Today's prompt is for the best sandwich ever, which is also probably the easiest prompt for me all month as I just LOVE sandwiches. While I enjoy creativity, I must admit I also love simplicity. My favorite is a tempeh reuben. This recipe for a beer baked tempeh reuben is delicious. A very simple tempeh reuben, with just rye, baked tempeh, sauerkraut and dressing. I don't typically pollute my reuben with pickles, nor do I typically use cheese. In this video, I'm using Daiya, but I prefer Chao (I love Daiya too, just not on sandwiches). I don't put onions on a reuben (can you even IMAGINE????? but, yeah, I've seen that....), or anything else. That's like putting peppers and onions in hash browns.... you hear me, right? When we travel, if a reuben is on a menu it's what I will order. I've had them in many ways.... fancy restaurants like to do silly things like serve them "deconstructed" or whatever it's called, while some diners pile them high like a Jewish deli. I've had good, bad and ugly, but this home made version is divine.
I don't mention the onion rings in the video because it's about the sandwich, but I did a modification of the recipe from Betty Goes Vegan, which also included me baking them not frying. As you'll see in the video, you will have half a bottle of your vegan IPA left after you make your reubens. You can drink it, OR make beer battered onion rings! If alcohol isn't your thing, use apple juice for the reubens, I've done it and works just fine. Here's the video. Scroll past the video if you'd like the recipe.
Recipe (credit: so sorry, I have NO idea.... I do know I took this off VegWeb LONG ago)
BEER BAKED TEMPEH REUBENS
1/2 a 12-oz bottle beer (go for an IPA, it's more flavorful) make sure it's vegan
1 tablespoon vegan Worcestershire (I use Wizard)
1/2 tsp caraway seeds, optional (I omit)
a few dashes of liquid smoke (make sure it's vegan--I use Colgin, so far still vegan)
1 8 oz pack tempeh, cut into quarters, then halve the quarters
1/2 cup vegan mayo (I use Just Mayo or Vegenaise)
2 tablespoons ketchup
2 tablespoons chopped pickles or relish (I prefer sweet, you can use dill)
hot sauce, to taste
8 slices vegan rye bread (use a multigrain if you cannot find rye)
vegan margarine as needed
1/3 cup sauerkraut per sandwich (I like more.....!)
Vegan Cheese - optional (I use it in the video, but I do not like it on my own, do as you please)
Mix your IPA in a shallow pan with the Worcestershire, seeds (if using) and smoke. Cut your tempeh, place in pan, cover with foil and marinate about 1/2 hour (I usually leave it overnight, but this is not required).
Preheat your oven to 350 (325 if convection), bake the tempeh, covered, 25 minutes.
Mix up your mayo, ketchup & pickles to make your dressing.
When tempeh is ready, heat a skillet or griddle, spread bread with margarine, place on the griddle a minute or so to start to brown, then add tempeh, kraut and some dressing, assemble sandwiches on griddle, press down with spatula, flip, give a few more minutes till both sides are equally brown.
Today I'm supposed to tell you about something weird that I eat, or a weird food combination. True confessions, nothing I eat is weird. Nothing anyone eats, as long as it's vegan, is weird. I did the best I could with this topic, the other happy vegan says this snack is weird, but it's just SO not.
By the way, aside from mangoes, bananas, vinegar and chocolate, ketchup is Nature's next perfect food.
Today's topic is one I can really get on board with... "quick, easy and delicious!" When it comes to food, that statement is my mantra.
Mango mango mango! Everywhere I look in my kitchen, it's about the mango, so is today's video. My true confession about mangoes: I never liked them before I moved here. Well, I THOUGHT I didn't like them. Turns out, I never had a mango off a tree before moving here, only little mango-like rocks sold in supermarkets up north where I am from (those are just not what I'm talking about here). Shortly after moving here, a friend gave me a whole basket of mangoes straight off her tree for my birthday. I thought "what the heck, I'll give one a go..." The rest is history.
