June 1, 2015 § 2 Comments
The sun was shining with so much intensity when I left Toulouse. I am not sure if I was imaging it or not, but the tomatoes growing on our balcony seemed to be gaining an inch a day. Everything, including me was pushing up and reaching for the summer. On my last night, we sat there together, my feet in his lap, eating asparagus with French cheese and wine, looked out over the balcony to the canal. Nostalgia deep in my heart. I missed him before I even left.
Take a bunch of fresh asparagus and cut off the woody ends. Place 1 teaspoon of butter and 1 1/2 teaspoons oil in a large saucepan set on medium high heat. Once the oil is hot, add just enough asparagus to comfortably cover the bottom of the pan and gently sauté tossing every now and again so that all the sides become lightly browned. If you want you can place a lid on top of the pan to steam them a little as well. After 2 – 3 minutes add 2 cloves freshly crushed garlic and salt and pepper to taste. Continue cooking until the asparagus are just beginning to soften but still are bright green with a light crunch. Transfer to a plate and drizzle with a touch of balsamic vinegar. Repeat the process until all your asparagus are gone. Serve with some crusty bread and enjoy.
May 6, 2015 § 10 Comments
I have found myself wanting to apologise for my scarcity here this last year and a half. I don’t want to say it too early for fear any new feeling will just as suddenly disappear, but finally there seems to be a tentative impression that I am coming back – into the kitchen that is. I guess it says something about the type of year it has been. Before leaving Darwin, I was tired, stressed and overworked with new jobs, break ups, house moving, and of course that very solid North Australian heat. All in all it left me largely uninspired to do much in the kitchen. This surprised and saddened me, and I questioned the things that made me happy and how I identified myself with them. With some deep nostalgia, I began to miss what I felt was an essential part of the person I was. The person who took joy in the stained colour of a knife left after chopping vegetables, the smell of lemon and spice hitting a fry pan, the feeling of dough sticky and stuck on my fingers, or the scent of sourdough every time I opened the fridge. I missed time to be still, to gather thoughts, to listen and watch more closely, and to pull it all into something creative. There was however, somewhere in amongst it all, some small confidence that it was just a phase and when more time permitted, that willingness to potter with taste and smell, colour and texture would one day creep back.
So I quit my job and most of my life in Darwin, on a quest to slow down, come to Europe and learn French. I went from Darwin, to Paris and then to a small surfing village near Bordeaux where I taught yoga in a women’s surf school. After going briefly to the States for a friends wedding I came back to Europe to spend three weeks with my uncle on his little piece of land just on the outskirts of Brussels. Here I picked vegetables from his garden on the same land my great great grandfather farmed and I cooked them in the same kitchen my mother, my grandmother, my great grandmother and my great great grandmother all cooked in before me. And perhaps with the memory of all my ancestors behind me, I began to feel that old love creep back in. That old joy of rinsing the thick soil off carrots and beats, of breaking the florets off a broccoli. That old delight in allowing the ingredients to tell me what to do with them. And that old pleasure in plating it all up and sitting around the table in the autumn evening light. The joy in someone else enjoying what you cook. And finally some quietness and stillness started to sink below the surface. I never really thought it would take more than a year.
My next move was to Toulouse. A pink city in the south of France. And I have been here for roughly the last five months. For the first time since leaving Australia I have a little space to curl up in at the end of the day and call my own, an oven to cook in, a bath to sink in, and a lovely little french man to get to know. At the end of May, I move to Maine for the summer where I have some work managing a cafe for some friends at 44 north. Its a little late to pledge something for the new year, but I am hoping this one will hold more pens with words and more wooden spoons.
Bisous a tout le monde!
November 24, 2013 § 3 Comments
Three years ago to this day I started a blog, inspired by living and working as a cook at Friendly Beaches Lodge and, of all things, an article in a Jetstar inflight magazine about blogging. Before I read the article, I didn’t even know what a blog was (yes, mainly becuase I had been living under a rock in Tasmania). Whilst I don’t remember exactly what the article was about, I do remember that something in me stirred and at 25 000 feet above the Bass Strait en route to Melbourne I decided to start a blog. It would be a food blog, with stories and recipes and a focus on sustainable, local, seasonal, unplugged cooking. But, most importantly it would be a place to keep me creative, to force me into the kitchen and taking photos, a place to try to pull words from my thoughts and scrawl them on a blank screen. And so I wrote, “What better thing to do on a hot spring day than start a food blog…” 3 days later I was unexpectedly on a plane to Sierra Leone and my “food blog” was momentarily hijacked by travel stories.
Since then I have often enjoyed, occasionally hated, been frustrated, exhilarated, both ashamed and very proud of this place. I have tried very hard to be honest with myself and have had to learn to be brave, to throw words out to the world and that strangely intimidating public realm. But here I am with 3 years of stories from my wooden spoon and my favourite blue ceramic pot. I am so grateful to each of you who have read this blog. You who have put up with my terrible spelling and my often flippant nature in the kitchen, thank you so much. It humbles me no end to think that I may sometimes write something that someone wants to read and cook something that someone wants to cook.
