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When I first thought about going vegetarian back in 2007, I was adamantly against labels. I didn't want the pressure, the expectations, or the judgment from anyone else and especially not from myself. I've definitely changed my mind about that, twelve years and one big "vegan" label later, but my mindset has stayed the same. No, it's not the one that made me feel nervous about what everyone thought of me, it's the one that pushed me forward despite all the possible blowback. I came at veganism with an open mind - one of exploration, not expectation. Of course, I did my research, watched all the documentaries, listened to podcasts (back when you had to copy them onto your iPod via a computer and a cable) and read the books. But more than anything, I looked at my life like one that was meant to be found, not molded into what others thought. Learning how to cook became a project to be enjoyed, as I added a new type of vegetable I'd never tried before to my shopping cart. Each recipe became one more stepping stone to my understanding how food worked. Every veganized dish was an achievement, not a loss of what I used to consume. It was never about reaching a certain goal, although my vegan label helped guide me; it was about adding to my experiences as I went along. It's my hope that this issue will help you get into this mindset of exploration, whether it's in your cooking, how you approach others, how you see yourself.
Head of Content + Design chickpeamagazine.com serifandscript.co @serifandscript
or
meringueshop.com @meringueshop_
caseyjoylister.com @pinch_dash_glug Casey lives on the west coast of Australia in a little house near the beach, with a sprawling veggie garden and her dog, Maple. She loves cooking healthy vegetarian meals (especially using homegrown vegetables and native Australian edible plants), freelance writing, photography, art and music. Her desert island dish is spaghetti. The only food she dislikes is dill. She has cultivated a biological resistance to the effects of chile and garlic.
Diane is a professional chef and baker “rooted” in new American and classical French kitchens. She is passionate about product innovation and enjoys developing new techniques for baking. Meringueshop, her e-commerce store, is a modern vision of sweets, using aquafaba as the main ingredient. In addition to her meringue collection, Diane has recently launched a line of vegan baking provisions, including a new-to-market organic, egg-free meringue powder.
Kyle Beechey is a New York based writer, photographer and dessert enthusiast. When she isn't snapping 35mm photos or baking cake, she can be found scouring the markets of a foreign land & trying her best to pass as a local. @dorotakrysinska Dorota is a cook and photographer working towards showing how amazing plant food can be, living between Copenhagen, Denmark, and Silesia in Poland.
@fathensupperclub Morgan is a Buffalo-based restaurant cook, pop-up event organizer, and cookbook devourer. When she's not feeding people, she's usually spending time with her partner, their dog Olive, and their zany flock of parrots.
Tess likes to look at food from an anthropological perspective how it fits into the push and pull of daily life, culture, environment, and traditions. At the moment she live on a small piece of land in New Zealand, trying to learn to grow meals from the initial planting of the seed.
elizabethsuliskim.com @elizabethsulis spiritandroots.com @spiritandroots
kylebeechey.com @kylebeechey
beautifulsubsistence.com @beautifulsubsistence
Jessica has been driven all her life by a passion for food, from her informal studies as assistant baker in her grandmother’s kitchen as a kid, to taking a deep dive into the science of food and nutrition in becoming a dietitian, full circle to graduating from The Natural Gourmet Institute of NYC’s Chef Training Program in 2017. When she isn’t mentoring her fellow female Type-A dietitians, you can find Jess wandering out in nature or experimenting with a new recipe or project in her kitchen.
alittlebaker.com @jessicabose @littlebakerjess Jessica Bose is a baker and food writer with an affinity for exploring the grand outdoors, growing her own food, and living minimally. When she’s not dancing to 80s music around her kitchen, you can be sure to find her out on a trail near her little mountain home in Utah.
Elizabeth Sulis Kim is a Londonbased writer and journalist. She has written for The Guardian, The Independent, The Pool, Stylist, and Oh Comely, among other publications. A lifelong vegetarian, she has more recently discovered the many benefits of a vegan lifestyle. She travels frequently and enjoys sampling meat-free local foods and learning the local language.
@water.sign Kenya Gutteridge is a creative essayist, poet and film photographer settled on the traditional territory of the Mississaugas of the Credit, the Anishinaabe and Wendat peoples in tiohtiá:ke (Toronto). She is passionate about putting veganism into more intimate conversation with other movements concerned with the interlocking structures of justice for all peoples — human and nonhuman — and the land.
Words, Recipe & Photo by Morgan Stewart @fathensupperclub @morganraaae
to feel out the threads that ran from my own kitchen to
I’m going to give you a big, fat disclaimer, right from
coworkers and dinner guests. Well I’m here to tell you
the get-go: I am about to share some thoughts on the importance of social mindfulness in how and what we eat, along with my personal strategies for respectful cooking, all from the incredibly narrow perspective of a suburban-born, middle-class white person. I know, I bet you’re already cringing. Who the heck am I to tell anyone what cultural appropriation looks like? As someone who spent her 2018 running a globallyminded restaurant kitchen, where I was able to run the gamut in terms of menu development, I asked myself that question daily. We put out dishes inspired by the food of the Philippines and North Africa; we plated up walnut-cabbage tacos beside our chana masala with coconut yogurt. As a curious, passionate chef, it was a dream come true to have such creative freedom, but I also had a nagging voice at the back of my head that constantly wondered about my right to collage a bunch of culinary traditions together at my own discretion. What about the stories, the unheard voices, I was consequently pulling from? I realized that unless I began
8
the ones whose heritage recipes I tinkered with, I would be doing a disservice to a whole lot of people beyond my the great news: I’ve successfully gotten to the bottom of global identity politics! Someone alert the UN and let’s get this world peace thing rolling! Wouldn’t it be awesome if that were true, or even within the realm of achievability? The reality is that any time we’re inserting our point of view into a culture we weren’t raised in, things are bound to get a little messy. There’s no way to make a Cantonese stir-fry in your Buffalo, NY kitchen without picking up the history of Chinese restaurants in America, and its entrenchment in 19th-century diasporic sociopolitics, along with those Trader Joe’s chopsticks. The only real choice we have lies in the extent to which we engage with this knowledge. And as much as I’d like to consider myself as “woke”, my inherent privilege as a white, educated, financially independent person has layers and levels I’m just beginning to recognize—including the ability and opportunity I have to write these words—and many more I will always be ignorant to in some degree. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.
