Giant chocolate meringues

 

Photo Steve Shanahan

First published Canberra Times December 5, 2012.

My earliest memory of the coastal village where I grew up was that our local shops contained all the essentials of life. The butcher, chemist, vegetable and grocery shop sat in a higgledy-piggledy row, built of cream painted planks with a dark red trim. We called the shops by the shop owners’ surname – Frith’s hardware, Smith’s shoes, Hiles for clothes, Kozary’s fruit and veg, and some exceptions like Goodway grocers and Coolibah milk bar.

Smack bang in the middle of the row of shops sat the very sixties bakery filled with the classic Aussie patisserie du jour. The front door was always open, with plastic fly strips to keep out the blowies flapping in the coastal breeze.

At the end of our weekly Saturday trip to the shops, we would drop into the bakery, a reward for uncomplainingly accompanying Mum to do the weekly shopping. While she chatted to the staff, our noses were pressed to the counter, debating with great passion which cake we would choose; the neenish tart, vanilla slice or piped pink meringues topped with coloured sprinkles. The cakes sat in neat rows behind the counter glass and were the ultimate lure, perfectly positioned to catch us kids, as we poked and prodded the glass with our grubby fingers.

Although she was a dab hand at cooking, Mum’s meringue making was one of her specialties and she was clearly influenced by her European heritage. Her meringues were very different to those made at the bakery, often being double the size and distinctly freeform in shape. I later realised she used the Swiss technique, commonly used in the patisseries of Europe. This method involves warming the egg whites and sugar in a pan, creating a stable mixture that can be piped, swirled or spooned and peaked loosely with a spoon. The result is a dry, crispy and silky exterior with a marshmallowy centre.

French patisserie windows are overflowing with this style of meringue in every flavour and colour variation imaginable. Beautiful displays are created with the billowy, free flowing shapes and the silky textures of these creations.

Regardless of the method you use, there are a few key tips to success. Firstly, you will need a reasonably heavy duty stand mixer, as hand beaters just won’t cut it. Unless you are built like the incredible hulk, you will have difficulty obtaining the consistency you need for good meringues without this essential piece of equipment.

Because egg white and fat don’t mix, wipe the utensils you intend to use with a vinegar and water solution and allow them to dry before you start. This will remove any traces of fat.

Another point to remember is not to overbeat your egg white and sugar mixture. Whisk eggwhites to a soft peak about eight times the original volume in air. You can test this stage by lifting your whisk and the peak of meringue mixture left by the whisk should just curl around to resemble a birds beak.

Always weigh your egg whites, as this method uses double the weight of sugar to egg white. This quantity makes about 13 giant meringues.

Photo Steve Shanahan

218g egg whites

436g caster sugar

pinch of salt 15g bitter cocoa, sifted

½ tsp vanilla paste

1 heaped tspn ground cinnamon

Preheat the oven to 110C and line two large baking trays with baking paper.

Sieve the cocoa and cinnamon and mix to combine.

Place the egg whites, salt and sugar in a large saucepan. Cover your hands with clean food grade disposable gloves.

Place the saucepan over a very low heat to gently heat the egg whites and melt the sugar. Stick your hand into the egg and sugar and stir continuously with your hand. While using your hand in this way, you can control the temperature to ensure the egg white and sugar does not rise above 37C. Stir till the sugar is dissolved. You may need to remove the saucepan from the heat every now and again, returning it to the heat to control its temperature.

When the sugar is dissolved and you cannot feel any sugar between your fingers, transfer the mixture to a stand mixer fitted with a whisk. Add the vanilla paste and whisk the egg whites until bird beak stage, when the meringue should hold its shape.

Remove the mixing bowl from the machine, and sieve the cocoa powder and ground cinnamon over the meringue. Do not mix through. Use two large soup spoons to scoop a large spoonful of the mixture onto the tray for each meringue. Don’t be tempted to mix the cocoa through the mixture or you will spoil the effect of the chocolate and cinnamon swirl.

