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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It’s Your Funeral

When in doubt, eat potatoes.

That’s the prevailing wisdom keeping Funeral Potatoes at the forefront of southern wakes. Despite the dire name, they’re not the cause of funerals, but solace for those attending them. Little more than a cheesy potato bake, they’re the epitome of comfort food. Simple flavors and soft, creamy textures make it easy to eat, especially for the bereft who may be struggling to find their usual appetite for life. Leftovers keep for days, reheat beautifully, and serve generously, which is why it’s also a favorite for meal trains, making sure everyone still eats when times are tough.

Chalk it up primarily to user error, but the first time I attempted a veganized, slightly healthier version of the concept, those poor potatoes needed their own funeral. It was essentially chunky potato soup in a casserole dish, sloshing dangerously against the sides of its ceramic coffin. Worse yet is the fact that after one bite, I knew they had died in vain. Bland as sin, unctuous in a bad way, delivering such a dish would only cause more grief rather than relieve it.

Back to the drawing board, using the basics as guidelines rather than rules, I created a version accidentally perfect for Halloween, decked out in brilliant orange and black. Sweet potatoes are the new featured spud, contrasted by the spicy kick of sriracha, enveloped in a creamy, cheesy foundation. Traditionally, corn flake cereal is sprinkled on top for a crunchy finish, but I wanted a more savory and substantial option, springing for crushed blue corn tortilla chips instead. Let’s be honest: the “blue” masa has always looked black, but it works in its favor here, at least when served as a festival fall feature.

You’ll want to be buried in these potatoes. They’re not quite spicy enough to raise the dead, but hopefully, at least buoy your spirits. Whether you’re mourning, celebrating, or just navigating the strange limbo of being alive, these potatoes are here for you.

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Buckle Up, Peanut Butter Cup

Homemade Halloween candy is fun and all, but let’s be honest: there’s not a single trick-or-treater on the streets getting that kind of plunder. This stuff, the good stuff, is reserved for more appreciative palates. Let’s cut to the chase and make a treat just for us older children here. No finicky caramelization, no individual wrappers, just a supersized version of a classic that doesn’t hold back.

Hauntingly Delicious

Year after year, polls show that peanut butter cups are the runaway favorite candy for little goblins and gremlins to nab on their sugar-crazed stroll. Taking the #1 spot for at least 40 states, that’s the most unanimous vote to come from the US since George Washington’s election. Riding the coattails of that cult classic, my jumbo Crunchy Peanut Butter Cup Torte is intentionally designed to hit all those same crowd-pleasing, nostalgic flavor notes in a more shareable format.

At least, I really hope you’ll share. If a sleeve of standard cups could send the average child into a sugar-induced frenzy for a solid hour, more than one slice could rocket them straight to the moon. Dark chocolate ganache helps temper the sweetness, capping off a center of buttery peanut mousse, creating a dangerously balanced duo that could lure unsuspecting eaters into overindulgence. Crunchy peanut butter effortlessly adds a contrasting textural element to make every bite seem novel and exciting, only adding to the risk. Maybe I should have called it “Peanut Butter Peril Pie” instead? Catchy, yes, but descriptive, not so much.

A Slice Of Life

Classic peanut butter cups deserve that hat tip in the title. Beyond the helpful reference point, it’s hard to imagine Halloween without them. That said, hand out whatever you want for those wretched door knockers (potatoes are surprisingly popular, too); save these slices for the real party.

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Milling About

If milling whole grains at home to make your own flour is extra, then I never want to be just enough. For most of human history, exactly the opposite has been true. Grinding grains wasn’t a luxury or a hobby; it was a simply an act of survival. Convenience has made the essentials feel optional, often to the detriment of quality.

Convenience, however, can also mean increased access to better technology, bringing the whole concept full circle. Home grain mills are now within easy reach of anyone hungry for a change.

