Of course, in the realm of food, these partners are many: wine and cheese, hummus and pita, peanut butter and jelly, burgers and fries.  Personally, I would add: [...]]]> There are some classic combinations that simply can’t be denied.  Fred and Ginger.  Joanie and Chachi.  The Yankees and the Bronx.  My sister and her daily quad Americano.

Of course, in the realm of food, these partners are many: wine and cheese, hummus and pita, peanut butter and jelly, burgers and fries.  Personally, I would add: oatmeal and bananas.

This past weekend, while hibernating due to sub freezing temperatures, I set out to conquer a partnership surprisingly new to my tastebuds.  Prepare to laugh:

It was chili and cornbread.  I know.  Who hasn’t experienced this duo?  I don’t have a good reason for 24 years of missing out; I simply knew that it was beyond time that I remedy the situation.

It began with a challenge, as cornbread requires baking, always a supreme feat for me.  But I learned to cook by getting my hands dirty and experimenting, and I know the only way I’ll ever gain any semblance of comfort with baking is to do the same.  So I pulled out my vegan recipe bible [that's Veganomicon for the unenlightened], and I glanced over their instructions for cornbread.

It seemed simple enough.  I opened my pantry and began collecting ingredients.

• 2 cups of cornmeal.  “Hmm, all I have is corn flour.  That should work.”
• 1 cup of flour.  “Whole wheat pastry flour…should be ok.”
• 1/4 cup of sugar.  “No refined sugars for this girl.  I have Sucanat.”
• 2 cups of soy milk.  “Don’t have that, but no problem, I can use almond milk.”

Do you see where this is going?  Then I texted my sister:

The thing is, I am not a recipe follower.  If I’m going to learn to bake, I’ve got to do it on my own terms, and that means recipes are inspiration, not rulebooks.  It might take a [long] while for me to master this new art, but this is a skill I’m cultivating for life, not for the month of February.  I can be patient.

The result made it obvious I’m still an amateur.  I wanted it moister and a bit sweeter, and in the end, I felt the cornbread needed the chili.  But it isn’t bad; in fact, I’m eating a piece as I type this.  Good thing cooking is something I know how to do.

No recipe necessary when vegetables are at hand:  I knew I was after a vegan chili heavier on the vegetables than the beans, high on the flavor and medium on the heat.  Easy!

Chili, I feel, is the kitchen sink of soups.  Toss together onions, garlic, chili powder, and beans, and you can claim it’s a bowl of chili.  Throw in twenty-six vegetables and seven different spices: it’s still chili.  Perhaps it complements a precise baked good so well because of its flexibility: they balance each other out.

I did something very unlike myself when I made this soup:

Truthfully, I saved some cash.  I am always about fresh, seasonal ingredients.  But sometimes you’ve got to go with cost and convenience.  I created this entire recipe for a grand total of $5 spent on frozen vegetables [I already had the beans, broth, and tomatoes in my pantry].

vegetable chili

• 2 T evoo
• 1 medium onion, chopped
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1 T chili powder
• 1 T dried oregano
• 1/2 T cumin
• 1/2 T paprika
• 1 can diced tomatoes with juice
• 1 c corn kernels
• 8 c mixed vegetables of your choice
• 3 c cooked kidney beans
• 4 c vegetable broth
• salt and pepper to taste

Sauté onion in oil until soft.  Add garlic, sauté one minute.  Add spices, sauté one minute.  Stir in tomatoes, corn, vegetables, beans, and broth.  Bring to a boil.  Simmer, covered, thirty minutes.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.

I’m providing a recipe here, but I don’t really believe in chili recipes.  It’s a prime opportunity to get creative.  [That's Greek yogurt on top, by the way].

No better reward on a freezing afternoon.

What are your perfect food pairs?

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Back in the summertime, I made a few “green monsters,” and while I won’t deny that the taste is pretty good, I’ve never felt the need to sneak in my greens through [...]]]> Outside the healthy living bubble, I realize that the following statement identifies me as a bit strange:  I truly look forward to eating salad.

Back in the summertime, I made a few “green monsters,” and while I won’t deny that the taste is pretty good, I’ve never felt the need to sneak in my greens through liquid form.  I actually love greens, and I nearly always have them with both lunch and dinner.  I have to say: that fact makes me pretty happy.

When I started down the green path, I was a baby spinach devotee.  I can’t recall exactly why I chose this one to begin – perhaps the rich color and adorable shape spoke to my visual needs.

