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

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Neeps and Tatties (or, Scottish Root Vegetable Extravaganza)

A snow day in Edinburgh - Arthur's Seat seen from the Castle

I hate the cold. I really do. But even in the dead of winter, even this far north, there's a silver lining to be found. Namely, an excuse to revel in root vegetables.

Scots of centuries past knew what they had to work with: tubers. Haggis, Scotland's national dish, is also the result of the use-what-you've-got mentality: oats mixed with sheep entrails, onion, and spices, all packaged in a stomach. Luckily, there's plenty of interesting and tasty veggie haggis around here, too. But it's the "neeps and tatties" that usually accompany haggis that keep me coming back for seconds. Neeps and tatties are mashed swede (or rutabaga, to US readers) and mashed potato, seasoned simply and both rich and fresh-tasting. I've not yet had any here that were too heavily buttered or seasoned, probably because they're often served with a wonderfully flavorful brown gravy. 

Veggie haggis, neeps and tatties at The Conan Doyle in Edinburgh

The first time I cooked with swede was while my friend Kelly was visiting me here in Edinburgh. She had been traveling around Europe for the last 8 months, picking olives for oil in Italy, working with horses in Ireland, and generally being very glamorous (or so it seems to me, but I get to have more than one pair of pants and sleep in a real bed every night). She had picked up a recipe for swede while staying in Skibereen, in Cork, with a host named Aoife who used them in her Sunday roasts. Paired with potatoes and onions, carrots, parsnips, and whatever else is lying around, this is wonderfully simple and delicious way to tackle swede for the first time.

Roasted Neeps and Tatties 

Neeps and tatties - swede and potatoes, in my kitchen window

One large swede
About an equal amount of potatoes
Salt and black pepper
Thyme
Oil

I keep making it with just swede and potato because there's something so perfect about that simple pairing, but you can certainly add any number of other vegetables, particularly onion, carrot, or parsnip. You can also experiment quite a bit with seasonings, but keep in mind that both swede and potatoes (and indeed most root vegetables) are naturally sweet.

Preheat your oven to 400F/200C.

Begin by washing and peeling the swede; their skin is tough, so I do it with a knife rather than a vegetable peeler due to my tendency to accidentally peel my knuckles. Personally, I like to cut the swede in half, set it on my cutting board, and peel down the sides with my chef's knife. I never have gotten comfortable with those little peeling knives.


Dice the swede into small chunks. It is more dense than the potato, so plan to make your swede pieces smaller than your potato pieces so that they cook evenly.


Carefully wash the potatoes and dice them in to chunks slightly larger than the swede. I almost never peel potatoes, because the peel is so good for you and can be really tasty, but that's a personal preference. If you want to peel your potatoes, go for it.

In a mixing bowl, thoroughly combine the swede and potato, then drizzle generously with oil. Add salt, pepper, and thyme to taste, and toss well. It always seems to me like I'm adding too much seasoning, so I eat a piece of the raw potato to check, because it sucks to get to the end and sit down to eat and realized you've under-seasoned, and then you're seasoning at the table to compensate, and that's just not as good.

Also, I hear, it can cause you to eat more salt, because you get more flavor from salt that's incorporated into a dish during the cooking process than from sprinkling it on after, when the grains are intact (or something like that). Salt is my great vice, so I'm trying to think about these things... now that I'm getting older...

For this recipe, I like to use Summer Harvest's rapeseed oil, which is produced here and has a great clean flavor. Somehow olive oil isn't quite right here (though it will work just fine, of course).

Back to the recipe. Once you have appropriately seasoned your mix, spread them in a single layer on a large pan and bake for about 40 minutes. You can adapt this part a bit to a variety of uses - I bake mine uncovered for a little bit of crispiness and extra flavor, but you could cover it if you want it softer and more moist, or bake covered for the first part and uncover later.

And, done! Enjoy.

Forget about a main dish, I'll take a big bowl of this for dinner, thank you.

