Ful of Fava Beans

Who talks about fava beans after the thrill of spring has long since faded from memory? The initial excitement over anything green and vital pushing through barren, frosted earth can’t hold a candle to the thrill of lush summer tomatoes growing heavy on their vines, tumbling past one another in superabundance. Preserved, fava beans remain widely available year round, unsung and largely unseen, yet essential to the Mediterranean diet for centuries. Bean-eaters of Tuscany (Mangiafagioli) were way ahead of their time, and I’m not just talking seasonally.

Food trends and superfood darlings be damned, legume love served the ancient Romans well, long before hashtags and selfies, to say the least. Spreading their influence far and wide across the western European states and beyond, some of the same dishes pop up across multiple cultures. Changed by the journey in varying degrees but always recognizable, many cultures ended up with “accidentally” vegan leanings, long before it was cool.

That’s where Vegan Mediterranean Cookbook, written by my good friend and culinary luminary Tess Challis, picks up the thread, and continues weaving it into a greater tapestry encompassing an entire plant-based lifestyle. Even for someone relatively indifferent to the dietary components of the approach like myself, the recipes are pure gold. Seasoned by all countries touched by the eponymous sea, the flavors of Italy, Greece, and Crete are strongly represented here, bearing scores of fool-proof classics that have stood the test of time. Where would any of us be, as a global society, without hummus, dolmas, and couscous, after all? It was the simple, understated recipe for Ful Medames (page 33) that caught my eye at first glance, and simply would not let go.

Typically made with long-simmered dried or canned fava beans and served hot, it’s especially prevalent in the middle east, but pops up all across the spice route, buoyed by fragrant cumin and the brightness of fresh herbs. Tess’s version skips the long smoldering boil, and in fact, cooking process altogether, opting for an effortless combination resulting in something more like a bean salad than a stew. Reading over the brilliance of that simplification, it suddenly occurred to me that I had just the thing to continue this modern evolution, this recipe renovation: Fresh fava beans.

Painstakingly shelled, peeled, and frozen in the height of spring salutations, the compact little container remained at the back of the freezer, waiting for an opportunity to shine. Transforming this hearty, hot dish into one suitable for light appetites, picnics, and lazy summer days, it proves the versatility, and timelessness, of the concept. Firm yet supple, buttery and verdant, fresh fava beans lend a punchier, more vegetative flair to the classic combination.

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Beans, They’re What’s For Dessert

Since we’ve already seen that beans can very happily take a place on the dessert platter, why does it still seem like such a strange concept?  Even I cringed a bit at the first suggestion of a “dessert hummus,” fearful of a flat out bean-y, bitter, confusing muddle of a spread.  It’s nothing you’d want to serve on cut veggies or smeared in the middle of a sandwich, but you could say the same of Nutella, too. Serving merely as a neutral base for bolder ingredients, providing more bulk than flavor, the chickpeas quietly fade into the background when properly masked with a more compelling sensation, like… Chocolate, perhaps?

Before you say “Ewww!” and dart away to the next blog post, hear me out: How different is this from tofu cheesecake, after all?  Seriously, just give the combination of cocoa and chickpeas a chance.  This versatile legume can be dressed up as sweet as candy if you give it the benefit of the doubt!  Plus, with their highly praised protein and fiber content, it’s perfectly reasonable to spread some chocolate on toast for breakfast and call it a balanced meal.

Hummus is ideal to make in advance, so it’s ready to go whenever cravings strike. Store leftovers in an airtight jar in the fridge for up to 1 week. Don’t forget to label it, in case you forget what this mysterious brown paste is lurking behind the pickles. Consider embellishing them with Custom Stickers that you can design from scratch.

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Dogged Ambition

Dogs are more than just man’s best friends. Dogs are family members, every bit as precious and vital as the small creatures with two legs. Some recoil at the comparison, loathe to grant a “fur baby” the same sort of allowances, but the bottom line is that we need dogs just as much as they need us. Beyond basic care and feeding, your most valuable resource costs nothing to invest: Compassion. So many hundreds, thousands, and yes, millions of dogs out there are changing lives, yet find little to no love in return. Today is the time to celebrate these canine companions, big and small, mixed breed and pure, because it’s National Dog Day.

Yes, so many national “holidays” are silly, baseless non-events schemed up by corporations looking to make a quick buck or steal the social media spotlight for a minute. This day, however, was founded in 2004 with a far more noble objective. The goal was to not only show appreciation for dogs, but to bring attention to the plight of abused dogs, to end puppy mills and to bring an end to breed-specific legislation that regulates, or outright bans, certain breeds in the hope of minimizing dog attacks. Every day should be dog day, whether or not you’re a proud puppy parent.

