Bide Your Thyme

Time is the greatest commodity, far more valuable than any currency. Always in short supply, even when it seems to stretch on forever, we end up realizing it’s never enough. Thyme, however… I may found the limit.

Thyme’s Up

Thyme grows like a weed in the right conditions, which are apparently perfectly aligned with a neglected little corner of my yard. I don’t remember planting it, and certainly not tending to it, and still it proliferates with a vaguely threatening tenacity. It throws its leaves back and laughs at the coddled tomato vines that wither right alongside their thriving stems. Any bounty is with celebrating but like the equally vivacious sage that would take over the whole garden, and possibly move right into my house if I left the door open too long, it’s challenging to use up massive quantities of such a potent herb.

Perfect Thyme-ing

Most recipes call for a few sprigs of thyme at most, later instructing the obedient cook to remove them before serving, like spent bay leaves that have overstayed their welcome. Scrolling through my mental Rolodex of the most thyme-laden dishes possible, I came up with only one possible solution: za’atar. Dried herbs and spices typically make up this Middle Eastern seasoning blend, used to brighten everything from hummus to flatbread, but why can’t we take a fresher approach?

It’s About Thyme

Za’atar pesto is the ideal solution to profusion of fresh thyme. Softened by the addition of spinach, it’s every bit as bright, zingy, earthy, and herbaceous without punching you in the face with every bite. You can double or triple the recipe for an especially exuberant garden and freeze it to keep all winter, and beyond. That may not be necessary, though, when you can use it like traditional basil pesto in or on top of:

  • Pizza and focaccia
  • Pasta and gnocchi
  • Toast
  • Salad dressing
  • Roasted vegetables
  • Bean dip
  • Sandwiches and wraps
  • Grilled plant proteins
  • Tofu scramble
  • Just about everything edible, short of dessert

Thyme-ly Reminder

Never take time, nor thyme, for granted. Both are precious, when you know what to do with them.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)3 Comments

Do’s and Do-ughnut’s

When I got my first air fryer, there’s nothing I wouldn’t put in it. Whole pies, seitan roasts, random leftovers; things that absolutely did not need to be air fried, and probably would have been better if not. More than the promise of cooking with less fat, it was the convenience and speed that reeled me in. The promise of never navigating a vat of bubbling hot oil didn’t hurt, though.

Naturally, pushing it to the extreme limits of this concept, I had to try my hand at doughnuts. Yeasted doughnuts seemed too easy, or maybe just too precious for something I was fully prepared to get wrong. Cake doughnuts were a challenge within a puzzle, lighting up the problem-solving part of my brain like a glow stick, since there was no way in hell I could fit a conventional metal mold in that tiny countertop oven.

The trick is to make a batter as thick as cookie dough, easily sculpted in the palm of your hands. Landing somewhere between a light brownie and a dense cupcake, these rustic rings have a homespun kind of charm as a result. Those ridges and dips catch the glaze differently, creating little pockets of sweetness that contrast with the darker, more cocoa-forward crumb underneath.

How this recipe could sit in my drafts for all these years is beyond me. Unlike many other unhinged air fryer experiments, this one has withstood the test of time, even if that original air fryer didn’t withstand my trials.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)7 Comments

Garden Variety Tartare

I love a beet tartare, for the obvious pun of course, and because I have a certain penchant for beets in all forms. The closest a beet can come to emulating beef, however, is that one letter difference in name. For that, we need to call in the tomatoes.

Tartare’d Up

Tomato tartare is a perennial favorite for highlighting peak summer produce in its own rights. Juicy heirlooms bursting from their skins, meaty and umami, have never been shy about stealing the show. Taken a step further, they’ve been used to create remarkably successful facsimiles for tuna, often infused with sake, miso, and nori, transformed into convincingly oceanic sashimi and sushi. Even I started getting sidetracked by luminous tuna towers with layers of buttery avocado, but there’s something different I was after. What I haven’t seen, amidst all that tomato ephemera, is a tartare where they’re treated like proper raw beef.

Yes, We Can

Turn up your nose at canned tomatoes if you’d like, but they’re exactly the shortcut we need here. Quality counts, especially with so few ingredients, so don’t skimp on the bargain brand and expect a gourmet experience. Proper peeled, whole San Marzano tomatoes are ripe with natural savory flavor, never mealy, and downright buttery on the tongue. Slowly roasting them further concentrates their flavor and removes any watery excess that might shatter the illusion. Then, it’s as simple as folding in the traditional accoutrements of shallots, capers, and Dijon mustard, though a dab of sharp horseradish would be most welcome, too.

