Gastranimy

Dinner

2011-09-04T15:28:00.006+01:00

It takes a special level of demand for a restaurant to only take bookings for a month at a time. You know it is even more acute when that month is still four months away at the time you make your booking. Such is the hubub surrounding Heston Blumenthal's new restaurant, Dinner by Heston Blumenthal at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in London that when I decided I wanted to eat there (in April), the only booking I could get was late on a Wednesday in July! The months ticked by, and when the day finally dawned, we were both bursting with excitement to finally go...perhaps there is something to be said for your enjoyment being heightened by anticipation?

Our most overwhelming first impression was the warmth and attentiveness of the Dinner staff. Service standards in London are pretty poor, regardless of whether you're paying £100 or £10 for your meal, but here! Greeted by everyone, lavished with smiles and regaled with as much or little information about the history of the dishes, the ingredients, or methods of cooking as the diner would like. It probably didn't hurt that we had a rather handsome young English chap as our waiter - we had plenty of questions that kept him lingering at our table!!

The premise of Dinner is that it celebrates historic British gastronomy. All of the dishes are rooted in an old English recipe, updated and reconceptualised for modern day. The 'meat fruit' was one we'd both heard of and were longing to try. It is chicken liver parfait, moulded into the shape of a perfect mandarin and coated with a thin layer of mandarin jely.

A reverent moment for the meat fruit!

Of all the dishes we tried, this is the most classic Blumenthal - subverting your expectations of what is set in front of you. You marvel at the perfect shape of the fruit and even when you know there is parfait inside, cannot quite believe it until you cut it open and there it is. The parfait itself was gorgeously balanced (*best ever*), smooth and rich and a surprisingly good match for the mandarin jelly. We lingered over it.

Other than being suckers for scallops in any dish, we chose the scallops with cucumber ketchup and borrage to see if it was possible for cooked cucumber to ever be palatable. I had my first run in with cooked cucumber at Ballymaloe and those buttered cucumbers still lurk awkwardly in my taste memory bank. We demolished the entire dish, but the light imprint that it left in my mind was eroded quickly and I would not have said I was entirely convinced that cooked cucumber had an place on a dinner menu until a meal later than same week where (weirdly) the Petersham Nursery Cafe also served a dish with cooked cucumber, and carried it off with panache.

I started professing that I "had to come back" around the time that I took my first bite of my pork chop. Black Iberian pigs from Spain gave up their life for this one, and I have to confess I was so engrossed with the description of how the duck was created that I forgot to ask the waiter how the pork was done. Whatever the technique, once cooked it was still pink all the way through and the flavour of the meat achieved this sumptuous cross between the fresh fleshiness of pork and the cured, salty depth of bacon. The top was golden in a way that tasted like it was crackling but could not possibly have been fat, because it was just flesh! A Heston mystery. I was completely absorbed by how produce driven and simple this was, but still clever and beautifully executed.

Our 'best ever' count hit three with the duck, cooked confit and then sous vide for an extraordinary number of hours, before being pan seared, resulting in succulent meat, an unctuous sauce clinging to the skin, and the whole thing falling off the immaculately frenched bone. We were both very reluctant to hand over our plates halfway through to 'share' with one another!

Too full for dessert?? Not an option when you pre-ordered it with your starters due to the 30 minute lead time required to prepare this signature pudding. The star of this show is the pineapple, caramelised on attention seeking, custom built pineapple spit roasts, languidly turning behind the glass in the open kitchen. After three hours of love, the pineapple ticked the best ever count over to four. How can fruit be caramelised for hours and still taste fresh? Sugary and golden but not overblown? Tender to the fork but not disintegrating, ohhh we would have taken an entire pineapple of the stuff and forgeone the (completely lovely) pudding.

After overhearing a slightly obnoxious American girl at the next table complain about her pork, have the dish removed and refuse to be mollified or accept anything in its place, we were both impressed by the enthusiasm with which the staff strove to resuscitate the dining experience of what was a very fussy customer. Having been on the service side before, I could not help myself raving to the woman who cleared our main course plates about how much I had enjoyed my pork chop, sparking a cheerful conversation between the three of us about our meal and the restaurant. We were chuffed a few minutes later when she returned with an extra little course to say thank you, house made passionfruit ice cream on what I'd call miniscule chocolate gravel. There was still another complimentary Earl Grey white chocolate ganache waiting in the wings, enjoyed with fresh mint tea and perfect espresso.

We ate and drank leisurely, talking too loudly, laughing and lingering until it was 12.30am and we were the only table left in the restaurant - classic R & R.

Beyond the call of duty

2011-07-24T13:50:00.009+01:00

With so many of my waking hours at work these days, the office is increasingly becoming my home away from home. I eat breakfast and lunch there six days a week, my food stash is as comprehensive as the one I have at home, there is a collection of shoes, stockings, toiletries and more hiding in my bottom drawer - I'm not alone in these tendencies amongst our team! Somewhere along the line I started taking responsiblity for the pastoral care of our group - I make sure the bins are emptied, the room is tidy, our kitchen is clean, that we're all getting our daily dose of vitamins to ward off the colds that sweep our team. One of the more fun aspects is that I make sure that everyone gets a cake for their birthday; it's bad enough being at work on your birthday but for it to go unmarked by your colleagues (particularly considering how much time we spend together!) seems a bit sad to me, so I make sure that no one misses out. In reality, how much effort goes into this is directly proportional to how well I know them - so in some cases it'll be a whip around the room to chip in, and then a glossy cake bought from Paul's. But for my friends, I bake.

So when I discovered that my new neighbour, Nick, had his birthday coming up in a few weeks, I offered to bake him the cake of his choice. Over the ensuing weeks he cottoned onto the fact that I actually had some skills in the baking arena, and he set out to find a recipe that woud really test my mettle. I don't think he realised quite what he was getting me into when he picked a spectacular cake from the fabulous Smitten Kitchen; a triple layered espresso chiffon cake with fudge frosting. *gulp*

The logistics, combined with working crazy hours, were epic. I ended up having to buy cake tins, wire racks, a cake board and box online (no time to actually get to the shop), all the ingredients had to be bought online and delivered (I realised the recipe called for flour that isn't even produced in the UK. That's a whole other story!) and on the day I was baking the cake I found myself reading and re-reading the recipe, getting the steps into my memory as though I was cramming for an exam. Nick's birthday coincided with the day I went to Paris for a holiday, so I had to juggle a 10 hour work day with baking the most complex cake of my life and packing - on the back of a crushing cumulative fatigue that had just about done me in already. It wasn't the most auspicious of circumstances under which to crank out a cake, but by the time I was in my kitchen at 7.30pm ready to start, I was in too deep to back out!

Dodging around four of my housemates who were also using the kitchen that night, I started on the cakes. It was my first chiffon cake experience and I was fascinated to find you turn out a batter with this airy, silky, viscous consistency, due to the low amount of fats, and the whipping of the eggs. They whizzed in and out of the oven, and once I could prise them from the tins, they headed straight into the freezer to firm while I dashed upstairs and packed.

Cakes ready to go

Chiffon cake is light in both texture and flavour. It works well in these huge over the top American style cakes, because they soak up flavours beautifully, and provide a backdrop to the frosting without causing chaos with a competing flavour. The secret to this cake was that each layer was liberally doused with a rum espresso syrup.

Humble beginnings; first layer with syrup

There is something wildly disconcerting about piling liquid onto a freshly baked cake, it really goes against the grain so I began tentatively until I cottoned onto the instruction to top each layer with a third of a cup of syrup. Yikes. I couldn't quite bring myself to get that intense but I gave it a red hot go.

The layers came together quickly; cake, syrup, lashings of icing, repeat.

Astonishing what a mess it hiding under the covering layer of icing!

Perfectly in focus drink bottle. Bah. It was late! Close to midnight, finishing up the icing.

Ta da!! Listing ever so slightly to one side, nowhere near as perfect as Deb's (I drew the line at investing in a piping bag just for Nick's cake!), but I was still enormously proud of this huge creation.

The next day, I enlisted the kindness of my housemate to carry my suitcase on our commute to work, as I gingerly nursed the cake all the way through the morning rush. Miraculously, despite pouring rain and hectic trains, I made it to work with it perfectly intact.

Even down to the last minutes before the taste test, I was still copping skepticism from work mates, "This cake better not be a flop" (I'm looking at you Jenine!!) but, *phew*, thankfully on all the essential points, it hit the mark. The cake was light, the syrup balanced the texture, the frosting added richness and moisture, and the espresso helped cut through the richness.

It wasn't perfect; I'd be more heavy handed on the coffee next time, go lighter on the icing between the layers and perhaps give in and buy that piping bag so that by the time Raashi's birthday rolls around I can produce a smitten kitchen worthy product! But the most important thing? The birthday boy was over the moon. Job done!

Paschal pleasures

2011-04-25T11:33:00.012+01:00

After all my complaining last week about working too much, we were spoilt with a plethora of public holidays here in the UK. Although I worked straight through all the holidays, knowing that everyone else was getting four days off in a row made it that bit easier to treat myself to *gasp* an entire two days off. One day lazing around Cambridge being decadent and the other, well it was Easter Sunday. So I gathered together the tiny handful of my friends who were still in the country and foisted all of my frustrated cooking inspiration upon them in the form of this meal....

The behind the scenes of this including food shopping at Waitrose at 10pm after work during the week, and making sure I didn't drink too much in Cambridge so that I could marinate the lamb when I got home. Which I did successfully - at 10.30pm! You couldn't suggest I wasn't committed to this meal.

The lamb dish is called Raan, and includes two layers of marinade - the first being a pungent combination of freshly diced ginger, garlic, turmeric, cardamom seeds, cumin seeds, chilli, saffron... you get the idea. Indian flavours but tending towards the sweeter, aromatic spices, rather than the hard ones. Spices smeared into the gashes in the (New Zealand) leg of lamb, the second layer was ground almonds, yoghurt and brown sugar, which glooped satisfyingly over the top, hiding the spices, and by morning revealed most of the liquid evaporated and a soft crust forming.

Straight in the oven at 8am, I slow cooked the lamb for almost five hours. I have a love hate relationship with dishes like this, on the one hand they're effortless because you throw them in the oven and then forget about them for half the day - but on the other hand, if you muck up your marinade, or your oven temperature... you won't discover it until just before you serve and you'll have spent the last five hours in blissful ignorance of the impending disaster.

Instead of making my life easier with my other dishes I decided to push the boat out and make my own Naan. I'd seen it done at Ballymaloe and sure that was 18 months ago but with a chef coming over for lunch I knew I had trouble shooting assistance on hand later if I needed it.

I love making dough, because I'm such a novice it always feels like I've lucked out when it actually works out. If you consider that it starts like this...

requires fifteen minutes of muscle burning kneading to get to this...

and then blessed relief, after an hour and a half hanging out near the boiler in a near perfect spot for proving, arrived here...

I was relieved to say in the least!

With the Royal Wedding coming up the following weekend, every English brand has had a crack at cashing in, with Pimms shamelessly hamming up their British credentials. I found myself organised enough to relax and have the first Pimms of the day waiting for my guests in the sunshine.

We started with fresh potted prawns, coarse enough to savour the sweetness of the prawns, laced with basil, tangy lemon, and just enough butter to smooth the edges.

Ben kindly consulted on the anatomy of carving the lamb, which Kara took to with gusto, expertly making the most of the 2.4kg leg, while I experimented with cooking the naan.

Let it be said that they were not a patch on the fresh pita bread I made in Hobart, but from the audience they got ticks for flavour, versatility (Now its a pita pocket! Now its a wrap! Now its a crisp bread stand in!) and satisfaction. I wanted malleable softness which remained elusive, even when helped along by being left wrapped tightly in a tea towel while the rest cooked.

Nevertheless, it was a happy crowd, well lubricated by this stage, who sat down for lunch. I love a meal that requires you to interpret the food - we all ate with our hands and all approached it differently. Some of us went the burrittoesque route, loading up the naan with the minted greek yoghurt, lamb and salad, others nibbled a morsel of lamb here, a piece of cucumber there, Kara turned the end of her naan into a pita pocket and crammed in as much as she could, we spent a lot of the meal talking about the food - just the way I like it!

Michelle and I - a relaxed cook now that the food had been a success

We were all spoilt by Kara and Ben's team effort luscious lemon and lime tart. Despite the worst pastry making weather England has had in months (temps over 25 - ouch) Kara turned out a tasty, crispy crust and Ben's zingy, smooth curd had me being a greedy girl going back for a second slice.

This photo says it all! A lovely day!

Graze

2011-04-25T11:30:00.005+01:00

I have been a very bad blogger recently and I can pinpoint my demise easily to the week when I started my current job - 50+ hours per week, no access to the internet at work and weekends shrunk to one day. My food exploits have been lazy during the week (pasta is getting a solid work out) with some spurts of energy on Sundays cooking en masse with my housemates. Little to write about and little time to write, sadly...

One upside of the many hours shackled to my desk has been a new discovery to feed my snacking obsession. Anyone who has worked or travelled with me will know that I am always the girl with a ridiculous array of snacks - just in case. So when I heard about a company that send you snacks in the post (does it get more exciting than mail??), tailored to your food preferences, I had to try it out.

They're called Graze, and they advocate having their heathy snacks to hand for you to graze on throughout the day, to stave off those between meal peaks and troughs that so often send one lurching for biscuits at 3pm. The day my first box was to be delivered, I stalked Reception at work all day. Excruciatingly it didn't arrive until around 4.30pm and inside....

Each week you get four little punnets, neatly balancing flavours and textures - this box included nuts, olives, dried fruit and wasabi peas - so that something will hit the spot, whether you're craving something sweet, salty, crunchy....

I am a total sucker for things like this, each box comes with a pamphlet (with your name on it clearly!) with a nutritional break down inside of each punnet in your box- its all personalised; I can't even begin to imagine how fiddly it must be at the Graze 'kitchen' as they describe it on their site, as they compose the boxes and then prepare a little book for each person and send them out? All this for £3.49 per box!

And yes there are cutesy, quirky names - an Italian Stallion is currently languishing on my desk - but behind the marketing are clever portion sizes (it would normally be a hard sell to convince me that 40 grams of anything could satisfy a snacking craving, but weirdly it works) and some innovative foods that I haven't seen or tried before. Last week brought dried blueberries (delicious) and the bizarre physalis, which looked like a mini fig but were peversely tangy. For me to be learning about new foods from snacks delivered to my desk, I was sold.

So get into it, eat more healthy things, fewer muffins!

