It's a process

It's been a while. It's been a long while, and I'm sorry, lovely readers. So much has happened, I'm not sure where to begin. But, today, I'm making granola.



In March of 2015, I bought a house. Before I'd even signed the papers, I had started dreaming of a summer housewarming party: lots of people milling through the backyard, the dim glow of moonlight and garland lights against suntanned skin making everyone look extra beautiful as they chatted and laughed over tacos and poured tart margaritas from giant jugs. A full eleven months later, late February of this year, I moved into my house. I had yet to buy a bed, the shelves on the kitchen wall had yet to be built, and the backyard was a jungle of weeds. The mix of over-the-top elation, exasperation, and gentle management of expectations has been constant.

Today, we're about six months past the move. I have a bed. The backyard is, for now, still a jungle. But last week, the shelves were finally, finally done. I'm the last person to rush the closing of summer, but this morning felt a little cooler than it's been lately (I mean, maybe 73 instead of 77). Staying in with a playlist of the Head and the Heart and old REM felt right. So did some quality time with my kitchen, making granola. A big batch that will sit in a giant mason jar on the shelf.


The first Friday after I moved into the house, I left my job at Dreamworks after nine years. The following Monday, I started a new job. This new job is a work-from-home one. I'll spare you the process, and just say this: after months on a rollercoaster of nerves, I came out of it with a new sense of buoyancy. I stepped away from a comfortable job that didn't feel good anymore, and into a new one that feels right in ways the old one never did. I aced interviews, I negotiated salaries. I did it.

And then I started and I knew nothing. I felt as helpless as an infant. The first few months, I videoconferenced with my coworkers sitting on the floor at my coffee table because I had no desk (but then I did, and it was glorious!). I was perplexed by the task of managing myself in my own home all day (though for real, it's the best). My office is about 5 steps from my bedroom. My closest coworker lives in Eagle Rock; my farthest lives in Melbourne. I love it, and it's bizarre. I'm learning.


All of this newness has been the biggest exercise in patience. I'm not a rash person; I don't make big changes often. For me, this transition is a pretty huge one. And changes like these bring with them so much expectation. For the last year and a half, my head has been filled with images of this new life: dinner parties and barbecues, winding down at the piano after a long work day, meals made with vegetables from my own garden, recipe testing in breaks from work. But first I need a piano, first I need that veggie patch to exist, first I need to actually be good at my job.

Chocolate buttercream on lunch break? Mais oui.

But, don't get me wrong. It's happening. Things are shifting. In April, I picked elderflowers from the river path behind my street, and made amazing cordial for whoever came by all spring long.  A few weeks ago, I took my first bike ride on the river path to Frogtown with a new neighbor.  He was patient with my abject lack of bike prowess, and we had lunch at wonderful Wax Paper (seriously guys, the Ira Glass, on Bub and Grandma's bread, is the bomb): a small, wobbly triumph. I'm officially a regular at my local cafe, after one of the baristas recognized me out in the neighborhood. As of last week, the second bedroom/office is now available for houseguests and co-working. (Seriously! Come hang out!) A few small dinner parties and pancake breakfasts have happened, and now, when my sister's family makes the trek to the city, I have space to house her tall crew and a counter to spread with safe snacks for her celiac son and his siblings.

Elderflower syrup, nascent stages.

My new life and I are just getting started. Eventually, I'll have the piano, the dreamy yard where I can host friends and harvest tomatoes, a sense of mastery with my job. It's about making a home, and that's a process. Today, I have shelves. And a big jar of granola to put on them.


Granola
Makes about 7 cups
Adapted from Orangette

I've hewn close to the Early Bird recipe since I first saw it on Orangette. If your ingredients, especially your oats, are gluten-free, so is this recipe.

Like moving, like starting a new job, like life, it's a process: I'd like to hone it down to something I love as I make more batches. So, if you have secrets for your perfect granola, I want to hear them! Today, I mixed up the nuts a bit and decreased the brown sugar. I want to try it with vanilla, and with cocoa nibs, and with coconut oil instead of the olive oil (oh wait, I have).

