Just perfect for sunflowers and corn, standing tall, next to one another on these hot days.
SUPER-excited about the corn as well you might imagine, but it's the sunflowers that have stolen the show.
Just look at that lazy snoozer, in between the rows. Jo called her a (scruffy) child of the corn. Should be ready for the pot or grill this long, hot weekend.
(the corn, not the dog)
Back in June of 2011, it stopped raining just long enough one weekend for me to a) take a photo (one which, I think, shows how Dalek-like Peter's design turned out to be) and b) to get things fired up in there. You know, to actually use the thing.
Once again, Russell Jeavons displays a somewhat laid back approach to explaining how to fire up the beast, but we knew to expect that now, knew that it's all about learning how to use your particular oven, and, as such, there's no precise map to follow. So. Make a HUGE fire, get it burning fiercely and tend it for a good 2 hours or so before you want to cook. Longer is better in ours, but maybe not yours. It's one of those touchy-feely things. You'll need to shift it around a bit at that time, to make room for the food, raking out some coals occasionally. It'll take at least 2 barrows-ful of various kinds and sizes of wood.
Peter took f-o-r-e-v-e-r to grasp that the fire needs to fill the thing. He kept leaving space to cook in, building small fires when, in fact, what is needed is a scary roaring fire (contained by the dome, of course). He is good at making that kind of fire, so once he was ready to listen to me reading out Jeavons' suggested scale, he decided to follow the rules.
I'm glad he finally did.
Anyway, that was back in June. We made attempts from time to time to get out there and cook in it, but our timings were off, the rain kept pouring all damn year really, and the food coming out of it was, at best, lukewarm. We decided to wait until it was warm, sunny and dry.
With family from Auckland here for New Year, our timing and the weather were, for once, just right. We got to work, a practice run of sorts, on the 29th of December.
Ta-daaa. First pizza!
(You'll have to excuse the exposure in the photo - too hot to get my lightmeter in there)
(Also, kale, sliced into shreds, arranged on top of your fridge-cleaning pizza then drizzled with olive oil before going in for a 5-7 minute blast is, I think, even better than kale made into chips. Just saying.)
Pleased with ourselves? Hell yess.
New Year's Eve, Peter got his hat, workboots and kilt out and, despite the 40 degree heat, he had a ball firing it all up. A roaring (literally, considering the singed hairs on his arms) success, I'd say.
Happiness, in our camp, abounds.
The pizza dough I use is a Nigel Slater recipe, one I know by heart and the truly great thing about it is that it doubles as a flatbread recipe, so you'll only ever need this one set of measurements. Of course you can do it by hand, but there's something nice about knowing that the machine does a very fine job indeed. Makes 6 small flatbreads, 2 larger ones or 2 good-sized pizzas.
Sift 500g (1lb & 2oz) of strong bread flour into the bowl of a standing mixer. Fit the machine with a dough hook. Add 1/2 a teaspooon of salt and about 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Dissolve 2 level teaspoons of active dried yeast in 300ml of blood-temperature water, add to mixer bowl and turn the machine on low. Stand back and let it do it's thing for about 5 minutes or so, give it a quick knead and then pop it back into the bowl. Dust generously with flour and leave to rise, covered, somewhere warm for an hour. Worry not if it's not balloned in that time; forge ahead regardless. Shape, pop on a flour-dusted baking tray and decorate as you like. In a domestic oven I preheat the oven to 220C and keep an eagle eye on things after 10 minutes, but about 20 minutes is how long things will take all up. In the brick oven? No idea what the temperature it gets to actually is - farking hot isn't precise enough, but that's what it is - and will take considerably less time to reach true perfection. If you've a pizza stone in either case, heat it up while the oven comes to temperature.
We ordered a lot of ready-grown tomato seedlings from Diggers last year, spent what felt like a fortune because I'd missed the rather critical timings starting from seed requires. Seemed like the sensible thing to do. Thing is, and this is not the fault of the lovely people at Diggers, that Australia Post,"don't deliver parcels of that size" to country addresses. Interesting, right? More interesting is that also don't deliver the notices that tell you that said large parcel is awaiting collection. Hmm. I got them just in time, unpacked them, gave them light and water and love, then managed to get them in on the traditional date of Melbourne Cup Holiday. They just - just - survived.
In early December, in Sydney for my nephew's baptism, Dad bundled up what heirloom (a bit over the endless overuse of this word) tomato seedlings he hadn't been able to put in their garden and you know what? Even though they too had a rough ride home (carry on baggage a-hoy) once in, they grew into far superior specimens. Thanks, Dad, and you are right: the Brandywine is a ratty looking plant, but I can't wait to sink my teeth into a fully ripe one.
Back, in a sense, although not quite back in another (the sense in which one can string together coherent thoughts in an easy fashion, obviously). Yesterday morning was a balmy 12 degrees when the dog and I woke, so we broke our break, and headed back to the city for a few days. Who wants to build a fire in (almost) mid-January? Not me, least not on my lonesome. I may be good at being alone - I excel at it in fact - but sometimes it's nice to have company other than the scruffy canine kind.
Actually, the impending summer cold (hail is battering the windows as I type - oh, the irony) made me chicken out. That and the need to get this year well and truly underway. I'm ready to be back.
Almost.
We've eaten very, very well, I must say, though it's been not our usual style, but the moment everyone was gone both Peter and I fell upon simple, vegan fare. Brown rice, as I've noted before, fixes everything. Tofu, grated carrot, thin half-moons moons of biodynamically grown cucumber on the side. All of that feels somehow right after a period of indulgence, and I love that returning-to-normal feeling. I'm sure my younger self would have mocked such thinking, but man, I am SO looking forward to routine.
Happy 2012, all. Let's raise a glass of sparkling water to getting back to it.
Yesterday afternoon, soaking up the sun while shelling broad beans slowly on the back step, a familiar tune wafted into the space, made me stop and listen. I knew the words instinctively - Christmas carols were ingrained in my childhood - and I found the simple joy of voices singing Peace on earth and mercy mi-ld in real time somewhat humbling. A short burst, just a couple of refrains and off they went, but it was sweet and delicious to my ears, a great surprise. It made me think of how we should feel at this time of the year, that even an unbeliever like me needs to take stock, to be glad of what she has, to go about her end-of-year business with a song if not in her heart, then at least in her head. A flatmate once told me that I sing like a nun (it's true!) and as I rather like the melancholy notes of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, I'll use it in place of all that harking of heralding angels stuff.
This post by my lovely friend Gill is full of great ideas for stress-less gift giving. Shopping just isn't my thing these days, something I put down to years of working retail. The notion of giving a gift of your time is tops, I say.
Kathryn has more great ideas over here, not least of which is that we've made gift vouchers available for An Honest Kitchen. Perfect for last minute (like moi) shoppers. She explains the purchasing process far more carefully than I will if I try, so instead of repeating her words, I'm going to send you over to her. (Thanks, K!)
How are your plans shaping up for the holidays?
