Eating Crespelle in time for Pancake Day

Every year since Meals with Morri began, I’ve missed two extremely important days of the year. More often than not, it would be a day later when everyone shares their take on the celebrations, and more often than not, I’d curse loudly.

But I was determined this year. I finally made it, and it came out beautifully. Finally, I was able to celebrate Mardi Gras, also known as Pancake Day!

As a kid, I didn’t eat pancakes as a way to indulge before Lent. I usually wore green, gold, and purple plastic beads and masks at school, and ate King Cake at home. Beyond that, it was just a fun way to mark the forty days before Easter. But with a food blog, I was more focused on pancakes.

There are two days that specifically celebrate pancakes during the year (as if you’d need a reason): Mardi Gras, or Shrove Tuesday, which falls on various dates depending on the year, and National Pancake Day (U.S.), which falls on September 26th. The former was historically to use up all of the indulgent ingredients before fasting. The latter is widely celebrated but is informal, kind of like someone saying:

“Hey man, we should get, like, as many people as possible to eat pancakes today.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”

I’m celebrating pancakes today. And upon further speculation, I realize Meals with Morri needs more pancake recipes.

Every country seems to take a different spin of what a pancake is. CK is a firm believer that pancakes and crêpes are different food dishes, and will often jokingly sigh and say, “They say pancakes, but they mean crêpes.” Personally, I think they are related: both are a flat griddled cake that varies in thinness, although he is technically right. Culinarily speaking, there is a difference between the two, and how they are eaten varies. Pancakes, thin or thick, are typically laid flat and eaten with toppings whatever ingredients you can think of. They also can have additional flavors added to the batter. Crêpes, however, can and do have toppings, but they also have fillings and are either folded or wrapped to accommodate them. Other than spices, adding anything remotely lumpy to crêpe batter will lead to a lumpy crêpe. And that's no buono.

But to celebrate being in Italy, I’ve included crêpes as part of Pancake Day. Why? Because, to me, pancakes and crêpes are family, and each country makes the dish its own unique way. Italians call their version crespelle. They appear to have the same ratio of ingredients as the French crêpe, but they have a multitude of uses I wouldn’t think to incorporate for recipes. They are baked, used much like lasagna noodles. They are cut up into slivers and put in soups. But they are also used like I have seen them prepared: filled and topped with amazing combinations. 

It's wonderful.

I’ve made crêpes twice before now, but this was a dish that CK believed I’d outdone myself with. The batter was perfectly thin and the crespelle themselves were easily flipped. There were no modifications I wanted to make on the flavor. He was right: we could do a lot of different things with this crespelle recipe. And believe me, we will.

I even made a video on my YouTube channel to show you how to make it!

I modified Manuela Zangara’s recipe for crespelle, which can be found on her food blog Manu’s Menu. The filling was the result of my asking a few of my Italian friends what fillings I should use, and someone replied by saying radicchio and cheese. Thus, radicchio and cheese.

Happy Mardi Gras (and Pancake Day), everyone! 

Crespelle with Radicchio and Gorgonzola Piccante

For the crespelle
350 ml milk
2 eggs
75 g buckwheat flour
90 g rice flour
30 ml melted butter
1 pinch salt

For the filling
1 Small red onion, finely diced
1 Garlic clove, finely chopped
1 head of Radicchio longo*, thinly sliced
200 g Gorgonzola Piccante**
100 g Mascarpone
15 g butter
1 tbsp. (10 g) Rice flour

Seasoned red sauce, hot, for topping***

Heat a batch of red sauce on low heat in a saucepan, and either keep warm or set aside for later.
In a medium bowl or pitcher, combine the egg and milk to form a mixture, followed by the dry ingredients and melted butter.
Set it aside for ten to fifteen minutes.
In either a crêpe pan or a large, flat sauté pan (I used a no chemical non-stick pan), melt a small piece of butter or a drizzle of olive oil on medium heat.
When the pan is ready, lift and tilt the pan sideways.
Use a ladle to pour the batter on the lowest side and swirl until the batter covers the bottom completely.
Let the crespella (sing. for crespelle) cook until the surface dries, and then flip to cook the other side for another thirty seconds or so.
Repeat the process until all of the batter has been used up, and set aside to be used immediately or stored for future meals.
Put another sauté pan (or the pan you used to make the crespelle) on medium heat, and lightly drizzle with oil.
Follow with the garlic, onion, and radicchio; cook until soft, and set aside.
Lastly, put the cheeses and butter in a small saucepan on medium-high heat, either directly over the stovetop or with a double boiler; once melted and thoroughly mixed, slowly add the rice flour.
Bring together the ingredients, the radicchio and melted cheese as a filling, and fold the crespelle to your preferred style and shape.
Top with the warm red sauce and serve hot.

Makes 8 crespelle.

*Radicchio comes in a few different varieties, but you will mostly find what are referred to as long (like Belgian Endive) or as a head (like a small cabbage) in your local market.
**Any semi-soft blue cheese would work in this recipe.
***Red sauce = tomato sauce.

(Completely unrelated, but there are apparently parts of Russia where it’s not Pancake Day, it’s Pancake Week. Seriously, why are we not doing this?)

Combining Passions and Kissing Self-Censorship Goodbye

In two weeks I will be celebrating Meals with Morri’s 3rd Anniversary. Three years of recipes, change, and growth under the “delicious, nutritious, and gluten free” banner.

But that’s the thing: it isn’t simply about being a gluten free blogger anymore.

