Curious Kai

Cabbage Bread

2011-07-01T02:31:00.002+12:00

What manner of devilry is this? Triffid spawn? These fanciful looking critters are in fact standard, easily-baked-at-home rolls encased in cabbage leaves, resulting in this cool effect:

I came across the technique while reading an old English cookbook, "English Cookery, New & Old", by Susan Campbell. In parts of Gloucestershire, bakers would wrap bread dough in cabbage leaves before baking. Once in the oven, the cabbage leaves would soften, allowing the bread to expand and become imprinted with the vein pattern of the leaf.

Given that my first task upon arriving at work is to make bread, it seemed the perfect excuse to give it a try.

According to Campbell, the best part of the cabbage are the outer leaves; they're big and will quite comfortably envelop your roll. The side of the leaf facing outwards is where you'll place your roll, being suitably venous and knobbly. Wash your leaves, then pat dry. Trim the stalk at the base of the leaf, or simply remove it depending on size; leaving it in will distort the pattern.

Make your bread dough; allow to rise. Knock back, cut into equal sized portions and roll into, er, rolls. Wrap each roll up loosely in a leaf with everything tucked up underneath; ideally, the weight of the roll will keep everything in place. Place on a tray lined with baking paper, and leave the rolls to prove.

Pop your parcels into the oven to bake. Ordinarily, the rolls I make at the restaurant take around twenty minutes to bake (pre-bake weight of 110 grams). I allowed an extra five minutes baking time, taking into consideration the cover provided by the leaves.

Twenty five minutes later, I opened the oven door to be met by the smell of marmite! The cabbage leaves had blackened, and upon scraping them off, there was a lovely golden crust waiting underneath. I don't think I'd had the leaves tucked in firmly enough because the dough had burst through at one end - no matter. The patterned surface on the crust looked awesome, and the marmite smell from the burnt cabbage leaves could be detected in the crust. Bakers of Gloucestershire, I salute you!

Raw Milk: Punch

2011-05-26T14:16:00.005+12:00

My god, have you ever tasted raw milk? I wanted to get my hands on some just to see what it was like - it's amazing stuff! It's rich and creamy and sweet, and leaves bog-standard blue top in the dust. I made something with it which I'll post about soon, but in the meantime, here's a slightly altered cocktail recipe¹ that uses raw milk's richness to good effect.

Raw Milk Punch

NB: give the milk a good swirl before pouring, as the cream will be sitting at the top of the container.

60 ml bourbon
60 ml raw milk
1 tbsp dark rum
1 tbsp sugar syrup

Pour everything into an ice-filled shaker. Shake vigourously, strain into a glass, and garnish with grated nutmeg.

¹ from the EUVS cocktail database

Noyaux

2011-05-01T09:20:00.092+12:00

Last week, in the midst of my annual fridge purge (discoveries: black and blue cheese, sentient yoghurt), I came across these: vaccum-packed apricot, nectarine and peach kernels. These were destined for use in a dessert project I never quite got round to starting. At the time, I was reading a thread on eGullet about noyaux, the French name for stone fruit kernels and their use as flavouring agents in desserts and liqueurs. Noyaux (pronounced "nwa-yoh,") are a commonly used alternative for bitter almonds. For those of you not familiar with it, the smell is that of almond extract, as used in marzipan, amaretti biscuits and Amaretto brandy. Oh, and cherry coke.

Stone fruit kernels have one immediate advantage: they're more readily available (especially here in the orchard districts) than the costly, rare-as-hen's-teeth bitter almond, at least here in New Zealand. The two have a particular chemical in common, benzaldehyde, which gives both their unique almond extract flavour (which incidentally, tastes nothing like ordinary almonds, with their delicate, nutty flavour).

The plan at the time was to make a noyaux-flavoured ice cream (this was last summer). I encouaged everyone I knew to save their stonefruit pits and stones. It was taking an age to build up a decent stockpile, when suddenly, three days of ferocious winds broke the tops of several of my mum's fruit trees: victory at last! I cut off the broken-fruit laden limbs; the fruit was bruised and battered, and mould was making a rapid move across the surface of the badly damaged crop. I gathered it all up and commenced salvaging the stones. Five hours of hammer cracking later, I'd accumulated a little over a kilo's worth of kernels...and an intense dislike of sandflies...and attention-seeking cats.

I wasn't going to be able to use them straight away, so I vaccum-packed them for use later on in the week. And promptly forgot about them...

Until now. I was going to make an ice cream but that's all I ever seem to make, so I thought a panna cotta would make for a change.

Noyaux Panna Cotta with a Caramelised Orange Compote

Make everything the day before you need to serve it. The panna cotta will set overnight, while the compote will be more flavoursome if allowed time to stand. Makes about 8 or 9 portions.

Panna cotta:

1 cup of stonefruit kernels, roughly ground
2 cups of cream
1 cup of milk
0.5 cup sugar
2.5 gelatine sheets

Soak the gelatine sheets in a little water. Place all remaining ingredients into a pot and gradually bring to the boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Remove from the heat, strain through a sieve and/or muslin to remove the kernels. Add gelatine sheets and stir until dissolved. Pour into dariole moulds or ramekins, and place in the fridge to set.

Compote:

3 oranges
1 cinnamon quill
3 cloves
1 cup water
1 cup brown sugar

Using a zester, remove the zest from two of the oranges in nice long strips; set aside. Place the water and brown sugar in a pot, bring to the boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar; add the quill and the cloves. Drop the zest in the boiling sugar syrup and leave until the mixture reduces to a syrupy, yet runny, consistency. While that's cooking, grab a good, sharp knife and slice the bottom off your oranges so that they'll sit upright. Slice off the peel and pith. Now cut the orange into segments, ensuring all the pith is gone. Pop the segments into the sugar syrup and bring back to the boil.

If the addition of the oranges results in a watery-looking syrup, cook it out until it reduces back to a syrupy consistency. Remove from the heat and allow to cool before placing it in the fridge to infuse overnight.

To serve, remove the orange container from the fridge and bring it back to room temperature (cold dampens flavour). Remove your zest and oranges, and sprinkle with brown sugar; grill until they caramelise. Place the fruit in a little mound next to the panna cotta you've successfully liberated from its mould. I drizzled a little of the orange syrup around the plate and garnished it with a few poppy seeds and some mint. To give it a little texture and balance, I added a homemade, baked apple crisp (slice apple, sprinkle with sugar, bake at low heat until it dries out). A wafer of some description would work equally well.

Links:
Want to try making other things with your stonefruit kernels? Try these -

DIY creme de noyaux liqueur clickety
Ice cream clickety

Borough Market, London

2011-04-19T09:19:00.059+12:00

Created with flickr slideshow from softsea.

With nary a Dickensian street urchin, bell-clanging leper or 'Oliver!'-esque flower seller to be seen, Borough market makes up for it by being a foodie paradise. Located near London Bridge, this glorious market is host to a vast array of fresh fruit, veg, meat, game and fish sellers, not to mention the army of artisnal food vendors. They'll be only to happy to talk to you, as well as provide you with samples to taste. I went for a wander one Saturday morning and ended up with bags of blood oranges, custard tarts and bramley apples. Oh, and a slice of chocolate cherry cake, some mead and a curry.

I spent far too much money there. So will you if you do it properly. Go take a look.

Links:

Borough market's Flickr group (awesome shots in here): clickety
How to get there: clickety
BM's website (sign up & you get recipes, news & information on what's available): clickety

Billingsgate Fish Market, London

2011-04-11T14:54:00.263+12:00

"Nah, mate - turn around and head back to Canary Wharf. Cut through the shopping centre - the shops will be closed but it's open, if you know wot I mean - and on the other side is a road. Go left out the door and follow it until you get to an overbridge. You should see the market on the other side of the road. It's huge, you won't miss it. You'll know you're not far off when you see the seagulls hanging 'round. Ha, fucking seagulls, ha ha!".

The last part of his comment turned out to be an invaluable tip.

Thanking the security guard manning his barrier arm on this cold, far-too-early part of a Saturday morning, I walked back to the station to try out his directions. I was you see, a bit lost. I'd been up since well before the crack of dawn, travelling from Surrey to London with the aim of visiting the Billingsgate fish market, the largest of its kind in the UK. Getting here was the easy part; finding the market was anything but.

The problem was, I was looking for a 'market': acres of open air stalls, manned by traders engaged in witty banter with customers; piles of freshly caught fish on ice; gangs of organised feral cats making off with boxes of lobster. If I'd done my research, I'd have realised that it was an indoor venue. This is where the security guard's seagull tip came in handy. The area was awash with buildings but one in particular had seagulls hovering over it. A five minute walk along what appeared to be its front revealed paydirt: Billingsgate market.

So why visit Billingsgate? Well, this old and venerable seafood market has long played a part in feeding the local populace - can you imagine how much fish you'd need to feed London alone? Daily? Curiosity value alone was enough to get me interested. I wanted to see what sort of variety was offered up by the oceans here. Plus, it's good too to see the steps involved in the journey our food makes from source to dinner plate.

After finally working out how to actually enter the building (just follow the natives), I was gobsmacked to see the interior. It certainly lives up to its reputation as being the largest fish market. After all my faffing about, I didn't get there till 6:30am (it opens at 4:30am, closes at 8:30am), but it was still packed to the gunnels with both fish and folk.

Fish in its myriad forms lay out on ice; tentacled, clawed, gilled, all waiting to be picked up and taken off to be steamed, fried, battered or simply devoured raw. Dozens of traders cajoled, haggled and laughed with (and on occasion, at) customers. Snide remarks and friendly insults were directed back and forth between traders. The market is indicative of London's multicultural identity; all manner of races were here, buying food for work and home. It was a lively, hectic venue.

Most product is sold frozen, although there were plenty of still freshly-flopping examples to be had. Fish was largely sold whole, so if you're after prepped fillets, you'll be disappointed. If you're there to shop, bring large bags and a chilly bin; generally speaking, traders seemed only to deal in substantial amounts, but you might have more luck later on as they try to get rid of stock (check the quality though).

The market itself is a cool venue, so dress warmly. Oh, and don't wear your flash shoes - the floor is hosed down regularly. It's not slippy, though.

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Billingsgate market is open for trading from 5.00am (you can go earlier, but the traders are still setting up shop) till about 8:30am, tuesday to saturday. I got there on the tube using the Jubilee line from Waterloo (my entry point to all-things London), getting off at Canary Wharf. It's not too much of a walk from the station if you know where you're going (which I clearly didn't). Alternatively, you could catch a bus, but I don't know the routes and timetables, but try looking here. By the way, if you time it right, you can visit Borough market straight after your visit here by taking the tube from Canary Wharf to London Bridge station (again, on the Jubilee line - tube map here).

River Cottage Canteen, Axminster

2011-04-10T16:18:00.008+12:00

Somewhere out in that vast, cold, English wilderness lies my lunch. That's not to say it's waiting to be trapped, shot or enticed into the back of a windowless van; it's actually in Axminster, which is pretty much wilderness country given the length of time I'd spent holidaying recently in the hubub of London. Axminster, located in Devon, is home to the River Cottage Canteen, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's eatery, offering nosh made from goods and produce sourced from both River Cottage HQ and its locale, the south west of England. I'm a big fan of the lad, and wanting to see what was on offer, found myself seated on a train with my sister, hurtling across Britain's cold bottom for a spot of lunch.

Two hours later we arrived in Axminster, leaving the warmth of our carriage to brave the cold walk up to Trinity Square, site of our lunch destination. Incidentally, I saw my first ever pair of trainspotters en route, standing on one of the platforms we pulled into. There they both were, notebooks in hand, writing down details of trains as they came by. On reflection, they might have been terrorists. One of them did after all have a beard; she had a pleasant face, too.

We walked into what was a very busy and packed Saturday lunch service. Fortunately, we only had to wait for about 5 minutes before we were seated by what was possibly Britain's youngest waitress, a very polite and efficient wee thing who ferried us into a large hall-like room (not unlike the school hall she was probably in the day before, tweeting away on her MP3 cassette player-thingy). There were large pictures of produce on the walls (I liked the triffid-like mushroom photo), and we were seated at one of the large, chunky tables graced with mismatched op-shop chairs.

The menu was simple, but plenty of choice was there to be had; relatively inexpensive, too. I chose a faggot (chortle) & my sister ordered the mackerel bap, with a lemon posset to share. "What's a lemon posset?", I hear you say? Keep reading...

The first of my three ciders, all locally made including one called 'Badger' or "Bramble". Or possibly "Zebra".

Lunch up! Here is my sister's Mackerel in a Bap: a nice crispy battered mackerel fillet in a fresh bap with hand-cut chips (with extra crunchy bits) and a chunky tartare sauce...

... and here's my bacon-wrapped faggot, made with savoury beef minced offcuts, with a delicious onion gravy and a hefty dollop of creamy mash. Perfect winter (or as the English call it, "spring") fare.

And now for the posset. It's a cold, set-cream pudding (flavoured here with lemon) served with shortbread for texture. Simple, unaffected presentation, and more importantly, it tasted great - creamy and sweet, with the zing of citrus providing contrast and balance.

With a return train to catch, it was time to pay and take a quick snoop around the souvenirs before leaving. Stopping by the pass, I asked the head chef how he made the posset. The man promptly dropped everything and came out to talk about the dessert, and also proceeded to write it down for me! Bless :) If you want to follow the recipe, bear in mind that the amounts given are restaurant quantities, so reduce each ingredient by about a quarter. To make, simply add the cream and sugar to a pan, bring to the boil, stirring to ensure the sugar's been dissolved, and boil for 3-4 minutes. Stir in your lemon juice and zest, pour into ramekins and leave to set in the fridge - simple as that!

So all in all, it was a great experience: friendly front of house staff, kindly kitchen folk, and tasty, flavoursome food. Pop along if you ever get a chance.

A big thank you to my sister, Heidi, for coming along :)

By the way, we didn't see Hugh F-W. He was probably busy organising this, the "Fish Fight" campaign which had a significant presence in the press at the time. Apparently, half of all the fish caught in the North Sea are thrown back, dead - such waste.

Goodbye, Provedore

2011-04-04T20:05:00.111+12:00

Provedore, the neatest little restaurant and bar here in Napier, not to mention being my workplace for almost three years, closed its doors yesterday. I like to think of the place as being a bit like a Gucci shirt, hanging in a wardrobe full of rugby jerseys; out amongst the provinces, where steak and fush liberally dusted with chopped parsley is considered de rigeur, "P" dared to be a little bit flash. It's the place where I learnt my trade, under the auspices of two magnificent chefs, Zana Price and Stacey Worsnop. It's the place where I've experienced emotions running the gamut from profound shittiness, right up to moments of unfeasible happiness; it's also the place where I've worked with a wide range of people, most who've proven to be good, decent folk.

All the very best to my old bosses, Simon Kerr and Jen Cho (bless your hearts), and good luck to new owner, Brian Casey, who will doubtlessly take the restaurant to new heights.

