A Comfort Food Revolution
with a recipe for revisioned Egg Foo Young meets the "Fish" Stick
When someone says comfort food, I picture a pile of heavy, white, gooey yum with a splash of orange-food, of unwholesome origins, and a side of chips and candy. Maybe a co’cola. I imagine immediate sweet-salty-crunchy-chewy gratification. Then, against my will, I wrinkle my forehead and clutch my tummy knowing that if I eat it, my head-heart-stomach will hurt, and my guilt and shame reservoirs will fill to the brim. Will returns, and I dig in anyway. I can’t help myself for the reach, and I relish the first bite, and often, every subsequent one until my plate is clean, but I regret it every time, if not immediately, then eventually.
When someone says comfort food, I picture histories and traditions passed down holiday to holiday, grandparent and parent to child, event to event, recipe box to scribbled note tacked to the fridge. I imagine home and hearth, warmth and love. Being loved and feeling loved. Being nourished heart and soul. Sharing heart and soul to nourish others. Then, I push myself back from the table and the remains of the feast, and against my will, cringe from excess, comforting myself with, “there’s always January.”
When someone says comfort food, I never think of balance. Noting this fact makes me ponder why I think of comfort food as comforting.
Without fail, so-called comfort food swings some aspect of wellbeing, or all of them, well off-center. Since I reach for it in times of stress at worst or for happy events at best, which is to say, never when things are just plain normal and good, I’m already off-center, and it strikes me now, in this moment of objective remove, a moment when I am cozied up with Saku on the sofa, full of a healthful and delightful Sunday breakfast, made with leisure and ease at the end of a remarkably stress-free and therefore exquisitely pleasurable and affirming break, a coup really, as straight up self-defeating.
I wonder whether you might feel this way, too, and I invite you join me in a grand experiment to revision comfort food as holistically comforting. Might it be possible to harvest all the delights and affirming aspects and inclinations that accompany comfort food and leave the self-defeating bits behind? What if January were not a time to atone and redress the holidays, to bulk away the stress of winter’s darkness and cold, but instead, a time of balance? What if we eliminated the dreadful call to “get in shape” in favor of a comfort food revolution that feeds our fundamental need for balance and wellbeing?
I’ll start by offering the following recipe(s) I cooked up to revision two comfort foods, I’ve loved since early childhood—egg foo young and fish sticks. The first I loved for its belly-filling, tastebud tingling heft, and because we had to leave the house to procure it. The second rocked my world with its flaky insides wrapped in crunchy outsides, perfected with the tang of fresh lemon. I also loved fish sticks for the independence they offered; separate from regular meals, I popped them into the toaster oven whenever I wanted to make them, to enjoy anywhere I wanted to sit.
The following recipes manifest all the good and none of the guilt of these comfort foods, and I hope they will inspire you to revision your favorite comfort foods, too.
If fish isn’t your thing, ditto eggs and dairy, or gluten, these beauties can be modified to suit all dietary restrictions. But beware, in place of white, you’ll find yourself with a plate of vivid color and wholesome nourishment for body, brain, and soul. Today and tomorrow. No regrets. Check your resolutions at the door.
Happy new year, beautiful! May you and yours find enduring balance.
Big love, Ashley
Revisioned Egg Foo Young Meets the Fish Stick
This dish is waaaay simpler than you might think if your baseline is “open freezer, plop something in microwave or toaster oven, and eat.” And, it’s way, waaay simpler and cheaper than “getting in shape.” Practice, plus a sense of adventure and fun, make it easy to pull off like a pro. This dish scales to suit—use as much or as little to make enough for your plate or for the many plates at your table.
Ingredients
“Fish” Sticks
meaty, flaky fish—I used cod—OR tofu OR tempeh
panko breadcrumbs—gluten or gluten-free
oil—I use sunflower
salt and pepper
paprika—smoked and/or sweet
lemon
Green Foo Young
dark leafy greens of any sort—I used a selection from a local grower
onion or scallion or shallot
eggs OR if you don’t do eggs, the flax seed equivalent of eggs
dried mint (optional)
sumac (optional)
salt and pepper
oil—I use sunflower
Pickled Chilies
jalapeños or serranos or any chile you like
white vinegar
Instructions
Prep
I hate this part of cooking, but a little mind-work to call it relaxing and meditative takes the edge off, and if you have kids or a willing side-kick, you can fob this bit off on them. 😊
Slice chilies into thin rounds and stuff in any jar you have on-hand. Throw in a pinch of salt if you like. Boil some white vinegar and pour it over the chilies. Put the whole thing in the fridge to use now and later. Both chilies and vinegar will be awesome on just about everything.
Slice your fish/tofu/tempeh into nugget sized pieces and lay out on a plate so you can salt and pepper both sides. Eyeball the amount of pieces so you have enough for your desired servings.
In a small container with a lid, or a small paper bag, dump in some breadcrumbs and paprika and hold aside while you complete the prep. You’ll need enough to coat the “fish.”
Roll up your greens so they look like cigars and thinly slice cross-wise to create ribbons of greens. This is called a chiffonade cut, and you can impress your side-kick by calling it that or just dump the cut greens in a large bowl with self-satisfaction and achievement. You’ll want 1 cup per serving.
Mince onion, scallions, or shallots and add to the greens. Judge quantity by how many cups of greens you’re working with and how much you like onions. I use about 1/4 cup of onions per cup of greens.
Add some salt, pepper, and for bonus points, dried mint and sumac to the greens and stir everything up.
Crack one egg per cup of greens into the green mixture, and whisk with a fork until frothy. I know that sounds weird, but it works, and it doesn’t have to be perfect. (Do the vegan flax-seed alternative for this step, if eggs aren’t for you.)
Let’s cook!
Heat a skillet for the “fish” with oil. You’ll want to generously coat the bottom of the skillet. I prefer cast iron with vertical sides, but use what you have. You’ll want oil to be hot, but not smoking, when you add the fish and throughout cooking.
Heat a series of small skillets—easier to flip—or one big one with oil for the Foo Young. You’ll want to stingily coat the bottom of this skillet and as above, I prefer cast ion with vertical sides. I use one small skillet per serving. You’ll want the oil to be hot when you add the foo young, but you’ll turn the heat down immediately to avoid burning the outside while the inside cooks through.
Gently shake the “fish” to coat with bread crumbs, or alternatively dredge to coat and place in the hot skillet. You’ll cook each side for 1-3 minutes using tongs to turn when the first side is brown. And once both sides are brown, remove to a plate covered in paper towels, and keep it warm in the oven until you’re ready to plate.
If you like multitasking, do steps 3 and 5 simultaneously. It’s a frenzy of firing eyes and sizzling goodness, plus a bit acrobatic, and it means you can avoid the keeping it warm part of step 3 in favor of plating all the goodness in one, big, golden brown simultaneous flourish.
Whisk up the green froth with your fork and dump the mixture into the hot skillet(s), pressing it all the way to the sides of the pan(s) and compressing it slightly into the pan(s). Turn down the heat to medium and cook until the first side is brown. Flip the foo young via whatever means you find easiest—with a spatula or two, using another hot skillet to flip it into, using a cookie sheet to flip it onto and then sliding it back into the skillet, etc. Cook until the second side is brown, too.
Let’s eat!
Put one green foo young on each plate you’re serving, (or a slice of it if you made one big one).
Arrange “fish” sticks on top.
Squeeze lemon juice on “fish.”
Top with chile slices.
Eat while hot and crispy.
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