Nourish Me

Faux meat: Nut roast

‘But surely the most crucial point of all is that if someone doesn’t want to eat meat, the chances are they don’t want their dinner to look like it either. You wouldn’t dream of presenting your Jewish guests with fish carefully manufactured to look like a pork chop. So why wave replica meat in front of someone who clearly doesn’t want to see it?’

Nigel Slater; ‘The Nut Cutlet’, Eating for England

Despite Johanna’s protestations, I think that Nigel makes rather a good point, poking fun, gently, at the sort of vegetarian cookery no longer considered in vogue. Having arrived at the flesh-free party somewhat late, I’ve never quite grasped the notion that replacing meat, with something concocted to look like it, is wise. Besides, I’m more of a legume girl, content to be drawn into the kitchen by what’s seasonal and abundant.

No-one writes about food like Nigel Slater. It’s writing one sinks, blissfully, in to. Later in the same book, he pokes a little more fun at ‘The Slightly Grubby Wholemeal Cook’:

‘Here you will eat healthily…the yoghurt will be goat’s, the chocolate barely sweetened and the milk soya…[the cookbooks] are on the same shelf as the meditation CD’s, the fruit tea and the tantric sex manual’

Mind you, he’s got my pantry eerily right, but the sound of dolphins cavorting through rainforests inexplicably angers me and frankly I’d rather eat Tofurky wrapped in Soy Bacon than spend hours and hours tangled tantrically. Perhaps a foray into faux meat, in light of Nigel’s dubious stereotyping, was worth exploring. I settled on Deborah Madison’s much-lauded terrine from Greens.

Nut roast is, essentially, something akin to the stuffing that steams in the cavity of a roasting bird, minus, obviously, the bird. Think meatloaf and you’re halfway there. A nut cutlet is similar in construction, differing only in size and shape.

This smells like a proper roast while it cooks: incredibly, deliciously, good. It’s substantial, weighty and golden: worthy of presenting at the table with a flourished ta-dah! Madison warns this is heavy, rich fare and she is right. Thin slices, daubed with plenty of chunky tomato and basil sauce are ideal. And if the thought of half a kilo of cheese and all those nuts fills you as much fear as it did me, try to make up for it in the days that follow with truckloads of salad and fruit…

Cheese and nut roast - feeds six or more, with leftovers

Serve with a quick tomato sauce made by dumping two tins of chopped tomatoes into a saucepan with 3 thinly sliced cloves of garlic, a glug of red wine and a sprinkling of sugar. Bubble away until reduced by about one third, add half a bunch of torn basil leaves and serve. Nut roast adapted from Greens by Deborah Madison.

½ cup of brown rice, or a mixture of brown and wild if possible 4 dried shiitake mushrooms ½ cup, packed, of dried porcini mushrooms 2 cups of nuts, a mixture of cashews, walnuts and pecans 1 tablespoon of olive oil 1 onion, diced 2 stalks of celery, diced Sea salt 4 cloves of garlic, chopped 1 large handful of parsley leaves, chopped 3 eggs 250g (½ pound) of cottage cheese 250g (½ pound) of strong cheddar cheese, grated

Place the rice in a small saucepan and cover with one cup of water. Bring to the boil, lower the heat right down to its lowest possible setting, clamp a lid on tightly and leave, untouched, for 45 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 180 C (350 F) and line a large loaf tin with baking paper.

Soak the dried mushrooms in hot water to cover for 20 minutes. Drain well and de-stalk the shiitakes, then chop the mushrooms. Spread the nuts out on a baking sheet and cook for 5 minutes. Cool on a plate. Chop the nuts quite finely, but not so much that you’re bored. A few chunks here and there don’t matter much.

Increase the oven temperature to 190 C (375 F). Warm the oil in a frying pan over a medium heat and cook the onion and celery until soft, about 6 minutes or so. Add a little salt, followed by the mushrooms, garlic and parsley and cook for a further 2 minutes.

