With our wacky summer-like temperatures this past week breaking records more than once, it may seem out of sync to post a pot pie recipe. And even though I first made this a few weeks ago, we’ve been enjoying it regularly since then. I like to think of it as my final nod to the winter weather that never really materialized here in Toronto. Yep, 2012 will go down in the annals of DDD as The Best Toronto Winter Ricki Has Ever Experienced. Barely any snow. An abundance of brilliant sunshine. Thermometer reading above above freezing almost every day.
And this pot pie.
When I was a kid, pot pie was most decidedly not on the menu. An avid TV watcher back then, I used to fantasize that my mom would one day cook it for us, perhaps rolling pastry while decked out in pearls and a pinstriped apron à la June Cleaver. With her tailored blouse and perfectly shellacked, upswept bouffant hair, my mother would proffer a huge Corningware casserole that she gripped on each side with blue quilted oven mitts. She’d set the dish just so on a silver trivet on the dining room table, lift the cover with a flourish as a burst of steam escaped. My father, still in his shirt and tie (never mind that in reality he was a butcher whose attire consisted of blood-stained apron and grease) would reach eagerly to dole out portions to my sisters and me as we sat waiting calmly for our mom to join us. Then we’d all nibble demurely for the next hour or so, the clink of silver on bone china the only background to our lively dinner conversation.
In the real world, pot pie proved far too daunting for my mother. While an avid baker, she never mastered pastry (the only pies my mother ever baked had crumb crusts, or crusts that my Aunty M made and delivered to us). As a result, pot pie was never something she attempted (and besides, her hair was too fine and thin to support that updo, anyway). Instead, the closest we ever got to pot pie was patty shells–or, as we knew them growing up in Montreal, vol-au-vent.
Whenever Mom returned from the supermarket with a box of patty shells, we girls knew we were in for a special treat. She’d transfer the shells to a cookie sheet and pop them in the oven, then set about heating a can of undiluted (a crucial detail) Campbell’s Cream of Chicken Soup on the stovetop. Ten minutes later, the shells were ready and my sisters and I would each grab one on our way to the kitchen table, where we squirmed impatiently until my mother grabbed the soup pot by the handle (she used a kitchen towel instead of a pot holder) and, her housedress spattered with soup, shuffled over to the table and ladled some of the sauce over each pastry. Before she made it back to the stove, my sisters and I had already demolished the shells and were stuffing the creamy goo-coated peas and carrots into our mouths.
Ah, nothing like a classic dinner.
Well, maybe it’s my anticipation of Mad Men’sreturn to the airwaves this Sunday, but I had a hankering for a pot pie. Though perhaps not quite as quick and easy as the patty shells, this variation is also nowhere nearly as complicated as my imaginary 1960s version, either. Taking a cue from my friend Kelly, I created a crumble topping that requires absolutely no rolling or fluting of pie crust. The filling is a simple combination of sautéed vegetables and chickpeas (browning the garbanzos deepens the savory characteristic of the beans while softening the texture for a perfect addition to this filling). Add a quick and simple creamy sauce, bake in a casserole dish and–voilà!–a latter day pot pie that won’t stress you out.
Feel free to wear your hair any way you like when you serve it.
Chickpea Pot Pie (Suitable for ACD Stage 2 and beyond)
Forget about pie crust–this pot pie with a super-simple crumble crust is the ultimate comfort food. And so easy! The chickpeas add protein and bulk so you’ll feel pleasantly full and satisfied.
For the Filling:
2 Tbsp (30 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
2 medium carrots, diced
1 medium onion, diced
2 stalks celery, diced
2 cups (240 ml) cooked chickpeas (about one large can–19 oz or 540 ml)
1/4 cup (60 ml) coconut oil, preferably organic, chilled
1/4 cup (60 ml) plain unsweetened soy or almond milk
Preheat oven to 375 F (190 C). Grease a casserole dish with coconut oil or spray with nonstick spray and set aside.
In a large nonstick frypan, heat the olive oil over medium heat and add the carrots, onion, celery and chickpeas. Sauté until the onions are translucent and the chickpeas just begin to brown, 10-12 minutes. Stir in the parsley and dill and turn off heat.
Meanwhile, make the sauce: In a medium pot, melt the coconut oil withthe rice flour over medium-low heat. Cook and stir for a minute or two, then slowly whisk in about 1/2 cup (120 ml) of the milk until well blended. Add the other 1/2 cup (120 ml) and whisk to blend. Add the remaining ingredients and whisk until smooth; turn off heat. Add the vegetables to the sauce in the pot and stir gently just to coat them; pour the mixture into the prepared casserole dish.
Make the crumble topping: In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, xanthan gum and salt. Break the coconut oil into small pieces and scatter it over the flour, then pinch the mixture between your thumb and fingers until crumbly and all the oil is incorporated. Drizzle with the milk and toss with a fork until it comes together in a moist, crumbly mixture.
Scatter the crumble mixture evenly over the vegetables in the casserole. Bake in preheated oven for 35-45 minutes, until the biscuits are lightly browned on top and the filling is bubbling at the sides. Makes 4-6 servings. May be frozen.
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When I first met the HH way back in 1997, he was dabbling in astrology. I don’t mean the kind of horoscopes you read in the daily newspaper or receive each morning on twitter. No, I mean the kind of astrology that involves a mega-detailed analysis such as casting a natal chart, consulting celestial connections, assessing trine relationships, checking the aspects of the sun, tabulating the temperature at 3:00 PM EST on Pluto, combing through the weekly sales flyer at Costco, etc.
