Unicorniverse – Magic Matcha
Sixty Vines – Ranch Water + Gingersnap Old Fashioned
Postino – Ebbio Sparkling Rosé
Nickel City – Flaming Moe







As much as I love a good food pun, I swear, this was completely unintentional. Up until the moment I started peeling away the outer skin, I thought for all the world that I was working with rutabaga. Then, that distinctive smell hit me; sharp and pungent, more like a radish than the sweet and starchy tuber I expected. Simply trying to use up odds and ends after another recipe photo shoot, I suppose it was fate that pumped up the volume to create these accidental turnip and beet hash browns.

Red flannel hash is simply your traditional potato-based hash with addition of chopped beets, tinting all the spuds a rich ruby hue. You could perhaps squint and see it as a checkerboard arrangement with all its squares overlapping hues to account for the name. That said, it’s a bit of a misnomer because flannel itself is simply a woven fabric, regardless of pattern, despite the frequent association with a plaid or tartan. Semantics aside, it’s a humble, hearty, and comforting breakfast staple that will never let you down. Potatoes aren’t the only vegetative foundation that can support the concept.

Sitting on the outskirts of most mainstream markets, turnips and rutabagas have more in common than not. You’d be forgiven for making the same mistake. Both come from the cabbage family and have a very similar appearance. Pale beige with a purple top, it’s easy to mix them up at a glace. Turnips are a bit rounder and more pale, whereas rutabaga have a darker, more yellow tint and tend to be a bit more oblong. As far as flavor goes, turnips have a subtly peppery bite, especially if eaten raw, while rutabaga have a sweeter flavor, like carrots, and a creamier texture when cooked. Fortunately, you can use both with great success; the results will be delicious regardless, just in different ways.

Earthy and warming, this particular hash honors the legacy of the potato while giving it a more nuanced upgrade. The natural sweetness of red beets with punchy turnips pairs easily with almost anything to round out the plate. Infused with a smoky, savory, and subtly tangy flavor, it’s so much more than just bland, boring filler.

Make some noise for the accidental smash hit of the winter! You’ll want to turnip the beat, on repeat, once you give it a spin.
Shredded coconut bums me out. Sweetened or not; long strands or short sprinkles; flat flakes or coarse grounds; I cringe inwardly every time that distinctive ingredient pops up in a recipe. I love coconut in general, but the moment as you deprive it of moisture and distill it down to only its most fibrous components, you’ve lost me as a fan. As a result, shredded coconut tends to sit around in my freezer for unconscionable amounts of time. After fulfilling its duty for whatever assignment it was called for, I have no inclination to consume it myself. That’s why I’m thrilled to pack it up in a caramel tart and pawn it off on others.

The beloved girl scout samoa cookie inspired this supersized snack, employing a simple shortbread crust topped with that cursed coconut filling, finished with a liberal drizzle of dark chocolate. Quick, uncomplicated, and straight to the point, there’s no better way I can think of to use up a full 3 cups of shredded coconut in one go.

Samoas, not to be confused with Indian samosas, sometimes go by the name of Caramel deLites, depending on which troops do the baking. First being offered on the girl scout menu in 1975, the only explanation for the original name is that it likely aligns with the island of Samoa, where coconut is one of its major exports. Seems a bit random to me, given all the possible sources for coconut products, but I wasn’t the one who chose the title.

Lightly toasted and wrapped up in a gooey yet sliceable brown sugar substrate, resting just beneath a thin veneer of chocolate and comfortably nested on top of a crisp, slightly crumbly crust, shredded coconut is utterly transformed. My surplus was immediately plundered, as slice after slice hit plates, then to-go containers for seconds and midnight snacks.
Did this finally change my tune on the desiccated dread? Absolutely not. I’m just happy to find a compelling approach for using it up and sharing with others. To each their own, although better together; coconut lovers are welcome here to eat all of it for me.






Cauliflower can be many things, but rarely is it allowed to be itself these days. While grabbing a bite with friends, seeing it appear on a pizza—not blended into the crust, but perched right on top in all its snowy white, raw glory—was such a shock, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Everything about it sounds questionable, like biting into a chunk of impenetrable starch, but the cut made all the difference. Slicing it paper thin, as I had never seen before, was a revelation. Cool and crisp against the warm, gooey base, it was like an entirely new vegetable.

Rather than pulling apart the clustered budding stems, considering the head as a whole completely changes the vegetable. Elegant yet understated, distinctive and still versatile, shaved cauliflower is now my favorite salad starter. Leave the lettuce at home for a more substantial, sturdy salad.

In this particular blend, thinly sliced cauliflower provides a delicate crunch that pairs perfectly with the tender edamame and cool cucumber. Crumbled vegan feta adds a creamy twang, while toasted pepitas finish with a nutty bite. Tossed in a silky, lemony tahini dressing, the salad is both refreshing and full of depth, with a hint of sweetness to balance the otherwise disparate elements.

Mandoline slicers are the most dangerous tools found in a kitchen. Otherwise known as a finger guillotine, digit decapitator, or the one-swipe skin remover, mandolines are notorious for their ability to quickly and efficiently cut through everything in their path. More often than not, that means those pitched razor blades mow through more than just carrots or potatoes. A moment of distraction or a slip of the hand can leave even experienced cooks seeing red. If you’re not afraid of your mandoline, you haven’t used it enough.

Why recommend such a hazardous appliance, even after numerous experiences that left a mark? There’s simply no other tool for the job. While a properly honed knife is essential, the sharpest edge can’t compete with the precision and consistency of a mandoline. That’s especially true when making delicate, thin shavings of cauliflower, rather than coarsely crumbled florets. So yes, despite those dire warnings, I’m telling you to put yourself in peril and use this modern torture device. If you’d like to keep all ten fingers, I have three easy tips for you:
That’s it, that’s the secret to success. If you’ve lost the hand guard, don’t make this recipe. I won’t be held responsible for your hospital bill.

As visually stunning as it is delicious, each bite of cauliflower is paper-thin, creating a light, crisp, and satisfying texture. The result is a refreshing, bright salad that showcases the simplicity of raw cauliflower. Suspend your disbelief, watch your fingers, and give it a shot. Cauliflower is best when it can be itself, front and center.
Tom-Yum Noodle Soup



Braised Tofu