Lesson 3: Try new foods

I ate an orange tonight for what I believe to be the first time in my life.

Not one of those delicious dark chocolate oranges. An orange orange. Alas, not a full one, just two wedges. Just enough to be an orange virgin no longer.

I have also tried clementines recently, so I was surprised to see the eyes of my girlfriend bulge out as her jaw dropped when I disclosed to her that it was, in fact, my first time.

"How have you lived your life without ever having eaten an orange?" she asked.

"By being very sneaky," I said, standing next to her. Over the years, I had learned how to turn down politely the food that was foreign to my palate. Saying "Sorry, I don't care for (fill in the blank)" may not have been the most socially outstanding phrase to utter at a party or gathering, but it worked; my taste buds were safe and sound.

"Why didn't you tell me? If you had told me before I gave it to you, I would have had you sit down," she said as she arched her arm toward the kitchen table chair.

"... and put on some music ... and dim the lights ..." I offered, laughing.

I love orange juice, and have loved it for years. But it had to be Tropicana and with NO pulp. Pulpy orange juice ruins the flavor worse than drinking OJ after brushing your teeth. So my logic was that an actual, honest-to-goodness orange would have more pulp, or at least just as much pulp, as pulpy OJ. So I didn't touch it.

And tonight, when my girlfriend offered me a wedge, I quickly brushed away the loose white fibers and bit the wedge in half. I did enjoy the feel of the carpel, as my tongue pressed it up against the palate, rupturing its sacs and providing me with a small pool of juice that I swooshed around my teeth. And after gnawing at the remaining fibers of the carpel shell with an exaggerated yuck-yuck face, I spat the wad out.

As a child, I would sit in front of my plate at dinner and stare at the steak or other icky thing that my mother slaved over, and after everyone was done and the table was cleaned, I was stuck in that seat. I could not leave the table until I was done. But I was a stubborn picky eater, and I held out. When my mother finished washing the dishes, she would heave a disgruntled sigh, pluck my plate and, before washing it, scrape the food into the dog bowl.

In my tween days, my family would eat a scrumptious dinner while I hovered around the toaster oven waiting for my two slices of toast with a lone slice of cheese bubbling on top. (Nowadays, I stay away from cheese because I believe I'm becoming intolerant to lactose.)

As I grew up, I did become a more adventurous eater. I didn't even try bacon until I was in college. Fruits and vegetables were not in my vocabulary for a sad, long time. The only fruit I ate growing up were apples, and the only vegetables were the good ol' Maine potato and corn.

"They don't count," my girlfriend said tonight. "Corn is just starch," and same goes for potatoes.

I didn't argue with that; years ago I heard someone at the church food pantry say corn was the least nutritious food there was. And I haven't had much of it lately either. From corn, I did branch out to green veggies, firstly broccoli, then zucchini and green beans. Kale is the latest.

My diet in college was the worst. I had such a high metabolism in high school that I could eat anything and still be thin, which meant I did not worry about my weight at all. It was far from my mind. I could wolf down a large pizza by myself and still have room for soda and breadsticks. I continued my blissful ignorance through college with Hamburger Helper, all-meat combo pizzas and huge salami subs. I weighed in at 210 pounds somewhere in late 1999, early 2000, and, based on pictures of me in 2002, I weighed even more then. I remember weighing 160 pounds in the tenth grade.

Luckily, exercise helps keep the weight down. For the better part of six years, dancing tango rigorously brought me perhaps to the lowest weight I'd been in a long time, at least according to all the "Gee, are you losing weight?" comments I received. I never weighed myself during that time, but after a year of not dancing, I'm hovering between 185 and 190.

Dating health-conscious women has kicked me into the right direction, too, of course. Two vegans in a row introduced me to a world greener than I ever imagined, and while some vegan meals were barely tolerable, others were pretty tasty.

In the last year, I've had roommates who surprisingly turned out to be courageous and/or adventurous cooks, and the variety among their ingredients were a pleasant surprise. Their panache encouraged me to be daring as well; I've come up with a few recipes of my own that probably should be left to myself. My (vegan-friendly) brownie/cake has become a recurring hit, and not just in my mouth but in others' as well.

As a former picky eater, I can appreciate how daunting it might be for a new parent (or significant other) to cook for someone with a limited range. The adventure of trying new foods is a pleasure I wish my body had convinced my brain to explore much earlier. Essentially, it's all in the preparation. If kale still tastes stale, add olive oil and salt. If chicken breast doesn't work, you know why? Chicken thigh.

As an adult, I have tried many other cuisines, including Thai and Indian. I had sushi for the first time a few years ago in Providence. Gone are the days when I fall back on toast with cheese. My body is aching for more. More variety, more healthy, more flavors. I still don't know everything I'm missing out on, but there is enough ambition to cancel out the knee-jerk revulsion and have a taste.