Pickled Walnuts - The Beginning

2011-02-01T16:39:00.001+13:00

Walnuts are truly amazing. The wood from their grand trees have provided furniture for nanas' the world over; the shells of the nut are tough and strong, finding use in heavy industry, as well as in battle (predominantly playground-oriented). And then there's the nut itself, found gracing all manner of food, whether it be cakes or cheeseboards, ice creams and tarts, pastes, oils, sauces and preserves. Walnuts have a uniqueness of flavour which see them working harmoniously with apples, pears, prunes and honey; they also sit quite comfortably with cumin and anise.

Pickled walnuts are a bit of a rarity in New Zealand. An age-old British practice, walnuts are pickled first by immersing the immature, green-husked nut in brine and then flavored by placing in spiced vinegar for several months. When ready, the now blackened husk is removed revealing the flavoursome baby walnut, which is then eaten with cold meats and cheeses.

The ideal time for picking walnuts for preserving is early to mid-summer. With three large, old trees within 100 metres of where I presently write, begging to be plundered, it seemed an ideal opportunity to launch myself into a new project. Not knowing where to start, I was fortunate enough to have in my possession a recipe passed down from generation to generation from the internet (a big thank you to the awesome Cottage Smallholder, a British site that's an absolute mine of information, particularly for those interested in self sufficiency). Time to get the ball rolling.

With a pack strapped to my back, I climbed one of my landlord's magnificent walnut trees. Once situated in the branches, the first thing you notice is the wonderful fragrance. The green walnut husks smell of pine and cardamom; quite exotic.

This wonderful fragrance was overwhelmed rather quickly by the odour of fear emanating from my tremulous self. God knows how many feet up in the air I was, but it was high and I wasn't keen on lingering. I gingerly crept out along the branches, grabbing walnuts as I went, slipping them into my pack. With it rapidly filling, I began to ease myself back towards the trunk and found my way back down.

Having completed the hardest part of the job, and having duly changed my trousers, it was now time to commence with the fiddly bits. First, I had to check whether the shell inside the husk had hardened around the nut - if it has, it'll have to be rejected because the spiced vinegar won't be be able to permeate through to the nut to flavour it. To gauge suitability, grab a fork and insert it into the husk at the end opposite where the stalk was. If it slides in unhindered, it's a keeper. Do this to all of your nuts *chortle*

Oh, and put some gloves on before you start. When you jab the husk, it will release a liquid which will stain your fingers, giving them the nicotine-stained appearance of someone who's been smoking since the age of nine. It took a week before it started to fade. You have been warned...

Next, you'll need to brine the walnuts for two weeks. In a bucket, dissolve salt with water at the rate of 150g per litre of water (that's a 5L bucket, above). Once done, add your walnuts. Pop something heavy on top to ensure that all the walnuts are submerged. After seven days, tip out the brine and replace with a fresh mix. Over time, the walnuts will turn from green to a dirty, charcoal-grey.

At the end of two weeks, tip your walnuts and brine into the sink. Rinse the walnuts in cold water, dry with a towel and place on a tray lined with baking or greaseproof paper. Once exposed to air, they will rapidly turn black. Turn them to ensure all sides are exposed - leave for three days.

Now for the spiced vinegar, which serves as both preservative and flavouring agent. Here, I leave it up to you as to how you'll flavour your vinegar. The most common recipes I've found online and in books seem to have malt vinegar with cloves, mustard, peppercorns and allspice. Fiona at Cottage Smallholder has several variations, some using white wine vinegar, tarragon, mace and garlic. I used malt vinegar with dried chillies, coriander seeds, peppercorns, cloves, brown sugar and a bayleaf. Ratios are roughly 1.5 teaspoons of dried spice and 3 tablespoons of whole spice (this covers sugar, too) per 1.5L of vinegar. It's not gospel though; again, feel free to use whatever you like in whatever proportion you see fit.

Bring all your ingredients to the boil, then reduce to a very gentle simmer for about an hour. Place your walnuts in sterilised jars, then pour over your spiced vinegar. Seal and leave in a cool, dark place for at least three months. These will be ready just as winter takes up residence here - I'll bring you pictures then and we'll see how they taste...

Pineapple & Mango (But Mostly Pineapple) Chutney

2011-01-24T02:08:00.008+13:00

Chutney: no self-respecting Indian meal would be without a generous dollop of the stuff. For those not in the know, a chutney is a combination of fruit and veg, slow cooked in vinegar with sugar and spices, and then stored for a long period of time to intensify its flavour. Chutney, in all its many and varied forms, is but one of the many gifts the fine people of the Indian subcontinent have bestowed upon the world. Taking its place alongside Buddhism, call centres, using rocks down at the river to do your laundry, chess, and the largest film industry on the planet, chutney is indeed a bright star, doing its motherland proud. All this, and tasty, too.

Why pineapple and mango chutney? Well, the fruit was dirt cheap. Quite a lot of imported tropical goodies have been making an appearance around town, thanks largely to the Christmas/New Years holiday. Recently, one of the local supermarkets was selling pineapples for $2 each, so I grabbed a few with the thought of making a chutney, something I've not made before. I had a couple of mangos sitting in the fridge which needed to be used up too, so they went in as well.

Making chutney is a simple process, certainly nowhere near as involved as jam-making. The key thing to remember though is to cook your fruit out slowly, over a low heat.

The recipe is somewhat westernised, the original probably using a wider array of spices, but it's still pretty good. You will need:

2 pineapples, cubed
2 mangos, green, cubed (any other colour will be far too soft & a pain to use)
1 tsp ground cardamom
1 cinnamon quill
8 tbspn white wine vinegar
10 cloves
10 peppercorns
4 tspns ground cumin
Salt & pepper
1.5 cups brown sugar
5" long piece of ginger, peeled & grated
1 clove garlic
1 large red chili, deseeded & finely chopped

I didn't have ground cardamom or cumin - just seeds. Remove any pods/casings and toast lightly in the oven (keep an eye on them so they don't burn). Grind to a powder in a mortar and pestle, or place on a chopping board and crush with the bottom of a pot.

Put all ingredients into a pan except the garlic, ginger, mango and pineapple. Heat and stir to dissolve brown sugar. Bring to the boil, then simmer for 15 minutes. Do not cover.

Add remaining ingredients and gently simmer until the fruit is soft, by which time most of the liquid should have evaporated. Allow at least a couple of hours (remember: low heat + long time = great chutney). Again, do not cover.

At this point, the chutney should be thick and smooth. Taste, and season with salt and pepper.

How did it taste? It was pleasantly warming and spicy, with a distinct pineapple flavour; unfortunately, you couldn't taste the mango at all. While it's hot, pour into warm, sterilised jars, seal and store in a cool, dark place. You could eat it now, but as with most preserves, the longer you leave it to sit and develop, the more flavoursome it will be (at least a month, and longer is better, as most women will tell you). Serve alongside curries or with fried fish; I tried a bit with some small, whole flounder dredged in seasoned flour: very win!

Linky goodness:

How to cut up a pineapple kerlickety
The biggest collection of Indian recipes ever! kerlickety

Sweet Pickled Cherries

2011-01-23T08:18:00.000+13:00

I still have cherries to get rid of, so this was my next project: a sweet fruit pickle. Less acid and much sweeter than a typical pickle (chortle), this rich preserve is ideal for spooning over ice cream or other equally delicious treats.

Don't be put off by the presence here of vinegar; the sugar does indeed make this pleasantly sweet. Vinegar acts as a preservative, its high level of acidity effectively stopping bacterial activity.

You will need:

900 g cherries (I left the stalks on for decorative effect - you don't have to)
600 ml white wine vinegar (far less pungent than malt, essential so that the cherries aren't overwhelmed)
225 g brown sugar
2 cinnamon quills
1 tsp cloves

Pour the vinegar into a pot, along with the sugar and spices. Slowly bring to the boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Add the cherries and simmer for an additional 15 minutes. Remove the cherries and place in warm, sterilised jars. Bring the liquid back to the boil and cook until it is the consistency of a runny syrup - not too liquid, but not too thick like treacle or golden syrup (otherwise known as the Goldilocks treatment). It will also thicken as it cools, so don't let the liquid reduce too much.

Pour the hot syrup (I left the spices in) over the cherries, cover and store in a cool, dark place. Again, you could eat it straight away but the longer it's left, the more the flavours will develop. Once you open the jar, store in the fridge. Serve over desserts (hot or cold) with a generous measure of syrup, disregarding signs of anxiety from your teeth.

Recipe from The Penguin Book of Jams, Pickles and Chutneys by David and Rose Mabey - grand wee book, find yourself a copy if you can.

Cherry & Walnut Jam

2011-01-22T17:48:00.006+13:00

Do you have so much fruit that the kids in your neighborhood have given up raiding your fruit trees and are instead honing their shoplifting skills in town? Here in Hawke's Bay, tree after tree after tree is laden with the summer's bounty. As a result, I find myself with quite a few kilos of fruit, particularly cherries, so it made sense to start preserving some of this excess goodness for later use - time to make some jam.

First, a little jam tutorial. In jam making, three elements are required: sugar, acid and pectin. Pectin is essential as it is needed for the jam to gel. It is present in the cell walls of fruit; cooking breaks down the walls, releasing the pectin. Acid, often in the form of lemon juice, aids in the extraction of pectin, as well as serving to temper flavour and stopping the sugar from crystallising after the jam's been made. Sugar's role is not only that of a sweetener but also as a preservative.

Some fruits have higher levels of pectin than others. Cherries feature low on this list, which is why we have raisins in the recipe. Combining fruit or the juices of fruits high in pectin with mid to low level fruit is a common practice, as is using commercial pectin or pectin-added sugar.

Also worth remembering is that you should use fruit that is ripe or just a tad under - pectin levels here are at their most optimum.

Todays recipe comes courtesy of "Jams, Pickles and Chutneys" by David and Rose Mabey, an amazing old British cookbook. You can always rely on the British for two things: odd scandals and brilliant jams, both usually pretty tasty. You're going to need:

1 kg cherries, de-stemmed
675 g sugar
juice of a large lemon
110 g raisins
56 g chopped walnuts, lightly roasted

Halve the cherries, reserving the stones, and place the fruit in a large pot; sprinkle with a little of your sugar. Here, I tweaked the recipe a little: grab the stones and place inside a tea towel and bash with a hammer. Remove the little kernels from the stones, chop them up roughly and wrap up in a piece of muslin, tying to form a bag - place it in the pot. This will impart a subtle almond flavour to the jam as it cooks*.

Add lemon juice and raisins (I actually used sultanas - it's all I had in the cupboard and I'm not traipsing down to the shop just for raisins. Besides, I thought they were raisins - the perils of cooking without your glasses).

By this time, the sugar added earlier will have drawn out a little moisture from the cherries which should stop it from sticking to the bottom of the pot as it's cooked. Turn on the heat and bring to a gentle simmer; cook until the fruit is soft. Remove the bag and add the sugar, stirring to ensure it dissolves - this is vital as it will affect the jams ability to set. Once done, gently increase the heat and bring to a rolling boil.

Boil until you have achieved setting point, which is 104°c. This can be gauged by using a sugar thermometer (they're actually quite cheap, around NZ$15-20 at any kitchenwares-type store). Alternatively, pop a plate into the freezer at the very start and bring it out when you're about to begin testing. Place a teaspoon of proto-jam on the plate, leave to cool and then gently nudge it with your finger; if your finger goes through it, continue boiling. If it wrinkles, it's ready.

Whip off any scum using a spoon or ladle. Stir in your chopped walnuts and pour into warm sterilised jars; leave to cool slighly and stir to ensure that the walnuts are evenly dispersed. Cover and place somewhere cool and dark. You could eat it now but obviously the longer you leave it, the more the flavours will develop. It just occurred to me - a slug of kirsch wouldn't go amiss if you have some. Add some to the jam, too.

Voila! Cherry and walnut jam: as smooth as Don Draper's suits. Grab some cherries (or hire a small band of feral children to do it for you), and get busy before they disappear.

*There are concerns about the trace amounts of cyanide to be found in some varieties of seed and kernels, cherries included. The amounts are minuscule, and your body is quite capable of detoxifying anything you ingest, but if you are worried:

roast the stones for 10 minutes in a pre-heated oven at 180°c
remove stones, turning the oven down to 120°c
extract the kernel and roast them for 10 minutes (keep an eye on it; given its size, they are prone to burning). High heat destroys the cyanide-producing enzyme
alternatively, leave them out - the jam will taste just as good without them.

Raspberry Vinegar

2011-01-17T09:16:00.002+13:00

"Here is a pleasant 'refresher', specially suitable for the young after lawn tennis or sports on hot days, but acceptable also to their elders when exhausted by church, depressed by gardening, or exasperated by shopping."

"Take one pound of raspberries¹ to every pint best white vinegar². Let it stand for a fortnight in a covered jar in a cool larder. Then strain without pressure, and to every pint add 12 ounces white sugar³. Boil ten minutes, let cool and bottle in nice medium-sized bottles saved perhaps from some present of foreign liquers."

"A teaspoonful stirred into a tumbler of water with a lump of ice, or introduced to a very cold syphon will taste like the elixir of life on a hot day, and is as pretty as it is pleasant."

Recipe from "Kitchen Essays" by Lady Agnes Jekyll, 1922 (subsequent reprints, Persephone Classics)

¹ one pound = 450(ish) grams
² one pint (imperial) = roughly half a litre (0.568 ml)
³ 12 ounces = 340 grams

Brown Bread Ice Cream

2011-01-03T12:06:00.115+13:00

I recently made a wholemeal rewena loaf, promptly forgot about it, and then re-discovered it several days later in all its stale, dried out, brick-like glory. It seemed a waste to feed it to the birds (and given its state, chances are they'd only pick it up & drop it back off on my doorstep), so I thought I'd give that classic English dessert, brown bread ice cream, a try.

As you can see from the slices I managed to hack off, it was a good sourdough, probably my most successful yet. It was forgotten in my rush to get back to my mum's for Christmas, so it spent a few days doing some additional baking in the afternoon summer sun that streams in through my kitchen window. The bread looks a little pale in the photo, but it was a lovely brown colour. It's now gone to a better place...

Brown Bread Ice Cream

4 egg yolks
100g caster sugar
vanilla pod
375ml milk
125ml cream
40g butter
100g crustless wholemeal bread, stale
50g soft light brown sugar
300ml cream
1 tablespoon brandy (optional, but it does lend a nice flavour, and the alcohol will make the ice cream nice and smooth)

Preheat your oven to 180c. Place your stale bread in the food processor to make crumbs (not too long, otherwise you'll end up with dust). Mix the brown sugar with the melted butter and add the crumbs, stir well then spread the mixture out onto an oven tray lined with baking paper.

Bake the crumbs for 15 minutes, turning from time to time until they are evenly toasted and crisp. Do keep an eye on them after the 10 minute mark, because depending on the idiosyncratic nature of your oven, they may burn. Once done, remove and leave to cool.

