Tag: cooking

Happy Snacking, Don’t Die!

Food is all around us, if we’re patient and perceptive enough to look. For me, it’s something of a personal mantra. My passion for foraging took root in childhood, when I first discovered wild raspberries along the side of the road with my dad. In San Francisco, it truly blossomed, where Golden Gate Park became a veritable salad buffet, helping augment my meager college student’s budget.

Foraging, once a necessity for survival, is now an endangered skill. Whether it’s a lack of awareness or a lack of access, fewer people than ever are feeding themselves with the incredible abundance found right in our backyards. Happy Snacking, Don’t Die! by Alexis Nikole Nelson, better known as @blackforager to the online world, is a cookbook and a guidebook all in one, set on introducing the open-minded to the wonders of wild edibles.

Alexis is the ideal teacher for her inviting, disarmingly gentle, and encouraging approach, while taking the laws of the land seriously. As one could surmise from the title, she doesn’t romanticize foraging or gloss over its inherent dangers. Instead, she repeatedly emphasizes proper identification, ethical harvesting, and knowing when to simply leave a plant alone. That grounding makes the book feel trustworthy, even as its playful tone keeps things light.

Photo by JB Douglas

What elevates Happy Snacking, Don’t Die! beyond a field guide with recipes is Alexis herself. Her curiosity is infectious, her humor lands naturally, and her passion for reconnecting people with the landscape around them shines through on every page. The educational sections are approachable without talking down to the reader, making even unfamiliar botanical concepts feel accessible.

The recipes are similarly welcoming. Rather than treating wild ingredients as exotic novelties, Alexis incorporates them into dishes that feel both achievable and genuinely worth making. Some recipes inevitably depend on access to specific plants that not every reader will encounter, but that’s less a flaw of the book than a reality of regional foraging. More importantly, they illustrate the culinary potential of ingredients that most of us have spent our lives overlooking.

Candied Violets

Edible flowers have always been a favorite find of mine, since store-bought blossoms pale in comparison, if not outright wilt and rot in their packages. Candied Violets (page 53) preserve the harvest in aquafaba and sugar, using the same time-honored techniques that pastry chefs have practiced for centuries. Delicate and fragile as butterfly wings, they take on a crystalline sheen as they dry. Made for adorning equally precious sweet treats, even the broken petals can serve as beautiful natural sprinkles.

Lambsquarters & Artichoke Dip

Lambsquarters are also known as “wild spinach,” so it makes sense that they can seamlessly slip into the role of the conventional supermarket staple. Lambsquarters & Artichoke Dip (page 139), they blend right into a crowd-pleasing appetizer that no one would ever suspect started with a common backyard weed. Carried by the creamy, cheesy base, I can see any type of green vegetable working here, depending on what you can find in season.

Oyster Mushroom Chowda

Though I personally prefer a thick chowder, full of vegetables and herbs, the more brothy Oyster Mushroom Chowda (page 242) is no less comforting, especially on a chilly day. My mushrooms weren’t exactly foraged, but at least they were homegrown, thanks to a neighbor whose enthusiasm for cultivating oyster mushrooms has benefited my kitchen as well. Kombu and dulse lend a distinctly oceanic flavor, evocative of the mollusks that inspired the stew. It’s a restrained combination of ingredients that simply works, allowing the mushrooms’ natural umami to shine while scratching the same itch as a classic seafood chowder.

Juniper-Cured Carrot Lox

I’ve made a lot of lox in my lifetime; carrot, beet, tomato, konjac, eggplant. Juniper-Cured Carrot Lox (page 257) adds a new dimension to the typical formula, infusing the familiar smoky, salty profile with bright, piney, resinous notes. Peeled into long ribbons, the carrots soften almost instantly as the flax oil and curing mixture infuse through each strand. Draping easily over a bagel with cream cheese in a silky garland, additional garnishes are nice, but unnecessary when there’s already so much flavor packed into each bite.

Black Walnut Ice Cream

I may be a cheat in this case, but I’m not a liar. I’ll tell you right up front that I foraged for nothing to make the Maple Black Walnut Ice Cream (page 196). For shame, I did purchase the walnuts and maple syrup, and used cornstarch instead of Acorn Starch (page 176), too. What’s remarkable here is how many components of this recipe could be made from scratch if you were inclined to take things further. Even the vanilla extract has an optional upgrade path, with homemade Nocino (page 199) standing in for a deeper, walnut-inflected alternative. More sweet than nutty, I wish there was more emphasis placed on the nuts, though the high sugar content does keep the texture perfectly soft and scoopable straight from the freezer.

