Hot Pink Cold Pizza

I’m heading to the gym, so no time to chat and lecture you on the dire state of the world. But eating a plant-based diet 80% of the time helps. Here’s a recipe that might makes it pretty fun. Did you know that the colour pink lowers aggression in those who see it? Be kind. Eat pink. Even better if it’s in pizza form.

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Beetroot Hummus:

  • 1 large garlic clove, finely grated
  • 2 medium beets, roasted until tender
  • Half a lemon, juice only
  • 1/3 cup tahini
  • 1 cup cooked chickpeas
  • 1/2 tsp cumin seeds
  • 1 tsp sea salt

In a small bowl, stir together the garlic and the lemon juice. Let sit for 5 minutes. This removes much of the garlic’s harsh pungency.

Add the garlic mixture to a high speed blender with all remaining ingredients. Blend on high speed until completely smooth. If the mixture is too thick, add a couple tablespoons of cold water at a time until the mixture runs smoothly.

Transfer to a sealable container and chill until needed.

Cider Pickled Raisins

  • 2 tbsp golden raisins
  • 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar

In a small bowl combine the raisins and vinegar. Microwave on high heat for 30 seconds. Stir and let cool.

Toasted Everything Bagel Dukkah

  • 1 tbsp white sesame seeds
  • 1 tbsp poppy seeds
  • 1 tsp garlic salt
  • 1 tsp dried granulated onion

In a small bowl, stir together all ingredients. Spread out onto a clean baking sheet. Bake at 400 degrees F for about 5 minutes, or until golden and fragrant. Cool completely before sealing in a jar. Keeps for up to 3 months.

Beetroot Pizza with Pickled Raisins, Toasted Everything Bagel Dukkah, Dill, and Shaved Radishes

  • 1 pizza crust or large naan
  • 1 recipe beetroot hummus
  • 2 tsp toasted everything bagel dukkah
  • 1 recipe cider pickled raisins
  • 1 tbsp toasted pepitas
  • 1 breakfast radish, thinly sliced
  • Crushed coriander seeds, to taste
  • Dill fronds, to garnish
  • Good olive oil, to finish

Spread the hummus liberally onto the pizza crust. Sprinkle on the dukkah, raisins, and pumpkin seeds. Garnish with shaved radishes and dill. Finish with a generous drizzle of good olive oil and crushed coriander seeds. Slice and serve.

 

the great divide

HE WILL NOT DIVIDE US

Those were the words etched into the pristine white wall of the Museum of Moving Image, in sans serif bold.

Meanwhile, 226.2 miles south congregated in front of the White House is the Women’s March on Washington. Perhaps it is because I have been hardened by the Canadian cold, or that I’ve nested myself too comfortably in this culture of sorries and eh’s. But I’m not one bit partial to this movement.

But you’re a woman?

Of course I’m a woman.

But you don’t care about gender rights?

Of course I do.

But you don’t care about the Women’s March on Washington?

Those do not correlate.

Take a read from the following excerpt, extracted from the event’s Facebook page:

The rhetoric of the past election cycle has insulted, demonized, and threatened many of us–women, immigrants of all statuses, those with diverse religious faiths particularly Muslim, people who identify as LGBTQIA, Native and Indigenous people, Black and Brown people, people with disabilities, the economically impoverished and survivors of sexual assault. We are confronted with the question of how to move forward in the face of national and international concern and fear.

This does not look to me to be about advancing the rights of my gender. To me, this is an outlet for the anger that is not getting who you wanted for president. For the frustration that was the Orlando Shooting. For the restlessness that was terrorism. For the disappointment that was Brexit. For all the lost fights of 2016.

I am a woman. I care about gender rights. But I am not with her. At least not in the context of this movement pretending to be for advancing the rights of women.

I will not agree to any single agenda that claims to represent the dreams and goals anyone who is a woman. Because such a thing does not exist. That’s what’s beautiful about being human. I will, however, honour the system that is democracy despite its shortcomings because even with all of these flaws I am still damn lucky to be a part of it. I will recognize that in a society that is priviledged enough to have the opportunity of figuring itself out there will be disagreement, and there will be disunity. And that disunity should be in hopes of achieving unity, and the disagreement in progression towards deeper understanding. These are not excuses for kicking the dog when shit don’t go your way.

