Vegetarian Baked Beans

Since I recently posted the instructions for cooking with dried beans, I suppose I should probably follow up sooner rather than later with a recipe to get you started. This one is super simple—the beans only require soaking—and is a definite keeper. Some small part of me wishes I could take credit for it, but the bigger part of me is just glad that I found it. The recipe is for vegetarian baked beans, and it comes from Joel over at Well Preserved.

I adore baked beans. As a kid, I used to crack open cans of a certain well-known brand and eat them by the bowlful. I’m not saying they were "all that" (90s flashback), but they created a general preset in my mind for what baked beans should taste like. We all know how that happens—like how some people love that powdery Parmesan cheese in the green can or how New Yorkers have their assertions about what real pizza is. I’m sorry, but this one really gets me. I love New York and this city is my home—I’ve even adopted the phrase “waiting on line”—but I’m still of the opinion that pizza is valid and delicious in all its forms. Thick crust, thin crust, deep dish, brick oven, coal oven, whatever. Of course I now have an obvious personal bias toward the GF varieties…but that’s not my point. What were we talking about again?

Baked beans.




I’ve had some in recent years that were less flavorful, or more on the tangy side, or some with an unexpected and violent kick of spice. They’ve been good in their own ways, but there’s something about that classic baked bean taste. It’s ingrained in my mind and nothing else can really compare.

These days, I buy very few things in cans—with the exception of certain tomato products and the occasional last-minute beans—so I can pretty safely say that it had been years (plural) since I’d had a batch of baked beans that really satisfied my craving. I’ve loved the idea of making them myself, but all the recipes I’d come across required, well, baking. We’re still working with a make-do set of nonstick cookware over here that is not oven-friendly, placing such recipes in the “someday” category.

So, I may have squealed aloud in delight when I came across this one. You make the baked beans in—get this—a slow cooker. So genius, so obvious! And to make things even better, they’re vegetarian. While I can’t apply any definitive labels to myself, I will say that I now eat a mostly vegetarian diet. After trying these beans, I don’t know that I even remember what the pork is supposed to add. I just know I wasn’t missing it.

Chris wasn’t missing it either. Between the two of us, we ate almost the entire pot the first time I made them. I know—yikes.

These baked beans are darkly sweet, slightly tangy, subtly smoky, and filling from the tongue right down to the toes. They’re comforting in the winter months, but I could easily imagine they’d fit right in at a summer barbecue. They’re an eat-by-the-bowlful kind of baked bean. And we do.

A word to the wise—try making these on a day when you’ll be out of the house for an extended period of time. Set them going before you head out for work, schedule a shopping trip, take a long walk. They smell torturously good while cooking and hanging around waiting for them to be done can be borderline painful.





Vegetarian Baked Beans
Adapted from Well Preserved

1 pound Great Northern beans, soaked, drained and rinsed
½ large onion, chopped
1 teaspoon EVOO
1/2 cup ketchup
1/2 cup brown sugar (I use sucanat to echo the flavor of the molasses)
1/4 cup molasses
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce*
1 tablespoon dry mustard
½ teaspoon garlic powder
½ tablespoon salt
2 cups vegetable broth
1 cup water

Heat the olive oil in a small skillet over medium heat. Add the onions and sauté until translucent.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the ketchup, brown sugar, molasses, tomato paste, Worcestershire sauce, dry mustard, garlic powder, and salt. Once combined, whisk in the vegetable broth.

Add the beans, onions, sauce mixture, and water to your slow cooker and stir everything together. Cook on the high setting for 8 hours or on low for 12 hours.

*Choose a Worcestershire sauce that doesn’t contain anchovies. Any brand would work well, though, if you’re unconcerned with making the recipe strictly vegetarian.

Eight.

Eight months.

Chris and I will be getting married eight months from today.

It’s funny to think about that number. On one hand, it seems like a ton of time. In excited, impassioned moments, it feels as though the date is entirely too far away. What can I say? I love this man, and I can’t wait to be his wife. On the other hand, I know it’s going to be here before I realize it, and I haven’t found my dress or picked out the flowers or decided on the music.

