The New Epicurean

Change of Direction

2012-02-11T10:23:00.000+11:00

The title isn't entirely appropriate as this blog didn't have much direction in the first place.

I have, however, lately had a big change of direction in my life. After more than a year's effort and quite possibly a gastric ulcer from stress, I have ceased full-time work and gone back to university as a graduate medical student.

What this means for the blog is that I will now be experimenting with the twin challenges of feeding myself in next to no time (supporting equipment, viz. a Bamix, has been acquired) and feeding hungry/bored/frustrated peers in CSL tutes.

So today's recipe is my first attempt at smoothie making, and my first use of my Bamix.

25g protein powder (I used Mirrabooka, which is whey and only has vanilla added. No sugar.)
50g frozen banana
100g (actually 70-something as that's what was left) frozen berries
1 tsp chia seeds
ice
water

Blend together, adding water to loosen as required. Unbelievably good, even if the weather switched to unseasonably wintry as I made it.

A sinister purpose

2011-04-24T10:20:00.000+10:00

Inevitably, an article on technology's infiltration of the dining room was going to raise the topic of bloggers and photographers, and, inevitably, that the article was published in the mainstream press suggested to me that it would be hostile to new media in general.

But was this really necessary?

“Going to a restaurant has always been a privilege and a pleasure,” says [David] Coomer, of Pata Negra. “It’d be great for people to realise that.

“Bloggers aren’t really there for a purpose, as they have a more sinister purpose. These days chefs are under a constant review process and, yes, it does shit me.”

1. These days? Sorry? In a sense, we are always reviewing a restaurant, cafe, chef etc whenever we go out. We may tell friends that the food was ace, or the fish overcooked, or the waiter negligent, that we saw a rat trap near the kitchen door (and worse - says I who had an unspeakable experience in Camberwell many years ago). Blogging just formalises those reviews and makes them available to a wider audience.

2. Sinister purpose? I doubt that many bloggers go to restaurants simply to have some material for rude comments later. Most blog reviews seem to involve the author coughing up their own hard-earned money - unlike restaurant reviewers - and I for one am not going to throw dollars at a meal if I expect or want it to be rubbish.

That's why it's even more irksome if it's not quite up to scratch - and many failings I have seen crop up in reviews (professional and amateur) seem to hinge on simple mistakes, like under/over seasoning or under/over cooking flesh. Professional chefs shouldn't make these errors. That's why they are paid to cook.

3. Mr Coomer's comments do, however, sum up what is wrong with retail and hospitality in general in Australia - the customer is always wrong. Whatever happened to trying to please people, without whom they would be out of a job? If people aren't happy with a meal, rather than childishly throwing insults and whingeing, why not find out whether there is some good reason for the complaint, and use it to improve in the future?

The Most Awful Birthday Cake Ever

2011-04-22T13:15:00.000+10:00

Really, I should just write a picture book with this title and at least make some cash out of the experience.

So despite having no cake decorating skills, I promised to make a Very Hungry Caterpillar cake for my twin cousins' fourth birthday.

And naturally, a few more spanners were thrown into the works:

One twin has multiple food allergies (nuts, dairy*, etc), which I struggle to keep track of. The poor boy missed out on his official birthday cake because the caterers included forbidden walnuts.
Both twins are largely unexposed to artificial colourings and other potential stimulants, and I am not going to be responsible for causing such exposure.
The cake had to be kosher and vegetarian, so gelatine was out of the question and I wasn't in the mood to experiment with agar agar or carageenan.
The mother is a health nut (and I have some sympathy for this) so anything using half a kilo of sugar wasn't going to go down very well.

I knew I could make red colouring pretty easily with the powdered freeze-dried raspberries, procured from The Essential Ingredient some time ago. If I needed it, purple/blue could easily be done with mashed up blueberries. But green was a bit of a problem.

I remembered seeing amazing lurid green things on Food Safari which involved pandan. However, all the pandan colourings I found in Asian grocers seemed to rely on artificial colours like 102 (tartrazine – which certainly sets me off into a hyperactive state of lunacy). Eventually I found fresh pandan leaf at the Therry Street Minh Phat (along with many other fascinating things).

Googling had assured me that pounding the pandan with a pestle and mortar and/or whizzing it in a food processor would mash the cell walls sufficiently to release some vivid green juice. Both methods failed for me, and I found that the pandan leaves demonstrated the sort of structural resilience worthy of Kevlar.

I managed to extract a wee dribble of green.

Aware that I couldn't waste a drop, I mixed this with some cornflour, milk, and a lot of sugar – the first two ingredients to try to make the icing a little less transparent. I then boiled this in a saucepan to thicken up the mixture and try to get it to a more controllable consistency.

Still rather pale… Argh.

The red was easy. I just mixed the powdered raspberries with sugar and water until I had a dark ruby paste. Thank god something worked.

For the cake itself, I made a simple sponge, beating organic butter with raw, organic vanilla-infused sugar until pale and fluffy. I then added three large eggs, more vanilla, and folded in wholemeal organic spelt flour (well mixed with baking powder).

The mixture went into a well-greased and floured balmoral tin and baked at 180 degrees for about 45 minutes.

The next problem was that the cake was nicely browned on the outside, and the lack of marzipan (nuts!) or very opaque fondant-type icing meant that the cake colour would show through. One solution was to cut off some of the crust, revealing the rather eggy-yellow crumb.
So you'd think I would have done that, right?

Wrong.

After waiting for it to cool, I glazed the cake with some homemade apricot jam. I then started to apply the green and red icing. It became apparent that the colours were not remotely intense nor opaque enough to make a significant difference to the cake's overall appearance.

Aware that time was running out, and I had no other options, I painted the cake with green and red icing, moulded some excess green icing into button-like eyes and split a segment of spent vanilla pod into thin strips to act as antennae. A trick a shamelessly stole from Heston Blumenthal, who did this for his BFG's cherry stalk.

The cake was, however, graciously received by the twins, who were delighted to have something that was iced (even ineptly) and that they were permitted to eat.

I promise myself that I will refine my natural food colouring technique (or indeed cultivate one) before the twins’ fifth birthday (with this in mind). Because by the standards of kids’ birthday cakes, this really wasn’t up to scratch.

Any tips out there in ye blogosphere for getting decent, naturally-coloured icing? Other than buying really expensive stuff from overseas…?

*My other flub was to use butter in the cake, completely unaware at the time that dairy was a no-no. However, no effects (ill or otherwise) were apparently noted. I wouldn't recommend this laxity for people with serious food allergies.

16 April 2011 - Vue de Monde

2011-04-17T11:06:00.001+10:00

After the Lake House in 2008, Jacques Reymond in 2009, and The Fat Duck in 2010, the list of remaining knockout restaurants for celebrating my mother’s birthday was starting to look very short indeed. Essentially, only one three hat restaurant was left in Melbourne (although I note that AGT has awarded Cutler & Co that status - watch this space… it was on my list anyway): Vue de Monde.

My mother has already been to Cafe Vue and Bistro Vue, and I have merely pored over Shannon Bennett’s Vue de Monde book (though still rather daunted by many of the recipes. I think I’ve only made one thing out of it. Oops. Watch this space too).

There was much media excitement about VdM’s planned move to the Rialto, which was discussed as though it would be complete by April 2011, but I since discovered that the timeline has extended somewhat, and the official move is not until 20th June. It did at least mean that I have had the chance to see what will soon be the “old” VdM.

Since it was a birthday, my mother had breakfast in bed with some of her Herend china: fresh espresso, organic milk, a croissant from La Tropezienne, Tiptree Loganberry jam, home-made peach and vanilla jam, poached egg & fleur de sel. And, not quite as tone-lowering as you might think, Whittaker’s chocolate.

Lunch was Latvian rye bread, homemade quince and grape relish and pyrenero cheese, with nuts and a green salad.

After seeing Potiche at Como and only just managing to get on a train in time, we made our way to VdM in Little Collins Street, and were warmly greeted. We were seated right next to the kitchen, and although I’m not sure my mother was overly thrilled about this, I am very nosy and spent most of the night watching chefs placing microherbs on plates, and swigging huge quantities of water in between slaving.

The table was set with Nachtmann glasses, Laguiole cutlery, salt, pepper and Echire butter. I’ve had the unsalted Echire in England (available from the supermarket. God I miss English supermarkets), but not the demi-sel. So I was looking forward to that.

Not being big drinkers (or in my case, not drinking at all - I was planning to drive home), we politely refused aperitifs and champagne, although I’m sure that for those of sterner livers something delicious would have been produced.

Andreas (really András, as it turned out) guided us through the menu options - menu gourmand, of five savoury courses and add-on dessert and cheese courses, or the chef’s menu/menu gastronome of around ten courses including truffles. Which I am sure is amazing, but I predicted I would be more than satisfied with the former option. I did encourage my mother to have whatever interested her (chef’s menu included), but she went for the menu gastronome (plus dessert) in the end.
Sensibly, András gauged dietary restrictions and preferences very early on, and immediately understood my pescetarian leanings without my having to explain. This meant that there were no unexpected, unpleasant chickeny surprises. The sommelier, whose name I have forgotten but who was excellent, also had a chat with us about wine, and my mother indicated that she would like a glass of red with her red meat course. More on that later.

The first stage, though not a course, comprised the amuse bouches. The first was smoked eel, with a crispy slightly sweet shell, some white chocolate, and caviar on top. I love eel, and haven’t had enough of it, so I enjoyed this. The slight sweetness with the crunch and saltiness was weirdly delicious. Other amuses were spoons of something I can’t remember but which I think were sashimi-style bluefin tuna (ethical reservations aside), tuna marrow served in a vertebra on top of tapioca sand (nutty, delicious, Fat Duck-ish), very pretty little transparent ravioli with (I think) buttermilk, and tiny pencil-like carrots with (possibly) microherb accents.

House-made rolls were offered - sourdough, and multigrain. I had a sourdough, my mother had multiples of each, and both were very good. The demi-sel butter was excellent, and I think that in this case the demi-sel Echire was better than the unsalted I’d had a year ago. I normally prefer unsalted, but this was really fantastic.

The first proper course then came out - heirloom organic tomatoes, grown in the Macedon area, with smoking tomato consomme poured from a jug. What I liked about this was its lightness and freshness, and though there was a bit of chemistry with the dry iced consomme, there was very little messing around with the ingredients. I think some goats’ cheese was involved, which always makes me happy. I am gaga about caprine products. Oh, and salmon roe. And finger limes.

Next was the egg course. I had recently read Oliver Thring’s Consider the Egg, and my head was already full of “one egg is un oeuf” lines, so this seemed quite appropriate.

The chef - whose name I have forgotten, despite it being embroidered on his whites (I am so sorry, Monsieur) - explained this to us. A slow cooked duck egg yolk, atop celeriac puree (the egg white), with onions, crouton bits, pig fat sauce for the omnis and onion sauce for the peskys.

This was so, so much better than it sounds. I’ve never tasted such fabulously sweet and yet tart onions before, the onion sauce was rich in flavour but not heavy on the palate, and the slow cooked yolk was the most fabulously silky texture I’ve ever experienced. Presumably this is the duck factor, as I have had slow cooked eggs before. In any case, it was amazing. The bread was definitely needed to soak up all of the yolk and sauce.

To be honest, I could’ve licked the plate. I would’ve done at home. It’s right up there as one of the night’s top tastes.

The third course was marron. I’ve been dying to try marron for ages now, and never had the opportunity to do so or the means of procuring one. This was served on a black stone, with a crab-filled biscuit and (I think) beurre noisette sauce. Butter anyway.

We were encouraged to eat this with fingers, which was more than fine by me. After the first bite of marron and butter sauce, I commented that it should be made illegal. The marron was great, too. Like the best prawn, on steroids. Now I just need to have fresh lobster and my shellfish yearnings will be sated.

The fish course was next - bluefin tuna toro (i.e. The fatty belly bit) with wasabi foam and (I think - memory hazy already) some pretty mandolin-shaved baby vegetables. Obviously I have qualms about tuna because of the overfishing, and I normally don’t have it at all. It’s nice to have an exception once in a while, though.

Assuming I haven’t mis-remembered the order, the palate cleanser was next. This was the sorbet and granita with lime, with the most pea-ish pea ever on the top. The elderflower took me back to childhood summers in England and really brought this to another level. The granita was divine, the sorbet wonderfully smooth (as good as the ones at The Fat Duck). I could’ve happy eaten a bucketload of this. Really. One of my favourite things all night.

Then the final savoury course - slow (10-12 hours) wagyu beef cheeks with mashed potato for Maman, rockling with fondant potatoes and radishes for me. My mother said the mashed potato was amazing - I smirked, aware of how much butter would have gone in. My rockling was perfectly cooked, with a crispy bread wafer on top, the overall effect not dissimilar to breadcrumbed fish but obviously rather more gourmet. The fondant potatoes were cute little spheres, and the radish tops added a welcome bitter edge.

I’m somewhat immune to the charms of white-fleshed fish, so this wasn’t a standout, but it was well executed. The beef cheeks were highly regarded. The sommelier also had consulted Maman about wine for this course, and having ascertained her pinot preference, brought out a Paradigm Hills pinot noir. This was one of the best smelling wines I’ve ever caught a whiff of, and I had to keep sticking my nose into the glass to breathe in the scent. Very good aroma, and apparently an excellent flavour, especially with the beef. I was also pleasantly surprised that it was only $19 for a glass, which by pro-rata prohibitive per-glass pricing seems extremely reasonable. Not to mention sensible on the sommelier’s part, that he didn’t go for Hill of Grace or similar.

Our thoughts regarding dessert were sought - I declined, Mama expressed a need for something with chocolate and berries, but nothing more specific. I had ogled the cheese board, but was flagging by that stage - I am sure it would be excellent.

But first - a surprise dessert. Two spherical, exploding lollipops, and “lemonade” (in a lab-style brown glass jar with a straw). The lemonade was fuming dry-ice mist, and was tangy, fizzy raspberry. The lollipops sat on biscuit-coloured rubble. They were coated in white chocolate (my secret, shameful pleasure), deliciously cool frozen innards, with popping candy (and more comprising the rubble). I missed out on popping candy as a child - it wasn’t around, as far as I experienced, in 1980s/90s England, so this was great fun. And a total surprise - I had thought that the non-desserters wouldn’t get anything like that.

Then came “pre-dessert”, for Maman - rather amusingly served in a yogurt pot (like the organic ones with the green lids you at the supermarket). This had yogurt mousse/creme, granola and strawberries. My mother graciously let me have a taste - the yogurt component was superb, and I would love a breakfast like that. She also commented that everyone must surely like the idea of a PRE-dessert.

Proper dessert came out - strawberries, coffeeish chocolatey soil, sorbet, meringues, italian meringue. Again, I was permitted to taste and got a lovely mouthful of the sorbet and italian meringue. Bit pavlova ish. In a good way.

Nearing the end, came petit-fours and coffee. I didn’t want a huge coffee hit, so András suggested Clever Coffee Dripper ethiopian coffee. I should’ve taken pictures of this as it was brilliantly presented. (And yes, 5 Senses seem to have been the go-to people for coffee at VdM. Apparently, post-Rialto-VdM will have a zillion fancy coffee options, so that should be worth examining.) This ended up being a very unusual, light, almost tea-like coffee, with very definite citrusy flavours. A nice change from the arse-kicking espressos I have in the morning.

Petit-fours came out: a lemony jube, covered in sugar; a lamington (saved until last, for when my coffee was ready to drink); a rose and rosemary marshmallow (really good), and; an ashtray, in a cigar box, complete with sherbety ash and some “fag ends” (ha!).

The lamington turned out to be a sort of moussey thing, and astonishingly light. Most excellent, and a very generous selection.

We chatted with András, and the exacting French head chef (who said he loves Bistro Vue and goes there whenever he can, even though it reminds him of work), and were invited to take a tour of the kitchen which I think is utterly, utterly fantastic. Ordinarily I would’ve been raring to go but I was worried about missing trains (it was much later than I’d thought), and had to decline - next time. In any case, I think it’s brilliant that diners get the chance to see a) what’s going on all night and b) have a proper neb at the kitchen and talk to the chefs. Really unusual, in my experience (direct and vicarious) and a good way of humanising the experience.

Perhaps the best bit of all was that as we left, happily nattering away, we were met at the door by Garrett who gave us brown paper carrier bags, subtly printed with Vue de Monde, with “tomorrow’s breakfast”.