The
best
As someone
One
who,
while
the biggest
found
in the midst of
blessings
into exploring new food cultures is to
self-educating, burnt out quickly on vibrant
and curses to our growth as culinary
learn as much as I can about the cultural
international foodscapes run through the
explorers is social media, and Instagram
origins of my meal. Is Mexican your go-to
watery lens of the Western palette (pad Thai
in particular. We eat with our eyes, and
takeout option? Dive a little deeper than
in bland peanut sauce, I’m looking at you),
the ability to aggregate a world’s worth
Taco Tuesday and pick up a cookbook that
I started complaining about the lack of
of food content in a endlessly refreshing
includes the oral histories of street vendors
“authentic” culinary experiences available
feed can really whet the appetite. The
in East Los Angeles, or delineates the
to me, or gleefully talking about the “real”
challenge posed by an image-dominant
regional cuisines that exist within Mexico
Korean restaurant I found. I’ve since begun
platform, though, is the overwhelming
proper. Pay attention to whose perspective
to grasp how problematic that concept of
absence of written contextualization to
you’re being offered: as fun and flashy as
authenticity is in its self-centeredness. It
give the photos any real meaning beyond
high-brow, restaurant chef-written books
implies that I have the right to determine
quick aesthetic gratification. I personally
are, it’s important to be mindful of the
what the truest representation of someone
have a hard-to-break habit of scrolling
strengths and limitations of their particular
else’s food culture is, and I most definitely
mindlessly and bookmarking attractive
viewpoint. There’s surely a story worth
do not. Authenticity carries the weight of
plates I think I’d like to investigate more
knowing behind the $26 chanterelle-laced
time and place, and unless you have the
thoroughly later. Ultimately I just end
tostada presented at the Michelin-starred
ability to be specific with your claims and
up with an ever-mounting digital pile of
taqueria, but it’s a very different one than
the knowledge to back it up, it’s a word
food pictures I probably won’t ever have
the tacos de nopales being assembled at
you should think twice before deploying.
the time to give the deserved attention
the fourth-generation bodega. An even
Similarly, be aware of how you verbally
to, at the rate I’m going—because wait,
better option: take the time to familiarize
represent the dishes you cook. You may
my feed just refreshed, and what’s that red
yourself with the people who serve you at
think you make a legit falafel, but if the
lentil stew that looks so pretty with those
your favorite local haunts. It’s never the
extent of your understanding of chickpeas
microgreens scattered on top? The Internet
responsibility of another person to educate
in the Middle East begins and ends with
can be a super useful tool for encountering
you about their culture—you gotta put in
a fifteen-second Google search, how can
new ways to cook, but don’t neglect the
that work yourself—but nothing connects
you really know? A tactic I often used at
history and traditions of a community,
you more to the experience of eating than
the restaurant was to frame a dish as being
not to mention your own development as
forming a genuine relationship with, or at
inspired by one I appreciated from another
a conscientious cook, by learning less in
the very least, expressing gratitude toward,
food culture, and then explaining to the
order to collect more.
the people who feed you. And if you’re
best of my ability the places of departure
lucky, they just may let you in on the secret
found in my personal interpretation.
entr ypoint I’ve
of
to their mole. At this point you may be feeling
or Instagrammability. Examine
in what you choose to cook
Cultivating a more thoughtful,
a little frustrated with my spiel.
its fibers, and you’ll find that
and eat. What I myself have
educated
“Why can’t I just cook?”, you’re
when you tug on one little
been slowly learning through
perpetual work in progress with
probably thinking. Developing
thread you suddenly notice the
this process is how crucial
a lot of missteps, I’ll be the first
a practice of culinary empathy
dozen others it’s knotted to.
sensitivity is to becoming a
to admit. If I can tell you one
is
perspective
is
a
and
even
If you pick at the tangle long
cook and human being capable
thing with confidence, though,
daunting,
but
enough, you begin to locate
of engaging with the world in
it’s that everything tastes a little
all you need to do is select
the interwoven strands of your
a meaningful way. We simply
better because of it.
a single recipe to explore
own privilege and internalized
can’t cook well unless we try
beyond its list of ingredients
biases, and how they play out
to know the whole story.
