Stuff we’ve eaten lately.

While Red and I continue to nibble away on the vat of buffalo tofu we made over the weekend, here are some other things we’ve eaten over the last week or so:


This here’s a nice minestrone. I have a recipe I printed from some website a few years ago and veganized, but you don’t really need one. I like to think of minestrone as “Italian leftover soup,” because that’s basically what it is. Got some sad veggies languishing in that Crisper drawer? Chop ‘em up and throw ‘em in a pot with a can of beans, a can of tomatoes, a few cups of broth, a handful of small pasta, and a few shakes of Italian seasoning. When the pasta’s ready, chow down. Because my inner child demanded to be indulged, we used ABC pasta this time. I did not torment Red by insisting that we play Scrabble with our soup noodles.


I made a double batch of seitan last week. Some went into Appetite for Reduction’s Portobello Peppersteak Stew, which is delicious but not at all photogenic, so I didn’t bother with a picture. (It is incredible though, so you should make it.) Red sliced up the rest and we made barbecue seitan! This is one of his favorites. I sautéed the seitan for a few minutes in our biggest cast-iron skillet, then poured a bottle of Organicville Tangy BBQ Sauce over it and let it simmer until we got too hungry and had to eat it. Because nothing accompanies barbecue like cornbread, I made Cornbread Biscuits from Vegan Brunch. They were possibly even easier than regular cornbread, and very tasty. Them’s frozen green beans up there, if you’re keeping track.


This is Quinoa, White Bean, and Kale Stew from Appetite for Reduction. Isn’t it pretty? I love all the colors. It is a total color-texture extravaganza. This stew has damn near everything in it—kale, potatoes, carrots, quinoa, beans, parsnips, leeks, a bunch of spices, and on and on—but it comes together very quickly. I know I mentioned parsnips and they are kind of creepy to some people, looking like albino carrots like they do, but believe me, you won’t even notice them. They blend right in with the potatoes and you can’t tell the difference. I have examined spoonfuls of this stew, looking for something identifiably parsnip, and I haven’t found it yet. You should also know that the quinoa soaks up the broth like crazy, so after a night in the fridge, your stew becomes less stewish and more like a delicious amalgamation of veggies and grains that you need to eat with a spoon. It’s doesn’t bother me at all, but if you want to preserve your solid-to-liquid ratio, you might be SOL unless you eat the entire vat at once.


Last night, we made Pasta con Broccoli, also courtesy of AFR. It’s pretty obvious what this is, right? We cheaped out and used frozen broccoli, so it was extra-quick. Red was a little skeptical of a pasta dish that didn’t have an accompanying sauce, but he was pleasantly surprised. I was surprised by how filling it was—I didn’t expect that plain old noodles and broccoli would leave me satisfied for more than an hour or two. It is a garlicky delight that you could easily change up with whatever veggies in your fridge or freezer crave the loving embrace of pasta.

So there you have it. We’ve noticed that although we’ve loved everything from AFR so far, we seem to always end up with one less serving than Isa suggests. This isn’t really a problem for us—that pasta dish was supposed to make four servings at 300 calories each, so even if Red and I each snarfed down half the pan, that still would have been only 600 calories apiece for dinner—but maybe you care more about calories than we do. Anyway, all the AFR recipes have been so easy and tasty, three servings instead of four (or seven instead of eight) is totally justifiable.

In which the Burnout proves she can be diplomatic.

Damn, y’all, I am straight-up proud of myself. Allow me to brag on my awesomeness and powers of diplomacy for a moment.

I had dinner at my parents’ place on Friday. Red was not there because I went straight from work, which is way closer to my parents than our house is, and he would have either had to drive himself or wait for me to drive all the way home so we could both drive up there together. It would have been mindless drama on a Friday evening when the Orioles had a home game, is what I’m saying. So I flew solo. My sister’s boyfriend’s dad and brother (do you need a flow chart yet?) were in town, so I was looking forward to meeting them. They asked polite questions about my veganism and were very interested in the details of vegan alcohol.

