Week 5: Broccoli Seitan Barbecue

In case we haven't met, you should know that any medical procedure I undergo – no matter how routine – will inevitably lead to a bizarre complication. Yep, the kidney stone I had in 5th grade was misdiagnosed as the flu for three weeks while it grew to epic proportions; back surgery the summer before 11th grade should have taken a month to heal, yet I was home-schooled for most of my junior year of high school; and most unfortunately, I was forced into an unprepared and quite hysterical natural childbirth due to unforeseen circumstances with the epidural. So of course, having dental work on Monday left me with an unusual, dangerous infection in my cheek by Wednesday. I was so haggard that I had no enthusiasm for my veggies––need I say more? Luckily, a mighty round of antibiotics had me back in the saddle by Thursday afternoon and experimenting with seitan once again.

Hardcore Texans find it unacceptable that I have lived in the state for six years and have yet to darken the door of a barbecue joint, but why should I when I can make Broccoli Seitan BBQ at home? Served over a bed of rice, this easy dish is festive, fun and filled with flavor; at least if the second helpings of my true Texan hubby and skeptical children are any indication. I would never go to such lavish lengths on an ordinary Thursday, but my return to the land of the living mandated celebration. Since I'd been hiding from my family for two days, I decided to surprise my brood with dessert. Prior to Monday's dental debacle, I had enthusiastically bought two large plantains to grill that were now nearing the end of their bright yellow lives. One quick search of dessert plantains later and voilá––they were baked and served hot over vanilla ice cream in no time. While I could drone endlessly on about my obsession with plantains, I will do us all a favor and just include the recipe here. Suffice it to say, this meal was a true celebration, a fete to the very essence of life itself; For Mama was back in the kitchen and yet another medical crisis had been narrowly averted.

Week 5: Turnip & Chard Frittata

Two things should be duly noted about Tuesday night's meal: 1.) I had a grisly dental day on Monday that involved a crown and four fillings; and 2.) Eggs and I have a tumultuous past. But since my mouth was in no shape to chew food on Tuesday, what could be better than the incredible, edible egg? Because eggs can only be improved with diced veggies and cheese, I did an online search of the two potentially softest items in this week's delivery: turnips and chard. Obviously there is nothing too random for the world wide web, so I wasn't surprised to find a recipe for a turnip and chard frittata. Having all the ingredients at home made this meal a no-brainer, but I should repeat: I have major beef with eggs. Besides the obvious fact that they come from a chicken's arse, they are potential baby chicks and have a strange aftertaste that can only be described as "yangy." I went for years without eating eggs, but pregnancy made me crave them like most women crave pickles. And while they still make me gag a little, it is for reasons beyond my comprehension that I routinely work them into our meal plan.

So I made the frittata. The recipe came from the owner of a fancy French cooking school and naturally I didn't understand how to "ribbon peel" the turnips and the chard never "settled in" to the eggs per the instructions. But the finished product was shockingly tasty and perfectly soft for the battlefield that was my mouth. Indeed, the frittata was so light and sophisticated that I felt like the egg queen herself –– Ms. Julia Child. Don't get me wrong, my internal egg dispute rages on, but I will wave the white flag of surrender for this fancy frittata forevermore.

Week 5: Pick-Up Day & Chopped Kale & Beet Salad

As often happens after a night of sheer culinary debauchery, we awoke at 6:30 Saturday morning to revved-up children and bloated digestive tracks. Horrified by the pizza-infused passion that had come over us the night before, we were ready to take a vow of food purity for the upcoming week. Thanks to Farmer Gene, this vow was much more of a pleasure than a pain. Along with the magnificent sight of kale, turnips, cauliflower, broccoli, romaine and cilantro in this week's delivery, we were thrilled by the debut of dark green chard and enchanting red beets.

With purity in mind, I spent an hour researching new kale recipes and found one for chopped kale salad that got 64 rave reviews on Epicurious. I didn't know there were 64 people in the world who had dared to taste kale, so I figured I'd found a winner. To add a twist, we decided to top the salad with roasted beets. I'll admit that I couldn't imagine why raw kale salad should taste good, but I trusted my source and was intrigued by the fact that the recipe called for ricotta salata –– a hard version of ricotta cheese. So with all of the ingredients piled high, we dove into dinner. Initially, I thought that the 64 zealous reviewers had been paid for their support, but with each bite, the salad seemed to taste better. While I've been a believer in the magic of the beet since reading Tom Robbins' Jitterbug Perfume, this salad bewitched even me. The beets, kale and ricotta proved such a killer combination that before we knew it, our digestive drama was but a distant memory. Next time you need to purify your palate, you can find the recipe here. But remember, the beets may beguile you.

Week 4: Turnips, Greens & Radishes

I was thrilled to come home and cook Thursday night's dinner because it would mark the successful completion of this week's veggie delivery. And eating all of our veggies by Thursday meant we could have a gloriously gluttonous Friday night of pizza and mojitos. So I was feeling in very high spirits when I opened the fridge and reached for the turnips, turnip greens and radishes that, along with tilapia, would be our dinner. Let me back up a bit to say that a fellow CSA member highly recommended reusable produce bags from Whole Foods and swore that they would revolutionize my storing process. In her defense, because these bags are made of tight netting that allows the produce to breathe, they did relieve me from having to hand-dry a million leaves of lettuce. However, as I inspected the items for Thursday night's dinner, I was devastated to see that the produce did not hold up well at all in the reusable bags. The turnips and radishes had gone soft and the greens were droopy. I skeptically trudged on, hoping that new life could be breathed into them through sautéing, roasting and presenting them on a pretty white plate. I was tragically wrong. Everything was bitter. The turnips and radishes –– even though they'd been well oiled and roasted –– had to be choked down, and the greens were simply inedible. I really couldn't believe it. Though the wind was gone from our sails, we thoroughly enjoyed Costco's finest tilapia.

Now let's move on to Friday. I don't even remember what we fed the kids for dinner. We were so focused on getting them to bed so Mama and Daddy could mix drinks, order pizza and start the weekend. This time, we were right on the money. The gourmet pies from our favorite brick oven restaurant did not disappoint and the Food Network mojito recipe was exactly what the doctor ordered. I must admit, I ate an entire 12" quattro formaggio with wild mushrooms on it... All by myself. When I told my girlfriend that I had no idea why I couldn't stop eating it, her simple, yet adequate response was, "Hm. Maybe you're rebelling against all the kale?"

Week 4: Cauliflower & Salmon

As it turns out, Wednesdays weren't done with us yet. An ill-fated therapy shuffle meant we had a 5pm OT appointment and didn't get home until way too late to cook dinner. I envisioned our produce wilting away in the fridge and was feeling a bit grim. Enter magnificent hubby once again. When grumpy mama and her two hungry tots walked through the door, we were greeted by plates of baked salmon with roasted cauliflower and onions. It sounds simple, but this lovely meal was an anecdote to the snakebite that the week had become.

With fear of sounding like a broken record, Farmer Gene's cauliflower was staggering. Staggering sounds a bit extravagant, I understand, but I'd be lying if I didn't say that this cauliflower was so hearty on the stalk that I shuttered at the thought of eating it. It was so muscular, so alive, and so radiant with energy that eating it almost felt like a violation. I did eat it, of course. I ate as much as I possibly could and wanted for more when it was all gone. I really wish that the rest of the world could enjoy the fruits of Farmer Gene's labor, but that's only an option for the 72 families who hit the jackpot in DFW. But if you're feeling up for your own summer food adventure, check out Local Harvest –– a great place to find a farmer's market or CSA in your community. Happy eating!

Week 4: Steamed Kale & Tempeh

I am filled with shame to admit that I actually forgot the magic of steaming vegetables until the fourth week of our community supported agriculture challenge. It simply cannot be that the gal who worked her way through college at a health food store, tirelessly promoting steaming as the most flavorful and healthy way to consume a veggie, had cooked 144 quarts of produce in three weeks without steaming a thing. In a word: disgrace. So for Tuesday night's dinner, I set out to re-enact my favorite college meal. Let me momentarily digress to say that I went to college in Santa Cruz, California. Home of shiny, happy people who live on the beach, hike in the mountains, and sustain themselves wholly on foods like wheat grass, spirulina and leafy greens. Suffice it to say, only in a place like this could a college student's favorite meal be jasmine rice, sautéed tempeh and steamed kale. But it was. And it's good!

