Tag: meatless
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.
Wordless Wednesday: Noodle Around
Ikigai Ramen – Vegan Tonkatsu
Millennium – Rigatoni alla Puttanesca
Saigon Quan – Ap Chao Tofu
Franchia Vegan Cafe – Penang Noodles
Bodhi Viet Vegans – Wonton Noodle Soup
Bistro Vonish – Mac and Cheese
Cho Dang Tofu and BBQ – Mushroom Kalguksu
Bep Saigon – Hu Tieu Ap Chao
Bodhi Viet Vegans – Vermicelli Fermented Mixed Vegetables (Bún Mắm Thái)
Crunch Time: The Supreme Crunchwraps of Austin, TX
For a food icon that set off a craze, inspired innumerable imitators, and changed the very definition of “Mexican” food, the original Crunchwrap Supreme from Taco Bell is a bit of a let down. In how many other instances is the original perpetually surpassed by copycats?
Don’t get me wrong, it will always have a place in the fast food pantheon, especially for having a naturally vegan alternative baked right into the menu. On a long road trip into No Where, America, or when all reasonable establishments have turned in for the night, it’s the absolute height of culinary accomplishments. While paying homage to its legacy, I want to say how much better its become after chefs took notice, and took things into their own hands.
Humble Beginnings
The Crunchwrap Supreme saw a short but meteoric rise to fame right out of the gate. Unveiled as a limited release in 2005, it soon became a permanent staple the following year. A testament to the ingenuity of the Taco Bell creatives, it’s nothing more than the same ingredients (tortillas, lettuce, tomatoes, etc.) repackaged in a novel way to make the eating experience feel brand new.
The vegetarian Black Bean Crunchwrap Supreme was soon to follow, swapping the questionable “ground beef” for beans, which is instantly veganized by the request to make it “fresco style,” AKA, replacing cheese, queso, and sour cream with pico de gallo.
Universal Appeal
Folded into a flat hexagon rather than being rolled like a burrito, the Crunchwrap is all about textural contrast. Grilled layers of tortilla encase a hard tostada shell, creating the signature crunch in the center, flanked by a smattering of legumes and reasonably fresh vegetables. Designed to be doused in hot sauces to taste, it’s anything you want it to be. Unchallenging, comforting in its familiarity, yet different enough to prevent palate fatigue, that winning combination catapulted it to legendary status in no time.
While a potentially game-changing fully plant-based edition was announced by Taco Bell this summer, featuring actual meatless grounds for protein and dairy-free nacho sauce, it was short lived, both in access and overall lifespan. Only a few lucky cities were blessed with this limited entree, unlikely to return or see a wider release.
Modern Innovations
There will always be a place in my heart for the classic, especially on a budget. However, the next generation of artisan Crunchwraps are what have cemented the humble assembly as a cult classic. While the list of vegan hits is short and savory here in Austin, Texas, across the city, you’ll find indie takes that push the format into bold, brilliant new territory.
Best Vegan Crunchwraps in Austin, Texas
The Vegan Nom
Having made their name as the premier 100% vegan taco truck, I should have known that The Vegan Nom would knock this Tex-Mex legend out of the park, and out of several other parks without stopping. Due to the outdoor nature of the establishment and the absolutely punishing summer heat, their Crunchwrap Supreme was the last one I grabbed on my quest, and was unequivocally my favorite. Resoundingly crunchy, inside and out thanks to an immaculate sear, it’s densely packed with well-seasoned beefless grounds, both shredded vegan cheese and queso, avocado, the standard fleet of fresh veggies, and sour cream. Don’t forget to drench it in jalapeño aioli, which is daintily served on the side but quickly ended up smeared all over my hands, face, pants, shirt, and car. Yes, I did attempt to drink it straight, too.
Revolution Vegan Kitchen
Staking their claim as the #1 rival to Taco Bell, Revolution Vegan Kitchen has strategically titled their entry to the field as a Munch Wrap to avoid potential litigation. If the execs of Yum! Brands got their hands on one of these, they’d be so blown away by the rival that they might just forget to send the cease-and-desist. Everything on this beautiful behemoth is made from scratch, right down to the unbelievably gooey cheese and meaty TVP grounds. That attention to detail and refusal of shortcuts coalesces into a completely grease-less, fresh, and flavorful bundle that still hits all the right notes of nostalgic indulgence.
Mission Burger Co.
It feels like a minor crime to bypass the burgers at Mission Burger Co., but laws don’t apply when we’re talking about The Crunchwrap. This thing is the stuff of legends, absolutely loaded with steaming hot Impossible carne asada. This one is easily the meatiest build on this list, making it exceptionally hearty, satisfying, and downright juicy. Queso, guacamole, and sour cream make it a downright decadent bundle of joy. Expertly griddled on the outside, it’s a marvel of modern engineering that the lettuce stays fresh and crisp inside. Every individual layer could stand alone, full-bodied and well-seasoned, and work just as well together in concert.
Taco Pegaso
Crafted by chef Leslie Durso for a newly introduced vegan menu at Taco Pegaso, the Plant-Based Crunch Wrap was absolutely the standout dish of the whole bill of fare. For one, it’s actually crunchy, corn tostada standing tall in the center despite the weight of multiple sauces bearing down. Abbot’s chorizo plays a starring role for the protein, bringing in a meaty heft and piquant seasoning. You’ve got all the staples to back it up with beans, rice, queso, sour cream, and crisp veggies to lighten the load. Remarkably well-contained, this is one of the cleanest, most structurally sound Crunchwraps I’ve plowed through. As someone liable to end up with half a burrito in their lap on a good day, that’s saying something.
Eldorado Cafe
When you want to spice things up, the Vegan Crunchwrap Supreme from Eldorado Cafe is the thing for you. This one has a real bite from pickled jalapenos, spicy salsa, and homemade chorizo. Their refried black beans are honestly my favorite part; I could eat a big bowl of them, ungarnished, like soup. Local brand Credo queso steps up to provide that gooey, cheesy factor that makes it feel like an indulgence. Granted, it also skews the assembly to err on the wetter side, making it eat more like a sloppy, misshapen burrito than anything else. The crunch is not in the room with us, no matter how good the flavors are.
Wrapping Things Up
What began as a bit of food science and psychology has become a cultural touchstone. The Crunchwrap endures because it adapts, making itself at home amidst the high brow, the low brow, and everything in between. It’s just as likely to show up on a curated vegan menu as it is in a crumpled drive-thru bag. In a city like Austin, where food is both statement and sustenance, the Crunchwrap looms large in our imaginations and on our plates alike, though it lasts longer in the former than on the latter.
Lentils, Through a Different Lens
Some people judge the credibility of a Mediterranean restaurant by its falafel. Others decide its merits based on the hummus. Personally, I decide whether or not its worth a revisit after trying the soup.
Lentil soup, Turkish lentil soup, red lentil soup; whatever subtle variant it goes by on the menu, it should be relatively the same thing: a hot stew redolent of cumin and coriander, onions and garlic, made from red lentils stewed so hard that they simply give up on their corporeal form. There’s no blending needed to create the moderately thick, naturally creamy texture. Hopefully, a small wedge of lemon will come on the side for that final punch of acid, if the kitchen really knows what they’re doing.
Does anyone else order it? Rarely does it seem to grace the tables, other than my own. I don’t care if its made weeks or days or even months in advance, preserved in an icy tomb of a freezer, so long as it comes out steaming and comforting as ever. Yes, it’s simple, as the most difficult dishes are. There’s nowhere to hide mistakes.
I crave it terribly, all year round, despite the equally terrible heat bearing down most of the year. Typically it’s worth the pain (and sweat), but there’s no need to suffer. I’ve recently started taking the matter into my own hands, translating those essential elements into a chilled salad format. Best of all, this rendition cuts the cooking time down into almost nothing, since red lentils soften at the drop of a hat. In fact, that becomes the biggest challenge when you flip the script; instead of simmering them into nothingness, it takes greater finesse to cook them so lightly, that they remain intact.
Sure, I’ll fancy it up a bit with more substantial, forkable vegetables, like a genuine bean salad should be, while staying true to its roots. In the winter, it would be wonderful to take those same tomatoes, bell peppers, and swap in diced carrots, roast them, and serve the whole thing warm instead. That’s an idea to file away for now, as the heat rages on. These days, it’s an absolute delight tucked inside tender pita bread, wrapped up in lavash, or simply served in a generous bowl, always thoroughly chilled.
Yes, soup season is eternal, but so is salad season. There’s no reason why we can’t have both.
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.