as I was up and about, I pulled out my trusty copy of The Silver Palate, and set about adapting.

The original recipe turned out to be slightly different from what I remembered (in my idealized version, it was aromatic with a variety of Moroccan spices, rather than the lone oregano it does contain), but it was still alluring.  Certain that quinoa would partner perfectly with the other ingredients, and after a little tinkering, I came up with this recipe.

I must tell you, this was astonishingly good.  Next time, I’ll begin with a little more quinoa and chickpeas, as the original marinade was aimed at 4 chickens (I’ve adjusted the recipe, below, accordingly). As in the original dish, the unconventional combination of baked prunes and olives is spectacular, and the quinoa provides a perfect base to soak up and then showcase the flavorful marinade. Even if you’re not normally a fan of prunes, I think you will enjoy them here.

I love this dish as a main course casserole, but the HH still yearns for the chicken and prefers this as a side dish.  He ate it, sighing, wishing aloud that if only we’d met in the 1980s when I was still throwing elaborate dinner parties with dishes like Chicken Marbella or some excessively rich cheesecake, he could have sampled the “real” recipe.

But of course, that would never have happened.  Even if, by some weird karmic commingling of our (then) diametrically opposed lifestyles, we had actually met back then, the HH would have taken one glance at my bouffant hairdo, while I took one glance at his erstwhile “business associates,” and we would both have run screaming in opposite directions. It wasn’t until the end of the 90s, after having both matured considerably, that fate ultimately brought us together with a coup de foudre. . . followed, inevitably, by our current calm, somewhat predictable, and rather domestic existence. 

Amazing, isn’t it, what changes just one decade can bring?

With its fragrant oregano, olives, and prunes, this dish is my submission to Kalyn’s Weekend Herb Blogging, this week hosted by Jai and Bee of Jugalbandi.

Tagine of Quinoa with Chickpeas, Olives and Prunes

Adapted from this original recipe in The Silver Palate Cookbook

Slightly sweet, slightly salty, and warmly spiced, this dish is a delectable treat.  Because it is rather rich and filling, if served as a main course, a simple, light salad would be the perfect accompaniment.

6 cloves garlic, minced

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) dried oregano

1 tsp. (5 ml.) coriander

pinch cloves

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) red wine vinegar

1 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

3/4-1 cup (250 ml.) prunes, to your taste

1/2-3/4 cup mixed pitted olives, to your taste

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) capers, with juice

3 bay leaves

1/3 cup (80 ml.) Sucanat or brown sugar

1/2 cup (125 ml.) white wine (I used an Australian Chardonnay)

2 cups (500 ml.) cooked chick peas (garbanzo beans)

1 cup (250 ml.) dry quinoa

1 cup vegetable broth or stock

1 cup water

Preheat oven to 325F (175 C).  Grease a tagine (clay baking dish), a ceramic casserole, or rectangular cake pan.

Combine all ingredients in the casserole or pan, and cover.  Bake in preheated oven for 40 minutes, then stir and check liquid levels.  If the quinoa isn’t yet cooked and it looks like the liquid is almost completely absorbed, add another 1/2 cup water (I found that using more vegetable broth made the mixture too salty for my taste).  Cover again and return to the oven for another 20 minutes. 

Check again.  Continue to add water, 1/4 cup at a time, baking for 10-minute intervals, until the quinoa is fully cooked and all liquid is absorbed.  Serve hot.  Makes 4 main servings or 6 side dish servings. 

Other Posts in this Series:

Lucky Comestible II (1): Quinoa Salad with Buckwheat and Cranberries

Lucky Comestible II (2): Almond-Quinoa Muffins

Lucky Comestible II (3): Quinoa-Oatmeal Croquettes

Lucky Comestible II (5): Apple-Quinoa Cake

Other Quinoa Recipes:

(Got a quinoa recipe?  Send me the link during this Lucky Comestible week, and I’ll add it to the list!)

• Couldn’t Be Easier Quinoa Casserole courtesy of Shellyfish at Musings from the Fishbowl
• Quinoa with Sundried Tomatoes and Corn courtesy of Lisa at  Lisa’s Kitchen
• Quinoa Soup with Corn courtesy of Lisa at Lisa’s Kitchen
• Quinoa Lentil Chili courtesy of Romina at Vegan Eating for One
• Not One, But THREE Quinoa Dishes courtesy of Diann at Eat’n Veg’n (I want that breakfast bar recipe!!)
• Cheddary Tofu Quinoa Pie courtesy of Jenny Wren at Rabbit Food
• Butternut Squash Quinoa courtesy of Karen at Test Drive Kitchen
• Beetroot and Quinoa Salad courtesy of Lucy at Nourish Me

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. 