3 cups old fashioned oats
1 cup raw hulled pumpkin seeds
¾ cup raw hulled sunflower seeds
1 1/4 cup unsweetened coconut chips
1 1/4 cup slivered almonds, whole almonds, and pecan pieces
2 teaspoons dark brown sugar
1 teaspoon salt
¾ cup maple syrup, preferably Grade B
 ½ cup olive oil

Preheat the oven to 300°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, combine dry ingredients and stir to mix. Add the olive oil and maple syrup, and stir until well combined. Spread the mixture in an even layer on prepared sheet pan. Bake, stirring every 15 minutes, until the granola is golden brown and toasted, about 50 minutes. Remove the granola from the oven. Cool completely on a wire rack. Store in an airtight container.

Orange Almond Cake with Candied Kumquats

I've talked before here about the fact that I celebrate New Years three times each year: on January 1, on Rosh Hashana, and on Norouz, the Persian new year. This year, there's a fourth.


I spent the second half of February in Vietnam (more on that soon), and was lucky enough to be there for the preparations and celebration of Tet, the Lunar New Year.  So, this year, I've got a glut of opportunities to reflect and start fresh.



With Norouz fast approaching, as I sat thinking about what I could make for the holiday, my mind kept drifting back to Vietnam. Lunar New Year is all-encompassing there: in bustling Hanoi, blocks-long flower markets were set up in the streets just for the two weeks before New Year.  In Hoi An's ancient city -- a charming area where balconied restaurants line a romantic river boardwalk -- glowing lanterns hung across every street and all of the city's teens came out to play carnival games on a midway built just for one night, then they tightly crowded the banks of the river to watch as an over-the-top fireworks display marked midnight.





And everywhere you went, you saw kumquat trees. The golden fruits represent prosperity and good luck, so every home, museum, and shop seemed to have at least one on display.  One of our favorite sights from the trip was motorbike after motorbike with an entire tree (or ten) propped teeteringly on the back as it revved through Vietnam's teeming traffic.



Spring seems to have come early to the east side of Los Angeles.  At night, it smells like jasmine outside, and everywhere, loquat and citrus trees are already heavy with fruit and fragrant flowers. And thousands of miles from southeast Asia, kumquats are in season in Echo Park. I know this because at a dinner party a few weeks back, not one but two guests from Echo Park brought dishes made with kumquats from their own backyards.  So I asked one of those very people if I could ransack their tree for some, and decided to pile little sunshiney pinwheel slices on top of a cake scented with orange blossom water, bringing a little of the Lunar New Year into my Persian New Year celebration this year.






And although the fruit that's most prominent in the haftsinn is apple, preparing a sweet citrus cake for Norouz is not entirely farfetched.  The mahi, or fish, in the traditional Norouz meal of sabzi polo mahi is often prepared with Seville oranges or other citrus.  And the orange blossoms that scent the cake are known by the lovely name of bahar narenj in Persian: "spring orange".  So what better way to mark the first day of spring than with a cake redolent of the fragrance of spring citrus?

I didn't have orange blossom water on hand, but I jotted a quick text to my Tunisian next door neighbor, and before I knew it, a bottle was waiting for me on my balcony chair.  (I have the best next-door neighbor ever, and this balcony chair delivery system has been the source of many delicious drop-offs.  Today, I returned her bottle via balcony-chair-delivery, along with a fat slice of this very cake it helped make.)



I pulled my orange cake recipe from my very favorite cookbook, Claudia Roden's Book of Jewish Food.  So, (ready?), this Judeo-Spanish Passover cake with a French name and a Vietnamese-inspired topping from a Chinese holiday, prepared for a Persian holiday (phew!) is classic American mashup.  The recipe has you boil two whole oranges -- peel and all! -- until they're soft. You pull out the seeds and puree the whole thing, then add it to an almond-meal-based batter.  I respectfully took some liberties with Ms. Roden's recipe: dialing down the sugar, throwing some kumquats in the mix, whipping the egg yolks and whites separately for a lighter cake, and adding a bit of salt.  Then I topped the whole thing with kumquats candied quickly to maintain their cheery form and color.  And to boost that color, I threw in another Persian ingredient: the tiniest touch of saffron.

