The Green Frankenburger

Burger more green in person than in picture.  :)

There are food bloggers out there with fail safe recipes and gorgeous photography.  And then there's me - someone who loves cooking, isn't afraid to experiment and sometimes turns out something slightly bizarre and isn't afraid to admit it.  Tonight was definitely more Lucille Ball than Julia Child.

Some of my more fun posts to write are when I have a kitchen debacle, such as my Passover cake drama.  Tonight, I decided to try and wing my own black bean burgers.  Now, I have made black bean burgers before using Tosca Reno's Eat Clean Cookbook recipe several times, so I thought I'd be ok winging it.

As many of you know, I love kale and have been enjoying making kale chips. I usually put a bit of kale in my version of Tosca's recipe.  Tonight, I thought it would be a good idea to put in, oh, five giant leaves.

It all started off well and good - I put the kale, some red onion and two garlic gloves in my food processor.  A lovely green juice aroma came out.  A pesto like substance emerged.  So far, not so bad. 

I added oats, sunflower seeds and carrots, measuring as I went, thinking to myself, "This will be a great recipe!  I will put it on my blog with actual measurements!"  And then I noticed the mixture was bright green.

"I just need to add the beans," said I.  So I did.  The mixture, at that point, became greenish gray.

"Screw the measuring," I sad, and I added in more oats, more beans and some nutritional yeast until the burgers became . . . somewhat less greenish gray.  At that point, I decided I had put so much food into them that I had to eat them, no matter what awful color they were.  So, I seasoned the mess with salt, pepper and cumin, formed them into six patties and popped the thing in the oven for 25 minutes and hoped for the best.

My intention was to serve this with a baked sweet potato.  However, when I went to prepare my sweet potato, it was . . . slightly mutated and looking dangerously inedible.  While I was willing to try the Green Frankenburger, I wasn't sure I was willing to risk this sweet potato.  So, I rummaged through the fridge for side replacement and ended up with some leftover corn kernels and scallions.  So, I heated them up in a pan with some olive oil, tomato paste concentrate and salt and pepper.  

With five minutes to go with the frankenburgers, I decided to take pity on myself and cover them with cheddar daiya, hoping it would make them more attractive.

The result of the actual food - not that bad.  They could have been a little firmer.  And while the color was definitely weird, I didn't mind the flavor.  I may try and disguise the leftover patties in something else this week.

The result of the cooking itself - I had a good laugh.  Life isn't perfect - why should your kitchen be?  I had fun, I tried something new and nothing caught fire.

While I may not make the Frankenburger again, I'm glad I made it.  Not only did I get my green veggies for the day (and perhaps the week), but I got a reminder of what cooking for me really is, and that's fun.

So, if you want to try cooking, but are intimidated, let this blog be an inspiration to you.  Sometimes even good cooks (and I consider myself a good cook, and so does my mother) have strange things happen in the kitchen.  Cooking is an art, but it's also a learning process, a way to enjoy time with family and friends and a way to discover what you need to nourish yourself.  Most of all, it should be fun. 

What fun have you had in the kitchen lately?

The Loaf That Did Not Loaf, But Still Tasted Good

In my quest to use our leftover lentils, I searched out recipes for lentil loaf.  After pursuing a few options, I decided on this Vegetarian Lentil Loaf. I was a bit skeptical that it would hold together without an obvious binder, but I decided to give it a shot.

The recipe calls for sage and Italian seasoning.  Of course, we happened to be out of both.  And I usually make my own Italian seasoning, but we were also out of oregano.  Note to self - restock spice cabinet!  Anyhow, I used 1/4 tsp thyme, 1/4 tsp parsley, 1/4 tsp basil, a healthy few grinds of black pepper and some tomato paste concentrate to liven up the flavors.

When the loaf had about 10 minutes to go, I made a side dish of white corn, grape tomatoes and spinach that I seasoned with salt & minced onion flakes.  Then, I added a healthy splash of vegetable broth to make a sauce.

The recipe said to let the loaf cool a little bit to help with slicing, but their definition of a little bit might have been, oh, 20 minutes.  Mine was five minutes, and it's 9:00 and I'm hungry.  As you can tell from the title of this blog, it didn't quite slice as much as it kind of splooshed.  But, while I lose points for form, I really liked the flavors.  Having everything mellow out in the oven for an hour really got the spices and onions and tomatoey goodness to combine very well.

The side dish was much more of a success - it had a nice richness that my veggie sautes normally don't have.  I think I'll try the broth and mixed onion trick more often.

Adventures in Passover Baking Edition, aka - I screw up, I throw a tantrum, I fix it, I reclaim my title as baking wunderkind!

Yes, it all turned out JUST fine.

My cousins invited me to join them tonight for Seder.  Since I have been on a baking roll lately, I offered to make the dessert, specifically the paerve Lemon Layer Cake from last week's Washington Post food section.  Paerve was key, as my cousins keep kosher and are serving meat for dinner.

The recipe started off easy enough.  I make pastry cream all the time, so the lemon "cream" (eggs, sugar, lemon juice and lemon zest) was a no brainer.  And whipped cream icing, which is normally the source of my culinary temper tantrums, was blissful with the kitchen aid mixer.

Now, it was on to the cake.  I make cakes ALL THE TIME.  I have never effed one up.  Seriously.  Perfect track record.

I do believe we see where this is going.

The recipe called for separating the eggs.  No problem.  Then it called for combining the yolks, sugar, lemon, etc. and then beating in the matzo cake meal and potato starch.  No problem - into the mixer.  Ah, but I have to beat the egg whites in a separate bowl.  And I only have one bowl for the Kitchen-aid . . . Hmm.  I don't feel like dragging out the hand mixer.  Surely I can get these nice and frothy by hand.  So, I sat there whipping the egg whites with a whisk and feeling very proud of myself.  Look how strong my arms are - I barely feel this!  It must be all the chatarungas I do in yoga!  I don't need modern machinery!  I can whip egg whites!

Do we see where this is going yet?

If not, behold what I had 45 minutes later:

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, behold the Guiness Book of World records winner for the largest passover cookie.

Now, as a yogini, you think I would handle all of this with grace and strength.  I would acknowledge it as a teaching experience.

Not so much.

To recap - I tried to convince the fiance that I needed to start over that night.  He said that it was 10:30 and we were out of sugar and my relatives would be fine with the cookie.   Cue minor temper tantrum. 

So, I decided to instead bump up my work departure time an hour to attempt a cake remake so as not to show up at a Seder for 27 people with no dessert, or worse, a soggy cardboard cookie.  This morning, I bought eggs at CVS so they'd be at room temp by the time I got home, and, once I got back to my neighborhood, I ran to the local market for more lemons and sugar.  This time, I used the hand mixer for the batter and beat the egg whites into a veritable nimbus cloud in the mixer.

See the difference?

Not well beaten egg white cake

Well beaten egg white cake.

 

Cookie on the left, cake on the right.

After some time in the freezer, I was able to get the cake into two layers.  I didn't dare attempt three.

Still fairly scrawny looking, but fluffier in person.

So, after adding the lemon "cream" filling and mixing the leftover "cream" with the whipped topping and then frosting and decorating, let's look at the final result again: