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

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!

When It Doesn't Love You Back

There is nothing so heartbreaking, so definitively humiliating and debilitating than that evil bitch of life called ‘Unrequited Love’.

Really, it should just be called ‘Thanks For Nothing, Love’, because let’s face it when it hits you square in the soul it makes you wish you’d never even discovered it’s giddy passion.  Never become aware of that deep place that makes you stand in awe and then brings you to your knees. Because once it is denied you, there is no going back. You have experienced a temporary gift from life, a promise that was all too soon taken away.

And this, my friends, is how I feel about pasta.

Pasta’s simplicity, its versatility, and ability to taste absolutely freaking delicious makes me want it; want it bad. From when I was a kid, when my yiayia would serve up tubular noodles covered in nutty burnt butter, a mountain of soft grated haloumi and dried mint, I have adored this sexy staple. It can be turned into amazing meals with the barest of help from the ingredients out of a dwindling fridge. But it can also be the star of Michelin standard dishes by the artistry of the true masters. If I could, I’d marry it. Or at least try to sustain a long-term relationship with it.

Sadly, pasta does not love me. Not even close.

You see, getting in the way of our love, there is a new four letter word. And it’s spelt C-A-R-B-S.

Freaking carbs. One minute there’s 8 serves at the bottom of the food pyramid and then next thing those serves are collecting on each sides of my arse. And there can only be one hot, big arsed woman in the food world and it is Nigella.

It’s mean. It’s just plain mean that something so delicious and endlessly available, could be so unrequiting to me. To you pasta I say this: ‘Screw you and your arse expanding ways. I’m gonna love you til I die.’

My Marinara – Serves 2

Olive oil

2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped

1 cup of chopped Continental parsley

Dried chillies (To taste)

Finely sliced rind of ½ a rinsed preserved lemon / blanched lemon rind

White wine

2 diced fresh tomatoes

Black pepper

350g black local mussels, scrubbed beardy-weirdy bit removed

10 whole prawns, peeled with heads and tails       on, and deveined

8 scallops (meat only)

250g spaghetti

Prepare all your ingredients and have them ready to go.

Cook the spaghetti, drain, return to the pan, slather in butter, put on the lid and keep warm.

Heat a frying pan to medium high heat. Swirl in oil and throw a third in each of the garlic, parley and sprinkle of chilli. Coat in the oil, being careful not to burn the garlic. Throw in the lemon rind, give it a stir. Add the mussels and turn up the heat. Add 1/3 of the tomatoes and shake the pan. Pour in at least ¼ cup of wine, coat the mussels, and then jam on the lid and allow the mussels to steam open. Shake the pan a few times to encourage their hinges. This should take a couple of minutes, but lift the lid from time to time to check. Once they’re open, stir the juices and the aromatics together, and pour the whole lot into the cooked spaghetti pot.

Return the pan to medium heat, add more oil and start the process again. Garlic, parsley, chilli. Then lemon rind. This time add the whole peeled prawns to the pan. Turn up the heat to allow them to caramalize quickly on one side, and then flip them over. Add the tomatoes, fry them off for a bit, and then drizzle in a little wine. Swirl the ingredients together and when the prawns are just cooked, pour them into the spaghetti pot.

And last, the scallops. Return the pan to medium heat…. Etc etc…. garlic, parsley, chilli …. Rind… up the heat and then when its hot, add the scallops. They should not take too long to cook, about 45 seconds on the first side, depending on size. Flip them over and finish with tomato, and wine. Add to pot.

Sprinkle the pot with any remaining parley and season with black pepper. Gently toss the seafood through the pasta.

Serve hot.

As revenge to pasta, I eat this Marinara with grated romano cheese.