Slow and simple

On Friday we commemorated Harvey's birthday in fine style. I knew our mutual friend was bringing some magnificent beef for the main course, and a fine red to go with it, so I decided to splash out on Harvey's favourite entree - a dozen Bluff oysters. With them we had a very dry white Waimea wine I brought back from my trip to Nelson, made from a grape variety I'd never come across before: grüner veltliner.
            The oysters, of course, didn't require me to do anything, but it was also my job to come up with the veges to go with the beef. I made a potato gratin using stock instead of milk - it looked gorgeous with its overlapping thin slices, but I didn't take a photo, dammit - and a big yellow pepper, charred over the gas, put in a plastic bag so its skin would come off easily, then sliced and softened in the oven.
             These two went very well with the red onion confit I made that morning in the slow cooker. I haven't done it this way before, but it worked perfectly, and it was great to be able to leave it without worrying about it catching and burning. I adapted it from the caramelised onions recipe in Great Ideas for Crockpots and Slow Cookers, by Fiona Willison (2004).

Red onion confit
4 red onions, peeled and finely sliced
4 cloves garlic, peeled
1/2 cup soft brown sugar
1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 large or 2 small sprigs of rosemary
salt and pepper to taste

Turn the slow cooker to high and allow it to warm for 20 minutes.
Put all the ingredients in the warmed cooker. Cover and cook for 2 hours on high. Take the lid off and cook for another 2-3 hours until the onions are very soft. Check seasoning and adjust if necessary.

If you have any left over, it's very good warmed through and served on little pieces of toast, either on its own or alongside breakfast bacon. ( I haven't yet tried the amazing recipe on Hungry and Frozen for a kind of "jam" combining bacon and onion, but I can imagine it...)
               After all that, we had a suitably restrained dessert brought by another friend - a little cheese, then some delicate orange jellies (the recipe was from What's for Pudding). It was a beautiful evening, and I was grateful.

Parsnips instead of pudding



Yes, I know I promised a new pudding this week. I did make Alexa Johnston's Bavarian Coffee Cream, otherwise known as Bavarois au Café, but this is how it turned out. It tasted good, but I just didn't make it well enough, so I'll have another go later. I think I need some metal moulds...

        But that wasn't the only new recipe I made last Saturday. I got completely carried away and made a new soup and a new vege dish as well. The soup was great but I'll write it up later when I get a good photo - I've got some in the freezer. The veges were marinated and grilled parsnips, yams and peppers. They were meant to be grilled and served as kebabs, but as I was having them with beef that didn't seem necessary - it was much simpler to do them in a grill pan. They looked lovely and their slightly sticky sweetness was good with the tender beef.

Grilled parsnips, yams and peppers
(adapted from Brian Glover, Homes and Gardens Cookbook 1996)

3 large parsnips
4 medium pink or yellow yams
2 medium red or orange peppers
1 tablespoon sesame seeds

For the marinade
2 Tbsp clear honey
4 Tbsp light soy sauce
4 Tbsp light sesame oil
finely grated zest and juice of 1 large orange
1 tsp ground coriander
2.5 cm fresh ginger, peeled and grated

*  Peel and trim the parsnips and cut them into longish evenly sized pieces roughly the same length as the yams, cutting down through the centre of the thickest end.  Trim the yam ends if necessary. Bring a pot of water to the boil, salt it, and add the parsnips and yams. Boil until almost tender. Drain and cool.
* De-seed the peppers and cut into even pieces - about 6 pieces per large pepper.
Place all the veges in a shallow dish.
* Mix the marinade ingredients in a bowl and pour over the veges. Marinade for at least an hour, turning the veges every so often. (I did them in the morning for the evening.)

* Turn the grill to high. Use a slotted spoon to lift the veges out of the marinade and spread the pieces evenly in the grill pan. Grill for 15 minutes, turning every 5 minutes and spooning over more of the marinade left in the dish. When cooked, sprinkle with the sesame seeds and put back under the grill for a couple of minutes.