  As you may know, I was a startled and very delighted recipient of Nava Atlas’s latest cookbook, Vegan Express, as a result of Susan’s contest a while back on Fat-Free Vegan Kitchen.  A couple of weeks ago, I was thrilled to receive the book in the mail, and set about making a whack of recipes from it.  I thought I’d write a bona fide book review so you can all get your own taste of express cooking, vegan style! (Oh, and all you mass-market, consumer magazines out there?  Feel free to request a reprint!). 

Vegan Express by Nava Atlas

Vegan Express is the most recent addition to the long line of popular publications by veteran cookbook author Nava Atlas, already well known for her previous classics such as Vegetariana or The Vegetarian Family Cookbook and website, In A Vegetarian Kitchen.  A vegan herself, in this book Atlas addresses one of the foremost hurdles for vegan eaters, both established and newly inclined: prepping veggies can take up lots of time!   

Vegan Express provides an antidote for the kitchen weary by proving the truism untrue after all: turns out you can prepare fresh, healthy, vegetable-rich dishes in less time than it takes to watch the evening newscast!  Every recipe in the book, from appetizer to dessert, takes between 30 and 45 minutes from assembling the ingredients to digging your fork into that first steaming mouthful (and many take even less time).  

In order to write an objective assessment of the book, I decided it would only be fair to test as broad a range of recipes as I could manage in a week. As a result, I prepared seven of the book’s recipes, attempting to sample dishes from many different courses (though, given my natural inclination, I did lean rather heavily on the desserts). 

The book begins with Atlas’s own story of how she converted from vegetarianism to a vegan diet. She actually found the transition fairly easy, as nowadays, substitutions for eggs, cheese, and milk abound, even outside the larger  cities.

The book also discusses vegans’ nutritional needs and how to achieve them, debunking some common myths about acquiring sufficient protein or vitamin B12. And while Atlas does include some convenience foods (this is a book about cooking shortcuts, after all!), I had no problem using the recipes even though I don’t consume products such as soy cheeses or meat alternatives (as you’ll see when I discuss the pizza, below). 

The book also contains a variety of ease-of-use features to help home cooks prepare their meals in a flash. For instance, following each recipe is a “Menu Selections” sidebar that provides possible partners for the dish or other ways to serve it. Many recipes include variations for flexibility and to accommodate different tastes. There is also a fair number of “recipe-free” quick options, as well as further suggestions for some basic ingredients (such as “Speedy Ways to Prepare Tofu”). 

The book’s design is aesthetically pleasing, with clean, simple lines and two-color print (and how could we miss those luscious, color-suffused photos by Susan Voisin of Fat-Free Vegan Kitchen?).  Many of her readers may not be aware that Atlas herself is an artist with several solo and group exhibitions to her credit. Her cheery line drawings adorn the pages as backdrops that highlight individual dishes and ingredients.  

And the recipes?  They do, indeed, deliver as promised! All the dishes I attempted were quick to prepare, with straightforward, easy directions. Atlas also includes some nifty tips with certain recipes (such as cutting your pizza into slices before adding the toppings, as it’s so much easier that way). 

Finally, here’s what was cooking in the DDD kitchen last week:  

Soup and Entrees: 

Nearly Instant Thai Coconut Corn Soup

This is listed as one of Atlas’s favorite recipes, and a “must-try” for those who buy the book. As its title suggests, the soup cooks up in no time, and was truly delicious–light yet creamy, with a subtle spiciness interspersed with sweet, chewy corn kernels.  Fast, simple, easy…perfect.   

Singapore Noodles 

I’ve was a huge fan of Singapore noodles in restaurants back in the day, but could never figure out how to make them. Who knew it could be so simple?  The HH and I both love spicy foods, so if I had any suggestions for this one, it would be to add more of the spice mixture (I used the maximum amount suggested and would have liked still more kick in this dish). The original recipe called for peas, but since we didn’t have any, I subbed edamame.  Still worked beautifully. 

Rich Peanut Sauce

This sauce, suggested as an accompaniment to Golden Tofu Triangles, was ready in a snap.  Still in a noodle frame of mind, I poured it over some cooked kamut-soba noodles, tossed in an assortment of chopped and sliced veggies, and enjoyed a terrific cold noodle salad. Great the next day, too! 

Very Green Veggie Pesto Pizza

  This dish was by far the biggest hit of the savories–the HH ate half the pizza all by himself, and I must admit it was my own favorite as well.  My photo doesn’t do it justice, as the subtle variance in shades of green comes across here as rather monochromatic, but this combination of pesto underlying oven-roasted veggies is a perfect melding of flavors and textures.   

