Chrunchy Chai Cookies

A hasty farewell with my boy in the carpark of an outback airport and many things left unsaid. Gosh I miss him, maybe I’ll send him something from home.

A friend/neighbour making the sad trek home to the UK to farewell a treasured uncle. Gosh between her travels and ours I haven’t seen her for weeks. Must try and get her over for a coffee before she leaves.

A dear friend interstate with worrying health news. She feels so far away, I wish I could do something to support her. Maybe I’ll send her a care package.

Maybe I’ll make cookies. Sturdy, homely ones that stand up to travel and last in a cookie jar that I can make in a big batch and share out.

I was first introduced to the idea of sending a gift of cookies by Amy Minichello. Unexpectedly, in the mail, I received a package. Opening it curiously not knowing what was inside a smile crept across my face as the contents emerged. Chewy, chocolaty, delicious cookies were nestled inside with a sweet note of thanks for some work we’d done together. I was so touched by the gift and thrilled to tear open the package and tuck in. She published the recipe in beautiful book Recipes in the Mail if you’re looking for a reliable recipe to gift to someone special.

There’s something special about the gift of cookies or biscuits as we more commonly call them. Sturdier than a cake, they’re small treats that can take many different guises. I’m reminded of the famed story of the Anzac biscuits baked by women on home shores missing their men off at a war and desperate to reach across the ocean with a small treat from home. A small plate of cookies shared with a pal over a cuppa while highs and lows are shared or a snack grabbed by a loved one from a stocked up cookie jar, they’re often something that can be the start of a conversation or something to hold and nibble on while the ‘problems of the world’ are unpacked and re-packaged. They take little effort for big punch. Little nuggets of love and comfort as it were, butter sugar and a few little extras welded together.

When I first started this blog I kicked off with a cake. With a tender golden crumb, it was gently spiced and easily thrown together using a melt and mix technique. It remains a reader favourite with some of the highest downloads of all my recipes. When I was considering what biscuit I could create to share I was reminded of the qualities of that cake. Its simple collection of ingredients with the Chai doing the heavy lifting for character and keeping the method simple has made it a classic toolbox cake you can think of as a reliable stand by. I wanted a bicky with the same qualities, one that is impossible to walk past when it fills the cookie jar and one that elicits joy when opened in a surprise package.

So after some trial and error I have a bicky good for sending love, sharing and dunking in a cuppa while you share stories and company with a pal.

**I use this Chai mix. It’s one of an instant warm drink style where you combine it with hot milk like you would a hot chocolate mix rather than a more traditional chai for steeping. If Grounded Pleasures brand isn’t available to you one of a similar nature is available in supermarkets in the coffee and tea aisle.

Ingredients:

180 gm butter softened and cut into cubes

110 gm caster sugar

120 gm brown sugar

1 tsp vanilla paste

1 Tb honey

1 egg beaten and at room temperature

40 gm chai powder

310 gm plain flour

1 ½ tsp baking powder

¼ tsp salt flakes

Method:

In a large bowl combine chai, flour, baking powder and salt. Mix with a whisk and set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, combine the soft butter, sugars, vanilla and honey. Beginning on low-med speed mix until combined then increase to med-high until creamed and lighter in colour. You’ll need to stop a couple time to scrape down to ensure it’s thoroughly combined. No need to rush this stage, keep yourself busy tidying up while you wait, a watched mixer never mixes. Scrape down again tip in the egg. Starting on medium until combined then increase to high until completely creamed and not curdled. This is why you want the egg at room temp. If you add a cold egg at this point it won’t amalgamate completely and appear curdled.

Now add in half the combined dry ingredients and mix on low speed until just mixed, there’ll still be flour at the bottom. Add in the remaining dry ingredients and continue mixing another minute or two until mostly combine. Remove bowl from stand and finish mixing with a wooden spoon or your hands. Now the agonising part if you have a cookie craving, wrap the whole lot in cling wrap and pop in the fridge for at least two hours but preferably overnight if you can. I know, I’m sorry but it really helps the dry ingredients completely absorb the moisture and cook evenly.

When you’re ready to cook preheat oven to 180c and line two cookie sheet trays with baking paper. If you have scales measure small balls of dough to 25gm each otherwise aim for small balls sized between walnut and golf balls. Place them on the tray with a little space between them and press them down using a fork twice making a cross pattern. Pop in the oven and cook 12-15 minutes, they’re done when browned evenly and hold firmly together when nudged gently. Allow to cool briefly on the tray then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Store in an air tight container or wrap well and send to a mate.

Croque Bloke

Bloke is a slang term for a man in the United Kingdom, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa.

The gentle swooshing sounds of the crystalline waters of the Indian Ocean lap at my submerged feet. Not too warm nor too cold, goldilocks temperature. Toes wiggle in soft white sand, diamond sparkles glisten and dance like fireworks on water the colour of a spectrum of every shade of sapphire and emerald gemstones. A gentle breeze moves my hair and brushes my face. Around me the sounds of my son and his partner chattering with my husband, a dog barks at his owner asking for one more throw of the ball and kids excitedly run to the ice cream van. Whales play and breech near the horizon, turtles were here earlier popping their heads up and dolphins cruise by in the distance. The desert at my back the sun warming my face. I close my eyes and inhale a few moments of perfection.

I can see now why my son and his girl stopped here on their ‘big lap’ of our island home. It’s a place that does stop you in your tracks. The gulf a winter home to marine mammals from around the globe who somehow find their way back to the sanctuary of Australia’s most westerly point where nature has created a rich diverse and safe haven for their winter rest. Much like many travellers, like my boy.

Reaching the bottom of the plane’s stairway after landing couldn’t come fast enough knowing he was in the terminal waiting for us. It’s always a gift and precious spending time with our kids especially now they’re adults. The joy and pride that swells in our chests watching them chase dreams in adventure and exploration is immeasurable. It knocks me sidewise sometimes. As does the landscape we landed in. What an overwhelming week.

Aside from swimming in the Indian Ocean we soaked up some of his adventurous life. We went fishing for squid for dinner, unsuccessfully, time limited by my lack of sea sickness meds. We explored the Ningaloo reef in search of the elusive whale sharks the area is famous for and marvelled at the pristine exquisiteness of beaches blanketed in sand almost snow white and indescribably soft and caught fish for a dinner cooked for us by our wonderful, loved host.

He describes Exmouth as a place where the desert meets the sea. It’s a place where red dirt nudges up against white sand. We walked a gorge high above the coast with layers of sandstone and ochre of every colour of the desert, views sweeping in all directions as far as the eye could see and he took us to a cattle station inland. We camped near fine specimens of prime cattle and dined under the milky way with hundreds of other travellers who’d arrived from near and far for the famous burger night. The food was delicious, the setting sublime.

Finally after waking to the lowing of a mob of cattle, a delicious breakfast of the fluffiest scones I’ve ever eaten and amazing coffee ( yes all the way out there) we sadly wandered back to the airport. Tears, hugs and words of gratitude, love and pride shared we bid him and his girl goodbye.

Goodbyes with our boys are always sad. They always leave me missing them and each goodbye gets harder. Whilst I’m extremely grateful for the time we had together and our lad’s wonderful itinerary he’d planned for us this goodbye felt a little bit harder. They head off soon for the next part of their adventure. Travelling north and deep into the Kimberley towards the top end, they’ll see and experience even more wonderful sites and experiences. I’m even a little bit envious but will miss them and anxiously await each call and update until they return to some level of civilisation.

They’ll be fine though, he’s a very capable and resilient traveller and man. He’s also very adaptable and a wonderful cook. When I returned home to freezing Melbourne (literally freezing with sub-zero temps every night since returning) aside from needing to stay warm I also had a yearning for comfort food. Something that reminded me of my boys and that I think they’d enjoy. Hearty and delicious and easy to whip up. A toasty with some extra love from a Mumma’s heart.

An Aussie take on the French classic of a Croque Monsieur with far more ease and much quicker to the plate of a hungry bloke and his companion.

Below are instructions for one sandwich, scale up as required.

Ingredients:

2 slices of sourdough or your favourite bread. If you’re using fluffy sandwich loaf bread day old or more is best.

1 tsp Dijon mustard (I use this one, it’s insanely delicious)

2 slices good quality thinly sliced ham

Butter for spreading

1 spring onion/scallion. Green part only thinly sliced

Flavourful cheese for melting. I’ve used a mixture of bits from the fridge which this is perfect for. You need enough for two layers of cheese which is another reason it’s perfect for using bits up. I’ve used Irish cheddar and Gruyere.

1 egg

1 Tb cream, sour cream or milk. I prefer sour cream, but you do you.

Olive oil for frying

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c.

In a bowl wide enough for the bread, beat the egg and cream/milk together with a generous grind of black pepper, set aside.

Butter both sides of both slices of bread. On one slice spread the mustard then place a layer of cheese. Top with ham, sprinkle the spring onion over and top with another layer of cheese. Place remaining buttered slice of bread on top. Carefully holding everything together, place the sandwich in the bowl containing the egg mixture and gently press to help it absorb the moisture. Gently and carefully turn the sandwich over to soak up remaining moisture on the other side. Both sides should be well soaked, it helps to leave it to sit for a few moments while you heat the pan giving the sandwich another gentle press to make sure as much egg mix is absorbed as possible.

Place a medium heavy based pan (non-stick if you have one and oven proof. Most handles can withstand a brief period in the oven) over a medium heat with a generous drizzle of olive oil. Once heated reduce heat to low-medium, swirl the oil around to coat the pan. Return the pan to the hob and place the sandwich in the centre of the pan. Cook until the bottom layer of cheese is melty and the bread browned and toasty like French toast would be. Carefully place an egg flip utensil under and your fingers on top and gently turn over keeping everything in place. Cook similarly on second side until golden brown and cheese starting to melty.

 Remove pan from heat and place it in the preheated oven for 3-5 minutes to finish off the cheese in the centre while you potter around tidying up. Remove pan from the oven being very careful and remembering to wrap the handle in a potholder or tea towel. Serve immediately but eat carefully as it’s hot and delicious in the centre.

Old Fashioned Winter Porridge

Last week we happily hosted dear friends from Western Australia in what’s been some of the coldest weather Victoria has endured in many years. It was such a joy to have them with us for the week, tripping around and hanging out together. I love having people visit us for extended stays like this, relaxing together and catching up properly recounting old memories and catching up on life and kids. We met these friends in our Darwin years their friendship treasured and their support like that of family. A few years older than me she was like a big sister to me a few years ahead of me in life stages and he my husband’s fishing buddy and dear mate. Adult friendships, especially ones forged in such circumstances have their own unique qualities and longevity, or maybe that’s just me, either way their company is always relished with gratitude and joy. We wandered through forests (he’s a forester) dined on delicious food (obviously) and of course I cooked for them.

