Drunken Figs

Fig season seems to come and go in the blink of an eye.

Every year it is the same.

No sooner have I noted their presence in market stalls and scurried home to research new recipes, than they disappear, and I am left to wait another twelve months for experimentation.

Missed opportunities due to too much research.  Story of my life.

This year, I grabbed the figs and ran.  And in my haste, I forgot to test them for ripeness.

Normally, when I think figs, I think fragrant, pregnant parcels of sweetness, all juice and seeds.

The ones I pulled from my paper bag were disappointingly dry and unyielding.  

What to do?

Apply lateral thinking, and do what you would with any dry and unyielding specimen brought home in haste, without proper vetting: loosen them up with a bit of grog.

Several mighty slugs of brandy, a tablespoon or three of brown sugar, water to just barely cover the fruit (stems trimmed and split in half), a medium flame, and we were off.

Twenty minutes later, I had a pot of sticky, syrupy, figgy indulgence.

Warmed and spooned over plain-Jane porridge or simple vanilla ice cream, it makes the mundane divine.

No recipe required.

But you might want a cigarette.

Extra-Rich Golden Lemon Curd

Things I love about Melbourne:

Lying in bed, and hearing the tram turn the corner.   

Buzzing cafes, spilling over, morning, noon and night.  

Nearly every coffee is a great coffee.

Thriving, independent bookstores, filled with real, actual books. 

Endless pockets of quirky, one-off shops.

Old and new sitting well together.

The attention to design and style in almost everything.

Things I hate about Melbourne:

The weather.  

Winter has been dark, wet and dreary, as evidenced by my shadowy, window-lit pics.  

A feeble complaint from a girl who grew up praying for snow days and trudging through slush, perhaps, but I've gone soft.

Luckily, nature is sometimes merciful.

Just when you think you can't stand another day of gumboots and inverted umbrellas, lemons appear.

Edible sunshine.

Spreadable sunshine, actually, if you meld them with eggs, sugar, and butter to make Extra-Rich Golden Lemon Curd.

Two things set this recipe, adapted from la Martha, apart:

1. egg yolks - six, to be exact, and not a white in sight.  A yolk-only approach makes for a richer, thicker curd.  You could go with three whole eggs, for a lighter result, but why?
2. straining - not once, but twice.  First, the egg yolks and, later, the final emulsion.  When you see what's left in the sieve, you'll be glad you did. 

The result from this ridiculously simple recipe is a decadent pot of goodness - or badness, depending upon how you look at it.

I went through a half-loaf of bread to get these shots.

The props kept disappearing.

But I forgot all about the weather.

Extra-Rich Lemon Curd

Adapted from Martha Stewart's 1995 recipe.

Yield: 1.5 cups

Ingredients

6 organic egg yolks, beaten

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup lemon juice, strained

1/2 cup unsalted butter, chilled and cut into small pieces

1 Tbs lemon zest, grated

Directions

1.  Start by sterilizing a glass jar for your finished product.

2.  Locate the perfect pot: it should be heavy-based and medium-sized, to reduce your odds of winding up with scrambled eggs.

3.  Separate your eggs, reserving the whites for a future meringue - or egg white omelet, should you feel the need to repent.  Egg whites can be frozen - just be sure to label them so you know how many you are dealing with later.

4.  Beat the yolks until smooth and strain through a fine mesh sieve, directly into the saucepan.  Don't push what remains through the sieve; you don't want it in there.

5.  Grate the zest from one lemon and set aside.

6.  Add the lemon juice and sugar to the egg yolk and stir to combine.

7.  Over a low, gentle heat, stir continuously for 10-15 minutes, until the mixture coats the back of a wooden spoon.

8.  Remove from the heat and pour through a clean sieve, into a mixing bowl.

9.  Swiftly add the chilled butter pieces and mix through - this will lend a satiny sheen as well as cool your mixture.

10.  Add the grated lemon zest - 1 Tbs if you are going regulation, more if you prefer extra pucker.

11.  Make a piece of toast with white bread only - the kind you'd never admit to buying.  Spread your toast with salted butter.  Slather it with your lemon curd.  Repeat as necessary.

12.  Transfer what remains to your glass container and refrigerate.

In theory, it will keep for two weeks, but I suspect we'll never know.  

