Category Archives: Ramblings

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ANZAC Biscuits, my way…

It’s a day late, but better late than never.

Most people are familiar with the background of the ANZAC biscuit; it probably formed part of what we learned in school, but for the sake of padding out this post, it’s claimed that the biscuits were sent by wives to soldiers abroad because the simple ingredients (rolled oats, flour, desiccated coconut, sugar, butter, golden syrup, baking soda and water) did not spoil easily. The omission of eggs was also thought to be because of the scarcity of eggs during the First World War, after most poultry farmers had joined the war effort. Then there is also the typical Trans-Tasman rivalry and conjecture around whether it was the Kiwis or the Aussies that invented the biscuit first, like the pavlova, lamington or claiming Neil and Tim Finn as our own. Alas, still no one is willing to claim Russell Crowe (don’t tell me you didn’t see that coming).

Personally, I am not a massive fan of the ANZAC biscuit. Whilst we grew up on Nan’s homemade ones, like most Australian and New Zealand kids would have, I find them too sweet. However, like Nan’s, they have to be crunchy. The soft ones just don’t seem right. But, each to their own. We are lucky we have the freedom of choice, as trivial as it is to muse over a biscuit preference. I think that falls into the category of first world problems.

Yesterday morning’s last minute decision to make ANZAC biscuits was my 6 year old’s idea. She enjoys the helping part, but I knew that she wouldn’t be a fan of the end result… mainly because it’s not a mass-produced Tiny Teddy or a packet of the recently-discovered Uglies. I had all of the ingredients on hand with the exception of rolled oats, so a quick run up to the local Foodworks ensured we could knock up a batch to take to the park later on.

At this point, the traditional recipe started to take a turn. I ended up having to settle for quick oats (the smaller cut version of whole rolled oats) because that’s all they had, which in hindsight is what I will continue to use in the future. But more on that later. As I mentioned earlier, the sweetness is what puts me off ANZAC biscuits, so I began to think about what I could do to offset the sweetness… Maybe in a number of ways. Then slowly, I began to feel a tiny pang of guilt. I was messing with such a sacrosanct recipe! It usually pisses me off when people mess around with things that shouldn’t be messed with. Now I was one of those people. However, I was prepared to overlook it when I finally tried the end result.

Firstly, I decided to back off on the sugar in the recipe, using about ¾ of a cup as opposed to a full cup. Whilst this was a bit of a risk in achieving my preferred crunchy version, I did it anyway. A higher sugar content relative to the amount of golden syrup results in a crisper biscuit, whereas a greater percentage of golden syrup gives you a softer and chewier result. I kept the golden syrup to the one tablespoon, as listed in the recipe.

The second change was the  spontaneous addition of something controversial, mainly because I saw them in Foodworks, and hardly Antipodean – Hershey Reece’s Pieces. I guess you could dedicate it to our alliance with the US. Whilst they’re still relatively sweet, I decided that they might add some of that slightly salty, peanut buttery richness in bursts.

Thirdly, hot out of the oven, I gave each biscuit a tiny pinch of Murray Pink Salt to give that slight contrast to the sweetness and finally, a drizzle of bitter, 85% dark chocolate.

The rest of the ingredients were (practically) straight up and taken from Margaret Fulton’s ANZAC Biscuit recipe… that is with the exception of the oats. Using the smaller cut, quick oats resulted in a denser biscuit. Oh, and I used dried coconut instead of desiccated. And biscuit flour instead of plain flour… Actually, in hindsight, my version a little removed from the recipe developed by our ancestors to keep our troops fuelled and motivated. But they were delicious.

ANZAC Biscuits, my way

ANZAC Biscuits, my way…

125g unsalted butter
1 tbsp golden syrup
2 tbsp boiling water
1 ½ tsp baking soda
1 cup quick oats (smaller cut ‘quick’ oats)
¾ cup dried coconut (not desiccated)
1 cup flour (I used biscuit flour, with a lower protein content)
¾ cup brown sugar
2 x 43g packets Reese’s Pieces
Murray Pink Salt
150g 85% good quality dark chocolate (I used Lindt)

Preheat oven to 150 degrees Celsius.

Melt butter, golden syrup and sugar over a low heat in a small heavy based pan until melted. Add the baking soda to the boiling water, then mix into the melted syrup mixture. When well combined and frothy, pour the mixture into the combined oats, flour and coconut dry ingredients and mix well. When the mixture has cooled a little, gently mix in the Reese’s Pieces until they are well distributed throughout the mixture.

Roll mixture into small (2cm) balls onto greased baking trays, leaving room for spreading. I found that using the smaller cut oats resulted in not as much spreading as you’d typically expect from an ANZAC biscuit.

Bake for 18-20 minutes. If you want to achieve a crispier biscuit, drop the temperature a little and extend the cooking time.

Upon removing the hot biscuits from the oven, flatten slightly and sprinkle each with a tiny amount of Murray Pink Salt. Cool on the tray for a few minutes, then remove onto wire racks.

When completely cooled, drizzle with dark chocolate and leave to set.

I’m not much of a baker, but I was extremely proud the end result. Overall, it was crispy on the outside softer on the inside and to be perfectly honest they were awesome – even if they weren’t technically a true ANZAC Biscuit.

Lest we forget.

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Feelings & Memories

Food and feelings go together like… vegemite and cheese. How could you not cheer on your team at the footy without a lukewarm pie and sauce? How could you not mend a broken heart without ice cream? You get the picture. It conjures up memories, good and bad and it can effectively use all of your senses (unless you also see dead people) or at the very least, enhance them. It makes you remember.

As a lover of food, some of my happier moments in life have been closely related to it; a meal out with people that are special to me or cooking for them. Or even better, cooking with them.

It took some years to get better at cooking with people. I was told that I was too bossy in the kitchen… too much of a perfectionist, which I guess is a toughie when you lack the desired skill. And if things went a little pear-shaped, I cracked the shits. I’ve improved immensely over the years. I don’t know why… Maybe my knowledge and technique have improved with practise. Maybe it’s because I’m a little older and I’ve learned not to sweat the little things. I think I’ve said before that pastry and me are slowly learning to get along.

Whilst there are fond memories of great meals with friends, things I’ve eaten by myself in amazing places in the world or meals I’ve made for others that I believe I truly nailed, I have two very vivid memories of cooking with people dear to me.

One dates back to around thirteen years ago when I was living my carefree, backpacker life. I was staying in a town called Jelsa, on the island of Hvar in Croatia. My travelling partner and I scored this ridiculously cheap apartment and we ended up staying there for two weeks. I celebrated my 25th birthday there.

Most days we’d head to the markets. We’d buy whatever fish they’d have on offer… usually a small snapper, and we’d stuff it with ham, mushrooms (one day we endured a 16km round trip walk to another town because the market at Jelsa had no mushrooms) and leeks and make a flavoured butter out of some paprika-based seasoning we’d found that was a little bit sweet, salty, spicy and tangy. We’d bake it and serve it with what we christened ‘Jelsa Salad’, which was pretty much roughly chopped up red onion, red capsicum, carrot and cucumber, tossed in lemon juice. None of it was fancy or even regional for that matter, but every now and again, if I want to take myself back to those days, I’ll make Jelsa Salad and I am there.

Whilst my other standout food memory didn’t involve an exotic setting, it’s arguably to date, my best food memory. Why? Put simply, it epitomises why I love to cook; the challenge, the fun, being able to share and of course the end result. All combined it evokes happiness and isn’t that something everyone wants to be able to remember?

Over the years, I have attempted to cook Thai cuisine; it’s never really been something  that I’ve put my love and soul into in order to deliver something that is better than OK. It’s probably also a little out of my comfort zone. However, a friend of mine who had spent a number of years living in Thailand changed that. Having someone that knew Thai food beyond the probable farang holiday-maker stuff most travellers would sample helped a lot.

Raw protein polarises people. Most will try fish in the form of sashimi or beef as carpaccio or tartare. I love stuff raw, but I’d never tried raw prawns; accidentally or as a dish.

Gung Chae Nam Pla is something I have not seen in Australian Thai restaurants, quite possibly because it might not be popular. If you have a sense of adventure and can get beyond eating a raw prawn, then give it a go. It’s amazing. One of the most extraordinary, yet simplest dishes I’ve ever made or tasted, consisting of essentially fresh (the fresher, the better) raw green prawns that have been butterflied and just prior to being served, anointed with a paste that features the usual Thai suspects and some fresh mint.

Raw Prawns with Thai Chillies (Gung Chae Nam Pla)

10-12 medium sized, raw fresh green prawns with the tail shell on
6 chillies
coriander leaves
4 garlic cloves
1 shallot
2 tbsp fish sauce
2 tbsp lemon juice
Fresh mint leaves

Now the method was no brain surgery; processing the chillies, garlic, shallot, coriander, fish sauce and lemon juice into a rough paste, then artfully added it to the prawns (tails up!). Grab a couple of mint leaves to top each prawn and eat the prawn in one go, picking it up by the tail shell. We paired it with a few glasses of Mumm, which you probably wouldn’t do in Thailand, but it worked.

Gung Chae Nam Pla

One of the quintessential Thai recipes is Green Curry. Made from scratch, it’s a true labour of love and the one we made was pretty close to perfection. David Thompson may disagree.

The recipe we used was a bit of a jumble from a number of recipes, plus a bit of our own doctoring along the way. What I’ve listed below will get you pretty close.

Green Chicken Curry (Gaeng Kiew Wan Gai)

Curry paste, made from:
1 tbsp coriander seeds
2 tsp cumin seeds
10 white peppercorns
1 tbsp galangal, finely chopped
1 tbsp ginger, finely chopped
4 or 5 fresh green chillies
12-15 small green chillies
4 -5 shallots, chopped
5-6 garlic cloves, chopped
1 tbsp lemongrass, finely chopped
Coriander stems and roots from a bunch of coriander
4-5 kaffir lime leaves, chopped
Shrimp paste, to taste (start at 1 tsp and go from there)
1 tsp salt
Zest of one or two limes

The rest…

oil
3 chicken thighs, bone in
6 Thai eggplants
10-12 Green beans
1 can of coconut cream
Fish sauce, to taste (start at 1 tbsp)
Palm sugar, to taste (start at 1 tbsp)
Lime juice, to taste (start at 1 lime)

Whilst it would be very much authentic to use a mortar and pestle to make your paste, the one we had was a bit small. So we cheated and used one of those small food processors, like you might get as an attachment to a bamix.

First, we toasted the coriander and cumin in a dry pan until fragrant, then ground the toasted spices in the mortar and pestle (at least it got used for something) with the white pepper corns. The ground spices were added to the rest of the paste ingredients (we forgot the ginger) in the processor and blitzed until they resembled a fine paste. Try not to add water to advance the process; it only dilutes your paste.

Some of the ingredients were amped up a bit, to taste. We added more shrimp paste (maybe another half a tablespoon… maybe more). As for the chillies, the long green ones didn’t provide the heat, as much as they added to the colour (although our paste was quite a brown colour, then end result looked like the proper green curry colour). The chillies we used for heat were purchased at the Footscray markets. I will have to go there again and find out what they were; they were tiny, no more than 2cm in length, quite thin, a bit nobbly and pale green in colour. They packed a good heat that built up on you.

After we were happy with the paste, we fried of at least half a cup over a slow heat in a heavy based casserole dish. Once the paste was fragrant, we added the chopped chicken thighs, to cook in the paste for a few minutes, then the halved eggplants, more kaffir lime leaves, fish sauce, palm sugar and a can of coconut cream. Then we left it for about 20 minutes, continuing on a very slow heat.

About 10 minutes before serving, we checked the flavours, added a little more sugar and some lime juice. The sauce, in my opinion, had reduced a little bit too much, but there was a little bit of coconut cream left in the tin, which I added and it seemed to correct this. We added the beans and popped the lid on the let the residual heat cook the beans, but leave some crunch.

Served with the some rice, this was the end result:

Gaeng Kiew Wan Gai

Whilst factors beyond just the cooking attributed to this being my best food memory (like the company, lots of wine, the fun and so on), I have never been so pleased with the end results of the dishes we created. Sharing the toils and fruits of your labour can conjure up some great memories. Just worry about the dirty dishes later.

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“Doesn’t like it”

Recently, I spent a bit of down time reading through the countless reviews for Melbourne restaurants on urbanspoon. There are presently 7,666 pages of them. I think I got up to page 46 (only three days worth!) before my eyes gave up and I needed to go for a walk.

When I got back to my computer, I did some rough calculations and discovered that an alarming (approximate) 25% of diners rated their experience as ‘Doesn’t like it’. Granted some reviews consisted of nothing more than “Don’t go, it’s shit”, but then there were others that went to the trouble of writing a review the equivalent of War & Peace, let alone going to the effort to set up an account to review a venue.

That’s 1 in 4 people critiquing poor service and food that does not meet expectation; waiters that are too friendly, not friendly enough, getting stuff out in a reasonable time, missing things, incompetent staff, ‘bitchy vibes’ from staff, forgetting things, too much avocado, salt in bowls on the table being unhygienic, then having to use the said salt because the risotto was bland, mind-blowingly pretentious, meat that you’d give to your dog and so on.

In this day and age, where our biggest rating TV shows are My Kitchen Rules and Masterchef, we obsess over all things food related. Are our expectations becoming too inflated and bordering on unreasonable? Do people simply enjoy being acerbic? Are we too gun-toting and trigger-happy to fire up the urbanspoon app the minute someone looks at us the wrong way, if the beer is flat or the butter’s too cold? Or is it a case of the industry needing to lift its game to meet ever-growing expectation?

Knowledge is power. We’ve dug ourselves a big fat hole in our keen intent to know what came from where and when and what it ate and how it lived and how it died and how it got to the kitchen, let alone how it was cooked.

Ten years ago, ordering a coffee was as simple as… ordering for a coffee. Now? Well after you select the origin of bean, the monkey’s arse it came out of, how it’s been roasted, whether you want siphon, cold drip, espresso, the type of sugar… I just want a good coffee! As for your steak, it can now trace its bloodline back through the 1860’s on ancestory.com. Probably.

We are spending more on food; the groceries we buy and dining out. In September 2012, CommSec released figures that showed average household spending is growing at a long-term average of 4 per cent and in particular, households had lifted their spending on cafes, restaurants and takeaway foods by $8.78 a week, largely driven by people eating and drinking out more often as opposed to increasing prices.

Households are now spending, on average, $107 a week on dining out. That’s on top of the $200 a week average spent on household groceries.

So, we know more and we are spending more money on dining out, which means we’re trying new places all of the time. Naturally, the next step with all of the whizz-bang technology available to us is to tell everyone about it via social media. Annnd duh! I’m writing reviews! But I’d like to think that the effort that goes into my reviews – at least 6-8 hours to produce a 1,000 word post – provides a result that is more balanced, detailed and hopefully influences someone to try somewhere they’ve never been before. Granted not all of the places I’ve been to, after summing up the food, service, value and overall experience, I have liked, but I’m not writing reviews to give people the heads up on where not to go. If that was the case, why would we want to go out at all if 1 in 4 places are shithouse?

The internet is free speech (for now) and sites like urbanspoon have seemed to survive the challenge of one review, mobile reviewers (which I must admit are some the more entertaining reading), such as:

Hate the food and the customer service is so shocking no one there looks happy and the place look really dirty there is no room to eat with out bumping into the people next to us or with out here there life story nd the music is always the same nd never seams to change don’t like it when people have to reach over us to give us the food and to take our plates Im never going back there if things don’t change and the deal things is such a rip off or should I say a joke.

The sibling of a well-known place opened up nearby recently and it was shocking to see the unceremonious panning it copped by its patrons, with comments going as far to describe it had no soul. I heard nothing but James Brown being played in there the other day, but whatever. Another reviewer was most articulate:

The place itself feels cold; too clean, too new…too something

Too ‘something’? Mmmrrright. I can hardly wait for the diner’s review on an overheated, old, rat-infested joint.

Lastly, my all-time favourite was:

Hipster Joint doesn’t belong in Fitzroy North

Well if you want to get all picky, it’s actually in Carlton North. As for hipsters not belonging in Fitzroy North, have you not been to Edinburgh Gardens on a warm Sunday afternoon? I can feel my hair follicles getting quiff envy and Movember ending on 1 December meant nothing in North Fitzroy, let me tell you.

Sorry, I digressed.

I guess we need to accept the facts; we go out more, we spend more, we share more information far more quickly and to more people than we may realise. We are more discerning due to our influences, environment and ability to access knowledge, even through some of us (still) aren’t any smarter as a result.

For the punters using urbanspoon to seek out a place to eat, I’d suggest taking any diner reviews where they have only recently signed up, one-off reviewers and / or mobile reviews with a tiny grain of salt. Use bloggers reviews; they are hopefully doing it for their love and passion of food and of course, there are always the bona-fide professional food critic reviews.

For the rest of us ‘critics’; if your eggs aren’t poached right – tell the cafe. If your steak is well done and you ordered medium rare – tell the restaurant. If your beer is flat – tell the pub. Unfortunate things can and will happen in most places, even the good ones. It’s a numbers game. Any half-decent chef, wait staff, manager or owner will and should do their best to rectify the situation. And if you do feel compelled to write about it, try and be objective, check your spelling, grammar and perhaps do it the next day.

I’m no expert and I have never claimed to be. Although I’d prefer you spend your $107 on something good, new and different. And if it’s a place I can recommend to you, then that’s even better. Although here’s a list of places you should avoid at all costs:

Just kidding.

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Things to do in Mount Tambourine

If you could live somewhere solely for the abundance of produce and lifestyle, where would it be? Yarra Valley? Margaret River? Kangaroo Island? Tasmania?

I posed this question at lunch recently and although I was tossing up between Kangaroo Island and Tassie, ironically I was in a place that fits the bill nicely; Mount Tambourine on the Gold Coast.

Fear not, this is not turning into a travel blog. I know I haven’t blogged in quite a while, but Mount Tambourine is just so foodie-centric, so it made sense to pick out the foodie bits and share them.

I’ve been to Brisbane many times, but the Gold Coast hasn’t been all that far up my bucket list of ‘must see’ destinations, primarily because of this and this…

But after some light coercing from a good friend, who convinced me that I needed a weekend away from the hustle and bustle of Melbourne, I booked some flights.

Admittedly, I did know that there was far more to the Gold Coast than the sandy beaches of the Sunshine Coast, the high rise apartments and all of those fun parks that, according to my 5-year old, we just “have to go to” and I’d heard that there was some rainforest and a hinterland… whatever that is.

Mount Tambourine is no where near the guts of my perceived Gold Coast vision either, which was a good thing because my visit also (inadvertently) coincided with Schoolies and in no way did I want to be mistaken for one of these.

So, this place was largely on the hook for delivering a promise of good food and wine and it started well. Our first port of call was the MT Brewery, which formed part of a complex that incorporates Witches Chase Cheese and a Bistro and on the day (and irrelevant) a jewellery auction. It was encouraged to buy some cheese and a couple of small baguettes from the cheese shop and then buy some beer to drink with your cheeses at the brewery. We duly followed process and sampled some excellent, creamy blue and a goat’s chevre blended with kalamata tapanade.

MT Brewery make 6 or so beers and offer a tasting board of 4 beers for $10 or 5 beers for $12.50. The beers were full flavoured and of the ones we sampled, the Rainforest Lager, Black Cockatoo Lager (a porter-like beer), were the standouts.

My only gripe was the lack of attentiveness. Much of the revenue generated in and around Mount Tambourine is driven from tourism. MT Brewery only accepts cash, which is quite bizarre in this day and age. I had no cash, so I was asked to go and seek cash out from the cheese shop. The cheese shop advised that they did not provide cash out through EFTPOS and to use the ATM within the complex. The ATM was out of cash… a debacle. I eventually pleaded with the cheese shop to allow me to take cash out and as a result I bought a lovely bottle of caramelised red wine vinegar and some mustard fruits that I later notices were made for Aldi. Anyway, by the time I was cashed up, my already poured beers were a little warmer and a little flatter for the experience. It may sound a little trivial, but this is a tourism town.

Next on the list was sampling of the wares created by Tambourine Mountain Distillery. Alas, they guy on the website, possessing a strange resemblance to Santa Claus, was not there.

A $5 tasting fee is refunded upon purchase and for a fiver you can sample up to 5 different products ranging from liqueurs, schnapps, eaux de vie, vodkas, gins, grappa and so on.

We sampled lilly pilly gin, sloe gin, ginger vodka, passionfruit liqueur , choc-chilli liqueur and a couple of others… far more than five anyway and I bought a bottle of the ginger vodka on the premise that it would make an interesting bloody mary or something. It’s actually quite nice neat, straight out of the freezer. I hadn’t estimated consuming so much alcohol so early in the day, so I was getting a little sleepy. Lucky for me the next stop perked me up to no end.

The strange thing about Mount Tambourine is the European influence. Mount Tambourine is around 7 degrees cooler than the lower lands, so it’s safe to say that cooler conditions area little more conducive to the former European settlers. It’s still humid and tropical, but without the oppressive heat your may experience in other parts of Queensland.

With the European influence comes a few quirky shopfronts; forget to pack your wooden clogs? Done.

Drank too much schnapps and have a hankering for an elaborate $10,000 cuckoo clock with cool looking bears on it? They’ve got you sorted.

Hankering for some Polish stodge? Bingo.

Strangely enough, there aren’t too many places that showcase the overabundance of tropical fruits that are sold so cheaply at roadside stalls; avocados, mangoes, kiwi fruit and rhubarb are the main ones. Someone should open a Mexican place with an emphasis on good guacamole and tropical margaritas.

The real highlight was a 6-course degustation at Songbirds; a quiet and romantic (for others, probably) retreat nestled in amongst the extremely picturesque rainforest. The majorty of the dining ‘room’ is set in the open under a large weatherproof canopy. For the logistics of operating a fine dining restaurant, this is as close as you could get to literally being in the rainforest. I’d like to understand the rationale for deciding the canopy should be red. It’s not the most calming of colours and everything took on a not-too-easy-on-the-eyes pink hue, as you will see in some of the dessert pictures.

Awarded one hat in the Brisbane Good Food Guide for the last two years running, Songbirds could make a claim for a second, based on what we ate, drank and the overall experience.

Goat’s cheese with textures of beetroot, chardonnay-poached pear, tomato heart and walnut crumble was excellent, as was the roasted quail with charred baby leeks, mushrooms, chermoula, piccalilli pickles and some texture from some fried potato skins – nothing wasted.

The Wagyu beef cheek was succulent, slowly braised in masterstock on a base of parsnip skordalia, sprouts, enoki mushrooms, shallots and bits of seaweed.

A perfectly cooked lamb rump was delicious. So much so, I’d already started it and forgot to take a picture. The rump was poached in smoked Butter and thyme and a the soft spice from the accompanyingcumin and butternut puree worked well with the salty black olive coulis and simple grilled zucchini and sugar snap peas. A small, well made squid ink tortellini continaed a mixture of rosemary and sheep cheese. It was delicious, but not neccessarily with the other elements of the dish.

The final two courses were also on the mark, as was the fresh watermelon sorbet that preceded them; a simple wedge of goat’s cheese (the same that featured in the first course… not that I’m complaining) was drizzled in a pungent truffled honey and quenelle of confit shallot.

The last dish was the standout of the day; Tonka bean and muscovado rice pudding with Christmas pudding crumbs, white chocolate namelaka (a Japanese term for “creamy texture” – it’s more or less a ganache made with milk, emulsified, gelatin is added and finished with cream), burnt caramel ice cream and white chocolate brittle shards that contained lots of crunch and crackle. I’m probably the biggest hater of white chocolate, but I could have happily munched through more of this and hopefully Head Chef, Trent Dawson, is willing to part with his recipe!

All of this was a mere $110 or $160 when matched with some most excellent mid-priced and higher-end wines, fortifieds and even a refreshing lychee liqueur on ice with fresh lime, which accompanied our last course.

Mount Tambourine is an abolsute gem of a place that I definitely look forward to coming back to visit soon, although I don’t know if I will be able to get away with a trip to the Gold Coast again, without the kids and without a visit to the fun parks and the other places that the Gold Coast is unfortunately more famous for.

Songbirds
Tambourine Mountain Rd, North Tambourine QLD
(03) 5545 2563
http://www.songbirds.com.au/

Good For: A romantic getaway if you’re that way inclined, great food in a natural, picturesque setting… Ignore the low urbanspoon score, it’s excellent
Not Good For: People that are scared of snakes. I didn’t see any but they’re always talking about them. I did see a bush turkey though.

Songbirds on Urbanspoon

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Trufflepalooza 2!

I sorted out a few of the world’s problems the other night. Well, one at least. My friend that owns a pub was telling me that he went through something like 120kgs of chicken fillets for parmas last week. That’s a lot of chicken – something like over 400 parmas. Over a quiet beer, we mused over the work involved by his kitchen to turn all of that chicken into schnitzels and he casually mentioned the skin that gets thrown away.

Hello? Haven’t you seen what Josie Bones does to chicken skin? I think I managed to convince Rick that he was not only throwing away pure profit, but also a tasty bar snack to go with the thousands of litres of beer that he sells on a weekly basis. So if you see chicken skin crackling on offer at an established High St, Northcote pub, you’ve got me to thank (with partial credit to Josie Bones).

I’m not sure as to what that had to do with this post, other than the fact that chicken skin crackling is lovely,  but the conversation occurred on Monday night and a Monday night is normally not a night I’d choose to be out, especially this one. I had a cold; I felt a little miserable and quite frankly, a little out of place by not being rugged up at home so early on in the week. But [sigh], there was work to be done in the form of trying some of this year’s truffles at the Fringe Food Festival’s Truffle Extravaganza – in its second year at The Estelle.

I wasn’t going to blog about it. For some strange reason, I was certain that there would be nothing new to discover. By around September last year, I was a little over truffles. Primarily due to my experiments involving my own 50 gram nugget of black gold I’d purchased through Friend & Burrell. However, September through to July is a long time between drinks (or truffles in this case) and I guess that’s the point of enjoying something seasonal; consume it until you get sick of it, wait nearly a year and you can fall in love with it all over again.

So here we all were, back at the Estelle, with a bespoke menu that had been designed for the night. We were first  welcomed with an aperitif of (I might get it wrong here) prosecco, featuring some shaved truffle and a bitter, sticky and sweet candied cumquat, submerged at the bottom of the glass.

With my palate refreshed after one or two aperitifs, we were presented with the first of five tastes; Potage Parmentier, Smoked Trout & Quark.

For the uninitiated… like me at the time, a parmentier is more or less a potato soup. As Scott Pickett (Head Chef and owner of  The Estelle) pointed out, it was essentially a vichyssoise (normally served cold), but served hot; which made it a parmentier. Get it? I did eventually.

A glass featuring a colourful micro garden of smoky flaked trout, the salty pop of salmon roe, a hint of herb contained in small, creamy dots of quark, bitterness and colour from some petite flowers and a generous grating of Manjimup truffle (WA) from the Wine & Truffle Company, was placed in front of each guest before this artful landscape disappeared under a lake of potage parmentier. It was sad to see something so delicate drowned in soup, but it was more than worth it. A great start to the night.

The accompanying Carlo Pellegrino Marsala Vergine Riserva DOCG 1962 (Sicilia, Italy) was on the drier side of sweet (not too sweet); a daring and interesting pairing, as were the majority of the wines for the night.

Next up was a Blue Swimmer Crab, Risoni & Basil. As Scott pointed out when walking through the dish, it would have been too obvious to make a risotto. The use of risoni resulted in a much lighter dish and the flavour of the crab was prominent. The use of basil was subtle, but still quite evident. Again, a generous dose of truffle, this time Terra Preta Truffles from The Marshall Family in Braidwood, NSW, complimented the richness of the dish – the ideal vehicle for truffle.

The 2011 Rockburn Pinot Gris (Central Otago, NZ) displayed a little sweetness, but was crisp and dry enough to cut through some of the richness of the risoni.

I’ve been deliberating as to what my favourite dish was on the night. I chose the next dish for a couple of reasons. Although the Macaroni, Carbonara & Girolles was probably the least complex dish of the night, it delivered on the elements as to what is a quintessential truffle dish.

The hand-rolled pasta evoked a story from Scott on how he used to roll 400 of these in the early hours of the morning when he was working as a Junior Sous Chef at the two Michelin starred restaurant, The Square, in London. The al dente macaroni was combined with smoky lardons of bacon and anointed with a light carbonara sauce of the traditional eggs, cheese and black pepper. Girolles, arriving fresh from France that day, gave the dish that extra touch of luxury, athough the dish was already luxurious enough with truffle from Great Western Tiers in Deloraine, Tasmania; the home of Australia’s first black truffle. The simplicity, the luxury, the story and of course the flavours, made it my dish of the night. But only by a fraction against the dish that followed.

I mistakenly said to someone on the night that it was the first time I was to try Croatian wine, forgetting about the $1/litre stuff we drank to excess in Jelsa, on the island of Hvar back in 2000. Backpackers… enough said. I assume a lot has changed since then because the 2010 Matosevic Malvazija ‘Alba’ (Istra, Croatia) was a belter. Some great acidity and a little minerally; a perfect pairing. I was also told that Croatian wine will be the next best thing in Australia over the next 12 months, so keep your eyes peeled folks.

I sincerely regret not taking a photo of the penultimate dish; vanilla, honey & burnt orange. The description of the dish on the menu was a tad understated. The was actually vanilla, honey, burnt orange AND truffle sponge AND truffle ice cream.

Let’s pause for a moment and think about truffle ice cream. It’s kinda greyish looking and not all that asthetically appealing  (the same went for the sponge), but it was probably the tastiest ice cream ever. You’d think that much of the pungent flavour of the truffle (from Tamar Valley Truffles in Launceston, Tasmania) and vanilla would be lost in its frozen form, but this was not the case. Given the alledged $12 per scoop price tag, Scott declared this as pretty much a one-off. It didn’t matter. I got to eat it. The burnt orange gel was used wisely as the sparing smear packed a punch. Floral notes and crunch were provided by honey-crusted macadamias and it lived up to the wonderful standard of Ryan Flaherty desserts at the The Estelle.

Some of the sweetness driving the not overly sweet dessert came from the Chambers, Muscadelle ‘Rosewood’ NV (Rutherglen, VIC), which really picked up on the burnt orange.

We managed to share the Baked Clarines, fig & beetroot between the three of us, which in hindsight was a little ridiculous. It was warm and gloopy. It was creamy and rich. It was studded with truffle.

The accompanying beetroot and fig preserves are standard fare at The Estelle, forming some of the condiments offered on their charcuterie board. Exemplary. The Chateau de Vaux “Les Hautes Bassieres” Pinot Noir (Moselle, France) was very aromatic and close to being too tannic for my palate. Still, I managed to drink a second glass.

Since last year and as expected, the market for truffles continues to grow exponentially. There are (probably) more growers and there is definitely better access to truffles for you and me. South Melbourne’s Madame Truffles has positioned itself to make it more affordable for the consumer. A little truffle goes a long way and Madame Truffles offers a choice of WA, NSW or Tasmanian truffles (and Victorian ones later in the season) at around $3.00-$3.40 per gram, with only a minimum purchase of 15 grams, increasing at 5 gram increments, depending on your truffle needs. I know I’d be much happier and less reluctant to part with a $50 to finesse my dinner party dish or simply keep it all for myself eat the best scrambled eggs known to man.

If you haven’t tried truffles, you should. If you want to try truffles, then get along to the remaining Fringe Food Festival dinners over the next couple of weeks. There’s one at St Ali this Thursday, 5 July (details here) or there is another on 15 July at Eleonore’s at Chateau Yering in the Yarra Valley (details here).

Failing that, go and grab yourself a small chunk of truffle this weekend and at the very least, make some of the most simplest egg or pasta dishes into the most fantastic dishes you have ever tried. You won’t regret it.

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Who is reading your reviews?

I didn’t intend to post a review for Richmond’s Prince Alfred on farfromfamished. It was a pretty poor experience and I didn’t believe it warranted the time and effort to produce a full post; however in my opinion, it did necessitate a review on urbanspoon.

What I didn’t expect was a phone call from the Prince Alfred, on the same day I posted the review.

This post is not about the review. It’s more about the events that followed and observing how influential social media is these days. I guess some context will better establish my rationale for this post, so you can find the review here.

So, on the evening of the day I posted this review to urbanspoon, I received a phone call from Caroline at the Prince Alfred, who not only apologised for the indiscretions we experienced in both the meal and the service, but also confirmed that a number of actions had taken place since the review was posted; including agreeing the paella was bad and it should have never been on the menu. Although she was also at a loss as to what alleged pre-mixed shandy might have actually been lurking downstairs in the cellar and I still am unsure as to whether the ‘wine guy’ is actually on the payroll at the Prince Alfred.

We continued to chat about what did work, what the Prince Alfred was aiming for in terms of offering its customers and it all sounded favourable.  

On the back of our conversation, Caroline offered the opportunity to prove themselves in both the food and service that they feel they can offer by way of complimentary food and beverage for me and three guests, which after some thought and discussion with a few people, including a couple of bloggers, I politely declined.

If I wasn’t a blogger, I probably would have taken up this offer. As a blogger, even through it’s not my profession, integrity and balance in what I write comes first and I don’t want to compromise this.

In no disrespect to the Prince Alfred; it’s always going to linger in the back of my mind that although they might be going out of their way to ensure everything for me on this complimentary visit is just perfect, are all diners going to receive the same experience?

Complimentary meals aside, the important thing is that instances like this demonstrate that in a time where diners are more discerning than ever before and referring to ‘non-professional’ reviews as a means to deciding where they’ll spend their dining dollars; it’s gratifying to see that the Prince Alfred is taking the feedback from its patrons seriously to get it right.

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Okonomiyaki

Kids and vegetables. They don’t necessarily go hand in hand. Well, not as much as you’d like them to anyway. My eldest, Lily, is a bit hot and cold on them. Although one of the ways I’ve found some success in getting Lily to eat all of her veggies is by cooking them into one of the ever popular Japanese pancakes, okonomiyaki; although I think she just loves the fact that she gets to drench the whole thing in brown sauce and mayo.

You’ve probably encountered these behemoth-sized pancakes at most food courts, if the Japanese fast food outlet offers more than just sushi. Most of them are terrible and quite rubbery thanks to the time spent sitting under heat lamps, in the display counter.

I’ve been playing around with okonomiyaki recipes for a couple of years now with varying success. I recently nailed the recipe on my preferred okonomiyaki, which I wanted to base on more of your everyday ingredients, as opposed to being stung up to $10 for okonomiyaki flour at an Asian grocery store. More on that later.

The name okonomiyaki is derived from the word okonomi, meaning “what you like” and yaki meaning “grilled” or “cooked”. Like many national dishes, okonomiyaki varies in style and its ingredients according to the region in Japan, although the primary ingredient in all variations is cabbage. Our good friend, Wikipedia, gives you more information here and there is also some good information on all things okonomiyaki here… although most of you are probably waiting to read the recipe so you can make this for yourself tonight, farfromfamished style:

Okonomiyaki

2 cups self raising flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1.5 cups dashi stock
2 eggs
4 cups packed, shredded Chinese cabbage (which equated to half of a somewhat large cabbage)
1 carrot
1 zucchini
5-6 spring onions, finely sliced
Half a bunch of chives, cut into 1.5cm batons
2 slices of thinly sliced streaky bacon (for each okonomiyaki)
1/2 a block of silken tofu, cut into cubes

Accompaniments

okonomi sauce, to taste
kewpie mayonnaise, to taste
thinly sliced spring onions (optional)
bonito flakes (optional)
seaweed flakes (optional)

Back to okonomiyaki flour for a moment. It’s a fine, white flour that’s seasoned with shrimp, scallop, bonito and mixed with another flour made from the exotic sounding Nagaimo yam (Japanese Mountain Yam), which makes the batter sticky and glutinous. There’s probably some MSG thrown in for good measure too.

For the price (which works out to be around $15/kg), it instantly makes a dish that’s largely made up of very economical ingredients not so cheap, so going back to my vision of wanting to base a recipe on everyday ingredients, I trawled through many recipes to narrow down the best flour to use. Most recipes called for plain flour, but I wanted my okonomiyaki to be light and not stodgy like its food court predecessors, so I opted to use common self raising flour – a much more economical alternative, lightened further with a teaspoon of baking powder, which produced some excellent results.

I still wanted to capture the same fishy flavour you get in the okonomiyaki flour. When I was in Coles recently, I was surprised to see they sold dashi stock powder ($2.98) in the Asian section. Mind you, it was the Coles in Melbourne Central where the range of international products available tend to be more abundant than your average suburban Coles.

The dashi stock powder comes in ten sachets and from what I could work out from the instructions, one sachet makes around two litres of stock. The quantities in my recipe only required one and half cups of liquid, so I added one whole sachet given there was no other seasoning in the batter.

The last of the ingredients for the batter were eggs and quantity varied across many recipes. The majority of the recipes called for around one to one-and-a half eggs per person. I was planning to make enough to sustain two adults and two children, which was somewhere between 3-4 people, depending on how hungry everyone was or wasn’t, so I decided on three eggs. Unfortunately I had to settle for two because that’s all I had left in the fridge.

I added the stock to the flour and whisked until it was all incorporated, then added the eggs. The end result had the thickness of halfway between single cream and double cream, which looked about right.

I left the batter to stand for around 15-20 minutes, whilst I tended to the vegetables, which make up the rest of the ingredients for okonomiyaki (with the exception of your license to pimp up your okonomiyaki, as per its namesake and the accompanying condiments, which I’ll talk about later).

I’ve found it’s best to no go overboard with different vegetables and to make sure that they’re cut or shredded finely enough so they cook through.

My preferred cabbage is the Chinese cabbage or Wombok as it provides both a finer texture from the leaves at one end and some crunch from the base of the leaf at the other end.

The size selection of a Chinese cabbage at Coles was bloody huge or gargantuan on steroids, so I took the former. I’ve seen the Coles greengrocer people at my local store cut things in half for customers upon request, but at Melbourne Central there were no one available and the lady at the deli counter wasn’t too keen. I think she only knew how to operate the meat slicer.

I initially finely sliced a quarter of the cabbage, but settled on a half because there wasn’t that much room in the crisper compartment of the fridge. As for the carrot and zucchini, I pulled out my ridiculously expensive, yet impractical Zyliss mandolin and used the 3.5mm julienne blade, rather than using a grater as I didn’t want the carrot or zucchini to release excess liquid into the batter. It worked a treat.

I added the remaining spring onion and chives and gave the vegetables a quick once over to make sure there was an even distribution of vegetables before adding the batter to the mix.

When it was time to cook the mixture, I poured about a tablespoon of rice bran oil to a heavy based non-stick pan, which was essential in delivering a quality end product. In attempts gone by I’ve struggled with using a Scanpan Saute Pan that lost its non-sticking qualities (virtually indestructible, indeed) and the high sides didn’t help when it came to flipping the okonomiyaki.

So after evening out a 2 cm layer of the mixture, I placed a couple of slices of bacon on top, then placed on a lid and turned down the gas to its lowest setting. You want to make sure the vegetables cook all of the way through and you also want the bottom to form a nice crust without burning. Bear in mind, bacon could be replaced with your favourite meat. On the day I took the pics I used to accompany this recipe, I used char siu pork from a nearby Chinese restaurant. Roasted duck would also work a treat.

After 10 minutes it was time to flip this beast. Use whatever method you’re comfortable with, as did I without making a mess. I cooked the other side in the same slow manner, but without the lid because all I wanted to achieve was browning the underside and getting the bacon nice and crispy.

When it’s cooked, it’s time for garnishes and sauces. The two sauces traditionally served with okonomiyaki are a must and no alternatives to the authentic sauces should be used. The first one is a no-brainer – kewpie mayonnaise. This is the quintessential Japanese mayo and readily available in supermarkets these days (in the Asian section). It is made with egg yolks instead of whole eggs, and the vinegar is a proprietary blend containing apple and malt vinegars, which gives it a distinct flavour. I think it also contains some MSG, so be warned in case that shit makes you crazy.

The other sauce, a brown sauce, comes in different varieties. It’s like a mix of Worcestershire sauce and teriyaki sauce… a little fruity, sweet and spicy. The two main sauces readily available in most Asian Grocery stores are Tonkatsu (Bulldog brand) sauce and Otafuku Okonomi Sauce, which is my favourite as it’s a little less tangy than the Bulldog brand.

The other common garnishes are finely sliced spring onion, bonito flakes and seaweed flakes. Use them if you want, but I’m happy with just the sauces, thank you.

The other ingredient I’ve wanted to try in my okonomiyaki is tenkatsu, which literally translates to tempura refuse; packaged crunchy bits of fried tempura batter. I’m sure it would add some excellent texture. Unfortunately I haven’t found it in any shops and I’m not going to make my own in a hurry.

Serve it cut into wedges like a pizza as it’s good to share, or serve them whole and hide yourself in a corner so no one else can get to you or it.

Douzo meshiagare!

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North by Northwest: Cutler & Co’s Seaonal and Regional Produce Dinner

Getting to visit Cutler & Co has been a task. It’s not like I haven’t wanted to go there either. Firstly, there’s the gift voucher I received for my birthday last October that I still haven’t used (even though I have been assured it will still be honoured… and I will use it in the next couple of months. Promise).

Then there was my recent week’s stay in hospital, where from my window at St Vincent’s, I was compelled to gaze upon Cutler & Co’s facade whilst miserably consuming hospital food. There was a glimmer of hope when, after a few opportunistic tweets, I was to receive a ‘care package’ of tasty appetisers. But then I was discharged and my hopes were duly shattered.

Third time lucky came in the form of a phone call late last week from Essjay, asking if I would like to join her and Ed for dinner at Cutler & Co to celebrate Autumnal fare:

Me: When is it?
Essjay: Monday
Me: F*ckit! It’s my daughter’s fifth birthday. I can’t go [sobs hysterically]

Well that’s how I remembered the conversation. Crestfallen, I told Kate when I got home and surprisingly, she said I’d be mad not to go. She was sure that our daughter wouldn’t be too scarred for life. I wasn’t too sure, but who am I to argue with one’s better half? So I called Essjay back and it was game on.

I was extremely interested in celebrating seasonal and local produce from a particular region. I guess if we all lived on farms or had more time in our lives… or at least the inclination, I am sure we’d all be eating fresh, seasonal produce and enjoying things when they should be enjoyed – in their prime. Thanks to microchip technology and the like, we get stuff all year round these days, regardless of whether it’s any good or not. Gone are the days where you only could get asparagus when there was an ‘r’ in the month… or is that yabbies? I can’t remember. The point is most of us do not care enough to do too much about it.

Fortunately, Andrew McConnell and the team at Cutler & Co do care and last night was the first of a series of seasonal feasts that showcase the food and wine of regional Victoria. Their plan, as Mother Nature moves us into each new season, is to focus on a different part of Victoria and create a menu that highlights the freshest produce available for that region.

Last night’s ‘North by Northwest’ dinner focussed on the produce available in Autumn from Northern Victoria in the form of a five-course degustation, matched with local wines.

Proceedings opened with an amuse bouche of some simple, house-cured Manzanilla olives paired with a 2011 Galli Estate ‘Artigiano’ Pinot Grigio from Sunbury. The flavoursome and meaty olives were a great accompaniment to the clean, crisp and fruity wine.

Our first course combined cured and lightly smoked rainbow trout (from Wilhelmina, near god-forsaken Murrindindi, where I hate camping) with the mild, fresh herb of chickweed, a sharper citrus hit from some sorrel, texture and crunch from the smoky, almost bacon-like rye seeds, tangy crunch from pickled onion and cucumber and a fine quenelle of mustard cream. The 2010 Williams Crossing (by Curly Flat) Chardonnay from the Macedon Ranges complimented the citrus from the sorrel and still allowed the mild smokiness of the trout to come through.

Next up was a densely pressed pheasant terrine; three blocks garnished with bitter leaves, a sweet reduction, spiced almond crumb and topped with Cutler & Co’s signature foie gras cigar. As much as I tried to save my cigar to the very end to be enjoyed on its own, in a corner, by myself, I did the right thing and tried it with the terrine. With the exception of the most awesomely light and crunchy cigar filled with creamy, rich foie gras, the terrine was probably my least favourite dish of the night. By all means it was pleasant pheasant, but nothing remarkable to truly distinguish it as pheasant. It was just lost. Maybe it was just lost on me.

As for the wine, the 2010 Vinero ‘South Gisborne’ Pinot Noir, made by Cutler & Co’s Sommelier, Liam O’Brien, was an absolute cracker. Smooth, fruity with lots of cherry flavour. It was a perfect match.

My favourite dish of the night was the Sher Wagyu scotch, served with hay-baked carrots, watercress puree and char grilled garlic shoots. This was some of the most meltingly tender beef I have ever, ever eaten. Someone made the comment that it absolutely trounced Blackmore Wagyu and I tend to agree. The meat was perfectly cooked to a blushing rare to medium rare and lightly anointed with a delicious jus.

The char grilled garlic shoots and watercress puree provided different levels of freshness to counteract the richness of the Wagyu. Although I thoroughly enjoyed the sweet roasted hay-baked carrot, but I would honestly need a non-hay baked carrot to determine the difference the hay made as I failed to detect and flavours imparted by the hay. No surprises in the well matched limited release 2008 Heathcote Estate ‘Block A’ Shiraz. Ballsy, but not overly tannic… it was on the fruitier side, which is my preference.

The penultimate dish was the Holy Goat ‘La Luna’, served with poached quince and flaxseed lavosh. We were fortunate to be drinking a ‘project wine’; a 2009 Chalmers Passisto Malvasia/Picolit from the Murray Darling region. There was mild concern at the table as to how this sweet, but not too sweet wine would pair with the creamy, almost nutty and tangy goat’s chevre. It worked a treat and more so that the quince flavours were picked up in the wine. My favourite wine of the night (slightly pipping Liam’s Pinot).

Our last dish was a warming, rich pear and suet pudding with chestnut ice cream. The quenelle of ice cream could have been bigger, but that’s just me being greedy (it was adequately proportioned to the pudding). The pudding was light, not overly sweet, nutty from the chestnuts and a sign that winter will soon be on its way. The accompanying Harcourt Valley’s Bress ‘Bon Bon’ Cider aptly accentuated the pear in the dessert and was well balanced between the acidity cutting through the richness of the dessert, and its sweetness with neither the cider nor dessert dominating the other.

The night was a great celebration of produce at its prime, presented in the best possible way by one of Australia’s best chefs. If last night was anything to go by, I will look forward to seeing what the following seasons and regions bring to Cutler & Co’s table.

[farfromfamished dined as a guest of Cutler & Co]

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I’ve been AWOL…

So yeah, the 17th has come and gone and as you would well be aware, my inaugural Melbourne Fringe Food Festival Event; Beer & Cheese, has been placed on hiatus, largely thanks to my stupid intestine.

It’s been a long two weeks, which all started with doing something I do not enjoy (camping), resulting in being somewhere I did not enjoy (hospital).

To make a long story short, after camping for couple of days at Murrindindi (90kms North-East of Melbourne), I got sick on Good Friday evening with sharp pains in my lower-left abdomen. On Saturday, we decided to decamp and head back home and by Sunday morning, I had no choice but to head to St Vinnies as I was definitely not getting any better. 

I was evetually diagnosed with Diverticular disease, which is a condition in which small pockets occur in the bowel. These pockets (diverticula) can become infected (known as Diverticulitis), which were the cause of my pain, thanks to an aggressive infection, which I wholly and solely blame on camping.

Diverticular disease is not uncommon in Australia, or indeed the western world. Most people are considered to consume a low-fibre (a.k.a ‘Western’) diet, which results in your daily toilet routine requiring you to exert a little more pressure in your bowel for you to be able to ‘go’. Diverticular disease is thought to result from these high pressures forcing the lining of the bowel to pocket outwards through the surrounding muscle layer of the bowel. 

People who eat a diet high in fibre are much less likely to develop diverticular disease. However, about one-third of adults older than 45 years have diverticular disease, although for most their diverticula cause them no problems. 

I (at the tender age of 36) am considered to be on the young side to be diagnosed with this. However, I have since learned that my mum was diagnosed at the same age. Plus, there’s a history of bowel cancer on my dad’s side of the family, so in hindsight, I’d rather start to learn how to best prevent, monitor and minimise my chances of further infections or complications.

People diagnosed with Diverticular disease can pretty much live a normal life, albeit ensuring that they maintain a high-fibre diet to reduce the risk of symptoms and complications developing… and of course by drinking plenty of water, which I’ll admit is an area where I will need to improve. 

Lots of roughage is required, including fibrous fruits such as apples and pears, as well as vegetables, wholegrain cereals, legumes and so on. Only 30 grams of dietary fibre a day is required for people with Diverticular disease, which according to the Cancer Council Australia is also the recommended intake for males.

Funny, it should not be a problem for people to eat at least two serves of wholegrain or wholemeal foods every day or ensure about half of your daily serves of breads and cereals are wholegrain or wholemeal, as well as consuming at least two serves of fruit per day and five serves of vegetables per day, including legumes. But if one-third of adults older than 45 years have diverticular disease, clearly we are not getting the fibre we need.

So, not really a ‘food’ blog update, per se. But food-related, nonetheless and a little education for good measure. After a week in hospital and a week and a half’s worth of both intravenous and oral antibiotics, I’m close to being back to normal. Whatever normal is for me. 

As for Beer & Cheese, we’ll put it back in the calendar soon amongst all the other events that are taking place, so stay tuned. In the mean time, keep up the fibre and fluids and I promise I shall do the same.

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Nice Buns…

For the last couple of years I’ve tried to get too fancy-schmantzy with my Hot Cross Bun recipes… I think it was last year that I tried getting all jiggy with Pedro Ximénez-soaked raisins with spiced apple and as much as they were OK (if not a tad brick-like); they are still in the freezer, which I guess is an indication that they weren’t all that popular. In fact I think I’ll throw them out right now…

… OK. Done. So this year it was time to go back to basics. Right on cue, along comes Essjay. Last night, she was tweeting that she was making some traditional and vegan Hot Cross Buns. My plea for her to make me some went deliberately unnoticed, so with a slight hangover and being cheated out of an extra hour’s sleep thanks to daylight savings ending (bloody kids), I decided that I’d give SJ’s recipe a go.

Essjay’s Traditional Hot Cross Buns

  • 14 g instant dried yeast (two sachets) (or 30g fresh compressed yeast)
  • 500 g (4 cups) plain soft flour (not bread flour, just standard plain flour)
  • 2 tablespoons caster sugar
  • 2 teaspoons mixed spice
  • 2 teaspoons cinnamon
  • ½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
  • 40 g butter
  • 1 egg
  • 100 g currants
  • 50 g mixed peel
  • 20g diced citron, if available
  • some grated citrus rind (about 1 teaspoon)
  • 1 tsp sea salt

Paste for Crosses

  • 30 grams plain flour
  • ¼ teaspoon caster sugar

Glaze

  • 1½ teaspoons caster sugar
  • 1 teaspoon gelatine

In a Pyrex jug, I mixed the yeast with 2 teaspoons of flour (from the measured flour) and 1 teaspoon of caster sugar (from the measured sugar) with 125 ml of warm water. SJ specified 37 degrees Celsius, so I got out my trusty digital probe thermometer thingy and made sure the temperature was bang on. I left this on the window sill, which seemed warm enough for the mixture to get all frothy. In fact it wasn’t until Kate alerted me to the fact that it had started to escape from the jug was proceeding to run down the wall. At least my yeast was alive and kicking.

I was then required to sift the flour and salt into a mixing bowl of a stand mixer with dough hook attached. I didn’t sift my mixture because that seemed like hard work, as well as creating more dishes to wash afterwards, so I just dumped it into the mixing bowl. I then stirred in the sugar, the fruit and citrus peels. I didn’t have any citron either, so I upped the mixed peel by 20 grams. I also added more currants (around another 30 grams) because I like lots of fruit in my bun. The dry mix was combined with the dough hook for a few seconds to get the fruit coated all over with the flour.

The next step was to mix the spices with the softened butter to form a paste. I decided to skip that as it seemed like hard work, so I just added the spices to the flour and melted the butter in the microwave.

With my trusty Kitchenaid on a low setting of 2, I added the remaining wet ingredients; yeast goo, egg, butter and gradually added 130ml of warm water until the dough was soft and sticky. This took around 5 minutes.

So far so good. I was a little panicky there for a while, but then the Panadol kicked in and I finally got around to making myself a coffee. 

I scraped the mixture into oiled bowl, covered with cling wrap and placed it on the freshly cleaned window sill for an hour, which gave me time to wash last night’s dinner dishes, this morning’s dishes, pick up all of the currants that my one-year old daughter was squishing into the floor and play my turn for Dice with Buddies. 

Once the dough had nicely risen to around double its initial size, I turned the dough out and gave it a half-arsed knead. It’s meant to be until it becomes smooth. It was pretty close. 

I then pedantically measured my dough into precise 84gram balls to ensure I had twelve evenly sized buns. Our small Scanpan roasting tray looked close enough to the dimensions of a 19cm x 23cm square baking tin.

Covering my little babies with a tea towel, I left them for around 45 minutes until they had nearly doubled in size. Whilst this was happening, I mixed the flour and sugar for the cross mixture with 50mls of water and spooned the mixture into one of those disposable piping bags, ready for later on.

 

With the oven preheated to its highest setting, I piped on my crosses and judiciously followed SJ’s instructions to sprinkle the inside of the oven with water and immediately turned it down to 200ºC (195ºC fan -forced) for my buns to bake for 20 minutes. This gave me some time to clean the floor because most of the water leaked out of the oven.

Just before the 20 minutes was up, I made the glaze by heating the gelatine, sugar and two tablespoons of water until dissolved and brushed the hot buns with the glaze as soon as they came out of the oven.

I know I’m not going to win any awards for aesthetics. Ideally, I should have spaced my buns out a little more, but they broke away into their individual buns quite easily. And I think my cross mixture was a little too runny. Taste wise, they weren’t as sweet than I was expecting, but I liked it. Also, I would probably add a little more mixed spice next time.

As for texture, this recipe has produced the lightest, fluffiest bread or bun I have EVER made. Particularly given me and baking don’t get along too well, if I can have this much success with a hangover and lack of sleep, imagine how well you’ll fare.