Tag: entree

Endless Einkorn Pastabilities

I very nearly destroyed my stand mixer trying to make einkorn pasta. I’m no stranger to the art of pasta making thanks to a brief but immersive obsession during COVID19, so I had full confidence that this simple experiment would be a wild success.

I was wildly wrong.

Wads of wet, sticky, yet impossibly thick dough clogged the extruding attachment from top to bottom, inexorably stuck in pasta purgatory. No amount of prodding could convince it to come out, nor additional flour, water, or even oil. Only time could heal this wound, letting the einkorn paste dry up to a point where I could chisel it out a few days later. I vowed then and there that I would never make einkorn pasta again. Fortunately for me and you, I don’t have to.

Buy, Don’t DIY

Grand Teton Ancient Grains, my favorite resource for whole grains and the instigators of my whole einkorn infatuation, now make luxurious long strands of einkorn angel hair, spaghetti, and linguine. This stuff is the real deal, made with 100% einkorn semolina and nothing else. No filler, no nonsense. That means they pack a punch, nutritionally speaking, with more than twice the amount of protein as standard white flour pasta. It’s a good thing they’re packed in two-pound bulk bags because I can’t keep my hands off of these beauties.

Bronze Takes First Place

Bronze-cut pasta is the gold standard for quality pasta production, pioneered by the Italians in the 17th century. Otherwise known as trafilata al bronzo, the bronze dies create a rougher surface as the dough is extruded. That means the resulting noodles have a more satisfying bite and are better suited to capturing and holding on to whatever sauces you throw at them. The technique fell out of favor as modern manufacturing demanded faster turnaround times, but the difference is obvious. Modern bronze-cut pasta exemplifies a philosophy of patience and respect for ingredients without having to say a word.

Taste Beyond Compare

While the deep flaxen hue may look like standard whole wheat, the flavor is anything but. Subtly sweet and delicate, there’s none of the off-putting bitterness that the bran of modern wheat can impart. Naturally buttery, honeyed, and slightly toasted, it has a softer, rounder flavor that doesn’t dominate sauces. Einkorn pasta gives you the best of all worlds.

Guardian Angels

Angel hair is typically my last choice when cravings come calling, but this version grants it a massive upgrade on the noodle hierarchy. After a mere two minutes in the water, they’re already supple and ready to serve, yet stronger than the average gossamer strands. Tender without collapsing, delicate without disappearing, I finally understand the enduring appeal of this much maligned noodle.

Spaghetti Theory

Einkorn spaghetti invites a bolder approach. Thicker and more robust, it has the structure to stand up to assertive flavors and sturdier mix-ins without losing its elegance. This is the pasta I reached for when making Dirty Martini Pasta, where briny olives, sharp citrus, and glossy olive oil demand a noodle with both backbone and nuance. Einkorn’s naturally earthy flavor softens the high notes, keeping the dish balanced rather than abrasive. Each bite feels cohesive; salty, silky, and just indulgent enough to honor such sophisticated cocktail inspirations.

Lingering Over Linguine

Wider lengths of linguine possess a certain grounded grandeur. Like slightly flattened ribbons, it has a natural grace that makes it feel composed even before sauce enters the picture. It holds space beautifully, lending a hearty bite to any dish it stars in, and yes, it will easily steal the spotlight. This is the kind of pasta that invites intention, rewarding thoughtful pairings rather than excess.

Eat Like a Rockefeller

That balance made it the obvious choice for making Oyster Mushrooms Pastafeller, a plant-forward nod to the flavors of Oysters Rockefeller. Feathery oyster mushrooms take on the role of velvety seared seafood, bolstered by briny capers and kelp granules, while herbs, aromatics, and richness envelope the whole dish. Al dente linguine entwines in a comforting tangle, paying proper homage to the inspiration without attempting imitation.

While I’m not happy about the original pasta maker mishap, it does give me a greater appreciation for the artistry that goes into a ready-made solution. The difference is knowing when to let go of DIY bravado and trust true craftsmanship. That’s what made Oyster Mushroom Pastafeller possible and ready on a whim, without bringing out the heavy artillery. Grand Teton Ancient Grains delivers einkorn pasta that honors the grain without asking you to wrestle it into submission. Sometimes the smartest move isn’t trying harder, but choosing better.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)4 Comments

Address to a Vegan Haggis

If there can only be one woefully misunderstood and unfairly vilified dish in our collective culinary canon, my vote would go to haggis. Yes, I’m prepared to defend the savory Scottish pudding that takes all forms of organ meat stuffed inside of a sheep’s bladder or stomach. Like any good controversy, there’s much more to it than flashy headlines, and far greater nuance than just excess organs and entrails.

Criminally Misconstrued

As of 1971, it is in fact illegal to import or produce traditional haggis in the US. Concerns stemmed from the use of sheep’s lungs, which were deemed particularly susceptible to contamination, which could in turn spread disease. While this ban still stands, more contemporary versions of haggis, made without the offending offal, are permitted. The easiest way to bypass the restriction is to simply leave the entrails in the past.

A Short History of Haggis

To fully appreciate this medieval meal of subsistence, it’s important to understand how it came to be. Sheep outnumber the human population in Scotland, making them the obvious fodder for all sorts of traditional dishes. Waste not, want not; everything remotely edible would be chopped up and heavily seasoned to detract from the more gamey flavors, heavily salted to prevent spoilage, and stuffed into some sort of casing for easy transportation. Though sausage-like in construction, it has more in common with savory English pudding in practice. The stomach or bladder would be cut open and emptied after cooking and summarily discarded. So much for all that shock value.

Somewhere along the line, shepherds began to settle more into farming, and stretching their meat with grains. Oatmeal, specifically Scotch oats or porridge oats, became an equally iconic cultural touchstone, finding its way into this amalgamation. The earliest written record from 1430 CE lists sheep’s heart, liver, lungs, oatmeal, onion, suet, and stock as the key ingredients.

Burn’s Night: Address to a Haggis

Haggis is redeemed by the annual tradition of Burn’s Night, January 25th, marking the birthday of Scotland’s national poet, Robert “Rabbie” Burns. Mr. Burns immortalized haggis in his 1787 poem Address to a Haggis, a florid, passionate ode that elevates the humble pudding to near-mythic status. In it, he celebrates not only the hearty dish itself but the rugged self-reliance of Scottish culture. So exuberant and impassioned were his words that generations have since treated the poem as both sacred text and dinner entertainment.

A Modern Answer to an Ancient Problem

Like any other recipe that’s been around for a few centuries, endless variations have sprouted from that original seed of inspiration, and vegetarian haggis is no stranger in Caledonia. By the mid–20th century, more Scots were living in cities, fewer were butchering their own livestock, and a growing number of people were deciding, out of ethics, health, or pure squeamishness, that eating minced organs packed into a stomach wasn’t quite for them.

The earliest meatless versions began appearing in the 1960s and 70s, coinciding with the rise of the modern vegetarian movement in the UK. A wholesome amalgamation of oats, legumes, root vegetables, and aggressive seasoning, it was first commercially produced in 1984, and now makes up for 25% – 40% of all haggis sales.

Makar’s Mash Bar – Vegan Haggis Interior

Bringing Haggis Back Home

When I visited Scotland last year, the single best thing I ate was the vegan haggis at Makar’s Mash Bar. Incredibly rich, tender yet toothsome, the combination of chestnuts, seeds, lentils, and oats put it over the top. Combined with the traditional pairing of neeps and tatties (rutabaga and potatoes), plus decadent whisky cream sauce, I was hooked on haggis from the first bite. Since then, I’ve been dreaming of recreating that experience and finally, the time has come.

Skipping the questionable casing entirely, since it would only be scrapped anyway, I baked my haggis in ramekins for easier prep and serving alike. Make no mistake though, this is not a quick fix meal. Your best bet is to make the main in advance, and plan to reheat when you’re ready to serve. It’s an entree worthy of a celebration, and not just Burn’s Night; my original batch went to the Thanksgiving feast, and I can see this being right at home at a Christmas dinner or Hanukkah party, too.

Haggis for the Whole Herd

Warm, peppery, a little earthy, mushrooms lay down a savory foundation, all umami and bass, while chestnuts chime in with mellow sweetness. Beans, lentils, and steel-cut oats create the hearty core of the dish, punctuated by the toothsome bite of roughly chopped seeds. What truly ties everything together, though, is the seasoning. Warm, herbaceous, complex, tart, tangy; it’s a lot to take in at once, but still never too much.

I’ve plated it two ways, and I’m sure there are many more possible. You could even leave your haggis right inside the ramekin and call it a night. In a nod to the original inspiration, I made a little tower from my neeps and tatties, emulating fine dining flair with a bit of homemade rusticity. Of course, I do much prefer the simpler approach, spooning generous portions of each side onto the plate before drowning it all in whisky cream sauce. Regardless of the arrangement, I feel confident that this take could finally sway those on the fence about haggis. After all, it did for me.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)3 Comments

Noodles You Should Know: Yen Ta Fo

As pungent as it is vibrant, there’s no mistaking yen ta fo. Known for their unearthly pink color, these eye-catching noodles are an arresting sight, luminous bowlfuls of broth in night markets across Thailand. So bold that it borders on theatrical, yet its origins are anything but artificial.

From Teochew to Thai

Yen ta fo (เย็นตาโฟ) is Thai street food at its best; a riotous mosaic of contrasting textures and tastes. Soft rice noodles, ranging from delicately thin vermicelli to luxuriously wide sen yai, bathe in that unmistakable pink soup, introduced through a curtain of steam. Its origins are somewhat of a collage as well, owing much to its Chinese roots, brought over by Teochew (Chaozhou) immigrants to Thailand. The name itself comes from the Chinese dialects, with “yen” meaning red or pink, and “ta fo” derived from “dou fu” (tofu).

Pretty in Pink, Funky in Flavor

The tofu in question is the single most important part of the dish, the defining factor that imparts that unforgettable rosy hue. Fermented bean curd, preserved with salt, rice wine, and chilies, melts into the broth with a slow-building intensity that lingers in both color and flavor. Its pungency is complex, funky and brash, but also surprisingly mellow when simmered. Some unscrupulous vendors enhance their soup with food coloring, though such shenanigans are wholly unnecessary when working with the genuine article.

Build Your Bowl

What goes into the bowl after that is part tradition, part personal preference. Most renditions begin with the usual suspects of Thai noodle soup, such as airy tofu puffs, tendrils of morning glory (water spinach), mushrooms (most often wood ear, AKA black fungus), wonton chips, and crunchy fried garlic. Historically a seafood-focused dish, the standard build would usually feature various fish balls, squid, sliced fish cake, or the occasional pink-tinged crab stick, though fully vegan versions aren’t too hard to come by.

Season and Slurp

Yen ta fo isn’t meant to be perfectly balanced out of the kitchen. Like many Thai noodle soups, it arrives awaiting your hand at the condiment station. Here, you can fine-tune the experience with a splash of vinegar for brightness, a touch of sugar to amplify the sweetness, chili flakes or chili oil for heat, and a dash of vegan fish sauce for that crave-worthy hit of umami.

Pink of Perfection

For all its flamboyance, yen ta fo is an everyday dish, which is a large part of its appeal. Accessible, affordable, and ubiquitous across Thailand’s markets and food courts, all the locals know the marvels of yen ta fo. It rarely makes its way to Western menus, perhaps because of its peculiar color or its potentially polarizing flavors. That’s a real shame, because yen ta fo is a real sensory delight in its juxtapositions; dressed in neon pink but grounded in deep, savory flavors, its beautiful chaos in a bowl.

Hannah (BitterSweet)11 Comments

Emmer-gence

“Emmer” may not ring a bell, but I have a feeling you know more about it than you think. Just flip its name tag over to the better known moniker of farro, and it’s like we’re talking about a whole different grain. Yes, misunderstandings about the title abound, so it’s long overdue that we set the record straight. Emmer is an ancient grain that deserves a spot on every modern table.

In a Land Far, Farro Away

What’s truly wild is how few people understand what exactly farro is. Still on the fringes of mainstream grocery stores, granted, it’s not at the top of the average eater’s grocery list. Farro became trendy in the US sometime around the 90s and 00s, alongside the boom of Italian imports like balsamic vinegar and olive oil that didn’t taste like rancid gasoline. However, what makes things more confusing is that no one grain is defined as farro. Rather, there are three types of farro:

  • Farro grande; spelt
  • Farro piccolo; einkorn
  • Farro medio; emmer

Emmer is the grain most commonly referred to as farro, when no other qualifiers can be found. Farro wheat, which is also classified as durum wheat, is defined by the way it grows, with two rows of grain on opposite sides of a single stalk.

Conveniently, Grand Teton Ancient Grains sells all three types, so you can see (and taste) the difference for yourself!

Emmer Through the Ages

Botanical semantics out of the way, emmer is one of the preeminent whole grains. Known as “Mother Wheat,” it was one of the first grains to be domesticated in the Near East over 10,000 years ago. A staple crop in ancient Israel and Egypt, it spread to Italy following the Roman invasion around 50 BCE, where it took root in the culture and remains a top crop to this day. The rest of Europe developed a taste for this high-protein whole grain as well, especially when it comes to bread making in Germany and Switzerland. It’s also a crucial ingredient in Ethiopia, where it’s enjoyed primarily as a hot porridge.

Emmer Is Good Eats

Flavor always comes first in my kitchen, which is why emmer has become a fast favorite around here, too. Nutty and complex, there’s a subtle taste that reminds me of fresh almonds when cooked, adding a gently sweet finish that tastes both honeyed and malted. Chewy and robust, the whole wheat berry stands up well to long-simmered soups and stews, never falling apart under pressure. That also makes it an excellent addition to salads, both hot and cold, and keeps beautifully for meal prep and travel. When ground into flour, it makes silky smooth batters, though it can create denser breads due to a lesser gluten content, compared to modern wheat varieties.

Nutritional Benefits for People and the Planet

Prized for its ability to thrive in poor soils and harsh climates, emmer is beloved by farmers as a sustainable superstar. It generally needs fewer chemical inputs like fertilizers and pesticides, and is more drought-tolerant than modern wheat. As beneficial to the planet as the people that eat it, consumers can reap the rewards of many trace minerals in every serving, including iron, zinc, magnesium, and niacin. It’s high in protein and fiber, making it a satisfying foundation to any meal. Being that it is a form of wheat, however, it is not gluten-free, and not appropriate for those with celiac disease. Some who are merely intolerant report better digestibility, since it has less gluten than conventional wheat varieties.

Emmer Everyday, in All the Ways

Is there anything that emmer can’t do? Found across cultures and continents, whole and ground, there’s always a place for it at the table.

  • Soups and stews: Perhaps best known in Tuscan zuppa di farro, these sturdy whole grains are the ideal swap for pasta in any minestrone, Italian wedding soup, cacio e pepe, and so much more.
  • Risotto: As a modern twist to the traditional rice dish, farrotto is just plain fun to say. Some renditions favor cracked or pearled emmer for their faster cooking times, and/or soak them in advance to help expedite the process.
  • Salads and pilafs: Served hot, at room temperature, or fully chilled, emmer won’t let you down at dinnertime. Pair it with hearty roasted vegetables or delicate leafy greens and fresh herbs
  • Breads: In India, the flour is known as khapli wheat and is favored for making whole grain roti, dosa, and paratha. Aish baladi, a flatbread very similar to pita, is an core Egyptian delicacy, frequently stuffed or torn into piece for dipping. European loaves often combine it with a sourdough starter for greater loft and nuanced flavor.
  • Sweets: Treats like cookies, pie dough, muffins, cakes, pancakes, and more can all benefit from an emmer underpinning. Dense like most whole wheat flours, it adds heft and a hearty bite, balanced nicely by sugar, and especially the addition of spice.
  • Porridge and hot cereal: Cooked either whole or coarsely ground, emmer makes an excellent breakfast meal. Depending on your preferences, it can be served with savory additions like chickpeas and za’atar, or sweet finishes like fresh berries and maple syrup.
  • Beer and spirits: Though a bit tricky to find in the US, emmer beer has been a brewer’s best friend for millennia. Emmer beer was once one of the healthiest ways to hydrate, before the days of clean water and further filtration. Some distillers take it a step further to make emmer whiskey, though the rarity of those bottles drives a considerable price tag. 

Other notable traditional dishes that defy easy categorization include torta a farro, a savory cake reminiscent of a frittata, arancini di farro, favoring emmer in the typical deep-fried rice ball, and adjar pilaf, an Armenian side dish with mushrooms and onions.

Cooking Tips and Tricks

Whole emmer wheat berries are incredibly forgiving when it comes to cooking. Treat them like beans for the best results; use plenty of water, simmer low and slow, and drain off the excess. Of course, you can always speed things up with a little help from your trusty pressure cooker.

  • On the stove top, start by rinsing 1 cup of whole emmer wheat berries under cold water to remove any dust or debris. Then, place them in a pot with about 3 cups of water and a pinch of salt. Bring the mixture to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer. Cover the pot and let it cook for 45 – 60 minutes, or until the grains are tender but still chewy. If you’re using pearled emmer, the cooking time may be closer to 25 – 30 minutes. Once cooked, drain any excess liquid and fluff the grains with a fork.
  • In a pressure cooker, combine 1 cup of rinsed emmer wheat berries with 2 1/2 cups of water and a pinch of salt. Seal the lid and cook on high pressure for 20 – 25 minutes (or 12 – 15 minutes for pearled). Allow the pressure to release naturally for 10 minutes, then release any remaining pressure manually. Drain any excess liquid if needed, and the grains are ready to use.

Enjoy your emmer right away while still hot, or let cool completely, then store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for 5 – 7 days. Consider keeping it in the freezer for long-term storage, up to 6 months, if you’d rather make bigger batches at a time.

Kasha is Out, Emmer is In

With Hanukkah looming right around the corner, Jewish comfort food has been top of mind. Kasha varnishkes aren’t making headlines like latkes and brisket, though they’re just as welcome at the holiday feast as they are on the average, everyday dinner table. “Kasha” means buckwheat and “varnishkes” refers to noodles, typically bow-tie shaped pasta, AKA farfalle in this case, fully explaining the simplicity and universal appeal of the dish. Bolstered by caramelized onions, the earthy whole grains add a comforting weight to al dente semolina pasta. It’s a beloved comfort food of Eastern European Jews through the generations. My unconventional suggestion is to drop the bitter buckwheat in favor of subtly sweet emmer berries.

Emmer Varnishkes are my contribution to the culinary canon. While buckwheat has its own old world charm, it tends to skew more bitter, grassy, and sometimes as earthy as a whole barnyard. The mild sweetness of emmer melds effortlessly with the richness of the dish, bringing out the complex chestnut and freshly popped popcorn notes. The key is to toast the emmer before simmering lightly salted stock, enhancing the naturally nutty flavor locked within. Then, perfectly befitting of the holiday, instead of schmaltz, olive oil honors the Hanukkah miracle, all while adding a peppery brightness.

Far-Out Emmer

If you’re a fan of farro, guess what? You’re already on board with emmer. Next time you see “farro” on a menu or in a recipe, you’ll know the story runs deeper than a trendy grain bowl. Emmer has nourished civilizations for thousands of years, and it’s still feeding our curiosity, and our appetites, today. Whether simmering in a soup pot, baked into bread, or starring in your next grain salad, there’s still so much more to discover with this ancient grain.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)13 Comments

Pot Roast with the Most

Any brisket could be pot roast, but not all pot roasts are brisket. Confused yet? Once and for all, to set the record straight:

Brisket is a specific cut of meat. Pot roast is a method of preparation.

This is what I tell myself, as if it was that neat and clean, but the truth is the lines are blurry and overlapping, especially depending on who you ask. Brisket can become a pot roast if you toss it into a slow cooker, drowning it in broth and aromatics until it practically shreds itself. You could call that a Jewish pot roast with ease, but a born-and-bred Texan might run you right out of town for that declaration. In these parts, brisket must be smoked low and slow over dry heat, not stewed into oblivion.

Hot Take for a Hot Pot

In the spirit of the holidays, let’s just say that everyone’s right. Let’s put down the pitch forks and pick up the dinner forks, shall we? I made a more conventional take on a vegan holiday brisket last year, which I still consider one of my crowning culinary achievements. This time around, to make something I could classify as a pot roast, I thought it was high time to examine the meat of the matter.

Hen-of-the-Woods in Every Pot

Now, the star of the show isn’t seitan, but mushrooms. Big, feathery clusters of maitake, also called hen-of-the-woods, with their wild, ruffled edges and umami depth that’s downright meaty, maintain a distinctly fibrous yet tender texture, not unlike shredded beef. The protein not the cut for pot roast is a crucial element of what makes the dish, which is why it translates so seamlessly to a plant-based table.

Marvels of Maitake

I used dried maitake here not just for their concentrated flavor or long shelf life, though both are undeniable perks, but because they’re the embodiment of wealth and abundance for me. Every fall, my mom forages them from the wilderness of suburban Connecticut, scouring the base of old oaks with the focus of a seasoned treasure hunter. She dries them carefully, filling mason jars and brown paper bags with feathery clusters that smell like the forest floor after rain. Rehydrated, they spring back to life with even more intensity, deep and woodsy with a hint of smoke. You could substitute roughly a pound of fresh maitake if you don’t have that same incredible fortune.

A Pot Roast by Any Other Name

Somewhere, a food purist is clutching their pearls, muttering about prime cuts and the Maillard reaction. They’ll say it’s not a roast if it doesn’t begin with marbled beef and end in pan drippings. But when I press a spoon against a tender heap of maitake mushrooms that have been stewed into supple submission, bathed in onion-y gravy and served alongside carrots and potatoes that melt in you mouth, I’m not thinking about taxonomy. I’m thinking about warmth, comfort, and how the house smells like the Hanukkahs of my childhood.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)8 Comments

The Stuff of Dreams

What is it about Thanksgiving that invokes the sudden urge to stuff various foods into others? I don’t mean the way we stuff our faces to excess, but the stuffing of bread and wild rice into turkey; ducks and hens into turkey; pretty much anything conceivably edible into turkey. It’s as if the poor bird were less an entree and more a suitcase, over-packed with the savory odds and ends we only think of once a year and otherwise never use. Furtively shoved inside as if flavor might be confiscated at customs, no one seems to question the tradition, even if it makes little logical sense.

I’m not immune to this impulse, irrational as it may be. You’d understand and (hopefully) forgive me if you saw what I was up against, though. Spotting the most adorable dumpling squash at the store, perfectly plump and rotund, I was instantly smitten. Still swooning at the plunder in my shopping cart, I was already planning how best to eviscerate my darlings and replace their guts with green beans. Brutal, perhaps, but far better than wrangling giblets out of de-feathered fowl, don’t you think?

Like a dog’s instinct to howl at the moon, satisfying yet meaningless, I’m powerless to rein in this primal impulse. Dumpling squash are undeniably the best edible vessels nature can devise, but any similar small squash will do, like delicata or honeynut squash. Using green bean casserole as the filling has the added, unintentional benefit of turning two sides into one entree, so if you’re a veggie-lover like me that would rather leave giant hunks of dry, bland protein off the plate, this is the best of all worlds.

Encased in the plush, subtly sweet flesh of roasted winter squash, tender-crisp green beans cozy up to a mushroom-laced mélange that no ceramic baking dish can contain. A halo of golden fried onions gives it that unmistakable nostalgic flavor that no Thanksgiving table is complete without.

Maybe its the yawning empty cavity of a hollow gourd that demands to be filled. Maybe it’s our subconscious way of holding on to fleeting warmth, of cramming in joy wherever we can find it, of stacking up all the things we love in a pile so high that it’s impossible to let any sadness in. If there was ever a time to get stuffed, this is it. If we’re lucky, we won’t just fill our plates; we’ll fill our hearts, too.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)15 Comments