BitterSweet

An Obsession with All Things Handmade and Home-Cooked


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All About That Hass

Morning, noon, or night, avocado toast always hits the spot. Something about the way a luscious, creamy slab of ripe avocado melts into a hot slice of burnished golden toast defies explanation, yielding a taste far greater than the sum of its parts. Dress it up with any variety of spices, seeds, fruits, or vegetables; there’s no way to go wrong with this universal foundation. That said, it’s hard to beat the original and I always crave even more avocado, piling it up as high as gravity will allow.

Seeking a new way to pack in even more of the rich green fruit, I turned to crafting a more perfect base. This bread gets its soft, tender crumb and vibrant hue from a buttery blend of both mashed avocado and avocado oil. It makes for brilliant sandwich bread as well, sliced thin and layered with sweet and savory fillings alike… But of course, I’d always opt to add more avocado whenever possible.

Avocado Bread

1/4 Cup Warm Water (About 100˚F)
1 Teaspoon Light Agave Nectar
1 Packet (2 1/4 Teaspoons) Red Star Active Dry Yeast
2 Large, Ripe Avocados (About 9 Ounces Total)
1 Teaspoon Apple Cider Vinegar
1/4 Cup Aquafaba
2 Tablespoons Avocado Oil
1 Teaspoon Salt
3 – 3 1/2 Cups White Whole Wheat Flour

Combine the water and agave in a small bowl before sprinkling the yeast on top. Allow it to sit until the yeast is reactivated and bubbly; about 5 – 10 minutes.

Transfer the yeast picture to the bowl of your stand mixer and add in the flesh of the avocados and apple cider vinegar. Using the paddle attachment, begin to mix on medium-low speed, mashing the avocado until completely smooth. Once homogeneous, introduce the aquafaba, avocado oil, and salt, mixing to incorporate.

Add 3 cups of the flour and begin to mix slowly. Swap out the paddle attachment for the dough hook before adding in the remainder of the flour, if needed, to bring the dough together. Let the machine continue knead the dough for about 10 – 15 minutes on low speed, until the dough forms a smooth, elastic ball. It should be a rather soft dough, so don’t be tempted to add more flour.

Place the dough in a lightly greased bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and leave at room temperature for about 1 hour or until doubled in volume.

When the dough has risen, preheat your oven to 350˚F. Transfer the dough into a greased 8 ½ x 4 ½-inch baking pan and gently smooth out the top with lightly moistened hands. Let rest once more at room temperature for another 30 minutes.

Bake 40 – 50 minutes, until golden brown all over and irresistibly aromatic. Let the finished loaf rest in the pan for 15 minutes before removing it to cool completely on a wire rack. Slice, savory, and enjoy!

Makes 1 Loaf

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Sugar, Spice, and Everything Rice

Rice is life. The original “ancient grain,” rice in some form has been around since the beginning of recorded history, flourishing in every cuisine across the globe, the very foundation of civilization itself. The word for “rice” in Japanese is the same as the word for “meal,” which succinctly demonstrates just how essential this basic cereal has been for many millennia of cooks and eaters. Boasting well over 40,000 different, wholly unique varieties, one could easily eat rice every single day for their entire lives and never grow bored. Today, I’m talking about basmati, but not just any basmati; Texmati, the first of its kind to be grown in the US.

In collaboration with RiceSelect, I’ve plunged head-first into these tender, subtly nutty grains, relishing their versatility in both sweet and savory applications. Remaining firm and chewy after cooking, it’s particularly well-suited for stir-fries, soups, fried rice, pilafs, and stuffings, but to really highlight this whole grain, I wanted to take a less conventional approach.

Horchata, the greatest form of rice milk known to humankind, is arguably just as important to the evolution of society. Creamy but still light and refreshing, cinnamon tints the icy-cold beverage lending its gentle spice to the blend. It’s hard to improve upon something so brilliantly simple, so infallibly satisfying… Which is I didn’t try to in the first place. Instead, I took that inspiration and turned it into an entirely new treat, in the form of soft, decadent cookie bars.

More flavorful than plain white rice and more toothsome than typical basmati, Texmati Brown Rice truly shines in this new sweet sensation. Falling squarely between cake-y and chewy, these blondies manage to strike a delicate balance that’s only improved when served thoroughly chilled, just like a tall glass of horchata itself.

