Black Bean and Corn Sunshine Salad

When my father died, our friends and neighbours were incredibly generous with their food gifts—so much so that we ended up freezing half of what was given to us, and we were able to defrost portions for several weeks' worth of meals. Those dishes were highly appreciated, but after 17 different variations (each) of tuna casserole and baked cheesy pasta, we were close to developing scurvy.

Thick, cheesy pastas and creamy casseroles are ultimate comfort food dishes, but not only are they the default foods that most folks prepare, but they're also incredibly rich and heavy. The salad recipe that I'm sharing here is as close as I've been able to get to re-create the one that was given to us by a friend of the family during those dark days, and it's pretty much the polar opposite of heavy and creamy.

Our neighbour was a lovely Mexican lady named Marisol, and she was like a little ball of sunshine when she gave us a bowl full of spiced beans, corn, and orange peppers... and I can't even begin to tell you how much we appreciated its brightness during that time. 

Not only is this salad a veritable symphony of flavours, colours, and textures, it's packed with vitamins and protein. Hers was also full of chopped cilantro, but since I'm one of only five people on the planet who like that herb, I chose to omit it here.

Ingredients:

• 2 445ml (15 oz) cans of black beans, drained and rinsed well
• 1 250ml (8.5 oz) can of corn kernels, drained
• 1 yellow, orange, or red pepper, diced (you can also use green pepper to cut down on sweetness)
• 1 medium tomato, seeded and diced, OR a handful of cherry tomatoes, seeded and quartered
• 2 small tomatillos, diced
• 1 green onion, sliced thinly
• 1 ripe avocado, peeled and diced
• 1 chipotle pepper in adobo sauce, minced finely (optional)
• 2 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
• 3 tablespoons fresh lime or lemon juice
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• Salt
• Black pepper

Preparation:

In a large bowl, combine the beans, corn, chopped pepper, tomato, tomatillos, onion, and avocado.

Drizzle with the olive oil, lime juice, and cumin. If you feel that it needs more acidity, add a bit more lime or lemon juice, or even a splash of wine vinegar. Add salt and pepper to taste.

If you'd like to add a bit of gentle heat to the salad, add in the minced chipotle, as it'll add warmth and spice without scorching any tongues. Most grocery stores carry it in their Mexican food section, but if not, you should be able to find it in a Mexican or South American grocery store.

You can also bulk this salad up to make it heartier by adding a cup of cooked quinoa or pasta to it, but it's really just beautiful and refreshing all on its own.

This recipe isn't paleo—no beans or corn allowed on that diet—and has to be completely re-worked to be AIP (autimmune paleo) compliant, as all nightshades are forbidden because they're inflammatory & cause a lot of grief. When I make this for myself, I have to eliminate the beans, corn, tomatoes, tomatillos, and chipotle... which pretty much just leaves the onion, avocado, and lime juice. Huzzah. Cumin is also a no-no with the AIP protocol, but I don't react badly to it; others might. Best to ask.

For an AIP version, I use diced, roasted sweet potatoes, chopped jicama, and diced cucumbers, and I also double the amount of avocado. Olive oil and lime juice are totally okay, but if I'd like a bit of heat without using any peppers, I'll add a bit of homemade horseradish sauce.

This is the kind of salad that can be adjusted in countless ways, whether to use what you have at hand, or to adapt to another's personal tastes. For those who prefer sweeter dishes, try swapping out the avocado for diced mango instead: the flavours meld rather beautifully. 

Chicken Soup for... Just About Everything

“Yes", said Cook. "That is soup that you are smelling. Times are terrible, and when times are terrible, soup is the answer."

- Kate DiCamillo (The Tale of Despereaux)  

Have you ever read any of those Chicken Soup for the Soul books? Basically, they're collections of short stories intended to lighten the reader's spirits and make them feel good. Some are funny, some are very heartfelt tear jerkers, but they inevitably leave the reader feeling better all around.

Chicken soup seems to have the same effect when eaten, which is undoubtedly A- what likely inspired these books' titles, and B- why just about every culture on the planet has some variation on this healing meal.

Many scientific studies have been done to sort out whether chicken soup really can treat a cold effectively (the answer is yes, apparently...), but ultimately, this dish's real power is in its soothing warmth and nutrition: every sip seems to soothe us right to the marrow.

When people are feeling broken and lost, soups such as these are like comforting hugs on the inside, giving strength as well as nourishment. Packed with vegetables—and hopefully plenty of garlic—it's an ideal soup for rebuilding strength when someone is run down.

As mentioned in my note about food substitutions, I make a meatless version of this soup for my husband using faux chicken made of tofu marinated in poultry seasoning, but if I'm just making a batch for myself, or for omnivorous folks, I use bones in the stock and shredded chicken breast and thigh in the finished soup. The vegan version of this soup is at the end of this post.

For the Stock (Standard Version):

Ingredients:

• Bones, skin, and leftover bits from 2 chickens* (you can add in some of the meat as well, if you like)
• 2 medium-large onions, coarsely chopped
• 2-3 leek ends (green parts), sliced
• 2 carrots, peeled and coarselly chopped
• 2 stalks celery + their leaves, coarsely chopped
• 5 or 6 garlic cloves, peeled and smashed
• 2 teaspoons dried summer savory, or 1 teaspoon fresh
• 1/3 cup parsley, coarsely chopped
• a pinch of thyme
• olive oil
• white wine, sherry, or cognac
• salt
• water
• 1 or 2 onion skins (optional)

Instructions

Heat a tablespoon or so of olive oil in a large, heavy stock pot, then toss in the bones and skin. Heat these on medium heat until everything goes gold and brown, and bits start to caramelise on the bottom of the pot. Deglaze those browned bits with an enthusiastic splash of wine, sherry, or cognac, using a wooden spoon or spatula to scrape merrily until they loosen. Add about 2 cups of water and keep scraping and stirring for a minute or so longer.

Add in the onion, leeks, carrots, celery, garlic, and herbs, and then add just enough water to cover everything by about 1 inch. The key to a spectacular stock is to really condense the flavour, so you don't want to add too much water or you'll dilute it. The onion skins will give the stock a lovely dark golden colour, but adding them is totally optional.

Bring this to a boil, then reduce the heat to low and let it simmer very, very gently for 2-3 hours. Remove from heat, allow it to cool a little bit, and then strain everything out. I start by using a slotted spoon to scoop out all the large bits, and then I pour the stock from one pot to another through a colander lined with clean cheesecloth. If you use this technique, squeeze the cheesecloth thoroughly so you get as much broth out as possible.

For the Soup:

• The finished stock, strained thoroughly
• 1 large onion, diced
• 1 medium sweet potato, peeled and diced
• 1 large carrot, peeled and diced
• 2 stalks celery, tough threads removed, and diced
• 3+ cloves garlic, minced or pressed
• 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, finely chopped
• 2 handfuls fresh spinach, shredded
• 1 generous cup of cooked chicken breast and/or thigh meat, diced or shredded
• Salt
• Optional: cooked pasta (egg noodles, acini di pepe, etc.), or spiralised vegetable noodles—as many as you like. 1 cup usually suffices for my tastes, but you might like your soup packed with more noodles. It's also lovely with cooked wild rice.

Instructions:

Heat the strained stock until it begins to bubble a bit, then add in the onion, sweet potato, carrot, celery, garlic and parsley. Bring up to a boil, then turn down the heat to low and let it simmer for about 25 minutes, or until the sweet potato and carrot are fork-tender.

Add in the chicken and spinach, and taste the soup to see if you need to add more salt. 
Allow this to simmer for another few minutes just to let the flavours combine well, then remove from heat.
If you'd like a creamy version of this soup (which I do, SO much), this is the point at which you'd add a bit of dairy milk/cream, pureed cannelini beans, pureed cauliflower, coconut milk, or unsweetened soy milk until it reaches your preferred level of creaminess. You may have to adjust salt levels accordingly.

If you're serving this immediately and you'd like to add pasta, I find that it's best to place the noodles in the bottom of each bowl and then ladle the hot soup over them. If you're going to take this soup to someone as a food gift, pack the pasta or rice in a separate container rather than adding them to the soup so they don't bloat and soak up all that glorious stock. Same goes for spiralised veggie noodles: they'll get soggy and fall apart in the soup, and we really wouldn't like that to happen.

My usual caveat stands: I don't really measure when I cook, so consider this a rough guideline, and please adjust it to suit your own tastes! (I've made an Asian-inspired version of this soup by adding sesame oil and tamari, swapping out the spinach for watercress, and using soba noodles, and my Spanish DNA occasionally cries out for a sopa de lima version with fresh lime and cilantro, so be creative and make it your own.)

Vegan Onion Stock Version:

To make the caramelised onion stock for the vegan version of this soup, slice 4 Spanish onions very thinly and toss them into a large, heavy stock pot along with a hearty glug of olive oil. You'll cook them on medium-low heat for 60-90 minutes, stirring only occasionally, until they're a deep, gorgeous brown.

Be careful not to let them burn! If you find that they're darkening too quickly, turn the heat down even lower. When you think they're ready, deglaze the bottom of the pot with wine or cognac, then follow the directions with the vegetables and other ingredients as listed in the standard version of the stock & soup above.

For the faux chicken, take half a brick of semi-firm tofu and shred it into strips with a pair of forks. Place these strips in a bowl and toss with about a teaspoon of poultry seasoning, a bit of minced garlic, and just enough vegetable stock to cover them. Let this marinate for 2-3 hours, then strain, and fry briefly in a bit of Earth Balance or olive oil until just browned. You'll add this to the prepared soup just before serving it.


* I keep bones and such in the freezer until I've accumulated enough to make a batch of stock, as it's a great way to use every part with respect.
Don't be alarmed if the stock you make with bones and skin turns gelatinous in the fridge: the natural collagen within is what makes this happen, and it'll liquefy again as soon as it's heated up.

Rosemary Shortbread Funeral Cookies

“There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember.”

- William Shakespeare (Hamlet: Act 4, Scene 5)

Have you ever heard of funeral cookies before? I hadn't before I started doing research for this blog, but it turns out that they have a very long, colourful history.

It would seem that the custom of eating food that had lain near the dead spanned several centuries, as it was believed that the food would absorb the deceased's best qualities, and that by eating it, one not only drew those qualities into themselves, but also incorporated part of their loved one into their own bodies forevermore. What a fascinating thought!

Although variations on this custom occurred throughout Europe from the Medieval period onward, it was during the Victorian era that culinary funerary traditions were taken to new heights... right down to the biscuits.

Rules about specified mourning periods and acceptable clothing colours were adhered to very strictly, and funeral etiquette demanded niceties such as memorial cards. These notices were handed out at the funeral service alongside cookies that were wrapped in crepe paper and sealed with black wax.

Not being a huge fan of sweet food, if I indulge in any kind of biscuit, it's usually a moderately savoury one. Shortbread is one of a scant few dessert-type things that I really enjoy, and I'm very fond of this gorgeous recipe for grain-free, Paleo rosemary cookies that I found on the Primal Palate website. Adding rosemary not only gives them a lovely herbal note, but is rather apt: rosemary has always been associated with remembrance.

“As for rosemary, I let it run all over my garden walls, not only because my bees love it but because it is the herb sacred to remembrance and to friendship, whence a sprig of it hath a dumb language.”

- Sir Thomas More (1478-1535) 

Ingredients: 

• 1/2 cup (120 g) butter, softened
• 3 tbs (45 mL) honey
• 1 tsp (5 mL) fresh rosemary, minced
• 2 cups (240 g) almond flour
• 1/2 tsp (2.5 mL) sea salt

Preparation:

Mix together the butter and honey in a large bowl using a hand mixer, or pulse it together in a food processor.

Add the rosemary, almond flour, and salt, and mix well.

Shape the resulting dough into an 8-inch (20 cm) roll and wrap in plastic cling film. Refrigerate for at least an hour, or freeze to use later.

After thoroughly refrigerated, preheat your oven to 325° F (163° C).

Remove the dough from the plastic wrap and cut into 1/4 inch (6 mm) slices.

Place these slices on greased baking sheets, leaving at least an inch of space between them.

Bake for 15 min or until the edges begin to brown, and allow to cool for several minutes before carefully removing them from the pan with a spatula.

In addition to being excellent offerings at funerals and memorials, these can be given as gifts inside decorative tins, or even threaded through with black ribbon. Just use a straw to poke two holes through each one prior to popping the baking sheet in the oven, and once they've cooled, draw each end of a single strand of black ribbon through either of the two cookie holes as you stack them one on top of the other, and finish off by tying them in a bow.

Although I mostly stick to the AIP Paleo diet, I will occasionally use grain-fed butter for cooking or baking, and that's what I use when I make these biscuits. I haven't yet used Earth Balance or similar vegan butter substitute, but I would assume that doing so would work just fine, as I've used those for countless other recipes and had no problem whatsoever.
Similarly, one could likely swap out the honey for agave nectar or maple syrup.

However you choose to make yours, they go wonderfully with a cup of hot tea.


Lead photo is (c) The Primal Palate; origin of second image unknown (found on Pinterest with no attribution)

Potato Salad for Easing Summer Sorrows

“Neighbors bring food with death and flowers with sickness and little things in between."