The wonderful thing about steaming kale is that you don't have to separate the leaves from the stems. While sautéing it on its stems takes a painfully long time, steaming it cooks very quickly –– it reaches a soft-but-not-soggy consistency in about 10 minutes. Sprinkle a bit of soy sauce and nutritional yeast flakes on top and I'm certain that even the most die-hard meat and potatoes man will go weak in the knees. After all, I should know. Served with crispy tempeh and cilantro-topped jasmine rice, my two year old tyrant ate most of the kale right off my plate. Even our preschooler tried the kale twice, admitted it tasted good, but declined any more based on her principled belief that four year-olds do not eat obvious sources of nutrition. This meal was fun. But more than that, it was a refreshing and nostalgic return to my college days, where the leafy greens were plentiful and the stovetop steamer was always at the ready.

Week 4: Hubby's Divine Pasta

I have not discussed the hubby much on this blog, but since he cooked dinner for us Sunday night, it's high time he gets the accolades he deserves. Why is he magnificent? Well, besides really knowing how to bring the party wherever he goes, I completely admire his outlook on food. He is, hands down, the only guy I know who will literally devour a barbecued rib to the point of sucking marrow from the bone one day and then dive into tempeh and kale stir-fry with the same level of commitment and passion the next. I find this a highly attractive quality in a man (even if it's not always pretty to watch). Bless him, he's completely open-minded and totally laid back. He doesn't judge food; he just plain likes it in all its forms. Things don't horrify him because they were once living and breathing, he doesn't spit things out in napkins because the consistency is making him gag, and he doesn't get dizzy and faint when he has to make decisions in the grocery store. In short –– he's the yin to my yang.

Because he is so unfettered by food, he was able to use what I would consider a debilitating amount of heavy whipping cream in the pasta sauce he made for Sunday night's dinner. Trying to control my inner panic, I felt it best to leave the kitchen while he chopped, sautéed and boiled his way to a divine creamy pasta sauce chocked full of veggies and penne, with a pile of perfectly roasted broccoli on the side. Only the man who owns my heart understands the sadness I would have felt if he had masked our first batch of broccoli in the cream sauce. The broccoli, by the way, did not disappoint. It was bright, crisp and more fresh tasting than any we'd ever eaten. The kids even gave the 2-3 bite seal of approval, which speaks volumes. So, yes, dinner was superb, but more importantly, the hubby who cooked it proved himself my version of perfection once again.

Week 4: Pick-Up Day & Nachos

Having eaten mountains of salad for lunch during Week 3, we had successfully depleted our stores and were ready to dive into Week 4 with vigor. And with good reason –– we opened our cooler to find the most spectacular broccoli and cauliflower show on earth waiting inside. The vegetables staring back at us were absolutely filled with might and thriving with life. The stalks were like tree trunks and the hearty florets were flanked by robust leaves. In that moment, we realized the broccoli and cauliflower we'd been buying at the supermarket was frail and practically pre-pubescent in comparison. Yes, it would be hard to ever go back to grocery store produce. Not to be ignored, of course, were the usual suspects: purple kale, green kale, red romaine, green romaine, harukei turnips with greens, cilantro, green and white onions and radishes. Were were like kids in a candy store and thrilled with the new goods in this week's share.

Since the hubby was at a concert Saturday night, I made one of my all time favorite (and easy) dinners. That's right, chips with a party on top –– nachos! We all know that nachos are pretty darn close to perfection, so I feel sure no elaboration on the subject is needed from me. But I will say that adding fresh cilantro and green onions to the standard refried beans, salsa, sour cream and cheese really does take 'em up a notch. The kids, naturally, loved the idea of eating chips for dinner, but with a bit of green goodness hidden beneath the beans, our Saturday night nacho party went off without a hitch.

Week 3: BBQ Seitan Sandwiches & Radishes

I'm not sure what it says about our family, but since we tried the mock chicken salad from Whole Foods, we can't stop thinking about seitan and the slew of possibilities it represents. What I'm afraid this says about us is that eating is the highlight of our day, which if this blog is any indication, it totally is. But little kids and careers have a strange way of sucking the life force out of grown ups, and traveling to satiate our adventurous spirits is off the table. So we have replaced this youthful longing for the unknown with food –– more specifically –– with seitan and mounds of vegetables.

Before any unsuspecting soul gets the idea that seitan is magical and divine, you should know that it's really just wheat gluten. It has the ability to be divine, but you must work to make it so. And since I'm the cook in our family and abhor any animal protein that is not, apparently, flash frozen from Costco, I'm always looking out for an alternative protein source. So the mock chicken salad was a game changer. After some time spent digging my heels into seitan recipes online, the barbecued seitan sandwich was introduced to my family. Served on a sesame seed bun with pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, cilantro, a touch of mustard, and a side of olive oil and balsamic roasted radishes, we were once again satiated. Not only were the seitan sandwiches gobbled right up, roasting the radishes with a touch of balsamic really reduced the bitterness and gave them a tangy, slightly sweet flavor. One valuable lesson was learned in the process, however: never roast anything in balsamic vinegar without first lining your roasting dish with foil. It would take a series of expletives to paint a picture of me trying to clean the pan, so just trust me on this.

In other important news, because we are discovering so many great new foods and recipes, I've decided to start a recipes page for meals that are just too good not to share. So if there are other adventurers whose wings have been temporarily clipped to raise children and shove money into a 401K, I humbly present you with seitan, radishes, haloumi, tempeh and of course, many varieties of leafy greens. If that's not as good as hopping the next red-eye to Belgium, I don't know what is.

Week 3: Tilapia, Turnips & Greens

The good news is that I had a nervous breakdown. Call me weak, but I finally lost my marbles over the madness of hump-day (see this post for a refresher) and declared myself unfit to do the mind-numbing OT run any longer. So the hubby and I agreed to move our daughter's therapy closer to home and share the responsibility. Thursday mornings are now daddy/daughter fun time with a trip to OT followed by every kid's dream: McDonald's (yes, McDonald's –– my sanity sells cheap). Everyone is having a ball. Including me, because I got Wednesdays back! So what better way to celebrate than with greens, greens and more greens? I decided to pick the kids up early so they could see what, exactly, our house feels like on Wednesday afternoons. They weren't totally impressed, so I popped in a movie for my daughter, unloaded a stack of matchbox cars on my son, and got to it.

In case it isn't clear yet, we seem to get most of our fish from Costco. This may sound sketchy, but don't judge me. They happen to have a large selection of wild-caught frozen fish fillets that are incredibly tasty and, even better, super easy to cook. No small advantage when you have a horde of greens to work into the menu and can't stomach touching raw animal protein. So while the tortilla-crusted tilapia was baking away in the oven, I blanched and sautéed the turnip greens and the last batch of kale, and roasted the turnips in olive oil with green onions. For the first time in a very long time, the hubby came home to a house full of happy people on Wednesday. Completely out of character, I would say, based on what happened next.

Out of a sense of duty, I always add a pinch of greens to the kid's plates, having zero expectations that they will a.) allow them to stay; b.) look at them; c.) pick them up; or especially, d.) lift them to their mouths. So you can imagine my shock when I watched my son follow all of these steps and then utter the most beautiful word in the English language, "more." Yes, the little tyrant actually ate five bites of kale and turnip greens. Not to be outdone, my daughter repeated the steps with a look of extreme reluctance on her face. She ate the bite of greens and immediately declared her distaste. Oh well, you can't win them all. But at the end of this particular Wednesday, I had a firm grip on my mental state and felt completely victorious.

Week 3: Hippie Heaven Dip

Despite the fact that Passover was technically supposed to end Tuesday night at sundown, our family decided it was over on Monday night. Every year, without fail, we think it's okay to throw the last night of this 4,000-year-old tradition out the window. So this year being no exception, we had mock chicken salad from Whole Foods on the softest whole wheat bread imaginable for dinner. Either it was the best meal we've ever had or breaking the rules really makes everything taste better. In any case, we had no regrets. And because we couldn't face the slew of raw produce in our fridge, we heated the last bit of "kale night" kale with Friday night's leftover potatoes, added melted cheese and it was kind of a fabulous dinner. But satisfying as it was, it was just a precursor to Tuesday night.

