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June 30, 2005

Judith Cullen's Cookery Classes ***

New Zealand cook Judith Cullen used to run her own café in Dunedin before she changed careers to become a successful teacher of cookery classes, many of which are run from her home. Judith Cullen's Cookery Classes is her first published book but she has a fresh and simple approach that many more seasoned cookbook writers would envy.

Staying with the format of her cookery classes, Cullen has opted to divide the book into monthly menus with a seasonal slant - picnic ideas for January, mid-winter slow cooking in July. An introduction to each chapter gives some background on her choices as well as plenty of useful tips and ideas. One thing that I loved about the book was the way in which Cullen made the most of seasonal fruits with her emphasis on relishes and sauces.

This is fusion cookery without fuss. Cullen uses an eclectic but judicious mixture of foods and flavours, with influences ranging from Asian, Middle Eastern, Mediterranean and North African, introducing and demystifying unfamiliar ingredients, from pomegranate molasses to tamarind and sumac.

The one fault that I found with the book is the fact that no recipe states how many people it serves. Although on further investigation I found a line in the introduction saying that most of the recipes feed four to six people, I shouldn't have to go searching for it. Nor does this better inform me of the number of biscuits/cakes that I will get from the recipes for Blue Cheese Biscuits or Ricotta Cakes.

That aside, Judith Cullen's Cookery Classes is a beautifully written and photographed introduction to modern New Zealand cooking.

Judith Cullen's Cookery Classes is published by Longacre Press

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June 28, 2005

Breakfast at Formerly The Blackball Hilton

We weren't very well organised for the last bank holiday weekend so it was Sunday morning before one of the Boyfriend's friends and his girlfriend came over and we tried to figure out where to go for the night. Despite fears that all accommodation would be booked solid for the weekend, a quick scoot through the Rough Guide to New Zealand and a few calls later and we had rooms for the night at Formerly The Blackball Hilton in the wee town of Blackball on the South Island's West Coast.

The historic hotel - it dates back to the early part of the last century - used to be known simply as The Blackball Hilton but, when the representatives of a certain Hilton hotel chain discovered the place, it wasn't long before lawyer's letters started flying Blackball direction. Showing a healthy disregard for American bullsh*t, the owners put a Formerly in front of their name and carried on as before. I'm not sure how long they'll get away with it but their stand is a typical West Coast one.

After a long afternoon spent in the car and waiting for the Boyfriends to finish their climbing on Castle Hill, the road to Blackball seemed to take forever but we were no sooner in the town than we came across the large looming presence of Formerly The Blackball Hilton. Through the front door we came to a large entrance hall, papered on one side with lots of local notices and flyers for events in the district - evidentially Formerly The Blackball Hilton is a popular place with the locals, always a good sign. Collecting our room keys from the bar, we went upstairs to discover just how strange and quirky the place was.

The rooms were all colour-coordinated in a very strange way. Ours was purple and a particularly lurid green, complete with family-type pictures on the walls and dressing gowns in case you felt the need to wander down the corridor to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Once you switched off the main light and turned on the bedside lamp, thereby tuning down the alarming colours, the room was cosy, clean and, most importantly in New Zealand at this time of the year, warm.

As most of our party were hungry, we went downstairs to the pub, which was warmed by a roaring fire, and got ourselves a seat in one of the booths on the side of the room, settling ourselves at a table covered with a cheerful red and white gingham tablecloth. I wasn't hungry but the food ordered by the other three - Blackball Salami Company sausages and mash, fish and chips, roast of the day - seemed to go down well, and I have to say that I had no complaints about the rather strong gin and tonics that arrived from the bar.

Breakfast, which the men were already eyeing up at dinnertime, was a star turn from this odd little place. One of our group had enjoyed sausages from the Blackball Salami Company the previous night and we were delighted to see that company's sausages and black pudding featured on the breakfast plate along with bacon, tomatoes and scrambled egg. The egg, as is the case every where I've had scramble for breakfast, was overdone and rather solid but copious amounts of wholemeal toast and my own cafetiere of good strong coffee ensured that I wasn't complaining. The fact that it was a one-woman show - waitressing, cooking and totting up the bills - meant that there wouldn't be any point either.

Breakfast was accompanied by the hotel terrier, who sat at our feet and sometimes on our laps, and beautiful silver-grey cat who jumped onto the seat behind us to look over our shoulders. It didn't bother us - in fact we welcomed the attention - but I could not see it going down well with anyone worried overmuch about germs.

In an effort to settle the huge breakfast, and because it was dark when we arrived, we went for a wander around Blackball by daylight. This is rugged mining country and the working class village was a coal mining community in the early part of the century, but the mine ceased production in the 1960s. Blackball is also noted for being one of the early hotbeds of socialism - and wouldn't you know there was an Irishman involved. In 1908, first generation Irish immigrant Pat Hickey led the famous Blackball coal miner's strike. Formerly The Blackball Hilton has a formidable supply of books and newspaper cuttings on the history of the town - something to get stuck in to if the weather on the West Coast is as wet as generally advertised.

We had hoped to visit the award-winning Blackball Salami Company factory but, this being a Bank Holiday Monday, the doors were firmly shut. Fortunately the owner of the hotel had a couple of salami in the fridge so we didn't come away with our hands hanging. We took the Original Garlic, a delicious non-fatty, richly flavoured salami, and have been enjoying it in sandwiches, on crackers and with pasta ever since.

Besides the historic aspect to the area, there's not much to see in the town itself but Formerly The Blackball Hilton is well worth a detour if you are travelling down New Zealand's West Coast. It is also worth making sure that the Blackball Salami Company is open when you visit. Otherwise, ask the lady behind the bar - she may even have a few to sell herself!

Formerly the Blackball Hilton is in Blackball. Phone: 03 732 4705 or 0800 4 BLACKBALL

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June 26, 2005

Caramelised Onions

Being flat stony broke these days, I like to try and bring my lunch to work with me rather than be dependent on cafés. Sometimes the lunch is leftovers from dinner the night - rice or pasta with some kind of sauce - but other days I am forced to rely on sandwiches. Having eaten plain ham sandwiches for years as a secondary school student my boredom threshold is quite low so I try to ring the changes as much as possible with different breads, fillings and spreads. One thing that really lifts a sandwich, be it ham, cheese, pate or chicken, beyond the ordinary are sticky and savoury Caramelised Onions. These onions are a great standby to have on hand. They seem to last for ages in the fridge and they go with any kind of sandwich. I have often pressed them into service as a relish when I've been eating cheese and crackers and, in her Cook's Companion, Stephanie Alexander suggests stirring a spoonful through cooked pasta.

Caramelised Onions are not difficult to make but they do involve some time. I find that this is a good thing to cook while you're doing other things around the house. Peeling the onions is probably the worst part of the job and, no matter what evasive action you take, you'll be shedding bucket-loads of tears before you get the last onion chopped! I try to stand by an open window or at least make sure the kitchen is well ventilated. After peeling each of the onions, rinse it under cold water and leave it to drip in a colander in the sink until you start chopping. This won't prevent the tears but it might lessen them somewhat.

Caramelised Onions
Red onions - 5 large, sliced
Balsamic vinegar - 75mls
Raw brown sugar - 150g
Olive oil - 1 tablespoon
Salt, pepper

Heat the olive oil in a large heavy-based frying pan. Add the onions, sprinkle with plenty of salt and pepper and cook over a moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until soft and beginning to brown.

Add the balsamic vinegar and sugar to the pan and stir well. Simmer over a low heat for 15 to 20 minutes until the liquid has reduced and the onions are sticky.

When cool, store in a lidded container in the fridge. I have kept mine for over a month with no problems.

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June 24, 2005

Malouf book update

I've just heard from Greg Malouf's publishers - Hardie Grant Publishing - that his new book finally has a preliminary title.

It is apparently going to be called Saha - Food and Travels Through Lebanon and Syria. From talking to him at Savour New Zealand, it looks like this will be well worth a look.

I'm not sure if it will be published at the Irish side of the world - I don't think that his earlier books Arabesque and Moorish are available in Europe - but I'll see what I can find out from the publisher.

Any of you that look at Bibliocook regularly will know that Moorish has become one of my most used cookbooks in recent times. I am really looking forward to reading - and cooking - more of Greg's recipes.

Further update: 7 July 2005
Hardie Grant Publishing sent me this press release earlier in the week.

SAHA
Written by Greg and Lucy Malouf

Description: In Saha, Greg Malouf returns to the land of his ancestors to explore its broad and influential cuisine. Stretching from neighbouring Persia throughout the Mediterranean to North Africa, the roots of Greg's culinary history are here in the land of his forbears, and together with writing partner Lucy Malouf and photographer Matt Harvey, he embarks on a month-long culinary journey.

The cuisine in Saha is traditional and inspirational; enticingly spiced and fragrant with flower waters. From hearty peasant dishes to more subtly spiced specialties from ancient palaces, the dishes are complex in flavour yet not overly complicated to make at home.

Heartwarming stories and recipes from the people Greg and Lucy meet on their journey are teamed with evocative images and Greg's own unique take on this history-rich and exciting cuisine, capturing the spirit of the modern and the ancient; the characters, dishes, flavours and colours that make up Lebanon and Syria in this highly illustrated and lavishly designed volume.

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June 23, 2005

Bread and Butter Pudding - updated with a Moroccan accent

When I was a kid, Bread and Butter Pudding was the desert that we all loved. I wasn't too impressed with other traditional milk puddings like Farola or semolina and often would walk away from the dinner table with my pockets full of secreted spoonfuls rather than actually eat a bowl of the insipid stuff.