This summer brought a bounty of hundreds and hundreds of mangoes into my kitchen, 99.9% of them have come straight from the trees at the Grimal Grove on Big Pine Key (what's that 0.01% you ask? Gifts from friends gardens, yay!) I've dehydrated the large majority of them for a special coconut mango biscotti I created as an on-going fundraiser for the Grimal Grove on Big Pine Key. It's wonderfully tropical in flavor, and chock full of Grimal Grove dried mango. This past December I bought a 10 tray dehydrator (similar to an Excalibur, without the price tag). I absolutely love it. I got it at Food for Thought in Marathon, it was a floor model and wonderfully discounted to an affordable price. My decision to go high raw was much easier because it's summertime and also was in the middle of our local mango season. There's still a few Grimal Grove mangoes trickling into my kitchen, but season is mostly over for them. I'm very lucky to have any at all coming in right now, thus my frozen and dried stocks are like gold to me.
Everyone all over is getting ready for pumpkin, but here in the tropics we're in the thick of triple digit heat indexes and and frozen mango drinks.
In my best Howard Cosell.... "let's go to the videotape...."
Here we are, day two of VeganMoFo 2015 and I'm supposed to recreate a favorite childhood meal. My preference would be to completely skip/ignore this topic. I'm not really big on promoting poor eating habits, and I think what I'm revealing is pretty awful. As a child, my mother taught me pretty well regarding nutrition, but kids being kids, I liked what I liked and given the opportunity on my own to choose things, I made some very poor choices at times. This "meal" completely reflects that situation.
As you might recall, currently I'm healing from an ankle injury that I didn't properly take care of. By the time I sought medical care, they too completely failed me... casting, boot, brace, medication ... they even wanted to inject me with some horrid type of poison to mask the pain (I declined). I had an epiphany, and decided to move into high raw/raw anti-inflammatory choices of eating for healing. It's been a fantastic process for healing my very wounded ankle. Despite this situation, I'm keeping in line with 2015 "suggestions" of daily topics, and revealing a veganized version of something I used to eat as a child/young adult.
Haters gonna hate on this one, with just cause. What can I say, I'm just the writer and didn't choose this topic. My disclaimer is at least I saw the light, I'm vegan now (and have been for a long time), I advocate the best I can, and I love me my veggies!
Happy MoFo, here's your video. Can you tell by the look on my face I was NOT happy about this video....?
For the last few months, I've been a high raw vegan. I've also eliminated grains, wheat, gluten, oil, nuts, sugar (sugar that occurs in food is ok), alcohol, and of course almost all cooked food. I incurred an ankle injury that happened much longer ago than I'm willing to admit, but didn't take care of things as I should have. Eventually I found myself barely able to walk, with a constant altered gait, in such severe pain that every aspect of my life was being impacted. Although I eventually sought medical care, conventional medicine completely failed me. I took matters into my own hands, or rather my own kitchen. With this temporary lifestyle adjustment along with a regimen of herbs, supplements and enzymes, I'm on the road to healing. Although I haven't yet taken back with running, I'm out of all braces, boots, and casts, have tossed all medication to the curb, and am cycling every day, sometimes 20 miles. This isn't about perfection (I'm high raw, not all raw), if there's something I really want I'll go for it, but that's very rare, as quite simply nothing tastes as good as healthy feels.
Our dear friend, Pop, has
left this Earthly realm and passed on to whatever comes next.
Through the years I have
written about Pop for you…. Including how we met. I wrote about when Pop left
the Keys, including we happy vegans swift visits up and back to see him after
he moved. Whether you met him or not, you knew about him if you read the blog,
or keep up with us on Facebook in our on line community. And, if you read about
him, you probably loved him. Strike the world probably…. You loved him.
In Pop’s world anything
worth doing was worth doing himself. Mattered not it might take 10 times as
long at his advanced age, his work ethic was as solid as it was when he was
young. Many people offered a helping hand to him for chores and such, but the
typical response would be “no thank you, I want to do it myself.” Case in
point, the day we met.
I was new down here and hadn’t
met many (any?) neighbors, and had no friends. I was homesick, missing my
family, missing my friends and everything that I knew and was comfortable with.
I was also coping with frequent thoughts that I had made a huge mistake moving
here. Driving down the street one morning I saw an elderly man at the edge of
the road with large trash buckets full of cut up giant palm fronds. He had big
trimmers with him, and was wearing a white fishing style hat. He was stooped
over the buckets, drenched in sweat. It was summertime, maybe July or August,
and was sweltering out. I noticed there was no one else around, he had no
walker, no wheelchair nor cane, just one old man and a mission. I stopped, told
him my name, that I was his new neighbor, and asked if he needed any help.