If you want a free box (and you live in the UK) you can use this code: 75B441L at www.graze.com

Secret eats

2011-02-26T16:23:00.003Z

I have always loved sharing recommendations for restaurants or recipes that I have tried and enjoyed, believing that the pleasure dervied from really great food should be spread as widely as possible, especially amongst those you love - or at least love eating with. A recent article in the Sydney Morning Herald that again outed my favourite laksa joint, leading to a line out the door the next day (so my foodie spies on the ground tell me) of disaffected office workers jumping on the bandwagon, has led me to feel unusually cagey about my most recent discovery.

To be precise, it is this pile of marinated, char grilled lamb chop happiness that I am protecting.

The genius who got me onto this place is my friend Michelle, a local to the restaurant whose unabashed enjoyment for eating meant my ears pricked up when she said, "We have to go to [XXX] it's amazing."

So here we are, channelling our respective inner indians, working our way through the mound of the much vaunted lamb chops - two portions of - relishing the tactile requirements of the experience (taste better when eaten with fingers). So what is all the fuss about? Lift a burning hot chop off the plate, tendrils of the charred barbecue aroma mixing with the undercurrent of spices, a hint of caramelisation on the outside of the meat, but still juicy and tender - no dessicated flesh here - with the warmth of the northern indian spices puncutating each bite - you'll be hooked after that first mouthful. I ate four. Followed by two excellent curries, masala fish and naan, hands down the best Indian food I've eaten in England. And did I mention this place is BYO??

So my lips are sealed.

(I may be bribed to escort a return excursion with any contra good restaurant recommendations!)

Good things come in small packages

2011-02-12T16:54:00.002Z

I will freely admit that I am a little obsessed with pies at the moment. I find that producing meals in miniature form usually result in a correlating increase in how enjoyable the food is. Just think about it....cupcakes, muffins, mini quiche, blinis, crostini - all just that bit sexier than their bigger counterparts.

My pie revolution began with the advent of individual pie tins into the house, care of my housemate Jess, who has brought with her from New Zealand her passion for the (slightly unusual??) mince and cheese pie, and upon finding England rather lacking in that department, set about producing her own.

An envious night or two, watching her lift those perfectly golden, puffed, cases of goodness out of the oven and I was inspired to make my first foray with the Chicken and Leek pies. So far, so delicious. But the moment that sealed my undying love for the individual at-home-pie? A spare section of pastry, neglected for days in the fridge, squeezed into the tin late on a Saturday afternoon as unfamiliar rays of sunshine glanced across the kitchen, topped with gently sauteed bacon, a sprinkle of fresh thyme, negotiated two eggs into the rapidly filling receptacle, top on....in the oven....

Perfect pie

2011-01-30T22:13:00.004Z

Does it get more English than a chicken and leek pie? Crispy, flaky, butter pastry enfolding a lush winter warming creamy stew of chicken, leek, carrot, celery, perfumed with thyme. Perfect soul food to feed to those you love. The only way this gets any better is enjoying it with the warm glow and smug sense of satisfaction that comes from knowing you created it.

Bank holidays

2011-01-06T19:30:00.004Z

Living in the UK inspires in most people a voracious desire to travel. Well, certainly for us 'Antipodeans'. The stunning proximity to so many countries when we are used to being so far from anything else except New Zealand, is often too much to bear and we respond by shoe horning mini breaks into every available bank holiday long weekend and every other glimmer of spare time from work. Even though deep down you know you'll never get to all the places on your wish list, the mania to cram in as many as possible sees people leaving London in droves on public holiday weekends.

Which is exactly why one of the most luxurious pleasures of London living is savouring your bank holiday right here in town. Lazy sleep in, relaxed meander on the tube across town, discover a new area, gather a mix of fellow bank holiday languishers together and settle in for a lovely lunch.

We chose Pizza East, which I love for the space alone. God knows what it was before, but the vastness of the space was well filled with busy tables and our laughter reverberated around the walls. The general theme is Italian, and they prove that on the wine presentation alone.

Ever since being served white wine on my first night in Italy in 2008 in a quarter litre carafe I have been a complete sucker for these things. It might be that their stubby functionality appeals to me more than the ceremony of the long stemmed wine glass and elegance of the bottle or decanter.

I must confess to not being a great fan of the Pizza East pizzas (ironic I know) so Dave and I resolved to share the 'chicken for two', which could be renamed 'chicken for a family of four':

With a grab bag of nuggety roasted potatoes, and succulent crispy-skinned roasted chicken, we did our best to devour half a bird each but had to resort to calling on the stomachs of our dining companions and still failed to clear the plate.

Warm and full of happy lunch, my contentment was assured on the delivery of the first caffe lungo I've found outside of Italy. Imagine an espresso, but run the water through the coffee for an extra ten seconds or so - to create the volume of a 60ml double shot. This one came smooth, perfect crema. A fabulous lunch, combining the best of an Italian mini break with a relaxed London afternoon with friends!

Merry Christmas

2010-12-13T20:10:00.002Z

With the days closing in, darkeness a more constant companion than light, and the glimmer of fairy lights punctuating the daily commute home I am starting to grasp why traditional English Christmas cookery is so full of comforting sensations. My top picks have to be warm roast dinners with crispy moreish potatoes lashed with gravy and that classic combo of seasonal spices - cinnamon, nutmeg, all spice - with lavish amounts of dried fruit and a splash of good brandy transforming mince pies, christmas pudding and of course, christmas cake into an indulgent treat. (Don't get me started on mulled wine, manna from heaven that stuff)

As life in London settled down, an entree into christmas baking was called for, and with four weeks to go til the big day it was hard to resist trying out Delia's Classic Christmas Cake. I am yet to wrap my head around the notion of a cake that somehow improves on being left for weeks on end so I figured the best way to find out was to conduct the home economics experiment in my own kitchen.

Where all good baking starts - with a luscious chunk of (Irish Kerry Gold) butter

This was the stage at which I realised this cake would be fruit with cake, rather than cake with fruit.

65 pence for a tin - bargain for the crucial uber English ingredient. It'll be fifty ways with black treacle to use up the tin from here on in at my place.

One or two opportunistic finger swipes of the bowl had confirmed I was onto a winner at this stage. Managed to restrain myself so I ended up with enough mixture in the tin to make a cake.

This is extremist baking. Completely covered with double layers of baking paper, in a low oven for 5 hours. Delia insisted you couldn't check it for 4 hours - the anticipation nearly killed me!

E voila. Even the memory of the heady, warm fruity spicy smell with that underlying hint of naughty brandy is making my knees weak.

Cake cooled and dutifully fed (it is an unabashed alcoholic. Brandy is its poison of choice) I carefuly wrapped it again and again and perched it in a corner of the kitchen where it watches me daily, testing my patience. Only a couple of weeks left to go....

Salone de Gusto

2010-11-07T11:44:00.015Z

Collapsing gratefully into a seat on the creaky Italian train at Torino Porta Nuova station I reflexively glance inside my handbag looking for entertainment for my journey back to the tiny town of Bra. The contents of my bag bring to mind a wicked whodunnit. The used wine glass with the dried blood red droplets of Valpolicella stuffed with (toilet) paper, ensconced in a calico (Slow Food issue) bag, abutting the black leather gloves (to combat morning frost before fingers are warmed by wine consumption - equally useful for hiding finger prints), the camera for forensic recording of experiences and of course, the trusty pen and notebook - every investigator's stalwart companions.

These are the signs that I am in the midst of the whirlwind of Salone de Gusto and Terra Madre - two Slow Food events that run concurrently, biannually. Salone offers a sensorially laden interactive food exploration, with hundreds of producers from all over Italy (cameo appearances from other countries) brought together in a sprawling, converted Fiat factory, proferring tastes of their wares, pausing to chat in rapid fire Italian about production techniques if you linger long enough. Conversely, Terra Madre offers sustenance for the soul and mind, bringing together passionate delegates from places as diverse as Lapland, Brazil and Vanuatu, to share workshops, ideas, and a vision for the future of food.

Blessed with a fairy godfather bearing an access all areas press pass, I found myself oft lingering on the Salone side, mesmerised by the array of flavours, ideas, and variety. Oh, and did I mention the Enoteca that featured over 1600 types of Italian wine - all of which could be drunk by the glass for a mere few Euros?

I was fortunate to share the feast with a couple of Italian based former classmates, with UNISG people from last year flitting in and out of our orbit across the few days. For all of you who weren't able to be there...a few images of the gastronomic delights for you:

This being only one of four pavilions, the vast space included mezannine tasting classes

Crumbly raw milk cheese

Waiting to order my first drink in the Enoteca - all those rows of wines to try! The classic Italian men dressed to the nines added a great touch.

My arteries are constricting just looking at this photo. This delectable morsel is called a bombette - from Puglia it features cheese encased in mince, wrapped in pancetta and cooked over hot coals. Smoky, salty, dripping with fat, gorgeous.

Candied Chinotti - tiny little unripe citrus fruits

Tasting 25 year old balsamic vinegar. Thick, smooth, stickily sweet with an addictive acidity, its no wonder tiny bottles retail for over 60 Euros.

I am still in awe at the size of these sides of pig. Measuring some 83cm across, the dry spice cured speck features soft, aromatic fat with flavour that dances along your taste buds. I went past every day to sample as much as I reasonably could. Sold in huge hacked off chunks.

This photo was worth it for the hat alone. I fell in love with the stacks of boulder sized pieces of the best nougat I've ever had the privilege of tasting. Unsurprisingly these guys are French.

Matt and I stood here mesmerised for some fifteen minutes watching the ordered chaos. The abundance of pig turned into products, literally overflowing from every surface, the constant creation of the porchetta sandwiches, the head cheese perched in the front in its feed bag (yep resplendent with ears, skin and all that good stuff) not to mention...

the rhythmic 'thwack' 'thwack' of the enormous knife carving off sections of the pig, perfectly, bafflingly crispy on the outside and succulent within.

Matt and I with a drop or two taken (yes this was probably only mid afternoon) in the Enoteca. Ironically this was the only place to sit down in Salone! Plenty of time was spent perusing the encyclopedic list of wines sitting in front of me, until I realised that I could just randomly say 'I'll have the 766 thanks!' and every glass was a winner.

Is there a correlation between vast spaces and these events? We all echoed around in here for Terra Madre.

These guys are from Brazil and had just spent an impassioned 20 minutes explaining their grassroots program run in the favelas that grew from a need to find a solution to the rat problem that had become endemic. They wrapped up with....a rap. About urban composting. Only at Terra Madre.

In Italy, Must eat gelato. It took me two days to work out that Salone was being held right next to Eataly (super duper supermarket of all things Italian and luscious), so I hunted it down, ignoring the biting wind through my inappropriate clothing for the weather, and made a beeline to the gelato section. I am going to put it out there and say this was the best Fragola ever.

On the last night I was lucky enough to not turn into a pumpkin when the last train to Bra left at 10.30pm. Instead we were treated to a dinner in Torino with friends from Australia. I think an entire ox gave up its tail for this third course of mine, and I was very grateful.

The bizarre shape of these plates (completely impractical for a round table) led to some creative measures being taken to eat!

Kate, her brother Dan and I at the end of dinner at around midnight after three busy days to rival anything we lived through on stage. Exhausted but sated - with wine, food, passion for change and happiness.

Advertising works

2010-10-27T10:57:00.003+01:00

A freezing cold autumn night, blowing in the front door from work two hours later than normal (waylaid at the pub commiserating about a temp job ending), awkwardly clutching shopping bags full of hastily selected foodstuffs for dinner. Glance over at the hall table and discover an oddly shaped packaged with my name on it. Clasped it in one hand, struggle up the stairs, drop everything on the floor and pause to examine it.

A surprise? For me? From my mobile phone provider? And inside simply this -

...and a little bar of chocolate.

That's it. No promotional material about increasing my phone plan, or purchasing an internet connection, or changing the terms and conditions. Just chocolate. And it worked. It warmed my heart, improved my evening just a touch, left me feeling fonder towards O2. I am a complete and utter sucker.

High tea hijinks

2010-10-05T11:59:00.002+01:00

Stepping off the plane from London at Parma airport into the balmy air and strong sunshine, a huge smile spread over my face. And stayed there for the next three days. Italy kept a small part of my heart when I moved away last year and being reunited with it after five weeks knocking around in London was just glorious.

I was back to celebrate my friend Kate's birthday. When the UNISG contingent left Parma she stayed, and this was my first insight into her reshaped life. Arriving at her new home I was struck that she'd discovered the two holy grails of Italian lodging - an actual house (instead of a flat) and a Garden. Right in the middle of Parma. It was like a miracle, walking into this sun dappled secret garden, nestled behind the back wall of the Parco Ducale, minutes from the bustle of il Centro.

The weekend began as we intended it to continue; plenty of food, good company and wine at a meal cooked by a classmate, Jiftach, that featured 12 courses based on tomatoes! An ambitious and enthusiastically executed idea, but suffice to say that tomatoes were not on the menu for the rest of the weekend after we'd eaten then flat out in a myriad of forms over five hours.

Italian breakfast = strong coffee from the Bialetti

The Australian birthday girl's wish was to have High Tea in her wonderful garden, and the weather happily complied, offering a warm, glossy day. Over breakfast the menu was planned, incorporating recipes from memory, drawing on the wonders of online recipes and cook book discoveries from the local library. A languid spell in the claw footed bath, followed by a nostalgic whip around the farmer's market and we set to three hours of baking, chopping, folding, beating, sauteeing, and blini making.

The laden table hidden under the vines

I felt like I was in a dream state for most of the day. The warmth of the day, soft balm of the rustic Italian environs, the pleasure of baking again, sharing the kitchen with a good friend - particularly the joy of being back with a member of my UNISG family for the first time in ten months - and the anticipation of the scrumptious eating and prosecco drinking to come; I was filled with a sense of unadulterated joy that I haven't felt in a long time.

And from joy always comes the best food! The results:

Kate's free form zucchini and fresh ricotta tart; crunchy pastry, soft cheese, sweet onion and freshness of the zucchini. This non cheese eater went back for three slices!

Scones, made to the Betty's of Harrogate recipe. We had priceless moments realising that what to Kate and I was completely instinctive, was foreign to all of our European guests, leading to 'scone spreading' demonstrations - instituted when one of the guys started draping cream over the top of his whole scone.

Posies of wild flowers from a foraging expedition.

My coconut biscuits, teeny crunch on the outside and soft and chewy meringue coconut inside.

Cucumber sandwiches; I struggled with the Barilla white bread (not quite the consistency I would have chosen) but they went down a treat.

My expanse of salmon and creme fraiche blinis

Katrin's gorgeous German sweet bread

All washed down with bottles of Europe's best, Moet & Chandon and loads of Prosecco.

A picture of relaxation - a happy birthday girl!

London Sundays

2010-09-30T14:36:00.003+01:00

This skyscape sums up the London weekend. Half blue half grey, in constant struggle for supremacy so that in a moment the blinding sunshine can be blotted out by the normal opaque cloud blanket. The primary point of consolation across these weekends is the constant proximity of the pub. Any pub. Seemingly on every corner, some beguile you with squishy reproduction Chesterfield armchairs, others boast yards of Real English Ale on tap along the dark wooden bar, and blessedly many these days hang out their shingle proclaiming delicious pub food.

We paused for a lengthy moment pondering how lovely the view of the Heath must be from these apartments...

A Sunday meander through Hampstead Heath (fortified - during an hour sheltering in a pub from the temporary supremacy of cloud cover and howling winds - with lusty glasses of Italian red wine) was just the ticket to rustle up a good appetite by the time we made our way up the Hampstead high street into The Horseshoe pub. With a spartan interior, more reminiscient of lovely light cafes in Sydney than an English pub, we found a nook of a couple of tables and with more red wine on the way, tore into the gorgeous bread.

Bread that would make a Parmigianni go weak at the knees (the poor quality bread starved town that it is), the staff obligingly restocked the decimated first offering with this heaped mountain of (greatly appreciated) chewy, crusty bread. A menu after my own heart, with only five dishes coming out of the open kitchen our table split neatly into groups devouring the crumbed haddock with mushy peas and those satisfying the craving for rib eye steak and salad.

Chunky, creamy tartare, perfectly seasoned chips, gently flavoured fish with that satisfyingly crunchy crumb - all softened by the lightly minted crushed peas. The muslin wrapped lemon halves are a touch that I love - so practical!

Wrapped up against the cold, somnolent with full stomachs, a bracing walk back through the meandering hills of the Heath, warm in the glow of the relaxed pleasure of sharing the day with friends.

Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.

2010-08-18T12:18:00.011+01:00

I arrived in London on 'the first day its rained' all summer (allegedly) and I can say now, two weeks later that the grey skies are yet to abate. I did spot a skerrick of blue sky this afternoon, so it is really up there hidden behind the miasma, but Australia it sure ain't. What fool would move here for the weather anyway?

Brushing that aside, anyone who has moved to a new place/town/country will know that those first two weeks are often the most grinding, when you test your mettle and see how you measure up when plonked on the opposite side of the world to your family and everything you know best, and are alone in a big, rainy city. Make it through those weeks with your spirit intact (or dare I hope, buoyant) and there's a good chance that you'll make a good life for yourself in your new home.

What do you cling on to? What constant (other than yourself) can you find to anchor yourself to your new home before the job/house/flatmate components fall into place? For me, it was fresh produce markets. The sight, touch and smell of freshly picked vegetables lull me into a state of comfort that help blanket me against the endless streams of Marks & Spencers, Sainsburys, McDonalds and Burger Kings littering the High Streets. So out I went. Discovering.

Marylebone Farmers Market

The most exciting discoveries are those that remind you in the most positive way that you aren't at home anymore. Brilliant, cornet shaped Romanesco selling for 60pence...

...and the most glorious wild mushrooms I'd ever seen, the bountiful gastronomic byproduct of all that rain....which culminated in -

the Puffball. How is that for a mushroom? Easily the size of my head, the vendor recommended you cut it into slices and egg/crumb it, and cook it like a steak! The mind boggles! I was wildly tempted to give it a guernsey until someone else asked the price (£30) and I remembered I was just cooking for one....

Fortunately portion size was not a problem at the Kooky Bakes cupcake stall at the Sunday UPmarket near Brick Lane. Hands down one of the most eye catching cupcake displays I have ever seen, the baker extraordinnaire behind Kooky Bakes hails from North America, which goes some way to explaining the bigger is better gorgeously extravagant icing and decoration. Not to mention the Whoopie Pies which I've never spotted outside of the USA before!

The OTT approach extended to the content of the cakes too, I wish I could remember the name but I can tell you that my cherry topped, pink frosted cupcake included peach in the cake and an apple jam 'injection'. The cake was glorious, perfect amount of moistness with the apple and my only comment would be that the icing, stunning as it looked, had lost any fruit in the icing sugar onslaught, and ended up overpowering the delicious cake. My loyalty being to the cake I ended up with a wad of icing left over.

I happily pottered home to discover and rediscover the pleasure of the new type of potatoes I'd discovered (Marris Peers, perfect waxy mouthful sized new potatoes), the sweet burst of freshness from these organic cherry tomatoes,

the slightly terrifying moment of actually putting a morsel of these mysteriously coloured wild mushrooms into my mouth, that were alive in their silken butteriness.

My absolute favourite (always a sucker for the cute) the precious fairy ring mushrooms. Ranging in size from thumbnail to an Australian 50 cent piece, they stretched from soaking up luscious Kerry Gold butter and delivered a gentle nuttiness, or providing a counterpoint for a lemony salmon dish.

Nestling into a new feeling of promise and possibility - that this city could be livable - the clouds parted.

"You choose"

2010-08-08T05:24:00.008+01:00

Coogee Beach - I never get sick of this view

An interesting social byproduct of my recent Italian education emerged on this most recent visit to Sydney. Despite not having lived in the city for two years, I found friends frequently saying "you choose" when it came to making decisions about where to eat, what to eat, even how to eat sometimes! I am not quite sure at what point my reputation exploded to include a perceived knowledge of all things food related - stretching across the vastness of world cuisines, cooking techniques, ingredient identification and still having a finger on the pulse of the best eateries in town. I was loathe to burst the bubble and leave anyone feeling that, in fact, I wasn't all that - so I did my best to fulfill expectations! I was lucky to have a secret weapon in the form of my lovely friend Ali, who has been in Sydney (well for these past few months anyway!) and was able to put me onto a few new places that went down a treat with the punters.

So since you asked....I'll share with you what I chose this week:

Iiza - Newtown

Gorgeous, well executed Japanese food served in a lovely space. Somewhat ad hoc service but well intended! Excellent miso, but the tempura at Sushi Suma is better.

'Spider roll' - wrapped in daikon, with soft shell crab, roe, avocado and a perfect crunch of toasted sesame seeds.

Beef Yakitori (Japanese Hot Pot); great depth of flavour, elegantly arranged dish.

Luxe Cafe & Bakery - Newtown

A repeat offender this week, I couldn't stay away from the place after my first taste. Chewy, flavourful sourdough to take away - enjoy it in house as a sandwich. Changing breakfast and lunch menu and drool worthy array of baked goods.

Sweet potato, chickpea and coriander salad. Zingy and light.

Pistachio and Olive Oil Cake topped with pistachio praline. Moist cake, buttery frosting, and a much needed crunch on the top.

Blancmange - Petersham

A cosy neighbourhood restaurant, with a polished affect. House baked bread and house made sorbets won the day for me.

One of the busiest plates I'd seen in a long time - if you close your eyes and just eat it, somehow it works (chorizo was perhaps a little overkill though). Seared salmon with crushed kipfler potatoes/chives/chorizo, on grilled asparagus with a caperberry, tomato and cornichon sauce - phew!

Ethiopian Food Stall - EQ Market, Fox Studios

A bargain at $8, gloriously consumed in the sunshine and exploding with flavours.

The moreish soft sour lentil pancake is swaddling mixed vegetables, slow cooked beef and potatoes and lentils, topped with more lentils, a yoghurt sauce, chilli and shallots. I challenge you to leave any uneaten!

Lindt Cafe - City

A perennial favourite from my days as a corporate lawyer, even this non-chocolate lover cannot go past the molten Lindt chocolate (choose milk or dark), teemed with your choice of milk.

Put it together yourself at the table.....

Don't be ashamed to lick the drip - we've all been there.

On my *ahem* second visit, I discovered they were doing a hazelnut hot chocolate. Who knew you could improve on perfection?? As my chocolate slurping companion Mirella noted "its like drinking a melted Ferrero Rocher". Scrumptious.

Baffi & Mo - Redfern

They had me at porcelain tea pot. The love affair was cemented when I discovered the leaf tea was excellent and that two generous cups emerged from the pot. Its great to see cafes that care as much about their tea drinkers as those coffee quaffing folk.

Bespoke tea settings.

The impressively fresh potato hash stack with bacon - surprisingly light (not many carbs), the rocket is drenched in lemon juice, nice juxtoposition with the crispy hash, wonderful balance of fresh (tomato/avocado/rocket) and cooked (bacon/potato/egg/asparagus).

Lord Nelson Brewery & Pub - The Rocks

What's not to like about a cosy pub that brews it's own beers?

Enjoying a pint (or two) of the Lord Nelson Three Sheets (fruity, light on the hops) on a sunny Sydney arvo. Stout and cider being enjoyed in the background.

A ploughman's lunch to steal the heart of any beer drinker. Soft treacley bread, a foil to the pickled egg, gherkin, onions and eye watering hot english mustard.

Brace your stomach: Le Monde, breakfast degustation

2010-08-04T06:47:00.008+01:00

You can always rely on Sydney to have a place, somewhere, trying something new and exciting enough that it generates a ripple or two in the foodie scene. It is the Clover coffee at Le Monde that is garnering a bit of chatter in the press, but for this hard core tea lover, it was their foray into offering a breakfast degustation that caught my eye. My blog savvy, food appreciating friend Ali flicked the idea past me and we booked it in for a treat to celebrate our reunion in Sydney. Ali and I saw one another in three countries last year - busy racing around the world purusing our 'non-linear lives', we are rarely in the same place and like to make the most of it! The ceremony of a new degustation experience seemed appropriate.

The price has now gone up to $35 per head, for three courses and two coffees (one being the whizz bang Clover coffee; more on that later). The $10 hike was explained on the phone to Ali as being a result of the increased quality of the produce being used, and a change in the dishes served. They are also touting a regular change of the menu as part of their approach. The degust option is offered only on Friday and Saturday mornings, and requires a reservation.

Stunning wintry morning in Sydney, we rock up and awkwardly linger for a few minutes as staff smile absently and walk past us until I end up chatting to the barista and we are seated. We roll straight into the first dish. A gorgeous (and familiar) looking plate arrives:

Watermelon laden with a slick of honey, granola, vanilla dotted yoghurt and baby mint leaves. Quickly defrosting frozen grape halves languish superfluously on the plate, with the spectacular (dehydrated?) black olive crumbs providing punctuation.

Its a great dish, texturally interesting, a feast for the eyes, and other than the grape bits I was in love with the combo of watermelon with granola, could have eaten a bowlful of the yoghurt and wanted to take an entire tub of that dehydrated black olive home - its magnificient because it gives the hit of olive flavour without the acidity of a pickled olive.

Pretty chuffed so far, while waiting for the middle course I wander off and have a chat to the nice guy (who turns out to be Anthony Svilicich, one of the co-owners of Le Monde) who is studiously applying himself to making our Clover coffee.

As Anthony will kindly tell you at some length if you ask enough nosy questions, there are a multitude of differences between this coffee made using infusion, as opposed to an espresso coffee which is made using extraction (coffee grounds hanging out in hot water vs hot water being forced through coffee grounds). The basic idea behind it is that this technique allows you to experience more of the flavour profile of the bean than espresso does, through the ability to control the volume of water, the water temperature and infusion time (as with espresso, the grind of the beans also plays a significant role).

Coffee in the infusion chamber

You might wonder what all the fuss is about, but Anthony had a great story about how rare these machines are (apparently only 300 left in the world after the company was bought by Starbucks and then shut down) leaving you to wonder about the single mindedness that drove him/Le Monde to track down and purchase 4 of the things (just in case one breaks? One for work, home, the car, the holiday house?) particularly if they really are as expensive as Jill Dupleix reported.

The final drink looks more like tea, with a slightly murky amber colour. And indeed, the flavour profile is very different to a normal coffee, the particular bean we tried had strong vegetal characteristics, not light like capsicum, but deep - like a vegetable stock made using parsnip and cabbage. It was a really interesting experience to try a new form of brewing and use my wine tasting skills on a coffee, but I have to confess I didn't enjoy the drink. It was more like a sensory experiment. But granted, I am a tea drinker at heart.

Breakfast arrives.

Riiiiight.

If there was a speech bubble it would consist mainly of "??? WTF ??? Confit Pork??"

There was a long period of silence, accompanied by some fevered photographing and a bit of tentative poking of the fork at bits of the dish, while the brain whirled. What the hell IS IT I hear you yelling at me through cyber space. Well its a B.L.A.T. of course! Or the Le Monde 'interpretation' of a Bacon, Lettuce, Avocado Tomato sandwich. It has turned into sourdough bread with avocado mousse and dehydrated kale leaves, a poached quail egg atop confit pork belly, lemon jelly, another slice of sourdough with creamy seeded mustard and 'tomato paper'. When the dish had been presented and explained, we were told that the chef recommended you try each component of the meal and then put it all together as a sandwich.

Looking through the kale forest toward the tomato cliff face with the pork monolith in the midst.

We obediently followed the chef's instructions. The kale was so cute, with a great crunch, and vague baked lettucey flavour (that's a niche flavour profile). Avocado mousse, avocadoey. Pork confit - beautifully cooked, the bottom most caramelised layer of meat was the stand out. Quail egg, to me appeared gimmicky (there is no egg in a BLAT anyway) because it had less flavour than even a regular organic hen's egg. Tomato paper, fabulously concentrated, novel idea, finding ways to get a return on buying that dehydrator? Mustard, creamy.

Even having tried all the components I am not sold - perhaps when eaten as a sandwich? My stomach is turning even thinking about the next part; I shredded the pork belly, and layered it over the avocado/kale, topped with the rest and.....well let's just say that the scientists who are testing to see if we have taste receptors for fat on our tongues should use this meal. Mouthful after mouthful with only pork and avocado coming through. The painstakingly created kale and tomato paper disappeared, the lemon jelly vanished, so there was no textural or flavour contrast, and the unending richness of the sandwich sent us both extricating pork belly from it just to try to get close to finishing. I felt sick by the time I gave up.

The big let down for me was that in getting caught up in using too many techniques, I felt like the dish missed the original beauty of a BLAT which features fatty bacon and avocado but is balanced by the fresh crispness of lettuce and the juicy squish of tomato. This BLAT is crying out for some contrast, desperate for some acidity or an unadulterated ingredient so that the other components can be enjoyed instead of being struggled through. And pork belly confit for breakfast?? Incidentally, who eats a BLAT for breakfast anyway? This is a dish that got lost on it's way to the lunch menu.

Offered our second coffee after the main course, we both opt for a long black and offered the chance to try a different bean each, which we gladly accept. Fortunately dessert is fruit based, and is put together at the table. Blueberries and salted pumpkin seeds nestle in the bottom of the glass, and a chef adds the 'iced coffee' at the table, scattering it with finely grated chocolate.

The reason for this becomes apparent within the space of time it takes me to get three photos of it....

