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.
[Update, April 15, 2010: Did you know that Ellen Degeneres has read my cookbook?? Waaa-hooo! I could not be more thrilled, especially since I'm sure she noticed because of ourEL-LENd Me a Hand campaign!! THANK YOU a million times to everyone who has been participating so far! Now I'm more determined than ever to bring healthy, vegan sweets to The Ellen Show--so let's keep at it! To see how you can help (and win a free cookbook), please check this page. Yee-haw!! ]
I. Relationships: You win some, you lose some.
After my marriage to the Starter Husband imploded, I wasn’t much in the mood for dating (actually, that’s quite the litotes: I didn’t even attempt another date for about 4-1/2 years). When I finally did feel ready to dip my toes into the relationship sea (where there are, after all, plenty of fish), seems the guys weren’t quite ready for me. After signing up for an online dating service, answering dozens of newspaper personal ads (do those even still exist?), welcoming every fix up that friends offered to arrange, or accepting any and every blind date (including one guy who was, literally, a blind date), I still found myself single, unattached, solo, solitary, on the lookout, on my own. Oh, and I hadn’t met anybody, either.
I had, however, encountered every personality type, height, style of male hair and facial stubble, attitude toward “who pays/opens doors/orders dinner,” and pickup line out there (a personal favorite: “How about coming back to my place and sharing a can of ravioli?”). I had also strolled through the park at 3:00 AM on on my first date with Crazy Inventor Guy (badRicki! Bad girl! Luckily, he was innocuous–and eventually became a great friend); shared a picnic with Farmboy from Calgary (did you know that I have eyes just like a cow’s?); co-hosted a martini party with Mr. Evolved Male (who, sadly, was hit upon repeatedly by my gay friend M, while M assured me, “Of course he’s gay. I know these things”);** spent hours on the phone with The Mogul (since he was eternally travelling the globe on business), only to meet him in person and be really, really sorry I couldn’t somehow force myself to like him (but–his own plane!! A yacht! Jetting to England at a moment’s notice!!); and ultimately wasteddevotedsquandered spent 3 months embroiled with Rocker Guy (he of the black leather pants) only to discover he’d been cheating on me pretty much the whole time we were together.
Eventually, I decided, “You win some–and you lose some.” I stopped worrying about it.
And then–poof!–out of nowhere, I met the HH.
Win!
II. Restaurants: You win some, you lose some.
Ever since I began the ACD last year, I’ve been on a mission to find restaurants that can accommodate my dietary restrictions. Luckily, I’ve discoveredtwo or three, and the HH and I tend to frequent those establishments regularly. On our recent vacation in Florida, I was elated to discover Wish, where I enjoyed a tasting menu of four vegetarian dishes.
Win!
Then, for our anniversary last week (and thanks again for all the good wishes!), the HH and I had our hearts set on our favorite special occasion place. Eating at this place is like splurging on that adorable Christian Lacroix jacket at Holt’s–you really can’t afford to do it very often (in fact, we do it only once a year–usually on our anniversary), but boy, is it worth it.
At least, until this last time.
Normally at our annual visit, I enjoy the portobello “steak” (marinated mushroom), but since fungi are a no-no on the ACD, I called in advance to ensure there would be something I could eat. And since the HH and I are such long-standing patrons there, I thought the place would be willing to accommodate. ”No problem,” the lovely hostess told me on the phone. “See you Saturday evening.”
First course: baby spinach salad with green apple and pine nuts. So far, so good.
Then came the main course. I was given (with impeccable service, mind you) a slab of grilled sweet potato draped over a mix of grilled chickpeas, puy lentils, sautéed, spinach and white asparagus. (Looks eerily like a piece of salmon, doesn’t it?)
To be fair, the sides–as usual–were astoundingly good. If I could figure out how to reproduce those grilled chickpeas, I could die a happy woman. But, um, excuse me? A piece of sweet potato as a main dish? This is the best they could come up with?
LOSE. (Or, to use twitter parlance, FAIL. And Epic Fail, at that.)
True, they almost redeemed themselves with our desserts–mine, a simple bowl of fresh berries. But behold the presentation:
Nevertheless, we are seriously re-thinking whether or not we’ll continue to patronize the place.
III. Recipes: You win some, you lose some.
With cooking, as well, there are the “let’s-pop-the-cork,” “you-just-won-the-lottery,” “you-came-first-in-your-class,” “you-mean-the-size-eight-is-too-big?” types of successes, as well as the brilliant failures. To wit, a recent comment from Michelle made my day; she asked about how I create recipes. The comment concluded this way: ”Always love your recipes, Ricki! You must spend a lot of time developing them? I’m curious!” Of course, that got me thinking about my process of recipe creation.
Depending on the recipe, I do, indeed, sometimes spend a lot of time creating it. My soy-free whipped cream, for instance, was tested about 50 times before it hit my cookbook. Sometimes I chronicle the various iterations of a recipe, as when I wrote about chocolate pecan pie. Other times, I hit on a recipe on the first go-round (though that is a rarity). In other words, you win some and you lose some. (Happily, the difference between recipe creation and dating is that you can throw away the loser recipes).
In a recent issue of the McDougall newsletter, I noticed a reworked recipe for this salad from Martha Stewart’s website. This is my own remake of the remake (sort of like Canadian Idol–you know, a poor imitation of American Idol, which was an imitation of–and has since surpassed–the original Pop Idol). Only this time, the salad was a total success. Not only that, it worked out perfectly–on the first try.
BIG WIN!
