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.

Pecan, Date and White Chocolate Blondies

In 2008 Jessica Seinfeld published her first cookbook, Deceptively Delicious. Born of the frustration of feeding small fussy eaters, she devised a wide variety of recipes addressing all the usual nutritional concerns of parents. Her creations were low in sugar, high in nutrient density and full of vegies and supposedly loved by her kids, her and her famous husband alike. Seemingly the perfect combination. Hers was a not a particularly unique niche except for the big ticket item in her mix and the meaning behind the clever title of the book. Her recipes were not only vegie forward and loaded but the veggies were hidden. And not just a rudimentary disguise but at almost where’s wally, espionage level disguises. Vegetable purees were added to a plethora of dishes not normally noted for their vegetable content and smug parents the world over patted themselves on the back for their ingenuity and trickery. Parents 1, kids 0!

I remember buying the book fascinated by the concept thinking that I too could trick my kids into believing a vegetable loaded brownie really did taste as good as the more traditional style. With budding enthusiasm, I opened that tome convinced I could beat those boys at their own veg resistant game. I was soon deflated. Have you read it? In order to embark on the Santa Claus style deceit, I was going to need to purchase an additional fridge to store the enormous range of fruit and vegetable purees I was going to be required to keep stored to stir through her recipes. I was then going to smile and wave as I handed my kids ‘treats’ containing all sorts of smoothly pulped, pre-cooked potions. Whilst a great concept it honestly sounded more time consuming than the dinner time disputes we were engaging in and frankly I was pre-occupied enough with the parental ruses of Santa, the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy.

Aside from the time load I envisaged this method creating, front of mind for me, was the possibility that this would also make my boys unfamiliar with vegetables and therefore even more unlikely to eat them. When you search “hiding vegetables in food” in google the web offers up 9,000,000+ suggestions. As parents, we’re clearly not alone in our pursuit of vegetable love by our kids. It’s one of the many we seem to have aspired to as, enen by parents who perhaps even themselves don’t love veggies. Like sleep and toilet training it’s on the list of things we know as parents we’re meant to tick off. The list of tactics and strategies is long, full and often amusing. Spaghetti Bolognese with handfuls of grated veg, hamburgers or rissoles also loaded with grated veg, multi-coloured smoothies and my personal favourited sausage rolls with, you guessed it, grated veg. Who could even parent without a grater?

I had my own collection of strategies and recipes for fostering a love of veg with varying levels of success, or perhaps I should say ticking that veg quota box. We had ‘rainbow slice’ a collection of grated and diced veg encased in an egg and cheese mixture, also known as zucchini slice, but I wasn’t going to use the Z word. It’s a vague riff on this one, maybe I’ll share it with you soon. I also made ravioli soup, a simple pumpkin soup with kid size veg ravioli, corn and peas. Just between you and I, it was pumpkin soup loaded with pumpkin, carrot, potato and sweet potato for the ‘non pumpkin eaters.’

Like the short list of veg happily consumed here, introducing new fruit could also be a precarious path. But like veg, I had my ploys….or maybe I missed my calling as a quick thinking James Bond type spy. In an ‘adventurous’ moment as a mum I thought I’d try medjool dates with the lads. Reaching into the fruit bowl with curious little fingers and trepidatious eyebrows raised my son picked up one of the wrinkly squishy little blobs and asked what he was holding. I had one of two choices to make, honesty (as if) or another santa clause style fairy tale…. ”Oh, that’s caramel fruit!” I nonchalantly replied. “You know them. They’re the ones I use to make sticky toffee pudding.” It worked, he ate the fruit and I ran off to the pantry to hide while I silently fist pumped a parenting win.

Now, I’m not necessarily advocating the veg puree laced cakes and treats. Frankly they don’t really taste that great, at least not in my experience. I’m not singing the praises of parental deceit either, though a little white lie here and there, in everyone’s best interests won’t really harm. I’m just a mum sharing a little parenting hack or two from the other side. Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy a box grater and Caramel Fruit.

Are these blondies healthy in the traditional sense? Depending on what philosophy you’re living on, probably not. Do they contain fruit? Well yes. Yes they do. They have caramel fruit.

Ingredients:

220 gm white chocolate chopped

225 gm butter chopped

220 gm brown sugar

120 gm white sugar

1 tsp vanilla (because can you really bake without it?)

4 eggs beaten

220 gm plain flour

¼ tsp baking powder

¼ tsp salt flakes

125 gm pecans chopped

100 gm medjool dates chopped ( toss in a sprinkle of flour to help them separate)

70 gm white chocolate chopped extra

¼ tsp freshly grated nutmeg

Method:

Preheat oven to 160c (140c for fan forced). Grease and line a 19cm x 30cm baking tin, the sort you’d use to make slice/lamingtons/brownie.

In a small saucepan, combine chocolate and butter and melt until just melted and combined, don’t let it cook too long or heat too much, it should be lukewarm. Pour into a large bowl to cool. In a second smaller bowl, combine flour, baking powder, nutmeg and salt.

Once cooled, add eggs, sugar, flour, baking powder, vanilla, nutmeg and salt to the cooled melted butter and chocolate. Gently fold everything together with purposeful but gentle folds ensuring everything’s combined but not overmixed. Sprinkle in pecans, dates and white chocolate, again folding gently with only a few strokes. Pour into the prepared tin and bake 35 minutes or until the edges have pulled away from the tin and look slightly browner and crispy and the centre is just firm, but a skewer comes clean.

Cool completely in tin and cut into squares of your preferred size

Deep Fried Zucchini

You know the scene. Quiet shuffling about, murmurs of good morning, bags put away, staff congregating in the tearoom. Bleary eyes focused on a morning brew to wake them up, avoiding returning to desks, a day’s work awaiting their attention. Leaning on the wall scrolling phones warm cup in the other hand, morning greetings muttered, the congregations grow. As the caffeine settles in and flows through veins eyes brighten, shoulders rise, eyes, however, remain averted from clocks avoiding the inevitable. Conversation begins, gathered near the water cooler folks begin to chat, a polite “how are you today?” of “did you see….on tv last night?” The water cooler conversation, the centre of millions of workplaces, where workers commune, bond and share. Sharing secrets and stories funny and sad, hashing out problems professional and personal pouring their hearts out and supporting colleagues and friends. The tearoom, staffroom or whatever you call it, is the social and emotional heart of millions of workplaces the world over.

I’ve written before about my early career in hospitality. It’s a busy sometimes demanding industry. The experiences and personalities you encounter widely varied, fascinating, funny, sad and everything in between. If there’s any workplace in which ‘water cooler’ or staff room conversation is needed it’s those in hotels and restaurants. Many of the stories could make you toes curl with horror or your sides hurt with laughter. Sometimes the challenges of being ‘up’ for customers or dealing with the plethora of personalities and needs presented require a big debrief during and after shifts.

The hotel I worked in was not of a refined nature. It had a themed restaurant using a concept imported from the US and therefore offering ‘American style’ food, burgers, nachos, philly cheesesteak, all the favourites. Like many hospitality properties of it’s ilk the staffroom was well stocked with staff meals freely available. Usually dishes made from surplus, they were fine and nourishing but not as delicious or appetising, obviously, as the meals served to paying diners downstairs. And sometimes the de-brief or bonding session required, needed something more than a quickly shovelled down, free meal.

We were lucky where I worked, we could buy meals off the menu for a nominal fee outside service hours. On particularly busy days or when staff were tired or needing a rest before heading home ‘splurging’ on a restaurant meal before leaving was a common treat. I discovered many delicious dishes I’d never heard of spending that $5 sometimes, (I know, 5! It was a long time ago remember) many of which have remained with me. One is a dish I’d never seen or heard of even though I’d travelled to the states a few times on family holidays. It was one well shared with pals, a finger food, one we could dip and munch on while nattering, Deep Fried Zucchini with Ranch Dressing. It was weirdly one of those dishes not especially eye popping or intricate in it’s execution but particularly delicious and popular.

Little morsels like these are perfect little nibbles to fuel conversation, maybe with a delicious drink or shared amongst friends next to other tasty things.

Ingredients:

1 large zucchini cut in to 1 cm slices

1/3 c plain flour

½ tsp each of onion powder, garlic powder and salt flakes

¼ tsp ground white pepper

1 tsp dried oregano

1 egg beaten with a tsp of milk

1 c panko breadcrumbs

10 g finely grated parmesan cheese

2 Tb sesame seeds

Neutral flavoured oil for deep frying

Dressing ingredients:

½ c sour cream

1 tb garlic ailoi

1 tsp finely chopped fresh dill (or ½ tsp dried)

½ tsp salt flakes

Method:

Combine all dressing ingredients cover and store in fridge.

Set up three bowls. In the first one combine flour, spices, salt and oregano. In the second bowl the egg and milk was and in the third the breadcrumbs, parmesan and sesame. Take each slice, one by one dip in the flour mixture, then egg then crumb mixture like if you were making a chicken schnitzel. Place them all on a plate to rest before cooking. A little 30 minute rest before cooking helps set and hold a little making them easier to work with.

Fill a medium saucepan 1/3 the way up with the oil. In my pan this took ¾ ltr. Over a medium heat warm the oil to 180c. If you don’t have one use the cube of bread method. Drop a small piece of bred in the oil and if small fast bubbles form at the edges and it moves gently its ready. If it boils it may be too hot. I like to tap the heat down sliglty to med low once I’m happy. You can obviously use an electric deep fryer if you own one, I don’t so cant offer any advice beyond that.

Drop in 3-4 slice at a time cooking for one minute in total. Stay with them, give them a gentle turn halfway through cooking to ensure even browning. Remove from oil with a slotted spoon, placing on plate lined with paper towel to drain the excess oil.