When the formula is so uncomplicated, every last ingredient counts, which is why I want you to taste these horchata blondies the right way: With Texmati rice. RiceSelect and Mambo Sprouts have generously offered to equip one lucky reader with not one, but two containers of Texmati Brown Rice, plus a bonus tote bag to flaunt around town. To enter, just hit the giveaway page here, and don’t forget to leave me a comment! This giveaway will run until April 19th, and the winner will be notified shortly thereafter.

Horchata Blondies

1/2 Cup Vegan Butter
1 Cup Granulated Sugar
1/4 Cup Aquafaba
1 1/2 Teaspoons Vanilla Extract
1/4 Teaspoon Almond Extract
1 Cup All-Purpose Flour
1 Teaspoon Ground Cinnamon
1/2 Teaspoon Baking Powder
1/4 Teaspoon Salt
1 Cup Cooked and Cooled Texmati Brown Basmati Rice

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees and line an 8 x 8-inch baking pan with aluminum foil or parchment paper. Lightly grease and set aside.

Place the vegan butter and sugar in a small saucepan and set over medium-low heat. Cook gently until the butter is melted and the sugar has fully dissolved.
Turn off the heat and stir in the aquafaba, vanilla, and almond extract. Let cool for at least 10 minutes.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, cinnamon, baking powder, and salt. Incorporate the cooked rice, tossing to evenly coat with flour. This will help prevent it from simply sinking to the bottom as the bars bake. Once equally distributed, pour in the liquid mixture and stir with a wide spatula, just until the batter is homogeneous. Transfer to your prepared pan and smooth down the top.

Bake for 22 to 28 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Let cool completely before slicing.

Store the blondies in an airtight container for up to 3 days at room temperature, or for up to a week in the fridge.

Makes 8 – 12 Bars

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Get Real

The question of “realness” is one for the ages. It’s a term that gets tossed around all across the board these days, sprinkled into conversation like confetti to both emphasize and punctuate a thought. Eating “real” food is an admirable goal, but what does it really mean? Striving to eat “healthy” food ranks right up there alongside the concept, but realness takes it a step further. If you ask me, the idea behind real food has so much more substance than any quick-fix diet plan, and bears much greater meaning once you peel back the flaky exterior. Real food is wholesome, derived from nature and not a test tube, something that anyone with even the foggiest vision could recognize as edible. Real food is practical, fundamentally within the grasp of the average cook, be it their best or worst day, busiest or most leisurely moment. Real food, above all else, nourishes on a holistic level, feeding the body and heart in the same heaping spoonful.

This is my ode to realness and my invitation to anyone else who’s felt flummoxed, infuriated, or frustrated by the vagaries of the word. I’m thrilled to announce my fifth cookbook, and my very first entry into the savory arena, Real Food, Really Fast. Recipes run the gamut from breakfast to dessert, and believe it or not, all can be completed in 10 minutes or less. Speed was the biggest challenge in development, but flavor was an absolute necessity. If it doesn’t taste good, it doesn’t belong in any cookbook, period. The full-color photos accompanying each and every recipe are the icing on the cake, the siren song luring hesitant readers to take a closer look, but even the most glamorous hero shots wouldn’t save a lackluster dish. I’m asking you to keep it real, so the least I can do is hold up my end of that bargain too.

Get excited, jump right in and pre-order (please!) but try to contain yourself, just as I’m struggling to do right now. The release date is still many months away, but there’s good news in that long stretch of silence: I’m now looking for recipe testers to help vet these dishes and make sure they’re all truly fit to print! It’s a tough job that takes dedication, precision, and most importantly… Hunger. Accessibility is essential to my recipes so there’s no presumed skill level here. If you’ve ever held a knife and cut a vegetable before, congratulations, you’re a qualified applicant! Please get in touch with me at hannah @ mysweetvegan.com (no spaces) if you’re interested in joining forces to craft a better cookbook.


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What’s in a Name?

One name is pretty standard baggage, if not the bare minimum for informal identification. Whether you’re a fan of your moniker or not, it sure beats yelling out “Hey, you! You with the face!” to command attention from friends and family. We all have at least one good name, and often two, perhaps three, and even a nickname for closer confidants. However, the web of casual connections grows increasingly tangled from there, when a seemingly endless stream of unrelated aliases all point in the same direction. What kind of secrets are hidden behind each different title? Where did all those names come from, and why did they keep relabeling the exact same item?