Drop spoonfuls of meringue mixture onto the prepared baking trays, leaving sufficient gaps as they swell while cooking. Don’t be concerned if the chocolate and cinnamon is not mixed through, this is the intended effect.

Place the meringues in the preheated oven, leaving a gap between the oven shelves to allow the hot air to circulate evenly.

Bake the meringues for two hours and turn off the oven. Leave the meringues in the oven to cool for 10 minutes with the oven door ajar.

Remove from the oven and gently transfer to a rack to completely cool. Keep the meringues in an airtight container for up to four days.

Chicken bastila

-->

Photo by Steve Shanahan

 

First published Canberra Times 17 October 2012. 

The food truck phenomenon is part of everyday life in cities across the world. Many trucks are tarted up with industrial chic to titillate the increasingly sophisticated palates of the curbside customer, and late night revellers in cities such as LA, New York and London regularly feast on Mexican cuisine, Indian, gourmet burgers, and a range of cured meats.

 While these styles have been monopolising the meals on wheels menus, punters in need of a carb and fat hit are also being offered new and different foods. One that’s growing in popularity in LA is the Moroccan inspired bastila. The bastila, is a Moorish meeting of sweet and savoury, with infused and roasted spiced meats enveloped in a buttery flaky case. 

Australia is no stranger to the late night van, with Harry’s Café de Wheels being Sydney’s iconic late night purveyor of Pies ‘n Peas, originally targeted to dock workers in Woolloomooloo in the 1930s. This late night sailor’s haunt had been Harry’s Café since the depression years, but after world war two, in order to meet council requirements to move at least twelve inches a day, it was reborn as Harry’s Café de Wheels.  Similar to Harry’s iconic pie ‘n peas, the bastila is the perfect street food, easily eaten in your hands.

These new styles of street eating are finally gaining traction in Australian cities, having been hamstrung in the past by restrictive local government regulation.  However, the City of Sydney is swinging behind this trend, with a twelve month trial that will eventually see ten food trucks prowling its carb craving night scene. Currently, you can dine on Mexican from the Cantina Mobil, and from the more eclectic offerings of former Tetsuya sou chef, Stuart McGill, at the Eat Art Truck. The trucks to come will have a range of cuisines, including organic fare, Japanese, Yum Cha and pasta. You can read more about this at www.sydneyfoodtrucks.com.au

The bastila originates from Morocco, and traditionally contains a wide variety of fillings. Game meats, eggs and almonds are layered and wrapped in filo pastry.  This ancient dish is believed to date back to the 1400s when the Moors were driven out of Spain. Still popular in Morocco and France, the bastila is served to celebrate special occasion feasts filled with squab, pigeon or fish.

My stocks of squab and pigeon are running pretty low, so I make do using organic chicken thigh fillets. 

As with pies that contain filo pastry, this dish takes some fiddling to assemble and the chicken needs to marinate for at least an hour.  A couple of things to remember are, to allow the flavours to develop in the chicken, the thighs needs to marinate for at least one hour. Also, while you are working, you should cover your unused sheets of filo with a cloth to prevent them from drying out.

12 chicken thigh fillets, skinned

4 garlic cloves, chopped

2 large onions, chopped

3 eggs

2 tbsp hone

1 tsp grated ginger

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp ground cinnamon

¼ tsp ground cloves

3 cups of chicken stock

3 tbsp lemon juice

salt and white pepper

1 tbsp coriander, chopped

1 tbsp parsley, chopped

¼ cup ground almonds

1 cup almond flakes, roasted

8 sheets of filo pastry

6 tbsp unsalted butter, melted

1 tbsp mixture of ground cinnamon and caster sugar for dusting 

Place the chicken thigh fillets, garlic, onions and spices into a large casserole pot and give them a mix around with your hands. Cover and let marinate for one hour or longer.

Add the chicken stock and one teaspoon of salt to the pot and bring to the boil. Lower the heat to a simmer, cover the pot and cook for one hour. The chicken should be very tender and falling apart.