Amidst all that I also had a shoot for a favourite client, creating images for her delicious Sicilian family recipes.

So this week has been a quiet one. Editing and delivering last week’s shoot, hiding from the polar blast engulfing most of Australia and excitedly getting organised for a holiday. Yes!  A holiday. I’m super excited, we’re off to visit our son in remote WA where the desert meets the Indian Ocean. He has big plans to chase adventures looking for whale sharks, catching beautiful fish for dinner and walking in the red dirt and white sands of the west. I’m insanely excited to see he and his partner and the adventurous life they enjoy there. I’m also excited for my skin to be warmed by sunshine and not chilled by arctic air.

Until then the only thing encouraging me to pull the covers back in the morning and let the morning’s cool hit my skin is the promise of a breakfast that warms from within. Obvious though it seems I’m often asked how I make my porridge. Myself included in the past I think we all fall under the spell of portioned ingredients offering the promise of easy preparation. Sachets of instant porridge were my go-to for a long time. I don’t remember the moment I changed to whole oats though suspect it was something to do with a craving and almost empty larder. As a lover of baking there’s often rolled oats in the pantry and so my method of making porridge evolved. My tummy rumbles easily so a little tweak with the addition of chia usually keeps this at bay with the added benefits of all the goodness packed into those tiny little seeds. To top it off for a little lushness I often have a fruit compote in the fridge. This one is a long-time favourite but nothing goes past a classic apple compote. Today’s one is inspired by an idea from Emelia Jackson’s glorious baking book and her apple pie cake where she bakes apples in between the cake batter. While preparing her batter she leaves the apple to macerate in sugar and spice. The first time I did this I noticed the delicious syrup that developed while the ingredients sat awaiting their moment in the recipe. It occurred to me this would be an interesting way to make a compote. So with a few tweaks this is my new method, leaving the ingredients to do the work for a few minutes while I tidy up then a bit of time on the stove to finish the job. In the fridge and boom the perfect topping for porridge or yoghurt.

So I leave you with my favourite breakfast to stay warm as the next wave of weather sweeps toward us while I take a little break with the family next week. I’ll be back after my red dirt adventure to greet August and report back.

Stay Warm!

The porridge recipe serves one, scale up as required.

Apple Compote:

2 Large apples peeled and thinly sliced. Cooking apples like Granny Smith work well though I love Cosmic Crisp if they’re available in your area.

1 ½ Tb brown sugar

2 tsp white sugar

¾ tsp cinnamon

1 ½ tsp vanilla paste

1 tb water

Combine all ingredients, giving them a good stir, in a small saucepan except the water while you tidy up, make a cuppa, have a scroll, whatever keeps you busy for at least 15 minutes but up to 30 minutes while the sugars and juices from the apple find each other and do their thing.

Add the Tb of water and set the pot over a medium heat stirring frequently and keeping an eye on things while the sugar dissolves. Reduce heat to low and simmer until apple is just tender but not soft/mashable. We want to retain a little bite but not let it get mushy, it will keep softening in it’s own heat while it cools. It’s a recipe that requires your attention for it’s short cooking time, think of it as cooking mindfulness or meditation…..or a chance to stay warm near a stove.

When softened removed from heat, tip into a sealable tub and allow to cool before covering and popping in the fridge. It will last a week in the fridge awaiting you in the morning for an easy breaky zhoosh up.

Porridge:

¼ c rolled oats. Avoid using quick oats, they won’t keep you full and have been more processed than rolled losing some of their benefits.

2 tsps chia seeds

2/3 c of your preferred milk. Alt milks are fine, I use Almond.

½ cup cold water

1 tsp vanilla paste or extract

¼ tsp of cinnamon

Scant pinch of salt (fine not flakes in this instance)

Combine all ingredients in a small saucepan and stir to combine thoroughly. Place pot over a medium heat stirring occasionally to continue to combine the ingredients. Once bubbles appear around the edges, 2-3 minutes, reduce heat to medium-low and allow to simmer while you make your morning coffee and grab your apple from the fridge, around 8 minutes. You need to keep an eye on things to prevent it from sticking and or drying out giving the mixture a stir scraping the sides a few times and reduce to low if necessary.

Remove from heat once oats are tender and chia cooked. Pour into a bowl, top with apple compote, a sprinkle of your favourite nuts, a drizzle of honey or maple syrup and a dollop of Greek yoghurt.

**Berries are also delicious sprinkle on while hot allowing them to soften in the porridge’s heat. I also love slices of banana.

Cauliflower and Fennel Soup

As the bowl was placed in front of me I was both curious and cautious. The room was full of happy relaxed diners, laughter rang through the air, logs burning in the old wrought hearth warmed the space as I responded to questions of what was on the menu. I didn’t know the answer. To the bemusement of all my friends I’d allowed our hosts to decide and allowed myself to relax and enjoy my 30th birthday.

Set in rainforested hills in the eastern ranges the gorgeous old homestead and outer buildings emerged through the ancient tree ferned garden below the canopy of giant snow gums. Many of us, young parents, away for a weekend sans children had been looking forward to our little mini break to celebrate my birthday not the least of whom me. I’d considered a number of options for my celebration but settled on the homestead tucked away in the forest with windows that framed the lush landscape, comfy beds and lovely hosts who offered to cook dinner for us all. Uncharacteristically for me and after several calls from our hosts I’d relinquished the menu to their experience and skilled hands asking just for a meal to warm everyone up. You see I’m a July baby and knew our night away in the hills would be chilled by the soft filter of rolling mists through the densely forested landscape.

As a busy young mum of a toddler the days leading up to the event were, as always, busy. It wasn’t, however, as busy as it would have been had we self-catered thankfully, which left me time to cook…of course. Grateful for everyone’s efforts in making the effort and journey to our little mid-winter escape I decided to make small gifts of thanks to leave for them on their pillows for a midnight snack. We arrived first, settled in and took a walk to reacquaint ourselves with the setting. Popping in and out of everyone’s rooms I left little bags of my homemade white chocolate truffles in their rooms and settled in to await everyone’s arrival.

Amongst the old turn of the century buildings was an old church that acted as common area and lounge. Together we all relaxed after arriving and settled in enjoying some nibbles and bubbles.

As the fog rolled in and the sun set we all walked over to the main house no one more excited than me to be cooked for. I love winter food and surprisingly was looking forward to the surprise of a menu in which I’d had no input…most unlike me. Still rubbing my hands together to try and warm them a bowl of soup, steam curling up off the surface was a welcome offering. Inhaling the aroma rising up I couldn’t quite place the ingredients. Mostly a creamy coloured concoction it smelt delicious and appeared thick and hearty. Bringing a full spoon to my lips it was a strange feeling not knowing what I was about to eat. It seemed perhaps everyone felt the same as a hush settled over the room and we all took our first taste. Murmurs of approval replaced the hush as everyone started discussing the first course also trying to place the delicious flavours until one friend, a country girl, suggested perhaps cauliflower. Not an ingredient widely embraced 20, ahem, plus years ago. Some weren’t sure, others confirmed yes it was indeed cauli and indeed our chef confirmed Cauliflower and Parmesan soup.

Like many dining experiences it opened my eyes to new flavours. It taught me about embracing and making the most of what the season offers and to be creative with those ingredients.

I’ve made a soup similar to that one many times. It always makes me smile in the way sensory memories do. But more recently, in my lifelong journey with ingredients and flavour, I’ve become enamoured with fennel. It’s super versatile, cheap and uniquely flavourful. There’s loads of ways to cook and enjoy fennel but one I’m particularly loving is in soup. Bringing this new love together with winter cauliflower and the lessons learned that night in the verdant misty hills of eastern Victoria I can now warm cold hands, on Cauliflower and Fennel Soup.

Ingredients:

1 Tb olive oil

1 small onion roughly chopped

300gm/1 small fennel or half a large one trimmed of green stalks and base and roughly chopped

500gm roughly chopped cauliflower into pieces the size of cherry tomatoes or big strawberries

I garlic clove chopped

1 tsp nutmeg freshly grated if possible

30 gm butter

1 litre chicken or vegetable stock.

In a large heavy based pot, such as a cast iron one if you have one, heat the olive oil over low heat. Add the fennel and onion and cook gently for five minutes. When softened and starting to turn opaque add the cauli, garlic, nutmeg and butter and again cook gently five minutes stirring a few times to keep things moving and prevent anything from browning. Increase heat to medium, pour in the stock and bring to the boil. Once boiling reduce heat back down to low and simmer for 30-40 minutes until the vegetables are able to be mashed by a fork. Turn heat off and allow it too cool slightly for 10-15 minutes. Transfer to a blender or food processor and briefly whizz until smooth (as pictured)**. Season with salt and pepper return to wiped out pot and gently warm to serve.

** you can also use a stick blender for this step if that’s what you have.

You might also like to stir in something a little cream to make it even richer, sour cream is particularly good.

Three Cheese Scones

Seven years ago we renovated our kitchen. My original plan was to refurbish the existing, serviceable footprint with a few tweaks. A recurring oven fault and tight squeeze around the dinner table were the tipping points, a third thermostat in 8 years on a supposedly high-quality oven will do that. While waving my arms around sharing my vision with my co-chair of Frawley Inc I noticed his distraction and, as you can probably imagine, asked if he was listening. Then he shared his vision. A far bigger project. One involving the deletion of a wall and moving of the whole kitchen to the room behind the wall.

The room in question was an under used home theatre style room we’d inherited on purchasing the home. It all seemed a bit fabulous and exciting when we bought the house, the notion of a fancy home theatre room, but in reality in the space it inhabited with young kids it just never worked. Consequently, it sat largely unused taking up space, a great source of frustration but a puzzle I didn’t know what to do with. Relinquishing the space he imagined as a haven, my husband made his own suggestion expanding the existing kitchen to be an enlarged dining and relaxation space and pushing the kitchen into the ‘home theatre’ area. In doing this we were able to deal with a pesky aspect of a staircase encroaching into the room and hide it in a butler’s pantry and most importantly take advantage of the natural light from a floor to ceiling window. With stars in my eyes imagining my new food and cooking temple I was laser focussed on appliances, benches, storage and design. It felt like my own taj mahal story, boy builds temple of love for girl, minus the tomb factor of course… a stretch? Not for this starry-eyed cook, I was on board and so the ‘project’ began.

