The Hungry Tiger

Snacking on tofu, baked and pressed.

That jam tart turned out kind of soggy on the bottom anyhow.

What sorts of things do you cook so that you will have them around the house for a while to snack on? I haven't made a batch of godlike lentil snacks in a while. Maybe I'll do that this weekend.

I will definitely be making more buttermilk oatmeal pancakes, which I like so much cold, with jam, for snacking that we no longer bother with eating them hot for breakfast. It's all direct to leftovers now, which is like direct to video except that it should be taken as a sign of success, not failure.

Another not very canonical snack in our refrigerator right now is these little cubes of pressed, baked tofu. Probably they make more sense as an ingredient in a stirfry or something, but I eat them all out of hand before they get a chance at the big time.

Stupid gadget confession: I really love the dense but unrubbery texture produced by the Tofu XPress. It seems goofily expensive, and I guess it is, but it sure does get the job done.

SNACK TOFU

First, press the hell out of one block of firm tofu. I put it in the Tofu Xpress for at least 24 hours. You can rig up whatever alternative pressing apparatus you like, but you'll want it to be something you can put in the fridge, so you can leave it to compress for a good long time.

A day or two later, slice the pressed block in half along the same plane as the cutting board, which is to say the largest side of the block. Then cut each half into bite-sized pieces. I do sixteenths.

Put the pieces back into the base of the Tofu Xpress or into a similarly-sized container and cover with marinade. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

MARINADE

1/4 c. ponzu or 2 T each soy sauce and lemon juice
1/4 c. sherry
1 T. mirin or a squirt of honey
1 T. sesame oil
1 T. miso
Plenty of freshly ground pepper

Dilute with warm water as needed to make sure all the tofu is covered, but try to choose a container that minimizes the amount of dilution necessary.

Bake in a single layer (a cookie sheet lined in parchment works nicely) at 375 degrees F for 25 minutes. Let cool on the pan at least until cool enough to handle, about ten minutes.

Spicy happy healthy bok choi and broth

When it is cold and dark outside, my insides want something warm. Traditionally, this means thick soups and sturdy stews and substantial braises. But sometimes, I find the pendulum swings the other way. On those days, I have been making a concoction recommended to me by my genius friend C.

Eating this makes me both warm and full. But it also makes me feel quick and light and keen, rather than like a cozy fat hamster ready to hibernate (which is a fine sensation in its place, just not always what I want).

Like this avocado and quinoa bowl, it is a magic medicinal food that tastes good, feels good while you eat it, and makes you feel good for hours afterward. Steve and I are both besotted. It is in heavy rotation. It is also practically instant to make, which I appreciate on the particularly cold, dark nights when I get home from teaching at eight-thirty or nine.

Composed salad

As the weather gets warmer, I am naturally drawn more and more to suppers that are not so much cooked as assembled. Composed salads are nice for this, as they allow plenty of range for imaginative combinations of ingredients, and have a little bit more gravitas as a main dish than a simple tossed salad does. I made this one with some leftover "vegan popcorn chicken" from Whole Foods -- sort of a shameful thing to buy, and place to buy it, but it sure is good, and the salad I made from it was really, really good. If you eat real meat, leftover roast chicken would of course work perfectly in the same kind of composition.

This dinner also reminded me to tell you that I always buy my avocados in a state of rock-hard unripeness. They will ripen just fine on your counter, and no one but you will have a chance to prod and poke and bother and bruise them as they get riper and more vulnerable. (Once they're ripe, you can move them to the fridge if they are ready too soon for you.) I think Mark Bittman wrote a "Bitten" entry about his same realization, so this is no doubt old news to you, but this habit has made my avocado eating adventures infinitely more pleasant and consistent, so I want to proselytize.

Bottom layer: a ring of delicate tender pale green lettuce, surrounding chiffonaded radicchio
On top of that: "chicken"
Then: sliced avocado
And: red onion that had been chopped and left to sit for about half an hour with vinegar and a pinch of salt
Topped with: Cilantro and serrano pepper minced together
Drizzled with: Olive oil and vinegar (the vinegar from the onion isn't enough -- you want plenty of acidic sparkle)
Plus: A sprinkling of salt and some coarsely ground black pepper.

Radicchio adds a nice bitter bite that complements the richness of the avocado and the acid of the vinegar, though I'm sure the salad would still be good without it. Chopped endive would be a good (if less colorful) substitute. If you reheat your chicken or "chicken", heap it in the center of the plate so it rests on the radicchio, wilting it slightly.