With the start of grad school and deciding to live in Malta to gain experience in the sustainable development field, I’ve noticed, with disdain I might add, how little blogging I’ve actually been doing since, well, life happened. And it’s not that I don’t cook. I do. And it’s not that I don’t have anything to say. I do, and do so quite loudly. But so much change as left me overwhelmed and depressed at times, and the last thing I want to do is resent my passions by feeling obligated.

As the three-year mark looms closer, I realized I’d been censoring myself on this site. Why? Because gods forbid I make someone uncomfortable with what I write. Gods forbid someone among the thousands of readers who read and test my recipes get so upset that they stop reading Meals with Morri forever. All my life, everyone’s opinions of me mattered and I would harshly internalize when I did or said something ‘wrong’.

I promise you, this rant has a point.

I’ve kept my activism and Meals with Morri aspect separate, when in reality it was through blogging during my studies in conflict resolution that kick-started my passions and what I wanted to do with my career. Through blogging, I learned about sustainable development, climate change, responsible agricultural practices, holistic health, public policy, food politics, yoga, rock climbing, positive body image, and more. Suddenly, the idea of bringing food into my conflict resolution practice didn’t seem so ridiculous.

Which brings me back to my self-censorship. At one point early on in my blogging career, I actually went back and softened up certain words or phrases that seemed ‘critical’ (I stopped using the word ‘hate’ at some point). I wasn’t spouting hatred and “I’m right, you’re wrong” nonsense; I was simply offering my critical opinion of where I stood.

So with the three-year mark coming up, I began to ask what I had to show for it. I have almost reached 100,000 pageviews and seen all over the world with 231 blog posts, and am planning new pages that emphasize my passions. I have a series of ideas in how to broaden my horizons (within and outside the MWM boundaries), which includes: foodie videos, getting published on other sites, reflections on activism, and interviews with compassionate individuals in various fields.

Qarabaghli mimli fil-forn (Maltese translation: Stuffed Courgettes; inspired recipe here) 

4 Large marrows (roughly 1 Kg or 2 lbs.)
1 Large red onion
1 Garlic clove
2 Dried Bay leaves
2 Large tomatoes
2 tbsp. Tomato paste
300 g Ricotta*
2 Large eggs**
4 tbsp. Grated Parmesan cheese or Kefalotyri***
Olive oil
Fine grain white corn polenta
Sea salt
Cracked pepper

Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F, and lightly coat the baking dish with olive oil.
Cut the marrows lengthwise in half and scoop out the insides with a teaspoon.****
On either side of the marrow, coat with the olive oil that was used in lining the dish pan.
Fry the onion, garlic, bay leaves, and tomatoes in some olive oil until soft, followed by the tomato paste to cook for a further few minutes. (Be sure to remove the bay leaves!)
Add in the ricotta and mix thoroughly, allowing it to cool slightly before adding the eggs.
Season to taste preference (although the cheese was salty enough for me).
Fill the marrow halves with the cheese-veggie mixture and then lightly sprinkle with the polenta (roughly 1/4 tsp. per marrow) followed by the grated cheese.
Bake for about 45 minutes until the marrows have softened and the mixture has firmed and slightly browned on top.
Serve hot (although delicious cold) on top of potatoes, rice, beans, or whatever you’re craving.

Makes 8 stuffed marrows. Servings vary depend on meal type.

Vegan Options include: *300 g drained and mashed (although not smooth) cooked black beans; ** 2 Flax eggs; *** 4 tbsp. Nutritional yeast

**** The recipe called for using the pulp, but I found that I really didn’t have the space for it in the recipe. Since this recipe is apparently great with baked MDP’s, I suggest finely chopping the pulp and sauteing it with potatoes along with onion and garlic. Also, to keep the halves upright, I sliced a small sliver from the outside.

My Almost Vegetarian Moment in Making Stuffat Tal-Fenek (Rabbit Stew)

I still can’t get over the fact that I’m living on my own and by myself. No parents. No Significant Other. No cats. No plants. Every day I come home and it’s just me to look forward to.

For the last month, I have had to deal with a lot of things. While Skyping and connecting with people online or in person, I have struggled with learning to live with myself. It has been both exhilarating and painful, but I’m starting to see my value and honor who I am as a person. It’s sad that I had to move halfway across the world to finally get to this point, but there you have it.

But then you split them into three categories: emotional, mental, and physical. It’s the mental part of the struggles I wish to share a story with you.

Now, everyone who knows me personally is aware that I am fond of rabbits (see photo to your left for proof). As a child, I grew up with rabbit toys I could put into my pockets or cuddle up with at night. Even the live-in nanny I remember the most had a rabbit for a while. In high school, I had this doodle I made called Super Bunny whenever I wrote in yearbooks or drew in class. Besides having kitties as part of the family, I sincerely hope I get the chance to give a rabbit a loving home when I have the ability to do so.

But here’s the thing: I also enjoy rabbit as a protein source. Rabbit is practically all white meat and the industry of producing rabbit for eating isn’t as industrialized as the others (chicken, beef, pork, etc.). In Malta, it’s a very small farmer sort of deal. For one thing, there just isn’t the space to have a lot of animals on any given farm, and for another, rabbit seems to be only available by demand. You don’t have factory-like conditions for slaughter. You just have single families making ends meet.

For weeks after I came to the island, I was so excited to make stuffat tal-fenek, or the traditional rabbit stew of Malta. But every time I went to the store and inquired about getting a rabbit, they were always out. By chance I went to the Lidl by my work and found the butcher nearby to be open (I still haven’t perfected when stores are actually open… there really isn’t a specific time or day). I walked in to find two young boys and their father behind the counter. The man looks like the stereotypical local butcher: tall, big (like a bear or an ox), muscular, and very friendly. I briefly looked around and asked about rabbit, and he said he had some on hand. Ecstatic and not really observant, I purchased one, and he cut up the carcass while I played peek-a-boo with his little boys (two and four) who were giggling behind the counter.