Having spent the better part of my twenties in some of California's finest hippie towns, I know the value of the black bean, the avocado and a good batch of cilantro. So every couple of months for the last 15 years or so, I and my loved ones feast on a layered dip that consists of black beans, avocado, green onions, cilantro, tomatoes, lemon juice, garlic and shredded cheese with either tortillas or tortilla chips. The very first batch was made on a cold Thanksgiving Day in Yosemite National Park. It being California, avocados are growing somewhere year-round and they are always ripe and available, even in the middle of a national park in November. So the mountain people and I had a potluck feast and this dip has been a little bit of a star ever since. Naturally, it was the perfect way to use our very first batch of CSA cilantro and, of course, work down the never-ending supply of green onions. The kids, try as we might, just couldn't tolerate the raw tomatoes or the healthy green bits on their plates, so we conceded to their demands and let them have tortillas with black beans and avocado for dinner. But considering that the hubby and I would have actually stolen the food from their tiny, innocent hands if it meant one more bite of hippie heaven, it was probably a win-win situation for all.

Week 3: Pick-Up Day & Kale Night

I must say, we have really incorporated veggie pick-up into our Saturday mornings in a major way. I guess that's what happens when you have two very small children, who, as all parents know, demand structure and an itinerary of their daily activities. Sure, we've tried to wing it plenty of times - staying in our robes with frazzled hair and haggard faces, consuming umpteen cups of coffee. Then realizing it's nearly noon and not only is no one dressed, but the breakfast dishes have grown cold and congealed on the table and the kids have littered the floor with milk, smashed bananas, barbies and race cars. And all the while we sit, drinking coffee in our robes, getting more wound up, and thinking this is what you are supposed to do on weekend mornings. Our kids have really taught us that there is no such thing as downtime and even if you are faced with the illusion of it, it is shattered the moment someone bangs their head on the coffee table or pees on the rug. So, we've wizened up. My son takes tumble tykes from 9:00-9:30am and my daughter takes swimming from 9:30-10am. We divide and conquer, hit up the playground for a spell, then go meet up with Farmer Gene and the gang at the Korean church parking lot.

Our spirits were high on this well-planned Saturday because our Passover CSA challenge was going unbelievably well. In fact, it was the first one in our marital history in which neither of us had started to blather on about the unfortunate sin (bliss) that is leavening. Typically around Passover Day 4, one of us begins to whimper for beans, rice, corn, hummus, or at least soy sauce. But because these simple, life-affirming foods have the chutzpah to "puff up" when cooked, they are as evil as a warm and glossy cinnamon roll. This year, however, we were knocking Passover out of the ballpark. The only items we had left from last week's delivery were the two batches of kale. When we saw another two batches in this week's supply, I declared Saturday night "kale night" (to no rounds of applause). Around midday, I got a call from my sister-in-law, who wanted to get together for dinner with her husband and our 19-month old goddaughter. Feeling slightly hysterical over the now four batches of kale in my possession, I told her dinner would be at our place and I hoped they could eat some serious greens. When my brother-in-law admitted he thought kale was just a garnish, I pulled out the big dogs. Literally. We had hot dog wieners and two pieces of salmon left, so "kale night" got a bit haphazard. But when Passover is winding to a close, you just eat whatever is left in the house. I cooked three bunches of kale in vegetable broth, white wine, garlic and butter for a really long time in order to get the stems soft. The men grilled up the wienies and salmon and before our eyes was a strange, yet apparently delicious meal. I'm very happy to report that not only did the kale disappear from our plates; it was also cleared from my conscience.

In this week's delivery: green romaine, red romaine, butter crunch lettuce, cilantro, purple kale, green kale, green onions, mustard greens, radishes and hakurei white turnips with greens.

Week 2: Haloumi Salad, Roasted Potatos & Radishes

Friday night's meal was quite possibly the créme de la créme of our CSA efforts, despite the fact that it did not involve the tiny turnips. Although my work mates feared I had begun a fad diet that involved consuming only lettuce during daylight hours, we still had a small mountain of it left by Friday. Determined to find the bottom of this week's supply, we decided to make one of our all-time favorite dishes: grape and haloumi salad. If you don't know about haloumi yet, it's the kingpin of cheese. We discovered it about eight years ago on a tiny Greek island called Kefalonia. When in Greece, you feel like you've died and gone to heaven, and then they give you saganaki (fried cheese) and you are certain. As though touched by the hand of the divine, haloumi has a miraculous ability to withstand high heat, making it great for grilling, sautéing or frying. Obsessed since that first bite, we have tried our favorite fromage many ways - sautéed and eaten with lentils and rice, skewered and grilled with vegetables, and on a variety of salads. We have found that the sweetness of grapes is perfect with the naturally salty cheese and let's face it: who doesn't want an excuse to eat sweet and salty for dinner? So we stacked the remaining lettuce with purple grapes, balsamic and olive oil dressing, and the sautéed haloumi. I'm not positive, but we may have been as anticipatory of this meal as the birth of our firstborn.

