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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Love Your Leftovers

Holiday meals are all about abundance, which means one thing: plenty of leftovers. If you ask me, that’s even better than the feast itself. The hard work is already done, and what’s left is a treasure trove of deeper, richer flavors that have had time to meld and develop. With just a bit of creativity, you can transform those original dishes into entirely new taste sensations.

Humble stuffing turns into grab-and-go savory breakfast muffins, filled with gooey vegan cheese. Spice up the standard green bean casserole into a quick curry, perfect for a weeknight dinner. Holiday roasts are easily slapped into sandwiches, but why not wrap them up into light, fresh spring rolls instead, in bold contrast to a heavier meal?

There’s no need to tempt flavor fatigue by eating the same meal for days on end; you’ll love your leftovers with a few simple tweaks.

I’m sharing all of these recipes, from the original dishes to their secondary transformations, in the latest Issue of Vegan Journal. You can view the entire issue online for free, but please consider subscribing to have it delivered straight to your door!

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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Thanksgiving Wild Card

It’s a shame that most people turn to wild rice only when Thanksgiving rolls around, though with such a strong and legitimate historical association, they should be forgiven. I am also one of those people, forgetting all about this straw-like black aquatic grass until November, then quickly shuffling it into the back of my mental Rolodex until next year. Though it takes the same amount of time and effort as brown rice, something about cooking it feels like an event.

Wild About Wild Rice

In truth, wild rice stuffing (or dressing, depending on your upbringing) is just a seasonal pilaf or salad, served warm. Would it detract from the magic to make it for a 4th of July backyard BBQ, a birthday party potluck, or a random Tuesday in April? Certainly not, and yet, when that bountiful dish of toothsome, nutty whole grains comes out on the fourth Thursday in November, it sets the scene with a final flourish, dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s on a carefully curated menu.

The All-American Whole Grain

Wild rice, a pseudograin that has captured the hearts and palates of many, is deeply intertwined with Indigenous cultures, particularly the Anishinaabe people of the Great Lakes region. Known as “manoomin,” or “good berry,” it thrives in shallow waters, where it has been hand-harvested for over a thousand years, using canoes and cedar sticks to gently knock the grains into waiting vessels. Wild rice is not only a staple food but also a vital part of spiritual practices and community gatherings, symbolizing harmony with nature. With its impressive nutritional profile, rich in protein, fiber, and antioxidants, wild rice has sustained generations. As we gather to give thanks, incorporating this ancient grain not only enriches our meals but also honors the Indigenous traditions that have shaped American foodways.

Spice Up Your Rice

If you only eat wild rice once a year, let’s make it count. Banish bland boxed mixes and spice things up this year. Fresh jalapeño and Thai bird’s eye chili bring the heat, tempered by the sweet citrus flavor of orange juice, juicy red apples, and a touch of maple syrup. Aromatic and herbaceous, it’s bold yet plays well with others, livening up the typical guest list without commanding all the attention. At the very least, it should remind you not to overlook wild rice yet again.

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Flipping The Script

Vegan eggnog is usually the first thing in my shopping cart come November 1st, remaining a steady line item on my grocery list until the supply runs dry. My head-to-head Nog-Offs are legendary, but this year, only disappointment was in store. With no new contenders in the ring, this fight was over before it began.

Instead, I’m flipping over a lighter, easier, quicker approach that anyone can mix up at home. Flip cocktails, a captivating twist largely forgotten to time, are long overdue for a plant-based revival.

What Is A Flip Cocktail?

First hitting the bar scene in the late 1690’s, a flip is a cocktail made with whipped whole egg, sugar, spirits or fortified wine, and garnished with nutmeg. Traditionally poured back and forth between two shakers to properly mix and froth, or “flip,” is how they got their name. They can be served hot or cold, and are now most commonly made with brandy (my personal favorite here), bourbon, or rum.

How Are Flips Different From Eggnog?

Reminiscent of the eggy richness that eggnog has made its calling card, flip cocktails are notably lighter, since they lack the dairy component often fulfilled by heavy cream. Eggnog is a tall, voluminous drink that sits like a meal, whereas a flip is a smaller tipple, better for pairing with food or snacks. If you want to leave room for Christmas cookies, this is what I call “balance,” at least when it comes to a holiday indulgence!

An Eggless Flip? Flip Yeah!

It seems counterintuitive to suggest revamping a cocktail that’s primarily based on eggs, but there’s nothing we can’t veganize these days. Case in point, you’ll never miss the cloying unctuousness of a chicken yolk when you can enjoy all the flavor instead.

  1. Aquafaba takes the role of egg whites, building up a stable foam that won’t dissipate once it hits the glass. Simultaneously, it acts as an emulsifier that keeps the whole mixture together, giving it body and a velvety texture to the very last sip.
  2. Instead of plain simple syrup made of equal parts sugar and water, a touch of nutritional yeast adds subtly savory flavor along with an alluring golden hue. Black salt, aka kala namak, contributes that telltale sulfurous aroma that makes everything instantly taste eggy.
  3. Distilled spirits, such as those called for here, are naturally or “accidentally” vegan by default. There are some odd outliers, but they would most likely call attention to that fact because it would be out of the ordinary.

Flip Variations

Anything that’s been around for a few centuries is bound to morph and adapt with changing tastes. As such, there’s already a long history of flip cocktail variations, including:

  • Sailor’s Flip, often using cheaper ale or beer instead of or in addition to liquor
  • Egg-Hot, which was an early zero-proof cocktail that skipped the spirits
  • Sleeper, using an aromatic blend of cloves, coriander, and lemon in lieu of nutmeg

More creative, modern interpretations bring a bit more fun and flavor to the party:

  • Chocolate Flip: Add a splash of vegan chocolate liqueur to make an adult version of hot cocoa.
  • Fiery Flip: Infuse your flip with a hint of chilies and/or ginger for a warming kick.
  • Red Eye Flip: Incorporate a shot of espresso to craft a bracing wake up call.

Nog Off, Flip On

Not every year can bring a blockbuster eggless nog to market. To fill that void, a veganized flip cocktail may be a better choice for welcoming in the Christmas spirit. Given its simplicity, versatility, and accessibility, the only thing you stand to lose is your sobriety.

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