BitterSweet

Beauty Queen

Despite never in my life having dabbled in the world of psychedelics, I swore I was hallucinating the first time I saw beautyberries. How else could you explain such lurid, luminous purple berries, clustered like overstuffed pincushions on branches? Growing right in my backyard, seeming to spring up out of nothing, they were unlike anything I’d ever seen in nature. Alarm bells ringing, everything about them screamed “POISON!” to my untrained eye. Perhaps unsurprising to those who know me, my instincts were spectacularly wrong.

Follow The Neon Signs

Native to much of the southeastern United States, these jewel-toned fruits have long been prized by people and wildlife alike, though you’ll never find them at grocery stores or farmers markets. Native beautyberry (Callicarpa americana) grows wild from Texas to Florida and up through much of the Southeast, thriving along woodland edges, roadsides, and sunny clearings. The berries ripen in late summer and early fall, forming their signature clusters of impossibly bright purple fruit wrapped tightly around the stems. Unmistakably recognizable, they standing out like neon signs against the muted greens and browns of the landscape.

Fresh Isn’t Always Best

Historically, Indigenous peoples used various parts of the plant for medicinal purposes, while both Native Americans and early settlers recognized its value as a food source. Frankly, their flavor is not their best quality. Tart, tannic, dry, earthy, herbal and somewhat medicinal, few people would consider them a snack. Probably for the best, as consuming large amounts of raw beautyberries could be digestively ruinous, at least in the short term. That said, a handful or two can really brighten up and boring salad. Adding visual and flavor contrast, a little bit goes a long way.

Jam Session

Where beautyberries truly come to life is in the kitchen. Their naturally vivid pigment produces jewel-toned jellies, syrups, wines, and teas while adding much-needed sweetness. Beautyberry jelly has become the plant’s signature modern preparation, being the quickest, easiest, and most satisfying way to dispatch a large harvest of the questionable fruit. Don’t expect that color to hold through baking or fermentation, though; they betray their neon facade as the anthocyanins breakdown when exposed to heat and acidity.

Bug Off

One of the biggest assets of beautyberries has nothing to do with food. Crushing the fresh leaves and rubbing them onto the skin serves as a reasonably effective mosquito repellent. Research has shown that compounds in the leaves, particularly callicarpenal and related chemicals, can help deter mosquitoes and other biting insects. While not as long-lasting or consistent as commercial solutions, it’s a godsend for anyone stuck off the beaten track when the blood-sucking swarms descend.

Beauties And The Beasts

Beautyberries could be mistaken for an engineered hoax. In this age of artifice, even I can’t believe my eyes when they light up the back yard every late summer, waving their violently violet pompoms in the wind. They’ll stain everything you own if you given them half a chance, and still, I wouldn’t dream of uprooting my wild shrubbery. Any plant that can be simultaneously beautiful, baffling, and vaguely threatening deserves to thrive.

August 17, 2026June 12, 2026

Hannah (BitterSweet)2 Comments

Asian Persuasion

Anything, be it a restaurant, dish, or book, labeled as “Asian” gives me pause. It feels like a reductive, overly simplistic term to encompass a staggering number of cultures. Even with a fair amount of overlap with shared ingredients and techniques, it’s less descriptive than the term “European,” which I daresay no food writer would attempt today.

For all my misgivings, The Vegan Asian Kitchen: 100+ Plant-Based Recipes Inspired by Malaysia, China, Thailand, and Beyond by WoonHeng Chia manages to steer clear of the obvious pitfalls to shine a light on a range of unique, distinctive dishes from the region, proving that a title never tells the full story.

Having grown up in Kuala Lumpur, Ms. Chia’s approach to cooking reflects a lifetime spent navigating the intersections of diverse foodways and traditions. Rather than flattening those influences into a bland, marketable caricature, she embraces their specificity, offering recipes rooted in personal experience while acknowledging the broader tapestry of regional specialties that have shaped her palate.

I began with the Thai Basil Zhua Bing (Flaky Layered Pancakes), page 337, drawn in by the promise of flaky, crisp dough layered with herbs. Being a visual learner, I found the written instructions for shaping the dough difficult to picture at first, and I had to read them more than once before committing to the process. A quick visit to WoonHeng’s blog, however, provided the clarity I needed in the form of step-by-step photographs that made quick work of the procedure. Once pan-seared, the results justified the means entirely. Exteriors blistered into delicate, golden layers that shattered slightly at the edges while remaining tender within, they were fragrant, slightly chewy, and deeply satisfying in a way that needed no accoutrements.

