I was born an Alliumphile. Some people say we choose to love garlic and onion and all those things you’re not supposed to eat on dates, but I say I just never had a choice; it’s how I was made. As a toddler, my mom would catch me in the kitchen cupboard, eating an onion as if it were an apple. No, Michele wasn’t like the other girls.

I especially cannot think of a time when I was not super best friends with garlic bread. Garlic knots, smashed cloves of roasted garlic with olive oil on a crusty nub, even biscuits baked in sea of garlic butter (so they soak it up as they bake)—it kinda doesn’t matter, as long as it’s garlic and oil and bread.

Back in the omni days, I ate a lot of sad frozen garlic breads. Most of them were more oily than garlicky, but I ate them until I was on the brink of puking. Then I would put them in the fridge and eat them cold! So wrong. I don’t know of any vegan frozen garlic bread, but I’m old enough to make my own. And thanks to nutritional yeast, my garlic bread is fuller and richer than anything I ever ate as a kid.

My mixture is about half Earth Balance, half olive oil, plus minced garlic and (horror of horrors) garlic powder, a little salt, chopped parsley, and nutritional yeast. And I love it. I love it so much.

When I reeeally need comfort food, and nobody’s looking, I’ll sprinkle some Daiya on the top before baking it, and then I’ll dip it in pizza sauce. Please don’t judge me.

I’m always amazed at how much squash string comes out of even a smallish spaghetti squash. unless you’re cooking for a giant family, you’re lookin’ at squash for days. (Not that I’m complaining.) But what can be done with this marvelous vegetable?

Of the recipes I found online for spaghetti squash pancakes, they pretty much all involved eggs and cheese…so those wouldn’t work. But why would I need a recipe? I make potato pancakes all the time. Sure, squash and potatoes have little in common, but why not give it a whirl, just replacing the potato with squash?

That’s just what I did. Keeping it super simple, I mixed together the cold squash strands, minced onion, chopped parsley, salt, and pepper. There wasn’t much moisture at all so I dripped in just a little water, then I squished in enough flour to form a patty. Five minutes in a thin layer of oil and it was time for a taste test!

Well, whaddaya know, it worked. The sweetness of the onion and squash were pleasant but not annoying. This would be super easy to bend to your favorite spices. It could go Indian or TexMex or Italian. It could serve as a bed for a seitan fillet or a saucy veg-thing. Or, if you’re like me, you could just eat a plate full of these plain as can be.

And I still got a mess o’ squash left…so what’s next?

Insert overused simple syrup joke here.

It really is easy, though, to make your own flavored syrups for teas, coffee, cocktails, and mocktails. You’ll save a ton of money over store-bought ones, and you can’t help but feel a little fancy.

For a not-too-thin, not-too-thick syrup, use equal measures of water and sugar. I used turbinado in the one pictured, for the perty color and the rich flavor, but you can use a white sugar if you want a lighter flavor and color.

Bring the water to a boil, then stir in your sugar until completely dissolved—turn your heat down so you don’t boil off the water…unless you want a thicker syrup. Turn off the heat and add your flavors, leaving them in until the flavor has reached the desired strength.

For my latest, I added small chunks of ginger and lemon peel (perfect for autumn scratchy-throat tea). You can use herbs, berries, cinnamon…it’s your syrup. Don’t worry about what size chunks you’re throwing in; you’ll just run it through a strainer.

Once it’s cooled off enough that you’re not afraid of it, use a funnel and pour your new, classy syrup into a bottle. Store it in the fridge for a month or so.

Now go experiment!

I refer to it as Thai because of the way the flavors play off one another. You do taste peanut and pepper and (obviously) cilantro. It’s an active flavor, if that makes sense—it keeps your tongue busy.

I wish I could give you measurements for this, but I just can’t. It’s a “some of this and some of that until it tastes good” recipe. Who knows how much cilantro’s going to be in your bunch, or how dry it’s going to be, and what kind of peppers did you score? And do you really love garlic? Add more garlic! And, like any sauce or salsa, it’ll taste a little different after a night in the fridge. So here’s a list of ingredients with some guidelines:

cilantro: a big bunch or two small ones
white or yellow onion: a handful
garlic: a clove or two
green mild peppers (Anaheim or jalapeno): a handful
peanuts: a handful
olive oil: a couple of tablespoons
lime juice: one lime’s worth
salt, cayenne, nutritional yeast to taste

Now whiz it up with a stick blender or food processor. Perfect for bread-dippin’ or tossed with some cold rice noodles and julienned carrots, zucchini, scallion.

