Lentil Stew

So, I had this jar of dried little French lentils sitting in the back of my cupboard. Before I moved to Arizona a year and a half ago, it was sitting in the back of my food shelf in Washington. I'm pretty sure it traveled around to at least three different places of residence with me over the years. Anyway, I rarely cook with lentils.

It may be because they do not share the American culinary ubiquity of, say, black beans or pinto beans or chickpeas. Lentil burritos? No. Refried lentils? No. Lentil hummus? No. But I'm actually inclined to believe that my reluctance to use them originates in my childhood.

We had dried lentils in our pantry, too. They were in an old cylindrical plastic food container, opaque with scratches, with a yellowed snap-on lid. A little paper label on the front read, in my mother's handwriting, "LENTILS." I don't know how long they'd been there (probably about as long as my French lentils stayed unused in my own supply).

It was afternoon. I felt adventuresome, and I wanted candy (bear in mind, not that it changes the story, but I was about 5 or 6 years old at the time, and my parents weren't the type to freely give candy to their offspring). Bored with my usual crime of grazing on pinches of flour out of the container, disillusioned by my recent experience trying to eat baking soda (it looked like flour), and probably running dangerously low on tubed decorative icing nabbed from the spice cabinet, I remember distinctly that I decided to broaden my horizons a bit.

"Lentils," I wondered. I didn't know what those were. I evaluated the shape of a lentil. It was notably comparable to the shape of an M&M. But lentils were smaller, and relatively colorless. "Flour has no color," I thought. "Flour tastes good." As it often does, my sense of exploration overcame my trepidations. I took a small handful of lentils, and I ate them.

The texture was unpleasant. Hard, stale, and simultaneously crunchy and chewy, they had no satisfying give when masticated. The lentils tasted like old, musty rags. I remember making a face and thinking something along the lines of, "yuck," as I grabbed a second handful and swallowed those whole. Positively gag-inducing; certainly no better than the first bunch and likely a little worse. I remember tossing back another handful and a few more individual lentils before deciding, with great disappointment, that this venture was better abandoned.

I don't remember what went on for the rest of that afternoon and evening, but I do recall with clarity the feeling of nausea. The continual aftertaste of musty rags. A dull, building headache. Rolling discomfort in my stomach, and the wrenching quease that never brought relief. I tried to bring them back up to no avail. I didn't want to tell my parents because, well, it's embarrassing when you intentionally eat a bunch of dried lentils and then feel shitty. Besides, I was pretty sure I wasn't supposed to snack on dried goods out of the pantry.

(Looking back over this experience, it seems apparent that, as a child, I had some sort of eating disorder.)

In any case, lentils have never really enchanted my adult self like other legumes. I got the French lentils during some crazy scheme I had one day to have available in my own personal store, every type of dried legume on which I could get my hands. You know, just in case I needed them for something.

After about four years (read: a few weeks ago) I decided to finally cook up my lentils and serve them in a coconut-squash soup. I was excited, because it sounded good, and it's soup season. This is all really beside the point, because it took about 2 hours for the lentils to mostly cook, and the soup didn't really turn out that well.

I don't like giving up on myself, though. I got more lentils (regular ones, this time) and made a soup in which to put them, using neither squash nor coconut milk. It turned into a stew, but whatever. It's amazing when it's cold out. And cheap, which is good when you're living more in the red than you've ever lived before.


LENTIL STEW

1 cup dried lentils, rinsed and picked and then cooked
cooking oil
3 stalks celery, all chopped up
3 carrots, all chopped up
1 onion, all chopped up
2 lbs potatoes, all chopped up (1/2 inch cubes is great)
5 cloves garlic, all chopped up
1 tbsp oregano
1 tbsp dried thyme
1 tsp smoked paprika
1 tsp sea salt
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
2 bay leaves
few leaves kale or spinach or other green, all chopped up

1. Cook the lentils in 2 cups of water until the water is absorbed and the lentils are thoroughly hydrated and not at all crunchy. This can take anywhere between 20 minutes and an hour, depending on how old your lentils are. Stir every so often toward the end, and add some sea salt to taste.

2. While the lentils cook, toss the carrots, celery, and onion in a little cooking oil in the bottom of a stockpot and put it on medium-low heat. I was going for a sweetening-of-the-onions effect, but I didn't consider the fact that the carrots and the celery were hanging out too and they got kinda bored in the pan. That, and I didn't even have a whole onion to work with like I'd planned. Just half. So... that didn't really do anything. Make sure to stir them every so often.

