Save Swine, Eat a TLT

The last thing you are probably pining for this very moment is a warm plate of ... tofu.  But seeing these narrow bodies neatly lined up in rows made sharing this recipe hard to resist.  

Save a pig.  Eat a soybean.  The slogan still needs work.  Luckily, the tofu does not.

This idea is inspired by the ever-enchanting site, 101 Cookbooks.  The original recipe was for a “TLT,” a take on the beloved classic BLT.  It featured tempeh though, which—try as I might—I just cannot endorse. Tempeh and I are not friendly.  So I’ve been making the sandwich with tofu ever since.

The thin strips soak in a marinade that is meant to recall an essence of bacon.  If you really want a BLT, you had better use swine.  But the liquid, which is smoky and a little spicy from the chipotle, sweet from the maple, and salty from the tamari, can easily hold its own.

Thus, if you welcome the TLT as a singular entity, it makes a wonderful vegetarian-friendly counterpoint, employing the usual sidekicks: lettuce, tomato, and mayo.  The sandwich itself is not far off from the soy BLT MIT-based Clover Food Lab sells.  Their mantra being, local fast food done a la vegetarian.

I’ve used the Clover menu for inspiration on more than one occasion by tucking TLT components into a pita, roasting up some shoestring rosemary fries, and downing a pint of Pretty Things Beer and Ale Project’s Jack D’or.  The tofu, native.  The beer, home-based in Somerville.  And the meal, made in my kitchen.  A local fast food feast all its own.

So, perhaps, save a BLT.  Eat a TLT.  It is not meant as a substitute for the adored piggy classic.  But it makes a t.asty l.ittle t.ofu sandwich all its own.

TLT Tofu

Inspired by 101 Cookbooks

Ingredients:

1½ tbsp olive oil (plus more for the pan)

¼ cup tamari (soy sauce)

2 tbsp balsamic vinegar

2 tbsp brown sugar or maple syrup

4-5 tbsp adobo sauce (from a can of chipotle peppers)

about 14 ounces firm or extra firm tofu (1 block)

Instructions:

In a rectangular baking dish, mix together the oil, tamari, vinegar, brown sugar (or maple) and adobo sauce.  (Use less adobo if you don't like spice.) Slice the tofu into 4-5 rectangular slabs and then slice each slab into 3 pieces lengthwise, so you get long strips.  Lay the strips into the baking dish with the marinade, cover with plastic wrap, and let marinate in the fridge overnight.

Heat a medium sauté pan on medium to medium-high heat and add a glug of oil to the pan.  Add half the tofu (or all of it, depending on the size of your pan) and half the marinade to the hot pan.  Cook the tofu for about 5-7 minutes, or until the tofu starts to gather color on its underside; flip the tofu and cook until fairly firm to the touch (about 10 minutes in total).  If the tofu starts to burn, turn the heat down.  Wipe down the pan and repeat the process, if cooking in two batches.

Makes 12-15 strips

Notes:

- For the sandwich: I don’t need to tell you, you know how to make a BLT.  Use your favorite bread with tomatoes, lettuce, and mayo.  Sometimes I put a little lemon zest in the mayo. I like the TLT either on a brioche bun (if you’re feeling it, see here for a recipe) or in a pita (see here for a recipe).

-21st Century Tofu and Chang Shing Tofu are two local brands.

-The original recipe uses oven-dried tomatoes, which is brilliant in winter.  However, I found the sandwich too cloying for me, too one-notey.  It needed some brightness and the fresh tomatoes provided that.

-The sauce has a tendency to burn on you, so be sure to watch it and turn down the heat (or add a little more sauce to the pan) if needed.

-I like tamari (made solely from soybeans), so that’s the sauce I stock.

-Clover Food Lab now has food trucks and standalone units in Cambridge and Boston.  I like their restaurant in Harvard Square.  They have colored drawings done in crayon or marker tacked up on the walls and a vine growing up the back of their indoor space.  They also have beer.

