Chickpeas In A (Magically) Toasty, Nutty Sauce

In this, my third guest post, I hereby declare my most characteristic trait as a cook: although highly recipe-dependent and generally fearful of experimentation, I’m also prone to inattentive reading of a given recipe, resulting in subsequent disaster or near-disaster, and - finally - a neat save (or, alternatively, hideous crap that has to be politely accommodated by family and friends, or thrown into the bin). The night this dish was born was just such an occasion, as I had a chickpea craving and got all enthusiastic about scouring our numerous Indian cookbooks for some satisfying, semi-spicy dish on a cold, late autumn evening. I consulted the index to Yamuna Devi’s biblical Lord Krishna’s Cuisine, and settled on "Chickpea, Almond, Sesame Sauce." Wow, that sounds great, doesn’t it? How could chickpeas, almonds, and sesame seeds be bad? It couldn’t! Let’s launch into it, then. Toasted sesame, cumin, and mustard seeds? Check! Toasted almonds? Check! OK, let’s….oh wait. Put it in a food processor along with the chickpeas? What? That sounds like it’s going to be a…oh. Sauce. Right.

You can see what I mean by “inattentive reading.” What to do now? To intensify the situation, the eponymous Elizavegan called in the middle of the whole crisis to say she’d be home earlier than expected for dinner. I felt like Samantha Stephens, having to whip up something spectacular when Darren calls to say that Mr. and Mrs. Brewster are coming for dinner (honey), and the big account needs saving because Larry Tate is really riding his ass...well, okay; whatever Derwood would have said when he really meant "ass." Well, as the saying goes, necessity is the mother of bullshitting, and in the absence of magical powers or an intervention by Dr. Bombay, a rethink was clearly called for. In the end, I decided that everything in the “sauce” up to that point was bound to be awesome, so I just reconceived it as a glazed-tomato chickpea dish with the nutty sauce thrown in and - hey presto! - with a big pile of garlicky collard greens on the side, it all worked out fine. So: I hereby present to you this (succesfully) improvised reinvention of yet another Ayurvedic classic.

Chickpeas In A (Magically) Toasty, Nutty Sauce

Ingredients
~¼ cup sesame seeds
~1 teaspoon cumin seeds
~½ black mustard seeds
~¼ cup chopped almonds
~¼ cup raw cashews (optional but awesome)
~1 tablespoon olive or sesame oil
~3 medium-sized tomatoes, diced
~Juice of 3 limes
~1 tablespoon brown sugar
~½ teaspoon asafoetida
~2 cups cooked chickpeas, drained
~1 teaspoon salt
~ ½-1 cup water

Directions
~Combine the sesame seeds, cumin seeds, mustard seeds, and nuts in a large, heavy-bottomed frypan over medium-low heat and toast until the sesame seeds turn golden brown and it smells really good.
~Empty into a food processor and blend for 30 seconds or until coarsely powdered.
~Heat olive or sesame oil in the same pan over medium heat, then add diced tomatoes. Cook for 10-15 minutes or until the tomatoes are soft and sensuous (sounding a bit more like Nigella Lawson than Elizabeth Montgomery there!)
~Add the seed/nut mixture and stir until blended.
~Add the lime juice, sugar, asafoetida, chickpeas, and salt. Continue cooking over medium heat for 10-15 minutes, adding water as needed to prevent sticking and make a rich, saucy consistency.
~Serve over basmati rice with some hot Indian pickle, and you'll have the Brewster account in the bag before Endora can show up, get everyone drunk, flirt with Mr. Brewster, and turn his wife into a teapot!