3. While the vegetables are cooking, you can cut up the potatoes. I like red potatoes. You can leave the skin on, and the texture is nice, and they don't fall apart too much.



Look. Look at that relative uniformity.

4. Maybe, by the time you're done chopping, the vegetables will have relaxed rather a lot in their pot. They cooked in there nice and slowly for about 20 minutes. Maybe more. I don't remember, to be honest.



5. Toss the garlic, oregano, thyme, paprika, salt, and red pepper flakes into the cooking vegetables and let that cook another minute or two.



6. Add the potatoes to the pot, and cover with water. I think I added about 6 cups total. Add the bay leaves. Give it a bit of a stir, cover, and turn the heat up to medium-high to bring to a boil.



7. After it's boiling, reduce heat to medium-low again and cover the pot just partially. Let it simmer away until the potatoes are tender, then stir it every few minutes for 10-20 minutes more, so some of the potatoes break up and thicken the stew. Yeah. Then it gets good.



8. Dump in the lentils. Stir it up a final time, and taste for salt. Add if necessary. You can add your green bits at the end. I leave them out altogether and drop them in when I'm heating up individual portions for leftovers. They should really only be hot for 5 minutes or so. Otherwise they go rather limp and become somewhat gray. Not appealing.

Cooked lentils are easier on the stomach than are dried lentils, come to think of it. They're a lot more palatable in general. There's nothing to fear from lentils in a stew, anyway... especially this one, since it's amazing. Slightly spicy, but it's cold out so that's warranted.

That's really all I have. Go forth and consume more expensive things in my stead.

Cantacoco Smoothie

You know how sometimes, life just starts getting crazy and you can't keep up your habits? Yeah.

Actually, it pleases me when these things happen. Most of the time. After all, most of my habits only exist to prevent me from getting bored. If I know what I am going to do at any given time, I don't have to wonder about what I'm going to do at any given time. But... sometimes something neat happens, and it prevents me from completing my habitual activities. For a whole two and a half weeks I was unable to a) run in circles every other day, b) blog midweek, c) pine about missing my cats and my friends 24 hours a day. I went home to Seattle for awhile, and came back with the two sweet kitties whom I've been missing more than anything else.

None of this is relevant to my post, of course, save the part about being unable to blog midweek for awhile. I meant to, at one point. I made a delightful red kale and golden beet salad, but I never actually got around to typing up a post. Such is life.

So now that life is settling down, I bring you a smoothie. Because I am a fan of fruit, and you should be too.

Oh! And it's evil, I mustn't forget to mention. (My goal for the week, you see, is to use my powers for evil.) Clearly it's evil, as none of my ingredients were sourced even a little bit locally. Well, I guess the cantaloupe comes from Mexico, and I am closer to Mexico than I used to be. But honestly - it's not even the same country. None of them are from the same country as me, none are from the same country as each other, and none of them are in season. HA! How's that for evil?

(Please, though - somebody, stop me from coming up with all these ridiculous names for things.)


CANTACOCO SMOOTHIE

fresh young coconut (they look like... well, see below)
small-medium ripe banana
1/4 small-medium cantaloupe

This (above) is what a fresh young coconut looks like. The white part is just a fibrous cover over the round coconut (like the ones you may be used to seeing), and it was taken out of a big green thing, which you probably will never see. Fresh young coconuts are full to the brim with clear liquid, which tastes like cool, sweet, refreshing water. The flesh is white, and soft and a little jellylike - unlike that of mature coconuts (the round ones with the brown hairy husk). Most of the ones you find in stores are from Thailand, and mine was no exception. They are at Asian markets and some natural food stores, and perhaps normal grocery stores, but I wouldn't know.

1. Get into your coconut. Take a sharp, large knife (I prefer to use a standard-sized chef's knife) and shave the fibrous part off the top of the coconut. You'll have to go around shaving bits off in a circle, but it should take you about 30 seconds total.

2. Hold the coconut in one hand, and take your knife in the other and tap the sharp heel of your knife (hard) all around the top of the coconut in a circle.



