There are times when I forget that the whole world isn't vegan. I live in a vegan bubble. My husband is vegan, and we keep a vegan home. We don't own any leather, feathers, wool, silk, or any other animal clothing or furniture. The fridge is all vegan. Our lifestyles are vegan, insofar as we are concerned about the welfare of all animals, whether they human or nonhuman. For us, being vegan is an affirmation of life. It means that we hold life in high regard, and that we believe in dignity for that life. Again, this means that both of us are deeply concerned about the rights of people, whether they have the same genetic makeup as us, or whether they're a totally different species. All those creatures are beings, and deserve to have their bodily integrity respected.
When I come to work, the waitstaff are vegan. My business partner is vegan. He's raising his son to be mindful of other beings too. And the message is sticking! Mini Preefer won't eat at the school cafeteria, because they don't let him just get the vegetable sides. If you're getting a school lunch, you have to get the meat on your plate, and his objection is so strong that he prefers to bring his own lunch from home. I wish I had that kind of courage at his age!
Most of my friends are vegan. Even those who aren't are very comfortable with coming to my home, and having the entire meal be vegan (and enjoy it, of course). Even when I go to their house, and I'm cooking, they'll make a supreme effort to let everything be fully vegan. Even when it's a party that I'm attending at a friend's house, and they have omnivores at the table, they'll make sure that at least 75% of the meal is vegan, and will sometimes go so far as to double check about whether I'm comfortable with the provenance of the sugar, or the alcohol. Nobody has to go to that level to make me a huge spread of food that's safe for me to eat. I'd be happy to eat a bowl of noodles with some vegetables. I'm quite content with a bowl of beans and rice. But then, I see the effort that my friends will go to so that they ensure that my husband and I are not only well fed, but fed elaborately.
That is such a blessing that I make sure that my friends know how much I appreciate it. It's not every day that you meet people who consider you such a friend that they care for you like you're their family. In a way, my friends are my family, and I love them dearly.
And then, I'll open up a magazine. I'll walk into a grocery store. I'll see body parts being displayed up for sale, and shudder violently. I'll see a beautiful recipe on a certain New York newspaper's food section, and think "Ohhhh, that looks so good! DAMNIT. Why did they have to throw ham into that? Was that even necessary!? If you wanted something salty, there's a million options out there. If you want something smoky, there's even more options.
There's other times, at the grocery store, where I'll absent-mindedly drop a jar of mayonnaise into my basket, thinking, "Wow, that's really cheap for vegan mayo." But, as a vegan, I have this reflex that has been ingrained for years: the second I pick up a packaged product, I immediately flip around to the back to skim the ingredients list. You can immagine my disappointment at seeing mayonnaise made with eggs. "Mayo doesn't need eggs! What's wrong with people!?" This reflex has saved me on more occasions than I can count. "Non dairy creamer" is often full of dairy byproducts. Strange, that. Who decided that everything in the world has to have whey in it? The worst was when I picked up a sausage container to read the ingredients, and only realised after picking it up that it was animal meat in there, not veggie meat. I'm standing there thinking, "How did they manage to make a gluten free sausage. I want to know how it's done. Oh. They made it gluten free by grinding up an animal's body. Boo."
I sometimes forget how it felt to be a vegan in a smaller city. I felt like I was crazy, and that I didn't fit in anywhere. Everyone around me was unabashedly eating animals, their body parts, their secretions, and the products made from them. I've burned myself in the kitchen a couple of times. The smell of my flesh burning is the same as the smell of an animal's flesh burning. It turns my stomach to have to smell that smell ever again. You feel like you're all alone, and nobody else understands what's going on in your head. With that isolation comes depression. With that depression comes more withdrawing from the people around you. And onwards it goes until you find yourself in self-destructive behaviours. It's a horrible self-feeding cycle.
Fortunately, I found a group of people online who are also vegan. I met my husband through that group. Although that particular website is no longer around, there are plenty of others out there. We have blogs, we have websites, we have forums. They all have spaces for us to find each other. And find each other we must, or we let the rest of the world dictate how we see ourselves, which can get damaging. If you don't live in a huge city like New York, with an active and vibrant vegan scene, find your own vegan scene. Make your own vegan bubble.
And if you do have loving family and friends who make an effort on your behalf, never let them forget that you love them, and appreciate the effort. Even when the results aren't perfect, I'm still thrilled that someone tried, and is willing to share such an intimate act with me as making something with their hands, and having it become a part of me. Even those friends who buy something in get my gratitude. To think that they stood there in the store, and walked a mile in my shoes, turning everything over to read the ingredients carefully. Checking an unnamed popular search engine to see if a certain weird ingredient is animal, vegetable, or mineral. And then to go through the effort to bring it home, and lay it out nicely for me.
Either way, you're not crazy. You're not alone. People do understand you. You're amongst friends. Come to the table, relax a bit, and bond over something delicious.
7/19/13
7/18/13
Clean space, clean mind.
At home, and at work, I've noticed that we've all been getting a little antsy about the clutter that inevitably builds up when busy people don't have time to cull it all. At home, it was a huge stack of old bills that were long past paid and settled (some from accounts that are no longer open!), which neither of us really wanted to throw in the trash, because we're nervous about someone fishing that stuff out of the trash and using it to wreak havoc on our identity. Identity theft is serious, and neither of us wanted to suffer the consequences. However, I saw that we had a paper cutter at work, and asked Cliff if I could borrow it to shred those piles of documents that needed to be gone from our lives. He agreed, and we started on the pile.
At work, it's a little more ongoing, as there are office items that no longer work (and can't be repaired), old papers that we don't need to keep around, and foods that are past their prime. We've been fairly aggressive with it over the summer, as the hours are not as busy as the regular year. I've seen the office go from piles upon piles of stuff to becoming much more clear, and easy to see everything.