Then, after he’d done all that, he proudly presented me with a 26-page printed document that outlined my basic personality traits, possible career moves, future inclinations, ideal love relationship, suggested pets, and so on. It had taken him almost three weeks of his free time in the evenings to analyze, study, measure and print the thing.
That’s when it hit me: this guy was a keeper.
One detail he was very fond of repeating was how our two signs (he: Scorpio of the Eagle phase; she: Libra ), were stacked up in a love relationship: the pairing was destined to be either perfectly compatible, a shimmering, calm and crystal-clear lake on a sunny day in July; or eternally on the verge of combustion, a stack of old newspapers perilously close to the fireplace. (Personally, I think we vacillate between the two).
In explaining the different elements of my horoscope, the HH also pointed out that, according to our respective dates, times, and places of birth, his sign was ”destined” to be a “teacher” to my sign. Well, if you count teaching me the difference between a gigabyte and a terabyte; what blacklight power is; why a cartridge is superior to a needle; or the fact that Tazio Nuvolari once navigated his Alfa Romeo through an archway with less than an inch on each side of his car–at 100 miles per hour–then yes, he’s taught me a lot. But when it comes to things like expressing one’s emotions; returning phone calls; whether or not a specific occasion requires a card; or remembering to renew his passport so he can travel to Nourished in Chicago with me in April–well, let’s just say that I could teach the HH a few things as well.
Ah, yes. Back to the cookies.
At some point shortly after the Presentation of the Horoscope, I decided to bake chocolate chip cookies to thank my sweetie for his efforts. I mean, who doesn’t love chocolate chip cookies? I’ve written before how I first began to bake them when I was a mere tot at my Aunt Yetta’s knee.
As you know, classic chocolate chip cookies come in myriad forms, sizes, thickenesses and textures. There are the ”crispy-throughout” cookies, the “crispy-on-the-outside-chewy-on-the-inside” variety, or the deliberately underbaked, “chewy-throughout” style of chocolate chippers. And let’s not forget the “not-baked-at-all-raw-cookie-dough” version, which was for decades the type preferred by yours truly. (Once I went gluten free, I was devastated to discover that my raw cookie dough no longer held its former allure; I actually found it distasteful, the bean flours asserting themselves a little too strongly in the dough).
Back then my exclusive CC Cookie was my mother’s classic recipe, which had been in our family for eons. It represented my ideal: a perfect balance between brown and white sugar, with a little more butter than most other recipes to form a crisp, crunchy exterior and dense, soft and buttery interior studded with melty chocolate chips (not to mention a killer raw cookie dough). The HH, on the other hand, favored a cookie that was crispy throughout. He took a bite of one of my cookies and announced, “It’s good, but it sort of tastes like a ball of raw dough. Ugh.”
And at that moment, I wondered: IS this guy a keeper?
Over the years, I kept at it. And through it all, the HH wanted nothing more than President’s Choice Decadent Chocolate Chip Cookies–crisp as a Toronto day in mid-January, from the first crumb to the very last morsel in your mouth.
Then I came across a recipe in Vegetarian Timesthat used oatmeal and walnuts plus several ingredients I don’t eat: canola oil (usually GMO), brown sugar (cane sugar) and chocolate bars (more cane sugar). I set about playing with the recipe. It took a few tries, but in the end, that recipe taught me a lot. I learned that the exact measurement of water is key. I learned that the combination of both coconut sugar and coconut nectar creates a synergy resulting in just the right balance of crispy exterior and chewy interior. I learned that psyllium husks are my new favorite binder. I learned so much that I began to wonder if the recipe creator might have been a Scorpio.
I offered the HH a cookie. He bit into it, chewed it enthusiastically, and helped himself to another (I think this “multiple dessert servings” business is getting to be a habit with that HH!). He even commented on the fact that they were “nice and chewy in the middle.” And then he added, “Yep, I think this one’s a keeper.”
Well, then! Seems the HH learned a thing or two from me as well, hmmm?
“It’s a Keeper” Butterscotch-Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies
Suitable for Anti-Candida Diet (ACD) Stage 3 and beyond
Just like the cookies grandma used to make. . . except with a whole lot more healthy ingredients. Many gluten free bakers are beginning to use psyllium in their baking as a replacement for xanthan gum. In this recipe, the psyllium is essential: I tried the recipe various ways with flax and/or chia, but the results were nowhere near as good.
Preheat oven to 350F (180C). Line a cookie sheet with parchment, or spray with nonstick spray.
In a glass measuring cup or small bowl, mix together the coconut sugar, water, coconut nectar, vanilla, oil and stevia; whisk to begin dissolving the coconut sugar. Set aside.
In the bowl of a food processor, process the oats until they resemble cornmeal. Add the nuts, lucuma, baking soda, baking powder, salt and psyllium and continue to process until it’s very fine and begins to stick together, moving round in a solid “wall” around the edges of the processor (the texture will be like a slightly moist sawdust at this point, and should still fall apart in a powder when you separate it with your fingers, NOT like a dough that sticks together).
Drizzle the wet mixture in a ring over the dry ingredients in the processor and process until it comes together in a dough. Lift the blade and scrape away any liquid that’s hiding under there, then return the blade and process again briefly to incorporate. Remove the blade and stir in the chips by hand. Do not process again.
Scoop the dough using a small ice cream scoop or tablespoon and place in mounds on a cookie sheet. Use your wet palm or a silicone spatula to flatten the cookies to about 1/2 inch (1 cm) thickness. Bake in preheated oven for 8-12 minutes, until the edges are golden. Allow to cool before removing from the cookie sheets. Makes 12-15 cookies. May be frozen.
