Beans, please remember, are not a favorite food. They’re mushy, and I detest mushy. About the only mushy food I like is ice cream. And I’ll bypass ice cream for a box of cheddar cheese crackers any day that ends in “y.”
This week’s meals from Plated.com were . . . challenging. That’s a good adverb. We’re being positive here, right? We’re inviting change. So it’s a GOOD THING that the recipes used mushy chickpeas. I am getting better at eating mush, too. I am evolving, my tastes are changing, and I can eat mush.
Hmmm . . . I have a mantra. Didn’t even know I needed one.
I am evolving, my tastes are changing, and I can eat mush.
I am evolving, my tastes are changing, and I can eat mush.
I am evolving, my tastes are changing, and I can eat mush.
I am evolving, my tastes are changing, and I can eat mush.
(I’ll give you a moment of silence to fret over my . . . I’m not sure what my condition is . . . and then we’ll move on to the food.)
The first recipe from Plated, Crispy Roasted White Beans with Sorrel, Sumac, Feta, and Yogurt Sauce, sounded good thanks to the word “crispy.” The recipe asked me to roast the chickpeas at 450 degrees for 8 – 9 minutes. When I took them out of the oven they were still mushy, so I stuck them back in for another three minutes while the poor sorrel wilted on the burner. Since I was starving I served up mushy beans with wilted sorrel, and called it done.
Much to my surprise the sorrel was the most difficult part of the meal. I was enjoying it, honestly, until I thought about how much it looked like cooked spinach. My gag reflex unexpectedly took over, and I had to rush to the trash can to spit out the mush in my mouth.
I’m going to try this meal again. I came close to enjoying it, so I want to try again without dramatically wilted sorrel and non-crispy chickpeas. I don’t know if it will go into permanent rotation, but it’s worth trying once more.
The second recipe, Roasted Carrot and Chickpea Salad with Harissa, had me roast chickpeas for 18 minutes at 425 degrees. These chickpeas were close to crispy, unlike the previous “crispy” chickpeas. They probably could have used another five minutes in the oven, but I didn’t want to risk the carrots. What’s with the inconsistent times? I don’t think the oven’s 25-degree difference should result in a 50% longer cooking time. (But I need to research that, maybe one of those tables in Modernist Cuisine?)
So — carrots. Another vegetable I don’t like. These baby carrots were pretty, in a nice range of colors. Based on appearance I talked myself into downing a mouthful. AND THEY WERE AMAZING. The dressing (cumin, lime, olive oil and pepper) delivered a hint of sweetness. There was something almost apple pie-like about these carrots.
The chickpeas weren’t bad, either. I tried to get chickpea, quinoa, and feta cheese in each bite. The combination helped enormously. It still surprises me, a Picky Child Eater, that food is often better combined in one mouthful. I grew up wanting everything separated, like on a cafeteria plate. Heaven help my poor parents if the corn contaminated the fried fish. The chickpeas once again could have been crispier, but the quinoa and feta cheese saved the day.
This meal is also a win. I’m looking forward to cooking it again.
The week’s third meal, Trout Teriyaki with Salad and Carrot-Ginger Dressing, was a failure. The trout was excellent, but the carrot dressing was a total miss. The recipe editing was not up to Plated’s usual standards. The recipe wanted me to pour hoisin and teriyaki sauces over the dish. Sauces, plural. In bold type, while the “and” was not bolded — hoisin and teriyaki sauces. I wasted five minutes hunting for the hoisin sauce before realizing the bottle I had dumped all over the fish contained hoisin and teriyaki sauce (singular).
The Mistake of the Evening went to the carrot-ginger dressing, which Plated raves is “a star of this dish whether you leave it chunky for more texture or blend it until smooth.” Due to poor recipe editing I ended up with overpowering carrot sludge. The ingredients list called for 1.5 ounces of carrot. In retrospect I realized my carrot was much larger than 1.5 ounces, but I’ve become accustomed to pre-measured ingredients in these subscription boxes, so I forgot to pull out a scale and check. The recipe should have reminded me. After all, it told me to mince 1/2 a shallot and reserve the remainder. A similar carrot warning might have saved this dish. The lack of warning lead to a vertebral ocean of carrot sludge, overpowering all the other ingredients in the dressing. I ended up with two cups of carrot sludge.
Still, two out of three successes! I’m happy. I feel like I’m making real changes to my eating habits.