The Nervous Cook

Minestra di Ceci: The best thing I've eaten becomes the best thing I've cooked

2012-02-06T08:00:00.000-05:00

Has the Nervous Cook fallen off the face of the planet? you may well have been asking yourself lately. Well, friends, the answer is a decided (and relieved, frankly!), "No," however, she has been giving her passport a bit of a workout.

Confession time: I haven't blogged in two weeks because I was too busy eating my way through Italy. Boo hoo, right?

For seven too-short days, I was traipsing around the booted country in search of the coffee culture there: Starting in the north and making my way south, I attempted to learn everything I could about espresso in its birthplace. How it's made, how it tastes, how people drink it, what it means to the daily life of the average Italian. From Venice I made my way to Florence, leaving the Tuscan hills behind then for Rome, and finally stopping in Naples.

I drank an almost ridiculous amount of coffee. In fact, I drank so much coffee I was probably lucky no one turned me in to some local governing officials as a potential danger to myself. I drank so much coffee I was halfway delirious: It took me three solid days of traveling before I managed a night's sleep lasting longer than a half hour.

And yes, it was worth every restless, jittery, slightly-queasy-from-caffeine moment.

Naturally, I did my level best to counteract the coffee with heaps and heaps of the most delicious food I could get my grubby little American paws on. In fact, "delicious" doesn't really begin to describe it: Some of what I ate over the course of that week was the most exceptional, fresh, inspired, warming, and nourishing food I could ever have imagined.

The simplest meal (panino of garlicky spinach and mozzarella) filled me joy, the most basic of ingredients (grilled eggplant, fresh bread) were elevated by the greenest-tasting olive oil I've ever experienced. Sitting alone in an empty dining room or at the end of a busy bar, walking through the streets munching an apple from a street vendor, window shopping at the endless stream of gelaterias that dotted every city: I was in heaven, and I fell in love at first bite.

Naturally, the first thing I did when I came home was attempt to re-create the most perfect thing I ate, for the benefit of Mr. Nervous, who wasn't along for the ride this time. A twist on the traditional Roman dish minestra di ceci e pasta (chickpea soup with pasta), the following is inspired by a dish I encountered in Florence, at a vegetarian restaurant I couldn't help but visit over and over (and over) during the brief course of my stay there.

Hearty and healthy, this is honestly one of the highlights—not only of the trip, but also of my life.

Make. This. Now.

1 tbs white vinegar
1 small onion, minced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup chopped mushrooms
needles from 1 sprig rosemary, minced
salt and pepper to taste
2oz dry orichette pasta
1 cup water, plus a tad more
1 can (16.5oz) chickpeas, drained

In a medium to large stock pot, heat the vinegar over medium-low, adding the garlic and onions when it starts to sizzle. Cook until translucent (5–7 minutes), and don't worry if there are brown bits on the bottom of the pot: We'll get them later, and they'll be delicious.

Mix in the mushrooms and cook until they start to sweat, using the liquid they release to scrape the bottom of the pot clean (see?). Stir in the rosemary, salt, and pepper, being sure to coat the mushroom mixture evenly with it. Cook for 3–5 minutes, or until the rosemary becomes very fragrant, and add the dry pasta to the pot, coating it in the slurry as well.

Once everything is evenly incorporated, add the cup of water and allow it to come to a gentle boil, after which lower the heat and simmer for 6–8 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a large mixing bowl, toss the drained chickpeas with a bit more salt and pepper, and mash them into a paste with a fork. If desired, add a little water (up to 2 tbs should do it) to create a smoother texture. Once you've worked the clumps out, stir the paste into the soupy mixture, and bring everything back up to a gentle boil. Reduce heat and simmer for another 10 minutes. Serve hot, with additional sprigs of rosemary as garnish if desired.

Serves 3.

Full disclosure: I've been home fully four days and have made this twice already, enjoying the leftovers for a few days in a row, dreaming Italian dreams… Sigh.

2012-01-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

Nothing I've been cooking of eating lately is remotely as interesting as the fact that I'M GOING TO ITALY IN NINE DAYS.

By myself. And visiting four cities in just over a week's time. Despite not having any idea how far apart these cities are, or how to navigate the trains in Europe. Or how to speak the language. And being terrible at math, which makes the whole currency conversion thing just a nightmare.

Did I mention? By myself? I'm doing this all by myself?

Photo by Flickr user Moyan_Brenn

Oh dear.

I'm nervous! Excited, yes, but also nervous! I don't speak a word of Italian (unless you count espresso and pizza), and as a general rule I don't do terribly well with maps. Also, apparently it's incredible difficult to find nontouristy cafes in any of the four places I'll be focusing my time (Venice! Florence! Rome! Naples!).

Did I also mention, this is a coffee pilgrimage? This is a coffee pilgrimage. I'm going to Italy specifically to while away the hours in cafes, elbow to elbow with old men wearing tweed drinking espresso at standing bars, maybe slugging back a snappy glass of Sambuca every once in a while, taking it all in.

Which is to say: I need your help, friends and readers.

Have you been to any of these cities before, and can you recommend cafes to me? Can you also tell me where I might find exceptional gelato, delicious fresh pasta, vibrant vegetarian food, Italian-Jewish cuisine, and other locations only natives would visit?

Also also, if there are any expats-in-Italy who like to run, eat, drink coffee, or hang out with clueless visiting Americans: I am currently accepting offers of guiding, conversation, and eating on my dime. Interested? E-mail me!

2012-01-09T08:00:00.000-05:00

Are you a sweet person, or a savory person?

I know there are folks who can't live without an after-lunch cookie, or a piece of chocolate at the movies; food lovers who drool over pictures of brownies on blog recipes, and thrill at ordering dessert at restaurants. I've always so enjoyed being around people who take this kind of pleasure in the sweeter side of life, and can find joy in a scoop of ice cream or a bite of candy.

But I've recently had to come to terms with the fact that I've become a savory person.

Not that my personality is savory—I'm still selfish, thoughtless, and a total nag with a mouth like a sailor—but I'm much more drawn to savory things, to the point of actually finding sweet treats profoundly overwhelming. While all my dining companions are arguing over which cake or tart to order at the end of a meal, I'm left wishing I had a few more bites of dinner.

Don't get me wrong: I can enjoy a cookie or an incredible piece of tiramisu every once in a while. It's just that the "every once in a while" seems to get more and more occasional, and the amount of whatever dessert it is that I find myself able to eat happily becoming less and less.

My perception of "sweetness" has changed so drastically since cleaning up my diet that a little goes a really, really, really long way: Things that never even registered on the cloying scale are now completely off the charts. Dark chocolate needs to be darker; hot chai definitely needs more spice and less sugar; unsweetened soy milk is the only type I can bear; and even certain kinds of fruit are way overpowering. (Kiwi, I'm looking at you.)

Have you ever found this happening to you? Is this how people manage to eventually kick their salt habits, by cutting it out until it becomes such a rare flavor as to be amplified to the point of overwhelming even in small doses? Will I ever be a normal cake-eater again!?

Eh, if I never have another piece of cake for the rest of my life (which won't happen), I know I'll live. As long as there's another bite of dinner, anyway.

Confident eater 014: Lonely Ethiopian (but it's OK)

2012-01-06T08:00:00.000-05:00

Oklahoma City looks mighty pretty. At least it always does to me right around Christmastime, when Mr. Nervous and I go to visit his family there.