In a roomy bowl, combine the cooked rice, nuts, onion and celery mixture. In another bowl, lightly beat the eggs and cottage cheese, then stir through the grated cheddar. Add the wet ingredients to the dry, combine well and press into the prepared loaf tin.

Bake for 1 – 1 ¼ hours until the top is burnished and golden, the loaf coming away easily from the sides of the tin. Cool in the tin for 10 minutes before gingerly slicing with a serated knife.

Am I a convert? Not quite, but I’ll be eagerly awaiting Johanna’s round-up for more inspiration. You have until April the 18^th to have a Neb at Nut Roast.

Labels: autumn, books, cheese, cookbooks, Events, nut roast, nuts and seeds, rice, thoughts on food, vegetarian, wholegrains, wild rice

Autumnal tarts: Novel Food

 
‘You know darls’ said Jo, pausing to take another sip of tea, ‘I wish I’d not read Babs. Then I could have the pleasure of reading her all over again.’

Jo, my best friend, is a woman who knows an awful lot about literature. Babs is our affectionate, Australian-ized nickname for Barbara Trapido, a South African born novelist whose small output is as impressive and enjoyable as it is addictive. Quite simply, both women are stellar.

Trapido’s characters are sexy, clever and literate, often artistic. Set in and around universities and academia, she revels, absolutely, in the romance of bohemian life. In fractured families and unlikely pairings; the ugliness and beauty of language itself. ‘Reading her,’ Anthony Thwaite wrote in the Observer, ‘is rather like being bombarded by sequins’.

Juggling draws together four people: Sparky Christina and her brilliant but melancholy adopted sister Pam; the beautiful, powerful Jago and otherworldly, grey Peter. All are bright, gifted students, each in possession of their own share of demons. A chance meeting of parents on a railway platform binds them, inextricably, to one another. There is love, unexpected and wondrous in its scope, woven with ill-conceived mayhem and devastating consequences; family breakdowns intertwine with Shakespeare, jugglers and even a smattering of mathematics. Unlikely pairings done with considerable wit and skill.

Food offers insightful portraits. Doesn’t it always? Christina and Pam’s father, the extravagant, brash Joe, wooed their gentle mother Alice on a picnic of truly epicurean tastes. Both daughters are repulsed by their father’s choice of aphrodisiac on that fated day – squid and calves sweetbreads – and delight in recoiling with mock-horror as Alice obligingly recounts the tale. Christina’s subsequent, feisty vegetarianism throws down a direct challenge to her father’s impressive, carnivorous culinary skills.

 

Cooking is a little like juggling. It’s about concentration, balance and practice - small feats of culinary dexterity. It’s also, sometimes, about pleasing the people you feed, taking into account their particular needs and wants. So, drawing an admittedly very long bow, these little tarts, a juggling act themselves of sweet and savoury, are just right for an offal-free seduction. Portable picnic fare to tempt even the staunchest carnivore.

 

Roasted pear and rocket tarts – makes 4 individual tarts
For Jo. The pastry is based on a recipe in a favourite book, Nourish by Sydney-based macrobiotic chef Holly Davis. Iku, her iconic kitchen, is legendary among my friends.

For the pastry:
50g (1 ¾ oz) of sesame seeds
150g (4 ½ oz) of spelt flour
50ml (scant ¼ cup) pale sesame oil (not the dark stuff)
75ml (scant 1/3 cup) of boiling water
1 tablespoon of tamari or soy sauce

Toast the seeds to a pale shade of gold in a dry pan. Cool on a plate.

Sift the flour into a roomy bowl and mix though the toasted seeds. Whisk the wet ingredients together, ensuring they are well combined. Using a fork, gradually add the wet mixture to the dry. Turn out onto a clean, dry surface and knead for a minute.

Cover the dough and rest for 30 minutes. Preheat the oven to 200 C (400 F).

