It’s June. Time to Eat.

First, he was prowling through my hanging spice basket. Startled by my shriek, he looked at me as if to say “What’s your problem?!” Then he shinnied down the basket string, curled his pudgy body into a ball, and dropped. I gingerly picked through the bucket of paper bags he seemed to have landed in—but he was gone.

In the ensuing days, he pushed the plastic lid off my rice jar and feasted; he leapt from shelf to countertop like a crazed flying squirrel and skittered across the stove while I stir-fried broccoli and garlic; late-nights he vaulted from countertop to hanging pots in my cubbyhole of a kitchen, flinging jar tops, aluminum lids, and silverware I found strewn across the ancient floor tiles the next morning.  

I’d euthanized my 17-year-old dog Daisy after three years of 3 a.m. blind night terrors and unexplained weight loss. “She’ll tell you when she’s done,” the vet had assured me. I spent the next month numb with grief, and the sudden company of another warm-blooded animal pierced the vacuum. “I’m not alone,” I thought from bed, as I listened to him play. 

Still, I wanted him gone. I’d read that each species of animal has one soul, so I prayed to the oversoul of mice for him to leave. I left the windows open and I entered my apartment shouting, “Mouse, be gone!”

The biodegradable bait I bought on the internet promised to cause the rodent no distress. Three to five days after “intake,” my friend would have his water absorption capacities disrupted; he would become sleepy, retreat to a burrow, drift into a coma, and die painlessly. It smelled hearty, like All-Bran cereal.

The last night, my friend sounded like he was wearing sneakers as he did his acrobatics—the bait had made him heavy-footed. Two days later, I pulled the refrigerator away from the wall to retrieve his body, but there was only a few strands of crumbled bait, and a lingering putrid stink.

—Betsy Robinson

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This springy dinner party menu uses lots of fresh herbs and bright lemon, set against meaty (MSG-infused) mushrooms, smoky sweet Chinese eggplant, and crispy briny capers.

If making the dishes together, many steps can be combined—like roasting the red bell pepper, garlic and broccolini together; soaking the eggplant while the veggies roast; and boiling the pasta in the same water that you use to blanch the mushrooms.

The bean purée and the harissa can be made a day or two in advance, and the salad and broccolini can be plated first and served at room temperature. Make the pasta just before serving so it’s hot and glossy.

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An extra-credit dessert will finish off your jar of preserved lemons. Rinse two of them off, remove the seeds from the pulp as best as you can, and purée the rind and pulp with 1/4 cup honey, 2 tablespoons lemon juice, the spent rind of a quarter lemon, and 2 tablespoons olive oil until smooth. Drizzle this salty lemon curd-ish situation over vanilla bean ice cream with a handful of berries, and top with fresh mint.

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Charred Broccolini with Roasted Garlic White Bean Purée

Directions

Make the white bean purée:

– Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Slice off the top of the head of garlic and trim off extra skin so each clove is exposed enough to squeeze out after roasting. Drizzle with olive oil and rub it in so each clove tip gets lubed up. Wrap tightly in foil or parchment paper, then place on a baking sheet and roast for 35 minutes, or until it feels squishy inside its little packet. Remove and let cool.

-Add the cannellini beans to the bowl of a food processor. Unwrap the cooled roasted garlic and squeeze the cloves in with the beans.. Add the chopped rosemary, lemon juice, olive oil, garlic powder and smoked paprika, and a big pinch of kosher salt. Purée until smooth and adjust seasonings to taste.

Make the broccolini:

– If your oven isn’t still on, reheat to degrees and line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Wash the broccolini and pat dry. Trim any rough ends and toss with a tablespoon of olive oil and spread on the same baking sheet. For crispier broccolini, hold off on salting until they’re just out of the oven. Roast for 15 minutes or until the florets are brown and crispy. Remove, sprinkle with salt, and let cool.

– To serve, spread the purée on a serving dish. Chop the broccolini into bite-sized pieces and pile them on top of the purée. Scatter the preserved lemon rind slivers over the broccolini. Drizzle with your favorite olive and/or chili oil. Scoop up with warm slices of baguette or crusty bread. 

Lemony Herby Mushroom Salad

Directions

– Put a pot of water on to boil. Meanwhile, make the dressing in a medium bowl by whisking the grated garlic with lemon juice, salt, sugar, MSG, and several cranks of black pepper. Add the olive oil and whisk until emulsified. Whisk in the finely chopped fresh herbs. Adjust salt, sugar and lemon juice to taste. 

– Slice off the tough ends of the mushrooms and tear into bite-size strips. When the water is boiling, throw in the mushrooms and blanch for 90 seconds. Scoop out with a slotted spoon and let drain in a sieve. Pat dry with a paper towel and toss in the dressing. Let sit for 10 minutes or so to soak up the dressing. 

– To serve, place a bed of arugula on a serving dish. Pile the mushrooms on top and drizzle the remaining dressing over the arugula. Garnish with more herbs.

Spicy Harissa Pasta alla Vodka with Za’atar Eggplant, Fried Capers and Feta

Directions

Make the harissa:

– Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Drizzle the halves of the bell pepper with olive oil and rub in on both sides; sprinkle liberally with salt. Place cut-side down on the baking sheet. Roast for 35 minutes or until collapsed and blistering.

– Meanwhile, prepare the dried chilies by placing them in a bowl and covering them in hot water.

– Remove the bell pepper and place a bowl upside down over it on the baking sheet; the steam will make the skin slide off once cool enough to peel.

