Orange and onion salad

Again, these words date back to summer, but I thought you could have them anyway.

I’VE been babysitting today. So much fun. Two year old children are cool.

I know that my little charge is not actually mine (life is so unfair), but I have to tell you, he is like, SO advanced! After we read a story (Spot, Spot, lovable Spot), he climbed off the bed and put the book BACK ON THE SHELF IN THE RIGHT PLACE! Is this normal? No, I didn’t think so.  Someone call Mensa – we have a boy genius.

So, five not-so-creative retellings of Spot’s First Christmas later, we moved onto the Wiggles.

Now I love a man in a skivvy as much as the next neighbourhood nanny, but lets face it, I’d probably rather watch Gourmet Farmer or something. 

However my interest was piqued by the arrival on screen of the ‘Mandarin Wiggles’. I looked up expecting a see of orange knitwear and a little ditty about the long term health benefits of two fruit, five veg. 

But no, Geoff and his cohort were doing the hot potato - Chairman Mao style.  Hello kids (or, Shalom), we’re the Wiggles and we are politically and culturally sensitive (insert weird pointy Wiggle hand gesture wave thing)!!!!

But the mandarin reference got me thinking of that cute little fruit, and then of its fair cousin, the orange.  I mused over the qualities of this fruit that make it particularly suited to summer. Its vibrant colour, its thirst quenching juiciness and its shape, which makes one think of a bouncing beach ball annoyingly interrupting some melanoma-making-baking down at Elwood on a clear bright day. 

I’ve been reading Maggie and Stephanie who both note that the citrus-ripening season is over the cooler months. But Stephanie does say that some citrus trees will produce ripe fruit all year round. This is certainly the case with the orange tree at home at my mums, which is currently laden with little vibrant balls of goodness.

An orange is fabulous in summer because you can let it run all down your chin then make like my favourite two year old and have a splash in a bucket of water/pool to clean off.

They are amazing first thing in the morning. A flavour explosion to greet the day. Particularly satisfying if the previous night kept you out past Cinderella-o'clock. 

The juice is also good frozen in icy-pole moulds. 

Then there’s the skins, which you could use as a mouth guard during those particularly vicious summer games of petanque and croquet. 

Or you could throw a few oranges - straight from the esky - in the direction of your appreciative boyfriend during the tea break at his cricket match. That is if you a) have a boyfriend, and b) he is of the cricket-playing variety.
    

If the above options don’t appeal, or by circumstance are rendered inappropriate (I don’t recommend throwing oranges at any old cricket player, nor do I recommend donning an orange mouth guard if trying to attract above mentioned cricket playing boyfriend), then you should try this salad.

I’ve been eating this at my Nan and Pop’s since I got my little jelly bean sandal stuck in the swamp when we were yabbying, circa 1990. And before.

A simple dish for summer dinner. It’s good with a BBQ.

Orange and onion salad

Just layer finely sliced onion rounds with peeled and sliced orange rounds. It looks pretty in a glass bowl. Let it sit around and mellow for a while. I sprinkled some fresh mint on top. It was great.

I know it sounds weird, but my brother said he likes the way the orange starts to taste like onion. Me too. It’s good. I find this salad to be the perfect accompaniment to a piece of grilled salmon, or a chop, or most anything you can grill outdoors.

So go get yourself some oranges and eat/use them, in whatever way suits you. 

A freekeh good salad

Right, so for the bulk (‘bulk’ being the operative word) of December/January/February, it seems all I did was eat. And I’m not talking tofu and tahini – think brandy sauce, mince pies, shortbread, and more recently, plain old toast with lashings of butter and homemade jam.

I fear that this way of living will very soon, if it hasn’t already – prove problematic. I won’t be able to even fit inside the door of those uber cool tiny Melbourne bars, let alone attract that broody muso/actor type (Axle!!! Give up Summer Bay and come back to Melbourne!!). No amount of cocktails and mood lighting will be able to save my social life. Wait… who am I kidding? I rarely frequent those places anyway! But the fact remains, it’s time for a food overhaul.

Yesterday I strolled the streets of my home suburb, which happens to be overrun by skinny rich people most of the time but whom blessedly are still away at their divine beach houses, pretending to care about their children while the nanny also has a holiday.

So, I strolled the tumbleweed streets in search of a skinny latte and some skinny bread. Spelt loaves on special! Rejoice! Oh no, they were mouldy. Is the ghost of the dead lady from the two fat ladies trying to tell me something? “Embrace your inner minke!!!”. “NOOOOOO!!!!!” She cried. My fledgling determination maintained its hold and luckily I found a penicillin free loaf at the back of the shelf.

I kept strolling, bought a pair of sandals to match my new I-promise-I’m-not-wearing-this-just-to-hide-my-new-Michelin’s maxi dress, and headed for home. Pondering what to have for lunch. Hmm…cream is out, butter is out, yummy mayonnaise is out… where have all the good foods gone???!!!

I settled on this: 

Cook some freekeh (or other virtuous grain, like burghal), according to packet instructions. Then toss in a bowl with some grated fresh beetroot, chopped preserved lemon, chopped rocket and mint, and some salt and pepper. Mix in a vinaigrette of olive oil, lemon juice, and a little sugar, and you’re done. Of course, you could use any herbs you like.

Put a pile in a bowl and crack open a tin of tuna to have with it. Yum.

I like to think my nutritious lunch made up for the bread, butter and creamy potato salad I wolfed down later for dinner. Hey, I was at a birthday party. What was I to do?

This morning I was back on the band wagon. I polished off a bowl of my favourite muesli – untoasted of course – with fruit and yoghurt. Go me.

Have to run, I’ve got these brown bananas in the fruit bowl just itching to go into a cake. Hold the cream cheese icing.

Figs for jam

This post is a little outdated as I wrote it in February, but I thought it may still be of some use as some fruits have a second showing in autumn, so jam making is not just a summer pursuit. 


Hello, I come to you from the heavenly wilds of far west Victoria. I'm home on the farm and I couldn't be happier. 
I rose early this morning before the sting of the February heat kicked in. I took my yoga mat outdoors and stretched and breathed deeply in the shadow of the majestic red gums, taking in the expansive paddocks - just harvested - and the quiet meanderings of a mob of sheep.


KIDDING!


When I rolled out of bed I boiled the kettle, had some toast with jam and again lamented the loss of the 9:20am cooking segment on the now defunct 9am with David and Kim. 


Having said that, I have spent a decent amount of time outdoors on this trip, ferrying pea straw from Nan and Pop's back paddock to our back garden with mum, and I have been very aware of the the aforementioned red gums, sheep and general peace and tranquility of the place my family is blessed to call home.


Back to the jam I mentioned briefly above. When not outside up to my ankles in straw and sheep poo, I've been inside standing over a bubbling pot of fruit and sugar.  


The fruit of the moment is fig, which arguably makes the best jam of all time. Figs come into season in summer, and some varieties also fruit in autumn. 
I'm extremely lucky to have an unconquerable supply of figs direct from Nan and Pop's orchard. Consequently we have a store of fig jam in the top cupboard which looks like outlasting the Mayan calendar.
But I know figs can be expensive to buy. Markets can be the way to go, and keep your eye on the price regularly. Lately I've noticed them for sale in supermarkets for around $8 per kilo. A bargain indeed.
The cost of the fruit can render fig jam a bit of a luxury, so maybe only give away bottles to people you really really like!


The thing to remember when making jam, as I learnt from my Nan, is the old "pound for pound" mantra. One pound of sugar to every pound of fruit. Having said that, figs are an exception. At least according to this recipe - again from my wonderful Nan! 


So if you're lucky enough to land yourself some figs, give it a try. The old IXL really won't cut it after you've made your own jam.


Nan's Fig Jam


1 lb figs - ends removed and chopped 
3/4 lb sugar 
Juice and pips of one lemon
6 tbs water


Cook the figs in a large pan over moderate heat until they have collapsed a bit and softened. 
Increase heat to high, add the sugar, lemon and water. Boil fairly rapidly, stirring frequently, until the jam starts to adhere to the sides of the pan in a way that looks a bit jammy. Probably around 20mins. 
Put a small blob on a saucer which has been chilled in the fridge. Sit for a minute. If the jam wrinkles when you push your finger through it. Voila! Jam ready. If not, let it cook a few minutes more and repeat. 
You will have to feel your way through this phase a little. Cooking time will vary for each batch, depending on the ripeness of the fruit.
When the jam is ready, ladle into hot sterilised jars. Be careful. Hot jam is ... hot. And it will burn you. Pop the lids on at this stage as it helps create a nice seal.


There you have it. Totally delicious old fashioned jam. It really is very easy. 
Once you've mastered this recipe, mix it up a little by substituting half the sugar with brown sugar. The end product is a dark jam with a lovely soft flavour. Particularly good on fresh bread with blue cheese. Even better if you add wine to the equation and mull over how amazingly productive you've been in the garden all day. 

Passionfruit - it puts the summer in autumn.

It's March. Summer is gone, the mornings are crisp. Pleasantly so, but confusing wardrobe-wise. To jacket or not to jacket?

And so, our year rolls on. Once again I missed the Moonlight Cinema boat, I've sadly nearly missed the picnic season, and I've thankfully escaped the swimsuit season and can put my bathers back in the bottom drawer where they belong (is that a gentle autumn zephyr outside or the collective sigh of relief of all Elwood's beach goers?). People are starting to ask about soup at work, uni homework has hit with a vengeance and I'm longing for the Easter break.

But it's not all hot cross buns and casseroles. 

Enter passionfruit. All that purple and yellow screams summer, but happily it's also in season in March. As if to soften the blow of the inevitable arrival of winter. 

Admittedly passionfruit don't generally feature heavily on my shopping list. They play a cameo role at best. But a lovely lady-with-a-baby I know has a bountiful vine in her yard, and so my charge and I scratched around one afternoon and collected the perfect fruit that had fallen to earth. Ok, I collected, he ate grass. But whatever, the sun was shining, there was fruit all around, we were in backyard heaven.

I went home that day a richer woman. Six passionfruit richer. Got me thinking about ye olde days. Perhaps they had it sorted with that whole barter economy thing. Suits me. I'd give up cash for food, such is my lust for it. I give you my child minding services, and you give me fresh produce. I guess the terms and conditions could get tricky though. One hour of babysitting equals how many passionfruit? 

My happy fresh fruit bonus led to all kinds of fruity food imaginings, but in the ended I opted for a simple cake. I had a little play around with a basic butter cake recipe. It worked pretty well, have a go and please tell me what you think. 

Passionfruit Butter Cake

125g unsalted butter

1/2 tsp vanilla essence

3/4 cup caster sugar

2 eggs

1 1/2 cups SR flour 

1/2 cup yoghurt + 2-3 tbs milk

Pulp of 3-4 passionfruit

Cream butter, vanilla essence and sugar till pale and creamy (taste it, all that butter is freaky I know, but delicious). Add eggs one at a time. Add passionfruit pulp. Stir in half sifted flour and yoghurt, then the remaining flour, yoghurt and milk. Spoon into a ring tin and bake in a moderate oven for 40mins or till light golden and a skewer comes out clean. 

When the cake has cooled somewhat make a runny icing to drizzle over from 2 passionfruit, a little butter, icing sugar and hot water. A nice runny icing will be almost more like a glaze which I like. But if you lean more towards the spreadable icing way of thinking, then of course make it thicker.

When all is said and done in the kitchen, put the kettle on and take a slice of cake out into the sun. Close your eyes, eat, and muse over the wonder of the big orange ball in the sky that keeps us earthlings warm.

So go grease that ring tin and have yourself a final fling with summer. Mmm passionfruit. 

Hello, let's eat!

Would I like to write? Yes, I would. But what to write about?

I really like to eat, and I like to make food, and talk about food, and look at food, and think about food. So maybe I should write about food?

I’m just a student. Neither laden with cash, nor well versed in the peculiarities of fine dining. Although, I did eat at Bistro Guillaume last year. Fabulous. I was so mesmerised by the whole vibe of the thing that I got lost trying to find my way out of the unbelievably sumptuous-yet-not-gaudy bathrooms.

So, it seems that all I have to write about is the food I eat day to day in the course of my normal life, and what it means to me.

I realise that food, good produce, and all things seasonal is extremely on trend at the moment. But I can give honest assurance that I have loved food my whole life. From the early years when I nicked frozen white bread from the Westinghouse with my brother after school, to delighting in the pre-packed and decidedly rubbishy nature of plane food on a long haul flight not so long ago – that glee also shared with my brother. Throughout my life food has been a constant. Well obviously, otherwise I’d be dead. But you see what I’m saying? I love to eat.

I’m also aware that meanderings on food and life have been penned before. You know, letting your personal trials and tribulations intermingle with tales of Sao biscuits and Ol’ Smoothy cheese. Was that book called Toast? But so be it, I’m going to do it again.

To kick off I’ll tell you what I ate today. I started with muesli topped with strawberries (so good right now) and yoghurt, with extra cinnamon and sesame seeds (did you know cinnamon can help lower your blood sugar?).  And a cup of coffee. I had to shake the milk first because it’s that heavenly, old fashioned organic stuff and the cream floats to the top. I don’t mind. It reminds me of all that cow milking and carrying of gorgeous silver buckets that I never did in my childhood.

I’m currently on uni holidays and so I’ve been home at mum’s in the country a fair bit. I’m on a train back there right now. I was only in Melbourne a few days, reluctantly. I like to spend my study break pretending I live full time at home on the farm.

My brother bought the muesli supplies while I was away at home, AND did a load of washing. Fancy!

I bought some salad at a swanky supermarket (the ‘s’ in swanky being optional) just near our place in Melbourne this morning. I’ve got it with me in a plastic container on the train. I’m hungry, but I’m afraid it will stink the whole carriage out. Maybe a heap of people will get off at the next ‘regional centre’ and I can eat freely. Or maybe I need to recover the boldness of my youth, when I was undeterred by the sulpher like aroma eminating from my lunch box. Mmm…egg sarnies!

My auntie is picking me up from the train station, I’ll have to ask her to swing by the supermarket so I can grab dinner supplies for mum and I before we leave town for the hour long drive home. Perhaps a piece of salmon and salad? I might have to buy a blue cooler bag.

Worst luck. The train is still full of people. Don’t they know I have a container of store bought tabbouleh to devour and critique? Hang it, I think I’ll risk it.

As a dear friend and I like to say, life is a journey from one meal to the next. Savour it.