Though we had these with beef, they'd be brilliant with chicken or pork too. They were the first things I cooked in my new oven. The old oven proved, when Julio was here and trying to use it for his baking, that it just wasn't up to the job - well, what else could I expect from a cheap, no-frills teenage Italian? There was a good special on a Fisher and Paykel one that would fit the old space, so I gritted my teeth and went for it.
            The good news is that it does seem to cook very well indeed, and of course that's the most important thing. But the controls are another story. They seem to have been designed by someone who has never attempted to use them for cooking in a real-life kitchen. The knobs are so thick (the photo doesn't really show this properly) that they make the already very small numbers and symbols even more difficult to read, and the tiny notch on them that has to be aligned with correct function or temperature is almost invisible (everything shows up better in the photo than in real life, because of the flash). They're also very low - probably designed for wall placement rather than under the bench, though that's where many of these ovens will go. So I have to bend right down to set them correctly, because otherwise I can't see the markings around them. And surely it would be much safer to have assymetrical knobs that showed at a glance if they were off or on? In my next life, I want to be a kitchen appliance designer...

Crunch time

Mystery of the Week: Watching the hype about New Zealand apples finally breaking into the Australian market, and setting aside the fact that a week later, some bright spark left a piece of leaf and a (reportedly dead) insect in a box of them, resulting in a new partial ban, I couldn't help wondering - where did the glossy, crunchy Rose apples shown in the news items come from?
        We saw one happy Australian after another biting into these lovely apples which were absolutely nothing like the somewhat soggy, distinctly UN-crunchy Rose apples currently on sale in the shops here. Is it the usual story - all the good stuff goes overseas, leaving locals stuck with the leftovers? And if you go to Oz and try to bring one back, you'll be hit with a $200 fine, so don't even think about it...

News of the Week: Not much cooking going on, because (a) Julio's gone (this sounds like that lovely old Harry Belafonte ballad, "Delia's gone..."), (b) I've got plenty of delicious little scraps in the freezer to eat up, and (c) I'm working very hard on my food memoir, because I want to have it all finished by November at the latest, so it's crunch time. But do not despair..

Promise of the Week: NEXT week I'll report on my first attempt to make one of the recipes in Alexa Johnston's new book, What's for Pudding? On Tuesday I went to hear her talk about it at the wonderful Marsden Books, and it was a delightful experience - almost as good as actually eating pudding - so watch this space...

Lemon heaven

For Julio's last dinner here, I invited round friends he'd already met (I'd been meaning to have them to dinner for ages) and roasted a nice piece of pork. I knew he liked light desserts, so the night before I made my favourite lemon mousse. It's a recipe I cut out of an impulse-buy copy of Vogue Entertaining and Travel in March 1999, and have used scores of times.
            I suppose it's not really "light" at all, with 300mls of cream, but the delicate lemony fluff seems to float out of the bowl, off the spoon and into your mouth all by itself.  The other thing I love about this is that it's made from basic, cheap ingredients that don't need to be hunted down.
            You'll need a lot of bowls - two large, one medium and one small. Although it says "whisk", I use an electric beater for everything except the gelatine.          

Lemon mousse
(This quantity serves 6 moderate people, or 4 greedy ones, or 4 on the night and a cook's reward next day)

185g castor sugar
3 large eggs, separated into two large bowls
juice and grated zest of 2 good-sized lemons or 3 smaller ones
1/3 cup boiling water
3 tsps powdered gelatine
300ml cream

Take the large bowl with the egg yolks and gradually whisk in the sugar until it turns pale and thick.
Add the lemon juice, a spoonful at a time, while whisking continuously.
Stir in the lemon zest. (The original recipe doesn't say so, but it's a good idea to blanch the zest for a minute in boiling water so it becomes softer and less bitter. Drain it thoroughly before mixing it in.)

Pour the boiling water into a small bowl. Sprinkle over the gelatine and whisk until it dissolves. Gradually stir this into the yolk mixture.
In a separate bowl, beat the cream until soft peaks form. Gradually fold the cream into the yolk mixture, using a metal spoon.
Take the large bowl with the egg whites and whisk them until stiff peaks form. Carefully fold into the mixture.

Pour gently into a serving dish (glass looks lovely). Cover with cling wrap. Refrigerate overnight or until the mousse is set (at least 4 hours).

Much to my relief, the pork was perfect (my oven seems to be getting less and less reliable), and we had it with roast potatoes and red cabbage with apple. Julio loved it, he said it's what his family eats on New Year's Day, though they have it with rice and salad.
         I made two-thirds of the mousse recipe, because I knew that given my sensible guests (Julio, like Harvey, never seems to eat too much of anything), if I made it all I'd probably end up scoffing far more than was good for me. There was barely a bowl-scrape left.