More than that, however, is the feeling of freedom that comes from having all that excess stuff gone. Mind you, it's a process. It's not like we've gone and did a major overhaul in one night, and ended up with an awesome space all of a sudden. If only, right? It's more of a gradual process that you have to make yourself do, because otherwise, things get out of control really fast. I remember helping a former friend of mine clean her storage unit. I swear there were broken things, garbage, random papers that had no relation to anything, and random building material lying about. All of them had some kind of story, and some kind of memory. My thinking was, "If all this crap is so special, what the heck is it doing in an unheated, uncooled storage unit, mouldering away?"
It the question I had to ask myself as I started ruthlessly going through my belongings to pare down. There were clothes that haven't fit me in years that had to go. Costumes that I paid a fortune for, but would never wear again (either because my tastes have changed, or my waist has changed). Books that I have on my kindle, but also in paperback and hardcover. I've got backups for all my data, so that if I lose my kindle, I can re-download the lot of it. I have redundant backups (one in the cloud, one in my hard drive, one in the back up hard drive, one in google drive, one in sky drive, the list goes on...). What was I holding on to the paper copies for? It's not even like they had sentimental value. These were books that I managed to get for free or very cheap, and held on to, because I did re-read them. However, once I had the opportunity to get them on e-book, I did, with the view of getting rid of the physical copies.
Unfortunately, having a plan to do something, and actually executing that plan are two different things. It took me looking at my bookshelf, looking at my kindle, and looking at my apartment. I have the books in a format that's comfortable for me to read from. In fact, the kindle is better than the paper, because it doesn't take up space in my bag. When I travel, I have hundreds of books to choose from, rather than the one or two that I remembered to pack. In one fell swoop, I gave away the entire lot of paper books, because I didn't need them anymore. It would do someone else good by introducing them to that story, rather than collecting dust on my shelves at home.
I'm still fiercely holding on to my pots and pans, even though I do periodically get new ones that I like. Same goes for the knives. I need to go through and purge those items too. There are knives that I haven't reached for in ages, and some that I use every day. There's no discernible reason for me to hold on to the tools I'm no longer using. Better to set them (and myself!) free and let it go to a new home. As for the pots, there is a small meagre chance that I might need more than three or four at a time, in case lots of people come over, but that's not a good enough reason to hold on to them. In that off chance, I can make cold dishes that don't involve cooking on the stove, I can use my baking sheets to do some dishes in the oven, I can use tupperware to store some of the stuff I've made the night before, and the list goes on.
Seeing all the clean spaces at work has really inspired me to go home, and continue the massive overhaul. My mother gave me two pots that her mother had bought ages ago. I feel a stronger connection to those than some of the fancier pots that I have, so I end up using them more frequently. (Seriously, the best way to thank someone for giving you a piece of kitchen equipment is to use it as often as possible, so that you think of them when you use it; otherwise, set it free, and let someone else think fondly of you when they use it). I've reached a stage where I do need two pressure cookers (because I love the little beasts for doing pretty near everything but my taxes), but not three small sauce pans. I need one large nonstick skillet, in which I make stir fries, curries, dosas, pancakes, etc. I actually don't end up using the cast iron skillet, or the other flat skillet, so they can both go. Same goes for the wok. Ever since I got the huge nonstick high sided skillet, I end up doing my stir-fry there, because it doesn't require so much oil.
Somehow, it's also made me feel much more productive. Being able to sit at my desk, and get right to work, rather than moving aside piles of clutter, make things go much more smoothly. I imagine once I get my kitchen streamlined, I'll be able to do the same there. It's like the surroundings I work in really do reflect the state of my well-being.
At work, it's a little more ongoing, as there are office items that no longer work (and can't be repaired), old papers that we don't need to keep around, and foods that are past their prime. We've been fairly aggressive with it over the summer, as the hours are not as busy as the regular year. I've seen the office go from piles upon piles of stuff to becoming much more clear, and easy to see everything.
More than that, however, is the feeling of freedom that comes from having all that excess stuff gone. Mind you, it's a process. It's not like we've gone and did a major overhaul in one night, and ended up with an awesome space all of a sudden. If only, right? It's more of a gradual process that you have to make yourself do, because otherwise, things get out of control really fast. I remember helping a former friend of mine clean her storage unit. I swear there were broken things, garbage, random papers that had no relation to anything, and random building material lying about. All of them had some kind of story, and some kind of memory. My thinking was, "If all this crap is so special, what the heck is it doing in an unheated, uncooled storage unit, mouldering away?"
It the question I had to ask myself as I started ruthlessly going through my belongings to pare down. There were clothes that haven't fit me in years that had to go. Costumes that I paid a fortune for, but would never wear again (either because my tastes have changed, or my waist has changed). Books that I have on my kindle, but also in paperback and hardcover. I've got backups for all my data, so that if I lose my kindle, I can re-download the lot of it. I have redundant backups (one in the cloud, one in my hard drive, one in the back up hard drive, one in google drive, one in sky drive, the list goes on...). What was I holding on to the paper copies for? It's not even like they had sentimental value. These were books that I managed to get for free or very cheap, and held on to, because I did re-read them. However, once I had the opportunity to get them on e-book, I did, with the view of getting rid of the physical copies.
Unfortunately, having a plan to do something, and actually executing that plan are two different things. It took me looking at my bookshelf, looking at my kindle, and looking at my apartment. I have the books in a format that's comfortable for me to read from. In fact, the kindle is better than the paper, because it doesn't take up space in my bag. When I travel, I have hundreds of books to choose from, rather than the one or two that I remembered to pack. In one fell swoop, I gave away the entire lot of paper books, because I didn't need them anymore. It would do someone else good by introducing them to that story, rather than collecting dust on my shelves at home.
I'm still fiercely holding on to my pots and pans, even though I do periodically get new ones that I like. Same goes for the knives. I need to go through and purge those items too. There are knives that I haven't reached for in ages, and some that I use every day. There's no discernible reason for me to hold on to the tools I'm no longer using. Better to set them (and myself!) free and let it go to a new home. As for the pots, there is a small meagre chance that I might need more than three or four at a time, in case lots of people come over, but that's not a good enough reason to hold on to them. In that off chance, I can make cold dishes that don't involve cooking on the stove, I can use my baking sheets to do some dishes in the oven, I can use tupperware to store some of the stuff I've made the night before, and the list goes on.
Seeing all the clean spaces at work has really inspired me to go home, and continue the massive overhaul. My mother gave me two pots that her mother had bought ages ago. I feel a stronger connection to those than some of the fancier pots that I have, so I end up using them more frequently. (Seriously, the best way to thank someone for giving you a piece of kitchen equipment is to use it as often as possible, so that you think of them when you use it; otherwise, set it free, and let someone else think fondly of you when they use it). I've reached a stage where I do need two pressure cookers (because I love the little beasts for doing pretty near everything but my taxes), but not three small sauce pans. I need one large nonstick skillet, in which I make stir fries, curries, dosas, pancakes, etc. I actually don't end up using the cast iron skillet, or the other flat skillet, so they can both go. Same goes for the wok. Ever since I got the huge nonstick high sided skillet, I end up doing my stir-fry there, because it doesn't require so much oil.
Somehow, it's also made me feel much more productive. Being able to sit at my desk, and get right to work, rather than moving aside piles of clutter, make things go much more smoothly. I imagine once I get my kitchen streamlined, I'll be able to do the same there. It's like the surroundings I work in really do reflect the state of my well-being.
7/17/13
Don't follow blindly; follow mindfully.
This applies to life, but also to recipes. There are times when the instructions that you're given don't make sense, and there is no way to quickly get into contact with the author of those instructions. In cases like those, I ask that you follow mindfully, not blindly.
There was a recipe that I'd seen for a certain tofu dish. It read like any other: press tofu, pat dry, add spices, add 2 tablespoon of salt, 2 tsp of pepper, and 1 tablespoon of red pepper flakes. At that moment, I put the brakes on my train of thought. It was like hearing loud, screaming claxons, warning me away from disaster. How is it possible that you have almost equal amounts of salt and heat? That seemed way excessive. I assumed that it was a typo, and scaled the red pepper flakes back to a much more reasonable 1 tsp. The dish turned out delicious at the end. It was a tiny bit on the spicy side, but still quite tasty. If I had gone with that full tablespoon of chile flakes, I shudder to think of the pain that would result from that level of heat.
Years ago, when I was visiting Quito, Ecuador on a class field trip, one of the people there knew the directions to a specific place we all wanted to go check out. For the sake of this story, we'll say it was a ... library. Yes. A library. Stop looking at me like that!
Anyway. On the way to the library, we had to cross multiple intersections. I was able to follow along, because the street signs for stop, go, and walk/don't walk are pretty universal. Unfortunately, the guy who was leading the way wasn't paying close enough attention, and wandered into traffic. My friend yanked me back before I was about to do the same. "That's the DON'T WALK sign, Dino. What are you, nuts!? Just because that idiot is walking into oncoming traffic doesn't mean that you need to be a lemming and follow him off the cliff!"
Whether it be adding entirely too much heat to a recipe, or walking into oncoming traffic, both are situations where a bit of mindfulness, and careful attention would prevent some pretty horrible disasters. It's the reason why when I make a recipe for the first time, I'll go through and read it thoroughly. I'll make sure I understand the instructions. If there's a technique that I'm not familiar with, I'll go onto a popular video posting website, and look it up. Why? Because when I'm on unfamiliar ground, I want to make sure that the path is going to be as smooth as possible. Even with all that preparation work, there are times when I'll miss a step completely, and slap myself on the forehead for being such a dunce.
Similarly, when I'm in a new city, or following directions for the first time, I'm extra careful about looking all around, making note of the road that I'm on (and the road I need to be on), checking frequently with the GPS (sorry, but printed maps confuse me, since they don't have a giant arrow pointing me to where I need to go) to ensure that I'm not going the wrong way. Even then, I still manage to get myself lost with hilarious frequency.
Think what would happen if I were to take a recipe or a new city without all those precautions!
The point is that by being careful, I'm not guaranteeing that I'll be perfect. There's no such thing. What I'm doing is stacking the odds in my favour that I will end up successful in my ventures. When I'm reading or making a recipe for the first time, I don't like distractions (TV turned on, someone chatting to me casually, my MP3 player in my ear), because I find myself losing my spot as I follow along the recipe. Similarly, when I'm trying to navigate a tricky set of directions (or even a simple one; I really am pretty hopeless at getting to the right place the first time), I pull my earphones off, and clear my brain of erroneous thoughts. In the car, I'll ask that the radio be turned down, and that any conversation not involved in getting us there in one piece be put on hold (I don't drive, so I'm frequently assigned the role of navigator).
There are memorable flubs in both cooking and life that I could tell you about, but that's for another day.
There was a recipe that I'd seen for a certain tofu dish. It read like any other: press tofu, pat dry, add spices, add 2 tablespoon of salt, 2 tsp of pepper, and 1 tablespoon of red pepper flakes. At that moment, I put the brakes on my train of thought. It was like hearing loud, screaming claxons, warning me away from disaster. How is it possible that you have almost equal amounts of salt and heat? That seemed way excessive. I assumed that it was a typo, and scaled the red pepper flakes back to a much more reasonable 1 tsp. The dish turned out delicious at the end. It was a tiny bit on the spicy side, but still quite tasty. If I had gone with that full tablespoon of chile flakes, I shudder to think of the pain that would result from that level of heat.
Years ago, when I was visiting Quito, Ecuador on a class field trip, one of the people there knew the directions to a specific place we all wanted to go check out. For the sake of this story, we'll say it was a ... library. Yes. A library. Stop looking at me like that!
Anyway. On the way to the library, we had to cross multiple intersections. I was able to follow along, because the street signs for stop, go, and walk/don't walk are pretty universal. Unfortunately, the guy who was leading the way wasn't paying close enough attention, and wandered into traffic. My friend yanked me back before I was about to do the same. "That's the DON'T WALK sign, Dino. What are you, nuts!? Just because that idiot is walking into oncoming traffic doesn't mean that you need to be a lemming and follow him off the cliff!"
