Lentil Sloppy Joes for All

If I were to offer the majority of the people in these United States a lentil sloppy joe, I suspect I might get, at best, a polite “no thank you.” Somewhere along the way, a line was drawn on American dinner plates.  Plants things—especially anything with a suspicious lima bean hue—were deemed a form of punishment.

History shows consuming plant pods meant you were poor.  Which might be where things initially went wrong.  But there is an odd self-righteous quality that some align with vegetables these days too.  It should not be considered ethical territory to consume something that has benefits for both you and the world.

It is just good sense.

I am not going to belabor these perks today. They are commonly known.

It really comes down to this.  When I get home on a Tuesday night, I typically do not want to handle something slippery that has the potential of giving me hemorrhagic colitis.  Perhaps eating a dead animal after an exhausting workday just cuts too close these days.

And I now think about the probability of death more than I should, thanks to our White House Clown. I do not know how much of a warning one gets when a looney tune from North Korea decides to hurl something atomic.  But in the off chance that humans have the potential to outrun a nuclear bomb, Brett and I do not own a car.  We are probably goners.

Anyway, after work I do not want to go grocery shopping just to pick up a somewhat freshly killed creature.  Entering a crowded store at 5 PM on a weekday would have surely been described in a circle from Dante’s Inferno if they had supermarkets in the 14th century. 

Lentils, on the other hand, are quietly waiting at home.  They do not easily decay, if left to their own devices, nor do they require much advanced planning to prepare. There are no videos circulating of sinister legume slaughterhouses. Plus they are cheap. 

This recipe is a take on sloppy joes, which is really all about the seasoning anyway. No one eats the sandwich for its association with high quality cattle.

So can we stop pretending a plant substitution is such a grave departure?  In almost every way it is better.

Using orange lentils is helpful, because they mash together and will look the part, but if you want the disheveled effect of a sloppy joe, you could try a more loosely formed version with a brown or French lentil. You will need some cumin and chili powder, plus another smoky spice like smoked paprika.  I found some chili powder that smells as if it was previously left in a grill for about twelve hours, which kills two birds with one stone.

A hot pepper of some sort is important too.  I like serranos because I was once told their level of heat is predictable.  I do not know if this is true, but to this day I still defer to them, as humans occasionally do even when supporting facts are slim.  You will also add more ketchup than you are probably comfortable with—it will seem like an awful lot, but it is crucial so dig deep and do it.

My favorite toppings are pickled onions and some blue cheese dressing, because I am not a monster.  But if you forgo animal products entirely, dairy can certainly be left off without judgment.  The recipe you see below is entirely vegan, pending your choice of bun, which is mainly a coincidence. Personally, I believe the enclosure of a good brioche bun is best, but any soft and squishy bread product will do.  

This is what I make when ancillary kitchen supplies are low. Sometimes I am not organized for dinner. I bet some days you are not organized for dinner, as well. The lentils can help with this.

There are serious matters that divide us. Sloppy joes should not be one of them.

Lentil Sloppy Joes

Ingredients:

• 1 cup orange lentils
• 3 tbsp olive oil
• 1 shallot, diced
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 serrano pepper, minced
• ¾ tsp kosher salt
• 1½ tsp cumin
• ½ tsp smoked chili powder
• ½ cup ketchup
• handful of cilantro, chopped (for garnish)
• 4 sandwich buns

Instructions:

In a medium saucepan, add the lentils and 3 to 4 cups of water (there should be about an inch of water above the lentils).  Cook uncovered on medium high heat for 15 to 20 minutes, or until the lentils are tender.

Heat a medium sauté pan and add the olive oil.  Add the shallot, garlic, and pepper and sauté until they soften.  Season with salt, cumin, and chili powder. Set aside.

Once the lentils are done add them to the pan, along with the ketchup, and stir to combine. Cook on medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens enough to hold its shape when tossed on a bun (which should take about 10 to 15 minutes).

Makes enough for four sandwiches

Notes:

1. Sometimes I also add a dash of Worcestershire, though be advised some versions have anchovies. (It will also add a bit more salt.)
2. Sandwich buns of any type can easily be frozen.  I find ones with higher fat content, like brioche, tend to defrost faster and make for a very quick supper.
3. If you are using smoked paprika and chili powder I would start with a ¼ teaspoon of each, but I suspect you may need to add a bit more chili powder to get the spice right.

Colonel Tso's Cauliflower Conquers Hunger

I went to Nantucket last weekend and the thing that always catches me off guard—besides the unwritten island uniform of Nantucket Reds and navy blue blazers—is how good the food is.

Holding a group of vacationers captive, fully surrounded by water, might encourage some slack at dinnertime. But most restaurant prospects are far from grim.

Raw oysters come cold and briny, as though they were shucked straight from the Atlantic.  Lobster rolls arrive generously proportioned. Fried clams appear plump and juicy, without the bits tasting of iron and shoe leather that occasionally haunt the mollusk.

The problem with these well-intentioned establishments is that I sometimes leave hungry. One evening my four-ounce short rib arrived with a silhouette of sticky rice that I can only assume was modeled after a golf ball. The next night, I preempted a pasta dish with two appetizers, and still needed to request an order of bread.  There were also multiple meals during which my plate was proactively cleared after coming back from the bathroom.

I was often quite hungry and paid a good deal of money to feel slightly less so.

Admittedly, my perspective might be skewed. When Brett and I went to Babu Ji in New York City, we paid the equivalent of one market price Nantucket lobster roll plus a beer to be happily destroyed by a tasting menu of pan-Asian cuisine.

And while you could argue it is easy to offer fancy proteins like shellfish and short rib and please people, it is a much harder sell to cast a cruciferous vegetable in positive light.  This is where Colonel Tso comes in.

Inspired by General Tso’s chicken, the dish offers a plateful of nostalgia while smartly swapping in cauliflower for suspicious and ubiquitous poultry.  Why Babu Ji trades a general for a colonel I am not certain.  It does not deserve the slight in rank.

Sure the dish will please vegetarians, but I believe it will please anyone who likes the occasional fried thing or who bristles at the thought of leaving a restaurant without a slight postprandial paunch.  Colonel Tso’s cauliflower was one of the courses we were served at Babu Ji and the recipe holds true to memory.

The vegetable is crispy and addictive, even before you add the sweet and spicy sauce.  I would argue you could leave off the mahogany coating altogether if you have post-traumatic associations with late night Chinese takeout, but my recommendation is to toss at least half the mixture in sauce, taste the difference, and then decide for yourself.  It is hard to go wrong when it comes to a big bowl of fried bits, made even better by the rebuttal of cauliflower as an undesirable.

Perhaps I do not like to be bridled.  I might be a little too coarse—or too hungry—for Nantucket.  I also really do not like salmon-colored pants on men.  And though I appreciate a flamingo-themed rosé brunch with a view of mooring buoys, it is not enough to distract me when my half-eaten plate of fries is prematurely swiped.

At any rate, when flamingos start hanging from the rafters it is time to flock home.  And, with any luck, that home will have something fried waiting.

Colonel Tso’s Cauliflower

Adapted from Food52 and inspired by Babu Ji

Ingredients:

for the sauce

• 1 tbsp toasted sesame oil
• 3 garlic cloves, minced
• 4 scallions, white and light green parts only, minced (green parts reserved)
• 1 tbsp peeled and minced ginger
• 4 to 5 small dried chiles, minced
• ½ cup hoisin sauce
• ¼ cup rice vinegar
• ¼ cup tamari (or soy sauce)
• 2 tbsp brown sugar
• 2 tbsp cornstarch

for the cauliflower

• 1½ to 2 quarts peanut or safflower oil (see note)
• ½ cup cornstarch
• ½ cup all-purpose flour
• ½ tsp baking powder
• 1 tbsp garlic powder
• 1 tbsp ground ginger
• 3 tbsp black (or white) sesame seeds, plus additional for garnish
• 1 tsp dried red pepper flakes
• ½ cup cold water (plus more, as needed)
• ½ cup vodka
• 1 to 2 large cauliflower heads, cut into one-inch florets (see note)
• Green scallion (from above) cut thinly on the bias, for garnish

Instructions:

to make the sauce

In a medium saucepan, add the sesame oil, garlic, (white and light green) scallion, ginger, and chiles; sauté on medium heat for about 3 minutes, until the mixture starts to soften slightly.  Add in the hoisin, vinegar, tamari, and brown sugar.  Stir and let it come to a slow boil.

Meanwhile in a small bowl, whisk together the cornstarch and a ½ cup (4 ounces) of water until fully incorporated, then add an additional cup (8 ounces) of water.  Pour the cornstarch mixture into the slowly bubbling sauce, turn the heat down to low, and whisk often until it slightly thickens.

Place the sauce on low heat on a back burner and keep an eye on it during the rest of the prep—turning down the heat even lower, if necessary, to prevent it from overly reducing. (After it thickens slightly, it should be kept barely simmering.)

to fry the cauliflower

Pour the oil in a Dutch oven or sturdy cast-iron pot (or deep fryer or wok) and set on medium high heat.  A deep fat frying thermometer is recommended here, as you will want to maintain the oil at 350 degrees (at a lower temperature the cauliflower will absorb more oil and may get greasy; at a higher temperature it may brown too quickly without properly cooking).

Set the oven to 200 degrees to keep the cauliflower warm after it is fried.

While the oil is heating, in a large bowl, combine the cornstarch, flour, baking powder, garlic powder, ground ginger, sesame seeds, and red pepper and whisk until fully mixed.

Add the cold water and vodka and whisk until a smooth batter forms (it should be the consistency of thin paint and should fall off the whisk in thin ribbons that disappear as they hit the batter—add additional water by the tablespoon, if needed).

Add half the cauliflower (or one head) to the batter and toss to coat.  When the oil is ready, working with a couple pieces at a time, lift the cauliflower from the batter, allowing the excess batter to drip off and gently place into the hot oil.  Repeat until the pot is full, but not overly crowded.  (Watch the temperature, if it starts to drop too quickly, stop putting cauliflower in.) 

Use a metal spider or slotted spoon to gently rotate the cauliflower pieces as they cook to ensure even browning.  They can be removed with the spider or spoon when they are golden brown and uniformly crispy (about 6 minutes). 

Transfer to a paper towel-lined baking sheet or plate. Then transfer to another baking sheet and place in the oven to keep warm.

Frying the cauliflower will take a few batches.  (Allow the heat to come back to 350 degrees in between frying.) Continue to add cauliflower to your batter until the batter is used up.

Once all the cauliflower has been battered and fried, pour the low simmering sauce over the pieces, tossing to coat evenly.  (See note below.) Garnish with sliced green scallion and additional black sesame seeds.

Makes enough for four to six humans

Notes:

1. The recipe called for two quarts of oil.  You should be able to fry more cauliflower per batch if you are using more oil. I usually try to reduce the oil when deep-frying, to limit the waste, and got away with using just under a quart and a half.
2. You may want to sauce half the cauliflower at one time.  The original recipe called for one head of cauliflower, but we found there was easily enough batter for two.  We left some of the second batch of cauliflower unsauced (any leftovers will lose their crispiness but will still be tasty).
    

Babu Ji and the Bean Burger

Last weekend Brett and I ate at Babu Ji in New York City.  If there is a way to be killed by curry—and die happily—their tasting menu is it.  If you would like your death to include beer, there is the possibility of that too. 

Be advised if you do select the beer pairing option, which features your server swiping a new bottle out of the beer fridge every two or three courses, your demise will come swiftly.

