It looks harmless enough, doesn’t it? But don’t be fooled…
Happily tasked with contributing several items to this year’s Thanksgiving repast, I thought I might reduce my cooking time–though I love to cook almost as much as anyone–by purchasing prepared cornbread for the stuffing. I applaud virtually everything about Whole Foods, so I thought I couldn’t go wrong. But, I was wrong. Bad wrong.
As Bob opened each cellophane wrapped hunk, I thought the moist crusts looked very similar to poundcake. I tasted it and, as best I could tell, it was poundcake–and a very moist one at that–made with cornmeal. Who would want a bread that sweet with their chili, lentil soup, or any of the rest of the WF family of soups next to which this alleged “cornbread” is sold? I don’t even care for cake that sweet.
But, I like savory and sweet combos as much as the next gal, so I soldiered on. Still, this cornbread was so sweet that I was dubious about how compatible the celery, onion, and sage was going to be with these cakey crumbs. Yet, I didn’t have time to stop and make cornbread from scratch, so Bob persisted, crumbling the cornbread and one baguette into a huge bowl. And I proceeded with my recipe, adding the aforementioned plus lots of beautifully toasted pecan halves.
As I poured the vegetable stock over the mound of ingredients, I watched in horror as it dissolved into what can only be described as a cookie-dough like consistency. Desperate, I added the half cup or so of Panko bread crumbs that I had on hand, but it was of no use. I decided to go ahead and bake it, hoping that science and physics might work some kind of magic in the oven. But, alas, I pulled it out, tasted it, and my response can only be described as disgust at what was a dense, heavy, pasty, unpleasant-tasting mass.
In a last-ditch effort, I sprinkled some sliced green onion over the top and slid it back in the oven for about 10 more minutes. There was no appreciable change to the unappetizing mass. I briefly considered melting vegan butter over the top for some salty goodness, but then came to my senses:
I marched straight out the front door, across the little Japanese bridge over our dry river bed, and into the woods where I unceremoniously dumped the whole lot of it into the deep carpet of leaves. We live on Buchanan Creek which feeds the Chesapeake Bay and I know from my freelance writing about eco-issues that residents are not supposed to dump fatty ingredients down the sink or onto the ground. However, I wanted that glob out of our house–I didn’t even want it in a sealed bag in the garage–and fast.
There would be no stuffing this year, but there was more than enough delicious food. And I didn’t tarnish my reputation as one of the family’s inspired cooks.
I hope your Thanksgiving was earmarked by culinary successes or, at the very least, culinary lessons learned well. Happy Holidays!
Hosting a fiesta at the intersection of Chili Cornbread and Cornbread Casserole is my Loaded Mexican Cornbread. Yes, it is bursting with the unmistakable pungency of Hatch green chilies (I prefer mild over hot), but it stops short of beans and soy crumbles. Instead I load it up with corn kernels, sliced black olives, green onions, sour cream, melted butter, and cheddar-jack blend, all vegan, of course. My first attempt was too dense and moist, if you can believe that’s possible. This version is perfection, redolent of Adobo, cumin, garlic, and oregano. Enjoy it by itself with a glass of cold, non-dairy milk–or a beer–or as a side with a crisp salad or not-too-heavy soup.
Yield: about 4 servings, but it depends on how large you cut the crackers and I like irregular shapes and sizes
If you are not a vegan baker, keep reading…this is the perfect “gateway” recipe to have you fall in love with pastry. This dough handles beautifully–promise! And the resulting crackers are worth a tiny bit of effort.
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour (or whole wheat, all purpose, or a combination; I had the pastry flour on hand)
Yield: 12-2.5-inch cakes