It was a largely hurdle free project, presenting few hiccups and coming together as we imagined. My beautiful Falcon oven, engineered stone bench, stone sink and walk in pantry. She was a thing of beauty. I felt inspired and on completion stood at my bench like a queen presiding over my kingdom. After unpacking and restoring the space to a liveable workable hub for the family, my cooking life returned to normal. The flow of the day beginning and ending in our sparkling new white kitchen my routine and life revolved around the new room. I’d gained room to move and create, store my ever-growing collection of cooking paraphernalia and host friends and family. What I didn’t anticipate amidst our winter build was the warmth and light. Facing the optimal southern hemisphere northern aspect our kitchen became an area flooded with gorgeous all-encompassing sunshine fuelled light. Shadows danced across the floor and bench gamboling like an aurora, starburst patterns peaked through the trees adorning the corners of the windows and warmth flooded the room. We embarked on our renovation in winter. Obsessed with all that would come in my new kitchen dreaming only of the food and joy it would bring I never thought of the architectural aspect in any great detail apart from the obvious internal aspects. But on that first morning alone in my glorious light filled hearth of home, coffee in hand, cookbooks spread before me I was struck by my warm back. Bathed in winter sunshine, gorgeous crystal light and birdsong I was filled with joy. He was right (don’t tell him I said that), it was the perfect idea.

Born of a wonderful idea my kitchen has become home to many of my ideas. The birthplace of inspiration for all manner of creations some triumphs, some mainstays and some unmentionable ‘lessons’ committed to the ranks of ‘lessons learned.’ Thankfully the renovation was not a lesson learned but rather a triumph and has created a place for all to gather.

As a family we’ve gathered at the end of our days to debrief while I cook dinner, or on weekends to enjoy breakfast and catch up in a more relaxed fashion. With our friends we’ve kicked off many evenings in our kitchen enjoying a welcoming drink while we indulge in a pre-dinner nibble and of course we’ve gathered for a coffee and catch up with a morning or arvo tea snack. Three Cheese Scones seem to fit many of these occasions. Made small to enjoy with a glass of bubbly, perhaps hot with lashings of butter for a weekend breaky with eggs, after school to fill hungry bellies and soothe a day away or to split with a pal bathed in beautiful winter sunshine warming hearts, minds and bellies.

Ingredients:

450 gm (2 ½ C) self raising flour

½ tsp dry mustard

¾ tsp salt flakes

1 ½ tbs chopped fresh chives (dried is fine if that’s all you have, use 1 Tb)

90 gm cubed cold butter

75 gm grated cheddar cheese

20 gm finely grated fresh parmesan cheese

40 gm crumbled Greek feta cheese

350 ml buttermilk plus a spoonful extra to brush/glaze the scones before baking

Method:

Preheat oven to 200c and line a large baking sheet with baking paper.

In a large bowl combine dry ingredients and chives and mix using a whisk. Scatter in butter cubes and rub in until butter is well combined, some butter lumps are fine. Sprinkle in cheese and lightly toss together with your fingers tossing from the bottom to the top to evenly distribute.

Make a well in the centre and pour in the buttermilk. Using a butter knife or palette knife mix through to a shaggy dough. Tip onto bench and using your hands, gently bring any remaining dry bits together. Once combined gently press (don’t use a rolling pin just gently press with your hands) out to a rectangle roughly 24cm x 14cm cut in half forming two pieces 12x14 and place one on top of the other. Press out gently again to form a 20cm x 15cm rectangle. Now cut into 12 pieces cutting three by four pieces. Place your square scones on the tray, brush tops with remaining buttermilk and pop in the oven. Bake for 18 minutes or until golden brown on the tops.

Allow to cool five minutes while you boil the kettle, serve broken apart not cut and spread with lashings of butter.

You could make these in smaller sized scones and serves with a charcuterie platter and drinks. They’ll also be delicious with salmon and pikcles.

Pear and Blueberry Cobbler

We weren’t big dessert eaters growing up. Mum wasn’t a sweet tooth, much to Dad’s chagrin, so for her the purchase and preparation of sweets just wasn’t a priority. The occasional tub of ice cream would appear when I badgered her at the supermarket, sometimes jelly and other times a packet pudding when the urge took hold, but until I was a teen and keen cook myself no dessert.

My dad the sweet tooth would lean into tinned fruit as a substitute or when he was particularly motivated stewed fruit. I wasn’t a big fruit eater as a child so the idea of cooked fruit was a big stretch, unless of course it was wrapped in pastry or hiding under a crumble topping. Like many Australian households our cupboards were well filled with cans of preserved fruit, peaches, apricots, pears and the ubiquitous two fruits not that I’m sure what two actually constituted ‘Two Fruits.’ I never really favoured those either to be honest though Dad always said ‘eat some fruit, it’s good for you.’ So muddle through I would though not a fan of the texture and sweetness of the canned variety.

I think on reflection it’s a generational thing. My parents, both the offspring of war and great depression survivors, had been served fruit prepared like this as an economic alternative. Fresh fruit wasn’t as widely consumed or favoured, nor indeed available. Whilst in more recent history we’ve turned to fresh fruit for lunch boxes and snacks and have been able to offer a wide variety of options to our kids. They’re convenient, easily eaten and if purchased in season affordable. Perhaps this variety and availability has pulled us away from stewed and preserved fruit and our tastebuds become unfamiliar. Maybe our perceptions of fruit of this nature is almost skewed and seen as lesser in some ways.

Last year though cooked fruit and I reacquainted ourselves. Call it curiosity or a craving, I’m not really sure what drove it but I had a yearning for a poached pear. Leaning on google of course this lovely simple dish by famed David Liebowitz was my starting point. I happily enjoyed pears for days for dessert, breakfast and in between. Then this year during a shoot was lucky enough to eat these ruby jewelled delights prepared by my client and realised something. Aside from how delicious poached/stewed/cooked fruit is it’s a bit of a metaphor for how our food knowledge has grown. Previous generations would have cooked fruit in water and sugar. Too many other ingredients wouldn’t have been imagined or considered. Perhaps they’d be seen as indulgent and an unnecessary expense and quite possibly palates of a less adventurous spirit such as those of earlier generations wouldn’t have been enticed by extra flavours. I also realised I’m a similar age to that which my dad was when encouraging me to eat fruit like this. A sign of age? Possibly but probably musings for another day.

So back to that cooked fruit. As I said I’m quite partial to desserts in which fruit is wrapped or topped by something. Whilst I love making pastry, I also love a simple dish that’s moreish, comforting and most importantly easy to throw together. Years ago I was introduced to the idea of a cobbler by a friend. Whilst I’d heard of them on American tv I had no idea what they actually were. I became hooked. This is my version of one perfect for the shift of seasons from autumn to winter. Whilst blueberries have been expensive in parts of Australia recently prices are settling, however if they’re still unavailable in your area you might like to sub in your favourite berry or just leave them out and pay homage to all the gorgeous pears available.

Ingredients:

Fruit:

4 pears, peeled, cored and sliced into 8 wedges. Any variety is fine.

100 gm caster sugar

2 tsp vanilla paste

3 tsp (15ml) apple cider vinegar

200 gm blueberries

1 Tb Water

Cobbler topping:

180 gm butter, cold and cubed

Rind of 1 lemon

½ tsp ground ginger

220 gm self-raising flour

70 gm caster sugar

150 ml butter milk

1 tbs demerara or raw sugar crystals

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c and butter a suitably sized ceramic or glass baking dish. You want the fruit to cover the base in a tightly packed single’ish layer.

Place the fruit, sugar, vanilla, vinegar and water in a wide based saucepan over a low heat. Simmer gently until a syrup forms from the juices seeping out, the sugar has dissolved, the blueberries have softened and the pears are starting to soften but not cooked through, there’ll be purple streaks from the berries starting to stain the syrup. The pears will finish in the oven. Leave to cool slightly in the pot.

Now here’s the game changer. In a food processor or blender in this order place the butter cubes, lemon rind, then all the dry ingredients except the demerara sugar. Pulse 3-4 times until the butter and flour are rubbed together similarly to if you were making scones, little lumps of butter not completely rubbed in is fine. You can of course do this with your hands if you don’t have the relevant appliance. Tip this into a bowl and stir in the buttermilk gently until just combined. It will be wetter than a scone mixture almost like a too thick cake mixture or too wet scone mixture with some dry, buttery crumbs.

In your prepared dish, spread the fruit and syrup across the base. Dollop spoonful’s of cobbler mixture across the top covering the fruit as best you can but don’t worry too much about gaps, the mixture will expand and fill most of these gaps upon cooking. Sprinkle over the demerara sugar and cook for 40-45 minutes or until the top is golden brown. Allow to cool for 15 mins before serving letting the syrup temper and not be too hot to eat. Serve with your favourite creamy addition. I love cream or custard, but hubby likes ice cream, both are delicious.

Potato Pancakes

Today is my 100th edition of Food, Finds and Forays!! Cue champagne corks, poppers and fireworks. I perhaps should have written a recipe for a celebratory cocktail with froth and bubbles or a layered cake, cream oozing from the sides crowned with lavish florals atop lashings of flavoured Swiss meringue butter cream but alas the last two weeks had other plans for me.

Winter arrived like a dame on the stage, arms out swept, cape draping from her arms in grandeur singing her aria. Not an arrival like a loud rock band crashing through the stage curtain with its thunderous arrival, rather a resounding entrance that gets your attention and respect in one fell swoop making you sit up and take notice. The mornings are frosty, the nights chilled and the air icy from foggy starts. With the cold blanket that’s swept over us so too did the season’s ills.

With a winter bug nipping at my heels like a pesky puppy I was grounded last week. A bit of a phantom bug of sorts, one day laid low with an overwhelming malaise the next seemingly fine, finally I was felled with whatever it was. Thankfully not the dreaded winter bug we all dread these days. Hot on the heels of that, a quick winter camping trip on a friend’s farm. Mad perhaps but a lovely getaway none the less. Days of winter sunshine and frosty nights around the campfire was strangely just the ticket.

And now here we are, number 100! So I thought we could have a quick wander down memory lane. Two and a half years ago we started with this humble chai cake. A lovely melt and mix her golden crumb with a hint of gentle spice was both enticing and a firm favourite. Her reliable comfort makes her one of the most cooked recipes on the blog. Following on with easy theme has been some delicious easy to throw together dinners that have been popular with my boys, always simple to put together and usually provided loads of leftovers. This one pot meat, veg and pasta dish from my childhood is one of my faves, but I also love this hacked paella to stave off the craving without the faff.

There’s been a strong curry theme too with another one pot number of chicken and rice or a slow cooked lamb and carrot dish for when there’s a little more time and a wintry noodle soup.

