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Filed under: Musing
I am beyond proud of the Avant Gardener and his brother for the success of their blog, Sprig at the SA Blog Awards. We found out on Saturday night that the boys had won in their category (Best Green Blog) and much excitement ensued. All hail the kings of the Green blogosphere!
Getting over my fear of deep frying was a major milestone for me. I had heard too many horror stories in my life of kitchen infernos and the like, and was put off for ages. I’m not saying I don’t burn myself each and every time I do it, but I see the pain as penance for the calories that ensue. All this being said, I have been eyeing out this Jamie Oliver recipe for curry-infused veg fritters for ages, and with a friend’s coming home dinner on the cards, it was the perfect time for their debut.
You start by putting 1 tsp cumin seeds, 2 tsp mustard seeds, 2 dried chillies and 1 tsp black peppercorns in a dry pan and toasting them all off briefly. Then they go swiftly into the pestle and mortar to be ground to oblivion. Left to cool, they are then added to 200g flour that’s also had 1/2 tsp turmeric and a pinch of salt thrown in. Pour in a bottle of cold beer, mix it all up, and you’ve got a rather lovely (and quite versatile) batter.
Next you prep some veggies by chopping them up into mouthful sized pieces and dredging in flour. I went for cauliflower, red pepper and broccoli. Put a fair amount of oil on to heat (remember never to fill the pan more than a 1/3), batter the veg, and fry in batches until golden and crunchy. Serve with a sprinkle of salt and decent couple of squeezes of lemon juice and you’re done. Marvellous.
These veg were served with a truly amazing beetroot and creme fraiche salad whipped up by the Avant Gardener, using beetroot from the garden. After boiling them until tender they were simply chopped up and mixed together with a pot of creme fraiche, splash of red wine vinegar and some shredded rocket – creamy, tangy, and the perfect complement to the veg. All in all a delightful evening – and mostly virtuous…
The office is a dangerous place. Temptation lies around every corner – specifically the corner outside with a rather lovely restaurant-cum-patisserie-spot. It also, however, lurks within our walls themselves in the form of a rather delightful designer named Gen, and her granny’s multitude of old-school treats. There’s something incredibly comforting about grandmotherly confectionary, and Gen’s is top notch, including something I’d completely forgotten I’d even liked… Coconut Ice…
After a stressful couple of days, finding this on my desk was a rather welcome surprise. I haven’t had coconut ice in ages, and it always reminds me of being little and learning how to cook. I’m a sucker for coconut, and since quitting smoking a couple of months ago, appreciate the kick of a sugar rush. There’s something incredibly toothsome about its texture, and it’s almost Proustian in its nostalgia-inducing qualities. Bizarrely, though, it always manages to taste as pink as it looks.
All in all, probably not something I should be eating, but considering my forays into Pilates and Yoga, combined with the panoply of virtuous meals to be had at the Avant Gardener’s house, I reckon it’s allowed.
It’s difficult to find out that you’ve been doing something the wrong way for years. This was most certainly the case with the way I make meatballs. For ages, I had soldiered on and done them the same way, using only beef mince. This is all well and good, but by doing so you run the risk of producing little beef-flavoured bullets because the mince tends towards dryness. The epiphany came for me a year or so ago, when I read about using a mix of half pork sausage meat, and half beef mince when making them, and life’s never been quite the same. Sure, I’ve seen plenty of recipes that call for a third of each of these, and then a third of veal mince, but when someone can find me a supplier and funder for the latter in Durban, then I’ll give it a go. Until then, this will do just fine, thank you.
Anyway – to make a rather lovely Sunday night meal, that’s just one notch above omelettes on the simplicity scale, you can’t do much better than this meatball recipe. You start with 500g beef mince (I like it quite lean) and 500g sausage meat, squeezed from the casings. Place in a bowl, and add a fistful or two of breadcrumbs*, some mixed herbs, one egg, crushed garlic and chill, and a touch of salt and pepper. Mix this all together – using your hands I’m afraid, no getting around it – and shape into little balls. I tend to make them about the diameter of a R5 coin.