The result was just what I was hoping for: a bright, fragrant cake with a moist, almost pudding-like texture.  The bracing tartness of the kumquats balanced the cake's sweetness perfectly, and the cake actually brought the beguiling scents of spring into the kitchen.

This blog has been around for many years, and we've celebrated quite a few Norouzes here.  We've covered the basics now: the haftsinn, beautiful fragrant sabzi polo, even jumping over fire in the days leading up.  So, I hope you'll indulge me as I go rogue this year.  Sure, it's not traditional to pull from Vietnamese culture for a Persian holiday, but when non-traditional looks and tastes like this, who's to object?

Fortunately, the rest of the Persian food blogging community has my back.  Once again, they've gotten together to create a veritable feast of sweets and savories, from traditional to experimental, all with stories, photos, and much wisdom to impart about this beautiful holiday.  Links are at the bottom of the post: please do browse around!  Wishing you both Norouz Mobarak and Chúc Mừng Năm Mới: whichever way you say it, Happy New Year!

Excited to report: This recipe was featured on one of my favorite sites, The Mash-Up Americans. Check it out here.

Orange Almond Cake with Candied Kumquats
Adapted from Claudia Roden's Book of Jewish Food and The Kitchn
Makes one 9-inch diameter cake

After the initial long boil of the oranges, this cake comes together quite quickly.  It also happens to be gluten-free, as well as dairy-free, which makes it a natural choice for Passover, which is just a few weeks away.  Be sure to slice your kumquats fairly thick, so they maintain their shape and don't get floppy.  I went with store-bought almond meal, but you can make this with blanched almonds that you grind yourself.

the cake:
2 oranges (I used one blood orange, one navel)
6-10 kumquats (optional)
5 eggs, separated
1 cup sugar
2 Tbs orange blossom water
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 cups almond meal

the candied kumquats:
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup water
Pinch ground saffron
2 cups kumquats, sliced into thick rounds, seeds removed

Wash the oranges and kumquats, and boil them whole in a pot of water for about 1 1/2 hours, or until they are very soft.  Once they're cool enough to touch, cut them open and remove seeds, and puree in a food processor.

Preheat oven to 350F.

In a large bowl, whip egg whites until they form soft peaks.

In another large bowl, combine egg yolks, sugar, orange mixture, orange blossom water, baking powder, and salt.  Add almond meal, and stir to combine.  Gently fold egg whites into batter.

Oil bottom and sides of a 9-inch springform pan, and dust with more almond meal.  Pour batter into pan, and bake for 45 minutes.

While the cake bakes, prepare the kumquats:  In a small saucepan, combine sugar, water, and saffron and bring to a boil.  Add kumquats, bring back to a boil, then lower heat to medium.  Simmer until kumquats are barely translucent, about 7 minutes.

To serve, use a slotted spoon to pour kumquats over cake, then a non-slotted spoon to pour the remaining glaze over cake and kumquats.

An InLinkz Link-up

Black Eyed Peas at Sabzi

As Sara over at the beautiful blog Sabzi is swamped with grad-schooly things right now, she asked me to write a guest post, requesting something Iranian Jewish and wintry.  This black eyed pea recipe resembles what Iranian Jews eat on Rosh Hashana, but also calls back to the tradition of black eyed peas for the New Year in the US south.  And a big pot of beans simmering away is imminently wintry.  Head over and check it out; hope it helps keep you warm.

Coconut Ginger Granola

I've been meaning to make granola for months.  Today I reached granola critical mass.


