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2009-07-12T00:01:00.000+10:00

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Love!

a bit of change...

2009-07-01T22:03:00.003+10:00

...is a good thing when you're running for the bus and rummaging through your pockets.

...is good for you when it means new opportunities and more exposure.

...is wonderfully character building in retrospect.

...can get you a fairly decent meal when the other kind of change is looming.

There is change in the air. It's at work and at home and it creeps into the little nooks and crannies of my life, altering the seemingly permanent and shaking up the settled. So, to adjust, I went to lunch with the boys.

The wagyu beef burger from Plan B by Becasse was deemed "not quite enough by M, so eight fish cocktails and a bag of chips were picked up to keep it company. Between three? Thirteen dollars each and just enough change for a can of coke...

cream cheese & morello cherry teacakes

2009-06-25T09:00:00.000+10:00

I remember my final year of high school. It is blurry, but it is there. It was flurry of study, assessment and exams broken only by the occasional minor meltdown. An absolute horror of a year for all involved, but, like stomach, one that came with a tasty lining. No-one really noticed it at first, the odd tray of muffins, the cookies in the jar. But then the family started noticing coffee cake, and banana cake and apple cake. And scones and tarts and crumbles and, yes, more muffins. "Hmmm..." thought the family "I wonder if there's a correlation between..." (the family includes 2x engineers so correlation is truly a word they would use).

And the week after my second-to-last batch of exams, it all became stunningly clear. "Where" said my father, looking around after dinner "is dessert?" My sister looked at him. He looked at mum. She looked at me. I blinked. "I... I... I didn't make any this week." said I. "Ah-hah." said the father. "Ah-hah!" said the mother. "Ah-HAH!" said the sister before whispering "what are we ah-hah-ing about?" "We are ah-hah-ing" explained the father "because she... is a stress-baker".

And to this day, when work has been a little tough and the future is cloudy, when I have little control, when I miss someone, when I have been rained on and stepped on and have the Monday-blues, I come home and bake. I pull out a little book of penciled scratchings and try to decipher them as I beat and mix and fold. I make a small mess, or a big one. I guess quantities where my scratchings are blurred and oven temperatures where I haven't jotted them down. And then I am done.

Scraps are washed out of pots and pans, and with them go my worries... which is how I ended up with these cream cheese and morello cherry teacakes-of-a-sort. They're light and fluffy with a slight tang from the cream cheese. The original recipe calls them "buns" but after messing with it (as I do) I found them to be halfway in between breakfast & dessert. Feel free to use whatever jam you like as well - I had half a jar of morello cherry left over from Aldi and a bread & butter pudding, and supplemented with raspberry. The chunky bits were nicer though.

cream cheese & morello cherry teacakes

ingredients:

230g cream cheese
125g butter
1C sugar
2 eggs
1¾C plain flour
1tsp baking powder
½tsp baking soda
¼ milk
½tsp vanilla
½C jam of your choosing

method:

1. It's time to clear the cobwebs. Yank the fridge door open and do a jam assessment. We're looking for something chunky preferably, and not too sweet either. Raspberry worked okay, but tended to leave a glaze rather than a swirl. Cherry is perfect, ditto chunky apricotty numbers. Don't have quite enough of one flavour? That's ok. Use a combination & see which you end up liking best.

beat the cheese, butter & sugar

2. Get your stand or hand mixer out (this is not something you want to do with a whisk / wooden spoon) and toss the cream cheese in. (There will, conveniently, be 20g missing from the 250g tub from that time you made cream cheese & smoked trout sandwiches. If not, go make some for dinner.) Then toss in the cubed butter and sugar beat, beat, beat until it becomes smooth and light and creamy.

vanilla specks in a creamy mix

3. Toss an egg in and mix thoroughly. Repeat with the other egg, and then the vanilla. I'm using a pure vanilla extract, though essence will work too.

sift the dry ingredients

4. Time to get your dry ingredients sorted. Sift them all together. If you can't be bothered, use an equivalent amount of self-raising flour. This night, I was bothered. Next time? Probably not so much.

5. Mix about half of your dry ingredients into the cream cheese mix. When it has a cosntant texture, tip your milk in and repeat. Then repeat again with the rest of the flour.

dollop it into a well oiled tray

6. Oil up a couple of cupcake trays with vege oil, and put dollops of the mix in. You'll end up with enough for about 30 cupcake-shaped numbers or, you can do as I did and do one cupcake tray and then dump the rest of the mixture into a silicon tart form. Then you will have 12 cupcake-shaped numbers and one tart-shaped number. Don't ever tell me that maths isn't a strong point of mine...

add the jam

7. Now for the fun part. Dollop half spoonfuls of jam on the top of each bit of mix and then use a knife (or the back of said spoon) to swirl and poke it into the batter. When you get to the larger cake, dollop it all around and go swirl crazy.

out of the oven

8. Crank the oven up to 180C and toss the cakes in. The cupcakes take about 15 minutes and the flan form will take 20 minutes. Check they're cooked by inserting a wooden skewer into the cake. If it comes out clean it's good to go.

9. It's a teacake, so serve it up with some cream and tea. Or just cream. Or you could just pop it into your mouth hot out of the oven and go "Ahhhh..."

merivale winter feasts: launchparty

2009-06-22T18:00:00.001+10:00

There is a queue when we arrive. A line of people that snakes past the red-ribbon barriers and spills down George Street. We hustle past them and up to the door of the Establishment. "We're here to take photos" we say. And like that, we're in. Just past the heavy doors and the bescarfed pig that guards them lies a calm flurry of people. Plating, moving, doing last minute arrangements. "Have fun!" comes a call after us. Oh yes, thought I, we will!

A feast of tiny morsels awaits us. There are, in truth, too many to taste, much less photograph. And as I wander through the Establishment, do a quick circle round the Gin Garden, and then double back to the front of the room, I hear the call "Seven minutes to opening!" and then later "Five minutes!" And I am still hastily photographing the Ocean Trout Sashimi from Sushi E when the first of the crowd come through.

Nothing screams launch party more than a small dose of celebrity, and I'm getting my taste of it in two forms. The first being a VIP pass for me + one to sample the food and wine from the comfort of a cordoned off section with many thanks to Melissa from Merivale. It is a far cry from the elbows and sleeping bags of the March into Merivale launch party and is much appreciated.

clockwise from top left: akira urata, michelle from masterchef, massimo bianchi & dan hong

The clever bunnies at Merivale staggered entry this time around, instead of ushering all and sunder in off the street. And the result? A much calmer atmosphere, a little less harried, and far fewer elbows in faces than the last time around. Still nicely cosy, but only so much as was fitting for the wintery theme. It also made for far cheerier chefs (being the other dose of "celebrity", for those of you who didn't quite pick it). And, despite being urged to "go forth and get friendly" I could only muster up the courage to take a couple of quick snaps before grinning a little stupidly and saying how much I loved the food. Note to self: next time, say hi.

Bistro CBD
head chef: simun dragicevich

duck rilette with beetroot, cornishons en croute

But enough about me and my sometimes-shy ways. You want to know about the food. What it was, where we got it, and who we loved the most. Right? Well here we go then! These little croutons topped with duck rilette, beetroot and cornishons hit the tongue with a savory / sour / sweet combination that was oh-so-comforting with cornishons and beetroot cutting through the fat of the rilette nicely.

gougeres - cheesy choux puffs

Cheesy choux puffs were a rich, mouth sticking favourite amongst some of our party. The choux was lovely and crisp without being dry, and the creamy cheese mix that was piped in the bottom added a punchy hit of flavour.

white chocolate tartlets

My firm favourite out of the Bistro CBD offerings (and indeed, one of my favourites of the evening) was the white chocolate tartlet with a bitter orange gel. Buttery dark chocolate pastry, smooth white chocolate filling and oh! the bitter orange gel with a slight acidity and a lovely pithy bitterness that muted the white chocolate's sometimes-overwhelming sweetness. It was both a boon and a curse that a platter of these was placed jsut next to where we were standing. A boon because it allowed me to eat five or six of them... and a curse because it left me with less room in my stomach for the rest of the tastes on offer.

Ash Street Cellar
head chef: lauren murdoch

duck liver paté on a brioche bun with currant relish

Like at the Merivale Gala Dinner, the dishes offered up by Lauren Murdoch at Ash St Cellar were eye-openers. The duck liver pate with currant relish on brioche garnered mixed reactions - more because of the polarising nature of pate, and less because of the pairing itself.

But, and here I start to gush, her standout offering (and indeed, the standout offering of the night for me) was the creamed snapper and fennel soup with gremolata. Served in a chinese tea cup, this piping hot, sweetly fishy, slightly aniseedy, wonderfully fragrant soup was an absolute hit. So much so that there were giggles of delight when the lovely Michael from Hemmesphere popped by to ask what our favourite dish was thus far, and sourced a whole 'nuther tray of the teacups for us. And apologies to those around who didn't manage to score a cup, for I think I may have consumed your share. And yours. Oh, and yours too.

filo tartlet with mascarpone realle,
honey quince puree and roasted hazelnuts

Also popular were these shatteringly crisp filo tartlets. They were just the right size for popping into your mouth (and oh-so-pretty with their scalloped edges). Upon popping, there was the quickly dissolving filo, and then the sour, cheesiness of mascarpone and then, suddenly, a sweetness that was all but gone by the time it registered on your tastebuds. Beautiful.

lotus
head chef: dan hong

tuna tartare, sweet wasabi

The ever-ingenious Dan Hong carted out three offerings for the hungry crowd, all of which went down an absolute treat. Tuna tartare was served on crisp bread with a sweet and creamy wasabi dressing - the creaminess mellowing out the sinus-clearing wasabi hit and providing a complementary mouth feel to the slippery but firm tuna.

venison tartare on crispbread & vietnamese style chicken croutons

I admit, I tried the venison tartare with slight trepidation. Venison, for me, is one of those meats that I sometimes love and sometimes absolutely detest - and it all comes down to the way in which it is cooked. I needn't have worried. The venison was sliced, not minced, and slid into the mouth and down the throat in a slippery, slightly slimy, but oh-so-satisfying way. Possibly not a canape for the queasy, but I was enamoured. It was, to be honest, very rich, as venison tends to be, but not overpoweringly gamey. And with that, I was thrilled.

The not-quite-as-adventurous Miss Shiny (who attended as my ever-lovely +1) far preferred the vietnamese style chicken croutons, going so far as to dub it her favourite dish of the evening. An unexpectedly spicy kick was noted in the chicken's dressing, which lifted this fragrant, herbalicious morsel from pretty good to (in Miss Shiny's words) "whoah... hey... I like!"

mad cow
head chef: christopher whitehead

"our signature beef tartare"

I missed out on the goat’s curd, pear and rocket mini tart from Mad Cow, but the beef tartare more than made up for it. Unlike the venison from lotus, the beef here was minced finely and hit the tongue with lovely pickled flavours before melting into a clean, slightly-eggy finish.

chocolate brownie

But (and can you tell I love dessert?) it was the chocolate brownie that really had me raving. I heard a call of "This is the last plate we've got!" and hustled. It was only just cooked, so had that beautifully fudgy bottom and a top that was almost like eating chocolate ganache from a bowl. So rich. So gooey. So simply good.

est.
head chef: peter doyle

avocado, king crab and mint on lavosh

There were no surprises at est., where meticulously crafted flavours are to be expected. The king crab came in plump and juicy slivers of sweetness, the lavosh was crisp and the avocado creamy. A hint of mint jolted the tastebuds just enough left a fresh, crisp balance of flavours lingering on my tongue.

tartare of ocean trout, cucumber, ponzu and coriander

The tartare of ocean trout was fresh, and sour and fragrant and highlighted by the briney pop of little balls of roe. Cucumber added another layer of textural difference and added a hint of freshness that set off the rich oiliness of the beautiful trout. It was lovely to see trout used here, as well, instead of the normal salmon. The fish is just a little bit less oily and heavy and its use hinted at that little bit of genius that lifts Peter Doyle's dishes from the crowd.

tuscan bean stew and braised beef cheek tarts

A final offering of tuscan bean stew and braised beef cheek tart was gladly recieved by my not-so-fish-friendly-friend. It was heavier and more wintery, though the beef appeared to be cooked right down and almost unapparent in amongst the robust beans and tomatoey sauce. Either that, or I simply missed it in amongst the beans.

uccello
head chef: massimo bianchi

prosciutto san daniele and grissini (uccello)

Massimo Bianchi sated the hungry hordes with prosciutto on grissini, and try as we may, we were unable to sample the pork goodness on its own. Not that I had any complaints about the grissini - lovely and dry and shattering between the teeth, it provided a subtle foil to the rich, fatty meat.

I am horrified to admit that I missed out on the lasagne. Not for want of trying, mind you. I did try, dear friends, to score a box for myself, but by this stage, I ws filing up, and the distance between myself and the boxes was too great (also the number of people who were hovering with hopes of getting their hands on a box). I could smell it though... *sigh*.

tiramisu (uccello)

I did not, however, miss out on the tiramisu. And to make up for lasagne disappointment, I did not miss out on the tiramisu twice. (Both times courtesy the ever-lovely Anthony who battled crowds and shoo-ed away over eager hands in order to bring us a tray for photography and consumption. Twice.) Ensconsed in a chocolate cup, it was everything a tiramisu ought to be. Boozy, moist cake. Light-as-anything marscapone. Lovely rich, dark chocolate powder. Bliss!

teppanyaki
head chef: akira urata

akira urata plating king fish skewers with asian salsa

You are tiring of reading, I know. But there are four more chefs from three more establishments and a call for dining companions at the end. One of my favourite nibbles from the March into Merivale launch was the kingfish with jalapeno, and I was ever-so-glad to see Akira plating up this variation. Thick slabs of kingfish were topped with a salsa of tomato and coriander (amongst other unidentifiables) and were simply lovely. Not the mouth kick of the jalapeno, but lovely nonetheless.

Wagyu penny burgers were also offered up, and whilst I didn't manage to snap a pic, I did manage to get my teeth into one. Well, half of one. And only because Miss Shiny was gracious enough to let me take a chunk out of the otherwise-fiercely guarded morsel.

beijing duck ‘ivy style’

Beijing Duck 'ivy style' was a little like Peking duck pancakes gone classy. Gone were the wheaten pancakes and crisp duck skin (which I actually quite like) and, in their place, rice paper and duck meat. A tasty treat in itself, more so if you aren't hoping for Peking Duck pancakes.

sushi e
head chef: nobuyuki ura

ocean trout sashimi

And finally, and only finally because they are not participating in the $35 winter feasts offer, is Sushi E. They are, however, participating in a $20 all you can eat sushi deal, so get your bodies in there while you still can.

On offer, ocean trout sashimi with a segment of ruby grapefruit hidden under the folds (a top five of the evening canape for me - the sweet-and-bitter flavours of the grapefruit doing lovely things for the trout), lotus root and king prawn sandwich (which was crisp and containing whole prawns and hiding the unmistakeable density of lotus root - bliss!) and salmon and avocado inside out rolls, which were gone before I could say boo.

merivale functions & events
head chefs: carlos justo & richard johnson

And, in amongst all of that, were floating platters from Carlos & Richard of merivale functions and events. And while the others produced beautiful, eye opening creations, these were the canapes that kept us going, and going strong. The pecorino and porcini mushroom arancini were crisp on the outside and pillowy on the inner, and the goan spiced chicken skewer with preserved lime was chicken breast done to perfection - tender and succulent.

Also on offer were caramelised onion and gorgonzola tarts; smoked salmon, pesto roulade with lemon fraiche; salt cod croquettes with chilli, lime aioli and game rillettes with fresh fig and currant relish - but alas! I either found them not, or had not the stomach to try them by the time they coursed my way.

the deal: $35 winterfeasts

"But oh! Dear girl!" you are exclaiming "It's a recession! And I can't afford to eat at all of these spots, much as I want to." And "Oh, darling!" I am exclaiming, right back at you "Just wait til you hear!"

For merivale is offering up a winter feasts menu right through winter. For the grand price of $35, you can land yourself with either one, two or three courses (depending on the restaurant) along with a glass of wine or a James Squire beer.

Most places are offering up the additional course(s) for a small extra, so it's very worthwhile. As for me? I'm booked into lotus for dinner already, and am searching for fellow friends to hit up uccello with (if not some other joints) before the winter is up. Join me?

(And as a sidenote, book now. And I mean now. Because on calling to make my reservation at lotus a whole 2 weeks in advance, I was told that there were only two tables left - one at 7pm and one at 9pm. So c'mon. Hustle.)

shanghai noodles with pork mince

2009-06-18T09:00:00.000+10:00

Winter is well and truly upon us, and oh! how the days grow short and the nights cold. And on such days (which are destined to continue for at least the next couple of months) the thought of trudging home to cook up a meal after a long day and a stinkin' bus trip does not hold quite the same appeal as it did back in Summer. The upside? Winter comfort food, and quick qinter comfort food at that. Don't reach for the phone and call for take out noodles, because in 25 or so minutes (15 if you have an assistant handy), you can be plated and ready for a quick, tasty and nutritionally balanced(ish) dinner in front of whatever you deem worthy of watching.

Enter Shanghai Noodles with a beany minced pork topping and lashings of crunchy cucumber. More texturally interesting than your average microwave meal and twice as good for you. Also tasty. Did I mention how tasty these were? The family went fairly nuts for it (and, I'm proud to say, ate the lot - which is not bad at all).

noodles & spring onion

Note: Shanghai noodles are long, thin eggless noodles with a flour base. You should be able to find a packet in most asian grocery stores. If not, you can substitute with udon noodles (which will be thicker, but equally tasty).

shanghai noodles with pork mince

ingredients:

for the sauce:

2 tbsp brown bean sauce
1 tbsp hoisin sauce
1 tbsp Shaoxing wine
375 ml (1½ cups)chicken stock

for the rest of it:

80 ml (1/3 cup) vegetable oil
5 green onions, finely chopped, white and green parts separated
2 large cloves of garlic, finely chopped
300g minced pork
1 tsp white sugar, or to taste
1 tsp tapioca starch
500gm fresh Shanghai noodles
1 Lebanese cucumber

method:

1. First things first. Take off your coat, shake your umbrella out and get into a pair of slippers. Turn the heating on and rouse the family. "We're having noodles for dinner!" you will say. "Oh, ok." they will reply. Don't worry about the lack of reaction. They'll come around once they start to smell it.

mix the sauce up

2. Now get to sauce making. Dump it all in whatever is deemed worthy and stir around. It can be tricky measuring out some of the ingredients, mainly because the lid of your jar will be this big and your tablespoon measure will be just that little bit wider. No matter. Guess-timate. Use your sense of smell to see what you think it should be like.

chop the spring onion & cucumber

3. Hopefully by now you will have found a hungry hovering hippo to give you a hand. If not, you can do it yourself. It's not so bad, truly. Chop up the spring onion and cucumber. Three bowls please. One for the white part of the spring onion, one for the green, and another for the cucumber. I've done my spring onion in rounds (straight across it) and my cucumber in little matchsticky pieces.

4. While they're at it, get them to chop the garlic. That way their fingers will smell of garlic all night, and not yours.

cooking it all up

5. We're almost there! Truly! Tip the oil in a wok and wait til it gets hot. Toss the white part of the spring onion and the garlic in and fry until fragrant (but not brown). About half a minute will do nicely.

6. Toss the mince in and stir fry it until it becomes opaque and each bit of meat separates from the others.

7. Now toss your sauce mix in and simmer. After about five minutes, mix your starch with about 3 tablespoons of water and toss that in too. Bring it to the boil, then back to a simmer for another five minutes. Toss the green part of the spring onion in and stir just before serving.

8. In the meantime, cook your noodles in a separate pot of boiling water for about 3 minutes.

9. All done? Ladle a serve of noodles into a bowl, top with your nicely thickened meaty sauce, a good handful of cucumber and you're good to go. Now, where was that remote...

good to go

maitre karl

2009-06-15T08:30:00.004+10:00

If you pass by Maitre Karl pre-sunset, you will most likely see an assorted gaggle of young and old, hip and not-so, human and canine. If you are lucky, the canine will be tethered to the coat hooks that are firmly lodged in the wall, just outside the door, and under the blackboard. "Garage á chiens" the sign reads. "Parking for dogs". And if the canines are lucky, they will be snacking on a canine-friendly treat, served up in a round metal bowl. I have been and seen on previous occasions, supped on the kitchen speciality of flammenkuche (complete with sharp knife and the heavy wooden board of a plate it comes on), and flashed a toothy grin at Chef Lex who works in the kitchen.

Yes, that Chef Lex. He of the how-to-do-your-steak. He who is quitting his long-held post at Maitre Karl to wander around America. He who has invited me to Maitre Karl for a final Lex-like meal, along with the two Bs.

For clarity's sake, the deal. "Order and pay for your mains & drinks - I'll take care of the rest. Shez, bring your camera along. You're in for a treat!" And with that, I was booked in for dinner with the Bs on a windy, rainy Wednesday night.

table water, salt & pepper

I arrive early with intentions of taking a couple of exterior shots, but as I cross the road the cars fly by, splashing water here, there and everywhere. And as I set up for a shot, I am blocked by a bus and then a truck. And oh! How warm and cosy the inside of the restaurant looks. And oh! How I wish I was in there and not out here and so in I go to see B1 nestled contentedly on a mahogany leather banquette.

entree: tasting plate

B2 arrives minutes later, as we are perusing the menu. "Harris Farm is closed yeah?" he asks, as we nod our respective heads. "Good. Cos I parked in their carpark." And as we sit, perusing (and secretly hoping that Chef Lex's version of "taking care of us" involves flammenkuchen) the man himself pops out from the kitchen, clogs and all.

"I've put together a tasting plate for you. Not on the menu, but using the ingredients we have." he says. We nod. And with that, he disappears and is replaced by three long oblong plates. Three tastes lie on each.

Frontmost is a tempura'd disc of pumpkin with a beetroot and mandarin gelee. Many of you will by now know of my aversion to orange vegetables. I know. They're sweet. And delicious. And I still don't like them, try as I may. But this! Oh, I ate it up, and didn't pull a face at all. It may have been the pairing with the beetroot gelee. A mandarin segment and slices of baby beet floated mid way through, and the sweet red-ness of it all was comfortingly slurpable. At the rear, a smoked oyster with saffron "sushi" and pea puree. Lovely and light in flavour, each flavour complementing the other.

kangaroo proscuitto & goats cheese on rye

But my favourite (and, indeed, the table's favourite) is the kangaroo proscuitto with goats cheese on rye. Never had kangaroo proscuitto before? Well, neither had I til then. I'll tell you this, it packs a punch. A salty, gamey punch that, when paired with the creamy tang of goats cheese and the earthy nuttiness of rye, makes you think of a robust glass of shiraz and men sitting by a log fire after a hunt.

palate cleanser: frozen kiwi fruit with vanilla sugar & strawberry coulis

When it is done, we are served a palate cleanser. "It is" says Chef Lex "an experiment. I saw it done at some other place and was wondering if it worked. It's not a normal menu item, but, yeah..." He trails off a little, before darting back into the kitchen. I am wide-eyed, confronted by the dish's likeness to little red tadpoles swimming endlessly towards big green eggs, when B1 picks up a stick to pop in his mouth. I follow suit and it is sweet at first, and cold, before the acidity of the kiwi fruit kicks in. As it thaws, ever so slightly, I crunch down. And like that, my palate is ready for the mains (and on my notepad is written "To do: freeze kiwifruit").

steak cafe de paris: rib eye with herb butter and red wine jus,
pomme frites and leaf salad $30.50

There was a slight scrimmage between the Bs & I at mains time. "What" I asked "are you thinking of ordering? It would be good to have three different meals" and before I had even finished B1 said "Steak!" and so my steaky dreams were left unrealised. B1's steaky dreams, however, were oh-so-sweet. A 350g rib eye on the bone steak, cooked medium-rare as ordered, and served with crispy shoestring fries, a lightly dressed salad and a disc of melty, rich and creamy cafe de paris butter. Oh. My.

A mouthful was traded, as is customary amongst all good dining companions. It was just lovely. Fatty without being overpowering or gristly. Tender without lacking texture. Flavoursome without being excessively salty. Beautiful. And at a touch over $30, it is a steak well worth the money paid for it.

poisson du jour: oven baked barramundi
with lemon aioli $30.50

While I contemplated steak-alternatives, B2 was rationalising his dinner. "If I go for a run tonight, and don't do dessert, I should be ok" said he. "But mains! Maybe Lex will make me a chicken salad..." he pondered. We stopped in our tracks. "A chicken salad? For dinner?" said we. "The fish is baked in paper" chimed in Chef Lex "hardly any fat at all if you don't eat the aioli" "Done".

The barramundi came wrapped in sliced zucchini and a smattering of tomato, and then wrapped again in a paper bag. It was fresh and it was firm. Don't be fooled though, it may look like a small serving, but it appears generosity is the key at Maitre Karl. Not one, but two fillets were contained in that paper parcel, and B1 was full and happy. And the lemon aioli? Stuff the diet and eat it by the spoonful. Truly, it is that delicious. (Or, you could do what B1 & I did and eat it with the pomme frites from the steak. Also delicious, and far more digestible).

canard röti: oven roasted duck, braised red cabbage,
spaetzle, cranberries and port wine jus $29.50

Re-reading the above paragraphs, I realise it may seem that I had myself a decent case of diner's envy. Be not fooled dear friends, for while B1 was moaning at his steak, and while B2 was delighting at the sheer loveliness of being able to eat a meal without worrying about his waistline, I was scoffing, nay, inhaling the duck. I tried to pace myself, really I did. But the crisp skin and tender, succulent, fork-able flesh were calling out to me. And oh! The bliss. And underneath, a tangle of still slightly chewy spaetzle and vinegary red cabbage, doused with a port wine jus and shocked by the occasional burst of cranberry sweetness.

I will say it but once. Get out and eat this duck. It is, without any qualification whatsoever, the best duck I have had this year, and very possibly the best duck I've had in some years prior. And, try as I might, I cannot quite finish it. It is, after all, two duck marylands on a bed of german noodle-esque squiggles. So bring your stomach with you.

creme brulee: espresso creme brulee
with frangelico ice cream ($12)

We mull over dessert. I am fingers crossed and hoping for crepe suzette (I've had it here before and oh-lordy-me it's a good thing). B1 is hoping for anything except ice cream and B2 is adamant that he will not partake in it. It is here that Chef Lex brings out dessert. It is the creme brulee, but not as I have ever seen it before. It is usually served in a wide dish, but tonight, Chef Lex has put it in a dainty espresso cup, topped it with a suitably boozy foam and oh-my-goodness, the espresso creme brulee looks like a mini cappucino!

But now, let's move past the kitsch and talk about flavour. I'll admit, I was sceptical about this dessert. I haven't had a coffee in the last 5 or so years and I wasn't sure I'd like this. But I did. Just like that circle of tempura'd pumpkin. It was creamy, it was oh-so-much like coffee. But without the bitterness, and without being cloyingly sweet. And the frangelico icecream? Di-vine. Truly. And just to prove how much I liked the dessert, here's my serve after I was done.

all done!

If you do happen to pop by at Maitre Karl and order the creme brulee off the menu, it will come in a larger serving size than what we had here. And if you aren't an alcohol-friendly person, the vanilla ice cream is really vanilla bean ice cream and comes complete with lovely little specks of bean and a heady post-consumption all natural aftertaste.

the bill

And with that, we paid our meagre bill and disappeared into the night. I back home for beauty sleep and a chocolate truffle in my bag for the Bean. B1 back home to pack for Egypt, and then America, and then who knows where. And B2 back home to walk the dog and the rest of his meal off.

Maitre Karl
197 High Street
Willoughby NSW 2068
(across the road from Harris Farm)
ph: 02 9958 1110

a weekend away

2009-06-11T09:15:00.001+10:00

"Sydney," he said, while swilling a glass of
red around and around, "is a beautiful city to live in. But you know what? It's an even better place to get out of." I plopped a piece of lamb in my mouth and nodded. "So what are you doing for the weekend?" he asked, as a grin spread across my face.

For those of you not in the know, we had a public holiday around here on Monday. And a public holiday monday just screams for an annual leave Friday. So on annual-leave Friday, Miss Shiny, SuperDanny & I piled ourselves into Rolli the Corolla, cranked up the tunes, pit-stopped at KFC Lindfield after all of 10 minutes driving, and eventually arrived at Chittaway Point.

The plan was to stop. To rest. To eat, drink and make merry. To soak in whatever sunshine we could get, and lie like lazy lizards on the deck. To play a game or two of tennis, or table tennis, or cards, or finding-Scott (we never did find him), and to wait impatiently for Mak to arrive late Friday night.

And in the mornings, there was bacon. Crispy fried middle rashers. Enough for us and a couple more besides. And on the first day, the bacon came with toast. And scrambled eggs. And mushrooms cooked in bacon fat.

And on the second day, there was no bacon (which, I agree, is a direct contradiction in terms to what I'd said just previously). Our excuse? We ran out. Which is semi-unbelievale considering the size of the grocery trip we'd made at Aldi. That, and there were pancakes to be made. Maple syrup pancakes with spiced ricotta and tinned-strawberry compote and butterscotch pears. "It is" said Miss Shiny, a half-munched mouthful of pancake later "a sign of a good day ahead when one manages to eat dessert for breakfast".

And on that third and final morning, the bacon reappeared. And it reappeared with a thick-sliced french toast and ricotta and morello cherry jam vengance. Sans coffee, for I am not a coffee drinker. And also sans coffee for the rest, because apparently having in excess of 10 hours' sleep in a day negates the need for caffeine.

And then there were dinners. Dinners aplenty, in fact. Mostly to make up for the fact that by the time breakfast was done and dusted, no-one had time nor room for lunch. A girly movie night (plus SuperDanny, sans Mak) was served up with a side of creamy chicken, bacon & mushroom penne.

The next night saw a progressive dinner that lasted from half-past-five until the late hours of the evening. First up, individual terracotta pots of prawns cooked in garlic oil. A quick how to: tip about 1/4 C olive oil into a terracotta pot or ramekin that can be oven-baked. Next, mince some garlic, about two cloves per pot and plop that in the oil. Stick them in the oven at 180C until you can smell the garlic and it's gone a litle bit brown. Not dark brown, just tanned. Plop your shelled and gutted prawns in and back in the oven for about 5 mins or until they're opaque. Serve with crusty bread. Brilliant!

SuperDanny put his roti-chef hat on and made us some roti while I whipped up a chicken curry. It was fun, though possibly needing some tweaking and a gas stovetop instead of the electric one we had. Oh, and a rolling-pin. Which we didn't have. So a bottle was gladwrapped and stood in its place. And that bottle was dubbed the "Heine-Pin". Which sounds a lot worse said than it looks typed.

