Not Just for Vichyssoise: Roasted Leeks

Roasted leeks - I'm making yummy noises in my mind just looking at this

 
Leeks have always been one of those things I have trouble knowing what to do with. I've made potato and leek soup dozens of times, and I love leek and mushroom risotto... and that's about it. With their tendency to pick up grit, their fibrous outer layers - leeks aren't the easiest vegetables to work with, at least for me.

Still, difficult things can offer great rewards. The delicate, sweet flavor of leeks is pretty special, and can get lost in rich or complex dishes. I don't want to oversell, but I think this recipe does them justice. Honestly, I was just fooling around and didn't expect much, but after trying them my first thought was "Holy shit, these are delicious! I'm never wasting leeks again." Sorry; I'm more profane in my mind. But aren't we all?

Seasonally, leeks are usually available from fall though late spring, though this will vary based on you're location (which is why I'm posting it in June - it's still vaguely wintery here in Scotland). Small, firm ones have the sweetest flavor, but too small and they'll be hard to manage and to eat in this form.

I'd happily serve these as an unexpected but simple appetizer, perhaps with a light, subtle dipping sauce, or just eat them all myself. Soon, I'm going to try cutting them into chip/crisp size and separating them rather than leaving them halved like this, but I also really like the combination of crispy/caramelized and velvety/sweet that you get when you leave them together in this form.

Delicious. I hope you think so.

Roasted Leeks

About 1-2 leeks per person.

Fresh, firm leeks
Olive oil
Coarsely-ground black pepper  
Sea salt

Oil an appropriately-size pan, keeping in mind that one with a lip should limit crisping more than a flat pan. Preheat oven to 375F or about 190C. I think. I don't trust my oven here, so regarding temperature and time, keep an eye on things the first time you make these.

Trim the root ends and the green parts of the leeks from where the outer layer begins to get more fibrous. Carefully rinse the sections of the leeks, letting the water run on the ends, especially if there is any looseness between the layers. If the sections are longer than 3 or 4 inches, you may want halve them lengthwise for ease of eating. Cut each section in half to expose the inside of the leek and place them in the pan with the cut side up.

Either drizzle, brush, or apply olive oil generously to the leeks, letting it seep down between the layers as much as possible. I use my fingers to rub the oil up and down them a little bit, without breaking them apart. Sprinkle with black pepper and sea salt to taste, and pop them in the oven for 10-15 minutes. As I mentioned above, my tiny dorm oven's consistency and accuracy is questionable, so keep an eye on things to gauge the time for yourself. They should be crispy on the outside and tender on the inside.

Enjoy!

Those crispy outer layers are like candy

.

Heaven is a Spring Risotto with Leek, Mushroom and Carrot

Risotto Primavera with Leek, Mushroom and Carrot

Over the last year, I have grown to love risotto. The creamy texture and intense flavor that result from the slow incorporation of wine and broth as well as the endless potential of risotto as a medium make it an impressive dish, and I personally enjoy the zen-like hour of stirring in tiny amounts of liquid. Plus, it's a great workout for your arms (well, one of them).

This recipe for risotto, which has been kicking around my kitchen since about February, was conceived of as a Risotto Primavera, meant to celebrate the early spring veggies I was beginning to see at the farmers' markets. The final version is includes leek and mushroom, but it could easily make use of almost anything you want, as long as you adjust when you add the veggies so that they are fully cooked (but not disintegrating) and which wine you're using. To me, risottos are perfect year-round because of that flexibility, and because they are somehow both warm and hearty and relatively light, so they don't feel too heavy for summer.

Brainstorm: serve ratatouille over a very simple chardonnay risotto? Just thought of that. I am getting a little excited about summer and for me that means ratatouille, one of the first dishes I feel like I really perfected. I'll post that recipe when all the good summer squashes are finally out.

A note about wine - risotto is the perfect example of why they say, "Don't cook with a wine you wouldn't drink." Why? Because risotto shouldn't taste like bananas. At least, not when it also has mushrooms in it. The flavors in whatever wine you use will be intensified in the cooking process, and as the alcohol cooks off they lose that "cover," so to speak, so it is important not just what kind of wine you choose (e.g. sauvignon blanc versus chardonnay) but what it tastes like. That might sound a little fussy to some, but I have made risottos where the wine clashed badly with the ingredients and it just was not good. The wine store people always seem to have good suggestions.

In general, I try to use a sauvignon blanc with nice crisp green notes for light, fresh risottos while a big, buttery, oaky chardonnay is great for when I want a richer flavor or am working with sweeter flavors like squash or carrot. But I would really advise you to go with your instincts when pairing, and use wines you like and are familiar with. This recipe could handle most white wines without too much trouble.

Recently, I've been really wanting to make a beer risotto. I think it could work. I'll get on that soon and see what I come up with.

To the recipe!

Risotto Primavera with Leek, Mushroom and Carrot
Makes 3-4 servings, if I remember correctly. I pretty much ate it all myself.

Please forgive me if the measurements look a little strange; this one I had to do in metric because of the measuring cups I have here and converted it using the internet.


A generous 1.5 cups of Arborio rice
1.5 cups of wine
4-4.5 cups of veggie broth
3 smallish leeks
10 medium chestnut mushrooms, sliced
1-2 small carrots, quartered and thinly sliced
1/2 medium onion, diced
3 cloves of garlic
1/4 c. Earth Balance or other vegan butter (plus a little extra to add at the end, if you like)
1/2 tsp. thyme
1/2 tsp. celery seed
1/4 tsp. white pepper

Set out the wine in advance to let it get to room temperature, that would be ideal. Return the rest to the fridge so it's nice and chilled for you to drink while you cook (at least that's what I do).

Prepare the both, heating it to just below boiling in a large pot on the stove. Add the thyme, celery seed, and white pepper, stir thoroughly, and let it sit on the heat, covered, while you prep the veggies.

Slice the leeks, separate the rings, and carefully rinse them by submerging them in water and swishing them around a bit to wash all of the grit off. Leeks are notorious for sneaking dirt and grit into your food, so be thorough.

Slice the mushrooms thickly enough that as they cook they'll hold up to lots of stirring (though this needn't be too thick, they're usually pretty sturdy little guys). Quarter the carrots and slice thinly. Dice the onion and smash and finely chop the garlic.

Melt the vegan butter over medium heat in a large pot and then sauté diced onion and garlic until the onions are translucent, being careful not to burn the garlic. There should still be plenty of liquid from the melted butter at this point, and if not, add a little more and melt it, because it needs to coat the rice.


Add the rice and stir until it is fully coated in the butter. Then add the room-temperature wine, stirring as it incorporates into the rice. This is the last point at which you'll have any breaks, so make sure that all your other ingredients are at hand and you have a drink nearby, the windows open, etc., because in my experience it can get pretty hot standing over a pot for an hour (or 45ish minutes, but I rounded up for dramatic effect).


So, using a ladle or teacup or something, add about 1/3 to 1/2 cup of the hot broth to the pot and stir consistently until it is fully absorbed. Then repeat FOREVER.

You'll need to time carefully(ish) when you add your veggies so that they cook the right amount. For this recipe, add the carrots first, perhaps about 15 or 20 minutes in, and then the leek and mushroom 5 or 10 minutes later. I always think of it as about halfway through. 