Serve warm when all cooked with the dressing, a glass of your favourite ‘something delicious’ and solve the world’s problems while bonding. Alternatively it’s a delicious starter on an antipasto board or to hand out with dollops of dressing at a drinks get together.

Vanilla and Apple Cake with Mascarpone Frosting

The grunts of exasperation could be heard from the kitchen over the television in the loungeroom. My brother looked at me, rolled his eyes and reluctantly hauled himself from his armchair, I leapt from the couch trailing after him curious, like him, to find out what was frustrating mum so much. The kitchen came off the loungeroom separated only by a sliding door that was rarely closed. When the door was rarely closed we knew not to go snooping, but this one night with only the three of us home my older brother, the only ‘man’ home, felt compelled to investigate. Mum had decided that after dinner would be a good time to make my 6th birthday cake. Perhaps not a time of day when one would be at their most agile in the kitchen, she had multiple ingredients spread across the round white laminate kitchen table. I climbed up onto the orange vinyl upholstered kitchen chair at her left my, then, 19-year-old brother on her right asking if he could help. Nodding, she gazed down to the famed Australian Women’s Weekly Birthday Cake Book, our eyes following hers. I delightedly admired a beautiful Barbie cake standing proudly in a dress of pure white fluffy buttercream coated butter cake, jewelled with 100’s and 1000’s, multi-coloured smarties and sugar coated spearmint leaf lollies, her golden locks flowing in giant curls to her waistline of silver sugar pearl. My mum saw a baking nightmare and my brother saw an excited small birthday girl and a stressed Mum trying to create some birthday magic.

Taking charge, he tidied up what we didn’t need, ordered what we did and made a start on adorning Barbie in her dolly varden butter cake gown. Together they worked as a team sculpting the cake, whipping air through the butter cream and designing a colourful pattern of sweets for her skirts. I watched, chin perched on both hands, elbows resting on the table my knees folded under me, completely entranced by the evolution of my birthday cake. My brother’s tradesman hands worked with slow precision, his eyes darting back and forth from the book’s pictures to the slowing evolving sugary masterpiece. Mum’s shoulders slowly relaxed. She made herself a coffee and worked at his side warming to the task and enjoying the team effort. As he placed the final adornment on the cake with the ceremony of the placement of a Christmas star on a tree, we all oooed and ahhhed at her beauty. I clapped with delight, mum exhaled with relief and my brother cautiously looked at us both, a slow, satisfied and relieved smile creeping across his face. She was done! My Barbie birthday cake was complete, and she was glorious!

I learnt a few things that night. Firstly, and perhaps most obviously, be prepared. I say ‘I learned’ but am not necessarily entrenched in this lesson still falling prey to a craving or whim to create something in the kitchen without all the ingredients, at an absurd time of day when I already have too much to do and not in an orderly fashion. I learnt about teamwork and the need to call on help when you’ve reached your end and to call on anyone who’d happily help even if they don’t seem like the one with the expertise you may require. Again, I learnt this one but don’t necessarily act on this one as much as I should. And I learnt about family. Pulling together to meet a common goal. Leaning on each other to alleviate stress, fill gaps and most importantly the ceremony of honouring a member’s bitrthday…and of course to create cake!

You see in our family cake was a centrepoint of family birthdays. It wasn’t a birthday without it, favourite flavours and themes. As a child drawing on the eponymous children’s birthday cake book which resided in most Australian homes I remember choosing Barbie, a teddy bear and a lolly train amongst others. And as time went on, I grew and our family became busier, and perhaps my tastes changed, cakes from specialist stores were ordered including my favourite to this day a croquembouche. I’ve tried to maintain this tradition in my own family, though we’ve veered from tradition and often enjoyed a birthday dessert including, pudding, pavlova and the like.

As much as I’ve tried to continue the cake tradition, as the family’s baker, it’s not one I’ve enjoyed myself, until this year. With my boys not here and feeling in need of a little festive cheer I pondered what I would want for my own birthday should a genie appear from a bottle to make me one and as I often do, I landed back in apple cake world…though Barbie would have been on trend. I dreamt of one I loved when I first visited the now closed Beatirix Bakes cake store with my blogging pal Kath. It was called Apple Pie Cake and was a multi-layered tower of a butter vanilla icing with a hint of salt, a thin layer of slightly sweetened apple and coated, in more, deeply, buttery, smooth buttercream. Like my mother all those decades ago it was somewhat of a spur of the moment decision requiring a bit of pivoting and still not too much effort, after all it was still my birthday.

With a few tweaks, I reimagined my Chai Cake into a fluffy moist vanilla cake. From there I pulled my copy of the Beatrix Bakes cookbook from the shelves knowing within it’s pages was a recipe to inspire a version of apple compote to be sandwiched in folds of sweet Chantilly cream between two layers of the cake and finally I whipped together a fluffy frosting of mascarpone and cinnamon.

Obviously if you just want cake without the extra work stop at the cake part and adorn in any way you prefer. Simple icing of any flavour you love, a dusting of icing sugar, chocolate icing or indeed absolutely nothing. Whatever floats you boat.

A few tips:

~If no one else in the family can make you a cake, buy yourself one or make one. It’s important!

~Like a moody teenager ensconced in her bedroom insisting on privacy, this cake also prefers the door closed. Don’t peek, leave her alone and allow her to rise to the challenge in peace. When you do remove her from the oven, like that teen, give her some space and leave her alone for ten minutes before coaxing her from her tin. She’ll reward you well I promise.

~As always, the best ingredients you can afford will always give you the best results but, in this instance particularly, grab the best vanilla you can. It is vanilla cake after all.

~When you first think “hmmm cake,” take the eggs from the fridge to lose their chill and melt the butter so it can cool before you use it. A paradox but important.

~Sift the flour if you’re not lazy like me. Otherwise simply use a whisk to incorporate the salt with a few assertive turns to aerate and loosen the flour.

Ingredients:

Cake:

2 eggs at room temperature, trust me this matters

200 gm caster sugar

2 tsp vanilla extract

150 gm butter melted and cooled. 40-50 seconds in the microwave should just melt it without overheating it leaving you waiting for it to cool too long.

120 ml buttermilk

250 gm SR Flour

¼ tsp salt flakes

Chantilly Cream:

1 cup thickened cream or whipping cream

1 heaped tb icing/powdered sugar

1 tsp vanilla exract

Cinnamon Mascarpone Frosting:

250 gm mascarpone

¼ thickened cream or whipping cream

50 gm very soft butter

1/3 cup icing/powdered sugar

½ tsp ground cinnamon

Apple Compote:

500 gm granny smith apples

30gm caster sugar

¼ tsp ground cinnamon

Pinch fresh grated nutmeg

Pinch salt flakes

2 tb water

½ tsp cornflour

1 tb lemon juice

1 tsp honey

Method:

Cake:

Preheat oven to 180c. Line and grease a 20cm springform cake tin.

In the bowl of a stand mixer or a large bowl for handheld electric beaters combine eggs, sugar and vanilla. Using whisk attachment mix on medium speed until combined, 30 seconds, then increase speed to med-high for 3-4 minutes. It should be fluffy, pale and double in volume. Decrease speed back down to medium and in a thin slow stream pour in melted cooled butter. Turn speed back up to high and whisk for 1-2 minutes until again increased in volume to an almost foamy consistency like a zabaglione. Stop mixing and add half the flour and mix on low speed until almost combined, pour in half the buttermilk while the mixer is still stirring on low. Once combined, no more than a minute for each of these steps, add the remaining flour and again followed by the remaining buttermilk. Mix until just combined. There will be a thin mote of buttermilk around the edge. Remove bowl finish mixing with only a couple of confident folds with a spatula and pour into the prepared pan. Smooth over top very gently, preserving all the lovely air and lightness you’ve created with all that whisking and pop in the preheated oven for 45 minutes. No peeking until the 45 minute mark. Test with a skewer and on the off chance the skewer doesn’t come out clean return to the oven for 5 more minutes.

Allow to cool in the tin sitting on a wire rack for ten minutes before removing spring form ring and sliding from the base. Slip paper out gently from underneath and allow to cool.

Apple Compote:

This is inspired by and my take on the recipe in the beautiful Beatrix Bakes Book.

Peel, core and cube the apples. Combine all sugar, water, spices, salt, cornflour and lemon juice in a small saucepan over medium heat. Heat until small bubble appear on the sides, add apples stir to combine then cover and cook on medium for 5 minutes. Remove lid, stir through honey and remove from heat and cool completely before using.

Keep a close eye on the mixture while it cooks, you may need to stir once or twice to prevent it sticking.

Chantilly Cream:

Combine all ingredients in a stand mixer. Whip on medium high until soft peaks form. Pop in a bowl and store in the fridge until you’re ready to use.

Mascarpone Frosting:

Combine very soft butter, icing sugar and cinnamon in a stand mixer. Mix with whisk attachment until combined then increase speed to med-high to combine well and lighten in colour and form. Just like you would for butter cream frosting. You’ll need to scrape this down a couple times to reach the lite fluffy texture you need. Add mascarpone and cream and again slowly to start to combine then increase to med-high to whip up to a fluffy texture. It will be lighter and fluffier than a traditional butter cream frosting almost like a thick whipped cream.

Assemble:

Slice the cake across the middle using a serrated knife (I use a bread knife) making two discs as close to an even thickness as possible. Set your bottom layer on the plate you’d like to serve on and top with whipped Chantilly cream. Using your spoon make a little indentation in the middle and pile the cooled apple mixture in the middle gentle distributing to a circle 2/3 the diameter of the cake leaving a 2cm border of cream all the way around. Gently place the remaining disc of cake on top and with a soft touch pile and spread the mascarpone frosting on top in soft, uneven peaks like clouds. You can leave it like that or dust with additional cinnamon.

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.

