These are a few things I’ve learned since adopting a vegan diet…

Keeping it vegan at home is easy, but when I’m not at home, it’s easier to go with the flow. My basic rule is that if someone cooks for me, I’m eating it.

Restaurant menus don’t always list the dairy ingredient, and so I’ve come up with another rule: If I ordered it, I’m eating it. Some of my recent dairy surprises include carrot and bean soup garnished with grated cheese; tomato bisque made with cream; a bean burrito stuffed with cheddar. It was all good, but not strictly vegan.

Cooking vegan meals has meant more stews, curries, and soups. Winter arrived early this year and on a cold day, there’s nothing like a piping hot bowl of stew to make you feel warm inside.

A good stock adds depth to the flavour of stews and soups. I used to make a regular supply of chicken stock, but now I’m making veggie stock. It’s a great way to use up veggies that have seen better days, and compared to store-bought, it has very little salt and no preservatives. Plain water doesn’t always do it, so a good stock is like gold.

Plant-based meat: I equate this with breakfast cereal as a food category. It’s heavily processed, there can a lot of ingredients including salt, and the quality varies. That said, I’ve used vegan ground round in chili and shepherd’s pie and it had a pretty good “beefy” texture, and it takes on the flavour of the sauce it’s cooked in. I’m not replacing all the meat I used to eat with plant-based, but it’s nice to have now and then.  

Plant-based milks: these can have a lot of ingredients, including added sugar, so I was delighted to find that Costco has oat milk that’s made with just oats and water. It has a slight sweetness and is perfect heated up for coffee, and really good on cereal.

Vegan cheese: Pasta is lovely with grated Parmesan cheese, so I tried making vegan Parmesan with cashews and nutritional yeast. I will say that I didn’t hate it. But it didn’t come close to the real thing, so I’ll defer to being vegan and do without.

My vegan education continues…

First, mea culpa: as someone who loves to cook, I used to think of vegan cooking as boring, limiting, and inconvenient. Now I have to eat my words, so to speak. I’m becoming a vegan.

The reason I’m doing it is climate change, which makes me a “climate vegan.” There’s a lot written about adopting a vegan diet as a way to lower greenhouse gas, especially from the production of beef, lamb, and dairy, and especially in the West.

I’ve had to reform my less-than-positive view of vegan cooking. I’m looking at it now as an opportunity to learn about ingredients I wouldn’t have tried otherwise, to cook with alternative sources of protein, and to expand my repertoire.

I don’t eat a lot of meat or fish so those won’t be difficult to cut out. My big change is cutting out dairy, cheese especially. There is vegan butter I’ll try when I’ve used up what I still have on hand. To be honest, the first time I tried oat milk in my coffee I thought it tasted like dust. I got used to it after a day or so. I quite like soy milk heated up in coffee. Almond milk didn’t sit right so I’m staying away from it.

I’m keeping an open mind about trying vegan cheese. I tried some vegan yogurt that was pretty good. And I’m very happy to report that I’ve had vegan ice cream that was rich and delicious. Whew!

My attempt at making chicken paprikash with tofu definitely lost something in the translation to vegan. It had a lovely paprika flavour but tofu isn’t exactly meaty. It was a lesson in managing my expectations.  

Fish sauce and anchovies can be replaced by umeboshi paste, which is made of pickled plums. I’m curious to try it in a Thai curry, and maybe on a pizza made with vegan mozzarella.

Plant-based meat replacements aren’t top of the list, but that said, I tried some vegan sausages that were outstanding! They smelled great and sizzled in the pan, they had the colour and texture of sausage, and they were delicious slathered with Dijon mustard.  

I had a chickpea and cauliflower curry at a restaurant the other day that was served with a dollop of yogurt; of course I ate it, and made a note to pay closer attention to what’s written on the menu. Perhaps I could mention “vegan” to the wait staff. (It’s hard to believe this is coming from me, a dedicated omnivore!)

The issue of climate change can be cause for despair. I want to focus on hope. Adopting a vegan diet is hopeful action I can take from my kitchen.

Be prepared to groan at these other possible titles for this post about wok cooking:

I Wanna Wok. For Those About to Wok. Wok Like A Man. Wok Like An Egyptian. Wok Lobster. Wok On. Wok Away.  

I wanted to get into wok cooking and when I found a lightweight cast iron wok at Costco, I knew the time had come. Wok cooking is a perfect way to eat more vegetables and less meat. Once the prep is done, it comes together pretty quickly. One pot for the rice or noodles, the wok for everything else. Easy.

I didn’t know that lightweight cast iron even existed and I’m thrilled with it. It’s easy to handle, no worries about slamming it on the glass cooktop, and it works on an induction range. After washing it, I apply a very light coating of cooking oil.

It’s easy to improvise with wok cooking. I read recipes for basic ideas and go from there. I’ve been using the holy trinity of Asian flavours: garlic, ginger, and scallions.  

My go-to veggies are baby bok choy, carrots, and broccoli. If I have peppers and green beans I use them as well; I’ve even used frozen spinach.

Cut the meat or fish (frozen fillets work well) into bite-size pieces and marinate for about half an hour. I’ve been using soy sauce, rice vinegar, sesame oil, and minced ginger.   

Stir-fry the meat until it’s lightly browned, then set aside. Cook the garlic, ginger, and scallions for a couple of minutes. Stir in a bit of soy sauce, a splash of rice vinegar, and a dash of piri piri or hot pepper sauce. Add the carrots and broccoli and cook covered with a lid for a few minutes. Add the baby bok choy and the meat or fish. Stir in some cooking water from the rice or noodles. Cover with a lid and let steam for a few minutes to finish. Serve over cooked rice or noodles.  

I always used the ratio method of cooking rice, and I only recently discovered the pasta method. Fill a pot with water as if for pasta, bring it to a boil, add the rice and salt. As it cooks, all the grains are surrounded by boiling water so it doesn’t dry out or stick. When it’s done, drain and let sit in the hot pot for a few minutes. This pasta method is virtually foolproof – what a relief!  

The last time I bought fresh ginger, it was pre-packaged and about the size of three bananas. I peeled it, minced it in the food processor, spread it flat on parchment paper, wrapped that in foil, and froze it. When I need minced ginger, I simply cut a piece off. I’m slowly cooking my way through it.

A new recipe for chicken and porcini mushroom stew sounded delicious but tasted meh, and worse, the next day I was sick, both ways. The mushrooms smelled pleasant and earthy when I pitched them days later, but the memory made my stomach lurch. I couldn’t even look at mushrooms in the grocery store.

I did a Google search and learned some things about mushrooms: mushrooms should never be eaten raw; any mushroom can make you sick, even if it hadn’t before; and mushrooms and wine together can make you sick. I didn’t have wine this time, but years ago, I made dinner for my new boyfriend with portobello mushrooms on the side and a lovely wine. We sat down to eat and after a few bites, I had to rush off and got sick. At the time I attributed it to a street hot dog at lunch, but now I’m not so sure.

I had a friend who was allergic to potatoes. She had to ask waitstaff if the soup was thickened with potatoes, tell them not to give her fries, and if her order arrived with fries, she had to send it back and ask for a clean plate. Now and again she inadvertently ate potatoes and got sick. The vapour from potatoes boiling on the stove triggered her asthma and made her use a puffer.

I have allergies to pollen and pet dander, no food that I know of, although I’ve broken out in hives after eating shrimp and corn nuts, been sick after eating mussels, got welts in my mouth from avocado, a sore mouth from cream cheese, and my eye became swollen when I touched it after eating a peach.

My scariest moment was on a train ride in the Swiss Alps a few years ago. The scenery was dreamlike: lush green meadows flecked with edelweiss, storybook chalets with window boxes, railway bridges across deep chasms, an amazing array of colours in the rock.

I was nibbling on some trail mix I’d bought at the train station. I bit into a Brazil nut and suddenly it had a terrible, acrid taste that filled my mouth. I spat it into a napkin and swished my mouth with water, and I balked at spitting on the floor and swallowed. My tongue felt furry and had started to swell. I felt sheer terror when I realized my airway could become blocked. “Is this how I’m going to die?” I thought wildly, “On a train in Switzerland?” 

I had antihistamine tablets in my suitcase, and I dashed to the luggage rack and opened my case on the floor, and I found the toiletries bag and popped a tablet in my mouth. Then I closed my suitcase, put it back in the rack, and returned to my seat. I breathed deeply, concentrating on slowing my heartbeat, waiting for the antihistamine to work. After a few minutes, my tongue felt normal, the swelling subsided, I was fine, but rattled.

That evening in Zermatt, I waited with other tourists for a glimpse of the tip of the majestic Matterhorn, and it stayed hidden behind passing clouds. I had dinner on a patio and watched musicians in traditional costumes playing Swiss music, complete with alphorn. It was lovely.

I’d overcome a case of nerves to make my solo trip to Europe, and I’d been doing well. A little snack on a train made me feel like I was far from home, and lucky to be alive.   

I had several binders of recipes clipped from food magazines, and it had become difficult to look recipes up because there were so many. Downsizing, curating: you name it, my recipe collection needed it. So with a recycling bin at the ready, I began to downsize.

My decision of whether to keep a recipe came down to two questions: Would I try it again? And, would I try it ever?

Recipes that once appealed but now seem odd (i.e., I’d never do them): Sauteed yams with prunes and bacon
Chilled cream of zucchini soup with mussels and fresh mint.