And in between the many courses of our increasingly progressive dinners, there was cheese. Sweet cheese. Salty cheese. Savory cheese. Sometimes accompanied by crakers or bread or nothing at all. And when two blocks of haloumi resulted in a significantly smaller yield, we all looked at Mak, who grinned that not-quite-innocent grin before banning himself from the rest of the dish and sitting in a corner so as not to be tempted further.

And where there is dinner, there must be dessert. One night, a fudgy spicy chocolate cookie and ice cream sundae. And the next, this beauty. A morello cherry and Frangelico bread & butter pudding. Using fruity, spicy raisin toast for the bread part and a stomach-warming mixed spice and frangelico custard for the pudding part. It was a touch large for the four of us, and we resorted to eating it out of the baking dish, a quick mouthful of pudding followed by an accompanying scoop of raspberry ripple ice cream, straight from the tub.

And that is what a foodblogger eats when on holidays. Well, what this one ate at least. And because I didn't take extensive photos of the processes for making each of course of each meal, and because I will have to reproduce any recipe that appears on this here blog, I'm wondering: which recipe would you like to see?

profiteroles

2009-06-08T22:00:00.000+10:00

Strange admission: Between the ages of approximately 6 and 22, I didn't like cake. At all. Refused to eat it. Even passed on my own birthday cake on several occasions. And so, when time came for my 21st birthday my mother sat me down and looked me squarely in the eye. "Are we" she said firmly "or are we not, having cake?" And I thought "Not" because I didn't want to have one that I wouldn't eat. But then, oh! My 21st. And the candles! And the singing! So, "yes, I guess". And right about now you are wondering what this all has to do with profiteroles. Well I ended up having a croquembouche, you see, in lieu of cake. And it was delicious. And fantastic. And oh-so-different (which was oh-so-me).

I have long since wanted to make one of my own, but am still fighting my fear of hot sugar. A fear that has not-at-all been aided by the sight of Julie & Poh's multiply-bandaged fingers on Masterchef and the news that "if you wipe the hot sugar off your fingers, the skin will come with it". Hmm.

I have, however, become quite adept at churning out the chocolate-covered variety, and made these for the Bean's 21st as well as a bake-sale some weeks later. Now I'll admit, it is a bit of work. But the looks of appreciation that follow when someone bites into that lovely soft chocolate followed by fluffy, crisp (but not biscuitty) choux and then (oh! and then!) into that gooey, vanilla flecked creme patisserie... Well you'll know what I'm talking about if you try it. Yes?

chocolate topped profiteroles

ingredients for the choux pastry:

60g butter
180ml (3/4C) water
105g (3/4C) plain flour
3 eggs

ingredients for the creme patissiere:

300ml thickened cream
250ml milk
110g caster sugar
1 vanilla bean (I used 1 tsp vanilla bean paste)
3 egg yolks
2 tbsp cornflour
90g butter, chopped

ingredients for the chocolate top:

200g dark chocolate
3tbsp vegetable oil

ingredients for the choux pastry

method:

1. We're going to start with the creme patissiere. To do this, we're going to follow steps 12 through to 15 on this recipe for a roasted nectarine tart. It's not hard at all. Promise.

2. Let your creme patissiere cool while you make the choux pastry. Best way to do this is to stick a piece of glad wrap over the top of the pot (touching the surface of the creme patissiere) before sticking the lot in a bowl of iced water and then the fridge. Doing this means you won't get that horrible skin-like layer on the top when you go to use it later.

melt the butter in the water

3. Next up, the choux puffs. Start by flinging your cubed butter into a little saucepan with some water. Leave it be until the butter is all melted and you have a yellowy slick on the top of some hot, cloudy water. Tasty no? (Err.. at this stage? No.)

add flour and cook it down

4. Toss your flour in and beat with a wooden spoon like one possessed. You want to keep going until the mix has come away from the sides of the pot in a ball and is looking uniform in colour and texture.

beat in the eggs

5. Next up, toss it all into an electric mixer (or you can use a whisk - I lost mine so I used the mixer) with the three eggs and whisk away until it is lovely and uniform and glossy. (Don't worry if it looks a little separate to start with. Keep beating and it will come together eventually.)

6. Here is where I'd line and lightly grease a couple of baking trays. You could be organised and do it beforehand, but I am not so great at that bit. Now pre-heat your oven to 200C.

pipe out the choux

7. Spoon your glossy, yellow, uniform pastry into a piping bag and pipe out lovely dollops of choux onto you sheet. You want them to be about 5cm in diameter. Leave some room between them too. They will be quite stiff, so if you can't quite pull the piping bag away, use a wet finger to "cut off" the flow. You should have about 30 puffs.

8. Toss them in the oven for 5 minutes then reduce the heat to 180C. Bake for an additional 15 minutes and then remove from the oven. They should be lovely and golden and puffed up.

baked choux puffs

9. Let them cool to a touch-able heat and then lift them from the paper before leaving them to cool completely. It's important you do this, lest they stick. And if they do stick, and are still hot, sprinkle some water under the paper and leave them in the still-warm oven for a couple of minutes. They'll lift right off after that.

10. Poke a hole in the bottom of each puff and use a piping bag to fill them up with your creme patissiere. (This step was messy, and also fiddly, so no photos. Sorry.)

coat in chocolate

11. Now melt your chocolate and stir in the oil. It will be lovely and glossy. Spoon it over the puffs with a spoon (duh) and leave it to set. If the chocolate starts to stiffen, reheat slightly and keep going. If you let the chocolate wait too long, it won't set with that lovely smooth glazed look you see on the profiteroles in the cake shops. And don't worry, it will set.

[And yes, that is a Michel's Patisserie box in the background. I didn't have anything else to transport the profiteroles in. And oh, you will make about 30 of them with this recipe. I say about 30 because there is a high chance you will eat a couple without even knowing it and not know exactly how many you made...]

roasted pork rack with apple & walnut stuffing

2009-06-05T10:15:00.000+10:00

I had arrived home with pig in my bag and the family was delighted. It's not often they are able to partake in my adventures out so this was a particular treat. "We will eat it tomorrow" declared the mother. "You won't be home Thursday, and we're all out Friday. Saturday people are coming here and Sunday will be too late." I nodded, not paying much attention. "How will you cook it?" asked the sister. "I'm not sure" said I, and trotted off to bed.

And the next day was a flurry of activity. I jotted down ideas: Whole roasted with a rosemary and parmesan crust perhaps? With egg whites to lighten the mixture and a coarse hazelnut meal instead of bread. Or maybe cut into cutlets, egg-washed and crumbed in a garlicky, walnutty, bready layer before hitting the pan. Served with some just-cooked tomatoes and a creamy aioli. Or roasted on a rack over some tea and spice and orange zest for a smoky finish?

But the world was pointing at crackling. And applesauce. And so I started again. Apples. Sultanas for that flavour-burst. Walnuts for earthiness and seeded mustard for a tongue-kicker. Something creamy and cheesy to make it like coming home after being caught in the rain. Cauliflower. And fennel for a curious hint of aniseed. Done.

porky goodness

Harried calls to the family. "Do we have kitchen string? For tying up meat? And oh, what are the chances of having some cauliflower & fennel around when I get home. Fennel? Yes. White at the bottom. Like a bulb. Thanks." And then I ran, nay, flew home from work to whip this up for dinner. And yes, we ate at not-quite-nine instead of our usual half-past-seven. But oh, it was worth it. And oh! I was satisfied at the end.

roasted pork rack with apple & walnut stuffing

ingredients:

1.2kg rack of pork
50g butter
3 large apples (or 4 small ones) (I used a combination of red & green)
50g sultanas (or just a handful, depending on your hand-size)
1 tbs seeded mustard
2 tsp nutmeg
50g walnuts
salt
50ml malt vinegar

method:

1. First, the pig. Take it out of its packaging and pat it dry with paper towels. Now grab a sharp knife (truly, it will need to be sharp) and score lines along the skin about 1 cm apart. Now rotate and score lines along the skin at 90 degree angles to the first set at 1cm apart. Rub salt into the skin (and rub especially into the score lines) and leave the pig to rest while you deal with the stuffing.

2. Grab the person nearest you, hand them your apples and a peeler and tell them to go for gold. While they peel away, chop your walnuts up. We're thinking the size of a child's tooth. About a 5 year old, pre-tooth fairy. This will give you the right balance between "ahh! there's a big bit of... oh it's a nut" and "so, you said you put nuts in this right? cos, err...".

knives out, it's chopping time!

3. They're done peeling? Great! Now they get to core and chop the apples up into cubes. A bit messy is ok. A bit chunky is ok, but for ease of stuffing and tying, let's aim for about 1cm cubes. Good? Ok, good.

apples, sultanas & butter in a pot

4. We're going to get the stuffing going now. And I say "stuffing" in its loosest sense. No breadcrumbs or eggs here. Oh no.

5. Stick the butter in a small saucepan and when it is melted toss the apples and sultanas in. Add your nutmeg and stir happily until the apples start to get a little translucent around the edges. Now spoon the mustard in and stire til its all spread around nicely.

add spice & mustard when the apples soften

6. When you start to smell the mustard (it smells a little vinegary) toss the walnuts in, take it off the heat and stir til it's tepid (ie ok to touch without burning your fingers).

stuff it good

7. If it's warm but not-finger-burningly so, it's time to stuff your pig. Make an incision along the length of the pork rack, trying to stay about halfway between the skin and the bones. Don't cut all the way through though. You want a join to remain.

8. Now stuff as much stuffing as can fit inside your newly-made piggy pocket and tie it up with string to hold it together. This will be tricky, and stuffing will fall out. But that's ok. Oh, don't you fret! We'll be using it still.

9. Once you've tied the pig up, pat it as dry as you possibly can.

tied up & perched on a mound of stuffing

10. And this is what we will be doing with the left over stuffing. Pat it into a mound on the bottom of your baking dish and plonk your tied up piggy on top. As it cooks, any escaping juices will coat your apple mix, and your apple mix will release lovely juices and all of it will be divine!

11. Heat your oven up to 220C. Liberally salt your pig again and then pat dry. Tip your vinegar over the skin and rub in with your fingers. Now in the oven for 20 minutes.

after the first cooking

12. The first 20 mins will dry the skin out. Then you need to reduce the heat to 180C and cook it for another 50 minutes at this temperature. This is for cooking the meat.

13. Pull it out of the oven and add half a cup of water to the dish. Swirl it around a bit with a spoon and all the lovely brown caramelisation will turn into a sauce.

14. Cut the string off the meat and replace the pork on its (now slightly soggy and dessimated) mound. We're going to pop the lot back in the oven for about 15 minutes on the grill at 220C. Crackling time! (and watch it here, because it may start to burn if you do not).

check out that crunch!

15. Pull it out, rest for just a touch while you set the table, and carve it up. Beautiful pink pork, crackly crackling and a stuffing / gravy to sweeten your days (without being too sweet. The mustard gives it a kick remember?) Serve with fennel & cauliflower gratin.

cheat's fennel & cauliflower gratin

fennel & cauliflower

ingredients:

2tbs butter (approx 30g) + some for sauteeing
2tbs plain flour
1.5C hot milk
1 head of cauliflower
1 bulb of fennel
1/2C parmesan cheese

method:

1. Wash and cut your cauliflower & fennel. Cauliflower into florets and fennel just roughly. Sautee it in a bit of butter until it is cooked-ish.

2. Put the 2tbs butter in a saucepan to melt. Once melted, tip your flour in and stir crazy til its a yellow goop.

3. Whisk your hot milk into the yellow goop until it is uniformly thick and unlumpy. If it is still a bit lumpy, strain it with a sieve.

4. Add half the parmesan into the thick & unlumpy and stir to combine.

5. Toss your veges into a baking dish, tip most of the thick & unlumpy over the top and swirl to coat. Then tip the rest over the top of that and sprinkle with remaining parmesan.

6. Bake for 20 min at 200C in an oven and oh-my-goodness! Look at the pork!

[ps: onebitemore is heading up the coast for holidaying purposes so won't be posting on monday. she will however be back on tuesday with tasty treats]

yuletide at restaurant atelier

2009-06-03T08:30:00.001+10:00

It's a funny thing, living in Australia. Hot, balmy Christmases, smattered with cracks of lightning from sudden summer storms. There are prawns on the table. Or fish. Cold cuts of ham and glasses of sparkling something. And then the days get shorter, the leaves start to fall from the few deciduous trees around the place and, before you even know it, winter has come around. And oh! How I start to think of steaming hot puddings with hard sauce, a spicy hot toddy and a stuffed bird with all the trimmings.

So I am quietly amused when I find that the clever souls at the Australian Pork Industry (together with the equally clever souls from Whiteworks) have been reading my mind. "But how?" you ask, imagining metallic contraptions powered solely by bacon. "Well", (I answer, carefully backing away and trying to avoid eye contact) "by inviting me and a gaggle of other lovely foodbloggers to come celebrate Yuletide at Restaurant Atelier in Glebe." Right then.

wine glasses and table ornaments

It is a surprisingly balmy day when we rock up. On foot, mind you, as the weather is just that good. And when we arrive, I am quietly warmed by the sight of the restaurant. It is a little house on Glebe Point Road, shadowed by the terraces opposite and the construction site along its side. Up the steps I go and onto the balcony where a glass of wine is pressed into my hands. The wine is from Piggs Peake, who, in turn, are from the northern side of the Hunter Valley. They are a hatted restaurant and direct public sales only winery, so won't be at your local boozery. And while we chat, platters of pork rilette on witlof are being passed around, and one, two (ok, three) later, we are slowly ushered indoors.

bread and butter

The atmosphere is jovial. There are, I believe, strains of Mariah Carey's Christmas album playing in the background. And there is pork on the menu. Lots of it. Did I just see a squirm? A quick reach into your top drawer for a hygiene-friendly face mask perhaps? No? Well good then. Because I know that you know that the "swine flu" business is really more of a "human flu" business and you can't catch the virus from eating pig yes? Good then.

And, through that discussion, I am munching on slices of soft, chewy sourdough. And oh, the butter is good and almost cheesy but I find myself going for dunk after glorious dunk of the balsamic and olive oil mix. So fruity! And sweet, and sour and ahhhh!

entree: assiette of pork

Entrees are served with a matching Piggs Peake wine for each taste of pork on the plate. Ever the stickler for maximum flavour, I eat around the plate in order. On the top right of the picture is grilled pickled pork loin with celeriac remoulade. The celeriac is crisp, the pork oh so slightly briney and the dressing lightly creamy. It is oh-so-much-fresher in flavour than you'd expect pork to be, and when paired with the slightly bitter greens on top, is pleasant to eat. (And, for clarification's sake, I say pleasant in its most complimentary sense, and not in its "yeah, that was nice" sense.)

The second taste is paired with a sweet riesling, and necessarily so. A round of honey glazed pork hock with roasted apples is encircled with a sticky sweet reduction and falls apart at the prod of a fork. It is rich. It is earthy. It is bitter and sweet and aromatic all at once. And the balls of roasted apple provide that extra little hit.

And finally, for I have been eying this taste the entire time, a pulled pork neck salad with Crystal Bay prawns. Spicy, flavour punching pork as you've never previously imagined. Because pork is, y'know, often seen as that guy who's nice but doesn't really grab you and make you melt like beef does, or draw you in for a fiesty, flavour-filled fling like lamb. But this pork! OH! For want of better description, it's like that same, safe pig has whipped off his glasses, mussed up his hair and shown those other somethin-somethin's who's boss. *Ahem!* I appear to have mixed my metaphors.

carving the moisture infused pork rack

If there is one thing that will get a camera flashing, it is a large piece of meat being carved. Better still if said large piece of meat is being carved for the purposes of being served. To us no less. This particular rack has been moisture infused, meaning a solution of salt and water has been injected into the meat at regular intervals until it is, in the words of one fan "absolutely impossible to kill when cooking it". Even when cooking 50 portions of it? Right then!

mains: pork two ways

We are soon to find out about that claim, for an impressive-looking plate has arrived at the table. On the right, a boned shoulder of pork roasted with a winter herb cure on creamed parsnip and buttered kale and on the left, that same pot-roasted Murray Valley moisture-infused pork rack with broad beans, pomme cocotte and pine mushrooms. Game on.

The broad beans are lovely and toothsome, and the lovely pomme cotte (potato balls for those preferring to pass on the fancy) are oh-so-hard to jab with a fork, but so rewardingly heartwarming when finally caught. And that rack? Well, I got an end piece. Which is good when you are talking about tart or cake, but not so great when talking meat. It was not by any means mouth-achingly dry, but when compared to my neighbour's lovely, pink, ever-so-tender piece of pork... let's say I was a touch jealous.

Across the saucy divide was a creamy parsnip puree which rolled itself nicely around the shoulder of pork. Now this was the unctuous, brown-meaty piece I was after! The kale lent a fresh saltiness to each mouthful before being tempered by the puree, and I was sorry when it was done.

dessert: poached winter fruits with christmas pudding ice cream

But we were not done! For what is a Yuletide celebration without pudding? Even if said pudding is in the form of a custardy, light-as-air icecream. My favourite part of this dish? The stewed prunes. Horribly unfashionable and granny-like, I know. But when you get a mouthful of heady spice and sweet poaching juices and then add it to the burst of juicy dried plum in your mouth - well let's just say that "granny-like" is the last adjective you'll have in your mind.

And with that, we are off. Warm hugs and goodie bags complete with an AWW cookbook (oh! the AWW!), a foaming hand sanitizer (to keep the bugs away) and a whole 1.2kg rack of pork for our own personal consumption. And it was like leaving a dinner party at a friend's place. Good food, good wine, good company, and the promise of happier (albeit somewhat colder) days ahead.

Restaurant Atelier
22 Glebe Point Road
Glebe NSW 2037
ph 02 9566 2112

Other foodbloggers in attendance were: Billy (A Table for Two), Helen (Grab Your Fork), Howard (eat show & tell), Karen (Citrus & Candy), Lili (Pikelet and Pie), Lorraine (Not Quite Nigella), Richard (Here Comes the Fo0d), Simon (Simon Food Favourites) and Suze (Chocolatesuze).

With thanks to Mel from Fooderati for the invite!

ginger, choc & walnut cookies

2009-06-01T08:30:00.000+10:00

I do not like feeling swamped. But, for me, even worse than the feeling of being swamped is the feeling of being listless. Helpless. Uninspired and unmotivated. I can churn out one brilliant idea after the other when I am swamped, I will hustle towards an end goal and then slam that final ball into that final hoop before collapsing in a puddle of exhaustion and selfcongratulatory thoughts. But when I am listless - oh! I crumple into a ball of miserable ineptitude and discard all thoughts of ever recovering. Usually until I get a sound butt-kicking anyway.

Alternatively, and this has been my recent therapy, I stop. And then I bake. I fold and knead and shape. I chop and taste and watch things grow from little bits of flubbery dough into crisp, warm treats that bring delight to the faces I love. And, if I am feeling particularly listless, I add zing. Like the ginger in these delightful little cookies. You will munch and crunch and feel oh-so-at-home and then your eyes will open and a little ginger-infused grin will appear from the sudden spice. Just lovely.

choc, ginger & walnut cookies
adapted from the AWW's Big Book of Beautiful Biscuits

ingredients:

125g butter
¼C white sugar
¾C brown sugar (lightly packed)
½tsp vanilla
1 egg
1¾C self raising flour
½tsp salt
100g chocolate chips
50g walnuts
50g glace ginger

method:

1. Cube your butter. If you are feeling listless, you may wish to actually cube it. In cubes. Alternatively, you may wish to hack at it with whatever knife you have handy until it is in little pieces. I am more likely to do the former. But, as they say, each to their own.

creamed butter & sugars + egg

2. Toss your perfectly cubed (or not) butter into the bowl of your mixer. Then add the sugars (brown and white - let's not discriminate now). You want to beat them until they are creamy and smooth and not-at-all granulated.

3. Add the vanilla and the egg and beat again until just combined. We want to make sure the egg is incorporated. None of this gross egg-streamy-bitty-thing.

folding in the flour

4. Next up, the dry ingredients. Sift the flour and salt into the mixer bowl and mix through with a wooden spoon or spatula. It will get stiffer near the end, but persevere. You are trying to get-yourself-out-of-this-rut-dammit! Also, with perseverence comes a fantastically toned upper arm. You will have to work the other one out at the gym to balance yourself out.

chopped ginger, walnuts & chocolate

5. We want to do a bit more dicing while the oven is heating up. About 180C should do it. Don't worry if you forget. I'll remind you later. Now, where were we...? Ahh! Chopping! Ginger into bearable chunks. Run a knife through your walnuts a couple of times. We want to know they're there without knowing that they're there if you know what I mean. Discernable but not OTT. You don't need to chop your chocolate if you're using chocolate chips. I used a combination of chocolate chips & lindt bittersweet to make a 100g total. I chopped the latter.

roll, squish, repeat

6. Toss your chopped ingredients haphazardly (or meticulously, as you like) into the mixing bowl and use those (now toned) upper arms and a spatula / wooden spoon to mix them in as evenly as you can. Don't go crazy if they aren't exactly uniformly spread out. That's just how life goes ok? Now breathe.

7. Grab dessert-spoon-sized balls of mix from the bowl and roll them about in your hand briefly before plonking them down on a well oiled tray and giving them a satisfying smoosh with your fingers. Lather, rinse, repeat. (Dessert-spoon-sized balls are halfway between a giant gobstopper & a pingpong ball, just in case you were confused). The cookies will spread just a little, so give them a bit of breathing room. You'll end up with about 40-45 depending on the size of your cookies.

just baked and cooling (if you can wait)

8. Your oven should, by now, have hotted up to 180C. No? Well stick it on now, and don't beat yourself up about forgetting. We'll stick the cookies in for about 10 minutes, a little longer if you like your cookies nice and brown and a little crunchier. 10 mins will give you a chewy, just cooked cookie.

9. In the 10 mins they bake for, you can wash up that one bowl and two beaters and one wooden spoon / spatula you used, or you can sit in front of your oven door and just watch the cookies rise. And oh! How comforted you now are, and not even the slightest bit listless. And ahh, how warm as well. Because that is what ginger does to you. Ditto chocolate.

a mini hiatus (again)

2009-05-21T17:37:00.003+10:00

...and apologies. But there are things happening in the non-onebitemore world that require attention (and no, unfortunately, they are not exciting things). On my return (in a week or so) will be $30 steak frites with cafe de paris butter, a piggy tale and a bunch of new recipes.

See you soon!

[update: clarification of "soon" = monday morning. promise!]

bourke street bakery

2009-05-20T10:15:00.000+10:00

It appears people like pastry. And why? perhaps it's the grainy texture of sugar, coated in butter and flour, or perhaps that first, crisp bite that causes flakes of golden goodness to fly about and settle, ungracefully, on your lap. Or the feeling of butter melting in your mouth. An almost-clammy salty-sweetness that rolls around your tongue and sticks in the back of your throat. For others, it may be the sometimes creamy, almost gelatinous fillings that are encased in the pastry; or the warm fattiness of processed meat that sends its sleep-inducing tendrils through your chest before settling in your stomach.

And evidence of this Sydney-wide pastry love? The lively popping up of Bourke Street Bakeries all about Sydney - and the queues of people that they attract. Apart from the original store in Surry Hills, there is a branch in Chippendale (128 Broadway), a brand spanking new store in Marrickville (2 Mitchell St) and a sister store (Central Baking Depot) on Erskine Street in the city. And the lines, oh(!) the lines! They snake out the door and around the lamp post in a funny dog's leg'd kind of way. And each person peers in the window, their thoughts almost audible "Maybe a sausage roll... and a tart. And some bread? Or a roll..."

lamb & harissa sausage roll $4.00

I have woken up on a sunny Saturday morning to meet a friend on my first foray into the world of Bourke Street Bakery. And I have dreams of brulee tart floating about in my head. But first, a breakfast of hot cross buns and even hotter chocolate (which, by the by, is dark and rich and creamy all at once). And oh! How my heart sinks, just a little, when I am unable to spot a brulee'd tart in any way shape or form. So I console myself with a multitude of baked treats for taking with me.

The lamb and harissa sausage roll (which somehow rubs up against my wallet and leaves it with a lamby scratch-and-sniff effect) is beyond tasty and I'm loving the currants that burst in your mouth with a goo of sweetness.

A praline scroll is added to the mix (and would have been more appreciated had I eaten it on the day, rather than leaving it overnight due to an overconsumption of sugar - don't do this, it makes everything soggy and stale). And then a chocolate tart (which is rich without being too rich, and smoother than expected). And then a plum tart (which is half a plum in an almond frangipane, and which the Bean & I gobble up enthusiastically). A pear pastry looks friendly enough and is later discovered to also be custardy and light and fragrant.

And then (OH! and then!) as I am leaving, I spot it. Hidden on the very bottom shelf. A lemon tart with its curdy filling peaked just so. And, next to it, a strange brown looking thing. I peer at its sign. And then my eyes light up as only those who have seen me around a tasty treat will know. The tart! And it was there the whole time! So a hasty re-order and I'm off to collect the Bean from tennis at Haberfield (yes, this is why I ate so little at Pasticceria Papa... makes sense now, no?)

And oh! (again, I know) crispy and custardy with the fragrance and flavour of vanilla bean and a dollop of lovely red juicy fruit at the bottom. And the other, all citrussy and sour without being overpoweringly so (which is a good and a bad thing, for I love a painfully sour tart). The pastry on all was a touch overdone, an sometimes a bit more than that, leaving a dry, unpleasant flavour on the back of my tongue. Which is a pity, but, quite possibly, not the norm as I have seen and heard otherwise about it from those frequenting the BSB more often than I.

And so, I am tempted to traipse down again. And possibly once more after that. For there were rolls and loaves and other such goodies that I didn't even think to try. Anyone care to join me?

Bourke Street Bakery
633 Bourke Street
Surry Hills NSW 2010
ph 02 9699 1011

macchiato

2009-05-19T10:00:00.000+10:00

Miss Shiny & I were running late (and oh! but doesn't that seem to always be the tale). We shouldn't have been, for we had both left work with time to spare. But then a phone call ("We're at the Bowler's Club playing Wii! Come along!") and a quick wander down, and a slow chat ("If we beat the high score, everyone gets a round of drinks!") was followed by a surreptitious glance at the time ("Ahh! We need to be at dinner 10 minutes ago!") and a hustle and bustle back up George Street, onto Park then onto Pitt. A scurry past the cupcake shop, Sakura and the convenience store... and we were there. The last to arrive, but present nonetheless.

She didn't know it at the time, but we were there to celebrate her birthday (and, yes. The order of my posts is all jumbled up, but I was never good at being chronological). They had already picked what they were going to eat (so late were we) and so as Miss Shiny & I nodded at each other ("Share?" nod. "Pasta?" "and a Pizza?" "You pick one" "I'll pick the other?" "Done." "Done.") they picked their meals.

Grilled Halloumi served with roma tomato,
olive oil & lemon wedges $13.50

"You know that's just cheese right?" we asked, when a starter of Grilled Halloumi was ordered. "I'm not very hungry". But when it arrived, we were all hungry and the scent of the briney, squeaky, golden grilled cheese was delightful. And paired with fresh slices of roma tomato, it looked ever so delicious. And even so, it wasn't finished, because some people (not me) just aren't that hungry.

Steak Macchiato: new york cut, served with
mushroom sauce, fries & salad $27.50

On the opposite end of the spectrum was the one who ordered the steak. It was brought out with much ooh-ing and ahh-ing for the meat smelt wonderfully charred and the cut was cooked just so. Had I been sitting up closer, I may have nabbed a chip. But, alas. I was not.

Vegetarian Spaghetti: pumpkin, spinach, mushroom,
capsicum, olives, pesto & napolitana sauce $17.50

Pastas here are ordered by sauce and then by shape (penne, spaghetti, angel hair, fettucini, risotto... I know. Risotto isn't a shape, but you catch my drift yes?) And this one looked a treat. Though the picture doesn't show it, I am told that there was a substantial portion of veges intermingled with the spaghetti strands.

Spaghetti Boscaiola: chicken, bacon, mushroom,
shallots, in a creamy garlic sauce $19.50

We had ordered the boscaiola (after some to-ing and fro-ing about penne vs spaghetti). And it was bacony and it was mushroomy and oh, was it creamy! The garlic was mild and the spaghetti was firm. The leaves of rocket on top were a bit of a lifesaver, especially as, after a while, the creamy, cheesy sauce started to stick to your mouth, and your throat and "oh! water? fantastic!" It needed a touch more salt, and a grind of pepper, but these were added without fuss and the dish was well enjoyed.

Sydney Supreme: ham, chorizos, pepperoni,
capsicum, onion, mushroom & pineapple $20.90

But onto the pizzas. And there were so many to choose from! They are served on gorgeous dark wooden blocks, perfect for hacking into the slices on, and have a lovely crisp base. And I will have to brief, because I only tried two of them. One really quite nice, and one which was ok. And neither of them was the Sydney Supreme.

Macchiato: roasted pumpkin, roasted capsicum, grilled onion,
eggplant, mushroom, feta, mozzarella & rosemary $18.90

The OK one was the Macchiato, though I wonder if my judgement was biased by eating it after it had become slightly cold and following a serve of rich boscaiola. The flavours were muted (which I know some like) and the cheese was evenly spread throughout. Oh, and it had pumpkin on it (which, more likely than not, is the real reason I had such neutral feelings towards the dish). best not to trust my judgement in this particular instance then.

Bombay: tandoori chicken, onions, mint yoghurt,
chutney & mozzarella $19.90

SuperDanny had ordered the Bombay, but oh! He was all the way down the other end of the table ("Well, you shouldn't have been so late then" "Yeah...") And the chicken looked tender and smelt oh-so-fragrant and the swirl of minty yoghurt on the top looked like just enough to provide flavour without overpowering everything else and making it all soggy (as yoghurt on pizza has a habit of doing).

Atlantic: garlic prawns, baby rocket, bocconcini
& sundried tomatoes $23.90

And oh, this was the pizza that was good. The prawns still had their tails attached, but I almost prefer that as it makes it easier to spot where they are (and, more importantly, where they aren't). The rocket was refreshing, the tomato provided a surprising zing and the bocconcini... well, I love bocconcini so I was always going to be happy with this, wasn't I?

surprise cake! (from 85C)

So we wandered back and *BAM!* surprised Miss Shiny with a cake from 85C. And she said "OH!" and we got cocoa powder all over the table and may have accidentally snorted it up our noses in the melee that followed. And I think that's the end of the birthdays, for now anyway. (And yes, that was a slightly abrupt ending, but birthdays take it out of me...)

