Robust dishes make the breakfasts here stand out from the norm in the crowded northside cafe scene.
A friend of mine used to be the queen of cafes. She lived in North Fitzroy and knew every cafe within a 10km radius - which is a lot, and I think why she chose to live there - so was excited when a new one opened up. We went along, I ordered my usual two poached eggs, bacon and homemade beans but my friend looked dejected and ordered only a coffee. She was getting sick of the same old breakfasts, she said, pronoucing the menu just an amalgam of every other cafe in the vicinity and containing food she could easily cook herself at home.
Fortunately for her, a new cafe with an original menu has popped up in Northcote, on High Street. The Estelle, a restaurant which serves breakfast, has a rather varied, somewhat surprising menu. The food is robust, big on flavour, with rich superstar ingredients (think black pudding, lambs fry, marinated fetta) mixed in with more regular ones (hard boiled or poached eggs, beans, roasted mushrooms, oats) to create some really interesting and satisfying dishes.
Three of us dined and had trouble choosing what to eat - each dish was intriguing, and we wondered if the chef could pull off some of the more unusual dishes. You have to admire a place that includes dishes such as 'smashed potatoes, roasted pork belly, seeded mustard and boiled egg' and the truckers gourmet breakfast, 'one pan fried egg, lamb cutlet, kranksy and confit tomatoes' on their breakfast menu. There was a sharing plates menu on the table for later in the day, but no, these were on the breakfast menu, I double checked.
I had the 'black pudding & malt onion jam omelette' ($15) which was quite rich, which I expected and enjoyed immensely. The black pudding held together well and was a far cry from the gritty, crumbly, greasy discs I experienced in Scottish fry ups; the omelette buttery and silky, a great accompaniment to the flavour packed pudding. B, in between admiring the art deco meets milk bar decor, was impressed with his 'thyme roasted field mushrooms, gorgonzola & semolina cake'. He expressed concern his portion was not big enough for his large appetite, but found the dish was exactly enough, the richness of the dish satisfying him. Our other friend was very happy with a scandinavian looking 'beetroot cured salmon, poached eggs & rocket oil' ($12), a dish made pretty by the gorgeous pinky hue where the beetroot had soaked into the salmon. We went for the more expensive options on the menu, but I'm keen to try the 'brioche baked croque madame' ($7.50) and 'vanilla rice pudding roasted peaches & cinnamon sugar' ($9) on future visits.
...Of which there will be many, despite the cafe featuring a pet hate of mine, an outside loo.
With friendly, attentive service, a relaxing atmosphere and gorgeous food, it would be churlish of me to let a small point like that stop me enjoying this great to addition to Northcote High Street's food scene.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Guacamole recipe
This recipe is a guide - you have to keep tasting (without eating everything) as you go... it's a very easy recipe, the most complicated bit is preparing the tomatoes. If you're making multiple quantities (this recipe makes enough for 4-6 people) take out a tomato or two. Please do not use mushy tomatoes, they have to be firm and fresh. The secret to the flavour is the Worcestershire sauce and a bit of Tabasco or Cayenne pepper. The secret to a good consistency is not to mash the avocados too much - there's quite a bit of liquid in this recipe so unless you want a very runny guacamole, keep the avocado quite chunky.
2 x large avocados (or 3 small), roughly mashed
1 x firm fresh tomato, skin and seeds removed, finely chopped
2 x garlic cloves, crushed
100ml light sour cream (then add to taste)
a few splashes Worcestershire sauce
one splash soy sauce
one splash Tabasco sauce (if don't have, add one shake Cayenne pepper instead)
one shake ground cumin (optional)
one shake ground coriander (optional)
juice from half a lemon, plus extra juice to stop top from browning
a good shake or three of salt
freshly ground pepper
1/2 onion, finely chopped (optional - I never add this)
Mix all ingredients together to desired consistency, taste and add anything you feel it should have more of. Then squeeze lemon juice on top and refrigerate.
2 x large avocados (or 3 small), roughly mashed
1 x firm fresh tomato, skin and seeds removed, finely chopped
2 x garlic cloves, crushed
100ml light sour cream (then add to taste)
a few splashes Worcestershire sauce
one splash soy sauce
one splash Tabasco sauce (if don't have, add one shake Cayenne pepper instead)
one shake ground cumin (optional)
one shake ground coriander (optional)
juice from half a lemon, plus extra juice to stop top from browning
a good shake or three of salt
freshly ground pepper
1/2 onion, finely chopped (optional - I never add this)
Mix all ingredients together to desired consistency, taste and add anything you feel it should have more of. Then squeeze lemon juice on top and refrigerate.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Hellenic Republic - restaurant review
It’s not often I come home from a restaurant puzzling over the receipt in order to figure out why it was all so affordable; a real mystery when the food is as inspiring as the food we had at Hellenic Republic last night. If this is the less expensive, populist taverna-style version of George Calombaris’ Greek food, then I’m ready to sell all of B and my Christmas presents plus a few bits of furniture to finance a trip to try the upmarket, gourmet version found at Press Club. It gets better than this?
