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.

Babe, You Turn Me On.

Something happened to me when I turned 30.

I began to crave something I’d never craved before. Don’t get me wrong, I’d liked it before, but not like this. It was like a switch had been turned on that made me a bit crazy. But it was powerful and such a freaking cliché that I was mortified at my un-uniqueness. Surely I was above all this, “Oh honey, when you hit 30 you get really tetchy if you don’t have it EVERY SINGLE NIGHT!” crap. I wasn’t a sassy ‘Sex in the City’ type chick. No! I was edgy and cool (I hoped) and not a cliché at all!

Boy, was I proved wrong. Just when I’m starting to congratulate myself on the imaginings of my aforementioned alleged cool (think Kurt Cobain, but a girl and happy) it happens.

30! And in a flash…

…I was gone. Deep within the grip of a most powerful desire. The grip belonged to chocolate and the flash was a Cherry Ripe wrapper flying past me as I ripped it off of my delicious beloved inside.

(SATC - That's them, isn't it?)














I’ll tell ya, it was spooky. I could feel it shift in my DNA. My tastebuds opened up and discovered the warmer, more bitter, darker, more lingering flavours on my palate. I kept trying to resist it, but I started to get a new found amazement for chocolate. Maybe it was because I stopped eating just Cadbury’s and started to eat more complex assortments. The first time I had a Haigh’s chocolate frog… well, it wasn’t pretty I can tell you. My eyes pretty much rolled back into my 30 year old head and I think I drooled a bit.

Yum.

Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, yum.

Yum.

Fast forward.... a certain amount of years....  I’m hooked.

Unlike pasta, chocolate regularly manages to make me loosen my grip of my sensible eating sword, drop it and have a nibble on a Giant FruiChoc.  God, those things are evil. But good evil, like Jack Nicholson. They are delicious and massive, so you eat one and convince yourself, “oh, I’ve only had one”, and then end up eating another 4, which pretty much equates to an entire packet of regular FruiChocs.

Remember: There is no ‘T’ in FruiChocs.

And this, my friends is a recipe for Dark Chocolate Sorbet…. Oh don’t get me started on ice-creams…..

250g castor sugar

60g Dutch Cocoa

½ tsp ground Greek Coffee

pinch of ground cinnamon

3 cups water

Mix the dry ingredients to a smooth paste with a little of the water in a saucepan. Add the rest of the water and whisk the paste through. Bring the mixture to the boil, stirring until dissolved.

Simmer for 5 minutes and then allow to cool completely for at least 5 hours, better if its overnight.

Then churn in an ice-cream machine according to instructions.

Tess of the Galaktoboureko

It’s funny to have a cookbook in your heart, in that special place tucked way down in the subconscious deep; alongside pop songs from your youth that make you ache a little and next to the scents that wham you right back to that place in your history. To have such a cookbook destines one to have it work a profound and lasting effect on the trajectory of one’s lifelong love-affair with food.

For me, this cookbook was by Tess Mallos and upon being introduced to me she became the part-scary Aunt, part high priestess, of cooking.

It was simply titled “The Greek Cookbook”.

Yes, I know. It’s a no-brainer right? You’re probably thinking, ‘Wow, she’s a Greek chick and her first connection with a cookbook was with a Greek one. Wow… how unusual… NOT!’

But bear with me for a second. Tess was one of the first people of Greek origin I had ever seen on Australian television. Lex Marinos was there too, being called a ‘wog’ and being told to ‘leave the money on the fridge’, but the uproarious canned laughter never quite made sense to my young witnessing of nationally transmitted racism against one of my own.

Tess was a Greek woman on television. And not an actress like the beautiful, talented and glamorous Chantal Contouri (who also has a passion for food). She was a woman who was on television to teach people how to cook Greek food. It was amazing.

In this time there was Bernard King, Peter Russell Clarke, Margaret Fulton of course, and a few more. Nothing like the plethora of Celebrity Chefs we have rammed down our gullets like foie gras geese today.

And then suddenly, out of this “meat and three veg” cultural culinary landscape, there emerged, in the distance, festooned with oregano, lemons and a hint of garlic, Her Majesty Tess Mallos.  And long may she reign!

Mum and I would sit in front of our HMV TV set and watch The Greek Variety Show with Harry Michaels. There’d be singers doing traditional Greek songs and Greek language versions of current hits. The Bee Gees tune ‘Staying Alive’ was translated into “Pio thinata”, which means “More Hard”…..

Anyhoooo….

And then Tess would come on and show us how to make Yemista, Pastitsio and Baklava. She was poised and capable. It was like having her in our own home. It was an occasion. But mostly, it was comforting to see ourselves reflected back at us in a context that was simple, honest and practical all at once.

Mum has the first edition of her cookbook (1976) and I have the 1992 edition. It has been reprinted and republished – once in a ‘limp edition’ – around 20 times. I know that my copy is just one of the countless copies that have tomato stains and syrup spills through the pages all across Australia.

Tess has published other excellent cookbooks as well, and my other favourite Greek cookbook is by another Tess – Kiros. Her book ‘Falling Cloudberries’ contains gorgeous photography and good recipes.

The worst cookbook title ever ,  would have to be “Easy Greek-Style.” I mean really…. What were they thinking?

The following Tess Mallos recipe has allowed me to secure my place amongst my friends as ‘Maker of Many Excellent Greek Things Woman’.  It's called Galaktoboureko, a dessert I describe to my Aussie mates, somewhat condescendingly… sorry… I gotta watch that… as, ‘a sort of Greek vanilla slice’. It’s nothing like vanilla slice. It is creamy sweet and golden and sublime. Vanilla slice is like sweet snot with biscuity bits.

Thank you Tess Mallos. You are my Julia Childs and the scary aunty I had but really wanted more of.  xxxx

Custard Pie – from The Greek Cookbook

Galatoboureko

Serves 12

Cooking Time 1 hour

Oven temperature 180 degrees

4 cups millk

¾ cups sugar

¾ cups fine semolina

60g butter

grated ring of ½ lemon

8cm cinnamon stick

Pinch of salt

5 eggs lightly beaten

1 teaspoon vanilla essence

12 sheets fillo pastry

185g unsalted butter, melted

½ quantity sugar syrup – to follow

• Mix the milk, sugar, semolina, butter, lemon rind, cinnamon stick and salt in a heavy based saucepan and heat until thickened, stirring constantly. Let custard bubble gently over heat for 5 minutes.
• Take from heat and remove cinnamon stick. Cover with a piece of buttered paper to prevent skin forming. When cool, mix in eggs and vanilla.

• Butter a 33x25x5cm metal baking dish. Place half the filo pastry sheets in the dish, brushing each side with the melted butter. Pour in the custard and top with the remaining sheets, again brushing each with butter as it is placed into position.

• Brush top with remaining butter and score through top three sheets of fillo in 8cm squares or diamonds. Trim edges 1cm above top of pie. Bake in a moderate oven for 45 minutes until golden brown and custard is set when tested with a knife. Remove from oven and cool thoroughly in the dish.

• Make syrup and pour over the pie. Leave until cool before serving.

Electra’s NOTE: Either hot fillo/cold syrup or cold fillo/hot syrup is the golden rule of golden fillo.

Syrup

2cups sugar

2 cups water

3 whole cloves (optional)

5cm cinnamon stick

1tbs lemon juice

thin strip of lemon rind

Place ingredients in a heavy based saucepan and stir over heat until sugar dissolves. Bring to the boil and boil over moderately high heat for 20 minutes.