Diet, Dessert and Dogs

[Ooh, look at those widdy bits of black bean and sweet potato in there!  Who could resist?]

Even as I slog through my pile of assignments and tests, I’ve been sneaking in here to read everyone’s comments, with much gratitude.  Thanks so much for the “ooomph” I need to complete all this work, and your wonderful support!  You are THE BEST.

And since my willpower for staying away from the blog is about as good as my willpower for staying away from chocolate, here I am again–but only today, and then it’s back to the books.  Why am I popping in, you ask?

Well, since so many of you asked about these squares, it felt shameful to keep you waiting for a recipe that isn’t even mine!  Those Sweet Potato, Quinoa and Black Bean Bites that people are drooling over (and which I ate for breakfast the other day, heated up–divine!), are an easy-peasy adaptation of this recipe. 

I basically followed the recipe verbatim, though my version of breadcrumbs was a fresh piece of spelt sourdough bread ground up in the food processor (for gluten-free squares, use a piece of GF bread, or GF breadcrumbs).  I also used organic ketchup rather than tomato paste, fresh cilantro, and omitted the caraway seeds.  Other than that, I patted the mixture into a lightly greased 9 x 9 inch pan and let it bake until dry and firm on top.  Cooled it completely, then cut into little squares, which I placed gingerly on a baking sheet and re-heated until the outsides were a bit crispy.  Honestly, these are fantastic.

Now go enjoy some SPQandBB bites until I get back!

A bientôt,

xo Ricki

There are certain food combinations that strike one as just so naturally compatible, you couldn’t imagine them any other way. Consider the seminal chocolate and peanut butter, for instance: could there be a happier marriage of sweet, salty, creamy, smooth, and enticing? Or what about vodka and orange juice, or pancakes and maple syrup, or french fries and gravy, or macaroni and cheese, or apple and cinnamon or–I could go on.  On the other hand, it’s always gratifying to discover alternate matches that may seem bizarre at first glance, yet actually work once you give them a try (funny, why did the HH suddenly come to mind?)

When I was an undergraduate at the University of Windsor, my wacky room mate had a friend who ate her pizza with peanut butter where the tomato sauce should have been.  She swore it tasted great (I declined to sample a slice). During my childhood in Montreal, my friend Gemini II used to eat liver sandwiches with cream cheese (again, I believe I passed on that one).  The well-known duo of french fries and mayo always struck me as odd until I was served sweet potato fries with mayo at one of my favorite vegan restaurants  (which, of course, prompted me to head straight home and prepare spicy sweet potato fries with avocado mayonnaise, and now I’m hooked).  I’m sure you’ve got your own personal favorite fixings that, any disparaging comments aside, you adore nonetheless (and please feel free to ‘fess up in the comments section!).

Well, as some of you may recall, the HH and I have just a smidge of surplus mint around here this summer.  Yes, indeed, I’d venture to say that my garden is in mint condition!  I’ve been concocting as many beverages, appetizers, dips, entrées or desserts containing the stuff as my little hands can muster, and even thought I was doing pretty well until the other day when I stepped round the corner of our house and saw that those darned wanton herbs had been propagating over night–it appeared as if I’d used nary a leaf!

And so, by dint of mint, I was forced to come up with yet another recipe showcasing the stuff.  Which actually worked out perfectly, since Holler and Lisa’s No Croutons Required event this month requests a salad focusing on a favorite herb.  Well, if by “favorite,” they meant “so much that I could rip bagfuls from the yard and still have enough left to freshen the breath of the entire town of Gilroy, CA on July 25, 26 & 27th in the month of July”; or “so much that I will have to start using it as packing filler when I mail trunks of fine china or glassware across the Atlantic” or “so much that even the thought of mint makes me feel a bit queasy, which, as it turns out,  is actually okay, since mint helps to aid in proper digestion” or “so much that I will have to cook at least one dish with mint in it every single day for the forthcoming 11 months, until it sprouts up again next summer, just to use it up”–well, if that’s what they meant by “favorite herb,” then yes, mint is indeed my favorite, and definitely deserves to be featured in my submission to the event.  

I do enjoy a good fresh peach, but when I saw three of the fuzzy spheres nestled in our organic produce box a couple of weeks ago, I almost despaired.  A properly ripened peach is a wonderful thing, but there seems to be a terribly small window of maturity wherein peaches are at their apex of flavor and texture–firm, juicy and sweet-tart–before they quickly decline into dry, powdery mush. If not eaten precisely on the right day (sometimes the right hour), the peach becomes unappetizing at best, perhaps suitable for a sauce or baked good; at worst, it’s both tasteless and unpleasant, and destined for the compost bin.

Given the capricious nature of the downy stone fruits, I decided a salad would be the perfect context in which to combine it with other ingredients that could overshadow their potentially less-than-stellar consistency.  Mint was a given, of course, and for some reason, I felt that cucumbers would also suit the flavor palette.  The final addition was sweet corn kernels–partly because they just called, “pick me!” and partly because I thought the color would work well with all the other summer hues, which always elicit a desire in me for fresh fruits and veggies.

In the end, we both adored this random combination of ingredients and have now consumed it four times in the last 2 weeks.  The peaches are tart and luscious (and even the sub-par slices soak up the dressing and seem more juicy); the cucumber is cold, watery and mild; the corn is crisp and sweet; and the mint is pungent and peppery, all culminating in a perfect pastiche of color, flavor and texture.

It’s true, peaches, corn and mint may not have been born for each other; but their arranged marriage in this dish makes for one very harmonious union.  

Minted Peach and Corn Salad

This salad comes together quickly, resulting in a fresh, crisp, juicy, altogether irresistible side dish for almost any warm weather meal.  It’s best eaten right away, but will keep for a day in the refrigerator.

Dressing:

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) rice wine vinegar

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) extra virgin olive oil

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) agave nectar

juice of 1/2 large lime

1/4 tsp. sea salt, if desired

1/3 cup (80 ml.) chopped fresh mint leaves

Salad:

1.5 cups (375 ml.) corn kernels, fresh (steam lightly if desired) or frozen (defrost but don’t cook)

1 medium cucumber, peeled, seeded, cut in quarters lengthwise and sliced

3 large, ripe peaches, washed, pitted and cut into slices

1/3 cup (80 ml.) unsalted cashews, lightly toasted

In the bottom of a large salad bowl, combine all the dressing ingredients and whisk together.  Add the remaining ingredients, toss well, and serve.

After the HH and I had been dating for about four months and he’d already passed the “willing to tolerate my multiple quirks and neuroses” test, I decided it would be acceptable for him to finally meet my family and old friends in Montreal.  I cajoled coerced begged invited him to join me one weekend as I headed east.  We arranged to stay at the CFO’s place, to visit with the rest of the family, to attend a dinner party at my friend Babe’s, and to spend the remainder of our time sight-seeing; the plans were all set.