Can you see its already sinking here? The perkiness of the structure folds within about a minutes, and once you've had a mouthful or two your glass resembles this:

Definitely not a pretty photo, but it was an intriguing aesthetic transformation!! The coffee was bitter and smooth, rounded out by the chocolate, and I loved the combination of the squidge of the blueberries (not at their sweetest since they are out of season) and the salty crunch of pumpkin seeds. It would have been a winner except for the fact that I was feeling like pork fat was oozing through the lining of my stomach and out of my pores after the main course.

As we left, we were asked how our meal was. I praised the starter and desert and gave my honest opinion about the main; who knows if that feedback will end up with the chef, or if they agree with my impression. I continued to feel sick for a few hours after breakfast...as dining experiences go, it was interesting and thought provoking. Once they change the main course, I'd encourage you to try it!

Farmgate Farmer's Market

2010-08-02T06:10:00.010+01:00

Beautiful Tasiliquid Gold honey

An absolute highlight of my Tasmanian working life has been becoming a part of the Farmgate Farmer's Market community. My boss Madi has done an incredible job creating and growing the market over the past nine months or so and despite joining her team in the middle of Winter, we saw record crowds (up to 2000 people a morning) and perfect weather keep the vibe dynamic and exciting every Sunday morning.

Randomly located in an eyesore car park a five minute walk from town, the market keeps you on your toes weekly with stalls moving around the site; I love that - it changes the ebb and flow of people, with some cornerstone vendors sticking to their regular possie.

Madi and I in our regular spots at the coffee machine

The Farmgate Cafe stall where I worked for Madi is one of the regular stalls and cranks out over 300 coffees a morning, along with countless burgers (the best egg and bacon rolls ever!) that are made using produce from the market. I originally signed on to be the chick taking orders and money but I ended up being chief milk frother (a title destined for a business card) most weekends, honing my silky milk making skills and getting to know all the stallholders and regulars by the kind of coffee they drink.

My favourite part was undoubtedly the banter with the stallholders - Madi's requirements for the market have the effect that everyone selling is either a producer or their son/daughter/friend. Only a rare couple had employees (like me), which left endless scope to chat with your potato farmer about the frosts and impact on the vegies before you, or to request special cuts of cured meats from the person who'll actually be going home and doing it for you. The removal of any middle man between food and consumer is so exciting - especially when you love to have a chat about the food you're buying!

So do allow me to introduce you to some of my favourites from the market:

Dennis the Potato Farmer. Changed my life when I tasted the Dutch Cream potatoes he grew. Stole my heart with the way he was always so chuffed to be there, chatting to punters. Has sold his crop for the year - will be back in a few months!

Bruny Island Cheese. This is Dean who you'll find cheerfully manning the stall for owner Nick Haddow every week. Gorgeous artisanal cheeses.

Rare Foods. This is Matthew Evans, but you'd be just as lucky to find his business partner Ross behind the counter. They produce a stunning range of products from organically raised pigs, the best ham hocks you'll taste, bacon, rillettes and sausages also worth writing home about.

Fresh sourdough from Companion Bakery in Oatlands. There's a line every morning for these bespoke crusty morsels.

Seasonal Fruit and Vege at the Yangs' stall.

Who can go past a potato called Big Bertha? For that matter, who knew potatoes had such great names? I've bought King Edwards, Up to Dates, Pink Eyes, Dutch Creams and more from Dennis' replacement, Alec.

Apparently frost brings out the sweetness in Swedes - they'd had 16 days of frost before I bought the largest Swede I'd seen in my life from Alec and the surprising softness and subtle sweetness linger in my taste memory.

Nick the Greek (he introduced himself to me as such!) who grows a range of olives, turning them into either delicious eating olives, or exceptional olive oil. In summer he grows the best tomatoes around (except for those in your back garden).

These beautiful girls are Jo and Michelle, whose C & C Cupcake Factory produce is unmissable (and well worthy of three photos!)

Drawing on seasonal Tasmanian produce (chocolate and quince cupcakes anyone?), these girls are making an artform out of delicious baked goods - always presented with a sophisticated twist. No artificially coloured butter frosting here, delicately crumbled rose petals, or mandarin dust are more likely.

This is only a tiny selection of the wonderful producers you'll find on any given weekend - the market is on from 9am - 1pm - so head along and discover some new gastronomical delights, and have a good chinwag.

Four citrus marmalade

2010-07-24T00:25:00.001+01:00

Winter is meant to be a time that inspires you to make snuggly warm, comforting dishes, driven inside by the inclement weather threatening in the natural world. Clearly, Hobart did not get the memo this year. Our Winter has looked astonishingly like this every day:

In a city laden with hills, every turn provides a glimpse of the sparkling jewel-like water, and the sun glints off everything - the car, shop windows, my hair! Leaving the house, you bathe daily in the brightness of this Winter, irrespective of the temperature the days feel good.

So instead of turning to mushy, slow cooked warming food, my thoughts move to bright, happy food. The shiny, colourful flesh of aromatic citrus fruits are vibrant and just the ticket. Looking at the array of segments laid out on the board, I am struck by how completely these lemons, oranges, limes and ruby grapefruits are going to be transformed when I'm done with them.

Sticky, sweet, gently bitter marmalade is on the menu for today; I am being wildly superficial - taking on this recipe seeking the pleasure of seeing the wonderfully coloured, rind studded neat jars lined up at the end. Whether it is eaten or not.....well.....

My co-chef is my good friend Alex, who remained undaunted by our task despite the heinous amount of sugar required. That is a three kilogram bag in her hands - and the recipe calls for almost all of it.

Making marmalade is a labour of love, nothing like the quick mix raspberry jam of summertime. It is a two day process, beginning with a laborious juicing of the fruit, then removal (and reserving) of the pith and seeds, before each rind is meticulously sliced thinly. Overnight the rind sits in the juice, with a muslin bundle containing the pith and seeds (providing valuable pectin which makes the marmalade set like a dream) bobbing around in the bowl.

After ignoring it for a day, the whole thing is simmered. And simmered....and simmered.....until you throw out the muslin bundle and finally are rewarded with:

the big M. The smell was immense. The combined efforts of oranges, lemons, a lime making a cameo appearance and a ruby grapefruit ultimately produced a robust slightly pinky deep orange colour.

Which, as hoped, looked truly marvellous lined up in their wonderful little jars. A perfect glistening complement to the sparkling day outside.

Bringing a taste of Greece to Hobart

2010-07-11T02:50:00.000+01:00

What do you reckon? Straight from the pages of delicious magazine?

Last Saturday Mum emerged from her bedroom clutching the Good Weekend magazine from that day's Sydney Morning Herald: "Rans, check this out! Lamb souvlaki! With home made pita bread!" Mum and I were home alone for the week, with little bro away interstate, and the anticipated return of three of the boys coming up that weekend. "Yum! Shall I make it when the boys come home?" (Me imagining the 2kg lamb shoulder feeding five) "Well......we really should give the recipe a test run first don't you think?" (Mum clearly still salivating over the amazing photos)

A ring around the best butchers in Hobart turned up a boned rolled shoulder of lamb at the Wursthaus, who were very kindly willing to cut down the huge piece to 'just' a kilo for me.

24 hours before I planned to cook it, the lamb went into the mouth watering marinade, laced with garlic, lemon juice, fresh thyme and rosemary, oregano and lashings of oil.

The lamb is undoubtedly the easy part of this recipe; once in the marinade (a quick chop and mix marinade at that) you forget about it for a day (unless a little idle stirring from time to time takes your fancy as it did mine), and then in the afternoon of the day you want to eat, tip the meat and all of the marinade into a roasting tin, season well, into a slow oven and Bob's your uncle! Occasional basting...three hours later it was ready to rest, with a melting texture that allowed you to pull the meat apart with forks.

Definitely not as simple (although ultimately wildly satisfying) were the home made pita. I love working with yeast, it amazes me that you can start with the formlessness of a bowl like this:

Active yeast bubbling away

and that combined with some flour, your time and a lot of love, it is transformed into any number of incredible structures; rolls, scrolls, roti, pita - tangible, filling, nourishing, delicious and so diverse - all in essence beginning from the same point.

It would be fair to say that this particular recipe tested my love affair with making bread somewhat. The primary issue is that the dough was ridiculously wet. I mean, beyond the point of any capacity for you to be a forgiving cook and just give it an extra five minutes of kneading to bring it together. This was firmly in "who wrote this moronic recipe" territory, particularly in light of the fact that the recipe says something blithe like "Bring the dough together and knead lightly for a few minutes until the dough is silky and smooth." Ordinarily I would not subject you to a photo that was out of focus but you will have to forgive me because 1) I had dirty hands (for reasons the photo makes clear!) 2) There was no alternative photographer on hand in light of the mother-as-convalescent issue and 3) some things really have to be seen to be understood. So, the dough:

Or should I say the smear on the bench?? Believe it or not, I'd been 'kneading' for some ten minutes already. Ohhh the pain. I think in all (with a ten minute 'i'm just walking away so you can think about your recalcitrance to turn into a manageable dough' break) I kneaded for 25 minutes. Even then, although enormously improved, it was still sticking horrendously and I eventually plonked it back into the bowl to prove in a fit of pique and sat on the couch with a consolation beer and plate of crackers and pate, fuming over the potential disaster that was my pita bread.

Happily a bit of time out appeared to be just what was required, and I found the process of forming, and rolling the dough to be a doddle. That kneading must have paid off because its elasticity was quite something!!

Can you believe it didn't even break after I held it like this? Straight into the (Brand new Scanpan grill pan purchased especially for the occasion!!) pan and cooked like a dream....

Studiously brushing raw side with olive oil

Bubbles = ready for flipping

And the finished product:

I feel like a proud mother looking at that photo. These humble breads have leapfrogged straight into my top ten of brilliant food I've created. Despite the early difficulties, on cooking they obediently cooked in under two minutes, retained the beautiful pliability for snug wrapping souvlaki style, and were gently yeasty, soft with the olive oil, tiny touch of char from the grill. Turns out they freeze perfectly, can be awoken back to life effortlessly with a nudge in a frying pan, or a low oven and reemerge, as delicious as they were when they went into the freezer. Love affair with bread is back on.

After all of those hours of marinating and cooking the lamb alternates between hidden soft inside morsels, and the sumptuous nibblyness of the caramelised outside bits.

The lemon from the marinade makes its presence known, with the garlic and herbs rounding out the complex flavours.

Peppery rocket, crisp cucumber, bright tomatoes and pungent, garlicky homemade tzatzki round out the meal.

And there you have it. One of my proudest culinary achievements!!

All the more tasty for having shared it with my Mum and good friend Nat, who is on the verge of having her second baby!! Only a few days to go... You never know, all that garlic might help bring the little one into the world ; )

Convalescent food

2010-07-10T03:17:00.000+01:00

It has been a long time between posts, ironically the break came just after I sent out an email encouraging people to keep reading the blog while I was on my Australian extended hiatus, so apologies! A sudden family medical crisis saw me switch into being a full time carer for these past few weeks with scant time for anything outside of focusing on the wellbeing of my family. Reinforcements are arriving today in the form of two of my brothers and I find myself at liberty to spend an hour or so tending to my much neglected blog.

My mum has been my convalescent charge these past weeks, and since she came out of hospital I have been cooking endlessly; breakfast on request (porridge, scrambled eggs, mushrooms and bacon), all delivered on this doovy little tray to be enjoyed in bed.

Lunches have spanned from Chinese chicken and sweet corn soup to roast lamb and mushroom toasted sandwiches and dinners....well.....quiche, lasagne, barmi, hainanese chicken rice, roast dinners - we have been striking a balance between food she's craving and cooking that keeps me interested and challenged. The recent progression to having visitors over branched me back out into baking - Anzac biscuits, lemon sponge cake, bran fruit cake....

Sponge waiting to be filled

Lemon Curd Sponge Cake Waterfall - this cake just gets better and better

When she was in hospital, there were days that the food was bad enough that I was bringing in meals and her appetite was non-existent. My faith in the restorative power of good food made with love was validated when, on her second day at home, Mum ate six meals spread across the day!

Temp(t)ing

2010-06-08T03:54:00.007+01:00

In between working at Smolt and the Tas Farm Gate Farmers Market, I have been earning my daily bread these past five months in a variety of random temp admin roles all over Hobart. Temping is a strange way to earn money; it may be just for a morning, or for weeks, and you stroll into a new workplace, have to learn how everything is done and keep things rolling as though the person you are replacing hasn't left. You get insights into the pecadillos of each workplace and experience the perks and disadvantages of each place. Some have daily morning tea and friday afternoon drinks, others barely have instant coffee - as long as you're getting paid you just have to go with it! My temping stint has turned up three permanent job offers (great if I wanted to change careers to become a secretary....but no thanks....), a couple of long boozy lunches, plenty of cups of tea, some memorable co-workers and a fervent appreciation that I am temping at a time when the world has internet/email/facebook to keep me interested.

I have just wrapped up a four week Receptionist stint at an architecture firm. It went well, I livened the place up a bit, the architects were good fun and I stared out at this view next to my desk all day (makes a change from the internal offices in the HDY days).

For my last day they had the gall to demand I brought in a cake - it happened to coincide with a birthday of one of the architects so I offered to make his birthday cake - the pressure was on to come up with something appropriately spectacular that wouldn't kill me to cook after work. I discovered a recipe for this Chocolate, Pistachio and Pear Cake from Tartine, a cafe in Armadale - where the dark choc and nuts are pulsed in a food processor to form rough crumbs and then folded (with the chopped pear) into the cake mixture. It was a snap to whip up the night before and then before work I remembered again why ganache is a cook's best friend; simply melted chocolate and cream, its thick, glossy, rich and magnificient in both texture and taste and takes about five minutes.

Merely gazing upon the bowl of ganache could turn you into a chocaholic

Stunning Hobart autumn morning as I venture outside for the best light for my photos

No finesse required here, the ganache poured over the top oozed gently across the cake, only requiring a nudge here and little redistribution there to cover it perfectly. Dotted with bright green pistachios, well, you can see the result for yourselves:

Sure it looks pretty, but as Elvio (the Director of the firm) kept reminding me, the real test would be whether it tasted good...

Very chuffed birthday boy cuts the cake

I am proud to say it was a raging success. Moist, dotted with enough pear to break through the intensity of the chocolate, textural contribution from the pistachios inside the cake contrasted with the smooth ganache on the outside - my cake lived up to my reputation in the kitchen! Phew!

Patriotic food

2010-06-06T11:40:00.001+01:00

With the FIFA World Cup almost upon us, our boys in green and gold aren't far from the collective Australian mind at the moment. So I was struck with how appropriate my soup of choice was this afternoon - dutch cream potato and leek - the creamy yellow of the potatoes perfectly setting off the vibrant green baby leeks (both of which were purchased at the Farmers' Market). Perfect food for enjoying whilst cheering on our Socceroos - Aussie Aussie Aussie!

