It Takes a Village (to Teach a Kid How to Make Stir-Fry)

When I was fifteen I started dating a boy whose father loved food and cooked often. Over at his house, I saw things I'd never seen in any kitchen: ginger root, basil plants, black bean sauce, and a large, cast-iron wok. I thought my household was unconventional, with my mother's refusal to stock the fridge with soda and her insistence on brown bread (while everybody else in Indiana ate white bread, I thought), but this was really different. I might have complained about my all-natural peanut butter sandwiches on whole wheat, but my boyfriend complained about his honey and tahini sandwiches on pita, and I had never even heard of tahini.

I was impressed. Especially after I'd had a few meals over there: spicy sesame noodles, eggplant with peppers, and bright stir-fries that brought tears to my eyes.

I was altered for the better by being exposed to a wide variety of kitchens as a kid, from my southern grandmother's grits and gravy, to my suburban friends' jello salads, to my sophisticated boyfriend's ginger root and wok, so this week's cooking lesson, based on the basic stir-fry technique I learned as a teenager, is dedicated to those early outside influences, a reminder about the benefit of foisting your kids on other households as much as possible!

Kale and Shiitake Mushroom Stir-Fry

Serves 4

2 tablespoons coconut or peanut oil (both hold up well to high heat)

2 large bunches kale, washed, stems removed, leaves chopped

1 lb shiitake mushrooms, sliced, stems discarded

2 tablespoons, peeled and minced, ginger root

2 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 cup water

5 tablespoons soy sauce

1 tablespoon spicy sesame oil

1 tablespoon cornstarch

Before you start making the stir-fry, put up a pot of rice or noodles. I like a blend of white basmati rice and quinoa.

Prep everything: wash and chop vegetables and set aside; mince garlic and ginger and set aside separately; whisk together water, soy sauce, sesame oil and cornstarch in a small bowl and set aside. You want everything ready and close at hand - once you begin it's all very fast and furious!

Heat wok over high heat - The wok is ready when a drop of water flung onto its surface evaporates immediately.

Add oil and heat for a few seconds before adding kale, a few big handfuls at a time while you STIR CONSTANTLY. If the kale begins to burn, reduce the heat a bit. Once all the kale is added, stir fry for 2 or 3 more minutes, until kale is almost tender. Add a few spoonfuls of water if it is sticking.

Add mushrooms and stir, stir, stir for 1 or 2 minutes, until mushrooms shrink and start to brown.

Push kale and mushrooms to the side of the wok (the sides are not as hot as the middle, so the cooking will slow down), and add garlic and ginger to the middle. Stir 1 minute, then stir everything together to combine.

Re-whisk the sauce for a second and then pour it down the side of the wok (don't pour it on the middle, it will cool the wok down, and might make your stir-fry turn out soggy, yuck.) and stir constantly for 1-2 minutes until sauce thickens and coats everything. 

Eat immediately, on top of rice or noodles.

It takes a ton of kale - kale really cooks down!

Have everything ready to go and close at hand.

Stir, stir, stir.

Vegan Maple Granola

First lentil loaf, now granola - I might have to change the name of this thing to "That 70s Blog." In fact I have an abiding love for all kinds of hippie vegetarian food; it reminds me of my hometown, Bloomington Indiana, in the 1970s: The Tao restaurant, Rudi's Bakery, and the Bloomingfoods Co-op, its bulk bins overflowing with carob and wheat germ.

But honestly, the granola they were feeding us back then contained enough fat to quench a Big Mac Attack and more sugar than a Jell-O Pudding Pop. It was not the health food it pretended to be. These days, you can buy tasty and reasonably healthy granola in the grocery store, but the price! And the main ingredient is OATS, still one of the cheaper items from those good old bulk bins. So I put the kibosh on prepackaged granola, and here are the delicious, econo results. This is an incredibly versatile recipe - use your favorite nuts or seeds, and play around with spices. I always use maple syrup, but I wonder if other liquid sweeteners, like agave, might be tasty too? If you try, please let me know.

Making granola is a nice Sunday afternoon project; easy, low-maintenance, good-smelling, and entirely kid-friendly (let your kid pick his/her favorite seeds/nuts/spices and invent a unique blend), and it's fun to enjoy the fruits of your labor all week. Although if you're aiming for all-week supplies (and if you eat as much as we do), you might double the recipe.

Lovesmiths Vegan Maple Granola

2 tablespoons coconut oil
1/2 cup maple syrup
1 teaspoon cinnamon (or other spices - or omit spice and use 1 teaspoon vanilla, very yummy)
Big pinch salt
3 cups rolled oats
1.5 cups nuts and/or seeds, any combination (We love sliced almonds+pecans+walnuts)
Optional: 1/2 cup dried fruit (dried cherries are our favorite)

Preheat oven to 300

Melt coconut oil over medium heat in a large, deep skillet. Add maple syrup, cinnamon, and salt. Stir well.

Add oats and nuts and/or seeds and stir constantly for a minute or so to completely coat and lightly toast nuts and seeds.

Transfer mixture to lightly oiled baking dish - either a rimmed cookie sheet, or a 13 x 9 dish - you want to spread the granola out evenly in a reasonably thin layer.

Bake 30-40 minutes, until toasty and brown, stirring every 10 or so minutes. If using dried fruit, stir it in immediately after taking granola out of the oven.

Cool completely (be prepared for grabbing hands), and store whatever's left in a sealed container.

Lentils and Caramelized Onions with Angel Hair Pasta

When I was a kid I picked the onions out of everything: chili, spaghetti sauce, meatloaf; most meals ended with a loathsome little pile of onions on the side of my plate.

I'm still kind of picky about onions. I don't much like them raw, and I strongly dislike them undercooked. But I am crazy about onions caramelized in olive oil. My younger self would be shocked to learn that caramelized onions, brown, sweet, and melt-in-your-mouth tender, are one of my favorite things in the world to cook and eat.

For this week's cooking lesson I had three aims: to show Henry another great way to serve lentils; to teach him how to caramelize onions; and to convert my onion-hating son into an onion aficionado.

Mission accomplished for two out of three, but I was so busy devouring my meal (this dish is mysteriously delicious) that I didn't notice until washing-up time that Henry had arranged his onions in a tidy pile on the side of his plate.

The circle of life.

Lentils and Caramelized Onions with Angel Hair Pasta
Serves 4

3/4 cup dried green lentils, rinsed and drained
2 medium onions, cut in half and sliced thinly
8 ounces angel hair pasta (if you don't eat pasta, omit and double the lentils)
6 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus two pinches for cooking onions and pasta
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
pinch cayenne pepper, optional
parsley, chopped

Bring a large pot of water to a boil, add lentils, reduce heat to medium and simmer 15 minutes or until lentils are tender but intact.

While lentils are cooking, caramelize the onions: Heat olive oil in a large, deep skillet, add onions and cook over high heat, stirring constantly, until onions start to sizzle. Add a pinch of salt, stir well, and reduce heat to medium-low. Cover onions and cook for 5 minutes. Uncover and cook 10-15 more minutes, stirring occasionally, until onions are sweet and delicious and you are tempted to eat them on the spot with a spoon. Resist.

After lentils have cooked 15 minutes, add angel hair pasta with a generous pinch of salt, and cook 4-5 minutes, until pasta is al dente. Drain and return to big cooking pot. Gently stir in caramelized onions, salt, pepper, and optional cayenne.

Serve warm, garnished with lots of parsley. If you have leftovers, this makes an excellent next-day lunch.

Lentil Loaf with Mashed Potatoes and Gravy

We have been eating a lot of beans lately, and my family is begging for a break; anything, they plead, anything other than beans.

Fine - they can have lentils.

It's time for Henry to add a few good lentil recipes to his repertoire anyway. Lentils are versatile and inexpensive, they cook quickly, and don't require soaking. I already love them but my son has never been a big fan. "It's just hard to get very excited about lentils," he says.

Not for me it isn't.

