[Warning: Extra, extra, extra-long post. Feel free to portion it out in smaller doses. . . or simply take your time and revel in the sunshine.]
[Nope, no alligators in this Florida body of water. (And no, that's not the HH at the pool!)]
Um, so, yes, I have been rather MIA the past week or so (I’m referring, of course, to the established acronym for “missing in action,” and not the edgy, avante-garde, new-mama songstress of the same initials). Well, a few days before Valentine’s Day, I simply couldn’t stand this cursed frosty landscape a moment longer; and, since I am on holidays from the college at the moment, I entreated the HH to join me for a spontaneous (albeit short) junket to the same place we sojourned last February: Sunny Florida!
Unlike last year’s pitfall-filled trip, however, this year everything ran smoothly. I made sure to leave my threatening keychain at home and packed my suspcious toothpaste in my checked baggage, so we breezed through the security checkpoints; our plane took off and landed on time, with a turbulence-free flight in between; our hotel was lovely; and we got to spend a great deal of time with my cousins Marketing Guru and CBC in Sarasota (the former lives there and the latter was visitng). Even the weather cooperated after an initial protestation and presented us with sunny, temperate days (in the low 70s F, or 22-24 C).
While I won’t bore you with every little activity and event as I did last year, I thought I could encapsulate the trip in a few key photos and captions. So here goes:
Who knew that the Tropicana factory was in Tampa? As we reclined in our Airport Taxi being transported from Tampa to our hotel in Sarasota, our driver, Roderick, provided an ongoing (and constant) narrative about the scenery and locale. In addition to the Tropicana trivia, we also learned that most homes in the area have automated sprinkler systems to water their yards at night, when it’s cheaper; that Walgreen’s and CVS are the two most popular drugstores in Florida; that driving from New York City to Miami takes about 24 hours if you drive nonstop with two drivers (one sleeping as the other drives); and that one of the biggest Pythons ever found in the Florida Everglades had eyes bigger than its belly when it tried to eat a fully grown alligator; when the alligator got stuck, it exploded and they both died. Oh, and that Roderick broke up with his girlfriend the second he found out she owned a pet snake–just walked out of the apartment and never looked back.
[Would this breakfast sustain your for more than 12 hours? Me, neither.]
Because our plane was taking off at 10:00 AM, we had to be at the airport by 8:00, which meant leaving our house at 7:30. Since The Girls had to be dropped off at doggie daycare by 7:00 AM (“Mum, we like it there and all, but we really didn’t appreciate having to stay for three full days. . . they just don’t dole out the treats the way you do“), we were looking at a wakeup time of 5:30 AM. It seemed early, but not impossible. When the hour arrived, however, I was so rushed I had no time for breakfast and blindly grabbed the last (plain, unfrosted) whoopie pie I’d made the week before as sustenance on the way to the airport. All I can say is, “Foolish, foolish girl.” Of course, it hadn’t occurred to me that there would be absolutely NOTHING I could eat at the airport; I assumed I’d be able to buy an apple, or some nuts, or something.
For some reason, though, the airport restaurant offered only pre-cut fruit plates that featured mostly melons (not allowed on the ACD); I just couldn’t justify paying $7.95 for two pieces of pineapple when I’d be throwing away the rest of the fruit. And there were no plain bags of nuts in sight (only sugar-coated–another no-no). Ah, well, no worries; I knew we’d be landing by 1:20, so I reasoned I’d buy something once we arrived at the hotel, around 3:00 PM.
As it turned out, by the time we met up with Roderick, drove to the hotel, checked in, picked up a rental car and got back to the hotel, it was after 5:00 PM.
Which meant I hadn’t eaten for almost 12 hours.
Before we called my cousins, before we unpacked our bags, before we looked through the tourist pamplets, before we marvelled at the fact we no longer needed our coats, before we even used the washroom–yes, before anything else–we drove to Whole Foods so that I could stave off starvation (okay, I’m being overly dramatic; really, it was so that I could stave off fainting from hunger and crumpling in a heap in the middle of the hotel lobby). Once there, I bought a trayful of prepared dishes (curry quinoa salad, raw kale salad, garlic tofu and baked beets), a celery-apple-beet-ginger juice and a wheatgrass shot, and downed them all before I even remembered to snap a photo. Then (and only then), we proceeded to the hotel dining room, where the HH had his dinner and I sipped, quite calmly, on green tea.
Note to self: no matter how late you need to stay up the night before a trip, be sure to pack a bag of food that you can eat to take with you.
III. My Relatives Make Great Tour Guides.
[St. Armand's Circle, looking very un-circular.]
Despite a short (3-day) trip, my relatives made sure the HH and I saw a lot of the surrounding sites. On our first afternoon, we were taken to St. Armand’s Circle, an upscale shopping area where “epicurean delights tantalize your taste buds.” We stopped for a relaxing lunch at Venezia, where we ate pizza (everyone else) and salad (me). We later embarked on a walking tour of the Sarasota downtown district, where we learned that the library looks like an opera house, there are sculptures dotting the urban landscape, strangers will let you pat their dogs if you’re in canine withdrawal, the actual opera house itself is fairly nondescript, squirrels in Florida are angular and skinny unlike our fat, round ones here (they don’t need to fatten up for the winter–there is no winter!!) and, according to my cousin, Sarasota is the cultural hub of the entire state.
Our last full day started out at a local deli where my cousins shared a huge pastrami plate, the HH munched on a Reuben, and I scooped up hummus with carrot sticks. My cousin had actually chosen the place because they promised a “gluten free menu” which turned out to be a typed list of things on the menu that were NOT gluten free as a warning to those celiacs among us. (Bizarrely, the list included “Rice” under the “Do Not Eat” category; when I questioned the hostess about this, she noted that it referred to “wild rice.” “But wild rice is also gluten-free,” I countered. At that point, she wrinkled her nose, pretended she didn’t hear me, and began to search for our table.)
[Not a bad place to spend an afternoon.]
After lunch, my cousins drove us around the Siesta Key area as the HH and I gawked at the stunning homes on the water and then strolled along Siesta Key Beach, one of the most appealing beaches I’ve ever seen, with sand as fine and white as talcum. We strolled under the soothing sun beside the gurgling tide and relaxed into our holiday.
IV. Sarasota is a Cultural Hub; but Sadly, Not a Culinary Hub.
[Our hotel breakfast table: three kinds of artificial sweetener and only one kind of real sugar. HH, I think we're not in Toronto any more. . . ]
After my success finding so many fabulous ACD options last year in Miami, I assumed I’d have just as easy a time this year. Well, you know what they say about those of us who assume. Perhaps it was because I was in the company of omnivores who love their meat; perhaps the HH and I simply didn’t find the “right” restaurants there (and many thanks to those of you who proffered suggestions–which I wasn’t able to frequent). After the first night’s Whole Foods escapade, I made do with the few options available wherever we happened to be. In our hotel, where breakfast was included each day, I was able to pick out roasted potatoes (one day, they were sweet potatoes), fresh pineapple, and green tea. It wasn’t until the last morning there that it occurred to me to tote along my own accoutrements to add to the pot of cooked oatmeal, thereby re-creating a familiar favorite, like so:
[Behold the only food photo I snapped during the entire holiday: cooked oatmeal with almond butter (thanks, Justin's individual packets) and my own, always-with-me, stevia (thanks, NuNaturals).]
In fact, the best “restaurant” meal of the trip turned out to be the takeout Chinese my cousin brought home for Valentine’s Day, after all the restaurants he tried were booked. The four of us shared food out of cardboard boxes (well, we spooned it onto plates first) and gabbed for a few hours. Perhaps not the most romantic V-Day, but one spent with three people I love. And we were in Florida, away from the snow, ice, cold, wind, frost, snow, slush, grey skies, and snow.
Well, that was enough to warm my heart.
V. There’s No Place Like (the food at) Home.
[The Girls getting back into their post-Florida groove. ("We missed your treats--I mean, we missed YOU, Dad!)]
While we had a fantastic time with relatives and sunshine galore, one thing I learned from this trip is that Florida squirrels are skinnyyou should always wear sunscreenPythons’ eyes are bigger than their stomachs we are really blessed with fabulous food options in Toronto.
And so, in honor of a dish that I often order at a favorite restaurant here in town, and one that we make at home all the time, I present you with today’s recipe for Pasta Arrabiata. It has nothing to do with Florida, per se, but I sorely missed being able to order something that is both delicious and which I could safely eat at a restaurant while away during the past week.
The pasta recipe also introduces a new feature here on DDD: Kitchen Classics! So often, we in the food blog world spend most of our time seeking out novel or unusual recipes, those we consider “blog worthy” or those that will stand out from the throngs of dishes being highlighted on other food blogs. We sometimes overlook those recipes we make all the time–the “favorites” or “go-to” recipes we turn to when we want something comforting, or consistent, or reliable.
I consider as “classic” any recipe for a dish that’s common across most of the continent, for which most people have one “favorite” recipe in their repertoire. Everyone has their own favorite Chocolate Chip Cookie, right? Or how about a favorite Guacamole? Or Chili? Those are the classics!
This Arrabiata has been in the DDD lineup for quite some time–I seem to recall cooking it for the HH on one of our starry-eyed early dates–and we tend to have it at least once or twice per month. You can cook up the sauce in a jiffy while the pasta boils, and have dinner on the table in under 30 minutes. The result is a lively tomato sauce that won’t weigh you down, yet is thick enough to cling well to your pasta. The addition of red bell pepper provides a subtext of sweetness that’s a perfect counterpoint to the spicy chili pepper. It couldn’t be easier–and it always delivers a tasty, satisfying and quick dinner. And there’s no need to fly in an airplane to get it.
Ah, it’s good to be home. . . .
Classic Pasta Arrabiata (adapted from Moosewood New Classics): ACD Stage 1 and beyond
No matter how often I eat this, I am always happy to have another dish of Pasta Arrabiata for dinner. The sauce is a perfect blend of tomato, onion, pepper and spice, with an ascerbic undertone from the tomato and a hint of sweetness from the pepper. It also works well with additions such as broccoli, mushrooms (if you can eat them), or faux meat.
2 medium onions, chopped
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 Tbsp (15 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
1 tsp (5 ml) dried red pepper flakes
2 small or 1 large sweet red bell pepper, chopped
1 large can (28 ounces or 450-500 ml) diced tomatoes, with juice
1 large can (28 ounces or 450-500 ml) crushed (puréed) tomatoes
fine sea salt and pepper, to taste
3 Tbsp (45 ml) chopped fresh basil
enough cooked pasta of your choice for 4-6 servings (I used rice rotini)
In a large pot or dutch oven, heat the oil over medium heat; add the onions and garlic and sauté until the onion is browned and slightly caramelized, about 10 minutes. Add the pepper flakes and red pepper and continue to cook for another 2 minutes, until the pepper softens. Add the tomatoes and heat until the sauce begins to simmer; lower heat and cook, uncovered, until thickened, about 15 minutes, stirring frequently. Season with salt and pepper and stir in the basil; cook until heated through, another 5 minutes or so. Serve over pasta. Makes 4-6 servings. May be frozen.
[Thanks, everyone, for your patience while my blog was undergoing some changes. They're all done now--and I'm happy to offer you all a "print recipe" button so you don't have to copy and paste any more! There are also more user-friendly subscribe buttons and comment threads. What do you think of them? And thanks again for all the great work, Alvin!]
One of the cardinal rules when throwing a dinner party is “don’t serve your guests a recipe you’ve never made before.” (Also, “don’t wear white when you’ll be cooking with beets”; “don’t seat ex-spouses next to each other at the table”; “don’t make Baked Alaska in July”; and “don’t leave the house without clean underwear”–oh, wait, that’s a different cardinal rule).
This past Saturday evening, I had the pleasure of cooking dinner for my friend Eternal Optimist and her friend. So what do you suppose I did, friends? Yep, exactly that; I served up something I had never made before. I wasn’t truly cheating on the rule, though, since I’d already cooked and eaten each of the dish’s components individually and knew they were, on their own, spectacular.
What did I serve? Why, the old classic: that Romance-infused, saucy, cheesy, meaty, stratified seductress, lasagna.
For the most part, I’m a pretty lazy cook. I prefer meals that are ready before I can say, “Elsie and Chaser, get out of the kitchen,” and I don’t enjoy multiple steps or extremely detailed instructions. Desserts and cooking for others is the exception, however.
When I used to throw a bazillion dinner parties during my Social Thirties, I’d spend almost the entire weekend cooking and didn’t mind a bit. Getting lost in the whir of the electric beaters as I whipped cream for a multi-layered meringue-and-buttercream affair, or methodically chopping six onions for various dishes, or zoning out to the crackling sizzle of veggies sautéeing always felt therapeutic to me. And while I’m not keen on lengthy preparation during the regular work week, when I whip up a special-request meal for the HH (for his birthday, or to say thanks for walking the dogs twice a day when my back is out, or to show my appreciation when he picks up baking ingredients from my favorite supplier, or to express gratitude for cleaning the house when friends are coming over–whoah, wait a sec, that HH sure does do a lot for me!), well, then a longer and more complicated process is even welcomed.
I’ll tell you straight off the bat, this lasagna falls into the “food-of-many-components” category. It’s not difficult per se, but it does contain many layers, and each layer requires its own prep. If you happen to have prepared marinara sauce at the ready (or a good jarred type you like), prepared pesto, and meat in the freezer, then you can throw it together in no time, and there’s no worr–
WHAT?!!
Did I just say, “MEAT”???!!!!
Now, now, calm down, people! It may look like meat, and it may taste like meat, but it is not meat. It is faux meat. This latest meaty substitute is just SO authentic, both in look and in flavor, that I simply forgot to specify–it’s entirely vegan! And SOY-FREE!
After creating a killer soy-free faux pepperoni a while back, I’ve been thinking about other ways to use vegetable bases to stand in for meat. It’s not that I’ve hopped on the “soy-is-no-good-soy-is-awful-soy-is-the-Lucifer-of-legumes” bandwagon or anything; it’s just that, sometimes, you want something that isn’t soy. Especially with this lasagna (since it already contains tofu in the ricotta cheese), I wanted a no-soy “ground beef.” And so, this ground meat was born.
When I served the HH a big hunk of the lasagna, his immediate response was, “Ths turstes jess lak urrglrr lrzgne.” (He was so impressed he forgot to swallow before speaking). To translate, “This tastes just like regular lasagna.” Whoopee! Considering that he consumes “regular” lasagna about once a month, his was high praise, indeed.
I’m incredibly pleased with this vegan meat, and am already dreaming up different uses for it. Scattered on nachos. Bound together with some flax eggs and cooked as burgers. Atop a huge mound of spaghetti arrabiata. Or even as the base in a vegan tortiere, like so:
The possibilities are endless. . . my head is spinning with dinner party plans already. Because, after all, the true cardinal rule is this: if it tastes great, eat it.
“Mum, are you sure that isn’t real meat? We’d be happy to help you taste-test your recipes. As you know, the cardinal rule for canines is, ‘if it’s not poisonous, eat it.’ Oh, wait, we might eat it anyway, even when it is poisonous. But don’t worry, I won’t go near that chocolate again.”
This recipe is my submission this week to Amy’s Slightly Indulgent Tuesdays event. Head on over to see what other healthy dishes are posted!
Meaty Spinach Pesto Lasagna (ACD Stage 2 and beyond)
A great dish to serve to friends and really impress those meat-eaters. Because the cheese mixture in this recipe was soy-based, I was pleased that the meat was based primarily on a veggie. Make a huge batch so that you can freeze the leftovers and enjoy another lasagna-based meal later on, without all the prep.
8-12 sheets lasagna, parboiled for 5 minutes (I used Tinkyada rice lasagna)
1 recipe tofu ricotta (I used the recipe from Cozy Inside; you could also use this one)
about 5 cups (1200 ml) homemade or prepared marinara sauce (for ACD, be sure it doesn’t contain sugar)
1 batch Spinach Pesto (recipe follows)
1 batch ground “meat’ (recipe follows).
Preheat oven to 375F (190C). Grease a 9 inch (22.5 cm) square pan and 8 inch (20 cm) loaf pan. (If you have a larger pan that equals the same area, please feel free to use it instead of two separate pans).
In a medium-sized bowl, fold the cheese and pesto together, just enough to combine (I left a few blobs of pesto visible here and there–you can mix it in completely if you wish). Set aside.
Line up the different ingredients so they’re ready to go, assembly-line style.
Cover the bottom of each pan with one layer of lasagna noodles. If necessary, overlap the noodles, but no more than 1/4 inch (.5 cm) to fit them into the pans (I broke them into smaller pieces to accomplish this).
Measure out about 1-1/2 cups (360 ml) of the sauce and set aside.
Using the remainder of the sauce, spoon a thick layer of sauce over the noodles in each pan (I used about 3/4 cup/180ml for the loaf, 1 cup/240 ml for the square pan). No noodles should be visible.
Divide the cheese mixture in half. Using one half of the cheese mixture, sprinkle it evenly over the sauce in each of the pans (I used about 2/3 of one half to cover the square pan, and 1/3 of one half to cover the loaf–in other words, 1/3 of the total in the square pan and 1/6 of the total in the loaf pan).
Divide the meat mixture in half. Using one half of the meat mixture, sprinkle it evenly over the cheese in each of the pans (I used about 2/3 of one half to cover the square pan, and 1/3 of one half to cover the loaf–in other words, 1/3 of the total in the square pan and 1/6 of the total in the loaf pan).
Repeat the layers one more time, using up all the cheese and meat. Cover with one more layer of noodles, then coat with the reserved sauce.
Bake in preheated oven for 45-60 minutes, until bubbly and browned on the edges. Remove from oven and allow to set for at least 15 minutes before cutting into squares. Makes 8-10 servings. May be frozen.
Spinach Pesto:
1 cup (240 ml) lightly packed fresh basil leaves
1/2 cup (120 ml) lightly toasted walnut halves and/or pine nuts (I used a combination)
2 large cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 cup (120 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
1 bunch (about 1/2 pound or 230 g) fresh spinach, trimmed and washed (stems included)
Combine all ingredients in a food processor until smooth. Use as is or mix with ricotta cheese. Will keep, covered, in refrigerator up to 3 days. May be frozen.