So tonight I tried another clementine. I pierced the rind with my thumbnail. Picked off the strings of albedo. Peeled away the skin of the carpel, revealing the beautifully tender juice sacs in all their pulpy glory. My girlfriend joined me and tore apart her own fruit, having been able to peel off the carpel skin in one impressive translucent piece. She waxed poetic, and compared it to a jellyfish. She fished her finger around inside to get at the sacs, the juicy gems, she called them. She offered her now wet and sticky finger to my lips.

Trying new things can be so much fun. This time, I wasn't at the table for long.

Recipe: The "I Can't Believe It's Not a Brownie" Cake

I did it again, and it is glorious.

Only the fourth iteration within the last 1.5 years, what began as a hasty, emotional solution to a culinary accident has turned into a sensation. Manifesting itself much like the blue moon or Haley's comet, when only a few have tasted the goodness and have extolled its virtues far and wide, the "I can't believe it's not a brownie" cake is a precious site to behold. The thickness has to be seen to be believed. The warmth that emanates from it is surprising every time. Oh, just look at it!



It is, without a doubt, the best, truly the best, thing I have ever made.

You don't have to take my word for it. Just ask Debbi or Amy or Shane. Or Elizabeth and the sangha when they try this Wednesday night. Or you can try it for yourself, if you dare.

Plus, your vegan friends will love it, and so will you. It's dairy-free, gluten-free and wheat-free. (It's so free of gluten, that the lettering for it on the package is bigger than the description of the actual product.)

I Can't Believe It's Not a Brownie Cake

Dry ingredients

• Bob's Red Mill GF Brownie Mix
  
• Bob's Red Mill Chocolate Cake Mix
  
• Trader Joe's semi-sweet chocolate chips (optional)
  
• walnuts or pecans (optional)
  

Other ingredients (as listed on the mix packaging)

• 1-1/4 cups melted butter or margarine (such as Smart Balance light)
  
• 3 large eggs (or a flaxseed meal alternative; see below)
  
• 4 tsp. vanilla extract
  
• 1 cup milk (cow, soy, rice or nut; I use Rice Dream)
  
• 3/4 + 1/3 cups warm water
  
• 1 Tbsp. lemon juice
  

Directions

This is really easy. Essentially, all we're doing is following the directions on each of the Bob's Red Mill mix packaging simultaneously. I've done this slightly differently each time I made it. The last time, I mixed the two powder mixes together first, then added the liquids, etc. Today, I added the powder last.

1. Generously grease a 13"x9" Pirex pan. This will give you a THICK cake. (If you want a regular brownie thickness, you'll want TWO 13"x9" pans!)
   
2. Place the butter in a VERY LARGE mixing bowl. (I actually didn't notice it was supposed to be melted until I started typing this, but if it's whipped or at room temperature, it's OK.)
   
3. Add the eggs. (Or if you're vegan, or bought a whole package of flaxseed meal once like I did and need to use it for something as delicious as this, grab a cereal bowl and put 3 Tablespoons of flaxseed meal and add in 9 Tablespoons of water. Mix and let it settle for a few minutes.)
   
4. Add vanilla and lemon juice.
   
5. Add the (3/4 + 1/3 cups) water.
   
6. Add the milk.
   
7. Now add the flaxseed meal mix if you didn't add eggs earlier.
   
8. Use an electric hand mixer on the lowest setting, and mix these liquids together, just a little bit. Try not to splash a lot on yourself.
   
9. Now add BOTH the brownie mix and the chocolate cake mix.
   
10. If you want the room to have chocolate dust float in the air, turn on the electric mixer. If not, best use a big spoon to blend the dry with the wet first, until you see a typical wet chocolate batter.
    
11. Mix with the electric mixer for a few minutes, on the lowest or second-lowest setting. (There may be more batter than the mixer beaters can handle. Use your best judgment on how to overcome this obstacle.)
    
12. Add the optional chocolate chips. (The brownie mix recipe says to add 1/4 cup, but I added just about 1 full cup! Mmmm. And I'm pretty sure Trader Joe's chips are vegan-friendly. Crossing fingers.)
    
13. Add the optional nuts, and perhaps whatever else you dare to. (Today I didn't add nuts because I'm not sure if my recipients are sensitive to them.)
    
14. Pour contents into the pre-greased pan(s). (Women or small people may need a helper to hold the bowl for them while they scrape out the batter.)
    
