Pickled Walnuts - The Beginning

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.

Pineapple & Mango (But Mostly Pineapple) Chutney

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.

Sweet Pickled Cherries

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.

Cherry & Walnut Jam

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.

Raspberry Vinegar

"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

Brining & Marinating Olives

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.

Glacé Cherries

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.

DIY Crystallised Ginger UPDATED 8/7/10*

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! 

Once You've Had Black...

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...

Tinctures

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.

Rose Hips

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.

Preserved Lemons

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).

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

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.

Jam On It

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.

Aunt Daisy's Rhubarb & Strawberry Jam

What's all this then? Well, it started with my latest acquisition...

Honeyed Whiskey Mustard

Just a quickie today. With the growing abundance of late spring/summer produce, and after last weeks chutney exercise, I've caught the condiment bug. Over the next few weeks, I plan to make some relishes and sauces, but for now, here's an old mustard recipe I've put to work.

Rhubarb, Apricot & Ginger Chutney

At the bottom of your typical New Zealand backyard, just past Francesco the Jack Russell's grave and the smelly old compost pile, is an oft neglected plant found in many a New Zealand back yard: the rhubarb plant. It's a sturdy thing, requiring little in the way of attention; bearing a resemblance to silverbeet, it has long crimson stalks topped with full, leafy green, leaves. 

Clearing Out the Fridge - Membrillo

I was cleaning out my fridge the other day (no treasures to be found, apart from a bottle of creaming soda mix for my Sodastream - w00t!) ) when I came across this, the last of the membrillo I made back in May. Membrillo, originating in Spain, is a firm sliceable paste made from quince, typically served with manchego. Other cheeses work just as well; when I made it, I was shovelling it down with some vintage gouda - delicious! It's still in excellent condition, thanks to its high sugar content and having lived in the fridge all this time.

While quince aren't in season until autumn, knowing how to make membrillo is a handy skill to have. Like lemons and grapefruit in this country, it's not uncommon to see quince languishing on trees and going to waste (a bugbear of mine), due to folk being unaware of their potential. Write this down and consider making it once they're available; quince paste ain't cheap to buy, plus it's immensely satisfying to make. Here's the recipe:

Membrillo

• 1.8 kg of quince, washed, peeled, cored, roughly chopped
• 1 vanilla pod, split and scraped
• lemon peel, 2 band-aid sized strips
• 3 tbsp lemon juice
• sugar - keep it handy; the amount you'll need won't be determined until we start cooking

Place quince pieces in a large pot and cover with water. Add vanilla pod, seeds and lemon peel and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer, cover, and cook until the quince pieces are soft, about half an hour.

Strain the water from the quince pieces. Discard the vanilla pod but keep the lemon peel with the quince. Blitz with a stick mixer or a food processor. Now weigh the quince - whatever amount you have, you'll need the equivalent amount in sugar eg, 5 cups of quince puree = 5 cups of sugar.

Return the quince to the pot. Heat to medium-low. Add the sugar. Stir with a wooden spoon until the sugar has completely dissolved - this step is important; if it does't dissolve properly, it won't gel. Once done, add the lemon juice.

Continue to cook over a low heat for 1 - 1.5 hours, stirring occasionally. The paste will gradually thicken and turn an orangey pink colour.

Preheat oven to a low 55°C. Line an 18 cm x 22 cm pan with baking paper. Grease it with a thin coating of butter and pour in the paste. Using a knife, smooth out the paste so that it's evenly distributed, and place in the oven for about an hour and a half. Remove from the oven to cool.

To serve, cut into cubes or wedges and pair with cheese, traditionally manchego. To store, wrap in cling film and place in the fridge.

Handy links:

So what exactly is a quince? clickety

Things to do with quince paste clickety