Green Wrap, Curried Tofu Fingers

God, those both sound like Berkeley garage bands. Or unenticing menu items from the Whole Earth cafe. Or 1970s vegetarian porn stars. But there it is. As for the Curried Tofu Fingers, that is the recipe from the first Cooking with Ben blog over at ChopChop. I am guessing that he was just really ready to cook already, or something, but I thank my lucky stars I got that job over there, because it has totally changed our lives: Ben now cooks dinner once a week. While I lie around fanning myself with a palm leaf and reading the Garnet Hill catalogue and enjoying my own personal happy hour. I'd be grateful if you'd go over and read it. Plus, that recipe rocks (it's not mine--not that I seem to worry about immodesty anyways).

Green Wrap is the first Mama Lunch! Yay. "Mama Lunch" means that I'm not officially recommending it as a family meal, even though you might head down that path on your own. "Mama Lunch" means that you're eating it and enjoying it all by your ownself, either while your kids are at school, or while they're home, flitting around worriedly, saying, "Are you really going to eat that?" And yes. Yes you are.

Green Wrap is also what we call around here "deja new," meaning that you've never heard of it ever in your entire life, but then suddenly you've heard about it a hundred times in a week. Apparently, these are all the rage everywhere, though I've never actually eaten one out or anything, because I am too cheap to pay for a collard leaf stuffed with stuff I already have at home. Hence, the making of them. And make no mistake: they are delicious. There is something so utterly energizing about how green they taste; I eat one (or two) and then feel very boingy and glad, like I'm on a psychic pogo stick (in a good way) with none of that bread-heaviness of a sandwich. It's like a chlorophyll burrito (in a good way).

It starts with two large, clean, raw collard leaves. Cut the stems flush with the base, then trim the center rib flush with the leaf so that it's not huge and thick, which would prevent the leaf from rolling up nicely.

 

Then you massage the leaves with olive oil, because you love them that much and it's almost Father's Day. A little drizzle of olive oil, and also a sprinkle of salt, and then you rub it on the side of the leaf facing up, which is technically the bottom of the leaf even though it's on top. Why am I making this sound so complicated? Because I'm tired. I had the same boring dream all night long--a dream that I was reading. Seriously. And I love reading--but it makes for a really boring, ennervating dream. Anyways, oil and salt the leaves and they will get nice and dark and supple and shiny. Comme ca.

I can haz cheeseburger? No.

And then you add your filling. My filling here is diced pickled beets, feta, and toasted walnuts, which was crazy delicious but kind of a mess. Ideally your filling would include something creamy, like hummus or guacamole, to kind of stick everything together so that it doesn't all fall out while you're eating. This exact filling, but whirled for a minute in the food processor, would have been ideal. I like to add something crunchy always, like nuts or toasted pepitas.

And then you tuck the ends in towards the center and roll it up, just like a burrito. 

And then you cut it in half, to show off a little bit, at which point you wish you'd used a different filling so that it didn't all look like it was falling out. But still.

Enjoy your weekend, my darlings. 

xo

Perfect Veggie Burgers

I love veggie burgers. I love real hamburgers too--especially nice beefy ones with mushrooms and onions all over the barbecue sauce that's all over the blue cheese that's melting all over them--but I have a special place in my heart for a good veggie burger, which I approach not as a wan and debased substitute, but as its own special, wonderful self. In fact, when I worked at the famous Saturn Restaurant in Santa Cruz, that's what I picked for my staff meal every day: a veggie burger with pickles, mustard, and a side of potato chips which I would then cram into the bun. Every day, and it was always good. Granted, I was a vegetarian then. And it was a vegetarian restaurant. Not that that always sank in with the customers. "What about the Saturn Burger?" some would ask. "Is that meat?" "Nope, sorry," I'd say. "It's all vegetarian. There's no meat on the menu." "I'll have the chili then. That's got to be meat, right?" This is the same restaurant where people used to ask me tricky questions like how the peanut butter tofu pie was. "How does it sound to you?" I used to ask, coyly. "That's probably about how it's going to be." This is also the same restaurant where you could drink the house beer during your shift, as long as you didn't feel like it was impairing your performance. We tended not to feel like it was impairing our performance.

This particular veggie burger recipe is special to me because this was the first meal I made Anni when she moved in (back before we converted her to our carnivorous ways, bwa ha ha ha) and then it was the last meal I made her when she was moving out. "Oh no!" she said, when she came into the kitchen that last evening and saw me frying them. And then we burst into tears. You would not typically cry over them, but they are really delicious: rich and almost greasy, in a good way, from the walnuts, but then tender from the beans, nicely grainy from the bulgur, and really well seasoned with an extra umami kick from the soy. The green herb feels totally crucial to me, but if there's a cilantro-hater in your midst, I don't see why you couldn't use parsley. And the sauce--the sauce is key. Creamy, limey, just a little spicy, and making completely redundant the need for cheese. We made these for a large crowd of folks who were not of the meat-eating persuasion, and the burgers were devoured by grown-ups and kids alike, which was utterly satisfying.

Perfect Veggie Burgers

Serves 6

Active time: 45 minutes; total time: 1 hour

This is a recipe from the late Gourmet magazine, with a few tweaks, the most significant of which is that I make the burgers a good deal smaller. Too thick, and you'll eat half of it and feel like you've had enough; these are thin enough to maximize the nice, crispy outside. Just right. I still think you might want to try making the buns yourself--but you don't have to.

1/2 cup chopped onion, divided

1 tablespoon olive oil plus more for frying

Kosher salt

2 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped

3/4 teaspoon ground cumin

1/4 teaspoon cayenne

1/2 cup bulgur

1 cup water

1 1/2 tablespoon soy sauce

1 cup canned pinto beans, rinsed and drained

3/4 cup walnuts

1/2 cup packed cilantro leaves and stems, coarsely chopped

1/2 cup mayonnaise

Juice and zest of half of a large, juice lime

1/2 teaspoon chipotle puree (I write about this here, but you should know that Smoked Tabasco is a perfectly acceptable and readily available substitute--and yes, you could use smoked paprika in a pinch.)

Accompaniments: toast or buns, lettuce, sliced tomato, red onion, jalapenos, pickles

Cook the onion with 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt (or half as much table salt) in the oil in a smallish pan over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until golden, around 5 to 7 minutes. Add the garlic and stir for a minute, then add the spices and stir for a few seconds, just until fragrant. Add the bulgur and water and cook, covered, over low heat until water is absorbed, 15 to 18 minutes. Stir in the soy sauce.

Pulse the bulgur mixture, pintos, walnuts, cilantro, 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt (or half as much etc.), and a few grindings of black pepper in a food processor until finely chopped. I have done this more or less fine, and my favorite is for it to be a mix of puree and larger pieces, which I then stir together in a bowl; my ancient Cuisinart does this automatically, by mistake, but you could probably get the same effect by pulsing on and off, then scooping out half the mixture into a bowl, pureeing the rest, and then combining the two. Then you've got the puree to hold it altogether, plus some nice texture from the less ground-up nuts and beans. It sounds complicated but isn't, I swear.

Form the mixture mixture into 6 patties, using, if you like, a 1/3-cup measure. Chill them for at least 10 minutes and up to a couple of hours. While patties chill, whisk together together the mayonnaise, lime juice and zest, chipotle, and 1/2 teaspoon salt. (We made extra sauce and served it as a dip for asparagus, and it was heavenly.)

Now cook the burgers. You can, apparently, do this on a grill, by spraying or brushing them all over with vegetable oil and then grilling them on a grill sheet (?) for 8 minutes. I have never done that, though. I heat up a nonstick frying pan over medium heat, add a big glug of oil, and fry them until very brown and crisp on the outside, turning them over carefully when the first side is done. I takes maybe ten minutes altogether, and they brown up beautifully. Serve them on buns with the sauce and lots of accompaniments.

Yes, there are many ingredients, but I tend to have most of them already. Plus, they are very inexpensive to make, even considering the issue of the nuts.

Thanks to ChopChop magazine, Ben has totally upped his game in the kitchen. Now he can chopchop an onion.

And fryfry it.

Bulgur. When you first add it, it looks like this.

But then it fluffs up all nice.

Ready to whirl. The beans are so weird and foamy after you rinse them, like they're already daydreaming about the gas they're going to make you pass.

I leave a little texture. I can see, objectively, that this looks gross, but I love these so much that even this picture looks good to me.

You will need to wash and dry your hands in the middle of making these. I should mention that I'm making a double batch in these photographs, hence the vast quantities. 

Let them get nice and brown.

We kind of assembly-lined them, on account of there being a lot.

Meanwhile, The Ben made The Sauce. All by his ownself. I know. Can you see the cool necktie shirt I made him? I copied it from one we saw at a craft fair.

Good kids, eating their veggie burgers. My friend Corn took this picture. Thanks, Corn!

And a proud Ben. Not to hammer the point home too concussively, about kids in the kitchen, but he said, as he was eating, "I like these all the more because of the millions of fried onions I put into them." Exactly: that's cooking for you, right? You unlock all the secrets of deliciousness.

Book Review: the Birdy version

So, I know I'm remiss here in my continued non-posting of the promised "Mama Lunch" column, but: I have to write instead about what Birdy and I are reading, because these are simply some of the best books there are. Period. And, oddly, they're all by authors who are much more famous for other books: Roald Dahl for his full-blown ogre-addled magic-infused fantasy fiction; Madeleine L'Engle for her incomparably riveting, weirdo-buoying, sci-fi Wrinkle in Time series; and Joan Aiken for the villain-and-orphan-filled Wolves of Willoughby Chase series which, more than any other books, best represent the time in my life when all I wanted to do was curl up with a book. (Which is different from now how? I guess I mean the very profound 12-year-old version of that.) But these are kinder, gentler books--books perfect for younger kids who are, yes, reading mostly on their own, but who still like to curl up in an arm crook for a pajama-clad cuddle and a chapter or two aloud at day's end. I mention that because these are books that an 8-year old could read alone, but they're strangely tricky in that British/weird-humor/old-fashioned-language way. I recommend reading at least the first two chapters aloud, to acclimate them--by which point you'll be fully engrossed anyways and will want to keep reading.

Danny the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl. A boy and his dad plotting to steal some pheasants really might not sound like your ideal plot, and I understand. But this is a lovely and wonderful book--about a parent and child, about loss, and about the nuanced complexity of right and wrong. "Who are the actual bad guys?" Ben wondered, when he and I read it years ago--but he already knew.

Meet the Austins by Madeleine L'Engle. This is such a delightful, gentle book, and it's got this fantastically smart and observant girl narrator, which I love. An orphan, slow-paced family drama, nice kids, deliciously excellent writing--all the makings of a perfect reading experience, if you ask me. The others in the series are a little "grown-uppy," but I'm sure they'd be great for older kids.

Arabel's Raven by Joan Aiken. A young girl adopts a badly behaved bird named Mortimer who loves diamonds and guitar music and the stairs, which he eats. It's a little like the Paddington series, in terms of wacky misadventures and hilarious hijinx, but it is so laugh-out-loud funny that Ben is always putting his own book down and creeping over to listen. I love reading it because the language is great, the absurdity and chaos are pitched just right, and I am never, ever bored. There are more of them, and I bet they're all good, but we're just finishing this first one right now.

And now: share away. I have *so many* books on my library request list thanks to all your fantastic recommendations last week. I am thrilled. Thank you, as always.

TGIF, darlings.
xo

Sort of Saag Paneer

Thank god for our friend Jagu, and his sometimes feeding of us (oh, Jagu's lentil fritters!), because we do not eat Indian food out very often, which is sad, because I love to eat out, and I love Indian food. In fact, when I say to Michael, and I say this often, "If we had a lot of money, I'd want to live exactly the same way we live now, just without worrying all the time," he always says, "Well, not worrying, and also eating out every night." Which is so true. I love to cook, but eating out might be my very favorite thing to do that you have to pay for.

And when we do go out for Indian food, I like to establish immediately how we're going to order: Are we sharing everything? How many entrees are we getting? Who doesn't like what? That kind of thing--so that I can figure out about the saag paneer. Not whether or not we're going to order it, because we are going to order it, but how much of it I'm going to get to eat. (Don't you wish you were going out to eat with me?)

Saag paneer is a puree of spinach or other greens, with cubes of delicious, creamy, fresh white cheese nestled in it. (Ew. I've just become like one of those restaurant reviewers I hate who use the word "nestled.") I realize that if I were selling it that way door to door, you'd slam yours in my face, but really: it's crazy good. I like it even when it's kind of bad, with grease pooled visibly on its surface and the spinach tasting not unpleasantly like it came out of a can, or even the kind that comes in a plasticky metallic envelope from Trader Joe's. But when it's good, it is ethereally good: outrageously rich, subtly spiced, emerald green, and deeply satisfying. Which this recipe is. It's based on one from Deborah Madison's This Can't Be Tofu! cookbook, which is not exactly my kind of cookbook, given that of course this can be tofu, silly, but still. The idea here is that you substitute tofu for the paneer, and I don't know why it works so well, but it does. Which is a great thing, given that Anni, bless her, tried to make paneer twice, and one time the paneer ended up in two-inch layer of blackness on the bottom of the Dutch oven, and another time the paneer turned out, mysteriously, to be wadded up in the elbow of the kitchen drainpipe, which we'd unscrewed because the sink had stopped draining.

Still, even with the easy tofu substitution, I need to confess to you that this is a somewhat involved recipe--not difficult, just, kind of, multi-faceted and pot-dirtying. I wouldn't feel the need to apologize if what you ended up with was a tray full of baby-back ribs (This Can't Be Ribs!), but given that the final dish is green and tofu-studded, well--you're going to have to decide for yourself. It's a no-brainer for me because everyone around here completely loves it, and so I am rewarded for my efforts by clean plates and lip-smacking. If you are more likely to be rewarded by "What's that funny smell?" and people pushing things around with forks and grimaces, then think twice.

Saag Paneer (more or less)

Serves 4-6

Total time: 45 minutes

A couple of things. One is that I've made this with both fresh and frozen spinach, and it is so much better with fresh, that I wouldn't even mention frozen, except that sometimes I really do happen to have spinach in the freezer and a carton of tofu in the fridge, and so voila, dinner. The frozen spinach doesn't lend the final dish the same brilliant shade of green and silky texture--picture something darker and stringier--but it does make a perfectly fine meal. Also, the spices: I've upped the spices here, adding both curry powder and garam masala, which is a spice mix you can find in the bulk spice section of any natural foods store. Substitute as you like or need to. Finally, that yogurt sauce is my concession to keeping the dish milder for the children; it adds a little tangy heat, which we love. Ironically, the kids now end up adding it to theirs too.

1 carton firm or soft tofu (I've used and liked both; I'm using firm tofu here)

Kosher salt (or half as much table salt for any given amount)

1 large bunch spinach, well washed (or, less ideally, 1 bag frozen spinach, thawed)

1/2 jalapeño chile, seeded and coarsely chopped (or more or less or omit altogether)

1-inch knob ginger, peeled and coarsely chopped

3 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped

1 cup diced onion

2 tablespoons butter

1 1/2  teaspoons ground cumin

½ tsp curry powder

1 teaspoon garam masala

1/8 teaspoon each nutmeg and cayenne

½-1 cup half-and-half

1/3 cup yogurt (I like Greek yogurt for this, and everything else, really)

For topping: ½ cup yogurt whirred in a food processor with 1 tablespoon of jalapenos, ½ teaspoon kosher salt, and, if you have them, some fresh mint leaves.

Dice the tofu into half-inch cubes. Bring 6 cups water to a boil, add 2 teaspoons salt and lower the heat to a simmer. Add the tofu, turn off the heat, and leave it for 5 minutes. Pour it into a colander to drain. (If you've used soft tofu, remove it with a slotted spoon so it doesn't break apart.) Set it aside.

Steam the spinach until wilted (I do this in the same pot I cooked the tofu in), then remove it to a cutting board and chop. When cool enough to handle, squeeze out the excess water.

Put the chiles, ginger, garlic, and onion in a food processor, and process until finely chopped. Heat the butter in a nonstick skillet, add the onion mixture, and cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, for 5 minutes.

Now add 1 teaspoon of salt, all the spices, and 1 cup of water. Simmer for 5 minutes, then return the mixture to the food processor (don't bother washing it in between stages), add the spinach, and puree until smooth.

Return the mixture to the skillet, add the half-and-half and the tofu, and simmer for about 5 minutes (start with the smaller amount of half and half, then add more until it seems adequately rich and creamy). Turn off the heat and stir in the yogurt. Taste for salt and re-season, then serve over rice with the yogurt topping.

I Can't Believe It's Not Pork Ribs Tofu! Oh, wait, yes I can.

You know about spinach, right? How you start with a bag that needs to be strapped to your roof with bungee cords.

And there's so, so much spinach, it has to be crammed into a ginormous pot.

And steamed, after which

you will wonder where it all went.

Onions, garlic, ginger, jalapeno.

They get whirled up in here.

And fried up in here. Yum. The cooking jalapeno burned my eyes in a good way, since it took my mind off of my eye-burning allergies. Kind of like digging a fingernail X into your mosquito bites.

Spicy!

The simmered, spiced aromatics get their turn, along with the spinach.

And then it's back to the pan with you!

I was telling Ben about the recent gender hullabaloo--those photos of the J. Crew designer's son painting his fingernails. Ben can be beautifully outraged about stereotypes like nobody else--what with his gentle convictions and compassionate wisdom--and I was looking forward to his reaction. But this time? You could just see the apolitical light-bulb over his head, you could hear the waah-waah-waah he was hearing--the sound of me still talking--and he waited patiently for me to finish before saying, "People. Sheesh. Anyway, can I get out the fingernail polish?"

Birdy's full bowl. . .

and empty bowl. I'm not kidding about how good this is.

Springing Out All Over

Lilacs, dogwood, violets, ornamental quince, snakes, peepers, bees, morels, asparagus, chives, lemon balm. Mud. Peonies pushing up out of the ground like something being born hands first. The air blowing over us all night through our gloriously pried-open windows. Long evenings that expand my personality such that instead of 45 minutes after dinner in which to be cranky before I hustle everyone to bed, I have 3 hours in which to unfurl into the season of delight. Which is spring. It just is.

For Mother's Day, I wanted to share this photograph

of my mother, who continues to be a tremendous beauty. And me, who continues to be chubby-chinned, baffled, and listing off to the side.

And these books, which I have loved of late. Please share yours too, okay? 

I love Meg Wolitzer. Her book, The Position, for example, which is a fictional account of the children of the original Joy of Sex models--those hirsute pen-and-ink drawings that you probably knew pretty well at some point. This new one, The Uncoupling, is about a town whose high school puts on the Greek play Lysistrata, about women refusing to have sex until the war ends, and how all the women in town end up refusing to have sex. (I'm not sure why I wrote that like it was a fourth-grade book report. My book was called The Uncoupling. . . ) If it sounds like you won't like it, you might not. Here's this, about twin toddlers following their mom into the bathroom: "As she sat on the toilet, both boys observed her from a critical distance of a few inches. Brant  turned to Ryan and said, "Mama sits down when she wees. She sits down." "Why?" Ryan asked. "Why you sit down, Mama?" He stepped closer and placed an open hand on her bare thigh, peering into the shadowed slice of toilet bowl between her legs. ..The boys solemnly stood and listened and appraised her wiping style, and looked between her legs like grim nineteenth-century consulting gynecologists." Just retyping that made me laugh again.

I am halfway through In Zanesville right now but I also just read Jo Ann Beard's earlier book, The Boys of My Youth, while I was waiting for In Zanesville to get to the library, and not a page went by when I didn't say, "This is the best book I ever read." "You just said that about the Meg Wolitzer book," Michael reminded me, the same way he reminds me every morning that just the day before I observed that that was the best fried egg I'd ever eaten, so what can I say. But seriously? Both books--and they're similar, in a good way--are among the truly very best books I've ever read in my whole entire life. Here's one line from the new one: "In retrospect we probably should have quit band after the parade instead of during it." Oh, wait, now I'm adding this too: "My mother's own bras are large quilted things that I used to think were funny. Now when I see them on the laundry table, one cup folded into the other, I have a sense of impending doom. It's like being on your way to the Alps and knowing that when you get there you have to wear lederhosen." She does teenaged girlhood better than anyone else I can think of--and the stuff she remembers reminds me of all the stuff I've forgotten.

Speaking of which, there's this awesomely nostalgic anthology, Crush, that you should read while listening to ACDC or Pat Benatar or Men without Hats. Not to be coy, or anything, but I have a piece in there that my editor at Ladies' Home Journal said they couldn't run because it was "way too dirty." I'm just saying.

Happy Mother's Day, oh mothers of children and pets and brilliant ideas, oh daughters and sons of mothers everywhere.

xo