Ginger Passionfruit Slice

She sat in the armchair to your right as you entered the lounge room. Close to the front door and her own bedroom door, formerly that of my parents, sacrificed for her stay with us. Morning sun glinted through the curls of her fine grey hair, often times lulling her to sleep, it’s glow wrapping her in a blanket of warmth. She’d spend her days there mostly, sometimes receiving visits from her friends accompanied by their family members or of course from her own extended family. She came to live with us for what was to be the last weeks of her life. Decades of a life lived punctuated by disease, diabetes, asthma and emphysema in consort tolling the bell of time ever more loudly.

She was a quiet matriarch in her time, not one who ruled with the proverbial iron fist but rather the carer, nurturer and rule maker. The love for her family and care she provided ran deep her love a restorative salve. She raised my mother for the most part and like the shelter and love her home proved when my mum needed, our home too was the restorative convalescence my great-grandmother needed. On her arrival we imagined ourselves offering palliative support and love to my Nan as she was known. Her frailty signalled her life drawing to a close. My parents opened their home to her as much out of love as gratitude for all shed done for mum and with great care Mum nursed her in those early weeks. As time went on glimmers of hope emerged. More and more she’d slowly emerge from her room shuffling tentatively out to share time with the family and take her meals in her special chair lap warmed by her crocheted knee rug made when her fingers were more nimble. With regular meals and human interaction her condition improved and her days in our family grew longer.

The initial period of convalescence freezing time to support her faded as it became clear our efforts had succeeded and Nan had found her second wind so to speak. We needed a new plan and routine so Mum could return to work and resume her normal life. I was a teenager at the time so absent from home for at least six hours a day and Dad still a shift worker. Mum’s job was not far from home but still this left a frail lady home alone for great swathes of time. As family’s often do the relatives rallied. Everyone taking a day to visit where possible offer company for Nan and reassurance for mum. One such visitor was my Nana, Dad’s mum. She was of a similar ilk herself, the quiet no nonsense nurturer. Every Wednesday, after leaving a cut lunch in the fridge for my Papa, she’d walk the 4 kms to our house, a baked treat stashed in her roomy handbag slung in the crook of her elbow. Having survived polio as a child her gait was slow but strong the site of our home after that last bend in the road a welcome site. Her visits were as much an act of love for Nan as it was to Mum and Dad. Her cheery voice would ‘sing out’ a greeting as she arrived, her bag carried through to the kitchen where she’d ‘pop the kettle on’ and prepare morning tea. They’d natter away catching up on their weeks and news of the day while they sipped steaming amber coloured tea, two cups frugally made from one tea bag, while they nibbled on whatever sweet treat was on offer. After lunch, also often an offering of love and nurture from Nana, Nan would nod off in the last of the eastern sunshine before the sun arced over our roof. To fill time during this restorative nap, Nana took to the duster and broom helping mum with some housework to ease her load and perhaps make a start on dinner too. Sometimes they’d take to their needles, one knitting the other crocheting comparing their progress and differing skills each wishing they could do what the other could. They’d reflect on times gone, laughing and shedding a tear here and there at shared recollections and memories. Marjorie and May forged a firm friendship during their Wednesdays spent together, Marj finding purpose in supporting mum, May looking forward to the company of a woman her own age, the two together finding previously untapped common ground and friendship in each other’s company. Opposites in many ways, from each side of our family, Dad’s mum and Mum’s Nan, found friendship in later life.

One thing they had always had in common was a love of baking. Nan loved a ginger laced bake Nana a more classic airy sponge often topped with passionfruit icing. Nan, no longer being fleet of foot, was unable to cook and so would ask Mum to purchase Gingernut Biscuits as an offering during these visits. Nana, still reigning at her oven, would still whip up a light airy sponge cake sandwiching fluffy whipped Chantilly cream, crowned with passionfruit icing.

The notion of opposites attracting was one often on our minds watching two women who’d known each other for decades in late life finding a deep nourishing friendship in each other’s companionship. Likewise, opposites attract in flavours sometimes too. Marriages in ingredients you may not always think of initially but when experimented with inspire equally revelatory relationships as that enjoyed by two women thrown together and sipping tea with ginger and passionfruit in all its guises.

Ingredients:

½ c sweetened condensed milk

50 gm butter

1 Tb golden syrup

40 gm chopped naked preserved or glace ginger

320 gm Gingernut biscuits or similar ginger flavoured cookies/biscuits with a crisp dry texture

Icing:

1 ¾ C icing sugar

Pulp of 2 passionfruit 1 tsp of seeds reserved

2 tsp boiling water

2 tsp lemon juice

20 gm butter melted

Method:

Line a 16cm x 25cm slice tin and set aside.

In a small saucepan combine condensed milk, butter, ginger and golden syrup over a medium low heat. Warm until just combined thoroughly and remove from heat.

Crush biscuits/cookies in a food processor or blender using the pulse setting crushing until a mixture of course and fine crumbs. It’s nice to maintain some texture in the crushing so there’s a variation when eating and for the mixture to absorb the wet mixture.

In a large bowl combine crumbs and warm melted liquids until thoroughly combine like thick wet sand. It should be quite thick and stiff. Spread evenly in the prepared tray and refrigerate for at least 2 hours and firm. The longer it’s refrigerated the better allowing for the most moisture absorption.

When ready combine all icing ingredients until smooth. Spread evenly over slice with an offset spatula or similar if you have one. A little tip: heat the blade briefly over a stove flame so it spreads smoothly over the icing leaving an even finish. Allow to set and cut into suitable sized pieces.

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.

Mandarin, Raspberry and Olive Oil Loaf

It’s been a funny week. A, strangely for me, reflective one.

After posting last week’s missives, ironically also reflective, I lunched on those spinach rolls before setting off for my exercise class (who even am I). They’re a friendly mob at my gym and always greet me with wide open smiles and warm salutations. Last week was a little more sombre when the receptionist, a pal and subscriber here, greeted me quietly stating she ‘wasn’t talking to me.’ She’d read my post about my boy before work and it’d hit a nerve leaving her also reflective and sombre. We shared the hugs of mums and middle aged women who’ve lived and the stories and feelings evoked by my words of last week’s post. Tear ducts cleaned out and loads shared our keels sailed a little more evenly…or as evenly as life’s experiences allow. I little bit of a cross wind in our sails and a gentle swell under our boughs the waves not as overwhelming.

Later that day in the local hardware megastore, galloping up the aisle looking for a wonder cleaning product that keeps finding its way into my newsfeed tempting me to clean my oven door, I noticed an old school mum friend staring at the shelves. She was a gem back in the day, helping me with the load of running my kids hither and thither whilst supporting ailing parents and a husband who travelled for work, what felt like, all the time. Every community has diamonds like her, ‘salt of the earth’ women who see the need to help before those who need it even do and don’t see any bother doing so. Always ready with a warm friendly smile and good humour. I hadn’t seen her for a long time nor caught up on her family’s happenings so a ‘quick’ chat in Aisle 30 was a no brainer. We updated each other on kid’s lives, husbands’ careers and our own lives. It’s funny how updating ourselves in such conversations always comes last isn’t it and indeed I’ve noticed recently, or maybe it’s just me, is downplayed. We talked about work and the mother load, mine much lighter. She talked about her sandwich generation situation supporting an ailing older parent as well as the trenches of parenthood and her business all while riding the waves of middle age hormones and that womanly habit of raising the spinnaker one handed while steering at the helm against the prevailing gusts of wind tacking this way and that against the unpredictable weather. And then she too was in my arms clearing out those tear ducts, that middle aged load buffeting from both sides.

That night two messages from friends also came through also sharing stories and offloading a little followed by lunch the next day with a couple more girlfriends, stories of all the extras we’re carrying tabled and washed away in the hum of a busy restaurant and a couple hours of escape with comrades in similar trenches.

A few things occurred to me. The cliches of middle age I’d heard as a child and young woman spoken about by my mum and her friends in hushed tones over afternoon tea weren’t actually cliches. Womanhood while wonderful and full and unique to the life led by our male counterparts is largely ruled by hormones which present mountainous waves to surf at the most inopportune periods in life and most especially that opportunities for bemoaning and debriefing in those hushed frustrated tones with coffee and cake aren’t as available as they once were.

It's one of nature’s greatest flaws that at a time when a woman is enduring what feels like a second round of puberty with a quarter of the energy to do so is often also a time of other major life changes for those she’s supporting. Ailing parents, teens in their own sea of hormones, older offspring launching their own adulthoods, empty nests and partners in the throes of their middle age woes all seem to circle like conflicting weather fronts at this most inconvenient period of our lives. Likewise, our parents or older relatives will increasingly need our support or even their hands held as the pages of their last chapters slowly turn. All the while we’re tired, perhaps not sleeping well, we’re hot, so hot! We just want a moment to ourselves, our patience is stretched and the winds of middle ages are blowing our hair all over the place but we don’t have a free hand to grab a hair tie and pull it out of our faces…metaphorically speaking.

So all this leads me to my point. What happened to afternoon tea? Taking an hour out of the week to have a cuppa and slice of cake with a pal? To off load, debrief, catchup? A photographer pal who also happens to be a psychologist was telling me about a lecture she’d been to recently sharing research into middle age. They found that, universally, across all cultures the one commonality was a sense of sadness. This could be a whole discussion and essay of it’s own but the big take away was the need to shake things up and disrupt! Now afternoon tea may not seem like a big revelation but perhaps it could be a start and perhaps it’s a seed to hatch a plan from your shake up or help a pal shake her world up. One slice of cake at a time.

My Mandarin and Raspberry Loaf is the perfect bake for anyone wanting to catch up with a friend. It’s super easy and requires no fancy equipment, ingredients or skills. Maybe baking could be your disruption or maybe you could have a friend for coffee and cake and a not so hushed tones debrief, hug and tear duct clean out.

