Vegan Schmeegan

Today I met my friends Portia and Sean at a little vegan haunt in the trendy Fremont neighborhood of Seattle. It was a morning coffee date which in my mind means a chai tea latte paired with some sort of bread item. When I got to the joint (which by the way I did not suggest we go there, my yoga teacher friend Sean made that call). Anyway, when I got there, I found myself drooling behind the glass barrier that protected the freshly baked, hyper healthy, gluten free, hand crafted baked goods from said droolers. There were macaroons, cookies and cakes, “off limits before noon” I told myself. There were fat thumbprints oozing with organic, naturally sweetened jam, carrot muffins with certified gluten free oats and tea biscuits decorated with organic and local seasonal berries. With so many mouth watering options I had a difficult time choosing. Finally I opted for the small, grapefruit sized loaf of bread made with organic brown rice and garbanzo bean flour. I was envisioning a warm slice slathered in butter and honey with plenty left over to share with my friends. Up at the register I was greeted by a friendly, fresh faced woman who totaled my bill for the loaf and chai tea at $11.75. I tucked my $5 bill back into my purse and dug out my debit card. “How much is the little loaf of bread?” I inquired. “$7.95,” she said, I sensed she was incensed from her tone. The loaf was on my side of the counter and on a plate which made changing my mind a little weird at that point. There were people in line behind me and I was feeling the pressure to just hand her my card—so I did. As she was running my plastic through the little debit machine I asked her, “Oh, can I get some butter too?” “We don’t have butter here,” she replied as if I had asked for a side of bloody flank steak.

With bread and tea in hand, I walked over to the table where my friends had been watching me ponder the treats behind the glass barrier. “Hey guys, want a bite of bread? “It looks like something that fell out of the sky,” said my friend Sean. “No thank you,” said Portia who was on her second bite of a wonderful looking carrot muffin.” I had order envy as I took a bite of the grainy bread like substance. I chewed it slowly waiting for the expensive-but-worth-it flavor to surprise me with something sweet or salty. No such luck, it tasted like it looked—hideous in the way that Taro root or Poi is hideous. “Who eats this stuff,” I asked a little too loudly, “I wouldn’t feed this to my enemy.” My friend Sean said, “It’s Vegan?” As if that would explain why a person would pay nearly $9 (with tax) for a loaf of bread that weighed as much as my head and tasted like warm sponge. “Vegan-Schmeegan,” I said, again a little too loudly, “I’ve been robbed and the vegan emperor has no tastebuds!”

The Silpat® Party

Yesterday, as a favor to my friend, I went to a Sunday afternoon Silpat® party, (think Tupperware meets Mary Kay). Before I headed out the door I told my husband I would be back in an hour and wouldn’t spend a dime. If you don’t know what a Silpat® is, don’t worry, you will. It’s a hot new gourmet trend, from France (of course), that is sweeping the nation. It is heralded in some circles as the second coming in cookware, (for the record the first coming was the non-stick frying pan).

The party was a hoot with women of all ages oohhhhing and aahhhing about the many possibilities of the latest cooking technology while the sparkling sales women convinced us that our lives would never be the same without a Silpat® in our cupboard, (sipping white wine, we were easy targets). Our hostess, who was promised a special gift and discounts from the Demarle company (parent of Silpat®) if her friends ordered products “today, but no pressure,” worked hard in the kitchen demonstrating the ease at which she could crank out gourmet sweet potato fries, fish sticks, meat-loaf and brownies all on the same Silpat® sheet.

“The Silpat® is so much more than a glorified cookie sheet ladies,” implored the sales woman. “You will never look back on this decision with regret, and all products are guaranteed to retain their non-stick quality for life.” Not bad, considering my ten year old cookie sheets look like they’ve been to Iraq and back. It occurred to me as I was noshing on Silpat® brownies and pouring over the glossy Demarle catalog that I would probably enjoy life more if I could make the perfect cookie, as the literature promised. Times are tough, the stock market is in the tank and unemployment is at a record high…but…the perfect cookie? Now there’s something I could spend some time thinking about: Molasses Sprinkles, Mexican Wedding Cookies, Shortbread Thumbprints, and of course the classic Choclate Chip Walnut cookie. The possibilities were endless I told myself. And with that thought, I opened my wallet and wrote a check for $120, (including shipping and handling), for my Silpat® starter kit, including: one large Silpat® non-stick cooking sheet; one Siltray® baking tray (the Silpat® doesn’t work without it); and one Flexipan® non-stick flexible bakware mold.

I will let you know when I perfect the most expensive but perfect peanut butter cookie.