Recipes I might have tackled but now seem like too much work:
Pot stickers: make dough for 68 pot stickers; make filling; dab filling on dough; pinch dough shut; steam in batches. That’s just for the appetizer.
Caramelized shallot vinaigrette: too much work for salad dressing.
Chocolate roll with banana rum ice cream: make the ice cream; make the cake; make the filling; spread the filling on the cake; roll the cake up; serve with ice cream. A lot of work for dessert.

Recipes I just can’t see myself doing:
Gnocchi with Gorgonzola sauce: a chef’s recipe with three cups of crumbled Gorgonzola; fine in a restaurant where the cost is borne by the customer. A home cook eats the entire cost, as it were.
Madeira mincemeat: the recipe yields 12 cups of mincemeat; perfect if you’re a baker and Christmas is nigh. 
Potpourri: wonderful ingredients – red hibiscus, ground orris root, oil of bergamot, bayberry – though the store that sells them probably also sells potpourri.

I write notes about recipes I’ve tried, like who was at dinner and how the recipe turned out. If my note didn’t rave about a dish, that recipe was gone:
Gluwein: hot, spiced wine I made one Christmas. My note said, “Seems like an odd thing to do to a good bottle of wine.” I won’t do it again.
Mulled cider: my note said this was “okay.” Hardly a ringing endorsement.
Pine nut and cardamom scones: my note said, “rather dry by the time we ate them,” and we ate them that day.
Cold tomato and cucumber soup: I wrote that one guest ate this and headed straight for the bathroom. I never made any cold soup again.

These recipes are keepers, based on my notes:
Chocolate-espresso brownies: “Wicked, wicked brownies.”
Caramelized onion tart: “Wow!”
Hearty goulash soup: “A very, very cold day and this hit the spot nicely. Delicious result. Love the flavour of paprika. Nice tender beef. Mmmm!” 
Sticky toffee pudding: I first made this in 1989 and my note says, “Oooh! This was so delicious!” When people ask what’s in it, they tend to look skeptical when I say dates; I sit back and wait for the rapturous look that invariably follows their first taste.

My curated collection now fits in one binder. It can still use downsizing (7 recipes for beet salad, for example), but there’s room for new recipes, carefully vetted, of course.

My induction stove sat unused for a few days while I slogged through the owner’s manual. The technobabble and dire warnings convinced me that I’d break it on the first try. It was after a friend literally showed me how to boil water that I felt confident about using it. (To boil water, put a pot of water on the element, turn the element on, wait.) 

Induction wasn’t my first choice. I was moving to a place with a high-end gas stove and down-draft vent system. It turned out that both needed expensive repairs; if I replaced them I’d at least have a warranty.  

I decided to switch to electric but I wanted a stove with solid disk elements. Well, they’re rare in North America. I considered getting coil elements and swapping them out for solid disks, but again, they’re rare.

I’d been planning to buy a portable induction element, so I made the leap to an induction stove. I read reviews and compared prices, and chose the Frigidaire Gallery slide-in induction range with knob controls. Overall, I’m quite pleased with it. 

Induction has the same responsiveness as gas: tweak the power, cooking perks up or slows; turn the power off, cooking stops immediately. Induction is a bit more energy efficient. Pots heat up faster, water comes to a boil faster, the heat is consistent, even at a low simmer.

Cookware has to be magnetic to work on an induction element. Most stainless steel and cast iron cookware will work. Pyrex, aluminum, and copper won’t. My cookware is 20 years old and it works. If a fridge magnet sticks to the bottom of a pot, it will work.

To quote the owner’s manual: “When purchasing pans for use on the induction cooktop, look for cookware specifically identified by the manufacturer as induction ready, induction capable, or a similar statement by the manufacturer that the cookware is specifically designed for induction cooking.” My translation: look for cookware that has a coil induction symbol stamped on the bottom or that is labeled induction-compatible.

Pans must have a flat bottom, but just about all cookware has a flat bottom. If a pan is warped it might not work.

Pans should also have smooth bottoms; it’s nothing to do with magnetic properties. It’s that the ceramic cooktop might get scratched by a manufacturer’s stamp or by “rough or dirty bottoms.” Just so you know, there’s no place for dirty bottoms in my kitchen!

I don’t like how the fans are set up on the stove. Fans run automatically to cool the electronics under the cooktop, similar to a laptop. The fans vent at the front of the stove, so while I’m cooking, cool air constantly blows at my midsection. With a drop-in cooktop, the fans vent into the cabinet below. Next time.

Induction is being called an evolutionary step in cooking technology. It sounds futuristic. But at the end of the day, it’s a stove. You cook on it.

I used to get a Morning Glory muffin on the way to work, such a treat for the start of the day: rich, dense, loaded with fruit and nuts. I’d never actually made Morning Glory muffins, so when I found a recipe in Ina Garten’s Cook Like A Pro, I had to try it.

