Nourish Me

On the first day of an Australian heatwave, you shut and darken all the doors and windows of your home. Underneath the corrugated iron roof lies a layer of insulating seaweed. The hours pass in a dim and listless obscurity, until eight o'clock - or perhaps nine - when it has become cool enough outside to open up the windows. After dark, all the houses are empty, and from every garden comes the sound of quiet voices, relaxing into sociabilty.       

Perhaps at midnight you carry your mattress on to the lawn, where a mass of pinky-white oleander flowers, sweeping to the ground beside you, reflect such brilliance from the moon that you must needs turn the other way...Sand and grit are everywhere, and flies of course, and no water for the garden. And all the talk is of the bushfires to the north.

When the change comes, which may be in five days, or in fifteen, the wind swings around quite suddenly, and a great freshness blows up from the sea. Doors bang and the trees bend the other way and the temperature may drop 20 ° in half an hour. Everyone collapses.

Stella Bowen, in the opening chapter of Drawn from Life.

Today's heatwave, with its bushfire-scented winds swooping through doors and windows flung open when they should have been closed early on, brought to mind this (edited) passage from Bowen's carefully crafted autobiography, read during another heatwave at the end of last year. As we sat on the verandah, worried by a severe lack of rain, drained by days of incessant heat, these words soothed, for, though written as remembrance for her 1890's Adelaide childhood, there is an odd sort of comfort in knowing they too had searing, drying summers way back then. Drought is no new condition in this country. All managed without airconditioning (as, very un-21st century, do we) and dressed in corsets and neck-high layers of fabric, no doubt. Thankfully, 110 years later, women can dress in diaphanous, loose linen. 

Heat, and particularly bushfire season heat, can make for stunning sunsets. Incredible sunrises. Still, Autumn, you cannot arrive fast enough for this little black duck. We've not yet resorted to carting water in, though our neighbours have.

 

an instinctive, insistent pull

For some time now I’ve wanted to veer away from writing, in this space, always about food. In part it's because I now make a small, happy living from cooking, something that when the blog began 7 years ago seemed impossible, but I'm also beginning to feel an instinctive and yes, insistent pull to shift this creative focus a little, to lose some weight both physically and mentally, to calm the parts of my mind that automatically, creatively, think Food.  

Before I allowed the internet to seep in and destroy my attention span, two distinct and delicious plans were top of mind: a small print run of a book (lots of photos, luscious paper, some quiet, poetic thoughts on food) and a photographic show. And yet, each year I've let other needs wriggle their way in, pushing those good, good plans back another week, another month, another year. 

On Monday, during meditation, Eileen asked us to think about what we want - really, really want - way down inside. She has asked us to ask this of ourselves before in the quietness, and I often find a muddied sort of answer comes to the surface, but this week? Ka-pow. There it was in bright, glittering colours before my closed eyelids, the two things I've been actively avoiding. A wee bit spooky - although in an exceedingly good way. It was always there, that Knowing, but I'd accidentally knocked the volume button. Sheesh.   

Volume back up now, thank goodness. If it doesn't work out, does it matter? Surely not, for the pleasure and learning are in the doing, not the dreaming. 

We're off on a holiday to far off places over the next few weeks, and it's my sincere intention to make all of this make sense while away. Thanks, guys, for reading. Seven years next month! Thanks a bunch. What a gift you've all turned out to be. x

 

 

 

chocolate cake for a glass of milk

Maybe it was seeing the richly-iced cake at the top of my last post each time I logged on to the 'puter, or perhaps it was the huge bag of couverture chocolate staring out wantonly each time the pantry door is opened. Maybe, even, it was the typically sage advice a friend of Kathryn's shared with her, then subsequently with me, from Michael Pollan's Food Rules - that you may eat any kind of junk food you like, so long as you make it yourself.     

 

Maybe. But over the weekend an odd, serendipitous, and most exciting thing happened. On Friday morning I opened an old, old Donna Hay book, one I've not so much as glanced at in years, and cooked her "chocolate cake for a glass of milk" - an iced, layered, and dairy-heavy affair - simply because Quentin Bacon's polaroid transfers are so damned dreamy. It's a work of Art, that book, and I'm rather glad - given it's current (ouch) price point - that I kept my copy. A few hours later, cake cooling on the sink, awaiting its ganache topping, Peter walked in the door and handed me a paper bag with a POLAROID CAMERA and two packs of Impossible film inside.

Forget the cake - it was nice, yes, of course it was - it's the camera that really made my weekend shine. 

