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.

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.

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.

Spiced Warm Carrot and Chickpea Salad

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

¾ C (200gm) Greek yoghurt

1 Tb tahini

Pinch of salt

½ tsp cinnamon

1 tsp ground cumin

¼ tsp sweet smoked paprika

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

Pinch of salt and freshly ground black pepper

3 Tb extra virgin olive oil

4 carrots

1 400 gm can chickpeas

¼ c each mint and parsley leaves

Dressing:

1 Tb honey

1 Tb fresh squeezed lemon juice

1 Tb Extra virgin olive oil

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

Method:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes:

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

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

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

Mortadella, Ricotta and Marinated Veg Sandwich

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

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

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

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

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

50 gm of ricotta crumbled

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

Small handful of Baby spinach leaves trimmed of stems

Method:

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

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

Peach and Tomato Salad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

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

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

2 Tb extra virgin olive, one with good flavour

3 tsp red wine vinegar

Pinch of salt flakes

Good grind of black pepper

100 gm baby bocconcini drained

2 heaped Tb whole roasted hazelnuts (skinless) halved

20 small basil leaves

½ tsp ground sumac

Method:

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

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

Fresh Tomato and Zucchini Salad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Indredients:

2 eggs

½ cup white sugar

1 tsp vanilla paste/extract

¼ cup extra virgin olive oil

50 gms melted butter cooled

1 Tb honey

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

2 tsp baking powder

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

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

2 very ripe bananas mashed

Method:

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

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

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

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

Feel free to comment below if you have questions.

Apricot and Cardamon Sweet Buns

Earlier this week I was coaxed out early in the morning for my walk by the sudden burst of warm spring weather. My usual listening wasn’t available at the earlier hour so I searched for a podcast to keep me distracted. I was up to date on all my usual favourites so thought I’d search for something new and landed on this one. Listening to Ruth and Julia chat all things food was obviously right up my alley but the premise of the podcast and where that went was of greater interest. Julia invites older women (she’s 61) on Wiser Than Me, to chat about life and what it’s taught them. I was taken with the conversation enjoying listening to Ruth’s recollections on her career in food writing, but one statement jumped out at me, “the only thing that really keeps you young, is constantly doing things you don’t know how to do.” Somewhere in my subconscious I knew this to be so. We’re advised to do puzzles, learn a language or even a musical instrument to stay young, but hearing an older woman (she’s 75) who I admire, state it as her greatest piece of life advice brought it to the surface.

Also this week this substack dropped. I love reading Kate’s words, always beautiful describing her world and observations in a captivating and artful way. She described her experience of being stopped in her tracks, quite literally while driving from home through country Victoria, by the captivating site of a landscape jewelled by shades of gold and emerald. This moment in time that drew her to the roadside to inhale the ‘wonder’ of its beauty was the theme for her ponderings this week. Wonder and it’s importance in life, in moments and in the everyday. It felt both fitting and in keeping with the thoughts of Ruth. Wonder and knowledge and a fulfilling life.

A month or so ago I enrolled in and began an online course to improve my baking skills called The Science of Baking. I have a reasonable knowledge base for baking but lots of gaps and no real understanding of the chemistry of the ingredients I use and how everything interacts. Working my way through this course has been both enlightening and exciting. I know, very geeky of me but we all have our thing right? Anyway what’s been most exciting is the learning, joining the dots, filling the gaps and gasping at all the ‘lightbulb’ moments. Whilst educational it’s been enlightening and invigorating.

With a lifelong innate sense of curiosity flavour ideas often come to mind. Some work, some don’t. Sometimes my curiosity is driven by an unusual recipe with an ingredient combination I may not have previously tried or one I can’t even imagine tasting. Like the ‘Secret Ingredient Spaghetti” recipe, spoiler alert, dark chocolate in Spaghetti Bolognese doesn’t work. Other times classic combinations reimagined into something new is a delight and revelation all its own.

My newly acquired skills have inspired many flavour ponderings recently. Often popping in my head in the middle of the night, hi there hot flushes and insomnia, remembering these can be a challenge, “sit down brain fog.” Sometimes though I do manage to retain the idea and see it through to fruition.