Mosquitoes were all over him, but he seemed unfazed as the sweat dripped off his
face. With a wry smile he said something about my “perfect timing” asking where
was I an hour ago, as he was just finished. I was mortified, thinking he was
serious, and I was embarrassed thinking he’s right, no person of his age should
be doing the work he was doing. Next thing I knew, he busted out laughing as he
saw the look of shame and horror on my face.
I had a new friend, a new
friend with a wicked sense of humor.
We forged our friendship
as I baked him too many muffins to count, fed him too many pancakes to count,
and drove too many miles up and back over the 7 Mile Bridge with him to ever
really know.
Pop was a man of devout
faith, and he drew on that well through his whole life to get through some
exceptionally difficult times. Don’t be fooled by his never ending smiles that
he got to be 106 years on this Earth without a hefty chunk of hard times. He
outlived his wife, a son, and other family members he loved dearly. He lost too
many friends to count through his life. He saw the world change in ways people
like me cannot imagine.
Pop and I had truthfully
had more differences than similarities, not just a generation between us, but
several generations. Despite all that, we connected and always found a middle
ground, more often than not because of Pop’s efforts. Pop didn’t want to talk
about the “old days” quite the contrary. He wanted to talk about sports,
politics, religion, food, nature, and the wonderful road we lived on. Pop had a
great love of sports (he was a star athlete in his younger days, and set a pole
vaulting record), including basketball and football. He was involved in many
sports, but never played football. Long ago, I asked why he never played
football being that he loved the game so much.His response… “Mother didn’t want me to, she said it was too dangerous.”
Pop spoke so lovingly of his mother, the food she cooked, lessons she taught,
and so much more. He lived by her wisdom to the day he died. He told me a few
of her lessons were “eat a good breakfast to start your day right, do a puzzle
every day to keep your mind fresh, exercise daily, and always say your
prayers.” I can recite exactly what Pop would have for breakfast every day,
tell you that he did a jumble every morning, did his leg, arm and hand
exercises every single day, and prayed like no one else I’ve ever known.
Pop was as much a good
student as he was a good teacher.
Most likely Pop's strong ability to be a goal setter came from his mother in one way or another. She herself lived to be 104, and Pop had a goal to make it to "at least" 104. Another checkmark crossed on Pop's life list.
After Pop had given up
driving, his son gave him a golf cart so he could continue to visit friends on the street, and maintain independence in theyard he so lovingly tended to. There were quite a few golf cart rides
before a regulator was installed. Pop would go tearing off down his driveway at
full throttle “PEDAL TO THE MEDAL” as he left scorched Earth behind. I was on
quite a few of those scorched Earth rides before the other happy vegan thought
it would be best to install that regulator. At the same time, the other happy
vegan surprised Pop with a supercharged duel air horn on the cart, holy bananas
was that thing loud. Pop LOVED it! He’d go riding up and down the street laying
on that horn to say hello to all his friends. He also blew that horn every morning on his way out to water "his birds" at the fountain so, as he would say, we'd all know "I'm still here!" On one of our crazy rides when
the cart was still supercharged with speed and horn, we happened to pass some
poor soul who had stopped in an empty lot to make a phone call. Pop’s vision wasn’t
the best, all he saw when we passed at full throttle with air horn constantly
blaring was a raised hand in the air. Being that Pop only saw the good in
people, he was certain that was a “hello” wave (it wasn’t, trust me) so he
blasted the horn even more, it was truly absolutely hilarious. All this while
he was rasping out “PEDAL TO THE METAL! PEDAL TO THE METAL! PEDAL TO THE
METAL!!!!!!”
So. Much. Fun.
Pop and I watched some
sports together, not too much as he knew I didn’t appreciate sports the same as
he did, although I surely could watch a baseball game or two, especially
Yankees. I learned much more about golf from Pop than I ever thought I could
stand, as he was a huge golf aficionado. When he moved to the Keys, he became a
member at Sombrero Country Club, continuing to continue to satisfy his long
love of the game. He had several holes in one during his life as well, I think
his last hole-in-one was at Sombrero at around age 92 or so. Pop had friends
who are in the pro circuit, and also knew others through his friends. We’d watch
more golf than anything else, as he’d tell me who he was rooting for and what
the connection was for him. He also took no prisoners when they were shooting a
crappy game, and felt genuine happiness for them when they played very well.