We usually fly in Christmas Eve, spend the following morning watching wee ones tear into beautiful wrapping paper with reckless abandon, and then sit down to the most perfectly casual early supper of this and that. (My sister-in-law Marci's famous ramen-and-cabbage slaw is a highlight when she hosts; this year, my niece Larissa whipped up some stunning cranberry-apple sauce and mashed-potato pie.)

But Nervous travelers can't live off holiday fare alone -- specially when over the course of the vacation one's Nervous husband come down with a case of some violent, bone-shakingly wretched 24-hour virus. Oh, the poor dear: It was truly one of the worst marathons of unpleasantness I've ever seen a human being endure.

Left to my own devices while he lay shivering sadly in bed, I needed to find something that could manage to maintain as merry and bright an outlook on life as could be managed at that particular moment. Which is why I decided I needed to eat with my hands.

Queen of Sheba, the one Ethiopian restaurant that exists within Oklahoma City proper, is my go-to fingers-as-forks destination, and it absolutely did the trick that temporarily bacheloretted Tuesday night after Christmas.

The vegetarian combo was, as always, exactly what the doctor ordered (for me, anyway -- not so much for Mr. Nervous): Lovely coffee-colored injera for sponging up wads of diblik atkilt (green beans, potatoes, zucchini, and carrots), gomen (stewed collared greens) and kik alicha (spiced yellow split peas). I couldn't have asked for anything better.

And sure, it might not be as festive to eat this type of food by oneself, but hey -- it's not especially festive to be sitting in the dark while your husband fitfully dreams and sweats his fever away, either!

Queen of Sheba
2308 N. MacArthur Blvd
Oklahoma City, OK 73127
(405) 606-8616

Food resolutions

2012-01-02T08:00:00.000-05:00

Do you make New Years resolutions?

New Year, New York. Photo by Flickr user Barry Yanowitz

I don't make "resolutions" in the traditional sense (e.g. something I want to necessarily "repair" about myself), but I do like to set little goals for the coming 12 months. In recent years these little goals have included getting over my intimidation of spinning classes at the gym (check!), reading at least 40 books a year (check!), learning to travel with far less fear (check!), and, of course, the age-old "lose weight" thing. (Whoops: double check on this one... But after being a bit too successful at this one I've managed to achieve some balance -- which was last year's biggest resolution, as a matter of fact.)

This year's no exception, and so lately I've been thinking about what I'd like to tackle over the next full rotation of the earth around the sun, at least in terms of cooking, eating, and kitchen living. There's just so much to try -- so many new-to-me flavors, techniques, cuisines -- that I can't wait to get started on these, and to share the fruits (or failures!) of my labor with you guys.

Presenting, for all you keeping score out there, click through the break for The Nervous List of 5 Things to Attempt in 2012.

1.) Sauerkraut
After reading Daniel Gritzer's persuasive piece in Food + Wine about sauerkraut (which, by the way, is one of my top 5 favorite condiments), I knew I'd have to bite the lactic-fermentation bullet and give the stuff a go myself. Except... I've yet to screw up the nerve and try it properly. Consider this cabbagey delight bumped up to "First Order of Business" standing, which happened as soon as that Times Square ball dropped.

Photo by Flickr user jypsygen

2.) Pumpernickel bread
Last year I managed to start baking my own bread thanks to Jim Lahey (and Mark Bittman) of no-knead fame. Now, however, I think it's time to get back to my Germanic roots and welcome kneading back into my life -- as well as a little bit of flavor depth, some caraway seeds, and rye flour. Unless...

3.) Frito chili pie
One of my husband's favorites from back home, this is something that's actually been showing up on a lot of menus and in a lot of magazines lately. (I'm looking at you, Saveur.) What is it? Well, it's a football-game staple in Oklahoma and Texas: A snack-size bag of Fritos torn open so that the bag becomes a kind of bowl, with a heap of hot beef chili scooped on top of the chips, and finished with cheese and chopped onions. Did somebody say Nervous Super Bowl XLVI Party? Why yes, I believe I just did!

Photo by Flickr user KittyKaht

4.) Chapati
I'm looking at you again, Saveur: A (probably deceptively simple) recipe for these little Indian flatbread beauties was one of the things that most caught my eye in this year's issue of the Saveur 100, and I can't stop thinking about how amazing it would be with a batch of ginger-spiced spinach and homemade paneer (which might also be on this year's list...). Let's hear it for more bread products in 2012!

5.) Cavatelli
When a member of the cookbook club I'm in (I know! I'm in a cookbook club! Basically the coolest thing ever!) showed us all up by bringing homemade ricotta cavatelli straight outta The Frankies Spuntino Cooking Manual, I resolved not to take the easy way out of a recipe-related potluck ever again. They were incredible little cavatelli! My favorite pasta on earth! Surely I can handle making my own pasta at least once over the next full year... right? Anything to re-create that cavatelli heaven.

Do you have kitchen resolutions? What do you hope to tackle in the coming year?

Confident Eater 013: So tiramisue me, I love booze-soaked desserts

2011-12-26T08:00:00.000-05:00

Tiramisu has long been one of my greatest weaknesses. My kryptonite, if you will, able to reduce me to a sloppy puddle of swooning girl goo with a single bite. That cream! That cocoa! Those sweet coffee-softened lady fingers! That… booze. It's just the most perfect treat ever.

Which is what makes it such a tragic shame that I haven't had a bite of the stuff in probably close to 15 years. Even worse? This abstinence has been for no real good reason.

Used to be I couldn't get enough of the stuff. My father, when he was working as a plumber, would occasionally get called on a job by the one of the kitchen directors on the QE II who, as a tip for whatever plunging and/or drain-snaking my pops had to do to get his pipes flowing free again, would present him with a completely ridiculous, industrial-kitchen size pan of frozen tiramisu. Which I would systematically devour over the course of a week. So happy, so full of lady fingers.

Maybe I burned myself out. Maybe I overdid it at some point, and had to walk away from the stuff for a while. Maybe I had finally, after the 45th serving of delicious frozen cruise-ship tiramisu, had my fill.

Whatever happened, it happened. And what was a little break turned into a 15-year hiatus from my all-time favorite dessert. Until last week.

Oh, last week. Oh, the tiramisu. Oh, Maialino.

There it was, right there on the table. The table covered, you'll notice, with various and sundry desserts: lovely little Italian cookies, sweet and cinnamony apple tart, budino di cioccolato (chocolate-croissant bread pudding OMGGGG for real). But the tiramisu, she was the star.

The star of an epic, incredible meal. A meal that included the most unbelievable cavatelli I've ever eaten, and an exceptional salt-baked sea bream. A meal that started with perfectly dressed radicchio and wrapped up with suckling pig and this and that. Who cares. I mean, I care, but WE'RE TALKING ABOUT TIRAMISU HERE.

So yes, I know it's been a while since I've shared a Confident Eater post, but there you have it: My mind has been blown, and my hiatus is more than over. My love affair with tiramisu has been rekindled.Thank you, Maialino. Thank you, Danny Meyer. Thank you, lady fingers.

I feel like my old self again.

Maialino at the Gramercy Park Hotel
2 Lexington Ave between 20th and 21st Sts, New York, NY
212-777-2410, maialinonyc.com

Tofu press: The best thing to happen since tofu

2011-12-23T08:00:00.000-05:00

When I was a kid and found myself unable to stay asleep, I would wander out into the living room at 3am and watch the Home Shopping Network until the hypnotizing gleam of one cubic zirconia necklace after another finally lulled me to dreamland.

These days, if I'm somehow still awake at 3am, I often find myself impulsively buying single-use kitchen gadgets on the Internet -- such as this tofu press, acquired at a restless hour sometime last week.

I guess some things never change.

However, unlike an endless stream of fake diamonds modeled by women with too-white teeth, this little guy has already earned a place of honor in the Nervous kitchen. Forget those stacks of heavy books, those reams of paper towels, those evenings having to plan tofu hours in advance! Now I can drain and press a block into this contraption in the morning only to come home after along day of work to a perfectly firm, dense, ready-to-marinate-in-no-time brick of proteiny deliciousness.

If you are a tofu-eater, a tofu lover, and yet either too busy or too lazy to continue building some of kind Rube Goldbergian system of books and pots to press the liquid out of your protein source, I can't endorse this simple little tool enough.

Several models of tofu press are commercially available, but after a little insomnia-fueled reading I settled on and couldn't be happier with this'rn from TofuXpress. I've already used it a slew of times, and every one has been a success. Pop a block into this beauty before heading off for work, drain it and fill it with marinade (soy sauce! balsamic vinegar! hot-pepper oil!) while walking the dog or checking e-mail or chopping vegetables for dinner, and voila: In no time and with almost no effort you've got full-infused, fully ready to stir fry or roast, perfectly firm tofu.

Seriously, what are you waiting for -- 3am? Getcherself wunna these babies and start pressing the heck outta that soy, man!

NB: This is an unsponsored post. I just like sharing things I love with you guys, because you're good enough, you're smart enough, and doggone it, I like you.

Reading and eating 2011

2011-12-19T08:00:00.000-05:00

Every year, I try to read as many book-books as possible. Last year I made it through 56; this year, sadly, it looks like I'll barely make it to 45. But so many of those 45 revolved around the delicious -- either cooking, tasting, or living among food -- that I feel nourished regardless of the smaller number. Quality, not quantity!

Photo courtesy of Flickr user OnFoot4Now.

This year, I'd like to share some of my favorite tomes with you, because reading is like eating for the brain. It fuels us, it makes us stronger, it enhances every aspect of life.

So, my dear, hungry readers, I present for your consideration The Nervous Ten, v. 2011: Books to Cook, Eat, and Live By.

Click through to enjoy, and I hope you'll share some of your favorites from the past year in the comments, as well.

Cooking Books

Veggie Burgers Every Which Way by Lukas Volger
Honestly, this is probably the recipe book I've leaned on the most this year. In fact, I try to make a new burger out of it almost every week. (I can't help it; I'm burger crazy.) Stand-outs have been a hearty -- and purple! -- beet and brown rice burger, an almost-too-easy baked-tofu patty with beans, and that essentially perfect baked falafel I'm practically obsessed with. Oh, but that falafel!

Serve Yourself: Nightly Adventures in Cooking for One by Joe Yonan
Cooking for two is hard enough sometimes (especially since Mr. Nervous isn't fond of some of my favorite foods, e.g. beets), but on those nights when I've only got myself to feed? Forget about it. Until now: Joe Yonan's totally genius, fun, and accessible book makes it perfectly reasonable to cook impressive (but not fussy) meals for those flying-solo nights. As an added bonus, it's way easier to simply double recipes when there's another mouth to feed than it is to cut them in half, so I can turn to this cooking book even when Mr. Nervous is around! We especially love Joe's cabbage and pear kimchi, and his shrimp tacos with a smoky-spicy grapefruit and black bean salsa.

Serious Eats: A Comprehensive Guide to Making and Eating Delicious Food Wherever You Are by Ed Levine and the Serious Eats Team
Am I biased because I write for Serious Eats? Okay, maybe a little. But I write for the site because I love it, and I believe that the folks behind it are some of the best eaters, thinkers, writers, and cooks working today. I mean, honestly: "15 Must-Eat Sandwiches" is a chapter straight outta my dreams. We'll never take a hungry road trip again!

Super Natural Every Day by Heidi Swanson
I don't know that there's ever been a more gorgeous cookbook released. The stories, the photographs, the simple and wholesome food: Every page in this thing is a stunner. Swanson works magic with beans, grains, kale, squash, and everything else you'll need to bring some light into this cold, dark winter.

On Cooking
Blood, Bones & Butter by Gabrielle Hamilton
Prune is, for New Yorkers of a certain ilk, the stuff of dreams. It still feels like a secret, though everybody knows how great it is. It still feels cutting-edge, though the food's as unpretentious as a plate of figs with a pot of fresh cream. It's the most romantic restaurant in the city, while simultaneously being the perfect place to take your mom for lunch. And it's got one of the best writers to come out of a kitchen in the past 20 years at its helm. You want to read this book. You'll want to eat this book. You'll want to book a plane ticket and fly to New York just to sit in the restaurant that's at the beating heart of this book. And you wouldn't be sorry if you did.

On Eating

97 Orchard: An Edible History of Five Immigrant Families in One New York Tenement by Jane Ziegelman
There's so much to love and to loathe not only about America in general, but about New York specifically. Our long national history with immigrant communities, for instance, hasn't always been roses and honey, and nothing embodies that complicated relationship more than the trials and tribulations of newly arrived families crammed into Manhattan's Lower East Side. This book details the vibrant cultures of the lands left behind, and how the foodways of our various motherlands contributed to the sloppy-delicious stew that is "American" cuisine.

Specialty Food and/or Drink
Scanwiches by Jon Chonko
One of the greatest Web discoveries of the year for me was the Scanwiches blog. As you may or may not know, I'm sandwich obsessed. Seriously. I want everything to come in sandwich form. Once, in college, I made and ate a rice sandwich -- not because I was broke, but because I thought that the only thing that could make rice better was to eat it in a sandwich. And then here comes this thing that's just absurdly sexy cross-section scans of mouthwatering sandwiches? Yes, please. Now and forever.

My Korean Deli: Risking It All for a Convenience Store by Ben Ryder Howe
Probably one of the most simultaneously heartwarmingly sweet and depressing-hysterical nonfictions I've ever read, this tale of dreaming, scheming, trying, and (spoiler alert!) failing captures is so character rich, so enchantingly ridiculous, and so New Yorky that I couldn't put it down. It's also made me want to patronize my local deli as much as humanly possible (so the guys that work there are probably wondering how one woman could possibly go through so much gum in the course of a week).

Brewed Awakening: Behind the Beers and Brewers Leading the World's Craft Brewing Revolution by Joshua M. Bernstein
Beer! Glorious beer! What else do you need to know? It's a book about beer! Read it while drinking a beer! An exceptional, hopefully local, hopefully craft beer! Such as Sixpoint's Sweet Action for you Gothamites, or Pretty Things's American Darling, for you New Englanders.

This Life Is in Your Hands: One Dream, Sixty Acres, and a Family Undone by Melissa Coleman
Note to self: Do not buy a farm. Do not relocate your family to said farm. Do not try to live off the land, because you can barely live off the selection at Whole Foods. You're just not cut out for it. But that's okay, because you know what I learned from this heartbreakingly beautiful memoir of a back-to-the-land hippie family trying to make a good go of it in the '70s? Not everybody is cut out for it.

What were some of your favorites this year? Are there any you're especially looking forward to in 2012?

Maybe don't try this at home: Bag-boiled omelet

2011-12-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

Not long ago, I saw what seemed to me the most genius thing: Ziploc-boiled omeletes on the 100% delightful blog Not Martha. The basic gist? Put a bunch of omelete-making goodies in a heavy freezer bag, crack and mix-in two eggs, rid the bag of air, seal tightly, and submerge the whole kit and kaboodle in boiling water until deliciously cooked through.

Genius, right?

Spinach + mushrooms + tomatoes + Parmesan + 2 eggs. I mean, just look at that, people!

Truly, for the omelete-challenged like me, this seemed like the perfect... well, everything. Not only could I do other things while the omelete cooked, but I could also make multiples -- with totally different ingredients! -- simultaneously, regardless of limitations like, oh, skillet size. Also, no beating necessary! No stress about making "the perfect omelete," because oh, it's a total novelty! Who doesn't love a novelty?

Of course, as is the case with most things that seem perfect, there's a catch. A big catch. Which is that... well, frankly, it's not safe to boil food in plastic bags.

Which is why I feel the need to issue this disclaimer: While I attempted this with delicious results -- two nights in a row, as a matter of fact -- I can't advocate that you attempt it, on behalf of your own health and well-being. I don't want you to get sick, I don't want you to die on account of being too lazy to make a traditional omelete (just because I am), and I certainly don't want it to be my fault.

But, you know, if you do try it? It's kind of awesome. The omeletes I enjoyed were huge and fluffy, warm and gooey, with all that awesome melty cheese in side.

One other thing was melty, though, which gives us this great pause. And that, my friends, is the bag.

Yes, the bag melted. Yes, both times. And yes, I ate the resulting eggs anyway. I'M SORRY, BUT I DID IT, I ATE THEM ANYWAY. I ate and I enjoyed them! But that doesn't mean you should. You should take melting plastic very seriously. You should avoid it at all costs. I'm just... I'm just sharing my experiences. And allowing you to come to your own conclusions. And maybe do some research, if you're so inclined.

Me? I'll just be over here. With this awesome melty omelete.

Don't judge me -- just remember me fondly if this proves to be my untimely undoing. Deal?

Assessing your molasses: Gingerbread with ganache glaze

2011-12-12T08:00:00.000-05:00

One of my all-time favorite books is a nonfiction called Dark Tide: THe Great Boston Molasses Flood of 1919, by Stephen Puleo. Yes, it really is about a molasses flood, in Boston's North End. (Which, by the way, is the home of the famous Mike's Pastry, aka I've Died and Gone to Cannoli Heaven.)

And yes, people died in that molasses. Actually, kind of a lot of people.

Of course you're thinking (as I did at first), Who can't just outrun molasses? But we're talking 2.3 million gallons of the stuff here, people: It'd be basically impossible to outrun that much of anything, let alone a huge wave of sticky, goopy mess.

But this post isn't about molasses tragedies, as fascinating as they are. (No, really, it's an incredible book: Do yourself the favor!) It's about molasses triumphs -- namely, in the form of gingerbread. Which, of course, is the true sign in any kitchen that the holiday season is officially begun.

(No Bostonians were harmed in the making of this gingerbread.)

Molasses is what gives gingerbread its unbelievably lovely shade as well as that nice little licoricey twang; cinnamon, cloves, and ground ginger add the warming snap. And this recipe, from what is probably my favorite cookbook, has an added surprised to make the cake moist and fudgey: silken tofu! The result is a perfectly moist, spicy little loaf with a tight, slightly wet crumb. Topped with a dark-chocolate ganache glaze, it was definitely the right thing to bake up as we strung the lights and hung the stockings.

(NB: Though it utilizes tofu, the recipe is not vegan on account of the butter. Vegan margarine is an option, or you could experiment with olive oil.)

From The Ethnic Vegetarian, by Angela Shelf Mears

8oz silken tofu, drained
1/2 cup molasses
1/4 cup sugar
4 TBS butter, softened
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup whole-wheat flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground cloves

Preheat oven to 350°F. Lightly grease a loaf pan with butter or oil.

In a medium bowl, mix together the tofu, sugar, butter, and molasses until smooth. (The tofu might look a little crumbly; don't worry, it will smooth out when you incorporate it to the dry ingredients.)

Sift the flours, baking soda, baking powder, and salt into a large bowl, and add the tofu mixture and spices. Stir well and pour into the loaf pan. Bake for 35 minutes, or until the top is spongey enough to puff back up when pressed gently with your finger. Allow to cool for 10 minutes in the pan, then continue cooling the loaf on a wire rack.

Makes about 12–14 gingerbread squares.

(Here's the ganache recipe that I used for the drizzle. Which, by the way, is of course the best part.)

Before drizzling the ganache

What treat starts the holiday season in your house?

Will run for food; will food for runs

2011-12-09T08:00:00.000-05:00

Some people run so they can "eat whatever they want." Some people run to stay in shape, or to achieve race goals or distance goals or speed goals. Some people run because they don't like bikes or indoor gyms or yoga mats.

Me? I run for the sunrise.

On the Manhattan Bridge, 6:27am

Okay… so maybe I also run so I can eat whatever I want. And I eat to power my runs, to say "thank you" to my body for all its fancy footwork: Toast, almonds, vegetables, tofu, fish, beans (oh beans, I love you so), muesli, jam, peanut butter, sushi, pizza, and copious cups of coffee (which I do realize has no nutritional value at all, but does wonders for my quality of life).

It's food that let's me do this:

That's me: 2353!

And it's the very thing I'm doing in that photo that has taught me to enjoy food again.

Before I started capital-R Running, I saw food as my enemy. I ran only because I had eaten something, and felt like I had to "work it off." Running was a punishment, a slog, a painful reminder that I had a let myself enjoy something I didn't think I deserved.

Now, running is my greatest pleasure, and eating is my reward for running. It's a complete win-win situation: I love running and I love food. In order to run as much as I do, I need to eat a lot, and to eat well.

Were it not for the goofy shoes and the bandana and the too-tight pants and the pink compression leg sleeves, I'm not sure I'd be as good a cook as I've turned out to be, or as adventurous an eater. Were it not for discovering a true love of running and a deep respect for my body for allowing me to do the thing that I enjoy so much, I wouldn't have overcome the food- and body-image-related obstacles I've faced, not only this past year, but for my entire life. But I do feel like I've won, largely. I've made it; I'm here on the other side more or less, eating cheese and letting myself have a piece of cake every once in a while, not stressing out about the numbers on a scale and instead just enjoying flavor and invention and presentation.

So thanks, sidewalk, for helping me get here. Thanks, sunrise, for reminding me how much bigger and more beautiful the world is than I could have ever imagined. And thanks, toast and beans and yogurt and pizza, for letting my legs do all this work. You're the best.

Sunday bun-day

2011-12-05T08:00:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I think I might actually be a breadetarian. I just love the stuff: Sourdough, rye, hearty wheat or multigrain. I like it fresh out of the oven with a smear of goat cheese, or toasted with peanut butter for breakfast. I love rolls, slices, wedges, croutons.

And oh, but do I ever loved steamed Chinese-style buns (a.k.a. bao, baozi, or mantao).

Several different Asian cuisines feature steamed bread food. In China, mantao are usually simple, light breads without filling that are eaten for breakfast or as a snack. Elsewhere, steamed bread like this is dumplingified (bao), stuffed with veggies or meats and eaten with soy sauce, chiles, and/or vinegar. Sweet versions come filled with pumpkin, custard, or bean paste.

What's not to love, right? So I decided to spend yesterday mixing, kneading, letting rest, mixing, kneading, letting rest again, and then steaming the heck out of a batch myself.

The really great thing about these little steamers is that they're super versatile. Plain, they're obviously a great addition to a casual dim sum meal at home, but they're also just bun-like enough to work as an accompaniment to anything that calls for bread, like soup or a pasta dish (I'd sub these in just about any dinner spread; they're spongy like Parker House rolls, and the wheat gives them a denser crumb than their traditional white-flour counterparts.)

Want them sweeter? Just add more sugar. Want to fill them with something? Fold something into the middle of the dough before you cut it during prep time. (Red-bean paste is one option; Nutella another. I might also try sweetened and spiced pumpkin puree for a seasonal treat, or stuff them with leftover curried vegetables.) Want to dip them in something? Heck yeah, why not. Soy sauce! Hot sauce! Deep fry them and dunk them in sweetened condensed milk! Whatever you like!

Though I know white flour is traditional, I try to eschew it in favor of the whole-wheat type whenever possible. So no, these aren't by any means "authentic" mantao, but they are pretty delicious. In fact, I'm a little surprised they're so delicious, considering I used 100% wheat flour and half expected them to come out rock-dense. No such bad luck, though!

Just before steaming.

Bonus: This is the perfect Sunday project if only because you spend about 10 minutes QT with your dough and then ignore it for another 30 while you go about your business (e.g. watching football, reading the newspaper, dreading the start of the workweek tomorrow).

Gently adapted from The Lone Vegetarian

Starter
1/4 cup whole-wheat flour
1/4 cup lukewarm water
1 tbs active dry yeast
1 tsp sugar

Dough
1/2 cup plus 2 tbs lukewarm water
1 1/2 cups whole-wheat flour
1/4 tsp salt
1 tbs sugar
1 tbs olive oil

Extras
olive oil for coating (step 2)
flour for dusting (step 3)
1/2 tsp baking powder (step 3)
parchment paper (step 3)

1. Prepare starter
In a medium mixing bowl, combine the "starter" water and flour until it becomes a gooey paste, then fold in yeast and sugar. Cover the bowl and let sit for 30 minutes, or until doubled in size.

2. Readying dough
Add the remaining flour and water, as well as salt, sugar, and 1 tbs olive oil to the starter, mixing well to incorporate, and knead it until the dough is smooth. Form it into a ball. Very lightly grease a larger mixing bowl, and roll the ball of dough around in it to coat. Then let the dough rest in the bowl, covered, until it's doubled in size again (up to an hour and a half).

3. Finishing the prep
Using your fist, punch down the dough to release built-up air. On a lightly-floured surface, spread the dough out flat and sprinkle the baking powder over it evenly; knead to incorporate. Roll the dough ball into a snake-shape about 10" long and 2" thick; slice into 8–10 buns. (Keep in mind the buns will continue to rise, so don't worry if they look "small" when you slice them -- they can as much as double while steaming). Place the sliced buns on pieces of parchment paper for easy handling, and let sit for another 30 minutes.

4. Steaming
Add 1/2" water to the bottom of a deep skillet or wok, and heat the water on high until it begins to steam; then reduce to a simmer. Place the buns on their parchment in a bamboo steamer, cover, and place the steamer in the hot water. Steam the buns for about 10–15 minutes, or until they are about twice their last-recorded size. (You may have to replenish the water as it evaporates throughout the steaming process.)

Once steamed, you can freeze the buns for up to 6 weeks in air-tight containers or sealed bags. To enjoy later, simply fire up the ol' steamer again.

Yields 8–10 buns.

A little denser than their white-flour counterparts, but the wheat flour gives them a hearty, nutty flavor.

First-ever grilled cheese. (I know, I know.)

2011-11-28T08:00:00.000-05:00

Seriously, though: Can you believe I'd never made a grilled-cheese sandwich before?

I know, they're the simplest things in the world (although people always said that about pancakes, and look where that got me for years). It's the ultimate comfort food! Bread! Butter! Cheese! How could I have resisted its siren song for so long?

Well, no more my friends. This grilled-cheese virgin has finally cleared the one hurdle that has prevented her from having a go at the darned sandwich all these years: American cheese. You just have to come to terms with the fact that a grilled-cheese sandwich made at home for your husband with a side of chips needs to comprise American cheese.

Schmear some butter on one side of 2 pieces of whatever bread you've got, lay 4 pieces of the bright-orange stuff between the non-buttered sides, and grill 'er up good and gooey. Boom. You've got pure 100% guilt-ridden-but-who-cares American comfort food. Weekends done right.

(PS: I do realize, in case you were wondering, that a "grilled" cheese doesn't need to be made on either an actual grill or, as in this case, even a grill pan. But I do so love my grill pan, and it was right there…)

How do you feel about the cheese in a grilled cheese? Is American the only way to go, or what?

Truffle shuffle

2011-11-21T08:00:00.077-05:00

Most people are a little surprised when they find out I've been a continuous subscriber to one or more Martha Stewart Omnimedia (e.g. Living, Everyday Food, and yes, even Weddings) publications since I was 13 years old. Most of the time they politely contain their confusion and curiosity, but sometimes the shock is too much for them.

"Wait," they'll say. "You? Like, when you were in middle school? You... liked Martha Stewart?"

Oh, honey. I didn't just like her. I loved her. I mean passionately, obsessively, burningly loved her. With every fiber of my (pudgy, awkward, and definitely not crafty) young being.

I still do, as a matter of fact. My heart still jumps when a new issue of one or the other MSO entity arrives in my mailbox. No, really: I run upstairs clutching it to my chest like some kind of precious treasure, and if I could take my phone off the hook for the 45 minutes it takes me to pore over every word and every photograph of the darned things I sure would. MEISTER IS HAVING ME TIME WITH MARTHA, PEOPLE. No phone calls, cancel all my appointments, leave me alone with this incredible feature about how easy it is to make perfect ganache.

I saw this article and practically melted, just like the incredibly rich, high-quality 70% dark chocolate I used to follow the instructions. The simple instructions! The instructions so simple it's incredible I've never made ganache before! The instructions so clear and concise I have no idea how anyone can think Martha Stewart is intimidating in any way!

(Okay, that last part is an untruth: Some of the stuff in these magazines is utterly bananas.)

I've never done Thanksgiving run-throughs before, but I instantly knew after drooling over this ganache situation that I had to make and bring truffles to this year's Turkey Day celebration. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't being hoodwinked somehow by the seeming ease of the process, and lo! I was not hoodwinked.

I do, however, now have a ton of extra truffles to eat before re-creating this success for Thursday. You have a few days yet: Do yourself a favor and make a double batch (one for you, one for the Turkey table).

Borrowed and gently adapted from Martha Stewart Living

4oz dark chocolate, chopped
1/2 cup heavy cream
pinch of salt
1 cup smooth peanut butter (optional)
unsweetened cocoa powder

Bring the heavy cream to a boil in a small sauce pan over medium-high heat. In the meantime, put the roughly chopped chocolate and salt in the bottom of a medium size mixing bowl. Slowly pour the hot cream over the chocolate, making sure to cover the chocolate completely. Allow to stand for 10 minutes, then mix with a whisk until completely smooth and shiny. If you'd like to use peanut butter, slowly mix it in at this point, making sure to continue whisking the mixture vigorously so it doesn't become grainy. Pour the ganache into a glass baking dish, cover, and chill in the fridge for at least 30 minutes (overnight is okay).

Using a tablespoon or melon ball, scoop the chilled ganache out and form into balls by rolling it in your palms. (If the mixture gets too soft and warm, pop it back in the fridge for 30 minutes or so). Roll the finished balls in the cocoa powder and place into tiny cupcake liners. Chill again before serving (30 minutes) and/or store in the fridge for up to 4 days.

Yields about 15 truffles.

I know what I'm most thankful for, and what I'll be celebrating on Thursday: Family, friends, food, football… and Martha.

