The first step to failure is making up the name for something that already has a name, probably. If I weren’t too lazy, I’d know what the name for an Indian curry made from chick peas and zucchini is called. But instead, I just used the words for each: chana and toree. Hey, it works for Aloo Gobi, right?

Actually, this wasn’t a failure, per se, but it wasn’t as savory as lots of other curries I’ve made. The zucchini made it kind of “watery” tasting. It did, however, make it a very attractive dish. So if you’re in the mood for a really mellow curry, this could be just the guy for you. But I wasn’t, so it wasn’t. Thus, it was not a success.

Allow me to impart a nugget of wisdom wrested from the gaping maw of failure: It’s okay to give some of your zucchini away. Now, I’m not admitting defeat; I’m not saying that a sufficiently crafty person couldn’t make an average of 2.75 zucchini-based meals per week. But from a utilitarian perspective, you would maximize overall happiness by giving some of your zucchini away and focusing on making meals with zucchini that you really like, not just adding zucchini to every recipe you know, willy-nilly.

And anyway, it’s not like we’re talking about kale here. Adding zucchini to everything doesn’t really confer any great health advantage.

But.

The pretty picture above has piqued your interest nonetheless. So here you go:

Chana Toree

• 1 large zucchini or 1/2 of a REALLY large zucchini, diced*
• 2 cups cooked chick peas, rinsed and drained
• 2 large tomatoes, diced finely
• 1 large onion, diced
• 2 large cloves of garlic, minced
• 1.5 tbsp curry powder
• 2 tsp ground cumin
• 1 tsp coriander
• 1 tsp chili powder
• 1 cup veggie stock
• salt, to taste

In a large-ish pot over medium heat, sautee the onions and garlic in oil until they are soft and starting to brown. Toss in the zucchini, mixing well. Add in all of the spices, taking care to coat everything. Cook for about 5 minutes, then add in the tomatoes, chick peas, and veggie stock. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and let simmer for about 2 hours. Serve over rice, couscous, or quinoa.

* Cut the zucchini into about 2″ lengths. Cut those in half lengthwise, then cut the halves in half, then again. In other, simpler, words, cut the slices into eighths lengthwise. Now cut those slices widthwise into about 1/8 – 1/4″ little triangles. While this does nothing for the actual taste of the dish, it does look attractive, which in turn may trick folks into thinking it’s more delicious than it actually is. Presentation is often a subterfuge.

We made this with homemade naan, which was awesome.

Here is how it looks in a blue pot, which also lends to the transference of attractiveness to deliciousness:

Complementary colors are also a culinary subterfuge

Well…not my first failure…and certainly not my last. But this is the first time I’ve documented a failed recipe. Behold:

For me, a big part of cooking is experimentation. It’s what makes cooking an art, what makes it exciting and enjoyable.

But it doesn’t always turn out how you expect, sometimes for the worse. You’re never gonna discover anything truly awesome if you don’t take a chance now and then. This means, of course, that you will occassionally FAIL. Not usually in a colossal way. Just in a “huh, that was kinda weird” way. It always seems like a good idea going in.

Okay. I admit it. I knew this one would be a little out there. Using steamed kale, cut into strips and flash-fried, in lieu of noodles or rice–not normal. In my head, it seemed so refreshing, so summer-y and healthy. And I’m still not entirely divorced from the idea. I mean,  it looks awesome (this is exactly how I pictured it last night when I dreamt it).

And truth be told, I kinda liked it. I overdid the kale a bit, and the mushrooms seemed superfluous, added just because they were there.

But this is the kind of thing you never see on a cooking blog–the stuff that didn’t quite work, the process involved in making something truly tasty. In a sense, this is the most important thing to share. It’s hard work coming up with recipes and no one has a special connection to the recipe gods. You should feel empowered to play, to know that the cooks you esteem the highest play too. And if they don’t, they’re total dickbags. Face!

Now. Here’s your assignment, should you choose to accept it: make this bullshit. Maybe it’s not as weird as I thought. Maybe you have a sweet idea about how to make it awesome. I’m imploring you, yes you, to take a stand, make a difference. For your fellow Earthling, make some bizarre-ass shit tonight!

The recipe, if you please (and thank you):

Mushrooms and Breaded Tofu on Steamed Kale

• 1 large bunch of dinosaur kale, deboned and cut into 1/2 inch wide strips, about 3 inches long
• several handfuls of mushrooms, halved or quartered, depending on size
• 1/2 lb tofu, frozen, thawed, then cut into thin, short strips
• 1 handful green beans
• peanut oil
• sesame oil
• soy sauce
• 1/4 cup white wine
• chik’n almond bake
• 1/2 tsp garlic powder
• 1 tsp crushed red pepper
• salt & pepper, to taste

Begin breathing life into this monstrosity by mixing 2 parts soy sauce to 1 part peanut oil in a small bowl and preheating your Toast-R-Oven(tm) to 425. Pour the chik’n almond bake into a shallow bowl. Now. Toss the tofu in the sauce and coat well in the bake. Pop it in the oven. This will undeniably be the best part of your meal, so treat it like a fragile newborn kitten.

In a medium saucepan, sautee the mushrooms over medium heat in white wine, peanut oil, and soy sauce. Once tender, remove from heat.

In the same pan, pour in a scosh of water. Lower heat and toss in the kale. Cover and let steam, being sure (a) to stir it every minute or so and (b) not to let it burn. For the love of god, DO NOT LET IT BURN. Unless, like me, you are one of five human beings who kind of like the taste of slightly singed kale. It should be tender, but just barely cooked. Once it’s tender to your liking, toss in peanut and sesame oil, adding a dash of crushed red pepper for shits and giggles.

Remove from heat. You can put it plates, bowls, and/or bowl-plates right off. It doesn’t need to be, nay, shouldn’t be, piping hot when you serve it.

Now.

In a small pot, bring water to a boil and toss in the green beans. Cook them for about 5 minutes. Then toss them in the very same pan you’ve been using all along and briefly sautee them in peanut and sesame oil, dashing on some salt and garlic powder–for about a minute. Don’t burn these either. You’ve made it this far. Stay with me.

Take your tofu out of the oven. It should be browned but not burnt.

Now. You’ve just got to put it all together.

Make it pretty and maybe it won’t even seem weird:

Serve with the remaining white wine, preferably before-hand to get your victims…err…guests where you want them. To open their minds, man.