But we still have eight months. I’m trying my hardest to take them as they come.

Chris and I had our first date on the 13th of November a little over three years ago, and have decided to get married on that exact date this year, on our fourth anniversary of dating. For the first three years of our relationship, the thirteenth of every month was about accumulation for me. I counted and collected those months, marveled at how quickly they’d passed but how, at the same time and even more overwhelmingly, it seemed as though we’d always been together. How could it have only been three, four, five months? I watched them add up and I saw them turn into years.

Now it’s different. Today, as I took note of the date on the calendar, I didn’t count back. Off the top of my head this very second, I couldn’t tell you how many months it’s been since we started dating. Instead, I counted forward. Forward to our wedding date. And I had the realization that, during this very unique time in our life, I’ll no longer be watching the months add up. I’ll be watching as they count down to the end of one part of our life together and the beginning of the rest.

It’s a powerful feeling.

Eight months from today, nearly to the minute, I will be exchanging vows with the man that I knew from day one would be my husband. My name will change and my place in this world will forever be altered. Only eight more months. Still eight more months. So much life ahead.

Beans, Beans....

We all know the rhymes. We all know the reputation. What most of us don’t often think about is how healthful beans are and how much flavor and variety they can add to a person’s diet. And, really, if they’re prepared properly and eaten regularly, beans don’t have to be a...um...“musical fruit.”

Legumes of all sorts, from black beans to chickpeas to lentils, are packed with nutrients. They’re an excellent plant-based source of protein, which is great for vegetarians and a good substitute/supplement to the diet of meat-eaters. Beans are hearty, rich in iron, low in fat and full of fiber. They come in dozens of interesting shapes, sizes, textures, and flavors (if you haven't already, check out Rancho Gordo to get an idea). They’re one of the most versatile foods you can find and, yes, they’re gluten-free.

You know what else they are? They’re cheap. For those people out there who say they can’t eat good, whole foods because of cost issues, beans blow that argument right out of the water. They’re already cost-effective in the form with which most consumers are familiar (canned), but if you buy them dried it’s almost ridiculous how little you’ll end up paying for such a nutritionally dense food. At my market, a pound of dried beans costs only slightly more than a single can of beans, and I’ve found that that pound will yield about 4 cans worth of cooked beans. Pretty good, right?




I know that some of you may see cooking up a batch of dried beans as more effort than it is worth, though, and I’m here to hopefully persuade you otherwise. Not only is it not labor intensive, but beans cooked at home have a far better texture than those from a can. Also, as with so many other things, when you cook them at home you can control other important elements, like salt. Just think about it for a second, what doesn’t taste better when it's homemade?

Now, we don’t generally eat a ton of beans in this country (at least I know I didn't for most of my life), so you may be thinking, Okay cool—but what am I supposed to do with them? A couple ideas: add them to soups, put them in your chili along with or even instead of meat, on top of rice or other grains, under a runny egg for breakfast, pureed into dips and spreads. The possibilities are endless. I’ve been cooking with dried beans a lot lately and am really loving it. This means I’ve also been writing more recipes that include beans, so hopefully I’ll be able to give you some ideas as well. Going forward, my recipes will list both the canned quantity and the dried equivalent. I’ll always recommend that you go dried, but even I don’t plan ahead sometimes and canned beans are still a great option.

So, without further ado, here’s how to cook up and store your very own beans:



1) Pick through your beans. These are a product of nature and sometimes little bits of stones or other debris get mixed in. I feel confident enough to sort mine by running them through my hands above a colander, but spread them out on a sheet pan if you’re feeling particularly diligent.




2) Rinse your beans. I do this using a colander (which is why I pick through them in one), but a sieve would work as well.


3) Soak your beans. You can do this one of two ways:

a) The Overnight Soak—this is the easiest, most hands-off method. Place your beans in a bowl and cover generously with cold water. They will nearly double in volume while soaking, and you want them to remain fully covered with water the whole time, so keep this in mind when choosing and filling your bowl. Allow beans to soak at least 8 hours, or overnight.

b) The Rapid Soak—this is what I often have to resort to because I forget to soak them overnight. Place your beans in a pot that is large enough to accommodate them and add enough water so that they’re covered by a couple inches (again, keeping in mind that they will increase in volume). Place the pot on the stove and bring the beans to a rapid boil. Allow to boil, uncovered, for 2 minutes. Remove the pot from the heat, cover, and let stand for one hour. Voila, your beans are soaked.


4) Drain and rinse your beans. Make sure to rinse the beans with water that is at a similar temperature to the water that the beans are currently in. A temperature shock, particularly warm beans under cold water, will cause the skins to peel back.


5) Cook your beans. You will find recipes that call for the beans as they are right now, soaked. If that is the case, your beans are ready and you can go ahead and follow the recipe. For regular eating or when following other recipes, including those that call for canned beans, you must first cook the beans completely. Cooking times will vary depending upon the variety of bean that you are cooking as well as the freshness of the beans (older beans can take longer to cook).

Place the soaked beans in a pot and cover generously with water. Feel free to add salt if desired (I personally don’t find it necessary). You may also want to add a bay leaf or a piece of kombu seaweed. These are said to help in reducing the gassy effects of beans—I find a bay leaf is sufficient and I think it adds a nice depth of flavor. Bring the beans up to a rapid boil. Allow to boil, uncovered, for 5 minutes. Skim off any foam that has accumulated on top (this will also help to cut down on gassiness), cover, and simmer over low heat until the beans are done.

The best way to tell if your beans are done is by giving them a bite. I like to test them at 30 minute intervals, determining how much longer I think they need by how done they are. If they’re still inedibly hard, give them another 30 before testing again. If they’re slightly crunchy but mostly done, give them another 10-15 and retest. Below I’ve written some general cooking times that have worked for me when cooking the varieties that I use most often (I will update this list in the future), but again, times may vary depending on your beans.

• Black Beans: 1 hour and 45 minutes
• Great Northern Beans: 30-35 minutes
• Kidney Beans: 40-45 minutes

Once your beans are cooked, drain and rinse them once more. Remember to still be mindful of the temperature of the water used to rinse them. Your beans are now ready to use however you so choose.





Storing cooked beans. If you’re cooking up a batch for future use, you can store them a number of ways:

1) Divide the beans between pint (or quart) jars; figure 1 pint jar per every ¼ pound of dried beans (one pint of cooked beans equals one store-bought can). Top the jars off with water and store the beans in the fridge for up to a week. Drain and rinse before using.

2) After draining and rinsing your cooked beans, portion them out into several plastic food storage bags. Remove as much air from the bag as you can, seal, and store in the freezer for several months.

3) Pressure canning is also an option for storing beans. I personally do not own a pressure canner, but if you do, consult a reputable source such as the Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving for instructions on how to safely pressure can your beans for longer-term storage.



Okay, I know that all that text may make cooking with dried beans seem like a lot of work, but I promise it’s not. I’m incurably verbose, and most of the prep time is idle prep time, which means you can be doing other things while your beans are soaking or simmering away on the stove. After you’ve done it once, it’s a cinch to do again. And if you decide to cook up a pound or two on a lazy Sunday, you have a number of ways to store them until you’re ready to use them.

Make beans a part of your diet. They're healthy, cost-effective, and the more you eat them, the more you’ll come to love them—this is a good thing since, as we all know, "Beans, beans, they're good for your heart." Sorry, I couldn't resist.

Choosing, Celebrating Life

There is something I’ve been wanting to talk about for a while here, but haven’t. It isn’t about being gluten-free and it has nothing to do with food. I’m still figuring this whole thing out and learning when to censor myself, which I’m certain I still do far too often. I don’t know if my writing about these things here will help anyone or change anything, but I know that I feel a need to share these thoughts. So I’m not going to second guess myself right now. Please be advised that the subject matter I’m going to be speaking about is sensitive and may be difficult for some people to read.

