Terry-bly Good Veggie Burgers

Few veggie burgers carry such mystique and acclaim as the patty from P. Terry’s. As a throwback to simpler times, it’s all substance, no style, and proud of it. It doesn’t try to emulate meat, yet regularly wins over proud carnists, at least for one meal. Many would say it’s the best veggie burger in the city, which is a tall claim for a $5 meal, fully loaded. Still, it bums me out.

Plant-Forward, Not Plant-Based

The veggie burger from P. Terry’s is not vegan. It’s not a matter that removing the top slice of American cheese can remedy; these legendary patties come with two additional types of shredded cheese baked right inside, enmeshed into the very fiber of that brown rice base. Vegetarian, yes; vegan, no.

Possibilities Frozen In Time

What’s more infuriating is that it doesn’t have to be this way. They’ve proven they have the technology! For a time span so short that it seemed like a fever dream, P. Terry’s started selling frozen veggie burger patties at select Whole Foods, including the original, AND a fully plant-based version using Daiya vegan cheese! Did anyone ever find them in stores? The records are lost to time. I certainly missed out on the opportunity, and they were never offered as a menu item in restaurants.

Deconstructing Ingredients

Though frustrating, the hype surrounding the dairy-filled classic has created a long paper trail of evidence for deconstruction. Their own website lists the ingredients as follows:

crimini mushrooms, heavy cream, black beans, brown rice, cheddar cheese, onion, mozzarella cheese, eggs, whole wheat flour, oats, parsley, corn starch, salt, garlic powder

Despite some conflicting evidence from a video posted to Facebook, showing the inclusion of bulgur, I believe the above to be true and accurate. Maybe they were just trying to throw us off the trail, because it’s otherwise too easy. I’m onto your tricks, Mr. Terry.

Starting From Scratch

Simple, comforting, and distinctly wholesome, this is a burger meant to taste homemade. For working people who don’t have the luxury of time to make their own, and would honestly rather not be eating fast food, that’s the whole appeal. Lightly crisped on the outside and soft on the inside, the standard array of crisp lettuce, tomato, onion, and “special sauce” create a satisfying contrast that brings it all together. Perhaps it’s special because it’s un-special, or vice versa?

As a vegan, it’s hard not to feel a little burned by the P. Terry’s veggie burger. With such thoughtful composition, respects paid to classic meatless patties of the 70’s and 80’s, and all that mouthwatering hype, it feels like a huge miss to keep dairy and eggs at its core.

Fast Food Meets Slow Food

For those of us on the outside looking in, there’s power in reinterpretation. The original’s legacy has created a clear blueprint, ripe for the taking. It may never show up on the P. Terry’s menu board, but some legends are best when you make your own.

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Firfir For Real

Ugly but tasty; that’s firfir, alright. Made from torn pieces of injera, it’s a thrifty way to use day-old bread and a few pantry staples. Of course, leftover injera isn’t something I’ve ever had at my disposal, so rare and precious that every scrap is exhausted long before the stews alongside. Firfir is every bit as special, no matter how simple. Now that I can order injera whenever I want, firfir is back on the menu, fresh and vibrant as ever.

Injera, the spongy, sour flatbread at the heart of Ethiopian cuisine, is a flatbread I could never make from scratch. All it takes is teff flour, water, and salt, but that’s not the whole story. Days of fermentation are what create its signature flavor and texture before its spread in paper-thin layers, even finer than French crepes, demanding untold years of practice to master. Anyone without access to an Ethiopian restaurant was out of luck, until Red Fox Spices began selling both Ivory and Brown Teff Injera inside their meal kits and, most important to this culinary adventure, solo.

What Goes Into Firfir?

There’s no “correct” way to make firfir. Mercifully, that also means there’s no wrong way to do it, either. It’s a dish of memory more than measurement. You’ll find variations all across Ethiopian households, each adapted as the technique passed through the hands of generations of cooks. Some brightened with fresh tomatoes, others simply use tomato paste or sauce. Some are fiery hot, others more mild. The only constant is the teff flatbread base, liberal use of oil and onions, and a heavy hand when applying berbere.