Grinding Towards Independence

Evidence of prehistoric peoples using flat stones to crush grains into a coarse meal stretches back tens of thousands of years. One could argue that the first miller was whoever was brave enough to put a kernel of wheat into their mouth and chew. For as long as there have been grains, humans have wanted to pulverize them. Much as I’d love to share a whole deep dive on the history of milling, that would turn into a novel. Let’s speed through a few millennia to the American Revolution, where our nascent country became defined by amber waves of grain and by extension, the need to grind them into flour.

Watermill Built in the Late 19th Century

Before the revolution, the colonies relied on British flour imports. George Washington himself was instrumental in planting the seeds of economic sovereignty. In 1771, he unveiled what could easily be called one of the most advanced gristmills of its time, providing the tools for local farmers to mill their own crops. Becoming self-sufficient and producing their own flour, which was the most important staple of their bread-heavy diet, allowed them to reject British trade policies and withstand shortages. One could argue that flour is what won the war, and I’d like to think that as because of this, there’s nothing more patriotic than grinding your own grains.

The Benefits of Milling Your Own Grains

Freshly milled flour has an unmistakable aroma that no store-bought bag can ever replicate. It’s earthy, nutty, and alive. That’s because once a grain is ground, the oils in the germ and the nutrients in the bran begin to degrade. Commercial flours are stripped of these parts to extend shelf life—but what’s lost in the process is the soul of the grain.

Milling at home means:

  • What you put in is what you get out: 100% of the grain—germ, bran, and endosperm. No fillers, no fortification, no bleaching, no nonsense.
  • By starting fresh, you preserve the flavor and nutrition, including natural B vitamins, iron, magnesium, fiber, and healthy fats.
  • Having full control over a range of different grinds means being able to create any texture you desire, from coarse semolina to the finest cake flour.
  • There are no limits to what you can bake with. Take advantage of seasonality and regional grain diversity with heirloom grains like einkorn, emmer, spelt, or rye. Don’t forget about the ability to make gluten-free flours, using dried beans like chickpeas and lentils, too.
  • Starting truly from scratch and milling your own whole grains does take more time, but I’d write that in as a benefit, too. Slowing down makes you appreciate the end results on a deeper level, reestablishing the frayed connection between where our food comes from and what we actually eat.

Modern Grain Mills for Home Use

Thankfully, today’s grain mills don’t require hauling water or harnessing livestock. The modern home baker has a range of user-friendly, attractively designed tools that fit neatly on a countertop but still echo the intention of those ancient stones.

My own obsession and the whole inspiration for this post began with the Mockmill 100. Roughly the size and shape of a juicer, it uses corundum ceramic grinding stones which stay cool during grinding, preserving the nutrients and oils in the grain. The adjustment dial is intuitive, giving you control over everything from coarse grits to ultra-fine flour. Cleanup is minimal, it’s compact enough to live on the countertop, and it feels solidly built, promising to keep cranking for years to come. Most importantly, it unlocked a new world of whole grain flours to bake with, which is especially exciting when you have a resource like Grand Teton Ancient Grains to supply all the software.

Numerous brands make grain mill attachments for the Kitchenaid stand mixer, with an equally wide range of success. Mockmill also has a model that’s at the top of the heap for me, producing the finest grind with the least amount of friction and strain on the machine. It’s a more affordable way to get started, using some of the equipment you already have in your kitchen.

Vitamix makes a Dry Grains Container which is a reasonable solution for small batches, and well suited for making coarse grits, but is difficult for maintaining a consistent fine grind. You’ll always need to sieve your flour before use and run the bigger pieces back through for a second and sometimes third time. Never use your regular wet canister to grind grains; they’ll quickly dull the blades and chip away at the plastic container, making it permanently cloudy.

For a low-cost, low-tech solution, you can get a hand-crank mill which has the added benefit of working on your upper body strength at the same time! I can’t overstate how much physical labor it takes to operate one effectively, which could be a pro or a con, depending on your constitution. These typically clamp onto a table and then you’re good to go. Some models struggle with more oily grains, so it’s important to carefully review what the manufacturers do and don’t recommend milling.