Raise a Toast to Tomatoes

Make it fancy by using a ring mold, or cookie or biscuit cutter, to make a perfect round on the plate, or pile it just as elegantly into a dish. What really seals the deal, though it’s entirely aesthetic, is the peeled yellow cherry tomato, looking for all the world like a gleaming egg yolk sitting delicately on top. Who thought tartare could be totally made from tomatoes, while still carrying the same beefy swagger, rich decadence, and undeniable air of a special occasion? You will, the moment you dip in your toast.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)4 Comments

Cook This Book: Tamu

I know remarkably little about African cuisine, but what I do know, unfortunately, is that I’m not alone in that. We consider ourselves a global society, immutably interconnected from here on out, and yet outside of Africa, which is the second largest continent on Earth, the food is largely lost in translation.

Even in the most diverse, metropolitan cities in America, where so many other cultures are celebrated, finding a restaurant specializing in any African food is like striking gold. I mean that both in the sense that the chances of it happening are exceedingly rare, and if you do happen to luck out, you’ll be truly rich.

That’s why I was so quite frankly thunderstruck by the depth and breadth of culinary knowledge contained within the pages of Tamu: A Journey Through Africa’s Plant-Based Cuisine by Jane Nshuti.

Right out of the gate, this is different from the average cookbook. Written with a distinct perspective and zero pretense, Ms. Nshuti manages to bridge the divide between instruction and inspiration seamlessly. She stays true to her heritage, writing from only her perspective and experiences to share a genuine, personal account of a life lived through food.

Ingredients are explained, not dumbed down, refusing to pander to the lowest common denominator. If you’re hungry to learn, all the tools and information you need are right here, at your disposal. Ravenous to expand my own palate, it was a revelation to read about so many ingredients and dishes that have never even been my radar before.

First off, Africa is not a monolith. Elegantly illustrating this point, recipe chapters are divided by country of origin, each one part of Ms. Nshuti’s personal path. Debunking the misconceptions that African food is “too starchy, too heavy, and too meaty” with every turn of the page, the fact that the whole book is vegan wouldn’t even register if not overtly stated. Having grown up with limited means herself, it feels like a wildly affordable luxury every time I sat down with a new dish in front of me. Abundance is implied; joy is inherent.

Green Banana Curry (page 96) from Tanzania provided my first real introduction to matoke, which are confusingly referred to as simply “green bananas” in most cases. No, they’re not unripe Cavendish bananas nor plantains, matoke are small, starchy, and vaguely reminiscent of white sweet potatoes when cooked. Stewed with coconut milk, spices, and vibrant fresh vegetables, the dish is positively dazzling. It’s an easy entry point towards appreciating the understated magnificence of this misunderstood staple.

Egusi Soup (page 164) from Nigeria had been on my wish list for a very long time. Egusi seeds, derived a melon distantly related to the watermelon, are ground into a coarse paste to form the rich foundation of this stew. Eggplant, mushrooms and soy strips take the place of animal protein, though you could easily adapt that to anything you have on hand. Spiked by the heat of habanero, dawadawa seeds (fermented locust beans) add an irreplaceable complexity that’s utterly crave-worthy. Perhaps it’s an unorthodox addition, but I thought that a dollop of shito makes it even better.

My only critique is that while the photo shows some sort of greens cooked down into the mix, there’s no mention of anything of the sort in the recipe or accompanying text. Further research tells me that ugwu (fluted pumpkin leaf), uziza leaf (pepper leaf), bitter leaf, or waterleaf are traditional inclusions, while spinach, kale, or collard greens are common alternatives outside of Africa.

Banfora Cakes (page 206) from Burkina Faso are often described as pineapple Welsh cakes, which fall somewhere between scones and pancakes, cooked on a hot griddle. I’d like to further confuse the uninitiated by saying that they remind me of sweet biscuits, crispy around the edges and fluffy on the inside, perfectly at home on the dinner table if not for the finishing sprinkle of cinnamon sugar on top. They strike me as the ideal solution to urgent cravings, since they use basic staples and come together in roughly 30 minutes from start to finish.

Umureti Wa Okara (page 19) is just one example of how the author maintains her distinct perspective in honoring traditional African foods while also using their inspiration to create her own unique dishes. A simple chickpea flour omelette gets a new lease on life with the addition of pan-fried okra and fresh cilantro. It blurs the boundaries between nations, speaking fluently in the universal language of a good meal. That said, my omelette quickly turned into a scramble, failing twice to hold together as intended. Purportedly just a single serving, it easily turned into two, or even three if served with a side.

Some chapters are necessarily shorter than others. Relaying memories alongside recipes flowing naturally from storytelling to suppertime, each page is a reflection of the Ms. Nshuti’s life; nothing more, nothing less. For places that made a bigger impact on her passion for cooking, there are naturally more recipes inspired by those experiences. There’s no breathless hyperbole pushing the reader along. Instead, we’re only asked to follow, if we’re hungry and curious enough, to learn more.

“Tamu” can be translated as sweet, pleasant, nice, or tasty, depending on who you ask. All seem like fine explanations for the contents of this cookbook, though I’d argue it deserves greater praise than that.

Hannah (BitterSweet)6 Comments