With the arrival of a pound of cricket powder and pristine Floridian summer weather, I’ve whipped together some strange masterpieces in the kitchen. The days stream by as the warm, delicate sunlight dapples the planet with a persistent reminder of hope. Even amongst all the chaos, both internal and external, a warm patch of grass and stray meandering cloud are never absent from your potential experience. And if you have a tropical climate, buzzing garden, and free time then I invite you into the kitchen to get it popping.
After tiring of the new wave of “clean, healthy, raw” eating which inevitably entails a slew of superfood recipe babies, the paragon of which would have to be the “Green Goddess Pesto”, I’ve summoned my own voice for a pointless masculine rebuttal. I’m not hating, I’m probably just deeply inspired yet jealous.
There are brand new flavors poppin’ out the incubator this week. Some smell like alcoholic cheese, others like hearty aged cheese, and others like pungent in-a-barrel for months deep in the mountains cheese. And that tempeh odor is pungently seductive. And futuristic (as in the future of food).
Yeah, I still dream about the off-grid, mountainous, woody homestead that I will one day reside in. This as close as I can get to believing I am some sort of self-sufficient nature-conscious foodie pioneer.
Hello worthy Internet forager.
I’m still on this prolonged phase of exploring the realm of moldy beans. Tempeh just feels so ripe at this time on Earth, when we’re growing more and more confused about what we’re supposed to be doing/eating on this planet.
This post is dedicated to a dish that fuses spices, cultures, heat, and time into perhaps the greatest dish I’ve ever tasted. I would eat this every week, ritualistically, if it wasn’t so confusing for my gut to digest a dozen different spices and thick, complex sauce dappled with starch and sugar. Therefore, I’ve modified the recipe a bit for my liking (us children of the ubiquitous house salad and mashed potatoes).
Geng kiao wan, my baby. The first recipe in my little recipe notepad. The most worthwhile butthole burn in the world. A flavor synthesis so complex, so diverse, yet so distinct and unmistakable.
I am becoming a man free from the man, namely “Cultures for Health” and Amazon. That’s right, I’m extending that black fuzz on the other aged tempeh batch into batches on batches. We’ll see how many generations in I can get, but it felt fucking amazing to start a fungal lineage. And not like the fungus feeding off poor dietary decisions on my back (TMI). I included more info about the temperature of the process below, cuz this shit is science.
Our taste buds, biceps, and planet need this stuff. Simply put, its cooked beans slowly feasted upon by a kind of mold, from starter culture available online. It’s definitely doable though there’s a certain art to master and level of TLC required to get a dank bean cake wafting out the incubator to future you.
This is bold, to go forth with Mama’s secret weapon as an opener on this journey into the hobbies and thoughts of my world. However, I got the feels of being really well cared for by a seasoned Grandmama in the kitchen. It was truly ambrosial, healthy, satisfying, and empowering to cook and enjoy. And yes, I do this for myself usually, I just love me that much.