This is not difficult, because the weight of the knife does most of the work. You don't have to grip the handle super hard or anything. But you will have to hit it kind of hard. Experiment until you get the right amount of pressure. You should hear it crack when you get in.



3. Carefully pop off the top, and there will probably be some liquid that spills out. It should be super full.



Pour this liquid through a strainer into some kind of container. It's ok if little fibers get into it. You'll never notice them. If you're super anal about that kind of thing, you can strain it through a coffee filter or paper towel.



4. You should have a coconut and a top of a coconut. Use a spoon to scrape out all the flesh into another container. This is easy peasy. When you're done, take care to remove the hard bits of shell that may be clinging to some of the white flesh. A little bit of brown stuck to it is fine, but no hard bits.



5. YAY! You are done with that bit. Now you can cut up a cantaloupe quarter, as shown.



Remove the seeds from the center, and then cut once down the middle (like you were cutting it into two long slices, but don't go through the rind), and slice it many times across, then run the knife around underneath everything. Ta da! Another 30 seconds.

6. Put all the coconut flesh, half the coconut water, the cantaloupe, and a sliced up banana into a blender. Or, if you don't have a blender but have a wand blender, into a bowl.



I wasn't sure if I wanted the whole banana or the whole quarter cantaloupe, so I only added half of each at first. But then after blending and tasting, I decided to add the rest. And then I blended again. You should just add it all the first time and blend once.



It's a pretty simple breakfast smoothie. If you like, you can add some plain yogurt to it. I like it as is. It's not as thick as some smoothies, but I don't care. If you want it thicker, and colder, you can pre-cut and freeze the cantaloupe and banana ahead of time and blend them frozen into it. But whatever you do, don't add ice.

I like this smoothie, (and other smoothies using the same model), because it doesn't taste like watered-down under-ripe fruit. It tastes strong. Strong and good.

Speaking of strong fruit, maybe some day I'll make a smoothie with durian. If you haven't had durian, be sure to try it. Another Asian market find... just make sure you don't open it in a less-than-well-ventilated area. Outside is best.

Enjoy your exotic fruiting.

Shadow Cupcakes

There's more than one way to celebrate a birthday.

So long as it includes cake, of course. You can have layer cake, sheet cake, angel food cake, chiffon cake, cheesecake, coffee cake... or cupcakes... and really, even if you don't like cake, you probably like cupcakes. Who doesn't?

My mom always wants the same kind of cake for her birthday: what she calls "shadow cake," which is chocolate cake covered in vanilla buttercream and drizzled with dark chocolate ganache. She likes it made with Duncan Hines Devil's Food Cake mix. Hahahaha. No.

Unfortunately, I have yet to master the art of devil's food cake from scratch that is a) dark, b) rich, c) moist, and d) fluffy (aka not dense). And since I don't use cake flour, the going is even tougher. But I make wonderful chocolate cupcakes, that are proven popular to her palate, so this year, I did that instead. And they're vegan, to boot (which nobody seems to care about, since rarely do I feed them to vegan people). Complete credit for just about everything I used goes to Isa Chandra Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero for the masterpiece Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World. That is a book worth getting for anybody that makes cupcakes, vegan or not.


SHADOW CUPCAKES

"Your Basic Chocolate Cupcake" recipe from Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World
"Fluffy Vegan Buttercream Frosting" recipe from Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World, only I used butter instead of margarine and cream instead of soymilk, and cut the recipe in half (nobody was vegan, and we already had butter, so why not? it's less processed anyway)
"Quick Melty Ganache" recipe from Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World

1. I can't tell you exactly how to make these cupcakes. But I'll sort of walk you through the basic steps, if for no other reason than to show you that it's easy. You really should get the book.

Anyway, like many a baked good, you start by preheating your oven and preparing your pans. In this case, line a muffin pan with cupcake papers. A word to the wise: even the neatest, brightest-patterened papers will be lost to chocolate cupcakes. You just won't be able to see them. Foil liners work well, or plain liners. I used these nice parchment ones.

2. Then you want to curdle your milk/soymilk with some vinegar for a few minutes. After 10 minutes or so, put it in a medium bowl with some oil, sugar, and vanilla.



3. Get ready your dry ingredients. Flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. You can sift it all together, and then whisk it up. Or, what may be better (but I haven't tried) is to whisk it up first and then sift it together. This part I like, because it looks like cake mix. Heehee. It kind of is, too.