Nobody tends to swoon over a bowl of lentil soup (except me, and maybe my friend Jennifer), but lentil loaf with mashed potatoes and gravy seemed like a more exciting starting place to sell lentils to Henry. As an added bonus, I could fold in a mashed potato lesson and a roux review. I used to make lentil loaf all the time.(In fact, if you had a baby in Bloomington, Indiana circa 2001 I probably made one of these for you and brought it to your house, with the gravy in a glass jar, remember?)

But I haven't made it much lately, so it was fun to dust off the recipe (originally from The Rice Dream Cookbook) and update it. Here's our vegan and wheat-free loaf. It makes a great family dinner with a side of green beans, and from here I can report at least minor swooning.

Lentil Loaf

1/2 cup lentils
1/2 cup white basmati rice
3 1/2 cups water
1 vegetarian bouillon cube (I used wheat-free bouillon cubes)
2 tablespoons olive oil
3-4 medium cloves garlic, minced
1 large carrot, diced small
1 large stalk celery, diced small
1 tablespoon dried basil
1 tablespoon dried thyme
1 cup rolled oats, blended or food-processed into a course meal
1 tablespoon dijon mustard
salt and pepper

Mashed Potatoes

4 medium potatoes, peeled and cubed
2 tablespoons vegan margarine, optional
1/3 cup or more almond, soy, or rice milk
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus big pinch for cooking water
pinch white or black pepper

Country Gravy

1 cup almond, soy, or rice milk
1 cup water
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon dried sage
1 teaspoon dried thyme
big pinch black pepper
optional pinch cayenne pepper
3 tablespoons olive oil
1/3 cup spelt or other flour

Put lentil, rice, water and bouillon in a medium sauce pan, bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer 30-40 minutes until everything is soft and cooked and water is absorbed.

(While lentils and rice are simmering, put up a big pot of water for cooking potatoes).

While lentils and rice are simmering, warm olive oil in a skillet and sauté garlic, carrot, and celery for 10 minutes until mostly tender. Stir in basil and thyme. Remove from heat and set aside.

Peel potatoes and add to boiling water along with a generous pinch of salt. Cook until very soft (15 or so minutes), drain, and mash with optional margarine and "milk"until the consistency seems right. Add salt and pepper, taste and adust. Set aside.

Preheat oven to 350 and oil a 9x5x3 loaf pan.

When rice and lentils are cooked, combine in a big bowl with veggie/herb mixture. Add oats and mustard and use a wooden spoon or your hands or some combination to blend everything together very well. Now you need to taste it and decide if it wants a little more mustard or a shot of soy sauce, but the mixture should be fairly stiff so it will hold up later to slicing.

Press mixture into loaf pan, and top with mashed potatoes. Bake for 30 minutes.

While loaf is in the oven, make the gravy:

In a medium bowl, whisk together "milk", water, salt, soy sauce, sage, thyme, pepper, optional cayenne.

Warm olive oil in a deep wide skillet, add flour and stir over medium-low heat 2-3 minutes.

Gradually add milk/water/herbs, whisking to combine fully.

Bring to a boil, stirring constantly, then reduce heat to low and cook 15 minutes.

Taste and adjust seasoning.

When loaf is done, slice carefully and serve topped generously with gravy.

The Virtues of White Sauce (and swearing at your kids)

For the past eighteen years I've strenuously steered myself away from swearing around my kids, but now that they're teenagers, I've relaxed my efforts and allowed my language to be a little more natural.

Like when I was teaching Henry how to make white sauce. His first attempt had been a floury, lumpy fiasco. This was his second try, and I wanted him to get it. "You've got to show it who's boss," I told him, "you've got to whisk the hell out of it!"

He emitted little sparks of glee at hearing me say a bad word, and something seemed to click in him. He whisked the hell out of it, and the results were gorgeous, a smooth, satiny white sauce.

We've focused on sauces for most of our first cooking lessons, an approach I've borrowed from the curriculum at Le Cordon Bleu. I worked as an English instructor at Le Cordon Bleu in Chicago a couple of years ago, teaching Composition to future American chefs and bakers, and I learned from my students (wonderful students! Some serious potty mouths on them, though) that much of their initial course work was in knife skills, broths, and sauces.

Henry and I have worked a bit on knife skills (see The Tao of Broccoli), we've made one broth so far (see the kombu/mushroom broth in Fast Food), and we'll be delving into these areas more soon. But he is coming along nicely as a junior saucier. He can make a basic red sauce, adaptable for any pasta dish, and convertible - with a change of spices - into enchilada sauce. He can make a pesto out of herbs and vegetables to use as a dip, spread, or pasta sauce. And now he can make a white sauce, the foundation for countless treats: cheese sauce, nacho dip, butternut squash sauce (our favorite fall recipe for Butternut Squash Ziti is coming in the next post), or spinach dip. Henry singlehandedly made this obscenely rich and delicious dip for our family on Thanksgiving.

We ate the hell out of it.

Spinach Dip 

1.5 lb fresh spinach, washed, stems removed

2 tablespoons butter or olive oil

4 medium cloves of garlic, minced very fine

2 tablespoons flour

1 cup 1/2 & 1/2 or non-dairy substitute

1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese or non-dairy substitute

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon paprika

pinch each of oregano, basil, thyme

3 tablespoons sour cream or non-dairy substitute


Cook spinach in boiling water for 1 or 2 minutes, just until it's all wilted. Strain well and squeeze out excess water. Chop spinach finely and set aside.

In a medium saucepan, heat butter or olive oil over medium heat. Add garlic and cook for one minute (don't let it brown). Add flour and stir well. Cook, stirring constantly until flour turns light blond and smells toasty, 1 or 2 minutes.

Whisk in the 1/2 & 1/2 or substitute, little by little, until the mixture is smooth. Keep cooking until the mixture comes to a boil and thickens, 2 or 3 minutes.

Reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring, for 4 or 5 minutes.

Add parmesan or substitute, lemon juice, salt, paprika, oregano, basil, and thyme. Stir well to combine.

Remove from heat. Add the sour cream or substitute and chopped spinach.

Serve with tortilla chips or whatever you like to dip.

The Half-Empty Nest

I guess I could say the nest is half empty. A few weeks ago, my oldest son Jonah started college, and it has been discombobulating.

It's kind of terrible. I ran into my neighbor Bob, whose daughter is now in grad school, and we commiserated on the sidewalk. "Nobody," said Bob, "tells you how hard it is. One minute they're sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal, the next you're driving home from some college with a broken heart." True.

But it's also kind of wonderful. Jonah is ready, he's happy, he's doing the things he should be doing and he's in a good place.

And I'm getting more sleep - no more 1 a.m. awakenings, no more late night clunking sandwich making. It reminds me of that momentous leap of long ago, from having a night-waking toddler to having a kid who sleeps through the night.

I am sleeping through the night. I hope Jonah is. I have no idea, though, and no way of knowing. Maybe he's not sleeping at all. I don't know. He could be doing anything. What was I doing when I was 18?

Did I mention how terrible this is?

I miss many things about my oldest son, but these days I especially miss our irregular Sunday evening cooking lessons. During all of Jonah's senior year, I cobbled together a cooking course of sorts, an attempt to prepare him for adult life and an excuse to spend some time with him while he was still home. It was also, I must admit, a sideways ploy to get someone other than me to make dinner once in a while.

Jonah's cooking lessons were imperfect, but I knew that from his perspective the project was a success when he claimed, shortly before his departure for college: "I now know how to cook. You don't have to worry about that." For me, it was an unquestionably valuable experiment. I only wished I'd started doing it earlier, much earlier, like when he was 13.

Which brings me to Henry. Henry, 13, is my youngest son. For the past year he has been saying things like, "When can I start MY cooking lessons?" Henry has always been impatient, always trying to catch up with his older brother. He stubbornly started to walk when he was 8 months old, before his little round baby body was even ready. I'm convinced, especially in retrospect, that this was an act of will, a major clue about the personality of a very, very determined person.

Well Henry, good news: It's your turn. Time to rattle those pots and pans.

I guess I could say the nest is half full.