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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Protein, Peas and Thank You

Not everything needs protein. Strange way to start a blog post about using protein powder, but hear me out. I’m well aware that protein, like its fellow macro-nutrients fat and carbohydrates, are essential for life. Protein helps with wound healing, muscle growth, skin elasticity, bone density, and so much more. These are solid facts. What isn’t beneficial, however, are the lower-quality proteins that manufacturers are cramming into every processed food and drink that crosses their paths. Collagen, for example, cannot be absorbed intact when consumed, making it a much less helpful protein than any plant-based option, despite the immense hype surrounding it.

Peak Protein

We have reached a fever pitch where protein is being shoehorned into sodas, water, and gummy bears. At this stage of peak protein, anything marginally consumable comes in a protein-enhanced version. As a proponent of balanced nutrition, protein absolutely has it’s place, but this litany of processed Frankenfoods is not it. I prefer to keep my protein at the center of the plate.

Naked Nutrition, Naked Truth

When I need a little extra boost, especially in gluten free baking or savory cooking, I look for actual food sources. This is where Naked Pea from Naked Nutrition comes into play. This is one of the few powders that makes sense in my kitchen because it is exactly what it says on the package, with nothing to hide.

100% yellow pea protein is the only ingredient. You won’t find any:

  • Sugar or alternative sweeteners
  • Added flavors
  • Thickeners or emulsifiers
  • Gluten
  • Soy
  • Dairy
  • Dubious health claims

Eat Real Food

Although you could absolutely mix it into smoothies or shakes, I see it more as a pantry staple, worthy of a place in your cabinet right next to the flour and spices.

Naked Pea unflavored protein powder has proven indispensable in everyday meals. There’s no need to drink meal replacement shakes when you can simply add a spoonful to soups, stews, even salad dressings. A light coating can replace flour or cornstarch when making crispy tofu or air-fried mushrooms, creating a golden, crunchy exterior that packs a protein punch. You can seamlessly slip a serving or two into your standard pancake or waffle batter without even picky eaters catching on. Such neutrality afford the cunning cook a nutritional boost, without sacrificing flavor.

Beyond the Blender

If you’re tired of slogging through chalky, cloying liquid meals to make your “gains,” Naked Pea is the way to get protein back on the table, where it belongs. Taking inspiration from the single-ingredient powerhouse, I turned to southern Peas and Dumplings to highlight the prowess of such a versatile powder. Similar to chicken and dumplings, it’s a thrifty answer to stretching a limited harvest, especially when meat was scarce. The most basic recipes simmer canned peas in bouillon and drop refrigerated biscuit dough on top for a quick, comforting, and hearty meal.

Every bit as easy to whip up from scratch without relying on store-bought shortcuts, a blend of chickpea flour and Naked Pea protein powder creates a soft, supple dough that practically melts in your mouth. No rolling necessary, you just drop dollops into the sea of simmering peas where it soaks in the buttery, lemon-flecked broth. A touch of fresh mint adds brightness, cutting through the savory richness for a finish that feels light despite being incredibly filling.

For all its verdant vibrancy, I’ll be the first to admit that this dish is not a looker. One could generously describe it as “rustic,” an underhanded compliment I loathe most in the food world. What it lacks in visual polish, it more than makes up for in flavor and substance. Each spoonful delivers tender dumplings, pops of sweet peas, and the undeniable satisfaction of a wholesome, high-protein meal.

Give Peas a Chance

By using the protein powder as a genuinely functional ingredient rather than a supplement, the push to get enough protein shifts from chore to culinary delight. Food is fuel, health is wealth, and all those other slogans; food is also flavor, joy, and comfort. Start with the right ingredients, and you can have it all.

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Fear The Reaper

If you’ve ever looked at molten lava and thought, “dang, that looks tasty!” then the Carolina Reaper is the pepper for you. Specifically engineered over the course of 10 years to be hot enough to strip the paint off your car, these chilies are no joke. For all the hype and hyperbole, they are every bit as hot, if not hotter, than you would think. Ranging from 1.6 – 2.2 million Scoville Heat Units, they don’t just taste like fire, they taste like napalm. It’s a burn that you can’t escape, that engulfs you from the inside out. Even for someone that can’t get enough of spicy food, this would put them over their limit with just the tiniest bite.

Second Hottest Pepper on the Planet

For many years, the Carolina Reaper was officially certified as the world’s hottest chili pepper, only to be stripped of the title by Pepper X in 2023. Regardless, this gnarled, blood-red fruit is every bit as dangerous as before. They have, in fact, sent people to the hospital. Under no circumstances would I suggest actually taking a chop out of one, even in minute amounts. Agony is the mildest way to describe the sensation.

Who Hurt You?

Somehow, I came to find a handful of these delightful little warheads in my possession. I like spicy food just fine, but I also enjoy retaining use of all my senses, so I had a reasonable amount of fear when considering how to dispatch them. Your only options for using Carolina Reapers are either making hot sauce or pesticide. They’re not quite at the level of bear repellent spray, though I think you could still do some serious damage to a would-be attacker if you bottled the puree. At a certain point in the process, “hot sauce” started sounding (and feeling) like “hurt sauce,” as a more accurate descriptor.

Proceed with Caution

If I haven’t scared you off yet, keep in mind some safety precautions specific to this prep:

  • Use gloves when handling the peppers.
  • Wash your hands, even after wearing gloves.
  • DO NOT! TOUCH! YOUR FACE! (Or other sensitive areas, if you know what I mean.)
  • Open the windows while roasting the peppers.
  • Run the fans on the oven hood.
  • Let your pets outside.
  • Maybe you should stand outside, too. Just don’t go far and keep a timer on that oven.

Fire Power

Flavor is secondary to the fire power of this sauce. Use the tiniest amount if you want to taste the food underneath, starting at 1/4 teaspoon for an entire bowlful, if not potful, of chili, for example. Don’t worry, it will still deliver a searing burn at that dosage. This one is only for the insane spice fiends, always diluted in food, and by all means, not to be underestimated.

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Making the Most of Makulaya

Some seasonings get all the love. Who doesn’t have a bottle of chili powder somewhere in the kitchen? Salt and pepper are so ubiquitous, they don’t even count as ingredients in some recipes. Even something so amorphous as “Italian seasoning” is instantly understood. Then, we have makulaya. Not to be confused with the seeds of the makulaya tree, popular in African and Caribbean cuisines, the makulaya I’m talking about is the combination of herbs and spices that join forces as an instant meal starter for Ethiopian dishes. If not for Red Fox Spices, I would still be completely ignorant of this understated cornerstone of Ethiopian cooking.

What is Makulaya?

Makulaya is described as a sautéing blend, meaning that it’s best bloomed in a hot skillet at the beginning of the cooking process, just as you would temper spices when preparing Indian or Thai curries. That intense, direct heat releases the essential oils, unlocking its full flavorful potential. Warm and earthy, aromatic and grounding, it’s a more delicate, gentle flavor than Ethiopian dishes are typically known for. That’s also why it’s rarely seen solo, often paired off with fiery berbere for emphasis.

Nigella seeds and bishop’s weed make up the foundation of the mixture, explaining a good amount of the mystique for American cooks. Neither are easily accessible in mainstream grocery stores and few recipes shine a light that might help change that.

  • Nigella seeds could pass for black sesame seeds, visually, but the taste is a world apart. Slightly bitter with a gentle onion and herbal note, it carries a faint peppery warmth and a grassy, almost tea-like aroma that becomes nutty and smoky when toasted.
  • Bishop’s weed (ajwain) has an assertive, pungent flavor dominated by thymol, the same compound found in thyme and oregano. That gives it a sharp, savory, and warming finish, with a noticeable medicinal or camphor-like edge when used in greater quantities.

Rounding out the blend to make makulaya are cardamom, garlic, and ginger. Together, they bring floral sweetness, savory depth, and gentle heat that unify the mixture, designed to support stronger flavors rather than overpower them.

How is Makulaya Used?

Most commonly seen in recipes for misser wot and doro wot, additional suggestions are few and far between. It’s not for lack of versatility, but because makulaya remains largely unknown abroad, rarely explored beyond its traditional context. Such a shame to squander all that potential, confining it to only one or two uses! What’s more, it doesn’t need to be literally sautéed for maximum impact, opening up a wider range of high-heat preparations, like roasting, grilling, or dry toasting.

Think of makulaya as an aromatic base that can move far beyond stews:

  • Roasted vegetables: Toss root vegetables, cauliflower, squash, or carrots with oil and makulaya before roasting to build warm, savory depth.
  • Grilled proteins: Use it as part of a dry rub for tofu, tempeh, or seitan before grilling.
  • Lentils and beans: Toast it lightly, then add to lentils, chickpeas, or white beans for an earthy backbone without heat.
  • Rice and grains: Cook alongside your aromatics when making rice pilaf, risotto, farro, or barley to infuse the entire dish with aroma.
  • Sautéed greens and mushrooms: Add early in the pan for gentle warmth that complements bitter or earthy vegetables.
  • Compound butter or oil: Mix into softened vegan butter or warm oil as a base for vegetables, bread, or finishing grilled foods.

Sweet and Savory Candied Yams

Bringing it back home for a more concrete example, candied yams are a prime canvas for showcasing the compelling flavor of makulaya, where its warm, earthy aromatics deepen the natural sweetness of the potatoes without tipping the dish into dessert territory. Yes, I did say potatoes, if you can allow the momentary tangent; though the dish has been called “candied yams” since its inception, it rarely uses the tuber of its namesake. Sweet potatoes are softer and creamier, more widely available in America, and were often mislabeled as “yams” a century ago. To this day, we’re stuck with the title of the dish, despite the sweet potato base.

Makulaya fits in naturally here, adding layers of flavor that linger without overwhelming the palate. Tender, rich, festive, yet appropriate for all occasions, it belongs on more mundane menus too, not just the holiday table. Besides, with only a few minutes of prep work and half a dozen ingredients all told, there’s never been an easier way to try a new flavor sensation.

Make it with Makulaya

Makulaya may never become a household name in the US, but that’s precisely what makes cooking with it so rewarding. It asks very little of the cook while offering a depth of flavor that feels both grounding and transportive. Whether folded into a familiar dish or used as the first building block of something new, makulaya invites a broader way of thinking about spice: not as a finishing flourish, but as a foundation. Once you start reaching for it, the question quickly shifts from why try makulaya? to why not use it more often?

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He Said, She Said, They Did

Is it a controversial statement that I think she-crab soup is unnecessarily gendered? Yes, it’s true that traditionally, this coastal delicacy employed only female crabs for their rich vermilion roe, giving it the edge over comparatively lean he-crab soup. In the current modern era, however, when we’re talking about a vegan version that uses neither sex, the designation makes no sense. They-Crab Soup is the only fitting moniker for this southern staple, if you ask me.

Originally created for President William Howard Taft who was a known fan of turtle soup, an even more antiquated dish that has mercifully disappeared from menus since, this crabby variation has a lot in common with what we would recognize today as a chowder or bisque. What sets it apart is the use of white rice as a thickening agent, creating a voluptuous texture without the need to hammer in the heavy cream. There’s a hint of tomato for ample umami, the warmth of smoked paprika for depth, and the standard sort of mirepoix to hold down the fort. It’s a fool-proof combination that’s an easy win for any diner, even a president.

Specifically for my recipe renovation, shredded oyster mushrooms replace crabs of any gender with ease. When pulled apart by hand, they mimic the delicate strands of shellfish remarkably well, soaking up the briny broth like they were born for the task. A touch of kelp granules and capers lends an unmistakable oceanic briny kiss to complete the effect. What emerges is a soup that honors the spirit of the original without clinging to its baggage. Built on technique and balance, not biology, it succeeds for the same reason the original did: it’s deeply comforting and undeniably delicious. Call it what you like, but once you taste it, the argument feels beside the point.

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Easy Bake Sushi

Sushi, though truly timeless and everlasting, isn’t typically thought of as a wintry dish. It’s a common misconception that it’s a dish best served cold, but unlike revenge, it’s still better with slightly warm, not chilled, rice. Regardless, when the thermometer outside is tracking single digits and warmer, heartier fare is top of mind, sushi doesn’t exactly make the cut. Perhaps, we’ve just been thinking of the wrong kind of sushi.

Hot Dish, Hot Off the Presses

Originally pitched as a “sushi casserole” roughly 15 years go, the concept really got hot when it was rebranded as a “sushi bake” during the height of the COVID19 pandemic. In the era of feta pasta and dalgona coffee, it fit right into the conversation about accessible global cuisine, comfort food, and culinary escapes. Familiar yet novel, easily adaptable to suit any available ingredients; looking back on it now, it made perfect sense. What I don’t understand is why it seems to have disappeared just as quickly.

Sushi for the People

Consider the sushi bake as sushi with training wheels, both for the cook and eater. No patience for hand-shaping individual rectangles of rice? Zero skill for rolling with sheets of nori? Throw everything in a pan and call it a day! Those of the most voracious appetites can finally satisfy the urge to eat an entire family platter of nigiri without being seen as gluttonous, and everyone can walk away from the table fulfilled. Especially during the colder months of the year, I can’t imagine a better way indulge in homemade sushi.

Layered with seasoned sushi rice, umami furikake, surprisingly convincing spicy crab made from shredded tofu, and a battery of crisp cucumbers, buttery avocado, and lashings of more savory sauces, it’s the complete package in every bite. You could easily double it and bake it off in an 8 x 8-inch pan for the whole family, or even quadruple it with a 9 x 13-inch pan for a genuine sushi party.

Serves You Right

Served warm, straight from the oven, a sushi bake is meant to be spooned, scooped, and shared with abandon. A brief rest on the counter allows the layers to settle into a more sliceable strata, but it should still arrive at the table hot, the rice plush and fragrant beneath its generous toppings. Set out stacks of toasted nori sheets or seaweed snacks and let everyone build their own bites, folding heaping spoonfuls into crisp wrappers that crackle against the creamy filling. It’s informal and tactile in a way traditional sushi rarely allows, encouraging seconds, and thirds, without ceremony or apology.

While I wouldn’t reheat it once topped, any leftover sushi bake is still just as delicious the next day, served cold. After winter relinquishes its grip and cooler cravings return, perhaps it can be a summertime staple, too.

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