Yeah, mostly Martha. And that's a Good Thing.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Like butter... because it is

2011-11-14T08:00:00.045-05:00

Picture this: New Jersey, 1988. Valley Road Elementary School on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Mrs. Claussen's second-grade classroom. Everybody has pushed their desks together to form a sort of amoebic circle in the center of the room. We're all wearing Pilgrim-style hats roughly fashioned out of thick black construction paper, and the smell of freshly popping corn is cutting through the air like some kind of deliciously heady, secular incense.

And we're making the butter. With our tiny, pudgy hands.

To my 7-year-old self, Mrs. Claussen was already some kind of a genius miracle worker. I don't even really know why, but boy, I just loved that woman. The way she taught us to sprout roots out of a potato! The times she let us play The Oregon Trail in the computer room! The incredible books she'd encourage us to check out of the school library!

And now she was letting us make our own butter to pour on top of that perfect, salty popcorn -- presumably to remind us what the Pilgrims had to be thankful for.

All it took was a little heavy cream in a mason jar and 20 miniature sets of hands, each one taking a turn to shake, shake, shake. All the while, to distract us from the monotony of the task, Mrs. Claussen regaled us with tales of Plymouth Rock, stalks of corn planted with fish at their roots, and giant absurd hats with huge metal buckles on them.

Before we knew it, we had butter. And popcorn, to munch while drawing outlines of our hands to turn into primitive-looking turkeys. Thanksgiving had begun.

And today, it begins again, as I re-create Mrs. Claussen's magical DIY butter trick with fresh organic cream purchased on a brisk autumn morning's walk to the farmers market. Tonight, this butter will top a freshly popped bowl of heirloom corn, sprinkled with coarse salt and cracked pepper.

There's just so much to be thankful for.

1 cup heavy cream
1 pinch salt

Pour cream into a 12oz wide-mouthed mason jar, add salt, and screw the lid on tightly. Then shake: In fact, shake like your life depends on it, for about 30 minutes.

First, you will simply see the cream thickening. Then, you will start to hear it gently thunking inside the jar as it begins to solidify. About 15–20 minutes into the process, you will start to notice a distinct difference between the body of the "butter" and the liquid that it's extruding. Once you've built up a little liquid, pour it out into a separate jar. Keep shaking, occasionally pouring off the excess buttermilk, until the finished butter is completely solidified. (Reserve the buttermilk for use in pancakes, make your own ranch dressing, try one of these recipes…)

Transfer the finished butter to a smaller jar, dish or ramekin if you'd like to shape it a bit better, and store in the refrigerator for use on toast, baked potatoes, pancakes, freshly popped popcorn, cornbread -- basically anything you'd like to make suddenly more delicious.

Yields about 5–6 TBS butter.

Butter and buttermilk, about 15 minutes into the shakerating.

Pancakes patience

2011-11-11T08:00:00.027-05:00

Longtime readers (all three of you) might occasionally be struck by the fact that the Nervous Cook is distinctly less, well, nervous than she used to be. While it might not be great for the overall conceit of this blog to realize that I've actually grown an inch of confidence in the kitchen, it is a good sign -- and hopefully an encouraging one for all the other nervous cooks out there.

But. Still.

Even though I've come a long-ish way with my culinary prowess, able to concoct whole original recipes and craft dinner menus without the assistance of a cookbook or magazine, there has until this very week been one thing I'd never managed to master.

That's right. Pancakes.

Whatever could be the matter? you might be asking yourself. Pancakes are basically the first thing anybody ever learns to cook. How could you struggle with something so simple?

The answer is: Frankly, I have no idea. But whenever I tried to sate my ongoing and all-encompassing craving for pancakes by attempting a batch at home, I walked away hungry, disappointed, downtrodden, depressed. How is it possible to burn something so thoroughly on the outside, while maintaining a gloppy, gooey, raw mess of blech in the middle?? I don't know, but that sums up every pancake I've ever made.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday was another in a long line of blue days. Days that dragged on, dragged me down, and were just a straight-up drag. On days like those, do you know what I want more than anything in the world? That's right. Pancakes. That's all I ever want when I'm feeling down and out: Fluffy, toothsome, covered-in-fruit-spread pancakes. But I never have pancakes. Partially because I can't make them myself (as we've discussed) and don't eat out very often, and partially because, well, let's face it, they're not high on the nutritional-value scale, naw'mean?

However, there are times -- such as a day after the past few total downers, for instance -- when none of that matters. When all that matters is that I can push my fork through a warm cake of floury, cinnamony goodness and chew, chew, chew, chew, chew.

When I woke up on the wrong side of the bed again yesterday morning, I knew the only thing that could possibly save the day was to finally overcome my pancake ineptitude. And, as they say and as is often thankfully true, when you put your mind to something…

So there they are, friends. My pancakes, the first ever truly edible ones I've ever made. Yes, they did make me smile, and yes, they did make me forget my troubles for a while. And that's pretty much all anybody can ever ask of lunch, wouldn't you say?

"Grape-Nerts"

2011-11-07T08:00:00.064-05:00

When I was a kid, a bowl of Grape-Nuts was the most epic breakfast I could imagine. The things were like the Chinese food of cereal: Seemed like no matter how much you eat, you're still facing down what looks like a full bowl of tooth-shattering crunch (covered in spoonful after spoonful of table sugar, natch).

Not only that, but they stayed rock-hard the whole way down to the very bottom, as if able somehow to mystically defy the laws of nature. (The very bottom being the best part, because up-ending the bowl to drink the leftover milk would bring all that precious undissolved sugar sludge up onto my tongue: A well-earned reward for the molar exercises I had to endure to get there.)

Oh, Grape-Nuts: You are one of the only things I've truly missed since cutting the vast majority of processed food out of my life two years ago. And so, as has methodically happened with other things I've missed over the course of this transition, I knew it was time to reclaim them as my own. Out of the box and into the kitchen!

After a bit of searching, I found a really simple, slightly sweetened recipe that seemed to lend itself to a bit of gentle tweaking (adding vanilla extract and, on the second bake, a healthy sprinkling of cinnamon, for instance, and cutting the sugar in half). I'm going to call the resulting deliciousness Grape-Nerts, though I realize and even concede that "Grape-Nots" is arguably the cleverer name.

(There's just something about "Nerts" that I like, okay? And hey: They're my cereal, people. I'll call 'em what I like.)

Vaguely adapted from here.

3.5 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
2 cups soy milk
1 TBS vinegar

Preheat oven to 375°F. In a large bowl, combine ingredients in order, mixing until relatively smooth. Spread the dough on a baking sheet lined with parchment and bake for 15 minutes. Remove the pan and allow to cool until you can handle the dough.

Working in batches, break up the dough and pulse in a food processor until coarse. Spread evenly onto a fresh piece of parchment on a baking sheet and put back into the oven for 30–45 minutes or until very crispy, stirring frequently to prevent burning. Allow to cool completely, and store in an air-tight container in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks.

Yields about 6 cups. (Hope your dental insurance is up-to-date.)

The fact is, these are kind of incredibly like those jaw-challenging little nuggets I so desperately loved as a kid -- right down to the fact that you actually can't hear yourself think while you're eating them, they crunch so aggressively. Sure, I might sooner eat these sprinkled on Greek yogurt than in the bottom of a pool of sugar milk these days, but darned if a bowl of Nerts doesn't bring back those cold, cinnamony, crackling childhood mornings.

Rice and beans: Still the dish of my dreams

2011-11-04T08:00:00.004-04:00

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Is there anything as perfect as rice and beans? No, seriously -- I challenge you to name a better double act.

Cookies and cream? Never enough cookie to balance out the cream. Meat and potatoes? Not for this mostly-vegetarian, thanks. Bangers and mash? I have no idea: That dish just sounds so silly (Okay, fine: I will give you peanut butter and jelly as a close runner up here. But that's the only one I'll concede.)

But then there's that classic powerhouse duo, the unstoppable team of rice and beans: The Lennon and McCartney of food.

Simply presented on their own, they're the perfect basic marriage of carbs and protein; with some dynamic spices and diced vegetables, they become a warm and comforting main dish with a little Latin flair.

And easy? You can't beat rice and beans on the easy tip. Sweat some garlic and onions; toss in diced poblanos or Bell peppers, maybe a sliced zucchini; stir in about a teaspoon each of of oregano, cumin, coriander, and ginger; crack open and up-end a can of whatever beans you like into the pot (pinto, black, kidney, whatever); salt, pepper, and hot sauce to taste; dump in some rice, and stir the slurry well.

Boom. Done. Dinner.

I know, right? You're welcome.

Hominy and me? Pretty good company

2011-10-31T08:00:00.075-04:00

Why, you might be asking right now, could one speak to a food blogger through the screen of one's computer, have you had a 29oz can of hominy in my cupboard for six months, Nervous Cook? Well, friend, I'll tell you: It's because six months ago I had pozole for the first time, and ever since then I've dreamed of making my own.

What's pozole? you might be asking. (You sure are asking a lot of questions today!) It's a pre-Colombian dish -- something between a soup and a stew, but I won't go so far as to say "stoup" -- that comprises hominy, onion, chile peppers, various herbs and seasonings, and, traditionally, pork or chicken. The version that so deeply haunted my tastebuds' dreams featured bay scallops and approximately one metric ton of cilantro, and oh, that hominy! Squishy-delicious, the chiles and the garlic and the oh man, I can't stop thinking about it even now.

So yes, I had dreamed of making my own, but not done so -- until this past Saturday. And why has it taken me six months to crack into some nixtamilized corn? Because I've been nervous, that's why!

There's something kind of intimidating about hominy, though I can't quite put my finger on what exactly it is that spooks me so about it. Could it be the fact that it looks kind of eyeballs? Or that it's kind of hard to re-create a dish that you've only eaten once but have been fantasizing about ever since? Perhaps it was because Mr. Nervous isn't particularly fond of hominy, so for better or worse I'd be responsible for eating all of it?

The point is it doesn't matter anymore, because I opened that darned can this weekend and suddenly found myself up to my elbows in hearty, spicy, filling, cilantro-tinged (and completely improvised) vegetarian pozole.

Authentic? Heck, no! Delicious? You bet. And now you too can overcome your fear of cooking with eyeballs of corn, because the finished product is so worth it on a cold, rainy autumn day.

Vegetarian pozole

1 tbs olive oil
1 yellow onion, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 red pepper, diced
1 Anaheim or poblano pepper, diced
1 chile in adobo, minced
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground coriander
salt and pepper to taste
1 tomato, diced
2 cans (16oz ea) hominy, rinsed and drained
4–6 cups water or vegetable stock
1/2 cup fresh cilantro, chopped

Heat the oil in a large, heavy pan over medium heat; add onions and garlic, cooking until transluscent (5–7 mins). Dump in the peppers and chile and cook briefly (about 3 mins) before adding the spices, stirring well to coat. Once the pot is very aromatic, add the tomato and hominy and continue to stir, warming the whole slurry through.

Add water or stock and bring to a boil (use more if you'd like a soupier soup, less if you prefer something stew-ish); reduce to a simmer and toss in the cilantro. Simmer for 10 mins and serve hot, garnished with more cilantro or pieces of tortilla chips if desired.

Even better idea: Let the soup sit in the fridge overnight so all the flavors blend.

Yields about 6 servings.

Now that I've undone my fear of hominy and uncovered a real love for the stuff, what else should I make with it? Do tell, not-nervous cooks.

Five ways to make Mr. Nervous happy

2011-10-24T08:00:00.037-04:00

1. Nonstop college football Saturdays.

2. Tequila gimlets.

3. Point out quirky vintage-related things you come across on the Internet.

4. Daydream with him about long road trips.

5. Keep him in peanut butter.

Mr. Nervous is, as you can see, relatively easy to please. All he needs is some Sooner sports on the weekends, a bottle of Rose's lime juice in the fridge at all times, and plenty of ephemera to pore over for his (charming and delightful, I might add) blog, CladriteRadio.com. But of course man cannot live on sports, booze, and the Internet alone -- he needs some sustenance. Preferably some creamy, soft, salty, peanutty sustenance.

Be it in a sandwich with honey, spread on saltine crackers, or mixed somehow with some kind of dark-but-not-too-dark chocolate, the man just loves peanut butter. As a result, I'm constantly seeking the world's perfect peanut-butter cookie, constantly bringing him home a new one I've discovered from this or that bakery. My relentlessness on this journey is almost off-putting, I take it so seriously.

And then I found out that peanut-butter cookies can actually be ridiculously easy to make at home, and we all know that no matter how good the version from Bird Bath or the Chocolate Room is (and they're both excellent), nothing comes close to homemade. It's just got more love in it.

Recipe gently adapted from this one on GoodVeg, via squidoo.com

1 cup creamy peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1 large egg
dry-roasted peanuts
coarse sea salt

Preheat oven to 350°. Mix peanut butter, sugar, and egg together well; fold peanuts into the "dough." Chill in the fridge for 10–15 minutes, then drop dough in rounded tablespoons onto a well-oiled cookie sheet. Press down with the prongs of a fork to create the traditional peanut-butter crosshatch, then lightly sprinkle the cookie tops with the salt.

Bake up to 20–25 minutes or until done to your liking (shorter if you're a soft-cookie person, longer if you like a little crunch).

Makes 10–12 cookies.

Perfect pre- or postrun quinoa "cookies"

2011-10-21T08:00:00.057-04:00

I charge my phone every night, I charge my computer when its battery is low, and now (thanks to the work I've done with my sports nutritionist) I know I have to charge myself, too, if I want to run correctly and efficiently. Literally! Every morning, before I lace up my shoes and hit the pavement, I chomp on the same thing: Half a banana and a handful of nuts, and then boom! Off and running for 10+ miles.

Well, look. I like bananas and nuts as much as the next person, but after six months of eating the same exact pre-run snack every single ding-dang day, you sometimes want to change it up, naw'mean?

Today I decided to take a few things I love (bananas! nuts!) and marry them with other things I love (quinoa! cinnamon!) for a change of morning munching pace that will hopefully change my actual morning pace, which hovers comfortably somewhere around an 8-minute mile.

And voila! A quick and easy mini pre-run treat was born: The Just-Sweet-Enough Quinoa Cookie.

(Bonus: These are actually also very good for after-run recovery, since they're both carb- and protein-packed in a lovely, semisweet little compact package. You're welcome!)

1/2 cup dry quinoa, rinsed
1 cup water
1 banana
1 tbs cinnamon
1/4 cup raw almonds, plus more for topping

Bring the quinoa and water to a swift boil in a pan; stir once and lower to a simmer until the water is completely absorbed and the grain turns translucent (about 15 mins).

In the meantime, peel and mash the banana well with a fork until it becomes almost liquid. Stir in the cinnamon and the 1/4 cup almonds. Mix in the cooked quinoa until evenly coated; chill in the refrigerator for 10–15 mins. (While the mixture is cooling, preheat the oven to 350°F.)

Using a tablespoon, form small balls with the quinoa "dough" and place them on an oiled baking sheet; press down slightly to flatten them. (They should each be about 1.5" in diameter.) Once all the cookies are laid out, gently depress a whole raw almond into the top of each one. Bake for 15–20 minutes, or until a slight crust begins to form on each. Cool on a wire rack.

Yields 10–12 "cookies."

Now get out there and burn some soles, people.

Treats, not tricks

2011-10-17T08:00:00.029-04:00

Hallowe'en is upon us faster than a zombie chasing a fresh batch of brains. (Of course by "zombie" here I mean the new breed of high-speed monsters with dead eyes and nasty snarls à la 28 Days Later, not the classic, halting voodoo-type I Walked with a Zombie zombie from all those racially charged 1930s–40s movies about wealthy white plantation owners in the Caribbean and their reanimated crop workers.)

Annnnyway…

Photo by Flickr user CarrieLu

So yes, Hallowe'en. It'll be here before we know it, and if you're smart (unlike me), you've probably already either started stocking up on candy or have at least started considering picking up a few bags. (Me? I like to wait until every shelf in every store is empty save the candy that no kid wants -- typically Mary Janes or Dum Dum lollipops. And even then I always run out within 20 minutes.)

This year, however, I've started planning early, and I don't just mean by filling up our cabinets with huge satchels of "fun size" candy bars weeks in advance. I mean by actually taking the ethics of chocolate into consideration when making my cavity-inducing selections.

My friend Carla Martin is the author of a fantastic blog called Bittersweet Notes, focusing on the politics of chocolate with a heavy emphasis on sustainability -- environmental, social, and fiscal.

In a recent post, she tackles the trick of treating: Is it possible to hand out responsible candy on Hallowe'en without breaking the sugar-crazed hearts of all the neighborhood kids? (If you're not doling out Dum Dums like I usually am, you're already one step ahead.)

As it turns out, absolutely. You don't have to be a Hershey's zombie, and according to Martin, you'd be better off avoiding the company's products: "This Halloween, Hershey’s, which commands the largest share of the US chocolate market (42.5%), stands to make over 50 million dollars in chocolate candy sales. Given the company’s long time complacency in the face of unacceptable labor practices, many consumers are consciously choosing not to purchase Hershey’s products for the trick-or-treaters who will knock on their doors."

Want to know what you pass out instead? Check out Bittersweet Notes for a comprehensive list (and price comparison!) of responsible alternatives. Your conscience will thank you. (And so will your dentist -- ethical candy still causes cavities, people…)

File under: Do we need this?

2011-10-14T08:00:00.012-04:00

You can thank the SkyMall for this little gem, which I slipped to during a recent flight from Dallas–Fort Worth back home to my beautiful, protein-ketchup-free apartment in New York City.

I mean, honestly -- do we need this? As a vegan-before-6pm type eater as well as a pretty active runner, I realize I have to work a little harder than the Average American™ to meet my protein needs, but… I mean… ketchup? Doesn't ketchup usually get squirted on, you know, things really high in protein, like hamburgers and hot dogs? (I'm a ketchup-on-my-eggs gal, though, so maybe that's naive of me. Yes, ketchup on my eggs. Don't knock it till you've tried it.)

What's your take on "protein ketchup?" Is it any worse than a protein shake, or protein pills? Am I being a fuddy-duddy here? Hit me with the truth, readers: I can take it.

Just perfect

2011-10-10T08:00:00.002-04:00

Last week, my friend Katie and I took an afternoon break and had the most incredible lunch in recent memory, at the delightful East Village restaurant Prune. (You know, that place run by the chef who wrote that book I liked so much.)

Seriously, though, the lunch was basically picture perfect: Friendly and welcoming staff shuttled deftly among tiny tables to bring us a shaved-celery salad with bleu cheese on warm toast to share, and then Katie had roasted duck breast with soft polenta and mushrooms while I devoured every salty-cheesy bite of my Greek-salad-sandwich. (Olive oil, feta cheese, kalamata olives, sliced bell pepper, creamy tzatziki sauce on toasted hearth bread. Yes, please.)

To cap the meal, we also split a plate of perfectly ripe fresh figs with an orange-zest spiked cream sauce.

I mean, come on. Are you serious with that? Look at how perfect that is.

This, however, isn't a review of Prune, which is in my opinion a restaurant that at this point doesn't need anybody telling you how great it is -- just go there already. It is, however, a meditation on what makes a meal special.

What defines a perfect food experience: Is it seasoning and kitchen technique? Creativity? Hospitality? Atmosphere? Or the perfect marriage of all those elements, which is an exceptionally difficult feat to pull off?

This particular lunch had everything in the world going for it. I was with a great friend, on a beautiful sunny fall day, we were treated with kindness by a relaxed host and server, the food was fresh and flavorful without being pretentious, and we walked away feeling perfectly satisfied. Not too full, not still hungry -- just right.

What do you think defines the ultimate food experience, and when's the last time you had one? I want to hear about the best meal you've eaten lately, and what made it such a special treat.

Can't beet these burgers (Oh, wait…)

2011-10-07T08:00:00.032-04:00

I'm pretty serious when I say I could eat a veggie burger every day of my life, and as it turns out I actually say it pretty often. I also eat veggie burgers pretty often, which is another reason I'm so glad I invested in Lukas Volger's awesome Veggie Burgers Every Which Way.

In it is a smorgasbord of healthy patties, each with its own personality. You want beans? He's gottem. Grains? Vegetables? Tofu? Sure, there all there, and so far they're all superb. I could probably pretty happily make one of these recipes every single week for a year without getting burnt out on burgers.

Most recently, I was feeling pretty beety, and so tackled Volger's freaking awesome Beet and Brown Rice burger.

Man, let me tell you: This thing has everything going for it. The burger is packed with protein (black beans!), healthy carbs (brown rice!), plenty of zing (red-wine vinegar and lovely sautéed onions!), and LOOK AT THAT THING I MEAN FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE IT'S PINK! Who doesn't want to eat something that's bright pink??

If you don't like beets (Mr. Nervous decidedly does not), you probably shouldn't make this burger. But if you do, and you like veggie burgers—and you should do both, I mean, come on—you won't be sorry you attempted these. Can't beet 'em unless you beet 'em.

Gently adapted from Veggie Burgers Every Which Way.

3 beets, scrubbed clean
4 tbs olive oil, divided
1 small red onion, finely chopped
1 tbs red-wine vinegar
1.5 cups cooked black beans
1 cup cooked brown rice
1 tbs dried parsley
salt and pepper to taste

Shred the beets using a box grater (you don't have to peel them).

Heat 2 tbs of the olive oil in a heavy, lidded pan over medium and saute the onion until softened (up to 10 mins). Add the shredded beets, stir well to incorporate the onions, and cover the pan; let cook until softened (10–15 mins). Mix in the vinegar, remove from heat, and set aside to cool enough to handle.

In a separate mixing bowl, mash the beans as smooth as possible (I use a large heavy fork, but a potato masher is obviously useful, too). Add the beet mixture, parsley, salt, and pepper, and mix well with your hands. Form patties: This yields about six, each roughly 1/2" thick.

In a heavy skillet, heat the remaining 2 tbs olive oil over medium-high heat. (You may have to work in batches, depending on your pan's size.) Place patties on skillet and listen for that delicious sizzle: You want them to form a crust to keep the mush together. Cook like this on the first side for one minute, then reduce heat to medium and warm through for about 5 minutes. Carefully flip each patty and allow to cook until it firms up and browns nicely (5–7 mins).

Serve immediately. Top with tzatziki if you want to get really fancy-delicious.

Tell me about a veggie burger you've had recently that can't be beet.