It didn’t take me long to expand the repertoire.  I went through a phase where every week, I would purchase a different leafy green, just so I had the opportunity to try them all.  [We know how I like experimenting.]  I found myself joyfully sautéing kale, steaming Swiss chard, finding ways to stew the bitterness out of mustard greens.  As my tastebuds became more acclimated, I noticed that I truly enjoyed the flavors in the raw.  The toughness of kale and the sweetness of beet greens are now two of my favorite varieties on which to base a salad.  I’ve still got loyalty to my humble beginnings though, and I keep baby spinach in the mix too.

So, you get it.  My fondness for greens knows no bounds.  There is one exception though, and its name is collard.

During the “try every green” stage, collards obviously made an appearance.  I steamed them, tossed the thick leaves with oil and garlic, pierced one with my fork, took a bite – and grimaced.  Hate is a strong word.  I really hated them.

I had bought a pound, and so, ever vigilant, I tried again.  I didn’t dare attempt them raw, but in they went to curries, to bowls of grains, to hearty soups.  I couldn’t toss the $1.99 and all the health benefits down the trash chute, so I suffered through every last leaf of the bunch.  And I vowed never to buy them again.

Then, last weekend, my generous mother brought me some groceries.  Sitting on top of the first bag I opened, what did I find?  One pound of collard greens.

We met again.  Over the past few days, I have brainstormed and I have pondered, and finally I decided: the more flavor I could cook into them, the lower the chance of a repeat grimace experience.  So, I present:

stewed collard greens in peanut-tomato broth

• 1 T coconut oil
• 1/2 large vidalia onion, chopped
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1 t cumin
• 1 t chili powder
• 1 can diced tomatoes with juice
• 2 c vegetable broth
• 1 pound collard greens, coarsely chopped
• 2 T peanut butter
• 1.5 c cooked chickpeas
• chopped peanuts for garnish

Heat oil in large pot.  Sauté onion until soft; add garlic and sauté one minute.  Add cumin and chili powder; sauté another minute.  Add diced tomatoes, broth, and greens.  Bring to a boil; lower heat and simmer, covered, 25 minutes.

Stir in peanut butter and chickpeas.  Simmer 5 more minutes.  Serve garnished with peanuts.

I didn’t actually have peanuts, but that’s all this recipe was missing.  Both my sister and I ate this, and both of us had to go back for seconds.

Served with some random sides: roasted brussels sprouts and this recipe of spaghetti squash, subbing coconut oil for the butter.  If you ever wondered how to transform spaghetti squash into decadence, this is the way.

I had planned on leftovers for work the following day, and the portion of collards I was left with was rather small.  It was too good not to eat right out of the pot!

Operation Conquer Collards:  I believe I can call this one a success.

What is your favorite green?  Favorite way to eat them?

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My sister and I have often discussed that everything pairs well with hummus.  It’s good with vegetables.  It’s good with fruit.  It’s good with bread.  It’s good with a spoon.

I’m not kidding on that last one.  I could happily dip my spoon into the hummus container and eat it plain.

If you break down [...]]]> Who likes hummus?

My sister and I have often discussed that everything pairs well with hummus.  It’s good with vegetables.  It’s good with fruit.  It’s good with bread.  It’s good with a spoon.

I’m not kidding on that last one.  I could happily dip my spoon into the hummus container and eat it plain.

If you break down the recipe, it’s unsurprising that I enjoy it so much.  Chickpeas, I eat all the time.  Tahini, I’m obsessed.  Olive oil, it goes on half the salads I make [and the other half get topped with hummus].  Garlic, it tastes good with everything, bad breath aside.

components of a favorite variation.

Plus, hummus is a canvas for endless variety, something of which I am obviously quite fond.  I’ve tried and loved cilantro hummus, roasted red pepper hummus, olive hummus, sundried tomato hummus, pumpkin hummus, lemon hummus…  I could go on.

Really, it was about time that I developed a recipe that would allow me to get away with eating a bowl of hummus with a spoon.  Thanks to my ongoing soup kick, I spent a total of twelve minutes whipping up this masterpiece.  I don’t joke: if you like hummus, this one is a winner.

sundried tomato hummus soup

• 1 T evoo
• 1/2 c onion, chopped
• 1 large clove garlic
• 2 c cooked chickpeas
• 3 c vegetable broth
• 3 T tahini
• 6 sundried tomato halves

Heat oil over medium heat; sauté onion until browned.  Add garlic, sauté one minute.  Add vegetable broth and chickpeas; bring to a boil.  Lower heat and stir in tahini.  Transfer to food processor or blender.  Add sundried tomatoes and puree.  Can be served warmed or cold.

excuse the scratched bowls.

I had it warm, but I am positive it would taste equally delicious right out of the fridge.  This will definitely be making an appearance when summer comes.  [Though, it saddens me how far off that is].

What’s your favorite way to eat hummus?

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on a bed of kale and amaranth: sauteed onion, broccoli, and chickpeas, drenched in pumpkin-tahini sauce.

Goodbye rut of boredom, hello stovetop fun.

perfectly complete salad to-go: french lentils, brown rice, soaked arame, carrot, broccoli, cashews, miso, agave, rice vinegar.

As I was adjusting to the changes in my life, [...]]]> I’ve got my mojo back.

on a bed of kale and amaranth: sauteed onion, broccoli, and chickpeas, drenched in pumpkin-tahini sauce.

Goodbye rut of boredom, hello stovetop fun.

perfectly complete salad to-go: french lentils, brown rice, soaked arame, carrot, broccoli, cashews, miso, agave, rice vinegar.

As I was adjusting to the changes in my life, I believe I needed to keep food simple, predictable, even a little mundane.  I can acknowledge that fact – perhaps my little rut was a necessity.

last meal of the week, a result of a fridge without vegetables: amaranth, chickpeas, apple, tahini, lemon juice.

But now I’m back where I love being: knife in one hand, vegetable in the other.  Aromas building, flames peeking up from the stove [I have a gas stove; promise I'm not lighting fires].  I’ve felt my creativity return, covering plates and filling up bowls with interesting blends made from simple ingredients.  Exactly the way I love it.

Even those very simple, basic meals I crave now and again have seemed more eclectic and exciting:

roasted in coconut oil: turnip, butternut squash, carrot, broccoli.  alongside: french lentils+hummus, atop beet greens, garnished with sunflower seeds.

I find endless comfort in my cooking routine.  Perhaps because the only “routine” element is the act of preparing a meal.  Even with limited ingredients, the flavors, textures, and combinations are boundless.  There is always newness and excitement to anticipate, which is certainly how all of life should be.

broccoli-tahini soup; chickpea and savoy cabbage salad

I haven’t tired of broccoli, tahini, amaranth, lentils, or chickpeas; though they appear in almost all of the above meals, they felt different every time.  And a result of all the inspiration: an easy new recipe.  A soup, obviously.

broccoli-tahini soup for one

• evoo
• 1/4 c onion, chopped
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1.5 c broccoli
• 1 c almond milk
• 1 T tahini
• 1/2 t apple cider vinegar
• salt to taste

Sauté onion in oil until soft.  Add garlic; sauté another minute.  Add broccoli and almond milk; bring to a boil.  Lower heat and simmer, covered, for ten minutes.  Stir in tahini; remove from heat and transfer to blender or food processor.  Add vinegar and salt; pureé and serve.

This is a thinner soup, but it could easily be made richer with the addition of a root vegetable.  Parsnip would be a good one.

Being back in action never tasted so good.

Do you find excitement within your routine?  How do you keep it interesting?

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It must be the frozen weather, kindling cravings for flavors more pronounced.  I always enjoy adding spices of this and [...]]]> Lately, I have been all about soup. Raw, cooked, roasted, it doesn’t much matter; if I’ve daydreamt a recipe in the past few weeks, it has very likely been a soup.

It must be the frozen weather, kindling cravings for flavors more pronounced.  I always enjoy adding spices of this and that to my soups, whether it be a chunky minestrone or lentil, or a creamy butternut squash or broccoli.  Soup, I feel, should be an experiment.

curried leek and parsnip soup [coconut oil, leek bulbs and leaves, garlic, curry powder, coriander, parsnip, vegetable broth]

When you pour the mix into the blender, you take a risk.  There is no possibility of eating around a flavor that doesn’t quite work, because every ingredient blends into one.  More than perhaps any other style of cooking, soup-making truly has me feeling like an inventor, constructing an entirely new product from a few simple parts.

raw cauliflower soup [cauliflower, pine nuts, evoo, thyme, garlic, water, salt, pepper]

I’m afraid to say that packaged soups were actually a go-to meal for me a couple years ago.  One of the few pre-made foods available in Prague grocery stores, I often stocked up on various vegetarian flavors, somehow transformed into a powder that became a thick cream with the addition of heat and water.  The chemicals involved in that process frighten me a bit these days, but back then, I didn’t think much of it.  Plus, it didn’t hurt that the cost per 2-serving packet was usually ten crowns [a pricey fifty cents].

mushroom,  leek, and potato soup [evoo, leek bulbs and leaves, mushrooms, potatoes, garlic, fennel seed, vegetable broth, salt, pepper, parmesan]

I like that my soups now are homemade. Sure, I could buy a can or a box, but when I packed up my leftover mushroom-leek-potato blend to bring to work yesterday, it felt far more “me.”  I got my hands dirty while making it; I scraped the dirt off the leeks myself; I doctored up the broth with my own blend of spices; I garnished it with parmesan to kick up the flavor a necessary notch.  I cleaned up the mess I made pureeing it, cursed my blender for not being a Vitamix.