15. If you're a chocoholic like I am, sprinkle some more chocolate chips (or nuts, etc.) on the top of the batter.
    
16. Bake for 38 minutes. Best to check it at 30 minutes to be safe.
    
17. Let it cool for awhile, but do try a piece while it's still warm. That is when it's the yummiest.
    
18. Refrigeration is not recommended. Group consumption is.
19. Keep in pan under cling wrap to hold in the moisture.
    

Cross-section of yummy goodness!



Don't deny it. You want it. (Thanks to my roommate Shane for the photos.)

Alternatives (as if you need any!)

You may want to do the Fudge topping recipe on the Brownie Mix package. I haven't done it. The same package also suggests going a step further to create Cream Cheese Brownies. With the "I Can't Believe It's Not a Brownie" Cake, that would be an interesting next step in the evolution. Try it and let me know how it goes.

There is also a cupcake option on the Chocolate Cake mix, but I believe the "I Can't Believe It's Not a Brownie" Cake is too dense for cupcakes. Perhaps a lover of cupcakes can try it and report back.

Comments welcome!

Recipe: Spiral Ham Thankfully Leftover Surprise

It's time for the first-ever second installment of the Dank Thoughts Random Recipe. Tonight's recipe comes to us with the need to get rid of holiday leftovers in a purely ingenious way that only an impressed lifelong bachelor would nod in approval. Today's recipe is the Spiral Ham Thankfully Leftover Surprise.

Spiral Ham Thankfully Leftover Surprise

Ingredients:

• 1-2 lbs. of spiral ham left over from Christmas Eve dinner
• 1 small can Campbell's Healthy Request pork and beans
• homemade salsa that you still have left over from Thanksgiving
• Sweet Baby Ray's honey barbecue sauce
• 2-3 slices of Pepperidge Farm cinnamon bread
  

Recipe:

1. Cut pieces off of the chunks of spiral ham and place them onto a hot pan. They should look like thick pieces of bacon. (It's up to you if you want to use butter or another type of substance to grease the pan. I didn't use anything because I knew the little bit of fat from the ham would be enough for me.)
2. Flip over the pieces to lightly char the other side.
3. When pieces are cooked to your desire, pour the pork and beans on and around the ham. Cook to desired consistency. I like it bordering on pasty.
   
4. Squeeze in some of that Baby Ray's.
   
5. While the pork and beans are cooking, mix in as much salsa as you wish. (Salsa is an obvious ingredient because the tomato in it mixes well with the tomato-based sauce of the beans. And if I'm wrong in the assumption that the bean's sauce is made from tomatoes, then the fact that beans and salsa are a well-proven and delightful mixture -- and as such a gift that keeps on giving -- should be reason enough to pile as many dollops as you can.)
6. Squeeze in some more of the Sweet Baby Ray's, but this time create a zig-zag, smiley-face or other design on top of the meat. Do not mix in it; you want the design to seep into the mixture in the exact spot it landed.
7. Once the barbecue sauce is sufficiently permeated, it is safe to turn off the stove.
8. Toast the cinnamon bread, and spread on a dairy-free gluten-free butter alternative. Perhaps even peanut butter!

Variations:

1. Ketchup is an acceptable substitute for barbecue sauce. Catsup is not.
2. There is no variation to the second pass of the barbecue sauce. It is vital that you make a creative design, or else your version of this recipe will become a disaster.
3. Post a comment with your variation suggestions here.
   

Suggestions:

1. More recipe ideas from the Campbell kitchen
2. More recipe ideas from Sweet Baby Ray's
3. More recipe ideas from Pepperidge Farm

Warning!

• Consumption of this meal may will cause an onslaught of an unsightly rash on your hands that tingles to the touch. Proceed at your own risk.
  

Recipe: Crunchy Eggs Dinner

It's time once again for the first time ever for the Dank Thoughts Random Recipe. Tonight's recipe comes to us not by sheer hunger but by the need to eat a more nutritious breakfast, just at a better time than when you first wake up. Today's random recipe is the Crunchy Eggs Dinner.

Crunchy Eggs Dinner

Ingredients:

• 2 fun-sized 3 Musketeers candy bars
  
• 2 Apple Cinnamon Leggo waffles
• 2 Morning Star veggie sausage patties
• 5 eggs
• 1/2 cup or so of Ortega Black Bean and Corn mild salsa
• 1/2 cup or so of chopped pecans
• 1 to 2 Tablespoons of honey

Recipe:

1. To get motivated to eat something healthy, first take 2 bars of 3 Musketeers, unwrap and eat them. Sweep away any lingering thoughts of your mother telling you not to eat dessert before your meal.
2. Place the sausage patties onto a large pre-heated skillet. It's usually best to have the skillet greased. The Dank Thoughts Random Recipe series usually recommends a generous pad of Smart Balance light buttery spread, but tonight we opted for 1 Tablespoon of Land-o-Lakes unsalted butter.
3. Crack open the eggs in a typically sized cereal bowl, and beat with a fork until nicely scrambled.
4. Add salsa, and scramble again.
5. Add pecans, and scramble again.
6. Add a Tablespoon or two of honey. Trust me. Do it! DO IT!
   