– The dried chilies should be rehydrated and tender by now; drain the water and remove the stems and seeds. 

– Peel the bell pepper and place in a food processor with the guajillo chile, olive oil, smashed garlic, zest and juice of half a lemon, smoked paprika, coriander, cumin, and garlic powder, and a big pinch of kosher salt. Pulse together, scraping down the sides as necessary. Add the chiles de arbol one or two at a time and taste the spice level as you go; we will be adding heavy cream later, so it’s okay to overshoot the spice a bit. When it’s all smooth, you should end up with about a cup. Adjust seasoning to taste.

Make the pasta:

– Soak the eggplant rounds in cold salty water for 15 minutes. Drain and pat dry, then toss with 1 tablespoon olive oil, za’atar, and a pinch of salt.

– Heat a large nonstick pan or cast-iron skillet to medium-high with 1 tablespoon of olive oil. When hot, throw your capers into the oil; they should sizzle and sputter. Roll them around for 3-4 minutes until they’re blistered and crispy; remove from pan and set aside.

– Add a little more oil if necessary and fry the eggplant for 4-5 minutes per side, until brown and slightly charred. Remove and set aside; it will continue to soften as it cools. 

– Wipe out the pan and add the harissa (it’s okay if you have a little more or less than a cup), then add a tablespoon of butter and stir to melt it in. Cook this mixture for about 8 minutes, stirring every minute or two but letting it brown on the bottom of the pan.

– While the harissa mixture cooks, salt a pot of water until it tastes good and bring it to a boil. Cook the pasta to al dente according to the package directions then drain, conserving some of the pasta water.

– Deglaze the pan with the vodka and stir to combine. Reduce heat to low and add the heavy cream. Let simmer on low while the pasta cooks, then bring to medium-low and add 2/3 cup of the pasta water and the Parmesan while stirring. Taste and add salt or more Parmesan if desired.

– Add the pasta to the sauce and toss until completely coated. Add more pasta water if you want it to be saucier. 

– To serve, divide the pasta among the dishes and top with the eggplant rounds. Scatter the fried capers over the pasta and eggplant. Top with crumbled feta and torn parsley.

—Marie Dohrs

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The People’s Republic of China looms menacingly across the Taiwanese straight. However, Taiwan is as peaceful and productive as ever.

Folk and death metal bands alike preside at Taipei Veggie Fest, as vendors cook up plant-based deliciousness to serve alongside craft brews and cocktails. The festival, running since 1999. initially consisted of “a weird mix of monks, vegetarians, and some bands,” said Sean Scanlan, the event’s founder. “Like everything worthwhile and pioneering, it was equal parts happenstance, hard work, and some misfortune.”

Vegetarian and vegan culture run deep in Taiwan, a subtropical, tea-leaf-shaped island located off the coast of East Asia. The two main religions are Taoism and Buddhism, and traditional Taiwanese cooking reflects a non-violent ethos. Plant-based buffets pepper every city in Taiwan. It is common to see long lines of hungry patrons with food trays and tongs in hand, neatly picking their way through a dazzling feast of brightly colored, locally-grown vegetables, noodles, and rice dishes piled high on the buffet table.

Dishes, generally speaking, are stir-fried, stewed, braised, or deep-fried. Some buffets have a salad section, emphasizing fermented foods. Sprout wraps, pickled cucumber, beets with sour plum powder, and red, white, and gold kimchi enliven the lunch menu. For the cooked items, generous additions of freshly chopped garlic, ginger root, chili, spring onion, and Taiwanese basil elevate every dish, tossed in sesame oil, mushroom powder, fermented black beans, seaweed and spice mixes, peanuts, chestnuts, lotus seeds, rice wine, and Chinese toona sauce.

The very first night market opened more than a hundred years ago, with an array of delicate xiao chi, or “small eats.” Today, hoards feverishly follow The Little Vegetarian Night Market, a convoy of food trucks that travel from city to city, founded by two friends struggling to operate their own vegetarian restaurants in rural towns. Crowds bring their own bowls, chopsticks, and cups, pursuing the dream of a “zero-waste” market. Diners gorge deep-fried spicy vegetarian chicken, cold Korean noodles, soup dumplings, okonomiyaki—savory Japanese pancakes—Mexican tacos and burritos, spring onion cakes, and teppanyaki shawarma.

Fourteen percent of the Taiwanese population is vegetarian—putting it in league with Israel and even India—and meatless institutions like the traveling market grow ever more niche. Vegan gelato boutiques pepper upscale shopping districts. Milk stalls line busy roads, alongside vegan hair salons, shoe stores, bakeries, cafes, Michelin restaurants. The capital, Taipei, stands among the most vegan and vegetarian-friendly cities on earth.

Food anchors an expanding vegan ecosystem. Taiwan minister of digital affairs Audrey Tang, the first transgender official in the top executive cabinet and a devoted Taoist meditator, pushes for vegan-themed events around the island. Taiwan’s burgeoning drag subculture incorporates the vegan principle. The writer, artist, and vegan activist drag king Darice Chang—AKA Dan Dan Demolition—uses second hand or handmade outfits and avoids accessories derived from animals.

Come on out for a visit. It is easy to see why this tectonically-tempestuous little island, roughly the size of Delaware and Maryland combined, is a plant-based powerhouse that allows people to fluidly live their preferences with compassion, kindness, and a whole lot of fun.

—Prashantha Lachanna

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