Mock Tuna (Chickpea) Salad

In the veganverse, a recipe for mock tuna salad may seem just a touch like reinventing the wheel. You know, everybody has their own recipe and is convinced that it's the best, but we're mostly dealing with slightly modified configurations of the same basic ingredients. Nevertheless, for those of you who haven't yet waded into the fecund waters of mock tuna, I offer my own variation on the theme. C and I like to eat this in the summer when neither of us feels particularly inclined to cook. I make up a huge batch, and we eat it for days. My sister recently asked me if I gave some away to friends when we had had all we could eat. I assured her that she dramatically underestimated the dent that C and I can put in a veritable shit-ton (technical term, excuse the jargon) of chickpea salad. We like to eat it tucked into tortillas with mounds of fresh, crunchy salad. I wasn't feeling super creative yesterday, so all this consisted of was green lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers. When I'm more on my game, the salad might also involve things like sliced radishes, bell peppers, capers, and the like. On a similar subject, I think C and I are probably single-handedly supporting the folks over at the Ezekial bakery. Ever since we discovered the flourless sprouted grain tortillas, we've been eating them several times a week. If you decide to bite our style and pick up some of these to go with your mock tuna salad, I strongly recommend tearing them into fourths and making sort of mini-tacos out of them. The flourless thing is super healthy and very tasty, but it doesn't lend much in the bending department.

Also, these directions use dried chickpeas. Personally, I only use canned beans in conditions of duress or extreme laziness or poor planning. For what you get, they're kind of expensive, frequently packed in some kind of preservative, and have the added annoyance of the packaging. Dried beans, on the other hand, are probably the best available bang for your vegan protein buck. Buy them bulk for that extra special feeling of environmentally-savvy self-righteousness and save even more money while you're at it. As an added bonus, cooked beans freeze beautifully, so I like to prepare them in huge batches and freeze whatever I'm not using right away. The next time I want beans, I just grab a container from the freezer and dump them into my soup or thaw them in the fridge for my next mega-batch of mock tuna salad. With all that said, of course you can use canned beans. Scale the recipe down accordingly.

One final note, it may be sort of misnomer to call this a recipe when it's really more of a method. Experiment with other ingredients if you're feeling crazy (cayenne, anyone?) or just adjust the proportions to your own taste.

Mock Tuna Salad--To feed an army (or C and I)

3 lbs dried organic chickpeas
5 stalks celery
2 large pickles
pickle juice (right from the jar, folks)
3-4 T prepared mustard
1/2 - 1 c vegenaise (depending on your fatty quotient)
1 T kelp powder
1/4 c nutritional yeast
4 T Braggs amino acids

The night before, put the dried chickpeas in a large bowl and cover with water. You want at least three inches of water over the top of the peas because they swell a LOT. In fact, funny story: The night I was soaking these particular beans, C just happened to be up late and heard a bizarre popping sound. He eventually discovered that the source of the sound was the chickpeas cracking as they absorbed the water. Weird, right? Anyway, the next day, whenever you get around to it or at least two and a half hours before you want to eat, drain the chickpeas and transfer them to a large stockpot. Do NOT use the soaking water for boiling. Cover with fresh water and bring to a boil. Skim the foam off the surface of the water, then cover and reduce heat to low. Simmer until the chickpeas are tender, probably 30-45 minutes. Remove from heat and drain. Allow to cool, then scoop half the beans into containers and freeze for next time. Pat yourself on the back for being so forward-thinking and frugal.

Dump the remaining beans into a large, sturdy bowl. Mash the beans with a large mallet or potato masher or whatever's handy. Whenever I mash beans, I miss our friend Keith from Buffalo who was seriously the best bean masher ever. He would patiently, stolidly, demolish the beans until not a single whole bean remained. I weep a little when I think about how awesome it was. Maybe you have a bean masher in your life. If you do, don't take him/her for granted. Treasure every moment like it's your last. It may very well be. When your beans are suitably demolished, mix in all the other ingredients and adjust the seasoning to taste. I would add the pickle juice last in whatever quantities you desire. Full disclosure? I use a lot. I like the moistness the juice lends to the salad, and I think it can stand in for a lot of the fat that I would otherwise rely on. Just go easy with the juice/vegenaise proportions until you find one pleasing to your pallet. And seriously, you can't screw this stuff up. 