Sea foam, fairy food, hokey pokey, honeycomb, sponge candy- There could very well be more pseudonyms that I’ve missed, well concealed by this cunning candy. This vintage sweet had taken on a new assumed name with each community of unsuspecting bakers. None were troubled enough to ask many questions, so utterly enchanted by its signature matrix of sugary bubbles, forever frozen at the hard-crack stage, that all other concerns were quickly abandoned.

Though I set out on a mission to uncover the truth, that cause fell by the wayside as I cooked and caramelized, stirred and stewed, bubbled, boiled, and crystallized my very own sweet mystery. If anything, the kitchen enigma I created was even darker, more powerful than the old fashioned candies of yore. Crisp foamy craters redolent of chocolate define this newest incarnation, possessing almost as many forms of cacao as its storied names. There’s cocoa and dark chocolate of course, and cacao nibs for extra crunch, but the real secret ingredient here is chocolate extract. Nothing else is able to convey such a depth of flavor in this fragile ratio of sugars and liquids without collapsing the delicate framework of airy perforations.

I’m no closer to uncovering the true indentity of this culinary chameleon… But I do understand why so many before me have fallen for such a sweet devil without question. Now that I’ve given it yet another name to contend with, the waters of history grow murkier, tinted with the all-consuming powers of chocolate, but that’s far from a bad thing. What’s in a name, anyway?

This post was made possible thanks to Rodelle and their superlative cacao contributions.

Quadruple Chocolate Honeycomb

1 Cup Granulated Sugar
1 Tablespoon Agave Nectar
5 Tablespoons Water, Divided
1 Teaspoon White Vinegar
2 Tablespoons Cocoa Powder
1 Teaspoon Chocolate Extract
2 1/2 Teaspoons Baking Soda
2 Ounces Dark Chocolate, Finely Chopped
1 Tablespoon Cacao Nibs

Line an 8 x 8-inch square baking dish with parchment paper and lightly grease. It doesn’t need to fit perfectly inside the pan, as long as it will cover the bottom and sides without any holes for the liquid candy to escape through.

Combine the sugar, agave, 4 tablespoons of the water, and vinegar in a medium saucepan. Stir just to moisten all of the sugar and place over medium heat. Swirl the pan gently to mix the ingredients as the sugar slowly melts, but avoid stirring from this point forward to prevent premature crystallization.

Meanwhile, mix together the remaining tablespoon of water, cocoa powder, and chocolate extract in a small dish; set aside.

Cook until the mixture caramelized and reaches 300 – 310 degrees, also known as the hard crack stage in candy-making terminology, and remove the pan from the heat. Things will move very quickly from here, so be on your toes. Vigorously stir in the cocoa paste along with the baking soda, allowing the mixture to froth and foam violently. Immediately transfer the liquid candy mixture to your prepared baking dish but do not spread or smooth it down. Allow it to settle naturally to maintain the structure of fine bubbles trapped within.

Let cool for at least 1 hour until fully set. To finish, melt the the dark chocolate in a microwave-safe dish, heating at intervals of 30 seconds and stirring thoroughly in between each one, until completely smooth. Pour over the top and spread it evenly across the surface. Sprinkle with cacao nibs and let rest until solidified. Break the candy into pieces and enjoy.

Sadly, it doesn’t keep well for more than a two or three days at room temperature, even when sealed in an air-tight container, so enjoy without delay!

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Dig In

Unless referring to the planet itself, “earthy” is a descriptor of dubious praise. Much like the ambiguous label of “interesting,” such a word can be interpreted in many ways- Mostly negative. Mushrooms and beets can be earthy, and for as fervently as their fan clubs will tout the word as praise, their detractors just as quickly adopt it as evidence for their disdain. Telling someone to “eat dirt,” is a fairly clear insult, on the other hand, although I have no qualms recommending charcoal, ash, or lava for your next meal. Still, the mental imagery of picking up a handful of soil and chowing down inevitably leaves a bad taste in one’s mouth.

This was the war of words I battled when agonizing on this new recipe’s title. Designed as a celebration of spring, gardening, and new growth, the original title was simply “Dirt Dip.” The dirty truth of the matter is that each distinctive strata was inspired by nature; worms, dirt, pebbles, and grass. Appetizing, right? Perhaps honesty is not the best policy here. Let’s start over.