With your meatballs ready, fry them off in batches in the tiniest touch of oil. You’re not looking to cook them, but just brown them for now. Put them into a baking dish as you go. When you’re done, place a knob of butter in the frying pan, add some garlic and chilli. Add two tins of chopped tomatoes, a squeeze of tomato past, some mixed herbs, and a sprinkle of sugar if it’s tasting a bit tart. Simmer away for about 15 mins or so. Once the tomato is fairly soft, pour over the meatballs and bake for 25 mins or so at 180ºC. About halfway through the cooking time, take out the dish and sprinkle over some parmesan and mozzarella. Once the cheese is golden and the meatballs are cooked through, you’re done.
You can either serve this with some cooked pasta or, more simply, with a couple of hunks of decent bread and a green salad. I tend more towards the latter, but either way it’s well a great dish. Delicious.
*Tip: if you ever find yourself with a substantial amount of stale bread, blitz it all up in a food processer and place in a Glad bag in the freezer. That way you’ve got breadcrumbs on demand for the foreseeable future. A touch of foresight required, but rather useful nonetheless.
I used to hate roast chicken. When I was little it was the bane of my existence. In my mind it was always so dry it squeaked against your teeth, and was devoid of any flavour whatsoever, striking fear into my prepubescent heart. This may, however, be due to the fact that our much-loved domestic at the time was no kitchen virtuoso. There were many things that she was a pro at, though. She made amazing banana bread and scones the size of your head, the likes of which I have never been able to replicate. Chicken, unfortunately, was not her forte.
When I began to learn to cook, then, I was determined to make the roast palatable, and it was dear Delia Smith who showed how. The secret – as in so many dishes – lies in butter. Lots and lots of butter. Smooshed up with garlic and lemon zest and shoved under the skin, you just roast away and can be sure in the amazingness of the results. For this evening’s chicken, however, there was to be an added element. We have had a glut of pork sausages in the house for various reasons, and so some stuffing was the designated way to use them up.
So, with the meat of four sausages squeezed out of the skins, a single apple was peeled, cored and grated and then chucked in the bowl. With an onion grated and fried to join this mix, a healthy dose of sage was added, a couple of handfuls of breadcrumbs co-opted into the mix, and an egg introduced to bind the lot. Shoved up the chicken’s jacksie till bursting, the bird was then oiled up, seasoned and banged in the braai.
After about 50 minutes or so on the braai (it was a small-ish bird), it was ready to carve up. The lemony tang from the top of the bird mingled beautifully with the appley savoury flavours underneath, and much joy resulted. If you’re not feeling the stuffing vibe – and to be honest, we seldom do – just quarter up the lemon that you zested to go under the skin and then chuck it in the cavity with some garlic before roasting. A different dish results, but one that is just as pleasing in its own right. And so the humble roast can be lifted to something rather lovely – expecially when you serve it up with a nice green salad and some crisp roasted potato wedges. How marvellous.
You may have read in one of my previous posts about a rather memorable encounter with Flammkuchen at the Old Biscuit Mill when I was in Cape Town recently. This completely addictive dish involves spreading pizza dough with crème fraiche and then sprinkling with onion, spring onion, smoked ham and a touch of cheese before baking in a blisteringly hot oven. It was possibly a strange choice for Saturday morning breakfast, but it was suitably memorable to bear replication when I returned home to Durban.
So, on my way out of the house to the Avant Gardener’s, with a vague promise of producing dinner for the evening, I remembered some pizza dough that I had made a week or so ago. It is remarkably freezer tolerant, and simply needs to be left out on the counter for an hour or so to be revived for use. A few balls were quickly whisked into a bag, and I was off, with my eyes squarly set on an evening of Flammkuchen. A quick stop off at Woolworths was, however, necessary. Say what you will about dear old WW, where else can one get crème fraiche at 6:30 in the evening?
Once arrived at the AG’s place, we fired up the oven and began the cooking. With the dough rolled out using a bottle of that student favourite, Cheateau Libertas, the crème fraiche and other toppings were liberally applied. I had read online that one could use emmental cheese as a topping in order to complement the sour cream taste, but we opted for plain old mozzarella. It should be noted too that, if cooking this for vegetarians, the ham can be substituted with spinach and/or mushrooms. Not tonight though. It was to be Flammkuchen as the Germans/French/Alsatians intended…
Et voila. With 15 minutes or so at 200 degrees the Flammkuchen emerged from the oven in all their golden glory. With a masterfully prepared side salad, care of the AG, and making use of garden harvested rocket, dinner was served. Delicious.