Roll pastry out thinly on a lightly floured surface to fit 4 tart tins, each with a removable base. This is a very forgiving dough – take your scraps, scrunch them into a ball and re-roll if necessary. Trim edges and bake for 15 minutes or until golden. Cool before filling.


The rest:
4 ripe but firm pears
1 thumb-sized piece of ginger, finely grated
2 teaspoons of olive oil
Sea salt and pepper
Honey, for drizzling
3 handfuls of rocket (arugula)
¼ cup of almonds, roughly chopped
1 fat clove of garlic, chopped
½ teaspoon of sea salt
1/3 cup of olive oil
4 tart shells (see above)
4 tablespoons of soft goat’s curd cheese or labneh


Preheat the oven to 180 C (375 F). Quarter the pears lengthways, cutting away the cores. Place in a small baking tin.

Squeeze the ginger hard to extract the juice, as much as you can get, into a small bowl. Add the oil to the ginger juice, along with a little salt and pepper. Whisk. Pour this over the pears and toss them well. Roast for 45 minutes, turning each piece at least once to caramelise. Drizzle with a little honey.

Whiz the rocket, almonds, garlic and sea salt to an emerald green slush in a food processor or blender then, with the motor running, slowly trickle in the oil.

Cover the base of each tart shell with a spoonful of pesto. Break up a little goat’s curd and dollop as artfully as you like on top, no more than a generous tablespoon per tart, though. You don’t want to completely overdo it here. Arrange 4 pieces of roasted pear on top of each and dab with a little more pesto. Serve cold.

freshly made labneh


Simona and Lisa’s event, Novel Food, a wonderful mix of all things bookish and culinary is well under way. They're three chapters in and this is my, late, entry.

Out of season

The dramatic drop in temperature is sheer, utter bliss.

Muddled by the heat, these asparagus spears were the first vegetable I grabbed in the cool of the supermarket this morning.

Frankly, they sucked.

Still, the fabric’s quite nice, isn’t it?

Labels: asparagus, autumn, photos, seasonality, thoughts on food

Me, me, me: Part 4

Me, about five

Ah, yes, the next (and probably last) ‘exciting’ installment. Thanks go to Susan – this one was quite fun.

What were you cooking five years ago?

For the first time I was cooking with children in my life. That was challenging. I was teetering on the brink of vegetarianism, having always, always, preferred vegetables to flesh and spent a lot of time reading books by nutritionists (notably Jane Clarke and Annemarie Colbin). Five years ago feels like two minutes ago, so it was, I suppose, very similar food to what you see among these pages.

What were you cooking 10 years ago?

Ten years ago I was poring over clippings of Nigel Slater from English Marie Claire magazine. The casual, produce-driven images that accompanied his seductive words were a huge influence on me and remain so, to this day. Cooking? I did a mean pizza, the sauce heady with red wine and oregano, lifted from those very clippings; a blow-your-socks-off-it’s-too-damn-hot-woman green curry (hey, I was a heavy smoker back then and needed strong flavours to taste anything) and huge cauldrons of Moroccan-spiced lamb shanks for gatherings.

Five snacks you enjoy:

1. Vegemite and tahini on brown rice cakes
2. Crisp apples, when in season
3. Dried cherries and unsulphured dried apricots
4. Tamari roasted pumpkin seeds (pepitas), sunflower seeds and pine nuts
5. Vegan cookies…this one and another I’m yet to share…

Five recipes you know by heart:

1. My version of dahl. Perhaps I should write it up?
2. Pasta with fennel, currants, saffron, pine nuts and fried wholemeal breadcrumbs
3. A really lovely, citrussy, quinoa and millet pilaf
4. My grandmother’s Mock Nougat Slice
5. Wine glazed lentils

Five culinary luxuries you would indulge in if you were a millionaire:

1. A 12 month macrobiotic cooking class in Japan
2. My own kitchen (as opposed to the rented one I have become very attached to)
3. Antique copper pans – I love old metal
4. A large, perfectly planned kitchen garden and all the time in the world to tend it
5. An Aga