Like the spring air, this salad is characterized by crispness and the heady aroma of tender green shoots. The sprouts are both crunchy and juicy, complemented perfectly by the natural sugar of the peas and lemon scented tang of the creamy dressing. The original recipe called for raw, julienned asparagus spears, but the HH refused to even taste it unless I steamed them first; next time, I’ll stick with the raw, as I’m sure the salad would be even more appealing that way. As it was, we managed to polish it off in two meals, and wished there were more.
“Hey, Elsie–oops, I mean, Ellen, I guess we could apply this principle to anything, couldn’t we? Like, say, treats: you win some, you lose some. Or frisbee: you win some, you lose some! Or how about–”
“Zip it, Chaser. Sisters: you win some, you lose some. *Sigh.*”
**No, Mr. Evolved Male didn’t end up dating my gay friend. In fact, he reconciled with his former girlfriend shortly after that party. (You win some. . . ).
Remarkably quick to make, this fresh, crisp, quintessentially springtime salad is a perfect first course. I streamlined the recipe even more by using a flavorful nut-based mayo as the only dressing ingredient–it was sensational.
2 Tbsp (10 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
1/4-1/2 cup (60-120 ml) water or unsweetened soymilk, as needed
freshly ground pepper, to taste
For the salad:
3/4 cup (180 ml) fresh shelled peas or frozen peas, defrosted
1 bunch asparagus (about 1 lb or 500 g), lightly steamed or raw, cut into thin strips or shredded
4 ounces (120 g) pea shoots or sprouts (about 4 cups/1 liter)
Make the dressing: place all ingredients in a high powered blender (start with 1/4 cup or 60 ml liquid) and blend until perfectly smooth. Add pepper and blend again.
Place the peas, asparagus and pea shoots in a large bowl. Add the dressing and toss to coat everything evenly. Taste and adjust seasonings. Makes 4-6 servings. Will keep, covered, in refrigerator up to 2 days.
After being on the ACD for a full year now, I must admit to feeling a bit like a basket case (my, time sure does fly when you’re [not] having fungus). Having cut out poprocks and coke–not to mention all sugars, molds and fungi–it seems my body is now just a minim closer to reacting normally when faced with gastonomic excess. Whereas pre-ACD, I might have mindlessly polished off an entire pan of brownies in one day (who am I kidding? more like one sitting), nowadays, I start to feel full after barely four squares of ACD-friendly treats. Just call me a walking contradiction.
And so, lately, I’ve been feeling my body’s warning to take it easy. I suppose I could blame it on too many experiments in the kitchen (cheese bread? Fudge? Brain stew?). Or I could blame our recent trip to Florida, where the locals beckoned, ”welcome to paradise,” inviting me to eat all manner of slightly questionable foods (such as Butternut and Edamame Hash, likely bathed in maple syrup). I might just blame it on my current holiday from the college (Oh! Please wake me up when September ends!). Should I blame my dysfunctional childhood, with its boulevard of broken dreams? Or should I just blame it on the rain (hey! how the heck did those guysget in here?).
Whatever the reason, I’ve been feeling a need to cleanse, to refresh, to–yes, detox–lately. Not that I’m jaded, you understand; but I did think it would be fun to spend a whole day eating green foods, as a way to gently cleanse the system. What better way to celebrate St. Paddy’s Day than an entire day of green? (Okay, perhaps not 100% green–but, at least, foods that contained a majority of green. Which, I suppose, puts me in the minority).
[This is what wheatgrass juice looks like frozen. Don'tcha wish you had some?]
Why green? Well, as we know, greens are the healthiest foods out there. (Even Michael Pollan has a rule to that effect: eat more plants; mostly leaves). Also, they contain chlorophyll, which is a great blood detoxifier and cleanser. Furthermore, greens contain incredibly high proportions of minerals and Vitamin K. And let’s not forget a whole whack of antioxidants. So, taking a longview on health, and given their wonderful nutritional profile, I opted for a Green Day.
[This is what wheatgrass juice looks like defrosted. Now I bet you really wish you had some!]
As usual, my day started out with a hit of wheatgrass juice (I have it whenever I can get it at our local market; I juice enough for about 2 weeks’ worth, freeze in ice cube trays, and defrost overnight in the fridge) along with my daily flax/chia mix with spirulina (or, as the HH affectionately calls it, “Green Slime.”)
[Green Slime--with lots of affection.]
An hour or so later, I followed up with a green “pudding”/smoothie, based on this with a bit of this. With all that energy, I could have run a Macy’s Day parade (but decided against it, since we all know nice guys finish last).
[Avocado, cucumber and lettuce made this so green, I felt compelled to add some carob.]
I whisked up a steaming cup of matcha green tea, which I sipped as I finished some work on the computer.
[And yet more green!]
Lunch was a quick raw wrap–romaine lettuce with homemade nut cheese, grated carrots, cucumber and the other half of the morning avocado. Deelish!
[Fresh, crisp, and green as a four-leaf clover!]
And finally, for dinner, I opted for a lovely green soup. I discovered this recipe entirely serendipitously, one morning as I trod the treadmill (don’t you just love that word, “trod”?). For some reason, my soap opera hadn’t been recorded, and there I was, watching a blank screen like an American idiot, waiting, waiting. . . until I finally realized I was soapless. Well, good riddance, I say–and on to Food Network, where you can have the time of your life!
By chance, Laura Calder’s show was on, and her theme was “foods kids will like.” In contrast to her usual flesh-centric, cream-and-butter, weighty recipes, this soup was light, smooth, rich, and mildly flavored. The soup was incredibly quick and easy to make, and a hand-held blender was perfect to purée the final product. In less than 30 minutes, I had the emerald ending to my day of green.