Using a slotted spoon, transfer the chicken to a large bowl. Strain the broth, saving the liquid and the onions separately. When the chicken is cool enough to handle, shred the chicken using two forks to pull it apart.

Pour the broth back into the pot. Whisk in the lemon juice and bring to the boil. Reduce the liquid till you have about one to two cups of liquid remaining in the pot. Reduce the heat to low.

Beat the eggs with the honey, and pour into the broth in the pot, in a slow steady drizzle, whisking all the time. The sauce will eventually thicken, and it may take a few minutes. Remove the pot from the heat and season with salt and pepper.

Mix the shredded chicken and reserved onions into the sauce, together with the parsley and coriander. 

Preheat the oven to 200C.

Place the filo sheets between sheets of baking paper and cover with a clean tea towel.  Grease a 23 centimetre round cake tin with sides about three centimetres high. Brush one sheet of filo with butter and centre it in the tin, so that the excess hangs over the sides. Brush another sheet and press it gently into the tin without ripping it, so that it sits at right angles to the first sheet and forms a cross. Place a third and then a fourth repeating the process. The overhang from the four sheets should cover the edge of the tin. 

Sprinkle half of the almond flakes into the base over the filo pastry. Spoon in the chicken, spreading it evenly across the tin and top with the remaining flaked almonds. Fold the overhanging filo pastry over the chicken.

Butter the remaining four sheets of filo pastry, stacking them one on top of the other on the kitchen bench. Using a saucepan lid as a guide, one that is about 26 centimetres wide, or cut around the cake tin, leaving an extra two centimetres around the edges, so you have a disk of filo bigger than your tin. Place the circle over the cake tin and gently tuck the edges of the dough into the sides of the tin, working your way around until you have tucked in all the filo pastry. Brush the top of the bastila with melted butter and dust with cinnamon and sugar. 

Place the bastila tin on a tray and bake for 20 minutes. Then lower the temperature to 180C and bake for a further 20 minutes. If the top starts to get too brown, cover it loosely with foil. When cooked, transfer the bastila to a wire rack to rest for about five minutes.

Lay a piece of baking paper over a small cutting board and have a serving platter ready. Turn the bastila out onto the paper-lined board and invert it onto the platter so it’s right side up. Serve the bastila still warm or at room temperature.

Kouign Amann

Photo by Steve Shanahan

First published Canberra Times 8 August 2012

Move over macarons and cupcakes, it is the Kouign Amann that is taking the US by storm and infiltrating bakery shelves here in Australia. It’s been seen loitering in some of the trendy Sydney and Melbourne bakeries and it seems in the US the demand is outstripping supply. Just quietly, the French are way ahead of us by a few hundred years, but don’t worry all good things come to those who wait.

Unless you’re a competent cook, then waiting is something you might have to do, because this little slice of heaven is a tad time consuming, but not impossible to do. 

What is Kouign Amann you might ask? It’s sometimes been described as a cake or a pastry, but always sublimely addictive. It originates in Brittany, France and the pronunciation is something like ‘kween amon.’ The dead give away, is that in the Breton language it translates to ‘cake butter.’ Getting the idea now? In around 1860, pastry cook Yves Rene-Scordia opened a bakery in the coastal Breton town of Douarnenez and his speciality so impressed the locals that it soon grew into an obsession. 

If like me, you find a flaky, pure butter croissant or a pillowy and light brioche simply irresistible, expect to find yourself hooked on Kouign Amann. It is partly about the texture, but it’s more the crisp caramelisation of the outside shell of the cake with the flaky buttery layers that creates the desire to further indulge. It takes considerable willpower to stop at one piece.

You will need to set yourself an afternoon aside to create these buttery gems, and find a warm spot in the house to allow the dough to rise for a couple of hours before baking. If you don’t have a warm corner to allow them to rise, I placed the two dough-filled cake tins, covered in plastic wrap, under the doona in the spare bed with the electric blanket on low. This worked a treat. In actual fact they kept my rye mother company which was fermenting and bubbling away between the sheets.