One change I made, however, was to omit the “cheese” originally called for (to be melted over the pesto, and under the veggies).  Since I avoid processed soy, I simply omitted that ingredient and  sprinkled a little nutritional yeast over the top instead.  Both the HH and I agreed that the pizza didn’t even need the cheese, which, I think, would have actually detracted  from the disarming flavors of the pesto and veggies.  For the crust, I used my own trusty spelt pizza crust recipe, and baked it about 15 minutes at 425F before adding the remaining ingredients.    

Desserts:

While Atlas’s recipes are already healthy, I did make some minor adjustments to accommodate my own dietary restrictions. In general, I used spelt flour instead of wheat, and Sucanat for sugar.  It didn’t seem to matter—everything still came out terrific. 

Dense and Fruity Banana Bread

This is a moist, not-too-sweet loaf with chopped dates and walnuts nestled in a banana-cocoa base.  As you can see from the photo, I was so anxious to try this one that I sliced it while still a bit too warm.  When I first tasted the bread, the cocoa was extremely understated. By the next day, however, the flavors had matured, yielding a lovely balance between the chocolate and fruit.  I thoroughly enjoyed this with some almond butter.  

Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Cake

This cake reminded me of treats my mother used to make when my sisters and I were kids.  Baked in a 9” square pan and cut into squares, this is the perfect after-school snack (lucky for me, I’m still in school!).  Peanut butter whispers its presence rather than bellows in this surprisingly light and tender cake.  As you can see, I cut this one while still warm, too, when the chips were still melty. Cut your slices small, because you’ll want more than one. 

Butterscotch Mousse Pie

I had really, really wanted to try out the Caramel Pudding, but since I couldn’t find vegan caramel syrup and didn’t think my homemade caramel would work, I made this pie instead.  I’m so glad I did!  Although I’m not usually a “pie person,” this was truly delicious.  In fact, I’m going to post an entire entry about this one (including the recipe!!) in the next day or two—so stay tuned.  

I had enormous fun trying out the recipes from this useful and enjoyable book, and definitely look forward to sampling more. Thanks again, Nava and Susan, for this wonderful opportunity–and for adding another treasure to my cookbook collection.

What?  Can it really be that a week has gone by already?  While it does feel like a long time since I’ve been blogging (and boy, did I ever miss it), I am amazed at how quickly these seven days have whizzed by. 

So, how did I spend my week of catch-up? 

First, I resolved to eat only food that is 100% good for me.  I ate exclusively organic, healthy, completely unprocessed fruits, vegetables, brown rice and soy products.  I never once had a craving for chocolate–or anything sweet, actually–and didn’t even attempt a baked good.  The Girls were model citizens, never whining, and playing perfectly with each other (and never waking us up before 7:00 AM to go out and “do their business”).  Oh, and I lost FIFTEEN POUNDS!  FIFTEEN, can you believe it?? As luck would have it, my old boyfriend called me up just as I was feeling pretty good about myself, and we met for drinks and, oops, I drank a little too much. . . .but just as things were about to heat up, I caught the eye of a dashingly handsome (in that slightly edgy, slightly anachronistic way), very roguish guy named James T. Kirk and we were inexplicably drawn to each other. . . strange, the romance never went beyond chaste kissing, for some reason. . .  

Oh, wait a second.  That was the Mirror Image, Parallel-Universe Ricki’s week.  (I knew that black leather jacket and greased back hair on the HH seemed oddly out of place!). Sorry ’bout that.

 Okay, so here’s what MY week was like: 

• I marked exams, marked assignments, marked exams, marked papers, answered emails, marked exams, went to meetings, marked exams, marked exams. Finally finished the pile of exams!
• I trudged through snow and rain and sleet with The Girls.  Twice a day.  In the snow.  And sleet. Having to wear a hat wrecked my hair.  Many times.
• It snowed.  It snowed, snowed, snowed, and then snowed some more.  We have now exceeded the all-time record for snowfall in a single season in Toronto.  Something like 280 centimeters (about 110 inches).  Of snow. Fallen on the ground.  Snow.
• I decided that I have to move somewhere where winter  (and snow) does not exist. 
• I taught two cooking classes for the Upstairs series at the Real Canadian Superstores.  And for once, I remembered to bring my camera!  (See recipes and photos below).
• I returned to WOCA, with even stronger resolve.  I foresee this ending up more like MOCA or even YOCA, as I seem unable to resist the allure of that evil temptress, chocolate.  I managed to avoid the dark devil during this past week (except for minute bites–see next bullet), but in inverse proportion to eating foods like nuts or dried fruits, which help assuage cravings.  Still, nothing baked, nothing with chocolate, nothing with added sweeteners, and I can at least feel good about that.
• (Perhaps best of all): I managed to test out out FIVE (count ‘em, five) recipes from my new cookbook by Nava Atlas, Vegan Express. I will post a genuine book review this week, but for today, will share the dishes from my cooking class (not literally, of course, since this isn’t really the alternative universe, which means food can’t be passed through the computer screen. . .but if I could do it, I would).