But bakes have always had a big run. Both an easy and heirloom chocolate cake and chocky cookies of course. And because we must keep our fruit up, strawberry sheet cake and raspberry and mandarin olive oil cake.

Sooooo many delish recipes that I still love and am super proud of. It’s actually made it hard to decide how to celebrate reaching 100!!! For a person not known for necessarily lasting for 100 of anything it feels like quite the achievement, one worthy of some grand feast. Perhaps a luxurious fillet of beef with a red wine jus or dinner of Lobster with a rich butter sauce of sorts. Or maybe we should toast 100 with a fine champers and luscious cake of fine crumb, clouds of cream and sugar and fairy floss. Yeah all sounds wonderful but it wouldn’t really be in keeping with its 99 predecessors. You see I like to keep things simple fast and tasty here. So simple it is.

My mum loved potatoes. I mean really loved them. Her love of hot chippies and every other iteration of the humble spud is the stuff of legend. As a career woman who was one of the hardest working women I knew and someone who didn’t like cooking potatoes and meals based around them were often her go to. Comfort food for her after perhaps a hard day’s work and indeed an ingredient she could wield into a plethora of meals. 

A frequent recipe on our tables, one taught to her by her great grandmother was what Mum called Potato Pancakes. Somewhere between a rosti, hash brown and pancake and an homage to her German/Jewish heritage of a few generations prior, they were a family favourite. We had them as the star of the plate, but I prefer to cook them with a salad and oozy poached egg. We’ve also had them with leftover corned beef and smoked salmon amongst other things. A little more substantial than a breakfast rosti, perhaps almost a fritter, they make a delicious base for an easy light meal after a busy day.

So my hundred newsletters are bookended with simple humble recipes full of flavour and easy to put together.

Ingredients:

50 gm (1/4 c & 1Tb) of plain flour

1 tsp salt flakes

¼ tsp grated nutmeg

¼ tsp garlic powder

2 pinches ground white pepper

2 eggs

2 Tb crème fraiche or sour cream

500 gm grated peeled potato lightly squeezed of excess liquid

Oil to fry with

Method:

In a large bowl combine dry ingredients. In a medium bowl beat together eggs and crème fraiche and add to dry ingredients combining well with a whisk. Set aside.

Peel and grate potatoes and gently squeeze excess liquid from the flesh. Discard liquid and tip potato into dry ingredients. Mix well with a large spoon until completely amalgamated. It’s important to only prepare the potatoes just before you’re ready as they will discolour if left too long and more liquid will leach out making it too wet.

Heat a large pan over medium low heat covering the base with the oil. We’re not deep frying but we want the base covered with oil coming up 1-2 mm when the mixture is in the pan.

When ready, using a ¼ cup measure drop mounds of mixture into the hot oil and flatten out. Cook gently until golden brown then flip and cook the other side. It’s important to use a gentle heat  so the potato has time to cook through as well as the out side go crispy and delicious. Cook in batches so as not to over crowd the pan.

Drain on paper towel until they’re all done and serve with your favourite accompaniment.

Makes 8 fritters.

Coffee, Walnut and Ricotta Cake

Last weekend I had lunch with some young friends visiting from America. One asked me what I thought our greatest misconception about them was. It took some thought as someone who’s travelled to the states frequently and who has many American friends. I did, however, point to a significant difference between the two populations…coffee!!

We’re a patchwork of the many streams of immigration our country has enjoyed in it’s short history. The cultures who’ve called our shores home have brought with them many of the comforts of home to stave the homesickness. Thankfully the most significant influences of these facets of home has been food.

Food and all the senses it feeds really does offer us feelings of home, culture and ritual. Australian cuisine is influenced with many of these inspirations from those who’ve joined us. Without a real cuisine of our own we’ve embraced all the new flavours brought here blending them with our own produce, much of which is unique to our land and have created a mosaic cuisine of our own.

You can almost trace our migration patterns through our short history by the food influences in various localities. Victoria, where I live, has become home to many cultures across the annuls of time and consequently developed its own regionality creating a lifestyle akin to living in a four dimensional atlas. The perfect home for a food lover…and a coffee lover.

In the fifties Melbourne became home to a huge post war influx of European migration. With this wave of new citizens came all the wonderful food you can imagine. Much of which was modified to accommodate missing ingredients unavailable here hence the blending of cuisine and produce. Where modifications couldn’t be made folks would grow their own produce, small backyard urban farms springing up throughout the suburbs. Indeed, the surplus creating a conduit for migrants to share and create friendships with neighbours. Alongside this coffee created a bridge to these bonds.

We’d previously been a largely tea drinking society born of British settlement and only having instant coffee available to us but the introduction of traditionally social Europeans and their spectacular brew coffee culture here was born. The rich full flavour of coffee pervaded many our days, percolators, a take on traditional stove top coffee from far away shores, became fashionable and coffee the hot drink served in polite settings. Today with this history in the background we’re known worldwide for the quality of our coffee, our love of the brew and passion for our regular intake.

America, like us, also enjoyed waves of migration influencing their culture and cuisine. Like us some of theirs came from Europe too but perhaps some of the biggest influences came from south of the border bringing influences from central and Latin America and with it their coffee styles. This became glaringly obvious in conversation with my young friends, both from Texas. One who’s been in Australia for a while pulled out her phone to show her pal, who’s on a brief visit, a photo from an electrical goods store in Queensland. The photo showed rows of espresso machines and one filter machine. The girls shocked told me it would be the reverse ‘at home’ where the central American influences have informed a culture of filter coffee makers. Us with our Euro influences on the other hand love espresso machine brews, even at home.

As I tried to explain our obsession I recalled my own love of coffee. Flashes of memory came back to me recalling my parents drinking instant coffee, huge in the 70’s and 80’s and of course my first taste of anything that tasted of coffee. I was a small child with Mum at her mid-week ladies suburban tennis competition. A weekly event, I was always more enamoured with the lavish afternoon teas the ladies would produce than the game itself. The table would heave with fluffy pikelets, delicate ribbon sandwiches and light as air sponge cakes sandwiched with clouds of cream crowned with passionfruit icing delectably dripping down the sides…and coffee cake. I was always intrigued by what others were eating and often asked my parents if I could try what they were having. A decidedly adult flavour my mother doubted my desire when I asked for coffee cake but happily cut me a sliver. I loved it instantly like a gate way drug and gobbled up that delicious bake to the amusement and delight of all the ladies at the table.

In later years I went on to be a passionate consumer of the brew even defending my consumption to my cardiologist, him surrendering in frustration. And I never forgot that coffee cake. Like many retro flavours, I’ve noticed it making somewhat of a comeback. Let’s face it, is there ever too many ways to enjoy coffee?

This is my take on a hearty coffee cake. Not feather light like 1970’s sponge but rather sturdy and moist with the extra Italian influence of ricotta and lots of lovely coffee and caramel flavours.

Ingredients:

220 gm butter softened

90 gm caster sugar

60 gm brown sugar

3 eggs beaten

150gm ricotta broken up and mashed with a fork

1 ½ tsp vanilla paste

¼ c strong espresso

1 Tb coffee liqueur

1 Tb treacle

225 gm self-raising flour

100 gm walnuts ground

¼ tsp bicarb soda

¼ salt flakes

Method:

Preheat oven to 180 c and prepare a 20 cm spring form cake pan greasing and lining with baking paper.

Combine dry ingredients set aside.

In a stand mixer combine butter, sugars and vanilla. Using the paddle attachment beginning on low speed begin mixing until combined then increase medium to medium high to cream the two together. Cream until very pale and fluffy, scraping down a couple of times as you go. Maybe go and find a job to do while you wait, a few moments distraction  gives your mixer the extra time with the butter we often don’t give it…or maybe that’s me. You want the sugar to be starting to dissolve and a finer grain if rubbed between your fingers.

Reduce speed and add eggs in two to three batches mixing on high between each addition. It may look a little curdled after this, don’t panic. Add the ricotta and coffee shot and mix until combine. It will now look very curdled. Stop the mixer, sprinkle over your dry ingredients and mix on low speed for a minute or two to combine. Remove the bowl from the mixer and finish gently by hand with a spatula giving it only a few turns.

Dollop the mixture into the prepared pan gently smoothing over the top. It’s quite a stiff batter so try and spread as you drop spoonful’s into the pan so as not to handle it too much.

Pop in the oven baking 40 minutes or until a skewer comes out clean. Cool in tin for ten minutes before removing from tin and cooling completely on a wire rack.

Icing:

1 c icing sugar

1 Tb instant coffee granules

1 ½ Tb boiling water

25 gm soft butter

2 tsp sour cream

Combine all ingredients in a bowl and mix until completely combined and butter and cream are amalgamated with no little lumps appearing. I like to add the coffee granule whole (not dissolved) for extra pop of coffee flavour and I like to see them in the icing. If you prefer you can stir the coffee through water before adding it to the other ingredients for a more even look and mouth feel.

Spread evenly over cake and allow to set before serving….or not…it’s hard to wait. And don’t forget lashings of cream.

One Pan Sausage and Lentil Stew

I’m sitting at my desk, alternating between staring out the window at my garden and the quiet street free of passing traffic and distraction. Unentertained (is that a word?) I look down to my phone, doom scroll, play a word or two on words with friends, check socials look up again. The radio is humming away in the background with mindless chatter, maybe I should switch to music, something classical known to feed the brain and settle it into productive intellectual waves of thought and creation. Or maybe not.

How can I tell you a story about something delicious that makes you want to cook and eat it? For the first time in 98 issues of Food, Finds and Forays I’m a little stumped. My husband often says ‘I don’t know how you think of something to say every week,’ I always just shrug and think oh it’s easy…until today. Usually, at worst the way to get things flowing is to sit down and magically the words come.

It occurs to me this is almost a metaphor for how this recipe was born and indeed many others, both mine and your own.

We hear all the time from our most admired food writers about seasonality and inspiration. At the recent Sorrento Writers Festival this was a strong theme through the panel discussion titled For the Love of the Cookbook. My mind pondered this during the discussion. Do I do this? Certainly my tastes and cravings reflect this and lead my hands to feed them in such a way.  With this thought still tootling around in my head, no idea what ia was making for dinner, the sun shining Autumnal warmth and mid morning hunger rumbling (never a good away to go shopping, but still) we headed off to our local Sunday Farmers Market. It’s become quite a well known one, not in a particularly scenic setting but always hosting excellent producers many of whom have been coming for the ten years of the market’s existence.