challenging
downright
9
Last summer, my partner Sam and I uprooted ourselves from our hometown of Toronto and made our move across Canada to Kelowna, British Columbia. We had bought a shoddy
Words & Photos by
old 4Runner off a friend's dad for a buck
Kenya Gutteridge
and packed our whole lives into its rusty frame, squishing our little rescue beagle Vicky amongst the eight kilos of nutritional yeast we’d decided would be enough to sustain our journey. (This is serious
home, my first time going camping, my entire journey ahead, with my own little family in tow. I felt so brave and so grown. This feeling stayed with me as we settled into our
business, folks.) Leaning my head out of the car as we left the city limits, it felt as romantic as I had dreamt it to be. Tears filled my eyes as I watched the skyscrapers mellow themselves into a green treeline, suburban factories transfigure into scraggly outgrowths of rock erupting from the sides of the highway. This was my first time leaving
first campsite. I was awed by the soft bed of wild blueberries that covered the earth at the spot we had scouted, and the little snow-white moths happily sipping on their nectar. I squatted over our tin camp stove, flipping grilled cheese sandwiches we’d made with the last of our nice non-dairy cheese, while Sam lugged tote after tote of our crap out onto the little rock we had claimed for the evening. “Here??” he called. “Here!!!” I shouted back. We fell asleep in total bliss, cradled by soft green moss and the sound of distant kids, gone for a drunken night swim and blasting Pixies out of the back of their car.
When I first went vegan, I did so on a heavy
As my new lifestyle solidified, so did my belief in
instinct. I was already a vegetarian and before
it. I’d made the decision on little more than a
I knew it, the sedimentary effect of all the pro-
hunch, but I found myself increasingly motivated
vegan arguments I’d encountered had swayed me to
by what I learned about the horrors of the use
set a New Year’s resolution. I said goodbye to
of animals in the name of industry, pleasure,
dairy and eggs and replaced every cosmetic and
and consumption — and increasingly motivated to
toiletry item with products not tested on animals.
investigate them further. I worked in a dive coffee
I surprised myself with the willpower I summoned,
shop at the time, and spent the slow hours poring
transitioning fully within the first few months of
over
the year.
industries from the comfort of its supply closet.
gruesome
revelations
about
animal-driven
The dewy romance of our trip had
to unpack every object we had
clown car every time Sam set up
washed
day.
thought to bring with us just to
camp. After dinner, I would help
We had lost virtually all cell
get to the camping gear, always
him reload the plastic totes of
service and run out of all our
somehow
depths
coats and books, the silverware,
specialty
We
of our stash. The entirety of
the TV and the records, knowing
had not anticipated the troubles
our material lives would come
we would need to perform the same
we would encounter with having
spilling out like a consumerist
routine in reverse the next day.
off
by
vegan
the
third
groceries.
12
buried
in
the
When a heavy metal something lurched
way of life — the way my friends and
depressed in my isolation. Even the
from
family continued to live. Despite
most empathic of us cannot take on
knocked me hard in the back of my
having
the pain of more than 10 billion
neck, I spat an obscenity. I knew
earlier, I could hardly make sense
what it was before I picked it up:
of how anyone could hurt another
the same bright-yellow can of chilli
living creature anymore. One day I
the car had belched from its belly
got into a roaring fight with my mum,
a hundred times already, assaulting
the very person who’d imparted a
me the same way. I hurled it back
love of animals in me, for eating
into the beast and Sam looked at me
meat.
I
warily. I knew my angry energy was
about
veganism
a poison to him and me both, but I
which fell on deaf ears at best and
couldn’t help it; I was exhausted.
attracted tired “bacon” comments at
My
to
worst. I anonymously wrote into a
sleep in a real bed, to bathe in
friend’s blog to critique her for
a way that didn’t expose me to the
being
possibility of frostbite. The bike
off an estrangement that would last
pump
elected
years. I know it wasn’t veganism
incessant
that unleashed a judgmental, preachy
to
the
overstuffed
muscles
we
ached.
had
bring
depths
I
longed
inexplicably
continued
its
and
rattle behind my headrest. Still,
we
pushed
cracked
forward,
through
the
the
freeway
stretching themselves into mountains canopied in evergreens. The factorydriven industry of southern Ontario was more
gradually
replaced
sprawling,
meat
wrote
“only”
mere
months
a
thousand
posts
on
social
media,
vegetarian,
setting
nature in me, but how ironic that,
little crags of grey stone shield that
eaten
with
I
was
fervently
trying
to
convince my loved ones that veganism was
the
“cruelty-free”
diet,
my
transition to it allowed some of
ominous factory farm buildings were
every documentary that existed. I
supplanted with clear-cut forests
followed every vegan organization
and dead piles of wood of untold
to the point that my social media
heights.
feeds were flooded with undercover
the
investigations.
I
watched
farmed
animals arrive at slaughterhouses myself, smelled the scents of blood I’m sure that I’m not the only person who
might
describe
my
transition
to veganism in this way: the more impassioned
I
became,
the
more
appalled I became with my previous
scouring
the
label
of a loaf of grocery-store bread in the fridge light in the middle of the night – these experiences brought me back to a space where my relationship with food was fraught with guilt and shame. For all my vegan-persuasive
insistence
that
“It just takes a little getting used to,” I was struggling. It was timeand energy-consuming to try to trace where tocopherols come from, or how a refinery processes its sugar, in a way that I refused to admit to my friends.
animals, heaviness in my relation to
picketed and pamphleted. I watched
in
ingredients,”
around me.
Earth;
dents
because I’d accidentally eaten “milk
food, heaviness in my relation to the
I attended rallies and vigils. I
blasted-out
in my relationship with food. Crying
was alienating myself from everyone
huge
mines,
have also had my share of troubles
I felt heaviness in my relation to
In my loneliness, in this first year,
became
Like most women (most people?), I
the cruelest parts of me to bloom. I
forms:
smokestacks
ancient
its
while
alone.
and
rot
that
greet
them
there,
looked into their frightened eyes and
heard
their
screams.
