Cook This Book: The Essential Einkorn Cookbook

Einkorn is still an enigma to many, lingering on the fringes of the modern food world like a half-remembered story; vaguely familiar and intriguing, but rarely invited into the daily routine. The Essential Einkorn Cookbook by Katie Koyle is exactly the lens needed to bring this grain into sharp focus, pulling back the curtain to reveal einkorn’s remarkable versatility in the contemporary kitchen.

Unlike trend-driven cookbooks that position ancient grains as novelties, likely to be forgotten when the next superfood craze rolls around, Koyle’s approach is refreshingly grounded. She treats einkorn not as a curiosity to be decoded, but as a staple to be understood. As a crucial part of the team at Grand Teton Ancient Grains, Koyle has spent years working intimately with this original wheat in all its permutations, and that fluency shows on every page. She knows how einkorn behaves, where it resists, and how to coax out its best qualities without force or fuss.

Though this is not a vegan or vegetarian cookbook, the guidance it offers transcends dietary lines. The foundational information, such as how einkorn absorbs liquid differently, why it prefers gentler handling, and how its golden hue signals richness rather than density, applies to anyone willing to experiment. Even recipes that include animal products are written with a technical clarity that makes them easy to adapt, making this book a valuable resource for adventurous eaters of all kinds.

The baking chapters are where einkorn truly shines, and Koyle wisely leans into that strength. Her focaccia (page 53) is a standout: plush and tender with a crumb that manages to be both airy and satisfying, its flavor deeper and more complex than versions made with conventional white flour. Einkorn’s natural sweetness comes through subtly, pairing beautifully with olive oil and herbs without collapsing into a heavy, overly dense dough. It’s the kind of bread that disappears quickly, torn by hand and eaten warm, with or without embellishment.

The pumpkin muffins (page 99), crowned with a generous crumb topping, are another highlight. Einkorn’s softness lends itself beautifully to quick breads, producing muffins that are moist without being gummy and richly flavored with the barest measure of sugar for balance. I love that it calls for a full can of pumpkin puree, not some trifling half-measure for the sake of color, and you only need to substitute the two eggs with 1/2 cup of applesauce to reap the fully vegan rewards. The crumb topping, when made with dairy-free butter, adds a certain decadence that straddles the line between nourishment and indulgence, equally suited to breakfast, afternoon coffee, or a late night snack.

Outside of the oven, einkorn proves its adaptability. Chicken and dumplings (page 125) offers a reminder that ancient grains are not confined to rustic loaves and pastries. The dumplings, tender and flavorful, hold together with grace, absorbing the broth while maintaining their structure. It’s a snap to swap in your favorite meatless protein and vegetable stock to make it effortlessly plant-based.

What makes The Essential Einkorn Cookbook especially successful is its humility and pragmatism. Koyle never oversells einkorn, nor does she shy away from its quirks. Instead, she offers practical wisdom, gentle reassurance, and recipes that work as an invitation rather than a challenge. It should also be said that the photography, shot by Koyle herself, is truly stunning, emphasizing texture, color, and process over polish. It’s equally inspirational and aspirational, especially to anyone that’s more of a visual learner.

For anyone curious about baking beyond conventional wheat, or simply looking to deepen their relationship with the ingredients they already love, this book is both a guide and a companion. Einkorn may be ancient, but in Koyle’s experienced hands, it feels entirely alive, ready to earn its place at the table, one loaf, muffin, and dumpling at a time.

This post was made possible as a collaboration with Grand Teton Ancient Grains. My opinions can not be bought and all content is original. This page may contain affiliate links; thank you for supporting my blog!

Easy Bake Sushi

Sushi, though truly timeless and everlasting, isn’t typically thought of as a wintry dish. It’s a common misconception that it’s a dish best served cold, but unlike revenge, it’s still better with slightly warm, not chilled, rice. Regardless, when the thermometer outside is tracking single digits and warmer, heartier fare is top of mind, sushi doesn’t exactly make the cut. Perhaps, we’ve just been thinking of the wrong kind of sushi.

Hot Dish, Hot Off the Presses

Originally pitched as a “sushi casserole” roughly 15 years go, the concept really got hot when it was rebranded as a “sushi bake” during the height of the COVID19 pandemic. In the era of feta pasta and dalgona coffee, it fit right into the conversation about accessible global cuisine, comfort food, and culinary escapes. Familiar yet novel, easily adaptable to suit any available ingredients; looking back on it now, it made perfect sense. What I don’t understand is why it seems to have disappeared just as quickly.

Sushi for the People

Consider the sushi bake as sushi with training wheels, both for the cook and eater. No patience for hand-shaping individual rectangles of rice? Zero skill for rolling with sheets of nori? Throw everything in a pan and call it a day! Those of the most voracious appetites can finally satisfy the urge to eat an entire family platter of nigiri without being seen as gluttonous, and everyone can walk away from the table fulfilled. Especially during the colder months of the year, I can’t imagine a better way indulge in homemade sushi.

Layered with seasoned sushi rice, umami furikake, surprisingly convincing spicy crab made from shredded tofu, and a battery of crisp cucumbers, buttery avocado, and lashings of more savory sauces, it’s the complete package in every bite. You could easily double it and bake it off in an 8 x 8-inch pan for the whole family, or even quadruple it with a 9 x 13-inch pan for a genuine sushi party.

Serves You Right

Served warm, straight from the oven, a sushi bake is meant to be spooned, scooped, and shared with abandon. A brief rest on the counter allows the layers to settle into a more sliceable strata, but it should still arrive at the table hot, the rice plush and fragrant beneath its generous toppings. Set out stacks of toasted nori sheets or seaweed snacks and let everyone build their own bites, folding heaping spoonfuls into crisp wrappers that crackle against the creamy filling. It’s informal and tactile in a way traditional sushi rarely allows, encouraging seconds, and thirds, without ceremony or apology.

While I wouldn’t reheat it once topped, any leftover sushi bake is still just as delicious the next day, served cold. After winter relinquishes its grip and cooler cravings return, perhaps it can be a summertime staple, too.

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Kreplach with Chutzpah

Pronounced with enough force, kreplach sounds like a Yiddish curse at best, and an old man hacking up a lung at worst. Say it with your chest and really draw out the “ach” to hear what I mean, and possibly scare your neighbors while you’re at it. Resolutely the stuff of Old World sustenance, they’ve slowly faded into obscurity, overtaken by myriad adjacent dishes.

Some take offense to the comparisons, indignant that such a righteous and deeply meaningful food could be lumped into the same category as most generic frozen meals, but let’s be real: they are like Jewish wontons, pierogi, ravioli, manti, pelmeni, or just about any other dumpling that springs to mind first. Take a thin sheet of flour dough, wrap it around a basic filling of chicken, potatoes, mushrooms, or beef, simmer it in soup or pan-fry, and you have your holy kreplach.

Stuffed With Meaning

Symbolism is almost as important as flavor when you talk about the history of kreplach. Reserved for special occasions, they’re most likely to reemerge for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Purim. In accordance with the former two holidays, the filling is sealed, just as our fates are said to be sealed in the book of life, or possibly shielded from judgment. Purim, viewed by some as a Jewish version of Halloween, is where things get more interesting.

Triangulated Trials

Just as Esther concealed her identity, and children today don costumes and disguises, the filling is hidden between the thin layers of dough. On this day, kreplach are folded into triangles, mirroring the shape of hamantaschen which also mimic the three cornered hat worn by Haman. They’re little pockets of joy made from the most humble stuff, finding beauty in the commonplace, the mundane, the everyday. It’s the time and labor that make them truly special.

Labor of Love

To that end, yes, you could make shortcut kreplach by using wonton skins instead of homemade dough, but that rather defeats the purpose to me. You might as well buy any old ready-made dumplings at that point. The dough, rolled out thinly, has a more distinctive bite, more resistance and weight, which can’t be replicated by anything other than the genuine article. Traditional renditions are egg-heavy, though that’s nothing a little aquafaba can’t fix. Feel free to prep this well in advance, since it can keep for up to a week in the fridge. It’s easy, not quick.

Souped or Sautéed

When I think of kreplach, I think of gleaming little triangles swimming languidly through light, golden broth, intermingled with a few coins of tender carrots. They can also be served dry, pan-fried, often laced with caramelized onions. If you were to take the potato stuffing route, you know how well that works for pierogi; I’d be sorely tempted to serve them with a side of vegan sour cream to complete the picture.

Today’s Kreplach Legacy

Don’t let kreplach die out. Yes, there are plenty of close cousins hailing from Europe and Asia alike. Perhaps no one would even realize if they make an Irish exit. My favorite foods, however, come with stories. Tradition, intention, and symbolism have branded kreplach as their own unique, wholly irreplaceable entry to the culinary canon of all dough-swaddled savory morsels. There’s never been a better time to try a taste of history than the present day.

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Mumbo Gumbo

No matter what I have to say about gumbo, I’m going to be wrong. This isn’t just my continuous threads of self-doubt pulling my words into misshapen, unsteady forms, but a genuine fact. I did not grow up with gumbo coursing through my veins, learning its ways from my elders, steeped in time-honored traditions. I never had to before going vegan, impossibly picky eater that I was, unswayed by the heavy mix of chicken, sausage, and shrimp. My Yankee roots cultivated no appreciation or basic awareness for the art of gumbo, only a vague impression of it as something thick, dark, and intimidatingly meaty, best left to esteemed bayou-born experts.

What is Gumbo?

Like a game of culinary telephone, my knowledge comes only from stories and photos, books and movies. All that I can say with conviction is that it starts with a roux. That, and the “Holy Trinity” of onions, celery, bell peppers, AKA Creole mirepoix. Blending the traditional foodways of Africa, France, Spain, and Native Americans alike, what you do next depends on your heritage. Some may reach for okra or filé powder for additional thickening capacity, some go straight for the proteins and load it up with everything from seafood to sausage, while still others simply hammer in the spices as if they were trying to kindle an edible inferno. The most succinct explanation for gumbo is that it’s a thick stew; choose your own adventure.

Don’t Fumble the Gumbo!

With that tenuous understanding, I proceeded to make a mockery of this beloved staple. Not intentionally, mind you, but I have a feeling that anyone hailing from New Orleans wouldn’t even glance in the direction of this Frankenstein melting pot. Using vegan sausage is probably the least controversial part of it, and that’s saying something. Swapping olive oil for butter in the roux could very well get me run out of town.

Still, I kept stirring. Once you start making a roux, you have to fully commit, whether or not you know exactly what you’re doing. The color deepens slowly, then more decisively, taking on a toasted, nutty smell that’s even more encouraging than the hue. By the time the broth was in and bubbling away, all the initially disparate pieces seemed to fit together. I don’t expect this version to resonate with anyone who was raised on the real thing, and that’s okay. Ending up with something comforting, hearty, and richly spiced is only part of the goal; paying homage to a dish that holds more history than I can speak for fills me up in a much more meaningful, lasting way.

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How Do You Tofu?

Tofu is one of the greatest American success stories of our era. Bean curd never needed western approval to thrive; it’s been the staple meatless protein of Asian cultures since prehistory. Before it was trendy to eschew red meat, before veganism was a movement, tofu was the linchpin of Chinese imperial cuisine and Zen Buddhism alike. Initially rebuked, then taunted, and sometimes vilified, like any other foreign import, it finally has a place of honor in every US grocery store worth its salt.

We’ve overcome decades of misinformation to put tofu at the center of the plate. Most people now have reached at least some level of acceptance, and hopefully understanding that there’s more than just the bland base it begins life as. With the right seasonings and preparation, tofu can truly be anything you want.

That infinite versatility poses a new problem to tofu newbies: Where does one begin? From stir fries to chocolate mousse, this protein-packed bean cake can truly do it all. As such, I’ve accumulated a substantial number of recipes featuring everyone’s favorite original white “meat.” Here are my best recommendations for diving into the tofu pool… Although not literally. It’s still better eaten than applied topically.

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