Feed Me!

I don't mean to blow my own horn, beloved readers, but I'm a pretty good cook. Not the best, but definitely not the worst, if you know what I mean. I'm convinced that at least part of the reason that people seem to like my food is that I enjoy making it. Whatever I saute or bake, braise or broil, bake or flambe comes from a place of pleasure and love. This is not to say that I have no darkness in my life, but rather that I do my best to keep it out of the kitchen. Still, as much as I enjoy cooking and feeding people, sometimes there is nothing more delightful than being on the receiving end of that transaction. Today I want to tell you about two things I ate that I didn't make.

C and I just got home from a weekend stay in San Francisco with my dad and stepmom. We had a lovely time, and I plan to write a bit about our adventures eating in one of the least vegan-friendly areas of the city. Seriously, to spend much time in Fisherman's Wharf is to forget that there are foods that don't come either breaded and fried or drenched in cream sauce and served in a bread bowl. Don't worry, dear readers, I didn't drink that particular Kool-Aid. (There was no vodka in it, anyway.)

The lighting was bad, okay? It was a bar.

Instead, at the end of the visit, we rounded off our weekend with a trip to Patxi's, the now famous Bay Area pizza chain that has set the universe on its head by making a vegan deep dish pizza. I thought it would be good, reader. I didn't know how good. We ate at the location in Noe Valley while the U.S. women's soccer team was being defeated by the Japanese team. Toward the end of our stay, people were slumping out of the place, with that not-so-subtle air of quiet disappointment common in sports fans whose teams have lost. In the midst of their defeat, however, I was elated. Well, not elated. I was staring greedily, with a thin line of drool linking my quivering chin to my empty plate, at the last piece of pizza. You see, we went to Patxi's with two friends of ours who had already staked the place out, knew the pizza to be as good as it is, and who already had established the baseline limit for how much of it to consume in one sitting. Since it was C and I's first time there, we had no such limits. Perhaps "normal" for us would be three pieces per sitting, rather than our friends' usual one to one and a half. It wouldn't be the first time we went above and beyond. C and I always try to go above and beyond. Fortunately, the 14" pie only had 8 pieces--2 per person. Only shame kept me from diving face first into the final piece, after our friends had made their way through 3 combined.

This the shape my dreams will take from now on.

Our pizza was a whole wheat Chicago style pie, which, if memory serves, is a layer of crust, topped by sauce, toppings (artichokes, mushrooms, spinach, and garlic), cheese (Daiya!), another layer of crust, and more sauce. It sounds good and tastes even better. It ain't cheap. That 14 inches of sheer, orgasmic vegan pizza indulgence cost more than $30. But, wow, so so so good. I've already promised to take my sister there when next she visits again.

This pic is also dark because I was too lazy to move to better lighting.

Finally, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the wonderful salad that C made last night. I know I make it sound like I do absolutely all of the cooking around here, but it isn't so. I only do about 70-75 percent. C may quibble with that percentage,  but last night he made a veganized, super-healthy waldorf-style salad with blanched kale, raw apples, toasted walnuts, Field Roast sage sausages, and avocado. It was wonderful. I'm including a picture just so you know how lucky I am.

Bon Voyage Cake

These cakes send the wrong message. These are happy cakes, but they mark a sad occasion. Well, not sad, exactly. More mixed. Our friend Diana is planning a move in the nearby future away from her pastoral, suburban home in Sonoma County back to the bustle and glamor of San Francisco. C and I--much, much, much to our chagrin--can't move with her, so instead we brought these cakes to her going away party. She requested Mexican Hot Chocolate and Red Velvet, so that's what she got. The layer cake is red velvet with cream cheese frosting--both recipes doubled and adapted from Vegan Cupcakes Take over the World. The Cupcakes are Mexican hot chocolate from the same book, but the frosting is a definite deviation. Here's what I did:

Tequila Lime Buttercream

1/2 c vegan margarine (I used Earth Balance, like always)
3 c organic powdered sugar
1 t sea salt
2 T tequila
1 T freshly squeezed lime juice
zest from one lime


Whip margarine. Add sugar and blend for 3-4 minutes. Add salt, tequila, and lime juice. Whip for 7 minutes or until you are outrageously bored. Just don't get bored too soon, or your frosting will suck and I won't feel sorry for you. Fold in lime zest and adjust flavors as necessary. One more note about this frosting: Use it sparingly. If you're spreading it on cupcakes, like I did, you only need a thin layer. The tequila/lime/salt combination packs a flavor punch, in Food Network lingo, and will easily overpower subtler (read "wimpier") flavors.