Split Pea Soup with Dumplings

Each year, on the day after Halloween, something truly remarkable occurs: November arrives. I realize that this may not seem like an especially perceptive observation on my part, but the change to which I refer involves a great deal more than the simple turn of a calendar page. The difference between October and November is the difference between the golden hues of autumn and the spare, wintry aesthetic of bare branches and greyer skies. The sun gives less warmth, the evenings draw in earlier (see you next year, Daylight Savings Time!) and the alarm clock wakes us up to ever colder mornings; in some ways, this all sounds very bleak, but there's a certain stripped-down beauty to this time of year, as the earth prepares to take a break and get a few months' rest. On a chilly afternoon, when the air turns sharp and the sun is dipping below the trees by 5 o'clock, few things are more comforting than coming home to a warm, bright kitchen and a pot of soup simmering on the stove. Split peas form the basis of this classic winter dish; a dash of Liquid Smoke handily fills that hickory-scented place where "bacon" used to be, and fluffy, starchy dumplings only make things better. So settle in, pour a glass of red wine, ladle out a big bowlful, and forget the darkness outside; "if winter comes, can spring be far behind?"

Split Pea Soup with Dumplings

The Soup

Ingredients
~1 tbsp. oil (I used olive)
~2 cups onion, chopped
~1 cup celery, diced
~1 tbsp. garlic, minced
~1 cup carrot, diced
~2 tsp. kosher salt
~Fresh black pepper
~1 tsp. each: thyme, parsley, marjoram, tarragon
~2 bay leaves
~2 cups split peas, picked over, rinsed and soaked at least an hour (the longer you soak them, the faster they'll cook!)
~1 tbsp. Liquid Smoke
~8 cups vegetable stock or water

Directions
~In a large pot, heat the oil and saute the onions and celery over medium heat about 5 minutes.
~Add the garlic, carrots and dry seasonings and cook about 5 minutes more.
~Stir in the (drained!) the bay leaves, split peas and Liquid Smoke. Stir to coat and cook another few minutes.
~Raise the heat to high, add the vegetable broth, cover and bring to a boil. Turn the heat down to low and simmer 45 minutes.

The Dumplings

Ingredients
~1.5 cups flour
~1/4 cup cold vegan margarine (I used Earth Balance)
~1 tbsp. baking powder
~1 tsp. salt
~1/2 tsp. each: thyme, sage
~1/2-3/4 cup cold soy (or other non-dairy) milk

Directions
~ In a bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder and seasonings.
~ Add the margarine and mix with your fingers until it resembles coarse crumbs.
~ Add the soy milk, and mix with a fork until you have a soft dough.
~Remove the bay leaves from the soup, then drop the dough by tablespoonfuls into the pot. Cover pot tightly and cook another 15-20 minutes.
~Pour into bowls and serve hot!

"Shady" Fake Chicken & Eggplant Stir-Fry

Fake meat. What is it even? In what way is it "fake?" In what way - if any - is it "meat?" And if we don’t eat meat, what is it about meat that some vegetarians feel the urge to replicate? Jonathan Safran Foer reflects on the value, significance, history, and ethics of the foods we grow up with in his current memoir/manifesto Eating Animals (which is getting a lot of buzz), taking the WWII-era experiences of his European Jewish grandmother as a starting point. In a recent excerpt published in the New York Times, he wrote: “The story of her relationship to food holds all of the other stories that could be told about her. Food, for her, is not food. It is terror, dignity, gratitude, vengeance, joy, humiliation, religion, history and, of course, love.” He goes on to mention that one of the intra-familial cultural ramifications of raising his children vegetarian is that they "will never eat their great-grandmother’s singular dish [chicken with carrots]....and never receive that unique and most direct expression of her love." Of course, he recognizes that there are greater issues at stake, and later reveals that the same grandmother has gone to the effort of making vegetarian chopped liver especially for him. (For my own part I've found that, with thought and creativity, animal-free analogues of emotionally resonant dishes can be recreated, and everything tastes better when eaten with a clear conscience.)

All of which raises the question: what's actually so important about the foods we associate with childhood or adolescence? How much of it is a texture that was pleasing to our young mouths (and heaven knows there are many things that are intolerable to a childish palate)? How much of it is the visceral memories of particular favorite meals, Mom making spanakopita for Greek Easter, Dad making Welsh rabbit on a Sunday night before Disney, bacon and cheese squares for a very special (yet pretty frequent) Saturday lunch? How much of it is in the blood, the clan, the immigrant transformation (whether one generation back or four), and preservation, of identity and experience? And after we’ve done with all that, and factored in our later, more educated reflections and interventions on behalf of animals, health, and the environment, is there some irreducible core of meatiness that remains impervious to all these speculations? If there is, then that must be what carnivores embrace and vegetarians refuse - the point is that a choice is involved.

A number of veg-curious people (and there are an increasing number of these), observe that the whole fake-meat phenomenon is a bit “shady.” I suppose that's hard to argue with from an omnivorous perspective, and yet the most suspicious thing about the best of of it is when it’s sufficiently convincing to make you check the package - if cooking - or
interrogate the waitstaff - when dining out - to be sure that some evil meat cabal isn’t foisting actual meat on to (well, actually in to) ingenuous, unsuspecting herbivores, hoping to re-addict or re-acculturate them to the carnivorous lifestyle. This past weekend, we attended the Boston Vegetarian Food Festival, and among the many other delights of Middle Eastern, South Asian, East Asian, Caribbean, and Anglo-American comfort foods, we happened upon a minimally labeled but wildly popular booth selling about 17 different varieties of mock meat, from barbecue beef to saucy salmon to chicken nuggets. Now, the fact is that we aren't actually all that into "mock meat" (a term which invariably evokes the Mock Turtle's Song from Alice in Wonderland: "Beautiful soup, so rich and green, waiting in a hot tureen!,” etc.), but once in a while you taste something that makes you say, "Aha! With this I could perfectly recreate some particular favorite dish without chomping down on the carcass of some poor fellow creature!"

Well, this past Sunday was one of those occasions, and the next time you're in the mood to mock some meat, we can recommend this stuff pretty highly (http://www.maywahnyc.com). I used a package of their "Vegetarian Goong Bao Chicken" in that evening's dinner, and the result was a basil-infused stir-fry worthy of any Chinese restaurant we've ever patronized, omni or veg (that includes you, Grasshopper!). Of course, if you don't want to use fake chicken, pressed, cubed tofu would also be delicious, as evidenced by our local Buddha Hut's version of a similar dish. It's quick, it's easy, it's yummy and it tastes like "Chinese food" without any of the misery that attends an actual chicken's short, sad journey from the barnyard (or, more likely, horrible factory farm) to the wok. In the final analysis, ersatz meat may be shady, but the "real thing" is cruel, exploitative and just plain cagy. Or, as Jonathan Safran Foer's grandmother put it, relating how she refused to eat pork - even to save her own life as a starving, homeless refugee in flight from the Nazis - "If nothing matters, there’s nothing to save.”

Shady Fake Chicken & Eggplant Stir-Fry

Ingredients
~2 tbsp. peanut oil
~1 tsp. toasted sesame oil
~1 tsp. hot chili oil
~2 small eggplants, cubed (about 6 cups)
~1 tbsp. minced ginger
~2 tbsp. minced garlic
~1 small red bell pepper, diced (3/4 cup)
~8 large scallions, thinly sliced (about 1 cup)
~12 oz. shady fake chicken (or cubed, firm tofu)
~2 cups fresh basil, chopped

Also
~1 tbsp. each: soy sauce, brown sugar, Chinese garlic sauce (I used Dai Day: http://www.alliedoldenglish.com/daiday.php), whisked together
~1/4 cup cold water, 2 tsp. corn starch, whisked together
~An extra shot or two of hot sauce to taste (optional)

Directions
~In a wok, saute the eggplant over medium-high heat in the combined oils for 5-10 minutes, until softened.
~Add the ginger and garlic and cook another few minutes.
~Add the bell pepper and scallions; continue cooking 5 minutes more.
~Stir in the shady fake chicken (or tofu) and the soy sauce/brown sugar/garlic sauce mixture.
~Cook another 5 minutes until heated through, stir in the chopped basil and hot sauce (if using), and serve over steamed short-grain brown rice. (No, really; I usually say "the grain of your choice" or something, but in this case the short-grain brown rice is really the best way!)

Moosewood Russian Carrot Pie, Veganized!