Macchiato
Cnr Liverpool & Pitt St
Sydney NSW 2000
ph 02 9262 9525

how to: steak

2009-05-18T08:55:00.000+10:00

There are perks to being friends with an honest-to-goodness trained-to-the-hilt chef-in-waiting. More so when said friend is working in a bistro and has a firm handle on the most important meal of all - steak. Chef Lex (as he is fondly known) & I have been friends since before he was any good at cooking. And so, when I got the message saying "Dinner. 7pm. Just come." I was in, no questions asked. Part for the promise of catchups, and part for the promise of meals-unknown.

My dining companions on the night included the ever-hilarious Alarice Thio (currently touring Asia, so get out to see her if you can) and her ex-flattie. And whilst Lex fired up his convection stovetop (in the figurative sense, of course), we dug into so pre-dinner mussels.

mussels in white wine

And, while we chowed down on the mussels, scooping them out of their shells with our fingers and trying not to drip all over the place, Chef Lex got to work on the steak. He's kindly filled me in on how it's done and oh-my-goodness. Best. Steak. Ever.

how to: steak

Ingredients:

The best steak you can buy
Salt & Pepper

Method:

start with steak

1. Start with the best steak you can buy. Sliced somewhere between 2cm and 4cm thick for best results. Chef Lex notes that any steak less than 2cm thick shouldn't be cooked using this technique.

line em up, pat em dry!

2. Line your babies up on a couple of layers of absorbent kitchen towel and then cover with another couple of layers. Pat the steaks dry of any excess moisture. This is particularly important where the steaks have been frozen then defrosted.

seasoning the steak

3. Salt & Pepper the top of the steak to your liking then stick them, seasoned side down, in a very hot pan. As that side sears, salt & pepper the other side and flip. Now quickly sear the sides and set your steak to rest on a foil-covered oven tray while you sear the rest of them.

{Note: this tends to get a little messy what with all the beef fat spitting everywhere and causing a ruckus. So Chef Lex covers the remaining plates of his stovetop & also his splashback with foil for ease of cleaning)

post-searing, pre-ovening

4. Once all your steaks are seared, pop them in a 220C oven for 4 minutes. At 4 min, check to see how well your steaks are done by pressing down on them. They'll continue to cook once you've removed them, so err on the side of slightly under, rather than slightly over. If the meat still feels soft & mushy, it'll need another couple of minutes.

5. Pull them out and rest for at least 10 minutes. Rest up to 15 minutes if your steaks are closer to the 4cm thick side of things.

iron, baby!

6. So these steaks? Served with a pat of anchovy butter (oh! swoon! die!), a healthy ladle of mash (ditto above) and some greens tossed in balsamic & olive oil to balance the lot out. Tell me you aren't feeling like steak by now and I'll dub you head vegetarian.

spotlight: enliven sydney & a tasty treat

2009-05-16T13:25:00.000+10:00

It seems everyone today has the same complaints. "I'm so busy" one will say, as you catch up with them on a quick stroll between work and the gym, to be followed later by a dinner and a quick list of things to do before bed. "Everything costs so much these days" another will sigh, whilst paying for their $3.50 coffee, $9.00 salad and $6.00 polystyrene bowl of soup with money from their $120.00 purse. And I can't but feel the pain, because oh-so-often, I find myself skipping breakfast on the dash to the bus and rapidly crossing dinner choices off in my head because, hey, I gotta eat tomorrow as well.

Which would explain why I was quietly pleased at being enlightened about the enliven sydney card and carman's muesli rounds.

enliven your senses in sydney

It's no secret that Sydney offers a melee of better-than-great places to eat and drink, but the fact that money is a little tighter and the promise of continued income is a little less secure means that many of us aren't so willing to go great guns when selecting a place to eat at. Two solutions for that: firstly, stock up on beans and legumes. They're delicious when cooked just so and have a wonderfully high satiety value so you won't go hungry. And secondly? Check this little baby out.

the enliven card

The enliven card, among other things, allows you to take a guest for free to a selection of Sydney eateries. Oh really? Well yes! So if you want to pop by Cafe Mix, harbourbar or any of the wide selection of restaurants covered by the card, you'll be able to do so without the added concern of a giant end-bill.

The enliven sydney card can be downloaded for free at the visitnsw website. It also provide discounts on a variety of spa treatments, attractions and events.

carman's muesli rounds

If you follow me on twitter, you'll know at least one thing about my breakfast habits (or general lack thereof). We're always told that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, but what to do when the bus is coming, you have nothing that's wrinkle-free to wear and there's meeting starting at 9am? (Apart from waking up a touch earlier and ironing on the weekend that is).

Now I love Carman's muesli, but it's a weekend consumption deal for me - the time taken to pour a bowl of muesli, then some milk, and then to shovel it down (chewing each mouthful thoroughly so as not to choke) doesn't quite fit into my weekday morning schedule. So I ws very (very) pleased to receive these in the mail last week.

Carman's muesli rounds are 35% muesli mixed in with a smattering of fruit, tasty butter, flour & brown sugar to make a not-quite-biscuit-and-not-quite-cake-like mound of tasty goodness.

I'm personally quite a big fan of the apricot and almond variety, and at $5 for a box of 5 (they were on sale for $4 at Coles the last time I looked too) they cost a significant amount less than my usual butter-and-honey-on-turkish at the cafe for brekkie.

I've also found them great for sticking in my bag in case of a very hungry Bean, or for a quick snack in between all that dashing around we busy people do. Speaking of which... I've gotta run!

chophouse

2009-05-14T09:50:00.001+10:00

I feel like I have stepped into an alternate universe. It is dark and woody. Exposed beans frame the room and the odd, uncloistered lightbulb casts a careless shadow across mahogany leather banquettes. High cavernous ceilings at the entrance give way to cosy, cloistered spaces, and, turning a corner, the amber-lit bar appears. Complete with a montage to the food eaten in the form of a hanging sculpture of skulls. It's a touch macabre, but, oddly, fits with Chophouse's earthy yesteryear feel.

It was an odd group that had congregated here on this particular evening, courtesy Chophouse via the lovely Abbe. Billy (atablefortwo), FFichiban (herecomesthefood), Helen (grabyourfork), Suze (chocolatesuze), Yas (hungrydigitalelf) & I stop on entry. And then one by one, jackets are dropped and cameras are pulled out of bags. The other patrons cooly continue with their drinks, and we snap away.

our dining area

By way of background, Chophouse was birthed out of the Kingley's group of restaurants and specialises in serving steaks and chops of meat. Which is somewhat unsurprising, considering its name. Executive Chef David Clarke has spent 5 years at Quay, and this experience has done him no wrong. I am intrigued by the range of chopped salads, and everyone (and I mean everyone) is whispering about the starter of "pork scratchings" available for only $6.50.

cute signs hang about the place

We are here because for the month of May, Chophouse is offering a special roast dinner for $18, including Riverine Premium Beef, Byron Bay Berkshire Pork, roast potato and roast pumpkin. The offer is available every night except Sundays, and when you consider the regular cost of a main at this particular joint, it's an absolute bargain. Sides and other meals remain available and a vegetarian option can be provided on request.

the main bar

But before the meat-eating commences, we are off to get some drinks from the bar. I've gotta say, I really like this bar. There is a quiet murmur of involved conversation in the background and the bar staff are friendly, if a little confused when I order a cranberry, lime & soda and Suze gets the same, but with added vodka. It is an unintimidating drinking hole, a far cry from the flashy and trumped up joints often found around town, and I can see myself settling in for a quiet drink quite, quite easily.

our table

Drinks in hand, we head to our table. Paper placemats are printed with the menu and our sideplates have tiny black cleavers printed on them. A glass of red is poured and the bread, with its buttery companion, are hacked into. There are two types of bread, the crust of the wholemeal tasting strangely remeniscent of corn thins. But they are lovely and chewy and fresh.

roast dinner!

And before we know it, plates are being whipped out from the kitchen. On each is two slices of pork, a slice of beef, a square of crackling, roasted pumpkin and potato. And it smells delicious. Billy, seated next to me, peers over at my plate, and then at FFichban's. "Your crackling is bigger than mine!" he wails "I have crackling fail..." But no-one is giving up their slice anytime soon.

My serve of pumpkin is tasted briefly (good for pumpkin) and then passed down the table to Yas (an apparently notorious pumpkin fiend). The potatoes resemble what a friend of mine calls "boarding school potatoes" with their double cooked and super crispy exterior. (Just to clarify, I love boarding school potatoes). And the meat! It is wonderfully tender and flavoursome. "An RSL dinner gone good" says one. And I heartily agree.

mustard, gravy, applesauce

A tray of condiments is brought out for each end of the table. The seeded mustard lifts the roast beef wonderfully, whilst the applesauce complements the sweetness of the pig. And the gravy? It goes well with everything. Especially the potatoes.

creamy potato bake

And speaking of potatoes, we were treated to a couple of extra sides. Creamy golden potato bake was initially eyed with suspicion, before a flutter of wide open-eyes and a group pointing of forks and knives at the otherwise inconspicuous dish led us all to quietly help ourselves to just a little bit more. Just a little bit. And then a little bit again. For the top was crispy and the innards were hot and cooked through without being soggy and crumbly.

the beans (and snowpeas)

The beans, while providing a much needed crunch and spot of greenery to the meal, did not fare so well, with a lonely few left at the bottom of each dish. There was the unmistakeable flavour of mint mingled in with the beans and odd snowpea. Though, curiously, no evidence of a crushed leaf was to be found.

home made chocolate block

And we chomped, and we chewed. And we divvied and drank. And at the end, a house-made chocolate block is served. It tastes curiously like Lindt, and that is because it is. An 80% milk / 20% dark chocolate mix encases a smattering of almond praline that crunches and sticks between your teeth. The cleaver is oh-so-novelty and I leap at the chance to do some chopping. And, letter by letter, it is eaten. And when that is done, some takehome blocks are procured for the ever-famous "ChocolateSuze". I am told they are available for purchase, and am tempted... but for the moment, all I can think about is meat.

Chophouse
25 Bligh Street
Sydney NSW 2000
ph 1300 246 748

pasticceria papa

2009-05-13T09:30:00.000+10:00

I have been hearing about Haberfield for what seems like the longest of times. "It is" Rocket would exclaim "the Eden of Sydney. The premiere suburb. Why would you want to live anywhere else?" He would continue, accompanied by constant riling from myself and the Bean. "What do you think of Haberfield Rocket?" we would ask "Decent place do you think?" And it would start all over again. So there was not so much as a single question asked when we realised that I wanted cake, and would be in Haberfield. "I'll show you the best place!" said he. And off we went.

Pasticceria Papa sits on the main corner of Haberfield (being that of Ramsay Street and Dalhousie Street, for the uninitiated). And the first thing I notice, as we wander down the road and towards the high ceilinged, large windowed building is the queue. People. Everywhere.

the cabinet crush

It does not help that we are visiting in the middle of Easter, and it seems all and sunder have flocked here to grab a cake, a couple of slices and some other nice treats for imminent guests. The queue spills out the door and onto the street, where a couple of dads stand with prams, not daring to try get inside.

goodies for sale

And we soon see why. The counter is long and heavy laden. Cakes of all description and purpose sit stacked in, along and behind it. A hand will fly up "Who's next!" and, without any pushing or shoving, the next one will rattle out their order. When it comes to our turn, we are utterly stumped. There are precious few signs telling us what each item is, much less its price, but no matter. Rocket is here for a birthday cake, and I am drawn to a collection of flavoured profiteroles.

coffee profiterole cake

There are two profiterole cakes on offer today. One caramel and the other coffee. "Which one would you like?" we are asked. "Caramel" says Rocket, then looks at our faces. "No. Coffee." The cake is packed up in a box and droped off at the counter, where he is asked "What did you order?" before doing the dollar for delicious swap. And whilst the Bean & I weren't around to try it, I am told that his family was rather happy with the cake.

selection of profiteroles

I hav bypassed slices of all description (a full menu can be downloaded here) and have stopped in front of the profiteroles. "What flavours are these?" I ask. "Pistachio" I am told, a finger pointing at the green-topped puff. "Hazelnut. Chocolate. Vanilla" Three of us. Four flavours. "I'll have one of each, except the chocolate." And after shifting $4.20 into the waiting hands of the cashier (at least I think it was $4.20, it may have been $5.40. Forgive me for inaccuracies, for I was a touch overwhelmed) I am presented with my goodies.

pistachio, vanilla, hazelnut

We divide and conquer. The vanilla first. And it is creamy and eggy with a not-too-crispy and not-too-soggy pastry shell. Lovely. The hazelnut is wonderfully nutty atop and the filling is remeniscent of a lighter version of custard made from nutella. But the pistachio! OH! I was all about the pistachio. It was clean and nutty without the slightly alcoholic and bitter flavour that pistachio flavoured items can have. And, when items were being divvied up, it was the one that I swiped an extra serving of.

cannoli: chocolate & vanilla

Somehow, in the melee, Rocket had snagged a couple of cannoli for us to try. They were crunchy and sweet. Shattering before giving way to a smooshy interior (and I can only describe it as smooshy, because that's how it felt). Love!

"Why so little food?" you may ask. Well, I'd been bakery hopping that morning and already had enough cake and pastry to last me the rest of the weekend... But I'll be back to Pasticceria Papa soon I think. For the pistachio profiteroles if nothing else anyway.

Pasticceria Papa
145 Ramsay Street
Haberfield NSW 2045
ph: 02 9798 6894 or 9799 9676

Open Monday-Friday: 8am-6pm, Saturday: 7:30am-5pm, Sunday: 7:30am-1pm

suze's frootie housewarming

2009-05-12T09:50:00.000+10:00

I was running late. The traffic wasn't helping, and neither was the fact that I had no idea where I was going. But I got there and juggled my bag, a lentil salad & a shiny foil wig across the quiet street to the door. A sharp poke at the doorbell and then "Hello?" "Oh hi, it's Shez." A silence. "Is this Suze's place?" Another silence. "Sorry, can't let you in" and then a disconnection. I poke the doorbell again. "OI!" And as I "Oi!" I see two heads pop out from a doorway. One with a rainbow mohawk and the other with long and luscious blonde locks. "Heeeeeee!" says the Blondie, and after a bit of pushing and pulling, I'm let in.
Let in? Well yes. But only after I don my wig for Suze's frootie/housewarming party. I dump my bags and smell... curry? And roti? A quick squiz at the table reveals boxes of all sizes & shapes. A flip of the lid reveals a domokun cake, a peer into a observer-proofed carrier reveals cupcakes, and someone is talking about a certain other's crunchy balls...

It is then that I remember that I'm in the presence of foodies. And eager ones at that. And by this, I mean Miss Suze (of chocolatesuze), Billy (atablefortwo) FFichiban (herecomesthefood), Helen (grabyourfork), Howard (eatshow&tell), Karen (citrus&candy), Simon (theheartoffood) and Yas (hungry.digital.elf).

roti & curry by suze and mama suze

A quick debate was had. "Frooties first? Or lunch?" The result, instant. "Lunch" say all, one because he is hungry, another fearing the after-effects of citric acid on an empty stomach, and a third because he had just smelt the roti and wanted in. And now. Mama Suze had whipped up a delicious chicken curry and Suze had pan-fried and crunched up a couple of packets of roti, courtesy 1x asian grocer.

sushi by helen

The ever-talented Helen had whipped up two plates of assorted sushi, which went down an absolute treat with the accompanying fresh wasabi & soy.

simon's "crunchy balls"

Simon brought along these absolutely delicious deep-fried balls (for want of a better word). "The left hand side are prawn and the right hand side are scallop" he said, when we asked what they contained. And then confusion ensued. We were standing around a circular table, and one's right was another's left. So I took one of each and figured out which was which. But not before I went "Ahh!" at the crunchiness and "Ohhh" at the soft just-cooked interiors. (And, I have to say, they were absolutely delicious - recipe dude! Pronto!)

sticky ribs by mama suze

Mama Suze's sticky ribs (skilfully reheated by Suze) were an absolute highlight. Moist and tender, with the meat falling off the bone. Certain of us had one, and then another, and then stopped to be courteous. But then, later on in the afternoon, spotted two more in the bottom of the bowl and munched oh-so-contentedly at their extra boon.

front: my lentil salad & rear: suze's pumpkin salad

I had been at a wedding the night prior and so fell back on my tried and tested lentil salad recipe. It's so easy that I wonder if it is post-worthy. Plus, as Howard said, after taking numerous shots from numerous angles "lentils... they just don't photograph well".

Pumpkin salad, on the other hand, photographs a treat. And despite my orange-vegetable aversion, I found myself picking out bits of pine nut & bocconcini for nibbling on. (Yes, that's where it all went... !)

miracle frooties

But it was time for some fun. Billy had sourced a packet of "Miracle Frooties". Made from the "Miracle Fruit", they have the strange-but-amazing ability to fool your tastebuds into thinking that sour is sweet (more info on Wikipedia). The effect is said to last from 15-30 minutes, though it lasted a little longer for some than others.

a clandestine operation

Each tablet is chopped carefully in half before the tray is solemnly handed around. We have done our research and dutifully swirl the tablet around our mouths, rubbing it into our tongues and letting it dissolve slowly. And oh! So. Slowly... For me anyway. The boys (who clearly produce more saliva than us girls) were all done in about 2 minutes. And the girls? Well we sat. And stood. And swirled. And tried not to spit the darn thing out because oh! It might be pink and promise all sorts of lovely things but the tablet tastes like chalk.

the not-so-sour fruit platter

We are finally (finally!) done and dig in. The winners? Lemons - a favourite of everyone involved. They taste like the lemonade one finds at the Easter Show. But sweeter. The grapefruit came in well, with only a hint of bitterness remaining, and the pomegranate tasted like I always thought the pomegranate should taste. Gone was the sharp acidity, and instead a flavour that matched its ruby red pearls. Ditto the POM juice, which tasted strangely like cranberry...

But the limes were terrible. And this is where different people's tastebuds kicked in. Whilst people waxed lyrical about the sweetened citrussy flavour, all I could taste was soap. Horrible horrible soap. Blergh...

the table of "yummies"

The rest of the table contained a plethora of sour, salty and yeasty flavours. There were some other odd flavours - passionfruit tasted like cocoa with dark notes and a caramel finish (though only for the girls, the boys said it tasted like passionfruit). Beer tasted like a malty coffee. Rice wine vinegar (once you got past the smell) tasted like, well, it just didn't taste like vinegar.

And whilst some foods really benefitted from the tablets (strawberries, citric acid powder), others didn't. Because what are sour dried plums when the sour is removed? And that lovely creamy cheese with a tang is now just milk solids. And the natural yoghurt? It tasted just like a creamy melee of nothing. Which reminded me (quite poignantly) how much I like that bit of acidity in my foods.

helen's cola cupcakes

And when we were done messing up our mouths (and stomachs... poor thing) there were explorations, wig swaps, Biggest Loser imitations and then, finally, dessert.

But we were so full! And there were so many desserts! So I split a cola cupcake (with cola flavoured sherbert sprinkled artfully across the top) with another and managed to snag the lolly. And ooh, it did taste like cola, if only faintly in the cake.

karen's lime & chocolate brulee tart

I questioned the lime & chocolate combination in Karen's tart, only to be mercilessly schooled on tasting it. People, hear me: lime & chocolate are fantastic when baked in a tart. Now repeat.

suze's peach slice

I didn't manage to squeeze Suze's slice in at the time, but did manage to snag a piece of it to take home with me. And oh! The shortbread-like bottom and the soft and fruity top. There may have been eyes made across the dinner table that night as each took their sliver and all wanted more.

simon's chocolate mousse with cream

Simon's chocolate mousse came complete with air-pressure-extruded cream, which, on the first glass, dribbled sadly in. On the second attempt, it spurted out with such verocity that we all jumped back in fright. And after that, well, just look at those pictures! It was smooth and bitter. Airy and light. Just lovely. Truly.

pavlova courtesy yas

The effervescent Yas brought along "Some Pavlova! It's yummy!" And we ooh'd and ahh'd over it before noticing he had disappeared. Heads peered out the door and he returned... with two more! "I cheated and bought them" he said "Why three?" said we "Oh, I can eat a whole one myself, so I thought I should bring some for everyone else!" said he. And I can see why. So. Tasty. Ahhhhh!

the voodoo knife set

But it was time to go, and so we left Suze with her new found toy (and pseudo-housewarming gift) and a fridge full of food. "There is cheese in my fridge!" she would email later "And juice! And yoghurt! And cake!" And I was glad, for what is a housewarming without leftovers to last you a week?

assiette

2009-05-11T10:00:00.000+10:00

It was the Bean's Birthday (and oh, I know, it seems like the Bean's Birthday just keeps on going) and there had been mutterings of a celebratory meal. Friday night was out, as plans had been made prior. Saturday was the big party (Hola!) and Sunday was the aftermath. And then, "Can we do Friday lunch?" was thrown into the mix, and "but work!" and then "and uni!" were tossed in as well, until someone (the Bean) remembered something about a fixed price lunch from Assiette, and how nice "that Warren-fellow from the Taste Festival" had seemed, and all of a sudden, plans had been made.

It was to be an exercise in timing. Collect the Bean, collect me, drive & park, eat, collect car, drop me back off at work, drop the Bean back off at uni. But somehow, what could have been a rushed, uncomfortable, too-much-work-for-so-little-return meal ended up being just perfect. A lesson in elegance and simplicity even.

the dining room

We entered through the hooded door into a simple, yet elegant dining room. "We booked for three, but we have four. Is that ok?" asked mum. A quick scan of the dining room, a smile, and a nod. "Certainly. Not a problem." responded our maitre'd, whose name I didn't catch. "Wonderful" said we.

complementary bread

We were the second table in, the first being a twosome of ladies who had been peering in the windows when we arrived ("Oh! Thank goodness you're here!" they had said. "We thought we were going to be the only ones eating here"). And when we had all been seated, menus were brought and the fixed price $30 for three course menu was selected. Which meant two plates of each course and faint "Yes, I'll let you try mine, but only a bit" deals were made.

Hot sourdough rolls were brought to the table, accompanied by the kind of butter you only find at restaurants. Rich and creamy, salty and wonderfully spreadable. "I love this bread" said the father, with a beam on his face.

sweet corn veloute with spanner crab & basil oil

Entrees were served a short wait later. "It is such a big bowl" thought the mother, out loud, "for such a little bit of soup". But then, as the spoon dove in, we realised that it wasn't a small serving at all, and we were silenced by the flavour. Because oh! There was the sweetness of the corn, and then salty sweetness of the crab, and the fragrance of basil all thrown together in a harmonious melee. The freshness of the corn came through - not a hint of that over-sweetened flavour sometimes found in the tinned variety. And the pieces of crab (I say pieces because they were more substantial than a sliver, but not large enough to be a chunk) were firm without being tough. I must admit, I tilted the bowl to catch the last drops, and, if I were at a lesser establishment, would probably have tried to lick it off the bottom. But didn't.

thai style crispy pork with chilli vinaigrette

The Bean and the father had been drawn in by the promise of pork. And crispy pork at that. I traded "a spoonful of soup for a forkful of salad" and grinned at the satisfying crunch from the pork crackling. A crunch in food is said to instigate a hightened sense of taste, and ah! how the flavours came through in this dish. I am told that the fresh herbs and rocket added fragrance and pepperiness that contrasted nicely with the pork. Most of the pork fat had been rendered out, leaving only the lean meat and the crispy skin. And the verdict? A big thumbs up.

roast chicken thigh with mushroom duxelle and polenta chips

Another Bean & father choice, with mum & I going for the fish. And another sidenote. My dad doesn't do chicken thigh. Not really. He prefers breast meat (though he also, confusingly, has a weakness for the wings). And so we were all surprised when he decided to go chicken. And we were, truth be told, a little concerned that he would be disappointed with the meal. We should not have worried. The chicken skin was crispy. The polenta chips crunchy on the outside and giving way to a smooth, fluffy interior. The mushroom duxelle ("Is this rice? Is this the polenta?" they asked) was flavoursome and hearty without being overly heavy. I was, not entirely ungrudgingly, given a mouthful to try. And I felt like I had been transported out of the dining room and into a warm, cosy place where all was good with the world and everyone in it. Mmmm... It was entirely unsurprising then, that I wasn't offered a second mouthful.

pan fried sea bream with colcannon and red wine jus

Not that I minded at all, because I was eagerly consuming my own choice of main. The sea bream was fork-flakingly tender and yet firm enough to feel it in your mouth. The flavour of butter came through on its exterior, salty and golden. But it was the colcannon, a traditional Irish dish made from mashed potatoes, cabbage, butter and seasonings, that was a revelation to me. Creamy and crunchy, flavoursome and muted all at the same time. And, depite its relative heaviness, it complemented the fish well. The red wine jus that circled the plate (a slight concern for me initially due to its often too-heavy nature) added a richness to the dish that, again, complemented rather than clashed. And when I not-entirely-ungrudgingly offered a mouthful to the Bean, she rather enjoyed it too.

chocolate parfait with raspberry sorbet

And almost too quickly, it was time for dessert. I say this not because we had been rushed along (far from it in fact) but because time had simply flown. The Bean & mother's chocolate parfait was rich and creamy. A ground up bed of caramelised nuts added texture and the raspberry sorbet perched atop added a refreshing touch. Simple, elegant, delicious.

rice pudding with quince, and prune and Armagnac ice cream

But it was this course that really won me over (and the Bean will disagree here and cite others as her basis point). Father was curious about rice pudding, having eaten (and not enjoyed) it in the past. I was captured by the idea of poached quinces, and an icecream containing prunes. So we decided to take a risk. Mother's eyes flew open. "Are you sure?" she had asked. "Yes." replied the Father "I'm trying different things today." He couldn't have made a better choice. We loved it. The creamy, still al dente, grains of rice were infused with a rich-but-not-cloying vanilla flavour. The quinces were poached throroughly, without turning to mush. And that ice-cream! It was pruney, without being pruney. The Armagnac, already a well known partner of prunes, instilled its distinct flavour in the ice-cream without being overly alcoholic. And, again, I scooped up every last grain.

the open kitchen

We had been seated next to the open kitchen. And oh, how quiet it was. Like a well-oiled machine. Cogs turning without strain. Each had their place. One at the pans, gently sauteeing - not a bang, clang or firey flame to be seen. Another stood at a benchtop, fingers movign deftly. And there, at the pass, carefully fixing plating, checking up on timing and calling orders, was Warren Turnbull. We almost didn't notice them. Which suited really. Understated, yet powerful. Simple, yet elegant. Generous, yet not excessive. Bliss.

Restaurant Assiette
48 Albion Street
Surry Hills, Sydney
ph 02 9212 7979
Prixe Fixe Lunch available Fridays from 12 midday - 2pm.

raspberry & brownie cheesecake

2009-05-08T09:15:00.000+10:00

Best friends are a wonderful thing. You understand each other, know what the other likes and dislikes, can talk for hours on end about utter nonsense. And, most of all, you have habits. Rituals, one might say. And for me and Miss Shiny, one of these rituals involves what-to-get-for-her-birthday. I don't remember when it started, but somehow, around March each year, the question will pop up. "Hey, Miss Shiny, what do you want for your birthday this year?" And sometimes she will reply "I think chocolate" or "Can it be fruity?" or "I don't know. Surprise me!"

We are of course, talking about cake. Birthday cake specifically. And so she has gotten a cherry ripe cake, a pirate cake and other such inventions over the past few years with much glee from her (and double glee from her parents). This year was a little different. "Do you think we could do a cheesecake?" she asked. It was a toughie. Mainly because I don't make cheesecakes. And because her boyfriend doesn't like cheesecakes. And oh! This was going to be a toughie.

morning tea at Miss Shiny's

But before I get into what I made (and how I made it) I have to mention the party. A morning tea swap party, where everybody cleaned out their wardrobe and brought anything unwanted, unwearable or unfitting (due to excessive cake consumption) along and dumped it on the lawn or hung it on the clothesline. If you liked something you saw, it was yours! And anything left over at the end of the day was bundled off to charity.

quarter-cut sandwiches

And the spread, like the lady herself, was just lovely. Cupcakes, crackers and cheese. Finger sandwiches galore! Oh, any my cake.

Following the happy success of the brownie caramel slice at the Bean's birthday fiesta, I decided to do a little crazy adapting for Miss Shiny's. A rich, fudgy chocolate brownie base. A light, gooey, tart-and-sweet vanilla and raspberry middle. And a chocolate crumble topping for those who like their traditional cheesecakes, albeit a little upside down. So a little messing around later, I had a recipe. One big cake for her, three little(r) ones for me. Hurrah!

miss shiny's birthday cheesecake

ingredients:

for the brownie base

200g butter
50g (½C) cocoa powder
440g (2C) brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 eggs
225g (1½C) plain flour

for the cheesecake middle

500g cream cheese
125g sugar
300ml cream
½tsp vanilla
3tsp powdered gelatine
¼C water
250g frozen raspberries

for the crumbly topping

250g chocolate ripple biscuits (or crunchy chocolate biscuit)
100g melted butter

happy birthday miss shiny!

method:

1. Let's make the brownie base. We made it yesterday, remember? For the caramel slice? If you've forgotten, head over to the recipe and follow steps 1 to 6. This recipe will make enough for the 25cm square tin plus three 1 Cup ramekins (for eating by yourself later).

2. You want to let this cool completely and then, for safety's sake, lift the brownie out of the pan once it is cool and stick an extra layer of glad wrap in underneath the greaseproof paper (This will help you to lift the entire cheesecake out in one not-falling-apart piece later on). Now put the lot back into the original cake tin.

3. Now for the lovely cheesecake middle. Cube the cream cheese, add sugar & beat until it is smoothght. Add the cream and vanilla and beat again until it is light.

4. Dissolve the gelatine in warm water and stir until you can't see the grains anymore. Tip this into the cream cheese mix and beat briefly to combine.

5. We're adding the tasty bit now! Dump about 100g of the raspberries into the mix and stir to combine. Some of the juices will leach out at this point. Now add the rest of them and stir ever-so-carefully so they don't break up as much. This way you'll get a nice mix of whole raspberries and raspberry juice swirls.

6. Spread the cheesecake mix over the top of the brownie base.

7. For the topping, break the biscuits down to a crumb using a food processor. Add the melted butter and stir through. It should hold shape when squished into a ball, but then fall apart when you poke it.

8. Press this mixture down on top of the cheesecake mix and stick it in the freezer for an hour or until set. Voila!!

cheesecakey interiors

caramel brownie slice

2009-05-07T08:30:00.000+10:00

Hypothesis: Mexican muchachos and mariachi are most merry when many options are presented for dessert.
Scene: The Bean's Birthday Party.
There had been chicken skewers and spicy rice, lentil salad and chillied beans, cumin rich mince and fried noodles (because every mass feed party we have involves noodles of some sort). And now, dessert. I had the cake at the ready, made four batches of profiteroles and mum had done a platter of cold jellies. One more thing was needed. But what? Not cake. Not pastry. Something that could be picked up and popped into an open mouth without drama, but nothing that was already on the dessert menu. And then there was an "Ahhhh" and after that, an "Ooooh!" and we were good to go.