On this occasion my husband joined me. He commented on the bustle of the crowds out enjoying the sun, he noted the familiarity of many producers and with interest of some of the new ones since last he came. I bought a bunch of my favourite leaves, cavolo nero, it’s crisp bright rich forest green leaves creased with folds from veins running higgledy piggledy through the long lush leaves proudly filling half my basket. I could feel my husband’s gaze wondering what I was planning on feeding him with a big bunch of green leaves at my fingertips. Thankfully for him opposite my favourite veg farmer was a new vendor, a beef farmer.

We chatted with the farmer and perused her offerings. It was one of those interactions that makes you fall in love with farmers markets and entices you to try their wares. No sales pitch, no slick fast talking just sharing their love of the land and their animals and hoping you’ll give their meat a try. Obviously we did, we bought some of her sausages, mince for a ragu and some steaks. I still didn’t know what I was going to make for dinner but at least I knew what the star of the show would be.

Later at home, having put my haul away I made a start on dinner. I’m not normally a huge fan of sausages but had an inkling these would be good ones so that’s where I started. I knew I also was yearning for some greens so the cavolo nero was next. Slowly an idea formed, a bit of this, a dash of that, a cup or two of something else. Not what he was expecting at dinner timenhaving seen the sausages come out, but definitely something he enjoyed. It’s delicious, it’s hearty, wholesome and most importantly seasonal.

Ingredients:

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

500gm Sausages, choose ones with some flavour rather than plain if you can.

1 small onion thinly sliced

1 large capsicum (pepper)in large chunks, any colour is fine

2 garlic clove thinly sliced

¾ tsp smoked sweet paprika

2 tsp plain flour

1 Tb tomato paste

5 sprigs thyme, leaves picked

1 ½ c beef stock

1 c canned brown lentils (keep the rest to pop in a lunch time salad)

1 large handful chopped cavolo nero, sub in your favourite green if you wish

Method:

Heat half the oil in a large heavy based pan (such as cast iron if you have it) over medium heat. Add the sausages and brown on all sides. They don’t need to be cooked through just nicely browned on the outside, remove and set aside keeping warm.

Add the remaining oil to the pan and reduce heat to low. Add the onion and capsicum and cook gently five minutes until softened. Add garlic and cook briefly until fragrant. Increase heat to medium and sprinkle over paprika and thyme leaves and cook stirring constantly, again until fragrant, a minute or two. Sprinkle flour in and stir well ensuring it’s well combined and cook off for a couple minutes keeping it moving so it doesn’t catch. Now pop tomato paste in stirring well, it will look like a big gloopy mess, don’t panic that’s fine. Pour in masala mixing constantly and let it bubble for a few moments then start slowly adding the stock stirring constantly so it’s all combined and a nice smooth sauce. Tumble in the lentils and greens, combine well. Place sausages back into the pan gently snuggling them into the sauce, reduce heat to low an loosely pop the lid almost all the way across the pan and simmer for 30 minutes. Stir a few times while it cooks to ensure it doesn’t stick to the bottom.

Serve with mashed potatoes, rice, pasta or just a simple salad and mop up the lovely sauce with crusty bread.

Chicken, Apple and Camembert Salad

I attended the Sorrento Writers Festival this last week. At the southernmost tip of Port Phillip Bay skies were overcast and grey as they often are down there the waters of the bay like glass, not a breath of wind ruffling the surface. As a young woman I spent many peaceful weekends in this quiet seaside village, walking the clifftops, daydreaming in the shadows of sandstone mansions handed down through generations, the gentle lapping of the tides my soundtrack keeping beat of my footsteps like a whooshing metronome. Whilst popular in summer months Sorrento was still a relatively tightly held area with the summer bustle relatively contained compared to other towns.

A lot has changed down there these days. Famous brand shops dot the main street. Cafes old and new pop up and an international luxury hotel chain has reimagined a beautiful old sandstone hotel with a glamourous makeover. Notably too, the Writers Festival has joined the calendar and in doing so, for one long weekend, has created a hum on Ocean Beach Road.

A smile crept across my face as I took the final turn to the hub of the village. It was a reminiscent day trip as memories washed over me. I met my husband and was married in this town so it holds a special place in my heart adding to my excitement. After finding a parking spot which took more effort than I remembered I headed to the main street for a quick walk before meeting friends for lunch. I was struck by the hum of activity and air of excitement the event generated in the town. Small groups of friends excitedly chattered about sessions they had attended rehashing the nuggets they’d learnt or with anticipation for talks to come later in the day.

After a delicious lunch at a French bistro with some equally excited pals we trundled down the hill to listen to an afternoon session titled The Art of the Cookbook. Featuring two doyennes of Australian cooking and two young stars of the food world a hush fell over the room. Literary creative and author (the best way I can think of to describe her) Jaclyn Crupi introduced Stephanie Alexander, Belinda Jeffrey and Julia Bussutil Nashimura with her warm and humble wit. Wrangling the decades of experience and anecdotes these three women brought to the panel was no mean feat but with her own skill she kicked off with questions for the women about their own cookbook colections. Different responses emerged including recollections of culls during house moves and picking through collections to optimise the content on their shelves. In exploring what did and didn’t make the cut the obvious question was posed….. “How many books do you have in your collection?” As the panellists answered, my sheepish’nish bloomed. Not counting a couple of decades of food magazines my cookbook collection alone exceeded any of those of the featured authors. I leaned to my right to share this fact with one of my companions to which she gasped. I smiled, a little bit proud of the number but pondering the thoughts explored on the topic and my friends reaction. Am I reaching a number needing a cull too. And like one of the panellists who hasn’t culled yet how on earth could I let any of them go? What if I moved one on that contained a skill or recipe I suddenly wanted to master.

I have wondered if the magazines could be the sacrificial lambs. Why do I hang onto them? Are they some kind of trophy I like to store almost like a story of my learning and loyalty to them? Or am I a food literature hoarder?

There are indeed recipes in those magazines I refer back to know by heart and hold as favourites. But do I know which issue they’re in? Or do I even remember the year in which they were published? Well actually no I don’t. I do, however, know that I first heard of Mangomisu in a summer issue of Delicious. Jamie Oliver’s Chocolate Tart, the first one I ever made, chosen for a friends getaway weekend came from Delicious too. I also made a salad that’s reached family folk lore. It’s one even my kitchen avoiding sister-in-law loves to make and share. A ‘special salad’ as it were that evokes oohs and aahs. An unconventional combo perhaps who’s flavour always explodes and prompts compliments from diners.

It's these recipes and writing we learn from most often I think. Recipes that are little nuggets that grow to be favourites that stick in your mind. Ones that evolve and are re-shaped by your own growth in tastes and skills.

As I drove away from that inspiring afternoon in Sorrento, my mind buzzing with ideas, the overcast skies were starting to dim. I felt inspired and open after the day I’d had as the long drive home in traffic stretched out before me. My mind as it does turned towards dinner, and the dishes discussed and recipes I’d recalled. That salad from a long time ago popped into mind and how I could make it my own and make it dinner, another idea was born.

Maybe I’ll hang onto that collection a bit longer.

Ingredients:

¼ c slivered almonds

2 Pink lady apples cut into 8 wedges and cored

25 gm butter

1 Tb olive oil

500 gm chicken tenderloins

Rocket/Arugula

100 gm camembert cheese cut into wedges

Dressing:

1 tb lemon juice

1 scant tb honey

3 tsp Dijon mustard

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

3 sprigs thyme leaves picked

Salt and pepper

Method:

Combine all dressing ingredients, whisk and refrigerate.

Warm a large frypan (we’re going to use the one pan for all the steps) over medium heat and dry fry the almond slivers. Move them constantly by swirling the pan, don’t leave them, they will cook quickly and can go from golden brown to burnt before you know it. Remove from heat and tip from the pan to a cool plate to arrest cooking and allow them to cool.

Return the pan to the heat over med-low heat and add the butter. Melt until just starting to foam and add the apple wedges. Cook 3 minutes one side with out disturbing then turn and cook 2 minutes the other side again without moving. We want to caramelise the outside of the flesh, warm it through and preserve a little bite in the middle. Remove apple to a plate to cool slightly. Wipe out the pan with paper towel and return to the heat over medium heat.

Season chicken pieces with salt flakes and freshly ground black pepper. Warm oil in the pan, add chicken and cook undisturbed until well browned. Turn and cook until cooked through. They should have a little bounce in the middle to maintain moisture but obviously being chicken you want it cooked through. Remove and allow to cool slightly on a plate while you begin to assemble your salad.

On a serving platter sprinkle a bed of rocket. Dot over half the apple wedges and punctuate with the cooked chicken tenderloins. Add in the camembert wedges evenly across the salad, pop the remaining apple on here and there and sprinkle a little extra rocket over. Sprinkle over roasted almond slivers and finally to serve pour over half the dressing. Serve the remaining dressing in a jug alongside the salad for those of us who like to slather on extra flavour as you dine.

Notes;

~Chicken breast cooked then sliced will work here too, we’re just huge fans of tenderloins and they’re super economical.

~You may like to slice up your chicken to build your salad if you think that’s easier to eat especially if you’re serving this as part of shared table or buffet.

Anzac Log

Whenever we host a family function for my husband’s family we’re always met by offers of “what do you want me to bring?” Generally, whenever anyone offers this generous gesture I’m inclined to politely decline preferring to shower our guests with hospitality and an opportunity to dine together without needing to do anything. All this with one exception as established by my sons, my sister in law’s chocolate ripple cake. Though not a lover of cooking she can wield a chocolate cookie and cream and silence a table at dessert time. It’s become a tradition, one that’s unwavering.

Simple though it is, Arnotts Chocolate Ripple Biscuits sandwiched with Chantilly cream is not only a family favourite for us but a tradition known Australia wide. First introduced in the early 1930’s as a promotional recipe by the manufacturers of the biscuit (cookie) the ease with which a delicious dessert could be made elevated the recipe to an Aussie staple that’s stood the test of time and still finds it’s place on Aussie tables to today.

Food traditions hold an important place in families. They anchor us and form part of the structure of those rituals we look to for celebration and togetherness. Things like birthday cakes, or your Mum’s lasagne, the steak your dad cooks just so for family barbecues or your Nana’s scones. Every family has a tradition in which some type of dish is the centre point of the occasion and which you look forward to on receiving an invitation.

Like families, many of our special dates on the calendar also herald the enjoyment of a favourite food. All the usuals come to mind obviously, turkey at Christmas, hot cross buns at easter and even the simple old fashioned Sunday roast. But there’s a few others that come to mind, breakfast in bed for mother’s day, CWA scones at country shows and hot meat pies at the football are all food conventions that come to mind not necessarily at times of note but things we think of connected to special moments and outings.

My Nana was one to create these traditions in our family. I wonder if her food rituals were intentional to create those anchors for us or was it easy to cater for a crowd with the same recipes she knew by muscle memory? I suspect a mix of both but they’re ones we remember, reflect on and in my case replicate.

