Karina's Vegan Coleslaw with Peanut Dressing

Crunchy cool vegan slaw with a light peanut dressing.

Cool + Easy

It's almost the end of July. How has your summer been? Moonlit and sultry? All Popsicles and kiddie pool? Or just plain flat out busy as a bee? If it's been busy, Sugar, I can relate. Here in our tiny corner of the world we've been too crazy to cook much. We've been living on salads and smoothies. We're apartment hunting. Spending hours in the car navigating the neighborhoods of West Hollywood, searching for the perfect place. Or rather, the quasi-perfect place because perfection is unattainable. I know this. I do. But I still (naively) make a top ten priority list.

If I find a unit with a window over the kitchen sink (high on my list) there's inevitably no dishwasher. If I tour one with a dishwasher, there's no  window, and no patio (I'd love some outside access to put a small table and plant a few pots by the door). Washer and dryer? Ha.

You know that saying, If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans? Well, if you want to hear the gods laugh even harder, make a wish list.

For an apartment in West Hollywood.

Meanwhile... I thought I'd share this light and sexy coleslaw recipe. I whipped it up last night when all we had in the fridge was a head of green cabbage, a slim wedge of purple cabbage and a bunch of fresh cilantro. Out of all the nut butters I have on hand I chose peanut butter for the base of my salad dressing, but this would also be scrumptious with cashew, almond or sunflower seed butter.

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Vegan Almond Salad Recipe

Not Starkist Salad. Eat groovy. Save a tuna.

The older I get the more I crave simple. You know what I'm talking about. Home cooking. Childhood classics- like tuna salad. Instead of getting all worldly and sophisticated and dabbling with truffle oil, with each new gray hair my taste is hula hooping into kid-friendly food faster than Marisa Tomei can waggle. Well, maybe not that fast. She is pretty nimble. But you get my drift. I'm whipping up peanut butter and banana sandwiches, not oysters Rockefeller. Actually, I wouldn't know an oyster Rockefeller if it bit me in the tuchas. Filet Mignon (would you believe I've never had it?) doesn't even tempt me, Darling. And Chicken Cordon Bleu vs Chicken Kiev? 

Okay. It is here where I confess  that I'm no Betty Crocker and I've never attempted either recipe. Most likely because I was never what you'd call a big meat eater. I went vegetarian at age thirteen. If I've dabbled at all in the culinary arts it's been because of Anna Thomas and not Julia Child. The first cookbook I ever bought was The Vegetarian Epicure. That was 1972- the first time I ever made soup from scratch, thanks to Anna.

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Five Ways To Chill

1. Creamy dark chocolate sorbet. It's dairy-free and vegan. Rich but not filling. Cool and dark as midnight jazz. A respite from the shimmer of summer heat. Spoon it into chilled glasses. Turn off the lights. Light a candle. Music: Melody Gardot

2. Quinoa salad with lime and fresh mint. Cook quinoa in a rice cooker and keep the kitchen cool. Toss with just squeezed lime juice, good olive oil and garden ripe tomatoes. Spike it with whatever your heart desires- scallions, red onion. Kick off your flip-flops. Music: Crowded House's new album Intriguer

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Blueberry Smoothie- Veganluscious

Blueberry smoothie- dairy-free gluten-free chill.

Wilting from the heat? I've got a deep blue chill for you. Dairy-free. Easy as pie. Cool as a blueberry. I'm emancipating this recipe from the archive depths because it's just too luscious to get lost in 2007, never to be slurped again.

What does a brave and spunky vegan girl do when she is suddenly famished and her Crowded House whistling husband is scrambling up some free-range eggs and cheese for brunch? I'll tell what you do.

You reach for your power tools.

You haul out the Vita-Mix and thank your twinkling stars you have a bag of organic frozen blueberries in the freezer. You grab the carton of organic almond milk. You dip into the Nutribiotic vanilla rice protein powder. You smile slyly. You sprinkle in some stevia. 

You switch the button to HIGH and sigh.

You froth with pleasure.

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Gluten-Free Almond Flour Cookies

Almond flour cookies with the nutty crunch of pecans.

Almond Flour Cookies

Here I am again. Baking cookies. It's one way I cope with the world. Which, in case you haven't noticed, is totally moon bat crazy. So what do you do? The older I get the more I let go. And it's not just letting go of the obvious stuff, like that box of canceled checks from your first marriage or those hideous platform shoes you bought after seeing Saturday Night Fever. I'm letting go of things I once cherished. Stuff I used to believe. Opinions. The Right Way To Do Something. Why?

