Beet and bean burgers

Beet. I love it in pretty much any form, probably a result of growing up in Russia (yes, I also love cabbage and potatoes). Borscht is my favourite soup, and small cubes of beet slow-roasted till caramelized on the edges are one of my favourite salad add-ins. Sadly, though, many people either hate beets or are afraid of the colour. I once made borscht as a starter at a friend’s dinner party and the ox-blood jokes were less than appetizing, as evidenced by the unfinished bowls of soup.

Hmmmm beets

I’ve managed to convert Andrew to the roasted, caramelized beets, but he is still wary of the idea of borscht. So last night, needing to use up a bunch of beets, I decided to veer away from our usual roasted beets. Not borscht yet, although we'll get there eventually. In the meantime, I made beet and bean burgers with baked parsnip chips. Maybe that doesn’t sound very good; I’m not sure since it sounds delicious to me. And it was delicious. 

Burgers and fries, sort of

Lucky for me, though, I love a good burger but don’t have a huge amount of nostalgia for them, so the idea of a vegetable and bean based patty doesn’t offend me. Childhood memories of burgers seem to revolve mostly around McDonald’s. That’s more special than it sounds, since the McDonald’s in question was the first one in post-Communist Russia, and was as a result very much a symbol of ‘freedom’ in 1992 Moscow. 

It was also huge – at the time, the biggest McDonald’s in the world – and incredibly busy, to the point that on our first visit, we queued outside in far below freezing temperatures for maybe an hour. Once inside, we became part of a slow-moving mass of people all trying to make their way to the counter to order the iconic meal. Service was fast and polished once my dad managed to shout out our order, but then we had to squeeze back through the masses, balancing a laden tray all the while, and search for a table. For most customers, searching for a table involved finding an inevitably occupied table, standing directly next to one of its occupants, and giving them a cold, mute stare to hurry them along in order to free up the table. We eventually settled on a modified approach of apologetically hovering close to occupied tables, although that posed the risk of losing a potential table to a more insistent local.

This whole process may sound like an unpleasant experience, but it really wasn’t. Everyone was so excited to be there and it seemed, for the first few times at least, like such a big deal to be able to go to a McDonald’s in Moscow. Which of course, in 1992, it was.

It eventually became less of a big deal. New McDonald’s venues sprang up all over the city, the crowds thinned out, and it became just the place my friends and I would go to hang out on weekends for a cheap meal.

So while I may have nostalgic memories of McDonald’s, the nostalgia has very little to do with their burgers, or with burgers in general. I am just as happy eating a veggie version as I am eating a beef burger, and this beet and bean version is the best I’ve made in a long time.

Ready to eat

Beat and bean burger patties

Friendly warning: the patties might look a little scary because of the beet’s colour. Also, you do need a food processor to make these – or if you try them without, let me know how it goes.

Makes four large patties.

2 very big beets, scrubbed (no need to peel them)

1 medium onion

1 tbsp balsamic vinegar

Olive oil

A slice of bread – I used brown, but whatever you have on hand is fine

2 cloves garlic, peeled

1 ¼ c cooked sugar beans, or tinned (you could use whatever beans you like or have on hand)

2 – 3 tbsp Worcestershire sauce

Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 200 C. Chop the beet and onion into smallish pieces and place in a roasting pan. Add the balsamic vinegar, a tablespoon or two of olive oil, some salt and pepper, and toss. Roast the beet and onion mixture for about 30 minutes, or until the vegetables start to caramelize.

Remove from the oven and turn the temperature down to 180 C. Place the beet and onion mixture in the food processor along with the bread and garlic. Process until everything is chopped up very small, but be careful not to puree the mixture. 

Now add the beans, Worcestershire sauce, and some salt and pepper, and pulse a few times to break the beans down a little. There should still be lots of whole beans in the mix, since this adds texture to the patties. Taste the seasoning and add more salt, pepper, or Worcestershire sauce if needed.

Spread one or two teaspoons of olive oil onto a baking sheet. Divide the mixture into four portions and shape each portion into a patty, placing the shaped patties on the greased baking sheet. 

Bake at 180 C for about twenty minutes. Switch the oven to grill and grill the patties for 5 or 10 minutes to colour and crisp the tops.

Remove from the oven, and you’re done with the patties. We put them on Portuguese rolls with mustardy homemade mayonnaise, tomato sauce, baby spinach, and for me, chopped up baby tomatoes (Andrew hates raw tomato, which boggles my mind). We served them with:

Baked parsnip chips

Almost like French fries! Except not really, but still very good.

Serves two.

4 medium parsnips

Olive oil

Salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 180 C. Cut the parsnips into long thin strips, although you’ll probably end up with some shorter fatter pieces – that’s fine.

Place the strips on a baking sheet and add about a tablespoon of olive oil and salt and pepper. You could add any other seasoning at this point – smoked paprika would be very good. Toss to coat all the strips, spread them out in one layer on the tray, and place the tray in the oven. 

Bake for 25 – 40 minutes, depending on how thick you cut the strips and how crispy you like your chips. You could flip them over halfway through to make them brown more evenly, but I am much too lazy to do that and they still turned out great – only two really skinny ones became too crispy on one side. 

Bizghetti, and chana masala with butternut wedges

Simmering chana masala

When I was little, my favourite food in the whole world was spaghetti with my mom’s tomato sauce. Or, as I called it, bizghetti. It was what I wanted to eat every night. As a compromise between me and the rest of the family, my mom made bizghetti about once a week, and my small self would proceed to eat three helpings, more than even my dad.

When we moved to Moscow, I was eight and it was just after the fall of Communism. It was a difficult time for Moscow, with very little available in the shops. As a result, three months before leaving, we packed a big wooden crate full of provisions and sent it to Moscow on a ship, to meet us when we arrived. Amongst those provisions were many tins of tomatoes and packets of spaghetti.

On our way to Moscow, we stopped over in London for a week to do a bit of sightseeing and have a family holiday before the reality of our new life hit us. It was a lovely week, and I remember a good pub lunch one afternoon, but for that whole week we didn’t have spaghetti with tomato sauce once. This was far from ideal, but I thought – well, I just have to wait till we get to our new home. Soon.

Except, not so soon. First there was the ferry over to the Netherlands, and then the three – or maybe four? It all became blurry – day train ride through Eastern Europe, all the way to Moscow. We drank black Russian tea and ate bread, cheese, and cold meats while watching the progressively more derelict country houses pass us by. By this point, it was close to two weeks since I’d last had spaghetti with tomato sauce. It was a bleak situation, but now at least we were ‘home’!

But not so fast. We were in our new city, yes, but not yet in our new flat. Instead, we had to stay in a hotel while we looked at various potential rental flats. At the hotel’s restaurant, I remember mostly being served stale bread, rotten apples and beer (for an eight- and ten-year-old), while shops and kiosks outside the hotel seemed to sell only oranges and Snickers bars. So my sister and I survived on oranges and Snickers bars, which was far from unpleasant, really. But still not spaghetti with tomato sauce. I was by now extremely worried about the bizghetti outlook.

Then, finally, we found our flat – we were moving in and were ecstatic! Even better was that Christmas was fast approaching, and now we would at least be in our own home by Christmastime. Here’s where things get a little ridiculous, though. Upon moving in, it turned out our landlords were still there, slowly packing up. The concept of renting flats was a new one in Moscow at that point, and they didn’t understand that we expected an empty flat on moving day. So while we started moving in, they were busy moving out, and that evening our landlady Vera made us dinner. There we sat, landlords and renters, having dinner together. Looking back now, I think it was probably quite good, but at the time, chicken broth with a hardboiled egg cut floating in it was completely bizarre. My bizghetti-deprived brain couldn’t wrap itself around this dinner.

A few days later, our landlords were finally completely moved out. The flat was really ours now! My mom could commence cooking spaghetti with tomato sauce immediately! Except that there were still only oranges and Snickers bars in the shop (along with, I admit, some bread and possibly eggs), and our huge wooden crate, carefully packed with all sorts of provisions, was stuck in customs.

The next few days were tense. My dad spent his days at customs, trying to get the officials to release our crate without paying ridiculous amount in bribes. My mom was trying to make a home and feed us, and get us excited for Christmas, with very little food and no Christmas tree or presents (all still in the crate). My sister, I am sure, also had her own worries, but I wasn’t aware of them because it was now close to FOUR WEEKS since my last plate(s) of bizghetti. I was edging closer to a meltdown.

And then, a Christmas miracle. On the 23^rd of December, the officials released the crate, my dad managed to get a man with a truck to deliver it to our flat, and late that night, we finally unpacked and set up our Christmas tree and presents. And all our glorious food – tinned and packaged food had never looked so good. It was too late that night for bizghetti, but we all knew I had to have it as soon as possible. And that’s how we ended up eating my mom’s delicious spaghetti with tomato sauce on our first Christmas Eve in Moscow. It is still one of the best Christmas meals I’ve ever had.

I still love a plate of spaghetti with tomato sauce, but I’ve branched out as I’ve grown older and my palate wants more variety. Anything tomato-sauce-y remains my number one choice of comfort food, but it doesn’t have to come with spaghetti. This chana masala is a case in point. I cook the chickpeas in lots of tomato, and cook it down to be nice and thick, so it gives me the tomato-y comfort I need, but with all the lovely spices to make it interesting.

While mashed potatoes and other warm, soothing food may be others’ first choice for comfort, dishes like this chana masala is mine. As well as, of course, the occasional bowl of bizghetti.

Comfort food dinner

Chana masala with butternut wedges

This is very far from being a traditional chana masala, so much so that I should probably come up with a different name altogether. I’m not very good at thinking up names for dishes, though, so chana masala it is. It’s been tweaked and changed to suit my tastes – much, much more tomato than is traditional, and the spices are all wrong. But I like it.

Serves 2 – 3

1 small butternut, cut into quarters and deseeded

Vegetable oil

Salt and pepper

1 tbsp butter

1 small onion, chopped

3 tbsp tomato paste

2-3 garlic cloves, finely chopped

Large knob of ginger, finely chopped

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp turmeric

1 tsp garam masala

¼ tsp chilli powder

1 cup cooked chickpeas

1 x small tin chopped plum tomatoes

Lemon juice

Salt

To serve:

Thick plain yoghurt

Chutney – I used a fresh homemade coriander and cashew chutney

Coriander leaves

Preheat the oven to 180 C. Place the butternut wedges in a foil-lined baking tray, drizzle with oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place in the oven to roast slowly for 45 minutes to an hour, until the butternut is soft and cooked through, and caramelizing at the edges. I leave the skin on, I like it and I’m too lazy to peel it, but you can peel it if you prefer.

While the butternut is roasting, heat a large pan over medium heat and melt the butter in it. Add the onion and cook till starting to caramelize, about 20 minutes. Now add the tomato paste and leave the pan for a few minutes, for the tomato paste to caramelize a bit. Don’t be tempted to stir it around!

Once the tomato paste has caramelized a bit, add the garlic, ginger, and spices, and sauté it all together for a few more minutes. Add the chickpeas and chopped tomatoes, give it a good stir, and reduce the heat to medium-low. Let the mixture simmer away slowly to thicken and develop the flavours while the butternut finishes cooking.

Caramelized butternut wedges

When the butternut is cooked, taste your chickpeas for seasoning, and add lemon juice and salt as needed. I tend to add a lot of lemon juice, and very little salt – this is one of the few dishes that I don’t like very salty.

And now you’re ready to eat. I eat this dinner out of a large soup plate, butternut wedge on the bottom topped with chana masala, then yoghurt, fresh chutney, and a big handful of coriander. When I finish that I just eat the rest of the chana masala straight out if the pan, and then I lick the pan.