Holidays are steeped in food tradition just as much to vegetarians as they are to regular eaters. Lacking the big taste punch of roasted meat, for special occasions I’ve tried to find high flavor dishes that take time to cook and satisfy down to the bone.
This recipe does all of that. I stumbled upon it in 2003, sort of haphazardly tearing it out of a magazine thinking it looked interesting. It was called “The Original One-Dish Dinner” by Lori Longbotham. The author explains that it is an adaptation of her Texas grandmother’s recipe. Her grandmother “served it on Sundays and special occasions, not because it was fancy, but because it was good.” I made it once and was sold, then made it again…and again. My husband and I became believers. It was so good that I made it for Christmas, and, 11 years later, I’ve been making it Christmas Day ever since.
The leeks, which at the end of December are at the peek of their season, are the star of this dish, working in the background to give the broth a deep, fresh, savory flavor. I use the white parts, light green parts, AND some of the dark green parts, which to me taste the best and give the soup a nice color. The original recipe uses shredded roasted chicken (for the classic “Chicken and Dumplings” angle) and parsnips. Parsnips taste like Windex to me, so I leave those out, but if you love parsnips, peel and chop one and throw it in at the carrot stage of the recipe. Also, I don’t fish out the bay leaf. Whoever finds it in their bowl gets to make a special Christmas wish, kind of like the wishbone tradition at Thanksgiving. 🙂
Christmas Dumplings
Ingredients
For the Soup:
- 3 T canola oil
- 8 oz seitan, shredded or in bite-size chunks
- 1/3 C flour
- 2/3 t salt
- 1/2 t pepper
- 4 C thinly sliced leeks, rinsed and drained
- 4 C vegetable broth (I use Imagine No-Chicken broth)
- 1 1/2 C baby carrots, cut diagonally
- 1/2 C chopped celery
- 1 t fresh thyme, or 1/2 t dried
- 1 bay leaf
- 1/2 C frozen peas
For the Dumplings:
- 1 1/3 C flour
- 2 t baking powder
- 1/4 t salt
- 3/4 C milk (I use rice milk)
Directions
Heat the oil in a large, heavy-bottomed Dutch oven or stock pot over medium-high heat. Combine the flour, salt, and pepper in a medium bowl. Dredge the seitan in flour mixture, and turn to coat; shake off excess flour. Add the seitan to the pot and cook 3 min on each side, or until browned. Transfer seitan to a plate.
Add leeks to pot. Cook over medium heat 2 minutes, stirring frequently. Return seitan to pot, and stir in broth, carrots, celery, thyme, and bay leaf. Bring to a boil, reduce heat. Simmer 20-30 minutes, or until carrots are tender. Check for seasoning and add salt and pepper, to taste. Stir in peas.
To prepare the dumplings, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Combine the flour mixture and milk and stir until moist. Drop dough by 3 tablespoonfuls into barely simmering soup. Cover and cook 12 minutes, or until the dumplings are done (do not bring to a boil or the dumplings will break up).
If you were to tell my 7 year old self that someday I would be obsessed with pickles, 7 year old me would be very disappointed. As a child I was proud of my pickle hatred, scoffing in the face of my pickle loving friends, with a special abhorrence for the weirdest of weirdos, the pickle juice drinkers. HORK!
But then one fateful night in my mid-20s, sitting with friends having a beer at the Dundee Dell, the words “Fried Pickles” floated up from the menu and smacked me in the face. Possessed by some unknown force (read: beer), I ordered them. I ate one, and I was a pickle convert on the spot.
The fried pickles at the Dundee Dell aren’t all that special to be honest, but it was the first time I could ever tolerate those briny green “vegetables”, and from that day forward I was a pickle-o-holic. Fried pickles introduced me to regular pickles, which further fueled my fire for the fried ones. I get them anytime they’re on the menu. Inexplicably, the best fried pickles I’ve ever had were at a comedy club in town called the Funny Bone. Big, juicy dills, warm hot batter, but still a little cold on the inside of the pickle itself. Delicious.
I think fried pickles are best with spears. Halves are too massive and chips get too soggy, and without the double crunch (first from the batter and second from the pickle) they lose some of their appeal. So, a few months ago when I set out to make my own, crunch is what I had in mind. I used Claussen dill spears, which are extremely crunchy, and Panko bread crumbs, infamous for their crunch. I used an old vegan fry trick by making a paste of flour and water for the first dredging (as opposed to buttermilk or an egg dip), then dredging the spears in Panko after. I really cannot emphasize the amount of crunch these have. If you are a lifetime pickle lover, or maybe a convert like me, but have yet to try fried pickles, cooooooome to the green side.
Panko Fried Pickles
Ingredients
Directions
In a medium saucepan, heat the canola oil to 375 degrees using a kitchen thermometer. In a medium size bowl, mix the Panko, salt, garlic powder, and pepper. In another medium size bowl, add the flour and enough water to make a thin paste. Dredge pickle spears first in flour paste, letting the excess drip off. Next, coat the pickles in the Panko. I actually like leaving the excess Panko on because I like the fried pickles to be super crunchy. Fry in batches (to maintain oil temp) 2-3 minutes on each side until golden brown. Place fried pickles on a paper towel to drain excess oil. Serve warm, preferably with copious amounts of ranch. 🙂
I wish I could say I was a sriracha early adopter, but I was only slightly ahead of the sriracha craze. I started using it *before* supermarkets began hoarding the stuff to keep up with demand, but *after* it was a staple on all my cool friends’ tables. I was always scared of spicy foods and didn’t see the point in enduring tastebud pain when a mild alternative was available. But sriracha changed all that for me. This thick, garlicy, bright red, confusingly sweet chili paste gives food more life, more depth, more passion. And if there’s one thing boring vegetarian food needs, it’s passion. Sriracha has made me crave spicy foods (with or without the stuff) and want to venture out of my comfort zone and put my taste buds through a little bit of discomfort in order to explore new flavors.
