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    raw blueberry pie with microwaveable filling and graham cracker crust

    This mostly-raw blueberry pie is a snap to make and very versatile--the filling microwaves in a few minutes, and you don't even have to bake the zippy gingered graham cracker crust--perfect for a hot Fourth of July and all summer long.

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Prunes and Lentils III: The Lentil Variations

Today’s (and last week’s, and the week before’s) topic is STILL the lentils-and-prunes challenge.

Before I get on a roll about lentils, I should mention that the first Prunes and Lentils post was my 101st post for this blog. I don’t know if we should celebrate, but why not. Woo-hoo! Good enough. Consider it celebrated.

It’s taken me a full two weeks to put up this post because this is where the rubber meets the road, or at least where the lentils meet the prunes. The moment of courage. And I don’t know whether it’s going to be great or whether people will go back to wondering why anyone ever let me in a kitchen. (That’s easy: because no one wanted to do the cooking  themselves.)

Ordinary brownish-green lentils are kind of a workhorse ingredient in European, Mediterranean and Near East cooking (also in Indian and African cooking, though red lentils are better known). Unlike restaurant chain buffalo wings, lentils are actually rich in protein and iron, and they aren’t surreptitiously pumped up with sugar, salt and fat to entice you to overeat. The Center for Science in the Public Interest is not likely to sue, because a bag of lentils doesn’t come with a deceptive toy to con the kids. (See? we can be topical and up on the hot news of the moment even while discussing an arcane Slow Food subject like lentils).

And lentils are CHEAP–the whole point of starting this Prunes and Lentils challenge in the first place. Somehow even the big supermarkets that push shoppers to the middle aisles to buy boxes instead of actual food always carry dried store-brand lentils over near the bags of rice and split peas and kidney beans and such. It’s one of the few middle-aisle purchases that are worth it.

I don’t know if lentils have even kept up with inflation over the past 20 or 30 years, because they’re always something like $1-$1.25 for a one-pound bag. Same as when I was a student on a $20 a week food budget. And a pound makes 5-10 meals, not just one serving.

Actually, the recent agroeconomics of growing lentils in the US makes unexpectedly interesting behind-the-scenes reading for policy wonks like me. Lots of people are now clamoring for the US to change the crop subsidy laws to encourage more nutritious crops than corn, soy and wheat. Lentils are still a minor crop, but apparently the USDA introduced new marketing loans and other incentives for lentils, peas and chickpeas under the Farm Act revisions of 2002 and 2008, and exports for pulses have risen by about 45% in the last few years to India, Spain, the Philippines, and other major lentil and chickpea consumers. The rest are bought for animal feed and international food aid programs, especially those for sub-Saharan African nations.

That’s because lentils still fly under the radar here. The average annual consumption in the US is still just about a pound per person. Up from 0.8 pounds in 2008, so a 20 percent jump, but still. One pound per person in a year. If my continuation of the Prunes and Lentils Challenge posts has no other benefit to humankind, I would hope that it inspires you to buy and cook–and eat–at least one additional pound per year in a creative and satisfying way. Pass it on–Two pounds per year? At a cost of $2-3 total? We can but dream…

Of course, now that bean cuisine has become a point of pride for Meatless Mondays and other trends in eating green (if not eating local), lentils don’t just come dry in bags or bulk anymore–not glamorous enough, perhaps? If you’re upscale, you can get them precooked in little cans at your Whole Foods or steamed in vacuum packs at your Trader Joe’s, but those chic packages are much, much more expensive per meal and don’t taste as good. I frankly wouldn’t bother unless you’re on the road or camping or something and don’t have a kitchen at your disposal. Dried lentils don’t need a presoak to cook up within about half an hour even on the stove top, and they’re so easy to cook in a microwave (and avoid the watched-pot-never-boils problem) that the extra expense and time trying to find the precooked ones is usually not worth it. (And what about all that extra plastic and metal packaging? Be righteous–buy ’em dry.)

If you cook up a whole pound bag at once, you can use it throughout the week or (better, for a lot of people) freeze half of it with a bit of cooking liquid in a microwave container and save yourself some time the next time you want a batch. I keep thinking of that old “Cook Once, Eat Twice–That’s Italian!” lasagna ad (can’t remember if it was for noodles or sauce) from the 1970s. It’s a bit old-fashioned, but still a good idea for  when you’re too tired to cook for real.