The only really tricky thing about risotto is developing that eye for the texture it needs to have. I watch how quickly it oozes (somehow always a gross word, but I can't really think of another) back in to place when I scrape a spoon across the bottom of the pan - there shouldn't be any liquid flowing ahead of the risotto, but it should never be dry and should move freely, if that makes any sense. The idea is to keep it always at the point where the liquid is almost fully absorbed but the risotto is moist and isn't sticking to the pan, which seems like it can happen almost instantly, hence the constant stirring.


There are those people who say you can make perfectly acceptable risotto in a crock pot. I hate them a little bit. Risotto is a labor of love - I put in the effort because of how much I adore the result, and I think you can taste it. That gentle coaxing of more and more liquid into each fat little grain of rice is a process that I believe can't be replace by a pressure-cooker or other such modern gadgetry. I can just feel the ghost of some Italian nonna backing me up on this one.


The cooking process usually takes me about 45 minutes. Remember that you don't have to add all the liquid, just as much as you need to get the texture right. Taste it as you go along - there should be no hard or grainy bit at the center of each grain of rice, but you the grains should still be distinct. You don't want it to go all soggy or have turned into a big mushy pudding. But, ultimately, it's about your taste - stop when you think it tastes right. 


The traditional texture of risotto is referred to as all'onda, which means "like waves," referring to the way it moves when you tilt a plate of it. I like a risotto that you can eat with a fork rather than a spoon, but that's a personal preference. Just keep in mind that risotto continues to cook after you take it off the heat, and it will firm up a bit as it cools, so leave it slightly more moist than you want it to be when you serve. It is meant to be served immediately, but I always make extra and leftovers are delicious. One thing I've been wanting to try with my leftovers is little pan-fried risotto cakes, perhaps lightly breaded. Next time!


To finish, stir in a couple of tablespoons of vegan butter. Purists would tell you to whip this in as quickly as possible to emulsify the butter with the liquid (obviously, that method is more suited to risotto with more liquid at the final stage).

Enjoy!


***Special thanks to Grace Eddy for being an excellent taste-tester and for talking to me while I stirred for an hour.

Pupusas with Spicy Beer-and-Lime Roasted Summer Squash

You may notice that this picture, unlike all the others on this blog, was not taken on either my front or back porch, but instead on my friend Chris's back porch, which happens to look out over a lake. I was making pupusas for a lake party, more specifically a going-away party for myself and another friend, who was also getting ready to leave for school overseas.

These pupusas, while delicious, were an example of poor planning. There's a reason people don't cook at parties. I spent so long making the fresh salsa, prepping the vegetables, cooking the vegetables, forming the pupusas, and finally cooking them, that I spent hours alone by myself in the kitchen listening to Chris's Beatles mix that, thoughtfully, he left on for me.

Usually I don't mind that so much, since I spend a lot of time alone in the kitchen cooking and listening to music, but I did miss a lot of time on the lake with friends and could have gotten significantly more sun and floated for significantly longer on the lake with a beer in my hand if I'd just done my prep work before. Lesson learned.

These are best with some really flavorful salsa or guacamole, beer, and friends. I highly suggest Sun, and Lake if you can get it.

Pupusa Dough

Traditional pupusa dough is just masa harina, water, and sometimes salt. If you love masa dough like I do (I always eat little pinches of it while I'm making tamales), then you may prefer to reduce or leave out the salt and cayenne, but even I think these are a little better with more flavor, because they're so thick (also, they lack the shortening and butter content that makes tamale dough so rich). A really flavorful filling will make them fantastic.

2 c. masa harina (Maseca is the brand I use)
1 1/2 c. warm water
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper

Spicy Beer and Lime Marinade


1 bottle of a Mexican beer, whatever you like best, but not too dark
2-3 tablespoons of your favorite hot sauce, or more to taste (Tabasco works just fine)
1/8-1/4 c. lime juice, to taste
1 tsp. salt
1/4 c. olive oil

About 1/2 lbs of squash (zucchini, pattypan, crookneck, or whatever looks good), diced
1 small white onion, diced


In a large bowl, combine the marinade ingredients, mixing well. Smell, taste, and adjust according to your preferences. Marinate the diced squash and onions for 30 minutes to an hour, turning regularly with your hands to fully coat. Heat a lightly-oiled pan to medium-high and saute the squash in a single layer, reserving the marinade. Divide the mixture into batches if there's too much. Once the pieces begin to get a little browned, drizzle in some marinade and let it simmer. As the liquid is absorbed, taste the squash. Add more marinade if you can, trying to balance the intensity of the flavor with the texture of the squash. It won't cook much more when you pan-fry the pupusas, but you don't want it falling apart while you try to form them, either.

Don't try to mix the masa dough until the squash is done. It dries out so quickly, and the squash will need to cool a little so you can handle it anyway. Before you get started, set out a little dish of oil with which to brush the pupusas when you finish forming them

Mix the masa, salt and cayenne well, then add the water, mixing thoroughly. You may need to add a little more water as you go if it dries out and becomes difficult to handle, or you can wet your hands to smooth over any cracks in your little pupusa patties.

Divide the dough into balls bigger than a golf ball but smaller than a tennis ball; the dough ball should flatten out to about 1/4 inch thick and a little wider than your palm. Take a dough ball and begin to work it into a bowl shape, using the palm of your hand to help form it and keep it from splitting apart. As it gets larger, it may work for you to start using both hands, with the pupusa cupped in your hands (cupped like you're trying to hold water), slowly turning it as you go. Try to keep the pupusa a consistent width.

When you think it's done, grab a little handful of the filling, about several tablespoons, and put it right in the middle of your little bowl. Seal up the top edge over the filling, pressing and smoothing the sides of the pupusa until it is a solid cake. Continue to work the pupusa into a rounder shape, smoothing over any cracks as you go. If you need to, you can usually pinch off a little bit of dough from the ends; when you sealed your pupusa it was probably shaped like a football, and the tips are probably just masa, but be careful not to break the whole thing open.

That process sounds like it takes forever, and it may the first time, but you'll get the hang of it. Forming pupusas can be tricky, and if you need a visual aid, this video is cute and helpful. And even though they do spend a lot of the time on the filling, Abuelita clearly knows what she's doing.

So, as you finish forming each pupusa, brush it top and bottom with oil and set it gently on a non-stick surface covered with a towel to keep them from drying out. You can brush them with oil again and smooth over any cracks if you need to before you fry them, so don't worry. As you get close to being done, heat up a pan to medium-medium high, depending on the kind of pan. Pupusas are cooked in a dry pan, traditionally, but a little oil wouldn't hurt if charring things makes you nervous. The video addresses this, too.)

When the pan is fully heated, test the heat with a little bit of masa dough to make sure that it doesn't burn immediately, or adhere, or whatever. You want the pupusas to be able to cook for a little while without burning, so all the dough gets cooked and you get a nice crisp golden crust with some nice charring. You can do about 4 at a time, depending on the pan. Scoot them around to keep them from sticking or burning, and check the bottoms once in a while so you can flip them at the right time. I like to start with just one, so I get a handle on things before I risk a whole batch. Also so I can have a snack while I cook.

