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.

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.

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.

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.

Pizza Pie

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

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

¾ tsp/5gm dried yeast

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

¾ tsp/3 gm sugar

300 ml lukewarm water

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

½ tsp dried oregano

½ an onion finely sliced

75 gm sliced ham

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

75 gm chopped bacon

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

½ a small capsicum/pepper finely diced

80gm/1 cup sliced mushrooms

1 cup baby spinach leaves

1 egg beaten with a splash of milk for glazing

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

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

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

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

Preheat oven to 220c fan forced.

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

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

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

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

Chickpea and Vegetable Pudding

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

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

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

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

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

Onwards and upwards.

Ingredients:

1 Tb extra virgin olive oil

1 carrot diced

1 french shallot diced

1 garlic clove crushed

¼ c chopped parsley

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

400 gm can chickpeas drained

1 c tinned crushed tomatoes

2 c chicken stock

1 litre water

2 handfuls of finely shredded Tuscan kale

Method:

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

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

Lamb Shaslicks and Saffron Cous Cous

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feeds 4

Lamb Shaslicks and Saffron Cous Cous

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

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

2 tsp smoked sweet paprika

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

1 tsp onion powder (see above)

1 ½ tsp dried oregano leaves

½ tsp salt flakes

Good grind of black pepper

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

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

2/3 c water

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

2 pinches of saffron

1 ½ Tb olive oil

10 gm of butter

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mortadella, Ricotta and Marinated Veg Sandwich

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

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

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

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

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

50 gm of ricotta crumbled

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

Small handful of Baby spinach leaves trimmed of stems

Method:

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

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

Peach and Tomato Salad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

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

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

2 Tb extra virgin olive, one with good flavour

3 tsp red wine vinegar

Pinch of salt flakes

Good grind of black pepper

100 gm baby bocconcini drained

2 heaped Tb whole roasted hazelnuts (skinless) halved

20 small basil leaves

½ tsp ground sumac

Method:

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

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

Orange Scented Pork Cotoletta with Apple and Fennel Slaw

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cotoletta:

2 Pork Cutlets, bone still on.

2 cups panko crumbs

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

1 egg beaten with a splash of milk

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

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

Oil for frying

Slaw:

1 c grated Apple or using a mandolin fine matchsticks

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

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

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

¼ c sour cream

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

¾ tsp caster sugar

Generous pinch of salt flakes

Method:

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

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

Preheat oven to 200 c.

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

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

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

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