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age, already!

I ditched all my cast iron when I moved across the country…or up the country…or, man, I don’t remember. I vowed to not move cast iron more than 5 miles ever again, so I’ve owned no cast iron for quite some time.

I have also lived in apartments for the past decade. As they’ve been the kind with strict rules regarding grilling on the balcony (when I’ve been lucky enough to score a balcony), I’ve gone without any means of grilling for quite some time.

Guess who’s done moving—me! I’m settling down, I think, enough to slowly build my collection of cast iron. What better start than a grill pan? Wanna know a secret? It’s technically a panini pan, but I ditched the top piece somewhere in the depths of my kitchen cabinets and guess what’s left: a grill pan.

This was ’round six months ago, and I use it several times a month, and it’s just not there yet. I did the proper seasoning, and i use it like you’re supposed to, but it’s taking forever to get all gorgeous and black and nonstick. I try to use as little oil as possible, to avoid having the smoke alarm go off, and I know it’s getting better, but every time, I lose a chunk or two out of my tempeh. See?

I know, chin up and all that. And it’s not that bad—dinner still looks good and tastes good.

This is my tempeh, simmered in a simple marinade for a few minutes then grilled with some Annie’s Original BBQ Sauce. I served it up with Trader Joe’s Creative Grains, which is a lazy man’s mixture of Israeli couscous, orzos, mini garbanzos, and other delights. Way easy. Way delicious. Way good for you. And way cheap.

First I’m sharing this awesome cookie with you. So pink and sparkly! It’s a rosewater sugar cookie from Back to Eden Bakery. I was running errands today and started to get a headache—chocolate was in order and B2E was a worthwhile detour. Not pictured is the chocolate chip cookie I ate way too fast to photograph, kinda like Bruce Lee’s Chinese boxing.

Click on it--it's got a surprise for you!

I’m also sharing this song with you. Leslie Hall (of Gem Sweater fame) released a special little ditty for VeganMoFo Hump Day. Watch and listen to everything Leslie has produced. She is a force of nature and as sparkly as a rosewater sugar cookie. (I want to thank my friend Colleen for introducing me to her radness when we were grammar geeks for hire down in LA.)

You still buy your spices in little jars? And already ground? Oh, whatever will we do with you?

Grinding your own spices is the easiest thing ever in the world of anything, and it’ll net you some fresher, spicier spices—and save you a few bucks to boot.

I’m not saying you have to spend hours over a mortar and pestle. Sure, I’ve got one, but I also have this amazing new space-age ultra high-tech modern marvel: the $15 coffee grinder. Because we also grind our own coffee beans daily (with a mixture of cacao nibs and cassia chips), our second grinder is set aside just for spices. I don’t want to taste rosemary and cumin in my coffee.

So what should you be grinding? Cumin, coriander, mustard, cloves, and dried herbs (drying your own yet?), absolutely. Buy your spices in bulk from a place you trust. Penzeys (yes, I talk about them a lot, but their prices—and spices—are killer), your favorite natural foods store, whatever, just make sure you like the stuff. The point here is to have spices that taste good, better than those McCormick bottles.

Buying bulk sesame seeds? Throw them in a food processor and make your own super fresh tahini for cheap yet delicious hummus.

And you are storing your bulk poppy seeds in the freezer, aren’t you? Ugh, this is worse than I thought! Poppy seeds have high oil content, so they go rancid quickly. Take out a little jar at a time and just leave the big jar in the freezer. If someone asks you why you have a big jar of poppy seeds in your freezer, tell them the Austrian-Hungarian-Gypsy-or-something girl told you to.

Now go eat better food!

It’s Wednesday, and you know what that means. I’m going to try something that I assume will be disgusting!

Today’s entry is kombucha, tea that’s been fermented with a bacteria-yeast pancake, with raspberry juice and chia seeds, which plump up like frog eggs.

I know, right?!

I got the raspberry one, because you expect little seeds in raspberry whatever, so it might soften the blow. Still, when I opened the bottle, it did smell like a bottle of juice that fell out of the cupholder in your car and rolled under the seat, where it sat for a summer. Would you even dare your friend to drink that? I know, kombucha is made in a controlled environment, and I’ve had wine before—that’s fermented. Still, this smelled a little extra gross.

When I poured it into a cup, it glopped out (new situations call for new words) and I was faced with the reality that the next step involved putting that into my mouth. Tom!

I had Tom try it first. He made a face like a baby when it tastes lemon for the first time, a little confused and betrayed. He recovered and said the taste actually wasn’t that bad, but the texture was unexpected. (A little later gave it another go and said, “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m sick enough to need this as a medicine.”)

And then it was my turn. I tried to drink it like a normal beverage, nose open, just taking it all in without reservation. And yes, I found it disgusting and overwhelming. I tried again, this time turning off my nose and sipping in just around a teaspoon. This time I saw the novelty in the chia and could sort of munch the little seedyguys then throw it back down my throat.

Could I drink a full 8-ounce serving of this stuff? No way. I can see how kombucha itself could be an acquired taste, but I don’t much go in for acquired tastes. Its health benefits are super anecdotal, so I don’t see the need to force myself to like it. I would like to figure out a way to eat chia, maybe in a pudding. But I’m done with this—it just seems so contrived, putting a couple of trendy “superfoods” together to make the supergroup of superfoods, like Damn Yankees in a bottle.

For the record, it’s been about 20 minutes since drinking it and I just had a memory of the taste make me almost shiver.

thai pesto?

On my way to a last-minute get-together, I swung by the store to pick up some snacks. I found a cilantro chutney and was intrigued. It sure looked like pesto, and I sure like pesto, so I bought it (along with some mini pitas). Delightful, but I was pretty damn sure I could do better. And so I have.

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.

Don’t you love it when your mouth is still a little tingly after a spicy meal? Well, I do. You do more than just taste food; you smell it and you feel it. Good peppers will have a hand in all three of these senses, and I adore them for it.

Last year I introduced some of you to the dundicut, when I used it to flavor olive oil. It’s such a fantastic pepper I think it deserves a closer look.

It’s a hot one, at 55,000-65,000 Scoville Units, but it’s also got a fuller, fruitier flavor than, say, a habanero, and is often compared with the Scotch bonnet. It’s from Pakistan, and commonly used in Indian cuisine. I use them in just about everything, from pizza and pasta to my taco seasoning to Thai food.

I’ve never been able to find them fresh, but Penzey’s carries the dried ones. Tom’s super special technique? Pour ‘em in a shaker-top jar then smash them down using the blunt end of a chopstick. Beats the hell out of those irradiated packets you get with pizza delivery (if pizza delivery places still do that—it’s been a while).

Now go get yourself some tingle.

It’s natural. It happens to all of us sometimes. You’re baking something new and it turns out less than perfect. It’s edible—and as soon as you pull it out of the oven you know what you did wrong—but it’s just not what you dreamed of during the 40-minute wave of anticipation you were riding while you were making it.

The insult-to-injury part of this story is that while it was baking, I was writing my MoFo post. Did your heart just break a little? It was so positive and triumphant and celebratory and all things that are good. Wait, let me give you the first line:

Breakfast, it’s not just for diabetics anymore.

Oh, sadface.

What was I trying to do? Recreate the cappuccino muffins from In the Black, a closed-down coffee shop right by the office I worked at seven years ago when I lived in New York. Oh, and they weren’t vegan (but neither was I). Basically, it’s up to me if I ever want that muffin again.

I used the Vegan With a Vengeance Mocha Chip Muffin recipe, which I’ve made before and love as an almost-cupcake. I simply swapped the amounts for cocoa and coffee powder (I used the Medaglia D’Oro instant espresso powder, a staple in my kitchen) and added some cinnamon.

Here’s where I went wrong: Cocoa powder has bulk, acting like flour. The espresso powder simply melts. The flavor was aces, but as you can see, they’re a little flat. Totally edible, moist and delicious, to be sure, but I think I should have added almost a quarter cup of extra flour.

So maybe “failure” is a strong word.

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