I was in such a mad rush at the party itself that I didn't manage to snap a shot of the presentation. We cut this slab up into 2cm x 4cm pieces and popped them in coloured patty pans. These were then placed in huge straw baskets and handed out willy nilly. And the leftovers? There weren't many of them, and those we did manage to squirrel away for ourselves were gone the very next day.

caramel brownie slice
(adapted from COOK by the Australian Women's Weekly)

ingredients:

for the brownie base

200g butter
50g (½C) cocoa powder
440g (2C) brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 eggs
225g (1½C) plain flour

for the caramel centre

185g butter
110g (½C) caster sugar
2 tbs golden syrup
180ml (¾C) sweetened condensed milk

for the topping

200g dark eating chocolate
1 tbs vegetable oil

method:

1. First things first. Get yourself a pan. 25cm square will do the trick. Got it? Ok. Now line it with greaseproof paper. Seriously now, I wouldn't make you do this unless you really had to. And you do have to, unless you fancy eating this straight from the tin.

adding sugar to the butter & cocoa mix

2. Onto the brownie. Chop the butter up into cubes and dump them in a saucepan. Add all of the cocoa and heat slowly, until it becomes a lovely chocolatey viscous goo.

3. Leave the heat on low and measure your brown sugar out (if you're using cup measures, make sure you pack the sugar in tightly). Dump it in the cocoa mix and stir around until the sugar is all melted into the chocolatey goo (how I love saying those words!) Remove from heat.

adding the flour into the mix

4. Your mix may look just a little bit grainy at this stage. Beat your eggs lightly and then stir them into the pot of chocolate until well combined. Ditto the vanilla. Your mix won't look even a little bit grainy anymore. It will, however, taste fantastic. Just in case you're wondering.

5. Measure out your flour and stir it into the pot (yes! that same pot!) until it is all combined and lovely and there are no lumps of flour left lying around for gross flavour surprises later.

brownie base ready for baking

6. Scoop the lot into your well lined, well greased tin (because you followed step 1 right?) and stick it in a 150C oven for about 20 minutes.

making the caramel layer

7. Do your washing up and then start on the caramel layer. Chop that butter up too, then add all of the ingredients for the caramel into a pot and stir over a low heat until the butter is all melted.

golden and cooked

8. Turn the heat up now (just a little bit) and stir the mix until it reaches a lovely caramel colour. If you're using honey as a substitute for golden syrup, this will take about 20 min and it won't be as thick. A recipe using golden syrup should take 10 mins to go lovely and brown.

9. Tip the caramel mix over the (now extracted and cooled) brownie base and spread it out as evenly as you can. I find using a hot knife quite effective for these purposes.

10. Melt the remaining chocolate and cool it down. Once it hits touch temperature, stir the oil through and spread this over the top of the caramel layer. Refrigerate until set for a tasty treat.

all doneskis!

mumu grill & mr riggs wines

2009-05-06T10:15:00.001+10:00

Sustainability is all the buzz in food these days, and with excellent reason. Traditional farming often sees minerals leached out of soil faster than they can be put back in and produce being bred for rapid growth. And with the impact that mass production is having on the environment, it is a breath of fresh air (literally) to meet people who not only care about what they do, but also the way their livelihood affects the world we live in. Sounding a bit preachy for a Wednesday morning? Well another pro of this sustainable produce business is that the food tends to taste better. Ahhhh... now we're talking!

I was going to start this sentence with "It has been a long time since I saw a fully grown man getting cosy with a lamb" until I realised that I hadn't actually seen it happen prior til, well, now. Introducing Chef Mumu (Craig to his friends) a food world veteran and a person who isn't shy about getting up close and personal with his produce.

Chef Mumu getting cosy with an Arcadia Saltbush lamb

Don't you worry, he was hugging the lamb for a reason. All of the meat that arrives at MuMu Grill is aged for 2-3 months in crytovac before being hung in the cool room for a week. And this lamb? It was time to get hanging.

The hanging process results in a tender and more consistent texture to the meat as the proteins soften from enzyme action and excess moisture is released from the meat. "But what about the germs?!" I hear you ask, whipping your heads around at the thought of raw meat sitting unadorned in a walk in fridge. Fear not! For a big ol' super cleanup and bacteria check are conducted weekly, and no stomach issues have been had thus far.

roasted tomatoes

We (and by we I mean Anna, Howard, Jen, Lisa, Trina, Steph & I) had been invited by Lorraine to attend the "Take it Slow" Dinner at MuMu Grill courtesy of Chef MuMu. Each dish was to be accompanied by a Mr Riggs wine and once names, greetings and business cards had been exchanged, we were chomping at the metaphorical bit to sink our teeth into something spectacular.

carefully preparing the starter

A kitchen tour proved no aid to this enthusiasm, and, as we entered the kitchen, the first thought that came to mind was "Oh! It's so hot in here!". The thought was quickly replaced by the realisation that the lovely man in the corner was plating jamon. And 18 month old jamon at that. A finger of catalan bread, a light smothering of a roasted tomato puree and then a curl of lovely, red, fragrant meat. Dear heart, be still.

18 month jamon & catalan bread

It was served at the bar, accompanied by bowls of olives and a choice of two wines. I am, by no means, a wine expert but enjoyed the way in which the sometimes too-oily viognier complemented the lovely fat in the jamon whilst the tempranillo's rich spice and mellow acidity drew out the meaty flavours in the pig. The jamon itself? Just lovely. Delicately fatty. And complemented nicely with the faint flavour of the tomato and the oiliness of the Catalan bread.

mr riggs wines

But now we are seated and glasses of Mr Riggs 2007 "The Gaffer" Shiraz are being poured out in front of us. It's a mellow wine and not quite as hard hitting as a shiraz can be (which is much apreciated by this particular drinker). It has dark berry flavours and spices that aren't overpowered by an overly alcoholic kick.

chef mumu explaining the hanging process

And while we are drinking, Graham Strong, producer of Arcadia Saltbush Lamb (the lamb that is about to hit our tables) has a chat about their farming techniques. The lambs are fed on about 80% Old Man Saltbush, which has a high nutrient content. Bonus of that being that the nutrients that are sucked up by the saltbush's deep roots are then absorbed by the happy lamb. Graham has worked hard on creating what he calls "a dialogue with the animals", letting them choose what they want to eat and when, rather than force feeding them whatever is cheapest and most abundant.

whole arcadia saltbush lamb roasted for 13 hours served with
minted eggplant and white bean paste, green beans, beetroot jus

The lamb itself is firstly deboned before its hind and forequarters are braised and then slowcooked for 13 hours. The midsection (where everyone's favourite, the cutlets, come from) is cooked separately (and briefly) in a hot pan. Cooking the lamb in this way is said to preserve the nutrients present in the lamb.

cross-section: lamb cutlet

The lamb cutlet is perfectly cooked. Pink on the inside and properly rested so the juices have had the time to settle back into the meat. Certains on our table were so enamoured that they picked up the bone for a quick chew before plates were removed. (You know who you are). The eggplant and white bean puree gave the meal a lovely comforting flavour, and the beetroot jus (which I, incorrectly, assumed was the meat bleeding out) added a sweetness to the dish. I found that the shoulder / leg pieces had a much stronger aroma and flavour than the cutlet, and was tickled when told that the fat in it was "all very good for you, so eat up!" Oh ok. Will do then!

whole confit duck

Course Two, the duck, started off by being confited whole. The bones are roasted in a woodfire oven and then braised for a further 2 or so hours to make a wholly organic stock. This stock is then used to braise the duck pieces, before they are put in what I fondly dubbed "the magic drawer".

multiple ducks in the magic drawer

Cooking the duck for this long inevitably means that more fat is rendered out. And not just the fat that you'll normally find under the skin, but also the fat that is spread throughout the meat itself. As a result, the meat is somewhat drier than normal. We are assured, however, that the flavour "more than makes up for the loss in moisture".

2½ hour double roasted duck with bok choy and poached pear

The portions have been generous and I am struggling to finish my duck. Two marylands sit perched atop a tumble of cooked-but-still-crispy bok choy and a gorgeous little pear squats on the side. I'm a fan of the pear and duck combination, the sweetness of the pear bringing out the dark, musty flavours in the poultry.

I am equally intrigued by the wine, a 2008 Shiraz Viognier. It has been dubbed the new rockstar of reds, and doesn't disappoint. By co-fermenting the red and white grapes together, Mr Riggs (Ben to his friends) has ended up with a wine that has a lovely floral nose (like a white) and a meaty rich flavour. As a representative from Siansbury's said, it is a wine that "smells like a woman's handbag and tastes like a man's wallet". Oh!

brown sugar pavlova with seasonal fruit

Desserts are often done badly at a place which focuses on its meat, and so expectations were not high for this, our last, course. I was so, so incorrect in making that assumption. So incorrect. A crunchy exterior, a mellow brown sugary sticky interior. A dollop of whipped-just-right cream. A smattering of cubed fruit, bursting with flavour. A whirl of passionfruit and the sometimes hedgehog-like spikes of pineapple sitting on the top. It was, in a word, bliss.

the perfect mouthful? maybe.

And the Sticky End 2008 Viognier that accompanied it? I'm currently looking for people to split a case with me (any takers?) Air drying the grapes pre-fermentation has resulted in a light as air, sweet wine without any of the musty flavours and smells that botrytis normally adds to a sticky. I was (and still am) enamoured by it.

1x happy poster

There was a competition for a magnum of red and then, sadly, it was time to go. But on my way out, I spied a poster advertising jamon and cocktails at MuMu on Sunday afternoons. "Hmm." I thought to myself, a little smile spreading across my face "How interesting..."

MuMu Grill
Shop 1-6 / 70-76 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Ph (02) 9460 6877

[ps: many thanks for the dinner Chef MuMu - it was greatly enjoyed!]

sombrero cake!

2009-05-05T08:30:00.000+10:00

Hola Amigos! It was the Bean's Birthday in my period of semi-absence and a party was being had. A Mexican Fiesta to be precise. And, as part of my sisterly duties, I was commissioned to make a cake. "We're having forty... oh, maybe fifty people" said the Bean, some three weeks prior. And then, "It may be closer to sixty. I'm not sure" said the Bean, one week prior. And there were dinners to be had and people to be seen with and so the cake was made on a Tuesday and decorated on a Saturday morning in amongst pots of beans and mince and lentils and rice.

"What kind of cake would you like to have?" I asked. "Marble Cake" she responded. "Are you sure?" I had asked, hoping she would change her mind. But she didn't. And I ws left to come up with a way to make marble cake Mexican. There were thoughts of a 2D cactus, but I wanted something more... challenging? Did I really? Well somewhere in between the question and the outcome I decided I did. And oh! The Bean was so excited! And oh! So were the Mexican drug ring, the poncho & sombrero clad muchachos, the cactus, the taco & the various mariachi musicians.

the plans, oh! the plans!

basic marble cake

ingredients:
600g butter
3C sugar
9 eggs
4C Self Raising Flour
2C Plain Flour
375ml milk
3 tbs cocoa powder
red & green food colouring

method:

1. Beat the butter & sugar until it is smooth and pale in colour. With this much batter, it may be wise to do this section in batches. I did not and ended up with sugar coated butter flying around my kitchen. I only exaggerate a little bit.

butter & sugar first. then eggs. now beat it.

2. Add the eggs to the bowl and beat in one at a time.

3. Transfer the entire amount into a bigger bowl now. (Again, I did not do this and ended up with flour all over my kitchen. Exaggeration? Slight.)

flour, then milk, then flour, then...

4. Sift 2 Cups of flour into the mix. Doesn't matter which flour, just any of them. Now mix the flour in. It will be a little stiff.

5. Pour about 125ml of the milk into the mix. There is only one kind of milk in this recipe so no confusion there right? Mix that in now. The mix will loosen a little bit. This is a good thing.

6. Repeat steps 4 & 5 until all of the flour and all of the milk has been mixed through.

colour me happy baby!

7. Split the mix into four different bowls. Colour one red, another green and the third one brown. The cocoa goes in the one that you are planning to colour brown. (I can see the lightbulbs from here!)

dollops of batter

8. This is the fun part (as opposed to the washing up that happens later which is far less fun). Put a spoon in each of your coloured bowls and dollop the colours around the pan all higgeldy piggeldy.

[8a: for those planning on sombrero cake-ing it up, I used a 28cm round springform for the base and a disposable aluminium deep pie dish for the peak.]

swirl-er-riffic!

9. After you've dolloped the mix in [about half way for the big round tin and two-thirds of the way up for the pie dish] use a knife to swirl the colours together. Don't swirl too much or you'll end up with an off-brown cake with patches of colour instead of happy marbling.

10. Now baking time. It'll take about an hour and a half in a 180C oven. Check for cookedness by inserting a skewer. If it comes out clean, the cake is done. If the top is browning too much, cover it with tin foil and keep baking.

11. You'll have enough batter left over for some cupcakes. These are best eaten straight from the oven and slathered with nutella. I may or may not know this from experience.

leftover batter cupcakes

making a sombrero cake

ingredients:
one packet of roll out icing (500g)
powder (not liquid) colouring in yellow, orange, green & red
300ml cream
2 tbs icing sugar

equipment:
greaseproof paper
spatula
knife
rolling pin

method:
1. It's best if you make your cake the night before. Once it's cooked, let it cool then wrap it in layers of glad wrap & foil and pop it in the freezer overnight.

making the hat's "peak"

2. Unmold your cakes. The circular cake can stay as is. it will probably havea slight curve to its top and that suits these purposes just fine.

3. The cake baked in a pie dish will have risen ridiculously and have a massively curved up top. Slice the peaked bit off (carefully though! We'll be using it!) You should now have a round cake, a cake that looks like a cone with the top missing, and the peak of the pie dish cake.

making a peak (part 2)

4. Flip the not-quite-a-cone so the cut side is facing down and plonk the cut away peak on top of it. We're going to trim the peak so that it fits the top of the cone. Best way to do this is to make vertical slices all around the peak until you hit the base cake, then to carve each of the tabs off.

5. Now whip your cream and sugar together until it is stiff (but without being too aerated. This is going to be your icing "glue".

laying down the glue

6. Put a thick layer on the top of the round base cake and then spread it around the sides. Now put another dollop in the centre of the big cake and smoosh the not-quite-a-cone down on top of it. Repeat with the peak. You should now have a hat-ish looking form covered in white cream.

7. Colour about 100g of the icing green and 100g of the icing red using the powder colouring. Keep working it through until the colour is evenly spread.

applying the outer layer of icing

8. Now cut a strip of waxed / greaseproof paper that is the about 2cm taller in height than the base cake, and the same length as its circumference. Roll the green icing out onto that piece of paper then trim one of the long edges. Roll it up like a roll up and stick it onto the base of the cake, peeling the paper away as the icing sticks to the cream.

9. Roll out a rectangle of red, half as long as the green and cut triangles out from it as shown in the picture. Stick these onto the green with a little bit of pressure. You won't need an adhesive as such.

10. Finally, add yellow & orange to the rest of the icing until it is straw coloured
(or sort of straw coloured). Roll that out into a big, BIG circle and drape it over the top of the cake. Trim the edges and use a skewer to create some detail.

cakey innards (hooray for swirls!)

11. And you're done! Add candles for a ridiculously bright and cheeful cake. Then tell the Bean you're never doing that again because oh-my-goodness the hours of your life that you lost stressing about whether or not it would all work. And she will point at her happy guests who are exclaiming "colourful cake in the shape of a hat! oh my goodness!" and saying "but it is so great!" and then the mother will slice the whole way down the cake to serve it up and you will see the pretty swirls and the triple layered hat innards and think non-homicidal thoughts when the Bean says "So what cake do I get next year?"

date & ricotta scrolls

2009-05-04T10:15:00.000+10:00

Can't get a date to save your life? Tired of being cold and alone? This recipe probably won't help you any. Not unless your issues are easily solved with dates of a different kind, and your cold solitude is best warmed up by some piping hot, yeasty goodness (in which case, this recipe just may solve your woes)!

After my initial yeast-failures (see hot cross buns that double as door stops, Easter-ish 2009), I was determined to make something that rose. The poor Bean was suffering from a strange malady that resulted in her falling asleep in strange places so all I had was a bag of dates (and an ever decreasing stockpile of ricotta) to while my afternoon away with.

getting ready to mix up the yeast

I'll pre-warn you. These aren't (by any means) a sweet scroll. I mean, they look like they should be, right? But don't be put off for they are ever so satisfying when sliced in half and chewed up with a slathering of butter & your favourite jam. Think spicy & just a little bit fruity. (Resisting making a joke about dates here...)

spicy ricotta & date scrolls

ingredients:

3 tsp dried yeast
125ml warm water
2 tsp sugar
375g plain flour (2.5 C)
1 tsp mixed spice
50g butter
125ml warm milk
150g dates
1/4 tsp bicarbonate soda
3 tbs brown sugar
75ml warm water
200g ricotta

for the glaze:
¼C sugar
¼ tsp mixed spice
¼C water

method:

1. Yeast first. Make sure the water is lukewarm by sticking your finger in it (you don't want to kill the poor carbon dioxide producing beasties). If your finger is burning, it's too hot. Wait until it has cooled down before testing it again. With a different finger this time. Oh, and you should probably wrap that first finger up in some gauze.

bubble bubble toil & trouble...

2. Add the now-lukewarm water to the yeast & sugar. I used a little whisk to combine it all. It should smell musty and little bubbles should start to form. Leave it for 5 minutes while you fix the rest of the stuff up.

check out that yeasty goodness! it's ali-i-ive!

3. "The rest of the stuff?" Yes dear. The flour (which you should sift with the spice and the salt) needs to be in a nice big bowl. No, not that one. The other one. The one that has more room in it for when the dough rises. Good? Good.

4. Now that the yeast has come alive (and threatened to spill out of that little bowl you mixed it in) it's high time we put it all together. Time to add the yeast mix to the flour mix. Tip it in, and while you're there, tip the butter (melted please) and the warm milk in too.

the dough after kneading

5. Time to get physical (with the bread dough people - the dates come later *winkwink*). Mix the ingredients together in the bowl until you can stir no more, then dump the contents out on a floured bench and knead for your life. You know how to do this right? Heel of the palm, quarter turn, heel of the palm, quarter turn, repeat ad finitum. Well, for ten or so minutes anyway. Until the dough is nice and elastic. (Elastic = being able to stick your finger in it and have the dough bounce back).

6. Elastic? Fantastic. Dump the mound in a well oiled bowl & glad wrap it. Now tuck it away somewhere warm for an hour so it can rise. I tucked my bowl in with the Bean (who at this point was asleep on the table).

chopping up the dates

7. While things are rising and resting, clean your kitchen up a touch & get to those dates. We're chopping them up first. Think six to eight pieces per date. Now split them into two groups. Group 1 (about 100g of the dates) will go into a small pot. Group 2 gets to sit around and do sweet, sweet nothing.

8. Add the bicarb soda + brown sugar + water to Group 1 in a small pot over the a low heat on the stove. It will bubble a bit and then reside. Cook it down until it is paste-like in texture.

and then *POOF!* your dough has doubled

9. *Ding!* An hour is up and so is the Bean. "No... my nesting. Don't steal my eggs..." she mutters sleepily as I prise the dough away from her. It has risen tremendously.

rolling out the dough

10. So time to punch it down and roll it out on a floured surface to a rectangle-ish shape. Don't over knead it at this stage. The rolling out will do the job nicely.

spreading the filling out

11. Group 1 dates get spread out over most of the dough. Leave a strip at the end so it binds nicely. Then sprinkle Group 2 dates over the top of the Group 1 date mix. And, finally, add broken up clumps of ricotta over the top of the lot.

roll & cut'em up

12. Starting at the end that is furthest from the blank strip, roll the dough up like a swiss roll (or a sushi) and then cut it into eight pieces. More or less.

tucked in with the Bean for a second prove

13. Arrange your slices in a well oiled baking dish, glad wrap & tuck it in with the Bean for another 20 minutes. ("Hah? What's this?" she will mutter sleepily. "Your eggs" I will say "They don't smell like eggs." the Bean will reply).

just baked datey goodness

14. And once the 20 minutes is done, a speedy 35 minute stint in a 180C oven. And while they bake, whip your glaze together. All the ingredients in a small pot, stir, stir, stir. Done. A quick cool down and then a brush of glaze with a deft hand.

piping hot and ready for consumption

15. Et voila! Woes solved. At least momentarily.

ricotta & spinach ravioli

2009-05-01T11:00:00.000+10:00

Hola amigos! Where has the time gone? Well, for a start, there was a giant Mexican Fiesta for the Bean's birthday (complete with a Mexican Sombrero cake). And then, following that, a bout of what can only be described as Mexican Fiesta sickness (highly distinguishable from the Mexican Swine Flu, as there were no pigs at the Fiesta). I digress. The point being that I'm back in action and ready to rumble. And what better way to rumble than with that spinach and ricotta mix you've had sitting in your freezer? Ahhh yes. That one. And what to do with it? Ah-hah! That's where this post comes in handy.

Two recipes for your eating pleasure. One a little fiddly, the other not so much. Both highly satisfactory. Especially when one is done and dusted and the other has been earmarked for a late night snack.

spinach & ricotta ravioli

ingredients:

1x spinach & ricotta mix
1x fresh pasta made without lemon rind

method:

1. Make your spinach & ricotta mix (alternatively, pull it out of the freezer to defrost).

2. Then, make your pasta (alternatively, pull it out of the freezer to defrost. Did I mention you can freeze your pasta dough for up to three weeks and then let it thaw & roll it out as needed? I didn't? How terrible of me. Well, you can. And oh (OH!) what a difference that makes to your ease-of-pasta-making-days.)

3. You want to be rolling your pasta out into long, thin sheets. Rectangles preferably. Circles, whilst nice to look at, make this recipe a little harder to do.

blobbing the mix on the pasta

4. Now cut your pasta so you have an even number of thin rectangles with a 7cm width. Dollop your spinach & ricotta mix in nice little blobs along one of the rectangles, spacing it well to allow for the ravioli edges.

folding the second sheet over

5. One row done? Grab another rectangle and place it over the one you've just blobbed with your mix. Now, starting from one end of the rectangle, press down around each blob with your fingers to seal it in between the two sheets of pasta. If you run out of pasta by the end of the rectangle, just scrape off the blobs you've done and use them in the next round of rectangles.

6. Cut in between each blob and *ta-daaaaa* you have your ravioli. Now if you want to be fancy (and we have well established that I am not fancy) you can make your rectangles thicker and cut the ravioli out with a round cookie cutter for pretty shapes. Or with a shaped cookie cutter for a themed (albeit somewhat confusing) meal.

cooked & drizzled in olive oil

7. Cook them in a pot of salted boiling water in batches. They're done when they float to the top. Sprinkle with olive oil & serve with a sauce of your choice.

(I served them with a quick saute of diced tomato, baby spinach & garlic. Bliss!)

quick & easy spinach & ricotta pastries

These are, in all honesty, almost too easy to warrant a recipe. But I'll stick one in here anyway. I've tried them with both puff and shortcrust pastry and far prefer the light, airy nature the puff pastry gives them. Feel free to try both & let me know what you prefer.

ingredients:

1x spinach & ricotta mix
1kg packet of frozen puff pastry
milk

method:

1. Cut your puff pastry into quarters with a knife.

2. Let it thaw a little bit so it is malleable (without being melted).

3. Dump a heaped spoonful of the mix in the centre of each pastry square & fold over into a triangle. Crimp the edges with a fork so you end up with a pretty pattern once it is cooked.

making the pastries

4. Get a pastry brush and dunk it in the milk. Brush liberally over the top of your completed pastry triangles.

5. Bake in a 150C oven for 15 minutes or until the pastry is lovely and golden and brown.

6. Eat immediately. Or later. But it tastes better hot from the oven. But don't burn yourself. You won't be able to taste anything for a while that way. And that would be terrible. Wouldn't it?

spinach & ricotta pastries

lindt cafe

2009-04-24T09:00:00.000+10:00

You will, I'm sure, have seen this shot before. Two macarons, or, as Lindt says, two declices in Passion and Vanilla. Though they are not mine on this occasion. For I have come for waffles. I have had waffles on the brain for a while, but this has been exacerbated by a recent-ish trip to Guylian where the waffles were from-a-box-crunchy and the chocolate sauce a little gluggy. "Waffles" I had muttered to Suze at the time "should be hot. And fluffy. And definitely. Not. Crunchy." "Well let us go somewhere where the waffles are hot and fluffy then" said they. And we did.

Not immediately, mind you. But weeks later, and after a trip to Eveleigh Markets and a lunch at the Blackbird Cafe.

FFichiban in action

The cameras were out, and I had snuck Karen's bag of declices away from her ("Just to look!" I had chirped) and stuck my camera in the bag to take a picture. FFichiban hollered an "Ooh! Lightbox" and promptly followed suit. Which then led to each of us snapping photos of him, snapping photos of declices. And when he was done, we still hadn't gotten that shot and so made him sit in that pose for "Just a little bit longer!" until we were done. And maybe for just a little bit after that too. Because he looked so funny.

Chocolate Milkshake ($7.00) & Lindt Dark Iced Chocolate ($7.00)

And so the food arrived. Or should I say, the things-that-had-been-ordered. For after breakfast and lunch, Karen & FFichiban couldn't eat a thing more. "What is the difference" wondered FFichiban "between an iced chocolate and a chocolate milkshake?" We couldn't tell him so he and Karen ordered one apiece. And the answer? The milkshake comes with a beautiful swirl of chocolate round and round the sides. And the Iced Chocolate does not. They taste slightly different too, with more ice in the Iced Chocolate and a creamier texture to the milkshake.

Mini Declices... GIANT DECLICE!

When we had been pondering what to get whilst waiting in the queue (and when I say we, I mean they, because I had made my choice back about a month ago) I felt a hand grab my arm. "Giant macaron" Suze hissed at me. "Do I? Do I?" "Yes. Do." we had said and so she did. And it looked just like its little cousins. But GIANT.

Chocolate Hazelnut Declice Gateau $13.00

As a way of measurement, this macaron-ish-thing would have been about 10cm diameter and about 4cm high. And it was filled with a crunchy hazelnut praline and chocolate cream. And it was rich. So rich that Suze, after chomping down on it for the first third of it, slowed her pace down to nibbles. "I will not" she said in between rabbit bites "be defeated by a macaron." It was a little soggy and it was a whole lot of richness. I took a rabbit nibble myself, and know that I would have only made it about halfway through. If that.

Lindt Waffle $15.00

No matter, for I was here for waffle. And waffle was here for me. Hot from the waffle press. "Freshly made & served with Lindt Vanilla White Chocolate ice-cream & Chocolate Fudge Sauce" said the menu. "Freshly made waffle!" I had said. And I took three quick snaps then eyed everyone else off while they took theirs. And all clear, and then a digging in. Sauce was poured over the top in a thick fudgy stream. "Ohhhhh...." I heard, as that hot, buttery waffle smell mingled with the smell of chocolate sauce. And then in I went.

Methodical Waffle Demolition

Methodically of course, as is my habit. Cut along the marked lines. Then sliced into three pieces. The tip of the wedge, and then the base sliced in two vertically. For that allows for an even distribution of ice-cream and chocolate sauce. I powered through half of it. Paused. Ate another triangle and then hit a wall. The food for the day had caught up on me and my head was starting to hurt. The waffle was finished by all and sunder (including me, for what is a headache when you have waffle) and the slow realisation that we had been eating for nigh on 6 hours hit us all. So homeward bound it was. Slowly though. For a jolt in a car could have spelt disaster.

Lindt Cafe
Cockle Bay
104-105 Cockle Bay Wharf
Darling Harbour, Sydney
ph (02) 9267 8064

blackbird cafe

2009-04-23T09:45:00.000+10:00

It feels like it was an age ago (and perhaps that's because it was). A party of four, zipping from Eveleigh Markets (where we collected the effervescent Suze) and into the city. A spot in a car park. A walk down Park Street. FFichiban visited an ATM. Suze got distracted by TimTams and disappeared down the aisles. Karen & I chased her and FFichiban couldn't find us. And all of this before we'd even decided where to have lunch.

We were walking down to Cockle Bay, or thereabouts. This much we knew. Because the sole purpose of the trip into the city was waffles. Well, that was my purpose anyway. But a lunch before that (and, for some, a breakfast) was mandatory. Gluten free pastries, apple pie, ice cream & focaccia are nice, but they do not a lunch make. "Maybe we can go to James Squire?" said FFichiban. But we didn't feel like meat. And driving would have precluded the consumption of beery beverages. And so Blackbird it was.

pink lemonade $4

I hadn't been to Blackbird Cafe in, oh, seven years - the last foray being a "dinner date" with a would-be-suitor. Hm. But on arrival, we are offered a selection of tables. And then a selection of drinks. "OH! Pink Lemonade!" I exclaim, to the amusement of the rest. It is ordered with a sheepish grin and served with a raised eyebrow. Nothing too fancy, its just a shot of raspberry cordial in lemonade, but enough to thrill my socks off. I am, after all, a six year old girl in pigtails and a flouncy dress at heart.

fish & chips $19.90

I also order the fish & chips. Two large serves of crispy battered fish arrive on a bed of half-crunchy-half-not-so-much chips. Tartare and lemon accompany the deep fried tangle and I cut the fish open for inspection. "I'm probably going to have Mister Trout for dinner" I had said when deciding on my meal "But he's a pink fish. And this will be white fish. So it's not like I'm having two meals of the same thing. Not really." At this point Suze laughed and yanked a little notebook out from her bag. "You're kinda crazy" she said.

