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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Ambrosial Addendum

My favorite thing about food is that it’s a vehicle for stories. Yes, it’s nourishing and tastes good, if you’re skilled or lucky or wealthy enough. Those qualities, though, aren’t special. My favorite foods are the stuff of memories, my own and others, of historical or personal importance. Having a deeper connection to the people that made it is the secret spice that makes flavors bloom more vibrantly than a whole quart of MSG. I’d trade all my quick fix recipes just to have more stories.

Every time I feel compelled to dive back into the past, through fading photos or slides illuminated from the Kodaslide‘s unearthly glow, I’m digging just beyond the margins. Living inside each frame. Hunting for something I’ve missed, as if just looking harder, more intensely, will reveal Waldo right in the middle of the page. Sometimes it’s easier to discover, though harder to decipher.

The subject of one holiday snapshot, I recognize my beautiful 20-year-old Grandmother immediately, beaming over a table of desserts. Delicate glasses filled with an undefined, nebulous substance preside over every formal place setting. For weeks, maybe months, the image haunted me; I had no idea what that dish was. I was missing a story.

Great debates with other family members followed. At first, I thought maybe it was sorbet, as my Grandfather was so fond of making, but I swear it seemed to have more texture. Is it a pudding, a parfait? I’m not at all convinced I have the answer, but I’ve decided to create my own addendum to this story. If you ask me, I think it’s ambrosia. Wildly popular in the early to mid-1900s, especially for the winter holidays, I can see it being all the rage around the time of the photo.

Writing my own post-script, I’m making ambrosia in my own modern kitchen, hoping that I might have more stories to pass down, too. In this rendition, I’ve taken the sweetness down a notch by tempering it with an invigorating triple hit of citrus. Mandarin orange segments are traditional, easily augmented with candied lemon peels and a final flourish of fresh lime zest.

I could write a whole dissertation about what could qualify as ambrosia (most creamy fruit salads) and the crimes against humanity some commit (including mayonnaise), but I’d rather tell one story at a time. I don’t worry about running out of ingredients or inspiration. I do worry about running out of stories. Hopefully this one might be the beginning of another for someone else.

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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!)

Waffles, My Liege

Waffles will always make me think of my dad. Though always open to trying new things, he’s a man of few favorites, drawn to a slim list of staples that he’s happy to repeat until the end of days. That’s why I’m endlessly making subtle variations on the same theme when trying to treat him, as nearly every waffle recipe on this blog can attest. Working with a limited range of options that he would genuinely enjoy isn’t too much of a challenge though, as he makes his preferences very clear. All things sweet, crunchy, and simple are likely an easy win.

What Are Liege Waffles?

For his birthday this year, I’m dedicating a different sort of waffle indulgence in his honor. Liege waffles are an entirely different beast from the typical frozen affair and even bolder than Belgian. Made with yeasted brioche dough instead of a liquid batter, the aroma is absolutely heady, like fresh, buttery bread as it hits the iron. The most distinctive part of a proper liege waffle, however, is the inclusion of pearl sugar, which caramelizes in crunchy pockets throughout. They’re rich enough to eat out of hand like any other pastry, hot or cold, with or without any further adornment.

Pearl of a Great Price

Securing pearl sugar isn’t terribly challenging in this age of online shopping and immediate gratification, but it does pose a stumbling block if you’d rather keep your purchases close to home. Or, more accurately in my case, you don’t want to keep buying random stuff that you’ll only use once. Spurred on by equal parts impatience and thriftiness, as so many of my recipes are, I realized that I already had the perfect substitute: Sprinkles. Sprinkles are essentially compact tablets of sugar with a bit of starch and added coloring, so why wouldn’t they work just as nicely here? Moreover, sprinkles are somewhat like candy, which aligns nicely with the short list of my dad’s favorite foods.

Confetti Cannon

Confetti Liege Waffles are a distinctly American take on the Wallonian classic. Freckled with every color of the rainbow, sprinkles are no longer just an ice cream topping. Once pressed and sizzling between two hot irons, the sprinkles soften just enough to melt at the edges, bleeding streaks of color into the tender dough while regaining a sugary crunch after cooling. Each abstract blob emerges golden, lacquered with a sheen of sugar that’s befitting of a real celebration. Since my dad isn’t big on birthday cake, this seems like a much more suitable centerpiece for his big day. All you’d need is a candle to blow out.

Dressed to Impress

Still, I would never deny the man his beloved maple syrup. That firmly pushes this plate into dessert territory, unless you’d like to start your day in a sugar coma. To each their own; there are worse ways to celebrate a birthday!

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Newman’s Old Cookies

Twenty years is an incredibly long time when it comes to the lifespan of most products, and even the brands themselves. Combing through the archives to revisit the blog’s first years of life, it’s striking just how few of my earliest review features are still on the market. Rest in peace, my beloved Sweet & Sara marshmallows. May your memory be a blessing, Sunergia soy feta. Until we meet again, Luna tea cakes. I’ll see you in hell, Righteously Raw bars. I could go on, but there was one remarkable finding that snapped me out of that sad spiral: the very first thing I ever reviewed is still on store shelves, nationwide, to this day.

