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.

Easy Aussie Beef Party Pies

105 years ago families and groups of friends trekked to a suburban cricket oval to cheer and support their football teams in the first Football Grand Final Game. Armies of fans gathered to support the warriors they’d followed for the winter months in a game unique to our land known for it’s brutal toughness and parochial supporters. Through the decades, lines were drawn across suburbs and regions defining an almost tribal fan base whose rivalries spilled over into conversations and relationships sparking many contentious though generally good-natured debates and battles. In more recent decades, football became a national game, it’s reach extending into all states and territories and it’s culture pervading sports fans who’d previously followed other codes.

Football rivalries have defined the histories of many Australian families, my own, no exception. My dad joined his own local footy club as a junior in 1949 as a 15 year old lad new to the area. Working as a porter at the local railway station, an older colleague and mentor, noticing his need to be involved in his community and make new friends in his new home, extended an invitation to him to come down to the nearby footy ground and watch a game. He soon joined the club beginning a sixty plus year membership. He was dedicated to his club and its members often siting the camaraderie he enjoyed there as the one constant in his life and solace that kept him young in old age and gave him purpose in his retirement and widowhood.

My mother’s family too were dedicated fans of the game, all following the ubiquitous Collingwood football club as did my paternal grandmother. Whilst all football allegiances are parochial Collingwood has an aura and presence all its own in Melbourne. It was one that enjoyed the loyalty of the workers and those who lived in the heavily populated, then, inner suburbs that ringed the city it’s following becoming generational continuing to today. In my early years I was a Collingwood supporter in the way as children we inherit other characteristics of our parents, almost like a genetic code. My memory of this is thin at best but I very clearly remember the turning point at which this changed.

As and eight year old in grade two of primary school one of my class mates was the daughter of a coach of one the more famed football teams. With stars in my eyes, their success during the season of 1979 came to my attention. Growing up in a home of two dedicated football fans, sports news was on the tv, radio and in newspapers ad nauseum so even as a child I absorbed these updates. It became increasingly clear as the year progressed that Collingwood was going to be challenged by its traditional rival and as is the way of children I was keen to back a winner. To her great credit my Mum didn’t try to sway me. Perhaps she thought it was a passing phase and the expected success of the family team would sway me back. At the end of an exciting season the finals culminated in a battle of the traditional rivals, Carlton meeting Collingwood. Battle lines were drawn between the two suburbs that bordered each other and across football loving Melbourne and inadvertently in our household. Calling on favours and friendships Mum managed to nab two tickets to the game that attracted nearly 114,000 enthusiastic fans. In scenes reminiscent of the great gladiatorial battles of the colosseum the game swung back and forth. Sat next to the Collingwood cheer squad some of those ebbs and flows of the game were tough for a little girl to swallow, indeed I remember I resting my head on mums shoulder at half time re-thinking my football rebellion. Perhaps she consoled me with some smugness thinking she was providing a child a tough lesson. As the game progressed and with controversy that remains questioned some 44 years later Carlton rose up and claimed victory and perhaps my mum learnt her own tough lesson about allowing a child to follow her heart my Carlton support cemented

In recent weeks the football season of 1979 has been on my mind as it has the minds of many football fans and the fans of the two heritage teams. In an exciting season and as the finals edged closer to the last Saturday in September a repeat of the 1979 Grand Final line-up looked ever possible, though alas it was not to be, Carlton missing out on a place in the final play off for the premiership cup at the final hurdle. What doesn’t change however is the festivity of the week. Football’s unique characteristic is its unifying nature. Not only does it provide community hubs for local teams and their followers and consequently a ‘home’ of sorts for members it brings communities together following the wider league. This weekend regardless of whether your team is playing or not groups of friends and families will gather for BBQs and to watch the big game together. Those whose team isn’t playing will switch allegiances for the day choosing a team to cheer on as will many who don’t follow a team but find themselves at festivities enjoying the event. I’m torn because let’s face it as a Carlton supporter I can’t follow Collingwood but as a Victorian I can’t cheer for an interstate team….the morals of footy run deep. I’ll decide on the day.