Soup, For Whatever Ails You

We are in weakened state, with two boys down and a mother rapidly following suit.

This calls for Chicken Noodle Soup.

Like all great recipes, it's not so much original as it is reinterpreted.

Inspired by Jora, who was inspired by a friend, this has evolved to become my go-to sick-bed recipe.

The chicken is cooked in stock, rather than in water to make stock, resulting in a broth that is doubly rich and golden.

The lemon juice (just a squeeze) is the super-duper, not-to-be-overlooked secret ingredient that puts it over the top.

Double chicken flavour, with a hint of vitamin C.

Potent stuff.

I hope you and yours are well, but if not, make this and you soon will be.



Chicken Noodle Soup

1 whole free-range chicken
1 litre chicken stock (I used Cambell's Low-Sodium in a carton - don't judge me)
3 carrots chopped (I like mine smallish)
3 celery stalks with leaves, chopped (ditto)
1 large or two small onions, chopped
1 Tbs lemon juice
1 handful of continental parsely, chopped fine
1 packet flat egg noodles (optional)

Put the chicken in a large pot and add the stock.  If the liquid doesn't quite cover the bird, top it up with water from the kettle.  Bring to a boil.  Lower the heat and simmer, partially covered.  Cook gently for 40-ish minutes (I like my chicken slow-cooked and tender, but be careful: if you let it go too long it will become stringy and mealy.  Yuck).  Remove the chicken from the pot to a platter.

Melt a knob of butter in a large frying pan, add the carrots, celery and onion and saute without browning, until the onion is translucent and the carrot and celery begin to soften.  Add to the broth and simmer away.

Meanwhile, remove the skin from the chicken and pull the meat apart into bite-sized strips.  (I set the white meat aside to be used in sandwiches and salads, returning only the darker meat to the pot).

Now, for the noodles: I cook mine in a wire basket submerged in the pot of broth and vegetables - this way, the noodles get great flavor and I can lift them out of the pot in one motion, store them in a separate container and add as needed, without worrying about them getting mushy, or leave them out entirely, as individual tastes demand.

Return the meat to the pot, add the all-import squeeze of lemon, and tip in the parsley.

Put noodles in bowls, ladle hot soup over noodles, and watch it disappear.


Image via Seabold Vintage Market - I love everything in this shop.

Dude Food, or How To BBQ Without A Barbecue?

Eight hours' sleep and several hastily discarded resolutions later, the Pulled Pork BBQ Sandwiches that rang in our New Year made an encore appearance at the breakfast table.

I am a weak, weak woman, easily undone by soft white rolls, tender meat and the sweet tang of simmering sauce. 

Dude food may be the flavor of the month (see Matt Preston on this trend), but for me, this little piggie is all about nostalgia. 

Lately, I've had a taste for a bit of barbecue - specifically, Rocklands BBQ & Grilling Company, a staple of my twelve years spent south of the Mason-Dixon line. 

Their signature sauce, poured hot over a beef brisket sandwich and a side of roughly mashed potatoes, sustained me on many a night (and morning after).  My carnivorous madeleine.  Sigh.

But what is a girl without a Webber, let alone a hickory-fed smoker, to do?

Improvise, with North Carolina-style Pulled-Pork Barbecue done in the oven (see the Cook's Note at the of the recipe, and my notes below). 

That's right - the oven.

Apartment dwellers and suburban rebels alike, heed my call:  you do not need a barbecue to make great barbecue. 

Never mind digging a pit for a whole pig or firing up the barbie - just whack what you need in a roasting pan, cover with brine and parchment, seal with foil, and away you go.  With a lot of time (largely unattended) and a little basting, the pork, cooking in a cider vinegar and it's own fat, will be falling off the bone and ready to be pulled into bite sized pieces.  Too easy.

For the all-important sauce, I played a bit of regional hop-scotch and jumped over to Kansas City, where they like it thicker and sweeter (the North Carolina version is bit thin and vinegary for my liking) and some simple, tasty coleslaw. 

One non-negotiable that both regions can agree on: soft white rolls.  This is not the time for anything vaguely 'organic', 'granary', or 'artisan'.  Think Bubba, not Buhdda. 