Whether you opt for green soup, green beer or just some green-themed cheer, hope you all have a happy St. Patrick’s Day on the 17th!
(I know, I am a total nerd. I mean, who else would feel compelled to fit 20 greatest hits into one blog entry? But for now, I guess you’re just stuck with me.)
“Mum, we have to agree that yes, you are a nerd. But at least you’re not a geek stink breath. Now perhaps you’d like to give us a Greenie in honor of the day?”
Green Soup with Spinach, Lettuce, and Peas(ACD Phase I and beyond)
Quick and easy, this soup is a perfect first course to a light dinner. Or add some cheesy bread and call it a meal.
2 large leeks, cleaned and sliced (white and light green parts only) or 3 medium yellow onions, sliced
2 Tbsp (30 ml) coconut or extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
3 cups (720 ml) vegetable broth or stock
1 small bunch (about 2 cups/480 ml) baby spinach leaves
2 cups (480 ml) cooked green peas
2 cups (about 4 large leaves) shredded romaine lettuce
1/2 to 1 cup (120-240 ml) unsweetened soy or almond milk
1 Tbsp (15 ml) fresh lemon juice
fine sea salt and pepper, to taste
In a large pot or Dutch oven, heat the oil over medium heat; add the leeks and cook, stirring, until they are soft, 5-10 minutes. Add the broth, lower heat, cover and simmer until leeks are tender, about 15 minutes.
Add the spinach, green peas and lettuce, pushing the leaves to submerge in the broth. Continue to cook until leaves are soft and wilted, about 5 minutes.
Using an immersion blender, blend soup to desired smoothness (Calder suggests straining it, but I prefer to consume the excellent fiber in this soup!), then add the milk, lemon and seasonings to taste and stir well. Heat just until warmed through, and serve. Makes 4 servings. May be frozen.
Just like Anna Karenina’s unhappy families, everyone deals with illness in her or his own way.
The HH, for instance, when struck with a cold or flu, takes to his (ie, our) bed for two days or so. He doesn’t talk; he doesn’t watch TV; he doesn’t eat; he barely uses the bathroom. Then, after the magical 48-hour interval, he emerges from the room like someone who’s just attended a premiere screening of Star Wars: still a little dazed, eyes not quite yet adjusted to the light, but somehow energized and ready to get back into the regular world.
I, on the other hand, rarely if ever spend time in bed during the day (no, no, I didn’t mean it that way, silly! I’m talking about when I’m sick). Instead, I stumble about and manage to function at sub-optimal levels for as many days as it takes to recover. . . usually the better part of two weeks. Then, one day, I realize that the symptoms are gone–no more pile of soggy tissues beside the bed, no more abandoned cups of tea all over the house, no more tickle at the back of the throat, no more raw, throbbing red proboscis.
Similarly, I think that people who recuperate from illness crave unique foods as well.
When I was 16, I caught chicken pox from the CFO. (Believe me, chicken pox is intended as a childhood disease for a reason; what is usually mild and short-term discomfort for a ten year-old can progress to a full blown health crisis for a teen or adult). Besides the initial alarm and teenaged angst I felt during the first two days (when I assumed those little pustules were zits rather than pox), I also became incredibly enervated and developed a high (104F or 40C) fever before an insanity-inducing itch enveloped my entire body for about ten days. I recall spending hours hunched in the bathtub, attempting to submerge myself (face included) under the lukewarm water into which was dumped an entire box of baking soda. If it hadn’t been a drowning risk, I probably would have slept in that tub.
When I finally began to regain some strength, my mom asked what I wanted to eat.
“I think I’d like some. . . cottage cheese and canned pears.”
Cottage cheese? And canned pears?? Neither of these was a favored food; I almost never ate canned anything. Still, my body must have known what it needed. Perhaps there was sodium in the pears to replenish what I’d lost in bodily fluids by sweating so much. Or maybe my adolescent self still required some protein and calcium. Whatever the reason, it did the trick, and I began to get better.
This past week, as I finally emerged from the quagmire of a heinous virus (not swine flu, according to my doctor), I began to yearn for real food, something other than tea, or broth, or a healing smoothie.
“Ess goo suh-er” I said to the HH. (I lost my voice after the first few days, and it still hasn’t quite come back, unfortunately.)
“Huh?” the HH replied.
“Let’s cook supper,” I whispered. “How about lentil rissoles?”
“Huh?” the HH replied. (Oh, he had heard me this time; but he had no idea what a “rissole” was).
Like so many food bloggers, my favorite reading material when I have a few minutes of downtime is a good cookbook. In general, I flip through any new recipe book as soon as I get it home, marking favored recipes with tabs made from torn Post-It notes. Some books end up with just a few tabs, lonely markers like flags left behind on the surface of the moon, while others are graced with tabs on almost every page, leaving a fringe of sticky notes across the book’s edge.
This recipe for lentil rissoles is one I picked out over a year ago, when I first flipped through Homestyle Vegetarian, a great find at a bookstore remainder bin. Basically, a rissole is a patty or burger that’s been coated in breadcrumbs and deep fried. I decided to nix the coating/frying and cook these up as a simple yet flavorful burger. Besides being delicious, these lovelies boast a full 24 grams of protein per serving (2 rissoles).
In about 30 minutes (by then I was too hungry to refrigerate them as directed before cooking–but I think it would have helped), we had a satisfying meal of rissoles and a simple green salad on the table. The end result was slightly disappointing in texture (probably my fault for not refrigerating them first), with a soft and moist interior much like refried beans. As a result, the patties tended to break up as I transferred them from pan to plate. (I’m guessing that a Tbsp/15 ml finely ground flax added to the raw mixture would help considerably, or substituting a glutenous rather than gluten-free bread for the crumbs). But the taste was outstanding.