Serve with more Mexican beer and a homemade fresh salsa or guacamole, or as in the picture above, a weird (but delicious!) hybrid of salsa and guacamole. People tend to have strong opinions about how to make salsa and guacamole, so I'll leave that to you.

Enjoy!



.

Happy July! Enjoy a little Niçoise street food - Steamed Tempeh Pan Bagnat

Is it un-American to make anything except American food on the fourth of July? Setting aside, of course, the debate about whether there is any truly American food except corn with, like, walnuts and apple and maple syrup (undoubtedly all stuffed in to a pumpkin), trying to tease out what foods have spent enough time evolving in the New World to be considered American is a fruitless (ha) effort. Entire cities make my point for me - New York's beloved bagels or cannoli , beignets and cafe au lait in New Orleans, New Mexican posole. More than that, I think trying to figure out what is and isn't American is kind of missing the point of America in general.

All that to say, I made French food on the fourth of July. Don't come after me.

It's not a political statement, I just really want to make socca, and I thought it would be the perfect food to make as a snack while grilling out with my family. And if I'm making socca, I might as well go full Niçoise and do a pan bagnat sandwich as well. With rosé. Obviously.

I'll leave the socca for another time, because it didn't turn out exactly like I wanted, or anything at all like I wanted. That may be my fault, because I ran out of time to make it on the day I made the batter, so it sat around for...a bit. It is supposed to rest for a while, but only a couple hours - even overnight - not four days. Needless to say, by the time I got around to making it, it had gotten a little ferment-y. At the time, I thought, well, they let injera batter ferment in the Ethiopian heat, and this has been in the fridge, so surely it's fine. I'll take another pass at socca, but I'm beginning to suspect that I just don't like chickpea flour that much. A friend recently suggested that it's better fried, so I may do a breading with it soon, but for now I'm taking a hiatus.

While the socca was underwhelming, my steamed-tempeh pan bagnat was a spectacular success. Pan bagnat means, literally, "bathed bread," so this is a very wet salad that would be well served over a bed of lettuce as a tempeh Niçoise salad, but is traditionally paired with a very crusty baguette or bun which absorbs some of the delicious vinaigrette that seasons the ingredients. The sandwiches are also traditionally pressed and rested, again to enhance the absorption of the liquids. I tried that the first time I made it, but the home-made roll I used didn't quite hold up to it. The second time, I used a nice, crusty baguette, which performed a little better. I also served to a group of friends with little slices of baguette, and it went over very well, in spite of leaking all over everyone.

Traditionally, pan bagnat is made with tuna, so I used steamed tempeh to provide that firm texture with a touch of chewiness. The salad benefits from a little marinating, so it will continue to taste better as it sits in the fridge for a day or two. Good quality olives are key; find a grocery store with an olive bar if you live in or near suburbia, or a specialty shop if you're more urban. Also, I would marinate the onions in red wine vinegar, olive oil, and black pepper for at least several hours before you make the rest of the salad.

Steamed Tempeh Niçoise for Pan Bagnat
Makes about 8 sandwiches  or about 6 dinner-sized salads


2 8-oz packages of tempeh (for this I used WestSoy's original, which is lighter in color than the 5-grain that I  usually use, and looks great with the bright-colored vegetables)
1/2 c. red wine vinegar for tempeh marinade
1/2 c. olive oil for tempeh marinade
1/8 c. lemon juice for tempeh marinade
1 Tbsp. dulse flakes (optional - add slight seafood flavor, but won't make a big difference if you don't have them on hand)

1/2 medium onion, diced
1/4 c. red wine vinegar for onion marinade
1/4 c. olive oil for onion marinade
1/8 tsp. black pepper for onion marinade

1 small cucumber, diced

2 small tomatoes, diced

1 1/4 c. pitted green and kalamata olives, chopped (yields about 1 c. chopped)

Extra red wine vinegar, olive oil, lemon juice, and black pepper for dressing the salad

Your favorite kind of lettuce, torn into pieces for the sandwich or in larger leaves as a bed for the salad

---

Ideally, marinate the diced onion in red wine vinegar, olive oil and black pepper for at least several hours and up to overnight before you prepare the salad.


Boil a good amount water in a large pot (one that has or can accommodate a steamer basket). With the basket in place, the water should not come within something like 3 inches of the basket, but fill the pot as much as possible so that you don't risk boiling it all away. As the water comes to a boil (leaving the lid on will make this happen more quickly), cut the tempeh in half lengthwise and then slice into pieces between 1/4 and 1/2 inch thick. Arrange tempeh in a single layer in the steamer basket.

Begin to prep your vegetables while the water comes to a boil. Chop cucumber, tomato, and olives, and if not prepared in advance, the onion. When the water is boiling, put the steamer basket with tempeh into the pot, cover, and steam for 10-15 minutes, until softened but not falling apart. Check a couple of times for texture if you need to. When tempeh is done, pull the basket out of the pot and set it somewhere that it can cool.

When tempeh has cooled, cut the slices into cubes and place in a large mixing bowl. Drizzle with lemon juice, then mix. Then drizzle generously with red wine vinegar and olive oil, following the guidelines above but using more if you feel you need to. Mix thoroughly but gently with your hands, trying not to break up the tempeh too much, and add dulse flakes if desired. Let the tempeh marinate for about 10 minutes, or whatever time you have (you may still be chopping vegetables). When it's done, add all the chopped vegetables, including the onion and its marinating liquid. Mix gently and drizzle with red wine vinegar, olive oil, and lemon juice to taste, adding black pepper as needed.

For salade Niçoise, spoon salad over lettuce leaves in a shallow soup bowl.

For pan bagnat, cut up a baguette into sandwich-sized lengths and cut in half, leaving a "hinge" intact. You can remove some of the bread from the inside to make room if you like (if you do, mop up some of the vinaigrette with the soft bread bits you pull out - a real perk of being the cook). Lay some torn pieces of lettuce across the sandwich, and spoon in the generous amounts of the salad. Garnish with lots of napkins.



.

Soup Wars: Tom Kha kicks Chicken Soup's Ass Kung-Fu Style

Okay, so I know kung-fu is Chinese, but "muay-thai-style" (Thailand's signature martial art and national sport) wouldn't have been as funny.

Tom Kha is a Thai (and Laotian, or Lao) soup that is warming, filling, a little spicy, and full of hearty vegetables and tofu - the perfect contender for the "I feel terrible and all I want is soup and old episodes of West Wing" crown. The fragrant lemongrass and galanga broth, with tons of coconut milk added to make it creamy and rich, is the perfect thing to engage the dulled senses of a couch-dwelling invalid, while spicy prik pao sauce (which gives you control over how much spice you want) will clean out a congested nose and chest.


Alternately, if you're at the peak of health and all of your senses are at their sharpest, tom kha is impressive - its flavor is complex and distinctive, the lemongrass and galanga give it a fantastic scent, and the slightly translucent creamy broth with tiny beads of red oil from the prik pao is visually satisfying. Can you tell that I'm in love? Here's the bowl that did it, from Taste of Thai in Knoxville:



Note that I ate about half of it before I remembered to take a picture of it.