Okay, so not so shabby, I suppose, considering I was a psychological mess at the beginning of the week.  THANK YOU all again for your very dear comments.  Man, I wish I could invite you all over for an afternoon tea and baked goodies! Instead, my sincere gratitude will have to do. 

And so. . . .the cooking class.  Easy to replicate (even more so if you live on the Enterprise).  Sure, what the heck, go ahead and do try this at home. Here’s how (explained at warp speed):

• First, get yourself an assistant*.  Have her prep all the food for you in advance by measuring, cleaning, peeling, chopping, and setting up the mise en place.
• Put on apron and chef’s pillbox hat (Très à la mode).
• Lead class: stir, chat, tell anecdotes, sauté, mix, process, gab, pour, tell jokes, combine, explain nutrients, spread, bake, plate, serve, and answer questions. Fun!
• Enjoy your own sample servings of both dishes. . . recipes, below.

And it only took four bullet points (that’s two hours in real time).  I made these two dishes because they always seem to please non-vegetarians, and you never know who’ll turn up to these classes.  Oh, and they’re both gluten-free (if you serve the sauce over GF pasta, of course).  I’m also submitting this pasta recipe to Ruth of Once Upon A Feast, who hosts the popular event, Presto Pasta Nights.

These photos were taken on store plates–disposables–so there’s no pretty porcelain under these dishes.  Apologies!

Spaghetti with Lentil-Tomato Sauce  

This recipe has been a staple in my house for so long (predating the HH, even) that I don’t remember any longer where it originated.  The grated parsnip provides a subtle, meaty taste (parsnips can be quite savory and earthy), without declaring itself too glaringly, as the bits tend to dissolve in the sauce as it simmers.  It’s also a perfect dish for all you Inter-Diet couples.  My HH simply adds his own ground beef or cut up pieces of sausage to the sauce after he dishes out his own. 

 2 c. finely chopped red onion

4 cloves garlic, chopped

1 medium parsnip, peeled and grated fine

2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil1 c. dried green lentils, rinsed and picked over

3-1/2 c. vegetable broth

1 large can crushed tomatoes (28 ounces)

1 small can tomato paste1 tsp. dried oregano

2 tsp. dried basil

2 tsp. dried parsley or 1/4 c. fresh chopped parsley

1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper or 1/2 jalapeno pepper, seeds removed, minced, or a good sprinkle of hot pepper sauce (such as Tabasco)

Salt and pepper, to taste 

One 1-pound package dry whole-grain spaghetti (kamut pasta is great) 

In a large pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat.  Add the onion, garlic, and parsnip, lower heat, and sauté, stirring frequently, until onion is golden, about 7 minutes. Stir in the lentils along with the broth and bring to a boil.  

Reduce heat and add tomatoes, herbs and spices. Cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, until lentils are tender, about 25 minutes. If sauce begins to get too thick, add more stock, 1/4 cup at a time, as needed.   

Meanwhile, boil pasta according to package directions.  Just before serving, drain pasta and top with sauce.  Serve immediately, sprinkled with nutritional yeast or, if you prefer, grated cheese.  

Makes 6 servings.   May be frozen. 

Avocado Pesto Salad  

1/2 cup toasted pine nuts or walnut pieces

Mix all ingredients for the dressing in a blender, and blend until smooth. 

In a large salad bowl, combine the greens, tomatoes, and onion. 

Pour dressing over all, then sprinkle with nuts.  Toss and serve. Serves 6.  

*For some reason, this line reminded me of Steve Martin’s classic bit about how to be a millionaire and never pay taxes:  “Yes, YOU can be a millionaire, and never pay taxes.  That’s right!  A MILLIONAIRE, and NEVER pay taxes.  First, get a million dollars. . . .”  Well, I suppose if you had an assistant to prep everything for you every night, making dinner would be just as easy. 

*or, How to Get Your Meat-Loving Guy to Love a Vegan Meal

How often does this happen to you?  (I promise, this is not an infomercial):  You come across a new recipe that sounds wonderful, and, fired up with anticipation, you can’t wait to try it.   You rush home, prepare the dish, and it’s received to unanimous acclaim.  This recipe instantly becomes your “go-to” dish, and you repeat the performance over and over many times during the following weeks.  You keep returning to this item, in fact, and it instantly pops into your head whenever you think about what to cook. The page for that recipe in your cookbook acquires the rippled, stained appearance of a trusty pair of Keds you’ve worn for a whole summer, through mud and grass and lakes, covered as it is in little splatters of sauce and oil and water.  