 

 

divine vegan desserts

Divine Vegan Desserts
Lisa Fabry
Wakefield Press

“How can you make a cake without eggs and butter?” I can’t remember how many times I’ve been asked this question. The answer, of course, is “Easy!” – Lisa Fabry 

Not a question I ask often, but from time to time, one does wonder. As you do. I have eaten amazing vegan cakes when out and about, just not ever had the need to make one myself. Cake without butter is easy - Claudia Roden’s Sephardic Orange cake is a no-brainer – but a cake without eggs has me stumped. The thing is this: baking with eggs and butter is a bit of a faff, truth be told, and baking a vegan cake should, in theory, be a far simpler task. What Lisa Fabry’s new book pleasantly surprised me with was that vegan baking also just happens to require much less equipment - a lot can be done with little more than a whisk and a roomy bowl or two. And that is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Where to begin? I chose the Chocolate Torte because chocolate anything is pretty much guaranteed to win the blokes over around here, and from the photograph it looked suitably rich. Simple to make, made simpler still by using a whisk and bowl to make the topping instead of the recommended food processor, resulting in very little washing up. Their verdict? Great soon after icing, quite nice that night, but “dry and a bit tasteless” the following, though they loved the mousse-like topping. Serve it up and demolish as soon as possible would be my suggestion. We made the Cashew Cream over the holidays and it was gorgeous with a non-vegan cake, yet I can't say we've made it since, mostly because we're not cake-and-cream people. Cake and tea, yes, but not cake and cream.    

All of which does beg the question I've been um-ing and ah-ing over typing for a good 15 minutes now: if one has chosen to eschew all animal products, why try to replicate things so obviously associated with them? (I do know the answer – comfort , familiarity - so it’s rhetorical...please, no hate mail) Some of the naturally vegan desserts in here – summer pudding, vanilla poached-pears, jellies made with agar, sorbet –are beautiful desserts, divine creations, just as they are. One of those things that nags at my thoughts occasionally...

Chapters cover any- and every- thing you can imagine from cakes to cheesecakes, “Proper Puddings”, brownies (cleverly made squidgy with sweet potato puree) and soy-based custards and ice creams. Fabry’s case for an ethical, vegan diet at the beginning is convincing but it’s the detailed information on substituting ingredients that hooked me. Those with dietary intolerances are well-covered and there’s even a range of Raw recipes including a pretty damned amazing looking Black Forest Gateaux that is complicated but no doubt worth every second of its making.   

I find myself a bit, well, torn. If you are a vegan this book will have you in raptures and if not - and for the foreseeable future, that’s me – the book gives excellent, truly inventive options for our friends and families who are. Fabry - a local - has a blog, by the way, so look her up and say hi: www.divinevegan.com 

Available in your local bookshop, or you can head over to Wakefield Press and buy direct.

A word of caution, one I hope won’t distract, but a few recipes marked as gluten-free are, potentially, not. There is a small note made in the introduction about cornflour (cornstarch) being sometimes milled from wheat but the advice is not, I’m sorry to say, repeated. In my experience almost all cornflour is the wheaten kind and I think a note to the un-affected baker cooking for friends at the beginning of each recipe would help enormously.

 

 

green eggs and bouillabaisse

These basil-wrapped hardboiled Green Eggs are perfect hot-weather picnic food, a simple little recipe inspired by Viana La Place in her latest book My Italian Garden. The recipe was bookmarked at the same time as the order for Lettuce Leaf Basil went in, and though historically a hopeless grower of basil, I live as ever in hope that, come autumn, I can try the recipe out with the correct, large-leafed variety. Know, though, that ordinary basil behaves just fine. La Place genuinely champions basic but beautiful food, and the spine of this illustrated little book sits proudly next to that of her earlier Kitchen Unplugged on the Good Shelf, the one reserved for the books a bored hand like mine reaches for almost automatically when inspiration evaporates. No matter how I try of late, bold but simple flavours are what ends up on the table in a heat-hazed summer. Fun to make, these are, I think, best made in the cool of the early morning summer kitchen. 

basil-wrapped green eggs

You'll need: good quality eggs, as many as you like; salt; pepper; a nice, rich olive oil; and 5-6 big basil leaves per egg

Hard-boil eggs. (Slip eggs into a saucepan of cold water, slowly bring up to a boil. Squash a lid on tight, turn the heat off and walk away for 10 minutes.) Cool, then peel - Jules has some excellent thoughts on this process, so I'll send you over to her. Dry peeled eggs on a clean tea towel.

Slice eggs in half, top to bottom. Season each half generously with salt and pepper, then dribble over a little olive oil. Press the halves back together as best you can.

Bring a little pan of salted water to the boil and blanch the basil leaves for 1-2 seconds only. Fish out and carefully arrange them on another clean tea towel. The should be slightly - only slightly - moist. 