I don’t put sriracha on everything because it doesn’t go with everything. I’ve found it goes best with carby things. Noodle stir fries, baked potatoes, garlic bread, and in this case, a black bean veggie patty.
I used Morningstar Farm’s Spicy Black Bean burger. Speaking of which, here’s my quick rant on veggie burgers: They will never taste like hamburgers, and it’s kind of ridiculous to think they will. They should be thought of as their own food, with the term “burger” used loosely. They are round and fit a hamburger bun, yes, but if you can appreciate that they are made with their own ingredients, spices, and textures, not to copy a beef burger but to be their own separate food entirely, they are so much more enjoyable.
Aaaaanyway, I sautéed a small sliced onion in canola oil on medium heat, and when the onions were about 6 minutes away from being done (about 4 minutes into the sauteeing process), I added the burger, cooking 3 minutes on each side until slightly crispy. I like the flavor of cooking the burger in the same oil as the onions. I finished with a slice of Havarti cheese, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite types of melty, neutral cheeses. I piled everything up on a big, soft Rotella’s hamburger bun, then added several healthy squirts of sriracha on top. The sriracha acts as a flavor enhancer, almost like salt does. It brings out the flavors of the other foods–the spices in the burger were amplified, as was the crispiness of the onions and the soft bite of the bun.
Maybe you’ve never had a Runza. If you’re an adult and you’ve never tasted one, you probably wouldn’t be too impressed. To fully appreciate a Runza–a fast food, breaded meat pouch filled with ground beef, cabbage, onions, and American cheese–there needs to be an element of nostalgia. “Remembered flavors” produce some of the strongest sensory emotions, as much as seeing an old photo of your childhood home, or running your fingers along the fuzzy fur of the teddy bear your grandmother gave you when you were 4. Remembered flavors are the definition of comfort food. They evoke a sense of peacefulness, security, and most importantly, home.
Nebraska is my home. Born and raised, I’ve lived here for all 32 years of my life. I’m not sure when the first time I had a Runza was, but I’m guessing, along with most Nebraskans, it was as soon as I could chew. When I became vegetarian 12 years ago, I relegated Runzas to a thing of my past, a comfort food I would never taste again, until just a few months ago when I was perusing a coworker’s Facebook and saw she had posted this recipe.
I made it the very next day. I used cheddar cheese at first, then a few days later, already addicted, tried swiss. They were both good, and both almost satisfied that childhood remembered flavor, but I finally did some research and discovered Runza itself uses American on its infamous Cheese Runza. I took one bite, closed my eyes, and after 12 years going without, Runza was finally back in my life.
Speaking of American Cheese: The secret to this dish is ignoring that small voice inside your head whispering screaming, “THAT IS WAY TOO MUCH AMERICAN CHEESE!” Runza, Inc. doesn’t listen to that voice, and neither should you. This is comfort food, after all, and one pan of this stuff will be your dinner, lunch, and leftovers for days.
Vegetarian Runza Casserole
Ingredients
- 1 package Morningstar Farms crumbles
- 1 head green cabbage, cored and large dice
- 2 yellow onions, diced
- 8 oz American Cheese
- 2 tubes crescent rolls
- 2 T butter (I use Earth Balance)
- salt and black pepper
Directions
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Melt 2 T butter in large stock pot. Add entire head of chopped cabbage, 1 t salt, and 1/2 t pepper. Saute on medium heat with lid on, stirring frequently until cabbage is very soft, about 20-25 minutes. Do now allow cabbage to brown much at all. For the last 5 minutes of sauteeing, remove lid to release moisture so that cabbage is not too watery. While cabbage is cooking, sweat onions in 1 T canola/vegetable oil. You want the onions to retain a bit of crunch. Add Morningstar Farms crumbles and heat through. Set aside. When cabbage is done cooking, combine beef/onion mixture to cabbage and mix well. Season again with salt and pepper, to taste. Layer one roll of crescents flat on the bottom of a 9×13 casserole dish (no need to grease). Spread cabbage/MSF crumble mixture on top. Put a single layer of the 8 oz of American cheese slices to completely cover the mixture. Top with remaining tube of crescent rolls, spread flat. Bake at 350 for 15-18 minutes until crescent rolls are golden brown.
I’ve always felt like there’s two types of sloppy joe camps: The Manwiches vs. The Ketchup and Mustards. Growing up, we were a ketchup and mustard family. We were poor and my mother worked nights, so there was nothing cheaper or quicker than browning some ground beef, squeezing in globs of ketchup and mustard, scooping it up between two pieces of Rotella’s bread, and calling it dinner.
Sloppy Joes left my life for the first few years after going vegetarian. I was 20 when I made the switch. During those formative years, I veered away from everything I’d ever known about food, wanting to experience food in a different way. I got adventurous and ate something new every night.
Fast forward 12 years later, and sometimes (ok, a lot) I crave simpler times, fast dinners, and a little nostalgia. Welcome back into my life, Ketchup and Mustard Sloppy Joes.
There really is no recipe for this. You brown an onion, throw in a bag of Morningstar Farms crumbles, heat through, add plain ketchup and mustard to taste, and eat. I feel like I’m 8 years old again when I serve this up for dinner. Some nights, that’s exactly what you need.
The Portly Vegetarian 
