Category: Baking / Cooking

The Joy of Food

Food should be a thing of joy. It should be a catalyst of joy; an acknowledgement and celebration of joy; the embodiment of joy that can be felt, seen, and fully experienced. Food Joy: Over 100 Vegan Recipes that Delight the Senses, Nourish the Body, and Uplift the Spirit by Tess Challis pays homage to exactly that, sharing the recipes and principles behind creating unconditional happiness, every step of the way.

As a plant-based cookbook first and foremost, you’ll find the usual range of snacks, soups, salads, entrees, breakfasts, and sweets, all made with whole foods. From this holistic approach, health and wellness are critical components of fostering joy, not tiresome obligations that come at the expense of it. Simple techniques are leveraged to yield quietly spectacular results, meeting cooks of all skill levels where they are.

I had the privilege of photographing and designing the book, watching the journey unfold as Tess worked her magic. It’s her ninth publication, but the first with contributions from her daughter, Alethea, balancing family favorites with fresh inspiration. That means miso soup with a bold citrus infusion, personal pizzas made with flourless, air fried crusts, and creamy mac and cheese boasting more protein than your average filet.

Every page radiates warmth, from the heartfelt anecdotes to the vivid, inviting imagery that captures each dish in its most irresistible moment. There’s a soulfulness to Food Joy that transcends the recipes themselves. Each one feels like a love letter to comfort, creativity, and connection. Whether you’re drawn in by the golden glow of air-fried turmeric cauliflower or the playful elegance of a layered chia pudding parfait, there’s a genuine sense that you’re being welcomed into something special, something deeply personal.

Tess encourages readers to embrace the process, to savor the chopping and stirring as much as the final bite. With Alethea’s voice sprinkled throughout, there’s a multi-generational dialogue that reminds us joy can be passed down, shared, and reinvented. Food Joy is nourishment in every sense of the word: physical, emotional, and yes, even spiritual.

Hannah (BitterSweet)9 Comments

Can I Prik Your Brain?

“Try to guess the secret ingredient. The seeds kind of give it away.”

Squinting hard into bowl of rapidly diminishing dip, as if staring more intensely would reveal a hidden message, I racked my brain. I could taste chilies, of course, which the seeds could be attributed to, but isn’t that too obvious? There was an undercurrent of garlic beneath the heat, a blast of sour lime, the salty, umami flavor of fermented soy… But what’s the base?

What is Nam Prik?

Nam prik is more than a mere condiment in Thai cuisine. Traditionally built on a foundation of fermented shrimp paste, it’s an appetizer, sauce, sandwich spread, and party starter all in one. Powerfully flavorful with an intense balance of sweet, sour, spicy, and salty tastes, it’s heady stuff that you won’t soon forget. Reimagined by my good friend and talented chef Philip Gelb, I struggled to pick apart the fully melded components.

Not-So-Secret Ingredient

At the risk of jeopardizing my foodie cred, I admitted defeat. “Eggplant,” he professed, with a conspiratorial grin. Raw eggplant, no less. Green Thai eggplant, unlike the Italian, Chinese, or Japanese varieties, can be eaten raw. Crunchy when simply sliced, it transforms into a soft and yielding paste, ready to soak in all the aromatic seasonings you can throw at it.

We Got The Funk

Nam Prik Gapi (or Kapi) made with the classic shrimp composition can be a bit polarizing. Some say its an acquired taste, like stinky tofu or other similarly pungent fermented foods. For the vegan version, fermented Chinese bean curd (furu) brings the funk in a mild-mannered way, more tangy than twisted. Doenjang and miso paste work together to add an earthy, salty depth, amplifying the umami throughout.

