Time to cook

I pride myself on my ability to intuit the time. The Husband occasionally tests me; we’ll be on a trip, or maybe in a dark theater, or maybe we’ve just awakened anywhere I don’t have access to my phone or smart watch. He’ll ask, “What time is it?” I can usually get within 5 minutes.

I haven’t used an alarm clock — at least when I’m not in another time zone (jet lag ruins everything) — in decades. If I want to get up at a certain time, I do. If I (rarely) set the alarm to make sure I do, I end up waking just in time to wait less than a minute or maybe two for it to go off.

I have no idea how it works. And trust me, the same ability most certainly does not extend to directions; if the question happened to be “Where are we?” I’d be sunk. Or lost.

None of this means that time doesn’t stretch and contract for me just as much as it does for anybody else. We were recently driving a young friend who was staying with us for the weekend to a basketball practice and game, and we were so tired of all the schlepping we had been doing that the 20-minute drive seemed to take an hour. I found myself staring at the ETA, mileage, and time on my Google maps display waiting for a digit — any digit, please — to change. It so often seems to take longer to get to a far-flung destination than it does to get home. Why?

You might imagine I’d be even less cognizant of the time these days, since I left my job and started my semi-retirement. But I’ve set deadlines for myself — to write this newsletter and film an Instagram Reel once a week — and have pretty much filled the rest of the calendar with sewing classes, volunteer ushering, and more. For awhile there, my sister in Maine was joking that I was harder to reach than when I was working too much.

But now, I’m more in control of the calendar. I may not be able to make time expand when I need it to, but I can arrange things so that I need it to less often.

Wait, when is this going to become about cooking, you ask? How about in the following paragraph? It’s time!

One thing I enjoyed about WFH before RTO was the ability to put, say, a pot of beans to simmer on the stove, then go back up to my office to log on to a Zoom meeting, send emails, or take a first edit on a story. At least that what I told myself — and others. But the truth is, those occasions were rare, and they still are. I don't often enough take full advantage of my extra time to get a head start on dinner. Instead, I putter around until I’m on deadline — The Teenager is coming home after football practice, The Husband is back from the gym, and I can hear the stomach rumblings as loud as those alarm clocks I don’t use anymore. I once heard time described as being like a gas, in that it expands to fill the container, and I absolutely get that.

My point, and you probably saw this coming, is that even with more flexibility in my days, I still am most interested in cooking that takes minutes rather than hours — but doesn’t taste like it. Isn’t that what we all want? Sure, I’m up for project cooking once in awhile, and I’m speedy enough with my knife skills that I acknowledge that what’s fast for me isn’t always fast for others.

Case in point: One thing I could always count on when we sent my Washington Post recipes to a tester was that my estimate of the active and total cooking times would be off. And that’s after I tried my hardest to slow down — I’d leave the stopwatch going while I ran downstairs to grab some laundry, or fed the dog. I got closer, but not always close enough. That’s when my time intuition falls short.

Some recipes, though, are just so quick that it’s hard to imagine that they would take most anyone too long. That’s what I wanted to share with you this week, a recipe for a vegan tuna-salad-style salad that is flexible enough to use either the classic chickpeas or fluffy grated tofu and that can come together in about the time it will take you to chop several little cornichons, a quarter of an onion, a little parsley and a couple celery stalks. OK, there’s mashing of the chickpeas in the bowl with a four-ingredient dressing, or, if you choose the other option, the grating of the tofu. (Wait, is that like the Running of the Bulls for vegans?)

And here’s what really matters: Because of the tart cornichon brine and sharp Dijon mustard in the dressing, either way you go will result in something so full of flavor you’ll be happy to have it for leftovers. After I made it recently, I spent a couple of days playing with the uses, scooping some onto greens for a salad, wrapping some up in a tortilla and piling some onto toast.

Did I mention that this is a mayo-free salad? I’m a mayo fan from way back (one day I’ll remind you of my childhood mayonnaise sandwiches), but I know plenty of people aren’t, and this recipe gives you something filling but light. I prefer eating it on toast to using it in a sandwich because it’s not quite sticky enough to stay put in the latter.