But Bread and Butter Pudding was another story. I always seem to remember it being made in an enamelled dish. My mother used to scatter plenty of sultanas through the buttered bread slices before she poured over the eggy milk. My job, at that age, was to poke the bread down into the milk and ensure that it got as soggy as possible before it was sprinkled with sugar and whisked into the oven. That day I would even try to eat up my potatoes (another childhood foodstuff that usually got the same treatment as Farola and semolina) before tucking into a bowlful of the Bread and Butter Pudding. I loved the combination of the crunchy sweet topping and soft custardy interior, studded with plumped-up sultanas.

Although I have tried my hand at savoury Bread and Butter Puddings, it's been years since I had a sweet one. Then I came across a recipe for a Chocolate Bread and Butter Pudding with Turkish Delight in Greg and Lucy Malouf's Moorish. Their recipe brought Bread and Butter Pudding right up to date, putting a decadent spin on what used to be a wholesome desert. Could I resist? Not at all. When we had the Boyfriend's sisters and cousins round for a Moroccan meal one night I decided that this was going to be the piece de resistance and it didn't leave me down. As I was chopping pistachio nuts for the couscous that night I added a handful of them to the topping for another layer of crunch. It's a very rich desert so be sure and serve it in small portions. To really gild the lily, you can accompany it with some softly whipped cream.

Chocolate Bread and Butter Pudding with Turkish Delight
Good quality dark chocolate - 150g, broken into pieces
Cream - 210ml
Milk - 210ml
Rum or brandy - 4 tablespoons
Caster sugar - 110g
Butter - 75g, cubed
Ground cinnamon - a pinch
Eggs - 3, large
Stale white bread - half a loaf, 400g approximately, cut into 2cm cubes
Rose or orange-blossom flavoured Turkish delight - 100g, chopped
Pistachio nuts - 50g, chopped

Place the chocolate, cream, milk, rum or brandy, sugar, butter and cinnamon into a bowl over a pan of simmering water. Without stirring, allow the chocolate and butter to melt and the sugar to dissolve. When melted, stir well.

Whisk the eggs in a separate bowl and, still whisking, pour the chocolate mixture on.

Lightly butter a 18cm by 23cm ovenproof baking dish. Cover the base of the dish with a layer of the chocolate custard then tip in the cubed bread. Pour the remaining mixture over, ensuring that all the bread is well coated.

Cover the dish with clingfilm and allow to sit for a few hours at room temperature. Refrigerate for at least 24 hours or up to 48 hours.

Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F. Remove the clingfilm and sprinkle over the pieces of Turkish delight and pistachio nuts. Bake for 30-35 minutes until the top is crunchy but the centre should still be soft. Allow to stand for a few minutes before serving with lightly whipped cream, flavoured with a few drops of orange-blossom water, if desired.

Adapted from Moorish by Greg and Lucy Malouf.

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June 21, 2005

An Irish version of Apple Cake

As I'm still buying about two kilos of apples a week - I never can resist those markets - I decided, after my success with the French Apple Cake, that it was time to chance an Irish version. I turned to Clare Connery's Irish Cooking for inspiration and took her version of White Soda Bread as my base.

My idea was to use the White Soda Bread to sandwich a filling of sweetened and spiced apple slices. I'm not sure where it came from but maybe the traditional Irish cooking in Maura Laverty's Never No More gave me ideas!

It must be admitted that this Irish Apple Cake was a fairly stodgy offering but it didn't sit around for too long. A chunk of it heated up in the microwave and served with a heaped spoonful of Greek yoghurt made a rib-sticking treat for afternoon tea. A liberal hand with the sugar when you're sweetening the chopped apple is the key. I also brushed the top of the cake with milk and sprinkled it with another couple of spoonfuls of sugar making for a lovely crunchy caramelised top.

Maybe cake is too grand a word for it. It's like the sort of feed you'd take out to a field-full of men harvesting the hay or silage. Plenty of ballast for hard work!

Irish Apple Cake
Plain flour - 500g
Cream of tartar - 1 heaped teaspoon
Bicarbonate of soda - 2 teaspoons
Salt - 1 teaspoon
Caster sugar - 50g plus 50g plus 2 tablespoonfuls
Buttermilk - 400 to 475mls
Apples - 5, peeled, cored and chopped
Cinnamon - 1 teaspoon
Milk - 2 tablespoons

Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F.

Sift the flour, cream of tartar, bicarbonate of soda and salt into a large mixing bowl. Add 50g sugar. Make a well in the centre of the dry ingredients and add 400mls of the buttermilk. Mix lightly to a spongy dough with a broad-bladed knife or wooden spoon, adding more buttermilk if necessary.

Grease a Swiss-roll tin with butter and turn half the bread dough into it, spreading it across the bottom. Mix the apples with 50g sugar and the cinnamon and sprinkle it across the base. Top with the rest of the dough in spoonfuls - it won't be possible to spread it across the apples. Brush with milk and sprinkle with the last of the sugar.

Put tin in oven and cook at 200°C/400°F for 20 minutes. Reduce heat to 150°C/300°F and cook for a further 20 minutes until well risen and golden with a crispy top.

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June 19, 2005

Never No More by Maura Laverty *****

When I was a little one, with a voracious appetite for books and cooking, one of the books that I devoured was my Nana's well-used copy of Full and Plenty by Maura Laverty. The distinctive blue and yellow covers contained a treasury of old Irish recipes but the icing on the cake for me were the stories with which Laverty started each chapter. The woman whose fine soda bread was more praised by her future daughter-in-law than her smug neighbours cake, the boiled onions that effected a marriage, looking for cuppeen and platter mushrooms in the early morning - these were all well-loved and frequently read tales of old Ireland. After a long and fruitless search through second-hand bookshops and charity shops I eventually found a copy of Full and Plenty over the internet and it now sits proudly on my cookbook shelf alongside many more recent books.

But it took a New Zealand author to let me know that Laverty had actually written more than a cookbook. I had been reading my way through my copy of Christine Dann's A Cottage Garden Cook Book - Recipes from a New Zealand Garden when I came across a stray remark about Laverty's other books. That was enough to send me looking in the library which, wonder of wonders, stocks her first novel - originally published in 1942.

Set in the Ireland of the 1920s, Never No More is the story of a young girl and her relationship with her beloved Grandmother. They live in an old farmhouse outside the village of Ballyderrig in County Kildare and the book is full of tales of and from the Irish countryside - the cutting of the turf, weddings and wakes, the solemn ritual of pig slaughter, family nicknames and stories of possession. Laverty has a wonderful grasp of the texture of country life and great powers of description. As with Full and Plenty, food plays a great part in Never No More and the book is packed full of mouth-watering images.

"White bread, brown bread, Indian meal bread and bran loaves. Short cakes, butter cakes and scones of all kinds. She made seedy cakes and Sunday cakes and prune cakes. And an enormous rich fruit cake with a whole glass of brandy in it. My arms ached from beating the dozen eggs that went into the cake, and from cleaning and preparing the pounds of currants and raisins and candied peel and nuts. She made apple cakes and Carrigeen shapes and flummery and jellies, and Mike Brophy carried over to Nolans' a big basket of Grandmother's famous preserves - haw-and-apple jelly, sloe jelly, blackberry jam and damson jam and a half-dozen bottles of spicy mushroom ketchup to add piquancy to the cold meats. "

With an original glowing introduction by Sean O'Faolain, a later one by Maeve Binchy as well as a quote from an imprisoned Brendan Behan, Never No More is an unexpected treasure. Binchy is also kind enough to fill in the biographical gaps between my much-loved Full and Plenty and Laverty's other work. As well as writing a handful of cookbooks, another three novels and a pair of children's books, she worked as a newspaper journalist, a radio agony aunt and wrote the scripts of a legendary Irish television series from the 1960s called Tolka Row.

Despite all her achievements, in post-Celtic Tiger Ireland Maura Laverty seems to have been all but forgotten. We're too busy celebrating new imported cultures and foodstuffs to appreciate the native bounty that still surrounds us. It might be difficult to get your hands on a copy of Full and Plenty but her novels are still in print, courtesy of Virago Modern Classics, and they're well worth searching for.

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June 17, 2005

Ginger nuts

Ginger is big business in New Zealand. Whether it's the pieces of Ginger Crunch available in every café and bakery, gingernut biscuits beloved by the Boyfriend's parents, the many brands of commonly available ginger beer (not in the least bit like the insipid ginger ale mixer common in Irish bars) - the best of which is always a hotly debated topic of contention in the Boyfriend's household - or Ginger Bear sweets (like gummy bears, but with a ginger kick) it seems like the Kiwis just can't get enough ginger.

To keep up with this ginger fascination, I started thinking about making gingerbread. It was something I used to make often as a child, especially when I was working my way, recipe by recipe, through the first Stork Cookery Book. Without that book to guide me, I discovered that Nigella had a recipe for a rather unique Chocolate Gingerbread in her latest book, Feast. So, never being one to pass up a new variation on an old favourite, I tried this recipe. I have to say I wasn't too impressed. Rather than gingerbread, it tasted of liquorice - not a favourite flavour of mine. The Boyfriend, however, loved it and, after he took a couple of pieces to work everyday that week, there wasn't much left over.