Five foods you love to cook:

1. Braised fennel is the most beautiful thing to eat
2. Potatoes, Indian style
3. Vegetables I’ve no experience with
4. Legumes in their many, many incarnations
5. Pilafs - ditto

Five things you cannot/will not eat:

1. Chicken – I have never been able to see the point of chicken. Well, a roasted chook I get. But flabby, tasteless chicken breasts?
2. Licorice
3. Things with preservatives – weird numbers and names that cannot be pronounced. Good wine being, obviously, the hypocritical exception
4. Those well-known cola drinks – especially the ‘diet’ varieties
5. Anything genetically modified

Five favourite culinary toys:

1. My (sorry, ‘our’) Japanese Knife
2. Mortar and pestle
3. Toaster…hmm…clutching at straws here…but I do love it
4. Cookbook holder – it’s so bloody useful (thanks, Noel)
5. Wooden fish-shaped vegetable scrubber

Can’t do one of these meme's without Poppy

Play along if you like.

Labels: meme, thoughts on food

Corn

Ears of fresh organic corn, milky juices sweet enough to astound.

Gently stewed with zucchini and tomatoes in the most luscious spicing of clove- and chilli- scented cream.

Wicked, almost. But oh-so-worth-it.

Labels: autumn, corn, photos

The radish

Carved into roses or sliced into salads (when cleaning out the fridge drawer reveals a long-forgotten bag of them, lurking near the aging celery), the radish has a less than flamboyant reputation. Nutritionally it is no superstar – no fashionable ‘Superfood’ tag for this humble veg - but as a member of the cancer-fighting cruciferous family (think cabbage, broccoli) it has its uses. My dog-eared copy of Healing with Whole Foods lists the clearing of sinuses and soothing of sore throats among its (few) attributes. Pedestrian qualities perhaps, but admirable nonetheless. More importantly, radishes possess a crisp, peppery bite that’s perfect for raw nibbling. Pretty and pink, too.

Still, there’s that sulphurous smell unique to the cabbage family to contend with. Masking that pungency is the key. A quick and easy pickle of thin radish slices finished with a dressing of sesame oil and dark, complex tamari is my current solution.

The result? Crimped, frilly edges and a moreish balance of sweet, sour and salty. Make them part of a sushi platter, arranged next to your pink pickled ginger and obligatory swirl of wasabi. A small heap is a welcome digestive aid for a generous, Chinese-style banquet. Less conventional ways work marvellously, too – tossed with a few handfuls of salad leaves and similarly cut paper-thin rounds of carrot, the tamari and agave dressing will provide all the seasoning required. Carrots, I have discovered, themselves fridge drawer lurkers, stand up well to this method of pickling, as do small, sweet turnips. Look for perky green leaves still attached to your radishes as a sure sign of freshness - wash well and blanch briefly before chopping and using as you would any other gorgeous, health-giving green. Unthinkably easy, this recipe is also unexpectedly delicious.

Kylie Kwong’s pickled radishes

Though it is hardly a chore to slice six or eight radishes, a mandoline does make light work of the job, but only if you are confident that neither your knuckles nor your fingertips will end up on the other side of the blade. Mine is a cheap, plastic thing I’ve had for years and it’s perfect. Recipe adapted, slightly, from Simple Chinese Cooking.

6-8 red radishes, very thinly sliced
2 tablespoons of sugar
2 teaspoons of sea salt

Dressing:
1 tablespoon of tamari or shoyu
1 tablespoon of agave syrup or brown sugar
½ teaspoon of dark (toasted/roasted) sesame oil
A good pinch of chilli powder

Toss the radish slices with the sugar and salt and leave to marinate for 30 minutes.

Whisk the dressing ingredients together in a small bowl. Drain and gently squeeze the radishes, draining away the pickling mixture, then drizzle with the dressing.

How do you use radishes?