When I was in grade school, there was exactly one boy (let’s call him Jerome) in our school who had a food allergy (to peanuts). Jerome was already a bit too large (he towered over the rest of us; even in grade three, he was already level with our teacher, Mrs. B’s shoulders); a bit too goofy (he had one of those snorty-hiccuping laughs, sounding slightly porcine and aquatic at the same time); and a bit too fleshy, with excess skin seeming to hang from his waistband and cheeks, his complexion as white and matte as newly painted classrooms after summer break.
I always felt sorry for him. Even though he sometimes played the class clown out in the school yard, I never saw him smiling around food. He carried his dietary restrictions around like a backpack full of rocks–at once too heavy, yet requiring great attention to avoid causing injury–while the rest of us flaunted our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch.
When I first began the Anti-Candida Diet (ACD) in earnest in March, 2009, I felt a long-lost connection to poor Jerome. After all, not only did I have to eschew peanuts, but also gluten, most sweeteners, yeasts, alcohol and all moldy foods as well. No, I won’t be eating any PB&J sandwiches in the foreseeable future. And yet, after three years on the diet, I no longer feel like I’m missing out on very much (the one exception is social occasions–when we’re invited to someone’s house for dinner, or to a major event like a wedding or bar mitzvah; the industrial kitchens seem to have a tough time producing something I can eat that also tastes good). I’ve more or less accepted that this will be my diet for the rest of my life, and I don’t mind cooking my own foods. I’ve discovered that, if you keep an open mind, there’s an infinite number of new food combinations and flavors to try, even on a restricted diet.
(“It’s true, Mum–we don’t think of our diet as restricted, either, even without chocolate! We happen to love the combination of apple, cauliflower and salmon blended together in the food processor.”)
In fact, for me it’s become a kind of game, a little personal challenge whenever I spy something that looks delicious but which I’m not supposed to eat: how can I recreate that dish in a way that’s ACD-friendly? When I saw Cara’s Caramelized Onion, Shaved Butternut and Goat Cheese Pizza over on the Clean Eating webiste, I knew immediately that I’d have to reproduce it–or, at least, an allergy-friendly, low glycemic, ACD-approved version of it. I saved the recipe on Pinterest (so much more fun than bookmarking!) and thought about what I’d change.
I ended up tweaking my own Grain-Free Pizza Crust to make it not only grain-free but also starch-free; used this goat “cheese” instead of the dairy-based one; and concocted an ACD-friendly version of the condensed balsamic that worked beautifully. The HH (who, by the way, has no food allergies and can eat whatever he wants in whatever quantities he wants–don’t you just hate him?) went bonkers over this pizza. I think he wants Cara to come live with us now.
The pizza features thinly sliced, deeply browned onions, slow-cooked until sweet and languorous. They’re topped with shaved squash that’s wilted and beginning to curl at the edges, accented with crisp, toasty pumpkinseeds and bitter greens, all accented with dollops of tart, creamy goat “cheese.”
Savoring a big slice of this pizza, I felt completely happy, sated and even somewhat spoiled by the perfect symphony of flavors, colors and textures on my plate. In other words, it was the very antithesis of a “restricted” meal. Now, if only I could invite Jerome to join us. I’m sure this pizza would make him smile aound his food, after all.
Cara’s Caramelized Onion, Shaved Butternut and “Goat Cheese” Pizza, Anti-Candida Friendly (grain-free, dairy-free, sugar-free, vegan); Suitable for ACD Stage 2 and beyond.
The toppings on this pizza would work beautifully on any crust. If you don’t wish to eat a grain-free crust or if you can consume gluten, go ahead and use a store-bought crust to speed the process.
For the Crust:
1 can (19 oz or 540 ml) white kidney or navy beans, rinsed well and drained (about 2 cups/480 ml)
1/4 cup (60 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic, plus about 1 Tbsp (15 ml) extra
1/2 cup (120 ml) unsweetened plain soymilk or almond milk
1 tsp (5 ml) dried basil, optional (omit if you’ll be topping with sweet ingredients)
For the Toppings:
1 Tbsp (15 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
1 large yellow onion, thinly sliced
1/4-1/2 cup (60-120 ml) vegetable broth or stock
225 g (4 oz) peeled and shaved (with a vegetable peeler) butternut squash (about 1/4 of a sqash–I just did the thin neck part)
1/2 recipe this goat “cheese” (omit peppercorns; the remainder is great on muffins, toast, etc.)
2 cups (480 ml) thinly sliced chard or kale
2 Tbsp (30 ml) raw or lightly toasted pumpkin seeds
For the Balsamic Drizzle (ACD Stage 3 or beyond; for ACD Stage 2, see variation below):
1/4 cup (60 ml) balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup (60 ml) apple cider vinegar
5 drops plain stevia liquid
Make the crust: Preheat oven to 375F (190C). Line a large pizza pan with parchment, or spray with nonstick spray.
In the bowl of a food processor, process the beans and 1/4 cup (60 ml) oil until relatively smooth. Add the soymilk, stevia, vinegar, coconut flour, psyllium, garfava flour, buckwheat flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt and basil and process again until the mixture comes together in a ball. Do not overprocess!
Take the ball of dough and, using your hands, pull of chunks the size of baseballs and distribute them evenly over the pizza pan. Use the final 1 Tbsp (15 ml) of oil to grease your palms and fingertips; then press the dough evenly in the pan until all the chunks come together in a single crust. Keep greasing your hands as necessary to avoid sticking. If desired, make a slight rim all around the edge of the dough. (Instead of using the extra oil, you can also wet your palms to prevent sticking while you press out the dough, but if you apply a tomato-based sauce to the pizza, it’s more likely to remain moist in that case).
