The first roast chicken & heating a UK kitchen:

My first shot at roast chicken was as a traveller living overseas in the UK in 1999. We liked to refer to ourselves as 'dirty backpakers', despite the fact that we had a fixed address most of the time, for most of the year.

It was Easter and I was homesick. My girlfiend and I considered ourselves to be not half bad in the kitchen. So in a bid to feel closer to our roots at this family time of year, we invited the local priest of the girls boarding school we worked at round for dinner. Father D was a lovely guy in his 50's with a penchant for whiskey and telling bad jokes. We loved him and he certainly had time for us in the holidays when the girls from the boarding school were home with their families. 

We all shared mango for dessert as a nod to our homesickness for sunshine and beaches- sadly it was unripe and tasted remarkably like fruity cardbaord- still, the spirit was there.

What I remember most about our flat in Ascot was the kitchen.

Windows down one end overlooked the large flat lawn leading to the woods behind the house. We were three floors up, top floor hidden under the eves- but the kitchen window was bright and clear with a perfect view of the squirrels and the back-burning below. Burning off days were my favourite, with the groundsmen in their gumboots piling bonfire heaps of refuse and then watching it smoulder away in the mist.

Somtimes I didn't even mind being on the weeks washing-up duty because of that view. 

The heating in our flat was intermittent at best- wall heaters would fail in the night and hot water was questionable and limited for a house of five girls. Do the washing up and there were no hot showers for a while. On really cold days I would turn on the oven and sit in the kitchen with the door sealed shut, reading a book. Somtimes I might even bake a cake while the oven was on, depending on what groceries we had. Homemade croissants were a favourite after we'd all done a cooking class on them. No wonder we all put on weight. 

Still, the roast chicken Easter lunch was a success- despite the poor tools we had and the unripe mango. In many ways getting this dish right through pure luck and a 'lets just do this' attitude was a right of passage. It proved to me that with the right kind of will, you can cook anything, anywhere.
You don't need fancy pots, good knives, matching plates or even an oven with even temperature. What you need is the desire to do it, people around you with a good sense of humour and a willingness to at least give it a go.
Being sensible about reading the way your oven distributes heat also helps- a little jiggle and shift here and there got our bird evenly browned and cooked through, without burning it to a crisp.

To this day the memory of that meagre and somewhat haphazard feast is one of joy and it stands as one of the better meals I have eaten in my time. Nothing quite like a roast with friends to banish homesickness and enjoy the moment.

Roast Chicken with salt and lemon:

The best rule with roast chicken is always just to keep it simple.

1. Rub salt on the chicken inside and out and leave covered in the fridge for a few hours until ready to cook.
2. Thoroughly preheat the oven to 190degC
3. Rub the chicken with oil and season with salt and pepper
4. Stuff the cavity with two halves of a whole lemon- feel free to squeeze the juice around the cavity 
5. Place the chicken on a wire rack over a tray of water (use boiling water so it's up to temperature)
6. Place the chicken dish on the middle tray of your oven and bake for 45 mins
7. Turn the chicken and leave for another 40min
8. Turn the chicken right side up again for another 5mins
9. Rest for 5min and the joint and serve with a salad/veg of your choice

Note: Mango for desert is a geat idea, as long as it's ripe.
Chook chook.

To never taste again

Backdate: 8th of February 2010-

I can't stop thinking about my uncle. He can no longer speak and he has lost the opportunity to eat. He who already lost his sight and walked haltingly with a cane and dark glasses- he can now no longer speak, eat or taste.
The result of 40-odd years of smoking.
Because cigarettes will do more than kill you.

Over the phone my mum tells me horrific stories of him, her big brother, mouthing words like 'help me' and the panic in his eyes when he realised that he could no longer make a sound. Her happier stories tell of moments that say 'i love you'- great strides for a relationship stranded by years of pain, his alcoholism and her hurt.
I was sitting at a favourite cafe as I thought all these things, musing over C the barista slipping me a sly latte that magically didn't show up on the bill. Wallowing in a bowl of spiced breakfast cous cous.
We make friends in the strangest places, particularly when there is food involved.
C is a kisser. A toucher. But I still didn't expect the outpouring of love with a big hug that I received when I told him about my uncle. In a world of food lovers, the thought of never eating again, much less speaking, is a terrible reality that strikes a chord.
C never even met the man, and still my sad news was met with a genuine need to show solidarity and support. Maybe my sadness and confusion were more evident than I thought. Perhaps the idea of never being able to speak, taste or eat again strikes harder than we can imagine.
I am conflicted.
Happy that the medical profession can ease the suffering of my life-long smoking uncle, horrified by the life that this help confines him to.
Apparently he jokes that there is only so much pureed bolognaise that one man can take.

Cheap Eats 2010 arrives-

I love the arrival of a fresh book- particularly when it's full of great places to eat!
So here tis! Cheap Eats 2010 hit stands this week, and for the second year in a row my name is in tiny little letters in the contributors section. Good fun and happy eating to all those insatiable munchers out there.

May you find delicious and reasonably priced eats around every corner.

Epicure article: The Age Cheap Eats 2010

The best salad ever:

Okay- 'the best salad ever' might be a bit of an over statement. After all, I've still got an awful lot of salad to try before my tasty time on this earth is dine, errr done.
In the meantime, let's go for 'the best salad yet' for this finocchio treat (and yes I do know that finocchio is also slang for poof in Italian- so I have a number of friends who LOVE this salad for just the reason! Yay for Mardi Gras!).
And I'll freely admit that I am in love with it, for it's cute name and flavour.
Happily, so is Patience, so there's a lot of salad on the menu right now. Which is great considering I have 9 months to get ship-shape for my wedding dress and a whole lot of good eating to do between now and then- and I don't plan on stinting in the food department, maybe just modifying is all. Damned be diets! So finding an adorable salad option that makes a meal all on its own is just a win-win-win for me!

Ingredients:

• 2 medium fennel bulbs- finely shredded
• 1 tsp coriander seeds
• 2 tablespoons walnuts- smashed
• 1/2 tsp salt (or to taste)
• 2 tsp pomegranate molasses
• good squeeze lemon juice (we use half a lemon)
• drizzle of olive oil (best quality really makes all the difference)
• grind of fresh cracked black pepper
• Tablespoon fresh mint- shredded
• dash of white wine vinegar

Method:
In a mortar and pestle smash the coriander seeds, walnuts and salt- then lightly toast in a hot frypan. When the fragrances are released, take it off the heat- you don't want this to burn. Put to one side.
In a large salad bowl toss shredded fennel, lemon juice, olive oil, pepper, mint and red-wine vinegar to coat and combine. Toss through the toasted nut mix and last or all add the pomegranate molasses. Toss through and serve in a big white bowl as a light and satisfying dinner for two.
Serve with a chilled white or rose and then quietly drift away to heaven on a crunchy fenocchio salad dream.

Note: this salad was inspired by a recipe from the Elizabeth Bard novel with recipes Lunch in Paris- a perfect read for any lover, foodie, or lover in love with food... let us all eat fresh from the market and surrounded by love. Even in our darkest days.
* We sometime add some fennel seeds to the nut/seed mix too.

MoVida Terraza: BreakfastOut Review

MoVida Terraza- Spanish Breakfast on the terrace:


"You feel like running with the bulls or maybe throwing some tomatoes, only problem is that despite what the menu and your brain are telling you, you're not in Spain." 


By: Jane de Graaff

Review for the brilliant www.breakfastout.com.au

The sweetness of honey

I've been obsessing over honey. It's been like this since early Spring.

Written late Sept- 2009:

I see blossoms, I think bees and then I get all gooey over honey. And today while I was out for a stroll in the early Spring sunshine, praying desperately that some would inch its way into the depths of my winter weary soul, it happened- hovering just on the edge of hearing, the first thrumming hum of the blooming weather.

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust, but once I fixed focus on the little white flowers, I started to see them, fat bottomed bees darting in and out of the corners of my consciousness.

It's a happy moment when you tune in to their pollen collecting world.

My focus has recently been tuned of course. Affected by the beautiful honey story of Grace Pundyk and her sticky sweet journey in The Honey Spinner.

When you drift off to sleep on the back of an Arabian honey tale, no wonder you dream viscous dreams and wake up with nothing but honeycomb on the brain.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------->>>>>

Back in the present- many months later and swamped by stories of city dwellers hoarding hives in backyards, on roofs and trucking them hither and thither on friends properties- I am still swimming in honied dreams. I have a pot of Tasmanian Leatherwood that I eek out into my chai tea and sneak spoonfuls of when no one is looking- it's pungent, herbal and buttery qualities lingering on the tongue.

I burn through various un-heat-treated and organic varieties, trying new ones at each trip to the market.

Christmas saw my sister gift me with a jar of Salvation Jane honey, the comb and all packed into it's glass jar. Patience has taken to chewing on nuggets of it, but only when he thinks I can't see.

We've had honey cakes, honey toast, honey tea and honey gin. You'd think that we'd be getting over it by now. But there's no sign of the obsession slowing.

I'm a stickler for supporting Aussie organic varieties, but can't help nabbing a Dabur for comparison from our local Indian grocery store (it was relegated to the 'cooking' pile).

I'm still looking for a jar of Australian native bee sugar-bag honey. But I'm not looking too hard, trying not to find it until I've whittled down at least some of my heaving honey stores...

But something still haunts me, tickling at the back of my mind.

I want to grow my own honey, start my own hives. I want to nurture a little colony and be gentle in what I take and leave for the bees. I want to label my own jars and gift them to friends and family. I want a stockpile of gluey golden gold.

One thing stands in my way... Patience and his allergy to bee-sting.

I'd like to say 'harden the fuck up'- but considering that he could potentially die if he swats one out of his way, perhaps this is a little inappropriate. And life without a hive is a damn sight easier than life without Patience.

Still- if I can't grown my own, the next best thing is to drown myself in it in the kitchen. And here is a favourite way to do it.
This recipe is adapted from Stephanie Alexander's The Cooks Companion. 
But a test here and there has helped me tweak it until it's just right for my palate.

Loukoumathes with Ironbark honey from Tasmania:  
You have to make sure that the paste is really good and smooth and it's important to have the oil nice and hot, otherwise these little Greek darlings just won't puff up the way they should.
This is one of those recipes that once you've mastered, you can whip up just about anytime to much applause. It's easy and impressive. And with the right honey... oh so sticky divine.

Ingredients:

• 1 tps instant dried yeast
• tiny pinch salt
• 1 tsp caster sugar
• 1 1/4 cup plain flour
• 1 1/4 cup warm water
• olive oil for deep frying
• Tasmanian leatherwood or other strong flavour honey to serve
• icing sugar and cinnamon to dust over for serving

Method: 

Mix the try ingredients (bar the cinnamon and icing sugar) thoroughly in a medium size bowl. Add the water a little at a time until you have a smooth paste. It's important to get it well past the dough stage to a reasonably runny paste with no lumps.

Heat the oil in a deep fry-pan and when really hot drop in spoonful (about a tablespoon) of the batter/paste. Fry until golden brown, turning to get even crunch.
Drain on paper towel and serve with a good dribble of leatherwood honey and a sprinkle of icing sugar and cinnamon to taste.
I like to serve these piping hot with a cup of mint tea. Delish at any time of the day.
  
Makes between 12 and 16 depending on the size you go for. I usually end up with fewer, bigger puff balls.

Where the wild things are: SBS Food

"When your dinner is still running free, where do you start? Jane de Graaff braves the gore and looks at the process of getting wild game from the field to the table."

By: Jane de Graaff

Note: Article featured in the food pages of the SBS website.

I owe a great deal of thanks to Greg Benton and his family for taking a rookie like me along on their family camping trip, showing me how it's done and for putting up with my many silly questions. Man did I have a lot to learn.