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* Or, Oddly Alluring Blend of Mudlike Green Vegetables to Clear Your Sinuses
[Don't you expect a giant, hairy, muddy hand to suddenly lurch from under the surface of that liquid, and grab you?]
I’ve enjoyed green smoothies for several years now, and they’ve always been a staple when I need a quick and nutrient-rich breakfast. Until recently, however, I’ve always added blueberries to a green smoothie as a way to “mask” the color and create a more palatable palette. Well, not this time!
Remember in grade school when you played with water colors and, in an attempt to discover a new shade of say, red, you combined orange and yellow AND blue? And what you were left with was a cloudy, miry composite that resembled the distinctive grayish-brown of, maybe, a mud puddle, or perhaps a wet greyhound, or sort of like a cup of stale coffee, or–most likely–a stretch of swampland?
Today’s smoothie isn’t quite that bad. . . only mildly resembling fungus in color. To me, the shade of this smoothie evokes moss and green olives and slightly overcooked asparagus. . . green, yes, but tempered with a hint of gray.
Still, desperate times required desperate measures. Stricken with a nasty bug over the past few days (which, from what I’ve been reading, is making the rounds through the foodie blog world), I decided I needed to pull out the big guns–or, in this case, the big cucumbers–and create a smoothie that would soothe, nourish, and fight viruses and bacteria, all in one green, velvety solution. A Superhero Smoothie!
Well, maybe more like a monster smoothie. Still, who knows why certain monsters are appealing–enticing, even? I mean, Fay Wray’s Ann Darrow fell in love with King Kong, right? Beauty was bowled over by The Beast. And why would the Princess kiss a frog in the first place? Like this smoothie, they all had a certain je ne sais quoi that drew people to them. Or maybe it’s just my febrile imagination talking. Either way, the smoothie seemed to do the trick: it got me through the morning feeling a little less congested and a little more energetic. And, for some reason, the more I drank, the more I liked it.
[Attack of the swamp thing! All that's left are the smoothie remains. . . "]
One caveat: if you’re a fan of fruity or slightly sweet breakfast smoothies, this one is definitely not for you. It’s quite tart, with a texture more like a vegetable cocktail than a milkshake. Think of it as a refreshing veggie juice and you’re more likely in line with this beverage.
I based the recipe on similar ones posted here, but this is my own concoction. Feel free to play with proportions and ingredients to your own taste.
Swamp Thing Smoothie
Look! It can actually seem vaguely attractive in this light! This smoothie is great when you’re feeling fatigued or when your body needs an immune boost. The vegetables are alkalizing, the herbs detoxify, the juice adds Vitamin C and the garlic fights illness-causing organisms like viruses and bacteria.
3-4 large leaves lettuce (your choice; I used green leafy)
1 stalk celery, trimmed, cleaned and chopped
1 small clove garlic (or 1/2 a large clove), optional
1/4 cup (60 ml) cilantro or parsley, or a combination
2 leaves fresh basil
6″ (15 cm) piece cucumber (leave skin on if organic)
juice of 1/2 lime
1/3 cup (80 ml) unsweetened cranberry juice
1/2 avocado, peeled and cut in chunks
about 1/2 cup (120 ml) water
1 tsp (5 ml) agave, if desired, or 2 drops stevia
Place all ingredients in a high-speed blender and blend until very smooth. Pour into a glass and enjoy immediately. Makes 1 large or 2 small servings.
Last Year at this Time: Holiday Bundt Apple Cake
© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs
Even though the HH is of Scottish descent and I hail from the Poles and Russians (the joke possibilities are endless, aren’t they?), we live in a predominantly Italian neighborhood. And while we enjoy a good relationship with most of our neighbors and have even become friendly with some of them, in some ways, living here has induced a bit of an inferiority complex.