The creamy mix inside my tupperware – which was, in fact, cream-free – was one hundred percent mine. No recipe, only vegetables, an idea, a pot, and a blender.  Simple enough.

How about a triple question day?  What is your favorite kind of soup?  Do you make your soups from scratch?  And what was the last risk you took in the kitchen?

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So amidst career moves and first day jitters, yesterday, I also determined that I’m going to turn orange.

wintertime carrot pesto salad [walnut-marjoram pesto, carrot "ribbons"]

I [...]]]> Thank you all for the well-wishes and encouragement yesterday!  I appreciate it so much.  My first day went well!  I’ll update now and then on how everything is going.

So amidst career moves and first day jitters, yesterday, I also determined that I’m going to turn orange.

wintertime carrot pesto salad [walnut-marjoram pesto, carrot "ribbons"]

I don’t mean from the outside, in the way The Real Housewives have perfected, but from within.  The culprit?  An overdose of beta-carotene.  

Lately, I’ve been on a major carrot kick.  And why not?  It’s the right time of year, and my skin is as white as they come [really, tan for me is near albino for most].  Perhaps an orange tint wouldn’t be so bad. 

curried carrot and parsnip soup [steamed carrots and parsnips, vegetable broth, curry, ginger]

I’m pretty sure carrots were the first colorful vegetable I ever began to regularly eat. [The very first vegetables were onions and potatoes, caramelized and roasted, respectively]. I believe I have Cosi to thank, for providing a tiny baggie of baby carrots to accompany the paninis of which my collegiate self was quite fond. I never liked chips, so I always chose the carrot option.

I do remember a time during which I viewed the orange sticks as “rabbit food.”  It’s tough to get that image of Bugs Bunny, the carrot, and the “what’s up, Doc” out of your brain.  Of course, there was also the radical shift, where carrots and an appropriate low-calorie condiment were deemed a sufficient snack. [Have you ever dipped carrots in mustard?  Don't.]

carrot almond paté, wrapped in nori with savoy cabbage [almonds, carrot, lemon juice, scallions, dulse, bragg's]

These days, carrots are always my crudité of choice when hummus or guacamole are on the table. But really, they deserve far more of a status than that of a boring pre-meal crunch.  Somehow, they pair successfully with every manner of cuisine, adding a perfect sweetness to hot curry, complementing soy sauce in stir fries and sushi, even blending beautifully into desserts.  Certainly, that versatility deems them worthy of a main course.

Ps: Just kidding about the orange skin.  I like being pale.

Got a favorite carrot recipe? Are you on a kick with another food?

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A couple days ago, I made the most delicious soup.

I had purchased some leeks a few days prior – I always like to play with seasonal ingredients, and this one had been beckoning me from the grocery shelves on my past several trips.  So into the cart they finally went, and [...]]]> New on GoBackpacking: Getting Personal

A couple days ago, I made the most delicious soup.

I had purchased some leeks a few days prior – I always like to play with seasonal ingredients, and this one had been beckoning me from the grocery shelves on my past several trips.  So into the cart they finally went, and I set the intention to make a hearty soup.

I thought about looking up a recipe, but as usual, I really wasn’t in the mood to follow one.  The problem was, I had never cooked with leeks before.  And while I know I’ve eaten them, I couldn’t seem to recall the exact flavor.  Furthermore, I had no idea which part I was supposed to use: the white stalks or the long green leaves?  

Basically, I was flew into my kitchen completely blind.

A lot of people tell me they are creatures of habit.  I hear them talk about eating the same meals day after day, driving on the same commute, wearing the same clothes.  It’s safe there; it’s easy; it’s comfortable.

I know some aspects of my life have to remain constant, but I still believe there’s no reason to feel trapped in the mundane.  I challenge myself in simply daily ways; for instance, by playing with fashion or with food.   I might walk down the street to get home, because it’s more interesting above ground than on the subway below, and I have the luxury of living in a city where pedestrianism is embraced.

The little things I do aren’t going to change the world, but they do ensure that my life is anything but monotonous.  I’d rather mix things up and dive into something different, because more and more, I’m finding that I just love the excitement of the unexpected.  

And so it was with the leek. [Quite the metaphor to extract from a humble vegetable, no?] 

