Lion’s Share

Lion’s mane are the Swiss army knives of mushrooms. What other fungi can more seamlessly blur the line between plant matter and animal flesh, encompassing both chicken and beef? Pressed and seared, they morph into fillets worthy of a high-end steakhouse, almost infuriatingly rich and juicy. Battered and fried, they’re equally compelling as crispy morsels of popcorn chicken. Given their commensurately luxurious pricing, I’m forever torn on how best to prepare them. Of course, after intense debate, I realized there’s no need to choose when you can have both.

Combining the two ideas has already proven wildly successful for the classic Southern comfort food, chicken fried steak. That is, traditionally, steak prepared in the manner of fried chicken, first seared and then battered and fried to a crispy, crave-worthy finish. Despite having neither meat nor poultry involved, the procedure is almost exactly the same.

When working with lion’s mane mushrooms destined for beefy glory, the key is to first sear them off plain, pressing HARD on both sides. Don’t be shy, don’t worry about hurting their feelings; you need to lean in with all your weight like they owe you money. It takes real pure brute strength to transform the fibrous fungus into something genuinely meaty. Unlike the original animal-based prep, they benefit from a long, slow marinade at this point to amplify the inherently umami flavors.

Cream gravy is essential for a properly composed plate. Flecked with coarsely ground pepper, you can whip it up in minutes, before the steaks even think of cooling down. Deeply bronzed, tender at the core, and clad in that signature craggy, golden armor, they can withstand a drenching ladleful, or two, of the velvety sauce. The seared interior maintains a dense, hearty chew, while the fried exterior shatters away in delicate flakes. It’s indulgent, a little excessive, and completely justifiable.

The beauty of lion’s mane isn’t just in how convincingly it imitates meat, but in the way it refuses to be limited by it. Why settle for chicken or beef, when one mushroom can do both, often in the same bite?

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Hannah (BitterSweet)1 Comment

Playing Favarites

Why would a dip called “fava” not be made from fava beans? Language is a funny thing, especially when trying to transpose a different one with your own. Quite simply, the Greek word fava refers to what we know as yellow split peas in English. If you wanted the broad, flat legumes instead, those would be koukia; another beloved staple across the Greek islands.

Peas and Thank You

After my initial confusion, the attraction was immediate. Yellow split peas have long been a favorite for cozy soups and stews, and I’m certainly no stranger to creamy bean dips the world over. Continuing life without a suitable recipe under my belt was unthinkable.

Certified Inauthentic

Don’t call the authenticity police on me. I’m well aware that this is far from a “legitimate” fava dip, as the genuine legumes are highly regulated to maintain their distinctive terroir. As a Protected Designation of Origin (PDO) food, only yellow split peas that are grow in Santorini can legally be labeled as such. I’ve heard tales that Santorini fava are sweeter and have a smoother texture than other split peas thanks to the mineral-rich volcanic soil of the island, though I’m not fortunate enough to personally confirm nor deny such a statement. I can promise you, however, than regular old, unprestigious split peas make a damn fine dip. You could really rock the boat and use green split peas, too. Just don’t blame me if officials find out and you’re banned from entering Greece at a later date.

Split Decision

Maybe the golden color is playing tricks on my mind, but I swear each velvety dollop, dip, and spoonful has an almost buttery finish. Topping with capers and diced red onion is essential to create the perfect bite, lending a briny, salt, and sharp highlight to what might otherwise fall a little flat. Wrapped in soft, warm pita bread or scooped up with crisp veggies, even this large batch will go fast. It could definitely give the average hummus a run for its money.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)2 Comments

Right On Cue

Barbecue is big business here in the south. People worship at the altar of smoke and fire, where pitmasters stand like priests before steel rigs blackened by decades of grease and devotion. It’s less of a meal than a declaration of faith, because in truth, it does take that level of conviction to tend a single slab of protein for 6 – 8 hours and trust that it’s time well-spent.

Devotees are ready to throw down at the barest whisper of dissent, even when discussing the differences between Texas, Memphis, Alabama, Kansas City, and the Carolinas. Tossing a meatless option into the ring would tantamount to treason, ostensibly punishable by law, but I’m prepared to take that risk. That’s how confident I am in Fungitarian BBQ.

Mushrooms Over Meat

Challenging the status quo with mushrooms might sound dubious in a culture built on beef, but the whole art of barbecue has always been about transformation. Founded on taking humble, tough cuts and turning them into something transcendent through smoke, spice, patience, and fire, that ethos can be applied to anything. Fungitarian delivers on that same philosophy, and flavor, all in one ready-to-eat package.

Where There’s Smoke

Give mushrooms the same amount of heat and time to unlock their inherently umami, meaty, almost primal qualities. Charred around the edges, toothsome and supple in the middle, there are no woody stems to contend with, and no gristle, bones, or fat, for that matter, either. Absorbing the heady smoke like a marinade, they carry that flavor all the way through, rather than merely wearing it on the surface. That’s what makes it even more compelling as the crowning jewel on a loaded baked potato.

Potayto, Potahto

A proper barbecue potato is a celebration of excess. Blistered skins splitting open to reveal a steaming, fluffy interior; even without adornment, it’s a mouthwatering sight to behold. When piled recklessly high with cheese, protein, and enough toppings to collapse under its own weight, make no mistake, this isn’t some token side dish. Best of all, when done right, no BBQ sauce need apply. Such sticky, sweet syrup would only distract from the rich flavors of smoke and spice within.

Low and Slow or Fast and Fresh

Baked potatoes are nothing if not adaptable. You have five choices for how to approach the cooking process, all of which creating perfectly delicious results, though the longest wait does yield the greatest rewards.

  • Smoker: 2 hours at 225 degrees
  • Oven or grill: 45 – 60 minutes at 400 degrees
  • Air fryer: 30 – 40 minutes at 370 degrees
  • Microwave: 8 – 10 minutes at full power (cooked one at a time)

If you’ve already got the smoker or grill going, it’s a no-brainer. That extra infusion of smoke and char can’t be replicated and is tough to find elsewhere, even in most restaurants. If you’ve got a squad of hangry guests that need to eat ASAP, there’s no shame in getting an assist from the microwave.

Top That

Likewise, the number of potential toppings to adorn your barbecue masterpiece is limited only by your imagination. Want to add more veggies? Throw in some chopped broccoli or sautéed spinach. Like it hot? Go all in on chilies. Just a few of my favorite suggestions include:

Barbecue For All

Purists may clutch their tongs in horror, but it’s their loss if they can’t invite more diverse options to the backyard barbecue. One bite would end the argument faster than any amount of debate. Smoke, spice, char, and comfort don’t belong exclusively to brisket. That same experience is accessible to anyone willing to put in the time and respect the process. The loaded baked potato simply happens to be the perfect stage for proving it.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)12 Comments

Full of Shiitake

Shiitake mushrooms have been the gateway to umami for countless young cooks. They were, in fact, a major contributor to the essential scientific understanding of umami we take for granted today. Long before we had the language to explain why fungi had a distinctive savory character akin to animal meat, shiitake proliferated in kitchens near and far, creating a depth of flavor exceeding the core constituents of any given dish.

Equally at home floating in a clear broth, blistered in a cast iron skillet, or folded into a rich stew, there’s no match for the versatility and power of this mushroom. A small handful of rehydrated shiitake can smell like a rainy forest floor or a five-star steakhouse, sometimes simultaneously. Few ingredients punch so far above their weight.

I’ve become an outspoken proponent of shiitake after years of witnessing their transformative power in my own cooking. As such, I have more shiitake recipes than I know what to do with. When anyone asks for suggestions, I just stare at the floor and mumble something about the recipe archive, knowing full well that it’s a dense thicket of odd titles to traverse. It’s about time I had a better answer, which leads me to this round-up of my top 40 shiitake mushroom recipes. Limiting myself to only 40 was a challenge because there are roughly 90 potential contenders on the blog, to date. No doubt, that total will continue to rise the moment I hit “publish”.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks; easy, intermediate, and advanced; elegant, rustic, and downright extravagant; this collection spans nearly every possible expression of the whole macrofungus, fresh and dried, I’ve personally enjoyed most. If you don’t know what to do with a sudden windfall of shiitake, I’ll help you make quick work of them.

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Hannah (BitterSweet)9 Comments