When you have thirteen items to try—some which could be considered entrée portions in a more buttoned up establishment—the scene becomes reminiscent of a highbrow fraternity team-building exercise.  Like a gaggle of soon-to-be twenty-somethings with small collegiate beer guts working together to take down as many cases as possible, cheering through suds and yeasty burps to victory.  At Babu Ji the staff egg you on.

The contestant will finish his fried cardamom yogurt croquette in a fuchsia beet sauce and the Pork Slap pale ale, only to be greeted by a version of Colonel Tso’s with the rubbery chicken brilliantly swapped out for cauliflower, plus a crisp IPA.  The reward for finishing this is a mutiny of curry and Victory Prima pilsner.

The tasting feels relentless by the time you reach the kulfi.
And this was only one of many outstanding and subversive meals we ate over the weekend. (The counter service at Russ & Daughters Cafe, with a punctuation of tahini ice cream, was another high point.)

Upon returning to Boston I needed restorative dinners that could hold up to the food we recently tasted.  One night this included a sheet pan of Aleppo carrots and a life changing carbonara from Tasting Rome, which I hope to write about soon.

Another evening featured the white bean burgers seen before you and some roasted zucchini (that did not make the camera snap).  The splendor of these burgers—I have made them many times—is that they work with a variety of pulses.  (I would be remiss not to mention my preference for dried beans here, but do not let this stop you.) I should have featured them sooner, but bean burgers are not exactly beauty queens in the looks department.

Unlike many other vegetable patties, they hold their shape during the pan flip and resist collapsing into the bun.  They will take more spice and seasoning, should you push them, and do not apologize for a lack of beef. And they are made for toppings.

With darker colored beans, like black or even the pinto, blue cheese dressing, red onion, and ketchup is a preferred selection. For the white bean version, avocado slices and a take on this yogurt sauce are recommended. A little barbeque would not be a misstep, either.  But I sense this is really only the beginning for a burger like this.

At Babu Ji there is an image of a white-haired Indian man with crooked aviator sunglasses and an aggressive mustache that extends out in a bushy cloud a couple inches from his face spanning east to west.  He is featured on their wall and website and the vibe he offers is one of adventure and of not taking any shit. He does not promise things will go easily, either.

It is very New York.

These burgers are sort of like that. Born out of necessity but not limited by it. Beautiful in their own way. And with a little inspired thinking, their possibilities seem endless.

Spiced White Bean Burgers

Ingredients:

• 5 (2 oz) hamburger buns (I use brioche buns)
• 2 cups white beans (previously cooked or canned), divided
• 3 tbsp olive oil, divided
• 1 garlic clove, minced
• ½ tsp ground cumin
• ½ tsp chili powder
• 1 tbsp minced shallot
• 1 serrano pepper, finely diced
• 1 tbsp minced cilantro (about 10 sprigs)
• ½ tsp kosher salt
• 1 large egg

Instructions:

Place one 2-ounce bun in a food processor and pulse until it turns into crumbs; transfer to a large bowl.  In the food processor, add 1½ cups of the beans, 1 tbsp olive oil, garlic, cumin, and chili powder and pulse until the mixture becomes a thick paste.

In the bowl with the breadcrumbs, mix in the shallot, pepper, cilantro, and salt.  Add in the remaining ½ cup beans, bean paste, and egg and stir until it becomes a cohesive mixture.

Divide into four equal portions, shaping each into a patty.

Heat a sauté pan on medium heat and add remaining oil.  Add patties to the pan, pressing them down slightly. (Depending on the size of your pan, this may need to be done in two batches.) 

Cook about four minutes or until the bottoms are brown.  Flip and cook three to four minutes more or until the patties are cooked throughout.

Place each patty on a bun and top with choice condiments (recommended: avocado, this sauce, and barbeque).

Makes enough for four humans

Notes:

1. The patties can be made a little in advance and kept in the fridge until ready to use.