Fajitas Navidad

Why wait for December when you can unwrap joy twice a year? Celebrate Christmas in July for a second helping of holly, jolly merriment, minus the frostbite. I’m not talking about a big blow-out celebration like the genuine article, but a more impromptu excuse to get into the spirit.

Every time I see all the vibrant greens and reds spilling out of baskets at the farmers market, it’s all I can think about. How different the traditional menu would be, if only our forebears had access to ripe tomatoes, basil, peppers, and pole beans! That’s why even mundane fajitas start to look like a holiday party starter.

The Beginnings of Warmer Holiday Wishes

Christmas in July isn’t just a marketing ploy dreamed up by money—hungry corporations, although of course, they patently encourage the extra gifting opportunity. The first recorded celebration dates back to 1933, when a North Carolina summer camp for girls put on an off-season yuletide celebration complete with fake snow made of cotton, a decked-out tree, and a visit from Santa himself. It wasn’t long before the idea spread, especially in the Southern Hemisphere where July is the colder season.

Eventually, brands caught wind of the novelty and turned it into a commercial mini-holiday, offering midyear sales and peppermint-everything. It endures today because a party is a party, and summer offers a dearth of actual calendar events, so we might as well fill in the gaps somehow.

It’s Starting to Look a Lot Like Christmas, Everywhere You Turn

Christmas is never all that cold in Texas, having spent more than one December evening in a T-shirt, sipping iced coffee next to a half-lit tree. Granted, 100 degrees is a world apart from 60 degrees, but those temperatures offer new opportunities for more refreshing treats.

It doesn’t take much to whip up a festive dish with all the fresh fruits and vegetables now at peak ripeness. Just think red and green, and instantly, you’ve got a menu fully decked out for a yuletide celebration. For example:

  • Christmas Tree Crudité Platter – Arrange layers of green veggies, like broccoli florets, cucumber slices, snap peas, and celery, in the shape of a Christmas tree on a large platter. Add pops of color with cherry tomatoes or radish slices as “ornaments,” and top it off with a star cut from a yellow pepper or carrot. Use pretzel rods for the tree trunk, and serve with a few chilled dips on the side, like red pepper hummus or herby green goddess.
  • Holiday Pesto Pasta Salad – Toss cooked and cooled pasta with pesto, cherry tomatoes, roasted red peppers, and peas. Optionally, top it with finely grated vegan Parmesan for a snowy look.
  • Cranberry BBQ Tofu Skewers – Skewer cubes of tofu, zucchini, bell peppers, and red onion, then brush with cranberry sauce mixed into your favorite bottled BBQ sauce. Grill or roast until caramelized.
  • Festive Fruit Salad – Mix cut strawberries, green grapes, kiwis, raspberries, and/or green apples with a light sprinkle of lemon zest and lemon juice. If your blend is a bit tart, add a tiny splash of maple syrup.

Fajitas Navidad

Christmas fajitas could just as easily be everyday weeknight fajitas. The color scheme may even be lost on those simply captivated by the meaty strips of seared portobello mushrooms, distracted by their impossibly umami aroma. Wrapped up in a warm tortilla, each morsel is truly like an edible gift. They’re festive in spirit and flavor, even if no one at the table mentions Christmas at all, which is the real beauty of this half-holiday. You get to celebrate on your own terms.

What makes Christmas fajitas so irresistible isn’t just their visual appeal, of course. It’s the way they manage to feel both indulgent and fresh. Thick portobello caps become tender and juicy after a literal flash in the pan, soaking up every bit of seasoning like a thirsty sponge. Red bell peppers and green poblano peppers bring a sweet and spicy crunch, softened just enough to coax out their natural sugars, while slivers of red onion add bite and depth. A squeeze of lime over the whole pan wakes everything up, brightening the smoky richness with a citrusy kiss.

Assembling everything at the table makes it feel like a real family activity. I love a more interactive, hands-on meal that is meant to be shared. Isn’t that the idea behind the traditional Christmas dinner, too?

Happy Holidays, All The Days

So go ahead, string up lights by the pool. Crank up the carols, even if they clash with the sound of cicadas. Serve up those sizzling Christmas fajitas with all the trimmings, and toast to the idea that joy doesn’t have to wait for December. Whether you’re gathering friends for a backyard fiesta or just treating Tuesday night like a holiday, Christmas in July is your permission slip to celebrate something, anything, right now.

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Treat Yourself

You deserve a treat. How do I know? Well, you’re alive, aren’t you? You’re surviving in spite of it all, persisting in the face of obstacles both big and small. We’re all going through something and for that, we’ve earned a little reward. Just a bit more kindness to soften the harsh edges of life would go a long way, so here’s my suggestion for how to start.

