Leggo My Legumes
Unless, of course, you make them better than me
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BK / JK
DISH: Festive Lentils
All cooks have an Achilles’ heel. Mine is lentils. I admit it – I can't make a standout lentil dish. At least, not like chefs can, where every single tiny flat disk can be individually identified and is a gleaming example of pure lens-shaped joy. It doesn't matter what kind I use: green, French green, red, brown, beluga. They won't stay firm. Maybe they just like to stick together as a family. But my lentils always come out like a single lump of mushy seasoned protein, something like refried beans. Thank god for the Vitamix, which is what I turn to then, add stock, and pretend a thick soup was my intention all along. Then, of course, when I try to make them soupy and savory, they come up dry and flavorless. Still, I appreciate their versatility, how they can be turned into a burger or a salad or a cracker depending on their treatment. I also understand how they're part of what's being currently called the "climatarian" diet – a way of eating that's good for you and good for the earth's biodiversity. Eating more lentils is an easy way of reducing your carbon footprint. It's too bad that they don't truly love me back. But every home cook has something they can't do well. Then again, this is what chefs and restaurants are for – to render amazing the fare we can't do so for ourselves. And if you're really into lentils, as I am, you can plan on attending a festival that celebrates them. That's right. Like mangoes and strawberries and garlic and mustard and countless other food products, lentils enjoy their own unique celebration. This year, the National Lentil Festival – which includes the "legendary lentil cook-off" as well as cooking demos, local beers and wines, and a lineup of great music on the Main Stage – takes place August 19-20 in Pullman, Washington. Pandemic permitting, of course. But if you want to view the region (Eastern Eashington/ Northern Idaho) that grows a quarter of the lentils supplying the US, then you might want to start making plans now. It won't radically reduce my carbon footprint to fly to Eastern Washington. But maybe you'll find me there anyway, learning how to make better lentils. Or figuring out how to grow them. Or, what's most likely, I'll just be enjoying the fruits of someone else's labor while washing it down with regional wine.
JK
DISH: Historic Lentils
Lentils are a legume of biblical note. Seriously – they’re mentioned in the Bible specifically. More in terms of a commodity than a superfood, but still. They’re also a staple in cuisines around the world. And a consistent winter menu item in my house. But that’s about to change from seasonal to year-round. As one of the oldest domesticated crops, production dates to 8,000 BC along the Euphrates River. Greece harvests a couple of thousand years later. India and Egypt around the mid-2000s BC. In the US, we are pretty late to the party – latching on as a meat alternative during World War II although they were introduced hundreds of years earlier. More to the point: They are delicious. And easy to make, as in two-ingredient easy. Water + lentils = food. (Note: do not cook raw lentils with salt as it can make for some tough skins. Season when using cooked lentils in recipes). Of course, that’s just the launch for other easy recipes. You can pick lentils by color or variety. Dozens exist but small green French lentils, brown lentils and red are super simple to find. As a non-“Impossible Burger” person, I’d much rather eat a lentil-based burger than a lab-created one (with apologies to my spouse and millions of others). I agree that lentils don’t offer that just-seared meat-like texture, but to me they are so much more versatile. Lentils are also an uber-healthy alternative to beef, both Beyond and bovine. They are packed with protein and fiber and low in fat. Pair them with another whole grain like brown rice to get the full protein benefit. For pregnant women and the rest of us, they’ve got that elusive folate and iron. All that nutritional goodness can help lower cholesterol and blood pressure. In fact, there is no downside – unless an overindulge of fiber produces a little gastric distress. So, as always, enjoy in moderation.
BK
TILL: Growing Lentils – Is It Worth It?
Lentils grow in pods on vines. You need full sun for eight hours per day, cool weather to start, well-drained soil, and a low trellis to train them on. If you plant peas or other beans, you can follow the same general rules that you use for lentils. This means that lentils don't do well in extremes of weather and soggy soil. Too cold, too hot, and/or too wet, and you'll find the vines withered, dried out, or disintegrating. While they're not prone to pests, they can become sick, so you need to watch for patches of disease and remove those vines so the disease doesn't spread. After harvest, lentils need to be removed from the pods and spread out to dry. If you store moist lentils, they'll mold. So should you, or shouldn't you? If you've been successful with peas, then yes. Lentils are actually an easy and rewarding crop. But if peas and beans are your nemesis, as they are mine in USDA Hardiness Zone 10b, then I suggest hitting the grocery store shelves instead.
JK
DISH: Lentils to Grow On
We grew up on lentil soup, sometimes puréed, sometimes chunky. Always with carrots, celery, and onion. Later it was that soupy Indian dal, swiped with hot-from-the-oven naan, that became a staple for me and mine. Then Martha Stewart’s walnut-lentil burger, offering up similar spices to falafel, became a go-to for my growing children (minus the deep-fry). Now the recipe I riff on most often is one that I learned from a visiting Indian chef and cookbook author when I worked at SiriusXM radio. His name lingers just off the edge of my consciousness, but his flavors I remember distinctly. Hopefully he will forgive the mid-life dementia blocking my recall as well as any liberties I take with order and ingredients. This dish is a curry, which basically means sauce. Most home cooks traditionally make their own and adjust by recipe and ingredients, as there is no one recipe for curry. This one is so forgiving, you can make it your own. 1 cup dried brown lentils 1 small onion, chopped 2 garlic cloves, chopped 1 tablespoon cooking oil of choice 1 teaspoon cumin 1 teaspoon coriander ½ teaspoon turmeric ½ teaspoon dried ginger (1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger can work too, but add with garlic) 1/8 teaspoon cayenne Kosher salt Ground pepper if desired 2 cups cherry tomatoes, split ¼-1/3 cup water 2 big handfuls spinach (substitute fresh cilantro and juice from ½ lime) Brown rice for serving (optional) Cook the lentils according to package directions. Set aside. In a medium sauté pan, add the oil. Cook the onion over medium to medium-low heat until slightly softened, about 5 minutes. Lower the heat if it's burning. Add the garlic and cook, stirring for one minute. Add all the spices including ¼-1/2 teaspoon salt and pepper if desired. Stir. Add the tomatoes, cooking for about 3 minutes until the juices start running. Add the lentils. Stir together. Add about ¼-1/3 cup water to create sauce. Some lentils will break down. Stir in spinach until wilted. Adjust salt. Serve with or without brown rice.
BK
DISH: Recap and Coming Soon
Betsy is in the digital and real world teaching culinary, mixology, and floral skills. Fully vaccinated and boosted, she's back to planning events, too, in Ohio, the Northeast, and now Southwest Florida. You can hire her by contacting her at betsy@theportablegarden.com.
Jen's still writing about her trip to Sweden, this time from a Jewish and sustainable perspective, and gluten-free brownies in this vegan peanut butter pudding recipe for Cheryl's Cookies. For HuffPost, she wrote about how to sous vide and non-dairy milk appliances. For Miami New Times, she reviewed take-out Peking duck and dim sum. In the poetry world, her poems appeared in A-Minor, Pirene’s Fountain, and The Dodge (see below). Her poem about late-stage osteoporosis appeared in the anthology about disabilities called The Ending Hasn't Happened Yet (ed. Hannah Soyer, Sable Books, 2022). Coming Soon: Jen's writing a profile of Guy Fieri for Miami New Times in adavance of the South Beach Wine & Food Festival. She's also writing about baking therapy for Cheryl's Cookies. She's testing vacuum sealers, stovetop cleaners, and indoor grills for BobVila.com as well as telling readers what foods not to vacuum seal; the best dishwashers of 2022; and how to grill like a pro. Her profiles for the spring issue of Lifestyles South Florida are forthcoming. An article on what she learned – and still uses – from Home Ec (remember that class?) is forthcoming in Allrecipes, as are three on Polish cooking (including the differences between a bialys and a bagel). Poems will appear in Another Chicago Magazine, Crab Creek Review, Cutthroat, A Journal of the Arts (finalist in the 2021 Joy Harjo Poetry Contest), DIAGRAM, Escutcheon Review, Mom Egg Review, Notre Dame Review, The Penn Review, Terrain.org, UCity Review, and The Westchester Review, as well as couple of anthologies, one on the pandemic and another from Tolsun Books. She also has an interview about her and two other poets forthcoming in The American Poetry Review. You can hire her for writing by contacting her at kavetchnik@gmail.com. Visit her website at jkaretnick.com.
DISH: Poetry
How do you feel about eating crickets? Or ants? Or termites? I've sampled all of the aforementioned in Miami, Mexico, and Peru. In the last case, they were alive going down the gullet. If that grosses you out, consider that all of these "alternative proteins" were at least clean, unpoisoned by fertilizers and sprays. Birds don't have the opportunity to pick and choose between the bugs they will and will not eat. The poem below is about how humans poison their food supply for the sake of having a nice-looking lawn. To be honest, I don't think I'd be so eager to try crickets, ants, or termites with that kind of sauce on them either.
Insects
are extra food, we local women post every chance we get, a shroud of swallows and thrushes around us as we jog around the block at dusk. Sprays equal death. We would make every tanager and grosbeak a gazpacho of flea and mosquito if we could, force-feed them a ubiquitous saveur of midges to go with beakfuls of extracted berries. We judge, we jury those who hold biohazardous bottles over grapefruit or key limes, we pluck the caterpillars from trees too juvenile to meet the appetite of a hoard in order to recolonize another inadequate backyard, though we know it can be difficult to identify, exactly, what you’re encouraged to cultivate when you’re both weight and gauge. Nurture the butterfly. Egg on a dragonfly, buoy up ladybugs. But plant-juicing thrips? Jovial swarms of gnats? Quintuplicating ants? All sacrificial, whiz-banging into flocks murmurating with such abrupt, judicious turns you can’t do anything but watch, struck by axial snacks taken on the wing. The passerine head to points south, south even of here where hundreds of thousands of Texans and New Yorkers journeyed to find real estate with a water view during quarantine. Life-size migration, a steady V, hardly as quaint as dark-eyed juncos choosing our lawns for a meal of army worms and wasps, a chorus of approval, and a doze. Snowbirds place feeders on live oak limbs, surprised when colossal iguanas gulp every goody and crawl Biscayne’s bisque-like bay, when foxes jump out from the undergrowth to eat the kibble left for the cat, when even an acequia can hold an alligator. Amazing, they murmur, then fertilize the yard and buy an extended warranty. We warn them: We are bellyful, we are melody-ready, we are equipped for the haul.
JK
Find this poem and others in The Dodge, a literary magazine about environmental justice.
LUV lentils! tx for this recipe, will try it. I make Greek lentil soup all the time. Different spices but always fulfilling.