I know it’s a cliché, but in our neighborhood, at least, the lawns are perfectly tended, with gardens that have been pruned and primped more than J Lo’s hair on Oscar night. On any given evening as the HH and I enjoy our stroll with The Girls, we pass yards that could qualify as tourist attractions, complete with plush grass carpets, a profusion of exotic flowers in myriad colors, and hand-crafted topiary in any variety of shapes (my favorites are the bear and cat shrubs–I kid you not). And while we like our house and do try to keep it in good repair, the HH’s idea of ”property maintenance” is picking up the newspaper from the porch each morning.
But in the realm of food–what a learning experience it’s been! I was already a lover of Italian cuisine even before we moved here, and felt a bit heartbroken when I was told I could no longer eat wheat. No more pasta primavera? No more wholegrain bread dipped in chili-infused olive oil? No more gnocchi–my all time favorite (and most elusive) type of pasta? Luckily, there are a couple of places in the city where I can still enjoy rice pasta or spelt pizza–and, of course, I can make my own.
Since we moved here, though, I’ve had a series of culinary coaches. Each time I enter the local grocery/deli to pick up something for the HH, Melvin, my friend behind the counter, offers a tutorial on the varieties of asiago cheese or which olives are best. Our (extremely generous) landlord, who lives only a few blocks away, provided all kinds of tips on how to plant and raise my tomato garden last year–then presented us with several jars of his own home-canned tomato sauce. (Thanks again, Vince!). And can it be that The Girls have developed a predilection for basil (pesto-coated potatoes at the top of the list)?
So, when I happened upon them in the bulk store a few weeks ago, it seemed only natural that I’d want to give lupini beans a try. A new legume I’d never eaten before! I grabbed a small bag full and headed to the cash.
“Have you ever eaten these?” I asked the cashier.
“No,” she replied, “but our Italian customers make them all the time. You have to soak them for ten days. But every day, you have to spill out the water and replace it. Do you still want them?”
Of course I still wanted them, I assured her. Besides, I knew she’d made a mistake. Who ever heard of a dried legume that needed ten days of soaking? Anyone who’s ever cooked dried beans from scratch knows that you simply soak them overnight, drain, refill, boil, and eat. Simple!
Er, sorry Ric, but that’s simply WRONG. After a bit of Internet sleuthing, I discovered that the cashier had, indeed, been correct. Apparently, a high alkaloid content produces a bitter taste that can deter even the most steadfast legume-lover from sampling the beans. Soaking, then rinsing and soaking again–and repeating the process every day for at least ten days–allows the bitterness to be washed away so that the beans are then palatable.
According to Purcell Mountain Farms’ page on lupinis, “All this effort is worth it. The Lupins family of the grain legumes are one of the highest in protein content, second only to soy beans.” Hooray for serendipity–and an alternative to tofu!
Lupini beans are generally served at Easter or other holidays (and no wonder–when else would people have the time to prepare them?). I suppose you could simply boil them in advance, then keep in the fridge while you moved on to other holiday dishes. Once they’re ready to eat, you replace the soaking water with salted water (brine). This way, the beans will keep for weeks in the refrigerator. Here’s a basic tutorial, including info about the tough outer skins.
In the past, while in the midst of baking a birthday cake or other multi-ingredient confection, it’s often occurred to me, ”Who ever thought it would be a good idea to mix raw broken eggs, milk, sugar, flour–and then take that wet mixture, pour it into a metal pan, and bake it?” I mean, why on earth would they assume that would work out? In this case, did someone cook up the beans just like any other, bite into one only to spit it across the room like the sparks flying off a welding torch before suddenly thinking, ”Hey! Why don’t I take these putrid beans, put them in a jar, refresh the water once a day for ten to fourteen days, and then taste them again?!” Seriously, how do these recipes come about?
Well, luckily for us, some fool masochist did think to repeatedly rinse the beans before eating, and we all get to benefit from the innovation. While I can understand the reverence these tidbits receive in Italian homes–they are springy, toothsome and offer the same snacky enjoyment as biting into unshelled edamame (with the same “pop” as you crack the tough outer skins and enjoy the inner bean), I’m not sure I’d make them again. Checking on the beans for ten days felt like a commitment just shy of cohabitation, and I’m not sure I’m that much in love.
Laced with extra virgin olive oil, garlic and sage, however, these made a delectable contribution to our antipasto plate a while back, providing a great boost to the protein content of my meal. I’ve still got half a jar left in the refrigerator, too. Which, come to think of it, would make a great gift for my landlord.
I’m submitting this recipe to Katie of Chocolate Covered Katie, for her “New Foods Challenge,” as well as to Lori Lynn of Taste with the Eyes, as my submission for the popular My Legume Love Affair event, begun by Susan of The Well-Seasoned Cook.
Lupini Beans with Olive Oil, Garlic and Sage
A great snack once you’ve got them on hand. . . just don’t plan on eating these at the first sign of hunger.
About 1 cup (240 ml) dry lupini beans, rinsed and picked over
4 cups (1 liter) water, plus more for boiling
salt
1 clove garlic, minced
splash of extra virgin olive oil
ground or freshly chopped sage, to taste
Place the beans in a pot in the water and soak overnight. After 24 hours or so, drain the beans, refill the pot, and bring to a boil. Boil gently until the beans are relatively tender (these will never get really soft), 1-2 hours.
Drain and rinse the beans. Place in a clean jar or container and cover with water. Place in the refrigerator and change the water once a day for 10-14 days (it took mine a full 14 days for the taste to lose all its bitterness).
Once the beans no longer taste bitter, add salt (to taste) to the water in the jar. They can be stored this way in the refrigerator.
When ready to eat the beans, remove some from the jar and splash with olive oil. Toss in the garlic and sage, and dig in. Makes about 2 cups (480 ml) beans.
Last Year at this Time: When Cheesecake is Love (a Sweet Freedom recipe!)
© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs
This past weekend, I took the train to Montreal to visit with the CFO (unfortunately, the HH stayed at home on dog duty, as our regular doggie daycare was closed and it was too late to find an alternative). Just before I left, though, I was delighted to learn that I’d been awarded the “E for Excellence” award by Misty over at Mischief blog! Misty is also the owner of 2 adorable dogs (check out their Halloween duds!) who often appear on her blog (plus lots of yummy food, of course). Sorry it’s taken me so long to acknowledge this, Misty, as I ran off on Friday and just returned yesterday evening. It’s much appreciated and I’m so glad you think my blog is excellent! Thanks so much. 
While lovely nonetheless, the visit was over in a flash, filled with a cocktail party, brunch with the family, a birthday lunch with friends, and a stroll through the area known as the Plateau (fascinating, isn’t it, how 90% of social activities revolve around food? Sorry, what’s that you say? What do you mean, it’s just me–??). Since my birthday (sort of) coincided with the CFO’s annual cocktail party, we combined celebrations. As the HH remarked before I left, this year I seem to be enjoying The Birthday That Wouldn’t End. But who am I to argue?
Let me tell you, that CFO sure knows how to throw a party! The menu featured several vegan options, as well as a few gluten-free choices (though, if I remember correctly, the two never overlapped in a single hors d’oeuvre). Still, there was plenty for me to eat and drink, such as tapenade-topped mini-toasts; an apple-pecan butter-cracker combo; crudités and spinach dip; thai rice salad with peppers, cilantro and mango; spanakopita; plus a few others I’ve forgotten (and don’t even get me started on the desserts). Saturday afternoon was reserved for a leisurely lunch with my old buddies Phil, Linda and Babe, and on Sunday morning, my family brunched at a restaurant I’d not heard of before, called Orange, where they offer the most astonishingly boundless bowls of steaming, perfectly creamy yet nubby oatmeal, capped with your choice of imaginative toppings, from fresh berries to cinnamon-apple pie filling to walnuts and coconut doused in maple syrup.
Still, it was good to be home. That final stretch of the journey always seems to elicit in me a certain psychic restlessness, the desire to stretch, stand up and stroll the length of car as the train approaches Toronto. No matter how many times I leave and return, I still experience that familiar ripple of excitement and anticipation, the tingle in the chest, when I first catch a glimpse of city life twinkling in the distance beyond the blanket of black outside the window. Slowly, the number of flickering lamps or silhouettes in apartment windows multiplies, then the glaring neon billboards make their appearance above highway overpasses, and cars’ flashing headlights join the symphony of movement and glitter. Before I know it we’re within reach of the CN tower and the station beneath the Royal York Hotel, the buzz of the downtown humming up through the rails. Toronto, with its denizens crowding the streets at 11:00 PM, knots of taxis and buses jammed in front of the station, the clang of the train and roar of the subway and yips emanating from staggering groups of twenty-somethings as they exit the bars after midnight. . . yep, it’s good to be home.
As it turned out, we didn’t ”do” Halloween this year. Due to both my absence and The Girls’ xenophobic reaction to strangers at the door (read: frenzied barking and growling, at a volume of around 120 decibels), the HH chose to forgo the treats. Still, like many of you, we do have a surfeit of pumpkin and pumpkin seeds left in the house. I remembered this recipe and thought it would be a perfect way to use the pepitas.
I call this mixture “pesto,” but it can also be used on its own as a spread for crackers or bread. In fact, the inspiration came shortly after I sampled roasted garlic for the first time and was immediately transported. As I recall, the HH and I were served an entire head of garlic once at a restaurant, the top sliced clean across and the pudgy exposed cloves baked to a rich, earthy mahogany, glistening with a sheen of olive oil. We squeezed the garlic from the papery casing like toothpaste from the tube, spreading the softened, caramelized pulp on fresh slices of bagette. It was heavenly, and we polished off the entire thing in minutes.
Garlic smell? Yes, heavenly. When baked, its scent is subdued, sweet, and alluring. It’s one of my favorite foods, and I use it as often as I can. In this pesto, the garlic adds richness and a smooth base for the grainy pumpkinseeds, contrasted perfectly with the cilantro and citrus tang of the lemon zest and juice. You can use this spread directly on crackers, as I like to do, or toss it with pasta (save about 1/2 cup of the pasta water to thin it out a bit and create a slight creaminess to the mix). Or, hey–I bet it would even be great as a snack while you mull over some election results!
Since this recipe uses both garlic and cilantro, I thought it would be perfect for Weekend Herb Blogging, newly managed by Haalo of Cook (Almost) Anything At Least Once). This week’s host is Wiffy of Noob Cook.
Roasted Garlic and Pumpkinseed Pesto
This dish is great for your heart, and also terrific for flu season: both garlic and pumpkin seeds are high in antioxidants, and the pumpkinseeds contain zinc, essential for fighting viruses and bacteria.
1 whole bulb garlic (about 8-10 cloves)
4 T. (60 ml.) extra virgin olive oil, separated
1/2 cup (120 ml.) pumpkin seeds (pepitas), lightly roasted
3/4 cup (180 ml.) loosely packed cilantro or parsley, or a combination
2 T. (30 ml.) freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tsp. (5 ml.) lemon zest
Sea salt and pepper, to taste
Preheat oven to 350F (180C). Cut the top off the garlic to expose the cloves inside. Place the garlic on a square of aluminum foil or in a garlic baker and drizzle with one tablespoon (15 ml.) of the olive oil. Wrap in foil or cover the baker and bake for about 40 minutes, until soft and dark golden. Let cool.
Meanwhile, in the bowl of a food processor or blender, whir the pumpkin seeds, cilantro or parsley, lemon juice, zest, and remaining oil until almost smooth. Squeeze the garlic from the bottom toward the top so the cooked cloves are pushed out of the skin; add the garlic to the processor and blend again until combined. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Best served at room temperature. Store, tightly covered, in the refrigerator for up to 5 days. Makes about 1/2 cup.
 Those of you who live in the GTA will be familiar with Il Fornello: the hip, alt-chic series of restaurants that seem to be able to satisfy all palates. Besides fabulous pizza baked in wood-burning ovens, this contemporary Italian resto also provides a wide variety of dishes for those of us sensitive to wheat, gluten, or dairy. In other words, it’s the perfect weekday dinner out for me and my HH: he gets to have the Chicken Asiago (chicken breast stuffed with spinach/asiago mix), while I get to have my alternative pizza. We eat, we enjoy, we laugh about how my dinner costs $6.85 and his is $42.50 (okay, well, I laugh).