The rabbit was put into the freezer and saved for a day when I wanted to make it. It wasn’t necessarily labor intensive, merely time consuming. I opened the bag and marinated the thawing rabbit in red wine, garlic, salt and pepper. Again, I didn’t really pay attention or think anything was amiss, and did other things while the meat soaked up the liquid.

After eight hours (I should have done longer like the recipe stated, as the meat was still a little dry for my taste), I cut up the veggies and heated up my large pan to brown the meat. I drooled at the lovely smells of searing meat with the tantalizing aromas of the wine and garlic as I placed them one by one in the pan. And that’s when I realized I should have paid more attention to what the butcher put into the bag instead of letting excitement blur my observations.

He gave me the head.

I stared at the pan for a brief moment in absolute horror, resisting the urge to have the infamously comical “Eek! A mouse/spider!” moment. I looked at the glazed look of the long dead eyes, the teeth with the little tongue lolling to the side, and feeling my stomach turn as I considered the possibility of the brain still intact. And I was still dealing with what I thought was the ears. 

(source)

Yup... definitely ears.

Maybe if I had paid more attention and was aware of the head being included as part of my purchase, I wouldn’t have freaked out or almost lost my appetite. But I wasn’t and I  pretty much did. I was suddenly faced with a borderline-vegetarian experience. That head put a face to the meat I was consuming. It wasn’t just a nameless protein source, but once a living thing with a cute twitching nose, floppy ears, and my one of my favorite animals on the planet. A complete being had been in my freezer for a couple of weeks and I hadn’t known.

This is probably the first time I experienced cognitive dissonance so powerfully. I couldn’t handle having a head browning on the pan and threw it away, its eyes looking up at me from the garbage like a horrible zombie nightmare. Then the idea of having a head in my trashcan was even worse, and so I put it out on the curb and went back inside to resume cooking my now faceless meat. As I put the now browned meat, veggies, and the rest of the marinade in a large pot (note: Maltese recipes tend to make copious amounts of anything), my appetite was practically gone. The tantalizing smells were now nauseating. I felt guilty for how easy it was to simply throw away what made me feel so uncomfortable.

Luckily, I had CK and our mutual friends were online and talking on our group conversation via Skype.

Me: So... I'm strongly strongly considering vegetarianism.
CK: Why?
Me: It's because of this stew I'm making. Rabbit stew. The butcher left the head and I didn't realize it. It... startled me.
CK: Eeew.
Me: Yeah... I don't know if it was due to putting cute fluffy thing and dead thing to eat together or that I was legitimately startled by it. I think I'm experiencing cognitive dissonance...
CK [forever the teacher]: Learning is going to happen!
Me: I actually feel the struggle of turning the rabbit into a faceless chunk of meat now…
CK: I'm sorry.
Me: … that I threw away its head because it made me uncomfortable. This is... so new.
CK: Still doing the stew?
Me: Yes. I'm just feeling reflective. And besides, that would be wasteful… and it smells yummy. But it still affected me in a way I've never felt before. I mean, I've seen meat with the faces. I have. In freezers, and when Uncle R roasts a whole pig. But for some reason, this time it affected me. I am more grateful.
CK: *nod*
JS: It may have rattled you because you weren't prepared for it, like you were with the pig roast. You knew that was coming.
Me: yeah...

Later, after much reflection:

Me: Am I a bad person for choosing to eat meat even though I had this realization?
CK: What do you think?
Me: No. I'm not a bad person. [Sudden realization] CK, the reason why I don't eat meat while we visit one another is because I don't -need- to eat it. I enjoy it from time to time, and I can go without it. It's like you and eating gluten free... it's real food regardless. But I'm starting to see that meat was once a living creature with a gender and a life.
CK: I've never thought ill of you for eating meat, Love.
Me: I know that. I'm just worried about thinking ill of myself, which I'm not.
CK: Just be sure that, whatever choice you make, you do it because it is what feels right to you.
Me: Of course, CK. I'd only make a decision like that -only- because it's for the betterment of how I live my life.

The truth is, at this moment I don’t feel the need to go vegetarian completely because it’s so rare for me to eat meat unless I have leftovers. After my experience, I still ate the leftover chicken I had in the fridge. I still heated up the stuffat tal-fenek after a chilly walk home to warm my core with. I still have milk with coffee. I still use eggs in my pancakes. I still add honey to my tea. When CK and I are together, we make vegetarian and gluten free delights because making the foods we love is a way to connect. When we go out to eat, sometimes the only thing I can eat has meat whereas his only option is gluten and/or soy. We don’t think less of each other for it, and it makes enjoying the foods we can eat together that much more special.

But I get it. I do. I understand that there are a number of studies that try to prove that their diet is The Right Diet. I understand why it’s important to know where your food comes from, whether it’s from an animal or from the ground. I also understand this awareness is starting to alter how we look and feel about what we’re eating. There was a passage I read from Jaclyn Bauer’s (2014) “Marshmallow Dilemma: A Vegetarian’s Argument for Realistic Expectations” that really helped me deal with it:

“In the end, I told her everything only mattered as much as she believed it to matter and cared to think that it did. It is of the utmost importance to establish within your own mind your ideologies and morals, but it is equally vital to be flexible to the extent that you don’t drive yourself crazy and make yourself miserable on account of some external thought, idea or action.

