Breakfast

No, it's not "Breakfast for Dinner" -- although I do find this one to be a satisfying meal at any hour of the day.

The Real Breakfast of Champions/Breakfast For Breakfast

I am, deep down, a creature of habit.

I like routine. Once in a while, I let my hair down and tell tin to “surprise me” when she asks if I’d rather have this or that -- but honestly, I only like those surprises because the outcome won’t actually take me by surprise. And so, true to the ritualized creature I am, I like to start every morning the same way: with a bowl of cereal.

If cereal for you means merely opening up a box, dumping its content into a bowl and pouring some milk over it, I pity you. If you think that cereal is soggy and tastes either too sugary or too bland, I’m also about to rock your world.

First off, breakfast for me is about starting my day with the energy I need to get through it (well, at least until lunch time). If you have found a way to derive all of your morning energy needs from one box, I applaud you. I haven’t.

When I make my morning cereal, I start by getting out three different types of grains. While I like to swap out two of them, depending upon my mood and what’s on sale at the grocery store that week – but no matter what, I pick up a bag of good quality oats. For the record, there was a time when I believed that raw oats were inedible. Fortunately, a fellow (vegan) cereal-lover was wiser than I, and I’ve been eating them raw ever since. Oats have been a staple in my diet since I became aware of their heart-healthy benefits: a good source of mono- and polyunsaturated fats and TONS of fiber, oats help to reduce cholesterol and lower blood pressure, and they keep your digestive system in good working order. Oats are high in minerals (calcium, iron, manganese, phosphorus, potassium, and magnesium); they can also help to regulate blood sugar, and even protect against cancer.

To accompany my oats, I like to choose a flake and a granola. Both of those should be a different grain. Currently, I have a spelt granola, and something resembling a bran flake – bran flakes have a bad reputation for being tasteless, or worse, for tasting like cardboard, and for finding their way only into the bowls and bellies of the elderly. The fact that my box of bran flakes proudly proclaims them to be “Wellness Flakes” probably isn’t exactly helping to reverse the stereotype. But those old people are on to something: I like (wheat -- as opposed to oat)bran because it provides me with B vitamins, plenty of minerals, and even more fiber.

On a normal breakfast day, say, before going to work, I get out a 1.5 cup bowl. I add about two tablespoons of bran flakes, two tablespoons of granola, and three tablespoons of oats.

To fill the rest of the bowl, I turn to fresh fruit. At the moment, I’m topping off my bowl with a small apple from nearby Brandenburg. Other likely suspects include bananas, berries (strawberries & blueberries in summer), mango, grapes… Use your imagination. I like to leave my fruit unpeeled, but cut into small pieces so that I get a little bit of fruit in every bite. Don't forget dried fruit -- adding dried cranberries or raisins can round out a less-than-thrilling winter fruit selection (but watch out for added sugar!).

To top off my cereal, I add a couple tablespoons of natural soy yoghurt, two teaspoons of ground flaxseed, and rice milk.

I find that breakfast is best enjoyed with the radio, the newspaper, coffee, and my favorite person.

Sauerkraut Pizza

A Curious Kitchen Experiment, Which Only an American and a German Could Create (But All Can Certainly Love): Sauerkraut Pizza.

A while back, tin and I had wondered aloud whether sauerkraut might just make a good pizza topping. A food with a very distinctive, love-it-or-hate-it flavor, I admit that I had a hard time imagining it playing anything other than sidekick to a nice potato. I also recall finding it occasionally on buffets at hot dog barbecue parties, which is probably where most Americans would most readily recognize it.
I grew up eating (and for a long time, refusing to eat) sauerkraut -- I remember it being lovingly prepared by my mother, only upon very special occasions, and warmed all day in a slow-cooker with a large pork roast or sausages. The smell, which should not be understimated, would fill our kitchen and leave our mouths watering in impatient anticipation of the meal to come. The residual scent the next morning, however, was less welcome and, dare I say it, quite unpleasant.
My time spent working for a saurkraut-loving family during my first stay in Germany led me to an important discovery: come to find out, the lingering aroma was not the sauerkraut's alone -- although it is certainly pungently aromatic during the cooking process (and most likely for the rest of the evening), I discovered that by eliminating the meat from the equation (and most likely some of the cooking time), one can also successfully avoid the assaulting Morning After. I found an entirely new love for sauerkraut and eventually had to be gently reminded that it wasn't necessarily something that one wants to eat more than once a week.

Fair enough.

So this week, I am bringing you a recipe for sauerkraut -- a spin on what sauerkraut loves best, this one fully embraces the two nationalities represented in my two-person household: I got my pizza, and tin got her potatoes.

Stick with me on this one.

First and foremost, one should be aware that not all sauerkraut is created equal. If you're a first-timer, it's okay to Eeenie-Meenie-Miny-Mo it. Often sold in jars, it's nothing more than fermented cabbage, which sounds extremely simple and it is! But believe it or not, every brand tastes a little bit (or very) different, and if you really get into sauerkraut, I encourage you to try multiple brands to find the one you like best. tin and I found one that we particularly like, which just happens to come packaged in a bag. That's cool, too -- be flexible.

My particular specimen reqiures that I heat it with two cups of water for about forty-five minutes on medium-low heat. The goal here is to soften it up a bit. I had time to do this while tin prepared her special dough (as before: see the recipe "Pizza Night" for instructions).
Sauerkraut, as I said, has a very distinctive flavor which readily and eagerly overpowers everything that crosses its path. It does not play well with others -- so I chose to give it partners which needed a flavor boost. I very thinly sliced four small potatoes, two onions, and 200 g of tofu.

After forty-five minutes, I found myself looking at something that seemed a bit too water-logged to put on a pizza. Always wary of creating the dreaded soggy, mushy crust, tin and I carefully spooned most of the liquid out of our sauerkraut. As it turns out, we removed a bit too much and, in retrospect, would have left about two tablespoons after all. At any rate, we saved ours in a little jar and (spoiler alert) we plan to use it for rice later this week.

This week, we made our dough entirely from whole wheat flour, which resulted in a much dryer consistency -- thus, we decided not to pre-bake ours. If you've followed our regular recipe, pre-bake the dough for five minutes at 375 degrees.

We decided to put the sliced potatoes on the very bottom, such that any remaining liquid in the sauerkraut would cook into the potatoes before reaching the dough. About three cups of sauerkraut ended up in a thick layer over the potatoes, covered by the onions and finally, the sliced tofu on top. We loved our last "meat" pizza with the crunchy, chewy tofu so much that we wanted to repeat the experience. We topped the entire thing with fresh parsley leaves (about three tablespoons), a sprinkle of salt, and a generous amount of black pepper. Resist the urge to over-season -- the sourkraut won't like it (or you won't -- well, let's just say it'll be mutual).

With bated breath, we put it into our oven at 375 degrees for 20 minutes, until the tofu had curled up on the edges and had darkened into a pale salmon-pink color.

We ate our first slices precisely as we'd prepared them. Concluding that "something was missing," when we went back for seconds, we also busted out the tahini sauce. Drizzled lightly over the entire slice, it was definitely a messy and unsuspecting, but perfect flavor partner for the sauerkraut, bringing also a tiny bit of needed moisture to the final baked equation.

So to answer the original question: yes, indeed -- sauerkraut is good on pizza.

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The Nitty-Gritty:

Ingredients (for two, with leftovers for lunch:
pizza dough (see "Pizza Night" from February)

sauerkraut of your choosing

four small white potatoes
two medium-small white onions
200 grams extra-firm tofu
2 tablespoons fresh parsley leaves

salt & pepper
tahini sauce

Procedure:

1. Prepare the dough according to the instructions posted in "Pizza Night" from February.
2. Prepare the sauerkraut according to its individual preparation instructions (most should be heated on medium-low in water for about 45 minutes).
3. Slice potatoes, onions, and tofu in quarter-inch slices.
4. Pre-bake dough in 375 degree oven for five minutes.
5. On pre-baked dough, first spread potato slices evenly over the surface; cover with sauerkraut. Follow with sliced onions, and finally, the sliced tofu. Sprinkle with salt and parsley; add a generous amount of fresh black papper.
6. Bake for about 20 minutes at 375, until tofu starts to curl up on the edges and takes on a light salmon-pink color.

Rhubarb & Rutabaga Pasta

Rutabaga & Rhubarb Another Way: This time as a pasta.

Not long ago, I introduced my faithful readers to the idea of using rhubarb as a main course rather than regulating it to its standard place at the end of the buffet. I find cooked rhubarb to be a vegetable with distinctive flavor but with a texture that makes it truly versatile. When cooked, rhubarb breaks down immediately into a stringy pulp – if that sounds unappetizing, fear not: there are many ways to make this pulp your pal. I’ve already given you a soup, and a slaw – so with this recipe, I’m hoping to make it to third base.

With half of my rutabaga left over from the night before, I decided to try to take it in a completely new direction – while I’d first paired the sweet rutabaga with another sweet root and savory millet, on this evening, I was going to create a pasta with a “rhubarb sauce” – I love to pair rhubarb with roots, as its tart & tangy flavor responds well to a sugary partner (hence the classic rhubarb pie). I imagined the pulpy rhubarb wrapping around my fusilli pasta to create an irresistible tangle of something that would come to resemble a sauce.

So I began, predictably, by setting my fusilli noodles on the stove to boil – I dropped the raw pasta into a pot of boiling water along with a teaspoon of salt and boiled for about ten minutes to achieve an al dente finish.

In the meantime….

To support the rhubarb sauce, I decided to create first a base of minced ginger and dill. I combined a tablespoon of ginger and a tablespoon of dill in a skillet along with a lot of olive oil (well, relatively speaking: this time, a full two tablespoons). I allowed the oil to warm up and fully infuse with the ginger and dill – about two minutes.

I roughly chopped three cups of rhubarb and added it to the skillet, along with four medium-sized carrots cut into bite-sized pieces and likewise, the rutabaga (the remaining one cup from the previous evening). I turned the heat down to medium and put the lid on so that the steam would build up and soften the rhubarb, stirring every couple of minutes to further encourage the process. It should take no more than ten minutes for the vegetables to be fork-tender, and for the entire mixture to resemble something that would readily cling to the little twisted fusilli noodles.

I served ours in deep bowls – a generous scoop of pasta covered in an even more generous scoop of vegetables – and we added a drizzle of olive oil and salt & pepper to taste.

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The Nitty-Gritty:

Ingredients (for two servings):

 

one tablespoon minced ginger

one tablespoon fresh dill

two tablespoons olive oil

fhree cups chopped rhubarb

four medium-sized carrots

one cup chopped rutabaga

fusilli pasta for two

salt & pepper, olive oil

Procedure:

1. Bring a pot of water to a boil with a teaspoon of salt; add fusilli pasta for two and boil until al dente (about ten minutes).

2. Mince ginger and combine with dill and olive oil in a skillet. Heat on medium-high for two minutes, until fragrant.

3. Chop rhubarb, carrots, and rutabaga into bite-sized pieces. Add to skillet and cover, stirring frequently to encourage the rhubarb to form a pulp. Heat on medium for up to ten minutes, until pulpy texture has been achieved and vegetables are fork-tender.

4. Serve pasta and vegetables in bowls with olive oil, salt & pepper to taste.

Sautéed Parsnips & Rutabaga

Sautéed Parsnips & Rutabaga

And so it continues: in spite of a few recent less-than-successful attempts to make new vegetable friends, I picked up another unfamiliar specimen at the grocery store last week. Its German name was completely unknown to me, and to be honest, even if I’d had a translation dictionary along, I still would have had an “Aha! That’s what that thing looks like” moment. It was large and dense, hard, like a beet or a potato – with a peel that varied from a fleshy peach hue to light violet.

It was a rutabaga.

I had never seen a rutabaga, I’d never eaten one, so I was very excited to make its acquaintance.

After staring it down for a week, the time had come to turn it into a meal.

I peeled it and chopped it open in half to find that it contained a pit in the center (something like a squash) which I removed (as though coring an apple).

“What is that?”

To show my wife that I wasn’t afraid of foreign vegetables, despite my recent run-in with the puntarelle, I popped a raw piece into my mouth. Thankfully, I found it to be slightly sweet – much like a parsnip.

“It was called a Steckrübe,” I answered, sort of hoping she wouldn’t notice that I actually had no idea, either.

“I’m pretty sure those are only used for animal food.”

“Well, it was in the grocery store.”

I realized, in retrospect, that one can also find dog food at the grocery store. So in that moment, I decided to make a theme dinner – I was going to sauté this animal feed and serve it with millet (most commonly marketed in the U.S. as bird seed). We were going to eat what animals eat instead of eating animals.

I happened to also have one parsnip at my disposal, which worked out quite well, as I’d already determined from my taste test that rutabaga and parsnip would make a good couple. I cut into round slices. As for the rutabaga, I chopped it into bite-sized pieces.

I minced a clove of garlic and sliced one small white onion, which I combined in a skillet with a tablespoon of fresh chives and two teaspoons of fresh parsley and some black pepper. And then I decided to really take it up a notch and add a half cup of corn – I grew up watching my grandfather feed his flock, and I know good and well that sheep are fond of corn. Me too. I heated it on medium-high, stirring frequently. After everything had become fragrant (about two minutes) I added the rutabaga and parsnip. I wanted for everything to get a little dark and for the corn to char a bit, so I put the lid on and left it alone for a few minutes, until the corn kernels started to pop around in the skillet. I then removed the lid again, added a tablespoon of water, and steamed everything for another five minutes, until the vegetables were just fork tender, but not mushy. To finish it off, I added a cup of green beans and allowed them to heat through.

I served our vegetables with millet – an underappreciated grain that loves to absorb flavor. Although it closely resembles couscous, it is a larger grain and is pleasantly chewy. I like to cook mine in a 1:2 ratio of millet to vegetable broth. Millet should be brought with the liquid to a boil and cooked for fifteen minutes, then allowed to cool down and absorb any remaining liquid. It can then be fluffed with a fork and served.

tin and I found this meal to be particularly savory, and especially delightful when accompanied by a glass of wine. And as for the friendship verdict? -- I’ve officially added the rutabaga to my list of vegetables that will always be welcome in my kitchen.

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The Nitty-Gritty:

Ingredients:

One clove of garlic

One small white onion

Two tablespoons of fresh chives

Two teaspoons of fresh parsley

Black pepper

One parsnip

Rutabaga (about two cups chopped)

One cup green beans

One-half cup corn

Millet (one cup dry for two servings)

Vegetable broth (two cups for two servings of millet)

Procedure.

1. Combine one cup of dry millet and two cups of vegetable broth in a small cooking pot. Bring to a boil, then cook on medium-low heat for fifteen minutes. Turn off the heat and allow the millet to absorb any remaining liquid.

2. Mince one clove of garlic and slice a small white onion. Combine in a skillet with chives, parsley, black pepper. Heat on medium-high until fragrant (about two minutes).

3. Chop rutabaga into bite-sized pieces; slice parsnip into quarter-inch rounds – add to the skillet along with a half cup of corn. Continue to heat on medium-high, covered, until corn begins to char and pop (about three minutes).

4. Add a tablespoon of water to the skillet and the green beans; cover, and steam for five minutes – until vegetables are fork-tender.

5. Fluff the cooked millet with a fork and serve in bowls with a scoop of vegetables, and salt & pepper to taste.

Baked Tofu Pizza with Peanut Sauce

It's Pizza Night Again!
Maybe it's because I was once a child (and a college student) in America, but for me, pizza night is a once-a-week affair. With one of the Wegel Family Creations already in your recipe box, I'm here with another one -- I wouldn't want to leave you high-and-dry on a Saturday night.
If our last pizza was a little bit too vegalicious for you, then this one might be up your alley -- for all of you "meat lovers" out there, I bring you: Baked Tofu Pizza with Peanut Sauce.

As before, tin made our wonderful, can't-get-that-goodness-anywhere-else pizza dough. You can find her recipe and instructions with the first pizza post ("Pizza Night").

The foundation of this pizza was going to be a peanut sauce. But the cornerstone was going to be an herby, garlic-y spice mix. I began by mincing two cloves of garlic and dicing a small white onion; I combined them in a nonstick pot with a tablespoon of olive oil and two tablespoons of finely-chopped fresh parsley. A pinch of salt and a healthy bit of black pepper went in for good measure, and I let everything cook on medium until the onions had caramelized.

Now you're ready to start making the sauce-y part of the sauce.
We found a prepackaged peanut sauce mix at our favorite Asian market and quickly grabbed it up, thinking it would make a killer curry (also true); ours was a dry mix* which I spooned directly into the caramelized onions and garlic, to which I added water -- slowly --, and simmered, stirring frequently. The instructions on the mix were indeed for preparing a curry-like sauce, which would have been far too thin for a pizza sauce. I added the water a few tablespoons at a time to make sure that it didn't get too soupy.
*Assuming that you, too, would like to purchase a similar dry mix, here are the ingredients in mine: peanuts (65%), paprika, salt, "herbs & spices," and sugar. The "herbs and spices" component was somewhat mysteriously unidentifiable, as are many things purchased at such markets, but the element of surprise is usually pleasant. It was in this case. And honestly, I think I probably largely obliterated any "herbs and spices" inherent to the mix itself by adding my own garlic, onion, parsley, salt and pepper. So the skinny is actually not so skinny: I presume that the other 35% of my mix was probably sugar. It's a little bit horrifying if you think about it, but... you're making one pizza. And you're going to share it with your friends, right? Live a little. It's Saturday Night Pizza Night.

With the sauce bubbling away, I got to work on the toppings.

For the obligatory vegetable component: I defrosted two cups of frozen spinach (to do this, I heated mine on low with two tablespoons of water) and mixed in another cup of fresh parsley leaves. If you're using fresh spinach, wash it up, and give it a rough chop. I then peeled and very finely sliced two small white turnips. I also had a random potato kicking around in one refrigerator drawer leftover from an evening with guests -- I cut it into slices as well. If you don't have a lingering pre-cooked potato, do feel free to eliminate this step. But take a critical look around your kitchen, because pizza night is indeed the perfect night for getting rid of strange leftovers. Another leftover -- about a half cup of corn -- would also be making an appearance on this pizza.

And now, for those of you who used to love a good meaty pizza... I submit for your approval: super-thinly sliced tofu. Baked in your oven, it's going to take on a familiar chewy texture that's crispy on the edges (think "Hawaiian Pizza"-style). For our pizza, I sliced 200g of tofu lengthwise, as thinly as I could.

We began by, again, pre-baking our dough in a 375 degree oven for about five minutes. We then removed it from the oven to put on the toppings. After evenly spreading the sauce over the pre-baked dough (leaving a half-inch perimeter), we thinly spread the spinach over the sauce; next came the corn kernels, followed by the sliced turnips. The tofu should go on the top -- bearing in mind that this tofu was unpressed (meaning that it is still "waterlogged," so to speak) you'll want to keep it fully exposed to the heat to prevent the entire pizza from turning into a soggy disaster. And from a purely textural standpoint: you're going to have a crispy dough with chewy crust, a chunky sauce, the smooth cooked spinach, soft turnips... I wanted to mirror the texture of the dough in the very top layer -- by allowing the tofu to dry out and bake until the corners start to curl up, the end product will be a little bit crispy, and a little bit chewy. -- I had enough tofu to cover the entire pizza. To top everything off, I sprinkled the entire surface with a little bit of salt and a lot of black pepper.

It went into our oven for another twenty minutes -- be patient. If you pull it out too soon, your tofu will lack the firm texture you're probably hoping for in a meat-lover's special.

Although I am usually an advocate for 100% homemade, natural ingredients, I admit that this pre-packaged peanut sauce was unbelievably good. It brought some sweetness to the earthy spinach (by all means, it certainly should have) and the little chunks of peanut made it feel authentically homemade even though it wasn't. It's flavor was so bold that I was glad I'd left the tofu au naturel.

Like last week, we had leftovers which were awesome to come home to after my work day. We popped the leftover slices into the oven at about 200 degrees for ten minutes to reheat.

This pizza is best accompanied by a cold beer, and your favorite person.


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The Nitty-Gritty:

Ingredients:

For the dough:
homemade pizza dough (see February's "Pizza Night") -- or a vegan store-bought dough of your choice

For the sauce:
two cloves of garlic
one small white onion
one Tbsp. olive oil
two Tbsp. parsley
salt & pepper
peanut sauce mix (I used Asli Gado Gado Peanut Sauce mix)
water

For the vegetables:
two cups of cooked spinach (or raw equivalent)
one cup of fresh parsley leaves
two small white turnips
one-half cup of corn

"Meat"
200g firm tofu

salt & pepper


Preparation:

1. If working with a homemade dough, prepare according to the instructions in February's post "Pizza Night." You can also use a pre-purchased vegan dough of your choice. Pre-bake the dough for five minutes in a 375 degree oven.
2. Mince two cloves of garlic and dice one small white onion; combine in a nonstick pot with one tablespoon of olive oil and two tablespoons of finely chopped parsley. Add a small pinch of salt and black pepper. Heat on medium until the onions have taken on a light golden, caramelized hue.
3. Add peanut sauce mix -- a few tablespoons at a time, and accordingly, a few tablespoons of water at a time -- until you have about two cups of thick, chunky sauce. Simmer to allow ingredients to combine (about five minutes).
4. Cook spinach with one cup of parsley leaves in two tablespoons of water until the water has evaporated.
5. Very finely slice two white radishes and 200g of firm tofu.
6. Spread sauce evenly over the surface of the pre-baked dough, leaving a half-inch perimeter uncovered for the crust. Likewise, distribute the cooked greens evenly over the sauce. Top with corn. Cover with the sliced radishes, and top with the sliced tofu. Sprinkle the tofu with salt and pepper.
7. Bake at 375 degrees for about twenty minutes, until the corners of the tofu slices start to turn up and the crust is golden brown.

Warm Pasta Salad

At long last – an update to the blog. My apologies to readers who were relying upon me for their daily drool session, or maybe even for a weekly dinner menu. Last week, I officially rejoined the work force. I say “rejoined” but that might be a strong word, as my previous work experience includes only my on-campus job (with pretty flexible hours) and my summer job in a medical research lab (with completely unpredictable hours, but which I would generally describe as 24/7). This one is a regular 9-6, 5 days a week. It’s odd, how circadian it feels – getting up, going to work, squeezing in my run, and going to bed to do it all over again. But somewhere in there, I also manage to fit in three meals – indeed, believe it or not, even though I’ve not found the time to write about it, I’m still cooking up wonderful things in our kitchen every night – but now with a renewed commitment to speed & simplicity.

My gift to all of you 9-5(or 6 or 6:15 or whenever-you-get-out-of-there) workers:

Warm Pasta Salad.

This recipe is inspired by two things I was lacking: ingredients, and time. While I’d been slowly whittling away at a head of savoy cabbage for days, it was high time to finish it off. As my focus was speed, I decided to marry the cabbage with pasta – my plan was to have this meal completely finished by the time the pasta was cooked.

The race against the clock began when I dropped two servings worth of curly Chinese noodles into a pot of boiling water – they would need to cook for about ten minutes. It’s possible – have faith. But it’s going to require some quick handwork.

First things first: I sliced a clove of garlic and one medium white onion – I kept everything in fairly large pieces. Keep in mind that you’ll want to be able to easily pick up these pieces on your fork. I roughly chopped the savoy cabbage into bite-sized chunks (about two cups chopped).

Into a skillet with a tablespoon of olive oil, I added the garlic and onion along with 3 teaspoons of capers, fresh parsley (about 2 tablespoons), and a lot of black pepper. I allowed everything to sizzle until my kitchen smelled like the inside of an Italian restaurant (about two minutes).

I then added the cabbage and two teaspoons of water – I stirred in a pinch of salt, and covered the skillet to allow everything to steam for three minutes – I wanted the cabbage to be warm, but still crunchy.

After a shamelessly-large taste test, I concluded that my pasta had reached my desired al dente chew. – So at that point, time was up – KNIVES DOWN! HANDS UP! – I drained the pasta and mixed it directly into the skillet with the cabbage so that none of the yummy, flavorful olive oil would go to waste.

If you’re skeptical about the quality of any meal that can be prepared from start to finish in ten minutes flat, I can’t blame you – I would be, too. But this one certainly didn’t leave me disappointed. tin and I enjoyed the salty capers with the super-fresh and actually kind of juicy cabbage. -- This dish will probably make a repeat appearance in the weeks to come.

The Nitty-Gritty:

Ingredients:

2 servings of pasta (raw, uncooked)

1 Tbsp. olive oil

1 small white onion

1 clove of garlic

2 Tbsp. fresh parsley

3 tsp. capers

2 cups savoy cabbage

salt & pepper

Procedure:

1. Cook the pasta in a pot of boiling water to an al dente finish (about 10 minutes).

2. Slice the onion and garlic; add into a deep skillet with olive oil, parsley, capers, and pepper; sauté on medium-high until aromatic (about two minutes).

3. Add cabbage to the skillet along with 2 Tbsp. of water – stir well to combine and cover; steam for 3 minutes.

4. Stir drained pasta directly into the skillet. Serve with salt & pepper to taste.

Whole Potatoes with Carrot Greens and Rhubarb Slaw

23 February 2013.

Another Savory Reason to Eat Rhubarb: Whole Potatoes with Carrot Greens and Rhubarb Slaw.

With three stalks of rhubarb leftover from our Farmer's Market Expedition and the delicious Red Lentil & Rhubarb Soup already in our recent past, on Friday evening, it was time to come up with one more way to use rhubarb in a main-course way. With the snow again falling and the wind blowing, we were huddled in our living room with the curtains drawn, and we were in the mood for something warm -- in every sense of the word.

Somehow lacking my typical spark of enthusiasm for the task at hand, I asked tin what she wanted for dinner. "I could make potatoes..." I offered. -- Potatoes have become the punch line of every dinner since my warm salad night, so my mere suggestion of preparing them automatically sounded like a joke. But a week ago, we bought a whole kilogram of them, and if you think it should be a breeze for two vegans to eat through about two pounds of potatoes, you're underestimating the actual quantity of potatoes at stake.
I took six of them out of our dark pantry closet -- ours are rather small (they can be held in a closed fist), so it was about the equivalent of one medium-large baking potato per person. I washed them and put them -- whole -- into a pot of boiling water with a teaspoon of salt and allowed them to cook until they could be pierced with a fork -- about twenty minutes.

I really needed to use up that rhubarb, now one day short of a week old. While I could have made a side of steamed vegetables to accompany our potatoes, I imagined us cutting them open and, our eyes meeting their tender white flesh, we'd be wondering what sort of combination to put on our forks. Because I'm just going to tell it like it is -- potatoes tend to be a little dry, and if you're not planning to drench yours in sour cream, butter, cheese or chili, your meal is probably going to run the risk of being lackluster. As in the soup recipe, I decided to again use rhubarb's tendency to cook down into a stringy pulp to my advantage, this time to make a rhubarb slaw.

I decided to first create a sweet base of caramelized onions -- I thinly sliced one medium white onion (by chopping it into halves lengthwise, then into thin slices) and minced a clove of garlic. To add a punch of brightness, I added a diced red pepper (the red pepper will retain a tiny, subtle hint of spiciness but in general, the cooking process brings out the pepper's natural sugars). I cooked the onion, pepper, and garlic in a teaspoon of olive oil on medium-high until the onions had taken on a rich, dark color.
In the meantime, I washed and chopped my three stalks of rhubarb into large chunks -- about four cups. I added the rhubarb to the caramelized onions along with a cup of water, two tablespoons of fresh dill, two teaspoons of capers and a lot of fresh black pepper. I put the lid on it, stirring occasionally to encourage the rhubarb to break down into a pulp. This will happen pretty quickly -- within ten to fifteen minutes.

Finally, for a little bit of crunch, I decided to cook up the remaining carrot greens, also still leftover from our trip to the farmer's market. I washed and chopped three cups of carrot greens and put them into a pot with about a quarter cup of water and -- because I knew that its semi-sweet yet tangy flavor would play particularly well off of the rhubarb -- the zest of a small orange. When zesting a citrus fruit, especially oranges, I recommend firmly rolling the orange, pressing it between the heel of your hand and your kitchen counter. This will bring its flavorful and aromatic oils closer to the surface of the peel. I added a quarter teaspoon of salt and a little bit of black pepper and allowed them to simmer, covered, until the water had been completely absorbed -- about ten minutes.

I divided our dinner plates into halves, covering one half with carrot greens and the other with rhubarb slaw. I nestled three potatoes down the midline.
As our meal was, at this point, an entirely cooked one, I wanted to add one fresh element to top it all off. I chose to peel and dice two Jerusalem artichokes. If you've never seen these little creatures before, or aren't certain if you have, they closely resemble darkly-colored ginger roots. They are best eaten raw -- they contain lots of iron and potassium, are crispy like water chestnuts and have a fresh, sugary flavor which I would compare to a carrot. Although they're roots, like potatoes, Jerusalem artichokes store insulin rather than starch and are thus even sweeter, and are an excellent source of dietary fiber.
I sprinkled the potatoes with a tablespoon of fresh chives and offered up a couple of tablespoons of natural soy yoghurt to stand in for dairy-based sour cream.

Although, if I may say so myself, I think we always have pretty great meals, this particular rhubarb slaw was indeed so delicious that we couldn't resist licking our plates. We're hoping that we come across rhubarb again so that we can recreate this recipe A.S.A.P.

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The Nitty-Gritty.

Ingredients (for two servings):

six small white potatoes (approx. two medium-large baking potatoes)

one medium white onion

one clove of garlic

one red bell pepper

one teaspoon olive oil

four cups of chopped fresh rhubarb

two tablespoons fresh dill

two teaspoons capers

three cups chopped carrot greens

zest of one small orange

two Jerusalem artichokes

two tablespoons fresh chives

salt & fresh black pepper

natural soy yoghurt

Preparation:

1. Wash potatoes; cook in boiling water with a teaspoon of salt until fork-tender (about 20 minutes).

2. Combine finely sliced onion, minced garlic and diced red bell pepper in a medium-sized cooking pot and cook in one teaspoon of olive oil on medium-high heat until the onion has caramelized (about ten minutes). Add the rhubarb, chopped into bite-sized pieces, one cup of water, capers and dill, and salt & pepper to taste. Cover and simmer on low until the rhubarb breaks down into a pulp, stirring occasionally (about ten to fifteen minutes).

3. Wash and chop three cups of carrot greens. Add the zest of one small orange, a quarter teaspoon of salt, and pepper. Cover and simmer on low in a quarter cup of water until the water has been completely absorbed, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching.

4. To serve, cover one half of a dinner plate with the rhubarb slaw, and the other half with the carrot greens, creating a well in the center for the potatoes (three small potatoes per person). Top the potatoes with a tablespoon of fresh chives, and a peeled & diced Jerusalem artichoke (one per plate). Serve the potatoes with salt and fresh black pepper, and a dollop of natural soy yoghurt.

Pretty Plum Pastries

21 February 2013.

What's for Dessert? -- Pretty Plum Pastries.

Somehow welcoming a package of puff pastry back into my freezer has opened up the possibility for creating a whole slew of alliterative recipe titles. I'd like to promise that this is the last one, but I don't like to make promises that I can't keep.

On Thursday, tin and I decided to play it low-key for dinner. We'd just picked up a new loaf of bread, and with a few dollops of various spreads still kicking around in the refrigerator, we figured it was about time for another sandwiches-for-dinner night. But incase you haven't noticed, I take very seriously the daily task of putting good food on our table -- and it's not that my sandwich spreads weren't good enough, but after a week of eating them for lunch, they weren't going to be new or particularly exciting anymore. With two sheets of puff pastry leftover from my pot pie recipe the night before, I thought I'd make a little dessert.

I wanted to make fruit pockets -- warm, syrupy fresh fruit all wrapped up in a darling puff pastry shell. While I have given a lot of lectures about buying food in its proper season, on my trip to the market Thursday afternoon, I couldn't resist picking up a few plums. As I made my selection and put them on the scale, my heart ached a little at the mere thought of them being transported from so far away to be sold in my corner organic market just because I wanted to go crazy and eat plums in February instead of apples. Just this once, I promised myself -- and besides, tin and I were going to really, really appreciate them. I was going to prepare them with an extra dose of love.

And so there I stood in our kitchen, tenderly opening up three little plums and removing their hard seeds -- they were soft and ripe, sweet and juicy -- I tried to forgive myself for the tiny role I'd played that day in funding environmental pollution. I'd recently learned that only four percent of German groceries are organically grown and produced, which means that, in truth, in order for me to brag about how environmentally conscious and responsible I am when I make my purchasing decisions, I am reliant upon the customer before me to make a slightly-less environmentally-friendly decision: in order for me to fill my kitchen with apples from nearby Brandenburg, another customer has to purchase the grapes from Israel, because there aren't enough apples for all of us. The truth is that above all, first and foremost, I believe in chemical-free farming and at the end of the day, if pushed, I will support an organic farmer who practices sustainable agriculture in Argentina before a German farmer who sprays his crops with pesticides and farms his soil to dust -- even if it means that my produce from Argentina must be delivered overseas. These are not easy decisions, and they are certainly personal ones -- I urge you to think about them and to decide for yourself where you have to draw the line. What feels right to you?

When I think about the eating habits of modern society and the changes that I wish to see in the world, I see three problems, and I imagine three solutions.

1. First of all, I think of packaged and processed foods. In the New York Times last week, journalist Michael Moss published an extensive article entitled "The Extraordinary Science of Addictive Junk Food" (20 Feb. 2013) in which he went to great pains to explain, in detail, the addiction that (American) society has to added fats, sugar, and salt. He writes that today, one-third of all American adults are obese (not just overweight -- obese), and one-fifth of American children. Why? There are of course a whole host of reasons -- but while not entirely to blame, the American packaged food industry is largely at fault. Today, the average shopper can't even pick up a jar of spaghetti sauce without unknowingly purchasing a candy bar. But you can take matters into your own hands: whether you purchase a jar of spaghetti sauce or a pound of fresh tomatoes is ultimately up to you. My principle reason for adopting a vegan diet was to reconnect with my natural world and to eat real food. If I could change the world in just one way, I would put real, fresh food back onto people's tables.
2. Secondly, I think of modern farming practices. For the most part, the food we eat is grown on huge plots of land devoted to single crops, and the farmer's only interest is producing as much of that crop as possible. For example: take a crop of corn. Corn farmers might be some of the worst offenders of all time, as an overwhelming majority of the corn grown in the U.S. is itself essentially inedible -- hard and tasteless, this corn is grown for the express purpose of feeding livestock or making high-fructose corn syrup. Corn farmers grow nothing but corn as far as the eye can see. This corn crop has been genetically modified so that the rows can grow impossibly close together. The crop is fertilized with chemicals, and sprayed with pesticides. Although these fertilizers might appear to help the corn grow, over time, they decrease the potential productivity of the soil. The soil suffers -- it dries out, depleted of its minerals, and becomes infertile. The farmer moves on. -- Industrial Agriculture's tree-hugging little sister is Sustainable Agriculture. The sustainable movement promotes biodiversity and crop rotation, non-chemical pesticides, and using compost and manure as fertilizer.
3. And finally, we come to my plums -- We take for granted the fact that, in our modern world, nothing is out of season. In the dead of winter, if you want a pint of strawberries, all you have to do is go to the grocery store. I'll use myself as a guilty example: my plums had to come from somewhere, because they certainly aren't growing in snowy Berlin right now. The sign in my organic market said that they were grown in Argentina. There's a lot of water between Germany and Argentina, and somehow, those plums had to make that trek. My desire for plums in February required that I engage a fleet of potentially "dirty" things that aren't particularly environmentally friendly: foods that are transported across long distances require not only the aid of ships, planes/trains/automobiles, but often the aid of large transportable cooling systems -- all of which emit harmful greenhouse gases. The answer to this problem is the local food movement, which encourages consumers to purchase produce from farmers in their region. I've written only about the environmental benefits of local food, but there are also economic benefits, and local food plays a critical role in community-building (you can start your research by simply entering "Local Food" into Wikipedia).

I'll let that be enough for today. But suffice it to say, I draw a negotiable line between concerns two and three. For me, in a world still largely overwhelmed by industrial farms, I will always chose to support a farmer who practices sustainable agriculture over a local industrial farmer. So the short and sweet of this story is that I bought the plums from the organic farm in Argentina and I managed to live with myself.


Back to the pastries.
I sliced each plum first in half, then into bite-sized pieces, and put them into a small pot with a quarter cup of water and two tablespoons of raisins. I simmered them, stirring occasionally, until they'd broken down and formed a thick syrup -- about fifteen minutes. I added about a quarter teaspoon of freshly-grated nutmeg, stirred well, and turned off the heat.
As always, I'd allowed my two sheets of puff pastry to thaw for about ten minutes, such that they were soft and pliable. You'll notice that I didn't add any sugar per se to the cooked plums (although the raisins were certainly sweet). I intended to create a sort of dance between my tart and tangy plums versus my chosen sweet addition: in the center of each sheet of puff pastry, I first placed a teaspoon of marzipan. I've used marzipan before -- in my last puff pastry dessert -- and we've had this conversation about honeybees already. My marzipan has only two ingredients: honey and almonds. Yours should also contain only almonds and a sugary binder -- you're welcome to choose one with an agave base or raw cane sugar if you don't feel comfortable using honey. I topped the marzipan with three tablespoons of fruit filling, and another teaspoon of marzipan. At this point, you should have about four tablespoons of fruit filling left over in your pot. Put the lid on it and keep it warm.

I then pulled the four corners of the pastry dough together toward the center and pinched the seams together to form a closed square pocket. I brushed the tops with margarine and placed them on a lined baking sheet. I followed the instructions on my box of puff pastry, putting mine into a preheated oven at 350 degrees for about fifteen minutes, until the tops were golden brown and flaky.
When it was time for dessert, I ladled out a scoop of plum filling into the bottom of each bowl, placing the plum pastry on top in the center. I dusted the tops of each pastry with a tiny bit of powdered sugar, and added a spoonful of natural soy yoghurt -- you could use a coconut- or soy-based ice cream if you choose.

A nice spoonful of the cold, tangy yoghurt with tart plums, the smooth & sweet marzipan with the chewy-yet-flaky crust was almost like eating a homemade pie at my grandmother's house. They did have the same main ingredient, after all: love.

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The Nitty-Gritty.

Ingredients:

two sheets of vegan puff pastry dough

three plums (about 1.5 cups chopped)

¼ tsp fresh nutmeg

2 Tbsp raisins

4 tsp marzipan

vegan margarine

powdered sugar

soy yoghurt

Procedure:

1. Wash and chop three plums into bite-sized pieces (about 1.5 cups chopped). Add raisins, cover, and simmer in ¼ cup water, stirring occasionally, until plums have formed a thick syrup. Stir in ¼ tsp nutmeg and remove from heat.

2. Allow two sheets of puff pastry to thaw for about ten minutes, until soft and pliable. In the center of each sheet, place 1 tsp of marzipan. Top with 3 Tbsp of fruit filling, and another tsp of marzipan. You should have some filling leftover (about 4 Tbsp) -- keep warm.

3. Bring the corners of the puff pastry together -- pinch closed. Pinch along the seams to tightly seal the pastry, such that you create a closed square pocket. Smear the tops of each pastry with ½ tsp of vegan margarine.

4. Bake on a lined baking sheet for fifteen minutes in a 350 degree oven (or according to the instructions on your box of puff pastry), until pastries are golden brown and flaky.

5. To serve, place each baked pastry atop a serving of the remaining plum filling. Top the pastries with a dusting of powdered sugar, and a tablespoon of natural soy yoghurt (can be substituted with soy- or coconut-based ice cream).

(Inside-Out) Puff Pastry Pot Pie

20 February 2013

(Inside-Out) Puff Pastry Pot Pie.

On Wednesday, I went for a very long run. Honestly, I hadn't planned it that way, especially as I stood in our apartment putting on layer after layer (double gloves! double jackets! double pants!). It was snowing, and as a glasses-wearer, I was not looking forward to the way my lenses were definitely going to fog up, nor do I particularly enjoy temporarily rendering myself blind while turning my fingertips into mini-windshield wipers. I was pretty sure that after thirty minutes, I'd be warming my hands over the bathroom radiator.
But as it happened, somehow fully invigorated by the heavy snowflakes falling in spite of the clear blue sky overhead, I didn't make it back to my warm apartment for another two hours.
Although I enjoyed every mile, I must admit that about midway through, I started thinking about dinner. (This is a pretty regular phenomenon for me.) I wanted something with bread. And I wanted soup. But I didn't want to dip bread in soup -- no, that would be far too ordinary. By mile thirteen, I'd completely planned our dinner from start to finish: I was going to make a puff pastry pot pie.

I'd started fantasizing about the chicken pot pies of my childhood days -- the flaky crust, crunchy carrots, little cubed potatoes and the peas that, frankly, didn't actually taste like anything but added some lovely color to the dense, creamy soupy suspension that held it all together. And then there were the chewy chunks of chicken. (Hey, my teeth remember chicken, too.)

I like to keep puff pastry dough around in my freezer because there are few things that are faster -- or more versatile -- than taking out a couple of sheets -- essentially fool-proof, everything looks better wrapped in puff pastry. But at mile nine or so, I started to be concerned about portion size (you would, too). The "problem" with puff pastry, if you will, is that sets a certain limiting factor on the size of your overall end product. If you've ever gotten out a sheet of puff pastry thinking you're going to make stuffed croissants and ended up with a startling amount of filling leftover (not to mention the amount that somehow found that one little microscopic hole in the corner of your croissant and proceeded to leek out and burn onto your baking sheet), you're probably getting nervous, too -- I mean, how much filling could I possibly fit into one little pastry pocket?

Fear not.
I was going to make this pot pie "inside out."

Back within the four warm walls of my kitchen, I started making a filling. I'd decided that I wanted to mimic the tastes and textures of chicken pot pie, but using the fresh ingredients that I still had leftover from the Farmer's Market.
I began by cooking up two potatoes, cut into bite-sized cubes (with their skins intact), until they were fork-tender. While I waited, I diced one medium onion; I peeled and chopped two carrots into thin rounds, and cut about 100g of extra-firm tofu into bite-sized pieces. In place of the peas, I decided to add something with real flavor -- I very finely chopped a half cup of carrot greens. If you don't have carrot greens at your disposal, I would recommend fresh parsley, or a nice peppery arugula.

You'll want to allow the puff pastry a little bit of time to thaw out -- about ten minutes -- such that, albeit still freezing cold to the touch, it can be easily folded and otherwise manipulated. I went wild and got out four sheets.
Fix your eyes on the center of one sheet of puff pastry. This is your sweet spot. You want for most of your filling to end up right there. I began by putting down some carrot greens, then topping them with diced onions, a few bites of tofu, potatoes, and carrots. I aimed for the center of the pastry sheet and worked my way slowly out, leaving a 1.5" perimeter uncovered. I sprinkled in about a teaspoon of fresh parsley, a tiny pinch of salt and black pepper. I took a second piece of puff pastry and laid it over the first , covering the filling, and used the back of a fork to press the two pieces together around the edges to form a tightly-sealed pocket. -- I then repeated the process to make a second filled pastry pocket. I spread a thin layer of margarine over the tops of both pastries -- most puff pastry doughs are traditionally made with a healthy dose of butter, which doesn't mean that your vegan equivalent contains margarine -- adding a little bit will encourage the tops to brown, and add a little bit of flavor.

I sprinkled the tops of the pastries with fresh chives and put both pot pie pockets on a lined baking sheet in my oven, preheated to 375 degrees (check the instructions on your package of puff pastry) and baked for about 15 minutes -- until the tops were golden brown and flaky.

Notice that you have some filling leftover -- you'll want to add a clove of minced garlic and put it all into a small cooking pot along with about three cups of vegetable broth. Simmer for 15 minutes, while the pastries bake.

I served my pot pies by first dishing up a ladle-full of the soup, and placing the puff pastry pie in the middle. As you cut into the pastry, it will absorb the soup and soften into the oh-so-wonderful, soft, chewy -- yet flaky -- familiar texture of a really good pie crust.

As for my fears about portion size? By cooking up the soup and extra filling on the side, you can make much or as little as you want. These little inside-out pot pies were so awesome that they'll definitely be making a repeat appearance in the near future.
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The Nitty-Gritty.

Ingredients:

four sheets of puff pastry

two small white potatoes

one medium white onion

two small carrots

100g extra-firm tofu

½ cup carrot greens (substitute: fresh parsley or arugula)

salt & black pepper

2 tsp chives

vegan margarine

1 clove of garlic

3 cups vegetable broth


Procedure:

1. Wash and chop two small white potatoes into bite-sized pieces; boil with one teaspoon of salt until fork-tender (about 10 minutes).

2. Remove 4 sheets of vegan puff pastry from the freezer and allow to thaw until soft and pliable (about 10 minutes).

3. Finely dice the onion. Peel and chop carrots into thin rounds. Chop tofu into bite-sized pieces. Finely chop the carrot greens.

4. Aiming for the center of one sheet of pastry dough, arrange a few chunks of potato and tofu, carrots, onions, and greens, leaving a 1.5” perimeter uncovered. Cover this piece of pastry dough with a second, pinching the edges together with the back of a fork to form a filled, closed pocket. Smear with ¼ tsp of vegan margarine; top with fresh black pepper, a pinch of salt, and a teaspoon of fresh chives. Repeat step 4 to create a second filled pastry.

5. Place pastries on a lined baking sheet; bake in a 375 degree oven for 15 minutes (or according to the instructions on your box of puff pastry), until golden brown and flaky.

6. Combine the remaining tofu, potatoes, carrots, greens, and onions, along with one clove of minced garlic in three cups of vegetable broth -- simmer until carrots are soft.

7. To serve, ladle soup into bowls (about two ladles per serving); place puff pastry in the center of the bowl.