-Please note: the BLT is one of my favorite sandwiches on earth.  I love pig.  But I also eat soy.   There.  I said it.  I feel better now.

Charming Bacon Caramel Corn

How do I put this delicately, I dig on swine. It’s practically hackneyed to say because bacon is everywhere. It was in the caramel corn at a “punch party” I recently attended at Aquitaine. There was a festival devoted to bacon and beer in the South End in April that sold out in a heartbeat. I’ve even seen it start to pop up in cocktails. (If you happen to be drinking a bloody Mary I urge you to check your vodka: bacon could be lurking.)

And I haven’t heard one person complain about this. Turns out, most people tend to dig on swine—with the exception of the hit man “Jules” from the movie Pulp Fiction. In fact, Jules makes it clear to his mobster partner, Vincent, that he does not dig on swine—bacon included. Not because he is a vegetarian (though his girlfriend is) but because—in his opinion—the pig is a filthy animal. Though, he relents he’d possibly reconsider his pig philosophy if he met a very, very charming pig (and I’m paraphrasing here).

So there you have it, personality does count for something. And I absolutely can not mention personality AND caramel corn in the same post without mentioning my childhood piano teacher, Mr. Sauer. Mr. Sauer oozed personality. He had tight curlicue black hair. He was bubbly. He possessed an all-year-round mischievous elf-like quality. And he always gave me an “A+” on the music I had practiced on for the week. Charming. I was not naturally talented, but I practiced hard.

My sister also tended to get an A+ on her weekly lesson, though my sister did not always practice. You could occasionally hear a cacophony of “Fur Elise” throughout the house as she banged away on the keys. “A+ lessons!” Mr. Sauer would say effervescently to my mother each week without fail, which tended to make us all chuckle.

And each year around Christmas time, my mother would reward Mr. Sauer’s A+ merriment with a tin of homemade caramel corn. He treasured this caramel corn and opened the tin the moment my mother handed it to him; I’m not certain his caramel corn ever survived its ride home.

The same ritual happened year after year and Mr. Sauer’s love for my mother’s caramel corn became somewhat of a running family joke. So much so, that when I recently asked my mother for her recipe, she wrote it down with the final note, “Take out of oven and let cool. Give to Mr. Sauer for Christmas.”

So when I saw the caramel corn at Aquitaine I knew it was time to pay tribute to Mr. Sauer and to Christmas traditions, melding old with new. I don’t know where Mr. Sauer is today, but I can only hope he’d give this caramel corn an A+.

Personally, I can’t stop eating the delightful stuff. In fact, I’d go so far as to borrow a sentiment from another curlicue black-haired gentleman, our gangster friend Jules: this is one charming mother f-in’ caramel corn.

Bacon Caramel Corn

Adapted from Aquitaine (and my mother)

1/2 pound bacon, 4 tbsp bacon fat reserved (or can use 4 tbsp canola or grapeseed oil)

1 cup uncooked popcorn kernels

1 cup butter

1.5 cups light brown sugar

1/2 cup light corn syrup

2 tsp kosher salt

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp vanilla

Splash bourbon (~1 tbsp)

Preheat oven to 250 degrees.

Cut bacon into a fine dice and pan-fry until crispy, reserve 2 tbsp bacon fat, and set the bits of bacon aside. Heat bacon fat (or alternatively oil) in a medium-sized metal pan that has a lid. When fat is hot, add popcorn kernels and toss to coat in fat. Place lid on; kernels should begin to pop within 10-20 seconds. Once popping slows to 3-4 seconds between pops remove from heat. Put popcorn on a baking sheet, discarding the unpopped kernels.

Heat butter, brown sugar, corn syrup and salt in a pan over medium-high heat until it reaches 300 degrees F (or about 5 minutes, mixture will be slowly bubbling). Remove from heat and add baking soda, bacon, vanilla and bourbon and swirl together.

Pour caramel mixture on popcorn and stir until thoroughly combined. Bake for about 1 hr, stirring every 15-20 minutes. Let cool slightly and break into pieces.

Give to Mr. Sauer for Christmas.