- Harper Lee

Preparing food to share with the grieving can be tricky in the summer months. Autumn and winter are ideal for hot, soothing soups, stews, and casseroles, but few feel like eating warm food when the weather is sweltering.

For my first offering here, I'm sharing my mother's potato salad recipe—the same one that nourished me after that first funeral I attended over 30 years ago. It's one of a few dishes that we've always been asked to make for family gatherings of all kinds, and so help me, as soon as we've heard bad news from anyone in our circle, someone gets the water boiling while another starts peeling potatoes.

It's a very simple dish, but one that's both comforting and nourishing on what seems to be a cellular level. You can double or even quadruple the recipe if you're preparing it for a memorial service buffet, or just make a single batch if you're delivering food to an individual or small family.

Ingredients:

• 2 lbs cooked Yukon Gold or white potatoes (6 medium), cooled, peeled, and cubed
• 2 hardboiled eggs, chopped coarsely
• 1 green onion or 4-5 chives, thinly sliced
• 1 tbsp shredded carrots
• 1-3 dill pickles, minced (or as few/many as you like, depending on preferred pickle-y-ness)
• 2 tablespoons white or cider vinegar, or brine from the pickle jar
• 1 cup mayonnaise*
• Salt and pepper
• Paprika

Preparation:

Pour the cooled cubed potatoes into a large bowl and toss with vinegar. Allow to sit for a few minutes.

Add the chopped eggs, pickles, green onion, carrots, and mayonnaise, and toss to coat well.

Season with salt and pepper to taste, give it another good stir, and refrigerate until cool. Sprinkle with a bit of paprika before serving, if desired.

I don't have many true recipes per se, in that I don't have specific measurements for various ingredients and just sort of toss dishes together until they taste right. If you make this salad, please adjust it to your own tastes, as adding or changing ingredients can create some fabulous variations.

For example, if I'm just making this salad for my husband and I, I'll toss in a generous amount of chopped capers and minced fresh dill, whereas the version my in-laws make is packed with diced celery and white onion.

Adding some chopped fresh herbs like parsley, dill, chervil, or tarragon adds a bit more greenery and a higher nutritional content, and if someone is on a low-carb or paleo diet, you can also make this with a mixture of cubed cooked sweet potatoes, rutabagas, and turnips in lieu of regular potatoes.

For a vegan version, you can use Vegenaise or even pureed avocado, and omit the hardboiled egg.
Skip the paprika if someone is on the AIP diet or is otherwise nightshade free.


*My mother makes her potato salad with a 50/50 mixture of mayonnaise and Miracle Whip dressing, but that gives it a sweetness that some may find strange when paired with pickles and onions.

Regarding Grief and Cooking

I was in second grade the first time I attended a funeral.

There was a sweet little boy named Andrew in my class, and he was often absent from school for reasons that were never divulged to us; we only received the platitude that he wasn't feeling well, but he would be back with us soon. It turns out that he had leukemia, and that illness claimed him shortly before the school year ended.

I attended a Catholic school, and our entire class marched to the nearby church in neat rows, clad in our navy and white uniforms, to wish Andrew farewell. Being a large group of seven-year-old children who had no real concept of death, we were quite loud and rowdy and were reprimanded sharply by the teary-eyed teachers who accompanied us. I'll refrain from details about the funeral itself, but suffice it to say we were all very quiet and subdued on the walk back to school, lost as we were in what was for most of us our first experience with real grief and loss.

We were all allowed to go home early, and as soon as I walked through my front door, my mother ushered me into the kitchen and sat me down with a large bowl of potato salad and a spoon. Never an emotional eater, I've always been the type to lose my appetite when upset, but I was encouraged to have “just one bite”, which I managed, although I didn't really taste much of it. Another followed, and I was both soothed emotionally and nourished physically by this familiar dish of pickle-laden potatoes as my small self tried to make sense of the enormous emotions roiling through me.

I've been to nearly 40 funerals (far more than the number of weddings I've attended), and it has always struck me how, after the dead have been buried, those left behind gather together to talk, and to eat. Around the world, burial customs invariably involve food of some sort, whether it's the items served at the funeral reception, or the meals that friends and family prepare for those in mourning while they take time to grieve, and to heal.

This blog is an exploration of the foods we turn to and share with one another during times of mourning. It's about providing real nourishment to both body and soul, and sharing solace with the very essence of that which sustains us.

Blessings to you.
Catherine