1 cup whole wheat flour. Actually, 3/4 cup flour. And 3/4 cup ground oats, for good measure. 1 teaspoon baking powder. Scratch that — make it 1 tablespoon. Chia seeds, flaxseed meal. Cinnamon — probably too much, too pungent. A touch of ground ginger, for a little bite. Some cardamom, because why not?
Four brown-to-the-point-of-black bananas, mashed. 1.5 cups vanilla almond milk. Honey. Vanilla, real vanilla, the kind that fills your nostrils and tugs at your heartstrings.
Dark chocolate, from the local Middle-Eastern store. (Better than the kind from “Whole Paycheck,” otherwise known around here as “Whole Foods.”) Walnuts.
Dry plus wet ingredients. Greased pan, any size, depth, shape — per your liking. I always top with slivered almonds or walnuts, chia seeds, chocolate.
Don’t ask me how many tea- or tablespoons of my spices from the motherland (Iran) I put in. Or how long I bake it for to attain the perfect consistency. Because truth be told, I would not have an answer for you. I do not know.
Cooking, particularly baking, lies somewhere on the spectrum between an art and a science. On one hand, you throw in the ingredients that you love, in the proportions that feel right to you. Creating a flavor — and color — palette can make a masterpiece. On the other hand, it’s akin to balancing a chemical equation — nailing the exact proportions to catalyze a reaction that yields the most balanced product.
When I began dabbling, I fiercely advocated for cooking as a science. But now, I’m making myself let go. To let it feel like an act of love, a piece of art in the making, because I’m not cooking or baking to meet a quota, deadline, or requirement. I am doing it to show love, to myself and to those I love the most, with the food that I love the most. Plus, I live to eat; I don’t eat to live.
And so, yesterday I read a recipe on one of the blogs I follow religiously. I was feeling adventurous, feisty, bold — I ventured into the realm of pumpkin. I read it from top to bottom, making internal note of the ingredients and quantities listed. But then, I took pause. I did not want to simply follow someone else’s recipe. I wanted to make something of my own. Call it pride for thinking I can do what someone else can do — and has done time and time before — better. Or call me stubborn, for not yielding to refined sugar and white all-purpose flour and whole milk, remaining determined to use honey and unsweetened applesauce and whole wheat flour and almond milk, determined to make it taste just as good, if not better, and healthy, wholesome, and if possible — vegan.
I went from banana, to zucchini, to pumpkin. I dream of rosewater and orange, cardamom and pear, ginger and date.
As we say in Farsi, nush-e jan. Cheers.