Golden tangy apricots came to mind when my face was warmed by all this premature balmy weather. Juice dripping from glowing orbs one of summer’s great joys. But alas not yet. Still weeks to go until they, with their orchard fruit family, appear in stores, but the dried variety are ever present and available. Richer in flavour I remembered enjoying them in a sweet, yeasted bun as a child, encased in fluffy sweet dough and drizzled with white chocolate, they were a favourite bakery treat. As is my wont however, and armed with my burgeoning knowledge of yeast and wheat I pondered a reimaging of sorts of my much-loved childhood favourite. Imagining a more mature flavour pairing than the one of my youth I mixed and measured, waited and shaped and waited again. Like that child with anticipation, I perched near my oven, its light on, peering through the glass watching the ‘show’ of yeast, sugar and all their comrades at play growing into plump, fluffy yeasted buns of my own.

And there it was…wonder!

The union of learning and wonder colliding to create delight and awe. The invigorating realisation that at any step in our day and journey there’s always something round every corner to learn and take our breath away.

Seeing an idea evolve to a successful completion is a wonder all its own and one urge you to try. Don’t be shy of trying to cook with yeast. It’s an ingredient that can intimidate even the most skilled and experienced cook but one that is the root of some the most delicious foods in life and that has endured throughout centuries.

Ingredients:

Buns:

120 gm Dried apricots, roughly chopped

500 gm bread flour

3 tsps dried yeast

½ tsp all spice

2 tsp ground cardamon

80 gm golden caster sugar (white is fine if that’s all you have)

100 gm of very soft butter

200ml of room temp milk (you can microwave this for 30 seconds if you’re in a rush or baking spontaneously)

2 eggs, room temp again please

50 gm candied citrus peel

Finely grated zest of one orange

1 heaped tsp salt flakes

Icing:

2/3 c icing sugar

2 Tb sour cream

2 tsp orange juice from the zested orange.

Method:

In a small bowl cover apricots in boiling water, set aside to soak while you prepare your other ingredients.

In the bowl of a stand mixer combine all other ingredients. Drain, apricots and press you’re your hand to squeeze out remaining liquid and add to the bowl with other ingredients.

Set stand mixer to med low until all dry ingredients are amalgamated, 1-2 minutes, then increase speed to med and knead for 8 minutes. It’s quite a sticky dough, don’t be tempted to add flour, just let it do its thing. I like to stop a couple times during this part and scrape the sides down to help things along.

While the dough is mixing, grease a large glass bowl with butter (see notes), set aside.

When kneading is complete, turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Again, don’t be tempted to add more flour, just a light sprinkling if it needs help to not stick to the bench and your hands. Give the dough a light knead by hand just to make sure the fruit is evenly distributed. Place smooth side up in the greased bowl loosely covered with cling wrap and set aside in a warm draft free spot to prove until double in size.. see notes.

If proving in the oven, remove. Preheat oven to 180c and line a baking tray with baking paper.

When doubled in size (about two hours) turn out onto a lightly floured surface again. The greasing in the bowl should help this along. Gently divide the dough into 12 equal sized pieces shaping into ball shapes. Line up on the tray and leave in a warm spot again with a tea towel over the top. This will let them puff up slightly and relax after being handled. Rest them for 30 minutes.

Brush with an egg wash and bake for 30 minutes.

Allow to cool completely and ice with combined icing ingredients. You may like to sprinkle with roasted almond flakes or toasted coconut flakes.

Or you could rip one open hot and slather in butter and enjoy with the oozy butter running between your fingers, your choice.

Notes:

If it’s cooler where you are or you lack a warm spot for your dough try this tip. Turn the light on in your oven when it first occurs to you to cook buns. The ambient warmth from the light will be just right for a consistent temperature to help your yeast along and of course an oven is guaranteed draft free.

While your dough is in the mixer fill the glass bowl with hot tap water to warm it up. The dough will be a nice temp from mixing to kick off the proving process, warming the bowl first ensures the dough isn’t ‘shocked’ by being transferred to a cold bowl.

Savoury Pizza Muffins

A few kilometres from my home the urban sprawl recedes, the land and fields opens up and rolling country hills emerge. As you crest the hill from which this view unfolds, you feel your shoulders fall, your lungs exhale and the rat race fall away. A belt of bushland and hobby farms scaped with eucalypts borders the divide between greater Melbourne and rural and agricultural valleys. As you emerge from that winding bush road at the top of the hills t that ring your first glimpse of the valley a the grid like pattern of vineyards and orchards unfolds, like a mosaic of jade and emerald toned tiles enriched by red volcanic soil. It’s the route we take most often when we head out exploring both for camping trips and weekend getaways. The one that draws me out rain hail or shine.