Inside, we discover brioche, jam, granola, ingredients for a tisane, and biscuits. Thereby securing VdM’s position in the Fat Duck-echelon of delightful surprises - only, if anything, better because more practical.

So. Vue de Monde. Happily surprising, entertaining, generous, well-staffed, friendly, well-executed and - all in all - a very worthy experience.

A Gentler “Pick Me Up”

2011-01-09T13:28:00.000+11:00

An almighty packet of savoiardi has been in the pantry, surprisingly unmolested, since I last went to Mediterranean Wholesalers, and I had made vague promises to do something with them before they were chomped in tandem with tea. Having got through the Christmas week with individual pavlovas (plus organic sour cream, blueberries and pomegranate) and some leftovers from my cousins’ catered birthday (ta, Unger’s), it was time for a new dessert.

I had an idea of doing something like tiramisu, but minus the coffee (not so great with tea, or in the evening) and substituting the mascapone for something easier on the liver. Although easing the hepatic load was slightly undermined by my happy sprinkling of spirits.

Having procured a tub of ricotta from Aldi which, on New Year’s Day, was even more Soviet in its restricted choice than usual, I assembled the following dessert with remarkably little forethought, preparation or effort.

I’m told, however, that the result is a super success. “The perfect dessert,” no less.

Ingredients:

Savoiardi (I used just over half a 400g packet)
250g ricotta (though more would be better - e.g. 350g)
4 tablespoons raw sugar
Vanilla (to taste. In my case, a tablespoon)
Liqueur (Croatian cherry brandy - use whatever is most suitable - or substitute with some sort of flavoured syrup)
Frozen raspberries
Chocolate (flakes/shavings), cocoa powder

1 rectangular (9”x7”x2.5”, 2.5L, I think) pyrex dish.

Method:

Combine ricotta with the sugar and vanilla.
Lay out one layer of savoiardi. Sprinkle - ha - with liqueur or syrup to moisten.
Spread with half of the ricotta.
Lay out another layer of savoiardi. More liqueur/syrup.
Cover with raspberries.
More savoiardi, liqueur.
Cover with the rest of the ricotta.
Dust with chocolate flakes or shavings, and/or cocoa powder.

Leave in fridge for a few hours. This keeps very well in the fridge - and we found that it got better over the course of a week.

Sadly, the only chance I got to photograph it was feeling hot and harried at the end of the week, and with the somewhat inadequate camera in my mobile telephone. I can assure you, it looks very pretty under better circumstances!

Sydney - 29 and 30 November 2010

2010-12-05T11:20:00.000+11:00

I was quite excited about going to Sydney, and quite apprehensive given that it would - I had imagined - be non-stop stress and full-on exhaustion. In fact, it wasn't all that stressful, although I'll confess to being zombieish for much of Monday, and Wednesday (post-return).

The food aspects of the trip are as follows.

Qantas domestic (cannot comment on International) is still baffling. Obviously I requested VGML, and got the same as everyone else bar subbing some sort of bready roll item with a gluten free quinoa apple and ginger cake (in theory could've been okay - but I will not eat cake for breakfast). Sanitarium high sugar cereal (ignored) + full cream milk (which I loathe, but drank out of desperate thirst) + reconstituted orange juice (ignored) + tasteless watery coffee.

Much the same as offered in May this year bar the cereal - in May it was a different Sanitarium cereal, but the non-Vegos got Carman's museli - WHY? The coffee was markedly worse in November vs. May, when it was actually drinkable.

I remain baffled by Qantas's substitutions for VMGL recipients, given the omni offerings would've been perfectly suitable. After 4 hours' sleep, though, I didn't really care.

Lunch? Too tired and foggy to contemplate anything other than a double espresso and a ludicrously overpriced Sundowner apple courtesy of the Woolworths near Town Hall. ($5.99 a kilo! I pay less for organic!)

Dinner? My aunt, and later on cousin, were gracious enough to give up their Monday evening (despite a hellishly early start for both, too) and take me out to dinner. By some physiological witchcraft, a session in the hotel gym actually woke me up (still not sure how my body manages this) enough to string some sentences together, so conversation wasn't a complete washout.

My cousin had nominated Sailor's Thai at The Rocks, which pleased me because I thought it would be nuts to go to Sydney and not have Thai food.

Sailor's Thai was, happily for my tired eyes, barely illuminated although less happily for my tired ears, somewhat noisy. I did like that one wall had a bank of bench seating, with lots of cushions. It looked more friendly, and reminiscent of middle European interiors.

My aunt and I opted for asian mushrooms with tofu, an entree portion of grilled prawns with green chilli sauce, and steamed rice. Choosing was harder than usual, because there were two menus - casual and formal, the former slightly more expensive and longer - and both had many, many options for vegetarians and pescetarians.

Service was prompt, thankfully. The prawns - four - were massive, intact beasts banded by grill marks and presented with the green chilli dipping sauce. The latter was sweet and sour, but not at all hot. I wouldn't have minded a bit of heat, but that's me. Lots of coriander lent some needed freshness. I was possibly a bit odd and ate the prawns complete - I don't have a problem with eating the shells, although at home I always shell them. I tell myself there are useful minerals in the shells... (Then again, as a child I used to eat the eggshells when I had boiled eggs, so obviously I am a bit weird.)

The tofu dish was the standout. A massive block, possibly two, of tofu which had a thin, crispy exterior around silky, warm beancurd. Not too much evidence of frying, thankfully, and the combination of textures was superb. The soft interior was reminiscent of a nicely poached egg. Mushrooms were extremely generous in quantity, and well varied in texture. The sauce was slightly too salty (and I LOVE salt), but otherwise delicious and enhanced with (I presume) whole soy beans and more herbs.

I don't usually order tofu in restaurants because I like the high-value dishes, and I still see tofu as an at-home sort of thing, but this was absolutely amazing.

When my cousin came later, she finished off the tofu dish and we ordered the eggplant salad with steamed egg and prawn floss (entree size). No one was quite sure what the prawn floss was - it looked like, well, fairy floss - and much of the salad seemed to be coriander. This was okay - not as amazing as the other dishes. The eggplant was not, mercifully, slimy. The egg seemed little different to a poached egg.

I'm sure it's possible to have an expensive meal there, but we didn't, and no one was left hungry. I noticed that the tasting menu was $90, which seems pretty good value for a hatted restaurant, especially one in Sydney.

Tuesday? Tuesday was conference food, which meant cakes and biscuits (NO), dismal sandwiches (NO. Had too many "mediterranean vegetable" offerings, thanks), more cakes (NO), and vast summer fruit platters (YES!). Being semi-sick of winter fruit and too frugal to splurge, I went slightly crazy on melon, pineapple and (especially) cherries, strawberries and grapes. Hurry up summer...

Thence back on a plane, for some more Qantas VGML madness. This time it was risoni (ignored - plane pasta, irrespective of shape, doesn't work; rice would have been better) with a tomatoey lentil stew and four broccoli florets and a banana. I don't normally eat bananas, but aeroplanes seem to be the location for abnormality.

Omnis got a dismal chicken stirfry, cheese and crackers and Toblerone. I'm not particularly bothered about the latter (ugh, Kraft), but cheese and chocolate are perfectly suitable for VGML folk, so why the substitution?

I like Sydney, though. Even in what was technically rubbish weather, the harbour still looks stunning, and at least I didn't have to spend my Sydney time navigating in a car, swearing at toll roads.

Sydney Recommendations Sought

2010-11-02T13:00:00.000+11:00

I will be in Sydney at the end of the month for a whistlestop visit. I don't anticipate getting more than one dining opportunity of my choosing, and it will be for dinner on a Monday night. As I will be relying on my feet as transport, it also needs to be in the vicinity of Kent Street, where I will be staying.

(I was a bit disappointed to find out that Tetsuya's is shut on Monday night!)

Cheap, healthy, vegetarian- (or at least pescetarian) friendly options preferred...

Bread under cover

2010-09-19T11:39:00.000+10:00

I recently borrowed out Elizabeth David's English Bread and Yeast Cookery from the library, and have been steadily making my way through it to see what else I can learn about bread making. It's an excellent book, and I suspect I will be buying my own copy soon.

Amongst other things, she discusses the use of earthenware or heavy metal covers, such as large flowerpots or stockpots, to cover bread while it cooks in the oven. I have read about this technique before, but I finally decided to give it a go - especially when she wisely remarked that a large Pyrex mixing bowl would do the job.

Basically, you make up your bread dough (I did two batches - unbleached white with poppy seeds, and 40/60 rye - both "kneaded" by stretching and slapping the dough in a very satisfying anger-dissipating manner, a la Richard Bertinet), let it prove twice with a bit of slapping and stretching in between to knock back the dough, and then leave it on a greased baking tray.

Heat up a pizza stone in a very hot oven (at least 230˚C) for half an hour or so.

Transfer the loaf to the stone and slash it. Cover it with the bowl. Cook for 30 minutes, remove the bowl, and give it another 25 or so minutes at about 190-200˚C.

The end result is a really good crust but quite a thin one - one of the problems I have had with bread in the past is an overly thick crust, because the outside cooked and dried out too much before the inside could expand and cook properly.


Poppy seeds


40/60 rye

Best bread yet! Until I win the lottery and can buy a steam oven, that is.

Next time I will try it with my sourdough starter. I can't wait!

An unsolicited product review

2010-09-11T10:26:00.008+10:00

An ironic subject for a post, given my previous rant. Rest assured, the ranting will continue.

A benefit, if you are an inveterate cheapskate, of commuting via a City Loop station in Melbourne is the distribution of free things during peak hour. Last week it was iced coffee flavoured milk - which was, like all flavoured milks, vile and far too sweet.

This week it was tights (mysteriously, many male commuters were lining up to grab a pair, much to the bemusement of the women handing them out), and ice cream.

Yes, c. 4pm near Southern Cross Station, whilst I was on my way to the Vic Market, I spotted a lurid Ben & Jerry’s Kombi van. Looking at the website, I see that this must have something to do with Free Ice Cream Fridays.

Notwithstanding the fact that errands and a significant commute were in between said ice cream and a reliable freezer, I barged in front of some excited, pleonexic schoolboys and grabbed a sub-500mL (i.e. A silly feeble American pint) tub of Strawberry Cheesecake flavour.

Figure 1: Dodgy Screen Capture

It made it home, largely still frozen, for which I suppose I have Melbourne’s stubbornly wintry weather to thank.

I’ve never quite got the hype about B&J. I know people get all funny (not funny ha-ha, funny-deranged) about it, as if ice cream can be anything other than literally cool, and there seems to be some cult of personality surrounding the founders and their “wacky” ways with bits of cookie, corn syrup and emulsifiers.

Which is where the first hurdle arises.

B&J is priced at the gourmet end of the market. It is packaged for the pseudo-hippy-hipster unconventional demographic. With an ingredients list that runs to several lines and seems to depend on emulsifiers and gums to (presumably) stabilise and improve the texture, the products don’t quite mesh with the stated ethos.

It doesn’t help, either, that I don’t have a sweet tooth - at all - and I’ve never much cared for the kid-like cookies/brownies/caramel/choc-chip/marshmallow theme, singly or in combination or in mixtures of other things.

However, ice cream is something I can just about bear because the cold temperature seems to mitigate the cloying effect of the mix, and it doesn’t seem to be quite so teeth-grittingly sweet as a cake/biscuit/chocolate bar. On the other hand, I will acknowledge that I am more keen on gelato, which has a cleaner finish owing to being made from milk and not cream.

[An aside - reading The Fat Duck Cookbook it seems that HB and I have very similar opinions on this matter, as he is also a gelato man, likes “clean” tastes and textures, and isn’t overly fond of excessive sweetness. He suggests adding sour cream to mixtures, to give a bit of acidity, and I will be testing this when the weather heats up. Given how ineffably good the sweet and savoury ice creams were at The Fat Duck, I have utmost trust in him.]

As a B&J neophyte, and with some latent interest in frozen confections, I was prepared to give it a go, and at least I’d be able to say that I had tried it.

Appearance: cream, some suspicion of pink bits here and there, ditto beigey “cake” bits. Not like the picture above, which seems to exaggerate the strawberry component. This was, in fact, barely discernable as mere blush smudges.

Texture: well, the ice cream bits were good. Smooth, but a bit too creamy and claggy in mouthfeel terms for my liking. But I’ve already explained that I’m abnormal in that respect. The cheesecake cake bits were a bit disappointing - not very cakey, and merely represented sweet, gritty interruptions. This is why I don’t like cake/biscuit bits in ice cream - they don’t seem to retain their integrity, and just turn to mush. And then it spoils the whole experience, viz. Cream-cream-cream-mush-mush-sugar-grit-cream.

Flavour: Ah. Well. Yes. I think “UNBELIEVABLY SWEET” sums it up. The strawberry aspect wasn’t very distinct, and neither was the cream cheese element, so it just tasted like slightly contaminated sugar-cream.

It’s officially recorded as having a sugar content of something around the 20% mark. Having tried it, I’m surprised it’s not higher.

Peace, love and ice cream? Peace from a diabetic coma, more like.

Like the product, I also find the ethical claims made by B&J a little hard to swallow, especially those relating to the environment. It’s hardly environmentally friendly to air freight ice cream from the US around the world.

If you want decent ice cream - even merely half decent would be better - there’s plenty of locally made stuff to enjoy, in more interesting flavours. The Maggie Beer Quince and Bitter Almond is pretty damn good, and I am looking forward to trying out Gundowring soon. Plus a rare benefit of warmer weather in Melbourne is that Casa del Gelato reopens for the summer season.

In any case, heavens, buy an el cheapo ice cream maker for around $30 and have some fun yourself. I made killer gelato last year with unpasteurised Jersey milk, and, arch banana hater though I am, I discovered that banana “ice cream” is astonishingly good.

In summary, B&J ice cream highlights that really you have two choices.

Either:

Buy something better (and possibly less expensive/less 10-planet-lifestyle); or
Use vastly superior ingredients, and make something yourself for almost no money.

The Publicity Machine

2010-09-05T13:43:00.002+10:00

It has recently become blatantly obvious that a number of well-known food bloggers in Melbourne, and no doubt elsewhere, have been contacted by publicity agencies and/or the publicity departments of major corporations. To their credit, I am aware of this because the arrangements have been disclosed. I am not accusing anyone of underhand cash-for-comment type behaviour, such as that which necessitated US FTC action. I will note, though, that the disclosure is invariably at the end of the blog post and in small, italicised (i.e. Less obvious) formatting.

I do have a few problems with these arrangements.

Firstly, from a reader’s perspective: the same food bloggers are now all blogging about the same things. I don’t want to read much the same post again and again.

Said bloggers came to my attention because they were articulate and original. They went to places that had perhaps less well-known because PR companies had not been involved, and raised awareness of cafes and restaurants to online readers in an honest, refreshing and genuinely novel manner. Real people, real places, real thoughts and real opinions. If not cafe and restaurant reviews, then it is product reviews.

This ethos is missing from so many recent posts, which now read like press releases or infomercials of the sort that I avoid as a non-commercial-TV viewer.

In at least one case, a blogger’s backgrounder/review mysteriously used near-identical wording to that on a product website, without attribution. At best this is lazy, at worst it is deceptive.

The bloggers’ sine qua non - of doing what everyone else wasn’t doing, and writing with both brain and heart - has gone.

If I want to read sponsored reviews (i.e. Reviews not properly named - let’s call them ads), I’ll look at a corporate website.

Secondly, these arrangements run the risk of bias. A lot of studies have been done on the medical profession, where corporate sponsorship has reached its zenith, and however much doctors think they are free from influence, this is often not the case. In the US, the problem is now recognised to be so serious that drug companies have, following extreme scrutiny, volunteered to stop giving doctors everything from pens to free dinners.

Is it really reasonable to believe that this sort of thing doesn’t influence people? Corporations need to pay attention to their bottom line - they wouldn’t have massive PR and advertising budgets if it didn’t work.

You may receive a packet of X from a company, but with no other products to compare it with, how is the reader supposed to know whether that product X really is worth buying? These reviews virtually constitute market manipulation/anti-competitive practices.

Moreover, it’s particularly egregious when the skew is in favour of massive multinational corporations who really don’t need a bigger market share, and should stop being such cheapskates and pay for some proper advertising instead of co-opting civilians.

I think the only time that a blogger has done a product review in a way that didn’t destroy all credibility they had, was Cindy and Michael’s couscous experiment - I was delighted to see that a more scientific (and unbiased) approach was taken, at their own expense. I took their opinions with less salt, so to speak, and I place more importance on what they have said since.

Reading food blogs has become a less pleasant activity. I’m learning less, I’m enjoying it less, and I’m not as inspired by my peers. The best I can say about bloggers’ disclosures is that they are red flags, and indicate that I perhaps shouldn’t bother reading.

Bread, and a rant about flour/food shops

2010-08-22T10:58:00.007+10:00

I would prefer to write this because I have done some marvellous baking experiments lately, but when it comes to bread, I am rather stuck in a rut.

I do, however, have some pictures of some successes, which is remarkable for two reasons:

I rarely remember to photograph anything; and
I actually had some successes.

When I was in England for three months, staying with my father, I managed to get an incredibly good sourdough starter going. Remarkably, I left it on the windowsill near the Aga for the entire time and it never went mouldy or off in anyway. Possibly the heat of the Aga was mitigated by the chill of the single-glazed window, and created the perfect temperature for the yeasts. I was also chuffed that whatever wild yeasts were picked up from the air happened to be successful ones for bread-making.

I stuck to my usual sourdough, which is a variation Dan Lepard’s Barley and Rye loaf. I use rye only, because it is easier to find. I often make this because the proportions are so simple:

300g unbleached strong flour, 200g other flour, 300g water (plus the usual refreshed starter).

With easy-peasy proportions like that, it’s a trivial matter to substitute or mix flours or liquids. I have a plain/rye/beer dough proving as I type this.

My father will not eat real bread, and stuck stubbornly to Tesco’s Tiger loaf (marginally better than Mother’s Pride, but still like polystyrene), much to my dismay. To mitigate the rubbish, I got into a routine of making at least one loaf of proper (albeit white) bread each week for him - 500g organic unbleached bread flour (Dove’s Farm), about 12g dried instant yeast, 300g water.

This was mixed until messy and porridgey, and left in a bowl overnight in the fridge or near the Aga for an hour or two. No kneading was involved.

This was then messily put into a well-oiled 0.5kg/1lb loaf tin, and put in the “hot” Aga oven, for about 45 minutes.

The results speak for themselves - magnificent loaves, no kneading or fuss at all. Possibly helped by the fierce heat of the Aga, which made loaf after loaf of perfect bread. My god, I miss the Aga:

Back in Melbourne, I revived my semi-dormant starter which had lingered at the back of the fridge for months. Two different experiments follow.

One, baking in a pot. I would have used a Le Creuset, but ours are ridiculously massive and the dough would have spread out like a pizza, hence the bodgy Pyrex.
This wasn’t bad, except for the shape (odd), the texture (spongey) and the bottom (soggy). The flavour was okay, but I can’t be bothered repeating the experiment with the Pyrex dish. Maybe I will try with cast iron…

Two, VERY wet dough (with about a tablespoon of treacle, for fun) slapped and stretched around a la Richard Bertinet (SO messy - found bits of dough that flew off mid-slap all round the kitchen later), baked on a pizza stone which had heated up in the oven set to its maximum temperature (300˚C! It set the smoke alarm off) and with a dish of cold water in the bottom:
This worked brilliantly, although the BEEP BEEP BEEP of the smoke alarm was rather annoying. I will definitely repeat this method again. I also love a little treacle in a rye dough - great colour and flavour. I would be interested to try malt with barley flour in the future, too.

Gratuitously, here's a shot of some quince preserve I made (quinces poached in the pressure cooker for 1 hour, with water, cloves, cardamom, cinnamon, a bit of vanilla pod, then cooked with raw sugar until jammy. Pressure cookers are a godsend for quinces!):

Finally, a digression on flour and flaky foodie foisters:

When I was in England, the most experimental that I got was using different rye flours - my favourite in England was the Balcheldre Organic Stoneground Rye Flour. Compared with how much I pay in Melbourne for inferior flour, this is incredibly cheap at £2.55 for 1.5kg. Moreover, it was the best rye flour I have encountered - not too fine, not too light. It had ‘bits’ in it, and made a lovely, dark, gutsy loaf.

It was slightly gutting to see how much easier it is to get good, interesting flours at the supermarket in England. Woolworths has improved a little here in Melbourne, as I can get organic rye, buckwheat etc under the Macro brand, but there is still very little choice. No choice, really, in who makes the flour and no choice in the flour and grade of flour. Lots of bread-mixes which have rubbish added to them, and which are inedibly salty.

I know I was lucky to have a Waitrose near by, where the range was mind-boggling (they even had oak-smoked flour, which unfortunately I didn’t get a chance to try), but Tesco still had a decent range. Also, the flours were cheap. And organic.

Second point: upon fossicking through the cupboards at my father’s, I discovered two bags of flour from my previous visit - three years earlier. Not surprisingly, they were well past the Best Before date. However, when I opened them I discovered that there was not a hint of rancidity or staleness, which is all the more remarkable when one considers that one bag was rye flour and rye seems particularly liable to go horrible.

I used both for making the sourdough starter, and for baking bread. The results were delicious.

The white bread flour was Allinson bread maker’s flour, and the rye was Waitrose organic.

What I find interesting, if not troubling, was that this ostensibly ancient rye flour was fresher and sweeter tasting than the “fresh” stuff I buy in Melbourne. Perhaps proper bakers with more clout can get assurances from suppliers that the flour is really fresh, but for the amateur baker we must rely on shopkeepers who may not be as scrupulous about supply and storage as we would like. I regret to say that this is often the case with health food and organic shops, which not so much run by people as limp along. If anyone knows of a place where the owners and staff are actually serious and organised enough to not let food go off (and then sell it anyway!), I would be very interested to go there.

Attica - 6 August 2010

2010-08-07T15:52:00.014+10:00

After reading various positive reviews (especially this one), I had wanted to go to Attica for my birthday last year. However, my PDC (my mother) wasn’t very enthusiastic after looking at the menu - I inferred that she thought it was too weird. We ended up going to Embrasse, which was lovely, but my Attica-desires remained unfulfilled.

When Attica was named in the top 100 restaurants in the world, and Mamma had experienced the deliciousness of “weird” food at The Fat Duck, she capitulated. In any case, I was going to be unashamedly selfish, and go where I damn well wanted.

I wasn’t actually clever enough to consider I might need to book well in advance, and so I couldn’t get a booking for my actual birthday. So, like last year, I had a “royal” birthday a few weeks later (and amused myself in the interim with a truffle I bought at South Melbourne Market).

Being an awkward sort of person, I asked whether it was possible to have the omnivore degustation adapted, so as to remove the meaty elements - leaving the fishy ones - and substitute with vegetarian courses where necessary. Having done this at The Fat Duck, I wasn’t too embarrassed about being a nuisance, and I was assured that this would be easily accommodated. I was, however, slightly taken aback when I confirmed my booking and was asked if chicken was okay. No, it definitely isn’t. No chicken, no pig, no beef, no lamb etc.

We were promptly greeted and seated. Tap water was brought out (and replenished countless times over the evening).

The table was set with a small bowl of salt flakes (I believe Murray River), house butter (which was excellent - and I am so picky about butter. If it isn’t French/Belgian, I will go without), and olive oil mousse.
The bread is, I believe, Dench (“Fitzroy bread”), and we had the choice of sourdough or seeded. We went with one of each and shared. I have bought both types from Dench, and they are superb. I liked that the bread was also warm.

My mother initially shunned the mousse, but after I tried it and observed how fantastic she was, she dug in with alacrity. The oil is apparently smoked, and then whipped and emulsified with xanthan gum, and topped with black salt. Fantastic texture and such intense flavour. I have never had olive oil that was quite so multifaceted - possibly thanks to the smoking.

The omnivore/vegetarian menu was discussed with me, and I agreed to do a straight swap with the equivalent vegetarian courses. I assumed - wrongly as it turned out - that the rest of the courses would be okay. More on that later.

Before the meal really got under way we were brought an amuse:

Heirloom carrots, chestnuts, fromage blanc and two types of broccoli - romanesco and, if I heard properly, pepper (the latter I have bought at South Melbourne Market - it’s delightfully purple but sadly loses its colour very rapidly. I was impressed that the colour had been retained).
The vegetables had been barely cooked, and one was able to appreciate the colours, flavours and textures. The tatsoi leaves were a mini-revelation as every other experience I have had with tatsoi has left me wondering what the point of it was.

For an amuse, I was impressed by how much thought had gone into the combination of elements and the presentation on the plate.

The first proper course was the famous snow crab. I must apologise for the gloomy picture, as the flash apparently misbehaved and I was already embarrassed about photographing my food. (I could only think of Giles Coren’s paywalled opinion on food bloggers, despite being married to one.)
This was presented on a volcanic black plate and did indeed evoke a snow capped mountain. The snow had a delicate horseradish flavour (surprisingly not an oxymoron - it really was just a hint of horseradish, rather than the usual blowing-your-head-off hit), and melted in the mouth. There were also crispy bits of puffed rice, jewelled rubies of barberry (deliciously piquant), and smooth and creamy crab beneath. Great mix of textures and complimentary flavours.

The next course was osmathus & crysanthemum broth, abalone, cuttlefish.
This comprised a little trivet of cuttlefish, abalone and dehydrated shiitake mushroom, with dried flowers, over which was poured a tea-like broth to gently cook the raw elements and rehydrate the dried ones. The broth smelled amazing, and had a lovely clear, slightly floral flavour.

What was a little disturbing was that I was told that “the dark bits” were slightly confit chicken wing.

Which was the first I knew about it.

I know I should have raised this at the time, because it’s not really okay to serve chicken to a diner who has already stipulated no meat (and that means poultry). And though I would always counsel other people in my situation to mention this to staff, I did not. And I ate it, because I am congenitally incapable of leaving food on plates. And it was very, very chickeny and somewhat spoilt the dish for me.

The rest of it was lovely, but I couldn’t stop thinking, “I just ate chicken”.

I just about managed to get over my shock and horror for “a simple dish of potato cooked in the earth it was grown”.
This was the subject of an article in The Age’s Epicure section this week, and I had been looking forward to it for months.

The King Edward potato is slow cooked for four to six hours in soil. (I exaggerated to my mother when I said, “Oh, about 40 hours…”). Like a completely topsy-turvey deconstruction of fish and chips, it had tiny slivers of tuna underneath, curd cheese (I think…?) and teeny tiny leaves. The potato had an amazing creamy, melting texture and an unexpectedly delicious soily flavour. The gastronomic properties of dirt clearly require further examination and experimentation, because the soil flavour was really good.

Next had “bass groper, almonds, garlic”. This was actually hapuka on the night. I have never had either fish, so I cannot comment on the sub, but the hapuka was superbly cooked - silky, but dense at the same time, and the roasted almonds were fresh and crunchy.
Alas, as it was served, I heard the dreaded words, “...and chorizo water”.

Oh Em Gee.

Again, I said nothing, but this was slightly distressing. The young man at the next table was far more sensible and did object to this when he was served the dish. It was obvious that he did not know - nor could not - from the description that any piggy elements were involved. Perhaps he had not mentioned dietary restrictions beforehand, but I had.

The properly meaty course came next: lamb, mushrooms roasted over wood, sauce of forbs. My mother asked what sauce of forbs was, and I hadn’t the foggiest. Fortunately this was explained to her as made from clover-type plants. Which makes me wonder what else there is in my lawn I could be exploiting.
I had: wild mushrooms, black lentil, eggplant. No lentils were discernible in this, alas, but the eggplant was superb - slightly crisp, largely silky. There were several varieties of mushroom, providing different flavours and textures (some chewy, some more delicate), and there was a generous, fabulous addition of chestnut puree. This was one of my favourite dishes on the night and ever. It is worth having the vegetarian degustation for this and I wish I had been at home and thus able to lick the bowl.Next: beef, seagrass, white cabbage. The cabbage element was the core of a wombok, and there had been some squid-ink action. The beef was certified Angus, although by that stage my mother seemed to just wolf it down (!!!).

I had: artichoke, tubers, soured sheeps milk, almonds. Both globe and jerusalem artichokes (which were roasted), and wafers of shaved jicama on top. I have always wondered - and said so - what jicama is like, because I see it at South Melbourne Market all the time. Tuberous nashi pear comes close.
A nice light course, which I needed by that stage. I was reminded how unbelievably good roasted jerusalem artichokes are. Note to self: eat more. (And they’re really rich in iron, too! Take note, vegetarians!) I’m not wild about globe artichokes, but these were lovely and fresh, and clean on the palate.

Terroir:
I was SO looking forward to this “savoury” sweet course, as I don’t really have a sweet tooth and I love experiments with flavours and expectations. It did not disappoint. It had many of my favourite food ingredients - beetroot, sour cherry, dried berries, yogurt - and a few surprises like the kiwi and avocado underneath. I loved the sorrel granita I had had at Embrasse, and I was thrilled to have it again. The dish was soft, crunchy, chewy, sweet, smooth, tangy, warm, cold… it had everything you’d want and it looked so pretty. I have also resolved to experiment with using avocado as a fruit, because this dish showed what potential it has.

Again, I wish I could have licked the plate. Stupid manners.

Finally: apple, olive, warm shredded wheat.
Much to my delight, Ben Shewry himself came out to serve this - I was extremely impressed, as I’ve never yet met a head chef when I’ve dined out, and these days one can’t always expect that they’re actually there on the night.

So. The dish. I could smell it before it was served and I got a fantastic hit of cinnamon.

Yes, it’s basically deconstructed apple pie.

Several types of apple - Pink Lady, Granny Smith and my favourite Braeburn - with custard and “crumble”, which was another amazing powder that Ben spooned on top. The warm crumble was sweet and wheaty and cinnamony and nutty and buttery and thoroughly delicious (yes, buttery powder. No, I don’t know how it was done, either, but it was brilliant). The apples were lovely, fresh fine ribbons, still juicy and fresh, which provided a welcome counterpoint to the intensely sweet crumble.

I said that I cannot ever have apple crumble again, because this dish is the pinnacle and everything else will be downhill. And it was lovely to have on a very miserable, cold, wet Melbourne winter’s night.

To my great surprise, it wasn’t all over. Whilst we politely declined the offer of coffee (though I slightly regretted this later, as I could’ve probably done with a tea), we were brought petit fours - which I forgot to photograph! Two cubes of chocolate fudge with black salt, and two tiny forks to eat it with. The fudge was very, very chocolately - it would have been excellent with an espresso - and I feel like I’ve had my chocolate hit for many months to come. It also reminded me that I must try fiddling with the fleur de sel and chocolate at home. I do have a weird love of salt.

Obviously because the last place I ate out at was The Fat Duck, that has raised the bar. Attica does do its own thing - it can hold its own as an excellent restaurant in its own right, and Ben Shewry demonstrates skill and intelligence in his menus and cooking. I don’t see a lot of intelligence in menus, so this is worthy of praise. What Ben Shewry and team do at Attica makes it worth visiting. I'm afraid that my run down of the courses doesn't reflect the complexity of the food at all, and I would struggle to remember all the components of each dish.

The service was good - the staff were friendly, professional (demonstrating a pleasing breadth of knowledge about the food) and were trying to make the dining experience as good as possible for guests. However, there were a few long gaps between courses, which is why the meal went for a whopping four and a half hours. I’m sure part of that was due to it being a very, very busy night. Unfortunately, it was a bit much for my mother, who fell asleep between courses.

My other quibble is about the meat in my dishes which I didn’t know about/wasn’t warned about. I had given ample warning about my requirements, and had suggested that if it was too inconvenient to adapt the omnivore menu, then I would have the normal vegetarian one. As I had been told that I could have an adapted menu, I thought I would be okay. This wasn’t the case on the night.

All right, so I didn't HAVE to eat it, and I could have sent it back, but I didn't feel comfortable doing that. I also don't think that I should have even had to consider whether I should make a fuss or not.

Does it detract from the overall experience? Reluctantly, I have to say, yes, it does. In Attica’s defence, it’s not as if I had the impression that the team didn’t care - I think they do, genuinely - so I hope that it was an oversight.

Tuesday 20 April 2010 - The Fat Duck, Bray

2010-04-28T18:28:00.027+10:00

Two months ago, I spent several nerve-wracking mornings ringing The Fat Duck’s reservation line in hope of booking a table somewhere around my mother’s birthday. The process of getting a reservation is not as ridiculous as for El Bulli, but you must ring exactly two months before the day you want to dine, and the phone line opens at 10am (but is engaged from 9.55 onwards). If you manage to get through, you are put on hold to listen to an audiobook of Alice in Wonderland.

