Tag: snack

Do’s and Do-ughnut’s

When I got my first air fryer, there’s nothing I wouldn’t put in it. Whole pies, seitan roasts, random leftovers; things that absolutely did not need to be air fried, and probably would have been better if not. More than the promise of cooking with less fat, it was the convenience and speed that reeled me in. The promise of never navigating a vat of bubbling hot oil didn’t hurt, though.

Naturally, pushing it to the extreme limits of this concept, I had to try my hand at doughnuts. Yeasted doughnuts seemed too easy, or maybe just too precious for something I was fully prepared to get wrong. Cake doughnuts were a challenge within a puzzle, lighting up the problem-solving part of my brain like a glow stick, since there was no way in hell I could fit a conventional metal mold in that tiny countertop oven.

The trick is to make a batter as thick as cookie dough, easily sculpted in the palm of your hands. Landing somewhere between a light brownie and a dense cupcake, these rustic rings have a homespun kind of charm as a result. Those ridges and dips catch the glaze differently, creating little pockets of sweetness that contrast with the darker, more cocoa-forward crumb underneath.

How this recipe could sit in my drafts for all these years is beyond me. Unlike many other unhinged air fryer experiments, this one has withstood the test of time, even if that original air fryer didn’t withstand my trials.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)8 Comments

Playing Favarites

Why would a dip called “fava” not be made from fava beans? Language is a funny thing, especially when trying to transpose a different one with your own. Quite simply, the Greek word fava refers to what we know as yellow split peas in English. If you wanted the broad, flat legumes instead, those would be koukia; another beloved staple across the Greek islands.

Peas and Thank You

After my initial confusion, the attraction was immediate. Yellow split peas have long been a favorite for cozy soups and stews, and I’m certainly no stranger to creamy bean dips the world over. Continuing life without a suitable recipe under my belt was unthinkable.

Certified Inauthentic

Don’t call the authenticity police on me. I’m well aware that this is far from a “legitimate” fava dip, as the genuine legumes are highly regulated to maintain their distinctive terroir. As a Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) food, only yellow split peas that are grow in Santorini can legally be labeled as such. I’ve heard tales that Santorini fava are sweeter and have a smoother texture than other split peas thanks to the mineral-rich volcanic soil of the island, though I’m not fortunate enough to personally confirm nor deny such a statement. I can promise you, however, than regular old, unprestigious split peas make a damn fine dip. You could really rock the boat and use green split peas, too. Just don’t blame me if officials find out and you’re banned from entering Greece at a later date.

Split Decision

Maybe the golden color is playing tricks on my mind, but I swear each velvety dollop, dip, and spoonful has an almost buttery finish. Topping with capers and diced red onion is essential to create the perfect bite, lending a briny, salt, and sharp highlight to what might otherwise fall a little flat. Wrapped in soft, warm pita bread or scooped up with crisp veggies, even this large batch will go fast. It could definitely give the average hummus a run for its money.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)4 Comments

Welcome to Margaritaville

How is it possible that here in Texas, we have no officially designated state beverage? Only 32 of our 50 states have bestowed that title on their beverage of choice, and I must say, I’m roundly unimpressed by those efforts too. Twenty of those went with milk and one (Indiana, I’m looking at you) chose water. Water. Who voted on this?

At least some are trying to pick up the slack, selecting both a plebeian potable and a cocktail or spirit. Much respect to Wisconsin and their preference for a brandy old fashioned, Maryland, Virginia, and Alabama sidling up to the bar for whiskey, Maryland coming back for an Orange Crush which they also share with Delaware, and Nevada inviting everyone to the party with Pisco Punch.

With such a rich history of drinking under our belts, I’d like to start a bid to make the margarita the official beverage of the Lone Star State. Not a single establishment serving alcohol would omit such a staple from the menu, though it’s such an obvious choice that some don’t even go through the trouble of putting it in print. Ask for a margarita and you shall receive. Beyond Texas, it’s the single most popular cocktail in the entire country, in fact; we just like to think that we do it best.

While we wait for Texan bureaucrats to realize that the margarita is the only logical candidate for the job, I’ve found a way to bring that tangy, tequila-spiked spirit to the dessert table. If we can’t legislate the cocktail into the state archives yet, we can certainly bake it into the local culture.

Slice-and-bake margarita shortbread cookies capture the fun of happy hour without the risk of a hangover. Yes, there is a splash of tequila in the mix, but it shakes out to roughly 1/6 teaspoon per serving. Total teetotalers can simply swap in water, if that amount remains a concern. More importantly, to mimic the complex citrus profile of a top-shelf pour, the dough is heavily perfumed with both lime and orange zest. It’s the bright, aromatic punch you expect before the first sip. Each log of dough is rolled in coarse colored sugar before slicing. It creates a shimmering, crunchy crust that perfectly imitates the iconic salt rim, albeit in a sweeter way.

While the “Indiana approach” to beverages might be safe and hydrating, Texas deserves a profile with a bit more bite. These cookies offer a loophole to the legislative lag, serving up our currently unofficial state cocktail one citrusy, sugar-rimmed slice at a time. Until Texas finally puts a ring (or a rim) on it, these shortbreads are the most delicious way to cast your vote for the margarita.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)12 Comments

Stick To It

As much as I love edamame, I’m loathe to order them at a restaurant. They have to be something really special, perhaps charred with a smoky kiss from the wok, anointed with enough garlic to ruin any date, to merit real consideration. The fact of the matter is that in most cases, they’re merely the same green pods anyone could grab from the freezer, barely thawed enough to melt the ice crystals, and seasoned either with too much or too little salt; there’s never any middle ground.

Edamame, though admittedly perfect beer snacks as is, deserve so much more care. The bar is so low that the bare minimum of creativity hooks me like a hapless, hungry fish. “Edamame Sticks” did the trick, in just that one line. It was printed on a menu online with no further description, and no means of ordering, but when has that ever stopped me before?

Wrapped up in a thin sheath of wheat-based egg roll skin, chopped edamame are granted the thoughtful application of spices and aromatics that quick serves can never afford. Far from groundbreaking, the complement of garlic, ginger, soy sauce, and sesame oil are simply playing the hits that the crowd most wants to hear. Once fried, bubbling surface of the wrappers bronzed and resoundingly crisp, no one could deny these beans.

The only problem with edamame is when they’re served as a placeholder, something to keep your hands busy while you wait for anything better. Given even a modest intervention, sealed, spiced, and sent through hot oil, they snap out of their stupor. Apparently this is still too much to ask of restaurants sending out plain pods at exorbitant prices, but at least we have all the tools at our disposal to do better at home.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)11 Comments

Newman’s Old Cookies

Twenty years is an incredibly long time when it comes to the lifespan of most products, and even the brands themselves. Combing through the archives to revisit the blog’s first years of life, it’s striking just how few of my earliest review features are still on the market. Rest in peace, my beloved Sweet & Sara marshmallows. May your memory be a blessing, Sunergia soy feta. Until we meet again, Luna tea cakes. I’ll see you in hell, Righteously Raw bars. I could go on, but there was one remarkable finding that snapped me out of that sad spiral: the very first thing I ever reviewed is still on store shelves, nationwide, to this day.

Newman-O’s, one of the earliest “healthy” Oreo doppelgangers that told us it was okay to eat cookies as long as they were organic, seems largely unchanged after two decades. The biggest difference is the label, bold and colorful, redesigned to capture what little attention spans shoppers have left. I thought this was the perfect opportunity to reopen my investigation to see if they still hold up to scrutiny.

Newman’s Own Organics launched the iconic Newman-O’s in 1993, the first line to expand the company’s offerings beyond their initial dressings and sauces. In addition to the Original sandwich crèmes up for re-examination today, additional flavors include Chocolate Crème, Mint, Peanut Butter, Strawberry, and Vanilla. Sadly, Ginger-O’s quietly disappeared from store shelves post pandemic, never to return. Of course, this was my favorite one. Yet again, my approval seems to be the ultimate kiss of death.

Oreo is said to be the world’s best-selling cookie, though Newman-O’s are hardly concerned about competing or dominating in any arena. 100% of the profits go to charity, which should make it a bit easier to swallow the $6.99 – 9.99 price tag, which is easily two or three times more than “America’s Favorite” cookie. Ostensibly, you’re paying for quality; organic flour and sugar, and no trans fats, high‑fructose corn syrup, or partially hydrogenated oils. Does it all add up when it comes to flavor, though?

Yes and no.

Yes, this is a solid sandwich cookie. Crisp chocolate wafers enclose a creamy white filling, balancing out the subtly bitter edge of the cocoa with a blast of vanilla frosting sweetness. They dissolve easily when dunked in non-dairy milk, melting away in the mouth without leaving a greasy residue. The two halves cleave away cleanly, satisfying for anyone that prefers to deconstruct their dessert to eat the components separately. Uncomplicated, they’re easy to love at any age.

No, it’s not vastly different from the experience of eating an Oreo. Maybe it’s the placebo effect that lends them the impression of having a cleaner finish and flavor, or that you can feel better about making a “smarter” choice. Eaten side by side, without the respective logos embossed on top, it might be difficult to tell them apart. That, however, is honestly a win for Newman. To offer the same addictive qualities as such a well-loved cookie, without sacrificing quality ingredients is a certain kind a coup.

I’m amazed, impressed, and relieved that Newman-O’s remains exactly as I remember it from my first foray into reviewing food. Before sponsorship, work for trade, influencers, and all the other noise muddying up the field, this is one I chose to buy with my own money, and still do.

Hannah (BitterSweet)11 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