Berbere: The Heart Behind the Heat

There is no talking about firfir, or frankly, Ethiopian cuisine at all, without singing the praises of berbere. Crimson and potent as a red-hot flame, it’s the essential spice blend that pulses through almost every dish like a low, melodic hum. Smoky chili peppers take the lead, supported by a chorus of garlic, ginger, fenugreek, cumin, cardamom, allspice, and more. Like every other element of the cuisine, proportions vary from home to home, though it will always knock you off your feet with layers of complex flavor. I’m happy to get an assist from Red Fox Spices on this one too, as it’s the real deal.

Firfir For Days

Timeless, foolproof, and always well-received, firfir can be enjoyed for any meal. In Ethiopia, it’s most commonly served for breakfast, scooped up with even more fresh injera.

Firfir may not win any beauty contests, but it’s the kind of meal that’s meant to be eaten with your hands, not your eyes. Now that the key ingredients, injera and berbere, are readily available for shipping all over the world, there’s no excuse not to bring this soulful, spicy tangle of comfort into your own kitchen.

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The Dirt On Clean Food

Everyone talks about “clean” food like it’s the panacea to all malaise, the upper echelon of edibles, the thing we should all strive to put on the table. Personally, I want my food dirty.

I want carrots that have known the earth, found shelter within the dark depths of the ground, and felt so moved to bring some of that with them all the way through their journey to my home.

I want leeks encased in layers of sand and silt, the materials needed to produce a more tender inner stalk. I want to spend the time to separate them, one by one, to bathe and appreciate all that went into their creation.

I want leafy greens that show up to the party with friends. Ladybugs, caterpillars, even the odd spider are wonderful plus ones. I want to know how they’ve nourished their community from their inception, and how the ecosystem has worked to pollinate and support their growth, too.

I want mangoes sticky with sap, leaving a glossy trail from their stems to my kitchen counter. I want it to tell me that it’s so incredibly sweet, it can’t possibly keep all those ripe sugars to itself.

If “clean,” antiseptic food that seems to have arrived via immaculate conception is your thing, that’s fine. I want mine filthy, having lived a real life in the earth with flavor to show for it.

Pop Quiz

Standing over a gently simmering pot of basmati rice, lid slightly ajar, I was suddenly swept up by the most familiar, cozy aroma. Nutty, warm, and unmistakably nostalgic. It took me a second to place it, but once I did, there was no denying it: popcorn. The rice smelled exactly like freshly popped popcorn.

That toasty, buttery, slightly roasted perfume has a surprising overlap between the two completely unrelated ingredients, and there’s actual science behind it. The same compound responsible for popcorn’s crave-worthy scent, 2-acetyl-1-pyrroline, or 2-AP for short, is the aromatic essential in basmati rice. In fact, it’s found in everything from toasted bread to pandan leaves, but it seems to come through most clearly in the iconic long grain and exploded kernel.

Scientifically Delicious

What makes the comparison even more compelling is that their similarities don’t stop at that one molecule. Not to get too nerdy, but you science buffs out there may also recognize:

Pyrazines which bring the earthy, roasted warmth.
Furfural adds a whiff of baked bread and honey.
Hexanal and nonanal layer in fresh, fatty green notes like crushed leaves.

So naturally, I wondered, what if you brought them together?

Popcorn infused into rice, by way of rich coconut milk, borrows some of its inherent toasty, buttery notes at the same time. It’s at once cozy and nostalgic, yet still tropical and sunny. A hint of sweetness rounds it out, creating that addictive interplay with an equally subtle touch of salt.

Take a page from traditional coconut rice and serve steaming spoonfuls alongside your favorite curry, under roasted vegetables, or all on its own. Like every good bowl of popcorn, it’s dangerously easy to finish the whole batch in one sitting.

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