Tag: recipe

Mumbo Gumbo

No matter what I have to say about gumbo, I’m going to be wrong. This isn’t just my continuous threads of self-doubt pulling my words into misshapen, unsteady forms, but a genuine fact. I did not grow up with gumbo coursing through my veins, learning its ways from my elders, steeped in time-honored traditions. I never had to before going vegan, impossibly picky eater that I was, unswayed by the heavy mix of chicken, sausage, and shrimp. My Yankee roots cultivated no appreciation or basic awareness for the art of gumbo, only a vague impression of it as something thick, dark, and intimidatingly meaty, best left to esteemed bayou-born experts.

What is Gumbo?

Like a game of culinary telephone, my knowledge comes only from stories and photos, books and movies. All that I can say with conviction is that it starts with a roux. That, and the “Holy Trinity” of onions, celery, bell peppers, AKA Creole mirepoix. Blending the traditional foodways of Africa, France, Spain, and Native Americans alike, what you do next depends on your heritage. Some may reach for okra or filé powder for additional thickening capacity, some go straight for the proteins and load it up with everything from seafood to sausage, while still others simply hammer in the spices as if they were trying to kindle an edible inferno. The most succinct explanation for gumbo is that it’s a thick stew; choose your own adventure.

Don’t Fumble the Gumbo!

With that tenuous understanding, I proceeded to make a mockery of this beloved staple. Not intentionally, mind you, but I have a feeling that anyone hailing from New Orleans wouldn’t even glance in the direction of this Frankenstein melting pot. Using vegan sausage is probably the least controversial part of it, and that’s saying something. Swapping olive oil for butter in the roux could very well get me run out of town.

Still, I kept stirring. Once you start making a roux, you have to fully commit, whether or not you know exactly what you’re doing. The color deepens slowly, then more decisively, taking on a toasted, nutty smell that’s even more encouraging than the hue. By the time the broth was in and bubbling away, all the initially disparate pieces seemed to fit together. I don’t expect this version to resonate with anyone who was raised on the real thing, and that’s okay. Ending up with something comforting, hearty, and richly spiced is only part of the goal; paying homage to a dish that holds more history than I can speak for fills me up in a much more meaningful, lasting way.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)7 Comments

Emerald Anniversary: 20 Years of BitterSweet

Twenty years. Two decades. I’ve already said it again and again, out loud and in my own head, and the numbers still don’t make sense. True, I was never any good at math, but I just don’t understand. How could it possibly be twenty years since BitterSweet began? I’ve been blogging longer than I haven’t, more than half of my life, a constant thread tethering me back to the world when I felt I could just as easily disappear. Looking back, I’m not entirely sure if it’s the blog that shaped my life, or my life that developed around the blog. They’re simply too deeply enmeshed, impossibly intertwined, to pick apart.

How it all started; the earliest form of BitterSweet

I never went into this with any bigger picture in mind. The only goal was to share the things I loved, and hopefully use that as a conduit to connect with more people of like minds. While the golden era of blogging is long past, as evidenced by the rarity of finding a dinosaur of a twenty year-old blog, I’d say I’ve been wildly successful in that regard. When publishers shot down my pitches, when brands turned me down for TikTokers who sing and dance, I still had this space that encouraged my creativity, supported my madness, and kept me going when the world at large told me to stop.

I’ve spent the better part of the past six months agonizing over how to commemorate such a huge milestone. The big two-oh only rolls around once, and I can’t begin to imagine if blogs will even exist another twenty years from now. Watching the date drawing ever closer, there was no idea grand enough, nor reasonably attainable, to do my beloved BitterSweet proper justice. Maybe it was time to make a mini cookbook, the Best of BitterSweet, available in print, or at least a zine? Or just an e-book? Barring that, perhaps a twenty-layer cake?

Emeralds Aren’t Forever, But Potentially Delicious

Finally, in the eleventh hour, it came to me: I was taking this entirely too seriously. The reason that I’ve been able to sustain this living archive, feeding it thrice weekly, every week, is that I just do whatever I want. I don’t do SEO properly, I don’t monetize it enough, I don’t use social media to its full potential, but you know what? That’s not what feeds my soul. I just need this to be my creative outlet, full of weird, wild, sometimes off-putting things. To that end, I strongly considered making an Emerald Salad Ring to honor the traditional 20-year anniversary gemstone, but ultimately, something sweet (and less repugnant) felt more fitting.

Edible Gems

Pandan candy emeralds, a stylized take on Japanese kohakutou, are essential shards of sweetened agar that are aged until sugar crystallizes on the outside. The interior remains soft like jelly for a crave-worthy textural contrast. Using pandan flavoring means the green color is already built in, bringing the ingredients list to a grand total of three, water and edible glitter not included. Brilliantly simple, recklessly creative, unconventionally delightful; Sounds like BitterSweet, alright.

I’m not one for grand gestures so I leave you with this, at least until the next regularly scheduled post. I’m sure as hell not stopping here. Twenty years is just another chapter in the larger story. There’s still a lot left to this story, even if no one knows how it will end, including the author.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)24 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

Pleased as Ponche

Ponche is a lot of things, drawing parallels to innumerable other festive drinks. You could see it as being related to mulled cider, stewed with warm spices and served steaming on cold winter nights. The inclusion of fruits calls to mind sangria, even more so if it happens to be spiked, though more likely with brandy, rum, or tequila than wine. Fruit punch, of course, given that the name translates about the same, has an obvious relation. Mexican ponche, however, is its own unique party starter, even when it defies easy definition.

Paantsch, Ponche, Punch

Ponche has come a long way to reach its current destination as a Latin holiday staple. Originally from India, it was called “paantsch,” meaning “five,” and was accordingly made with five basic ingredients: alcohol, fruit juice, sugar, water, and spices. British sailors became hooked on the brew, bringing it with them on their travels to Europe and the West Indies, adapting it to use local fruits. The Spanish eventually introduced the drink to Mexico, where it was developed into the distinctive drink we know and love today, transformed by the native fruits of the Americas.

Key Ingredients

What makes Mexican ponche special is also what makes it difficult to replicate faithfully in different parts of the world. Key ingredients that may not be as common in US households include:

  • Piloncillo: Unrefined dark brown sugar, often sold in hard cones or blocks, to be chopped, grated, or dissolved in hot liquids, such as this.
  • Tecojotes: AKA Mexican hawthorn, similar to crabapples, they have a sweet and sour tropical flavor, and can be eaten both raw and cooked.

Fortunately, there are as many versions of ponche as there are people that make it, so there’s nothing wrong with a bit of improvising based on availability. This is one of those recipes that’s more like a set of guidelines than rules, open to interpretation as you please.

Serves You Right

Both a drink and a snack, a huge asset to busy hosts is the way it’s served as is, whole fruits and all. Guests can help themselves while the pot simmers gently on the stove, infusing the whole house with citrus and spice. Whether you chose to spike it or not, it’s sure to raise spirits with just one sip.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)12 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

In Fitfits and Starts

Cold salad might sound like a hard sell as we round the corner to the official beginning of winter, but rest assured that timatim fitfit is no average salad. Eschewing limp greens in favor of a hearty injera base, the tangled ribbons wrap around juicy tomatoes that sing of summer, yet simultaneously manage to hold a timeless tune. For anyone slipping into a stupor after days of heavy, undifferentiated holiday fare, this is just the antidote that will wake your palate back up.

What is Timatim Fitfit?

Not to be confused with the hot, saucy counterpart that is firfir, timatim fitfit is a chilled, uncooked version of the same overarching concept, built around extra or leftover (if there is such a thing) injera, fresh produce, and bold spices. I basically have Red Fox Spices on speed dial at this point, if there was such a thing for repeatedly ordering their 100% teff injera, in both ivory and brown. It’s the only source I’ve found for reliable, high-quality injera on demand, so it’s incredibly fortunate that it also happens to be an inspiring company that’s committed to empowering women, farmers, and sustainable practices, just as much as it is to creating superlative Ethiopian food.

Though often served as part of a larger spread, alongside stews and sautéed greens, timatim fitfit can easily stand as a light midday meal on its own. The combination of acidic dressing and slightly softened injera creates a texture that’s somewhere between panzanella and bread ceviche, if you can imagine such a thing. Those airy pockets in the injera act like tiny capillaries, drawing in the lime and berbere to saturate every bite with flavor.

What gives the dish its unmistakable zing is the interplay between berbere, lime, and tomatoes. Berbere has a warm, fragrant, and nuanced spice, layered with chilies, fenugreek, cardamom, ginger, and a half-dozen other subtle aromatics. Lime cuts through that heat, brightening the whole mixture and preventing the injera from going slack. It’s a short ingredient list on paper, but the combination has complexity that far exceeds such a simple recipe.

Fit to be Mixed

Like all Ethiopian dishes, there’s no single “authentic” recipe. In fact, there are many equally valid variations, often one blending into the definition of the next, making it difficult to pin down.

  • The easiest and most casual, common way to serve it is with injera torn into bits and all mixed together. This method is ideal for everyday eating, for snacking straight from the fridge, or for those glorious moments when leftover injera demands a second life.
  • If you’re looking to impress, roll the injera before slicing and serve the spirals at the base, topped with the seasoned vegetable mixture. The presentation transforms it from rustic to refined with almost no extra effort.

  • Remove the “fitfit,” and “timatim” is just the vegetables; great as a side or garnish, but not nearly as compelling as the full complement, if you ask me.

The one non-negotiable element is time. Let the mixture rest, because even ten minutes makes a world of difference. The spices need time to bloom and mingle, as the tomatoes release their juices and the seasoning permeates the injera.

Enjoying Injera

Is there any ingredient quite so versatile as injera, which can act as the vessel, entree, and serving utensil for the same dish? Timatim fitfit can demonstrate the full range of this inimitable Ethiopian flatbread without even trying. When you’re flush from a fresh restock, you can use a flat sheet of injera as the plate, and still another torn into pieces to scoop up your salad in hearty handfuls.

When served as part of a communal platter, timatim fitfit becomes the essential bright note that ties the whole meal together. It cuts through buttery niter kibbeh, balances earthy lentils, and offers a cooling reprieve between fiery mouthfuls of misir wat or shiro. It’s the palate cleanser, or perhaps an edible intermission.

For all its simplicity, timatim fitfit has a way of recalibrating your senses. It proves that winter meals can still be fresh and vibrant, that comfort food doesn’t need to be decadent, and that even leftover injera can become something transcendent with a little lime and spice.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)6 Comments