World's Fussiest Salad (But Worth It)

An alternative title for this particular salad might be something along the lines of Most Labor-Intensive Salad Ever. I won't lie. As I was making this, over the course of several hours on a lovely summer afternoon, with the birds chirping outside and a breeze rustling the trees, I grumbled. Had the salad not ended up meeting and surpassing my expectations with its deliciousness, I would still be grumbling. Instead, I woke up this morning with the self-satisfied complacency that can only come after successfully crafting a complicated salad. It's a very rewarding experience. And if you have, say, three or four hours to spend on it, give it a try. This recipe makes a very large salad. We took ours to a Flamenque barbecue with lots of people, and we aren't sad to have a little left over for lunch today. There are three parts to this recipe: 1) The salad itself, the vinaigrette, and the spiced walnuts. You can really make them in any order, but do allow time for the walnuts to cool before adding them to the salad. It's also important to let the salad soak in the vinaigrette for a while before serving. It makes it just that much more delicious.

World's Fussiest Salad (But Worth It)

1 bunch curly kale--sliced thinly
1/2 head red cabbage--sliced thinly
1 red pepper--julienne (bust out those knife skills!)
1 cup cooked and cooled wild rice
1 mango--diced
1 pint strawberries--sliced

First, blanch the kale. Bring a large pot of water to a boil, then remove from heat. Add kale to the water for a minute or two. The amount of time the kale needs to spend in the water depends entirely on the tenderness of the leaves. If the kale gods were smiling down on you when you selected that particular bunch, the kale may need only a quick dip in the water to soften it slightly and brighten it to that lovely shade of green. If the kale gods were off smiling down on someone else while you were selecting your bunch, the leaves may need to stay in rather longer. Just check the leaves frequently. When they reach the desired level of tenderness, dump them into a colander and rinse with cold water to stop the cooking. Allow the kale to cool a bit, then combine kale, cabbage, red pepper, rice, mango and strawberries in a large bowl and toss to combine.

Citrusy Garlic Vinaigrette

1 head garlic--roasted
2 valencia oranges
1 lemon
1/3 c olive oil
pinch salt
1 t whole black peppercorns

Squeeze roasted garlic into a blender. Yes, the whole head. Don't be such a wimp. Press the juice out of the lemon and oranges and add that to the blender. Add salt. Puree until smooth. With the blender running, add the olive oil in a thin stream. Toss in peppercorns and blend again. Taste and adjust seasoning as necessary.

Spiced Walnuts

2 T vegan margarine
1 t chili powder
1 1/2 c whole raw walnuts

In a small frying pan, melt margarine. Add chili powder and stir well to combine. Add walnuts and stir to coat. Toast on low heat until walnuts start to brown. Cool thoroughly.

Pour vinaigrette over the assembled salad and let it sit for 30 minutes to an hour. Before serving, sprinkle liberally with spiced walnuts.

Malted Cherry Cheesecake

Cheesecake hasn't been the exclusive province of the dairy-eaters for many many years. Not since the first hippie threw some tofu and cashews and sugar into a blender before molding it into a perfect New York style cake have vegans pined for that formerly apparently unreachable. In fact, I think one of the fun things about being vegan is getting to surprise and delight omnis who believe that they have cornered the market of products and recipes that have been available to my kind for practically ages. I've had omnis ask me whether I miss chocolate. (It's vegan, bitch!)* Or ice cream. (Can you say Ice Bean, bitch?)* Or cream cheese. (You see where this is going, bitch?)* And it isn't always omnis who aren't aware of the progress we've made since we left the breast milk of cows for the baby cows, for whom it is a nutritionally perfect food.