Just before I discovered tom kha, my brother had been in Thailand for about a month, and when he returned, he brought me back what he knew I'd like best - Thai spices. He also brought my dad the dried ingredients for tom yam, which shares the broth base with tom kha. Read the directions; my favorite is step 4.







 He really loved his time in Thailand, and came back with so many wonderful stories and such a respect for the people there. He also happens to be a wonderful photographer, so stick around after the recipe for some of my favorite pictures from his trip. Here's a teaser:

Photo courtesy of Mason Winsauer

 Just a note - most tom kha recipes use fish sauce, which I've replaced with tamari, so if you are at a Thai restaurant, you'll want to check with them (though they'll almost certainly be using the fish sauce). This is the main reason I've made so many batches trying to perfect this recipe at home.

If you don't need this much, reduce the recipe. Leftovers lose some flavor, and though you can perk it up by adding some more fresh lime juice, it's much better fresh. Once you've made it a couple of times, this soup is extremely easy, and such a treat! Make some rice to go with it - my favorite way to eat it is by dipping a spoonful of rice into the soup so that it absorbs some liquid and then eating that. Extraordinarily good!

Photo courtesy of Mason Winsauer

Tom Kha
Serves about 6

6 c. coconut milk
3 c. water or vegetable stock
6 stalks of lemongrass
12 thin slices of galanga (a.k.a galangal or garlanga)
5 Tbsp. tamari (or other soy sauce, but you'll need a bit more - just use them to taste and watch the saltiness)
2 Tbsp. palm sugar or raw sugar
6 kaffir lime leaves, torn (these have been hard for me to find, so if you can't, just leave them out)
1/2 tsp. nam prik pao (Thai fried chili paste - really cheap at almost any Asian grocery, and very versatile)
6-10 cremini mushrooms or your favorite kind, sliced thinly
1 small carrot, thinly sliced (a mandoline would be ideal for this)

1 small crown of broccoli, cut into bite-sized florets
12-oz package of fried tofu (again, easy to find at an Asian market)
1 small bunch of fresh cilantro (don't try to substitute dried seasoning; the wilted leaf is the goal)
2 1/2 Tbsp. fresh lime juice

 First, thoroughly rinse the lemongrass and galanga. If the outermost leaf of the lemongrass has any discoloration or moldiness, remove it and rinse the remaining stalk. The waxy skin of the galanga can get a little slimy, so rinse very thoroughly.

Lemongrass, pounded and cut

Cut off the very end of each stalk of lemongrass, about the last 1/4" or 1/2". On a solid surface, use a heavy object like a rolling pin to carefully pound the length of the lemongrass stalk to break up the fibrous inside layers and release the flavor. You don't need to destroy them, just soften them up. When that's done, cut the stalks into 2-inch pieces, ending when the stalk begins to get loose and grassy. Many recipes will say to use only the white bit, but it's not a clear transition and I think a good 4 inches more are perfectly usable.

Galanga, whole and sliced

The galanga is woody and fibrous, so be careful when you cut it because it is very tough. Cut about 12 thin slices, or the equivalent in smaller angular pieces, which you will undoubtedly have to cut because the galanga root is very knobbly and irregular.


If you're in doubt, use extra lemongrass and galanga. The only element of this soup that is difficult to correct as you go along is the broth, and if it is too weak, that will really affect the taste. Also,keep in mind that it will be heavily diluted by the coconut milk, so the first time you make it, you may want to go overboard a bit until you get a feel for how much you need.

Simmer the lemongrass and galanga in the 3 cups of water in a large pot with the lime leaves and sugar for about 15-20 minutes. While this is happening, prep your vegetables. Slice the mushrooms and carrots thinly, cut the broccoli into small florets. Slice the fried tofu into small strips, about 1/4-inch thick.

Add coconut milk, nam prik pao and soy sauce, and simmer another 5 minutes. When that's done, remove all the solids with a strainer or a slotted spoon. I forgot once, added all the vegetables, then had to pick out all of the stringy bits of lemongrass by hand - not fun, and likely to burn your fingers.

Add the carrots and tofu first, then the broccoli and mushrooms a couple of minutes later. Cook until vegetables are just becoming tender but are still crispy. Remove from heat, add lime juice and cilantro and stir. At this point, adjust seasonings as you need to - if it doesn't have that distinctive Tom Kha tang, you may need more lime juice. If you want more heat, add a little more prik pao.You may need to add more salt, though the soy sauce is likely enough. Serve hot.

Enjoy some travel photos while you dig in:

Photo courtesy of Mason Winsauer

Photo courtesy of Mason Winsauer

Photo courtesy of Mason Winsauer

Photo courtesy of Mason Winsauer

Photo courtesy of Mason Winsauer

Photo courtesy of Mason Winsauer

Photo courtesy of Mason Winsauer

My brother and his fiancee, Lauren Moore, with monkey

Lotus, Part I: Baked Lotus Root in a Honey Ginger Glaze

Baked Lotus Root in a Honey-Ginger Glaze

I love potatoes. It could be that I come from Irish and German stock, both potato-hungry nations, or that I ate lots of delicious variations as a child, or that my plump pre-adolescent self identified somehow with their starchy roundness. Whatever it was, I have always been perfectly happy with a bowl of mashed potatoes as a meal.

Having said that, I'd like to make a case for cooking with a much wider variety of starchy vegetables, for enjoyment, excitement and a more nutritionally diverse diet. Not everyone has access to international produce; it's one thing to be able to find five-spice powder, but an entirely different thing to have to hunt down fresh birds-eye chilies or ripe durian (which, amazingly, I have seen at my local Asian grocery, Sunrise Supermarket, about which you will undoubtedly hear more). However, if you are lucky enough to have someone trying to sell you fresh lotus root, you should definitely take advantage of that. I don't want to ignore the major environmental and economical impact of importing international foods, but as I lean very heavily on local produce, I'm going to save that debate for another day.

Raw lotus root - unpeeled, peeled, and sliced

In fact, though it is much more well-known in Asian cuisine, lotus is also indigenous to the American South (though the lotus root I got at Sunrise definitely wasn't locally produced). When collected by locals in the freshwater bayous of Louisiana, lotus seeds are called graines à volers (pronounced grawn-uh-vo-LAY) in Cajun French or more colloquially, "Cajun peanuts," and serve as a convenient summer snack for bayou fisherman and guides, who can harvest the raised pods as they pass by in their boats. Before the Cajuns and Creoles, though, lotus seeds were a dietary staple of the Native Americans of south Louisiana, though unlike their Cajun brethren, they ate the root (technically a rhizome) as well,  most often baked.


When selecting lotus root, look for heavy pieces that are a light warm tan color with no soft spots and little discoloration. The pretty holes you see when you cut a cross-section run all the way through the length of the root and dry out easily, so look for ends that aren't too withered as an indication that most of the root will be usable.

In many traditional Asian cuisines lotus root and seeds are used medicinally, and are considered cooling, balancing influences. There may actually be something to that, as the lotus plant "thermoregulates" - heats or cools the air inside its flowers to make a more comfortable environment for pollinating insects.

Lotus root can be used in stir-fry or soups, pan-roasted, pickled, deep fried as chips, and even candied, and I plan to explore all of those options, but I'm going to start with something simple, easy, and impressive: baked lotus root in a honey-ginger glaze.