I did like the recipe, however. It was a one-pot cake, all made in the one saucepan, therefore cutting down on dirty dishes - always a consideration when baking! So I decided to have another try. This time I substituted extra flour for the cocoa and chopped crystallised ginger for the chocolate chips and forgot about the icing completely. I'm not sure the Boyfriend liked it as much but this gingerbread variation was the one that I fell in love with. As dark and moist as the nicest of my childhood experiments but with the added extra kick from the embedded chunks of crystallised ginger. Gingerbread is a good keeper too so I've been able to nibble away at chunks of it all week. Just one tip - if you're going to make the version with the crystallised ginger make sure you cut it up small and it's worth tossing it in flour to make sure it doesn't fall to the bottom of the mixture like mine did!

Chocolate Gingerbread
Cake:
Butter - 175g
Dark muscovado sugar - 125g
Caster sugar - 2 tablespoons
Golden syrup - 200g
Black treacle or molasses - 200g
Ground cloves - ¼ teaspoon
Ground cinnamon - ¼ teaspoon
Ground ginger - 1 teaspoon
Bicarbonate of soda - 2 teaspoon
Warm water - 2 tablespoons
Eggs - 2
Milk - 250ml
Plain flour - 275g
Cocoa - 40g
Chocolate chips - 175g

Icing:
Icing sugar - 250g
Butter - 30g
Cocoa - 1 tablespoon
Ginger ale or ginger beer - 60g

Preheat the oven to 170°C. Line the bottom and sides of a roasting tin (approximately 30 x 20 x 5cm deep) with a big sheet of greaseproof paper.

Use a large saucepan to melt the butter, sugars, golden syrup, treacle or molasses, cloves, cinnamon and ground ginger. Put the bicarbonate of soda and water in a cup and stir until it is dissolved. Take the saucepan off the heat, allow to cool for a couple of minutes, then beat in the eggs, milk and bicarbonate and water mixture. Stir in the flour and cocoa and beat with a wooden spoon. Fold in the chocolate chips. Pour into the tin and bake in the preheated oven for about 45 minutes until well risen and firm. It will be slightly damp in the centre but that's not a bad thing.

Place on a wire rack and let cool in the tin.

Sieve the icing sugar. In a heavy-based saucepan, heat the butter, cocoa and ginger ale. As soon as the butter is melted, whisk in the icing sugar.

Lift the cooled chocolate gingerbread out of the tin and take the paper off it. Pour over the icing to cover the top and cut into chunks when set.

Adapted from Feast by Nigella Lawson.

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June 15, 2005

Old faithful

Sometimes familiarity breeds contempt and that has surely been the case with one of my trademark dishes - Chicken with Garlic and Lemon. This is a dish that I have been cooking for years. It gets trotted out at regular intervals if friends are coming round for dinner and for many years it, and a variation on Apple Crumble, were my fail-safe dishes for those occasions. In fact, a poor housemate that I lived with for a couple of years must have gotten well sick of the sight and smell of garlic and lemon!

For all that I criticise it, this recipe is a great one to have up your sleeve - and it leads to endless variations. I think I got the original idea from the ever fabulous Nigel Slater but I've been tweaking it ever since, adding chopped or whole garlic cloves, a glass of white or red wine at the beginning or end of the cooking time, not adding any liquid at all, sitting the chicken on a bed of onions and/or other vegetables and experimenting with herbs - fresh thyme and rosemary being two of the most readily available favourites.

It is the work of minutes to prepare the ingredients then all you have to do is put your roasting tin in the oven and let the heat go to work. You can make this dish with a whole chicken or pieces. If I am cooking a whole chicken I normally put a lemon half into the bird. If not, I snuggle the halves into the tin with the chicken pieces. I normally use thighs, favouring the dark juicy meat over the white breasts. For this recipe I am going to presume that you are using chicken pieces - make sure they come with skin and bones intact. Crispy chicken skin is one of life's pure joys. And do try to cook free-range chicken if you can at all afford it. The flavour is just so much better - and there's none of the associated guilt that you get from eating chickens that have had an unhappy factory life. Having said that, this recipe does give flavour even to the most pallid of supermarket chickens.

Chicken with Garlic and Lemon
Free-range chicken - a couple of pieces per person
Onions - 3 or 4, peeled and sliced
Garlic - 6 cloves, unpeeled, and 2 cloves peeled and cut into slivers
Olive oil
Thyme or rosemary - a handful of sprigs
White wine - a glass
Lemon - 1, skin scrubbed of wax and halved
Sea salt, freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C).

Rinse the chicken pieces and pat them dry. Using a sharp thin knife, poke holes in the fleshiest parts of the meat and push the slivers of garlic into them. Put the onion slices into a roasting dish with the whole cloves of garlic and toss with a slosh of olive oil. Pour the wine into the dish then lay the herbs on top of the onions and the chicken on top of that. Squeeze the lemon over the chicken then sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. Tuck the squeezed lemon halves into the pan.

There's nothing more to do. Put the chicken into the oven and let it be for about an hour. Don't worry about forgetting it - the smells from the oven will ensure you remember. The chicken will be ready when the juices run clear when tested with a skewer. The skin should be crispy and golden, the onions slightly caramelised and it should look and smell irresistible.