And then–just like that–you happen upon a new recipe, one that piques your interest just as much as the other one, and you abandon your old standard as easily as the office gossip moves on to the next best friend.  It’s not that you don’t enjoy it any longer; it’s just that it has run its course, and now you feel like trying something new.  And so there’s another novel recipe that you try out to universal accolades. . . and the cycle continues.

Well, a few evenings ago, I met my friend the Eternal Optimist for a chatty dinner at a lovely restaurant in town that serves pan-Asian food.  What’s great about this place is that, along with their hip, funky, lacquered decor and fabulous grub, their multi-page menu devotes one full spread just to “Vegetarian Meals.”  And they’re always happy to do up a tofu-based version of their Chicken-Lettuce Wrap for me, which means I get to enjoy their awesome hoisin sauce and eat an entire dinner for under $10.00. 

That night, however, I opted for a spicy rice noodle dish with eggplant and basil, lip-smacking good. And while I was patiently grappling with the shimmering, slippery noodles between my chopsticks, I was reminded of a recipe I used to make over and over, a couple of years ago, and then suddenly abandoned:  Bangkok Noodles.

The recipe comes from a wonderful cookbook I found in a remainder bin a few years ago, called the Fruit Cookbook, by Nicole Routhier.  It’s one of those tomes that contains a plethora of interesting recipes, but few that seemed practical to me (as I would have had to buy an entire package of one ingredient for 1/4 teaspoon in the recipe).  In the end, I think I tried out maybe a half dozen recipes from that book, and while they were all very good, I set it aside and promptly forgot about it.  

This week, however, my memory and the available ingredients came together in a perfect confluence of desire and means. Just that morning, I had peeled and cut a fresh pineapple, leaving the juicy golden chunks in a container in the fridge for later consumption.  And, as it happened, this dish calls for pineapple chunks. Time to resurrect the Bangkok Noodles!

Because my HH and I have vastly different eating styles, this recipe is perfect to bridge the chasm:  I make up the noodles as I like them, serve up two plates, and the HH tops his own with some pre-cooked shrimp.  The perfect compromise, and we both get to enjoy a meal we like. 

The HH didn’t really remember this dish before I served it, as it’s been at least 2 years since I last cooked it.  I’ve always loved the combination of curry spice with smooth, velvety coconut milk, and, as is my wont, I added extra veggies to the recipe (which, actually, calls for none). I also love the play of colors in this meal, as well as the alternating crunchy, juicy, lustrous and sturdy textures. 

My HH was a little skeptical when he saw the vegetable-heavy ingredients bathed in the deep golden sauce, but was comforted by his own stash of cooked crustacean placed in a heap on top of the noodles.  After we dished it up, we sat down at the table, slurping up our noodles across from each other in contented silence.

And then, in the middle of the meal, it happened.  The HH said something he’s never said before, not in the almost-eleven years I’ve known him. 

HE SAID:

“You know, this doesn’t really even need the shrimp. It would be just as good without it.” 

And suddenly–The skies were flooded with light! 

And the sea parted and The Girls ran into the opening, chasing after the graven image of the calf (they didn’t realize it wasn’t real!).

The lands became fecund and there was new life, and legions of young veggies sprang up and they overtook the shrimp!

And so, Paradise was born, right in my little kitchen.  And it was good. 

It was very, very good.

Okay, I’ll concede, maybe the HH’s comment wasn’t quite that miraculous, in the grand scheme of things.  But it was the very first time he’s suggested that a vegetarian main course did not require the addition of animal flesh.  Perhaps there’s hope yet.  Only problem is, I probably won’t be cooking this for another 2 years or so.

However, for those of you looking to please a carnivore with a vegetarian entree, I’d definitely recommend you give this a try. And since this noodle dish appears capable of inspiring a conversion of sorts, I figured it might just be good enough for Ruth’s huge birthday bash over at  Once Upon a Feast. I’m submitting this recipe for the Presto Pasta night’s one-year anniversary event. 

Bangkok Noodles with Cashews and Pineapple

adapted from the Fruit Cookbook by Nicole Routhier

Bangkok Noodles with Cashews and Pineapple

Despite the long list of ingredients, this dish comes together fairly quickly.  It’s also infinitely adaptable to your own tastes in vegetables–I just add what I have on hand and look forward to a slightly different experience each time I make it.

[Note:  I've added my own changes/additions to the original in square brackets.]

1 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil

1 cup chopped onions

1 Tbsp. minced garlic

[1/2 medium eggplant, peeled and cut into chunks]

2 tsp. Thai yellow curry paste

1 Tbsp. curry powder, preferably Madras brand

1-1/2 cups unsweetened coconut milk, well-stirred

1 cup chicken broth [I used vegetable]

1-1/2 tsp. sugar [I used agave nectar]

3 Tbsp. Thai fish sauce [I used tamari soy sauce]

[1 red pepper, cut in 1-" squares]

[1/2 cup green beans, trimmed]

[1 Tbsp. organic cornstarch, if needed]

1 pound dried rice noodles (the flat, long kind)

1-1/2 cups coarsely chopped fresh pineapple

[1/2 cup toasted cashews]

1/2 cup finely shredded (chiffonade) basil

Place noodles in a large bowl and cover with boiling water.  Allow to soak about 7 minutes, until al dente.  Drain and keep covered while you prepare the sauce.