One thing the doesn’t change is the food. Aside from the obvious that always makes an appearance, this year I thought I’d have a go at making my own party pies, the natural accompaniment to the sausage roll or perhaps the traditional rival, just like footy teams.

I’ve tried to make them as simple as possible. I’ve used mince rather than making a chunky slow cook, reflecting the type of meat pie you’d enjoy at a footy game only miniature. In doing this I suggest using the best frozen pastry you can get your hands on. I’ve used Careme shortcrust, if you have a favourite recipe and the time to make your own by all means do so. In addition to mince and frozen pastry I also suggest using patty pan trays with their half sphere holes rather than a more traditional pie shape that you’d achieve using a muffin tray. Afterall you’ve cheering to do rather than fussing with pastry in tricky trays.

Ingredients:

1 small onion finely diced

1 bacon rasher finely chopped

1 tsp each of finely chopped thyme and rosemery

2 tsps of extra virgin olive oil

500 gm beef mince

1 Tb plain flour

1 Tb worcestshire sauce

2 Cups beef stock made with good quality stock cubes (I use oxo)

2 tsp tomato paste

1 tsp salt flakes ( you may need to add more depending on the salt content of your stock cubes, traust your tastebuds)

½ tsp freshly ground black pepper

Method:

500-600 gm frozen Shortcrust pastry. Use the best you can afford for flavour and flakiness. You may like to use a mix of shortcust for the base and puff for the top.

In a large fry pan, over medium-low heat, sauté onion, bacon and herbs until onion is translucent. Push this mixture to the edge of the pan, increase heat to med-high and add Beef mince whole to the pan and allow to brown on one side for a few minutes. Flip the meat as a whole to brown on the other side a few more minutes before breaking up and continuing to cook through. Once it’s nearly done start mixing the onion and bacon mix through. Keep an on the onion mixture while cooking the meat to ensure it doesn’t brown. You can move your pan off centre while cooking the meat to protect the onion mix.

Once the meat is almost browned, drain off most of the juices that have eeked out from the meat. Return to the heat and add the flour mixing through the meat and onion mixture and allow it to cook off for a few minutes as you would if making a white sauce. Once the flour is slightly browned and completely combined with the meat (it will look a little gluggy, this is fine) add the tomato paste and worcestshire sauce, stir through and cook for two minutes. Reduce heat to low and slowly add the beef stock stirring until completely added. Increase heat to med, bring to the boil before reducing heat back down to low and simmer for 15 minutes or until liquid has thickened and reduce by a third, it should still be fairly wet but thickened. Remove from heat and cool to room temp before popping the mixture in a sealed tub or bowl and refrigerating until completely cool, overnight is fine.

Preheat oven to 200c, grease and line two 12 hole patty pan trays.

Thaw pasty. Choose a pastry cutter or glass slightly larger than the rim of the patty holes in your tray. Cut your pastry rounds and place in the tray holes gently pressing into place. Keep your pasty off cuts to re-roll for the tops. Your pastry bases should overhang the holes by 1-2 mm to be able to seal the top to. Spoon meat filling into each pastry case no higher than the rim. Using remaining pastry and the same cutter cut a second set of rounds to top the pies. Brush the underside of the round with egg wash then place onto top of pie. I like to brush the whole underside rather than the edges to seal as it’s less fiddly. Gently press edges to seal and brush tops of pies with egg wash. Cook in the oven 15-18 mins. Serve hot.

Deep Fried Zucchini

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

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

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

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

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

Ingredients:

1 large zucchini cut in to 1 cm slices

1/3 c plain flour

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

¼ tsp ground white pepper

1 tsp dried oregano

1 egg beaten with a tsp of milk

1 c panko breadcrumbs

10 g finely grated parmesan cheese

2 Tb sesame seeds

Neutral flavoured oil for deep frying

Dressing ingredients:

½ c sour cream

1 tb garlic ailoi

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

½ tsp salt flakes

Method:

Combine all dressing ingredients cover and store in fridge.

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

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

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

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

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.