___

On Saturday morning, as Chris and I were having a post-breakfast discussion about what to do with the beautiful day in front of us, a man jumped from the balcony of an apartment several floors higher than ours. We saw him fall past our window, heard his body hit the ground. Shocked and unsure of what had just happened, I ran out onto our balcony, looked down, and I saw him. After calling 911, we decided to get out of the house for the day and try to take our minds off of things. By the time we got home, the police tape was gone and it was as though nothing had happened. I’m sure there are people in our building who don't even know. I can still see it though. I can still hear it.

___

This past fall, I learned that someone with whom I had gone to high school had taken their life. I only have this information through word of mouth, so I won’t go into any detail out of respect for this individual and the families. I will say that it was surprising and, despite the fact that we had never been especially close, the loss was deeply felt. This person was bright and beautiful and wonderful, and every time I think of them I am saddened by the life now missing from this world.

___

Last summer, my paternal grandfather shot and killed himself. We weren’t close. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t largely a part of my life. He was an abusive father and husband, dishonest and greedy in his professional life, and when my father tried to reconcile with him in later years those traits came shining right through his old and feeble exterior for my brother and me to see. But as awful as he may have been in his life, he was still my grandfather. I was horrified by the news.

___

I never understood until this past year how huge the effects of one person taking their life can be. That’s not the thing I most want to talk about, though. I don’t want to talk at length about how my grandfather has irreparably changed my family history and the family history of my children, how I’m going to have to explain to them one day who their great-grandfather was and how he passed away. I don’t want to talk about how reckless it was to jump from a high-rise in a residential area with small children and families, how someone else could have gotten hurt (or worse), or even how seriously it affected those of us who witnessed it. What I really want to talk about is something that has hit me increasingly harder every time a suicide has touched my life. It may seem like a good solution, but it is a permanent one. Once you make that decision, you can never, ever take it back.

And before anyone says to me that you can’t understand it until you’re going through that kind of pain, that you can’t really understand that desire unless you’ve been there—I have. Those used to be my words: you don’t understand, you won’t, you can’t unless you’ve been there. To be honest, I think more of us have been “there,” in varying degrees, at some point in our lives than would care to admit. Of course, not everyone makes attempts and not all attempts are such bold ones. But the thoughts, that feeling of not wanting to take even one more breath, that the pain tearing your insides into pieces is insurmountable, that there is no possible way that the issues in your life can be overcome or that any day could ever be good again—those are all feelings that many of us have had or are experiencing right now.

In all those desperate moments in my life and through some very dark years, somehow I never committed to removing myself from of it all. Because of that, I can look back to those times and say to myself, “See? There were good days ahead. Right then, with every last ounce of yourself, you believed there wouldn’t be. But see now? You are alive and you are happy.” I am glad I am here to say that to myself.




Sometimes it takes something big to shake your world view. I didn’t need all three of these events to change my mind about suicide, but they have all touched my life irrevocably. I (along with many others) have been affected in a way that I never asked for or expected. Some of it will take a while to deal with and it is difficult that some of these things are now among my memories.

On the other hand, knowing these things, having them as part of my life, has taught me something about the way I want to live. I intend to take these happy seconds of my life and store them as reminders. If that sort of darkness ever creeps back inside of me, I can look into it and know that there will be light again. It may not be tomorrow, it may not be next week, or even next month, but it will come again. That’s the thing about life—if you choose to live it, there are always more days, more opportunities for happiness. Making the other choice is a permanent one. It is forever and everything--the good, the bad, the difficult, the wonderful--that could have existed in your life never will.

I can’t help but think about the upcoming wedding and the expanse of days ahead. I look at the loving, supportive man that I’ve chosen to be my husband, that has chosen me to be his wife, and I feel so grateful that I made the decision to live into this. It wasn’t always easy getting here, but I have a beautiful, full life. I wake up every morning and I can breathe and I can move and I am alive.

I want to celebrate life.




My hope is that all of you reading will take a moment today and celebrate the life inside of you and around you as well. Fill your lungs with air. Stretch your legs long down the sidewalk. Stand and feel the sun on your face, the wind on your neck, the ground beneath your feet. Find the happiness in your life, however big or small, and hold onto it. Impress it into yourself, put it somewhere safe so that you can call upon it the next time that everything begins to feel impossible. Life is fragile and incredible and it’s amazing that we all get to be a part of it. It can be all too easy to forget that.