Oh, one more selling point: This recipe, which I worked on with the wonderful developer and writer Ali Slagle (author of the great newsletter 40 Ingredients Forever, among other things), calls for crumbled potato chips on top after you make the salad. Yes, that makes this recipe just perfect when you're in a time ... crunch. (Sorry.)

Survey time!!

I’ve been writing Eat at Joe’s for about three months now, and I want to get your feedback on what you like about it, anything you might want to change, and whether you’d be interested in some other ideas I’ve got brewing. Soon you'll see a survey about your E@J's experience!

For those of you who paid very close attention to my welcome email, I promised a few things that I haven’t exactly consistently delivered: occasional talks with cookbook authors (I’ve done one, with the great Sami Tamimi), ideas for meals good for groups of varying dietary preferences (also one), pantry suggestions (I’ve done two), and conversations with people who hate a certain food along with my attempt to come up with something that’ll change their mind (zero).

I think it’s because I’m enjoying the main part of the newsletter writing so much — I’m having fun, if you couldn’t tell from my cheesy jokes — that the secondary elements are striking me as, well, secondary. The one extra I’ve been consistent about providing is my “I break for animals” bit, because, honestly, I run into way more cute dogs on social media than I can even keep up with at this point, so I love sharing them.

Anyway, look out in your email inboxes for your chance to give me your feedback! I hope you will, because I want to keep doing work that I like while also giving you something you want! From emails that I get — and from the high open rate — I get the sense that a lot of you are enjoying things, but I’m sure I can make it better. Let’s do it.

I break for animals:
Sunday

sundaythegoldenretriever

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Recipe: Tuna Salad-Style Chickpea or Tofu Salad

Chickpea “tuna” salad is a smart idea that’s been going around for a while: The creaminess of the salad is created by smashing the beans. But anything chickpeas can do, tofu can usually do, too, so this recipe lets you choose between them. If you go the tofu route, the salad is a little lighter and bouncy (in a good way), because the tofu is grated on the large holes of a box grater, turning into shreds that resemble tuna. Either way, you then add the salad’s flavorful, crunchy stuff: mustard, red onion, celery, cornichons. Some feathery crispiness is added in the form of a handful of crushed potato chips. You might think: how extravagant and unnecessary! But these chips give each bite a great surprise of texture. Eat this salad on its own, over greens, or in a sandwich.

Makes 2 or 3 servings
Time: Weekday
Storage: Refrigerate without the chips for up to 3 days.

joeyonan

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• 5 to 6 large cornichons (30 g), chopped, plus 2 tablespoons brine, plus more to taste

• 1 tablespoon olive oil, plus more to taste

• 2 teaspoons Dijon mustard

• Fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

• 1 (15-ounce/425 g) can chickpeas, drained and rinsed, or 1 (14-ounce/397 g) block extra-firm tofu

• ¼ cup (32 g) finely chopped red onion (from 1 small red onion)

• 2 large celery stalks (150 g), coarsely chopped

• ¼ cup (13 g) packed finely chopped celery or parsley leaves

• Handful of potato chips

In a large bowl, stir together the cornichon brine, olive oil, and mustard until emulsified. Season with salt and pepper.

If using chickpeas: Add the chickpeas to the bowl and lightly mash with a fork. If using tofu: Pat the tofu dry. Using the large holes of a box grater, grate the tofu into the bowl of dressing.

Season with salt and pepper and stir to combine. Add the cornichons, onion, celery, and celery or parsley leaves. Stir to combine. Taste and adjust accordingly with more cornichon brine, olive oil, salt, or pepper.

Right before serving, crumble potato chips over the top.

Recipe from “Mastering the Art of Plant-Based Cooking” (Ten Speed Press, 2024). Copyright Joe Yonan.

More favorite beans-with-bread recipes

These are gift links to the recipes at the Post. Note that they require you to register but not subscribe. Gift links are free to access for 2 weeks, so if you want to come back to any of these recipes but don’t subscribe or want to subscribe, I suggest you find a way to save them!

Avocado and White Bean Salad Wraps

Curried Chickpea Salad Sandwiches

Three-Bean Salad Sandwiches