Hold on to who you are, but let yourself transform with the passage of time instead of hanging on desperately to one idea you once held on to.”

My concern with going vegan is turning it into a form of control of my diet, and further restricting nutrients and making it a form of disordered eating. With orthorexia just behind me, it has been a slow but steady process from removing ‘good’ and ‘bad’ as labels for food and simply honoring what my body needs. And I know there are many practices out there that are absolutely terrible in regards to raising, maintaining, and slaughtering animals for sustenance. I’ve seen the pamphlets. I’ve read Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle. But it doesn’t necessarily make me want to become 100% vegetarian/vegan, although I respect and honor those that do take that path. If anything, it wants me to help create a better environment for animals that happen to be used for food: less process, more compassion, and with human caretakers that treat them with dignity and respect. Those photos and videos simply show what cruelty humanity is capable of, and how important it is to create localized farming movements and dispatch factory farming practices. It makes me want to show the importance of quality farming practices, perhaps basing the sales by orders and need instead of killing in mass quantities to maintain uniformity and expected waste or loss. 

And it also depends on what you grew up with. Family pets in certain places are part of the cuisine in others. Some people see animals as part of the labor force or as nourishment, and some see animals with the same rights we have.

Perhaps it’s only typical in the United States, but I don’t think the average person thinks of the cow that became the hamburger, or the countless chickens used for spicy chicken wings. And to be fair, we don’t ask what goes into our fruits and veggies either. But something shifted in my awareness, because everything I’ll ever eat from this point on had a path before it ended up on my plate. It had roots. It had a face. It lived. It died.

And for what went into this dish, animal and plant alike, I am grateful for the sacrifice in nourishing me.

Stuffat Tal-Fenek (adapted from this recipe) 

1 rabbit, (approx 1.5kg, cut in small portions)*
Sea salt and freshly
500ml red wine
1 tsp. olive oil
4 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
2 Red onions, finely chopped
1 790 g can/5 large tomatoes, finely diced
2 tsp. kunserva (tomato paste)
5 potatoes, cut into small (1 cm) cubes**
3 carrots, coarsely chopped
200 g peas, fresh or frozen
6 bay leaves
Pinch mixed herbs***
Marinate the rabbit eight hours to overnight in the red wine, garlic, salt and pepper in the fridge.****

In a large pot, heat the olive oil, and add the rabbit until slightly brown.
Add the onions, carrots, potatoes and the tomatoes, and pour half of the marinade on the ingredients.
Bring to boil on a high flame for about 15 minutes
Add the remaining wine, peas, bay leaves, kidney and liver and simmer on low heat for about 2 hours, stir occasionally and add some more wine if the sauce begins to dry up.
Serve hot with grated Parmesan cheese.

Makes 6 - 8 Servings.

* Mind the head and organs. While the head startled me, I was excited to have organ meat (such as the heart and liver) since they are so high in nutrients.
** Naturally Maltese Derbies. The original recipe called for peeled and quartered potatoes. While it depends on my mood how big I want the potatoes to be, I hardly ever peel potatoes (unless I’m making gnocchi). I’m of the personal opinion that the peel is the best part.
*** Mixed herbs: parsley, rosemary, thyme, mint, basil, oregano, marjoram, pepper husk
**** I would recommend marinating the meat for at least 12 hours or more. Since rabbit meat is so lean, it can be on the dry side. 

When [He's] in Rome

Long distance relationships are hard. It takes a lot of effort to keep one going while separated, but it is doable. And with the right person, it’s worth it.

In our second stretch of time that we’ve been apart, we’ve really made the effort to show that the relationship is important to us. We Skype almost every day: talking about how our day went, complete with its triumphs and grievances. The important thing in any relationship is keeping the line of communication open, but it’s absolutely fascinating how many couples tend to forget that.

The other thing we do during our talks is watch Babylon 5 episodes at the same time together. He got me hooked on the series when he was visiting over the summer, and it is an activity that helps us feel connected despite his being 4500 miles away. We’ll watch one, at most three, and I’ll hear him giggle at my expressions.

(My Can't-Look-Away Expression)

(My Season Finale Expression)

Lately, he’s been having a lack of motivation where meals are concerned. He’s a lot like me in that regard; unless it’s a moment shared with people we care about, food is typically considered food and nothing more. Sure, we are creative with leftovers and think of new things of make, but the spark of cooking just isn’t there. So we came up with a plan to use Skype for more than witty banter and Babylon 5 marathons.

Now, we use it in the kitchen.

I don’t know who decided what the dish would be, but the point of this act of connecting was the following:

1. It would be the same dish.
2. It would be from the same recipe.
3. It would be prepared, cooked, and eaten simultaneously. (My lunchtime is his dinnertime, so it works out beautifully.)

Even 4500 miles away, we can still cook together.

The dish was a Roman classic: Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe. Any Roman will emphasize that it has three ingredients and only three ingredients. Always. No exceptions.

Cheese + Black pepper + Pasta = Delizioso. 

He got the recipe off of the Tales of Ambrosia site, and although I used gluten free pasta and the wrong cheese (It was a Pecorino Romano / Parmesan blend), it was absolutely divine.

I loved her trick of putting the serving bowl on top of the pot to heat it up with steam. The only differences were I made a fourth of the recipe (enough for one really hungry person or two just hungry enough persons) and I simply mixed the ingredients in the drained pot before putting it on the hot plate. Oh, and using a blend of cheeses. (I can already feel the Romans cringing from here…)

(image source)

I still stand by my statement in saying that Tinkyáda’s® Rice Pasta is the best I’ve encountered in my gluten-free journey thus far. We use many of their products in our noodle dishes, and their spaghetti pasta was perfect to use in this recipe. Did I mention it slurps like semolina-based pasta?