The divide between metropolitan Melbourne and regional Australia is just over five kilometres from our front door. Whilst it’s a well-worn and loved path for us drawing us out like a magnet it’s one that was, for a while, beyond our reach in recent years. That ‘while,’ the one Victorians endured during those most recent unmentionable years, the ones where we were asked to protect ourselves by remaining within a perimeter of a 5km radius of our homes. It was a period that the world over changed things for us all, some good, some not so good, some temporary some enduring. It’s a subject we could talk and write about infinitely. For us though one of the biggest ones that’s lasted for us has been my husband’s work from home routine. In my own work this is a mostly normal thing but for him it’s been a big change. His work life has taken him around the world, to oil rigs, mines and major infrastructure sites, so shrinking his professional life to a 10 square metre home office with a view of hour letter box has been a radical shift. During the period in which this was mandated and necessary it was acceptable and one we could all swallow. In the post lockdown world in which hybrid work arrangements are the new norm, living and working within the same four walls interminable can be a little harder to justify to yourself and therefore tolerate. The benefits do indeed outweigh the negatives like commuting and the like but sometimes those benefits still need balance.

The restlessness created, by a life lived in one location, sometimes needs attention at the end of the work week. If you’ve been reading my thoughts for a while, you may remember we’re now empty nesters which makes the weekends quiet. Perhaps the hubbub of living with young adults made our hours outside work fuller, they were certainly busier, nonetheless they’re quieter and makes the hours spent at home feel endless. Harking back to our pre-kids life where weekends were always busy in other ways, we’ve been trying to venture out a bit more. The lack of commuting fatigue we used to feel makes the prospect of a Sunday drive far more inviting than it used to be. Living as close as we do to beautiful countryside is a privilege that affords a huge range of beautiful places to explore. We’ve been taking advantage of that and exploring more, tourists in our backyard if you will. We’ve taken a few misty drives in nearby rainforest lined hills some where we’ve ultimately found some sunshine and some shrouded in gorgeous fog. As much as I love the hills in winter and all that gorgeous mist you really can’t beat a day trip in spring. One where you can head out somewhere new and undiscovered and find a spot to park the car and take a walk, find a new spot for lunch or set up somewhere scenic for a picnic.

All that talk last week of salads and sunshine made me think about a picnic or two in the coming months. I quite like the idea of whipping something up quickly on a Sunday morning after waking to sunshine and a good weather report. Nothing to tricky, just something that ticks all the boxes and can be packed in a basket quickly with a few extra bits like fruit and a thermos of coffee (for me, I’ve still not converted him) and a cosy blanket to spread out and relax on. Something like Savoury Pizza Muffins, a fluffy, oozy combo wrapping all the traditional flavours of a classic ham pizza. They’re pretty handy too for little fingers, hungry during school holidays and easy for said little fingers to make too…winning!

Ingredients:

100 gm butter melted

300 gr self-raising flour

1 tsp salt flakes

1 ½ tsp dried oregano leaves

100 gm fresh ham roughly chopped

200 gm grated hard cheese. I use a combo of sharp cheddar and parmigiano, but you can use anything you like that’s flavourful. It’s a good way to use up ends in the fridge.

4 spring onions/scallions chopped

2 eggs beaten

¼ c/60ml extra virgin olive oil

200 ml milk

¼ c pizza sauce. I just use a bought one usually and freeze the remaining if I don’t expect to use it quickly. Any remaining homemade sauce you have in the fridge to be used up is also fine.

Preheat oven 180c. Line a muffin tray with 12 liners and spray them with cooking spray. I don’t use spray very often but the cheese makes these a little sticky even with the liners.

Melt better in the microwave and set aside to cool while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

In a large bowl combine the flour, salt, oregano, cheese, ham and spring onion. In a smaller bowl or jug combine the cooled butter, milk and eggs. Make a well in the centre of the dry ingredients and pour the wet mixture into the centre. Gently, with purposeful strokes, fold the two together until almost combine. Drop spoonfuls of pizza sauce on the mixture dotted around the top then complete the folding process with only a few more folds. The pizza sauce should be like marble threads through the mixture not completely mixed through. This will give you pops of tomatoey richness in random bites as you eat. You don’t want to over mix like with regular muffin methods or they’ll be chewy and tough.