Click Here for Pancakes

I'm very excited to announce that I have a new and completely delicious recipe for you today. I'm even more excited that I'll be sharing it with you over at Simply...Gluten-Free, home to the lovely Carol Kicinski. Carol currently has some exciting things in the works and I feel very honored that she's letting me fill some space while she's hard at work. If you're not already familiar with her blog, I'd highly recommend that you check it out. She is a joy to follow--from her witty posts documenting her quest for the perfect (or at the very least, tolerable) exercise regime to her enticing GF treats.




And while you're exploring her site, make sure to take a peek at these Banana Almond Pancakes. They're a not-so-guilty pleasure and one more very good reason to let those bananas go black.

A Happy Accident

I don’t know if I can even call this a recipe. It was a blatant, outright culinary mistake that yielded something delicious and kind of special. And when that sort of thing happens, is it really right to keep it to myself?

See, I don’t really know a whole lot about making frosting. Or icing. Or whatever you want to call it. I mean, I know that if you mix milk with confectioner’s sugar, you can create a glaze. I know that you can sweeten cream cheese and beat it into fluffy submission. But the whole frosting thing is just not something I do all that often. I take the shortcut with sugary crusts.

But I was making a cake. And I wanted a very special, very specific kind of frosting for this cake. In my mind, I was dreaming up an airy, buttery, vanilla bean-flecked delight. It seemed to make sense to me that if I creamed some butter and sugar, I could add heavy cream and continue to beat it until it was somewhere between a light whipped cream and thick buttercream. I’m still reasonably sure this is possible (I don’t know for sure because I switched off to mascarpone for round two, just to be on the safe side).

I had one of those moments, though, where I completely forgot myself. I combined the butter and sugar, added the heavy cream, grabbed my hand mixer and I let ‘er rip. Show of hands, anyone know what happens when you overbeat whipping cream? Almost immediately it started to look curdled. Well, surely if I keep beating it, thought I, it will smooth out all those tiny little butter lumps and turn into a pretty portrait of fluffy frosting. Not so much. As I continued to move the mixer around the bowl, the curdled white cream turned into thick yellow crumbles and I began to hear liquid sloshing at the bottom of the bowl. Damn it. Butter.

Those who raised their hands for butter get a gold star.

For half a second I felt defeated. I knew better. And then I began to laugh. I stood there, shaking my head and cracking up at myself as I turned toward the sink, holding back the butter with a spatula, letting the buttermilk drain. I reached into a drawer, pulled out my last square of cheesecloth, and wrung out the fragrant, softball-sized round. So it wasn’t buttercream. It didn’t need to be a total loss.




And it absolutely wasn’t. I slathered some of the vanilla bean butter on a slice of the test cake that I had baked that morning. Delicious. We’ve also since discovered that it is excellent on pancakes and I’d imagine it would be equally good on toast, muffins, or even banana bread.

So, I’m going to share with you exactly what I did, because what came out of it all was pretty damned good. I’m sure there’s an easier way to make a vanilla infused butter, but if you follow this recipe I can guarantee that not only will you wind up with exactly enough to fill one of those plastic, pint-sized takeout containers, but you definitely won’t wind up with frosting.

TIP: If I’d have had the forethought, I’d have packed it into jelly jars and given out a couple as gifts. Because I’m generous like that—and let’s face it, no two people need a whole tub of vanilla butter all to themselves.





Sweet Vanilla Bean Butter

8 oz (2 sticks) sweet cream butter, softened
1/3 cup granulated sugar
Seeds scraped from the inside of 1 vanilla bean
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
1 pint heavy whipping cream

In a medium bowl, cream together the butter and sugar. Add the vanilla seeds and the extract and beat until well-combined. Pour in the heavy cream and beat as fast as you can without the cream splashing out of the bowl.

