Vegan Fluffernutter: The Chocolate Chip Edition

You'll remember the original fluffernutter and the after-the-fact s'mores epiphany.  Well, I could not let the matter rest.  So, dear readers, I give you the vegan fluffernutter: chocolate chip edition.

As with the original fluffernutter, this sandwich was a thing of beauty.  I used all of the same variables: Sweet & Sara marshmallows, Dave's Killer Bread, etc., with the sole addition of chocolate chips.  There was a moment when I considered that essentially eating chocolate on bread was weird, but it was fleeting.

The fluffernutter itself was epic; this was on another planet.  I can't say for certain that it was better, just another level of decadence with the exponential bonus of a third, sweet layer.  Truth be told, the sandwich almost did me in, folks (who said that?).  At one point I paused to take a walk.  Granted it was just around the room, but still; I normally remain seated for my entire meal.

Maybe my mind will change when my entire body isn't tingling from the calorie overload, but I suggest you work your way up slowly from the classic fluffernutter to the CCE; it's not a small step.  Those chips may be small, but they are mighty powerful.

Behold the Vegan Fluffernutter

With a fridge-full of Sweet and Sara vanilla marshmallows anxiously awaiting an adventure, I decided to attempt a fluffernutter.

Sadly, I grew up in a house without marshmallow fluff.  My mother (nee, vegetarian Mom) grew up with it as a staple in her family's fridge and she "never liked the thought of it": dismissing it without ever having tried it.  By the time I was old enough to buy a jar myself I had already figured out that it probably wasn't animal friendly.  Fast forward decades and here I was, about to embark on my first fluffernutter.

After I'd gathered all of the ingredients it occurred to me that I might not really like the peanut butter and marshmallow combo; just because you like things separate doesn't always mean you'll like them together.  So, I conducted a very serious taste test in which a humongoid glob of peanut butter topped a marshie like a cowboy hat.  The results were happily delicious inconclusive.

The second taste test involved a significantly more punk peanut butter cap, and thankfully confirmed that the combo was legit.

Then I begin to wonder if the addition of the bread was going to be the wild card that would ruin the whole thing.  Since I didn't want to waste a sandwich-full of marshies, I created a mini-fluffernutter prototype.  Thumbs up.

By this point it had been sufficiently established that the wonder of the peanut butter/marshmallow combo was incorruptible, so I had some fun making a Double Down inspired fluffernutter: sandwiching a marshie bit between peanut halves.

And then it was time to be serious and start assembling the sandwich.  I toasted one slice of Dave's Killer bread, allowed it to cool, and applied a ridiculously thick layer of peanut butter. 

Then I carefully assembled my marshmallows atop the second piece of bread so that every bite would be sufficiently mallow-fied.  Please note that they are oddly shaped because they are the discounted marshmallows that are intended for use in (presumably more high-brow) recipes.

Finally, it was time to toast the marshmallow half of the sandwich: s'mores style (don't ask me WHY it didn't occur to me to add chocolate chips until now).

My friend peanut-butter-sandwich-half and I watched as the marshies became visibly toasty.

A vision: open-faced fluffernutter, pre-assembly (yes, that's extra PB for dipping on the side). 

Assembled side-view.  While the marshies retained their shape, they were nice and melty.

 Interior.

Mid-munch:

In conclusion, the fluffernutter was stupendous and definitely worth the wait.  For any of you wary of the combo, I can tell you that a mouthful of the medley becomes much more than just a sum of it's parts.  The reason it is called a fluffernutter and not simply a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich is because, when the ingredients are combined, it truly becomes something else entirely.  Each bite of the sandwich has the similar thrill of a chocolate-covered pretzel: something delicious and salty enhanced by additional, yummy sweetness.  Definitely the kind of thing that you are going to want a lot of: often.

Bonus
The previous fluff eschewer (aka V.M.) vehemently resisted... and then ultimately LOVED the sandwich as well.  You can learn a lot from your kid.

We Can't Say It's Cheese

The generous folks at We Can't Say It's Cheese graciously sent me samples of their current lineup of, well, cheese.  Of course these specimens are vegan, but they are also wheat-free, soy-free, kosher, and not made with GMOs.  If you can believe it, the main ingredient is actually oatmeal!

I was so anxious to try the cheese that I admit I was a little lax in my ingenuity.  Actually, that's not true.  When it comes to cheese I am so drastically out of practice that I really have no imagination whatsoever.  I love tried & true cheesy staples and will make no apologies for basking in them.

