Yumbo McGillicutty!

How to do summer without sizzling like a silly sausage

2012-01-05T05:12:00.000-08:00

Summer means barbequing. That is, grilling. Why? I mean - I understand the concept of eating outside. I understand the concept of notheating up the kitchen. What I don’tunderstand is why, on a day so hot that birds are falling fully cooked from theskies, some poor sap has to lean over glowing coals and volcanic rock andflames, drip-basting meat with his own sweat, and pretend that this is theperfect way to cook in warm weather.

Think about it: those barbeques and grills get way hotter than your standard burner,your standard skillet, or heck, even your standardcarbonize-you-at-closer-than-twenty-paces wok. OK so barbeques and grills don’t heat up the kitchen like an oven does,but at least you don’t have to lean over an oven, flipping slices of eggplantevery two minutes so they don’t self-combust.

So, much as I like them, summer barbeques don’t make allthat much sense to me. My heart alwaysgoes out to the aforementioned poor sap, particularly when the poor sap is aSap on a Mission, like the venerable Sausage Sizzle.

Despite what Hoges may have said back in the '80s, the thing that isthrown most often on Aussie barbies isn’t shrimp, but sausage. Putting a few snags on the barbie is prettystandard – on their own, or as part of a range of grilled meats – in the home,but outside the home, a sausage sizzle is one of the most common fundraisers.

Go down the street, go to the hardware store, and chancesare that your local fire brigade or primary school will be having a sausagesizzle fundraiser. $1 or $2 will get youa sausage in bread, with lots of nicely browned onions on top, and your choiceof sauce. Yes, it’s cheap, so yes, youcan afford to give up another $1 or $2 because the guy (almost always it’s a guy)has been sweating over that hotplate since 9.00am and sizzling along with thesausages because his wife is in the Parents’ Association and she’s told himhe’s got to do it or he won’t get any nookie for another month and HE DESERVESIT.

At home, when it’s truly hot, my barbeque stays undercover. But sausages in bread areexpected in summer, so sausages it is, with exactly the same flavour if notbetter flavour as barbequed, courtesy of my electric frying pan. No heating up the kitchen. No working over a hotplate. No constant watching. No sizzling except what should be sizzling inthe pan while I’m sitting on the verandah, feet on my own poor sap’s lap,chatting a little dozily while we make the ice clink in our drinks. Barbeque schmarbeque. Feels like summer to me.

Just three easy steps, I promise. First, chuck everything into your pan. (No, you're not imagining it, my sausages here are two different colours. Half are pork and half are beef.)

All right so at the end of Step 2, it pretty much looks like a dog's breakfast. But it'll come good. Promise!

See? Toldja it'd come good! Now where are those hot dog buns?...

THE SAUSAGE SIZZLE – MINUS BARBEQUE

This is such a low-effort, forgiving recipe – fiddle withthe quantities, add ingredients, make it in advance, keep it warm – that it’sperfect for those lazy summer days. Ifmaking it advance, however, it’s best done to the end of Step 2; they are bestbrowned just before serving. What I liketo do is keep the sausages warm in the pan, pile split buns in baskets besidethem, provide ketchup and mustard, and just let everyone help themselves.

(8 servings)

Ingredients:

1 kg. high-quality, high meat content sausages, such aspork, beef, bratwurst

1 kg. onions

500ml beer (what kind isn’t really important, as long asyou stay away from the dark stuff – I actually used a non-alcoholic “brewedbeverage”)

2 tbsp. seeded mustard

1 tbsp. oil

To serve: hot dogbuns or other bread, ketchup, mustard, and other condiments of your choice

What you do:

1. Prick sausagesseveral times. Place in electric fryingpan or a sauté pan large enough to hold the sausages in a single layer. Slice onions very, very finely (a foodprocessor or mandolin is the thing to use here) and add to pan along withremaining ingredients. Stir briefly tocombine.

2. Bring to theboil with (or over) high heat. Cover,and reduce heat to low. Simmer until sausages are cooked through and onions are very tender –about 20 minutes.

3. Uncover andincrease heat to medium high. Cook,stirring occasionally, until liquid has evaporated. Keep cooking, stirring regularly, until sausagesand onions are golden. (Be careful whenstirring: cooked sausages can breakquite easily.) Serve sausages and onionsin buns or bread with your favourite condiments.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

Self-raising flour: what it is, how to make it, and other questions on which the world hangs. Or not.

2011-12-30T23:40:00.000-08:00

A bag of self-raising flour is a common sight in pantriesacross the UK and Australia, but the mention of it tends to send cookselsewhere into a bit of tizz. What isthis strange and mysterious substance?

What it is is no mystery. Neither is how to make it.

SR flour is flour with a leavening agent added, so thatwhatever baked goodie you’re making won’t require baking powder or bakingsoda/bicarb-plus-an-acid-component to make it rise. It’svery handy to have lying around, but if you can’t buy it, or if you run out,you can make yours in a trice.

The proportions are:

2 tsp. baking powder for every cup of flour

Sift together a few times, or if you’re a hard case likeI am, just whisk it all vigorously for a minute or so.

Make it in bulk to have it ready to go when needed, ormake as much as you need for what you’re making at the time.

OK, so I realise this is a piker’s post. After all, it’s the last day of the year andI am in proper vacation mode right now. More or less, I am:

a) not cooking, just subsisting on AWESOME leftovers

b) sitting in front of the telly watching all the DVDs Igot for Christmas

c) crocheting

d) reading thick summery novels, and/or

e) any combination of the above.

So it’s like… yawn... Yumbo McGillicutty? Whassat?

In my defense, however, this is a well handy hint, andI’ll be posting some recipes requiring SR flour soon. So there.

Happy New Year everyone! May 2012 be full of all good things for you and yours.

The things we do for love

2011-12-19T06:01:00.000-08:00

My wacky mother and her wacky family and, in fact, a hugepercentage of her wacky generation and culture have a belief that ice cream isdigestive. It was common that after ameal she would ask, “A little digestive ice cream?” If the meal was huge, as it invariably was,the conversation would go like this:

“Would you like some ice cream?”

“No, I can’t, thank you. I’m too full.”

“But it’s a digestive!”

It probably helped that she loved ice cream so much. She may have loved other sweets, but she wasfine without the them; on the other hand, the house was never without icecream. So one Christmas, when ma’sfriend Lily came to stay with us and brought the dessert, a “frozen Christmaspudding” composed of chocolate ice cream, dried fruit and spices, she was inhog heaven. As she was the followingyear, when she decided that for dessert she would make a frozen sweet calledParfait Fantastique, from the redoubtable "La Petrona".

It was round about that time that two important thingshappened: I stopped merely being mymother’s kitchen hand and actually started cooking stuff, and my best friend,Brian, started celebrating Christmas with us.

Why are these two things important, and how are theyrelated? Because thanks to Brian, thatvery first dessert I made has been THE SAME DESSERT I’VE MADE EVERY YEARSINCE. This has been going on SINCE1984. Even though I HATE THE BLOODYTHING. Even though I TRIED MAKINGSOMETHING ELSE ONE YEAR (“Yes, that was very nice,” Brian said, patting myshoulder, “now can we go back to parfait next Christmas?”). Even though I am allowed to make as manyother desserts as I like, but I CANNOT LEAVE OUT THE PARFAIT. Even though my sister hosts Christmas everyother year I still get to bring dessert, AND IT IS PARFAIT.

Why the fuss? Allthe recipe is, as you can see, is something that crossed ma’s parfait andLily’s frozen pudding, and I can’t stand the sight of it. Make no mistake, though: it is actually quite good. Brian, pretending to be Donkey in Shrek has,since Shrek came out, greeted the appearance of the Christmas dessert with,“Parfait’s gotta be the most delicious thing on the whole damned planet!” and Ihave to admit: it is delicious, festive,and light enough to follow the heaviest Christmas meal (and help digest it,thank you ma).

So last week, I made the yearly parfait. Grudgingly, as is the yearly custom. But my grumbling and whingeing and whiningfell flat. See – Brian is not here. Brian moved to England last year, and wherehe is people love him and wine-and-dine him as is right and good because it isnothing less than he deserves, but I’m over here having a freakin’ existentialcrisis because of this stupid parfait. Because my grumbling is nothing without his badgering me and cajolingme. Because he won’t be here to look atme after having a mouthful, hunch his shoulders and mouth out, “YUM!” Because he’s not here to have a third helpingand the rest of my own helping after I’ve had the obligatory, grudgingspoonful. Because he may conceivablyhate the dessert as much as I do but may have been wise and clever enough torealise long ago that this is one of our games. Because he bugs me into submission and there’s no one in this world thatI enjoy giving in to quite as much. Becausehe’s not here to remind us that parfait is the most delicious thing on thewhole damned planet. Because thetradition of the parfait is precisely the same age as the tradition ofBrian-for-Christmas, and having one without the other is just not thesame. Because truth be told, comeChristmas, I don’t want to do without either.

PARFAIT NOËL

You can make the parfait up to a month beforeserving. Keep well wrapped, however, in layers of both plastic wrap and foil. And don’t betempted to halve the recipe: despite mypersonal misgivings, I can assure you that it will get eaten!

(16-24 servings)

Ingredients:

1/3 cup slivered almonds, toasted

1/3 cup red and green glacé cherries

1/3 cup chopped (candied) peel

2/3 cup raisins (or raisins and sultanas, half and half)

1/3 cup currants

1 tsp. mixed spice

1/4 cup rum, or apple or orange juice (if using fruitjuice, you can also add 2 tsp. rum essence if you like)

1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1/2 tsp. nutmeg

3 tbsp. cocoa

8 eggs

350g. sugar

4 cups cream

1 tbsp. gelatine

1 cup milk

2 tsp. vanilla essence

Red and green glacé cherries, extra

What you do:

1. Combinealmonds, cherries, peel, raisins, currants, mixed spice, and rum or juice in amedium bowl. Cover with plastic wrap,and allow to macerate and swell overnight. (If you're pressed for time, you can place these in a microwavecontainer, cover, and cook on HIGH for 5 min.). The next day, mix in cinnamon, nutmeg, and cocoa. Set aside.

2. With anelectric mixer, beat eggs and sugar until very thick and pale. Add vanilla. In a separate bowl, beat cream until soft peaks form.

3. Scald milk, andsprinkle over the gelatine. Whisk with afork to dissolve. Add gelatine mixtureto eggs and beat well. Fold incream. Divide mixture in two, one ratherbigger than the other. Fold fruitmixture into the smaller quantity.

4. Place extracherries in a decorative pattern in the bottom of a two large loaf or bundtpans, or three medium pans. Carefullyspoon in fruit parfait mixture, and place in freezer about 15 min., untilthick. Carefully spoon in vanillaparfait mixture. Cover with plasticwrap, place in freezer, and freeze a minimum of six hours or overnight. Allow to soften in refrigerator one hourbefore serving. Unmould and slice toserve.

Mamá's Pan Dulce (Panettone)

2011-12-18T15:10:00.000-08:00

My mother died twelve years ago. It’s strange: in those twelve years there have been hard times when I’ve hoped andprayed for a sense of her presence and received nothing. And times when I’ve not consciously wantedany such thing and unexpectedly been given it. So obviously, the subtleties of communication with passed-on loved onesare totally lost on me. When I don’twant to leave it to chance, when I want a shortcut to connection and memory andloving vibes, I open up Ma’s cookbook and cook.

Opening up Ma’s cookbook is invariably a bittersweetexperience – particularly seeing her beautiful strong script before infirmitymade her elegant hand shaky – but nonetheless curiosity always gets the betterof me. It isn’t just a cookbook, but abook where she jotted down all kinds of things, including clothing designs andthe measurements of the women she was making them for. This means, alas, that I know what mymeasurements were back in 1985. Dammit! Not all tears are for you, ma!

But I digress.

It is the time of year when I open up her cookbook andmake her recipe for pan dulce and give thanks. In Spanish, pan dulce means “sweet bread”, which means that throughoutthe Spanish-speaking nations you will encounter all kinds of sweet breadscalled pan dulce. In Argentina, however,it only means one thing: the traditionalsweet Christmas bread that the myriad Italian migrants brought with them. Panettone.

Homemade panettone bears only a passing resemblance tothe (admittedly tempting on account of the fancy packaging) bought ones. Commercial ones are airy and dry, with theoccasional raisin for interest. Made athome, they are rich, studded with fruit and nuts – particularly pine nuts –throughout, and most of all, fragrant. The moment I combine orange blossom water, vanilla, and brandy, thecombined scent, heady and exotic, rises up to my nostrils and I whisper, “It’sChristmas”.

Despite the yeast, pan dulce/panettone is also a boon forthe harried cook. While we all know thatfruitcakes and plum puddings need to be made at least a month in advance tomature and be at their best, panettone doesn’t. It can be made the day you intend to eat it, or the day before. Or a week before, and kept wrapped incellophane. Or six months before andfrozen. Leftovers are rare. Any that don’t get snarfed make the world’sbest French toast or bread pudding.

The instructions for this pan dulce/panettone are for amixer, but it isn’t necessary. Thisisn’t a particularly difficult dough to work, it’s just that because I usuallymake a minimum of six loaves, I’ve streamlined the process. And I’ve streamlined the recipe, too. You should hear the conversations I have hadwith Spirit Ma over her imprecise recipe:

“How much fruit, Ma?”

“As much as you like.”

“What do you mean?”

“As much as the dough will take.”

“Sigh… OK. Howmany loaves will this make?”

“One. Maybetwo. Or three.”

“What about the brandy? The mazahar? The vanilla?”

“Enough.”

“Of course. Howhot should the oven be?”

“The normal temperature.”

Death never stopped a person being frustrating. Or providing you with the best darnedChristmas treat you ever had.

**********

The fruit doesn't have to be perfectly spread, just relatively even.

When you've finished rolling, folding, and rolling and folding again, the fruit should be evenly distributed throughout. Remember: each mouthful must contain tidbits!

The scaled balls of dough in their giant paper cases. I actually imported these, which yes, makes me a little insane since carrying them as hand luggage through a 14-hour flight without them crushing is the stuff of which Hollywood blockbusters are made.

Slashed and brushed with eggwash (yes, you're right, I need a new scalpel).

Behold! Burnished perfection.