It's a four-day weekend and everyone's out of town.  After a seeming eleven months of summer, it's grey and raining outside.  A few weeks ago, when I made fesenjoon and had friends over to watch Bourdain in Iran (Did you watch it?  Did you also discover that it in fact was possible to love him more than you already did?  Did you watch Vice's even-more-awesome 3-part Munchies Guide to Tehran?), a friend brought me some homemade granola, and it reminded how satisfying homemade granola is.  Then, over at Sabzi, Sara wrote this evocative post, with those photos in that cozy cold-weather light.


You guys, I ate so much in the last week.  It wasn't just Thanksgiving (though, my goodness was it Thanksgiving), it was amazing slices at Jim and Jason's newest Fairfax spot, Prime Pizza (followed by Scoops at Golden State, natch), it was three servings of truffle mac and cheese at work, it was In-n-Out for dinner, Grandma Nanny's apple pie for breakfast...just a bad scene.  An extremely delicious bad scene.


And in my case, this kind of marathon gorging leads to sore throat and Harvey Fierstein voice.  Really sexy.  Everything I read about what to eat to combat a sour stomach led me to two places: ginger and oatmeal.  And that's been guiding my diet the last few days:  ginger-miso soup with leftover turkey, chai-spiced oatmeal with fennel seed, ginger, and cardamom, and lots and lots of ginger tea.


And this.  Finally, today, I made granola.  I started with the Early Bird / Orangette recipe, the same one I was gifted, the same one Sara used, the same one I always make, because it's empirically the best.  But, I went a little "island" with it:  in addition to adding both fresh and powdered ginger, I replaced the olive oil with coconut oil, the brown sugar with coconut sugar. And I sprinkled the finished product with fresh lime zest.  A little "lime in the coconut" action.  And as usual, I left it in the oven as long as possible.  Admittedly, this technique leads to some casualties, but a couple pecan burn victims are well worth the deep flavor you get as the granola really browns.



The result was great.  It had all the familiar toastiness of the original recipe, with brighter pops throughout from the lime and ginger.  And the lime and ginger go really well with the coconut.  The best part of the process was adding the lime zest: it audibly sizzles and hisses (!!!) as it hits the hot granola.  I think the original recipe remains my go-to for every day, but when you need something special to brighten a grey day, throwing some ginger and lime flavors into a coconutty granola is a good way to go.

Coconut Ginger Granola
Makes about 7 cups.
Adapted from Orangette.

The coconut oil will solidify at room temperature, so once you've added it, keep the mixture moving, and get it to the baking sheet quickly.

3 C old-fashioned oats
1 C pumpkin seeds
1 C sunflower seeds
1 1/4 C unsweetened coconut flakes
1 1/4 C pecans, halved or chopped (I used a combination, as that's what I had on hand)
1 tsp salt
2 tsp ground ginger
2 Tbs grated fresh ginger
2 Tbs ground flax meal (optional)
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 C maple syrup
1/3 C coconut sugar
1/2 C coconut oil, melted
zest of one lime

Preheat oven to 300F.  Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, mix first ten ingredients (oats through vanilla) to combine evenly.  Add maple syrup and coconut oil, and stir to thoroughly combine.

Spread mixture evenly on prepared baking sheet.  Bake, stirring every 15 minutes, until the granola is deep brown, about 45 minutes.  Remove from heat, and add lime zest.  Allow granola to cool before stirring lime zest through.  Store in an airtight container.

A note on gluten: I've added the gluten-free label to this post.  If you avoid gluten, you'll know better than I do to read labels to be extra sure. But, if you make this with gluten-free oatmeal, then the recipe is gluten-free.

Harissa Cauliflower Sloppy Joe: Cooking with Corinne Rice

Have I got a treat for you today.

One of my favorite things to do through this blog is cook with others.  It's always a learning experience, it's a lovely way to socialize, and is the perfect antidote to screaming mouse syndrome.