Anzac day was one such day that I’ve written of before. Every year from early childhood we’d all don our best clothes, Mum and I a dress even though it was usually cold and Dad a suit. We’d find out place near the forecourt of the Shrine of Remembrance near the poplar planted for the 46th Battalion, small flag at the ready to wave when Papa and his comrades came past with mounting excitement knowing my treasured Papa was on his way as the marching bands struck up their chorus. He never liked to stay for the ceremonies after the march proper rather he was happy to recede into the crowds and potter home. On our way home he’d offer to take us out for lunch for a ‘fish dinner.’ Not the dinner that’s immediately coming to mind as you read this rather to MacDonalds! He loved soft white fluffy bread and fish, so to Maccas we’d go. You can imagine the excitement of a little girl being taken there by her grandparents but more so because at the end of that stopover on the way home was tea and bickies at their house, and what other treat would Nana serve on that most solemn of days but an Anzac biscuit.

Still made in our family regularly and most especially at this time of year Anzacs remain a favourite. This year however it’s just the Mr and I, our boys still off on their adventure. So there’s a lot of Anzacs. Never shy of a mash up of ideas and traditions I got to thinking about food traditions and how I could use some of those bickies up.

Also not shy of tinkering or embellishing as one of my friends used to say (Hi Kate!) I wasn’t happy with straight chantilly cream and chocolate ripple biscuits. So as I’m wont to do I threw a bit of this and a bit of that in the mixer and ended with Anzac Log.

If you somehow have Anzacs leftover this year or can manage to sequester 12 cookies I can’t recommend this more. The biscuit recipe is HERE or you could of course use bought ones if time or motivation is lacking.

Ingredients:

12 Anzac biscuits

1 cup thickened cream (for whipping)

1 tsp vanilla extract

2 tsp icing sugar

100 gm cream cheese at room temp

2 Tb crème fraiche

Toasted coconut flakes

Method:

You’re making this dish on the one you’ll serve it on as it can’t be transferred so choose a rectangular or oval serving dish roughly 20-25 cm long. Make room in the fridge for this dish.

In a stand mixer combine cream, vanilla and icing sugar. Mix on medium high until just whipped to the stage of soft peaks. Add in cream cheese and crème fraiche and increase speed to medium high. Mix until completely combined and stiff enough to spread but not too stiff, we don’t want it to separate and make butter.

Take your first biscuit and spread a spoonful of cream mixture on it. Taking the next bickie, sandwich it on to the first and spread another scoop of cream on the underside. Now that you have the two they’ll stand up on the plate so you can build it from here continuing the crem and sandwich process until all the biscuits are used up. With the remaining cream mixture coat the log completely so biscuits can’t be seen through the cream. You can tidy up the plate with some damp kitchen paper towel as pictured.

Pop a few toothpicks across the top like candles on a birthday cake. Drape cling wrap lightly across the top and place in the fridge overnight. Though simple it’s not a last-minute dish.

To serve sprinkle toasted coconut across the top and serve cutting thick slices at a 45 degree angle.

Notes:

If you don’t have crème fraiche you can sub in sour cream but do make it full fat please. The light stuff is too thin.

Shredded Coconut is a good substitute for flakes if unavailable. You can toast them in a dry fry pan moving constantly until lightly golden.

Pizza Pie

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

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

¾ tsp/5gm dried yeast

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

¾ tsp/3 gm sugar

300 ml lukewarm water

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

½ tsp dried oregano

½ an onion finely sliced

75 gm sliced ham

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

75 gm chopped bacon

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

½ a small capsicum/pepper finely diced

80gm/1 cup sliced mushrooms

1 cup baby spinach leaves

1 egg beaten with a splash of milk for glazing

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

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

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

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

Preheat oven to 220c fan forced.

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

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

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

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

Spiced Apple and Rye Hand Pies

I woke to the sound of a kookaburra’s call a few mornings ago. The sentinel of his flock perhaps, a call to arms to indicate the first slivers of light appearing through the trees on the horizon. It always goes quiet after his call. It’s a long string of distinctive caws increasing in volume and energy to a final crescendo before silence falls. I imagine his fellow flock members stirring in their eucalypt branches sandy eyes blinking open winged feathers ruffling as they stretch and meet the day as he nods off from the night shift keeping watch. Is it the same Kookaburra doing this job every morning or do they take turns? Are they even so organised a species? Who knows, it’s these cerebral meanderings that float around my mind while I procrastinate from the inevitability the breaking light heralds. Probably time to ruffle my own feathers and rub the sand from my eyes.

The calls of the morning are quieter at the moment. It’s autumn and we’ve freshly switched off day light saving time. The damp cold stillness that the turn of the season towards winter brings settles over all of us. Nature its own beacon to the shift. Leaves turn all the colours of their own red, orange and gold rainbow, plants slow their growth and animals start their pre hibernation routine fattening up for the coming cold. We humans are similar in a fashion. We become drawn to foods that warm and nourish our bodies and minds. Porridge for breakfast a promise that helps draw the covers back, hot tea at morning teatime to warm from the inside out and stews and soups to comfort and nurture at the end of the day to fill bellies and fuel our bodies to keep us warm.

Not only do we look to warm hearty fair to warm us from the inside out and stoke out internal furnaces we’re also are drawn to particular flavours and their memories evoked by the season. Spices often compliment such meals the warming notes of specific extracts doing the heavy lifting. Be they in that porridge, tea, a stew or slow cook but most particularly in a bake, spices can add complexity and sensation to a dish that adds another dimension and layer to the experience. If you look through my recipe collection you’ll note it’s no secret that I adore cooking with spices. The shift in seasons and my proclivity to lean on them got me to pondering this, procrasitpondering if you will. And it occurs to me that this is not just rooted (see what I did there? Rooted? Ginger, coriander, wasabi) in my love of flavour but also the extra elements their characteristics offer to enhance a meal. Characteristics like sweet, savoury, earthiness, warmth, brightness, freshness amongst others all create a dance between themselves and other ingredients in your cooking. Much in the way music does to a song spices can create a cohesion to all the components of your culinary creations.

And so to the season. As we let go of the warmer weather and flavours like makrut lime, lemongrass, basil and mint amongst other summer flavours we turn to autumnal ones. Interestingly not only do they lend the colours of the season but flavours that settle over us with recollections and experiences whose memories come to life as the flavours erupt on our palettes. Pumpkin, maple, chestnuts, walnuts, mushrooms, apples pears and all those beautiful warming spices like ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon and the like form the foundations of many of our favourite recipes that bridge our journey from hot weather to cold.

Laying in bed listening to the silence around that Kookaburra’s call, the breeze tumbling overnight rainfall droplets from the leaves on which they’d settled knowing it was cold outside I didn’t crave fruit or salad, I craved something baked. I yearned for my home to be filled with aromas of sugar, butter and spice, the cosiness that evokes and the delicious morning tea I would pull from my oven at the end of that fragrant alchemy.

Notes:

I use a blender (vitamix) to make my pastry in this instance. You can follow the same instructions in a food processor. If you have neither or prefer to use your hands employ a traditional method of rubbing butter into the dry ingredients doing the job of the blades, make a well in the centre and add the wet ingredients and bring together with your hands again doing the work the blades would do and give a short simple knead to bring together.

Makes 12 Hands Pies

Ingredients:

125 gm cold butter in small cubes

150 gm plain flour

70 gm rye flour (you can substitute wholemeal wheat flour here if you prefer or even use plain white flour. If using plain white you may find you only need one Tb of the water).

1 scant tsp cardamon ground

20 g/1 Tb caster sugar

1 egg yolk

60 gm sour cream

1-2 Tb ice water

2 large green apples, peeled and cut into thinly sliced chunks

2 Tb brown sugar

½ tsp cinnamon

Pinch of salt extra

An extra egg for brushing pastry beaten with a splash of milk

Demerara sugar to sprinkle

Method:

In a blender or food processor (see above if you have neither) add cubed butter, flours, caster sugar, cardamon and a pinch of salt. Doing this step in this order, butter first then dry ingredients, is important as it integrates the butter and flour more efficiently and therefore reduces the time under mix and the chance of the dough becoming overworked. Pulse the machine a few times until the butter and dry ingredients are integrated in the way they would be if you’d rubbed them together with your fingers. A few lumps of butter is fine and in fact preferable. In a small bowl, beat together the egg yolk and sour cream. Add the wet mixture to the mixture in your blender/processor and pulse a few times again until the mixture has come together mostly. Tip the mixture out onto a bench and use your hands to finish bringing everything together gently. Pat down into a disc, wrap in cling wrap and pop in the fridge to rest for 30 minutes.

Prepare apples and tip into a medium sized bowl. Sprinkle over brown sugar, cinnamon and salt and stir well until sugar is completely coated. Set aside.

Preheat oven to 180c and line a large baking tray with baking paper.

Remove pastry from fridge and roll out to a thickness of 3mm. Cut rolled pastry into rounds. I’ve used a tin lid of 11.5 cms across. To assemble pies, take a round in your hand, holding like a taco shell and brush the edges with the egg wash. Spoon a heaped desert spoonful of apple into the centre and pinch the edges together to seal. It will look like an overgrown dumpling. Continue this until all rounds are stuffed. Line up on tray and brush with egg wash and sprinkle over demerara sugar. Bake for 25-30 mins.

Eat warm or cold, with cream or custard or whatever your autumnal heart desires.

Chickpea and Vegetable Pudding

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

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

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

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

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

Onwards and upwards.

Ingredients:

1 Tb extra virgin olive oil

1 carrot diced

1 french shallot diced

1 garlic clove crushed

¼ c chopped parsley

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

400 gm can chickpeas drained

1 c tinned crushed tomatoes

2 c chicken stock

1 litre water

2 handfuls of finely shredded Tuscan kale

Method:

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

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

Chocolate Croissant Pudding

Just this last week the morning air has taken on a crisp chill. Not one to make you shiver or pull the covers up in the morning shy to rise rather one that feels brisk as a prelude to autumn sunshiny days. It’s the shift you note that reminds you of the approaching swing from summer’s steamy languorous days to the frosty mornings of days spent kicking up fallen leaves and sipping hot tea planning meals of soups and stews. It’s also the time of year that signals easter’s beckoning and a short holiday period to laze and rejoice in company of loved ones before we settle in for the winter and that long stretch of months before long weekends and holidays return.

Easter has always been a special holiday for us. We’re not religious people observing the special meaning behind this period rather this time of year has been a time for us as a family to enjoy one last camping holiday before the real thick of the year settled in. This last break together before winter’s descent was always marked by easter egg hunts in the bush. The delighted shouts of excited kids would ring through the trees with a backdrop of kookaburra’s cawing almost hinting to the kids to of hidden chocolatey treasure and the whooshing of rivers rushing past us a white noise of the water’s course by our campsite like background music to the feverish scene. As the years went on and the kids became savvier the hunt would be quite a strategic affair, elbows would be sharpened and lines would be drawn between siblings and friends, but always to the tune of laughter and happiness.

As you’d expect food would always feature heavily over these weekends. Sometimes fish or seafood on Friday, not out of any particular observation but rather an excuse for a more indulgent meal. Hot Cross Buns a given of course, more recently using only this recipe. A Sunday lamb roast another non-negotiable. Sometimes slow cooked in a camp oven bubbling in its own juices, vegetables simmering alongside the succulent meat, other times rotated over the campfire on a spit the enticing aroma floating across the campsite making everyone hungry. And of course it wouldn’t be easter without ALL the chocolate, Lindt balls, Smarties Eggs, Elegant Bunnies and delicious rich Haigh’s Bilbies. And like all holiday periods where food is part of the celebration lots of leftovers.

Growing up we didn’t go away for easter or have a particular set of traditions we observed however food was the star of the weekend whether we were all home or not. Mum would cook smoked cod according to her grandmother’s recipe. The strangely golden hued fish with its tight white flesh simmering on the stove would exude a smell that failed to entice me in younger years and later was happily replaced by prawns and fish fillets pan fried. Hot cross buns would be available in copious volume all weekend though croissants appeared on Sunday to be enjoyed with chocolatey easter treats quite an exotic delight in those days. Though we didn’t have a tradition of holiday getaways these little food traditions did establish little seasonal rituals that marked the occasion and always created anticipation.

It's these little rituals we grow up with that inspire us to create our own. It’s also shifts and changes in the shape of your family and these holiday periods that create new additions to food traditions we enjoy and look forwards to.

Croissants are commonly available now, not the exotic luxury they once were. They’re an ingredient, though that still feels a bit special. Together with chocolate they’re the height of celebratory breakfast. Chocolate Croissant Pudding is particularly delicious with flaky layers of buttery pastry soaking in rich chocolate custard and baked to a warm gooey pudding, what better way to celebrate and indulge in all the richness of easter fun.

Ingredients:

3 eggs

1/3 C caster sugar

1 tsp vanilla paste

1 Tb/10 gm cocoa

1 ½ C thickened or heavy cream

¼ C milk (Whatever kind you use is fine.)

1 ½ tsp cornflour

6 croissant (yesterday’s leftover ones work well here)

50gm chopped dark chocolate or leftover easter eggs

Butter softened to spread

A jar of caramel spread. You need roughly 2 tsps per croissant but you do you and enjoy the remains of the jar on ice cream.

Demerara Sugar for sprinkling. This isn’t a deal breaker if you don’t have it, just leave it out.

Method:

Slice open croissant and spread generously with butter and your chosen spread if you’re using one, set aside. Butter a suitably sized oven proof dish well.

In a large bowl whisk egg, sugar and vanilla well until completely combined and slightly foamy on top. Add cream and sifted cocoa and whisk again until completely combined and no cocoa lumps appear. Take a few spoons of the milk and combine with the cornflour until smooth then return to the remaining milk. Add this to the custard mixture again whisking to amalgamate.

In your buttered dish lay out the prepared croissant in a single layer. Pour over custard mixture and gently press to encourage the pastries to soak up the moisture. Leave to soak in the fridge for at least two hours (overnight is good too), croissant don’t seem to absorb in the same way as bread does when making the similar bread and butter pudding. I like to loosely place a sheet of baking paper over the top to cover so I can gently press on the pudding helping it along whenever I’m in the fridge.

When ready, preheat the oven to 180c. Take the pudding out of the fridge when you turn the oven on for it to lose some of its chill before going into the oven. Sprinkle the demerara sugar over the top. When ready place in the oven for 45 minutes checking half way through to be sure it’s not browning too much on top. You can cover with foil if needed.

When cooked remove from oven and allow to cool a little and settle for at least 15 minutes, serve warm. Serve with whatever creamy accompaniment your easter heart desires.

Notes:

~If caramel spread isn’t your thing you could also sub in a nut spread like Nutella, your favourite berry jam or leave out completely.

~Croissants not your easter jam? How about using up all those left over hot cross buns.

~If chocolate custard feels all too much you could follow this version of a bread style pudding which will work with croissant or hot cross buns.

Lamb Shaslicks and Saffron Cous Cous

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feeds 4

Lamb Shaslicks and Saffron Cous Cous

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

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

2 tsp smoked sweet paprika

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

1 tsp onion powder (see above)

1 ½ tsp dried oregano leaves

½ tsp salt flakes

Good grind of black pepper

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

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

2/3 c water

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

2 pinches of saffron

1 ½ Tb olive oil

10 gm of butter

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pumpkin, Marmalade and Hazelnut Muffins

I did a shoot for a client recently creating Autumn content for her slow living platform. Amongst other things one of the headline features of her work is food so as you can imagine there was a lot of conversation around seasonality.

We worked on one of those beautiful trans-seasonal days where the ends of summer nudge up against a budding autumn. Cool mornings and earlier sunsets bookend the days, the first of the leaves have started to turn threaded with veins of warm tones and our appetite for autumnal foods stretches from its hibernation. Our Sicilian feast featured, amongst other delights, rich ruby coloured stewed pears, apple cake (my favourite) and some delicious vegetable jewelled salads. It was a delight to shoot such beautiful heartfelt recipes and of course ‘clean them up’ afterwards. Tough job but someone’s gotta do it and all that. In the days that followed, as I sat at my desk editing, the conversation around seasonal eating and food shopping rattled around my head. These conversations with clients seem to rise to the top in my thoughts while I edit guiding my work, but this time I found myself thinking far deeper. How on earth do we eat seasonally in a have it now world where we can manipulate nature to deliver whatever our hearts desire precisely when we do? Tomatoes in the depths of winter sure aren’t as sweet and plump having matured in football field sized hot houses but when you want a fresh tomato you want a fresh tomato right? Then there’s some foods that flat out can’t be engineered to appear on our plates out of season without having their passports stamped jetting to our shops from crops across the oceans.

There’s all the usual commonly shared advice about shopping and eating with the seasons. Shopping at farmers markets, seeking out cheaper produce which usually denotes it’s abundance at market and therefore it’s time in season and of course the inherent knowledge of seasonality that many of us have. But with all this in mind I circled back to wondering how hard it actually is in a highly curated and engineered world to live by this in practice and resist the temptation to respond to an out of season craving.

I’m the first to put my hand up as one who does eat what I feel like, fresh tomatoes on toast on frosty winter mornings? Hell yeah. Soup in summer because I feel like it? Definitely! But I’m also the first to seize on figs when they appear at the green grocer. Carefully carrying the prized plump, soft, vulnerable globes in one hand awkwardly steering the trolley with my other hand, I’ll indulge every week until they disappear from the shelves. And when those spheres of sunshine in the form of mangoes start appearing? Get out of my way sista, they’re mine!!

While all of this is definitely seasonal shopping and eating what I did realise from all this ponderous behaviour was that quite possibly seasonal eating starts in the tummy. In our hot summers we often don’t feel like eating or feel like just having something lite. We reach for salads and seafood making the most of that which is abundant to us and which our climate and location does a wonderful job of creating. As the seasons turn our appetites return. We feel cold and need warming up and start yearning for soups, casseroles and puddings to fuel our body’s internal thermostat. And of course, the ingredients for all these are indeed driven by nature’s cycles our appetites, blooming with the crops that will feed them.

Whilst the idea for these muffins has been at the back of my mind for a while, it sat in summer hibernation. I just couldn’t see the wood for the trees and let it bloom while mango juice dripped through my fingers and I imagined dinners of juicy tomato salads.

But as the crisp mornings have greeted me on morning walks recently I’ve noticed a yearning for the flavours of the season and started cooking some of those warmer delights. So bloom, these muffins have. Autumnal sweet pumpkin roasted first, marmalade and crunchy hazelnuts all meld together to make a light muffin with a spiced streusel flavour cap on top that dust your fingers as it crumbles. Don’t be put off by what seems a longish list of bits and bobs below or a fiddly step in the middle, it’s so worth it and makes the first delicious bite with a warm drink all the more wroth it.

If you’re not a marmalade fan like I wasn’t for the first 45 years of my life, try subbing in apricot jam. It will still play tart foil to the sweet pumpkin without the bitterness of marmalade.

Streusel:

1/3 c plain flour

1/3 c brown sugar

½ tsp ground cinnamon

½ tsp ground ginger

¼ tsp salt flakes

40 gm butter

1 tb finely chopped hazelnut pieces (I buy them pre chopped, but you do you. If chopping your own go slowly to try and achieve small similarly sized pieces.)

Ingredients:

200 gm pumpkin peeled and cubes into small pieces around 1-1.5 cms

2 c plain flour

¼ c plain wholemeal flour

1 tsp ground cinnamon

½ tsp ground ginger

½ tsp grated nutmeg

¼ tsp ground cardamon

¾ tsp salt flakes

½ c brown sugar

2 tsp baking powder

½ tsp bicarb soda

¼ c hazelnuts lightly chopped in large pieces

½ c oil of your choice, I use whatever I have, if you prefer olive oil go for it, if you lightly flavoured also fine. There’s enough flavour in the spices to mask a strongly flavoured oil like extra virgin.

2 eggs beaten

1 tsp vanilla

¾ milk of your choice. Non-dairy works fine here if that’s your preference.

2 Tb marmalade. If yours is chunky or the peel in long strands you may need to cut them. I leave the measured amount in a small bowl and plunge clean kitchen scissors in to snip them to smaller more manageable sized pieces.

Method:

Line a 12 hole muffin tray with muffin cases.

Preheat oven to 190c.

Toss cubed pumpkin in 2-3 tsps of olive oil. Spread in one layer on a lined baking sheet and roast in the oven for 15 minutes or until just soft and mashable with a fork. Allow to cool.

Combine streusel ingredients, except hazelnut pieces, and rub butter in until completely combined and resembling wet sand. Using your fingers mix in hazelnut pieces. Refrigerate until required.

In a large bowl combine all dry ingredients for the muffins and stir with a whisk to thoroughly combine. In a second bowl combine oil, eggs, vanilla and milk and whisk.

Halve roasted pumpkin pieces and mash one half reserving the other in whole cubes. Whisk the mashed pumpkin into the wet ingredients.

