This is it! This is the last of my humble bag of dried yellow split peas. I’m proud to say that none of it went to split pea soup (zzz, seriously). Instead, they became crunchy little delights in a salad. They gave substance to some seriously veggie-heavy enchiladas. Now, they’re a delicious spiced dip for your spring produce.
This particular variation is … So. Electric. Yellow. Turmeric (a spice in curry powder that gives it such vibrant color) makes everything it touches look like sunshine. Sometimes that’s your counter, or your delicate little hands. SUNSHINE JAZZ HANDS, all the better to eat hummus with. No biggie.
One completely unnecessary sidenote: I will never be able to say “hummus” out loud without thinking about this Bruno bit. “Isn’t pita bread the real enemy?” That said, Ali G >>> Bruno and Borat combined. I will debate this until I die. (I plan on being the most annoying person at the nursing home–everybody needs a dream!)
I’ve never really felt it necessary to put olive oil in my hummus. I’m all about using the cooking/canning liquid from the chickpeas, you see. It’s a rare case where I just don’t think olive oil adds a whole lot–but it sure looks luxurious drizzled on top, no? Besides, I like to feel healthy when I’m doing the hummus thing, and I’m fairly sure I get my daily intake (and then some) of oil somewhere.
That said, your preferences (and those of the lucky ducks you’re cooking for) are the most important thing for making hummus that’s going into your mouth(s). You know what’s best… I’m just here to talk about Ali G.
If I ask you for directions and you tell me verbally, I will smile, nod, thank you, then go get lost anyway and end up searching for an Orange Julius instead. Draw me a map on a napkin, always, please and thank you. Also, do you want to go to Orange Julius with me?
See, I’m a visual person, and often, the way I want something to look dictates everything else. If I didn’t love eating so much, all I’d probably post here would be Play-Doh sculptures and stuff I drew on the Claim Jumper tablecloth.
I got this idea for a geometric upside-down cake ages ago, and have been anxiously awaiting rhubarb season ever since. Now that rhubarb season is here, and so is this cake, it’s a little more… Rustic than I envisioned, but my standards were probably a little too high. I mean, the whole point is for the fruit to get soft and bubbling-hot. Structural integrity just doesn’t jive with that picture.
Still… If this hadn’t turned out at all like I wanted, I may have needed therapy. Ideally from Ina Garten. For now, though, we’re good: we have cake. We have hot coffee. We even have tiny forks! Let’s coffee break like a bunch of bosses.
The thing is, enchiladas are not a lazy food.
Let me correct that: great enchiladas are not a lazy food.
They’re not quick, they’re not exactly effortless, and everything in the general vicinity (including your face) gets splattered with sauce and cooking oil.
… I hear crickets. I knew I might lose you.
Here’s a gif of a golden retriever puppy.
Cheap tactic, I know, but seriously: Hear me out about the enchiladas. Please?
I don’t make these things often anymore, because if I do, I insist on frying the tortillas first, then bathing them in sauce almost immediately. Only then do they get filled, rolled, and tucked in the pan. I mean, you can theoretically make good enchiladas without this step, and I have before… Before I finally accepted the infinite betterness of fried tortilla enchiladas, that is.
Posted in Fall, Main courses, Mexican, Vegetarian, Winter
Tagged beer enchiladas, chipotle beer enchilada, chipotle enchiladas, enchiladas, golden beets, homemade enchilada sauce, spinach, split peas, vegetarian enchiladas
This is the closest thing I’ve had to a true calling.
Booze + ice cream. Join them in perfect harmony, then slip away quietly while they live together in forever-bliss and read the Sunday newspaper over coffee together. (Although, to be honest, I’m good at crosswords and they’ll probably call me about 16-down anyway.)
Campari, for the unfamiliar, is a bitter, citrusy Italian aperitif. If you’ve ever had a negroni, Campari made it gorgeously red, bitter, and fragrant. Here, it makes bittersweet chocolate taste like… Just sweet chocolate. Campari laughs at the “bitter” in “bittersweet” 60% cacao. What is that, baby food?
If you would like Campari chip ice cream, you probably already know that. If you’re not sure… I’m not going to tell you to go buy a bottle so you can try this. I’m sensible. That said, you could just skip the Campari part: add some vanilla, mint extract, or leave it plain–I won’t judge you for missing out on the “bitter” part of this bitter, sweet, creamy, cool dream.
Apparently, it is Prosciutto Appreciation Week around these parts. Four ounces went a long way for me, you know?
It makes sense, given the reason that stuff is so delicious: those four ounces were originally probably like… Half a pig. Many ounces. Much animal. When you think about it, prosciutto (and any other kind of aged pork) is basically pork concentrate.
(Yup, expecting my James Beard award for food writing any day now.)
While I wait, I’m going to eat pizza. Let me emphasize that, while I did make the crust, this is strictly about the toppings. The combination of lemony, smoky, and salty is out. rage. ous. Downright phenomenal.
I’m on a mission to save split peas from a distinct lack of glamour. Think about it–if all you were known for were gloppy, ham-dotted soup, you’d be pissed too.
Fortunately, I don’t have to do much. Split peas are already delicious–just underappreciated and overlooked. It’s all very “High School Romantic Comedy of the Early 2000s: Nerdy Girl Ditches Glasses, Is Instantly Dateable All of a Sudden.” Leave nerdy girls alone, everyone. Glasses are awesome. Focus on dinner instead, okay?
Here’s how this particular makeover is going down. We’re gonna take a bed of hearty shredded (raw!) Brussels sprouts. Then, we’re gonna roast some split peas to a crisp, because that is what they were meant for all along, and it’s not their fault we’ve been sucking at cooking them (if we’ve cooked them at all).
Also! Those split pea soup mystery ham bits? Those can’t hang with Split Peas v2.0. We need an upgrade: a more mature, Italian upgrade. With a nice tan. What’s up, oven-crisped prosciutto? (Sidenote: If you want to make this vegan, just double up on the peas instead–I have a suspicion you’d be a happy vegan camper.)
I ate this. I loved it. I ate it again a few hours later. <– Cool story.
Posted in Fall, Main courses, Meat, Salad, Winter
Tagged crispy prosciutto, crunchy split peas, main course salads, parsley, pork, prosciutto, raw brussels sprout salad, shaved brussels sprouts, split peas, thyme