Remembering my grief over last week's radishes, I drizzled this week's batch with olive oil, salt and pepper and roasted them up, along with a pan of potatoes. I'm trying to keep it real with my kids. I know they are not going to start begging for salad just because their mother is slowly growing a cottontail, so in order to avoid them only eating oil-soaked cheese for dinner –– though they would have loved nothing more –– I roasted them potatoes to alleviate my guilty conscience. As for the radishes, while they did not achieve turnip status, they were definitely a pleasant surprise. Baking them really took the edge off and we ate every last morsel. Both kids willingly tried them and my daughter even dared to eat three bites, which was a stellar performance on her part. Feeling feverish with excitement that we actually had a successful radish-eating experience, I was eager, no, I was downright hyper for the next day's pick-up. I couldn't wait to continue the great radish experiment of 2011.

Week 2: Roasted Turnips, Greens & Salmon

Passover is traditionally very difficult for us. We start planning meals at least a month in advance, littering cookbooks with sticky notes so we can quickly reference recipes that will make this year's efforts better than the last. We have long, deep discussions about the delicious, permissable foods we will make ahead of time, so that grabbing lunch on the way out the door in the mornings will be painless. Unfortunately, all this pre-meditation tends to end right where it starts - in the cookbooks with the sticky notes. The last time we felt inspired was six years ago in our tiny kitchen in Queens. Twice baked potatoes were going to revolutionize our week, saving us from the despair of stale Passover cereal and matzo pizza. So we spent 45 minutes putting together the state-of-the-art, never-before-used food processor we got for our wedding and went to town on the dozen potatoes that would change our life. Trying to get the potatoes out of the skins proved much simpler than we imagined, so we proceeded with confidence. And then it happened. The blow to the jugular was the metal blade. Yes, I'm pretty sure that everyone knows you never use the metal blade when processing potatoes, but we were ignorant and shunned the mundane details of the instruction manual. So in went the metal blade and out came piles of gummy, potato-like mash that seemed to be infused with hair gel. We stuffed the goop into the skins anyway, hoping that the baking process would change the embarrassment that our potatoes had essentially become, but no bueno. Our dishwasher-less kitchen was wrecked and every single pot, pan, utensil and complex food processor part that had dashed our hopes had to be dealt with. Since we refused to waste the potatoes, we suffered through the week. Poetically, suffering is exactly what Passover is all about, so maybe it was destined. Whatever the case, that year pretty much set the precedent for our family's most festive holiday.

Suffering is all fine and dandy until you have tiny mouths to feed. Mouths that demand flavor, variety, exactly the right consistency in every bite. Somehow we knew our kids weren't going to settle for brittle thin sheets of matzo and greasy baba ghanoush from the grocery store, so we had to up the ante. We had macaroons, cheese and eggs. We had a lifetime supply of matzo and even some marinated salmon in the freezer, ready to go in case of an emergency. So Wednesday we had matzo brie, a Passover cultural imperative. Midway through cooking it up with cheese and butter, it occurred to me that I could add some green onions into it, but since my 22-month old was literally clinging to my leg and wailing for dinner, I forewent any lavish plans. The matzo brie was great, but Thursday night's meal was a revelation. Being forced to eat new things through community supported agriculture led me to what will now be a lifelong love of the most humble of vegetables - the turnip. Yep, turnips. Who knew, right? In this week's delivery, we got a few tiny turnips on the end of an enormous batch of greens. While Farmer Gene promised more in the coming weeks, they were so delicate and cute that I didn't have the heart to waste them. I roasted them up and served them with the turnip greens and salmon. These minuscule roasted turnips stole the show. Until that moment, I thought potatoes were the perfect food (aforementioned incident not withstanding), but turnips are the new sheriff in town. Roasted turnips are A-M-A-Z-I-N-G –– crisp on the outside and creamy on the inside, with a subtle earthy flavor. I couldn't wait to experiment with our next batch. Believe it or not, I actually considered steaming them up and popping them into the food processor to see if they would mash up well, but then I remembered the metal blade and broke out in a cold sweat.