Ingredients:

1 1/3 C (220 gm) Plain Flour

1 ½ tsp baking powder

½ tsp bicarb soda

½ tsp salt flakes

¾ C (180 gm) caster sugar

200 gm Greek yoghurt (full fat)

2 eggs at room temperature beaten

100 ml olive oil, mild flavoured

1 tsp vanilla extract or paste

1 tb mandarin juice (one mandarin)

2 tsp mandarin rind finely grate (2 mandarins)

200 gm whole raspberries

Icing:

1 ½ C icing sugar

50 gm butter melted

¼ tsp vanilla extract or paste

¼ tsp salt flakes

Juice of the remaining mandarin from the cake batter

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c. Grease and line a loaf tin, set aside.

In a large bowl combine flour, baking powder, bicarb soda and salt, set aside.

In a second large bowl combine remaining cake ingredients except raspberries. Using a balloon whisk, stir them together gently initially then when combined exert some energy and whisk all those frustrations into your batter combining to a smooth mix with no lumps, sugar almost dissolved and the yoghurt completely mixed in. Now that you’ve got that off your chest with a gentle hand fold in the raspberries and flour until completely incorporated and all the flour lumps are smoothed out, much like all those life humps you’ve been smoothing out.

Pour into the prepared tin and bake for 55 minutes or until a skewer in the middle comes out clean. Allow to cool in the tin for ten minutes before using the baking paper overhang to lift it out and cool completely on a wire rack, gently slipping the paper out from underneath so the bottom doesn’t get soggy.

To make icing, combine all ingredients in a medium bowl and mix until thickened and completely amalgamated. Spread in swirls across the top and serve with that cuppa, a hug a box of tissues and maybe even a cheeky glass of dessert wine or bubbles if the weather prevails.

Spinach and Cheese Rolls

My mum used to say that you’re a mum forever. She was talking about the mothering instinct. Though always reassured we were fine and knew what we were doing with all the usual bravado of the young, she worried. I think, still, too much or maybe in our relationship I’m still the young. Still the one who thinks she should have relaxed, she did worry more than most and at times that felt a little stifling. I could feel myself wriggling and shifting against it's chastening clinch, rebelling even just a little. I was not a particularly rebellious kid but did stand by decisions and wants probably challenging her anxiety unfairly.

More and more now I’m starting to understand. I do worry about them obviously, driven by my overwhelming desire for all their hopes and dreams to come true. That’s the thing I want for them. The usual want for them to find happiness, success (however that looks for them) and love is behind all the fulfillment of all those ambitions they hold, perhaps that fulfillment is life’s pinnacle.

Our youngest was home to celebrate his 21st birthday this last week. Our eldest is in remote Western Australia adventuring with his friends. Both far from home, both far from what traditionally would be ‘safe.’ Both reaching for the stars and reaching for their dreams.

One of things I asked boy two before his return was what he’d like me to cook for him, wanting to have the larder stocked. Amongst all the usual things like a roast we had Spaghetti and planned for his birthday celebrations. We love a charcuterie platter, lovely cheeses, mini cheeseburgers and surprisingly he requested spinach rolls.

I say surprisingly because it’s not something I remember him enjoying and surprised that they were something he’d request. His absence and his return have presented many surprises. When I reflect some don’t surprise me or indeed shouldn’t have. His wisdom falls way beyond his years, something in part I knew but which shone more brightly after six months apart. His maturity and capability, characteristics we felt evolving in our many phone calls in the months apart more evident in our midst. Witt, charm and warmth bubbling forth though always there but now held in a self-assured yet humble man.

I made the spinach rolls for him amongst the list of other culinary requests. Amongst other morsels, I served them during a Sunday afternoon gathering to celebrate his milestone birthday. Moving around the terrace to the sound of laughter, kookaburras and the crackle of an open fire warming us in crisply cool winter sunshine offering platters and drinks I could hear his laughter and chatter with our friends, that of a happy confident man. Happily nibbling on a spinach roll raising one to me in praise and smiling across the gathering, a nod of recognition, of thanks, of mutual admiration perhaps.

It hit me then, we notice their changes in the small things and we notice them acutely after an absence. We farewelled young men chafing at the constraints of their youth and our parenting and welcome home independent happy self-sufficient adults. Though missed his explorations of the world and establishment of his adult life far afield allowed him to flourish on his terms in his own space without the shadow of our worry. It also allowed us to evolve into parents of adult offspring who enjoy their company as adult companions and trust their adult decisions without needing to worry.

As we walked the long, crowded hallways of the airport towards another goodbye, the hum and bustle of passengers coming and going, announcements interrupting my thoughts I felt the lump in my throat grow, my eyes fill with tears and my chest swell. We’ll miss him terribly as he returns to this chapter but pride bloomed as all my emotions mingled and swirled.

I think as my mum said you’re always a mum and no doubt in some ways always worry about them but perhaps that worry is tied more to hope for them and all their aspirations and perhaps just little of grief missing their glorious presence.

Now I can wait for the next time we see Boy One and all the excitement to see his evolution….I wonder what he’ll request for dinner….

Ingredients:

1 bunch of English spinach yielding around 220 – 250 gm of leaf once trimmed of stalks.

3 spring onions (scallions) sliced and chopped

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

500 gm firm ricotta. Not the creamy stuff in the tub, it’s lovely spread on toast but no good for this.

200 gm feta. I prefer a mild smooth one like Danish for this recipe.

20 gm finely grated romano or parmesan cheese

1 egg beaten

½ tsp each dried oregano and dill

½ tsp salt flakes

Finely grated rind of a lemon

2-3 sheets of puff pastry. I’m not going to be too pedantic about how many as a) it depends how big yours are and b) how thickly you pipe or spread your mixture. I use this one but ran out after making nine lunch size rolls and used the rest of the mixture in filo pastry I had in the fridge.

1 egg extra for an egg wash

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c and line 1-2 baking sheets/trays.

Heat olive oil in a medium sized pan over medium heat. Saute spring onion 1 minute until fragrant. Add spinach and stir frequently for a few minutes until just wilted. Pour off and discard any excess liquid then tip spinach mixture into a strainer. Spread spinach around the strainer into a layer then place a compatible sized bowl on the mixture weighted with a can or some other item from your pantry. This will help push out any extra moisture while it cools.

While the spinach mixture cools, take a large bowl and combine cheeses, egg, herbs, salt and lemon rind and mix thoroughly with a fork. I like to do this with a fork almost mashing it together, this combines things better without turning into a cream like a mechanical mix would. Once spinach is cooled squeeze out any remaining liquid then stir through cheese with a wooden spoon mix completely.

Prepare your pastry cutting your sheets to strips the size of roll you’d like to make, either ones for a meal of small party size ones.

I use a disposable piping bag available from the baking aisle in the supermarket for this next step. Pipe or spread a sausage of mixture down the middle of the pastry strips you’ve cut. Spread the egg wash down the edge and roll towards this edge to seal the roll up with the roll resting on top of the seal. Slice each roll to the size you desire. Line up, on a baking sheet, with a little room between each so the pastry will cook properly all the way round as it puffs and expands. Brush the outside with egg wash and pop in the oven for 40 minutes.

They’re delicious hot or cold but if you’re planning on enjoying them hot give them a few minutes to cool a little.

Nana’s Chocolate Fudge Cake

I’ve lost my son’s birth certificate. There! I’ve said it. It’s been missing for a while but being a positive person who genuinely believes everything works out in the end, I honestly thought it would turn up with a more concerted effort on my part to hunt it down. He called from the outback on his adventure around our big island recently asking if I’d found it, plotting adventures further afield. “No problem,” I assured him, “it’ll be here somewhere.” Spontaneously, one morning recently, I set about pulling my room and closet apart convinced I’d be imminently victorious. As the morning dragged on and the mess of my efforts grew it became painfully obvious that my positive attitude may well have been misplaced on this occasion. A birth certificate is perhaps the most important document we carry through life, A document denoting the moment in time of our entry into the world. Whilst I’m not the first mother in the world to lose one and certainly won’t be the last after, what was stretchin out to a full day of hunting, I was becoming deflated and frustrated and frankly very disappointed.

Always one to look for silver linings however, I was spring cleaning (in Autumn) as I went through things. The piles of donate, keep, dispose of were growing and if nothing else that alone would make the search worthwhile. As the hours ticked by and I moved from one shelf to the next box my focus was waning and the effort to keep searching methodically leaving me rapidly, until I opened a camphor chest that sits in a corner. One of those big, in interior decorating in the late 80’s early 90’s, that I’ve hung onto for its practicality if nothing else. It’s filled with my Nana’s recipe collection amongst other curio. It’s one of those piles carefully stored though, if I’m honest, in desperate need of curating. Easily distracted particularly at this point of the search, I sat down to have a little peruse through the collection. Small snippets from magazines and newspapers fell from books heavy with text but scant with imagery. Retro recipes featuring ingredients and concoctions not enjoyed readily today brought a smile to my face. I scooped up all the little cuttings as they fell from the well thumbed pages replacing them from where they tumbled except for one small frail piece of blue notepaper. As I reached for the faded scrap of paper the old fashioned handwriting caught my eye enveloping me in nostalgia. I could imagine her in her humble kitchen sitting at her table, back warmed by sun through the kitchen window as she jotted down the recipe on a small piece of paper possibly cut into note paper size from an old envelope or other packaging, a habit from her frugal ways. She could never have imagined, at the time, the jou this quicky penned list would bring me so many years hence. Though acutely unwell she left us quickly and unexpectedly. I wrote about her here and the legacy of memories she left us and indeed reflected on the lost recipes and regret I carry not having spent more time in the kitchen with her as an adult. I wish we’d cooked together as women, my young sons at our feet, her instructing me and imbuing me with her wisdom both food and life. I wish I hadn’t been consumed with misplaced confidence that we had time and that I truly appreciated the hands of time taking moments from us. Seeing this little slip of paper fluttering from between the collected pages of other clippings she’d accumulated was like pennies from heaven, life a feather fluttering down gifting me this sweet creation of hers and a gentle hand guiding me, one I miss immensely.

The irony of this find is not lost on me, while looking for the birth certificate of my first son, born 14 months before my Nana’s premature departure a handwritten note of hers finds it’s way into my hands serendipitously. As excited as I was to find her little note from the past, I couldn’t remember having enjoyed chocolate cake at that white laminate table. None the less, following her instructions to the letter that first time I cooked her cake making sense of some measurements and instructions translating them to modern quantities and techniques. After a not so patient wait for the completed cake to cool I took my first bite of the buttercream topped cake and was flooded with memories of a flavour and texture as familiar to me as the handwriting that had guided me to this point. It’s a strange thing the memories our senses carry and the visceral feelings and emotions they evoke, almost like the familiarity long seen handwriting carries, the knowing and identity ever present.

I’ve followed and shared Nana’s recipe to the letter, though I’ve doubled the cocoa and increased the butter a little. Unlike her suggestion I’ve cooked it in a loaf tin rather than a lamington pan, doubling the cooking time. She’s a sturdy loaf with a rich fudgy centre and sweet crisp crust. I have taken nana’s suggestion of a butter cream adornment though have added some melted dark chocolate for a smooth luscious frosting. It’s a meeting of the minds if you will, across the decades, her delicious creation with my embellishments.

Now to make a cuppa and have a slice of cake while I contemplate what to do about that missing birth certificate.

**If you’re lucky enough to still have a treasured elder in your life maybe you could make them a chocolate fudge loaf, take it with you to visit and ask them all the questions you’ve wondered about. Trust me It’ll be an afternoon well spent xx**

Ingredients:

80 gm butter softened

1 c caster sugar

½ c milk

1 egg beaten

1 ½ c self raising flour

2 Tb coco ( dutch process, unsweetened)

¼ tsp salt flakes

¼ tsp bicarb soda

¼ tsp baking powder

1 tsp vanilla paste/extract

¼ c boing water (I leave the kettle to cool slightly while I’m mixing. Adding that boiling water to a mixture containing an egg still scares me)

Method:

Preheat oven 180c. Grease and line a loaf tin with a few cms overhang each side to lift cooked cake from pan later.

In stand mixer with paddle attachment beat butter until colour is beginning to lighten and it’s starting to turn fluffy. Add sugar mixing on low until just combined, increase speed to med-high and cream until light in colour and fluffy. Pour in milk, vanilla and egg mixing on low until combined to prevent splashing, increase to medium for a minute once it looks like it wont splash out of the bowl. Stop mixer, tip in dry ingredients and again mix on low until everything’s mostly wet then increase to med-high and pour in boiling water. Whip for a minute until it reminds you of the smooth creamy consistency of a packet cake mixture. Pour into prepared tin and bake for 40 minutes.

Do not open the oven door before the 40 mins. If left alone this cake with rise to a pleasing even rounded top with a fine crack down the centre when ready. Open the door too early and she’ll collapse slightly in the middle. Still delicious but lacking that smooth satisfying top.

I’ve topped mine with a butter cream recipe adapted from Emelia Jackson’s most excellent book Frist Cream the Butter and Sugar. You might like to try it with a Ganache or even a simple chocolate glaze

Buttercream:

40 gm dark chocolate melted and cooled. Do this first an allow to cool while completing the other steps. It needs to be properly cooled with setting as it may set into fine grain like pieces of chocolate when combine with cool butter.

80 gm icing sugar

1 scant Tb cocoa

60 gm soft butter

2 tsp of full cream milk.

Pinch of salt flakes

Like the cake whip the butter to lite and fluffy. Add the dry ingredients, melted chocolate and milk, mixing on low until combined then increase heat to high for one minute or until increased in volume, fluffy and spreadable.

Autumn Drop Scones

When life gives you lemons, make cake, though in this instance not the cake you’re probably expecting me to describe.

I must be in some kind of existential mood during autumn days marked by morning fog, afternoon sunshine and showers of red, gold and orange leaves. Between last week’s cat and mouse metaphor and this week’s ‘lemon’ like week in the kitchen.

It all started with the purchase of a baking book by famous author and chef Alison Roman. It’s a most luscious book with a plethora of gorgeous recipes I’m dying to try. One in particular, featuring raspberries, seemed like a pretty good place to start. The juicy little ruby like jewels are my favourite fruit and always draw my attention in any baked good or dessert and indeed any recipe, so what better place to start. Well somewhere else seemed to be the answer. It was an epic fail. No reflection on Ms Roman’s delicious sounding recipe, indeed it’s known as the cake that started it all. Trying to nut out what went wrong sent me down a rabbit hole reminiscing about another raspberry cake recipe I used to love and how I could give it a new twist. After a lot of reading, I was convinced I was onto something and gave my idea a go. Two attempts later, two cakes in the bin and I was starting to think I was jinxed where raspberry cakes were concerned. Google suggested one of two problems would be responsible for blonde bakes, not enough sugar or too low an oven temp. Neither appeared to be a problem, then, in what felt like a scene out of a Hollywood sci-fi movie, moments from the preceding raspberry cake episodes and a somewhat blonde roast chicken of a few days prior flashed before my metaphorical eyes. It had to be the oven. Like a tenacious dog with a bone I dropped everything and ran to the store to purchase an oven thermometer. Armed with this most vital instrument inserted front and centre on the middle rack I turned the oven on, perched on the floor watching through the glass door of the oven like a child watching their favourite tv show, I waited for the patiently for the all-important click to tell me the oven had reached the set temp, but as you’re probably expecting we weren’t even close to the required heat.

After a few days wait, expecting to be rewarded for my patience with an immediate repair, the technician casually informed me I had another ten days to wait for the part to arrive and a return visit. Like a child who’s lost their favourite toy I felt bereft, like part of me was missing. Dramatic? Much! But seriously, this was akin to having my camera removed from my grasp (yes it needs a service and a clean as much as my oven door but I can’t bring myself to find a week or two to live without it). You’ll be happy to know I drove to the warehouse to collect the part myself and as you read this it’s being installed…but I digress.

Not normally a naval gazer I found myself ponderous. A lot of people would be relieved to not be able to cook. I can cook my around a problem and usually enjoy a challenge so what was driving my foot stamping angst. Was it the technician’s casual ‘oh ten more days’ comment? Given my 30 minute proximity to the spare parts warehouse and frustration, quite possibly. Was it my unfulfilled love of creating for you guys? Well absolutely, yes. But more importantly losing the oven or indeed my camera for a service, should I actually unhinge myself from it, also takes away my pull to creativity. I was both stifled and frustrated by a lack of integral instrument for creation. One friend mentioned she could go weeks without using hers which made me realise mine is on most days, used for all manner of cooking. Like my camera that often travels everywhere with me I often walk into the kitchen and turn on the oven while a recipe idea unfolds and this made me realise how creating of all manner is integral to my joy and fulfillment.

This is so for many people with a plethora of ways in which they express their creativity. The creative arts, performing arts, gardening, food, writing, the list is long and varied as are the reasons.

Creativity can free your mind from the everyday allowing your brain and body to enter a different realm from that in which you dwell on a daily basis. Often our routine lives can be mundane or lacking fulfilment. Creating can deliver this to us in big and small ways whether it be as an act of meditation keeping hands busy and minds distracted or the ‘return’ of joy when our creativity comes in the form of something we can share with others like cooking or gardening. It can obviously offer yields in the form of income too, when one chooses to follow creative careers but most importantly as Elizabeth Gilbert says in her book Big Magic, “In the end, creativity is a gift to the creator, not just a gift to the audience.”

Gilbert also suggests that living a life of creativity is one driven more by curiosity than by fear. This notion of curiosity brings me back to my cooking dilemma, wanting to concoct a sweet treat for you, dear readers, that you’ll enjoy and that is interesting and not too difficult and one that doesn’t require an oven. Autumn sunshine warmed my kitchen, glowing through my one and only deciduous tree ablaze in red leaves. Mandarins, bright, shiny, glowing orange orbs adorned the fruit bowl atop my kitchen bench and an idea took shape. I recalled this cake from last year I still love and wondered on a notion of reforming it into a small bite size snack with a cuppa. Gazing fondly on china in my Nana’s crystal cabinet, a notion took shape into the form of Autumn Drop Scones, or Pikelets depending on where your Nana is from….but that is quite possibly another essay for another day.

I hope you enjoy my fluffy and buttery drop scones dotted with plump little currants and warming citrus notes from early season juicy mandarins.

Ingredents:

¼ c currants

Rind and juice of 1 mandarin

25 gm unsalted butter

1tbs honey

1 c self-raising flour

¼ c caster sugar

¼ tsp salt flakes

¼ tsp ground cardamon

50 gm Greek yoghurt

1 egg

¼ c milk, any milk is fine, I use almond but you do you

1 tsp vanilla paste/extract

Method:

In a small bowl, combine currants, juice and rind, butter and honey. Stir a few times to just combine and microwave 40 seconds. Yes you read that correctly, just a quick zap in the microwave until butter is barely melted. Stir well and leave to return to room temp while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

Combine dry ingredients in a large bowl, give them a quick whisk to aerate and combine and set aside. In a third bowl (sorry) whisk together yoghurt, egg, milk and vanilla. Pour into the butter and currants mixture, stir then fold into the dry ingredients mixing until just combined as you would for a muffin mixture.

Heat a large heave based fry pan over medium heat with a greasing of neutral flavoured oil and a dob of butter. When just foaming drop dessert spoons of mixture into the pan shaping and lightly smoothing. Flip when edges are cooked and underside is browned.

Serve warm with a spread of butter. They’re also delicious with some honey or even some marmalade. They’ll keep well for a few days in an airtight container…if they last that long.

Vegetable and Chickpea Dhal

When the cat’s away the mouse will play. We’ve all heard that one right? We’ve all been both the cat and the mouse and when we’ve been the mouse, ‘play’ could mean many things.

This week I’ve been the mouse…again. For the entirety of my marriage my husband has travelled for his job. His travels have taken him far and wide both frequently and in frequently. For large chunks of time he’s all but been a fifo member of our family though more recently, thanks Covid, a far more regular member of team Frawley. While jaunts through Asia, Europe, USA and every corner of Australia sound glamorous it’s proven mostly exhausting and not as exciting as it sounds. Long days in oil refineries and meetings, difficult long travel journeys and no time to absorb the sites and sounds of his destinations have made those workdays just that. Normal long days like any other workday with no one to come home to, no home cooked meal and missing family.

Meanwhile at home the boys and I always just got on with things like millions of other parents in my position or indeed on their own full time. It’s just what we did and was always that way. The kids knew no different nor did I. As time marched on and the boys grew, it obviously became easier and indeed became special time to hang out with them just us. We’ve enjoyed many memories and adventures of our own during Mr F’s absences, these times proving a gift of sorts for the most part amongst the frustrations and bumps in the night that woke me.

When I reflect on these time one thing that invariably always come to mind is the food. For the most part my husband eats nearly anything with a few key exceptions, pumpkin and creamy things just don’t float his boat. There’s a few others but for the most part they’re not biggies. So when Dad was away our palettes would play. Mac and cheese frequently featured. A childhood favourite of mine and my kids my husband just doesn’t love it and don’t get me started on pumpkin. Bowls of fast comfort food was always my go to in his absence in those early days, both for ease of preparation on days that were busy and indulgence to enjoy those things not at the top of his list when he’s home. The kids could almost predict what would be on the menu, knowing those little food treats enjoyed while the ‘cat’ was away acting as a salve for two little lads who often missed their dad.

These days, with the boys gone, it’s just me at home when he travels. Home alone I often say. Whilst my shenanigans don’t reflect those of the movie by the same name, I do still enjoy meals I know he wouldn’t and enjoy streaming marathons of cooking shows and chick flicks. It’s almost like being in my twenties again…..almost.

This week, while he’s travelled, winter arrived early. Icy winds have swept through bringing days of rain and bone chilling temperatures. The kind of weather that makes you yearn for food that warms you from the inside out. After Mr F left early this week, tummy rumbling and teeth chattering I knew what had to be on the menu, Chickpea and Vegetable Dhal. A sturdy stew of pulses delicious spices and of course pumpkin is the best kind of warming comfort food. Maybe I’ll make it for him soon and call it Carrot and Chickpea Dhal (insert winking emoji).

Ingredients:

1 Tb extra virgin olive oil or neutral flavoured oil, it really doesn’t matter which

1 onion finely chopped

1 large carrot peeled and diced into cubes

1 c pumpkin peeled and similarly cubed

2 large garlic cloves crushed

1 Tb grated fresh ginger

¼ tsp ground fenugreek

¼ tsp ground cardamon

1 Tb Tandoori Masala spice mix ( remember the one we made for the lamb curry?)

½ tsp ground turmeric

½ c red lentils

1 c chickpeas drained

3 cups vegetable stock

1 tsp salt flakes

2 tsp tamarind puree

Method:

In a medium sized saucepan over a medium heat briefly warm the oil. Add the onion, carrot and pumpkin, reduce heat to low and cook gently for 5 minutes stirring frequently. Add garlic, ginger and spices and cook, still on low, a further 3-5 minutes until fragrant. Keep everything mobile at this stage to prevent catching. Tumble in the lentils and stir vigorously ensuring everything is well combined and the lentils coated in all the spices. You may need to drizzle a little extra oil in at this stage if the mixture is becoming too dry.

Increase to medium and pour in stock. Stir well and bring to the boil, reduce heat to medium low and simmer 20 minutes. Taste the lentils to make sure they’re nearly done. Stir through the drained chick peas, add the salt and tamarind past and simmer a further 10 minutes. If the mixture is reducing too quickly you can add a little water extra for this last part, do so ¼ c at a time, you shouldn’t need too much extra if at all.

Serve with a dollop of Greek yoghurt, your favourite chutney such as mango and a srinkle of any little extras like dried chilli flakes, herbs or nigella seed.

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.

Anzac Bicuits

**For the purposes of this story I’ll be using the Australian word “biscuit” for the baked treat I’ll discuss otherwise known outside Australia as cookies**

As autumn descended on the battle-scarred fields of the western front and cold winds began to blow through the trenches signalling an impending third winter in the elements, my grandfather’s war came to an end. Enlisting early in the four years of the great war he served the bulk of his nearly four years of service in France Via Cairo. The failure of the Gallipoli offensive, that he thankfully was spared from deployment in, saw his battalion broken up, reformed and moved to the emerging theatre of the French western front. By the time his service concluded, he’d spent 22 months in the often muddied, overcrowded and stench ridden trenches of the Somme with only three days of R&R. He’d served in other theatres of war in Franco offensives with a couple of periods of convalescence from injury and ill health spent in Britain, his birthplace, but the greatest period of his time away was served in the relentless conflict of area famously referred to as The Somme.

He was a gentle man, loyal to a fault, softly spoken, kind and endlessly patient. He was never boastful and rarely spoke of his time in the army. Signing up was a rite of passage at the time, service in the great war seen as a young man’s adventure. Something hard for us to imagine through a modern lens of instant information and 24 hour news cycles where live images of war are streamed globally, but an adventure it was to the young men of the early 20th century. It was the first war of modern times to traverse years, not months or weeks. It was a relentless conflict who’s breadth seems unimaginable by today’s standards and one that changed the lives of many.

Papa’s time at war came to an end three weeks before the signing of the armistice that brought the fighting to an ultimate end. Three weeks before quiet descended on the devastated landscape of the French countryside, when young men looked to each other in shock and awe that what had probably felt never ending was suddenly over. When adrenaline ebbed away in floods and exhaustion took it’s place. Perhaps shock and quiet descended on their souls too before the joy of a return home bloomed, a sense of doubt that it could possibly have come to an end.

As children we saw our Papa as a hero and somewhat of ‘celebrity’ of sorts having fought in the First World War. But his personal reflection of his time away was anything but that, indeed he never spoke of it, deflecting anyone’s interest with comments like war is nothing to celebrate or look back on. This was the way he lived his life for all 66 years of the life he lived after the war. Except for two days each year in which he allowed himself some reflection. One of those days, his annual battalion reunion, when together, servicemen gathered at the tree planted in their honour at the Avenue of Honour in the forecourt or our Shrine of remembrance. And the other day, our national day of remembrance and honour ANZAC Day, when ex-servicemen from the joint Australia and New Zealand forces reflect on the many conflicts they’ve contributed to, a day born out of that first modern conflict. It’s a day deeply ingrained into my soul and the DNA of Australians. It’s written on our culture and history and is the one way we hold dear, in perpetuity the service of those who went before us to build the freedom we enjoy today.

One of the many ways our military history has instructed our culture is, as always, through food. The ANZAC biscuit was one sent by those left behind in care packages to the troops as small acts of love and nurturing from home. The first love language perhaps. The original recipe is a little different from the one we’ve come to know and love. Oats and coconut were not in the iteration of the Anzac, perhaps a reflection of the lack of provisions and a nod to the innovation of home cooks. In the years after the war as prosperity returned oats were introduced to the recipe followed by coconut. The bones of the recipe though remained, butter and golden syrup, golden caramel flavours of comfort. A formula that survived the long journey across the oceans to the battle fronts and the tyranny of time to today, still forming the foundation of the iconic bake we know and love.

My Grandfather never shared his very personal story of the conclusion of his service, ironically only weeks before the end of the war itself. It’s one that emerged through research since his passing. It’s a deeply personal story that would resonate with servicemen through the ages and one I wish I’d known when he was still with us. I wish he’d been alive to see what we know today of the effects of war on our service people and know that his service is as respected and honoured as every comrade he served with. It’s his story and not mine to tell, one that always brings a tear to my eye.

But next Tuesday on ANZAC Day after watching the march on TV I’ll have a cuppa and a couple of ANZAC bickies and reflect with pride on his treasured legacy.

My version of the iconic Anzac Biscuit is inspired by a well-thumbed Australian Women’s Cookbook purchased for me when I was a child. It’s the seed of the one I baked for him growing up and have baked for my own children as they grew up and enjoyed the many storied our my wonderful Papa.

Ingredients:

1 C (100 gm) rolled oats

1 C (150 gm) plain flour

1 C brown sugar (200 gm)

½ C (50 gm) desiccated coconut

½ tsp salt flakes

1 tsp vanilla paste/extract

150 gm butter

2 Tb golden syrup

1 Tb water

½ tsp Bicarb soda

Method:

Preheat oven to 150c. Line two baking sheets with baking paper.

In a large bowl combine oats, flour, sugar, coconut and salt, whisking well to combine thoroughly and break up any lumps. Set aside.

In a small pan, over med-high heat, melt butter pushing it to just browned (you can pop over here to see a short link on how to do that if browned butter is new to you). Remove from heat and quickly whisk through syrup and water. Return to a low heat and sprinkle soda into butter mixture. It will foam quickly, remove from heat immediately and pour over dry ingredients. With a light but efficient hand mix ingredients until thoroughly combined. Roll into small bowls the size of walnuts. Space out on the two trays and cook 20 minutes.

Allow to cool five minutes on the trays before moving to a rack to cool completely.

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.