I recently became part of a particularly awesome Facebook group called inspired women of los angeles.  It's a place where a photographer might seek a make-up artist for a shoot, an artist might ask if anyone knows of a space to show her work, where someone going through a rough patch might seek a little help, or someone feeling especially moved might offer some words of inspiration. The spirit of collaboration is strong with this group. So, when a member posted a few photos from her dabblings in food styling, and they were totally amazing and professional and gorgeous, I had to reach out.

I suggested a collaboration, and a few emails later, I was standing outside an apartment in Venice, groceries in hand, no idea who or what to expect.  I shouldn't have worried.  The door opened, and there was Corinne Rice -- line drawings tattooed on her arms, a mop of black curls, and a sparkly smile -- greeting me with a hug.


Corinne Rice does a lot of things. She is a mostly-vegan chef, with a deep emphasis on nutrition. She hosts pop-up dinners around Venice (with one coming up this Sunday.  Details at the end of the post), she does private health coaching, and is working on healthy living workshops and classes for busy moms to learn to make baby food and 10-minute meals (she's mom to a flirty one-year-old named Atlas herself). She's also self-publishing a cookbook, which will feature her plant-based recipes and will be filled with her gorgeous photos.  Look out for it in early 2015.




The recipe she chose for us to cook together was one from the upcoming cookbook.  We made a cauliflower-based sloppy joe, the foundation of its flavor being a fiery harissa.  As she described the recipe, as well as others she was developing, I at first had trouble wrapping my head around the flavors. Her cooking doesn't really sit in one cuisine or other: Middle Eastern flavors might share the plate with say, southeast Asian ones.  She uses a heavy hand with spice, and her unusual flavor combinations straddle sweet and savory.  By the end of the afternoon, though, I trusted that even her strangest-sounding ideas would taste great.



As we cooked, we talked, and it was such a treat to be able to go deep on things I've always wondered about.  Corinne turned to nutrition as a way out of dark times, and since tackling addiction, she's immersed herself in that world.  Her knowledge of how what we consume affects our bodies is encyclopedic and thorough.  I asked about different ethnic diets purported to be the key to long life (real commonalities between high life-expectancy groups:  sweet potatoes, wine, self-love). I expressed how overwhelmed I can get with conflicting information about what to eat (her sage advice: every body is different, be mindful and intuitive and find what works for you).

Corinne moves easily in her narrow kitchen, jotting down every measurement as she develops a recipe, adjusting her notes as she tastes and polishes measurements. She's made great use of her space, adding shelves below the counter where she stores every spice imaginable in blue mason jars.



I'm no stranger to cauliflower as a meat substitute in recipes, as the delicious Buffalo cauliflower at Mohawk Bend has made me a believer.  Of course, beyond some nominal resemblances to traditional sloppy joe, there wasn't much similarity.  But, it didn't matter.  The dish had a complex flavor, with heat and brightness  from the harissa (her recipe included preserved lemon and fresh mint), and a rich, slightly sweet base of tomatoes and red bell pepper.  With beautiful millet bread from Culver City's Rising Hearts Bakery, it made a filling and satisfying meal.



Her styling is meticulous.  She places an old wood table in the light of a corner window in her bedroom, and fills it with beautiful things picked up from here and there:  vintage plates, an artfully placed cheesecloth, an air plant pulled from a hanging in the house.  With just the natural light and a tall tripod bought used, Corinne creates moody, lush images.

Aside from our main course, she was excited to share a green curry coconut latte with basil whip.  The  drink was at once familiar and strange, warm and comforting.  Corinne has a professional whipped cream dispenser bottle, and got downright giggly dispensing pale green basil-scented whipped coconut cream directly into our hands.  And rightly so: it was delicious.  Here's her photo of the lattes; recipe will be in the book.

First and last photo by Corinne Rice.

After cooking, we took baby Atlas up to the roof and dined, the sun warming us, and a wholesome hand-made meal nourishing us.