The Sweet and Sour “Fish,” page 117, immediately grabbed my attention, having only ever encountered a version of it at one of my favorite local food trucks, Bodhi Viet Vegan. Here, WoonHeng builds the fish facsimile from a base of blended tofu and oyster mushrooms, wrapped in nori and rice paper, which is then seared, sliced, and seared again before being lacquered in a glossy sweet-and-sour sauce.

Truth be told, I felt like a complete novice as I stumbled through my first attempt. I likely wrapped the rolls too tightly, and during the first sear, the rice paper split in several places. Forget about making clean slices out of that mess. Fortunately, I was able to reshape most of the pieces into reasonably acceptable medallion shapes, which held together better after a light dusting of cornstarch and a final flash in the pan. Finishing the dish with fresh cucumber and tomato added the perfect contrast to the sharp sauce and soft protein. Though not as polished as I’d prefer, I’m still impressed that it’s possible to recreate such a rare delicacy right at home, rather than resorting to a store-bought option.

Loaded with colorful vegetables, chewy glass noodles, and tofu, the Pad Woon Sen (Stir Fried Glass Noodles), page 241, feels instantly familiar, even if you’ve never tried it before. An essential staple on any Thai menu, it’s a case study in balance and simplicity. Savory, salty, spicy, sour, and subtly sweet, I think it would be impossible for even the pickiest of eaters to find fault in the complete package. My only moment of hesitation came when I noticed the recipe called for cubing the tofu while the photo showed short batons, which seemed better suited to intertwining around the glossy, slippery noodles. It’s a tiny detail, though, and one that was quickly forgotten once I took my first bite.

It doesn’t take a trained eye to notice the author’s clear affinity for mushrooms in these pages. Used liberally as everything from a seasoning to meat-replacement, the fittingly named king oyster mushrooms are most commonly tapped for grand centerpieces. I couldn’t resist the idea of dressing up the most humble of fungus, the common white button mushroom, as Kung Pao Button Mushrooms, page 123. Unmistakably bold, sharp with the heat of both acid and spice, each lightly fried little morsel is a whole mouthful. If you’re craving an assertive, umami snack to serve with cold beer, you can’t do much better than this.

Dim sum has always captivated me, especially considering how few restaurants nearby cater to vegan clientele. Lo Bak Gou (Turnip or Radish Cakes), page 163, was one particular small plate I had been circling for quite sometime, always intending to make at home but never quite working up the nerve to try. Cut into neat slabs and crisp edges, gilded with a golden sear, I was certain they were more the work of a professional chef, not a home cook. This recipe proved the opposite. Straightforward, almost disarmingly so, and far more affordable than a comparatively meager order, my fears evaporated along with the steam escaping from the sautéed daikon. I took a small shortcut and crisped the pieces in the air fryer instead of shallow-frying, delivering delicate crusts giving way to creamy interiors, using a fraction of the oil.

Part of what makes The Vegan Asian Kitchen so valuable is its refusal to compromise. Ms. Chia introduces readers to ingredients, techniques, and dishes that remain underrepresented in most English-language vegan cookbooks. By the same token, that commitment can present challenges for those who lack access to well-stocked Asian markets.

The book also contains a wide range of complexity. Many recipes are approachable enough for weeknight cooking, while others demand considerable time, preparation, or technical skill. Rather than viewing this as a flaw, it may be more accurate to see the latter as aspirational, inviting adventurous foodies to expand their repertoires and try something new.

This is definitely a case where you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, unless you’re referring to the mouthwatering photography that hints of more to come. While “Asian” may be an imperfect descriptor, it can still serve as a doorway to stories, techniques, and flavors that deserve a closer look.

August 14, 2026August 15, 2026

Hannah (BitterSweet)13 Comments

Wordless Wednesday: Souped Up Suppers

The One Pho – Vegan Pho with Fresh Noodles

Texas Chili Parlor – 5 Bean Veggie Chili

Ramen Del Barrio – Mole Tsukemen

Himalayan Flavor – Veggie Thukpa

Bodhi Viet Vegans – Vegan Crab-Tofu Noodle Soup

Bodhi Viet Vegans – Udon Soup

Bodhi Viet Vegans – Tom Yum Noodle Soup

Bodhi Viet Vegans – Kimchi Noodle Soup

Bodhi Viet Vegans – Fishless Dill Ham Sour Soup

Anh Em – Vegan Pho

August 12, 2026April 23, 2026

Hannah (BitterSweet)8 Comments

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.

Continue reading “Cold as Ice” →

August 10, 2026August 10, 2026

Hannah (BitterSweet)4 Comments

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.