For years, my favorite pizza at Il Fornello was the “make your own”: start with a crust of your choice (in my case, spelt, of course), then add your pick of toppings from their list. Despite my best intentions to break free of old habits, I inevitably choose the same old, same old, consisting of roasted garlic, hot peppers, kalamata olives, tomatoes, and either spinach or roasted eggplant. If I’m really hungry, I’ll add some sliced onion or capers to the mix.
Finally, after staring at the list of crust ingredients just about every time I ate there for a few years, at least, I thought, “why don’t I just try to do this at home?” It seemed eminently achievable, given that (a) it was spelt, my flour of choice; (b) there was no dreaded yeast in the crust; (c) it was thin-crust, my preference; and (d) sometimes, you just want to have pizza at home.
So I took the basic list of ingredients from the restaurant menu, omitted a couple (such as the millet, which just didn’t seem necessary), changed another (subbed agave for honey), then played with the proportions. What I came up with was the following crust, ridiculously easy, totally yummy, and great for a pizza night when you’re snowed in at home. Because I’m basically a lazy cook (I may have mentioned that before), there’s no rolling or throwing into the air required. Oh, and it’s also great for breakfast the next day.
Spelt Pizza with Caramelized Onion, Artichokes and Chard
This pizza is quick and easy, and can be infinitely adapted to include any of your favorite ingredients. If using a tomato-based pizza sauce, spread it over the crust just before adding the other ingredients, after pre-baking the crust.
Crust:
1-1/4 cups whole spelt flour
1/4 cup ground flax seeds
1/2 cup (or a bit more) water
2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp. agave nectar
Pinch salt
Topping:
2 large onions, sliced fine
3 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil, divided
1 cup chopped chard (leaves only)
1 whole bulb garlic, roasted (see below)
1 can artichoke hearts, drained (not the marinated kind)
1/4 cup kalamata olives, pitted and sliced
2 T. nutritional yeast or grated parmesan cheese
Prepare the garlic ahead of time:
Preheat oven to 375F. Cut the top off the whole head of garlic horizontally so that every clove is exposed at the top. Place on a square of aluminum foil or in a garlic baker and sprinkle with one tablespoon of the oil. Seal tightly and bake at 375F for 45 minutes to an hour, until the garlic is golden and very soft. Cool about 5 minutes, then pinch the cloves from the bottom up so that the soft garlic meat is squeezed out. Set aside the soft garlic in a small bowl.
For the topping, heat the 2 Tbsp. olive oil over medium-low heat in a frypan and add the onions. Sauté at until onions are very soft and golden brown, stirring occasionally, about 10-15 minutes. Add the chard and allow just to wilt. Turn off heat and cover.
While the topping cooks, prepare the crust: lightly spray a pizza pan with nonstick coating, or line with parchment paper.
Mix flour, flax, and salt in a large bowl and set aside. In a measuring cup, measure the 1/2 cup water. Then add the 2 Tbsp. oil, agave and salt, and mix well.
Pour the wet mixture over the dry and toss with a fork. Once it starts to come together, knead with your hands about 2 minutes. It should be a soft dough, a little bit sticky, but one that holds together.
Using firm pressure, press the dough with your floured knuckles or fingers evenly over the pizza pan. Let the dough extend a little onto the rim of the pan. Prick the surface with a fork and then bake for 10 minutes in the preheated oven, until the top is dry.
Assemble the pizza:
Increase oven temperature to 400F. Spread the roasted garlic evenly over the surface of the pre-baked pizza, then top with the caramelized onion mixture. Slice the artichoke hearts into quarters and toss evenly over the pizza along with the olives. (If using parmesan cheese, sprinkle it evenly over the top of the mixture).
Bake the pizza for about 20 minutes, until heated through and the edges of the crust are deep golden. Remove from the oven and sprinkle with the nutritional yeast. Slice and serve, perhaps while reading Holidailies. Makes 6-8 slices.
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