Archive for the ‘zing things’ Category

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Getting figgy with it

January 25, 2010

About mid January each year I start stalking the grocery shelves for figs.

I’m not sure what it is about figs that just gets my blood fizzling – the textural feast, perhaps? The soft, creamy interior with that slightly powdery skin? Or maybe it’s just that I pretty much always eat them with prosciutto, and that ol sweet/salty flavour bomb is simply irresistible. And then there’s the absence-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder factor; with such a relatively short season, their arrival is cause for celebration and one is simply obliged to make a fig festival of the fact each year.

On Saturday I saw the first display in our grocer’s – of local figs that is, not Californians which have been there for a while, priced at something like four bucks each – and so of course I pounced on a big punnet of squat, heavy little beauties. That evening, before we had a chance to eat them, we went to dinner at our friends Mr & Ms Lilyfields’, and were served a fig salad so delicious that I was compelled to try to replicate it immediately the next day.

Ms Lilyfield used the classic combo of prosciutto, soft cheese & figs (I’ve used gorgonzola and other blue cheeses before – and oh, my it’s good) but she chose that amazing Persian feta, to which she added the lovely, slightly bitter, sharpness of radicchio. The finishing touch was a drizzle of luscious caramelised balsamic vinegar.

As I say, we loved it so much we tried a similar thing ourselves the next evening, and it was fantastic. So here’s my made-up copycat version. You gotta be careful not to overdo the sweetness in this, specially with the dressing. You can buy caramelised balsamic (I was given some of this last year and it is gorgeous stuff), but it’s also very simple to make. Oh and I reckon this salad would be incredible with labneh too; that’s my next plan.

Ms Lily’s luscious
fig salad with caramelised
balsamic dressing

- 1 punnet fresh figs

- 4-5 slices prosciutto, torn

- radicchio leaves

- basil leaves

- marinated feta cubes

- ¼ cup balsamic vinegar

- 1-2 tablespoons brown sugar (depending on how sweet you want it)

  1. Cut figs into halves or quarters and brush with a teeny bit of olive oil.
  2. Grill these on a tray with the prosciutto for a few minutes until the figs are warmed & the prosciutto crisp.
  3. Meanwhile, simmer the balsamic vinegar and sugar in the smallest pan you have, and gently reduce it till it’s thick and syrupy.
  4. Arrange the radicchio leaves in a bowl (or, more glamorously, on separate plates for each person) and drizzle with good olive oil.
  5. Top with the figs, prosciutto and add as much feta as you like – about three tablespoons is probably plenty.
  6. Gently mix these and the leaves together with your hands, add the basil and drizzle the lot with the balsamic syrup and season.
  7. Stand by for groans of delight.

Of course there are lots of other things to do with figs, including just popping one in your mouth for the pleasure explosion – I’m keen to hear your faves. Any fig festival contributions to share?

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Finding a cure – my first Twitter recipe

December 7, 2009

I try not to hang round on Twitter too often, as whole days can whiz by while I’m distracted by shiny baubles, but sometimes you can find gold there – like this easy wasabi & sake cured salmon.

It’s my first Twitter recipe – I’ve been resisting actual Twitter recipe providers, as I don’t think I’d ever get my head around all the acronyms they’d need to jam any decent recipe into 140 characters.

This is basically gravlax without the dill, with a Japanesy twist. Virginia, a brilliant web designer and food blogger, tweeted that she was making this dish, and I asked her for the recipe.

It’s so simple she could tell me with just a few tweets, but she also tells me it’s a Nigella Lawson original, so I also Googled around to find it available here, called ‘gravlax sashimi‘.

But if you can’t be bothered clicking away, just read on – preparing the whole thing takes about ten minutes max, and then it’s just a matter of waiting for the cure.

The recipe here says you can leave for up to five days, which I did because we were out for a couple of nights in a row after the third day. Yesterday I unveiled and sliced the salmon up and it is delicious.

It’s like gutsy-flavoured smoked salmon, and very silky, with the faintest wasabi tinge in the flavour. Too good. I am going to make batches of it to have on hand for Christmastide nibbles …

1. Mix 1 tbs wasabe, 3tbs caster, 1.5tbs sake, 3tbs salt into a paste.

2. Smear over both sides of a 500g salmon fillet.

3. Cover fillet & dish closely in cling wrap (tucking round the fish) and leave for three days, weighted with cans or jars or something. ‘Slice thinly and serve with other awesome things,’ as Virginia says.