I've often written of my affection for Mollie Katzen's first two tomes of vegetarian cookery, The Moosewood Cookbook and The Enchanted Broccoli Forest. It would not be an overstatement to say that these books, along with Anna Thomas' The Vegetarian Epicure, quite literally taught me how to cook, and I have many fond memories of spending an afternoon or evening chopping, stirring, tasting and ultimately eating something like Broccoli Mushroom Noodle Casserole or Lentil-Walnut Burgers. Most particularly, though, I have to give Mollie credit for inspiring my life-long passion for savory pies; growing up, I was familiar with things like shepherd's pie or chicken pot pie, but the likelihood of a quiche or some groovy vegetable tart showing up on the dinner table was pretty remote. But those early Moosewood books were big on pie for dinner, which was a huge revelation to me: I mean, it's pie! And it's dinner! How can this possibly be bad, right?!

Mollie was also into distinctly Eastern-European flavor combinations, so her recipes often included lots of dill, paprika and mushrooms; of course, they were also filled with cheese, cottage cheese, sour cream, and butter. On a more hippieish note, wheat germ often figured prominently, and back in the day, my refrigerator always held a big ol' jar of the stuff because it seemed like all my cookbooks demanded its presence in more things than not. The original version of this recipe features nearly all of these things--she skipped the sour cream this time--but mine has none of them except the carrots, onions and seasonings. (Oh, and a crust.) Isa's quiche formula from Vegan Brunch turns out to be an ideal substitute for all that cottage cheese, and I lightened up the fat a little on the veggies, while upping the spices and using panko in place of the ubiquitous wheat germ.

And yet. Despite these emendations, I swear hat when I tasted the filling before spooning it into the pie crusts, the years melted away and I was right back in my teensy-weensy first apartment, home from my job at the health food store and feeling like a Real Grown Up, with a glass of wine and everything. (NB the circa 1987 Jerry Garcia Band show playing in the background did nothing to dispel this illusion). In short, these pies were absolutely delicious, and I am now inspired to revise and revisit more old favorites; watch this space, because that Whole Wheat Macaroni, Russian Style is gonna get veganized, and soon!

Moosewood Russian Carrot Pie, Veganized

The Cheesy Part

Ingredients
~1 lb. extra firm tofu, drained and crumbled
~3/4 cup raw, unsalted cashews
~2 tbsp. oil (I used canola)
~1 tsp. each: salt, paprika, dill
~Pinch of nutmeg
~A few grinds of fresh black pepper

Directions
~Combine all the above ingredients and puree thoroughly in a a food processor (wasn't that easy?)
~Set aside while you make...

The Carroty Part

Ingredients
~1 tbsp. Earth Balance (Mollie wanted 3 tbsp. butter: oy!)
~1 cup finely chopped onions
~1 lb. carrots, thinly sliced (about 3 cups)
~1 tsp. each: salt, paprika
~2 tsp. dill
~Fresh black pepper, to taste
~3 tbsp. flour

Also
~2 single pie crusts; I used store bought, but if you prefer home-made, go for it (in fact, Mollie recommends an "eagerly awaiting nut crust," make of that what you will)!
~1/2 cup panko crumbs
~1 tbsp. melted Earth Balance
~1/2 tsp. each: dill and paprika, for garnish

Directions
~Preheat the oven to 375 degrees fahrenheit.
~In a large skillet or wok, melt the Earth Balance and saute the onions until soft, about 10 minutes.
~Add the sliced carrots, salt, paprika, dill and black pepper. Cook for about 10 minutes more, until the carrots are soft but not mushy.
~Stir in the flour to coat the vegetables, and remove from heat.
~Add the tofu mixture to the vegetables and combine thoroughly. Spoon the filling into your (eagerly awaiting) pie crusts.
~In a small bowl, combine the panko, melted EB, dill and paprika, then sprinkle half the mixture over each pie. Cover with foil, and bake at 375 degrees for 20 minutes.
~After 15 minutes, raise the heat to 400 degrees, remove the foil and bake an additional 15 minutes, keeping an eye on things to make sure the topping doesn't burn.
~Remove from oven and allow to set up for at least 10-15 minutes before slicing. We ate our carrot pie with a simple green salad topped with toasted walnuts, fresh basil and Annie's Organic Goddess Dressing (because we're still kinda hippies, you know?).

