Tuesday, October 18, 2011
I miss that. I long for it, even. I want to put on a sweater and sip hot cider and make a huge pot of soup and make my kid wear a winter jacket over her Halloween costume, but none of that really happens in Northern California.
Oh sure, people wear winter jackets when it’s 55 degrees and I hear that there’s one street in town that has trees that change color…for a day or so, but it’s just not the same.
It was 80 degrees in the sun today. For the love of…
I don’t want to insult where I live. I really like it, in fact, and that’s the problem. So many of the people, places and things that I love are spread across different time-zones and even continents. It’s just not possible to have everything that makes me happy just down the street, much to the annoyance of my family.
I don’t think that’s unusual in the modern world. We do what we think we need to do to carve out our little existence and give it meaning. Sometimes that takes us far from home or makes us work crazy jobs/hours, or spend a fortune of time and youth on education that gets us nowhere…
Sorry, I’m getting off track.
So this disparate life is tough sometimes and it leads to a certain kind of longing in me: A longing for a completeness that is always just out of reach.
I’m generally a practitioner of the ‘your world is what you make of it’ kind of attitude, within reason. But, sometimes I think I want a little too much to construct my world to suit my various longings. Sometimes that works. For example, the soup I’m going to describe below was a win in the ‘can I at least pretend it’s fall for a day between bouts of sunny, 80-degrees’?
Sometimes it does not work, however, as in a failed Taco Pie (that shall nevermore be mentioned) that I constructed a few weeks ago out of a longing for some kind of homey casserole food.
And obviously, I use food as a pacifier in these moments of longing and sentimental vulnerability, and yes, there are several industries that will vilify that practice, but that’s just how it is. So they can take their less-than-5%-body-fat-asses and…
So I couldn’t handle the idea of putting up Fall decorations in warm, slightly humid, upper-70s temps, but I could rally a chowder. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.
This recipe is weird. I don’t think I’ve ever liked chowder, but I suddenly had this very clear thought that I absolutely HAD to make one for dinner.
4 medium potatoes, peeled and 1/2 inch diced
1 c. Yellow split peas, rinsed
4 cups vegetable broth
1/4 c. Dried leeks (or actual onions, preferably sauteed, if you have them lying around)
2 bay leaves
3/4 bag of frozen mixed vegetables (carrots, peas, corn, gr. Beans)
1/2 c. Unsweetened soymilk
1/4 cup pea protein
1 tbsp. Cornstarch
Salt and pepper
Nota bene: Ok, yes, that says ‘pea protein’. I know that’s a very fussy ingredient and you can leave it out entirely. We needed a little more protein in our dinner, so that’s why I added it. And, in case anyone was wondering, putting it in your oatmeal requires a LOT of brown sugar (or maple syrup, if that’s the team you play for) to de-split-pea the flavor.
1. Cook potatoes, peas, leeks, broth and bay leaves until the peas and potatoes are very tender or falling apart. I use a pressure cooker, so this takes 10 minutes. I used to be a soup-on-the-stove-all-day kind of person until I got my first pressure cooker and I got over that shit.
2. Blenderize about 1/3 of the soup and return to the pot. Add the frozen vegetables and simmer until they are done to your preferred doneness.
3. Mix the protein, cornstarch and soymilk in a small dish until smooth.
4. Add the thickener mixture to the soup and simmer for a few more minutes.
This chowder was unexpectedly good. Even the Redheaded Vegan liked it, and he’s not one for creamy soup. And I think that, as far as cooking therapy goes, making something that your loved ones enjoy is a very satisfying thing. For that moment, that sense of feeding, nourishing and pleasing those you care about the most just might fill one of those little holes that tears open when you or your life has stretched you too thin.
Yes, I know, that’s bad, right? Filling emotional voids with food is the #1 WORST THING YOU CAN DO in a society where most of us are fat and never worry about when/where we will eat our next meal, isn’t it?
Well, maybe, but I do it and I bet most people do. I can’t be everywhere I want to be all at the same time. I can’t bring back lost loved ones or un-make bad decisions. But hell, if I can make a meal that makes someone I care about say “mmmmm”, things just don’t suck that badly for a little while.
So, it will be Fall for a moment in my mind, a mystical season where it makes sense to make soup on a hot day and put up fake foliage that doesn’t exist for a thousand miles. And I’ll do it and listen to my Redheads say ‘mmmm’ and not worry for a little while.
Serious Product Plug
For about 2 years, I’ve been using this really good vegetable bouillon/broth concentrate from “Better than Bouillon”. It’s their No-Chicken Base. This really has made the difference between Okay and GREAT cooking. So many vegetable broths or bouillon cubes are just blech. They’re too salty or just too onion-heavy or acidic (for the tomato-based carton-type). This brand really does have an edge over everything else I’ve tried and I highly recommend it.
There. I’m done.
Friday, September 16, 2011
I feel a bit overwhelmed. My friend Eliza requested that I update my blog because she felt like hearing my thoughts about vegan food.
What? Somebody read my blog? Someone wants to read it again?? Holy hell.
So I thought I should take a moment to talk about cupcakes. Yes, I know.
They were a big thing a few years ago, weren't they?
Since having the kid, I haven't paid as much attention to the outside world, but it seemed to me that for awhile, cupcake craft had reached the heady, over-hyped reaches of the DIY world that were once only occupied by home-brewing, kawaii bento and scrap-booking. It's my experience that so many interesting, satisfying crafts and home-projects are easily ruined by the mere hype around them and the number of pre-packaged accessories one can buy at an associated retail establishment. I think that's mainly due to: 1. My brain's ability to completely shut down from over-stimulation when looking at a wall of die-cut anything 2. My innate distaste for hype and 3. The pioneer homesteader in me who thinks that you should be able to build a working model of the International Space Station with some old photocopied articles from grad-school and a box of toothpicks.
Given all this, I had never really given cupcakes a second thought other than: "Meh." Don't get me wrong. As a kid, they were great, especially if your mom/grandma/whomever went the extra step to bake them in ice-cream cones. (Of course, they did it the hard way back then, and now you can buy a special pan to keep the ice-cream cones from tipping over in the oven. Honestly.) But as an adult, I just didn't see the point. Any cake-baking I did in my 20s and 30s involved fairly elaborate 3-layered assemblages with fruity fillings and piped frosting and so on. After those creations, cupcakes seemed, well, a bit un-challenging.
Then along came this cupcake revolution that made the cake a mere bland vehicle for elaborate, accessory-laden frosting. That didn't really win me over. I'm not so much about the frosting. I'm a big fan of cake, but I really feel that frosting should be well, just a 'frosting', you know, like FROST that maybe accentuates or adds to the cake. I'm from the Northeast. I know the difference between frost and 3 feet of snow. The cupcake revolution was all about a heavy, dense Buffalo-in-late-January amount of frosting and as creative and artistic as it may be, it wasn't something I wanted to actually eat.
I cast no butter-cream stones here. I know that there are a vast number of frosting fans out there and I wish you no ill-will. Personally, I find it too sweet and from a food-science standpoint, I find it...uninteresting. I mean honestly...sugar, fat, a little liquid, egg whites (if that's the team you play for). You smoosh them together and there it is. Yawn.
But cake? Now cake is chemistry and chemistry is just plain sexy. And because our traditional notion of cake involves eggs and butter, vegan cake has always been an enticing challenge for me. Cake involves a small list of key ingredients: flour, fat, liquid, leavening, sugar, salt. It's that middle one, the leavening, that is the tricky one.
As I've written before, there is a commercial brand of egg replacer that is very popular in vegan circles, but I have to say that I find it repugnant. It makes things chalky, dry and off-tasting, and when you add it to anything that already has baking powder in it, it just makes everything worse. I used to use it and spent a few years very depressed about the state of vegan baking. But things have changed a lot since then. There are now more than 3 vegan cookbooks on the market and there's this whole interwebs thing that seems to have caught on, giving me access to other vegan cooks who are interested in making things a little more interesting than steamed broccoli and brown rice.
So in making a cursory look for a cake recipe a month or so ago, I came upon the simplest, tastiest and, so far, the most fail-safe cake I've ever made. I wanted to take a cake to a neighborhood shin-dig, but I realized that taking an elaborate cake to a pot-luck that was being held on a folding table in the middle of the street just wasn't so convenient, so it came down to cupcakes.
So back to the sexy part: Chemistry. In non-vegan cakes, the leavening agents are usually baking powder and egg, depending on how you treat the eggs. Eggs also provide 'structure' in that they help to bind together the other ingredients. This recipe, being vegan, eschews the egg, nay, blatantly ignores it. Instead, it uses the sassy, throw-care-to-the-wind pair of vinegar and baking soda. The stuff of science-fair glee, the simple pairing of white vinegar and baking soda is a beautiful testament to the ingenuity of the ancient human mind's search for a meal that doesn't just taste like burnt mammoth.
So kitchen science in hand, I set out to conquer cupcakes. Now, several of my 2 readers know that I can be a bit obsessive about mastering a thing. Any thing, really. So when I mentioned to the Redheaded Vegan (who is often one of the 2 readers) that I'd made 5 dozen cupcakes and that he was to take the mistakes to work, it didn't really phase him. He understands my process: I don't give up, I hold grudges and I will NEVER forgive Ron Moore for the BSG finale.
So this whole cupcake microverse is dangerous for the grudge-wielding, obsessive perfectionists like myself because despite my disdain for the accessory-laden hype, the whole thing is a big, money-sucking, confidence-questioning trap. The little bits of art, the sexy cake chemistry, the desire to make something good and smart and pretty. It's all just a perfect storm of expectations waiting to be unfulfilled. Mistakes will be made in such a place and it is important to approach with acceptance and willingness to screw up.
Let's take a moment to review mistakes. They are pretty much necessary. I envy people who have things turn out exactly how they want them on the first try, but I am not allowed in that club anymore, not since the whole butterfly-quilt incident of 2004. Anyway, in cooking, mistakes are fertile lessons and opportunities to deeply understand what the hell you're trying to do. This isn't scrapbooking. You can't just move that die-cut pumpkin down and to the left. You have to really understand how the glue works.
So this month's main cupcake mistakes include:
1. Using sucanat sugar. While all whole-earthy and nutritionally what-not, it resulted in hockey-puck blech. The answer to this was to use ultrafine sugar. This is just sugar that is ground smaller. You use it just as you would white sugar, but it blends/melts much faster and smoother. I thought this would be a good addition to a recipe that is missing the extra structure and leavening of eggs.
2. Using baking papers that were falsely advertised as not needing a pan. I'm just not sure how you can advertise paper baking cups as not needing a pan and then have them so very obviously NEED a pan. This resulted in parallelogram-shaped lava pools on my cookie sheet. These were tasty, but just wrong, so those were sent in as coder food. The answer to this was to suck it up and buy some extra cupcake tins.
3. Thinking that I knew anything about frosting. The answer to this is at the end.
So here it is. I take no credit for it. I found it on the internets somewhere and only tweaked it slightly.
1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1 c. ultra-fine sugar (also known as 'baker's sugar')
2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
(1/4 cocoa powder, if making chocolate cupcakes)
1 c. cold water
1 tbsp vinegar (plain white vinegar)
1/4 c. oil
1 tsp extract (vanilla for chocolate or vanilla cake or lemon for lemon and so on)
1. Preheat to 350F
2. Prep your pan/tin/magical free-standing muffin cups that don't work or what have you.
3. Whisk the dry ingredients together in a large bowl.
4. Mix the wet together in a small bowl.
5. Add the wet to the dry and mix with a wooden spoon until everything is incorporated. I'm of the 'don't beat cake mix smooth' camp. Make your own decisions.
6. For cupcakes, I'm anal and add batter 2tbsp at a time to each cup to make sure they are all the same size. I can't be trusted pouring from a bowl, spout or even measuring cup. This makes one dozen standard-sized cupcakes that are about 3.5-4 tbsp each.
7. Bake for 15-22 minutes. I find the chocolate variety needs a few extra minutes, but that may just be part of my insanity.
8. Let these cool in the pan, then
9. Frost with wild, soccer-mom abandon!
OK, so frosting.
As I said, I'm not a huge 'frosting as diorama' fan, but sometimes you just need to impress people or show how much you love them with fat and sugar. After the success of the neighborhood party cupcakes, I decided to completely lose what was left of my mind and make 6 dozen cupcakes for a wedding reception/picnic.
So I'm one of these people who works really well with a big, important deadline. I need the confines and structure of such things to really push open the gates of creativity and challenge my skills, innate, learned or yet-to-be learned. So while this was an informal reception/picnic, I still wanted the cupcakes to have a splash of fancy and therefore needed to decorate them appropriately.
And here I'd like to give thanks to Al Gore, LOLCats and all the other Internet pioneers who made it possible for me to simply look up instructional videos of how to make pretty flowers out of frosting.
So with my pastry bag, appropriate tips and and empty stomach, I used the following recipe, which is originally from the Veganomicon people, I think:
Vegan 'Buttercream' Frosting
1/2 c. Earth Balance Margarine
3 c. powdered sugar
1/3 c. soy milk
1 tsp extract
(2/3 c. cocoa powder for chocolate)
Method for Chocolate frosting:
1. Put the margarine in a food processor and pulse until whipped
2. Add soymilk, extract and cocoa powder and run until incorporated
3. Add sugar one cup at a time and thoroughly blend
So the chocolate frosting works really really well. For non-cocoa versions, it's a little trickier.
I made lemon frosting and only used a few tablespoons of the soymilk and added 2 c more sugar to get it the consistency I wanted. You may have to just mess with it to get it the way you like it, but I would add the milk cautiously.
Then frost like the PTA is breathing down your back and will withhold any SAT prep from your 5th grader until you make the most creative, innovative and beautiful sugar-bombs you can.
Now this all worked REALLY well for some practice cupcakes I made the week before the 'big event', which are in the picture at the top of the blog. I will note that for non-chocolate frosting, I really did have to mess with it to keep it from being too runny, but as you can see in the photo, the flowers came out really well and kept their shape for several hours with no problem.
THE BIG EVENT
Oh boy. I was in fine form. I made all the cupcakes the day before: 2 dozen each of chocolate, lemon and spice cupcakes waiting patiently in their boxes. I even mixed up the lemon and cinnamon frosting the night before, thinking that I could easily whip up the chocolate frosting the next morning. I was READY.
Then I took the frosting out of the fridge the next morning.
It was runny.
So I tried to do some emergency confectioner's sugar magic and managed to partially save the cinnamon frosting, as you can see below. The flowers weren't crisp, but they weren't melting, so that was good enough for the time constraints I was under.
|These were spice cupcakes with cinnamon frosting. The flowers didn't melt too badly, but they weren't as crisp as the practice batch.|
However, the lemon frosting was a bust. I couldn't even bring myself to take a photo, and neither could any of the guests, apparently. I thought I'd tweaked it as well as the cinnamon, but it just didn't work. The flowers looked great for about 2 minutes until they melted into a pool of Meyer-lemon-yellow goo.
I will not lie to you, gentle readers: I cried.
It's at this point that I would like to talk about failure. Yes, failure. It's an ugly word and if you talked to most modern American parents, you'd think that the word didn't exist anymore, but yes, failure is alive and well and it took up space in my kitchen last weekend.
I'm not ashamed to experience failure, but it's not pleasant. My husband noted that no one would care how the frosting looked, because they would be happy to see/eat cupcakes and it would be, as they say on this coast 'all good'. He also noted that the only person to notice anything amiss would be me.
Ah. There it is. The point that non-insane-perfectionists just don't 'get' about the insane perfectionists: We don't really care what other people think. It's the inner critic who is our nemesis.
So I cried because my frosting melted. There it is: my most recent moment of failure. And we all have them, or at least, we all SHOULD have them from time to time to give us perspective and help us to better ourselves. Of course, this all seems like a 'first-world problem', as is the popular saying nowadays, but it's really just a human problem. Perhaps the most intense learning comes out of the ruin of failure, and learning is what this is whole big life thing is about, isn't it?
|I just don't know how to make chocolate frosting look fancy, so this is all I could manage after the heartbreak of the lemon and spice batches.They may look like poo swirls, but they tasted pretty amazing.|
Self-defeatist wallowing aside, amidst the rubble of the first two batches of frosting, I whipped up a batch of chocolate and decided to frost them as fast as I could, because we were already behind schedule, and honestly, do chocolate flowers ever really look good?
So of course, people loved the cupcakes because they were really freaking good and no one really cares how the frosting looks, blah blah blah, but I call it an over-all win because I learned something, not just about cake and the fallibility of frosting, but about myself: I can fail and then stumble over my own disbelief in my failure, but I can recover and prevail with the knowledge that every mistake is a opportunity for understanding and betterment.
This is why we should never fear the kitchen, the dissertation, the open-mic night, the order for 6 dozen cupcakes or other potential sources for complete, blundering failure. We will falter, stumble and maybe even completely fail, but we will eventually prevail, and in the meantime, we can always take something made out of chocolate, because you just really can't fuck chocolate up that badly.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Today I was just feeling disappointed with the world. There is a fair amount of disappointing stuff going on and I just felt very grey for most of the day. People lie to each other, say mean things without thinking, think only of themselves, and often just let each other down. Haven't we all had those days where we feel that so many people and institutions around us are just...disappointing?
Well, on those days, I turn to starchy, gravy-laden casseroles because, well, how do we Americans deal with disappointment? 1. We buy stuff we don't need and can't afford (something I'd do except that I don't need anything and I can't afford anything), 2. We complain (which I'm doing, by the way) and 3. We eat food we shouldn't in quantities that are nearly always imprudent.
As this is a vegan cooking blog, even #3 isn't really as bad as it could be. I mean, there are vegan foods like Skittles and solid shortening that you probably shouldn't eat an entire tub of, but even so, they're a little healthier than other, non-vegan choices. So, ignoring the serious psychological problems related to using food to deal with disappointment, I decided to deal with my disappointment by making a pot pie, because pot pie is almost never disappointing.
Of course, the 'real' thing, the pot pie made with chicken and cream and white sauce and a rich shortening crust, that pie, while perhaps a perfect #3 way to deal with disappointment, is, in itself, a two-faced disappointment in that it can taste oh-so-good, but pack an artery-clogging 1200 calories into what a typical person would consider a meal. So, unless you're really looking to punish yourself for having such high expectations to begin with (which would eventually lead to disappointment), the vegan alternative is a slightly better choice, and would never call you fat behind your back.
So pot pie. Who doesn't like pot pie? This one is different from the one I typically make because this is simply a filling topped with biscuits. I'm a huge fan of hot-water pie crust for pot pies, but I just didn't have the time to devote to rolling a crust out, so I settled for biscuits, which are never disappointing when homemade.
I've gone on and on about my biscuit love before. It may be excessive and obsessive, but it is a love that is pure and true and will not be tarnished by minor disappointments or white lies. That is why the thought of these seemingly discrete biscuits, perfect in their round, puffy individualism crowding together to form a protective biscuit shield over the delicate, vulnerable filling is such a perfect antidote to my dissatisfaction with humanity.
Unfortunately, this is one of those recipes that isn't exact or even clear, so just do your best.
Half a block of firm tofu, diced and marinated in vegetable broth for at least an hour
Dried leek -maybe 3 tbs (not easy to find except at Lebanese or Persian markets. I didn't feel like chopping onion)
Most of a can of chickpeas (what was left in my fridge)
2 stalks of celery, diced
A large handful of baby carrots, diced
A cup of frozen peas
A cup of frozen green beans
1.5 cup of vegetable broth (Better than Bouillion "no chicken" base)
2 Tbs flour
2 Tbs nutritional yeast
2 Tbs soy sauce
1 cup of while wheat pastry flour
1 cup of white flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/3 cup non-hydrogenated shortening
3/4 cup soymilk
1. Saute the tofu and dried leek in some oil until the tofu is browned.
2. Add the celery and carrot and saute until slightly softer.
3. Add the frozen vegetables and chickpeas and a little broth.
4. Cover and cook until the frozen veggies are heated through.
5. Preheat the oven to 400F.
6. In a small pan, bring the rest of the broth to a boil with the 2 Tbs of flour and cook for a minute. Turn off the heat then add the nutritional yeast and soy sauce.
7. Add the sauce to the vegetables and pour into the casserole dish you plan to use. My sauce looked a bit runny, so I dusted everything with another Tbs of flour, stirred it in and let it sit, covered for a minute.
8. Mix the 2 c. of flour, baking powder and salt in a large bowl.
9. Cut in the shortening with a pastry knife or with your fingers.
10. Add soymilk all at once and stir quickly just to moisten the flour mix.
11. Dump the dough on a board and fold over several times, pushing, NOT stretching the dough.
12. Pat dough until it's roughly half an inch thick, then cut 2" rounds and place them on the casserole, cutting the last few bits of dough to seal any spaces.
13. Bake at 400 for 25 minutes.
14. Don't be stupid (like me). Remember to put a pan or foil under the casserole, so that when it bubbles over, it doesn't make a mess in the oven.
It was good. If you actually follow my recipe, double the filling. What filling there was, was very tasty, so I it's a win for the day. What makes it a true win for the day was being able to serve it to the Redheads, who do not disappoint me. Well, the little one wouldn't eat any of the pot pie, but I will persevere. There will be more pot pies in days to come.