Cut the vanilla pod open and scrape out the seeds. Pour the milk into a pot, add the vanilla pod and seeds and bring to the boil.

While the milk is coming to the boil, whisk the egg yolks & sugar in a bowl until thick and pale. Gradually pour on the hot milk, whisking constantly. Return the mixture to the pot and cook over a gentle heat, stirring all the time - do not allow to come to the boil. When the custard thickens and coats the back of the spoon, pass through a sieve, add the brandy and leave to cool. Pop a piece of clingfilm directly on top of the custard to prevent it from forming a skin.

Stir the cream into the custard and place in your ice cream maker. Churn until thick, about 15-20 minutes. While that's happening, rub the breadcrumbs between your fingers to break up any big lumps. Add the crumbs into the mixture, a little at a time, and churn for an additional 5-10 minutes. Freeze, or eat straight away. How does it taste? Sweet, and pleasantly nutty and crunchy.

Note: there are doubtlessly a sizable number of you who don't have an ice cream maker. Here's a link to Jules of the fantastic Stone Soup who has a no-machine recipe for a lemon ice cream which could be adapted. The key to its success lies in the sugar content and amount of air incorporated into the mix. Also, David Lebovitz, world-renown pastry chef and author, has a recipe here for a no-machine ice cream.

Playing Chopsticks

2011-01-03T11:24:00.002+13:00

Having difficulty convincing your child to eat their vegetables? Frustrated by the constant appearance of broccoli on your wallpaper? Are your threats of boarding school or millitary academy laughed off by your impudent 2 year old? Then teach them to use chopsticks!

It's a win-win situation for all involved. The child gets to play with their food; parent/s see the child refining their motor skills, and through exposure to something quite unique, the world may even end up with one less philistine roaming its surface.

Pictured above is Cohen (3), practising on some grapes, frozen peas and corn. Later, he was seen experimenting on blocks, toy cars and mummy's hair accessories.

Making the task of learning how to use chopsticks easier is this children's training set I found in a store in town recently - the design is ingenious. There are three rings, two of which accomodate the middle and index fingers, with a larger ring on the bottom stick for the thumb. Connecting the chopsticks is a hinge (the bird) which when in use allows only the top stick to move. The tips are rounded, providing more surface area for picking up food, as well as eliminating sharp, stabby bits. The whole unit is quite hefty and solid, made with dishwasher-safe, high grade plastic.

They are an unashamedly cool thing! Here he comes, in for the attack, like Luke Skywalker's X-wing hurtling down the Death Star's trench!

Steady...steady... The index and middle fingers do most of the work, while the bottom chopstick remains relatively still (and yes, there is some finger slippage).

Kerplunk! Yaaaay!

By all accounts, Cohen's quite taken with his new acquisition, carting it with him around town. Introducing chopsticks to meal times can only make the dining experience more enjoyable, for both parents and children. Whatever kind you use, fun will inevitably ensue. Not sure how to use them? Check the links at the end of the post.

A big thank you (and tickles) to Cohen, Haley (Cohen's mum) and Stacey :)

Linky Goodness:

Want to learn how to use chopsticks? Google is your friend click ;Youtube, too click
Training Chopsticks (Australia) - home of this great tool (adult models available as well) click
Wikipedia's page on chopsticks - an absolute mine of information click
Chopsticks in the news: China declares war on disposable chopsticks click

Merry Christmas!

2010-12-24T06:00:00.016+13:00

Have a fantastic day tomorrow, bless :)

Gorseflower Cordial

2010-09-15T12:16:00.003+12:00

Fancy one of these?

First, you'll need to pick approximately eleventy million of these: gorse flowers, plucked from one of the near countless numbers of gorse that dot the New Zealand countryside. They have the unique scent of coconut and when handled, have a keen sweet smell, not unlike freshly mown grass. You'll need quite a bit to make gorse flower cordial, which I used to make the cocktail pictured above.

First, some background. Gorse was introduced here from the UK at the time of European colonisation. A naturally hardy plant, gorse flourished and then spread like wildfire, becoming our country's single most invasive plant species, with millions spent over the years in trying to eradicate it. While still considered a blight, gorse is increasingly used to foster the regeneration of native forest, serving as cover for young plants until they become established.

Gorse bushes will flower for most of the year, but become especially prolific in spring. I see them all the time when driving along Highway 50 here in Hawke's Bay, and this inspired me, along with an old episode of River Cottage where Hugh F-W made gorse flower wine, to try and make something with them. I thought about making the wine, but I don't have the brewing equipment... yet (material for a future post). So, I settled for a gorse cordial recipe I found at the awesome Eat Weeds site. I was hoping it would taste as good as it smelt, so maybe it would lend itself to a cocktail of some description. Time to get to work...

First, find your gorse bush. Being as prolific as they are, you shouldn't have too much difficulty finding them - try riverbanks, abandoned plots of land, or ask a farmer. Gorse bushes are smothered in wicked-looking spines, so be careful when plucking your flowers. I didn't bother, but you may want to give thought to wearing some gardening gloves; nothing too thick though, otherwise you won't feel a thing and won't be able to grasp the flowers. You'll need 4 large handfuls worth to make around half a litre of cordial. Pop into a plastic bag as you pick.

In order to minimise the loss of scent/flavour, I pretty much made the cordial as soon as I got home.

Gorse Flower Cordial

4 large handfuls of gorse flowers
250g caster sugar
600ml water
juice of a lemon
zest of an orange

Dissolve sugar in the water and bring to the boil; keep at a rolling boil for 10 minutes, then remove from the heat. Add all ingredients immediately, and stir. Straight away, the first thing I noticed was a smell similar to sweet, fruity herbal tea - no trace of the distinctive coconut smell, however. Leave overnight to cool and infuse, then strain through muslin or similar. It has a bright yellow, Mountain Dew-kind of colour. Store in the fridge.

How did it taste? I took it to work to get opinions and got lots of "mangoes", "cut grass", "spring" and "herby notes". The flavour, while subtle, was quite distinctive.

I tinkered with a few cocktail recipes and came up with this (it doesn't have a name). I ruled out gin, fearing that the pronounced flavours of the botanicals would swamp the cordial, unlike vermouth which I thought would be a little gentler. I'm no expert on cocktails, by any stretch, so if you have any suggestions or would do things differently, feel free to chime in with your thoughts.

30ml vodka
30ml dry vermouth
30ml gorse flower cordial

Place ingredients into a cocktail mixer with ice, and stir. Strain into a glass over ice - serve. It has a palid, lime colour, and the flavour of the cordial lingers for quite a while. Alternatively, have with a big splash of soda water and ice. Either way, it's a very pleasant tipple :)

Duck Scratchings

2010-09-06T22:43:00.002+12:00

One of my jobs at the restaurant is to contribute ideas which, after some tinkering, could end up as viable, tasty dishes on the tapas menu. One day, I was watching head chef prepping duck legs for service, trimming off the excess skin and fat, when it occurred to me: duck scratchings! Just like pork scratchings, except more ducky! Crisp, puffy duck skins, roasted in the oven, dusted with salt and served as a tapa with beer - how unique! No one else in the world could possibly have come up with such an awesome idea!

68,203 results on Google proved me wrong.

No matter. It was still worth pursuing.

Just to see what I should be doing, I popped into the British food section of my local supermarket, which happens to stock pork scratchings - the template for my idea. I bought two different brands (one's actually made in New Zealand!), and tipped them out to see how they looked and tasted.

While both were pleasantly porky and salty, the British-made product was quite hard, and the NZ-made scratchings crunchy - crunch is what I was after, and I figured cooking my duck skins at a moderate heat for about half an hour should do it.

Turn your oven on to 180c, and pop a tray inside to warm up. Using a good sharp knife, cut your duck skin into finger-width-and-length strips.

Place your duck skins onto the heated tray (line it with baking paper; I forgot), sprinkle generously with maldon or sea salt, then place in the oven for 30-40 minutes, or until golden brown and crisp. They will shrink in size quite considerably, so don't be alarmed. You'll also end up with a surprising amount of rendered duck fat.

Pass the fat through some muslin (to keep out debris) and into a container. Cool it down, cover and pop in the fridge; use it later when roasting spuds to make them more flavoursome.

Place the scratchings on a paper towel to drain. Allow to cool, during which time they'll harden.

Did they make it onto the menu? No. While they are quite tasty (lots of roast duck flavour, pleasantly salty), they still retain a little fat which may turn people off (that, and the salt). Longer cooking may remedy this, but to the detriment of the skin's flavour, I feel. No worries! It was an interesting experiment, and a neat way of using up waste product. The next time you're preparing duck at home, give this a go - duck skin is far tastier than, say, chicken skin (which you're supposed to remove for a healthier meal), and a real treat. Tell me how you get on :)

Churros & Hot Chocolate

2010-09-01T02:03:00.001+12:00

It's cold and miserable outside, and you're tucked up in front of the fire reading a juicy bodice-ripper/watching Jersey Shore. Suddenly, you get the urge...

Feeling better after peeing, you decide that what you want right now is a hot drink. But not just any old hot drink. And a snack would be good, too. A thick, Spanish-style hot chocolate and some piping hot cinnamon sugar-coated churros would be just about perfect, you think to yourself. Keen? Then read on...

Let's make the churros dough first. This can be made well in advance, and the longer it's left, the more the flavours will develop. You'll need:

1/3 cup of water
1 tsp ground cinnamon
150g flour
30g butter, room temperature
zest of an orange, small - medium
1/4 tsp caster sugar
2 eggs

Later on, you'll need:

a piping bag (with a 5mm star nozzle if you have one, but it's not essential)
1L of vegetable oil for deep frying the churros
a temperature gauge (candy or meat thermometer) for the oil
1/2 cup sugar & 2 tsp cinnamon, combined, for dusting the cooked churros

And while we're at it, the hot chocolate (serves up to 6, easily):

250g dark chocolate (I used Whittaker's 72% cocoa Dark Ghana)
1L milk
2 tbspns cornflour (cornstarch)
sugar, to taste

Place all of your churros ingredients (except the eggs) into a pot and stir over a low heat until the butter melts and a rough dough forms. Continue cooking out for another 2-3 minutes, stirring constantly, until the dough forms a ball around your wooden spoon.

Place the warm dough into your food processor, and while the motor is running, add the eggs. Stop as soon as they appear to be fully incorporated into the dough mix. Pull it out and check the consistency: it should be firm but pliable. There should be sufficient body for it to be able to be cut with scissors.

Time to fill the piping bag. Insert your nozzle into the bag before filling with the dough. To make filling easier, grab a jug and insert the bag inside, folding the topmost part of the bag over the top and sides of the jug (check the photo if that makes more sense). This leaves your hands free to scrape every drop of dough from out of the bowl.

You'll want to eat your churros while they're hot, so cook them at the last minute, say, as soon as you finish making the hot chocolate (that's coming up soon). Heat your oil in a pot, and using your thermometer, you'll want the temperature to reach 180c/350f. Don't have a thermometer? Drop in a cube of white bread & it should brown in about 12-15 seconds. If you're really lucky, you'll have a deep fryer like I do, one of several treasures found over the years at the dump shop (actually called The Second Treasure Shop, the Southern Landfill Recycling Centre's store in Happy Valley, Wellington). Cheers, dump shop! Cheers, Rob! W00t!

Pipe in finger-length sections of dough and snip off with a pair of scissors. They'll take two to three minutes to cook - turn them over halfway during cooking.

Once puffed and brown, remove from the oil, and drain on paper towels. Toss them in the cinnamon sugar mix while hot and eat straight away.

To make the hot chocolate, make a slurry with the cornflour using a little of the milk - put aside. Place the broken up chocolate into a pot with the rest of the milk, and place over a low heat, stirring all the while until the two are combined - it smells amazing, and the odour will fill the whole house (if it's little, like mine). Pour a little of the slurry into the milk mix, whisking like the devil. Add a little more, whisking again, and then add the remainder. Technically, you should add hot to cold when tempering, but this is far from being hot, and it's always turned out fine on the occasions I've made this. Increase your heat by a smidgeon, and whisk constantly until it's on the cusp of boiling. It should look quite frothy and feel surprisingly thick. Take off the heat and whisk in sugar to taste.

Serve with your churros, put your feet up and worry about the pile of dishes you've made later - there are ripped bodices to be read about, and Jersey Shore's not going to watch itself, you know.

Brining & Marinating Olives

2010-08-30T13:38:00.055+12:00

Olives to me are a reminder of summer flavours and warmer climes. Bite into an olive and straight away you're transported to the warm waters of the Aegean, the dry hills of Greece. You could almost imagine lying under an olive tree, watching angry centaurs hurl amphorae of wine at British film crews, in town to record crap like "How to Turn a Goat Pen into Your Mediterranean Holiday Home!" for the Lifestyle Channel. Such is the evocative power of the olive!

Their meaty, salty flavour has made them popular around the world, and here in New Zealand, the drier parts of our countryside play host to sizable tracts of land devoted to their production. Olives are a familiar sight on the shelves of our supermarkets, deli's, and community markets; it beggars belief to think that it wasn't so long ago that they were considered, in this country anyway, quite a rarity.

A wee while ago, I ended up with a couple of buckets of olives. In their natural state, they are quite unpalatable, due entirely to the presence of a chemical compound called oleurophin. This makes them extremely bitter, a handy trait because it dissuades birds and insects from eating the fruit, giving them a chance to develop. Soaking in brine enables the oleurophin to be leeched out, rendering it edible.

There are a raft of tried and true brining methods; some use chemicals such as caustic soda; some involve fermentation. A common feature of all techniques was the use of salt. After some research, the one I liked best was that used by the lads at Moon Over Martinborough - their method employs nothing but water (and a little rock salt towards the end). It was the easiest and certainly the most straightforward. This is how it went...

The first step in the process is to make two or three slits in each fruit with a knife; this allows the water to work its way into the interior and begin leeching the oleurophin from the olives.

Once done, put your olives into a bucket of water. Leave them for forty days, changing the water every two days - it's that simple.

Once the forty days has elapsed, pour off the water and cover your olives with rock salt - leave for a good couple of days. During this time, hunt down some jars and lids, if you haven't already done so.

Now, tip the olives into a big colander and wash thoroughly in cold water to remove the salt & its residue. You could eat them now, or better still, marinate them.

There are a vast array of ingredients you can use to marinate your olives: coriander seeds, peppercorns, sage, thyme, cumin seeds, citrus zest - if you think it'll add to the flavour of the olives, hurl it in. Place your marinade ingredients on top; I used orange zest, lemon zest, fresh rosemary, bay leaves, a few cloves of smashed garlic and a couple of torn, dried chilies. Place your olives in a large container, then toss them with your marinating ingredients so that they're coated. Tip them into your sterilised jars and pour olive oil (don't use anything flash; a pomace or similar cheapie will do just fine) over the contents, right up to the brim. Cover, then place somewhere cool and dark to infuse for at least a couple of weeks (they're good for up to six months).