So, visit your butcher, mix up some brine, fire the oven, put your friends on notice and the beer on ice.  


It's barbecue time.

Note: although the Cook's Note indicates that oven roasting will take between 5-6 hours, depending upon the size of your pork shoulder, mine (3.5 kgs/7.5lbs) took the full nine hours - five in the oven at 180C, followed by four hours at 100C.  I also dispensed with the "remove the skin and roast on a tray, while you brown the meat" step - I didn't see the need.  Not that I don't love pork crackling, I do, but I didn't want to risk drying out the meat with the browning step, nor did I see the need - pulled pork is more about moist, succulent meat, not browned edges.  Otherwise, I followed the all the recipes (North Carolina pulled-pork,sauce and coleslaw) to a tee (though I did use a mix of green and purple cabbage for the slaw - a girl's gotta have a bit of color!).

Best. Cookbook. Ever.

I love Asian.  I love fresh.  I love flavor.  I love Bill (see here, here and here).  But, above all, I love easy.

That last part is a bit of a revelation.

I have been known to go to great (read: ridiculous) lengths in my quest to replicate the food I love.

No more.

Three dinners, averaging 30 minutes effort each (tops), no crazy ingredient sourcing and two new family favorites later, this is it.

Bill's Everyday Asian.

Never. Looking. Back.

Hot tip: try Spa-style Poached Chicken With Sesame Bean Salad - my tough-to-please little one gave it two thumbs up, and both boys raved about Hoisin Chicken With A Celery Salad (okay, we substituted carrot sticks, but the chicken was a hit).

Mother's Day Macaroni & Cheese

(Photograph by Amanada McLauchlan)

Why is it that two people can follow exactly the same recipe and get entirely different results?

For a long time now, I have been on the hunt for an outstanding macaroni and cheese recipe.

My mother-in-law has one, as my husband, without fail, reminds me.  

"Just ask Mum."

I have.  And I made it.  And it flopped.  More than once.

Why?  

It's not a complicated preparation (boil macaroni; strain; stir in sauce; bake).

It doesn't require any obscure ingredients (think 'can of tomato soup' rather than 'white truffle oil').

But there is something about the way that she makes it, that makes it.  

And no matter how I try, it can't be replicated, because our mother's food is more than the sum of its ingredients.

It's the essence of our childhood.  

It's all the love, hope, wishes, dreams and best intentions a mother can muster, made edible and presented on a plate, with a full heart. 

This mother's day, I finally hit the jackpot with a Mac N' Cheese recipe that is the new gold standard - for my boys.  

For my husband, there will always be one incomparable preparation: Mum's.  

And that's just as it should be.   

Happy Mother's Day, Simone!

Mother's Day Macaroni & Cheese

(adapted from this recipe, pictured above)

Diners should present a note from their cardiologist before tucking in.  The original recipe is named aptly "Fondue-Style Macaroni Cheese".  It's divine.  I tried to balance all the fondue-y goodness by adding a bag of baby spinach and serving a bright green salad on the side, but I wasn't fooling anyone.  It makes enough to serve a small crowd (8, generously) and would be perfect after a day on the slopes.  Otherwise, it should be left on quarterly - rather than weekly - rotation, unless you want a family full of weeble-wobbles.  

400g macaroni

1 Tbs olive oil

250g sliced pancetta, chopped

50g unsalted butter

2½ cups fresh bread crumbs panko*

2 Tbs chopped flat-leaf parsley

600 ml milk 

600 ml cream

¼ cup plain flour

225g Fontina Gruyere**, grated

300g Cheddar, grated

One bag pre-washed baby spinach

Sea salt & freshly-ground white pepper

Preheat oven to 180˚C (350˚F).  Grease a 2-litre  baking dish.  Cook pasta in boiling salted water until al dente.  Drain well and set aside.

Meanwhile, heat oil in a frying pan over medium heat.  Add the pancetta and stir, cooking until slightly crispy.  Add the butter and bread crumbs, and cook until golden, stirring regularly.  

Place milk, ream and flour in a large heatproof bowl.  Lightly whisk to combine.  Add half the cheese and microwave on medium, stirring at regular intervals, until the cheese begins to melt.  Stir gently to combine - do not over-mix.  Add the pasta, then stir in remaining cheese.  Season with sea salt and white pepper.  Stir in spinach and transfer to baking dish.  Sprinkle with crumbs and bake 30 minutes, until bubbling and golden.

*Panko is a type of flaky Japanese bread crumb that gives an extra-cruchy result.  Appropriately enough, my mother-in-law, Simone, introduced me to Panko and it works a treat every time.  It's found in the Asian section of most grocery stores and bares no resemblance to other commercially prepared breadcrumbs, which look and taste like sawdust.   

**I used Gruyere in place of Fontina because I had a block in the fridge.  Fontina melts beautifully and would be amazing in this recipe, but, unlike Gruyere, it can be difficult to find unless you are visiting a specialty shop.  

Princess Blinis

How I love a good wedding.

Friday night was all about pink plastic tiaras, French champagne, mile wide smiles and wildly enthusiastic commentary. 

I was lucky enough to be invited to a Princess Party.  

Eight girls and eight plates.  

Perfect - just like the bride.

My contribution: Blinis.  

Princess Blinis, that is.

Somehow I doubt that baby pancakes topped with gobs of sour cream cream and caviar qualify as Dukan-friendly fare, but I do hope that Mrs. Windsor made an exception and managed to enjoy something involving carbohydrates at the reception. 

Or do you think there was a drive-thru situation on the ride home? 

Probably not; I don't think Macca's can accommodate a coach and four.

But I love the image, so let's consider this a Blini Big Mac, fit for a future queen.

Bon appetit, Princess Kate!

(That has a nice ring to it, don't you think?!)

Princess Blinis (makes one dozen stacks)

My blinis spent a good hour+ sitting on a platter before meeting their intended recipients, but if you can make these to order, all the better.  Warm and fluffy, they taste even more - much more - divine, as I discovered in the interest of quality control.  Anything for research.

The recipe is adapted from one found on epicurious.  I swapped their buckwheat flour blini batter for my fail-safe Sunday morning standard, minus the teaspoon of sugar. Technically, this may mean that they are simply jumped-up pancakes with blini aspirations, but according to sniping cynics, that may be entirely appropriate!   

Pancakes 

225 g self-rising flour

2 eggs, separated

30 g melted butter, plus extra for frying

300 ml milk

pinch of salt

Melt the butter and allow to cool slightly.  Meanwhile, beat the eggs whites until stiff.  In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, melted butter, egg yolks, milk and salt.  Allow to sit for 20 minutes or so, then gently fold in the egg whites.

Melt butter in a non-stick pan over medium heat and drop small teaspoons of batter to make tiny pancakes.  Once air bubbles appear on the surface of the cakes, turn them over and cook for an additional minute or so.  

  

Egg Salad

2 hard-boiled eggs, finely chopped

4 tablespoons sour cream

3-4 tablespoons chives, finely chopped

Combine the ingredients and season with salt, to taste.

Garnishes

100 g smoked salmon, sliced into bite-sized pieces

sour cream, dolloped

1 small jar caviar (I used salmon roe)

chives, finely chopped

Stack pancakes as follows:

1. pancake
2. smoked salmon
3. egg salad
4. pancake
5. dollop of sour cream
6. spoonful of caviar
7. sprinkle with chives

And don't forget the serviettes, like I did.  Princesses shouldn't lick their fingers.  At least, not in public.

Bill + Nigella = Fluffiest Pancakes Ever

Back in the day, when I thought nothing of hand-whisking egg-whites on a Sunday morning till my biceps (and the starving children) cried out for mercy, I was a devotee of Bill Granger's Ricotta Hotcakes With Honeycomb Butter.

They were sublime.

But unless you have something significant riding on brunch (like a ring) or you're a male celebrity chef whose children are most likely being tended by a wife or nanny off-screen (ouch - sorry, Bill), these hotcakes represent an awfully big commitment.

So I turned to Nigella, patron saint of lazy, hungry girls and harried mothers everywhere.

What her American Pancakes lacked in delicacy, they made up for in speed and ease.

And as sporting events began to dominate our weekends, this no-frills affair became the Sunday morning go-to recipe.

But, although well received by DB, our resident pancake buff, the truth is they just never did it for me.

Like so many of their bretheren, they bore that heavy, leaden quality that has me inwardly groaning at first sight, let alone last bite.

Fast forward many moons and empty calories later, to a rare brain-wave between Christmas parties:

I now had a free-standing mixer (thank you, CB)....

What if I combined Bill's stiff egg-whites technique + Nigella's speedy recipe?

It may not be E=mc², but, then again, it might be.

It's all relative.

Try this: use your favorite recipe, but separate the eggs.  Incorporate the yolks as you would the whole egg.  Meanwhile, beat the whites to stiff peaks and fold into the batter as the final step.

Then, prepare yourself for a long session at the stovetop, because the calls for "MORE!" will keep you busy.

Just don't miss out a stack for yourself.  The only groans will be pleasure induced.

Sunday Night Jam Session

'Make jam' has long been on my list of domestic mountains to conquer, right behind 'knit a presentable scarf' but somewhere before 'keep bees'.

Late Sunday night, after a day of picking, hulling, sterilizing and stirring (and stirring, and stirring, and stirring), I got there.

Around about midnight (did I mention the stirring?), burned, sticky and buzzing from way too many taste-tests, I collapsed.  

But it was well worth it.

We now have enough jars of ruby red jam - Strawberry and Rhubarb Vanilla - to see us through dozens and dozens of scones, biscuits and breakfasts, not to mention a few jars set aside for this year's Teachers Christmas Gift.

The Strawberry Jam (which demanded all the stirring due to the volumes involved) can be kept stored in the cupboard, provided the jars are properly sterilized and sealed.

But the Rhubarb Vanilla Jam (which was quick, easy, and even more delicious) must be kept in the fridge where, theoretically, it may be kept for two weeks.

We'll never know.

I recommend tripling the quantities.

You'll be glad you did.

Donna Hay's Rhubarb Vanilla Jam

250g (8.75 oz) rhubarb, trimmed and chopped

1 cup caster (superfine) sugar 

1 vanilla bean, split and scraped

2 tablespoons water

Place the rhubarb, sugar, vanilla and water in a saucepan over low heat and stir until the sugar is dissolved.  Increase the heat to medium and simmer for 8-10 minutes or until thickened.  Remove the vanilla bean and discard.  Spoon the jam into a sterilized 1-cup (8 fl oz) capacity glass jar and seal.  Makes 1 cup (8 fl oz).

Lunch In A Box

Monday through Friday, I send two young boys off to school toting boxed lunches.  

Our container of choice is the Nude Food Lunch Box, for the following reasons:

1. They encourage trash-free lunches; 
2. They are easy to open (important for little hands);
3. They've endured two school terms of abuse, so you know they're sturdy;  
4. The compartments prompt variety, shaking me out of my lunch-packing malaise; and, most importantly
5. They are all-in-one piece, so I never have to play find-the-matching-tupperware-lid early in the morning, when I am in no mood for games of any kind.

Our boxes rarely look like the one in the picture above, but they're not too shabby.

They always contain some combination of fruit, carrot sticks, cheese and crackers, organic popcorn, a biscuit, and a sandwich.

The sandwiches are the wild card, their nutritional value varying radically depending upon where we are in the grocery shopping cycle: chicken salad or ham and cheese if we’re flush, vegemite or honey if we’re scraping the bottom of the chiller drawer.

Now that I must leave the house to get an internet connection, I decided it was time to get a lunch box of my own and, today, I finally packed lunch for myself.     

Not coincidentally, we were flush and I scored Asian-style Salad with Roast Chicken. 

It was a fresh, healthy and a satisfying alternative to the ubiquitous bread-y fare offered by cafes.  

One more toasted sandwich, and I would have been in very real danger of requiring two stools to balance my girth at the counter.  

Crisis averted, deliciously.

Asian-style Salad With Roast Chicken

serves 4

1 Lebanese cucumber

1 large carrot, peeled

1 head small Chinese cabbage (wombok)

4 spring onions, finely sliced

½ cup roast chicken, meat shredded

½ cup bean sprouts

½ cup mint leaves

½ cup coriander leaves

¼ cup chopped peanut

Dressing

4 Tbs caster sugar

2/3 cup rice wine vinegar

2 Tbs light soy sauce

1 tsp sesame oil

pinch ground Szechuan pepper

1. Place the sugar and vinegar in a small pan over low heat and stir one minute, until sugar dissolves.  Increase the heat to medium and gently simmer for 2-3 minutes until syrupy.  Pour into a heatproof bowl, cool for 10 minutes, then stir in the soy sauce, sesame oil and szechuan pepper.
2. Meanwhile, cut the cucumber lengthwise and scoop out the seeds.  Cut the cucumber and peeled carrot into matchsticks and place in a large bowl.  Finely shred the cabbage and add to the bowl, along with the chicken, spring onions, sprouts and herbs.  Pour over the dressing, toss, and sprinkle with peanuts, OR store the dressing in leak-proof container for tossing later.

On The Move

We are about to move house for the fourth time in four and a half years.

You would think, with that much practice, that I'd be on top of things by now.

I'm not.

I am still frantically de-cluttering and ebaying, and have not begun to assemble the boxes, let alone fill them.

Did I mention we move on Saturday?

Of all the many balls that continue to crash down around my ears, you will be relieved to know that my commitment to producing desserts that are guaranteed to add pounds upon sight, is not among them.

Three words, Ladies and Gentlemen:

Pear Tart Tatin

Never, in all my years of over-indulgence, have I gotten so big a return for so little effort.

I made this for a mid-week guest and CB's enthusiasm at the table was practically indecent.

I think he scared her.

The recipe comes from the May 2010 issue of Country Style, compliments of country chef David Swain.

Sorry, no photo of mine - it was gone in a flash.

We gobbled it up with Maggie Beer's Elderflower & Vanilla Bean Ice Cream.

Sensational.

Which reminds me, I should probably put my virgin ice cream maker on ebay.

Pear Tart Tatin
serves 4

125g unsalted butter
1/2 cup caster sugar
4 Corella pears, peeled, cored and halved
375 packet Careme 'All Butter' puff pastry

Combine butter and sugar in a pan over medium heat.  Cook until sugar has melted and the mixture is golden.

Add pears and cook for 15-20 minutes until golden, turning occasionally.  Remove pears and resrve caramelized cooking juices.

Preheat oven to 200°C / 390°F.  Arrange pears over the base of a heavy, ovenproof frying pan (cut sides up).  Place sheet of pastry over pears, and trim.  Brush pastry with caramel sauce from original pan.

Bake tart in pan for 20 minutes or until pastry turns golden brown.

Invert tart onto a serving plate.  Service with ice-cream or cream.

Images found here and here.

Bonfire Soup

(UPDATE: I originally forgot to say what you do with the pancetta in the recipe below.  Whoops!  Thank you for the heads up, Jane and Helen.  I've added that bit, in orange.  Apologies!)

If you are sick of arguing about screen time, or whose turn it is to choose the DVD, or how long someone has been hogging the Wii, or explaining (again) that DSL access is not an inalienable right, go outside and light a fire.  A bonfire, that is.

Dispatch the squabbling children to gather as much wood as they can carry.

Build a pyre.  Make it a big one.

Invite the neighbors.

Pull out some marshmallows.

Let the kids (finally) play with sticks.

Find an extra long branch for a late-night limbo contest.

Pitch a tent for sleepy little ones.

And pass around mugs of hot soup, with hunks of thick, chewy sourdough.

(A glass of wine wouldn't go astray, either.)

Wii?  What Wii?  Can we do this again, Mum?  Tomorrow???

Fire trumps electronics, every time.

I love living in the Hills.

Bonfire Soup (aka Roast Pumpkin Soup With Pancetta & Parmesan), adapted from Gourmet Traveller

Everyone has a go-to pumpkin (butternut squash) soup recipe, but this one has, for me, eclipsed all previous interpretations.  I finally tried it as a result of my magazine culling project and it has earned a permanent place in the rotation.  The secret is in the pancetta, which gives it a meaty heartiness that is incredibly satisfying - perfect for a chilly Autumn night around the bonfire.  Enjoy.

p.s.  My son's kindergarten class has a brilliant healthy snack program: each Monday during the Autumn and Winter months, the children take turns bringing in a pot of their favorite soup, and some bread, to share with the class.

The benefits are trifold: everyone gets a warm snack on a chilly day; children are exposed to new foods, which they are more inclined to try in a group situation; and it's nutritious.

DB chose Bonfire Soup for his contribution and it was a hit, with boys coming back for second helpings.  Kid-tested, mother-approved.  What better endorsement could you ask for?

3 butternut pumpkins (about 1.2 kg each), unpeeled, quartered, seeds removed
100 ml olive oil
40 gm butter, coarsely chopped
2 red onions, thinly sliced
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
130 gm round mild pancetta, finely chopped
2 litres (8 cups) chicken stock
1 tbsp thyme leaves
90 gm finely grated parmesan

1.5 tbsp red wine vinegar

1.  Preheat oven to 200C.  Place pumpkin skin-side down on an oven tray lined with baking paper, drizzle with olive oil, season to taste, roast until very tender and caramelised (50 minutes - 1 hour).  Scoop flesh out of skins (discard skins), set aside.
2.  Heat butter and remaining olive oil in a saucepan over medium heat, add onion and garlic, sauté until golden (6-8 minutes).  Add pancetta, sauté until crisp (2-3 minutes), add pumpkin, stock and thyme.  Bring to the simmer, cook until flavors infuse (8-10 minutes).  Process with hand-held blender until very smooth, stir through parmesan and vinegar, season to taste and keep warm.

3. Optional:  If you want to be fancy-pantsy, you could make some parmesan toast by combining 100 gm butter (softened), 75 gm of parmesan, and 1 finely chopped garlic clove, spreading the mixture over thin baguette slices and grilling.  I was lazy and went for a loaf of artisan sourdough, which we ripped apart with our hands - very primal.  Must have been all that fire....

Image of bonfire found here.

Heavy Rotation: Polenta, Goat's Curd & Tomato Salad

This dish, first enjoyed at my lovely neighbor Catherine's, haunted me for days before I finally got my act together and made it.

It has been on heavy dinner rotation ever since.

CB, who normally dismisses anything leafy as inadequate for the evening meal, devours it every time.

The key lies in the sizzling chorizo and grilled polenta - both hearty and hot enough to keep things from drifting into girly salad territory.

When serving myself, I double up on spinach and tomatoes and cut back on polenta and sausage, thus deferring my inevitable trip to the cardiologist for another day.

Meat for him, salad for her, and everyone is happy.

Polenta, Mozzerella Goat's Curd And Tomato Salad 
(adapted from Donna Hay's Magazine, 50th Issue Edition, Warm Salads article)
serves 4

3 cups (750ml) chicken stock
1 cup instant polenta
60g butter, chopped
 ½ cup (40g) 1 cup finely grated parmesan
sea sald and cracked black pepper
extra-virgin olive oil, for drizzling
300g truss cherry tomatoes
2 chorizo, sliced
80g 125g baby spinach leaves
360g buffalo mozzerela, torn ½ cup goat's curd

dressing
2 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 clove garlic, crushed minced

Preheat oven to 220℃ (425℉).  Place the stock in a saucepan over medium heat and bring to the boil.  Gradually whisk in the polenta and cook, stirring for 2-3 minutes or until thickened.  Remove from heat and stir through the butter, parmesan, salt and pepper.  (At this point, I found my polenta to be too thick and mealy; by adding a bit of hot water, just a splash at a time, I eventually got the creamy - not runny - consistency and volume I was after.  Play this step by ear.)  Pour into a lightly greased 20cm X 20cm tin and refrigerate for 45 minutes or until set.  Turn out onto a board and cut into wedges.  Place on a lightly greased baking try and drizzle with oil.  Roast for 15 minutes or until golden and crisp.  Set aside and keep warm.

While the polenta is roasting, make the dressing.  Place the vinegar, oil and garlic in a bowl and stir to combine.  Pour the vinegar and garlic into a glass jar, season with sea salt and ground pepper, screw on the lid and shake until the salt disolves.  Add the oil and shake vigorously until the dressing is emulsified. Set aside.

Place the tomatoes and chorizo on a baking tray and drizzle with oil.  Roast for 3-5 minutes or until the chorizo is crisp and the tomatoes are tender.  Scatter the spinach leaves on the plates or platter, top with the polenta, followed by the tomatoes and chorizo.  Dot with goat's curd and spoon over the dressing.

Enjoy.