Whether it be adding entirely too much heat to a recipe, or walking into oncoming traffic, both are situations where a bit of mindfulness, and careful attention would prevent some pretty horrible disasters. It's the reason why when I make a recipe for the first time, I'll go through and read it thoroughly. I'll make sure I understand the instructions. If there's a technique that I'm not familiar with, I'll go onto a popular video posting website, and look it up. Why? Because when I'm on unfamiliar ground, I want to make sure that the path is going to be as smooth as possible. Even with all that preparation work, there are times when I'll miss a step completely, and slap myself on the forehead for being such a dunce.
Similarly, when I'm in a new city, or following directions for the first time, I'm extra careful about looking all around, making note of the road that I'm on (and the road I need to be on), checking frequently with the GPS (sorry, but printed maps confuse me, since they don't have a giant arrow pointing me to where I need to go) to ensure that I'm not going the wrong way. Even then, I still manage to get myself lost with hilarious frequency.
Think what would happen if I were to take a recipe or a new city without all those precautions!
The point is that by being careful, I'm not guaranteeing that I'll be perfect. There's no such thing. What I'm doing is stacking the odds in my favour that I will end up successful in my ventures. When I'm reading or making a recipe for the first time, I don't like distractions (TV turned on, someone chatting to me casually, my MP3 player in my ear), because I find myself losing my spot as I follow along the recipe. Similarly, when I'm trying to navigate a tricky set of directions (or even a simple one; I really am pretty hopeless at getting to the right place the first time), I pull my earphones off, and clear my brain of erroneous thoughts. In the car, I'll ask that the radio be turned down, and that any conversation not involved in getting us there in one piece be put on hold (I don't drive, so I'm frequently assigned the role of navigator).
There are memorable flubs in both cooking and life that I could tell you about, but that's for another day.
7/15/13
Don't expect things to turn out exactly.
I've said this before a bunch of times when it comes to life, but it also applies to cooking: don't expect things to be exactly the way you've wanted them to be; life has a way of throwing you a surprise from time to time, and it helps to be open to it.
A couple of months back, I went down to Virginia to visit my brother (and his wife, and their two kids). It just happened to be the same weekend that my 2nd brother was able to get his son for the week, and had flown up from Florida. Also the same week that my dad had flown up from Florida too. At that point, my mother and nephew (sister's son, for the record) had already been in Virginia for a couple of months, and were nearing the end of their stay. Because everyone else was coming down to VA, my sister made the flight out from Arizona (her husband was working, and couldn't get the time off). For that reason, I and my husband made the trip down (since everyone else was there).
My mom mentioned that she got her wish (a large family reunion; we haven't all been together under one roof in over 20 years), but not quite the way she expected it to happen. In her mind, she had just casually put out to the Universe (or G-d, or the Powers That Be, or whatever you choose to call it) that as she hit her sixtieth year on this planet, she'd like all her children to be together under one roof, over there in Arizona, where my sister has an extremely large house (for the record, my eldest brother's house is also enormous). The reason being that my mother would be in her comfort zone, while still having everyone together. My sister's house has a pool, a large back yard, and pretty much all the amenities you could hope for.
But, as life goes, things don't always turn out just so. With the majority of the family living on the East coast (me, my husband, brother, his wife, their two kids, my 2nd brother, his kid), it would have been a logistical nightmare to coordinate everyone's time off and flights to get out to Arizona. A trip down to Virginia, however, is a short bus ride for my husband and me (also, one that doesn't require much planning; the bus I take lets me book up to the night before, and still costs the same).
Somehow, what started off as a visit to her son and daughter-in-law became a massive family reunion, without her realising it. We still had a good time. We still all got to be together. I didn't have to take time off from work.
But it didn't quite end up how my mother thought it "should" be. Rather, it ended up like it was.
This applies to food. I was at the grocery store, shopping for vegetables and the rest. I was going to be cooking for a friend, and wanted to make him some of the South Indian dishes that my mother would cook when I was a kid. Lemon rice is one of those dishes that pretty much everyone loves, and is fairly simple to make. Unfortunately, the store's lemons looked awful. They were hard, and unripe, and didn't smell of citrus. Also, they were 2 for $1. Ouch! The limes, on the other hand, were plump, thin skinned, fragrant, and half the price.
If I had been one of those folks who's careful about following a recipe to the letter, I'd have ignored those beautiful limes, and opted for the bottled lemon juice. Instead, I decided to try the lemon rice recipe (which is one of those dishes that my mother gets asked to make pretty much universally) using limes instead of lemons. The flavour was divine! Who knew that you could change a fundamental component of a recipe that much, and still have it be delicious?
There have been times when I'm at a friend's house, and making hummus, and we don't have any lemon juice. I've managed to substitute the lemon with cider vinegar to excellent results. My friend who is allergic to soy was coming over for lunch. Instead of using the soy sauce that a particular recipe called for, I used a mix of chickpea miso dissolved in the broth from soaking shiitake mushrooms and kombu. It didn't taste like the original recipe, but it tasted better.
Whatever your challenge is, whether it be in life, or in cooking, face it with an open mind, and find a different solution. Or, in some cases, expect the odd turns and twists that life has sent your way, and enjoy them.
A couple of months back, I went down to Virginia to visit my brother (and his wife, and their two kids). It just happened to be the same weekend that my 2nd brother was able to get his son for the week, and had flown up from Florida. Also the same week that my dad had flown up from Florida too. At that point, my mother and nephew (sister's son, for the record) had already been in Virginia for a couple of months, and were nearing the end of their stay. Because everyone else was coming down to VA, my sister made the flight out from Arizona (her husband was working, and couldn't get the time off). For that reason, I and my husband made the trip down (since everyone else was there).
My mom mentioned that she got her wish (a large family reunion; we haven't all been together under one roof in over 20 years), but not quite the way she expected it to happen. In her mind, she had just casually put out to the Universe (or G-d, or the Powers That Be, or whatever you choose to call it) that as she hit her sixtieth year on this planet, she'd like all her children to be together under one roof, over there in Arizona, where my sister has an extremely large house (for the record, my eldest brother's house is also enormous). The reason being that my mother would be in her comfort zone, while still having everyone together. My sister's house has a pool, a large back yard, and pretty much all the amenities you could hope for.
But, as life goes, things don't always turn out just so. With the majority of the family living on the East coast (me, my husband, brother, his wife, their two kids, my 2nd brother, his kid), it would have been a logistical nightmare to coordinate everyone's time off and flights to get out to Arizona. A trip down to Virginia, however, is a short bus ride for my husband and me (also, one that doesn't require much planning; the bus I take lets me book up to the night before, and still costs the same).
Somehow, what started off as a visit to her son and daughter-in-law became a massive family reunion, without her realising it. We still had a good time. We still all got to be together. I didn't have to take time off from work.
But it didn't quite end up how my mother thought it "should" be. Rather, it ended up like it was.
This applies to food. I was at the grocery store, shopping for vegetables and the rest. I was going to be cooking for a friend, and wanted to make him some of the South Indian dishes that my mother would cook when I was a kid. Lemon rice is one of those dishes that pretty much everyone loves, and is fairly simple to make. Unfortunately, the store's lemons looked awful. They were hard, and unripe, and didn't smell of citrus. Also, they were 2 for $1. Ouch! The limes, on the other hand, were plump, thin skinned, fragrant, and half the price.
If I had been one of those folks who's careful about following a recipe to the letter, I'd have ignored those beautiful limes, and opted for the bottled lemon juice. Instead, I decided to try the lemon rice recipe (which is one of those dishes that my mother gets asked to make pretty much universally) using limes instead of lemons. The flavour was divine! Who knew that you could change a fundamental component of a recipe that much, and still have it be delicious?
There have been times when I'm at a friend's house, and making hummus, and we don't have any lemon juice. I've managed to substitute the lemon with cider vinegar to excellent results. My friend who is allergic to soy was coming over for lunch. Instead of using the soy sauce that a particular recipe called for, I used a mix of chickpea miso dissolved in the broth from soaking shiitake mushrooms and kombu. It didn't taste like the original recipe, but it tasted better.
Whatever your challenge is, whether it be in life, or in cooking, face it with an open mind, and find a different solution. Or, in some cases, expect the odd turns and twists that life has sent your way, and enjoy them.
7/10/13
Reducing (not removing) fat
There are times when you want to give your soup or stew a bit more of a creamy consistency, without adding screaming amounts of fat to it. The "easy" way is to dump a bunch of coconut cream onto the whole thing, or creamed cashews/almonds (lightly roast the nuts, add them to a blender, add water until they're just covered, then blend on high until smooth; strain through a sieve for a finer consistency). Even though these are healthy fats, at the end of the day they're still fats. If you're trying to be sensible about your fat consumption, there are other ways to add some creaminess. I'm not suggesting that you skip the soy/almond/cashew/coconut milk all together. Instead, it's best if you use those ingredients in moderation, towards the end of cooking, while still building a creamy base. This is very easy to do, with a few simple ingredients.
Cauliflower 1 tsp canola, vegetable, or olive oil 1 large onion, diced 3 potatoes, peeled and diced 1 head cauliflower, chopped (stems and all) Water, to cover the vegetables 1/4 cup coconut milk/cashew cream Salt & Pepper to taste 3 scrapes of nutmeg Start in a stock pot, and add your onions. Crank up the heat to high, and let the onions sizzle. Add the oil at this point. The reason that you get the onions going in a dry pan is because you want the onion liquid to come out quickly, which lets you reduce the amount of oil that you'll need. If you added the oil first, some of it will evaporate, and the onions will tend to absorb them. This way, you're still going to get them cooked through, while adding the least amount of oil possible. Once the onions are softened and translucent, add the potatoes. Add enough water to cover the potatoes. Let the potatoes boil at a rapid pace, until they're half cooked. Then, add the cauliflower. Don't stir. Don't worry if there isn't enough water to cover the cauliflower. It's OK. They have plenty of water in them. Cover the lid, and let the whole thing cook until the cauliflower is tender, and the potatoes are cooked through. Then, with a blender or immersion blender, puree the soup until it's smooth and creamy. Stir through the coconut milk, and season to taste. At the end, scrape in a touch of nutmeg. If you only have ground nutmeg, add a couple of scant pinches. For some reason, nutmeg makes creamy things taste more creamy. Stir, and taste. The soup should be creamy and smooth. If it's not quite creamy enough for your liking, keep reading.
Tofu Soft tofu is a wonderful ingredient to have around. When you puree it with a bit of soup base, it lends a very creamy texture and taste to the soup, without adding much fat, and boosting the protein content. Take a ladle of soup, and puree it with about 6 oz of soft tofu. Stir through the soup, and taste for seasoning. You shouldn't be able to taste the tofu at all, as it's a small amount that gets incorporated into the soup. In fact, if you want a sort of tofu sour cream, just blend that same amount of tofu 1/4 cup soymilk, and 1/2 tsp of lemon. Puree in a blender until completely smooth. If it's not getting blended enough, add more soy milk as needed. You want the smallest amount of soy milk possible while still being able to blend the mixture. Taste for sourness. If it's too sour, add a bit more tofu, and blend again. If it's not sour enough, add a few squeezes more of lemon. When your soup is ready to serve, throw a dollop of the sour cream on top, and let each person blend it into their own portion.
I have a soy allergy. I'm sorry to hear that. Living with allergies can be tough, but it doesn't mean you can't eat healthy! If you can't have tofu, feel free to substitute some canned white beans (cannelini works great) with the same way I mentioned tofu above. You won't get that same thickness, but you will definitely get a lot of creaminess. In fact, there's no reason why you couldn't add some cooked white beans directly to the cooked soup base, and puree it directly there.