4. Take the wet ingredients and beat them up good with a whisk. It should get good and foamy.



In two batches, add your dry ingredients to your wet ingredients. In the first addition, stir gently to mostly incorporate it. When you add the rest, you can whisk it nicely until it just looks like batter. Not super lumpy batter, but don't beat it to death, either. 10 seconds of whisking heartily should do it. There should be no dry pockets.



5. Put it in your liners, which should be ready, if you've done the thing properly. It works awfully well to have an ice cream scoop with a release mechanism on it, so you can portion out roughly 3 tbsp of batter per cup. But if you don't, gently pouring it or using a small ladle should work fine. If you get some on the pan, just get it with your finger and have a taste. Try and clean messes off the pan before you bake, especially ones between the pan and a liner, because it will be very tough to get the cupcake out intact if there's stray, unbound cupcake between the liner and the pan. It acts as a nice adhesive.



The top of the batter should be a little ways from the top of the liner. Try and get them relatively even.

6. Pop in the oven and bake for a reasonable amount of time. Take them out when they're done (do the toothpick test on the largest one. This is where having a good oven comes in handy. Cheap, old, and no-good ovens like to see-saw their temperatures around when you're baking, causing the cupcakes to become confused and fall either in the oven or just after you've taken them out. Fortunately, cupcakes with chocolate seem less prone to this problem, and my mother has a good oven.



It's ok if they're a little domed, but they shouldn't be all muffiny on top, lest some schmuck calls them "muffins." If someone calls your cupcakes "muffins," do not give them one.

7. Cool the cupcakes in the pan on a wire rack 10 minutes, and then on a wire rack naked but for their papers until they're room temperature.

Taking them out of the pan can be tricky if you're a novice. I start by gently turning them with my fingers. If they turn easily, they are not stuck and will be easy to remove. If they don't, then I gently pull the sides away (again, with my fingers, or a knife if you're brave) until they can turn. Keyword: gently. And then, deftly grab the sides of the top with your fingers, pull it straight out and pop it right into your palm (the less time you spend holding the top and not the rest of it, the less likely the top is to come right off). Put it straight down on the rack (liner side down). Be careful with metal liners, they're hot. And the whole thing may take some practice; I certainly got a lot of practice picking up hot, just fried donuts and dunking them in toppings when I was a baker at Mighty O Donuts. The worst thing ever is to pull off the top and leave huge, awful fingerprints in the sides. Do not do this.

8. After (and only after) the cupcakes are cool, make the buttercream. I almost always use the recipe from Vegan Cupcakes when I make buttercream, which is equal parts of shortening and non-hydrogenated margarine (I used non-hydrogenated shortening and butter, in this case, because I had some), beaten together with sifted powdered sugar added, with a little bit of soymilk (I used cream, as it gives it just a little lightness, when you beat, it that I like). You beat it a few minutes until it's fluffy but not lumpy (if you beat it too long, it gets lumpy). And then, if you have a pastry bag and a neat fat spiky tip, load it up :)



9. Pipe a swirl on each cake. I start at the center, straight out to the outside, in a circle coming around back to the center again. But you can do it however you want. Or just spread it on, which tastes just as good but doesn't look as fancy.



When you're done, they'll all look kind of the same. This part actually only takes about 30 seconds (for all the cupcakes put together).



10. Make your "shadow" part using dark chocolate and cream. Heat up the cream first, and take it off the heat when it's steaming and stir in chocolate. Keep stirring until the chocolate is melted. You may then put it in a baggie with the teeniest bit cut off the corner. You can also use another pastry bag with a small tip. It's a bit too thick to drizzle with a spoon, and if you try it might just land in large glops and destroy your nice piping work.

Depending on how fast you are making cupcakes, it shouldn't take you too long. Maybe 2 hours start to finish. They actually cool quite fast, provided their wire rack is not sitting atop the oven the whole time.

And watch out for cats. They'll eat your work. They'll eat it right out of the pan; right off the rack. My suggestion is to put it in a cabinet to cool, or atop the refrigerator if your cats are old and relatively infirm and/or incapable of jumping up there. Unless you want to watch it cool, which is an option as well, but no promises that your cats won't eat your work while you're looking at it, too.

