Kathy’s recipe on Monday, a “Smoky Maple Lentil Salad,” promised the unholy union of pancakes and legumes — while also managing to sound like a bizarre evening eyeshadow look. How could it go wrong?
When I’m meal planning for the week I try to designate one night as “bean night.”
Please tell me the recipe involves Zoloft, because I’ve been close to death, divorce and the criminal justice system in the last year, but reading about Kathy’s painstaking plans for designating bean nights makes me want to crawl under all the blankets, ever, and never emerge. She continues:
This can range from a Mexican bowl of pinto beans to a bean soup…
Excuse me, Kathy, but Mexico just called. They’ve suspended the cartel warfare for the moment and are demanding an apology for you claiming to have ever done anything “Mexican” to the poor pinto bean. Ordering a Traveling Taco one time at the Wildcat Den at Davidson doesn’t count as “Mexican,” Kathy. Give those poor people an apology. (After you write your letter to the French for the toast, the Irish for the soda bread and the Italians for the “Italian herbs.”)
Bonus points if I can make it in advance!
Oh, is Kathy under the impression that she gets extra credit for laying out her dinner every night like a good little girl? Because the rest of us are over here being adults. Some of us even have jobs, or multiple kids, or no spouse to help. Tell us again how “chaotic” your life is again?
Anyway, Kathy continues with Layer 2 of her Seven Layer Whine Dip by moaning about how queasy lentils have made her since her disastrous ginger coconut lentil soup (flavored with an entire teaspoon each of garlic, ginger, coriander and garam masala, because you wouldn’t want to risk actually tasting something aside from the sweet potato and celery and coconut milk.)
Since she ate them while
…barely pregnant with morning sickness just beginning, I just couldn’t go near them for a while.
Poor barely nauseated, never-puking Kathy, screening her calls, setting herself to “invisible” chat, having to give her Ball Jar of beans all kinds of excuses about why she couldn’t hang out anymore…
For her third layer of seven-whine dip, Kathy bought frozen butternut squash (she had “saving time on [her] mind,” obviously — her life of looking after her baby, paying the housekeeper and eating room temperature nut butter is exhausting). And THEN, she realized how to save even more time: referring to it twice in the next paragraph as “b-nut.”
I LOVE b-nut squash, but I absolutely hate the peeling, scraping and dicing that goes along with it … for the ease of putting it in the oven frozen with a few daps [sic] of butter, salt and some maple syrup drizzled on top, I give it an A-
Of all the things to “absolutely hate,” prepping a fucking squash is among them? Was Kathy taking a long vacation on Bald Head Island the day the class learned about “war”? Secondly, that poor over-achieving butternut squash is going to go home in tears for that “minus,” you dab-misspelling meanie.
What other ingredients did she use? Maple syrup that the long-lost Rob and Seamane gave them for Christmas, which Kathy saved time by describing as
So thick and ….syrupy!
The seven-layer whine dip continues with layer 4*: Throwing Bath Matt under the bus for not buying the right kind of trendy green super food, and doing so using the mannerisms of a sheltered freshman in 2005 who calls everything “epic.”
I had wanted to use kale for this recipe, but Matt came home with collard greens, and they ended up being just as good. Chewy greens for the win.
Too bad there’s no darling little grocery delivery service in Cville that Kerf could have used and has such a great relationship with since she shilled for them in exchange for the ingredients for gross sun-dried tomato panko balls of meat like 2.6 posts ago. Anyway, the recipe calls for the squash (roasted in “a little” olive oil and “sprinkle of maple syrup,” because that’s totally a verb you can apply to a thick, viscous liquid), greens, feta and walnuts (toasted “until fragrant”) to be mixed with the lentils, which should be cooked “according to package” and should be the green kind because
(they whole [sic] their shape better than brown)
The virtuous mess is then topped with a dressing made from more maple syrup, balsamic vinegar, mustard, salt and pepper, an optional “3 drops” of liquid smoke, cheese, and 2 T of EITHER fake garlic from a jar OR olive oil, because the two are totally the same thing.
We enjoyed the salad warm for dinner one night and served it atop of salad greens for lunch the next day. Finally we made lentil burgers with it the next evening – just added an egg, mashed it into patties and cooked in some sunflower oil. So many ways to morph** the leftovers.
Well, just as long as you didn’t eat it on a weekend, since the keywords
Keywords: entree vegetarian lentils kale feta butternut squash Weeknights winter fall summer
clearly indicate that this lentil salad may not be consumed on a Saturday. Especially one during the spring. God, that would be disgusting.
*The rest of the layers come tomorrow. Everyone knows how much people love reading “half a recipe.”
**Morph? Maybe ease up on the shape-shifting spells and your evenings won’t be so chaotic, Bellatrix LeSmug.