Heat the oil in a large frypan or wok over medium heat.  Add the onion, garlic, and eggplant, and saute until the onion is translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the curry paste and powder. Cook, mashing the curry paste with the back of a spoon, until the mixture is aromatic, another minute or so.

Stir in the coconut milk, broth, sugar, soy sauce, and remaining vegetables. When the liquid comes to a boil, reduce the heat and gently simmer until the sauce has thickened, about 2 to 3 minutes.  [My sauce didn't thicken.  So I skimmed off about 1/4 cup liquid, mixed it with 1 Tbsp. cornstarch, and returned that mixture to the pot, allowing it to simmer for another couple of minutes, and this thickened the sauce enough.]

Add the pineapple and cashews along with the noodles, and stir to coat, until it is heated through, about another minute.  Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the basil.

Makes 4-6 servings.

I really hate making mistakes.  Not only because they sometimes wreak havoc (”What?  The model of Stonehenge on stage was supposed to be 18 FEET high, not 18 inches???” or, “What?  But I thought the BLUE was the ‘panic button,’ Mr. President!!!”), but also because they make me feel really knuckle-brained sometimes (”Um, HH, can you come pick me up?  I’m kind of stranded out here in the woods with The Girls. I’ve locked my keys in the car. . . and it’s running.*”).

Of course, that’s not to say that I don’t have my share of doozies lurking around in my past (though at least mine aren’t as egregious as the  Y2K fiasco, or 8-track tapes, or Julia Roberts in Mary Ryan, Steel Magnolias The Pelican Brief Stepmom anything except Pretty Woman).  True, there were those three months I dated philandering Rocker Guy (he of the black leather pants); but for the most part, my mistakes tend to the be the innocuous kind, such as dialing my friend Babe’s number when I meant to call the CFO instead (I may be great at remembering phone numbers, but I don’t always note to whom they are attached); or buying decaf instead of regular; or wearing stripes with paisley (which, as we all know, couldn’t possibly go together). 

And then there’s the entire gamut of food mistakes.

Salt instead of sugar?  Done it.  Chocolate seized while melting? Been there. Pie crust with soggy bottom?  Don’t ask. Noodles so al dente they could double as a gardening implement?  You betcha.  Usually, these mishaps don’t bother me too much.  Especially when it comes to baking, I realize that the process is so mercurial that what works perfectly one day may turn out completely different the next, so I compensate by adding extra sweetener, reducing the amount of flour, substituting a different kind of nut, or doing whatever is required to appease the petulant confection.   

When it comes to cooking, I’m less inclined to experiment.  Yet that’s exactly what I did this past weekend, purely as a result of my own gastronomical gaffes. 

You know how some women will work an entire outfit around a single accesory? For instance, they might spy a cute little fuschia-and-orange flowered scarf and then go out and purchase matching pumps, belt, handbag and turtleneck, just so they can wear that scarf to a dinner party on Saturday night.  In the end, that little rectangular scrap of rayon costs $872.48.  Well, I must confess, I am that woman when it comes to ingredients.  Which brings me to. . . . The Mistake of the Miso.

Mistake Number One:  On Sunday, I decided to construct a brunch menu based on some extra miso gravy in the fridge. Originally, I’d planned to serve the gravy with sweet potato fries for dinner on Saturday, only to discover that I’d grated the last potato as part of The Girls’ dinner the previous night.  (”And we really did appreciate that, Mum.  But don’t worry about the extra gravy–we’d be happy to help you out with that.”)

Having gravy but nothing to slather it on, my imagination went to work. Mashed potatoes and gravy at brunch?  Excellent. But what to accompany it?  I pulled out a recipe I’d been eyeing for Tempeh-White Bean sausage patties from Vegan with a Vengeance .  I planned to finish off the plate with simple pancakes sans the typical fanfare (my usual recipe contains fruit and other extras, not necessary here).  Everything, it appeared, was in order.  

Mistake Number Two: Since the sausages were somewhat time-intensive, I started with those. Isa does caution that these are softer than typical processed sausages, but mine fell completely apart on the plate, looking something like shards of clay from an old planter that had fallen off the windowsill.  Would the HH eat broken patties? They did smell heavenly, however, so I set any worries aside and kept them warm while I moved on to the pancakes.