Don’t be put off by the difficulty, Kouign Amann is not only incredibly satisfying to make, it is even more satisfying to eat.

500g plain flour
320ml cold water
15g salt
8g of dried yeast
350g unsalted butter at room temperature
300g sugar

In a large bowl, place the flour, water, salt and dried yeast. Mix the dough until it forms a combined mass. Alternatively, you can use an electric mixer with a dough hook. Form the dough into a ball, cover with plastic film and refrigerate for about one hour.

On a floured bench, roll the dough out flattened to a square about one centimetre thick and dust with flour.

Place the butter between two sheets of baking paper and using a rolling pin, bash the butter to flatten to about one centimetre thickness and place it centrally on top of the rolled out square of dough, so it doesn’t quite reach the sides of the pastry. Fold the four edges of the dough into the middle to completely envelop the butter. Roll the top of the dough slightly to seal the folded edges to stop the butter from escaping.

Roll the pastry out to a rectangular strip about one centimetre thickness. Take the shorter and lower end of the strip and fold it up one-third of the way toward the top. Now fold the top down to fit over the first fold to form a neat rectangle with no overlapping sides.

Place the folded dough onto a baking tray and cover with baking paper, and again refrigerate the dough for 30 minutes. Remove from the refrigerator and with the outside fold facing to your right, roll it out again to a long rectangle about one centimetre thickness.  Sprinkle with a generous amount of sugar, then fold it again as before, coating all sides with sugar. Place in the refrigerator to rest for 30 minutes.

Repeat the previous step of rolling, coating with sugar and folding one more time, then rest the dough in the refrigerator for 30 minutes. For each roll, place the outside folded seam to your right before rolling. This technique will give you the flaky and buttery layers.

When refrigerated, roll the pastry out to a rectangle of one centimetre thickness. Cut it in half, then fold the four corners of the dough to meet in the centre, so you have a smaller square. Roll lightly over the folds to seal and sprinkle with a little more sugar. You should have used most of the 300 grams of sugar. Place the two pieces of dough in two buttered cake tins, pressing slightly so the dough fits the tins well.

Cover the cake tins with a tea towel and leave to rise for two  hours in a warm place. Or place in your heated bed with the electric blanket on low.

Bake in a preheated oven at 200°C for about 30 minutes, then carefully turn out onto a rack. Don’t undercook the Kouign Amann, it needs to be very dark and caramelised. The outside should be dark

Mushroom port pies

Mushroom port pies. Photo by Steve Shanahan

First published Canberra Times, 1 August 2012.

By this stage of the year, I’m a bit over all those stolid dishes made from seasonal winter veggies. To top it off, tonight I don’t much feel like cooking a big dinner. I just want a quiet evening at home sipping a big glass of red wine and scoffing yummy mushroom pies with rich, buttery puff pastry.

If puff pastry scares you, don’t worry. I’m using a pain-free, store-bought organic version. While it did cross my mind to make my favourite Maggie Beer sour cream pastry, my tried and true food philosophy is, if I’m not in the mood to make it, I won’t force it.  When I ignore this rule, it more often than not ends in disaster. Good. Permission to instantly reject the Maggie Beer.

Out of the frozen depths of the packed freezer, I remove the sealed puff pastry packet, ingredients listed as NASAA certified organic unbleached wheat flour, pure butter, sea salt and Otway ranges water. This can’t go wrong.

A standby in French homes, savoury tarts are often cut into small portions, or made as tartlets and served with an aperitif. The tarts are made by cooking vegetables, such as leeks or onions, asparagus or mushrooms, and then combined with cheese or cream to make a smooth filling. The filling can be spread onto flatbread dough or sheets of puff pastry.  They are frozen for use when required and little justification is needed to invite the neighbours, friends or family in for an aperitif and snack.

These pies are great to serve as a starter, but if feeding people for a main, I like to convert it to the grander version, individual mushroom pies. If you prefer to make the small tartlets, use the mushroom filling mixture, just reduce the size of your pastry tart moulds or rounds. If making a large tart, spread the mushroom filling mixture over a sheet of puff pastry.

This particular recipe is delicious and has many different layers of flavour. The twist in the tail here is the addition of a port reduction, bathing the mushroom mixture in a silky stickiness, which curiously enhances the earthiness of the mushrooms. To further develop the flavours, and if you can hold off long enough, the mushroom mixture can be left to sit in the fridge overnight before filling your pie or tart moulds.

These pies or tartlets make a great fast food, taken straight from the freezer for unexpected events.

Preheat the oven to 200c.

20g mixture of varieties of dried mushrooms, you could use porcini and shitake

125g fresh brown mushrooms, brushed clean and stems removed

125g fresh white mushrooms, brushed clean and stems removed

680g packet of frozen puff pastry, thawed

½ cup of vegetable stock, heated

2 shallots, chopped

2 cloves garlic, chopped

4 tbsp of unsalted butter

2 tbsp of plain flour

¼ cup of hazelnuts, chopped

¼ cup of pure cream

2 slices of dry-cured ham or prosciutto, diced

¼ cup of Port

Pinch each of cayenne pepper and nutmeg

Egg yolk mixed with 1 tbsp milk for glazing

Lightly grease four, 10 centimetre pie tins, preferably ones with a removable base. On a lightly floured surface roll out the pastry sheets, slightly thinner than their existing thickness. Using one of the pie tins as a guide, cut around the base adding about two centimetres to the diameter of the circle, so you have a pastry base that covers the base of the pie tin, and comes up over the sides with a small overhang at the top. Push the pastry firmly into the base of the pie tin. Repeat this process for each pie. You will have some pastry left over for the pie tops. Refrigerate the left over pastry and the pastry filled tins.

In a small bowl, combine the dried mushrooms and the hot stock. Cover and let them soak for at least half an hour. Drain the mushrooms through a sieve, pushing down to squeeze out the stock. Reserve the stock. Coarsely chop the mushrooms and set aside.

In a large frying pan over medium heat, melt two tablespoons of the butter. Add the shallots and garlic and saute until softened, about two minutes. Add the mixed white and brown mushrooms. Increase the heat to high and continue to saute until browned, about four minutes. Add a little butter if they begin to stick to the pan. Add the rehydrated mushrooms, and saute until combined, about two minutes. Transfer to a bowl and set aside.

In the same pan over medium heat, melt one tablespoon of the butter. Sprinkle in the flour and cook, stirring to blend until lightly browned. Stir in the reserved stock from the dried mushrooms. Cook, stirring until the mixture thickens, one to two minutes. Add the cream, stirring to blend. Stir in the mushrooms and season with the cayenne, nutmeg and salt to taste. Continue to cook, stirring until the mixture is bound together and almost no liquid is left, about two to three minutes. Transfer to a bowl and set aside.

Rinse the frying pan and return it to a medium heat. Add the remaining one tablespoon of butter and the ham, and cook, stirring for one minute. Add the Port, increase the heat a little and bring to the boil. Cook until the liquid reduces, almost to a glaze, this should take about three minutes. Remove from the heat and add the hazelnuts, stirring to combine. Pour over the mushroom mixture, stir to combine, cover and refrigerate till cool. If you wish, the mixture can be left overnight at this stage to allow the flavours to develop. 

Remove both the cooled the mushroom mixture and the filled pie tins from the refrigerator. Spoon the mushroom mixture into the pie tins, dividing it evenly and heaping it slightly in the middle.

Roll out the remaining pastry into a square and cut four rounds of 11 centimetres each. Carefully lay each round over the filled pies. Fold the overhanging pastry from the base and sides up and over the pastry lid, crimping the pastry with your fingers to seal. Cut a couple of slits in the pastry lid. Using a pastry brush glaze the top of each pie with the egg and milk mixture.

Bake the pies until the tops are golden for about 20 to 30 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool for a few minutes before removing the sides and bottoms.

Delicious served with green vegetables and a bottle of Pinot.

The quantity makes four pies.

Breton biscuit

Breaking of the Breton biscuit. Photos by Steve Shanahan

First published Canberra Times 13 June 2012

The universe aligns for me when I am exposed to that fatal combination of sweetness and saltiness. Throw in butter, and it becomes something far better than the sum of its parts, achieving a richness of universal proportions. 

In western France, we first come across the fun but oddly informal tradition of guests reaching into the middle of the dining table and breaking off fat chunks of  this sweet and salty, buttery biscuit which is brought to the table in the form of a large, golden slab.

In the Normandy and Brittany regions, butter is king and remains an integral patisserie ingredient. The high quality, unsalted butter used in this recipe is the catalyst that creates the texture, and releases the fine flavour and irresistible smell of the biscuit while baking. It makes a huge difference to the finished taste, and this is one of those instances where price does count, so buy the best butter you can afford.

These traditional Breton biscuits date back to the 1800s and are instantly recognisable by the criss-cross pattern on the top, made shiny by painting liberally with an egg wash before they go into the oven.  This large cookie is no exception and takes the shape of whatever large biscuit slide or pan you might have available.  I usually make mine in a rectangular oven tray.

This substantial biscuit has all the punch it needs to be served alongside a strong, black coffee.

You can make this biscuit dough a few days ahead and store wrapped in cling wrap in the refrigerator or freeze in an airtight container. This dough quantity makes enough to cover a large baking tray.

A timely warning at this point though. These need to be eaten in moderation as they are seriously addictive and probably don’t form part of any nutritionally appropriate diet. But we don’t indulge that often, do we?

 

1 ¾ cups plain flour

⅔ cup sugar

130g good quality, unsalted butter, cold and cut into cubes

¼ tsp sea salt flakes

6 tbsp cold water

2 egg yolks for glazing

1 tsp extra sea salt flakes for scattering on top

Place the flour, sugar and salt in a food processor and blend to combine. Gradually drop in the cubes of butter until the mixture looks like rough breadcrumbs.  With the machine still running, gradually add the cold water, just enough to produce a dough that forms a ball. The dough should feel soft.

Place the dough onto a lightly floured work surface, form into a flattened square and cover with cling film and refrigerate to rest for an hour or so. The dough can be left refrigerated for a few days at this point.

When you’re ready to bake the dough, preheat the oven to 180C and line a baking sheet with baking paper.  Remove the dough from the fridge to allow it to soften just enough to be malleable.

Roll the dough out between 2 layers of cling wrap or baking paper and roll into a rectangle about 5mm in thickness. Roll to fit your baking tray.

With a spatula, lift the dough onto the lined baking tray. Beat the egg yolks together with a teaspoon of cold water and using a pastry brush, paint the surface of the dough. With a fork or a sharp knife, score the surface into a criss-cross pattern, by first making lines one way, then the other. Sprinkle the surface of the dough with the extra sea salt flakes.

Bake the biscuit for about 30 minutes, checking its edges do not burn. If you feel they are browning too much, cover the edges of the biscuit with a strip of alfoil to protect them while the centre of the biscuit continues to brown.  The biscuit should be a shiny golden brown.

Transfer carefully onto a wire rack to cool to room temperature and serve in the centre of the table to allow guests to break off pieces when they want.

Eggplant with anchovies, garlic and tomatoes

Eggplant, anchovies, garlic and tomatoes. Photo by Steve Shanahan

 

First published Canberra Times 16 May 2012

Again, winter hits with the subtlety of a sledge-hammer. I don’t know why I’m surprised, because it happens most years. With the end of the warmth, goes my need for fresh and light salads. My tastebuds crave something just a little more substantial, but not the full winter stodge, well not yet anyway.