We spend so much of our lives filtering out the plants around us that they become little more than green background noise. Through equal parts natural history, personal storytelling, and practical instruction, Happy Snacking, Don’t Die! teaches readers to see again. Even if you’re never lucky enough to harvest morels from your local forest, you’ll likely come away looking at what does grow in your neighborhood with newfound appreciation.

Hannah (BitterSweet)12 Comments

Shout It From The Rooftops

Some experiments are born from necessity, others from unbound curiosity. Then, there are those born purely of heatstroke-induced insanity, or so it would seem when the idea first struck me. With forecasts hovering at a scorching 106 degrees and the sun pounding down without an ounce of mercy, I had to do something with all that heat. If I could fry vegan eggs on the sidewalk, bake cookies in a car, and cook lasagna in a mailbox, could I go bigger? Could I bake a whole pizza… On the roof?

Getting Baked

Sure, conventional ovens are reliable, fast, and hygienic. However, when the summer heat sets in, baking the entire earth itself, why waste more energy and jack up the temperature inside the house, too? Let nature do the heavy lifting, especially when the ambient heat is already intense enough to melt the soles off your sneakers.

While 106 degrees is impressive for a forecast, it isn’t even close to hot enough to bake a whole pizza from scratch. Professional pizza ovens can easily reach 900 degrees or more, while a home oven tops out around 500. If this was going to work, I was going to need to bring in the heavy artillery, in the form of cast iron.

Cooking Time 0:00

Heavy Metal Pizza Party

Did you think I was about to just toss a whole pie up there a la Breaking Bad? I was originally planning on using a sheet pan just to keep things clean, but then I realized my trusty cast iron skillet could do more than just contain the mess. While direct sunlight delivers a steady stream of radiant energy, a dark, sturdy cooking vessel can absorb and retain some of it.

It takes a 12-inch cast iron skillet to contain the average frozen pizza, which is what we’re working with here. It can’t have a rising crust or start from raw dough for this to work at all. A thin, already par-baked frozen pizza is the best candidate because we’re really reheating and finishing it, rather than asking the sun to perform the considerably more demanding task of baking raw dough from scratch. A prepared shelf-stable crust could work in a pinch, too, although I personally find most of them about as appetizing as cardboard. Flavor may be a secondary objective here, but it still counts.

Don’t Be Like Walter White in Breaking Bad

Sun-Kissed Skillet

By placing the empty skillet in direct, unobstructed sunlight, it can effectively preheat while the sun reaches its peak. The shingles underneath play an important role, too. A dark roof sitting in direct summer sunlight can become dramatically hotter than the surrounding air, effectively turning the entire surface into a giant solar collector.

I chose a reasonably flat, level section of roof with maximum sun exposure. A sloped roof might be more architecturally interesting, but it’s a terrible place to balance several pounds of screaming-hot cookware. If your skillet starts slowly migrating toward the gutter, the experiment has officially gone too far.

Once the skillet had spent some time soaking up the midday sun, I added the frozen pizza and covered it with a clear glass lid. Heat-safe plastic wrap would work as well, if you don’t have a matching set. The idea is to create a miniature greenhouse, allowing sunlight to pass through the clear cover, while the enclosed air and accumulated heat can’t escape as readily. It also provides a critical secondary function: keeping the flies off. Even rooftop pizza attracts freeloaders.

Cooking Time 0:50

Let There Be Light

Timing is crucial. I started the experiment around noon, when the sun was approaching its strongest point. A clear day is essential; clouds may not lower the air temperature much, but they can dramatically reduce the radiant energy reaching your setup. This is also where patience becomes mandatory. An oven can cook a pizza in minutes, while the sun will take hours.

After about an hour, the cheese had begun to glisten, starting to sweat under scrutiny. After 2 hours, it was reasonably liquefied. Given how notoriously difficult it is to melt vegan cheese to a reasonable degree, this marks a huge success. The crust, of course, remained pale as a ghost, but at least it looked dry, if rather floppy.

The roof itself reached over 170 degrees, and with the combination of direct sunlight, dark cast iron, and the greenhouse effect from the clear cover, the enclosed cooking environment likely climbed to around 200 degrees or more. That’s still nowhere near standard cooking temperatures, but it was enough to gradually heat the pizza through.