I’ll spare you the details of how a cookout turned into “Let’s just put everything under the broiler,” because it doesn’t really matter. I helped my mom make awesome veggie kebabs that were the envy of my flesh-munching tablemates. It was peaceful. I ignored the platter of carcasses. Somehow, the conversation turned to grocery stores. My sister mentioned that she had heard that Wegman’s had had some kind of negative PR regarding abused chickens. I was aware of it; it’s highly Google-able. Jaded bitch that I am, I wasn’t surprised, but I wasn’t going to get into it, either.

Her boyfriend’s dad spoke up. “Well, I don’t really see how they can be abused, if you’re going to kill them anyway.”

To quote The Dude, “This aggression will not STAND, man!” I didn’t sigh, but I wanted to. I leaned over, the better to see Mr. Sister’s Boyfriend’s Dad around the centerpiece of Mother’s Day roses, and said to him, “Ah, you know, you probably don’t want to have this conversation right now. Just saying.”

And, miraculously, that was it. That was motherloving it. He dropped it. I dropped it (not that I had started it, which bears repeating). Dinner continued. Dinner ended. I went home. I regaled Red with the story of my awesome display of tact. He was proud of me.

Don’t worry, beloveds. I’m still ready to fight someone. Just not, for the benefit of everyone involved, Mr. Sister’s Boyfriend’s Dad.

This time.

Yes, Red and I are totally Walter and The Dude.

For those about to rock: TofuPalooza!

It’s no secret that I enjoy cooking for omnis. The food I make is damn fine, and I like getting compliments on it! Okay, that’s not the only reason. I also love helping people realize that vegan food is not the bland, sad-face-making stuff they might think it is. Sticky pasta, salad-bar rejects, or—Goddess forbid!—health food? Not at my table!

My sister and her boyfriend had wanted to come over for dinner for some time. She is quite adventurous in her palate, and he is…not so much. When I realized that he had had but one tofu experience, and that it had been bad, I knew I had to remedy this tragedy. (For what it’s worth, his ill-fated introduction to tofu had been in miso soup. ‘Nuff said.) My sister requested my special tofu with mushrooms in mustard sauce, a no-fail recipe that she loved when we lived together. With that in mind, I set about preparing a menu. On Friday, we rocked out vegan-style.

I’ll spare you the boring details of how very badly our house needed cleaning, but thanks to Red, we were able to seat our guests at a functional dining-room table, complete with candles and tablecloth. I forgot to take a picture, and it’s all messy again now, but please admire my adorable sister and her man instead:

Because I cannot do anything without making an unholy production of it, we had a spiffy menu:

TofuPalooza 2010

Backstage Pass Biscuits
With sweet potato and a hint of nutmeg. They only look innocent.

Mosh Pit Tofu and Mushrooms
With savory mustard sauce on a bed of quinoa. It’ll rock your ass off.

Glam Rock Green Beans
Steamed and brightened with dill. David Bowie says, “Eat your veggies!”

VIP Lounge Chocolate Mousse
The secret ingredient? We’ll never tell.

Let there be soy!

It may sound healthy, but don’t be fooled. I followed the Golden Rule of Feeding Omnis: fat = love. And this meal had plenty of it. I fried that tofu to within an inch of its life, made sure there was plenty of Earth Balance for the biscuits, and topped the mousse with soy whipped cream. Ironically, the mousse was actually pretty healthy, since I made it with silken tofu. (Seriously, that mousse? Stupid-easy. Melt some chocolate chips, blend with the tofu, and chill. You’re welcome.)

Our guests loved their meals, and I loved the wine they brought. After dinner, we played Clue and drank coffee with Kahlua and extra whipped cream. It was a lovely evening, and I thank my sister and her S.O. for sharing it with us. There are no plans yet for TofuPalooza 2011, but I’ll be ready!

Bourgeois taco salad.

“What to Eat This Week” is a regular game at our house. Typically we pick a few recipes, maybe three, and go shopping for the ingredients on the weekend. This saves money as well as time, as having a shopping list greatly simplifies the process. Since I could live on apples, hummus, and rice, I try to take Red’s desires into account before we go shopping. Occasionally, I’ll ask him to pick whatever recipes he wants and we’ll do those. I don’t think this is a huge imposition.

He, on the other hand, has been known to react as though I’d just asked him to prep his own arm for amputation. Maybe it’s the sheer number of cookbooks we have. Maybe it’s the difficulty of anticipating what might be appetizing later in the week.

Last week, one of his chosen recipes was taco salad. Ironically, we do not have a recipe for taco salad, and I’d never made it before. I realize that I’m in the extreme minority here, and he would offer that as proof of my bourgeois upbringing. Yes, it’s true: La Familia Burnout did not sit down to dinners of taco salad. We had tacos on a rare, forgettable occasion, and my mom makes a mean salad, but never did the twain meet in that cross-cultural dance of lettuce and salsa.

So, Red suggested that I buy some lettuce. I rolled my eyes, because I barely acknowledge lettuce as food. Really, what is it good for? Anything lettuce does, spinach and chard and kale do better. Lettuce says, “Oh, you’re vay-gan? Well, we’ll just get you a salad, then.” You know what that salad looks like.

I bought romaine lettuce, because it is classier than iceberg and I had a heretofore-unknown bourgeois reputation to uphold.

Red also told me that we’d need burger crumbles. I bought those too, with considerably less angst than I had the lettuce.

[Note: At this point, I’m sure you’re all wondering, “Where the fuck was he while you were buying groceries?!” Simmer down, gentle readers. He had homework to do. Rest assured that we slay the grocery store beast together 90% of the time. Although, since we go to the hippie grocery, it’s more like we lull it with Nag Champa and sing it Pete Seeger tunes.]

In case you don’t know (I didn’t), taco salad is stupid-simple. Red chopped some onions, sautéed them until he liked the way they looked, then threw in the burger crumbles and a taco spice packet. It was Old El Paso or Taco Bell, or a little of each. They’re full of MSG and pre-date my residence in our home, but they get the job done. While that cooked, he crushed some tortilla chips in the bottom of a larger-than-we-usually-use bowl, then layered shredded lettuce on top. Here I was confused, because I had thought that taco salad would be more akin to nachos, with all the fixings heaped on whole tortilla chips, which we would then use in lieu of silverware.

“No,” he said.

We then scooped the burger mixture on top of the lettuce. We had neither vegan cheese nor sour cream (why? because they weren’t on the list), so we finished the pile off with salsa and a dash of taco sauce. It looked very artful:

And, holy shit, it was good. Talk about a conversion experience. I could have eaten that taco salad until I exploded. Cool lettuce, crunchy chips, and spicy-warm burger mush. It was a sensation-fest, even though my nacho fantasy was cruelly dashed and I had to eat it with a fork.

Red was suitably vindicated. My de-bourgeois-ification continues.

Bonus pic: spider friend. He’s been hanging out on my doorframe all day. I told him to be careful, as he is very very small.

More baby steps.

I totally forgot about World Vegan Day yesterday. I’m a terrible vegan, I know. Please read Stephanie’s piece here, because she is not a terrible vegan. Anyway, I already told you my vegan story.

Last night, Red and I had dinner with my parents, my sister and her boyfriend, and an old family friend. It was lovely—we had wine, pumpkin martinis, and a delicious vegan pistou soup. We caught up, shared Halloween stories, and played with the kitties. Then they had dessert.

I did not.

As you may recall, I sometimes have difficulty saying no. When my sister unveiled the adorable Halloween cupcakes she had brought, I knew I had to be strong. I wasn’t even tempted, really, which surprised me. “Can you eat these? I know sometimes you’ll eat them when I make them,” she said. She really wanted me to enjoy them. I took a deep breath, then explained that while they looked great, I wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors by eating one and giving the impression that my principles are negotiable. She pouted. “You had that rehearsed,” she said. Indeed I did, because I don’t do well on the spur of the moment. I wanted so much to make my sister happy, but I couldn’t do it. The cupcakes were beautiful, but they just weren’t food to me. They were chicks tossed into a grinder and calves wailing for their mothers. I hugged her, and I hope she understood. Once I get a cupcake pan, I’ll bake her some vegan cupcakes.

Many thanks and blessings to Marla at Vegan Feminist Agitator, who challenged me to think more deeply about my accommodating behaviors and how they prevent me from living as truthfully as I want to. It gets a little bit easier every time.

Comfort food.

As promised, I did make dinner last night! Quinoa Kitchari with Boca burgers and Mushroom-Onion Gravy. I think Red would have helped, but I was snappish and frazzled and thought he was making fun of me when he said the gravy looked good. *hangs head shamefacedly* I apologized and he got me a Blue Moon and I felt better.

Kitchari simply means mixture, and that’s what it is. It’s quinoa and red lentils simmered to a mush—a very tasty mush that is reminiscent of mashed potatoes. It probably won’t win any beauty prizes, but neither will anything else I make, so it’s all good. It would probably taste fine with other lentils, but the red ones really bring the mushiness to the party. I know that shouldn’t sound appetizing, but it works. It really does. It’s warm and filling, even though despite the spices and tamari, it’s pretty bland and can be dry. (See: quinoa and lentils.) Then again, so can mashed potatoes until you dress them up. If I eat it plain, I add extra salt and pepper and finish it off with some soy butter.

Last night, of course, we were in the gravy groove. It was fairly basic: onions, garlic, and mushrooms with herbs, broth, and a spelt flour-vegetable oil roux. Easy and tasty. It added a nice touch to the kitchari and acquitted itself admirably when we poured it over Boca burgers. I foresee it also being ladled lovingly over biscuits in the near future.

I can’t say too much about the Boca burgers, other than that I splashed them with a little tamari as they cooked. They always taste blah to me, even with all the delicious toppings in the world. Yet, for some reason, they are an integral part of Dog Food Surprise. Maybe I OD’d on them during my early vegetarian days, when the worlds of soy and vegetables seemed so alien. They must have offered a familiar, processed comfort. Now I don’t even want to take them to a cookout because they look so sad sitting there on the grill.

Anyway, dinner was a success. An ugly, monochromatic success, because when you have brown food and pale golden food and you cover it all with light brown gravy, you get the opposite of food porn. Hence, there is no picture because even if there was, you would have had to squint to tell that it wasn’t cat puke.

I digress. Can anybody really tell the difference between soy sauce and tamari? Am I wasting my money on the latter?

Crêpe-tastic.

Until we bought 30-Minute Vegan, making crêpes had never crossed my mind. I mean, why? They had milk and eggs in them, right? And they’re thin and flimsy and easy to burn and I would just tear a hole in one trying to flip it and it would suck and I would have nothing to eat except self-pity and a big bowl of crêpe batter.

Ahem. You see my dilemma.

Luckily, I have Red to encourage me in my more adventurous culinary pursuits. Plus, 30-Minute Vegan has been pretty reliable during the two months we’ve had it, so we finally took the plunge and made crêpes.

Dudes. SO not hard. I have no clue what I was so afraid of.

Crêpes are weird, to be sure, but the terrifying ultra-thin-pancake-of-doom scenario I had anticipated failed to materialize. Basically, you mix up a thin batter. Preheat two skillets on medium, add a few drops of oil if you’re nervous, then tilt each skillet as you pour in a ladle of batter and it spreads out in a nice circle. Give it three or four minutes, and when the edges start to peel up and the center is firm-ish, you get to flip it. (I’m told that bubbles will form, like with pancakes, but my crêpes must like to misbehave.) This is the kind-of-tricky part.

My flipping method is totally amateur, so use it at your own risk. I try pulling up one edge of the crêpe with tongs, and if doesn’t fall apart, I slip a wide spatula under there (this is where holding up the crêpe with the tongs helps) and flip the whole thing over. If it’s ready to be flipped, it won’t fall apart. If it does, oops.

I have also experimented with lifting the pan like I’m trying to flip the crêpe in midair, like fancy-ass French chefs do on TV. You know what I mean, right? Act like something’s in the pan and you want to fling it out of there. If you do this and the crêpe starts to come free of the pan (you’ll feel it), it’s ready to flip.

Give ‘em another couple minutes on the flipped side, then slide them onto a plate and into a warm oven while you do the rest. Monitoring two pans at a time can be tricky, but I haven’t burned anything yet. If you need to do one at a time, no worries. It will just take longer. I did tear an epic hole in my first crêpe last night, but I have a theory on this: 1) I was impatient. 2) The gluten hadn’t relaxed yet. I know, whaaaaa? Stay with me. In Vegan with a Vengeance, Isa suggests letting your pancake batter sit for about 10 minutes before starting to cook. This allows the gluten to relax, giving you a fluffier pancake. I have a hunch that something similar is in play with crêpes, because the first two are always tougher than the rest. Maybe they also need time to chill out before meeting their delicious destinies.

Now comes the fun part: filling your crêpes! So many wondrous possibilities. For our first crêpe experience, since we were having them for dinner, Red and I whipped up 30-Minute Vegan’s savory mushroom-spinach crêpe filling. Highly recommended. I like sweet things, even for dinner, so last night I re-heated some diced apples I had cooked with cinnamon and brown sugar and wrapped them up snugly in my crêpes. I drizzled a little maple syrup over them, which sort of tied everything together. For breakfast, I like to spread my crêpes with Tofutti cream cheese, sprinkle with brown sugar, then top with maple syrup. I’m thinking that cream cheese + jam would also be a good combination. The crêpes keep well in the fridge, so don’t worry about resurrecting a soggy, falling-apart crêpe for breakfast the next day.

Bon appétit!

Photo ripped from Finest Chef.

Dosadillas: This is not a recipe.

Well, I guess maybe it is. There’s not much to it. It’s more like the lazy vegan’s version of a very good recipe published in VegNews. The Internet tells me that Robin Robertson’s Quick-Fix Vegetarian also has an excellent recipe.

Dosas, you have my heart.

What’s a dosa, you ask? A dosa is basically the Indian version of a taco or crêpe. It’s samosa filling folded inside flatbread, and if you don’t know what a samosa is, then God help you. It is heavenly. What I make are more accurately called “dosadillas” (not my word) since I just use tortillas instead of making my own fancy flatbread. What can I say? When I’m hungry, all pretense goes down the drain.

Here’s what I did last night. You’re supposed to use baked potatoes, but we didn’t have any. I parboiled 4 red potatoes instead. This was a decent substitute, but red potatoes don’t mash nearly as well, so the filling was lumpy. No matter. I sautéed some garlic (Red used the last onion, but that’s okay because he used it to make fried potatoes), then added a 10-oz. bag of frozen peas and carrots. I stirred in the potatoes, which still refused to be mashed, and added a teaspoon each of turmeric and curry. And a few shakes of salt, too. (Here I feel the need to clarify that I am normally much more elaborate with my spices, but as I said, we were hungry and short on time.) When everything is hot, move it to the other side of the stove and preheat a little (just a little) oil in a skillet.

This is the fun part. Once your filling has cooled a little, scoop some (1/4 cup? 1/3? I don’t know, people) into a tortilla and fold it over. Try not to use so much that your filling squeezes out of your dosadilla. Plus, you want to have extra room for chutney.

Place 2 dosadillas in the skillet over medium heat. Watch them so they don’t burn! After a few minutes, check the bottoms. If they’re brown to your liking, flip them over carefully. When they’re done, remove them from the heat (duh).

Red likes to spread chutney along one flat side of the dosadilla, then eat it with a knife and fork. I prefer to eat mine with my hands, dipping it into a small bowl of chutney as I go. I love mango-ginger chutney, but we recently picked up apple-cranberry as well. Red suggested that our next batch of dosas be more savory, with less Indian spice and more sage, which would go well with the apple-cranberry chutney. I’ll keep you posted!

Tonight I’m feeling like crêpes. This will be my second crêpe attempt, so I’m less nervous than I was before. Breakfast for dinner!

What a crock.

It’s fall, so that means it’s officially crock-pot season. My mother is a fine crock-pot cook, and I enjoyed many delicious pre-vegan meals ladled from her sturdy old crock. (It’s probably not that old. It might be older than I am, though.) So while I haven’t done a lot of crocking, I’m not a complete newbie.

I love my crock pot for the sheer fact of how I got it. Secondhand things are so much better, because they come with stories. “I just popped down to Bed Bath & Beyond and scored this sweet crock pot” is nowhere near as interesting as “The theater where I work cleaned out the kitchen and had a massive liquor sale, and my friend the bar manager threw in this crock pot for $10.” Which is exactly what happened, with the side notes that 1) I don’t work there anymore and 2) I also bought a lot of booze. I think I did, anyway. They were having liquor sales every other week for a while there.

Ahem. The crock pot. Red and I are in the middle of a psychotically busy week, the kind that makes you want to call in dead. We couldn’t do that, but we could adapt 30-Minute Vegan’s Homey Vegetable Stew with Dumplings to be crock pot-friendly. We had it with crusty bread, because we couldn’t find a way to work the dumplings into the crock-pot revision. Basically, we chopped a bunch of onions, garlic, potatoes, and carrots (with greens!), dumped them in the crock with some spices and broth, and left it in the fridge overnight. The next morning, I turned that baby on low before I left for work. When we got home, the whole house smelled like Thanksgiving without the animal murder.

It was tasty. Not the most transcendently awesome vegetable stew I have ever had, but I think we should give the original version a try and see how it compares. Something was mildly overpowering the vegetables, but I can’t figure out what it was. Maybe it needed less pepper, or thyme, or more soy sauce. Maybe the vegetables gain something from being sautéed first instead of just simmered all day. Beats me. What I do know is that it was easy, filled us up, tasted good with bread, and saved us from a dinnerless evening.

Crock pot, I love you. Now if only you were self-cleaning.

Orange tofu and carrots. Nom nom nom.

This is a little something I created along the way to becoming the lazy vegan genius that I am. It is easy, delicious, and fabulously good for you thanks to all the carrots and orange juice and whatnot. Your eyesight will thank you, and so will your taste buds.

Marinade:
1 cup orange juice (pulp or not; your call)
2 T. sesame oil
2 T. soy sauce or tamari
2 T. maple syrup (agave would probably be good too)

Whisk all that together. Add a block of firm, drained tofu, cut into whatever shapes and sizes you like. (I prefer cubes.) Let it bathe in all that tangy, orangey goodness for a few hours or overnight or whatever.

Retrieve the tofu from the marinade. Keep the marinade—just put it in a small saucepan because you’ll need it later. Sauté the tofu in a medium-hot skillet with just a touch of oil (it’s pretty oily already thanks to the marinade). You know how you like your tofu, so when it’s as crispy or brown as you like it, go ahead and remove it from the pan.

Chop a bunch of scallions and a few carrots—four or five is good, but if you have a glut of carrots, more will certainly not hurt you.

[Yesterday, our carrots still had their greens. I didn’t want to consign them to the compost, and my best friend the Internet assured me that they are edible. I chopped the leaves and discarded the stalks, which can get woody. The leaves added a pleasant texture and didn’t taste weird or bitter or anything. Don’t be afraid of your carrot greens!]

Add those scallions and your carrot greens to the skillet and sauté for a minute or two. Add the carrots and stir well. Sauté for a few minutes, then cover and let steam, stirring occasionally, until the carrots are done to your liking.

While you’re doing all that with the vegetables, gently heat the marinade in its wee saucepan. When it bubbles, add a little cornstarch (about 1 T. mixed with an equal amount of water) and stir to thicken.

Toss the tofu back in with the carrots and scallions. Mix well, then pour the sauce over everything. Let simmer for a few minutes until heated through. Enjoy over rice, or quinoa or couscous if that’s your thing. I don’t know your life.

Curry in a hurry.

Red and I rocked out a massive curry last night: chickpeas, potatoes, and spinach (with a few frozen green peas for color) simmered in a thick tomato base. (The recipe is from Vegan with a Vengeance, btw.) It smelled amazing—all rich and spicy. I was so hungry, I dug right in. And burned the skin off the roof of my mouth as I bit into a chunk of scorching potato.

As Vegan MoFo kicks off, I offer this lesson: Don’t burn your mouth. It makes it that much harder to enjoy your food.

Yeah, I’m sitting here poking the roof of my mouth with my tongue, wondering when it won’t hurt anymore. Drinking coffee didn’t bother it too much, but eating granola bites sure did. Looks like I’ll be avoiding sharp, pointy foods for the next few days, which should help keep me away from the chips and crusty bread. We’ll see how the roasted edamame goes. (Aside: why is “edamame” not in Microsoft’s dictionary? Lame.)

I would post a picture of our feisty curry, but my camera’s not that great, the lighting in our house is uniformly unflattering, and I’m a crappy photographer. Plus, it’s a curry. You all know what they look like. I appreciate gorgeously plated food as much as the next girl, but my meals are built for speed and comfort, not style. If it looks like dog food but tastes great, I’ll eat it. As a matter of fact, I created a dish lovingly called Dog Food Surprise. Maybe I’ll make it soon and actually post a photo along with the recipe (I use the term loosely) so you can appreciate just how ugly it is. But oh, if you could taste it.

Speaking of dog food, we bought a bag of Natural Balance vegan food and have sloooooowly begun adding it to Lucy’s current food. I know plenty of people have successfully switched their pups’ food in only a week or two, but I think we’ll do it even more gradually since Lucy has such a sensitive stomach. Plus, poor girl, she’s having that lump on her elbow removed today. I don’t want to add too much new food while she’s recovering. I’m worried enough already. I know she’ll be fine, but that doesn’t stop me fluttering around nervously like a mother hen. (Do mother hens seriously do that, or am I unwittingly being speciesist?)

I’ll feel 100% better once she’s home safe with us tonight. In the meantime, I’ll be sure to let my lunch cool before snarfing it down.

Curry photo ripped from Things that Fizz & Stuff.

Vegan, American-style.

I can be incredibly dense sometimes. Since I went vegetarian and then vegan, I’ve gravitated towards the kinds of recipes that are easiest to prepare. This makes sense to me, because even though I like cooking, I don’t really like to spend all that much time eating. Once dinner’s ready, I eat like I’ve been locked in a dungeon with nothing but cat food for a week. Then I go do something else. Weird, I know.

This means I usually make things that involve as few pots and pans as possible. Stir-fries, curries, casseroles, pasta dishes—you get the picture. The stereotypical American layout—meat, starch, vegetable—all but vanished from my repertoire. It was too much work! Too many dishes to wash! Really, why do all that when you can just as easily throw it all together in one delicious mélange? Add in the fact that many ethnic dishes, which are already vegan, use the one-pot formula. All was well.

And all continued to be well during the first year I lived with Red House. I'd only ever cooked for myself, and he liked what I made, so I didn't think to do anything different. I cooked (or we cooked, as he is quite the dab hand in the kitchen, especially when I need an onion chopped), we ate, and we were happy. Recently, upon the happy occasion of our marriage, he confessed that he (gasp!) missed the Standard American Platescape. How did I did not realize this? Was he crying a little inside every time I unveiled another chana masala or risotto? He still liked my cooking, he assured me, but the meat-starch-veg trio had yet to give up its hold on his palate. As he wrote the other day, our dinner of brown rice, fresh green beans with butter and dill, and Trader Joe’s Vegetable Masala burgers is more his speed. (Cue Offspring’s “Keep ‘Em Separated.”)

I balked at first, because dammit, I didn’t want to do more work in the kitchen! But then I realized that this might be the case for lots of people considering a more vegan life. It can be tough to abandon the foodways you love and start over with a steaming cauldron of weird colorful something that smells funny. (It’s the cumin, baby.) Lots of people, when they think of a vegan meal, mentally subtract the meat from that Standard American Platescape and have no idea what to replace it with. For Red, it’s easier to do it gradually. He loves veggie burgers, and while I have never felt such devotion towards those hockey-puck conglomerates of protein, I’m glad he’s found an animal-friendly substitute. Another favorite is BBQ tofu, paired with cornbread or polenta and green beans or broccoli. I am justifiably proud of my cornbread, and he would eat BBQ tofu every day if he could.

So I’m going to try to make more of an effort to put meals together in pieces, rather than falling back onto a one-pot solution. It’s interesting to see what goes well together, and how it looks arranged on a plate (something else that never concerned me). It might take a little more planning, but luckily, he’s around to help me. And to do the dishes.