Perhaps Hellenic Republic exceeded all expectations as the location of this restaurant didn’t thrill me – on the upper end of Lygon Street in a strip of shops which, though improving, don’t hold a lot of excitement. The restaurant itself is open and modern like a lot of the groovy cafes in the area, with a European-style bar where one can eat or have a drink and an open kitchen showcasing the chefs (presided over by George C himself on the evening we went). Although it was a near-capacity crowd and the décor, as I said, was trendy modern with hard surfaces, our group of eight could all actually hear each other talk and weren’t oppressed by the loud din so characteristic of many similarly designed places. The army of waiting staff were very professional and efficient with just the right amount of chatty friendliness and attentiveness; they really made us feel very welcome and well looked after.
The menu is made up of a large selection of ‘plates’, small portions of food such as you’ll find in tapas - I think in Greece they are called ‘mezze’ – plus main-size dishes and grills. We were lucky enough to have a Greek person who loves food in our party, who ordered for us and very well I thought. She chose a number of small plates and three grills which may have been enough, except we loved two of the plates so much we had to order more immediately. These stand-out plates were a very competent spanakopita ($9.50) and the dish of the evening, graviera saganaki ($11.50), the traditional fried salty saganaki cheese, this time topped with a sweet spicy fig relish (which I know as Syrian spiced figs). We agreed we could probably just eat these two dishes all night and go home happy. Other very satisfying plates we ordered were melizanosalata ($9.50), an eggplant dip, gemista ($12.50) vegetables stuffed with rice and the wonderfully named gigantes (giant beans) $7.50. These beans tasted slightly of rosewater to me which was confusing but not entirely unpleasant.
There was a bit of a wait after this for the grills, uncomfortable to no-one except me with my current pregnant wolfish appetite. We had kalamari ($16.00), lamb spit ($22.00) and grilled vegetables ($18.00). The kalamari was simple, delicious and not at all chewy or rubbery, the vegetables beautifully firm, fresh and naturally delicious, prompting a discussion about how none of our party could ever manage to coerce our grilled vegetables to such a state. Our resident Greek was disappointed with the lamb as she didn’t like the flavouring they’d used on it. I couldn’t identify this flavouring but found the lamb flavour quite strong which I liked but others may not and the lamb slightly overcooked. One of our party ordered her own main, pastitsio ($24.00) which she enjoyed; it seemed to be a hearty sized portion, more like the taverna food I’ve had before.
The dessert menu was full of the almost-sickly sweet traditional treats we all know and love, so we shared four between us – baklava ($12.50), galatktoboureko ($13.50), a hard semolina custard with cherries, loukamades ($12.50), fried round donuts with a honey syrup and kataifi ($14.50), a vermicelli dessert served with ice cream. A fifth, risogalo ($12.50), was quickly added by a rice-pudding lover. All were extremely sweet, as expected, but very well done. For drinks the others had wine served in karafaki ($20) and a sparkling water was $5. Many of us had tea and coffee which were decently priced ($3.50 for coffee and $4.50 for a small plunger of tea).
I must mention what seems to be the big issue facing Hellenic Republic. We were asked by the staff many times if we felt the portions were adequate as other diners have apparently complained they are too small; we replied we felt they were adequate. I’ll qualify this by saying we’d had a bit of bread before starting eating and it was an all-female table – perhaps a large hungry bloke used to big slabs of food found at the traditional Greek taverna might find otherwise. But with food that’s light but extremely flavoursome we generally found the portions fine and in the ones we didn’t, ordered more without it breaking the bank.
The wonderful surprise of the evening came with the bill, $335.50 for eight. We hadn’t held back in ordering extra dishes we particularly loved and quailed at some of the prices (I’d wondered about the $12.50 desserts until I realised there was no way even I could eat a whole one) so were expecting to pay $80 or more a head… and this was less than $50 each including a tip.
Before I’d discovered George Calombaris’ Greek food, I’d gone off this cuisine after having too many stodgy, overcooked meals in fusty old tavernas. Hellenic Republic breathes new life into a cuisine which sorely needs it and will hopefully do for Greek food in this country what Movida did for tapas. I’m heading over to The Press Club as soon as I can afford to, and definitely back to Hellenic Republic soon.
