Cucumber-Cilantro-Lime Salad

Cool and clean.

Ahhh, the crunchy, watery, hint-of-melon cucumber.  Cucumbers are still very abundant right now, but most of the ones I have found at the markets are very large.  Large cucumbers mean large, hard seeds. 

I’m usually a very lazy non-fussy cook.  If I can get away with not peeling or de-seeding tomatoes, I will.  And forget peeling potatoes.  Mark one for nutrition, right?  But the one thing I cannot stand is to chew hard seeds, so I usually look for small cucumber and zucchini.  That’s asking a lot this time of year…when summer produce seems to be doggedly (and thankfully) vying for attention in the size category.  The little bouts of rain have helped this along too.  So I’m not complaining at all.  But this recipe will require the extra step of removing the cucumber seeds if your cucumbers are as large as the ones I’ve been finding.

Cucumbers make me think of cilantro…two lovely cooling foods together.  You won’t find cilantro at the farmer’s markets right now, though.  While  I strive to include local foods in each meal, I am by no means a purist.   There are a few ingredients that I will buy year-round, in or out of season, and the first on my list is cilantro.  (Lemons/limes come in second.) 

I’m addicted, plain and simple, which is strange considering the history I have with cilantro.  I have never been a picky eater, but I mean it when I say I used to hate cilantro.  As in pick-every-leaf-out-of-tortilla-soup kind of hate.  I remember telling my parents in middle school to please order me anything that is not made with cilantro at our favorite Mexican restaurant.  Geez…the demands of a culinary inclined pre-teen.  Anyway, somehow between the 1980s and now, cilantro has topped my number-one-can’t-live-without-ingredient. 

This simple salad provides a nice counterpoint to spicy food.  I think it would pair equally well with Thai or Mexican.     

Cucumber-Cilantro-Lime Salad

1-2 cucumbers

1/2 cilantro leaves (or small handful)

1 large lime, juiced

sea salt

Peel and slice the cucumbers lengthwise.  Scoop out the seeds, then slice into half-moons.  Snip the cilantro with shears, or just chop.  (Snipping prevents bruising.)  Squeeze the entire lime over the salad.  Sprinkle with salt to taste.  Allow the flavors to blend.

Onions in any variety, diced very small, would be a good addition, for a different twist.

Posted in eating local, Gluten Free, Recipes for Fall, Recipes for Summer, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Better-than-Pumpkin Cushaw Pie [REVISED – Now with low glycemic option]

Most definitely not very pie-ish on the outside.

I know what you’re thinking.  This does not look like the basis for a better-than-pumpkin pie.  I wish someone would explain to me how this funny, pot-bellied, green-and-white-striped squash has heretofore escaped my food bank.  Or why it has not overtaken pumpkin in the pie category.  It is really that good.

My farmer, Stacey Roussel, is a Louisiana girl.  She first mentioned this squash to me when I was interviewing her for an article.  Stacey’s grandmother cooked by the seasons, so a cushaw squash pie will forever take Stacey back to her grandmother’s kitchen, in a house surrounded by Louisiana sugar cane fields.  Any squash that stirs that kind of memory is one I want to try, so when I spied this beauty at the Sugar Land Farmer’s Market, I scooped it up, aching arms be damned.  (Any suggestions for a portable cart?)  If I’d have known then just how great it would be, I’d have risked shoulder dislocation and bought them all.

So what exactly is this cushaw?  Also known as a kershaw or a Tennessee sweet potato squash, it is a crook-necked member of the Cucurbitaceae family.  It is very heat tolerant, so much so that it can also be planted in the spring.  It has a long history with the Native Americans and later found its way into the kitchens of the south, especially in Louisiana, Tennessee, and Mississippi.  You can still find cushaw pie as a menu item in some New Orlean’s restaurants.  [I recently made this recipe using a Long of Naples squash — results were fantastic as well.]

Cut up before roasting

I have nearly chopped off my hand cutting up a butternut, yet I sliced through the cushaw with ease, almost like slicing through a summer squash.  This was a relief.  Hacking away at a hard, unbalanced object is not my favorite part of cooking with winter squash.  Despite this softer skin, it surprisingly keeps a very long time if kept in a dark, cool place.   Yet another reason I will buy a bunch at one time if I see them again!  I might even try planting them, but my history of success in gardening is rather sketchy (remember the ‘pretend’ in my moniker?)

There are several different ways to prepare winter squash for recipes but I really have only two ways I like to make it.  If I am going to use the squash in baking or soups, roasting is the way to go.  If I want the squash to hold its shape, say in a pasta dish, salad, or quesadilla, grilling is my choice.  Both methods bring out the rich taste of fall, but steaming, microwaving, or boiling really do nothing to enhance the squash, and even dilute the flavor, in my opinion.

For the pie, I searched for recipes and finally adapted one I found from Chickens in the Road.  I was attracted to her recipe because she had already done the leg work of finding one best suited to the flavor of the cushaw.  Regular pumpkin pie recipes called for too much sugar, which would drown the cushaw flavor.   I did make a few changes though, like using heavy cream instead of evaporated milk (which I have a hard time trusting…and besides, why use anything else when you have cream?)  Bewarned…this recipe will be of a softer consistency when you use cream.  That is something I accept and even prefer, but if you are looking for perfect slices of pie that don’t slouch when cut, you may want to use the evaporated milk. [UPDATE:  This Thanksgiving, I actually took the time to let the extra water drain from the puree in a strainer.  Forget the above comments about evaporated milk.  The cream version was perfectly firm…I am a dedicated fan of the strainer now.]

I found this pie to be so much better than pumpkin, that I’m afraid that I have ruined my taste for the Libby’s classic.  Only one kid out of five said that pumpkin pie was better.  There is so much depth to this pie.  Rich spicyness, perfectly squashy, balanced sweetness…I just can’t imagine why this is not more widespread.  Here’s to heirloom growers!!!

I’ve now included a low glycemic option. I find that when I eat cane sugar, I crave more and more sugar. If I use a low-glycemic sugar, like coconut palm sugar, I am not turned into a sugar beast.  Since going low/no cane sugar, we all prefer my new version with only a 1/3 cup sugar. It’s sweet enough to qualify as dessert, but not overwhelmingly sweet.

Pureed, roasted cushaw squash. It’s very light in color.

Better-than-Pumpkin Cushaw Pie (adapted from Suzanne McMinn)

The Crust:

Prepare your favorite recipe for pie crust.  My pictures don’t show any crust.  I usually only go to the trouble of making a gluten-free pie crust at Thanksgiving and Christmas.  The reward of flavor/texture aren’t equal to the time and expense, in my opinion.  When I do make crust, I’ve had the best success using the King Arthur recipe for Gluten-Free Pie Crust.

Preparing the Cushaw:

Preheat oven to 375 F.  Wash and cut the cushaw, spread out on a roasting pan, cover and bake for an hour or so, checking for tenderness.  Cushaws will shred even when well roasted, much like a spaghetti squash, but don’t worry.  A quick swirl in a food processor will puree the cushaw to a lovely consistency.

Taste it’s pure flavor straight from the oven. A real treat.

You will have enough cushaw to enjoy a few chunks straight from the oven with just a little butter and a sprinkle of salt.  Even my three-year old couldn’t resist.  If you’ve ever choked down an acorn squash just to be polite, I promise, this is a completely different experience.

This next step is optional, although I recommend it.  Sometimes I don’t do it because I am impatient, but if you like a tighter custard filling, you can take your puree and pour it into cheesecloth or tight strainer suspended over a bowl.  Drain the puree until thickened.  Think canned pumpkin consistency and you’ll know when it’s ready. I’ve tried this recipe with great success using other winter squashes, such as the Long of Naples squash, and some absolutely require straining. Each squash varies in its natural water content…the Long of Naples is extremely high in water.

The Pie:

Turn your oven to 350 F.

It looked exactly like applesauce.

2 cups prepared cushaw squash puree, drained
2/3 cup brown sugar [For a low-glycemic pie, use 1/3 cup coconut sugar only –it’s perfectly sweetened]
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
3 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/4 cup heavy cream [I’ve been reducing this to 1 cup for a firmer pie]
pastry for single-crust pie

Combine cushaw squash puree, brown sugar [or coconut sugar], cinnamon, ginger, salt, nutmeg, and cloves in the bowl of a stand mixer or a medium sized bowl.  Add eggs and vanilla then beat lightly with the whisk attachment or with a hand whisk.  Stir in heavy cream.  Mix well.  Pour into a pastry-lined pie plate.  Bake on the lowest oven rack at 350-degrees for 60 minutes (until a knife blade or toothpick comes out clean). I usually look at the pie at 60 minutes — if the top hasn’t puffed up all the way, it needs more time. Chill before serving to firm up.  Or if you’re like me, you can eat it warm and soft.  It is said that pumpkin-y pies taste better the next day but with seven eaters in my house, we’ll never know.

