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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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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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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Marvelously Mundane

I can’t tell you a single thing I learned in my classes about Art History, but I can tell you in detail about where I went to lunch after. My forgetfulness is unsurprising, but the fact that I’ve dedicated so much brain space to a completely forgettable meal is genuinely infuriating. I’ll be the first to say that neither the eatery nor my order are or were special. Lemonade LA is like an expensive cafeteria for tech bros and hipsters that want to make healthier choices, short of bringing their own food to work. Assemble a tray of cold or hot options and be on your way.

School Lunch in SF

When it first opened in downtown San Francisco, I was one of the first people in line. Anything to shake up the routine of schoolwork and endless commutes. Given the slim vegan options, I immediately lit upon the avocado and tomato salad. It’s every bit as boring as it sounds: avocado, tomato, pine nuts, and lime vinaigrette. Perhaps it was comforting at least in part because it was so unremarkable. Fresh, rich, and satisfying, every single time.

All-Purpose Avocados

It’s the kind of thing you absolutely do not need a recipe for, yet it can be a helpful reminder in times of need. Need something for an impromptu happy hour, pot luck, or unannounced dinner guest? It’s a salad, yes, but also a side dish, salsa, topping, and plant-based ceviche, if you’re feeling fancy.

Serving Suggestions

That’s to say, you can serve it with chips like a dip, or heaped on top of toast. Toss in chickpeas or diced tofu for protein, or add more veggies like sliced hearts of palm, steamed asparagus, or roasted broccoli. Toss with chilled pasta or leafy green to make it a bigger, complete meal. Double it for a crowd or halve it to eat two servings at once, because for all it can do, it can’t do everything, and doesn’t keep well.

The Basic Blueprint

Here’s your cheat sheet. I’ve improvised and simplified the original approach considerably over the years, so trust me when I say that you can’t mess it up. Juicy tomatoes tossed with buttery cubes of ripe avocado, doused in bright citrus will never do you wrong.

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A Close Shave

Cauliflower can be many things, but rarely is it allowed to be itself these days. While grabbing a bite with friends, seeing it appear on a pizza—not blended into the crust, but perched right on top in all its snowy white, raw glory—was such a shock, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Everything about it sounds questionable, like biting into a chunk of impenetrable starch, but the cut made all the difference. Slicing it paper thin, as I had never seen before, was a revelation. Cool and crisp against the warm, gooey base, it was like an entirely new vegetable.

Mon Petit Chou-Fleur

Rather than pulling apart the clustered budding stems, considering the head as a whole completely changes the vegetable. Elegant yet understated, distinctive and still versatile, shaved cauliflower is now my favorite salad starter. Leave the lettuce at home for a more substantial, sturdy salad.

In this particular blend, thinly sliced cauliflower provides a delicate crunch that pairs perfectly with the tender edamame and cool cucumber. Crumbled vegan feta adds a creamy twang, while toasted pepitas finish with a nutty bite. Tossed in a silky, lemony tahini dressing, the salad is both refreshing and full of depth, with a hint of sweetness to balance the otherwise disparate elements.

The key to this cauliflower revelry? A mandoline.

Mandoline Tune-Up

Mandoline slicers are the most dangerous tools found in a kitchen. Otherwise known as a finger guillotine, digit decapitator, or the one-swipe skin remover, mandolines are notorious for their ability to quickly and efficiently cut through everything in their path. More often than not, that means those pitched razor blades mow through more than just carrots or potatoes. A moment of distraction or a slip of the hand can leave even experienced cooks seeing red. If you’re not afraid of your mandoline, you haven’t used it enough.

Looking Sharp

Why recommend such a hazardous appliance, even after numerous experiences that left a mark? There’s simply no other tool for the job. While a properly honed knife is essential, the sharpest edge can’t compete with the precision and consistency of a mandoline. That’s especially true when making delicate, thin shavings of cauliflower, rather than coarsely crumbled florets. So yes, despite those dire warnings, I’m telling you to put yourself in peril and use this modern torture device. If you’d like to keep all ten fingers, I have three easy tips for you:

  1. USE
  2. THE
  3. HAND GUARD

That’s it, that’s the secret to success. If you’ve lost the hand guard, don’t make this recipe. I won’t be held responsible for your hospital bill.

As visually stunning as it is delicious, each bite of cauliflower is paper-thin, creating a light, crisp, and satisfying texture. The result is a refreshing, bright salad that showcases the simplicity of raw cauliflower. Suspend your disbelief, watch your fingers, and give it a shot. Cauliflower is best when it can be itself, front and center.

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Get A Cobb On

Salads shouldn’t just be a side dish or an after thought. Down with wilted iceberg lettuce and stale croutons! I’m all about those hefty, fully loaded meal salads that have tons of color, texture, and flavor going on. The classic Cobb is a good example of that, traditionally piled high with meats, cheese, and eggs. On top of my obvious vegan conversions, I wanted to take a more seasonal approach for a new, novel Autumn Cobb Salad.

Vegan Innovations

To start with the vegan adaptations, we can replace traditional proteins with plant-based alternatives that not only complement the dish but enhance it. Instead of crispy bacon, consider using pecans seasoned with a smoky flavor to provide that quintessential crunch. Hard-boiled eggs can be swapped out for hearty, diced potatoes, seasoned with sulfurous kala namak, which lend a satisfying creaminess without sacrificing substance. For the chicken, chickpeas are an excellent choice, adding protein and a nutty flavor that ties the salad together.

Seasonal Swaps

Seasonality is the secret ingredient that can transform an ordinary salad into something truly special. In this fall feature, pomegranate arils take the place of conventional tomatoes, infusing each bite with a burst of sweetness and vibrant color. Instead of the typical scallions or chives, opt for pickled onions. Their tangy crunch elevates the flavor profile and adds depth.

When it comes to greens, we’re turning to shredded collard greens instead of the usual lettuce. This hearty green not only provides a more robust texture but also aligns perfectly with the season’s bounty. Finally, rather than dressing the salad with traditional ranch, a maple-balsamic vinaigrette introduces a balance of sweetness and acidity, capturing the essence of fall in every drop.

Timeless Staples

Even amidst these changes, there are certain staples that remain unassailable. Creamy avocado adds richness to the dish, while a sprinkle of vegan blue cheese, store-bought or homemade, provides that unmistakable funk, rounding out the flavor experience perfectly.

Salad Days Are Here Again

Salads can be so much more than an afterthought. With a little creativity and a focus on seasonal ingredients, they can take center stage as a nourishing, satisfying meal. Say goodbye to the wilted greens of the past and hello to a vibrant, fully loaded salad that you’ll want to dig into all autumn long.

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