Now that's what I call quality.

My Boyfriend, The Vegetarian

His being vegetarian isn’t his only redeeming quality. He’s smart, funny, compassionate, handsome, and he believes in our relationship. He believes in making us work as much as I do. 

Air & Space Museum (see us?)

For the better part of 2013, he was my best-kept secret. Only a handful of people in my family and friendship circles even knew we were dating.  In fact, let me narrate the following conversation between my cousin and I:

Her: So Morri, I saw from Facebook that your relationship started in December of last year (we had made it Facebook official in August).

Me: (sheepish grin forming) Yeah, about that…

Her: So my question is… Why didn’t you tell me?

Or, better yet, I would mention him in passing and people would say, “Woah, woah! Hold the phone! Your boyfriend?!”

In truth, with my last relationship ending last year and being absolutely devastated by it, I was hesitant to bring this one under the Meals with Morri radar. In my logic, it was kind of like tattooing your sweetheart’s name onto your body, daring the Universe to do its worst. But the more and more we talked and spent time together (he was abroad for the majority of our relationship, teaching in Italy) over the summer, the more confident I felt that this was the person I wanted to be with as my partner. 

Our First Mead.

The ultimate lesson I am getting from this relationship is taking things in stride. Nothing is rushed. For the first time I didn’t feel like I had to be going one million miles a minute, and it was a glorious feeling to sleep in, watch Babylon 5, and make delicious food. 

Gluten Free Chicago-style Pizza

... Or at least delicious messes.

Pumpkin Uh-oh Waffles

That’s the other lesson I learned: cooking is extremely important to me when it comes to love. When he came to visit in December, he taught me to make cheese from scratch. It was the sort of moment, watching us cook together in perfect synchronization in an out-of-body sort way, that I realized I wanted this relationship to work with all my heart. I realized I was in love with him.

Koester Potatoes with fresh dill from my garden

I’ve also come to understand that there is no limitation to how much you love someone. I know this because I find ways to fall in love with him more and more each day. I find that even with hard conversations, I feel better for having them. We work to come up with solutions and not argue about who is right. We turn little things into traditions, like Waffle and Koester potatoes on Saturdays or reading to each other during long drives. We teach each other our passions, such as his love for chemistry, philosophy, and all things geektastic and my love for cooking, health, and conflict resolution.

Finally, besides "Communication! Communication! Communication!", cooking together has become my favorite pastime with him. It’s the thing I hope we never grow out of and continues bringing us together. 

Veggie Sushi with Adzuki Bean Miso and Onion Soup

So the secret is out: I have a partner. One who loves peanut butter as much as I do. One who loves being in the kitchen and wearing silly aprons. One whose family is as supportive of our being together as much as mine. One who showed me the fascinating world of DnD and vegetarian cuisine. One who wants to take me places. One who makes me nourishing food when I'm feeling less than awesome. One who is all for this adventure we call a relationship.

Us.

Now, I'm not sure if I will go full throttle vegetarian at this point, but at the moment my body is enjoying limiting meat from my diet in exchange for eggs, cheese, beans, and high protein gluten free grains. We'll see how it goes. 

Feeding your Inner Child with the Classics

There are some foods that were the epitome of your childhood. Depending on your generation, culture, and other variables, there are dishes and recipes and flavors you can recall as if you took a bite of it seconds before. Perhaps a combination of spices take you back to your family kitchen in New Delhi, or no other tomato sauce even comes close to your Italian grandmother’s sauce. Maybe you had traditions in your household no one else on your street did, such as gorging on lemon filled sugar donuts after going to Mass or eating lox on bagels Christmas morning.

Such memories can bring such nostalgia of being a kid, such as the simple act swinging your legs back and forth while you sit at the dinner table, that you just have to recreate that carefree feeling. And in January, with people getting colds left and right, this kind of comfort can be essential to getting better and feeling warm all during winter.

To get back into my blogging groove, I was thinking of recipes to make and wasn’t feeling particularly inspired. So I asked friends and family, each coming up with something fantastic and delicious, and yet what they suggested didn’t appeal to my Inner Child.

But then something struck a chord, a memory of a friend requesting a dairy free version of a very much dairy filled delight. She asked me to recreate macaroni and cheese, a dish that I remember enjoying hot from the stovetop/oven. (Alas, it was usually the boxed or frozen kind.) So I set out to make a stovetop mac n’ “cheese” recipe for gluten/soy/dairy-freers everywhere, and I’m rather content with the results. You can tell it is dairy free when eating it, I will not deny that, but I still found it quite delicious. I think I would have been happier without adding the amount of salt I had put in, so do so sparingly and taste as you go.

And by all means, feed your Inner Child whenever possible.

Stovetop Mac n’ “Cheese”

224 g Dried gluten free macaroni noodles*
400 ml Canned coconut milk (lite or full fat would work)
28 g Nutritional yeast
20 g Garbanzo bean flour
1 tsp. Turmeric
1/2 tsp. Garlic powder
Dash of Nutmeg
Sea salt, to taste**
Dried basil, as garnish (optional)

Prepare the dried noodles according to the instructions on the package.
While the noodles are cooking, place the remaining ingredients in a medium saucepan on medium-low heat until bubbling and smooth and then on the lowest heat setting until the noodles are ready.
Once the noodles are cooked through, drain the excess water and transfer the noodles onto the sauce.
Evenly coat the noodles (adding water if necessary, as it could be a little thick) in with the sauce, and then pour into four bowls or dishes for immediate serving.

