*Or, Raising the Steaks. Or, A Steak in My History.
[No, that is NOT a real steak in the photo! Seriously, it’s a mushroom. No, really.]
Before the days of the Great War, and yet after the infestation of the Rats (Pack), and the invasion of the Insects; when the great pioneers left this land and sought out Greene-er pastures, there was a young girl-child, and she went by the name of Ricki. And she and her sisters were raised to obey and respect their elders; and they were raised to eat with their family; and so they did.
And during that time, The Father, a Butcher, commanded his brood: “You must eat meat, for it is good.” And so they ate meat, and they ate it every night. And on weekends, they ate “mixed grill,” for which they sacrificed the lamb chops, and the beef liver, and the hamburger, and the pig of cloven hoof, and the steak. And they were thankful for the bounty. And it was good.
But then came one day, the child called Ricki was tempted by the graven image of the Golden Arches. And she yearned to enjoy the pleasures of this calf (meat); and she asked, “Father, may I taste a McDonald’s burger?”
And the answer came, “NO!” And the Father said, “All restaurants are crap. You must eat only the meat prepared by your Mother, and only that of the Home Kitchen.”
But the girl-child was rebellious, and so when she visited the wilderness country with her friends Gemini I and Gemini II, she did eat from the Golden Arches. And yes, she thought it was good. And suddenly, with the flash of a thunderbolt, she was stricken down; she felt pain in the abdomen, and pain in the gut, and the burger sought revenge on her. And then, she barfed.
“It was not meant to be,” The Father admonished. “You must listen to me, my child, and never again partake of the tainted meats of the Golden Arches.”
And so the years passed. And yet once again, Ricki rebelled. When she was three and twenty, she determined to partake once more of the fobidden meat. And so she went, of her own volition, and sought out the great king, Harvey. And there she found the freedom of choice, and the selection of the multitude of burgers. And she took pleasure in the ability to have it her own way. And once again, she thought it was good.
And lo, once again, the burger sought retribution. And once again, she barfed.
And then, without warning, Ricki was again struck down. And the shaman proclaimed, “We will draw your blood.” And so they drew her blood; and then they examined it. And the shaman pronounced, “Your albumen levels are too low.” And the trusted healer commanded, “You must eat meat.” And yea, once again, Ricki was swayed. And she and her HH sought out the vast storehouse of the cattle, and they heartily accepted the steak. And so she ate.
And no, this time, she did not barf; but lo, nevertheless the steak tumbled and growled and gurgled in her belly for days, like heavy sand under the turbulent waves.
“No more!” she cried. “I shall eat the meat no more!” And she pounded her fist, and she gazed up to the sky, and she shed a heavy tear.
And Ricki then began her quest in earnest.
She fought mightily, and she sought out a new source of strength and inspiration. She befriended the warrior, Kale, and she was blessed with the tint of the beet juice and the flower flour of the spelt. And she found her salvation in the NAG, and the young bean, and the heavenly nectar of the cactus. And she learned her lesson: while The Father’s intentions were good, Ricki could not trust the meat. And then, she found her peace (and piece–of mushroom). And she and her HH continued to live thus.
* * * * * * * * * *
And so (if you haven’t taken off in a huff yet), what is all this talk of steak and burgers doing on a self-proclaimed vegan blog??
Well, I’ve mentioned before that the HH and I tend to visit our favorite restaurant once or twice a year for very special occasions. One of my favorite dishes is the portobello “steak.” The first time I tasted it, I fairly swooned, but was quickly overtaken by anxiety. I waved madly, summoning the waiter, to ask (in what I’m sure must have been an accusatory tone): “Are you absolutely sure this has no meat in it?” Because, really, it so closely brought to mind my recollection of the taste of steak (not to mention the Parable of the Steak).
“No,” he assured me, “this is our vegan entrée. It’s made without any animal products at all.” Hmm!
“Definitely no animal products?” I persisted. At that, I think he got a bit worried. (It’s like when the HH and I are leaving to do errands on the weekend, and just as I slide my leg into the car, he asks, “Did you lock the front door?” Well, it might be two seconds since I withdrew the key from the lock, but the very question itself has me doubting my own memory, so I get up, go back to the doorknob, and test it again.) “Let me go check,” he said, and trotted off to the kitchen.
A few moments later, he returned to assure me that no, there were no animal products in the dish. Obviously, the chef had spent some time and skill perfecting this recipe, because the flavor and texture were glorious. Intensely juicy, not in the least unyielding as some mushrooms tend to be; it was toothsome and savory, a mushroom to drool over, to rip apart with gusto, to smack your lips about. And yes, it was good.
Well, I knew I had to reproduce that mushroom.
So yesterday, I decided to cook up my own portobello steaks for my birthday dinner (I know, I shouldn’t have been cooking at all on my own birthday. But I’d met my friend Gemini I for breakfast, and then met the HH for lunch, and I basically OD’d on restaurant food. Besides, we’ve got the “real” celebration planned for Saturday evening, and I won’t cook for that). I recalled an inspiring portobello dish on another vegan blog, and thought I could begin with that recipe, then tweak it according to my memory of the “steak.”
I added some oil to the mix, more wine and some steak spice to evoke a really robust, hearty and meaty taste. I also marinated the mushrooms for most of the day in the refrigerator before cooking, to infuse them fully with the various flavors. [Update, 2017: I’ve since adapted the dish to be suitable for the ACD, maintenance phase. Just as delish! Feel free to still use wine if you prefer.]
We both fell in love with this dish. We had the steaks with spanish rice and garlicky kale, and it was a perfect meal. “Keep this one on the repeat list,” the HH directed as mushroom juice trickled down his chin.
The moral of the story? Do not mess with the animal kingdom; but the vegetable kingdom is bountiful, and welcoming, and will bring you much happiness.
And it will be good!
A perfect main dish for a cold winter day when you need something robust and filling. As long as you remember to marinate them ahead of time, these come together very quickly.
2 large portobello mushrooms, stems removed
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 Tbsp balsamic or apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup (60 ml) unsweetened cranberry juice
1/4 cup (60 ml) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic
1-1/2 tsp (7.5 ml) dried thyme
2 tsp (10 ml) dried basil
1 tsp (5 ml) dried parsley
1 tsp (5 ml) Montreal or Chicago-style steak spice
salt and pepper, to taste
In the morning: In a large non-reactive (glass or ceramic) casserole dish with a lid, mix together all ingredients but the mushrooms. Lightly score the tops of the mushrooms in a criss-cross pattern. Place the mushrooms top-up on the marinade and swish around so the liquid fills some of the spaces in the underside, then flip over and lay them down with the tops in the marinade. Cover and let marinate until evening, or at least 4 hours, flipping the “steaks” over occasionally.
Preheat a cast-iron frypan or griddle; spray lightly with olive oil spray. Sear the mushrooms on each side quickly, then sauté for a few minutes in the marinade so that the marinade cooks and the steaks absorb the flavors, about 2 minutes on each side. Remove to serving dishes and spoon more marinade over top. Makes 2 servings.
Suitable for: ACD All stages Stage 1 Stage 2 Stage 3 Maintenance and beyond; refined sugar-free, gluten-free, grain-free, dairy-free, egg free, soy-free, nut free, yeast-free, vegan, low glycemic.
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“Mum, are you sure that’s not steak? Because if it is, you know, we’re happy to help you out with it. And we won’t barf.”