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Barbecue Tempeh and Cole Slaw Sandwich with Roasted Root Vegetables

My dad was born on Mother's Day, 1949, as the fourth child of what would eventually become nine. For his mother, this timing may have been unwelcome, but it also means that once in a while, my family gets to celebrate Mother's Day and Dad's birthday at the same time.

This year, I worked Mother's Day brunch at the restaurant, one of our biggest shifts of the year, then came home to cook dinner for my parents. I let them pick whatever they wanted from my cookbooks, and this is what they chose. It worked out pretty well, and would be easy to recreate any time you want a hearty summer lunch or dinner.

The root vegetable salad is delicious hot, room temp, and even cold. I served the meal with an iced blueberry green tea, which I made by my favorite method of putting a bunch of water and tea bags in a clear gallon jug and leaving it in the sun on the porch for a while. I have a great sun tea recipe from my mom that I'll include soon, in celebration of summer.

The recipes for the barbecue tempeh and cole slaw came from Vegan Soul Kitchen, and the roasted roots recipe is from The Candle Cafe Cookbook, both on my Favorite Cookbooks page. Unfortunately I can't reprint them, because they are the product of someone else's creativity, but I will tell you a bit about them, with my modifications.

Roasted Root Vegetables

Beets
Sweet potatoes
Parsnips
Carrots

You can adjust the proportions of these however you like, based on what you like best, but my favorite combo is one beet, several sweet potatoes, and 3 each of medium parsnips and medium carrots. The beet is so dominant that one is enough for me, but feel free to add more. Personally, if I'm going to do beets, I'd rather just go all-in and do a baked glazed beet salad. I also want to try braising beets in Earth Balance and coconut milk, but that's just an idea, so proceed with caution.

Peel and dice all your veggies, making the sweet potato pieces larger than the others, because they will get softer than any of the others. Toss all with some oil of your choosing and plenty of fresh grated ginger (or not; surely you know by now how I love my ginger)

Bake in a shallow pan for about 45 minutes at 350, turning once about half-way through.

BBQ Tempeh Sandwich with Cole Slaw

There are so many wonderful barbecue sauce recipes, and to be honest this one is not fantastic, so use whatever sauce recipe you like best. Put 1/2-inch-thick slices of tempeh in the smallest baking dish that will allow them to fit comfortably in one layer, then pour the sauce over them. Cover and bake at 350 for about an hour.

You can bake for a bit and then grill, which is great if there's other grilling going on, but I don't know that it adds enough to make it worth firing up the grill just for this. If you were going to, though, you should do the sandwiches on focaccia and grill the bread for a moment, too.

Cole slaw is not difficult to make, and it is so flexible and delicious when it's made fresh, that you should never ever buy it pre-prepared in a store. At least that's my opinion. Also, a couple of heads of cabbage are undoubtedly going to be cheaper than a little tub of flavorless, mayonnaisey sludge. Yes, I do feel strongly about this, in case you were picking up on that. Here's what I used for this one:

Thinly-sliced green cabbage
Thinly-sliced red cabbage
Shredded carrots
Dijon mustard (you could use a whole-seed mustard or other, but avoid anything too smooth or too yellow)
Apple cider vinegar (use your favorite, but I would caution against anything too dark or strong, at least for this recipe)
Agave nectar
Olive oil
Cayenne
Sesame seeds (I am not a caraway person, but I think having little seed in there is nice, so this is a great alternative)

In creating your own slaw, you could include or substitute things like parsnips or jicama, use a little freshly-grated horseradish, or any number of other things. One theory would be to pick your spices, then let the oil, vinegar and veg elements fall into line behind it.

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

Spicy Egyptian Lentil Soup Good Enough to Serve to 50 People at a Rehearsal Dinner

About a month ago, I was browsing Foodgawker and came across a delicious-looking lentil soup. I have a real love of lentils, and am always looking for new treatments (however, as much as I love them, I will never, never make a 70s-style lentil loaf. Have some respect.), so I was very drawn to this Spicy Egyptian Lentil Soup posted by afarmgirlsdabbles. In the blog post including this recipe, she describes a trip to Egypt to visit her sister, during which she reluctantly tried this soup, a local favorite, and was blown away. She was so impressed that, upon returning stateside, she recreated a soup with the rich, complex spice that Middle Eastern cuisines are so good at, accented by the bright flavor of lemon.
 

The original lentil soup as served in Cairo, with a glass of fresh strawberry juice and shawarma. Photo courtesy of afarmgirlsdabbles.

That very night, I made her soup, and had a similarly enthusiastic reaction. So, when I was called upon to help cook for the rehearsal dinner for the wedding of one of my closest friends, and was told that we were going to do a "Soup Bar" of 5 or 6 different soups to serve about 50 people, I jumped at the chance to include this. We served the soups in mismatched, over-sized coffee mugs with a choice of 4 or 5 different breads and a salad. The soup bar worked beautifully and, though my soup was a little more spicy than I had intended, it went over very well, particularly with the lentil-loving bride.

With the author's permission, here is that spectacular soup. I would add a bit more lemon than she suggests, but as she points out in her post, this soup is all about a "beautifully balanced, earthy, spicy heat" and preserving that balance is key. How much spice and lemon is dependent on the freshness of your spices, how long you simmer, how long you've soaked your lentils, etc., so this is a great opportunity to perfect your taste-and-adjust-spices skills. Just keep in mind that, as always, cumin needs to go at the end, because it will get very bitter if it is cooked for too long. Also, I highly suggest using red lentils. I'm sure the soup would still be delicious with green lentils, but the color and more delicate texture of the red lentils is ideal for this soup.


Also, please visit the original post at her blog to look at her gorgeous pictures of Cairo. I'm such a food+travel voyeur, and before too long, I'll be providing you some culinary travel experiences of my own. If all goes to plan and I get my student visa, I'll be in Scotland beginning in September for a Master's program at the University of Edinburgh, and who knows what exciting interpretations of local cuisine that will yield... seitan haggis? Kidding.

Without further ado,  

Spicy Egyptian Lentil Soup 

Serves 6-8

2 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
1 onion, diced into 1/4" pieces
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 large celery rib, diced into 1/4" pieces
1 large carrot, diced into 1/4" pieces
1 large baking potato, peeled and diced into 1/2" pieces
1-1/4 c. lentils (red or green)
2 qts. vegetable broth
2 tsp. ground cumin
1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper
1/4 tsp. turmeric
2 Tbsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice, plus additional lemon slices to serve alongside finished soup
salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Over medium-high heat, in a large saucepan or small stockpot, heat the oil.  Add the onion and garlic and cook until fragrant, about 2 or 3 minutes.  Add the celery and carrot and cook for another 5 minutes.  Add the potato, lentils, and vegetable broth.  Bring to a boil, then cover and simmer until all the vegetables are very tender.  This should take 40 to 50 minutes.

Puree the soup in batches, using a blender, and return it back to the pot.  Or blend carefully right in the pot with an immersion blender.  Add the cumin, cayenne pepper, turmeric, and lemon juice.  Season with salt and pepper.  I'm not known for adding much salt to my food, but I found myself adding more than I thought I would to boost the flavors.  Just add a bit at a time, tasting after each addition.

Serve the soup hot with slices of fresh lemon on the side.  Some warm fresh pocket bread would also be good with this meal.

Again, thanks so much to afarmgirldabbles for the use of her recipe and picture! Visit her site for more great recipes. 


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Latkefest 2010 - Vegan Latkes Three Ways

I saw a latke recipe a couple of days ago (from The Girlie Girl Army; you can find the original here), and thought, well, I've got some time tonight...

Using that basic recipe as a base, I came up with some non-traditional latkes that use this classic Hanukkah treat as an inspiration, but are made to take more of a starring role in a meal. Here's what I came up with:  


Apple-Parsnip Latkes with Ginger Spread
Bubble-and-Squeak Latkes with Beer Mustard
Horseradish Jicama Latkes with Applesauce

Instructions are at the very bottom, with ingredient lists under each title. I hope you all enjoy these... they are the first original recipes I've included, so I'll appreciate your feedback. I tend to cook by sight and feel (and smell!), so I wrote the recipes after making the latkes, but I'm pretty confident in the proportions. Still, if things start to look funny to you, go with your gut and adjust amounts as you think is best. Enjoy!

Apple-Parsnip Latkes with Ginger Spread

3 potatoes, grated and drained
1 apple, grated and drained
1 medium to large parsnip, grated and drained
1/4 c. grated onion, drained
1/8 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. salt


Serve with a ginger spread or jam - the one by The Ginger People is my favorite.

Bubble-and-Squeak Latkes with Beer Mustard

3 potatoes, grated and drained
1/4 of one small cabbage, chopped finely
1 small white onion, grated and drained
1/8 tsp. nutmeg
1/4 tsp. white pepper
1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. salt

Serve with a pub-style beer mustard, though avoid using too much, as it will overpower the latkes. As a bit of background, Bubble and Squeak is a British dish with a base of potatoes and cabbage, traditionally prepared with leftover vegetables from a roast. Click on the link above for the Wikipedia entry...


Horseradish-Jicama Latkes with Applesauce

3 potatoes, grated and drained
1 medium jicama bulb, peeled, grated and drained
4 tsp. freshly grated horseradish
2 tsp. ground coriander
1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. salt

Serve with an unsweetened applesauce.


For each of these recipes, get as much water out as possible from the grated ingredients. Heat a thin layer of canola oil to between medium and medium-high in a cast-iron pan (I tried first in a stainless pan, and the latkes adhered instantly, leaving me literally stabbing them with a spatula and chanting "Die! Die! Die!").

Form your latke mix into little patties, and place several quickly into you pan. You'll need to have plenty of room to scoot them around in the pan - I did about 5 at a time. As soon as you've got them all in the pan, push them around with the spatula to make sure they don't stick. Doing this as soon as possible seems to be key to keeping them from sticking, though continue to move them periodically as they fry. Keep an eye on them and flip them when they are browned, usually after several minutes. Replenish the oil as needed, but make sure that it gets back up to the right temperature before you put in the next batch. When they're done, drain them on paper towels. Keep them in a warm oven (about 275) if you need to as you finish the batch. Serve hot.

I was talking to a friend at work today about these, and he said, "I wonder how little Jewish grandmothers would feel about vegan latkes?" I hope they'd like the idea, since leftovers could be served with either a meat or dairy kosher meal... At any rate, they're delicious, and who complains about good food?

For other latke recipes and info, visit the Foodista page on latkes, linked below...


Latkes

What do you feed someone you need to impress?

Recently, my brother brought his girlfriend home for a visit. We'd met her before, but I hadn't really had a chance to get to know her at all. I wanted to make her feel welcome, so I decided to prepare a late lunch for all of us on Sunday out of a new cookbook I'd just gotten, The Native Foods Restaurant Cookbook by Tanya Petrovna. I selected a tempeh pâté, a caesar salad, and "Le Benedict Florentine" sandwiches. I never made it to the salad, because I got so wrapped up making the sandwiches, which were very labor-intensive for the output. In between marinating and baking tofu, preparing the Hollandaise, steaming asparagus, and frying the fake canadian bacon, I prepared the pâté, which turned out to be the real star of the meal.

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Tempeh Pâté from The Native Foods Restaurant Cookbook by Tanya Petrovna (paraphrased)

1 8-oz block of tempeh, cut into about 8 pieces

Combine:   1/3 c. soy sauce or liquid aminos
                  2/3 c. water
                  1/2 tsp. grated fresh ginger (you can keep a ginger root in your freezer for use any time)
                  1 clove garlic, chopped

Saute tempeh pieces in a little bit of oil until brown, turning until browned on all sides. When they are finished cooking, pour soy sauce mixture over them and let it simmer for a couple of minutes, turning so that the tempeh pieces absorb the mixture evenly. Pull them out, drain if needed, then chop as finely as possible. Then, combine with:
                        1/4 c. vegenaisse
                        1/2 c. chopped green onions
                        1/2 c. chopped dill (dried is fine, too - probably about 1-2 tsp?)
                        1/4 tsp. sea salt
Mix with a spatula; then, if you want a smoother texture, blend with a stick mixer or food processor.
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One delightful thing to do with this pâté is to make little puff pastries, or "French Love Bites" as they are charmingly named in The Native Foods Restaurant Cookbook. I made those for brunch this morning along with the plain pâte, and both were completely devoured. Even the most conservative eater in the group grudgingly came back for seconds and thirds.

And yes, my brother's girlfriend loved it, too.

I have a little bit of history with stuffed mushrooms. When I was in high school, I worked for a caterer, and when there were left-over crab-stuffed mushrooms, I would pop those babies like candy. Later, on a first date, I ordered stuffed mushrooms that were bathed in some heavenly sauce, and I was so enraptured that my date suggested I "get a room." Suffice it to say, I have high standards when it comes to this particular dish. I used the leftovers of my last batch to make a sample batch of stuffed mushrooms. I had some baby portobello caps laying around, and I wiped them (I'm sure you all know this, but don't wash mushrooms...ever....which is why it's good to buy organic ones. Just wipe them down with a towel) and removed the stems, then chopped and sauteed the stems with garlic and olive oil, then added them to the pâté with some homemade bread crumbs to bind, then stuffed the mushrooms and baked them in an oiled pan for 15ish minutes at 375ish... and they were miraculous. I ate THEM ALL. Well, I gave one to my roommate, but I ate the rest. Don't judge.I'm sure there are lots of delicious ways you could tweak this recipe to stuff mushrooms, puff pastry, etc. No doubt substituting sage and rosemary would be delicious with a higher concentration of bread crumbs (fresher bread, rougher cut); I would even like to try something with some snap, like a bit of olive or caper. The richness of the pate should balance even relatively strong flavors with moderate to high acidity, but I'll report back when I've tried that.

Moving on, the "Le Benedict Florentine" sandwiches worked out well. Some credit for that belongs to my dad, who is quite a good baker, and I used thick, toasted pieces of his rich white bread to anchor this mix of textures. One problem I had was that the marinade for the tofu was too strong, or I marinated for too long, or just cooked it for too long (at such low temperatures, the tofu never changes consistency, but just absorbs more marinade and releases more water, distilling the flavor). The sandwich is composed of lemon-garlic marinated tofu, Hollandaise, steamed spinach or asparagus (asparagus! asparagus! It's so much more dramatic looking and holds up so well), fake canadian bacon, tomato, and some nice sturdy bread. Of all these, the only one worth reporting to you is the Hollandaise.

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Hollandaise Sauce from The Native Foods Restaurant Cookbook (paraphrased)

1 Tbsp. olive oil
1 shallot, finely chopped
1 c. soymilk (plain, unsweetened)
1 1/2 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice
1 1/2 tsp. dried tarragon
1/2 tsp. sea salt
1/8 tsp. turmeric
pinch white pepper
pinch cayenne pepper
cornstarch, arrowroot, or kuzu for thickening (more on this later...)

Heat oil in a saucepan and saute shallots until translucent and lightly browned. Put shallots in a blender with 1/2 c. of the soymilk and blend well. Pour back into the pan and whisk in other ingredients, except for your chosen thickening agent. Mix 1 Tbsp. cornstarch or arrowroot with 1/4 c. water, then add little by little, stirring until thickened.

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The only problem that I had with this recipe was that I tried to use the same amount of arrowroot as the recipe required of kuzu, which was too much, giving my Hollandaise a slightly jelly-like consistency. Take it easy with the thickener, add gradually, stirring consistently. Then drizzle over something delicious and serve hot. I'll be on the hunt for more uses for this classic tangy-creamy sauce, and I'd appreciate your thoughts...

Tempeh Pate