Tear off a piece of plastic wrap. Gently wrap each egg in enough basil leaves to completely (as possible) cover. Bring the sides of the plastic up and twist at the top, an action that presses the leaves into place as you go. Repeat until done. Refrigerate for at least a few hours before serving with black olives.       

Simple.

This morning on 3RRR Bhakthi and I talked about Ian McEwan's Saturday, a book to read for the economy and grace of his language as much as anything else (and yes, there is much else). The promise of a recipe is guaranteed to keep me going in any novel; McEwan's Henry Perowne describes the process of making a bouillabaisse across 4-pages really, really sexy from a cook's point of view. I love it when a fiction writer approaches a recipe, find the freedom of not being tied to conventional home economics can be hugely enjoyable as both a reader and unconventional cook, and McEwan's own - thankfully for cooking purposes - shortened recipe you'll find right here. To make it vegetarian dump the fish and simply quarter waxy potatoes (leave that skin on) and par-boil for 5 minutes. (Oh, and use a good quality veg stock cube or powder in place of all that bone-wrangling). I would, if I had some, add in a couple of trimmed, cored and thickly sliced bulbs of fennel which I'd add just after the onions and garlic have melted. Add the potatoes as you add the wine and simmer until done.    

PLUS, a bowl of every good Provencal stew needs a spoonful of rouille stirred into it  - a garlicky, cayenne-peppery mayonnaise. 2 cloves-worth crushed to a paste and a teaspoon of the firey stuff should see you right if stirred into 3/4 cup of good quality bought mayo, but go on. Make it yourself from scratch.    

 

 

 

sardine gratin

Elizabeth David's anchovy gratin from Summer Cooking - a book I carry in my handbag all summer long - made with fresh butterflied sardine fillets in their (elusive) place is what I would eat for the rest of this summer if I could get my hands on them more easily. A simple, impressive dish to swoon over with its heatwave-friendly preparation time. It's fishy, but not over-poweringly so, coaxing out the best in an oily, tricky little fish that divides like few others. As with all Elizabeth David recipes attention to detail matters: the recipes are, generally, brief, but every word - every single comma - is chosen for its impact. The key is to prep the breadcrumbs early. The recipe below is hers, word for word, with my additions and thoughts added where appropriate. A stunner of a dish. 

Elizabeth David's sardine gratin

"Several hours before they are to be cooked prepare a cupful of [fresh] breadcrumbs mixed with a cupful of chopped parsley, 2 or 3 cloves of garlic, salt, pepper and enough olive oil to moisten."

(With a garage full of garlic I upped it considerably and I'd recommend this heavy-handed approach. I also added a teaspoon of fennel seeds, some pine nuts, currants, and sliced green olives then doused the crumbs with white wine and lemon juice as well as oil, just to lighten the whole. The fennel seeds are, I think, essential but all else can be left by the wayside.)

"Arrange the boned [and butterflied] anchovies [sardines] in a shallow oiled fireproof dish. Put the breadcrumb mixture on the top, add more oil, and then cook them [for 30 mins] in a fairly hot oven."

(We criss-crossed anchovies over the sardines before scattering the crumbs and, served with freshly dug then boiled teeny tiny potatoes on the side, it was superb. Superb.)

 

 

green eggs...(but no ham)

This morning Bhakthi and I talked food and children's literature on 3RRR FM, and it was, I have to say, a lot of fun. Roald Dahl (he is ALL about food, Dahl, with a bit of class-busting thrown in for good measure), Kenneth Grahame and Dr Seuss. I want - very much - to share the recipe I gave for the simple, basil-wrapped Seuss-ian Green Eggs (minus, of course, the ham) but there are no photos to share today...not yet. Such is the way things work when one remains devoted to film, so, I promise to share the recipe in the coming days...or week...

(update: Cindy and Michael (guys, thank YOU!) from Where's the Beef have found the broadcast online which you can listen to here.)   

Instead, here's what I've been eating (on our own bread, most days) for breakfast over summer: tahini, barley miso and cucumber. WHAT a combo. 

I'll be back with Bhakthi on the 21st when we'll be talking about more adult things, so stay tuned.  

Happy 2013 peoples! Hope it's working out for you thus far.

 

 

of course

You know those people you sometimes meet at parties - confidence exuding through seemingly every pore, inner glow glowing outwardly, shoulders held back with poise and grace? Well, I am not one of those people. At said party, you'll find me in the kitchen, head down, engaged in the mechanics of something that keeps me busily avoiding those people because they scare me witless. Innate confidence is a quality I would wish for any child, but not one I seem to have been born with. Tapping away quietly on the web - building something creative in my own time, under my own steam - is so much better-suited to my personality. Yes, I'm a Leo, but the Taurus Rising and Moon in Scorpio I was born under mean I'm better equipped to deal with things in a detached and observational way. Blog As Confessional isn't my style, but maintaining a blog with a food focus has allowed me to bloom.

Of course, the thing that I've wanted to tackle for, like, ever is that confidence. Over the past few weeks, I've been behaving in an uncharacteristically brave fashion and, of course, the pay-off has been worth every butterfly-induced second. Meditation has played a role in this undoubtedly, banishing negativity, accepting opportunity, but having a print edition of An Honest Kitchen to show people - a tangible, beautiful object - has made me prouder than ever of what Kathryn and Luisa and I do. Yesterday, I took a copy along to show Cath and Chris at Books In Print (best bookshop the country, and my old workplace) and was greeted with delight, coffee, and an order. I very nearly cried.

So, the lesson I've learnt this year is this; trust in yourself, in what you do as much as who you are, and in what you offer. If you don't, who on earth will? A friend told me that 40 was a fascinating year, and it was, but 41? Even better.

All of this is my rambling way of offering gratitude to those of you who read, and, armed with a new-found bravery, to remind you that An Honest Kitchen Seasonal Desserts makes a gorgeous holiday gift, especially the print version. If you'd rather see and touch before you buy, you'll find it here:

Books In Print & Organically Grown (Melbourne)

Food Connect & Coffee1st (Sydney)

and you can, of course, order it from our website, too:

http://anhonestkitchen.com.au/current-issue/ 

Tell me, how are your holiday plans shaping up? This is my Christmas Day thus far. Sitting on our verandah, just the two of us, dressed in something diaphanous and cool, eating a tonne of smoked salmon, potato pancakes and pickled cucumber. Bliss.

 

 

eastern brown

Had a run in with a big snake (as you do) last Thursday, not long after we'd arrived while making our way to the greenhouse, intent on opening it up to let some air flow through. It was hot. 38 degrees celsius hot. A slithering sound, low down on my right, made me stop and turn. Disappearing into the broad bean bed was a thick, brown tail, no more than a couple of metres from my open-toed shoes. An Eastern Brown Sssssnake.

Calmly, I closed gates off in that part of the garden and rang the council. In turn, they gave me Tracy The Snake Handler's phone number. Tracy is a cool chick, people; she told me they were all out on that day, having a lovely time in the searing sun. Her advice? To keep doors closed and, when outside, stamp around (in boots) 'cause snakes respond to vibration. Reminded me of Barry White  - "I lurve the sexy slither of a lady snake" - crooning in those deep, base notes in the brilliant Whacking Day episode of The Simpsons. Snakes, even deadly ones, have a part to play in the eco system. Respect them, and in all likelihood they will return the favour.

Took me a few days to face picking broad beans again, though...

 

 

a simple pot of beans

Jamie Oliver, guys, he is stressing me out. Watching him work himself into a lather over how easy and no-excuses-quick his latest 15 Minute Meals are is becoming somewhat akin, for me, to watching a train crash. I love the man, can hardly bear to tear my eyes from the series (he has SO many good ideas), but I had to email a friend who's catching up on his previously achievable 30 Minute Meals with a capital letter-ed warning: DO NOT SUBJECT SELF TO 15 MIN MEALS. I feel strung out by everything: the clothes and squiffy new do he sports, the manic graphics, the music (which is frantic, bordering on the manical), the amount of kit required (the washing up!) and the mess - this week he trailed the juices of drained, tinned beans from sink to work bench all over the floor.

Health and Safety issue, much?  

All of which made me draw a deep breath, sit down, switch off the telly and get thinking about how I would approach a 15 minute kitchen task. In fact, I'd probably put on some soothing music, spin it out to 30 and do so carefully or, as I often do, just doctor a tin of beans. Like this, which I did one night a few weeks ago. Over and out in 20 minutes. Phew.  

a simple pot of beans

feeds 1-2

Gently, very gently, fry a head of just-pulled garlic, chopped carefully, attentively, in 4 tablespoons of olive oil with quite a lot of whole fresh sage leaves until it smells irresistible. Crush whole black peppercorns and add to the pan with, if you have it, a little of Gerwurtzhaus' Winter Soup Mix (I bought it and am hooked, no under-handed promo stuff going on here) and some salt, though not too much. Tip in a tin of borlotti beans, broth and all, with either some halved cherry tomatoes or a tin of tomatoes, drained so you are just using the fruit itself. Simmer over a low heat for 10 minutes, or until you can no longer wait. A pile of tender greens - rocket for preference - fills things out, and a slice of toast on delicate days is helpful, but a poached egg sitting on top is best, I think, of all.