If you don't do honey (or don't have access to local honey), agave nectar will work just fine. I know a lot of people will disagree with me about this, but I don't think that every vegan should abstain from honey; if you feel strongly that using the bees for food production is inherently wrong, then more power to you, but I am personally very concerned about honeybee populations and live in an area with access to local, ethically produced honey on every corner, so I buy from small beekeepers who keep the bees healthy and out pollinating. Agave is a great substitute, but is a little thinner than honey, so always keep that in mind.

Grated fresh ginger

Baked Lotus Root in a Honey-Ginger Glaze
Serves 3-4 as a side dish

2 medium lotus roots
1/3 c. honey or 1/2 c. agave nectar
1 rounded Tbsp. freshly grated ginger


Preheat the oven to 375 and grease a baking sheet. Start by finely grating the ginger - if you keep your fresh ginger in the freezer like I do, it's just fine to grate it while it's frozen. It will seem a little soggy when you gather it up to put in the recipe, but as far as I can tell, that's not an issue.

Peel and slice the lotus root. If there's going to be a delay before you can dress the slices, or if you're making a large batch, keep the slices in a bowl of cold water with some vinegar added to keep the lotus from discoloring.

Remove the slices from the water and dry them briefly to remove excess moisture. In a large bowl, toss the slices with the honey and the grated ginger, making sure to coat them as fully as possible. When you're done, spread them in a single layer on the baking sheet and pour any glaze that remains in your bowl over the pieces.

Bake at 375 for 8-10 minutes, turn them over, and bake another 6-8 minutes. They cool somewhat quickly, so feel free to pull one out and sample for texture (but be careful, because I refuse to assume any liability for burned tongues). When they're done, take them out of the pan quickly, because the honey glaze will glue the slices down if you let them cool in the pan. I also suggest putting some water in the pan to let it soak while it's still warm, for the same reason.

Enjoy!




Lotus Root.

Magnificent Brussels Sprouts - courtesy of my mom and Julia Child

I don't remember having Brussels sprouts at all as a child, though apparently we did. All I really knew about them was that people didn't seem to like them - every mention of them I'd ever heard treated them as a symbolic of the struggle of parents to make their children eat overcooked, tasteless vegetables. In fact, I heard a story recently about my friend's uncle who, as a child, dropped his unwanted sprouts through a hole in a hollow table leg so that when, decades later, the family had to take the table apart, they found dozens of shriveled Brussels sprouts. I don't remember ever expecting that they were bad - we ate loads of greens and cabbage-type-things - but I just didn't know. So, when I had them for the first time as an adult, they were a revelation.

Admittedly, no one in the world seems to love cabbage as much as I do, but I feel confident that this is objectively tasty. It's based on my mom's recipe, which flavors the sprouts with butter and breadcrumbs, but for the optimal color and texture, I've boiled them briefly then baked/braised à la Julia Child's method from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

I know this isn't a terribly original approach; one friend insists that pan roasting is the only conceivable way to cook the sprouts, though I think millions of miserable 1950s children would beg to differ.  Even a fellow I got to talking to today at a restaurant bar took care to share with me his favorite recipe, which was remarkably like mine, only including Parmesan. Still, in a time when there's no shortage of culinary reinvention, there's a great deal of comfort and enjoyment to be had in the classics. When you're working with something so simple, the real glory is in the execution. The first time I tested this recipe, I put the butter over the breadcrumbs, and forgot to salt and pepper them while they were still naked, and that made all the difference. As usual, a little bit of technique goes a long, long way.

Magnificent Brussels Sprouts

2 lbs loose fresh Brussels sprouts (about 30 medium sprouts, as close in size as possible)
1 cup breadcrumbs
5 Tbsp. Earth Balance, melted
Sea salt
Freshly-cracked black pepper

Bring 7-8 quarts of salted water to a rapid boil. While you wait for it to boil, prep the sprouts. With a small knife, trim the base of the sprout to remove any unappealing-looking bits of stem. Pierce the base of the sprout with the tip of the knife to help the dense base cook more quickly. Remove any yellowish or wilty outer leaves. Rinse and drain in cold water. If you are using local and organic Brussels sprouts, home-grown ones, or any that may have been grown without any kind of anti-pest measure, you may want to soak them for 10 or 15 minutes in salted water to encourage any burrowing insects to extract themselves. After trimming the bases, you'll have some leaves that have fallen off, which you can use. You may want to save them for making veggie broth, but if you'd like to eat them now, you can blanch in the boiling water for a couple of minutes after you pull the sprouts out and eat them with some melted Earth Balance, a little salt and pepper, and even some leftover breadcrumbs. I tend to get peckish while I cook, so it's nice to have a little snack under the guise of preventing waste.

When your water is boiling rapidly, drop in your sprouts. Bring the water back up to a full boil as quickly as possible. Boil ("slowly," according to Julia - I imagine she means letting the water drop to a nice rolling boil rather than a more frantic, rapid boil) uncovered for 6-8 minutes, until almost tender. Remove and drain, then spread out in a single layer, not touching each other, on a clean towel to let them cool. Preheat your oven to 350. Melt the earth balance over medium-low heat on the stove or in the microwave.

When they've cooled and dried enough to handle, cut the sprouts in half lengthwise to get a nice cross-section. Rub some Earth Balance along the bottom of a pan with a cover or oven-safe casserole, whatever will hold your sprouts in a single layer. Place them in the pan with the cut sides up, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Drizzle melted Earth Balance generously over the sprouts, then sprinkle with bread crumbs into each, trying to make an even layer. 

Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes, until the sprouts are tender. Serve immediately.

Brussels Sprouts

"Easy Like Sunday Morning" Vegan Carrot Cake Pancakes

There's kind of a funny story behind these pancakes. I was over at a friend's house, and she wanted a quick and easy dinner, so she decided to make pancakes. She sent her husband to the store for ingredients, and I begged him to pick up some carrots for me to snack on as well because I just didn't think I could take all that sugar. When he got back, my friend started joking around about how to use the carrots... and suddenly exclaimed, "can you make CARROT CAKE PANCAKES?"

As it turns out, I can.

That night, we looked in to plain vegan pancake recipes on line, and then I added spices, shredded carrot, and raisins, and what we came up with was pretty great. When I tried to recreate them at home, however, the incredible 6 tablespoons (!) of baking powder that the original recipe had required suddenly became a big problem. After several iterations, and a great deal of tweaking, here is my final recipe: perfected today, on one of the first sunny, temperate Sundays of the season, hence the name. A lot of the magic is in the technique; because the rising depends on the baking powder, so keeping those nice little bubbles intact is key. Read on...

"Easy Like Sunday Morning" Vegan Carrot Cake Pancakes

Dry Ingredients
     3 c. flour
     3/4 tsp. salt
     3 Tbsp. baking powder
     6 Tbsp. sugar
     3 tsp. cinnamon
     1 tsp. nutmeg

Wet Ingredients
     3 c. soymilk (plain, original, or vanilla, depending on how much extra sweetness you want. I work with plain, myself, but if you only had vanilla, you could decrease the granulated sugar a bit to adjust for it)
     6 Tbsp. oil
     2 tsp. vanilla
     1 c. golden raisins, rinsed to remove bits and stems, then soaked in hot water to soften them
     2 c. grated carrot, drained

Combine all the dry ingredients thoroughly with your hands, making sure to break up the little clumps that baking powder tends to form. Set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk the vanilla into the soy milk, then do the same with the oil. When they're thoroughly mixed, fold in the carrot and raisins, combining well.

Preheat a pan to medium/medium high or a skillet to 375ish. If that seems too hot as you make your first pancake, go ahead and adjust to what you think is best.

Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients, then pour the wet ingredients into the well. Firmly and quickly fold the wet ingredients into the dry, using as few strokes as possible, but combining thoroughly. You should be able to do this rather quickly, and if there are a few little bumps, don't worry about it. Over-mixing will break up the bubbles formed by the baking powder and make your pancakes too dense and flat.

When your pan is preheated, spray with canola oil. The batter will be thick and a bit clumpy, so it will be tempting  to spread it to get it into a better pancake shape, but don't (I made this mistake a couple of times before I figured it out). Far better to try to control shape and thickness while pouring, again so you don't destroy the rise.

Cook until the edges are beginning to firm and the bubbles in the center of the pancake pop and the batter doesn't refill the hole (awkward to say; great way to judge pancake done-ness). Flip gently and cook for a couple of minutes until golden brown.

They will be a little more dense than normal because of the carrot and raisin, but they should have a good texture and rise. Cut open the first one and make sure it's done in the middle, and adjust your cooking time if needed. Serve with syrup, cashew cream, jam, agave nectar, or whatever strikes your fancy.

Enjoy!

P.S. I think you're going to get a book review soon, because I went to McKay's today (locals, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout) and bought a cookbook and a bunch of memoirs and essay collections by food writers, including Ruth Reichl, Calvin Trillin, Judith Jones, and Edna Lewis. Am Super Excited.


.

Roasted Eggplant, Portobello and Kale Lasagna with Tofu Ricotta, Vegan Bechamel and Chunky Tomato Sauce

For millions of people, lasagna evokes home, comfort, and indulgence. Those are not qualities particularly identified with vegan cooking, but they are root of why I, and many people, love to cook and eat.

I am, actually, not one of the lasagna people - I don't remember having had it growing up, and I didn't like it very much the few times I had at a friend's house or wherever. So when Melody from Hollywood the Write Way told me that it was one of her favorite foods, I decided that I would take on the challenge of making a lasagna I did like.


As I've planned this recipe, I realized one great thing about lasagna, namely its flexibility. You can use any vegetables you have available, whatever is seasonal, whatever is in the fridge. You can do just a tomato sauce, a béchamel, both, or even a creamy tomato sauce. The basic requirement is lasagna noodles, and you can just go from there.

My choices for this lasagna were roasted eggplant and portobello with sautéed kale, a chunky tomato sauce, a tofu ricotta and a béchamel sauce. Mine is a somewhat complicated recipe (I'm just glad I didn't try to make the pasta from scratch like I had originally planned), but don't worry, this could be so much simpler. The ricotta is a snap to make, and the sauce is actually pretty easy to do from scratch, though you could certainly use store-bought sauce and just heat it up. From there, you could save a lot of time by using veggies that don't require any prep other then slicing. Also, you can make it ahead and bake it whenever you need to, so you have a hot, gourmet dinner with only the baking time... not so shabby, eh?

Roasted Eggplant, Portobello and Kale Lasagna

For tomato sauce:

1 large (28-30oz) can of diced tomatoes, or whatever consistency you like the best. If you want lots of sauce (not me! I just like it as a filling), then you may want as much as twice this much tomato, and adjust other ingredients to taste.
2 medium shallots
4 med. cloves of garlic
1 Tbsp. tomato paste or more to taste (optional - it will make the sauce richer, and will help if you want to make a lot of sauce)
1 large sprig of fresh basil
Fresh or dried oregano
Olive oil
Balsamic vinegar
Salt and pepper

For the béchamel:
5 Tbsp. Earth Balance vegan margarine
3 Tbsp. flour
3 c. coconut milk, heated
1 large shallot
1 bay leaf
1 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. white pepper
1/8 tsp. nutmeg

For the tofu ricotta:
1 lb. firm silken tofu (aseptic will work the best - the kind that comes in the vacuum-sealed boxes; it has a different texture)
1/4 c. basil chiffonade
1/4 c. green onion
3 cloves of garlic, minced
2 tsp. tahini
1 tsp. sea salt
1/4 tsp black pepper


Other ingredients:
1 package lasagna noodles
1 large eggplant, or 3-4 Japanese or Chinese eggplants, if you can get your hands on them
2 large portobello caps
1 bunch of kale
2 cloves garlic

First, clean the mushrooms with a clean cloth or a mushroom brush. Don't wash mushrooms; they'll just absorb the water and lose flavor. When they're clean, slice them thinly to create nice mushroom cross-sections. Grease a cookie sheet and lay the slices of the mushroom in a single layer. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, then roast at 400 for 7-10 minutes, until aromatic and tender. Transfer to a bowl, cover and set aside.

Next, wash your eggplant(s). If you're using a large eggplant, slice it in half down the middle, and then slice each half in pieces about 1/8 inch thick. If you're using the Japanese or Chinese eggplants, just cut diagonally into medallions. In a large colander, place a layer of eggplant pieces, then sprinkle a layer of salt over them. Be thorough; the salt is going to be washed off, so it won't affect the flavor. Repeat with the rest of the pieces, making sure that every layer has been salted well. Put the colander in the sink or over a bowl, somewhere that it can drain. The eggplant will shed water and, more importantly, some of the bitterness they have. Heirloom and any non-commercial eggplants tend to be more bitter, so this is all the more important. Some recipes may not list it, but you should always sweat eggplant.

While the eggplants are sweating and the mushrooms are roasting, prepare the tofu ricotta. Crumble tofu in a bowl, add the rest of the ingredients, and combine until the mixture resembles ricotta, mashing with your hands or a fork. It should be pretty flavorful, so if it isn't, add more ingredients as needed. It will taste milder when cooked in the lasagna. Cover and refrigerate until needed.

Somewhere in this time range, you'll want to start your tomato sauce. Finely chop the 4 cloves of garlic and thinly slice the shallots. In a large saucepan, heat some olive oil to medium. When the oil is hot, add the garlic and shallots, and cook until translucent. Add tomatoes and stir in tomato paste, mixing thoroughly. Chiffonade the basil (make a stack of leaves, roll them up like a cigarette, and slice them thinly on the diagonal), then add to the sauce. Add oregano, salt and pepper to taste. Let the sauce simmer for 20 or 30 minutes, drizzle in some olive oil and mix thoroughly, then reduce and let it sit at low, stirring occasionally, until you need it.

After about 10-15 minutes of sweating, rinse the eggplant thoroughly. Roast in the same way you roasted the mushrooms, in a single layer on a greased cookie sheet, sprinkled with salt and pepper, for 7-10 minutes at 400. When they are finished, transfer to a bowl, cover, and set aside.

While the eggplant is roasting, prep your kale. Wash and drain it, then piece by piece, fold in half along the stalk, then cut off the stalk from top to bottom. Pull the kale into pieces about 1-2 inches across. Chop 2 cloves of fresh garlic. Heat a large pan with a little bit of oil to about medium. When hot, sauté the garlic for about a minute, then add the kale, mixing so that it cooks evenly. Just before it's done, which will only take 2-3 minutes, drizzle a little bit (2 Tbsp.-ish) of balsamic vinegar into the pan and mix. This will give the kale a nice touch of tang and will blend nicely with your other ingredients. When kale is fully wilted, remove to a bowl and cover.

Now, fill a large stockpot with plenty of salted water to boil the lasagna noodles. Turn it on high and, while you're waiting for it to boil, begin your béchamel sauce. The béchamel is the most needy of all the elements of the lasagna, so set out the ingredients first (Earth Balance, finely-chopped shallots, flour, warm coconut milk, salt, pepper, nutmeg, bay leaf) so that you won't have to stop whisking the sauce. First, melt the Earth Balance in a saucepan at about medium. When it has melted, add the shallot and cook for about 1 minute. Add the flour, sprinkling in a little at a time and whisking constantly. When the flour's all in and fully blended with the Earth Balance into a roux (it will puff; whisk vigorously), cook for about 3 minutes, whisking consistently to keep it from burning. The flour needs to cook to take on a nutty, toasty taste rather than a doughy raw-flour taste. After 3-ish minutes, add the warmed coconut milk in a stream, whisking to mix thoroughly. Add the bay leaf and bring to a boil over medium-high, whisking constantly, then reduce and simmer, for about 10-15 minutes, whisking occasionally to keep it smooth and prevent it from scalding. Whisk in salt, pepper and nutmeg. At this point the sauce should cling thickly to a spoon; if it isn't, you can use cornstarch or arrowroot to thicken it by pulling out a small cup of the sauce and adding the starch, whisking it together thoroughly, then adding it back and mixing it with the whole, letting it cook and thicken. When the béchamel is done, leave it on low and stir occasionally to prevent it from developing a skin until you're ready to use it.

When the pasta water has begun to boil robustly, add the strips of pasta one at a time, alternating to keep them from sticking together. Bring back to a boil, stirring occasionally with a slotted spoon to prevent sticking, but you don't want to disturb the boil too much. When they are almost done (fully flexible but not fully tender to the bite), pull them out, because they're going to get to cook more in the oven. Drain and lay out on an oiled tray so they don't stick together as they cool. Be careful with your hands, the large pieces of pasta hold heat much more so than spaghetti.

Oil a large casserole dish, and put some of the tomato sauce or béchamel in the bottom. I used the béchamel, but for me it seemed to act like glue, so I might try the tomato sauce. Either way, coat the bottom with the sauce and layer lasagna noodles on top of it. If you used the tomato sauce in the base, pour some of the béchamel onto the pasta. If not, leave it plain, then layer all your kale over it and place the portobello on top of the kale. Cover with a layer of pasta. Layer slices of eggplant, then generously cover with the tomato sauce. Cover with a layer of pasta, then add the tofu ricotta, spreading evenly. Cover with pasta, then pour the rest of the béchamel over the top. Cover with aluminum foil and bake for about 30 minutes at 350. Uncover, then bake for another 20-30 minutes, until the top is golden.

When the lasagna is done baking, let it sit for about 15 minutes, then cut and serve.

Crepe Use #2: Gateau with Walnut and Pear, Topped with Pear-Infused Whipped Cashew Cream

I recently purchased a crêpe pan - a 9-1/4-inch, French-made, solid steel crêpe pan- and a lot of culinary hopes rested on its performance. I was emotionally invested in my success as I attempted this recipe recently at the home of a friend, who no doubt doesn't appreciate what I did to her kitchen (but has been very gracious and pretended not to care). As you may remember from my last crêpe blog, and before that from the latke blog, I tend to get angry at food when it doesn't perform well, and if it is in a solid state, I tend to stab it with any handy utensil. Usually my audience for this is limited to my dog, who sits back and waits for me to drop something she can eat, but one of the hazards of cooking in someone else's home is that they have to witness your tantrums, too. And so does their dog. Sorry, Lindsay and Magic.

Any time you're working with a new pan, there's a getting-to-know-you period. My crêpe pan and I, we had a smoky, sticky, burn-y first outing, but with a little bit of practice and lots of temperature adjustments, we finally started to turned out some beautiful crêpes, and overall, the gâteau came together very nicely, don't you think?

My new pan isn't non-stick, and doesn't need quite the level of heat that my old pan did, so I ended up working with very light oil and medium heat (I know, right?!). In classic crêpe making, you tend to heat the pan up very hot, until it's smoking, then picking it up, adding batter, quickly swirling the batter around the pan, and returning it immediately to the heat to cook for about 30 seconds until flipping. I had much better luck at medium, letting the pan fully reheat in between, then holding the pan at about a 45 degree angle and adding the batter from the top, then swirling carefully, then keeping the pan off the eye for about 10 seconds to let the heat disperse into the crêpe and cook the bottom more evenly. Once that has happened, I returned it to the heat, flipped it after about 30 more seconds, and cooked the other side for about that long. Et voilà!

Before you begin this recipe, note that there is some prep time; the crêpe batter needs to be made and the cashews soaked the night before, the cashew cream needs to chill for a couple of hours to firm up, and the pear-water will need to simmer for a while, too. But with a little planning, this shouldn't be any trouble.

Sweet Crêpes

Note: Depending on how many "practice crêpes" you'll need to make, and how large you want your gâteau to be (and how large your pan is), you may want to double this recipe. I did, just to be safe, and ended up needing them all after my initial new-crêpe-pan failures.

1 c. cold water
1 c. coconut milk
1 1/2 c. flour
Egg replacer equivalent to 4 eggs, prepared according to package instructions
1 1/2 Tbsp. sugar
5 Tbsp. melted Earth Balance or other vegan margarine
a pinch of salt

Pour liquid ingredients into a blender. Blend at low speed, adding dry ingredients slowly in small amounts while the blender is running (through the hole in the lid), then drizzling Earth Balance in as well. When all ingredients have been added, blend for about a minute, then store in the fridge overnight, or at least 2 hours, to let the gluten develop and let the air bubble out. When ready to use, follow directions above. Don't try to use too much batter at once; most pans should take between 1/8 and 1/4 cup.

Walnut and Pear Filling

1 1/2 c. chopped walnuts
Agave nectar
2 large pears

Finely chop the walnuts, and combine with agave until thoroughly coated. Add a little more agave and a little bit of water, adjusting each until a syrup forms with the nuts. You'll need to be able to spread the mixture, so that's the consistency you're going for. Either dice or very finely slice the pears, depending on your preference and their texture. Cover the pears if you're not going to use them immediately. Reserve the pear cores and any remnants for the cashew cream


Pear-Infused Whipped Cashew Cream

1 c. cashews, rinsed and soaked overnight
Pear remnants, simmered slowly in 4 c. water until reduced by about half
1/4 c. agave nectar
1/2 tsp. vanilla
2/3 c. refined coconut oil, melted

Place cashews in a blender, then pour pear-water over them until they are just covered. If that isn't enough liquid to cover the cashews, add a little more water until the cashews are barely submerged. Blend, beginning on a low speed and working your way up to the higher speeds. Cashew cream should become perfectly smooth; there should be no perceptible graininess. Once it is the right consistency, reduce the speed and drizzle in agave and vanilla. Once the cream is thoroughly blended, up the speed a bit and slowly drizzle in the coconut oil, continuing to blend until it is thoroughly emulsified. Transfer to a container and chill for at least 2 hours.

 
Once you've made all your crêpes, find a serving plate and place a nice, big crêpein the middle. Pile on a couple more, spreading a little agave nectar (thinned with a little water, if necessary) in between to help them bind to each other. Decide how you want to distribute your filling, depending on how many crêpes you have, and plan ahead. 2 layers each of pear and walnut work well. When you reach the level where you want your first layer, spread  half of your walnut mixture, stopping about an inch and a half from the edge. Place the next crêpe on top, gently pressing down to solidify the gâteau and to seal around the edges of your layer of filling. Add a couple more crêpes, then repeat with a layer of pears. Repeat until you're out of filling, then add all your remaining crêpes, brushing with agave in between and gently pressing occasionally. when you're done, you can let it sit for a bit or cut immediately, serving with a drizzle or a dollop (it depends; mine was unexpectedly more of a drizzle this time, mostly because I didn't want to wait to chill it) of the cashew cream. Enjoy!

Thanks to Lindsay Lanois for the gâteau inspiration, collaboration, coffee, mimosas, and for the use of her kitchen!

Banh Pho Timbales with Demi-Glace, Bok Choy, Basil, Lime, and Onion

I think this might be my best recipe yet. It came about because I bought a couple of packages of banh pho noodles for $1 each, thinking I'd be able to use them for pad thai. I looked up banh pho, and started thinking that soup sounded really good to me, so I tried to make it from scratch. And failed. My soup was okay, but it was bland and obviously didn't use all the wonderful fresh ingredients to their full advantage. My attempt at pho's complex broth worked out pretty well; I cheated and used some miso to give it some richness, though I made a mushroom broth first with other veggies, onion, garlic, five-spice, etc.

Having all the elements of pho in place, I decided to give them new form (a.k.a. salvage what I could). The wonderful, wonderful result was these pho timbales with a rich demi-glace, bok choy, basil, lime, and white and green onion.

As I've discovered while doing research for this blog, Vietnamese people all over the world take Pho very seriously (click on the link above for pronunciation info and more). While the presentation here is markedly non-traditional, all the flavors are drawn from the classic Vietnamese dish and its many variations (for the people who feel betrayed by the lack of beef and fish sauce, I'm clinging to pho chay). I hope that this comes off as a tribute rather than a desecration, and I would be eager for seasoning corrections from readers. Also, I don't want to share the fate of Rachael Ray, who was lambasted for her "Phunky BBQ Pho with Pork." This was fair, as she used angel hair pasta and called it her dish Thai-inspired.


One unique characteristic of Pho is the use of charred onion and charred fresh ginger to add flavor and color to the broth, a detail I include in my recipe. It is thought that this element may have came in to the dish from French colonials, since the charring method is not found in other Vietnamese soups, and is shared by the French pot-au-feu. I did take a bit of a short cut with Chinese five-spice powder, but you can also use cinnamon, clove, star anise, fennel, and a hot pepper (the five-spice I have uses Szechuan pepper).


For Pho Timbales

Banh Pho noodles (rice noodles), fully cooked
Five-Spice Powder
Salt
An oil with an unobtrusive flavor, like grapeseed

In a large bowl, sprinkle noodles with oil, then salt and five-spice. Add the seasonings progressively, mixing well in between additions and tasting. It does take a lot of seasoning because the noodles are such a blank slate, and the flavor will intensify slightly as the noodles cook and lose water. Spray a jumbo muffin tin or set of small custard ramekins with oil, then take handfuls of the noodles and pack them into the tin, making sure that each cavity is full, and tucking any stray noodles back in. Bake for 20-25 minutes at 450, checking for done-ness with a spatula. The sides should easily pull away from the muffin tin; the top should give, but the noodles should not separate as you poke the top. Remove from oven and let them rest while you get the plates ready.

For the Demi-Glace

With a broth, there's a lot of flexibility based on what you have, etc., but here are some basic guidelines.


Ingredients:


Mushroom broth, veggie broth, or vegan beef-style broth (They make vegan beef bullion cubes. Who knew?)

Fresh onion and fresh ginger, charred over a gas flame or roasted under a broiler until charred. If you are using the oven, don't have the oven on, just the broiler.
Five-spice powder
Salt

If you're making your broth from scratch, the charred onion and ginger will add a great dark golden color to your broth. Don't waste any of that; I would even take some of your broth and swish it around in the pan you roasted them in to get every last bit of caramelized onion. Don't use too much water, though, because you want your flavor to be as intense as possible. Mushrooms make a great addition to a home-made broth.

If you're using a prepared broth, bring it to a simmer and add your charred onion and ginger, five-spice, and whatever you need to adjust the flavor of the broth you're using (onion, mushroom, ginger, garlic, etc.). Watch out for salt, though, as prepared broths are often pretty salty to begin with.

I didn't get to try this, because I couldn't find mine, but I think if you added a little bit of dulse or some other dried seaweed, it might contribute a little bit of the fish-sauce flavor. Also, ume vinegar has the particular kind of saltiness that feels very sea-foody, so I'll try that combo next time.

Once you have the broth done, cook it down slowly to a syrupy consistency, stirring regularly. If you leave it alone for too long and you have some problems with the consistency, add a couple of drops of water and whisk. Traditional beef demi-glaces are cooked for many hours, sometimes even a period of days, with spices and meats added during that time. Taste your sauce as you go, adjusting flavors.

If you are having a lot of trouble getting it to thicken or if you are a naturally impatient person like me, you can add a little arrowroot (only a pinch) to thicken it. As with any time you are using arrowroot or cornstarch to thicken a liquid, take a little bit of the demi-glace out and mix it in a small bowl with the arrowroot, then return that mixture to the larger saucepan and whisk until completely combined.

When your demi-glace is done, cool it completely and transfer it into a plastic squeeze-bottle if you have one, or some other container if you don't, and refrigerate it until you need it. Any extra you have left over will keep in the fridge for a couple of weeks.

For the Plate

Thinly-sliced white onion
Bean sprouts (I forgot to include them when I plated the dish for the picture, but you should definitely use them)
Basil, cut chiffonade
Bok choy leaves, whole or sliced to your liking
Mushrooms, whatever kind you like, sauteed in a light oil, like grapeseed (I used portobello because that's what I had, but use what you like. Also, feel free to have them raw, I just can't handle raw mushrooms).
Sliced green onion
A wedge of lime, to be squeezed over the dish when ready to eat

 Arrange a generous amount of white onion on the plate, then place a pho timbale on top. Stack your mushrooms on top of the timbale and drizzle it generously with the demi-glace. Surround it with the bok choy, basil, sprouts, green onion, and a decorative slice of lime. When you're ready to serve, squeeze a slice of lime over the dish.

Enjoy!


Vietnamese Pho