A Treat For All Tastes

The concept behind these sprinkle-encrusted morsels is far from original. In fact, they’re inspired by my original recipe found in Real Food, Really Fast, but simplified for an already overly complicated world. This new rendition uses only 4 main ingredients; 6 if you count salt and vanilla, which feel like a given, if you ask me. Now the recipe can boast being:

  • Oil-free
  • Gluten-free
  • Refined sugar-free
  • No-bake
  • And as always, dairy-free, eggless, and vegan

Plus, I’ve removed the protein powder to make it more accessible. Almonds and cashews already have plenty of protein as is, thank you very much.

Substitutions to Sweeten the Pot

Consider this the most basic flavor, with infinite options to spin off of. A few of my favorites include:

  • Cookie dough: Swap the sprinkles for chocolate chips.
  • Peanut butter cookie: Swap the cashew butter for chunky peanut butter and the sprinkles for chopped, roasted peanuts.
  • Mint chocolate chip: Add 1/4 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder and 1 teaspoon peppermint extract, and swap the sprinkles for mini chocolate chips.
  • Chocolate-covered cherry: Add 1/4 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder and swap the sprinkles for dried cherries. Drizzle with melted chocolate to put it over the top!

Treat Yourself

It’s not just a cheeky saying; treat yourself, early and often. Treat yourself like you mean it. Treat yourself because you got out of bed today. Treat yourself because you’re alive. A little bit of sweetness in a bitter world goes a long way.

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Strike While The Iron Is Hot

Returning from a routine doctor’s appointment with a diagnosis of mild anemia would encourage most people to grab an iron supplement and call it day. I did, but why would I just gulp down the little white tablets with water as intended, when they could do so much more? Iron was exactly the secret ingredient I needed to bring an unconventional recipe idea to life. Food is medicine, after all.

A Taste of Tradition

Soondae/sundae (순대), the Korean version of blood sausage, was a thrifty way to add nutrition before the times of multivitamins. Spices, vermicelli noodles, rice, and blood get wrapped up in a casing and steamed, sauteed, or boiled as a snack. The iron in hemoglobin is what gives blood its characteristic metallic taste and thus, the distinctive twang in soondae. Knowing that, it’s surprisingly easy to recreate the flavor of cooked and well-seasoned blood sausage.

Iron Out the Wrinkles

Aromatic toasted sesame oil blooms garlic and ginger with a touch of sweet heat from gochujang. Tart pomegranate juice adds another layer of tangy flavor, cooked right into the sticky sushi rice. It’s an unexpected combination that’s both assertive and nuanced, bold enough to be eaten solo but not averse to being included in more complex meals.

Colored black thanks to inky charcoal powder, you can rest easy that this polarizing ingredient, though used in emergency situations to prevent the absorption of certain poisons and drugs, does not interfere with the absorption of iron. Your vitamin infusion is safe here.

Ironclad Guarantee

Anyone trying to argue that only animal-based meat forced inside an edible casing can be called a “sausage” should take note: soondae does not and has never included any actual animal flesh. Yes, the casing is made from cow or pig intestines, and of course, there’s the blood, but meat itself has been a rare luxury throughout history.

I would always rather eat my vitamins, although this recipe is a bit more literal than that sentiment would usually imply. There are more benefits to supplements beyond health; if you use them to their full potential, they can improve your cooking, too. Now you can get your fill of iron in plant-based soondae, which is a whole lot easier to swallow.

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Smash Hit

It should look like a murder scene when you’ve done it right. Guts splayed out across the inky black hard wood on full display, hemorrhaging fast into the gutters, it’s perverse in how right it feels. Beauty in decay, creation through destruction… Or maybe just a fun way to dispatch a garden variety vegetable.

You know how they say there are people who have a very punchable face? That’s how I feel about English cucumbers. Like water balloons waiting to be thrown, their existence inspires an insatiable urge for a very specific, target aggression. Aside from the instant gratification of destroying something beautiful, bashing cucumbers rather than merely slicing them actually serves a very flavorful purpose. The uneven nooks and crannies created by forcing them to split open allows them to more readily absorb dressing, whereas smooth cuts yield slick surfaces that let it roll right off.

This technique is typically seen in Asian cuisine, paired with fiery chilies to contrast with the cooling effect of chilled cucumbers, but that’s not the only game in town. Inspired by a splash of leftover gin, so scant that it barely seemed worth saving, I turned the classic Cucumber Collins cocktail into a salad. An herbaceous yet subtle foundation, a touch of citrus, and a hint of sweetness turn this act of vegetable vengeance into a thing of elegance and refinement.

Allow yourself the raw, primal joy of intentionally obliterating your ingredients. Amid the chaos, there’s a different kind of harmony, and perhaps a deeper appreciation for their resilience. Broken open, the cucumber is only stronger, more flavorful than ever.

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Center of the Cinnamon Roll

It’s not every day, or even every year, that I get the chance to share a guest post on the blog, so you have to know that this one’s special. I’m lucky enough to have a local chef Craig Vanis of Bistro Vonish joining us to share a story that’s both personal and delicious. As someone with a deep love for food and tradition, Craig reflects on the small yet unforgettable moments that food can create. Especially as we near Mother’s Day, it feels especially poignant as he takes us back in time to his grandmother’s kitchen, where cinnamon rolls were more than just a treat, but also a symbol of connection and joy. It’s a real treat to have him share that moment in time along with the recipe that’s been a part of his family for years. -HK

Somehow, grandmas always have the best treats. It’s a fact. Maybe our memories of those goodies tasting so great is due to a childish regression. Or maybe, and I think this is more likely, everyone is factually correct in remembering their grandma’s snacks as superlative. Having those little treats at Grandma’s house is always going to be a little slice of joy so wholesome that Norman Rockwell wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Being a descendant of Bohemian immigrants, kolaches were a must have at Grandma Vanis’s house (only the sweet varieties are “kolache” in a Czech home, and the poppyseed filling is especially popular). But kolaches were not my favorite treat in her kitchen. My favorite? The Cinnamon Roll. Yes. Singular Cinnamon Roll. Specifically, Grandma’s Giant Cinnamon Roll (™). How giant? Giant. About 10 inches across. Approximately 120 cubic inches. It was as if a whole loaf of monkey bread was twirled to maximized cinnamon-sugar surface area. “Quick! Tell me about grandma’s cinnamon roll.” I’d say, “It’s huge!”

Her mid-western farm house was always abuzz with innumerable grand kids, and eventually, great grand kids. The Cinnamon Roll was an ever-winding solitary behemoth, spiraling out to the far reaches of a large pie pan. A horizontal monolith of hypnotic enjoyment. We would cut sections off of the outer edge as the circumference tightened in on itself (full disclosure: we probably used our fingers unless an adult was watching), relishing each delightful morsel while we caught up with the extended family.

There’s a delicate dance to this ritual where you do not want to fill up too much on the outer layers, lest you miss being the lucky duck whose final big bite includes the point from which all cinnamon-sugar elation radiates. The very concept of a dopamine rush made incarnate and leavened with yeast. The headliner in this amazing festival of treats. The checkered flag in the pastry grand prix. The Center. The Center of Grandma’s Giant Cinnamon Roll (™).

This is where the cinnamon-sugar is concentrated while being endlessly wound during assembly. It is where the icing pools and gently soaks in while the pastry race is in progress. And unlike other cinnamon rolls, this center is attained by beating your siblings and cousins in a criterium race to the treasure. Eat too little and you’ll never get there. Eat too much and you’ll be too full to compete at crunch time. It’s not just that the center is the moistest, or sweetest, or gooiest. The center of this cinnamon roll tastes like victory.

The rules to this game of Duck Duck Cinnamon Goose chasing bites around the pie pan are sacred. And it is this sanctity which keeps the calm and order during this adventure. And woe to whomever skips ahead to pluck The Center before it is time. That person will meet the wrath of this sugar-fueled mob, and feel the ire of a whole half of a family tree. This betrayal will plant a grudge that will persist for decades.

So be warned. This Ceylon-spiced key to delight can also unlock a bedlam not known since William Golding stranded that group of British school boys on an island.

Now that you know the stakes, I offer this recipe up to you, dear reader, in hopes of sharing a sliver of these happy memories with you and your loved ones.

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Finessing Fennel

Fennel is not a common line item on my grocery list. Apparently, the same can be said for most of America, judging by the distinct lack of bulbs chilling in the produce department. Fresh fennel is one of those ingredients that I’ll buy for a recipe, kick myself for not buying more often after remembering its brilliance, and promptly forgetting again. Though polarizing like cilantro, the licorice-like flavor is one that I love. That fresh, herbal flavor that shines through whether cooked or raw is utterly inimitable.

Most recipes focus on the crisp base itself, forsaking the stalks and fronds. After going through all the trouble (and expense) of getting fresh fennel, you’d better believe I’m not about to let any of it go to waste. Fennel pesto is an easy solution for zero-waste satisfaction.

Apply liberally anywhere you’d use basil pesto. Pasta; salad; bruschetta; rice pilaf; soup; anywhere you want a little botanical infusion can benefit from a spoonful. If you want a drink pairing, try any gin cocktail to pick up on the complex aromatics found within.

How could anyone forsake the delicate fronds and more robust stems of fennel, especially after going through the trouble of securing the whole vegetable? For your own happiness, health, and frugality, never throw away any part of fennel again. If you like it enough to cook with it, you’ll love squeezing out every last drop of flavor.

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