The fish (barramundi) is firm and cooked well. And the serve is too big for me to finish, and half of the second piece of fish is snuck onto FFichiban's plate for him to finish. "Heyyy that wasn't there before" he says, as I look around faux-innocently.

classic caesar salad with cajun prawns $19.90

Karen has ordered a Caesar Salad. With cajun prawns. "Something light" she explains when we all look at her. "A salad?" we were thinking, and our thoughts were duly voiced. But the salad was large and the prawns were spicy. "Oh!" said Karen, after chomping down on the first one "Ahhhhh!" The cheese (which she had forgotten to non-request) was scooped from the salad and dumped on Suze's pizza. "Five cheese pizza!" she exclaimed.

quattro formaggi $22.90 (plus pumpkin)

It had originally been a four cheese pizza. Bocconcini, mozzerella, gorgonzola & ricotta. And then "Can I also have pumpkin on it?" so two and a bit slices of pumpkin, judiciously sliced into quarters had been added. Truth be told, the pumpkin looked a little sad and lonely, and we had expected maybe a scattering of cubed roast pumpkin, but it would do. I had a slice and found it cheesy. And once I got past the cheesy, I found the base dry and nicely textured and the oil a little much by the end of the slice. Suze was happy enough with it, making cheesy pizza strings and grinning as she munched.

fishermans platter $24.90

FFichiban had originally thought to get the fish & chips. But I was ordering that, and so in the interests of different meals, he picked its upsize. A piece of battered barra, prawns, squid & mussels arrived on a plate with chips and two dipping sauces (an aioli and a "ginger sauce" says the menu). It is all, and I mean all, deep fried into golden crunchiness. It's a lot of food for one person if that person is me. And from memory, it is a just-right amount of food for one person if that person is a boy who likes to eat.

So eat we did. And when we were done (and when Suze's Strongbow was down to its final semi-lukewarm drops) we headed off, trying to push the food we'd just eaten aside in our stomachs for just down the windy, windy stairs were waffles.

Blackbird Cafe
Balcony Level, Cockle Bay Wharf
Darling Harbour NSW 2000
ph (02) 9283 7385

beef & zucchini ragu on pappardelle

2009-04-22T08:30:00.000+10:00

Cancel your plans people! We're staying in! No gallivanting about the town because tonight is a hearty, meaty pasta night. It also happens to be another (yes! another!) occasion on which you can impress friends and relatives alike with your by-now-superior pasta making skills. "Oh, its so quick & easy to make" you will say, nochalantly, as you dish it up. "I mean, there's the cooking time for the ragu and the drying time for the pasta" you will clarify "but you're not doing anything during that time, are you?" And you will throw back a glass of red and look oh-so-classy.

It has been getting colder and darker around here. And wetter. And did I mention colder? On the upside, I start feeling like rich, stewy, warming foods. And what a wonderful feeling it is. The family was suitably pleased with this on the table, eating helping after helping until "Ergh..." said one "I think I ate too much" but the others weren't listening, for they had placed their heads in their hands and were halfway to sleep.

chop ze zucchini

beef & zucchini ragu on pappardelle

ingredients:

800g chuck steak
half a head of garlic
rosemary & thyme
400g tin of lentils
400g tin of whole tomatoes
70g tomato paste
350g mushrooms
3 zucchini
250ml red wine
flour, salt, pepper
1 pasta recipe

most of the mise en place

method:

1. Cube your beef & stick it in a bowl with a slosh of olive oil, salt, pepper and the crushed leaves of two sprigs of thyme. Let it sit in the mix for an hour, or half a day, or use it straight away if you must.

browning the meat

2. Now stick a little bit of oil (not olive, for we want it at a decently high temperature) in the bottom of a heavyish pot. I used a cast iron one that we had. It is very heavy. It is also a pain in the behind to wash. Once hot, put batches of your meat in and toss to brown. I have put too much meat in the pot in the above picture. Put less meat in than I did. Once browned, take it out and put it to the side while you do the rest of it.

3. Once all the meat is browned, put it all back into the pot. Add to this all of your peeled, squashed garlic and the red wine (it will go *psst* and release a wonderful smell). Cook until about half the wine is disappeared into the atmosphere.

adding the liquid ingredients

4. Once it is reduced, toss in the tomatoes and the tomato paste. Don't worry about chopping your tomatoes. They will disintegrate while you cook into a lovely red mess. Top it off with a small handful of your herbs. If you are feeling clever, you might want to tie them together with some kitchen string. Else you will be fishing them out one by one later and thinking "Did I add four sprigs of rosemary or five?"

5. Now reduce the heat to a slow simmer, pop the lid on and leave it be.

slicing up the mushrooms

6. Here you can start to do your chopping. There are mushrooms to be chopped. And zucchini. Slices and rounds do me well, but you can do quarters and batonnettes respectively if that takes your fancy. (Are you fancy? I am not so fancy.)

7. You can also start to make your pasta here. Follow the pasta recipe, omitting the lemon if you wish (though I love the way it adds to lighten this dish, even just a smidge). We'll be cutting it into ribbons that are about 2-3cm (or about 1 inch) thick for pappardelle. Don't forget to hang it out to dry!

all in! (po-po-po-poker face)

8. Once you've finished your chopping and rolling and all of that nonsense, or, once about an hour has passed, stick all the veges in. And by all of them, I mean the mushies and the zukes.

toss & turn baby

9. Give it all a good toss around and then stick the lid on again. Be careful here because curious noses may awake their owners from mid-afternoon naps and cause them to stumble down the stairs and into the kitchen where they will say "What's that? Is it done? Can I have some?" in a sleepy, bear-like tone. And you will have to tell them "No" and "another half an hour or so, ok?" and they will grizzle and lumber off back to bed.

the pappardelle

10. Say you've been cooking slowly for about an hour and a half by now. It's time to lift the lid and say "Oh golly! So much liquid!" before panicking and wondering whether anyone would very mind soup for dinner instead of pasta. Fret not! For you're doing fine! Lift the lid and let it cook uncovered for another half hour.

11. And while it is cooking, you can cook your pasta (which should, by now, be well and truly dried).

time to chow down!

12. Half an hour is done and so are the noodles. One on the plate, and then the other. Call out to the family, pour the rest of that bottle of wine out. Don't worry if they're silent while eating. They're not thinking of how to say bad things nicely. In fact, they're probably not thinking at all...

peking vip restaurant

2009-04-21T09:00:00.000+10:00

We are not very hungry. Actually, that's an understatement. We are, in fact, quite full. It has been a long day of long, large lunches and yet here we are, Friday Dinner Club, debating about where we should go for dinner. The original question was an if, but this idea has been quickly quashed. "You don't want to get to 10pm and be hungry right?" I say to Miss Shiny. She nods in a vague semblance of agreement. "And maybe we can get something light? Try something different?" I continue. She looks at Mak. "I guess dinner is on then."

I had heard things about the Peking VIP Restaurant. A couple who had recently holidayed in China came back and told me that the food was identical. Or close to identical anyway. I had, however, never experienced it. You have to look hard, you see. Because the entrance sits right in between the super discount CD shop and the normal discount shop on Pitt St. And then you have to go round to the stairs, then up, up, up the stairs until you reach the landing. And then you have to turn left and up again. I make it sound like there are many stairs. There are probably only about 20 of them.

an imposing figure

We are greeted by a friendly face and seated under an imposing figure. When SuperDanny arrives, some 20 minutes later, he drops his bag at the statue's feet, mutters a "Mind that for me, would'ya?" and picks up the menu. Which, by the way, is big and all encompassing. There is fish. There are dishes of chicken and pork and other assorted meats. There are veges. There are noodles. There are dumplings. We debate for a bit, then make our orders.

shanghai fried pekingese noodles $8.50

This dish is selected for its name alone. Two Chinese locations in a dish? Sure! And excitement is added by the fact that, apart from being fried noodles, we have no idea what it will contain. It ends up containing strips of pork, pork mince and chinese cabbage, all mingled together with a slippery, round rice noodle. It is tasty, if a bit fatty on the tongue. But we kinda like it that way.

shanghai noodles in soup $8.50

The next item contains the same noodles, but in a broth. It has a fainter flavour when compared to the first, and contains the refreshing tang of ginger. The ginger has been sliced oh-so-thinly. So thinly that it is unwittingly picked up and chomped on along with the noodles. I love this for its eye-popping "Oh! Hello!" factor. Miss Shiny reacts by saying "Ahh! Ginger!" everytime she strays on a piece.

the menu & a warning

We order some dumplings. There is a bit of confusion at first, but after a quick explanation all is made clear. Beef Dumplings need to be ordered a day ahead. So no beefy dumplings for us. I find this odd, but not completely off putting. There are, after all, other dumplings to be had.

burnished bottomed dumplings

And when they arrive, hot from the pan, their bottoms are cause of glee! Happily burnished bottoms. A vinegary dipping sauce. A couple of almost-burnt tongues. Let these ones cool for just a minute before trying to pop them in your mouth. They are served hot from the pan. And by hot, I mean hot.

pan fried prawn, scallop and pork dumplings $10.70

We liked these the best. And considering the ingredients, the price is not too bad either. Biting into the dumpling, you could see a good chunk of whole prawn - none of this ambiguous minced stuff. Ditto the scallop. And the light flavours were complemented, rather than overpowered, by the pork. Full as I was, I managed to stuff a couple of these down.

pan fried minced dumplings $8.50

The minced dumplings come resplendent with chives. They are not the hearty, meaty dumplings that one may stumble across in Chinatown. Neither are they the beautifully made, light as air dumplings you'll find at a more sophisticated joint. But they are, by all accounts, tasty. And just what is needed to round off a quick, quiet meal between friends.

the bill!

The Bill is presented, and we are on our way. There has been a charge for the tea we drank, but we drank so much of it that I'm not too fussed. And it really was essential considering the fatty nature of the dishes we had ordered. A return visit? Maybe. And next time, I might order something mroe substantial. Other tables were there for birthday dinners and others still were having a quiet, intimate meal. And that food? Well it sure did look good. But for a not-so-hungry quartet, what we ordered was just right. And it didn't come at too high a price either.

Peking VIP Restaurant
Shop 7, 238-242 Pitt St
Sydney NSW 2000
ph (02) 9283 3606

choc cross buns

2009-04-19T10:56:00.002+10:00

It was the Easter long weekend. The Bean & I were holed up in the house. She, sewing bits of material together, I pottering about the kitchen. There were plans, you see, for a skirt and some hot cross buns respectively. "With chocolate? And none of that rind stuff?" the Bean had requested. And I was feeling compliant. Primarily because I had a jar of Lindt that was yet to be used. Hooray! Unfortunately, I had forgotten (in my haste) to buy the yeast the day previously and was feeling cautious about the yeast that remained in my pantry. With good reason, as it turns out.

The yeast? It was deader than dead. And as a result, I had 16 very heavy, very dense bits of bread-ish dough sitting in my oven. Not so good. But on Saturday the shops open. And that means new yeast and another go at greatness. We tried to use the unrisen versions (dipping them in hot chocolate, grilling them to oblivion with butter, but to no avail. So lesson learnt. Check your yeast.

mise en place

choc cross buns
adapted from a recipe by Gourmet Traveller

ingredients:

for the buns

5C plain flour, sifted
¼C caster sugar
2 tsp dried yeast
1 tsp allspice
½ tsp cinnamon
½C sultanas
Rind of 1 lemon
1C assorted chocolate chips
16 squares of good dark chocolate
300ml milk
100g butter
1 egg

for the glaze

¼C sugar
¼ tsp mixed spice
¼C water

method:

1. To check that your yeast is alive and well, add a bit of it to some warm (not boiling water and a pinch of sugar). Leave it for five minutes. If nothing happens, your yeast (like mine) is expired and you'll have to get some new stuff. If you don't care much for getting new stuff, then continue by all means - but you will end up with hard doughy lumps at the end.

sieve the flour

2. We want light and fluffy, so sieve your flour. Stop! Only 700g of it (which is about 4 and 2/3 cups of it)! The rest? Put it to the side. If you like, sieve it with the spices so they're nicely distributed through the mix at the get go. Here, the Bean will happily sieve, as long as you top the sieve up with flour. "Hurry up!" she will exclaim "I'm running low!"

melt the butter in the milk

3. But you may have trouble keeping up with her avid sifting. Because here is where the wet ingredients get a look-in. Melt your butter (chop it up first) in the milk. Over a low heat please. We're not trying to boil it, and we need to cool it down later. Low heat. Good? Good.

combining the dry ingredients

4. As it cools, everything else can be sorted out. Lemon rind can be grated in (the original recipe calls for orange, but I have a glut of lemons and nowhere to put them). Sultanas and choc chips can be added. Then your sugar and yeast. All muddled in together happily.

wet + dry = dough!

5. Once the butter/milk mixture is tepid (this means you can stick your finger in and it will feel like a warm bath - and not like you are on fire) whisk the egg into it. Then tip the lot into the dry ingredients bucket and stir stir stir!

knead it up

6. After a little bit of stirring, it will start to come together. It will also start to smell warm and spicy and yeasty and you will have to tell the Bean that no, they aren't ready yet and yes, she can help to knead the dough. So knead. And go at it for about 10 minutes, or until its smooth and elastic. Here the Bean may challenge you to a race, and afterwards, your arms will be sore.

proving

7. It's kneaded! It's smooth! And elastic! (And the Bean won...) So we stick the dough in oiled bowls, glad wrap and stick them in a warm place to double up. "I bet mine rises faster than yours" says the Bean. My arms hurt. I don't reply.

choc-ing them up

8. And when they are risen (for they will rise after about 40mins unless your yeast is dead - see Step 1) punch them down a bit and then roll into a log. Pull bits off your log until you have 16 evenly sized bits. Then squish them flattish, push a chocolate bit into the centre, and roll it up to form a ball. Like so.

roll em up

9. They will fit fairly snugly into a lightly greased 22cm square tin. And then they will rise some too. So glad wrap again, stick a damp tea towel on top, and let them sit and prove for another 40 mins.

prove & pipe

10. Almost there? It's time for piping then! Remember that leftover flour that I told you to put aside? Well now it comes into play. Mix it up with ¼C water until it forms a smooth paste. I used chopsticks for this. Because I like them.

11. Load the paste into a plastic sammich bag, snip a corner off and pipe for your life. And when you're done, stand back and admire how cute they look with their little crosses sitting there like that.

12. Not for too long though, cos you're about to stick them in the oven. 220C for the first 10min and then 200C for the next 10min.

making the glaze

13. They're baking! And the house smells like baking! And the only thing that could make it smell any better is this glaze. Toss all the ingredients into a small pan, stir until it's all dissolved into each other, bring it to the boil, and then simmer for a minute or two. Simple no? Well, yes!

hot out of the oven

14. When the buns are done, brush the hot glaze on the hot buns. It may be easier to do this once they're out of the tin. Try not to burn yourself. Oh, and the chocolate? It'll be hot too. So wait a touch before eating them. If you can, that is.

ricotta & spinach mix

2009-04-17T10:00:00.000+10:00

So you've bought a heap of milk, simmered with buttermilk, skimmed, drained, salted and dried. And now you have your very own, home made lump of ricotta. You've made one batch and eaten the lot in pancakes, on toast and with fruit. You've made another batch and given it away to friends. And now there's more of it. "What to do now?" you think to yourself. Well try this. Introducing one easy recipe that can be used in a variety of situations and circumstances. It won't do much for you when you've got a leaking toilet, a sick rabbit and an exam the next morning, but it's a great thing to have in store when you have people on their way over for a "quick bite". Especially if those people know you as the-one-who-makes-good-things-for-eating.

spinach, sans stalk

spinach & ricotta mix

ingredients:

one bunch of english spinach
100g pine nuts
200g ricotta
100g mild, melty yellow cheese (I used a fresco pecorino)
1 egg
salt & pepper

method:

1. There's no two ways about it. Spinach is a gritty, dirty vegetable. So you'll have to clean it up. Best way? Pull all the leaves apart and rinse them. Done that? Now stick the rinsed leaves in a colander and put the colander in a bigger bowl of water. Now soak, turning the leaves every once in a while. When you pull the colander up and out of the bowl of water, you'll see all the dirt you almost missed. Eeeeyeurgh!

removing the stems

2. We only need the leaves for this recipe, so cut the tough stalky bit away. This may take a while. It is also a little tricky, so don't get too caught up trying to remove all the veins. Getting rid of the central stalk should be sufficient. You can feed this bit to your bunny. Or boil it up with carrots etc for a vege stock.

spinach pre-cooking

3. You should have about 350g of spinach once they're all sans-stalk. Shake each leaf lightly and put it in a pot. We don't want them dripping wet or totally dry. If the water clings to the leaf, it gets to stay with the leaf.

spinach post-cooking

4. Put the pot over a low heat and stick the lid on. Check it every couple of minutes. It'll end up looking much smaller than it did when you first started with it. Turn the heat off when the spinach is cooked all the way through.

spinach: squeezed & chopped

5. Let the spinach cool for a little while and then squeeze as much moisture out as you can with your hands. This will be hot, so please be careful. Nothing worse than hands that smell like spinach that are also burnt.

6. All squeezed out? Great. Now chop it up roughly. It likes it rough. Plus it'll get minced later on.

pine nuts: pre-roasting

7. While all this is happening, perhaps when you're waiting for the spinach to cool, or maybe after it's all chopped, toss your pine nuts in a pan over low heat. No butter/oil/fat ok? Just nuts. Good? Good.

pine nuts: post-roasting

8. Toss them around every once in a while. After a couple of minutes, you'll start to smell lovely nutty smells. That's the oil being released. And you'll have to watch carefully from this point on. Toss Toss Toss. Check. Squish. When the nuts have a lovely brown (but not burnt) exterior and squish easily between your finger & thumb, they're ready. So pull 'em off the heat.

grind 'em up!

9. It's all easy going from here. Toss the pine nuts in a food processor and whiz til they're broken up a bit. Not too fine - we want to be able to feel them when we're eating.

whizzwhizzwhurrrr!

10. Next, the two cheeses and the spinach. Go whirrrrrrrr! Again, not too fine, just until the cheese is broken up and happily distributed amongst the carnage.

add the egg

11. Finally the egg. For binding goodness. Again, just til its incorporated.

the finished mix!

12. And we're done! This mix can be packed up into an airtight container and frozen, or used fresh from the processor. "Used for what?" you ask. For many things. Really! Things such as filled pastries and pastas and... oh, I'm giving the game away aren't I? You'll just have to wait & see :)

bonta vita

2009-04-16T08:30:00.000+10:00

I am not entirely sure how it started. Perhaps it was at over lunch, at Lee's Malaysian, where he-of-the-matching-waistcoat mentioned that there was a place, not far from here, that served Malaysian-Italian food. And when we heard this, we looked at M. M of Big Bite fame. M who will not waste food. (Will. Not.) M, who records himself as "Other" on the census. M, who is Malaysian/Italian. We were dubious. The suggestions came flying "Beef Rendang Spaghettini!" cried one "Kway Teow Carbonara!" cried the other. But we were intrigued. And we had to go. (Had to.)

One week passed, and then another. M had itchy feet and a desk full of work, and Zo & I couldn't bring ourselves to go to what we had come to know as "M's restaurant" without him. And then it was M's birthday. And we weren't taking no for an answer.

the promising blackboard

As we wander up to the glass fronted building, next to that ever colour-changing fountain, we spot a blackboard in the corner. It says, among other things, three words that send M into a flurry. "Maggi Mee Goreng!" he sings as we are shown to our table. "Maggi Mee Goreng!" he sings as we peruse the menu. "Maggi Mee Goreng! Maggi Mee Goreng!" We are overheard. "I'm sorry, but the new menu only starts on Thursday" we are told. "Dammit!" says M. We peruse the menu again.

outside bonta vita

There are four of us now. Two hungry boys who will eat anything, one hungry boy who will only eat Halal, and me. "D'you think it's Halal?" asks Zo, hopeful, but willing to eat vegetarian if he must. "Nah", say we. "There's bacon on the menu". "I'm gonna ask anyway" says he.

We are oh-so-wrong.

Marcello, co-owner and chef, comes over to have a chat. He explains that everything on the menu is halal - except for a couple of the Rizzas. Eyes light up. Options have been opened. We are thrilled. Then he explains that all of the meat used is halal, properly blessed and all. And that an entirely different set of utensils, pots and pans are used for non-halal food to avoid cross contamination.

Later, we are quietly pondering why this would be so. The extra effort. The extra expense. "I'm allergic to pork" he explains. "Pork, goat and eel. It was so hard for me to eat out, so I understand how difficult it must be for Jewish and Muslim people." Ahhhh...

the roti chef

In the meantime we have ordered enough to feed a troupe. Three Rizzas. A curry. "Something else?" we wonder when Marcello pops out of the kitchen. "We're testing the new menu today" he says, and I have one more dish that you can order if you want. We look up, expectantly. Maggi Mee Goreng perhaps? "Won ton noodles" says he. Oh. "Dry or wet?" ask we. A confused look. "I'll check" and then "my wife says they are dry. And with chicken wontons. So they're halal." "Done". (There was, unfortunately, no Maggi Mee Goreng as Marcello's wife had eaten it all the night before.)

kari kambing & steamed rice $13.95

Our food arrives and the lamb curry is delicious, a must-repeat order. The meat is tender and unctuous, falling apart with the prod of a fork. The curry is rich with tamarind and spice. We start politely. A little bit of rice, a spoonful of curry. A couple of pieces of meat. And then its hits us "Heyyyyyy...." says one, pointing and nodding "Ohhhhhh....." says another, with a grin. Me? I'm chewing away happily and hoping that no-one will notice that the plate has inched its way closer to me.

Wonton Mee $15.95

The won ton mee arrives next. M & I look at each other knowingly. It is hard to get a good won ton mee in the city, nay, anywhere in Sydney really, and we are fingers crossed and hoping for the best. Zo is just excited about the fact that it's halal. "I've never had wontons before" he exclaims eagerly. "Never?" we respond, before realising that they're normally made of pork. While this exchange takes place, I notice that the sauce has been mixed in with the noodles (good) and that the chilli is hot (good) and that the wontons are cooked just right (very good - especially as most places under or over do them). The verdict? It's positive. Wonton Mee is my favourite back in Malaysia, and this is as good as I've had in Sydney.

Rizza with BV sauce

And then the Rizzas arrive. I feel I have to capitalise the word Rizza. It feels wrong not to. For Rizzas are a roti-pizza connundrum. They are the only cross-cultural item on the Bonta Vita menu, the rest being either very Malaysian or very Italian. "The other fusion combinations we tried, they just didn't taste so good" explains Marcello. No beef rendang spaghettini then. Good-oh.

Rizza 5: Marinated mince beef, olives,
cherry tomatoes, mushroom & mozzerella $13.95

In the words of my friend Mak, who came along to Bonta Vita with me the following Saturday, "Ohhhh.... it's like the best part of roti and the best part of pizza all in one go!" I didn't hear much from him for the rest of the evening.

Rizza 3: Chicken chorizo sausage, mushroom,
chilli flakes, grilled onions & mozzerella $13.95

The Rizzas we ordered were delicious. Personal favourites? I actually liked the vegetarian one (below) the best. The capsicum really stood up in it and made me happy. I also tried one with chicken mince in it on a separate occasion, and that one comes a close second.

They are truly genius. Flaky roti pastry. Melted mozzerella. And the BV sauce, a thick, sweet-ish, mild curry which goes so well with everything. The waitstaff were attentive enough to notice that we were sharing, and, after the first one came out saw that I was hacking at it with my fork and knife. It was duly taken back to the kitchen, cut up and returned. The other two Rizzas then arrived pre cut for ease of sharing. I was duly appreciative.

Rizza 7: Chargrilled eggplant, green peas, grilled onions,
roasted capsicum & mozzerella $13.95 (and roti in the background $6.95)

So we're chowing down. I've managed to hijack the rest of the wonton mee. The Kiwi is making short work of the curry and the other two are digging into the Rizzas when another plate arrives. "Have some Roti" says Marcello. "On the house." Why, thankyou! And muchly so! But where do we put it? Our table is already spilling over with plates of food.

So a table is pulled over, and we continue. And when a second plate of roti arrives, it is tipped ceremoniously on top of the first, and that lamb curry that The Kiwi had been working through? Well, I showed him.

Otak-Otak $15.95

Not long after, another plate is brought around. "Otak Otak" we are told. "It's for the new menu. Please, let me know what you think." We are not the types to say no. Especially when we are offered a fish and coconut filled banana leaf, with a surprising basil infused bottom. Toothpicks are carefully removed. The inner mass is ceremoniously cut into four pieces and doled out. Tender chunks of white fish and creamy coconut milk (infused with a hint of the banana leaf and basil) roll around in my mouth. I am eyeing The Kiwi's portion, but my eyes are bigger than my stomach.

A truce is called. My eyes are defeated and my stomach distended. I am utterly stuffed. The Kiwi is called back to work, and the other two chomp away contentedly while I sit and contemplate when and with whom I should make my return visit.

HBD: surprise birthday brownies

We think we are done (and by this stage, M is slumped in his seat like a boy who's eaten that bit too much and is halfway to settling down for a nap). But the surprises don't stop. I smell, wait, what? Sparklers? And a two-person birthday serenade is had, complete with four triangles of rich chocolately brownie and a duo of sparkers atop. As the Kiwi has had to depart, there is an extra piece of brownie on the plate. "I'm not having it" I say, whilst digging into my piece "I'm on a quest to eat less these days. Also, I'm far too full". The boys laugh at me. And with good reason. Because as they hit the half way point, I'm all done with my triangle. And by the time they're done with theirs, I've forked my way through most of the spare one. Hm.

So full tummies abound as we drag ourselves back to work. I promise to return, and do so a week later with Miss Shiny, Mak, SuperDanny & PRC. More of the same is had, plus some dessert and a bonus plate of gelati (My favourites? The durian & the wattleseed gelati. Such a win). But that's another story, for another day.

Bonta Vita
Shop 10-02 Regent Place
501 George Street
Sydney NSW 2000
ph: 02 9267 2212

(note: prices and menu items have been taken from the previous menu - these may have changed since my last visit)

back to basics: "ricotta" cheese

2009-04-15T08:40:00.002+10:00

I was never really a cheese person. I mean, c'mon. I'm Malaysian. Not French. Not Italian. Up until I was in my mid teens, the only cheese I ever knew was the type that came singly wrapped in plastic. And it wobbled when you shook it. (And again, for effect) Wobbled. We would, on occasion have some sort of grated yellow on a lasagn-esque meal. And I'd tried the grated yellow powder on my pasta at the Pizza Hut all-you-can-eat buffet, but found it, well, a little nasty. Oh, and up until a little while ago, lactose played havoc with my body. So no cheese for me.

And then, one otherwise unmemorable day, I had some brie. I think I took it for politeness' sake. "Some brie for you?" "Oh, er, sure. Thanks." And all of a sudden, there was this sweet yet salty, creamy, bitey flavour permeating my unaccustomed tastebuds. "Oh… Hey… Yum!" And so it began.

Now, by all accounts, cheese can be a tricky pain-in-the-behind to make at home. It often involves tricky-to-find ingredients. Like rennet. It can also involve spending long periods of time waiting. And waiting. And waiting. So I've started simple. With a "ricotta". Inverted commas because it isn't really a ricotta, but can be used in lieu of one. Ricotta, you see, is made from the whey (as in curds and whey a la Little Miss Muffet) that is poured off when making other cheeses, like mozzarella. Because it's made from the run-off, the yield for ricotta is fairly low. I am not the type to deal with low yield. So a cheat's version it is! And simple too. Oh, so simple.
I've made two versions. One plain, one beautifully (and tastily) spiced. Recipes used here are adapted from 101 Cookbooks.

ingredients ready to go

Plain Ol' "Ricotta" Cheese
Yield: approximately 230 grams

Ingredients:

250ml buttermilk
1 Litre milk
A pinch of salt

Equipment:

Non-reactive pot
Sieve
Tea towel or handkerchief
String
Normal ladle
Ladle with holes in it (I used a hot pot ladle)
Thermometer
Bowl

Method:

1. First things first. Make sure you have everything that you'll need. This will save you much panic later when you are running around your kitchen, dripping teatowel in hand, yelling "String! I need some string!" and causing yourself to grey prematurely.

2. Got it all? Good. Now tip your milk, buttermilk and just a pinch of salt into your pot and heat gently. Stick your finger in and taste it. This is how your cheese will taste. So if you like a saltier ricotta, add a touch more.

all the ingredients in the pot

3. Heat the mixture slowly. It will, for a while yet, look like nothing is happening. But keep with it. And stir gently, scraping along the bottom from time to time.

4. Check the temperature. Still nothing? That's ok. Because when it hits 65C, you'll suddenly notice that your liquid is thinner and lumpier than before. Keep stirring though. That's right. Stir Stir STIR!

65C: starting to come together

5. The curds will now be coming together and becoming more prominent. Is it time yet? No. You have to wait until the temperature-hits-80C-and-almost-there-wait-and-YES! Turn the stove off and let it sit for five minutes while you prepare for the next step.

6. Here's where you set up your straining device. Place a sieve over a bowl. Now line said sieve with a tea towel or men's hanky. Why the gender discrimination? Men's hankies are bigger. Ok? Ok.

my trusty straining device

7. Using your normal ladle, carefully press down on the surface of the cheese - you don't want to break the layer, you just want to collect the liquid it's sitting in so you can discard it. If you're a deft hand, you can try to carefully pour the liquid out of the pot here. I'm not a deft hand. Not at all.

scooping the curds out

8. Got most of that liquid out? Good. Now using your ladle-with-holes-in-it, slowly scoop up the curds and place them in your straining device. Keep going until you've caught all the curds. (Hint for the uninitiated: curds = lumpy white bits that will form your cheese). This will get hard near the bottom, so try draining as much of the liquid off as you can again and then going for the last few floaty bits.

my super techy dripping device

9. Grab the corners of your tea towel / hanky and pull them together to form a cheese-containing sack. Tie around the middle like a Christmas Pudding and hang it over the bowl from a convenient height. I used my cupboard handles for this job.

10. Drain the cheese for about 10 minutes, or until the tea towel stops dripping profusely. When you open it up, you'll see a mass of cheese inside. Hoorah! Carefully group it together with your hands and place it in a container to cool. As an optional extra, use a teacup to mould your cheese into a nice little shape before packing it up. Just try not to push down too much, as this will squeeze the moisture out of the cheese and make it hard.

11. Voila! You now have a lovely curdy cheese for eating with pears on toast. Or, for using in one of a number of recipes, some of which will be posted here, and soon!

cheese and pears - yummo!

Lovely Spiced "Ricotta" Cheese

All you need to do is add ¼ tsp mixed spice and the zest of a lemon in with your milks in step 2. This version is lovely and fragrant, without being sweet.

Recipes using this mixture include one times deliciously moist cake. Coming soon.

march into merivale - gala dinner

2009-04-09T09:50:00.000+10:00

We had been behind-the-scenes at the Ivy. We had tasted canapes straight from the hands of their makers. We had giggled and snapped our way past the Ivy's ballroom (zebra print carpet - oh my! I love!) and were now being herded up the lift and into Uccello. I will, as much as I can, refrain from embarking on (yet-another) Uccello gush-fest. Will not endlessly rant about its cute little booths, the daffodil yellow decor that lifts my mood just so, the exposed wood, the pots of flowers and the semi-open kitchen (open enough to see the hustle & bustle but closed enough to feel separate). Oh, and I finally got to check out the pool.

The Chefs of Merivale Gala dinner was the event of the, well, event. All eleven chefs were doing their bit (some on canapes and others with a whole course to themselves), sharing a kitchen (there were no obvious fireworks, though I'm sure it would have been not-so-easy) and helping the Merivale Group raise money for Camp Quality. Which brings me to the balloons (above). These darling chefs-hatted blue hued babies were decorated by the kids at Camp Quality. So. Cute.

the kitchen at uccello

As an extension of our behind-the-scenes tour, we were given a proverbial backstage pass to all the action that was to occur during the Gala Dinner. On arrival, we stood sheepishly at the entrance to the kitchen, waved a shy "Hello!" to Peter Doyle, who welcomed us to the kitchen, before deferring to Massimo as, really, the kitchen we were traipsing through was his. "Hello." said Massimo, with a nod of the head and a little wave.

We sniffed at the foccacia, peered into the Kitchenaid and drooled over the mignardises, wondering aloud how each element would taste and wondering secretly if anyone would notice if I tried just one chocolate. Just. One?

As chance would have it, Melissa from the Merival Group had a surprise for us. "You're free to stay for the dinner right?" said she, as I stood, a polite sip of cranberry, lime & soda working its way into my mouth. I put my drink down, confused, and then excited and then silent as the meaning of the words sunk in. I may have stood there, blinking, for a minute or two. And then I may have grinned.

And so to the Gala Dinner. Six courses. Matching Wines. And an unlimited supply of Uccello's wonderfully salty, olive oily foccaccia. "I'm so excited about this food that I think I just may, maybe throw up." I may or may not have uttered to Howard at one point in the evening. He may or may not have nodded at me.

course one: daniel hong - lotus

tartare of bluefin tuna
sweetcorn, wasabi, avocado, soy-truffle dressing

The first course was met with anticipation. We had been sticky-beaking in the kitchen previously. "What's that?" we had asked, pointing at various items on the pass. Anticipation was met. "By Daniel Hong, of Lotus" said Anthony, our server for the evening. "A 2008 buring riesling 'leonay', from Eden Valley in South Australia." said the sommelier "Light, fruity, not too sharp". And the colours popped out at me. I stabbed what I thought was a bean, to realise it was an artful combination of wasabi and avocado. The others cited it as their favourite dish of the evening. I was delighted by the giant balls of roe (pop! went they in my mouth) but was looking for a bit more texture, a bit more variety of flavour. With the soft sweetcorn puree and the sweetness of the pureed avocado and the sweetness of the beautiful melty belly of tuna, it could have done with some crisp, or some salty to give it another dimension. Not to say that it wasn't absolutely delicious as is.

course two: massimo bianchi - uccello

raviolo of lobster with asparagus and mushrooms

"This is," said our sommelier, whose name I didn't catch, but who had the most distinctive accent this side of the Pacific "a 2007 feudi di san gregorio greco di tufo from Campania in Italy." And here I will say that all of the wines were beautifully matched with the courses. A sip of the wine, a swig of mineral water, a bite of the meal, and then another sip and another bite. And all the flavours mellowed out wonderfully and melded into each other with that much more harmony.

I was always going to like this course. It was, as expected, finely made. Fresh, quality ingredients. Lobster cooked to perfection. The asparagus came in the form of a puree and the mushrooms in a slow cooked ragu-esque sauce. When tasted separately, the lobster was fresh, firm and sweet, and the pasta silky and thin. Together, the mushrooms overpowered both the lobster and the asparagus. So I took to compartmentalising. Edge of raviolo with the mushrooms, then with the asparagus. Lobster centre with asparagus, and by itself. And that worked wonderfully.

course three: peter doyle - est.

steamed baby snapper fillet with sand crab,
snow peas, oyster mushrooms, ginger-shallot vinaigrette

This was, without question, my favourite dish of the evening. It was masterful. I didn't care that it was paired with a chardonnay (and I really quite dislike chardonnay) because it was complemented by the wine. I didn't mind that my photos just would not take well due to the ambient lighting. Because the snapper, it was perfectly steamed. Firm but tender. I even ate the skin, which tends to be overcooked and sticky in the mouth. The care that went into plating this was obvious. Lifting up the snapper, I'm greeted by a tamed tangle of thinly sliced snowpeas and mushrooms, tender whilst retaining the crunch, soaking up the fishy, gingery essence it is perched in. Sweet, salty, a hint of warmth from the ginger, crunchy and soft all in one bite. This is what I was waiting for. I may have tipped the bowl, just slightly, to catch a final spoonful of the broth at the end.

from top left: massimo plating up a storm, those lentils,
camera un-shy chefs, dessert being plated

And while we ate, the chefs worked on. They were so wonderfully media trained. Polite, accomodating, willing to let us in to their world. I peered into the kitchen in between courses. I spotted some meat resting. "May I?" I asked, gesturing with my camera. "Better still, come here" I was told, whilst being ushered towards the hotplate. "This one looks better. And smells better. See?" But the smoke was in the way and my photography was lacking. "Come, here. Look at this!" another one would exclaim. "What's in there?" I asked. "Lentils". "Oh!" For they smelt a treat and looked even better. (I later gushed about the upcoming lentils. No-one took me seriously until they tasted them.) And when I looked up from the lentils, I saw three boys, having been herded together by the one on the left. They stood there, grinning. So I took a photo of them. They grinned some more. And when I went back to my table, "Ciao Bella!" rang in my ears.

course four: simun dragcevich - bistro cbd

quail and porcini ballotine sicilian lentil salsa

And so to those lentils. But first, a switch from white to red and a lovely pinot noir from Victoria served in a bulbous glass. I briefly considered work the next day, then took a sip and was well rewarded. Warm, rich and mellow. My thoughts were interrupted by Howard who had received his dish and immediately exclaimed "Oh! Chips!" I looked at my plate. "Oh! The lentils!" Blank stares. "You get a plate of quail and get excited about the lentils?" came the response. "You got excited about the chips." I retorted. And then silence. Because the lentils were just as good as they had smelt. And they matched and muted the ballotine of pigeon. This is, I thought to myself, a perfect meal for winter. And in spite of myself, and my increasingly sated stomach, I scraped my plate clean.

course five: christopher whitehead - mad cow

roasted eye fillet of beef, golden shallots, creamed spinach and tarragon jus

Answer me this: have you ever had a cut of meat that had been rested for half an hour? A long, long eye fillet of beef had been roasted slowly, coming out of the oven with a pink hue. Then rested. It was then, fairly unceremoniously, offloaded onto a hot plate (where the smells released sent me into a dizzying spin of excitement) and then rested. Rested well. At least 20 minutes well. And when it is finally sliced and plated, the juices have been drawn back into the meat. And medium takes on a whole new meaning. It melted. Like wagyu melts, but without the fatty aftertaste. Melted cleanly. Was soft like butter and red like a rare steak, but without the taste and mess of blood. I was enamoured. (And, in case you were wondering, I loved the creamed spinach too. It was a well matched accompaniment. Clean, hearty meat. Robust, creamy spinach.)

I should also mention here that the syrah, which is normally too strong for my tastes, was well received. So well received that I think I may have had my glass topped up. And the combination of the big, hearty, not-too-sharp red and the robust flavours of the meat and spinach made me feel just a little bit "hunting club in the UK". Which is an unusual feeling for a petit-ish Asian female to be having. Good Unusual.

course six: lauren murdoch - ash st cellar

chocolate marquis, caramelized hazelnuts, cinnamon cream

Port. Check! Dessert. Check! I took a bite. Eyes widened. Carefully chewed. "It tastes like a giant fererro rocher! But better! Like it should be!" I exclaimed. Heads turned in my direction. "Eat it! Eat it! Eat it! Stop taking photos! Or I'll eat yours too!" Hands hovered protectively around plates. But I couldn't help myself. Because it was rich, yes. But that was tempered by the quenelle of cinnamon cream that was perched atop it. And by the warm crunch of toasted hazelnuts. I ate as much as I could, rued the size of my stomach. Stopped. Started again. Stopped again. Started again. And then admitted defeat, surrendering the remains of my portion to Howard (who also received a portion of Karen's).

We spoke to Lauren Murdoch, some time after the dinner, where the guests had gone and all that were left were the chefs, the staff, their friends and a handful of little piggies. The dessert had taken two days to make, and she had 25 left over. Just in case. I mentioned that I couldn't finish my serve but dearly wished I could have. She told me she couldn't finish a serve either, though knew of people who could have eaten two. I wished I was one of those people.

mignardises

When the mignardises arrived, I couldn't even look at them. A pot of Earl Grey was made very welcome. And I still couldn't look at them. (So I secreted a couple in a makeshift carrier and took them with me for another time. One was filled with a liquer soaked cherry. The other was a round, cocoa dusted ball of rich, dark ganache.)

We loitered wile people left around us. Then traipsed home as best as we could. Danced through Martin Place. Spun around in the still damp streets. Collapsed into bed, a stomach full of food, a head full of wine, and a happy happy heart.

(My thanks to Melissa who arranged for us to attend, courtesy the Merivale Group. )

back to basics

2009-04-08T08:30:00.000+10:00

Some things are just too easy to take for granted. Pasta comes from a packet. Or, if you're feeling fancy, from the cooler section of that uber-cute deli down the road. Bread comes in a plastic bag. And, sometimes, where the sales are on and the mood strikes, in a brown paper bag from the supermarket. If you're nearby, and it's open, it might come as a baguette from the Vietnamese Bakery. And then there's cheese, which, if you're of Asian descent, is usually something seen as a bit "other". A little pricey. A little too good at inducing that horribly crippling lactose-intolerance-stomach-ache. To be bought from the supermarket. To eat melted. Only melted.

Which got me thinking. I've made pasta. Numerous times. I make cakes and biscuits on an almost never ending cycle. What's stopping me from trying the other stuff? The food that pops off the shelf and into the trolley without a second thought. Which is how I ended up here. Making cheese. And bread. And other things yet to come. It has been, expectedly, time consuming. But also rewarding.

Over the next couple of months (or so) I'll be making recipes for items I like to call Back-to-Basics. And, so you aren't stuck with a whole heap of pasta and no-one to play with, I'll post up a couple of variations, mixes and meals that can be made using said Basic. If I remember to, I'll stick a link to all of the Back to Basics (and associated recipes) on this page - so bookmark it if you feel the urge to do so.

*deep breath*

This is gonna be fun :)

Back to Basics - Index

(note: Links will be made active & added as recipes are posted. )

Basic: Fresh Lemon Rind Pasta

Mix it up:
Ricotta & Spinach Ravioli

Make a Meal of it:
Smoked Trout Linguine
Beef, Zucchini & Mushroom Ragu

Basic: "Ricotta" Cheese

Mix it up:
Ricotta, Spinach & Pine Nut Mix

Make a Meal of it:
Ricotta & Spinach Ravioli
Ricotta & Spinach Pastry Parcels
Ricotta, Hazelnut & Lemon Cake
Always Perfect Pancakes

march into merivale - behind the scenes

2009-04-07T08:30:00.000+10:00

Ah… The Ivy! That multi-levelled concrete wonderland. For where else would you wander down an inconspicuous alley and up a flight of non-descript stairs to find a playground of beautiful people, complete with faux gardens, a showerhead (that apparently intermittently produces spurts of water) and deck chairs. Famous for lines that snake down the street at nearly-midnight on a Friday and eagle eyed door staff - ready to pounce upon a fashion faux pas.

It is also, as I have semi-recently discovered, a place for people of a culinary disposition. This little known fact was first brought to my attention by a colleague, who had dined at Uccello courtesy a family wedding reception. It was reiterated when my uncle, fresh off a plane from Malaysia, called to ask where this Ivy place was and would I please make a reservation at one of the restaurants because his friends said he had to try it. Had to. Chop chop. I have, in past, gushed. Nay. Raved about the prosciutto and parmigiano reggiano entrée. The slow braised calamari. The chocolate fondant. (All Uccello, where Head Chef, and sometime recipient of a starry eyed gaze, Massimo Bianichi resides, having been stolen, nay, lured from Buon Ricardo).

chefs hide out in the main kitchen at the ivy

So when I, along with some others (being those of Chocolate Suze, Citrus & Candy, Eat Show & Tell, Grab Your Fork and Simon Food Favourites) received an email asking if we would like to come along to the Gala Dinner, just to check things out, my immediate reaction involved a couple of involuntary profanities and a spontaneous dance-round-the-office. Good profanities, in case you were wondering. And an inelegant dance, for clarification's sake.

a makeshift shopping list

I have always been, and still am, amazingly in awe of people who cook for a living. Even more so of those who have invested their time, energy and dollars into opening an eatery - be it a café, a restaurant, or something entirely different. The long hours in the kitchen, the difficulties faced when sourcing fresh produce, the cramped spaces, the swearing. The sweat. Thelack of resources. The Ivy is not so. It is, compared to the kitchens I've seen, a whole new world entirely.

the dry store

Take, for example, the dry store. Cans of oil, paper towels, rice, beans and a bucket of pink feathers. Another example? The space they are working in. "This is" we are told "the kitchen that the photo shoot was taken in." I look up, the words sinking in. "That kitchen shoot?" asks Karen. "Yes." "Oh." Giggles ensue. It is large, high ceilinged and airy. Stainless steel benchtops abound. The walk-in fridge is spacious (and a constant source of amusement for Suze, who wanders in, then out, then in again) and utensils are washed and dried in an entirely separate area, complete with separate staff.

canapes, ready for plating

We are snapping away, a little shyly, a little shakily on my part from all the excitement when a voice says "Please, help yourselves to the canapes." It is Richard Johnson, looking up momentarily from his chat with Howard. I look at Suze. "I feel funny about eating in the kitchen" says she. "Where will we put the spoons?" say I. We are overheard and "A couple of platters for the food blog people!" is ordered, moments later (and much to our glee).

quail saltimboca - quail breast and sage rolled up in proscuitto.
served on a stick with a spicy tomato relish

All the while, through the conversation, Richard is walking to and from a giant oven. He pulls out a tray and sets it on the workbench. Each stick is picked up deftly, both sides patted onto a clean napkin to remove excess grease, and then laid carefully on a plate. Which would be unremarkable if he hadn't been talking about Tottenham the whole time he was doing it.

quail saltimboca being plated

Our serve of the quail saltimboca is being studiously photographed. I am studiously observing the glistening pig fat on the quail and thinking "Bird Bird Pig!" to myself. Last calls. "Can we eat yet?" says one. Nods all round. Then silence. Good silence. Spicy tomato and pig and bird party in my mouth silence. *Gulp*.

spoon with tuna and scallop, flying fish roe & ponzu dressing

Our second platter contains two spoon contained varieties. This, the first, is beautifully gentle in flavour. Refreshing where the quail was strong.

fresh fig with apple and lobster

The other is sweeter still, with the finely julienned apple and segmented fig framing the firm white flesh of the lobster nicely.

Akira Urata & assistant, bearing bottles of miso dressing

Canape platters mostly finished, I smelt deep fryers doing their thing. I heard the sizzle. The shake, shake, shake and toss onto a plate. I turned to see Akira plating up. And then I grinned nervously and stood in a corner, taking photos of tiles on the wall. "Hey!" I looked up "Don't go stealing my jam recipe" said Richard Johnson with a grin. "If I do, I promise I won't tell anyone else about it" said I. And so no jam recipe for you. Not that you would have used it. It involved vast, commercial quantities of sugar. Well, maybe you would have...

salt and pepper calamari in butter lettuce with lotus root chip and spicy miso dressing

There was a debate, as we food-blog-people attempted to describe the canapes via email, as to whether this canape involved calamari or lobster. We decided that it was, in fact, calamari, though the texture was anything but the sometimes-chewy morsels you'll find at your local fish-and-chippery. It was so tender that you could bite straight through it. No stringy bits, and certainly no funny faces and push-me-pull-you-ing.

Nobiyuki Ura and 3x assistants plating up

While flashes went off (and while I snooped on the dry store), there was a small team of people working quietly at the end of a bench. A scoop of unidentified pink. Into the mold. Tap Tap. Repeat. Another, laying out pieces of lavosh. One, by one, by one. And then another, lifting up the perfect cylinders with a palette knife and placing them on a piece of lavosh. And finally, Nobuyiki Ura spooning tiny amounts of diced red and green tomatoes, almost minced, on the very top and garnishing with a single leaf.

tuna tartare served with finely diced green & red tomatoes on a lavosh cracker

We stood, Helen and Suze and I, mesmerised by the detail. The perfection. The quiet slog, when he looked up at me. Grinned. And then, holding out the canape he was working on, said "For you." And then later, to Suze, "For you" and again for Helen. "What is it?" we asked. "Tuna tartare" was the reply. And then back to plating. We nibbled on the lavosh, round in circles, avoiding the jewel topped centre, and then, when we could nibble no more, popped the lot in our mouths with wide eyes and big, almost naughty, grins.

canapes on the pass: get ready diners!

And on flew the evening. Canapes lay on the pass, to be collected by cool, calm, blue clad waiters. "What's that?" they are quizzed as they collect each dish. "Quail saltimboca" "Good." And just as quickly, they are back with emptied plates.

the bar at uccello

And with them go we, reluctantly, but excitedly. For there are more chefs to be met, more things to be tasted, and finally (finally!) a glimpse of that famed Ivy pool.

smoked trout linguine

2009-04-06T19:00:00.000+10:00

It has been far too long between drinks, dear friends. Or, perhaps, the time it has taken for this post to appear is due to the distance between drinks being far too short. And when the distance between drinks (both of the physical and metaphorical straint) is being punctuated with dinners out, dinners in, weddings, celebrations, commiserations, sickness, health and rain, all I really want to do is sit. Big, fat bowl of pasta in one hand, fork in the other. Pepper and a squeeze of freshly cut lemon at the ready, where possible. Even better if said pasta involves a certain honey smoked friend we have come to know as Mister Fish.

lemon zest pasta

This pasta is wonderfully light in flavour, despite the richness of the smoked trout, the cream and the cheese. The family? They loved it. Over ate and then sat on the sofa watching that dancing show whilst clutching their stomachs. It does taste better when straight from the pot, as fresh pasta has a tendency to soak up all its surrounding goodness when fridge'd post-intermingling. Which is not necessarily a bad thing - I had this for lunch the next day and it was fan-tastic. A squeeze of lemon to freshen it up and a bit of salad on the side to counteract the cream's impact on my hips.

the inimitable mister fish

smoked trout linguine

ingredients:

one recipe fresh lemon rind pasta
one honey smoked trout (250g)
knob of butter (thumb sized)
300ml fresh cream
50g fresco pecorino (cubed)
50g fromage blanc (crumbled)
half a bunch of chives
one lemon (for squeezing)
salt & pepper

method:

1. Make your pasta first. The rest can be done while it's hanging out to dry. Not making pasta? Well, I guess you could take it out of the packet at this stage. That would be a good start. It will not make you feel as accomplished, but it will do for now. Also, chop your chives. And your cheese. This will save you time (and ensuing panic later).

prep at the beginning: a lifesaver!

2. Have you dealt with a whole smoked fish before? Delightful isn't it? Well, sort of. Once you've wrangled the little mister (or is it a miss?) out of its vaccuum sealed pack, you'll have to rip the skin off and start removing the flesh. Easiest way to do it? Slide your fingers down the middle and then slowly ease the flesh off the bones, watching for any that may come off with the meat. You'll be able to remove these later when pulling the fish apart.

separating the flesh from the bones

3. So go on! Get all oily and fishy smelling. Pull that sucker apart! Do not (as I may have done) absentmindedly answer your phone during this task. It will smell like fish for a while. And by a while, I mean a week.

mister trout loses his backbone

4. So here is the part where you get saucy. Put your butter and cream in a pot that is big enough to hold all your fish plus the pasta. Let the butter melt into the cream. Mmmmm, yellow specked fatty dairy produce.

mister fish gets saucy with the cream

5. Now toss your fish into the cream and heat gently. The idea here is to allow the smoky, fishy flavours to infuse into the cream. Altogether now, "Ahhhhhh!"

pasta boiling away happily

6. Is your pasta cooking? Well the time is now! Lotsa boiling salted water. I use a deep frying basket, because it's just easier that way. Pasta in basket, basket in water, a swirl with the chopsticks and voila! 30 seconds later, it can be drained and tipped into a lightly olive oiled dish in one quick movement. Do this in batches.

cheesy goodness being added

7. While you're cooking the pasta (or immediately after if this is too tricky) toss the cubes of pecorino into the creamy mix and stir til they melt in. This will thicken the creamy sauce, without making it too cheesy and stringy.

8. Melted goodness? Check! Cooked pasta? Check! All that needs to be done now is a quick season (salt and pepper shakers ahoy!) and a swift handful of chives into the cream mixture.

pasta's done. now where's that fish...

9. Toss the (now cooked) pasta into the creamy sauce mix and stir it around happily. There will only be enough "sauce" to just coat the pasta. So keep tossing til each strand is well coated.

10. All you need to do now is serve it. Crumble your fromage blanc over the top. A good squeeze of lemon over the top of each serve (just before eating) really lifts the flavour from "yeah quite good" to "wahoo! party in my mouth!" Loveit.

lick your lips, help your hips!

recipe notes:

Use a regular, store bought fresh or dried pasta if you wish. You won't get that wonderful multi-levelled "lemon juice freshness and then lemon zest undertone" flavour, but it will still be lovely and tasty.

Use any smoked pink fish with this dish. I happened to have a honey smoked trout on had, but have had equal amounts of success with a small smoked salmon (whole fish, not the funny supermarket packets).

Cheese varieties too confusing? A mozzerella will do nicely in place of the pecorino. It won't have as much bite, but will build the sauce in a similar fashion. Add some parmesan to it for flavour if you're going down this route. A crumbly fetta will do nicely in place of the fromage blanc.

fresh lemon rind pasta

2009-03-30T09:15:00.001+11:00

I've been getting back to basics. Going for walks. Ignoring the computer on weekends. Not shopping (much). Oh, and making pasta. I find it relaxes me - something about the mixing and then the kneading and the rolling and cutting. Making ugly, knotted, doughy things beautiful and smooth and speckled with flecks of sunshine yellow. Watching ribbons of gluten stretched goodness flapping around in the breeze on the balcony. Standing in the kitchen, arms aching, entirely satisfied, without having to trot over to the gym and then back again. Oh. And being about to eat your bicep workout later? Just fantastic.

Mister Fish (sourced with great panache from the Eveleigh Markets) needed a friend to accompany him to dinner. He, with his rich smokiness. She, with her citrussy warmth. They were quite the match. It was, however, a pity that nobody told them that they were to be dinner, rather than guests at the same. A pity for them, I should say. For we were quite, quite happy with the result.

can you see the speckles of yellow?

Pasta making is not hard if you have a machine to do your rolling for you. It is a little more of a workout if you don't, but not entirely impossible. You will be most (most!) appreciative later. Not only for the newfound muscle definition, but for the wonderful thing that is fresh pasta. An especially good thing if you've been eating its dried cousin for years and years. I kid you not. It's so good, I've been making a batch every week.

lemon rind pasta

ingredients:

3 eggs (about 60g each)
300g plain flour
1 lemon

method:

0. Before we start, let's take a look at the ingredients. Generally, I use 1 egg per 100g plain flour (you can use Italian Tipo 0 or Tipo 00 for a finer pasta with a higher gluten content, but plain works just fine). This produces a lovely noodley pasta. If you like, you can increase the egg:flour ratio so you've got 3 eggs and 210g flour for a really nice, yellow, eggy pasta. It will be stickier, but it will also be easier to roll out. Aim for about 75g flour per person for a nice big meal.

eggs and flour

1. So measure out your flour and pull the eggs out of the fridge. Or out from under the chook. Whichever is more convenient for you.

add lemon rind

2. Dump the flour into a bowl (plastic, glass or metal - wood is not so great) and make a dent in the middle that is big enough for your eggs to fit into nicely. Crack the eggs and tip the insides into the floury dent. Grate your lemon rind on top.

combine to form a ball

3. Now, using a utensil of your choice (I have used a wooden spoon and a spatula with equal amounts of success), smoosh the egg yolks in (tell me that wasn't fun & I'll tell you you're lying) and stir just the egg like you're making an omelette. As you stir the eggs around, the flour will get caught up in it bit by bit. After a while, you'll get to a point where you just can't stir anymore. So scrape off your implement (tell me that didn't sound nasty) and get your hands in there. Stop when you have a ball-ish shape with as much of the flour incorporated into it as possible.

rolling out the pasta

4. Your pasta will need to chill out for a bit. So stick it into the fridge while you wash everything up. All, like, three things you've used since you've started. And that grotty old coffee cup that no-one wants to wash cos it's, well, a grotty old coffee cup.

5. Once your pasta has finished chillaxing, pull it out of the fridge and onto a benchtop. Flour lightly if you will. Roll it out as much as possible using a rolling pin.

6. If you're just using the rolling pin, here's the easiest way to do it.

6a. First, use a higher egg:flour ratio. That will help.
6b. Roll it out as much as you can in one direction.
6c. Stop, let it shrink back a bit, then rotate 45 degrees and roll out as much as you can again.
6d. Lather, rinse, repeat. Which is hairdresser talk for repeat step 6c until you've come full circle.
6e. Flour, flip and repeat again until you've gotten to your desired thickness.

passing the pasta through the machine

7. For those of you who do have a pasta machine, this bit is simple. Lock & load baby. Start with half of your dough. Pass it through the thickest level five to six times, or until the pasta stops looking like a dried out bit of crusty dough and starts looking like pasta.

8. For ease of cutting, fold over any rounded or funny shaped ends so you end up with a rectangular shape.

9. Keep working your way down the roller sizes until you get to about 4 (or whatever half way is for you). Then cut in half and keep rolling. It will get ridiculously long otherwise.

pasta prepped for cutting

10. You should, by now, have four long pieces of dough, all beautifully rolled out and rectangular. As so. Lay one piece out and flour liberally.

roll it up & cut it up!

11. Roll it up loosely and then cut it into strips of whatever thickness suits your fancy. I like it fancy. I mean, thick. Then quickly unroll the pasta strips! "Yeah! Success!" is what I normally exclaim at this point.

cutting with the machine

12. If you are cutting with the machine, you will get skinner bits of pasta, and your ability to roll in rectangles will become quite (quite) important. Pass it through gently, making sure to line it up properly at the top.

hung out to dry

13. Most importantly? Hang your babies out to dry. I like to make my pasta twice as long as I intend to eat it so that after it is dry, I can snap along the hanging line. How to dry it? Well, alls you gots to do is grab a stick (I used the end of a broom - that I'd cleaned first. Clean it first people!) and prop it up between two things of equal height (my deck chairs). As you cut the pasta & unravel it, drape it over the broomstick. See, pretty no? It'll need about half an hour of dry time before cooking.

How to cook it? Well, I just might deal with that in another post. Stay tuned :)

shinara grill & lounge

2009-03-26T08:26:00.005+11:00

His Baikness had invited us to dinner. He wouldn't say where, he would hardly say when. But we were invited, albeit via a code-like voicemail message on Miss Shiny's phone. "Dinner Thursday?" it said "Korean." I was a little apprehensive, only having had a small (very small) handful of good, enjoyable Korean food experiences in my fairly short life, and having had a significantly larger handful of ok-but-not-so-great ones. But when His Baikness calls, we hop. He can be hard to catch at times and so every opportunity for dinner is a good one. And His Baikness, it was later revealed, was friends with the owner.

SuperDanny, Miss Shiny, His Baikness & I met just by the QVB at 6:30pm. There was no sign as to where we were going, as yet. But, armed with the knowledge that it was a "Korean Barbecue place", we were relieved of all questions and looking forward to meat.

Shinara Bar & Grill sits on Pitt Street, a short stroll from Town Hall Station and located just before you World Square. "It's only been around for a couple of months" explains His Baikness. And when we arrive, I realise that this is the very place that I'd been eyeing off and making mental notes to visit. Signs outside advertise the Korean Barbecue option and lunchtime Korean Yum Cha.

booths upstairs

Shinara doesn't look like your average Pitt St eatery. For starters, there's a distinct lack of laminated colour printouts adorning the walls. Ditto the pink paper advertising the specials. Instead, we are greeted by a slick, dark lounge at which various drinks can be ordered (Miss Shiny squeals & points out the Galiano) and then a short flight of stairs to what I fondly dub "the food zone".

"Where would you like to sit?" we are asked. We have arrived early and there is plenty of room. "In the corner, so we can make heaps of noise. No. Under the light, so I can take photos. No, over here. Wait. No, back there." I reply. His Baikness groans. But I am so enamoured with these little boothy things that sit four, or eight, or, if you are in the corner, maybe fifteen or more, that I don't even notice the groaning behind me.

We decide to sup on the normal banquet menu. At $26.50 per head, you can eat as much as you like for as long as you like. There are limitations (only one serve of scallops, prawns and beef ribs per person) but we hardly noticed these, what with everything else we ate. Of course, if you're that way inclined, the $36.50 Premium Buffet meny will more likely be for you. It comes with extras like Wagyu Beef, mixed sushi & sashimi and two kinds of ice cream for dessert. SuperDanny looked at the choices. "No time limit?" he asked. A resounding head shake. "Awesooomeee!"

super cute place setting

So we extracted our menu from its receptacle at the side of the table (so smart! it doesn't get dirty, or in the way, but is always there when you need it) and ordered our first round of food.

AH-HAH! I knew it! You were wondering where the table was, weren't you? Yes, that one. With the buffet style top and the raw meat all sitting and oxidising and growing bacteria colonies. But no. Not here. At Shinara, you push the little green button on the table, point at the menu items you would like and they are brought out to you on little red and yellow and blue plates for your cooking delight! Let me say this again, just because I loved it so. No horrible shiny silver meat oxidising buffet! YEAH!

bohae plum wine

And while we waited for the dishes to arrive, we decided to get some soju. His Baikness taught us the rules of serving soju. Two hands on the bottle if it's someone older. One hand on the bottle, the other resting on the pouring arm, for a recipient of equivalent age. One hand on the bottle if the recipient is younger. The other hand? Do whatever you like with it I guess... Hand rules go similarly for the recipient.

Oh. And you can't pour your own drink. Period. His Baikness, ever the gracious host, poured drinks for all. And had so much patience in doing so, especially seeing as he would often look up from his plate to see me, arms extended, both hands around my cup, and a big ol' grin on my face.

cooked starters clockwise from top left: waitress making pancakes, pancakes all done!, kimchee soup, gyoza

It doesn't take long for the food to arrive, and His Baikness, our resident Korean, has taken care of the orders. A selection of meats to grill and cooked food for now. So we don't have to wait for the meat to be cooked, you see. And here's another thing I loved. Well another two things.

First, you see the pale pancake, second from the left? It is egg. Fried. And inside there is fish! No? Miss Shiny pretended to catch my enthusiasm but was more taken by the sweet potato pancakes on the far left. She was less taken by the kimchee ones (far right) but only because they were spicy. SuperDanny, on the other hand, likes spicy. So was rather happy with them. Oh, and the green one? Herbilicious. The other thing I liked about these was the lady that wheeled the trolley over to cook them to order for us each time. More eggy fish, less kimchee? Sure! It's so can do around here, it hurts.

And secondly, the soup. His Baikness informed us that we should drink spoonfuls of it in between the meat-carnage, to help us with digestion. I took this to heart and very possibly ended up out eating the boys - and with none of the belly-full-of-meat discomfort that normally accompanies an action such as this. Soup. Do it.

(And while I'm here, the gyoza we good too - so good that we ordered three served of them.)

bimbimbab

Now, most Korean barbecue packages include rice. But this korean barbecue package included bimbimbab. And such good bimbimbab it was. All warm and eggy and kimchee-ey and with bits of vegetable and beef all swirled through it. And (conveniently) accompanied by a separate receptacle of sauce, so you could control the heat level. Thoughtful, and tasty.

meat on the grill clockwise from top left: scallops, prawns, beef & pork on the grill, raw prawns & pork belly, raw beef

While all this was happening (ie me exclaiming "There's bimbimbab! Oh yum... Oi you, try the fishy eggy one. It's good... I didn't eat the last one!... Oh, maybe I did... Can we get more gyoza? Please?" and gesticulating wildly) His Baikness had taken it upon himself to start the cookin.

We got heaps. And the meat? It was good quality stuff. The pork belly was deliciously pink and fatty. The various cuts of beef were all tender and juicy. The prawns were a little finicky, peeling wise, but SuperDanny solved that problem by eating them whole. Head & all. And the scallops? Deliciously fresh, but, unfortunately, suffered at the hands of too much soju in our systems and too much avid conversation. We ate them anyway. Can't waste food y'know.

how to eat korean barbecue

I think the reason I'd never really enjoyed Korean Barbecue til now is that I'd never really known how to eat it properly. So here's His Baikness' 101 on how to make it work best.

1. Take some lettuce in your hand. Yes lettuce. Yes, I realise we're at a barbecue. *sigh* Just take some lettuce ok? Good.

2. Top said lettuce with fermented miso paste. The red one. No, not the chilli. The other red one. Ok. Reddy-Orangey. Happy?

3. Grab a bit of meat. Use the scissors to chop it up fool. Don't cram it all in your mouth at once. Put it on top of the miso paste.

4. Top with the marinated spring onion. No, more of it. A bit more. Good. Now eat.

We are, as you may gather, not the easiest people to instruct when drinking soju. But the flavours! The crisp, fresh lettuce! The warm, smoky meat! The tang of the tofu and the crunch of the spring onion! "And," says His Baikness "as an extra tip, I like to grill the kimchee and then put that on top too". Here, I almost fainted with glee.

beef spare ribs

So we ate, and ate, and ate some more. And then we got some beef spare ribs. Not the finger lickin' Texan style. Oh no. These ribs came like this: one big bone at the end, one long long long ribbon of meat trailing off it. Miss Shiny declared this her favourite dish of the evening. I ate. SuperDanny ate. His Baikness ate. "Oh! They're just so tasty!" said Miss Shiny "tender and sweet and juicy!" And we didn't disagree with her. But we didn't reply either, because secretly, we were hoping that she wouldn't notice that while she was talking, we were eating, and this way, we were getting just that little bit more than our share.

the aftermath

Three bottle of soju, endless plates of meat, countless button pushing and "Please can we have more of.... Thankyou!"s later, we looked at each other and realised that we were, indeed, full. So full, in fact, that the soup was no longer doing its extra-stomach-growing magic. Which was a pity, because we'd hardly eaten through half the menu. But we'd had fun. Three hours of it. And we had a table full of bits and bobs to prove it. (That wasn't all we ate, oh no! For the kindly waiters and waitresses were very good at clearing plates that were done with.)

green tea ice cream

His Baikness, having wandered off for a chat, returned with Shinara's owner, Daniel Bae, who promptly offered us ice cream. Our eyes lit up. "Yes please! Green tea?" said we and soon after, four glasses with scoops of green tea appeared at our table. Later, I told him about the blog (this blog!) and asked if I could take a photo of him at the bar. He was, as ever, most obliging, and this was one of this things that has made me love Shinara all the more. Because he wasn't the only one. Far from the sometimes surly, oddly incompetent service one will normally receive up this end of the city, the waiters & waitresses here are just so obliging. Grills are replaced as soon as they start to smoke (at no extra charge, no less!), food is brought promptly to the table, empty plates are cleared and water is refilled. We never once felt rushed, or too noisy, or too anything-that-shouldn't-be-here.

And even later, I danced down the street with the kids, arm in arm and smelling like meat. His Baikness reckons its a sure fire way for me to catch the eye (or nose) of a cute Korean boy. SuperDanny reckons I was lucky to not have been chased by dogs on the way home.

owner Daniel Bae at the bar

Shinara
Shop 1, 338 Pitt Street
Sydney NSW 2000
Ph (02) 9262 9218

eveleigh markets

2009-03-24T21:15:00.001+11:00

If I had a grapefruit for every time I've spelt Eveleigh wrong since hearing about those markets, I'd be making a whole heap of juice right now. I have developed a mild obsession for grapefruit, you see. The ruby grapefruit, mind you. None of this yellow business. This is, however, besides the point. For when I did set out on a trip to Eveleigh Markets (got it right that time) I was in search of ginger. Young ginger. Pink if possible. And as my luck would have it, the only ginger at these markets came firmly embedded in shortbread. Or enrobed in chocolate. But I didn't mind so much. Because there was so much more there to see and taste!

We were there, ostensibly, to visit Suze. In case you haven't visited Suze at a Biscuit Tree stall before, let me tell you this. She isn't joking when she tells you to look under the table if you don't see her at first glance. I don't know where she was when we first arrived, but, just like a jack-in-the-box, up she suddenly popped with a "Helloooooo!" and big ol' arm-flail.

loving the high ceiling at the markets

Karen (for I was there with both her and Richard) looked visibly relieved at her appearance. Partly because she likes Suze, and partly because she really (and I mean really) likes her biscotti. She seven bags of biscotti likes her biscotti. For now, we had a brand spankin' new marketplace to explore. And I, I had a whole heap of cheese to buy for my lactose semi-friendly-family. More on that later...

suze pretending hard to be working

I had never been to Eveleigh Markets before. This, despite all that I had heard about it (and seen about it, if that makes grammatical sense). So when the opportunity to visit arose, I fairly leapt at it. And, when given the opportunity to capture it all with equally interested others (and not the Bean, who would have spent the whole time asking for a sausage "Can I have a sausage?" she would have asked "a chorizo one?" and when that had been sated, "And a juice? And an ice cream?") I was doubly pleased. I will admit, in my mind, I spent a good deal of time asking myself those very same questions, and so will have to take the Bean along anyway, because I think she'll quite enjoy herself. (For the curious, the answers were: Not yet. Yes (ruby grapefruit). Yes (vanilla please!))

clockwise from top left: golden potatoes, white nectarines,
ruby grapefruit (hoorah!), eggplant & fennel

I can hear your reactions from here. No need to type them, please. The voices are saying "Not yet?! To a chorizo roll?! From Eumundi?! Are you INSANE woman?" And I am saying "Well, not really. At least I don't think so." Because it was still breakfast time. And there were oh so many things on show. First the slab of slow baked olive oil and garlic and herb foccaccia that caught the eye of both Richard & myself. "Only $6 for the piece. Or I can cut it in half for you for $3?" floated a voice in our direction. We made eye contact, nodded and gleefully deposited our first little piece of breakfast in my Gourmet Traveller eco-bag.

clockwise from top left: look at those peppers!, almost pink peaches,
really red radishes, a herbilicious display

Later, we were taking photos of apples when another voice wafted past our heads. "Apple Pies!" it exclaimed "Last ones left! $4 for a small pie!" And I could taste the apple in my mouth, and I could feel the gleam in Richard's eye as he looked at me and said "Piepiepiepiepie". So that went in the bag too.

We lost Karen at a wine stall. She appeared later, mildly flushed and gushing about something red. In the meantime, I'd found my friends at Gumnut and convinced Richard to buy the florentines (I used to eat a packet of 8 almost every week - the dark chocolate ones are insanely good. Truly. I say this with all of my tiny, lard ridden heart). As a side note, it is so, so lovely when the stallholders you visit remember you. Even when months and months have gone by. And the lovely people at Gumnut are just that. If you see them at Christmas, their Christmas Pudding chocolates are really something else. And for now? I see they have Easter Eggs on sale...

clockwise from top left: bagels, french bread sticks,
apple pie from 'the Batlow man'

I chowed down on some yoghurt and granola (really good, wish I could've fit in a whole tub) then sampled some vanilla gelato. I promised to come back later, and I did. Only $2 for 100ml of deliciously creamy hand churned gelato, resplendent with little beany specks? Sold.

We picked up gluten free eclairs "These don't taste gluten free" I said. "Hrrmmmnnnnummph?" said Richard, with a mouth full of eclair. Suze & Karen looked blankly at me. Nothing was said, but a comic would have shown a big ol' bubble with a "What is gluten free supposed to taste like? Sheesh!" scrawled across it, just floating above their heads.

clockwise from left: a brunch menu, the menu in real life,
meringues, cinnamon & star anise

All was washed down with a red grapefruit juice, and then the shopping began. I swooped past to collect a loaf of Olive and Herb Sourdough from the boys at Shepherd's Bakehouse (they make a mean, delicious Pumpkin Sourdough too. Go. Eat it.) and then fell in love with a washed rind brie "It's beautifully creamy and mild now, but in four weeks it will be ripe and gooey and mushroomy". I reached for my wallet at gooey. Later, I was also tricked (by my mouth no less) into buying a block of Fresco Pecorino and a Fromage Blanc. Best trickery in the world. My tongue was forgiven immediately afterwards. They are both absolutely gorgeous cheeses. Creamy, but cheesy. Perfect. And the semi-lactose-unfriendly family are loving them too. The Pecorino melts a dream on my Olive Sourdough and the Fromage Blanc is making friends with honey & pears on toast.

clockwise from top left: mush-ROOMS!, apples,
juice from Parker's Organics

In between mouthfuls of gelato, I spotted one, lone honey smoked trout, languishing on a bed of ice and eyeballed it. "Last one, make an offer" said the trout. I looked up, astonished. There was a person there, behind the trout. Oh. "How much will you give it to me for?" I asked. "$12?" was the reply, and Mr Trout was headed home with me. "I bought a fish!" I exclaimed, waving Mr Trout around in his paper. I was greeted with stunned looks. "He's smoked" I explained. "Phew." said Richard "For a second I was wondering what you were going to do with a live fish at lunch today". Oops.

a scarf, for the winter months

And that was that. But there was more. For there was still a lunch in store. And waffles too (in case you were wondering). Because foodies don't not do dessert.

Eveleigh Markets
243 Wilson St
Eveleigh NSW (Adjacent to Carriage Works)
Ph: (02) 9209 4220

(ps: plenty of free parking on a Saturday. just in case you were wondering)

jimmy's recipe malaysia

2009-03-23T09:00:00.002+11:00

As a person of Malaysian heritage, I'm always looking for somewhere that brings me right back there. The heat that almsot sticks to your skin, the smells that waft around, the smoky flavours and that satisfying feeling in your stomach when you know you've eaten just that little bit too much, and done it all at half past 2 in the morning. The coconut rice, fresh and fragrant. The curries. Meat optional, because it's the gravy that does it, really. Not so much the mozzies and the cats that curl around your ankles while you're eating. Definitely the prices, if possible (though in Sydney, I'm thinking not so much).

It was three, maybe five years ago that the Malay Chinese moved on from its hidey hole next to the Chanel Store on Castlereagh and on to greener, Wynyard-friendly pastures. And those were pastures that I was unable to convincingly trek to and from in a brief lunch break. Luckily for me, a store named Jimmy's popped its little head up at me and opened in a far more convenient location (and one that was far more locate-able for those unfamiliar to it).

bain marie

I gotta say, first up, that I love Jimmy's. I mean, sure. It doesn't have the super crazy variety that some other Malaysian Chinese places may have. It doesn't have the freshly made roti (and the roti-master flinging it around in the window). But if you're looking for a quick taste of home (and some of the best laksa around) then you're hitting up the right place.

bain marie

The bain marie holds a multitude of tasty options. And fear not, for this is not your average dried-out meat, three-day-old curry bain marie. And, even as someone who will generally prefer her meals "cooked to order", I'm fairly partial to the food you'll find behind the glass front. And so too, it seems, does the crowd. I managed to snare myself a seat right near the counter one week and saw the dishes flying out the door. (Handy Hint: arrive early for lunch, or late. Tables can be tough to snare, especially if you have a large group. If you're flying solo, the customers here are mroe than happy to share a table, just ask.)

nasi lemak $8.20

One of my favourite meals to come out of the bain marie is the nasi lemak. Ok, that's only partly true. The curry comes out of the bain marie (oh! how the chicken curry reminds of home!) but the rest of it is served up in the kitchen section of the restaurant. For $8.20, you'll receive a healthy serving of coconut rice, chilli ikan bilis sambal, cucumber, a boiled egg, ground peanuts, archar (Malaysian pickles) and your choice of curry.

nasi lemak all gone

And don't think this is a small dish to consume either. The blue dish contains some decently deep cavities, and if you're anything like me, you'll find yourself scooping up mouthful after mouthful and wondering if it will ever end (then marvelling at the fact that it doesn't. Well, it does, but long after you think it will). i was so proud of myself for finishing it all that I took a photo. I was very full for many hours afterwards.

char kway teow & rice with chicken curry $7.20

This is my absolute hands down favourite. Fondly dubbed the "heart attack". The order goes something like this "Can I please get one half char kway teow, half white rice and chicken curry?" You gotta specify that you want half & half, you see, as this isn't very common. Also gotta specify white rice. Sounds simple? Well, yes. But think for a second. Gorgeous, smoky rice noodles, lightly dressed in a heart warming, coconutty (but not too coconutty) chicken curry gravy. White rice to soak the rest of it up. Ultimate bad mood food. Gym required afterwards.

murtabak $6.00

Also highly recommended is the murtabak. And ringing in at only $6.00, you've found yourself a steal of a meal. Be warned though, like the seats at Jimmy's, the murtabak is made in limited stock and disappears fairly quickly. Also, ask for the chicken curry gravy over the top of it. Makes a world of a difference.

inside murtabak

Murtabak is essentially a filled in roti canai. Break it open and you'll find a flurry of chicken pieces, shallot and onion all tumbled about and surrounded by eggy goodness. It's like eating roti and an omelette all in one. With curry. *swoon*.

chicken laksa $7.20

What the crowd is here for, however, is the laksa. Bowls and bowls and bowls of it. I have, on occasion, met friends of various tastes here at Jimmy's. All have loved the laksa. Miss Shiny will have a spoonful, and then another before looking up, wide eyed and exclaiming "Oh! It's spicy!" The Closed-Mouth-Cat will slurp (politely) away at his, and then sit back in his seat looking like the proverbial cat that got the cream. I just make sure I'm not wearing white. Because laksa and white don't mix so well.

beef laksa $7.00

The laksa here comes with a mix of vermecelli and egg noodles accompanied by either veges, chicken, beef, fish or seafood and squishy cubes of fried tofu in a hearty, stocky soup. It's served up by a crew of happy, friendly Malaysians, and it takes me right back home.

Jimmy's Recipe Malaysia
The Galeries Victoria
Ground Floor, Shop RC16, 500 George St
Sydney NSW 2000
Ph (02) 9267 2288

ps) also highly recommended is the Chicken Rice - you get a choice of leg or breast and it is de-li-cious. Truly.

pepper lunch

2009-03-20T16:00:00.000+11:00

We were drawn in by the smell of meat cooking. Also by the plans we had made just prior to be meeting people there for dinner (Pepper Lunch FAQ #2: Can we have dinner at Pepper Lunch? A: Yes of course. Pepper Lunch is a name thought up by the founder, Mr. Kunio Ichinose. But we are open from brunch to after dinner). But mainly by the smell of meat cooking. A hearty "Irasshaimase!!" was hollered in our direction. I jumped. It's possible Miss Shiny did too. "Oh, hello." said we. "Please, order?" said they, in response. But there was a line building behind us, and we weren't sure what to do. So we stood back for a touch before picking our meals. "This is" we thought "different to what we are used to."

Pepper Lunch is a "fast steak" restaurant concept that originated in Japan when its inventor had a hankering for some quality fast food. Quality fast food that also involved steak. It has since been exported to numerous Asian countries such as South Korea, China, Taiwan, Singapore, Indonesia, Thailand and the Philippines. Oh, and of course, Australia.

waiting for the food to arrive

It's a different kind of fast food restaurant. After we order at the counter, we're given a number and invited to sit at any of the many tables that may take our fancy. Cutlery is collected from a receptacle. As are napkins. And then, with a hissing sound and a brief puff of meaty smoke, our meal comes atop a "patented electromagnetic cooker", adorned with a paper collar (to minimise splatter).

poster advertising the patented cooker

"Have you dined at Pepper Lunch before?" we are asked, as the plates arrive. "No." we reply, studying our plates curiously. "Please stir!" replies our server, motioning in a circular motion. "And you," says said server, pointing at the one who is no-an-accountant "wait first, and then flip". We nod and the server, like magic, disappears. (Pepper Lunch FAQ #6: What if I don't know how to cook? A: Our staff would be glad to help you, just ask.)

Regular Kimuchi Beef $9 or $11.20 for the set

Ever the adventurous, I have ordered a Regular Kimuchi Beef Set. A larger version would have set me back $10.20, with the set ringing in at $12.20. Rice, thinly sliced strips of beef, corn and a kimchi (or kimuchi) topping sit on top of a sizzling, spitting plate. "While the plate is hot!" exclaims the paper collar that has, thus far, saved both me and my companions from being splattered in assorted hot, red coloured sauces. I grab my chopsticks and stir.

Regular Kimuchi Beef (post stirring)

And stir. And stir. And as I stir, all sorts of wonderful smells are being released. There's the pepper! And the garlic! Oh, some vinegar from the kimuchi topping! And then, the sizzling retreats somewhat, and I am left with this. Golden kimuchi coated grains of rice interspersed with juicy kernels of corn and tender shavings of beef. Tasty - this much is true. And aided even more so by the garlic sauce that sits on the table. "Shake first, then pour" we are instructed.

Regular Beef: $7.80 or $10 for the set

Miss Shiny, not quiet sure about what to make of it all yet, has gone for what she calls "the safe option". It is the same as mine, but sans kimuchi, and resplendent in its pepperiness. Have I mentioned before how much I love pepper? I'm sure I have, and if I haven't then you know now. I love pepper. And this rice is beautifully peppered. Spicy and earthy and absolutely delicious. I'm almost disappointed that I didn't pick the safe option myself, as the pepperiness here has been masked by the overpowering flavour of the kimuchi in my own order.

Regular Salmon $9.90 or $12 for the set

Others have ordered the salmon. (Pepper Lunch FAQ #4: What if I don't eat red meat?? A: We have the best chicken teriyaki in town. Some people prefer salmon with or without teriyaki sauce. We have really good salads and desserts.) And whilst it smells nice, I'm far preferring the smoky pepperiness of the red meat.

Regular Salmon post-stirring

It is, however, well recieved by its owner, who declares it "Delicious!". I am too busy sneaking mouthfuls off Miss Shiny's plate to notice.

"Nitokuchi" Cut $9.80 of $12.80 for the set

Finally, a different order. "Steak!" declares the one who is not-an-accountant. "But how will you eat it?" we ask, looking between his plate and the chopstick / spoon combination he is holding. "Umm. Not sure." he replies. But our worries are ill founded. The steak has been thoughtfully pre-cut into slices for easy consumption with the beansprouts and rice provided (rice not pictured). I'll be straight. I'm a very fussy steak eater. But this patented system seems to do a very nice job. The meat has a lovely brown colour once cooked, and is even more tasty when doused with the garlic sauce (remember: shake, then pour!) though I hear it's quite good without. A tip for the uninitiated: to stop your meat overcooking, place it on top of your bean sprouts once it's done to your liking. That way, it stays warm without drying out, and the beansprouts get a whole heap of meaty lovin'. Yeehah! Or should that be Oishii!

Pepper Lunch
537 George Street
Sydney NSW 2000
ph (02) 9264 3222

(note: link is to the Phillipines' Pepper Lunch site)

basil, lime & coconut cake

2009-03-18T08:30:00.000+11:00

I tend to feel like baking on Mondays. Something about the flour on my nose and the butter in my fingernails makes me feel like the weekend is back again, if only for a couple of happy hours. Not that I ever end up with flour on my nose or butter in my fingernails. Oh no. The best part about Monday evening baking is figuring out what to make. It may involve flicking through a book, leafing through a magazine, or, as happens most Mondays, working it out on the fly and hoping for the very best. As for inspiration? Well that comes from all over. And on Monday, it came in the form of our herb plot.

The bugs had gotten to the basil again. And I wasn't going to allow them the pleasure of chomping down on the rest of the leaves. We had some shredded coconut in the fridge. And oh! The limes from my house cooling. From the cocktails that we never ended up drinking. So, all of them? In a cake? Sure, why not?

shredded coconut in a pan

This cake is absolutely lovely. The sour lime glaze cuts through the rich butteriness of the cake and, when that's done, you're left with the lovely warmth of coconut and a subtle hint of basil on your tongue. Also, the cake, it looks a little green. And that's kinda cool.

basil, lime & coconut cake

ingredients for the cake:

1/4C shredded coconut
zest of 1 lime
juice of 1 lime
handful of vietnamese basil (about 2tbsp once chopped)
125g softened butter
3 eggs
1.5C self raising flour
1/2C white sugar
60ml milk

ingredients for the glaze:

50ml lime juice (about 1.5 limes)
rind of 1 lime
3/4C icing sugar

method:

1. The hardest thing about this cake is probably toasting the coconut. Which isn't hard at all. All you do is put your shredded coconut in a frying pan over a low heat. Stir it around a bit. Oh! The fragrance! And then *bam!* all of a sudden, it will start to go brown, and your kitchen will smell like the Bahamas. Bikinis optional.

toasted coconut!

2. The second hardest bit about this cake is zesting and juicing the limes. Remember. Zest first, juice second. Do not do this the other way around. It's messy. Also sticky. And if you're anything like me, you will lick your fingers and pull a most awful face. Then you will look around to make sure noone you like saw you make that face.

zest the limes & chop the basil

3. You will also need to chop the basil up finely. Shred it, if you will. With a knife please. You do not need to food processor such a small amount of greenery.

everything straight in the bowl!

4. Now put all of the cake ingredients into the bowl of a cake mixer. You heard me. All of them. None of this fluffing around and separating this and pre-mixing that. Go go go. Then beat slowly (because otherwise you will end up with flour in your hair) and, as it comes together, beat a little quicker (like your heart, when he walks into a room) until it is smooth and creamy.

whip it good, then into a tin

5. You've pre-buttered your pan, right? Probably best to line it with greaseproof paper as well. Springform tins are best because you don't have to pry the cake off the bottom of the tin. Lots of butter. Think sunscreen.

6. Now dump the cake mix (smooth and creamy) into the tin and smooth it out a bit. Doesn't have to be perfect. It will melt before it sets anyway. Because of all that butter. Do not think too hard about the butter lest you eat only a smidge of cake later.

letting the cake cool

7. The cake will take about 50 minutes in a 150C oven. Such a low temperature? Yes. It helps with the not-rising-like-a-maniac-and-then-burning-at-the-top part. When it is done, let it sit for 5 mins then take it out of the pan (if springform) and let it cool down somewhere pretty. Here, you can sit and watch tv. Away from the cake. Lest you eat it all at once sans glaze.

lime juice, rind & icing sugar

8. Wait until the cake is mostly cool (but not totally cool) and then zest & juice your limes for the glaze. Dump the icing sugar in and stir frantically until the lumps are gone. I use chopsticks as I don't have one of those cool little whisks. Also because I like chopsticks.

pouring onto the cake

9. Pour the glaze over the cake. Let it sit and drip, then pour all the dripped off glaze onto the cake. Repeat a couple of times, with a couple of minutes between each coating. And Voila! Green, tasty, herby cake.

(note: a good vanilla ice cream mutes the sharpness of the lime nicely but may hide the flavour of the coconut & basil somewhat.)

tonton regent

2009-03-17T09:00:00.000+11:00

You wouldn't know it, walking down George Street, that there were so many little gems hidden just behind the facades. You may, on the odd occasion, look up through the crowds of people that regularly pack the pavement, and see a KFC. Or a Pepper Lunch. Or a shoe shop. Or the cinemas. You may even, if you are feeling alert and possibly a little hungry, see that the big block that used to be all boarded up (that you subconsciously still see as boarded up) is boarded up no more. And is also, conveniently, quite nice to look at. And even nicer to meander into.

And then, once you have made your way past the Japanese skincare shop and the shop where the shoes are sold for $30 and less, you may spot a clearing. And when you spot it, you might do a little squeal inside (it is all a bit nice still to do a real life squeal). Because there, in the middle of Regent Place, that brand new building wedged in between KFC and the Cinemas, is TonTon. And you may even grab your compatriot excitedly because you'd never made it all the way to Chifley Square to eat said famed ramen, and now you can.

tonton regent

TonTon Regent is a takeaway store with limited dining facilities. Order at the shopfront, grab yourself a number and sit at one of the tables to its right. Or, after dark, you can grab one of the tables that has been set up in the neighbouring jewellery store. Strange? Yes. A bit. But also quite novelty, and a little cosier than sitting in the open space.

noodle set special

A noodle set special is advertised on one of the big, red, shiny panels that sit behind the counter. "Noodle Set $12.50" it says "Choose Ramen or Udon Soup Noodle ($9.80 or under) + Hand roll sushi OR Gyozas 3pcs OR Small Curry". Miss Shiny is automatically interested. She had wanted noodles you see, as had we all. But the thought of Gyoza too? Well, that was just, as she would say, "fabulous!"

sukiyaki beef udon $9.80

Miss Shiny decided on udon. The sukiyaki beef udon arrived in a big bowl, complete with a sweet bonito soup, thin slices of sukiyaki beef, seaweed and spring onion. I'll tell you now. It will look like a small serve when it arrives at the table. That is not because the serving is small, it is because the bowl is big. So, it is likely that (unless you, like some, have hollow legs and/or worms) you will be quite happy with the amount given to you.

gyoza on rice - part of the $12.50 set menu

The three gyoza arrive on a plate of rice, much to the glee of Miss Shiny, who has been known to eat rice with everything (schnitzel, steak and lasagne included. I know! Lasagne! With Rice!) I manage to snag one of them and find it a little watery, as if they had been cooked prior and kept in a bain marie for the last couple of hours. I hear they taste quite okay if left to lounge around in the soup for a bit. It does spoil the crunch though.

kogashi ninniku ramen is popular

I, on the other hand, had spotted a highlighted sticker. "Popular!" it had said. And, I reasoned, if it was popular, I should probably give it a shot. Nothing to do with the fact that I absolutely love sesame seeds. And gelatinous slices of braised pork. Nothing at all. *cough*

kogashi ninniku ramen $12.80

At a whole 30c more than a regular ramen set, I figured it should be good. Oh! Readers! It was! The ramen was cooked just right. None of this stuck together and over boiled business here. Oh no. The soup had a wonderful burnt, nutty flavour to it. And it was the soup that made this dish. It was just so delightful. Truly. I made the mistake of tasting everyone else's dishes after having a mouthful of my own, and really, they couldn't compare. Please, try. It's popular you see.

shio ramen $9.80

The shio ramen came adorned with a hulking great piece of toasted seaweed. It looked and smelt lovely. But then, ramen is such a comforting food to me that it will always smell lovely. I hear the shio soup was light and sweet and, as this whole bowl was munched to completion, I don't believe there were any complaints.

coloured water cups

Dan arrived late and ordered a tonton ramen off the bat. I swear I took a photo of it. I'm almost certain I did. But it has disappeared. Which is a pity, because the tonton ramen was lovely and porky and fatty, just like it should be.

Instead, you will have to look at some cups. Which I did photograph. And which were just so cute that I wanted to smuggle them home with me. I didn't though. I've decided to go visiting them instead. Because I love me some ramen, and here suits me just fine.

TonTon Regent is open 11am to 10pm daily.

Taste of Sydney Festival 2009

2009-03-14T22:14:00.005+11:00

It all started with an email from Holly of Brand Events Australia. "I am writing to you in regards to Taste of Sydney..." it started, and a couple of days later, I put this on my blog, and a couple of weeks after that, I received a shiny, silver envelope in the mail. "Wahoooo!" I yelled in the Bean's direction "We're going to Taste!" And so, like two happy, hungry campers (clad in warm weather clothing and sensible shoes) off to Taste we went.

(I should warn you now, this is a very long post. Here we go!)

entry to the Taste of Sydney Festival

It was a warm day. A sunny, bright, happy day - and the crowd felt the same way. Across the park, people young and old were getting hyped up for Sound Relief. We, on the other hand, were lined up and ready to hit the stalls. "I think we should get 90 crowns" I said to the Bean. She nodded. "We can get more later if we need to" said she. But we didn't need to, because we spent right on 90. And a couple of extra dollars besides, such was the enticing nature of the food.

clockwise from top left: outdoor bar, james squire masterclass tent,
james squire beer stand, chandon champagne tent

We had hoped, at some stage, to go sample some beer at the James Squire Masterclass tent. Unfortuately, the pulling power of alcohol + food was so strong that we could not get a place for love, nor money. We did, however, get to enjoy the lovely music that was being put on at the Chandon tent. Nothing better than eating good food and listening to raw, swingy reenditions of Girl from Ipanema and Somewhere.

olive oil & bread at Buon Ricardo

Ever the budding strategists, the Bean & I scampered through the crowd (meagre at this stage)and past each of the restaurant stalls until we had reached the end. We would work backwards, we thought, because the front of the festival will always be crowded, but the back won't get noticed til later. The last stall was Buon Ricardo.

Armando Percuoco

Behind the table, a man was singing. Not humming-along-to-the-music singing either. Full blown, arm waving, head reared back singing. He was Armando Percuoco, head chef of Buon Ricardo. "Ladies!" he exclaimed, his arms thrown out towards us "How are you today? Have some olive oil!" And so we did. Lovely, fruity and eagerly sopped up by the bread. "Would you like to try something?" Well, actually, we did. "One fagottino please" said I.