Pop and I didn’t agree on
religion either, maybe I disappointed him on that but he didn’t dwell on it. Instead
he gently told me that he’d pray for me anyway. He’s the only person in my life who could get
away with that. Every conversation ended with a blessing from him, along with
an I love you.
Pop was my biggest food
fan, and best food critic. He would try anything I ever made, so long as it was
something that wasn’t too spicy or too fancy (“honey, I like my food plain.”) He
had a sweet tooth as big as his smile, and would never turn down a cupcake, a
muffin, or any other sweet from me. Probably the only people I’ve met in my
life who had a love of chocolate greater than my own were my father, and Pop. Each
time I went into research and development for a new product, he was my first
taste tester. He may have liked his food simple, but that doesn’t mean he
didn’t know good food. His most requested items from me? “Chocolate cake honey,
with a side of kisses” (especially for his birthdays), “muffins please, with
extra nuts,” and “those blueberry muffins honey, yes please, they’re my
favorite, they’re the best.”
On our last visit up to
visit Pop a short couple months ago, I baked some cookies that were actually a
recipe from his mother. Pop and I talked about food a lot through the years. Before
he left he told me I could have any recipe I wanted out of his recipe box. I
sorted through them all, some in his own careful lettering, some in his beloved
wife’s hand, and others written by people I didn’t know. I took the recipes I
wanted, but left those that had personal notes I thought his family would enjoy
reading and left the ones I really could not veganize. Once, after I had all the recipes, we were
talking about them. I mentioned his ginger cookie recipe, saying it looked like
a really great recipe. He said “that’s a good one honey, a really good one.” After
he moved, I veganized that “good one.” They came out absolutely perfect on the
first try. I packed them up and took them on a plane with me for our visit.
Also in my bag with the ginger cookies were all the components for a tiny
birthday cake I was going to present to him on the same visit. I wrote about
that visit on this blog, not realizing it was the last time I would ever see
Pop face to face, yet acutely aware odds were not in our favor for many (any?)
visits after that. I will never forget the look on his face as he bit into that
first ginger cookie, he was so happy. He said something along the lines of
“perfect honey, just like I remember from mother.” He and his son reminisced
about mother over more ginger cookies while I snuck into Pop’s new kitchen and
assembled the tiny chocolate birthday cake. It was a couple weeks shy of his
real 106th birthday, but it didn’t matter. I had made my best
chocolate cake, my best chocolate ganache, my best chocolate frosting then packed
everything with a sleeve of bright rainbow sprinkles. I had carefully wrapped
and packed special “#106” candles to top the cake. I lovingly filled, frosted
and decorated that cake in his shiny new kitchen, silently wondering if I would
be given the privilege of preparing a #107 cake, hoping desperately that so it
would be. When I finished the cake, I lit the candles, and marched into his dining
room where he, his son, a few other close family, and the other happy vegan
were. We sang happy birthday, hugged, and snapped a few pictures before Pop got
down to business of sawing through cake, ganache and frosting. Those are the
last pictures Pop and I took together.
Pop went through a lot,
and although he would be frustrated by the limitations his 106 year old body
would sometimes have, he always kept his game face on. He wanted to keep doing
everything himself, but bodies simply sometimes do not cooperate when we get to
a certain age. So, we went from shopping outings together, to me doing
shopping. We went from me taking him for haircuts, to haircuts being done at
home, or someone physically stronger than me taking him out, just in case he
needed more help than I could give. Through the years there were other changes
too, but two things that never changed were our visits, and Pop’s golf games.
About those golf games.
Pop had a second family
within the Sombrero Country Club. Even after he gave up the game in his 90s, he
still continued to run the twice weekly “Pop’s group” games for the other
players. He did this without a calculator. This was no small task, at times
those groups had upwards of 60 players. His clipboard…. well, let’s just say it
was tattered and had A LOT of ink stains. The players and the members at the
club looked out for Pop. They helped him around if he needed it, while those
games and those people gave him something to look forward to every Tuesday and
Thursday. Games got him out of the house, and got him to spend time with those
dear friends of his. He’d sit on his cart out on the course on hole #8 and
needle the players. They’d give him food to take home, and stories to tell me
on the ride back. He loved them, and they loved him right back.