Bake in preheated oven 35-45 minutes, until the crust is dry and lightly browned on the edges and bottom (if you underbake at this stage, the inside of the dough will remain moist after the toppings have been added). Top with desired toppings, then return to the oven for another 25-35 minutes, until heated throughout and toppings are cooked. Slice and serve. Makes 4-6 servings. May be frozen. To freeze, wrap slices individually in plastic and freeze until solid, then store in a ziploc bag.
While the crust bakes, make the toppings: heat oil over medium-low heat and add the onion. Cook, stirring frequently, until onion is translucent, 5-7 minutes. Add 1/4 cup (60 ml) broth and cover the pan. Allow to cook another 20-25 minutes, stirring frequently, until the liquid has evaporated and the onions are soft and golden. If the onion sticks to the pan, add more broth as needed. Set aside.
Once the dough is ready, remove it from the oven and increase the heat to 450F ( C). Spread the onions evenly over the crust. Top with the greens, then the shaved squash. Scatter dollops of cheese over the top and sprinkle with the pumpkin seeds. Bake for 15-20 minutes, until the greens and squash are wilted and the cheese has begun to brown a bit.
While the pizza bakes, make the drizzle: Combine the balsamic vinegar, apple cider vinegar and stevia in a small pot and bring to the boil. Lower heat to medium-low and cook until reduced to about 1/4 cup (60 ml), about 5 minutes. Remove pizza from the oven and drizzle with the vinegar. Serve immediately. Makes 4-6 servings. May be frozen. To freeze, wrap slices individually in plastic and freeze until solid, then store in a ziploc bag.
For ACD Stage 2, use this vinegar drizzle instead: Replace the balsamic with unsweetened cranberry juice and increase the stevia to 10 drops instead of 5. Prepare as described above.
[Sometimes, you just want a dish that's quick and easy--no fuss. 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 simple to make that no recipe is required. Here's today's "Flash in the Pan." (For other FitP recipes, see "Categories" at right).]
["Caesar" with smoky crumbled tofu, grape tomatoes and romaine.]
Blame it on the rain.
Don’t worry, I’m not referring to the song by that two-hit wonder duo from the 1980s. I’m talking about the fact that ever since January 1st here in Toronto, the weather has been much less like winter and much more like soppy springtime (believe me, I am not complaining). Rain translates to warmer weather, which translates to fewer winter stews and more salads. Lots and lots of salads. All dressed in this rich and delectable, easier-than-the-girls-on-The-Bachelor, Caesar dressing.
Or we could blame it on my fierce desire to resume a stricter anti-candida(ACD) regimen these days, thereby consuming more veggies. . . which translates to more salads. Lots and lots of salads. All dressed in this Caesar dressing. . . .
Or maybe we could blame it on my erstwhile osteopenia diagnosis, and the goal of ingesting more greens, ideally more than once a day. Which translates to. . . . . lots and lots. All dressed in . . . .
Whatever the reason, I’m so glad I discovered this super quick and ridiculously easy salad dressing. It’s called “Caesar,” but really, it’s a lush, velvety, pungent topper that could be used for myriad purposes–salad, as a garlic mayo, a veggie dip, the base for a vegan mac and cheese sauce. . . and whatever else you dream up.
Warning: you may end up eating more of this dressing than you anticipated. It’s okay. Blame it on me.
Incredibly Quick and Easy Caesar Salad Dressing (adapted from here).
1 tsp (5 ml) Dijon mustard (or use mustard powder for earlier stages of the diet)
1/4 cup (60 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
1/2 medium zucchini, peeled and cut in chunks
1/4 tsp (1 ml) fine sea salt, or to your taste
Place all ingredients in a blender and blend until perfectly smooth. If dressing is too thick, add a teaspoon of water at a time and blend again (but you want it to remain fairly thick). Toss with desired greens for salad, or turn into a bowl to use as a dip with raw veggies. Makes about 3/4 cup (180 ml). Will keep, covered, in the refrigerator up to 3 days.
Welcome to Week 4 of A Gluten-Free Holiday, the blog event created by Amy to share gluten-free recipes throughout the holiday period this year! After a little break for American Thanksgiving last week, we’re back today with Holiday Entrées and Sides (which I’m interpreting to include soups as well), hosted by Hallie at Daily Bites. Before I get to today’s recipe, however, let me tell you about the book that Hallie is giving away:
The Pure Kitchenis Hallie’s recently-released cookbook filled with recipes made from real, natural, whole foods! All the recipes are free of gluten and dairy, and many are also vegan. I tested out the Moroccan Millet and Butternut Squash Pilaf (which I wrote about here), and was entirely impressed! To enter the giveaway, skip over to Hallie’s blog and leave a comment or link up your own recipe for a holiday side or entrée!
* * * * * * * *
Before I met the HH, he was a culinary vagabond, a peripatetic bon vivant who spent his evenings wandering from one acclaimed restaurant to the next. The HH, you see, ate almost all of his meals in restaurants in the days before our romance blossomed in the late 1990s (and I’ve written before how he once lived for two years in an apartment and turned the stove on exactly once.). As soon as he acquired his first paying job, he sought out the food of professional chefs daily (apparently Mum’s cooking wasn’t exactly all that enticing). By the time he reached his mid-20s, the HH had dined at every upscale eatery in the city and was a “regular” at hot spots like Bemelman’s, Le Trou Normand, the Courtyard Café or Joe Allen. His favorite meals consisted of thick, full-cream sauces atop butter-basted scallops; juicy pan-fried shrimp; or, as often as possible, near-blue filet mignon. (I know, it’s a miracle we two ever got together, isn’t it?).
