Lord, there goes Johnny Appleseed.

Recently, we found ourselves with a crap-ton of apples. (I believe that is a metric measurement.) Some were from the farmer’s market and some were from the grocery store, but the common denominator was that Red and I were tired of eating them. The Granny Smiths, in particular (from the hippie grocery), were notably less than juicy and delicious, which made me sad because I love them so. But they were still perfectly good. What to do with them?

I made Applesauce à la Burnout, basically. It’s a variation on the way my mom makes individual servings of baked apples, which is via the magic of the microwave. Probably I can’t call it applesauce as nothing gets pureed, but the apples do cook down and get soft, so maybe it’s chunky applesauce. Whatever. Here’s what I did:

Take your huge bowl of apples (10 or so).

Peel, core, and slice those babies. We actually have a fancy apple peeler that sits on the counter and you impale your apple on its spiky center piece, then turn the crank and it shaves the skin off, but it’s kind of only reliable for perfectly spherical apples. Organic, local apples are frequently lumpy as hell, so I used a hand-held peeler and it worked out great. I did use our apple corer and mandoline for the coring and slicing, respectively. When I was done, I had a mountain of apple slices:

Put them in your biggest skillet. Ours is 10 inches in diameter and is fairly groaning under the weight of all those apples. Well, there wasn’t much to do about it but crank up the heat and start cooking them down. A little brown sugar is nice for this, because it helps the sugar in the apples caramelize and get nice and gooey. At least that’s what I tell myself when I want to add more brown sugar. All told, I think I added about six tablespoons to this huge pan of apples, which is not so much when you think about it. I also added liberal sprinklings of cinnamon—you can never have too much!—and dashes of cloves, nutmeg, and allspice, because I have this problem where if I add one of those things, I have to add all of them.

How long the apples take to be finished depends on how many of them there are, how hot you have your stove, and how much you’re stirring. I think I kept the pan at about medium heat and stirred pretty regularly. It speeds up as they start to cook down and there’s more space in there, but it’s still a pretty variable process. Just cook them until they’re soft and juicy enough for your liking and they taste good. Then they’re ready to be eaten straight up (my favorite way) or in oatmeal (my other favorite way). It’s like apple pie without the dessert-for-breakfast guilt.

And now, bringing this all back around to what’s most important in life is Mr. Joe Strummer.

May you always have plenty of apples, my darlings.

Get Frogged for the holidays!

Since I was a wee Burnout, my mom has been making Joe Froggers at Christmastime. More than gingerbread angels or sugar Santas, these spicy molasses cookies define the holidays for me. Until I started writing this post, I hadn’t thought to look them up to see if anyone else had a recipe—but wouldn’t you know it, the Internet is full of them! As it turns out, Joe Froggers are a seriously old-school cookie, originating in Marblehead, Massachusetts during Colonial times. Because they’re thick, sturdy cookies, they were the perfect snack for fishermen to take with them during their days at sea. They’re also the perfect snack for Mama Burnout, who likes her cookies heavy on the molasses and ginger.

They’re sassy, like my mom.

This weekend, Red and I made this winter’s first batch of Froggers. Would you like to know how? Of course you would! Read on, it’s easy:

Joe Froggers (courtesy of Mama Burnout)

½ cup vegan butter (I use Earth Balance)
1 cup sugar
4 ½ cups flour
1 ½ tsp salt
1 ½-3 tsp ground ginger
½-1 tsp cloves
1 tsp allspice
1 tsp nutmeg
1 cup molasses*
1 tsp baking soda
⅓ cup dark rum** (we used Sailor Jerry’s because it’s what we had)
3 T hot water or rum**

*This one time when I was in college, I had almost but not quite a full cup of molasses, so I shoved it to the back of the counter while I went to get more. When I returned, my parents’ dog Duke had eaten the. entire. cup. of. molasses. You can guess what happened to the carpet later.

**If you avoid alcohol, I bet spiced apple cider or chai would be great in these!

In a large bowl, beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy. In another bowl, mix flour, salt, and spices (the spice amounts are really just guidelines; because I am my mother’s daughter, I always go heavy on the spices, but you might prefer a less aggressive cookie). Slowly add to sugar mixture. Combine molasses and baking soda, then add to flour mixture. Beat until well mixed. Combine rum and water, then add to dough and mix well. At some point, your electric beaters may start to give up and you’ll have to grab that wooden spoon. The dough may still look pretty crumbly, but it should stick together if you pinch a little between your fingers.

At this point, the dough needs to go in the fridge for a while—at least half an hour, but a full hour won’t hurt you. Mama Burnout likes to gather the dough into a big ball or two, then wrap it in plastic wrap. The other day, I simply scooped all the dough into a plastic bowl just barely big enough to hold it all, smushed it in there, popped the lid on, and put it in the fridge. Your call. If you’re my mom, you’ll wash all the dishes you just got dirty while the dough chills.

After your dough has chilled, clear off your counter and flour it, because things are gonna get rollin’. (Ha. See what I did there?) Have your rolling pin, cookie cutters, and extra flour handy, and keep your extra dough in the fridge until you’re ready for it. If the dough gets too dry while you’re working, I find that a spritz or two of water from a spray bottle does the trick. Roll your dough out ¼” thick and use a 4” plate to cut out your cookies. That’s the traditional way—if you like thinner, less massive cookies and want to use festive cookie cutters, go for it. We like ours thick, and we used a combo of cookie cutters and a drinking glass. We ended up with several dozen cookies, so that’s as good an estimate as I can give you. You know the bit about greasing your baking sheets and putting them in the oven, so do that. Bake at 375° for 12-15 minutes, depending on how big your cookies are and how crunchy you want them. Slide ‘em onto wire racks to cool if you want; for years I didn’t own wire racks, so I just used plates, and all my cookies came out fine.

I have never frosted these, but I won’t hunt you down and murder you if you decide to deface them in such a way. They’re amazing dunked in tea or coffee, or eaten straight up. Red swears he’s gotten buzzed from eating too many, so that information may be useful to you. However you enjoy them, happy holidays!

That’s flour, not powdered sugar. You can tell I care about presentation.

Hearts and stars and teddy bears, oh my!

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.

Spaghetti!

Oh, hey. I just realized that I owe y’all a Vegan MoFo post. This isn’t gonna be much of one, because the weekend was overtaken with activist awesomeness and tons of sloppy doggie kisses. We basically subsisted on leftovers, but really needed to make something last night. We were too tired to bother with the grocery store (I tried to be domestic and at least get some laundry done, but what do you know, we’re out of laundry detergent too!), so I whipped up the one thing that everyone knows how to make: spaghetti.

I lie. It was rotini.

Whatever. I’m trying to be a good blogger. I know I’m preaching to the choir here, but this is my foolproof anti-recipe for spaghetti.

Cook a package of noodles. I don’t care what shape, or if they’re white or whole wheat or rice noodles. Just make them. Drain them, too.

Chop some garlic and onion, if you have them. Normally I just toss ‘em in the chopper. We were onion-less, so I blended maybe 5 cloves of garlic and a few fire-roasted red peppers that were languishing in a jar at the back of the fridge. Whatever, they smelled fine. Sauté those for a few minutes in a little olive oil.

Throw in a bag of frozen pepper strips. Trader Joe’s makes good ones, though we used some other brand last night. When the peppers are softened, or at least less frozen, pour in a jar of pasta sauce. Ours was basil something-or-other. You know what I mean—as long as it’s vegan, it’s gonna be tasty. Mix everything up, add some salt and pepper and Italian seasoning if that’s your thing, maybe a little red wine if you’re already drinking some, and let it simmer for 5 or 10 minutes. I had a bag of my mom’s basil in the fridge, so I snipped some of that into the sauce as well. You may want to add a tablespoon of sugar if your sauce is bitter. Taste it. If you like it, it’s done. Pour it over your pasta and dig in.

This blog post is brought to you by the letters V and B and the number 6, which is approximately how many loads of laundry are waiting for me at home.

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!

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.

Shroomin’.

I am a mushroom fiend. I speak, of course, of the perfectly legal and edible varieties that do not cause me to trip my face off. I’ve never done that kind, actually. If I did, I would probably tell you. No, my affection is reserved for plump portabellas, cute little creminis, and that humble-but-worthy standby, the white mushroom. Mushroom risotto, down-and-dirty stroganoff (so named because it involves packaged burger crumbles and Tofutti sour cream), and clam chowder where the clams are really oyster mushrooms: Mmmmmm.

Aside: I once saved my friend from alcohol poisoning through the use of mushrooms. She hates mushrooms, loathes them with an unholy ardor. The smell of mushrooms sautéing makes her nauseous. One evening, she came home rather drunk. Drunk enough to curl up on the bathroom floor and moan. Clearly, she needed to puke and go to bed. She knew it, too, but just couldn’t seem to manage. I’m not one for sticking my fingers down someone else’s throat, so I told her that I was going to cook some mushrooms. As I had hoped, the very idea made her spew rancid booze vomit. After a few rounds, she was recovered enough to stagger to bed, where I held her hand and smoothed her hair and told her she’d be fine in the morning.

So, anyway, Red and I made 30-Minute Vegan’s Stellar Stuffed Mushrooms the other night, using four big portabella caps. It was ridiculously easy: blend spinach, mushroom stems, green pepper, cream cheese, and spices, then plop into caps. (Stick blender represent!) Twenty minutes in the oven, and you’re good. Each of us only needed one, they were so big and satisfying. (Let’s see what Google searches this blog comes up under now!) They would definitely be a good appetizer using smaller mushrooms, which is what the recipe originally calls for, and the filling would be a delicious dip or spread.

My only gripes: portabella juice can make whatever it touches look kind of blah and muddy (hey, it’s a superpower) and while the rosemary was pleasant, I have issues with anything twig-like. Maybe I need fresh rosemary, as the dried version is very twiggy indeed. Or maybe I’m just sensitive about the whole, “Huh, do you eat, like, twigs and bark and stuff?” thing.

Portabella 'shroom photo ripped from What's Cooking America.

Buffalo tofu. Need I say more?

A month or so ago, Red and I were at a hipster-ish restaurant-bar here in town. It’s the kind of place you go for the atmosphere, I guess, if the atmosphere you’re after is waiting an hour for your food and being ignored by ironically bearded waiters and waitresses who don’t brush their hair. There’s a massive moose head hung on one wall, and no matter where I sit, I can still see it. Kitschy Western stuff is everywhere and the menus are made from old record sleeves. They do have vegan food, though. And garlic fries that are pretty much the only reason we go there at all.

Anyway, we were there for some friends’ going-away party. Here’s where it gets interesting: sometime during the course of the evening, someone ordered the Buffalo Tofu appetizer.

I was skeptical, as I don’t really go for super-spicy things. But my non-veg friends raved about it and practically forced a piece into my mouth. After which I said:

“Sweet fancy Moses, I must learn how to make that!”

So, this past weekend, that’s what I did. Armed with a 19-oz block of Trader Joe’s extra firm tofu and this recipe from All Hail Seitan!, I got to work. The tofu had been frozen, so it had a chewier, spongier texture that maybe helped it soak up more of the batter. At any rate, the batter was the easy part. I’m iffy about deep-frying or even semi-deep-frying things, as it’s pretty terrible for you and all that oil is just a disaster waiting to happen. (Come see the Jesus-shaped olive oil stain on our carpet if you don’t believe me.) But, when in the land of greasy, buffalo-sauce-coated party food….

The frying commenced. All was going well, too—the tofu bites were crisping up nicely, and I set them on a wire baking rack to drain onto paper towels. La di dah. Then, I tried to flip a cube of tofu, it stuck to another cube, scalding oil flew everywhere, and I dashed for the sink to run my arm under cold water. I don’t even think I had time to yelp, it happened so quickly. Now, anyone who’s ever done any cooking has been burned at least a little by spitting oil. It just happens. It’s not a big deal. This was, to quote Ron Burgundy, kind of a big deal.

I didn’t think it was a problem at first. I washed my hand and arm off, figured out pretty quickly where the oil had landed, then enlisted Red to help finish frying the tofu. Once it was drained, we didn’t bother with All Hail Seitan!’s fancy buffalo sauce recipe—we just doused the tofu in Frank’s Buffalo Sauce and chowed down. Let me tell you, it was good. A little vinegary for me, but that can easily be fixed next time. Red declared it definitely as good as buffalo chicken wings. See for yourself:


What was not good was the way my hand looked. I had three small burns across my knuckles, but they hurt like holy hell and I was afraid they’d blister. Oil had also gotten on my thumb and forearm, but not as badly. We had to go to the grocery store anyway (I love MOM’s! have I told you that?!), so I pitifully presented myself and my sore hand to the coolest health-and-body-care department manager ever, Ellie. I told you about Ellie here, but she is so nice and always helps me find what I need. I told her I thought I needed arnica gel, but she gently corrected me and hooked me up with calendula gel instead. I slathered that stuff on the second it was paid for. It felt even better after an hour in the fridge, you better believe it. Once we were home and the groceries safely stowed away from Lucy, I took a nap. (What, you’re surprised?) It took me a few minutes to find a sleeping position that was comfortable for my hand, but I did it.

Long story short, my hand is on the mend. It did blister, which was kind of gross, so I wrapped it up for a couple days. This proved to be a great sympathy-getter from my coworkers, at least until I told them I had the stigmata. It looks rather like I’ve been in a bare-knuckle fight. It’s slowly progressing from hurting to itching, which is a good sign. The burn on my thumb is almost completely gone, and the ones on my arm didn’t even blister. I think I’ll live. I also think I’ll let Red do the frying next time.

What’s for dinner? Woof.

Finally, as promised, I give you the long-awaited recipe for Dog Food Surprise. It probably evolved out of desperation one night when all I had was Boca burgers and mushrooms. Red made it the other night when I was sick, and the results are pretty representative:


As you can see, it doesn’t look like much, but it tastes great (he ate it all in two days). Here’s what you do:

Chop an onion and a box of mushrooms (usually 10-12 oz.). Sauté in a little oil until the vegetables are soft and juicy. Add some sage and/or whatever herbs you like. (Rosemary is good.) Crumble 4 thawed Boca burgers (or whatever vegan burger-like substitute you have) into the pan. When everything is heated through, serve over rice.

Red would like it mentioned that fried potatoes are an excellent stand-in for the rice. I wouldn’t know, because he ate them all, but that’s okay because I’ve been subsisting on the blandest of diets all week. He also reports that A-1 is a very tasty addition. Of course, A-1 is not vegan, but if anyone knows how to DIY it using vegan Worcestershire sauce, I’ll give you a big kiss.

Indian more your thing? Swap the Boca burgers for Trader Joe’s Vegetable Masala burgers and the mushrooms for frozen peas and carrots. Add a little curry, and voila: it’s like a samosa exploded in your skillet! I might even like it better than the original. I try not to buy processed meat substitutes very often, but they do come in handy in a pinch. Plus, they are more omni-friendly, which Red appreciates.

So, there you have it. Dog Food Surprise. Perfectly ugly, perfectly delicious, and perfect for those nights when you only have one clean pan.

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.

If heaven exists, it will have avocados.

I’m suffering from severe end-of-week burnout (shocker!), and so I have no thoughtful ramblings to contribute today. Really looking forward to trying some new recipes this weekend. Dinner last night was pedestrian in the extreme, random leftover vegetables (diced onion, yellow squash, a handful of kale) sautéed with half a jar of pasta sauce and plopped onto a pile of whole-wheat rotini. However, another box of rotini found its ultimate calling in my mom’s avocado-basil pasta salad (earmarked for brunch tomorrow, so I can’t eat it all tonight). There is a real recipe, but I sort of just wing it because all that really matters is how you want it to taste. Here it is, minus the bacon and grated cheese of the original:

16 oz. rotini pasta, or whatever shape you like (the original recipe was for 8 oz., but come on, that’s just not enough)
4 ripe avocados, diced (or, if you’re me, just smush them up in a bowl)
3-4 T. lemon juice
2 T. olive oil
6-8 cloves of garlic, diced/smashed/whatever
A whole bunch of fresh basil, chiffonaded all fancy-like. Like half a cup or more if you can swing it. (I never have that much, and it comes out fine.)
Salt and pepper

Are you ready for this? Really ready? Are you sure? Because this, my friends, requires high-octane kitchen prowess:

Put all that crap in a big bowl and mix it until it’s all mixed up. My large silicone spatula is perfect for the job, but you can use a wooden spoon or whatever you have. A toddler would probably be most helpful, but I don’t have any of those.

Then: try not to eat it all at once. Seriously, my mouth has never been so happy. It’s a divine combination of rich, silky avocado, al dente pasta, tangy lemon juice and garlic, and the extra kick of basil. If you want to mess with perfection, you can add fake bacon bits, but I did that once and they turned the pasta pink.

There’s no photo because it just looks like a bowl full of slimy, greenish pasta, which I realize does not sound appetizing in the least and is a major reason why I will never author my own cookbook. The other reasons are a profound lack of motivation and my aversion to using exact quantities, except when baking.

For your edification: in researching the noble avocado, I learned that its name comes from the Nahuatl word āhuacatl, which means testicle. In their flower phase, they can also switch sexes, opening as female in the morning and then reopening as male the next day. Kinky, kinky avocados.

Delicious avocado photo ripped from Raw Food Nation.