I normally serve this with basmati rice and roasted carrots, making sure that everyone gets a serving of the sweet juicy onions which, to my mind, are one of the best parts of the dish.

Posted by Caroline at 8:20 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

June 13, 2005

An afternoon interlude: Riccarton House Café

It's not very often we go out for Sunday lunch but the fact that I had a voucher for the Riccarton House Café in Christchurch made our minds up for us last weekend. The café only does lunch but that's well worth the hour-long walk from our house.

It has the perfect setting. Riccarton House is a heritage attraction, a splendid example of Victorian and Edwardian housebuilding - complete with plenty of decapitated stags in the entrance hallway - and it is set in a 12-hectare reserve of ancient native forest and parkland. The homestead was the home of Canterbury's pioneering Deans family for 91 years and, when you arrive, you almost feel like you're walking into a private home.

The café is situated off the oak-panelled main entrance hallway in what might have been the Deans family sitting room. The tables and chairs are all solid and dark, as befits the space, but it does leave visitors with an absence of manoeuvring space. There are also tables outside on the veranda, overlooking the river but, despite the sunshine, it was too cold to sit there for long and we moved ourselves indoors before our meal arrived.

The menu isn't large but it is well balanced and there are plenty of choices. We settled on the pizza of the day with a topping of broccoli, blue cheese, caramelised onions and chicken. As we waited for our food, I hungrily observed delicious-looking dishes of goats cheese parcels, huge fluffy pancakes (they also serve a breakfast menu) and a pork roast arriving at nearby tables. Dishes to return for, perhaps. As it turned out we were more than happy with our pizza. While the base looked like it may have been made from wholemeal flour, it was thin and crispy enough to overcome this faux pas. Before it arrived, the Boyfriend had been bemoaning our lack of foresight in not ordering a serving of wedges as he saw them carried past us, but there were no complaints of hunger after we finished the pizza.

We did have enough room for desert so, although the Boyfriend was thinking about getting one of the scones resplendent on a table nearby, I managed to steer him towards a moist orange and poppyseed cake instead, which was served with yoghurt. Only after I promised to make a batch of scones at home! As for myself, I was seduced by the promise of a crème brulee. Although I have read a lot about these little French deserts and know how to make them - in theory at least - I had never actually tasted one. The waitress brought it over, apologising that the chef was only getting the hang of the blowtorch and sure enough there were little burnt patches on the caramel. Fortunately this only accentuated the experience of crisp caramel and light creamy custard. Not only did I finish it in double quick time, but the Boyfriend caught me using my finger to ensure that I hadn't let any custard behind. A couple of coffees and we were ready to rise. It was just as well that there was an hour's walk ahead of us!

Without the voucher the meal would have cost $34 for a shared main course, two deserts and two coffees.

Riccarton House Café is at 16 Kahu Road, Christchurch. Phone: 03 341 1018

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June 11, 2005

A good haul

In the Salvation Army shop the other day I discovered the one thing that would make me look the part while marketing - a wicker basket! Since then I've been trotting very happily to the market with my basket on my arm although sometimes I have to bring along a bag to supplement what it can hold. Look at today's haul - cauliflower, silverbeet, carrots, green beans, mushrooms and free range eggs...and that's what's on top. There's a wee cast iron pan, four forks, six spoons and a second-hand jumper underneath. It was a busy morning!

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June 9, 2005

Using up apples - French Apple Cake

We're coming to the end of the true apple season here - although I'm sure we're still going to see plenty of apples in the shops - but the Apple Man at the St Albans Market has finished up his selling for the year. He and his partner were picking and selling almost 1,000 kilos of apples a week between the stall at their farm gate, St Albans Market on Saturdays and the bigger Riccarton Market on Sundays. He told me, on one of our many chats as the Boyfriend circled the market for the third time, that they grow lots of different varieties at their farm near Oxford. Therefore, unlike the big commercial orchards, the apples cannot be picked all at the same time and put into cold storage until the time comes to sell them. Instead they work on a more gradual picking and selling programme so that the apples that you buy from him at the market are often only picked earlier that week. As he bid me farewell, he said that he will be back in March with some early ripening apples. Something to watch out for - if I'm here!

In the last few weeks, before he ended up, he was selling big three kilo bags of Braeburns so there was always a hurry on to get the previous week's bag eaten before the weekend came around. I had been doing some research into American food writer Patricia Wells, who lives and writes about Paris and Provence, and discovered a recipe for what she calls The Apple Lady's Apple Cake in The Paris Cookbook.

It's a simple recipe - just make a cinnamon (my addition) and vanilla-scented batter, throw in the apples, cook for a while, top with a sugary mixture and then finish back in the oven - but its taste belies its simplicity. It can be whipped up in ten minutes and, if you use good, crisp eating apples, the short cooking time means that they still have a bite in them by the time the Apple Cake makes it to your plate.