Perhaps Hellenic Republic exceeded all expectations as the location of this restaurant didn’t thrill me – on the upper end of Lygon Street in a strip of shops which, though improving, don’t hold a lot of excitement. The restaurant itself is open and modern like a lot of the groovy cafes in the area, with a European-style bar where one can eat or have a drink and an open kitchen showcasing the chefs (presided over by George C himself on the evening we went). Although it was a near-capacity crowd and the décor, as I said, was trendy modern with hard surfaces, our group of eight could all actually hear each other talk and weren’t oppressed by the loud din so characteristic of many similarly designed places. The army of waiting staff were very professional and efficient with just the right amount of chatty friendliness and attentiveness; they really made us feel very welcome and well looked after.
The menu is made up of a large selection of ‘plates’, small portions of food such as you’ll find in tapas - I think in Greece they are called ‘mezze’ – plus main-size dishes and grills. We were lucky enough to have a Greek person who loves food in our party, who ordered for us and very well I thought. She chose a number of small plates and three grills which may have been enough, except we loved two of the plates so much we had to order more immediately. These stand-out plates were a very competent spanakopita ($9.50) and the dish of the evening, graviera saganaki ($11.50), the traditional fried salty saganaki cheese, this time topped with a sweet spicy fig relish (which I know as Syrian spiced figs). We agreed we could probably just eat these two dishes all night and go home happy. Other very satisfying plates we ordered were melizanosalata ($9.50), an eggplant dip, gemista ($12.50) vegetables stuffed with rice and the wonderfully named gigantes (giant beans) $7.50. These beans tasted slightly of rosewater to me which was confusing but not entirely unpleasant.
There was a bit of a wait after this for the grills, uncomfortable to no-one except me with my current pregnant wolfish appetite. We had kalamari ($16.00), lamb spit ($22.00) and grilled vegetables ($18.00). The kalamari was simple, delicious and not at all chewy or rubbery, the vegetables beautifully firm, fresh and naturally delicious, prompting a discussion about how none of our party could ever manage to coerce our grilled vegetables to such a state. Our resident Greek was disappointed with the lamb as she didn’t like the flavouring they’d used on it. I couldn’t identify this flavouring but found the lamb flavour quite strong which I liked but others may not and the lamb slightly overcooked. One of our party ordered her own main, pastitsio ($24.00) which she enjoyed; it seemed to be a hearty sized portion, more like the taverna food I’ve had before.
The dessert menu was full of the almost-sickly sweet traditional treats we all know and love, so we shared four between us – baklava ($12.50), galatktoboureko ($13.50), a hard semolina custard with cherries, loukamades ($12.50), fried round donuts with a honey syrup and kataifi ($14.50), a vermicelli dessert served with ice cream. A fifth, risogalo ($12.50), was quickly added by a rice-pudding lover. All were extremely sweet, as expected, but very well done. For drinks the others had wine served in karafaki ($20) and a sparkling water was $5. Many of us had tea and coffee which were decently priced ($3.50 for coffee and $4.50 for a small plunger of tea).
I must mention what seems to be the big issue facing Hellenic Republic. We were asked by the staff many times if we felt the portions were adequate as other diners have apparently complained they are too small; we replied we felt they were adequate. I’ll qualify this by saying we’d had a bit of bread before starting eating and it was an all-female table – perhaps a large hungry bloke used to big slabs of food found at the traditional Greek taverna might find otherwise. But with food that’s light but extremely flavoursome we generally found the portions fine and in the ones we didn’t, ordered more without it breaking the bank.
The wonderful surprise of the evening came with the bill, $335.50 for eight. We hadn’t held back in ordering extra dishes we particularly loved and quailed at some of the prices (I’d wondered about the $12.50 desserts until I realised there was no way even I could eat a whole one) so were expecting to pay $80 or more a head… and this was less than $50 each including a tip.
Before I’d discovered George Calombaris’ Greek food, I’d gone off this cuisine after having too many stodgy, overcooked meals in fusty old tavernas. Hellenic Republic breathes new life into a cuisine which sorely needs it and will hopefully do for Greek food in this country what Movida did for tapas. I’m heading over to The Press Club as soon as I can afford to, and definitely back to Hellenic Republic soon.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Interview with D who knows a lot about food, in so many ways
I decided it was time to give my long-suffering partner a rest from my pregnancy whims and fancies, and at the same time visit an old friend D and his partner in Launceston, Tasmania. I first visited Tassie, as it’s known here in Australia, 10 years ago and have been back 3 times now. It’s one of the most beautiful and dramatic places on earth, without being too rugged or inaccessible, and it has what I think is the best produce in Australia. Its cheese, wines, oysters, berries, and apples are wonderful and plentiful.
D and I met at university many years ago and have stayed in touch; partly I think because of our common interest in all things food - its production, recipes and the anthropological and social role it plays in our lives. We also both grew up with mothers who shunned processed food, making their own yoghurt, bread, sweets and cheese, ensuring our palates crave simplicity, freshness and authenticity in food.
I love to discuss food with D as I know he will always have interesting and sometimes provocative opinions on it. He initially studied biology at university, which means his production of food is incredibly well informed. He is very environmentally conscious and wastes little. D’s arts studies as a mature-age student means he’s also trained to look at life from a sociological and anthropological viewpoint.
D’s current lifestyle involves a home with a large kitchen garden in Tasmania, most recently combined with a job which enabled him to travel, sampling many different food cultures. D takes none of this for granted as you will see from this interview-which is a little dated now as it was done in mid-winter. It’s a long interview, but so rich in content and interesting I have really struggled to edit it at all (hence the late publication).
If you like what D has to say, check out his blog at www.inconspicuousliving.blogspot.com
What have you been making lately?
Yoghurt, bread, cottage cheese, labneh (middle-eastern yoghurt cheese), curing olives, sprouts, my partner makes amazing green tea ice-cream and wonderful quince paste. None of these things are difficult at all, yet all require patience.
What food are you growing at the moment?
We’re very fortunate to have a large suburban veggie garden in Launceston and are revelling in it after our smaller inner-urban garden beds in Melbourne. Broadbeans are a regular in our winter veggie garden. They help replenish the soil’s nitrogen content and they taste brilliant. When you grow your own you can enjoy the young bean pods whole as well as the more traditional mature bean seeds. I’ve planted out the bed that had tomatoes in it over summer as tomatoes are heavy feeders and the soil will benefit from the nitrogen. We’ve got an enormous amount of self seeded coriander and dill, as well as two rhubarb plants that are doing famously. Our artichokes are getting bigger and better every time I see them, and I can’t wait to see the first flower buds forming in spring. We’ve got silverbeet (always) and rainbow chard, as well as two varieties of broccoli, the early variety was just forming heads when I left home. I also recently planted out about 25 cloves of local organic garlic I bought from the green grocer – splendid tightly held purple cloves. I hope mine grow as well as the heads I’ve torn them from – I’m hopeful as their stalks were about 15 cm high at the time I departed. We’ve also got a few celery plants, and they’ve been a revelation. They’ve been really easy to grow and the stems are incredibly delicious: crispy and brightly flavoured. A huge favourite, especially used alongside the celery for hearty ribolitta over winter, are our cavelo nero (black Tuscan Kale) plants. Not only do they taste brilliant, rich and loamy like I hope our soil will be one day, they look brilliant. Radish, chervil, various lettuce, sorrel and Italian parsley fills some of the gaps. I haven’t had much luck with chervil to date, but am pleased that the seeds have germinated this time, so I’m hopeful we’ll be adding it to our winter salads soon. I’ve also planted some horseradish in a large pot as an experiment. It can be a terrible weed, hence the pot, but I’m curious to see if I can make some horseradish from its roots.
Outside the veggie garden we’ve also got two young grape vines and some young fruit trees: two apples, two pears, nectarine, quince, peach, apricot, orange, kaffir lime, a black fig, lemon and apple.
I know you also like the work of Michael Pollan. Tell me about your general attitude towards food.
I guess I share with Michael Pollan a distrust of processed food, a belief that good nutrition naturally grows from a strong and sensitive relationship with food rather than obsessing about specific ingredients and nutrients, a barely suppressed despair about the way we interact with our environment and what this may mean for the future, and a distrust of the line that is so often drawn between nature and culture. Food is one of life’s necessities and as it’s at the heart of life and the nature/culture debate it’s unsurprising that we both give it special significance. I’m not the pedant he is when it comes to investigating all aspects of it – even though I love to read the results of such pedantry. What I truly believe is that if you keep it simple, and play an active role in the production and/or preparation of the food you eat you’re in for a rich, and I suspect healthy and ethically sound, life.
Has a training in biology influenced the way you produce and eat food?
While I don’t often think about it, my excitement about making vinegar, yoghurt and bread – which is really enjoying the actions of bacteria and fungi - or observing the biological processes at play in the garden are clearly linked to my early interest in science and nature. Nevertheless, I’d have to say my interest in food, gardens and the poetry of domestic life is equally influenced by my humanities studies (in cultural studies, art history, and studies in religion)
Are there any plants that we don't use as food that you think should or could be eaten? if so, how should they be prepared?
