Mushrooms, Asparagus, and "Chicken" En Croute with Creamy Dijon Mustard Sauce

About a year ago, amidst the buzz about the film Julie and Julia, there was a news item about Julia Child's former home, in Cambridge, having been sold to a vegetarian family. This provoked the predictable masturbatory mini-eruption in the foodie blogosphere viz. the "sacrilege" of herbivorous meals being cooked on the site of so many years of wanton carnage...er, "gourmet cuisine."

Personally, I found it rather delightful - especially when I read that the current residents have a painting of a cow in the kitchen, with the legend, “Nobody says when I grow up I want to be a hamburger" - and agreed with one vegetarian blogger that it seemed like a matter of some long overdue good karma for a place that had basically been an abattoir for 40+ years.

Fast forward to a recent afternoon when, hiding in our air-conditioned bedroom from yet more witheringly hot, humid weather, we came across an old rerun of Julia Child's original PBS program, The French Chef. This particular installment was called "Meatloaf Masquerade" (I know, you're getting a visual; just close your eyes for a minute and it will pass), and featured Julia babbling away about the wonders of pate en croute.

Now, let me just say that this episode was nothing short of a complete gorefest. I'm not even going to  try to remember how many kinds of dead animals and their various effluvia were involved in making this…this thing, but suffice to say that veal, pork, eggs, butter, cream, and a hitherto-unheard-of quantity of lard were all in evidence. And that was before she started making the puff pastry, which featured over a pound of fat, in the form of butter and lard. (LARD!) As ever, one is not merely amazed that the woman lived to be 92 years old, but that she didn't keel over with a massive coronary at the end of each episode, and that her signature send-off wasn't "Call 911!"

Be that as it may, like many vegans I know, my first reaction to seeing something like this is, "Eeeww, is she kidding?!" followed swiftly by, "I wonder how I could make that not disgusting?" Even if I wasn't too lazy/inept to make puff pastry from scratch, the weather we've been having renders anything that calls for cold margarine an unlikely prospect, but it had recently come to my attention that several frozen brands are vegan, including Pepperidge Farms. So it was that a few weeks later, I had some lovely asparagus that which I thought would be even lovelier en croute. I wanted something less "meaty" than a pate-style filling, so I marinated some soy curls, sautéed onions and mushrooms with the asparagus, thickened it up a bit, tucked the whole business inside a blanket of pastry, and baked it.

The result was so good - and looked so fancy, even though it was really very simple - that I can hardly wait to put all kinds of things in puff pastry, especially when autumn comes around. As Julia would say (albeit after suggesting I kill something and stuff it in there, tout de suite): Bon Appetit!

Mushrooms, Asparagus and "Chicken" En Croute
The Soy Curls
Ingredients
~ 1 cup soy curls
~ 1 cup "no chicken" broth
~ 1 tsp. tarragon
~ 1/2 tsp. each: salt, rosemary, parsley
~ A few generous grinds of black pepper

Directions
~ In a beaker, combine the broth and seasonings, then add the soy curls.
~ Cover and bring to a boil in the microwave, or in a pot on the stove top.
~ Allow to sit, covered, for at least 30 minutes (the longer the better).

The Other Stuff
Ingredients
~ 2 tbsp. vegan margarine (we use Earth Balance)
~ 1 cup chopped onion
~ 2 cups each: sliced mushrooms, chopped asparagus (1/2" pieces)
~ 1/4 cup dry white wine
~ 1 cup plain, unsweetened soy milk
~ 1 cup grated cheddar flavor Daiya (or other vegan cheese)

Also:
~ 1 package frozen puff pastry, thawed according to package directions (this will be two sheets, enough for two separate "loaves").

Directions
~ In a large skillet, melt the margarine, and saute the onion over medium heat 5 minutes.
~ Add the mushrooms and cook another 5 minutes, until they have released most of their moisture.
~ Add the asparagus, and cook another few minutes, until bright green.
~ Pour in the white wine and stir to deglaze, scraping up any bits that may be stuck to the pan.
~ Add the marinated soy curls (including any unabsorbed marinade), the soy milk, and cheese, then cook until thickened; about 5 minutes.
~ Taste for seasonings, then remove from heat and set aside to cool to room temperature.

The Assembly
~ Preheat the oven to 425 degrees fahrenheit.
~ On a large, greased baking sheet, lay the puff pastry flat, and spoon half the filling along the center of each sheet.
~ Fold the edges over, and crimp along the edges to form a seal. With a sharp knife, make three 2" slashes along the top of each loaf.
~ Bake at 425 for 5 minutes, then lower the heat to 350 and bake another 15-20 minutes, until puffed and golden brown.
~ Allow to cool about 5-10 minutes. This is great cut into squares as an appetizer, or in big slices as an entree, with a green salad and, if you're so inclined...

Creamy Dijon Mustard Sauce
Ingredients
~ 1 tbsp. olive oil
~ 1 tbsp. garlic, minced
~ 1/2 cup dry white wine
~ 1/2 tsp. salt
~ 2 tbsp. dijon mustard
~ 1 cup vegetable broth
~ Fresh black pepper to taste
~ 1 cup plain, unsweetened soy milk
~ 1 tsp. corn starch

Directions
~ In a saucepan, heat the olive oil, and saute the garlic over medium heat, about 2 minutes.
~ Pour in the wine, and cook a few minutes more.
~ Add the salt, mustard, vegetable broth, and pepper, and cook about 5 minutes.
~ In a separate bowl, combine the soy milk and corn starch, whisk thoroughly, and pour into the saucepan.
~ Raise the heat to high, and cook about 5 minutes more, stirring with a whisk, until thickened.

"Gambas" en Gabardina w/Mojo de Cilantro, or "Homage to Dali"

In Somerville, MA. about a ten minute walk from Harvard Square, is Dali, a tapas restaurant with which I have extremely fond associations. I was first introduced to the place around ten years ago, by my very dear friends, Andrew and Heather Feland. At that time they were living in Arlington, I was going to school in Cambridge, and we all worked - she and I for meager non-profit salaries, he as a tireless volunteer - at the Higgins Armory Museum, which, if you don't know, is a fabulous repository of medieval and Renaissance arms and armor, located right here in Worcester, Massachusetts. My partner and I had several early dates there, and over the years it's been the location for a number of birthdays and special occasions, as well as the sort of random visits one pays when hit by a mighty craving for sangria after a class, a museum-related outing, one of those great medieval or Early Modern colloquia they have at the Barker Center, or just some long, hard shopping (between the Coop, Lush, and Cardullo's, Harvard Square can really wear a person out!).

Along with great sangria, Dali has, among other things, the nicest staff (if it's your birthday, they bring your dessert with a candle in a frog-shaped holder, and blow bubbles at you!), the craziest decor (I mean, look at it), and the most awesomely garlicky green mojo sauce in the history of the world. I'm serious: if you eat this stuff, you will come home smelling like a vampire's worst nightmare, an aroma that will continue to exude from your very pores for a minimum of 24 hours, which is why it's probably a good idea to go with someone that has A. a high tolerance for allium sativum, and/or B. already sleeps in the same bed with you, so no harm, no foul. Anyway, this sauce is traditionally served with shrimp that have been fried in a saffron batter, but as a non-shrimp-eater, one needs to find something else on which to pour it, and one recent night I decided to make that something some nice, crispy tofu. A cursory web search brought up a variety of recipes, several of which I conflated to produce the redolent offering with which I hereby present you. Go ahead, I dare you (you won't be sorry, unless your surname happens to be Dracula, and even then, it's absolutely worth the risk)!

The Tofu

Ingredients
~ 2 lb. extra firm tofu, drained and pressed
~ 1/3 cup vegetable broth, mixed with 1/2 tsp. saffron threads
~ Egg replacer for 1 egg (1 tbsp., mixed with 3 tbsp. cold water)
~ 1/2 tsp. each: salt, garlic powder, onion powder, chili powder
~ 1/4 tsp. baking soda
~ 1/2 cup flour
~ Oil for frying

Directions
~ In a microwave safe bowl or beaker, heat the broth and saffron mixture for about 30 seconds, until hot.
~ In a bowl, whisk together the egg replacer, baking soda, and remaining spices.
~ Add in flour, whisking until mixture resembles pancake batter. Set aside to rest for an hour.
~ Heat the oven to 350 degrees, and prepare a nonstick baking sheet.
~ Cut each pound of tofu into eight approximately equal pieces.
~ Heat up oil in large, deep skillet over medium-high heat.
~ Dredge the tofu pieces in the batter, then fry in batches until golden brown, being careful not to crowd the pan, a few minutes on each side.
~ As the tofu is cooked, transfer it to the baking sheet and keep warm in the oven until you've used all the pieces.

The Mojo Sauce

Ingredients
~ 6-8 tbsp. garlic, minced (trust me!)
~ 1 teaspoon cumin
~ 3/4 teaspoon salt
~ 2 cups fresh cilantro, chopped
~ 1 cup fresh parsley
~ 1/2 cup virgin olive oil
~ 1/4 cup nutritional yeast

Directions
~ In a food processor, blend the garlic, cilantro, parsley, salt and cumin.
~ With the food processor running, gradually add the olive oil and nutritional yeast, until the sauce is thick but not paste-like (you can add a bit of water, up to about 1/4 cup, if it looks too thick).
~ Transfer to a small pot and heat over a low flame for about 10 minutes, stirring frequently; it will probably thicken a bit more, but that's okay, thin with a little more water if necessary.
~ Remove from heat.
~ Serve the tofu over rice, salad, or all by itself, with the mojo sauce ladled on as generously as you dare.

Food for Thought

"Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity."
~ Hamlet (1.1.72-3)

What would we do without Big Willie Shakespeare? Always there when needed, and often with an extremely helpful take on things. I'll never write anything that good - or useful - but here I am anyway. I haven't updated in awhile, partly because I haven't been cooking much, but primarily because my mind has been elsewhere. My mother, June (Kirby) Tsiokas, died of complications from metastatic breast cancer on June 25th, and that has taken up most of my available mental space. Inevitably, such an event suspends normal activities, and causes a person to pause, reflect, and spend some time reassessing Life, the Universe, and Everything (to say nothing of staying up/sleeping in later than is necessarily good for them). The past few weeks have left me feeling exhausted, as if I'd been performing hard, physical labor, which I assure you is not the case. Friends and loved ones have stepped forward with many words and deeds of kindness, including the advice to give things a break, and not to beat up on myself for not being quite...well, myself.

Part of my sense of dislocation has been a lack of interest in food, cooking, and eating, which is unfortunate, because the kitchen is where I go to decompress. I trust this state of affairs will prove temporary, but right now I'm just not feeling it. Of course, the irony is that both of my parents basically lived to cook, and especially to cook for others. After my father died in early 2007, I found that chopping, stirring, and cooking things brought me a certain amount of comfort; at a time when I felt weak and vulnerable, it was an area in which I remained strong and competent.

This time is different. Maybe it has something to do with it being my mother, with whom I had an intense and often complicated relationship, or maybe it's the fact that I am now an "orphan." I realize that's a silly word to apply to a card-carrying, childbearing, mortgage-paying grown-up like myself, but that's how it feels. I may not be reduced to picking pockets or sleeping under the counter at the coffin maker's shop, but I am nonetheless officially out of parents.

I have a wonderful partner, children, friends, and colleagues, but let's face it: there will never be another person on the other end of the phone so invested in the minutiae of my life. (Whether I have a headache; what I'm having for dinner; my kid's report card.) That one person who carried me in her body, brought me into the world, and fed, clothed, and loved me from the merest scrap of helpless humanity right through to responsible adulthood (still working on that last bit) has gone.

Then again, I have my own children: sons for whom I am that voice on the phone, and as I negotiate this rite of passage, it's important to bear that circularity in mind. As Claudius tells the grieving Hamlet, "you must know, your father lost a father;/ That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound/ In filial obligation for some term/ To do obsequious sorrow..." Of course, the flaw in this example is that Claudius has killed Hamlet's father, but the point remains valid: the loss of our parents constitutes an enormous change, and it takes a little while to find our bearings again. One friend described the experience as akin to being "a small child lost in the world's hugest department store."

So what I need to realize is that a few weeks of reflective, not-especially-productive downtime is neither "...to persevere / In obstinate condolent," "a course / Of impious stubbornness," or even such a big deal, considering the enormity of what's happened to my family. So I guess what I'm taking rather a long time to say is thank you. Thanks to the people who have been, and continue to be there for me, and for their admonitions to be a bit gentle with myself at this very strange time. And watch this space; I promise that some day soon my mirth and my custom of exercise will return, and they'll probably bring some recipes along with them.

Baked Hummus and Pasta Casserole

I think we all make the occasional mistake of preparing rather more food than we need, don't you? A few weeks ago, we had a party to celebrate my son's birthday and high school graduation, a party for which we had a lot of Middle Eastern food because A. we're part Greek, and B. everyone loves Middle Eastern food, right? And so they did, but when the cake had been consumed, the dust had settled, and the glasses were cleared away, we found ourselves with a surplus of leftover hummus. While the quantity in no way approached that shown in the picture (the current Guinness World Record holder, weighing in at a mighty 881 lbs, on a plate measuring some fifteen feet across), the fact remains that there's only so much pita and crudités you can eat before the thrill begins to wear off.

So, how to use up this beauteous bounty? It was one of those post-party days when you have a lot of some stuff (in this case, hummus; there were also a fair number of Kalamata olives) but not a lot of other things, combined with a complete lack of inclination to go shopping. Fortunately, there were enough staples on hand to whip up something that turned out quite beautifully. It's sort of like pastitsio, only I tossed the pasta with - you guessed it! - hummus, and replaced the traditional béchamel topping with a creamy sauce incorporating even more of that garlicky amalgam of chickpeas, tahini, and lemon juice. For a random weeknight experiment, it was a great success, and was so popular that it was all eaten within 24 hours, which may represent some kind of casserole-eating record, even for our hungry house. Definitely one to make again; probably the day after our next big party!

Baked Hummus and Pasta Casserole
The Filling
Ingredients
~ 1 tbsp. olive oil
~ 1 cup onion, chopped
~ 1 tbsp. garlic, minced
~  2 cups cooked brown lentils, mashed
~ 1 tsp. each: salt, basil, parsley, cinnamon, chili powder
~ 1/2 tsp. each: cinnamon, oregano
~ 1/4 tsp. each: nutmeg, cayenne pepper
~ 1/2 cup dry red wine
~ 1 15 oz can fire-roasted tomatoes, including liquid
~ 1 cup chopped black olives
~ Fresh black pepper to taste

Directions
~ Preheat the oven to 400.
~ In a large, deep skillet or wok, heat oil, and sauté the onion and garlic over medium-high heat until golden, about 5 minutes.
~ Add the mashed lentils and seasonings, and continue cooking about 5-7 minutes more.
~ Pour in the wine, stir to combine and cook another minute or two, until the alcohol smell dissipates.
~ Add the tomatoes and cook for 15-20 minutes, stirring occasionally to make sure it doesn’t stick (you can add a splash of water if necessary).
~ Stir in the chopped olives, remove from heat, and set aside.

The Sauce
Ingredients
~ 1 tbsp. vegan margarine (e.g., Earth Balance)
~ 1 tbsp. all purpose flour
~ 2 cups prepared hummus, homemade or store bought
~ 2 cups warm, unsweetened nondairy milk (I used soy)
~ Salt and pepper to taste
~ Shot of hot sauce
~ Dash of nutmeg

Directions
~ In a saucepan, melt the margarine over low heat and whisk in the flour to make a roux.
~ Begin gradually adding the soy milk, whisking constantly.
~ Mix in the hummus, salt, pepper, hot sauce, and nutmeg, stirring thoroughly to combine.
~ Continue cooking, stirring constantly, until thickened (about 5-10 minutes).

Also
~ 12 oz. penne or ziti, cooked and drained according to package directions, then tossed with 1/2 cup prepared hummus.

The Assembly~ Spread the pasta evenly in the bottom of a greased casserole (mine is 9 x 13").
~ Cover with the filling, then pour the sauce over the top, smoothing with a spatula.
~ Sprinkle with a little paprika and parsely for garnish
~ Bake at 400 for 20-25 minutes, until golden; if you like, raise the heat to 425 for the last few minutes to brown it a bit more.
~ Allow to sit for about 10 minutes before slicing. This is pretty filling, so a nice green salad and a glass of cold, white wine should be all you need to round out the meal.

Asian Style BBQ Tempeh Wings

Wings, as the good people at Herbivore remind us, were created for flying, not for frying. That being the case, the "wings" in today's post have neither flown nor been fried, but are a variation on the sweet and spicy BBQ tempeh recipe I made a few weeks ago. We still had a few packages of that awesome Henry's Gourmet Tempeh in the refrigerator, and were looking for something Asian-tasting to go with the leftover dry sauteed green beans and brown rice from the previous night's dinner (a typical genesis for recipes around here). I basically just played around with the sauce until I got the flavor I was looking for, then proceeded as before. I've reposted the method for the tempeh, so you don't need to refer back to the earlier post; then again, if you're feeling ambitious and/or have a crapload of tempeh on hand, you might throw caution to the wind and make a batch of each! (Oh, and if you want some cool t-shirts, buttons, stickers, or other neato vegan stuff, go here and they'll hook you up! http://www.herbivoreclothing.com)

Asian Style BBQ Tempeh Wings

The Sauce

Ingredients
~ 2 tbsp. toasted sesame oil
~ 2 tbsp. garlic, minced
~ 2 tbsp. freshly grated ginger
~ 2 tsp. hot sauce
~ 2 tbsp. tart marmalade
~ 2 tsp. Liquid Smoke
~ 1/2 cup mirin (or dry white wine)
~ 1/2 cup soy sauce (low sodium is fine)
~ 1/2 cup agave syrup
~ 2 cups orange juice
~ 4 large scallions, thinly sliced
~ 2 tbsp. sesame seeds

Directions
~ In a saucepan, heat the seasme oil and saute the garlic and ginger for about a minute over medium flame.
~ Add all remaining ingredients except the scallions and sesame seeds, stir to combine, and bring to a boil.
~ Simmer, stirring often, for 20 minutes, until reduced by about a third.
~ Stir in the scallions and sesame seeds, cook another minute or two, then remove from heat and set aside while you prepare...

The Tempeh

Ingredients
~ 2 8 oz. packages tempeh
~ 1 cup plain, unsweetened soy milk
~ 1 cup flour
~ 1 tsp. each: salt, ground ginger, garlic powder
~ 1 cup panko

Directions
~ Preheat your oven to 425 degrees fahrenheit, and coat a baking sheet with cooking spray.
~ Cut the tempeh into four equal rectangles, then carefully slice those rectangles in half horizontally; using both packages, this will give you 16 pieces.
~ Set up an assembly line with 3 bowls: soy milk in one, flour and spices in another, and panko in the third.
~ Take a piece of tempeh, dip it in the milk, then in the flour mixture. Dip it once more into the milk, then coat it in the panko. Continue until all the pieces are used up, and place them on your greased baking sheet.
~ Spray the tops of the tempeh with cooking spray, and bake for 15 minutes. Remove, flip over, and bake for another 15 minutes.
~ Remove from the oven and set aside.

Now...
~ Ladle about a cup of your sauce into the bottom and spread it around.
~ Arrange your tempeh pieces in the baking dish, then pour the remaining sauce over them, making sure they're all nicely coated (you can flip them over once or twice to be sure, if you like).
~ Bake, uncovered, at 425 degrees for 20-25 minutes, until the sauce has baked on and the tempeh is starting to blacken ever so slightly around the edges.
~ Remove from the oven and allow to sit for a few minutes before serving.

Random Weeknight Coconut Tofu Curry

By now it's pretty much an open secret that coconut milk and I are madly in love - we've been carrying on for awhile now, and the time has come for me to shout it from the rooftops. The funny thing is that this passion came as a bit of a surprise: as a child, I only ever encountered coconut in sweets, and never liked it. It invariably lay at the center of the last, forlorn chocolate in a Valentine's box, I didn't care for German chocolate cake, and when coconut made an appearance in a mainstream candy bar like an Almond Joy, it only spoiled my joy.

But what a difference a new cuisine can make: the first time I tasted a Thai coconut curry, I basically went out of my mind. From there on, I went on to get all swoony over Cambodian, Vietnamese, and Carribbean dishes, and eventually determined that maybe I could make some of this stuff myself. Many cookbooks and web searches later, coconut milk is a  cupboard staple, and while I still don't care for its flavor in sweets (of course, I'm not that crazy about sweets anyway), I adore and lust after it in savory, spicy dishes.

The recipe below is another curry that started out wanting to be something else, but wound up being massaged to suit the contents of my cupboard. I was running low on vegetables, and I think the inclusion of something green and crunchy (broccoli seems perfect) would only make it better. Even so, I don't mind saying that this was yummy-sound-inducingly good, and the fried tofu was probably the best I've ever made, which is sayin' summat. But it's the sauce that makes it special; it may seem a bit time-consuming, but most of that time is spent hanging out in the kitchen listening to music or posting nonsense on Facebook while it simmers. And anyway, trust me: it's totally worth it.

When it comes to coconut milk, I generally use the "lite" variety, sometimes the full-strength, and occasionally, when I want to pull out all the stops, the high test coconut cream, which can make a person gain five pounds just by looking at the unopened can. But so what? Coconut milk adds that ineffably rich, creamy, tropically exotic deliciousness to a recipe that never fails to make your guests (and even your jaded, experimented-upon family) say "mmmmmmm." And that's exactly what you want them to say, isn't it?

Random Weeknight Coconut Tofu Curry
The Curry
Ingredients
~ 2 tbsp. garlic, minced
~ 1 tbsp. fresh ginger, grated
~ 1 large onion, chopped
~ 1 tbsp. yellow curry paste
~ 1 tsp. each: dried lemongrass, coriander, hot sauce (I use Sriracha)
~ 2 tsp. Thai red curry paste
~ 2 tbsp. vegetable oil
~ 1 cup chopped, fresh coriander, including stems
~ 1 15 oz. can of lite coconut milk
~ 3 cups vegetable broth
~ 1 tsp. salt
~ 2 tsp. each: curry powder, sugar
~ 1/4 cup fresh lime juice
~ 2 tsp. cornstarch

Directions
~ Place ingredients from the garlic through the fresh coriander in a food processor, then process to a semi-smooth paste.
~ Heat the remaining oil in a saucepan and fry the spice paste on medium heat for 20 minutes, stirring frequently – it should cook slowly, without burning.
~ Add the coconut milk, broth, curry powder, salt, and sugar, then simmer gently for 30 minutes.
~ In a small bowl, mix the lime juice and cornstarch and whisk until smooth.
~ Stir into the curry mixture, combine thoroughly, and cook another 5 minutes or so, until slightly thickened.
~ Remove from heat and set aside.