True Grit

Most people would reasonably want to use their grain mills to start cranking out ultra-fine flour to make cakes and breads so soft, they could be mistaken for edible pillows. What I find to be even more alluring, however, is the ability to dial in the consistency to make fresh grits out of any grain your heart desires. In this case, I’ve tapped my good friend, Khorasan, to make instant hot cereal that blows that dusty stuff from store shelves out of the pantry. If you’re looking for ways to eat well on a budget, this is the ultimate in nourishment, comfort, and easy.

Yes, Cream of Khorasan is unglamorous, and you would be within your rights to call it gruel, but I promise you, it’s so much more than meets the eye. Think oatmeal, but with a uniquely nutty depth, filling and hearty, waiting for you to dress up however you like. Endlessly versatile, it can be sweet or savory, equally satisfying when lavished with berries and maple syrup as it is with furikake and soy sauce. Don’t judge this book by its cover; give it a chance, and you’ll find its a real page-turner.

Full Circle

Milling your own grains isn’t just about baking better bread, it’s a step towards reclaiming autonomy. It’s a rebellion against the packaged, the processed, and the passive. One kernel at a time, we grind toward a richer life, inside the kitchen and out. It’s a daily ritual that reestablishes our frayed connection to the land that we love.

It’s just flour, but as the basic building block of bread, pasta, pastries, and more, that’s no small thing. Milling your own flour honors tradition, takes a huge step forward to self-sufficiency, and most importantly, instills the deep satisfaction of truly starting from scratch.

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Isaw It Coming

Clearly, nothing I make can really faze my mom anymore. Speaking over the phone, I explained I was in the middle of making intestine skewers using eggplant, and her response was so tepid, I might as well have said I was folding laundry. Just routine activities you’d expect from me at this point. After making vegan anchovies, Korean blood sausages, and brain pate, what could really be more shocking? Thankfully, isaw is hardly disconcerting to begin with, aside from the animal components.

What Is Isaw?

Isaw is celebrated as one of the most popular street foods in the Philippines. Made from chicken or pig intestines marinated in soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, and chilies, they’re coiled onto skewers like incongruously delicate ribbons, and grilled over open flames until lightly charred, smoky, and just a little crisp at the edges.

Each skewer is a textural wonderland; chewy, bouncy, and perfect for those who appreciate a more engaging eating experience. They’re often dunked into a sharp vinegar dip, spiked with more chilies, onions, and a touch of lime.

Plant-Based Intestines? Try Eggplant!

Inspired by the blank canvas that is eggplant, I wanted to do something really special with the scant harvest of Japanese eggplants that came from my own backyard garden. Their firmer texture with very few seeds makes them an ideal candidate for more aggressive cooking like this, whereas large Italian globe eggplants would become a watery mess. Sliced into long, thin planks, they get a dunk in that flavorful marinade until soft enough to bend without breaking, threading gracefully onto sticks at will.

Short Cuts Without Cutting Corners

I did cut corners a bit when it came to cooking. Employing my trusty air fryer instead of a proper grill, perhaps they don’t have that same inimitable char, but they do gain a compellingly crisp finish, in no time at all, with very little mess.

Likewise, for the dipping sauce, I could simply repurpose the leftover marinade, since cross-contamination is a nonissue when we’re talking about basic veggies instead of meat drippings. Waste not, want not! Spike it with a bit of heat and citrus, and we’re in business.

Isaw, You-Saw, We-All-Saw

Are the results exactly like intestines? Absolutely not, I promise you that. No one would be fooled for a second. It is, however, a delicious interpretation inspired by traditional flavors that makes for a satisfying quick snack, starter, or side dish for a larger meal. Everyone can appreciate that. Made with care, creativity, and respect for where the original idea came from. It doesn’t need to be an exact replica to earn its place at the table.

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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.

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