Spoon into prepared muffin cases and bake 20 minutes, until golden brown and a skewer comes out clean. Allow to cool to at least warm. As tempting as it is, eating them fresh out of the oven when the cheese is oozy and the sauce steaming is a sure fire ride to burned mouth hell.

Store in the fridge if there’s any left over and warm briefly in the microwave if you want them that way or leave to return to room temp for ten minutes before eating. They’ll also freeze well.

Antipasto and Quinoa Salad

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

100gm/ ½ c of quinoa

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

3 french shallots, peeled and quartered lengthways

1 zucchini, ends trimmed, sliced in 1cm discs

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

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

Dressing:

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

1 garlic clove crushed

1 Tb finely chopped fresh basil

1 Tb fresh lemon juice

½ - 1 tsp salt flakes to taste

1 cup Greek yoghurt

Method:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes:

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

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

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

Spinach and Cheese Rolls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

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

3 spring onions (scallions) sliced and chopped

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

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

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

20 gm finely grated romano or parmesan cheese

1 egg beaten

½ tsp each dried oregano and dill

½ tsp salt flakes

Finely grated rind of a lemon

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

1 egg extra for an egg wash

Method:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parsnip and Cashew Soup

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

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

2 garlic cloves, one kept whole one peeled and crushed

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

25 gm butter

1 leek, white part only sliced

½ tsp freshly grated nutmeg

1 tsp fresh thyme leaves

150 gm whole natural cashew nuts

1 litre chicken or vegetable stock

2 cups of water

Sour cream and chives to serve

Method:

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

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

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

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

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

Classic Chicken Sandwich

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

200 gm cooked cubed chicken cooled **

100 grams chopped bacon fried off to just crispy, cooled

2 Tb garlic aioli

2 Tb plain mayonnaise like Kewpie

1 Tb sour cream

1 Tb finely chopped fresh chives *

1 Tb roughly chopped pistachios

Freshly ground black pepper to taste.

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

Method:

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

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

Notes:

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

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

Cauliflower, Carrot and Chickpea Fritters

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy!!

Ingredients:

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

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

1 large carrot peeled and grated

1 spring onion/scallion finely chopped

1 tsp thyme leaves chopped or ½ tsp dried

1 garlic clove crushed

½ C milk

½ plain flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 egg lightly whisked

1 tsp salt flakes

Freshly ground black pepper to taste.

Oil to fry. I prefer extra virgin olive oil

Method:

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

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

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

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

Serve warm or cold with your favourite condiment.

Sausage Rolls

The word Parochial, according to both the oxford and Cambridge dictionaries, has two meanings. One referring to religion and the other referring to a narrow scope of interest, single mindedness if you will. In the scope of the last week, both globally and locally here in my home town the true meaning of parochialism feels ever present.

Like billions worldwide I sat up glued to the television enraptured by the pagentry and tradition of the royal funeral. The ceremony and customs observed by The Church of England in marking the passing of it’s traditional head and the British head of state was both majestic and humbling. Breathtaking voices of the combined choir soared into the very peaks of centuries old Westminster Abbey signalling the procession’s arrival into the historic entrance to the nave and it’s slow progress forth. Goosebumps rose on my skin, a lump in my throat swelled and I was transfixed. Centuries of traditional rites honouring the values, structure and history of the church marked each convention in observance of the passing of a sovereign and the accession of a successor. Not only was the occasion a momentous one in the life of the church but also one in the history of the United Kingdom. The sight of hundreds of thousands of British subjects and visitors lining the Mall adorned with union jacks fluttering in the breeze framing the massed military march escorting the Queen was a stirring one of nationalism and loyalty to crown and state, truly one of the most parochial and unifying events in modern history. It was awe inspiring to watch and humbling to feel a part of even as a home viewer. Regardless of your feelings on royalty, both historically and into the future, you can’t help but feel awed by the reverential parochial respect the British people held for their monarch and consequently the nation and sheer grandeur of the ceremony.

Now, I’m not a religious person but I do love tradition, loyalty and dedication. In a far lighter vain, in Melbourne this week we observe what is colloquially called a religion, Australian Rules Football and it’s Grand Final and similarly evoking a reverential type parochialism. Whilst only celebrated on a fraction of the scale of the pomp of the royal ceremonies and a far less sombre and significant occasion it’s one of great parochialism unifying the two tribes of supporters whose two teams will go into battle for the ultimate prize of their sport. Suburban football clubs will hold smaller events to join into the festivities, supporters will stop at nothing to get their hands on tickets to the game at the MCG, our colosseum of sorts holding 100,000 spectators and groups of families and friends will gather around televisions roaring with each triumph. It’s a brutal game, men going to war putting their bodies on the line with every turn of play, no padding or helmets just primal brute force in the pursuit of possession of the ball and ultimately a goal. And in the midst of combat a population come together with nothing else in focus but that one day and prize each driven by a parochial and unwavering loyalty to their team.

I love tradition, I love the rites and symbolism of occasions grand and small significant and festive. Rituals and customs are anchoring and unifying. Maybe that’s why in many ways parochialism in all it’s forms can be a positive. From the formalities and rituals of a religious parochialism and the unity and comfort that it’s familiarity offers it’s followers to the one eyed loyalty individuals feel in parochialisms around communities, sport and unifying events no matter how trivial in the grand scheme of the world they may seem.

We too love the football grand final period and enjoy our little traditions around the festival. Usually gathering with friends to cheer and lament the warring teams and raise a toast to the ultimate winner. It won’t surprise you that we’re particularly parochial about the food we celebrate the footy with. Every year, regardless of whatever I’m serving Sausage Rolls are compulsory. My family’s parochial love of the humble seemingly simple hot pastry is without peer. Like many such dishes everyone has their own bent on the party food classic. Mine started, rooted in a Donna Hay recipe from one of her earliest books and over the years has evolved to reflect our own tastes and preferences. Generally I use store bought pastry but occasionally I’ll feel like something a little extra special and make my own. If you’d like to try making them with homemade pastry this one is perfect for these. They’re always best served with tomato sauce (ketchup) but we also love them with this delicious chutney.

Ingredients:

500gm beef mince

500gm sausage mince

1 onion very finely diced

1 carrot peeled and grated

2 cups fresh breadcrumbs made old bread or 1 ½ c of dried bought crumbs

1 egg beaten

¼ c worcestshire sauce

2 tb tomato sauce/ketchup

4-5 sheets of butter puff pastry or one quantity of rough puff pastry

I egg extra for glazing

Method:

Preheat oven to 180 c, line two large baking trays with baking paper, set aside.

Combine all ingredients except pastry and extra egg in a large bowl. Using your hands mix all ingredients very well. You can also do this in a stand mixer using the paddle attachment.

Lay out pastry sheets and allow to thaw until still cold and firm but pliable. Cut each sheet in half length ways. Using a disposable piping bag end snipped to create a 2 cm wide opening pipe the meat mixture down the middle of each pastry stip creating a sausage shape and size similar to a bbq sausage the full length of the pastry. Brush pastry edge then roll up encasing meat in pastry. Cut the full length roll into four smaller rolls. Repeat with remaining ingredients until all the meat is used. Place on baking trays, brush with extra egg beaten with a splash of milk to glaze and sprinkle with sesame seeds. Bake for 30 minutes until golden brown.

Notes:

You can alter the mix of meat to as much as all sausage meat but not less than at least half sausage meat. This gives it a softer texture and loads of flavour.

Makes 40 snack sized rolls or 60 smaller canape sized rolls. If you’re unable to find sausage mince you can use BBQ style sausages in their casing and squeeze out the filling.

Cornish Pastie

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

1 swede peeled and finely diced

1 potato peeled and finely diced

1 carrot peeled and finely diced

1 parsnip peeled and finely diced

1 eschalot or small brown onion peeled and finely diced

½ tsp heaped salt flakes

¼ tsp ground white pepper

2 tsp finely chopped parsley

250 gm minced/ground beef

2 sheets puff pastry measuring 30cm X 40cm

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

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c.

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

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

Rough Puff Pastry:

400 gm cold butter cubed

400 gm plain flour

1tsp fine salt

150-180 ml cold water

Method:

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

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

Thai Spiced Pumpkin Soup

Many of my memories are wrapped in food. I can recall what I’ve eaten at many of the important moments, milestones and destinations in my life, the dish punctuating the recollections with flavour, colour and setting. I write about this a lot, indeed these memories and the feelings they evoke spark emotions that can comfort, warm and usually bring a smile. The transportive nature of taste and smell can move you like no other sensory spark.