Continue beating on high until the mixture curdles and separates into butter and buttermilk. Line a colander or sieve with cheesecloth and hold it over the sink. Turn the butter out into the sieve and drain thoroughly. Wrap the cheesecloth around the butter, forming it into a ball. Squeeze and wring out well.

Remove the butter from the cheesecloth to a couple of paper towels. Pat off any excess moisture. At this point, you can either transfer the whole thing to a lidded, pint-sized tub or quarter it and transfer to four 4 oz. jelly jars. When packing it in your preferred container, make sure to press the butter in completely and work out any air bubbles along the bottom and sides. If little drops of excess buttermilk rise to the top while doing this, blot them with a paper towel.

Cover, refrigerate, and use in tasty ways.

My Favorite Banana Bread

This is culinary gold.




I brought this bunch home somewhere between a week and two weeks ago, when they were a bright, healthy banana-yellow. In that time I haven’t touched a single one. Not once was I even tempted to crack through their firm, supple peels. Because this….




This is far more delicious and holds worlds of promise. These mushy on the inside, leathery on the outside gems are full of sweet, concentrated banana flavor. You would be crazy to mash anything less black-on-the-outside into a baked good—be it muffins, cake, or the almighty banana bread.

I love banana bread, but I have to be honest, I don’t love most banana bread. I’m always expecting something wonderful, but am often confronted with a dense, heavy slice of nut-riddled boredom or a bland, pasty, vaguely banana-flavored concoction that leaves my tongue feeling floured and sad. That’s just not how I do banana bread.

Since I left my childhood home, the thing my mom most often says she misses is not the face of her firstborn child, not our deep mother-daughter conversation, not even having someone around to pick the crusties out of her cat’s eyes (yeah, I’m the only one that did it). Nope. It’s my banana bread. And before you pass any sort of judgment, you should know that I don’t fault her in the least. I agree. It was that good.

So, naturally, I needed to create a gluten-free version. There was no way I could put my mother (who is also GF) through a lifetime of longing over something as small and silly as gluten. I think she’ll be pleased with this adaptation. I, as a matter of fact, like it even better this way. If I found out tomorrow I could safely eat gluten, I would still make this recipe.




This bread is full of flavor and distinctly lighter than most versions. I am personally not a fan of adding chopped nuts as I feel it interrupts the overall experience, distracting one from the heavenly flavor of the bread itself. You nut-lovers out there will likely enjoy the presence of almond flour in this recipe. I use Bob's Red Mill brand, which has a slightly coarse grind and leaves nutty little bits throughout. That said, though I cannot fully support it, fold in some nuts if you must.




And since I’ve posted recipes for a few baked goods now, I’m sure you may have noticed a pattern. Yeah, that crackly, crusty, heavily-sugared top right there (and there and there)? It’s kind of an obsession of mine. If I’m baking it, and it’s not going to be frosted later, it will very likely have a sugar crust. You don’t always have to do this. I mean, I probably won’t be able to sleep if I advise you against it, but I just wanted to let you know that you do have a choice.




You always have a choice.

So choose to make this banana bread. It is by far my favorite and I’m betting it will become yours too. And just so you know, this recipe doubles really well—a very good thing considering I've never seen a loaf last longer than 24 hours.






Banana Bread
for my mom

A note: When letting your bananas ripen, really just let them go black. I know it may seem wrong, but this is key to a great-tasting bread. If they’re not moldy or oozing, they’re still good.

1 cup sorghum flour
½ cup almond flour
¼ cup potato starch
½ teaspoon xanthan gum
½ teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1/3 cup coconut oil (or an equal amount of butter)
½ cup sugar, plus more for sprinkling
2 eggs
1 cup mashed ripe banana

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl, cream the coconut oil and sugar. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the sorghum flour, almond flour, potato starch, xanthan gum, baking soda, baking powder and salt.

Mix one third of the dry ingredients into the creamed mixture. Next, add 1/3 of the mashed banana. Continue adding the dry ingredients alternately with the banana until all ingredients are combined.

Pour batter into a well-greased 9x5x3” loaf pan and sprinkle generously with sugar if desired. Bake for 45 to 50 minutes, until puffed and crusty and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.