The Leaves and The Fishes

The media has a lot to answer for. And no, I’m not just talking about the Kardashians (though I will sometime, when my fury over what they represent subsides enough for me to state my case eloquently or without having to resort to calling them rude words).  What the heck is it with the bad rap for Bankstown? For those unfamiliar with this suburb, it’s in western Sydney, and it has been the target of a whole lot of hysteria in the press over the years, hysteria being a thinly veiled disguise for racism and xenophobia. Yes. That’s right. I’m going there.

If you listened to the hearsay of media reports and seriously concerned shock jocks you’d think that Bankstown went a little bit like this…

“People of Middle Eastern Appearance jumping cues, stealing our jobs and harassing our women. Not to mention the Asians, gosh they’re not like us.” (Please note: not my words.)

Imagine my surprise when I got to Bankstown, very easily via train may I add, and found an atmosphere of complete safety, respect and culinary joy. Yes, it is multicultural, yes Anglo people are in the minority, but guess what? It’s completely brilliant. There is something wonderful about witnessing the influence of traditional culture on the way people interact with each other. Vietnamese shopkeepers smiled warmly at me as they handed over their bowls of Pho. Young Arabic baristas made great coffee and wished me a good day. Even the school kids on the train seemed to have an awareness of others that the kids in the ‘good suburbs’ lacked. To think of it, I don’t think I even heard anyone swear all the time I was there – apart from my colleagues and me as we rehearsed our work.

Some of the lovely people of Bankstown

And the fooooooood! Oh lord it was endlessly delightful, plentiful, cheap and diverse. I must have tried at least 7 different kinds of Pho in 3 weeks; every one was delicious but completely unique. Then there’s the Lebanese food; pistachio shortbread cookies that melt as soon as they hit your palate, four dollar felafel rolls that rival any I’ve eaten before, the scent of the best charcoal chicken in the world wafting for miles out the door of Habib’s… sheer heaven.

Just when you think you’ve explored every corner of the block you discover the Bankstown Sports Club. Featuring a working volcano, a restaurant situated in a train station with diners eating in antique tram carriages, a waterfall replete with coy fish, chandeliers that would be at home on the Titanic (before it sank), a grand piano on a revolving stage, karaoke bar and a replica of an Italian piazza (yes, that’s right) serving the best pizza outside of Naples. And that’s just the stuff I saw, there’s more! Just flash your license and you’re in for a world of fun, even if it is a bit surreal.

Every afternoon on my way to the train home, I’d pick up my ingredients for my dinner that night. The produce was always top quality and cheap. Yep, this place was like a Wonderland.

Roast Duck? Yes please.

To the people of Bankstown I say thank you. Thank you for your grace, your humanity, your hard work, your respect for your own and others’ cultures. Thanks for proving the fear of those who do not know you wrong.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.

Bankstown Barramundi – serves 2

2 plate sized whole Barramundi, scaled and gutted

1 lemon, sliced

2 spring onions, sliced
2 stalks of lemongrass, white part only, sliced

A handful of coriander, chopped

2 tablespoons of ginger finely sliced

Chillies, sliced to taste

Soy sauce

Pepper

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C.

In a baking pan, lay down a sheet of alfoil big enough to engulf both the fish. Top this with a sheet of baking paper that is slightly smaller.

Put 2 lines of lemon slices long ways, upon which the fish will sit. Then sit said fish.

Divide up the aromatics in half and then half again. Put one quarter in the cavity of each fish and season well with pepper. Put some lemon slices in there as well.

Then put the remaining herbs on top of the fish. Splash with soy sauce and season some more. Add about ¼ cup of water, being careful not to wash away any of this deliciousness.

Here's some I prepared earlier.

Wrap the fish up, completely sealing the foil and place the pan in the oven for 20 minutes.

Unwrap and serve with steamed rice and Asian greens, being sure to pour over the juices that have formed in the bottom of the pan.

It was delicious. xxx

Madness takes its toll....

There are some things you just should not do when you’re angry. Driving for example. Driving when you’re angry is the karmic equivalent of going up to someone bigger than you, punching them in the face and expecting to walk away unscathed. Angry driving results in you hitting every single red light, no one allowing you to change lanes and really bad songs being played on the radio because your iPod needs recharging.

You should never pluck your eyebrows when you’re angry. Your brain becomes flooded with chemicals that remove your ability to be objective but at the same time it enjoys the tweezing pain that stings your brow as each rogue hair is yanked out of existence. So in essence your anger urges you on to excessive plucking and ultimately you’ll look like a bad 70’s porn star. I point the finger of blame squarely at anger for the plight of this woman:

"It's great being a blonde. With such low expectations, it's easy to impress." P.A.

You shouldn’t write angry. The only time this is ok is when you need to let off some steam and there is no chance anyone will ever read what you’ve said. If you’re ever super pissed off and write a bitching scathing email DO NOT SEND IT. I absolutely get that all the points you want to put across to that belligerent so and so of a recipient are valid and true but still I urge to STEP AWAY FROM YOUR COMPUTER. Do not hit send. Do not allow your rant to go whizzing across cyberspace to the inbox of someone who will not be able to see past your furious attack to the plain old truth of what you want to say to them. Wait for the flooding to pass and revisit. Maybe have a scotch or two.

I’m always glad I do. Particularly last week when I wrote a crazed ranting blog about the evils of Murchoch, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Greed. In my fury I also lamented that as self-obsession, greed and materialism get worse so does the plight of millions of people around the world who are facing starvation. A Food Crisis.

Don’t get me wrong, I was right. It is completely messed up that in the 21^st century people are still dying of starvation, while the rich get more liposuction. I also felt an overwhelming sense of Western guilt that there is a food shortage and I am lucky enough to have food as not only a way to keep me well nourished but as a hobby. But I was so angry that I sounded like a bile spitting harpie. Unstable even. I did not post this particular piece of writing. Instead, I put on the track “Lovely Day” by Bill Withers and waited for the anger to pass.

Once it did, I made this soup, which was piquant simplicity itself. Because the other thing you cannot do angry is cook. Any bitterness, pain and frustration will somehow transfer itself into your food like some flavour poltergeist that will haunt your dish and give you indigestion.

I also went on line and donated to the East Africa Famine appeal. If you’re angry, maybe you could too.

http://www.oxfam.org.au/

Potato and Leek Soup

3 leeks

2tbs butter

Olive oil

½ cup of red shallots sliced

2 onions sliced

Salt and Pepper

1tbs minced garlic

4 large potatoes

1 bouquet garni – see note

6 cups stock (chicken or veg)

¾ cup cream, warmed

½ cup minced chives

EVOO

Freshly ground black pepper

Cut the root ends off the leeks, and chop around the tough green leaves one by one from the outside in leaving only the soft green/white parts of each leaf stalk. Slice through the base of the leek, but keeping the top in tact. Slice the leeks – there will be lots of dirt through the pieces. You need to put the leek pieces in a colander and then put the colander in a sink full of water. Rinse away the dirt and change the water when necessary until you have nice clean leek pieces.

Put a heavy based pot on the heat and once its heated up put in the butter and add a few swirls of olive oil to stop the butter from burning. Adjust the heat to medium to low. Add the leeks, shallots and onions, season well and give a good stir. Increase the heat to medium and allow the vegetables to sweat – but not brown – for about 5 minutes or until its all looking translucent, shiny and wilty.

While the veggies are sweating it out slice the potatoes length wise in 1cm slices.

Add the garlic to the vegetables and cook for a minute, then add the bouquet garni, potatoes and cook gently for another 3 or so minutes, stirring occasionally.

 

Add the stock and bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat and simmer for 30 minutes or until the potatoes are tender. Remove from the heat and allow it to cool for around 15 minutes. Remove the bouquet garni.

 

Using a stick mixer, puree the soup in the pot (or if you don’t have one, carefully puree the soup in a food processor, which is way messier).

Once the soup is textured to your liking simmer for 5 minutes before adding the cream and checking the seasoning. Add more salt and pepper if you need.

Remove from the heat. Serve soup in warmed bowls drizzled with a swirl of extra virgin olive oil, sprinkled with a generous amount of chopped chives and a few twists of ground black pepper.

Bouquet Garni note:

So you know the green bits of the leeks you cut off, save a piece about 10cm long. In this you place some thyme, parsley, bay leaf and/or whatever other herbs you like, wrap it up like a little present and tie it with cooking twine. 

Your Cheatin' Hummus

I have a confession to make. Something I need to admit if I am to continue unfettered in a forum such as this. In order to be able to look myself in the eye and say, ‘yes, you have been honest; go ahead, blog your food fetish all over the electric interweb with gay abandon. Spread your message of the joy of feasting far and wide with a clean conscience and an awesome palate.’

This is not easy for me to admit and I ask, in advance of telling you, for your understanding and forgiveness.

Sometimes, when I cook, I cheat.

It’s not you, it’s me.

Do you hate me?

It means nothing to me at the time. A Kewpie doll blob of mayo added to salad dressings here, a sheet of store bought puff pastry there. No harm done, right?  I can’t help it if cling wrapped jacket potatoes in the microwave taste damned good. They take forever in the oven and come out nowhere near as velvety smooth and super creamy.

But now for the worst part. I know that I identify myself as the latest generation from the lineage of superbly resourceful women known as my ancestors. These women could make a make a loaf of bread from scratch; out of the wheat they’d ripped from their field and ground into white powder with their bare hands. What’s more, this loaf of bread would feed a family of 12 and last for 3 months.

If they wanted olive oil, they’d pulverize fresh fruit they’d harvest off carefully tended trees, thwacking them loose with big sticks and rescuing each green luscious orb before ravenous goats got to them first.

Lord… don’t get me started on the goats….

(Insert moving music here)

I’ve let my people down. I’ve let you down. But most of all … I’ve let myself down. 

Ok, here it goes.

When I make hummus, I use chickpeas from a can.

I have tried, honestly, I have tried to do the whole soak them overnight, change the water, add a pinch of bi-carb and simmer them for 6 hours with a bay leaf thing, but it just takes too damn long! In the time it takes me to do step one of this process, I can make a mellifluous plate of the yummiest tasting hummus you’ve ever had.

Go on, try it. Cheating feels good every now and then.

Easy, cheatin’ Hummus

1 x 400 g can of chickpeas, liquid reserved

1 clove garlic

1 ½ tablespoons Tahini

Juice of one lemon (or to taste)

¼ teaspoon ground cumin

1 pinch of cayenne pepper

Salt and pepper to taste

Olive oil

Sweet paprika

1 teaspoon chopped parsley for garnish

Put the drained chickpeas in a food processor and blitz until smooth and creamy. Add some of the chickpea juice if it’s chunky and thick.

Add the tahini and garlic, puree a little and then season with a bit of salt. Add cumin and cayenne and puree some more.

Drizzle in the lemon juice and blend til smooth.

Check the flavour and add more salt, lemon juice and pepper unitl the flavour is to your liking.

If it is too thick, add some more chickpea juice.

Spoon out onto a flat plate and create a well in the middle of the hummus.

Drizzle the surface with olive oil, sprinkle with paprika and sprinkle a pinch of parsley in the middle to make it look pretty.

I Should Be So Lucky.....

There is nothing quite like travel to remind me how freaking lucky I am. Though I spend much of my year dreaming of all the far flung places I’d like to visit, creeping agonizingly through weeks of anticipation and dull drudgery until I’m leaving on a jet plane, one of the first things I experience when I’m somewhere else is how good I’ve got it where I usually am.  In the comfort of an air conditioned cab on the way to some nice hotel cloaked in Paradise, I witness a gazillion lives go whizzing past and wonder where the hell do I get off ever complaining about stuff like my coffee being too hot or that I feel fat today.

Most people in the world don’t have it as good as me. And dare I say it, if you are reading this blog, probably don’t have it as good as you too. Whenever a dark cloud begins to descend after another ironically cruel professional rejection or personal set back, I remind myself I will never be hungry and I will never be homeless. I have a huge and supportive, crazy, loving family. Some of the smartest, warmest and most loyal people in the world have chosen me as their friend. And I found out on the other side of 40 that one of my lifelong best pals was actually the love of my life.

Sorry, I thought I was Elizabeth Gilbert there for a second. Except with out the book deal. Dang.

But you get the drift. Not to trivialize the challenges that confront a modern day Western woman; these can be, as I can personally attest, soul destroying, utterly agonizing and no fun at all. But at least at the end of these challenges I can get all Zen and say to myself, “I learned so much from that experience. I am grateful for the opportunity to evolve. Namaste.”

But not everyone has that kind of luxury. Visiting an orphanage in Bali made me question if those kids will ever be able to say, “Wow, losing both my parents by the age of 2 really blew at the time but I’m grateful for the opportunity to evolve.”

hopeorphanagebali.org

As I write this I am in Jimbaran Bay, Bali, a most exquisite part of the world, home to some of the friendliest people on earth. Last night, Pete and I sat at a table on the balmy beach, our toes in the sand, chose fresh whole fish and some gigantic succulent prawns which were soon brought to us barbequed over coconut husks. It was amazing.

Jimbaran Giant BBQ Prawns

What is more amazing is that we could almost re-create this dish at home anytime we chose to. Because we are from the lucky country, with fresh fish, prawns and every other delicious thing at our fingertips whenever the whim takes us. 

Remind me to re-read this the next time I’m bitching about my wrinkles.