Not at all spicy, with just a whisper of cumin, the burgers were toothsome and even meaty. While my habitual method with burgers is to blend everything to a homogenous smoothness, in this case I followed the original recipe and made patties with distinct chunks of carrot and whole peas, which provided bursts of slightly sweet, intense flavor in each bite. Beauty!
The HH proclaimed these a huge success and happily ate two. We had ours plain, but because of their mild flavor, I bet these would be stellar with a chutney or even a few slices of avocado and a dollop of salsa. Still, that’s just how I’d eat them. I imagine everyone else will deal with the burger in her or his own way, of course.
These patties are perfect for an everyday dinner, and would be wonderful jazzed up with an array of toppings and served in a toasted bun.
1 Tbsp (15 ml) extra virgin olive oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 large cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 tsp (10 ml) ground cumin
1 tsp (5 ml) ground coriander
2 cups (480 ml) vegetable broth or stock
1 medium carrot, finely diced
1 cup (250 g) red lentils, picked over and washed
1-1/2 cups (120 g) fresh whole grain breadcrumbs (I used millet-quinoa bread, but I think a spelt or whole wheat would actually work better here)
2/3 cup (60 g) walnuts, finely chopped (I ground mine in the food processor)
1/2 cup (90 g) frozen peas
3 Tbsp (45 ml) chopped flat leaf parsley or cilantro
Heat the oil in a large pot or dutch oven. Cook the onion, garlic, cumin and coriander over medium heat for 2 minutes, or until the onion has softened. Stir in the carrot, lentils and broth. Slowly bring to the boil, then reduce the heat to low and simmer, covered, for about 30 minutes, or until the lentils are cooked and pulpy, stirring frequently to stop them from sticking and scorching. Remove the lid during the last 10 minutes to evaporate any remaining liquid. The mixture should be fairly mushy and there should be no liquid visible on the bottom of the pot after you run a spatula across it.
Transfer the mixture to a large bowl and cool for 10 minutes. Stir in the breadcrumbs, walnuts, peas, and parsley. Form into eight 3-1/2 inch (8 cm) round rissoles. Cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes, or until they are firm (this is the step I skipped–I would advise doing it).
Spray a nonstick frypan with olive oil spray and heat over medium heat. Cook the rissoles about 4 minutes on each side, until the outsides are browned and crispy and they are heated through. Makes 8 rissoles. May be frozen.
[As promised, today I'm posting a giveaway along with this recipe. Who knew there were so many Larabar fans out there? But no, my friends, sorry to say that no one guessed the bar I'm giving away! (Though I did love Alex's suggestion that it might be one of The Girls' treats.). I'm guessing these bars are new to most of you. . .so get ready to be delighted, to be taste-tempted, and to become an instant fan! To learn more about the bars and the giveaway, go here. Then be sure to come back to leave a comment--and for this yummy recipe!]
Remember last week, when I crowed about summer finally arriving in Southern Ontario? Well, little did I know that that single day would constitute the entire season! As of this week, we’re waking up to a distinct chill under ever-darkening skies; there’s condensation on my car windows when I slip into the driver’s seat; and the air has that crisp, hollow clarity that seems to catapult sounds exponentially, even across mountains (not that there are any mountains in our little suburb, of course, but you get the idea).
Huh? Where did our summer go this year?
This type of weather always brings to mind a course in oil painting I took back in tenth grade (my brain tends to free associate that way). With my high school art teacher’s encouragement and visions of a really hip garret in my mind, I rode the Number 17 bus across town for an hour each way every Thursday evening to sit at my easel and soak up instruction about rendering depth, shadows, perspective. . . and to paint nude models. Yep, this little 15 year-old moi was mighty shocked, I must confess, at the cavalier nature with which those women threw off their cover sheets and posed in any variety of positions for us novice painters (as I recall, I came down with a cold the evening of the male model class. . .but in reality, I was probably too freaked out to attend. Ah, sweet and innocent youth!).
One of the things I loved most about oil painting was the pigments themselves, the linimint smell and gooey texture, and the magical, musical names by which they were known: Burnt Umber. Burnt Sienna. Cerulean Blue. Cadmium Red. Cadmium Yellow. Yellow Ochre. I loved the cadences in the sounds and the appearance of the hues just out of the tubes–deep, intense versions of the real-life counterparts (sort of like using super-saturation when you doctor your blog photos–except real!). For some reason (perhaps the fact that I was born in the fall), the warming reds, oranges and yellows were most appealing to me, and I often painted with those.
Suddenly, all around our neighborhood are reminders of my foray into oil painting: amid the remnants of green, the trees are beginning to sport their fall finery, festooned with splashes of ochre, rust and crimson, all vying for prominence on the branches.
So when I served dinner to a couple of old friends last night, I thought this warm summer salad would be perfect. Leaning heavily on the emeralds of June and July, highlighted with the yellows of August and September, this dish bridges the short divide between summer and fall as the weather extends its first chilly grip (or would that be grippe?) on Ontario’s resentful denizens.
Remember that high school reunion I attended back in May? Well, ever since then, I’ve planned to get together with my old friend The Poet. The Poet (so named because he penned the poem that graced our yearbook’s cover page) and I were best buds back in high school and through our undergraduate years. He helped me survive those boyfriendless undergraduate years without feeling like too much of a social outcast, by providing a Saturday night perma-date. A contemplative, sensitive soul, TP could also be uproariously funny and always cracked me up.