I ran out of jars and had to use a couple of plastic prep containers to hold the excess, and so these were the first to be ripped open and devoured, just a few weeks ago! When yours are ready (remember to allow at least two weeks - they'll smell fantastic), make yourself a little antipasto platter. Along with the olives, add some feta, some vine-ripened tomatoes, a little chorizo, some fresh, crusty bread - whatever you can get your hands on. Grab your little feast, find a nice, warm spot in the sun and eat hearty. Or sit and eat while watching Jersey Shore. However you enjoy your olives, savour that taste of summer - it's not that far away...

Links:

Photos from a field trip I went on to The Village Press, outside Hastings, from a couple of years ago: click
Want to try a great NZ-made olive oil? Try Moon over Martinborough: click

Portuguese Custard Tarts

2010-07-29T08:13:00.000+12:00

Portuguese custard tarts are rich, sweet, vanilla-laden mouthfuls of pure delight. Known in some quarters as "Devils Dainties" or the less imaginative "Coronary Cupcakes", I make them from time to time at work, and they're guaranteed big sellers. The recipe I use differs from most in that the custard is poured straight into the pastry to cook in the oven, rather than being cooked off beforehand. It's also thickened using yolks rather than a starch such as cornflour, resulting in a much richer flavour.
You'll need:

puff pastry (defrosted)
9 egg yolks
1/2 cup sugar
700ml cream
splash of vanilla essence (or a split vanilla pod if you have any)

This makes about 10 large size (as in large muffin-size) tarts.

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees celsius. Sprink or grease your muffin trays. Dust your bench with icing sugar and then roll out your puff pastry until thin; cut into circles and press into your tray, then allow to rest for half an hour. In a pot, bring 700ml of cream and vanilla to the boil (if using a vanilla pod, scrape it and add that as well as the pod to the cream - discard afterwards). While that's heating up, place your egg yolks in a bowl, add the sugar and whisk until thick and pale yellow. Once done, grab a wooden spoon, and pour a little of the boiled cream into the egg mix - stir vigorously. Add a little more, stirring to combine, then add the remainder. This technique is known as tempering. If you add all of the boiled cream at once, the egg mix will scramble. Adding a little at a time allows the mixture to adjust to the contrasting temperature.

Fill each pastry till about 3/4 full, then place in the oven. Bake for 20 minutes or until set. Pop on a plate, dust with icing sugar and sit back and watch as they fly off the plate!

A big thank you to my boss and new head chef at P, Stacey Worsnop, for the recipe :)

Changing of the Guard

2010-07-12T23:47:00.002+12:00

That's my boss, Zana Price, head chef at Provedore, performing that end of evening ritual seen in restaurants around the world: ordering stock for the days to come. I worked with her for the last time on Sunday; she's leaving to take the helm at another establishment here in Napier. Zana's been a wealth of knowledge, and has done her best to knock some of that expertise into my noggin, right up until her last day. She has shown me so much, and been generous with both her time and patience; it's helped shape and form this new chef, and for that, I am very, very grateful.

Thank you, chef. Ngā mihi rā mō ngā rā kei mua i te aroaro - all the best for the future.

Glacé Cherries

2010-07-08T00:42:00.010+12:00

I love fruit cake. For me, nothing beats the simple pleasure of biting into a big slice of fruit cake, with a cup of tea, my slippers, and a copy of Alzheimer's Weekly (when they remember to send it), all within reach. The integral part of a good fruit cake is of course, the fruit - plump, rich sultanas, along with zesty, sweet mixed peel - but pride of place in that delicious cakey-crown must surely go to the glacé cherry.

While shop-bought glacé cherries certainly look nice, any claim to actually being a "cherry" is nominal. Processing the fruit starts with it being soaked in a preservative solution (containing E211 and E220*), before being placed in a sugar syrup augmented with glucose. The cherry's colour and flavour suffer during the process and so are supplemented with the addition of a red dye (E129), and both artificial and natural flavourings.

With all that going on, surely a home made one would taste better? How would it look? Like a seagull spotting a stray chip, or better yet a bit of cake, I spotted an opportunity and swooped in to seize it: I was going to make glacé cherries.

But first, some homework. I had a handy book from Bronwyn which had a section on preserving fruit which would have served well if it wasn't for the fact that I'd lost it. I ransacked my library and found instead a recipe in James Martin's "Desserts" which involved steeping the cherries over a six day period in syrup - I decided to use that (incidentally, his "Great British Winter" book has an awesome recipe for christmas cake, which I intend using these cherries in). While I now had a recipe, I needed to understand why it worked the way it did. After a little digging, M. Shafiur Rahman's "Handbook on Food Preservation" offered an explanation.

Glacé cherries are obviously cherries preserved for use when they're out of season. The water content of the fruit poses a problem, because it provides conditions ideal for bacteria to thrive in, so clearly it needs to be removed. How is this done? By steeping the cherries in sugar syrup. This causes water to pass from the fruit into the syrup through osmotic pressure; applying heat to the syrup hastens the process. Afterwards, the fruit is air-dried to remove any remaining water. Done slowly over time, the process allows the fruit to maintain its plumpness, as well as most of its colour and flavour, although there is a marked increase in sweetness.

Time to get started. I bought 500g of American cherries which I'd found at the supermarket - just pick the nice ones - and weighed up 200g of sugar. Rinse your fruit, then remove the stones (I used an olive pitter). Pop your cherries into a pot and add just enough water to cover them.

Bring to the boil, reduce the heat and simmer until the cherries have softened but still retain some firmness. Add your sugar, stir until dissolved, then remove from the heat.

Pour the cherries and syrup into a container, then arrange into a single layer.

As you can see, there is some colour loss but this will change as it begins to steep in the syrup. Cover and leave for 24 hours.

The next day, drain the syrup from the fruit and measure into a pot. Add 30g of sugar for each 300ml of syrup and bring to the boil, again stirring to dissolve the sugar.

Pour over the fruit, cover and leave for 24 hours. Repeat this step two more times, increasing the sugar to 40g per 300ml of syrup.

By now, the fruit had changed to a blackberry-purple type colour, markedly different in appearance from the washed-out red I started with. While there was some reduction in size, the fruit was surprisingly firm; the syrup was almost as thick as double cream.

Day five: drain the syrup from the fruit, measure, then pour the syrup into a large pot (it will foam up) and add 20g of sugar for each 50ml of syrup; at this stage I had 450ml of liquid, so I added 180g. Bring to the boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Add the cherries and boil for 2 minutes. Return to your container and leave for 12 hours. Then repeat this step. The syrup will have the consistency of honey or treacle.

Drain off the syrup and place the cherries on a cake rack to dry, placing it over a sheet of baking paper. Once dry, store in an airtight container with the fruit sandwiched between two sheets of greaseproof paper, ready for use.

Voila! Home made glacé cherries - dark, sweet and more tantalising than a bought packet! They still have most of their cherry flavour and despite being plump, they're not particularly juicy, which is good, otherwise it could result in a soggy cake. Don't they look good!

Linky Goodness:

"Osmotic Dehydration of Foods" from M. Shafiur Rahman's "Handbook of Food Preservation" (via Google Books) clickety
*Curious about the little letters and numbers (E211, E129, etc) that appear on the ingredients list of your grocery items? (via t'wiki) clickety
"Cherry" by Ratatat: clickety

Update 21/12/10:

There's mould starting to grow on the cherries! Despite being kept in a cool, dark place, it would seem that these sugar-drenched treats aren't beyond the reach of our tiny fungal-friends. Based on the time this project was started, the cherries are good for around 5-6 months.

DIY Crystallised Ginger UPDATED 8/7/10*

2010-06-26T10:34:00.018+12:00

8/7/10 I've added something to the end of this post - read on...
Tired of watching fat cat supermarket owners flying around in Lear jets, paid for by the money you spent on over-priced baking products? Fight the power and stick it to 'the man' by making your own crystallised ginger! Yeah!

Actually, I was making a syrup for work and needed some crystallised ginger for the recipe. The price for it had gone up by quite a bit since I last bought some, which made no sense seeing as plain old ginger root always seems to cost mere tuppence. So I trotted off home to see if I could make my own and save some money. Doing a little surfing online, I kept coming across what was essentially the same recipe, website after website. So after a little calculating, I distilled my results down to the following recipe...

You'll need:

    * 500g sugar, plus about 100g extra
    * 750g ginger root
    * water to cover the ginger, about 2-3 cups (500 - 750ml)

Peel the skin from the ginger, cutting off any damaged and discoloured parts. Cut into a rough dice (go against the grain; good advice if the ginger you've bought is stringy, an indication of advanced age - still usable though). Place in a pot, along with the sugar and water.

Bring to the boil, stirring all the while to dissolve the sugar. Turn the heat down and allow to simmer until the ginger takes on a golden, opaque hue. This took over a couple of hours, during which time the liquid had reduced in size by half; the ginger shrank in size, too, by about a third.

Remove from the heat. Using a sieve, separate the ginger from the liquid (careful - it's very hot). Now, this liquid will prove to be very handy. I'm going to infuse it with various bits and bobs and see if it can't be used for some delicious purpose at work. You could use it in its present state, or infuse it with whatever takes your fancy (citrus zest, black peppercorns, dried fruit, etc - do it now, while it's still hot for the infusion to work). Squirt the syrup in icings and frostings for cakes, over desserts, and in cocktails and drinks.

See the lovely colour? You could eat one but it'll be hot and taste a little harsh. Leave them to mellow for a bit before trying.

Pour the remaining sugar into a bowl, and tip in the hot ginger. Toss until covered and leave it until it becomes cold. Fish out the ginger and place in a sieve; give it a gentle shake to remove any excess sugar and then pop into an airtight container - store at room temperature. How long will it keep for? To be honest, I have no idea, but generally it should be good for several months. If it suddenly turns green, don't use it; a generally good rule of thumb when it comes to working with food.

Look at that - just like a bought one! Except of course being far more flavoursome. Now, I could tell you about the uses crystallised ginger can be put to, but I'm assuming you already know. For those that don't, just briefly, it can be chopped and used to flavour all manner of baking, or simply eaten by itself as a treat (dipped in chocolate works, too - ask my dentist). You also end up with quite a bit of ginger, too. Give it a whirl!

*UPDATE:

In light of Bronwyn's comment below, and my experience with making the glacé cherries, I've tried a different recipe, resulting in a far superior product. I have a better understanding of the preservation process, so I actually know what's going on. Here's the recipe:

Place 1kg of peeled, roughly diced ginger root into a pot of boiling water - bring back to the boil and then simmer for 10 minutes. Remove and allow ginger to go cold. Repeat the entire process, using fresh water. The point of this stage is to remove the heat of the ginger. If you're worried about losing flavour, believe me, it'll still retain plenty of its characteristic warmth without tasting harsh.

Day one: place the blanched ginger in a pot, cover with plenty of water and a cup of sugar. Stir to dissolve the sugar while slowly bringing the liquid to the boil. Turn down the heat and simmer for 15 minutes. Take off the heat and allow to steep overnight. Repeat this step.

Day three: repeat the previous step, except simmer for 30 minutes before stirring in another cup of sugar. Once dissolved, bring to the boil, then remove and leave overnight.

This is the final stage, day four. By now, your ginger should be dark in hue. Bring the ginger and its syrup to the boil. Continue boiling until the ginger becomes translucent and the syrup is as thick as honey. Remove from the heat, separate the ginger from the liquid and leave to dry on a rack. Once cold, toss in a bowl of caster sugar.

The pile of ginger in the top left hand corner was made using this recipe; the pile on the right was made using my original recipe. The new recipe is more plump, and suffused with sweetness, while still packing a little ginger heat. Contrast that with the original recipe ginger which is quite hot and much smaller and tougher. I'd suggest trying the new recipe for a much better result.

Koura / Freshwater Crayfish

2010-06-23T11:31:00.000+12:00

Despite being two totally separate species, there are a surprising number of
similarities between the small spindly aquatic animal and the gigantic biped holding it (above). Both species enjoy swimming and are often to be found frolicking amongst rocks. Both are capable of prolific levels of breeding; both too, can become quite fiesty when backed into a corner. There however, the differences end. One of these creatures tastes delicious dipped in pesto or melted butter; the other would require an evening of extensive wining and dining before the idea could even be broached.

Let's examine the smaller of the two: say hello to Paranephrops planifrons, more commonly known as koura, or the freshwater crayfish.

Don't they look tasty! While looking rather impressive in the photo, they're actually quite small. There are two species of this endemic crustacean found in New Zealand's waterways; the North Island variety measures 70 millimetres in length and the South Island variety, 80 millimetres. Commercially farmed koura are much bigger, measuring anywhere from 120 to 150 millimetres in length.

Koura are brown-green in colour, matching the stones and riverbed of their habitat. They're active at night, spending their time scavenging and feeding, retiring to the nooks and crannies offered by river rock during the day. For sustenance, koura eat whatever floats their way (leaves, riverweed and the like) as well as consuming small insects. Koura themselves are the favoured food of eels, trout and people. Maori in particular have a long held fondness for them, considering them quite a delicacy, and for good reason too, being pleasantly sweet and succulent.

One of my earliest memories involves regular family visits to my father's favourite aunt. She lived on a farm near Norsewood which had a creek that ran through the bottom of the property. Dad would take us there and spend hours searching under rocks, filling an old kerosene tin with the bodies of these spikey, boney beasties to take home to eat. Koura frequent freshwater streams, creeks and even lakes - Gary, one of my workmates, recounted stories of how his family used to fish for them in the lakes around Rotorua. They would attach fern fronds to lengths of rope which would then be set along the lakeshore, and left for a few hours. Koura, being scavengers and opportunists, would come out and nibble on the fronds. All that was required was to lift the rope out of the water with, fingers crossed, attached (and rather surprised) koura.

Another method was to lash open-weave baskets to old broom handles. They would slowly walk through the lake shallows at night and upon sighting koura, attempt to scoop them up with the basket (open-weave was important because it would minimise drag as it was pushed through the water; not too open, mind - you didn't want your prey to fall out either). Once it was scooped up, it was deposited into a container floating in the water behind the hunter, attached to their leg with a piece of cord.

All these tales of freshwater crayfish were beginning to stir both my curiosity and my appetite. Kerry Grant - friend, workmate and long standing 'wild food' consultant for Curious Kai – expressed an interest in gathering some and happened to have friends with a stream running through their farm. With relatively settled weather gracing the Ruahine Ranges, the rivers and streams below would be quite clear and clean, giving us a good chance of finding koura. So with that, off we went on our spur of the moment adventure.

We presently arrived at Kim and Jackie's farm in the early part of the afternoon. The stream itself was located just a stone's throw from the farmhouse in a small gully. It was idyllic; sun-dappled leaves, birdsong, the murmur of the flowing stream. All that was needed to complete the scene were a few characters from a Jane Austen novel, picnicing in the sun, drinking tea, bosoms covered in shortbread crumbs.

Enough shortbread - time to get to work! Finding koura is as simple as lifting rocks. They tend to shelter well away from the main force of the current, so look amongst rocks and stones near shore, but still in the water. If you don't find anything, be sure to place the rocks you lifted back where you found them. If you happen to come upon a koura, well done!