The Vegetables and Tofu
Ingredients
~ 1 tbsp. canola oil
~ 3 medium size carrots, cut into matchsticks (about 2 cups)
~ 8 oz. mushrooms, sliced
~ 4 large scallions, sliced
~ 3 cups chopped, fresh basil leaves
~ 1 lb. extra firm tofu, pressed and cubed
~ 1/3 cup cornstarch
~ 1 tsp. each: salt, curry powder
~ Extra oil for frying

Directions
~ In a large skillet or wok, heat 1 tbsp. of oil, then stir fry the carrots and mushrooms for 5 minutes over medium-high heat.
~ Add the scallions and basil and cook another minute or two. Transfer to a plate and wipe out the pan.
~ In a large zip-loc bag or bowl with a top, combine the cornstarch, salt and curry powder. Add the tofu cubes and toss thoroughly to coat.
~ Pour a few more tablespoons of oil into your skillet and heat it up to medium-high again. Shake off any excess coating, and place the cubes carefully in the hot oil; allow them to cook a few minutes before gently flipping them. (You might need to do this in more than one batch.)
~ When all the cubes are golden brown, remove them from the pan and let them drain a few minutes on paper towels or - even better - an old brown paper grocery bag.

Now:
~ Heat up the curry for a few minutes, then add the cooked vegetables and fried tofu. Once everything is heated through, ladle the curry on top of rice or noodles (short grain brown rice is my favorite), maybe with an extra squeeze of lime juice and/or some chopped peanuts.

Potato, Kale, and Black Bean Enchiladas

Let the sky rain potatoes;
let it thunder to the tune of "Greensleeves,"
hail kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes; let
there come a tempest of provocation, I will shelter me here.
- The Merry Wives of Windsor (5.5.18-21)

Ah, the homely, humble, yet glorious potato: staple comfort food for lo, these many generations. But when Shakespeare's Sir John Falstaff first uttered the words above, in the late 1590s, the potato was a relative newcomer on the culinary scene. Its first appearance in Europe, around 1536, was the result of Spanish expeditions to the Americas, and John Gerard, in his 1597 Herball of the same period, reports that potatoes were being grown in Italy by circa 1585. However, as has often been the case throughout history, the latest craze took a bit longer to reach England. It's generally agreed that the tuber that would launch a bazillion chips was first introduced there in 1580, when Sir Francis Drake brought them home - probably along with all sorts of other fabulous salty seadog booty - on his return from circumnavigating the globe.

The classic Blackadder II episode "Potato" gives credit to Sir Walter "Ooh what a big ship I've got" Raleigh, but this apparently has as much truth to it as that whole "throwing his cloak over a mud puddle so that Gloriana's dainty feet might remain unsullied" thing. That said, "Potato" holds a particularly soft spot in my heart; Tom Baker's Captain Redbeard Rum, addressing these timeless lines to Miranda Richardson's Elizabeth I, is worth the price of the whole boxed set:

"You have a woman's bottom, my Lady! I'll wager that sweet round pair of peaches has never been forced 'twixt two splintered planks, to plug a leak and save a ship!"

Sheer poetry; in light of such transcendent genius, one is prepared to overlook picayune quibbles about historical accuracy.

So regardless of who gets the nod for its introduction to that sceptr'd isle, Solanum tuberosum caught on quickly, and a pre-spud Albion is difficult to imagine. I can't recall the exact statistic (and am too lazy to look it up) but I remember reading in some English newspaper about the per capita consumption of potatoes, and being absolutely astonished. And while it seems doubtful that Elizabeth I, Francis Drake, Walter Raleigh, John Gerard, or the (fictional, and therefore abstemious in fact if not in reputation) Falstaff ever had the pleasure of eating enchiladas, I like to think this recipe would have scored an adventurous gastronomic hit in that golden age of rampant proto-imperialist colonization...er, "exploration and discovery."

The recipe below was inspired by the Potato Kale Enchiladas from Veganomicon, to which I added black beans, extra kale, additional spices, and an almost completely different sauce, so it's more of an homage than a straight-up adaptation. This dish is not very spicy (and is pretty kid-friendly), but you could easily up the heat by adding some cayenne, hot sauce, or extra red pepper flakes to the sauce and/or filling. Be forewarned that this makes a huge pan - enough to feed the entire court, in fact - and they're very substantial, so be prepared for leftovers. The good news is that they'll be even better heated up tomorrow (and tomorrow, and tomorrow).

Potato, Kale, and Black Bean Enchiladas
The Sauce
Ingredients
~ 1 tbsp. olive oil
~ 1 large onion, finely chopped
~ 1 tbsp. chili powder
~ 1 1/2 tsp. cumin
~ 1 tsp. each: salt, marjoram, smoked paprika, sugar
~ 1/2 tsp. each: cinnamon, nutmeg
~ 1 28 oz. can crushed fire-roasted tomatoes, with liquid
~ 1 15 oz. can lite coconut milk
~ 1 cup Daiya, or other vegan cheddar, shredded
~ 1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes

Directions
~ In a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan, sauté the onions in the olive oil over medium heat, for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally to make sure they don't stick.
~ Add the seasonings, tomatoes, and coconut milk and stir to combine. Bring to a simmer and cook about 5 minutes.
~ Stir in the Daiya and the red pepper flakes, and continue cooking until the cheese is melted and incorporated into the sauce. You can add a little water, broth or unflavored soy milk to thin the sauce if it gets too thick. Remove from heat and set aside while you make...

The Filling
Ingredients
~ 1 lb. waxy potatoes (I used Yukon gold), scrubbed and cut into 1" dice
~ 1-2 tbsp. olive oil
~ 2 tbsp. garlic, minced
~ 1 red bell pepper, diced fine
~ 1 tsp. each: salt, cumin, thyme
~ 1 lb. pound kale, washed, trimmed, and chopped finely
~ 1/4 cup fresh lime juice
~ 1 15 oz. can black beans, drained and rinsed
~ 1 package flour tortillas

Directions
~ Preheat the oven to 375 degrees fahrenheit.
~ Heat a big pot of water, and boil the potatoes until tender, about 20 minutes. Drain and set aside.
~ In the same large pot, heat the olive oil and saute the garlic over medium heat for a minute or two.
~ Add the bell pepper, salt, cumin, and thyme, and cook another 2 minutes.
~ Begin adding the kale by handfuls, stirring well with each addition to to incorporate it with the oil, garlic, etc.
~ Pour in the lime juice and cook another few minutes, until the kale is wilted.
~ Mix in the potatoes and black beans, making sure to mash some of the potatoes as you do so. Cook another 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, and remove from heat.

The Assembly
~ Coat a large casserole or baking dish with cooking spray, and ladle a cup or so of the sauce into the bottom. (I like to place the baking dish on top of a cookie sheet to catch any leaks.)
~ Place about 1/3 - 1/2 cup filling in the top third of each tortilla and roll up into a tube. Place the filled tortillas snugly up against each other, seam side down, in your casserole until all the filling is used up and the dish is full.
~ Pour the sauce over the whole business, making sure to let it ooze down into the filled tortillas, and smoothing the top. If possible, set the assembled casserole aside and allow to sit for awhile before baking, so all the elements can get better acquainted; I left the most recent batch for nearly an hour and they were amazing.
~ Garnish the top with a little fresh parsley, cover with foil, and bake at 375 degrees about 25 minutes, until bubbling.
~ Raise the heat to 400, remove the foil, and bake uncovered another 15 minutes, until browned and lovely.
~ Set aside to cool for 15 minutes before slicing and serving with rice, guacomole, salsa, and maybe a green salad. (NB that sangria, a margarita - or even Falstaff's preference, a few flagons of Rhenish - wouldn't come amiss as an accompaniment. )