The bracingly cold winter we’re experiencing has again brought many of these memories to the surface with a seemingly insatiable yearning for soup. Some of my earliest and fondest memories featuring food and coloured with a bowl of steaming nutritious soup. I’ve written about this here and here. Soup can act like a canvas for culinary creativity stretching you to use up the bits and bobs in the veg crisper and pantry and concoct something that emerges from the bowl that warms and nurtures mind, body and soul.

One of the first soups I made myself was a pumpkin soup. Sitting in the classroom of my home economics class aged 14, relatively new to the pumpkin eating party I was excited to try what felt inordinately exotic. Can you imagine a simple bowl of a much loved classic, listed on café menus the world over for its economic simplicity as exotic? Gosh our tastes grow don’t they. It was a favourite for many years and one I made frequently. But as time marched on and my tastes changed I found myself rejecting it as too plain.

Too plain until this idea came to me. It’s one inspired by many modern versions I’ve seen around recently. Attempts by others to zhoosh up the 1980’s favourite with a modern twist. Ones with various flourishes of other ingredients dancing in tandem to create a new combination or various spice additions transporting the dish through various cuisines, all of which lifting a very simple dish to another level. As is often the case in my kitchen I’ve tried to keep it simple, relying on the best quality ingredients available to shine and bring the show to the bowl keeping the list and jobs to a minimum.

Ingredients:

750 gm Pumpkin peeled and cut into large chunks

2 Tb olive oil

½ tsp salt flakes

1 tb grated ginger

2 French shallots peeled and sliced

1 lemongrass stalk, white part only bruised to open the husk but remaining in tact

3 lime leaves scrunched up

2 tb red curry paste

1 litre chicken stock

1 cup coconut milk

Preheat oven to 180c.

Method:

Combine pumpkin cubes, 1 tb of the oil and salt flakes and toss to coat. Spread in one layer on a baking tray and roast in the oven for 30 45 minutes or until almost cooked through. They’ll finish cooking and softening in the soup and we don’t want the edges to caramelise.

While the pumpkin is cooking, in a heavy based pot, warm the remaining tb of oil. Gently fry off the ginger and shallots over a low heat for five minutes or until soft and translucent but not caramelised. Add in the lemongrass and lime leaves, stirring and warming until they release their aroma. Increase heat to med-high, stir in the curry paste and again cook off for a few minutes more until aromatic and well combined with the shallots, ginger and herbs. Pour in stock and tip in roasted pumpkin cubes. Bring this mixture to the boil and reduce to a gentle simmer. Allow it to gently bubble away for thirty minutes to allow the flavours to meld and the pumpkin to finish cooking. The pumpkin will break up considerable during this period, which is fine as we’ll blending it in the next step. Turn off heat and allow to cool slightly until the nest step.

If you’re using a stand blender like me (I use a vitamix) you’ll need to allow it to cool to the point where it’s not freely steaming, about 10-15 minutes. If using a stick blender in the pot in which you’ve cooked carry on straight away.

Blend the soup with the coconut milk and return to heat for 5-10 minutes.

Serve over noodles of your choice, with rice or on it’s own with some warm flaky roti bread. Top with an extra dollop of coconut cream and a sprinkle of thai style embellishments such as chopped peanuts, herbs, chilli slices and deep fried shallots.

You’ll notice I’ve used mint. I’m one of ‘those coriander’ people. I simply can’t eat it, smell it or frankly be in the same room as it. This is a dish however that would be lovely with the addition of lots of fresh fragrant herbs. I suspect coriander lovers would love it’s addition to a bowl of this soup. You might also like thai basil, sweet basil, Vietnamese mint and regular mint. The more the merrier, added while steaming to elevate the lovely aroma realeased in the heat.

Notes:

The soup also hosts sliced stir fried greens nicely.

You can make the soup heartier with the addition of some proteins. Boiled eggs like I’ve used in the photo works well. You may also like to use shredded chicken either from leftovers from a previous meal or poached while you’re making the soup. For vegetarians cubes of deep fried tofu is a delicious addition.

Crustless Potato Quiche

Sun streams through the window warming my face. Gumtree shaped shadows dance across the pages of my book distracting me while I read, inspiring idle daydreams, a choir of warbling magpies my serenade and soundtrack. I’m snuggled under a fluffly red mohair blanket contemplating a nap or a walk or perhaps concentrating on the words in my book. The words win out, they usually do. It’s a lazy Sunday, the day after the federal election and change is emerging. Everyone’s tired, maybe it’s another chapter of pandemic recovery closing and the next era dawning, maybe it’s fatigue from the constant news cycle we’ve just endured.