In a world where we are increasingly seeing only what we want to see (thanks Facebook), without a doubt we’ll have greater and greater trouble seeing eye-to-eye with anyone who bursts that bubble. It’s easy to believe that something’s wrong with the world and that it needs fixing if the news popping up on your feed looks nothing like the world as it is.

Here’s to you America, and anyone whose hearts are feeling broken: this is your chance to reconnect, to re-evaluate, and truly restart. Not with another post of self-righteousness. Be patient, and do what’s in your power to make positive change starting with those closest to you, those who you care about most. Why should I care what that middle-aged man with a permanent pout and corn-yellow hair thinks? I’m focusing on making an impact on those closest to me, those whose opinions matter to me most.

How are you going to make that change?

Oh, and to whoever said “Don’t forget to set your clocks back 300 years tonight”, it may have been @chrisrock, for the record, we’ve made huge progress in placing our trust in democracy and its results, whatever they may be. If we turned our backs on that now we’d really be turning back our clocks 300 years.

And Obama, you did okay I guess.

It is He who changes the times and the epochs;

He removes kings and establishes kings;

He gives wisdom to wise men

And knowledge to men of understanding.

Daniel 2:21

Tahini Date Truffles
Tahini Date Truffles

Tahini Date Truffles

  • 2 c chopped pitted dates, no need to splurge on medjools for these
  • 1 c raw almonds, ground in your blender or food processor
  • 1/2 tsp sea salt
  • 1/2 c raw cacao or cocoa
  • 1 tsp vanilla
  • 1/3 c tahini
  1. Place all ingredients in a food processor in the order listed. Pulse until the mixture begins to clump together. If the mixture still appears dry after 2-3 minutes, add a tablespoon of water at a time until it comes together.
  2. Shape into bite-sized balls and roll in cocoa. Shake off any excess in a sieve.
  3. Store in Ziploc bags in the freezer. Don’t worry, they won’t freeze hard!
  4. Enjoy straight from the fridge, with a cup of uber creamy and frothy matcha coconut flat white!
Coconut Matcha Flat White
Coconut Matcha Flat White

Coconut Matcha Flat White

  • 1/2 tsp ceremonial grade matcha powder
  • 2/3 c hot water, about 80 degrees F
  • 1/4 c full fat coconut milk (not the stuff you put in your cereal)
  1. Place the matcha in a mug and add about 1 tbsp of hot water. Use a milk frother (I used this one) to mix it up evenly.
  2. Add the rest of the water and continue frothing for 25-30 seconds.
  3. Meanwhile, heat the coconut milk in another cup piping hot, about 1 minute.
  4. Froth up the coconut milk the best you can, because of its low protein and high fat content it won’t form the nice fine foam you might be expecting.
  5. Pour the coconut milk into the matcha and enjoy!

That’s raddish

In light of some confusion over my previous post, which began with a fictional short story based on the ongoing childhood of yours truly, I’d just like to make one comment: I am not thirty-two years old. Actually, I have over a decade more to go before I become that.

So, now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s spring into today’s topic.

As some of you may be aware of, I am currently working at Sun Life Financial – a numeric wonderland where, besides numbers, three things are particularly bountiful:

  1. Actuaries
  2. Treats

and

3. Acronyms

An overwhelming majority of which contain any number of three letters: C, S, and A.

Naturally when I mentioned to my colleagues that I own a CSA share, they were all ears – albeit for the wrong reasons. Why? Because the CSA I was talking about had nothing to do with FSA’s and CPA’s, nor does the word ‘share’ bear any connection to Warren Buffet nor to Apple.

No, a CSA is none of the  above. It is Community Supported Agriculture. And within my young and tender portfolio of investments, certainly one that sits closest near the upper-right corner of my happiness curves. It has given me a higher level of satisfaction even before I received a first dividend than what my mutual fund has given me as it sits and grows at cactus pace somewhere in a digital vault I can’t physically touch.

But really, what is a CSA and WIIFY (what’s in it for you)?

If you’re a green advocate, you’re probably thinking along the lines of reduced greenhouse gas emissions and supporting sustainable micro-farming. If you’re a radical economist, you’re jumping straight into the well-being of the local economy and the vital role of home-grown businesses. You’re right.