Makes 4 servings.

*I used Andean Dream’s macaroni pasta and highly recommend it.

**As I said, I urge you to taste as you go. The nutritional yeast may be salty enough for the dish.

At the Thanksgiving Table

Thanksgiving was a week ago and I still haven’t posted my Turkey Day recipes. Even with the oven going wonky on our four pies, the turkey itself turned out as amazing as we’d hoped it would, and our other oven-based delights were baked in our “small” convection oven instead. My vacation from school and work was filled with love and great food, with traveling and new experiences, with wonderful lessons and deeper friendships made. It’s the kind of thing you will remember for the rest of your life, something you will always be grateful for specifically. 

Now that’s my kind of Thanksgiving. (If you are interested, click here to for a glimpse of last year's Turkey Day round-up.) 

As always, Uncle R brought his infamous pot of collards to share. Meanwhile Mama Dazz made a delightful cranberry sauce (some of which was stevia sweetened for Grandma D and me), sweet potato biscuits (not gluten free, sadly), a large dish of cornbread stuffing (also not gluten free), and three of the four pies I mentioned (pecan, coconut macaroon, sweet potato). I focused my energy on three things: the turkey, stuffing I could eat, and my pumpkin pie.*

Is it worth brining your own turkey and making your own stuffing from start to finish? Yes, my friends, it is. There is something similar to pride to know that you bought your bird from a farmer you know and respect, and seeing how beautiful the end result is to have a perfectly cooked and flavorful turkey. I can safely say I don’t intend on buying turkey from the store in the many holidays to come.

In fact, this reminds me of a funny scene from the show Portlandia, taken from YouTube for your viewing pleasure.

 

Holiday Bird Brine (Inspired by this recipe)

1 Small yellow onion, coarsely chopped
1 Celery stalk, coarsely chopped
3 Garlic cloves, halved
3 Bay leaves
1 tbsp. Black peppercorns
1 tsp. Yellow mustard seeds
130 g (or 1/2 c.) Sea salt
Filtered water (1 gallon to start the brine, and then enough to submerge your bird)**

Place the ingredients in a large cooking pot and cook on medium heat until steam and slight simmering is visible.
Turn off the heat and let it come to room temperature before doing anything at all with the bird.
Prepare your bird by removing the organs and neck*** and placing it in a very large cooking pot that enables you to completely submerge it in brining liquid.
Carefully pour the brine over the bird and continue to add more water until the brine covers it completely.
Cover the pot and place it in a cold environment (either your refrigerator or a tall cooler with plenty of ice) for a period of 12 – 24 hours.
When finished with brining, remove the excess vegetables and spices from the bird and roast in the oven as usual.****

Makes over 1 gallon of brine.

*Although this year's gluten free pumpkin pie didn’t turn out as I had hoped, the grain-free pie crust was delicious (with enough left over to make another pie with in December). You can find a recipe that did work here.
**The bird we enjoyed weighed around 14 lbs.
***We use the organs and neck to help in creating tasty gravy, and also add it to our stuffing for additional nutrition.
****We didn’t do it this year, but I think cooking the brine along with the carcass would make an excellent stock. Has anyone ever done this before? I’d love to hear how it turned out.

As I said, I made stuffing I was very satisfied with. I wasn’t in a mashed potatoes sort of mood, so at the last minute (and by last minute, I mean three hours before the feast itself) I decided I wanted to make stuffing I could eat. After my not so pleasant experiences my body dealt with going Primal for three weeks, I’ve been eating grains and other sources of carbohydrates at practically every meal. I could have easily made this a grain-free delight, and perhaps for Yule I will, but I was craving cornbread something fierce. The cornbread itself was solely made for the stuffing, so when it came out of the oven it was a tad dry and unappetizing and something I wouldn’t recommend as a finished product. As part of a stuffing, however, I’d say it was the perfect component to a moist yet sturdy spoonful of dressing.

Cornbread Stuffing

For the cornbread:*
240 g Coarse corn flour
1 Large egg
250 ml Filtered water
42 g Butter, melted**

Remaining ingredients:
200 g Pulsed turkey organ and neck meat***
1 Celery stalk, finely chopped
1 Small yellow onion, finely chopped
2 Large eggs, beaten
1 tsp. Sea salt
1/2 tsp. Baking soda
1/2 tsp. Unrefined apple cider vinegar
1/4 tsp. Powdered or rubbed sage
1/4 tsp. Rosemary powder
1/4 tsp. Thyme
1/4 tsp. Cracked pepper
240 ml Filtered water

Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Combine the ingredients in a medium sized bowl and mix until thoroughly combined.
Pour into a greased small cast iron pan and bake for 45 minutes or until done.
Take the pan from the oven and begin cubing the bread with a knife.
With a large spoon or spatula, remove the cubes from the pan and pour them into a large mixing bowl.
Add the remaining ingredients and fold carefully.
Pour the dressing into a 8x8” baking pan and cook for 1 hour and 15 minutes, or until the internal temperature has reached at minimum 165°F.
Remove the pan from the oven and slice or spoon onto the plates
Serve hot.****

Makes 4 – 6 servings.

*If you happen to have cornbread or any gluten free bread on hand, use about 600 g and cut into bite-sized cubes.
**For a dairy free version, replace the butter with your preferred baking oil of choice like olive oil, coconut oil, and various nut/seed oils.
***Should you like to keep this vegetarian or you don’t have organ meat on hand, I’d recommend pulsed walnut/cashew pieces, left over mashed potatoes or pumpkin/sweet potato/butternut squash puree.
****Stuffing is a lot like pizza, in that it’s a great leftover food eaten hot or cold.