The easiest tofu

I periodically buy tofu and let it sit in the refrigerator for a long time without doing anything about it. That is stupid, but somehow everything I think sounds like a good idea to do with it feels like too much trouble when it comes down to it, or requires coconut milk that I do not have, or something of the sort.

Meanwhile, I own a copy of Deborah Madison's That Can't Be Tofu. This is probably the most inanely titled cookbook I own, though Ms. Madison is a very dependable person whose recipes have a way of sounding boring but cooking up to be delicious and very well thought out. To a certain degree I can remember these facts about her works, but the combination of tofu and that title and the lack of photographs and extended prose explaining why a given recipe is a good idea (plus the coconut milk and pain-in-the-ass factor) has meant that I haven't made much use of it.

Recently I bought a copy of Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Suppers. This has a much better title and tantalizing food photography, although it also features a very unflattering picture of the author on the cover. Fortunately this is just on the slipcover, so I removed it immediately and felt much better.

Anyway, the chapter on tofu features a but-slightly modified version of a technique featured in the former book, for glazed tofu, that I had always passed over as dull. (I should know better by now, but of course I don't.) Something about the way she presented it this time around finally caught my fancy, and I made it. This is a very simple, basic, quick, versatile, and delicious thing to do with a package of tofu. It takes about twelve minutes from carton to plate and can be combined with any number of other elements to make a wide variety of delicious meals.

You can keep the tofu fairly well as is and present it on its own little plate as reddish-gold rectangles topped with a little blob of tomato relish, or slivered scallions and red peppers, and it will be very elegant accompanied by whatever side dish or salad you like. Or you can smother it in other vegetables -- this is a fine use for reheated leftovers like the broccoli and pine nuts I used tonight. I bet it would be nice underneath some curry, especially a Thai curry, or just Thai curry paste in (ahem) coconut milk. The main point is that it tastes good and is dead simple to make even when you are dead on your feet, and I don't think I'm going to be letting my tofu purchases languish much anymore. One batch makes enough for two or three, depending on what else you serve with it.

Cheese and nut loaf

Back when I wrote about the ever-popular red lentil kibbe, I mentioned that I had a retro kind of craving for some kind of stodgy vegetarian loaf. In the comments, Wendy pointed me to what has become a fast favorite in our household, a Deborah Madison recipe for what we now call simply Loaf. We love it ardently and eat our way through one nearly every week.

Hot is just fine, but we prefer it cold, either alone or in a sandwich, topped with brown mustard. It is not pretty. I don't care. No doubt this is precisely the dish our future children will find unbelievably disgusting. Too bad for them. They can tell lurid stories about it on HyperNeuroGullet and get lots of sympathy; we will still know it is great.

I will not lie to you: Loaf is going to be a pain in the ass to make unless you're in the habit of preparing the constituent parts in quantities large enough to provide for multiple batches. There are nuts to toast and chop, mushrooms and onions to saute, rice to cook, cheese to grate (and I will also say that if ever there was a place for pre-grated cheese, this is it). But if you love it as we do, then you will know that you will be making it week after week, and so you will toast and chop several cups of nuts at once, saute mushrooms in bulk, and portion out big pots of rice into little tubs containing one and a half cups apiece.

It is also a fact that a single loaf is quite a lot of food. Two and a half slices is a hearty serving. I have made a few minor modifications to the recipe after finding out what little variations made for particularly successful iterations.

Indonesian tofu and cauliflower puree

Tonight's dinner will be spicy crispy tofu in an Indonesian style that I believe is traditionally made with cod, and a side of garlicky cheesy pureed cauliflower.

FOR THE TOFU
Get two! whole blocks of firm tofu, drain it, and cut it into 1/2" thick slices. Toss with plenty of homemade curry powder -- I'm sure the type you buy off the shelf would work fine -- lemon juice, a bit of oil, minced garlic, and minced ginger. Then it is dry-fried on a non-stick griddle until it is crispy on all sides and transferred to a plate (done in batches). Then at your leisure, take a bunch of scallions and cut into 1" pieces. Saute in oil. When they begin to get limp, add a handful of roasted peanuts. Then add the tofu and 1/4 cup water, cover, and let heat through. Serve with lemon wedges. I am hoping this will leave us with some leftovers. We'll see.

FOR THE CAULIFLOWER
Take a head of cauliflower. Remove the leaves and center stem. Steam until very tender. Grate half an onion and mince a few cloves of garlic. Saute these in some butter until they are tender but not at all brown. Add the cauliflower, a splash of milk, and about half a cup of whatever cheese you like -- I used odds and ends of mozzarella, a creamy sheep's milk cheese, and some queso fresco -- and puree the whole lot with an immersion blender. Taste and add salt and/or more cheese and butter if you think it needs it. If it's too loose for your taste, heat it until it's thicker. If it's too firm, add more milk.

Tofu salad is good for me and other living things.

Today I dragged my sorry carcass over to the local supermercado and bought some produce -- we seem to be in that tragic lull before anything is full grown enough to eat and after all the storage foods are gone. I did obtain some mushrooms, and thus was able to make a batch of this egg salad, in the version where a block of firm tofu pinch hits for the eggs.

By the way, the secrets to this egg salad are as follows:

(1) LOTS of dill.
(2) Plenty of salt and especially pepper -- be sure to taste and adjust.

Nice mayonnaise is nice, but plain old Hellmann's is just fine. As mentioned above, it can also be made with tofu if you feel like being a bit healthier, or if boiling the eggs seems like an irritating extra step; in that case I like to add a quarter-teaspoon or so of turmeric. I imagine it could be made with soy mayonnaise, too, if one happened to be vegan, though I've never had soy mayo, so I can't actually vouch for how well that would work. And if you happen to have some fresh chives around, chop them in, too.

We'll be enjoying it very much with some toasted pita bread in the morning, and for other mornings and/or lunches thereafter. I really can't get over how tasty it is, especially because I am otherwise so uninterested in egg salad and its allies. But this stuff -- yes please, and second helpings.

For tonight's dinner, I have no idea; it's awful hot in here, and I am awful lazy. We'll just have to wait and see what happens. Maybe dinner will somehow arise as an emergent property of the dynamic network with inputs me and torpor.

Tofu, green beans, and $15

Today I reached a point where it was very clear that No More Work Was Going to Be Done, so I went on a spree of provisioning instead. I put up a jar of what will become preserved lemons (packed with salt and lemon juice, left in a cool place, shaken every day for a week or two or more), made a strata for our breakfasts for the rest of the week, and went shopping at the local "Oriental Super Market," as the nearby Asian market calls itself. I managed to get quite a lot of stuff for $15, which made me feel productive in this small way, if not with regard to my actual work. For the small sum of money in my wallet, I got:

2 cans "mock duck" wheat gluten
2 blocks fresh tofu
1 package dried shiitake mushrooms
1 bunch chinese broccoli
1 head cauliflower
1 bunch radishes
1 large package of green beans
1 bunch cilantro
1 bunch green onions
6 heads of garlic


That should keep us for a little while. I used the tofu right away, as you can see. Fresh tofu is good. It is creamy and custardy on the inside in a way that the sealed tubs of stuff never manage to be, and good golly, is it cheap. I think I paid thirty-five cents for each block, each of which fed one person very handsomely, in combination with a modest selection of vegetables.

This tofu dish involved dredging the drained and sliced tofu with homemade curry powder and lime juice, then pan-frying it and draining it on a paper bag. While the tofu sat on the counter, I sauteed a sliced onion, a few cloves of minced garlic, some grated ginger, red pepper flakes, and cumin seeds in a bit of fresh olive oil. After a minute, I added the green beans, then after a minute more, tossed in some salt and half a cup of water. Then the lid went on until the beans were almost ready. Lid off again, I added the tofu and some canned diced tomatoes and heated everything through. We scarfed it all up with some little cakes made of leftover baked sweet potato, and I felt frugal and decadent all at once.

Experiments in gluten

I have long been fond of the Buddhist-style mock meats made of wheat gluten, and our local Vietnamese restaurant serves a black pepper gluten that is one of my favorite things. We've had good luck with the stuff you get in a can at the Asian market, often labeled "mock duck," but I wanted to experiment, and I have a jar of gluten flour around for baking purposes anyway, so I thought I'd give it a try. The first time I did, it was okay. Kneading the dough was fun, and it came out looking remarkably like the seitan you buy in a package at the whole-foods shop. Unfortunately, it was also squeaky-rubbery like the seitan you buy in a packet. I wanted to try for something else.