The first flavor I tried was the Mexi Cheddar-Style Dip.  I scooped the contents of one entire container into a bowl, microwaved it for two minutes (stirring in-between), and instantly had creamy, nacho cheese reminiscent of the kind you can get at sporting events or movie theaters.  So exciting: the only thing I was missing was the pump!  I drizzled poured the entire bowl over a ginormous plateful of nacho chips and started noshing; it was delicious.  The consistency was exactly right, although I would have like it a bit spicier since it was the "Mexi" variation (I also like things extremely spicy).  Not one to be deterred, I spooned some salsa on top of the cheese and even sprinkled some jalapeno slices for good measure; the resulting combination was amazing.  The nachos were gooey just like old times: reminding me how much more delicious they get as they get a little soggy from the cheese (!).  You could alternately create your own queso for dipping by mixing 1 cup of WCSIC with 1 cup of salsa, but, having tried it both ways, I would highly recommend the plate-o-nachos as the preferred technique.  Cheese + chips + salsa = yummy dipped nachos, but drizzled cheese + chips + fixins = NACHO PLATTER EXTRAVAGANZA.  Please note that hoarding 80% of an entire WCSIC container's worth of nachos with cheese is not very wise, as the cheese is extremely filling (perhaps because of the oatmeal?).  So instead, pretend you're being selfless and share.

Next up was a comparison between the two flavors of spread: Hickory-Smoked Cheddar-Style Spread and Cheddar-Style Spread.  I went simple, adorning a whole wheat cracker with each in order to really appreciate the cheese.  I tried the cheddar first: it was easily spreadable, but adequately stiff in texture (like "regular" cheese spreads).  It had an extremely mild flavor that I'd liken more to American cheese than cheddar.  Next I tried the hickory-smoked; it was an obvious victory.  With the exact same believable consistency as the plain cheddar, the smokiness gave it a much appreciated and winning kick. 

Since I enjoyed the hickory flavor so much more than the plain cheddar, I decided to save it for snacking and use the Cheddar-Style Spread for a grilled cheese sandwich, since I always pepper mine with tomatoes, onions & hot peppers anyway.  I generously spread the cheese onto two large slices of bread (the container would have made two like-sized sandwiches), stuffed it with the afore mentioned accoutrements, and fried it in a frying pan with Earth Balance instead of sans butter in the toaster oven, per usual.  This turned out to be an excellent decision, as the cheese became oozy to the point that I imagine it would have made a bit of a melty mess within the toaster oven.  As you can see, the ooziness extended to the eating portion of the sandwich experience; it was considerably more sloppy to eat than your run of the mill grilled cheese.  Both the taste and runniness reminded me more of making grilled cheese with cheese whiz rather than cheese slices, so it comes down to preference.  Personally, I think it would make quite the fondue!

Finally, the Cheddar-Style Dip, which I had been saving specifically for cheese fries.  It had the same mild flavor as the cheddar-style spread, and worked well on the fries.  The dip satisfactorily duplicated non-vegan, pump-style cheeses in taste and texture, but suprisingly did not deliciously soggify the fries in the same way as the mexi-cheddar-style dip had worked on the nachos; that was disappointing.  Maybe my fries were simply impervious to the cheese?  Ultimately, the fries were enjoyable, but the nachos were better.  I've since realized I haven't had cheese fries since I was in high school in a very long time, so maybe they're just not as high on my list as nachos.  

Having tried all of the flavors/variations, I was a little perplexed by the overall difference in intention between the dips and the spreads.  I realize it's not rocket science, but the lack of instructions and/or serving suggestions on the packaging left me to wonder how best to utilize the vegan cheese.  I had tried to use the dips and spreads in a manner true to their description, but then I decided to try an experiment: I melted the hickory-smoked cheddar-style spread in the microwave in same way as I had melted the dip.  There didn't seem to be any discernable difference in the results except for that perhaps the melted dip was ever-so-slightly smoother and creamier in texture than the spread.  But overall I'd say that they both have equal meltability, so have at it!  If you like the hickory spread melted, do it.  If you like the mexi-cheddar dip smeared on a bagel, go for it.  Perhaps the lack of serving suggestions are because all versions are meant to be versatile?  Ultimately, I'd recommend you go to town at your will.  Surely the We Can't Say it's Cheese police aren't going to come knocking on your door for an infraction (or are they?).

So here are my current thoughts on the vegan cheeses in my repertoire:

• Dr. Cow is my go-to "gourmet", highbrow, cheese alone (ha), or cheese & crackers cheese.
• Daiya is my "serious cooking" cheese.  From pizza to parmesan these shreds really deliver in recipes.

And now,

• We Can't Say It's Cheese has now come along to fulfill a whole, separate cheese niche.  It's uber-convenient to prepare and has a considerable "shelf" life in the refrigerator, so there's no reason not to keep a couple of flavors on hand for instant cheesy fixes at your whim: old-school favorites or creative ideas.  Because of their mild flavor, versatility, and ease of use, I would specifically say that they would be particularly great for kids. 

Thanks, We Can't Say It's Cheese, for letting me give it a try!