Despite his gourmet palate, the HH’s salary was that of any other regular twenty-something, which meant that these gastronomic adventures often consumed most, if not all, of his weekly income. Given the choice between fine dining and new shoes, the HH invariably chose to endure wet feet in the rain. In fact, he was probably the only “regular” patron whose shoes were more worn than those of the wait staff!
These days, with his restaurant ramblings severely restricted (even if we could afford to dine out more often, there are precious few places that can accommodate my bizarre dietary restrictions), the HH sometimes reminisces about those halycon days when all the food he ate took a full day to prepare and was cooked by someone else. Once in a while, he asks whether I might be able to re-create one of those long-ago favorites. As a result, I spent one summer blending at least a dozen different takes on gazpacho; I’ve also toyed with endless variations on coconut cream pie.
One of my honey’s most-requested recipes is vichychoisse. Myself, I’m not a huge fan (in my mind, cold potatoes belong huddled in big chunks in a large bowl, swathed in may0-based dressing with dill and some green peas for your summertime family BBQ, thank you very much), but I did think that a warmed version would be lovely.
I subscribe to the McDougall e-newletter and always browse the recipe section with great anticipation. Their newsletter provided the basis for one of my all-time favorite sides, the Crazy Simple Kale Salad. Their most recent publication didn’t disappoint, either: there, tucked between Mashed Potato with Carrot and Chilled Melon Soup, was a recipe for an unusual potato soup. What made this one different? A secret ingredient that rendered it both substantial and silky.
I couldn’t resist, of course. I took the idea and ran cooked with it. I created my own version of a healthier vichyssoise, one that gains its luxurious texture from a surprising addition–oats. When I served up a bowl of the soup, I didn’t tell the HH about the secret ingredient (he’s kind of getting used to foods that aren’t what they appear to be). He slid the spoon into the plush, velvety base and then into his mouth. He seemed to contemplate the soup for a moment, shutting his eyes and pursing his lips. Then he smiled and nodded.
“Mmmm, yes, this is great,” he finally said. “You know, I bet you could serve this soup in a fine vegan restaurant!”
Did you hear that? That’s how far my sweetie has come–from Coquilles St. Jacque at Le Trou Normand to Vegan Leek and Potato Soup at Chez DDD–and the first restaurant that popped into his mind was a vegan one!
Well, it may not be classic vichyssoise, but this soup has quickly become one of the HH’s favorites. If you’re looking for a smooth, luscious first course for a holiday meal–and a restaurant-worthy one at that–do give it a try.
Previous posts in this Gluten-Free Holiday series include:
And next week, I’ll be hosting with a new giveaway and a Holiday Breakfast and Brunch recipe!
Don’t forget to pop over to Hallie’s blog if you’d like to enter the giveaway!
“Hey, Mum, you know that we can be peripatetic, too, right? And we can do it on eight legs! Oh, and if Dad’s not going to be eating that filet mignon any more, I think we might be able to help. . . . ”
A terrifically easy soup that combines the nutritional value of potatoes with the additional B vitamins of oats. The texture will have you thinking there’s cream in the soup–all without any cholesterol at all.
2 large leeks, white and light green parts only, chopped
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 Tbsp (15 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
5 large white or yellow potatoes, peeled and cut in chunks
4 cups (1 liter) vegetable broth or stock
1/3 cup (80 ml) old-fashioned rolled oats (not instant or quick-cook)
fine sea salt, to taste
2 cups (480 ml) unsweetened almond, soy or hemp milk
In a large pot or dutch oven, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the leeks and garlic and sauté until the leeks are translucent, 5-8 minutes.
Add the remaining ingredients except the almond milk and increase the heat to medium high. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer, cover, and cook until the potatoes are very tender, 20-25 minutes. Stir in the almond milk. Allow to cool for about 5 minutes.
Purée the mixture with a hand blender or in a regular blender or food processor, in batches if necessary (take care not to burn yourself on the hot soup!). Return the mixture to the pot and heat over low heat until warmed through. Serve with crusty bread. Makes 6-8 servings. May be frozen (defrost overnight in the refrigerator, then heat gently before serving).
In addition to this event, I’m also posting this recipe at Amy’s Slightly Indulgent Tuesday, for a double whammy!
Last Year at this Time: Zucchini Fritters (and a bunch of other chat–gluten free; ACD All Stages)
For someone who considers her typical days to be fairly mundane, it does seem I’ve got quite a soft spot for all things unconventional.
I’d trace this penchant for the eccentric back to my grade six art class with Miss Tarnofsky. Miss T (we all thought it should stand for “Terror”) was the strictest, most demanding and discerning teacher in our grade school, and we learned to tread carefully in her presence. With her short black bob (the bangs so severe they looked as if they’d been drawn with a ruler) and her terse directives in the classroom, all she had to do was raise an eyebrow in disapproval and even the most chatty of students would immediately be silenced. Her classes were always impeccably organized and presented; she was both an imposing disciplinarian and an admirable role model.
One day, Miss T asked us to produce a painting on a subject of our own choosing. I was determined to prove my artisitic prowess and gain her approval. I labored for the entire hour over my still life of a vase and flowers.
Meandering among the desks to assess our ouevres in silence, Miss T paused at the desk of SS, who was, even at the tender age of twelve, already christened the group’s science nerd (if only The Big Bang Theory had been broadcast back in those days, SS’s fate may have turned out very differently). Miss T grabbed the watercolor canvas and held it aloft as if she’d just rescued a kitty from a treetop. The rest of us stared incredulously at a large rectangle filled with muddy splotches, swirls and ragged brush strokes in various shades of grey. It looked like an oil slick floating atop a mud puddle.