I’d like to raise a glass to all the hard working canines out there, as well as the simply doggedly adorable fluff balls. The only thing fitting here would be a salty dog cocktail; classically composed of grapefruit juice and gin, with a salted rim, the origin of the name is a bit murky, but the bright, punchy flavor profile is clear. Tangy citrus, herbaceous spirits, and a salty kick to accentuate the two leaves nothing left to be desired. Well, okay, a bit of sweetness might be nice… and on that note, how about a dessert while we’re at it?

My take on the salty dog involves cake, because what’s a celebration without cake?

If the dog bone shape strikes you as a bit over-the-top, or you’re baking to suit a different theme, it’s even easier to simply cut the cake into squares instead. Better yet, bake the batter into cupcakes and no cutting will be necessary.

These treats are for adult humans only, as they do include a decent splash of alcohol that doesn’t cook or bake out. Each morsel is glazed with a poured fondant icing spiked with gin that sets up as a crisp, sugary shell for the tender grapefruit cake within. Don’t forget the pinch of flaky salt on top to complete the experience. While such garnishes are often listed as “optional,” it’s utterly essential here- it’s in the name, after all. It’s a bold change of pace, bright and refreshing, just like the original inspiration.

Let’s all raise a glass, or a piece of cake, to all the canines in our lives. Whether you have one, two, three, or none, there’s never a bad time to adopt

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Keyed Up

Meeting new people is awkward; that’s just a fact of life. Young or old, it really doesn’t get much easier to break the ice in a room full of strangers. Everyone nervously clutches paper cups of water or cola, as if they were irreplaceable heirlooms, carefully examining the contents of the room to avoid making eye contact. Sometimes it feels like just assembling any random sampling of humanity would be an impossible feat, if not for the promise of free snacks. The lure of food, no matter the type nor quality, is irresistible. That’s why an ingenuous move to incorporate that shared interest into the meet-and-greet itself, as I experienced at a recent gathering.

He sat alone in a quiet corner of the room, pushing hummus around his paper plate with a few limp sticks of celery. Pulling up an empty chair, I plopped down my similar medley of vegetables and chickpea puree, introducing myself with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Bright smiles, elevator pitch, small talk about the weather. Check, check, check. Soon, the conversation stalls, dribbling down to long pauses and uncomfortable forced eye contact. Grasping at straws, I remembered to check his name tag…

The organizers had cleverly left a space here, prompting us to write down a recent or memorable food experience. “Zucchini muffins,” I read aloud, taking the cue from his haphazardly scribbled notation. “Tell me about these zucchini muffins of yours.”

Not your average sweet breakfast treats, it turns out that the zucchini muffins that this young man makes are savory, flecked with dill and topped by a crust of sharp, salty parmesan. Interesting, but far from innovative, what really captured my imagination was their origin. His not-so-secret recipe goes back many years to the days when he worked at the historic Baldpate Inn in Colorado, where they were actually called “zu-key-ni” muffins.

The title pays subtle homage to the massive collection of antique, unconventional keys donated by guests spanning their 100 years of operation. The tradition began after World War I, when the price of metal made it impossible to give away room keys as they once had so freely. In response, regulars began bringing new keys with every subsequent visit. Now, there are over 20,000 unique keys on display… But still only one zu-key-ni recipe.

Naturally, my head was filled with visions of summer vegetables and muffins for the remainder of the event. Instead of socializing, I was completely preoccupied by the mission of hunting down the fabled recipe, veganizing it, and sharing its story.

It didn’t take long to uncover the full rundown, just as promised, reprinted for all to see in the Taste of Home June/July 2001 issue. Still, I can’t leave well enough alone, and made a few of my own tweaks. Most notably, the zucchini factor is more than doubled here, because if you’re gonna put it in the name, it should really be the star of the show.

Soft, tender, and rich, they’re the kind of muffins that need no additional toppings or spreads to shine. Enjoy warm for maximum effect, ideally toasted to get those perfectly crisp edges, especially a day or two after baking. Some keys are made of metal, but others, of vegetable, apparently. Shared with the right person, this one unlocks hearts, rather than doors.

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Hummus

Hummus is smeared across my shoes, embedded into the breathable synthetic fiber, clinging tenaciously inside the vents. It’s as much a part of me as it is my footwear now, inextricably melded into the very foundation of existence.