Meaty Veg-Based Ground “Meat”:
1 medium head cauliflower, trimmed and washed, broken into florets (about 1 pound/450 g after trimming)
2 cups (250 g) raw walnut halves
2 Tbsp (30 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
2 cloves garlic, minced, or 1tsp (5 ml) garlic powder
1/4 tsp (1 ml) dried sage
1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) smoked paprika
1 tsp (5 ml) liquid smoke (for ACD Stage 1, use more smoked paprika)
1/2-3/4 tsp (2.5-3.5 ml) fine sea salt, to taste
2 Tbsp (30 ml) Bragg’s liquid aminos, soy sauce, or tamari (ACD Stage 1 use Bragg’s only)–omit for an entirely soy-free “meat”
Preheat oven to 350 F (180C). Line a large rimmed cookie sheet or rectangular pan with parchment, or spray with nonstick spray.
In a food processor, blend the cauliflower and nuts to a fine meal. Depending on how grainy you like your “meat,” it can be more or less fine; I made mine like a coarse cornmeal.
Transfer the mixture to a large bowl and add remaining ingredients.
Using your (clean) hands, knead everything together thoroughly, until the grounds are uniformly coated.
Turn the mixture into the pan and spread out evenly. Bake for 45 minutes and up to 1 hour 15 minutes (it will depend on the size of the pan and how thick the mixture is when you first begin to bake it), stirring after 30 minutes and then every 15 minutes after that, until the meat is dry and brown (if the layer underneath comes up looking wet and white–as cauliflower tends to do–then you need to keep baking). The grounds will begin to separate and intensify in color as they roast.
Once the meat is cooked, you can cool, package, and freeze it for later use, or use it right away. Will keep, up to 3 days, covered in the refrigerator. May be frozen.
Dealing with all the exigencies of the anti candida diet (ACD) can really be a challenge. After more than a year without sugars (sniff, boo hoo), most fruits (miss ya, mangoes!), gluten (you were overrated anyway), yeasts (nooch! nooch!), fungi (bye, bye, portobello steaks) or anything else fermented (thank God you can get black olives cured in oil), I’ve often found that turning to raw foods is a fairly easy way to ensure compliance.
Apart from raw desserts (which tend to rely on dates and other fruits), it’s pretty simple to stick to the ACD guidelines by choosing from the living foods menu, as it already eliminates most sweeteners and most grains or grain products (and, let’s face it, most of us on the ACD probably got there by overdoing it on the sweets and grains).
As a result, I was particularly delighted that the folks at Book Publishing Company sent me a copy of the latest in the “Becoming” series of books by Brenda Davis and Vesanto Melina, Becoming Raw: The Essential Guide to Raw Vegan Diets. I already own the other two books (Becoming Vegetarianand Becoming Vegan), so I knew I was in for a treat with this new tome as well. (The publisher provided a complimentary copy of the book for review. To view this blog’s entire disclosure policy, click here).
Like its predecessors, this newest volume is brimming with useful and often fascinating information, covering virtually every detail you’ll need to know if you’re contemplating a switch to a raw, plant-based diet. In her review, Alisa called the book (at 376 pages) a “dense read.” And while it does, indeed, offer a plethora of statistics, charts, tables, definitions and other details, I must admit that this is just the kind of extensive and comprehensive information–all backed by solid scientific research–that I enjoy reading (and which fans have come to expect from this duo of nutritionists). As a reference book, Becoming Raw provides a sturdy basis on which to transition to a raw vegan diet.
The introductory chapter, “Becoming Raw for Life,” addresses some of the typical questions and concerns associated with embracing a raw foods diet. For instance, can one obtain enough protein on a raw regime? What about cooked foods? Right from the outset, the authors’ approach to the topic is open minded and eschews any too-rigid stance (they argue that cooked foods are not necessarily a bad thing, even though an entirely raw diet may be perfectly healthy for some people).
They also offer a comprehensive history of the raw foods movement from the pioneers to the current icons, including the many illnesses that see improvement on a raw diet. From rheumatoid arthritis to cardiovascular disease, diabetes, obesity and many more, a raw food diet appears to offer benefits in preventing and treating these conditions. The authors also present abundant information about plant chemicals and compounds (such as antioxidants) that can benefit health, as well as some of the problems with cooked food (such as acrylamide, a byproduct of heating most starchy foods).
The subsequent chapters about macronutrients (proteins, carbs and fats) and micronutrients (vitamins and minerals) could easily rival those in texts I studied while in nutrition school for their breadth and detailed explanations of how these nutrients function in the body, why we need them, and how much to ingest for optimal health.
The chapter on carbohydrates, for instance, provides a thorough definition of the glycemic index (GI), glycemic load, and an explanation of why some foods with a higher GI may nevertheless be a better choice for their ultimate effect on blood sugar levels (crucial for someone like moi who follows an ACD). They point out, “watermelon has a glycemic index of 72, which is very high (higher than white bread or white sugar).” On the other hand, “a 3.5 ounce (100 gram) serving of watermelon provides only 8 grams of carbohydrate. In order to get the blood glucose results predicted by the glycemic index, a person would need to eat about 6.25 servings, or 22 ounces (625 grams) of watermelon.” Does this suggest, I wondered, that raw fruits would actually be acceptable on the ACD, even if they’re sweet? For now, I’m sticking with the original diet, but this fact is definitely intriguing.
Finally, the authors devote an entire chapter to “The Great Enzyme Controversy,” addressing theories and research about whether or not enzymes in raw foods are essential and account for the health-promoting benefits of these foods. (I won’t reveal their final conclusion, but will let you read the ultimate results on your own.)
Concluding true to its subtitle as an “essential guide,” the book wraps up with suggested menus and enough recipes in each category (juices, breakfast foods, soups, salads, main dishes, desserts) to get you started on your own raw regimen. The two recipes I sampled (Green Giant Juice and Zucchini Linguine with Bolognese Sauce) were superb. For more recipes from the book, check Alisa’s review and Lisa’s series about the book, which begins here.
Becoming Raw is an excellent resource that clarifies and demystifes the raw vegan diet. As with their previous best selling books, Davis and Melina can help to direct you on a path toward a plant-based, raw lifestyle in a way that’s informed, intelligent, and health-promoting.
Celeriac (or Zucchini) Linguine with Bolognese Sauce and Hemp Parmesan (plus myACD-friendly version)
While the list of ingredients may seem daunting, you can prepare the seed mix and hemp parmesan in advance, and the dish can later be assembled very quickly. Incredibly satisfying and every bit as filling as meat-based pasta, this multi-layered dish provides an impressive 21 grams of protein, 17 g of dietary fiber, and 277 mg of calcium per serving. I used zucchini as my grocer was out of celeriac, but I’m sure the celery root would be equally delectable. My ACD-based changes follow.
Tomato Sauce (makes about 4 cups/1 liter):
20 sundried tomato halves or pieces, soaked for 6-24 hours in 1-2/3 cups (414 ml) water
5 pitted medjool dates, or 10 pitted regular dates, soaked for 6-24 hours in 1/3 cup (80 ml) water
1/4 red onion, chopped
1 Tbsp (15 ml) dried oregano
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tomatoes, chopped
1 cup (250 ml) grated carrots
Seed Mix (makes about 2 cups/500 ml):
1/2 cup (125 ml) shredded carrot
1/2 cup (125 ml) chopped fresh parsley
1/2 cup (125 ml) sunflower seeds, soaked for 1 hour, drained and rinsed
2-4 Tbsp (30-60 ml) Nama shoyu or tamari (soy sauce)
2 Tbsp (30 ml) freshly squeezed lemon juice or apple cider vinegar
1 Tbsp (15 ml) miso
1/4 cup (60 ml) sesame seeds, soaked for 1 hour, drained and rinsed
1/4 cup (60 ml) hempseeds
Celeriac Linguine (makes 8 cups/2 liters):
8 cups (2 liters) shredded celeriac or zucchini (spiralized, julienned witha mandolin, or grated)
2 Tbsp (30 ml) extra virgin olive oil
juice of 1/2 lemon
Hemp Parmesan (makes 1/4 cup/60 ml):
2 Tbsp (30 ml) hempseeds
2 Tbsp (30 ml) nutritional yeast flakes
1/8 tsp (3/4 ml) salt
To make the tomato sauce, put the sundried tomaotes and their soaking water in a food processor or blender. Add the dates and their soaking water. Then add the onion, oregano, and garlic. Process until smooth. Transfer to a bowl. Stir in the fresh tomatoes and carrots.
To make the Seed Mix, put the carrot, parsley, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, Nama Shoyu, lemon juice, and miso in a food processor. Process until smooth. Add the sesame seeds and hempseeds. Pulse until evenly mixed. Stored in a sealed container in the refrigerator, the Seed Mix will keep for 3 days.
Alternately, spread the Seed Mix on a dehydrator tray with a nonstick sheet. Dehydrate at 115 degrees F (46 C) for 3 hours. Crumble with your fingers. Serve warm or store in the refrigerator.
To make the Celeriac Linguine, combine allt he ingredients in a large bowl. Toss until evenly mixed. Cover and refrigerate until serving time, up to 4 hours.
Tip: To keep the shredded celeriac moist while preparing the remainder of the recipe, sprinkle it with a little water so it does not dry out.
To make the Hemp Parmesan, combine all the ingredients in a small bowl. Stir until evenly mixed. Stored in a sealed container in the refrigerator, Hemp Parmesan will keep for 1 month.
Assemble lthe finished dish just before serving. For each serving, arrange 2 cups (500 ml) of hte Celeriac Linguine on a plate. Combine the Tomato Sauce and the Seed Mix to create the Bolognese Sauce and stir gently[I folded gently so that the seed mix retained some of its own texture scattered throughout the sauce] . Top each serving with about 1-1/2 cups (375 ml) of the Bolognese Sauce. Sprinkle with about 1 Tbsp (15 ml) of the Hemp Parmesan. Makes 4 hearty servings.
ACD-Friendly Variation (Phase I and beyond):
I followed the original recipe as written, except for these changes:
For the Tomato Sauce: use 2 pints (about 500 ml) grape tomatoes instead of the sundried tomatoes. Remove 1 cup/240 ml (20-30 tomatoes) and cut in half; reserve for later. Preheat oven to 325F (170C) and place the remainder of the tomatoes on a cookie sheet lined with parchment. Bake until the tomatoes begin to dry out and wrinkle a bit, 40-50 minutes. Allow to cool slightly. Use the baked tomatoes in place of the sundried tomatoes, and the reserved (chopped) tomatoes in place of the 2 chopped tomatoes in the original recipe; do not add any extra water (as in the original recipe), unless necessary to achieve a sauce-like texture.
Omit the dates and use 10-20 drops of stevia instead (adjust to your taste, and based on how sweet your baked tomatoes are). Do not add extra water, as in the original recipe. I also added 2 tsp (10 ml) dried basil to the sauce.
For the Hemp Parmesan: Omit the nutritional yeast and use 2 Tbsp (30 ml) pine nuts instead.
The past couple of weeks have been beyond hectic here at the DDD household, what with a surprise party (at my place) for my office mate; a wedding shower (no, not mine–okay, breathe normally now); two new courses to prepare for my return to teaching next week (what?? Seriously, is my vacation over already?); and some heavy-duty baking from Sweet Freedomso I could deliver samples to a slew of people. Not to mention the energy it took to get over my excitement at having Ellen read my cookbook!**
With all this frenzied activity, I haven’t had a huge amount of time for cooking–at least, cooking anything that takes up more time than your standard elevator pitch. I searched through my mental archives for quick, easy recipes–and then I remembered Leticia.
Leticia (well, actually, I don’t remember her real name, but I do know it was seemed somewhat exotic to me at the time, and it started with “L” and ended with “A”), was a fellow don in residence when I was there during my PhD years. And who knows more about the ins and outs of “quick and easy” food than students living in residence over the long and lonely summer months?
Leticia (or was it Lydia?) was a new-agey, hip and–to my mind–somewhat radical young woman. One evening as we sat out enjoying the summer air on the residence balcony, she casually revealed to me that she’d once married another student during her undergraduate years, simply to help him avoid deportation. Wow! How daring! How outré! How anti-establishment! How illegal!
I was in awe of her.
Lydia (or Leora) was tall and thin as bullrushes, with thick, frazzled brown hair that seemed to be suspended around her square face like a floating birds’ nest, its stray strands protruding at erratic angles. She had a tendency to wear loose cotton dresses that were either tie-dyed or hand-painted, sporting faded splotches of color like an artist’s smock that had been bleached over and over. Leora (Larissa?) actually had a very pretty face, with large, heavy-lidded eyes and Angelina Jolie lips. And when Larissa (or Lorena) spoke, it was in a low, deep whisper like an FM radio announcer, as if she’d just unearthed a scandalous childhood secret.
Because of her Italian background, Lorena/Ludmilla informed me, she was an expert on pasta. One evening, when the two of us roamed the otherwise empty corridors in the residence hall, she invited me to share her pasta carbonara. I was entranced by how quickly it came together: she boiled the pasta, tossed it with a couple of beaten eggs and threw in crumbled bacon that had been fried as the pasta boiled. The final touch was a handful of green peas; the entire dish was then topped with grated parmesan cheese and a liberal grinding of black pepper. I was amazed at how creamy the eggy sauce was, and how well the smoky bacon complemented the almost-instant satiny coating.
Never mind that I don’t eat bacon any more; the idea of eating raw egg (the heat of the pasta supposedly flash-cooks it) is, to my current-day digestive system, repulsive. But the ease of preparation, the creamy-and-smoky texture and flavor combination–well, those still appeal. Big time.
So I set about finding recipes for pasta carbonara that I could adapt to my current dietary limitationss. And you know what? Not one of them contained peas! I’m not sure if the peas were Latoya’s own addition or if they were generated by my imagination, but I couldn’t conceive of the dish without them. So my version may not be conventional–but then again, neither was Lillianna.
After examining various other vegan pasta carbonara recipes, from Vegan Dad’s coconut-milk based to Urban Vegan’s with white wine to a more conventional recipe, I decided to go with my gut and create my own soy-free, wine-less version. I still wanted the sauce to be creamy and eggy (but without any resemblance to raw eggs). For the bacon, I adapted the tempeh recipe from Vegan with a Vengeance to create a super-quick, non-marinated version; and since I loved Loretta”s original creation so much, I retained the peas in the mix.
The result was a silky smooth sauce infused with a hint of smokiness from the bacon and a surprise burst of sweetness on occasion from the peas. As is our wont when I cook a vegan main course, the HH and I sat down to individual plates so he could doctor his up with something more animal-centric. With the the tub of parmesan by his side–something he perfunctorily dusts on every pasta dish I make–he decided to taste the pasta first, au naturel.
Slowly, he chewed, moving the penne around in his mouth, carefully assessing the flavor. He swallowed.
“You know,” he said, “it doesn’t actually need the cheese. I’m just going to eat it like this.”
It doesn’t need the cheese! He ate it just like that! TRIUMPH!
So we ate the pasta carbonara, the HH and I, both equally happy with its warm, filling, flavorful sauce and meaty, smoky bits of tempeh bacon. As he cleaned his plate, the HH pronounced, “I don’t think you could improve on this with anything.” (I nearly fainted.) ”It’s perfect as it is.” Well, knock me over with a feather! (Okay, it would have to be a pewter statue of a feather, because, as we all know, an actual feather would have no impact on me whatsoever. . .but whatever).
If you’re looking for a quick and delicious weekday dinner and feel like some pasta, give this a try. In no time, you’ll have a dinner that’s not only toothsome, but slightly unconventional and really hip, too. Like Lucinda. Or Leticia. Or whoever she was.
** (The quest continues–so please feel free to let Ellen know if you’d like to see me on the show! You will win a free copy of Sweet Freedom if I’m on! Click here to send her a comment about how talented and witty I am. Oh, and what a good cook, too. )
New Age Pasta Carbonara (ACD-friendly, Phase II and beyond)
When you feel like something substantial but don’t have the time, try this quick and easy sauce. If you’re too rushed to make tempeh bacon, you can use diced smoked tofu, or your favorite brand of prepared “bacon”.
5-10 drops liquid stevia, to your taste (don’t overdo the sweetness in these)
2 Tbsp (30 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
1/2 cup (120 ml) water
For the pasta and sauce:
–enough of your favorite pasta for 4 servings, dry (I used brown rice penne)
1 recipe of your favorite tempeh bacon (see above)
2 Tbsp (30 ml) smooth natural cashew butter
1 Tbsp (15 ml) white miso
1 Tbsp (15 ml) tahini (sesame paste)
1/4 tsp (1 ml) dijon mustard
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 tsp (2. 5 ml) turmeric
pinch nutmeg
fine sea salt and pepper, to taste
1 cup soy or almond milk
1 cup (240 ml) vegetable broth or stock
2 Tbsp (30 ml) potato or arrowroot starch
1/2 cup (120 ml) fresh or frozen peas (no need to defrost if frozen)
3 Tbsp (45 ml) chopped fresh parsley
Prepare the bacon: cut the tempeh into strips as thin as you can manage (I got 15 strips). In a large frying pan, mix together the remaining ingredients. Add the tempeh and turn each strip over a few times to coat it in the sauce.
Turn on heat to medium-low and cook the strips for about 5 minutes until the sauce has begun to evaporate and the bottoms are browned; turn the strips and continue to cook the other side, pushing the bacon back and forth occasionally to prevent sticking, until the liquid ingredients have been absorbed and the bacon is browned and crisp on the outside, another 5-10 minutes. If the liquid is absorbed too quickly, add a little more water, as needed. Turn off heat and set aside.
Prepare the pasta: Set your water boiling in a large pot. Cook the pasta according to package directions.
Meanwhile, prepare the sauce: In a medium pot, whisk together the cashew butter, miso, tahini, mustard, garlic, turmeric, nutmeg, salt and pepper until smooth. Very slowly, whisk in the almond milk, a little at a time, until the mixture is smooth and well combined. Add the vegetable broth and mix again.
Place the potato starch in a small bowl. Add about 1/3 cup (80 ml) of the liquid mixture and whisk until smooth; slowly add this to the liquid in the pot. Heat the mixture in the pot over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until it begins to bubble; cook for about a minute more, stirring constantly, until the mixture is thick and creamy. If the pasta isn’t yet ready, turn off the heat and cover the pot.
Once the pasta is ready, drain it and reserve about 1/2 cup (120 ml) pasta water. Add the pasta to the sauce pot along with the tempeh and peas and continue to cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, until everything is warmed through, about 10 minutes. If the sauce becomes too dry during this time, add the reserved pasta water (if the sauce remains smooth and doesn’t dry out, you can discard the pasta water). Sprinkle with fresh parsley and serve. Makes 4 servings.
(“What? Mum, you’re not getting a divorce, are you? Because who’s going to walk us in the morning if Dad is gone??“). Now, before I go and scare The Girls, I should specify that I’m not referring to a human object of my affection. I’m talking about a new food-related amore: celeri rémoulade. (“Phew! Mum, you really shouldn’t scare us that way. We’re very sensitive, you know.”)
Let me backtrack a bit and explain. Even though the HH and I do celebrate Valentine’s Day, for the past few years we’ve done so a day or two after the fact, in order to avoid the too-crowded-too-expensive-too-mushy restaurant crowds who seem to roll out like fog off a San Francisco pier all on that one day. Last year (the first V-day to occur after I started writing this blog), I broke all previous records and assembled a multi-course, ultra-extravagant, über-romantic and oh-so-dirty dinner (no, no, no, that would have scared the dogs even more than a breakup! We’d never offend their delicate sensibilities that way. I meant “dirty” as in, “generating a lot of dirty dishes,” silly!). I vowed that this year, we’d move to the other end of the spectrum, with a simple, quick, yet equally delectable meal. (“Thanks, Mum. That divorce scare was more than enough for one day.”)
I’d actually chosen the appetizer over a month ago, after reading about celeri rémoulade on Molly’s blog. Her description was so alluring–rapturous, almost–citing the “clean, fragrant crunch of celery root, and the alchemy of mayonnaise and Dijon mustard. . . . somewhat rich [with a] flavor [that's] light, bright, even hungry-making, a perfect start to a meal,” that I knew I had to try it out. The only glitch, of course, is that traditionally, the dish contains copious amounts of both mayonnaise and yogurt (the vegan versions of which are a tad too processed for my liking). Never mind; I decided to deal with that later.
For the main course, I considered a recipe for Tempeh Stroganoff I’d found in an old (October 2007!) issue of Vegetarian Times.
[11:32 AM. Ricki and the HH sit at the kitchen table, sipping tea and nibbling on muffins. The Girls lie on the carpet in front of the fireplace, Chaser sprawled with her belly facing the fire, while Else lies curled in a ball.]
Ricki: How about this tempeh stroganoff from VegetarianTimes?
HH: No.
Ricki: But it sounds delicious! And it’s even gluten-fr–
HH: Uh-uh. No. Nada. No way. Nein. [As if to remind Ricki of a forgotten promise]: No tofu.
Ricki: But it’s not tofu. It’s tempeh.
HH: Tempeh, tofu–same difference. No soy products.
Ricki: [pouting] Well, but, this is what I want for dinner!
HH: Okay, fine. I’ll make a steak and have the stroganoff as a side dish.
Ricki: That’s why I love you, sweetheart. Happy Valentine’s Day! Kiss kiss squeeze squeeze hug hug. . .
Okay, I didn’t really say that. But I did think it. Here’s what I did say:
Me: That’s fine, HH. But just because you’re cooking your own steak doesn’t mean you don’t have to help me make the stroganoff.
HH: Okay.
Ricki: That’s why I love you, sweetheart. Happy Valentine’s Day! Kiss kiss squeeze squeeze hug hug. . .
We figured we could whip up the stroganoff in under an hour (bake the meatballs while I made the sauce; julienne the celery root while the stroganoff simmered), having time to leisurely prepare the meal ensemble while listening to some Rodrigo, exchange good-natured banter, toss cashews to The Girls and sip our favorite bargain basement champagne, sort of like we used to do in the early days of our relationship. We’d have the early part of the day to relax in our jammies, peruse the newspaper, play with The Girls, check favorite blogs, and so on. Perfect!
After a chillaxing day (browsing the paper, taking The Girls for a trail-walk, visiting the workout club–how ya doin’, burly guy with the black knee socks? Nice to see you again, septuagenarian couple with the matching T-shirts! Nice day, isn’t it, bleached blonde with the flirty giggle!), we finally turned to dinner.
Perhaps I should have planned this “easy peasy” meal just a tad more carefully. (Of course, by the time I got round to cooking, I was semi sloshed on Segura Viudas, which may have contributed to my somewhat inefficient kitchen artistry–but still).
First, I discovered that the cashews (the main ingredient in the homemade sour cream) required an hour’s soaking, which set our prep time back by an hour. No problem: I’d whir together some homemade vegan mayonnaise (I used the recipe in Cozy Inside, but this one sounds just as good) and whip up the meatballs while the nuts soaked. Then, I’d quickly prep the sour cream and throw together the stroganoff while the HH grilled his steak. We’d be done and ready to dig in by 7:00 PM at the latest.
[7:00 PM. Having forgotten about the initial chopping and sautéing involved, Ricki is still mixing ingredients for the meatballs. Sounds of rumbling tummies can be heard in the background.]
HH: So, um, what’s our ETA for dinner?
Ricki: Well, I’ll just pop these meatballs in the oven–I couldn’t bear to fry them–and then make the mayo and sour cream, and then I can whip up the stroganoff, and then the celeri rémoulade, oh, and then I guess we should think about dessert–
HH: I thought this was going to be a quick and easy dinner.
Ricki [pouting]: Well, now, I suppose it HAS been easy for YOU, hasn’t it, Mr. Lazypants? I mean, I’VE done all the work so far, I’m standing here covered in onion juice and flour and cashew crumbs, and YOU’VE been sittng there all day reading the paper and playing with the dogs, sipping your champagne, now, haven’t you?? Well, I wouldn’t be complaining right about now if I were you, mister, you’d better watch yourself, or else—
HH: Um, well, I’m actually happy to help. Just tell me what to chop. Oh, and here’s your Valentine’s Day present [brandishing chocolate].
Me: Oh, that’s why I love you, sweetheart! Happy Valentine’s Day! Kiss kiss squeeze squeeze hug hug. . .
Ultimately, we didn’t sit down at the table until well after 8:00 PM (have you ever julienned a celery root by hand??? Insanity, I tell you–sheer insanity). But the results were well worth it. The celeri rémoulade was, as Molly promised, fresh, crisp, light, and entirely irresistible. I really did fall in love, and ate two servings before even thinking about my stroganoff.
The main course, too, offered a winning combination of succulent, filling meatless balls atop a plate of velvety, herbaceous sauce. It practically hummed its smooth melody of rich, sour cream and savory, toothsome mushrooms.
It may have been more complex than anticipated, and it may have taken six times as long as anticipated, and it may have been cobbled together from seven different recipes intended for seven other purposes. . . but this meal was remarkable all the same.
After all, who ever said the road to true love was an easy one?
In case you’d like to reproduce the meal yourself (if you happen to have three and a half hours to spare some weekend), here’s how I assembled it.
And since celery root is available in Ontario in February, this post is my submission to Maninas’s event, Eating with the Seasons, for February.
Vegan Celeri Rémoulade adapted from Orangette (ACD Stage 3 and beyond)
Light and almost ethereal, this salad will enchant with its thin, crisp matchsticks of celeriac and creamy, fragrant dressing.
1 small to medium celery root
6 Tbsp (75 ml) mayonnaise of your choice
2 Tbsp (30 ml) this “sour cream” (save the rest for the stroganoff sauce)
1 Tbsp plus 1/2 tsp (17.5 ml) dijon mustard
salt, to taste
lemon juice, to taste
To prepare the celery root, peel away all the outer gnarly skin until you have a smooth, white root ball. Cut the root in half and place cut side down on a cutting board.
Slice the halves into thin slices. Stack the slices and cut again into thin matchsticks. If you have a mandolin and it will handle celery root, by all means use that instead (and avoid a 40-minute operation if done by hand–though of course you won’t revel in the same satisfaction as you will from doing it by hand. But then again, who cares?). Place the matchsticks in a large bowl.
In a small bowl, prepare the dressing: whisk together the remaining ingredients. Pour over the celery root and toss to coat. Allow to sit about 10 minutes for flavors to meld before devouring. Makes 4-6 servings. Will keep, tightly covered, in the refrigerator for 3 days.
[More romantic lighting! Okay, actually, it was just evening and fairly dark when I took the pic.]
Meatball Stroganoff (GF option) based on a recipe in Vegetarian Times, October 2007
While I enjoyed the disparate elements of this dish immensely, I think next time I’d pair the meatballs with a tomato-based sauce, as Jes does in her original recipe. The stroganoff sauce would be fine on its own, too.
1 recipe tempeh (or other) meatballs (I used this one–ues GF meatballs for GF option)
4 ounces (115 g) button or other mushrooms (I used portabello)
2 Tbsp (30 ml) tamari or soy sauce (use GF for GF option)
1/4 cup (40 g) brown rice flour
1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) dried mustard powder
1/8 tsp (.5 ml) ground nutmeg
1/4 cup (60 ml) Madeira, vermouth, or apple juice (I used vermouth)
3 cups (720 ml) vegetable broth (or use 2 tsp/10 ml bouillon powder and water) (use GF for GF option)
1Tbsp (15 ml) olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
1 cup (240 ml) chopped kale, collards, or Swiss chard1/4 cup (45 g) potato starch
about 8 ounces (225 g) rice pasta, or pasta of your choice
paprika, for garnish, if desired
In a small bowl, toss the mushrooms with the tamari and set aside. Meanwhile, combine the starch, flour, mustard and nutmeg in a large bowl. Slowly whisk in the madeira until smooth; then whisk in the broth until well blended. Set aside.
