(Fully) Loaded Jacket Potatoes

Check out these potatoes - one way or another, they're ready for anything. The first is fully loaded with all the necessary tools to retrieve the fabled Spud of the Covenant (clutched securely in his manly [?] hand), while the second is...well, just kind of loaded. Either way, we are reminded of the endless versatility of that quintessence of comfort, the humble - yet withal noble - Solanum tuberosum.There's just something happiness-inducing about potatoes, whether mashed, roasted, fried, as the fluffy topping for a cottage or shepherd's pie, or, as they appear here, baked and stuffed with all kinds of salty, fatty, creamy goodness.

That said, I should come right out and admit that if you're looking for "health food," it might be best to close your browser window right now and go elsewhere, because this is without question the most packaged-food-laden recipe ever to appear on this blog: I would be (almost) ashamed to post it at all, except for the fact that these things are so damned good. We usually make them for over-the-top weekend brunches, but we recently had them for dinner, alongside breaded seitan cutlets and green beans almondine (we were going for an early-'60s, Mad Men vibe, including pineapple rightside-up cupcakes for dessert, courtesy of my partner's daughters), and this batch was so particularly outrageous that I decided to cross that invisible line into "processed crap," and type it up. I say we had them as an accompaniment to several other dishes, but be forewarned that this is the most filling "side dish" you're likely to encounter - I ate one potato half, the smallest cutlet available, a tiny scoop of green beans, and was Thanksgiving-level full (in a good way, but I'm just sayin'). Of course, this is actually a fine thing, since the inevitable leftovers will provide you with an excellently substantial breakfast the next day. So without further ado, I give you the loaded potato: the tuber that keeps on giving.

Loaded Jacket Potatoes
Ingredients
~ 6 large baking potatoes, scrubbed and baked (oven or microwave is fine; just wrap them in foil if you're using the oven, so the skins don't blacken), cooled
~ 2 tbsp. Earth Balance, or other vegan margarine
~ 1/4-1/2 cup plain, unsweetened soy milk
~ 1/2 cup Tofutti sour cream or cream cheese, or a combination
~ 1/2 cup cheddar flavor Daiya (or other vegan cheese), shredded
~ 1 pkg. Lightlife tempeh bacon, cooked and crumbled
~ 2 tbsp. nutritional yeast
~ 1 tsp. each: salt, paprika, dried parsley
~ 1/4 cup fresh chives, chopped fine

Directions
~ Preheat oven to 425 fahrenheit.
~ Scoop out the cooked potato into a large mixing bowl, being careful to leave the skins intact.
~ Mash well, then add the remaining ingredients, mixing thoroughly with each addition (go ahead and add a bit more of anything you like to taste. We're aiming for a very creamy, whipped potato texture here.
~ Carefully scoop the filling back into the skins, and arrange them on a lightly oiled baking sheet.
~ When all the filling has been equally distributed, sprinkle the tops with a little extra parsley and paprika, if you're feeling decadent, a drizzle of melted margarine.
~ Bake at 425 for about minutes, until browned and beauteous (everyone's oven is different, so check occasionally to make sure they don't burn).
~ Allow to cool 5 minutes before serving to a chorus of rapturous yummy sounds. If you really want to go crazy, you could even top them with a dollop of vegan sour cream; I won't judge!

White Bean and Mushroom Stew

I love cooking shows, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that they invariably feature things I would never actually consider eating. The fun part is getting an idea for something I would eat, and then figuring out how to accomplish it; this is especially true when the inspiration is a recipe chock-full of objectionable ingredients, which was certainly the case with the prototype for this dish. One recent Saturday, it was Laura Calder making Belge-Ette de Veau (Belgian Veal Stew) on French Food at Home that got me thinking, "Hmmmm, take out the crème fraîche, 5 tablespoons of butter, and 4 pounds of veal shoulder (seriously? To paraphrase the good people at Food Fight: what kind of asshole eats a calf?), add some more herbs and vegetables, and we might have something going on here." The result was an unqualified success: a thick, filling stew that came together quickly and - with roasted potatoes and sauteed asparagus with hollandaise sauce on the side - made a lovely supper. I encourage you to try it, especially as autumn approaches and the weather cools off; your family will thank you, and so will the baby calf who gets to stay with his mama, instead of winding up in your stewpot!

(NB - I used canned beans because I had them in the cupboard, but soaked, dried beans would probably be even better; I'd cook them ahead with a few herbs, then just add them at the point in the recipe where I call for the canned ones.)


White Bean and Mushroom Stew
Ingredients
~ 2 tbsp. olive oil
~ 1 lb. pearl onions, peeled and halved
~ 2 tbsp. garlic, minced
~ 1 cup carrot, diced
~ 1 lb. mushrooms, sliced
~ 1 tsp. each: salt, thyme, marjoram
~ 1 tbsp. dried tarragon
~ A few generous grinds of black pepper
~ 2 15 oz. cans cannelini (or other white beans), drained
~ 2 cups vegetable broth
~ 2 tbsp. Earth Balance, or other vegan margarine
~ 2 tbsp. flour
~ 1/2 cup plain, unsweetened soy milk
~ 1 cup chopped, fresh parsley

Directions
~ In a large, deep pot, heat the oil and saute the onions over medium heat for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.
~ Add the garlic, carrots, mushrooms, salt, thyme, tarragon, and the pepper, and cook another 5 minutes.
~ Pour in 1 cup of the broth, bring to a boil, then cover and cook for 10 minutes.
~ Add the beans and the remaining broth, and cook for 20 minutes more, partially covered (put the lid on, but crack it about an inch).
~ In a saucepan, melt the margarine over low heat, then add the flour, stirring to make a roux. Pour in the soymilk, and whisk for a few minutes until the mixture has thickened.
~ Add the soymilk mixture to the stew, stir to combine, and cook another 15-20 minutes, until quite thick.
~ Stir in the fresh parsley, combine thoroughly, remove from heat, and serve.