After hounding him for a few weeks, Phil graciously shared his recipe, possibly to get me off his case. Of this creation, he says, “This has recently become a favorite dish of mine. Ironic since I never would have tried it in the first place as the idea of a shrimp paste has no appeal to me. Since I have no memories of the taste of shrimp, I have no idea if this has any imitation characteristics. Nonetheless, the flavor of this dip is exceptional in and of itself. However, when I am on the other side of the planet in a stunningly beautiful vegan restaurant and my new friend picks that dish out of the menu, I am happy to try. A true umami bomb! Never thought about eating raw eggplant before but this recipe changes that attitude, completely. Dips like this are very common in Thailand, served as appetizers with raw, crunchy, fresh vegetables. I find fried tempeh to be the ideal texture and flavor to dip into this.”

As I finished off the last scoop of that addictive dip, the flavors of hot chilies, fermented bean curd, tangy lime, and earthy eggplant lingered on my tongue. It’s a marvel what can happen when you let fresh ingredients be your muse and simply trust in the process.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)8 Comments

Died and Gone to Veggie Heaven

I never made it to Veggie Heaven. Beloved as it was, and still is to those who can’t relinquish hope that it may someday return, this classic Austin establishment perished during the height of the pandemic. In fact, as “luck” would have it, the announcement came on the very day that I moved here. Maybe I’m better off not knowing what I’m missing. It’s hard to say, but its lingering influence can’t be ignored. References to Protein 2000 pop up frequently enough to trigger a sense of anemoia.

What Is Protein 2000?

Digging through the internet archives, the original menu description is as follows:

“So what exactly is the Protein 2000, A.K.A. the P2000? This is the number one question asked, as it is the most popular dish we serve. The P2000 is made out of soy protein isolate that is the result of separating protein from the whole soybean. The end result is a curd with a texture that resembles chicken. With 45 grams of protein per cup, it is an excellent protein source for vegetarians. The Protein 2000 is battered and fried to add that crispy texture and then sautéed in sweet brown sauce. So why was it named Protein 2000? This dish was created at the end of 1999 and was given the number 2000 to commemorate the year 2000.”

Recreating An Imperfect Copy

Recreating a dish you’ve never tasted before is both difficult and effortless. Difficult, because it’s impossible to determine whether or not its been recreated faithfully, as originally intended, hitting all the same high notes of the genuine article. It’s also a snap because without that frame of reference, as long as it tastes good, I’d call it a success. From the trail of breadcrumbs left behind as clues and a basic understanding of Chinese-American food, I feel reasonably confident that although imperfect, this formula should come close enough to scratch that same itch.

Takeout At Home

Essentially broccoli and beef through a plant-based lens, fried soy protein meets tender broccoli florets under a silky blanket of garlic-infused brown sauce. Large TVP chunks are the key to making a more accurate copycat, but at the same time, aren’t essential to making a great meal. They’re more difficult to find outside of online stores than classic staples like tofu or seitan, which make equally great protein options.

Making New Memories

Shared memories of Veggie Heaven and this iconic dish remain, looming large in the minds of those who were lucky enough to savor it. Even if I never get the chance to taste the real thing, there’s comfort in knowing that the spirit of the place lives on, in our hearts, homes, and stomachs.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)8 Comments

Center of the Cinnamon Roll

It’s not every day, or even every year, that I get the chance to share a guest post on the blog, so you have to know that this one’s special. I’m lucky enough to have a local chef Craig Vanis of Bistro Vonish joining us to share a story that’s both personal and delicious. As someone with a deep love for food and tradition, Craig reflects on the small yet unforgettable moments that food can create. Especially as we near Mother’s Day, it feels especially poignant as he takes us back in time to his grandmother’s kitchen, where cinnamon rolls were more than just a treat, but also a symbol of connection and joy. It’s a real treat to have him share that moment in time along with the recipe that’s been a part of his family for years. -HK

Somehow, grandmas always have the best treats. It’s a fact. Maybe our memories of those goodies tasting so great is due to a childish regression. Or maybe, and I think this is more likely, everyone is factually correct in remembering their grandma’s snacks as superlative. Having those little treats at Grandma’s house is always going to be a little slice of joy so wholesome that Norman Rockwell wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Being a descendant of Bohemian immigrants, kolaches were a must have at Grandma Vanis’s house (only the sweet varieties are “kolache” in a Czech home, and the poppyseed filling is especially popular). But kolaches were not my favorite treat in her kitchen. My favorite? The Cinnamon Roll. Yes. Singular Cinnamon Roll. Specifically, Grandma’s Giant Cinnamon Roll (™). How giant? Giant. About 10 inches across. Approximately 120 cubic inches. It was as if a whole loaf of monkey bread was twirled to maximized cinnamon-sugar surface area. “Quick! Tell me about grandma’s cinnamon roll.” I’d say, “It’s huge!”

Her mid-western farm house was always abuzz with innumerable grand kids, and eventually, great grand kids. The Cinnamon Roll was an ever-winding solitary behemoth, spiraling out to the far reaches of a large pie pan. A horizontal monolith of hypnotic enjoyment. We would cut sections off of the outer edge as the circumference tightened in on itself (full disclosure: we probably used our fingers unless an adult was watching), relishing each delightful morsel while we caught up with the extended family.

There’s a delicate dance to this ritual where you do not want to fill up too much on the outer layers, lest you miss being the lucky duck whose final big bite includes the point from which all cinnamon-sugar elation radiates. The very concept of a dopamine rush made incarnate and leavened with yeast. The headliner in this amazing festival of treats. The checkered flag in the pastry grand prix. The Center. The Center of Grandma’s Giant Cinnamon Roll (™).

This is where the cinnamon-sugar is concentrated while being endlessly wound during assembly. It is where the icing pools and gently soaks in while the pastry race is in progress. And unlike other cinnamon rolls, this center is attained by beating your siblings and cousins in a criterium race to the treasure. Eat too little and you’ll never get there. Eat too much and you’ll be too full to compete at crunch time. It’s not just that the center is the moistest, or sweetest, or gooiest. The center of this cinnamon roll tastes like victory.

The rules to this game of Duck Duck Cinnamon Goose chasing bites around the pie pan are sacred. And it is this sanctity which keeps the calm and order during this adventure. And woe to whomever skips ahead to pluck The Center before it is time. That person will meet the wrath of this sugar-fueled mob, and feel the ire of a whole half of a family tree. This betrayal will plant a grudge that will persist for decades.

So be warned. This Ceylon-spiced key to delight can also unlock a bedlam not known since William Golding stranded that group of British school boys on an island.

Now that you know the stakes, I offer this recipe up to you, dear reader, in hopes of sharing a sliver of these happy memories with you and your loved ones.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)4 Comments

Finessing Fennel

Fennel is not a common line item on my grocery list. Apparently, the same can be said for most of America, judging by the distinct lack of bulbs chilling in the produce department. Fresh fennel is one of those ingredients that I’ll buy for a recipe, kick myself for not buying more often after remembering its brilliance, and promptly forgetting again. Though polarizing like cilantro, the licorice-like flavor is one that I love. That fresh, herbal flavor that shines through whether cooked or raw is utterly inimitable.

Most recipes focus on the crisp base itself, forsaking the stalks and fronds. After going through all the trouble (and expense) of getting fresh fennel, you’d better believe I’m not about to let any of it go to waste. Fennel pesto is an easy solution for zero-waste satisfaction.

Apply liberally anywhere you’d use basil pesto. Pasta; salad; bruschetta; rice pilaf; soup; anywhere you want a little botanical infusion can benefit from a spoonful. If you want a drink pairing, try any gin cocktail to pick up on the complex aromatics found within.

How could anyone forsake the delicate fronds and more robust stems of fennel, especially after going through the trouble of securing the whole vegetable? For your own happiness, health, and frugality, never throw away any part of fennel again. If you like it enough to cook with it, you’ll love squeezing out every last drop of flavor.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)7 Comments