tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1666345316652162512024-02-06T19:59:52.088-08:00Vegan Bastardc.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-88838381459905569312014-05-06T05:23:00.000-07:002014-05-06T05:24:35.848-07:00Gongbao ChickpeasWesternized Chinese food has an unfair reputation, I think.<br />
<br />
I concede that in the worse case, e.g. any 'Chinese' food court meal, it's an overly salty, under-flavoured, dubiously-sanitary and utterly forgettable codswallop. Every late-night-we-deliver-until-2AM food item served in a disposable foil tray, thickened with too much cornstarch and supersaturated with MSG certainly fits into this category, too.<br />
<br />
But what about the more competent expressions of the cuisine? One could easily be forgiven for believing that Moo Shoo Pork, Egg Fu Yung and Ginger Beef come from an entirely different universe than does the tender steamed dumplings, squid in black bean sauce, and turnip cakes that you'll find at even a modest, though decent, dim sum house. This is Westernized Chinese food, certainly, and while the hipster <i>har gow</i> may be somewhat embarrassed by the dowdy deep-fried chicken balls, nonetheless they share DNA.<br />
<br />
Of course foodies and ex-pats will argue that nothing made outside of China can qualify as Chinese food. Certainly anything we get in Canada is not 'authentic' in the sense that it's not made (a) with Luciferian quantities of chiles and garlic, (b) by a wizened old Chinese man standing shirtless and sweating over a wok seasoned by 40 years of 1400-degree heat, or (c) in China, but that doesn't necessarily render the food worthless.<br />
<br />
I have said many times that I never had a single bad meal in China, and I stand by that statement. My 18 months of living in central China was full of amazing new tastes, but one scarcity was chicken. We were there during the height of the 'bird flu' panic -- the first one, not the most recent one -- and so the Chinese government was apparently cracking down on so-called 'backyard' chickens, despite the fact that most virologists had traced the outbreaks to poorly-managed factory farms (duh). The lack of 'backyard' chickens meant that chicken was expensive or non-existent on most menus. Curiously enough, we did see a fair number of chickens wandering around the streets and yards of homes as we walked to and from work each day. The chickens informed us that they were, in fact, <i>front</i> yard chickens, and hence could not be held responsible for any flu epidemic whatsoever.<br />
<br />
Chicken dishes were thus uncommon, but when it was available we almost always ordered <i>Gongbao Jiro</i>, aka <i>Gongbao Jiding</i>, aka Kung Pao Chicken.<br />
<br />
We first had it at a dive-y (which is saying a lot) place in Xiangfan just off a roundabout. It came to the table and at first I thought we'd mistakenly ordered something that was 48% chilies, 48% garlic and 2% green onions. I confirmed that the dish was, indeed, Gongbao Jiro, and after receiving an affirmative grunt we proceeded to try the dish.<br />
<br />
The reason it looked like it was all Gongbao and no Jiro was because the chicken was all chopped up into little bite-sized pieces, bone and all. It was a long-ish process to eat the dish, actually, because of the necessity of spitting out the bone splinters, but the flavour was incredible and we were instantly hooked.<br />
<br />
We ate GBJ as often as we could find it but all of our attempts to make it at home were miserable failures. I tried back in Canada, too, but I just couldn't seem to replicate the exact flavour profile. After considerable experimentation I simply gave up and consigned it to the list of foods* that I just couldn't make at home.<br />
<br />
I recently had a small satori.<br />
<br />
Instead of trying to replicate the exact flavour of the remembered dish -- an exercise that is usually futile anyway due to a whole whack of reasons, not the least being the non-availability of the components -- why not use the themes and conventions of the dish as a jumping-off point for a new dish?<br />
<br />
It is this articulation that can, when exercised with diligence, craft, care and restraint, legitimatize the medium of Westernized Chinese cooking. Of course Red-cooked Chicken made by a Canadian cook with Canadian ingredients will never be the same as the dish created by a Chinese cook with Chinese ingredients, but nevertheless both dishes can be delightful and delicious.<br />
<br />
With that lengthy preface aside, I thus present<br />
<br />
GONGBAO CHICKPEAS (modified from a version at <a href="http://www.theveglife.com/">www.theveglife.com</a>)<br />
<br />
Time: 24 hrs marinating, 4 hrs to cook chickpeas (both unattended); 1 hr for final dish.<br />
<br />
Marinade:<br />
Combine<br />
2 TBSP dark soy sauce<br />
2 TBSP white vinegar<br />
1 TSP sugar<br />
1/2 TSP salt<br />
1 TBL cornstarch<br />
1 TSP oil<br />
1 TBSP chile oil**<br />
Stir well and remember to re-stir before using.<br />
<br />
Cooking Sauce:<br />
Into 1/2 cup water mix:<br />
2 TBSP regular soy sauce<br />
1 TBSP balsamic vinegar (you may substitute rice vinegar for this, but in that case don't use the sugar and salt in the cooking sauce unless you taste it and they still need it, in which case do; but balsamic is awesome here)<br />
1 TBSP white vinegar<br />
1 TSP sugar<br />
1/4 TSP salt<br />
1 TSP pepper powder (I used pilli-pilli, which is about as hot as dried birds eye chiles; you could use cayenne or another hot chile powder, or alternately chile flakes, in which case increase to 2 TSP).<br />
Good honking dash white pepper (I just use powdered but you can always use freshly-ground if you like, Martha, though most grinders don't actually create the right texture with white peppercorns)<br />
<br />
1c dried chickpeas, rinsed and picked over for stones (alternately use 1x19oz can of chickpeas but they won't taste as good or hold texture as well)<br />
1 penis-sized carrot, oblique cut<br />
I onion-sized onion, quartered and sliced down the grain<br />
5 cloves garlic, crushed<br />
2" piece fresh ginger, peeled and crushed<br />
1/2 cup peanuts (salted or plain doesn't matter but best to avoid the honey-roasted or chocolate-covered varietals)<br />
<br />
<br />
Method:<br />
<br />
In a small saucepan cover 1 cup dried chickpeas with water. Bring to a boil, hold for 2 minutes, then turn off burner, cover, and rest 2 hours. Taste a chickpea for doneness. If it's ready -- which, honestly, it likely won't be -- add salt and drain. In the rather more likely event that the chickpea is sorta but not totally done then cook over medium heat for the needed time. Honestly, you're probably an adult, and you can probably figure this out. While you're waiting, check Facebook, read the latest <a href="http://xkcd.com/">xkcd</a> post, and/or prep other dishes.<br />
<br />
Make marinade, and cooking sauce if desired, and add the chickpeas to the marinade (which you've cunningly placed in a plastic container) and refrigerate for at least 19.2 hours but preferably 24 hours. Go do something else.<br />
<br />
To cook:<br />
<br />
Sauté onions and carrots until softened slightly, then add chickpeas. If you've forgotten to shake/stir these before you try to dump them into the pan then you'll have an unsightly mess from the cornstarch. You should have read the instructions first.<br />
<br />
Use a rubber spatula to move the chickpeas around the pan and watch the sauce slowly thicken and darken. The addition of occasional 2oz splashes of water will not go unrewarded. The idea is to have a lava-esque cooking fluid which finishes the carrots and thoroughly heats the chickpeas. This part can be a bit fiddly because the cornstarch wants to thicken everything and then rather annoyingly burn.<br />
<br />
Add the garlic, ginger, and another spludge of chile oil. Cook two minutes or so. Add the cooking sauce, stir well, and let cook until reduced by half.<br />
<br />
When the carrots are cooked and the chickpeas hot, taste and correct seasonings***. Add in peanuts, stir briefly, and serve with rice. I advocate adding a heaping helping of chopped green onions but my lovely wife dislikes them and so I refrain from putting them in recipes. Still, if you added them and then served it to me I wouldn't complain.<br />
<br />
*tofu; kimchee; fermented pepper mash (though I've recently been experimenting and may figure that one out yet...); anything at all involving canning. Note that I'm not saying you can't make these at home; I have made them all, with varying degrees of success. It's of my opinion, though, that you can just as easily, and perhaps more easily, purchase a pleasing, consistent and wholesome product.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">**I use my own homemade chile oil, the recipe to which is forthcoming. You can use any purchased variety you like, or just make your own. </span><br />
<br />
***It amazes me how often this is overlooked. In cooking school we were drilled constantly to remember to taste and correct seasoning, and it's amazing how much of a difference it makes. Here's the basic way to do it:<br />
Taste. If it's not in balance, add salt until you can taste the salt.<br />
Add sugar until you can taste the sugar, and then<br />
Finish it off with just a dash more salt.<br />
<br />
Note that you have to do this just before you serve the dish because if you cook it much longer then the dish can become overly salty (likely) or sweet (less likely but possible). Also please realize that we're talking about a (generous or not) pinch of salt or sugar here -- not a lot.<br />
<br />
This is the basic, most easiest way to correct seasoning. You can also add a splash of an acidic ingredient if the dish needs it, but this particular dish has enough acidity that you usually won't need it.<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-69446797118532071992011-07-25T06:15:00.000-07:002011-07-25T06:15:59.275-07:00Punk Rock Garlic<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUroP0ybVeEmcYppx_ZM8TKmu7FIFpZCvkbjg-NGQtdvZNMvYuChaluXruNUWWgYHZ2POeq6h9sQW5QoPdxVU0bLBJhrxTo7gDQ4yFTWqoTMZlRoCU7chdmOzQDC1oFbnzh0tH7QD3AffP/s1600/punk+rock+garlic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUroP0ybVeEmcYppx_ZM8TKmu7FIFpZCvkbjg-NGQtdvZNMvYuChaluXruNUWWgYHZ2POeq6h9sQW5QoPdxVU0bLBJhrxTo7gDQ4yFTWqoTMZlRoCU7chdmOzQDC1oFbnzh0tH7QD3AffP/s640/punk+rock+garlic.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because everything (even fresh and still dirty from the garden garlic) is cooler when you put "punk rock" in front of it. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-65954108067485754062011-06-26T17:26:00.000-07:002011-06-26T17:26:54.487-07:00Cooking for Bob<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHznhCxZaDXpd1koge_87K9Cv1HSmQKIdZIZMgvg_xGCYIrIwGHAeSIwsVoSL_JLeRDugmf4dQa8zWRgehPOHwpTFghHufYr3riUA3VBJd0SApWGqpg7tseB5HfwuSvfPSD9yjmZ9Etnl/s1600/veggie_feast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHznhCxZaDXpd1koge_87K9Cv1HSmQKIdZIZMgvg_xGCYIrIwGHAeSIwsVoSL_JLeRDugmf4dQa8zWRgehPOHwpTFghHufYr3riUA3VBJd0SApWGqpg7tseB5HfwuSvfPSD9yjmZ9Etnl/s640/veggie_feast.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not pictured: 10lbs potatoes, 2kg rice, 1.8kg macaroni (and, fyi, that's a helluva lot of macaroni) and assorted condiments and snacky things (olives, pickles, etc). </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Busy prepping this weekend for Bob's big 80th birthday. We made a whole whack of food for the 36 expected guests and then were a bit surprised when only 29 showed up. Lots and lots and lots of food left over.<br />
<br />
He's not a vegan, of course -- though his favourite food is rum, which is kind of from a vegetable -- and so we went vegetarian for most things and vegan where we could. <br />
<br />
All the pictured vegetables were used in the meal. I made two big crudité platters plus assorted salads using the rest of the veg. I sneaked in the chilies in a sambal that I left on the side -- didn't want to kill the old folks -- and the garlic was roasted and tossed into the pasta salad and the dip for the veggies. All in all it was a success and people seemed pleased.c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-91396732897812919802011-04-28T13:15:00.000-07:002011-04-28T13:15:58.100-07:00Htamin Lethoke<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2NRiohC1T9XQP7nmQZNk-RP3GIiBO3hVtV0rB5uOWOvRps3O7ZWBQ7ni0RINqsv4GwUFbUQHFBszcsIi5K_FRxuuZu6Nn-ZlpKpehJMeKVJaO1KpkauEy8BCSRsC0F-RDiM8k_5rk1Di/s1600/beans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2NRiohC1T9XQP7nmQZNk-RP3GIiBO3hVtV0rB5uOWOvRps3O7ZWBQ7ni0RINqsv4GwUFbUQHFBszcsIi5K_FRxuuZu6Nn-ZlpKpehJMeKVJaO1KpkauEy8BCSRsC0F-RDiM8k_5rk1Di/s400/beans.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The half-devoured bean sambal</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiroj-4_o_1UOMNollXr8wlboknhsmBokB_a4tleieonisYTwLz_7r09-4sKRgocV0VPrWcfJ04Ar1UBpNKEVs8PrQGsRqaJCaqU5DjvxKjgGgqcQTquQy7zr5NOX1dzKRZplzrQ08hiohN/s1600/eating_with_your_hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiroj-4_o_1UOMNollXr8wlboknhsmBokB_a4tleieonisYTwLz_7r09-4sKRgocV0VPrWcfJ04Ar1UBpNKEVs8PrQGsRqaJCaqU5DjvxKjgGgqcQTquQy7zr5NOX1dzKRZplzrQ08hiohN/s400/eating_with_your_hands.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eating with your hands? </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2bE5zGvHOWQhQ4gFP4mRedT-GTn4PgxHRGD63PVcUsClCYJyqaOMgGj7RnI0IlqdPMIGSjWX255zNTCHqwSIGHhZHidZmTvNNXJIL4QMIuvBulc300tDDVganapKgoWWAmMhORNtnY8d/s1600/htamin+lethoke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2bE5zGvHOWQhQ4gFP4mRedT-GTn4PgxHRGD63PVcUsClCYJyqaOMgGj7RnI0IlqdPMIGSjWX255zNTCHqwSIGHhZHidZmTvNNXJIL4QMIuvBulc300tDDVganapKgoWWAmMhORNtnY8d/s400/htamin+lethoke.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The overview pic about 75% of the way through the meal </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-large;"> <span style="background-color: white;">Before last week, </span></span></i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I</span></span></span><b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span></b></span>knew very <i>very</i> little about the country of Burma -- aka The Republic of the Union of Myanmar -- aside from their most famous export, shaving cream, of course. There are <i>so </i>many of these little foreign places to know about, and really one can't care about them all. After all, there are hockey playoffs this week.<br />
<br />
One would expect that after preparing a meal in the traditional style, though, one would know more, especially about the cuisine.<br />
<br />
One would be wrong.<br />
<br />
I still know very, very little about the cuisine -- or the country -- of Burma. <br />
<br />
Despite my ignorance (and that could be my life's motto, by golly), I pulled off a meal last week that was somewhat tasty, marginally entertaining and whimsically surreal all at once. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Htamin Lethoke</i></span> is a traditional Burmese dish. It translates out to "rice mixed with fingers" but perhaps a less-alarming translation would be "finger-mixed rice". It's akin to many non-Western meals wherein a starch -- or, in this case, three: rice, noodles and potatoes -- is the main ingredient in a meal and multiple tiny dishes of more expensive or intensely-flavoured dishes are eaten in little bites on the side. Indonesia has its sambals, India its thali. If you've ever had a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rijsttafel">rijsttafel</a> you're halfway there. Except for the whole "eating with your fingers" bit, that is.<br />
<br />
I prepared for four people -- EvO and myself plus two guests -- but as it turned out we only had one guest and so there was a hell load of food left over. I made ten little sambals (which, I realize, is probably NOT what the Burmese call them. Good, fine, I'm wrong; I don't care. Please don't bother to send me emails telling me the correct term. <i>I. Don't. Care.</i>)<i> </i>:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>coconut sambal (the orange-red thing; it's flavoured with chilie powder)</li>
<li>shaved onion and chilie sambal</li>
<li>roasted onion and garlic</li>
<li> bean sprout sambal with red and green chilies</li>
<li>preserved lemon sambal (using <a href="http://veganbastard.blogspot.com/2011/01/latex-mon-amour.html">my preserved lemons</a>) </li>
<li>green bean sambal (pictured above)</li>
<li>cucumbers in coconut milk</li>
<li>tofu in black curry</li>
<li>tamarind sambal</li>
<li>vinegared chilie sambal</li>
</ul>I also had two kinds of noodles -- wide rice noodles, like the kind in Pad Thai but bigger, and bean vermicelli like in salad rolls. <br />
<br />
From what I've read and seen on the Internet, the more accurate way to eat it would be have a plate of rice and noodles per person onto which little bits of sambal-thingees would be placed and then mixed. Of course I read this AFTER we ate, so we just improvised. As you can see from the pics, we essentially placed a scoop of rice in the centre of the plate and then put little scoops of the sambal around it.<br />
<br />
Eating with the fingers was initially a novelty but it soon became invisible and we all forgot that we were doing something so different for our culture. Near the end of the meal I suddenly realized that I had forgotten the cucumbers in the fridge. I pulled them out and gave everyone a scoop of them to try, and what I found very interesting was that we all just casually dug our fingers into a dish of sliced cucumbers in coconut milk without a second thought. <br />
<br />
I thought of putting recipes with this post but I don't think you need them, really; it's more of a process than anything. The rice was special, though, and so here's a recipe for it.<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><i>Htamin Lethoke style rice</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">serves 3-6, I guess... normally we'd eat it all but there was lots left over</span></div><ul><li>2 cups long grain white rice (I used Jasmine; you could use basmati)</li>
<li>4 cups of water</li>
<li>2 red Thai chilies, seeded and crushed in your mortar</li>
<li>Oil and water, about 2 tbsp each</li>
<li>Salt, to taste, afterwards</li>
</ul>Cook rice in rice cooker. If you don't have one, you really should buy one.<br />
<br />
Place the smooshed chilies into a small saute pan and add oil and water. Cook until it's all smooshy soft and add to cooked rice. Let rice sit for a while as you converse with your guest(s) or prepare more dishes.<br />
<br />
Flip and fold the rice until the chile/oil mix has coated each grain of rice equally. Turn out onto a plate. Salt before you do this, of course -- and this will teach you to read a recipe to the end before starting it.c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-42167843712775861322011-04-21T17:49:00.000-07:002011-04-21T17:49:28.660-07:00Pre-game intelligenceThough this may give away a bit more than I'm comfortable with, I'm posting a few pics from today's marathon cooking session.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmx5fKCA1fEebjhcDVMKLEETm0IdRnjRDlcutlId9t5gbxTa_9QUzAGnnoOeSM7a2GvZbjNjduEWkgYIhbFesHCDTrandHFftFSMCB5GrIwsVRlarR5ed4tELo8qQYP_Kf1TzoVQjsp3fe/s1600/bean+sambal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmx5fKCA1fEebjhcDVMKLEETm0IdRnjRDlcutlId9t5gbxTa_9QUzAGnnoOeSM7a2GvZbjNjduEWkgYIhbFesHCDTrandHFftFSMCB5GrIwsVRlarR5ed4tELo8qQYP_Kf1TzoVQjsp3fe/s320/bean+sambal.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Green bean sambal with chilies and garlic. Yummy.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6qMxkxRoPuJYFqmJmYIPLFHkpzsn6Bly9XOo-Xrh5zYUz163ZgMbQHPtDALtMXX8j79CUkp-s2aGOHsNF1BLB6wOLIgVvrltqNW_J1xxSksGxr4Kwd49GCGbZbC7LvZFBd_X_qPwZrFw/s1600/beansprout+sambal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6qMxkxRoPuJYFqmJmYIPLFHkpzsn6Bly9XOo-Xrh5zYUz163ZgMbQHPtDALtMXX8j79CUkp-s2aGOHsNF1BLB6wOLIgVvrltqNW_J1xxSksGxr4Kwd49GCGbZbC7LvZFBd_X_qPwZrFw/s320/beansprout+sambal.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Bean sprout sambal with red and green chilies. Weird but good.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2zWrPO0-1H1bj9pmnR6nkI7gxKhCFWoaHf2FIn8I-83Zar2qKGxMyFGuzGXYm6484MmFE47ehGok0JZYTEmP0DRmD0jZHAYb3wGmIYecMxxXFmlh3NSBJfiaDkwRcRgvqJjpVB8uDPQP/s1600/chilies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2zWrPO0-1H1bj9pmnR6nkI7gxKhCFWoaHf2FIn8I-83Zar2qKGxMyFGuzGXYm6484MmFE47ehGok0JZYTEmP0DRmD0jZHAYb3wGmIYecMxxXFmlh3NSBJfiaDkwRcRgvqJjpVB8uDPQP/s320/chilies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Chilie sambal. Yummmm but very hot. I picked up these awesome little red Thai chilies at the grocery store today and the cashier was quite concerned that I was buying so many of them. "Most people only buy two or three at a time," she said. "I've never seen anyone buy 250gr before!" Yeah, well, I only bought so few because I already have habaneros and green chilies in my fridge at home. <br />
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So far I have ten dishes ready and three more on the back burner, as it were. Should be enough for four people, I hope. c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-21203571391717124542011-04-20T16:15:00.000-07:002011-04-21T20:16:45.888-07:00A little K & A<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeAIkjah0quDOxWiOZVWIiyiLHR_xF5Aez0PDhP3KWv4CZ7bt59kzqZbeDFay6ZlgQYBdv528dWQhEK1plSC3NzJE8J5-FDvM2ZJzIa5YNM0AYTywMFR0pweEBPDMSePXCRkvUKqMhE5fO/s1600/spices.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597811240782742082" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeAIkjah0quDOxWiOZVWIiyiLHR_xF5Aez0PDhP3KWv4CZ7bt59kzqZbeDFay6ZlgQYBdv528dWQhEK1plSC3NzJE8J5-FDvM2ZJzIa5YNM0AYTywMFR0pweEBPDMSePXCRkvUKqMhE5fO/s400/spices.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 265px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 180%; font-style: italic;">My favourite <span style="font-family: times new roman;"></span></span><span style="font-size: 100%;">nudity-optional group activity</span> -- aside from throwing rocks at children in playgrounds, of course -- is dining. Dining with friends, done properly and thus well, is a perfectly blended masala of personality, food, music and setting.<br />
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The reality, though, is that if a good dinner party is like a masterfully mixed curry, a bad one is like a re-heated TV dinner slathered with ketchup packets left over from breakfast. The minutiae of deciding whom to invite, and what to serve, and which wines to drink, and how many grams of hallucinogens per person, is simply exhausting. Add an unknown to the mix -- will Marc bring his new boyfriend? Is Stephanie still off yellow foods? -- and it's no wonder dinner parties are rare and frequently disappointing.<br />
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If logistics makes having an omnivorous dinner party difficult, having a vegan dinner party is even harder.<br />
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It's easy enough for the carnivorous. They just buy an obscenely large hunk of dead animal and cook it. Give the flabby-florid-faced-flesh-eaters enough medium-rare dead cow and they'll forgive over-cooked previously-frozen vegetables, uninspired starches and bottled salad dressings.<br />
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Vegans tend to be a snivelling and flatulent lot, and they're bitter to boot, so a bit more effort is needed just to break through the sullen shell of self-righteousness that protects most of us from reality. At least feeding vegans or vegetarians allows the host to touch base on tradition and ring the changes across the canonical dishes of our sub-culture.<br />
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"Oh, I just love what you've done to this Lima bean and cabbage casserole, Susan. And that braised tempeh is just perfect!"<br />
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Yawn.<br />
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The few whom I call my friends, though, would be most unimpressed by such lacklustre efforts whether the food was vegan or not.<br />
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It's simply stressful when one invites people into one's home and offers them food from one's own hands. My lovely wife will laugh and tell me that "normal" people don't think like this -- <span style="font-style: italic;">what do you mean, people don't care about the depth of their soup bowls? How can they not?</span> -- but for me, cooking for my friends is performance writ small, a tiny theatre of the senses where every technique is judged, every choice critiqued and every bite assessed. It's intimate and yet frighteningly impersonal, like having sex in front of a panel of Olympic judges with those score card things. My lovely wife says this, also, is not how normal people think. She may be right.<br />
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I was a cook and a chef for many years. I have fed five course meals to groups of 300 people and 12 course meals to groups of 40. I have fed governor generals, movie stars, mobsters and tax accountants.<br />
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But when I'm feeding my friends, I stress. This might be because I have profound yet un-diagnosed mental health issues or -- or! -- it might be because my friends are sophisticated and amazing and generally high maintenance freaks who expect and deserve a culinary experience worthy of my love for them.<br />
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In addition, I am unwilling to entertain the idea that any of my friends might actually not care about what I feed them or -- quelle horreur! -- actually prefer a simpler dish. Such people would certainly never have made it past the background checks and interviews.<br />
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Case in point: whereas the ideal recipe for obese meat-eating sweaty-armpitted plebeians might include:<br />
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<ul><li>three to five easily bought ingredients, </li>
<li>five or six minutes of prep time, </li>
<li>one pot or pan maximum, and, </li>
<li>no more than 30 minutes of total effort, </li>
</ul><br />
dishes for my food-obsessed <span style="font-style: italic;">bons amis</span> shall instead consist of<br />
<ul><li>many obscure and/or illegal ingredients, </li>
<li>several days/weeks/months of prep time, </li>
<li>two or more new cooking utensils and/or single-use gadgets (preferably purchased <span style="font-style: italic;">in situ</span>), and,</li>
<li> at least -- at least -- a working knowledge of Urdu, Mandarin, Thai or Hmong.</li>
</ul><br />
A demanding crowd, one might suggest.<br />
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Some of my friends might object to this characterization.<br />
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"No, no, not us... we're simple folk with simple tastes," they'll purr, manicured fingers knowingly caressing a fig.<br />
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Ha. Liars. One may not choose one's family, only one's friends, it is said. This is simply wrong, an inane aphorism coined by a moron. One's friends are not chosen but are instead an inescapable consequence of one's life. I'm thankful that my life choices have led me to the friends I have, and I treasure my friends, but simple they are not.<br />
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I am having two amazing and sophisticated women over for dinner this week -- which will simply add to, but not overshadow in any way the amazing and sophisticated babe-a-licious wife I am blessed with -- and I'm stressing about the menu. I want to serve something that will be absolutely perfect for the occasion and I vacillate between tried-and-true (that I know will be good but also runs the risk of being predictable) and never-before-tried (that might entirely flop BUT could also be a totally perfect orgasmic degustation).<br />
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Both are complex meals, of course, and both involve lots of prep work. Since I'm having them over on Friday, and today is Wednesday (okay, actually really early Thursday morning), I had better get on with it.<br />
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More afterwards...c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-32461859996586195692011-04-07T11:35:00.000-07:002011-04-21T00:16:30.265-07:00Phaux<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pitMj2wyVmWwJXBUx_HDtTaQAGR8_M1zMdh4n1NUBMipa3-GkE-28prSV4GERTA2OgX-22DnFFkIxm7qbonb0do_Q-UhcAGnKQZRzuzyRjI1ErWMEMWZ-2uc9mvgs7Znwwb-ikkVl7Sm/s1600/veggie_pho.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pitMj2wyVmWwJXBUx_HDtTaQAGR8_M1zMdh4n1NUBMipa3-GkE-28prSV4GERTA2OgX-22DnFFkIxm7qbonb0do_Q-UhcAGnKQZRzuzyRjI1ErWMEMWZ-2uc9mvgs7Znwwb-ikkVl7Sm/s400/veggie_pho.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592913756597445618" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Well </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >of course</span><span style="font-size:78%;"> one could have called it Faux Pho, but really... too easy.</span><br /></div><br />The lifestyle choice that we have made has downsides, of course, not least of which is enduring disapprobation from fleshy flesh eaters. We are forced to defend or explain our eating habits to persons for whom "balanced diet" means a side of coleslaw and who feel compelled (despite having virtually no understanding of the science behind it) to query our daily consumption of protein. We get the gamut from "Oh, my kids won't eat it," (to which I cheerfully suggest, "Well, put your kids up for adoption then! Or have them put to sleep!") to "I'd miss meat too much."<br /><br />Strangest, perhaps, is when people try to justify to me why they aren't vegan.<br /><br />"Oh yeah, like, I tried a vegan diet for like... three hours and man! My stomach was killing me, y'know, and so I, like, had to go back to meat, man. It was brutal, y'know? Yeah, I just don't think it's for me."<br /><br />When all the arguments are said and done, though, there remains a great gulf between those who will and won't go vegan. Even if it was only one day a week, the health and environmental benefits would be astounding, and the scientific evidence of the benefits of a plant-dense diet is overwhelming. It leads me to the conclusion that those who refuse to go at least part-time vegan are socially irresponsible, morally lax and unworthy of voting privileges, health care and access to clean water. At the very least, they should be spit upon at every possible convenience.<br /><br />That being ranted, though, there are some things that a vegan diet does not provide. Chief amongst these is excellent pho.<br /><br />I have been a phan of pho forever. What's not to like, really? A huge bowl of rice noodles, bean sprouts, chilies, lime, cilantro, rare beef, beef tripe, beef balls... ooops. Yeah, that's the problem. In my mind, at least, the experience of pho is the experience of beef. The soup itself is always beef broth, anyway, so having it at a restaurant has never been an option.<br /><br />But on a cold April evening, with the temperature dipping to a chilly 4 degrees (hey! for Kelowna, that's cold. We had to cancel the outdoor yoga), a steaming bowl of pho was calling to us. And so we (finally...) get to:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Vegan Pho Version 1.0</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">serves between 2 and 6, depending on level of piggishness. We ate it all with a bowl left over for Erika's lunch the next day, but then we eat massive amounts of food. Jus</span><span style="font-size:85%;">t sayin'. </span><br /></div><br />For the soup:<br /><ul><li>6 cups lovingly hand made veggie stock*</li><li>1 yellow onion, peeled and cut into quarters</li><li>1 cup dried sliced mushrooms you bought during your Chinese phase</li><li>12 (yes, a full dozen, don't be a wimp) cloves garlic, whole</li><li>3-5 tbsp soy sauce</li><li>1 3" piece of ginger, peeled and grated (or ~3 tbsp ground ginger in a jar)</li><li>1 tbsp sugar</li><li>good sploosh of rice vinegar</li><li>1 tbsp peppercorns</li><li>2 cinnamon sticks</li><li>4 star anise (you have some in the cupboard behind the agar powder)</li><li>a handful or two of cilantro stems</li></ul><span style="font-size:85%;">*or, 6c water and stock powder, stock cubes, or packaged stock. Don't suffer for this meal; just use what you have.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">For the meal</span><ul><li>diced tofu (extra firm or soft only. You may not use medium tofu for this)*</li><li>bean sprouts, blanched for 10 seconds in boiling water and then shocked</li><li>1 package 1/4"** rice noodles, soaked in boiling water until soft (about 20 minutes or more; start it when you begin this whole process or your noodles could be crunchy, and it's not like they'll get too mushy)</li><li>diced green onion</li><li>fresh cilantro leaves, shredded</li><li>mini bird's eye chilies, or sambal oelek</li><li>lime wedges (not lime juice from a little plastic bottle)</li><li>fresh basil leaves, if you must</li></ul><span style="font-size:85%;">*Yes, you may. I. Don't. Care. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">**I initially used the wider 1/2" noodles but really don't like them so I recommend the smaller ones -- about the width of fettuccine. Your call, but don't blame me if you don't follow my directions and thus make an utterly inedible mess of my beautiful recipe. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Method</span><br /><br />In Mr. Food Processor, place onions, soy, ginger, sugar, and rice vinegar. Pulse, pulse, pulse. Put into stock pot to which you have, fittingly, added the stock. Add mushrooms, cinnamon sticks, star anise, garlic cloves and cilantro. Using your lovely mortar and pestle, crush the peppercorns into dust and add. You may also use that ridiculously long pepper grinder you received as a wedding gift. I won't tell.<br /><br />Simmer until nice and, umm, simmered.<br /><br />Meanwhile, soak rice noodles. Dice tofu, keeping at least some of it out of the clutches of your raw-tofu-mad wife. Prepare everything else in the usual manner by carefully plating it onto your finest Asian supermarket serving ware.<br /><br />Once your noodles are well soaked and thus limp (ahem), prepare a bowl of pho in this fashion:<br /><br /><ul><li>Bring soup to a boil after straining solids.<br /></li><li>Boil a kettle of water and cover the drained noodles with it. This will heat up the noodles. </li><li>Place a scoop of beansprouts in the bottom of a nice large bowl, preferably with fish decorated on the side of it</li><li>Cover with a generous scoop of noodles, even if your wife complains that she only wants half that amount. She'll eat it, don't worry. </li><li>Cover with boiling hot stock, just until the noodles are submerged</li><li>Toss a few chilies and cubes of tofu onto the top of the stock</li><li>Sprinkle with green onions, cilantro leaves, optional basil and a lime wedge</li></ul><br />Yum.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrotpgYsl2p-7bJ6jwJZlZCUt2YtBCMLP78XEgtHKQsmuz03VkDxvF7GkjA7usC032kAQQ7ir-flFXv2wpy5oQBwboXpkf_uw8kDLQtnlnbewRiEf3fn7fM6lheNHwo6z_42DzDS01T_M/s1600/veggie_pho2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrotpgYsl2p-7bJ6jwJZlZCUt2YtBCMLP78XEgtHKQsmuz03VkDxvF7GkjA7usC032kAQQ7ir-flFXv2wpy5oQBwboXpkf_uw8kDLQtnlnbewRiEf3fn7fM6lheNHwo6z_42DzDS01T_M/s400/veggie_pho2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592930221947762578" border="0" /></a>c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-2780424498858126212011-03-25T10:56:00.000-07:002011-04-07T12:49:49.429-07:00My, that's a big banana you have there, mister...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhERNO_s1FpaT_yiKh6fOlPOB50nWsWElJL5cWm1V1rp0-M5JACEpdqL7qi-xz3fwmb3mlTA205c0cfCkDSusPRlcPsyUhqdZ_T0-VAZSMaLPfdudBmaEBFwGtPfACFmQJdUbG4o4_5k_0V/s1600/plantain1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhERNO_s1FpaT_yiKh6fOlPOB50nWsWElJL5cWm1V1rp0-M5JACEpdqL7qi-xz3fwmb3mlTA205c0cfCkDSusPRlcPsyUhqdZ_T0-VAZSMaLPfdudBmaEBFwGtPfACFmQJdUbG4o4_5k_0V/s400/plantain1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588082885959594018" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="font-family: arial;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9ywEUXm-1ggi_EhTPgV2HdOH0-t7Qed68jjE809q3LGF0BIa-tlirEKGqQ9lAZ5hMCjQ_VnBAk0znudEnJYXq3gnL1rp2VQil_ZA7a6ZevsVYT7wiYLbFBiyoRIz2ZQxTTzKOj-fUD-h/s1600/plantain1.jpg"><br /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">And of course these aren't really sweet bananas; these are <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Musa Balbisiana</span>, or common plantains.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Erika's Fried Plantains</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">2-3 plantains, depending </span></span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">vegetable oil for shallow frying</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">salt -- use Diamond Kosher for best results</span></span></li><li><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">patience and a willingness to curse</span></span></li></ul><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <a href="http://www.cannerybrewing.com/IPA.htm">Cannery Brewing IPA</a>), Pisco Sours, or simply ice water.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family:arial;" ></span></span>c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-42961225506303144072011-03-11T13:34:00.000-08:002011-03-11T15:40:32.656-08:00Oatmeal for Dinner<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmGXajnQVGphXgeiwz_77Q3VnMCz-B7ZVmpC2tEHUoF8TCUclMzPHXbTvXekI7ZwkJtfwD-UgWSQe-kHDvTQjU8RbkschQs6blTqkoC1GjYaElNrHNuzMPiXVPuItA6qILYsrp_OQE_CF/s1600/DSCN5059.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmGXajnQVGphXgeiwz_77Q3VnMCz-B7ZVmpC2tEHUoF8TCUclMzPHXbTvXekI7ZwkJtfwD-UgWSQe-kHDvTQjU8RbkschQs6blTqkoC1GjYaElNrHNuzMPiXVPuItA6qILYsrp_OQE_CF/s400/DSCN5059.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582971234092608050" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_fYNMfBhFXxRWRCLu7m9Rs7LAyQpL_fGVHlhDCq12wSFOAg6LVwU1mYzc2BUb0Lss_r2jGtJRG2F8mFY2ca-_lDRbu3nVSF23yqshe7CnfzLEnDXlKHK8ToE-D5KzVKawpou2ScG99KF/s1600/DSCN5059.jpg"><br /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">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. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;">Astoundingly,</span> </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>I</span><span style="font-size:100%;">'ve</span> sunk to a new low: I'm actually posting a savoury recipe for grains.<br /><br />Why, might you ask, is that the shark-jumping of vegan food writing?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Coconut Oat Pilaf<br /></span></div>3 tbsp olive oil<br />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<br />1 tbsp freshly grated ginger<br />1 tbsp black mustard seed (or yellow if need be, but why not get the right ingredient for a change?)<br />3 cardamom pods, black preferred, inner seeds only<br />3 whole dried chilies<br />0.5 cup unsweetened long shredded (if possible) coconut, dried<br />0.5-1.0 cups finely chopped mint, cilantro or parsley (if the latter, mix 1/2 & 1/2 with diced shallots)<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*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.</span><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-42002925292978076622011-02-27T16:21:00.000-08:002011-04-07T12:50:06.730-07:00Peanut in a blenderFebruary is the cruellest month, screw Elliot. I've used more sick time this last 27 days than I have in the last five years. I've got the flu, laryngitis, strep throat and malaria all at once. I'm about ready to drop.<br /><br />And there is simply nothing better for sickness than sesame noodles. We used to eat 'em all the time for lunch in China and they are still my go-to comfort food when I'm feeling a bit under the weather.<br /><br />The problem with posting that recipe, though, is that I've promised Caitlin for, like, <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span>, that I'd post her my peanut sauce recipe. Normally I'd just make both and post both, but realistically I'm so sick that it's a challenge to even breathe consistently. So for lunch today I decided to make my fav fab peanut sauce recipe and then make sesame noodles with it instead. It worked out swimmingly and now I feel one step away from Styx.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Better Than Yours Peanut Sauce</span></span><br /></div><br />1/2 cup unsweetened, unsalted peanut butter<br />4 cloves garlic, minced<br />1/4 cup soy sauce (or tamari, if you're a wheat whiner)<br />2 tbsp seasoned rice vinegar<br />1 tbsp Blair's Original Death Sauce OR 1 tsp Dave's Insanity OR 1/2 tsp Blair's Mega Death Sauce, or 3 tbsp Sriracha (Rooster) Chile Sauce (turn down the garlic, then) OR 2 tbsp Sambal Oelek<br />1 tsp brown sugar, preferably demerara<br />about 2 tbsp minced cilantro, chives, parsley or a mix<br /><br />Combine all ingredients in a food processor and blend the hell out of it.<br /><br />You will need to add water to thin it down -- I leave the exact amount up to you, but 1/4 cup is a good starting point. I like to drizzle in a bit of sesame oil while the machine is blending, and surprisingly enough you may need to add a soupcon of salt (despite the soy). Don't be a wimp and leave out the sugar, especially if you're using Blair's... the sweetness helps to balance the flavours.<br /><br />To make sesame noodle sauce: replace tahini for peanut butter and add a bit more hot water.<br /><br />I serve this over everything and anything; as a dip, as a sauce, as a dressing, as a wound treatment and as a mud bath. It's simply marvellous and, as it says in the title, it's Better Than Yours.<br /><br />Enjoy.c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-78426092113385939262011-01-21T21:23:00.000-08:002011-01-22T14:24:39.254-08:00Latex, mon amour<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR33Sb5MWI27ou9ncjOQbVnCVA1Hr1i9tkRJwG_EgL_d-YorHujP2xnJH1-98YK61R5c2HgVyCO39QdsFpkIa7-7nhyphenhyphenQnS2Oc86bwCHZWUWgyoRLX8pqxT4z3wT2w1CTCH8LGxQgr8v2bU/s1600/preserved_lemons.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR33Sb5MWI27ou9ncjOQbVnCVA1Hr1i9tkRJwG_EgL_d-YorHujP2xnJH1-98YK61R5c2HgVyCO39QdsFpkIa7-7nhyphenhyphenQnS2Oc86bwCHZWUWgyoRLX8pqxT4z3wT2w1CTCH8LGxQgr8v2bU/s400/preserved_lemons.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564876776442794802" border="0" /></a> <span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-size:85%;" >Preserved Lemons of Doooooom</span><br /></div><br />Animal-based food is straight up 4/4. Flesh, starch, veg and veg, boom-BOOM-boom-BOOM. It's easy to do at a moment's notice, too, after a long day of molesting relatives or mining salt or whatever it is meat eaters do.<br /><br />Vegan food can be 4/4, too (how many times have you made a traditional kind of meal but just substituted a meat analogue?), but at its best it's a swinging jazzy improv-y 11/8.<br /><br />The best way to do this is to have a whole whack of things in the fridge so that, when your lovely wife arrives home from a long day of whupping children into shape, you can toss together an interesting and nutritious meal in less time than it takes for an illegal download of the latest episode of True Blood.<br /><br />To jazz cook, you gotta have the ingredients ready to go. Thus, you gotta plan ahead.<br /><br />Sadly, I suck at that. But not this time! This time, I've actually planned ahead for a dinner party that I'm not having until the end of <span style="font-style: italic;">next</span> month. Yeah, that's right; I am being pro-active.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >PRESERVED LEMONS </span><br /><br />10lbs organic lemons, preferably not waxed, washed and dried<br />1kg pickling salt<br />1/3 cup peppercorns<br />knowledge of preserving<br />a free morning<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><ol><li>In a sterilized jar (which you've already prepared according to standard preserving procedure), sprinkle about a tsp salt. </li><li>Slice lemons into almost quarters -- leaving about 1/16" at the stem end still attached -- if you have small lemons. Slice into quarters if large.</li><li>Put salt onto exposed lemon flesh.</li><li>Shove into jar. </li><li>Repeat, shoving lemons in as hard as you possibly can, until jars are full to bursting. You will notice that the action of shoving the lemons into the jars has resulted in the juice being squeezed into the jar. This is good. Congratulate yourself. </li><li>As you smash in lemons, add a few peppercorn to the jar, too. [If you didn't get to this step until you finished putting all the lemons into jars, and so now have a recriminatory pile of peppercorns staring at you, well, then, tough bananas. That will certainly teach you to read a recipe through -- especially if it's one of my recipes -- before you attempt it.]</li><li>If necessary, top up jars with cooled boiled water, but you should be fine. Tighten lid, shake like mad, and then have a cup of tea. You're going to be shaking the jars every day for about a week, so don't attempt this right before that cruise to Alaska that your wife has been bugging your about forever. During this week the salt will dissolve, leaving you (ideally) with glisteningly yellow lemon segments in a lovely clear liquor.<br /></li><li>After about a month, the preserved lemons will be ready to eat. This means that you cannot make these and then eat them tomorrow and then post about how this recipe sucks and I have no idea what I'm talking about. YOU HAVE TO WAIT FOR THEM. Remember that whole Kimchi fiasco? Patience, grasshopper.<br /></li></ol><br />To serve, open the jar and wait a few seconds. You should get an intense citrusy smell from the lemons. If you smell ammonia, discard the whole jar as contaminated. If you smell sulphur, you've probably died and gone to "didn't read the instructions fully before starting the recipe" hell.<br /><br />To eat, rinse a quarter of lemon, remove the flesh and discard, and then chop the rind into small slices. Poach briefly (~15 seconds) if using fresh in a salad or sandwich (or hummus), or just add it to dishes that will cook. You can also follow whichever recipe you may have.<br /></div></div><br />Preserved Lemons are just one of those things that you probably should have in your fridge at all times.<br /><br />The process is the thing, though, and that's where the latex fixation really comes in handy. See, even though I'm a big tough guy, my winter-time hands are prone to cracking and splitting. To make preserved lemons -- which are essentially lemons and salt -- you really, <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">really</span> need to wear latex gloves. Otherwise the lemon juice from said lemons gets into the cracks and really, <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">really </span>hurts. Then the salt gets in there, too, and just adds its own special form of pain.c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-18019698947236583772010-09-29T18:58:00.000-07:002010-09-29T19:31:51.000-07:00And you, bitch, aren't getting enough leafy greensI really can't figure out why people have trouble with me being vegan, but here we go again... from the "Are you sure you're getting enough {insert nutrient here}?" files:<br /><br />I was at work the other day and I broke a nail on something. I went into the back to clip the jagged edge off so that, sensibly enough, I wouldn't catch it again on something and cause more damage. I should also note that (a) it was a cool day, (b) my hands were cold from the morning's ride in (4 degrees is chilly to ride in and I didn't have my winter gear on) and (c) it was ONE.BROKEN.NAIL.<br /><br />So anyway, I pop into the back to get into my backpack to get my multi-tool thingee to clip the nail. I make the mistake of commenting to the women sitting around the desk in the back room, "Hmm, my nail seems brittle."<br /><br />It, umm, broke, after all.<br /><br />Immediately there's a Greek freaking chorus.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Ooo woooooo ooohhh!<br />WARNING VEGAN!<br />Ooo woooooo ooohh!<br />YOU'RE NOT GETTING ENOUGH....<br />Ooo woooooo ooohh!<br />VITAMIN B! COLLAGEN! PROTEIN! VITAMIN C!<br />Ooo woooooo ooohh!<br />WAIT, ISN'T THAT THE ONE FOR SCURVY?<br />Ooo woooooo ooohh!<br />ARE YOU SURE?<br />Ooo woooooo ooohh!<br />PRETTY SURE.<br />Ooo woooooo ooohh!<br />OH. SORRY.<br />Ooo woooooo ooohh!<br />STILL...THIS VEGAN LIFESTYLE!<br />Ooo woooooo ooohh!<br />IT CAN'T BE HEALTHY! YOU BROKE A NAIL!<br />Ooo woooooo ooohh!<br />(gnashing, wailing, grinding of teeth and beating of breast)<br /></div><br /><br /><br />It's always the sweaty fast-food-burger-munching carnivores who express such dismay at my diet. Of course, when your vegetable intake for the day consists of Doritos ("Hey! That's corn, right there! Corn!"), I can understand how you would be concerned that I may be missing out on an essential nutrient. Thanks for your concern, but my nail will be fine. How's your cholesterol, btw?c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-90390463830009252462010-09-04T21:21:00.001-07:002010-09-04T21:52:15.000-07:00Vegan Cookies<a href="http://vivelevegan.blogspot.com/">Dreena Burton</a> is amazing.<br /><br />We've got one of her books and another on the way and so far she's been a big fat 10 out of 10 on every scale. Every savory item from the books and blog has been delicious. Yes, we've modified the recipes, but we're both good cooks and that's what cooks do.<br /><br />That being said, before tonight I kind of smugly held the belief that while vegan savory cooking is all fine and dandy, it's essentially impossible to make good vegan sweet kitchen items.<br /><br />You see, I'm a red-seal chef trained by a German Master pastry chef. When I learned to make cakes and cookies and sweetbreads and desserts, there was never ever any mention at all of dairy-free alternatives. The very idea would have been laughed out of the bakery. We used to make 30lbs of puff pastry at a go. Each day we'd go through 40 or 50 dozen eggs -- at least.<br /><br />When I look over sweets in most vegan books I think the following (in no particular order):<br /><ul><li>I have neither flax meal, arrowroot powder, agar essence nor ground <span style="font-style: italic;">tetrapanax papyriferus;</span></li><li>I don't want to use En-er-g fake egg things;</li><li>Why would you even bother to eat a cookie that doesn't have chocolate?;</li></ul>and,<ul><li>Oh boy: another bland cornstarch pudding.</li></ul><br />Thus I was skeptical, I confess, but I was craving cookies and so I found something that looked like a real recipe in her book Eat, Drink and Be Vegan.<br /><br />Turns out that her Chocolate Chunk Spice Cookies are good. She calls for barley flour but I don't have such high-falutin' things so I used wholemeal oat flour. Moisture comes from a mix of maple syrup and oil, yielding a nicely moist cookie with a nicely short crumb. Heavily spiced with 1 1/4tsp of cinnamon for 1c flour (and more of other spices), which both of us liked but more timid palates might find overbearing.<br /><br />The instructions to cook the cookies were a little OCD -- exactly 11 minutes in the oven (no longer!); cool on parchment exactly 1 minute (no longer!), transfer to cooling rack for 12 minutes exactly (no longer!)... but with more than a hint of Hob-Nobs mixed with Hagen-Daz Mexican Chocolate ice cream, I'm willing to embrace the paranoia.c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-89540290212359045002010-09-04T20:45:00.000-07:002010-09-04T21:20:07.167-07:00I hate beets<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYawif9-fDHfeCdGzcExBjzomnJ2W0f4cjXMM5N8ZtPwDiWNIOEKj_XnRKOEpZz5tDTNOaURBjzk0AcLzBG4TeMkibFWbzjM8kH61HVTBC9bPFQeYOm-AitYFrYzK09dLoZOL2Jtxdx-tp/s1600/roasted_beets.jpg"><br /></a>I have always hated the fresh-from-the-grave taste of beets, and virtually the only flaw possessed by my darling wife is a fanatical devotion to the self-same vegetable.<br /><br />You can see where this is leading.<br /><br />Ever since we've been together my wife has insisted that beets are, in fact, food. Despite my best efforts, she has continued to eat them -- sometimes two or three times a week. Aside from the farty-weasel taste of kohlrabi, beets are the only vegetable I refuse to eat.<br /><br />A couple weeks back we made our weekly trek to the farmer's market to stock up on local provisions for the week. King Arthur (or King Edward... I can't ever remember, and don't really care) corn was available and so we bought a half-doz. On the way back to the bus we stopped at London Drugs to pick up something and the cashier noticed the the ears sticking out of one of our fuck-you-we're-environmental reusable shopping bags. She commented, we chatted, and I mentioned that I really like throwing ears on the BBQ.<br /><br />"Oh," she said. "Have you ever had barbecued beets?"<br /><br />Umm, no, of course I hadn't, but I swear my wife's little ears perked up at the combination of her two favorite words: beets and barbecue.<br /><br />{She comments that, in fact, barbecue isn't one of her favorite words. As above, don't care.}<br /><br />"Oooh, let's try that," says she."Oooh, let's not," says he.<br /><br />So being the dominant one in the relationship, we promptly go home. And I heat up the grill for her barbecued beets.<br /><br />Which -- goddammit -- turn out to be incredible.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUUqn7jA5J_juaLhfLoEn-_RrnQ-KRVfn6DLo8LjuxtAf8Hbdxiv_WDVE3_wbFuPjx6FkIuXuFzKPjSXrY6cQwqXaMsVMwCFErWnNo884wYVR_HUWdAiehm-3mRtAuMu5hs-8z7UHcz5M7/s1600/roasted_beets.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUUqn7jA5J_juaLhfLoEn-_RrnQ-KRVfn6DLo8LjuxtAf8Hbdxiv_WDVE3_wbFuPjx6FkIuXuFzKPjSXrY6cQwqXaMsVMwCFErWnNo884wYVR_HUWdAiehm-3mRtAuMu5hs-8z7UHcz5M7/s400/roasted_beets.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5513274558301217634" border="0" /></a><br />Like, candy from the garden incredible.<br /><br />So I made 'em again. And again.<br /><br />Easy peasy, too, and you're really going to like them with yellow chiogga beets.<br /><br />I cut them in half, toss them in a drop of olive oil, and throw them cut side down on the grill. When they're sufficiently marked, flip 'em onto their skin sides and finish 'em off on low/medium. Once you can pierce them with a fork they're done, and then all you do is sprinkle a little sea salt avec fines herbes after dousing them in more olive or or softened Earth Balance.<br /><br />You infidels may use butter instead of EB. If you're extremely odd, or was born into an incestuous farm family, you may eat the skins. I am not, was not, and so don't.<br /><br />I still hate kohlrabi, though.c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-28639490717034672522010-09-02T23:33:00.000-07:002010-09-04T21:03:56.804-07:00Why Are You Vegan?Is a question I get a lot of these days. My buddy Sean sent me an email to ask me this question, and while I was writing a response I realized that it would be a good post.<br /><br />So here it is.<br /><br />You ask me, Sean, why I'm a vegan. Well, you know that I'm an argumentative bastard, so let's turn it around a bit.<br /><br />We both know that some meat is <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/health/story/2010/09/02/con-meat-recall.html">dangerous to eat</a>. We know that meat harbours <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/ncidod/dbmd/diseaseinfo/foodborneinfections_g.htm">diseases</a>. We know that it's<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/wayne-pacelle/fda-inspection-of-egg-fac_b_700986.html"> cruel to factory farm animals</a>.<br /><br />We know that eating a vegetable-based diet is <a href="http://www.medicinenet.com/vegetarian_and_vegan_diet/article.htm">healthier</a>, <a href="http://articles.moneycentral.msn.com/SavingandDebt/SaveMoney/GoVegetarianToSaveMoney.aspx?page=1">cheaper</a> and <a href="http://scienceblog.com/cms/vegetarian_diets_cause_major_weight_loss_10323.ht">promotes weight loss</a>. It may also prevent heart disease, stroke, some cancers and diabetes.<br /><br />The obvious question, then, is this: Why <span style="font-style: italic;">aren't</span> you vegan?<br /><br />Okay, that was a bit snotty and a bit disingenuous, too, because really I don't care very much about all that stuff.<br /><br />I suspect that every food source is potentially fatal to you: look at all the cases of e coli poisoning in <a href="http://www.foodsafetynews.com/2010/08/cdc-releases-2007-foodborne-illness-numbers/">spinach </a>and vegetables every year. Soda can <a href="http://en.wikinews.org/wiki/Study_suggests_48%25_of_US_soda_fountain_machines_have_coliform_bacteria">kill you</a> -- and not just because it'll rot your teeth and harden your arteries. So I'm not a vegan because meat is inherently more dangerous for you.<br /><br />A poorly organized diet, whether vegan or not, can be just as unhealthy as a meat-based one. We all know fat vegetarians (mac and cheese is vegetarian, after all), and besides, booze is vegan, unless you're one of those weirdos who count microbes as sentient (and, umm, I don't). So I'm not vegan because a vegan diet is inherently healthier.<br /><br />Cheaper? Have you seen the price of raw almonds lately? We spent nearly $60 on raw cashews and almonds for a month's worth of nut milks. Organic stuff is pricey, too. Eating well costs a great deal, whether you opt for ooh-la-la steak or fresh organic berries. So I'm not a vegan because it's cheaper.<br /><br />I like animals, sure, but I'm not an activist by any means and I think some farms -- like the good kinds <a href="http://michaelpollan.com/">Michael Pollan</a> writes about in The Omnivore's Dilemma -- are well-managed places where animals are treated humanely and slaughtered mercifully. And, honestly, I still wear leather. And I am owned by two willful cats -- something a true animal activist would find abhorrent. So I'm not a vegan for the animal rights part of it.<br /><br />So why am I a vegan?<br /><br />Because I can afford to be, and still eat well, and others in the world can't even afford to eat.<br /><br />I have worked in orphanages and shanty-town schools in Uganda where the children are fed barely-palatable gruel each day -- and for some it is the only thing they will eat.<br /><br />I have lived with people in China who stretch 200gr of meat to feed a family of 6 or 8 -- twice. And that's only when they can afford to get the meat.<br /><br />World hunger is a <a href="http://www.ens-newswire.com/ens/aug2010/2010-08-31-02.html">big problem</a>, and it's going to get worse. An acre of land dedicated to raising cattle produces about 165lbs of usable meat. It consumes 20,000 litres of water to do this. That same acre can produce about 20,000lbs of potatoes -- or 32,000lbs of grain -- while using less than half the amount water.<br /><br />I am a member of the most affluent society. If I am part of a movement that reduces the demand for high-cost (in terms of land use) foodstuffs, then maybe more lower-cost foodstuffs will be available to help feed those who desperately need it.<br /><br />And that, Sean, is the reason that I'm a vegan.c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166634531665216251.post-14557550145154920182010-08-31T20:28:00.000-07:002010-09-04T21:04:15.643-07:00Hating Non-Cream CreamThere is no great vegan alternative to cream in coffee. None.<br /><br />Okay, okay, yon vegan hordes: before you start sending your poorly written hemp-scented cruelty-free death threats to my in-box, allow me a few 'graphs to speak my mind.<br /><br />Plain and simple: I love coffee. I like espresso, sure, but I would give it up in a heartbeat if I had to choose between it and coffee. I used to drink it black, or black with sugar, but I really just prefer it with a hit of coffee cream. I know, I know... I'm not a purist, and the cool kids with the designer eyeglasses sneer down their perfect noses at me. Screw 'em.<br /><br />Anyway, the transition from omnivore to vegetarian wasn't really that hard for me. I never really disliked meat, but I have a long-standing love of tofu, vegetables and grains. I also really like cheese, eggs and dairy. Therein lies the problem, of course, because the vegan police kind of frown on you actually eating animal products when you join The Movement, despite the fact that you really only need a little tiny drop of cream in your coffee.... even just in the morning, and then the rest of the day you'll drink herbal tea? ... please? ...no?<br /><br />Dammit.<br /><br />So I've tried the alternatives.<br /><br /> * Soy Cream stuff: too many ingredients, tastes like thick soy milk, which in turn makes coffee taste like hot farty bean juice.<br /><br /><br /> * Soy Milk: see above, with the added result that you need more to lighten your coffee, hence the coffee gets colder AND tastes like farty bean juice.<br /><br />and, last (and least)<br /><br /> * Rice Milk: seriously: how is this at all "milk"? Thin and cruel like an anorexic sociopath in a pastry shop, you might as well add thinned-out white glue to coffee.<br /><br />So I decided that I would try the world of nut milks. My mother-in-law bought me a vegan cookbook for my most recent birthday (and thanks, BTW, to those of you who forgot to send even a measly birthday email; I hope you get zits inside your noses) and so I decided to test a few recipes.<br /><br />Basically a nut milk is made by soaking your choice of raw nut (in our case, cashew and almond) in water overnight. You then drain the water and put the swollen grub-like nuts into Mr. Blender with some water and whiz away. If you have a nice blender, you'll get a smooth white liquid that you can drink as is. If you have a cheap-o blender that you bought to replace the one you burned out fifteen years ago during that Pina Colada phase, you'll get a sediment-y liquid that you have to strain through cheesecloth.<br /><br />Either way, you'll get a fairly neutral cream-like liquid that works swimmingly for morning oatmeal and sauces, but fails spectacularly in coffee.<br /><br />The reason, I think, is because any texture at all in coffee is simply not acceptable, especially at the beginning of the cup.<br /><br />If you've spent a while dunking a (cruelty-free, egg-less, dairy-free... oh god, let's just take it for granted, shall we? Else we'll be here all night...) biscotti into a glass of Vin Santo, you expect to find a few soggy crumbs in your glass (and thus your mouth) afterward.<br /><br />If, however, you take your first sip of a cup of coffee and get a mouth-feel that's anything less than clear, your brain immediately thinks "Uh-oh, grounds in the cup," or "Uh-oh, someone's been dunking a (c-f, e-l, d-f) cookie in this cup," or "Uh-oh, this cup wasn't washed very well," or "Uh-oh, my wife is trying to poison me," or what have you.<br /><br />Anyway, this is the big problem for me, and this will be a continuing source of sorrow. I'm willing to try anything, I guess, but I don't know where to go from here. I thought of buying commercial almond milk and then trying to reduce it down to a better consistency but I'm leery of the preservatives in the industrial stuff and I'm cheap. I won't use powdered creamer stuff -- might as well put talcum powder in your coffee as far as I'm concerned -- and any of the liquid non-dairy creamers are just flavoured petroleum by-products.<br /><br />So I dunno.<br /><br />What I do know, though, is that 18% coffee cream is really good in coffee. And I miss it.c.d. mazurathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14830806219971380186noreply@blogger.com0