--
Here are some ways to keep up with Corinne:
 - Catch her pop-up supper club this Sunday. The menu is pretty mindblowing (fennel gelato, what?)
 - Follow her on Facebook and Instagram.
 - Or just start at her website.

Harissa Cauliflower Sloppy Joe
Recipe by Corinne Rice
Makes 5-6 servings

Harissa
3 oz dried chilis of your choice (chipotle works great; we used cascabel, and the skins were a little hard to break down)
1 teaspoon caraway seeds
1 teaspoon coriander seeds
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
1 cup olive oil
2 cloves garlic
2 Tablespoons preserved lemon
3 Tablespoons mint
1/2 teaspoon salt

Soak the chilis for 3-4 hours. Strain and then remove the stems and seeds.

Toast the caraway, coriander and cumin seeds on a dry skillet over medium heat for 4-5 minutes, swirling the pan constantly.

Combine all ingredients in a food processor or high powered blender until it forms a creamy paste.

Sloppy Joe
2 Tablespoons coconut oil
1 yellow onion, thinly sliced
2 cloves garlic, crushed or finely chopped
3 cups tomato sauce (with no added sugar)
2 medium tomatoes, diced
1 head cauliflower, finely chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped
1/4 cup coconut sugar
3 Tablespoons red wine vinegar
2 teaspoons steak seasoning
1/4-3/4 cups harissa paste (see note)
salt to taste
basil to garnish

In a saucepan over medium heat, combine coconut oil, garlic, and onion. Sautee until onion is translucent, about 5-7 minutes.

Add the remaining ingredients and cook for about 30 minutes or until the cauliflower has become very soft, resembling a similar texture to ground beef.

Serve the sloppy joes over your favorite gluten free bread. Garnish with basil.

A note on harissa: Depending on how spicy your harissa paste is and how hot you want the sloppy joes, you may want to add more or less.

Jeweled Carrot Salad: The First International Mehregan Cyber-feast

You guys, I'm pretty excited today.  I feel like I've quietly made something happen, and this post marks it.  You see, I'm very proud of my little blog, but sometimes when I post here, I feel like a tiny mouse yelling out in a huge hall.  I might be saying something good, but who can hear?  

I've wanted to explore writing about Persian food more, and with cookbook dreams having lately re-emerged from deep hibernation (!!), I knew I need to establish expertise, and to find people who cared about it.  After my Thrillist post in July on LA's best Persian food, I started noticing that out in the world, there exists a network of Persian food bloggers. They're out there. I decided I wanted to be part of this world, but how could I do it with the little mouse voice?



Over the last few months, I made a couple one-on-one inroads: I started commenting back and forth with a grad student in Minneapolis named Sara with a blog called Sabzi (she'd found me through Bon Appétempt, bless her heart), and I had a few tentative Twitter interactions with Azita of Fig and Quince, an artist in Brooklyn whose comprehensive and sweetly rendered Norouz posts had caught my eye back in March.  Mouse voice rising.

So you can imagine my delight when recently, I was brought into a Persian Food Bloggers' group.  To learn that there are women and men (well, one man) all over the world who like me, coo over their mothers' old-school cooking practices, get teary-eyed over a whiff of onions sizzling away with saffron, or squeeze in time in an incredibly hectic schedule for preparing elaborate rice dishes just because -- well, these are pretty exciting revelations.  And for these nostalgic diaspora cooks, some of whom even listen to Jason Bentley while they're at it, to bring me into their fold feels pretty awesome.  I decided I wanted something, wasn't sure how to get it, I kept at it, and it found me.

So, I'm beyond proud that today, I'm taking part in a very special event organized by this group: The First International Mehregan Cyber-feast. Mehregan is an ancient Persian festival that marks the fall harvest and honors friendship, affection, and love.  Admittedly, my family never celebrated it, so I don't know what exactly what it involves.  Here at All Kinds of Yum, though, we're big fans of friendship, affection, and love.  And I will always take an opportunity to feast on Persian food (or even just digitally pretend to).  Today, nearly 30 Persian food bloggers all over the world are posting dishes marking this festive day (and I've linked to all of them below!).  They even have a hashtag.  See, here it is:  #mehregan2014. They're very organized, these Persian food bloggers.