What glorious ingredients: a grated Granny Smith apple, grated carrots, crushed pineapple, chopped pecans, shredded coconut, raisins.

The recipe said to use an ice cream scoop to portion the batter; I used a metal measuring cup.

I didn’t have paper muffin cups, but I had parchment paper. How difficult could it be to fold into a cup, like the muffins I used to buy? Well, it was impossible. The mess of folded paper just wouldn’t stay in the muffin tin.  

Next I tried to make two-piece parchment cups: circles for the bottom and strips for the sides. I formed a strip into a collar, held it in place in the tin, and scooped batter into it. But the batter oozed out like lava, slow but relentless.

On to a new plan. I lay a parchment strip across my palm, scooped batter onto it, shaped it into a collar, and placed it in the tin. The lava-batter oozed out of those, too. So, scrap the strips. My parchment paper exercise had taken the better part of an hour. 

The muffins went into the oven and I hoped for the best. They had a tantalizing aroma as they baked and after cooling, they came out of the tins easily, each with a parchment circle on the bottom.

They were glorious! Dense, flavourful, delicious, like a slice of carrot cake for breakfast. I ate one (or two) just about every day.

I found muffin cups made of parchment paper and my next batch went more smoothly: hold the cup, scoop batter into it, place the cup in the tin. The muffins slipped out easily after baking and they too were delicious. The store also carried parchment lotus cups, the exact shape I had tried (and failed) to replicate. I will have to try those someday.

The ingredients for Morning Glory muffins take some time to prep. So I’m more than happy to leave the muffin cups to the experts.

I never thought I’d say that cooking for myself is too much work and I can’t be bothered. But for a long time, that’s how I felt.

I have a serious passion for cooking. I’m a chef school grad and a talented home cook. I collect recipes and cookbooks, I enjoy cooking shows, I like shopping for ingredients, I love cooking, and I savour the eating. Cooking has a meditative quality. The kitchen is my happy place.

But my passion for cooking all but disappeared after an annus horribilis that began when my father fell and suffered a brain injury. Most of my time was devoted to his care, though he often didn’t know who I was. Meantime, my relationship with my partner had hit a rough patch and then he died suddenly of a heart attack. My father died four months later.

It was a long journey, two steps forward, one step back. During that time I rarely cooked; mostly I ate in restaurants or microwaved a frozen entree. I moved several times.

A friend moved to Hamilton, and on my first visit there I fell in love with the place. It’s a big enough city with a friendly, relaxed vibe. I sold my Toronto condo and before my Hamilton house was ready, I stayed with friends and in AirBnB digs. And I started cooking again.

My first steps were small because I was using someone else’s kitchen. On a warm fall day, I made Salade Nicoise: steamed green beans, boiled potatoes, canned tuna, tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, anchovy paste vinaigrette. It was fresh, bursting with flavour, and especially satisfying because I made it for myself.

I often made my favourite lunch: grilled cheese with aged cheddar on sweet-and-sour rye bread, fried in butter in a pan. A friend asked me to dog sit and when I made grilled cheese, the dog came running from the furthest corner of the house and sat at my feet looking hopeful. He was usually rewarded.

My last AirBnB was self-contained with a kitchen, and I made stuffed peppers, chicken curry, quiche. It was delightful to be restocking my own pantry with things like olive oil, Himalayan pink salt, saffron.

I moved into my house and began cooking in earnest: chicken paprikash, braised beef shanks, Parmesan French toast, mushroom barley soup, beef stew, split pea soup, leek and potato soup, stir-fried pork, marinated eggplant. And I began baking, filling the house with wonderful aromas of blueberry muffins and Morning Glory muffins, banana bread with ginger, lemon pound cake.

I have some new cookbooks: Ina Garten’s Cook Like A Pro, Nigella Lawson’s At My Table, Jamie Oliver’s Jamie Cooks Italy, and Yotam Ottolenghi’s Simple.

I discovered new (for me) ingredients:

Grape tomatoes: flavourful, great texture; delicious sliced in half, placed cut side down on baguette, drizzled with olive oil, sprinkled with pink salt, let sit for a few minutes so the bread absorbs the liquid. 

Passata: aka strained or pureed tomatoes, passata has a lively, fresh flavour. Tomato paste and tomato sauce are cooked down; passata is not. I tried passata for a Nigella Lawson recipe and I’m hooked.

Panko: Japanese breadcrumbs that make a delicious and crunchy coating on baked chicken and fish; no frying needed.

Getting back into cooking is like meeting an old friend and having a lively conversation as if no time had passed. I really missed cooking, all of it – choosing a recipe, shopping, cooking, even the satisfied feeling when the dishes are all washed and put away.  

My passion for cooking has come roaring back.

Cooking is a pastime but more than that, cooking is a commitment to taking better care of myself. It’s a recipe for living.