Diet, Dessert and Dogs

When I first thought about the holidays this year, I resigned myself to the usual ACD fare:  hummus, salads, lots of greens and maybe some veggie patties.  But then I thought, why shouldn’t I have a great holiday dinner, too?  I set to work coming up with a delicious menu that both the HH and I could enjoy together–complete with a yummy dessert.

If you’re on an anti-candida (or any sugar-free, gluten free) diet, the holidays don’t have to be dire!  Anti-Candida Feast will provide everything from appetizer to dessert for your holiday meal.  I’ve created a dozen brand new recipes and paired them with a few more favorites from this blog.

All recipes are gluten free, stevia-sweetened and suitable for anyone on an anti-candida diet, or any diet that features whole, natural foods and is free of gluten, eggs, dairy, and sweeteners (except stevia) or anything artificial.  (Some recipes are suitable for phase 2 of the ACD, containing unsweetened chocolate, coconut milk or gluten free flours).

Here’s what you’ll get in this 29-page ebook:

–Tips on dealing with the anti-candida diet

–Sixteen recipes, including:

• Carrot pâté
• Holiday Nut Roast*
• Smoky Almond Gravy*
• Crimson Salad with Pecans and Pumpkin Seeds*
• Stuffed Peppers with Pesto Risotto
• Millet “Polenta” with Roasted Garlic and Caramelized Onions*
• Simple Sesame Crackers
• Smooth and Saucy Ultra-Quick Tofu Scramble*
• Grain Free Lemony Almond Pancakes*
• Chocolate Pôts de Crème
• Mini Spiced Cupcakes*
• Choco-Carob Frosting*
• Spiced Pumpkin Millet Pudding*
• Stevia Sweetened Coconut Whipped Cream*
• Sweet Potato Pudding
• Carob Orange Cookies*

* Includes full color photograph.

To order your own copy of Anti-Candida Feast for just $5.00 US, use the “Buy Now” button in the left sidebar, or click here for the Ebook page (PayPal button is after the book description).

And don’t forget that you can win many of the ingredients to make the desserts in the ebook by entering the healthy baking kit giveaway–running until tomorrow! Just click here to enter.

[Dinner Bowl with millet, sesame chard, grated carrot, avocado, grape tomatoes, and almond sauce.]

When I was about four and the Nurse was eight, my parents decided to have our portraits taken.  Now, in those days (we’re talking Dark Ages of technology, folks) no one had heard of digital photography, let alone Photoshop; you had to make due with photos as they appeared once developed, sometimes days or weeks after you’d snapped them in the first place. 

[Insalata Roma: Mesclun greens with roasted red peppers, toasted walnuts, "goat cheese" and balsamic vinaigrette.]

In those days, the style was to dress up your kids, have them sit still for an hour or so while a photographer (who had arrived at your home hours earlier, toting enormous cameras, lenses, black boxes, velvet throws and a host of other tools of the trade) cajoled your child into staring at the camera long enough so that he could snap fifty or so photographs.  Then, he went away and developed the photos, returning a few weeks later with the contact prints so that you could choose the one you wanted.

[Purple Monster I: gluten-free pancakes with blended berry sauce and tofu scramble.]

In order to simulate traditional artists’ portraits, the photographer blew up the black and white print to portrait size, then painted over the original with colored oil paints. These “portraits” were then hung in ornate gold frames, usually in the living room or family room.  Most of my parents’ friends had similar portraits hanging in their own homes (with their own kids in the frames, that is).  In fact, the  image of four year-old me, a Mona Lisa smile on her face and hair teased and flipped like a 50s housewife’s, wearing my favorite dress with the white princess collar and pale blue crinolines, still gazes over my dad’s sofa (with matching portraits of each of my sisters on either side).

[Purple Monster II:  Red cabbage slaw with green apples, toasted walnuts and poppyseed dressing.]

Why am I telling you all this, you wonder?  Well, occasionally there were kids who simply wouldn’t participate (I recall hours of silly voices, fuzzy bears and sparkly jewelry passing before the CFO’s tear-stained face on the day, years later, of her portait-sitting; after almost four hours, the disheveled photographer finally elicited a semi-smile, which is the shot that was ultimately used).  Worse, there were sometimes kids who were more than happy to oblige the photographer, but who, after all the developer was mixed, the paper bathed in the stop bath and the photos hung to dry, simply weren’t meant for such things.

[Gluten free pizza with pesto, zucchini, tomatoes, garlic and red onion.]

Well, sometimes, I cook food that tastes great, but for one reason or another, doesn’t give good blog. You know the meals–either you chomp them up too quickly, and by the time you remember to snap a pic, the meal is half gone; or else you snap and snap, eventually tuning in more to the rumbling in your stomach than the food on the table, and give up before you acquire that one useful photo.  In these cases, I usually file the pics away, assuming I won’t be using them. 

[Thai-inspired Coconut Curry Tofu Scramble with spinach, carrot, peppers and cashews.]

Still, some of those foods were really tasty.  And just because they’re not photogenic, does that mean they should miss out?  Heck, no! Just like the legendary blind date “with the great personality” (ah, if only I had a dime for all the times I was described in such a way), these dishes are really wonderful if you give them a chance. 

[Tuscan Bean Soup, adapted from this recipe--my version below.]

And so, I thought it might be fun to share some of the more homely–yet still appealing–foods I’ve made in the past few months.

Just don’t try to snap their portraits.

“Mum, you know, we let you snap our portraits all the time.  But if you want me to smile, well, how about a little cajoling with treats or a frisbee?”

Tuscan Bean Soup

This is a thick, filling, and comforting soup for cooler months.  I used the stems from the chard, but found their flavor a bit overpowering; I’d leave them off next time.  

1 pound (450 g) dried white beans (Great Northern, cannellini, or navy),  picked over and rinsed

2 Tbsp (30 ml) organic coconut oil

1 large onion, chopped

1 fennel bulb, stalks discarded and bulb chopped

4 cloves garlic, finely chopped

6 cups (1440 ml) vegetable stock or broth

2 cups (480 ml) water

1-2 bay leaves

1/4 tsp (1 ml) black pepper

1/2 pound (225 g) swiss chard (silverbeet), stems discarded and leaves chopped

1 tsp (5 ml) salt, or to taste

nutritional yeast for sprinkling on top

Soak beans in cold water overnight, or at least 8 hours.  Discard water, rinse the beans, and set aside.

In a large pot or dutch oven, heat the oil over medium heat.  Add the onion, fennel and garlic and sauté until the vegetables are soft, 8-10 minutes. Add the beans, stock, water, bay leaf and pepper and simmer, uncovered, until beans are tender, 45 minutes to an hour.

Stir in the swiss chard and salt to taste and continue to simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until chard is tender, 8 to 10 minutes. 

Remove about 2 cups of the soup to a blender and blend until smooth, or use an immersion blender and blend briefly in only one or two spots so that most of the soup remains chunky.  Stir the blended soup back into the pot, simmer until heated through, and season to taste.  Garnish with nutritional yeast, if desired. Makes 6-8 servings.  May be frozen.

Last Year at this Time: Beans Nested on Greens

© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs

[Now, doesn't that dish just scream, "SPRING!"?]

Your hubby calls with the fabulous news that he’s been given a promotion (in this economy!), and to seal the deal, his boss has asked both of you to join him and his lovely wife for dinner.  “Nonsense!” you reply.  “Why not invite them over here, as a thank-you? I’ll cook dinner.”

Or perhaps you’re shopping at Whole Foods when your eyes meet across the leafy greens.  One look at his raven hair and chiseled chin and you’re smitten.  He approaches shyly and mutters,  “I’m sorry, I don’t usually do this, but you are so pretty I just had to ask you out to dinner.”  You counter with a smile, “Well, actually, why don’t I ask you–in?  I’d love to cook dinner for you.”**

Or maybe your best friend from childhood is coming to town and wants to meet you to catch up on old times.  She’s staying at the Hilton and invites you for drinks.  “No, no, please come to my place for dinner instead!” you insist.  “After all this time, you deserve a good home cooked meal!”

Well, dear reader, whatever the occasion that prompts you to cook for someone else, I have one small piece of advice:  now is not the time to try out a new recipe.

There are a few simple rules of dating.  One: Don’t discuss previous relationships. Two:  have two pairs of shoes by the door, so you can choose the high heels or the flats, depending on how tall your beau turns out to be. Three: never order spaghetti on a first date.  Four: the first time you cook for someone, never, EVER try out a recipe you haven’t made before. 

I’m sure we’ve all had this happen at least once–we acquire a new cookbook and are immediately besotted with one of the recipes.  We just have to try it out, we decide on the spot.  Following the instructions verbatim–even reproducing the gestures of the hand model in the photos–we weave through the various steps exactly as written.  We time it with NASA-worthy precision, then throw open the oven door to find–utter catastrophe!  The result resembles a molecule-mixup from a seriously malfunctioning Star Trek replicator: misshapen, gnarly, perhaps, or charred beyond all resemblance to a foodstuff.  Or perhaps the dish looks the same as the photo in the cookbook, but one nibble reveals a taste like curdled milk served over rancid eggs.

I’ve had my share of kitchen disasters, believe me.  Over the years, I’ve learned always to create a trial run of any new recipe the week before I’m actually going to serve it (given that we’re only two people in our house, this has resulted in many a strange meal when I’m testing dishes for a crowd).  But I learned my lesson years ago.  When I was still trapped sleepwalking ensconced in my starter marriage, I decided to go all out and roast a turkey for my in-laws at Christmas (I was still eating meat in those days).  Well, even back then, I was no expert at turkey, having never made one before.

I pulled out my trusty copy of Joy of Cooking (the original, not that dreadful new edition that came out in 2006 ) and followed the instructions to a “T.”  In order to prevent the turkey from drying out, the book suggests draping a clean kitchen towel over it, then basting directly over the towel.  No problem; I didn’t even mind ruining a tea towel in honor of my in-laws.

No, the towel didn’t catch fire.  And no, I didn’t overcook the turkey, or serve it raw.  In fact, the meat itself was cooked to perfection; once I could bring myself to cut into it, the flesh was tender and moist.  There was one wee problem, however.  You see, the book didn’t stipulate that you should use a white kitchen towel.  I was a relatively new cook–what did I know?? All we had were towels that matched our then-decor, blue and green check. 

Towels.  Entirely covered in little checks, alternating bright blue and vibrant, Martian green.

Yep, you guessed it. 

Oh, and by the way–did you know that kitchen towel dyes are not colorfast when you baste them with turkey grease?

Needless to say (and thankfully!), no one was brave enough to consume bluish-green meat.  We ordered Swiss Chalet and made do with my tried-and-true side dishes. 

When I think of kitchen disasters, I also remember my old friend Bill.  Bill was a social butterfly who loved to throw dinner parties, and I was regularly a lucky recipient of one of those coveted invitations.  He was, generally, a great cook, and everyone relished his parties, both for the food and for his lively, witty, often hilarious sense of humor.  We often pretended we were cohorts at the Algonquin Round Table (pretty audacious, I know–especially since I was appointed the Dorothy of the group), slinging puns and sarcastic quips at each other all evening over martinis (affording me the opportunity to paraphrase one of my favorite Benchley lines one rainy night: “Let’s get out of these wet clothes and into a dry martini.”). 

So. . . . when Bill decided to attempt Pad Thai for the first time at a dinner party, no one blinked an eye.

Ooops. Rice noodles, as we now know, don’t cook up the same way as regular pasta.  After bobbing and boiling for 10 full minutes, Bill’s Pad Thai noodles were more like barely set Jello.  Undaunted, he threw together the veggies and sauce for the dish, and combined them with the noodle goo.  Everyone ate in respectful silence, masticating tiny mouthfuls of sweet pink mush.  Not too many quips that evening, I’ll tell you (I think our tongues were stuck to the roofs of our mouths).

I’ve never tried my hand at authentic Pad Thai, but this recipe, a raw version, is one I made at a living foods cooking class with my friend Caroline Dupont several years ago.  The dish was created by Jennifer Italiano, owner of Live Organic Café here in Toronto.  It’s one of the best raw Pad Thai recipes I’ve found–peppery with an abundance of fresh ginger and garlic, bathed in a thick, creamy sauce and boasting a mosaic of crisp, colorful veggies.  I used to make the “noodles” with a spiral slicer (which extrudes long threads of zucchini resembling spaghetti), but I now prefer to simply use a carrot peeler to generate long, thin strips that better imitate rice noodles.  (And they never turn to mush).

If you’re not fond of raw foods dishes, I think you’ll still enjoy this.  The HH remarked that it would be a great side salad with any Asian-inspired dish.  Nevertheless, he ate an entire plate, no main course required. It’s also a great base for a light dinner, and a wonderful dish to serve guests–but just not the first time they come over.

“Mum, you really shouldn’t have thrown away that turkey.  We would have been happy to eat it–especially since we’re color blind!”

Raw “Pad Thai”

adapted from an original by Jennifer Italiano via Caroline Dupont

Refreshing and not too filling, this dish offers up an impressive array of veggies in a sweet and spicy Asian-inspired sauce.

Base:

2 medium zucchinis, washed and ends trimmed

1 large carrot, washed and ends trimmed

1/2 cup thinly sliced red onion

1/2 each red and yellow pepper, thinly sliced [I didn't have peppers, so used broccoli instead]

1 cup (240 ml) slivered red or white cabbage

1 green apple, julienned

3/4 cup (180 ml) finely chopped cauliflower

3 Tbsp (45 ml) grated or shredded coconut

Sauce:

3 Tbsp (45 ml) pure maple syrup or agave nectar

juice of one lemon (about 2-3 Tbsp or 30-45 ml)

2 small cloves garlic, minced

4 dry unsweetened dates, soaked in room temperature water for 2 hours*

1/4 cup (60 ml) tamari or soy sauce

1 inch (5 cm) piece of ginger, peeled and minced

1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) salt, or less, to taste

1/4 tsp (1 ml) cayenne

1/2 cup (120 ml) natural almond butter

up to 1/2 cup (120 ml) water, to thin the sauce

To create the “noodles,” simply peel the zucchini lengthwise with a carrot peeler, rotating it as you go, to create long, thin strips that can serve as your “rice noodles.”  Arrange these on a large platter.

Repeat the motion with the carrot to create long strips, or simpy grate it if you prefer.  Place the carrot, onion, peppers, cabbage, apple and cauliflower in a large bowl. 

In a blender, combine all sauce ingredients and 2 Tbsp (30 ml) to 1/4 cup (60 ml) of the water.  Blend to combine, then test thickness.  If the sauce is too thick, add more water, a little at a time, until desired consistency is reached. (I like the sauce very thick, as the natural moisture in the veggies is always drawn out and thins it out more than you’d expect). 

Pour the sauce over the vegetables in the bowl and toss to combine well.  Spoon the veggie mixture over the zucchini “noodles,” then sprinkle with the coconut.  (If you’re taking photos, do it now.)  Toss, then serve immediately. Makes 4 large servings. Will keep, covered in the refrigerator, up to 2 days.

Anti-Candida Variation: Omit maple syrup, dates, and apple.  Use 5-10 drops of stevia in place of the syrup and dates in the sauce, and replace the tamari with Bragg’s aminos.  Still yummy!

**Think it’s a fantasy?  I happen to know someone to whom this happened. . . well, the first few sentences, anyway! 

Last year at this time: Soy (and Sugar) Free Vegan Whipped Cream

© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs