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* Or, It’s a Privilege to Eat You (thanks, Whole Foods).
Happy “Celebrating Our Country’s Freedom Day” to both Canadians and Americans (and anyone else who’d like to take part in the party!).**
And before I forget (because I’m at that age when I do forget), let me also say “THANK YOU” to everyone for your amazing, supportive, generous and kind comments and emails while I’ve been away! Of course, I would have returned to the blog in any case just because I love it, but your encouragement may have hastened the process just a wee bit. 
It does feel great to be back. And just what have I been doing for the past month, you may ask?
Well, most importantly, I’ve been assiduously following my ACD and have definitely made progress in terms of overall health (in fact, as my naturopath studied my live blood cells under a microscope the other day, he commented, ”The membranes look really healthy. They’re in great shape.” Alas, if only he’d been able to say that about my hips and thighs). Still, I’m sure my immune system was flattered.
While a couple of the most annoying symptoms do still persist, I’ve determined to continue with the regimen, which will likely mean a few more months of restrictions. So for those of you who are relatively new to my blog, you should know that I don’t normally consume gluten-free foods exclusively, but I will be doing so for a while longer. I’ll be eating more vegetable-based dishes and more raw foods as well. And some fruits are back on the menu, though (and let me tell you, even the serpent in Eden wasn’t this gleeful to see apples).
With the school year just completed, I thought I’d summarize my last month and save space by posting a report card instead of writing about it at length:
Student: Ricki Heller; Term: June 2009; Program: Get the Candida Out! Age: You’re kidding, right?
TOPICS AND GRADES:
Adherence to ACD: 100% (not an off-program crumb since March 7, 2009)
Current strictness of ACD Phase (II): 95% (allowed some fruit and oats now)
Current health status: 80% (only one really nagging symptom left)
Percentage of weight lost toward goal: 66% (lost 28 pounds–only 17 to go!! Regular updates on the Progress Tracker.)
Percentage of airtime devoted to Farrah as opposed to Michael: 2.5% (It should be a crime, really.)
“Good for you, Mum! But they forgot to mention that you share and play well with others (especially canines). And we agree–even though Michael seemed to be fond of animals, what about poor Farrah’s fifteen minutes?”
The most important thing I’ve discovered over the past month, however, is that I am a lousy multi-tasker. So rather than attempt to keep up with work, blog, cooking, promoting a cookbook, baking for said cookbook, Facebook, and any other “-book,” I’ve decided to slow the pace somewhat. I will still be blogging regularly, though perhaps not quite as often. And while I promise to keep reading all the blogs I love, please forgive me if I don’t comment as often as I used to–but know that I’m still there!
And now, on to the über-healthy (and ACD-friendly) recipe!
On weekends, the HH and I usually enjoy a leisurely brunch before starting our day in earnest (well, if a meal at 9:30 or 10:00 AM can properly be called “brunch.” You see, as in most areas, when it comes to mornings, the HH and I are polar opposites. When I lived on my own, my natural proclivity was to wake at 6:30 AM every day, weekends included. In contrast, the HH, left to his own devices, would have just fallen into bed around that time, then sleep until long past noon. Our compromise is a 10:30 brunch).
Our typical habit (once the meal is dispensed with) is to sit across from each other, sipping our respective hot beverages (He: Hazelnut Coffee with Full Cream and Sugar; She: Green tea, straight up) while we read the newspapers. In a positive spin on that scene from Citizen Kane, we read choice tidbits aloud to each other (too nerdy, I know). The HH invariably peruses the Real Estate section in The National Post. The other day, for instance, he pointed out that they were profiling the home of artist Ken Danby, at around $3 million. There was also a suburban mansion with a 2,000 square foot (610 metre) kitchen. A 2000 square foot kitchen!!! Do you think they’d let me live in the pantry? (No, seriously. I understand that bulk bags of rice can serve as very comfortable pillows.)
Running in the social circles I do (okay, more like “speed-walking in the social circles I do”), I can often forget that there are a lot of incredibly wealthy dudes in Toronto (even without Prince and the Torontonian wife he divorced who once lived on The Bridle Path ). A casual stroll along Bloor Street West in the tony Yorkville area will yield sightings of Chanel, Hermes, LaCoste, Tiffany & Co., Harry Rosen, Holt Renfrew, Dolce and Gabbana, and pretty much any other unattainable-to-the-average-shopper stores you can think of. As for me, I get a kick out of peeking through the smoked glass windowpanes, gawking at all those privileged folk who can buy $1500.00 thong sandals without batting a (false) eyelash.
Given the average net worth of shoppers in the area, it makes sense that Toronto’s first Whole Foods Market decided to set up in Yorkville. After all, they don’t call it ”Whole Paycheck” for nothing.
About a week before their grand opening (in an effort to curry favor with local residents), they published this recipe for their popular Kale and Seaweed Salad in the local paper (in fact, I do believe I read it aloud to the HH over brunch). I also remember thinking, “This is one of their most popular recipes? Are all those rich customers slightly touched as well?” Having never tasted sea veggies at the time, I couldn’t imagine the magical commingling of salty, mineral-rich arame with chewy bits of barely-cooked kale, peppery shards of fresh ginger and crunchy sesame seeds, all bathed in a smoky, nutty sesame oil dressing.
In order to sample it from the source, I (along with throngs of other curious shoppers) made the trek to Yorkville and purchased a small container of the stuff (price: about $6.47 for three miniscule forkfuls). I must admit, though, I was smitten; it is truly an inspired mix of ingredients, and one that I still, all these years later, love. But I couldn’t bring myself to buy it again for that price since I, unlike the local denizens, am not a magnate/ celebrity/ third-generation billionaire/ ostentatious nouveau-riche/couture designer/ plastic surgeon/ or other financially privileged resident.
Luckily, the salad is easy to make at home, and it’s become a regular feature in our summer menus. It’s also the perfect introduction to sea veggies for anyone who’s never tried them and may feel a little wary; arame is one of the mildest forms of seaweed, decidely not ”fishy.” The recipe is also fairly quick to prepare, despite the presoaking and then boiling of the arame. (While the seaweed soaks, simply cook your kale and prepare the dressing; then rinse the cooked seaweed with cold water and toss all together). And don’t forget that sea veggies offer an ample nutritional boost, helping to foil cancerous growths, keep your thyroid healthy (lots of iodine, there!), prevent cardiac disease and inflammation, and provide a full array of minerals and vitamins (particularly iodine and Vitamin K ).
As we munched on our portions of salad the other night, the HH remarked (and I quote verbatim), “I really love this salad.”
So go ahead, give kale and seaweed a try this summer. At the very least, you can feel as if you’ve been intermingling with the upper crust for a little while.
I thought this would be a great entry for Food Renegade’s Fight Back Fridays, too! Learn more here.
**I meant “Canada Day” and “Independence Day,” of course!
And finally: Don’t forget to check out the winners in Shellyfish’s Sweet Freedom Giveaway–announced today! Click here for winners.
Kale and Seaweed Salad
adapted from from Whole Foods’ recipe, originally published in The Globe and Mail
A delicious first course to a stir-fry or rice noodle dish; or serve as a side salad with nutroast and sweet potato fries.
1-1/2 cups (about 0.5 oz/ 15 g) dry arame or other strands of dried seaweed (such as hijiki)
1 large bunch kale, washed, large vein removed
2-inch (5 cm) piece of ginger, peeled and cut into thin matchstick pieces
2 Tbsp (60 ml) roasted sesame seeds
1/4 cup (60 ml) Bragg’s liquid aminos, tamari, or soy sauce
1/4 cup (60 ml) reserved soaking water
2 Tbsp (30 ml) toasted sesame oil
In a medium bowl of cold water, soak the arame about 20 minutes, until softened. Drain, reserving 1/4 cup (60 ml) of the liquid. Place the drained arame in a medium pot and cover with water. Bring to boil, then cover and turn off heat. Let sit 5 minutes, then drain and rinse with cold water. Place the drained, cooled arame in a large salad bowl.
Meanwhile, steam the kale or cook in a minimal amount of water until just tender (about 5 minutes). Drain the kale and rinse with cold water; spin in a salad spinner to dry. Chop roughly or tear into bite-sized pieces. Add the kale to the salad bowl with the arame. Sprinkle with the ginger and sesame seeds.
In a small bowl or glass measuring cup, combine the Bragg’s, reserved soaking water, and sesame oil. Pour over the salad and toss to mix well. Arrange on a serving platter or individual plates, discarding excess liquid (the dressing is quite thin, but I found you need all the water to offset the saltiness of the Bragg’s or soy sauce).
Serve immediately or refrigerate and serve cold. Makes 4 servings (but only 2-1/2 in our house). Will keep, refrigerated, for 2 days.
Last Year at this Time: The Staff of the DDD Household
If you’re looking for Canada Day/4th of July desserts, you might like these:
© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs
As someone who considers herself an unabashed fan (and follower) of popular culture, I love trend-watching (and also soap opera-watching, and celebrity-watching, and style-watching. . . plus reading trashy magazines at the supermarket checkout line. . . I could go on, but really, haven’t I embarassed myself enough for one day?)
Over the years, I’ve noticed that trends in food, much like trends in fashion or architecture or music, tend to be cyclical. Something new makes a splash on the scene, there’s a frenzied public reaction, and everyone rushes to snap up the boots or to hang the accent mirrors or to buy the CDs from the stores. Eventually, the trend fades like a tan in winter and is forgotten. . . just long enough for everyone to discard any traces of trend-related goods they may own (though I could never bring myself to part with those hand-embroidered Lee overalls from my highschool days, even though they’d barely cover my kneecaps today).
About 20 years after it first appeared, said craze resurfaces as if it’s now been discovered for the first time (to wit, iceberg lettuce. I mean, was it even good the first time? And then there are bell bottoms–which have seen more than one resurrection, in fact. And Supertramp. Oh, and Rachel’s hair on Friends. Is it just me, or isn’t that simply a revamped 1970s shag haircut?). Only problem is, this new iteration, bearing enough resemblance to the original so you know it’s basically the same concept, also exhibits just enough variation from the prototype so you’re forced to purchase it anew if you wish to hop back on the bandwagon (so those original bell bottoms you lovingly preserved in tissue paper? Sorry, now they’re just slightly too wide at the base, and slightly too low at the hip to be “fashionable” today).
So it goes with gastronomy, as well. I am (barely) old enough to remember the first wave of hippie food that gained popularity. The trend, I believe, started in the 1970s and continued through the 1980s. It was the era of Jane Fonda touting wheat germ in hamburgers (and lots of aerobic exercise), and the inception of the Moosewood restaurant and (then) curly-haired Mollie Katzen as its main proprietor and artist-in-residence. And the Seventies was when Frances Moore Lappe first publshed Diet for a Small Planet, of course. In those days, an overabundance of grey-hued, homemade tofu and crunchy granola gave “health food” and veganism a bad rap. Today, thankfully, the new wave of “healthy” foods can be both good for you and good-tasting.
Luckily for me, I’ve always loved the taste of healthy foods, whether in vogue or not. (Of course, that’s not to say that I didn’t also love the taste of incredibly UNhealthy foods, which, if you’ve ever read this blog before, you already know). Still, I hold fond memories of living in my first bachelor apartment (basically, a glorified closet with a bathroom on one end) as a grad student. A step up from most bachelor pads, it boasted a ”kitchen” (the wall that had the sink and counter affixed to it) as well as a ”bedroom” (the wall that had the window cut into it), separated by a waist-high partition that jutted halfway across the room. Remember Mary’s original pad in The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and how she had a semblance of space from the kitchen counter off to the side, with that lovely, bright central area flooded with light from the floor-to-ceiling window, the area that featured a hide-a-bed sofa? Well, my place was nothing like that.
One of the first things I did living on my own was attempt to expand my culinary repertoire by branching into “health” foods. My main motivation at the time was purely pecuniary, but I now realize that my choices introduced me to vegan foods as well. In those days, single and sans wheels, I was happy to tote along a “granny cart” (basically a steel basket on wheels), haul it onto the city bus, and travel an hour each way for my weekly pilgrimmage to the one bulk store in the city.
Once there, I faced dozens of plastic bins, brimming with dried beans in varied shades of grey, white, brown, and green; nubby grains ranging in size from pinpoint to pencil eraser (with strange names like quinoa, teff, or amaranth); exotic flours from carob or fava beans, which I’d only just encountered; and assorted candies, soup mixes, dog biscuits, nuts and seeds–well, I could easily browse for a couple more hours before picking and choosing my purchases (not to imply that I ate dog biscuits in those days, or anything–just that they were there, laying the mental foundation for my current forays to the local bulk store, in which The Girls and their appetites always figure prominently).
This salad is from one of the first cookbooks I bought, called Horn of the Moon. As you can probably tell from the title, it was a ”health foodie” book. Most of the recipes reflect its early origins: falafel, lentil burgers, tofu stuffed mushrooms. Maybe it was nostalgia for those first heady days living entirely on my own; maybe it was a need for something simple, hearty, and evocative of fall; maybe it was my way to reintroduce an earlier trend; in any case, I had a craving for this salad last week and promptly pulled out my worn copy and prepped a batch.
And while the HH found this too “plain” (seems his 2008-era palate, now accustomed to cilantro, garam masala, mysterious fiery jalapenos and the like, has rejected such rudimentary gustatory pleasures), I still loved this dish. With its chewy buds of beige-hued barley and oats, and sweet, toasty crunch of hazelnuts or crunchy bits of carrot and celery, this salad offered up a welcome mouthful of memory, warm and tingly, and a perfect way to reminisce about the past.
Barley-Hazelnut Salad
from Horn of the Moon cookbook
An unpretentious, hearty salad that’s straightforward and unambiguous in its nutritional offering. It’s easy to eat a large serving of this as a meal on its own–which is a good thing, since this recipe yields a huge amount (it may be halved if you have fewer than four people in your house).
1 cup uncooked organic barley (preferably pot barley)
1/3 cup wheat berries, kamut berries, spelt berries or oat groats (I used oat)
2-2/3 cups water
1/2 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (from about 3 large lemons)
1/3 cup olive oil
1/2 tsp. salt
freshly ground pepper, to taste
2 stalks celery, finely chopped
1 large carrot, finely chopped
1/2 cup minced fresh parsley
4 large cloves garlic, minced (not a typo–it’s mellowed by the grains and dressing)
1/2 cup halved or chopped roasted hazelnuts (filberts) or almonds
In a large pot, combine the barley, wheat berries, and water. Bring to boil, then simmer, covered, until all the water is absorbed. Allow to cool.
When the barley is cool, combine in a medium-sized bowl with the lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and black pepper to taste. Add the chopped veggies, parsley, garlic, and nuts. Stir and check seasoning. It’s best if it sits a few hours, refrigerated, before serving, to allow flavors to meld. Serve on a bed of salad greens, if desired. Makes 4 dinner servings or 8 side dish servings.
It’s a truism when discussing the era of flower children and Woodstock to say, ”If you remember the ’60s, you probably weren’t there.” When it comes to the 1980s, however, those of us who lived through it are more likely to lament, ”I remember it all–if only I could forget!” Still, the Era of All Things Excessive (also known as the “Me” Decade) did have its touchstones.
Let’s see: if you (a) know what a “social X-Ray” refers to; (b) can name the performers who sang “Ebony and Ivory“; (c) own one of the original Cabbage Patch Dolls; (d) know where Expo ‘86 took place; and (e) have seen the only movie in which Julia Roberts was actually any good, then you, like I, were most likely cognizant of the 1980s–like it or not.
And yet, I can’t help but feel nostalgic for those times. I mean, how can anyone forget the heady 80s, with their typical Yuppie motto of ”More is More”? As a PhD student on her own in the Big City of Toronto, it was in the 80s that I finally became comfortable perceiving myself as an “adult.” Working as both a don in residence and a teaching assistant at university, I supported myself while studying and carrying on an active social life, as only someone in the early throes of adulthood can do. With a built-in social network (three of my close friends from childhood had already moved here years before) and PhD seminars filled with interesting new classmates (as well as the occasional crush), I was happy to spend my time memorizing Beowulf by day, then taking on the town by night.
80s urban professionals were regularly amused by showy sportscars, massive parties, both private and public (raves made their appearance in the 80s), big hair (remember Boy George?), big fashion (ah, yes, Amazonian shoulder pads) and even bigger earrings. I recall encountering a colleague in the hallway at work one day, feeling pretty snappy, bedecked as I was with a pair of my favorite gold-wire earrings. He took one glance my way and sniped, ”Wow, how’d you get those hamster wheels to stay attached to your earlobes?”.
Ah, yes, pretty much everything from the 1980s was excessive and self-indulgent. And the food? Oh, my, the food. . . .
The 1980s were epitomized by everything rich, from Gordon Gekko to Double-Chocolate-Hazelnut-Caramel-Cream Cheesecake. Foods were elaborate and multi-layered, and nobody ever worried about saturated fat, cream, too much red meat, organic, or whether the tiramisu was made with whole-grain ladyfingers. No one had ever heard of Omega 3s, let alone ingested them, and restaurants were just getting their fingers wet with the new food architecture that mandated aesthetics over taste. In those days, I’d spend hours cooking and baking for dinner parties, multiple courses and desserts that could, on their own, drain the stock of an entire dairy farm for a day.
One of the best-selling cookbooks of the time was The Silver Palate Cookbook, by Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins. Two regular New York gals who’d made a name for themselves by operating one of the most successful little gourmet shops in the city’s history, these women finally collaborated on a cookbook and were instantly rewarded with an overwhelming, almost cult-like following.
Like most of my friends, I possess a well-worn copy of the maroon and white-covered tome, its edges fraying a little and pages splotched with grease stains. From the side, my book appears to have donned a jagged, fringed winter scarf, as little strips of sticky-notes, marking recipes I wished to try, peek out from almost every page. One in particular, Chicken Marbella, was cooked so many times that I had to replace the sticky note on more than one occasion.
Well, for some reason, while I lay supine in bed for ten days, my mind kept wandering back to that darned Chicken Marbella. Maybe I was a little delirious; maybe the muscle relaxants brought with them delusions of poultry; or maybe I was just ravenous since I couldn’t get up to feed myself, subsisting on the meager, dried-out muffin the HH left on the bed each morning before he trotted off to work. Whatever the catalyst, I craved that dish. So, as soon as I was up and about, I pulled out my trusty copy of The Silver Palate, and set about adapting.
The original recipe turned out to be slightly different from what I remembered (in my idealized version, it was aromatic with a variety of Moroccan spices, rather than the lone oregano it does contain), but it was still alluring. Certain that quinoa would partner perfectly with the other ingredients, and after a little tinkering, I came up with this recipe.
I must tell you, this was astonishingly good. Next time, I’ll begin with a little more quinoa and chickpeas, as the original marinade was aimed at 4 chickens (I’ve adjusted the recipe, below, accordingly). As in the original dish, the unconventional combination of baked prunes and olives is spectacular, and the quinoa provides a perfect base to soak up and then showcase the flavorful marinade. Even if you’re not normally a fan of prunes, I think you will enjoy them here.
I love this dish as a main course casserole, but the HH still yearns for the chicken and prefers this as a side dish. He ate it, sighing, wishing aloud that if only we’d met in the 1980s when I was still throwing elaborate dinner parties with dishes like Chicken Marbella or some excessively rich cheesecake, he could have sampled the “real” recipe.
But of course, that would never have happened. Even if, by some weird karmic commingling of our (then) diametrically opposed lifestyles, we had actually met back then, the HH would have taken one glance at my bouffant hairdo, while I took one glance at his erstwhile “business associates,” and we would both have run screaming in opposite directions. It wasn’t until the end of the 90s, after having both matured considerably, that fate ultimately brought us together with a coup de foudre. . . followed, inevitably, by our current calm, somewhat predictable, and rather domestic existence.
Amazing, isn’t it, what changes just one decade can bring?
With its fragrant oregano, olives, and prunes, this dish is my submission to Kalyn’s Weekend Herb Blogging, this week hosted by Jai and Bee of Jugalbandi.
Tagine of Quinoa with Chickpeas, Olives and Prunes
Adapted from this original recipe in The Silver Palate Cookbook
Slightly sweet, slightly salty, and warmly spiced, this dish is a delectable treat. Because it is rather rich and filling, if served as a main course, a simple, light salad would be the perfect accompaniment.
6 cloves garlic, minced
2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) dried oregano
1 tsp. (5 ml.) coriander
pinch cloves
3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) red wine vinegar
1 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
3/4-1 cup (250 ml.) prunes, to your taste
1/2-3/4 cup mixed pitted olives, to your taste
3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) capers, with juice
3 bay leaves
1/3 cup (80 ml.) Sucanat or brown sugar
1/2 cup (125 ml.) white wine (I used an Australian Chardonnay)
2 cups (500 ml.) cooked chick peas (garbanzo beans)
1 cup (250 ml.) dry quinoa
1 cup vegetable broth or stock
1 cup water
Preheat oven to 325F (175 C). Grease a tagine (clay baking dish), a ceramic casserole, or rectangular cake pan.
Combine all ingredients in the casserole or pan, and cover. Bake in preheated oven for 40 minutes, then stir and check liquid levels. If the quinoa isn’t yet cooked and it looks like the liquid is almost completely absorbed, add another 1/2 cup water (I found that using more vegetable broth made the mixture too salty for my taste). Cover again and return to the oven for another 20 minutes.
Check again. Continue to add water, 1/4 cup at a time, baking for 10-minute intervals, until the quinoa is fully cooked and all liquid is absorbed. Serve hot. Makes 4 main servings or 6 side dish servings.
Other Posts in this Series:
Lucky Comestible II (1): Quinoa Salad with Buckwheat and Cranberries
Lucky Comestible II (2): Almond-Quinoa Muffins
Lucky Comestible II (3): Quinoa-Oatmeal Croquettes
Lucky Comestible II (5): Apple-Quinoa Cake
Other Quinoa Recipes:
(Got a quinoa recipe? Send me the link during this Lucky Comestible week, and I’ll add it to the list!)
Today is moving day! We are likely en route right now, between houses, stressing about whether the movers will break our fragile glassware, or whether all the boxes will arrive at their destination, or whether the stove will fit in the space that’s been left for it.
In any case, I thought I’d leave a little Thanksgiving-based recipe on the site–no photo, but I’ll post one as soon as I have it. This is for those of you who’ll be celebrating on the 22nd and are looking for a delicious side dish or veggie dish that’s not too heavy, not too sweet, yet festive and delicious. It’s a perfect way to use sweet potatoes for the holidays, and can take the role of side dish or dessert (great with a dollop of cashew cream on top), or, as I’ve been known to have it in the past, as a speedy breakfast (just re-heat and dig in).
We used to call this kugel (“Ki’-gul,” but can also be pronounced “koo’-gul) in our house. The word is derived from the German word Gugelhupf, and it’s often translated as pudding or casserole. I use “casserole” because it seems to me the most versatile–a kugel is usually a side dish, a pudding is usually a dessert, but a casserole can be anything you like.
I’ve adapted this from a recipe my friend B. gave me a few years ago. As a very lazy cook, I’ve altered the recipe so there’s no grating involved, only processing in a food processor (even using an entire lemon–whole!), which is where the bulk of the ingredients end up. Processing also helps hold the casserole together by grinding up the raw veggies and allowing the juices to meld more with the rest of the ingredients. Flax and oats also act as binders, as this vegan version is sans eggs, of course.
It’s a moist, tart/sweet, subtly spiced dish that’s rather addictive. I love eating it, knowing that I’m getting all the goodness of sweet potatoes (could there BE a more delicious root?), along with the traditional carrots and other goodies in here. Hope you enjoy this one.
Sweet Potato and Carrot Casserole
1/2 cup unsweetened applesauce
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup agave nectar or maple syrup
1/4 cup Sucanat or organic sugar
1/2 cup old-fashioned oats (not instant)
1/4 cup ground flax seeds
4 medium carrots, trimmed and washed, cut into chunks
2 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks
1 whole organic lemon, washed and cut in quarters
2 T coconut butter or organic sunflower oil
2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1/4 tsp. ground cloves
1/2 tsp. sea salt, if desired
1/2 cup pecan or walnut pieces
1/2 cup raisins
Preheat oven to 375 F. Spray a 9 x 13” pan with nonstick spray, or line with parchment paper.
In a 2-cup glass measuring cup, measure the applesauce, then add the water to make a total of one cup liquid. Add the agave to the cup (for a total of 1-1/4 cups), then add the Sucanat. Stir the mixture in the cup to blend and allow the Sucanat to begin to dissolve.
Meanwhile, in the bowl of a food processor, blend together the oats and flax seeds until mixture is ground and resembles a coarse meal. Transfer the dry mixture to a clean, large bowl.
Without washing the processor bowl, add the carrots and sweet potato and whir until chopped into fine pieces. Add the lemon and coconut butter, and blend again until the mixture is fairly smooth and almost pureed (there should be no pieces larger than a grain of barley). Sprinkle all the spices on top and pulse once or twice to combine well.
Transfer the sweet potato mixture to the bowl with the oats, and pour the applesauce-water mixture on top of it all. Stir well until everything is evenly combined. Last, stir in the nuts and raisins. Turn into prepared pan.
Bake in preheated oven for about an hour, until golden and slightly puffed on top, and a tester inserted in the centre comes out clean. Allow to cool at least 15 minutes before cutting into squares. Makes eight side dish or 6 main course servings. May be frozen.
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