But if you’re here, I suspect you’re probably more concerned about the pleasure of taste above all else, so here goes – a list of 9 reasons why I think CSAs are the way to go if you’re a foodist – not foodie, a term I rather loathe, because it emphasizes the carnal love and gluttonous pleasure that food excites, but not the VANS BEECH (values, artistry, nutrition, science, beauty, ethics, economics, culture, and history) behind every ingredient, every finished plate.

So here, a list (because I know you love lists) of why you should commit yourself to a carefully chosen CSA, curated from a foodist’s POV:

  1. The food is produced by someone whose set of values around food aligns with yours. This is first for a reason, and you will see it recur many times in the list because your values determine your methods. So think of what motivates the board of a corporate farm – profit, efficiency, shareholders, control, quantity. Then consider what motivates an organic micro-farmer – passion, sustainability, the team and family, learning, and quality. How do these factors impact the food you put on your table?
  2. The food is produced by hand and treated with artistryLet me just emphasize, everything is definitely not art. Art is not created on a whim, without thought, and without skill. Art is the finished work of one who has experimented with and employed all of the mediums and tools available at his hands to arrive at a product to which he is proud to attach his own name, and of which the perceived value varies from beholder to beholder.
  3. The food contains a higher density of nutritionFreshness, harvest time, transportation, selection, and cultivation methods all influence the nutrient content of produce, and the age old saying “what you reap is what you sow” stands because vitamins and minerals literally cannot be born out of thin air. More importantly, nutrition = flavour. If you don’t believe me, take two apples – one peeled, one unpeeled. The peeled apple will taste like pure sugar, while the whole apple will taste…like an apple. This is because the nutrients in an apple are concentrated in the layer in and just beneath the skin (the same is true of pears, stone fruits, and root most vegetables).
  4. The science stacks up. But also to experiment and explore new ingredients and methods of cooking!
  5. The produce drips of breathtaking beauty. From bluestone to freckled eggs, ombré peony pink radishes, delicately feathered tarragon, and jade-veined kale. To convince you, I’ll be posting photos of each week’s bounty.
  6. The crops and animals are produced ethicallyThey have to be – how else will are they supposed to open members to their farm where everything’s in plain sight?
  7. The economics on a household scale and community level both add up. Inflation is real, and in case you haven’t noticed, food is one area that brings up the average (most governments shoot for a steady 2% per annum). Buying a CSA share is equivalent to hedging against an inevitable price increase, and trust me, you’ll get more than you pay for even without inflation. You also help the farmer get a strong start to their season by pre-paying as most of their expenses are front-loaded.
  8. The culture and integrity of authentic food is preserved. When you commit to a CSA share, you become part of the community and its culture lives in you, which means that it will continue to exist – just like how a language ‘lives’ as long as there exists a person who can speak it.
  9.  Its history is clean. Ever heard of an organic micro-farm issuing a recall? Didn’t think so.

Now I bet you’re dying to get yourself a slice of this CSA pie, too bad you missed the subscription date because the season’s already started, but do some research for the 2017 season by comparing:

  • farming methodology
  • share prices
  • share sizes
  • crop lists, and
  • proximity

of several farms near you, and choose the one that speaks to you most!

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Spring Radishes with Potted Miso Honey Butter and Bonito

I know that was a lot to chew on, so here’s a super simple five-ingredient recipe for you to balance things out. The radishes were from the first week of my CSA subscription. While supermarket radishes are watery with a hint of piquancy at best, these little bombs pack a solid kick of heat. The sweetness of the honey, coolness of the butter, and umami of the texturized miso are a perfect foil. Plus, it only takes 5 ingredients and 5 minutes of prep.

Spring Radishes with Potted Miso Honey Butter and Bonito – serves 2

  • 3 tbsp good quality butter, softened
  • 1 tbsp red miso
  • 1 tsp honey
  • bonito flakes, to garnish (optional)
  • 1 bunch small organic radishes, greens trimmed (keep them for the next recipe!) and washed
  1. In a small bowl, mix together the nutter, miso, and honey until lump-free. Spoon the mixture into a small shallow ramekin.
  2. Microwave until the mixture has melted, about 15 seconds.
  3. Chill until set and sprinkle with bonito.
  4. Serve with radishes.
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Miso Broth with Lovage, Tofu, and Radish Greens

Turns out carrot…er radish tops aren’t just for pesto. Tear a handful into boiling miso broth with some lovage leaves and you’ve got silky drapes of vibrant greenery floating through the rising clouds of miso and mingling with the playfully bobbing blocks of tofu. If you’ve got the water boiling, this also takes 5 ingredients and 5 minutes of prep. Farm-fresh dinner in a total of under 10 minutes? How convenient.

Miso Broth with Lovage, Tofu, and Radish Greens – serves 2

  • 3 c water
  • 1/4 c red miso paste
  • 160 g medium or firm tofu (not silken, because you want the texture and nuttiness of the tofu to hold up against the fragrant greens), cubed
  • 1 stem lovage, leaves picked and stem thinly sliced into rings
  • radish greens, washed and torn into bite-sized pieces
  1. In a small pot, bring the water to a rolling boil and whisk in the miso until dissolved.
  2. Add the tofu and bring it back up to the boil.
  3. Toss in the lovage and radish greens, remove from the heat and stir until deep green.
  4. Ladle into two bowls and serve immediately!

Let me know in the comments below: What are your favourite ways to use radishes from root to leaf?

a bunch of fools

We like to be taken seriously. Really, we do. We think we are all that because we have this thing called “brain”. But we really are, at the very best, just really, really bizarre. One scene in Over the Hedge sums up the gist of matters.

And sure, we now know that the Canadian food guide turns us into cows by drowning us in milk and stuffing our guts with grain, and basically has our health at the bottom of its long list of agendas. So of course, we got all smart and creative, and came up with all these fancy words like low-fat, no-carb, south beach, sugar free, grain free, gluten free, vegan, protein, paleo, and even this one, which makes me laugh, called the hipster diet.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s no judging going on here, but I found it fascinating how all of these are essentially the same! Obviously, I’m not saying that eggplants are the same thing as eggs nutritionally (I know I might seem kind of crazy at times, but no, I haven’t quite lost it yet). However, what I do see as an underlying pattern is the fact that with any type of these diet, we put the blame on a particular food, and simultaneously justify some other group(s) as “good to eat”. Most of these diets actually go as far as to say, go ahead and eat “unlimited” amounts of these “OK” foods – just make sure you don’t touch those.

So does it all boil down to, again, the bottomless pit that is our stomach? That we simply want infinity, which we reason to be an acceptable demand so long as we restrict ourselves and persuade ourselves that we have a sliver of self control in us by banning certain foods?

Take this with a grain of salt, and don’t take me too seriously.

But just remember why you eat.

I couldn’t care less what you believe about food, but I hope you care more about yourself than whatever bizarre trend is sweeping the streets of LA and New York right now.

IMG_5714edit2

Mochi is a flexible concept. You can stretch it many, many, ways. If I wanted to, I could say that it’s completely fat free, dairy free, egg free, cholesterol free. That it’s vegetarian, vegan, gluten free, all-natural, or even organic if I wanted to. But, at the end of the day, you will definitely die a devilishly delicious death if you have a dozen of these for dessert after dinner. Or, actually, even without the dinner. Basically, it’s sugar, that’s about it. But then again, what good is noshing if nothing satisfies our tooth for pillowy, chewy, sticky, sweet dough enrobing a thick, fudgy, nutty filling of pureed red beans?

Ingredients for the brown sugar mochi (makes 8):

200g Japanese sweet red bean paste, divided into 8 portions and kept chilled
100g glutinous rice flour (a.k.a. sweet rice flour)
2 tbsp dark brown sugar, or 1 tbsp molasses for more intensity
150ml water
lots of cornstarch, for dusting

To make the sticky rice dough, combine the rice flour and brown sugar in a large microwaveable bowl. Stir in a third of the water at a time until a thin smooth batter forms and there are no lumps.

Dust a large glass or ceramic baking dish generously with corn starch.

Cover the bowl of rice batter loosely with plastic wrap and pop it in the microwave for 60 seconds. Take it out, and it will look completely wrong, that’s okay. Stir it vigourously with a wooden spoon or chopsticks for 5~10 seconds. Cover it, and pop it back in the microwave for another 60 seconds. Take it out, and stir until evenly gummy. Cover it, and blast it for a final 30 seconds, which should make it puff up quite a bit. Take it out, and scrape the sticky dough into the dusted dish.

While the dough is still hot, divide it into 8 equal portions. Dust each piece with more corn starch to prevent sticking. Working with both hands, gently stretch a piece of dough until 2-inches in diameter. Place a portion of the red bean filling in the center, and pinch the edges of the dough together to close. Repeat with the remaining ingredients.

To give the mochi an “airbrushed” finish, roll it in corn starch again, then place in a large dome-shaped strainer. Begin swirling the strainer in a circular pattern so the mochi rolls around in it in a circle. Stop once you’re happy with its roundness, then do the same for the rest of the mochi.

Enjoy, with what other than a cup of matcha?

bless you, industrialization

Closely linked to and much like democracy, industrialization is also a protégé of Western politics. While I would probably say that democracy granted to developing countries is probably as bad as giving chocolate to a dog, it would be unfitting to say the same of industrialization. (Yes, hate to break it to you about democracy, but it’s sort of common sense. When you need to build a country and get stuff done, it’s better to have a single long-term vision than multiple parties putting on a talent show.)

Industrialization is sort of like pumping iron, it whips a nation into shape – it is impossible to achieve efficient production without order and discipline. For developed countries, it’s the tried-and-true steroid for jump-starting the economy.

Even for the average household, industrialization has worked its magic. That is, unless you still roast wild fish caught by wooden spears on scratch-made pit fires or, less appetizingly, bash the poor thing’s head on a rock then rip your teeth directly into the knocked-out animal’s less-than-tender flesh.

What we would call artisan or from-scratch today can hardly be achieved in the absence of industrialization.

Consider bread, the very edible incarnation of the word ‘rustic’. Made with yeast bred in incubators with machine-regulated humidity and temperature, and flour ground by furnace or electricity powered mills from commercially farmed wheat. Prior to industrialization, people sat around and waited for yeast to fall out of the sky (in the form of rain) into hollowed-out logs and grow into a usable amount.

As a student, oh my do I love industrialization for its gifts. Just think: no industrialization = no food processor = 3 hours to make hummus. I practically live off that stuff, and ain’t no UW student got the time to mash chickpeas for 3 hours a day.

Humans might have gotten many things wrong, perhaps more wrong than right, and industrialization in a hundred years may reveal itself as the dumbest crime man has ever committed,

but hey, it works handsomely right now.

Take millstones and grind flour.

Remove your veil,

strip off your robes,

bare your legs,

and wade through the rivers.

Isaiah 47:2

IMG_5149edit

 

If you’re any bit like me and simply cannot help but gloat at the sight of meatballs on a lush, creamy bed of polenta, then this is already, without a doubt, your next obsession. If you’re with me on the gloating despite your mild disapproval of polenta, then you my friend, have just found your next every-weeknight-dinner. Savoury spiced meatballs, caramelized with minimal effort right in the oven, nestled on a bed of buttery silken hummus, are finished off with an ingeniously vibrant and zesty parsley oil and plump sultana raisins. Make an extra batch of meatballs, freeze the extras, and you’ll have dinner served in under 20 minutes any day of the week.

Ingredients for the koftes, makes 24~30:

1 tsp each fennel seeds, cumin seeds, coriander seeds, oregano, and thyme

1/2 tsp ground white pepper

454 g ground lamb or free-range, grass-fed beef

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 onion, finely diced

1 free range egg

1 tbsp olive oil

a generous helping of sea salt, to taste

To make the koftes, preheat the oven to 415 degrees F and line a large baking sheet with parchment.

Place the all of the spices in a spice/coffee grinder and pulse until finely ground. Put the spice mix in a large mixing bowl with the remaining ingredients and mix gently with your hands until the mixture comes together. Add a little cold water if the mixture seems too dry. Divide the mixture into 24~30 portions and shape them into balls. Place them on the prepared tray and bake for 20 minutes, or until browned and cooked through.

Ingredients for the hummus:

1 can chickpeas, drained, rinsed, and drained again

1 garlic clove

1 lemon, juice only

3 tbsp tahini

1 tsp honey or agave

sea salt, to taste

To make the hummus, place all ingredients in a blender or food processor and blend until smooth. Add a little water at a time with the motor running to adjust to a lusciously smooth consistency. It should be slightly thinner than regular hummus.

Ingredients for the parsley oil:

80 ml extra virgin olive oil

1 cup Italian flat-leaf parsley, chopped

1 long strip lemon zest

To make the parsley oil, place all ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth. It is best used immediately, but will keep, covered and refrigerated, for two days.

To assemble, spoon a large dollop of hummus into small salad plates. Splatter a bit of the parsley oil on top, then add a few koftes/meatballs. Finish with a small handful of sultana raisins and a round or two of freshly cracked black pepper.

Serve with pitas, lavash, or seeded crackers.

Happy noshing!

 

my first characters

In the western world, most people probably started off learning the alphabet with ‘A’ or ‘a’ for apple. Should the preliminary curriculum all of a sudden change course by 180 degrees and start with ‘Z’, parents might storm down the schools and government. Consider you lucky, you people who only have to deal with 26 letters of the alphabet plus a few accents aigus, accents circonflexes, and oh that forsaken cédille which is so often butchered by anglophones who don’t deal with any of the above save for the accent tréma which appears only once a year on Christmas cards anyway.

You guys have it easy. E-A-S-Y, I say.

Having lived in Taiwan until the age of eight, I’ve had the pleasure of suffering through the memorization of two thousand traditional Chinese characters before immigrating to Canada to start third grade. Yes imagine, your six, seven year old writing characters in notebooks filled with four-square grids that span each page with six columns of ten endlessly at a rate of 4 notebooks per semester. Some call it discipline, maybe I do too.

Anyhow, I don’t want to bog you down with too much of the details, but strangely enough, at thirteen years later, I still remember the very first six characters I learned.

1. 小 small

2. 花 flower

3. 生 live

4. 出 exit

5. 來 arrive

6. 了has

How is this relevant? Well, if you know nothing about Chinese (and yes it is a language, a written one to be exact though completely meaningless when used to describe a dialect), here’s the thing:

it makes perfect nonsense.

For example, if you wanted to say “small flower”, you’d literally put one and two together to get 小花. In the same way, by putting two and three together you’d get 花生 which means peanuts. Simple?

My a$$.

Where 豆腐ck did peanuts come from? It’s supposed to be flower live! But now that’s just talking nonsense, what is flower live even supposed to mean? Maybe the Chinese language does make sense after all those 24 dynasties spanning 5000 years.

And now we have it, main show of the post 花生豆腐 (peanut tofu).

He who was

seated on the throne

said,

“I am making everything new!”

Then he said,

“Write this down,

for these words are trustworthy and true.”

Revelation 21:5

peanut tofu 2

Peanut tofu is one of those things that are unimaginable, there’s no way around it, and I truly honestly do admire whoever came up with it. Its spin-offs, notably black sesame tofu and almond tofu which walks along a sweeter line are undeniably impressive, but nothing quite like the strange, earthy, savouriness you get from the peanut tofu. This is not the traditional recipe which uses a rice flour derived from an indigenous Taiwanese rice with a distinctive sweet aroma and custard-like texture once gelatinized. However, what this recipe does rely on as the thickener is agar powder, a colorless, flavourless seaweed that’s been dried and finely ground. This makes the tofu lighter in texture.

The author of the recipe recommends serving the tofu with freshly grated wasabi as well as aged soy paste. Fortunately, the latter is rather easy to come by nowadays in the age of Asian megastores such as T&T; try Wuan Chuang, which has a lovely balance of earthy sweetness and savouriness and can pretty much hold its own. However, obtaining fresh wasabi root is still a challenge. Personally I prefer it without wasabi – what can I say? I’m a purist.

Tweaked and translated from 我的日式食物櫃 – Liz

Ingredients for the Peanut Tofu, serves 12 as an appetizer:

800 ml unsweetened traditional soy milk (you can find this in Asian grocers, DO NOT use soy beverages such as So Good, Silk, or Soy Dream)

3 tbsp all natural peanut butter (made with just peanuts)

8 g agar powder

400 ml filtered water

1 tbsp light soy sauce

1 tsp sea salt

To make the peanut tofu, whisk the agar powder and water in a small saucepan over medium heat until dissolved. Put the peanut butter in a blender and blend with the agar mixture until smooth.

In a separate pot, whisk the soy milk until hot, but not boiled. Whisk in the soy sauce and salt. Pour the peanut agar mixture into the soy mixture and stir well.

Place the pot in an ice waterbath to cool the mixture down as quickly as possible.

Meanwhile, brush the inside of a 13 x 9 in. dish with a neutral oil – preferably peanut, to stick with the theme – or simply line the bottom with parchment.

Once the mixture begins to thicken, whisk it vigourously until smooth and pour it into the prepared dish. Chill completely for at least 2 hours or until set.

Serve cold with soy paste and a steaming cup of genmaicha, enjoy!