As the afternoon slowly meanders by marked by the fall of the sun through the trees and towards the west horizon the reality of life ambles towards me. Early evening draws closer and I contemplate the collection of leftovers from last night’s gathering of friends awaiting us in the fridge.

We gathered around a long table, enjoying each other’s company, all the more aware of the joy of breaking bread together, multiple conversations dancing across the table in rapid fire banter. Plates of colourful vegetable offerings brought by our guests pass back and forth, scoops of slow roasted boneless chicken on a bed of unctuous cherry tomatoes and tender spiced lamb shank nestle alongside. Wine is shared, sloshed into glasses, it’s readiness dissected while others enjoy a variety of frothy lagers. The remains packed away we retire to the fireplace outside in the dewy night air, more laughter, more food, bowls of bubbling apple and rhubarb crumble and custard warming our hands. Satisfied sighs and bellies surround my contented happy soul, having spent a contented afternoon cooking for dear friends and family one of the greatest acts of love and appreciation I can offer.

Whilst dinner was gratefully devoured there’s always a surplus when you’re notorious for serving a heaving table. Returning to the present I reluctantly put my book down and haul myself from the couch, open the fridge, ponder the contents of the tubs stacked inside….hmm not quite enough for tonight’s dinner. Another corner of my mind is settling around memories of elections past and my parents. What they’d think of this most recent period and the weekend’s result. The fridge alarm pings….day dreaming again…back to reality. Thoughts of my mum, a tenacious hard working social worker, come to the front of my mind and inspiration strikes. Her signature dish of her later years, a recipe brought home from work scribbled on a torn envelope by one of her clients and later passed around through her own family and friends. A simple easy to construct comfort food recipe perfect for the end of week bits and pieces in the fridge and to pad out a small buffet of last night’s surplus. A contented smile breaks across my face and I get to work. Never underestimate the value of daydreaming, the power of food memories and the simple dishes that fill our recollections.

Crustless potato quiche, as Mum would call it, is super versatile being one of those meals suitable for all three mealtimes. It will work as a picnic dish, with a salad for a light lunch or dinner or even a prepared brekky or lunch box item. You can use leftover potato or cook potato especially for your quiche. Any of the ham/bacon family will work as will other smallgood like salami and chorizo. You can also experiment with the vegetables you add again leaning on leftovers from the fridge or using bits and bobs from the crisper. I’ve tweaked Mum’s recipe making it a little lighter but bulking it up for a hungry family.

Ingredients:

1 onion diced

2 garlic cloves crushed or finely chopped

1 tsp extra virgin olive oil

1 Tb unsalted butter

4 large eggs lightly whisked

1 cup whole milk

1 cup grated cheddar cheese (any flavoursome hard cheese will work, even a mix if needed)

1 tsp salt flakes

½ cup self-raising flour

2 potatoes diced cooked to just tender. (This equals roughly 2 cups of diced leftover potatoes if you’re using leftover potato)

1 cup of vegetables of your choice (see note)

100 gm prosciutto, ham, bacon or other similar meat.

Method:

Preheat oven to 220c. Grease a 20 cm square ceramic dish or round pie plate.

Melt butter with olive in a small pan over med-low heat. Gently cook the onion and garlic until translucent. If using bacon and you prefer it cooked you can also add it here and cook it off. Allow to cool while you gather and prepare the rest of the ingredients.

Whisk together eggs and milk. Stir through cheese and sprinkle over flour folding through until just combined. Add, onion and garlic mixture including the melted butter and oil, potato and any vegetable and meat your using. Gently stir through additions and pour into the prepared dish. Bake 30 minutes or until golden brown on top, set in the middle and gently pulling away from the sides. Allow to cool slightly before serving.

Notes:

If using spinach for your veg addition use chopped fresh baby spinach leaves. No need to cook first indeed doing so will add moistrure.

Other lovely veg additions that work well include corn, peas, capsicum, zucchini and even cubed roasted pumpkin.

Cubed cooked sweet potato is a delicious alternative to regular white potato.

A mixture of grated cheese adds flavour and is a handy use of all the small leftover bits of cheese in the dairy drawer.