So mysterious. With all the reflecting and odd shapes floating within, if I didn’t tell you before you got here what it was you could be creeped out. But fear not! It’s just vanilla beans and vodka, and when have they ever steered you wrong? (That time didn’t count—you guys had just broken up and it was like the third night of that heat wave…)

This is all you need to make yourself some quality vanilla extract. How much have you paid and how many times have you almost grabbed the imitation stuff, ’cause who’s gonna notice in chocolate chip cookies? Once you make your own, you’ll never even think about buying one of those tiny bottles. You’ll laugh to yourself when you see someone buying it at the store, not that you judge people at the check-out line or anything.

So how do you do it?
Purchase 6 vanilla beans and slit them lengthwise, exposing the innards.
Stick them in a jar with 2 cups of vodka.
Hide the jar for a few months—in a cool, dry place, of course.
And…oh wait, that’s it. You just made vanilla extract.

If you pour yourself off a little bit, add some more vodka and hide again! Like a good tea bag, the vanilla beans will keep on givin’ you the good stuff for quite some time.

Whah? A decade ago I would have punched myself in the face for making me eat this…but it’s not a decade ago. No, it’s a whole new today and it is glorious.

I’d gone to the farmers market over the weekend and made one of my “If it’s a vegetable, it’s in!” pastas, and I thought I might try it as a pizza the next day. So here’s what’s on it:

• bail pesto base
• dollops of artichoke spread
• garlic
• spring onion
• olives
• cherry bomb pepper
• chard (pre-wilted for just a few minutes on the stove, in a dry pot)
…and giant white beans! (fully cooked—but not mushy—and cut in half)

It’s all on a regular ol’ pizza crust, baked at 470° instead of my usual 500°, because I was a little worried about the moisture of all the vegetables soggyin’ up the place. It worked perfectly.

I was not at all creeped out by the beans. They were just creamy enough and played nice with the other flavors and textures. I surprised even myself. And no one got hurt.

I have successfully eaten something I feel comfortable calling “lasagna.” No surprise, I’m sure, but I grew up hating lasagna. My mother didn’t make it often; my father hated it just as much as I did. It was a one-dish, smushed-up, cheesy mess. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the funtime assembly aspect, but to eat it? Grossssss.

A bit later in life, I tried one of those equally grossssss veggie lasagnas. Eggplant and tofu ricotta—hold on, hold on, I’m sure yours is delicious, but remember, I’m a pretty plain Jane here, and slippy, slidy, smushy foods need not apply. In spite of these misses, I knew I could do it: a lasagna that even I could eat! I was really happy with the results, and Tom dug it too, so color me satisfied.

Let me break mine down for you:
• Layer 1: marinara topped with a finely chopped giardiniera (the oil kind, of course)
• Layer 2: Daiya
• Layer 3: Basil pesto, made with nutritional yeast
• Layer 4: light marinara with the Daiya that just seemed indecent in the previous layer

Five minutes of searching for lasagna recipes online netted a dozen different cooking methods. I shrugged my shoulders and aimed down the middle:
• Boil the pasta until it’s just a little too tough to eat, then rinse and let sit in a bit of cold water so it doesn’t get sticky.
• Lightly oil a baking dish (I used a 9×7 and had a lot of pasta to cut off, but I used exactly one package of Daiya), then spread a thin layer of marinara.
• Build lasagna layers, topping with marinara.
• Cover with foil and bake at 375° for about 40 minutes.
(Seriously, each recipe is different and it really depends on how much moisture you’ve got in your dish, so keep peeking in on it and adjust like a grown-up.)

Tofutti with carrots, bell peppers, red onion, and scallions on a bagel.

OR

…peanut butter pretzels?

Peanut butter pretzels dipped in chocolate.

Just sayin’. These both take about five minutes of work and stuff you probably already have. Aren’t you worth it?

Our story begins with Conan and a cone.

I don’t watch a whole lot of TV shows. I don’t have my television set hooked up to anything other than a computer, so unless something is streaming or on a disk or flash drive, I don’t see it. Luckily, I get to watch Conan (the ginger lad with a late-night talk show, not the barbarian) the day after it airs. On a recent show, he had wackadoo pop culturist Charles Phoenix on, and they participated in a little hands-on segment making this: The Astro Weenie Christmas Tree. Phoenix found inspiration in an old, mysterious slide of an old-timey family gathering. Watch!

So not vegan, but easily veganized. Well, I’ve got my cones and party picks, aluminum foil, a couple of strands of battery-powered LEDs (for that special Michele brand of pizazz), and a bunch of ideas for a sweet and savory tree.

Savory ideas:

• pickles
• Tofurky sausage
• jalepeno-stuffed olives
• Sheese cubes
• carrots & radishes
• mini crescent rolls (Pilsbury original crescents are vegan!)

Sweet ideas:

• truffles
• rice krispie treats
• assorted Sweet n Sara marshmallows
• peanut butter fudge
• vegan doughnut holes/minis
• licorice nibs/other squishy candy

With a New Year’s Eve Eve party to go to, I’m pretty excited to have an excuse to make these. Although, any excuse is a good excuse for a kitschy treat. (And yes, I’ll be back to tell ya how it went.)

UPDATE: Well, I tried two new truffle recipes and they both were just a little wrong, one too sweet and the other too soft, but I think I covered pretty well. Luckily, I live a half mile from Food Fight and was able to grab a Sin Dawg, some Sweet N Sara pecan marshmallows, and a bunch of pretty candies. The savory one was much easier. Tom and I built these at the party—I can’t imagine attempting to move these any farther than the distance between the kitchen and the living room!

And here’s a very blurry, low-light photo for you, complete with an impatient grabbyhand.

I don’t really have that much to do for the holidays. I don’t live near family and I do not travel at these peak times. I don’t decorate my home—most years I don’t even bother getting my tree (a silver number which is to be covered in naught but Star Wars ornaments) out of storage. But for whatever reason, the end of the year seems to have this stressy spin to it.

Also, for whatever reason, this year has been an intense one. Misfortune of all shapes and sizes hitting friends and families, extra little scares here and there, and everyone working extra hard to find or keep steady income, these are not just single happenings but waves that radiate out. You’re bombarded with these waves all day and you can’t help but be worn down from it.

Well aware of the importance of taking extra care of your physical being while your emotional one is being taxed, I still tend to skip those sit-ups before bed, forget my OJ in the morning, and eat crappy comfort food. Even when I have the time to prepare a fabulous meal of, say, baked seitan, roasted vegetables, and wild rice I will—in these fried-brain-and-soul times—use that two hours to instead create the $2 take-out special I used to live on during finals oh so many years ago: cheesesticks. When writing a paper at 2:00 a.m. or cramming “important” Russian literature quotes into my head, nothing could beat a cardboard box with these unnatural finger foods and a Coke.

No longer a dairy eater, I went without, until Daiya came along. Love it or just “don’t totally hate it, but…” Daiya is perfect for this. It melts without being oozy. It’s got that salty taste. It wants you to close your eyes and eat your cares away, if only for a minute. (Eating disorder alert!)

Make (or buy, I suppose) a regular ol’ pizza crust. Leave it juuuust a little thicker than you would for pizza. Spread it with a thin layer of garlic spread, then top with Diaya. Bake on a very slightly olive-oiled cookie sheet at 450° until gorgeous. Do be careful with how much oil you’re introducing to this thing—you don’t want it running off the cookie sheet and smoking up your oven and setting off your fire alarm. Serve with extra garlic spread and marinara. If you wanted to be a fancy foo, it would also be amazing with pesto.

For the garlic spread, I use equal parts original Earth Balance in the tub and olive oil. Don’t bother melting the EB, just mix it together and it’ll be all creamy and perfect. To it I add minced garlic, crushed red pepper, basil, oregano, and enough nutritional yeast to just thicken and tart it up a bit. Don’t you dare look at the fat content of this. It’s a special treat for when you’re stressed, not an everyday snack. You can eat celery sticks tomorrow.