Here's what I did: I mixed together a quarter cup of water, a dash of soy sauce, a drizzle of sesame oil, a splash of rice wine, a little salt, and a little cocoa for color. Then I added a quarter cup of gluten, and mixed quickly with a fork. I kneaded it quite lightly and let it rest a few minutes. Then I dumped it out on the counter and dimpled it all over with my fingertips until it was about half an inch thick.

Then, into the frying pan it went. After both sides were browned, I added some water, a clove of garlic, another splash of rice wine, and covered it up for about half an hour or forty minutes of braising. I checked on the water level every ten minutes or so, topping it up when necessary. It absorbed quite a bit of liquid at first, and then settled down. At the end of the braising, I took off the lid and cooked down the liquid to a nice pan sauce.

I sliced this into thin little strips and it was cripy on the outside and tender and juicy within. We had it in an okonomiyaki, and it was very nice, though the strips I pinched and ate on their own were tastier yet, unobscured by all the other stuff.

This can too be tofu.

I think a lot of non-vegetarians think that "vegetarian food" consists mainly of dry, bitter tempeh or naked whey-colored chunks of tofu. At our house, though, we hardly ever eat tofu, and that's just fine with me.

But lately I'd been thinking that I ought to get just a little more familiar with what I could do with it. Making dinners that aren't chock full of blood-sugar-spiking things has led me to rely a little more on eggs than probably I ought to, and the natural way to avoid that would be by way of that good old classic soy staple. I often enjoy it in restaurants, but at home I find it uninspiring. What to do with that block of white stuff?

Then I remembered that when I first got Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, a gift, I'd leafed through it and thought, "Boy, there isn't much in here that makes me want to leap up and cook it." It seemed boring. Really boring. But then eventually I tried a recipe or two and began to discover that the secret to that cookbook is that everything in it works. It's not showy -- but then since when did I want that, anyhow? It may not sound fantastic, but it tastes fantastic, which is of course the point. So now I tend to use Vegetarian Cooking reflexively -- I say, "Huh, I have some X and some Y, I wonder what I could do with that combination?" and see what Deborah Madison has to say about it.

A while ago I'd noticed that Madison had written a small cookbook about tofu. It didn't appeal to me. It was called, of all things, "This Can't Be Tofu!" Yikes. And the recipes didn't grab me. But then I remembered my experience with the other cookbook... right, you get the drift. And so I've slowly, slowly started experimenting, and liked the results. The first try was "Stir-fried Spicy Tofu and Cod with Scallions and Peanuts," only without the cod (naturally). I liked it very much and it made S. downright excited. "It's so pretty! It's so tasty! Tofu!" So I guess that was a success.

(The side dish you see up there is sweet potatoes with sesame oil and ginger.)

Ganmodoki and the art of emergency preparedness

When I started writing this, the weather was insanely beautiful, in the mid-70s, sunny, clear, dry. That is all taking care of itself with the imminent arrival of Hurricane Isabel. The storm path is no longer scheduled to go right over us, but given Pepco's great track record with our last, totally un-hurricane-related storm, we've stocked up on supplies in case of a relatively extended blackout. Fortunately we have a gas stove, so it's much less likely that we'll be unable to heat things. But our morning coffee could be in danger if I don't pregrind some beans, as I discovered much to my dismay last time.

Time to cook ahead! I made a lovely batch of ganmodoki, little golden fritters of tofu and vegetables. (In parts of Japan, they are apparently called hirousu instead.) They are about the cutest things ever, and if I could remember where the USB cord for our camera went, I would show you. They are good hot or at room temperature, and they go into a number of nice-sounding simmered dishes, so it seemed like a sound choice. I was ever so pleased with how they came out.

Here's how I made them:

10 oz. fresh tofu (not silken)
2 carrots
3 dried shitake mushrooms
1 egg
1 tsp. salt
Olive oil (or other vegetable oil) for pan frying.

Wrap the tofu in a clean, dry kitchen towel for 30 minutes, to wick away the extra moisture. Meanwhile, put the shitake mushrooms in warm water to soak for about 20 minutes. Unwrap the tofu and wrap it in a new clean, dry cloth. Wring it out to remove as much moisture as possible. (It's okay to crush it.) Drain the mushrooms. Remove any hard stems and snip the hydrated caps into tiny pieces with scissors. Peel and grate the carrots. Lightly beat the egg.

Transfer the tofu to a bowl. Mash it up and knead it until it coheres. Add the other ingredients and knead again, until it holds its shape if you press it into a patty. Divide into 12 parts. Roll into balls and flatten slightly between your hands to make patties.

Heat half an inch of oil to about 350° in a frying pan. Fry the patties in batches, being careful not to overcrowd the pan. Fry to a crisp golden brown, about a minute and a half on each side. Transfer to a plate lined with paper towels or brown paper bags to drain.

Good plain hot or cold, with dipping sauce, or simmered in a light stock or thicker sauce. Savory, proteiny, light, and tasty!

Better than takeout, a "duck" stirfy, over rice

Today I made a pseudo-Asian pseudo-stirfry thing I want to remember, though the notes below will be useful to no one but me, and will probably sound nasty, to boot. But that's just the kind of crazy wild thing I gotta do sometimes, baby.

PUT THAT STUFF IN A POT AND COOK IT
bitter greens
"duck"
spinach
plenty of scallions, cut in 1" pieces
a couple of cloves of garlic, sliced
olive oil for sautéeing in

FOR SAUCE, ADD
water or broth
soy sauce
brown sugar
splash of vinegar
lots of black pepper
ginger
dried lemongrass
arrowroot dissolved in water

Tofu and other things

I am all giddy with the excitement of contemplating my syllabus for next semester -- it will be the first semester after I've paid my debt to society in sections of Freshman comp, which is most thrilling. You will hear more about this, without a doubt. Tonight we are having delicious pho, with the broth I made last weekend. In this context, I have discovered the shocking fact that if you fry up your tofu at home in some nice hot oil, it magically comes out just like the fried tofu one encounters at all the lovely Asian food huts. Will wonders never cease?

It comes out toasty!

Vegetarian pho redux

My second attempt at pho was a big success, flavorful and perfectly pho-like and inspiring widespread sentiments of health and wellbeing. It wasn't difficult, but given the substantial difference between this batch and the last one, some attention to detail is obviously called for. The write-up below is thus annotated especially to help highlight potential pitfalls.

In preparation, not on the day when we actually put the pho together, I made the broth. First I made a nice pot of vegetable stock according to my usual method. Then I strained it and put it back into the pot along with a tablespoon of soy sauce; a 1" piece of fresh ginger that I had roasted under the broiler for about 3 minutes, until it started to char; 5 fat cloves of garlic, roughly chopped; 2 cinnamon sticks; 3 star anise pods; about a teaspoon of cloves; and an onion cut in quarters. I simmered this for about 25 minutes and then strained it. I added the juice of one Meyer lemon, because I had some around that I had brought home from Berkeley. Important note: At this point, the broth should taste too strong -- after all, its flavor is going to be diluted by all the other things that go into the bowl.

My shopping list for ingredients that went into the pho:

Thin rice noodles
Broccoli
Carrots
Onion
Cabbage
Seasoned crispy tofu
Peanuts
Cilantro
Fresh basil
Big crunchy bean sprouts
Lime
Plum sauce
Chili-garlic sauce

The peanuts and cilantro (chopped), basil (torn), and bean sprouts go on top of the soup right before it is served, along with a good squeeze of lime juice. Plum sauce and chili sauce are added at the table. The rest goes into the bowl before you pour the hot broth over. I think it is nice to lightly steam the broccoli and carrots, and then to toss the onion and tofu into the steamer for just a few seconds to warm them through. The heat of the broth will cook the cabbage plenty.

Important note #2: One of the things that was sub-optimal last time was my failure to arrange things so that the assembled pho was sufficiently hot. The noodles get cooked by a soak in hot water, and are then rinsed in cold water--I think it is nice to use lukewarm water at the end, so there is nothing too cold to make your soup tepid. Similarly, it makes sense to steam the vegetables only after you have already brought your broth up to a simmer, so they don't get cold while you do other things.

About streamlining the process: Because we went out directly after dinner last night, the kitchen is now a wreck. Making pho is not a tidy and contained process, though the cleanup is actually fairly un-onerous: there's nothing sticky or baked-on or otherwise tenacious. And though the ingredient list is long, and you have to interact with a lot of different parts to the recipe, it's all pretty straightforward, as long as you take care of the broth ahead of time. In fact, you can do almost everything ahead of time, which would make this a fine party food, and also allow you to avoid the kitchen explosion effect. I think I will try to enact this strategy more fully the next time I make it.