After washing off the dirt specks, I knew I needed to dive right in and take a taste.  I picked up a raw leaf, and I took a bite.  

Nothing to fear – it’s just food.  In fact, it was delicious.  Why do I not cook with these more often!?

With my palate successfully able to dream up ideas, I pushed forward.  I might not know the correct way to make a leek soup, but I figured, even if it tasted terrible, I’d eat it and try to do better next time.

i believe my thoughts at this point were, “hmm.  smells good.  i really have no idea what i’m doing.  i guess i should take a picture.”

Turns out – I hit it on the first try.  But even if I hadn’t, the challenge itself was worth the effort.

leek and celery root soup [serves 2]

• evoo
• stalks of 3 leeks, chopped
• 1 celery root, peeled and chopped into 1/2″ cubes
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1 t fennel seed
• 1 t dried thyme
• 3 c vegetable broth
• leaves of one leek, chopped
• 1/4 t salt
• 1/8 t pepper

Heat oil in medium pot.  Add leek stalks; sauté about 5 minutes.  Add garlic, sauté another minute.  Add fennel seed and thyme; sauté 30 seconds until fragrant.  Add vegetable broth and celery root; bring to a boil and simmer, covered, about 20 minutes.  Add leek leaves; simmer 5 more minutes.

Pour soup into blender and pureé [I left mine a little chunky].  Return to heat; stir in salt and pepper.  You may want to add more water or broth to achieve the desired consistency.  Serve hot.

Seriously, who needs recipes?  Not every kitchen experiment of mine goes this well, but when they do, it is incredibly satisfying.  I swear food just tastes better when you’ve made it yourself.  

I suppose I could say something similar about life too.

When was the last time you pushed yourself beyond your comfort zone?

Ps: a little preview of last night’s delicious excess:

Recap to come!

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The constant wet threat has [...]]]> Apparently, this past June was the rainiest in New York history.  We city dwellers tend to complain about summer heat – stuffy subways, heavier than usual smog, skyscrapers that block any sort of breeze.  Personally, though, I’d much rather endure a heat wave than the monsoon season we’ve had instead.  

The constant wet threat has compelled me to turn to my rain-weathering necessities, many of which should have no place in the month of July:

Rain boots – sandals, rain, and dirty city streets are not a good mix.

Hot tea.

Light raincoat and a cheap umbrella, which blows inside out every other rainstorm.

Steaming soup, with a side of crackers.

More comfort food.

Fiery spices make the cool rain more inviting.

Beach daydreams, which should be beach realities.

Is it raining where you are?  What do you need to make it through the storms?

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As I mentioned on my about page, I adore produce shopping.  I have a definite weakness for ingredients I’ve never used before; even if I’ve never tasted a certain vegetable, I often find myself purchasing it and dreaming up ways to cook with it later.

I’ve been eyeing tomatillos for a while now, and with all [...]]]>  

As I mentioned on my about page, I adore produce shopping.  I have a definite weakness for ingredients I’ve never used before; even if I’ve never tasted a certain vegetable, I often find myself purchasing it and dreaming up ways to cook with it later.

I’ve been eyeing tomatillos for a while now, and with all the green I’ve been loving lately, it was time to add them to my grocery cart.  I knew their traditional use was in salsa verde, but I was looking for a way to feature them in a main course.

The result started out as salsa verde soup – although in the end it wasn’t remotely verde in color.  A rare non-green meal!

mexican tomatillo soup (serves 2)

• 5 tomatillos
• 1/2 T lime juice
• 1/2 T lime zest
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1/2 medium avocado
• 1/2 medium onion, chopped
• 1/2 c red bell pepper, chopped
• 1/2 can diced tomatoes with juice
• 1 c cooked black beans
• 2 t chili powder
• 1 t cumin
• 1/4 c fresh cilantro
• salt and pepper

Preheat oven to broil.  Slice tomatillos in half and place on baking sheet.  Broil for 5 minutes.  Place tomatillos, lime juice and zest, garlic, and avocado in blender.  Pulse to combine and set aside.

Sauté onion in medium saucepan until soft; about 7 minutes.  Add cumin and chili powder; sauté 30 seconds.  Add pepper and tomatoes with juice; simmer about 5 minutes.  

Add half the onion mixture to the tomatillos and blend together.  Return blended mixture to saucepan; add black beans and simmer about 5 minutes.  Stir in cilantro, salt, and pepper to taste just before serving.

We had it over brown rice; I added extra chili powder to mine because my sister tends to have a phobia of all things spicy.  It definitely doesn’t look pretty, but it tasted good!

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