Make a well in the centre of the dry ingredients, pour in the combined wet ingredinets and gently fold together until dry ingredients are almost combined. Over the top of the batter dollop drops of marmalde and give the mixture a few more gentle folds.

Take your prepared muffin tray and half fill each case with batter. Top each case of batter with a few cubes of pumpkin, roughly 3-4 each, then top muffin with the remaining batter. Don’t worry too much if the pumpkin cubes aren’t all covered as the streusel will sort this out. Sprinkle streusel over each muffin evenly using up most if not all of the streusel. Pop in the oven 25-30 minutes or until a skewer comes out clea,

Serve warm with butter because YUM or store cooled in an air tight container.

Spiced Warm Carrot and Chickpea Salad

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

¾ C (200gm) Greek yoghurt

1 Tb tahini

Pinch of salt

½ tsp cinnamon

1 tsp ground cumin

¼ tsp sweet smoked paprika

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

Pinch of salt and freshly ground black pepper

3 Tb extra virgin olive oil

4 carrots

1 400 gm can chickpeas

¼ c each mint and parsley leaves

Dressing:

1 Tb honey

1 Tb fresh squeezed lemon juice

1 Tb Extra virgin olive oil

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

Method:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes:

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

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

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

Crunchy Haloumi Fingers

What tastes like home to you? If you were to ask me, my answer is unwavering, thick white hand cut toast, with lashings of butter and vegemite. Not spread thickly of course but almost marbled over the crispy toast’s surface with little eruptions of butter ozzing up through the threads of salty vegemite. Simple but meaningful, the way my Nana always made it for me and the one I always lean on when away from home. For others it might be their favourite dish their Mum made or one culturally meaningful to them if they live in a country other than the one of their birth.

Late last year we enjoyed a visit from one of our dearest friends, who’s made a life for himself in the US with his beautiful wife and kids. He lives in the north east where snow falls on their garden in winter and summer days are spent on sunshiny lakeside hikes. Different from his youth under gum trees in country Victoria but where in both worlds we speak the same language. Seemingly similar yet worlds apart. Without fail when he and his family visit I love to cook for them. Food is my love language and being able to do that for them is both a welcome and ‘hug.’ Over the nearly 25 years of his northern hemisphere life, with every visit, he’s travelled home with a list of food and meals he’s wanted to enjoy during his visits and in turn introduce his family to. So invariably with each meal we share with them I’ve always asked what he’d like to eat or what’s still on the list. One thing I’ve learnt from these visits and his absence is how very much we all have a ‘taste of home.’ Things you wouldn’t expect but that bring back that innate sense of being and comfort.

Without fail C will always seek out a meat pie, multiple times, along with dim sims which are actually a very Melbourne delicacy. He also loves Australian bacon (who knew it would be so different) and beef. We’re a very social lot we Aussies and we love our food. We’re a country of multiple cultures built on a mosaic of migration and all the wonderful foods and cultures that has gifted us. As such our cuisine, if we even have a definable one, is a patchwork of all these wonderful influences. Living, eating, breathing and indeed cooking that life means we can take that for granted and perhaps not even notice the tides of flavours that sweep across our table and palettes, except when you have a friend visiting every few years for whom these changes can seem like big leaps rather than the gentle waves they feel like when it’s your every day.

His most recent visit was no different. Traveling alone this time (we missed you S, M & N x) his request was as easy going as him, to keep it simple and fresh. After a simple steak on the BBQ and tomato and burrata salad for dinner, breakfast was equally straight forward with smoky aussie bacon, free range eggs and crusty rustic sourdough in the sun. Our time together this time was sadly short but after that brekky we had one final meal to squeeze in, his request, one more aussie country pub lunch. We wandered along the windy road that wends it’s way through vineyards, and hobby farms on a hot blustery day. Pulling up at our local evoked a smile and keen stride inside from our visitor, keen to enjoy some familiar ‘pub grub.’ Lined with original polished old timber walls the view through the rear windows opens out on to rolling hills where horses graze and towering gums wave in the breeze…home. Local wine and glasses of cold frothy beer kept us busy while we perused the menu. C and Hubby ordered classic Parmas (chicken parmigiana for overseas readers) but our visitor was curious about one dish, a starter which intrigued him. Admittedly it’s ingredients were familiar to me, common on Aussie shelves and tables but together not so much. As intrigued as him we ordered a plate to keep our tummy rumbles at bay. As you’d expect C was impressed with lots of lip smacking oooo’s and ahhh’s, asking lots of questions about the ‘what and how.’

So was I. I’d not used Kataifi Pastry before though obviously had eaten it at restaurants. This seemed like an easy and delicious place to start.

Makes 12 fingers

Ingredients:

250 gm block of Haloumi cheese

A packet of Kataifi pastry. You won’t use the whole packet but it will freeze well packed in an airtight bag or container.

Extra virgin olive oil

2-3 Tb Honey

2 Tbs toasted pistachios

½ tsp chilli flakes

Figs, grapes, or dried fruit of your choice such as raisins or dates to serve.

Method:

Slice Haloumi into 12 fingers. The block I used resulted in 1.2cm ‘round’ fingers but you do you. I wouldn’t go smaller but larger is fine. Pat dry with paper towel of any remaining brine, set aside. Unravel, roughly a handful of Kataifi. From personal experience I can tell you it’s tricky and messy but I promise it will work. Cut strands into roughly 8cm lengths in 2cm ribbons (as pictured). Place a finger of haloumi on the end of the pastry ribbon collecting the ends, holding them as you roll tucking as needed. Allow to sit, ends underneath, to settle while you tidy up and pre-heat the pan.

Heat a large non-stick pan over medium-high heat with a 1cm deep pool of olive oil on the base. When oil is viscous on swirling use the wooden spoon trick or drop a few strands of pastry in the oil, if bubbles appear all over the strands the oil is ready. Remove the test pastry from the oil. Place the fingers of wrapped cheese in the oil cooking a few minutes each side until golden and crisp. All together turning four times it should take no more than 10 minutes but trust your own instincts, cooking to your preference whilst remembering they will keep cooking briefly after removing. Drain on paper towel.

Assemble on a serving plate in a pile. Drizzle honey over the top whilst hot. You need the honey to be runny so feel free to warm briefly in the microwave to loosen it (20 seconds). Sprinkle over chilli flakes and chopped pistachios to taste. serve with pieces of fruit alongside. You could serve your figs or grapes fresh as I have or grill them briefly on a griddle pan.

Chilli and Sesame Spiced Pecans

Grade 3 in primary school was one of my favourite years of school. I had the loveliest teacher, Mrs Scully, who married during that year. She was kind and sympathetic to my mathematical foibles and encouraging of my curiosity and talents always cheering on my wins. Not only did she marry that year but became pregnant and, I now suspect, unwell. During her absence she was replaced by a few different teachers plugging the gaps. One in particular, a kindly retired older lady, Mrs Kirby, captured my attention. She, like me, could be inclined towards daydreaming and no doubt frustrated some, but not me. We grew carrots from carrot tops, experimented with iodine drops on bread (that’s an interesting one) and we explored history. She announced, one day, that we’d be beginning our first ‘project.’ Taking out our prized scrap books and exploring the subject, she explained how this homework task should be completed while encouraging us to take wide latitude and explore the topic. One which encompassed geography and history she introduced us to the spice islands. I was fascinated, as you can imagine. I came home excitedly telling mum about the big project I was to complete, I felt like such a big kid in my nine year old body. All of a sudden that huge collection of small jars in Mum’s cupboard were fascinating. They had a history and value as a commodity, they were like the paints for the palette of portraits of history. Mrs Kirby clearly knew her topic and knew how to excite a room full of curious little faces.

We went to the bookshelves that framed our fireplace taking out all the relevant volumes of our encyclopaedia collection. Mum helped me find the relevant tomes in which a region to Australia’s north faded into a collection of islands previously known as the Spice Islands, a place where nutmeg, mace, clove and pepper set European traders and the use of spice worldwide on a new course.

We carefully made small packages of each spice using glad wrap, sticking each one into the pages of my scrap book labelling with their exotic names. I made a map of the archipelago burning the edges and soaking it in tea in my attempt to replicate an ancient artifact to include in the pages of my discoveries and treated that book with kid gloves. Proudly walking into school the morning that project was due I presented my findings to Mrs Kirby for share time. With enthusiasm she opened that book, eyes wide, sniffing enthusiastically at the potpourri of fragrance wafting up from my precious book holding a collection of spices from Mum’s kitchen drawer.

That project comes to mind often. It was the spark that lit the flame of a love affair with spices for me and perhaps paved the path of curiosity like crumbs on a trail to follow. They appear often in my cooking, in cake, soup, curries and even nibbles. That same curiosity inspired by Mrs Kirby still moves me today.

Late last year on a trip to my favourite spice store I noticed a jar of a style of chilli I’d not seen before. In fact I’d only ever seen it in paste form, so obviously, intrigued I bought a jar. Sprinkled on eggs, in toasties and on salads I’d become quite familiar with the flavour but was wondering what else I could do with it. It inspired me to combine it with its paste form, a few other complimentary ingredients and of course glorious Australian pecans.

Wonderful teachers spark curiosity in their young charges which, hopefully lasts a lifetime and inspires lifelong discovery.

Ingredients:

1 Tb maple syrup

2 tsp gochugaru paste (Korean chilli bean paste)

¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper

2 pinches of salt flakes

¼ tsp sesame oil

1 Tb sesame seeds

3 Tb extra virgin olive oil

3 C raw whole pecan halves

½-1 tsp of fresh Gochugaru flakes to taste or half that of dried chilli flakes crushed up. (I use this one)

Method:

Preheat oven to 160c and line a large baking tray.

In a large bowl combine oil, syrup, chilli paste, seasonings, sesame oil. Whisk well until emulsified and completely combined. Sprinkle in sesame seeds, whisk again to distribute evenly through the oil mix. Tip in pecan halves and stir thoroughly until all nuts completely coated in the mixture, scraping the sides of the bowl ensuring all the mixture coats the nuts. Tumble the mixture onto the tray and spread evenly. Bake for 30 minutes turning and stirring halfway through cooking. When times up remove from oven and sprinkle over the gochugaru or chilli flakes and stir again. I like to do this straight out of the oven while the nuts are still sticky. The flakes with stick to the nuts and give another and different layer of spice flavour.

To cool, spread a sheet of baking paper over your kitchen bench or a clean cool tray. Tip the cooked nuts onto the tray to cool. This effectively removes them from any remaining moisture and from the heat of the tray and helps them cool quickly. Nuts will keep cooking in their own heat after being removed from the oven so this step is important to avoid a burnt flavour from the residual heat.