Safe Travels: A Sweet Tradition

Does anyone else associate almost every great memory they’ve ever experienced with food? I look back on my college career (and perhaps beyond, now that I think about it) and I recall faces but not names, places but not directions on how to get there, and classes I attended but not the professors who taught it. But for some reason, every single memory that has food in it I can remember it perfectly. I know where I went, what I ate, and whom I was with. I know how I felt before, during, and after eating it.

Food has become quite an intimate thing for me, because nothing else parallels the creativity and the adventure of going to a restaurant or coming up with a recipe. I think back on the time my first roommates at George Mason University took me to Choices By Shawn, a place I would later enthusiastically take others and still wholeheartedly recommend their fries. When friends heard or found out I was gluten free, they would text me the name of a restaurant offering gluten free foods or say they found a product at the store I should try (usually a beer brand). And when I had a recipe I wanted to experim-, I mean, share (Right. Share. That’s the word.) with them, many were kind enough to have a taste and tell me what they honestly thought.

These people, my dearest friends, are the reason I pursued my mad scientist tendencies in the kitchen without my being sorry about it. No one has ever told me “It’s good, I mean, for a gluten free recipe.” If a recipe needs some tinkering, the people in my life will sit down and work with me to make it stupendously delicious. One of those people, and forgive me for the mushy gushiness, is the boyfriend.

When he and I first started dating, he and I would walk around campus after dark or go to the gym right before it closed. We are both fairly active, now in the form of running and rock climbing, but early in our relationship it was a form of bonding.

He didn’t bat an eyelash when I told him I was gluten free. In fact, he was interested in what I ate to make sure I didn’t get glutened when we went out to eat or when we made food together. On our first Valentine’s Day, he made us buckwheat blini with cream and fruit preserves.

But one night, before we actually started dating and being more than friends, we did something so random and so spontaneous I knew I was in it for the long haul.

We made pie, a delicious gluten free apple pie… at 10 p.m.  

It must have been after a late “date” night at the gym, but we came back to the Mason townhouses and found ourselves with nothing to do. We could watch a movie or do homework. We could go on a moonlit walk around Fairfax. But really, after a workout like that, we wanted food. And then he said, “I know! Let’s make a pie!”

“At 10 p.m.?” I asked, incredulous. I’d never baked something so late before, and I was known for my early bedtime. That, and we didn’t even have the ingredients to make a pie.

Before I knew it, we were in his car on the way to Wegmans, still wearing our workout clothes and sneakers. We found a pre-made piecrust in the freezer section, got a bag of organic Granny Smith apples, some whipping cream, and we were good to go.

I still think back on the memory with a smile, especially now that he is gone for another summer to sell educational products in Texas.

Why? Because he wanted to make a pie before he left. An apple pie.

Unfortunately, this particular pie was fresh out of the oven and too hot to handle right when he walked out the door on Saturday, so he didn’t get to taste how delicious it was. But with the family getting together for the weekend, it didn’t last very long and was happily received.

“It was never about eating the pie, anyway,” he explained. “All that mattered was making it together.”

So now we have a new tradition. Whenever one of us is going away, no matter how long, we will make pie the night before. It isn’t to symbolize that the person is leaving; rather, it’s to symbolize safe travels and great adventures while apart.

I’ve said this before; this isn’t a goodbye. It’s a see you later, a "safe travels" and "I wish you well" sort of thing. Still, I can’t wait for him to come home. 

This pie’s crust is the same one from October’s GFRR challenge, only this time I measured it out in grams. One of the hardest things I’m noticing is how ounces and grams are converted to each other. Sometimes, I see thirty grams equaling an ounce while others say 28[.349] grams is an ounce. And then of course there’s the difference between the fluid ounce (29.57 grams or milliliters) and the regular ounce. One cookbook, I don’t recall which one, had pages of these different measurements and briefly caused my head to spin. I’d just made it easier for myself by rounding it up to thirty grams/milliliters per ounce for my recipes, and so far they’ve worked out fine.

Unless it’s a recipe that I make from a cookbook with those specific ounces to grams measurements, Meals with Morri is a 1 oz = 30 g/ml kind of blog. I tried making the dough by first measuring it out by ounces and then converting the scale to grams. The dough turned out just as delicious as before, but I ended up using more water than I had in the fall (likely due to the weather more than anything), and it was just too frustrating with how an ounce varied in its weight.

Along with a bag of Granny Smiths, we also had quinces that needed to be used up, so it just made sense to combine the two. And although apple is usually a double-crust or lattice-topped sort of pie, I used the remaining scraps of dough from the bottom crust to top the pie using cookie cutters in the shape of animals. I didn’t have room for the moose shape, though, so I placed in the center a star instead.

Safe Travels Apple Quince Pie

For the piecrust:
223 g Unsalted butter
112 g Glutinous rice flour
86 g Amaranth flour
56 g Garbanzo bean flour
58 g Tapioca starch
28 g Coconut flour
1/2 tsp. Sea salt
120 ml Ice water

For how the dough is prepared, click here. Like the recipe in November, this will make enough dough for two crusts, so save the other half of this recipe for another sensational pie you have in mind.

For the filling:
4 Quinces, roughly chopped
70 ml Honey
3 (around 154 g each) Granny Smith apples roughly chopped

Honey syrup (30 ml honey and 30 ml Water)

Place the chopped quince into a pressure cooker or large pot and fill it with water 2 – 3 inches above the fruit.
Stir in the honey and cook on medium heat for two or three hours and let it sit until the liquid has thickened into a syrup.
Fold in the chopped apple and set aside.
Remove the dough from the refrigerator and bring to about room temperature.
Preheat the oven to 400ºF.
Dust the counter or cutting board with tapioca starch.
Use a rolling pin and flatten the dough into a flat circle.
Place the dough into a greased 9-inch pie dish and remove the extra dough around the edges for the shapes on top.
Pour and evenly distribute the fruit in the dish, and then lay the pie dough cookie cutter shapes to your preference.
Bake for 15 minutes, and then brush the dough with a silicon pastry brush the honey syrup.
Pour the remaining honey syrup throughout the filling and bake for an additional 30 minutes.
Remove from the oven and let it sit for a few hours before serving with whipped cream and your hot drink of choice.

Makes 1 9-inch pie, or 8 servings.

The New St. Paddy Tradition

The day of and following St. Paddy’s had greener than green flora and overcast skies. There was leftover corned beef and cabbage from Friday (we started early this year), and a trial run of gluten free soda bread sliced on the counter. There were good conversations and rock climbing. There was family and good food and laughter around the table. Oh, and naturally there was green everywhere.

Since I was a wee lass, St. Paddy’s Day was celebrated with corned beef and cabbage, talk of leprechauns, and wearing green. Sometimes leprechauns left little trinkets in my shoddy shoebox trap, in place of the potato I’d left beneath it. There was a year green Ken doll footprints were found all over the furniture in the classrooms of my school. This isn’t the religious holiday my Irish cousins observe overseas, but for one day out of the year the U.S. is enthusiastically Irish.

Contrary to popular belief, the corned beef tradition on St. Paddy's doesn’t come from Ireland, as beef was considered a luxury at the time. In the 19th century, with the potato famine sending many Irish families to the United States, many say it was because beef being more readily available and the close cultural interactions with Jewish butchers that made corned beef a staple in Irish American cuisine. Thus, the corned beef and cabbage, the beef replacing the bacon for the traditional dish, became associated with St. Patrick’s Day.

Corned beef and I have had our rocky years. At one point, I wasn’t all too fond of the dish, though I did enjoy corned beef hash (oh yes, the canned kind) immensely. Though I started to develop a taste for it, only to realize that the store-bought corned beef in brine wasn’t as Morri friendly as it could be. Sugar is the basis for many types of brine, and I was determined to have corned beef and cabbage this weekend.

The answer was to make it from scratch, homemade brine and all.

I should have let it marinate longer than five days (the bare minimum amount of time for a decent corned beef), but it was a wonderful experiment and I consider it a success regardless. Since we bought a rather large brisket and only used half (the other half was then halved again and frozen), I’m going to make it again when I have a craving for corned beef hash. Another difference is that I will use whole spices instead of ground, because it was all I had at the time and we just restocked from Penzeys this afternoon.

The recipe for the brine comes from The Caveman Bistro’s post “The Brining of the Beef – a Paleo Experiment”. Most, if not all the brines I looked at for inspiration were in fact gluten free. But refined sugar free was harder, and this paleo brine saved the day. 

Corned Beef Brisket Brine

2 qt. Water
30 ml Unrefined apple cider vinegar
8 Garlic cloves, crushed
1 tbsp. Sea salt
6 Dried whole bay leaves
1 tbsp. Whole peppercorns
1 tbsp. Mustard seed powder
1 tbsp. Allspice powder
1 tbsp. Ground cloves
5 -7 lbs. Beef brisket, trimmed of heavy fat (though some fat can be left on for flavor and texture)
   
In a large pot on the stovetop, combine water, vinegar, garlic, salt, bay, pepper, mustard, all spice and cloves and heat to a boil. 
Reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes, and then remove from heat and allow to cool until room temperature. 
Place brisket in the large pot with the cooled brine mixture and push the brisket down so that it is completely submerged in the brine. 
Place pot in fridge and marinate for minimum 5-7 days and up to 3 weeks.
When ready, prepare as you would a commercially prepared corned beef brisket…

Now that you have a delicious corned beef recipe waiting to happen, let’s make it even more amazing with a few additional ingredients!

The following recipe was the inspiration of the cookbook Irish Pub Cooking (2009), something I picked up at the GMU bookstore two years ago.

Corned Beef and Cabbage

Corned beef, after the desired period of marinating
1 tsp. Sea salt
1 Large white onion, sliced
6 Carrots, cut into chunks
1 Turnip, thickly sliced
6 Red skinned potatoes, cut into chunks
1 Green cabbage, cored and cut into wedges
9 g Parsley (or 1 oz stemmed), coarsely chopped
Mustard, as garnish

… Drain the meat, discarding the soaking liquid, then rinse (I discarded the garlic cloves, but held onto the bay leaves and peppercorns).
Put the meat and spices (including the salt) back into the pot, and pour enough water to cover.
Bring to a boil and then reduce the heat to a simmer and cover the meat to cook for 1 hour and 45 minutes or longer (I recommend using the pressure cooker to cut the time).
At the one-hour mark, add the onion, carrots, turnip, and potatoes to the pot, re-cover, and simmer for the remaining 45 minutes.
Add the cabbage and parsley on top of the broth and let it cook for another 25 – 30 minutes, or until the meat is tender.
Remove the beef, cover with aluminum foil, and let stand for 10 minutes to firm up.
Strain the vegetables (but keep the broth!) and put them into a warmed serving dish, discarding the stray bay leaves.
Carve the meat into slices and serve immediately with the vegetables, accompanied by the mustard.

Makes 8 – 10 servings.