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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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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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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Purple People Pleaser

Ube is here to stay.

Casting Filipino kitchens in a vibrant violet hue for millennia, these tubers have taken root in the hearts, minds, and stomachs of those worldwide. Who wouldn’t immediately be captivated by such a striking shade? Few, if any, earthly ingredients could ever achieve that brilliance. One glance and the brain starts spinning like a top, searching for context clues to make sense of what might be on our plates but no, there’s nothing quite like ube.

Adjacent to Hannah yams in terms of texture and flavor, most people seek to accentuate their natural sweetness in desserts. Subtly nutty, accented by hints of floral vanilla, it’s an excellent candidate for the last course. I, however, am not most people, and I think ube should be the entree, too.

Noodles Everyday, In All The Ways

Back when I was obsessed with my pasta maker, if I could extrude it in a dough, no flavor combination was off the table. That era was marked by furious flour storms and spaghetti stands drying on every available surface. Beet linguine, spinach ravioli, charcoal spaghetti; I noodled through every color of the rainbow and back again. One stand-out experiment was ube fettuccine, impossibly indigo, fit for royalty.

Yes, the pasta portion of the recipe is written in grams; it’s worth the price of a kitchen scale, if you don’t already have one. Pasta making isn’t hard, especially with a machine doing the heavy lifting, but it is exacting.

Semi-Homemade Hack

To that end, you can use store-bought dried pasta and cook it in ube-tinted waters for a quicker, and easier fix, but one with much less impact. Expect something more along the lines of pastel lavender pasta, and precious little added flavor to speak of.

To honor its more tropical origin, no average Alfredo sauce would do. Coconut replaces cream in a lush, velvety, unapologetically rich base, coaxed back into savory territory with umami nutritional yeast, garlic, and a whisper of lemon juice. Simple in composition but wildly nuanced in flavor, it’s a sauce that sings in harmony with the sweet, nutty depth of the ube without competing, only amplifying.

Why relegate something so naturally brilliant to just pastries and lattes? Ube has range, and clear staying power. It brings a gentle sweetness with a grounding earthiness that makes it just as welcome at the start of a meal as the finish.

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Egged On

Does anyone else have definitively different algorithms across platforms? Facebook seems to think I’m a complete Japanophile, never failing to remind me about sakura season and tips for packing bento boxes, while Instagram (though also owned by Facebook) feeds me a steady diet of gloom, doom, and horrid AI atrocities.

Though it’s been quite some time since I last visited Japan and have little hope of returning anytime soon, you can guess where I’d rather waste my time. Indulging in a bit of mindless scrolling before bed, I came across a very unremarkable video, no longer than 10 seconds at most, highlighting one more piece of evidence that “Japan is living in 2050.” Lo and behold, shelf stable packets of tamago kake sauce to squeeze over rice. Astounding.

Flipping through countless similar, forgettable contributions to this digital wasteland, I quickly moved on. For some reason though, the idea stuck with me. Tamago kake gohan, the most basic dish of hot rice topped with raw egg, could still be easier to make. To me, a lover of all things vegan egg-related, I was secretly captivated. I wanted to recreate this simple pleasure but got caught up in the complications of making a spherified vegan egg yolk, which is diametrically opposed to the elementary nature of the meal. If the egg could just be sauce, since it just gets broken up and stirred into the rice anyway, that changes things.

Dozens if not hundreds of recipes for vegan yolks are floating about on the web at this point, so if mine doesn’t strike your fancy, go off on a Google adventure and take your pick. My point here is that while a perfect golden dome, capable of bursting into unctuous, eggy sauce would look more impressive at first serving, the results are the same: it’s delicious. As someone prone to overthinking, it’s exhausting chasing the best, most perfect, most beautiful, most creative of everything. Tamago kake gohan should require zero thinking.

It’s not pretty and won’t get any likes on social media. I’m okay with that. I’ll make a big batch of egg sauce and rice, pack them separately in the fridge, and have easy food all week. Plus, all you have to do is add tofu for an instant scramble, if you’re more in the mood for that. Additional toppings are optional, but recommended, especially if you eat this frequently, to prevent palate fatigue. It’s good, maybe even great, though not enough to catapult me into 2050. Thank god for that.

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Terry-bly Good Veggie Burgers

Few veggie burgers carry such mystique and acclaim as the patty from P. Terry’s. As a throwback to simpler times, it’s all substance, no style, and proud of it. It doesn’t try to emulate meat, yet regularly wins over proud carnists, at least for one meal. Many would say it’s the best veggie burger in the city, which is a tall claim for a $5 meal, fully loaded. Still, it bums me out.

Plant-Forward, Not Plant-Based

The veggie burger from P. Terry’s is not vegan. It’s not a matter that removing the top slice of American cheese can remedy; these legendary patties come with two additional types of shredded cheese baked right inside, enmeshed into the very fiber of that brown rice base. Vegetarian, yes; vegan, no.

Possibilities Frozen In Time

What’s more infuriating is that it doesn’t have to be this way. They’ve proven they have the technology! For a time span so short that it seemed like a fever dream, P. Terry’s started selling frozen veggie burger patties at select Whole Foods, including the original, AND a fully plant-based version using Daiya vegan cheese! Did anyone ever find them in stores? The records are lost to time. I certainly missed out on the opportunity, and they were never offered as a menu item in restaurants.

Deconstructing Ingredients

Though frustrating, the hype surrounding the dairy-filled classic has created a long paper trail of evidence for deconstruction. Their own website lists the ingredients as follows:

crimini mushrooms, heavy cream, black beans, brown rice, cheddar cheese, onion, mozzarella cheese, eggs, whole wheat flour, oats, parsley, corn starch, salt, garlic powder

Despite some conflicting evidence from a video posted to Facebook, showing the inclusion of bulgur, I believe the above to be true and accurate. Maybe they were just trying to throw us off the trail, because it’s otherwise too easy. I’m onto your tricks, Mr. Terry.

Starting From Scratch

Simple, comforting, and distinctly wholesome, this is a burger meant to taste homemade. For working people who don’t have the luxury of time to make their own, and would honestly rather not be eating fast food, that’s the whole appeal. Lightly crisped on the outside and soft on the inside, the standard array of crisp lettuce, tomato, onion, and “special sauce” create a satisfying contrast that brings it all together. Perhaps it’s special because it’s un-special, or vice versa?

As a vegan, it’s hard not to feel a little burned by the P. Terry’s veggie burger. With such thoughtful composition, respects paid to classic meatless patties of the 70’s and 80’s, and all that mouthwatering hype, it feels like a huge miss to keep dairy and eggs at its core.

Fast Food Meets Slow Food

For those of us on the outside looking in, there’s power in reinterpretation. The original’s legacy has created a clear blueprint, ripe for the taking. It may never show up on the P. Terry’s menu board, but some legends are best when you make your own.

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