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.

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.

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.