Pudding on a plate

What a week. On Monday my friend Rosemary came for Wellington on a Plate; her plane landed in sunshine but by the time we got to the Te Papa carpark, en route for lunch at Hippopotamus, snowflakes were falling thickly. Lunch was terrific from start to finish, completely different from Arbitrageur - no second-class treatment, a perfect table with the best view of the harbour (slate-grey, with a strange snowlit sky over the dark Eastbourne hills) and excellent service to go with the faultless food (Wairarapa lamb shank tortellini, bluenose on sautéed Ōtaki leeks with beurre blanc sauce). After a trip to Moore Wilson, we got home just before the snow covered the drive to match the garden.
           We had some more good lunches, but the star turn was the concert and dinner put on by La Bella Italia at the Lower Hutt Little Theatre. By then the exotic snow had given way to relentless sheets of rain and a howling southerly, so we were incredibly grateful when two of the four friends we were going with drove us out and then insisted on driving us back, even though they live in the Hutt. Four soaring songs from soprano Julia Booth, prosecco and antipasta nibbles in the foyer, another four songs, then dinner at beautifully set tables right on the stage itself. (I think that's my black back right of centre - I was wearing warm velvet with layers underneath, and I needed them!)

We had risotto with taleggio cheese, pears, and walnuts, roast pork stuffed with prunes, and almond panna cotta. It was great fun as well as great eating, I was so pleased I'd managed to organise it.

The other highlight came courtesy of Julio. I hadn't had much time to get ready for Rosemary, and he offered to make a dessert for Monday night. I thought he said "pudding", but in fact it was "pudin" - a brilliant Brazilian version of creme caramel, again featuring condensed milk.

Pudin de leite condensado - Julio's creme caramel

Caramel:
150g sugar
1 cup hot water (poured from a boiled kettle)
Butter to coat the dish - you need a deep round china or glass dish with straight sides

Melt the butter and brush it very thinly over the base and sides of the dish.
In a small heavy-based saucepan, heat the sugar with a splash of water until about a quarter of it has melted.
Using a wooden spoon, give it a gentle stir and continue to cook and stir until it's turned to liquid and is a dark golden colour (10-15 minutes in all). Take the pan off the heat and carefully add enough water to give you the amount you need to thickly coat the base of the dish. You might need to remelt it over the heat and stir to get rid of any lumps. (I like LOTS of caramel. If you're a bit scared of this process, use the microwave caramel recipe I gave here.)
Carefully pour it into the dish, turning the dish to coat the bottom evenly and go a little way up the sides.

Creme
3 eggs
1 tin sweetened condensed milk
1 tsp flour
1 tin milk (not trim milk - use the condensed milk tin to measure it)

Preheat oven to 220C.
Sieve the eggs into a bowl.
Add condensed milk, stir well, and blend in the flour with a whisk.
Add milk and blend it in too.
Pour into the prepared dish, leave it to cool a little, and cover the dish with foil (dull side up).
Stand the dish in a metal roasting dish. Pour enough boiling water around it to come 3/4 of the way up the sides.
Bake for 1 hour or until the creme is well set. Remove from water, leave it to cool, cover with cling film and put it in the fridge. Take out at least an hour before you want to serve it.
To serve, carefully run a thin knife blade around the creme. Place a large plate with slightly raised sides or a rim (to hold any runny caramel) on top of the dish. Holding the plate firmly in place, turn the dish over so that the creme settles neatly onto the plate with the caramel on top.

This was just as delicious as any of the professional creations I ate this week. Rosemary was very impressed. Obrigado, Julio!

PS: I wrote this whole post last night but Google threw a hissy fit and lost the lot!

Les longeurs d"Arbitrageur

Ali has had a birthday recently, and she's also retired, so as Wellington on a Plate was coming up, I asked her to choose wherever she'd like to be taken for a celebratory lunch (which would also be a thank-you to her for being such a wonderful friend). She chose Arbitrageur in Featherston Street, so I booked a few weeks ago for 1 pm today. Here's what happened.