Pop was a proud man who loved his family, his country, his community, and his friends. He loved the Florida Keys, and loved where he lived. Pop would wait for me in his dining room chair so he could wave at me as I passed by on my runs. I’d see his silhouette in the window. Sometimes I’d dash up his driveway for a quick visit on the way up or back. Pop was always still waiting at that same table, in his chair, to wave at me through his giant picture window as I passed his house on the way back home. Sometimes I’d do ridiculous things like a spazzy roadside dance, silly fake Irish jigs, blow kisses from the street, or run up to that giant window of his and holler through the glass “thanks for waiting, I love you!” before I dashed backwards down his driveway, waving the entire time until we were out of each other’s sight.
So now Pop is gone. Over
the last few days I have been thinking about a lot of different things
connected with Pop. I’ve been thinking about the wisdom he imparted, lessons he
taught me without me even realizing school was in session. I know people seek
to find themselves. Too many think they cannot do this without going to some
exotic country, without climbing a mountain across the world, or without paying
bundles of money to hear someone else explain to them how they too can “find
themselves.” I will have none of that for myself, my own guru was 4 doors down,
sat on a golf cart that happened to have a supercharged air horn, and savored
every day like no one else I know. Pop had the wisdom of the ancients which he dished
out with the simplicity of the Amish. He truly was the wisest person I have
ever met. Pop could get people who had NOTHING in common to laugh together, and
have a mutual respect. Pop built roads for people like no one else. He would
not dwell on people’s missteps, he would not dwell on negativity. He believed
in the inherent good of all humanity, all people, and he believed that the
power of love could conquer anything.
Our world has lost a very
special human being, one of great love, great forgiveness, great kindness, and
great empathy. Pop had great concern for those dealing with hunger, and was
very generous with his time and raised money at the golf club tournaments, which
he always donated to the food bank. He would donate to the missions in Miami as
well. He was a man of modest means, but he found a way to make things better
for so many people in dire straits.
Shortly before Pop died,
both of us happy vegans had a conversation with Pop, a goodbye conversation. He
knew, and we knew, the purpose of that call. It’s something in all my years I
never had to do before. He counseled me to not be sad, we said what we wanted
to say, and then within what seemed like either seconds or forever, the talk
was over.
On the day Pop died, we
happy vegans spoke with him. He wasn’t able to talk back, but his son held that
phone up to his ear so he could hear us as we again told him how much we loved
him. The passing of Pop leaves a void in the lives of so many that will never
be filled. While it is true that he lead a rich full life, we mortals are left
behind without him. No chocolate crumb covered guru on the golf cart offering
advice in a raspy cheerful voice, no guru savoring the smell of a fresh cup of
coffee, no guru offering his famous “you rascal!” to everyone passing by.
Our deepest condolences go
out to Pop’s family, and everyone who loved him. He had so many angels in his
life that helped him live the life he wanted and deserved. He retained his
independence for almost his entire 106 years, we should all be as fortunate. He
was doted on and adored by many, including after he left the Keys. He had a
beautiful last Christmas with family where he was, and was appreciated for the
living legend that he was. It’s hard to imagine going forward without his
larger than life presence. It’s hard to imagine a birthday of his passing
without “chocolate cake honey, with a side of kisses.” It’s hard to imagine a
lot of things now, but we have no choice. Pop’s simple guidance would remind me
“we have to press on.”
For years I sat next to a
sage who listened to my woes, celebrated my successes, and guided me through
this scary, beautiful, cruel, magnificent world. He was a living reminder of
what really matters, and a giant in not only what he did say, but what he
didn’t say.
I have a lot to be
thankful for in my life, and my friendship with Pop is at the top of that list.
He became my first friend down here, and remained a stable force in my life
from our very first meeting. I will be eternally grateful for that, as well as
to everyone else who helped him along the way live the life he wanted, the way
he wanted.
Pop was a lucky man, and
the world was better with him in it.
Rest in peace great guru
on the golf cart. I will never forget you.
