[ID: Cheesy pasta shells in a bright blue bowl, sprinkled with paprika and dried herbs. End ID]
Vegan macaroni and cheese
This recipe makes a simple, creamy, cheesy pasta on the stovetop, without the use of store-bought vegan cheese.
History
Cooks in England have been combining pasta with cheese at least since Anglo-Norman times: one late 13th-century manuscript describes a dish of "ravieles" (ravioli) made with a stuffing of herbs, cheese, and butter. A bit later, an early 14th-century Italian text includes a recipe for "de lasanis":
ad lasanas, accipe pastam fermentatam et fac tortellum ita tenuem sicut poteris. Deinde, diuide eum per partes quadratas ad quantitatem trium digitorum. Postea, habeas aquam bullientem salsatam, et pone ibi ad coquendum predictas lasanas. Et quando erunt fortiter decocte, accipe caseum grattatum.
for lasanas, take leavened dough and make a round cake as thinly as you can. Then, divide it into square pieces the size of three fingers. After, have boiling salt water ready and place the aforesaid lasanas there to cook. And when they have been strongly cooked, take grated cheese. (trans. culina vetus)
This dish is sometimes cited as the first recipe for macaroni and cheese, though its construction more closely resembles that of lasagna. This form of preparation soon afterward made its début in the English language, when a cookbook compiled around 1390 calls for thin pieces of boiled dough to be interposed with cheese and butter in a dish referred to as "macrows" or "makerouns." This term may be related to the Italian "maccheroni" or the English "macaroni."
In late 15th-century Italy, we find a use of the term "macharoni" that looks more familiar: it is used to refer to hollow tubes of pasta that were formed by hand around a rod, then boiled for immediate consumption, or dried for storage. In English, the word "macaroni" is used to refer to tube-shaped pasta by 1783.
Elizabeth Raffald is credited with publishing the first recipe involving a béchamel sauce into which cheese is melted. Her 1769 The Experienced English Housekeeper contains instructions on how to "dress Macaroni with Permasent [Parmesan] Cheese":
Boil four Ounces of Macaroni ’till it be quite tender, and lay it on a Sieve to drain, then put it in a Tossing Pan, with about a Gill of good Cream, a Lump of Butter rolled in Flour, boil it five Minutes, pour it on a Plate, lay all over it Permasent Cheese toasted [...].
Credit for bringing macaroni and cheese to the United States is often given to Thomas Jefferson and his enslaved, French-trained cooks James Hemings and Edith Hern Fossett. A recipe written in Jefferson's hand calls for square sheets of pasta to be dressed "as maccaroni," i.e. interposed with layers of cheese. But this mode of preparation more closely resembles the earlier "macrows" than Raffald's casserole of pasta mixed with cheese sauce.
In 1824, Mary Randolph's The Virginia Housewife contains a recipe for "macaroni" layered with cheese and butter (though no white sauce) and baked. By 1830, what one New York cookbook refers to as the "usual mode of dressing" macaroni was just what Raffald had described 60 years earlier: "adding a white sauce, and parmesan or Cheshire cheese, and burning it [in an oven]." Similarly, in Scotland, an 1829 cookbook says that macaroni may be "stewed in white ragout sauce" before being covered in grated cheese, bread crumbs, and melted butter, and browned in an oven. (This latter reference, by the way, seems to be the first to call the dish "macaroni cheese." "Macaroni and cheese" was used by 1834.)
We also see pasta mixed with cheese sauce and served without baking at this time. In 1834, Simpson's Cookery prepares the dish by combining boiled macaroni, butter, pepper, cheese, and cream. Another method of preparation, fashionable in continental Europe, was to mold the pasta and cheese in a timbale (a shallow casserole dish), with or without a pastry crust. Macaroni was served en timbale with a "rich crust" at a state dinner hosted by Jefferson in 1802.
The ambiguity between "macaroni" as a thin sheet of pasta cut into squares, and "macaroni" as rolled tubes of pasta, remains throughout this period. As late as the 20th century, cooks are instructed to use either "pipe macaroni" or "riband [ribbon] macaroni" to make macaroni and cheese.
Notwithstanding its fashionable origins, macaroni and cheese came to be associated with thrift, or else with poverty, by the 1870s. A character in an 1871 story published in Tinsley's Magazine declares that he will "draw half the price of my work beforehand [i.e. take an advance payment], if I have to live on macaroni and cheese when I return to town." Around the same time, Albert James Barnays writes that "macaroni and cheese are most admirable" to "give variety to food in a poor man’s house, [...] and would supply a supper at an inexpensive rate."
The recipe
This vegan version of stovetop mac and cheese begins with a béchamel of flour, margarine, and soy milk. Nutritional yeast and mustard add a cheesy savor, while the sautéed onion and garlic blended into the sauce provide depth.
Recipe under the cut!
Patreon | Tip jar: Paypal / Venmo
Ingredients:
1lb dry pasta
1/2 cup non-dairy margarine
1 onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, chopped
Sweet or smoked paprika, to taste (optional)
Ground black pepper, to taste
2 tsp mixed dried herbs (optional)
Red pepper flakes, to taste (optional)
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup nutritional yeast
1 tsp Dijon mustard
4 cups non-dairy milk, preferably oat or soy
Salt, to taste
Large pinch MSG (optional)
Ground mace, nutmeg, or paprika, to top (optional)
Sliced chives or green onion, to top (optional)
Instructions:
1. Prepare pasta according to package directions. Drain, but do not rinse.
2. Meanwhile, melt margarine on medium in a large soup pot. Add onion and garlic and cook for several minutes, until onion is translucent and garlic is lightly golden brown.
3. Add paprika, black pepper, red pepper, and dried herbs, then bloom until fragrant.
3. Add flour and stir. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until flour is a shade darker.
4. Add nutritional yeast, mustard, MSG, salt, and non-dairy milk.
5. Use an immersion blender to liquefy the onion and garlic and blend the 'cheese' mixture. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened.
5. Add pasta to cheese sauce and mix. Taste and adjust salt. Serve topped with sprinkled spices and/or chopped herbs.
[ID: Cheesy pasta shells in a bright blue bowl, sprinkled with paprika and dried herbs. End ID]
Vegan macaroni and cheese
This recipe makes a simple, creamy, cheesy pasta on the stovetop, without the use of store-bought vegan cheese.
History
Cooks in England have been combining pasta with cheese at least since Anglo-Norman times: one late 13th-century manuscript describes a dish of "ravieles" (ravioli) made with a stuffing of herbs, cheese, and butter. A bit later, an early 14th-century Italian text includes a recipe for "de lasanis":
ad lasanas, accipe pastam fermentatam et fac tortellum ita tenuem sicut poteris. Deinde, diuide eum per partes quadratas ad quantitatem trium digitorum. Postea, habeas aquam bullientem salsatam, et pone ibi ad coquendum predictas lasanas. Et quando erunt fortiter decocte, accipe caseum grattatum.
for lasanas, take leavened dough and make a round cake as thinly as you can. Then, divide it into square pieces the size of three fingers. After, have boiling salt water ready and place the aforesaid lasanas there to cook. And when they have been strongly cooked, take grated cheese. (trans. culina vetus)
This dish is sometimes cited as the first recipe for macaroni and cheese, though its construction more closely resembles that of lasagna. This form of preparation soon afterward made its début in the English language, when a cookbook compiled around 1390 calls for thin pieces of boiled dough to be interposed with cheese and butter in a dish referred to as "macrows" or "makerouns." This term may be related to the Italian "maccheroni" or the English "macaroni."
In late 15th-century Italy, we find a use of the term "macharoni" that looks more familiar: it is used to refer to hollow tubes of pasta that were formed by hand around a rod, then boiled for immediate consumption, or dried for storage. In English, the word "macaroni" is used to refer to tube-shaped pasta by 1783.
Elizabeth Raffald is credited with publishing the first recipe involving a béchamel sauce into which cheese is melted. Her 1769 The Experienced English Housekeeper contains instructions on how to "dress Macaroni with Permasent [Parmesan] Cheese":
Boil four Ounces of Macaroni ’till it be quite tender, and lay it on a Sieve to drain, then put it in a Tossing Pan, with about a Gill of good Cream, a Lump of Butter rolled in Flour, boil it five Minutes, pour it on a Plate, lay all over it Permasent Cheese toasted [...].
Credit for bringing macaroni and cheese to the United States is often given to Thomas Jefferson and his enslaved, French-trained cooks James Hemings and Edith Hern Fossett. A recipe written in Jefferson's hand calls for square sheets of pasta to be dressed "as maccaroni," i.e. interposed with layers of cheese. But this mode of preparation more closely resembles the earlier "macrows" than Raffald's casserole of pasta mixed with cheese sauce.
In 1824, Mary Randolph's The Virginia Housewife contains a recipe for "macaroni" layered with cheese and butter (though no white sauce) and baked. By 1830, what one New York cookbook refers to as the "usual mode of dressing" macaroni was just what Raffald had described 60 years earlier: "adding a white sauce, and parmesan or Cheshire cheese, and burning it [in an oven]." Similarly, in Scotland, an 1829 cookbook says that macaroni may be "stewed in white ragout sauce" before being covered in grated cheese, bread crumbs, and melted butter, and browned in an oven. (This latter reference, by the way, seems to be the first to call the dish "macaroni cheese." "Macaroni and cheese" was used by 1834.)
We also see pasta mixed with cheese sauce and served without baking at this time. In 1834, Simpson's Cookery prepares the dish by combining boiled macaroni, butter, pepper, cheese, and cream. Another method of preparation, fashionable in continental Europe, was to mold the pasta and cheese in a timbale (a shallow casserole dish), with or without a pastry crust. Macaroni was served en timbale with a "rich crust" at a state dinner hosted by Jefferson in 1802.
The ambiguity between "macaroni" as a thin sheet of pasta cut into squares, and "macaroni" as rolled tubes of pasta, remains throughout this period. As late as the 20th century, cooks are instructed to use either "pipe macaroni" or "riband [ribbon] macaroni" to make macaroni and cheese.
Notwithstanding its fashionable origins, macaroni and cheese came to be associated with thrift, or else with poverty, by the 1870s. A character in an 1871 story published in Tinsley's Magazine declares that he will "draw half the price of my work beforehand [i.e. take an advance payment], if I have to live on macaroni and cheese when I return to town." Around the same time, Albert James Barnays writes that "macaroni and cheese are most admirable" to "give variety to food in a poor man’s house, [...] and would supply a supper at an inexpensive rate."
The recipe
This vegan version of stovetop mac and cheese begins with a béchamel of flour, margarine, and soy milk. Nutritional yeast and mustard add a cheesy savor, while the sautéed onion and garlic blended into the sauce provide depth.
Recipe under the cut!
Patreon | Tip jar: Paypal / Venmo
Ingredients:
1lb dry pasta
1/2 cup non-dairy margarine
1 onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, chopped
Sweet or smoked paprika, to taste (optional)
Ground black pepper, to taste
2 tsp mixed dried herbs (optional)
Red pepper flakes, to taste (optional)
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup nutritional yeast
1 tsp Dijon mustard
4 cups non-dairy milk, preferably oat or soy
Salt, to taste
Large pinch MSG (optional)
Ground mace, nutmeg, or paprika, to top (optional)
Sliced chives or green onion, to top (optional)
Instructions:
1. Prepare pasta according to package directions. Drain, but do not rinse.
2. Meanwhile, melt margarine on medium in a large soup pot. Add onion and garlic and cook for several minutes, until onion is translucent and garlic is lightly golden brown.
3. Add paprika, black pepper, red pepper, and dried herbs, then bloom until fragrant.
3. Add flour and stir. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until flour is a shade darker.
4. Add nutritional yeast, mustard, MSG, salt, and non-dairy milk.
5. Use an immersion blender to liquefy the onion and garlic and blend the 'cheese' mixture. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened.
5. Add pasta to cheese sauce and mix. Taste and adjust salt. Serve topped with sprinkled spices and/or chopped herbs.
[ID: Cooked greens on a blue plate framed with wild plants. End ID]
Poke sallet
Pokeweed (Phytolacca americana L.) is a plant native to eastern North America, where it has been variously used as a medicine and dye, and foraged as a subsistence food. It is a hardy plant that often grows as a weed in gardens, in waste places, and on burned land, and is especially valued as one of the first edible spring greens available in Appalachia. Pokeweed has also been called "cunicum," "skoke," "coakham," "calalú," and "American nightshade" (a term more often used today to refer to Solanum nigrum).
Though the roots and berries of the plant are poisonous, the young leaves and shoots are edible if boiled in several changes of water. Traditions of eating pokeweed exist all through the plant's native range, from New England to Virginia, and in some places where it has been introduced, as far west as Texas.
Vickie Jeffries, herbalist and administrator of the Occaneechi Band of the Saponi Nation, notes that poke sallet is eaten by Indigenous people in the southeast. ᎠᏂᏴᏫᏯᎢ / Anigiduwagi (Cherokee) people prepare young stalks of pokeweed by slicing and boiling them, then breading them in egg and cornmeal and frying them. In the Acadien (Cajun) cuisine of Louisiana, pokeweed is known as "chou gras" (lit. "fat cabbage"), and is used in soups.
After boiling, pokeweed is very tender and mild in flavor, similar to spinach or asparagus. The sallet (here meaning "cooked salad") is best with the addition of fat, salt, and acid: it is often served with eggs, bacon, pork fat, or vinegar.
History
The word "poke" in this sense had entered English by 1708, as a borrowing from the Powhatan (Virginia Algonquian) word "puccoon" (also rendered "pocan," "pocone" or "poughkone"). The term, which also means "blood," references Phytolacca americana, or any of a few other plants that yield a deep red or purplish dye.
John Smith, writing from Virginia in 1612, describes medicinal and ornamental uses for pocone:
Pocones is a ſmall roote that groweth in the mountaines, which being dryed & beate in powder turneth red. And this they vſe [use] for ſwellings, aches, annointing their joints, painting their heads and garments. They account it very pretious [precious] and of much worth. (p. 13)
[...] Their heads and ſhoulders are painted red with the roote Pocone braied [ground?] to powder mixed with oyle, this they hold in ſomer [summer] to preſerue [preserve] them from the heate, and in winter from the cold. (p. 21)
An early reference to pokeweed (perhaps another species in the Phytolacca genus) as a wild edible comes from Jamaica in 1756. Patrick Brown writes that the "leaves and more tender ſhoots" of "Mountain Calalue, or Poke-weed," "are frequently uſed for greens, by the negroes"; boiled pokeweed was also eaten in Suriname as of 1774. Pokeweed is thus connected to a larger history of subsistence foraging by enslaved and free black Africans in South America and the Caribbean—the same history to which callaloo and gombo zhebes belong.
Colonists in North America had learned to identify and prepare the leaves and shoots of pokeweed for consumption from Indigenous Americans before the close of the 18th century. Charles Bryant writes in 1783 that the "[Indigenous] inhabitants" of "Virginia and other parts of America [...] boil [pokeweed] leaves, and eat them in the manner of Spinach"; in 1795, Benjamin Schulz avers that "the ſtems when boiled [young] [...] are nutritious and wholeſome, and in taſte equal to aſparagus," again attributing the knowledge to Indigenous peoples.
A new science for a "New World"
Colonists presumably learned to use pokeweed as a medicine from the same source. By 1745, it was purported in Connecticut to cure cancers and rattlesnake bites; poultices made from its berries or fresh leaves were held in the medical literature to be effective on wounds and skin lesions.
Later in the 18th century, however, scientists seem eager to disentangle these practices from their source. Colonists in all areas of art and learning felt an urgency, in the years following the American Revolution, to create a new "American" identity, artistic canon, and scientific practice that were not indebted to the scholars or institutions of the "Old World," as represented by Europe (and especially England).
Alongside the avowed goal of creating institutions independent of Europe's, however, is another, twin motivation: the new "American" science must not be in conversation with Indigenous practices or ways of knowing. Benjamin Schulz's 1795 Inaugural botanico-medical dissertation, on the Phytolacca decandra of Linnæus makes the intertwined nature of these goals extremely explicit. The "native plants" in "this country," he complains, are "as yet but little known"; they require "industry" to bring their medical virtues "to a ſtate of culture and perfection." The "discover[y]" of the benefits of native plants has, for Schulz, a decidedly nationalist quality:
who would venture to deny, that a genius equal, if nor ſuperior, to a Buffon, a Linnæus, or a Spallanzani, may be raiſed and foſtered among the freeborn ſons of America, when European habits ſhall no longer influence our various purſuits?
Schulz makes clear that the uses Indigenous peoples have for these plants do not 'count' against the type of knowledge he wishes to create. He denies the relevance of Indigenous knowledge to his proposed project in one dismissive phrase: native plants have been "hitherto unexamined except by ſavages" (emphasis mine).
Despite his claim that Indigenous knowledge is merely irrelevant in the creation of a new "American" medical science, we might wonder whether Schulz in fact perceives it as an active threat. For him, Indigenous medical knowledge must first be invoked, so that it can be denied:
The Cherokee-Indians made uſe of the poke-root in caſes of venereal chancres. The chancres are dreſſed with the powder of the root, well dried. It is certain, however, that this mode of treating chancres is not always, if ever, efficacious; ſince many of the Indians fall victims to the ravages of the diſeaſe just mentioned.
By contrast, Schulz accepts the authority of the European and American travellers, botanists, and doctors he cites in saying that poke has proved an "effectual remedy" for various cancers and skin complaints; he even writes that he has "no doubt of its efficacy" in curing venereal disease, though he had lately doubted whether "Cherokee" uses of the plant for the same purpose were "ever" effective! It seems that dependence on European writers may be acknowledged, even if Schulz wishes ultimately to supersede it: but dependence on Indigenous informants must be denied and effaced entirely.
Today, efforts are being made to assert and to share Indigenous foodways and epistemologies. The Native American Ethnobotany Database—a project that has been 50 years in the making—documents 60 uses of pokeweed as food, medicine, jewellery, and dye by nations including the Cherokee, Delaware, Oklahoma, and Rappahannock. This documentation may be supplemented with active teaching processes: NATIFS (North American Traditional Indigenous Food Systems), founded by Sean Sherman, demonstrates how to forage and safely prepare pokeweed with the southeastern branch of their Indigenous Food Lab project.
You can help promote Indigenous foodways education by donating to NATIFS, or shopping in their online food market.
Recipe under the cut!
Ingredients
Large bunch of pokeweed: young, thin green shoots, young leaves and petioles. Exclude roots and any plant that has begun to flower.
Margarine or vegetable shortening
Salt and vinegar to taste
1/3 cup liquid Justegg or Veganegg (optional)
Instructions
Cut young shoots and leaves into thin transverse slices.
Boil shoots and leaves together in three changes of water. Bring a pot of water to a boil, and boil shoots and leaves for 2-3 minutes. Drain the water completely, bring new water to boil, and boil shoots and leaves for another 2-3 minutes. Drain water completely and repeat one final time. Drain again.
Gently squeeze plant material to remove excess water. Heat margarine or shortening in a large skillet over medium. Add pokeweed and salt and sauté for 3-5 minutes.
Optionally, move pokeweed to the side of the pan and scramble eggs in the other side. Mix eggs and pokeweed together.
Taste and adjust salt. Serve with a dash of vinegar.
Identifying pokeweed
Habit is upright; mature plants are branching. Leaves are fleshy; alternate; lanceolate; glabrous; petiolate; with entire margins; darker green on top; lighter green with prominent veins on the bottom, sometimes pink or reddish. Veination is pinnate. Younger stems, or older stems that have grown in the shade, are pale green; mature stems are red. Flowers are produced on terminal racemes, which are usually upright; berries green when upright, and purplish-black when ripe. Racemes bearing ripe berries tend to nod.
Young sprouts showing upright habit
Sprout with light green stem; an older red stem with young green sprout growing off of it
An older plant with branching habit and white flowers
[ID: A pile of round flatbreads on a blue plate; a bowl of mango pickle is in the background. End ID]
बथुआ का पराठा / Bathua ke paratha (Panjābī lambsquarters-stuffed flatbread)
पराठे ("parāṭhe"; singular "पराठा," "parāṭhā"*) are laminated, wheat-based flatbreads eaten throughout the Indian subcontinent, as well as in other places with significant South Asian diasporic populations, such as South Africa, southeast Asia, and parts of South America.
Paratha has multiple origin claims and prospective etymologies. Some dictionaries speculate that the word "पराठा" ("parāṭhā") derives from a term in Hindi's parent language, Shauraseni Prakrit: namely "𑀧𑀮𑁆𑀮𑀝𑁆𑀝𑀇" ("pallaṭṭaï"), meaning "to turn over." Others scan "paratha" as a compound of Hindi परत ("parat," "layer") + आटा ("āṭā," "flour"). "Āṭā" is itself from Sauraseni Prakrit 𑀆𑀝𑀸 (āṭā), meaning "ground."
Parathe may be made plain, or stuffed with various fillings including potato, cauliflower, paneer, daikon radish, onions, and greens. Preparation methods also vary. Parathe are often rolled out, brushed with oil or ghee, and folded two to four times, formed into triangles, circles, or squares.