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A new leaf – my miang goong

November 25, 2009

As I passed the excellent Fiji Market in King St, Newtown today (on the way home from the gym, that was – insert praise here), I remembered that’s where I’d seen the betel leaves used to make miang  kham, those little roll-up-and-stick-in-your-gob piles of Thai spicy goodness. So I popped in and snagged myself a pack of these fresh green heart-shaped lovelies (about 10 or 12 leaves for $2.50).

I have many times enjoyed the delectable Miang Goong at Thai Pothong described here but never attempted it myself till this evening. And I have to say, this is one of the zingiest new things I’ve tried in a long time. Tested these little babies not only on Senor but his two Wednesday piano students, adventurous primary-school gourmands Lulu and Riley and their caterer dad, and it got the thumbs up from all.

A quick Google search came up with a few recipes for Miang Khang (that’s without the goong – the prawns) and I chose this one to adapt.

The fiddly bit is the sauce – but I doubled the quantity of this one and had masses left over, now safely in the freezer for easy peasy quick Miang assembly for the next time or two.

My adaptation is here, but there must be lots of proper recipes about the place – I urge you to make this, because even though the sauce is fiddly, it’s much easier than you might think and very very good. Read the rest of this entry ?

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A purple patch

November 15, 2009

garliccatenov09Remember my quest for Australian garlic, which then resulted in the talented Cate Kennedy sending me some of her garlic shoots?

Well, that garlic is coming along nicely in my garden as we speak, this one pictured here next to the tomatoes and some purple basil and salad greens – tricky in my small garden to do the right companion planting, as Stephanie Alexander tells me it won’t grow well with peas and beans, both of which I’ve got a little further away. But, while Cate’s garlic will hopefully tootle along, it takes six to eight months for it to grow, and a girl’s gotta find a substitute in the meantime, right?

So, praise be to the lovely purple cardboard box that arrived by post this week.

garlicboxSome time ago I had heard of Patrice Newell’s organic biodynamic garlic available online. I registered monthsago, way back before her harvest time, and then forgot about it until receiving an email a couple of weeks ago, telling me Patrice’s “purple glamour garlic” was ready to go, and did I want some?

Yes I did, despite expecting it to be horrifically expensive. I thought ‘bugger it’, and got online. And to my surprise found that a kilo of garlic, which turns out to be 16 gorgeous heads of the stuff, was $38 plus about $5 postage. So we’re talking $2.70 per head of garlic.

And what garlic it is. We had our first taste the other night, and I cannot tell you how fresh and moist and delicious it is. The kind of fresh you see sometimes in very new ginger, just glistening with juice as you slice it. The instructions that come with the box (elegant, recycled and recyclable packaging) tell me the garlic will last for five months before sprouting if kept in a dry, well ventilated spot, and your kitchen bench is recommended as good a place as any. I was staggered at that keepability, which makes me wonder just how old is the garlic we’ve been buying at the grocer, which often begins to sprout after a week.

garliccloseBut this is a bit of a moot point, because at our usual rate of consumption we will get through it long before five months. And I’ve begun taking a bulb of this garlic with me every time we visit a friend, because it’s so good I reckon it’s a cracker gift to take along to dinner with a bottle of wine. So actually I expect I’ll be on to my next order very soon.

If you check out Patrice Newell’s website there’s lots of interesting facts about garlic – including the advice to never keep garlic in the fridge, as dryness is crucial.

And anyway – as you can see, it’s so beautiful, who wouldn’t want it on display?

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The detail in the devil

November 6, 2009

devilsWell friends, the party season is almost upon us. Oh hell, it’s upon us every week, let’s face it. I just said that as an excuse for talking about one of my favourite nibbles, the devil on horseback.

I had a big fad with these a couple of years ago, and then forgot about them until the amazing Jules served them at her place the other week, and now I’m all agog again at how good they are and have made them several times since.

For those whose parents never served these as snacks at classy ’70s progressive dinners (now there’s a whole other topic for a post …), or who have not otherwise discovered the delights of this little torpedo of salty sweetness, a devil on horseback is basically a prune wrapped in bacon, skewered with a toothpick and then grilled, barbecued or otherwise lightly frazzled.

Put like that, of course, it sounds – well, silly. But believe you me, Kimmy, we are talking seriously good finger food here.

The laziest, most cursory bit of online research reveals little about the ridiculous name, except that it’s a cheaper version of angels on horseback – a fresh oyster wrapped in bacon and then grilled (which I’ve never tried – sounds slippery, but really must give it a go), and this was apparently first documented in Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management in 1888, derived from the French dish anges à cheval. All of this explains nothing about horses and angels. I think the horse is the bacon, and the devil (being black, I suppose??? sheesh) is the prune. Go figure. Told you it was nuts.

Anyhoo – enough with the dodgy historical nomenclature, and on with the recipes.

Jules’ absolutely delicious version, and my copies pictured here, were the updated groovified kind made by your friend and mine Maggie Beer, and the recipe is here. Of course it involves verjuice, and orange zest, and rosemary. These are good, as the verjuice plumps up the prune and gives it a succulence it otherwise can lack, and the orange zest provides some zip in what can be a cloying sort of flavour combo. I did mine with some pancetta I had in the fridge, but Maggie says speck or bacon.

My other fave comes from Margaret Fulton’s Encyclopaedia of Food and Cookery, and is a rather boofier version, direct from the seventies. If you are delicate about salt, stop here, turn around, and take refuge. But if like a true howtoshuckanoysterlover you feel the force strong within you, proceed!

1. First, take one blanched almond.

2. Wrap that little baby in an anchovy, and pop the swaddled nut into the hollow centre of a pitted prune.

3. Wrap in bacon, secure with toothpick and proceed to bung in the oven / stick on the barbecue / in a non-stick frypan, etc.

Repeat procedure for as long as you and your guests can take it. These are so rich and salty you can really only eat about two, although Senor has been known to clear a plate without once gasping for water. Jules and I have discussed possible variations; perhaps a caperberry in place of an anchovy? A teeny smidge of chilli?

Please do have an experimental go – and if you come up with your own variations, tell us all about it.

May the devilish force be with you.

*PS: I know I just said I wouldn’t be here for a bit, but just writing that got me all aquiver about the devils. Now I really am going to be gone for a week …


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Quinoa Salad: Son of Citrus Couscous

October 30, 2009

quinoaQuinoa salad with bits and pieces …

Those of you who’ve enjoyed the citrus couscous recipe I posted a while ago might be keen to try a new salad that I am totally loving at the moment. It’s a very slight bastardisation of a fabulous quinoa salad from Ottolenghi, the Israeli & Palestinian chef duo from London whose book and newspaper column combined are the most interesting source of vegetarian food I’ve ever found.

The original recipe, for Quinoa and Camargue red rice is here, and our adapted version below. My friend Caro first made this for me, using those craisins (dried cranberries) that are easily available in the supermarket, and I liked the slight sourness and the lovely ruby red colour so much I have done it with both craisins and the barberries I got ages ago on the Empress’s and my Persian excursion.

Unlike craisins, however, I’ve found quinoa itself rather difficult to get hold of. I’m told it often resides in health food / organic shops, and I found mine at the Norton St Grocer, but I hope it becomes more freely available because it is my new favourite grain in the world.

It’s pronounced ‘kin-wah’  and as far as I can tell you use it like couscous, but it’s much easier to manage as it doesn’t stick together as couscous can, and it has a delightfully bouncy texture and nutty flavour.

I’ve learned that quinoa is an ancient ‘grain’ (but not really, as it’s not a grass but is more closely related to spinach – we eat the seeds) originating in the Andes, and best of all, it’s gluten-free so people with Coeliac disease and so on can enjoy with impunity. Excellent!

Anyhoo. Enough lessons. On with the deliciousness.

  • 200g quinoa
  • 50g wild rice
  • 1 onion, peeled and sliced
  • 3 tbsp olive oil, plus a little extra for frying
  • zest and juice of 1 orange
  • 1 tsp lemon juice
  • ½ garlic clove, crushed
  • 2 spring onions, thinly sliced
  • handful of barberries / dried cranberries / currants or a mixture of any dried fruit you like
  • 30g pistachio nuts, lightly toasted
  • handful rocket / baby spinach leaves
  • salt and pepper

Method

  1. Bring to the boil two saucepans filled with salted water, and simmer the quinoa and rice separately: the first for 13 minutes, the second for up to 40, depending on how nutty and firm you like the texture.
  2. Drain both and spread out flat to cool more quickly.
  3. While the grains are cooking, fry the onion in a little olive oil until golden brown. Allow to cool.
  4. Soak the dried fruit in orange juice and zest in a bowl with all other ingredients except nuts and spinach/rocket.
  5. In an oven preheated to 170 degrees C, dry-roast the pistachios for up to six minutes or just until the colour changes. Check halfway through, because they can burn in an instant and the flavour is vile if they are even slightly overdone and you’ll have to chuck them out.
  6. Mix the cooked grains with all other ingredients and season generously, adding a little swizzle of oil if it’s too dry. Serve at room temperature.

 

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Return of the mojo …

October 2, 2009

flameYou may have noticed I haven’t been so present here lately – what with a few trips away, followed by a couple of coming & going head colds, deadlines, book writing going ornery, a bit of piglet flu & a cricked back, I’ve not been in the kitchen much. Well, we’ve been cooking at home, but for the last little while our kitchen has had that dreary workaday feeling –  no spark, no ideas, no life. A brain drain, a lack of culinary imagination.  Know that feeling? When dinner seems a chore, the fridge is all but empty, and despite all the books on the shelf you can think of only two things to cook, and one of them is Thai takeaway?

However, I am happy to say that with a weekend of cooking for friends & fam ahead, my cookery mojo is coming back. Started making duck ragu for lunch a day ahead, and that led to tonight’s dinner of fennel risotto, with the disgracefully decadent roasting of fennel bits in duck fat (and it was gooood), plus a zinger side effect of tossing some duck necks in a pot for stock, bubbling away as we speak.

Oh, and this was all aided by a surprise delivery of a bottle of very fancy wine by a man from the postal service and a too-generous pal.

Nice to get the mojo back. And once again, it’s friends who get it happening … thanks kids. Now what about you – anything that gets  your flame fired up again after a low patch??

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Podcast news: broad beans

September 24, 2009

broadbeanspodSaw my first fresh broad beans of the season the other day and couldn’t resist slinging a clutch into the shopping bag. Plan to have them with a little pasta for lunch today, perhaps.

I am only just learning how to eat these shiny little gemstones, but I love them. Karen Martini has an excellent recipe for linguine with tomato, prawns, peas and basil in Where the Heart Is, and I have used broad beans in addition to or in place of the peas (the secret is slightly mashing  everything, so the flavours meld rather than having the effect of separate ingredients rolling off the pasta the way lots of prawn/pasta things do).

And my buddy the Lunging Latino  introduced me to the deliciousness of very young broad beans fresh from the pod, simply dipped in very good olive oil and salt and eaten as a pre-dinner snack. (Correct, LL? Do pop in and clarify with any tips …)

But on the whole, I go in for the double-peeling. Time-consuming, but totally worth it. Just remember to buy an armful of pods, as the yield is pretty tiny. Pod the beans, blanch them in boiling salted water for a few minutes, drain and refresh in cold water, and then slip off the tough greyish skins to reveal these glossy, bright green sweeties.

broadbeansdoublepeeledAn old Steve Manfredi article here sings the praises of this buttery favourite – and he doesn’t even blanch them, but double peels when uncooked. Sounds tricky to me but I may give it a shot. He has a simple but lovely-looking recipe too for BBs with orecchiette, butter & Parmesan. Can’t go wrong.

Any other broad bean fans out there? What do you do with them? Do tell…

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In love with labneh

August 31, 2009

labna2Inspired by the happy coincidence of my friend Ms Melba’s recent gift of her incredibly good homemade labneh – that creamy, unbelievably smooth yoghurt cheese – and Miss J’s birthday gift of the gorgeous Saha: A chef’s Journey through Lebanon & Syria by Greg & Lucy Malouf, I decided on the weekend to have a stab at making some labneh myself.

Oh, and the third inspiration was driving past a humungous and ghastly Spotlight outlet, whereupon I could dive in and grab myself a thousand metres of muslin (I later sent some of that Ms Melba’s way, and she said that while she longed to drape it about her person for running through damp fields towards Pemberley,  she  promised to use it for cheese-related purposes).

Anyway, after tasting Melba’s labneh and gobbling it all in a week, I asked for her recipe, and then compared it with Greg Malouf’s in Saha which, by the way, is the most beautiful book. (I have just lent it to the Empress, who – prepare to bite out your own veins with envy – is planning a culinary trip through various Middle Eastern countries including Syria. Argh. We can only hope she comes back with some fine recipes to share, but I may find it difficult to speak to her for a while…)

Anyhoo.

Labneh, it turns out, is so easy peasy to make that I am never again buying that gorgeously silky Yarra Valley Dairy Persian Fetta in the black tin, because my labneh (while texturally probably quite different and probably-not-even-remotely-comparable-because-it-isn’t-feta), turns out to be just as delicious. And costs very little. The amazing thing about this stuff is the texture – so silky and creamy, but with excellent body and, depending on your marinade, a lovely soft and herby tang.

Greg Malouf’s recipe is here, and it’s the one I used, except I followed Melba’s lead and formed it into the little balls rather than just spreading over a plate topped with oil as he’s done. Anyway it’s hardly a recipe at all really – take a kilo of natural yoghurt, hang it for 48-72 hours, and then do as you wish with it. Melba hangs hers for anything from three hours to overnight, and it’s beautifully light. I did as GM says though, and hung it for 48 hours. The longer you hang it, the firmer it gets, and lots of whey comes out of it. Here’s what I did.

1. Take a good half-metre of clean muslin and line a colander with it over a bowl. A fine cotton tea towel would probably do just as well, but perhaps take longer.

2. Mix up a kilo of full-cream natural Greek-style yoghurt with a good teaspoon of salt and pour it into the muslin.

3. Tie up the  corners of the muslin any old how, and find a way to hang it. Easiest for us was get a large deep saucepan, tie the muslin bag to a long wooden spoon and rest the spoon over the top of the pot. Do tie it tight and hang as high as possible, as it does hang lower over the hours and ours eventually touched the bottom of the pot, necessitating re-tying half-way through. No big deal though and gave us a chance to drain the whey out halfway through.

labna14. Bung it in the fridge for anything from three hours to 72 hours. We did 48 and it resulted in easy-to-form, nice firm labneh.

5. Remove and form into balls, keeping your hands moistened with olive oil – stops the labneh sticking to your hands and the balls to each other.

6. Lay the balls in a jar or container, cover with oil and add some dried chilli flakes, dried thyme, fresh rosemary and a clove of garlic. Any dried herbs or spices you fancy would do, I reckon.

Use it spread on biccies as a dip; on toast or a sandwich instead of butter; plonk a ball in your spicy veg soup (that’s where almost all of M’s batch went – thicker and more delicious than a yoghurt dollop); toss on to steamed green vegetables, or just use anywhere you would sling a blob of yoghurt, I reckon.

This amount made three full medium-sized deli takeaway containers’ worth. The oil is obviously the costly bit of this, but given that one would never chuck away such lovely herby olive oil, instead keeping it for pasta sauces, salad dressings or whatever, I reckon this recipe is a contender for the frugal food post as well as just being a beautiful thing. And great to take to a friend’s when you’re turning up for dinner – they will be tres impressed with your domestic goddessness as well as gobbling it up in a flash like I did.

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In celebration of celery

August 25, 2009

celeryIf there’s one vegetable always found in my crisper, it’s the humble bunch of celery – it goes in everything from soups to curries to pasta to tagines to all those good Mediterranean casserolish things, and even when past its prime it still keeps that fresh flavour note. But until now, the ol’ soffrito has been pretty much been the limit of my use of celery – chopped and sauteed along with the onion, carrot, garlic, etc. I’ve always hated the whole raw celery stick thing  (same with raw carrot sticks – ugh), and lumps of raw celery in salads somehow speak to me of lack of imagination. As for that childhood Healthy Eating craze for celery sticks with peanut butter – eew.

However, when I got home from woodwork school the other week, Senor had made the most surprising and delicious Marcella Hazan dish – braised, gratineed celery. It was incredible: blanched, then braised in beef stock, sauteed with pancetta, onion & garlic, and then baked with parmesan over the top. Even after all that dousing it holds such a zingy, fresh flavour, but the texture is beautifully soft while still retaining the tiniest bit of crunch.

I made it again last night, and it will now go on my list of vegetable winners. I think you should try it too. My next experiment with celery will be Marcella’s braised celery and potato with lemon juice. Sounds equally good. This recipe is from The Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking that I so selflessly gave Senor for his birthday …

Marcella Hazan’s Braised & Gratineed Celery Sticks with Parmesan

Serves 6

  • 2 large bunches celery
  • 3 tablespoons finely chopped onion
  • 25g butter (I skipped this & used olive oil only)
  • 4 tablespoons chopped pancetta or prosciutto (I used speck)
  • 500ml diluted beef consomme (I used a small diluted amount of the very fancy Simon Johnson veal stock I was given for my birthday – thanks Ricardo!)
  • Parmesan
  1. Cut off celery’s leafy tops and save the hearts for salad. Peel the strings off the celery and cut into 7cm lengths.
  2. Bring water to the boil, drop in the celery and 1 minute after water returns to the boil, drain and remove.
  3. Saute onion until translucent, then add pancetta/proscuitto and cook for 1 minute.
  4. Add celery, stir to coat well and cook for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally.
  5. Add the broth/stock/consomme, adjust heat to very gentle simmer and cover the pan. Cook until celery feels tender when prodded, then remove lid and raise heat to boil away all liquid.
  6. Arrange the celery in a heatproof baking dish with the concave side of the sticks facing up. Spoon onion & pancetta mix over the celery, then sprinkle with grated Parmesan.
  7. Bake in the oven for a few minutes until the cheese melts and forms a light crust. Remove from oven and allow it to settle for several minutes before bringing it to the table.

So, there’s my (well, Marcella’s) celery celebration. Any other ideas for this excellent and versatile friend of the fridge?

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