Nourish Me

2nd of march

It rained constantly while in Sydney this weekend: no bad thing in my book, but it did make it impossible to do the usual get-up-early-and-photograph-dad's-roses-while-they-sleep trick, so here are some of mine instead. Mum made Jill Dupleix's classic Crash Hot Potatoes while we celebrated my brother's birthday with big, delectable Desirees, adding lots more salt than I would (which means they were wonderful, of course). The potatoes above were dug from, of all places, the compost bin which it turns out is the perfect place for me to grow them, something dad concurs with. Who'd'a thunk? Kylie and I ate at Ester (amazing wood-fired food that reminds me of Cumulus Inc. just a bit) and talked about how damn long we've known one another. We worked out some stuff that I (and, later, she) needed to - don't long friendships just have a way about them? Kathryn and I talked about the compatability of beehives and chicken coops over a lovely Saturday morning coffee in Dulwich Hill, and I realised how much I love playing with toy cars by spending an age engaged in an elaborate game concocted by my three-year-old nephew. 

These days Sydney's no longer home, which is interesting to note, even though I mostly ignored google 'cos I still know the short cuts around the inner suburbs better than any computer programme. Making dal tonight in Melbourne, one chock full of vegetables, and drinking a beer or two while listening to Buffalo Springfield in the late afternoon sun with the love of my life. Life is full of surprise. Hope your weekend was equally informative. And, I sincerely hope, as joyful.     

  

clareville kiosk

We took mum to the Clareville Kiosk for her 70th, and all I can say is thank you, Kylie, for such an excellent suggestion. Bookings are recommended I should think and it is a bit of a hike for most people, but it's a part of Sydney that was huge in my childhood, and that winding drive to the northern beaches smells like the sea the whole way, rather a good thing on a warm sunny day.

One of the five of us ate his dinner in a high chair and we - all of us - felt very well looked after by the staff. The older I get the more I think that that (and the quality of the light) makes or breaks a place. Go.  

tempeh

While away, I fell into something perhaps best described as a tempeh stupor. Any meal featuring the stuff got ordered because no two dishes arrived at any given table in quite the same way. Cut into paper-thin sheets, sometimes slightly thicker squares, often into tiny crunchy batons, but always deep-fried to a golden crisp, and always – always – it was good. Lots of ideas simmered away in the back of my holidaying mind, mostly how to introduce it all the blokes on my return. How you prepare your eaters matters almost as much as how you prepare the food itself at times, and to simply presume they would like tempeh any less than the tofu they now consume, happily, without a trace of suspicion, would be because I’d not done my usual bang-up job of selling it to them.

Tofu took some time. It’s only right that tempeh should, too.

The thing about tempeh is that, like its mellower cousin tofu, it is an acquired taste. Not acquired in that it has a strong flavour or fragrance like, say, a ripe stilton, but that its place in the kitchen takes a little time to sort out, to fit in with your style of cooking, to work around the constraints of what works taste-wise within your little group. Tofu is a great absorber, a real sponge, drinking in the flavours surrounding it, whereas tempeh is richer and fuller, a toothsome texture that, yes, will happily blend into a dish, but manages to somehow resist just a little, to command some attention. Tofu may be able to fool some of the people some of the time, but tempeh isn’t fooling a soul.

This, rather pleasingly, they loved. Sold.

palm sugar fried tempeh

Take a block of tempeh and cut it into short, thin batons (the pic above - ah, nasi campur, how I love thee - serves as a good guide). Heat a puddle of peanut oil - better still, coconut oil - in a wok and, when hot, fry the tempeh in small batches until golden. Drain on a crumpled paper bag (or kitchen paper if yours is a better-stocked home than mine).

Whisk up a little sauce of a couple of teaspoons of tamarind paste, a glug of ketcap manis, and 2 tablespoons of palm sugar with about 1/2 a cup of water. Drain the oil from the wok, set it over a low heat and chuck in the fried tempeh followed by the sauce. Let things simmer and bubble away for about 5, maybe 6 minutes, until all is coated and glazed and it all smells very good.

Serve with lots of sliced red chilli and fried shallots and, if you're brave, fried slivers of garlic.  

ciccolina

 

It's true. 

Sometimes we eat out, too.

And often we find ourselves heading to Ciccolina in St Kilda. A friend on flickr (I do so love flickr) found this 2009 review from Gourmet Traveller's website:

"it's a flirty old place, as you'd expect from a restaurant that shares a name with a porn star-turned-politician. From the nude studies to the close-set tables, the red banquettes and the no-bookings policy (you'll have a drink in the cosy bar before your table is called), it's an oasis of bohemia in gentrified Acland Street."

"Accurate?" he asked. Absolutely.

Right. So.

(click on the photo - much better big)

Clearly, I am not one of those bloggers who pulls her camera out often in restaurants, even if it is to promote the great work StreetSmart do for the homeless. Case in point being this photo, of the roof, toward the back, of the very lovely, and justifiably raved about Bloodwood in Newtown, my old, old stomping ground. (You can, and should, read about StreetSmart here. There's a list of participating restaurants here.)

Kylie and I ate a series of perfect little dishes, shared a bottle of cold pinot grigio from their excellent all organic/biodynamic wine list, and laughed about ourselves. But I didn't take a picture. Of anything.

Enjoyed myself far too much. Give generously, okay?      

Syracuse

Well, the heat, it's gone. The city sighed audibly, drops of rain sizzling on the pathway, last Friday afternoon. Peter suggested, while still in the grip of morning heat, that we could let someone else cook our lunch. Bloody good idea, that.

We chose Syracuse because it's lovely - yes, and the loos are particularly handsome - but also because it's one of the many restaurants participating in the Streetsmart campaign. Ed's been a big supporter of Streetsmart because they are a small, independent charity, one helping the homeless all over the country and indeed, all over the world. 

If you live in Australia and are perhaps planning a dinner out soon, why not pick somewhere from this comprehensive list? The food was excellent, but I must say I can't quite remember in detail what we had (I never take notes at restaurants and the Pentax, she has a bit of trouble seeing in low-light). Besides, I want to see and taste and, well, just enjoy eating food that somebody else has cooked.

I can tell you that the white anchovies were good, but the slice or two of steak I snuck from Peter's plate, was really, really good. 

(Loving those loos.)

Streetsmart runs right up until Christmas. Donations of $2 (and upward) can be added to your bill. Not too much of a stretch for a very good cause.