Tag: vegan

NaNoWriMo: Tamale Pie Saves The Day

Not pictured: two sleeping dogs and a laptop. And a cocktail.

As I begin this blog post, we are getting ready to fall back, and I have not even thought once about writing for this space in November.

I am, instead, writing a novel over these next 30 days, a novel that will most assuredly be a steaming pile of crap but that’s quite against the point. The point is to put the words down, a minimum of 50,000 of them, to let the characters guide the story and really hope for the best.

Take care, and good luck.

Generally, people participating in National Novel Writing Month advise stockpiling snacks and warning loved ones to lower their expectations appropriate to the challenge that lies ahead.

The 50,000 words is not much more than I write for other people for actual cash money but that writing is completely different. Non-fiction writing, even when it’s about laws in Arizona and online professional development, comes easy to me and always has. This month also marks the completion of a huge non-fiction writing job for me: the entirety of the AZ Dentist website.

If there is something wrong with your mouth, chances are very, very good that I can diagnose you. As a party trick, it’s frankly rather obnoxious.

So to celebrate the light pockets that come with finishing a huge job, while nourishing the family during this crazy month of writing (for those keeping track, it’s the 50,000 words on top of the regular 35,000 I have scheduled for November), there is this easy, cheap, filling, and delicious recipe: Tamale Pie.

I never thought I would give out this recipe, but desperate times call for sharing. This is, after all, mid-term elections on top of everything else, so something that fills you up and makes you feel cared for is the best I can do. It’s delicious, warming to the bones, vegan (without the cheese and sour cream), and loved by most everyone who tries it (minus picky teenagers, but they are old enough to heat up their own mac-n-cheese).

It is ironic and curious that so many of the things I love to eat and make for other people are things that I might not have made for myself. This is especially true for when I make dinner.

I make a distinction between making dinner and cooking. Making dinner is that sometimes-crazy activity that gets slotted between after school, athletics, classes, meetings, and bedtimes. It’s why grocery stores have pre-roasted chickens and pre-made mashed potatoes hot and ready. It’s why you can get a bucket of chicken that will serve four people for less than $20. And it’s why pizza places came up with delivery.

In short, making dinner is often frantic, often unhealthy, and sometimes at my house a bag of chips and a tub of guacamole. And maybe some ice cream. These are the types of dinners that most people rely on during National Novel Writing Month.

Cooking, on the other hand, is that lovely, leisurely thing that I do when I have ample time, beautiful ingredients, and no one to please but myself. It’s when I get to experiment with new tools in the kitchen (like my mandolin, which is a lifesaver if I ever had one), when I lazily leaf through cookbooks and cooking magazines to see what strikes my fancy, or when I head up to the market specifically for that day’s meal (so very European).

Making dinner is like feeding baby birds in the nest: everyone with their mouths open, squawking for food, any food, before they start gnawing on and pecking at each other.

Cooking is a light breeze blowing through an open kitchen window, a glass of bourbon by the stove, and Florence + the Machine in the background.

Somehow, some way, Tamale Pie meets somewhere in the middle. It’s easy, but it smells delicious, is like actual cooking without being terribly complicated, and it freezes well. This is a great way to avoid the greasy bucket of chicken and still get dinner on the table in 30 minutes.

Tamale Pie

Feel free to make adjustments to the spice level and seasoning as you wish. Amounts below are mere suggestions.

Ingredients

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon chili powder
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 cans beans, rinsed and drained (whatever you have: pinto, kidney, black beans)
1 cup diced tomatoes with juice
1 can of corn, drained (frozen is fine, 2 cups)
1  ¾  polenta (grits work, too – see Recipe Notes)
4 to 6 cups water
¾ teaspoon salt
2 cups Monterey jack cheese, shredded (leave out for vegan version, or use vegan cheese if you are that sort of person)

Method

Preheat oven to 350⁰. Grease and 9″ x 12” glass baking dish (or one of those white Corningware casseroles, the big one) and set aside.

Heat oil in a sauté pan over medium heat. Add onions and cook until translucent, about five minutes. Add garlic, chili, and cumin and sauté five minutes more.

Add tomatoes, beans, and corn. Season with salt and pepper and let simmer uncovered while you make the crust.

Bring four cups of salted water to a boil in a large saucepan. Whisk polenta in. Cook over medium heat until boiling. Reduce heat to low and cook until thick, stirring constantly, about ten minutes. If your polenta gets thick but is not yet soft and creamy, add more water and continue to cook.

Taste bean mixture for seasoning and flavor before assembling the dish. If it needs more of anything add it now.

Remove polenta from heat. Pour half of the polenta mixture into the glass baking dish, spreading it halfway up the sides of the dish. Pour bean mixture on top, then pour polenta on top of the beans and spread to cover. You will not use all of the polenta (see below)

Top with shredded cheese and bake for 30 minutes. Let sit for at least five minutes before eating. Ten is better.

Recipe notes

  • Any combination of beans is delicious. Use whatever you have on hand.
  • If you don’t have tomatoes, substitute a jar of salsa.
  • Sharp cheddar is also a great topping.
  • Pass the sour cream when serving.
  • If you have leftovers, reheat by adding a little water to whatever you are reheating in and placing the pie on top. The water will lightly steam the polenta as it heats, helping it have a creamier texture the next day.
  • This recipe makes extra polenta, which should be considered a good thing. Reheat the polenta and add some roasted veggies and a fried egg for an award-winning and sanity-saving dinner for two the following night.

Love And Anger: Chocolate Cupcakes With Mole Ganache and Cinnamon Buttercream

Moody. Just like you.

Four years and four months after his death in a car accident, I am beginning to only remember the bad things about Dane.

The stages of grief are not stagnant and are generally understood to be fluid and back-and-forth; you don’t reach one stage and then never backslide. I seem to be moving back and forth between anger, depression, and acceptance, settling in mostly to the easiest emotion for me to deal with.

Anger. Which often hides its evil bitch of a twin, depression. So there’s that also.

I think we most of us are very comfortable with anger. Every time I open The Facebook or listen to the news, there’s something else to be angry about. I feel it when I get behind the wheel of my car (this is infrequent lately) and spend most of my time driving talking myself down and taking deep breaths.

The hardest thing these days is moving towards love.

I believe deeply in love and compassion and kindness. This is at war with my general dislike and distrust of strangers, but it dovetails nicely with my deep-seated and long-held belief that love truly is all that matters. Real, deep, abiding love. It’s the one thing that is free and available to anyone. You don’t even have to have a target for that love. Love, in general, can be spread all around, like butter on a hot bagel (and just as delicious).

I think that love is healing and softening and strengthening and is, ultimately, the thing that every single person on this planet actually wants and needs to survive.

But shit, man. Sometimes people are deeply painful and difficult to love. This is our 5th Father’s Day without Dane. Every year Sicily and I mark the day by doing something that Dane might have liked to do, but this year I find myself increasingly angry when I see and hear all these tributes to great dads. I can only see the negatives, chief among them the fact that he did not take care of himself and has left his daughter father-less, for this Father’s Day and an infinite number of other days that will find his child with teary eyes because her father isn’t there.

I did love Dane, deeply. He was funny and clever (see also “Wormaggedon” to describe the surfeit of dead worms in our driveway after a gully-washer). He could fix pretty much anything, and if you wanted to have fun, he was your go-to. He was generous to a fault and took everyone at face value (a trait his daughter has deliberately and conscientiously cultivated in herself). He loved his child, and he loved me – it was obvious in the way he wanted to be with us all the time. No one was happier than he was, puttering around the house and hanging with his girls.

But he sabotaged himself at every turn, his death just another example of that. He was careless with his time and money and he often avoided responsibility, making me the bad cop (but also the person who kept our ship afloat and mopped up his messes). The aftermath of his sudden death is another example of that, and I have been the target of some spectacular grief  outbursts from our child. I have parented very poorly at times these past years (well beyond minor poor parenting. Have you ever told your kid to shut the fuck up? I have. For the record, even though she really, really needed to shut the fuck up, I deeply regret telling her to do so.#ForReal), and I have, at times, found myself thinking about just how long I have to actually keep myself alive, respectably and so that our daughter is stable and set.

These have been rough days of late. No one tells you that grief lasts so long, not the wailing and teeth-gnashing part but the part where you have to figure out actually what the fuck and how to move forward.

Not surprisingly, I am craving comfort food. Chocolate comfort food, specifically. I guess I don’t actually know many people who crave a heaping bowl of kale when they stress eat, but I am also past the days when a simple piece of chocolate will do. If I have my say, my comfort food is cake of some kind, with plenty of frosting.

Just like love, these cupcakes are not just a straightforward chocolate smack in the face. They are complex and have deeply flavored layers of cinnamon and spice. They are warm and comforting  – just like love – and spicy and easy to overdo – just like anger.

Chocolate Cupcakes With Mole Ganache And Cinnamon Buttercream

Ingredients

Chocolate Cupcakes

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar (not packed)

1 1/2 cups gluten-free all-purpose flour (regular AP flour works, too)

3/4 cup cocoa powder, sifted

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

3/4 teaspoons salt

2 eggs + 2 egg yolks at room temperature

3/4 cup sour cream or Greek yogurt

1/2 cup milk

1/4 cup vegetable oil

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3/4 cup hot coffee

 Mole Ganache

2 heaping tablespoons (or to taste) prepared mole negro (see Recipe Notes)

1 cup chocolate chips

1/2 cup + 2 teaspoons heavy cream

Cinnamon Buttercream

2 sticks butter, softened

3 – 4 cups powdered sugar, sifted

2 teaspoon cinnamon (sifted with the powdered sugar)

3 teaspoons vanilla extract

4 (ish) tablespoons heavy cream or whole milk

Method

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and place cupcake liners in a muffin tin. Set aside.

For the cupcakes: In the bowl of a stand mixer (or in a large bowl), mix together both sugars, flour, sifted cocoa flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.

In a medium bowl, combine eggs, sour cream, milk, vegetable oil, and vanilla extract and mix well to combine.

Add wet ingredients to dry and mix until just wet. Add hot coffee and mix until thoroughly combined, about one minute.

Fill cupcake liners 2/3 of the way full and bake for 15 – 17 minutes. Remove from oven and cool completely before filling and frosting.

For the ganache: Place mole, chocolate chips, and heavy cream in a heavy-bottomed saucepan over low heat and stir constantly until chocolate and mole are completely melted and mixture is smooth. Let cool slightly, then place in refrigerator.

For the frosting: Place softened butter in a large bowl and sift in powdered sugar and cinnamon. Add vanilla and one table of heavy cream to start. Use a hand mixer to beat until creamy and smooth and the consistency of frosting. If it is too thick, add more heavy cream; add more powdered sugar if it’s too thin.

Assembly: Use a demitasse spoon or sharp knife to remove a divot of chocolate cupcake (set that aside to freeze and then mix into ice cream). Scoop or pipe chocolate mole ganache into that divot, then pipe frosting in a swirl to cover (you can use a star tip and a pastry bag to make rosettes or a fancy swirl.

Eat a million of these. Recipe makes (annoyingly) 32 cupcakes.

Recipe Notes

I used mole negro from Guelaguetza, a specialty food company in California. Their mole is complex and spicy and earthy and delicious; I found it at the Emporiyum in Baltimore back in April. Previously, my go-to mole was Dona Maria’s, which had the bonus of coming in a lovely juice glass and is easily located in the Hispanic food section of most grocery stores. You can use whichever mole you wish.

 

The Court’s Indulgence: White Bean, Sweet Pepper, And Arugula With Preserved Lemon Vinaigrette

Court’s indulgence. This picture is blurry. It was a long day.

It’s not often that things on TV are pretty much exactly the same in real life.

Last week I sat on a jury for a five-day trial. The defendant was accused of 24 counts of crime, including first-degree rape and possessing a weapon when he wasn’t allowed to possess a weapon.

(Fun fact: the defendant’s last crime was prosecuted by Ruth Bader Ginsberg in 1993. Federal drug charge.)

I have never sat on an actual jury; I have been called for jury duty three times in my life, and mostly it’s just lots of sitting around and watching movies like How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days and Avatar. This time was different, and I was quickly seated as Juror #4 by noon on my first day of reporting, then sent home until Monday when the trial would begin.

Everything about the trial was pretty much what it looks like on TV: the dramatic opening and closing statements, the cross examination, the witnesses getting testy with the defense attorney, and, finally, conflict (and resolution) in the deliberation room.

Time seemed strangely fluid as well; hours would pass in the courtroom in what seemed like minutes, but in the deliberation room, every minute was an agony of waiting. At the end of the day we would emerge from our windowless room, cram ourselves into the elevator, and then emerge at the corner of St. Paul and Lexington, blinking against the too-bright sunshine of the late afternoon, at the height of rush hour to crawl our way home.

Of all the things that stuck in my mind that week, one in particular stands out. Whenever the lawyers had to gather something or find something that meant the action had to pause briefly, they would say, “Court’s indulgence,” and the judge would nod, indicating that she was cool with the wait.

“Court’s indulgence.”

I don’t know why, but I love this saying. It’s a respectful request for permission to pause while you gather your thoughts, something we could all use every now and then.

One day when I came home it was stuck in my head like a mantra, playing over and over as I fed the dogs and made dinner. On that night, it was hot outside and the back door was open, letting in a feeble breeze (and lots of flies, which drives The Black Dog crazy, an admittedly short trip). It had been an especially long day, nine to five listening to a case about rape and gun violations, and I wasn’t particularly interested in making something complicated for dinner or turning on the stove.

Court’s indulgence: I remembered my preserved lemons, which were ready and waiting.

Court’s indulgence: There were some small, sweet yellow, red, and orange peppers in the crisper, along with half a red onion and some arugula that I wouldn’t even need to wash.

Court’s indulgence: A bomb shelter’s worth of canned beans in the coolness of the basement.

Et voila. Dinner, eaten with the court’s indulgence, on the balcony in the back of the house as the evening wore on and the sun sank low.

White Bean, Sweet Pepper, And Arugula Salad With Preserved Lemon Vinaigrette

Ingredients

2 tablespoons minced preserved lemon (rinse to remove salt and also strip away the squishy flesh)

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

1/4 cup best-quality olive oil (it matters)

1 heaping teaspoon minced garlic

1/2 to 1 teaspoon black pepper (I like a lot of pepper)

1 15-ounce can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed

One large red pepper, chopped, or five small multi-color pepper, chopped

1/2 large red onion, sliced

Handful of arugula per salad

Method

Make things easy on yourself and mix this all in the same bowl. I used a medium-sized round white Corningware bowl.

Place first five ingredients in bowl and mix together. Add beans, peppers, and onions and stir to combine.

To serve, place a large handful of arugula in a bowl, then top with beans. If you feel the need, you can drizzle with more olive oil and a squeeze of lemon, but mix it all around and taste before you do that.

Beans are even better the next day, chilled and then brought to room temp before serving.

 

 

Cinnamon-Basil Ice Cream

Pumpkin who?
Pumpkin who?

While everyone is nattering on about pumpkin this and pumpkin that, I am just trying to make the most of what’s left of my scraggly herbs. My little herb patch has been spotty this year, and the basil was no exception – leggy and gone to seed early. #StupidBasil

But a late hot stretch of weather and a bit of humidity produced some lovely leaves, and I used them to make The World’s Easiest Ice Cream.

Literally.

I have used the same basic base and added whatever struck my fancy with spectacular results. Sure, you could make a fancy pants custard, but why would you if you don’t need to? A custard base can make the final product a little creamier and more lush, but tweaking the ratio of heavy cream to milk can help with that.

Give it a whirl.

Cinnamon-Basil Ice Cream

Ingredients

4 cups of dairy in any combination (half-n-half, heavy cream, milk, coconut milk – whatevs. The more cream, the richer the texture. I use whatever is in my ‘fridge.)

1/2 cup of sugar (again, you could add more, but why? This is just enough.)

Handful of basil (like a cup or so of leaves. More means more basil flavor.)

Splash of vanilla extract (a teaspoon or two. You could also use a whole bean, split and simmered with the dairy if you like.)

Tons of cinnamon (to taste, but I used probably three tablespoons. Maybe more. I like cinnamon.)

Method

Place dairy in a saucepan and gently heat until it is warm but not boiling. Little bubbles will form around the edges, and then you know it’s ready.

Remove from heat and add basil leaves. Stir until they are submerged.

Let this mixture cool to room temperature, then strain basil leaves out. Add sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon, and stir until sugar is dissolved.

Process this mixture according to your ice cream machine’s directions.

I freeze mine in a bread pan lined with plastic wrap so I can make easier lift it up and out when it’s ready. You can freeze yours in whatever you like. Or you can eat it right out of the ice cream maker when it is more like a milkshake. #YourMove

Pro tip: The dairy, sugar, and vanilla make an excellent base for any flavor. I have made mint chocolate chip with fresh mint, blueberry cheesecake, chocolate, and the paw paw ice cream in the previous post. Next up is strawberry-rosemary.

Sky’s the limit.

What’s your favorite flavor?