Cooking Time 1:55

Notes From the Field

A few things became very clear over the course of this ridiculous experiment:

  • Peak sun matters. Start around noon and take advantage of the strongest sunlight between roughly 12 and 3 PM. Don’t expect the same results if you start late in the afternoon, even if it’s still brutally hot.
  • Clouds are the enemy. This experiment depends on direct solar radiation, not simply hot air. Wait for the clearest day you can find.
  • Flat is not optional. A level roof keeps the skillet where you put it. A pitched roof turns your solar oven into a potential pizza sled.
  • Use a dark, heavy pan. Cast iron absorbs and retains heat far better than a lightweight, shiny baking sheet, making it much better suited to this slow solar bake.
  • Give the skillet time to preheat. Put the empty pan out before adding the pizza, ideally for at least 1 hour, allowing it to absorb as much heat as possible before the pizza enters the picture.
  • Keep it covered. The clear lid or plastic wrap traps heat and creates the greenhouse effect while keeping insects, dust, leaves, and other rooftop debris out of your lunch.
  • Choose your pizza carefully. Thin crust and already par-baked are essential. Skip raw dough, rising crusts, deep dish, and anything heavily loaded with wet toppings. The sun has limits.
  • Use an infrared thermometer. The weather forecast tells you the air temperature. The thermometer tells you what your pizza is actually dealing with. Check the roof, pan, and pizza itself periodically.
  • Be patient. Commit somewhere between 2 – 3 hours for this project. Conditions will vary, so think of the clock as a guideline rather than a guarantee.
  • Don’t leave it unattended. This is a heavy, hot piece of cookware sitting on a roof. Keep an eye on the setup, especially if there’s any wind, and only attempt the experiment somewhere you can safely access and where the surface can support you and the equipment.
  • Protect yourself. Always use potholders, even after the lower-intensity preheating stage. That also means to apply sunscreen liberally, stay in the shade when you can, and drink plenty of water! Spend too much time out there with your pizza, and you’ll start cooking, too.

Nothing New Under The Sun

Unsurprisingly, this method will never produce the best pizza you’ve ever had. It won’t even produce the most acceptable pizza you’ve ever had. It will, however, give you an edible pizza-like substance, albeit completely lacking in structural integrity. Similar to the effect of tossing a day-old slice in the microwave for 30 seconds, but with a few hours of work and the risk of heat exhaustion, it’s objectively one of the least satisfying ways to prepare dinner.

At least I’m not one to be deterred by impracticality. If anything, the sheer absurdity of the whole concept is what made it so appealing. Once I got it into my head, I simply had to see the plan in action. What else am I supposed to do when it’s too hot to leave the house, after all? I’m sure my neighbors already think I’m a little strange, but crouching on the roof in the middle of a heatwave with a cast iron skillet and a camera probably didn’t do much to dispel that notion.

Maybe next heatwave, I’ll have a better idea, or at least one that doesn’t require explaining myself to the nice people living next door.

Hannah (BitterSweet)14 Comments

Asian Persuasion

Anything, be it a restaurant, dish, or book, labeled as “Asian” gives me pause. It feels like a reductive, overly simplistic term to encompass a staggering number of cultures. Even with a fair amount of overlap with shared ingredients and techniques, it’s less descriptive than the term “European,” which I daresay no food writer would attempt today.

For all my misgivings, The Vegan Asian Kitchen: 100+ Plant-Based Recipes Inspired by Malaysia, China, Thailand, and Beyond by WoonHeng Chia manages to steer clear of the obvious pitfalls to shine a light on a range of unique, distinctive dishes from the region, proving that a title never tells the full story.

Having grown up in Kuala Lumpur, Ms. Chia’s approach to cooking reflects a lifetime spent navigating the intersections of diverse foodways and traditions. Rather than flattening those influences into a bland, marketable caricature, she embraces their specificity, offering recipes rooted in personal experience while acknowledging the broader tapestry of regional specialties that have shaped her palate.

I began with the Thai Basil Zhua Bing (Flaky Layered Pancakes), page 337, drawn in by the promise of flaky, crisp dough layered with herbs. Being a visual learner, I found the written instructions for shaping the dough difficult to picture at first, and I had to read them more than once before committing to the process. A quick visit to WoonHeng’s blog, however, provided the clarity I needed in the form of step-by-step photographs that made quick work of the procedure. Once pan-seared, the results justified the means entirely. Exteriors blistered into delicate, golden layers that shattered slightly at the edges while remaining tender within, they were fragrant, slightly chewy, and deeply satisfying in a way that needed no accoutrements.

The Sweet and Sour “Fish,” page 117, immediately grabbed my attention, having only ever encountered a version of it at one of my favorite local food trucks, Bodhi Viet Vegan. Here, WoonHeng builds the fish facsimile from a base of blended tofu and oyster mushrooms, wrapped in nori and rice paper, which is then seared, sliced, and seared again before being lacquered in a glossy sweet-and-sour sauce.

Truth be told, I felt like a complete novice as I stumbled through my first attempt. I likely wrapped the rolls too tightly, and during the first sear, the rice paper split in several places. Forget about making clean slices out of that mess. Fortunately, I was able to reshape most of the pieces into reasonably acceptable medallion shapes, which held together better after a light dusting of cornstarch and a final flash in the pan. Finishing the dish with fresh cucumber and tomato added the perfect contrast to the sharp sauce and soft protein. Though not as polished as I’d prefer, I’m still impressed that it’s possible to recreate such a rare delicacy right at home, rather than resorting to a store-bought option.

Loaded with colorful vegetables, chewy glass noodles, and tofu, the Pad Woon Sen (Stir Fried Glass Noodles), page 241, feels instantly familiar, even if you’ve never tried it before. An essential staple on any Thai menu, it’s a case study in balance and simplicity. Savory, salty, spicy, sour, and subtly sweet, I think it would be impossible for even the pickiest of eaters to find fault in the complete package. My only moment of hesitation came when I noticed the recipe called for cubing the tofu while the photo showed short batons, which seemed better suited to intertwining around the glossy, slippery noodles. It’s a tiny detail, though, and one that was quickly forgotten once I took my first bite.

It doesn’t take a trained eye to notice the author’s clear affinity for mushrooms in these pages. Used liberally as everything from a seasoning to meat-replacement, the fittingly named king oyster mushrooms are most commonly tapped for grand centerpieces. I couldn’t resist the idea of dressing up the most humble of fungus, the common white button mushroom, as Kung Pao Button Mushrooms, page 123. Unmistakably bold, sharp with the heat of both acid and spice, each lightly fried little morsel is a whole mouthful. If you’re craving an assertive, umami snack to serve with cold beer, you can’t do much better than this.

Dim sum has always captivated me, especially considering how few restaurants nearby cater to vegan clientele. Lo Bak Gou (Turnip or Radish Cakes), page 163, was one particular small plate I had been circling for quite sometime, always intending to make at home but never quite working up the nerve to try. Cut into neat slabs and crisp edges, gilded with a golden sear, I was certain they were more the work of a professional chef, not a home cook. This recipe proved the opposite. Straightforward, almost disarmingly so, and far more affordable than a comparatively meager order, my fears evaporated along with the steam escaping from the sautéed daikon. I took a small shortcut and crisped the pieces in the air fryer instead of shallow-frying, delivering delicate crusts giving way to creamy interiors, using a fraction of the oil.

Part of what makes The Vegan Asian Kitchen so valuable is its refusal to compromise. Ms. Chia introduces readers to ingredients, techniques, and dishes that remain underrepresented in most English-language vegan cookbooks. By the same token, that commitment can present challenges for those who lack access to well-stocked Asian markets.

The book also contains a wide range of complexity. Many recipes are approachable enough for weeknight cooking, while others demand considerable time, preparation, or technical skill. Rather than viewing this as a flaw, it may be more accurate to see the latter as aspirational, inviting adventurous foodies to expand their repertoires and try something new.

This is definitely a case where you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, unless you’re referring to the mouthwatering photography that hints of more to come. While “Asian” may be an imperfect descriptor, it can still serve as a doorway to stories, techniques, and flavors that deserve a closer look.

Hannah (BitterSweet)13 Comments

Pea’s A Crowd

Staring down the bag labeled blandly as “field peas,” culled from the brightly lit grocery store shelf, I knew there was more to the story. Encompassing dozens of different legumes, field peas are a catch-all term for any Southern bean grown amongst the crops, as opposed to the home garden. That means you could grab a package of so-called field peas and find black-eye peas, lady peas, cream peas, purple hull peas, or zipper peas staring back at you, all under the same label.

This particular bundle was different though, which is why it caught my eye. Tiny as grains of uncooked brown rice, unlike any bean I had cooked before, I decided to buy first, ask questions later. Only after exhaustive research could I give my new prize a more accurate name: Crowder Peas.

What Exactly Are Crowder Peas?

As part of the field pea family, also known as cowpeas or Southern peas, crowder peas hail from Africa, brought to the US along with enslaved peoples. Through their skilled hands, agriculture thrived, using these heirloom beans to add nitrogen to the soil, enduring through extreme heat and drought alike.

Crowder peas come by their name quite literally, each pod being “crowded” with many peas as they grow. There are many varieties of crowder peas, too, including Mississippi Silver, Dixie Lee, Cream Peas, Zipper Peas, and more; some are rounded while others are fairly flat, varying from brown to white but shades may vary. If you’re looking for a single definitive example of the legume, you’re going to be disappointed. Harvested in the late summer, you’re unlikely to find them fresh, unless you live within a few miles of where they’re grown. More likely than not, you’ll find them dried year round, and occasionally canned.

Crowder Peas: Always In Good Taste

The mysterious crowder peas that I purchased reminded me visually of tiny tepary beans; dark, firm, and robust. They’re a bean-lover’s bean, loud and proud, earthy, starchy, sometimes nutty, and always savory. Where black-eyed peas can taste bright and grassy, crowders are deeper and more grounded. The rounder varieties may be a bit creamier, but all are built to withstand long stews and braises. That potlikker is a prize all by itself, slightly thickened and dark as red wine. Traditionally seasoned with a simple array of onions, garlic, paprika, and often ham, you’d be crazy to think about draining it away.

Crowder Pea Nutrition? Bean There, Done That

Between you and me, I wish we could skip the section on nutrition for these bean deep-dives because they’re all starting to read the same. Unsurprisingly, they’re high in protein and fiber, B vitamins, folate, magnesium, and iron. Spoiler alert: there is no such thing as an unhealthy legume. Next!

Cooking Crowder Peas

Dried crowder peas are a pantry gift, especially in cooler months when fresh produce feels scarce. Soaking them for several hours, or overnight, shortens the cooking time and encourages even tenderness, though it’s not strictly required.

  • Stove Top: If soaked in advance, crowder peas take about 1 – 1 1/2 hours to cook, covered by at least 1 inch of water and gently simmered. Check on the water level and add more if too much evaporates during the process. If unsoaked, it can take closer to 2 hours on the heat.
  • Pressure Cooker: This is my method of choice because it requires no soaking and is still done in less time. Cover crowder peas with at least 2 inches of water and cook on high pressure for 20 minutes. Allow the pressure to release naturally.

Only after cooking should you add salt. Drain or enjoy along with the potlikker, as is most traditional. Note that those who sometimes have trouble digesting beans would be better served to drain the liquid, which contains a considerable amount of the oligosaccharides (raffinose and stachyose) responsible.

Crowd-Sourcing Serving Suggestions

Crowder peas would be out of place on a complex plate. They’re at their best when seasoned simply, nestled besides humble staples like stewed greens, rice, mashed potatoes, cornbread, or even plain old buttered white bread. Made for big pots, long simmers, and recipes designed to stretch across days, they’re deeply rooted in Southern culture, especially in rural and agricultural communities where field peas were a staple crop. A few traditional uses include:

  • Field Peas & Snaps: Contrary to the modern interpretation that employs green beans, “snaps” refers to the whole pea pods that are too tender to shell, simply snapped in half and cooked together with the peas.
  • Hoppin’ John: While black-eyed peas have become the favored bean for this fortuitous dish, older recipes made no qualms about using whatever field pea was at your disposal. The beans are meant to represent coins, paired with the greens for money, coalescing into a blessing for wealth in the New Year. That wouldn’t change whether your beans had black eyes or not.
  • Chilled Summer Salad: Be it a picnic or potluck, the humble crowder pea will serve you well. Since they hold their shape after cooking, they’re prime candidates for the salad treatment, often tossed in a mustardy vinaigrette with tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, and more.

For more inspiration, look to the ever-popular black-eyed pea. It’s the most common field pea on the market, leading to a great wealth of recipe ideas. From soup and chili to more modern veggie burgers, meatless loaves, and stuffed peppers, there’s almost no preparation that wouldn’t welcome a swap. Crowder peas can step in seamlessly, bringing a slightly creamier texture and deeper, earthier flavor to the same familiar formats.

Playing the Field

Given that I don’t have access to fresh crowder peas and can only dream of snapping their delicate little pods in two, I did have to resort to using garden-variety green beans to make my own version of field peas and snaps. On the bright side, this approach is much less labor-intensive, since you can buy bags of cut green beans ready to go. Since we’re not prisoners of tradition here, I have no qualms swapping out the conventional bacon or ham hock for the one-two punch of mushrooms and liquid smoke. Meat was always meant to be the seasoning, not the focal point, in any event.

Between the onions and garlic, you’ve got a classic starter pack for “what smell’s so good in here?” before the umami mushrooms even enter the picture. The crowder peas, ever reliable, stay creamy at the center yet intact, thickening the broth ever so slightly as they simmer. Served with liquid and all, nothing goes to waste, especially the leftovers.


Join The Crowd

Crowder peas may not have the name recognition of their fellow field pea cousins, but that only means there’s more room on the table for discovery. Sturdy, soulful, and reliably versatile, they’re equally at home in a Southern stew or a weeknight plant meat remix. If anything, their underdog status works in your favor; they arrive without expectations and leave with converts. Next time you see that vague little bag labeled “field peas,” don’t walk past it. There’s a whole new crowd worth getting to know.

Continue reading “Pea’s A Crowd” →

Hannah (BitterSweet)9 Comments

Every Minute Counts

Isa Chandra Moskowitz needs no introduction, and yet, I still can’t help but try. Considered by many as the godmother of modern veganism, her cookbooks are often the first tome of any new convert. Countless burgeoning vegans have been raised on her recipes, fed by Isa’s no-nonsense approach to cooking and wry, irreverent voice. Her first book, Vegan with a Vengeance, wrought by The Post Punk Kitchen cooking show in an era when mainstream chefs would turn up their noses at anything meatless, was utterly groundbreaking. 21 years later, she hasn’t stopped churning out the hits.

The 29-Minute Vegan: Real Food, Real Vibes, Anytime is the latest addition to this legacy, feeling both timely and timeless in its delivery. More people are cooking at home than ever, but lengthy, complicated projects are off the table. This clearly has the edge on the more common 30-minute meal deals; “everyone could use an extra minute in their day,” as Isa explains. Since I’m guilty of defaulting to 10-minute meals, I’m clearly well-equipped for this sort of speed run. That’s why I’m honored to have helped develop and test recipes for the project. On every glossy page, however, Isa’s brilliance shines through.

Yuba Chick’n Noodle Soup

For a cookbook that’s easy to love, it’s incredibly difficult to know where to start. Encompassing classic comfort foods like Yuba Chick’n Noodle Soup with genuine soul, Caesar Pasta Salad with Tempeh Croutons that puts a heartier twist on traditional leafy affair, and Stovetop Spinach Artichoke Dip that would be the talk of any party, even picky eaters could crack open the book and instantly find something to love.

Roasted Cauliflower Romesco Steaks

Isa’s distinctive style shines most brightly when she fuses the foreign and familiar, like Roasted Cauliflower Romesco Steaks worthy of a gourmet menu, Curry Cauliflower Tacos with Mango Salsa and Coconut Raita which defy definition by any single cuisine, and Tahini Crispy Rice Treats with Date Caramel that would put other bake sale treats to shame.

Buttery Almond French Toast

What further differentiates The 29-Minute Vegan is Isa’s commitment to using whole, unprocessed ingredients. Sure, it would be a breeze to slap together a sandwich with sliced bread, meatless cold cuts, and dairy-free cheese, but you wouldn’t need a recipe for that, now would you? This approach honors the people that actually want to cook, but simply don’t have the time to waste on convoluted prep and performative aesthetics.

Pad Thai Simply To Die For

Making things easier without dumbing them down is the greatest victory of the whole 250+ page compendium. Why make compromises when you can just make things differently, and ultimately, better? It doesn’t take much effort, or, as the title would imply, time.

Eggplant Parmesan Soup

Though I’d sooner eat the actual book, hard-bound spine and all, than choose a single favorite recipe, I’d eagerly nominate the Eggplant Parmesan Soup as a top pick. Isa says it best: “Eggplant parm is one of the first things I started eating when I went vegetarian, and I’m sure I will be making it until my dying days. But I save the whole production for leisurely moments, because I’ve discovered that this soup can actually get me there without all the breading, frying, and clean-up. Tender eggplant, rich tomatoes, and toasted breadcrumbs swim together in a velvety broth, topped with garlicky rustic sourdough croutons. Cheesy, garlicky, satisfying—all the flavors you love with a fraction of the work. But don’t try to put this in a sandwich, you messy bitch.” Even more graciously, she’s agreed to share this winning recipe below, in case you weren’t already sold.

Black-Eyed Pea Bolognese

Ordinarily, I’d say that The 29-Minute Vegan is a cookbook you should always keep on the kitchen shelf, but that misses the mark. You’ll want to use it so often, it’ll never have a proper resting place.

Continue reading “Every Minute Counts” →

Hannah (BitterSweet)10 Comments