In this post, I’ve got 3 or 4 main “strategic” ideas for the prunes and lentils challenge, along with more recipes and variations than should really go in a single post (and THREE more prune accompaniments as well), so just roll your eyes, bear with me, and if you decide never to let me in your kitchen, I’ll understand (plus I’ll never have to do the dishes–win/win!).

So first things first–gotta cook that bag of lentils (and recycle the bag). This recipe is probably longer than the actual process but it contains valuable Continue reading

High-Speed Split Pea Soup

Split Pea Soup in the Microwave on SlowFoodFast

Microwave split pea soup, atop my current "blank book" cookbook (Sunflowers, by Vincent Van Gogh)

It’s November and even in Southern California, we’re starting to feel the season (there’s pretty much only one) change. It’s still sunny out, and sometimes near 100 degrees at midday, but by three or four in the afternoon, the temperature suddenly dips down into the 60s and people start complaining about it because they left their sweaters at home or in the car. And their hair is getting messed up. So even though you wouldn’t think it was necessary out here, split pea soup is on the menu.

There are two kinds of pea soup worth eating. Fresh (or fresh-frozen) peas make a sweet, delicate, beautifully green soup if you blend them with some water or milk and a little chive or onion or shallot and dill. Fresh pea soup also takes only five minutes to make, which is perfect for LA’s average springtime patience level. But that’s for spring–when the temperature suddenly hits an insistent 95 in mid-March and people start reaching for their waterbottles and sunglasses again. And declaring loudly, “Ah, it’s finally Spring!” when in reality we’ve had 80-degree days in December and January.

Split pea soup, the starchy thick heart of winter comfort eating, is another beast altogether. Most people either open a can of indifferent and hideously salty soup with mysterious lumps that claim to be carrot or–well, carrot, it’s the politest guess. Or else, if they actually cook, suffer a two-and-a-half-hour boiling-with-hamhocks-all-throughout-the-house kind of ordeal. Not that it doesn’t smell wonderful during that time, but with gas prices the way they are, and the sun still beckoning at midday, no one in their right mind wants to bother.

Doing it the old-fashioned way, it takes the full 2.5-3 hours for the peas to fall apart and make soup. And when you go to bed at night your pillow smells like split pea with hamhock…you really have to be dedicated to put up with that. Microwaving might just be the best solution. Mine is minus the hamhock, because this is a kosher-to-vegetarian kind of blog, but you can add a precooked piece of hamhock to yours if you’re serious about it–precooked for safety, because this soup may be too fast for a meat bone to cook all the way through the way it would if you boiled it to death on the stovetop.

High-Speed Microwave Split Pea Soup

  • 1/2 lb (half a 1-lb bag…) dried split peas (or a whole pound, see note #2)
  • water or low-sodium vegetable or chicken broth, about 2 qts.
  • 1/4 yellow onion
  • 1 fat clove of garlic, mashed, grated or minced
  • 1-3 t. curry powder, to taste
  • 1/2-1 t. each ground coriander and cumin
  • 1/4 t. ground caraway, optional
  • juice of 1 lemon
  • pinch or two of salt, to taste–don’t overdo it
  1. Rinse the split peas well in a colander, then scrape them into a 2.5 qt pyrex bowl, cover with water or broth (I prefer water, but your mileage may vary) by two inches at least, and cover the bowl with a lid or microwaveable plate.
  2. Nuke for 7 minutes on high and let it sit covered, not cooking, for maybe half an hour in the microwave. The peas will swell and take up most of the water.
  3. Scoop the peas into a food processor–leave the liquid behind in the bowl for now or you’ll get a lot of hot backsplash and the peas won’t puree well. Grind the softened peas down with the onion, garlic, lemon juice, and spices.
  4. As the peas grind down to a thickening mass, pour a little of the cooking liquid into the bowl in a slow stream.
  5. Once you have the consistency thick but pourable, add a little more water, put everything back into the bowl, stir well, and taste for salt. Don’t add more than a little–if it’s still not salty enough at the end, people can add their own at the table. Nuke the soup covered for 3 or 4 more minutes to reheat and cook the onion. The soup will probably thicken considerably, and you may have to stir in more water before serving.

Notes:

1. The flavor of lemon tends to weaken on reheating, so if you serve this soup throughout the week, reheat and then add a fresh squeeze of lemon.

2. You can make a whole pound at a time just about as easily–you may want to add another couple of minutes to the cooking times before blending if the peas aren’t done enough at the times listed above, but they may well be.