Amanda Miller
Columnist
Lettuce Eat Local

It’s still winter out there.

The snow was gorgeous. I was particularly delighted the one night when those fat flakes were falling gently down, the rest of the world so still that you could hear their soft patter. It was like the air froze along with everything else, calm and beautiful in the starlight. Cold, but ethereal. 

The blizzardy snow was also a kind of spellbinding; the flurries were so fast and furious that they were all you could see, and the snow obfuscated the landscape from ground to sky in white. I didn’t have to go outside, so it was almost magical. 

But at this point it doesn’t feel quite so enchanting anymore. The snow that’s left on the ground has melted and refrozen on repeat, and while that unfortunately doesn’t seem to hinder my son from scooping it up and eating it, it is just not as appealing on many levels: crusty and dusty. 

And it’s cold out there, so cold. I figure if it’s going to be cold, it might as well snow; which is a viewpoint I still hold to, but also, just because there’s going to be snow, doesn’t mean it has to be this cold. 

You know it’s bad when I regret not wrestling into coveralls for my ten minutes of chicken chores. Some days the wind has felt like me, too cold to move, but other days I wonder if this is what Antarctica feels like as the cold wind hits as I step outside, literally taking my breath away. 

I’ve learned to appreciate some of the finer points of winter, since being married to a farmer who works hypothetically less during a few of the colder months. But I would without fail rather be too warm than too cold, so eventually, this weather is just too much. Or too little, looking at the numbers on the thermometer. 

I used to have days when it’s like my bones got cold and just couldn’t warm up fully, no matter how many layers I’d put on. Growing kids has recalibrated my internal thermostat to a good extent, and I often have a hard time even wearing long sleeves. But the t-shirts have gotten a rest the last couple weeks, as cozy and warm must be the name of the game to survive. 

It doesn’t help that the winter emotional blahs correlate with the weather sometimes. Seasonal Affective Disorder is a real thing, and while Kansas sunshine makes a huge difference to me, it’s not always enough for everyone. Our family just had a chaotic week that left us with some emotional whiplash, and our mood the last few days has been a bit frosty and meh. 

Time to bring out the warming foods. Of course we think of hot soups, hot casseroles, hot chocolate…and I also think of hot sauce. While spicy foods don’t actually heat up your body temperature, they can make you feel warmer momentarily. A placebo doesn’t have to be effective to work. 

An often overlooked source of spicy in our Midwestern world is wasabi. Though essentially all the wasabi you’ll encounter around here is going to be horseradish dyed green, it’s still delightful and that little extra pop of color can’t hurt in this winter wonderland. Its spiciness can sear through our nostrils and its piquant flavor can stampede through our tastebuds, energizing us physically and mentally. The wasabi/horseradish burn tastes ironically like a cold hot, a nice complement to these wintry, yet hopefully warm, days.

Creamy Avocado Wasabi Sauce

Some people who don’t handle spicy food well can still enjoy wasabi-style heat (like Brian), since it burns and then leaves, instead of lingering like chile-based spice. We are hosting a sushi-making night this week, so it’s perfect timing for me to whip up some wasabi sauce, but I need to remember to use it on more than just sushi — it was already delicious dipped with baby carrots, but I’m thinking roasted cauliflower, scrambled egg sandwiches, or even swirled into other warm-food favorites like chowders or creamy pasta for a little zing. 

Prep tips: I used two kinds of wasabi because I had them, but just one style will work. Keep in mind different brands may have highly variable heat levels, so you do you. 

¼ cup mayonnaise 

¼ cup thick plain yogurt or sour cream

1 avocado

2 teaspoons powdered wasabi

2 teaspoons prepared wasabi

2 teaspoons hot or regular honey

½ tablespoon rice vinegar

¼ teaspoon salt, or to taste

Smash/whisk all ingredients together; adjust to taste. 

Mmm, wrinkly beans soaked for months in a volatile fermented liquid, turning it a nice light brown color. That doesn’t strike your fancy? How about synthetic chemical compounds that are aromatic but also maybe containing a side of petroleum? Or, if you’re lucky, perhaps [although most likely not] with some naturally aromatic secretions from…beaver rear ends. 

Nothing like kicking off a food column with some really appealing thoughts, the kind that really whet your appetite. You may have guessed by now that I was describing vanilla extract and imitation vanilla products — one of the most popular and ubiquitous flavors out there, yet one that we don’t put a lot of thought into. Vanilla is so normal that you can even use it as an adjective for ordinary; “having no special or extra features.” 

Vanilla is so…vanilla. 

On the other hand, how incredible is it that those long, slender bean pods are the fruit of gorgeous orchids? According to Cook’s Vanilla, “Vanilla beans are one of the world’s most difficult crops to cultivate. After harvest, the beans require an arduous and tricky nine-month process of sun drying to cure properly. Vanilla simply does not lend itself to mechanization or other methods of mass production.” This explains some of the price tag on authentic vanilla extract. 

Vanilla is indigenous to Mexico, and only a few other not-far-from-the-Equator countries are able to successfully grow vanilla orchids. The vines can grow up to 50 feet long, and the orchids must be pollinated (typically by hand) within their 24-hour bloom or they die. Americans were introduced to vanilla by President Thomas Jefferson in 1789, and now we are the largest consumers of vanilla in the world. 

Recipes and ingredient lists don’t often distinguish between “real” vanilla extract (from the bean) and “fake” vanilla flavoring (imitation); America’s Test Kitchen says the two are identical at the molecular levels and a tasting panel could not tell the difference when sampled in cookies and pudding. And while vanilla extract has a more complex flavor, imitation vanilla is actually stronger tasting — some products contain up to 15 times more vanillin (the appropriately named flavor component in vanilla). Considering some vanilla extract brands can cost 50 times more than flavoring brands…it’s impossible to say that one is “better” than the other. 

Interesting, one research study noted that all vanilla usage in the United States has skyrocketed since 2019 and pandemic-induced home baking. To be fair, it’s almost impossible to find a sweet recipe that doesn’t include vanilla; it’s as much a given as salt, if not more (although there should always be at least a pinch). In some ways, I feel it’s overused, and occasionally leave it out just to be a rebel. But that’s rare, because what really, what can a little bit hurt?

More often, as in every single time, I add more vanilla than called for. It’s been years since I’ve measured it — in my cooking classes, I typically narrate my ingredient additions and vanilla gets the classic “precisely one teaspoon” quip as I splash in an unidentified yet decisively generous amount. Seriously, one teaspoon is for wimps. If it’s going to be vanilla, make it vanilla. And not the boring kind.

Triple Vanilla Pudding

Again, vanilla doesn’t have to be so “vanilla.” It’s a lovely flavor, no matter which style you are using, so let’s just make sure we can taste it. I could easily make this at least a triple-triple vanilla with all the types, brands, and products I have — from homemade extract to different origins to vanilla bean sugar. I think it’s almost impossible to overdo it, although I might change my mind if I get too carried away here. We didn’t even have a chance to discuss Mexican vanilla or vanilla bean paste, but you’ll see them in my recipe since they round out the flavor and really make it bloom (like a vanilla orchid of course). 

Prep tips: we add the vanilla after the cooking process since heat denatures some of the flavor compounds. Serve this as is, or borrow from vanilla ice cream’s ideal and garnish with all the toppings.

⅔ cup sugar

¼ cup flour

2 tablespoons cornstarch

½ teaspoon salt

4 cups whole milk

4 egg yolks, beaten

1 tablespoon butter

a splash of “regular” vanilla, imitation and/or extract

a splash of Mexican vanilla, imitation and/or extract

a smidge of vanilla bean paste

Mix sugar, flour, cornstarch, and salt in a medium saucepan. Gradually whisk in milk, then bring to a simmer over low heat, whisking often; cook a few minutes until nicely thickened. Carefully whisk in a ladle of the hot pudding to the beaten eggs, then transfer back to the saucepan, whisking constantly. Cook for another minute, then remove from heat and stir in butter and vanillas. Cool completely.