Mistake Number Three: Ah, yes, bad things always come in threes, don’t they? Perhaps it was something in the air.  Perhaps it’s finally time to fill that new eyeglass prescription.  Whatever the reason, the pancakes were a disaster as well.  As thin as the line between sexy and hooker; as flat as the line before you call a Code Blue; and altogether too chewy, though not quite enough to cross the line from springy over to rubbery. I knew these would not pass HH muster, as my Honey favors airy, light, cake-like pancakes.  (”Mum, seriously, we can help you out with that! Just toss a couple our way. . . “).

These griddle cakes were, it occurred to me, much more akin to crepes than true pancakes (though, according to Epicurious, a crepe is “the French word for ‘pancake,’” which would suggest the only difference between the two is the language in which you mumble,  “Please pass the syrup”).  For many of us, however, crepes evoke a thinner, more flexible cake, suitable for enveloping a sweet or savory filling.  It’s sort of like the distinction between a scone and a biscuit, I think; but to get the scoop on that one, you’ll have to read Johanna’s blog.)

 So.  I found myself with crepes.  And decided to just go along with that. 

Rectifying all the Mistakes in a Single Delectable Brunch: In the end, I decided to re-assign the basic elements of the meal,  crumbling the sausages as if they were ground meat, and mixing in a few chopped veggies. I stuffed this mixture into the crepes, then smothered the whole shebang with miso gravy.  The dish was accompanied by a tried-and-true dandelion salad.

The resultant meal was a bit more elaborate than I’d anticipated, perhaps, but truly memorable. The HH appeared to relish every mouthful, peppering the meal with an occasional interjection of “Very nice,” or “Very tasty,” somewhat like Anthony Hopkins in 84 Charing Cross Road.  When he’d polished off the first crepe, he requested another, and thoroughly enjoyed that one, too. 

I once read that “there are no mistakes in cooking, only new recipes.”  I can only agree. And this new recipe is definitely a keeper–make no mistake about it.  

Because it worked out so well, I’m submitting this dish as my entry to Weekend Breakfast Blogging, the event started by Nandita and this month hosted by Suganya at Tasty Palettes.

Savory Filled Crepes

This dish makes a satisfying, filling brunch or light dinner.  Vary the filling ingredients according to your own tastes–we didn’t have any mushrooms when I made this, but I think they’d be excellent in the filling, too.

Filling:

“sausage” patties equivalent to about 5 patties, crumbled (I used the Tempeh-White Bean Sausages from Vegan with a Vengeance)

1 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil

1 rib celery, diced

1 small onion, chopped

1/2 red pepper, chopped

Crepes:

3/4 cups plain soymilk

1 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil

1 Tbsp. ground flax seeds

3/4 cups whole or light spelt flour

pinch salt

1 tsp. baking powder

1 recipe Miso Gravy (or gravy of your choice)

Make the filling:  In a nonstick frypan, heat the oil over medium heat.  Add the sausage mixture and vegetables, and saute until the onion is translucent, up to 10 minutes.  Keep stirring the mixture so that the sausage crumbles and resembles ground meat. Once cooked, turn off heat, cover, and keep warm.

Make the crepes: Measure the milk into a glass measuring cup, then add the oil and ground flax; mix well. 

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, salt, and baking powder.  Add the milk mixture and stir well to combine. (It will seem very watery; this is as it should be). 

 Over medium heat in a small nonstick frypan, pour about 1/3-1/2 cup (I used a soup ladle), just enough to cover the bottom of the pan (roll the pan around a bit if necessary for the batter to cover it evenly).  Cook until lots of bubbles appear on the surface, 4-5 minutes, then flip and quickly cook the other side only until dry.  Remove to a plate to keep warm. You should end up with 4 or 5 crepes.

Once all the crepes are made, divide the filling into four equal parts, and place a strip of filling across the middle of each crepe.  Using the sides of the crepe on each side of the strip of filling, fold toward the centre and overlap to cover the filling.  Turn over seam side down onto a platter or oven-safe plate.  Pour warm gravy over top and serve.  Makes 4 servings. 

*In reality, this actually happened to the HH and I had to go pick him up, but I switched our identities in the anecdote because I didn’t want to embarrass him by telling the real story on this blog. 

WOCA Recap:  Now that the (first) week of WOCA is over, I want to thank you all for your comments and encouragement.  I can say that the week was not too bad (if by “not too bad” you mean “ripping-your-hair-out-frenzied-housecleaning-ricocheting-off-the-walls-like-a-whirling-dirvish-growling-at-your-dogs-like-a-pitt bull-staffie-cross-cravings-that-almost-felled-you-like-a-200-year-old-oak” not too bad.  But I can now say I’ve gone (more than) a week eating only foods that are good for my body.  I’m thinking of continuing, in fact, since I fear that even one bite of chocolate will send me into an instant replay of my previous bingeing.  Rather than bore you all with my chocolate pangs, I’ll just try to soldier on and will mention only pertinent chocolate-related events or recipes, as they come up. 

There are times when I glance around my chaotic home office, and I despair a little.  Then my eyes glaze over and I fall into a reverie about the good ol’ days, when I used to be organized: desktop in order, with clearly demarcated ”to do” and “done” piles.  Mail returned with great alacrity, and an empty ”inbox” each evening.  Shoes and boots lined up like bottles at a county fair, erect and waiting for the ball that will topple them. Laundry folded, laid neatly in drawers (never left to languish untouched on the top of the dresser for days).

Ah, yes, it’s a lovely dream. In more recent times, what with papers to mark, driveways to shovel, cooking classes to teach, orders to bake, dogs to walk, blogs to write–well, I admit that I’ve become a little slack on the home front.  But seriously, do you really need more than four square inches of desk space to pay your bills online? Do you really need bookshelves to hold all your books, when the packing boxes they were moved in will do a perfectly acceptable job? Do floors really need to be washed all that often (speaking of, if your floors aren’t up to snuff, just get a puppy.  Presto! It’s like one of those zoomba roboty things that catches every spill–leaving floors spic and span–with no effort on your part!). 

Well, weird things are starting to happen now that I’ve cut chocolate out of my life.  Suddenly, my disorderly surroundings began to feel intolerable (I mean, it’s been this way pretty much since the day we moved in here), and I went on a tidying rampage: clear the mess on the desk! Fold that laundry! Line up those shoes! Tote that barge, lift that bale. . !  And then, I felt like cooking.  Cooking onions.

I had always considered onions to be a mere accessory to something else: an adjunt to the roasted garlic in a spelt pizza, a great starter ingredient for soups, or a bedrock for that slab of tempeh in a Tempeh Ruben. And yet, ever since the CFO came to visit a few weeks ago, onions have been tumbling around in the back of my mind. During her visit, she convinced me to buy a copy of Cooking Light magazine, something I’d never done before despite being an avowed magazine junkie (uh oh, I detect a pattern here. . . can the Week of Magazine Asceticism be far behind?). 

Guilty of judging a magazine by its cover, I’d always assumed the recipes within would be rife with ”diet” or “lite” ingredients (usually chemically-enhanced or highly processed) as a way of creating these so-called lighter versions of strandard fare (geez, didn’t I notice it was called Cooking Light and not Cooking Lite?).  Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong!

As soon as I flipped open the current issue, a stunning photo of cipollinis beckoned. Now, I’d never even heard of cipollini onions before that moment but, like a new word you finally look up in the dictionary that subsequently pops up everywhere thereafter, these onions had entered my consciousness and I began to notice their presence in familiar places–old cookbooks, food tv shows, other blogs. Within a week, I’d seen them mentioned three or four times.  

As much as I love onions, I’d never based an entire dish on them before.  (I’d only heard of such a travesty once, during my final PhD year. At the time, my friend Ginny’s husband was being called upon to chip in  at home for the first time in their 10-year marriage, as Ginny was overwhelmed with work and studies and often late for dinner.  One evening, after a long night’s studying at the library, Ginny returned home to find that her hubby had attempted to cook dinner on his own.  As she gravitated toward the heavenly scent of sauteed onions, her husband beamed with pride as he directed her to a huge frypan on the stove, lifted the cover, and revealed–a pan of fried onions!  That’s right: he could think of nothing to combine with them, nothing else to add, but he did know how to fry. Last I heard, they were getting a divorce.)

 This recipe combines buttery-soft onions with plump raisins and toasted pine nuts in an allluring, glossy glaze.  Once the dish was complete, it did look very much like the photo in the magazine.  It also tasted great, with the sweet-tart appeal of a good chutney. It was then I realized, much like Ginny’s husband, “what am I going to do with all these onions?”  As a side dish to some hunk of meat, they might seem sufficient on their own, but that wasn’t happening in my house. Don’t get me wrong–it was very, very good; just not good enough to stand on its own.  So I decided to ladle the mixture over herb-roasted Yukon Gold potatoes and–voila–a lovely, light dinner was born.  

And, ironically, you really do need to be organized to make this dish.  Just to peel the onions, you must blanch, cool, squeeze, and pull off the skins.  This alone took me 30 minutes, before I even began to prepare the rest of the dish. 

Yes, cipollinis are lovely.  But heck, with my schedule, next time I’ll just use chunks of the good ol’ regular kind.

Because the potatoes provide the true substance of this dish, I’m submitting this as my entry for “The Potato–A Blog Event“  by Eating Leeds.

Roasted Potatoes with Sweet and Sour Cipolllini Onions

(from Cooking Light, Jan/Feb 200