Welcome to Margaritaville

How is it possible that here in Texas, we have no officially designated state beverage? Only 32 of our 50 states have bestowed that title on their beverage of choice, and I must say, I’m roundly unimpressed by those efforts too. Twenty of those went with milk and one (Indiana, I’m looking at you) chose water. Water. Who voted on this?

At least some are trying to pick up the slack, selecting both a plebeian potable and a cocktail or spirit. Much respect to Wisconsin and their preference for a brandy old fashioned, Maryland, Virginia, and Alabama sidling up to the bar for whiskey, Maryland coming back for an Orange Crush which they also share with Delaware, and Nevada inviting everyone to the party with Pisco Punch.

With such a rich history of drinking under our belts, I’d like to start a bid to make the margarita the official beverage of the Lone Star State. Not a single establishment serving alcohol would omit such a staple from the menu, though it’s such an obvious choice that some don’t even go through the trouble of putting it in print. Ask for a margarita and you shall receive. Beyond Texas, it’s the single most popular cocktail in the entire country, in fact; we just like to think that we do it best.

While we wait for Texan bureaucrats to realize that the margarita is the only logical candidate for the job, I’ve found a way to bring that tangy, tequila-spiked spirit to the dessert table. If we can’t legislate the cocktail into the state archives yet, we can certainly bake it into the local culture.

Slice-and-bake margarita shortbread cookies capture the fun of happy hour without the risk of a hangover. Yes, there is a splash of tequila in the mix, but it shakes out to roughly 1/6 teaspoon per serving. Total teetotalers can simply swap in water, if that amount remains a concern. More importantly, to mimic the complex citrus profile of a top-shelf pour, the dough is heavily perfumed with both lime and orange zest. It’s the bright, aromatic punch you expect before the first sip. Each log of dough is rolled in coarse colored sugar before slicing. It creates a shimmering, crunchy crust that perfectly imitates the iconic salt rim, albeit in a sweeter way.

While the “Indiana approach” to beverages might be safe and hydrating, Texas deserves a profile with a bit more bite. These cookies offer a loophole to the legislative lag, serving up our currently unofficial state cocktail one citrusy, sugar-rimmed slice at a time. Until Texas finally puts a ring (or a rim) on it, these shortbreads are the most delicious way to cast your vote for the margarita.

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Goji À Go-Go

Goji berries bear a heavy burden. Always a “superfood” first, their natural charm beyond the realm of health and wellness is all too often overlooked. Antioxidants, vitamins, and minerals are the headlining features, as if the tiny red berries were merely pills found growing in shrubs. Set all that hype aside and they become far more interesting.

Without the nutritional resume leading the conversation, goji berries become a worthy staple for any recipe where you would reach for dried fruit. Gently sweet with a faint herbal edge and punchy, tart finish, cranberries would be the closest comparison, though that gap is considerable. Chewy and dense, a bit of baking helps reveal their softer side.

Folded into biscotti, they create small pockets of toothsome tartness that punctuate the crunchy cookie at random. That element of surprise is part of the appeal; for such a restrained, understated treat, anything to shake up the status quo is a welcome change of pace. Threads of fresh orange zest weave through the dough, playing off those tangy nightshades in a higher, harmonious pitch. Finally, each biscotto is dipped lightly, just enough to barely coat the bottom with a thin, crisp shell of dark chocolate. It doesn’t carry far enough to overwhelm, only introducing a hint of contrasting richness.

Goji berries, freed from their usual medicinal trappings, fit easily into a sweeter framing. Doing the steady work that good dried fruit is meant to do, cutting through sugar with a measured tartness, and lending texture where it counts, they’re remarkably unremarkable, given all the buzz they generate. In a cookie that’s equally humble and structurally straightforward, those small contrasts matter. That’s more than enough to justify keeping them in regular rotation.

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Wordless Wednesday: Swift Sweets

Tahini Crispy Rice Treats with Date Caramel
Peppered Marmalade Thumbprint Cookies
Peanut Butter Balls
Giant Chocolate Chunk Cookies
Iced Chai Latte Bars
Great No-Grate Carrot Cake
Glazed Chocolate Donuts
Baked Cinnamon Sugar Donuts
Chocolate Sheet Cake
Yogurt Blueberry Muffins
Everyday Birthday Cake Cookies
Banana Gingerbread Cupcakes

Recipe testing for The 29-Minute Vegan: Real Food, Real Vibes, Anytime by Isa Chandra Moskowitz

(As it goes with recipe testing, not all of these made the final cut. You’ll have to check out the cookbook for yourself to see the winners!)

Pour Choices

Though I may technically be an 80’s baby, I just barely made the cut, and by all accounts, I missed the best parts. I was still in diapers when big hair and even bigger shoulder pads were already going out of style; my memories begin not with neon excess or synth-soaked rebellion, but with their faded echoes. Through cultural osmosis, I gradually inherited the decade like a rumor, absorbing it secondhand through Reading Rainbow reruns and “oldies” radio stations. What I never got was a taste of the food, and more specifically, the school cafeteria fare.

Pourable Pizza, now the stuff of legends, never made it to my lunch tray. Served for a fleeting moment in time, the most cited recipe dates back to 1988. Though it sounds like genuine slop, the worst part is the name, since it’s simply composed of a liquid, no-knead dough that can be quickly and easily distributed between sheet pans and baked en masse. Topped with tomato sauce and copious amounts of cheese, the crust offered little resistance, both to tiny teeth and picky eaters. Was it the healthiest thing? No, but did we care in that era? Not really. You could claim it contained grains, vegetables, and dairy, which was good enough for the USDA.

Now, almost 40 years after that legacy was established and driven by anemoia, I’m inexorably drawn to such a foreign yet familiar concept. Surely, Pourable Pizza could never exist like this again, not in its original form, and still it lives on in the minds of many. Spurred on by cravings, boredom, and frugality, I decided to revise the concept for my fellow adult children.

My rendition is fiercely loyal to the title, adding a layer of pourable vegan cheese on top to seal the deal. Shredded mozzarella? Nah, we can do one better, leveraging the inherent richness of tahini and nutritional yeast to whip up a liquid topping for our liquid foundation. Now that I’m writing that out loud, is this the liquid lunch of our generation?

Whichever generation finds this and takes it in as their own, may it feed their memories with equal measures of comfort and curiosity. May it taste like recess you didn’t quite have, a past you only half remember, and a future that feels less rigid than the rules we grew up with. This isn’t an attempt to recreate history so much as to make peace with it, to ladle something soft and sustaining into the gaps where experience should have been. Even when the decade is borrowed, the memories aren’t quite your own, and the pizza is poured, the comfort is real, and that’s enough.

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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!

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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