It's creamy. Now what? The reason I gave you this simple base is not to eat it as-is (although that would be extremely delicious). It's so that you have a creamy base with which to work into other recipes. For example, if you want a gravy, add a bit of nutritional yeast (about 3 TB per 1 cup of soup), 1 1/2 TB potato starch (or cornstarch works too), dissolved in 2 TB cold water, and whisk well. Heat over medium high heat until thickened. Let it cool. If you want it a bit thinner, whisk in a bit of water. It'll be an awesome, gluten free, low fat gravy that you can use over mashed potatoes, as a dipping sauce for cooked vegetables, or anything else that suits your fancy. To make a more substantial soup, feel free to add any additions you have lying around. I like a few handfuls of baby spinach in the bottom of the bowl with the piping hot soup ladled over it. It also works great with roasted vegetables, frozen peas, frozen corn (for a delicious tasting corn chowder, add frozen corn, and leftover diced roasted or baked potatoes), chopped green beans, roasted red peppers, sun-dried tomatoes, or whatever else your imagination can come up with. The point is that you have a starting point, from where you can expand and reach out further, until you find something that you enjoy, and is your own creation.
4/19/13
What's all this stuff?
Recently, we've been getting questions about our fermented foods that we feature on the menu. I wanted to explain a little of the process that goes towards making these foods, so that everyone has an idea of what it is you're eating, and how to make some of your own!
Kimchi. We used to order sauerkraut from the same people who supplied our pickles. They make excellent food, but it bothered me that we weren't making our own fermented cabbage when it's so easy and delicious when it's made in house. I can add a lot more flavour, and control exactly what goes into the dish, and I can control the quality of the ingredients to ensure that only the best of the best ends up in the final dish.
Kimchi is made from napa cabbage, daikon radish, scallions, ginger, garlic (a lot of garlic, actually), a bit of sugar (to get the cultures started), and salt. It's left to ferment for three days to get the initial juices going for the cabbage and daikon, and then it's aged for two weeks or so to mellow out some of the harsher flavours. By the time it's ready to use, the kimchi has become sour, and has all the flavour of the ginger and garlic infused through it.
We don't add any soy sauce or anything that's got an oceany taste (like nori, or kombu), or any hot pepper flakes, because we want the cabbage taste to come through. It tastes like a sauerkraut with a more rounded flavour. I'm glad that we switched to making our own kimchi, because it ensures that I know exactly what's going into it, and can make sure that it works well with the other ingredients in the dish it's served in (the Tempeh Rueben, to be specific).
Cashew Kefir (kee-fur). Kefir is yoghurt product. It's used in Eastern Europe and Russia. We make our kefir with rejuvelac, which is a fermented grain beverage. Rice or quinoa (or both) are soaked overnight. The water is discarded, and fresh water is added to the grains. They are left to ferment for three days to get the wild yeasts and bacteria going. That liquid is poured off, and used to soak the raw cashews. The cashews soak overnight in the rejuvelac, and are pureed the next morning in the blender. That is then left to ferment for another three days to really get properly sour.
The cashew kefir is the base for the cashew sour cream. More cashews are added to the liquidy cashew kefir, and blended together. That is then allowed to ferment for three more days, so that it gets thickened and tangy.
The instructions for making rejuvelac and a host of vegan dairy products (cheese, yoghurt, sour cream, cream cheese) can be found in Miyoko Schinner's book Artisan Vegan Cheese. It's filled with interesting and different cheeses, using techniques that dairy cheese makers use, but adapted to vegan ingredients and needs.
Kimchi. We used to order sauerkraut from the same people who supplied our pickles. They make excellent food, but it bothered me that we weren't making our own fermented cabbage when it's so easy and delicious when it's made in house. I can add a lot more flavour, and control exactly what goes into the dish, and I can control the quality of the ingredients to ensure that only the best of the best ends up in the final dish.
Kimchi is made from napa cabbage, daikon radish, scallions, ginger, garlic (a lot of garlic, actually), a bit of sugar (to get the cultures started), and salt. It's left to ferment for three days to get the initial juices going for the cabbage and daikon, and then it's aged for two weeks or so to mellow out some of the harsher flavours. By the time it's ready to use, the kimchi has become sour, and has all the flavour of the ginger and garlic infused through it.
We don't add any soy sauce or anything that's got an oceany taste (like nori, or kombu), or any hot pepper flakes, because we want the cabbage taste to come through. It tastes like a sauerkraut with a more rounded flavour. I'm glad that we switched to making our own kimchi, because it ensures that I know exactly what's going into it, and can make sure that it works well with the other ingredients in the dish it's served in (the Tempeh Rueben, to be specific).
Cashew Kefir (kee-fur). Kefir is yoghurt product. It's used in Eastern Europe and Russia. We make our kefir with rejuvelac, which is a fermented grain beverage. Rice or quinoa (or both) are soaked overnight. The water is discarded, and fresh water is added to the grains. They are left to ferment for three days to get the wild yeasts and bacteria going. That liquid is poured off, and used to soak the raw cashews. The cashews soak overnight in the rejuvelac, and are pureed the next morning in the blender. That is then left to ferment for another three days to really get properly sour.
The cashew kefir is the base for the cashew sour cream. More cashews are added to the liquidy cashew kefir, and blended together. That is then allowed to ferment for three more days, so that it gets thickened and tangy.
The instructions for making rejuvelac and a host of vegan dairy products (cheese, yoghurt, sour cream, cream cheese) can be found in Miyoko Schinner's book Artisan Vegan Cheese. It's filled with interesting and different cheeses, using techniques that dairy cheese makers use, but adapted to vegan ingredients and needs.
4/3/13
Customer Service: How to do it right.
Boss-man bought some crocs. He went onto their website, and picked out a pair for himself, and for his son. His fit perfectly, and he had no problem with them. His son's were too tight. We wanted to exchange them for a slightly larger size. The options are as follows:
- Go into a physical store, and return them, with your Internet receipt. They'll sell you a new pair. Now, seeing as how we bought the shoes online, there is a reason that we didn't go into a physical store: we lack time, or the inclination to schlep across town in a busy section of the city, which is perpetually crowded with crazy people looking to spend their money. We want the experience of shopping from home, getting our stuff, and moving on with life.
- Contact a customer service rep, who will create a return shipping label for you. This part was very easy, because they have an online chat function, meaning that I don't have to sit on the phone on hold, and listen to musak. Good deal. There is no option to just exchange the shoes for a bigger size. Whatever. We chose this option.
The issue with the second option, is that Crocs won't pay for return shipping. So now, we need to package the shoes into a bag, slap on the mailing label, go to the post office, and pay for shipping. Then, crocs issues you a coupon to use on your next order, so that you can get free shipping on your next pair. Essentially, this took entirely too much time and effort to fix a problem. It also means that we won't be buying from /their/ website, when so many others have much better policies.
Enter Zappos. I've shopped with them before, and trust them. When I had to buy a new pair of sneakers, I went through Zappos. Why? They offer free shipping to you AND back to them. When a pair of shoes doesn't fit right, you return them with a pre-paid mailing label. Then, you get an email saying, "We're so sorry that the shoes didn't fit right. To make up for your trouble, here have a free overnight shipping on your next order." Not only did they pay for me to get the shoes in the first place, they also paid for me to return them when they didn't fit right. Then, they rushed to make it even faster to get my next pair of shoes. At the time that I bought those shoes, I didn't have a lot of money to spend, so I could only afford to buy one pair of shoes at a time. This meant that I had to order a pair, try them on, and then send it back if it didn't fit well.
It took three tries, but Zappos was very good every single time I ordered.
Mind you, it's not a huge thing. Shipping a pair of crocs that you shove into a bag is not that expensive. However, I now have a bad feeling towards the crocs website, because they're making me go through more work than was necessary. Zappos, even though it did take a few tries, will have my business, because they made every step of the process very easy on me. So now, I asked Bossman to return the shoes, and just buy the next pair from Zappos, and move on with life. Congratulations, Zappos: you've got a new customer on board.
- Go into a physical store, and return them, with your Internet receipt. They'll sell you a new pair. Now, seeing as how we bought the shoes online, there is a reason that we didn't go into a physical store: we lack time, or the inclination to schlep across town in a busy section of the city, which is perpetually crowded with crazy people looking to spend their money. We want the experience of shopping from home, getting our stuff, and moving on with life.
- Contact a customer service rep, who will create a return shipping label for you. This part was very easy, because they have an online chat function, meaning that I don't have to sit on the phone on hold, and listen to musak. Good deal. There is no option to just exchange the shoes for a bigger size. Whatever. We chose this option.
The issue with the second option, is that Crocs won't pay for return shipping. So now, we need to package the shoes into a bag, slap on the mailing label, go to the post office, and pay for shipping. Then, crocs issues you a coupon to use on your next order, so that you can get free shipping on your next pair. Essentially, this took entirely too much time and effort to fix a problem. It also means that we won't be buying from /their/ website, when so many others have much better policies.
Enter Zappos. I've shopped with them before, and trust them. When I had to buy a new pair of sneakers, I went through Zappos. Why? They offer free shipping to you AND back to them. When a pair of shoes doesn't fit right, you return them with a pre-paid mailing label. Then, you get an email saying, "We're so sorry that the shoes didn't fit right. To make up for your trouble, here have a free overnight shipping on your next order." Not only did they pay for me to get the shoes in the first place, they also paid for me to return them when they didn't fit right. Then, they rushed to make it even faster to get my next pair of shoes. At the time that I bought those shoes, I didn't have a lot of money to spend, so I could only afford to buy one pair of shoes at a time. This meant that I had to order a pair, try them on, and then send it back if it didn't fit well.
It took three tries, but Zappos was very good every single time I ordered.
Mind you, it's not a huge thing. Shipping a pair of crocs that you shove into a bag is not that expensive. However, I now have a bad feeling towards the crocs website, because they're making me go through more work than was necessary. Zappos, even though it did take a few tries, will have my business, because they made every step of the process very easy on me. So now, I asked Bossman to return the shoes, and just buy the next pair from Zappos, and move on with life. Congratulations, Zappos: you've got a new customer on board.
3/6/13
You've got a friend in me.
When I was a kid, I loved to read. It helped me to escape from the loneliness of being the only Indian kid in a sea of more assimilated Americans. It wasn't just the fact that I was Indian that was the issue, but also the fact that I was shy and awkward. I loved being with people. Whenever my parents would take me out with them, I'd have lots of playmates (if there were children around), or conversations (if it was just adults). I could carry on about pretty much anything, from religion to science, because I really did enjoy watching documentaries, and asking questions.
So to go to school, and be more or less ignored by everyone was difficult to cope with. I liked being around people, but it's hard to fit in when your clothes are third-hand (first someone would give the clothes to my dad, who'd wear them out, then pass it on to my eldest brother, who'd pass it on to my second eldest brother, who'd pass it on to me). They were clean, and in good repair, but never of the name brands, and never a good fit. I didn't exactly have a choice of dressing fashionably. You wore what you got, and once in a while, mum would take us to garage sales, and let us get "new" clothes from there that were more our style, as long as they cost less than $1 a garment.
Suffice it to say that I hated going to school when it involved group projects, or interacting with the other children, but loved going when it involved learning new things. I would take my textbooks home at the beginning of the semester, engrossed in all the new knowledge that they were just giving away for free without charging me anything. By the time I'd come to class the next day, I'd have already finished that chapter ages ago. This didn't endear me to my classmates. (Although all my teachers loved me.)
Over time, I began to withdraw further and further into myself. I'd bring a book with me no matter where I went, even if I knew there were going to be other children around to play with. By the time I hit 8th grade, I was starting to find myself attracted to other boys, which made me withdraw even deeper into myself, because what if someone found out this terrible secret? The worst of it was that I wasn't fooling anyone. I'm so gay that you can spot it from outer space. Either way, it made me even more lonely and isolated.
By the time I hit high school, I was paranoid, and withdrawn, and only willing to talk with or hang out with a couple of people. For a natural extravert, this is torture. Being forced into seclusion is not pleasant for someone who draws energy from being around people. I found the drama club, and found other people as lonely as I was. Other people who could escape for a while into stories, and instead of just reading it to themselves, sharing those stories on the stage. It was a heady feeling.
However, as someone for whom friends are a novelty, it was difficult for me to maintain friendships, because I didn't really understand the protocols. I wasn't really good at knowing how much to share of myself, and how much of my talents to give away selflessly. It took until senior year of high school for me to perfect my public face, and keep my inner self sheltered carefully.
In college, I became acquainted with a whole different group of people. Unlike the ones in high school, all the students really wanted to be there (as tuition was really high, which meant that you'd only attend if you could finagle the finances). It was nice to be around other science nerds, who didn't care about your sexuality, but more so about your ability to absorb the information and build upon it. After I graduated, I'd built up a tight-knit circle of friends whom I'd regularly hang out with. It was a completely different feeling. I'd still reach for a book as soon as I was on a bus, or lazing about at home. I'd still spend hours in the library, sat in between the shelves, lost in a new book.
And then came the Internet (for me) around 2004. I was online a bit before then, but around 2004 was when I really began to get involved with online forums, and make friends there.
I've come full circle, however. My husband met me online, moved in after we got married, and has been with me since. My other online friends have slowly become in-person friends.
Even so, I still have a bit of insecurity around making new friends. I still have that leftover residue of being the kid that nobody wanted to talk to, or be around. I love being around people, and have a fairly wide net of acquaintances that I've met in person and online. I've got a pretty good handle on being able to strike up a conversation with complete strangers, and enjoy myself thoroughly.
It feels weird to know that people want to be my friend; that they want to hang out with me and come to my house. That they want to eat my cooking. That they seek me out.
In other words, if you do seek me out, don't be surprised if I immediately respond. I don't like to play games, and keep the other person waiting. If you want to make an overture, I'll most likely return it immediately.
But if you don't, and you prefer to keep your distance, don't worry. I've still got my books.
So to go to school, and be more or less ignored by everyone was difficult to cope with. I liked being around people, but it's hard to fit in when your clothes are third-hand (first someone would give the clothes to my dad, who'd wear them out, then pass it on to my eldest brother, who'd pass it on to my second eldest brother, who'd pass it on to me). They were clean, and in good repair, but never of the name brands, and never a good fit. I didn't exactly have a choice of dressing fashionably. You wore what you got, and once in a while, mum would take us to garage sales, and let us get "new" clothes from there that were more our style, as long as they cost less than $1 a garment.
Suffice it to say that I hated going to school when it involved group projects, or interacting with the other children, but loved going when it involved learning new things. I would take my textbooks home at the beginning of the semester, engrossed in all the new knowledge that they were just giving away for free without charging me anything. By the time I'd come to class the next day, I'd have already finished that chapter ages ago. This didn't endear me to my classmates. (Although all my teachers loved me.)
Over time, I began to withdraw further and further into myself. I'd bring a book with me no matter where I went, even if I knew there were going to be other children around to play with. By the time I hit 8th grade, I was starting to find myself attracted to other boys, which made me withdraw even deeper into myself, because what if someone found out this terrible secret? The worst of it was that I wasn't fooling anyone. I'm so gay that you can spot it from outer space. Either way, it made me even more lonely and isolated.
By the time I hit high school, I was paranoid, and withdrawn, and only willing to talk with or hang out with a couple of people. For a natural extravert, this is torture. Being forced into seclusion is not pleasant for someone who draws energy from being around people. I found the drama club, and found other people as lonely as I was. Other people who could escape for a while into stories, and instead of just reading it to themselves, sharing those stories on the stage. It was a heady feeling.
However, as someone for whom friends are a novelty, it was difficult for me to maintain friendships, because I didn't really understand the protocols. I wasn't really good at knowing how much to share of myself, and how much of my talents to give away selflessly. It took until senior year of high school for me to perfect my public face, and keep my inner self sheltered carefully.
In college, I became acquainted with a whole different group of people. Unlike the ones in high school, all the students really wanted to be there (as tuition was really high, which meant that you'd only attend if you could finagle the finances). It was nice to be around other science nerds, who didn't care about your sexuality, but more so about your ability to absorb the information and build upon it. After I graduated, I'd built up a tight-knit circle of friends whom I'd regularly hang out with. It was a completely different feeling. I'd still reach for a book as soon as I was on a bus, or lazing about at home. I'd still spend hours in the library, sat in between the shelves, lost in a new book.
And then came the Internet (for me) around 2004. I was online a bit before then, but around 2004 was when I really began to get involved with online forums, and make friends there.
I've come full circle, however. My husband met me online, moved in after we got married, and has been with me since. My other online friends have slowly become in-person friends.
Even so, I still have a bit of insecurity around making new friends. I still have that leftover residue of being the kid that nobody wanted to talk to, or be around. I love being around people, and have a fairly wide net of acquaintances that I've met in person and online. I've got a pretty good handle on being able to strike up a conversation with complete strangers, and enjoy myself thoroughly.
It feels weird to know that people want to be my friend; that they want to hang out with me and come to my house. That they want to eat my cooking. That they seek me out.
In other words, if you do seek me out, don't be surprised if I immediately respond. I don't like to play games, and keep the other person waiting. If you want to make an overture, I'll most likely return it immediately.
But if you don't, and you prefer to keep your distance, don't worry. I've still got my books.
1/1/13
Old friends
Old friends
Sat on their park bench like bookends
Man, that song gets me all choked up every time I hear it. I remember all the friends I've left behind, the friends I've lost track of, the friends whom I'll never forget even though they're not alive anymore. I think of the friends that I hope will be my own old friends, the friends who are old friends already.
Just wanted to take a moment to remember and think about all those people who have touched my life in the past, and thank them for it.
Happy new year.
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