La Lingua Rani

2010-05-30T00:10:00.000+01:00

I attracted looks of surprise this morning from my co-workers when I started speaking Italian to a lovely elderly customer called Fabrizio; the girl I was working with had stumbled over the unfamiliar name, whereas for me the whisper of an Italian name had dragged me from my milk frothing state of concentration. "E Italiano?" I asked. "Si, si!" A chat ensued which left me beaming; "Tu parli Italiano molto bene!". Speaking these inconsequential amounts of Italian is such a treat in the context of living in Hobart - and it has happened only twice in five months. Today's experience left me lingering over the thought of how my time in Italy and Ireland affected me linguistically. When I speak Italian, I express myself differently. I am more restricted in what I can say, yet more exuberant in the way that I say it. My intonation has a rise and fall meander which at times creeps into my English speaking. Using Italian words feels like playing a game for me, with an accompanying joy that I don't feel with English. My Mum is convinced that these days I draw my words out in a way that leaves me sounding more American - perhaps in equal parts due to the exposure to so many American fellow UNISG students as the Italian singsong style of speaking.

I would challenge anyone to live in a foreign country and not find themselves to a be a sponge for the local linguistic idiosyncrasies. Within the cultural context it feels to be perfectly natural to incorporate it into your everyday conversation; yet return to your home country and it can start to appear contrived to use 'ciao' or 'bella'. Yet those turns of phrase and foreign words have imprinted themselves on me, they have become an integral part of my vernacular as they have expanded the ways in which I can express myself.

May I offer a little guide to la lingua Rani? A perusal of this dictionary may help stay that eyebrow before you raise it next time an unfamiliar term comes out of my mouth.

Italy/UNISG:

che nice: An Elisa classic that stuck like glue within our class - it is a mishmash of Italian and English, draw it out and say it like you mean it when expressing appreciation for something.

questament: A term to describe a statement of a personal opinion (usually in class) disguised as a question with a "don't you think?" or some such ineffective inquiry at the end of a five minute monologue holding forth on a topic.

aspetta (Italian): wait, hold on

aiuto (Italian): Literally meaning 'help' but used more commonly as a figure of speech as an exclamation - substitute for something like 'far out' or "my god'.

Madonna: Draw out the first syllable "Ma-don-na" - my favourite combination of aiuto and Madonna was in my last days in Parma, middle of summer, a stinking hot 35 degrees and humid - in a little sweets shop and this gorgeous little classic Italian man walked in, pulled his collar up and away from his neck and exclaimed "Aiuto! Ma-donna" with all the wailing intensity of a tragic opera. He was Italy in a moment for me- here he is with his shopping just afterwards:

If I could have taken him in my suitcase to England I would have.

Oh Dio: Classic in every language - Oh God.

Va bene/tutto bene (Italian): Good, fine, that's good/it's all good!

certamente/certo (Italian): certainly, for sure, sure

a presto (Italian): see you soon!

Nena/Nene (Spanish): Term of endearment - think babe, lovely, gorgeous, bella - Nena for girls, Nene for guys....

che chevere (Spanish): that's great, awesome, fantastic...!

Carajo (Spanish): Have to confess I don't know the literal translation but its a swear word I still pull out back home!

Che cazzo (Italian): What the f**k. Swearing in Italian never felt as coarse to me, so I was profligate with my usage - perhaps not extremely sensible when in the country where everyone can understand the filth coming out of your mouth.

Che palle: Literally "what balls". Also try "che doppio palle" (with accompanying hand movement!!) if something is really bad....

Ireland:

Arriving in Ireland I was astounded by my own ignorance; I had no concept of how much the Irish language was a part of modern day Ireland. A number of my Irish girlfriends were fluent in Irish, and there was double signage every where you looked - it was brilliant! Unfortunately my aptitude for languages didn't appear to extend to the complexity of Irish - the extent of my knowledge was the ubiquitous 'happy birthday' and póg mo hón (the very useful phrase "kiss my arse").

Elaine and I with the wonderful gift she gave me for my birthday - furthering my Irish slang education!

Happily, there are as many colourful phrases in English to play with...perhaps its the Murphy in me (I'm sixth generation Tasmanian but we come from Murphy stock, from Cork originally - poor bugger got sent out as a convict) but much to the amusement of my Irish colleagues at Ballymaloe I absorbed many of their common turns of phrase such as....

You fookin' eejit/Feck: No one can make saying 'fuck' sound as good as when its said in an Irish accent.

Jaysus: This word just makes me think of Gail. (Gail I miss you!)

...like: A usage that is so ubiquitous that you can't not include it, yet impossible to describe. Chuck it on the end of everything. Best used as shown in the example below....

Langered: To get/be drunk. So... "She went out and got langered. And her friends said 'what are you like?' : ) " (I would just like to point out that Gail and I constructed this example when we were drunk....)

Not a bother (hear it/say it as 'boder'): Irish version of "no worries" or "no problem".

That's grand: see che chevere.

Thanks a mill(ion): The Irish is "go raibh míle maith agat" which means thanks a lot or literally, a thousand thanks which may be where 'million' evolved from.

Yer man/Yer wan (one): Instead of "that person/guy" and doesn't actually mean that the person you are speaking to has any possessive relationship towards the subject! For example, a person checking you out = "yer wan behind the pillar is making eyes atcha."

Lads : 'Hey Lads....' instead of guys, including groups of women. The Italian version is "ragazzi".

Lashing: I was surprised to discover this had nothing to do with kissing at all...it is used to describe the rain mostly...'It is lashing outside'

**Many thanks to Gail for her Irish wisdom!

Rib sticking soup

2010-05-26T01:31:00.000+01:00

As the weather starts to close in here in Hobart and the morning frost covers the car with regularity, the natural instinct is to hibernate.

Which is clearly why I have started a new job at the Sunday farmers' market - working outside in the early mornings in temperatures hovering around 0 degrees. It would be reasonable to query the sanity of such a choice (particularly considering that it brings my job tally to three) but can you give me a minute to talk you around? Yes the tables freeze over as quickly as I can wipe them down at 8am, but come back in two hours and you'll see the friends, couples and families sitting at them in the glorious sunshine chatting and showing off their purchases over coffees. It may be rough getting up for an 8am start on a Sunday, but my boss Madi who runs the market is up at 3.30am - and she can put us all to shame with her unflagging positive energy throughout the day. Add to that the stallholder camaraderie - including discounts as well as heart warming chit chat - and that my primary role is chatting to people (aka taking orders at the cafe) and I am sold.

I will do a full post about the market later, featuring Nick the Greek, Dennis my favourite potato farmer and more, but for today may I introduce you to the best cured pork I've tasted outside of Ireland? I willingly conceded that for me, Bacon is a food group. And yes, it does deserve capitalisation. A year in Parma, pig capital of Italy (more pigs than people in Emilia Romagna) suffering the cruel deprivation of cured pork in almost every form except Bacon, has only increased my fervour for the stuff. After some ten months back in lands where Bacon is a food stuff, I have relaxed sufficiently (knowing my supply will not again be abruptly terminated) to once again appreciate other forms of the cured pig.

Late in the morning on my first day at the Farmgate Market, the din of customers abated enough for me to pause, look up from my counter, and squint at the stall across the way (can't see that well without my glasses) "Is that Matthew Evans?". If you're wondering who the hell he is, you can look his site to get an idea. For me though, he's the guy whose columns I have been reading in the Good Weekend for over a decade, and who wrote the article that put me on the path to UNISG way back in January 2008. He used to be a restaurant reviewer in Sydney for most of the '90s and a couple of years back chucked it in and moved to Tassie. As you do. And here he is at the stall across from me; for his new business, Rare Foods he raises lovely pigs and creates a variety of artisanal cured meats out of them eliciting flavours rarely discovered in shop bought versions. Sooo.... I went and had a little chat and lo and behold he happened to have left a gorgeous little ham hock, perfect for the pea and ham soup I'd been planning. Oh, and he threw in some bacon skin he had kicking around....I love markets.

Sooo simple - the key ingredients for pea & ham soup

This meat is smoked properly, and traditionally, without any of those nasty chemicals sometimes used to give that 'smoked' flavour.

It was a petite hock - small in size but in not in (flavour) stature - during the cooking process the aroma permeated the house, creating a gentle cosseting vibe.

The bacon skin was a thing of mystery to me; the hide tough and leathery, the fat distractingly soft and waxy to the touch, shreds of prime flesh still attached at the periphery, and the deep scent wafting from it conjuring images of the countryside, home cooked meals, smokey log fires and warm jumpers.

I cut the skin into sections and threw it into the pot along with the diced onion, washed split peas and ham hock. If it had been earlier in the year, two or three generous sprigs of mint would have gladly accompanied my bounty into the pan. Covered with water, brought to the boil and then gently simmered until it undergoes its transformation to look like this:

Mmm it may not look pretty to you yet, but that is because you aren't being distracted by the fabulous smells! Hock and bacon skin removed, meat stripped from the bone and re-added, soup thinned to the desired consistency, tweaked the seasoning and then ladled out for that all important first bowl - garnished with two little mint leaves found lingering on the plant outside the kitchen.

It was without question the best pea and ham soup I have ever made. Wonderfully warming on crisp Tasmanian autumn days.

Feeding a family

2010-05-18T04:59:00.000+01:00

Being one of five siblings, we all learnt to cook for large numbers as our base skill level in the kitchen. Years of living on my own, or with one or two other people have conditioned me to be able to cook for one (with three days worth of leftovers!), or about four people, but my true comfort zone remains catering for about six or seven people (with leftovers). A visit to Hobart by two of my brothers swelled the numbers at home to a majestic five and in honour of the auspicious return of family members, I was charged with doing a Sunday roast.

Who doesn't love a roast? In my opinion, it is a contender for the easiest meal; prepare the meat, bung it in the oven, chop up the veges, lavish a little special attention on some if you choose, chuck them in the oven/steamer/pan as required, have a glass of wine (or two) while they cook, and about an hour and a half later, whip up some gravy e voila! Delicious meal! As I pulled everything out of the fridge to get started, I was inspired by the sight of all my vegetables to take this photo:

With the exception of half of the pumpkin and the cauliflower, I used everything in that photo for my roast - how brilliant is the ratio of vegetables to meat? And count them - eleven vegies! Twelve if we include the garlic! Plus rosemary! And we grew that zucchini ourselves! Such vegetable joy, I love it.

It is no secret that potatoes are my favourite vegetable, in whichever form they are cooked. Parboiled, then roasted with garlic and rosemary is right up there in my top five best ways to cook spuds. Somewhere along the line the mania for perfect roast potatoes spread through our family, with one of my brothers dubbing it "Operation Crunchy Potatoes" (OCP to you).

My OCP contenders ready to go in the oven.

As I pulled the (perfect) chicken out of the oven and left it to rest, I couldn't help but notice this strange protrusion - have you ever seen this happen before? A delicate membrane tremulously holding in a pooling of juices. I took the photo, and then carefully positioned the bird so that I could catch all of that wonderful flavour for my soon to be created gravy.

Whaddya reckon? A prize winning OCP mission?

The judges who had the benefit of being present and taste testing gave them the thumbs up!

The final meal - please excuse the poor lighting - was delicious if I do say so myself....

Mandarin almond cake

2010-05-16T07:53:00.005+01:00

Another week, another birthday (or three!). Vagaries of distance prevented me celebrating in person with one brother this week, but we made up for that by focusing our collective familial love on Mum for her birthday on Friday. I realised that it has been five years since I have been in Tasmania with her for her birthday, so I pulled out all the stops to make it a good one. You would not have known she had only two of her five kids with her in person, she was so lavished with attention and gifts!

The birthday girl, SB - with the swarm of presents in front of her

Naturally I made a birthday cake. The stakes were high because the memory of Nanak's awesome lemon curd sponge birthday cake from last week was fresh in all our minds. Squeezed in between racing home from work (via a last minute present related errand) and being ready to head out to dinner and then to the Uni Revue it miraculously came together. Not only that, it turned out perfectly, looking and tasting much more magnificent than my only previous rendition of this cake, which even in its less adequate state, was a showstopper. So what is this cake I am making a fuss about?

This ladies and gentlemen is the mandarin almond cake. I say 'the' cake, because once you have tasted it, there can be no other. Whole mandarins are simmered until their skins are soft, the pips are removed and they are blitzed to a puree - skins and all. Combined with lashings of almond meal (such a luxury after an almond meal-less year in Italy), some creamy, frothy beaten eggs and a touch of sugar, the resultant raw cake mix promises both light buoyancy and firmness as you gently put it in the oven. An hour later...

It is the inclusion of the skin of the mandarins that often raise eyebrows when I describe this cake, but as I cut a slice out of it today and was invigorated afresh by the wonderful pungency of the mandarin aroma I realised that it is the skins that make this cake. The oils trapped in the peel which reward you with that burst of perfume when your thumb first breaks its exterior to eat the fruit are held captive within my cake, and despite the long simmering, none of the freshness of that wonderful flavour is lost. Texturally moist, in a way usually only achieved by the addition of syrup, eating this is a gastronomic experience that inspires you to sneak back to the fridge for a bit more at all hours of the day. Mission accomplished. Happy birthday Mum!

Birthday season

2010-05-07T00:54:00.002+01:00

Our family has a mad week littered with birthdays in May - and it started today with Nanak's 16th birthday (happy bday!!). Being the crazy over achiever that I am, I decided that not only would I volunteer to make his birthday cake (on a day when I was working all day) but that I would suggest doing the Ballymaloe Lemon Curd Sponge Cake. Not some simple, whip it up, throw it in the pan number, but one with several component parts, including mandatory icing. Oooh so sensible for a school night at the end of a long week.

But what can I say? I pulled it off. With a Rani twist. My cake looked nothing like the Ballymaloe version and as I was making it, I was pondering the interesting reality that nothing we make away from the Bally bubble ever looks the way it did when we made it there, for a plethora of reasons, not least of which is that the cake tin I was using was a totally different size to the ones in Ireland! So here it is (please excuse the lighting. It was clearly dark by the time I finished the damn thing!):

I had recalled the ones at Ballymaloe being enormous and so had halved the recipe. That resulted in one perfect, discus depth cake. *Sigh* So after consultation with the birthday boy (who was anxiously awaiting delivery of the cake to be able to open his presents) I went back to the drawing board and made a second, slightly deeper discus cake. Which worked perfectly, albeit some 40 minutes later than I had originally planned.