7. If you have any other crap in your pantry that is just about almost getting old, throw it in, too. Frankly, the more shit we can pack into this, the better.
8. By this point, your sausage patties are burning and would be setting off the smoke alarm, if you have one. Turn over the patties, not with a spatula but with the uber-cool wrist action of the skillet handle that you learned in college.
9. Insert the waffles into the toaster, and set to desired setting. Turn it on.
10. Pour the crunchy egg mixture into the skillet, and stare in amazement at this concoction. Not because the eggs and co. are a light shade of brown, but because it is glorious!
    
11. The waffles are done! Hurry up and get a LARGE plate, and put the waffles on them. Set the plate down near the skillet, or as close to it as you possibly can.
12. Agitate the egg mixture with, yes, a spatula. I know I said not to use a spatula for the sausages before, but this is not the time to show off more of that flippy wrist action. Trust me. Don't do it! DON'T!
13. Cook to my desired consistency, which is not too dry and not too runny. Imagine the eggs being light and fluffy if it were not for the nuts and the bean-and-corn salsa weighing it down.
14. Place the glorious feast onto your plate. Pour honey on the waffles AND on the egg mixture. Yes, that is not a typo. If you do this quickly enough, the honey will melt away into the egg mixture, so you won't see it. But, and this is the best part, you will taste it!
15. Serves 1, if your shoe size is male and above 12. Serves 3-4 if you're a woman below size 12.
16. Comment on this blog your thoughts or suggestions.

Variations:

1. If the freshness of food is a concern to you, be sure to not use eggs that have a best-by date that is no more than a week before today's date.
2. For the vegetarians out there, you may add spinach or other green leaf.
3. For the vegans out there, using whole ground flaxseed meal as a substitute for eggs is not recommended. That works more for baking, such as the infamous Dank Thoughts "I Can't Believe It's Not a Brownie" Cake. Otherwise, the Dank Thoughts Crunchy Eggs Dinner may not be for you.
4. For the meat lovers out there: Are you kidding? I ate the whole thing and can't think of adding ANY kind of meat to this.
5. The only candy bar that you can substitute for the 3 Musketeers is Snickers. But it is not officially part of this recipe because it already really satisfies on its own. If you try to eat Snickers before creating the Crunchy Eggs Dinner, you'll be done. If that happens, well, you'll know better next time.
6. Post a comment with your variation suggestions.
   

The revenge of the mysterious green plate monster

The following is an exercise in writing fiction that I did at a Grub Street workshop this month. That day was the first time I had written fiction in years, and to be honest, this is more like an embellished "based on a true story." Actually, a lot of what I wrote that day was not really fiction. I felt rusty and out of practice. I did not read this out loud to the class, but I let my friend read it soon after and she loved it. Hopefully, it's not only because it's about her. Please comment if you wish.

She was excited to eat at this vegetarian restaurant, and as I was tasting the edamame for the first time, and the rubbery blocks of tofu squishing between my teeth, I asked myself, what had I gotten myself into?

I wanted to impress her by being adventurous, but being a meat-and-potatoes and sometimes-junk-food kind of guy, this felt more like I was jumping off a cliff and reaching for anything resembling food. I suppose I did grab a branch or something, because the next foreign object I had cautiously put in my mouth had all the flavor and texture of a twig.

I toyed with the generous pile of green leaves on my plate. It wasn’t lettuce or kale, but it was stringy, sticking to each other and the cubes of tofu and chick peas. I picked at the green monster, imagining myself as the little kid in the Calvin & Hobbes comic strip, in which his food comes to life and begins to orate the Hamlet soliloquy. I start wrapping the sticky, stringy green mess around my fork like I do with spaghetti. I held it up to my nose and steal a whiff. I was hoping for some redemption, some essence of hope that perhaps it only LOOKED horrible and that the smell would offer a hint of delectable bliss that I had yet to encounter. Instead, it was a neutral-to-pale scent that conjured up images of steamed broccoli and my laundry basket. I sighed, and looked at the rest of my plate. Eyes of quinoa were staring at me, pleading with me to run away and take them with me.

I had no option but to taste it. I stuffed it into my mouth and squirmed. I closed my eyes until it was successfully down the hatch.

I looked at her. She was all smiles and looked content. She looked at me, rolled her eyes and pointed her fork at her plate of the same concoction.

“This,” she said, “is the best I’ve ever had. I’m really glad we chose this place.”

Hmm, I said, and poked my finger into the tofu. It bounced back.