Roasted Applesauce

I started out the week thinking I was going to be blogging about rice and beans again. Plain, old rice and beans. See blog name. Funds are low, spirits high, yada yada. I enjoy it. But then I went to a farmer's market on the Arizona State University campus in Tempe, and given a golden opportunity. One too good to pass up.

Free locally-grown blemished organic apples.

Like, FREE. So I took 5 pounds.



I believe that slightly wrinkled, a little old, somewhat banged-up apples make the best sauce. I can only hope that I prove to be as useful when I'm slightly wrinkled, a little old, and somewhat banged up.

They were a mixed variety, all grown in Willcox, AZ. As they were unmarked, I don't know exactly what they were - but it looked to me as though they were selections from their golden delicious, red delicious, and gala apples. Before you cry, "why, red delicious?? How awful!" I feel compelled to tell you that these red delicious apples in no way resemble the grown-in-Washington red delicious abomination of an apple for which my home state is unfortunately famous. They were small and round and stripy. Not tall and knobby, overly shiny and the color of ostrich meat.

One more thing, before I get to making the sauce. I must forewarn you that if you do not have a food mill and you do not wish for skins to remain in your applesauce, you are in for a workout when it comes time to strain the sauce. Don't worry, it makes your applesauce (and your triumphant victory) taste all the sweeter.

"Mightn't I just peel the apples first?" you ask naïvely. "No, good applewife (or appleman)," I tell you, "you may not." For the apple skins provide unparalleled color and flavor to your sauce as they cook, not to mention the pectin that thickens it and gives it body. If you're in it to take the easy way out, go to the 7-11 and buy a jar of lamesauce commercially-prepared applesauce, which gets all the color it needs from food coloring and all the flavor it needs from the ambiguous "natural flavors."

OK, I lied - one more thing. This was my grand experiment with making applesauce in the oven. That is, to say, roasting it. I must say, I approve of the result. One might say this is actually the recipe for...

Wait for it...

Awesomesauce? Yeah, I said it.


ROASTED APPLESAUCE

5lbs mixed apples, or McIntosh (they'd probably make the best sauce), or whatever
3 tbsp lemon juice (about 1 1/2 lemon's worth)
1/4 cup plus 1 tbsp brown sugar
5 cinnamon sticks
10 whole cloves
Pinch of sea salt
3/4 cup water

1. Preheat the oven to 375°F and start with your large amount of blemished (or simply just nice and ripe) apples. Bruises are fine. Mold and rot are not so fine. As for worms, that's your discretion. Cut out whatever you're not comfortable with. I should mention that there's sort of a formula to this recipe - for every pound of apples, you should have about 1 1/2 tsp lemon juice (I rounded up a little), 1 tbsp brown sugar, 1 cinnamon stick, two whole cloves, and 2 tbsp water (I rounded up a little). It's not an exact science, just a guideline.

So, you have your apples. Core them and cut them in eighths, like I did making the apple crumble, only do not skin them. Just leave them in eighths. For larger apples, you can cut them in 12 slices. It doesn't really matter. The bigger they are, the longer they need to cook, and vice versa. Try and make them somewhat even, though.

2. If you can find a bowl large enough for your 5lbs of cut up apples with a little room, great! I could not, however, and ended up simply with a very full bowl.



It makes it interesting, anyway, as you then have to toss the apples with the lemon juice and brown sugar. Somehow I managed.



3. Pile them all in a largish-sized roasting pan. If you don't have a roasting pan, a 9x13-inch cake pan will do. If you don't have a cake pan of that size, a 9x13-inch-ish glass baking dish should work. If you don't have anything like that, improvise.

Pour in the water and tuck the cinnamon sticks wherever they'll fit, but make sure they're buried under apples, or they'll lose their flavor to the hot oven air. Stick the cloves into apple slices.



4. Put the pan in the oven and leave it there for about 40 minutes. Remove it after this time, but keep the oven on. The apples should have a slightly brown appearance.



Take a potato masher or similar device and smash as many apples as you can. Just try and get them into small pieces.



Put it back in the oven for - oh, 25 minutes or so.

5. Take it out again, smash it again, and return to the oven.



When you remove it a third time, it should be ready. Smash it some more, just for good measure, and you're ready to strain it! It should look like this, by the way. If there are still somewhat firm chunks of apple, it needs more time in the oven. If it's looking dry, you can add some water.



6. In batches (I did three), run it through your food mill into a large bowl. If you find yourself devoid of a food mill, your only option is a large strainer/colander/sieve and a big spoon. Scoop some of the apples into the strainer (set over a bowl, if you please, otherwise you'll be trying to salvage applesauce from your countertops), and mash it through with the spoon. Remove the cinnamon sticks and cloves as you go. A rubber spatula is not strong enough for this. Just keep mashing, scraping, pushing, and muscling through until all that's left in the strainer is a pile of skins.



Repeat with the remaining portions of applesauce until you have your skins in one place:



...and your sauce in a bowl.



At this point, what you do with the sauce is up to you. I freeze some, refrigerate some, and eat some. I like it just as it is, sometimes with a little vanilla ice cream. Some people put it on stuff. Maybe it's good mixed into oatmeal (but I don't know, so don't blame me if it's not). It is certainly worth the trouble to make, though, particularly if you are able to score free apples.

I'm sure there's something interesting you can do with the skins, but I just like to eat them. Why not? They're toothsome and spiced and taste like apples. The cinnamon sticks and cloves I plan on sticking in a small, shallow pan with water on the stove and simmering gently to keep this lovely aroma alive. Make some holiday potpourri afterward, maybe.

Happy applesaucing.

Stocking Up (and Yogurt, Too)

I don't like buying prefabricated foodstuffs if I can easily make them myself - especially if they're more expensive premade. Take... oh, say, yogurt. Or vegetable stock. No wait, take both, because that's what I made this week.

(Like you had a choice.)


Making vegetable stock, for instance, is pretty simple. And it's handy to have around, because what if I want to make stew? Or risotto? Or something else that takes stock?

Why make your own vegetable stock?
- it's cheaper than buying stock
- you actually get to use vegetable scraps you'd otherwise throw away
- minimize waste from a) commercial production of stock, including packaging, and b) usable scraps
- it's very easy
- sodium control
- ingredient control
- quality control
- the stock is only subject to your whims, and not irradiation, complete sterilization, and contamination from horrid things

Every day, from whatever vegetables I use in my cooking or eating - carrots, celery, onions, kale, garlic, herbs - scraps go into a 1-2 gallon bag in the freezer. I call it my "stock bag." Onion skins go in... carrot peelings... kale stalks... thyme stems... that kind of thing. I don't put carrot greens or really inedible things in there, though, or things with no real flavor of their own (like lettuce, or potatoes). And if I have a vegetable that kind of wilts in the fridge but doesn't go bad, and I don't want to eat it because it's too floppy, I'll put it in the stock bag, too.

And then when the bag's full, I take everything out and dump it in my stockpot and cover with good water. Filtered, or bottled, or whatever. You're making a stock, so the water is kind of a feature. You don't want it to taste like Phoenix tap water.



I also chop up a few fresh carrots and half an onion and smash a few garlic cloves and toss them in. You don't even have to peel them. (By the way, don't put in the insane amount of parsley that I did here. It kind of makes it bitter.) I think the most important flavors in a stock come from carrots, celery, and the members of the Allium genus (onions, leeks, garlic, chives, etc). Make sure you have plenty of those in there.

Bring to a boil, turn down to a simmer, cover partially and let it go for an hour or two. Stir it every 20 minutes or so, to make sure everything's getting overcooked the same amount. When it's done, you should be able to mash a previously-fresh chunk of carrot with a fork.



It should also smell pretty good. Put a nice big strainer over a nice big bowl and carefully pour in the vegetables and their cooking liquid.



Let that drain in there for a few minutes (prop it up if the bottom is sitting in the stock) and then set the strainer aside to cool before you dispose of the veggies. They are great in a compost pile, or eaten by a pig. If you have access to neither of those things, you can always just throw them out. They've lost all value at this point (but really, pigs love to eat anything).

Salt your liquid to taste. It's probably two teaspoons per 6 cups. I don't know. Just keep tasting.



You can use it right away, or pour it in a nice sealing jar and freeze it - whatever you need. You could freeze it in an ice cube tray, and then put all the cubes in a bag in the freezer, so when you need just a little stock you can take out the right amount. I used a bunch to make cassoulet, and stored the rest.

Tada! Vegetable stock. Kind of simple. Very cheap.



