a different kind of potato salad

I've reached what I consider a sort of culinary milestone: This week, I cooked beans myself for the first time in my life. Of all possible kitchen achievements, this one is low on the skill-level spectrum, but it's one about which I'm nevertheless sort of proud.

At the time, though, the hungry part of me (which was very hungry) thought, This is a huge pain in the ass. And compared to opening up a can and, presto, having your beans ready to rock, cooking them yourself really is less convenient. But dried-then-cooked beans are cheaper than canned, not swimming in salty liquid, and you can control their relative firmness or mushiness by how long you cook them. In no way am I suggesting that my relationship with canned beans is over; it's not. But when I have the time and the forethought to soak and cook my own, I think I will.

Everything that Mark says about this salad is true. Except for the addition of some leftover brown rice, I followed his recipe to the letter, so I'm not going to bother posting it. Lazy, but true.

dinner for one, on the fly

Last night, I cooked dinner just for myself. Because I live with my parents, my weekend meals are generally a larger affair because we cook for three. And while I feed myself every day of the week, I don't typically put much effort into my weeknight meals: cereal, leftovers, salad, the ubiquitous peanut butter sandwich. But I like to make weekend meals special, and since my parents were not eating with me last night, I thought it would be a good opportunity to try out something more daring than they're used to. (I was also going to say "something vegetarian" when I realized that we do cook a lot of vegetarian meals together . . . although sometimes, about an hour later, I find my dad rummaging in the kitchen for something to nibble.)

Looking in the refrigerator, I saw the leftover barley pilaf still hanging out, and I wanted to try to use it all before it got funky. There was most of a can of white beans I'd opened for my lunchtime salad also in the fridge, and knowing my tendency to open a can of beans, use about half a cup and forget the rest until a strange odor emanates from the tupperware, I pounced. Burgers, I thought. I'm going to make a bean burger. Remembering that beans and grains, two sources of incomplete proteins, make a complete protein when combined, I thought I'd build a bean-based burger that also contained barley. (If the previous sentence didn't make sense, you can read more about complete proteins here.) I was disappointed that white beans and barley are both pretty sad looking, and I wanted a little more color in the burger, so I threw in some shelled soybeans (which, I found out later, contain a complete protein themselves, so never mind all that nutritional mumbo jumbo from before) and some minced parsley. I didn't season the burgers much more than that, since the pilaf had onions and thyme and would, I hoped, flavor the patty enough. But I did throw in a few pinches of whole wheat flour, because I had a feeling that might prevent the burger from falling apart when I cooked it.

I didn't take notes or measure anything, but these are my guesses:

• 1/3 c. white beans, mashed
• 2 Tbsp. barley pilaf
• 1-2 Tbsp. thawed frozen shelled soybeans
• 2-3 tsp. minced fresh flat-leaf parsley
• a few grinds black pepper
• 2 tsp. whole wheat flour

I rolled all these things together into a ball, flattened into a patty and refrigerated for 20-30 minutes. I had a feeling that refrigeration might help the patty set, to further prevent it from falling apart, but I don't know if it actually did anything. The burger didn't fall apart, though, so that's encouraging.

An almost-too-old sweet potato lurking in a cabinet also called to me, and I knew exactly how I wanted to prepare it. I cut it into rounds, halved the rounds to make little moons and seasoned on both sides: extra-virgin olive oil, smoked paprika and kosher salt. If you're not familiar with smoked paprika, it is a bangin' spice unlike any other--smoky, sorta spicy, definitely awesome--that I bought a couple of years ago for an eggplant and garbanzo stew recipe. I really like it paired with the sweetness of the sweet potatoes. I baked the slices at 400 degrees Fahrenheit for ~45 minutes (I wasn't really timing), flipping and rearranging the slices every 15 minutes.

When the sweet potatoes were close to done-ness, I heated a little extra virgin olive oil in a sautee pan over high heat and seared the burger on both sides, to brown but not burn it. Then I lowered the heat and cooked it a little longer on both sides to heat it through.

The only thing I had to buy for the meal was a green veggie. I went with sugar snap peas, and kept some water simmering in a small saucepan until the burger and sweet potatoes were nearly done. Then I cranked up the heat, dropped in the snap peas and let them play for a minute, then drained.

Overall, everything was awesome. I'm most excited that I experimented with the burger and didn't follow any specific recipe. It was so much more flavorful and interesting (and less fake-tasting) than a manufactured veggie burger, and the success of the experience encourages me to branch out and try different combinations of ingredients.

love/hate

I was wasting time yesterday afternoon watching a show on the Food Network whose name I shall not utter because I really don't like the host, the food the host makes, and the host's ridiculous hairdos. However, toward the end of the episode she made a cocktail, a quasi-mojito made with coconut milk and coconut rum, that inexplicably appealed to me. Inexplicably, because I avoid coconut like the plague. The flavor doesn't appeal to me, and the texture of it makes me feel like I'm chewing dental floss and/or paper. Don't encrust my fish in it, don't top my brownies with it, and don't you dare give me a pina colada, under any circumstances.

However! I like chocolate-dipped macaroons. Riddle me that! I don't like coconut's flavor in most foods and beverages, but slap a whole ton of the stuff together, dunk it in some chocolate, and I could eat it all day long. Later yesterday, I was picking up some food for dinner at Whole Foods and, lo, I discovered this Larabar flavor:

That befuddling coconut found its way into my life for a second time in less than a day, and something about it sounded good. I bought the bar and ate it for breakfast this morning, and it was awesome. What gives, coconut? Why do I hate you so much, except for when I adore you? My theory right now is that the chocolate/coconut combo is what makes it great, but I also think that sounds ridiculous, even when I consider the magical properties I know chocolate to possess. If chocolate can make me like coconut, could it also make me like bacon? Wow, that sounds nasty. (Also, the chocolate theory doesn't explain my interest in the coconut mojito I saw on TV.)

In conclusion, this post is in lieu of one about actual cooking, because I've not done much of it this week, other than a batch of wheatberries on Monday (some of which I added to my oatmeal with chewily delicious results) and roasted beets and my very first omelette on Tuesday (I sauteed the beet greens and threw them in the omelette with shredded pecorino romano and a little bit of storebought olive tapenade). A bunch of leftovers in the fridge means I probably won't do much cooking again until the weekend ... but that doesn't mean I can't start thinking about what to make.

playing catchup

I've been in the kitchen quite a bit in the past few weeks, but I haven't posted any recipes because I haven't really modified or put my own twist on any I've tried. But to stay true to my original goal of documenting all the recipes I prepare for the entire year, I'm going to mention them briefly:

1. Spaghetti with homemade meatballs (Jan 24): Lately, I have felt an inexplicable yen for meatballs. I can't understand why, exactly, because I didn't enjoy them much in my pre-vegetarian days, and with a few exceptions, I am typically not interested in meaty dishes like this. But the most important food rule I follow is "If you want it, you should eat it," and while I'm not always good at following it, in the case of the meatballs I did just that. I followed Mark Bittman's recipe in How to Cook Everything and used equal parts (1/4 lbs.) beef, veal and pork. Very simple and requiring no fancy kitchen skills. What blew me away was how profoundly filling they were; halfway through a small portion of pasta and a single, medium-sized meatball, I questioned whether I'd even be able to finish. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but one which I'm not used to feeling--probably because of my usual preference for leaner meats and, more often, meatless meals.

2. Tilapia with capers and tomatoes (Jan 25): The judge gave me the assignment of finding a preparation of tilapia with capers and tomatoes, and the recipe we chose together was this one from Cooking Light. I hate that a magazine by this name exists, and I have many times sworn to myself that I'd never cook anything from it. But this looked too delicious, and it didn't contain any weird/fake/chemical-y "lite" sort of ingredients, so I though it was worth breaking the rule. Because I couldn't find anchovy paste in the supermarket that met my food-purity standards (the one kind I found contained, among other things, sugar, butter and added salt--who needs it, when you're dealing with anchovies?!), we bought a tin of flat anchovies and mashed a couple with a fork, using a little of the oil they came in to achieve a paste-like consistency. It was exceptionally delicious, very fresh tasting, but also filling and satisfying.

3. Pumpkin oatmeal (several times in Jan): After a little trial and error, I've arrived at what I consider the ideal way to make pumpkin oatmeal. So I guess I do have a recipe here, although the procedure is based mostly on the instructions on the canister of oats.

In a small saucepan, bring 1 c. water and 1/8 tsp. (or less) salt to a rolling boil. Add 1/2 c. rolled oats, lower heat to medium, and simmer 5 minutes, stirring occasionally.* Cover saucepan, remove from heat, and let stand 2-3 minutes. Meanwhile, place 1/4 c. pumpkin puree in the bowl you're going to eat from. When oats are ready, pour over pumpkin, add 1-2 tsp. maple syrup and a few shakes cinnamon (optional), and stir to combine. I like to drizzle an additional teaspoon maple syrup on top at the end.

*Optional: When I have some in the house, I like to add 1/4 c. of this crazy sprouted whole grain cereal (crazy, because it's named for a Bible verse...) when there are 1-2 minutes left in the cooking time. This adds texture variety to the final product, as the sprouted cereal is crunchier to start and cooks for less time. Mmm!

4. Finally, I discovered a veggie burger that meets my current criteria: does not contain funny ingredients; does not contain an excessive number of ingredients; is delicious. I like to top it with 1/4 of an avocado that I've smashed with a fork and mixed with a sprinkling of salt and a few drops of lemon juice. This doesn't count as a recipe, but maybe a little bit of pleasing kitchen ingenuity.


For the sake of making this blog less ugly and stupid, here's a photo.



It doesn't count as cooking, but I was proud of how I gussied up my Indian leftovers from Monsoon. By adding frozen corn to the saag paneer and fresh string beans to the dal makhani, I got more mileage out of small portions and also amped up the nutritional content of my meal. For my grain, I made my own brown rice. Booyah!

things I've made since posting last

Earlier this week I took a stab at recreating Parc's beet salad, which I ate in blissful ignorance the night before losing my job. Like the restaurant's version, mine incuded frissee and roasted beets; lacking French bleu cheese, I crumbled some of the stilton leftover from our New Year's party. I dressed it a walnut vinaigrette from my kitchen bible, aka Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything (Wiley, 2006), and threw some toasted walnuts on top for crunch.

For my protein, I prepared a piece of salmon (in the toaster oven, no less!) according to this recipe from Ina Garten, only without the entire rest of the platter or the nicoise dressing. I didn't want that dressing to compete with the flavors in the salad, and the marinade on the fish was flavorful but didn't overwhelm the other foods.

What a success! And it was all so simple.