Pumpkin French Toast

Happy Halloween, Mo'foers! Hard to believe that we've already come to the end of the month, innit? Over the last 31 days, I have been so impressed by the creativity, skill and talent of the vegan bloggers who participated in our annual month of compassionate gluttony; if we get to even half the recipes we want to make before December, it will be this year's Miracle of Christmas! In honor of All Hallow's Eve, my last post for Vegan MoFo III features everyone's favorite member of the squash family in the uncannily delicious Pumpkin French Toast. This is basically a mash-up of a couple different recipes, along with my own messing around, but believe me when I tell you that the appeal of this breakfast staple is only enhanced by some sweet, jack-o-lanterny goodness. The trick to making this treat is chickpea flour; it imparts an astonishing (dare I say it?) "egginess" to the batter and helps it crisp up as it fries, so if you don't have any, go get some right now, okay? This is especially perfect on a crisp October day, but it's yummy enough to be a frightfully (Okay, I'll stop now) welcome breakfast--or brunch, or dinner--at any time of year.

Pumpkin French Toast

Ingredients
~1 cup pureed pumpkin
~1.5 cups plain soy milk
~2 tbsp. maple syrup
~2 tsp. vanilla extract
~1 tsp. cinnamon
~1/2 tsp. salt
~1/4 tsp. nutmeg
~2 tbsp. corn starch
~1/2 cup chickpea flour
~Oil or cooking spray
~8 slices stale or lightly toasted bread (I used Ezekiel, because that's what we had; a stale baguette would be even better)

Directions
~ Preheat oven to 350 degrees fahrenheit.
~ In a mixing bowl, combine all ingredients except the toasted bread and whisk thoroughly. The batter doesn't have to be totally smooth, but everything should be well combined. Place two slices of the bread in the batter and let it sit for a few minutes to soak up the pumpkiny goodness.
~ Heat a large skillet over medium heat, and coat with cooking spray or about 2 tbsp. canola oil.
~ Add the soaked bread to the pan and cook on each side for about 3-5 minutes, until miraculously brown and crispy; as you cook the soaked slices, put two more in the batter to await its turn in the pan.
~ Adding more oil or cooking spray as necessary to prevent sticking, continue until all the bread is cooked, transferring the finished slices to a baking sheet to keep warm in the oven.
~ Serve with Earth Balance, maple syrup, and maybe some stewed apples on the side, for a meal so good it's SPOOKY!

Big Fat "Turkey" Tetrazzini

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite things to do was play "school" (as opposed to "house").I admit to being a bossy little thing who always insisted on being the teacher; if there weren't any human playmates around, I wasn't above conscripting stuffed animals to be my hapless students. My mother still tells the story of an autumn afternoon, getting on for Thanksgiving, when I announced that I had begun teaching at the college level; for my introductory seminar, I lined up my various bunnies, puppies, kitties, etc. and began teaching them to sing "Big fat turkey, gobble, gobble, gobble" (my own composition, as it happens). This anecdote has followed me throughout my life, yea, even into graduate school--only a few months ago, my sister wished me luck on a conference paper by means of a text reading simply: "Don't forget to sing 'Big Fat Turkey!'"

So it is hardly surprising that when November draws near, and images of those strange yet oddly noble birds begin appearing all over the place, I am reminded of that early sniff of the rarefied, ivy-scented air of academia; this is especially true this year, when I'm mired in loathsome mid-term obligations. Singing sophisticated, turkey-related songs puts me in mind of Thanksgiving, which leads to thoughts of food, and thence, inevitably, to (Oxfordian, perspiring) dreams of casseroles. Why "inevitably?" Well, if you are anything like me, nothing says autumn-shading-into-winter like a big ol' podgy casserole, and today I offer you my recreation of that old Thanksgiving leftover classic, (big, fat) turkey tetrazzini. This has everything you could possibly want: noodles, mushrooms, creamy sauce and crunchy topping, and all without any harm to our feathered friends. It looks like a lot of steps, but it was actually less than two hours from the time I started chopping onions to the moment we spooned up those first forkfuls and began making appreciative yummy sounds. So pop this baby in the oven some chilly afternoon, belt out a rousing chorus or two of "Big Fat Turkey," and soon you will have the kind of dinner that Mama used to make, only better. Gobble, gobble, gobble!

