Inspired by my blogging buddy, Susmitha at Veganosaurus, I signed up for a How Do account about a year or so ago. Susmitha has a great voice and her How Dos are cute, concise, and helpful. So, I made one (Hot Chocolate Mocha),” back in 2012, and while the process was fun, a negative review I got took the wind out of my sails and it was a long time before I tried again. But every time I watched one of Susmitha’s it nagged at me: I wanted to try again.
Lemony Baked Tofu (in turn inspired by Oh Mai in Salt Lake City – but that’s another blog post) seemed like a good candidate for the How Do treatment. It’s a simple recipe that can easily be broken down into short steps. I’m still working out the How Do kinks (Martin Scorcese, your job is safe), but I think these little “videos” are a great idea and add a nice dimension to a blog post. Incidentally, my freebie WP site won’t allow for me to embed the video, which would be super-nifty, but clicking on the image will get you to the same place. (I shared this recipe on Healthy Vegan Friday at The Veggie Nook.)
Watch my How Do video by clicking the image, or you can follow the recipe below.
LEMONY BAKED TOFU a micro guide by Annie on HowDo
Lemony Baked Tofu
Makes ~20 slices
1 14 oz. block extra firm tofu
1/2 cup vegetable broth
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup lemon juice (about 1 lemon)
zest of 1 lemon
1 tbsp. soy sauce
1 tsp. lemon oil
1 garlic clove, minced
Make the marinade:
Whisk together all of the ingredients and store in the refrigerator until needed.
Prepare the tofu:
Press tofu for several hours or overnight. I splurged for a TofuXPress and I’m so glad I did. It does a fantastic job of squeezing out all of that water – but use your own tried-and-true method.
Layer a baking sheet (I used a quarter sheet) with paper towels. Set aside. Cut the tofu into very thin slices. You should get about 20 per block of tofu. Place the slices of tofu onto the paper towels; stacking layers is fine. Cover slices with more paper towels, top with another baking sheet and place in the freezer overnight.
When you’re ready to bake the tofu, remove the pan from the freezer and let the slices thaw. At first the slices will be dark yellow, but they’ll return to their regular white color once thawed.
Preheat the oven to 425F. Place the slices into a baking pan (I used Pyrex) and pour the marinade over top. Again, don’t worry about having the slices in one layer. Bake the tofu for about 20-25 minutes or until the marinade is nearly gone. The edges of the slices should be brown and the tofu should be fairly dry. Let the slices cool; they’ll firm up even more. They are now ready to use in sandwiches (like the Lemony Baked Tofu Sandwiches I’ll be featuring here soon), salads, and in Asian-inspired soups.
Kel and I average 5 salads per week which means about 20 salads each month – hey, that’s a lot of greens, sure – but it also means preparing and consuming a lot of salad dressing. Which means that I’m constantly thinking up new combinations of acids and bases. This one contains no nuts and gets its sweetness from a small amount of fruit preserves.
Lunch can present problems. I’m usually starving by noontime, but I don’t want to spend a lot of time preparing anything – and unless there are leftovers waiting in the refrigerator – a meal from scratch is the only option. That’s why a spread like this is worth its weight in gold. It’s quick and easy to prepare, is mighty tasty and very satisfying.
Kung Pau Tofu from Unprocessed: How to Achieve Vibrant Health and Your Ideal Weight, by Chef AJ. For details on how to enter the 
Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve was a big deal in my childhood – and in many ways, much more special than Christmas Day. By 9:00 am on Christmas Day I always felt a little deflated, as if I’d caught just the tail-end of a raucous parade. But Christmas Eve was full of promise and anticipation: the decorated tree awash in delicate multi-colored light, the empty stockings at the fireplace, the plate of cookies waiting for Santa. And then there was the Christmas Eve dinner, a tradition created by my father with a nod to his Sicilian and Italian roots. He spent days in the kitchen preparing a rich tomato sauce with a variety of savory meats and seasonings; special cheeses were purchased from the Italian deli in downtown Cleveland and boxes of lasagna noodles were at the ready. My dad’s lasagna was a many-layered thing of beauty, dotted with fat green olives, thick rounds of sausage, crumbled hard-boiled eggs, creamy ricotta and tangy Parmesan. Cutting into that first pieces was like slicing into a wedding cake. We kids could not wait to dive in with our forks. But before the lasagna came out of the oven (dangerously hot), there were the artichokes. Stuffed to the point of bursting with Italian sausage, bread crumbs and copious amounts of Parmesan cheese (hand-grated by dad), they sat temptingly before us on our plates, leaves begging to be plucked and scraped clean of their bounty. The prize was at the bottom – the succulent heart of the ‘choke. Some of us slowly savored their artichokes and some of us, more impatient, tore through them like twisters roaming across Kansas.
Stuffed Artichokes Oliverio
Artichokes: