Pizza Pie

Cold days outside, a brown velvet patterned couch, pillows, a blanket and snacks at the ready. I’d flick on the old television housed in a woodgrain laminate box finish, an image would appear out of the analogue snow that appeared momentarily while it warmed up and received the reception, I’d settle in snuggled up anticipation built. The weekend afternoon movie of the week starting with the introduction of movies of the era, a prelude with a usually notable theme. Black and white usually, characters would emerge as the story began. Sometimes an old war drama, a western (not my favourite but always elicited the interest of my Dad) a musical or a comedy and generally stars seemingly drawn from the same pool, the golden era of Hollywood. A, perhaps, unusual pastime for a child.

I loved these old movies and my afternoons snuggled up escaping into far off stories and locales. Wind and rain could batter the windows but, in my imagination, I was elegantly sweeping down grand winding staircases with show tunes my soundtrack or delightedly participating in some slap stick prank eliciting canned laughter. I was enamoured with Shirley Temple my own dancing toes tapping away on the couch in time with her deft moves. I was swept away with the romance of Gene Kelly spinning his dance partner around looking adoringly at her. I would giggle with mirth at Lucille Ball’s hilarious antics and laugh until my sides hurt at Jerry Lewis and his straight guy Dean Martin. Not only funny with their impeccable timing they’d launch into song on occasion too making them the perfect blend for my proclivities. Most notably in the 1953 movie The Caddy the song, perhaps more famous than the movie, was the famous song That’s Amore. It had a catchy tune, one that’s stood the test of time, that rings like an ear worm at various appropriate moments to this day. Even as a child though the one take away I gathered from that fun and romantic tune was the line that referred to pizza pie.

Whilst a fairly traditional family culinarily, meat and three veg anyone (?), we did indulge in the odd ‘exotic’ pizza. My dad’s cousin married an Italian fella who was a pizza chef and owned various restaurants around our area. With ‘mates rates’ we’d often dine in their eateries, lavished with love by them through delicious pizzas in abundance. The atmosphere would be festive, the food hearty and the hospitality warm. We developed a deep love of pizza through these happy evenings becoming astute pizza critics. I remembered asking our Italian relative a few times what pizza pie was, even trying to order one but was always met with a polite Italian shrug. Even he was a little mystified as to what exactly Mr Martin was singing about.

It's a culinary question that has stuck with me. No matter where I’ve travelled, particularly America, its one that’s stuck in the archives of my mind without an answer. Elusive and unanswered. I’ve also been challenged by the answer to a good and traditional pizza base having tried a plethora of recipes, until recently. As I flicked through the beautiful pages of yet another Italian cookbook (is there ever enough?) I was struck by the ease of the proffered pizza recipe. In my ongoing pursuit of said classic I steadied myself for yet another attempt at restaurant worthy homemade pizza. With little effort, basic ingredients and hope I’d found my go to recipe for pizza and the one I’d commit to memory for life.

But still, what the heck is pizza pie? Google elicits answers in the millions but nothing definitive. Armed though with technique skills and inspired by a now memorised pizza dough recipe I was determined to create a pizza pie as I imagined it. With a few tweaks to that wonderful dough recipe, layers of flavourful small goods, melty cheese, sauce, a few veg and some patience I built what I thought might be the dish in Mr Martin’s mind as he serenaded a sweetheart with notions of pizza pie and love. As I pulled that tray from the oven the rich aromas of pizza enveloping me a smile crept across my face. Allowing it to cool for a while before slicing into it whilst agony, an important step to allow some of that steam to rise out through the small chimney in the top layer. I felt like that young girl again the song quietly thrumming in my head “when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie that’s amoré…” Both childlike anticipation and memories swirling I finally cut into the round pulling a wedge from the tray, stretchy cheese strings breaking away. One bite and my eyes gently closed a smile creeping across my face and a lifetime of wondering no more.

I’ll never know if my pizza pie is the one of Mr Martin’s imaginings but it’s definitely the one of mine and definitely one for the recipe memory.

Ingredients:

400 gm plain flour (bread flour is great if you have it but don’t rush out and buy it if you don’t)

¾ tsp/5gm dried yeast

¾ tsp salt/5gm (I use fine table salt here not flakes)

¾ tsp/3 gm sugar

300 ml lukewarm water

1-2 Tb commercial pizza sauce. Aim for a spreadable one, I’ve used passata and will at a pinch but it’s quite wet and can create a soggy base.

½ tsp dried oregano

½ an onion finely sliced

75 gm sliced ham

60 gm finely sliced salami. Choose your own adventure here, we like it hot but you do you.

75 gm chopped bacon

1 cup/100 gm grated cheese. I like a flavourful mixture with bits from the fridge or cheddar but if you prefer milder mozzarella that’s fine too.

½ a small capsicum/pepper finely diced

80gm/1 cup sliced mushrooms

1 cup baby spinach leaves

1 egg beaten with a splash of milk for glazing

Polenta for the pizza tray. If you don’t have any just used baking paper.

HOT TIP! When you first think “hmmm pizza pie” ( or any yeast baking) turn the oven light on. NOT the oven temp just the light. This elicits enough warmth alongside the ovens closed draught free environment to create the perfect dough proving environment. Now as you were…the instructions!

In a stand mixer combine all dough ingredients and mix on med-low speed until combined, you may need to scrape down a couple of times. Increase speed to medium and mix for 5 minutes while you tidy up. If you don’t have a mixer do this first in a bowl with your hands until a shaggy dough then tip out onto a bench and knead lightly until smoothish. In a large bowl using your hand spread a splash of olive oil to grease, tip dough into the bowl and loosely cover with lightly oiled cling wrap (you can gently oil the top of the dough if oiling cling wrap feels fiddly). Place bowl in the lit oven and leave to prove gently in the there for at least two hours or more than doubled in size. If your oven doesn’t have a light or the light is on the blink as they often are leave in a warm draught free spot.

When ready remove dough from its proving spot and tip onto a lightly floured bench.

Preheat oven to 220c fan forced.

Divide into two even portions and lightly knead by had to form two balls. Pop onto a tray in a warm spot to rest while you get organised. They just need 15 mins to do so. Take these few minutes to prepare your toppings.

Prepare tray with a light spread of olive oil and a sprinkling of polenta grains. You could use baking paper if you prefer but the oil and polenta creates a lovely finish on the base. Take one ball and stretch by hand gently across the width of the pizza tray or to a 30 cm circle. Spread over your pizza sauce one spoon at a time leaving a 2 cm border. You may not need all of the sauce, see how you go, then sprinkle oregano leaves. Start your meat layer next with ham then salami then sprinkle over bacon. Spread over the grated cheese evenly. Then layer vegetables starting with spinach then mushrooms and finishing with capsicum, set aside. On a floured bench stretch or roll your second dough ball to equal size. Gently pick it up and lay over the layered pizza. It should fall to the edge of the sauce where the sauce free border is. Gently fold and crimp with your finger as pictured to seal. Snip a hole in the centre to release moisture as it cooks. Brush the pie all over with egg glaze and place in the oven for 25 minutes until golden brown and crisp on the base. You can gently lift with a spatula at the edge to check the base. Return for five minutes to crisp up if needed.

Remove from oven and leave to cool for 2 minutes before cutting into it. Serve with mood music of romantic tunes of moons and amoré and perhaps a lovely glass of Italian red wine.

NOTE: you’ll notice in the photos I have the cheese on top. I’ve since changed my method to allow the moisture and steam from the veg to escape easily without the cheese layer stifling it as described above.

Chickpea and Vegetable Pudding

I’m out of sorts today, or if I’m really honest this week. Not the cheeriest way to begin a newsletter but here we are. Allow me a moments self-indulgence and let me explain.

We, like half of the country, enjoyed a long weekend away. Camping with friends in a valley carved out by one of the loveliest rivers I’ve seen, we shared meals, we laughed, played games and relaxed. A perfect weekend really. After an early pack up on Monday we began the long drive home. Winding through beautiful green hills views down onto the sparkling waters of the gently burbling McAlister River all seemed well initially until….Until my old friend motion sickness came ‘a knocking.’ I should have known that it was an early sign of something else having not suffered from the horror of travel induced nausea for some time. I knew what the road was like so perhaps should have prepared suitably with a little medicinal help but over confidence overrode any good decision making. It was a long hour back to the highway and straight roads but a walk and light lunch from a lovely country café resulted in a settling stomach and stood me in good stead to make it home.

Tuesday dawned with a slight holiday hangover. A little hay fever snuffly from a weekend in the bush but onwards I pushed. After faffing about and heading out however I found myself post a hairdressing appointment somewhat grumpy. A miscommunication between the hairdresser and I resulted in a ‘do’ I’d not normally request my reaction surprising me. For a not particularly vane person I unexpectedly was very unsettled. Afterwards, driving to the shops on the phone to a friend, I became aware of a disturbance in my vision. A beacon to what was coming I turned around and headed home knowing I had minutes to get there before I’d be stuck on the side of the road awaiting a return to normal vision…a migraine was approaching. I should have known something was amiss on that unsettling drive home from camping.

Trouble was I had lots of adulting to do, I really hate adulting and will procrastinate until backed into a corner. Government online accounts and apps to sort out with assistance from call centres. Many hours on the phone, one operator frustratingly unhelpful after a long time on the phone, one blessedly kind and knowledgeable. Head still pounding, passwords, lists, logins, annoying haircuts…it was a day.

I awoke Wednesday determined to get on with the week proper and shake Tuesday off. Setting off for an early morning walk in the crisp autumn air I thought I was back, but alas a migraine hangover prevailed. Much like a garden variety hangover post fun night out only without the fun I could almost hear my metaphorical brakes screeching to a halt. I hauled myself to the shops and completed the week’s shopping, intended for Tuesday’s list and returned home feeling a bit rubbish. Try though I did to write and create with grand plans to wax lyrical of a lovely easter in the mountains and share something delicious with you, all I could think of was a need for comfort. A need to shed the responsibilities of adulting, to shake off that hangover and to just be. I pushed my laptop aside, went to the fridge gathered a handful of ingredients, my chopping board and knife. Crisp air outside after two days of cleansing rain and a topsy turvy few days and the only answer was soup. A simple one, gentle for an unsettled stomach, warm and comforting.

Onwards and upwards.

Ingredients:

1 Tb extra virgin olive oil

1 carrot diced

1 french shallot diced

1 garlic clove crushed

¼ c chopped parsley

¼ tsp freshly grated nutmeg (ground is fine if that’s all you have)

400 gm can chickpeas drained

1 c tinned crushed tomatoes

2 c chicken stock

1 litre water

2 handfuls of finely shredded Tuscan kale

Method:

Place a heavy based medium to large pot over medium heat and warm olive oil. When ready tip in the carrot and shallot and turn heat down to low. Cook until the shallot is translucent and carrot softening, roughly five minutes. Add garlic and nutmeg and cook for a minute longer. Tip in chickpeas, tomatoes, stock and water, stir thoroughly and increase heat to medium to bring to a gentle boil. Once bubbling reduce back to low, add kale and simmer 45-60 minutes until slightly thickened and reduced while you potter about and finish all the adulting things so you can relax with a bowl of soup at the end. Season to taste with salt and pepper, enjoy!

Serve with a crunchy toasty, a drizzle of crunchy chilli oil or perhaps some grated parmesan cheese or a sprinkle of feta.

Lamb Shaslicks and Saffron Cous Cous

I’m sorry I missed writing to you last week, my eldest was visiting from Western Australia. That in itself wasn’t the main barrier to writing this, rather the insomnia that savaged me was. You see his flight back to the west was a dreaded early morning departure. He’d asked me to drive which I relished, looking forward to the last half hour alone chatting and soaking up his company. To do this I needed to rise at 5.15 which with a reasonable bedtime wasn’t at all awful but alas sleep alluded me, as it so often has in recent years.

 All these hormone fluctuations have both unsettled my sleep and myself belief in myself in so many ways. Significantly my belief to drive in the mornings and through traffic or great distances. Ridiculous and absurd in the extreme. I’ve never had a car accident in such circumstances (in others yes, embarrassed to say). I used to drive to the city every day in peak hour traffic, lucky to always find myself jobs with the added bonus of a parking space. I loved driving distances to country locales, music loud views as far as the eye could see and actually found a level of self-worth in my independence and ability to do so, but all that seems to have evaporated at the bottom of the drought ridden bucket from whence hormones are manufactured.

With my ability to sleep with anything on my mind, and sometimes without anything on my mind, gone so too is my youthful belief of time’s infinitesimal path before me. It’s both alarming and motivating to know that time is marching seemingly faster with every passing day. Alarming for all the obvious reasons. Reminders of being on the other side of the hill greet me most days in the mirror, thankfully though I seem to still be on a shallow gradient, a green or blue run in skiing parlance if you will. And motivating in it’s passing reminding me to live large, soak up each day, plan big, execute those plans and never let a moment pass without trying to create a smile and memory.

Your children flying the nest and spreading their wings is one of the biggest sign posts and turning points of time’s relentless march. Sad and exhilarating all at once, the emptying of the nest can present you with opportunities you don’t consider when you first ponder their absence. There’s the obvious money savings, hello grocery bills at 50% less, the lack of late-night Mum’s taxi runs, though if you’re awake why not, and of course the quieter lifestyle. Some of those, whilst a blessing, can also feel like a void. Whilst I bury the ‘void’ in the twigs of my nest and manage to focus on the positives when they come to visit I’m reminded that when they return to their adventures after the visit the void returns. Strangely that’s the win!! The reminder that while you have them embrace every moment with them.

In the nearly 18 months since our boys took flight there’s been a few visits home, so I’ve become somewhat practiced at the hellos and goodbyes. I’ve learnt to love every conversation and relish each meal together. When one or both of the boys are home we, for the most part, clear our calendars. A fleeting coffee in the morning before they head out or dinner at the table together suddenly has all new meaning.

Whilst I always ask if there’s any family faves they’d like me to cook while they’re visiting I also love to keep it simple and not commit too much time in the kitchen. During Boy 1’s most recent visit it was unseasonably hot. Very hot and humid and stifling for March so we barbecued a bit. He’s an adventurous eater so always up for something new. Inspired by a completely unrelated post I’d seen on socials and the memory of a tasty purchase from a country butcher on our road trip last year I had a hankering for old school shaslicks. Not the kind from the supermarket made with the tough leftovers of beef offcuts but something tender, flavourful and delicious. So here I offer you a meal for when you have dwindling time or  motivation or just the need to be organised. You can chop and marinate the meat and freeze in the bag for storage when you unpack the shopping if you’re suitably organised or throw it together when time is marching. Choose your own adventure but they’re promised to deliver.

Feeds 4

Lamb Shaslicks and Saffron Cous Cous

500 gm lamb loin fillets cut into 4-5 pieces each.

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

2 tsp smoked sweet paprika

1 tsp garlic powder (not fresh as it will burn when cooking and taste quite different. As a dried product it sort of dissolves and doesn’t burn)

1 tsp onion powder (see above)

1 ½ tsp dried oregano leaves

½ tsp salt flakes

Good grind of black pepper

1 capsicum cut into biggish cubes similar size to the meat pieces, any colour you choose

1 Spanish onion cut into wedges similar size to capsicum pieces.

2/3 c water

½ chicken stock cube or ½ tsp of stock powder (you can replace water and stock with ready-made stock if you wish)

2 pinches of saffron

1 ½ Tb olive oil

10 gm of butter

**If using bamboo disposable skewers remember to soak them in water when you decide to have these for dinner. This is only necessary if you’re cooking them on the BBQ, if cooking in a pan on the stove they shouldn’t burn.

Mix oil spices, salt, pepper and oregano in a small bowl and whisk together. Place marinade mix and meat in a snap lock bag or bowl and mix and massage until thoroughly coated, refrigerate until needed, at least 1 hour. You can freeze at this point for another day if you need to be organised.

Remove meat from fridge when you decide to start dinner, this will allow it to lose it’s chill and cook more evenly. It’s a small piece of meat so wont need the usual hour like a steak or the like. Drain and dry soaking skewers. With prepared veg, thread meat and veg pieces alternately. This amount makes roughly 8 sticks.

To cook meat preheat your BBQ on high. When ready turn down to med-low heat and cook to your liking turning frequently.

To cook cous cous, place water, stock cube/powder, saffron and olive oil and gently bring to a boil stirring frequently. Once it’s come up to the boil turn heat off, tip in cous cous, stir and place lid. Allow to sit for 3-4 minutes, time this it can go south quickly. Remove lid and stir through butter and check seasoning. I prefer a sprinkle of white pepper rather than black here but you do you.

A fresh little salad of herbs and leaves is perfect here or perhaps a tangy slaw.

Spiced Warm Carrot and Chickpea Salad

“What’s for dinner?” he asked. As is my want I proceeded to regale him with a, perhaps, long winded description of our dinner which for the most part amounted to meat and two veg. As I offered my detailed, and I thought fascinating, description of the dish I could see him glaze over, unrelentingly I pushed on. Patiently, he indulged me smirking at the end and announcing, “that was like Korean Rocket Fuel.’

A no doubt, strange link but one that makes perfect sense to us. One of those quirky sayings between couples. Years ago in a perhaps delusional moment during one of many geo political crises in the northern Asian region he proceeded to explain why the threat was possibly not as alarming as the media were leading us to believe. Korean rocket fuel it seems is not as technologically advanced as that used in the west. Or so I could glean from the very little of that conversation I understood and indeed remember. It’s almost like code for us now, one of us starts glazing over the other asks “Korean rocket fuel?” if met by a polite but indifferent nod, we change the subject. Not that we’re not interested in each other’s interests but rather that the detail can get in the way of a good story as it were.

Meat and veg was the staple of Australian diets for decades, or meat and three veg as it was coined. On the plates of our childhoods that looked like a piece of meat well done, and a collection of boiled veg alongside, also sadly well done. Usually always assembled with potato of some sort, perhaps mashed, maybe roasted or possibly even boiled too. It all sounds quite bland now doesn’t it. Over the decades the influences of our growth as a country have evolved our palettes and tastes. Dinners, now both at home and when we go out include dishes from a global variety of cuisines and offerings. Whether you enjoy cooking or not most of us don’t stick to the humble meat and three veg routine anymore.

This seemingly innocuous conversation repeated in homes throughout Australia in the twilight hours did however lead us to an exchange about our dinners. He pointed out that most of our meals are meat and veg just not the kind we recognise from our own childhoods but rather a much more interesting and tasty variety. Sometimes it might look like something with a Mexican twist or perhaps something inspired by a French dish. Other times, like that night it’s a delectable piece of meat with a side dish for the ‘veg’ that’s super delicious and totally steals the show. We enjoyed my fancy version of carrots with char grilled lamb loin fillets, you know the skinny succulent ones. Not something I’d normally buy but they were on special and too good to pass up. Lamb chops or chicken fillets would suit just as well or perhaps even a lovely piece of fish and it’s perfect for vegetarian or vegan* dining companions.

Ingredients:

¾ C (200gm) Greek yoghurt

1 Tb tahini

Pinch of salt

½ tsp cinnamon

1 tsp ground cumin

¼ tsp sweet smoked paprika

½ tsp chilli flakes (you can dial this one up or down to your preference)

Pinch of salt and freshly ground black pepper

3 Tb extra virgin olive oil

4 carrots

1 400 gm can chickpeas

¼ c each mint and parsley leaves

Dressing:

1 Tb honey

1 Tb fresh squeezed lemon juice

1 Tb Extra virgin olive oil

1 tsp rose harissa (regular harissa is fine if this is what you have or most available to you)

Method:

Preheat oven to 180 c. Line an oven tray, large enough to take everything in a single layer, with baking paper.

Drain and rinse chickpeas. Place on a clean tea towel/cloth to dry. Leave this til ready.

In a small bowl combine yoghurt, tahini and pinch of salt until completely amalgamated. Cover and refrigerate.

In another small bowl combine dressing ingredients. Whisk well and set aside until required.

In a large bowl, combine spices, 3 tb oil, salt and pepper and whisk, set aside. Peel and cut carrots into thick slices 1.5-2 cms thick. Place carrots, and chickpeas in the bowl with spiced oil toss well to completely coat the veg and chickpeas. Tip onto prepared tray and bake in the oven for 30 minutes or until carrots tender, tossing halfway through. Remove from oven and allow to cool slightly, around ten minutes.

On a suitably sized plate tip yoghurt mixture in the centre. With the back of a spoon swirl this mixture extending outwards as you go until it forms a ring or moat around the edge. Much like the action a pizza maker uses spreading pizza sauce. Gently spoon cooked carrot and chickpea mixture into the centre of the yoghurt moat. Spoon over dressing, reserving 2 Tb if you serving with something delicious from the BBQ (see notes). Sprinkle over fresh herbs and serve.

Notes:

We love this with something delicious from the BBQ like lamb or chicken. Simply sprinkle with salt flakes and fresh ground black pepper. Once cooked to your liking toss in the reserved dressing much like a revers marinade. The warmth of meat releases the flavours and aroma adding another flavour layer to your meat.

Before juicing your lemon you might like to grate the rind off and pop in a small sealed bag or container and freeze. It will be lovely in baking, icing for a cake, stirred through slow cook dinner, a gremolata, in yoghurt to top a Greek style lamb dish or any other number of delicious uses.

To make this a vegan dish simply use a coconut yoghurt or cashew cream in place of the Greek yoghurt.

Mortadella, Ricotta and Marinated Veg Sandwich

Throughout history, as far back as the Middle Ages, perhaps even further, sandwiches have appeared at tables in some form or another. Certainly not in the form that comes to mind in 2024, but the idea of a food item inserted between some kind of bread like flour and water concoction is one of food’s most prolific constants across time.

Most of us vaguely know the origin of the name of one of humanity’s favourite meals. John Montagu, the head of the house of Montagu and its fourth earl was somewhat of a self-indulgent reprobate and gambler. Like the timelessness of sandwiches he was confronted by an equally enduring problem…to gamblers at least, how to stave hunger without leaving your place at the table and the game. He ordered his servants to bring him bread and meat from which he assembled a concoction that allowed him to eat with his hands and protect his fingers and his cards from the grease of the meat and indeed satisfy his hunger whilst to continuing his punting. We of course know him as Earl Sandwich, a seat in the British Peerage that prevails even to this very day. Perhaps our first influencer, having had such a significant dish named after him. Indeed ‘sandwiches’ began to appear amongst the aristocracy as supper like snacks to be enjoyed with drinks, an earlier more relaxed style of entertaining and reserved for men.

History suggests similar servings appeared previous to this in the middle ages when the wealthy used stale bread as plates of a sort, the remainder of which used to feed dogs and beggars, a somewhat jarring tale. African and east Asian cultures have created their own versions of flat breads to use in a similar fashion to the earl to hold and scoop up their delicious stews and curries in the manner western cultures would use cutlery. In Jewish history bread holds a significant and sacred place evoloving into all manner of sandwich like creations such as bagels and open sandwiches on pumpernickel, perhaps a reflection of the nationalities from which Jewish populations hailed.

As economies and populations evolved so to did the classes and the proliferation of the working class. Made of such affordable readily available staples bread became a staple and it’s use as a housing or conduit for other more substantial ingredients such as meat, cheese and other accoutrements grew in popularity and accessibility. Workers, farmers and the like would head off for the day’s work with the earliest form of packed lunch in the shape of sandwiches in whatever way their locality and nationality informed. Perhaps nutrition increased and the ability to work away from the home and for someone else and improve one’s own economic circumstances improved. Have Sandwiches been a pillar of humanity? Maybe a long’ish bow to draw but stay with me.

In the 20th century sandwiches in a plethora of forms have appeared in popular culture across the decades. Like delicate delicious ribbons on fluffy white clouds of soft thinly sliced bread they’ve punctuated the tiered towers of high tea on white linen clad tables of salubrious British dining rooms. The tummies of hungry American children have been satisfied by PB&J, spread on slices of sweet white sandwich loaf bread, the sticky dregs of the fruity jam (jelly) and salty oily peanut butter enthusiastically licked off after the last bite was devoured. Generations of Aussie kids have opened school lunchboxes with famished anticipation to enthusiastically find a vegemite sandwich nestled with fruit and perhaps a little treat, maybe even sandwiched with a slice of cheese for lovers of our classic cheese and vegemite sandwich. Made with real butter of course.

As much as they’re markers of time sandwiches are also little vessels of memories for many of us. For me there was Saturday Morning’s chicken sandwiches or my Nana’s grilled cheese sandwiches bubbling hot, cheese stretching in great long strands when pulled apart for dipping into tomato soup. I also was introduced to lemon pepper seasoning at my bestie’s house as a teen, sprinkled on ham and mayo in crusty white rolls. I know it doesn’t sound like it should work but it really does. My Mum used to speak of bread and dripping sandwiches or my Dad and his favoured bubble and squeak in grilled bread to use up leftovers. Sandwiches also often serve as a threshold to new flavour discoveries like my discovery in childhood at a highway roadhouse in the early hours of the morning biting into a bacon and egg roll dressed with old school tomato sauce (ketchup). Ozzy egg yolk mingled with tomato sauce dripping down my fingers hungrily licked up, I discovered how utterly delicious a combo that was. I know not an earth-shattering discovery but one I remember after turning my nose up when I noticed that red puddle of sauce peeking out of the edge of my sandwich. Something I’d not previously tasted proved to be a revelation on my young palette.

You could almost write a history of the world, economics and sociology using the humble sandwich as a centrepoint. Certainly I know I could probably use sandwiches as the chapters of parts of my own life, indeed this most recent period can be characterised by a few bready concoctions. The one I’m sharing with you today is one such delicious tower. With a wodge of ricotta in the fridge, mortadella from a delicious country butcher, handmade pesto from a small producer in the King Valley, a few half empty jars of marinated vegetables and artisan bread my curiosity led me to perfectly matched flavours that now appears regularly at my own lunch table.

The recipe is for one, so easily scaled up as required. It also makes a wonderful picnic sandwich, you know the ones, where one whole baguette or ciabatta is sliced lengthwise and filled and sliced into chunks to serve. Measure your loaf or baguette by hand widths per person along its length then scale your fillings accordingly.

Ingredients:

2 Slices of your favourite bread, or bread roll. I’ve used sourdough sandwich loaf here

6-8 sundried tomatoes in oil, chopped into small pieces.

2 slices of your favourite style of mortadella. I’ve used chilli mortadella

2 slices of roasted and marinated eggplant, store bought is fine as used here. Usually available in delis or the jarred variety from the supermarket

50 gm of ricotta crumbled

1 Tb pesto, I’ve used this delicious one.

Small handful of Baby spinach leaves trimmed of stems

Method:

Build you sandwich in layers, so with each bite you’ll enjoy a burst of flavour from each ingredient. Scatter the spinach leaves in a single layer. Halve the eggplant slices and layer evenly on top of the spinach. Evenly sprinkle the chopped sundried tomatoes. Place the mortadella slices on next, allowing them to fall in folds. On the other slice spread the pesto then crumble over the ricotta. Place that slice on top of the other. Enjoy!!!

The flavours are so rich and interesting it can even be enjoyed with a glass of wine, sunshine and great company. Definitely picnic worthy.

Peach and Tomato Salad

January has felt long. Not bad long as in ‘dragging on’ but good long. Languorous, restful, and leisurely, the good kind of long. The kind of month where we’ve not risen with the sun but rather slept until her warmth reaches the window and its glow dances across your eyes rousing you. When chores wait, books are read from start to finish, perhaps work is on the shelf for a bit and the year feels full of possibility.

 I’ve felt suspended this January however. Maybe stuck, maybe just in denial, the latter being a fairly regular visitor for me at this time of year. I always start the year full of ideas, hope and determination and like most of us, irrespective of how challenging or otherwise the months become, generally limp across the finish line come December. That fresh new diary or calendar however always inspires me to dream big.

 The pace of January allows the mind to wander doesn’t it, mine certainly does. You start wondering what you could achieve in the year without the pressures of time marching by. Time feels somewhat suspended, our minds are less cluttered without deadlines and routines weighing us down. I buy myself a new diary every year and excitedly open it to the first page, fresh and smooth with that gorgeous new book smell. This year will be the year I stick to routine, to task, to the steps towards the dreams inspiring my resolutions….or so I tell myself each year when I start filling the pages.

 I’m always led by good intentions, certain that’s all it takes…isn’t it? Maybe it’s a sign of a positive attitude, never say die, always having hope. Maybe I’m delusional. Let’s face it me and my best intentions don’t always end in the intended outcome. Remember that two-month road trip I was going to take you on? A little jaunt around New South Wales and southern Queensland where we were going to discover all manner of secret treasures and country gems, well it started well, got a bit lost or forgotten and then ended in a limp to the finish. I had the best of intentions and imagined a lovely collection of posts like a travel blog I could look back on you could enjoy as a vicarious holiday with me. It’s the perfect example of best laid plans falling over or perhaps my lack of follow through and the perfect example of why no matter the sense of wonder and hope a new year offers me I’m not well suited to new year’s resolutions and the consequent let down that befalls me.

 Our social media feeds and perhaps even our conversations are full of chatter about our resolutions or goals for the coming year at the moment, but have you noticed in recent times this waning? The resolution seems to have made way for ‘the word,’ the one people look to for guidance through the course of the year or perhaps to inform intentions as they come up rather than one big profound promise they make themselves. In following the posts of others on the ‘word’ of the year it seems to me these words can act as an umbrella for those promises that may have previously looked and sounded like resolutions but feel less pressured and gentler. Anyway a few years ago I tried a word, again with all the best of intentions imagining the things that word might drive me towards. Trouble was, life took over and I kind of forgot what my word was. I know, who forgets their word. Clearly I’m not well suited to grand and profound gestures such as resolutions and words.

 Fast forward to 2024 and the posts were coming think and fast. “Geez do I need a word?” I ask myself again because heck it must work for all those other folks dreaming big if they keep doing it or why would they repeat the exercise each year. Anyway, whilst pondering this a post popped up in my Instagram feed on this very topic. Eloquently presented by Em, her word felt more like a philosophy than a grandiose dream of lofty heights from whence one could fall in a dithering mess again by the end of the year’s first quarter. “A philosophy,” I thought, now that’s something I could do and live by and draw on continually.

 So, drawing on a conversation I’d had recently with my son in which I’d suggested the key to a good life and urged him to pursue it I arrived at a word. It’s not one to overwhelm me but rather to excite me. This year, for me the word is ‘Curiosity!’ I have no idea where it will take me because I have no mountainous dreams, ok maybe I do but if I keep them filed under ‘Mountainous Dreams’ and they remain on that peak with me only half way up towards the summit I won’t feel like a failure, but I do know that a year in which I’m fuelled by curiosity can only be a good one…ultimately. Let’s see how it goes and maybe you could check back on me in December. I may or may not be the one crawling one handed towards the finish line with my other hand gripping a glass of bubbles ready to cheers the end of another lap.

 On the subject of bubbles, during that wonderful lap of New South Wales, we visited with friends who took us to a gloriously indulgent restaurant, perhaps a loose segway but stay with me. In a gorgeous boutique hotel set in stunning rambling gardens we enjoyed a sumptuous meal of the freshest, loveliest ingredients creatively curated into superb dishes. One of which has stuck in my mind…and phone camera roll. Tonight, we’re enjoying a Bill Granger Miso Roast Beef recipe (gosh wasn’t that sad news over the Christmas break) and, led by that curiosity I’m nurturing this year, I’m recreating that dish,with my take on a fresh summery salad. Served at Bell’s with a wonderful plump ball of oozy burrata perched atop, I’ve changed it up a bit to suit the two of us tonight but if you want to impress a crowd you could definitely replace the bocconcini with a globe of creamy goodness.

Ingredients:

2 tomatoes cut into large chunks. If you have access to them grab the interesting varieties that are well ripened, they have so much more flavour.

2 yellow peaches, ripe so they come away from the seed easily, cut into chunks of similar size to the tomato chunks

2 Tb extra virgin olive, one with good flavour

3 tsp red wine vinegar

Pinch of salt flakes

Good grind of black pepper

100 gm baby bocconcini drained

2 heaped Tb whole roasted hazelnuts (skinless) halved

20 small basil leaves

½ tsp ground sumac

Method:

In a medium sized shallow bowl large enough to hold everything combine the oil vinegar and salt and pepper and whisk until combined. Swirl bowl so the puddle of dressing coats the base of the bowl. Place the peach and tomato chunks in a single layer over the dressing puddle. Dot the hazelnuts here and there across the top along with the bocconcini pieces. Sprinkle over the basil leaves finishing with a sprinkle of the sumac across the top. Don’t stir the salad before serving rather present in that lovely layer. The salad will have macerated in a fashion while it floats on the dressing puddle.

Serve immediately, if needing to transport you could drizzle over the dressing and sprinkle over the sumac just as you serve.

Fresh Tomato and Zucchini Salad

Today began with the loud rumbling noise of machines out front of our house. The kind of noise that vibrates through the floor and walls with a not so gentle rumble reaching into your chest and bones. The kind of noise you hear in the suburbs. We’re home.

Home from the long languid days spent by the sea where our biggest decision was whether to go for another walk on the beach, salty sea water lapping at our ankles, or to read another chapter of a book. Pondering our next stop on the journey or to stay another day where we were. Home from ‘the road,’ from the escapist days at large and home to reality.

I’ve learnt a few things about myself and life on the road, even at 52. But one of these lessons it appears is an aversion to reality. I’d planned on writing here more often. I was loose in my plan but was certain I could create at least four newsletters, maybe even more. I was also certain I could read more professional development books and work on plans for the year ahead. I was ambitious, as I often am. Perhaps not the good kind of ambition though. I leaned more into the procrastination, avoided reality and lived a seaside utopian kind of life. Perhaps this isn’t so much a lesson as a reminder. I’m pretty sure I was already painfully aware of my simmering laissez faire undercurrent masked by genuine ambition but equally aware of my conviction I ‘could do it.’

I wrote that over a week ago. Perhaps more fortuitous and insightful than, even then, I acknowledged. Again trying to return to our regular catch ups, here I am. December, however is piling on me. Returning from our ‘come what may’ life to suburban pre-Christmas is startling in its ferocity, I’ve felt like a deer in the head lights. It’s taken some time to acknowledge the inevitable and get in the swing of things, bringing out all the Christmas cookbooks, stocking up on all the spices, dried fruits and the like and pondering a menu that inevitably never changes. That said I still don’t have the Christmas tree adorning my living room, that’s for the weekend. Our boys come home for the festive season next week, I’m super excited to see them. My husband could easily fall into the trap of not bothering with decorations with the lack of little people in our lives. I, on the other hand couldn’t do it, it simply wouldn’t feel Christmassy. So we’ll bring everything out, hang the tinsel garlands, festoon the tree with years of decorations both handmade and gifted, light the tree and crown it all with the inevitable star. Come what may we’re hopping aboard that metaphorical Christmas train.

Aside from the ‘big day’ of Christmas tables heaving with a festive cornucopia of all our traditional favourites, this period is usually a time spent dining outdoors for us. Trying to capture that leisurely holiday spirit found in long sunny days with warm breezes sweeping across our deck always characterises January. Usually a holiday time for us we return some way during the month and I remain caught up in that camping holiday spirit, cooking outdoors with something simple to accompany our meal that didn’t require much preparation, much like a holiday. This year, that summer spirit has returned home with us. Dinners served later than usual, though not always outside with summer’s later than usual arrival. Simple fare with fresh new season flavours dictating the menu. We travelled like this, sourcing what was available locally that looked the most flavourful and interesting, following our noses and palates if you will. Tomatoes plump, shiny and fragrant from a young woman who’s passion in sharing the flavoursome summer globes oozed from her every pore as generously as the fruit’s juice. Zucchinis, from another farmer who lives and breathes his market garden, who threw a few of his prized avocados in my bag as a gesture of thanks for visiting his stall and the lemons fresh and zingy like sunshine in my hand their perfume fluttering up as I cut them and squeeze their juice liberally across a salad. All that summery goodness after a visit to a farmer’s market on the shores of the sea where the clarence river meets the Pacific Ocean.

This is summer, this is what Christmas heralds for me. I’m not a religious person, but I love the spirit of the season, regardless of how you observe this time of year no matter where you are in the world, irrespective of who you break bread with and no matter how fraught the lead up can be, it’s a wonderful time of year. For me it’s a time that draws us all together, to pause and reflect on the year and one to smile at memories, perhaps even with a tear or two at those not at the table. And here in the southern hemisphere a time of slower languorous days ended in warm breezes with a plate of freshness dictated by the season.

Like the recipes I shared with you from the road this one is also one created with instinct. You could add your own flair or follow along as I suggest below. It’s full of all the cheery colours of Christmas and is super quick and easy to assemble, perhaps one for you menu or even one to stash away for the coming warm nights and barbecues.

Indredients:

2 eggs

½ cup white sugar

1 tsp vanilla paste/extract

¼ cup extra virgin olive oil

50 gms melted butter cooled

1 Tb honey

1 cup and 1 Tb of plain flour (I’m traveling without scales)

2 tsp baking powder

1 tsp cinnamon (I used Gewurzhaus Apple Pie Spice mix. Use what you have.)

1/3 cup of milk ( I used almond milk, you do you)

2 very ripe bananas mashed

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c, grease and line a loaf pan. Either sift or dry whisk dry ingredients, set aside.

In a large bowl whisk together the eggs, sugar, vanilla and oil until emulsified and frothy. The sugar will be partly dissolved. Add butter and honey and again whisk to combine well.

Gently fold in half the combined dry ingredients followed by the milk then finally the remaining dry ingredients. Finally fold in the mased banana, this step with distribute any remaining clumps of dry flour. Pour into prepared loaf pan and bake. Now here’s the instinct part. I imagined a 45 minute bake and checked at 30 minutes to check progress. My little gas oven had blown out and needed to be reignited. So I’d suggest you check your cake at 40 minutes. If it has a wobble in the middle don’t bother poking it with a skewer rather return to the oven for ten minutes. Check again after that using a skewer, if it comes out clean as we always say, it’s done. If not try 5-10 minutes bursts to finish it depended on how much more it needs.

Serve warm or cooled with lashings of butter and a view.

Feel free to comment below if you have questions.

Moroccan Spiced Chicken and Prunes

Forty years is long time. A lot can change in that period of time both in our own lives and the world around us. Four decades spans nearly half a decade, many markers in history and on average nearly half a lifetime. It’s a chunk of time that can pass in what feels like a blink of an eye on reflection and in which we’ll experience a huge number of life’s miletsones, good, bad or otherwise. It’s also the part of life in which many people’s career span. My husband has worked in his career for forty years and this week that’s all come to an end and he’s taking a well-deserved rest.

Over four decades, on average, two generations turn over. In that time one generation will ‘rise up’ moving thorough childhood, adolescence, education and selection and training of a working life. They will perhaps meet a life partner and start a family and forge a home for themselves. They’ll use their education and training to work towards goals big and small, perhaps build towards legacies or collaborate towards ones in communities and economies of meaning to them. In the second half of those forty years some will choose to reproduce and enjoy parenthood and nurture a new generation. Those first forty years often pass in a blur but hold a period in life in which grow and expand.

All the while we’re moving through all these life milestones in our own lives the world shifts and changes. The last forty years globally we’ve stood witness to many shifts and changes. We’ve flexed and groaned against the confines of development bursting out from a world that to many probably already felt extraordinary but has seen changes unimaginable previously. From black and white free to air television received through roof top antenna we now stream whatever programs and movies we desire to screens as small as our hands. We don’t need to rue missing an episode or the disappointment of choosing between more the one airing we wanted to view. Music too is available at a whim. We neither wait for the release of vinyl, CD or cassette nor buy furniture to store collections of such. We don’t make mix tapes for pals or need to listen through a whole record for favourite songs. Our entertainment whims both beckon and await our every desire at the end of our finger tips.

In the last forty years there’s been more than a fair share of unrest too. More than a dozen wars of significance have erupted, and many more incursions, disputes and battles fought. Turbulence has redrawn borders and relationships reshaping geography and diplomacy both locally and globally leaving in its wake changed relationships big and small between countries, populations and even friendships and families.