Big Fat "Turkey" Tetrazzini
(I used soy curls for the "turkey," but seitan or any packaged "chicken" substitute would work.)

The Soy Curls
~2 cups soy curls
~2 cups vegetable broth
~2 tbsp. garlic, minced
~1 tsp. each: salt, thyme, sage, parsley, basil, paprika
~2 bay leaves
~Fresh black pepper

Directions
~In a saucepan or Pyrex beaker (if microwaving), combine all the ingredients except the soy curls and heat until boiling.
~Add the soy curls, cover and allow to marinate for at least 30 minutes.
~Drain the soy curls, discard the bay leaves and reserve the marinade.

The Veggies
~1 tbsp. olive oil
~2 cups onion, chopped
~2 tbsp. garlic, minced
~3 cups mushrooms, sliced
~Drained marinated soy curls
~3/4 cup frozen green peas

Directions
~In a large skillet or wok, saute the onions and garlic in the oil over medium-high heat for 5 minutes.
~Add the mushrooms and seasonings and cook about 10 minutes, until the mushroom liquid has cooked off.
~Stir in the soy curls, combine thoroughly, and cook another 5 minutes. Remove from heat and set aside.

The Sauce
~2 tbsp. Earth Balance or other vegan margarine
~4 tbsp. flour
~Reserved soy curl marinade
~3 cups plain, unsweetened soy milk
~1/4 cup vegan parmesan substitute (optional, but nice)
~Pinch nutmeg
~1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper

Also
~1 12 oz. package pasta (I used gemelli), cooked and drained according to package directions
~1 cup panko crumbs
~1 tbsp. margarine, melted
~ 1 tsp. each: paprika, parsley (for garnish)

Directions
~Preheat the oven to 450 degrees fahrenheit.
~In a saucepan, melt the margarine over medium-low heat and add the flour, stirring to make a roux.
~As it begins to thicken, add the marinade/soy milk mixture gradually, stirring constantly with a whisk.
~Raise the heat to medium, add the parmesan and continue cooking 5-10 minutes, until it reaches about texture of a thinnish pureed soup; keep stirring to prevent lumps and/or sticking.
~Remove from heat and combine with soy curl/veggie mixture.
~Mix in the drained pasta, stir to combine and taste for seasoning (you may want a bit more salt). Transfer to a 9 x 12" casserole coated with cooking spray.
~In a small bowl, combine the panko, melted margarine, paprika and parsley and spread evenly over the top of the casserole.
~Cover with foil and bake at 450 20 minutes.
~Remove the foil and bake another 15-20 minutes until browned, watching carefully to be sure the panko doesn't burn.
~Allow to set up for about 10 minutes before serving.

Welsh Rabbit (or Rarebit)

Welsh rabbit is a funny thing; for me it represents, along with rice pudding and any number of potato-based things covered in gravy, the very essence of childhood comfort food. Yet many Americans have never heard of it, and the basic definition--"melted cheese on toast"--is sadly inadequate to describe its ineffable homespun charm. The inexhaustible fountain of wisdom that is Wikipedia tells us that, "The first recorded use of the term Welsh rabbit was in 1725, but the origin of the term is unknown. It may be an ironic name coined in the days when the Welsh were notoriously poor: only better-off people could afford butcher's meat, and while in England rabbit was the poor man's meat, in Wales the poor man's meat was cheese."