Prawn, Mussel and Fish Stew with Fennel 

(Nothing like Jimbaran BBQ Seafood, but anyhoo...)

Serves 2 hungry people for at least a day and a half

500g fat fresh prawns, cleaned and de-veined, head and tail on

1kg small fresh mussels, scrubbed

1 piece of fish fillet of your liking, cut into chunks

Olive oil 

1 onion, diced

1 big clove garlic, crushed

1/2 bulb fennel, thinly sliced

1 cup good white wine

1 400g tin of good tomatoes in juice

Grated peel of 1/2 lemon

chopped dill

chopped parsley

white wine

salt and pepper

crusty bread to serve

Heat some oil in a thick based pan, large enough to hold the entire dish. Add the chopped onion to medium heat and sweat out til translucent. Add the garlic and fennel and stir for a few minutes til there's some colour.

Turn up the heat a little and add the wine, deglazing any coloured stuff off the bottom of the pan. Then add the tinned tomatoes, lemon peel, a good tablespoon of chopped dill and parsley each, and some pepper. Once it's about to boil you need to turn the heat down and simmer for at least 30 minutes or until the tomatoes have lost the raw quality. Check seasoning and adjust.

Bubble, Bubble....

Then, once the base has a nice consistency and colour add the mussels and turn up the heat.  Jam on the lid to contain the heat and allow them to start steaming open.  Check after a minute or so and once a few of them pop open, add the prawns and fish pieces, carefully submerge them in the broth and whack the lid back on, until most of the mussels are open and the fish and prawns have changed colour. Sprinkle with extra chopped parsley. 

Serve with a ladle in deep bowls, making sure you have some of the fennely juices in there to mop up with good crusty Euro-bread. Have a bowl nearby for shells too.  Handy.

It's the little things.

Them:  "I can't eat quail."

Me:      "Why not?"

Them:  "They're just so little and cute. I feel sorry for them. Poor things. It'd be like eating a budgie."

Me:      " Only if that budgie was full breasted and delicious. Like Salma Hayek."

There is a part of me that finds the eating of meat barbaric. Animals are, after all, beautiful and life is precious, urges my inner vegetarian. Then the ancient Greek part of me comes along and tells her to leave. Really loudly. It also shouts its the animals faults for being so tasty.

And the cuter the animal, the tastier they are. Consider lamb. Quail. Whitebait. Giving credence to my theory of the cute/scrumptious correlation.

As I explained to my deranged friend, quail are in fact fully grown when we eat them. They are adults and have led a full life. Think of them as Bonsai Chickens.

The following recipe is adapted from a recipe by Kenji Ito, owner of my favourite Japanese restaurant in Adelaide, Kenji. The food there is exquisite and borders on art.

Yeah baby. 

Tatsuta Quail or Bonsai Chicken

4 Quails – butterflied and cut into quarters

Marinade

1tsp soy sauce

1tsp mirin

½ tsp sake

1tsp sesame oil

1 tsp grated ginger

1 clove garlic, crushed

Pinch of dried chili

½ tsp sugar

Dressing

½ red onion, finely sliced

2 really good tomatoes, diced

35ml sesame oil

90ml soy sauce

salt, pepper

Lemon juice

1tbs sesame seeds, toasted

For Frying

Vegetable oil

3tbs cornflour

2 egg whites

Ready for their marinade bath.

Combine all the marinade ingredients and add the quail pieces. Mix it up and rub the marinade over each piece. Leave to steep for at least 20 minutes.

When you’re ready to cook, take the quail out of the marinade and dry them off.

While the quail are marinating, make the ‘dressing’ (though I found I prefer to serve this on the side, rather than over the quail, which tends to take away the crunchiness.)

Mix the onion, tomato, oil, soy, seasoning and lemon juice to taste. Scatter over the cooled sesame seeds.

Heat the oil to 170°C. Turn on the oven to 180°C.

Whisk the cornflour into the egg whites. Dip in each piece of quail and coat with the batter.

 It's not an anal probe, it's a thermometer.

Fry the quail pieces in batches in the oil for 10 to 12 minutes. Turn them carefully and when they’re done, remove them, place them on a tray and pop them in the oven while you cook the rest.

Serve with the dressing tossed with some mixed Asian salad greens, lemon slices and a dollop of Japanese QP mayonnaise.

HAI!

Cherry Bomb.

I’ve changed the name of this blog. The Seducer’s Cookbook was an idea I had a while back and damn it, I was too slow on the uptake. This cookbook already exists and I really don’t want anyone to think I’m some sort of culinary Milli Vanilli. 

Therefore, in the spirit of my ball breaking heritage and the obsession with food preparation and consumption that we enjoy, I have renamed this, Shut Up And Eat. TV executives please take note that this will be the name of my seriously cool and successful food porn show.

In other news, my love for Fruchocs has been well documented. In this blog and in my loungeroom while watching The Biggest Loser, for example. Love em. I tried Cherri Chocs the other day and …. Well, I had to write to the company. It was amazing. Let me share it with you:

Hello there at Menz

I have been a huge fan of your products for years. And I'm not just saying that. Fruchocs in particular have been my all time favourite treat and I have even written about my love for them in my food blog (see link below).

I love the original Fruchoc! Giant Fruchocs??? Genius. Dark chocolate Fruchocs - sublimely heavenly. 

So it was in this spirit of Fruchoc adoration that I grabbed a packet of Cherry Chocs off the shelf in Foodland and looked forward to trying them.

I am sad to say, that for the first time EVER in my Fruchoc eating history, I was not filled with a rush of euphoric joy when eating one of your products.

The chocolate is lovely, dark and rich. Thank you. I am a sucker of the Fruchoc, I anticipate the shift of texture to the fruit layer once the outer layer has melted away. So there I was, all ready to enjoy the cherry centre, when I finally got to it and found that it was hard, crusty and not particularly hospitable as far as Fruchoc centres go.

The Fruchoc centre has been in my experience all about the balance of texture and sweetness of the fruit. The cherry centre is hard, crumbly and disappointing.

I am writing this to you with the greatest respect, because I care, because I am a champion of your product and I feel like you deserve to know how your public feels about your new product.

I hope you accept this email of 'tough love' in the spirit in which it was intended, and I am still your humble servant.

The Reply:

Thanks for your email. We appreciate any feedback negative or positive, we are unable to fix what we don’t know about. I checked out your blog.  Thanks for that, it is always nice to get a mention particularly when it is not paid advertising and comes from a genuine love of our products. Giant FruChocs have been a huge hit. They have taken off even more than we expected.

I am sorry to hear that you weren’t thrilled with CherriChocs. To be honest with you, they are not my favourite of our products either. They are actually soon to be no more due to the fact that they haven’t sold particularly well. There is a milk chocolate version in the Five Fruits, which is much nicer.

I am very glad that you are still our humble servant, it would be such a shame to have you put off by one product when there are so many wonderful ones out there that we have gotten 100% right.  I hope that you continue to enjoy and write about our products J Thanks again for the feedback. If you want to send me your address I will send you out some other things to try.

Regards

Lorrene Poulton-McClymont |Administration Co-Ordinator

This is what the lovely people at Menz sent me. I'm going to make Vanilla Bean Ice-cream with dark chocolate Bikko's (biscuitty bits). And then, I'm gonna eat it.

Life's a Peach

Things happen to all of us that make us feel disconnected from each other. I find this feeling completely perplexing and overwhelmingly unpleasant. It makes me fear that perhaps we have forgotten to be together in life. Where none of that other stuff that our egos fling back and forth, gets enough power to score a decent trajectory.

This fear is combined with another awareness, a sense that I am at least somewhat responsible for this gulf between us. Whether it’s a misjudged word or even by doing nothing at all, you contribute to the dissembling of your shared humanity.

And by ‘you’, I mean, ‘me’.

Thank goodness life has the power to find you, gently lift up your moping chin and remind you its ok. There is a whole universe orbiting around you with miraculous speed and force. Somehow, upon this speck on a speck in the middle of it all, there we are.

Being there together.

Alive.

And we have been surrounded with these other life forms that grow around us that we can utilize, if we care for them. Plant the tree, water the tree and the tree gives you a little present. Or dozens of them. Sweet, delicious, nectar filled presents.

I have some very young fruit trees in my yard. My apricot tree gave me apricots, my pomegranate is working on a few pomegranates now, and today, my peach tree gave me the yummiest peaches.

“There you go,” it said, “close your eyes and enjoy. Everything’s alright.”

And I did. And it was. 

Peach and Prosciutto Salad

2 peaches, cut into thin wedges

6 cherry bocconcini

10 thin slices of prosciutto

50g of salad greens of your choice

1 tbsp Fig Vincotto Vinegar

1tbs olive oil and more for drizzling

Combine fig vincotto, olive oil and seasoning in a bowl. Mix and then stir in the peaches til combined.

Scatter greens on a plate and top with proscuitto, pinched apart cherry bocconcini, spoon over the peaches and dressing, season to taste and serve.