Cold as Ice
Serving food that’s still frozen is a capital offense. Serving food with whole ice cubes in it, however, is an asset rather than an error. After literally drinking through gallons of chilled soups over the years, pouring them into insulated mugs to sip on like savory smoothies, it’s staggering that the thought didn’t occur to me sooner. Gracefully maintaining their composure while other bowls start sweating, there’s nothing more refreshing when sweltering heat bears down midday. Gazpacho is an obvious, well-qualified candidate, but I was inspired to look further afield to another cool contender.
Drink Your Vegetables
Okroshka is sometimes described as a liquid salad, and with the tart tang of buttermilk or kefir that’s evocative of a creamy vinaigrette, it’s an apt comparison. Grassy and milky, light and soothing, it tastes like the sensation of stepping out of the sun and into shade. Finely chopped cucumbers, radishes, and potatoes are essential, swimming beneath a marsh of fresh dill and green onions. Traditionalist may include ham, while vegetarian versions opt for hard boiled eggs, which brings me to the other white meat for my version: tofu.
Melt Down
Worried about ice cubes watering down your soup? Don’t be silly. This particular blend is meant to be brothy, not the sort of thick stew that would suffer from the intrusion. If you’re the type that likes to crunch on ice, you get the bonus of added texture, and if you prefer to spare your teeth, just spoon around the cubes as you go. It doesn’t have to be bland old frozen water, either. Make custom soup cubes using:
- Vegetable or mushroom stock
- Tomato juice
- Unsweetened non-dairy milk
- Diluted pickle brine
Cubed Crusade
I’m well aware that the most American thing to do is add copious amounts of ice to everything. What can I say; I can’t outrun my cultural conditioning, even when crafting a Russian staple. Look, if Jacques Pépin says it’s okay to put ice in red wine, then surely, we can start putting ice in soup. Okroshka, cool, calm, and composed, can withstand the perceived faux-pas. If we’re adding tofu in anyway, I think we’ve already passed the point of offending the purists.
Eternal Summer
Inspiration isn’t a commodity that can be bought and sold, nor is it a punctual visitor dutifully keeping an appointment on the calendar. Untamed, fickle thing that it is, it may show up late, early, or not at all, and there’s no way of knowing which. I can never begrudge it, frustrating as the dance may be, because eventually, albeit sometimes painstakingly, it does always grace me with its presence. I’m not sure if that completely explains why I was dispatching a whole summer’s harvest of fresh produce in the dead of winter, but I can be equally unpredictable, too.
This recipe has been a long time coming. Suggesting that others defy seasonality as carelessly as I did would seem irresponsible. I was simply following my muse, you see, and in a dearth of color and warmth, all it wanted was to paint the kitchen in the vibrant, sun-soaked hues of July. Just picturing the juicy tomatoes hanging heavily on their vines began to thaw my imagination.
All it took was one extra eggplant, leftover from another project, to light the creative spark. Channeling my future self, I made a one-pan meal I knew would be just the ticket in a few months. Simple, fresh, bright, and balanced, it’s exactly the sort of thing I would make with peak summer produce. Aside from slicing and dicing, the oven does all the work.
The cherry tomatoes collapse and burst into a rich, sweet jam that acts as a built-in sauce. The eggplant softens into a downright velvety texture, soaking up the olive oil and garlic like a sponge, while the fennel mellows into something deeply caramelized and sweet. Once pulled from the heat, the warm, jammy vegetables are tossed directly on the sheet pan with plump butter beans for substance, briny olives for a sharp pop of contrast, and a generous handful of fresh basil to wake everything up.
There’s no shame in eating it right off the sheet, provided you have a trusted trivet underneath. I found it even more gratifying, however, to spoon it over a big bowlful of soft polenta, letting the corn grits soak in all the juices. Of course, that may owe a lot to the urge for comfort and warming dishes when I made it, which is why I’m very happy to report that it’s just as compelling when tossed with pasta, hot or cold. In fact, you can chill the whole thing and take it outside for a picnic; something I could only dream of in that moment.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that you should never expect inspiration to simply land on your doorstep. If it does, though, you should always answer the door, no matter the time or season.
Wordless Wednesday: It Takes Tortillas
2n1 Salad Bar and Grill – Falafel Wrap
Carnaless – Bacon Con Guacamole Breakfast Taco
Carnaless – Beef Fajita Quesadilla
De Nada Cantina – Crispy Mushroom Picadillo Tacos
De Nada Cantina – Verduras Taco
La Yunta – Chips & Guacamole
Nissi VegMex – Fajita Nachos
Rad Radish – Chilaquiles
Ramen Del Barrio – Champiñón Taco
The BE Hive – Taco Crunchwrap
Vivo – Emma’s Choice with Mushroom and Spinach Enchiladas + Tofu Puffy Taco
Vivo – Tofu Puffy Taco
Bide Your Thyme
Time is the greatest commodity, far more valuable than any currency. Always in short supply, even when it seems to stretch on forever, we end up realizing it’s never enough. Thyme, however… I may have found the limit.
Thyme’s Up
Thyme grows like a weed in the right conditions, which are apparently perfectly aligned with a neglected little corner of my yard. I don’t remember planting it, and certainly not tending to it, and still it proliferates with a vaguely threatening tenacity. It throws its leaves back and laughs at the coddled tomato vines that wither right alongside their thriving stems. Any bounty is worth celebrating, but like the equally vivacious sage that would take over the whole garden, and possibly move right into my house if I left the door open too long, it’s challenging to use up massive quantities of such a potent herb.
Perfect Thyme-ing
Most recipes call for a few sprigs of thyme at most, later instructing the obedient cook to remove them before serving, like spent bay leaves that have overstayed their welcome. Scrolling through my mental Rolodex of the most thyme-laden dishes possible, I came up with only one possible solution: za’atar. Dried herbs and spices typically make up this Middle Eastern seasoning blend, used to brighten everything from hummus to flatbread, but why can’t we take a fresher approach?
It’s About Thyme
Za’atar pesto is the ideal solution to a profusion of fresh thyme. Softened by the addition of spinach, it’s every bit as bright, zingy, earthy, and herbaceous without punching you in the face with every bite. You can double or triple the recipe for an especially exuberant garden and freeze it to keep all winter, and beyond. That may not be necessary, though, when you can use it like traditional basil pesto in or on top of:
- Pizza and focaccia
- Pasta and gnocchi
- Toast
- Salad dressing
- Roasted vegetables
- Bean dip
- Sandwiches and wraps
- Grilled plant proteins
- Tofu scramble
- Just about everything edible, short of dessert
Thyme-ly Reminder
Never take time, nor thyme, for granted. Both are precious, when you know what to do with them.
Do’s and Do-ughnut’s
When I got my first air fryer, there’s nothing I wouldn’t put in it. Whole pies, seitan roasts, random leftovers; things that absolutely did not need to be air fried, and probably would have been better if not. More than the promise of cooking with less fat, it was the convenience and speed that reeled me in. The promise of never navigating a vat of bubbling hot oil didn’t hurt, though.
Naturally, pushing it to the extreme limits of this concept, I had to try my hand at doughnuts. Yeasted doughnuts seemed too easy, or maybe just too precious for something I was fully prepared to get wrong. Cake doughnuts were a challenge within a puzzle, lighting up the problem-solving part of my brain like a glow stick, since there was no way in hell I could fit a conventional metal mold in that tiny countertop oven.
The trick is to make a batter as thick as cookie dough, easily sculpted in the palm of your hands. Landing somewhere between a light brownie and a dense cupcake, these rustic rings have a homespun kind of charm as a result. Those ridges and dips catch the glaze differently, creating little pockets of sweetness that contrast with the darker, more cocoa-forward crumb underneath.
How this recipe could sit in my drafts for all these years is beyond me. Unlike many other unhinged air fryer experiments, this one has withstood the test of time, even if that original air fryer didn’t withstand my trials.