Fagottini di carne from Buon Ricardo

The menu said that it was "Homemade sausage bound with parmesan and truffle egg, finished with lemon extra virgin olive oil". The Bean & I looked at the plate. It was sausage alright. But not as we'd ever seen before. We nodded, separated it into two portions, and took a mouthful each. "Mmmmmm" said the Bean. "I can taste the cheese" said I. "This is so much better than I thought it would be" said we, almost in unison. Maybe it was because it was the first dish of a beautiful, sunny afternoon. Maybe because I was so cheerfully greeted by a head chef. Or, maybe it was just that good.

I went back to Mr Percuoco later, to thank him for the dish. "My pleasure" he said "enjoy yourselves today!" So we did.

Jonah's at Whale Beach

One thing I really appreciated was the way in which each restaurant had decorated their stall to resemble their own restaurant. At Jonah's, beach vistas backed the clean, crisp tables. One times happy gentleman greeted us. It seemed everyone and their dining partner had ordered the zucchini flowers. But we, the rebels that we are, had opted for the tuna.

Tuna from Jonah's at Whale Beach

The sesame seared yellow fin tuna was accompanies by crisp spring onion rings, red radish and watercress. Three thick slices of seared tuna were adorned with a citrussy dressing. I sliced each piece into two. For fairness' sake, you see. "This is... I've never had tuna like this before!" exclaimed the Bean. She adorned her next mouthful with some salad. "The texture is so nice!" she continued "And the dressing and the leaves go so well with it". It was just so fresh. Probably one of my favourite dishes from the day. And the spring onion rings? So crunchy. Not too oily. Perfectly complementary.

that pannacotta

We hot-tailed it back immediately. "Back? So soon?" asked one times happy gentleman. "Well, we had to have the pannacotta. And we were worried you might run out." we explained. He laughed. "One panna!" he yelled and then, seconds later, brought it out, jiggling it for extra drama. "OH!" we exclaimed. And then "OH!" again, for it was wonderfully creamy. Full of vanilla and then sour with the pomegranate molasses and sweet again with the lavendar honey. The looks of envy as we sauntered through the crowd... well. Let's just say they were abundant.

Warren Turnbull: strawberry bellini & cinnamon donut

We paused here, the Bean & I, on a pre-anticipated pit stop. Previously, we had ducked into the Gourmet Traveller Test Kitchen to ask when we should feasibly return for each session. Were they popular? Did they fill up? Should we come back half an hour before? "Ten minutes should do" was the answer, and so that is when we returned for second row aisle seats.

Warren Turnbull is a hand working man. He was up at 5am to prep for the Festival. His team then carted everything over and started their work. So he was a little tired. And that meant that he forgot to put butter in his donuts. And that he may have spilt a whole lotta champagne when trying to open it. But he was also informative and open with his food and his recipes - a quality not often found in the food world. He was so open, in fact, that he gave out the recipe for his donuts. *pats pocket* It will go to good use methinks.

the Ottoman tent

Back to the food, and this time, to Ottoman. And whilst we waited, we ate ruby cubes of rose-y turkish delight. The Bean had icing sugar on her nose. I had a hankering for more.

Salmon Dolma from Ottoman Cuisine

The Salmon Dolma contained salmon, cray & prawn wrapped in vine leaves. It was lightly battered and deep fried before being served with what was only described as "a piquant sauce". It was oh-kay. Crispy and fresh yes. But the salmon overpowered the cray and the sweetness of the prawn was undectectable in amongst it all. We did, however, meet some lovely people whilst standing there eating this morsel (one of whom subscribed for the Gourmet Traveller magazine, and then, sometime later, exclaimed "Hey, it's only $65!"). I said that I would mention them. So, um, hello!

Bird Cow Fish stall

We had, so far, eaten seafood and sausage. It was, we thought, time to break out the meats. The burger at Plan B was crossed out, as it was an "anytime" purchase. And then we saw someone carrying a pie. "Pie." Thought I "Pie pie pie pie pie."

Pie at Bird Cow Fish

The Bean snagged a table and I snagged a pie. Not just any pie, a braised beef cheek and roasted onion & jerusalem artichoke pie. Served with red wine jus. Topped with a sour cream & careme puff pastry. A special pie. But in the end, it was a pie. The beef was lovely and tender, the artichokes cooked right down, the pastry was crispy and soaked up the jus brilliantly. But it was a pie. And we were in search of greatness.

Restaurant Balzac stall

We thought that maybe greatness could be found in the form of pig. I mean, everybody likes pig right? (Well, everybody that can/will eat pig likes pig, right?) And there was mild debate about which pig to get. Do we get the pig from the restaurant named after a fish? We had already eaten tuna, so no. Do we get the pig neck? Do pigs have necks? Hmmm. And so, despite the Bean having a fierce aversion to peas, we settled on the pig at Balzac.

Pig & Peas from Restaurant Balzac

We are glad that we settled on Balzac. The saddle of suckling pig, with crackling and baby garden peas is lovely. The pork is tender and moist. The crackling is thin and crispy. The peas! Oh! The peas! This is how good the peas were. The Bean tried the peas. Then the Bean ate the peas. Then (for there were more peas than pictured, hiding under the pig) the Bean separated the peas into two groups to ensure she could eat as many peas as she liked. Such was the extent of pea-goodness.

Bread & Butter Pudding at Restaurant Balzac

And whilst I waited for pig, I spotted a Bread&Butter pudding, ready for collection. And I took a quick photo, with permission of course. I didn't go back to eat it. We had other things on our minds.

Assiette stall

What those other things were, you ask? Well, meat, for starters, and Warren for others. We were so impressed with his performance (despite the butter & champagne incidents) that we thought we should try his food. And we hadn't had any sheep yet either. So that helped.

Lamb from Assiette

The loin & crumbed belly of lamb was served with basil mayonnaise & a tomato, plus some olive jus. It looked unimpressive to start with. But then we disassembled. And then we loved. The loin was perfectly seared and tender. The tomato was juicy and plump. The basil mayonnaise went deliciously with everything and we got some bonus eggplant underneath the crumbed belly. Have you had lamb belly before? Oh please do! It was gelatinous and melty and lamby all at once. And from today, we have made plans to follow Warren back to Assiette to eat the rest of his offerings. Seriously.

juice from Phoenix Organics

We were sated. And we were thirsty. So a raspberry lemonade and a berry smoothie from Phoenix Organics (the bright colours! the exotic flavours!) were purchased. The Bean does not normally like lemonade, but sipped on hers with gusto. And at $6 for two bottles, we were laughing.

Pama Pomegranate liqueur

Pama was the buzzword of the show. The chefs were talking about it, the stallholders were talking about it, and all and sunder were drinking it like nobody's business. The Bean didn't like it. I was imagining it with soda water & lime, and the only thing that stopped me from buying some was the thought of lugging a bottle around. Yes, I could've gotten a cocktail made for me. But I didn't. Because I had spotted a very happy sign.

Zokoko chocolate tasting

And that sign said "Chocolate Tasting". Zokoko will be opening in Enu Heights soon, and have some of the best chocolate I've eaten in a decent while. They make dark, 60% cocoa blended with different sugars (the white sugar one was stronger in flavour, whilst the molasses in the organic sugar chocolate left a lovely caramel taste on the palate). I was sad that I couldn't buy any yet, but have decided to go on a trip there when they open. Maybe via somewhere that makes scones.

Cupcakes at the EQ Markets stall

One times free cupcake from the EQ Markets stall brought mouthfuls of delight to the Bean & I. We decided to share one, so as to leave some for the others. We got pink and crumbs all over ourselves in the process.

Cakes at Healthy Feast

Healthy Feast were showing their gluten free wares (I sampled an almond friand. It didn't taste gluten free at all - it was lovely!) some of which were also egg free. The lemon meringue? Not egg free. I asked, hoping it was. It did look an absolute treat though. I love lemon tarts you see...

berry gelato from serendipity

And all the while the sun beat down on us. And icecream was sought. We had planned to spend $4 on a small tub of lindt, but then saw serendipity, and marvelled at the sauces (the chocolate is not too sweet and the berry is wonderfully bitty). So a tub of berry gelato was procured and two spoons dug in eagerly. Also, one hand got a touch sticky. It was not the Bean's hand.

Giovanni Pilu

But then it was time for a sit down, and after trying to muster a spot in the James Squire Masterclass(with no success) we settled on seeing Giovanni Pilu in the Gourmet Traveller Test Kitchen. Blessing in disguise. Giovanni is electric. He loves natural produce, sourcing local foods, promoting farmers and producers. He is passionate about regional Italian food and throws in tips and tricks like its going out of fashion. Fish stock? Boil bones only for half an hour. Any longer and it will be bitter. Pink fish make the stock cloudy. Don't eat McDonalds. No takeaway either. "Go home and cook this." He says, at the end of his demonstration "No more take away for dinner!" Gem. Absolute gem.

Chocolate Tart from Berowra Waters Inn

It was almost time to go. We had 12 crowns left and a hankering for mussels. Or kingfish. Mainly because that's what Giovanni had been cooking, and therefore, what we had been smelling. But we had only had one dessert, and had been enthralled by the chocolate tart from the start. So 10 crowns went that way.

chocolate tart assassination

We later sat outside, on the grass, waiting to be collected. Our mouths were covered in chocolate. The marscapone cream muted the sweetness. The berries added depth and tartness. The pastry, well, the pastry was assassinated by one times fork and one times spoon trying to eat a tart off a paper plate. It was so pretty up until that point.

jams & spreads from Symphony Fine Foods

But before that, we used our last two crowns to get a jar of honey seeded mustard from Symphony Fine Foods. "The table's all messed up now - it was clean before" said the stallowner, seeing me crouch to photograph her wares. "That's fine" said I "it means people have been trying your stuff!"

flowers from the Gourmet Traveller stand

And try stuff we did. I came home with a full tummy, a light heart and an odd case of sunburn. Absolutely. Divine. So, who's up for next year?

Taste of Sydney (a Taste Festival) runs from 12-15 March 2009 in Centennial Park. Shez from onebitemore and the Bean attended courtesy of Taste. All food & products covered in this post were purchased with our own dollars.

sea bay restaurant

2009-03-12T08:26:00.000+11:00

Back when I was still at uni (I say that like it was so long ago) there was this place that I used to eat at sometimes. And by sometimes I mean five to six times a week. Up to twice a day. That place was the Chinese Noodle Restaurant on Quay St in Haymarket. I ate there so much, that the waitresses would ever-so-subtly gesture at me on arrival and usher me straight in, disregarding the throng of people who were waiting outside. And now that I am in the city, all corporate and suit wearing, and unable to dash across the intersection and through the Prince Centre for my daily dumpling & noodle fix, I miss them. Not so badly sometimes, and horribly at others.

Desparation for a fried dumpling lunch had led me to the internet. And the internet led me here. Just a short walk from the office, Sea Bay Restaurant sits a little way along Pitt Street, opposite World Square. Now, the dumplings aren't the delicate little creatures you will find inside World Square, at Din Tai Fung, but rather the thick and chunky, standardly meaty dumplings that you'll normally find in Chinatown. The location means you'll pay a couple of dollars extra per dish, but, as they say, time is money and lunch hours are short.

tea & chilli for two

I've eaten here twice this week. Yes, twice. Once with a friendly dumpling fiend from uni (ahh! the good old days!) and once with Billy on one of his many sojurns to Sydney town. I find the service here quite standard, though the smiley faced older gentleman (maybe owner?) is only around at lunchtimes. Tea will be brought to your table automatically. Don't worry about this. There's no charge. ("No charge?!" I hear you exclaim. That's right. No. Charge. "Yay!" cheers the crowd.) There is also no charge for the miasmic chilli in oil mix that lands alongside. (I will warn you, the chilli isn't hot at first brush. But the heat builds. Slowly. And suddenly, you will have a drippy nose and a propensity for laughing. Not good on dates. Don't say I didn't warn you. Also, don't say I don't care. I do. Dearly.)

fried dumplings (pork & chive) $9.00

Moving on, did someone say dumplings? Shortly after ordering, 12 plump, crescent shaped, burnish bottomed dumplings landed on our table. They were not as oily as others I have had, and wonderfully plump and tasty. The chives really did their work (I couldn't speak to people later without having awkward "dumpling breath" moments - easily fixed with gum, and lots of it) and the pork was tender and moist.

steamed meat filled buns $9.00

Ten steamed "xiao long bao" arrive in a double deckered steamer basket. They are piping hot and taste wonderful with the soy/vinegar/chilli mix that I've concocted over the years. Now, before we all throw our hands up in the air and say "But they're not xiao long bao! What about the soup? Anyway, they can't be better than..." I'm going to exposit a little theory, namely, I've decided that xiao long bao at a northern chinese style restaurant are never going to be the same as xiao long bao from a central to southern chinese style restaurant. Northern chinese buns are always bigger, doughier and meatier. They're made for hunters and people who spend their lives in freezing conditions with little more than some baijiu to keep them going. In central and southern China, however, there is warmth. And fertile soil. And far fewer crazy border crossers ready to attack your yaks and pillage your villages. So the buns are smaller, daintier, more beautiful. Fit for royalty. Case in point, Shanghai Nights. Shanghai. South.

dumplings all gone

The point being that there is validity to both styles. And that a dumpling made in one style shouldn't be trashed (for want of a better term) for its likeness to the other. My other point is that these buns were good. And, unsophisticated as they were, I liked 'em.

pork pastries $9.00

My other, other point (how many points have I had so far? I don't normally rant like this. Truly. But it's been getting my goat of late and... I'll stop now. I think this is point three) is that no way those lovely sophisticated central & southerners would have come up with anything like this. No. WAY.

pork pastry innards

Imagine you have made yourself a giant dumpling. It's filled with mince, and chives, and other assorted, undiscernable goodies. And it is beautiful. Now instead of steaming it, you fry it. And instead of just frying it, you also squish it. And then fry the other side. Oh my word! De-lish. This was, truly, the highlight of my double visit. I would exclaim at the pastry "Oh! It's so crunchy, and golden! Yummm" and then at the insides "It tastes different to the dumplings. And so moist!" and then at the pastry again, and then at the filling again, and Billy would refill his tea and nod at me. Then he would take photos of the food. And I would revert back to normal conversation.

jellyfish salad $9.80

That flash of green you have been seeing in the back of some of the photographs is not, as some might have guessed, dumplings that have grown mould in the time it has taken me to tell this story. It is, thankfully, a jellyfish salad. Now jellyfish salad, as a rule, is garlicky. So garlicky, in fact, that it usually verges on spicy. It also is a no-go when on a first date. Also when you have to go to that class with that cute boy immediately after lunch. I learnt that one the hard way. This salad is lovely with enough dressing to tenderise the crisp shredded cabbage. The jellyfish is not as crunchy as I am used to, its texture more remeniscent of a slightly chewier konjaku jelly, but I enjoy it nonetheless. The cucumber is an especially appreciated addition in light of the over-chilli-fication that I suffered. (See earlier note).

fried handmade noodles (beef) $11.80

The handmade noodles are flavoursome. Period. The tomato has absorbed all of the flavour from the wok and is absolutely the most delicious bit of cooked tomato I've ever eaten. (I'm maybe exaggerating. It was good though). The noodles themselves are wonderfully toothsome, though have sadly been cut short. I like a long noodle. (Get your minds out of the gutter people. I talk food. FOOD!) And the beef is lovely and tender and flavoursome.

almost. full. must eat more.

All in all, two unregrettable meals. Would I go again? I already did. And when you're in the city and can't possibly make it to Chinatown, this is a really great alternative. It's also very clean and spaced out, so you aren't playing elbow battles with the unknowns next to you. Yes, it is noisy when the crowd hits, and you may not be able to get a table straight away everytime. And yes, it is a little awkward waiting outside because on one side there is a seedy laneway, and on the other lies Eric's Adult Bookshop. But I am fond of a northern Chinese dumpling. And I'll likely be back soon.

Sea Bay Restaurant
372 Pitt St
Sydney 2000 NSW
Phone: (02) 9267 4855

quick bites for a hungry crowd

2009-03-11T08:50:00.001+11:00

It tends to happen when you least expect it. "I'll invite some people over for dinner and some quiet drinks" you may think to yourself, one quiet Monday evening. "Maybe this one, and this one's girlfriend, and then that one. Oh! And I have to invite so-and-so because I've been promising to for so long..." So you tally up names and count out invites, always leaving room for a 20% no-can-do rate. You send your invites out exactly (and only) one week before, so that the chances of everybody turning up to your little party are at 70%, and then everybody says yes. And you're suddenly feeding 20.

And you're thrilled! Because just about everybody can come! And then you're freaking. out. because. everybody. can. come.

So here's some little things you can throw together that will make it look like you've gone to a whole heap of effort, when really, it wasn't all that bad.

figgy ricotta & honey pancakes

These are a treat. All you need to do is make a standard pancake recipe (there's a good one right here), but little. So instead of making standard 10-15cm across pancakes, make them 5-7cm across. Small spoonfuls should do it.

plate of pancakes

Once the pancakes are done and cooled (or even while they are cooling), mush the ricotta up with some cinnamon. All you need to do now, is dollop on the ricotta, squish a quarter of a fig on top and drizzle with honey.

Instant crowd pleaser.

drizzling the honey on top

smoky eggplant dip

This one is just lovely as well, and good to serve with chunks of bread for hungry hungry hippos. The other thing that's good? The price! For the same price as one sad and lonely container of supermarket dip, you'll have two cups of eggplanty goodness to share around.

First, prick your eggplants all over with a fork & stick them under the grill at 200C for about 20 minutes, or until they feel squishy. Turn them over every now and then while they're grilling. They'll end up looking as below.

grilled eggplants

Let them cool until you can handle them (Beyonce, can you handle it? I don't think they can handle this. Wooooo!) and rip the skins off. They will be mushy.

easy peel

Let the peeled eggplants drain in a colander for about 10 mins to get rid of excess liquid, then chop & whiz them in a food processor with a clove of garlic, a splash of olive oil and some salt. If you like, throw in a teaspoon of tahini and some chilli. Totally optional though. That's it. Simple.

eggplants draining

new roasted potatoes

The trick to quick and easy roast potatoes is boiling them first. Stick 'em in a pot with some salted water and let go crazy while you're preparing your other food.

boiling the 'taters

Once they're cooked (and perhaps a touch overcooked), cut them into quarters, rough the edges up a bit and add salt, butter & some rosemary. Grill at 200C until the edges are crispy. Doneskis.

boiled potatoes

couscous with raisins & almonds

Couscous is so versatile it's almost embarrassing. I like to add a lump of butter and some sultanas or raisins to the mix before adding the hot water to it (just follow the packet instructions, or take a squiz at one of my previous recipes for ideas).

couscous, ready for wa-ter!

Later on, I stirred some slivered almonds, chopped parsley and roasted pumpkin into the mix. Salted well, pepper a touch. Absolutely divine.

So, what are your quick & easies (but oh-so-impressives) for big groups or gatherings?

guylian cafe

2009-03-10T09:20:00.001+11:00

I'll be upfront with you. I'm not a big chocolate person. *pauses, waits for an inbox full of "you're mad!" "what do you mean?!" and other assorteds* I guess I'll go on. *ducks shoe* It's not that I don't like chocolate. It's just that I prefer other things. Other, non chocolate things. And I don't dislike all chocolate. Give me one square of Green&Black's Dark Orange chocolate and I'll be thrilled. But only one square. Please.

I am, however, partial to new dessert haunts. I mean, this is the girl who once drove all round St Leonards & Crows Nest on a hunt for a semi-molten, nutty chocolate cake. At 10:30pm. On a Tuesday night. (No, I didn't find one. Yes, I have since learnt to make my own.) So when I wandered past the Guylian cafe on my way home from dinner with the parents (at the Lowenbrau), I made a mental note to head back one day to try out its wares. And then, when I wandered past it again on my way to meet people (at the Lowenbrau), I stopped to take a photo, knowing that I'd end up there later that night. And, no miracles here, I did.

(clockwise from top left)
handmade chocolates, light fixtures at the
counter, praline spread $16, cakes on display

We entered, expecting chocolatey dreams to come true. And then someone squealed. "I want that!" said Suze, pointing at a bottle labelled only with the words "Praline Spread". We looked at it. "I'm going to add it to my birthday list" she continued, still pointing at the jar "because I'm not carrying that home on the train tonight". I looked at it. Praline. In a jar. Hrm. "How about" I started cautiously "you get a jar of nutella, and add toffee and put that on your toast instead?" I don't remember the rest of the conversation, but I do know one thing now. When a food blogger gets it in their head that they are going to eat something, alternatives will not do. Will. Not. Do.

cool tea strainer

We ordered, and the drinks arrived first. No uber chocolate shakes and salads for this bunch. Oh no. We'd just lowenbrau'd it up and were ready for dessert. Proper dessert. Solid dessert. Oh, and a pot of tea. Which came with a nifty tea strainer that doubled as a drip catcher. The pot came packed with loose leaf tea, but left only a vague colour in the water, and wasn't particularly fragrant. Confusing, as the Guylian Cafe hasn't been open for long enough for its tea to lose odour. Hrm.

coconut & raspberry creme brulee with lemon biscotti

I am working off memory here (I took one times clever photo of the menu to use as a point of reference and left said ingenuity in an undisclosed and unaccessible location. Fail.) but remember thinking to myself, as the top of the creme brulee was cracked, nay, merely pierced, that I was hoping it would live up to the coconutty creme brulee I once had in Hardware Lane, Melbourne. That one had gorgeous strips of fresh coconut floating in amongst a beautifully smooth and satiny custard.

custardy insides

This one was not so coconutty. And apart from the five or so berries that were scattered throughout, not so raspberry-ey either. The brulee topping had been pre-done and so absorbed the moisture from the custard, voiding any chances of a satisfying crack. I didn't try the biscotti, but there was no negativity re that piece of biscuit. Or maybe there just wasn't anything said.

100% pure passion

The 100% pure passion arrived impressively. Red shards of chocolate came adhered to a cylinder of shiny, ganachey chocolate, all of which was topped with a sole macaron. I'm told that it had pannacotta hidden in under its skin.

80% pure pleasure (20% eaten)

fter the initial comments of "nice biscuit" and "oooh! redness!", we saw its middles. Chocolate mousse (surprisingly, considering Guylian, not too sweet) surrounded a white creamy heart. We assume that this heart was the aformentioned pannacotta. Mainly because it was nowhere else to be found, and not because it had that delicate, gelatinous wobble that pannacotta is known to possess. Its owners were quite content with it though, and that is enough.

belgian waffle with "aztec" chocolate, praline ice cream & fresh fruit $18

We, and by we I mean me, had to have the waffle. I'd been crowing about waffle since we'd entered the restaurant and saw it on the menu. "Waffle waffle waffle" I'd muttered to Suze. "Hmm? Oh." she had responded. "Wanna share?" asked she. "Good plan." I replied "I want the fruit one though. Guylian is sweet. I'm assuming the fruit will be sour. It will balance things out." At this point she looked at me and laughed at my assumptions re fruit at chocolate cafes. And then we ordered it anyway.

gratuitous chocolate pouring shot

There had been a previous attempt at taking a pouring shot of the other plate of waffles that arrived at the table. Except that the steady, molten stream that was expected was, in reality, more of a clump, lump, blump of semi molten (semi crystallised!) chocolate that lurched onto the icrecream, and then, after clinging on valiantly, slid down the side into blobs at the bottom. Ours was more successful, if only slightly. And, truth be told, I was a little let down by said waffle plate - perhaps as a result of my undeserved enthusiams prior. It was, in a word, biscuitty. Crunch! went the fork as I stabbed it. Crunch! went the knife as I went to cut it. Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! it screamed in protest as I tried to eat it. And it wasn't. Even. Warm. (note to self - for waffles, go to Lindt, where they are freshly made and beautifully light and cakey).

chocolate & berry something (will letcha know its real name later)

This little morsel (and I say little, because it was) came on a big, white, square plate, contained a two-hued centre and was adorned with letter printed chocolate and a sprinkling of red. I took half a forkful, nay, a sliver, when it ventured down my way. And we were friends, albeit briefly. The type of friend who you sit and share a warm, conversational hot chocolate with and give a kiss on the cheek goodbye to. You are sure, mostly sure at least, that you will not see them again, not by distance, but more by choice. A little too tiring, a little too OTT. They are, however, thought of fondly nonetheless.

dual-hued interior

The cake itself was lovely and dark and bitter. But, not being a chocolate fiend (or even, perhaps, a chocolate lover - definitely closer to a serial chocolate dater) I could only have that little sliver. More was offered, but then declined, for fear of over consumption. But that's just me. You will probably love it, you crazy chocolate hoarder, you :)

individually wrapped chocolates

And so concluded our edible adventures. Eight people holding cameras. A chocolate twist was found in a sugar bowl. "I saved it for you!" she declared. ("I don't like orange chocolate", she confided). And not-so-hungry bodies tumbled out into the street. Wandering along, poking our heads into shopfront windows and chatting up a storm. On past Wynyard we traipsed, all the way to Town Hall. Not because we had to, but because the conversation wasn't over yet, and because the night was young and the trains would wait for us.

Guylian Chocolate Cafe
91 George Street
Sydney NSW 2000
ph 02 8274 7500

ps: thanks to my wonderful dining companions for such fun, food & frivolity

lowenbrau keller

2009-03-09T09:30:00.001+11:00

It all started with an impromptu email "Oh!" it said "we should do lunch!" But then lunch at the lowenbrau was too great a task, and Thursday lunches had been booked out til infinity and then there were plans for the weekend, but a house (somewhat pleasantly) got in the way, and so came this night. One person turned into four, and then, somehow, suddenly, twelve, and then back down to eight again in the hours leading up to the booking, and when I finally did arrive (camera - check!) there was a little group of five standing ready and waiting for one thing. And that thing was knuckle.

I'd never been in the back room of the Lowenbrau before. Somehow, miraculously maybe, every booking I've made has landed me on the long benches in the front of the house, normally within ear and eye shot of the oom-pa-pa band and the busty beer wenches and lederhosen clad males (is there a male version of wench? All I could think of was "dudes", and that doesn't quite suit if you know what I mean.) So when I saw the big ol' square, solid wood table we were to sit at, and the moose heads in near proximity, I may have squealed. Just maybe.

mooo-ooose!

Soon after everybody had arrived, drinks orders were taken, with a variety of choices being made. One, to my left, had a litre (count 'em. that's 1000ml!) of beer. Another tried the non-alcholic ("Does it still taste yeasty?" asked I. "It tastes herby" said her counterpart, after sipping once, and then again for confirmation.) And I, well I had to have the mango weissen. One times mango nectar mixed with good German bier = one times happy camper.

big bier, little bier

It appeared, at the time of seating, that all and sunder would be ordering the pork knuckle. But then one was vegetarian, and another felt like schnitzel, and I, well I'm not good at sticking with my plans when I order. Oftentimes, I'll decide on one thing, but then, on opening my mouth, something entirely different will come out. Normally the thing I would have ordered if the first was all run out. Or the thing that I was thinking of ordering but decided against for some unknown reason.

Knuspriger Schweinebauch

In this instance, instead of pork knuckle, I said "Pork belly please!" and was instantly confused and delighted at my choice. I had come to eat crackling, you see. Crackling and rich, moist, fatty pork. So whilst mutterings of knuckle were floating around, I was dreaming of boneless knuckle. Preferably boneless, easy to eat knuckle. And potatoes. Because what kinda German meal happens sans potatoes?

inside - check out that fat!

The Knuspriger Schweinebauch is otherwise known as Crackling Roast Pork Belly with Löwenbräu Bier Sauce, Sautéed Potatoes & Red Cabbage. It is also a good couple of dollahs cheaper than its knuckly friend. And it is oh so tasty! Having had the knuckle before, the obvious differences were the lack of bone and the state of the crackling. Whilst the knuckle has crispy, melty crackling, the belly has that hard, shatter-when-you-bite-into-it crackling that is so often found at local RSLs. The meat is whiter here too, instead of the brown meat that is found in the knuckle. All good things really, so I can't (also won't) choose one over the other as an ultimate winner. Guess I'll just have to order them in an alternating sequence :)

Löwenschnitzel

One times schnitzel was ordered. And then one times giant-plate-filling schnitzel arrived. For half a second, all I could think was "Oh my goodness! If that's a chicken breast, how big must that bird have been?!" And then I realised that it was a pork schnitzel, and that I was clearly species confused. But think about it, if it was chicken, you'd be pretty freaked out too right? I think right.

Spaetzle

The spaetzle was served to the lone vegetarian, accompanied by a little side salad. I stared at it, perhaps a little too intently, as it was tasted. "So... what does it taste like?" I asked, hoping for wonder from the mysterious cheesy worms. "Mac & cheese" she replied. "Oh." said I. And it wasn't finished, the cheesiness getting to its consumer.

Schlachtplatte

One schlachtplatte was ordered by one times hungry boy. "Please, help yourselves" said he, "My brother finished one once, and I'm gonna try. But I don't know that I can". It looks small enough from the top, but from the side, its a whole different story.

the side view

Described only as "Löwenbräu's Selection of Bavarian Specialities – Sausages, Chicken Schnitzel, Roast Pork Belly Served with Mashed Potato and Sauerkraut", what the menu doesn't tell you that it's enough for two (the version for two is enough for three) and that, when served, it will take up three times as much room as any other dish.

schlachtplatte fail

It also doesn't tell you that even when one times hungry, and determined, boy tries with all his might to eat it, assisted in part by one times spam-curious girl and a couple of other pickers, he will leave some spam behind. And some belly. And some other assorteds. And a whole lotta sauerkraut. And half a boat of gravy.

Schweinshaxn

But onto what everybody else came for. Knuckle. Beautifully described as Oven Roasted Pork Knuckle with Sauerkraut, Löwenbräu Bier and Mashed Potato. But more fondly known as knuckle made from pig. With crackly crackling. And lotsa potato.

You've probably already heard enough about pork knuckle here, and here so (much as I believe them true) I won't repeat the "crackly goodness" ramblings and the declarations of "moist moist pork!" I will say that if you are a pig-eater, then you should try this. At least once. Maybe twice just to be sure. Three times is ok, as long as the visits are spaced out *winks & points*.

the table

Of course, no-one (and I mean no-one) was allowed to eat anything until their meal had been thoroughly (and studiously) photographed by all in attendance. Much to teh amusement of the lederhosen clad dudes and the busty beer wenches (one of whom took an especial shining to the orderer of the big-plate-of-meat and popped by regularly to ask how his meal was going. He mostly replied with "Nghhhurmph *swallow* good thanks".

kitsch table dressings. flowers = not real.

Lowenbrau Keller
Corner of Playfair & Argyle Streets
The Rocks
Sydney NSW 2000, Australia
ph 02 9247 7785