Depth, spicy, balanced sweetness.

Posted in eating local, Gluten Free, Recipes for Fall, Recipes for Spring, Recipes for Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments

A True Tale of a Vainglorious Girl, A Hungry Boy, and a Slimy Sausage

It was gonna be good, y’all. 

I knew I had found a way to entice my husband to eat not just a polite amount of squash and eggplant, but a whole, whole bunch.  Think Cajun.  Add shrimp.  And pull out the big guns…a secret weapon bound to send any Texas boy for seconds.

So I chopped.  I was so very proud of myself.  I even hummed while chopping.  You remember those beautes from Saturday?  Zucchini, yellow squash, patty pan squash, eggplant, and the cute little peppers?  Add in a large onion, 1/2 a bulb of garlic, and 2 celery stalks.  That’s a whole lot of choppin’.

 

John was eyeing the whole cutting board with doubt.  I could tell he was thinking of substitutes for dinner so I needed to bait the hook.

“Don’t worry.  I’m adding shrimp.”  Some flicker of interest.  His eyes rolled over the mounds of eggplant and squash again, and his look settled into one of faithlessness.  I went in for the kill.  “I’ve got sausage.”  Pause for effect.  “Jalapeno sausage.”

After that, he stopped rummaging through the freezer.

I carried on, sauteeing onions, celery, and peppers.  I added in the garlic, the eggplant, the squash.  I salted, I cayenned.  I had locally grown jasmine rice in the rice cooker steaming away.  This was going to be great.  My next step was to throw in the tempting aroma of cooking sausage to melt any remnants of apprehension in John.

I opened the Prasek‘s package, that yummy stuff from down the road, grabbed a link, and paused with the sausage mid-air. It felt a little slimy.  It was a brand new package, vac sealed, so I checked the sell-by date.  Nov. 13.  That was good.  I sniffed it.  It smelled appropriately smoky, no putrid odor, at least.  I glanced at John.  I looked at my beautiful vegetables.  And in the way that one senses that a whole chain of events are resting on one single action, and that merely by using speed you can avert a consequence, I quickly chopped it up and threw it in the pan.  No overthinking it here.

At ease, I was stirring, adding in the tomatoes and broth, when I realized that one sausage link was not enough.  I had shrimp, yes, but it was the sausage that was going to turn this into my man’s new favorite meal.

Back to the package for another link.  This time, though, a string of slime followed that link for an entire twelve inches before breaking.  A sinking feeling settled in.  This could not be good.  My hand was covered in slime and I not only had to rinse the link off, but actually soap up my hand to remove it.  Somewhere, though, I was pulling for normalcy.  Hadn’t I seen this before?   Maybe it was the type of casing.  I sniffed the bag again.  It smelled okay.  Then John spotted me smelling the bag. 

“It’s fine,” he stated firmly.  “Really.  You’re cooking it right?”

“Well, yes, but I’ve just never seen slime like this before.  But it smells alright.” He nodded with assurance, mumbling something about slime being normal and went back to his computer.  And I went for my laptop and googled slime on sausage.  The results were not reassuring, but…well, my precious vegetables!  I decided I’d call Prasek’s.  Maybe it was some kind of slimy variation of casing that I hadn’t noticed last time.  I looked at the clock.  Maybe, just maybe the fine people at Pracek’s were still there.  But what were my chances at 6:35 p.m.?

“Um, yes ma’am, let me ask someone who knows.”  Yes! 

“Y’ello!  You got a question?” he drawled in a friendly way. 

I described my sausage in familiar, casual terms…fishing for reassurance.  “Y’know…he-he…the way that jalapeno sausage, um, gets kind of slimy?”

“How slimy are we talking about?  Is it clear slime or milky-white?

“Milky-white.  Is that bad?”  A long pause.

“Where’d you buy it?”

“[Unnamed Large Grocery Store Chain].”

“Hmmm….we’ve been getting quite a few calls lately, all from people buyin’ there.  I don’t know their chilling practices but if they let it get warm and then cool it again, it will go bad.  I’d take it back.”