Because the older I get the less convinced I am that I know what is best. Sometimes it's hard to tell. I know from experience that the best laid plans can will often fail. And that sheer dumb luck can plop in your lap and splatter you with an unbidden opportunity. I've lived long enough to see the truth in my favorite line from Little Big Man. Sometimes the magic works, sometimes it doesn't. So I don't grasp anything too tightly anymore. 

Which brings me to Cheez Doodles and why you need to let go. 

My grandmother was a saver. The type of woman who, if you gave her a pretty new night gown, she'd just stuff it in the closet and never wear it. She'd go on wearing her crusty pink K-Mart gown. The one with mysterious brown stains down the front of it.

If you asked her, Why don't you wear the new nightgown we gave you? she'd swat away your question and begin rummaging around her kitchen cupboards. Rooting for food objects. To give you. A prize to take home. A dented can of baked beans from the reduced shelf at Walgreen's. Candy canes from Christmas past. And yeah. Cheez Doodles.

One particular visit, on our way out the door, my grandmother turned in the February light that slatted through beige vinyl blinds and stared at my two sons- twelve and nine at the time. 

You hungry? she barked. The boys shrugged. Take these, she told them, thrusting a giant bag of Cheez Doodles in their direction. The youngest carried the bag to the car. It was bigger than his head. We buckled in and drove off.

Can we open the Cheez Doodles? 

Steve and I looked at each other. Well. It's risky, I warned. God only knows how long she's been hanging on to those. 

Smell it first, offered the oldest. They tore the bag open in unison. And that's when it hit us.

The SMELL.

The most duodenum wrenching rancid odor you could imagine. Filling the car's interior in an instant, thanks to the car heater cranked on high. Accompanied by - of course!- Seal's Kiss From a Rose on the radio.

That is some serious heinous-ity, gasped my husband, rolling down the window for some air. 

I think the expiration date expired, offered one son.

Smells so funky, said the other.

Close the bag, I yelled. Have mercy on us!

After airing out the car we rolled up the windows. 

Why does she keep old stuff? my son asked. Yeah. What good are old Cheez Doodles? said his brother.

Exactly! said I.

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Carob-Almond-Banana Smoothie

Almond milk smoothie with carob and banana.

It's the little things in life. So they say. And today I would agree- wholeheartedly, in fact, with every rebel piece of my dairy-free chocolate verboten heart. The heart that beats without the comfort of gluten, without the silky swirl of cream, without the sexy burn of Tapatio sauce and raw red onion. The heart that misses Penne Arrabiata and roasted tomato salsa. The pragmatic heart that now beats on a mission, to quell this monkey gut of mine long enough to heal a stubborn duodenal ulcer.

And that is why, Babycakes, no chocolate will grace my tongue. Or peppermint tea (which I drank by the gallon to calm said monkey gut). Apparently chocolate and mint exacerbate little things like hiatal hernias. And, oh yeah. Holes in your duodenum. 

The things you learn. Better late than never.

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Gluten-Free Blueberry Crumb Cake

Blueberry crumb cake- gluten-free summer goodness.

Coffee cake for the road.

Sometimes in life- when you least expect it- the stars are kind. Synchronicity smiles. And disparate pieces of your dreams bump up against one another and nestle snug into place. I'm referring, of course, to my dream of California. Summer by the Pacific, walking the beach, shopping the Farmers' Market, reuniting with my sons. Cooking. Writing. Haunting book stores and coffee shops.

I've been trying to get there for two years.

No, the house hasn't sold yet. But Plan B is under way. We found the elusive summer rental. Just when I thought it wasn't going to happen. A sublet in Santa Monica. In the nick of time. A lovely, light filled creative space. With a sweet kitchen. So I am back to making lists, mapping our drive south to Flagstaff, AZ, turning west to aim for the coast. I am lying in the dark alert, at 3 AM, pondering not the mysteries of the collective unconscious, not the properties of desire and effect, quantum attraction and Zen detachment, but favorite flavors of chocolate chip cookies. I am imagining herbed sandwich wraps (recipe soon!). Bags of salted popcorn. iTunes playlists. And this, a new blueberry cake recipe I felt inspired to bake. With a cinnamon crumb topping.

I think it's perfect to pack for a two-day road trip, don't you? Or even a two minute trip, scooting across the back yard barefoot to visit your best friend and neighbor. She'll make the coffee. Or iced chai. While you unrap the cake you get to eat, too.

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