In a frypan, heat the oil over medium heat and then sauté the onion until translucent. Add the mushrooms with the tamari and continue to sauté another 2-3 minutes. Add the kale and cook for another minute, until it begins to wilt.
Pour the liquid mixture over the vegetables in the frypan, and stir over medium-low heat until it begins to bubble and thicken. Add the sour cream and stir to blend well (if sauce is too thick, add more water or some soymilk). Keep warm while you prepare the pasta.
To serve, place pasta on a plate and top with several warm meatballs. Spoon sauce over all, and garnish with paprika if desired. Serve immediately. Makes 4-6 servings.
[No, not "date" as in "dried fruit with pit and high sugar content." I mean "date" as in the classic Saturday night event, "evening out with someone you like and with whom you might like to be, um, romantic." ]
It’s been a whirlwind weekend, first, with a birthday dinner (THANKS for all those amazing well-wishes, everyone!) followed immediately by a wedding (the birthday dinner featured the HH and me; the wedding did not). More on both next time, once I’ve had a chance to catch my breath. Today, I’m just as excited to tell you about Date Pasta instead.
When we were undergrads in our 20s, one of the things that welded the friendship between my buddy Sterlin and me was our singleton status. No matter how many relationships and breakups the rest of our friends experienced, and no matter how many blind dates, dating services, personal ads, university parties or fix-ups we two endured, Sterlin and I somehow managed to remain perpertually alone (well, I guess technically we weren’t “alone,” since we spent most Saturday nights with each other–but you know what I mean).
Being permanently unattached until our mid-twenties (okay, fine, late twenties) didn’t mean we ever stopped trying, however. This pasta dish was Sterlin’s go-to recipe pretty much every time she wished to impress a potential boyfriend, or every time she scored a second date. It was quick, it was easy, it was foolproof, guys seemed to like it, and–most important–it was the only dish she knew how to make.
The guys in question, upon being served the pasta, would inevitably utter an appropriately impressed response, then spend an engaging evening drinking wine, gobbling up the pasta, and raving about how good it was, before leaving and never calling again. (What’s up with that, anyway? Was it something we said? Was it our nerdy demeanor? Were they just not that into us? Or were they perhaps paralyzed by our incomparable wit, intelligence and (reasonably) good looks? I guess we’ll never know. ) Despite its inability to produce a lasting relationship, Date Pasta was so good that Sterlin kept making it throughout our university career.
In fact, I was also so impressed with the dish (and ever hopeful about the fact that guys seemed to like it) that I asked for the recipe, and proceeded to cook it up dozens of times myself over the years. It wasn’t until the HH and I were happily ensconced in our current long-term relationship and sharing the same abode that I dared to cook it for him.
And then–magically–when the HH ate it, the curse was broken; he was able to love Date Pasta, and still love me, too.
I hadn’t eaten Date Pasta in years, though. First of all, the HH and I no longer go on “dates” (well, I suppose you could say our weekly sushi lunch together might qualify, but still). More importantly, however, the ingredient list of the original recipe contained spicy capicola salami, cut into cubes and flash-fried along with the other ingredients. These days, I feel about salami sort of the same way I feel about steak. When I altered my diet ten years ago, I placed the recipe in a file folder, and forgot about it.
This past week, the HH’s friend the Engineering Guru came over for dinner. Could it be that he resembled a guy I fancied in high school? Or maybe it was that he’s tall and strapping and I know he, like the HH, is an avid meat eater? Whatever the reason, Date Pasta came to mind. The HH even remembered it from our early days and enthusiastically coerced browbeatbadgered encouraged me to whip it up again. So I did what I often do when cooking for the HH and me: I made a huge batch of the recipe in a meatless format I could enjoy, then let the guys add their own meat to their portions.
Why did I never think of this before? All these years, I’ve been avoiding Date Pasta, and missing out on this remarkably easy and delicious dinner! It’s so chock full of pungent, toothsome, salty and briny add-ins that it almost doesn’t need the pasta, and certainly doesn’t require the meat. Who knows? Maybe if I’d made it this way from the start, I’d have had more success in those early dateless years. (Then again, I would never have enjoyed all those Saturday nights with Sterlin). And so, Date Pasta, welcome back (can’t say that I miss the singleton status, though).
While this is great as is, if you’re craving a meat stand-in, I think this pasta would be phenomenal with some cubed, smoked tofu as well.
1/2 large onion, sliced thin in half-moon strips
8 (yes, 8 ) cloves garlic, cut in quarters
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 pound (225 g.) button mushrooms, cleaned and quartered
1 can artichoke hearts, lightly drained (keep about 2 Tbsp./30 ml. of the liquid), halved
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) capers, with some juice
1/3 cup (80 ml.) green and kalamata olives, pitted and cut in half
1 roasted red pepper, sliced thin
1/2-3/4 cup (120-180 ml.) grape tomatoes, cut in half
1/2 cup (120 ml.) tomato sauce or juice (optional)
linguine, enough for 4 people, cooked until just al dente
nutritional yeast, ground nuts (pine nuts are great for this), or chopped fresh parsley
While your pasta cooks, sauté the onion and garlic in the olive oil until the chunks of garlic begin to brown. Add the mushrooms, artichoke hearts, capers, and olives; lower heat, cover and simmer 5-8 minutes, stirring once or twice, until the mushrooms begin to give off a bit of liquid. Add the pepper, tomatoes, and tomato sauce, if using, and cover and simmer for 5 more minutes, until flavors have melded.
Drain the pasta about 2 minutes before it has reached perfect doneness (if you like it al dente, stop a couple of minutes before it reaches this texture). Drain the pasta and, while it’s still dripping, immediately toss it into the pot with the sauce ingredients. Toss to coat the pasta (there should still be some liquid in the bottom of the pot; if there isn’t, add about 1/4 cup water). Cover the pot and simmer 2 more minutes, stirring once or twice, until the pasta is perfectly cooked and has soaked up some of the liquid (it will also absorb some color from the sauce). Toss again and serve with a generous grinding of pepper and a sprinkling of nutritional yeast, ground nuts, or chopped parsley. Serves 4.
When I was a kid, my mother was a fairly conventional 1960s housewife (well, except for the Valium) whose cooking style, too, adhered to convention; she’d cook pretty much the same seven dinners every week, according to the day: Mondays were hamburgers and mashed potatoes. Tuesdays were veal chops and green beans. Wednesdays were franks and beans. Fridays were chicken soup or roast chicken (but this changed to salmon patties and twice-baked potatoes, after one of her Mah Jong friends clipped a recipe from Good Housekeeping and passed it along).
Only on the very rare occasion did Mom diverge from the predetermined pattern, if she saw a particularly intriguing recipe in Chatelaine, perhaps, or if my aunt cooked something she tasted and really liked. Then Mom would pick up the ingredients during that week’s grocery shopping, and we’d have something new for a change.
One week, she decided to tackle homemade lasagna. Never mind that she had never made it before. Never mind that it was a multi-step, fairly complex process. Never mind that my aunt–the inspiration for this experiment–was a professional caterer and could make a lasagna with one hand tied behind her apron. My mother decided we were going to have lasagna, and, dammit, that’s what she made.
Well, sort of.
I returned home from school that day to a scene worthy of the set of Psycho: kitchen walls splattered with thick, wayward splotches of red, the stovetop covered in equally abundant patches of tomato sauce that had spewed from a teeming pot of sauce; topless, half-emptied cartons of cottage cheese and grated mozzarella littered across every surface, and detritus of carrot shavings, onion peel, and celery stalks strewn over and beside the wooden cutting board.
It did smell heavenly, though. My sisters and I waited patiently, watching Happy Days reruns, as we dreamt of thick, saucy hunks of lasagna, the long, ruffled noodles padded with meat, cheese, and my mother’s own sauce. But any aspirations of heavenly hunks were quickly dashed when my mother cut in to the first piece. The noodles (having been parboiled according to package directions, before being layered with the sauce and cheese) had practically disintegrated in the casserole dish, leaving only a mass of mushy, oozing goo. She didn’t attempt lasagna again for quite some time.
When I finally got my own apartment as an undergraduate, I was determined to conquer the fractious pasta. I cooked up a huge batch of my favorite spaghetti sauce with ground beef, chopped celery, peppers and carrots, accented with oregano and lots of basil. I had my cheeses (ricotta, mozzarella and parmesan) at the ready. And, unlike my mother, I was savvy enough to take advantage of modern conveniences: I purchased pre-parboiled noodles, so that they could be laid, stiff and uncooked, right into the casserole dish with the sauce and cheeses. I layered, I smoothed the top, I popped it into the oven, feeling pretty satisfied with myself.
About an hour later, I was drawn by the heavenly smell. But any aspirations of success were quickly dashed when I cut into the first slice. . . which was a mass of mushy, oozing goo. Needless to say, I had no desire to cook lasagna again for quite some time.
One of the imperatives of my “Total Health” course is to eat more greens (and more on the course, below). In searching the Internet for greens recipes, I came across the ubiquitous Potato and Kale Enchiladas on the Post Punk Kitchen discussion forum. Now, I know it must seem lately that I’m shilling for Moskowitz & Romero (no, not the Las Vegas act; the vegan cookbook authors) given how many times I’ve mentioned their recipes on this blog recently. But since kale is my favorite leafy green, and since the recipe was right in front of me, I decided to use it–sort of. Having no tortillas in the house, I dug out a box of rice lasagna I’d bought on a whim months ago. Did I dare to try another lasagna experiment? What the heck; I decided to live on the (stiff, ruffled) edge.
Potatoes and noodles? Yes, it’s an unconventional twist on that traditional dish. But I’m here to tell you, it worked. Not only was the kale-potato filling hardy enough to support the layers of noodles, the lasagna itself complied and baked up perfectly; firm, cooked throughout, with neither mush nor goo anywhere in sight. It cut beautifully into semi-solid, clearly defined squares. And the combination of potato, kale, tomato sauce and pumpkin seeds was a delightful, unusual and winning carnival of tastes.
This was a terrific dinner, one that would satisfy even the most avowed lasagna-lover. The HH thoroughly enjoyed it (I believe his exact words were, “hmmmn, not so bad for vegetarian lasagna”), and The Girls were happy to help with the leftovers (“It may not be steak, but it was still good, Mum! And you might recall that we love kale.”) Next time you’re feeling adventurous in the kitchen, I recommend giving this this one a try.
Lasagna noodles of your choice (I used rice lasagna)
About 3-4 cups of your favorite Arrabiata spaghetti sauce (such as this one)
About 1/4 cup (125 ml.) additional toasted pumpkin seeds, for garnish
Preheat oven to 375F (190C). Lightly grease a large rectangular pan or lasagna pan.
Prepare the kale and potato filling according to directions. Heat up your spicy tomato sauce.
Spread about 1/3 of the sauce in the bottom of the pan; top with a layer of the lasagna noodles. Top with half the kale-potato mixture and cover with another 1/3 of the sauce. Repeat with noodles, kale-potato mixture and end with sauce. Bake in preheated oven until warmed through and slightly crispy on top, 25-35 minutes. During the last 5 minutes, sprinkle with remaining pumpkin seeds and return to oven to warm the seeds.
Allow to sit at room temperature 10-15 minutes before slicing (this helps the lasagna retain its shape when cut). Makes about 8 servings. May be frozen.
Total Health Coda: You may have noticed that there was no update last Wednesday, as we missed our class that day. The makeup was yesterday, followed by our regular class tonight. Yesterday’s topic was Ayurvedic cooking, something I’ve always found fascinating but never knew much about. According to the dosha (body and personality type) test, I am almost perfectly split between the two opposites, Vata and Kapha. In other words, I’m conflicted. In other words, sort of a split personality. Or, as the HH would say, I’m just a Libra.
Even though I am well aware of this principle, I’ve never been the kind of gal who naturally embraces “simple”: no scoop of vanilla ice cream for me when double-fudge-cookie-cream-caramel-swirl exists in the world; no blue wooly socks if I can wear my favorite pair emblazoned with frolicking brown and green puppies; no simple sentence when a complex, adjective-crammed, three-clause phrasing can be used instead.
In terms of this particular trait, the HH and I are polar opposites. Unlike me, he invariably takes the path of least complication. In fact, he’s frequently reminding me that, in his opinon, I tend to overcomplicate matters.
Scene One: I’m worried about Elsie. Just look at her! She’s terribly lethargic, sleeping on her pillow all afternoon. She didn’t even come into the kitchen when I started baking. Could she be sick? Maybe we should take her to the vet. Maybe she’s got Distemper! Or Lyme Disease! We have to go to the after-hours emergency clinic! RIGHT NOW!!
HH: “Sweetheart, please don’t overcomplicate this. Elsie’s just tired, that’s all. I took them for an hour-long walk along the trail this afternoon. She swam and she ran for an hour. See? Chaser’s exactly the same way.”
Me: “Oh. Yeah.”
Scene Two: I’m sure my sister is mad at me. I mean, she got off the phone so abruptly, and she didn’t even ask about The Girls. She definitely sounded upset. Hmmn. What on earth did I do to offend her this time? Hooboy. Now I’m going to have to apologize for some slight I can’t even remember committing. . .
HH: “Honey, you don’t need to overcomplicate this. She probably had a bad day at work and just doesn’t feel like talking about it. Didn’t she have some big meeting coming up. . .?”
Me: “Oh. Yeah. Now I remember. . . she had to fire someone today and felt terrible doing it. Oh, gee, I guess I should have asked her about it. . . “.
Scene Three: That HH is so infuriating! Why won’t he tell me what he’s really thinking? He just won’t share. Men are so emotionally stunted! They are so out of touch with their feelings! All I asked was a simple question, and he can’t even give me a straight answer. . .!
HH: “Ricki. Please. Do not overcomplicte this. I really meant it when I said that I have no preference. I don’t care whether you wear the flats or the heels. Please, just pick one. We’re going to be late for the wedding.”
Hmmm. Okay. I see his point.
Thankfully, when it comes to cooking, we are in perfect agreement: the less complicated, the better. And this pasta dish fits the bill beautifully.
When I’m looking for something to whip up on weeknights if we’re headed out after dinner and need something pronto; or for indolent Sunday evenings when we’ve spent the weekend engaged in errands or household chores and feel too lazy for anything more elaborate, I turn to this pasta. It’s proof positive that sometimes, indeed, simple is best.
The recipe, I’ve discovered, is a slight variation on a standard Italian pasta dish: spaghetti or linguine tossed with roasted red peppers, garlic, and a bit of chili. The combination of sweet (the peppers), hot (the chilis), and pungent (the garlic) is truly inspired. My handwritten version was jotted on a piece of scrap paper several years ago, and I no longer recall the original source; but since I’ve adapted it to our tastes here in the DDD household, I’m setting this down as my own adaptation.
And the preparation, as promised, is truly simple: the final product is ready in the time it takes to cook the pasta. You can create any number of variations on the base recipe by adding your own choice of dense protein (the HH likes sausage and parmesan cheese; I like chopped or ground almonds, or nutritional yeast).
Because it’s both quick and appealing, I’m submitting this recipe to Ruth’s weekly Presto Pasta Night, over at Once Upon a Feast. Look for the roundup after Friday evening!
Spicy Red Pepper Pasta
Simplicity itself is transformed into a satisfying, filling dinner in this pasta. You can use either fresh or jarred peppers here; I prefer a combination of both for the different textures and levels of sweeteness.
1 pkg. (about 350 grams) long, thin pasta (I use kamut linguine)
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
4 red peppers, either fresh or roasted and jarred (the ideal mix, I’ve found, is 2 of each), cut in long strips
4-6 cloves garlic (or more, if you like), coarsely chopped
1 tsp. chili flakes
other toppers of your choice: parmesan cheese, chopped or ground nuts, faux cheese, etc.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil and cook pasta according to package directions. If it’s ready before the pepper mixture, drain, reserving about 1/4 cup liquid; cover, and set aside.
Meanwhile, in a large pot or dutch oven, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and fresh peppers (however many you’re using), and cook until the garlic begins to brown and the peppers are wilted. Sprinkle with the chilis and stir to combine. If using prepared roasted peppers, add them now, and mix together.
Once the pasta is ready, add it along with the 1/4 cup water to the pepper pot (always wanted to say that!). Toss until the pasta is coated with the garlicy oil and the peppers are well distributed. Stir in your optional extras and transfer to serving plates. Sprinkle with more cheese or nutritional yeast, if desired. Makes 4-6 servings.
Oh, come on. Be nice to me. I went to the School of Hard Gnocchis.
All right, buddy, you asked for it–
Look, don’t gnocchi it ’til you try it.
* * * * * *
Now, judging by my little preamble here, you might surmise that I don’t take my gnocchi quite as seriously as I should. I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. I fully understand the gravitas of gnocchi, believe me; in fact, I take them just as seriously as my job (extremely); or saving for retirement (nerve-rackingly); or even the well-being of The Girls (all-consumingly).
(“Well, Mum, you know that we both take your well-being very seriously too, right? Because if anything ever happened to you, how would we get our dinner?”)
I am well aware that the genesis of a good gnocchi is more art than skill; and also that I am, in that particular realm at least, neither artistically inclined nor very skilled. Because the process usually requires planning, talent, and the equanimity of a Stepford wife, I have rarely ventured to attempt the challenge. A shame, really, as I adore gnocchi.
In my long-ago wheat-eating days, I would snatch any opportunity to sample one of those freshly pinched and simmered Italian dumplings. The HH and I patronized quite a range of small, family-owned Italian restaurants in our early days, and each boasted its own version of the little pasta pillows: smothered in Arrabiata with extra jalapenos mounded on the side; lightly pan-fried in olive oil, then sprinkled liberally with springy sage and dusted with freshly grated Parmesan; tossed gently in a vodka cream sauce with black olives and capers–I loved them all. I loved the slightly gooey exterior, the softly yielding chew, the smooth and subtle flavor that demanded a potato ricer to achieve.
Before today, I had yet to sample a spelt-based version of gnocchi. (Seems they don’t serve spelt gnocchi in most Italian restaurants I’ve frequented. Quel surprise!). The few times I endeavored to cook up some of the light, spud-based morsels using a traditional recipe in the past, the result was a total flop. Either the gnocchi were so hard and dense that they could be shot from a BB gun, or they turned out so soft and mushy that one might wonder where the pasta was hiding in this white, slushy gruel. And yet. . . and yet. . . they persisted in beckoning to me.
So, last night, I threw caution to the winds, and allowed my passion for the little rascals to lead me into temptation. I knew I’d likely get gnocchi’d up for my efforts, but just didn’t care. After all, the outcome would be a bowl brimming with my delicious, darling pasta babies! Besides, I thought gnocchi would be the perfect submission to Ruth’s weekly Presto Pasta Night over at Once Upon a Feast.
I started with a fairly simple recipe for Spiced Carrot Gnocchi that I found in Gourmet Vegetarian by Jane Price, and adapted it according to my own dietary restrictions: no eggs and no wheat (replaced with silken tofu and a combination of whole spelt and oat flours, respectively). I topped the gnocchi with a creamy, cheesy sauce of my own invention (I’ve had great luck with sauces in the past, thankfully), and sprinkled some chopped fresh parsley over top.
How did it end up? Well, let’s just say that the sauce was rich, creamy, and delicious, as expected. As to my experiments with my potato nemesis? Well, I must confess that, once again, success eluded me. Don’t get me wrong–they weren’t awful; in fact, the mildly sweet and dense chewiness was well complemented by the velvety, cheesy sauce. Still, if you’re looking for the traditional version of this pasta, you won’t be satisfied with these.
And I hate to admit it, I think I will finally put this kitchen quest behind me, once and for all. That’s right–it’s time to gnocchi it off for good.
Spiced Carrot Gnocchi in Cream Sauce
The contrast between the dense, slightly chewy gnocchi and the velvety sauce is a pleasing one. These gnocchi were a little heavy and slightly sweet; if you’re okay with non-traditional pasta, you may enjoy these.
Boil carrots in lightly salted water until tender; cool. While carrots are boiling, prepare Creamy Sauce (below); keep barely warm, covered, while you prepare the gnocchi.
Process carrots and tofu in a food processor until smooth. Add the Salba, lemon juice and Garam Masala and process again to mix. Turn into a large bowl.
Add the flours to the bowl and stir to mix (use your hands if necessary). This will make a very soft, sticky dough (add more flour if needed until you can handle the dough).
Coat hands with flour and roll dough into long rolls about the width of your index finger (3/4 inch or 2 cm. thick). Slice each roll into pieces about 1 inch (2.5 cm.) long. Press each lightly with the tines of a fork to create the typical gnocchi ridges.
Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to the boil. Lower heat to medium-low and add gnocchi, about a dozen or 15 at a time. Boil until the gnocchi rise to the surface, then remove with a slotted spoon. Keep warm until you boil the rest of the gnocchi.
When all the gnocchi are cooked, top with Creamy Sauce. Sprinkle with freshly chopped parsley, if desired. Makes 4 large servings.
Creamy Sauce
This is an Alfredo-style sauce that would work beautifully over any kind of pasta.
1/2 cup (120 ml.) smooth cashew butter
1-1/2 Tbsp. (25 ml.) light miso
3 T. (45 ml.) lemon juice
3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) nutritional yeast
1 tsp. (5 ml.) onion powder
1/4 tsp. (2.5 ml.) garlic powder
1/8 tsp. (1.5 ml.) smoked paprika
1/2 cup (120 ml.) vegetable broth
1/2 cup (120 ml.) plain soymilk (not sweetened)
1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) organic cornstarch
In a blender, blend all ingredients until you have a smooth mixture. Pour this into a small pot and heat over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, until sauce begins to bubble. Simmer for about a minute, stirring constantly to prevent scorching, then pour over desired pasta. If you prefer a thicker sauce, spoon out about 1/4 cup sauce and place in a small bowl, then mix with another teaspoon of cornstarch. Return the mixture to the pot and simmer for another minute or so before using.
While taking some leisure time to browse through a few food blogs recently (read: two hours at my desk when I should have been working), I happened upon the blog event They Go Really Well Together, hosted by blog.khymos.org (“dedicated to molecular gastronomy”). The gist of the event is that two or more seemingly mis-matched flavors are paired according to their molecular compatibility (a la Fat Duck), said compatibility not always apparent to those deficient in the chef’s olfactory supremacy (such as moi).
Then I got to thinking, it’s true; some ostensibly odd couplings do actually work well together: Sonny and Cher, purple and mustard yellow walls (but only for the previous tenant, not us), Elsie and Chaser, paisley and–hmmn. Well, Sonny and Cher, anyway.
This pasta dish, a favorite in our house, is one of those weird couplings: rhyme off the ingredients one at a time and they sound not like a recipe but more like a grocery list jotted in haste on the back of an envelope, its disparate elements each appealing on its own, but not meant to share space in a simmering pot. Yet, when tossed together haphazardly as we tend to do over here, the result is pure delight.
I must admit, I have a tendency to be remiss about planning meals even at the best of times (“Does that make you bad, Mum? Bad Girl! Can we have your treats, then?”), but during times such as these, when I’m inundated with midterm assignments and hillocks of tests to mark, I’m lucky if I have a passing thought about dinner as I turn the key in the front door at 6:00 PM. Okay, I’m exaggerating, just a little. 5:58 PM.
And so this pasta is our saviour many a busy night. It comes together incredibly quickly, basically in the time it takes to boil and drain the noodles. I’m sure I’ve seen variations of this combination floating about on the Internet, but since we were introduced to the recipe this way, we like to stick with it.
The dish combines soba noodles, the Japanese version of spaghetti, with the agreeable combination of ginger, soy sauce, and chard. It’s also a great way to incorporate more greens into your cooking, as the chard shrinks down until it’s barely noticeable, never overtaking the toasted nuts. The sprinkling of chili flakes provides a pleasant hint of spice that lingers on the palate. And it’s enough, on its own, for a satisfying light dinner.
We got the original recipe from the newsletter we receive each week with our organic produce delivery. We’ve tweaked it slightly, but not much. And since it truly is a presto! pasta, I’m submitting this to the weekly Presto Pasta night event, hosted by Ruth at Once Upon a Feast.
Soba Noodles with Ginger, Chard and Walnuts
This is a great recipe for a quick and easy dinner. Nuts combined with the whole-grain noodles provide a complete protein in this meal, and the chard adds a bevy of minerals and vitamins. [And isn't it cute how the pasta and the plate are all kind of the same colors?]
1 package (about 1 lb/500 g.) soba noodles (we use Sobaya, kamut-buckwheat)
3 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
4-5 cloves garlic, chopped
1 1″ (2.5 cm) piece ginger, peeled and minced
1/2 tsp. (or more, to taste) chili flakes
2-4 Tbsp. tamari or soy sauce, depending on your taste
1/4 cup water
1 large head chard, washed, ribs removed, and chopped into large pieces
1/2 cup toasted walnut pieces
nutritional yeast (or, for the omnivores, grated parmesan cheese)
Fill a large pot with water and set it boiling for the soba noodles. When the water boils, add the noodles and cook according to package directions. Drain and set aside.
At the same time as the water heats, begin the sauce. In a large pot or dutch oven, heat the oil and add the garlic and ginger. Saute until the garlic begins to brown (don’t worry if the mixture sticks a bit to the bottom of the pot). Add the chili flakes and stir for another 30 seconds or so.
Deglaze the pan by pouring the soysauce over the garlic and ginger mixture; the browned bits should come loose. Add the water and chard, and stir to coat the chard and allow it to wilt a bit, 2-3 minutes. Toss in the walnuts, turn down the heat and cover the pot.
By now, your noodles should either be ready or just about ready. As soon as the noodles are done, add them to the pot with the chard mixture, and toss to distribute the mixture and coat the noodles. Serve immediately, sprinkled with nutritional yeast. Makes 4 entree servings.
WOCA Update: So. Three days down. But I’m hanging in there I want chocolate. It’s tough, but with effort, I’ll persevere Must. Have. Some. Give me some. I knew before I started that I’d have a hard time giving up my favorite food Chocolate. NOWGivemeNOW. But I mustn’t capitulate, or all is lost! No; there will be no chocolate in the GimmesomeNOW. No, no chocolate! Chocolate is verboten. Choco–NOW, I said. You know you want it. Go on, just have some. . . NO! Chocolate is my downfall, every time! Absolutely no chocolate. No–Eat it. Eat it now. Yummy, creamy, sweet, deliciou–Back, stay BACK, you sweet satan! Chocolate must be eradicated! Chocolate is the devil! Chocolate is–Just take some. So what if it’s fattening. Who cares if it’s bad for you. C’mon. Just take one, just a little piece. . . I won’t tell if you don’t. Okay, I’ll pay you. You can have my comic book collection. You can have my wedding band (the one from the first marriage). You can have my–OUT, OUT, DAMNED CHOCOLATE!! A POX ON YOU, I SAY! LEAVE ME! AVAUNT AND BE GONE! LEAVE ME IN PEACE!! leave me. . . . .leave. . . me. . . .
Ahem. Well. This may be just a tad more difficult than I anticipated.
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