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Shiitake and Kale Quinoa

shiitake and kae quinoa

Sometimes it’s good to do, make and watch uncomplicated things. Especially when life gets busy.

So here it is, something simple but nourishing.

Let’s start with the food:

Shiitake and Kale Quinoa:

(serves 2)

1 cup quinoa

2 cups sliced shiitake

2 cloves garlic, minced

3 cups julienned kale

1 tsp tamari

2 tbsp olive oil

1 tsp toasted sesame oil

1/4 tsp chilli flakes

1/2 lemon

1 egg each

salt and pepper

  1. Start by rinsing quinoa. Cook it in 1 1/2 cup water, juice from a half a lemon and pinch of sea salt, until it absorbs all the liquid.
  2. Heat oils in a pan, add garlic. Cook until soft, add chili flakes and mushrooms. Cook for 5 minutes, add kale, cover and let it cook until soft.
  3. Add pepper and tamari. Serve quinoa with vegetables and fried or poached egg on top. Sprinkle on top of the egg pepper and sea salt.

Now, my guilty and comfort pleasure is an Australian TV series which I accidentally discovered, called ‘Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries’. Third current season is on TV right now, previous two you can watch on Netflix. Why do I like it, you might ask? For a few very important reasons.

  1. It is set in the 20s, my favourite era. The clothes in the show are divine, and if only for this reason it is sooo worth watching.
  2. The main character, Miss Fisher, is an independent woman who has a career as a lady detective – unheard of in the 20s. She is also very liberal when it comes to befriending gentlemen. And she’s not apologetic about it, which people accept when it comes to men but somehow still can’t accept when it comes to women. And I’m not talking about the 20s but about 21st century…Just have a look at some reviews. I have only one response – go girl! Especially that even the language shows what society thinks – there are words like ‘slut’, ‘whore’ or ‘tart’, all of them describing a woman, there is no words for  slutty men. When James Bond sleeps with 2-3  girls in each film, no one gives a flying monkey about it. People think he is a real man. When a woman does the same, oh no, it’s an outrage! She is not admired but called names. It is time this should change.
  3. The very reason which got me engrossed in a series – Miss Fisher looks like my sister…Seriously, and they are both so glamorous….

shiitake and kae quinoa

shiitake and kale quinoa


About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

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