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.

Chilli and Sesame Spiced Pecans

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

1 Tb maple syrup

2 tsp gochugaru paste (Korean chilli bean paste)

¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper

2 pinches of salt flakes

¼ tsp sesame oil

1 Tb sesame seeds

3 Tb extra virgin olive oil

3 C raw whole pecan halves

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

Method:

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

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

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

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.

Confit Fennel with Chardonnay and Honey Mustard

I’m sitting in our caravan, a relatively small one by today’s standards. We’re in a western NSW town for our fourth day, a day longer than planned. My keyboard is dappled with pretty dancing light and shadows tip toeing across my hands back and forth as I type. They float through the window in the shape of old-fashioned bottle brushes and finger shaped leaves created by sun peeping through waving branches of blooming Callistemon trees that surround our little patch of earth on which we’re parked. Waving branches perhaps a polite description 30 knot gusts. Not only do the shadows move back and forth, but our small home on wheels jolts side to side too. We’re being buffeted by gusts of winds strong enough to remind us our salubrious little abode is indeed on wheels and not permanent. The weather front passing our locale has halted our travels, grounding us, keeping us in place another day as it passes. The thought of hauling a large square ‘box’ not really designed for cross winds behind a car of equally square arrangement, enough to force us to make do and stay put for just one more day.

The phrase ‘making do’ is often preceded with the word just… “just make do,” suggesting making do is a compromise. That to live with what’s at hand, what’s around you, what’s available is somehow not as great an existence as what could be, or what’s missing. However a holiday touring and traveling is one requiring the utmost compromise and making do, but in the best possible way.

Compacting your normally busy and plentiful life into a 5 metre long caravan and car with barely a plan but a vague direction into which you head, following the sun, a midway point as a guide and the coast your road home, requires some thought and a lot of concession. It requires thought and planning. Enough clothes but not too many, ingredients to make meals but the right ones for maximum flavour taking up minimum space while still maintaining enough nutrition and interest (maybe that’s just me), spare parts and tools for any mishaps or glitches, medicines to last, toiletries, water etc ad nauseum. It can be enough to make your brain spin and consider a well-planned all-inclusive tour on which someone else does all the planning and you just turn up and enjoy. But that wouldn’t really be the point or the same holiday. We’re fairly well versed at this exercise, we’ve traversed the highways of Australia zig zagging across the wide-open planes many times. We’ve travelled with tiny babies, toddlers and kids in the most basic of camping set ups through various iterations to what now feels like a floating hotel room. Our family has gazed at billions of stars while our toes burrowed in the red dirt of the outback, breathed in eucalyptus fragranced mist at dawn on mountain tops in the high country (ok I may have done that from the comfort of a sleeping bag with one eye half open #notamorningperson) and walked isolated beaches as sapphire blue waters lapped our feet. What we’ve not done before is travel with nary a plan. Our journeys are normally planned to the day with itineraries dictating the day’s location, travel or plans, their length instructed by school holidays or annual leave from work. This time is different and while planning what’s required to stow for enjoyment, comfort and safety remains a necessity a plan as loose as that with which we’ve set off requires a willingness to travel with fluidity and adaptability.

Our first week saw an overnight stop in a tiny town with the only availability for our new car’s first check-up service for hundreds of miles and consequently a birthday dinner for my husband at the local returned serviceman’s club.

A misstep by a very confused google maps taking us down a narrow road leading to a laneway style carriageway between paddocks of grain crops not really suited to a touring rig and the discovery that whatever grain was growing and I are not friends. Hello hives on legs after squatting amongst roadside stray crops to take photos. Maybe I should suggest an upgrade to google maps in which you can set a preference for roads worthy of a four-wheel drive trailing a caravan.

Also this week, the beautiful kindred spirit of small town communities found in a riverside precinct, a beautiful multicultural celebration and a spring festival marking the harvest of Griffith’s food crops and a promenade of sculptures created with a surplus of oranges from the region, one of only two places in the world in which this happens.

All inspiring and all examples of towns making the most of their communities and what their regions offer. Making do perhaps or making something special. Maybe that’s what ‘making do’ is. Maybe making do creates the space for a serendipity of its own leading to an unexpected ‘special.’ Maybe traveling with a mostly open-ended vague plan, without the limitation of a strict timetable and with a shrunken down life that fits into what amounts to a trailing box is the path to learning the joy in making do and appreciating the results.

With the ‘limitations’ this adventure presents my pantry is a modicum of what I’m used to reaching for. My dinner time yearnings however are not. With limited ingredients and a hankering for something delicious to accompany the lamb backstrap that Hubby was planning on barbecuing I started plotting. I’m now lucky enough to travel with an, albeit small, but normal fridge freezer arrangement. As you’d imagine its filled with a strategically selected collection of meat and vegetables, a perfect canvas for the equally tactical collection of flavourings and accoutrements in the cupboard. With the outback sun settling into the horizon the air had cooled and my desire for something warm and hearty to sit next to our lamb had also settled on me. With the bulb of fennel in the crisper, my favourite mustard found at a small local supermarket and the remains of a delicious chardonnay sourced in Wagga on our first night and some patience at the stove I made do, and the result created confit fennel with chardonnay and mustard.

I offer you this recipe with a warning of sorts. In the true spirit of making do I am travelling without scales, measuring spoons and, at best, a vague notion of time. Whist I’ve made my best effort to make this as precise as I normally would offer it does come with a small disclaimer that, like I have, you should trust your cooking gut and use your senses while following my instructions. Make do my friends.

Instructions:

1 bulb of fennel trimmed of tops, cored and thickly sliced into 1 cm slices

1 french shallot peeled and sliced

2 tbs salted capers washed and drained

1 garlic clove peeled and finely sliced

¼ c extra virgin olive oil

2 tsp butter

Good glug of white wine, I used chardonnay and would say a good glug is something akin to 2 tb

1 heaped tsp of Dijon honey mustard. If you don’t have this used 1 of regular Dijon and half of tsp of runny honey

¼ tsp dried oregano flakes 

Method:

Preheat olive oil in a medium to large fry pan (mine is 28cm at the base) over medium-low heat until oil is just starting to be runny and looser when you lift and roll the pan, 3-4 minutes. Reduce heat to low and add fennel and shallot. Stir to coat thoroughly in the oil and allow to simmer stirring often for 5-7 minutes until the edges are translucent one third of the way to centre of the slices As pictured below, the middle of the slices will still be white. Ensure when stirring the shallot is not browning.

At this stage add the garlic and capers and stir well again cooking another five minutes stirring often to make sure the garlic softens and melts not browns.

Once fennel is soft and completely translucent stir in the butter and increase heat to medium high, watch closely so the vegetable doesn’t catch and butter burn, it’s fine if it caramelises at the edges. After 1-2 minutes when it’s increased in heat splash in the wine, it should immediately bubble up and start to reduce. After the wine has reduced by perhaps half’ish after a couple minutes stir in the mustard and sprinkle over the oregano. Allow to simmer a minute more then serve immediately.

We enjoyed it next to barbecue lamb backstap topped with beetroot relish stirred through Greek yoghurt, bbq’ed corn and green salad. It would also be delicious with roast pork and greens or chicken. This served the two of us, both fennel lovers.

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.

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.