And then, during the drive across the highway, the HH contracted some bizarre, sci-fi worthy flu virus and ended up spending the entire visit in bed–febrile, congested, inflamed and sullying tissue after tissue with unsavory bodily fluids.  My relatives encountered a slightly dazed, highly medicated, Rudolph-nosed guy who didn’t make the greatest impression (he’s made up for it since). 

Ever since that sniffling début, it’s become somewhat of a running gag in our house:  whenever the HH and I travel to Montreal, one of us is inevitably sick (most recently, it was my turn; I suffered a wicked sinus headache for the first day, but recuperated by the second).  The only time we both felt fine, turned out the CFO was the one with a terrible cold, which she unwittingly passed on as a parting gift to me. Two days after returning to Toronto, I was felled once again. 

It may be a cliché to say that men are babies when it comes to having colds, that they whine and complain and moan, even as a woman suffering the same symptoms would simply drag herself from bed and get on with it. Well, not my HH.  As in most things, he and I are total opposites when it comes to illness:  if the HH gets sick, he retreats to bed, lies inert for about 48 hours, then emerges, like Ripley out of a stasis chamber, exactly as he was before.  (The first time this occurred, I was truly alarmed: I was certain the guy had croaked on me, as he literally slept for two days without even getting up to eat or drink).  I, on the other hand, am more likely stricken with a chronic, pervasive, low-grade, not-quite-debilitating-but-definitely-quite-annoying set of symptoms that lasts anywhere from four days to two months. I can function, but I’m miserable while I’m doing it.

One weekend a few weeks ago, Chaser had her first encounter with the HH’s unique form of healing.  After he crawled into bed, I closed the door, as usual, so Dad could sleep it off. The Girls were entirely thrown off their regular routine. They moped about outside the bedroom, looking rather–well, hang-dog.

Finally, around 5:00 PM, the door swung open and there he was–and vertical!  The Girls were ecstatic (”Does this mean we get to go to the trail now??”). Even as hope faded when the HH plunked himself in front of the TV, a dull patina of illness still coating his visage and a network of sheet-wrinkles, like tributaries on a map, spread across his face, those Girls still stuck by their Dad. 

I headed to the kitchen to whip up something hearty for the HH’s first meal back in civilization. Before I could even grab a spatula, however, there were The Girls at my feet, staring patiently.  Ah, yes, I’d forgotten that 5:00 PM is dog dinnertime. (”Right, Mum.  Food trumps sick owner. Sorry Dad, but you’re on your own.”)

As to the humans’ dinner, I decided on tempeh, a food I love but don’t eat often enough. Pairing a vague notion of BBQ season with a half-consumed jar of apple butter, I had my starting point. I realize there’s a plethora of BBQ recipes out there around this time of year, from the archetypal Wingz at Don’t Eat Off the Sidewalk to these recent lovelies at Happy Herbivore and another fairly recent version at Vegan Dad.  But I was determined to use that apple butter, so I just grabbed a few other items from the fridge and began to mix.  

The results were, after all, very pleasing.  The tempeh’s meaty texture works well with the slightly spicy, slightly sweet flavors of the sauce. If you like BBQ sauce with a kick, you’ll enjoy this dish.  Unfortunately for the HH, he missed out on that particular gustatory pleasure, as his nose was still too congested for him to really appreciate the taste.  Still, the high protein content of the tempeh worked well to help rebuild his stamina, and he was back to work the following day. 

But I think we’ll hold off on any more trips to Montreal–for a little while, at least.

Because of tempeh provides such a healthy source of protein, I’m submitting this to Sangeeth at Art of Cooking Indian Food for her Eat Healthy–Protein Rich event.

Sweet and Spicy BBQ Tempeh

These are slightly sweet, slightly gooey with a spicy kick.  I assume they’d be even better if actually cooked on a grill, but this baked version was equally tasty.

1 package (about 3/4 pound or 350 g.) tempeh, pre-steamed or ready to cook, cut into triangles

1/4 cup unsweetened apple butter

1/2 onion, grated very fine or pureed

2 Tbsp. pure maple syrup

4-6 drops Tabasco, or to taste

1 Tbsp. tamari or soy sauce

juice of 1/2 lime

Mix all ingredients except tempeh and blend well.  You’ll have a a fairly thick sauce.  Pour about half the sauce into the bottom of an 8 x 8 inch square greased pan.  Place tempeh triangles on the sauce to fit.  Spoon rest of sauce over top. Marinate at least one hour, turning tempeh over once.

Preheat oven to 350 F (180 C).  Bake the tempeh about 20 minutes, flip the triangles over and coat with as much sauce as you can (anything you don’t scoop up now will dry to the pan–beware!).  You can leave a fairly thick layer of sauce on top of each triangle.  Bake 20-30 more minutes, until the sauce has dried on top and begins to brown in places.  Remove from pan while still hot to avoid sticking.  Makes 2-3 servings.  Store leftovers in a covered container in the fridge for up to 3 days.

You know, there are days when I just marvel at how much my life has been enriched by joining the world of blogging. I’m amazed at how many positive experiences this little outlet for self-expression, culinary creativity and the occasional star-struck reference to my favorite soap opera has brought my way.

At the forefront, of course, is YOU–the readers and commenters.  What an inspiring group of compassionate, intelligent, witty and loyal people you are!  Thank you for coming back here on a regular basis; thank you for your thoughtful comments (I am, literally, thrilled every time I see one appear at the end of a blog entry–and they keep me coming back here, too); and thank you for your feedback and knowledgeable advice (I’m so excited to start cooking from my recently-acquired cookbooks, courtesy of your suggestions–yay Crescent Dragonwagon!).  Truly, a blog is a sorry, desolate place without its readers.

Along the way, I’ve also discovered many other blogs and bloggers, and what a revelation that has been. I was dumbfounded the other day when I realized there are now approximately 150 blogs on my Google Reader, and I seem to discover new and intriguing blogs every day (and I promise, they will all eventually make it to my blog roll).  Where were all these talented writers hiding before the advent of blogs?  Whether primarily for the recipes or mostly for the prose, I delight in reading every one and perk up each time Google informs me of a new post by a favorite blogger. Lately, I’ve been a bit remiss with my own comments on other blogs, but please know that I do read regularly and am enjoying all your posts!

Speaking of great bloggers, yesterday I had the unique pleasure of actually meeting another Toronto-area blogger, Giz from Equal Opportunity Kitchen .  As you’d expect from her posts, Giz is witty, sharp, and very, very funny. We chatted like two teenaged chums who meet up again at the 10-year high school reunion, gabbing and giggling and catching up on what we’ve been doing over the past decade.  In fact, our conversation flowed so smoothly and effortlessly that we were on our way out the door of the coffee shop before we realized we hadn’t even touched on the topic we’d ostensibly met to discuss–Giz’s “slimdown challenge” to me from a while back! Thanks, Giz, for a great start to my morning!