This recipe makes parathe in a Panjabi style: the filling of bathua (also known as lambsquarters, or white goosefoot) is enclosed within the dough, which is then rolled out and fried. The greens are fried with onion, garlic, and chili to give aroma and heat; cumin and carom seeds give notes of citrus and anise. The whole wheat flour lends a nutty, robust flavor to the bread itself, which stands up well to the intense pungency of the mustard oil used for frying.
History
Parathe have been eaten in the Panjāb region (modern-day northern India and Pakistan) since at least the 14th century, when ابن بطوطة (Ibn Battuta), travelling from ملتان (Multan) to دہلی (Dehli), noted "round cakes of bread soaked in ghee" served by cooks from Multan (Mahdi p. 15, FN 3). قصۀ چهار درویش (Qissa-ye Chahār Darvēsh; "The Story of the Four Dervishes"), an early 13th-century Persian collection of stories, also contains mention of a thin flatbread made of flour and butter, which is arguably the same dish:
[...]ور ایک قابزردے کی اور کئی طرح کے قلیے ، دو پیازہ، نرگسی، بادام، روغن جوش اور روٹیاں کئی قسم کی باقر خانی تنکی شیر مال، گاؤ دیده، گاؤ زبان، نعمت نان، پر اٹھے ، اور کباب کوفتے کے ، مرچ کے تکے، خاگینہ، ملغو به شب دیگ، دم پخت، حلیم، ہریسا، سموسے ، ورقی ، قبولی، فرنی، شیر برنج، ملائی، حلوہ، فالودہ، پن بھتا، نمش، آب شوره، ساق عروس، لوزیات، مربه ، اچار دان، دہی کی قلفیاں [...] (trans. میر امن / Mir Amman, p. 60)
And there was one dish of zardah, and several sorts of kaliyahs and meat boiled with onions, [...] and cakes fried in clarified butter, and several kinds of bread, [...] Halīm, Harīsā, Samosah, Warakī, [...] almond-cakes, preserves, pickle-pots, small glasses filled with curds. (trans. Edward B. Eastwick, from the Urdu of Mir Amman, pp. 79-80)
Eastwick writes that he asked "a gentleman in India" to describe the dishes listed, and was told that "Waraḳī [ورقي] is the Persian name for the Parāṭhā because it peels off ورق بورق, waraḳ ba-waraḳ [sheet by sheet]" (p. 80). According to him, this bread was made as follows:
Make a "chau-pattī," i.e., a thin cake of baked flour, spread it with butter, knead it, spread butter again, repeat kneading and spreading ten or twelve times; then bake it well, and it will come out in slices thinner than paper. (p. 79, FN 253)
When Eastwick's translation of Qissa-ye Chahār Darvēsh was published in 1852, the word "paratha" had already been appearing in English-language dictionaries for about three decades. It was included in the 1820 second edition of John Shakespear's A dictionary, Hindūstānī and English, though it had been absent from the first:
پراٹھا parāṭhā, s. m. Bread made with butter or ghī, and of several layers, like pye-crust. (p. 187)
The production of "Hindūstānī" dictionaries and grammars in the 18th and 19th centuries was explicitly connected to the colonial aims of the East India Company. Shakespear notes that his dictionary was "prepared under [the] patronage" of the EIC (p. iv); it was also printed by the Company's official booksellers. This and other such works were published, in London, "Calcutta" (Kolkata), and Madras, for the education of colonial officers and administrators.
Recipe books served a similar purpose, catering to former EIC employees, and trading in an interest in the "Oriental" which had been on the rise since the late 18th century. The practical cook, English and foreign, published in London in 1845, boasts of "the most complete system of Indian cookery ever presented," and explicitly connects the need for such a publication with the tastes of former colonial officers and administrators:
As there is scarcely an English family among the higher or middle classes, who does not number among its members a retired military or civil servant of the East India Company, or a retired naval officer or commercial man, it has been thought advisable to introduce a considerable chapter on Anglo-Indian cookery. (p. vi)
Foraging in the Panjāb
The gathering and consumption of wild food plants is very common across the Panjāb region. Avik Ray et al. write that an "enormous diversity of [wild] plants constitutes a significant part of the rural diet" in India (p. 1), with well over a thousand species of wild flora being "in regular use" (p. 6) across various geographic regions. Some social and economic activities in the region are organized around foraging: wild food plant knowledge is passed down through generations by oral means (Malik et al. p. 2); wild greens are sold in local vegetable markets, providing a source of income for foragers, who are mainly women (ibid., p. 5; Roopa).
Amongst these hundreds of wild food plants, bathua (Chenopodium album) is of particular importance: it is one of the most commonly foraged wild plants across all areas of India (Ray et al. p. 8) and in the Panjab district of Pakistan (Malik et al.; Waheed et al.). It is notable for its tendency to grow in disturbed soil, including around cultivated crops such as wheat and mustard (Malik et al. p. 18), as well as along roadsides, in graveyards, and in waste places (Majeed et al. p. 8). Foragers note that its availability has not been affected by agricultural practices, drought, deforestation, or grazing practices (Malik et al. p. 18).
Bathua is foraged and cooked fresh in multiple seasons throughout the year (ibid.), but may also be dried and stored for future periods of food scarcity and drought (Waheed et al. p. 14). It is thus a widespread and reliable source of nutrition in the Panjāb, as well as part of a diverse landscape of local ecological knowledge. Malik et al. note that bathua is "famous" amongst people of Panjābī, Sarā'īkī, and Muhājir ethnicity in the region (p. 14).
In some places, however, this knowledge is on the decline. Malik et al. note that "the rapid urbanization of the peri-urban areas [of Pakistan] poses a significant threat to the ancestral ethnobotanical knowledge on [...] wild food resources" (p. 2). Jabeen et al. point to global climate crisis and cultural changes—with older generations more interested in and knowledgeable about wild food plants than younger—to explain a decline in folk foraging practices in Pakistan.
But many people see value in preserving foraging traditions: not only in rural areas, where reliance on foraging is most often reported, but also in urban and peri-urban ones. Urban foraging in particular has multiple benefits. The stewardship of wild food plants is instrumental in preserving ecological diversity and food security in densely populated and anthropogenically disturbed areas (Sardeshpande & Shackleton p. 214).
Foragers such as Nina Sengupta, Shruti Tharayil, Sanjiv Valsan, Suresh Kumar, and Kush Sethi organise walks and workshops to teach people throughout India about the wild food resources growing in their own areas (Roopa; Mehrotra). In Kolkata, in the Aarey Forest in Mumbai, and in the gardens of Dehli, these wild food walks encourage connection with local ecosystems and the creation of social bonds. One of the participations in a weed walk run by Kumar reflected:
What l found interesting about foraging is the experience of walking, discussing and sharing hometown stories and childhood memories and our food culture. (Roopa)
Thus, the physical space mapped out by the weed walk is doubled by the temporal space that foragers traverse. Foraging connects people to the local land, to each other, and to their own culinary heritage, as they reminisce on childhood experiences with wild food plants, and act on the knowledge that these memories contain.
Recipe under the cut!
Patreon | Tip jar: Paypal / Venmo
Ingredients
Makes about 12 parathe.
For the dough:
280g whole wheat flour
Water
For the filling:
140g lambsquarters (bathua), cleaned and minced
2 tsp salt
1 red onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
Pinch asafoetida (hing)
1 tsp cumin seeds (jeera)
1 tsp carom seeds (ajwain)
2 green chilis, sliced
Mustard oil, to fry
Instructions:
For the dough:
Mix flour and salt. Add water and knead until a soft, non-sticky dough forms. Divide into 12 even pieces and allow to rest, covered, while you make the filling.
For the filling:
Clean lambsquarters by floating in a large bowl of water, then removing them without disturbing the dirt at the bottom of the bowl. Cut off the ends of any tough stalks, and slice leaves and young, tender stalks thinly widthwise.
In a large skillet, heat a couple teaspoons of mustard oil. Add cumin and carom seeds and fry until fragrant and popping into the air.
Add onion and a pinch of salt and fry until translucent. Add garlic, chilis, and hing and fry until garlic is golden.
Add bathua and cook until wilted.
Add a splash of water and cover. Steam until bathua is tender. Taste and adjust salt.
To assemble:
Roll out one ball of dough into a circle; the dough should be thin, but not translucent. Place a heaping tablespoon of filling in the center.
Fold the dough up into the center and pinch to close, as if making a dumpling. Flatten between your palms and then roll out again, gently.
Heat 1 cm of mustard oil in a skillet. Fry on each side until browned spots appear.
Serve with tea, pickled mango, chutney, or raita.
Identifying lambsquarters
See this post.
Notes and Bibliography
*Transliteration scheme is IAST.
Anand, Shilpa Nair. "The Indian urban forager is discovering flavours of edible weeds." Vikalp Sangam. 13 July, 2021.
Husain, Mahdi. The Rehla of Ibn Battuta (India, Maldive Islands and Ceylon) with Translation and Commentary. Baroda: University of Baroda, Oriental Institute. 1953, repr. 1976.
Jabeen, Sadia et al. "Folk Knowledge and Perceptions about the Use of Wild Fruits and Vegetables–Cross-Cultural Knowledge in the Pipli Pahar Reserved Forest of Okara, Pakistan." Plants 13.6 (2024). DOI: 10.3390/plants13060832.
Malik, Amna et al. "Wild food plant knowledge in multicultural peri-urban area of North-Western Punjab, Pakistan." Journal of Ethnobiology and Ethnomedicine 20.99 (2024). DOI: 10.1186/s13002-024-00738-0.
Mehrotra, Shirin. "Pluck by chance: Meet India’s new generation of foragers." Hindustan Times. 26 September, 2025.
Ray, Avik et al. "How Many Wild Edible Plants Do We Eat—Their Diversity, Use, and Implications for Sustainable Food System: An Exploratory Analysis in India." Frontiers in Sustainable Food Systems 4 (2020). DOI: 10.3389/fsufs.2020.00056.
Roopa, Nupur. "India’s wild greens make a comeback." Al Jazeera. 13 June, 2022.
Sardeshpande, Mallika & Charlie Shackleton. "Fruits of the city: The nature, nurture and future of urban foraging." People and Nature 5.1 (2023), pp. 213-27. DOI: 10.1002/pan3.10428.
Waheed, Muhammad et al. "Traditional Wild Food Plants Gathered by Ethnic Groups Living in Semi-Arid Region of Punjab, Pakistan."
[ID: A green-yellow soup in a blue bowl, garnished with a pea shoot. End ID]
Pea pod soup
This is a recipe for a creamy, savory, thick pea soup—made without any peas! Puréed pea pods give the soup a fresh, bright pea flavor, while a trio of aromatics (shallot, scallion, and garlic), fresh herbs, white pepper, and green chili give complexity and spice.
History
Pea soup in England and the United States is typically puréed and sieved. Before the invention of the blender, the peas would be processed by hand with a mortar and pestle, as in this 1760 British recipe for "Pea Soup called Puree":
Chuſe ſome fine green Peaſe, put them on the Fire in a ſmall Quantity of Water, give them one boil or two, and then [...] ſtrain the Peaſe in a Sieve, and put them into a Marble Mortar; beat them to a Maſh [...].
The recipe then calls for onions, thyme, parsley, pepper, salt, and cloves to be fried in butter, after which the mashed peas and meat broth are to be added, and the whole strained "through a Hair Sieve." The soup should "come through very thick and fine."
There are, however, exceptions: in a 1717 recipe for "A Green-Peaſe-Soup, without Meat" (ham or beef were usually used, but may be omitted if unavailable, or during Lent), young peas are boiled; then black peppercorns, clove, mace, mint, green onion, and herbs are fried in butter, and the boiled peas mixed in. The soup is then eaten without straining.
The fibrousness of pea pods means that blending and straining are absolutely necessary here. There is still plenty of flavor in them, though, making this recipe a great use of an ingredient that would otherwise go to compost.
Recipe under the cut!
Patreon | Paypal | Venmo
Ingredients:
300g empty pea pods
250g potatoes, cubed (optional)
1/4 cup non-dairy margarine
1 green chili pepper, sliced
2 shallots or 1 red onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 tsp ground white pepper
2-3 sprigs fresh herbs (I used mint and basil)
3 scallions, whites and greens
Water, to cover
1 Tbsp vegetarian chicken bouillon
Salt, to taste
Instructions:
1. Melt margarine in a large stock pot. Sauté shallot, garlic, chili, and ground white pepper until shallot is softened and translucent.
2. Add potatoes and pea pods and stir. Fry for 2-3 minutes.
3. Add water, salt, bouillon, and herbs and cook 20 minutes, until potatoes and pea pods are very tender.
4. Remove the potatoes and blend the soup. Strain through a fine sieve. Return potatoes to the soup and blend again. (Removing the potatoes before straining makes it easier for the soup to pass through the strainer.)
Taste and adjust salt and white pepper. Serve hot or cold with a crusty bread.
Note:
In my experience you will need to strain the soup no matter what: it is unpleasantly fibrous even after several minutes in a high-speed blender.
[ID: Bowls of dugga and olive oil, with flatbread wrapped in a kitchen towel in the background. End ID]
دُقَّة غزاوية / Gazan dugga (Bread dip)
دُقَّة ("duqqa"; Levantine pronunciation "dugga") is a blend of grains, pulses, nuts, and spices which is eaten with bread in Egypt, Sudan, Palestine, and Saudi Arabia. The most minimalist duqqa consists of salt and black pepper; another very simple preparation of salt, pepper, and dried mint is sold in cones by street vendors in Egypt. Most household blends, however, have longer and more varied lists of ingredients.
The noun "dugga" means “fine powder," and is derived from the verb “دَقَّ” (“daqqa”; Levantine pronunciation “dagga” or “da'a”), meaning “to crush,” or “to grind.” The verb is of the root pattern “د ق ق” (d q q), which produces words related to accuracy and precision, and thus, to small measures of things: compare “دِقّة” (“diqqa”) “accuracy”; “دَقِيقَة” (“daqīqa”) “minute” (the measure of time); and “دَقِيق” (“daqīq”), which means both “accurate” and “flour, meal.”
This recipe is for dugga in a Gazan style. Toasted wheat berries provide an earthy, nutty base onto which sumac and coriander layer tart, fruity flavors. Dill seeds, caraway, and aniseed add a rich pungency, with notes of rye, mint, and licorice; and dried red chilis provide spice. This profile pairs wonderfully with the flavor of a traditional Palestinian flatbread—whole wheat and fermented overnight until slightly sour—and a rich, complex olive oil.
[ID: A close-up on a plate of whole spices, wheat berries, dried red chilis, and salt. End ID]
In Egypt
It is often claimed that duqqa was eaten in ancient Egypt. I have been unable to find any direct evidence supporting this claim, but the ingredients for it would have been available: cumin (tpnn), coriander (š3w)*, and garlic (ḫiṯ3n3) have been found at ancient Egyptian burial sites, and tiger nuts (giw) were abundant.**
What is probably the first description of duqqa in English was written by British translator and Orientalist Edward William Lane in 1836. His Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians tells us:
A meal is often made (by those who cannot afford luxuries) of bread and a mixture called doock'ckah, which is commonly composed of salt and pepper, with za'atar (or wild marjoram) or mint or cumin-seed, and with one, or more, or all, of the following ingredients; namely, coriander-seed, cinnamon, sesame, and hhom'moos (or chick-peas): each mouthful of bread is dipped in this mixture. The bread is always made in the form of a round flat cake, generally about a span in width, and a finger's breadth in thickness. (p. 164)
In 1904, Walter F. Miéville gives an identical list, except that cinnamon is omitted:
With his fingers [the Egyptian fellah (فلاح: "peasant")] breaks his coarse round flat cakes of bread, and dips each morsel into a sauce piquante called dukkah, composed of salt, pepper, mint, or cummin seed, coriander seed, sesame, and chick peas. (p. 447)
Much wider variance occurs in this 1911 account of a trip to Egypt taken in 1904, and this 1907 text, which both describe duqqa as a mixture of "lentils," "onions," "pepper," and "a variety of herbs." These ingredients would all have been readily available to the poor at this time: John Gardner Wilkinson writes in 1843 that "[l]entils, [...] together with the three roots, figl [فجل, radish], onions, and garlic [...] are still in common use among the lower orders of Egyptians."
Common between all of these accounts is the emphasis on duqqa as a food eaten by the peasantry. Indeed, in Egyptian culture, the link between duqqa and frugality was well-established: one 1895 source claims that "مسكين دقة" ("miskīn duqqa") roughly means "he is as poor as a church mouse."
In Sudan and Saudi Arabia
19th-century accounts also describe various duqqa mixtures eaten in present-day Sudan. In 1862, Bedouin Arabs of the Bayuda Steppe (northeast Sudan) are written of as dipping bread in "duqqah," defined as "einem Gemisch von grobem Salz, Ḥelbeh, den Samen von Trigonella Foenum greacum, Linn. und Śiṭêṭah": that is, "a mixture of coarse salt, حلبة (fenugreek seeds), and شطة (hot chili pepper)". Very similarly, an 1863 account of the region surrounding سنار (Sannār) in Sudan gives the ingredients as "Kümmel, Salz und rothem Pfeffe" (caraway, salt, and red pepper).
Descriptions of duqqa in Saudi Arabia date back, as far as I can find, to the same period. Scholar and official to the Dutch colonial government Dr. C. Snouck Hurgronje wrote in 1886 that there were people in Makka (مكَّة) "who eat bread and salt, or bread and 'powder,' for breakfast every day" ("welche jeden Tag Brod und Salz, oder Brod und 'Pulver' (دُقَّة) zum Frühstück essen"). Here, too, a simple duqqa of pepper and salt was sometimes eaten, but other spices were usually added.
Madina (مَدِينَة) had its own style of duqqa, which was frequently eaten by the inhabitants of Makka as well:
Ein besonders geschätztes duqqah wird von den Mekkanern aus Medinah mitgebracht, wenn sie zum Grabe Muhammeds gepilgert sind; dasselbe ist grün und hat einen pikanten Geschmack. Die Pilger aus Mekkah gehen gewöhnlich im Rèĝèb auf die Reise und bringen für alle ihre Freunde einige Datteln, etwas medinensisches duqqah und vielfach auch ein paar aus Palmenblättern gefiochtene Fächer heim. (ibid.)
A highly appreciated duqqa is brought by the Meccans from Medina, when they have performed a pilgrimage to the grave of Muhammad. It is a green powder and has a spicy taste. The pilgrims from Mecca usually go out there in the month of Ragab and they bring back some dates, Medinan duqqa and often also a few baskets woven of palm leaves for all their friends. (trans. Jan Just Witkam)
We might wish that Hurgronje had asked somebody what this green duqqa contained. The green color may have been due to wild marjoram, or perhaps to ground pistachios.
As it is, however, no explicit mention has yet been made of nuts as an ingredient in duqqa! They would not become part of the text trail until 1968, when Cairo-born food writer Claudia Roden's Book of Middle Eastern Food was published. The recipe, which is considered the first true recipe for duqqa in English, calls for sesame, coriander, hazelnuts, cumin, salt and pepper.*** Ingredient lists for duqqa in cookbooks from the 70s and 80s follow Roden's lead, including chickpeas, hazelnuts, or almonds along with the spices and sesame seeds.
In Palestine
Today, Palestinian dugga primarily comprises wheat berries, toasted and coarsely ground, with anywhere from an eighth to half the quantity of dried sumac berries as wheat, and smaller quantities of various other spices. Lentils or chickpeas may also be included, similarly after drying, toasting, and grinding.
Wheat has a very ancient history in Palestine, and its trade has been a major feature of Palestine's economy into the modern era. In 1662, Thomas Fuller, arguing against the idea that the Palestine of Biblical times had been "barren[]" of wheat, noted that the wheat crop in the 17th century was "plentifull": "Yea our modern Merchants will tell you [...] that even at this day they carry much Wheat out of Palestine into Italy it self."
In Palestine, the berries and seeds used to make dugga would traditionally be roasted at home before being sent off to be ground at the village's stone mill. Today, dugga is more commonly made with household coffee mills, an inescapable feature of Gazan kitchens. As in Egypt, then, dugga is composed of locally plentiful ingredients, and accessible to the common people. These characteristics make it a valuable food in times of scarcity.
Dugga in the First Intifada
F. Robert Hunter, in The Palestinian Uprising: A War by Other Means, writes that Gazans survived curfews and other aspects of Israeli suppression during the First Intifada in part by relying on bread and dugga.
The First Intifāḍa ("اِنْتِفَاضَة"; "shaking off," or "uprising") began in Gaza on December 9, 1987. An Israeli truck driver collided with civilian vehicles, killing four Palestinians and injuring seven; protests and demonstrations arose in the جباليا ("Jabalia") refugee camp where this had occurred, and the Israeli military responded to them with lethal force.
A strategy of "steadfastness" or "staying put" ("صُمُود"; "ṣumūd") on Palestinian land throughout Israeli attempts at displacement, which had been interspersed with sporadic efforts at violent resistance, became a more concerted struggle to end Israeli occupation of the West Bank and Gaza. Strategies of resistance to occupation employed during the intifada were multi-pronged: protests, strikes, and boycotts of Israeli companies and goods (largely organized by women) were combined with rock-throwing, blockading of roads, tire-burning, Molotov cocktails, and gasoline bombs.
The Israeli military attempted to suppress the uprising with gunpower, beatings, mass arrests, curfews, and collective punishment in the form of shutting down universities and cutting off water, electricity, and telephone lines without warning: often as a retaliatory measure "whenever the UNL declared a full strike" (Hunter, p. 143).
The curfews, which were supposedly imposed in order to restrict the movement of freedom fighters, of course restricted everyone's movement: and these restrictions on activities such as grocery shopping, combined with sporadic access to the water and electricity needed for cooking, negatively impacted Palestinians' access to food.
In the West Bank, Palestinians responded by planting food gardens in their yards or on communal plots; but things were more difficult in Gaza. Gardening in private yards could not be relied on as a strategy of resistance. Space was scarcer, a third of the population lived in refugee camps, and water facilities were more likely to be contaminated or destroyed, leaving very little water for agriculture.
Communal strategies were employed to meet food scarcity: farmers donated produce to those unable to leave their houses due to curfews (Hunter, p. 145), and Palestinian determination to boycott Israeli goods and create Palestinian markets for their own output ensured that some fruits and vegetables could be purchased in local markets. Still, F. Robert Hunter notes, "Gazans had to co-operate more and make do with less than West Bank Palestinians" (ibid.)
This is the situation that caused a reliance on dugga during the years of the First Intifada. Because it was cheap and nonperishable, it could be depended on to furnish "a basic meal for the day." In interviews with Palestinians conducted during these years, Hunter noted that they referred to the bread-and-dugga meal as "eating dust," responding to the situation with "wry humour" (ibid).
[ID: An extreme close-up of dugga on a piece of flatbread. End ID]
In the present
A similar situation existed in Gaza very recently. مقداد جميل المقداد (Muqdad Jamil al-Muqdad) recounts on the تقارب ("Taqarab"; "convergence" or "drawing close") podcast the state of nutrition in the months after Israel broke the latest ceasefire, and specifically notes a reliance on dugga as a shelf-stable food:
الحليب [...] هذه أيضًا صعب أن تتخزّن لانه لا يوجد ثلاجات. الاشياء النواشف مثل الزعتر، الزيت، الدُّقة، الرز، الطحين. هذه الخيارات التي تكون موجودة عندك، فانت يكون مطلوب منك أن تعيش نمط حياة مرتبط بهذه الخيارات؛ يعني اذا انا بدي أفطر اليوم فلديّ خيارات محددة، فآكل نوع من الجبنة المتوفرة عندي، والتي هي قليلة جدًا وهي جبنة مصنَّعه، وليست جبنة صحيّه أصلا. أو أنني آكل زعتر أو زيت أو دُقَّة غزّاويّة مثلا مثلا هذا اذا كنت أريد تناول الإفطار. [...] فنمط الطعام كثير سيء للأسف [...].
Milk [is] difficult to store because there are no refrigerators. Dry things like thyme, oil, dugga, rice, and flour. These are the options that you have, and you are required to live a lifestyle that's tied to these options. So if I want to have breakfast today, I have specific options. I can eat the available cheese, which is very limited in supply and is processed cheese, not healthy cheese at all. Or I can eat thyme, oil, or Gazan dugga, for example, if I want to have breakfast. [...] Our style of eating is unfortunately very bad [...].. (01:31:40)
Today, even dugga is almost impossible to come by. Israel has turned an area with a surplus of wheat into one with a fatal scarcity. Gazans line up in hopes of obtaining flour from the wildly insufficient quantities of aid that Israel sporadically admits, only to be shot and killed en masse by Israeli soldiers. But starvation is such a real and present threat that aid points are sought out even though Palestinians know of this mass killing strategy.
[ID: A plate of wilted greens with a crusty bread loaf in the background. End ID]
χόρτα βραστά / Khorta vrasta (Greek wild greens)
"Χόρτα" ("chórta"*) is a Greek word meaning "edible greens," wild or cultivated. It is derived from the Ancient Greek "χόρτος," (chórtos), meaning "enclosure," or "pasture, animal fodder, grass." The Ancient Greek itself is ultimately from the Proto-Indo-European "ǵʰortós," or "enclosure," a suffixed form of "ǵʰort-", "to grasp, to enclose" (reconstructed). Another probable reflex (linguistic descendant) of "ǵʰortós" is the Old English "geard," which yielded the modern English "yard." Therefore "χόρτα" and "yard" are cognates.
"Χόρτα," or "χόρτα βραστά" ("chórta vrastá"; "boiled greens"), is also the name of a dish made by parboiling wild greens in salted water, then drizzling them with olive oil and lemon juice. The result is a tender, savory bite with the fruity and peppery notes of good olive oil, and the fresh tartness of lemon. Khorta may be eaten hot or cold, either as a side dish alongside beans and zucchini, or atop stale bread as a main dish.
Like other blends of wild greens, khorta is highly local and seasonal, its composition changing along with what is available. Typically added are various long-stemmed wild greens native to the Greek islands: amaranth, borage, chicory, dandelion, wild fennel, mallow, sorrel, nettles, and sow-thistles, to name a few. The plants are harvested low on the stem with a knife, the leaves not pulled off until the cook is ready to prepare them to preserve freshness. Ideally, the leaves used will be young, and thus small enough that they do not need to be chopped.
Come spring, blends of wild-foraged plants (or edible garden weeds!) start appearing in grocery stores for those unable to seek out wild plants themselves. As in most places with a foraging food culture, however, gathering wild plants is associated with the preservation of local knowledge, the expertise of the elderly, and the ability to survive in lean times. For some people today, khorta vrasta is particularly associated with the Second World War, when the Axis occupation of Greece and their requisition of goods including crops devastated the local economy and disrupted the food supply chain.
With the dispersal of populations of people and plants, foraging can become a kind of local knowledge that transcends locality. Food writer Aglaia Kremezi writes that a friend once spotted "Greek-Americans gather[ing] greens on a sidewalk in New Jersey." While some of the plants commonly used in khorta, such as αγκιναράκια ("ankinarákia"; Centaurea raphanina ssp. raphanina), only grow wild in Greece, many others have been naturalized in temperate regions all over the globe. Check out the list in the recipe below: there's a chance you have some of them growing near you!
*Transliteration scheme is ELOT 743, 2nd ed., Type 1.
[ID: A baguette cut open lengthwise and filled with cucumber, cilantro, carrots, and seitan. End ID]
Bánh mì thịt nướng sả chay (Vietnamese sandwich with lemongrass seitan)
Strictly speaking, "bánh mì," literally meaning "wheat-based loaf," is a type of bread that can be dressed in many different ways: with margarine and sugar, with jam, with eggs, or with various sandwich fillings. The addition of ingredients such as butter, cold cuts or grilled meat, fresh vegetables, pickles, and savory sauce to one of these loaves creates a "bánh mì Sài Gòn" ("Saigon banh mi"), often simply called "bahn mi" in English.
Bánh mì sandwiches may also be referred to more specifically by the type of filling they contain, as with bánh mì thịt (bánh mì with meat), bánh mì thịt nướng (with grilled meat), bánh mì thịt nguội (with cold meat), bánh mì chay (with vegetables), and so on. These sandwiches are eaten as breakfast and snack foods in Vietnam, and in places with large Vietnamese diasporic populations.
This recipe is for a vegetarian (chay) bánh mì sandwich. Seitan is fried in an aromatic sauce made with shallot, lemongrass, galangal, and turmeric root for a delicate, complex, earthy flavor. A tart, creamy mayonnaise-based spread, hot chili peppers, fresh vegetables, and soy sauce complete the five-way balance between sweet, spicy, sour, bitter, and salty.
From France to Saigon
Like the bánh mì rolls themselves, some of the typical fillings in the bánh mì Sài Gòn were introduced to southern Vietnam by French colonizers in the 1860s, and were then ‘Vietnamized’ with local ingredients and techniques.
Take pâté for example. Food scholar Vu Hong Lien writes that it started as a novelty food in Vietnam: it was sold in restaurants owned by French colonists, but was too expense for most Vietnamese people to afford. Vietnamese experimentation and innovation created the ba tê that "soon became daily fare" in the south: in essence, it was pâté modified according to Vietnamese taste. While French pâté had a base of ground liver, ba tê generally used pork and pork fat; ba tê added garlic, fish sauce (nước mắm), and sometimes Chinese five-spice (ngũ vị hương) to the black pepper, nutmeg, and herbs typically used in pâté; ba tê was usually steamed, where pâté was baked.
Similar transformations occured with French sausage ("saucisson") and ham ("jambon"; Vietnamese "giấm bỗng"). The Vietnamese already had experience in sausage-making as a result of Chinese culinary influence. Ham, however, "was not an easy food to re-create locally, because the meat had first to be cured," which was not possible in Vietnam's climate (Lien). Vietnamese cooks instead created thịt nguội (cold meat) by marinating, pan-roasting, and thinly slicing pork shoulder or belly. The resulting cold cut "took off spectacularly and became the dominant feature of all Vietnamese sandwiches" (ibid.).
By the early 20th century, stalls in Hồ Chí Minh city were cutting French-style baguettes into smaller lengths, splitting them open, and filling them with pâté, cucumber, đồ chua (pickled daikon and carrot), and thịt nguội or saucisson, to form a convenient sandwich called "bánh mì Sài Gòn" (after its birthplace, then Saigon). "Posher" versions of the sandwich—made on specially baked oval rolls, then filled with sốt bơ trứng, roast chicken or giấm bỗng, lettuce, tomato, and scallion—were being sold in shops by the 1950s. Bánh mì stalls, in order to compete with the shop sandwiches, added mayonnaise and ba tê to their offerings, as well as cilantro (coriander), red chili, and light soy sauce (Lien).
Other available fillings included meatballs or tinned sardines in tomato sauce; Laughing Cow spreadable cheese; and, as of 1954, cheddar cheese. The cheddar bánh mì, or bánh mì phô mai (from the French "fromage," meaning "cheese"), was inexpensive, but took a while to catch on.
The story of this cheddar cheese has to do with the partiton of Vietnam. The United States had been providing funding and personnel for French military ambitions in "Indochina" in fear of the communist threat represented by the Việt Minh since 1950, but it was not enough. By 1954, France, depleted of military personnel and money, could not continue surpressing the Việt Minh's struggle for independence. The Geneva Conference dealt with the division of the French empire and the transfer of power in the wake of the First Indochina War: one of the consequences was that Vietnam was divided into northern and southern nations, with the socialist Việt Nam Dân chủ Cộng hòa (Democratic Republic of Vietnam) to the north, and the Western Bloc-aligned Việt Nam Cộng hòa to the south.
