Tag: vegan

Pot Roast with the Most

Any brisket could be pot roast, but not all pot roasts are brisket. Confused yet? Once and for all, to set the record straight:

Brisket is a specific cut of meat. Pot roast is a method of preparation.

This is what I tell myself, as if it was that neat and clean, but the truth is the lines are blurry and overlapping, especially depending on who you ask. Brisket can become a pot roast if you toss it into a slow cooker, drowning it in broth and aromatics until it practically shreds itself. You could call that a Jewish pot roast with ease, but a born-and-bred Texan might run you right out of town for that declaration. In these parts, brisket must be smoked low and slow over dry heat, not stewed into oblivion.

Hot Take for a Hot Pot

In the spirit of the holidays, let’s just say that everyone’s right. Let’s put down the pitch forks and pick up the dinner forks, shall we? I made a more conventional take on a vegan holiday brisket last year, which I still consider one of my crowning culinary achievements. This time around, to make something I could classify as a pot roast, I thought it was high time to examine the meat of the matter.

Hen-of-the-Woods in Every Pot

Now, the star of the show isn’t seitan, but mushrooms. Big, feathery clusters of maitake, also called hen-of-the-woods, with their wild, ruffled edges and umami depth that’s downright meaty, maintain a distinctly fibrous yet tender texture, not unlike shredded beef. The protein not the cut for pot roast is a crucial element of what makes the dish, which is why it translates so seamlessly to a plant-based table.

Marvels of Maitake

I used dried maitake here not just for their concentrated flavor or long shelf life, though both are undeniable perks, but because they’re the embodiment of wealth and abundance for me. Every fall, my mom forages them from the wilderness of suburban Connecticut, scouring the base of old oaks with the focus of a seasoned treasure hunter. She dries them carefully, filling mason jars and brown paper bags with feathery clusters that smell like the forest floor after rain. Rehydrated, they spring back to life with even more intensity, deep and woodsy with a hint of smoke. You could substitute roughly a pound of fresh maitake if you don’t have that same incredible fortune.

A Pot Roast by Any Other Name

Somewhere, a food purist is clutching their pearls, muttering about prime cuts and the Maillard reaction. They’ll say it’s not a roast if it doesn’t begin with marbled beef and end in pan drippings. But when I press a spoon against a tender heap of maitake mushrooms that have been stewed into supple submission, bathed in onion-y gravy and served alongside carrots and potatoes that melt in you mouth, I’m not thinking about taxonomy. I’m thinking about warmth, comfort, and how the house smells like the Hanukkahs of my childhood.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)8 Comments

Controversial Cabbage

Latkes are sacred. I don’t mean that in a biblical sense, but maybe that does apply in this case, too. Latkes are the real meaning of Hanukkah, the nexus of the holiday that connect the miracle of the oil with community, comfort, and abundance. Potatoes themselves take a place of honor at the table, forever reliable for their culinary prowess. That’s why I’ve been steeling myself for this blog post; I know I’m about to upset a lot of people. I made latkes with cabbage instead of potatoes.

Please, put your pitchforks away! Don’t rescind my invitation to the party yet! By no means am I suggesting that cabbage latkes are better than the beloved potato latkes. As a food writer, I know my job is to sell you on my latest creation, convincing you that it’s unbeatable, it’s life-changing, it’s the thing you never knew you needed.

Maybe the last is true, because I’ve never heard anyone take a plate of golden, immaculately crisp potato latkes and say, “You know what these need? 100% more cabbage.”

Honestly, I don’t know where the idea came from, other than the fact that I like cabbage and happened to have it around. I started making cabbage latkes well into late summer, biding my time and practicing my pitch for this day. I’ve come to find that they somewhat resemble Latvian kāpostu kotletes, which Google invariably translates as “cabbage cutlets.” If there could possibly be a more disappointing way to set expectations for this dish, it would be to call them cabbage cutlets. So, cabbage latkes it is.

Golden-crisp on the edges, tender in the center, this more vegetal reimagining of the classic potato pancake looks suspiciously similar to the original inspiration. Shredded green cabbage, kissed with just enough salt to coax out its sweet, earthy essence, forms the backbone of this comforting fritter. Not heavy or greasy, a lacy latticework of browned fringes gives way to a savory, onion-scented interior.

Hopefully this doesn’t turn into a scandal akin to the great Pea Guacamole Controversy that rocked the culinary world a few years back. If it would make you more comfortable, go ahead and call them cabbage fritters. No one is coming to take away your potatoes. I’m only suggesting you might enjoy making space for cabbage, too.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)11 Comments

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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Hannah (BitterSweet)6 Comments

Bloody Good Soup

One could argue, without any difficulty, that a classically mixed Bloody Mary is a soup. Sure, the notable addition of vodka may give pause, but who said that soups were defined by their sobriety? Soup is merely defined as a “liquid food,” which also means that perhaps smoothies and milkshakes could be included in the category. A Bloody Mary, though, already has the basic vegetal building blocks of a cozy tomato soup, lightened and lengthened with chilled spirits, like a tipsy gazpacho served in a glass. Honestly, that sounds pretty good, too.

But I digress. We’re talking about the Bloody Mary here; robust and highly seasoned, often spiked with Worcestershire, Tabasco, and plenty of black pepper, at least. It wouldn’t take much at all to make that into a meal. Hell, you could just heat up the foundational mix and call it a day, but we can do better. Taking a page from classic tomato soup, it’s not a radical departure from tradition, which is a large part of its charm. Just layer in some caramelized onions, cook up the celery instead of saving it for a garnish, and add a bit more vegan bacon for that all-important protein, and now it’s looking like a proper bowl of soup.

We can’t leave garnishes out of the picture, though. They’re almost more essential to the Bloody Mary than the vodka itself. On that note, I chose to add my vodka towards the end, rather than let it cook out, because it should live up to the name, right? You could add it earlier on in the cooking process, along with the vegetable stock, to make this more family friendly, if you absolutely had to.

Happy hour and dinnertime often overlap, so why not cut to the chase and make both count? If it’s too hard to get past the idea of Bloody Mary soup being different from the original cocktail, then just think of it like a surprisingly relaxing, mildly intoxicating tomato soup, and you won’t be disappointed.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)10 Comments