As many other bloggers have noted, blogging also forces enourages one to try out new recipes.  In her recent 100th post, VeggieGirl mentioned how each blog entry represents a new recipe (can it be that the HH and I have eaten 186 new dishes–not counting all those that don’t make it to the blog–since last October??).  And part of this impetus to cook novel food arrives in the form of blog events, another aspect of blogging that I thoroughly enjoy. 

These days, it seems there’s a new blog event posted almost daily; I sorely wish I could participate in all of them.  Unfortunately, my schedule at the moment prohibits too much experimentation in the kitchen.  It’s currently end of semester at the college and my marking, like all the ripe, luscious seasonal fruit, is at its peak.  I’ve got a stack of papers on my desk that just might trump the CN tower as the world’s tallest freestanding structure.  And while preparing foods for blog events is admittedly more colorful than marking essays (which involves only black and red, after all), it wouldn’t do to set aside the former for the latter (well, not too often, anyway).

Still, when I read about the Healthy Cooking: Eat Well, Live Well event hosted by Mansi at Fun and Food, I knew I had to submit something.  After all, isn’t the very raison d’être of this blog, more or less, “to create healthy, delicious foods”?  (That, and to provide The Girls a forum in which to air their observations and opinions, of course). 

(”Thanks, Mum, we appreciate that.  You know we HATE having our opinions squelched.”)

I thought about what to prepare, but my mind came up blank.  Then, while attempting to clear the non-marking clutter (eg., half-filled tea mug, empty water bottle, digital camera, sticky notes with recipe ideas, cookbooks previously used for blog entries, magazines previously used for blog inspiration, my checkbook, Bram Stoker’s Dracula [the novel, not the vampire], stray Chaser hairs, my journal, an anniversary card from the HH, and my calculator) off my desk the other night, I came across June’s issue of Cooking Light.  Where have I been living, under a rock or something? I mean, I’m aware there’s such as thing as zucchini bread, the moist and delectable quick loaf that’s a staple in many a baking household. I am also aware that your classic carrot cake is often studded with bits of juicy pineapple.  But zucchini and pineapple?  Together? It just never occurred to me.  Yet there it was, staring at me from the pages of Cooking Light.

The funny thing is, the magazine’s recipe was a “lightened-up” version of an older, original recipe, that contained 3 eggs, 1 cup oil, and 2 cups sugar.  The Cooking Light version cut back to 2 eggs (plus an additional 1/2 cup chemicals made to taste like eggs), 2/3 cup oil and 2 cups (2 CUPS!!) white sugar.  Granted, the recipe yields 2 loaves, but still–an entire cup per loaf?  Seemed a bit excessive to me.

And so, I decided to lighten the already-lightened version.  (Is that sort of like asking Michael Jackson to bleach his skin?)  Seemed to me I could accomplish a fine job of it by reducing the oil even more, and most definitely by reducing the sugar and replacing it with natural sweeteners instead.  My recent avocado kick provided yet another brilliant twist.  My ratiocination went something like this: zucchini is green.  Avocado is green.  Why not add some more green to the green, and use avocado purée instead of egg in this recipe?  Along with the Omega-3’s in the flax seeds, the avocado provides a good dose of monounsaturated fats to the batter, allowing me to reduce the oil even further. And so, my own idiosyncratic variation of zucchini-pineapple loaf was born.

The bread is fragrant with cinnamon, sweet with pineapple and soft, melting bits of chopped dates throughout.  The zucchini contributes a certain depth of flavor and even more moisture–in fact, this bread treads the very limits of moistness; any more moist, and it might not qualify as a solid.  The flavors meld and intensify once the bread is cooled and rested, so it’s even more tasty the morning after it’s made.  And like blogging, it will enrich your day with a healthy dose of sweetness and discovery.

Zucchini and Pineapple Mini Loaves

A healthy, hearty version of a heavier standard, this bread mixes up easily and is a great recipe for using up leftover zucchini, pineapple, or overripe avocado.  

5 ounces (150 g.) finely grated zucchini (fresh or previously frozen)

1/4 cup (60 ml.) avocado purée (fresh or previously frozen)

1/2 cup (100-120 g.) very well-drained crushed pineapple (drain first and then measure) 

1/2 cup (90 g.) Sucanat (unrefined brown sugar)

1/4 cup (60 ml.) pure maple syrup

2 Tbsp. (15 g.) finely ground flax seed

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

1/2 tsp. (5 ml.) apple cider vinegar

1 tsp. (5 ml.) pure vanilla extract

generous 1/4 cup (35-40 g.) chopped dried dates

3/4 cup plus 2 Tbsp. (125-130 g.) light spelt flour

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

1 tsp. (5 ml.) baking powder

1 tsp. (5 ml.) baking soda

2 tsp. (10 ml.) cinnamon

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

Preheat oven to 350 F (180 C).  Lightly grease 8 mini-loaf pans or muffin cups, or line with paper liners.

In a medium bowl, combine the zucchini, avocado, pineapple, Sucanat, maple syrup, flax, apple cider vinegar, vanilla and chopped dates.  Stir to mix well and set aside while you prepare the dry ingredients, or at least 2 minutes.

In a large bowl, sift together the flours, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt.  Stir or whisk to distribute the leaveners and cinnamon throughout.

Pour the wet ingredients over the dry and stir just to blend (don’t worry if a few dry spots remain here and there).  Using a 1/3 cup measuring cup or large ice cream scoop, fill each tin about 3/4 full. 

Bake for 15 minutes, then rotate pan and bake another 10-15 minutes, until a tester inserted in the center comes out clean.  Allow to cool in pan for about 5 minutes before removing to a cooling rack.  Makes 8 loaves or muffins.  Store in airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 5 days (these taste even better the 2nd day). May be frozen.

To me, summer means potato salad season. And coleslaw season, and watermelon season, and ice cream season, and gin and tonic season. . . but primarily, potato salad season.  So, quick: when you think of potato salad, what type do you think of?

Well, there are the “smooth and creamy potato salad” people.  There are the “tangy, vinegary potato salad” people.  There are the “small cubed potatoes potato salad” people and the “big, honkin’ chunks of potato potato salad” people.  There are the “grilled potatoes potato salad” people. And there are even the “radishes and potatoes potato salad ” people (an iteration I’d never encountered before this summer).

And moi?  I like ‘em all.  The HH is a huge fan of potatoes in any form, prepared using any cooking method and dressed with any and all toppings or seasonings (unfortunately, his sole requirement is that they be plated alongside a piece of animal protein). 

(”And Mum, don’t forget the ‘canine potato salad people’. . . oh, actually, we’ll just take that piece of animal protein instead.”)

Since I adore leafy green vegetables and have also been trying to incorporate more of them into my diet lately, I’m eternally scouting out recipes that make use of greens in novel and interesting ways.  A few nights ago I remembered this old favorite that we haven’t eaten in a couple of years at least. The recipe is from a book I found over a decade ago, in the remainder bin at a local bookstore. Called, simply, The Greens Book, it’s a slender volume offering a multitude of esoteric recipes with a handful of more accessible ones (of which this salad is one).  Mostly, I’ve used the book as a reference source when I want to identify some mysterious or previously unencountered green that’s crossed my path (sometimes literally), as it also provides sharp and stunning photographs of each type of leaf. 

I’ve proclaimed my affection for raw dandelion greens in an earlier post; this salad uses barely-wilted stems and leaves and pairs them with cooked, still-warm potato chunks and a lemony, garlicky, olive-oil dressing.  It’s quick, easy, and perfect as an accompaniment to a Bar B Q buffet or as a main course if served alongside another salad.  Because the flavors are so pronounced, this dish can easily liven up a humble or mildly flavored main course.

Although they’re not technically herbs, dandelions do grow in my very own backyard, so I’m submitting this recipe to Kalyn’s Weekend Herb Blogging event, started at Kalyn’s Kitchen and this week hosted by Simona at Briciole.

Warm Dandelion and Potato Salad

from The Greens Book by Susan Belsinger and Carolyn Dille

Cooked on the stovetop in no time at all, this salad won’t overheat the house on a hot summer’s evening.  Though it’s great served warm, this is also wonderful at room temperature.

1/2 pound (225 g.) dandelion greens, picked over, washed, and dried

1-1/2 pounds (675 g.) red-skinned potatotes

1/3 cup (80 ml.) extra virgin olive oil

zest from one lemon

3 garlic cloves, pressed or minced

salt and freshly ground pepper

juice from one large lemon (about 1/4 cup–60 ml.)

generous 1/4 cup (60 ml.)–we use more like 1/3 cup or 80 ml.–pitted and sliced kalamata olives (or use whole if you can’t find pitted)

Remove dandelion leaves from stems and tear or chop into large bite-sized pieces. Cut the stems into pieces about 3/4 inch (2 cm.) long.

Scrub the potatoes. Slice into 1/8 inch (3 mm) thick slices, or, if they’re small, just cut in half. Place in pot, cover with water, and bring to boil.  Cook 10-12 minutes, until just fork-tender. Drain and keep warm.

Mix the olive oil, lemon zest, and garlic in a small bowl.  Place about 2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) of the mixture, including some bits of garlic, in a sauté pan. Heat over medium heat and add the dandelion stems.  Cook and stir for 4 minutes.  Add the greens and stir for one minute longer. Season with salt and pepper, to taste. The stems should be cooked but still crispy, and the greens should be barely wilted.

Transfer the dandelion ixture to a bolw and cover with the hot potatoes.  Add the lemon juice and rest of the oil mixture, and toss well.  Add the olives and toss again. Taste for seasoning and serve.   Makes 6 servings as a side dish or 4 as a main course.

* [or Concasse, if you prefer the more conventional term. . . but I just loved the word "tracklement" ever since I read it on Lucy's blog, and besides, "Tomato Tracklement" is just so much more alliterative.]

Last weekend was our Canada Day holiday, and this year I learned an important lesson.  No, it wasn’t “Canada is 141 years old” (even though it was).  Uh-uh, it wasn’t “Canada is a vast and picturesque, multicultural and welcoming country in which to live” (I already knew that one).  Nope, not even ”Although Canada is a vast and picturesque, multicultural and welcoming country in which to live, a summer full of rain really sucks–almost as much as a typical Canadian winter.” And finally, nay, it also wasn’t “The Girls are still scared of fireworks” (really, talk about stating the obvious). 

No, dear readers, the all-important lesson I learned this past weekend was simply this:

Never (and I mean never) attempt to drive across the province at the beginning of a long July 1st weekend.

Elementary, you say?  Well, for some reason, the HH and I, despite 10 years of trekking from Toronto to Montreal and back on a regular basis, have never traveled that particular stretch of the 401 on the long Canada Day weekend.  This year, with my dad turning 87, we decided it was a necessity.  

Big mistake.

BIG.

The 500-kilometre (about 315 mile) drive usually takes us between 4.5 and 6 hours, depending on (A) time of departure; (B) weather conditions; (C) who’s driving; (D) number of rest stops; and (E) traffic.  This past weekend, our multiple-choice answer was overwhelmingly, “E,” or really, more like, “EEEEEeeeeee!!!”  To be precise, eight hours’ worth of “E.”

As we slid out of the city and onto the highway, I sensed a barely perceptible increase in the volume of vehicles on the road.  Then, within about five minutes, it became painfully clear: everyone and their canines were heading off to the cottage for the long weekend.  And us?  No cottage; no canines (The Girls were happily ensconced at the doggie daycare for the weekend); and no discernible movement on the roads.  I’d completely forgotten our route included a short span of terrain known as ”cottage country” (also known, as the Barenaked Ladies recently reminded us in song, as “Peterborough and the Kawarthas“).  And there we were, the HH and I, motionless amid all the eager, impatient, fidgety and perspiring boaters, gardeners, waterskiers and Barbeque-ers, our wheels moving barely a quarter turn every 10 minutes or so.

Even if we could afford one, I doubt we would actually buy a cottage (and this has nothing to do with the fact that the HH is a role model for ”don’t do it yourself-ers”).  Still, I do treasure memories of spending summers at various country houses when I was a kid.  My parents couldn’t afford a cottage, either, but in those days, rentals were abundant and reasonably priced, and didn’t require reservations a year in advance (one summer, in fact, I clearly remember my parents discussing the possibility of escaping the city on the very evening school let out; by the following afternoon, I’d tossed my report card in the closet, pulled my collection of comic books out instead, and we were on the road toward our temporary summer home).

In those days, my parents rented a house through July and August.  They’d pack up the family (my two sisters, our cocker spaniel, Sweeney, and I) in the back of my dad’s station wagon-cum-butcher shop delivery van, and off we went to our rudimenatry cabin in the woods, sans modern amenities or TV. Along with the other husbands, my father helped us settle in the first weekend, then headed back to the city (and his store) during the week, while the rest of us hung around with the moms and kids until the men returned each Friday evening. For five days a week, the wives managed to keep things running smoothly, demonstrating both independence and resourcefulness; yet every Friday, they mysteriously reverted to squeaky voices, soft entreaties and deference, much as early feminists must have done when their soldier-husbands returned from the front.  

In the intervals free from paternal presence, we children would run barefoot along the roadside, plucking thick, flat blades of crabgrass to grip securely between tightly pressed thumbs, then huffing and blowing our makeshift whistles, our postures in supplication to nature.  We’d seek out the other kids whose parents rented homes around the same lake, for day-long games of hide-and-seek, for building sand forts at the lakeside, or for throwing sticks to Sweeney and the other dogs (who, bored with our weak attempts at “fetch,” would lope off and sleep under porches, squirrel-hunt in the woods, or, toward evening, launch a stealth attack on the hotdogs piled on plates beside the Bar-B-Q’s).

By the end of the season, we’d worn ourselves out with outdoor games, our limbs buff and bronzed in variegated strips of earthtone after two months of shifting sleeve lengths.  All the books I’d brought were read and forgotten; I’d colored and drawn and written in my journal about my adventures; my younger sister and I had picked countless plastic sandbuckets full of wild blueberries from the hill at the end of town; and we were, finally, ready to go home.

One of my fondest memories is the drive back south, passing field after field of farmers’ corn as it just approached ripeness.  The long, elegant leaves swished and swayed in the breeze like our own welcoming committee, a troupe of Hawaiian dancers greeting tourists as they disembark from the plane.  By the time school resumed, we were eating fresh cobs of corn with our dinners, juice trailing down our chins and our cheeks flecked with wayward bits of yellow like reverse freckles on our tanned faces.

I reminisced about that incomparable corn as I contemplated Pancakes on Parade, the event hosted by Susan of The Well Seasoned Cook.  I had already decided (though I love sweet pancakes and make them whenever there’s an excuse) that I wanted to do something savory for this event.  Corn cakes are a long-time favorite, and they seemed the perfect choice.  And while there’s nothing quite like a plump, fresh cob of grilled or steamed corn, juicy and sweet and eaten with the same enthusiasm usually reserved for long-absent lovers, sometimes it’s just impossible to acquire the fresh kind.   That’s when frozen, or even canned (heresy!) come in handy.

The crêpes are based on a recipe I created a few years ago for a brunch event.  This time, however, I decided to pair them with a sweet and tart tomato concasse, and the combination improved the overall effect considerably.  The tracklement cooks up really quickly, in just the right amount of time to serve alongside the crêpes.  Savor these right away, or wrap up for later consumption–they’d make a great snack if you ever find yourself stuck on the highway for eight hours or so.

Corn Crêpes with Quick Tomato Tracklement

A savory pancake with occasional bursts of sweetness in juicy corn kernels, these are great with the accompanying tomato concasse for brunch or light dinner. Or use with other savory spreads such as hummus or avocado mayonnaise.

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) sunflower or other light-tasting oil

1 c. (240 ml.) unsweetened soy milk or almond milk

1 tsp. (10 ml.) apple cider vinegar

1/2 cup (120 ml.) corn kernels, freshly cooked, frozen or canned (drained)

1/2 cup (120 ml.) water, vegetable broth or liquid from canned corn

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) finely ground flax seeds

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) agave nectar

3/4 c. (105 g.) light spelt flour

3/4 tsp. (7.5 ml.) baking powder

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) baking soda

1/4 tsp. (1. 5 ml.) sea salt

1 tsp. (10 ml.) dried dill weed or 1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) fresh dill, chopped

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) smoked paprika

In a medium bowl, combine the oil, soymilk, vinegar, corn kernels, water, flax seeds, and agave nectar. Mix well and set aside while you prepare the dry ingredients, or at least 2 minutes.

In a large bowl, sift th flour, baking powder, soda, and salt.  Add the dill and paprika and mix well. 

Pour the wet mixture over the dry and stir just to blend (a few small lumps may remain here and there; this is as it should be.  The batter will be thin).

Heat a small nonstick or cast iron frypan over medium heat.  Using about 1/2 cup (120 ml.) batter per crepe, fill the pan and tilt if necessary to coat the bottom of the pan evenly. Allow 4-5 minutes before flipping the crepe (it is ready to turn when bubbles appear and pop on the top surface, creating little “craters,” and the edge of the crepe looks dry).  Cook briefly on the second side, only enough to dry the surface, about one minute.

Keep cooked crepes warm while you continue with the rest of the batter. Serve immediately.  Makes about 6 large or 20 small crepes.

Tomato Tracklement

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) extra virgin olive oil

2 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 onion, chopped

4 plum tomatoes, skinned and chopped fine

1 tsp. (5 ml.) dried basil or 1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) fresh, finely chopped

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) red wine vinegar

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) sucanat or unrefined sugar

1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper

1/8 tsp. sea salt

In a small saucepan, heat the oil over medium-high heat.  Add the onion and garlic and sauté until the onion is translucent, about 5 minutes.  Add the basil and cook for one more minute.  Add remaining ingredients and continue to cook over medium-high heat, stirring frequently, until most of the liquid has evaporated and the condiment is thick and almost smooth, 10-15 minutes.  Serve warm or at room temperature over corn crepes, bread or crackers.  Makes about 3/4 cup.

[I thought it would be fun to run a little series over here at DDD: I'll profile one one of my favorite foods, or a food that I've recently discovered and enjoyed, over several days.  For this third entry, I'm focusing on Avocados. The series is presented on an occasional (and entirely arbitrary) basis, before I move on to the next lucky comestible.  Today's avocado-based recipe also happens to be quick and incredibly easy, the criteria for my Flash in the Pan recipes--so it straddles both categories!] 

Think smooth and creamy.  Think easy and delicious. Think sandwich spread, base for sandwich fillings, foundation for dips or savory pâtés.  Think avocado mayonnaise!

This incredibly quick and equally irresistible recipe comes from the wondrous Dr. Ben Kim’s Natural Health website.  A chiropractor and acupuncturist based in Barrie, Ontario, Dr. Kim is also a fount of information on all things holistic, and he offers incredible material about healthy eating–all for free through his newsletter, of which I am an avid fan (and no, I’ve never actually met the man, just in case you think there’s a little nepotism going on here–I just really think his info is great!).

I whipped up this mayo and enjoyed a daub on some steamed artichokes, but by the time I’d finished eating them, I knew I was hooked.  I plopped some over ripe, juicy slices of beefsteak tomato for a lunch appetizer and was enthralled.  After the first taste, I wanted to scoop this out of the bowl with a spoon (come to think of it, I did scoop this out of the bowl with a spoon).

You can use this as you would any other mayo, in sandwiches, wraps, salads (it would be heavenly thinned out just a little over field greens–turns out the recipe is very much like the avocado pesto salad dressing I posted about last March).

Avocado and Basil Mayonnaise

from Dr. Ben Kim

This creamy, heavenly spread can be used anywhere you’d use regular mayo.  I agree with Dr. Kim:  this is the best vegan mayo I’ve ever tried.