In Israel, hummus is not an appetizer or a condiment; hummus is a meal. Thick swirls of silken chickpea puree undulate behind lashings of fiery red or green schug, mountains of minced garlic and onions, whole beans, and a flurry of smoked paprika, to be scooped up in warm, soft, pillowy pita bread, all in one fell swoop. Mind you, that’s only the most basic preparation, the bare minimum for admission.

Generous pools of toasted sesame tahini and grassy olive oil meet and mingle, blending, harmonizing together. Tiny rafts of minced parsley float on top, pushed along by the lively desert air. A few heavenly bites in, and small dish of fresh chopped tomatoes and cucumbers suddenly arrives at the table, unannounced. Are they complimentary? Did I order them and forget? This is best left unquestioned, because their brightness is an indispensable part of the party now.

More people pull up chairs, dropping mashed eggplant and strings of pickled red cabbage as they land. Roasted mushrooms sparkling in the midday sun, teasing umami flavor across every bite. A pinch of za’atar here, a sprinkle of sumac there, herbaceous, tangy, tart; no two tastes are ever quite the same. Chasing the same high becomes maddening, an impossible pursuit, yet never once does the endeavor disappoint.

Temperatures begin to fall as the sky glows orange, slowly fading to deeper and darker shades of red. Still, the central bowl remains as bountiful as the conversation, changing shape and color as friends filter in and out, adding their own flavors into the mix. Sometimes spicier, sometimes saltier, the unique blend always seems to suit the personalities gathering around.

Should the bottomless platter of pita travel too far out of reach, outstretched forks and spoons dart out like heat-seeking missiles, locked on to the central schmear. For all intents and purposes, it’s a creamy salad at this point, so why not skip the formalities and go straight for the good stuff?

When the moon trades shifts with the sun, stars blaze ahead, never once allowing darkness to descend. Alley cats cautiously emerge to scavenge for scraps; perhaps an errant chickpea that escaped, a messy dollop of baba ganoush splattered on the sidewalk below. The day continues on heedless of time, interrupted only by the intermittent silence of chewing. Only when the spread is fully demolished, dishes wiped clean, does the party finally pack it in.

Hummus is not just a type of food. Hummus is a way of life.

Lest I leave you hungry for more, here are a few of my favorite hummus recipes:

Broccoli and “Cheese” Hummus
Curry in a Hurry Hummus
Hummiki (Hummus-Tzatziki)
Hummus Primavera
Nacho Hummus

The Lion’s Share

Do you know where your chocolate comes from? No, not the grocery store, or even the country of origin for the beans. More to the point, do you know who your chocolate comes from?

Most of the world’s chocolate is industrial, highly processed to maintain consistency and low prices, but at the expense of nuanced flavor, to say nothing of the human cost. Only a handful of chocolate makers are producing candy for the mass market, but smaller startups are turning the cacao world on its head by starting from the ground up.

Dandelion Chocolate is a bean-to-bar chocolate maker rooted in the Mission District of San Francisco. One of the very few operations in the US that go through the full process of roasting, cracking, sorting, winnowing, grinding, conching, and tempering cacao beans in small batches, it’s a full three to four days before any bars are even formed or packaged- all by hand, I might add.

Here, the unique properties extracted through fermenting and roasting high quality beans are celebrated rather than muted. Even the sweetest blends minimize the use of sugar, adding just enough to accentuate the inherent flavors of the cacao, and dairy is never a consideration. Notably, neither is additional cocoa butter, vanilla, lecithin, or any of the other usual chocolate suspects. Without these typical crutches, everything you taste comes solely from the bean at hand. Finally, it’s chocolate that can speak for itself, and the message is loud and clear: There’s nothing comparable on the market, and almost certainly nothing better.

The real treat is getting to see how it’s all made firsthand, through factory tours and generous tastings if you’re lucky enough to be in town. While the cafe is still light on vegan eats, the drinks are really where it’s at. Incredibly rich, dense, decadent hot chocolate put them on the map years ago, but for a lighter, one-of-a-kind refresher on a hot summer’s day, you really must try the cacao smoothie. If you’ve never had fresh cacao before, brace yourself; this tastes nothing like chocolate. Believe it or not, the tropical fruit is more evocative of pineapple, but mild and with no acidity, blending in notes of sweet Meyer lemon. When given the such a rare opportunity, I would implore you to taste the range of flavors the whole fruit is capable of.

Chocolate is so much more than cheap Halloween handouts. Dandelion Chocolate is working to change that misconception, one handmade bar at a time.