BittenChickpeas (A Lust Story) February 11, 2008

Yesterday eve, upon saucily sucking a certain creamy substance from my fingertips, I made what I found to be a most noteworthy discovery:

Hummus may just be the sexiest food ever. (What, you were expecting a different revelation? *Grin*)

In my humble abode, Food Network often provides the pleasant soundtrack to my days. It fills the silence with promises of easily prepared and deliciously crafted meals, and although I greatly prefer healthfully convenient (read: Lean Cuisine & Healthy Choice) to cooking just for myself, the transfer of culinary prowess via televised osmosis is an alluring thought. At the very least, I’ve been introduced to the exotic world of dried spices which I happily dash onto nearly every one of my frozen entrées with skillful aplomb. I’m particularly obsessed with cumin of late — cumin being the deliciously smoky, subtly spicy crushed seed that gives chili its distinct flair. It also happens to be a key ingredient in that most sexy of culinary spreadables, hummus.

Ahhh, hummus. Ground up chickpeas, sesame paste with a bitter/bland bite, and ungodly amounts of roasted garlic. What’s not to love? Actually, I had a particular distaste for it after my first hummus experience, which was an unfortunately concocted blend that a friend’s mother presented at dinner, lacking all manner of spice but managing to be heavy on the lemon juice and olive oil. Since then I’d had a taste here and there, but I was never really impressed. Too bland, too oily, too spicy, it was always too much of something. Until one day in December when Dutch and I had dinner at a dim little cafe where he coaxed me into trying it again.

And praise Dionysus, this nondescript Greek establishment had finally gotten it right!

Like a madwoman on a mission, I began stalking the dips n’ spreads aisles at my local grocers for the Best Hummus Ever. I finally settled on Tribe’s All-Natural Roasted Garlic Hummus, which as the name suggests, contains only the bare necessity of ingredients to make one kick-ass tub of deliciousness. With its perfect consistency (firm enough to scoop onto a bit of pita, but not “chunky”) and fabulous garlic infusion — which, as a confirmed garlicaholic, is key in hummus supremacy — I was most pleased with my discovery.

But then a thought — couldn’t I just as easily make this myself? I consulted the experts at AllRecipes.com and found that yes, I could indeed do. But so many variations on a theme! Where would I begin?

My first foray was actually with a recipe that my mom had found in one of her own cookbooks that simply called for garbanzo beans (chickpeas), lemon juice, olive oil, and some spices. It seemed far too simplistic from the get-go, and as suspected, it was hardly the deliciously homemade hummus that I’d been hoping for. So back I went to my research, and after an ass-numbing few hours poring through reviews and suggestions, I decided to try on AllRecipe’s “Real Hummus” for size. But first I had to procure the ingredients, which were all easy enough to find, save for the mysterious and exotic-sounding tahini. A few reviewers tried to be helpful by suggesting that tahini (sesame seed paste) could be swapped for peanut butter, but I wasn’t skimping on the essentials the second time around, hell no!

As a rule, I’m not much of an organic produce kind of girl, so I can get away with shopping the perimeter at a local grocery chain (with a jaunt down the frozen foods aisle) and not find anything particularly lacking. But tahini required a special trip, so off to a nearby organic grocer I went. Organic and gourmet stores seem to be popping up everywhere lately, and it’s easy to see why when you take in the levels of food pornography that tempt your every sense upon entry. Now I’m no stranger to fresh veggies; nearly every lunch and dinner in my home is accompanied by what I consider to be a pretty kick-ass homemade salad (butter lettuce, raw broccoli, and grape tomatoes sprinkled with julienned sun-dried tomatoes, pepperoncini rings, and shaved Parmesan) … But my thoughts swirled with possibilities after seeing the heaps of fresh produce looking all coy and “come hither” in their colorful skins. Stick to your mission! my brain commanded. So with a last, longing glance, I buried myself within the packaged food aisles and emerged victorious with my first jar of tahini.

Now I’m not much of a drinker (these days), but I love a good bottle of sweet champagne, and I’ll never forget purchasing my very first bottle of bubbly. Thanks to liberal parents, I’d tasted champagne on several occasions so I knew just what to look for, and it was with immense satisfaction that my post-21st birthday self could walk into a fine liquor establishment and procure any alcoholic beverage of her choosing. (The fact that I went for the first under-$10 bottle I could find is neither here nor there!) In like fashion, I felt inexplicably proud carrying around that jar of tahini, as if completing a rite of passage from underaged booze-sneaking delinquent to worldly wine connoisseur. I held it aloft with label turned outward so that all and sundry could partake in its allure. I smiled as I imagined my fellow shoppers gazing curiously upon the jar, wondering what I might be whipping up (in my non-existent custom built gourmet kitchen) that night. I paused for dramatic effect when the cashier asked if I wanted a bag and offered a throaty chuckle. “I’ll take it just like it is,” I replied, with what I imagined to be the amused smile of a culinary genius. Mmm, wouldn’t you like a taste of my hummus, I thought with a saucy wink as the pimply, bespectacled young man began ringing up the next lady in line. But this was no time for imaginary flirting with high-school grocery checkers. It was time to make some hummus, baby!

… And then, much to my chagrin, I remembered that I didn’t own a blender. Well, fuck.

Thankully I happen to live in the Land of the Plazas, so there’s always a Target standing by at attention. Good old Target — the bane and bliss of my existence. But tonight I would not be seduced by their low priced household gadgets, save one shiny new blender whose box promised in bold lettering to mix a mean margarita and crush ice into oblivion for frozen coffee delights. Good enough for me! My new counter top appliance in hand and my exotic tahini chilling on the passenger seat, I was ready for my second go round of Grecian dip goodness.

And so I measured, I poured, I sprinkled, I squeezed, and I offered a fervent prayer as the blades of the blender sprang to life. At this point, the hummus was much more than a snack — it was a religious experience. To know me is to understand my inexplicable love for nonsensical “projects”, but with my Gemini tendencies it’s often rare that I see one through to fruition. So as I watched the golden-hued garbanzos become one with the chopped bits of garlic, the speckles of cumin, and the velvety ribbons of tahini, I felt accomplished. And a few moments later when I descended a brave spoon into the melee and stuck out a cautious tongue to taste, I felt like belting out a “Praise Jesus!” Because ladies and gentlemen, the hummus had entered the building.

Since that night, my kitchen has churned out several delicious batches of hummus that are certainly worthy of some manner of cult-like worship. And although my oven remains cold, save for the express purpose of baking my own pita chips, I like to entertain the thought that this infectious garbanzo dip has brought a sense of “domestic goddess”-ness back into my life. And seriously, hummus is just hella sexy. I’m almost tempted to nominate it for aphrodisiac status, right up there with oysters and chocolate. But then I might be required to offer a sample to whichever government (or sex toy) agency goes about determining such things — and I’m not sacrificing a drop without the promise of some sweet, sweet lovin’ (real or imagined) after the fact.

Because this is my whipped, creamy, smooth slip-slide into foodie fantasy; my sexy snack to accompany those lusty late-night longings. Go get lost in the bosom-esque melon mountains or the phallic cucumber slopes of your local grocery and find your own. ;-)