Scones

I have been thinking about scones for about a week or so now. I've only ever made them once and I'm determined to get them right - light and fluffy. Last time (about 15 years ago), they were like small pebbles. A co-worker suggested adding lemonade. I have also been told cream (not milk) by my dear friend Danni. I trust her, she is a fabulous cook and a creative being. So, the decision. Plain? Fruit? Pumpkin? Cheese?

I think I'll start with the Country Women's Assocation (CWA) recipe and go from there. In it's 53rd edition and first published in 1936, I think they have got something right. The first branch started up in 1924 at Nungarin, Western Australia, located 300 kms north-east of Perth with a small population of around 300. There are now State branches and regional groups. Their aims are virtuous, "to improve the well being of all people, especially those in country areas by promoting courtesy, cooperation, community effort, ethical standards and the wise use of resources" [CWA Cookery Book and Household Hints, 2009]. Not only do they have recipes, however, there are many tips and hints on keeping the home fires burning, from cleaning smoky ceilings with warm water and soda to making a feather pillow from freshly plucked poultry. Makes me realise how easy we have it now.

Back to the job at hand. Scones. I've just read the recipe and it calls for milk powder and water. Well, I guess out in the small country towns that's what you used (probably still do). I'm going to research further, and what better search engine than Google. Type in 'Scones' and you get 14,000,000 results. Wow, this may be more complicated than I thought. Ahh, the Internet, making life so simply complex.
I'm tempted by Donna Hay's recipe but she uses sugar and I don't want them sweet. Another day.
I click on the link to The AGE 'how-to-bake-the-perfect-scone' and from there, go to raspberri cupcakes version of the CWA scone. Now, I have the CWA cookbook sitting on my bench and it is quite a different recipe, so I'm going with the 'tweaked' version. It involves cream and milk - NO butter.


20 minutes later....
OMG OMG OMG, I have just eaten the BEST scone ever! Why, oh why did I wait so long. Not only did they rise, they are the lightest, fluffiest pieces of heaven. So easy, no fuss (apart from quite a bit of flour thrown around. I am going to teach this to my little man. Ok, I'm off there are still 9 more on the tray and they need to be eaten, they must be eaten.....yum!

Tips:
Don't overwork the dough, pat it, no kneading!
Work fairly quickly.
Eat quickly too, with loads of jam and cream!
(p.s I added sugar and vanilla to my cream.)

Baby it's cold outside

Winter has hit with a big icy chill, bucket-loads of heavy, heavy rain and wind whipped straight up from the Arctic ice. It is the wind I dislike intensely but I get out in it anyway, embrace the enemy, my foe. What other options do I have? To be cold and bitter? Well, bitterly cold at the least.

What I do love about winter is food! Hearty casseroles, slow cooked, stirred lovingly & tasted at regular intervals, seasoned 'just right' and then indulged in. Usually with piles of creamy mashed potato, French style. Butter is no issue. In fact, I do like to include most dairy products in my mash - cream, milk, cheese, even yoghurt if need be...
I also love moist cakes. An afternoon cinnamon tea cake, or an almond & orange cake, eaten warm with fresh cream and orange flower syrup. The evening generally calls for a chocolate pudding, soft and delicate with a bit of sweet crunch on the outside, slathered in dark chocolate sauce, ice cream and cream. Dairy intolerance? Thank goodness NO!
I was reading a copy of Delicious at work when a fellow co-worker commented "fantasising again are you Dani?". I was taken aback and gushed, "this is reality, REALITY I am living here". I am memorising these recipes and going to cook them all. Yes indeed, so righteous about my food. I take it seriously. I know that many people don't get enough, and that many over consume themselves to death. What a strange world we live in.

So, tonight was all about leftovers. I'd made a hearty bacon-bone and red lentil soup during the week, just enough left for one big steaming bowl. The son and heir was happy with noodles, yes from a packet. Bad mother, bad. I had planned on a beef bourguignon, but as I type it's still in the oven, cooking slowly and luxuriously. It's going to taste amazing tomorrow. Dessert was the fail-safe chocolate pudding that I'd made for the kids yesterday, making sure to leave some for leftovers. Glass of red in hand, I am sated and can settle in for the evening 'cos baby it's COLD outside.

If in doubt, BAKE!

Given I am prone to doubt at times, and the usual parent-worrying type of behaviour I have a new mantra - "IF IN DOUBT, BAKE"

....and so I do. My son reaps the benefits of this and he never has to know the thoughts that go through my head that get him treats; from chocolate brownies, banana bread, muesli slice, jelly slice, Anzac biscuits, chocolate mousse, apple crumble with cream & ice-cream to lemon delicious pudding!

I was never much of a baker, well I told myself I couldn't bake. Then one day I decided that I could and I would. So I did. Simple. 

The power of thought is amazing, all it takes is the first step off that one-way treadmill, a couple of cookbooks, the world of the Internet, a few cooking shows AND of course, a great love. A love of food, yes, but also a love for life, a desire to see kids smile as their eyes glaze over in pure foodie delight. A love of fine things, of friends, of family, of art. 

And of course, self love comes straight out of the pan and into the heart. When I cook 'Love Cake' (adapted from Jamie Oliver) for the love of my life, I pour my heart and soul into the mix. I have a special heart-shaped bowl just for him. It gets left on the bench for midnight tastings and walk-by's. It is my way to say I love you, and, knowing how much he appreciates it, I feel incredibly loved in return. All I need is to see his face as he takes a bite, or the empty bowl, devoid even of crumbs.

Cooking is empowering. I can fulfill those I love in a most basic way. And the best thing? My recipients of goodness don't even know about it, they are just sated, their bellies content. And, I too am content.

A New Year

Spending the afternoon with those you love, drinking beers in the (kids) pool, eating ice-creams and chips - yes in that order - was just a lovely way to end and start a year. We chatted about the year that was, the family's that made us, and that sometime break us. Our personal goals, our wish list, completed or not. No grand promises or resolutions, just quiet reflections to be more creative, to push those boundaries. 

To love and be loved, to enjoy our kids, to make the most of every moment. Whether that moment be lying in a pool with a rubber ducky around your waist, or whether it is spent starting that elusive first novel. Just to have my wonderful friends with me, travelling alongside me on the sometimes rocky road that I chose to travel, means more to me than words can express. It's often a feeling, a look out of the corner of the eye, a loud boisterous laugh at each other. But mainly just the company of friends, who love you warts and all. Sometimes friends come and go, for many reasons, but some are here to stay. Stay in my heart, that special place that is private, that is reserved for big love. 

Thank you my two dear 'wusbands' for your support, love and openness over the years. I look forward to many more laughs, food and friendship!

Chicken Soup for the soul

Chicken Soup, aka 'Jewish Penicillin' I'm sure is good for us all. Jewish or otherwise. While it is wonderful for the common cold, it also does wonders for the common soul. Having been sick for a couple of weeks and not quite being able to shake it, I decided to make soup. I always have a chicken carcass on hand and my freezer has frozen stock at the ready for moments like these. Moments when you just feel a little bit sick, and a little bit tired and flat. The process of making chicken soup is just as rewarding as the eating. The smells that waft through the kitchen, trickle down the hallway and into the bedrooms are uplifting, nurturing and, of course, yummy!

So, while the kids ran in and out of the sunshine and shadows blinked across my vision I got my biggest pot out and threw everything in and let it bubble away. In the meantime, I had some buffalo yoghurt from my friends' farm [Shaw River Buffalo] that needed using and a 20kg bag of lemons we picked up from a local farm for free (thank you!). I'd been wanting to try a new Lemon Yoghurt Cake recipe that I found on a most wonderful website called theydrawandcook.com. The recipes are all hand written/drawn. Quite an easy recipe and what came out of the oven was moist and almost cheesecake-like. My friend Amy popped around - I think she liked it when she had a 2nd piece! 

The soup, I decided, could wait for Sunday. I was still quite ill and only when 6pm Sunday evening rolled around could I think about food. I dished a bowl up for myself and my little man - he loves chicken soup, nearly as much as lasagne I think. A big call. I inhaled my big steaming bowl of deliciousness. And then I inhaled a second bowl. It made me feel good, simple. All other concerns receded and all I could think about was scooping up noodles and finding chunks of roasted chicken. I did add ginger at the last minute to ward off any more evils lurking in the vicinity. I was so full I couldn't fit any lemon cake in! My soul, and my stomach, were fulfilled - to the brim! So, thank you to all those Jewish grandmothers out there, for a wonderful bowl of goodness.

Birthday Sunday

I just love birthdays! And not just mine, I love to celebrate that one special day that we all have, that is our own. To celebrate the birth of a wonderful friend or family member, to see the joy on their face when opening presents, to cook or be cooked for, to be around those you love and hold close to your heart. It is pure joy.

Last week was my son's 10th birthday and we all gathered round, with a cornucopia of sweets, popcorn, chocolate cake and games. The kids laughed and whooped with joy running from one game to the next, stuffing as much food in their mouth as possible whilst drinking lemonade and running in the 3 legged race. It was a cool day but it didn't stop ten 10 year olds from starting a large scale water fight - they all went home soaked. Job done.

Today is my birthday and a little more sedate, though we did get wet wandering around Auckland's waterfront in a fine Spring mist. My friend's kids jumped in every puddle they could find, not fussed by the extra water. A surprise lunch at 'Soul' at Auckland's viaduct waterfront area started with bottles of wine and major decisions about what to eat! The menu was a delightful array of starters, and entrees, so difficult to choose. As the plates and platters arrived, a silence settled itself comfortably over our table. We ate, we offered tastings to each other, we shared the most basic of things. Food. I watched faces light up and heard the barely audible gasps of delight. We nourished ourselves and each other. They sang me happy birthday for maybe the fourth time, we clinked glasses, we smiled. Nothing else mattered at that moment of happiness, pure and simple. And as for me, my heart sang and my eyes glistened with the humble pride of being loved. I know that love is a luxury for some, I know that love can be brutal and unkind sometimes. So, I take love seriously. I am humbled completely by it and continually surprised by the generosity and love in all of us.

Toasted Sangas

So, the talk turns to toasted sandwiches. 'Can your fiancé cook?' I ask my dear friend Noo. She collapses in hysterical laughter. 'No, he puts funny ingredients in things. Like that time we were eating spaghetti Bolognese and I asked "what's that taste in this, I can't quite put my finger on it?"

"Oh, that's ginger" he said. We collapsed again into fits of laughter. 

"So, I said, just toasted sandwiches for him then?"

"Oh, no way, said Noo, I can't trust him with them!"

 We definitely agreed that there has to be that fine balance between crunchy and greasy outside, and it must have butter before it's toasted...not the cheap margarine slathered across the top after toasting - when you take a bite all you get is the taste of bad marg and cold toast. No, there is an art form to the humble toasted sandwich. The cheese must be oozing, but not too much, and if you have ham then it can't overpower the cheese. The bread needs to be thick enough to withstand those sandwich toasters that are like rock crushers. You don't want a pancake with plastic cheese, or a 'cardboard sandwich with blue tack,' as Louie and I later decided.

And the final touch? Salt and pepper on the outside! Oohh...now I have not tried this and am most excited about my next toastie, which I think I will make myself because I also like grainy mustard in mine, but not too much, just a tiny slither for that hint of taste.

No, there needs to be a fair amount of love put into making the perfect 'toastie', as with life, you take out the love and there is nothing. There is an emptiness, a bland taste and still the need to fill the lonely vaccumous void. I would love to hear your ‘toasted sandwiches’ creations, feel free to comment with them. Until then, enjoy!

Mother of the Year

8am Sunday morning and I wake with a start. Where have I been? Oh yes, in that wonderful, magical place dreamy world, where we cross borders and boundaries in the blink of an (R.E.M) eye. No rest for the sleepy however, we have to be at soccer training by 9.30am, it's a half hour drive away. I may be feeling a little under the weather. I may have had a couple of glasses of wine last night. It's possible.

We make it to soccer in time, little friend in tow. I sit in the warmth and safety of the car, desperately needing a cup of tea and some breakfast. I race up to 'Fishtales' cafe. I am rewarded with a perfect cup of tea, just sweet enough to satisfy the sugar gods and strong enough to really taste. The toasted ham & cheese sanga is that perfect mix of melted cheese erupting from the sides along with a crunchy yet soft outer. I sit watching the kids in the wind kicking the ball around. I'm in my own heaven of taste sensations and warm cosiness of the car. Safe.

The kids are not exhausted enough so off we head to 'Kaotic Kids' (I'm warned), an indoor playground. I manage nearly 2 hours, hunched over my paper where I can't even do the puzzles because my brain hurts, and my coffee that I can't drink because my tummy hurts! Other people's children. Need I say more? They're snotty, dirty, noisy and annoying. Oh dear... I try to protect my ears from the bad radio station, and huddle into myself because it's freezing in there. I finally extricate the boys from the pit of plastic balls. Ahhh back to the car, where it's warm. Next up is fish and chips back in Port Fairy. We attempt to eat them overlooking the wild ocean but the seagulls have called in their mates for a rave party and we retreat gracefully home.

A lazy afternoon lies ahead of me. More kids arrive and my dear friend Amy. We have cups of tea and rocky road slice while chatting about life, kids, food. The kids are roaring around us, I'm cocooned in my invisible shield that protects me on days like this. 

I decide on a new roast chicken recipe. Mixing together caramelised balsamic vinegar, brown sugar and soy I marinate the meat for an hour or so, then cook with veges. The smells are sensational. I get little man into the shower, wash off the days grime. His eyes are hanging out of his head. Finally, he is tired! I chat away to him as I slice the chicken, plate the veges, re-heat the juices. I'm not getting much of a response so I walk over to the chair and my little man has already gone to the dreamy world. He's crossed the divide between waking life and the deep peaceful land where we rest, recuperate and get ready for another action-packed day.

Sweet dreams.

Sushi in Sydney?

We'd arrived in the big city. A city full of harbours, boats, iconic bridges and the Opera House. We were ready to EAT! Kids in tow, we wandered around Bondi in search of three things: 

1. fulfilment,

2. nourishment, 

3. flavour

Sushi is a funny thing, there are no smells to entice you to it's little corner. With sushi, it's a need. To eat fresh, to feel full and to get the olfactory senses absolutely ZINGING - with wasabi! Well, in my humble opinion anyway. The Sushi Train beckoned, the little old ladies tirelessly slicing, rolling, pinching and wrapping. I sat with my mouth nearly to the floor in adoration of the array of delights that were running past me. Yep, running on that train. You've got to love it. There is 'tobiko', the bright orange flying fish roe; 'soramame', bright green broad beans that just pop; and of course many variations of sushi, all of which look appetising. But how to choose, you've just got to put your hand out and grab one off that train!

I chose what looks to be a crispy fried prawn, wrapped in rice & seaweed with lettuce and I think pine nuts, slathered with the divine Japanese Mayonnaise (I could nearly drink this it's so good!). It goes down whole. Maybe a bit extravagant of me, must slow down....

The world outside of the Sushi Train became a blur, a mutation of dulled sounds, as 2 dear friends and their children dined like Queens. I took another plate of the same dish, this time 'dabbed' with wasabi. Wow, I love that hit of the Japanese horseradish, it's like a little thrill for the senses for about 10 seconds then, as quickly as it hit, it is gone. Leaving peace and satisfaction.

As we all sat watching a movie later that day, I relished the time with my beautiful friend, that I have known for 10 years. She will always have a most special place in my heart. We had our babies together, we went through break-ups together. We have sat and held hands while the other has cried their heart out; until we were spent. We've laughed until we cried - my friend's laugh a great big guffaw that makes people turn around; mine a high pitched giggle that I cannot contain once I get going.
And, while our visits may only be yearly, we pick up right where we left off. Just like the sushi train!

Daughter dearest

She arrived home to spend some time with family. The youngest and sweetest is leaving the family nest and heading to the west. Land of big skies and big mines. 

Up early to get ‘things’ ready. Cake tins, measuring jugs, pots and pans, the oven is on and recipe books cover the bench top. It’s time to celebrate and what better way do we know than with food! Food helps us to celebrate and it helps us to grieve. This ceremony encompasses both. Western Australia is a long way. It’s 4 hours in a plane, which the same as London to North Africa.

Memories are being made while the sugar and butter are mixed to ‘pale and fluffy’, family histories are sifted through the fine flour and added to the mix to create a strong but light bond. Flavours are added, pertaining to the cook and the occasion. Orange cakes are one of my favourite; they remind me of the warm sunny days of childhood. This cake is more complicated - a layer cake for the intricacies of this complex family.

The chicken and vegetable soup is already on the stove, bubbling away absorbing warmth and love. It’s what will start the meal, a soup to warm the hearts, to soften the palate. The middle course will be a beef stew, cooked on low heat for hours, as the liquid reduces and the flavour enhances. I love slow cooking. To create something slowly and simply, patiently over time is so rewarding.

People come and go in the house, commenting on the aromas that tickle their olfactory senses, prepare stomachs and minds for the big evening event. I am merely an observer, listening in to the snippets of conversation that thread this family together. To them, they are living life, doing what they do. 

Mid-winter blues

My young man was getting sick. Mid winter blues had hit the house. Wan faces, cold wind wrapping it's icy fingers around our house, our hearts. We wallowed for awhile, stayed in bed, turned up the heaters. Closed in, walls down. After some time I realised I just had to tell my brain to let the rest of my body and soul know it was time to PERK up! Home-made chicken soup was on the menu and chocolate chip cookies (for the sweet tooth treat when the blood-sugars plummet). Diced the veges to add to the water and chicken carcasses for the stock and let it simmer, topping up as necessary. Decided a tiny bit of star anise would be nice - but not too much as I find this herb can be way too overpowering, so I literally picked off a 'petal' and threw it in the pot. The stock had an overnight stay in the fridge and the next day I lovingly scraped the fat off the top. Popped it back on the stove and added a few more goodies...cauliflower, spring onions, noodles, soy sauce. Served it up in big bowls to the young man who gulped it down as fast as his oesophagus would allow. 

What is it about home-made chicken noodle soup that not only restores our health but our faith? For me, it's about getting back to basics. It's about cooking with love, and cooking for the ones you love. And, of course, self-love, which had been severely lacking. It's nice to have it done for you but oh so rewarding to nurture oneself, especially with food.

We were both better by the end of the day. I felt I had absorbed love and soul nourishment. I'm sure young man felt the same but articulated it differently - "Mum that was awesome, thank you!"