These
experiences entrenched my ethics, but they also caused me untold pain. I was not only alienated, but deeply
13
the community that organized around them (as much as I respect many of them), and—above all—heaviness in my relation to my loved ones, whose good nature I had all but forgotten in
the
face
of
their
non-vegan
lifestyles. Heartbroken, angry and utterly alone, I closed up shop. I didn’t quit veganism, but I stifled my passion. I loosened the controls I had placed on investigating the most
minuscule
ingredients
in
every little product I consumed. I turned away from the community I had embraced. I resolved to limit my engagement with veganism to my consumption habits.
We finally reached the prairies. In the land of
of some of these colonizers, and I inherited the
living skies, there was no respite from the hard
ability to live and move here courtesy of their
sunlight, which beat down on our rusty, pitch-black
crimes. I inherit much of what supports me through
car and its overflowing contents without remorse.
violence—to other people, to the land and, yes,
The land had dulled itself into a flat terrain
to animals.
that canvassed every direction farther than the eye could see. Massive mills and silos stretched like skyscrapers into the mobile clouds. Great fields of potash piled up on the roadside along with other unidentifiable fertilizers, colorful minerals in various stages of unknown processes. Everywhere, pumpjacks dipped their heads as the moths at the first campsite had, sipping viscous black sludge on their way up. How
easy
it
glacier to wash our dishes, carefully rationing what supplies we had left. How absurd it is to be reminded for months on end of our collective dependence on a living Earth at the very same time that you’re being reminded of your own dependence on every material object of import to you. We talk
beast we all live in when everything we do is
it comes to animals, yet it is the same attitude
“for the animals”, I thought as I noticed this
that regards animals as objects for use that
synchronicity
on
renders the land an inanimate resource just as ripe
this trip expecting to see myself in the rocks,
for exploitation. This is the same orientation
animals, insects, trees. Instead, it was in the
that collapses my self-understanding, in all its
oil,
tree
fraught complexities, into measurements of how
trunks that my reflection emerged. Our unpacking/
“good” I am at eating according to the strictest
repacking routine made it impossible to miss: it
guidelines, at activism, at convincing others of
was for our food that the potash piled high, for
this lifestyle, and it leaves me immobilized by
our electronics cavernous wounds were made to the
anxiety, doing nothing for the animals for fear of
Earth and for the ubiquitous plastic of our car’s
not doing it “right”. But the inextricability of
stockpile, rattling the whole way there, that the
animals’ oppressive plights from other violence
pumpjack bent its head in prayer.
perpetrated in the name of industry is not a
and
forget
fresh water that ran from the top of the nearby
a lot about non-vegans’ cognitive dissonance when
of
to
myself bent over a cold stream, using the abundant
the
mines
is
At our last campsite, high in the Rockies, I found
movement.
towers
of
the
I
belly
had
set
of
out
stripped-down
In the most explicit sense, the land across which I traveled, the sites where we camped, were not mine to claim. I moved from the traditional territory of the Anishinaabe to that of the Syilx Okanagan peoples, following the footsteps of the earliest European colonizers westward. I am a descendant
14
reason to abandon veganism any more than it is to refuse to hold ourselves accountable for our other complicities. To build a movement based on compassion is to see the potential and the limitations of all people—including ourselves. The moth and the pumpjack, after all, bend their heads for all of us. r
I was never really a picky eater, or at least, I don't remember being
out a few ways that I've made the switch on many of my former
one. I'd eat pretty much everything given to me as a kid, minus
least favorites. If you're a picky eater, want to eat more vegetables,
all the animal organs my parents tried to feed me, and of course
want to branch out and try new things, or just have a few foods you
onions, peppers, brussels sprouts, olives, and yes, even chickpeas.
really hate, try some of these to turn your attitude around on "bad"
(They would always be the last bits left on my plate after eating pasta
ingredients.
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salad.) I still have my hangups around certain foods, but I've figured
If you're reading this, you're probably a bit
invested in branching out into new flavor territory, but you might feel held back by your experiences in the past. We're here
to learn, to grow, and to try things in new ways that probably look nothing like what you disliked about a certain food. I always
with mushrooms, our example in this
parents were probably super busy and tired
piece, most people find that they have a
and just wanted to feed you - not make a
slimy texture. (If you've ever had the sad,
five star meal each night. So experiment
undercooked, wet portobello 'burgers' at
with different techniques that are proven to
most restaurants hoping to share one vegan
make anything tasty. (Deep frying, anyone?)
option, you know what I'm talking about.)
A perfect example of this is olives - I had
By chopping them down to specks, you'll
always hated them, until I tried Spanish
get less texture and more flavor. As you get
olives that had been served warm. The oil
more comfortable with an ingredient, you
tasted so good, the olives were plump and
can gradually up the size and make them
not briney like all the kinds I had before.
more pronounced in your dishes.
Now I try different varieties all the time, eat
READ T HE REST OF
suggest creating a positive atmosphere - put
on some fun music, cook with your friends,
them on a daily basis and always have them
and come into this with zero expectations.
on pizza.
T H IS ARTICLE IN OU R
But before you think I'm going all Ina Garten on you, I don't mean buy the most
expensive stuff. Buying a tomato in the
No doubt you've tried this at some point
Try marinating, dry-rubbing, or pairing
- maybe you put a little greens in your
with sauces. I hated brussels sprouts because
smoothie because you hate eating them
I had only ever had them with salt and
in a salad, or cooked onions until they're
pepper, but when I had them caramelized
wilted down to nothing because you want
with balsamic glaze, or roasted in a maple
the flavor, not the slimy strips of vegetable.
mustard, they became my favorite vegetable.
FULL ISSUE HERE
summer will taste much, much better than
in the dead of winter, at least here in the frozen North. Be sure to get foods that aren't already halfway to rotting. And be
sure to store them properly. A tomato tastes the worst when it's out of season, it's been in the coldest part of the fridge, AND you eat it right after you take it out of the cold.
By mixing in the offending ingredient until
you can't see it any more, you can trick yourself into eating it with little effort. My favorite way of doing this is adding vegetables to stews or making sauces. (Like transforming eggplant, my least favorite
If you don't feel confident enough in cooking yet to experiment on your own (and potentially waste lots of money and
DIGITAL ISSUES PRINT ISSUES SUBSCRIPTIONS AND MORE!
Those are the rock hard, watery, flavorless tomatoes you get on a salad at a wedding.
veggie, into a spread for sandwiches.)
time), get yourself a cookbook or two to work from someone who's already mastered
Keep your tomatoes on the counter for a
it. Whether from a library, on your tablet,
much juicier, less-frozen taste.
or at your local indie bookstore, cookbook recipes are more trustworthy sources of
If you didn't like it boiled or raw, what
about roasting, air-frying, or sautĂŠing? The
The smaller the ingredient, the less textural
foods you had as a kid probably weren't
problems you'll have with it. Especially
the best prepared because, let's face it, your
information than a Pinterest search, so you won't waste perfectly good ingredients as you learn.
You may be thinking, "Okay, now how do I apply all this information?" so I've got a few starter recipes for you to try out. Starting out with the smallest flavor and increasing in intensity, these mushroom recipes will get you started on a path to love them. (Or at least, like them.)
17
For a moment, imagine stepping into the shoes you wore when you were eight years old. Think of the warm summer sun reflecting off the sidewalk, the coolest bike you’ve ever Words, Recipes & Photos by Jessica Bose
ridden, the most air you’ve ever caught on the trampoline...there’s your first crush playing foursquare across the playground at recess, the math homework your dog ate,
alittlebaker.com
and the after school snacks you dream about on the bus ride home.
@jessicabose
Do you remember what it was like to feel fearless? There was that time you climbed the
@littlebakerjess
tallest tree in the park because you were curious to see what life looked like from up above. The grass seemed a lot greener from way up there, and it was viewed as okay to have your head in the clouds. You were applauded for your imagination. You were taught to dream big and run after whatever it was you wanted. To be the president of the United States, an astronaut landing on the moon, a world traveler on a plane to Chilé... Suddenly, you grew into this person we identify as “an adult”. It all came without warning. It all began when you misplaced the documents you needed to renew your driver's license or do your taxes and realized that you can no longer say in that cute, innocent voice, “but...my dog ate it.” With adulthood, we discover a few things that aren’t as bright and colorful as a new pack of crayons. There’s the pressure to find a career, a newfound fear of getting injured, and the expectation to let go of our dreams and live with a sense of reality. To this, I hope you say no thank you. Age
may
bring
more
responsibility,
and
perhaps a bit more wisdom, but it doesn’t mean you have to lose your sense of wonder. Hold onto your optimism. Keep creating. Don’t you dare throw those crayons out. Find a mountain to climb; they’re taller than trees. Heck, find a tree to climb on a mountaintop. Do whatever you can to get your head back up in those clouds. Daydream your heart out. Explore what it feels like to see new things for the first time. Get out there and see life through the eyes of your strong and courageous eight year-old self.
Makes 5 pop-tarts
2 cups all-purpose flour 1/2 tsp salt 2/3 cup vegan butter, cold 1/4 cup ice water
1. Combine the flour and salt in a large bowl. Cube the cold butter and cut it into the flour mixture with your fingers or a pastry cutter until the butter is pea-sized. 2. Add the ice water to the mixture and mix until the dough comes together. Flatten the dough into a disc and wrap in plastic.
1 1/4 cup fresh or frozen blueberries
Refrigerate for at least one hour. 3. Meanwhile, make the blueberry filling by placing blueberries,
2 tbsp sugar
sugar, and chia seeds in a saucepan over medium heat. Cover and
1 tbsp chia seeds
cook for 5-8 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and
1/2 tsp vanilla
stir in vanilla. Let cool completely. 4. When the dough is finished chilling, turn it onto a lightly floured surface and roll the dough into a 1/8� thick rectangle.
1 cup powdered sugar 1 tbsp vegan butter, softened 1-2 tbsp unsweetened almond milk
5. Cut 10 equal rectangles from the dough and transfer onto a baking sheet. 6. Place about 2 tbsp of filling on half of the rectangles, leaving
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
a 1/4� border around the edges. Brush a small amount of water
sprinkles (optional)
or almond milk around the edges and place the tops on each filled pop-tart. Seal the edges by pressing them together lightly with
a fork. Poke a few holes in the top of each pop-tart and brush with almond milk. 7. Place pop-tarts on a parchment-lined baking sheet and freeze for 10 minutes. Preheat oven to 375°F. 8. Bake pop-tarts for 15-20 minutes or until lightly golden. Then, let cool completely. 9. Make the glaze by combining the powdered sugar, vegan butter, almond milk, and vanilla; stir until smooth. Top each pop-tart with glaze and sprinkles.
Words, Recipes, & Photos by Cara Livermore @serifandscript The internet is an amazing place, and only one reason is that the vegan world has changed dramatically because of it. The amount of experimentation, tip-sharing, and wild thinking done by bloggers, Instagrammers, and Youtubers has led to an explosion of new ideas and ways we can make veganism super easy and fun. There are endless possibilities in what people have pioneered online, so I wanted to share my favorites in a focused way that anybody could try, and everyone asks us for...and that's breakfast. When we asked our readers what they'd most like to veganize, a majority asked for eggs, specifically in a breakfast sandwich. What's more standard American diet than a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and something bready? And what can be flipped on its head more than something so classic? So come explore these new ways of cooking with us, and hopefully you can take some of these ideas and make something of your own, too.
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One of the things that really resonated with me, before I "officially" became vegan, was when I listened to Colleen Patrick-Goudreau's podcast way back in 2009. She said that a lot of what we connect with in food is 1) not the food, it's the people we're with or the experience around the food and 2) it's the flavor, texture, and overall ~feel~ of the food that we enjoy, not necessarily/inherently the fact that it's a dead animal. As well, a lot of meat has to be aged/smoked/seasoned to impart a lot of flavor, so they're having to do the same things we do to food anyway. This meant, for me, that I could make anything vegan, as long as it rang true to the vibe of the original. (Some with more success than others.) When you break bacon down into its components, it's not too hard to replicate it. Bacon is fat, salt, savory, smoke, and maybe a bit of sweetness or spiciness depending on the variety you like. The texture is chewy or crispy, or both. So how can we recreate that? With a few simple spices and sauces, you can make a marinade that will make most any ingredient sing - and on the internet people will really try any ingredient. Here are a few of my favorite vegan bacons. water, slice into strips and run each through the marinade. Lay on a silicon mat on a baking tray, and bake at 375°F until crispy, which takes just
makes about 1 1/2 cups
I got this idea from my childhood. When my sister
Ingredients
and I wanted "bacon" to top our sandwiches, but
1 cup soy sauce
we didn't know how to cook bacon, we'd fry up
1/4 cup maple syrup
slices of bologna to approximate it. This is, to me,
1 tbsp liquid smoke
the most realistic of all the bacons. You can make
The joy of mushrooms is that you pretty much
2 tbsp oil
the seitan from scratch, slice and marinate it, or
can't overcook them, with the exception of
1 tbsp hot sauce
grab your favorite vegan deli meat. (Our pick for
burning them, so even when you cook them
1 tsp smoked paprika
a bacon substitute is the Smoked Tomato slices
until crispy on the edges, they're still chewy on
1 tsp garlic powder
from Field Roast.) Just slice into strips, then fry
the inside. They have an amazing meaty flavor
on medium heat, flipping after just a minute.
and are my go-to whole foods vegan bacon. Treat
Instructions sealed container. Use to marinate
You can slice these up however makes you happy;
tofu, tempeh, mushrooms, or any
I sliced them into bigger pieces like Canadian
other ingredients you might want
bacon, and they make for a great sandwich
to grill or roast. If you want to
topper. You can get tofu very thin so it ends up
marinate a lot of ingredient, you
crispy, but still a little chewy.
can either double the recipe or add
When making these, it also can be helpful to use a smoky or hickory barbecue sauce to glaze your bacon, especially any vegetables or mushrooms. It's thicker than just the marinade, so you'll really get a good coating. Get all the moisture out of any ingredient you want to make into vegan bacon before you begin - it will give your marinade more space to seep in, and prevent it from getting too soggy.
the texture is very crispy and light.
them just like the veggies - you can go for a longer
Shake to combine in a mason jar or
some water to thin it out.
a few minutes. It doesn't have intense flavor, but
cooking time if you like them really crispy.
Use unsweetened large flaked coconut, or if you can find it, dried coconut. (The latter look like crescent moons with a brown edge, and make for a great BLT bacon replacement.) I love making
Thin-slice your veggies, then marinate overnight. Bake on a wire rack at 375°F for about 30-45 minutes, checking every so often until they're crispy and a bit dry. Brush on some barbecue
this in bulk, to top salads or make sandwiches out of. Just marinate it for 30 minutes, spread out on a silicon (or parchment) lined baking tray, and bake at 350°F until crispy, about 30 minutes.
sauce for even more smoky flavor.
Be sure to flip the coconut around the pan every
These look really amazing, and can top salads
If you've ever had vegan bacon, it was probably
or bowls beautifully. Just get your rice paper soft in some warm water, two at a time so that it stays thick even when not dried. Blot off the
24
5-10 minutes for even browning.
this! Be sure to slice the tempeh really thin, and marinate it for at least 8 hours. Fry it in a pan or use an air fryer and keep them crisp!
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Words & Photos by Tess Shaw beautifulsubsistence.com @beautifulsubsistence Two years ago we took our first steps on a journey
poisonous water, a pot, a wok, a tiny frying
that, even though we had been planning it for
pan, half a chopping board, and a very blunt
a long time, I could never visualize what each
knife. There were no bells, or whistles, or even
footfall would look like. My husband and I spent
a functioning horn. Other than the painfully
most of 2017 traveling through South America in
unachievable dream of driving from Santiago,
a beat up 1982 VW van, equipped with a couch
Chile to Seattle, Washington in seven months,
that morphed into a double bed and a two burner
without missing a thing in between, we had
stove, on which we cooked almost every meal. Push
nothing pressing to do but survive. The daily
aside that glowing mental image of the modern
realities of “survival� on a continent whose
van-life; a couple wearing bohemian outfits,
culture, structure, and language we had only the
color-coordinated with the van interior. We had
shallowest grasp of, forced us appreciate the
no refrigerator, very little storage space, a
beauty of simplicity and embrace the power of
finite amount of gas and sporadic opportunities
our personal resilience.
to
refill,
a
limited
supply
of
potentially
Let me tell you about our van. She was
we let them reach critical mass. Our
built in 1982 in a Mexican Volkswagen
very first night, we nestled our house
factory. Whether it was original or
next to a line of dumpsters on a quiet
not, when we bought her she was the
hill overlooking Valparaiso, Chile.
color of a foamy latte with a white pop-
We also made ourselves at home on
top, front bars and hubcaps. Behind
seaside cliff tops, high above sea
the cockpit was a complete house.
level in the Andes, on a bustling
Smaller (by a few square meters) than
cobblestoned street in Peru, multiple
our last apartment, it provided all
mechanics’ yards, the middle of the
the essentials of a home, pared down
Bolivian salt flats, above the clouds
to their base functions. When I slid
in the hills of Ecuador, and at the
the door open, one step would land me
edge of Lake Titicaca.
in the kitchen. To my left was a tall, narrow cupboard door that hid our pantry. It had two tiny shelves for dry goods and a makeshift hammock for our fruit and vegetables. To my right was a dollhouse-like freestanding oven. The cuteness of the tiny oven was a huge selling point in our purchase of the van. It was old, slightly rusty, and I loved it. In my mind having an oven took us from camping vagabonds to homeowners. Beside the oven sat a single comfy chair, back to back with the driver’s seat. For at least 85% of our seven-month trip, this was where I sat and prepared our sustenance; both emotional and physiological. I would twist sideways in my seat to pull up the table that hung down against the wall beside me
and
stand
it
precariously
on
its single leg. This fastened me in for the duration of preparation and consumption. My husband sat on the couch across from me, handing me the necessary items from the pantry when called on. When we got home I had to re-train in “stand up cooking”. After every meal we loaded our dishes into
a
fluorescent
green
plastic
tub. Whether we washed them or not depended on time and mood, and often
inconvenient. Our
plant-based
diet
was
not
an
obstacle in this race, if anything it was a head start. Each town we visited, the people ate within their means, in terms of physical access to food, time, equipment, traditions, culture, and social standing; because these realities are inescapable. For me, veganism is a commitment to doing just that; confronting the physical limitations of our environment and the
We didn’t want to be your standard
boundaries of our conscience. We eat
tourists,
sitting
the best way we can that aligns our
on buses loaded with Western faces,
moral ideals with our physical access
bonding
acquaintances
to food, time, equipment, traditions,
from back home (more often than not
culture, and social standing. When
New Zealand is exactly as small as
we
people assume it is), and eating and
restaurants,
drinking in places you’d never catch
tables
a local. I loved being the singular
deep conversations in a combination
Caucasian
daily
of Spanish and gesture, about the
markets buying armfuls of fruits and
glories of plants. Otherwise we ate
vegetables whose names I didn’t know;
practically every meal out of two
at least not in Spanish, and sometimes
clay bowls that I purchased in our
not even in English. Not so thrilling
first week on the road. The majority
was being the ones getting lost on
of our meals were one pot wonders or
unsealed roads, finding our path cut
fresh salads, made up of ingredients
by a river that didn’t register on
found en route and combined as best
the map, or getting stuck for hours
I could to feed our bodies and our
on the wrong side of a political
spirits. There were a lot of days
road closure. But at least I could
when we needed the comforting powers
make lunch while we formulated our
of pasta or the warming love of hot
next move. Some days we had the most
soup. But when you haven’t seen kale
amazing bowls, overflowing with fresh
in over a month, you devour it in its
greens,
yams,
purest form; rubbed down with salt and
and fresh peas. Other days I would
olive oil, lining the bottom of your
rejoice at finding one last onion and
bowl like a nutritionally supportive
a few dried mushrooms in the back of
mattress.
sharing over
hostels,
mutual
female
herbs,
at
the
jewel-like
our pantry and I would make savory porridge. Either way, what we ate and how I cooked, reflected exactly what was happening at that given moment; the magical, the frustrating, and the
30
could,
we
ate
huddled
trying
our
at
plant-based
around best
to
shared have
I found a lot of joy in wandering the foreign supermarkets. They are a fascinating blueprint of how people eat. In the giant supermarkets of
Chile and Argentina it seemed like
on wooden carts. Depending on the
new
peeking
a
area hosting these markets it could
limitations of our little kitchen
mansion at the dinner table of the
be a rainbow of different shades
meant I had to change the way I
top 1%. But the further we traveled,
of
cooked. Our gas bottle was proudly
and
tropical fruits (including passion
Bolivian
simplified
fruit the size of my face), and more
with the standard fittings at most
and mapped out a diet based around
varieties of potato than a starch
refill
simple starches, seasoned with herbs
lover could dream of. In smaller
we would next be able to replenish
and warming spices, decorated with
towns
our precious cooking fuel and were
what
selection
through
the
the
smaller
became,
the
window
the
supermarkets
offerings
vegetables
of
could
be
found.
greens,
eggplants,
there of
would
avocados,
be
a
potatoes,
simple pumpkin,
world
of
and
spots.
therefore
ingredients,
would We
not
never
acutely
the
comply
knew
aware
when
of
the
Even the processed foods show the
cabbage, tomatoes, shelling peas,
minutes with the elements ignited.
tastes and textures people crave.
and a sturdy type of spinach. In
Cooking
The basic canned, boiled beans I am
the mountains there were sacks of
obviously off the table. We tried
used to couldn’t be found in any
different
to
buying textured vegetable protein
supermarket.
were
what people call New Zealand yams.
but discovered quickly that it did
beans,
(Obviously we just call them yams.)
not agree with either of us. The
the ones that are not an addition
They are sweet and starchy, with a
best we could do was soak lentils
to a meal, but ARE the meal. The
little crunch, and come in mind-
overnight, leave them to sprout in
ones that you can imagine simmering
blowing shades of red, pink, and
a colander during the course of the
away on a fire all day to somehow
yellow.
day, and hope they would manage to
cans
of
Instead
creamy,
there
flavorful
transform inexpensive dried beans into a soporific comfort food. What we demand from the food industry is generally what we wish we could make ourselves; what has been made for us in the past but we have somehow lost the ability or incentive to prepare from scratch in our own kitchens.
yams,
very
similar
Most stallholders did not bat an eyelid as we wandered around taking stock of what was on offer, but as soon as I broke out my feeble Spanish and tried to fill my bag with
vegetables,
there
was
much
confusion. Where is your kitchen? Do you know how to cook this? Where
cook
legumes
from
sufficiently
in
scratch
the
was
time
it
took to pull together a comforting bolognese.
This
system
really
depended on the outside temperature; sometimes the sprouting phase took days.
The
only
occasion
we
were
brave enough to use the gas oven was on our fourth week of living in the backyard of a mechanic in
From those big, shiny supermarkets
are you from? Have you tried this?
we bought the basics; rice, oats,
Have some, it’s delicious. On the
pasta,
passata,
multiple, unfortunate, occasions we
parcels
were stuck living outside the local
containing a few dried mushrooms and
mechanics house, I would visit the
a single bay leaf that seemed to
same market every day or two. The
be in every spice aisle. Our fresh
ladies would giggle when they saw
plant supplies needed replenishing
that we were was still there, ask
more often than we stumbled across
about
a supermarket so we made a daily
they’d
and
For the sake of sustainability and
pilgrimage to the closest market.
offer me something new to try with
cost efficiency we refused to buy
A
a very loose recipe that I barely
water in plastic bottles. We were
understood every ninth word of.
always on the lookout for spots to
and
little
the
boxes
perfect
bustling,
of
little
overwhelming
mess
of
produce sprawled across rugs on the ground,
overflowing
out
of
sacks,
or wheeled down the narrow streets
As
the
well
gnarled
sold
as
me
diving
root
vegetable
yesterday,
into
a
whole
33
Uyuni, Bolivia with a reliable gas dispensary a few dusty blocks away. I roasted a big tray of bright red yams and we ate them like fries while we sat in front of the laptop watched
a
movie.
One
perk
of
a
mechanics was they usually let us steal their power too.
fill our six liter containers with potable
water.
Due
to
the
often
suspicious water sources, our foreign tummies,
clouds of steam and the white noise of simmering
and the logistical chaos that would ensue if
washing away the day. As untethered as we were,
either of us got sick living in this bathroom-
the fresh produce we bought and the meals we
less house on wheels, we always had to boil our
created grounded us; tying us in the moment
water. This meant that every pot of porridge
so we weren't blown away on the breeze. There
started with a vigorously boiled base stock.
were days when we felt alone and unwelcome in
Some days I caramelized banana and cinnamon
a world we could not understand, communicate
in olive oil before pouring the water in. To
with, or meaningfully participate in. There
satisfy my savory breakfast cravings I would
were also moments when we felt so connected to
fry onion, garlic, nuggets of dried mushroom
it all that we curled up in our van feeling just
and a bay leaf then douse it with water and a
as at home as if we were permanent residents of
decent pinch of salt. Oats were then feverishly
the neighborhood. On our third night living on
added in a two-pronged attack: he stirred and
the street outside a second Bolivian mechanic’s
I sprinkled. The time it took to reach the boil
house, a woman knocked on our van window.
was also problematic. In the spirit of the South
From what I could gather from our disjointed
American starch-centric diet, both lunch and
conversation, she just wanted to make sure we
dinner tended to include two carbs. Potatoes
were doing alright. She gave us a parcel of
or sweet potatoes were cooked slowly in the
whole fire roasted potatoes wrapped in newspaper
salted water on its way to a boil. Ensuring
and a tiny plastic bag of vibrant green herb
they got a minute at the rolling boil to kill
salsa. It was a small offering from a poor
any potential pathogens, these were delicately
woman, but it was so emotionally satiating; a
fished out and replaced by rice, quinoa, or
smoky, starchy cuddle with an optimistically
pasta, depending on what was required.
bright herby dipping sauce to bolster us for
The time it took to prepare a meal was my time to process the events of the day; digesting the beauty and wonder of a new place or coming to terms with some fresh logistical nightmare. We could snuggle back into our comfort zone;
34
another day of being lost. Food may physically sustain us, but the sourcing, cooking, giving, and sharing of food connects us to the present moment and fosters a feeling of belonging like nothing else. r
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