2 ripe avocados, halved, pitted, scooped out of skins, and cubed

large handful of fresh basil leaves

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

2 tsp. (10 ml.) fresh lemon or lime juice

1 garlic clove, peeld and minced

sea salt and black pepper, to taste

Combine basil, garlic, and a pinch of sea salt in a small food processor and blend until ingredients form a paste.

Add avocados and process until smooth. Blend in oil and lemon or lime juice, and then season with salt and pepper.  Makes 4-6 servings.

Other posts in this series:

• Lucky Comestible III: The Perfect Guacamole
• Lucky Comestible III (2): Decadent Chocolate Pâté
• Lucky Comestible III (3): Mango Avocado Salad
• Lucky Comestible III (4): Lentil Pistachio Patties
• Lucky Comestible III (5): Tropical Lemon-Coconut Muffins

[I thought it would be fun to run a little series over here at DDD: I'll profile one one of my favorite foods, or a food that I've recently discovered and enjoyed, over several days.  For this third entry, I'm focusing on Avocados. The series is presented on an occasional (and entirely arbitrary) basis, before I move on to the next lucky comestible. ]

[Sorry about the poor focus. . . that free point-and-shoot camera of mine has been rather uncooperative lately. Maybe time to bite the bullet and finally buy a real camera?]

Well, last Wednesday evening was our final Total Health class.  As it’s been all along, the meeting was terrific, though this final gathering wasn’t about education so much as eating.  We were split into groups of three or four people and asked to cook up a couple of recipes each; then we all sat down together and devoured the feast we’d made.  It was a great way to end the course in a social, relaxed fashion.  When the end of session arrived, no one wanted to leave!  We lingered and chatted for an extra 45 minutes before finally filing out of the house (sorry about that, Caroline).  And so, the question remains: what now?  Do I continue to consume my fruit-and-vegetable, raw-leaning diet?  Or do I slide like a 300 ZX on black ice, right back to my chocolate and high-grain days? 

That, my friends, is the 64,000 Calorie question.  Only time will tell, dear readers, only time will tell. . .

But in the meantime, I sure am going to give it my best shot.  And with salads like this one, veggies and fruits never tasted so good.

This is my own adaptation of a Thai-inspired salad the HH and I had many years ago at a cooking class we attended.  The class was a birthday present for my friends Gemini I and Gemini II (whose birthday, as it turns out, is on the same day!) about ten years ago.  Six of us cooked together and then shared our meal (sort of like Wednesday’s class, come to think of it, except the Thai meal wasn’t nearly as healthy).  I’m not sure why, but I still have a crystal clear vision of the HH that long-ago night, as he chopped onions, sliced mango and juiced limes. . . hmm, perhaps because that was the last time he voluntarily chopped onions, sliced mango, or juiced limes?  Oh, no, silly me–he juices limes all the time; you need those for gin and tonics. 

Anyway, the original salad didn’t contain avocado, of course, but one day I just threw it in, and it made such a perfectly compatible addition to the mix that the mangos and avocados have been keeping company ever since (they’re practically engaged by now).  I’ve also tinkered a little with the seasonings over the years to create what I think is the perfect dressing for this salad.  In fact, the combination of tastes is so summery, so refreshing and so tantalizing that I’ve even been known to eat this salad for breakfast (What? Fruit for breakfast is good for you!).  I use a combination of mint and cilantro, but if you’re not a fan of either, you can leave it out.  (And if you’re short on mint, feel free to drop by my place and grab some from the massive waves of green beside the house–see right). 

Besides tasting great, this dish offers a sweet treat for the eyes as well.

As I mentioned earlier, avocados are a fantastic source of heart-healthy monounsaturates.  But mangos are no slouch in the hale-and-hearty department, either; they’re rich in antioxidant vitamins C and beta carotene, fiber, and potassium.  With all these cardiac benefits, I’ve decided to submit this recipe to Ilva of Lucullian Delights, who is hosting her monthly Heart of the Matter event featuring heart-healthy salads this month. 

Mango Avocado Salad

This refreshing salad combines all five flavors common in Thai cooking: sweet, sour, salty, bitter, and spicy, in perfect proportions.  Great as an appetizer or side salad, this dish is best eaten fresh–though we’ve never had leftovers to worry about in our house, anyway!

1/2 red onion, chopped fine (or use white onion and rinse it under cold water to remove the “bite”)

1 clove garlic, minced

1 Thai chili, finely chopped, 1/2 jalapeno, finely chopped or 5 drops Tabasco sauce

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) extra virgin olive oil

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) rice wine vinegar

juice of 1/2 lime

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) agave nectar

1 tsp. tamari or soy sauce

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) chopped fresh mint

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) chopped fresh cilantro, or more to taste

1/3 cup chopped toasted cashews or peanuts

2 large ripe mangos, peeled, pitted and sliced

2 large ripe avocados, peeled, pitted and sliced

Place everything except mango and avocado in the bottom of a salad bowl and stir to mix well. 

Using a vegetable peeler with a zigzag motion, peel the mango, then cut the flesh into small slices.  Place in bowl with dressing.  Peel and pit the avocado and cut into similar small slices; add to the bowl.

Toss everything gently until the fruits are coated with the dressing.  Serve immediately. Makes 6 appetizer or 4 regular servings.

Other posts in this series on avocados:

• Lucky Comestible III: The Perfect Guacamole
• Lucky Comestible III (2): Decadent Chocolate Pâté
• Lucky Comestible III (4): Lentil Pistachio Patties
• Lucky Comestible III (4): Tropical Lemon-Coconut Muffins
• Lucky Comestible III (6) Meets Flash in the Pan:  Avocado Mayonnaise

[I thought it would be fun to run a little series over here at DDD: I'll profile one one of my favorite foods, or a food that I've recently discovered and enjoyed, over several days.  For this third entry, I'm focusing on Avocados. The series is presented on an occasional (and entirely arbitrary) basis, before I move on to the next lucky comestible. ]

Some foods are just acquired tastes–sort of like scat, living in the suburbs, or Quentin Tarantino films.  I know that avocados work that way for many people, but that wasn’t my experience.  Like eggnog or chocolate, avocado was one food I knew intuitively that I’d like, even before that first buttery, golden slice ever slid across my tongue. 

In my teens, I used to walk to high school each day with my friend Phil.  We’d meet at her place (about halfway between my house and our school) where she’d usually invite me in for a breakfast bite. It was in her mother’s white and gold formica-clad kitchen that we learned to love coffee together (stage one:  1/2 cup coffee, 1/4 cup water, 1/4 cup cream and 5 sugars.  Stage two: 4/5 cup coffee, 1/5 cup cream, 1 teaspoon sugar.  Stage three: eliminate sugar.  Stage four: Congratulations; you’re hooked for the next 30 years, until that ulcer/heart condition/high blood pressure diagnosis, and then you go back to “no coffee”.)