--- --- ---

And now for yogurt. I use the method (approximately) used in the book Wild Fermentation by Sandor Ellix Katz. It's not scary. You don't need a yogurt maker. It's not difficult. As long as you are capable of pouring and stirring.

You should have a few tools on hand, though. Have a watertight quart-size jar. I love the ones with the little orange rubber seal. Also have a small hard picnic cooler that will fit said jar and still be able to close. And last, but not least, have a candy thermometer that you can clip to the side of a saucepan.

Why make your own yogurt?
- it can be cheaper than buying processed yogurt
- it's easy
- it's pure - keep powdered milk, gelatin, and other thickeners and stabilizers out
- you can choose the source and type of your milk
- it will only undergo what you put it through, and not the rigors and dangers of commercial preparation

This yogurt is not quite as firm as yogurt you'll find in little plastic cups. The reason is that it contains no thickeners, other than the culture Lactobacillus delbrueckii bulgaricus (which also breaks down lactose so you can digest it). It is creamy and thick, and a great probiotic.

Start with a quart of the freshest whole milk you can get, and pour it into a saucepan (preferably one with a heavy bottom, not super-thin). It should fit with a little room. Clip your thermometer to the side so it's as far into the milk as you can get it without touching the bottom of the pan.



The first step is to re-pasteurize the milk. Yogurt is made with beneficial bacteria, but they can't work very efficiently when there's other bacteria in the way. So pasteurizing will give your milk a fresh new start. Put it over medium heat or so. Not too high, or it will scorch on the bottom and your yogurt will taste like burnt milk. Are you really that impatient?

Stir it every couple of minutes (from the bottom) so it doesn't scorch. You want to get it to 180°F - not higher, because it will lose just about anything nice that it has in it, and taste much like cooked milk, which is weird. Not lower if you want to minimize your risk of unsavory competition for your good bacteria. But if you're trying to keep it near-raw, and have raw milk fresh from the cow, maybe you could skip the pasteurization step.

When it reaches 180, take it right off the heat and put it on a cooling rack. Keep stirring it every few minutes (not as often as you did when it was on the stove). You are now cooling it to the proper temperature for yogurt cultures to thrive - between 110°F and 115°F.



The milk takes a little while to cool, so you can also prep your cooler and jar by filling them with scalding hot tap water.



Close up the cooler to retain the heat and warm everything up faster.

Your milk is still not cool, so you can get your culture ready. Take 1 tablespoon - no more, no less - of active culture yogurt and keep it handy. If it's your first time making yogurt, get a small container of plain, whole milk yogurt from a brand that advertises live cultures (the more, the better, usually), and take it from there. Nancy's Springfield Creamery in Oregon makes lovely cultured dairy products, and their yogurt makes a great starter. Get one with an expiration date as far in the future as possible. Bacteria do die off after awhile, and if you get a dud culture, you'll get dud yogurt. I had a batch from two weeks ago that I made, so I used a tablespoon of my own yogurt.



When your milk finally enters the 110-115 range, plop in the tablespoon of yogurt and whisk it up. Immediately dump the water out of the jar and cooler, dry the inside of the jar with the cleanest towel you have, and pour in the milk. With confidence. If you are afraid, you might spill it everywhere and lose everything you've ever worked for. Don't cry, though; I hear there's no use.



Seal up your jar and put it back in the cooler. Fill the cooler (so it just covers the jar of yogurt-to-be) with very hot tap water.



Close the cooler and put it in an undisturbable location (no moving or opening) and leave it alone for 8-12 hours. The longer it sits, the firmer and sourer it gets. I like yogurt sour (more good bacteria!), so I usually leave it at least 10 hours.

After your allotted time, take out the jar and put it in the refrigerator to chill. When it's chilled, it will be all yoged up. And really neat!



If you're not used to plain yogurt, or don't like the sourness, I recommend sweetening it with brown sugar, rapadura sugar, maple syrup, agave nectar, or honey (although, adding honey to chilled yogurt is difficult, as the honey gets nervous and seizes up and takes quite awhile to blend). Berries are also good, as are chopped nuts, granola, or shaved chocolate. You can use it in any recipe calling for yogurt.


Hope you enjoyed the how-to guide. It's really very satisfying to have an intimate knowledge of your food.

PS: Sorry there's no saguaro pudding. They're a protected species or something. Maybe next time, if I can find some saguaro fruit or seeds on the market.