12.55 I arrive. The restaurant looks pretty full. The waiter consults his bookings and crosses ours off.
W: "You're here for Wellington on a Plate?" A. "Yes."
Waiter leads me right through the long room and gestures to two high stools side by side in front of two place settings on the end of the bar.
A. (calmly and pleasantly) "We're getting on a bit, and this isn't what I had in mind. We'd like a proper table."
Waiter consults a colleague and leads me back to a perfectly satisfactory table for two at the first banquette, behind the cash register, alongside another table for two, where a couple are waiting for their order.
A. "That's lovely, thank you."
Ali arrives, and we chat happily. Beyond us stretches the long banquette, with every seat full. Beyond the bar and in the front, there are two more spaces with smaller tables, but I can't see whether they're all full too.
1.15 Waiter comes back to take our order. Though it wasn't mentioned in the WOAP programme, we're pleased to see there's both a two-course and a three-course option, as we plan to do this properly. So we order all three at the very reasonable price of $45, including a glass of (in our case) the Ata Rangi chardonnay: Castlepoint-caught blue warehou with crushed potatoes, fennel, tomato, capers and kalamata olives; roast pork belly with apple and fennel compote; meringue with Schekter's lemon curd, creme vanille and passonfruit. Yum.
1.20  Some little slices of bread arrive (there's already olive oil on the table) and water is poured.
1.25 Our wine arrives.
1.45 Our waiter passes by. Anne: "Might some food be arriving soon?" W. "We're very busy."
2.00 Our neighbours have finished their food, which arrived some time ago (they were clearly not having the Wellington on a Plate lunch). A different waiter clears their plates. I know I should not speak to the different waiter, but by this time I am feeling distinctly odd.
Anne: "Excuse me, we've been waiting for an hour." New W. (after short silence): "I'll ask." Neighbours: "Goodness, you still haven't had yours? That is a bit slow." Anne: "And we did book. " Neighbours:  "We didn't!"
2.05 The large party starts to leave. They queue beside us to pay. This takes some time. Our waiter passes by. Anne: "Will our food be arriving soon? I'm thinking of collapsing in a dramatic faint." Waiter (who is not amused): "I'll check that it's being made."
2.10 Female waiter approaches with two plates of what look like our fish. Just as we start to perk up, she goes on past us to the front space.
2.13 Anne to Ali (who is, bless her, amused rather than embarrassed by my efforts, but is also getting very hungry): "If it doesn't arrive by 2.15, I think we'll go."
2.14  Our first course arrives. It is delicious and we polish it off reasonably fast. By this time the large party have all gone and the staff are resetting the long table. We may well be the last lunchers left.
2.25 Our second course arrives. We eat that a little more slowly. The pork belly is beautifully cooked and goes very well with the exquisite tiny morsels of apple, etc.
2.35 Waiter brings out our desserts, hesitates, takes them on past us and presumably puts them somewhere in the space out front to wait until we're ready for them. Fortunately, they're cold.
2.40 Our plates are cleared and the dessert is brought. The waiter also brings us two complimentary glasses of dessert wine, "because of the wait". I could be wrong, but I don't recollect hearing any actual words of apology. Still, we are suitably thankful.
We finish our desserts and wine slowly - perfect meringues with soft centres, like miniature pavlovas - follow them with coffee (promptly produced), pay (with nothing about our experience said on either side at the till), and leave about 3 pm.
Very good food, yes, and definitely a long lunch - but certainly not the relaxed experience I'd planned. Thank goodness Ali and I have been friends for such a long time.

Eating in and out

Last Friday I left pasta and creamy fish sauce in the fridge for Julio and took off. I struck it doubly lucky - the first night it was my brother-in-law's birthday dinner - fillet steak, mushrooms, mashed potato, broccoli and red pepper, brilliant baked parsnips with walnuts...

...then my other sister (who had just had a birthday) took me out for toothsome Thai, while her husband watched the rugby; and on Monday I went into town early and took myself out for an excellent breakfast. 



Monday night it was back to cooking happily for Julio, who has of course neatly solved my solitary dinner problem for the time being, and greatly enjoys almost everything I give him (not so keen on lamb, though).

The parsnip recipe came from that great New Zealand classic, Digby Law's A Vegetable Cookbook (I have the well-worn original hardback, pulished in 1978, but it was reissued by Hachette in 2007). I've still got some Waikanae walnuts, so I'll be making these soon.




Buttered parsnips with walnuts (Digby Law)

750g parsnips
1/3 cup water
6 spring onions, chopped
salt and pepper
50g butter
1 Tbsp chopped parsley
50g walnut pieces

Heat oven to 180C. Put scraped, sliced parsnips (best cut lengthwise through the core) in an ovenproof dish and add water, spring onions, salt and pepper. Dot with butter. Bake, covered, for 50 minutes or until parsnips are tender. In the meantime, toast the walnuts in a shallow dish in the oven for about 10 minutes.    
Just before serving, stir the parsley into the parsnips and sprinkle them with the toasted walnuts.