Love the ooze factor on the lemon curd

So my two lovely sponge cakes, sandwiched together with home made lemon curd (amazing stuff if I do say so myself), draped with icing...that in the Ballymaloe recipe is meant to decorated with either piped, feathered lemon curd (ahhh I don't think so), or crystallised flowers (ditto). A glance at the lemon curd left in the pot, the memory of my gingerbread cutting still fresh in my mind...grabbed the love heart shape e voila! Lemon curd love heart decoration! Delicious, moreish, light cake, softened with the memorable lemony curd.... successful birthday baking.

Gingerbread

2010-05-05T12:47:00.006+01:00

It is not every Sunday that results in a piece of culinary genius such as that displayed in the photo above - perhaps my favourite picture of gingerbread of all time (a highly contested category that one...). Credit for the artistic placement must go to my brother Nanak, but I am getting ahead of myself here.

I find gingerbread - or ginger flavouring in sweet things - to be something you either passionately enjoy or despise. I fall firmly on the side of passion; as a child I used to seek any chance to make the ginger nut biscuit or gingerbread men recipes and a flick through my current recipe scrap book will reveal that I still have a bower bird tendency to pick up gingery sweet recipes. I am working so much at the moment that when I get the chance to cook I haven't had ideas percolating like I normally do, so I have to stop and ask myself "what do I really want to eat." The answer last weekend was biscuits. Ginger biscuits. I turned to my rediscovered Jill Dupleix cookbook Old Food which had an enormous photo of perfectly round ginger biscuits luring me in, checked our golden syrup levels, and got to work.

For all of those who enjoyed eating the biscuits this week, these are its raw components; thick golden syrup, lashings of cinnamon and ground ginger, a slab of butter and generous dusting of brown sugar over a mound of flour. Unsurprisingly it created a sticky dough I could barely scrape off my hands into the plastic film I was wrapping it in for its journey to the fridge.

One magical hour later, coaxed by a sprinkling of flour, the dough was able to be rolled - again and again - as the purported twenty four biscuits that the recipe made were exceeded over and over.

Butter wouldn't melt....Dex hoping to catch any stray bits of gingerbread being flung around the kitchen.

With the help of Chickenfeed and $2, our collection of one round cookie cutter blew out to include six new shapes, all of which got a good work out as we rolled and cut trays upon trays of biscuits.

The thing I always love about biscuits is that they usually cook in ten minutes! It must be my inner six year old...impatient to eat the final product of my labours...but I love that you barely have to wait to test how your bikkies turned out. The benefit of this fact with the gingerbread was that after trying the first tray (following the rules of the recipe) I tweaked the cooking time - dropped it a couple of minutes - so that the gingerbread came out a fraction less crispy and that little bit closer to perfection.

The heaviness of the golden syrup and the constant rolling and rerolling of the dough started to make getting the gingerbread man shapes off the bench onto the tray increasingly tricky - Nanak decided to embrace that fact and began an installation of damaged gingerbread men - from this little guy above with his stomach wound....

...to our headless friend here.

The afternoon's efforts resulted in some sixty gingerbread biscuits (perhaps Jill Dupleix used huge cookie cutters to make only 24?), I started eating them straight away and am yet to stop, or get sick of them. Bags and bags were taken into work and through the force of their own tastiness became the prized afternoon tea snack for the week. I gave them to friends, they ended up in friends' kids' lunch boxes - the touch of the gingerbread has spread far and wide! Reminding me once again, just how much I love it.

Strawberry rhubarb pie

2010-04-28T05:08:00.007+01:00

Strawberries for me are emblematic of summer time; long, sun drenched days and the treat of that burst of flavour exploding in your mouth when you bite into the tiny compact fruit. So when they made a surprise reemergence in the greengrocer in April I was more than a little surprised. After checking that they were indeed grown in Tasmania (How?! At this time of year? In magical greenhouses is my best guess) they came home, along with a genius companion - that alluring pretty woman of winter, rhubarb. It was my mum's inspired notion (influenced by her swimming friends! Gotta love Hobart) that resulted in these two fruits being brought together within the confines of sweet pastry to make a sumptuous autumn weekend treat.

Worth making for the riotous colour of the fruit alone

Within my family, cooking skill and a passion for food are definitely not mine alone - my mum and all of my brothers are great cooks and although none of them seek to scale the heights of foodie madness as intensely as I do, they certainly get excited about great food and turn out some wonderful masterpieces. This pie was a case in point; the idea came from my mum, the execution of it was placed in the hands of my 15 year old brother who has proven to be a dab hand with pastry. I was on the scene solely in the role of primary cheerleader and enthusiastic consultant ("Is it cooked yet?"). As it was our first foray into using strawberries and rhubarb in a pie filling, we turned to the internet for inspiration and came across what appears to be the most famous rendition of it - Cindy Crawford made just such a pie on Oprah once, based on a recipe from Saveur magazine, which was then picked up by Not Quit Nigella on her blog. Phew. Nanak chose to stick his own, favourite pastry recipe and used the filling as indicated by the original Saveur recipe.

Fruit tossed in sugar, arranged in the blind baked base, dotted with butter...

Perhaps my most constructive suggestion was when, invigorated by how good the pie was looking, I posited the notion that the fruit could be displayed at its best with a lattice top, rather than the conventional pie lid.

Bless him, Nanak took the idea with gusto, going as far as to ensure each piece was painstakingly laced up and over the perpendicular pieces...to great effect I might add!

Nanak's infamous quote as we had this photo taken by Mum "In ten years people will be looking at this photo saying 'What a beautiful pie Rani made'" - clearly still smarting from having experienced Mum give me full credit for the delicious meal of home made pizzas he whipped up when I first got home (Poor Mum, hasn't lived that down yet!).

E voila!! The proud chef and the finished product!! A truly stupendous effort.

Need I add that the combination of strawberries and rhubarb is knee-weakeningly amazing? The balance of the sweet, tart vibrant competition of flavours between autumn and summer under crisp, buttery pastry is completely irresistible.

Harvest

2010-04-18T04:26:00.008+01:00

If you have to be up and at work before 8am, then it may as well be in a location where you get a premium view of the sun glinting off the water as it yawns and stretches, making its ascent into the sky. Bleary eyed, wrapped in layers against the early morning chill I fronted up to the Coal Valley Vineyard for their very first day of harvest for 2010. The brief for the day was Riesling; we were picking all of the fruit on the Riesling vines on the Old Block.

First up: the nets had to come off. What a way to wake up the body, walking through the dew-damp grass, lifting, pulling and cajoling the recalcitrant netting to relinquish its spot draped over the vines. Then, grape harvesting 101. Find the bunches, cut off with secateurs, put into container. This I can do.

Lovely moment seeing the sun shining on the Riesling bunches, nestled amongst the leaves and still glistening with dew

As I started working my way along my first section of the vines, I was overwhelmed at just how productive these vines were! Ten, fifteen bunches of grapes growing on one tiny section were not uncommon, and my mind was furiously trying to recall the details of those talks long ago by the dusty vineyards in France. One thing I had been surprised to learn in the UNISG visit to the Burgundy region was that it was common practice to cull the number of bunches per plant. My lay perception of this was confusion; surely you'd want to get the highest production out of your vines? In fact, the reduction means the remaining fruit receive more nutrients from the plant, increasing the flavour and intensity. And naturally, smaller production means boutique....which can be a positive in itself. Which leads me back to Coal Valley - judging by appearances, the vineyard was seeking to maximise the possible fruit production of its plants. To be fair, the total area of the vineyard is a scant 5 hectares, so their output is pretty tiny anyway!

This bunch got my vote for the most perfect of the day

Grape picking is a sticky, tasty, extremely physical job, bobbing up and down and peering around the vines constantly keeping an eye out for that hidden collection of orbs snuck in behind the leaves. In Tasmania, almost all vineyards pick their grapes by hand which is a remarkable point of differentiation to other states. This point alone speaks volumes about the nature of the slopes on our island, the teeny sizes of the plots, the petite proportions of the businesses - and is often a key reason behind the higher prices of Tassie wines (particularly for temperamental grapes like Pinot Noir). Clambering along the narrow paths betweens the vines, we are a far cry from the enormous, flat plains of the South Australian vineyards, where tractors roll between through the rows harvesting with metal hands.

To give you some notion of scope and my output, I filled around nine or ten of these crates over about four and a half hours.

Having drunk many a pristine, clear bottle of wine, it is hilarious to realise how many spiders, flies, wasps, bugs and general debris all go in with the grapes at the beginning of the process. Even the grapes themselves are mesmerising in their seeming imperfection, and as the picker it was important to be able to triage between the different ailments of the grapes to establish whether they would help or hinder the wine making. The bunch in the photo above have been afflicted by a mould called Botrytis which in the wine world is known as 'noble rot' (so catchy). Interestingly, although they look nasty and the idea of having mouldy grapes is less than endearing to the palate, the effect of this mould is to remove the water from the fruit, thus creaing a must more intensely flavoured grape - well really they taste like super sweet sultanas. In fact, it is botrytis that is an integral part of making some sweet dessert wines, like Sauternes. So botrytis grapes - straight into the tub! Those sucked dry by the wasps - no deal!

All of the harvest was progressively poured into these enormous containers, with the uppermost bunches bouncing around as the vineyard owner Todd drove them down the driveway on the back of the ute, on their way to the winery to be pressed that very day - beginning the long amazing road to turning into a bottle of wine.

Nourishing the soul

2010-04-11T02:16:00.005+01:00

A long week of work, pushing the limits of exhaustion whilst battling a cold - and finally the respite of a morning where sleep can gradually come to an end without the force of an electronic assault from slumber. Still fuzzy with infection and fatigue, I teeter into the lounge room to discover that despite the 'sleep in' I am the first awake. Restorative cup of tea. Gently the thought tinkles into my brain that the manic working has precluded me from cooking for days. So on this morning, a gift to myself; a meal cooked just for me, to nourish myself with love.

Eyeing up the offerings in the fridge, I linger on the bowl of leftover pasta from the night before. The echo of a recipe reverberates around my mind, an Italian omlette/fritatta using pasta...hmm...I choose to jazz it up with some diced bacon sauteed in a dash of olive oil, with a smashed clove of garlic keeping it company.

Novelty factor of tossing the pasta into the bowl with the eggs, and whoops a dollop or two more of cream than I'd originally intended...no matter.

Just tipped into the hot pan, pasta swirling chaotically

Three minutes or so on the heat, nice colour on the base and then straight under a hot grill, it puffed up like a champion - instantly deflated when I took it out, before I could take a photo of course.

Fresh out from under the grill

Breakfast for one. A little gastronomical ode to Italia - missing it a lot today.

It was soft, salty surprises of bacon, comforting hint of cream, and grounding substance of the pasta holding it together. Perfect nourishment for starting to put myself back together for the week ahead.

Preservation panic

2010-03-31T09:58:00.001+01:00

When I first mentioned our vegie garden I omitted discussion of the tomatoes. I may have initially had vague plans of blogging about them later, but here we are, in the thick of mad tomato season and they are only now coming to your attention. Well can I say, Houston we have a problem. Too too many tomatoes. I had foreseen this in February sometime and written to my wonderful UNISG foodie alumni imploring them to share their wisdom of tomato preserving with me in anticipation of a situation where I had impossibly large amounts of tomatoes and enormous guilt at the rate at which they were going rotten on the vines, or in the bowl on the kitchen counter because we couldn't eat them fast enough! Well we're here, its happening, I am guilty. Particularly because I haven't been able to put all of those wonderful recipes into practice because I have been working too much *sigh*.

Well this bowl was particularly tugging at my heart strings:

So I thought, hey I'll try that suggestion of Katie's to preserve them in olive oil with garlic cloves, that sounded yum - and I won't put the pressure on and do them all (the vines are laden) I'll just do this bowl. Genius.

Although perhaps my genius could have extended to checking whether the huge jar I chose could actually fit standing up in any of our pots for the requisite boiling-in-water-to-create-airtight-seal step. I took the unorthodox approach of turning the jar sideways (this was an experimental jar after all) and yes, I lost some oil into the water which got me nervous, but it all looked good when it came out - the tomatoes were still completely covered with olive oil:

and happily the little button on the top of the lid sucked in as the jar cooled, just as it was supposed to.

Mysteriously the olive oil went cloudy on cooling which reminded me of the oil emulsifying when I made my fresh tomato pasta so I am not losing heart just yet. At this stage unsure whether to really test the jar and leave it until September before opening, or if I should have a sneak peak in say, a week or so, to work out if I have effectively mastered this technique to tackle the rest of the endless mounds of tomatoes...

End of Smolt at CVV

2010-03-28T09:45:00.000+01:00

Smolt finished its time running the restaurant at the Coal Valley Vineyard this weekend. I think for those of us who worked there for all or part of the summer it was a bittersweet ending - we've had a great time! But all good things come to end and we have plenty of good (food!) memories to keep us going...

From our last day:

In the middle of the last lunch service - or is that Nick and Jules just having a chat across the pass to someone?

Last days call on that extra glamourous side of hospitality - cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. Juppy showing off his tools of the trade.

Rachel taking the option that doesn't require cleaning fluid or dodging the irate chefs!

I probably wouldn't have been super cheerful if I'd been cleaning grease out of an extractor fan either - Nick and Jules showing how its done.

The might have been cleaning up a storm but our chefs didn't forget one last treat for us - an enormous blueberry, strawberry and cherry clafoutis - the absolute favourite dessert of the summer. Grab a spoon...

Juppy and his 'princesses' (I suggested 'bitches'....)

Inching towards harvest

2010-03-26T00:56:00.001Z

Traipsing through endless wineries and vineyards with Uni last year and hearing the process of wine making being explained over and over did nothing to dispel my continuing complete amazement at the fact that grapes = wine. And not just any old wine, nuanced, flavourful, complex, diverse different wines made through science, tradition, knowledge and a touch of magic.

Working at the Coal Valley Vineyard has been an interesting way of closing the circle of wine knowledge that I felt grew during my Master's - it was always a big disappointment to me that our course finished just as the vineyards were coming up to harvest. Let's face it, the whole year's toil over the vines really comes down to the day that you finally pick the fruit. The very same day you pick, its pressed and voila, in a vat and on its way to becoming vino. The past three months we've watched the vines become more laden, the nets went on about six weeks ago (to protect the fruit from birds) and this week a new step that heralds the proximity of harvest.

Meet Todd. He and his wife Gill are the vineyard owners, and he's proudly displaying a bunch of Chardonnay grapes that he's brought in to test the sugar levels in the fruit. This is one of the sciencey aspects - these days fruit levels are tested minutely using a refractometer, because sugar is important in wine making not just for the final sweetness in the wine, but also because its the sugar which will fuel the yeast (added to the juice after the grapes are pressed), which means the levels of sugar will ultimately be closely linked with how alcoholic your wine is. So sugar (or Brix as the measurement is known!) is important to working out the balance the wine will have one day.

Pinot Noir grapes

Chardonnay grapes

In a totally geeky way, this was exciting for me - I have never seen, touched, tasted or eaten wine grapes before and I have to say they are wildly more flavourful than table grapes! We are missing out people! The only thing tastier than the grapes themselves was the luxury of drinking the freshly pressed grape juice once Todd had done his thing with the refractometer (end result was that the Brix levels were 22, which was a bit low - aiming for 24 - so have to wait a little longer).

Pinot Noir juice and its friend - the refractometer!

The only other time I've been lucky enough to taste fresh grape juice was in 2007 on a day wine tasting in Santa Barbra and the memory is still vivid; the juice evokes sun, the rawness of the grape skins, the balance of sugar and acid in fresh fruit and the joy of a rare pleasure.

Parma delights

2010-03-25T01:51:00.010Z

A year in Parma was easily enough to leave me particularly attuned to any casual mention of it - whether it be passing reference to the delights of Prosciutto di Parma, the mispronounciation of Parmigiano Reggiano or discussion of the place itself, I'm always at attention! So imagine the hilarity yesterday when I was leafing through the local Hobart newspaper, The Mercury (sometimes unkindly called "The Mockery") and having just read a full page article on the use of barriques in the Piemonte region of Italy (including reference to the 2007 Fontanafredda Barolo!! We stayed there!!) my eye spotted the word 'Parma' on the oppostite page and this is what it was.....

(If you click on the image it will make it bigger for you)

Ah yes, the 'Parma Delights' refers to none other than the "delicious Hawaiian Parmagiana" which is apparently a "must-try main at the Loft restaurant" at Wrest Point casino. Aiuto....

Pomodoro, alio, olio e basilico

2010-03-23T04:58:00.001Z

The bounty of our tomato plants has continued to surprise me as we potter into autumn. Perhaps its the unseasonal continuing sunshine we're still enjoying, but the plants show no signs of abating their endless ripening of fruit. Faced with an entire bowl of tomatoes in need of eating and a bundle of fresh pappardelle made by Jules from Smolt the day before, I went back to the tomato recipes I'd sourced from my UNISG classmates in anticipation of this very moment. Inspired by a lovely Italian offering from my friend Kate, I whipped up a pasta sauce using (the olive oil excepted!) only ingredients we'd grown at home - the tomatoes, basil and loads of garlic. It was particularly divine, because you begin with a solid slosh of oil, and then effectively poach the whole cloves in the olio, before adding the whole or halved tomatoes - the juice of which then emulsifies the oil, creating a creamy consistency perfectly suited to fresh, silky, handmade pasta. The extra tomatoes, basil and garlic became crunchy, sweet, tasty bruschetta to nibble on.....voila!

Last Lunch

2010-03-22T10:21:00.000Z

I know I've mentioned before that my favourite moments at the Coal Valley Vineyard are the times when the chefs and front of house are able to sit down to a meal together at the end of Sunday service when everything is packed down. On our penultimate weekend things were a bit slow in the restaurant and my first notion that we might be in for a Sunday afternoon treat came when I spotted this in the kitchen:

an ingeniously propped up stick of sorts, drying some hand made pappardelle that Jules, one of the chefs had turned out. With the benefit of some extra time on their hands, Nick promised lunch for us all at the end of the day - it turned out be around 4.30 by the time we sat down to experience our meal - happily it was definitely worth waiting for!

Home grown red and yellow cherry tomatoes with lashings of anchovies, kalamata olives, garlic and chilli - the pasta sauce in progress

Organic green beans tossed in vinaigrette

Piquillo peppers stuffed with paella served with il mio preferito - the corn humita!

Mussel and squid salad - loads of fresh herbs

Unctuous, drool worthy fresh pasta with the moreish tomato, olive sauce - topped with pangratata

Totally stuffed, we all still found room for the aromatic blueberry clafoutis - topped with cinnamon sugar and almonds. Hands down the sexiest dessert at CVV.

Sydney Eats: the grand finale

2010-03-19T07:15:00.000Z

Almost every friend I saw in Sydney across the ten days made a crack about when I was going to exercise my 'new found' skills from my big overseas adventure and cook for them. Short of setting up a store front for the week, there would have been little hope of cooking for even a handful of those who made the request, but the three people in Sydney I would always gladly feed are the three of my brothers living in the city. And so it came to be that months in advance I booked them all in to have dinner together for my last night in town.

The choice of which meal to cook was made simple by a fortuitous coup some weeks before my arrival. Raj had been past a garage sale and noticed they had some kitchen supplies, which Harjeevan was in need of, having just moved into a new place. When Harjeevan dropped past, he ended up with not only some super retro 1970s cooking pots, but a duo of cookbooks. It was only days later when Harkiran was having a look at the new acquisitions that he realised that one of the cookbooks was none other than family legend cookbook:

Our Mum's copy of this book long ago lost its dust cover, and is in a much loved state of disrepair. Hailing from the late 1970s, many a family fave has been discovered and honed from its pages. The astonishing thing is that the version Harjeevan turned up in the back streets of Randwick is in mint condition - not one splash of turmeric has tainted these pages!

He presented the book to me to enjoy when I visited his new home, and we decided that for our communal meal, it was only fitting that we plumbed the pages of 'the book' and produced a classic. Effortlessly we chose the chicken biryani. On reflection this was perhaps an ambitious choice, since none of us had made it before and the expert (Mum) was in Hobart. Nonetheless, with much gusto the plans were laid.

Still fresh at the beginning of the Biryani cooking odyssey

Our commitment to creating an awesome biryani started mid afternoon - top tip from Mum had been to do it in stages - we both agreed this had been good advice when after an hour of us both working hard we ended up with this:

My contribution: one chicken broken down into bite sized pieces, two onions diced, endless quantities of garlic finely chopped

Harj's fried potatoes, almonds and raisins

One Hour! Yikes. Cue an interlude for other essential 'last day' activities, and I came back again around 7pm to crack on with the 'chicken savoury' which is code for chicken curry that includes a few surprises like fresh mint.

So far so good.... smelt amazing, it cooked obediently. I know how to work out when chicken is cooked, so able to successfully complete this stage of the process. Moving on to the rice...

A little heads up with Indian cookery. I don't know much but one thing I can say for sure, is that when you read a seemingly innocuous line in a recipe like "fry onion in ghee until golden" don't be fooled into thinking it means that all you need to do is soften it and get a hint of colour. When they say golden, they mean golden - just the right side of not being burnt. Its crucial for both the colour and flavour of the final dish. And it takes forever. So this simple 'golden onion', rice and saffron would easily have taken 30 minutes - that does not include prep! By this stage the boys had headed out to get supplies to get us through the remaining cooking time and it was well after 8pm.....

Finally every component of the days work (we started at 1.45pm!) goes back in the pot over the rice - the chicken savoury, all the fried delicacies and the rose water spiked stock.

We all know from having watched Mum doing it that this is the magic "DON'T TAKE THE LID OFF" part of proceedings. It hits me as I put the lid on and sit down with my beer that if I mess this next twenty minutes up then my hours and hours of work may all have been in vain. Overcooked, undercooked, stodgy, sticky - there is a world of potential misery hovering on the horizon there. A big slurp of beer to settle the nerves.

After the allotted time Harj and I nervously remove the lid. *Ahem* The rice is still raw on top. Bad sign. Lid back on. Ten minutes later. Check again. Improvement but... lid back on. And so it continues. At one point we decide its ready (rice cooked on top) and go to serve it, only to discover the rice in the middle is uncooked! At this stage we start deriving reasons why - tall pot, electric stove, guessed the quantity of rice and proportion to stock due to lack of scales - there are a slew of potential fall guys for failure here. The sanity in cooking a complex dish that hinges on correct proportion of stock absorption into rice that none of has made before becomes questionable around beer number 3 when it is 10pm and we're still waiting.

I think this photo above may be from the time we thought it was cooked but it wasn't quite there - it shows you how it looked before we destroyed it by digging a spoon in....

I am glad to say we did eventually decide that it was cooked and - blessed relief - it was actually done all the way through this time!

The late hour, prolonged wait and number of drinks consumed may all be factors in the slightly over enthusiastic smile from me here - proud cooks finally able to serve their meal!!

The verdict? As you may have guessed the texture of the rice wasn't actually perfect - slightly sticky - but I am gratified to report that the flavours were gorgeous. The complexity of the millions of ingredients - everything from saffron, to turmeric, chili ,rose water, fresh mint, cloves, cinnamon, cumin and bursts of sweetness from the raisins - came together to create a nuanced dish. The potatoes (my favourite) were luscious, the chicken cooked but not too dry - all offset by the yoghurt and cucumber we served with it. And a little part of me found it appropriate that the meal was so late - we're not renowned for punctuality my brothers and I, and after all, it left us with more sibling time to chat, drink and laugh - a fitting end to my whirlwind week in Sydney!

Many thanks to everyone who made time to catch up with me while I was in town, I was showered with so much generosity in everything, from lifts, shouted meals and drinks, to time spent chewing over old and new dilemmas. I am truly appreciative to have you all in my life!

Sydney Eats: no food snobs here

2010-03-17T05:55:00.000Z

Yes I may have missed all things Asian when I was overseas, but I also missed the hearty goodness of a steak or chicken schnitty and chips - with mushroom gravy of course! Mandatory to be consumed in a pub, gentle whiff of last night's beer lingering, and echoed in the aroma wafting from the schooner on the table in front of me.

I got my wish when I ventured out for dinner on the North Shore with a friend one night. Steaks under $10 from the Rege are a distant memory when faced with this $24 number - with sexy, yummy salad to boot.

*Sigh* I may as well profess my undying weakness for hot chips right now. Yes I may love organic, healthy produce but put a freshly deep fried, salted, wedge of potato in front of me and I can rarely resist. I know they're bad for me, but consider it balanced by the lack of dairy/sweet things in my diet! When the bowl looks this good, I dare say you'd be tempted too....

Believe me when I say that the chips were not my main meal! This was another evening, my first time at A Fish Called Paddo in the mysterious location that is Five Ways in Paddington. Its a place that I find so elusive every time I stumble across it its like discovering the middle of a secret maze. Even my lovely dinner companion - a local who grew up around the corner - managed to miss finding it on our first pass!

This place is a fresh fish shop, take away fish and chip joint and eat in restaurant, with a selection of marinated and plain fish to choose from - all paid for by weight. I selected the barramundi, marinated in "Moroccan flavours" (that was the explanation from the girl behind the counter when I enquired as to the content of the marinade. hmm) Although quite sparsely plated - naked on a long white plate garnished with a single wedge of lemon - the firm, waxy barra was lovely.

Finished the meal by helping my dining companion with the generous plate of stir fried bok choy, drizzled with oyster sauce - a much needed note of freshness after the heaviness of my beloved chips and sauce!

Sydney Eats: back in the kitchen

2010-03-13T05:37:00.000Z

A gentle Friday afternoon interlude between lunch and dinner catch ups, spent in the kitchen with my brother Harkiran whipping up some muffins. We were divided on exactly what type to make....

....so we made one mixture and then went to town on our own individual interpretations.

My muffins of choice were studded with blueberries, a sprinkling of cinnamon to give them a lift and a random chunk of chocolate or two for a little surprise.

Delish. Other varieties included banana and blueberry and banana, blueberry and chocolate. Dare I say I liked my 'flavour' the best....

Sydney Eats: Thai tastes

2010-03-12T05:35:00.002Z

The Asian food deprivation that I moaned so much about when I was living in Italy (and Ireland...and Bristol for that matter!) has left me with a famine response to the entire continent's worth of cuisine. From the moment I landed in Sydney it was Asian or nothing (if I was the one choosing!) Thai food got its go part way through the week and with much joy I ordered the money bags - normally deep fried parcels of pork, laced with crunchy water chestnuts dipped into a sweet chili sauce.

The plate arrived and so far so good....

...aghast I discovered that appearances could be deceiving. These money bags were stuffed full of corn! Fools gold in this case, as the textural quality of the mouthfuls was totally destroyed by the lack of crunch (serious omission of water chestnuts), the pork was seasoned with little more than too much black pepper and the whole dish appeared to be resting upon the combined flavour power of the deep fried exterior combined with the sweet sauce. I was disappointed to see my favourite Thai starter reduced to a base fat/sugar two-step.

The pad see ew (there are a million different spellings...) clawed the meal back from the brink. Essentially comprising wide, flat rice noodles, stir fried with dark and light soy sauces, garlic, egg, chinese broccoli, thinly sliced chicken and a touch of chilli, I think its the voluptuousness of the noodles that always put this dish at the top of the list for me.

Washed down with a beer across the road at The Clock at 3 in the afternoon! Life on holidays is tough ; )

Sydney Eats: the girls hit town

2010-03-11T04:53:00.001Z

Glistening perfect salmon sashimi at Sushi Suma

Navigating possibly the busiest social week of my life, I was fortunate to be fueled by memorable food at every turn - not to mention enormous quantities of wine, beer and love from my family and friends which got me through the stickier parts of the week. A stand out meal for rocketing off the charts in relation to every criteria (love, alcohol, food, fun...) was a girls dinner at Sushi Suma.

Delirious with chatting, lifted by glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and burbling with excitement with being in one room together (we'd been living in different countries these past couple of years) the meal could have been just the window dressing on a great night, but the quality of the flavours pulled the food front and centre.

Mouthfuls of agedashi tofu, served in its dark moat of soy and spring onions, were savoured and cooed over, its cheeky deep fried exterior hiding the soft mellowness of the curd.

Any qualms about eating deep fried food were well offset by the mountain of Kaiso Salad we demolished. Clearly a well known dish at Sushi Suma, the volcanic plate dotted every second table in the restaurant. It is described as a seaweed salad albeit one with strong cameo appearances from carrots, daikon, cabbage, cucumber, cherry tomatoes and industrial quantities of Japanese mayonnaise, and a sprinkle of sesame seeds over the top.

Generous plates of succulent fresh sashimi (the usual suspects, salmon, tuna, kingfish) and a smattering of sushi moved us through the middle of our meal, enthusiastically washed down by the aforesaid wine....

The lovely Jessie and Jaime

Which may be why we all gorged ourselves, completely forgetting that we'd ordered a mixed tempura plate as well - which turned up with some surprise on our parts, towards the end of the our dinner.

Never fear! We may look delicate, but if there is one thing we girls can do it is eat with gusto! Concealed within the light crispy tempura batter were nuggets of sweet potato, pumpkin, onion and my favourite... the king prawns.

We may look innocent but just before this photo was taken we were drunk dialing our much loved friend Ali in Cambodia on one of the girls' firm-issued Blackberry. There was a lot of "Aliiiiiiiiii, we miss you!! Where are you?!" wailing down the phone, whilst Ali, poor girl, was on the other end of the phone at the end of a work day in Phnom Penh saying "Guys, I'm at the gym..."