For my contribution to this lavish cyber-banquet, I'm riffing off a particularly opulent Persian dish called jeweled rice ("morassa polo"), stealing some of its flavors for a carrot salad.  Pomegranate adds its translucent charm, each seed seeming to be glowing from within.  I was lucky to get my hands on some fresh pistachios, picked right from the tree on a farm in Bakersfield, and added those as well as roasted pistachios and threads of orange zest.  The salad's dressing features orange juice, saffron, and honey, making it lightly sweet and super fragrant.  Overall, the dish feels like fall in Los Angeles: vaguely autumnal, but mostly just bright and sunny.

So, happy Mehregan to you all, and here's to friendship, affection, and love.  This little mouse is roaring with pride, and also very, very hungry.

[Note: Be sure to scroll all the way down and check out some of the tasty treats that Persian food bloggers all over the world have prepared for this day!]

Jeweled Carrot Salad
Makes 4 servings.

Vinaigrette:
Zest of one orange (see note)
Juice of one orange, about 1/4 cup, pulp strained
3 teaspoons champagne vinegar or apple cider vinegar
2 teaspoons honey
1 tablespoon pistachio oil (or olive oil)
2 tablespoons olive oil
Tiny pinch saffron (see note)
Salt and pepper to taste

Salad:
1-2 pounds carrots, peeled and sliced into 1/2-inch discs
1 tsp salt
1/4 cup pistachio nutmeats, shelled and roasted (I used purchased roasted and salted pistachio nutmeats)
seeds from 1 pomegranate, about 3/4 cup
1/2 cup fresh shelled pistachios (optional)

Prepare vinaigrette: In a bowl, whisk together orange juice, orange zest (if grated), honey, oils, saffron, salt, and pepper.  Set aside.  You'll end up with more than you need, but you can keep it refrigerated and use it for other salads.

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil.  Add carrots and cook until they are just barely tender, about 2 minutes.  Drain carrots and allow them to cool.

Combine carrots, orange zest, pomegranate seeds, pistachios, and about half of vinaigrette in a bowl.  Adjust seasoning.


A note on orange zest: You can zest your orange 3 ways:
 - With a potato peeler, strip off thin pieces, avoiding the bitter white pith, then cut them into tiny strips with a sharp knife.  Most labor-intensive, but no fancy gadgets necessary.
 - With a zester with 4-5 circular holes, create long skinny strips of zest.
 - With a microplane grater, create a fine mince of zest.

With the first two ways, add the zest directly to the carrots.  With the last, add it to the vinaigrette.

A note on saffron: You can pulverize the strands in a mortar and pestle with a bit of sugar for added abrasion, or in a clean coffee grinder.  Not worth it if you’re just using a bit, though:  just put the strands directly into the honey, rubbing them first between your fingers a bit.

--

Here are all the participants in the Mehregan Cyber-Feast.

Ahu Eats: Badoom Sookhte Torsh
All Kinds of Yum: Jeweled Carrot Salad
Bottom of the Pot: Broccoli Koo Koo
Cafe Leilee: Northern Iranian Pomegranate Garlic and Chicken Stew
Coco in the Kitchen: Zeytoon Parvardeh
Della Cucina Povera: Ghormeh Sabzi
Family Spice: Khoreshteh Kadoo | Butternut Squash Stew
Fig & Quince: Festive Persian Noodle Rice & Roasted Chicken Stuffed with Yummies for Mehregan
Honest and Tasty: Loobia Polo | Beef and Green Bean Rice
Lab Noon: Adas Polo Risotto Style
Lucid Food: Sambuseh
Marjan Kamali: Persian Ice Cream with Rosewater and Saffron
My Caldron: Anaar-Daneh Mosamma | Pomegranate Stew
My Persian Kitchen: Keshmesh Polow | Persian Raisin Rice
Noghlemey: Parsi Dal
Parisa's Kitchen: Morasa Polow | Jeweled Rice
Sabzi: Yogurt Soup with Meatballs
The Saffron Tales: Khorosht-e Gheimeh
Simi's Kitchen: Lita Turshisi | Torshi-e Liteh | Tangy Aubergine Pickle
Spice Spoon: Khoresht-e-Bademjaan | Saffron-scented Aubergine Stew
Turmeric & Saffron: Ash-a Haft Daneh | Seven Bean Soup
The Unmanly Chef: Baghali Polow ba Mahicheh
ZoZoBaking: Masghati