Having nearly worn out the redial buttons on the telephone trying to get through, I managed to speak to a very lovely human being and secured a table for two at 8.30. This was confirmed by email, and I responded by asking whether it would be possible to adapt the menu for my pescetarian preferences (yes, and excitingly I was told that the options would be “discussed” with me on the night).

Needless to say, I looked forward to April with increasing excitement.

Needless to say, I was extremely dismayed when I came down with a gastro bug only a few hours before setting off for Bray. A walk around fresh air in Oxford and a lump of dry bread just about fixed my nausea before we drove to Bray.

I am an unreformed philosophy dork, so I had to photograph this:

A warning to any future Fat Duckers - it is extremely easy to completely miss the turn off for Bray and end up in Windsor. Similarly, it is extremely easy to completely miss The Fat Duck itself, as it is sublimely anonymous.
Blink, and miss it.

The Hind’s Head, however, is a helpful landmark, and by locating it one can find The Fat Duck just a few doors away.

I was very glad that we were early, as we had enough time to walk around Bray itself and admire it during a springtime dusk. It is an exceedingly pretty village, and worth a visit in itself.

Although still a bit early, we entered the restaurant and were shown to our table. Quite a few diners were already there and delighting in profusions of liquid nitrogen.

Charmingly, the tables are all circular, which my mother particularly likes as she believes they are more friendly. They are laid with heavy white linen, and set with Fat Duck damask napkins. The china is limoges porcelain and the cutlery is French (meat eaters get Laguiole steak knives). Each table had a unique and exotic small flower arrangement, and a card on “Nostalgia Foods” in which Heston Blumenthal invites diners to fill out the decade in which they grew up and foods that are particularly significant for them.

We were brought tap water, served in Riedel glasses, and a plate of delicious green olives, while we examined the leatherbound menu (as an indication of what is coming - it is a tasting menu only, so one does not really choose from it as such) and a list of wines by the glass (including Chateau Mouton Rothschild for £240 a glass!).

As promised, the menu was discussed with me and proposals were made for altering and substituting some of the courses to suit my pescetarian tastes. All of which sounded utterly delicious.

We were also brought copies of the menu, sealed in envelopes to take home. The paper was described as "skin" paper, and does hav a very similar tactile quality. I adore good paper, and even I have never encountered anything so unusual.

Bread was brought out, and unpasteurised Jersey butter was placed on a small slab of black granite. The bread was “white” or “brown”, but of course was far superior to other breads. The “brown” was particularly good with a fantastic crust. My mother grilled one of the waiters on the bread, asking if it was made with rye flour - apparently not, just exceptionally good brown wheat flour, made by a baker to a Fat Duck recipe.

The bread was so good that, I estimate, my mother ate around ten slices of it throughout the evening. I only managed two…

With great theatricality, the first course was wheeled out on a trolley: Lime Grove - Nitro Poached Green Tea and Lime Mousse. The trolley was set with an aerosol canister, a slightly smoking cauldron, a little green-dusted powder puff and plates. The waiter sprayed the air with the essence of limes, and expelled the mousse mixture onto a spoon. This was then “poached” in liquid nitrogen, placed on a plate and dusted with matcha. We were instructed to put the “mousse” into our mouths in one bite - for very good reasons. The exterior was frozen into a crisp shell, which yielded to a gloriously refreshing cool limey mousse. It was the most delicious palate cleanser I have encountered, and I loved the scent and taste of limes as I ate.

The next course was Red Cabbage Gazpacho - Pommery Mustard Ice Cream. This was presented in a little porcelain bowl, and comprised a fabulous magenta “gazpacho” with a quenelle of mustard ice cream. I love red cabbage, and this was extraordinarily intense. As a fanatical mustard consumer (with spoon, from jar…) the ice cream was a revelation. I vow to try savoury ice creams when I am back.

The third course was Jelly of Quail, Crayfish Cream - Chicken Liver Parfait, Oak Moss and Truffle Toast. This course was also my first substitute dish, and you will have to bear with me given that I can’t exactly remember what I ate.

For both of us, this was presented in several parts. Firstly, there was a tray containing verdant moss, with two little plastic cases on top. We were told to pick one up, open it, take out the “film” and place it on our tongues, where it would dissolve. I can’t remember the exact order, but at some point some mysterious liquid was poured over the moss which smoked away in a dry icey/liquid nitrogeny cascade over the table. The smell of a forest was also spritzed around. We had a thin rectangle of “toast”, which resembled Finn Crisps in appearance, but was sublimely crisp, buttery, and covered in finely shaved pieces of truffle. All very woody. Then, in dishes that looked like the Egg Chair, we had the jelly and cream concoction. I believe mine was mushroomy, rather than quaily. It had two, maybe three, layers, the first being a rich transparent brown jelly that covered a smooth cream. The truffle toast was the absolute highlight. I do so love a woodland ambience.

Next was one of the most famous dishes on the menu - and, indeed, the concoction that brought Heston Blumenthal to our attention a few years ago: Snail porridge, with jabugo ham and shaved fennel. Mine was, naturally, lacking snails and ham. Both came out as bright green purees in little bowls, with fennel and various other micro leaves and bits on top. For what it’s worth, my mother loved the snail porridge. My vegetarian version was delicious - very fresh, and the fennel had retained its delicate crispness. I had expected it might be slightly limp, but it wasn’t.

For the omnivores, the roast foie gras with rhubarb, braised konbu and crab biscuit followed. The foie gras seemed like a large amount, segmented by the crab biscuits (again, these looked a bit like Finn Crisps) and accompanied by a streak of clear pink rhubarbness. My version had roast langoustine. The langoustine, the “biscuits” and the konbu were superb, and this course gave an intense hit of umami (my favourite taste ever). For me, this was definitely one of my favourite courses of the night.

Having watched Heston’s Feasts, I was excited that I would experience one dish that was developed on the Alice in Wonderland feast: Mock Turtle Soup, with Mad Hatter Tea. I, in fact, had “mock-mock turtle soup”, and owing to the inherently meaty aspect of one component, had a slightly different experience. Nonetheless, with aplomb, we were formally invited to the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. We were presented with a cup and saucer, filled with “tea”, and a bowl containing a snail-like “egg” and what looked a bit like a liquorice allsort. My mother, the omnivore, was given a gold pocket watch and told to place it in her tea (here the courses diverged, as mine had already been done), whereupon it disappeared with careful stirring to leave flakes of gold leaf. We were both then told to pour the tea into our bowls.

The tea was, of course, an extraordinary clear broth (mine vegetable based, very umami). The “allsort” was beetroot and some thinly sliced white vegetable. There were micro leaves, and the snaily egg was a smooth jellyish orb that gave a lovely contrast to the “tea”. The preparation involved in a dish like this defies belief - that someone would go to the bother of a) creating such a complex piece of theatre and b) then turning it into something edible (with the help of tweezers!) is sheer artistic genius.

Another of my favourites, and a justly famous dish, comprised the next course: Sound of the Sea. We were brought large conch shells, from which protruded iPod headphones. My mother, spoiling the magic, exclaimed, “Oh, a shell with an iPod Shuffle inside!”. To which the waiter replied, “No, madam, it is a shell…”

Extraordinary rectangular trays came out, in the form of a wooden box (containing sand) topped with a sheet of glass/perspex. On top of this was more “sand” (edible - made from tapioca starch), a little “anemone”, some “seaweed”, “sea foam”, various bits of flotsam and jetsam and three perfect portions of fish. My memory is rapidly deteriorating, but one fish was definitely raw mackerel (my favourite) and the other two were white fish - possibly kingfish and haddock?

As one ate to the sounds of a seashore and gulls (“Like Whitley Bay,” was my mother’s rather unappetising analogy), one experienced the tastes (predominantly salty), textures (the fish melted in the mouth, the “seaweed” and “sand” gave crunch, the foam dissolved in an ozoney salty tang), and sights (self explanatory) of the seaside. Far more than mere “sound” of the sea.

It was all the best bits of a childhood trip, with none of the grimness of getting sand in your shoes afterwards.

Another fishy dish came next - salmon poached in liquorice, with artichokes, vanilla mayonnaise, golden trout roe and Manni olive oil. The salmon was a curious rich brown oblong, almost looking as if it had been laquered and shellacked. Three little artichoke halves laid alongside in a row, and the plate was bordered by an avenue of pea-sized blobs of vanilla mayonnaise. I normally loathe mayonnaise, but this was a small enough quantity to stop me from feeling sick, and the vanilla (yes, you could see the seeds) added an absolutely divine dimension. I wouldn’t have thought that the subtle sweetness would have worked, but it did. The salmon was perfectly poached, by far the best poached salmon I have had, pink on the inside but with the slight savoury earthiness of liquorice. Not at all overpowering. If I remember correctly, there were also tiny little fragments of pink grapefruit (presumably winkled out with a pin), which cut through the richness. The olive oil was extremely fresh on the palate (not at all oily, thank heavens) and the artichokes were sweet and yielding. I could have eaten a plate of them alone.

The next course was another substitution for me, and more or less satisfied my particular gastronomic desires: roasted monkfish (a lovely sized piece) with morels, and a truffle and morel foam/cream/jelly. The latter came in a separate bowl, and was heavenly. I absolutely adore wild mushrooms, and this had all the flavours (plus the interesting textures of the morels and the foam and the creamy jelly underneath) I might want. The fish, perfectly cooked and allowing its natural sweetness to come through (no doubt enhanced by roasting) came with more morels. I was in fishy, mushroomy paradise.

My mother had powdered Anjou pigeon with blood pudding and confit of umbles. Now this one flummoxes me a little from the description. I could clearly make out the pigeon - the finest-grained meat I have ever seen (mahogany compared with builder’s pine) - but I’m not sure how the other components fitted in. There were a few dark red elongated comma shapes of sauce, which may or may not have been “black pudding”. I tried to extract more from my mother, but she is fixated on how good the pigeon was. And I, I’m afraid, was far too mycologically mesmerised to pay much attention to anything other than my own plate.

What isn’t on the website’s version of the menu is the palate cleanser course that followed, but it is one that viewers of Heston’s Feasts would have encountered: Hot and Cold Tea. Glass teacups and saucers were brought out, filled with a honey-amber liquid. We were instructed to drink it all at once. As we did so, we discovered that one side of the mouth experienced cold “tea”, whilst the other got hot “tea”. Very strange! The “tea” itself was also stupendous, honeyish, with hints of ginger.

The first dessert course was Taffety Tart, with caramelised apple, fennel, rose and candied lemon. This came out as a narrow rectangle of tart, comprising millefeuille-ish layers of crisp caramel pastry, with a crunchy seedy toffee topping, then a layer of piped fromage blanc, and finally (I think) the caramelised apple. Fennel seeds gave a gentle savouryness, and the candied lemon and rose were sensationally intense. Additionally, there was a quenelle of blackcurrant sorbet, which I described as “Ribena times ten”. The dish evoked toffee apples, Toffee Crisps (a secret childhood shame) and the demon blackcurrant cordial that was completely and utterly verboten when I grew up. Except, of course, this was highly sophisticated and far far nicer than anything a normal eight year old might have had. I cannot begin to describe how much I enjoyed this dessert - and I don’t like desserts.

Heightened expectations preceded the BFG, having seen it on In Search of Perfection and noted the lengthy recipe that can be found online. BFG stands, of course, for Black Forest Gateau, and this came with kirsh ice cream and “the smell of the Black Forest” (predominantly Kirshish). I have a considerable antipathy towards kirsch and the cream component of the usual BFG, so this could have been an ordeal. The plate comes out with a rather formidable matte chocolate tower, topped with a glossy dark cherry that oozes sauce down one corner, with a quenelle of kirsch ice cream on the side. The kirsch ice cream was a revelation, and forced me to completely reconsider my attitude towards liqueurs. The oozy sauce was curiously fizzy (like the fizzy coke bottles one could buy by the penny). The stalk of the cherry was, I later discovered, not a stalk but a fine threat of vanilla pod, and added a stunning dimension.

Then there was the cake monolith itself. As one sliced down one corner, one discovered that it was a multistorey affair: mousse, ganache, cream, incredibly dense (near-black) sponge, aerated chocolate (i.e. A really posh bit of Aero bar) and an extraordinary honey/caramelish biscuit base. At various points one encountered kirsch-soaked cherries, which had just enough sourness to counterbalance the bittersweet chocolate and boozy cream.

I would never, ever, normally order Black Forest Gateau, given that it has two of my bete noires - cream and liqueur. But this was so good that I had to eat it very slowly and thus prolong the experience. I could almost feel inclined to have a go at making it myself, bar the faff.

The last proper course (and we were offered a supplementary cheese course, but god knows who could fit that in too) was the “Whisk(e)y wine gums” - the name referring to both Scottish and American spellings, for reasons which became clear. Another inventive mode of presentation, we had picture frames set in front of us, containing a map of Scotland. Affixed to the map were little jelly bottles (a la the fizzy coke bottles), which corresponded to a little key - this explained that each bottle was flavoured with a particular whisky, and one whiskey, from different regions and distilleries. I was surprised by how much variation there was in flavour, as I had previously thought that all whisk(e)y was uniformly awful. Not so. We also had bottles of Glenlivet spring water to cleanse the palate between tasting (one gum being, appropriately, Glenlivet whiskey). My mother, a glass bottle fanatic, requested the top she could take the bottle home. The slightly bemused waitress admitted that no one had ever asked for that before, but she managed to fine one.

The meal ended with “Like a Kid in a Sweet Shop”, which some people opted to wolf there and then, but we kept until we got home.

The lovely candy-stripe bags contained the following:

A menu (which says “Smell Me! And does indeed smell of sweeties)

Aerated Chocolate - Mandarin Jelly

This was like the love child of an Aero bar, a jaffa cake and Terry’s chocolate orange - but made with superb ingredients.

Coconut Baccy - coconut infused with an aroma of black Cavendish tobacco.

My stepmother informs me that this is a grownup version of a sweet she had as a child, which was made from coconut and came in a tobacco pouch. I’m not a huge fan of coconut, but this is delicious. I can’t really taste the tobacco, but that’s perhaps because I left it a couple of days before consuming. Oops.

Apple Pie Caramel - with an Edible Wrapper (no need to unwrap)

What looks like a plastic wrapper actually dissolves in the mouth, and the caramel does indeed taste intensely appley. It is also, by far, the best “caramel” I’ve ever had.

The Queen of Hearts - she made some tarts…

This is quite astonishing. Inside the envelope is a Queen of Hearts “playing card”, made from white chocolate and filled with jam. Beautifully presented, and joyous to eat.

My mother was distressed that other diners left their pretty sweetie bags on the table, and commented on this to one of the waitresses as she cleared away the debris, enquiring if she ever thought it was upsetting that diners did not seem to appreciate the care and attention that went into the bags. And, by contrast, how thrilled we were by the entire experience. Very sweetly, we were brought a proper Fat Duck carrier bag for our sweetie bags, which just about one-ups every other cardboard bag I’ve seen. Hurrah!

I don’t know what more I can say about the Fat Duck. I hope this is not the only visit I ever make, even though I had initially described it as a “once in a lifetime experience”. I am shocked that the staff indicated that it can be hard to manage some people’s expectations, as I can’t imagine that anyone couldn’t be completely astounded and delighted. It is, without question, peerless and perfect.

Importantly, everything was actually delicious. There was not a single dish, component or combination that did not excite the senses and cortex. I could have easily licked every dish clean, and indeed, I noticed a few other diners wiping their fingers across the plates in order to get every last morsel (here the bread came in handy, too).

What was also notable, and unique, was the way every table seemed to resound with laughter. I have never been to a restaurant and seen so many people clearly enjoying themselves. Towards the end of the night, one couple even got engaged, with the woman holding a Tiffany box (complete with sizeable gem) asking her companion “Are you f***ing me? Are you serious?”. Amused staff watched on, before bringing champagne to the pair.

Clearly, a life-changing experience for many.

Ten out of ten, Heston! And ten out of ten for attention to detail. I wish everything in life was as well thought out and considerate - it is obvious that the entire restaurant is run to make diners feel special, contented, happy and entertained. I believe it shows, too, that Heston Blumenthal does what he does to please people - if only all people acted like that.