Chocolate Coffee Slice

I live in the coffee capital of the non-italian world. A somewhat arrogant self-appointed moniker but deserving none the less. Café’s and roasteries abound on what feels like every corner, queues spilling out the doors of the most popular ones, a beacon to where to hunt out a quality morning brew. Everyone has their favourite, both for an ‘on the go’ cup and many, like myself, a favourite ‘dealer’ for the best beans. Indeed it’s a language all it’s own rivalling the finest wine tasting experiences with ‘tasting notes’ and notes of this and characteristics of that. The list of orders for a takeaway coffee is just as long and complex, and a language of it’s own with it’s own dialects from country to country, something that tripped me up on one visit to San Francisco many years ago, but I digress. Like many of my fellow Victorians I too have become a coffee tragic, though I don’t really speak the language, and no I can’t taste notes of passionfruit or blackberry in my coffee. What I can taste is morning bliss in a cup and like anything, I can taste what I like and what I don’t.

It wasn’t always like this however. Like many countries born of British heritage we were a coffee wasteland. Under the influence of British culture we were once staunch tea drinkers. My own parents, though the offspring themselves of tea drinkers, were coffee drinkers. Monthly they would buy a large tin, the size of a paint can, of powdered instant coffee. A fine brown powder that dissolved instantly in boiling water creating a watery drink with a flavour reminiscent of coffee but only vaguely so. Some even had ‘percolators’ elegantly presenting them at the table with what was considered the height of continental sophistication.

Whilst many remain with the whimsy of tea drinking the influence of mid-century migration from European countries brought with it a plethora of culinary delights creating an evolution in our own eating and cooking culture and preferences, and notably our beverage culture. Not only have we enjoyed the influence of Mediterranean cuisines from Italy and Greece amongst others, but also the delights of accompaniments with those meals of wine and coffee. We have one of the largest and most respected wine industries in the world and of course our coffee culture.

With only instant coffee at home I remained a tea drinker until my late teens. I was however curious enough to keep trying having enjoyed a sip of my mums ‘fancy’ cappuccinos complete with froth moustache and coffee and walnut cake at her tennis afternoons as a child. A burgeoning career in hospitality and the accompanying long hours made caffeine a necessity. And in love with coffee I’ve remained.

The origins of this slice remain under some dispute. It’s my take on an old recipe of my Nana’s which always appeared at the heaving Christmas table. Her version, sans coffee and with another flavour I’ve never been able to pin down. In my memory I called it Caramel Slice though it bares no similarity to the much loved gooey caramel slice we all know and love. So I’ve take a turn towards coffee and hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Ingredients:

Base~

100 gm butter

60 gm castor sugar

1 Tb cocoa powder ( unsweetened, dutch style)

1 egg beaten

150 gm wheatmeal biscuit/cookies crumbs ** (We aussies call cookies bisuits, these ones are commonly known as digestive or granita biscuits)

45 gm dessicated coconut

30 gm chopped pecans

Filling~

90 gm softened butter

1 tsp vanilla extact/paste

500 gm icing sugar

20 gm custard powder

40-60 ml espresso coffee

Topping~

180 gm dark chocolate

50 gm butter

Method:

Grease and line a pan measuring 19cm x 29cm. Extend the length of the baking paper some length up the side on each side in order to be able to use those lengths to pull the slice whole out of the tin.

In a small saucepan combine butter, cocoa and sugar and stir over a low heat until butter is completely melted and sugar is dissolved. Remove from heat and, working quickly, whisk through the egg until completely combine and smooth. Stir through biscuit (cookie) crumbs, coconut and pecans. Press into prepared tin and smooth out to a flat surface and refrigerate until very firm.

When base is firm, cream butter and vanilla until light and fluffy. Add 1/3 icing/powdered sugar and combine on low speed until combine then increase to high whipping until fluffy. Add half the coffee and combine slowly increasing once combine and until fluffy again. Repeat with remaining sugar and coffee until all combine finishing with sugar. Spread evenly over base again refrigerate until firm.

Finally melt chocolate in a bowl over gently simmer steaming water. When nearly smooth add butter and stir constantly until smooth and butter completely melted and combined. Spread evenly over slice and again refrigerate until completely firm.

Cut evenly into slices of sizes of your choice and keep refrigerated.

**Do this in a food processor or blender if you have one. If not pop them all in a bag and take out the day’s frustrations on those cookies with a rolling pin bashing them until finely crumbed.

Classic Chicken Sandwich

Growing up, Saturdays always dawned busy. Weekends didn’t begin with lazy lie ins and a leisurely breakfast served at a table warmed by morning sunshine. Rather I’d wake to the sound of a vacuum cleaner and mum urging me to hurry up and get ready for dance class. Three hours on Saturday mornings when I’d flex, twirl, point and stretch my way through rigorous ballet and tap classes that I loved all while Mum would dash about performing all the normal life tasks of a family and household. Cleaning completed she’d whizz through the local supermarket stocking up for the week no doubt exhausted by lunch time at the frenetic end of week demands of adulting and mothering after a week of work.

Whilst she didn’t enjoy cooking, no doubt feeling like it was just another thing to do at the end of busy and often draining workdays she did enjoy a delicious meal. A vexing contradiction but one that did motivate a couple of signature dishes of a throw together pastry free quiche and a one pot hearty beef and pasta casserole of sorts. Whilst not drawn to the kitchen, time was anchored, for her, in traditions around food. Fish on Good Friday, Ham on Christmas day, Hot Cross Buns, Plum Pudding all the menu points that anchor us to time on the calendar, a particular holiday, its traditions and memories. 

Perhaps it’s this anchoring sense of food at the table at particular points on the calendar that motivated her unwitting establishment of traditions outside those more notable days across the year. Little edible signposts we could rely on during the week, a meal to look forward to. Saturdays were highlighted but one such tradition. I’m not sure if this little reward of a favourite lunch after all the hubbub of life tasks was something for mum to look forward to and offer her an edible pat on the back for the morning’s hard work or for us all to look forward to. Our family’s love of a traditional pastie runs deep and for a long time this was what we all looked forward to on Saturdays. Not the home-made variety like my Nana made and which motivated my version but ones from our favourite local bakery. Warm steaming vegies and meat encased in handmade flaky pastry that rained down on the plate with each bite just like a home-made one and almost as good, and that little pleasure at the end of all the rushing. Another Saturday lunch that featured regularly was one that remains a firm favourite of mine and one I offer you my riff on today.

Arriving at the deli counter at the supermarket for the weeks sliced ham and bacon the comforting smell of roast chicken emerging from the rotisserie was one that drew oos and ahhs from shoppers and one my Mum loved. Stopping at the bakery on the way to the car with her laden trolley she’d pick up fresh bread, loading everything up, rushing to return to pick me up and get home for lunch with all the bulging brown paper bags in the back (remember those?). Skipping down the path towards my mum waving form the driver’s seat, I remember being greeted by the aromas of fresh bread and roast chicken mingling together wrapping me in anticipation for the empty tummy I carried, that tummy rumbling the whole way home. Rushing to carry bags inside we’d pop everything away before the chicken cooled too much. Rewarded for our haste we’d then sit down to thick, fluffy slices of fragrant, still warm, white bread sandwiched around miraculously still steaming succulent chicken pulled from a just roasted bird. Such a simple sambo is not one I make very often these days but on the very odd occasion when I do I’m still overwhelmed with the memories and nostalgia of those very simple lunches shared by mum and I after our very different but busy Saturday mornings. 

But I do still love a chicken sandwich and as is my want I’ve embellished the simple version of my childhood to something a little more sophisticated though still somehow quite simple and still evocative of oos and ahhs.

Ingredients:

200 gm cooked cubed chicken cooled **

100 grams chopped bacon fried off to just crispy, cooled

2 Tb garlic aioli

2 Tb plain mayonnaise like Kewpie

1 Tb sour cream

1 Tb finely chopped fresh chives *

1 Tb roughly chopped pistachios

Freshly ground black pepper to taste.

Bread or bread rolls and embellishments such as cheese and salad accoutrements of your choice. I’ve used crusty Italian style ciabatta rolls, cos/romaine lettuce, swiss cheese and fresh tomato.

Method:

Combine all ingredients mixing well. You can adjust the aioli, mayo and sour cream to your preference tasting as you go but I do suggest you maintain the proportions to preserve the flavour. I prefer this amount to help hold everything together well and because, well frankly, it’s DELICIOUS!! The mixture can be made ahead and stored in an airtight container until ready to make your sandwiches. You may like to make ahead like this to take to a picnic or away on a weekend jaunt.

This amount makes 3-4 rolls/sandwiches generously filled. If the chicken is chopped more finely you can make a more delicate sandwich for a refined affair or luncheon shared table perhaps, with some finely sliced iceberg lettuce or cucumber slices.

Notes:

** I’ve used a store bought roast chicken known in Australia as BBQ or Chargilled BBQ chicken and overseas as Rotisserie Chicken.

*If fresh chives are unavailable you can use ½ Tb of dried chives or even one spring onion/scallion finely chopped.

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.

White Chocolate and Vanilla Cookies

As you cross the freeway from one side of the verdant hills of Gippsland to the other the landscape opens up. The road becomes a little rough reminding you that you’re on that ‘road less travelled,’ pot holes and bumps slow you down, the road narrows and the hum of commuter traffic recedes. Fields stretch out left and right, dairy and beef farms, wineries and small hamlets dot the landscape as you climb in to the hills and towards one of the area’s loveliest bush walking destinations.

We’d set off in this direction a second day in a row having checked out a winery in the area the previous day. Visiting dear friends who’ve embarked on their own tree change we were keen to get out again, explore the area and stretch the legs. My husband suggested this jaunt, one, taking us up into the gentle rolling hills of Bunyip State Park. Through winding roads lined with eucalypts and ferns the route ascends the park’s eastern trail with views sweeping out across to the west horizon. The route is shaded by the canopy of towering mountain ash and fringed with stunning emerald green fern forming home to a diverse range of small wildlife. You quite literally feel yourself breathe out reaching to let the car window down a little taking in the birdsong and cool forest air as you drive the sweeping bends. After a small disagreement with google maps we found our destination, setting off, the Mr, myself, our friends and their three adult daughters found the small opening in the roadside growth and began our walk. Lush rain forest greeted us only a few steps in, the music of waters gently meandering the bordering streams, our soundtrack. We naturally break into two groups, the young and fit up front and those preferring to take in the scenery at a gentler pace, shall we say, bringing up the rear. Fallen leaves form a carpet for our footfall and release an earthy fragrance with each step up the slope of the trail. Moist earth creates a home for fungus and cools the air as we walk, talking, solving the problems of the world and also just taking in the forest calm…whilst inhaling the fresh mountain air….or puffing and panting labouring up the hill side climb….whichever way you want to look at it. Sometimes the forest is silent but as the path twist and turns forward the whooshing of bubbling waters encourages us onwards, the occasional sound of a distant car reminding us we’re not too far from civilisation. Before too long the sounds of gushing water grow nearer and the happy voices of the forward party rejoicing at reaching our destination become louder as we approach, edging us to our destination. We’re rewarded with the stunning view of waters cascading over boulders, a soft mist moistening our faces and a breeze coming off the rushing torrent. After stopping a while taking in the view we start the trek back. Taking the view from the reverse perspective always shows a landscape in a different light. I stop to take more photos having already shot many along the walk in. The walk back a seemingly easier one, a trek that feels like it’s all downhill, in the best possible way.

Or maybe the walk back to the car and picnic ground was easier, with the knowledge that a morning tea picnic awaited. Whilst beautiful, our walk did get the legs working, filling our lungs with fresh forest air and working up a bit of an appetite and one deserving of the cake and bickies I’d baked the day before. Thinking about those treats on the walk back, hungry, I started imagining some other ideas for baked goods I could try. Remembering a can of condensed milk in the pantry at home I considered a slice perhaps, but then wondered if you could make cookies with it.

We gobbled up the goodies I had made but over the next couple days, many baking trays and a few large jars full of variations on the theme I’ve come up with the quickest, yummiest vanilla white chocolate cookie I’ve ever made. One you can throw together in a hurry when an impromptu country drive and bushwalk beckons.

Ingredients:

150 gm of soft butter

½ C sweetened condensed milk

¼ C brown sugar firmly packed

1 tsp vanilla paste/extract

2 tsp miso paste

300 gm SR flour

150 gm white chocolate chopped

Method:

Preheat oven to 160c (fan forced). Line two large baking trays with baking paper and set aside.

In a stand mixer or large bowl using electric hand beaters, combine butter, milk, sugar, vanilla, and miso. Mix on low until everything has just come together then increase speed to med-high and beat until light and fluffy. Stop beaters, add flour and mix on low speed until just combined. Add chopped chocolate and continue folding together with a wooden spoon until completely combined.

Roll into walnut size balls spaced on the trays to allow space for a little spread. Pop in the preheated oven and bake for 12-14 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool for a few mins before laying out on a wire rack to cool completely, though quality control tasting while still warm is always ‘essential.’

Makes 40 small cookies

Notes:

*For a different flavour you can add peanut butter in place of the miso.

*Soft butter? Let’s face it, most of us don’t plan for butter creaming and whipping indeed the call to bake something yummy usually comes out of the blue. If you’re like me and not an organised baker you can slice up the cold butter, pop it on a small plate and warm it in the microwave on 10 second bursts, checking after each 10 seconds to make sure you don’t overdo it and melt the butter. But hey if you do, keep going until you brown that butter and make this instead.

Sunshine Tart

Does the colour of the food we eat affect its flavour? When you google this question, the rabbit hole of the internet elicits 304,000,000 responses. I’m clearly not the first person to ponder this. There’s a plethora of studies researching the impact of colour on flavour from a molecular perspective, the science of the visual and indeed its interaction with the other senses co-mingling to form an impact on the palate is not new. Findings from such research is used far and wide by food producers and manufacturers in an attempt to entice our dollars from our wallets, food scientists wanting to manipulate ingredients to whet our appetites more and visual creators like myself to draw the eye in and evoke emotions and feelings around the food featured in the imagery we create. And it’s on this last piece where my intrigue sits. If colour does indeed influence flavour does it do so by affecting the emotions and visceral reactions it sparks when we see a dish featuring particular reactions?

We use colour to judge food every day, often times without even realising. Imagine, if you will, that piece of steak in the fridge no longer a shiny, healthy, blood red denoting freshness and flavour, it’s lack of fleshy shine and colour making us turn our noses up instantly before we’ve even ventured a smell to check. Fresh herbs who’s emerald green chlorophyl fuelled verdancy as they age, wilting and fading to a dull earthy green immediately switching our thoughts to imagine a lack or perfume and vigour when sprinkled onto a hot dish as a final flourish. And those strawberries and raspberries who’s glistening ruby tinge have lost their lustre waning to a dull garnet shade turning our thoughts away from berry jewelled desserts and leading us to fruity flavourful smoothies. The march of a few days in the fridge or pantry pushing prime harvest colours to different shades on the one hand can take our minds from one dish to another even though at times such maturity can also signify an evolution of flavours held by that piece of produce.

But it’s not just the knowledge of the food colours that drives our thoughts on how to use them and what they’ll taste like there’s also a strong connection to how they’ll make us feel as we consume them in whatever dish we create. There’s a theory that the colour blue for example is appetite suppressing. For me, however, it sparks memories of visiting my grandmother who always kept a stash of the uniquely Australian milkshake syrup blue heaven in the pantry. A combination of vanilla and raspberry flavouring tinted with blue colouring (quite possibly not at all good for us) it does indeed always bring a smile to my face and strangely if I’m asked to describe the flavour of blue that’s precisely what comes to mind. Or the rich red of a plump tomato still warm from summer’s glow forming the base for a bowl of spaghetti making me think of both my child self and my own sons as small children wrangling wiggly strands of pasta, filling our bellies with a traditional hearty and comforting ragu. Hungry tummies sated by a bowl of what feels like love, ironically a food, the same traditional colour of love. And of course the beautiful colours and tones of sunshine, from yellow all the way through the spectrum to orange. Tones that evoke feelings of joy through to cosiness crossing seasons from summer’s sparkling sunshiney days to autumn’s days of shinking daylight, falling leaves and cosy nights. Where squash and pumpkin appear on the menu and fruit snacks feature a selection of mandarin and figs as one orchard fruit wanes in favour of the next and summer’s harvest draws to an end mingling on menus with the burgeoning harvest of the dawning season. The two coming together always puts me in mind of comforting food, ones which immediately bring warmth and contentment to mind. Think pumpkin and tomato soups, peach and raspberry galette or perhaps my Sunshine Tart.

A simple tart of gently cooked creamy leak, butter and thyme under ricotta and egg whipped together, dotted with cubes of caramelised roast pumpkin and the last of summer’s cherry tomatoes encased in flaky filo pastry bridges the two season as one shifts to the next. When you crave more than the light salads of summer but are not quite ready for the heartier fare of the cooler months a tart can be just the thing. The flaky filo pastry gives this tart satisfying crispness of pastry without being heavy, the ricotta filling a smooth salty foil for the sweet luscious veg and she’s delicious both warm for dinner and cold in a lunchbox or picnic enjoying the last of the temperate warm days.

And you’ll feel warm, cosy and joyful at the end of a colourful slice too. Indeed maybe next time you see those autumnal tones in nature you’ll think about sunshine tart and smile just a little.

Ingredients:

150 gm of pumpkin cut into cubes of roughly 2cm

1 leek white part only, sliced and washed if necessary

1 tsp fresh thyme leaves, roughly chopped

1 tb Extra virgin olive oil

10 gm butter

500 gm fresh ricotta ( the firm one shaped like a dome not the spreadable variety in a tub)

2 eggs beaten

20 gm finely grated romano or parmesan cheese ( please grate yourself it does make a difference. The pre-grated style is very coarse)

½ tsp salt

Freshly ground black pepper

2 Tbs sour cream

100 gm cherry tomatoes halved

4 sheets of filo pastry

Extra melted butter for layering pastry

1 tsp dried sweet bell pepper flakes

½ tsp of dried oregano

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c. Toss pumpkin cubes in a couple teaspoons of olive oil spread in a single layer on an oven tray lined with baking paper and roast in the oven for 15 minutes. They won’t be completely good but that’s fine, they’ll finish in tart.

Warm a medium pan on the stove over low hear with the olive oil and butter. Tumble in the leek and thyme and cook gently until soft and almost creamy, 5-10 minutes over a low heat. Remove from heat and cool on a plate to speed up the cooling process.

Combine the ricotta, crumbled, beaten eggs, grated cheese salt and pepper. Whip together with a whisk and set aside.

Grease a 24 cm, loose bottomed flan tin. Without cutting to shape lay one layer of fil across the tin gently moving it into the edges. Lightly brush with melted butter. Lay a second sheet perpendicular across the first and again a light brush with butter. Repeat twice more turning 90 degrees each time until all four sheets are layered in the tin. Lightly dot butter on the edges and gently scrunch to form a crust edge.

Spread the leek evenly across the base. Spoon the ricotta mixture over the leek and gently smooth over. Dot the cooled pumpkin pieces and tomatoes over the ricotta and sprinkle over the red pepper flakes and oregano. Pop in the oven for 45-50, turning 90 degrees halfway through to ensure the pastry crust edges cook evenly.

Allow to cool for at least 10 minutes before serving.