Lemon Vanilla Buckwheat Waffles

I have a weird soft spot for other people's dietary restrictions.  I'm sure it'd get old after a while, but now and then, I enjoy the creative challenge of feeding people with "special needs".  Whether you're a lactard, a vegan, or kosher, I want to work around all your issues and feed you.

So, when I saw a recipe for buckwheat waffles, my thoughts immediately went to my gluten-sensitive friend Stephanie (of coconut caipirinha fame).  I needed to make this for her.

A note on the gluten business:  I am aware that recent research showed that non-celiac gluten sensitivity actually does not exist.  I also know that Steph feels sick when she eats wheat products, and that no one knows her body as well as she does.  So, in this particular instance, I'd say that science that is telling her she's not feeling what she is very clearly feeling is about as useful as Dr. Bunsen Honeydew's gorilla detector.  

Anyway, we got together at the home of our dear friend Rachel, a landscape architect who's also worn the hat of spice seller, Silver Lake Farms microgreen grower, at-home vegetable garden tender, and all-around person you want to cook and eat with.  

Oh Lucy!

While her fiance served us cold brew and played jazz, and new pup Lucy laid around and made the place extra-cozy, we put the Belgian Waffler to work.

We tweaked the recipe a bit, adding lemon zest and juice and vanilla extract, and the results were wonderful.  Our waffles had gorgeous color, crisp texture on the outside, steamy and doughy inside, with a grassy, nutty flavor that planted them squarely in the realm of grown-up tastes.

They made a perfect breakfast with some figs, blueberries, and sweetjuicyflavorful melon from the CSA.

Lemon Vanilla Buckwheat Waffles
Adapted from Simply Recipes
Makes 5 waffles, plus one baby waffle

You can use lower fat milk and yogurt here, but remember that fat is flavor.  We used 2% for both, and it worked out great.

1 1/2 cups buckwheat flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
Pinch of salt
1/2 tsp cinammon
2 eggs, separated, plus 2 egg whites
2 Tbsp brown sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, melted
1 cup plain yogurt
1 cup milk
1/4 cup water
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
juice of half a lemon
zest of 1 lemon
Nonstick cooking spray
Extra butter for serving
Heated maple syrup for serving

Set waffle maker to medium.  In a large bowl, whisk together buckwheat flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon.  In a medium bowl, beat all 4 egg whites, sprinkling brown sugar over them as you go, until soft peaks form.

In a separate bowl, whisk together egg yolks, melted butter, yogurt, milk, water, vanilla extract, and lemon juice and zest.

Add the yogurt mixture to the flour mixture and stir until just combined. Gently fold a third of the beaten egg whites into the batter until completely incorporated. Fold the remaining beaten egg whites into the batter until just combined.

To make waffles, spray top and bottom of waffle maker with cooking spray.  Pour or spoon batter into the wells (a ladle works well here) until it almost fills the edges.  Close the waffle maker, and check on the waffle after about five minutes: it's ready when the batter's dark grey color starts to show golden brown.  Carefully remove the waffle (a fork or tongs may help here), and repeat the process for the next, starting with cooking spray, until you've used all the batter.

Serve with butter and warm maple syrup, and if you have blueberries and vanilla tangelo marmalade to go along with it, consider yourself very, very lucky.