Sunday 18 April 2010: Villandry/Carluccio’s - Bicester Village, Oxon

2010-04-22T18:48:00.002+10:00

For months, a planned trip to Bicester Village was keeping my shopping in check, as I promised myself that some initial self-restraint would be rewarded by the delights on (70% discounted) offer. It also posed some food opportunities, as my travelling companion (my mother) and I would have to find some decent nourishment from home.

Bicester Village does not have much choice on site. There is a pub nearby, which looked pretty ordinary (albeit pretty on the outside), as well as a Little Chef. Notwithstanding being Heston’d in the last few years (and a few pleasing surprises on the new menus, such as an emphasis on British produce), I am still far, far too embarrassed to set foot in a Little Chef.

So, Bicester Village itself on a Sunday evening would have to do.

In the evening, the small choice is whittled down as Pret a Manger and Starbucks both shut along with the shops. In any case, I boycott Starbucks and I’m fairly Pretted out at the moment. We were left with Villandry, and Carluccio’s.

Both of which should have been fairly reasonable.

Carluccio’s was warm and friendly, but my mother was very taken by the roast beef that Villandry offers as Plat du Jour on Sundays. When we got to Villandry, we were left standing around as the only waitress was completely absorbed with customers already seated. Eventually, as we were about to leave, she came over and said hello, but suggested that (post-9pm closing time notwithstanding - and this was only about 7.30) they were closing down for the evening. We also suspected that if any food was available, it would be extremely tired and dodgy.

So in the end, it was back to Carluccio’s.

I had high hopes. Although a chain, one still expects it to be a relatively high quality one. The menu seemed promising - there was plenty of choice.

My mother was “starving” and went for the lasanga tradizionale, which is weirdly made with lamb and beef, and focaccia served with balsamic vinegar and olive oil. The focaccia came out in two enormous three inch high cubes, but the bread looked over yeasted and a bit weirdly spongy. The lasanga came out as a reasonably sized portion, although nothing particularly thrilling.

I followed my principle of ordering dishes I can’t easily do myself at home, and selected spaghetti alla vongole in bianco. This came out as an ENORMOUS plate of spaghetti with a few vongole here and there. It was also heavily coated in olive oil which made eating the spaghetti unamusingly messy and embarrassing. I was a bit annoyed, too, that there were very few vongole, that some shells were empty (with no sign of flesh elsewhere in the plate) and the odd shell was broken (I bit down on a fragment of shell and was lucky not to break a tooth). I valiantly managed about three quarters of what was there, but eating a lot of spaghetti with very little to taste other than oil and starch is quite tedious. I made my mother eat a bit of what was left, because I hate waste. Even she thought it was far too rich with oil.

I don’t foresee eating much pasta again in the near future.

As a post script, a little over 24 hours later, I spent the night vomiting. My mother was also affected, but to a vastly lesser extent. I can’t help but wonder whether there is any connection.

Embrasse – 27 September 2009

2009-09-28T11:35:00.003+10:00

Although my birthday was a couple of months ago, it has taken until now for me to feel like doing anything to mark it. I am not one for celebrating my own birthday anyway – the main question is why? – but it is a socially typical excuse for going to a nice restaurant, and I needed some normal justification.

My original plan had been to do the Dali exhibition and Cutler and Co for lunch/dinner on a Friday, but when I sent my mother the link to C&C’s website she replied with “gloomy” and “expensive” (having only noticed the meaty sharing dishes). I still think that we could have had a fabulous dinner at C&C, but the initial lack of enthusiasm dulled my interest. It is, however, still on my list of places to visit.

As PDC, Mamma needed to be happy to go to a particular restaurant, otherwise I wouldn’t enjoy myself at all. (This ruled out Shira Nui, as though she likes Japanese food she’s not as fanatical as I am. It also ruled out Attica, because it’s too avant garde.)

However, I remembered that a few months ago I had read The Age’s review of Embrasse, and then Ed’s review, and had mentally flagged it as somewhere that might actually interest my easily bored palate. I was also impressed that Nicolas Poelaert had worked at Michel Bras, which is on my “If I won the lottery” wishlist.

I pointed out to Mamma that they were offering venison, which sealed the deal.

The Dali exhibition was mentally stimulating, irritating crowds notwithstanding (“I really need to get back into painting with oils. I could paint like that, with practice and if people stopped interrupting me.”). After a walk around the city and Carlton in the extraordinarily cold weather that struck Melbourne over the weekend, we were happy to skip across to Embrasse.

At 7 o’clock, there were only two other diners, which was a welcome relief after the shrieks of bored NGV-attending children.

We were brought an aperitif menu, and water, and I had to make the usually difficult decision of what to eat.

My general rule when eating out is to have, and only have, what I cannot replicate at home. This usually hinges on produce and/or technique and/or specialised equipment. This also means I don’t eat out often because, with the exception of hatted restaurants, most run of the mill places don’t offer anything I can’t do (better) myself.

On that basis, and having been intrigued before, I went for the selection of root vegetables, mushroom/ink crumbs, 62C egg, wood sorrel, because I doubt I could slow cook an egg like that.

I was also interested in the smoked ocean trout, and the king prawns, and the meli melo, and the John Dory (even though I don’t really like white-fleshed fish or avocado), and the carrots and nettles with oat/golden syrup, and the cheeses. Another time…

Mamma, of course, had already made up her mind and went straight for the roasted venison, cauliflower, barberry, milk/shallot, wild water cress.

We also decided, since I was effectively having only a wee starter, and it was a cold night, that the famous aligot should be tested.

Very impressively, we were brought three types of house made bread – miniature wholemeal soda bread loaves, white rolls and slices of rosemary and oat bread. Mamma will no doubt go down in the annals of Melburnian dining as the woman who has got to the bottom of the bread basket at the finest restaurants, and tried all three (some twice…). I went for the rosemary and the soda bread, and enjoyed the butter with them.

The rosemary and oat bread was, by the by, unbelievably delicious.

We were also brought out two types of amuse bouche. One I didn’t pay much attention to because it had pancetta and therefore I would have to forego it. The other involved Roquefort and a single, beautiful fresh shiso leaf on the top. The Roquefort was divine – a tiny amount, but so flavourful.

After a relatively short wait, we were brought our dishes. I was far too inhibited to whip my camera out at that stage, but I wish I had.

The venison – slow cooked, then roasted – was brought out in two geometrical chunks, deliciously ruby-pink red inside. Though not a meat eater for 12 years, I could almost change my mind after seeing the plate. There was a beautiful floral floret of cauliflower, a splash of barberry sauce, the overall vision one of ruby and pearl.

The aligot was served in a copper saucepan with two forks for twiddling the stretchy mash into a more manageable dollop.

My root vegetables involved a trail of finely wrought and lightly cooked potato, carrot, shallot, possibly beetroot and I’ve no idea what else (swede? Turnip? It was all delicious, anyway), with crunchy black umami-rich chunks of crumbs and a white-veiled soft egg. The vegetables were intensely flavourful, as you only get with good ingredients that have been respected and highlighted by the chef. The crumbs provided a lovely flavour and textural nuance and the egg was not only extraordinary in its perfect, jellyish texture, but one of the best tasting eggs I’ve ever had.

The aligot was divinely cheesy and though slightly coronary-inducing, was welcome on a cold night.

I’m embarrassed to say I ogled the venison so much I almost feel as if I have eaten it.

Finally, the dessert option arose. I had an inkling that Embrasse would proffer desserts the like of which I would never manage at home and therefore had to be enjoyed as the opportunity arose.

Mamma made the choice of chocolate parfait, meringue, chocolate crumb, sorrel granita.

The name is very subtle, because what came out was far more extraordinary. And at this point, I overcame my camera shyness. I also overcame my dessert-antipathy.

Mushrooms! Growing out of the soil!

The base of the mushroom was the meringue, the caps were the parfait (which tasted a bit hazelnutty), the crumbs made up the soil, the sorrel granita the moss. The leaf skeleton was a sort of langue du chat type biscuit.

Parfait was parfait! I could have eaten bowls of it. The meringue was delightfully crunchy, the leaf melted in the mouth, the crumb soil moist, dense, dark and intense. The sorrel granita provided a lovely fresh, zingy counterpart to the chocolate.

It was the best dessert I have ever seen, or eaten.

For me, Embrasse was as much a feast for the eyes as the palate; quite appropriate after an afternoon of brain-stimulating art.

I can highly recommend it – the food was superb, the service prompt, friendly and accommodating.

Exciting food finds

2009-04-18T16:19:00.000+10:00

Though I absolutely hate Prahran, with its messiness and peculiar mix of cashed-up narcissistic wannabe-hipsters and barking mad drug addicts, it is one of the crucial gastronomic destinations in Melbourne.

Firstly, there is the obvious Prahran Market. Though I know there are lots and lots of interesting stalls – and thank god I don’t live nearby enough to go often, or I’d be bankrupt – the organic shop that fronts onto Elizabeth Street is a must-visit, as I have found it to be extremely competitive price-wise. They sell Zeally Bay sourdough for the extremely reasonable price of around $5.50 (only a dollar more than the now mass-produced and very disappointing Pane di Casa from boring old Baker’s Delight – which does not delight), whilst other places often put a dollar or two on top of that. They also always have some very cheap organic fruit and vegetables. We got watermelon for 90 cents a kilo, grapes for 2.95 a kilo, an enormous half of red cabbage for $3 and bananas for 1.99 a kilo. This is less than conventionally farmed produce, on special, at the supermarket. On a good day.

Hilariously, and weirdly, the organic apples (including the biggest Granny Smiths I’ve ever seen – amazing, given that organic produce can be on the small side) and many other items were a lot cheaper than the conventional produce at other stalls. Very strange…

They also sell more interesting items like red quinoa, which I must go back for when I run out of my white quinoa, and several varieties of organic/biodynamic milk. Nom nom nom. (I am very partial to unhomogenised organic milk, though I am not extreme enough to go for the full cream. That said, the Aphrodite “bathing” milk intrigues...)

Along with the fresh items, we bought some organic black bean spaghetti which, as a semi vegetarian, piqued my interest for its amazing protein levels. 41%! Can’t wait to try it, and it was an exciting thrill for $4.50.

Secondly, there is The Essential Ingredient. My mother was a bit mystified a couple of years ago when I went there and came home raving about it. When she visited on Friday, she understood – and then said, “Why didn’t you rave about it more?!”

We will be returning for the Australian black peppercorns, the interesting bulk packs of Lindt chocolate, and (oh gorgeous) the muffin-sized mini guglehopf tins (WANT)…

Thirdly, there is Fuji Mart.

As a devotee of Asian grocers, Fuji Mart ranks pretty damn high up because of the fascinating $2.50 kitchenware/homeware section, where you can get cute Engrish notebooks, pens, damp-absorbing containers, face masks, daikon graters, chopsticks, bottle brushes and bento boxes for less than the price of a really crap coffee. More amazingly, once Mama had pillaged the bargain section, and got some incredibly reasonable sencha matcha, we also got a stamped loyalty card and a free packet of I’m-not-quite-sure-what. I think it’s an okonomyaki packet mix… Further investigations will be required, but free stuff is always a winner.

Jacques Reymond, 17 April 2009

2009-04-18T15:24:00.000+10:00

After a few questions enquiring where she would like to go for her birthday, my mother’s only response was “somewhere French”. As she did not want to be anywhere near the city centre, this ruled out Vue de Monde, Bistro Guillaume and The Brasserie, but left a number of possibilities. After I pointed out the exceedingly high ranking of Restaurant Jacques Reymond by both Gourmet – second in Melbourne, only after Vue de Monde, and The Age – the only three-hatted restauant – not to mention the pretty Victorian mansion setting, my mother agreed that this would be suitable.

On Friday afternoon, then, we arrived at the restaurant – after nearly missing it, so discreetly signed on Williams Road, and having an interesting time getting the car through the slightly narrow gate posts.

The house itself is tastefully decorated, with walls in a very Parisian shade of grey and aubergine, tangerine and leaf green upholstery and accents. On a side table in the hallway, next to the current volume of the Relais and Chateaux guide, was a bowl of enormous wild pine mushrooms.

We were greeted by an extremely charming member of staff, who looked after us throughout the meal and managed the astounding job of making easy, polite conversation with us and the other diners, whilst attending to all gastronomic needs. I have read reviews commenting on the excellent service at Jacques Reymond and, unlike so many other places, this is entirely true.

Seated by the window, we had views out onto the courtyard which featured outdoor dining tables (surely lovely on a summer evening) and olive trees which were thriving enough to bear lots of fruit.

The tables were laid with crisp white tablecloths, Swiss (I think) glassware, Christofle cutlery and Bernaudaud porcelain. We were brought menus and the wine list which dazzled (not for the credit crunched, but extraordinary in its length and breadth). Freshly baked rolls and house-churned butter (something which had helped convince my mother that this would be a tolerable venue for lunch), and chilled water were brought while we attempted to choose our dishes.

The lunch menu allows diners to choose two, three or four courses, with perhaps a dozen or more savoury entrée-sized options and around five desserts.

We decided to go for two savoury courses each, which admittedly did not make the decisions any easier. I was unusually lucky given the number of possibilities. I am a fish (but not meat) eater who hates the vegetarian food typically available (all vegetarians know the sort – let’s compensate for the lack of meat by killing the diner with oil, cream, butter and cheese), and this is coupled by an intense hatred of rich and excessively portioned food (a pet hate is thoughtless dishes with too many rich ingredients together, e.g. salmon and cream, when there should be more contrast).

(I am particularly irritated, as well, by the way almost all restaurants in Melbourne seem to offer vegetarians either a pumpkin, soft cheese and pine nut dish or a beetroot and goat’s cheese dish. There are other things we like to eat too! And as these are fairly cheap and easily replicated dishes, I refuse to pay proper money for them. and I despise a “chef” for whom this is the zenith of their originality in vegetarian cuisine.)

Exceptionally, Jacques Reymond features French-ish Asian-ish dishes, which are thoughtfully composed and sensibly sized.

I was spoilt for choice. In such instances, one tends to go for dishes which would be difficult to make at home, either owing to a lack of special ingredients or equipment or patience.

The waiter brought out the bowl of wild mushrooms I had admired in the hallway, explaining that they had been brought in from country Victoria after conditions had been suitable for their growth, and enquired whether either of us would be interested in the chef preparing something with them. I have never wittingly had wild mushrooms, and I still feel cheated that when we went to The Lake House last year there weren’t any on the menu. This interested me immensely.

Having established that the filling would not be fatty, like the unfortunate pork belly she had had at another inferior establishment, Mama went for pork cheek dumplings in dashi, and veal with spaezele.

Though enticed by the thought of kingfish, buckwheat and miso, I deemed this too similar to things I cook anyway. A similar rationale ruled out the house-smoked trout and horseradish.

I therefore went for the Tasmanian oysters and sashimi tuna with truffled sour cream, and the off-menu suggestion of a wild pine mushroom risotto.

The oysters and dumplings were brought out first. Mama’s comment on the dumplings was that they were fluffy like Yorkshire puddings, which seemed like an odd comparison but she pointed out that this was no bad thing, given how much she likes Yorkshire pudding. The pork cheek was, she reported, lean and very flavoursome – presumably, given the cut of meat, it had been braised for a long time. The dashi stock was apparently delicious, and was mopped up with bread, leaving nary a trace.

My dish was brought out on a rectangular glass plate. Four large oysters were set on little piles of salt. The oyster flesh was topped with the most finely sliced, and intensely sweetly oniony shallots/spring onions and salmon (?) roe. Underneath the flesh was micro-diced tuna, which melted in the mouth. I have only ever had one oyster before in my life, out of curiosity, at South Melbourne Market where you can get oyster shots for the ludicrously reasonable price of $1. My experience at Jacques Reymond was, however, several orders of magnitude better.

After an appropriate interlude, and more bread, the second dishes came out. The veal was topped by around four, eight inch long giant (grissini-sized) spaezele, which were apparently crunchy on the outside and pleasantly chewy on the inside. The veal looked very tender, rosy pink on the inside, and was accompanied by fennel, peas, (I think) grapefruit segments and microherbs.

My risotto was generously portioned, and the quantity of mushrooms used (fried until slightly crisp in butter) was extraordinarily luxurious. The mushrooms were magnificent – flavoursome and incredibly meaty in texture. I know, as a semi-vegetarian, that mushrooms are often touted as a good substantial meat substitute, but (with the exception of vast field or portabello mushrooms – and even then, something is lacking) this sometimes seems like wishful thinking.

Not in the case of the pine mushrooms. They were stunning. The risotto was delicately flavoured, with just enough bite for each grain, and garnished with shaved parmesan.

The meal ended with coffee and petit fours. Mama’s cappuccino was large, with a good dense foam and did not appear to be excessively weak. My macchiato was possibly the best I’ve ever had, the coffee being very smooth, sweet and nutty. I don’t know what beans they use, but it exceeded the (very good) Genovese macchiato I had at Healesville Harvest last year, which itself had eclipsed all the others I’ve had around Melbourne.

The petit fours were very petite, but this was only appropriate. Furthermore, as I discovered, they were also so divine and intensely flavoured, that one simply did not need more. A crisp base, they seemed to be tiny lemon curd filled cakelets, about three centimetres in diameter and topped by a large fresh (and, in turn, delicious) blueberry. The combination of the crunchy exterior and lusciously smooth tart interior was perfect, but, I suspect, far too fiddly for me to feel inclined to replicate at home.

In short, it was a fabulous lunch, and at $48 a head ludicrously good value, and one neither felt underfed nor dangerously dyspeptic. My only quibble was that there were no vegetarian options on the actual menu, though I’m sure that the chefs would be more than happy to rustle something up on request, as my mushroom risotto demonstrated.

Double the wine, double the fun?

2009-04-05T17:39:00.002+10:00

Alright, that’s overstating it.

Pears are clearly in season right now, and the incredibly low prices reflect this. Being a seasonal sort of shopper, I can’t resist picking up a kilo or so, but this then leaves me wondering what to do.

Having bought some beurre boscs, I had to think about how I would cook them. I thought about a tart, but the previous week I had made apple and pear almondy tarts, and I thought it would be overkill to have pastry two weeks running. So I settled on a cake – but a prettier one than I would usually manage.

Inspired by this recipe, I decided to poach the pears in wine: half in red, and half in white. I then made an almondy cake batter, poured it into a tin and arranged the alternating pear slices on top. For once I managed to make something that actually looked good!

Recipe: Two-Wine Pear Almond Cake

3 beurre bosc pears
100g sugar
3 cardamom pods
½ cup each of white and red wine

80g soft butter
50g sugar
3 eggs
150g plain flour
50g almond meal
20g chestnut flour
Vanilla essence

Peel the pears, slice in half and core. Put the wine in two separate saucepans with 50g sugar and about half of the bashed cardamom in each. Medium heat until the sugar dissolves. Add three pear halves to each pan. Cook until the pears are softened (this took about 45 minutes). Remove pears, turn up the heat and reduce the poaching liquid until thick and syrupy.

Slice the pears thinly.

Pre-heat the oven to 170 degrees.

Put the softened butter into the bowl of a mixer along with the sugar and beat until pale and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well. Add the vanilla – as much as you like. I like a lot. Sift the flour into the mixer, along with the almond meal, and mix to combine. Add the white wine poaching liquor.

Pour into a greased and floured 9” springform tin. Arrange the pear slices, alternating red with white. Pour over the red wine poaching syrup.

Bake for 30-40 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean. Allow to cool in the tin, then remove. Serve with icing sugar and sour cream.

Putting the "oooh" into frugal

2009-03-29T14:15:00.002+11:00

Yet another article on food waste and how to avoid or take advantage of leftovers – I would like to think that the growing plethora of such articles indicates that people are more conscious that what they are currently doing is completely unsustainable.

For example, whilst Kylie Kwong rather irritates me on TV, she makes a very powerful point when she says, "if I throw out a kilo of white rice, I'm also wasting the 2385 litres of water that it took to grow that rice".

I have particular sympathy for the ethos espoused by Detmar Haupt, who attributes his minimised waste to control freaky precision. Since I took over as the Knight of the Kitchen Realm a couple of years ago, kitchen waste has been eliminated.

Firstly, we buy very little that comes in a packet. The only packety food we typically buy consists of milk, cheese, tinned tomatoes, tinned sardines, pasta, rice and lentils. Most of this is recyclable. As for kitchen waste, there's very little of that. Offcuts are either eaten by me, or the guinea pig (with the exception of large amounts of melon rind, or potato peelings, the latter being toxic). Consequently, the kitchen bin (25L) is emptied once a week and is often only half-full. It's a small thing, but I have also discovered that one does not die if one eats an apple in its entirety. Contrary to what my stepmother says, if you eat the seeds, a plant won't grow in your intestines…

I've also learnt that unless there's a really enormous amount of mould (and a little bit of forward planning – i.e., if you know something is perishable, use it FIRST), most leftover stuff is probably okay to eat. Obviously not if it's raw chicken/pork/seafood, but judicious refrigeration and reheating can easily keep food for a few days after its initial cook.

Whilst we buy an enormous amount of fresh food, which doesn’t come in lots of packaging – and I am increasingly avoiding plastic bags when buying loose fruit and vegetables – we never buy more than we intend to eat. Come Saturday morning, the crisper is inevitably empty. This also makes regular fridge cleans an easy task.

It's probably just as well we don't try to compost, because I doubt there'd be enough to feed a heap.

The additional benefit to all of this is that we spend far less at the supermarket in dollar terms (this is amplified when you take into account inflation) than we did ten years ago, and we eat far better too.

It is also worthwhile accurately portioning out food before it is cooked. I have got used to using measuring cups and my electronic scales so that I know how much pasta/rice/quinoa/lentils is right for one or two portions. It's not hard. By all means cook an excessive amount, but have a plan for how that will be used for another meal. If you're not prepared to do meal plans, don't shop and cook to excess. Easy.

In other news, a scan of the pantry shelves this morning revealed that in the last four or so months, I have made over 30 jars of jam/marmelade/chutney, many of which cost virtually nothing to make because the fruit (figs, blackberries - yes, they have a use, and since we don't use sprays they were organic) came from the garden. And the fruit that I did buy, at super-cheap South Melbourne market, was invariably less than $2 a kilo.

If you have never eaten blackberry and lime jam, I urge you to try making it. Ditto fig and lime.

Indeed, to ensure that nothing was wasted, I made eight jars of jam yesterday afternoon (fig, blood plum).

Between this and the spoils of Coles getting rid of Bonne Maman for 99¢ a few months ago, we are jammed up for the next year.

I would say that the most useful culinary skill I have acquired in the last year is preserving (or at least equal first with sourdough-making). Given that we would otherwise be looking at paying around $4 for a smallish jar of jam (if not more), knowing how to do it oneself could be very cost effective.

My other super secret tip for jam is to go to places like the A1 bakery and middle eastern grocers, because we have scoffed some unbelievably good Syrian apricot jam, which was very reasonably priced.

On a slightly different note, the Guardian's food blog Word of Mouth continues to be worth a read - this post is no exception. Read the comments. Laugh.

And a mouldy Christmas to you, too

2008-12-26T17:06:00.002+11:00

A few weeks ago, we stopped by a new gourmet food shop at Chadstone*, and were taken by the caramelised fig and quince jam that was out for sampling. Thinking it would be sufficiently flavoursome and interesting for Christmas breakfasting, we bought a jar. A rather pricey jar** but we thought "What the hell; it's Christmas".

Come Christmas morn, I open the jar of jam and am greeted by the sight of a healthy flush of mould on the surface and on the inside of the lid.

Yum yum. Needless to say, we returned it.***

Mouldy jam is the sort of thing you could almost forgive an amateur preservist for. Almost. But given that I have made fig jam with seventy-five per cent less sugar than most jams and still not had it go mouldy after a year in the pantry, I'm not very forgiving of a sugary jam supposedly made by professionals, with professional preserving equipment.

On a less revolting note, and for the curious, the Christmas Day menu was:

Breakfast: Schwobs dark rye, a sourdough roll, Beurre d'Isigny Sainte-Mère (or in my case, cottage cheese), an excellent Syrian apricot jam procured on a Sydney Rd jaunt, Vallee d'Ourthe wild blueberry jam, Illy espresso (with frothed milk and Lindt chocolate shavings on top; and not, for mine).

Lunch: Cheese platter, with King Island ashed brie, Yarra Valley Dairy gemello, taleggio and a Spanish blue cheese we got from YVD (have forgotten variety - it's enough to say, nom nom nom), Maggie Beet plum paste, a thinly-sliced Sundowner apple, pecans, brazils, freshly cracked walnuts.

Dinner: Organic buckwheat blini, with salmon roe and fresh dill. Huon smoked salmon and freshly-baked organic sourdough rye, accompanied by a beetroot and dill salad, a garden salad, a fruit salad (with organic figs and raspberries from the garden) and sheep's milk yogurt. Prosecco.

Finished off with Dan Lepard's extra-moist stollen**** modified by me to contain dried sour cherries in lieu of raisins, cherry brandy in lieu of rum, and mahlepi in lieu of cardamom etc. Served up with Maggie Beer burnt fig and bitter almond ice-cream.

Nom.

*For the curious, not one with the initials SJ, although I did have a lovely cup of Earl Grey tea there.

**And this is pricey not by our standards, since we don't settle for less than Bonne Maman. The name "Cottee's", for instance, would never darken our shelves.

***To add insult to injury, when we went to the Doncaster branch this morning to return it, the staff said "Oh no, you bought it at the Chadstone store, so it'll have to be returned there". No effing way! Merry Christmas to you, too, tossers!

***See also the most excellent blog by theinversecook.

Your holeyness...

2008-11-04T10:47:00.004+11:00

I've tried making sourdough before, and in my anxiety about the starter's activity, semi-sabotaged my efforts by adding some dried yeast; thereby producing an okay loaf of bread, but not a bona fide pain au levain.

In the meantime, my starter languished at the back of the fridge and went a bit furry. I disposed of it, although I later found out that some people have revived furry starters and made bread which didn't actually cause death or disability. Curses!

Having taken a week off to recuperate from getting my wisdom teeth removed (an altogether unpleasant experience, since one side of my face swelled up like a football), I decided that all this free time at home would be an excellent opportunity for me to get a starter going again. Using Dan Lepard's method, Laucke flour, some lovely biodynamic yogurt and organic raisins, I had a pretty active little jar of gloop after a few days.

Despite two minor disasters (the dough stuck to the proving cloth, and mucking the surface up; I burnt my arm on the oven shelf in my dismay), the result was quite successful. I am particularly pleased with the holeyness of the crumb. The loaf was about 80% Laucke wallaby flour and 20% rolled oats for interest.

My second attempt was a sourdough rye.

Because rye flour has less gluten than wheat flour, you don't get that proteinous scaffolding to support big holes in the crumb - hence, a much denser bread is produced. I don't think the bread proved long enough, which is why it's a bit flat, and my shaping abilities are terrible, but it's not a bad loaf at all. And I didn't burn myself this time!

Now if I can just sort out the problem of my oven drying the crust out too much (i.e. work out how to turn the fan off)...

Cake bakery round-up

2008-08-17T16:24:00.005+10:00

I'm trying to keep track of what I've made, but I haven't been very assiduous about it. I also need to remember to take more photos.

Apple & Quince Yeast Cake

Made 13 July 2008.

I can’t remotely remember what recipe I used to make this. It may have been a bit of this, with some raisins in the yeast dough. I also will have omitted the cream, because we never have it in the house. I put in around two poached, sliced quinces and one (or two?) sliced Pink Lady apples (which was what was in the house at the time). These were strewn across the brioche dough, and two tablespoons of raw sugar sprinkled on the top before baking.

And then I dusted it with icing sugar, for prettiness...

Pumpkin Cake

From Stephanie Alexander’s Cooking and Travelling in South-West France. It is supposed to have caramelised orange slices to go with it, but I could not be bothered to make them, so I used some homemade Seville orange marmalade.

Made 27 July 2008.

Ingredients:

1.2kg peeled, seeded and thinly sliced pumpkin (SA reckons on needing a 1.5kg pumpkin for this amount of flesh – I had a 2kg Kent pumpkin, the remainder of which I chopped and froze for later uses, e.g. pumpkin scones.)
50g butter
100g raw sugar
1 large whole egg
3 large egg yolks
grated zest of 1 lemon
as much cinnamon as you like
75g plain flour

Method:

Put around ¼ cup raw sugar in a saucepan with about a tablespoon of water, at medium heat, until dissolved. Increase heat and boil until it becomes caramelly in colour. Pour into a 9”/23cm cake tin, tilting to cover the base and sides. Set aside.

Preheat oven to 150˚C.

Steam the pumpkin until tender, drain in a colander for 10 minutes. DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THIS! Else, you will end up with waterlogged pumpkin like I had.

Melt the butter in a large frying pan, put in the pumpkin and cook, stirring, to coat in the butter and evaporate remaining water (see caps lock bit above). Remove from the heat, and allow to cool. Puree it in a food processor (n.b. this mixture will taste absurdly delicious, and could theoretically be used as a soup base).

Using a mixer (i.e., my KitchenAid), beat the sugar, egg, egg yolks together until thick and pale. Add zest, flour, cinnamon and add pumpkin and beat well. There will be a lot! Pour it into the tin and cook until it is done. SA says 45 minutes, but mine needed over an hour, presumably because my pumpkin was too wet.

SA also says you should allow to cool completely before unmoulding. She’s right. I didn’t do this, and it was all a little bit gooey.

I finished off by spooning over my rather loosely-set marmalade of 2007.

Nonetheless, the cake was fearsomely good – very moist, interesting texture, and relatively healthy.

Pear Chocolate Muffins

Adapted from this Cuisine.com.au recipe. I didn’t have any spelt flour, as for some reason it is prohibitively expensive here (I found it easily, and fairly cheaply, in organic form at Tesco in England, under the Doves Farm brand. When will Australian supermarkets move into the 21st century?). So I used plain unbleached flour, which worked fine (albeit not as healthy).

My version is as follows:

2¼ cups flour
1 tbsp baking powder
3 free-range eggs
¼ cup raw sugar
1¼ cup milk
1 tbsp hazelnut oil
As much orange zest as I could get off an orange
A good slosh of vanilla essence

Filling

3 ripe beurre bosc pears, diced
100g chopped chocolate (I used Droste 70% cocoa solid + orange chocolate, as it was ludicrously cheap at the supermarket)

Method:

Whisk together all the dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together all the wet ingredients. Stir the wet into the dry. Spoon in the pears and the chocolate.

Stir gently and spoon into oiled muffin tin – the mixture went into nine large muffin moulds. Put into a preheated oven set at 170˚C for 30 minutes or until golden brown.

Pear Sultana Loaf

Made 10 August 2008.

This was adapted from a Taste.com.au recipe. My version is as follows:

Ingredients:
80g butter, chopped
1/2 cup raw sugar
2 cups self-raising flour, sifted
2 eggs, beaten
1 lemon, rind finely grated
1 cup sultanas
¼ cup apple juice concentrate, then enough water to make up to 1 cup
1 large, unripe beurre bosc pear, grated

Icing
1/2 cup icing sugar, sifted
½ teaspoon ground cardamom
Enough lemon juice to mix above into a paste

Method

1. Preheat oven to 180°C. Grease a non-stick 900g/2lb loaf tin (n.b. I used spray light olive oil, because I am tremendously lazy).
2. Melt butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Transfer to a mixing bowl. Add sugar, flour, eggs, lemon rind, sultanas, apple concentrate mixture and pear. Mix until well combined, and turn into the tin.
3. Bake until a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean (the recipe says 50-60 minutes, I checked after 50 with my fan-assisted oven, and it was ready). Cool in pan for 10 minutes before turning onto a wire rack to cool completely.
4. Make icing by combining icing sugar and cardamom in a heatproof, microwave-safe bowl. Add lemon juice and stir until a thick paste forms. Heat in the microwave for a bit until runny. The power and length of time obviously depends on your oven.
5. Pour icing over cake and spread to cover. Allow icing to set before serving.

Healthy Apple Donuts

Made 17 August 2008. Adapted from a recipe in the current issue of Australian Gourmet Traveller.

620g plain flour (Around 120 g made up with organic, wholemeal flour. Note that the recipe says “750g/5 cups”, which looks wrong to me!)
100 g raw sugar
2.5 tsp dry yeast
250 mL lukewarm milk, plus extra for brushing
80mL milk curdled with a good squeeze of lemon juice (as a substitute for 80mL buttermilk)
2 eggs, at room temperature
30g melted butter

Apple filling
1.5 massive Granny Smith apples, coarsely chopped
45 mL apple juice concentrate
2 tsp cinnamon
juice of one lemon and one orange

1. Combine flour, sugar and yeast in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a dough hook and mix to combine. In another bowl, whisk together milk, ersatz buttermilk, eggs and the melted butter. With motor running, add milk mixture and mix on medium speed until dough is smooth and elastic (4-5 minutes). Form into a ball, place in a lightly oiled bowl (I used walnut, just in case it will add some interesting nuance), cover with plastic wrap and stand in a warm place until double in size. I won’t give any time indication, as in a Melbourne winter it all very much depends on how warm your house is.
2 . For the apple filling, put apples, juices and concentrate in a saucepan, stir over medium heat, bring to the boil and cook until the apple is tender. Cool.
3. Preheat oven to 190˚C. Knock down dough, turn onto a lightly floured work surface and roll to 5mm thick. Using a 7cm-diameter cutter, cut 12 rounds from dough. Using an 8cm-diameter cutter, cut 12 rounds from remaining dough (re-roll scraps if necessary). Place smaller rounds on a baking paper-lined oven tray 5cm apart and place a heaped teaspoon of apple filling in centre of each. Brush edges with milk, cover with larger rounds and press to seal edges well. Trim edges by cutting with a 7cm-diameter cutter. Cover with a tea towel and stand in a warm place until risen (1-1½ hours). Bake until bottoms are just golden (8-10 minutes).

Brush with a little melted butter mixed with a bit of millk, and toss in cinnamon sugar. (I am highly averse to using 120g melted butter, as per the recipe. This looks like overkill!)

Also made at some point in the last few months…

Haalo’s Garibaldi, albeit with ordinary raisins. These were great, and one day I will have to try making them with dried sour cherries.

Twice, I have made Dan Lepard’s cinnamon fruit cake, with some alterations (namely, more cinnamon, and usually some sort of brandy/rum substance instead of the tea). It is very good.

The Lake House

2008-07-13T17:03:00.006+10:00

Last year, my mother turned fifty (and now she’s going to turn homicidal that I’ve mentioned this). Because of life stresses and a little dismay at that milestone, she didn’t want much of a celebration. Her birthday was marked at home, with a roast lamb dinner, as that was – I felt – the least I could do.

This year she decided that fifty-one was a much more interesting date to celebrate, and though the life stresses hadn’t abated, she let me take her somewhere nice for lunch.

As soon as I suggested it, she was utterly sold on going to The Lake House. She had wanted to go somewhere out of Melbourne, and wasn’t particularly interested in Yarra Valley-ing, since we traipse around there quite often.

For a long time, she had wanted to go to Daylesford, and the pretty setting seemed to fulfil her need for some aesthetic nourishment.

I prepared by borrowing a copy of Alla Wolf-Tasker’s book, and quietly appreciated her writing and style.

The Sunday after her birthday, we drove to Daylesford. We arrived nice and early, and the picturesque town was a welcome change from the astonishingly depressing drive out of Melbourne.

I was very much taken by the water feature near the restaurant entrance, and the fragrant quinces set to one side.

Alas, out of embarrassment, I could not bring myself to photograph the food. How do fellow food bloggers manage it? We were however, hugely entertained by the antics of the kookaburras, which some of the more soft-hearted staff were feeding bits of – presumably – pancetta.

As we perused the menu, we were brought house-made bread rolls and butter. Though rather salty, the rolls were very good.

Mama went for the lunch special, which is extremely good value. For her starter, she had the Caesar salad, which featured a rather extraordinary panko-crumbed poached egg. A lover of poached eggs anyway, she raved for weeks afterwards that it was the best poached egg she’d ever had.

For her main course, she had (if I remember rightly) game sausages.

I chose Murray Cod from the a la carte menu, and given that this particular fish is quite scarce, I feel privileged that I’ve had the opportunity to try it. That said, I am not a huge fan of white fish, and this – though beautifully cooked – was no exception. It was, however, accompanied by a cauliflower puree that was so delicious that it has overwritten my memories of ghastly cauliflower cheese such that I am now able to enjoy this vegetable once more.

For dessert, she had the option of a chocolate or a flourless quince cake. Though I do not eat cake, I quite like to at least taste a little of what is on offer. I quietly hoped that she would not go for the chocolate, which would bore me – and so I was gratified that she did indeed choose the quince.

As I say, I do not particularly like sweet food, but the quince cake was extraordinary. Very moist, very delicious, and – rarest of all rare things – accompanied by cream so divine that even I could enjoy it. (I generally hate cream and have to scrape it off.)

After cake, and coffees, we took a walk around the lake, which is indeed very pretty.

Whilst I was not personally blown away by the food – as a pescetarian, I am resigned to having limited choices at restaraunts – service, presentation and execution were all excellent. I also appreciate that the food is selected on the basis of seasonality – a factor that we should all consider paramount. I will reiterate that what I enjoyed the most – the cake – was what I least expected to appreciate. And, importantly, Mama thought it was all wonderful.

Giant Steps/Healesville Harvest

2008-05-18T19:48:00.002+10:00

Over yonder, Ed asks "What is good service in a restaurant?"

Whatever the answer is, it isn't what I experienced at Giant Steps this afternoon.

I've been to GS twice before, and found the service efficient - if a little impersonal - and the food palatable. Today I found GS populated by "cannot-be-bothered-I-am-wonderful-what-on-earth-are-you-mere-mortals-doing-here?" types.

We waited for ages after being officiously bustled to a terrible table; requests for somewhere better were refused and then we were ignored. Plus the menu didn't excite me at all - so we left.

We ended up going to Healesville Harvest. My mother had their soup - chicken and spinach, with proper rustic toasted bread with what appeared to be parmesan - and I had a toasted eggplant, ricotta and spinach sandwich, which though a bit oily was pretty good. My macchiato was superb, my mother's cappucino looked excellent, and the flourless quince cake was amazing (the real distinction was that the nuts were quite roughly chopped).

So, Giant Steps - 0, Healesville Harvest - maybe one. (It was good, though not fabulous/)

Walnut tart, off-the-cuff pizza, in praise of Aldi.

2008-02-03T13:33:00.000+11:00

Lately I have been almost wilfully ignoring recipes, and instead playing around as my mood suits me. I feel comfortable enough with the basics now to ignore them.

This is a sort of walnut custard tart, which caused some anxiety as I had absolutely no idea whether the filling quantity would be right for the pastry case.

The pastry itself was bog standard shortcrust, comprising butter, flour, cold water and a hefty whack of cinnamon and nutmeg. The filling involved some coffee (yes, filthy instant stuff), sugar, eggs, more cinnamon and nutmeg, milk and 100g walnuts, mixed together to form a slightly sloppy consistency. The whole lot went into a 190˙C oven for about fifty minutes. The result, I am told, was entirely edible.

Yesterday was hot and bothersome. I suspected that Maman was tiring of pasta and feta-enriched salad on her meatless days, so I suggested making pizza. The advantage of the warm weather meant that I didn't have to wait five hours for the dough to rise, and the Kitchen Aid mixer made light work of the dough.

For reference, the dough was 200g bread flour, 50g organic rye flour, a teaspoon of salt, a sachet of yeast, and a tablespoon of organic honey* dissolved in 125mL of warm water. I had to add extra water as I mixed because the rye flour tends to make the mixture drier. The dough hook made neat work in about 5 minutes, and I finished off the kneading by hand to make sure it was ready. As it proved, I made a tomato sauce with a tin of tomatoes, a clove of crushed garlic, dried herbs, a good splash of red wine and some salt and pepper. I also let our rarely-used (and I need to rectify this) pizza stone warm up in a 230˙C oven.

Once the stone was dusted with semolina, and the dough had been through a brief knead and flattening, it went onto the stone, was covered with sauce, dried mint, slivers of garlic, field mushrooms, green peppers, dried and fresh mint, and chunks of feta. 15 minutes later, and something a damn sight better than anything from the supermarket came out.

I will never understand "convenience" foods.

*From Aldi, which incidentally is worth a rummage around. One, they have more and more organic foods which are very reasonably priced. Two, you can find interesting continental stuff including damn respectable German jams at $2.99 for 450g. Three, their caraway rye is like what Schwob's bread should be - loaded with caraway seeds, and cheap at $2.99. The organic honey was a similar price to the Leabrook stuff we usually have, but is organic, and sourced from Kangaroo Island's Ligurian bees. Fancy!

Slanderous sandwiches

2008-01-30T21:30:00.000+11:00

The New York Times asks a highly important legal question: Can a sandwich be slandered?

To précis the article, Quiznos asked people to create advertisements for the chain, with a key theme of attacking their rival, Subway.

Subway decided this was defamatory and has sued.

The knotty legal question in this is whether Quiznos is liable for the actions of third parties.

Other interesting questions centre on competition, and whether you can make any direct claims in reference to your rivals in ads. That’s pretty interesting given that you hardly ever see companies engaging in that sort of outright warfare – think of the Duracell battery or laundry powder ads which like to euphemistically refer to “other leading brands”.

A further point would be whether the terms and conditions of entry involved an assignment of intellectual property rights from competitors to Quiznos – if so, one could argue that they had more control over the content and thus its (allegedly) defamatory distribution.

In any case, let’s get to the nuts and bolts here. In my (non-legal but tastebuds-intact) opinion, both companies are probably responsible for bringing the noble sandwich into disrepute. That distinctive sickly sweet miasma which wafts out of thousands of Subways across the world bespeaks of sugary bread and additives. It’s hard to compare Quiznos, because I think they only have one branch (or had) in Melbourne, but I can’t imagine it would be much better.

[Disclaimer: I have not personally eaten at either establishment, as – with Subway at least – I am generally overcome with nausea when I walk past.]

Compare a fast food offering with the following:

Bagel. Cream cheese/ricotta. Gherkins/shaved red onion, capers, pepper, smoked salmon, lemon juice and dill or chives;
Baker D. Chirico pagnotta. Perfectly ripe brie or chevre. Fresh grapes or dried muscatels on the side;
Dark rye batard, e.g. from Laurent. Thinly sliced, topped with cream cheese or ricotta, followed by the sourest, cherry-est sour cherry jam you can find.

Now those are sandwiches. And anything else is an abomination unto Lucullus or an insult to the goodly variations permitted by a loaf of real bread and a few, carefully selected toppings.

Tis Subway which brings the noble sandwich into disrepute!

That said, I sort of see what Nigel Slater and Nigella Lawson mean when they note the odd, rather naff pleasure of Laughing Cow cheese (aka “Moo Cheese”) and sliced bread…

Cry for help - pepper mill advice

2008-01-20T11:59:00.000+11:00

We get through what seems like a ludicrous amount of freshly milled black pepper, and so you can imagine how disastrous it was when our previously-functioning mill bit the peppery dust.

I've tried taking it to bits but I can't work out why it doesn't function properly. I know I could use a mortar and pestle, but that's a bit faffy.

Anyway. I'm in the market for a good mill. One which will do good, cracked pepper and not nasty grey dust. Any recommendations?

No proper food blogging update - not because I haven't been baking (I have), but because I'm too lazy to write it up.

But just to liven things up, here's a strawberry custard tart I made in September (and I must say, I am thrilled that South Melbourne Market has provided me with so many seriously cheap punnets of strawberries lately - and they even have flavour! Mmm, markets.)If you want to know a recipe, you're out of luck. I winged it. But basically, make shortcrust pastry, make vanilla beany custard (I do it with milk, eggs and cornflour for stability, because I loathe cream, and some almond meal for fun), top with strawberries. I can't actually remember whether the custard was baked in the case or if I did the latter blind, but that's the fun of no-recipe baking.

Festive baking

2007-12-23T19:07:00.000+11:00

I think I might have over done it on the seasonal baking side of things.

To wit: 24 gingerbread muffins; 22 mince tarts; 2 quasi-Stollen.

And yes, my photography skills are absent.

Ostensible disaster

2007-11-11T19:59:00.000+11:00

One of the few good things about where my work is located is that it is within walking distance of South Melbourne Market. On Wednesday, I noticed that one of the stalls had apricots for $2.99 a kilo. Not great apricots, but they don't have to be.

On Friday, I duly bought some. (And some surprisingly good strawberries for $1.29, and a massive slab of Greek honey and walnut cake for $2.50. I love the market!)

Today, I attempted to turn them into jam. I followed the recipe in Delia Smith's Summer Collection by and large, though I substantially reduced the sugar. I let it get to boiling point this afternoon, wandered off, came back, noticed it was close to setting point, wandered off, came back...

Hmm. Slight burning smell.

Yes, it had caught on the bottom of the pan, and the previously beautiful, golden mixture was now the colour of Frank Cooper's Vintage Oxford Marmalade. Grumbling, I decanted it into jars, feeling pretty grumpy with myself.

Then I, and my mother, tasted it. And you know what? It was pretty good. It had caramelised, essentially, and had all sorts of interesting treacley, toffee-ish undertones. Absolutely nothing like the apricot jam that gets me drooling (Bonne Maman - the best, by far), but in its own right interesting.

I was reminded, too, of Maggie Beer's Burnt Fig Jam - or at least the idea of it.

Also accomplished today: off the cuff (i.e., no recipe, just whim) cinnamon biscuits which turned out a million times better than previous (with-recipe) attempts, and Nigel Slater's Beetroot Seed Cake.

The batter was the most extraordinary colour, not surprisingly. Again, I fiddled a bit with it because of the pantry limitations: so instead of muscovado I used raw sugar; instead of sunflower oil I used half-rice bran, half-walnut (and less than the stipulated amount); instead of beetroot I used one beetroot and 2/3rds of a carrot; instead of a mixture of seeds I used just linseeds; instead of half a tsp of cinnamon I used a tablespoon (recipes ALWAYS underestimate the cinnamon quantum)...

The lemon/orange flower water & poppyseed icing was surprisingly effective.

It turned out pretty well. I've been informed that I can make it again, which is always a good sign.

Eating for England

2007-09-23T13:56:00.000+10:00

I heart Nigel Slater.

I also heart the strawberries bought yesterday that have perfumed the whole fridge with intense deliciousness and which will be turned into a tart this afternoon.

Pleasantly surprising, too, was the Sundowner apple I ate last night. I am a Granny Smith fan, addicted to mouth-puckering tart crisp crunchiness. The Sundowner is milder, less lip-chapping, but pleasingly crisp.

Citrus Season - II - Blood orange, lemon, Cointreau tart

2007-09-22T19:12:00.000+10:00

I've just been to see Ratatouille - very cute, but for the really badly brought-up (dragged-up?) children who were unfortunately in the cinema. Since when was animation for kids anyway?

The second part of my citrusy series of blog posts is dessert. Having grabbed some blood oranges at South Melbourne market, and aware that I didn't want to use all of them in marmalade (of which more later), I decided to convert some into a tart.

The tart shell was made in a biscuity sort of way - creaming 100g butter with 50g caster sugar, then adding an egg and 220g "00" flour. It doesn't make for a particularly easy-to-handle dough, but the method is far easier on weary fingers than the normal pate brisee or pate sucree.

The case was blind baked in 9" springform tin, creating a deepish shell. I used the springform because, mystifyingly, I do not have a metal flan case (the horror, the horror). Ceramic moulds are hopeless.

The deepness of the case turned out to be a good thing.

Next came the filling - a lazy person's bastardised custard, comprising 330mL milk, three eggs, 40g caster sugar, the zest of two blood oranges, the zest of a lemon. In fact, I can't exactly remember what came next - but I think two or three blood oranges got squeezed, along with the lemon, and somewhere along the route this was added to the custard.

Unsurprisingly, this made for a very runny custard. Panicking, two tablespoons of cornflour went in. Eventually it thickened - and once it had cooled, a good splash of Cointreau went in.

The case was filled, the tart baked at 180˙C for about 45-50 minutes. It wobbled slightly, but wasn't runny.

Alas, by the time I took the picture, it had cracked. On the other hand, it tasted superb. Smooth, sweet, tangy, and - perhaps thanks to the Cointreau - more complex as the week progressed.
And as you can see, my photography skills leave a lot to be desired.

Citrus Season - I - Seville Orange Marmalade

2007-09-12T11:43:00.000+10:00

Last year I promised myself that I wouldn't miss out on Seville Orange season in 2007. Cutting it perilously close, I traipsed down to the Vic Market on Saturday (in between brain-bending seminars on Lakatos) and bought four huge Seville Oranges from Stall 83.

On Sunday, I set about marmalade production, having also bought a teeth-aching 3kg bag of sugar, and some lemons. Nominally, I used the recipe in Nigella Lawson's How to Eat, but a pretty-much identical version can be found on the BBC Good Food website, here. The advantage of this method is that it absolves the maker from trying to locate muslin and reduces the faffing around.

So far, so good. Except, of course, the damn thing wouldn't reach setting point to my liking. This is probably because I didn't boil up the pips for long enough. I was, however, pleased to see Nigel Slater dismissing the importance of very-set jam, in that day's Observer. And he's quite right - for jam, at least.

As it is, if the marmalade is too set it you end up squashing your toast as you attempt to spread, and that's awful.

Now, the marmalade. As far as I'm concerned, the only marmalade worth having is Frank Cooper's Vintage Oxford. It is fiendishly dark, chunky, and bitter. My marmalade is not as dark - despite a good two tablespoons of treacle drizzled in, and this is probably from insufficient boiling - but it is certainly chunky and tart/sour/bitter. It leaves you salivating like after chewing on a lemon. Yum.

Just as well that it is delicious, because there are eight jars of the stuff.

Still to come: blood orange marmalade (my task for today), and a post about the blood orange and lemon tart I made on Sunday.

Review: Commercial Bakery

2007-09-03T19:54:00.000+10:00

I have a feeling that all my reviews are going to consist of "Oh god, I have been [insert dish/cafe/restaurant]'d to death".

This is owing to the fatal combination of:

1. My appallingly minuscule appetite; and
2. Portion size being out of control.

Unfelicitously, I wasn't even feeling very well, but after reading mutemonkey's review of the Commercial Bakery I was determined to try the beetroot and goats' curd sandwich.

So I did.

And then when it arrived, I realised that mutemonkey's lovely photograph was deceptive. Because what looks like a normal sandwich, turns out to involve 9" square slices of bread, stuffed with lettuce, beetroot, onion jam and goats' curd. The combination was divine. The quantity worthy of the seven deadly sins.

Excellent stuff, just make sure you have the capacity for it.

Aside from that, my long macchiato was superb, and most of the staff were lovely except for the very surly young woman who took my money. Which was a shame, as that was my last impression before I waddled off. It's also pretty noisy, but I suppose most cafes are.

Review: Don Too

2007-08-13T21:14:00.000+10:00

I have been Sashi-Don'd to death.

Yes, I finally made it to Don Too today, after extreme indecisiveness over where to have lunch. I told myself, "If it's closed, then you resort to buying a sourdough roll, queso manchego and quince paste at David Jones' Food Hall and DIY lunch". Alas, it was still open, not too busy - indeed, I had it all to myself until the very last few minutes - and I embarked on the monster that is the Sashi Don.

Which was fantastic, and beautiful, and ridiculously quickly served, and incredibly good value...but too much for my puny appetite.

(I won't even begin to explain how indecisive I was by listing all the places I considered. And actually, since I wasn't really hungry enough beforehand, I sort of wish I had done DIY lunch. Owww.)

Review: Giant Steps/Innocent Bystander

2007-08-08T16:22:00.000+10:00

Last month I finally persuaded myself to venture out of my hermitage, lured by the prospect of the Yarra Valley Farmers' Market at Yering Station, and Giant Steps/Innocent Bystander in Healesville.

My first step was, rather sensibly I thought, to forego breakfast. This is because one cannot help grazing one's way around the market - samples of jams, chutneys, fudge, panforte, bread, fruit cake, grape paste etc etc were, as ever, irresistible.

We left with grape jus, two Cunliffe + Waters chutneys, a christmas pudding. In hindsight, the restraint was admirable.

Undaunted by sugar-induced nausea, we made our way to Healesville. I was in major indecision mode, flummoxed by the possibilities of the GS/IB breakfast menu versus their standard fare. Tempted as I was by the thought of poached eggs, sourdough with Jam Lady jam, bircher museli, or poached seasonal fruit with sheep's yogurt... in the end this was all academic because by 11.45am they seem to have decreed that breakfast was over.

A brief perusal of the menu ensued, and I went for smoked salmon on sourdough.

(Two asides. One, though I call myself vegetarian this is not strictly true as I eat fish. However, as one cannot guarantee when eating outside of the home that a fish dish isn't contaminated by mammalian or avian bits, it's safer to say 'vegetarian'. Two, I am very dull and will usually go for a smoked salmon option if available, because I adore the stuff. Oliver Sacks was asked as a child what his favourite things were - he replied "Smoked salmon and Bach", and these are still apparently his favourites.)

Although it was pretty busy - lots of groups of lunchers already - service was incredibly prompt. We were brought water (without asking - hurrah!), glasses, fresh sourdough, Murray River salt flakes, a peppermill and a bowl of olive oil. The bread, which we've bought before, was fantastic - excellent flavour, good holey crumb, and an amazing silky texture. I mentally noted that they use Laucke organic unbleached flour. The bread and accompaniments are gratis when you order any meal - thumbs up!

We didn't have to wait long for the order to arrive. The sourdough (again, divine) was a 3cm slab, slathered with sour cream, topped with capers, a generous portion of salmon (satiny; melted in the mouth), shaved red onion and artfully arranged fresh herbs (chives, dill, and something else).

Magnificent, and simple. And incredibly reasonable at $9.

We left with a loaf of sourdough and a packet of Beurre d'Isigny butter. Because there is nothing better than French butter with proper bread.

It gets busy and noisy. There are a few properly vegetarian options, but not an abundance. I'd wager anything is good, though, and I did appreciate the jazz.

I didn't try their coffee this time, but I will next. Rather impressively, it's roasted on the premises. Similarly, I'd be interested to try their pizzas, or the smoked trout salad, if I don't make it for breakfast next time. Then there's the story of their cheese room...

I have high standards (hate it when they're not met), especially when it comes to staples like bread and smoked salmon - I was, unusually, not in the least bit disappointed. Hooray!

Frozen pears

2007-08-06T11:42:00.000+10:00

Yesterday I poached a lot of pears. Eleven beurre boscs, in fact. I reserved four, which are stashed in the fridge for filling crepes later in the week.

The remaining seven went into the freezer, topped up with reduced poaching liquid.

Two things I've discovered this morning:
1. Frozen poached pear is delicious. I can really taste the cinnamon and vanilla; and
2. The frozen poaching syrup has become a rather divine sorbet. Which is not really surprising, if you think about what a sorbet actually is.

In warmer weather, frozen pears and a bit of pseudo-sorbet would be a lovely dessert.

Blogging Quickie

2007-08-05T16:48:00.000+10:00

I've been so lazy about blogging, but as I have another imminent MA deadline I'm sure there'll be a flurry of activity in the next three weeks.

In the meantime, here's a dreadful photo of a freak mushroom I had in England - it has two stems! It is the Chernobyl Mushroom!
As for cooking, I have had some successes and disasters.

Disaster: no-knead bread. Flat and disappointing crumb, owing to not using a sufficiently gluten-rich flour mixture and too-large a Le Creuset. I think my yeast is moribund, too.

Success: Chocolate, coffee and walnut tart that was in the most recent issue of The Age's Melbourne magazine, a la L'Oustal. I'm not that fussed about chocolate but the walnut and coffee filling is delicious.

Success: Apple custard tart. I'll dig out the recipe, shortly, because it's worth sharing. This tart was superb!

Success: Boiled potatoes dressed with walnut oil and wholegrain mustard. Yes, just mix and serve. Fabulous.

Success (I think): Mega-pear-poaching session, owing to Coles having beurre bosc pears for 50¢ a kilo. Poached as per Shannon Bennett's My Vue method.

Review: I tried Spiga at Melbourne Central on Friday. Shared a prawn pizza (not enough prawns and a bit greasy for my ascetic tastes, but otherwise a great crust) and pear & raspberry crumble. The crumble was too sweet for me (no surprise there), but otherwise pretty good. My short macchiato was excellent. Seems like a pretty reasonable place to go to, IMO.

Review

2007-07-14T19:52:00.000+10:00

After reading a few weeks ago about baker Greg Brown's new venture, I finally trekked down to Glen Eira (which is, in any case, my old stomping ground). Agi's Bakery is on Glen Eira Rd, near the corner with Orrong Road. When we got there it was after three, and there was pretty much nothing left, but for a basset hound sitting outside.

The man himself, however, indicated that he had some of yesterday's cranberry and sultana rye loaves, not really fresh but "suitable for toasting". He even let us have one, to see what we thought, since we'd come a long way, and suggested coming along at 4am if we wanted really fresh bread

The bread is extremely good, barely indistinguishable from "fresh" bread - certainly less stale than a lot of stuff I've tried from supposedly reputable bakers. We will be back, albeit earlier in the day. Aside from anything else, I want to try his sourdough!

Hatred, ridicule or contempt

2007-06-17T00:04:00.000+10:00

That is, the now-notorious case John Fairfax Publications Pty Ltd v Gacic. And hasn't there been a lot of ink spilled over this in the last couple of days? I particularly like the hyperbole of The Guardian's précis "Australian court opens the way for restaurants to claim damages over unfavourable reviews".

We-elllll...

At best it would "open the way" for Australian plaintiffs. Given that English defamation law gives defendants much more latitude, it's not likely to have much impact there. And given that England is pretty much the only lively defamation jurisdiction in the world, here and there is about the extent of any legal shockwaves.

Furthermore, the analyses of the case so far (I do use that term lightly - there's not much good legal reporting about) haven't been very incisive. The case concerned the Defamation Act 1974 (NSW) - which is now defunct, since the uniform defamation laws came into effect. I haven't gone through the High Court's decision with care to consider if and how the case would stand under the new Act, but it might be different. NSW had a somewhat idiosyncratic system.

Secondly, although lazy journalists have picked up on the odd judicial remark about business reputation being susceptible to the various tests that an imputation is defamatory, the High Court's decision seems to hinge on more technical aspects such as whether an appellate court could substitute a jury's verdict. If anything, the case is more about the powers of the NSW Supreme Court. I.e., really, really dull. The High Court was just deciding on the basis of the legal framework, not on defamation law generally.

The High Court's decision is NOT about whether you're verboten from writing critical things in a restaurant review. If the lazy journalists had read the headnote of the decision, they'd realise that. But not much of a headline, I suppose.

I won't say anything with great certainty, because I've only skim-read the judgments, but I don't think this case is worth people getting their knickers in a twist. It's crummy for Matthew Evans (okay, Fairfax, since they're footing the bill) but I doubt it'll "open the way" for anything.

(ETA: I feel I should apologise on behalf of my law degree for my own lack of critical insight into the case. I even studied defamation law, so I should be able to say something a bit cleverer. Oh well!)

Tarts

2007-06-09T14:58:00.000+10:00

I have a Literature Review for my MA to revise/edit/make less rubbish, so of course I'm blogging. I shall deceive myself into thinking that I just need to give myself a bit of time for the essay-writing-crack-cocaine (i.e. Diet Coke - I know, dreadful) to kick in...

It's not even a new thing that I'm updating about. It's an apple and quince tart I made in April. The apples were Granny Smiths. Underneath are sliced quinces, which you can just see. The quinces were poached with a split vanilla pod (mmm, profligate) and a broken cinnamon quill. The rest of the poached quince was eaten with rice pudding the following week.

It was good, except for two things. One, I really need a metal flan tin. The ceramic Portmerion is all very pretty but it's not as good a conductor of heat so the pastry isn't as crisp. Two, I really could've done with a blowtorch to caramelise the apples (and a glaze), because the oven was remarkably useless and just sort of burnt them a bit.

You can see a little apple pie in the picture, made with excess pastry and apples - very handy and portable for taking to work, incidentally. You can also see how half-arsed my pastry lattice-work is.

Even older, is a pear bourdaloue tart I made last year. As you see, I bothered to glaze the pears with apricot jam, which is why it's a bit more attractive.

I don't actually spend all of my time making pastry, though. If I did, I'd be a lot better at it!

Strawberry tartlets

2007-05-28T13:24:00.000+10:00

I've been in awe of the hyper-organised types who always have things stashed in the freezer to be whipped out in emergencies for some time. I had my own little moment of culinary wizardry recently, which should reinforce any such desires.

A few weeks ago, I made some shortcrust pastry. (I've also reached the point where I ignore recipes for pastry, and do my own. Finally, I have pastry which responds to my orders!) Deciding to use only half for some little apple pies, I froze the other half. Last weekend, when I was at a loss to make some pudding-cakey thing for my mother, I realised I could just whip out the leftover pastry.

Having defrosted it in the fridge overnight, I rolled it out, cut it and lined a cupcake tin. Although I did bake the cases blind, you can see that the pastry wasn't really weighted down enough to keep it smooth.
Whilst this cooled, I threw together some confectioner's custard, pulled out some redcurrant jelly and hoped that the frozen strawberries would defrost in a timely fashion (and not get eaten by me as I waited).

Mise en place:

Once the custard was spooned into the cases, the strawberries were (not very artfully) arranged, and warmed redcurrant jelly was brushed on top. As you can see, I ate too many strawberries so they were slightly sparse upon the custard, and the glaze was too runny. Sigh.

I'm told they tasted all right, though.

So there you go. I'd file this under 'slightly dodgy', if pushed.

A further point - keeping these in the fridge for the rest of the week was great to prevent them going off, but did render the pastry a bit soggy. Bulk baking isn't always your friend.

Roast chicken

2007-05-16T15:02:00.000+10:00

For Mother's Day, I did a roast chicken. As a vegetarian, I can only say that this is one way of demonstrating true love for my mother.

Oh god - why did I not realise how much like an autopsy this would be?

We're so used to meat coming pre-packaged, cut up, filleted, wrapped in clingfilm. I cope all right with mince, the odd steak - even the leg of lamb last month, since it was boned anyway (I know, you lose flavour removing the bone, but it does make carving a doddle).

It's much easier to forget you're dealing with chopped up bits of animal this way.

I'd have more respect for meat eaters if they didn't get hypocritcally squeamish about this fact. Gold stars to Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and Fergus Henderson for their guts and all approach to meat eating. I have more time for them. If you're not prepared to raise the animal kindly, have it killed humanely, and realise you are eating an animal, I'm not sure you should be allowed to eat meat.

Ahem. I shall step down from my soapbox.

If anyone's interested, I mostly followed Campion and Curtis' method from a 2006 Epicure article with a bit of Nigella Lawson's Feast thrown in. I would say it's pretty foolproof.

I removed the (yes, free-range - come on, it's not that much more to pay and it's so much more humane) chicken from its plastic an hour before I cooked it (meanwhile I made a lime poppyseed loaf cake), to let it dry out and breathe. Just as well, because it was full of...juices.

I left the poor bird propped up in a roasting dish, reclining as if she was on a sun lounger. There was something vaguely obscene about it.

Anyway. After patting her down with kitchen towel, I seasoned her inside and out, popping some lemon wedges inside and rubbing olive oil into her skin. It felt oddly human. Like I was a masseur.

In she went, upside down at first, before being righted and surrounded by garlic and sweet potatoes (ensuring crispy skin). She emerged looking like this:

I must say, the crispy skin and the smell nearly got me going.

Carving her up was a bit icky, though. Much ickier than slicing a fillet of lamb or beef. Bones, people. I had to cut through joints.

The carcass, leftover juices, lemons etc went into the pressure cooker with some cold water, peppercorns, celery, carrots, onion and bay leaves and simmered away for three hours. The resulting stock smelt absolutely magnificent. A third was frozen, a third made avgolemeno (via Claudia Roden's Jewish Book of Food) on Monday (timed well, as my mother was getting ill and this seemed to stem the viral advance), and the rest will make risotto tonight.

I am shocked, though, at recipes which say a chicken that size would feed four. Four! Four what? Giants? I pulled a lot of meat off that bird - it will feed my mother for a week. How much meat do people need?

Ah well. Roast chicken. One more thing I can cook.

Roast potatoes

2007-05-13T20:05:00.000+10:00

Not exactly the most exciting subject for a first post, but these were probably the best roast potatoes I've managed so far.

Nor is the method of any great surprise: cut up potatoes. Parboil them for about twenty minutes. Drain, allow to dry as much as possible. Put roasting tin in oven as it heats up. Put a couple of tablespoons of olive oil in the tin and allow to heat for a further ten minutes. Chuck in potatoes, stir around to get coated, pop in oven for about thirty minutes.

Add crushed garlic, robust herbs at your whim. Superb!

At a close second are the rosemary and garlic roast potatoes from Delia Smith's Summer Collection, which turn out golden and crispy. They are much improved by the use of fresh rosemary. I have used dried, and it is just not the same.