The amazing moment came at the end of the night, as we realised we were the last table and got the bill - to discover all up it came to $19 a head. I love Australia.

Sydney Eats: hit the ground running

2010-03-10T00:53:00.006Z

Sydney on a hot summer's day is a seductive beast. You fall in love with her again instantly, all alleigances to any other city recklessly discarded as you indulge again in the pleasures on offer...

Stepping off the plane from rainy Hobart and discovering a clear hot day, I was bursting with excitement by the time I got into town for my lunch date and found myself - after an absence of over a year and a half - standing outside the beloved Hunter St Laksa. Its real name is not that at all, but every devotee seems to return to this moniker, so I'll continue to perpetuate the misnomer. I have longed many a time for the chaotic hubub of this place in those long months in Italy without Asian food. To my mind it is the best laksa in Sydney and the sensorial experience is always heightened by the adrenalin coursing through you by the time you sit down to eat - having battled the lunch crowds, successfully stalked a table (requires years of practice to have a good strike rate), withstood the wait in the long queue without drooling too obviously and then finally the incomprehensible yelling from behind the counter, they beckon to you and place the bowl of steaming, oily, chilli, murky heaven in your hands.

It is true what they say: absence does make the heart grow fonder. It did not disappoint. And I almost finished the whole bowl (a feat that is rarely accomplished - I aspire to it).

For me this was such a Hunter Street moment - I sat down having neatly nabbed a table as it was being vacated (score!) and lined up in front of me were these three businessmen engrossed in their laksa, beautifully juxtaposed in their sharp shirts and trousers with the tat and tiles of the place. Hunter street, the great equaliser! We all come to worship the laksa!

Perhaps the best reason to ever live on the North Shore would be to be able to catch the ferry to work. Sharing the ferry with commuters on their way home on a balmy evening firmly convinced me that ferries deserve to come first on the public transport pecking order (no traffic! what views! photo opportunities!) My jaunt to Hunters Hill was the first time I have been on a boat from the harbour and turned left under the bridge... allowing for plenty of photos and tourist moments on the way to dinner.

Which was a treat in itself. Barbecued marinated lamb, drizzled with gravy and served with crispy, marinated potatoes and a fresh greek salad, studded with yummy Kalamata olives. Washed down with a lot a lot of Australian Shiraz. Cue headache tomorrow morning....

Thankfully nothing that a swim in the crisp waters of Coogee Beach and a little packet of sneaky hot chips (essential but not photo worthy) couldn't fix. Particularly when followed by another old favourite - the wonton noodle soup from Uni, although almost everything about the place and the soup itself has been revamped until it is barely recognisable. The upside being the wontons were included in that program of improvements and were almost as good as mine.

Top this day off with some sibling time on the beach as the sun goes down....

....and a dinner party with friends that included these labours...

in the pursuit of a 'simple' red pepper and almond soup that required straining through muslin or a fine sieve. Hmm. Considerable efforts that produced six portions of this size:

A valiant attempt! And delicious! We turned the rest of the 'soup' into 'dip in a cup' and it performed admirably.

The crowning jewel of the meal, fresh figs, with sweetened labne, topped with poached apricot. Spoilt with great Sydney eating and its only the second day!

Paella Day - take two

2010-03-06T05:58:00.000Z

Perhaps the only thing cooler than an enormous Paella is an enormous Paella finished off with whole, slinky, silvery Garfish.

I love wontons

2010-03-02T09:47:00.003Z

My new love for prawn wontons has appeared on these pages before, but tonight, instead of being the jewels studding the noodle soup, they were the stars of the main event.

All folded and ready to go

Wrappers deliciously sucked in around their prawn parcels post-cooking

Plated up and ready to head into the gullet

Eek! Caught out eating a whole wonton!

Argentine Barbecue

2010-03-01T02:02:00.006Z

Marinated, barbecued chicken thighs. Worth crawling over hot coals for.

You could easily be forgiven for thinking that I am spending half of my life out at the vineyard these days, so littered with its happenings is my blog! It is not far from the truth, as I am spending a substantial chunk of every weekend there, and with life having assumed the gentle rhythm of work/home/work/home it stands to reason that when work includes amazing food, it won't stay off the blog for long.

Last weekend was the Coal River Valley region open weekend, so all the vineyards (including those that do not ordinarily open cellar doors) laid open their wares to the public. In deference to the kind of foot traffic anticipated into the CVV cellar door, the usual shared degustation menu was done away with, and replaced with an Argentine barbecue, complete with tantalising aromas that lured many wine tasters over to our side.

Fresh sardines, awaiting their turn on the grill

The adaptability of the chefs never fails to impress me, the food was conceptualised and then executed to serve a full restaurant within a couple of days, coping with cooking on a domestic barbecue (definitely not suited to feeding 60 hungry people simultaneously) and turning food out of two different locations within the restaurant. This was no sausage sizzle with white bread and tomato sauce... the flavours were knee weakening, and every punter left a trail of resounding praise for the food in their wake.

Ricotta salata, sliced, then grilled and broken up into a salad of fresh tomatoes and olives.

The accompaniments for the grilled meats; lemon, herb vinaigrette, chimichurri, creamy aioli, smoky eggplant puree and my favourite - humita (a corn concoction)

Housemade spiced pork and pear sausage - light years away from sausages from Woollies!

I joked that it was like 'chef's day out' because instead of being closeted in the kitchen, most of them were on the floor, manning the barbecue, plating up food and preparing salads in the midst of everything. We encouraged the diners to go and chat to them about what was being made, to get everyone involved in the process, a la paella day.

Chef Scott at the BBQ juggling grilled Chappa breads, meats and vegies

I am sure that it will come as no surprise that my favourite part of the weekend was when I finally got to sit down and enjoy the food myself.

That enormous pile of the corn humita is because greedy guts here stood next to Nick while he portioned it saying "can't we just have a bit more?" A true high point of the day was when we had an Argentinian couple come in for lunch, and he said that the humita was better than his mother's! That's how good it was peeps.

Grilled red capsicum, zucchini, pumpkin, chicken and pork for the hungry workers

My lunch...mmm....washed down with some CVV Sparkling Chardonnay

On these 'special event' days there is more scope for the team to sit down and eat together. At Smolt, service runs non stop all day so there is never a point at which we're all free to share food and conversation, you're likely to be the only one working a split shift quietly eating your dinner down the back with only the cold comfort of The Mercury to entertain you - a far cry from these CVV days when we get the chance to share some wine and partake in the deliciousness we've been cooking/serving all weekend.

All looking much happier than we had before lunch!

Next weekend is Paella again!!!!!!

Degustation delights

2010-02-24T03:13:00.008Z

For once, I think I will mostly let the pictures do the talking with this post. My friend Alex (she of regular blog commenting fame - thanks Alex!) came to Tasmania for a lightning fast visit this weekend and I took the opportunity to sample the delights of Smolt at the Coal Valley Vineyard with my Mum and Alex. Despite a missed early morning flight, things came together for us to sit down for lunch at around 2.30pm. Tassie put on her best clothes for the occasion, and we were graciously seated at a table outside on the patio that worked for both the sun lovers and fair skinned of our party.

My lunch at Bordeaux Quay back in September had been my first taste of how much more fun it is to dine when you're friends or at the very least, familiar with the staff and chefs, but this meal took it to another level for me, because I feel a sense of belonging to the restaurant at CVV, created mostly because there are only a handful of us who work there, and love it, every weekend. Suffice to say we were well looked after during our meal!!

Do you remember how it works here? $55 for seven dishes over four courses, set menu (that changes every week). Let the meal begin....

Ooh special treat straight up. Nick sent us out an extra course to start - salmon carpaccio with lemon juice, olive oil, radish, capers, orange segments and the touch of perfection - fresh mint. Gorgeous, clean flavours showcasing magnificent Tassie seafood.

For Alex and I - a freshly shucked Pittwater Bay Oyster (from the beds that are visible from the Vineyard) with a Chardonnay and echalot Vinegarette.

Housemade pickles and moreish olives

For Mum (a non-oyster eater) hand carved San Daniele prosciutto with balsamic vinegar and pears

Second course! Yes that's right - this is only number two! A contender for my favourite dish; crisp skin, pan fried fresh sardines with a touch of chilli and salt served on a salad of fennel, orange segments, olives, parsley and fresh mint.

For the cheese eaters, porcini mushroom arancini on aioli

Per moi, a salad of grilled Mediterranean vegetables. Although I must confess I knew how much more food was to come and didn't touch this one...

Main course was two dishes; the spice rubbed pork, served on pearl barley with roasted apple

Hands down my favourite dish. In a rapturous moment following (during?) my first mouthful I declared that I would happily marry this dish. I may have to settle for marrying the chef who made it, since the drawbacks of inter-special marriage were gently pointed out to me by Alex. And the cause for my delight? It was a fillet of salmon, barbecued with a slight sticky caramelisation on the fish that made me go weak at the knees, smothered in salsa verde, served with crispy sweet kipfler potatoes and roasted red capsicum, dotted with parsley. Till death do us part.

Anything was going to be a let down after the high point of the fish, and the wilted kale did not bring a lot to the party to help its case - a bit over salted, too lemony, not quite wilted enough (tough inner stalks) moving on...

When you think you can eat no more...dessert. Saffron poached pears, with zabaglione, topped with a crunchy ginger crumble and fresh mint. Bliss. I love that my glass of the Old Block Pinot Noir (excellent wine) is standing guard over the plate - 'you will eat it!'

The faces of three happy and extremely full diners.

Almond and Banana Bread

2010-02-16T05:44:00.003Z

What a brilliant creation! Another delicious recipe from Joy the Baker's blog that I highly recommend, with a Ballymaloe-inspired almond decoration on top (they ended up tasting roasted...yummm) Was perfect for taking slices of to work to tide you over for that afternoon nibble.

Zucchine

2010-02-15T05:48:00.006Z

When the first little zucchini started opening their flowers I raced into work that night and asked waaay too many questions of the chefs about how to cook them - for when they were ready to be picked. Flash forward four weeks and I still had not managed to do it; kept knocking the flowers off by accident, and we were always trying to get three zucchini plus flowers at the right stage so Mum, Nanak and I could have one each! Finally the day dawned, we scouted out three contenders with this one the clear King pin:

Check out the flower on that thing!

I had been told that you could stuff the flowers with just about anything, which, well did not really help to narrow it down but taking some inspiration from a pumpkin, rosemary and goats curd stuffed flower I'd tasted at work I settled on roasted pumpkin and red onion with a touch of cheese for Mum and Nanak.

Flowers stuffed with filling

After having inadvertently decapitated so many while they were growing I was nervous about pulling the flowers off as I stuffed them, but I needn't have worried - they were hardier than I'd thought and the whole process was actually a piece of cake. I gently wrapped the petals of the flowers together around the filling, flour, egg and breadcrumb, into the hot sunflower oil and....

Voila! Not as pretty as the ones at work, but they look more or less as they are supposed to. The most important question was really, how do they taste?

The pumpkin and red onion were a great combo, both offering a sweet softness to contrast with the crunch of the crumb, and our home grown mini zucchini were juicy with a tiny bite. Absolutely sold on this dish - and really sooo easy. We're again stalking the plants in the garden and brainstorming for the next filling!

Introducing the Vegie Garden

2010-02-11T04:35:00.012Z

Dexter the garden mascot (or scourge as the case may be)

Before my time overseas if you had suggested spending time gardening to me, I would have run for the hills. Somewhere along the line, exposure to farms, organic gardens and my own taste of gardening at Ballymaloe I found myself motivated to get stuck into growing my own food. With a return to high density living on the horizon, I wanted to make the most of the privilege of being back at home in Tasmania and having my mum's garden to play in. So you can imagine my joy when I discovered that Mum and Nanak were already one step ahead of me, having planted tomatoes, lettuce, garlic, basil, parsley, mint and carrots before I got home - and then my brother Harjeevan gave mum a collection of zucchini, cucumber, beetroot and bean plants for Christmas.

Perfect! Nanak and I adopted them all and two days after Christmas they went into the soil in every nook and cranny we could find, which included zucchini plants squeezed between rose bushes and two even planted in a bare dirt square in the middle of paving!

Zucchini plants five weeks after planting - doing well despite the location

After a few anxious days where we were convinced they were all going to die (post transplant anxiety), the little plants suddenly took and even some of the beetroot managed to survive the natural disaster threat of Dexter trying to bury a bone underneath them! Morning and night we tag teamed to keep them watered and nurtured. It took weeks until it occurred to me to start taking photos of the plants (fool!) but the camera started to come out regularly once we got our first zucchini flowers!

They were beautiful! And had baby zucchini on the end of them! Which were rapidly growing... suddenly the idea of actually being able to eat our own produce and cook from the garden became tantalisingly real.

When we got to this stage I could not avoid noticing that our little zucchinis with their noble flowers were the same size as those being served up as specials at Smolt every week. In a flurry of anticipation I picked the brains of our chefs at work for their best suggestions of what to stuff the flowers with... and the very next day accidentally knocked the flowers off the top of the zucchini when I was watering. At which point I learnt a good lesson - if you want to stuff the flowers don't go anywhere near them! They are barely attached!

Which is how, three weeks after the first zucchini reached eating size, we are still yet to stuff one with flower attached. There are three on the plant outside the kitchen at the moment and I have high hopes for them this weekend.

First picked - one month and two days after planting - delicious!

In the meantime, with much joy we picked our first (flowerless) organic produce from the garden. Gently steamed whole, the skin was shiny with no bitterness, the inside was taut and sweet. We started eyeing off the plants again sizing up how big the budding fruit were in anticipation.

The zucchini might have been the most precocious plants but the slow starters have just about caught up. The beetroot have gone from this after three weeks:

to this at five weeks

Every time I look at the beetroot plants I hear Darina's voice in my head explaining that beetroot is actually "three vegetables in one" because you can use the leaves when they are small in salads, the larger leaves and stalks sauteed gently (in butter, natch) as a vegetable and then of course the main bulb as we know 'beetroot'. I am assailed with guilt every time as we have not used the leaves once yet *gulp* terrible wasteful growers we are.

Elsewhere in the garden we have the dignified looking bean plants which have tripled in height and leaf production since being planted. Two didn't survive the transplanting but the remainder are flourishing.

Nanak's keen eyes spotted the baby bean flowers after three weeks

Two short weeks later I remembered Emily Allen telling me (as we picked the end of the bean crop at Ballymaloe) that in the height of the season they had been picking the beans once every two days - that is how quickly they were growing!

Our tiny plants were suddenly laden, and virtually overnight. Random thoughts of possibilities of preserving beans started to dash through my head as I crawled around on my knees from plant to plant relieving them of their bounty.

First picking of the green beans