Now, keep your movements to a minimum and watch where your shadow lies – their home has been compromised so they're now on full alert. The water is doubtlessly murky, unavoidable given you had to move a rock or two. Allow it to settle before making the next move, and bear in mind that the koura could well use this opportunity to leg it. However, it may instead choose to stay, employing its camouflage to evade capture. Sight the koura, and then slowly ease your hand into the water behind the creature, placing it over the vicinity of the body and behind the pincers. Once positioned, lance down and grab it! It will thrash around but don't worry, it's tiny and won't hurt you. Don't however, under-estimate the power of its pincers. They won't break skin, but it'll be alarming enough to make you drop it. Well done on making your first catch!

By the way, if you plan on spending any considerable length of time catching koura, take an insulated bag and some ice to keep your catch fresh.

The stream was home to a wealth of food – over the course of the afternoon, we came across watercress, eels, trout, ducks and a small dog (it wasn't particularly meaty, so we threw it back).

We found a pregnant female. Depending on her size, a female can harbour as many as up to 200 eggs. The resulting young are 1-2 millimetres in length and cling to the mother until they are 4 millimetres long. Adulthood is achieved in their fourth year, by which stage they're about 20 millimetres in length. Back in the stream you go...

After about four hours, we retired with a dozen koura – enough to feed, er, one hungry person (two, if that person had the good grace to share).

Arriving back at Kerry's, it was now time for some cooking. They're the easiest thing to take care of: simply place a large pot of water on to boil, and then add your koura - they'll immediately change colour, turning a fantastic bright orange. Leave for a couple of minutes to cook (at the most), remove and then eat immediately, as we did.

What else could you do with koura? Given their size, I'd treat them as you would prawns. Removing the shells, you could marinate them raw in olive oil, garlic and paprika, or pear nectar and grated ginger before grilling them. You could also mince some garlic and fry with some chopped chillis before adding bias-cut asparagus and a half dozen or so shelled koura. Once cooked, throw it all into a bowl with some cannellini beans, rocket, salt, cracked pepper & a little lemon juice – lunch up! You could even consider making a bisque, if you were wanting something elaborate. I haven't made bisque since school, so that would be an interesting project...

Here's Kerry and his son, Job, laying waste to the day's catch! As I mentioned earlier, they have a pleasantly sweet flavour, and are quite juicy and succulent, although it's barely a mouthful. The legs are not worth bothering with unless it's a particularly large animal, but waste not, want not.

Looking for koura is a perfect way of spending a warm afternoon fossicking down at the river, either with friends or with your children (country kids have been doing this for decades). It's also a chance to become acquainted with your local flora and fauna; grab a field guide from your local public library and use it to examine your surroundings – you'll be amazed at what you find...

Please remember that there is a catch limit, set at a maximum of fifty koura per day; it's also illegal to sell or trade koura.

A very big thank you to Kerry, and also to Kim and Jackie Lowry for letting us loose on their amazing farm.

Links:

More information on koura, courtesy of DOC: cerlickety

Information on other species of NZ fresh water crustacea: cerlickety

My favourite guide to NZ plants and fungi: cerlickety

I'd Travel Through Time & Space For Good Coffee

2010-06-18T00:57:00.001+12:00

How cool is this! It's an old police phone box, converted into a micro coffee bar! My sister and brother-in-law have recently moved to Edinburgh and found this (one of several dotted around the city) dispensing great coffee, juices, snacks and treats.

Once You've Had Black...

2010-06-14T23:05:00.005+12:00

Black butter is a delicious fruit spread made from slow-cooked apples, cider, sugar, spices and liquorice. Over time, the ingredients combine to colour the spread a dark black-brown hue. It has its origins on the island of Jersey, where communities used to gather and make large batches using windfall apples from its cider orchards; the event became an excuse for full-scale merrymaking too, with dancing, singing and feasting taking place alongside the cooking.

Its use of liquorice distinguishes it from standard British fruit spreads, a reflection perhaps of Jersey's proximity to France and its culinary influences. Vive la difference, I say - any country* which gives us tasty cows & repeats on telly of Bergerac hurtling around the island in a grunty old Triumph can't be all that bad...

Making black butter seemed like a good way of using up the mass of apples I have lying around the place. I used Granny Smiths and some decrepit Cox's Orange.

You'll need:

2 kg apples, peeled and cored
500 g sugar
1.2 L apple cider
juice of a lemon
80 g liquorice, chopped** (use proper; don't touch that liquorice-flavoured nonsense)
1 tsp ground cloves
2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp allspice
1/2 tsp nutmeg

Empty the cider into a pot & bring to the boil. Turn the heat down to a simmer and allow the cider to reduce by half. Add apples and cook until soft - this took a little over three hours. Stir in the lemon juice. Remove from the heat and empty the mix into a bowl. Pass the apple through a sieve back into the pot. Place it back over the heat and add sugar, stirring until dissolved. Now add the remaining ingredients, stirring to combine. Leave to cook over a very gentle heat until the mix turns brown, stirring occasionally - this took a little over an hour. At this stage, it will have a treacle-like consistency and will thicken as it cools. Pour while hot into warm, sterilised jars, seal and leave for at least a month before opening. You can of course eat it straight away, but time will serve to enhance the flavour.

And what to have it with? It's traditionally spread on bread or toast, as you would jam, but I think it's quite nice with cheese, like an aged Cheddar or an older, slightly salty Gouda (salt+sweet).

*Crown dependency, strictly speaking (thanks, CIA factbook!)

**To stop the liquorice from sticking to your blade, spray it with Sprink or rub with oil

Tinctures

2010-06-09T01:44:00.005+12:00

Tincturing is the age-old practice of using high-proof alcohol to extract key ingredients from herbs and spices for medicinal use. This method also served as a very effective means of preserving the extraction. Today, the practice has largely been sidelined due to the widespread availability of pharmaceutical product. Despite this, the practice enjoys a considerable following, particularly among medical herbalists. There is however, new found interest from a most unexpected quarter: bartenders and mixologists.

Scan the drinks menu of high-end British and American bars and you'll see tinctures, along with house-made infusions, syrups and bitters, gracing their pages. Tinctures lend themselves to cocktail making because of the wide variety of flavours that can be had - think of a particular herb or spice, and chances are it's able to be made into a tincture. Tincturing is also a convenient means of extending the shelf life of herbs and spices by capturing their very essence. In this form, it can be used very sparingly; just a few drops in sugar syrup will deliver a tremendous intensity of flavour and aroma. Conceivably, a bar with a range of tinctures could quite easily produce a dazzling array of flavoured syrups during the course of service.

How are they made? The process is very simple, but time consuming. Basically, a particular herb or spice is macerated in high-proof alcohol for a time, the ethanol component acting as a solvent upon the material. Eventually, the liquid is filtered to remove any solids and then bottled, ready for use.

The ratio of herb/spice to alcohol is 50-60 grams to 250 ml of alcohol. The time spent in maceration depends on the density of the material - cinnamon quills will take much longer than say, saffron threads; roots will take longer than dried flowers - but generally speaking, it takes between two to six weeks. Colour and odour are good indicators of readiness; the liquid should be the same colour as the material being steeped; the scent should be overwhelmingly of your herb or spice, not of alcohol.

A big factor from the outset is the strength of your alcohol - the higher the level, the more effective the rate of extraction (not to mention a lengthened shelf life for the final product). I used a cheapie, a budget brand vodka rated at 40% alcohol. Vodka is ideal, having little in the way of flavour with which to interfere with the final taste of the tincture. Don't worry about it being cheap either; you're not going to be chugging it down - again, just a few drops in sugar syrup is all that will be needed.

Place your spice into a jar, pour over the alcohol and seal. Labelling with the spice's name and the date's not a bad idea either. Place somewhere cool and dark. Remove every so often and agitate gently, just to assist the extraction. Once it's ready (you'll have to use your own judgment here), pass through a jelly bag or folded muslin (I use a deep fryer fat filter - they're like a large coffee filter but more dense, come in packs of 50, cost around NZ$25 from Toops and are perfect for filtering jellies, too).

Budget permitting, the filtered product should be kept in dark coloured glass jars, which serves to keep light from degrading your product; otherwise, ordinary, sterilised glass jars will do just fine. Again, when not in use, keep your tinctures in a cool, dark spot, safe from your littlies, too. I've read conflicting notes on the length of time tinctures will keep, from two years to ten, even decades. I'll have to get back to you on that one...

So why am I interested in this? I have a new-found fondness for cocktails, which has become a little more involved now that I make syrups and cordials for the bar. In the process of seeing what people are drinking abroad, I came across tinctures, which intrigued me. I've only recently started making them, and now want to use them to create bitters. I aim to establish a wee database of tinctures, comprising bittering agents and flavourings using native plants and materials, with the aim of creating a uniquely New Zealand bitters. So, it'll be a case of mixing, matching and then blending until I come upon something...special.

Some of my tinctures pictured are (from the top) cinnamon, rose hip, and above, (left to right) saffron and orange zest. I have several others on the go, too - some non-herb and spice: peppercorn (the liquid is as black as pitch - the flavour should be interesting), rhubarb (nice and tart), Granny Smith apple skin (bittersweet, I'm hoping), with more to come (unripened oranges from Gisborne, ginger, tamarillo - not entirely sure which part of that to use, actually).

If you're interested in possible medicinal uses for tinctures, there are a whole raft of sites on the internet that will show you how to get started - I won't link here, simply because this is a food blog and you kids know how to use search engines. Be careful of what plants you use - if in doubt, ask an expert, not a blogger...unless they're an expert blogger.

Woohoo!

2010-05-24T16:02:00.002+12:00

Look what turned up in the mail - a copy of revered Australian chef Tetsuya Wakuda's self-titled cookbook, courtesy of Barb at Winos & Foodies! Recently, Barb ran a competition in conjunction with Electrolux where the major prize was a place at a Tetsuya masterclass at his Sydney restaurant. I was lucky enough to win a copy of "Tetsuya" - not bad, eh! It's a beautiful book, full of recipes and photographs of the most elegant food. I'd show you some pictures but the light's not that flash today because of the dire weather, so pop along to Amazon to see them, or just visit Tetsuya's site.

A monumentally large thank you (complete with fireworks) to Barb :)

Blackthorn?

2010-05-24T10:17:00.005+12:00

Is there anyone out there that could possibly confirm that this is a blackthorn thicket? I'm 75% sure that it is - the leaves have a serrated edge and the branches have sharp spikes all over them; the berries look like sloe, being blue, but they've shrivelled somewhat being well past their prime. The shots were taken about a month ago by a friend's vineyard, just outside Otane here in Hawke's Bay - apologies for their quality. Any help in identifying them would be greatly appreciated.

Just in case you're wondering why I'm so interested, well, if they are indeed Blackthorn, next year I'll have a source of sloe to make sloe gin. I'm in the process of trying to find an indgenous fruit which I could use to make a NZ equivalent - any suggestions?

Linky goodness:

Want to learn more about foraging? Pop along to Wild Picnic, Johanna Knox's blog about the fruit and plants to be found in New Zealand, principally in Wellington, her home town, that are fit to eat and use.
Free Food NZ, a site "dedicated to the widespread planting and mapping of free food bearing plants within public space". It's an amazing resource for those interested in learning more about foraging, sustainability, plant identification and more.

Rose Hips

2010-05-04T23:52:00.022+12:00

Mention rose hips to people today and you're likely to receive baffled looks. Like crab apples, penny farthings and the blood sacrifice, rose hips have fallen from people's memories for the simple reason that no one uses them anymore. Where once they served as a free and plentiful supply of vitamin C to the nation, rose hips were eventually displaced from kitchen pantries by convenient commercial product. Housewives were spared the time consuming process of making the preparation; the downside however was the loss of knowledge about the rose hip's use and considerable worth, knowledge accumulated over many generations and now simply forgotten.

Rose Hips weren't the only casualty. A similar fate has befallen quince, rhubarb and crab apples, to name a few. There are however groups of people who haven't forgotten the benefits to be had from these old plants and fruits. It's not particularly hard to find books, magazine articles or posts on websites of recipes from the past using foodstuffs either forgotten or ignored. Often these ingredients are given new life as they find themselves being used in new and different ways. This revival is particularly relevant today; with the gradual rise in the cost of living and the failure of wages to keep up with these changes, finding alternative means of supplementing one's diet has become particularly pertinent.

Most baby boomers are familiar with rose hips, and it was my mum who filled me in on their use. Consumption was encouraged in an attempt to help both the young and old build up resistance to winter coughs and colds. The most common encounter was in the form of a hot drink, with a healthy slosh of syrup poured into a cup, topped with boiling water. It was also administered by the tablespoon, straight into the gobs of reluctant children. Some families would gather rose hips to make their own batches of syrup in preparation for the winter; some would simply buy it ready made. How did it taste? Mine tasted of apricots and mangoes, sweet but not lolly-sweet, with a kind of smoky, earthy note (if any of that makes sense).

So what actually are Rose hips? Basically, they are the seed pods of roses, located right behind the bloom. They don't ordinarily get a chance to develop as rose growers deadhead old blossoms to encourage the growth of new bloom. The rose bushes I found growing wild all over the orchard are the dog rose variety.

Left to their own devices, petal fall occurs and the little green ball slowly grows in size and turns orange and then a deep red. As you can see below, there are small spines to be found on various parts of the plant, so a pair of gloves are a must for protection from cuts and scratches.

The rose hip plays host to tens of little, furry seeds. Their dispersal is carried out either through birds eating the rose hip, with the seeds scattered in its faeces, or simply waiting until it becomes dessicated, whereupon the seeds simply fall out.

It's traditional to commence harvesting after the first frost. Liquid present within the rose hip freezes, rupturing cell walls, softening fruit and ultimately hastening decay. The frosts here have been late in coming (having only had two so far), and the fruit has softened over time anyway.

Having spent quite a bit of time lately gathering rose hips, it was time to put them to good use. The following recipe is from the River Cottage preserves book (I've altered the amount of sugar, originally 1kg - I thought it was a little sickly, so I reduced the amount with my second batch):

Rose Hip Syrup

1 kg rose hips
700 g caster sugar
Large pot
Muslin bag (or a pillow slip)
Jars/bottles & lids/caps
Funnel

With the rose hips in a large bowl or roasting dish, remove any vegetative parts (stalk, hairs); discard anything black or in an advanced state of decay. This is going to take a while, so do it while watching TV or have your manservant read aloud to you.

Wash and rinse clean your bottles and lids. Put a small pot of water on to boil; throw in your lids and the funnel for 10 minutes. Place your bottles into an oven set at 120°c for half an hour; once done, turn the oven off and leave the bottles inside. Scald your muslin bag with boiling water.

During the process, we want to minimise the loss of vitamin C, keeping our syrup as vital and health-laden as possible. Vitamin C starts to degrade as soon as it's exposed to air, so before cutting up the rosehips, have your water (you'll need 2L) boiling in the biggest pot you have.

Blitz your rose hips, seeds and all, but don't allow them to turn to mush. Place immediately into the boiling water. Once it comes back to the boil, remove from the heat. Cover, and allow to steep for half an hour.

A commonly held idea is that boiling must surely break down the level of vitamin C in the rose hips. This is true up to a point; the activity of enzymes are in fact responsible for a much greater part of this loss and they are active in temperatures well below boiling point. Enzymes however cannot survive at boiling point, so subjecting the rose hips to this level of heat in a brief fashion minimises this loss.

Over a bowl, pour the mix through the muslin bag and allow the remainder to drip through. Leave overnight, supporting the bag with anything at your disposal (see photo below), ensuring it doesn't make contact with the bowl or the liquid.

The next day, remove the bag and place the pulp into a litre of boiling water. Again, once the pulp has been brought back to the boil, remove from the heat and allow to steep for half an hour. Strain overnight as before.

Throw the pulp onto your compost pile. Pour the liquid into a large pot and then bring to the boil. Turn down the heat, allowing it to simmer, and then leave to reduce by half. Add your sugar, stir to dissolve, then bring back to the boil. Boil hard for five minutes. The liquid will begin to clarify, and scum will form on the surface.

Remove from the heat. Take the bottles out of the oven and set up, ready for pouring. Using a soup ladle, gently remove as much scum as possible from the surface. Now, insert your sterilised funnel into the mouth of the first bottle and pour in the syrup. Fill the bottle as close to the top as possible - the less air, the better, minimising scope for bacterial activity, as well as vitamin C loss to air exposure.

And there you go! Store in a cool, dark place. Once opened, pop it in the fridge and use within a couple of weeks. Aside from its obvious use in bolstering your health, it can be drizzled over ice cream, pancakes, fruit and yoghurt. Pour some in a glass and top with soda water, or get creative and create a cocktail, probably something gin-based. Enjoy!

Prickly Pear & Cactus Figs

2010-05-04T01:06:00.024+12:00

The surprise I felt at discovering large numbers of wild cacti growing near Napier was akin to finding a pair of knickers in one's car glovebox. Questions sprang immediately to mind: how did they get there? How long have they been there? Will I get a rash if I touch them?

On the face of it, Hawke's Bay wouldn't seem like the kind of place to expect to find cacti. It can however get quite dry, and the plants do seem quite localised, growing in abundance near the beach at Bayview, a small coastal village ten minutes north of Napier. Upon paying a visit, they made for quite an impressive sight. What particularly interested me was the fact that they seemed to be covered in what looked like fruit.

Before we go any further, some background: what are cacti? Cacti (the plural for cactus) are members of the succulent family, Cactacaea. They are very hardy and well suited to growing in hot, dry environments, constructured as they are to maximise water conservation. The plants growing in Bayview are known as prickly pear or paddle cactus, which while being native to Mexico, are to be found growing all over the world. The stands of cacti were everywhere - the plants themselves were tall (between 8'-10'), large and to my eyes, quite alien and forbidding. In one regard, it was almost like walking onto the set of a western; I wouldn't have been the slightest bit surprised to have stumbled across John Wayne having a wee behind one before mounting his horse and trotting off into yonder desert.

As one of its name's suggests, the plant comprises a paddle-like structure, which can be peeled and cooked, tasting quite tender when young. The paddle is covered in spikes and also glochids, fine hair-like spines which detach and imbed themselves in the skin of those handling it, causing profound irritation. The fruit of the cactus are known as cactus figs, cactus fruit or Indian figs. As you can see from the photos, they too are covered in glochids, gloves being a must when handling them. The fruit is ready to harvest by early autumn, having turned an intense orangey-red colour.

I gathered some of the apple-sized fruit, not entirely sure what to do with them. Forewarned about the lethality of their spines, I had thick rubber gloves on and popped the fruit into a thick rubbish bag. Be aware that if you ever come across them, the spines may lodge in clothing, with the accompanying possibility of being visited at some later date by the wee sharp blighters.

Once home, I tipped the fruit into the laundry tub and turned the tap on (the rubbish bag got biffed) and meticulously buffed the surface of the fruit with my gloves in an attempt to remove the spines; they came off easily enough and the running water carried them away down the drain. After checking to see that they'd all gone, it was time to take a look inside.

To prep, cut off both ends and peel off the remainder of the skin, running your peeler down the length of the fruit. The interior looks vaguely Tamarillo-like. The flesh was a bright orange.

The seeds are small but rock hard - don't attempt to bite them unless you're in a desperate hurry to check out the decor of your dentist's waiting room.

The taste was very pleasant; sweet and melon-like, with a texture similar to kiwifruit.

After having a quick think, gelato seemed the logical way to go. This also gave me an opportunity to try a cornflour (cornstarch) based ice cream recipe from my copy of The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz. Cornflour is used to thicken the gelato base rather than egg yolks, a good practice particularly when using subtle flavours, which may not be so prominent in the presence of fat.

Cactus Fruit Gelato

2 cups milk
1/3 cup sugar
2 tablespoons corn flour
200 g cactus fruit pulp
a few drops of lemon juice

Prep cactus fruit as I've detailed above. Weigh, then place in a bowl and mash with a fork.

Pass mashed fruit through a sieve (using a spatula) to remove the seeds.

Fruit pulp!

Using a wooden spoon, make a slurry by mixing a 1/4 cup of the milk with the cornflour; combine until the cornflour is dissolved and the mixture is smooth. Gently heat the rest of the milk in a pot with the sugar. Just as it's about to boil, stir in the slurry quite vigorously and then gently simmer for 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Taste to see that it's cooked out - if it's the slightest bit floury, continue cooking.

Once done, remove from the heat, scrape into a bowl, and chill in the fridge overnight. The next day, whisk in the pulp and a few drops of the lemon juice until smooth. Pour into your ice cream maker and process according to its instructions.

Voila - cactus fruit gelato! As nice as it was, I think the flavour would quite easily stand up to a traditional egg yolks 'n' all gelato recipe. This however, tasted quite splendid. Intense colour too, as you can see.

A huge thank you to Anna who told me all about the cactus and their fruit (she lives just down the road from them). Anna gathered some to make pulp for use in the cactus fruit margarita she introduced onto the cocktail menu at work - super clever!

Busy, Busy, Busy

2010-05-01T13:18:00.002+12:00

Hello! April was absolutely mad, with most of my time spent doing little else but work, at either the restaurant or the orchard. Consequently, the poor old blog has suffered, but I'm spending the weekend playing catch up so you can expect to see at least a couple of posts by the end of tomorrow. In the mean time, here's a picture of some lads looking decidedly riled (by the way, the cactus is a clue to my next post...).

Picture from cracked.com

A Pint Of Ice Cream & A Pack Of Rothmans, Thanks

2010-03-31T23:52:00.101+13:00

On the face of it, beer and ice cream make for an unlikely combination. Like steak and kidney muffins, or Sandra Bullock and Oscar statuettes, these are pairings that would never occur naturally but every once in a while, fate throws these things together and the end result can be pleasantly surprising (or just surprising).

In the case of my stout ice cream, it worked splendidly! I was initially dubious about the idea but on paper it seemed to make sense; stout is packed with so much body and flavour - toffee, chocolate and coffee notes - incorporate that into ice cream and you should have the recipe for a delicious bowl of "win". So, it was off to the Kai Lab to give it a go.

The recipe comprises two parts: making a reduction with the beer which provides the flavour component, and making the actual ice cream itself. Unlike traditional ice creams, this is not creme anglaise-based (cooked off yolks, sugar and cream); neither does it require an ice cream maker. The recipe lends itself to all manner of flavours too, so feel free to experiment with it later. Now, off to work:

Stout Ice Cream (makes over a litre)

2 x 500ml bottles of stout
6 whole eggs
2 egg yolks
200g sugar
600ml cream

Empty your stout (I used local brewer, Hawke's Bay Independent Brewery's Black Duck Porter) into a pot. Bring to the boil, then leave to simmer vigiorously until reduced to a runny syrup - keep an eye on it towards the end though, otherwise it will reduce too much and burn. After about 50 minutes, I was left with a thin syrup which upon cooling, became quite thick and treacly. The smell was amazing - rich, nutty and yeasty and surprisingly sweet. Leave to cool, or hasten the process by placing the pot over ice. Starting off with 1.0L of liquid, I was left with a little under 60ml of reduction.

Combine all the eggs and sugar in a mixing bowl and using a balloon whisk attachment (essential because we're trying to incorporate as much air as possible into the mix), beat until pale and the mixture has doubled in volume.

In another bowl, whip together the cream and stout reduction until soft but stop before it forms peaks.

Temper the yolk mix with a little of the cream mix, then add the remainder - fold, combining thoroughly, but don't work it too much because we don't want to lose the volume we've gone to the trouble of creating.

Pour into a container and freeze overnight.

So how did it taste? Bloody amazing! Caramel, golden syrup, faintly bread/yeasty/nutty - very, very flavoursome - I was well impressed. This is going to be made again over winter and would go well with bread puddings or sticky date puddings. If you make some, tell me what kind of stout you used and how it turned out.

Now, time to keep my cardiologist in work - I'm off for seconds (and by seconds, I mean fourths).

A big sabre-rattling "huzzah" to two people: Millie Mirepoix for inspiring me - this actually started out as a post on making a beershake! She twittered about encountering one while exploring the USA and it kinda intrigued me, but I got sidetracked, so I'll do it later. Follow her on t'twitter here. And much thanks to Kyla for the use of her grunty Kenwood mixer - I have all manner of gadgets in my kitchen (modded candy floss maker? wasabi grater, anyone?) except a half decent benchtop mixer. Ice cream coming your way, Mrs Grant...

Preserved Lemons

2010-03-22T15:48:00.005+13:00

Aren't weddings grand! Head chef got married in the weekend; the restaurant closed for the day, with all staff attending along with the happy couple's friends and family. The exchange of vows took place in a forest, the reception was in a beautifully refurbished hall; the food was fantastic, drinks flowed aplenty and a joyous time was had by all. I got pleasantly wobbly and danced like Nureyev (that's Dave Nureyev, my local plumber who has this unfortunate dance-like twitch; not the famous ballet lad).

So where do preserved lemons fit into the scheme of things? Well, I had plans to finish up the last of my jam making the day after the wedding, but feeling a bit seedy (damnable 3am petrol station mince pies, no doubt), I thought it best to tackle something less odorous.

Preserving lemons in brine is a good way of storing any excess your trees produce, especially here in New Zealand where almost every second home has one growing in the front yard. An age-old practice in Morocco, it spread throughout North Africa, the Middle East and the Mediterranean where it commonly appears in each region's respective cuisine. The method involves pickling the fruit in a brine of lemon juice, salt and spices and is generally ready for use after about a month. Traditionally, only the rind is used, which is rinsed in water to remove the salt. The taste is very lemony and more tangy than tart (apologies to the grammar fiends).

What do you do with it? A whole host of things - it can be finely sliced, chopped or minced and thrown in salads, pasta and other farinaceous dishes, cooked with fish or chicken, whether on the barbecue, oven or in a frying pan. It lends itelf to use in marinades, sauces and infusions, as well as compound butters, vinaigrettes and dressings. I've even seen a piece of preserved lemon used as a substitute for an olive (along with a little of the brine) in a martini!

Keen? You're going to need the following:

Lemons - lots of lemons
Large glass jars & lids, sterilised (wide mouthed ones will make life easier, but they're not essential)
Salt (rock, plain, sea - whatever you can get your hands on)
Spices - bay leaves, peppercorns & cinnamon quills are traditionally used, but feel free to experiment

Down to business. Firstly, give your lemons a brief rinse and wipe to remove dust and dirt. Slice three quarters-ish of the way through the lemon one way, then repeat (see photo below). I cut my lemons over the jar so they'd catch any stray juice (mind your hands).

Open the lemon and fill generously with salt. Place the lemon in the jar.

You'll begin to notice the salt working its magic and drawing out the lemon juice, slowly filling the jar. Continue filling the lemons with salt and packing the jar with them.

Add your spices as you fill.

Once the jar is full, pop the lid on and leave overnight. In the morning, the amount of juice should have increased. Leave for a couple of days and if the lemons aren't covered in liquid, fill until covered with fresh squeezed lemon juice. Replace the lid and put your jars somewhere dark.

The lemons are ready to use once they're soft, which as I mentioned before is usually after a month. Once opened, keep the jar in the fridge to stop spoilage and it should keep for up to 6 months. There are other methods, such as freezing and cutting the lemons into rounds, so I'll hunt them down and post links to them. Now, ransack your lemon tree and give it a go!

I Don't Think You're Ready For This Jelly*

2010-03-17T00:50:00.006+13:00

A good crabapple jelly should be crystal clear, devoid of the flotsam and jetsam of bog-standard jams, and yet still be packed full of flavour. Made properly, it should be firm but not unyielding, while still possessing a degree of wobble - just like a pair of gym-honed buttocks.

Unfortunate similes aside, crabapple jelly isn't hard to make but patience is a must. Watching your muslin bag full of cooked crabapple slowly (ever so slowly) drip juice into a bowl can drive you to the point of frustration, making you want to grip the bag and wring it for all that it's worth. Resist the temptation - fixing the subsequent mess is time consuming, as you'll soon see.

Where did I get my crabapples? The orchard uses crabapple trees as pollinators to attract bees. In spring, they produce amazing amounts of blossom; after the bees tend to the pollinators, they then move on to pollinate apple trees in the vicinity. I'm not sure what variety they are, but the ones I used were small, about 3-4cm in diameter, a candy apple red colour and had a sweet/sour taste. I added ginger and star anise to my first batch of jelly, figuring that some asian flavours would suit that particular profile.

Down to business. I picked 5kg of crabapples. Halving them, they were placed in a large stock pot (find yourself something with a solid base so the fuit doesn't burn) with a little water, star anise and a hunk of grated ginger. Slowly bring to a simmer and stir often so they don't catch and burn. During this time, they'll turn to mush. With my 5kg, it took about 3/4 of an hour.

While they're cooking, start organising for the next stage. You'll need to have a cloth bag (muslin, or even a pillow slip will do), something to hang the bag from (I suspended mine from the arm of my kitchen window located right over the sink - it's a very old house) and a bowl or jug to collect the juice.

Once mushy, remove the pot from the heat and pour your goop into your bag. Suspend over your container and leave to drip out (in my case, I left it overnight). Waking the next day to expect a jug brimming with juice, I instead found about 100ml. 5kg = 100ml? Peeved, I disregarded the recipe, and squeezed the bag for all that it was worth...

While I ended up with plenty of juice (over a litre!), it was as murky as milo. I passed it through another pillow slip, and while a little cleaner, it wasn't flash. I left it to settle, thinking the solids would sink and I could just decant it - no good, still muddy. Then it occurred to me: cloth deep fryer filters!

They're designed to filter the solid material out of cooking oil so it can be reused, but we use them at work for all manner of things, such as removing the water from yoghurt to make it dense and better suited for whipping. They're quite thick and could help me fix my mess, so grabbing a couple, I took them home - they worked a treat!

There was a surprising amount of pulp left in the filter, and just to be sure, I passed the juice through the second one. The liquid was surprisingly clean, although I couldn't see all the way to the bottom of the bowl - no matter! Time for the final stage.

Make sure you have some sterilised jars and lids at hand. Discard the pulp and measure the amount of juice you have - you're going to need one cup of sugar for every cup of juice. Place it all in a pot, heat and stir to dissolve the sugar, then slowly bring to the boil. If you have a sugar thermometer, set occurs at 105c; otherwise place a plate in the freezer. After 5-10 minutes of boiling, take the plate out and drop a teaspoon of jelly on it and leave for a few minutes. Nudge the jelly with your finger; if it wrinkles, it's set. Alternatively, you can run your finger through the jam. If it forms a trench, it's ready. Skim off any scum should you feel the need (it's not dirt or debris; just froth caused by air working its way to the surface). Pour the hot jelly into your jars and seal, then place in a cool, dark spot. Once opened, keep in the fridge. I made about 900ml of jelly.

Isn't it pretty! This photo doesn't quite show it but the jelly was a beautiful rose colour and very clear (I think the photo at the top shows that to better effect). It tasted great too; I used three star anise and about 50g of grated ginger. You could discern the two ingredients but it didn't overwhelm the crabapple flavour - not bad given that they're quite dominant flavours and the amounts used were pure guess work.

With my second batch, I again had about 5kg of crabapples. This time though, I split it between three bags and got a lot more juice than last time (without squeezing), although still not quite as much as I expected (600ml).

A big thank you to food writer and columnist, Alessandra Zecchini - this is her recipe, and it appeared in New Zealand Gardener.

*lyric from the song "Bootylicious", sung by Beyonce, one half of the famous girl band trio, The Jackson 5

Jam On It

2010-03-10T01:19:00.038+13:00

It's been a disappointing year for berryfruit (stonefruit too), largely because of the diabolical weather - lots of rain and heat promoting mould and fungal growth, as well as insufficient sun to colour up fruit. I managed to round up enough blackberries for the cordial I made earlier, but when it came to the jam, I had to bulk out what I had with frozen stuff. There's a marginal tradeoff in terms of flavour, but it's a small price to pay for home made jam.

Blackberry & Cinnamon Jam

1.5kg Blackberries
70g Pectin powder
6 Cinnamon Quills
1.5kg Sugar
Sterilised jars and lids

In a large pot, add the berries and cinnamon quills, then bring to the boil - reduce to a simmer. Slowly stir in the pectin until dissolved. Add sugar, stir until dissolved (if it's still granular, it will hamper the jams ability to set); bring back to the boil and let it do so for five minutes. I don't bother checking the set if I'm using powdered pectin beause it's pretty reliable, but if you want to be sure, either pop in a sugar thermometer at the pre-boil stage and leave until it reaches 105c, at which point it's ready, or chill a plate in the freezer & drop a teaspoon of jam on it. Leave for a bit, come back & nudge it - if it wrinkles, it's good to go, otherwise continue cooking the jam out for another five minutes and try again later.

Let the jam cool, then pour into sterilised jars almost to the top. Seal and place in a cool dark place. I'm not sure how long these will last for, largely because jam disappears quite rapidly around here, but they should be good for up to three months. I know some people boil the sealed jars of jam in water for an additional 5-10 minutes which apparently reduces the risk of spoilage, but I've never done it so don't feel qualified to pass comment. Feel free to leave any jam making tips in the comments below.

Update: according to "Jams, Jellies, Pickles & Relishes", published by the Department of Consumer & Applied Sciences at Otago, you're supposed to pour the jam into your jars while it's still hot. There's actually quite a few handy things to be aware of from this book - I'll keep you posted, it's an invaluable guide. Hat tip to Bronwyn at Food & Shoes.

Update 2 (Electric Boogaloo) : ciNNamon erra Korecterd.

From the Kai Lab: Creating My First Cocktail!

2010-03-09T14:39:00.015+13:00

Research is what I'm doing when I don't know what I'm doing. ~Wernher Von Braun

Seeing my glorious creation glisten in the bright light of the afternoon sun filled me with a glowing sense of pride. Upon waking the next morning, that glowing feeling had been replaced by nausea, an aversion to all odours, and the need to tell the person poking my eyes with needles to stop. In hindsight, it would have been prudent to ease back on the number of glasses of "research" I drank which got me to this point. The things you do for the chance of winning tickets to the biggest cocktail competition in New Zealand!

What's this all about? Well, it started when awesome Wellington-centric blog, The Wellingtonista, ran an informal cocktail competition. Up for grabs was a chance to win a double pass to the 42Below Cocktail World Cup finals. Usually held in Queenstown, this year they're in Wellington, so to mark the event, Wellingtonista had the idea of a contest where you had to create a Wellington-themed cocktail using 42Below product and submit the recipe to them for scrutiny. I spent some time thinking over this one with my flatmate Tina, cousin and former long-time Welly resident.

A brainstorming session was in order. We spent time blurting out things that reminded us of Wellington - "Blanket man! Traffic holdups? Bucket fountain! No, wait: homeless dudes playng cricket on Cuba street while being yelled at by window-anxious shopkeepers to piss off!". Finally, we settled on the idea of the civil servant. Wellington is home to the country's civil service, so now it was just a matter of identifying their consumption habits. What does a civil servant eat and drink while seated at their desk? Aniseed balls...cups of tea...egg sandwiches...people's souls! We now had enough information to make a start - time to get to work in the Kai Lab...

Not the Kai Lab

I figured a simple infused syrup added to vodka would be the key, using star anise, lemon, and black tea. Also, rather than use a standard simple syrup, I've been itching to try a gomme syrup, something I came across while reading through posts over at the Cocktail Chronicles. A gomme syrup is a 2:1 sugar/water syrup, made very smooth tasting through use of gum arabic (which I found at a cake decorators store; also easily found online). This isn't a particularly sophisicated drink, but it is after all my first ever effort. After several attempts at finding the right quantities (too much star anise initially - far too potent; original tea quantity generated insufficient flavour which disappeared when added to the vodka), I came up with this, the definitive recipe. I call it:

A Very Civil Servant

Firstly, you'll need to make the gomme syrup:
1 cup caster sugar
0.5 cup water
2 tbspns gum arabic, dissolved in 2 tbspns water
4 tips of star anise
4 tbspns black tea (leaves) in a tea infuser

This will make more than you need, so adjust accordingly if you wish.

Dissolve sugar in water over heat; add your dissolved gum arabic, stirring all the while (use a wooden spoon, not a whisk). Bring the mixture to the boil - it will foam up, so keep an eye on it so that it doesn't spill over and burn on the element. Remove from the heat, skim off any scum, then pour through some doubled-up muslin into a jar. Pop in the tea infuser and star anise, screw on the lid, then leave to infuse ovenight.

To make the cocktail: fill a cocktail shaker with ice, 45ml of vodka, 15ml of the black tea and aniseed-infused gomme syrup (it wouldn't hurt to strain it again, just in case some of the tea leaves have escaped from the infuser), and a squeeze of lemon juice. Shake, then strain into a chilled martini glass. The aniseed is quite subtle, as is the tea, and there is a pleasant underlying caramel flavour present. Hope you like it, and finger's crossed for a win :)

Pretty, eh! The blown-out black brolly's just a painted cocktail umbrella - a nod to Welly's vigorous winds.

A big thank you to Hinerangi, Stacey and Zana for their help.

Trouble 't Mill

2010-03-02T01:28:00.002+13:00

Sorry guys - the new part for my laptop doesn't work, hence the lack of posts over the week. Fingers crossed, the new, new part will turn up tomorrow and I can start posting (I'm presently using my flatmate's laptop and have to give it back - cheers, T). In the meantime, here's an Indian gentleman hurling food around:

Chambord & Hot Chocolate

2010-02-23T02:24:00.007+13:00

Working in a hot commercial kitchen often drives a person to drink. At the bottom end of the scale, there's water, essential for coping with the heat; there's also soft drinks (I'm looking at you, Golden Circle Creaming Soda, damn your economically-priced, sugar-soaked hide), through to Red Bull, providing energy for many a flagging chef. And then there's the "heavy stuff", downed by the vat load by the more idiosyncratic members of the chefing profession.

At work, we're entitled to a hot drink during our shift. I'm not a big coffee drinker, being more of a tea fan. Given that tea should be sipped and savoured rather than hurled down one's gob because you've got 50 kilos of squid to prep, I usually forgo it, opting for a hot chocolate instead. It occurred to me recently that you could play around with the flavour, and with so much fruit being in season, something must work with chocolate - like berries, for instance.

And then, there in front of me amongst the bottles at the bar was the Chambord. For those of you that don't know, Chambord is a black-coloured raspberry and blackberry liqueur, infused with vanilla, honey, citrus peel and cognac. The recipe is based on that used at the time of Louis XIV, and is produced in the Loire valley. The colour is inky black and it has a rich, sweet fragrance. To enjoy, just add 30ml to your hot chocolate as it's being made, and enjoy the resulting smell and flavour - deliciously sweet berry flavours in hot milky chocolate. Give it a go.

(I should point out that this was consumed after my shift - I could never be accused of being drunk in charge of a deep fat fryer...)

Links:

Official Chambord site clickety
Images of the Loire Valley clickety
Ever so slight digression: recipe for churros & Spanish hot chocolate clickety

Getting A Bit Chilli...

2010-02-21T15:35:00.000+13:00

They've been a little slow to take off, but my chillis now seem to be flourishing. Keep an eye out for them in a post reasonably soon...

Remember My Blackberry Patch?

2010-02-20T17:34:00.005+13:00

Well, some of the blackberries ended up in this!

Briar Patch

1.5 oz / 45 ml Plymouth gin
¾ oz / 22.5 ml fresh lemon juice
½ oz / 15 ml sugar syrup (1 cup of sugar and 1 cup of water - place in squeezy bottle and shake till dissolved - you'll end up with more than you need)*
¼ oz / 7.5 ml homemade blackberry cordial (recipe down below)
ice cubes
crushed ice (blitz in a blender until it resembles semi-slush - place in freezer until ready to use)

Glass: Collins
Garnish: Blackberry and Knotted Pigtail Lemon Twist

Method:
Grab your cocktail shaker and fill with gin, lemon juice, blackberry cordial and sugar syrup - add ice cubes. Shake hard 3 times to combine and chill mix. Strain into glass filled with crushed ice. Top with more crushed ice then add a hefty splash more of the blackberry cordial.

To make the cordial, take half a kilo of blackberries and muddle in a stainless steel or glass bowl. Add a cup of sugar syrup, and three hefty slugs of Angostura Bitters. Allow to sit for an hour then pass through a very fine sieve, or a cloth fat filter if you have one; otherwise you'll have floaty bits, which spoils the appearance of the drink. Use this in a raft of recipes: add to soda water and ice, along with a sprig of mint for a non-alcoholic drink; pour over ice cream - experiment with it! When not being used, keep in the fridge.

The Briar Patch recipe comes from the famous Chicago bar, The Violet Hour.

*to extend the life of your sugar syrup by a couple of weeks, add a tablespoon of vodka to the mix.

Big thanks to Stiffy :)

Links:

Interview with Toby Maloney, owner of The Violet Hour and his unique approach to running a popular bar clickety

Some of The Violet Hour's Cocktail recipes, as posted by Toby Maloney clickety

First Apples Of The Season

2010-02-20T07:59:00.003+13:00

Alkmenes, a type of Cox's Orange Pippin.

Alkmene's are lovely and crisp with an acidy bite, not dissimilar to a Granny Smith. These are a little over ripe, hence the beautiful candy apple red colour and bold fleck.

The next varieties of apple to arrive at the fruit department of your local supermarket are Cox's Orange Pippin, followed by Gala and Royal Gala. Late March/April will see Braeburn, Fuji, Jazz, Pacific Queen and Pacific Rose.

Autumn's on its way, people. Make hay while the sun doth shine...

Back On Deck!

2010-02-20T07:35:00.001+13:00

I lost a big chunk o' stuff off the laptop thanks to a weird power problem, but fortunately I make back ups on a regular basis - that is, except for the photos and written material I had for the next three posts (not to mention a bite sized piece of my music collection). After re-inserting the hair I pulled out of my head in frustration, I'll just simply have to re-trace my steps - ce'st la vie. Here's hoping you guys are still around - if you are, I really appreciate your patience. Normal service resumes now...

Aaaargh!!!

2010-02-18T16:32:00.001+13:00

A thousand apologies for the lack of posts - my laptop's thrown a major-league wobbly & I've been out of commission for the last week. Finger's crossed, it'll be sorted by tomorrow.

In Wellington & Want To Learn More About Wine?

2010-02-13T18:15:00.040+13:00

Wine blogger and writer for M2 and Homestyle magazines Jules van Cruysen is teaming up with cult beer bar Hashigo Zake to bring Wellington a series of fun and informative wine tastings - the likes of which Wellington hasn't seen before!

First up is "Wine for Newbies!".

Be prepared to taste nine exciting cult wines over the course of an evening and learn

how wine is made
how age affects wine
what dirt-oir is
how to taste wine like a pro

and much, much more.

All for only $25 and only at Hashigo Zake on March 2 at 6.30pm. Seats are strictly limited so secure yours by contacting Jules, or call into Hashigo Zake to make a booking.

UPDATE Jules is planning one for Hawke's Bay soon - I'll keep you posted...

From The Kai Lab: Smoked Paprika (Part 1)

2010-02-11T03:01:00.013+13:00

It's a bit rough, and certainly not a patch on the real thing but pictured above is my tiny batch (two whole tablespoons!) of homemade smoked paprika!

Smoked paprika has its origins in Spain, where it's called Pimentón. Easily identified by its strong smoky aroma and rich red colour, Pimentón is made by grinding chilli peppers smoked over oak for periods as long as three to four weeks. Its sweet, smoky smell and flavour is an essential ingredient in a raft of dishes in Spanish cuisine, such as paella, and most notably in the making of chorizo. The degree of heat and spiciness is manipulated by the addition (or removal) of the pepper's own seeds to the grind.

I had a bunch of chillis that have spent the better part of eight months drying in my flat near the hot water cylinder - warm, even, consistent heat, out of the sun (which bleaches colour) resulting in dried chillis with a surprisingly rich smell. Turning them into smoked paprika sounded like an interesting experiment, although strictly speaking the method wouldn't be traditional - no matter.

Now, how to process the chilli. I considered hot smoking; it offered the advantage of imparting an additional flavour component, the heat caramelising the chilli's natural sugars, but there was also the risk of scorching. Cold smoking seemed the best option - longer and slower, making it easier to control the process, resulting in a more intensely flavoured product.

Grabbing ten chillis, I split them and removed the ribs and seeds.

Below is my cold smoking rig; regular readers with long memories may remember the post about its construction from a couple of years ago (right here). How does it work? Basically, the pot on the left hand side of the photo is the heating chamber. Filled with woodchips, it sits on a hot plate which allows the chips to slowly smoulder. This pot is linked to the other through a length of duct pipe.The pot on the right is the smoking chamber, where the food to be cold smoke resides; attached to it is an old computer fan located inside the duct pipe. Powered by a car battery, it draws smoke from the heating chamber, through the duct pipe, into the smoking chamber. Any heat from the heating chamber dissipates as the smoke wends its way through the pipe. Given its metal construction, this is ideally done out of the sun but today was cool and overcast so there were no problems being out in the elements.

Aaargh! All the wiring had corroded, so the entire rig had to be stripped and a quick trip made to Dick Smith to buy more. Three hours later(!), it was finally good to go.

First up, I loaded the heating chamber with oak wood chips, bought from the local hunting and fishing store. To prevent smoke from escaping, I threw a couple of bricks on the lid just to weigh it down. It wasn't necessary, especially if the fan was going to work as expected.

On with the heat...

While the heating chamber warms up, it was time to load the chillis into the smoking chamber's basket. If you look closely, you can see the hole in the base of the pot; that's where the duct pipe is connected and where the fan lives. On with the lid...

Once you have enough smoke, it's time to start the fan. After half an hour, I took a peek and while it's hard to make out in the photo, there was quite a bit of smoke being drawn into the smoking chamber.

You may already be aware of this, and embarassingly, I've only just discovered it, but subjecting foods to smoke isn't necessarily a good thing, largely because of the carcinogenic effects of its by-products, tar and ash. To try and minimise this (and to be honest I'm not sure how effective it is, not being a scientist), I rigged a filter comprising three layers of muslin which I attached to the duct pipe. Muslin semed most effective in that it permitted smoke to pass through while collecting a sizable amount of what's known in scientific circles as goop - dark, yellowish brown goop. I tried using paper filters (coffee filters and a chemical respirator pre-filter) and also cotton wool; these were too thick and effectively blocked the flow of smoke.

Twelve hours later, and nearly a couple of boxes of oak chips gone, it was time to shut down. I left it out overnight.

The next day, the chillis looked darker and were rich with the smell of smoke. I cut them into smaller pieces and then fed them into my spice grinder, an old sterilised coffee bean grinder. It took ages to grind, not surprising given their fibrous makeup.

The (nearly) finished product! All that time and effort for two whole precious tablespoons - I swear, anyone suffering a sudden sneezing attack anywhere near my homemade paprika would have been hurled across Napier in anger! The grind is a little coarse so I'll feed it through again, using a finer setting and then sieve the resulting product. The smoky aroma is still prominent so it'll be interesting to see how it stands up to cooking. I might even do a comparison test, cooking the same dish twice and using proper Pimentón in one and the Smoked Papri"kai "© (*cough*) in the other. It's a given that there will be a discernible difference in taste, but that's for another day - tune in next week for the cooking demonstration, dear reader...

Mushrooms

2010-02-07T02:49:00.010+13:00

I was visiting the mystery location of my blackberries, checking on their condition, when I came across these:

Created with flickr slideshow.

Where did they come from?

The summer heat and the unseasonal amount of rain we've had since the start of the year has provided the perfect conditions for wild mushrooms to flourish. We usually don't see them around until March, so it's an absolute treat having them this early. As for the size, they're all huge - beasts, even, especially the puffballs!

Given the number and variety, I thought I'd take a few snaps, and snaffle a few mushrooms for breakfast the next day.

Creamed Mushrooms on Toast
Serves three at a stretch, two quite comfortably, and one, well, wear elasticated pants...

Ingredients:

500g mushroooms, sliced
lemon
big knob of butter
splash of olive oil
small onion, finely chopped
120ml cream
1 tbsp parsley, roughly chopped
salt and pepper
toasted slices of ciabatta or sourdough

Method:

Pop butter and oil into a hot pan, then add and cook off your onion. Pour half the juice of your lemon over your mushrooms, then add to the pan and cook for around 10 minutes - make sure any liquid has evaporated. Pour in cream and remaining lemon juice, warm through, then season to taste. Serve immediately on toast, and sprinkle with parsley.

Be careful when gathering mushrooms - if you're not sure what it is, don't touch it. A big thank you to Doug for his field spotting skills.

Linky Goodness:

Introducing New Zealand's fungi and Fungal Guide Groups (via Landcare Research)
All you ever wanted to know about truffles (via the Wiki) clickety
New Zealand Truffle Association website clickety
Shrooms! clickety

Now On Facebook (With Added Twitter)!

2010-02-05T01:00:00.003+13:00

I've finally gotten round to putting the Kai up on Facecrack. Become a fan by clicking here - ta very much! I'm also on the Twitter should you wish to read my mutterings over the ether - clickety. I should point out too, that there are permanent links to Curious Kai on Facebook and Twitter over on the side bar (to the right of this sentence). Also, my smoked paprika experiment is drawing to a close - more on that later.

The New Old Aunt Daisy!

2010-02-04T23:11:00.008+13:00

Remember the old Aunt Daisy Cookbook I bought a while back? It was in a pretty sorry state - ripped cover, itself in two pieces; loose pages and so on. This was it then:

And here it is now, back from the bookbinders!

Not bad, eh!

It's as good as new, and sturdy to boot. A big thank you to Brian Fitzsimons at Brimar Bookbinding over in Havelock North for his excellent work. It didn't cost much either.

Ooh, Shiny! Contest Coming Soon, Too...

2010-02-01T16:23:00.010+13:00

Hello! Welcome to the new look Curious Kai. It's been a long time coming and now it's finally here - isn't it brilliant! The person responsible for the design is
Josh Morgan, a brand spanking new web designer based in Wellington. I had a few ideas in mind I've been carrying for a while - the look of the header and the logo is based on some old flour sacks I came across at a garage sale - and Josh turned them into the gem you see before you. There's still a bit of tinkering to do, so don't be alarmed if you see things come and go before your very eyes, but give it a few days and you'll see the resolved final product. My thanks to Josh for all his hard work; I still can't believe my luck at coming across such talent. Big love too, to my sister Heidi and her husband Rob for making this all happen - bless your little hearts :)

Woohoo! I feel like a proper blogger now! To celebrate the new look of t' blog, I've decided to run a little competition but more on that during the week - stay tuned! In the meantime, here's a little food related comedy:

Co-Post: Alli & Nigel’s Lavender Martini

2010-01-26T21:15:00.015+13:00

There are times when I enjoy a good martini. I've noticed too that after my third, a mysterious transformation takes place: I begin channeling the voice of actor Sean Connery's most famous character, James Bond - master spy and fan of the vodka martini. Unfortunately, the channeling degenerates rapidly from rougish Scottish burr to full scale slurring, complete with stumbling actions. Nevertheless, the martini remains a favourite of mine.

I'm also prone to experimenting with my drinks. The beauty about the internets is that you'll invariably find folk out there who share your sense of adventure. One of those people is the delightful Alli from Pease Pudding, one of my favourite food blogs. Like me, Alli is based in New Zealand and creates the most amazing dishes, illustrated to good effect with her beautifully composed photography. Recently, she posted a recipe for lavender syrup and we got to talking about its potential for use in cocktails. With that in mind, we decided upon co-posting a recipe and chose the Lavender Martini. Take a look at Alli's recipe, based on one that's appeared in Kingsley Amis' work and while you're there, be sure to have a good look around Pease Pudding - it's elegant, professional and clearly run by someone with an obvious passion for her craft. All this and she surfs too!

As for my recipe, it was a trial and error process. We initially tried a Vodka Martini, thinking that the vodka's neutrality (we used 42 Below) wouldn't interfere with the delicacy of the lavender. Unfortunately, its harshness overwhelmed the flavour. We increased the lavender content from 5ml to 10ml; while the flavour was more pronounced, the harshness remained. Overall, not a winner.

Over to the Gin Martini. Comprising botanicals and aromatics, gin should complement the lavender (we used South gin), so with fingers crossed it was off to work. The result? The flavour was complex but the lavender was there, and was present as a finishing note - success!

Just a few notes: I used food colouring as per Alli's instructions, but all trace of colour disappeared during the shaking/stirrring process. You could get around this by using a blueberry or two, removing them when you go to strain the drink. Any flavour it imparts is quickly overwhelmed by the other heavy hitting flavour components. The presence of colour would aid in enhancing the perception of the lavender flavour.

What else? Reducing Alli's syrup by half would result in a more intense lavender flavour - just cook the syrup a little longer, making sure not to reduce it too much. Finally, purists would say that due to the lavender syrup's sugar composition, this is a sweetened martini and cannot be called, strictly speaking, a martini.

So there you go! Three martinis and a clutch of paper napkins covered in scrawled notes later, I was weaving down the street, talking to cats and threatening surly-looking letter boxes - mishon akomplished! Here's the recipe:

Lavender Martini

ice
15ml vermouth
60ml gin
10ml lavender syrup

Place ice and vermouth in a chilled cocktail glass. Swirl, put aside. Into your cocktail shaker place ice, gin and lavender syrup; stir with cocktail spoon. Tip ice and vermouth out of glass; using a strainer, pour gin mix into cocktail glass. Relax, sip, repeat.

A big thank you to the following for their help and involvement: Simon, Louise, Zana, Stace and our Steph. And of course, Alli!

Links:

Alli's lavender syrup recipe here at Pease Pudding
Colour-changing martini clickety
How to be a superstar bartender (great tips here) clickety

A tip from Steph: DIY infusions, such as vodka and cassia bark or whiskey and chamomile, can be hastened along by popping into a dishwasher for a cycle! To minimise the risk of it exploding, drain off a little of the spirit.

Juliet & Romeo

2010-01-25T05:23:00.006+13:00

Clean, grassy and with a citrus finish, this is the perfect drink for a hot summer's day.

Juliet & Romeo:

60ml gin
30ml fresh lime juice
30ml sugar (simple) syrup
3 drops of rose water
3 drops of Angostura
3 slices of cucumber
3 sprigs of mint
tiny pinch of salt

Garnish:

mint leaf
1 drop of rose water
3 drops of Angostura

Muddle cucumber, mint and the pinch of salt. Add the rest of the ingredients and leave to sit for about half a minute. Shake, strain and garnish with the lone mint leaf - place the drop of rose water on the leaf, and the three drops of bitters on the surface of the drink.

A big thank you to Steph at Provedore for her liquid skills.

The White Lady Pie Cart

2010-01-20T09:41:00.004+13:00

Where do you go in Auckland when you feel like a late night scoff? One place in particular has satisfied the growling bellies of many a drunk, clubber, shift worker, insomniac and combinations thereof over the past few decades. And it's not on Twitter...

I was in downtown Auckland on Monday to catch Camera Obscura, one of my all-time favourite bands, performing at Toto's Montecristo Room. They're presently in the midst of a world tour promoting their album, "My Maudlin Career" (fingers crossed, I'll be able to see them play in their native Scotland later this year when I visit my sister and brother-in-law!). Below are two of their band members Tracyanne Campbell, singer and guitarist, and Kenny McKeeve, guitarist.

Their set was brilliant, packed full of melodic, charm-laden pop culminating in the most amazing wall of feedback at the end of their encore! Opening the gig were fellow Brits Slow Club, an awesomely rowdy duo from Sheffield. It was hot (poor Miss Campbell was wearing tights), noisy (I have tinnitus in my right ear, the price you pay for grabbing the best spot for taking photos), and all thoroughly enjoyable! All this, and I scored a band t-shirt too! With it all done and dusted by midnight, I felt like something to eat. With Auckland being rather big, I was spoilt for choice but I only really wanted something from a place I'd only ever heard about; a place I now had the chance to visit for myself.

The White Lady is a pie cart, one of the few remaining in the country. A pie cart is a mobile fast food outlet, usually in the form of a modified caravan or bus. These sprang up around the country not long after the second world war; The White Lady for instance first opened in 1948. The owner would park up in the main street of town and serve hot meals such as chips, pies and burgers to late night patrons looking for something to eat after the local pubs, milk bars and cafes had closed. The food was cheap, hot and filling; the cooks were kept busy, usually from opening at seven at night right through to the early hours of the morning. Pie carts predate the fast food chains and consequently suffered as they took root and spread throughout the country during the 1970's. Competing with their initial novelty value and then subsequent entrenchment in the food scene, as well as contending with the increasingly stringent health and safety demands of local councils, the pie cart became increasingly unviable and they slowly began to disappear; I remember the pie cart that used to be across the road from the Hastings police station when I was very little, now long since gone.

After wandering for a bit, there it was on Commerce street, draped in party lights and filling the air with the tantalising smell of fried food; I swear I could smell it before I saw it. There was a small line of people waiting to be served, and just as I'd been told, there on the footpath were the milk crate seats, presently occupied by three beautiful Asian girls devouring fat, juicy hamburgers.

The White Lady has gone through three different forms over its many years of trading, starting off as a caravan, through to its present incarnation, a heavily modified bus equipped as you would a standard New Zealand fast food kitchen. True to form, the cart was serving a small group of businessmen, eager for a bite to eat after sharing a few drinks. The menu provides the usual fast food fare, as well as catering to vegetarians. A true mark of progress: the presence of aioli on the menu! Imagine the scorn if someone requested aioli on their chips back in the 1950's...or even if you knew how to pronounce it.

What did I order? A steak burger, comprising a big, beautifully cooked piece of sirloin (perfectly seasoned), with sauce, onions, iceberg and tomato accompanied by a creaming soda milkshake. Apologies for the crappy photo - it only occurred to me as I was halfway through the burger that maybe I should fire off a quick shot - you're lucky you got that much, frankly.

Right, mission accomplished! Unbuckling my belt by two notches, I slowly waddled off back to my hotel. This could just be naivety on my part but it felt surprisingly safe wandering around downtown Auckland at that time, more so I'm afraid to say than in my hometown, Napier. I'd also forgotten the delights to be had by being in the city; late night eateries, clubs, gigs galore...To think I even lived in one once, Chicago. I think it would be good for a whole host of reasons to give thought to moving back to one...

Anyhoo, morning rolled round and it was time to catch my flight back home. Look what I found on my way to the shuttle stop:

I haven't had a Dunkin' Donut (and by "a", I mean a box of six for $9) for years - slurp! With my coronary fate sealed, it was back on the plane and off to Napier (after they chased the sheep off the runway). That's Lake Taupo down below:

The trip was done on a very meagre budget (thanks, Christmas), but it was grand nonetheless!

I'll leave you now with a couple of videos from Camera Obscura (linky goodness to be found after the videos):

Links:

The White Lady makes NBR clickety

The Great New Zealand Pie Cart - a book outlining the history of this phenomenom, as well as existing businesses clickety

Slow Club - video for their song, "Trophy Room" clickety & here they are on Facebook clickety

Under the Radar - handy source of gig and band info around NZ clickety

San Francisco Bathhouse - awesome music venue on Cuba street in Welly, plays host to many cool bands, local & international clickety