Tag: comfort food

Don’t Mess With Tex-Mex

As a youngster hailing from New England, I was woefully uninformed about the fine nuances of Tex-Mex cuisine. Hell, to my greatest shame, I once pronounced publicly that I “generally wasn’t a fan of Mexican food,” which still haunts me to this day. It’s still buried somewhere in the archives if you dig deep enough. Mexican food, itself a fusion of indigenous ingredients, Spanish influence, and regional variations that span all of Central America, gained a new accent when Tejanos took to the kitchen.

I once scoffed at Tex-Mex as being a watered-down version of Mexican cuisine, leaning toward milder seasonings, white flour tortillas, and a heavy hand with cheese, and I was wrong about this too. This is also an equally valid, equally delicious approach, bringing to life different flavors that aren’t trying to replicate anything else. Tex-Mex is American, bold, sometimes brash, and unapologetic.

Given the considerable overlap, it can be difficult to tease the two apart. Many of basic staples, the sides and sauces that are the building blocks of bigger dishes, look the same, no matter who’s table they’re destined for. I realize now, with age and greater perspective, that my disdain was rooted in the fallacy of “authenticity,” a concept I’ve railed against vehemently and yet failed to see how it applied here. Tex-Mex cuisine is authentic to Texan cooks, following time-honored recipes that, like any others, subtly change and adapt to individual tastes. When I learned to stop judging it, I learned there was so much to love. I haven’t looked back.

Maybe there’s a greater lesson to be learned here, beyond the meal at hand. For now, though, I’ll leave you with that food for thought, and a list of my current twenty best vegan Tex-Mex recipes. Que aproveche.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)7 Comments

Protein, Peas and Thank You

Not everything needs protein. Strange way to start a blog post about using protein powder, but hear me out. I’m well aware that protein, like its fellow macro-nutrients fat and carbohydrates, are essential for life. Protein helps with wound healing, muscle growth, skin elasticity, bone density, and so much more. These are solid facts. What isn’t beneficial, however, are the lower-quality proteins that manufacturers are cramming into every processed food and drink that crosses their paths. Collagen, for example, cannot be absorbed intact when consumed, making it a much less helpful protein than any plant-based option, despite the immense hype surrounding it.

Peak Protein

We have reached a fever pitch where protein is being shoehorned into sodas, water, and gummy bears. At this stage of peak protein, anything marginally consumable comes in a protein-enhanced version. As a proponent of balanced nutrition, protein absolutely has it’s place, but this litany of processed Frankenfoods is not it. I prefer to keep my protein at the center of the plate.

Naked Nutrition, Naked Truth

When I need a little extra boost, especially in gluten free baking or savory cooking, I look for actual food sources. This is where Naked Pea from Naked Nutrition comes into play. This is one of the few powders that makes sense in my kitchen because it is exactly what it says on the package, with nothing to hide.

100% yellow pea protein is the only ingredient. You won’t find any:

  • Sugar or alternative sweeteners
  • Added flavors
  • Thickeners or emulsifiers
  • Gluten
  • Soy
  • Dairy
  • Dubious health claims

Eat Real Food

Although you could absolutely mix it into smoothies or shakes, I see it more as a pantry staple, worthy of a place in your cabinet right next to the flour and spices.

Naked Pea unflavored protein powder has proven indispensable in everyday meals. There’s no need to drink meal replacement shakes when you can simply add a spoonful to soups, stews, even salad dressings. A light coating can replace flour or cornstarch when making crispy tofu or air-fried mushrooms, creating a golden, crunchy exterior that packs a protein punch. You can seamlessly slip a serving or two into your standard pancake or waffle batter without even picky eaters catching on. Such neutrality afford the cunning cook a nutritional boost, without sacrificing flavor.

Beyond the Blender

If you’re tired of slogging through chalky, cloying liquid meals to make your “gains,” Naked Pea is the way to get protein back on the table, where it belongs. Taking inspiration from the single-ingredient powerhouse, I turned to southern Peas and Dumplings to highlight the prowess of such a versatile powder. Similar to chicken and dumplings, it’s a thrifty answer to stretching a limited harvest, especially when meat was scarce. The most basic recipes simmer canned peas in bouillon and drop refrigerated biscuit dough on top for a quick, comforting, and hearty meal.

Every bit as easy to whip up from scratch without relying on store-bought shortcuts, a blend of chickpea flour and Naked Pea protein powder creates a soft, supple dough that practically melts in your mouth. No rolling necessary, you just drop dollops into the sea of simmering peas where it soaks in the buttery, lemon-flecked broth. A touch of fresh mint adds brightness, cutting through the savory richness for a finish that feels light despite being incredibly filling.

For all its verdant vibrancy, I’ll be the first to admit that this dish is not a looker. One could generously describe it as “rustic,” an underhanded compliment I loathe most in the food world. What it lacks in visual polish, it more than makes up for in flavor and substance. Each spoonful delivers tender dumplings, pops of sweet peas, and the undeniable satisfaction of a wholesome, high-protein meal.

Give Peas a Chance

By using the protein powder as a genuinely functional ingredient rather than a supplement, the push to get enough protein shifts from chore to culinary delight. Food is fuel, health is wealth, and all those other slogans; food is also flavor, joy, and comfort. Start with the right ingredients, and you can have it all.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)6 Comments

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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Hannah (BitterSweet)10 Comments

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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Hannah (BitterSweet)3 Comments

Bloody Good Soup

One could argue, without any difficulty, that a classically mixed Bloody Mary is a soup. Sure, the notable addition of vodka may give pause, but who said that soups were defined by their sobriety? Soup is merely defined as a “liquid food,” which also means that perhaps smoothies and milkshakes could be included in the category. A Bloody Mary, though, already has the basic vegetal building blocks of a cozy tomato soup, lightened and lengthened with chilled spirits, like a tipsy gazpacho served in a glass. Honestly, that sounds pretty good, too.

But I digress. We’re talking about the Bloody Mary here; robust and highly seasoned, often spiked with Worcestershire, Tabasco, and plenty of black pepper, at least. It wouldn’t take much at all to make that into a meal. Hell, you could just heat up the foundational mix and call it a day, but we can do better. Taking a page from classic tomato soup, it’s not a radical departure from tradition, which is a large part of its charm. Just layer in some caramelized onions, cook up the celery instead of saving it for a garnish, and add a bit more vegan bacon for that all-important protein, and now it’s looking like a proper bowl of soup.

We can’t leave garnishes out of the picture, though. They’re almost more essential to the Bloody Mary than the vodka itself. On that note, I chose to add my vodka towards the end, rather than let it cook out, because it should live up to the name, right? You could add it earlier on in the cooking process, along with the vegetable stock, to make this more family friendly, if you absolutely had to.

Happy hour and dinnertime often overlap, so why not cut to the chase and make both count? If it’s too hard to get past the idea of Bloody Mary soup being different from the original cocktail, then just think of it like a surprisingly relaxing, mildly intoxicating tomato soup, and you won’t be disappointed.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)10 Comments