Meatloaf Masquerade, Part Deux

It's been over a month since my mother died, and I continue to be astonished at just how weird that is. I like to flatter myself - what else is new? - that I've been holding up reasonably well, but this is not an easy process. Not that one expects that it should be easy, but then again what should we expect? The loss of a parent is by definition a Great Big Existential Deal, and when it happens it's hard to feel at anything but a loss. I'm working hard to find the grace, the wisdom, the enhanced connection with life, the universe, and everything, or even just the educational value in this, but it remains a major emotional challenge (or, as one eloquent friend puts it, AFGE: Another Fucking Growth Experience).

Which is why I am now going to talk about meatloaf.

#1: Not the "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" Meatloaf, because that would just be gross.
#2: Not the cheap-ground-beef-mixed with-ketchup meatloaf, because that would be (improbable though it may seem) even grosser.
#3: Not the gussied-up, "meatloaf masquerade" en croute referred to in my most recent post, because there is no way I could ever hope to match Julia's unbridled blood lust.

No, I'm thinking about meatloaf more as a concept, an idea, a signifier, if you will, of "Mom's home cooking." The sort of thing that would be in the oven when you came in from playing on a chilly afternoon, asking what was for dinner. That the response - "Meatloaf, you love it" - left no room for rebuttal was part and parcel of childhood mealtimes. (I'm reminded of a passage from Marilyn French's seminal feminist novel, The Women's Room, in which Adele, the archetypal harassed 1950s housewife, reflects, "To children, food was everything...their whole evening rose or fell according to what they were to have for dinner." Which is just as true today as it was back then.)

Now, let me just come right out and say that I always hated meatloaf. Of course, I was a notoriously picky eater, and the list of things I hated was longer than the list of things I didn't, but even my siblings agreed that our mother's meatloaf pretty much sucked; this was surprising, because she was an amazing cook. My father's rendition was a bit better - and provides the general model for today's recipe - but it's not the sort of thing I would have actively craved or requested.

So why am I veganizing it? A question to be asked. I suppose it comes down to an urge to get in the kitchen and make something stereotypically "homey" at a time when I'm redefining exactly what that means. What can I say? The humidity had (temporarily) broken, all of my kids were at home, I had submitted a draft of my final thesis chapter, I wanted to make something that said "old school dinner," and this was the result. In a perfect world, I would have mixed up some martinis, tidied the house, put on some lipstick, and run a comb through my hair while dinner was in the oven, but in the event I only got as far as the first part. (I can only take this June Cleaver thing so far, okay?)

Please note that I used mashed up vegan meatballs for the "meat," because that's what was on hand, but you could easily sub Gardein, Gimme Lean, Trader Joes' "Beefless" Ground Beef, Boca Crumbles, or whatever you prefer. This recipe will make one big or two smaller loaves, and is pretty filling. We ate it with sauteed carrots and (what else?) mashed potatoes on the side, for a reasonable facsimile of a dinner my mom would have made back in the day. Except that my meatloaf is delicious, so there should be no grumbling or crestfallen expressions when it appears on the table!

Not My Mom's Meatloaf
Ingredients
~ 1 tbsp. olive oil
~ 1 cup chopped onion
~ 1/2 cup each: finely minced celery, carrots, green bell pepper
~ 1 tbsp. garlic, minced
~ 1 tsp. each: salt, marjoram, chili powder, parsley
~ 1/2 tsp. oregano, thyme, basil
~ 2 12 oz. packages vegan meatballs, thawed and mashed (Nate's and TJ's are good)
~ 1 cup vegetable broth
~ 2 tsp. vegan Worcestershire sauce
~ 1 tsp. Liquid Smoke
~ 1 6 oz. can tomato paste
~ 1/2 cup quick-cooking rolled oats
~ 1/2 to 1 cup prepared spaghetti sauce (depending on your tomato jones)

Directions
~ Preheat the oven to 375 degrees and coat a loaf pan with cooking spray.
~ In a large skillet, heat the olive oil and saute the onions, celery, carrot, and bell pepper for about 7 minutes over medium-high heat, until softened.
~ Add the garlic, salt, marjoram, chili powder, parsley, oregano, thyme, and basil; cook another couple minutes.
~ Add the mashed meatballs, tomato paste, Worcester sauce, Liquid Smoke, and the broth. Stir to combine and cook five minutes, until well incorporated.
~ Stir in the oats, and cook another 5-10 minutes, until you have thick "sloppy joe" texture (you can add a little water if it gets too thick, but remember that you want it to set up and be sliceable after baking).
~ Transfer the mixture to the prepared loaf pan, pour the spaghetti sauce over the top, cover with foil, and bake at 375 degrees for 30 minutes.
~ Remove the foil, raise the heat to 400, and bake another 15 minutes, until browned.
~ Allow to stand for about 10 minutes before serving with mashed potatoes, and something old-school (sauteed carrots and/or green beans come to mind).

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.