My, that's a big banana you have there, mister...

And of course these aren't really sweet bananas; these are Musa Balbisiana, or common plantains.

What's the difference betwixt and between bananas and plantains, you ask? Well, if you'd paid attention in that first-year AgSci class, you'd know that both common names are in fact somewhat amorphous terms of convenience -- like when we call the people we work with "friends", for example -- and really refer to two rather broad categories of the same fruit. The relevant differences are that bananas have a higher sugar content than plantains (up to 20% vs 4-6% for plantains) and plantains are never consumed raw.

One cooks plantains as one would cook potatoes, essentially. Thus we may list such methods as steaming, mashing, deep-frying, baking, and poorly. My lovely wife has a specialty that she picked up during her time at the embassy in Santiago.

Erika's Fried Plantains

• 2-3 plantains, depending
• vegetable oil for shallow frying
• salt -- use Diamond Kosher for best results
• patience and a willingness to curse

This last ingredient is perhaps the most relevant... and least common. Plantains are by their nature annoyingly recalcitrant fruits. Unlike their overly-sweet cousins, who too-willingly expose their creamy interiors for anyone with a thrusting finger or rounded blade, a plantain requires firmness of purpose, strong hand strength and a sharp knife.

The best solution is to slice off both ends, score a line down the length, and then firmly -- yet without bruising -- disrobe the treasure inside.

Once you have successfully revealed the interior, you must slice the plantain into rounds. How thick you cut is up to your skill and/or preference, but 1/8th of an inch is a good starting point. Do not measure this. This is cooking, not engineering.

Heat a few seconds worth of oil in a nice thick cast iron pan. If you have poor wrist strength from, for example, all those years of tying political prisoners to wooden chairs with baling wire, you may instead use a crepe pan or something less weighty. When the oil is smiling and loose, add plantain slices. Crowd the pan if you like.

Flip one after a few minutes. If it's crispy brown around the edges, flip the rest. You may instead need to wait -- patience is a virtue, after all -- because under-cooked plantain is like raw potato. Once the other side is done, turn out onto paper towels to drain a few seconds and then season deeply with a great bloody pinch of salt. Eat at once, preferably with an ice cold hoppy beer (like Cannery Brewing IPA), Pisco Sours, or simply ice water.

Oatmeal for Dinner

When we talk about oatmeal -- especially (spoiler!) steel-cut -- we're really talking about grains in general. Thus I'm not going to bother writing "oatmeal (or any grain)" or "grains (oatmeal, in this case)" in this post. I can make this decision because it's my blog. If you don't like it, go elsewhere.

Astoundingly, I've sunk to a new low: I'm actually posting a savoury recipe for grains.

Why, might you ask, is that the shark-jumping of vegan food writing?

Firstly: Every namaste-ing EarthTone with a hybrid and a regrettable tribal tramp stamp has a favourite recipe for something along the lines of a barley risotto, bulgar pilaf or Asian Buckwheat Stir Fry with Seitan Nuggets. Those magazines that glare at one from the fringes of the check-out are full of such recipes, most of which have too little fat, no salt, and far too many alarming inclusions -- such as hemp hearts (wtf?) -- which render them into nothing at all that I would be inclined to eat, let alone feed to my treasured guests.

Secondly, and perhaps most importantly: I say it to be so, and thus it is. If you had been paying attention up to now, you wouldn't need to ask such frivolous questions. Perhaps you should go to another blog.

Of course on paper, grains are a perfectly logical vegan food. They have many pros: they're somewhat tasty (when the subtle taste of the grain hasn't been hidden by hemp hearts, for example), are certainly filling, and are usually inoffensive. They're healthy, economical, low-fat, full of fibre, blah blah blah...

On the other hand, grains have sort of a smug earnestness about them, as if they're the food equivalent of those puffy beige people who go to church, refuse alcohol and think children actually have minds and can feel pain.

And they're just inextricably bound to one of two paradigms: breakfast or side. To have oats for dinner -- and not as a side, but as the main attraction -- is cognitively dissonant, like seeing a pop idol t-shirt on anyone over 14 who isn't (a) homeless, (b) one of those cute tourists from some nation where all the people are miniature or (c) suffering egregious brain damage.

There's an intimidation factor at work, too, because one wonders if one should rinse or not, pre-soak or not, ignore the recipe and stick to the well-chilled Gewurztraminer or not... the list is endless.

Thankfully there are some recipes that break through the chatter and result in a perfectly good dish that is neither too nouveau-vegan (no hemp hearts) nor too aggressively beige. This dish, inspired by a trolling through the NY Times archives, is one such dish. The seasonings are assertive but not overpowering so that the flavour of the oats comes through. The toasted coconut adds to the roasty umami-ness of the dish while the hit of fresh herbs at the end elevates and freshens.

Coconut Oat Pilaf

3 tbsp olive oil
1.5 cups steel cut oats*, rinsed to remove dust, checked over for stones and debris unless you have steel teeth and/or feel lucky
1 tbsp freshly grated ginger
1 tbsp black mustard seed (or yellow if need be, but why not get the right ingredient for a change?)
3 cardamom pods, black preferred, inner seeds only
3 whole dried chilies
0.5 cup unsweetened long shredded (if possible) coconut, dried
0.5-1.0 cups finely chopped mint, cilantro or parsley (if the latter, mix 1/2 & 1/2 with diced shallots)
*Use only steel-cut oats. If you don't have them, but you have another hearty grain, you can probably substitute. Don't blame me, though, if you have to play around with the proportion of water.

Heat oil in a large-ish pot until it glistens like sweat upon a breast. Toss in oats and stir to coat, then add ginger. Cook for a few minutes over medium heat until the oil and roasty oat and ginger is fragrant and alive in your kitchen. Add the spices, which you have prepared in the usual manner (smashed in your heavy stone mortar and pestle that you had to lug through the mall because no one would carry it for you even though you had a wounded finger from a psycho cat who had had enough of a belly rub for one day, thank you very much). Once the mustard seeds start to pop, add about 2.5 cups of water.

Bring this whole mess to a boil and then reduce to a gentle bubble. Cook this for about 10 minutes until holes appear on the surface. Cover, remove from heat and let stand for the next 22 minutes while you prepare a salad, have a second glass of wine or simply indulge in conversation with your beloved. While you are doing this, though, you might want to remember to toast the coconut that you forgot about. Use a heavy skillet (that they all said you didn't really need... such an amorphous word, need), dry, and medium heat. Toast until brown and fragrant. Resist urge to dip vegan marshmallows (which you have previously (a) dipped in melted chocolate, (b)briefly wetted under the tap or (c)rolled in maple syrup) into the coconut, but if you do, make double and divide batch.

Finally, when you are ready to serve, toss in the toasted coconut and fresh herbs. Season profoundly with freshly cracked black pepper and good sea salt. Don't be a wuss about this; grains need salt. Serve warm or cold, as the case may be.