Fair enough. My mother grew up during WWII, and there were many times they'd have been lucky to get anything on toast, so we've got the poverty thing covered. The interesting part about my own early experience with Welsh rabbit is that, for some unknown reason, it was always associated with Sunday evenings; I'm honestly not sure if we ever ate it on any other day of the week. Sometimes my mom made it, sometimes my dad, but in my memory it is inextricably linked with an early bathtime, followed by The Wonderful World of Disney (each week, as Tinkerbell flew up to Cinderella's Castle and tapped it with her wand, you'd hope for something like Lady and the Tramp or Sleeping Beauty, but more often than not it would be one of those tedious early '70s offerings like The Love Bug or The Apple Dumpling Gang). On occasions such as these, a few slabs of toasted baguette covered with gooey, mustardy, vaguely beer-scented sauce were definitely the high point of the evening.

Now, the weirdest thing about this is that my partner recalls having exactly the same experience, right down to the Sunday-night-specifics! Since he grew up about 600 miles north of me, we are left to speculate that it must have something to do with my mother being British and his parents being Anglo-Canadian: perhaps, in their tender, formative years, Churchill had extolled the virtues of eating Welsh rabbit on Sunday as a means of defeating the Hun? My inner folklorist wondered if a tradition of having a comparatively "light" meal in the evening might have arisen as result of the big "Sunday lunch" so beloved by the English at midday. However, research into the matter has thus far yielded nothing to link this poor Welshman's treat to the Lord's day of rest, so if anyone out there knows anything about this, let me know, okay?

At this point in my ramble down Memory Lane, the gentle reader would be forgiven for thinking, "Oi! Desdemona! You don't eat cheese or rabbits, innit? So wot's yer bleedin' point?" (Assuming the gentle reader is a skinhead from the '80s.) Well, the fact is that I am occasionally seized by the quixotic urge to make something that is theoretically "impossible," and last week it occurred to me that some melty cheesy stuff on bread might be just the thing to temporarily chase those overscheduled mid-semester blues away. There was about a cup remaining in our dwindling hoard of cheddar-flavor Daiya, but with the addition of some Coleman's mustard and help from the one lonely beer in the house (among other things), I was able to come pretty close to the taste of those long-ago Sunday nights. I've now made it twice, with excellent results; first on a Tuesday evening, and then on a Saturday morning. The fact that this radical departure from tradition caused no discernible tear in the space:time continuum leads me to believe it would be perfectly safe to whip up a batch any day of the week, so go mental! That said, I think I'll wait for a Sunday to make it next time, then get into my pajamas and fire up 101 Dalmations, for old times' sake; who says you can't go home again?

Welsh Rabbit

Ingredients
~2 tbsp. Earth Balance
~1/4 cup finely minced onion
~2 tbsp. flour
~1/2 tsp. each: salt, paprika, turmeric
~1/2-1 tsp. dry mustard (I used Coleman's)
~A few grinds of black pepper
~3/4 cup dark beer (not stout)
~1 tbsp. vegan Worcestershire sauce
~1 cup cheddar flavor Daiya (or other vegan cheese)
~1/4 cup nutritional yeast
~1 tbsp. lemon juice
~A shot or two of hot sauce, to taste
~1 large baguette, sliced lengthwise, cut into 8 slablike slices and toasted lightly
~8 slices ripe tomato, drained, salted & peppered (optional, but nice)

Directions
~Preheat oven to 500 degrees fahrenheit.
~In a saucepan, melt the Earth Balance and saute the minced onion over medium-low heat about 3-4 minutes.
~Stir in the flour, salt, paprika, turmeric and mustard. Continue to cook, stirring constantly, another 3 minutes or so.
~Whisk in the beer and Worcestershire sauce; keep stirring!
~When the mixture is smooth, turn heat to low and add the Daiya cheese and nutritional yeast, stirring until you get a smooth, uniform texture.
~Add the lemon juice and hot sauce and cook another minute or two. Remove from heat and allow to sit about 5 minutes..
~Spoon the mixture onto the toasted baguette slices, top each with a tomato slice, if using, and place on a baking sheet.
~Cook at 500 degrees for about 10 minutes, until golden brown and bubbly. If you like, turn the broiler on for the last minute or two, but keep a careful eye so they don't burn!
~Allow to cool for a few minutes and devour. Blimey!