There are a huge number of people/cultures and academics around the world that can answer this question for me. As multicultural as Australia is, the number of plant varieties that it eats is quite small – both in comparison to many other parts of the world and what has been consumed in the past. We can thank industrial agriculture for that as much as our British heritage. Just open a seed catalogue from someone like Eden Seeds, Diggers or the Lost Seed Company and marvel at the variety, despair at what we’ve lost and then act.
Your current job involves a lot of travel. What interesting food or ways of cooking have you discovered on your travels?
I always favour the low-end of the food market, although I find this less easy in China due to language difficulties. Thankfully I usually travel with a Chinese colleague who is a great food-lover and this makes things very very enjoyable. The huge array of foods in China has been a revelation – each province, even each city in a province, offers different, often vastly different, food.
Some of the best food I’ve eaten was in Xian – and, more than anywhere else, I was awakened to the fact that eating food is eating a place’s history. At the end of the Silk Road you’re eating the legacy of the Muslim traders who traveled that route: cumin and chilli encrusted breads, dense, drizzled with oil and grilled over hot coals. Delicately spiced lamb dumplings, steamed and, somehow miraculously, filled with a light broth. Glutinous rice dessert with red bean paste, drenched in a rose-water infused syrup. You can’t beat it – inexpensive, unpretentious and exquisite. Likewise the firey food of Sichuan, or the lovely simple food of Shandong province: steamed fish with a little chilli and spring onion; roughly chopped tomatoes braised with beaten eggs and broccoli steamed and served with a touch of salt and garlic – almost Mediterranean in its simplicity.
Do you think we have much to learn from the food culture of other countries?
Nearly everywhere I’ve traveled has a lively street food culture with the exception of Singapore and parts of the Middle East, both of which still sell street-style food, but rarely if ever on the street. I get so enthralled, and jealous, when walking through the streets of Malaysia and China in particular. There is such a wide range of very inexpensive and fresh foods available. Furthermore it provides the opportunity for those with very limited capital to establish a small business. The globalization of fast food culture is quite depressing – seeing the same bland processed food products around the world. Especially despairing is seeing these brands being positioned as luxury restaurants, when the quality and nutritional value is so lacking, especially in comparison to the marvellous, inexpensive and often far more healthy local food on offer.
Australia can seem so terribly dull upon returning – I have a beautiful life at home, and I’m sure many others do to, but I am sometimes saddened by the British and American influence of staying in. Europe, the Middle East and all of Asia have such a vibrant and accessible public life, and food has such a big part to play in this.
I also admire the way these cultures use absolutely everything from the animals they slaughter. While I can’t abide offal, eyes, duckheads, and more, I think that it’s great that others do. On the flipside, I am concerned about the huge waste that occurs too – hospitality is such a big part of business and community. To show hospitality means putting on a great meal – a really great meal, far bigger than anyone could hope to eat. To eat all your food is an insult, as it suggests you weren’t given enough. To compensate people put on enormous banquets, and so much food is wasted. I have to say I prefer the “eat your broccoli or you won’t get dessert” approach.
D and I met at university many years ago and have stayed in touch; partly I think because of our common interest in all things food - its production, recipes and the anthropological and social role it plays in our lives. We also both grew up with mothers who shunned processed food, making their own yoghurt, bread, sweets and cheese, ensuring our palates crave simplicity, freshness and authenticity in food.
I love to discuss food with D as I know he will always have interesting and sometimes provocative opinions on it. He initially studied biology at university, which means his production of food is incredibly well informed. He is very environmentally conscious and wastes little. D’s arts studies as a mature-age student means he’s also trained to look at life from a sociological and anthropological viewpoint.
D’s current lifestyle involves a home with a large kitchen garden in Tasmania, most recently combined with a job which enabled him to travel, sampling many different food cultures. D takes none of this for granted as you will see from this interview-which is a little dated now as it was done in mid-winter. It’s a long interview, but so rich in content and interesting I have really struggled to edit it at all (hence the late publication).
If you like what D has to say, check out his blog at www.inconspicuousliving.blogspot.com
What have you been making lately?
Yoghurt, bread, cottage cheese, labneh (middle-eastern yoghurt cheese), curing olives, sprouts, my partner makes amazing green tea ice-cream and wonderful quince paste. None of these things are difficult at all, yet all require patience.
What food are you growing at the moment?
We’re very fortunate to have a large suburban veggie garden in Launceston and are revelling in it after our smaller inner-urban garden beds in Melbourne. Broadbeans are a regular in our winter veggie garden. They help replenish the soil’s nitrogen content and they taste brilliant. When you grow your own you can enjoy the young bean pods whole as well as the more traditional mature bean seeds. I’ve planted out the bed that had tomatoes in it over summer as tomatoes are heavy feeders and the soil will benefit from the nitrogen. We’ve got an enormous amount of self seeded coriander and dill, as well as two rhubarb plants that are doing famously. Our artichokes are getting bigger and better every time I see them, and I can’t wait to see the first flower buds forming in spring. We’ve got silverbeet (always) and rainbow chard, as well as two varieties of broccoli, the early variety was just forming heads when I left home. I also recently planted out about 25 cloves of local organic garlic I bought from the green grocer – splendid tightly held purple cloves. I hope mine grow as well as the heads I’ve torn them from – I’m hopeful as their stalks were about 15 cm high at the time I departed. We’ve also got a few celery plants, and they’ve been a revelation. They’ve been really easy to grow and the stems are incredibly delicious: crispy and brightly flavoured. A huge favourite, especially used alongside the celery for hearty ribolitta over winter, are our cavelo nero (black Tuscan Kale) plants. Not only do they taste brilliant, rich and loamy like I hope our soil will be one day, they look brilliant. Radish, chervil, various lettuce, sorrel and Italian parsley fills some of the gaps. I haven’t had much luck with chervil to date, but am pleased that the seeds have germinated this time, so I’m hopeful we’ll be adding it to our winter salads soon. I’ve also planted some horseradish in a large pot as an experiment. It can be a terrible weed, hence the pot, but I’m curious to see if I can make some horseradish from its roots.
Outside the veggie garden we’ve also got two young grape vines and some young fruit trees: two apples, two pears, nectarine, quince, peach, apricot, orange, kaffir lime, a black fig, lemon and apple.
I know you also like the work of Michael Pollan. Tell me about your general attitude towards food.
I guess I share with Michael Pollan a distrust of processed food, a belief that good nutrition naturally grows from a strong and sensitive relationship with food rather than obsessing about specific ingredients and nutrients, a barely suppressed despair about the way we interact with our environment and what this may mean for the future, and a distrust of the line that is so often drawn between nature and culture. Food is one of life’s necessities and as it’s at the heart of life and the nature/culture debate it’s unsurprising that we both give it special significance. I’m not the pedant he is when it comes to investigating all aspects of it – even though I love to read the results of such pedantry. What I truly believe is that if you keep it simple, and play an active role in the production and/or preparation of the food you eat you’re in for a rich, and I suspect healthy and ethically sound, life.
Has a training in biology influenced the way you produce and eat food?
While I don’t often think about it, my excitement about making vinegar, yoghurt and bread – which is really enjoying the actions of bacteria and fungi - or observing the biological processes at play in the garden are clearly linked to my early interest in science and nature. Nevertheless, I’d have to say my interest in food, gardens and the poetry of domestic life is equally influenced by my humanities studies (in cultural studies, art history, and studies in religion)
Are there any plants that we don't use as food that you think should or could be eaten? if so, how should they be prepared?
There are a huge number of people/cultures and academics around the world that can answer this question for me. As multicultural as Australia is, the number of plant varieties that it eats is quite small – both in comparison to many other parts of the world and what has been consumed in the past. We can thank industrial agriculture for that as much as our British heritage. Just open a seed catalogue from someone like Eden Seeds, Diggers or the Lost Seed Company and marvel at the variety, despair at what we’ve lost and then act.
Your current job involves a lot of travel. What interesting food or ways of cooking have you discovered on your travels?
I always favour the low-end of the food market, although I find this less easy in China due to language difficulties. Thankfully I usually travel with a Chinese colleague who is a great food-lover and this makes things very very enjoyable. The huge array of foods in China has been a revelation – each province, even each city in a province, offers different, often vastly different, food.
Some of the best food I’ve eaten was in Xian – and, more than anywhere else, I was awakened to the fact that eating food is eating a place’s history. At the end of the Silk Road you’re eating the legacy of the Muslim traders who traveled that route: cumin and chilli encrusted breads, dense, drizzled with oil and grilled over hot coals. Delicately spiced lamb dumplings, steamed and, somehow miraculously, filled with a light broth. Glutinous rice dessert with red bean paste, drenched in a rose-water infused syrup. You can’t beat it – inexpensive, unpretentious and exquisite. Likewise the firey food of Sichuan, or the lovely simple food of Shandong province: steamed fish with a little chilli and spring onion; roughly chopped tomatoes braised with beaten eggs and broccoli steamed and served with a touch of salt and garlic – almost Mediterranean in its simplicity.
Do you think we have much to learn from the food culture of other countries?
Nearly everywhere I’ve traveled has a lively street food culture with the exception of Singapore and parts of the Middle East, both of which still sell street-style food, but rarely if ever on the street. I get so enthralled, and jealous, when walking through the streets of Malaysia and China in particular. There is such a wide range of very inexpensive and fresh foods available. Furthermore it provides the opportunity for those with very limited capital to establish a small business. The globalization of fast food culture is quite depressing – seeing the same bland processed food products around the world. Especially despairing is seeing these brands being positioned as luxury restaurants, when the quality and nutritional value is so lacking, especially in comparison to the marvellous, inexpensive and often far more healthy local food on offer.
Australia can seem so terribly dull upon returning – I have a beautiful life at home, and I’m sure many others do to, but I am sometimes saddened by the British and American influence of staying in. Europe, the Middle East and all of Asia have such a vibrant and accessible public life, and food has such a big part to play in this.
I also admire the way these cultures use absolutely everything from the animals they slaughter. While I can’t abide offal, eyes, duckheads, and more, I think that it’s great that others do. On the flipside, I am concerned about the huge waste that occurs too – hospitality is such a big part of business and community. To show hospitality means putting on a great meal – a really great meal, far bigger than anyone could hope to eat. To eat all your food is an insult, as it suggests you weren’t given enough. To compensate people put on enormous banquets, and so much food is wasted. I have to say I prefer the “eat your broccoli or you won’t get dessert” approach.
Help! Can't cook,won't cook
I must apologise for my continued absence from the blogosphere. The reason is I am now 5 months pregnant and my pregnancy has unexpectedly, drastically and alarmingly, changed my previously happy relationship with food.
On the plus side, the fact that I was able to become pregnant could be attributed to a particularly joyous food holiday in Singapore (see article below) - my well-researched friend R tells me studies have shown a baby comes in a time of plenty, and, suggests R, it's possible the 3 gazillion calories per day I consumed while on Foodtour Singapore contributed to my suddenly heightened fertility. Whatever the reason, B and I feel blessed to have our own little one on the way... which is fortunate, because now our relationship is being rather strongly tested.
The first trimester was a hellish time which I had not at all anticipated and turned me into a particularly grumpy person. I had morning sickness, that is, morning, noon and early evening sickness to be precise. The cure for which was to eat - not dry biscuits, or gherkins, like the cute smock-wearing mumsy women you see in films - but real, hearty, hot food, mini-meals - and constantly. On a good day, I'd have one mini-meal per hour, on a bad day I'd have to eat every 10 minutes, or the nausea would come flooding back. By midday each day I'd have a thought, so alien to me that it made me re-think the whole pregnancy thing - 'I don't like eating anymore. I hate it!' What had I become?
Second trimester has thankfully eased up the morning sickness, but I have now developed aversions to a very bizarre list of foods that I previously loved - like vegetables, all vegetables, most particularly my previous favourite, the cancer-fighting king of all greens, broccoli. The implications this has for the development of the little one are alarming to both B and I, so in an effort to make up for all the lost nutrients and fibre from this bizarre shunning of vegetables, I am now eating 4-6 pieces of fruit a day, which I am now also growing to hate.
Perhaps the most unexpected problem, however, is completely losing the desire to cook, therefore the ability. Until now I had never realised how important cooking was in my life - providing sustenance for B and I, romancing B or cheering him after a hard day at work, relaxing over a cookbook or three in bed at night, the joy of planning meals to entertain friends, experimenting with a recipe on a Saturday morning, figuring out how best to cook that weird oversized purple potato I'd paid a fortune for at the farmer's market, spending hours making an elaborate recipe (which rarely worked) to impress a foodie pal, coming up with acceptable dishes for my friend's fussy toddler... you get the idea, cooking was a big, big part of my life.
My hobby, my main form of relaxation has been taken away from me - and not just from me but from B, who is as perplexed, frustrated and disturbed by this cruel twist of fate as I am. Perhaps more. In the early days of our courtship, after I'd cooked him elaborate meal after meal, and discovered he shared my love of food and cooking (before I elbowed him out of my domain, the kitchen), I asked him jokingly if he would leave me if I lost the ability to cook. B seemed confused, upset, and looked at me askance and shuddered. What a stupid question, he seemed to be saying, don’t even think it. I laughed – what a ridiculous idea! – but a part of me was unsettled, because when it came down to it, he didn't actually answer my question...
And now here we are. Yes, B can cook, and usually he enjoys it, but coming home each night from a hard day at work, then trying to hide a multitude of vegetables in bolognaise, curries, or under a layer of my current favourite food - cheese - then often seeing me turn my nose up at it is frustrating for him. I think he was prepared to one day do what it takes to get his toddler to eat their greens, but he had never in his wildest dreams imagined it would be me he’d be trying to feed. (At least I don’t spit my food out and smear it all over my face, I tell him brightly, but as he surveys my still-full plate, this only solicits dirty looks.)
After dinner these days, B has a rather large glass of wine after which I catch him sitting on the sofa, a glazed look in his eye, remembering I think, happier times when I ate normally and better, and more importantly shared the wonderful food I cooked with him.
When the little one is a troublesome teenager, I’ll be sure to show them this post, at how much they were wanted and what we went through to ensure they were a well developed, adjusted human being – even in the womb. Fingers crossed it all works out.
On the plus side, the fact that I was able to become pregnant could be attributed to a particularly joyous food holiday in Singapore (see article below) - my well-researched friend R tells me studies have shown a baby comes in a time of plenty, and, suggests R, it's possible the 3 gazillion calories per day I consumed while on Foodtour Singapore contributed to my suddenly heightened fertility. Whatever the reason, B and I feel blessed to have our own little one on the way... which is fortunate, because now our relationship is being rather strongly tested.
The first trimester was a hellish time which I had not at all anticipated and turned me into a particularly grumpy person. I had morning sickness, that is, morning, noon and early evening sickness to be precise. The cure for which was to eat - not dry biscuits, or gherkins, like the cute smock-wearing mumsy women you see in films - but real, hearty, hot food, mini-meals - and constantly. On a good day, I'd have one mini-meal per hour, on a bad day I'd have to eat every 10 minutes, or the nausea would come flooding back. By midday each day I'd have a thought, so alien to me that it made me re-think the whole pregnancy thing - 'I don't like eating anymore. I hate it!' What had I become?
Second trimester has thankfully eased up the morning sickness, but I have now developed aversions to a very bizarre list of foods that I previously loved - like vegetables, all vegetables, most particularly my previous favourite, the cancer-fighting king of all greens, broccoli. The implications this has for the development of the little one are alarming to both B and I, so in an effort to make up for all the lost nutrients and fibre from this bizarre shunning of vegetables, I am now eating 4-6 pieces of fruit a day, which I am now also growing to hate.
Perhaps the most unexpected problem, however, is completely losing the desire to cook, therefore the ability. Until now I had never realised how important cooking was in my life - providing sustenance for B and I, romancing B or cheering him after a hard day at work, relaxing over a cookbook or three in bed at night, the joy of planning meals to entertain friends, experimenting with a recipe on a Saturday morning, figuring out how best to cook that weird oversized purple potato I'd paid a fortune for at the farmer's market, spending hours making an elaborate recipe (which rarely worked) to impress a foodie pal, coming up with acceptable dishes for my friend's fussy toddler... you get the idea, cooking was a big, big part of my life.
My hobby, my main form of relaxation has been taken away from me - and not just from me but from B, who is as perplexed, frustrated and disturbed by this cruel twist of fate as I am. Perhaps more. In the early days of our courtship, after I'd cooked him elaborate meal after meal, and discovered he shared my love of food and cooking (before I elbowed him out of my domain, the kitchen), I asked him jokingly if he would leave me if I lost the ability to cook. B seemed confused, upset, and looked at me askance and shuddered. What a stupid question, he seemed to be saying, don’t even think it. I laughed – what a ridiculous idea! – but a part of me was unsettled, because when it came down to it, he didn't actually answer my question...
And now here we are. Yes, B can cook, and usually he enjoys it, but coming home each night from a hard day at work, then trying to hide a multitude of vegetables in bolognaise, curries, or under a layer of my current favourite food - cheese - then often seeing me turn my nose up at it is frustrating for him. I think he was prepared to one day do what it takes to get his toddler to eat their greens, but he had never in his wildest dreams imagined it would be me he’d be trying to feed. (At least I don’t spit my food out and smear it all over my face, I tell him brightly, but as he surveys my still-full plate, this only solicits dirty looks.)
After dinner these days, B has a rather large glass of wine after which I catch him sitting on the sofa, a glazed look in his eye, remembering I think, happier times when I ate normally and better, and more importantly shared the wonderful food I cooked with him.
When the little one is a troublesome teenager, I’ll be sure to show them this post, at how much they were wanted and what we went through to ensure they were a well developed, adjusted human being – even in the womb. Fingers crossed it all works out.
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