“This is the best piece of artwork in the class,” she pronounced. “Unlike all the others, this one has feeling. It has a voice. It has personality.” She lifted it a little higher, as if to impress upon us the importance of her final proclamation: “This painting, boys and girls, exhibits a soul.”
Well, that was all I needed to hear. From that point onward, I felt totally validated searching for that kernel of soul within every nerd, misfit, outcast or rebel or iconoclast I encountered, seeking the unspoken connections between us.
Or maybe it was just written in my genes. As I grew older, I began to recognize my mom’s quiet idiosyncrasies, too. Almost daily, my mom would lament how, if only she were thinner (she was obese most of her life), she’d don the most colorful, ostentatious, tacky outfits she could find. Instead, she channeled her outlandish desires into her earring collection. On her way out the door on Saturday evenings, she’d hold up a pair of tomato-red-and-sunset-orange dangles, or fuscia and green dotted hoops, or sparkly faux-jeweled floral studs and ask my sisters and me, “Are these too young for me?” To which we’d readily respond with an energetic, “No, of course not!”. In the last photo I have of her, a month before she died, my mom is sitting in an armchair in The CFO’s apartment wearing a rainbow-striped tunic and massive, glittery silver hoops dangling from her earlobes.
At Canadian Thanksgiving a few weekends ago when we visited with my long-lost cousins, I discovered just how unconventional are the foods I regularly eat. What I (and, to some extent, the HH) now consider “normal” food, as I was reminded with a start that weekend, is still pretty bizarre to most “regular” eaters.
Nevertheless, I love my unconventional meals! When we celebrated on our own, the HH and I enjoyed a sumptuous feast, entirely comprised of healthy, whole-food offerings. I decided to re-create a traditional cassoulet, something my older sister and her husband have enjoyed as their Easter dinner for years. The traditional French stew is redolent with charcuterie, flageolet beans and a rich, savory broth. It’s also slow-cooked until the entire thing is saturated with fat from the flesh and bones of the meat–not exactly something that called out to me for reproduction. But when I considered the concept of a long-simmered, toothsome stew, that appealed mightily. So I went searching for vegan cassoulet recipes, and found one in Crescent Dragonwagon’sPassionate Vegetarian.
Although Dragonwagon’s original didn’t much appeal to me (it was replete with with several types of processed faux meat), I loved her idea of adding a full bulb of roasted garlic to render the sauce more robust and to add a touch of umami. Apart from that one addition, this recipe is entirely my own.
This stew is thick, filling, the sauce warm and comforting as a beckoning fireplace in winter. With just the right balance between hearty, meaty and saucy, this unusual rendition of the classic makes good use of my veg-based meat crumbles instead of all the processed stuff, and adds its own kick of umami from an unexpected source. I’ve decreased the baking time, too, as traditional cassoulet is an all-day affair (and I wanted you to have plenty of time to enjoy a big plateful of this delightful stew).
This cassoulet may just be the perfect dish to transform an otherwise mundane day into something exceptional. Enough to make you appreciate “unconventional” all the more.
And a Few Newsy Tidbits:
I’m delighted to be a guest poster on the xgfx blog this week! If you’re looking for a healthy (and perhaps unconventional?) dessert, check out my Marbled Halvah!
The ebook version of my cookbook, Sweet Freedom, is being offered at the incredible price of 50% OFF over at Vegan Cuts for the next 3 days! The sales have been brisk–they’ve already sold over 70% of the limited number of ebooks–so head over to get your copy pronto!
The voting for the SHAPE Best Blogger Awards continues until October 28th. I’d love your support to help bring a vegan, gluten-free blog to the top of their list! You can vote here.
Unconventional Vegan Cassoulet
Although it takes a bit of prep time, the final product is stellar. And since the recipe makes a hefty-sized stew, you can freeze leftovers for another meal at a later date. If you prepare the meat and cook your beans in advance, you’ll shorten the prep time considerably. I’ve toasted the bread crumb topping separately and pass it in a bowl for each serving as one would parmesan cheese with pasta, as I found it became too browned if baked on top of the casserole.
2 cups (480 ml) dry white beans (flageolet, Great Northern, navy), soaked in room temperature water overnight
3 cups (720 ml) vegetable broth or stock
1 bay leaf
1 full head of garlic, roasted (see instructions)
2 Tbsp (30 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
2 large onions, chopped
4 cloves garlic, chopped
4 medium carrots, trimmed, peeled and diced
1 large can (28 oz or 596 ml) diced tomatoes, with juice
1/2 cup unsweetened cranberry juice
10-20 drops unflavored liquid stevia, to your taste
1/3 cup (80 ml) chopped fresh parsley or 2 Tbsp (30 ml) dried parsley
1/4-1/2 tsp (1-2.5 ml) dried thyme, to your taste
1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) dried marjoram
1/4 tsp (1 ml) ground cloves
1 tsp (5 ml) celery seeds
salt and pepper to taste
Optional Topping:
3 thick slices of your choice of gluten-free bread, or 2 gluten-free bagels
Make the meat: Prepare the meat as directed and set aside. If you’re making the entire cassoulet in one day, you can roast your garlic at the same time as the meat bakes.
Make the beans and sauce: Once the beans are soaked, drain and rinse them. Place the beans in a large pot with the broth and bay leaf. Bring to a boil, then lower heat, cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the beans are soft and the liquid is almost entirely absorbed, about an hour. Remove from heat.
Meanwhile, roast the garlic: keeping the bulb intact, slice across the top of all the cloves, exposing the top of each one. If desired, drizzle about a teaspoon (5 ml) olive oil on top of the cloves. Wrap the entire bulb in aluminum foil and bake in a 350F (180C) oven until the cloves are soft and beginning to brown, about 45 minutes. Remove from the oven and cool.
Heat the 2 Tbsp (30 ml) oil in a large frypan over medium heat. Add the onions, 4 cloves of garlic and carrots, and sauté until the onions are translucent, 7-8 minutes. Lower heat and stir in the tomatoes, cranberry juice, stevia, parsley, thyme, marjoram, cloves, celery seeds and salt and pepper. Take the whole bulb of roasted garlic and add the inside of each clove by squeezing it out from the bottom (as you would a toothpaste tube). Mash up the softened cloves so that they are blended into the sauce and stir them into it. Add the bean mixture (you can leave the bay leaf in it; remove it before serving the cassoulet) and stir gently to coat all the beans. Cover the frypan and allow to simmer for about 5 minutes.
Assemble the cassoulet: Preheat oven to 300F (150C). Grease a large (2 quart or 2 liter) casserole dish or spray with nonstick spray.
Place about half the beans and sauce mixture in the bottom of the casserole and spread evenly. Top with the entire recipe of meat crumbles, then spread the remaining beans and sauce over the top. Cover and bake for about an hour, until the mixture is bubbly and browned on the edges. If it becomes too dry, add 1/4 cup (60 ml) extra vegetable broth (and up to 3/4 cup or 180 ml). Serve with toasted bread crumbs sprinkled over each serving, if desired. Makes 6-8 servings. May be frozen.
For the breadcrumbs: Process the bread or bagels with 2 Tbsp (30 ml) olive oil in a food processor. Heat in a nonstick frypan over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the crumbs are browned to desired degree. Pass a bowl of crumbs at the table, with the cassoulet.
Before I get to today’s recipe, let me wish a Happy Rosh Hashanah to everyone who’s celebrating the Jewish New Year today! I hope you all have a very sweet and healthy New Year.
Another anniversary date last week, while less lofty, involved an iconic children’s book and its famous author. Did you all know that this past week marked the 20th anniversary of the death of Dr. Seuss?
[Breakfast pizza: topped with sweet potato-almond spread, chopped chard, and cinnamon-coated apple slices]
Although the anti-candida diet doesn’t require its victimssuckers followers to eat a grain-free diet, I’ve found more and more that I tend to find it easier to adhere to the tormentmisery regimen when I eat grain free.
But let’s face it: cutting out yeast, sugars, gluten, fermented foods, and basically all common allergens (the critria of the ACD) is hard enough; why would someone also want to cut out all grains as well? (For some insightful, inspiring musings on living a life with food restrictions–for whatever reasons–take a peek at Iris’s honest post about her own dietary parameters).
As it stands, my friends generally think of me as pretty wacky (oh, wait, they thought that even before the ACD) and it’s always a challenge to join in on “normal” social activities while on this diet. Even at home, it can feel like deprivation if the food you eat is markedly different from that of everyone else in the house, or excludes many of the ingredients you enjoy eating.
[A full meal: topped with pesto, zucchini, black olives, green pepper, jalapenos and seasoned tofu]
That’s why I vowed to make my ACD-friendly foods just as appetizing as “regular” food. And, for the most, part, I think I’ve succeeded (well, there was that one early experimental muffin that the HH spewed across the table when he taste-tested it, but we won’t revisit that unfortunate incident today). Today’s recipe for grain-free pizza is a great example of an alternative that works.
After no less than a dozen trials, I finally hit upon the magical combination of grain-free ingredients that (a) mimic the texture of a grain-based crust to a great degree (I won’t say it’s 100%, because let’s face it, the base is made mostly of puréed beans–but it’s damn close); (b) allows you to hold a whole piece in your hands and eat it without crumbling to dust–just like regular pizza!; and (c) contains no xanthan gum (which, while it remains an ingredient in many of my baked goods, is one I know many people dislike). With a wee bit of care in preparation, this crust has become my favorite pizza base and the one I use most often, even on days when I feel it’s okay to consume grains.
I first shared this recipe on Susan’s blog as part of her My Legume Love Affair celebrations over the summer (congrats again, Susan, on four years of a fabulous blogger event!). After I posted photos of last weekend’s apple-cinnamon breakfast pizza on Facebook, I received a few inquiries about it, so thought I’d share it here as well.
Yep, there’s nothing like a classic pizza for dinner. With or without grains!
“Mum, we don’t care if it has grains or not–we love pizza crust! And for some reason, our pals think our diet is wacky, too. Don’t all dogs eat grain-free pizza crust?”
1 tsp (5 ml) dried basil, optional (omit if you’ll be topping with sweet ingredients)
Preheat oven to 375F (190C). Line a large pizza pan with parchment, or spray with nonstick spray.
In the bowl of a food processor, process the beans and 1/4 cup (60 ml) oil until relatively smooth. Add the soymilk, stevia, vinegar, coconut flour, chia meal, potato starch, buckwheat flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt and basil and process again until the mixture comes together in a ball. Do not overprocess!
Take the ball of dough and, using your hands, pull of chunks the size of baseballs and distribute them evenly over the pizza pan. Use the final 1 Tbsp (15 ml) of oil to grease your palms and fingertips; then press the dough evenly in the pan until all the chunks come together in a single crust. Keep greasing your hands as necessary to avoid sticking. If desired, make a slight rim all around the edge of the dough.
Bake in preheated oven 35-45 minutes, until the crust is quite dry and lightly browned on the edges and bottom (if you underbake at this stage, the inside of the dough will remain moist after the toppings have been added). Top with desired toppings, then return to the oven for another 30-35 minutes, until heated throughout and toppings are cooked. Slice and serve. Makes 4-6 servings. May be frozen. To freeze, wrap slices individually in plastic and freeze until solid, then store in a ziploc bag.
I well remember the unbridled glee we all felt in grade school when, first thing in the morning, the Principal walked in to announce that we’d have a substitute teacher that day. We kids practically roared with excitement at the prospect of (a) getting a reprieve from homework (because the substitute, of course, never knew exactly what our regular teacher had assigned); (b) getting a reprieve from the usual discipline and classroom structure (we would just make up new rules that we preferred, and she never knew the difference); and (c) getting a reprieve from, basically, any learning at all (she didn’t stand a chance with a group of squealing, shrieking, squirming children who suddenly considered the day to be allotted for play).
Ah, yes, kids can be so cruel.
At least the class embraced the notion of a substitute with gusto. These days, I think, we’ve got the connotation of “substitute” all wrong. A substitute is not a lesser version of the “real thing”–no sir. It’s the brave soldier willing to stand in for his buddy on the front lines. It’s the eager understudy who may just surpass the headliner. It’s the medical resident who steps in to complete the operation when the surgeon’s hands begin to tremble. You get the idea.
Whenever the HH and I go to a restaurant and the menu proclaims “No Substitutions allowed” next to their most popular items, I’m always a little peeved and wonder how much more they’d sell of said pasta or salad if they did allow subs. In fact, I make a point of seeking out eating establishments that do permit changes to the menu–otherwise, I’d have precious few choices most of the time (oh, wait, I still have precious few choices. Damn you, ACD!).
And let’s not forget the common phrase, “poor substitute.” It’s as if those two words are fused at the hip, sort of like Eng and Chang, or coffee and cigarettes, or Simon and Paula (I know–can you believe they’re together, again, on X-Factor??).
Me, I love substitutes. I think substituting is part of the fun in cooking. When I first changed my diet, I wanted to play with every new ingredient I could find and figure out how the new could replace the old (or not). I was so fascinated with substitutes, in fact, that I devoted an entire chapter to substitutes in my cookbook.
The process of coming up with substitutes can be a truly creative endeavor in the kitchen (or, really, any facet of life). Maybe my interest is rooted in my cash-strapped twenties when, as a graduate student, I was constantly seeking cheaper alternatives for the latest fashions, buzz-worthy restaurants, first-class travel, or even a favored bubbly. After a while, it was like a game: what can I use instead of this pernod in the recipe to achieve the same result (without the same cost)? How about this cool aviator jacket from the army surplus instead of the latest runway darling? And these discarded flyers have print on one side only–they’d make great note paper–for free!
My knack for subbing one ingredient for another came back in a flash last week as I prepared a warming soup for the HH and me (sort of how the autumn weather itself decided to blast into town out of nowhere, too). With the cooler clime suddenly upon us, I found myself wanting some classic split-pea soup. After consulting my soup bible, Nava Atlas’s Vegan Soups and Hearty Stews for All Seasons, I settled on the “Golden Curried Pea Soup.”
Everything was going along swimmingly (except of course, no more real swimming, now that it’s turned cool outside–summer, why hast thou forsaken me?). My onion was sizzling, I was chopping up the carrots, I poured the broth into the pot and reached for my jar of split peas, and–oh, noooo! No split peas! (I had been so certain I had some, in fact, that I hadn’t even checked before beginning to cook–kids, please don’t try this at home). But the soup must go on! I scanned the cupboard for a suitable substitute, and came upon a jar of red lentils. Perfecto!
In went the lentils and the the final result worked out beautifully. This version offers up the same thick, nubby, substantial base as a split-pea version, albeit slightly less sweet. The curry provided a warming undertone to the mild flavor of the lentils, and the carrots contributed their own seasonal color and texture. This is a stick-to-your-ribs, hearty and filling bowlful, one you’ll be scraping clean with your spoon.
In this instance, I daresay my substitute was every bit as good as I expect the original would have been. I hope you’ll give it a try–and do feel free to substitute another legume of choice for the lentils.
This is an easy-to-prepare, long-simmering soup that is warming and satisfying on a cool day. Paired with a salad and chunk of hearty bread, it makes a perfect light meal.
1 pound (454 g) red lentils, split yellow peas, or other quick-cooking legume
1/2 cup (120 ml) raw brown rice
2 bay leaves
2 tsp (10 ml) good-quality curry powder, more or less to taste (I used more)
1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) turmeric
1 tsp (5 ml) freshly grated ginger
pinch of ground nutmeg
salt and pepper, to taste
Heat the oil over medium heat in a large soup pot. Add the onion and garalic and sauté until just golden.
Add remaining ingredients to the pot except for salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat to a simmer. Cover and simmer gently until the lentils are mushy, about 1-1/2 hours, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching.
When the soup is ready, adjust consistency with more water as needed, then season with salt and pepper. Discard the bay leaves and serve. Makes 8-10 servings. May be frozen.
It’s another long July weekend for us here in Canada and all our American cousins in the US–yay!
Happy “I Love My Country” Day to both of us!
For those of you looking for summer/ buffet/ BBQ/ patriotic/ festive recipes for your long weekend, here are some of my favorites that would be appropriate for either July 1st OR July 4th. (And hope you caught a glimpse of my Cinnamon Crumb Coffee Cake for Our Panera’s Gluten Free Dream Day yesterday, too!).
Have a great long weekend, everyone–and celebrate!
[Note: Recipes marked with an asterisk * are gluten-free; others use spelt or or barley flour]
“Mum, we don’t care if they’re green or blue. 