Eventually, we lost touch. We had neither seen nor heard from each other until the reunion. Just as Sterlin and I were loitering around the hotel lobby after checkin, I heard a distinctive bellow: “Ricki Heller, I’d recognize you anywhere!” and turned to see none other than TP. (On one hand, I was flattered to hear this; I suppose it means I look sort of the same as I did in high school. On the other hand, I was a bit aggrieved to hear this. I mean, do I look the same as I did in high school??).
And while many of us that weekend promised to get together once we were back in the city, I really meant it when I vowed to contact The Poet again. And so, last evening, he and another old high school chum came to dinner.
This dish was one of the dinner’s highlights. Also featured were a terrific leafy green salad with roasted peppers and “goat cheese” (recipe anon); herbed sweet potato fries; raw almond-veggie pâté; and (for me) herbed walnut burgers (another recipe I’ll post soon) plus salmon for the guys. For dessert, I served the chocolate layer cake with chocolate buttercream frosting from Sweet Freedom** and filled it with sweet potato buttercream (a huge hit).
I based this recipe very loosely on one I came across in the Australia Women’s WeeklyVegetarian Cookbook, a salad called “Hot Spinach and Pea Salad” (even though the actual recipe lists chard, not spinach, in the ingredients!). Since I am wont to wax poetic about all things antipodean (I know, it’s more like, ”wax pathetic”), it makes sense I’d veer toward this dish. But I’ve made so many changes to the original, I consider it entirely mine now.
The salad can be served warm or at room temerature (I actually prefer the latter) and features a truly resplendent display of autumnal greens and golds. The flavors are mild and pleasing, without a sharp sting of garlic or spice; just a flavorsome combination of Asian seasonings, just-soft zucchini, crunchy, juicy beans and plump, sweet peas.
Best of all, it only takes 10 minutes to make–so you can still run outside and catch the last few rays of that elusive summer sun.
**For those of you who have the book, be sure to check the correction here!
Gold and Green Warm Summer Salad
A warm, filling dish that can help you through the transition from summer to autumn. You can use edamame in place of the peas if you’d like to boost the protein for a main dish.
1 Tbsp (15 ml) sesame seeds, toasted
1 Tbsp (15 ml) coconut oil, preferably organic
1 clove garlic, minced
6 collard leaves, shredded
1 medium (250 g) yellow zucchini (summer squash)
2 cups (480 ml) fresh green beans, cut in half
1 cup (240 ml) fresh or frozen peas or shelled edamame, thawed
2 Tbsp (30 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
In a large, heavy-bottomed pot or cast-iron skillet, melt the coconut oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and collard and sauté until greens are wilted. Add the zucchini, beans and peas and cook another 2-3 minutes.
Meanwhile, in a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, Bragg’s, lemon juice and ginger. Pour the mixture over the vegetables in the pan and cook another 2-3 minutes, until warmed through. Add salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle with sesame seeds just before serving. Makes 4 servings. May be frozen.
[I thought it would be fun to run a little series over here at DDD: I'll profile one one of my favorite foods, or a food that I've recently discovered and enjoyed, over several days. For this fifth edition, I'm focusing on cilantro. The series is presented on an occasional (and entirely arbitrary) basis, before I move on to the next lucky comestible. This is the fifth entry on cilantro.]
The HH and I just returned from an annual sojourn to what used to be our favorite summer retreat, a country resort up in ski country. I say, “used to be” because, like so many other businesses these days, our erstwhile “favorite” has cut services to the bone and, as a result, is no longer the hotel we remember and loved. Those of you on twitter may have seen my lament that the breakfast “buffet” included precisely one food I could eat: roasted potatoes. The rest of the menu (ham, bacon, eggs, french toast, plate of baked goods and bowl of yogurts) was all verboten to me. As I chewed on my (suddenly very bitter) spuds, I wondered, what about celiacs? What about diabetics? There wasn’t exactly a cornucopia of choices for them, either. In addition, the dinner “service” was so deplorable (over 40 minutes to get our appetizers! In a dining room with six patrons!), we decided that next year, we’ll look for a new place to patronize during our annual summer weekend away.
Well, no matter. The weather, at least, was glorious, and hey–the paucity of food actually resulted in two more pounds of weight loss (for those of you who’ve been following such things, the grand total is 32 lost so far. That means I can now get into my “chubby” clothes, leaving behind my “fat” and “edifice-like” wardrobes, while I’m still not quite slim enough for my “I’m-saving-these-even-though-they’re-out-of-style-and-I’m-really-too-old-for-them-because-I-love-them-so-much” clothes). I also realized that the best way to lose weight is when you’re not really trying. (Hmm. Maybe that resort wasn’t so bad after all. All I have to do is suffer there for another week , and I’m pretty sure I’d be at goal.).
The weekend was an explicit reminder (I guess I’d sort of forgotten) that I am, indeed, following a rather restricted diet these days. Funny, even though I altered my diet to eliminate wheat, eggs and dairy about ten years ago (meat was pretty much already gone by then), I hadn’t really thought of my food intake as ”restricted” (after all, I’d still managed to gain 45 pounds eating that way!) until these past few months on the anti-candida diet. In fact, changing my diet initially prompted me to try out many foods I’d shunned until that point.
One prime example is Indian cuisine. I’d never tasted any of my current favorites–an authentic, long-simmering curry, a crispy papadum, a nubby, melting dal, or peppery masala okra–until I was forced to change my diet. Once I tried the first few dishes, I quickly grew enamored of the fragrant spices like sweet cardamom and warming turmeric, and was easily besotted with basmati rice, vibrant vindaloos and creamy kormas. In fact, it was Indian cuisine that catalyzed my conversion from cilantro foe to cilantro lover.
Whenever we stop in at our favorite Indian restaurant nearby, the HH will often order lamb. I have to tell you, if I’m sitting downwind, it can ruin my dinner. Even before I stopped eating meat, I just wasn’t able to tolerate lamb. Something about the smell–that elusive combination of unctuous yet slightly sweet–always managed to make my stomach flutter and my bile rise, even as a child and long before I understood the true source of those glistening cubes on my plate.
Well, lucky for me, most Indian dishes are naturally vegetarian. On the other hand, it only occurred to me recently that I’ve been inadvertently ruling out a whole category of recipes in my collection simply because they feature lamb, glossing right over those when I scan my cookbooks for dinner ideas.
Well, silly me! I mean, where is it written that those dishes must they be made with lamb? Why couldn’t a favorite soy product (or other legume) stand in for the meat, as they’ve often done before with chicken or beef? I must have been blinded by my visions of guileless black eyes, kinky white curls and baby hooves to even consider it. (I know, I’m a bit slow on the uptake sometimes).
One of my favorite sources of protein is tempeh, and it’s one I use far too infrequently. I thought it would offer a great substitute for ground lamb in a curry. After browsing through various cookbooks, I combined some of my favorite flavors to create a warm, mildly spiced, and slightly unconventional main dish. The smooth, creamy sauce is punctuated by occasional bursts of sweet peas, bits of savory tempeh, and juicy tomato. It’s perfect served over some steamed basmati rice.
And the aroma, redolent with Indian spices, is guaranteed to entice you–no matter which side of the table you’re on.
“Mum, we know you don’t want to eat sheep, but if you ever need them rounded up or led into a pen, we’d be happy to help out. (We’re both part Border Collie, you know.)”
“Ground” Tempeh in a Creamy Curry Sauce
Taking inspiration from recipes in several cookbooks as well as what I had on hand, I came up with this satisfying curry. Use crumbled tempeh, or, for more discernible pieces of tempeh, cut into small cubes.
1 pkg tempeh (I used soy tempeh with seaweed)
1/2 cup (120 ml) vegetable broth
2 Tbsp (30 ml) organic coconut oil or extra virgin olive oil
1 large onion, finely diced
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tsp (10 ml) minced fresh ginger
1 small tomato, finely chopped
1 tsp (5 ml) ground cumin
2 bay leaves
2 cardamon pods (or 1/4 tsp/ 1 ml ground cardamom)
1 tsp (5 ml) garam masala
1 tsp (5 ml) ground turmeric
1 tsp (5 ml) ground coriander
1/3 cup (80 ml) smooth natural almond butter
1/4 cup (60 ml) unsweetened almond milk
1 cup (240 ml) frozen peas
1/4 cup (60 ml) fresh cilantro, finely chopped, plus more for garnish
2 Tbsp (30 ml) fresh mint, finely chopped
sea salt, to taste (depending on how salty your veg broth is)
cooked brown basmati rice, to serve
Prepare the tempeh: crumble the tempeh and place in a skillet with the vegetable broth. Heat over medium heat until broth bubbles; lower to a simmer, cover and simmer until the liquid is absorbed, 10-15 minutes.
Remove tempeh from skillet and set aside. Melt the coconut oil in the skillet (no need to wash it first) over medium heat and add the onion, garlic and ginger. Sauté until the garlic and ginger begin to brown and the onion is translucent, 5-10 minutes.
Add the tomato, cumin, bay leaves, cardamom, garam masala, turmeric and coriander and cook an additional minute. Lower heat and add the almond milk, almond butter and peas, stirring to melt the almond butter. Gently stir in the tempeh. Cover and simmer for another 5-10 minutes, stirring frequently to prevent scorching, until flavors have melded and the curry is heated throughout. Add the cilantro and mint and heat for another 2 minutes. Serve over hot rice. Makes 4 servings. May be frozen.
First, and most importantly: Happy 2009, everyone! Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments and good wishes for the new year. I can’t even begin to express how much I appreciate them all and how much blogging has brought into my life. But by far, the best part is you–readers and other bloggers. Thank you for sharing 2008 with me, and I look forward to 2009!
The HH and I (sans The Girls, unfortunately, as our Elsie Girl refuses to play nice with the other five dogs who live there) spent another lovely, bucolic New Year’s Eve with my friends Gemini I and II and their broods up at Gemini I’s palatial country “cottage.” We ate, we drank, and Gemini II’s hubby lit fireworks just before midnight, when we toasted in 2009. The rest of the time, we chillaxed to the max, reading in front of the fireplace, watching ice fishers huddled by their hut atop the lake, taking photos of indigenous birds perched at the feeder outside the window, or working as a group on the massive, 2-page annual crossword puzzle that’s printed in The Globe and Mail. I didn’t even mind the snow and ice (a New Year’s Eve miracle!).
And now, back to reality. . . and back to business.
Although I more or less threw resolutions out the window many years ago (really, don’t I already know I’ll want to lose weight after the holidays?), I do update a list I call my “Five Year Plan.” In it, I write down goals for the following six months, the following year, two years, and five years. I try to arrange them so that the earlier goals might naturally precede the later goals (eg., six months: take a course in html; one year: design own web page).
Okay, so maybe it’s just another version of resolutions after all. . .but this long-term view has worked well for me in the past: one of the most unusual “goals” that came to fruition was “work with a business coach–for free”; and so far, the best one (way back before I met the HH) was “own my own home,” something I’m adding back to the list this year, now that we’ve been renting for. . . well, far too long.
I’ve decided that this list works best when it’s kept private, as last year’s list, while not that different from the ones I wrote before it, was a total bust. Instead of losing 50 pounds over the past 50 weeks or so, I’ve gained about four (definitely more than the “1.5 pound” holiday average. My parents always encouraged me to try to be above average, so I guess I can say I’ve accomplished that now).
Still, I believe the concept is a great one and one that most people should try at least once. As the famous Harvard study demonstrated, those who write down their goals (as opposed to simply thinking of them) tend to concretize them, and the goals are more apt to come true. For whatever reason, putting something down on paper triggers a mechanism in the brain that impels you to action. I will share the easiest goal on my list, though: remain part of the blogging world, and keep blogging regularly. That one, at least, I know will be pure pleasure to enact!
Before I bid 2008 adieu permanently, however, I wanted to share the amazing Indian feast we had when the CFO visited at Christmas time. Although our meal on December 25th was relatively traditional, it was this one (the following night) that became the high point of holiday meals for us.
[Peas in a Creamy Curry Sauce]
I first discovered Indian cuisine about 10 years ago, after having to change my diet dramatically and seek out foods that met my dietary challenges. At the time, being both a meat eater and a wheat eater, those challenges were plentiful.
Then I began to frequent Indian restaurants. Most dishes were not only wheat-free, but gluten-free as well! And the vegetarian/vegan options seemed endless. Here in Toronto, many Indian restaurants operate as all-you-can-eat buffets. These ostensibly boundless displays of vegetable- and legume-based dishes were dazzling and even a bit overwhelming at first, as I was determined to try every dish in my new culinary repertoire. (Eventually, I realized, many of those dishes had been sitting out under warming lights for hours, or were thrown together from leftovers of two or more of the previous day’s dishes; I began to opt for sit-down restaurants instead).
It seemed natural to attempt to re-create those spicy, saucy, succulent meals at home. I bought a couple of Indian cookbooks and went to work. In those days, I cooked a lot of chicken and meat dishes, some of which I’ve converted over the years. Perhaps it was curry overload; perhaps I assumed I’d never achieve a comparable result without the meat. For whatever reason, I hadn’t cooked a full Indian meal in some time.
Then I remembered that the CFO was also a fan of the cuisine and had an idea to whip up our own little Indian buffet as a post-Christmas dinner. The results were stellar, and made me wonder why I’ve neglected those recipes for so long.
[Three-Lentil Dal]
Our meal included a fabulous multi-lentil dal based on Lisa’s recipe (my only change to the original recipe was using three types of lentil instead of lentils and moong beans); peas in a creamy sauce; curried potatoes and kale; and cheela (chickpea pancakes) along with basmati rice. While the potato dish was pretty much a haphazard combination of leftover tomato sauce, chopped kale, and chunks of spud, I did take note of the other recipes and can share them here.
Each of these dishes on its own would make a warming, satisfying light meal; put them together, and you’ve got a memorable finale to an eventful year.
One definite item in my next 5-Year Plan: Cook Indian more often.
Peas in a Creamy Curry Sauce
Super quick and easy, this side dish provides a lovely visual contrast to the mostly dull colors of long-simmered curries. The vibrant green and sweet flavor of the peas is perfect as an accompaniment to the intense spice of the other dishes. From an unidentified cookbook–sorry!
1/4 tsp. (1 ml.) Sucanat or other unrefined evaporated cane juice
1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) ground cumin
1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) garam masala
3/4 tsp. (7.5 ml.) fine sea salt
1/4-1/2 tsp. (1-2.5 ml.) chili powder, to your taste
1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) tomato purée (I used organic ketchup and omitted the Sucanat, above)
3/4 cup (180 ml.) unsweetened almond or soymilk
1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 Tbsp. (10 ml.) chopped fresh cilantro
1/2 fresh green chili, chopped (optional–I omitted it as all the other dishes were very spicy)
3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) extra virgin olive oil
1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) cumin seeds
1/2 tsp. (2. 5 ml.) black or yellow mustard seeds (I used black)
2-10 ounce (285 g.) bags frozen peas, defrosted under lukewarm water and drained
1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) organic cornstarch or arrowroot powder, if needed
Combine the Sucanat, ground cumin, garam masala, salt, chili powder and tomato purée in the bottom of a medium-sized bowl. Slowly stir in 2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) water and mix well. Add the soymilk gradually and mix; then add the lemon juice, cilantro and optional green chili. Set aside.
Heat the oil in a large frypan over medium-high heat. Once hot, add the cumin and mustard seeds and fry until the seeds begin to pop (about 20-30 seconds). Add the peas and fry for 30 more seconds before adding the sauce to the pan. Cook on medium-high heat for about 2 minutes, or until the sauce has thickened. For a thicker sauce, ladle out about 1/2 cup of the sauce into a small bowl and blend with the 1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) cornstarch. Add this mixture back to the frypan and stir until thickened.
Serve over rice or with cheela. Makes about 6 servings.
*From what I can tell, these are also sometimes called pudla. Whatever you call them, they were so remarkably good that we consumed them all before I realized I’d not taken a photo. But other versions abound on the net; for photos, check out the blog posts by Johanna, Lisa, Pikelet and Pie (with zucchini) or (for an Italian twist) Kalyn.
In a large bowl, combine the flour, salt, turmeric, baking soda, cumin, soymilk, and enough water to make a slightly thick, yet still flowing, batter. Stir in the chopped onion, green chili, tomato and cilantro.
Heat a nonstick (5 inch or 12 cm.) pancake pan [I just used a regular frypan] and spray with olive oil spray. Pour in about 1/3 cup batter, spreading it around to cover the bottom of the pan in a thin pancake. Spray the top of the pancake with oil as well.
Reduce heat to medium-low and cook the pancake for about 2-3 minutes, until the top begins to dry and the bottom of browned in spots. Flip and cook another 2-3 minutes until the other side is browned as well. Remove and keep warm while you make another 7 or so pancakes. Serve hot. Makes about 8 pancakes. Best eaten immediately (they do dry out if kept till the next day).
Well, it snowed AGAIN yesterday (is this grating on your nerves as much as it’s grating on mine?* I mean, it is now March 19th. Like, what’s up with that? Snow is just. . . so. . . wrong at this time of year. In either hemisphere).
I am yearning for spring like the Tin Man yearns for a heart, like the artist formerly known as “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince” (now known just as “Prince”) yearns for purple, like Hillary yearns for the nomination–but it’s all for naught. It’s still miserable outside. I’m still miserable inside. Oh, woe, oh boo hoo, oh woe is me (shouldn’t that actually be “woe is I”? Ach, whatever.)
Well, if I can’t have a dip in a pool, I’ve decided to just have a dip.
Dips evoke warm weather in my mind. I love me a good hummus, smoothed languidly over falafels on outdoor patios, or lolling atop baby carrots as the HH and I enjoy a relaxed preprandial interlude, watching The Girls fightwrestle frolic on the lawn during summer evenings. Traditional spinach and onion dips, bean dips, veggie dips, even sweet fruit-and-nut dips–they’re all served at outdoor Bar-B-Qs, weekend picnics, or summer wedding buffets.
(“We love dips too, Mum. Especially skinny-dips. How long till we can play in that wading pool again, Mum?”)
Still, the dip that beguiled me the most was the Creamy Aspara-Dip from Chocolate Covered Vegan. Brilliantly green and smooth; glossy, even–how could I resist that emerald harbinger of springtime after all these months of desolate winter wasteland?
“The Ugliest Food You’ll Ever Love,” trumpeted the blog entry, and ”If you aren’t a vegan, this dip will most assuredly NOT convince you to become one.” I remained undeterred, and not just a little entranced by the radiant, grassy hue. Katie promised to share the recipe with those who asked, so I asked away.
I should pause at this juncture to explain something. I feel extremely fortunate to have begun cooking and baking quite early on, and equally fortunate to have developed a concomitant ability to virtually “taste” a recipe just by reading the ingredients. This sense comes in handy when I want to decide whether or not to try something I’ve never eaten before (pears and balsamic vinegar? Yes. Smoked tofu? Yes. Kale and seaweed salad? Okay. Goji berries and mint? Not so much.)
The HH, on the other hand, was not blessed with this particular brand of sensory imagination. On Sunday mornings (okay, more like afternoons), we’ll sit across from each other at the brunch table, leisurely perusing the National Post, Globe and Mail and Toronto Staras we sip on our respective hot beverages (his: hazelnut-flavored coffee with 10% real cream; mine: Krakus coffee substitute with chocolate flavored almond milk–like a mochaccino!). We’ll occasionally pause to read something of interest to the other across the plates and mugs.
Mostly, the HH reads me stories from the Business section, about how an economic disaster (the likes of which we’ve not seen since 1929) looms, say, or where to find the latest ultra-exclusive audio gadgets (did you know you can buy stereo speakers that cost over $100,000, for instance?). I read to him from stories in the Arts and Life section, about how workplace bullying is more harmful to employees than sexual harrassment, say, or how women who rate their relationships as happiest are the ones whose spouses share at least 50% of the household chores.
Every once in a while, though, I’ll forget that he lacks an ability for conceptual cooking and may emit a remark such as, “Oooh, listen to this: watermelon and basil salad. Doesn’t that sound fantastic?” To which he’ll counter with a response such as, ”Bwwwffffzztttt!” (that’s a spontaneous spraying of hazelnut-flavored coffee and 10% real cream over the Business section of the newspaper). Of course, he simply can’t imagine it.
Well, as soon as I read the list of ingredients in Katie’s dip, I knew I’d enjoy it, despite her dip-deprecating comments. And it was, indeed, lip-smackingly, lick-the-spoon delicious: creamy, with a citrusy tang and sweet, green undertones. Though he couldn’t imagine it beforehand, the HH was happy to consume a hearty portion. And it provided us both with a little dip into virtual springtime.
Because this recipe contains not one, but two veggies, it’s the perfect dish to submit to Cate’s weekly ARF/5-A-Day event, over at Sweetnicks. She posts the roundup every Tuesday evening, so feel free to check it out then!
Katie’s Creamy Aspara-Dip
This dip is quick, easy, and, as Katie wrote, “this stuff tastes terrific.” While it’s great on crackers or crudités, I bet it would make an excellent pesto-like dressing for a summer pasta salad as well. If summer ever arrives, that is.
7 or 8 oz. (about 225 g.) cooked asparagus spears
5 oz. (about 140 g.) frozen peas
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) fat-free Nayonaise (I used homemade tofu-based mayonnaise)
1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) fresh cilantro, chopped
1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) fresh lime juice
1 tsp. (5 ml.) minced garlic
1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) ground cumin
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) red onion, chopped
Place all ingredients in a food processor and puree until desired smoothness is achieved. Serve immediately. Makes about 2 cups (500 ml.). Store leftovers in airtight container in the refrigerator (we ate the rest of ours the next day).
* Or perhaps it’s just my incessant daily mention of it that’s getting on your nerves? Apologies. Will try to stifle.
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