Several waves of migration then occurred, as northerners including Catholics and counter-revolutionaries, fearing religious persecution or reprisal from the DRV's government, moved south, and thousands of Vietnamese in the south, including Việt Minh guerrilla fighters, moved north. The northerners who had moved south received French food aid in the form of powdered milk, tinned meat—and cheddar cheese. The cheese, however, was unfamiliar and undesirable, and many refugees ended in selling it cheaply, or giving it away. Enterprising bánh mì stall owners began incorporating the cheese into their offerings.
A New Cuisine in New Orleans
U.S. military intervention in Vietnam continued during the Second Indochina War (also known as the Vietnam War). After U.S. withdrawal in 1973, and the North Vietnamese capture of Saigon in 1975, hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese emigrated to places including the United States, Canada, Australia, and France. Bánh mì were popular amongst Vietnamese populations almost everywhere they went, due to the simplicity of their preparation and the broad availability of their ingredients.
The U.S, under Presidents Ford and Carter, moved over a hundred thousand Vietnamese refugees into temporary camps, from which some thousands settled, initially or secondarily, in cities that became Vietnamese "ethnic centers." New Orleans was particularly attractive to many refugees, due to its familiar climate, proximity to wetlands, and "French cultural history" (McCulla).
Theresa McCulla argues that Vietnamese refugees "entered New Orleans's cultural world through food." But unlike the city's Sicilian population, who "controlled the public narrative of their ethnic revival project," Vietnamese immigrants did not play an active role in shaping public perception of themselves, their culture, or their cuisine in the years immediately following 1975. Instead, they were portrayed by newspapers as exotic and "profoundly foreign," isolated in surburban areas whose restaurants, vegetable gardens, and food markets could be penetrated by sufficiently adventurous culinary explorers. This foreign-but-approachable characterization bolstered the perception of New Orleans as a "creolizing" society, a sort of "gumbo pot" in which various populations could assimilate while remaining "authentic."
Many elements of the bánh mì Sài Gòn were familiar to New Orlesians already, which aided in the culinary rapprochement. New Orleans was no stranger to the French baguette (see Mizell-Nelson), pâté, or saucisson. Nor was the concept of a meat or seafood sandwich on French bread novel: the "poor boy" sandwich had existed and been so called since at least 1931 (Mizell-Nelson, p. 52); before that, The Picayune’s Creole Cook Book had described an oyster loaf in 1901; and, still earlier, an oyster loaf was described in the 1824 cookbook The Virginia Housewife.
Using seeds brought from Vietnam, or cuttings obtained from family and friends, Vietnamese immigrants created market gardens that grew almost everything essential to a traditional Vietnamese diet: whatever the gardeners did not use was sold to other individuals, to grocery stores, or to restaurants. The lemongrass (sả), galangal (riềng), turmeric (nghệ), and daikon (củ cải) necessary for bánh mì were recorded in Vietnamese market gardens as of the 1990s. Though nobody can agree on who was the first to sell them, bánh mì—marketed as "Vietnamese po' boys"—were amongst the offerings in Vietnamese-owned restaurants in the suburbs of New Orleans by the 1980s. The city's reception of the sandwich was enthusiastic: travel writers were describing the sales pitches of competing "Vietnamese 'po boy'" vendors in their exotifying, ethnographic-style accounts of Vietnamese produce markets before the millennium had turned.
McCulla points out, however, that the New Orleans creolization formula of (conditional) acceptance upon "bringing delicious food to the table" did not work for everyone. Even as Vietnamese arrivals offered "a convenient opportunity for many to proclaim American multiculturalism in action," the political and culinary-cultural situation of poor Black New Orleasians was very different. They faced housing discrimination, or were priced out of buildings they had long lived in (thanks to federal housing assistance, Vietnamese immigrants could pay higher rents), even as their cuisine was more likely to be portrayed as "threatening or burdensome" than as "intriguing." I would add a third pole to the reception of African or Black American influence on "New Orleans" or "Creole" cuisine: namely, that of rewriting and erasure. Anything too central to New Orleans culinary culture to be ignored or dismissed has commonly been attributed to French influence.
The Bánh Mì of the Present
Today, bánh mì stalls are a common sight throughout Vietnam, even in the north of the country. Indoor bánh mì shops, more expensive and seemingly modern than the stalls, still offer young and upwardly-mobile Vietnamese something like a status symbol.
Elsewhere, the popularity, availability, and diversity of bánh mì sandwiches have continued to increase into the 21st century. By 2009, Robert Peyton could write that bánh mì (or "Vietnamese hoagies," or "Saigon subs") had been "making something of a splash" nationwide—some made with "unorthodox" ingredients such as brisket and kielbasa. In New Orleans, one fusion restaurant combines fried gulf shrimp and bò kho (Vietnamese beef stew) with cilantro, cucumber, and đồ chua.
These recipes understand "bánh mì" less as a set of pre-determined ingredients, and more as an ethos. The crispy roll is non-negotiable: but the ingredients that fulfill the roles of moist spread, savory filling, fresh vegetables, spicy chilies, funky pickles, and salty sauce can be swapped out at will, as long as balance is maintained. This raises interesting questions about the multiplex genealogies of various regional cuisines, and when a particular dish is or is not still "itself." What is certain is that the variability of the bánh mì has been a core aspect of its popularity in various geographic settings and economic conditions, and that it is likely to continue so.
Recipe under the cut!
Patreon | Paypal | Venmo
This sandwich can be made with any meat substitute you like, including tofu, storebought seitan, and Vietnamese soy-based meat replacements. I made seitan using the recipe below. If you're using a different meat substitute, skip to the ingredients for the marinade.
Ingredients:
For the seitan:
3/4 cup (90g) vital wheat gluten
2 Tbsp chickpea flour (besan)
2 Tbsp nutritional yeast
1 tsp Vietnamese vegetarian pork broth concentrate (gia vị heo súp ăn liền), or vegetarian chicken bouillon
1 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp onion powder
2 tsp MSG (optional)
3/4 cup (177mL) water
Vietnamese vegetarian broth concentrates can be found in an Asian grocery store from brands such as Por Kwan and Penta. You can also use anything savory, such as a bouillon cube, mushroom powder, etc.
For the seitan marinade:
1 recipe (250g) seitan, or Vietnamese vegetarian ("chay") pork
1 1/2-inch chunk (15g) fresh galangal root
1 stalk fresh lemongrass
2 slices (3g) fresh turmeric root
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 shallot, minced
1 tsp Vietnamese vegetarian seasoning powder (bột nem chay)
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
1/2 tsp granulated sugar
1/4 tsp Chinese five-spice (bột ngũ vị hương)
1/4 tsp annatto powder (bột điều) (optional)
1 Tbsp vegetarian fish sauce
3 Tbsp vegetable oil, to fry
1 tsp tapioca starch, mixed into 2 Tbsp cool water
Toasted sesame oil, to drizzle
To construct the sandwich:
4 bánh mì rolls
Sốt bơ trứng, margarine, or mayonnaise
Đồ chua
Sliced cucumber
Red bird's-eye chilies (ớt hiểm), thinly sliced; or red Fresno, for less heat
Cilantro leaves, stems removed
Shallots, sliced and fried until crispy (optional)
Maggi sauce, or Vietnamese soy sauce
Instructions:
For the seitan:
1. Mix all ingredients and knead gently for about 3 minutes.
2. Tear apart into bite-sized pieces. Place on a piece of parchment paper or an oiled, metal steamer tray and steam for 15 minutes, until firm and only slightly tacky to the touch.
If you don't have a steamer, you can use a wok: place a small bowl upside-down in the center, put a plate of seitan pieces on top, then add about a cup of water into the bottom of the wok. Bring to a simmer, then cover with a convex lid, or a flat lid with a kitchen towel wrapped around it (to prevent water from falling back onto the seitan).
For the marinade:
1. Remove any tough outer layers from the lemongrass. Cut off the upper green portion and reserve for boiling in soups or stocks. Thinly slice and then finely mince the tender yellow portion.
2. Scrub the outer skin of the turmeric and galangal and mince. Crush lemongrass, turmeric, galangal, garlic, and shalott in a mortar and pestle, or with the flat of a knife, into a rough paste.
3. Combine aromatic paste, salt, and spices in a large bowl. Add steamed seitan (or other uncooked meat substitute) and stir to coat.
4. Heat vegetable oil on medium in a large pan or wok. Add seitan and fry, stirring occasionally, until browned and fragrant.
5. Add tapioca slurry and cook until slurry is translucent and seitan is well-coated with sauce. Remove from heat and drizzle with sesame oil.
To construct the sandwich:
1. Cut open bánh mì and spread with sốt bơ trứng.
2. Add seitan, cucumber, cilantro, chilies, and đồ chua. Top with fried shallots and a thin drizzle of Maggi sauce or soy sauce.
Bibliography
Theresa McCulla. "Fava Beans and Bánh Mì: Ethnic Revival and the New Orleans Gumbo." Quaderni storici 51.151 (April 2016), pp. 71-102.
Vu Hong Lien. Rice and Baguette: A History of Food in Vietnam (London: Reaktion Books, 2016).
Michael Mizell-Nelson, "French Bread." In New Orleans Cuisine: Fourteen Signature Dishes and Their Histories, ed. Susan Tucker. Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 2009. pp. 38-53.
[ID: Three oval-shaped loaves of bread on a blue kitchen towel. End ID]
Bánh mì (Vietnamese bread loaves)
In English, "banh mi" usually refers to a type of sandwich eaten on a Vietnamese loaf. The bread's thin, crackly crust and soft, fluffy interior make it a perfect vehicle for spreads, jam, and sandwich fillings including meat, seafood, and vegetables.
Etymology
In Vietnamese, however, "bánh mì" literally means "flour-based bread." "Bánh," which had previously referred to a range of rice-based dumplings, pastries, and noodles, came with the arrival of French colonists to include bread as well. This semantic broadening was due to the fact that bread loaves, like rice bánh, come in self-contained, specific shapes.
The bread was originally called "bánh tây," "tây" being a common descriptor for Western European or French 'versions' of familiar Vietnamese foods: celery, for example, is "cần tây," or "Western water parsnip"; asparagus is "măng tây," or "Western bamboo shoot." Over time, however, the term "bánh mì" won out, beginning in the south and spreading to the north. ("Mì," abbreviated from "lúa mì," simply means "wheat.")
A folk etymology holds that "bánh mì" is a corruption from "pain de mie," a sandwich loaf with a soft crust and a light crumb. While it is possible that the application of the preexisting term "bánh" to baguettes was influenced by phonetic similarity to the French "pain," this derivation seems unlikely: pain de mie is a style of bread very different from a baguette. This etymology also fails to explain the origin of "bánh tây."
History
French military intervention and colonial presence in Vietnam began in 1859, with a naval bombardment of coastal cities intended to force the country to open its trading ports to French ships. By 1867, south Vietnam was a French territory; by 1884, the French had conquered all of Vietnam. Earlier in the 19th century, other southest Asian nations had been colonized by England and the Netherlands, and were the sites of widespread extraction of labour and resources. France, by enforcing unequal trade with Vietnam, extracting goods including rice, coal, and rubber, and forcing Vietnamese people to work on rice and rubber plantations and in mines, sought to compete with other European powers in wealth and military power.
French food was introduced almost immediately after the colonization of the south: French bread is referenced in Vietnamese writing as early as 1861. According to food scholar Vu Hong Lien, the Vietnamese reaction to the food brought by early colonists was unprecedented.* During the Chinese rule (Bắc thuộc) of Vietnam from 257 BCE to 938 CE, Chinese food had been introduced, but it had been perceived as a separate culinary tradition. French dishes, on the other hand, were "‘Vietnamized’ [...] with local ingredients":
Ragout, stuffed tomatoes, pâté, mayonnaise and so on were incorporated into everyday Vietnamese food, and each acquired its own local pronunciation and usage.
Dairy products, which had not formerly been part of the Vietnamese diet, were broadly adopted, beginning in the south, and then spreading to the rest of Vietnam alongside French conquest. Asparagus and mayonnaise were also popular. The baguette, however, is the food that Lien describes as "the most cherished legacy of the French in Vietnamese cuisine." Southerners ate it for breakfast with a thin layer of margarine or butter and a bit of sugar: those who could afford it would spread a baguette with jam instead.
Vietnam's climate, warmer and more humid than that of France, impacted the popularity of the baguette, even as it necessitated a few changes. Slightly thicker French breads, such as the flûte, were also available in Vietnam in the late 19th century: but they lost their crust and became chewy more quickly than baguettes did, and did not take off the same way. Even so, bakeries made baguettes lighter and airier in Vietnam than in France, and baked them several times per day, rather than once, in an effort always to offer a fresh product.
In the decade immediately following French colonization of southern Vietnam, baguettes were especially popular in Thành phố Hồ Chí Minh (Ho Chi Minh City). This was where the baguette was shortened into the "bánh mì Sài Gòn," Vietnamese-style sandwich loaf we are familiar with today.
*Vu Hong Lien. Rice and Baguette: A History of Food in Vietnam (London: Reaktion Books, 2016).
Recipe under the cut!
Patreon | Paypal | Venmo
Makes 4 loaves.
Ingredients:
3 cups (360g) bread flour
2 tsp (6g) active dry yeast
3/4 tsp (4.5g) table salt
1 scant cup (230mL) lukewarm water
2 Tbsp (25g) vegetable oil
1 1/2 tsp (6.3g) sugar
1 tsp ascorbic acid (vitamin C) (optional)
Instructions:
1. Mix all dry ingredients together in a large bowl, or the bowl of a stand mixer. Add oil and water and stir to form a rough ball of dough.
2. Knead with oiled hands for 10 minutes, or use a stand mixer on speed 4 for 5 minutes, until dough is smooth and elastic. Oil the bowl and hook of the stand mixer to keep the dough from sticking.
3. Form dough into a ball and set, seam-side-down, in a clean, oiled bowl. Pat some oil onto the surface. Cover and let rest until roughly doubled in size, 1-2 hours.
4. Completely deflate the dough and form it into a ball again. Place back into the bowl, seam-side-down, and allow to rise for another 30 minutes.
5. Divide dough into 4 even pieces. Form each piece into a ball by folding the edges in towards the center, then rolling on your work surface. Cover with oiled plastic wrap and allow to rest for 15 minutes.
6. Beginning with the ball you formed first: roll out each ball of dough into a rectangle about 8" (20cm) long. Roll up into a cylinder and pinch along the seam to seal. Roll along your work surface, arching your hands to create a shape that is thicker in the center and tapers towards the edges.
7. Place on a baguette tray, or a flat baking tray, seam-side-down, and cover with oiled plastic wrap. Allow to rise for another 45 minutes.
8. Towards the end of the rising time, place racks in the upper-middle and the bottom of the oven, and preheat to 475 °F (250 °C).
9. Fill a cast-iron pan or roast tin with about a cup of water and place on the bottom rack of the oven to create steam. Slash the risen loaves lengthwise down the center with a lame or very sharp, floured paring knife, making a gash about 1/2 inch (1 cm) deep. Spray loaves with water.
10. Place the tray with the loaves on the upper rack and bake for 18-20 minutes, until tops are lightly golden brown.
11. Remove onto a wire rack and allow to cool before slicing.
[ID: Blue bowl full of a pale yellow spread. End ID]
Sốt bơ trứng (Vietnamese spread)
Sốt bơ trứng, or sốt dầu trứng, is a mayonnaise-like spread that is creamy, savory, tangy, and slightly sweet. A simple preparation contains only egg yolks, oil, and salt; sometimes, garlic powder, sugar, and lime juice are added. The spread is best known as a condiment for bánh mì sandwiches, but is also frequently used as a dipping sauce for French fries.
"Sốt bơ trứng" means something like "egg butter sauce," while "sốt dầu trứng" might translate to "egg and oil sauce." "Trứng" is a word of Vietic origin meaning "egg"; "dầu" means oil, and may be from proto-Vietic, or from the Middle Chinese "油" (Baxter transliteration: "yuw"). In the latter case, it was probably borrowed during the 1,100 years that Vietnam spent under Chinese rule (Bắc thuộc), from 257 BCE to 938 CE.
The remainder of the terms are borrowings from French. "Sốt," or "xốt," derives from the French "sauce"; "bơ" comes from "beurre," meaning "butter." The etymology of these words identifies sốt bơ trứng as an element of the French culinary legacy in Vietnam.
In the 1850s, France launched a series of naval attacks against Nguyễn-dynasty Vietnam, with the goal of forcing it to abandon its isolationist policy and grant France trading rights. Vietnam was conquered and assimilated into "French Indochina" by 1887. Before this, the 19th century had seen fighting between European nations, including France, Britain, and the Netherlands, for control of Southeast Asia: some nations, such as Java, had been the site of direct warfare between European powers, and had traded hands several times. France colonised Vietnam to compete with British presence in the region, and to compete economically with Britain on the world stage. It enriched itself by extracting resources including rice, coal, and rubber, and through the use of forced labor on rice and rubber plantations and in mines. Vietnam would not gain its independence until 1954.
The Vietnamese took immediately and enthusiastically to many of the foods brought over by early French colonists, including cornichons (small pickled cucumbers), pâté, wheat bread, and butter.* French restaurants, run by French chefs, served regional cuisine: but elsewhere, French foods and ingredients were interpreted in a distinctly Vietnamese way.
Vu Hong Lien writes that, by the 1950s, sốt bơ trứng was a definitive element in restaurant-style bánh mì sandwiches. While the "stall" type of bánh mì originally lacked any sauce, the more expensive "posh" bánh mì contained "mayonnaise – Vietnam-style, slightly eggy and without vinegar or anything else sour, but with pepper and garlic." This condiment "was what made this type of bánh mì popular, since it moistened the bread considerably." This style of bánh mì would come to influence the "stall" sandwiches, which came to incorporate ba-tê (Vietnamese liver pâté), butter, and mayonnaise, in imitation of the "posh" ones.
*Vu Hong Lien. Rice and Baguette: A History of Food in Vietnam (London: Reaktion Books, 2016).
Recipe under the cut!
Patreon | Paypal | Venmo
Ingredients:
3/4 cup (135g) vegan margarine spread, softened
2 tsp (8g) sugar
1 tsp garlic powder
2 Tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp black salt (for eggy taste): or use table salt
Squeeze of lime juice (optional)
Instructions:
1. Whisk all ingredients together in a bowl. Taste and adjust salt and lime juice.
[ID: Pickled carrot and daikon in a blue bowl. End ID]
Đồ chua (Vietnamese pickle)
"Đồ chua" is from Vietnamese "đồ," meaning "things" or "stuff," and "chua," meaning "sour." Despite the broad name, đồ chua inevitably refers to a mixture of carrot and daikon. The vegetables are peeled, julienned, and then pickled in a vinegar solution. The result is a sweet, crunchy pickle that's often eaten on bánh mì, on salads, with rice, in dipping sauce, or as a side with grilled meats.
This mixed pickle may also, with more specificity, be referred to as "củ cải cà rốt chua." "Củ cải" is a native Vietic word meaning "radish" (from "củ," "tuber," and "cải," "cruciferous vegetable"). The clue to the origin of carrots in Vietnamese cuisine is in the term itself: "cà rốt" is a borrowing from the French "carotte."
Immediately following their colonization of south Vietnam in 1859, the French began to import seeds and seedlings to be grown in its Central Highlands region. By the end of the 19th century, carrots were thoroughly integrated into Vietnamese cuisine. Today, they are primarily grown in the Hai Duong and Bac Ninh provinces of northern Vietnam; and in the Lâm Đồng province of the Central Highlands.
*Vu Hong Lien. Rice and Baguette: A History of Food in Vietnam (London: Reaktion Books, 2016).
Japanese daikon ("true daikon") may be substituted for the Vietnamese variety.
1. Peel and thinly julienne carrot and daikon using a sharp knife or a mandolin.
2. Add 1 Tbsp salt to carrot and daikon and stir to combine. Let sit for 15-20 minutes to allow water to be drawn out.
3. Rinse vegetable mixture to remove excess salt, then squeeze firmly to remove water. Pack into a glass jar as tightly as possible.
4. Simmer water, sugar, vinegar, and 1 tsp salt for a minute until sugar is dissolved. Pour into the jar until vegetables are covered. If you need more liquid, add salt water that tastes about as salty as the sea (3% salinity by weight).
5. Close the jar and allow to sit on the counter until it is room temperature. Refrigerate for at least several hours before serving; but preferably 2-3 days.
Hatmi çiçeği dolması is a Turkish dish made from ağaçhatmi (Hibiscus syriacus) flowers stuffed with rice. The rice is flavored with cumin, pepper, parsley, mint, and sometimes dill or black raisins.
Hibiscus syriacus—known in English as rose mallow, common hibiscus, or Syrian ketmia—is a flowering plant in the mallow family (Malvaceae). The Turkish is from "ağaç," or "tree," and "hatmi": from the Arabic "خِطْمِيّ" ("khiṭmiyy"), which refers to any marsh mallow, rose mallow, or hollyhock. Rose mallow is native to southern China and Taiwan, and has been introduced in large parts of Europe and the North America.
Rice-stuffed flower dishes are common throughout western Asia and the Mediterranean. Zucchini flowers are prepared this way in Greece, as Λουλουδάκια γεμιστά ("louloudákia gemistá"; "little stuffed flowers"); they are also a delicacy in the Aegean region of Turkey. A similar Italian dish is known as "fiori di zucca ripieni," or "stuffed zucchini flowers." In Cyprus, zucchini flowers ("athoi") are stuffed with a mixture of rice, tomato, and mint. In rural Palestine, a محشي ("mahshi"), or stuffed dish, is made from foraged عصا الراعي ("'aṣan al-rā'ī"), or "shepherd's staff," a flower known in English as wild Persian cyclamen (Cyclamen persicum).*
The natural tart, fruity sweetness of the hibiscus flower is enhanced by additions of lemon and pomegranate molases to the cooking water. The thin flower petals melt together with the aromatic, earthy rice stuffing to make each flower a tender, self-contained, well-balanced morsel.
*Yatir Sade, "Like an invisible fence: foraging of wild herbal food as a traditional ecological knowledge vs. nature protection law in Israel." Master's thesis. P. 36, FN 27. Attained through personal communication.
[ID: A close-up of one flower cut open to reveal the rice filling. End ID]
Recipe under the cut!
Patreon | Paypal | Venmo
Ingredients:
For the flowers:
About 20 hibiscus or other mallow flowers, such as hollyhock
150g (3/4 cup) short-grain white rice
345g (1 1/2 cup) water
1 yellow onion
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp black pepper
1/2 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp crushed red chili pepper (optional)
Small bunch fresh parsley
Small bunch spearmint
2 Tbsp black raisins (optional)
Salt, to taste
If you don't have mallow flowers, you can substitute any other large, edible flower, such as daylily or zucchini flowers.
In Turkey, they usually use a local short-grain variety called "baldo" when making dolma. Any short-grain white rice (such as Japanese "sushi" rice, or paella rice) will do.
To cook:
1/2 cup water
2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp pomegranate molasses (optional)
A few lemon slices
Instructions:
1. Wash flowers by submerging gently in a bowl of water. Snip the stem and stamen from each flower with a pair of kitchen scissors.
2. Heat olive oil in a large pot on medium and fry onion for 5-8 minutes until translucent. Add spices and raisins and stir to combine.
3. Add rice and salt and toast for about 2 minutes. Add water and bring to a boil, then cover and reduce heat to low. Simmer for 15 minutes, until water is absorbed and rice is cooked through.
4. Add chopped herbs and stir to wilt. Remove from heat. Taste and adjust salt and spices.
5. Place a spoonful of the rice mixture in each flower, then bend the petals down over it one after another and press gently to close. Place each flower face-down in a thick-bottomed pot.
6. Place lemon slices over the flowers. Mix oil, pomegranate molasses, and water and pour the mixture over the flowers.
7. Cook, covered, on low for 10-15 minutes, until flowers are wilted and a shade darker.
Ավելուկ ("aveluk") is one of the local Armenian names of a group of plants in the Rumex genus: curly dock (Rumex crispus), broad-leaved dock (R. obtusifolius), common sorrel (R. acetosa), and possibly patience dock (R. patientia).
Aveluk grows wild in humid areas of Armenia: on riverbanks, on the bases of mountains, on roadsides, and in meadows. It is foraged extensively during the spring, and eaten in large quantities throughout the year by ethnic Armenians, Greek Armenians, and Yazidi Armenians. Amongst Christians, it is especially popular during Lent ("Մեծ Պահք," "mec pahk'," or "great fast")—a forty-day-period of reflection, repentence, and abstention from meat, dairy, and eggs.
To Greek Armenians—mostly descended from Pontic Greeks, who settled in the Pontus region beginning in the 7th century BCE—these docks are called "aveluk," or "avluk."
Yazidis—an ethnoreligious group native to Kurdistan, whose religion has its roots in pre-Zorastrian Iranian paganism—call these plants "tirşo" (from Kurdish "tirş," meaning "sour"). Many Yazidis migrated to current-day Armenia in the 19th and early 20th centuries, due to religious persecution during the reign of Ottoman ruler Abdul Hamid II: today, they form the largest minority group in Armenia.
Common dishes made from this group of plants include a salad of boiled aveluk, garlic, walnuts, and spices; a stir-fry of aveluk and eggs; and a soup (ճաշ, "chash") of aveluk and cracked wheat berries. According to a 2020 survey, this soup is especially common amongst ethnic Armenians and Yazidis, but is also eaten by Greek Armenians. All three of these groups preserve aveluk for eating during the winter by drying it. Yazidis also have a preservation method exclusive to themselves: namely, lacto-fermentation (pickling in brine).
Foraging culture
Braids of aveluk, usually gathered and preserved by women, are sometimes sold in marketplaces. The dock plants themselves, however, are considered as a kind of commons, which anybody can gather as needed. Foraging thus unites concepts of communal ownership, generational knowledge, connection to land, and food sovereignty.
Armenian interdisciplinary performance artist Arpi Balyan writes:
Encouraging the use of Aveluk for nutritional and medicinal purposes is a great example of how food can be sourced without harming nature while preserving local and folk culinary and healing practices, remaining independent from the capitalist market.
By cooking aveluk chash, Balyan hopes to "strengthen our connection with familiar and unfamiliar food and to exchange local knowledge on nourishment and well-being with other communities." Aveluk is a particularly useful starting point for a pedagogical project of this sort, as Rumex plants grow across broad swathes of the Americas, Europe, Asia, North and South Africa, and Australia. Thus—perhaps paradoxically—people in many different parts of the world can experience their own local landscapes in new ways, thanks to engagement with a particular regional cuisine.
Aveluk chash
The aveluk leaves used to make aveluk soup are woven into characteristic long braids, and then dried. The drying process allows the leaves to ferment slightly, changing their strongly bitter flavor into a mildly, pleasantly sour one, with notes of pepper and fruit.
To make the soup, the dried braid is cut apart and rehydrated with boiled water. Cracked wheat berries (ձավար; "javar"), lentils, and potato may be added, in which case they will be boiled alongside the rehydrated aveluk until tender. A temper of fried onion, garlic, black pepper, and paprika (կարմիր պղպեղ, literally "red pepper") is then added and mixed in with the boiled ingredients. (Sometimes a one-pot version is made, in which case the aromatics will be fried in a pot, and then the other ingredients and water will be added.) The finished soup is garnished with chopped or crushed walnuts, and minced garlic.
The result is a hearty bowl of earthy lentils and tart, tender sorrel, rounded off with the slight nutty bitterness of walnuts, and the sharp zestiness of raw garlic.
[ID: A close-up of a dried, coiled aveluk braid. End ID]
Recipe under the cut!
Patreon | Paypal | Venmo
Ingredients:
30g dried curly dock (Ավելուկ; "aveluk")
100g cracked wheat (ձավար; "javar")
50g brown lentils (optional)
1 yellow onion, diced
1 cubed potato (optional)
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 Tbsp flour (optional)
Black pepper, to taste
1 tsp paprika (կարմիր պղպեղ)
Salt, to taste
2 Tbsp margarine, to fry
Walnut and minced garlic, to garnish
To make the aveluk braid:
1. Wash and thoroughly dry the dock leaves. I found it helpful to sort them into three or four different groups based on their length: start from the longest leaves and work towards the shortest.
2. Gather six 'stems' together and bind them with a piece of kitchen twine. Separate them into three 'strands' of two leaves each, and start braiding in a normal three-strand braid (i.e. by alternately crossing the leftmost and rightmost leaf over into the middle.
Note: You'll want to keep the braid as tight as possible. 'Folding' each leaf over as you braid it, so that the opposite surface is on top each time, will help keep the braid neat.
3. As each 'strand' starts to get too short to continue braiding, bring in another leaf and hold it together with that strand; continue braiding until the braid itself holds the new leaf in place. This is the same technique used when French-braiding hair.
4. Repeat until your leaves are used up, and bind off the end.
5. Hang the braid up out of direct sunlight to dry. A windy area, such as by a window or in front of a fan, is best to dry the braid quickly and retain its color.
To make the soup:
1. Cut the aveluk braid into 2-inch long pieces with a pair of kitchen scissors.
2. Soak aveluk in just-boiled water, covered, for 15 minutes. Drain and discard the water. Thinly slice aveluk with a kitchen knife.
3. Add wheat, lentils, and potato to a large soup pot with enough water to cover. Simmer, covered, for about 10 minutes.
4. Add aveluk and simmer for another 10 minutes, until softened.
5. Meanwhile, ladle a bit of broth into a small bowl and add flour. Whisk to combine, then pour the mixture back into the soup pot.
6. Make the temper. Melt margarine on medium heat in a skillet. Add onion and fry until browned, about 8 minutes.
7. Add black pepper, paprika, and chopped garlic to the pan. Fry for about 30 seconds, until garlic no longer smells raw.
8. Pour temper into the soup and stir to combine. Simmer for 5 minutes to allow flavors to meld.
9. Top with chopped walnuts and minced garlic. Serve warm.
[ID: A plate of scrambled eggs with greens and tomatoes, and three tortillas. End ID]
Hierba mora con huevos guatemala (Guatemalan black nightshade with egg)
American black nightshade (Solanum americanum) is a widespread flowering plant in the genus Solanum that grows throughout Central America and Mexico, and into the northeastern United States.
The common name "black nightshade" is also used to refer to other plants within the Solanum nigrum complex: a group of closely related plant species including S. nigrum (black nightshade), S. americanum, and S. emulans (Eastern black nightshade). Other plants in the nightshade family Solanaceae include tomatoes, potatoes, and eggplants.
S. americanum is known as "mora" or "hierba mora" in El Salvador, where it is commonly foraged and eaten in soups and stir-fries. It has an earthly, mildly bitter flavor when cooked, like spinach. This incredibly simple recipe combines mora with onion, tomato, and egg to make a filling, flavorful, fresh-tasting stir-fry: perfect as a side dish with a roast, or as a main served with corn tortillas.
Recipe under the cut!
Patreon | Paypal | Venmo
Note that, despite the fact that black nightshade leaves are eaten all throughout the plant’s native range, they contain varying amounts of toxic compounds including solanine, and should be eaten in moderation. Avoid unripe (green) berries, and do not eat leaves raw. Some people advise pre-boiling the leaves and discarding the boiling water one or two times to remove toxins.
Ingredients:
1 large bunch (60g) mora; or substitute spinach
1/2 small white onion, minced
2 roma tomatoes, diced
1/4 carton (1/2 cup) justegg, or other vegan egg substitute
Salt, to taste
2 Tbsp olive oil, to fry
Instructions:
1. Heat olive oil in a pan on medium. Add onion and fry until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes.
2. Add tomato and salt and cook until softened, about 3 minutes.
3. Add leaves and stir to combine. Cook until wilted.
4. Add egg and agitate constantly to scramble, frequently scraping the bottom of the pan. Taste and adjust salt.
