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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.

22


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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