MAMA’S PAN DULCE (PANETTONE)

A word on the “fragrances”. First, the brandy: while it gives a particular flavour, the brandy’sreal role here is to react with the yeast and give it a boost. This is much needed since this is a doughrich in butter, sugar, and eggs, which affects a dough’s ability to rise. (No, you cannot use extra yeast: it’ll just taste yeasty and overferment thedough, giving you a dry, and crumbly loaf.) Next, the orange blossom water (mazahar): I have used a lot here, but depending on thequality, you may need to use a lot less. As a rough rule, the smaller the bottle, the stronger it is. If you buy yours in tiny 50ml bottles thatcost you a decent amount of cash, you may only need half as much, but my big500ml bottle isn’t that concentrated. Onno account, not EVER, substitute orange extract; use the zest of an orange,instead (but make it a point to find mazahar before Christmas next year).

Makes 3 loaves

Ingredients:

1 kg. flour, plus a few tablespoons for the fruit

2 1/2 tsp. instant yeast

1/4 tsp. salt

150g. sugar

150g. butter, softened

3 eggs

1 cup warm milk

1 tbsp. brandy

1 tbsp. orange blossom water (mazahar)

1 tsp. vanilla essence

500g. mixed dried and candied fruit, and nuts (see below)

Eggwash

1/4 cup melted butter, extra

What you do:

1. Place flour,yeast and salt in mixer bowl. Give a fewturns with the K beater. Add sugar, andgive another few turns to combine. Withmotor running, add butter. Mix untilbutter is mixed in. Add eggs, milk thathas been mixed with brandy, orange blossom water and vanilla, and enough waterto make a soft dough. Replace K beaterwith dough hook, and knead for 5 minutes. Place dough in a greased bowl, cover, and allow to rise in a warm placeuntil doubled.

2. Toss mixedfruit and nuts with flour. This willallow them to disperse evenly through the dough. Turn the oven on so that it is just barelywarm. (If you have a gas oven, thepilot light is enough.) Tip dough outonto floured work surface and pat out flat. Distribute fruit over the surface and roll up. Roll out with rolling pin; fold in three, androll out again. Repeat this a few timesto distribute fruit through dough. Scaledough (see below) and divide in three. Form dough into neat mounds and place in paper panettone moulds or tallgreased pans. Place in oven and allow torise. When breads are 3/4 of the way todoubled, slash tops with a scalpel or samurai-sharp knife, and brush carefullywith eggwash.

3. Place breads inwarm oven and crank it up to 180oC. (This method of only partly rising and putting into gradually heatingoven givens oven spring like nobody’s business – trust me.) Bake 30 minutes, until risen and lightlygolden. Drizzle with melted butter andbake another 15-20 minutes, until tops are deeply coloured and breads soundhollow when tapped on the base. Cool onwire racks completely before serving.

NOTE: The fruitand nuts you use are up to you, but you should include some glacé/candiedfruit, lots of pinenuts, and chopped walnuts or pecans for bite. “Scaling” is a fancy term for weighing outindividual portions of dough to get a consistent size. To scale these loaves, I weighed the dough(it was about 2.4kg) and divided that number by three (800g). I divided the dough in three and weighed eachportion to make sure it weighed 800g. Behold, three loaves the exact same size.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

Fruit Mince Pinwheels

2011-12-11T05:33:00.001-08:00

I was getting ready for an afternoon of making mincepies. As I made the rich shortcrust, Iimagined them topped with pastry stars and hearts. I imagined them warm and sticky from theoven. I also imagined rolling pastry,cutting out circles, stars, hearts, preparing pans, lining umpteen tartletcases, filling them, topping them, baking them, and repeating the process untilI either a) ran out of fruit mince, or b) started screaming uncontrollably.

I mentioned my afternoon'splans on Facebook, and my old friend Anita replied with, "Mince pies made like pinwheels, avariation I plan on trying this year…"

Zing! Novel idea,and suddenly the afternoon looked a lot let arduous. I'llmake half as pinwheels, half as pies, I said. Easy. I rolled out half thepastry, spread with fruit mince, rolled it up, cut, and baked. Then I stood in the middle of the kitchenblinking, a bit dazed, because it had all gone by so fast. I blinked a few more times, forgot the pies,and made more pinwheels. Total timespent: 1 hour, which includes making thepastry from scratch. Anita rocks.

And sure: mincepinwheels are not as pretty as mince pies topped with stars and hearts, butthey're still plenty pretty,and delicious either cold with a glaze, or warm with brandy butter. Pluds there'sthe added fun that Jane Grigson identified as an essential part of theenjoyment of a Chelsea bun: uncoilingthem as you eat them.

No screaming whatsoever. I guess I rock, too.

FRUIT MINCE PINWHEELS

You can use bought shortcrust pastry if you like, but goon, it's Christmas! Blow it out a bit and make your own. This rich shortcrust is so much better thananything you can buy. Mince pies andpinwheels are great keepers and will reheat beautifully if you want to makethem ahead.

(Makes 60 approx.)

Ingredients:

800g. pastry flour

375g. butter

6 tbsp. sugar

2 egg yolks

Iced water, as needed

850g. best-quality fruit mince (I use a vegetarian, ie.suet-free, one from the wholefoods market)

To serve: sugarglaze (if serving cold) or brandy butter or custard (if serving warm)

What you do:

1. Rub butter intoflour until mixture resembles breadcrumbs. You can use a large bowl, but I do this in batches in the foodprocessor. Mix in sugar. Add egg yolks and enough iced water to bringmixture together. Gather it up into aball, wrap in cling film, and chill for 30 minutes.

2. Preheat oven to180oC. Line two large baking sheets withsilicon paper. Divide pastry infour. Roll each one into a neatrectangle roughly 30x25cm. (Don't worry about the size toomuch. Important thing is to have neat edges and not have the pastry either too thick or too thin.) Spread with a quarterof the fruit mince, leaving a little gap all around. Roll up, and pinch edges to seal. Cut into 2cm slices with a sharp serrated knife. Repeat with remaining pastry and fruitmince.

3. Arrangepinwheels, cut side down, on baking sheets. Bake 20-25 minutes, until pastry is golden and filling is sticky andbubbling. Lift silicon paper straightonto racks to cool. Allow to cool towarm if serving warm, or cool completely before glazing.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

Recycling Fridays: what to do about that leftover tomato paste

2011-11-25T16:43:00.001-08:00

We all do things in the kitchen as a matter of coursethat we never think to share with anyone because they’re so simple, until, ofcourse, someone asks you a simple question. Like, “What do I do with leftover tomato paste?”

Ah. Goodquestion. Tomato paste is one of thosethings that, unless you’re like that hard-case friend of mine who used to go atit with a teaspoon, you only use a bit at a time of. In between those times, if the time betweenthe times is too long, it goes mouldy.

The classic way tostore a jar of leftover tomato paste is to cover the surface with oil, but thismethod isn’t foolproof, because every speck and skerrick must be covered withoil. Any exposed paste goes mouldy,which means you have to scrape all the paste off the sides of the jar with aspatula and push it down before you add the oil. And when you spoon out tomato paste, you haveto do it all over again. And what if youdon’t want oil with your tomato paste?

Tomato paste in a tube is absolutely brilliant, and possiblythe best thing to happen to tomato paste, but again, this massive 500g. jarcost me the same as three of those tubes.

What to do?

Enter the freezer, which is the friend of every cookrunning through the kitchen shouting, “Can’t cook now! Cook later!” on their way somewhereelse. Times like these, with goopy,liquidy leftovers like these that you use in small amounts, people will usuallytell you to press your ice cube trays into service. If you’ve got enough of them. And aren’t using them for ice cubes. And can actually be bothered unmoulding thetomatoey cubes afterwards.

I don’t, and I can’t, so I use baking trays and my trustysilicon baking paper (which I buy in industrial quantities). Dollop tablespoonfuls onto the trays, freeze…

and when frozen…

transfer them to baggies.

They are dropped, still frozen, into simmering sauces,soups and stews, and if there’s nothing simmering, they will thaw out on theirown in a few minutes, or 15 seconds in the mikey.

If you’re feeling fanceh, you can press a fresh basil ororegano leaf into each dollop before freezing. Cool. And simple.

These are a few of her favourite things

2011-11-13T20:47:00.001-08:00

I have many nieces whom I love and adore, but my thirdniece was my first pretend child: shewas serious and a little intense and didn’t give herself easily, but she wasalways up for it with me, whatever it might be. I took her everywhere – sometimes with her brother, sometimes not - and Icooked for her and with her. We madereal jelly out of orange juice and agar-agar and set it in orange cups. She helped me make apricot jam from hergrandparents’ tree. We had barbequeswhere she instructed me that her sausages should not only burst, but theexposed meat where it had burst should be scorched almost to black.

She turned 30 yesterday, and I asked her what she wantedme to cook for her celebratory barbeque (at which point it should be noted thatshe has outgrown her penchant for burst-and-burnt snags). Her request was something potatoey – potatosalad would be good – and something custardy. Well, d’uh. Potatoes and custardare two out of her very favourite foods in the whole wide world right there, alongwith jelly (which my daughter took care of, admirably), bok choy, and Chinesedumplings.

My daughter's Broken Glass Jelly

For the potatoes, I decided against the potato salad andmade instead a “potato feast” comprising of many steamed pink-eye baby spudsand four types of creamy sauce for spooning over the top: bacon, tomato and chive, avocado mayonnaise,minted yoghurt, and toum (Lebanese garlic sauce).

And for the custard, I made her the precise same dessertI made her when she turned 21: coconutflan (flan as in the original Spanish caramel custard, before the French stole it andcalled it crème caramel) and many, many mangoes (since they are another one ofher favourite things).

An addiction to custard – and in particular flan, of anypersuasion – is a peculiarity of all the women in my family, and it’s easy tosee why: soothing but classy, rich butlight, sweet but never cloying, it is the perfect dessert. (Yes, I said the perfect dessert: chocolate is not dessert, it is a meal.) And I am very, very fussy about my flan andcrème caramel.

See – flan and crème caramel aren’t just about theflavour, they are about the texture.

What is wrong with this picture? Well, there’s nothing wrong with the pictureper se, it is very nicely shot, but the dessert itself? Check out the dots all over the sides: they are air bubbles, and have no place ineither flan or crème caramel. So whileI’m sure it tasted very nice (I didn’t make this one, just found the picture onthe Internet), the texture, the mouthfeel – which are every bit a part of theexperience as flavour – would be all wrong. What a shame.

And so easy to avoid. You avoid air bubbles by simply not incorporating air into themixture: you lightly break up eggs, andyou mix in, not beat, the remaining ingredients. And you stay the hell away from recipestelling you to use electric beaters, blender, or food processor.

Here are the ingredients (plus a little vanilla, if youlike). It’s a little unbelievable thatso few ingredients will make a dessert worthy of going on bended knee for, butoh, they will. They so will.

First, you make a caramel and line a pan with it. How do you do that? Glad you asked!

Next, you lightly beat the eggs. Now I am being very serious here: you just want to barely combine yolk and whites,and this amount of bubbles, just on the surface, is about the maximum you want.

Add remaining ingredients, combine, and again: see? Very few bubbles.

Pour into your caramel-lined mould or pan.

Your dessert needs to be cooked au bain Marie, or in awater bath. Ignore any recipe that tellsyou to put in hot or boiling water: water MUST be cold or you will run the risk of cooking it too fast andagain, wrecking the texture.

Remove from water bath as soon as it’s done, cool, thenchill, preferably overnight, before unmoulding.

COCONUT FLAN WITH FRESH MANGOES

This makes a firm flan – firm enough to cut and handle with ease. If you would like a wobblier flan, you canuse 1 1/2 tins of coconut cream. Although we had our mangoes plain as a foil to the richness of thecustard, they are also lovely drizzled with a lime and ginger syrup just beforeserving.

(8 servings)

Ingredients:

3/4 cup sugar

1/3 cup water

6 eggs

1 tin (395g.) condensed milk

1 tin (400ml) coconut cream

1tsp. vanilla(opt.)

4 perfect mangoes, to serve

What you do:

1. Make up caramel with sugar and water and use it to line a mould or pan, or 8 ramekins or crèmecaramel moulds. Set aside while youproceed with recipe.

2. Preheat oven to160oC. In a medium bowl, lightly beateggs, just until whites and yolks are amalgamated. Add remaining ingredients, and stir (notbeat) with a whisk, just until combined. (The condensed milk tends to settle to the bottom of the bowl, so makesure that even though you’re using a light hand, you’re being thorough.)

3. Pour mixtureinto caramel-lined mould/s. Set in aroasting pan, and pour enough cold water into the roasting pan to come about3cm up the sides. Bake 50-60 min. forone mould, or 30-35 min. for individual servings, until custard is set and onlyjust wobbles in the very centre.

4. Remove custardfrom roasting pan, and allow to cool at room temperature, then transfer to‘fridge and allow to chill several hours, preferably overnight. To unmould, there’s no need to loosen thesides. Place serving plate over the topof the custard, then flip upside down. It will fall out without problem, and caramel will flood the top andpool around the sides effortlessly, and look like a picture. Halve mangoes and serve with flan.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

Golden brown: how to make caramel and line moulds with it

2011-11-13T15:47:00.001-08:00

When I studied food science, it quickly became clear tome that no aspect of it was as exact and complicated as sugar cookery. It’s a branch all on its own, and if youbecame a food scientist specialising in sugar, you could pretty much beguaranteed a highly paid job just about anywhere. If you were a straight man, it would alsojust about guarantee that despite the inherent geekiness, you would get lucky with any straight woman on the planet. But I digress.

That said, instructions for making caramel (ie.caramelised sugar, not caramel sauce, not candy-type caramel) at home arecomplicated by SO MUCH BANGING AROUND that I want to address this dreadfulmisrepresentation.

Yeah, I said it: banging around. Like what? Brushing sugar crystals down the side of thepan (YAWN), adding glucose syrup or indeed any ingredient to the sugar andwater (YAWN x 2), arresting cooking with water (YAWN x 3), using a thermometer(YAWN x 4) and repeated cautions about how “tricky” it is to cook caramelwithout crystallising the sugar (YAWN x 5) and how you must wash the panstraight away or it will be impossible to clean (YAWN x 6).

Bullpats, all of it. You don’t need to brush the sugar crystals down, you don’t need anythingother than sugar and water, you don’t need to arrest cooking in any way otherthan moving the darned pan off the heat, you don’t need a thermometer (matterof fact the high temperatures reached by caramelised sugar may make even asugar thermometer shatter), and it isn’t tricky at all – it’s easy, easy, easy.

The beauty of making caramel is that you have your eyes(and to a lesser extent, your nose) to guide you to make sure you succeed. The dramatic shifts that take place in thesubtle changes in temperature during the stages of sugar cookery don’t applywhen you’re caramelising sugar. If itlooks done, it’s done. End of.

The only two rules – and they are easy ones – to rememberwhen making caramel are:

1. Dissolve everysingle sugar crystal before mixture comes to the boil, and

2. Do not stirmixture again once it’s come to the boil. Not at all.

Failing to obey either of those rules will leave you witha crystallised mixture that nothing can salvage.

Ready to get your caramel on? Let’s go!

MAKING CARAMEL AND LINING MOULDS AND PANS WITH CARAMEL

Ingredients:

2 parts sugar (see notes below)

1 part water

What you do:

1. Place sugar andwater in a saucepan and place over medium-low heat. Stir occasionally until every single sugarcrystal is dissolved. (In stirring, bythe way, don’t go mad: just run a spoon across the bottom of the pan as manytimes as it takes.) There is no need tobrush down the sugar crystals on the side of the pan, just make sure the sugarsuspended in the water is dissolved. Donot allow to come to the boil.

2. When sugar iscompletely dissolved, increase heat to high and boil steadily until sugarbegins to change colour. At this point,you may want to swirl the pan to encourage even cooking. Caramel will be ready when it’s colouredamber to golden brown, according to preference. It will also smell caramelly (trust me on this). From golden brown it’s only a few seconds to burnt, however, so get the pan offthe heat immediately and work quickly to use the caramel. Forget about cleaning the saucepan for now!

3. To line a panor moulds with caramel, quickly pour caramel into pan or individual moulds (eg.ramekins or crème caramel moulds). Withprotected hands, swirl caramel around the base and sides of the mould. Allow to set for a few minutes beforeproceeding with recipe.

Assorted notes:

* A 3/4 cup sugarquantity of caramel generously lines one cake or flan pan, or 6 ramekins/crèmecaramel moulds.

* My one cautionduring this whole affair is to PLEASE protect your hands when lining themoulds. It’s not necessary when cookingthe sugar, but definitely necessary when lining, for two reasons. The first reason is that the moulds getBLOODY HOT. The second is the tyranny ofburning yourself with caramel: not onlyis caramel much, much hotter than boiling water, but burns need cold water, andif you put cold water on caramel on your skin, the caramel will solidify. Try to pull it off, and it will take skin offwith it. So be careful, but don’tpanic: in making caramel at least once amonth all my adult life, I have never once suffered a caramel burn.

* What do you dowith that pan? Fill it up with water (itwill spit if it’s still hot, so stand back just a tad), and set it on thestove. Bring it to the boil, and thecaramel will dissolve away. Any stubbornburnt bits will just scrub off with a wire scrubby thing.

* Caramel isn't just for lining moulds. Its uses are myriad: arrest cooking with cream or fresh juice (blood orange is awesome) to make a divine sauce, add to stews and braises for richness and je ne sais quoi like the Vietnamese do, add butter and vanilla to make gorgeous chewy caramels, or mix in roasted nuts to make croccante or no-fuss praline.

Hotspots and hotpots

2011-11-02T03:15:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, I left the town I’d lived in for over 20years because there wasn’t any reason left to stay any more. And because the time was right, the leavingwas easy. But of course there’s stuffyou miss: friends, walks along theriver, friendly faces down the street, and my wholefoods shop.

Yes, my wholefoods shop. There was a time when it was my shopping hotspot: 3/4 of my household food budget was spent onfruit, veg, and stuff bought at the wholefoods’, and 1/4 at thesupermarket. It wasn’t just that what Ibought there was wholesome and cheap, but I loved the experience of shoppingthere. I’m sure that there must havebeen times when I was rushed and cranky and would have wished for theconvenience of rushing in and picking up a pre-packaged kilo of whateverwholegrain goodie I needed, but I can’t remember any. I just remember shopping there as anunrushed, almost meditative activity, like grocery shopping seldom is anymore. Go in, grab a baggie, open up abin full of wheat, soybeans, or oats, scoop some out with the metal cup andfill the baggie up. Weigh out a jaryou’ve brought and fill it up with honey or tahini. Help yourself to the precise amount of herbor spice you need from the dozens of jars on the counter. Grind your own peanut butter. Order a soft-serve banana “ice cream”, madeby running whole frozen bananas through the Champion juicer.

I don’t have a wholefoods place nearby any more. I’m sure my diet suffers because of it (where do I buy large quantities - but not bulk - of non-GM soybeans for my unused soymilk maker?), but even if I did haveone, I wonder whether I’d get the same pleasure. After all, I was a stay-at-home mum in thatsmall town, and although time was still at a premium, I was able to set someaside for shopping there. These days Ihold down jobs, plural, and what would I do? I don’t know.

But a couple of days ago I found myself in my oldtown. It is still so familiar, but Ifeel so foreign in it now, except in once place. For the first time in 3 1/2 years, and urgedby my younger son who has been craving that peanut butter all this time, I wentto my wholefoods shop.

I scooped up burghul, quinoa, chia seed, andthree-grain porridge into baggies, let my son grind up not one, but twocontainers of peanut butter and pour out some gorgeous red stringybark honey, andbought a massive container of the best fruit mince in the world – citrusy andrich, but without the customary suet. And we had an awesome time. Heaps fun. Sure: I didn’t buy anything soexotic that couldn’t have been picked up (albeit in smaller quantities) at thesupermarket, but would the experience have been as good? My grin as I walked out of the wholefoodsshop munching on an almond-coated fresh date treat could have told you all youneed to know.

A two-and-a-half-hour drive home later, I put the barleyand chickpeas I bought to good use and kept the good vibes going as the temperaturedropped outside and I cozied up in the warmth of the place – and person – I amnot foreign to these days.

BARLEY AND CHICKPEA HOTPOT WITH CHORIZO AND CHARD

OK, yes: this doescontain rather a lot of oil. But itmakes for such a luscious dish and delicious juices that you’ll be begging to mop upwith good bread. Go on – thanks to allthose good ingredients, it won’t hurt you.
(6 servings)

Ingredients:

1/2 cup olive oil, or EVOO and vegetable oil, half andhalf

1 red onion, roughly chopped

4 garlic cloves, roughly chopped

4 chorizos, sliced

1 cup barley, washed

2 cups cooked chickpeas

1 bunch Swiss chard (silverbeet), stalks and leavesseparated

4 cups water

2 tbsp. tomato paste

Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

What you do:

1. Heat olive oilin flameproof casserole over medium heat. Add onion and garlic, and sauté, stirring occasionally, until onions aretranslucent.

2. Add chorizos,barley, chickpeas, sliced chard stalks, water, and tomato paste. Bring to the boil, then cook at a high simmerfor 30 min.

3. Add choppedchard leaves, and salt and pepper to taste. This isn’t a soup, but there should be just enough liquid left over inthe bottom of the pot to steam the chard; if there isn’t, add a littlewater. (Not much - 2 tbsp.maximum.) Increase heat to high, jam lidon, and cook for 10-15 min, stirring once or twice, until chard is cookedthrough. Serve hot.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

Tarted-up treats

2011-11-01T15:45:00.000-07:00

And so the day came when I wanted a no-brainer to takewith me to a Melbourne Cup barbeque. Itwas my day off and I was too far away in the land of the Letharges to makeanything, but I didn’t want to buy anything, either. That’s how it goes when you have too muchpride in your cooking and you’re a bit of a cheapskate.

Enter what Wikipedia calls "Chocolate-coated marshmallow treats", but which go by many names around the world: Chocolate Royals here in Oz, Tunnock’s TeaCakes in the UK, Mallomars and Marshmallow Supremes in the US, and ChocolateWhippets in Canada among them. I wasgoing to tart two dozen of these “little nippley things” (as someone at thebarbeque called them) up.

Now. Inaforementioned tarting-up, I have to mention that – to the dismay of myprofessional cookery teacher decades ago – I don’t do garnishes. Or rather, I only do garnishes thatcontribute to the dish and/or unify the components in some way, and nothingelse. That’s why I chose the two thingsin my pantry that I felt would contribute in flavour, contrast andtexture: sea salt, and toasted coconutflakes.

Things I could have used butdidn’t because I deemed them silly and irrelevant:

* Coloured sprinkles

* Flowers from my garden

* Cupcake decorations

* Dust from my vacuum cleaner.

So tart up these treats whichever way you want, butremember that just because the melting surface can adhere just about anynon-goopy topping, that doesn’t mean it should. What I’d keep in mind is that these treats are intensely sweet to beginwith, so not-so-sweet toppings are best. The sea salt flakes and toasty coconut made these very delicious, andthey were just inhaled in record time. Although children loved them, everyone agreed that the toppings madethese bikkies a very adult treat indeed.

This is as melty as the treats should get. A few seconds under the grill, and no more, or you will have deconstructed chocolate-and-marshmallow puddles on your hands.

CHOCOLATE MARSHMALLOW TREATS WITH SEA SALT AND COCONUT

This isn’t a recipe, just a technique, so just FYI, youcan blast these with your trusty blowtorch in you like, you crazy pyromaniac,you.

Ingredients:

Dark (not milk) chocolate-coated marshmallow treats (seeabove for various names around the world)

Sea salt flakes

Coconut flakes, toasted

What you do:

1. Preheat thegrill or salamander (broiler) to high. Line a baking pan with parchment paper, and place your treats on it,bottom side down. Place under grill orsalamander (broiler) for just a few seconds, until chocolate begins tomelt. Now – when I say “a few”, I mean,like, three seconds. Watch them like ahawk!

2. Remove pan fromgrill and immediately sprinkle treats with sea salt flakes or coconut flakes totaste. Place in ‘fridge to set beforeserving.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

Cake for when you're blissing

2011-10-18T23:14:00.000-07:00

My Baby and I love and adore our combined brood, but everysecond weekend when they’re all away it’s just all about us being into eachother. We do stuff together and kindabliss out and have many a smug moment about how lucky we are. Oh, it’s pathetic.

So anyway. Lastweekend after we’d blissed out and blissed out some more, I announced, “I feellike making cake!” The cake I wasthinking of making was one I hadn’t made for many years, but daydreamed abouton a regular basis (also pathetic), and this was the day. But that’s not what’s important. Take note: the fact that this is the cake I wanted to make on a day when I wasblissing out tells you pretty much all you need to know about this cake.

The essential accompaniment to this cake, other than bliss,or even just a bit of a knockabout mood, is not tea or coffee but a glass ofmilk or a cup of excellent, thick hot chocolate made with actual chocolate andnot some dubious powder out of a packet. In fact, the traditional, Mexican way of eating this cake is to dunk itwith your fingers into aforementioned cup of excellent hot chocolate. Heck – if you weren’t blissing out before youmade the cake you’d have to be after that.

MEXICAN CINNAMON CRUMB CAKE

Take care: there’s a few steps involving dividing ingredientsor setting ingredients aside. But it’sstill simple and so worth it.
(1 large cake or 2 regular cakes)

Ingredients:

560g. flour

375g. sugar

1/4 tsp. salt

245g. butter

2 tsp. cinnamon

4 tsp. brown sugar

2 1/2 tsp. baking powder

2 eggs, lightly beaten

1 cup milk

What you do:

1. Grease and flourtwo square cake pans or one slab pan. Preheat oven to 190oC.

2. First, make thecrumb mixture. In a large bowl, mixtogether 375g. of the flour, the sugar, and the salt. Rub in 185g. of the butter. To make the topping, take 1 cup of the crumbmixture and add cinnamon, brown sugar, and remaining flour. Rub in remaining butter. Set aside.

3. Add baking powder, eggs and milk to remainingcrumb mixture, and beat well. Turnmixture into prepared pan/s, and sprinkle over the topping. Bake 25-30 min, until cooked whentested. Cool in pan on a wire rack. Serve cut into thick squares.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

The World Food Day blog

2011-10-16T05:59:00.000-07:00

On World Food Day, I don’t want to write a blog as if formy teenage students. We are all adults,and we all know that the causes of hunger are complex and myriad, and rangefrom drought, to war, to the use of arable land to plant bio-fuel crops. We adults we know that as worthy, andgenerationally effective, as sponsoring a child or loaning money to anentrepreneur through a micro loan agency such as Kiva is, it doesn’t solve acataclysmic “issue” that amounts to 1 billion people going hungry in the world.

But if you’re an adult it also means certain things. Like if you have made it to this age, itmeans that you know something about trying, trying, and trying again. You probably have an inkling about what’simportant by now. You may have hadchildren, and know what it’s like to be gripped by the urge to protect and lookafter them; it’s not too big a stretch to imagine how a parent who cannot lookafter her or his child might feel. Youhave probably seen changes that when you were a kid were certain couldn’thappen without bloodshed: the demolition of the Berlin wall, the dismantling ofapartheid.

I’m not big on guilt. Guilt is, to me, the ultimate self-indulgence. It provides a buzz: “Ooh I feel so bad about this you can’tbelieve how bad I feel I’m just totally cut up look I’ve got tears in my eyesand I’m so earnest I’ll even post about it on my Facebook status so that provesI’m human right?” Being human, however,requires more than feeling, it requires action, and that leads me to the thingI am big on.

Responsibility.

You can stay stuck in guilt forever, but you can’t staystuck when you’re in responsibility. Responsibility means owning. Means doing. Lots of doing. So much doing that you won’t have either thetime or inclination to “click ‘like’ if you agree”.

That’s why I’m not going to waste any time trying to pushyour guilt buttons. There are people inyour life better at it than I. Instead,I’m thinking that if you are reading this blog, there’s also a good chance thatyou are used to feeding people, or that you understand there’s something primalabout providing and nourishing, even beyond the boundaries of your nearest anddearest (else why the existence of so many food blogs that reach out to allcorners of the globe?). This issomething we all GET. We may well beenjoying this fillet steak, or indeed this piece of bread, but we don’t likethe thought of others not having the same. Given your druthers, you’d shout, “Fillet steak and bread for all!”

Well, maybe one day.

In the meantime, let me introduce you to a people thatare rather well known for being practical and pragmatic: the British.

Oxfam UK has a brilliant campaign called 4-a-Week going. This simple-as idea is designed to make atangible difference in the lives of people living in poverty and just involvesdoing four easy things each week:

1. Buy one more Fairtrade product

2. Buy one more food product from a developing country

3. Throw one less item of food away

4. Eat one less portion of meat or dairy

If you don’t know what Fairtrade is by now, youshould. It’s all about a better deal forthe farmers and workers who work to bring you your chocolate or breakfastcuppa, and every purchase makes a difference. Look for the distinctive Fairtrade logo wherever you shop, and if youcan’t see any products where you shop, demand them. (Don’t kid yourself, however, that companieswho advertise something akin to Fairtrade without the name and logo themselves are actually doinganything. Your morning coffee fromStarbuck’s may promise to be “ethical”, but Starbuck’s is, in fact,self-regulating about what constitutes “ethical” and “fair trade”. Starbuck’s stopped paying a premium price fortheir coffee a long time ago, and they conduct their own inspections of coffeefarms.)

Yes, of course it’s good to buy local. And yes, of course food miles areimportant. But let’s not be coy here andpretend everything we eat is locally sourced or foraged. Where is your olive oil from? How about that Arborio rice you make yourrisotto with? There is room in yourshopping basked for a handful of dates from the Middle East, or some lentilsfrom India. Don’t know what classifiesas a “developing country”? No worries, Ihave a big fat list for you right here.

Throwing one less item of food away is a subject of awhole nother blog because there are so many ways to go about this. The simplest way is to buy only what you knowyou’ll use. And if you don’t, useit. Those potatoes will turn into agreat frittata, and you know curry tastes better the next day. Use the freezer. Get organised. Have a big cook-off – perhaps on RecyclingFridays – of the stuff in the ‘fridge before you go shopping. The Love Food Hate Waste site has lots of ideas on how to avoidwaste.

Eating one less portion of meat or dairy makes an impactin two ways. The first is environmental,since all that livestock must have an effect. The other one is a matter of resourceallocation. The production of beef, forexample, requires 4.8 lb./2kg of grain fed to cattle to produce just 1 lb./450g. ofbeef. That is grain that could be usedfor humans. A 10-acre farm can supportas many as 60 people by growing soybeans, but only two people by producingcattle. Now – I love me some beef, but Ilove me some grain, too. Give me a plateof pasta pesto or a bourghul pilaf dotted with chickpeas and roasted peppersand I won’t even notice there wasn’t meat or dairy. Neither will you.

Come on. Fourthings a week is easy. Let’s do this. Because we're grownups, and we know how to get things done.

Tarty Tuesdays: Bacon and Tomato Tart

2011-10-11T02:09:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder why I bother posting some recipes: they’re so simple, and their ingredients are so few or unremarkable, that in an increasingly sophisticated foodie world they are likely to make the casual blog browser shrug and go “Meh,” before surfing away.

Here’s the thing, though: good ingredients only need simple a treatment. Good ingredients can make a simple dish taste absolutely divine. In this case, just one ingredient: beautiful tomatoes.

Unless you grow your own, beautiful tomatoes that smell and taste as God intended are as rare and precious as truffles. When you see them, you bow your head, say a little prayer of thanks, buy as many as you can, and get them home with all due haste. Slice them up thick for a mayo-slathered sandwich, or drench them with olive oil and perfume them with basil. Or just bite into one like an apple, perhaps powdering each bite with a drift of sea salt. Any leftover ‘matas can go into this tart, which is far greater than the sum of its parts.

A bit of a leap of faith is necessary here, because I really can’t tell you how special this tart - which was demolished in one sitting by a small number of diners that included tiny, picky eaters - is. You’ll just have to find great tomatoes, make it and eat it. Then you can tell me.

BACON AND TOMATO TART
(6-8 servings)

Ingredients:

1 x recipe Nidia's Tart Crust, or enough shortcrust pastry for a single crust

600g. small, ripe tomatoes, blanched and peeled

salt

2 tsp. olive oil

1 1/2 onions, sliced

300g. bacon, diced

4 large eggs

250g. cheddar (white cheddar in the US), grated

1/4 cup homemade mayonnaise or cream

freshly ground pepper to taste

fresh oregano leaves, to taste

What you do:

1. Preheat oven to 180oC and lightly grease tart pan. Line tart pan with pastry. Quarter tomatoes and remove seeds. (I did this straight into a plastic container. The seeds have gone into the freezer for the next time I make sauce.) Sprinkle with salt, toss, and place in colander to drain while you make filling.

2. Heat oil over medium heat and add onions. (I also add the bacon rinds at this point for extra flavour and moisture, and remove them when they’ve finished rendering, whereupon hungry vultures - my sons and husband – descend and demolish them.) Sweat until translucent. Add bacon, and increase heat to high. Sauté, stirring occasionally, until bacon begins to brown. Set aside.

3. In a bowl, combine eggs, cheddar, and mayonnaise or cream, and season with lots of freshly ground pepper – you won’t need salt.

4. To assemble tart, line tart pan with crust. Spoon in bacon and onion, then evenly spread cheddar mixture over the top. Press tomato quarters, cut side down, into cheddar mixture. Scatter over oregano leaves. Bake for 45 minutes, until set and golden. Allow to settle for a few minutes before unmoulding and serving.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

Weeds and herbs and everything perturbed

2011-10-05T21:56:00.000-07:00

Sit down and let me tell you a tale.

Up until the time I was 14, we lived in apartments. When we moved into our first-ever house in Aonach Street, Clayton, I was overjoyed: I could have pets (or rather, the pets I had could now move around)! We wouldn’t be sharing walls with other people! We could have a garden!

For some reason, even though I am not, never have been, and never will be anything that can even loosely be termed a gardener, it was this last point that most excited me. The backyard had already been divided in half, and one of the halves was – as befitted a neighbourhood with such a huge percentage of Italian and Greek migrants – a well-fertilised and turned-over veggie patch that only needed some seedlings for it to completely transform into a suburban Horn of Plenty.

Parsley and basil sprouting under the artichokes

Like Mary in The Secret Garden, I asked mamá for “a bit of earth” and she agreed. The bit I chose was underneath the juvenile pine, and for it I got a packet of mixed flower seeds that came with the Disney imprint and an illustration of Bambi, Thumper and bluebirds gambolling in fields of snapdragons and bluebells. I planted them, I watered them, they grew, and it made me happy. And that was the last time I had a garden – a bit of earth – that I considered completely and totally mine.

Oh – there were other gardens, but none that I ever considered mine. For reasons too various, personal, and let’s face it, boring to list, I was unable to put much of a permanent stamp on any of the places I lived in the following 25 years, and despite having bits of earth for veggies and herbs, I never considered any of those gardens mine.

This variety is new to me. Anyone used it before?

That is, until a few years ago, when I found myself making a new start in a new house. The pull of this place was so strong that even when we’d only been in it three days and were still chin-deep in boxes, one of my sons said, “It feels like we’ve always lived here!” I had arrived somewhere I’d always wanted to be. And outside was a garden. And not just any garden. I recognised it immediately: my garden. Finally I GOT why gardeners rhapsodise about gardening. I got the satisfaction, the feeling of being at one with Life, the Universe, and Everything.

My garden is already established and I don’t touch it much, except for the one area at the very back, the one that flourishes under my touch: the herb patch.

Now… in saying that I’m not gardener, you have to understand that it’s more than that. I actually kill things. It’s distressing, particularly for someone who actually thinks plants have feelings and respond to humans (more on this later), so I stopped trying. But the one thing I know I can grow is herbs, and here in this garden, they have grown like never before. They have grown lush – so lush that the oregano bush grew as big as my arms curved towards each other to make a circle, so lush that the mint leaves were as big as my hand, so lush that weeds barely get a look-in, except for winter, when most herbs go dormant and weeds go, “Whoo-hoo!” and take over.

The kaffir lime

And that’s where my story begins.

Some weeks ago, it is the end of winter, and my garden is a bit of a mess. I make a call to Khel, the gardener who helps me whip the garden into shape a few times a year with the stuff that’s too gardenerly for me to do.

Khel comes in on Friday while I am at work. No biggie, he’s often done that. Saturday morning I go into the garden with My Baby, start poking around, surveying my domain, except… WHERE ARE THE HERBS?

My heart starts pounding. Every single weed is gone, but so is almost every herb. I’m not talking cut back, I’m talking GONE, roots and all. The rampant, cheeky mint, gone. The massive oregano bush, gone. Half the thyme. The chives. The rosemary. All that remains are the freakin’ nasturtium. I start taking every single deity’s name in vain. I can’t believe it. I start fighting back tears at this point, and I do something I try to never do, and ring someone while upset.

“Khel? You came in yesterday?”

“Yeah… I cleaned up as much as I could… Did the weeding…”

“Where the %^$@! are my herbs?”

“Ohhh!... I thought I smelt something!...”

“You thought you smelt something? What the *&#@!??”

“Not all of it is gone…”

“$@*&! You uprooted them! The oregano, the mint… They’re gone!”

“The mint will be back, don’t worry about that.”

“And what am I supposed to do about mint in the meantime?”

My mother used to say that my father had Basil Fawlty moments, and I’m sorry to say that this is one of the not-so-admirable things I’ve inherited from him. If you want to truly get a mental picture of what happened then, all you need to visualise is Basil Fawlty beating up a dead car, or howling because he’s lost money he’s won on a horse, or digging through a trifle to find a duck. Khel – or should I say The Murderer – had left a pile of weeds. They were fragrant with the scents of at least six different herbs, and I started digging through the pile with my bare hands, weeping, crying out, “Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?”

Oh, yeah. I had an insane moment. And because My Baby knows better than to argue with Crazy Lady (or Crazy Hippie Lady, as he would have it), he joined in, minus the tears and ranting. I found a rootlet of mint, and My Baby found a whole clump of chives.

We talked about not paying The Murderer, we talked about never employing him again, we talked about me going to visit him with my Whacking Stick, but when the fire of my grief and anger had cooled down to embers, I knew that only one thing could make me feel better: replanting. So I went to the nursery and spent a small fortune on herbs. A few weeks later when I had a birthday, friends and family who knew of my predicament brought in beautiful gifts of herbs, and one day when I was at work, Khel snuck into the backyard and left a few little pots of thyme.

And they’re coming along. They’re coming along. The mint rootlet I rescued totally regenerated (and yes, like Khel predicted, other mint is coming back elsewhere). The chives that My Baby discovered are now so happy they’re flowering. These pictures are of a herb garden that’s happily recuperating. It’s not yet as lush as it was, but it’s getting there. The herbs are happy. That they are happy is puzzling to me – all I do is water them, give them worm castings, and OK, have a little chat to them – and I just find the whole thing so humbling. So much reward for so little effort. I am also humbled by the people who commiserated with me when this happened, who understood my insane moment, and brought to me pots full of green and fragrance.

The Vietnamese mint that Kylie brought, going insane under the Laserlight

So, with the parsley my sister gave me, and the new oregano bushes, I share with you a recipe that is indispensable to me: chimichurri, the Argentine barbeque sauce.

Variegated and common oregano

Alicia's parsley and mint

Now… as indispensable as chimi is, I don’t have it on everything. Argentines, as a rule, don’t, and this is something you should keep in mind as recipes for chimi become more and more bastardised, and as chimi is presented to you at a restaurant as a dip for bread. Bizarre. Chimi is, and always shall be, a traditional condiment for barbequed and grilled meats. I only ever use it as a marinade for matambre, which benefits from the strong flavours (since its cooking method is poaching) and the tenderising quality of the vinegar. I can’t go past Asado Argentina’s excellent treatise on chimichurri, but I just really want to highlight that any recipe telling you to strive to keep the fresh green colour of the sauce is just wrong, wrong, WRONG. While there’s nothing bad about serving a chimi that’s just been made, the best chimi has actually matured and mellowed in the refrigerator for days, weeks, or months. It is the reason why I make nothing less than huge quantities. (Also wrong is any chimi that adds herbs more familiar to Mexican cuisine, such as coriander/cilantro, but really, to read the full rant, go to Asado Argentina).

While you do, I'll be firing up the barbeque outside and thinking about how lucky I am. Dogs, walls not joined to anyone else's, a garden, friends who understand when you go nuts… yeah. Life at 45 has much in common with 14.

CHIMICHURRI

This is my recipe, adapted from mamá’s, which is one of many. You can tweak it… but not too much. Here are the things you can tweak: the amount of chili is up to you. The oregano need not be fresh. The bay leaves are optional. Remember that this is not an emulsified sauce, and that’s OK, because not all the sauces in the world are French. You put it in a pretty bowl or sauceboat at the table with a spoon, and each diner stirs it up before spooning it over their meat. Chimi will keep, refrigerated, for up to a year.

Ingredients:

3 bay leaves

1 cup boiling water

I cup finely chopped parsley

1 tbsp. dried crushed chili

1 tbsp. chopped fresh oregano

6 cloves garlic, minced

1 cup good quality cider or white wine vinegar

1/2 cup olive oil (not EVOO - if you don’t have olive oil that’s not extra virgin, combine EVOO and vegetable oil, half and half)

salt and pepper to taste

What you do:

1. Place bay leaves in a small bowl and pour over boiling water. Allow to cool to warm while you proceed with recipe.

2. In a bowl or jar, combine parsley, chili, oregano, garlic, vinegar and olive oil, with salt and pepper to taste. Whisk together with a fork, or put the lid on the jar and shake. Add the bay leaves, and enough of their soaking water to temper the taste. The amount you use is up to you, but remember that chimichurri is meant to be quite perky and tangy. It is definitely NOT subtle.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

The "F" word

2011-10-04T04:37:00.000-07:00

In a world that produces enough food for each one of its inhabitants to eat 2,700 calories a day, famine is unacceptable.

This isn't about guilt, and it isn't about donating money. It's about us knowing better, and being loud enough to say so.

Watch the vid, sign the petition. FFS.

Of cakes, tradition, and competition

2011-09-30T01:45:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is Phoebe’s birthday, which makes this my second birthday outing as a stepmother. It gives one Pause.

Blended families are interesting organisms, and particularly interesting are the times when you realise the blend includes two different sets of traditions for every special occasion from Christmas (celebrated on the 24th for ours, celebrated on the 25th for them) to birthday mornings (gentle and loving for them, many fists pounding on the bedroom door while Birthday blasts out of the stereo for ours).

One tradition that My Baby and his babies came with was the birthday cake: a mildly spiced and fluffy Texas sheet cake that they go on bended knee for. Made by the girls’ mum.

Now. To explain my attitude towards this cake, I need to reminisce about my own previous marriage. My ex-husband’s mother was never known – at least, by her own son – as much of a cook, but one of my ex-husband's favourite foods on the whole damned planet was her cheesecake. He loved it, and she was generous enough to share her recipe, with annotations, with me. I made it once, perfected it the second time, and then it occurred to me: “What the heck am I doing?” Here was this woman, not at all confident in the kitchen, who made this one thing her son absolutely adored, and I – oh, dauntless professional cook! – was about to take it away from her. As I said to my husband at the time, “Just because I can cook just about anything, that doesn’t mean I should.” She was alive and kicking and still able to delight him with her cheesecake, so I stopped making it. Her recipe is in my hand-written recipe book. It’s an important part of family history, and my daughter made a cheesecake to her grandmother’s recipe for her father on Father’s Day a few weeks ago.

So it was a given that I was never going to make that sheet cake. The whole point isn’t, after all, to try to recreate the girls’ usual birthday experiences, but create fresh ones of our own.

And so on to the cake. That it has to be chocolate is a given, and because of my own roots, its filling is also a given: dulce de leche. Some proper chocolate frosting, and that’s it.

Much as I love to bake, I’m not a natural cake baker and like Laurie Colwin, I too like “a cake that takes about four seconds to put together and gives an ambrosial result”. When I want chocolate cake, nine times out of ten, this is the cake I make. This, along with The Cake of Deliciousness, is the quickest, easiest cake I know. No creaming, no beating, no folding in of egg whites. And the results are light (not fluffy), beautifully moist, with a toothsome crumb and intensely chocolatey flavour that is rare even for many cakes that contain actual chocolate.

That it is so rich and chocolatey is mystifying because this recipe was developed during the Depression (when it was known as Crazy Cake) and so frugally contains no butter, milk, eggs or chocolate, but you would never know. This is an excellent chocolate cake even if you’re filthy rich and can afford to decorate it with gold leaf and have it served to your girlfriends by Pedro, the fig-leaf-attired houseboy.

Hmmm. Maybe when Phoebe is a little older.

Almost certain: this cake will have cracks in the top. That's the lack of eggs for you. That's why…

… you flip it upside down. And any smaller cracks can just be...

… frosted over. You won't get any complaints.

The Easiest Chocolate Cake I Know

(makes 1 large cake)

Ingredients:

Dry ingredients –

3 cups flour

2 cups sugar

1/2 cup cocoa (unsweetened if in the US)

2 tsp. bicarbonate of soda (baking soda)

1 tsp. salt

Wet ingredients –

2 cups water

3/4 cup vegetable oil

2 tbsp. white wine vinegar (see note below if this flummoxes you)

2 tsp. vanilla essence

Method:

1. Prepare a large cake tin or pan by brushing with Baker's Secret, greasing-and-flouring, or greasing and lining with parchment. (If you intend serving the cake from the pan, you can just leave the pan as is.) Preheat oven to 180oC.

2. Thoroughly combine all dry ingredients in a large bowl. Add wet ingredients, and stir until dry ingredients are moistened. Pour into prepared tin or pan and bake until cooked when tested. (Shallow pans will require 30-40 min., deeper ones 45-60min.) Carefully unmould onto a wire rack to cool.

A note for those of you who may be nervous about the vinegar: here is a crash course in food science. For a cake to rise, it needs an alkali, and an acid. When the alkali and the acid combine, they react with each other, giving off carbon dioxide, and so gas, bubbles, rising cake. This is the way that all cakes other than yeast cakes rise. The alkali/acid combination is there in baking powder (already mixed for you), and in recipes that call for baking soda (alkali) and, say, cream of tartar (acid). In this case, you have baking soda (alkali) and vinegar (acid). You won’t be able to taste the vinegar – promise.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

The Best Damned Strawberry Jam You Ever Had - in 15 minutes

2011-09-28T19:25:00.000-07:00

The path to the best damned strawberry jam you ever hadis easy, with only one rule to remember: small batches, quickly. That’sit! No magic ingredient, no Iron Chefskill, no banging around.

Waiting for a glut is the worst time to make strawberry jam. As soon as you increase quantities, cookingtime increases, and your window of opportunity to make the queen of all jamsslams shut, shaking the frame a little. Instead of the remarkably fresh flavour of this jam, you’ll have cloyingsweetness. Instead of a glorious rubyred, the jam will be dark and impenetrable. And instead of gorgeous chunks of candied strawberry on your piece ofbread, you’ll just have a smooth mass, since the longer cooking time will breakthe fruit down. (If ever you have a glutof strawberries that need to be preserved, I strongly recommend thefreezer. They may lose texture but notflavour, and your options for using them are much wider; you can even make jamfrom a cup or two of the frozen fruit.)

I’m not a microwave devotee by any means, but I’ll go onthe record as saying that this jam is better than anything you could ever makeon the stove. Truly-rooly. Hand on my heart. It illustrates the best thing aboutpreserving in the mikey: freshness andspontaneity. Have a punnet ofstrawberries? Make jam! One punnet is just enough to make onedecent-sized jar, or two smaller ones, in the time it takes for you to have acup of tea, and indeed, you can sip your tea as you work.

So you can make a jar. Make one often. And you’llthereafter wonder what the heck that stuff on the supermarket shelves is. And presented with even the most expensivecommercial “gourmet” jam, oh, how you’ll scoff.

Local winter strawberries: they weren't ever going to be good eating - at least, not without some serious doctoring - but they make a jam that is far greater than the sum of its parts.

No, put the spoon and the clotted cream down, you can't eat them yet.

The bigger the bowl the better, and if it's bigger than this, great. Seriously. As big as will fit in your microwave, no matter how small the batch of jam is. The reason why is visible on the sides of this bowl.

These viscous bubbles, along with the spoon test and…

… the saucer test, means that…

… the jam is ready to pot up.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

THE BEST DAMNED STRAWBERRY JAM YOU EVER HAD

(makes 1 medium or 2 small jars)

Ingredients:

250g. strawberries (2 cups approx.)

1 1/2 cups sugar

3 tbsp. lemon juice

What you do:

1. Hullstrawberries and cut any extra-large ones in half. Put them in a large microwave-safe bowl withsugar and lemon juice. Cover, and cookon HIGH for 5 minutes. Stir to dissolvesugar.

2. Cook,uncovered, on HIGH for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until jam reachessetting point. Allow to cool for 5-10minutes, then give jam a final stir (this step is optional, but allows thepieces of fruit to be evenly distributed through the jam). Pour into warm, sterilised jars, and seal.

Posh pudding

2011-09-14T01:27:00.000-07:00

Chocolat Liégeois is hot chocolate, French style, ie.totally, completely, over the top. Hotchocolate, a scoop of vanilla ice cream, Chantilly cream over the top. But wait, there’s more if you so desire. Chocolate sauce drizzled over? Chocolate sprinkles? Oh, why the heck not.

But the country that invented the term trompe l’oeil alsoinvented another Chocolat Liégeois: a creamy dessert served in gorgeous coffeecups, goblets or milkshake glasses to look – quelle surprise! – like the hot chocolate bevvie.

Chocolat Liégeois is, hands down, my favourite chocolate“spoon sweet”. Chocolate mousse? Pffft. Forget it. All it will take isone spoonful to see that this is soul food at its most seductive. The silky and rich chocolate layer may be calledCrème Viennoise, but the rest of us will recognise it for the rather poshversion of chocolate blancmange or (in the US) chocolate pudding it is. Denser and creamier, it pushes all the rightbuttons for We Who Love Chocolate and relegates mousse to the “yummy but wimpy”corner where it belongs.

It is also the easiest thing in the world to make, and itis nice and adaptable: you can fiddlewith the fat of the milk, add additional flavours, and play with thechocolate. For my friend Stella’s 40th birthday,I made a couple hundred shot glasses of Chocolat Liégeois, half with darkchocolate, half with white. Whitechocolate is not my cup of tea (or Chocolat Liégeois, come to that), but theywere both yummed up – no leftovers whatsoever.

Chocolat Liégeois

(Makes 6 chocoholic servings. You’ll see from my pix that I made these inshot glasses: the amount below is enough for about 30 shots.)

The egg yolks are optional, but I strongly advise you use them: they give additional silkiness.

Les ingrédients:

For the Crème Viennoise –

1 l. milk

4 tbsp. cornflour (cornstarch)

2 tbsp. sugar

300g. dark cooking chocolate, chopped

3 egg yolks

For the Chantilly cream –

300ml thickened cream

3 tbsp icing sugar

1 tsp. vanilla essence

La méthode:

1. To make Crème Viennoise: whisk together milk,cornflour and sugar in a saucepan, and stir constantly over medium heat untilmixture simmers and thickens. (Youprobably already know this, but it bears repeating: cornflour/cornstarch mixtures MUST come tothe boil. Don’t fear lumps or curdling,just keep stirring. If you don’t, youwon’t get the proper texture, and to add insult to injury, will have afloury-tasting mixture.)

2. Remove mixture from heat. Add chocolate, and stir constantly until itmelts. Lightly whisk egg yolks, then adda few tablespoons of the hot mixture, stir, and add to the pan. Return saucepan to a low heat, stirring constantly, for about a minute or until mixture coats the back of the spoon. Working quickly, pour chocolate mixture into six goblets or clear coffee cups, or justordinary coffee cups if you want to give your guests a nice surprise when youbring out the “coffee”. Place in refrigerator to cool completely.

3. Chantilly cream: combine all ingredients, then beatwith electric beaters until firm peaks form. Pipe into pretty swirls onto theCrème Viennoise.

Et voilá, c’est prêt! Très facile et très miam! Bonappétit!

The preserve, jam, marmalade and jelly tutorial #3: preserving in the microwave

2011-09-06T23:52:00.000-07:00

Maybe what’s been putting you off making preserves islack of time along with a belief that you need a bumper crop to go ahead. If so, let me reacquaint you with thattelevision-shaped appliance on the bench.

Ladies and Gentlemen: the microwave.

Beyond heating up leftovers and dissolving gelatine, amicrowave oven comes into its own when you use it to make preserves. The brief cooking times mean that microwavepreserves have the freshest, liveliest taste of any preserve you are likely totaste.

You don’t have to wait for a bumper crop: in fact, it is best to make small quantities,since larger quantities would necessitate longer cooking times and spoil thefresh-flavour bonus that you are after from the mikey. With the mikey, you can make your preservesfor the week by just using what you may have lying around the house: an orange and a lemon will make a jar ofmarmalade, and a tin of peaches can be transformed into jam, relish or chutneyin the twinkling of an eye.

Get into the habit of preserving, roping in children andspouses as necessary. If you incorporateit into your routine, you'll find that less and less fruit and vegetables willgo to waste; you'll save money; and you'll always have a spur-of-the-momentgift when you go visiting or need to say “thank you”.

What you'll need:

1. A large,microwave-proof casserole. (Use a largecasserole, preferably with straight sides, even when making a very smallamount. As preserves cook in themicrowave, they begin to rise up and up like prisoners bent on escape; if thecasserole isn't big enough, it will spill.)

2. A wooden spoon.

3. Clean, sterilized jars or glasses, free of any chips or imperfections, with their ownlids, or Vacola Kleer-view covers.

Adapting recipes

When adapting a conventional recipe for the mikey, thefirst thing is to reduce the water when cooking the fruit. The minimum amount of water is a couple oftablespoons (for berries), and the maximum should be enough to cover the fruit(marmalades). If you follow thestep-by-step instructions, comparing sugar and fruit ratios as in Tutorial #2 and making the necessary adjustments, you should have no trouble. To use tinned or bottled fruit, follow guidesbelow without the steps that involve cooking the fruit.

STEP-BY-STEP JAM AND CONSERVE

1. Prepare fruitby cutting away any blemishes. Ifnecessary, peel, pit, or de-seed. Cutinto pieces (small for jam, large chunks for conserve).

2. Add lemon juiceor citric acid if needed (see Tutorial #2).

3. Add water.

4. Place in alarge, microwave-proof bowl or casserole, and cover. Cook on HIGH until soft and pulpy.

5. Measure fruitpulp, and re-heat to boiling.

6. Add required amount of sugar. Stir until sugar is dissolved. Add any spices or flavourings you may desire.

7. Cook, uncovered,on HIGH, until setting point is reached (15-20 min).

8. Skim off anyscum, and fill warm, sterilized jars to the brim. Fit lids on IMMEDIATELY. Label, and store in a cool, dark place.

STEP-BY-STEP MARMALADE

1. Wash fruit,slice thinly. Cover with water, and letstand overnight, or for several hours.

2. Place fruit andwater in large microwave bowl or casserole, cover, and cook on HIGH until rindis tender (6-10 min.).

3. Measure pulp,then reheat to boiling. (If you wouldlike less rind, strain out as much as you need to before measuring.)

4. Add required amount of sugar. Stir to dissolve.

5. Cook,uncovered, on HIGH until setting point is reached (15-20 min.).

6. Skim off anyscum, and fill warm, sterilized jars to the brim. Fit lids on IMMEDIATELY. Label, and store in a cool, dark place.

STEP-BY-STEP JELLY

1. Wash fruit andchop roughly, leaving on skins, cores, pips, etc.

2. Place in largemicrowave bowl or casserole, and cover with water.

3. Cover, and cookon HIGH until soft and pulpy (6-8 min.).

4. Pour into jellybag, or fine strainer lined with a clean, wet Chux, and let stand overnight (orseveral hours, at least). Do not pressor squeeze fruit, as this will cloud the jelly.

5. Measure liquid.

6. Heat liquid onHIGH until boiling, then add required amount of sugar. Stir to dissolve.

7. Cook,uncovered, on HIGH until setting point is reached (15-20 min.).

8. Skim off anyscum, and fill warm, sterilized jars to the brim. Fit lids on IMMEDIATELY. Label, and store in a cool, dark place.

STEP-BY-STEP CHUTNEY AND RELISH

1. Prepare fruitand vegetables, as required.

2. Add remainingingredients except sugar and vinegar.

4. Cook, covered,on HIGH until fruit/vegetables are tender (8-10 min).

5. Add sugar, andstir until dissolved.

6. Add vinegar.

7. Cook,uncovered, until thick (20-25 min.).

The preserve, jam, marmalade and jelly tutorial #2: set

2011-09-03T06:30:00.000-07:00

Perfect set passes the upside-down test!

Most good jams or jellies have good “set”: a gelled consistency with a slightly firmtexture and resistance to the spoon. Setis achieved with pectin and sugar. Aproperly set preserve isn’t just a delight to eat, but it also means that it issafe to keep, unrefrigerated (before the seal is broken, natch) for a long time– we’re not talking weeks or months, but years. This is because pectin and sugar “bind” the fruit’s juices, preventingthem from spoiling.

Set is what sets apart, so to speak, the great preserversfrom the wannabe’s. A preserve that’sbeen properly cooked to setting point will have great texture, a mellow,complex flavour, and beautiful jewelled colour. Set will also ensure that whoever eats it won’t keel over from a bout offood poisoning.

Now – I did say that “most” good jams or jellies havegood set. Some don’t, because the fruitthey are made from is too low in pectin; a loquat jelly, for example, will havea super-light set. If you’ve made itproperly, that doesn’t mean it’s a bad preserve, just that you need to use itquickly and refrigerate it once opened.

Let’s look at pectin and sugar in turn, and then talkabout how to test for set.

PECTIN

Pectin is an acidic fruit fibre. All jams, jellies, conserves and marmaladesneed pectin to set. Not all fruitscontain this in significant amounts, so you need to fix the balance by addinglemon juice, citric acid, or “insurance” in the form of an apple or two. (Apples – even ordinary table apples – arehigh in pectin and will ensure the set of just about anything you’re pottingup. Because they break down easily andtheir flavour is so mild, they are virtually undetectable in preserves withanother key flavour.)

You can also add commercial pectin (Jamsetta here in Australia),but I personally do not recommend this. It makes the end product too tart, anddoes not allow for the mellow flavour of a well-made conserve to comethrough. It can also absolutely wreckthe texture of your preserve. Don’t befooled into thinking you need pectin just because you see it in 99% of thepreserves – even posh preserves – that you buy. Commercial manufacturers add pectin because it means they can arrestcooking earlier, which gives them a higher yield and profit.

A list of the pectin content of fruits follows. If you are making yourjam/marmalade/jelly/conserve from sweet, overripe fruits, or those low inpectin, add one of the following:

1. 2 tbsp. lemonjuice per 4 cups fruit.

2. 1 tsp. citricacid per 4 cups of fruit.

3. Commercialpectin, as per manufacturers' instructions. (But please – learn to make preserves without it first!)

FRUITS HIGH IN PECTIN:

Cooking apples

Crabapples

Quinces

Raspberries

All citrus fruits

FRUITS MEDIUM IN PECTIN:

Apricots

Blackberries

Under-Ripe Cherries

Loganberries

Greengages

Ripe Plums

Pineapple

Rhubarb.

FRUITS LOW IN PECTIN:

Bananas

Ripe cherries

Figs

Grapes

Peaches

Pears

Strawberries

HOW MUCH SUGAR?

Don't guess. Notenough sugar will lead to spoilage or food poisoning, and too much will ruinthe flavour and texture of the preserve.

Sugar Ratios for High and Medium Pectin Fruits(conserves, marmalades and jams)

FRUIT PULP	SUGAR
1 cups	1 cup
2 cups	2 cups
3 cups	3 cups
4 cups	4 cups
5 cups	5 cups
6 cups	6 cups
7 cups	7 cups

Sugar Ratios for Low Pectin Fruits (conserves, marmaladesand jams)

FRUIT PULP	SUGAR
2 cups	1 1/2 cup
3 cups	2 1/4 cups
4 cups	3 cups
5 cups	3 3/4 cups
6 cups	4 1/2 cups
7 cups	5 1/4 cups
8 cups	6 cups

Sugar Ratios for Jellies

LIQUID	SUGAR
1 cup	3/4 cup
2 cups	1 1/2 cup
3 cups	2 1/4 cups
4 cups	3 cups
5 cups	3 3/4 cups
6 cups	4 1/2 cups
7 cups	5 1/4 cups

NOTE: you’reprobably thinking, “That’s a lotta sugar!” Well, yes. This is how preservesare made. If you want to lower theamount of sugar, understand that you won’t get a set, and will probably have tofreeze your preserve or store in the fridge. Alternatively, you can also add pectin to get that set, but it won’t bethe same.

TESTING FOR SETTING POINT

The absolute one worst thing you can do is to judgewhether a preserve is ready is to look at its colour. Many people think that if it looks the colourof commercial jam, it must be ready, but of course it isn’t: as you now know, the cooking of commercialpreserves is arrested much earlier with the addition of pectin. You’re going to be cooking it longer thanthis, because if you don’t, it could spoil, or lead to food poisoning (even ifit looks, smells, and tastes okay).

Your best allies when judging whether setting point hasbeen reached are the pot, the spoon, and the saucer. These things are used in conjunction: although the saucer is pretty much foolproof,it’s better to never test for set using just one of these methods. Optional: if you are super-duper nervous about using such low-fi equipment, youcan also use a sugar/fat thermometer.

The pot:

Most jams, conserves and marmalades will have a denselayer of bubbles on the surface when they reach setting point. Jelliestend to acquire a slight skin, and when you move the pot from side to side the liquid moves viscously and sensuously.

The spoon:

You will also know your jam, conserve and marmalade isready by the way it falls from the wooden spoon: it falls in flakes or large drops rather thanpouring off.

The saucer:

While preserve is cooking, put a saucer in the fridge orfreezer. When you have cooked your jamfor the minimum time, spoon a little onto the saucer. Pop it back into the fridge or freezer. When it has cooled completely, push it withyour finger. If it wrinkles, and leavesa clear path where your finger has been, then it's ready.

Optional: thethermometer:

Every good cook’s home should have a fat/sugar thermometer. Even though I never use a fat/sugarthermometer for preserving, it comes in handy if you’re new at this and arenervous about getting set right. Settingpoint is at 107o-110oC/220oF.

A NOTE ABOUT “PROCESSING”: many recipes, particularly those from the US,specify “processing”, or vacuum sealing, jams, conserves, and marmalades in aboiling water bath. While recipes mayspecify that this ensures the longest possible keeping time, I have never foundthis to be necessary. (Plus, I don’tlike the idea of cooking further and losing the fresh flavour.) In about 30 years of preserving, I have neverhad problems with preserves not keeping, when the seal is unbroken, foryears. If the processing step is what’sbeen keeping you from making your own preserves because it’s too much hassle,just omit it: make the preserve, eat thepreserve. Simple.

The preserve, jam, marmalade and jelly tutorial #1: the basics

2011-09-01T06:03:00.000-07:00

I was lucky, nay, blessed to be able to stay at home andraise children while writing. Some ofthe days that gave me most satisfaction were the ones I played Happy Hausfrauand made my own preserves. I was a madpreserver, in the early days even bottling my own fruit, but mostly it was “puttingup” the bountiful produce from the country town we lived in, in the form ofjams, jellies, marmalades, relishes and chutneys. Preserving is, hands down, my favourite thingto do in the kitchen, and after a busy day simmering and potting I’d line up myjars on the windowsill and admire the light streaming through the jewel tonesof this quotidian leadlight. Satisfying.

Those days are gone. Not only do I work outside the home now, I actually have threejobs. Many things have gone out thewindow - including my youngest child, now a latchkey kid who has forgotten hiskey on occasion - but preserving isn’t one of them.

Why? After all,making your own jams, jellies, marmalades and chutneys isn't necessary any more,as it was once upon a time. But it isn’tsomething you do because you NEED to do, it’ssomething you do because it ISN’T. Because slowing down and taking the time to do something completelyunnecessary is a luxury many of us can actually benefit enormously from. You have taken the time to do this, tomeditatively chop, weigh, and stir. Tomake a statement to yourself and the world that your time in the kitchen isn’t just about getting dinner onthe table in 10 minutes. It’s about drawing people to the hubof the home with sweet smells and mysterious sounds. It’sabout being playful, and yes, showing off. It's aboutstewardship in a time when it is becoming increasingly important to value anduse our resources.

Besides. Homemadepreserves taste so damned good.

Commercial brands -even posh commercial brands -may boast chunky bits of fruit or good flavour, but they can in no way comparewith the real, homemade thing. (And yes,Maggie Beer, I’m looking atyou and your pathetic quince paste.)

Over the next few entries I’mgoing to take you through the basics of making preserves, jams, marmalades andjellies, as well as making time. Gotyour wooden spoon? Let’s go!

WHAT YOU'LL NEED

* A preservingpan. This can be your pasta pot, or itcan be a specialised preserving pan -it doesn’t matter. What does matter, however, is that if you seea gorgeous copper pot you think can be used for preserving, you be sure it’s meant for preservingpurposes. Untreated copper can reactwith fruit and ruin it.

* A long woodenspoon. Just one will do. But make it long, because some thickerpreserves are like molten lava, and the last thing you want is any of it onyour skin.

* A saucer. This is to test for setting point (more onthis in Tutorial #2).

* A supply of jarswith lids, or old glasses and covers. The best jars, I reckon, are the ones with metal lids that have aplastic coating on the inside: non-reactive, and boy do they do an airtight seal. When I run out of jars, I use glasses -usually the odd glasses left over from old sets we’ve slowly gone through - and Vacola Kleerview Jar Covers. No preserver’shome should ever be without at least one packet of Kleerviews. (Before Kleerview covers there wasgreaseproof paper dipped in eggwhite. You can try this if you like, but it’sjust one step too many for me these days.)

STERILISING AND WARMING THE JARS

Your preserves need to go into hot, sterilised jars. No arguments. It is a bane, but absolutely necessary. The best, easiest, and quickest method is in the microwave, but theconventional one is to:

1. Place jars inlarge pot with cold water to cover, and bring to the boil. Simmer for 15 min. Carefully pull jars out of water.

2. Place jars in alow oven to dry out completely, and to keep warm (NEVER put hot preserves into cold jars).

STEP-BY-STEP JAM AND CONSERVE

1. Prepare fruitby cutting away any blemishes. Ifnecessary, peel, pit, or de-seed. Unlessyou’re using berries, cutinto pieces (small for jam, large chunks for conserve).

2. Add lemon juiceor citric acid if needed (see Tutorial #2).

3. Add water. You need barely enough to cook the fruit - for example, a couple oftablespoons for a large amount of berries (small amounts of berries may neednone) to a cup or two for larger quantities of other fruit. In any case, don’t go overboard!

4. Simmer untilfruit is soft and pulpy.

5. Measure fruitpulp, and re-heat to boiling.

6. Add requiredamount of sugar (see Tutorial #2). Stir until sugar isdissolved. Add any spices or flavouringsyou may desire.

7. Cook,uncovered, at a fast boil, until setting point is reached (15-20 min).

8. Skim off anyscum, and fill warm, sterilized jars to the brim. If preserve has lots of big chunks, allow itto cool for 10-15, give it a stir, and then turn into jars; this will ensurethat fruit is evenly distributed through the preserve. Fit lids on IMMEDIATELY. Label, and store in a cool, dark place.

STEP-BY-STEP MARMALADE

1. Wash fruit,slice thinly. Cover with water, and letstand overnight, or for several hours.

2. Place fruit andwater in preserving pan, and simmer until rind is tender (1 hour approx).

3. Measure pulp,then reheat to boiling. (If you’re awimpy sissy person who would like less rind, strain out as much as you need tobefore measuring.)

4. Add requiredamount of sugar. Stir to dissolve.

5. Cook,uncovered, at a fast boil, until setting point is reached (15-20 min).

6. Skim off anyscum, and fill warm, sterilized jars to the brim. If preserve has lots of big chunks, allow itto cool for 10-15, give it a stir, and then turn into jars; this will ensurethat fruit is evenly distributed through the preserve. Fit lids on IMMEDIATELY. Label, and store in a cool, dark place.

STEP-BY-STEP JELLY

1. Wash fruit andchop roughly, leaving on skins, cores, pips, etc.

2. Place in largepreserving pan, and cover with water.

3. Simmer untilsoft and pulpy (1 hour approx.).

4. Pour into jellybag, or fine strainer lined with a clean, wet Chux, and let stand overnight (orseveral hours, at least). Do not pressor squeeze fruit, as this will cloud the jelly.

5. Measure liquid.

6. Heat liquidover high heat until boiling, then add 3/4 cup sugar per measured cup of liquid. Stir to dissolve.

7. Cook,uncovered, at a fast boil, until setting point is reached.

8. Skim off anyscum, and fill warm, sterilized jars to the brim. Fit lids on IMMEDIATELY. Label, and store in a cool, dark place.

The sushi birthday cake

2011-07-31T03:50:00.000-07:00

Who are these people that can cook an entire four-course dinner and take photographs as they go so that they can blog about it later? Do they actually keep family and friends waiting for their food, or are there no friends and family and they just cooked the dinner for the purpose of blogging about it? What happens to the quality of the dishes while they’re waiting to the photographed? And what happens to the dishes that have been photographed: do they get eaten, or thrown away? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions. I do know, however, that some people are supremely organised, and some have photographic setups - and even photographers - on standby. Personally, I just can’t do it. At least, not when I’m in charge of a multi-course dinner. I only cook to feed, and when there’s more than one course, even the most simple, fuss-free dinner acquires a sense of urgency and timing: not just timing in the cooking, but dishes have to be served at their peak, and staggering the service is a particular art. You have to catch diners not too early when they’re still savouring a previous dish, when they’re ready for the next course, but not desperate.

At any rate, even without all these considerations I wonder if I’d be able to manage it because at my house, as soon as a dish is ready, FOOM! It disappears.

As happened with my son’s birthday dinner which included mussels done two ways - with miso béchamel and lup cheung - a birthday sushi “cake”, Chinese-style roast duckling with rice and sesame-dressed greens, and an île flottante. Pictures? Not a chance. At least, except for one item, when my sister restrained my knife-wielding hand: “Wait! Get a picture of it first!”

The item in question was Runny’s chirashi-sushi birthday cake, which I’ve posted about before. Much as I loved the idea of the chirashi-sushi ("scattered sushi") cake, I was a little whelmed by my results, so was quite unprepared for the reception it got. Guests were totally entranced by it, and what’s more, absolutely devoured it - even the two sushi-hating diners sitting at the table. It’s certainly a fun, friendly way to serve sushi, and certainly right up the alley of someone like my son, who loves sushi, and isn’t particularly fussed about sweets and will consider a chocolate cake a waste of time.

I had to adapt the ingredients somewhat, but it was still a hit: one of those simple dishes that provide far more reward than effort - and expense - extended.

I’ve also provided the recipe for the mussels, because dammit, they were good. Each and every single one of four kilos of the things disappeared, and that tells you more than any picture ever could.

CHIRASHI-SUSHI BIRTHDAY CAKE

(8 servings)

You may have made sushi rice before, but I’ve included the instructions nonetheless. You’ll need to have a fan on standby. A ladylike hand fan will do, but if you want to avoid the impulse to scream uncontrollably after a few minutes, an electric one is the thing. You can have all the toppings ready and make the sushi rice cake base up to a few hours ahead, but assemble cake just before serving. I promise - it’s quick!

Ingredients:

For the sushi rice -

1 1/2 cups sushi or medium-grain rice

2 cups water

3 tbsp. (45ml) rice vinegar

2 tbsp. sugar

1 tsp. salt

To fill and top cake -

3 eggs

soy sauce, to taste

Top (ie. green) from 1 spring onion

1 tbsp. bonito flakes

beet juice, as needed (unless you’re Jenny Kee, I can’t imagine you needing more than 1 tsp)

95g. tin Japanese-style tuna, drained and broken up with a fork

50g. salmon roe

100g. smoked salmon

1/2 sheet roasted nori

What you do:

1. Wash rice in several changes of water until water runs clear. Add 2 cups water, and cook in rice cooker or covered saucepan on stovetop until rice is tender and water is absorbed. While rice is cooking, combine rice vinegar, sugar and salt, and stir until sugar and salt are dissolved. Turn rice out into a shallow bowl, and stir with a rice paddle while sprinkling with vinegar dressing. Keep stirring with rice paddle while simultaneously fanning rice. This quick cool-down and stirring gives you the essential texture and glossiness. Set aside.

2. Whisk eggs and season to taste with soy sauce. Scramble eggs in a greased pan over medium-high heat until dry and fluffy. Set aside. Cut spring onion green into eight long, very thin strips. Place in a bowl of ice water to curl and crisp.

3. Line a 15cm loose-bottomed cake tin with plastic wrap. Divide rice in two. Into the first half, mix 1 tbsp. bonito flakes and enough beet juice to tint rice a delicate pink. Spoon into cake tin, pressing down well with a spoon. Mix remaining rice with tuna, and spoon on top of pink rice, pressing down as before.

4. Now it’s time for the fun stuff: assembling the cake. Unmould sushi rice onto a serving dish. Cover surface with scrambled eggs. Spoon salmon roe onto scrambled egg. Spread out to form a circle, leaving a 2.5cm edge all around. Cut smoked salmon into eight strips and roll each one into a “rose”. Arrange on edge of cake. Decorate with spring onion curls as desired. Cut nori into two strips, then cut each strip into triangles. Press triangles onto side of cake. Serve immediately.

MUSSELS TWO WAYS

Mussels can be cooked and topped with filling up to a day ahead. By the way, I don't make béchamel sauce on the stovetop any more; the microwave method isn't quicker, but it is almost "hands free", leaving you free to do stuff other than standing and stirring. And stirring. And stirring. And stirring.

Ingredients:

4 kg. mussels

Chinese cooking wine (opt.)

For miso béchamel:

50g. butter

3 tbsp. flour

400ml milk

2 heaped tbsp. brown miso

For lup cheung filling:

2 rashers middle bacon (200g. approx), very finely chopped

1 lup cheung sausage, very finely chopped

1/2 red pepper (capsicum), very finely chopped

1 spring onion, very finely chopped

1 tsp. minced garlic

1 tsp. minced ginger

1 tsp. red wine vinegar

What you do:

1. Put mussels in a large pot with enough water or Chinese cooking wine to cover base. Jam lid on and cook over high heat until mussels are open – about 5 minutes. (Contrary to popular belief, if your mussels were fresh and live to begin with, an unopened mussel isn’t dead, it just has a strong abductor muscle. Simply slip a knife in and gently prise it open.) Carefully lift out mussels one at a time. Detach shell half not holding the mussel and discard. Now for the hateful bit: with kitchen scissors, snip the beard off each mussel. Grah. But it has to be done. Set aside.

2. To make miso béchamel, place butter in microwave-proof bowl, and microwave until melted. Whisk in flour, and microwave on HIGH for 1 minute. Whisk in milk. Microwave on HIGH, whisking every two minutes, until sauce boils and thickens. Place miso in a small bowl. Add a few tablespoons of hot béchamel, and stir to dissolve miso. Add this mixture to béchamel, and whisk until smooth.

3. To make lup cheung filling, place all ingredients in a small, greased frying pan. Sauté until vegetables are crisp-tender. Remove from heat, and stir in vinegar.

4. Preheat oven to 250oC. Top half of mussels with teaspoonsful of miso béchamel, and half with teaspoonsful of lup cheung filling, and arrange on baking dishes. Bake until miso béchamel is bubbling, and sausage filling is sizzling and beginning to brown - 5-10 minutes. Serve immediately.

Oishii!

Tarty Tuesdays: bacon, apple, and Tasmanian Blue pie

2011-07-18T06:13:00.000-07:00

Yes, I have been writing, and yes, I have been cooking, but I have not been writing about cooking. It’s been a while, but I’ve been busy, even if some of my endeavours have been… shall we say… frivolous.

Japanese-style potato salad with a garnish that made strange but perfect sense.

Although I was dragged kicking and screaming back into the training kitchen at work, I was delighted to suddenly remember that teaching people how to cook means I can now buy cooking-related stuff for teaching resources and claim it on my tax. So yes, OK, I bought a gadget that turns a boiled egg into a bunny, but I’ve also been buying things that are entirely useful.

Let me introduce you to Harold.

Harold – or, as it is properly known, the Harold Pie Crust Maker – has come into my life to end another cooking-related bane: Rolling Pastry Into a Perfect Circle.

'Allo, 'Arold!

Oh, it’s a pain. Not just the mess – mess I can cope with, as befits a woman who has messed up her kitchen doing everything from shucking 200 corn cobs for freezing to making her own tofu every week – but getting the circle right, without tearing-and-patching, without wonky bits, and without having to trim. Harold puts an end to all that. Pop your ball of pastry or dough in the floured bag, zip ‘er up, and roll away. A minute or two later, you have your perfect circle. Last week when I was on holidays and playing Happy Hausfrau and making stuff to pop in the freezer, I made five 35cm crusts in 15 minutes, which included the time spent making the pastry.

I took two of them out today, and set about making an awesome vehicle for the Heritage Blue cheese that had reached peak ripeness and wouldn’t see another few days. I remembered, back in the 80s, making an apple, bacon and blue cheese tart out of Australian Gourmet (before it wedded Traveller), but I couldn’t be fizzed leafing through back issues, so I just decided to make it up as went along.

Just before the tossing the bacon back in the pan. Tossing things together for a minute or so over a higher heat is what Marcella Hazan calls "insaporire" - "make tasty". It's almost always a good idea to toss things with the sautéed aromatics before going ahead with the recipe.

Blurry pic, but it's clear just how delicious this is going to be. See the little fresh thyme leaves? Doesn't it make you wanna go out and plant some herbs? Well, it should. No, really: YOU SHOULD.

Then along came my professional photographer husband and took the only good picture of the batch. Sigh...
Anyway, if your filling is too thick to pour, you can slacken it with milk, but just a tad. A couple tablespoons to a quarter cup, tops.

It was a tight fit, so I didn't crimp together top and bottom. The pie held together fine, and had extra give which was awesome since the filling had a soufflé thing going on and rose quite high during baking. It fell dramatically when I took it out of the oven, but it's still higher than it started out.

Because as you know, you don’t really need a recipe to make a tart. For that same reason, I'll also tell you that this pie is also very, very delicious made with pears, or pears and apples half-and-half.

BACON, APPLE, AND TASMANIAN BLUE PIE

Ingredients:

250g. bacon, cut into thin strips

1 onion, thinly sliced

2 stalks celery, finely chopped

2 apples, peeled and finely chopped

Fresh thyme

140g. Tasmanian blue cheese, such as Heritage, or other smooth and rounded blue cheese (stay away from the harsh Danish stuff)

4 eggs

300ml. sour cream

Freshly ground pepper

2 x recipe Nidia's Tart Crust, or enough shortcrust pastry for a double crust

2 tbsp. dried breadcrumbs or flour (opt.)

Eggwash

What you do:

1. Preheat oven to 180oC. Grease tart pan or brush with Baker's Secret. Lightly oil a heavy sauté pan. Cook bacon over low heat until it is soft and fat has rendered out. Do not allow to crisp. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside.

2. In same pan, sweat onion, celery and apples until tender but not mushy. Add bacon and thyme, and toss over medium heat for a minute or so.

3. In a medium bowl, mash blue cheese, then add eggs, sour cream, and freshly-ground pepper to taste. Combine well.

4. Line tart pan with crust, and sprinkle with breadcrumbs or flour. (This step is optional, but you may want to consider it since the filling can get juicy due to variables in the bacon and the fruit.) Spoon in bacon mixture and spread evenly. Pour over blue cheese mixture, spreading it as evenly as you can. Top with second crust. Brush with eggwash, and bake until crust is golden and filling is set.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

How to Never Celebrate Valentine's Day Ever Again OR How to Semi-cater Your Wedding

2011-02-13T00:28:00.000-08:00

Valentine’s Day, that most innocuous of holidays, is loathed about as much as it is celebrated. And to stop the bane of having to celebrate it ever again, I did something rather novel (albeit clichéd): I got married on February 14.

That was a year ago. A wondrous, terrifyingly happy and singularly tough year doing what I said I’d never do again, except that what makes it all the aforementioned things is that I actually haven’t done this before. Despite previous marriages, it is, in a very real way, the first time for both of us.

My Baby proposed in November, and we were married the next February: a shotgun wedding without the baby. There was, at this point in our lives, no point in either waiting or spending a fortune on a “fairy tale wedding” because, let’s face it, we’ve both been around the traps and know better than to believe in fairy tales or try to re-enact them (unless it’s Goldilocks because I will always insist on swiping some of whatever My Baby is eating). So we decided on a very small, intimate wedding in the backyard, and because I am a hard case, I decided that a portion of it was to be home-made.

My sister and I always laugh at wedding articles that say stuff like, “Begin your wedding day with a relaxing massage…” With our ma in charge, our weddings were total nervefests, completely self-catered with 12 courses, and her sewing up the last of the wedding dress hem an hour before we were supposed to be walking down the aisle. Relaxation and weddings were not things we had hitherto believed go hand-in-hand. Ma is still with me in spirit these days, but I didn’t want to do that again. On the other hand, we had only had a few months to save up, and Shane and I wanted a fantastic honeymoon. So budget we did. Budget or no budget, however, Shane and I wanted to make our guests feel welcome, and we wanted them well-fed, relaxed, and happy. The solution was to let the caterer cater some, and let Vibey cater some. Which I did, to the cries of one friend who exclaimed, “Are you insane? On your wedding day you’re supposed to relax! Have a massage!...”

OK so I didn’t have a massage on my wedding day. But I didn’t cook, either. I made some things the day before, bought the rest, and on the day, entrusted a fantastic caterer to provide a colourful and dramatic main course. Once my dress was on, and my oldest friend had said, “Right? You sure you want to go through with this? The car’s running if you want to run away!” I did relax. We had a beautiful day. Who knew you could have a good time at your own wedding? Not me. Our guests were also relaxed and had a lovely time, and some of them said it was the loveliest wedding they ever went to; and all of them, a year later, still rave about the food.

So here is how to cater and not cater your non-Valentine’s celebration, at the same time.

First on the table was a couple of picada, or antipasto, platters. It included honey and balsamic roasted pearl onions, marinated olives, marinated roasted peppers, caperberries, marinated mushrooms, cheeses, spicy salami, lots of crusty bread, and what is the world’s one perfect appetiser: prosciutto and melon. The night before, my daughter assembled bamboo skewers of cantaloupe cubes and folds of prosciutto. If you do this ahead, you have to do what we did and make sure the prosciutto and melon don’t touch, otherwise the melon juices will make the ham soggy.

There are no pictures of the first course – this is a swiped one - and I don’t know why, but I suspect it’s because it was just devoured. To keep with the theme of the main course, I bought 200 shot glasses (a bargain – thank you eBay), and filled half of them with gazpacho, and the other half with white gazpacho or ajo blanco (“white garlic”). I have made a killer gazpacho for decades now, but was unprepared how my guests would receive the white gazpacho, which on ingredients alone – lots of garlic, almonds, bread, and a garnish of green grapes – may sound weird to some, but there were enraptured exclamations, and sighs, and grown women licking out the insides of the shot glasses. This behaviour was probably encouraged by the jugs of sangria that were on offer. It is a colleague’s recipe and a killer, and because it was a warm day guests were quaffing down great glasses of it and saying, “There isn’t much alcohol in this, is there?”

My piece de résistance was the caterer, Wadey, from The Paella Pan catering.

Everyone loves paella (not to mention risotto, which he also cooked), but the genius of it was the anticipation. Wadey has these massive gas-fired pans that he uses to cook in front of assembled guests, and he doesn’t need to be showy. The increasing suspense of the ingredients as he added them one by one, and the accompanying aromas, were drama enough.

Wadey made a classic “paella extreme”…

… and a wild mushroom and wild rice risotto. There was a gorgeous salad with spanking fresh leaves and feta. Wadey provides disposable plates. Did we care about the lack of china? Heck, no. Everyone was rhapsodising about the deliciousness of it all, and there was less cleanup.

Dessert was delightful, and fine enough that everyone was asking me if I’d made these myself. No, they were Bellantis, purchased from Aldi: miniature ice-cream cones filled with good-quality ice cream and covered in dark Belgian chocolate. I put these in a stunning ice bowl that I had made the week before. Making your own ice bowl is the easiest thing in the world to do, and instructions on how to do it abound on the Internet, but funnily enough, it’s not something you much see these days. Despite my fears that the artificial flowers I’d trapped in the ice would make the bowl look tacky, it didn’t, and it kept the Bellantis from melting.

And so on to the cake. I admire cake decorators beyond words, but I really wasn’t interested in a lookin’ cake, I wanted an eatin’ cake, and I wanted something that My Baby would love. Marciano's Cakes, a Chilean pâtissier, makes a cake called La Rica, which has the tastes of my childhood. Lighter-than-light vanilla sponge filled with dulce de leche (or as the Chileans call it, manjar), peaches and strawberries, and iced with the one icing I will go on bended knee for: Italian meringue. I asked for the decoration to be as simple as possible, and just as well, because there was a minor mishap and a portion of the icing got kinda… destroyed, but at that point I was past caring. We were all so happy, so relaxed, and I knew the cake would taste divine, so I just shrugged. My sister went into the garden, picked an overblown rose, sat it on the cake where icing should be, and that was that.

My Baby loved it. And as I watched him enjoy our wedding cake, it occurred to me that I get to look into these amazing eyes for the rest of my life. And no Valentine’s Day sentiment can compare with that.

MY GAZPACHO

(Serves 6, or fills 50 shot glasses)

I have tasted many gazpachos in my life, but none can compare to this one. It is the best. This isn’t a boast (particularly since it isn’t my original recipe, just a hand-down), it’s just fact. It is flavourful and zingy, with lots of chewy interest.

Ingredients:

2 slices white bread

3 tbsp. red wine vinegar

2 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

3 cloves garlic

1 red or salad onion, roughly chopped

1 litre (4 cups) tomato juice

4 tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and finely chopped

3 Lebanese cucumbers, finely chopped

1 green pepper (capsicum), cored, seeded, and finely chopped

1 red pepper (capsicum), cored, seeded, and finely chopped

4 spring onions (scallions), finely sliced

1/2 bunch parsley, finely chopped

Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Red wine vinegar and extra-virgin olive oil, extra, to serve

What you do:

1. Tear bread into rough pieces and put into food processor with vinegar, oil, garlic, and onion. Whizz until smooth. You may need to add a little of the tomato juice to allow it to process well. Put mixture into a large clean bowl.

2. Stir in all remaining ingredients, cover, and refrigerate until very well chilled. Taste, and correct seasoning: chilled savoury foods sometimes need to be seasoned a little more highly. Ladle into glass cups or glasses, floating a little extra vinegar and oil on top to serve. Serve immediately.

WHITEY'S SANGRIA

Here's the recipe for the sangría we had at the wedding for the non-teetotalers. It's from my ex-colleague and friend Andrew White, who is not only a gun but can cook like a demon. It's a far cry from my ma's, which used to just have wine, sugar, and orange and lemon juices, and packs a serious punch. I added orange juice, but Andrew doesn't; it doesn't matter, it's a flexible recipe. You can even remove the liquor and make it with non-alcoholic wine, which would be good for me because I’m one of the teetotalers, alas.

Ingredients:

1 bottle red wine

1/2 cup sugar

1/3 cup triple sec

1/3 cup rum

1/4 cup brandy

A few glugs of vodka (opt.)

Juice of 1 orange

Fruit (we had peaches, grapes - both of which are essential to me - strawberries, and sliced lemon)

Lemonade or soda water

Ice

Lime or lemon wedges

What you do:

Combine the wine, sugar, triple sec, rum, brandy, vodka if using, orange juice, and fruit in a massive jug or bowl. Chill overnight. Next day, dilute with lemonade or soda (a ratio of 2/3 wine base to 1/3 lemonade or soda is about right), and add ice and lime or lemon wedges. Serve immediately.

THE CAKE OF DELICIOUSNESS!

2011-02-03T05:51:00.000-08:00

Have you ever bought something for a pittance, and then it turns out to be one of the best things you’ve ever bought?

It happened to me with Home Cooking, by Laurie Colwin. I found it about twenty years ago on a bookshop’s remainder table for $2, and took it home. Remainder tables prove either one of two things: that a lot of crap gets published, or that book buyers are idiots. As soon as I started reading Laurie Colwin’s book – a collection of essays dotted with recipes, written at a time when blogs did not exist – I knew that the point that had been proven was the latter.

Colwin’s intimate, friendly tone pulled me into the book like an embrace, and I was hooked. And continued to be hooked, for I read this book too many times to count in the twenty years that followed. And I didn’t do it for the recipes, which I only ever cooked a few of. Like other lovers of this book, I did it for the writing. And I did it because the more I read it, the more she became my friend. Opening the book was like entering her SoHo apartment, flinging my coat off, and having Laurie talk to me while she prepared something that, to paraphrase the woman, I didn’t know I wanted but was exactly what I wanted. “Some books are like coming home,” said Gillian Armstrong’s Jo March, and this is exactly what I felt, which would have given Laurie Colwin a kick, because it’s exactly how she felt about old cookbooks.

What really sucks about Laurie Colwin is that she died too young. And when I found out she did, I was devastated. Moreover I found out that she was dead years after the fact – she died pre-Internet (at least Internet For Me), and the newspaper didn’t think her a writer worthy of enough note to write an obituary – so my grief was retrospective. I think this would probably have given her a bit of a kick as well. But at this time I learned why I loved her cookbooks so much: they were her only non-fiction forays in what was a highly regarded (albeit cultish) career writing fiction. The skill with which she created the tangible worlds in which her fiction took place was the same with which she created her paper kitchen. I was not her only fan, and many of her fans would also consider her a friend, just as I did.

Shortly before she died, Laurie Colwin opened the door to her kitchen once more and published More Home Cooking: A Writer Returns to the Kitchen. So I bought it a couple of weeks ago and I’m reading it and laughing and getting a tear in my eye because with every word, I feel she’s telling me, “Welcome back!” And I am glad to be back. Once again it’s just Laurie and me, and she’s telling me about her life, and travels, and friends and family (many of whom have shared recipes for this book), and handing me a slice of this pie here, and all is well with the world.

The pie in question isn’t a pie at all, she says, but a cake. And it’s from Nantucket and made with cranberries, but mine is from Melbourne and made with ripe white nectarines and apricots. And the original recipe isn’t from Laurie Colwin, but her friend Ann Gold, who got it from her mother, who doesn’t know where it originally came from. This makes sense, because as Laurie Colwin herself said, without a cook giving another cook a friendly hint or two, the human race would have died out long ago.

So I had very, very ripe white nectarines and apricots to use up. And I wanted something simple but delicious. On top of it all, it had been a stinking hot day and although I was keen to bake something, I wanted no banging around, and for the oven to be on for the minimum time. Laurie Colwin told me that she herself likes “a cake that takes about four seconds to put together and gives an ambrosial result”, and this was the recipe, which I adapted slightly (her recipe uses cranberries and walnuts, one less egg, and almond essence). It was, as she said, a snap.

When I took it out of the oven, I sighed. When I unmoulded it, I proclaimed myself a genius. And when my eager Baby asked me what kind of a cake it was, I announced that it was The Cake of Deliciousness! (To say this properly, you need a bit of Invader Zim megalomania and phrase it thus: “THE CAKE! OF! DELICIOUSNESS!”)

Although cold leftovers were good the next day, this cake is best served warm or at room temperature, however you like. Laurie Colwin advises: “If you wanted to do some lily-gilding, you might put some vanilla ice cream (or crème fraîche or, if you have tons of time, custard) on the side, but Ann Gold serves it straight, which is, I feel, the best way.”

So do I. Thanks, Laurie. See you soon.

THE CAKE OF DELICIOUSNESS

Ingredients:

Soft fruit, as needed (see below)

1 1/2 cups sugar

3 eggs

3/4 cup melted butter

1 cup flour

1 tsp. vanilla essence

What you do:

1. Preheat oven to 180oC. Chop enough soft fruit to make 2 1/2 cups. (Laurie Colwin says the charm of the dessert is the contrast of the tart berries with the “smooth, sweet, buttery cake”, but my white nectarines and apricots were sublime.)

2. Butter a pie dish or cake pan, or brush with Baker's Secret, then sprinkle over 1/2 cup of the sugar. Scatter fruit on top.

3. Mix the eggs with the remaining sugar, butter, flour, and vanilla essence. Stir until smooth – no need to beat.

4. Pour batter – it will be thick – over fruit, spreading it carefully. There will be a high fruit-to-batter ratio and this, my friends, is what makes this cake so spectacular. Bake for 40 minutes, until set and just getting golden around the edges. Allow to cool for 5-10 minutes, run a knife around the edge, and unmould upside down onto a pretty plate. Announce that you are a genius and that this is THE CAKE! OF! DELICIOUSNESS! and serve warm or at room temperature.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

Aromatic Sweet Green Chili Sauce

2011-02-02T04:25:00.000-08:00

It’s like this at this time of year: go to church, come back home with a marrow [squash] big enough to club a mastodon to death with.

Zucchini are not only famously (or notoriously) fertile, but they are also incredibly fast growing, and what’s a tender young zucchini before you go to bed will be a green behemoth in the morning. So if you plant zucchini, it’s a given that you will be giving many of them away. Not that I’m complaining, because you’ll be giving at least one to me, which I’ll stuff or turn into a slice of something yummy on a Tarty Tuesday.

This Sunday, the obligatory box of summer garden produce included (along with the marrows) a bag full of the freshest green Cayenne chilies; so fresh they squeaked when they rubbed against each other. I immediately - and before knowing what I’d do with them - took some generous handfuls home. A few were used for pepping-up purposes here and there, but I finally decided that the rest would be used for a sauce along the lines of a sweet chilli sauce. But as soon as all the ingredients came to the boil, I knew that I’d hit this one out of the ballpark. It isn’t just a chili sauce: it is an incredibly complex infusion of all your favourite Asian herbs and spices. Like The Best Damned Sweet Chili Sauce You Ever Had, it is also a trice to make, and goes with too many things to mention, but the only thing I needed to eat it with the first time was a vehicle. I chose garlic krupuk (which I always microwave, never fry), but honestly? They were just so as not to admit to the indignity of wanting to eat it with a spoon.

You can use any long green chilies for this recipe, as long as you understand that you’ll then have to take responsibility for the heat of your sauce. Green Cayenne chilies are very mild - mild enough to make a slightly peppy sauce that would appeal to children with sturdier palates - and the dried red chilli is entirely optional. Or a starting point. If this medium-spice sauce does not fit the bill of the asbestos-mouthed among you, feel free to add more.

AROMATIC SWEET GREEN CHILI SAUCE

Ingredients:

250g. long green chilies (green Cayenne), topped and roughly chopped (keep seeds in), roughly sliced

2 whole bunches coriander (including roots and stalks), roughly chopped

1 cup (packed) fresh mint leaves

1 bulb garlic, cloves separated and peeled

1/4 cup (packed) Vietnamese mint

2 tbsp. chopped lemongrass

3 thick slices ginger

2 Kaffir lime leaves - fresh if you’ve got them (which I do - boast, boast)

1 tbsp. dried crushed red chili (opt.)

1 tsp. cumin seed

1 tsp. black mustard seed

2 tbsp. salt

3 1/2 cups water

1/3 cup white wine vinegar

2 3/4 cup sugar

What you do:

1. Combine all ingredients except sugar in a saucepan, and bring to the boil. Cook at a steady boil for 5 minutes. Add sugar, stir to dissolve, and bring to the boil again. Cook at a steady boil, stirring occasionally, for 25 minutes.

2. Fish out Kaffir lime leaves and discard (oh, go on, lick them first). Transfer remaining contents of saucepan to food processor and whizz for about a minute, until smooth and thick. Pour into hot, sterilised bottles or jars, and seal.

Yumbo McGillicutty!

Tarty Tuesdays: ugly but good pie

2011-01-18T06:01:00.000-08:00

I hadn’t seen my fake mother, Lee, since my wedding last Valentine’s Day. Lee is still grieving – as is right and good – for the daughter who left this world just a week after that. But her new home, with a 180o view of the sea just a stone’s throw away, is teeming with life, and that is also as it should be, because Lee and her husband, much as this loss has razed them to the ground, are full of life themselves.

In her backyard, she showed me the contemplative garden where all the plants that they received after their daughter’s death went. There’s a seat there, and many flowers, and also a beautiful plum tree so laden with fruit that its branches stoop under the weight. Their son has helped them prune the other fruit trees and put in raised beds for their vegetables. There is nothing that impresses me quite so much as a veggie patch, and this was a fragrant, colourful beauty: forests of chard, a minefield of purple beetroot, and tomatoes worthy of that scene in The Godfather.

Lee and I talked, and talked, and talked, and cried some, and the next day, when I was ready to come home, she walked me out into the garden with a large, flat basket, and picked me tomatoes, chard, many plums, and apricots. I had a three-hour drive back home and My Baby and I were going away for the weekend the next day to another place also three hours away, and I knew some of the things Lee gave me would not last that long. When I got home, I turned the chard into an early (and ersatz) Torta Pasqualina to take with us for our hosts, and I gently stewed the sweet ripe apricots until tender and put them in the ‘fridge for… whatever, whenever.

When I came home, we ate the tomatoes the way my mother called “split tomatoes”: cut in half, scored lightly, sprinkled with salt, oregano, and good olive oil. So good. Then I made much plum jam.

The plums were on the greenish side, so the jam has a fabulous set and a gorgeous tart twang. Then, I remembered the apricots.

I have some miniature pavlova shells that were tempting, but no. What I really felt like was an apricot pie, but I wanted something lighter than the usual pie. Then I remembered the fresh strawberry pie from a beloved book I have called American Pie, by Teresa Kennedy, and hey! Adaptation ahoy! For my pastry I went to Nidia's, and this is where the ugliness comes in.

The recipe is for a beautiful, light, perfumed, cookie-like crust. But mine turned out decidedly ugly.

Crust got da uggles!

Granted, I didn’t let the dough chill for the requisite hour (it’s a nightmare to roll while at anything other than ‘fridge temp), so it’s probably my fault, but I pressed on regardless. I pressed on because the raw pastry tasted amazing, cooked it smelt divine, and I also remembered a little sweet that the Italians had before the French took over the world with their macarons (go on – put on a French accent and say it – macaron). Brutti ma buoni are freeform Italian macaroons, and their name translates as “ugly but good”.

And this, I decided, was going to be my pie: ugly but good. And remembering Lee’s garden, and the dolphins playing in the water in view of their backyard while we thought of a loved one gone too soon, I thought it was apt.

When you first combine the ingredients, it'll look cloudy on account of the cornflour. Don't worry, it'll come good as gelatinization takes place.

This is the filling after it comes to the boil. See? Super thick. It should glop, not pour, from the spoon, and mound slightly when it falls.

Add butter, and stir. This will make the filling...

... gorgeously glossy.

Pour filling into crust, and chill. Have immoderate amounts of whipped cream on standby.

PERFUMED FRESH APRICOT PIE

The perfume comes from the crust, which is spectacular. Keep the technique for the filling in mind for adaptation, too. It’s good for any soft summer fruit.

Ingredients:

For the crust –

140g. sugar

100g. butter

3 egg yolks

3 tbsp. port

2 tbsp. milk

1 tsp. vanilla

425-450g. self-raising flour

For the filling –

1 cup apricot puree

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup water

1/4 cornflour (corn starch)

2 tbsp. unsalted butter

Whipped cream, to serve

Method:

1. First, make the crust. Cream sugar and butter in food processor until creamy. Add egg yolks, and whizz. Add port, milk, and vanilla, and give it a very quick whizz (mixture will curdle if you overwhizz). Finally, add flour and pulse until a soft dough is formed. Scrape onto a sheet of cling film and refrigerate for one hour.

2. Brush tart or pie pan with baker's secret or grease and flour. Roll out dough, line pan, prick several times with a fork, and bake in a moderate oven for about 15 min., until golden.

3. Next, make the filling. Combine all ingredients except butter in a medium saucepan, and stir constantly until mixture boils and thickens. It will be very thick and should mound when you drop it from the spoon. Add butter, and stir until melted. Mixture will now be gorgeously glossy. Pour filling out into crust, and chill until set. Serve with whipped cream.

Yumbo McGillicutty!