All of this is a long way of saying that many vegans have scaled the mountain of cheesecake before me, so there isn't a lot of guesswork involved. No complicated methods or powders. No intricate series of heating and cooling, combined with gentle or vigorous agitation. No super expensive and weird ingredients. In fact, the major downside to making vegan cheesecake is really the cost involved. At the WF by my house, an 8 oz container of vegan cream cheese is $3. Given that the average vegan cheesecake calls for 24 oz of the stuff, that's $9 right there before you get to any other ingredients. Maybe that won't bother some people, but the chronically underemployed (Holla!) get a bit wary.

While you're splurging on cream cheese, though, you might as well pony up for some more of those fresh cherries. Break out your chopstick again, if you were short-sighted enough not to pit enough last time to see you through this next endeavor. If you have any friends just standing around, use your Vegan Domination Card to conscript their idle hands to this critical service. One chopstick, three bowls, and two nimble hands is all it takes to convert a bowl of fresh cherries with stones into one without.


This particular cheesecake is a delightful configuration of three different recipes drawn from different sources and combined to create a delicious and decadent summery confection. I halved the recipe for cheesecake, which produced a creamy layer of just the right thickness and topped it with a lush layer of homemade cherry pie filling. You could, of course, buy a can of pie filling, but that stuff is always packed with chemicals, corn syrup, red dye, and preservatives. Making your own is super fast and easy, as soon as you get those cherries pitted. The malted crust from the genius brain of Hannah Kaminsky ties the whole thing together beautifully. The flavors in this crust are more complex than what you get in a traditional graham cracker crust, and I really enjoyed the caramelly base notes of the malt accenting the sweetness of the cherries.

First, make Hannah's recipe for Malted Pastry Crust:

Malted Pastry Crust:

1 2/3 Cups All Purpose Flour
6 Tablespoons Cup Barley Malt Flour/Powder
2 Tablespoons Dark Brown Sugar, Firmly Packed
Pinch Salt
6 Tablespoons Non-Dairy Margarine, Chilled and Cut into Pieces
6 Tablespoons Vegetable Shortening
2 Teaspoons Plain Soy or Coconut Yogurt
1 – 2 Tablespoons Water, Ice-Cold

 My shortened, sloppier directions are as follows: In a large bowl, combine flour (I used whole wheat pastry, not AP), barley malt powder, sugar, and salt. Cut in margarine (I used 12 T margarine instead of 6 margarine and 6 shortening because I didn't feel like buying both) until you have pea-sized bits. Add yogurt. Mix in ice water by dribs and drabs until the dough holds together. Press into the bottom and sides of a 9inch springform pan. Set aside.

Preheat your oven to 325 and make half of this cheesecake recipe:

¾ cup, + 1 Tablespoon sugar
¾ cup non-dairy yogurt
¼ cup all-purpose flour
2 Tablespoons non-dairy milk
1 ½ teaspoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon salt
24 oz Tofutti (or similar brand) imitation cream cheese (3, 8oz containers)

 You can halve recipes all on your own, right? Pour the cheesecake mixture evenly into the prepared crust. Bake for about 1 hour. It's okay if it looks a little jiggly when you take it out of the oven. It will firm up as it cools. When the cake is approaching room temperature, cover and chill.

Prepare cherry pie filling:

4 cups fresh, pitted cherries
1/4 c cornstarch
pinch salt
1/2 c raw sugar
1 1/2 c pomegranate juice
juice from 1 lemon (omit if using sour cherries)

In a medium saucepan, combine sugar, salt, and cornstarch. Then add everything else and cook over medium heat until thick. Cool thoroughly.


Spread cherry filling on cheesecake and chill until ready to serve. Marvel at the wonders of vegan cookery and shed a few tears at the blenders full of tofu and cashews that came before you. They sacrificed everything, so that you could have this cake.

*Apologies to my tender-eyed readers for the swears. We just finished watching the third season of Breaking Bad. In addition to being a-maaazing, it has littered my speech with "bitches." Don't worry. It will pass.

Fresh Cherry Pie

The universe is a dark place, dear readers. A howling, godless wasteland in which we are adrift, tossed about like rudderless boats among the wreckage of other lives. The howl of a bleak monad on an even bleaker bridge echoes in the chasms of an indifferent world. Given such desolation, we can do better than debate the meaning of ethics in a world without punishment or salvation. We can do SO much better. We can make fresh cherry pie. It's true that pitting fresh cherries is labor intensive. It takes time and effort, and those without the benefit of a cherry pitter will suffer more than those with one. What is this, other than further proof of the way that an indifferent universe doles out its sweetness and benefit? But you already know this. You have resigned yourself to a life of pitting cherries with a chopstick. Of cajoling your reluctant partner to man up and grab a chopstick of his own. Of defiantly resisting the siren song of those bags of frozen pitted cherries, relying on the sweat of your brow to make your sweet reward. Really, in a world like ours, what else do you have to do?

Fresh Cherry Pie

1 batch pie dough (enough for a top and bottom crust)
5 c fresh, pitted sweet or sour cherries (goddamnit! I can't find sour cherries anywhere in NorCal!)
1 c raw, organic sugar (keep it vegan, y'all)
1 t salt
juice from 1/2 lime
2 T margarine
4 T tapioca flour/starch


Preheat oven to 450. Line pie pan with half of dough. In a large bowl, toss cherries with sugar, salt, lime juice, and tapioca, then dump the lot into pie pan. Dot cherries with little chunks of margarine. Roll out remaining dough and arrange into a lattice topping. Sprinkle pie with a bit more sugar. Bake at 450 for 10 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 and bake for 40-50 minutes more, or until crust is golden and the pie juices are thick and bubbly. NB: Fresh berries release a veritable boat load of juice when baked. After 30 or 40 minutes, if your pie looks like a lake of fruit juice, let it cook longer. The tapioca thickener should catch up with the liquid and thicken up nicely. All we have is each other, dear readers. And fresh cherry pie.

Also, how badly do I need to re-do my blog design? Bad, right? I know.

Lemon Peppery Pea Soup

To be a food blogger of any consequence, one must at some point make a claim for having a dish that "tastes like summer!" Such a dish inevitable relies heavily on seasonal produce, sometimes fresh herbs, and almost always lemon. I'm not without my own sentimental streak about such things. When I decided to make pea soup, I consciously wanted to create something that would taste like sunshine and leisurely afternoons, though I have had neither of these for a while. And c'mon! Pea soup should at least make the short list for foods that can be justifiably described synaesthesiastically (new word!) as "summer." What I came up with actually tasted more wintery to me, perhaps due to my heavy-handed use of pepper. I didn't mess up, dear readers, I've just really been feeling the peppercorns lately. I also decided to leave half the peas whole, which is a bit unconventional in a blended vegetable soup. The extra texture was welcome, particularly after C proclaimed his (hitherto unknown) disinclination for smooth soups. I can kind of see where he's coming from. I think the critical factor in smooth soups, aside from flavoring (duh) is consistency. Too thin, and they're unpleasantly watery. Too thick, and, well, "blorf" is the word that comes to mind. "Babyfood" is another.

I'm sure I will play with this soup more with time, but this recipe is a good baseline. I really like the lemony peas laced with the smokey zing of pureed peppercorn. I wouldn't call it the "ultimate" or even "penultimate" soup of summer, but it fits neatly into the sort of gloomy, lingering Spring we've been enjoying in Northern California. Consider making this on a chillier-than-usual summer day, or a warmer-than-usual day in winter. I love a good contradiction.

Lemon Peppery Pea Soup

2 (16 oz) bags frozen peas (I know fresh would have been better, but they tend to be a) more expensive, and b) more work than I could handle on this particular day. By all means, use fresh.)
1 small Vidalia onion, diced
1-3 t whole black peppercorns (depending on your tolerance of/love for pepper)
3 c water
1 cube broth
2 T dried dill
1 T dried basil
10 fresh mint leaves, chopped
juice from one lemon
salt to taste

In a medium saucepan, saute onion in a bit of olive oil until translucent. Add one bag of peas, herbs, and peppercorns and cook for 5 minutes. Don't let it stick!. Dump the peas/onion/pepper mixture into a blender or food processor. Add 2 cups of the water and blend until smooth. Return to pan. Add final cup of water and remaining ingredients. Cook over low heat for 10-15 minutes, adjusting seasonings as necessary. If you're one of those people who can't abide a pureed soup without a swirl of some kind of dairy analog, by all means add a dollop of soy yogurt or sour cream before serving.