Makes about 8 cups

Notes:

-I used an 2 quart pan to pop my kernels and had to do them in 2 batches. The first time I did this I was cursing not having a popcorn maker and lamenting my stand against speciality kitchen gadgets, as the oil smoked and popcorn kernels flew across my kitchen. It got much easier the second time around (after I road-tested 3 different pots).

-I used black jewel kernels, though any would be fine.

-Ah, to refrigerate or not to refrigerate. That is the question. I couldn't find a common consensus (or actually any guidance whatsoever on how to properly store bacon caramel corn-go figure). Because the bacon gets folded into the caramel, I've rationalized it will coat and protect against bacteria forming (I did not want to risk soggy caramel corn). Chocolate bars with bits of bacon aren't refrigerated either and I haven't died yet, but you'll have to weigh the odds for yourself.

(Fig)uring It All Out

There are some perks to getting older. If you do it right, you also get wiser. Well, wise might be a bit of a stretch. Suffice to say you may just become too tired to worry about things that don’t really matter.

Nevertheless, realizing you don’t need to have all your eccentricities compartmentalized and your cobwebs swept up is invigorating. Sure, my garden currently looks like it is being tended to by the crypt keeper and sure I’ve had to check that my pants weren’t being worn inside-out already once this week, but perfection is overrated.

Anne Lamott, one of my favorite writers, has a great quote about this:

“Perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”

So when I found myself agonizing over whether Narragansett Creamery salty sea feta or a French goat cheese was better suited to be stuffed into the figs I was making for dinner, I had to snap myself back to reality. Cheese selection—even in the presence of the stately fig—is not of cosmic significance. (As much as I would like to believe otherwise.) So, I took a few deep breaths in front of the cheese counter, rolled my eyes, and got over myself. Next, I quietly filed ‘cheese selection’ into the ever-expanding list of things that probably won’t change my life.

Then I did something completely out of character: I bought BOTH varieties and decided to let the best cheese win. To my surprise, the feta—the unlikely partner—was better. The fig needed more bite than the goat cheese was willing to give. The roasted fig stuffed with feta and drizzled with maple syrup ended up being the perfect bridge from the end of summer to the beginning of fall.

Though not native to Massachusetts, figs reach peak harvest right around now on the west coast. I always have them on hand, fresh when available or dried when out of season. They are quite special either way.

Not surprisingly, fig trees are also a labor of love to grow, requiring five years or more of TLC before you see a darn fig. Once they do produce, the trees can continue on prolifically for decades, centuries even. It is even said the Buddha reached enlightenment while sitting under an old fig tree.

And he has likely been trying to tell us something about this all along. Slow down. Breathe. Eat more figs. (Though I am not quite sure how he’d feel about them being wrapped in bacon.)

So pardon the pun, but I’ve fig-ured out you don’t have to have all the questions of your life answered and your problems wrapped up with little pink bows. It helps to leave some room for possibility: see what develops. It’s much more fun this way. And much less scary. This is true enlightenment, at least for me; that, and eating pretty much anything encased in bacon.

Stuffed Figs Wrapped in Bacon with Maple Syrup

Fresh figs

Hazelnut oil (or any other you prefer)

Smoked sea salt

Black pepper

Feta cheese (or any other you prefer)

Bacon

Maple syrup

Preheat oven to 425. Slice figs in half and toss gently with oil until they are lightly coated. Season with salt and pepper. Stuff the center of your fig with a small amount of feta. Wrap in bacon and secure with a toothpick. Bake for about 15-20 minutes or until bacon is crisped. Drizzle with maple syrup. Sprinkle with additional sea salt, if desired.

Notes

-I didn't list amounts for the ingredients in this recipe, nor provide a yield; who am I to decide what amount of fig or bacon is right for you at this very moment? Enjoy experimenting.

-I buy bacon from Stillman's Farm. They raise animals consciously and humanely, which I like to think the Buddha would appreciate. It's also not very salty, so you may have to adjust your seasoning depending on the bacon you use.