I was getting desperate.  “Um…the slime is only like a foot long.  Isn’t that normal sometimes?  What if I cook it real good?”

He chuckled.  “Well, you could cook it but I wouldn’t eat it.  I would take it back and get my money.”

“What did you expect him to say,” said John after I hung up.  “We’re cooking it.  It will be fine.”  So, again, looking at my giant saute pan of vegetables, I threw in the shrimp.  Expensive shrimp.  There.  Decision made.

Except for maybe one last search on Google, for the children’s sake.  Slime on sausage normal.  Biased search entry, I know.  This time, I searched charcuterie forums, sausage specialty sites, and even scanned an academic paper discussing the differences in animal casings. 

John interrupted my frantic page clicking.  “We’re eating it.”  I was just about to acquiesce when my eyes fell on a Google return from a food safety site, highlighting the phrase “the amount of slime indicates the numbers of bacteria.”  Okay, that was it.  Linking the quantity of slime present to the bacteria counts broke me.  Besides, I was beginning to think that it wasn’t smelling too hot either.

I looked up at John.  He looked at my face.  He’d seen that look before.  “We’re eating Chik-fil-A, aren’t we.”

Epilogue: 

Before the sun went down, John helped me hold the remaining slippery sausages for my pictures.  Even he looked genuinely grossed out.  This was good, I thought.  At least he won’t be disappointed, or think I’m overreacting. 

We decided I would go the store for a refund, and he’d feed the kids from random stuff at home instead of Chik-fil-a, mourning the loss of not only time and effort, but also a whole lot of money in that pan.

I returned later to find he’d eaten two bowlfuls and said it was fantastic…too bad I missed it…and something about the eggplant really making it something.  I am telling the truth.  I’ll let you know if he’s still alive tomorrow.  Meanwhile, here’s a shot of the sausage.  Enjoy.

Bon appetit!

Posted in eating local, Failures, Funnies, and Flops, Thoughts and Stuff | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

October Farmer’s Market Canapes (or just a good lunch)

October Texas Canapes

Saturday I bought the most scrumptious goat chevre I have ever tasted.  Packed on Friday by Proverbs Farm in Alvin, one taste of the snow-white, light and fluffy chevre had me opening up my wallet. 

Goat cheese and I have a funny relationship.  Most I can’t stand, although I never give up trying.  What usually ruins goat cheese for me is the musky, male goat smell I taste on the out-breath.  Apparently, not all people taste this, but I am highly aware of it.  I love fresh, raw goat milk, but the pasteurized stuff concentrates the musky taste about a hundred-fold for me.  Triple that hundred-fold for goat cheese.  Except not here.  The farmer told me that they raise Nubian goats, known for their mild milk.  Mild indeed.  And creamy. And rich. And very, very fresh.

So, how was I going to use this delicious wonder?  Being gluten-free, I find that gluten-free crackers are not worth the effort, so I remembered seeing cucumber-based canapes from my husband’s grandmother’s stash of Gourmet magazines, circa 1960.  (Cocktails, anyone??)

Three of the four main ingredients came from the farmer’s market this Saturday.  I find this thrilling.

October Farmer’s Market Canapes

1 large cucumber, sliced

1/4 – 1/2 cup goat chevre

2 small sweet peppers

12 greek-style calamata olives, halved

fresh ground black pepper

Top each cucumber slice with a tablespoon of goat chevre, two slices of sweet pepper, and half a calamata olive.  Finish with a grind of black pepper.  If your goat chevre is not salted, be sure and add a few grains of sea salt on top of the cheese.

Note:  I recall that some recipes have you salt the cucumbers first to draw water out of them.  This is unappealing to me…I love the fresh, water-filled crunch of a cucumber, so I suggest making these right before serving.

Posted in eating local, Recipes for Fall, Recipes for Summer, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

An October Farmer’s Market in Texas

October bounty.

This past Saturday, my mom and I made it to the new Sugar Land Farmer’s Market.  Judging by the crowds, Sugar Land residents have been hungry for this.  Unfortunately, in my glee I left my camera at home, so I guess I’ll have to write a thousand words instead.  Well, maybe half that much. 

The market has two main areas.  A covered, open-air building houses the traditional market offerings; vegetable growers, cheese makers, bakers, canners, and coffee grinders.  Outside, former covered parking for Imperial Sugar executives was converted into a row for prepared food vendors, with shaded tables surrounding a cooking demonstration area. Between the two main areas is a stage, where a local music duo played folk-country for the passers-by.  It was about as quaint as anything could be when planned by planners who live in a planned city. (Hey, I mean that well…I chose to live here after all.)

The vegetable tables had the typical early October offerings:  squash, cucumbers, peppers, eggplants, radishes, okra, some asian vegetables (bitter melon, water spinach), sweet potatoes, melons, and a few heirloom tomatoes (that I regret not snapping up right away.)  I did spy some suspicious boxes of grocery-store-like tomatoes, onions, and carrots.  That’s always disappointing, but thankfully, most veggies appeared to be locally grown, although not all organically.   I can usually spot the organic vegetables by sight, but I still ask the vendor.  I figure if the conventional farmers get asked enough times, they’ll eventually get it that people want cleaner, -cide free foods.

As I walked the aisles, blog pictures from current CSA shares from around the country popped into my mind.  I find it absolutely fascinating to see how different the offerings are in Oregon right now than from here on the Texas Gulf Coast.  It would be easy to get jealous, but my respect for our local farmers overrides any feelings of food envy that I might have.  After traveling to Pennsylvania this summer and seeing how gently the earth yields up food there, versus our thorny, pest-y, currently drought-ridden, reluctant ground here, I am frankly in awe of the perseverance and fortitude our farmers have.  I really do appreciate every hard grown vegetable on the tables.  Each squash, pepper, and cucumber represents sweat, worry, love, and someone’s livelihood. 

I’ve also wondered if maybe God has appointed foods to meet the needs of those living in their unique regions.  It’s not every climate that grows watermelons so abundantly like the heat-ruled regions.  It’s just a thought…not too well fleshed out, but it keeps me thinking.

Just for (my) fun, I’ll name everything in the picture above, starting at the noon position.  In the basket are eggplants (current obsession), garlic chives, cucumbers, small, sweet peppers, and yellow squash.  The big guy at 1 o’clock is a cushaw squash. Next, we have duck and chicken eggs, patty pan squash, zucchini, a deliciously non-musky goat chevre, a raw-milk havarti cheese, and then some pastured ground beef. 

I swear this thing is bigger than my husband's head.

I also bought 2 giant cantaloupes, a bottle of Texas olive oil, and a bottle of orange vinegar.  Adding in the 10 pounds of pastured beef, liver, and the vegetables, all I can say is I SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT A CART.  Seriously, my arms were about to fall off by the time I got to the car.  I can’t believe the bag straps didn’t break.

I look forward to my CSA season in a few weeks, where my week’s produce is delivered to me so that I don’t need a cart, and I am positive of my farmer‘s growing practices, but I love a rare Saturday without sports, so I can have the leisure to stroll a market with my mom and look into the faces of the people who grew my food.  Lovely.

Just so pretty, let's look at it again.

Posted in eating local, The Art and Science of Clean Food, Thoughts and Stuff | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Recipe Writing, Intuitive Cooking, and a Poll

Measuring, it appears, can be messy.

I’ve been doing some reading.  Recipe reading.  Recipe writing guidelines, to be more specific.  And I’m feeling a little rebellious. 

Applying common sense to measuring ingredients, it seems,  is frowned upon.  “Dash,” “pinch,” and “handfuls” are dirty words.  Developing recipes suddenly becomes a little more intimidating, and a little less creative.  This all seems so counter-intuitive.

I’ve had the term “intuitive cooking” rolling around my brain for the last few years.  I’ve dreamed of writing a cook-work-book; a book to take someone, incrementally, from a strict recipe follower to the kind of cook that can look in the fridge, survey what’s available, and make a meal happen.  A delicious meal. 

Some people, such as my mother-in-law, are intuitive cooks by nature.  As a new bride, I learned never to trust a recipe card written by Lois.  Now, Lois is a fabulous cook, one of the best, but she truly pulls measurements from her, um, she pull them from thin air.  Best just to watch her make a recipe and then try to repeat it at home.

Intuitive cooks are sometimes born, but I believe all cooks can become intuitive with a little experience, a consciousness of flavors and ingredients, tapping inner creativity, and, most importantly, a willingness to sometimes <gasp> FAIL. 

Besides, failure is an excuse for take-out.  Or at least a very large glass of wine and a plate of cheese and crackers.

So, when perusing writer’s guidelines for recipe writing, I find myself thinking that these guidelines seem misplaced in intuitive cooking, and more specifically, local and seasonal eating.  We take what the farmers grow that week.  Sometimes we get 5 large leeks and a pound of beet greens, but the next week we may only have 2 leeks, a small bundle of swiss chard, and whole lot of potatoes.  The point is that sometimes you really only have two handfuls of sweet potato greens, not exactly 3.5 cups.  And who really measures their greens by cups anyway?  Or weighs them? (British friends excluded.  You also drink tea instead of coffee.  I’m just sayin.’)  And that’s okay.  It will still turn out delicious, even though the flavors may be slightly different from the last time you made it.

Granted, I can’t apply the same freedom for baking.  Baking deals in the realm of food alchemy and scientific art…don’t skip the measuring spoon, unless you like sunken cake, of course.

There is hope among the professional world.  Rachel Ray’s recipes sometimes stray into intuitive cooking — using common sense ingredient measuring and cooking shortcuts that don’t rely on precise measurements.  For example, I love her trick of counting to 2 when pouring olive oil into a pan to approximate 1 tablespoon.  She is not afraid to use the word “splash” on occasion, when referring to vinegar or wine.

After all that, I recognize that sometimes I am just being lazy and I don’t want to measure out my ingredients or commit to an actual number.  I apologize.  And I will perform a penance of making chocolate chips cookies without measuring the salt, arguably the most critical ingredient.   

Now it’s your turn.  Vague measurements…Pet peeve or creative license?

Posted in The Art and Science of Clean Food, Thoughts and Stuff, Uncategorized, What Does ______ Have to Do with Food? | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

Three Ways to Use Eggplant

Eggplantaganza/Nuttakit (freedigitalphotos.net)

So that eggplant over there.  Don’t pretend you don’t see it.  It’s been sitting staring at you all week.  You made the eggplant usuals–eggplant parmesan, and caponata–but now you’re just not sure what to do with it.  And your tired of complicated recipes.

Funny how this was never a problem with grocery store veggies.  With predictability, you could shop blind:  carrots, lettuce, onion, potato, tomato, repeat.  The eggplant purchase, for example, was rather rare, bought for a recipe you had to try.    Now, suddenly you are getting eggplant every week in your CSA box and it makes you uncomfortable, or least a little challenged. 

This challenging part is actually what gets me so excited.  I am finding that as I eat seasonally, I am accepting new vegetables into my “inner circle.”  Move over lettuce, make room for some greens.  And why do we think of radishes as just a little color for the salad?  This sense of expanding what is normal everyday fare for my table is exciting, and it keeps me on my toes.  It also ensures that cooking is never, never boring.  Just when you get used to the okra, a new season begins.

Thus, the following are not exactly recipes, but three ways I’ve used eggplant over the last two weeks.  Not exactly brilliant, or all that inventive, but integrated, I’d say.  All began with a very quick chop and saute with a bit of salt and garlic in a pan.  Five minutes, that’s all.

Why not on a sandwich or taco?

 
The Freestyle 
 
This works great for a quick lunch.  In the picture, I started with a corn tortilla, the gluten-free version of sliced white bread, but any kind of bread will do.  Even a hot dog bun.  Really.  A quick spread of arugula mayo, sliced white onion, top with eggplant  and you’re done.  The second one I made was even better with the addition of some white cheese.  You could add lettuce, olives, tomatoes, whatever! The point here is not to re-create what I did, but look around your kitchen and use what you have.  Eggplants have substance, and can be really filling.  This from a protein-meat-loving gal. 
 
 
 
Eggplant/Pepperoni Pizza
 

No discussion needed.

Madame Eggplant?….Meet your namesake, Msr. Egg.

Is it a goose egg, or an eye?

 
Vegetables speak French, right?  Right?  Er…never mind.
 
What this lovely goose egg is waiting for is some sauteed veggies.  Eggplant, in this case, with some other friends, such as onions and okra.  Oh, and any egg will do, of course.  I just happened to have a goose egg on hand.
 
Let me know what wonderful creations you come up with!
 
 
 
 
 
 

Not real pretty, but very tasty.

 
 
 
Posted in eating local, Gluten Free, Recipes for Fall, Recipes for Summer, The Art and Science of Clean Food | Tagged , , , , | 5 Comments