While at Phil’s place after  school one day, her mother (who was born in Belgium, and was therefore very glamorous) introduced me to avocados.  The rough, gravelly exterior, greenish black skin and ovoid shape all seemed very exotic to this apple-and-banana gal.  But as soon as she cut the fruit open, removed the glossy pit, and proffered a halfmoon slice, I was forever hooked on the smooth, velvety texture and slightly nutty, slighty sweet flavor. 

(Apart from foodstuffs, Phil and I also learned to smoke cigarettes together, two giggly fifteen year-olds strolling round deserted parks after dinner, attempting to inhale, and–between fits of sputtering coughs–singing, “They. . . asked me how I knew. . . my true love was truuuuuue.  .  .“  But that’s another story).

To me, avocados are a nearly perfect food.  Technically a fruit (sometimes called the “alligator pear”), they are used more often as a vegetable, and almost always raw.  A few years ago, though, I read a magazine article about authentic Mexican cuisine. I found out that, in addition to being tossed into pretty much every salad or salsa, the avocado is also used sometimes in that country in cold soups and even cakes.  Wow, I thought, what a great idea!  With the extra healthy fats (and monounsaturates can stand up to low heat pretty well) as well as the fiber, avocados would make a terrific egg substitute in baking! 

So I started playing and came up with a few baked goods (and I promise to share later in the series) as well as a cold soup–perfect for summer (recipe to follow as well). If you feel like playing with avocado as an egg substitute, use it the way you would tofu (1/4 cup avocado purée = 1 egg).  Or simply add about 2 tablespoons puréed avocado to any baked good for added moistness. 

Whether your preference is the crinkly Haas or the smooth-skinned Fuerte variety, an avocado is ripe when it “gives” slightly to soft pressure with your thumb or finger (be sure to press at the top of the fruit to avoid bruising the flesh). Most avocados are sold before they’re ripe and require 2-5 days at room temperature before they’re ready to eat. 

Once ripe, however, they don’t last long–a day or two at most–before they reach the overripe, slightly fermented, stage (you know an avocado is past its prime if it starts to smell a bit like wine).  If you can’t consume them once ripe, they’ll keep another 2-3 days, unpeeled, in the refrigerator.  When I find myself with an overabundance of ripe avocadoes, I simply peel, purée, and freeze in one-cup containers for later use (frozen pulp is perfect for future dips and spreads, those baking experiments, or even added to pasta sauces later on).  Frozen avocado should keep up to five months.

Avocados are also incredibly healthful–they aren’t a staple of Mexican cuisine for nothing!  Brimming with heart-healthy monounsaturated oils, they are a good source of fiber, potassium (great to counteract high blood pressure) and vitamin K, essential for blood and (of particular interest to those of us with osteopenia) bone strength.  They also contain a good dose of lutein, an antioxidant found mostly in green leafy vegetables that’s been shown to contribute to eye health and even help reduce the effects of macular degeneration (a disease of the eyes in which central vision is slowly erased).

And today’s recipe?  Well, guacamole is one of those iconic foods that regularly makes an appearance at end-of-semester pub bashes, summer Bar B Qs, surprise birthday parties, or work pot lucks; I simply couldn’t do a series on avocados without including this classsic dip.

The first time I tried guacamole, I was at an end-of-semester party thrown by my friend Carol, a legendary hostess known for her ability to draw crowds of disparate personalities who, for the course of an evening (and often into the wee hours of the morning), all got along over beer, wine, and literary discourse.

Carol and her husband always included their two children (then aged 9 and 11) in every social activity, so the kids would meander quite comfortably among the professors and graduate students, stopping every now and again to chat with the bearded hippie sucking back a Becks or the the raven haired T.A. in the inappropriate tank top who was hitting on our Drama professor.  Completely unfazed, the children might stop for some corn chips and guacamole, then move on. Around 10:30 or 11:00, they’d wander upstairs to their bedrooms, where they’d doze entirely undisturbed by the din beneath them, like babies in the neonatal ward who can all sleep through their own wailing.

Carol’s guacamole that night was spectacular, and I knew I’d have to make it again.  I clipped this recipe from an old Chatelaine magazine from the 1990s, and I’ve never even tried another since.  I do realize that everyone and their hairstylist has a fabulous recipe for guacamole, but this really is the best one I’ve ever tasted.  The unusual step of rinsing the onion (which removes any pungency that might linger on the palate hours later), elevates this version to one of the all-time best recipes I’ve ever made. 

With its prominent use of cilantro, this is a great entry to Kalyn’s Weekend Herb Blogging event, this week hosted by Joanna at Joanna’s Food.

Oh, and there’s still time to enter the contest for a new cookbook–which might just contain a new recipe for guacamole!

The Perfect Guacamole

I used to think that guacamole required garlic to taste this delicious, but this recipe proved me wrong.  The contrast between the chunky tomato and smooth, rich avocado is stellar.  Add more cilantro if you’re a fan.

 1/4 cup (60 ml.) finely chopped white onion, rinsed in a sieve under cold water

1 medium ripe (but still firm) tomato, diced small

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) chopped fresh cilantro (or more, to taste)

2 tsp. (10 ml.) finely chopped jalapeno pepper, with seeds

1/2 tsp. sea salt

2 ripe Haas avocados, pitted and peeled

1-2 (15-30) ml. freshly squeezed lime juice, or more to taste

Combine onion, tomato, cilantro, jalapeno and salt in a small bowl.  In a large bowl, coarsely mash the avocado (a potato masher works well for this–you want a few chunks to remain). Add the onion mixture and lime juice and stir to mix well.  Serve immediately with tortilla chips or raw vegetables, if desired.  Or, just eat with a spoon. 

Can be made ahead, covered, and refrigerated up to 4 hours; press plastic wrap against the top of the guacamole before refrigerating, to minimize oxidation.  Makes about 2 cups (500 ml.).

 Other posts in this series:

• Lucky Comestible III (2): Decadent Chocolate Pâté
• Lucky Comestible III (3): Mango Avocado Salad
• Lucky Comestible III (4): Lentil Pistachio Patties
• Lucky Comestible III (5): Tropical Lemon-Coconut Muffins
• Lucky Comestible III (6) Meets Flash in the Pan:  Avocado Mayonnaise

[I've decided to offer a mini-post every once in a while, for a dish that comes together incredibly quickly, or else is so easy to make that no recipe is required.  Here's today's "Flash in the Pan."]

I was seduced by Mark Bittman last week.

Now, hold on a minute–before you go and call the authorities, I should clarify: I’ve never even met the man. I was speaking in the Platonic sense; it was more the ideal of Mark Bittman that seduced me. 

Truth be told, I was already harboring a little crush. You see, a while back when Bittman’s new tome, How to Cook Everything Vegetarian first hit the cookbook scene, the entire blogosphere (and pretty much any place else people consume food) was abuzz about it.  That book was the latest, greatest thing to hit our kitchens!  I had previously whiled away about an hour leafing through Bittman’s earlier oeuvre, How to Cook Everything, during one of my Sunday-morning bookstore browses with the HH.  That day, I lingered between “Cookbooks: General” and “Cookbooks: Heart Healthy” for ages, slowly caressing the pages and batting my eyelashes longingly at every enchanting chapter. I really couldn’t take my eyes off it. 

In the end, I gave myself over to the enticing reviews and alluring recommendations, dove right in and ordered the darn thing straightaway, sight unseen, from amazon.ca.  I mean, how could I not be seduced?

As I discovered during our first meeting (once the book arrived in the mail), it is a very attractive volume (well, more like the entire encyclopedia, actually, at 996 pages long).  The fresh lollipop-lime cover conveys a light, whimsical feel, while the choice to forgo photos (there are detailed line drawings) and expanses of text lend more a of a Joy of Cooking vibe. As many reviewers have remarked, it is a terrific, all-encompassing introduction to the basics of vegetarian cooking: with lengthy lists and detailed instructions, it covers a huge array of basic ingredients, basic methods and basic recipes. But would this be sufficient to sustain a relationship?  Would the recipes have enduring appeal?  And were they recipes I would actually use and enjoy over the long term?

Well, almost immediately, I started having mixed feelings. Because I’m already familiar with vegetarian basics and techniques, I wasn’t much interested in the generic versions of dishes (leek and potato soup, caramelized onions, refried beans, or scrambled tofu.)  However, it was the seemingly endless variaitions on each theme ( eleven rubs and 17 sauces for grilled tofu; or 15 toppings for baked potatoes), as well as some of the more unusual or ingenious combinations, that intrigued me.  Recipes such as Green Tea Broth with Udon Noodles, Nori Chips, Beets with Pistachio Butter, Quinoa and Parsnip Rösti or Chickpea Fondue each scored sticky-note bookmarks, denoting plans for a future kitchen rendezvous. 

One major beef (if I may use the term) I had about the book, however,  was its treatment of desserts: there isn’t a single vegan baked good in all 996 pages. The more indulgent, original dessert recipes (such as Chewy Almond Cherry Cookies, Caramel Walnut Bars, or Boozy Apple Cake) all contain eggs, cream or butter; the vegan desserts, on the other hand, are entirely uninspired offerings like No-Bake Granola Bars (hmm, bet they’re crunchy, too); jellies, or rice pudding. Maybe I’ll need to hold out for How to Cook Everything Vegan for those treats.

The first tête-à-tête with my new beau was a heated encounter in which I cooked Millet Mash, a combination of millet simmered with cauliflower florets, then puréed with roasted garlic to mimic mashed potatoes. Unfortunately, the resultant side dish, while fairly tasty, was a wee bit watery, slightly bland, and almost airy (you can see what it looked like as a side dish to a recent BBQ tempeh I made, at left–tempeh recipe to follow in the near future).  It wasn’t bad, don’t get me wrong; but sparks didn’t fly.   

When this first date didn’t quite live up to my expectations, I decided to seek my own satisfaction in the kitchen (hey, I’m an independent feminist) and created an original version of mock mashed potatoes.  As I was still following the Grain Drain (grain-free detox diet) at the time, I opted for a slightly different blend of ingredients.

I suspected that boiling the cauliflower with the millet had produced those waterlogged florets, so I roasted them this time.  I also discovered one forlorn parsnip in the crisper and roasted it as well, along with 2 cloves of garlic.  Finally, I puréed the resultant mash with some cooked white beans, and ended up with a mixture that was thick, creamy, and richer both in color and flavor than the original combo. Topped with a sprinkling of gomashio, this was truly an irresistible dish. 

Call me fickle, but I fell in love with that cauliflower-parsnip mash on the spot. I scooped up two servings the first night, then returned for more mash passion the next.  And then I cooked it up once more three days after that. 

Another reason to love this dish: it’s actually good for you. Cauliflower is a little-known source of vitamin C (one cup provides 91.5% of the daily requirement!) and parsnips kick in the remainder.  In addition, the white beans I used (Great Northern Beans) are an excellent source of calcium, a mineral I’m seeking these days.  All in all, this was a fabulous dish–and incredibly easy.

As for Bittman, I haven’t broken it off entirely, though I’ll admit the infatuation for my acid-green beau may have abated just a little.  Our short-lived fling wasn’t quite as disappointing as the one with Rocker Guy (he of the black leather pants), but for me, How to Cook Everything Vegetarian was a bit of a tease in the recipe department; it just didn’t provide enough exciting, novel, or foolproof recipes to snag my eternal devotion. 

Despite our rocky beginning, I’m sure we’ll remain good friends. This is still the kind of book I can rely on as a solid kitchen companion, full of serious instructions, reliable tips and honest information. At the same time, I’m keeping one eye open for the next recipe-filled rake that will really take my breath away.  

Oh, and speaking of true loves. . . Happy Father’s Day to all the loving dads out there (”Yes, we second that, Dad!“)

Cauliflower, Parsnip and Bean Mash with Gomashio

This recipe is easy to throw together and produces a smooth, comforting and delicious side dish.  While it does need take time to roast, you can use the extra half hour to attend to other matters, like reading some of the 996 pages in How to Cook Everything Vegetarian.

1/2 large head cauliflower, washed, trimmed, and cut in florets

1 large parsnip, peeled and cut into french-fry sized wedges

2 large garlic cloves, still in papery skins

3/4 cup cooked white beans (Great Northern or navy)

2-3 Tbsp. (30-45 ml.) extra virgin olive oil, divided

freshly ground pepper, if desired

2-3 Tbsp. (30-45 ml.) gomashio, to taste

Preheat oven to 400 F  (200 C).  In a large rectangular pan (a lasagna pan works nicely for this), toss the cauliflower and parsnip with the olive oil (no need to add salt, as the mixture will be covered in gomashio later).  Spread the mixture evenly in the pan, keeping it in a single layer as much as possible.  Place the garlic cloves in the pan.

Bake uncovered for 30-40 minutes, until all the vegetables are very soft and are golden brown in spots.  Remove from pan and allow to cool for about 10 minutes (enough to handle without burning your fingers).

Peel the garlic cloves and place the soft, roasted garlic in a food processor with the other vegetables and any oil that’s pooled in the pan (there may not be any; that’s fine) along with the beans.  Process (in batches, if necessary), until you have a thick, smooth mixture (if the mixture is too dry, add the extra olive oil at this point). 

Scrape the mixture into a bowl and sprinkle with gomashio and freshly ground pepper, if desired.  Serve immediately.  Makes 4-6 servings.