Monthly Archives: April 2015

Roasting Chickpeas

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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.

Attack of the Giant Basil!

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Photoshopped awkwardness

Photoshopped awkwardness

This photo, from the recipe card for Home Chef’s Spaghetti Alla Rustica, cracks me up.  Was the art director on vacation or something?  For extra mirth check out the sad fake shadows underneath the ginormous leaves, and don’t forget to shake your head while chuckling at the oh-so-Photoshopped-in basil garnish.

I love Home Chef, really, but how can you not laugh?  This is worthy of some of the snafus I’ve seen on McDonald’s marketing materials.

The food, you ask?  Fan-freaking-tastic.  I’ve never eaten much spaghetti.  In my parent’s house it was always served with spaghetti sauce mixed with ground beef, which looked unpalatable. I wasn’t sure about this vegetarian version, but I’m glad I talked myself into it.  The sauce is tangy and fresh and warm and cheesy . . . it’s a heavy, carb-loaded meal (pasta, right?) but it didn’t taste heavy.

The portions are huge, easily three or possibly four small portions instead of the promised two.  I took some to work for lunch, and still had leftovers in the fridge.

I’ve bought all the ingredients for another round, and now I’m waiting for an evening in need of comfort food.  My leftover plan is to only cook 1/3 of the spaghetti, but an entire batch of sauce. The sauce will go to the freezer.  It’s delicious, I’m sure I’ll find a good way to use it.

I wonder how it would taste on a pizza?  Have to think about this.

Equipment: Indoor Grilling

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Eating subscription box meals, exposing myself to foods and methods I’d never explored, which often means I have to buy new kitchen equipment. For example, I didn’t own a basting brush until recently. Instead I’ve been surviving with an almost new carefully-cleaned paintbrush, but when I needed it for paint again an Amazon order became mandatory.

Usually I can get away without special equipment the first time I cook a meal, but if I like it enough to make it part of my recipe collection then I’ll buy equipment to help me cook faster and more efficiently.

Next week’s box from Home Chef is an exception. They’re sending me Mango-Lime BBQ Tofu Kebabs.

Mango Lime BBQ Kebabs

My mouth started watering while reading the recipe. All that lime, and sriracha, and grilled . . . wait . . . grill? Like, an outdoor grill? I don’t have one of those. I don’t really want one, either. I’ve grilled before, and I don’t like standing over hot coals in 100+ degree Texas heat, getting a face full of smoke. I’ll eat grilled, thank you VERY much, but I don’t want to actually grill.

I also don’t want to buy, maintain or clean a grill, or constantly buy charcoal or propane or whatever it is grills run on.

Research was clearly in order! After reading a few articles on indoor grilling (my favorite was from Epicurious) I purchased a Lodge Cast Iron Single-Burner Reversible Grill/Griddle, a cleaning tool, and a smoked olive oil sample set from The Smoked Olive. My pantry already contains an unopened container of smoked salt, courtesy of a TJ Maxx impulse buy.

I can’t wait for the equipment and the subscription box to arrive. This will be fun!

Packing Away

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Today I packed my Slice of Life dish collection into the closet, and I feel I’ve packed part of myself away in the process.

It’s a very practical decision. I’m not using the dishes (they’re too valuable for everyday) and I have them stored in a pantry where I can’t see them. And I need the pantry space, so why not place the boxes on the floor of the closet and close the door on them?

But it’s like I’m closing the door myself. Those dishes, as stupid as it sounds, symbolize my thrift-store heritage, my love of beauty, and my ability to have and maintain friendships.

They must be pretty wonderful dishes to do all that.

I initially saw them at a swanky home goods store in Dallas (The Great Indoors), and pulled my mom across the store so she could admire them with me. At first glance the black-and-white plates and mugs looked very traditional, but on your second glance you’d notice a Roswell alien crash plate, or a plate featuring bumper cars, and suddenly you’d be pulled into another world, where nostalgia, myth and tradition mixed. A world where all the oddities of life were encircled by traditional black-and-white china-plate borders. Contained, accepted, and celebrated.

So I fell hard for this set. I couldn’t afford it — I was buying my first house, and there was no way I could meet the prices of this swanky store. I walked away.

My mom, however, knew I would regret this decision. She knew this was my pattern. When the swanky store threw a going-out-of-business sale she bought me one of every dish they had and gave them to me for Christmas. After some research we concluded the store didn’t have all the pieces, so the hunt was on! I spent about a decade trying to buy the missing pieces at affordable prices. One year I bought some at Macy’s for 50% off, and then one wondrous day I found a slew of pieces I’d never seen at rock-bottom prices on Amazon.com. I found a few pieces in thrift stores, including the San Francisco platter I thought was overpriced at $35, but which is now on Replacements.com for $235.  Mom found mugs at Tuesday Morning as recently as three years ago, once again including a new pattern I had no record of despite my decade-long hunt.

I’d always wanted to have mix-and-match china, so once I started completing the basic Slice of Life collection I branched out, looking for pieces from other manufacturers with the same feel, pieces like a Mona Lisa demitasse set, with Mona drinking from a tiny mug. A Leaning Tower of Pisa shaker designed for parmesan cheese. A Halloween bowl with skulls and crossbones.  I lusted after Fornasetti.

From Riveria Van Beers

From Riveria Van Beers

As the photo at the top of the post shows, I kept my collection in two half-height metal Globe-Wernicke bookcases. One of the bookcases came with my house, and I bought a second on eBay so I’d have enough room to store it all. Eventually the tops of the bookcases were covered with solid black and solid white teapots.

I loved walking into the breakfast room, with all the dishes in place, cared for and displayed for all to see. I loved entertaining, and watching my guests pick a plate. And, of course, I loved the hunt, trying to track down the few elusive pieces needed to complete my collection.

But life changed. I packed the dishes away when I moved out-of-state, breaking my expeeeensive Brownstones mug in the process. The dishes lived in boxes in Mom’s guest bedroom until I moved back to an apartment in Texas.

And for the past three years they’ve lived in a closed-door pantry, shut away from my life.

Today I don’t shop much at thrift stores, even though I live in a neighborhood rife with them. The apartment doesn’t have room, and I don’t have money to be bringing home random bits of treasure I didn’t know I needed. My mom’s house, and my sisters’ homes to a lesser extent, are overflowing with stuff. I don’t want that for myself any longer. I owned three coffee tables, for heaven’s sake. Who needs three coffee tables? I loved it all, but today I want more editing, and less upkeep, and the ability to move without holding a garage sale first.

I don’t have a reason to set my table, either. I’ve never had many friends, but now I’m at an all-time low. I think an entire two people, aside from my family, has darkened my apartment’s threshold in three years. There isn’t anyone to share my dishes with.

And, most distressing of these trends, I don’t care much about how my apartment looks. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but it’s mostly an Ikea box. A small box, without excess floor space for special furniture to display dishes. It’s not like when I had a house and three coffee tables. Back then I was always dragging home new furniture, re-arranging, painting, organizing. Treasure-hunting. Heck, it took me two years to find a bed frame I liked.

But now I’ve lived for three years with pictures leaning up against walls because I’m not interested enough to hang them. There is so much I could do to make this space a warmer, more expressive, more welcoming place, but all my projects are still in shopping bags.

So life is changing, and I need pantry space for some kitchen gadgets, so my heart — I mean my dishes — are going into the closet. I’ll probably never buy the five Slice of Life pieces I’m missing. If I were really practical I would sell the set, but I can’t give up that much of my former life. I guess I’m afraid to look in the mirror and see Eleanor Rigby staring back, so I pretend the dishes will somehow save me. One day I’ll have friends again, and a lovely home, and I’ll need to pull these from storage to make everything whole again. For now, though, the dishes will sit alone in the dark.