A small cause for celebration, here are some of the recipes from the last three years that I love the most.
November 8, 2013 § 2 Comments
A few weeks back I went to Melbourne for a friend’s wedding in East Gippsland. There on a small property amongst the green and rolling hills we walked up to the top of a ridge, the sun golden and almost setting, to share with them their love and vows of togetherness and foreverness. I was so moved by the graciousness of love on that day, not just in the space between them, but also amongst us, all their friends, who each shared in that love for them. What a thing to celebrate! I danced until 4am in the morning and could barely move the next day, but my sore calves were a welcome reminder of the joy we can find between each other.
As you can probably guess there was cake involved… 15 different kinds to be precise. Each guest was asked to bring a plate for dinner, and most of us being most of us, naturally wanted to bring cake.
The cake I have for you today is a Persian Love Cake. With a name like that, could you really resist? In Persia, this cake is cooked by a mother in law for her daughters husband to be. The story goes, that once he eats the cake he will fall madly in love and they will have a happy marriage.
Thanks to Gourmet traveller and a dear friend for introducing me to this cake. I haven’t looked back!
Recipe for Persian Love Cake
360 gm (3 cups) almond meal
220 gm (1 cup) raw sugar (I used a bit less)
220 gm (1 cup) brown sugar (I used a bit less)
120 gm unsalted butter, softened
2 eggs, lightly beaten
250 gm Greek-style yoghurt, plus extra to serve
1 tbsp freshly grated nutmeg
45 gm (¼ cup) pistachios, coarsely chopped (optional)
Preheat your oven to 180C. Combine almond meal, sugars, butter and 1 tsp salt in a bowl, then rub with fingertips until coarse crumbs form. Spoon half the mixture into a lightly buttered and lined 26cm-diameter springform pan, gently pressing to evenly cover base.
Add egg, yoghurt and nutmeg to remaining crumble mixture and beat with a wooden spoon until smooth and creamy. Pour over prepared base, smooth top and scatter pistachios around the edge. The recipe says to bake for 30 -35 minutes. I baked mine for about 45 minutes. And its good to keep in mind that the cake can still be a bit soft in the middle. It will keep in an airtight container for up to a week.
September 28, 2013 § 3 Comments
I had a dismal attempt at trying to grow watermelons this year. The process started with me very excited. I made a little round bed full of compost and manure and planted two little seeds inside. They sprouted and grew… A little… I watered them and they grew some more. They bloomed tiny little flowers and even grew one tiny little watermelon. Then I went away and the little watermelon shrivelled up. Then the rest of the vine shrivelled. And one day they were dead. And that was that.
The sun is relentless here. Unforgiving. I realise my mistake, I shouldn’t have put them in a place that gets all day sun, and I should definitely have mulched them more.
But still, I have been managing to eat some of the very best watermellons I ever had. The local ones are cheep and abundant at this time of year. They are a deep bright pink and so so sweet.
So I have a recipe for you today, a drink, and a very refreshing one at that. It comes out of the beautiful cookbook The New Persian Kitchen. Its a watermelon, mint, and cider vinegar tonic!
Author Notes: “Even if drinking vinegar sounds like a dare — and maybe that’s why you ordered it — it’s anything but. It’s sweet and sour and icy-cold. It vibrates and clangs with fruit and vinegar, and soothes with sweetness and mint. It is the most refreshing drink you will have this summer”. From The New Persian Kitchen
Recipe for Watermelon Mint and Cider Vinegar Tonic
Makes about 5 cups concentrate
3 cups water, plus more to serve
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
1 cup honey
6 cups coarsely chopped watermelon
1 cup tightly packed fresh mint, plus more to serve
1 cup apple cider vinegar (preferably with the mother because that is the best kind for you)
Ice cubes, cucumber, and lime to serve.
- Boil the water and salt in a medium saucepan. Add the honey and allow to dissolve before removing from the heat.
- Combine the watermelon and mint in a large bowl and stir in the hot honey water. Leave to cool to room temperature.
- Once cool, add the vinegar and allow the mixture to steep in the refrigerator for several hours or up to overnight.
- Strain the mixture and eat the watermelon chunks, if desired.
- Store the concentrate in a clean glass jar in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.
- To serve, pour 1/4 cup of the concentrate into a glass over ice and dilute with 3/4 cup water. Garnish with the watermelon, cucumber, and mint.
July 15, 2013 § 2 Comments
The Tropical Garden Spectacular was on a few weeks ago. At the botanical gardens under trees with impossibly huge canopies I watched some local food cooking demonstrations. Lined up on straw bales with the green grass at our feet, some glimpse of paradise on the warm breeze, the chef Selvam Kandasamy from Saffrron, taught a small group of us how to make snake beans, sautéed in spices with coconut and curry leaves. And this my dear friends is a dish to be celebrated.
Snake beans are the lanky tropical equivalent of the green bean and you would be forgiven for thinking them somewhat tough and woody with little flavour. This recipe however does them justice. It is full of flavour, crunchy, slightly sweet, bright green and turmeric yellow. The coconut and chili melts on your tongue. The intermittent curry leaves are bright in your mouth. The beans are cooked hot in a wok for just the very right amount of time making them softly crunchy and fluorescent.
I have made this recipe many times since then and each time I have continued to love it. It is similar to the original made by Selvam Kandsamy except I have used coconut oil instead of peanut oil.
Spicy Snake Beans with Coconut and Curry Leaves
Serves: 4 – 5 as a main or 6 – 8 as a side dish.
Note: If you are in distant and cooler parts wanting to use something more locally appropriate I am sure green beans would also make a good substitute.
3 Tbsp pure coconut oil
2 flat tsp brown mustard seeds
2 flat tsp turmeric
1/2 tsp salt
1 red onion finely diced
1 whole fresh red chillis (you can also use 1 tsp dried chilli flakes instead)
1 Tbsp Split yellow lentils (optional)
4 cups chopped snake beans
1/2 cup shredded coconut
A good handful fresh curry leaves
Extra salt to taste
Prepare all your ingredients before hand. Once you start cooking it all happens fast.
In a wok heat the oil on a medium to high flame until hot. Add the mustard seeds, turmeric, onion, and salt. Stir until the onions turn just translucent, then add the chilli and lentils. Continue stirring and add the beans and coconut stirring until the beans are just cooked through but still have a crunch and are bright green. Add the curry leaves and remove from heat.
It is lovely served as a side to fish or on its own with brown rice.
I hope you like it as much as I do.
June 23, 2013 § Leave a comment
Without meaning to belabour the point, winter is an exciting time in the top end. Really it is like summer down south and the vegies that grow this time of year are proof of that. We have four cucumber plants in pots under the verandah in anticipation that they will provide some edible shade in the coming months. But in the meantime, I have been getting them from the markets, small and sweet, straight from the local growers at Humpty Doo.
And I know I have mentioned this to you before, but I do love pickles. Crunchy, tart, sour, salty. In true wholesome, traditional and healthy fashion, I have provided you with an old recipe for making pickles, one that uses ancient methods of fermentation and preservation. This way you get all those wonderful lactobacillus which I have been told, on countless occasions by my mother, – are very very good for you. And mothers are always right.
If you want a recipe for pickles that tastes like those you buy in the shops you will need to look elsewhere. Inspired by Jenny at Nourished Kitchen, this recipe uses salt rather than vinegar and as a result, the lacto fermentation process. But still, below I have given you two options for making brine. The first is exclusively with salt and the second is with less salt and a small amount of apple cider vinegar. You can decide which version you like the best.
Lacto fermented pickled cucumbers
For pickling, try to use freshly picked cucumbers if possible, but if not, get ones that are organic and as fresh and small as you can find. Say no more than 2 inches long.
Enough pickling cucumbers to fill your jar(s).
4 cloves of fresh organic garlic – per 500ml jar
1 tsp spices (for example, allspice, mustard seeds, bay leaf, black pepper, dried chilli flakes etc) – per 500ml jar
Optional – Use 1 fresh grape-vine leaf with the stem removed or a horseradish leaf per 500ml jar. This will help your pickles to stay crisp when the lactic acid fermentation is complete.
Option 1: 2 ½ – 3 tablespoons of salt per 4 cups of chlorine free filtered water
Option 2: 1 tablespoon of salt and 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar for every 3 cups of chlorine free filtered water.
(1 cup of brine usually fills a 500ml jar)
If you were unable to pick your cucumbers fresh, the first thing you will need to do is soak them in very cold icy water to perk them up before they ferment. Next, you’ll want to make sure all stems and flowery ends have been removed as they may give an off-flavor to the pickles. I generally cut a tiny scrape off the ends of each cucumber with a knife to be certain. It is also important that each cucumber is cleaned carefully. These steps will help ensure your pickles remain crunchy.
Place the pickling cucumbers, garlic and spices in sterilised jars in layers and ensure that they are a snug fit but without damaging the cucumbers. Add the horseradish or grape-vine leaf if you have it.
Prepare your brine. Shake or stir to help the salt fully dissolve. Pour the brine over the pickling cucumbers, until all of the ingredients are submerged. It is important that all of the ingredients are covered with the brine, and if necessary add a clean weight into the jar to help push them under the liquid, for example, a small plastic lid. Secure the lid and allow to ferment at room temperature for between 5 and 10 days, depending on your climate. The cooler it is the longer it will take. Once they are ready, store in the fridge to be eaten as you please.
As a side, I know it can be a fear with people, as it was with me, to be uncertain about whether your ferments are off. All I can say is, trust me, you will know. The smell is bad enough that you won’t want to touch them.