Bursting forth with vibrant flavors ideal for celebrating the vernal equinox, I present to you my layered garden party dip. A base of savory caramelized onions sets a deeply umami foundation upon which this dynamic quartet is built. Fresh lemon and mint mingle just above in a creamy yet chunky black bean mash. Briny black olive tapenade accentuates these bold flavors, adding an addictive salty note that makes it impossible to resist a double-dip. Sealing the deal is a fine shower of snipped chives, lending a mellow onion note to bring all the layers together. Make sure you really dig in deep to get a bite of each one!

4-Layer Garden Party Dip

Caramelized Onions:

1 Tablespoon Olive Oil
1 Large Red Onion, Halved and Thinly Sliced
Salt and Pepper, to Taste

Lemon-Mint Black Bean Dip:

1 15-Ounce Can (or 1 1/2 Cups Cooked) Black Beans, Drained and Rinsed
3 Cloves Roasted Garlic
1 Tablespoon Lemon Zest
2 Tablespoons Lemon Juice
2 Tablespoons Olive Oil
3 Tablespoon Fresh Mint, Finely Chopped
1/2 Teaspoon Smoked Paprika
1/2 Teaspoon Salt
1/4 Teaspoon Ground Black Pepper

Tapenade:

1 Cup Pitted Black Olives
1 Tablespoon Capers
1 Clove Garlic
1 Tablespoon Red Wine Vinegar
1 Tablespoon Fresh Parsley, Chopped

Garnish:

1/2 – 1 Ounce Fresh Chives, Finely Chopped

The caramelized onions will take the longest to prepare, so get them cooking first by setting a large skillet over medium heat. Add the oil and sliced onion, tossing to coat. Once the pan is hot and the onions become aromatic, turn down the heat to low and slowly cook, stirring occasionally, for 30 – 45 minutes until deeply amber brown. Season with salt and pepper, to taste. Remove the pan from the heat and let cool.

Meanwhile, make the bean dip by either tossing everything into your food processor and pulsing until fairly creamy and well-combined, or mashing the ingredients together in a large bowl by hand. You want to leave the dip fairly coarse for a more interesting texture, so stop short of a smooth puree if using the machine.

The tapenade is made just as easily. Either pulse all of the components together in your food processor or chop them by hand, until broken down and thoroughly mixed.

Finally, to assemble the dip, select a glass container to enjoy the full effect of your work. Smooth the caramelized onions into the bottom in an even layer, followed by the bean dip and then the tapenade. Sprinkle chives evenly all over the top. Serve at room temperature or chilled, with cut vegetable crudites, crackers, or chips.

The dip can be prepared in advance if stored in an air-tight container in the fridge, for up to a week.

Makes 8 – 10 Servings

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Mathematically Impossible Pi

There are “math people,” and then there’s everyone else. Math people breeze through tabulations for group dinners, factoring in precise tip percentages and taking individual drink orders into account, while the rest of us are still fumbling to pull up the calculator app on our phones. Math people relish real-life opportunities to crunch numbers when others can only feebly chew on their finger nails. To me, those skills are a sort of magical, superhuman power that I can only admire from afar, left behind in the dust as soon as we advance beyond basic multiplication and division. Needless to say, I am NOT a math person, but for the enviable folks who are, this day is for you.

Pi Day, March 14, 3.14, is the most mathematically sound day of the year to indulge in a slice of pie. At least that’s what the experts seem to say, and with my shaky analytical understanding, who am I to question the specifics?

Anything beyond the most basic math is an impossibility in my hands, but despite the name, this pie is not. The title merely refers to the way it “impossibly” forms its own crust as it bakes, no pastry needed to support a luscious custard filling. Riffing off my favorite childhood sandwich, stacked thick with gooey marshmallow cream slathered over crunchy peanut butter, this reinterpretation skips the bland bread and gets right to the good stuff. Deceptively simple, it takes little more effort to assemble than the classic school lunch inspiration itself.

Prepare for a decadent peanut butter and marshmallow onslaught; just a small slice will satisfy the most intense cravings, and it doesn’t take a math person to figure that out.

Impossible Fluffernutter Pie

1 Cup Crunchy Peanut Butter
1/2 Cup Vegan Vanilla Yogurt
1/2 Cup Plain Non-Dairy Milk
1 Teaspoon Apple Cider Vinegar
1 Teaspoon Vanilla Extract
3/4 Cup Dark Brown Sugar, Firmly Packed
1/3 Cup all-Purpose Flour
1 Tablespoon Arrowroot Powder
1/2 Teaspoon Baking Powder
1/2 Teaspoon Salt*
1/2 Bag (5 Ounces) Dandies Vegan Mini Marshmallows
1/2 Cup Roughly Chopped Roasted Peanuts

*If you’re using salted peanut butter to begin with, dial back the additional salt or omit entirely, to taste.

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees and lightly grease a 9-inch pie pan.

Whisk together the peanut butter, yogurt, non-dairy milk, vinegar, and vanilla in a small bowl, and set aside. Separately, combine the sugar, flour, arrowroot, baking powder, and salt. Mix thoroughly so that no lumps remain and all of the dry ingredients are completely incorporated. Add in the liquid mixture and stir until smooth.

Pour the batter into your prepared pie pan, and bake for 40 – 45 minutes. It should be set around the edges but quite wobbly in the center, much like a cheesecake. Pile the marshmallows on top in an even layer and return the pie to the oven. Set the broiler to high and cook for just 5 – 10 minutes, until the marshmallows are lightly toasted and golden brown.

Let cool to room temperature before garnishing with peanuts, slicing, and serving.

Makes 8 – 10 Servings

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Triangles and Tribulations

If ever a single holiday could rival the festivities of Halloween, it would have to be Purim. The comparisons are obvious: Fanciful costumes, parties and games, and of course, sweet treats. Where Purim has the leg up on the competition, however, is in those much celebrated edible offerings. Rather than merely candy, hamantaschen are the traditional pastry-based prize. They’ve become synonymous with the observance, almost more important to the observance than the historical significance itself. A Purim party without hamantaschen would be like underwear without elastic; uncomfortable at best, but in practical terms, truly impossible.

Previous years have seen the sugar-flecked and jam-splattered variations flying fast and furious out of my oven. Traditional or avant-garde, it’s hard to go too far wrong when you start with tender, buttery cookie dough, so rich that the best cookies threaten to flatten out into triangular puddles while baking. Flipping the script in a drastically new approach is a dangerous proposition, considering their fervent following, but I can never leave well enough alone. Perhaps they’re only hamantaschen in spirit, but since any food with three corners can stand in as a representation of Haman’s hat, I’m hoping my wild digression might still get a pass.

Savory, not sweet. Steamed, not baked. Wonton wrapper, not cookie. We can argue the disparities all day long, but when it comes down to it, there’s no question about their taste. Stuffed with gloriously green edamame filling, these dumplings are a quicker and easier alternative to the typically fussy sweet dough, and offer much needed substance after overdosing on the aforementioned pastries. General folding advice still stands as a good guideline to follow when wrapping things up, but once you get those papery thin skins to stick, you’re pretty much golden. If you’re less confident in your dumpling prowess, cut yourself a break and fold square dumplings wrappers in half instead. You’ll still get neat little triangles, and with much less full.

Short on time but long on appetite, I’m not ashamed to take a few shortcuts to get these delightful little dumplings on the table. You can go all out with homemade edamame hummus and even dumpling skins from scratch, but this quick-fix solution allows you to steam up a quick batch at the last minute, or any time the craving strikes.

Edamame Hamantaschen Dumplings

1 Cup Shelled Edamame
1/3 Cup Edamame Hummus
1 Scallion, Thinly Sliced
1 Clove Garlic, Finely Minced
1/2 Teaspoon Finely Minced Fresh Ginger
1 Teaspoon Soy Sauce
1 Teaspoon Toasted Sesame Oil
1/4 Teaspoon Ground Cumin

Savoy Cabbage
15 (3-Inch) Round Wonton Skins or Gyoza Wrappers*
Additional Soy Sauce, to Serve

*You can typically find these either in the produce section near the tofu, or in the freezer aisle with other Asian ingredients. Double-check the labels because these sometimes include eggs.

The filling comes together in a snap so for maximum efficiency, set up your steaming apparatus first. Line a bamboo steamer or metal steam rack with leaves of savoy cabbage to prevent the dumplings from sticking to the bottom, and start the water simmering in a large pot.

Simply mix together the shelled edamame, hummus, scallion, garlic, ginger, soy sauce, sesame oil, and cumin, stirring thoroughly. Lay out your dumpling wrappers and place about 1 tablespoon of filling in the center of each one. Run a lightly moistened finger around the entire perimeter and bring the sides together, forming three bounding walls. Tightly crimp the corners together with a firm pinch.

Place on the cabbage leaves and cover the steamer or pot. Steam for 2 – 4 minutes, until the wrappers are translucent. Serve immediately, with additional soy sauce for dipping if desired.

Makes 15 Dumplings

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