It’s time to celebrate what’s left in my garden to eat. I do have some winter vegetables planted now, and I am pretty excited about the prospect of cooking some broad bean dishes. So, with what’s left of the summer harvest, I now have in my basket, eggplants, rocquet, heirloom tomatoes and thyme.

It’s the first time I’ve grown eggplant, and I was surprised at the time it took for it to grow, but not as surprised as being a victim of the spikes protruding from their stalks. As cool as it is to ‘grow your own’, my bloody finger is testament to the hardships of the grow what you eat philosophy. The upkeep and maintenance of a vegetable garden is not all roses, and the commitment it takes, is not to be sneezed at, well that is, if you don’t’ suffer from allergies.

The flavour of eggplant is muted and musky and it just begs for tasty additions to pick it up. There is also something oddly comforting about the texture of cooked eggplant, it becomes soft and floppy and melts in the mouth. At the last step, pouring over the umamied oven juices, shoots the flavour up the scale. I love that word. Finally, we’ve found a description for it, rather than Nigella’s lusciousness and Jamie’s deliciousness.

This combination of eggplant, tomato and lemon juice is still light enough for the early onset winter time of year, but the cooking of the eggplant provides a meatiness that gives substance to the dish. I put this as a side dish with some fillet steak, providing some blokieness to the dish. But sure, you could happily put this with chicken, or as a stand alone meatless meal and crusty bread, perfect as a vegetarian lunch.

Serves 4

2 large eggplants, sliced into ½ centimetre lengths

1/4 cup good quality olive oil

8 garlic cloves, peeled and sliced

bunch thyme

3 medium sized tomatoes, best flavour, finely sliced

7 anchovies

juice of 1 lemon

pinch of sea salt

cracked black pepper

3 to 4 tbsp olive oil, extra

rocquet to serve

Preheat the oven to 180C. Place eggplants in an oiled baking dish, in a single layer with the cut side up. Drizzle with the olive oil, scatter the garlic, anchovies, thyme sprigs and salt over the eggplant slices and roast for about 15 to 20 minutes or until lightly browned and softened.

Remove eggplants and arrange on a serving dish with the rocquet and place the sliced tomatoes on top.

Add the lemon juice and extra olive oil to the baking dish. Return to the oven for five minutes until the juices are hot. Scrape the bottom of the dish to release all the cooked on flavours and mix together. Drizzle the juices over the eggplant and tomatoes, sprinkle with cracked pepper and serve.

Pumpkin, pear and fennel soup with lemon

Pumpkin, pear and fennel soup with lemon. Photo by Steve Shanahan

First published Canberra Times 25 July 2012.

Having met some friends out for lunch recently, I craved something a little different to the usual menu suspects of wagyu burger, chicken burger, ceaser salad or trio of dips.  Not feeling particularly hungry I ordered the soup of the day, artichoke, parsnip and pumpkin.

While my friends are engrossed in conversation, I’m distracted by the menu choices and see that French toast and bacon with maple syrup has slipped into this menu too. This US style dish has crept into the menu vocabulary of many cafes and I wonder do many people order this?

Back to the soup. The waiter appears with a bowl of, what resembles, a vegetable puree that has split and is slightly dried out on the surface, topped with a drizzle of olive oil.  It didn’t look particularly appetising, but nevertheless I tried it.

The taste was muddy and vegetal but oddly sharp, dominated by the vegetable stock base. When the waiter came to clear the table, he shrugged and said they had sold out earlier of the more popular Thai coconut and pumpkin soup and that this one wasn’t as nice, sorry.

Making interesting soups is mostly just an experimentation of flavours, which is how I stumbled upon my earthy and fruity combo. I usually pick a vegetable and imagine it paired with other fruit, meat or vegetables for my combinations. The great thing with soup is the unintended nutritional perks of vitamins, minerals and fibre, all for just a couple of dollars.

This pumpkin, pear and fennel potage is so easy to make that even someone devoid of any culinary nous could throw it together in less than 20 minutes. Don’t forget to add the squeeze of lemon juice after it is plated. This excites and lifts the flavours of the pumpkin, fennel and pear, leaving a lovely tang in your mouth, lifting it from the mundane to the extraordinary. 

The best way to serve this is with a lemon quarter for each bowl and some crunchy sourdough for dipping and mopping.

1 kg pumpkin, peeled and cut into chunks

4 tbsp olive oil

salt and cracked black pepper

1 Spanish onion, chopped

1 shallot, chopped

1 fennel bulb, trimmed with core removed and sliced

2 celery stalks, trimmed and thinly sliced

1 large garlic clove, sliced

1½ tsp of freshly grated ginger

½ tsp of ground cumin

¼ tsp ground nutmeg

7 cups of vegetable stock or chicken stock

3 ripe pears, peeled, cored and coarsely chopped

3 strips of orange peel, pith removed

2 lemons

creme fraiche or sour cream to serve

toasted pumpkin seeds to serve

Preheat the oven to 180C. Line a baking tray with baking paper.

Place the chopped pumpkin in a large mixing bowl and add 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, salt and pepper and toss to coat.   Place onto the lined baking tray and place in the oven. Roast for about 30 to 40 minutes or until tender when pierced with a knife. Remove from the oven.

Warm 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a casserole pot over low heat and stir in the Spanish onion and shallot. Season lightly with salt and cook for 5 minutes. Add the fennel, celery, garlic and a pinch more salt and cook, stirring often, for another 5 to 10 minutes. Stir in the ginger, cumin, nutmeg and a few grinds of pepper, then add the roasted pumpkin. Pour in the stock, increase the heat, and bring to a boil, then reduce the heat so that the soup simmers gently. Add the pears and orange peel. Partially cover the pot and simmer for about 20 minutes, or until the pears and pumpkin are soft enough to be mashed with the back of a spoon.

Puree the soup, in batches in a blender of a food processor. Taste for salt and pepper. If the soup is too thick for you, stir in a little more stock and reheat.

Ladle the soup into individual bowls and finish with a little lemon juice. Serve with individual lemon wedges. Top with a dollop of sour cream and some roasted pumpkin seeds.

Strawberry powder puffs

Photo by Steve Shanahan

First published 9 May 2012 Canberra Times.

Not only does Mother’s Day provide the opportunity to lavish attention on Mum, it’s also an excuse to showcase your cake baking skills.

These gorgeous little powder puffs are incredibly quick and easy to make, and they can be produced at very short notice, perfect for the kids or Dad to cook for Mum on her day.

This cute old-fashioned English recipe dates back to when the vicar would drop by for afternoon tea. The cakes were baked in advance and stored in an airtight container, then filled with whipped cream and jam, sprinkled with icing sugar and put aside. They rise again slightly when filled and left for an hour or so. By the time the vicar came to call, the powder puffs were ready to eat.

2 eggs

½ cup caster sugar

½ cup plain flour

½ cup cornflour

2 tspn baking powder

½ cup strawberry jam

¾ cup whipped cream

Icing sugar for dusting

Makes about 15

Preheat the oven to 220C. Line 2 baking trays with baking paper. Beat the eggs with an electric mixer until well mixed, then gradually add the sugar, beating for 8 minutes or until thick and creamy. Sift the flour, cornflour and baking powder together and fold in lightly by hand.

Put the mixture into a piping bag fitted with a plain 1cm nozzle and pipe into rounds, placing them well apart on the trays. If you don’t have a piping bag, spoon teaspoons of the mixture onto the trays.

Bake for 4 to 5 minutes until evenly but lightly coloured. Remove from the oven and lift the cakes carefully with a spatula, onto a wire rack to cool. When cool store in an airtight container, separating the layers with sheets of baking paper to stop them sticking together.

An hour or so before serving, join the cakes together in pairs with strawberry jam and whipped cream. Dust them with icing sugar and place them in a covered container until they become light puffs.