Since the early eighties we’ve gone from taking a traditional camera everywhere with us to taking photos of our-‘selfies’ on a telephone that goes everywhere with us. We can answer any question we have on that small device and update ourselves on any event happening anywhere in the world in real time immersed in a 24 hour news cycle. The internet became the predominant platform for communication for everyday domestic and business users creating a 24/7 world. We began communicating through social media and text messages relegating the handwritten word to almost redundancy and left behind encyclopaedia, letters, newspapers and thank you notes.

In 1983 we enjoyed a golden age of music. Remember tines like Thriller, Girls Just Wann Have Fun, Flashdance, All Night Long and Uptown Girl? Oh and Ghetto Blasters? Movies had a special moment in time too, Risky Business, The Big Chill, Monty Python all big releases in a time of now seems like one of innocence. I had my last year of Primary school that year and my husband his first year of employment. Beginning trade training, he then progressed to further education. He enjoyed all the adventures of his twenties, travels, friendships and everything in between until he met a girl (that would be me) and we built a family and life, from Melbourne to Darwin and back. He’s travelled the world, worked on off shore rigs, down underground mines, on dusty plains home to large scale rural operations as far as the eye can see and small remote pump stations in the middle of nowhere. His work has seen him begin at the first rung on the ladder and mentored by those senior to him until he climbed the ladder leading the next generation. But now that’s all come to an end and now it’s time for him to have a rest.

Before he begins his next professional adventure we’re heading off on an adventure of our own. We’re packing up our new caravan and heading north. Heading north we’ll start in Wagga Wagga and track north towards lightning ridge before heading east. I’m excited head to the Galah Magazine Photography Prize events and exhibition as our half way point before we meander south along the coast….he’s excited to not have to answer phone calls and emails.

I will however still work. I’ll continue writing and creating here for you. I’m not entirely sure what it will look like but I will keep popping into your inbox. I suspect it will be a mix of travelogue, simple recipes from our time on the road and maybe some reflections and stories from our travels. It won’t be a series of dishes created from cans or dehydrated camping packets nor will it be endless bush bbqs and riversides campfires constantly. When we travel and go camping we don’t make sacrifices with our food so hopefully you’ll enjoy what I come up with. I can’t promise it will always appear at the same time as that will largely depend on internet access but I’ll still as closely to that schedule as that allows. I’ll be spending this weekend cooking and vac packing meals to give us nights off from cooking but ensure delicious dinners still await at the end of days exploring, much like the delicious chicken dish below.

Ingredients:

4 Chicken thighs roughly 150gm each cut into 6 chunks each

1 ½ tsp salt flakes

½ tsp ground white pepper

2 tb olive oil

3 eschallots peeled and halved lengthwise

1 tsp cinnamon

½ tsp ground cumin

½ tsp ground coriander

1//4 tsp smoked paprika

15 gm fresh ginger chopped into fine matchsticks

½ long red chilli finely sliced

3 garlic cloves peeled and finely sliced

75 gm prunes whole pitted

Whole peel of a lemon in long strips, keep the fruit for the juice later.

Pinch of saffron threads

2 tb currants

2 cup chicken stock

1 Tb honey

Method:

Preheat oven 160c fan forced.

Sprinkle salt and pepper all over chicken pieces and toss to distribute. Over medium heat warm 1 tb of the oil in a pan that can go in the oven later, that has a lid that fits snugly. Cook chicken pieces in two batches until browned on the outside but not cooked through, set aside and keep warm.

Add second tb of oil to the pan and reduce heat to low. Add eschallots cut side down and caramelise 3 minutes. Turn over and cook on the other side for two minutes. Sprinkle in the spices and cook off briefly until fragrant. Add ginger, garlic and chilli and cook while stirring constantly, again until fragrant. Toss the fruit in and scatter over saffron threads, and pieces of lemon peel and cook while stirring again for a minute. Splash in a good glug of the stock to deglaze the pan scraping up any stick bits off the base of the pan, pour in the remaining stock stir and bring to the boil. Return the chicken and any juices to the pan and stir in the honey and a squeeze of juice from half of the lemon used for peel, mixing thoroughly. Place lid on securely and place in the oven for 50 minutes, stirring half away through cooking.

Serve with steamed rice sliced fresh chilli from the remaining half chilli and a sprinkle of fresh herbs such as parsley, mint, basil or coriander.

You may also like to grill a halved lemon cut side down to give the dish a fresh light zing.

Orange Scented Pork Cotoletta with Apple and Fennel Slaw

I was chatting with a pal recently and the ‘what’s for dinner’ question came up. Like us her and hubby have an empty nest. She lamented her waning interest in cooking. She’d previously enjoyed feeding the family, relishing them all gathering around the table. It was a thought I could identify with recalling the rotation of afternoon ponderings of the past, listing the family’s favourites, their preferences and needs as I formed the answer to what’s for dinner on daily rotation. She shared with me the lack of enthusiasm she felt with the daily question, pondering what they might sit down to, and it got me thinking. Had my own menu choices changed and was that a reflection of how it felt to be cooking for two after more than two decades of catering for a family?

Late last year, when our boys plans for their travels firmed up, the impending emptying of our nest began emerging as a looming reality. I’d been cooking for a family for just over 20 years forming a type of muscle memory hard to unravel. I started experimenting with meals and ideas around that time with the opportunity afforded us by their social lives on weekends but of course experimenting is somewhat like that early period of courting when doing things as a twosome is exciting and new.

Those heady first days of a relationship are always full of flutters in the stomach and the yearning to impress each other with kindness and gestures of love. It’s often those first forays into the kitchen for many of us and when we build foundations of our cooking skills and perhaps in doing so our relationships. Cooking for another can be both an act of love and one of trying to impress a new love. Likewise for the recipient of such gestures sharing a meal cooked for you can afford the chance to show gratitude or perhaps grit one’s teeth depending on how those first attempts go. Our relationship began with a first date of roast lamb cooked for me by my now husband. Returning the favour in kind back and forth over the months that followed our repertoires grew until we progressed to setting up home together. In those first years living together we continued taking it in turns to cook alternating nights and menus continuing that small gesture of caring for one another and anchoring our days over these simple meals.

In the years that followed our kids came along and the menus evolved with their tastes. Not only did the dishes evolve but so too did the quantities. Beginning with those early tastes of food as babies and fulfilling the needs of little tummies was almost like their efforts of learning to walk, changing menus, growing needs and growing skills. Vegetable purees became family meals before we knew it which then became adult feasts lead by their maturing tastes and curiosity. The list of favourites grew and my skills to fill our family’s tummies, quickly and affordably, also grew.

In turn with the maturity of our boys wants so too did their desires for their lives inevitably grow and change. In pursuit of those ambitions, they’ve flown the nest moving out into the world and are establishing their own lives, beginning the lifelong routine of anchoring their days in the kitchen preparing their own dinners. The phone calls from their kitchens or supermarket trips come on occasion seeking advice or suggestions in answering the daily question of what to cook or indeed how to cook old favourites. Questions of “do you think this would work?” and “what can I make for work lunches this week, Mum?” still fill our conversations and text messages with photos of reimagined family favourites making me smile.

And so, my own afternoon ponderings feel like coming full circle, back to where we started, cooking for two. A shift in preparation that’s required a breakdown of two decades of muscle memory, built cooking for the four of us, or more accurately cooking like I was catering for an army. Not only did I cook for four I’d fallen into a habit of almost cooking double creating leftover lunches or an extra place for visiting mouths to feed, not to mention my overwhelming need to make sure no one leaves my table hungry. Supermarket packaging of meat leans more towards quantities suitable for family cooking as does most recipes, all things that offer up excuses to dampen any enthusiasm to cook for two. My love of good food though counteracts this. The lifting of the shackles of needing a meal for everyone on the table at a time that suits all is actually liberating. Some of the preferences I’d previously catered to no longer dictates the menu nor does the time and energy requirements of four different people. One 500 gram tray of meat from the store actually creates two meals and halving recipes is good brain training…and finding the positives a salve to the empty seats at the table.

It occurs to me that meals for two don’t need to be fancy and in fact offer the same opportunities as they did all those early years ago. A chance to try new things, look after one another and anchor the day. Cooking for two is almost like the book ends of a long relationship and all the meals you share through all the phases of a family’s life the many varied volumes that tell the story of your journey.

Whilst halving many of our normal favourites has become a new norm and freezing leftovers for nights when I can’t be bothered, I have also been making lots of meals for just the two of us. Things we love and things that feel a bit special and tasty. Whilst Pork Cotoletta is by no means revolutionary, my twist on the Italian classic tastes a little bit special. The warming scent of orange rind accented by the ground fennel is the small shift that makes a seemingly regular dish to something else altogether appetising. A little salad of slaw with all the complimentary flavours that marry nicely makes a perfect complement and still not too onerous whilst still looking a little bit fancy and clever.

Cotoletta:

2 Pork Cutlets, bone still on.

2 cups panko crumbs

A few heaped spoons full of plain flour seasoned with salt and pepper for dusting

1 egg beaten with a splash of milk

1 tsp fennel seeds ground. I like to grind the seeds myself. The flavour will the fresher and more pungent and some texture will remain. If you prefer ready ground use ½ tsp of ground fennel

Finely grated rind on one orange. Hand your partner the orange and send them off to make you a cocktail using the juice, like a mimosa or fancy G&T.

Oil for frying

Slaw:

1 c grated Apple or using a mandolin fine matchsticks

1 c shredded cabbage. A mandolin is also useful for this

1 c finely chopped fennel also better done with a mandolin if you have one

2 Tb fresh fine herbs finely chopped. I use dill and parsley but you do you. Basil and mint are also lovely

¼ c sour cream

1 ½ tb apple cider vinegar. White wine vinegar or even plain white is fine if that’s what you have

¾ tsp caster sugar

Generous pinch of salt flakes

Method:

If you own a mandolin slicer it will make this salad, and many others very easy to pull together. If you don’t grate the apple, finely knife shred the cabbage and finely slice the fennel and slice those slices into rough matchsticks. This makes them easier to eat all being a similar size and helps the salad absorb the dressing and gently pickle.

Combine prepared salad greens in a bowl. In a second bowl or jug, combine sour cream, vinegar, sugar and salt and whisk to combine. Pour this over the salad and stir to thoroughly coat all the greens. Set aside in the fridge.

Preheat oven to 200 c.

For the cotoletta, use three appropriately sized bowls. One with the seasoned flour, one with the egg and milk and one with the combine crumbs, orange rind and fennel.

Lightly dust a cutlet in flour, dip in egg the coat in the crumb mixture. Repeat for second cutlet. Set aside on a plate for a few minutes.

Heat a large pan over medium heat with the whole base cover in half a centimetre of oil. Once the oil surface is shimmering and ready, place both cutlets in the pan and cook until golden brown, flip and repeat. Once both sides are golden brown and crispy place both on a small oven tray and pop in the warmed oven for a few minutes while you set out your plates and set the table, a few minutes only. I do this step to ensure the middle is cooked through but one 2-3 minutes.

Serve with the salad and your favourite condiments or a simple squeeze of lemon.

Antipasto and Quinoa Salad

My eyes have felt irritated this week. An almost gritty feeling, not itchy, not burning, nor like there was something in my eye, just like I’ve been constantly caught in a dust storm. I suspected a mascara needing replacement but it’s not that old.

Shivering through the days still, my mind was still entrenched in winter. Soups, casseroles, hearty fortifying fare fill our tummies while ensconced in woolly jumpers and the like trying to stay warm. With still a few weeks to go of winter and biting morning frosts I’m definitely still in winter mode. Maybe my eyes are just cold…is that even a thing?

Our bedroom window perched at tree top level looks skyward. We don’t sleep with window dressings closed, rather we like to be woken by growing light in the morning. Cloud cover, fog and grey, still greets us most mornings as we move through August and the last weeks of winter. As daytime rises so too does the sun. Cloud cover melted away by warming sun, broken up and burnt off reveals warming bright glowing sunshine, the kind that puts a spring in your step and a smile on your face. The sunshine has had a particularly golden glow recently, one that catches your attention and creates its own sense of warmth, ‘warm light’ my photographer brain would say. Skinks and geckos are burrowing out of the mulch in the front garden rising to the warmth, a morning sunbake to great an enticement to ignore. Kookaburras basking, perched on low eucalypt branches, thawing from overnight frosts take advantage of the small reptiles succumbing to temptation, swooping down feasting on their prey. The daphne and hellebore are nearing the end of their bloom while the hydrangeas and fig show the first sign of bud. And that golden glow. Lasting all day not just in the day’s bookends of golden hours but enduring during the day. The sun’s arc is shifting, poking higher through the canopy. That light, it’s richness, the product of the wattle bloom. Soft, small, fluffy pom poms in huge tight clusters weigh heavily from the soft wooded ends of the various species of acacia surrounding us. My car and windows are covered in fine yellow dust, at the right time of day in the right breezes clouds of pollen blow through like tiny yellow fairies catching the light almost sparkling. My eyes, I realise, are trying to tell me something I’ve not quite noticed yet, the seasons are turning. Spring is on the way.

As if the only sign of a visceral shift in seasons noticed by my eyes wasn’t enough I should have noticed things changing by my own shift in the kitchen. While the odd slow cook dots the menu here and there the hearty fare that would normally appear nightly is waning and my cravings lean more towards liter dinners. The move to the next season also signals the the move towards the emergence from our self-imposed hibernations when we seek out the company of pals, begin entertaining more, pondering dinners outdoors and picnics. While the temperatures don’t quite lean themselves towards balmy evenings and dinners outdoors yet I do start yearning for the meals we’ll enjoy in the months to come on such evenings. Like the weather, the produce available doesn’t quite lend itself to a variety of fresh salads but with a little inventiveness and a few things form the store cupboard I can create something akin to a summer salad that’s still satisfying enough to fuel my internal thermostat and help me stay warm once that gorgeous shoulder season sunshine sets each night in anticipation of the coming warmer months.

Antipasto and Quinoa Salad served in a savoury yoghurt puddle feels like a culinary bridge between the seasons to me. Quinoa for protein and satiety, and a variety of veg, a mix between preserved summer veg and some fresh all cooked to marry together with the traditional flavours of the Mediterranean. Served in a puddle of Greek yoghurt laced with the basil, lemon and garlic vinaigrette dressing from the salad. It’s enough to be a meal on its own or a delicious and fancy salad to accompany all the delicious BBQ’s meats we’re looking forward to enjoying in the coming months.

Ingredients:

100gm/ ½ c of quinoa

2 capsicums/bell peppers of different colours if available, cored and cut into quarters/cheeks or 1 260 gm jar of grilled capsicum in oil drained

3 french shallots, peeled and quartered lengthways

1 zucchini, ends trimmed, sliced in 1cm discs

½ c sundried tomatoes in oil drained and chopped if necessary. If you have the cherry tomato variety they’ll probably be a nice size left as they are.

1 cup of finely shredded and chopped tuscan kale or similar such as spinach, silverbeet or regular kale

Dressing:

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

1 garlic clove crushed

1 Tb finely chopped fresh basil

1 Tb fresh lemon juice

½ - 1 tsp salt flakes to taste

1 cup Greek yoghurt

Method:

Preheat oven to 210c. Cook quinoa according to packet instructions, drain and cool.

Whisk together dressing ingredients mixing vigorously to emulsify and thicken, set aside. In another small bowl whisk yoghurt with 2 tsps of the dressing and set aside.

On a lined tray place fresh capsicum cheeks skin side up and in the oven for 30 minutes until skin is blackened. Remove from oven and place the capsicum in a sealed plastic bag to cool. On the same tray place the cut shallots inner cut side up, drizzle with olive oil and place in the oven at 190c. After ten minutes when the cut edges have almost blackened turn the onions over and return to the oven for a further ten minutes. Remove and cool.

If you have a grill pan heat over a med-high heat or the same with a medium sized heavy based frypan until just smoking, it needs to be very hot. Brush the pan with olive oil and cook zucchini immediately 3 minutes each side until nice grill marks form or each side is caramelised, cool on paper towel to drain. Once cool, slice the discs in half to make them more bite sized. While they’re cooling remove capsicum from bag and peel away the singed skin, it should come away easily. Slice into 1 cm wide strips.

In a large bowl combine quinoa and all vegetables gently folding to keep the veg whole.

On a serving platter plop the yoghurt in the centre and using the back of a large spoon gently make circles gradually increasing in size until it’s all spread out to the edges of the plate in a ring forming a mote of sorts. Much in the way of adding sauce to a pizza. Gently pile the salad in the middle of the yoghurt puddle in a pile mounding to a peak in the middle. When ready to serve drizzle the dressing all around, it will drizzle down through the pile and mix more as your guests serve themselves.

Notes:

To make things easier for yourself you can use premade antipasto in the flavours you prefer just be sure and buy the veg preserved in oil not vinegar as obviously there’ll be a significant flavour difference. You might enjoy eggplant in place of the zucc for example.

A 260gm jar of chargilled capsicum can be used in place of the two fresh caps.

If quinoa isn’t your jam replace with one you do prefer such as farro, rice or barley. Any small similar grain will work. If you wish to use pasta instead of quinoa use a small shaped one like macaroni and use 200 gm.

Creamy Pork Pasta

Standing in front of the noticeboard, rifling around in my handbag for a pen and my diary my eyes scanned the roster. A groan of exasperation escaped. I had a split shift, not especially unusual on weekends where I’d wander to the gym or a walk around the city, I was loving working in but this one was 3 ½ hours. Too long to spend at the gym, at least for me it was and too short to go home and return, it was an awkward break that I was dreading.

A time before phones, social media and endless scrolling. A time when rosters were posted on noticeboards, when noticeboards were still a thing and schedules were maintained in diaries, it was the early 90’s and I worked in hospitality. I loved it, the pace, the variety and the joy of ensuring guests enjoyed a good time. I was a waitress by day, and on weekends, a ‘hostess’ on the door of the Hotel nightclub, all 5’3” of me. City hotels, their restaurants and bars held an air of glamour as did a night out enjoying the experience. The venue I worked in was extremely popular and a reservation in the themed restaurant or admission to the nightclub highly sought after and weekend staff very busy.

After a busy lunch shift caring for happy revellers dining before weekend theatre matinees or taking shelter from winter weather after morning city shopping sprees (also a thing of the past) I changed out of my uniform contemplating what on earth I was going to do with myself. A quick peruse through the entertainment section of the Saturday newspaper and I decided to take myself to the movies. It really was the time of the dinosaurs having to use a newspaper to choose a movie, where we’d see our favourite actor featured and blindly decide to see the feature without prior knowledge of the film’s story. Patrick Swayze was taking the leap into a serious role starring in a film, set in poverty stricken, Calcutta. I was 21, probably more naive than I’d have admitted at the time and it was the first time I’d taken myself to the cinema alone. Whilst the film does finish on a hopeful note it was, for very young me, somewhat traumatic. With no one to de-brief with and still 1 ½ hours to kill before my shift I decided I needed a lift and that in my newly asserting air of maturity (tongue firmly in cheek with the benefit of hindsight) I’d take myself out for an early dinner. Also a first time experience I walked down the road from the hotel in which I worked to a small Italian trattoria I’d been eyeing off keenly. Feeling very sophisticated I walked the tree lined entrance lit with gently waving festoon lights asking the host in his crisp white shirt and apron for a table for one. Taking my seat, I ordered a chardonnay (did I mention it was the 90’s?...Still love a Chardy too) and started people watching. Now to set the scene, remember no phones to scroll through and look occupied with, five pm and very few fellow diners, in fact none and a restaurant full of highly professional hospitality staff poised and ready to serve. There wasn’t a lot of people to watch, I’d sat myself with my back to the front window therefore couldn’t watch the passing parade and well I really had no idea what to do with myself. Reading the menu for perhaps longer than was strictly necessary, something that doesn’t happen now having thoroughly studied the menu online before venturing out, the waiter took his time greeting me and chatting with me possibly sensing my discomfort. Confused by the elevated nature of the Italian fare on offer the waiter directed my attention to a dish he thought I’d enjoy. An odd sounding dish whilst still quite simple in the way of Italian food that adventurous me was happy to try and agree to in my discomfit and be left to sip my wine taking in preservice preparations in the restaurant. From what was probably a quiet kitchen, my meal was presented to me quite soon after ordering. The aroma rose to greet me first, making my increasingly hungry stomach rumble. Steam mingled with the freshly grated parmesan cheese sprinkled over my meal by my attentive server adding another layer to the interesting bouquet enticing me. Left alone to enjoy my dinner I plunged my fork into the pasta tubes nestled in the pale coloured sauce threaded with small pieces of pork and dainty jewel like dice of carrot. Nutmeg tickled my tastebuds as I took my first mouthful and the cream swirled around my mouth. A layer of white wine revealed itself and a faint hint of freshness from flecks of parsley unfolded. I was suddenly very occupied of mind and distracted by the superb plate of handmade pasta before me. Deciding dinner for one wasn’t so awful after all, my full attention given to my carefully crafted meal completly undistracted by conversation just an internal discussion between my tastebuds and me to keep me occupied.

I’ve never forgotten that afternoon for all its lessons both in being adventurous and that wonderful combination of flavours.

Ingredients:

300 gm minced pork (not lean)

1 Tb extra virgin olive oil

1 eschallot finely minced

1 garlic cloved finely minced

½ cup carrot finely diced (I know this is an odd instruction but our ideas of what it’s a small carrot varies and actual measures works)

1 tsp freshly grated nutmeg and extra to finish

1 tsp salt flakes

125 ml white wine

250 ml cream

1 tb finley chopped flat leaf parsley

Your favourite pasta. I like to use a rigatoni or penne. We eat around 75gm of dried pasta person for the four of us. This quantity will coat that amount of pasta nicely.

Parmesan cheese to serve.

 Method:

Warm a medium sized heavy based pan over a medium heat. Add oil, turn heat down to low and add eschalot and carrot. Cook gently five minutes. Add garlic and nutmeg and cook gently for one minute. Push everything to the edge increase heat to medium and add pork. Brown five minutes until just cooked through breaking up lumps with your spoon as it cooks. Stir everything together, adding salt and increase heat to med-high. After a few minutes cooking at the higher heat, it should be starting to sizzle. Pour wine in, letting it bubble for a minute then reduce heat simmering until decreased by half. Pour in cream and simmer for a until slightly thickened, stir through parsley. Tip cooked pasta in and stir through until pasta is well amalgamated. Grate over additional nutmeg so the heat of the of the dish releases the lovely aroma. Serve with parmesan cheese sand black pepper sprinkled to taste.

Curry Chicken NoodleSoup

Reluctantly, I throw off the covers yawning. My feet hit the ground the cold under foot curling my toes registering with my brain and alerting me to what awaits. Blearily I pull on clothes and shoes, grab ear pods and head out. As I open the door a cold wind blasts my face, making me pull my head down in to my jacket collar like a turtle retreating into my shell hiding from the cold. Nonetheless I step forward and keep going. Even the morning chorus of birds is subdued still reluctantly unfurling from their slumber with a burgeoning winter song calling the dawn. Light is peaking through the trees emerging from the horizon as I hit my stride, one foot in front of the other my brain and body awakening….

Suddenly I’m startled.. The alarm on my watch is buzzing, trilling it’s pleasant tune, most probably composed after hours of research into notes that both awaken and don’t startle, the fine balance between alerting the wearer to the hour without setting their heart racing like the abrupt clanging of the old fashioned alarm clock. Yes awaken. The cold bracing morning walk of my dreams was exactly that, a dream. I’ve dreamed, both literally and metaphorically of being a morning person most of my adult life. That rumbling you feel right now as you read this is the earth jittering as those who know me personally read this and are currently throwing their heads back in hysterical laughter reminiscing, of moments with morning me, speechless until a morning caffeine hit and time to ease into the day. I’m just not a morning person, dream though I may of early starts beginning with a brisk stride under my belt followed by zen me sipping my morning brew fondly gazing at the scene through my window as birds flutter about joining me in my morning reverie before I launch into the day proper. Days finishing with an almost smug satisfaction as I reflect on the long list of ticks held in my head representing the day’s achievements. Alas I am not she and at nearly 52 I fear I may never be.

On the weekend, as I scrolled through emails, I happily noticed one of my favourites had arrived titled ‘I Need a Carrot.” Intrigued, I opened it expectantly hoping for a carrot recipe, I’m quite partial to a carrot…but I digress. She, similarly, spoke of mornings and went on to speak of her carrots. Little promises she makes to herself during the week to entice herself to complete otherwise challenging tasks. Promises of reward if you will, to keep putting one front in front of the other. Her and I spoke once in DM’s of mornings. She prompted me to focus on the feeling afterwards rather than the steps between where I lay and that feeling. It’s great advice though searching through my addled and foggy morning brain for that nugget Lindsay had offered me to throw back the covers is often a fruitless hunt, clearly. Like her earlier advice I also love the idea of a carrot, an attempt to fool myself into a prize at the end of completions to tempt me forwards to the finish line. But unlike Lindsay I’m yet to find the discipline to take the steps to win myself offered prizes and therefore the achievement of those goals, like rising early and meeting the day with a brisk walk (read: dreaded exercise) and a whimsical gaze out the window sipping coffee like some dreamy tv commercial.

One thing I do imagine and daydream about when I finally take my walk after brekky and coffee is what I’ll eat for the rest of the day. Maybe that’s my carrot, a delicious dinner that awaits me at the end of the day and the time to bring that together. Weirdly to some, that end of day kitchen time is like a meditation to me. Time where I stop and retreat to my happy place to respond to the day by creating something tasty. On days like the cold winter ones we’re experiencing at the moment I get through the days on the wings of the promise I make to myself to create a bowl of something warming to end my day with. Something laced with warming spice served with plumes of steam rising from it’s surface to lick the cold tip of my nose with it’s aromas and warmth.

I’ve spoken before of my deep abide love of soup both here and here. Like then, it endures as does my love of spice. Soup should be an experience of it’s own, hands warmed by the bowl, spoon plunging into its broth, swirling on the hunt for individual favourite ‘pearls’ of ingredients floating through its wake, and in this case, slurpy noodles coated in all its flavours. As I type this, having made Curry Chicken and Noodle Soup to photograph for you, I’m a little distracted. It’s cold, the scene outside my window is bleak, black clouds shrouding the day in a dusk like filter, but there’s soup in a pot on the stove for dinner. I’ll keep typing, no soup for me until the work is done.

Serves 4

Ingredients:

700 gm chicken maryland or similar pieces with skin and bone still attached.

2 large garlic cloves finely chopped

1 litre chicken stock

20 gm finely grated ginger

1 lemongrass stalk bruised, white part only

1 red chilli sliced, seeds in or out. The spice choice is yours.

1 makrut lime leaf crinkled with a squeeze in your hand

1 brown onion peeled and sliced

3 cardamon pods bruised with the back of a knife to crack the pod

1 tsp ground turmeric

3 tsp curry powder, the run of the mill kind

1 large carrot peeled and sliced in thickish slices, say nearly 1cm thick

¾ cup of sliced green beans

2 cups of water

200-300 pkt fresh egg noodles

Fresh herbs to serve such as basil, parsley, mint and dare I say….coriander (just not in my bowl)

Coconut cream to serve.

Method:

Preheat oven to 220c, stay with me here I know this sounds odd. In a medium baking dish drizzle olive then place chicken pieces in the dish, drizzle more olive oil over the top and sprinkle flakes over the chicken. Place in the hot oven and bake 25 minutes or until the skin and edges are just starting to brown and blister but the meat is not completely cooked through.

While the chicken is starting in the oven. Prepare the onion and spices. In a large heavy pot, over medium heat, warm a good glug of olive. Reduce the heat to low and add the onion cooking gently for five minutes. Add the garlic, ginger, chilli and lemongrass and cook briefly until fragrant. Add the curry powder and cardamon pods and again cook for a minute to draw out the fragrance. Remove the chicken from the oven and add to the pot including any oil and drippings and the lime leaf. Stir to combine and coat the chicken in the spiced juices, pour over the stock and bring to the boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer 30-40 minutes or until the chicken comes away from the easily but not falling off.

Remove the chicken from the pot. Tip the vegies into the broth and increase heat slightly, cook ten minutes while preparing meat. With two forks gently pull the meat from the bones. Discard the skin but return the bones to the pot to eke out every last morsel of flavour while you finish the soup. Shred the meat before returning to the soup and if needed chop to bite size pieces of necessary. Return meat to pot and cook a further 5 minutes.

When you’re nearly ready to serve, cook noodles following instructions on the packet. Distribute noodles evenly amongst four bowls. Gently ladle soup over the noodles. Like you would add cream to pumpkin or tomato soup, swirl a spoonful of coconut milk over the soup and top with fresh fragrant herbs.

Chicken Cottage Pie

***Warning no chicken soup was made or consumed in the creation of this story or recipe***

I listened to this episode of Lindsay Cameron Wilson’s podcast, The Food Podcast on my walk recently. It’s one of my favourites so you’ll have heard me refer to it before. In the episode Lindsay takes us behind the creation of her podcast and storytelling. One of her centrepoints was the history in her family and that of others of chicken soup. While the podcast was a brilliant listen for those interested in podcasting, writing and sharing stories the chicken soup thing is the one that swirled in my mind as I walked that day, a brain worm if you will. For Lindsay’s family and Fanny Singer, her guest, chicken soup presented mixed feelings and memories of everything always smelling of broth and the constant of its aroma in her recollections. It got me to thinking about my own memories of chicken soup.

I’d never tasted chicken soup until perhaps my early teens. I’ve mentioned before my mother’s disdain for cooking, thus her small repertoire. Perhaps she brought to adult hood the recipes she remembered from her own childhood, perhaps my grandmothers didn’t’ make chicken soup for her. As a girl, at my friend’s house one weekend, offered lunch, I looked in the pot curiously at the chicken and vegetable soup offered. The pool of golden broth jewelled with finely grated colourful vegetables, noodles and tender poached chicken looked and smelled enticing eliciting a dutiful rumble from my stomach. Later that day I promptly reported back to Mum asking if she could make some, instead of our usual scotch broth or pea and ham. I’m not sure if she sought advice from my friend’s mum Joan or she winged it but it was just as lovely and joined it’s soup cousins on high winter rotation. It also began a love affair with chicken soup and indeed all soup for me.

When you fall down the rabbit hole of chicken soup it’s like a culture all it’s own. It’s a dish that in each cuisine in which it dwells tells a story of that cuisine’s characteristics and culture. The Thai’s combine theirs with noodles and spices, the Greeks their distinctive lemon threaded Avgolemono, the Italians Brodo, the Chinese the inspired union of chicken with Corn and of course the iconic mother of all chicken soups Jewish Penicillin, the answer to all that ails. One that’s perhaps not tied to a particular country of origin but rather of the culture of the jewish faith for whom all tradition revolves around food.

One commonality weaves it’s way through all chicken soup culture is the comfort it brings. That gentle golden flavour of a broth slowly simmered with the flavours of whichever vegetables, seasonings and herbs chosen to build the layers is unique in cooking in it’s universal ability to provide a sense of home, comfort and nourishment.

What, I hear you ask, does any of this have to do with Cottage Pie? Well my friends as much as I love soup I also live in a house full of men, though two are absent at the moment, and soup sometimes isn’t enough. One, in particular, calls soup flavoured hot water *insert eye roll* and the other two while soup lovers are quite partial to another traditional comfort food, cottage pie and there my friends is the intersection of chicken soup and cottage pie. All the flavours of salty chicken broth finely diced veg and chicken topped with a blanket of mash baked in the oven until the sauce ozoes and bubbles at the edges is the perfect marriage of the comfort and flavours of chicken soup with the heartiness of pie.

Ingredients:

1 kg potatoes cooked and made into mash. Just like you normally would for dinner with

loads of butter and cream.

500 gm Chicken Mince

2 Tb Extra Virgin Olive Oil

1 leek, white part only chopped

1 carrot diced

½ stick of celery finely diced

1 corn cob, kernels sliced from cob

1 garlic clove crushed

2 Tb chopped flat leaf parsley

3 sprigs fresh thyme leaves stripped from stalks

40 gm butter

3 Tb plain flour

625 ml of chicken stock. Fresh, made from stock cubes, premade, however you like it

½ c frozen peas

1 tsp salt flakes and fresh cracked black pepper

2 Tb almond flakes

15 gm butter extra melted.

Method:

Make mash and set aside.

In a large heavy based pan, cast iron if you have it, warm 1 Tb of the olive oil over a med-high heat. Cook the mince both sides then breaking up until almost cooked through. Remove from pan to a bowl and keep warm.

Reduce heat to low, adding the second tablespoon of oil. Add the Leek, carrot and celery to pan and cook gently on low for 5 mins, until leek and celery translucent. Stir regularly to prevent any browning. Pop the corn kernels in and stir through leaving to cook for another five minutes. Add garlic and herbs and cook briefly until fragrant. Stir butter through veg until melted and completely combine. Increase heat to medium and sprinkle over flour. Stir thoroughly again and cook flour off like you would for a white sauce, 3’ish minutes. Reduce heat to low again and slowly drizzle in stock stirring constantly to combine well and prevent any lumps. Allow to simmer for 15 minutes so the sauce reduces a little and thickens. Stir through the frozen peas and cook for a further 3 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Preheat oven to 180c. In a suitably sized ovenproof dish spread the chicken and veg mixture evenly. Cover the top in the spoonfuls of mashed potato, spinkle over almonds and drizzle the whole top with the extra melted butter.

Bake for 35-40 minutes until the potato peaks and almonds are crispy and sauce is bubbly and oozy on the edges.

Parsnip and Cashew Soup

As I sit in front of my computer writing, gazing out my window intermittently, autumn rain and cold winds blow through drawing winter nearer. Rain doesn’t always find us here, indeed where I live it often splits around us, moving to the north and south of our little valley, something about the topography of the area perhaps. Not so the Mornington Peninsula, a beautiful stretch of land bordering the eastern side of Port Phillip Bay on which greater Melbourne is settled. Home to market gardens and vineyards her soil is rich and productive, rainfall plentiful and the coastal fringe framing the region home to generations of holiday makers. It’s also the home to creative and cook Amy Minichiello.

I first met Amy in 2018 during an online course hosted by Sophie Hansen. Whilst the course focussed on sharing food stories on social media, it’s participants gathering from many fields. Amy and I lived relatively close (an hour and a half) and just clicked. Encouraged, during the course, to build relationships and collaborations Amy generously allowed me to photograph her at work in her beautiful cottage kitchen at the end of the peninsula. Her sweet boy toddling at our feet she cooked us a lunch of potato soup, bread and chocolate cake. A grateful reward at the end of our shoot on a day where wild Southern Ocean weather lashed her windows howling through the gnarly old tea trees who’s twisted branches are like a narrative of the coastal squalls they’ve witnessed. Abundant vignettes of fruit and vegetables adorned her bench, a collection of old wares and china sat proudly on the shelves and treasured books fondly perched up high, watch over all while she floated around her cosy kitchen oozing warmth and bringing life to the ideas that whirl in her creative mind.

We went on to work together a couple more times all the while building a body of work towards Amy’s dream of creating something grand with her ‘Recipes in the Mail’ project. Every time I visited Amy on the peninsula cooler weather, sometimes rain and always a canopy of clouds, prevailed. Never dampening spirits, it somehow always added to the cosy atmosphere that envelops you as you wander through the vegetable and herb garden towards a warm welcome at her front door. Greeted by rose perfumed air and sweet giggles from her little ‘assistants’ and sometimes a crackling fire, a visit to the tranquil oasis in which she weaves her magic is always a balm for the soul and always one for the appetite too.

Amy called on her social media community to send her their food memories from their families along with the recipes inspiring the reminiscences. She was flooded with beautiful letters all pouring their hearts out and of course much-loved delicious recipes. As she slowly ploughed through them, inhaling the love in the stories and recreating the recipes, an idea bloomed in her heart and gathered momentum. Surely if she loved reading and cooking from these recollections, others would too. Her community enjoyed her posts, entranced by her whimsical prose and images, pushing her forward. I was privileged to be invited to capture Amy in her happy place and the passion she holds for this wonderful time capsule of food memories she’s created.

So as the scene outside my window reminds me of those days creating, and I procrastiscroll, I stop and smile. It’s happening, her dream is coming to life with the publication of her book Recipes in the Mail finally announced in her morning post.

No one leaves her seaside cottage, hungry and no one leaves without feeling like they’ve been wrapped in a blanket of warmth and friendship. Her food is wholesome, comforting and earthy. Never fussy yet always layered with flavours. So as I reflect on all that this book will be, I’m inspired to create the same comfort and earthy nourishment for my own lunch, to both warm the soul and body. Silky smooth Parsnip and Cashew soup topped with a foil of sour cream and chives should do the trick. Perhaps if you need some wholesome comfort or warming today a hot bowl of soup in your hands and belly will do the trick for you too.

Ingredients:

500 gm parsnip peeled and trimmed, roughly chopped into large chunks

2 garlic cloves, one kept whole one peeled and crushed

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

25 gm butter

1 leek, white part only sliced

½ tsp freshly grated nutmeg

1 tsp fresh thyme leaves

150 gm whole natural cashew nuts

1 litre chicken or vegetable stock

2 cups of water

Sour cream and chives to serve

Method:

 Preheat oven to 180c and line a medium roasting dish with baking paper.

Toss parsnip chunks and whole garlic clove in 1 tb of the olive oil, spread in a single layer in the roasting dish, sprinkle with a generous pinch of salt flakes and bake in the oven for 45 minutes until edges are caramelising, turning half way through.

 While the parsnip cooks melt butter and warm remaining tb of olive oil in a large heavy pot like a cast iron over a medium heat. Reduce to low and add the leek cooking gently for 5 minutes. Stir frequently to prevent the leek browning. Sprinkle in the nutmeg and thyme and add the crushed garlic clove briefly cooking off until fragrant. Increase heat to medium and tumble cashews into the pot stirring constantly, cooking them for a few minutes, again preventing anything from browning. Squeeze roasted garlic from its skin and add to the pot with roasted parsnip and stir to combine. Increase heat to med-high. Pour in stock and water again stirring and bring to the boil. Reduce to heat to low and simmer for 30 minutes or until everything is soft.

 Allow to cool to hand hot, not steaming. If you have a stick blender you can blend straight into the pot until smooth. I use a high-speed blender. Ladle the soup into your blender or food processor and blend until silky smooth. Return to wiped out pot warming up again and adjust seasoning to taste. I use white pepper but you do you, black will also be delicious. With the salting of the parsnip and stock I find the soup salty enough for me but you may like to add some salt flakes. I suggest you do this in small pinches at a time stirring between each addition.

Top with a spoonful of sour cream and a sprinkle of fresh chives and enjoy. With the addition of cashews this is a hearty meal and will serve 4-6 hungry tummies well.

Lamb and Carrot Tandoori Masala

Today, Wednesday, dawned cloudy, foggy and damp from overnight rain. Humidity hung gently in the air, not too overwhelmingly so but enough to signal sunshine behind the foggy shroud. A weather metaphor for the morning ahead couldn’t have been more apt. Birds chorused outside and a hum buzzed throughout the house. Today was the day, the culmination of years of hard work, planning and anticipation. Today was the day our eldest son, his girlfriend and friends set off, cars loaded to the gills, on their round Australia adventure on a quest chasing sunshine, sea spray and the red dirt of the outback.

They’ve planned this journey since the start of their apprenticeships. Days starting before dawn on cold mornings trudging through mud or when morning humidity warned of a hot work day ahead toiling on building sites. Days when muscles ached from hard physical labour. Days of working through the uncertain months of a pandemic and lockdowns while the rest of world sheltered in fear in their homes when enjoying the rewards of the daily grind were impossible. All the days of one foot in front of the other motivated by a dream, finally culminating in today.

We started the day enjoying breakfast together, a meal my husband called my last ‘fix’ of mothering. Bacon and eggs with oozy yolks, thick crusty slices of toasted sourdough and hot coffee. A last few moments to relax together, chat and hear about all the plans one last time. I peppered him with questions desperately trying to commit their initial itinerary to memory, imagining their toes wiggling in the sand of rugged isolated beaches, glowing young faces warmed by sunshine. In my mind’s eye I could see them watching sunsets over the Indian Ocean their hearts happy and full. I couldn’t stop looking at him soaking him in for these last hours. I was taken back a few months ago to when his brother set off on a similar adventure following the Pacific Ocean and was reminded how fleeting our time is, nurturing them and preparing them for the world.

Things went quickly from there as he rushed inside and out packing last necessities and triple checking everything and grabbing a few last supplies from the fridge including some meals I’d cooked for him, vacuum packed for safe keeping. Ensconced in his home on wheels for the next while he set off from home for the last time for who knows how long, us following along for last goodbyes at the home of his girlfriend. Greeted by birdsong coming from high in the eucalyptus canopy above, our Boy, his girl and her family gathered in the driveway in high anticipation as the minutes ticked down to departure. All chatting amicably, parents avoiding the inevitable, the travellers signalled the time for goodbyes. Many tears many many hugs and many orders to drive safely, travel well, look after each other….all the wishes and all the anxieties bubbling forth while tears were wiped and extra hugs snatched…. and off they roared, up the hill in the yonder to see visit all the dots along the map of their imaginings and follow the sun and their hearts and dreams.

I’m immeasurably proud tonight a little melancholy, but proud. Proud of the strong, resilient, caring and capable men our boys have become. Though they feel far away tonight they’re in my heart. Tonight, we’ll sit down to a dinner of the other half of one of the meals in those vacuum packs. A Lamb and Carrot Tandoor Masala Curry split in two, shared by us and them apart but together and in my heart I’ll feel just a little closer, the goodbye a little easier.

Ingredients:

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

1 kg lamb cubed in large chunks. I use shoulder or boneless shanks

2 onions chopped into rough chunks or sliced

3 garlic cloves minced

2 Tb minced ginger

2 large carrots peeled and chopped into large chunks

3 Tb Tandoori Masala spice mix **

1 tsp sweet paprika

½ tsp allspice

½ tsp ground Szechuan pepper or ¼ tsp black pepper ground

2 Tb tamarind paste/pulp

3 cardamon pods bruised

1 400g can crushed tomatoes

2 C beef stock

Method:

 Preheat oven to 180c.

In a large ovenproof pot (that has a well-fitting lid) heat the oil over a med-high heat. Season lamb with salt flakes and brown in the warmed pot until just sealed. No need to do this in batches or to brown too much. Remove with a slotted spoon or tongs, leaving the moisture in the pot. You can add a little more oil here if needed. Reduce heat to low and add the onion and carrot cook for 5-10 minutes until onion is translucent. Increase heat to medium and add garlic and ginger and saute briefly until fragrant. Sprinkle in all the spices and cardamon pods and cook off for 1-2 minutes until aromatic. Pour in tomatoes and stock and stir until everything is well combined and bring to the boil. When gently  bubbling return meat to the mixture and add tamarind and stir again. Cover with the lid and pop in the oven for two hours stirring half way through. The meat should be falling apart and the sauce lovely and thick.

Notes:

 **I use Gewerzhaus Tandoori Masala mix however I, more often than not, run out and have  my own version. As follows

 2 Tbs ground coriander

1 ½ Tb ground cumin

1 tsp each:

ground ginger     

ground garlic

ground cloves

ground fenugreek

grated nutmeg

cinnamon

black pepper

cardamon

ground fennel

cayenne pepper

turmeric

½ tsp ground dried chilli powder

Combine all in a jar, shake until well combined and store sealed with a secure lid in a cool dry place.

 This is a zingy and tangy curry. If your palette is a little sensitive to spice or you’re cooking for kids you might like to make it with half the masala spice mix the first time to get a feel for the flavour. You can also serve it with cooling yoghurt as a condiment.

Cauliflower, Carrot and Chickpea Fritters

I’ve come across a new phrase recently “February, the Mother’s New Years.” I loved it and had a rye chuckle to myself accompanied by a knowing nod. No doubt a revelation and saying arrived at by some clever clogs Mum somewhere who’s exhalation and sigh of relief waving kids off to a new school year registered with the weather authorities as a brief gale of wind. One, women, Australia wide, also identified with also nodding along as they surveyed their lives on those first few days of the school year as routine resumed and we all hopped aboard life’s treadmill for another lap around the sun.

I recalled this time vividly reading this. Both excited for the return of some routine and quiet during the day as much as I was also sad to have to resume the early mornings, the rushing around and those lunchboxes. I always quite enjoyed the languid slow pace of those 6-8 week summer holidays kicking off with the festivities of Christmas and followed by sunny summer days spent by the sea or in the bush. The bored kids and all that results from that were always a small price to pay for all that Aussie summers gift us. Camping trips, time in nature, sleep ins and family time were always the weeks that rejuvenated and refreshed me ready for the year that awaited.

January was the time for plotting and planning and all those resolutions and best intentions for the months to come. Amongst all the normal plans and promises to self I always used to want to up my lunchbox game for my kids. I’d collect all the ‘special lunchbox edition’ magazines that would populate the shelves at the dawn of each year, flicking through their pages folding the corners of ones I planned to try while relaxing in a deck chair under summer skies supervising skylarking kids on holidays. February was always the annual golden age of lunchbox fodder with all the savoury muffins, frittatas, pasta salads and wraps. March saw the return of sandwiches some days and on the year would go until term four arrived and as with every other Mum I’d limp over the finish line with whatever I could muster.

My kids are adults now and make their own lunches, but I still love a tasty lunch, more interesting than the basics. I like taking a few moments from all the other elements of busy days to assemble something delicious and healthy to break up the day. As with most busy people, though, I also don’t have a lot of time in my day to pull anything too extravagant together so if I can make something that lasts a few days, all the better.

And so I give you Cauliflower, Carrot and Chickpea fritters. Suitable for all manner of lunches, picnics, stand up ones while you empty the dishwasher, desk lunches while you plough through the work day or maybe even lunchboxes if you keep ‘mum’ about all those veggies.

Enjoy!!

Ingredients:

1 can chickpeas drained, half fork mashed half kept whole.

2 cups of small cauliflower florets, either from leftovers or blanched.

1 large carrot peeled and grated

1 spring onion/scallion finely chopped

1 tsp thyme leaves chopped or ½ tsp dried

1 garlic clove crushed

½ C milk

½ plain flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 egg lightly whisked

1 tsp salt flakes

Freshly ground black pepper to taste.

Oil to fry. I prefer extra virgin olive oil

Method:

Combine vegetables, chickpeas, thyme and garlic in a large bowl.

In a second bowl combine milk and egg and whisk together. Add flour, salt and pepper and combine until almost smooth.

Tip over veg and chickpeas, fold together until thoroughly combined.

Heat a large fry pan over medium heat with enough oil to cover the base. Drop heaped ¼ c full dollops of mixture into the warmed pan cooking 2-3 minutes each side flipping after the edges are cooked as pictured. They’re done when firm in the middle and golden brown on both sides. I cook 3 at a time to give you an idea of how big to make them.

Serve warm or cold with your favourite condiment.

Warm Chorizo and Potato Salad

So it’s the first of December, perhaps the official start of the silly season, or is it? More and more each year the season dawns ever earlier. Major sale days now have become major sale weeks with us all hunting bargains and ticking off shopping lists smugly celebrating the completion of parts of or whole shopping lists. Company Christmas parties now dot squares in the November page of calendars and diaries. Christmas trees and decorations adorn our homes in November festooning every corner with festive cheer. And of course our social plans fill with all the annual Christmas catch ups with family and friends.

It's a funny thing really, we’re all so busy feeling like our personal bandwidth has reached capacity yet we feel compelled to load up even more. Don’t get me wrong, the social side of the festive season is actually one of my favourite parts of farewelling the year. Life, in the thick of the year is busy, we’re distracted by all the weekly commitments and demands on our time so making the effort to commit to time with special people feels all the more precious. December seems to bring with it a slow sense of curtains slowly drawing to a close. It’s an atmosphere well suited to a time of year marked by gatherings with loved ones. Likewise, a time of year here, where the weather mellows and warms and we’re drawn outside, dining under gently waving trees, warmed by sunshine and serenaded by birdsong and chirruping crickets. In amongst all these events though life still tumbles along taking us with it. Indeed alongside this period of reunions can be a sense of frenetic lists to tick off. Work tasks to close out for the year, maybe holidays to pack and plan for and all the other commitments we feel compelled to fulfill. Would I change it? Not on your life! I love the atmosphere of all these fun lunches and dinner dates. We’re all a little reflective, reminiscing on all the milestones and events and hopefully excitedly looking towards what the year to come brings. Corks pop, barbecues sizzle, laughter fills the air and shoulders, set firm with tension start slowly descending.

In the midst of that festive paradox the last thing I need is to struggle with what to cook or bring to a dinner when asked to contribute while still trying to fill hungry tummies. Where I can keep it simple I will, relying on a few loved flavours and filling, hearty ingredients. Spuds, or potatoes more politely, are where it’s at aren’t they. No matter how they’re prepared, nearly everyone loves them, they’re cheap and filling and will be the thing that will get passed between diners the most. What better way to keep the conversation flowing and cater for everyone.

Ingredients:

1 kg potatoes unpeeled in large cubes/chunks**.

¼ c extra virgin olive oil

½ tsp smoked sweet/mild paprika

2 tsp dried oregano

Salt flakes

3-4 whole unpeeled garlic cloves, lightly bruised with a lite bash.

2 cured chorizo sausages chopped into large chunks

¼ c garlic aioli or sour cream (choose your own adventure) or more depending on you’re preference

2 spring onions sliced to serve

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c.

Line a large roasting tray or dish big enough to hold potatoes in a single layer. In a large bowl whisk together oil, paprika and oregano. Add the prepared potatoes and stir to coat well. Tumble the mixture in the lined baking tray and sprinkle with the salt flakes. Pop into the oven and bake 30 minutes. Remove and stir and sprinkle over the chopped chorizo and return to the oven for 10 minutes or until potatoes are golden brown and sausage caramelising on the edges.

Now here’s the choose your own adventure part. Dollop over the top either the garlic aioli or sour cream and sprinkle the sliced spring onions. We prefer the aioli, it’s just that little bit richer and we love the extra garlic flavour it imparts, however if you’d prefer a lighter flavour try sour cream. As it melts down over the warm potatoes it will melt into the flavoured oil now infused with the chorizo flavours and form a delicious sauce to scoop up and drizzle over whatever protein you’ve served alongside.

**Floury potatoes are usually preferred for baking but don’t get hung up on that, if you only have white or waxy potatoes just go with it, they’ll be fine.

Herbed Beef and Macaroni

Nostalgia has been front of mind lately, like a chain, all it’s elements individual links forming its reach. I’m not sure what’s motivated it but I know it started with a conversation with Mel and our joint quest for an old high school home economics text book, both of us coincidentally in pursuit of a seemingly simple but comforting recipe for apple dumplings. It was a strange happenstance that we should both be motivated by the same recipe and that it should come to light quite deep into the conversation. It’s the comfort that such nostalgic recipes bring that motivates such a hunt and a big reflection and metaphor for who I am really.

At the nursery this week looking for new season herbs I came home with three bright pink fuchsia plants to fill a spot in my garden needing a lift. They were my Nana’s favourite plant and featured frequently in corners of her garden cascading from hanging baskets like ballerinas dancing in the breeze every spring. They fascinated me as a child their little buds popping with a gentle squeeze revealing the stamen and pistil ready to erupt. As a little ballerina myself I always ‘saw’ fairies and ballerinas fluttering their wings or pointing their toes from the jewel-coloured blooms. I can’t wait for the little buds to burst in my little fuchsia patch and hope somewhere somehow they make my Nana smile.

Pottering in another part of my garden bright green buds almost reminiscent of fresh figs with ruby red centres had just started opening on one of the many orchid plants from my father’s collection. A hobby he took up in retirement, the accumulation, nurturing and sharing of his collection became a passion. I always smile fondly when they flush making sure to gather the long lasting stems and bring them inside to enjoy their elegant adornment almost like having my dad around again, popping in to visit.

They’re simple pursuits that consume me and occupy my mind and time. Nothing too fancy and definitely not particularly sexy. Indeed some may find them mundane and hokey, perhaps even frown on them. I’ve often looked on my passions myself that way even answering questions in polite conversation about them in hushed tones, brushing over them, trying to seem more intellectual and interesting. It was whilst listening to this episode of my favourite podcast this week that this came to mind and indeed I almost felt like Lindsay and her guest were giving me permission to remain elbow deep in the flour and soil and creativity. Noting their love of their individual interests motivated by nothing else but their love of them rather than any societal presumptions of them that can sometimes superficially be attached to such simple pastimes gave me pause. These pursuits bring comfort be they born from nostalgia like mine or otherwise. No matter how simple nor highbrow they may seem to others I realised that they really are like a soft crocheted blanket from nana ( did I mention my love of a blankie? ) tucked around your lap on a cold evening, they allow you to breathe out feel ‘warm’ in all the ways and offer you escape and indeed an intellectual flex in a way that’s meaningful to you…and that really is the thing that matters most.

Much like my simple pursuits beef mince is a simple ingredient often forming the basis for simple meals. There’s usually always a tray of it in my freezer, so much so I could almost write a book of mince recipes. It’s an ingredient often associated with nostalgic meals like this one and more often than not comfort food. Maybe it’s that air of nostalgia that’s prevailed recently that reminded me of this dish from my childhood. Herbed Beef and Macaroni was one of my mum’s specialties from her Women’s Weekly Recipe Card Collection box. Remember those? They were a prized collection taking pride of place in thousands of Australian kitchens in the 70’s and 80’s. As was the case in that cooking era it featured a few convenient hacks using tinned soup and packets. Working from memory and a preference for working from scratch, I was keen to reconstruct this family fave. I was thrilled to plunge my fork into a warming bowl of this hearty dish and even more so to taste a dinner that tasted just like it did at mum’s hands.

Ingrendients:

1 Tb olive oil, you know the drill, extra virgin

1 brown onion finely diced

1 carrot peeled and very finely diced or grated

1 garlic clove crushed

150 gm bacon chopped in chunks

500gm beef mince (not the low fat stuff, it’s dry and flavourless)

400g jar of tomato passata/puree + a jar of water

1 Tbs dried mixed herbs – the old school variety

1 tsp dried oregano

1 beef stock cube

1 ½ cups of small shaped dried pasta like macaroni or elbows

1 c frozen peas ( I use baby peas, they’re much sweeter)

Method:

In a large frypan, that has a well-fitting lid, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the bacon and fry off until the edges start to caramelise, about five minutes.

Reduce heat to low and add onion and carrot and cook gently until softened but not browned, another five minutes.

Increase heat to medium high and add the garlic cook briefly until the garlic aroma wafts up. Push all this to the edge of the pan and add the pat of mince allowing it to brown whole for a few minutes each side like you would a whole piece of meat. After you’ve browned both sides break it up and continue browning the meat. You don’t need to cook it through completely but rather brown it mostly.

Sprinkle over the herbs and stir briefly allowing them to warm and release their fragrance. Pour in the passata and using that jar add a jar full of water. Crumble the stock cube over the mixture and stir to combine.

Tumble the pasta shapes into the mixture and stir to combine well. Turn heat back down to low, pop the lid on and cook for ten minutes stirring half way through to ensure it doesn’t catch on the bottom.

Remove the lid, stir again and taste check the pasta for doneness and check for seasoning. Add salt and black pepper to taste now. Try not to do this earlier as both the bacon and stock cube add a lot of flavour and needs time to cook down a little before you taste and season. Allow to simmer for a few more minutes with the lid off to let some of the liquid reduce. Finally add the peas and simmer a further five minutes or until the pasta is tender but not too soft.

I like to serve it with a sprinkle of gremolata to freshen up the flavour. Chop a small handful of flat leaf parsley, grated rind of a lemon and a garlic clove together until fine and sprinkle to taste.

Grilled Asparagus with Chunky Tomato Vinaigrette

There’s been a lot of talk about cars around here lately. CV joints, brakes, suspension both leaf and spring, radiators fans etc etc etc ad infinitum. All terms I never anticipated knowing or indeed understanding but such is the life of a boy mum who’s boys love adventuring buy maintain and own their cars on their own ticket. I bet not a subject you ever expected to read about on a food blog either, but here we are.

You see, cars are super important to young people and in my experience young men. Cars are their independence especially when they still live at home, they’re often their conduit to study and employment choices without the shackles of public transport access and in my sons cases a symbol of economic achievement. They both saved for, bought and maintain their own cars all by the age of 18. They worked hard for that achievement and continue to work hard to sustain it. As they do to support their dreams and the one both boys are about to embark on.

As the boys grew, up we always holidayed in the wild. Packing our four wheel drive and camper trailer to the rafters so to speak, we’d set off to the trees or the ocean seeking adventure and freedom in the wide open. Sometimes ‘dragging’ your kids off on such holidays year in year out is enough to turn them off such adventures for life. In the case of our kids, however, this has been far from the case, indeed it’s driven them to go further and wilder. Soon, both boys will be heading off on their own adventures, in different directions from each other both with open ended return dates. One will head west, following the wild southern ocean to the west coast heading north to the red ocre of the Kimberley and the tropical north of his childhood. The other lad will head off through the open planed NSW outback to the green ocean side tropics of northern Queensland, both wonderful holiday spots if their wanderings prevail and we fly north to visit and fill our arms and family cup with their companionship. I’m all parts excited for them and with all my mother’s emotions inwardly sad at the void their absence will leave. Maggie McKellar has touched on this in her beautiful weekly newsletter The Sit Spot on occasion and will also write about motherhood in her new book to be released next year which can’t come soon enough. Their expeditions will take them on routes I’ve not travailed myself and open their eyes and wings in ways remaining at home never could. The prospect of this growth is beyond exciting for me to witness as their mother but the wrench to stand at the top of the drive way and wave them off as they drive away with a smile and dry eyes will be my own adventure.

Whilst melancholy at the thought of their departure, a part of me is also a little excited at what may come for me and us. Even though they’re adults running a home for a family of four still takes time and the ‘mother lobe’ of the brain to be constantly activated, or maybe that’s just me. The family diary in your head still ticks away, and the detritus of family life still surrounds you. Whilst I don’t begrudge that part of myself I’ve bestowed on them, indeed I’m grateful to have been able to do that, but I do look forward to another chapter opening in my life.

In helping our kids prepare for their trips one of the things they’ve sought advice on is meals they’ve enjoyed both at home and on the road, as I mentioned here. On reflection one of the great benefits of this blog is them being able to refer it while they travel ( when they have mobile/cell service) for the tastes of home but also it gives me an opportunity to explore other ideas for meals, particularly ones my husband and I can enjoy for lighter even meals for two and easy quick meals. Whilst the boys enjoy a wide variety of foods they are strapping, busy growing lads whose appetites and needs are perhaps greater than ours. More and more I’m thinking about dishes we might enjoy together of a lighter style. I created this recently for a quick lunch mopping up all that was left on the plate. It’s a delicious combination of flavours that will be flexible to be a side dish and as is with an egg as a quick dinner, maybe at the end of a weekend day adventuring ourselves.

Ingredients:

1-2 bunches of fresh asparagus spears, around 6-8 spears each.

1 cup quartered cherry tomatoes

1 ½ tsp salted capers, washed and chopped

1 tsp of Dijon mustard

2 tsp of sherry or red wine vinegar

2 tbs Extra virgin olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

2 eggs

2 tsp pine nuts

Mixed salad leaves

Method:

In a medium half fill with water, a generous sprinkle of salt and a good glug of white vinegar and pop over a high heat to bring to the boil.

Trim asparagus by breaking the end off at the base. To do this hold the base in one hand and the spear half way up in the other hand and bend. Do this gently and it will naturally break at the point where the sweet tender flesh meets the woody end. Place in a suitably sized bowl or plate, drizzle a small amount of olive oil and gently and briefly massage all over to coat the spears, set aside. In a medium bowl whisk together the capers, mustard, vinegar and oil, taste for seasoning and add salt and pepper to taste. It’s important to taste first as the capers, though washed, will add salt to the dish. Gently fold through the tomatoes and set aside. Set a griddle pan on a medium-high heat until smoking. Tip Asparagus into pan perpendicular to the griddle lines and cook a few minutes each side until just starting to soften. Remove from heat and keep war.

In the boiling pot, swirl water until a whirlpool forms and crack eggs into the centre of the whirlpool and simmer for 3-4 minutes or until it’s as firm as you prefer. You can gently lift the egg in a slotted spoon to the surface and gently touch it to check how done it is.

To assemble, place a handful of the salad leaves on a plate, lay the asparagus on top and spoon over the tomato mixture. With a light touch rest the poached egg on top, sprinkle pine nuts around the plate and serve.

I enjoy this dish with an extra flourish of persian feta or pan fried haloumi. Hubby like it next to some extra protein.

Served without egg this is an excellent side with all meats or on as part of shared table of a few sides. Plated as a larger dish in such a manner this will serve four as a side or six as part of a several offerings.

If you don’t have a griddle pan you can cook the asparagus on a barbecue/grill or even steam them.

Cornish Pastie

There’s a belief that we all experience our childhoods differently. All members of the one family reflect differently on all the events, traditions and milestones in their own way and colour in the images in their minds and hearts with their own ‘paint palette.’ Maybe this is driven by the age each individual member is at each moment in a family’s history or maybe their own character steers these memories. Our own journey through the years we traverse fills in gaps lost to time and the emotions we hold around these moments adding light and shade. Many of these recollections will hold food at their centre, it’s place at the heart of such chapters the jewel in the memory itself.

Marjorie Constance was our unassuming matriarch. A quiet country heart ensconced in the city after decades of battling milking eczema on dairy farms in the days of hand milking. Their pursuit of farming coinciding with running the town post office and whatever else her and Alfred could turn their hands to in order to make a living in their humble way. Papa a Cornish born gentleman and WWI Veteran and her an equally unpretentious country girl from rural Victoria. Salt of the earth types, as the saying goes, for whom family and home were everything and enough. They built their tribe, a son and nephew raised as brothers, as country families in Australia often did back then. Then their offspring gathering as cousins and sharing all the shenanigans and recollections of extended families. In her quiet gentle manner Nana cleverly gathered us all together twice a year taking full advantage of our Papa’s June birthday at the halfway point of the year and our love for him and of course an obligatory xmas celebration, unwaveringly, the second Sunday of December. She never pushed or imposed, it was just inked into the family calendar, bringing everyone together.

As a child I relished these gatherings, literally skipping through their beautiful garden carefully manicured borders, lining my path shaded by towering pine trees and abundant fruit trees. The kitchen table would be heaving with multiple desserts a collection carefully curated ensuring everyone’s favourites were catered to. The meal, never anything modern or fancy, rather it was always the best roast you’ve ever eaten and all those delicious sweets.

My cousins, the loganberry pie lovers, most probably see that as their highlight, always sat at the street end of the dressed-up trestle tables. I remember the apple pie and slices and the bench I sat on at the kitchen end of the table. We most likely recall the feelings and enjoyment of those meals differently too. What doesn’t differ is our love of a dish that never appeared at these evenings but is unerringly one of our favourite dishes from our Nana’s kitchen, Cornish Pastie.

Sharon, my cousin, says each vegetable was layered I don’t recall that. How the pastry was made has mystified us too. I suspect lard Sharon is certain it was butter. She’s also several years older than me so her role, working at Nana’s side, differs from the tasks a much younger me was set and again those experiences leaving a different story on the narratives of our lives. And that’s the thing, our memories are our stories coloured with our ‘paint box.’ Recipes will take their own shape and colours in your own hands. What matters the most is the feeling that first mouthful evokes. If, to you, it tastes like your memories and you recreate that feeling, you’ve recreated that recipe…enough.

Swede, as it’s known here, is the predominant flavour in pastie, it’s sweet earthiness the first flavour layer you taste. Other root vegetables follow with a savoury bite of beef and tingly white pepper foils the salty umami. I haven’t unlocked the pastry mystery but have let go of the pursuit of it’s secrets and wrapped the story in my rough puff pastry and that first flaky bite is immensely satisfying. You can use store bought if pastry making isn’t your jam but as always try and get the best you can obtain and afford, it really does make a difference. I’ve explained my pastry method below if you want to give it a go. Traditionally Pasties are made like individual parcels crimped on top almost football shaped. Nana always made hers as a slab, perhaps to make it stretch further and perhaps making a little less work for herself. We still prefer it that way.

Ingredients:

1 swede peeled and finely diced

1 potato peeled and finely diced

1 carrot peeled and finely diced

1 parsnip peeled and finely diced

1 eschalot or small brown onion peeled and finely diced

½ tsp heaped salt flakes

¼ tsp ground white pepper

2 tsp finely chopped parsley

250 gm minced/ground beef

2 sheets puff pastry measuring 30cm X 40cm

1 egg beaten and mixed with a drop of milk (as Nana would have said) for an egg wash.

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c.

Combine all the vegetables in a bowl with seasonings stir to combine and leave to sit for a few minutes while you prepare everything else.

On a greased and lined baking sheet/tray lay one of your sheets of pastry. Leaving a 2cm border around the edge, pile your vegetable mix in the middle smoothing out the surface to be flat. Now here’s the part that was my job when I was little, scatter all across the top little blobs of the minced beef. This will almost cover the top in a thin layer. Paint the edge of your pastry around the filling with the egg wash. Lay the second sheet of pastry on top and roll the edges over folding and crimping all the way round. Brush the egg wash over the top. Poke small holes with either a fork or point of a sharp knife in several spots across the top to allow it to vent. Pop in the oven for 60 minutes. For ten minutes more, bump the temperature up to 200c to burnish the top and cook off any remaining moisture from inside. I like to turn the tray half way round after 30 minutes. Every oven I’ve ever owned is hot at the back and doing this allows it to cook evenly.

Rough Puff Pastry:

400 gm cold butter cubed

400 gm plain flour

1tsp fine salt

150-180 ml cold water

Method:

Combine flour and salt in a bowl and tip onto the bench in a mound. Sprinkle over the butter cubes, it will look like a lot don’t panic it will all come together. Using the sharp edge of a pastry scraper chop through the mound as if youre cutting something up, changing the angles of the scraper. If you don’t have one you can use a large knife to do this. Once it looks well chopped up and mixed through make a well in the centre and tip half the water in. Using your hands bring the mess together. You’ll need to add more water but it’s easier to add it little by little until you have a rough shaggy dough than add more flour to correct it. Resist the urge to knead it just massage it to the mound until it will hold into a big lump. Shape into a disc, cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes. Remove from fridge and on a lightly floured surface roll out to a large rectangle. Nudge the edges into shape to achieve this, it’s a soft dough with such a high butter content so will be pliable. Fold each end into the middle then fold at the middle again like a book dust cover. Fold that bundle in half on itself, cover and refrigerate 30 minutes. Repeat this process 3 more times then rest again for 30minutes to an hour. It’s a good one for a slow day each roll and fold only takes a few minutes.

When ready the dough will be very smooth and ready for rolling as required. Cut in half and roll to required size. This recipe is the perfect amount for the sheet of pastie.