Newman-O’s, one of the earliest “healthy” Oreo doppelgangers that told us it was okay to eat cookies as long as they were organic, seems largely unchanged after two decades. The biggest difference is the label, bold and colorful, redesigned to capture what little attention spans shoppers have left. I thought this was the perfect opportunity to reopen my investigation to see if they still hold up to scrutiny.

Newman’s Own Organics launched the iconic Newman-O’s in 1993, the first line to expand the company’s offerings beyond their initial dressings and sauces. In addition to the Original sandwich crèmes up for re-examination today, additional flavors include Chocolate Crème, Mint, Peanut Butter, Strawberry, and Vanilla. Sadly, Ginger-O’s quietly disappeared from store shelves post pandemic, never to return. Of course, this was my favorite one. Yet again, my approval seems to be the ultimate kiss of death.

Oreo is said to be the world’s best-selling cookie, though Newman-O’s are hardly concerned about competing or dominating in any arena. 100% of the profits go to charity, which should make it a bit easier to swallow the $6.99 – 9.99 price tag, which is easily two or three times more than “America’s Favorite” cookie. Ostensibly, you’re paying for quality; organic flour and sugar, and no trans fats, high‑fructose corn syrup, or partially hydrogenated oils. Does it all add up when it comes to flavor, though?

Yes and no.

Yes, this is a solid sandwich cookie. Crisp chocolate wafers enclose a creamy white filling, balancing out the subtly bitter edge of the cocoa with a blast of vanilla frosting sweetness. They dissolve easily when dunked in non-dairy milk, melting away in the mouth without leaving a greasy residue. The two halves cleave away cleanly, satisfying for anyone that prefers to deconstruct their dessert to eat the components separately. Uncomplicated, they’re easy to love at any age.

No, it’s not vastly different from the experience of eating an Oreo. Maybe it’s the placebo effect that lends them the impression of having a cleaner finish and flavor, or that you can feel better about making a “smarter” choice. Eaten side by side, without the respective logos embossed on top, it might be difficult to tell them apart. That, however, is honestly a win for Newman. To offer the same addictive qualities as such a well-loved cookie, without sacrificing quality ingredients is a certain kind a coup.

I’m amazed, impressed, and relieved that Newman-O’s remains exactly as I remember it from my first foray into reviewing food. Before sponsorship, work for trade, influencers, and all the other noise muddying up the field, this is one I chose to buy with my own money, and still do.

Marvelous Mekelesha

Spice blends make the world go ’round. Individual spices are powerful, but who cooks with just one at a time? It’s rare to find a solo seasoning that really stands up to scrutiny, or at least, can’t be improved by a bit of teamwork from complimentary flavors. Being able to quickly reach for a harmoniously blended combination that’s already carefully calibrated and ready to go is the ultimate cooking hack. When I can add a new blend to my spice rack, it opens up a whole new world of possibilities. That’s exactly what happened when I first tried mekelesha from Red Fox Spices.

What is Mekelesha?

Traditionally employed as a finishing spice in Ethiopian wots, the warming, sweet character of the mixture seems incongruous to the richly savory stews at first, yet somehow manages to meld seamlessly into the finished dish. Carried by nutmeg, cinnamon, and cardamom, then sharply contrasted by cloves, cumin, and pepper, it’s a potent, distinctive taste that’s hard to explain. Like any spice blend, the exact components and ratios are up for debate. What’s nonnegotiable, if you ask me, is that long pepper makes the cut. Though a rarity in the US, that’s exactly what Red Fox Spices invites to the party, alongside more commonplace black peppercorns, imparting an irreplaceable slow-building, earthy heat.

How is Mekelesha Used?

By all means, use mekelesha as intended to make more robust entrees, compelling side dishes, and unforgettable meals. Then, when you’re ready to experiment, consider the sweeter possibilities that I found utterly irresistible. Spice cookies use so many of these basic components already; why not cut to the chase by creating a simple formula that dazzles with wildly complex flavor? That’s why a good spice blend is essential.

The Sweeter Side of Mekelesha

Mekelesha Molasses Cookies leverage the inherently rich, hot, and simultaneously smooth spice blend to brighten the classic New England treat. Nutty whole wheat flour and molasses lend a dark, deep foundation to amplify the contrasting tastes. Like gingerbread with a brighter bite, soft and chewy, with a crisp coarse sugar crust, the complete package is utterly irresistible. The fact that they come together with only a handful of pantry staples makes them all the more tempting; once you have mekelesha at your disposal, nothing will stand in the way of your next batch.

Make More with Mekelesha

Anywhere you might reach for apple pie spice, pumpkin pie spice, chai spice, five spice powder, or even garam masala, give mekelesha a try instead. With a single sprinkle, it bridges cuisines and traditions, slipping effortlessly from slow-simmered stews to baked goods that feel both familiar and extraordinary. When a dish needs something more but you can’t quite name it, this indispensable Ethiopian blend just might be the answer.

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