The Apple Lady's Apple Cake
Plain flour - 70g
Sugar - 65g
Baking powder - 1 tablespoon
Salt - a pinch
Cinnamon - ½ teaspoon
Vanilla extract - ½ teaspoon
Eggs - 2, lightly beaten
Vegetable oil - 2 tablespoons
Milk - 80ml
Apples - 4, good sized apples (about 1kg) cored, peeled and cut into thin segments

Topping
Sugar - 65g
Egg - 1, lightly beaten
Butter - 45g, melted

Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F. Butter a 23cm/9inch springform pan and set aside. In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, salt and cinnamon and stir to blend. In a separate bowl mix the vanilla extract, eggs, ol and milk. Add the liquids to the dry ingredients and stir until well blended. Add the apples and mix well, ensuring that the apples are well coated with the batter.

Pour the mixture into the prepared tin. Place in preheated oven and bake for about 25 minutes, until firm and golden.

While the cake is baking, mix the sugar, egg and butter for the topping in a small bowl. Remove the cake from the oven at the 25-minute mark and pour the topping mixture on top of the cake. Return to the oven and bake for approximately 10 more minutes, until the top is a deep golden brown and the cake feels quite firm.

Leave to cool on a rack for 10 minutes. Run a knife along the sides of the pan and, leaving the cake on the pan base, remove the rest of the springform tin. Serve at room temperature with ice-cream, cream or - my preference - thick Greek yoghurt.

Adapted from The Paris Cookbook by Patricia Wells.

Posted by Caroline at 9:53 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

June 7, 2005

Moorish by Greg and Lucy Malouf ***

Moorish is the second cookbook by Greg and Lucy Malouf, restaurateur and food writer respectively. Greg, who is commonly regarded as one of Australia's most innovative chefs, has been credited with influencing and introducing a generation of chefs and diners to the flavours, tastes and textures of the Middle East through his cooking in O'Connell's restaurant and MoMo in Melbourne. But you don't have to travel so far to experience his kind of cooking as the recipes in Moorish, with a subtitle that proudly states "flavours from Mecca to Marrakech", will let you try it in the comfort of your own home. And you'll have a hard time keeping away from the kitchen after reading this book.

The first few chapters are devoted to dry and wet spice mixes, dressings and relishes and pickles and preserves - the basic building blocks of Moorish cooking. The Maloufs have covered it all, from Chermoula and Ras el Hanout, harissa and preserved lemons to lesser known blends such as Baharat and Toum. The rest of the book doesn't disappoint either. Each recipe comes with a paragraph by Lucy that talks about the flavours and origins of the dishes that take their inspiration from North Africa, France, the Eastern Mediterranean, Spain, and the Middle East.

There's nothing difficult about any of the recipes - although you will have to stock up on spices - but the Malouf's take on food is different enough to make even the most blasé of home cooks sit up and take notice.

Greg Malouf has his own website at www.gregmalouf.com.

Posted by Caroline at 5:34 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 5, 2005

Mainly Moroccan

If you've ever seen photos of Morocco, you'll be familiar with the piles of vividly coloured spices in the market places. My one-time housemate, on a trip to Morocco a long time ago, brought me a mysterious little bag from one of the piles. She didn't know what it was, neither did I, but I delighted in trying it out - until the day I discovered that the spice had turned into a wriggling mass of maggots. Not that that would put me off trying the spices, however, if someone should happen to bring me more of them, I think that I'd just look over them more carefully!

My fascination with Moroccan food has continued, despite the maggots, and I've been experimenting with a blend of spices called Ras el Hanout from a Kiwi company called Alexandra's Bazaar. There seems to be as many variations of Ras el Hanout as there are cooks in Morocco to argue about it which didn't help me when I went looking for a recipe to make my own blend. Paula Wolfert, in Couscous and Other Good Food from Morocco, got a sample of Ras el Hanout from Fez and had it analysed in New York. That blend had a total of 26 ingredients, including the aphrodisiac Spanish fly and poisonous belladonna leaves. Suffice it to say that I did not intend to going so far so when I discovered a recipe for the seasoning in Greg Malouf's Moorish that only had 12, easily obtainable, ingredients I determined to give it a try. Greg calls it Ras al Hanout and, in the introduction to his version in Moorish (he's got at least two others that I've discovered so far) says that this is a humble blend, for daily use. He says that it can be used in soups and tagines, as a marinade, or with rice and couscous.

Ras el Hanout
Cumin seeds - 1 teaspoon
Coriander seeds - 1 teaspoon
Cardamom pods - 6, seeds only
Fennel seeds - ½ teaspoon
Black peppercorns - ½ teaspoon
Sweet paprika - 2 teaspoon
Cinnamon powder - 1 teaspoon
Turmeric - 1 teaspoon
Cayenne pepper - 1 teaspoon
Salt - 1 teaspoon
Sugar - ½ teaspoon
Allspice - ½ teaspoon

Lightly roast the cumin, coriander, cardamom, fennel and peppercorns in a pan over a medium heat. Finely blend with a pestle and mortar then mix with the rest of the ingredients. Store in an airtight jar for up to three months.

Adapted from Moorish by Greg and Lucy Malouf.

Posted by Caroline at 10:50 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 4, 2005

Food & Wine Magazine, Ireland

Great excitement here this afternoon when I got an email from friends in Ireland to say that my article on food in New Zealand has been published in this month's edition of Ireland's Food & Wine Magazine! It's the new look edition of "Ireland's Food and Drink Bible" with a picture of a lovely looking iced summer treat on the cover.

My article starts on page 30, under the headline "The New Black", and apparently, according to the index, Caroline Hennessy tells why New Zealand's cuisine is worth writing home about. It's well worth checking out. Well, I would say that, wouldn't I!

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June 3, 2005

Olive picking

A big thank you to all at Athena Olives in Waipara who took a complete olive picking novice under their communal wing today and gave me such a wonderful - and painful! - experience during a very busy time for them.

I spent the morning in the olive groves dragging large nets around to put under the trees before the men with the clappers (a kind of vibrating rake) shake the olives off the trees. Those nets don't manage to gather everything so there was plenty of picking the harvested olives off the ground. Between that, rolling the nets and moving large boxes of olives my muscles know all about it tonight! A lunchtime was never more welcomed.

After an hour back out amongst the trees in the afternoon, I got to work for a time in the sweet-smelling pressing shed, watching the actions of the traditional Italian hydraulic press and tasting the peppery fresh pressed oil.

Although picking olives may be a far distance removed from haying in Ireland the backbreaking work of the harvest is the same. And so is the satisfaction. Now I understand a little better how quality olive oil is produced - and why it costs so much...money well spent, if you ask me.

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June 1, 2005

Restaurant review: Simo's Moroccan Restaurant

The days when you get a call from your Boyfriend saying "don't plan anything for dinner tonight. I want to take you out" don't come too often so, no matter what you've been thinking about cooking, it's time to put it aside. Especially when you discover that you're going to New Zealand's only Moroccan restaurant - Simo's in Christchurch. I've been a fan of Moroccan flavours for a long time and Simo's didn’t disappoint.

We were booked in for an early dinner at 6.30pm and, when we arrived, were the only people in the place. But, rather than making us feel in the way as can be the case sometimes, the staff really made an effort to put us at ease, showing us to our table in the warmly coloured rooms, dispensing menus and tempting us with the idea of a Moroccan cocktail. Cocktails are going to be my downfall in New Zealand, I can tell. I never can say no. This time I was glad that I hadn't even tried to. Unfortunately I can't tell you too much about them as the mists of time and, perhaps, alcohol, have dimmed my memories of what they contained but let it suffice to say that if you're offered a cocktail in Simo's, don't turn it down.

As little cards on the tables and the waitstaff explained, Simo's had won the Meadow Mushrooms Grande Entree Award of Excellence 2004 so we decided to see what all the fuss was about and share their entry, Trio of Meadow Mushrooms, for a starter. The Trio consisted of an Olive Oil preserved White Button Mushroom, Charmoulla Marinated Swiss Brown Mushroom and an Oven baked Portabello Mushroom. Mushrooms in any guise, as far as I'm concerned, are a good idea but my heart sank when the dish arrived at the table. It was a carefully layered and plated arrangement but, I thought, smacked more of style than substance. By the first mouthful I had forgotten such traitorous thoughts for this was a well-balanced dish, with different pungent and strong flavours in each bite. Before long we had managed to make our way through the Trio and were awaiting our main courses. The Boyfriend had chosen Lamb Tagine to put his fears about tagines to rest, after having a few greasy experiences in Morocco last summer. Judging by the speed it disappeared there was little comparison between the 'real' Moroccan experience and the Moroccan restaurant option! I had the fish of the day which was baked with chermoulla and served with one of the ingredients that I've been noticing lately - Israeli couscous, which has grains much larger than the normal Moroccan couscous. After tasting it in Simo's I promptly bought a bag of it the next time I saw it on display. Time to figure out how to cook it soon, methinks!

Although we didn't really feel that we needed desert, the Boyfriend, still having flashbacks to his time in Morocco, was tempted by the Moroccan Sweet Mint Tea. As this could come with a selection of pastries, I didn't hesitate to encourage him in his choice and this proved to be the perfect ending to a truly wonderful and relaxing meal.

Simo's is located at 114 City Mall, Cashel Street in Christchurch. Phone: 03 377 5001

Posted by Caroline at 9:10 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack