Category: brunch

Sunday is Funday: Waffles All Day Long

Waffles. Plain, sweet, savory, topped with chicken, or wrapped around a generous
tablespoon of Nutella. No wrong answer.

This has been a helluva a ride, 2020, and we are in for a wild few (more) weeks? Months? Years?

You can still influence that timeframe by voting if you have not already. Make it count by dropping your mail-in ballot in an official ballot box OR donning a haz-mat suit and voting in person. However you do it, VOTE.

But in the meantime we have somehow made it through another week of biblically-proportioned disasters, both natural and manmade. It’s time to rest and reset, preferably with something absolutely delicious.

Pancakes and muffins are for Saturdays, but Sunday means waffles.

Crispy on the outside, soft and steamy on the inside. I eat the first one off the iron with my hands before the lid is even closed on the second one. Drenched in maple syrup, spread with Nutella, or oozing with homemade apple butter.

Sometimes, truthfully, delightfully plain. It is brunch-y goodness.

But here’s my recent discovery: play your cards right, and you can eat waffles all day long. One recipe, minor modifications, and you have breakfast and supper all in one. 

Regular sweet waffles in the morning (ish) with whatever toppings make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Then in the afternoon? What about the afternoon?

Chicken and waffles, friend.

Someone has actually looked into the history of chicken and waffles, but all you really need to know is this: it is pretty much the best thing you can put in your face on a Sunday afternoon.

I like mine with a fried chicken breast or thigh (easier to eat, and ease is the rule. Purists insist on the bone. I do not.), a copious drizzle of honey-sriracha sauce, and pickled banana peppers or onions or maybe an apple slaw with vinegar and jalapeno. 

None of these things take long to make. Ten minutes, max, made while the waffles are cooking.

Easy like Sunday morning. And afternoon. As it should be.

Basic waffles

As ever, this recipe is gluten-free, but you can certainly use gluten-packed regular all-purpose flour if you’d like. 

Ingredients

2 cups gluten-free all-purpose flour blend
1/2 tsp. salt
1 T sugar (use 2 T if you are skipping the savory recipe)
3 tsp. baking powder
1 1/2 cups milk
2 eggs, beaten
1/4 cup neutral oil (you can use butter, melted and cooled, but oil is easier)
1 tsp vanilla (sweet version only)

In a medium bowl, mix the first four ingredients (the dry). In a small bowl, combine the last four ingredients (including vanilla if you are only having sweet waffles) and mix until totally combined. Add the wet to dry ingredients and stir until they are no longer lumpy.  I use a whisk and beat out any remaining frustrations from the week. #Smile #Breathe

SAVORY VARIATION

At this point, if you are planning on waffles for brunch and chicken and waffles for football snacks, move half of the waffle batter to a separate container and add 2 T chopped chives or scallions (chives give a less intense zing) and a generous grind or three of black pepper. 

Optional: up to one cup of grated cheese of your choosing. Cheese for me is gilding the lily, so I wouldn’t use it for chicken and waffles. Maybe with a burger and a fried egg. 

Cook the waffles according to the directions on your waffle maker (they all vary, so me giving directions for mine is pointless. You know your own tools, so go with your instincts on this one).

Cook the sweet waffles first, then the savory. In my waffle maker, this makes six to eight waffles, depending on how diligent I am with getting equal amounts ladled for each waffle.

When it’s time for chicken and waffles, here are a few tips:

  • Set up a breading station. Pat the chicken breasts dry. Dip into cornstarch, then a beaten egg, then a mixture of gluten-free all-purpose flour (or almond meal is delicious here) that is seasoned with salt and pepper. Let sit in the ‘fridge while the oil heats.
  • Keep frying oil at 350 degrees. This ensures a crisp coating AND cooked chicken.
  • A medium-sized chicken breast takes between ten and 15 minutes to cook. I am not above cutting one open to check. I find taking an internal temperature to be a dangerous proposition in hot oil, so I do a visual check.
  • Make these vegan. Obvi, skip the chicken and use any egg and plant milk substitute for the waffles themselves. Flax eggs would work here, and a neutral milk will serve your better (almond milk seems to come closest to neutral).

Serve these with a sauce that is equal parts honey and sriracha, or try a sauce of yogurt, Dijon mustard, and a touch of honey. Or drizzle the whole thing with maple syrup. #YourChoice

Riced Cauliflower With Basil Cashew Cream Sauce And Pretty Much Anything Else You Want

This unassuming little dish holds a tiny cloud of heaven: basil cashew cream sauce.

There is something incredibly comforting about a warm bowl of food. Since it seems we are living in season 4 of The Handmaid’s Tale, we need comfort and care now more than ever. Enter basil cashew cream sauce.

This sauce takes advantage of the late summer flush of basil on my back porch; it’s also vegan and packed with protein (hello, cashews!). If you don’t have basil, you can skip it or try some parsley or other mixed herbs.

Feed yourself (and your people) with love. And for fuck’s sake, VOTE.

Riced Cauliflower With Basil Cashew Cream Sauce And Pretty Much Anything Else You Want

You can make every component of this meal on a Sunday and have dinner on the table in 15 minutes any night of the week.

Ingredients

1 cup cashews

Boiling water

7 tablespoons water (ish. Maybe more, maybe less)

3 tablespoons lemon juice (ish. Also, see Recipe Notes)

Fresh basil leaves (a nice bunch – maybe an ounce or so)

1 head of cauliflower

2 tablespoons olive oil or ghee

Other stuff (see Recipe Notes)

Method

Place cashews in a jar with a lid and cover with boiling water. Let stand for at least 30 minutes (an hour or more is ok), then drain and rinse and put in a food processor.

Add water, lemon juice, and basil and process until everything is light and creamy and pourable. You may use more or less water and lemon juice to get the consistency you want.

The amount of basil you add depends on your taste and what you have. I like a bright, fresh, herbaceous sauce, so I added lots more than most people, but this isn’t pesto. You want to allow the subtle cashew flavor to come through, too. So add and taste and be judicious.

Also add salt and pepper to taste, then blend once more before putting in the ‘fridge. This sauce will last a couple of days chilled, more if you don’t add basil and just process with water and lemon. If you are using the sauce right away, no need to refrigerate.

Rice your entire head of cauliflower. This is most easily done in a food processor with a shredding disk, but you can also grate on a box grater or chop the shit out of it until the cauliflower is approximately the size of – wait for it – rice. You can also buy pre-riced cauliflower.

You’ll need two heaping cups for this recipe (one per person, with some leftovers). Pack the rest into two-cup servings in Ziploc bags and toss in the freezer for easy meals later.

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet, then add the cauliflower. Season with salt and pepper. You may need to add a little bit of water if the cauliflower absorbs the oil, but that’s ok. Cook the cauliflower on medium heat for about five minutes.

And here is where things get interesting. You can roast veggies separately and then add to the cauliflower and top with sauce. You can steam kale or other fall bitter greens in the pan with the cauliflower, then add cashew sauce and mix together (not pretty but YUM). You can use anything that you love in a bowl of food and bring it all together with the basil cashew cream sauce.

So. Freaking. Delicious.

Recipe Notes

This might seem a little thing, but when I first used this, I tossed a section of preserved lemon in the processor instead of lemon juice, and I also used stock instead of water. I had both of these things lying around. If you do, too, I encourage you to use those substitutions for a richer, more complex experience.

When it comes to “other stuff,” the sky is the limit. This is great with leftover (or freshly roasted) veg, grilled meat, or all on its own. You can really add what you like or what’s left in your ‘fridge (hopefully they are the same thing).

Striding Into The World: Grilled Asparagus With Sweet Fire Pickle Gribiche

Flying the friendly skies. TL:DR – check out the recipe video all the way at the bottom of this post.

It is my thing, I suppose, that I find silver cutlery in Baltimore. I have found ridiculous amounts of silverware in this city, for no apparent reason. I have asked around, and it’s fairly uncommon to find dining utensils that aren’t plastic lying about, and yet here I am with a drawer full of spoons, forks, and knives, some monogrammed, some heavy and high quality, and some the type of utensils you bring when you brown bag your lunch and don’t really care if someone in the office steals your fork.

A day before we left Amsterdam to return to the States, I realized that I had not found a fork or spoon or knife while visiting and started keeping my eyes out. Mind, in Baltimore, I don’t really have to look. They just appear. But I thought it might be swell to have a Dutch fork or some such.

No such luck. The closest I got was a neon green plastic spork resting, forlorn, in the middle of the bike lane.

But on my first trip out of the house on Sunday back home in Baltimore, on a jet-lagged walk up the street for late lunch, I looked down and found a fork.

If I were the sort of person who believed in signs (spoiler alert: I am, at least a little bit), I would be wondering what the hell it means that I have only in my entire life found silverware in Baltimore, and lots of it.

That the cutlery comes without me even looking.

That no one else I know has found silverware on the street.

That when I am thinking unrelated thoughts, like whether or not I should start cooking for people or if maybe I should move to Amsterdam, a fork or spoon pops up in my path in my city.

Or maybe it’s just how I walk through the world. In Baltimore, for better or for worse, I keep my head down or fixed on a point a few feet in front of me. It makes sense that my gaze would sweep up whatever is in my path.

In Amsterdam, I rarely looked down. Not only was the city itself beautiful when you look around (unlike Baltimore, if I am being honest, which I always try to be) but it was also challenging to not get run over by a bicycle.  There is no room for a downcast gaze.

But it’s more than that, I think, this notion of how a body walks through the world. My particular friend and I have had recent conflict about taking up space. He feels, rightly so, that there are many, many pushy assholes (my words but his meaning) walking about, and he does not want to be numbered among their ranks. He feels especially keenly the white maleness of himself and would rather disappear or defer than add to the pain and suffering that those of his ilk (white males) have inflicted upon pretty much everyone in the world.

I hear this. It’s one of the reasons I love him.

But then there is this: everyone has a right to space in this world. There is a way to claim your own space without infringing on the rights and space of others. Hiding our light under a bushel makes the world just a little bit darker. Not claiming our own space doesn’t make it any easier for others to claim their own. Indeed, if we can just step into the light of our own selves it somehow makes it easier to help others find their own. How? I don’t know. By example? By knowing what it feels like to feel fully your own self, without making excuses and feeling completely worthy of whatever comes your way and thus showing by your very existence the limitless possibility of this one life that we can remember?

Something along those lines.

Maybe finding cutlery on the street has nothing to do with that, though. Maybe I look down in Baltimore because this is where I am grounded; knowing that ample forks, knives, and spoons are waiting in the street maybe makes it easier for me to look up and around in the rest of the world. Maybe these eating utensils represent the basic needs that this city meets for me: food and shelter, a home base.

In a way, this is a comfort and a burden. Baltimore is a heavy weight. I love so much about this city while at the same time really hating so much as well. It’s dirty and oppressive to people of color and women. It is hospitable to artists as long as they know their place, and just two miles from where I live the life expectancy is a full 12 years less. The distance between the haves and the don’t-even-dream-of-havings gets even greater weekly as housing becomes unaffordable and the city’s schools and infrastructure begin to crumble. Many describe the city as “gritty” or “scrappy,” but it is, at times, painfully desperate.

This city is also the Orioles and Old Bay and Edgar Allen Poe and 1919 and my good friend Luke and my oldest friend Kerry. It’s a place where a thousand non-profits are working every day to make life better. It’s where Sicily and I came when Marietta and the memory of Dane was so painful that we needed comfort and friends and a break somewhere that was not demanding.

Really, though, how do we claim space on this planet? It seems our footprints are larger than our shadows, but even as much as I try to convince my particular friend to stride out into the world it’s a daily struggle for me to feel like anything more than an insignificant speck (which truly, that’s all we really are – dust, less than a blip in geologic time). Maybe the forks and the spoons and the knives are just the way I try to make meaning, much the same as anyone who does anything with any regularity. Maybe your 40-hour-a-week career is my street-flattened spoon.

Regardless of the manner in which we step into ourselves (and the world) fully, the one thing that I would like to import back to Baltimore from our recent trip to Amsterdam is the multi-course meal. In the U.S., we tend to equate multiple courses with special occasions and required suit jackets, but it seems in Europe that is just how meals go (my child spent a year in France and can verify that even weekday breakfast has courses). When we met Khristian’s friends Carla and Axel for dinner, they served us three courses:

  1. Grilled vegetables with burrata, tomatoes, and sardines
  2. Seared salmon
  3. Penne with grilled beef

All accompanied by wines to match and finished with a rich chocolate brownie.

Even though this seems extravagant for an everyday meal, the preparations were all very simple and delicious. We reclined over dinner, drinks, and good conversation for several hours. Perhaps this was something of an occasion, as Khristian had not seen these friends since 2004, but meals were like this wherever we went: long and multi-coursed.

In this spirit, and to humor those of you who are really craving spring, I offer this as an easy first course to add to a plain old weekday meal: Grilled Asparagus With Sweet Fire Pickle Gribiche.

Gribiche is traditionally a creamy French dressing/sauce made in the same manner as mayonnaise except with cooked egg yolks instead of raw. It keeps popping up for spring vegetables because it’s a delicious way to dress anything that comes out of the oven or off the grill. I think it’s probably one of the few things that can improve the already-perfect asparagus. I have made it here with sweet fire pickles; you can substitute a more traditional cornichon is that’s your jam. Other herbs traditionally used here can include chervil and tarragon. I have kept it simple with just flat-leaf parsley.

You don’t even need to use a fork for this; it’s perfectly acceptable even in polite company to pick up asparagus with your fingers. If you need one, though, I have several.

Grilled Asparagus With Sweet Fire Pickle Gribiche 

(serves 4)

Ingredients

2 – 4 tablespoons chopped Sweet Fire pickles (see Recipe Notes)
⅓ cup grapeseed oil
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon chopped drained capers
1 tablespoon whole grain mustard
Kosher salt, freshly ground pepper
3 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
2 tablespoons chopped parsley

1 pound asparagus (preferably grilled, but roasted works, too)

Method

It could not be easier to make gribiche: combine all ingredients in a bowl and stir well. The end. Spoon over grilled asparagus (or anything else, really).

To make eating easier, you can cut your grilled asparagus into 1″ bites and mix the gribiche in, but you will need a fork.

Recipe Notes

  • Sweet Fire pickles come from Georgia, as far as I am concerned. They are cucumbers pickled with sugar and jalapeños and they are pretty much the best thing ever. I got my last jar at Huck’s General Store in Blue Ridge, GA, but they seem to be online as well.
  • Traditionally this recipe uses cornichons, which are not at all sweet. I like the balance of sweet, sour, and spicy in this, but you could use cornichons instead. If you don’t have those, chop up some dill pickles and you’re all set.
  • Gribiche keeps in the ‘fridge for a couple days. Bring to room temp before serving. Good on roasted veg, chicken, duck, and meaty fish.

A Recipe Video – Just For You

Sheer Delight: Better Than They Oughta Be Fried Green Tomato Arepas

Fried green tomato arepa with pimento cheese. #FreshParsleyOptional

The Child and I visited my grandmother last week, the one who steals fruit from her assisted living facility. Busy summers and basic malaise have kept us away since the second week in June, but putting off a visit to a 98-year-old person is no good idea. Plus, The Child and I need to feel like we are on the road from time to time; our best conversations happen while the tires eat the miles, even if it’s just a short two-hour jaunt to rural Pennsylvania.

When we pulled up, she was sitting in the sun outside the entrance to the main building. Three young men were spreading mulch in the flower beds, and the day was that kind of almost-fall day where the sky is such a crystalline shade of blue that the trees are outlined in black.

She didn’t recognize my (new to me) car when we pulled in, so when Sicily and I walked up to her and said hello, she looked up with a blank face before she recognized who we were and a look of what can only be described as sheer delight spread across her features.  She said, “I was waiting for someone, and here you are!”

We should all be greeted with such an unabashed and open display of pleasure.

I have an unexpectedly close relationship with my grandmother, as does The Child. Through letters I have learned what her life has been, and in person I get to know this person in whom I see so much of myself. She takes joy in seeing her great-grandchildren and has vowed to live until they are all safely ensconced in college; because of this, we do not share The Child’s plans for a gap year, and we are selective about the information we share in general. She likes to know we are happy and recovered from “Dane’s incident,” “that unfortunate time” when he died in a car accident. We talk about the weather, and food, and she worries about the stock market.

Our visit was short, as it usually is. My grandmother is spry and quick still, but tired in the way that people approaching 100 can be, I suppose, after a long walk outside and a rest in the sun. On the way back to her room, we stopped in the residents’ garden plot to look at the produce, and I ended up with a bellyful of sun-sweet cherry tomatoes and a bag full of green tomatoes for later.

I haven’t had fried green tomatoes in a dog’s age. The last time was in a diner in the south, someplace below the fall line in southern Georgia. I have few fond memories of our 13 years living in that place, but southern food is one of them. It’s a foodway that uses scraps and makes do, and it seems to mesh perfectly with my grandmother’s Depression era philosophy:

Make do;

Do without;

Use it up;

Wear it out.

These recipes are a mash of that sensibility plus new-to-me flavors and foods. I have been mildly obsessed with arepas since White Envelope came to town, and enjoying smoky foods is also new to me. I advise adding any or all of these condiments and toppings liberally to each arepa. You can certainly mix and match. The recipe for Mushroom Bacon is not my own, so I am linking it here.

Fried green tomato arepa with mushroom bacon and chipotle mayonnaise.

For the record, I don’t believe in calling non-meat things a meat name, but this is how the original person wrote the recipe, so I am going with that. It is delicious but does not in any way resemble bacon. I chopped it up after it was all done, and that was the easiest way to eat it.

There is also the basic recipe for arepas themselves, plus Chipotle Mayonnaise and Fried Green Tomatoes.

I have gone back and forth as to whether or not to include my Pimento Cheese recipe and have decided, at the very last minute, to hold that back. You can use a store-bought variety, or use your own recipe. That shizz deserves its own post, and it’s worth the wait. #Trust

Bacon, lettuce, and fried green tomato arepa with chipotle mayonnaise.

I am pretty sure that when you present your people with any of these combinations they will gaze up at you with sheer delight as well.

Arepas With Assorted Delicious FIllings, Not The Least Of Which Is Fried Green Tomatoes and Chipotle Mayo with Bacon 

If you want to try all of these recipes, make them in the following order: Chipotle Mayonnaise (the night before, even), Pimento Cheese (if making your own), Mushroom Bacon, Arepas, and Fried Green Tomatoes.

Chipotle Mayonnaise

As with everything, adjust amounts to taste, but here’s the basic formula. Make this the night before.

Ingredients

1/2 cup mayonnaise

1/4 cup whole milk yogurt (or sour cream – whatever is in the ‘fridge)

3 teaspoons lime juice

3/4 teaspoon chipotle chile

1/4 teaspoon garlic powder

1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika

1 teaspoon stone ground prepared mustard

Method

Mix all ingredients together (I use a Mason jar – no clean up). Store in ‘fridge and use on damn near everything.

Arepas (makes 8 arepas)

Ingredients

2 cups masarepa (see Recipe Notes)

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 1/4 cup warm water

Method

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place a cooling rack on a baking sheet and set aside.

Mix masarepa, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Add warm water and mix until smooth. Use 1/3 cup measure to divide dough into eight balls and shape into disks that are 1/2″ thick and about 3″ wide.

Heat a small amount of oil in a non-stick or cast iron skillet over medium heat. Working four at a time, fry the arepas on each side until golden brown, about four minutes each side. Transfer to cooling rack and fry the other four arepas.

Place in oven and bake for 10 minutes or until arepas sound hollow. Turn off the oven and leave arepas to cool and crisp.

Recipe Notes

  • You cannot use regular masa for this recipe, and the addition of baking powder makes it not quite traditional. But of the eleventy million times it seems like I have made these, this formula produced a creamy interior with a crispy shell. So there it is. You can find masarepa in most Latino grocery stores, occasional in a mainstream grocery store, and always online.

Fried Green Tomatoes

There really is no better way to use up those stubborn, lingering tomatoes clinging to the vine than Fried Green Tomatoes. If you aren’t a fan, take your green tomatoes, stick them in a cardboard box, and set them someplace cool. Check on them every now and then; they will gradually ripen and be just as sweet and delicious as the ones from the vine. Remove mushy ones fast; they really will spoil the whole bunch.

Ingredients

Green tomatoes (for eight sandwiches, I used four medium ones), sliced into 1/4″ rounds

1 cup soured milk (see Recipe Notes)

1 cup flour (I use gluten-free all-purpose flour)

1 cup cornmeal

Salt and pepper

Method

Slice tomatoes and place on paper towels. Some people salt them at this point to draw out the moisture, but not me. I let them sit on the towels and blot them dry.

Place a cooling rack on a paper-towel-lined baking sheet and set aside.

In a cast iron skillet, heat about 1/2″ of oil over medium heat.

Set up your breading station, left to right (or right to left if you are left handed): one dish of flour, one dish of milk, one dish of cornmeal.

Controversial direction #1: I do not season my flour. I season the tomatoes directly. Many will take issue with this. I don’t care. Do it however you choose. 

When your oil is hot, salt and pepper your tomatoes. Dip into flour, shaking off the excess, then soured milk, and finally cornmeal. Fry until golden brown on both sides (approximately four minutes total, but the temperature of your oil will dictate this a bit).

Controversial direction #2: Do not drain your fried tomatoes on paper towels. This will make them soggy. Remove them from the oil to your cooling rack over a paper-towel-lined baking sheet. If your oil was the correct temperature, the breading will not absorb too much, and this keeps them crispy. My grandmother drains hers on paper towels, but as Oprah says: When you know better, you do better.

Recipe Notes

  • Many recipes call for buttermilk, but if you don’t regularly drink it, you will end up with extra that just sits in the ‘fridge. To make your own, add one tablespoon of white vinegar to each cup of milk, stir, and let sit for ten minutes. Voila.

Assembly

Slice arepas down as you would a pita pocket; it’s up to you if you slice all the way through or treat them like a pocket.

Slip in a fried green tomato or two and then go from there. Favorite combos pictured above are: Bacon, Lettuce, and Fried Green Tomatoes with Chipotle Mayo; Fried Green Tomatoes With Pimento Cheese; Fried Green Tomato With Mushroom Bits, Pimento Cheese, Lettuce, and Chipotle. Any or all of these are delicious. Fresh herbs like maybe a little parsley or cilantro are also delicious.

If you want something simple and don’t have time for any fuss, just use pimento cheese and let it get all melty. So. Freaking. Delicious.

It’s Time For Fall: Frank’s Holy Bundt

It may not look like much, but it’s basically religion in a bundt pan. #Trust

It’s fall, people.

The calendar may argue the point, but the weather surely doesn’t.

And not a moment too soon. My schtick is not depression lit, but I have made no secret of the fact that in my personal life it can be hard to find a lot of things to get it up for on a daily basis (yes, I said “get it up for” not “get up for.”). Often life seems like a silly march towards the end, just looking around for things to fill the days until you don’t really have to look around anymore and can sit in a chair, watch the news, complain about the weather, and worry about your 401K.

This summer in particular has been one of the more difficult ones. Maybe it is the return of the prodigal daughter from France. Or the conflict and stress of a freelance project that is exciting and challenging but an ongoing battle. Maybe it’s the completely fucked state of the U.S. Whatever it is, things feel pretty meh, enough so that even a drop in temperature is enough to get excited about.

On this the first day of September, I had been planning to kick off a 30-day month with three things: 30 days of cooking, 30 days of writing, and 30 days of yoga.

I am a huge fan of the 30-day challenge, but only the ones I make up for myself because YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. In an effort to cast about for something to focus on, I thought piling on the 30-day deadlines would be a good idea.

And then September 1st hit. Today. And I am still finishing up a recipe that I have been working on for two weeks and have a website with half-written blogs and a cell phone with jotted notes.

Turns out, sometimes you have to plan a little bit when you are gearing up for something.

Ah, well. In the wake of flooding in Texas, missile tests in North Korea, and navigating the complexity of emotions and people in combining two households with two teenagers (yes, I compared those three things. What of it?), planning has been…difficult.

So here we are, September 1st, and I am presenting to you a recipe from someone else.

The original recipe is not actually called Frank’s Holy Bundt.

Khristian (my particular friend, for those of you new to the blog) has a friend Peter with whom he performs. Peter lives with a roommate, Liz, whose boyfriend is Frank.

I met Frank briefly once before and only in passing, but a couple weeks ago I spent more time with him on Peter’s back porch. Cocktails at The Bluebird Room in Hampden had me feeling social, so I stopped by Peter’s house on the way home and found Peter, Khristian, Liz, and Frank.

Frank is a musician, constantly on tour. He has unruly hair, a beard, and an easy, warm way about him. As with many people, he also comes with verbal tics, one of which is “holy.” Everything that night was holy, from the cupcakes I made Liz for her birthday to a broken down car in western Maryland. Even the mashed potatoes they heated up later that night were holy.

In honor of Frank, and that warm summer evening, and the reminder that sometimes it’s nice to not worry about the big picture and just hang out on the back porch and enjoy what is, I present this, Frank’s Holy Bundt, a strange but incredibly delicious marriage of zucchini and chocolate. I only made slight adjustments to the original recipe mostly because I like to use what I have. If you have an abundance of zucchini, shred it and freeze it in two-cup measures so you can make this mid-winter.

Frank’s Holy Bundt

This cake has very little sugar for a cake, plus vegetables, so it’s practically health food. I used chocolate chips because it’s what I had on hand, but if you are fancy and have fancy chocolate, use that instead.

Ingredients

2 cups gluten-free all-purpose flour
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt

1/2 cup butter, softened

3/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3 tablespoons strong cooled coffee
3 large eggs
2 cups unpeeled grated zucchini (I used frozen and squeezed all of the water out)
3/4 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips, chopped
Confectioner’s sugar for dusting

Method

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Spray a bundt pan with non-stick cooking spray.

Whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.

In a stand mixer, beat the sugar and butter until fluffy. Add the vanilla, coffee, and eggs, mixing well between each addition (see note below for why this sort of doesn’t actually matter).

In a separate bowl, combine the zucchini, chocolate chips, and a cup or so of the flour/cocoa mixture. Stir well to coat and separate as much of the zucchini as possible.

Add the rest of the flour mixture into the egg batter. Mix until just combined; the batter will be thick.

Fold the zucchini mixture into the batter, and blend with a spatula without overmixing (see Recipe Notes).

Pour into the prepared cake pan, and use your spatula to make sure the top is level.

Bake for 40 to 50 minutes, until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Transfer to a rack to cool for 10 minutes, and then place the rack on top of the bundt pan. Flip the bundt over and allow to cool completely.

Use a fine-mesh sieve to sprinkle with confectioner’s sugar. Try not to eat it all but remind yourself that there is zucchini in there if you do and count that as a couple servings of vegetables.

Recipe Notes

  • I beat the shit out of the butter and forgot the sugar. When I added it after the next step, the batter was lumpy and gross looking, with clumps of butter. DID NOT MATTER AT ALL. This cake is very forgiving.
  • When working with cakes, muffins, pancakes, etc, you will often see the direction “mix until just combined,” or “do not overmix.” This is so the traditional flour doesn’t begin to develop the gluten and result in leaden cakes. With gluten-free flour, you can mix as much as you want. I don’t worry about it at all, but if you are using regular AP flour, tread lightly.