Hedonistic Hostess

The way we eat, the way we are

 

What I love about food is its ability to communicate.  The way we gather our ingredients, the way we cook and the way we eat all say something intrinsically personal about the way we are.  The language of food is something I've been immersed in since starting my Masters of Gastronomy.  One of my favourite authors on the subject is Roland Barthes.  Barthes, through his works such as Mythologies and The Semiotic Challenge, asks us to think about the way we eat and prepare food as not some random assembly, but as a highly structured system of meaning...a form of language.  It is when I cook with my mother that this language of food really speaks to me.

It all starts with the way she shops.  We drive out to the south-western edge of Brisbane - a suburb with a not-so-nice reputation, called Inala.  We wander through the mall lined with boxes of leafy Asian greens, herbs, exotic fruit and a thousand things I couldn't even begin to identify.  I could very well be in a Bangkok market or a Singapore side street.  My mother sniffs and picks her way through the produce.  She knows what she's looking for and how it should feel, smell and taste.  This is her language and it comes naturally to her.

 

And then we cook.  Sheets of dark green banana leaves go flying as she washes them, strips them down and throws them over the flames of the gas stove.  "This is how it's done," she says.  It's the way she learnt in a small village in Thailand and it's the way I'm learning in a small Western kitchen in Australia.  We're making Haw Mok Pla...a spicy fish mixture steamed in fresh banana leaves. 

 

Watching, tasting and smelling is the only way to learn this language.  Ask my mother for a recipe and there will inevitably be a missing ingredient or the wrong proportion of some vital flavour.  For her, the language of Thai food is instinctive and so naturally spoken that when she tries to break it down there seems to be something lost in the translation.

As the little parcels steam, I can smell the pungent curry paste mixed with wafts of kaffir lime.  Once cooked, the fish is tender and deeply infused with savoury spice.

 

This is my mother's recipe, as observed by me.  I tried to interrupt her impromptu splashes of this and that with a measuring spoon or cup.  Use your own sense of taste as a guide...peppery spice, sweet coconut, salty fish sauce and mellow kaffir lime...all these flavours should speak to you.  They should tell you something of the flavours of Thailand, of my mother's heritage and of the language of food we share.

Haw Mok Pla - Steamed Fish in Banana Leaf Cups

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Ingredients:

1kg snapper fillets, cut into medium chunks
1/4 cup red curry paste
1 cup coconut milk
4 Tbsp fish sauce
1 Tbsp sugar
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1pkt banana leaves*
2 cups chinese cabbage, thinly sliced
1/2 cup coconut cream
1 Tbsp cornflour
6 kaffir lime leaves, finely sliced
 coriander leaves
 basil leaves
3 large red chillies, seeds removed, cut into strips

*You should be able to find banana leaves at an Asian grocery store.  If not, simply use ceramic ramekins instead.

To make the banana leaf cups, rinse banana leaves in water and dry with a tea towel.  Wave the leaves over a gas stove flame, turning them over to soften each side.  Use scissors to cut out 20cm rounds from the leaves.  You will notice that one side of the leaf is dull in colour and the other is shiny.  Stack two rounds together - dull sides facing inwards toward each other and the veins of the leaves running parallel.  Make a pleat and secure with a toothpick (or take the easier option and use a stapler).  Make three other pleats to form a square cup.  Repeat this process with the banana leaves until you have 8 little cups.

Put the curry paste into a large bowl and soften with a fork.  Whisk in the coconut milk, fish sauce, sugar and eggs.  Add the snapper, mix well and set aside.

Whisk together coconut cream and cornflour in a saucepan.  Heat and stir until the mixture coats the back of a spoon.

Place a small mound of shredded cabbage in the bottom of each cup.  Top with the curry fish mixture.  Garnish with a spoonful of the thick coconut cream, a basil leaf, a coriander leaf, shreds of kaffir lime leaves and a piece of chilli.

Put fish parcels into a steamer (with rapidly boiling water underneath) and steam for about 30 minutes.  To test, insert a skewer into the fish, it should give quite easily and the spicy mixture around it should have set to a jellied custard consistency.

Serve with steamed rice.

In defence of the spring roll

  

If only the humble spring roll could talk.

She would chastise every greasy takeaway shop that left her for dead in a bain marie.  She would rebel against being stuffed with grey meat-like matter and refuse to be seen in the frozen cardboard box aisle of the supermarket.  She would start a viral Twitter campaign to rally the abused and neglected rolls from across the globe.  And with the weight of good taste behind her, she would declare war on tepid fryers and oil that reeks of the stench of last week's fish special.

If only the humble spring roll could talk.

Well, the torture stops here.  In defence of spring rolls everywhere, I devoted an afternoon to the art of the spring roll.  I even made my own wrappers, which were not as difficult as I'd imagined.  Of course you can use bought wrappers but if you have the time give these a go.  The handmade wrappers cook to a golden crispiness and have a subtle salty flavour.

    

To keep your spring rolls happy you just need to remember a couple of things:

• make your filling special - try prawns, crab meat and good quality chicken or pork mince
• use plenty of fresh oil and get it hot - you should have furiously bubbling oil when your rolls hit the saucepan
• serve soon after cooking - your spring roll should crunch and crackle

At first bite I felt a renewed sense of faith in the spring roll.  Crisp crunch and a sweet delicate filling.  Not a rebellious roll in sight.

 

Prawn and Pork Spring Rolls
Makes 12

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Ingredients:

1 cup plain flour
1/4 tsp salt
3/4 cups water

300g raw peeled prawns, finely chopped into a mince
150g pork mince
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 Tbsp fresh ginger, grated
1 tsp white peppercorns, ground
1 eschallot, finely chopped
2 tsp fish sauce
1 tsp soy sauce
1 tsp sugar

4 Tbsp water
2 Tbsp corn flour

vegetable oil

fresh chillies
coriander leaves, chopped
soy sauce

For the spring roll wrappers, mix together the flour, salt and water to form a smooth batter.  Leave to sit for 30 minutes.

Heat a small non-stick pan (a crepe pan is ideal) until just warm.  Remove the pan from the heat.  Use your fingers to paint a thin layer of batter onto the bottom of the pan.  Spreading the mixture out in a circular pattern is the easiest way to do it.  Put the pan back on the heat until the edges of the wrapper crisp up.  Peel off the wrapper and set aside.  Repeat for the rest of the batter.

For the filling, mix together the prawns, pork, garlic, ginger, peppercorns, eschallot, fish sauce, soy sauce and sugar.

Make your wrapper 'glue' by mixing together the flour and water.

To roll, lay out a wrapper and place a rectangular-shaped mound of filling in the bottom half.  Pick up the bottom edge of the wrapper and fold over the filling.  Fold in the left and right hand sides to form an envelope.  Moisten the top half of the wrapper with the flour and water glue.  Roll the bottom envelope over onto the top to form a neat parcel.  Place on a tray covered with cling film and repeat the process until all the wrappers are used.

To cook the spring rolls, heat the oil in a large saucepan or wok.  To test if the oil is hot enough, dip a wooden spoon handle into the oil.  If fine beads of oil bubble around the handle then the oil is hot enough.  Fry spring rolls in batches - do not overcrowd the pan.  2-4 at a time should be fine.

Drain spring rolls on paper towel and serve with a chilli, coriander and soy sauce dip.

  

Mushroom Hunt

 

I never thought I'd be wearing joggers and jeans the day I run the risk of dying in the middle of a pine forest.  I can just picture the news story now:

'A 26-year-old woman wearing white joggers and denim jeans has died from eating poisonous mushrooms in Kuitpo Forest, south of Adelaide.'

I've never been one for sensible shoes and ballet flats just would not cut it for a pine forest mushroom hunt.  So until my mail order pink gumboots arrive, joggers will just have to do.  As I pull up to the edge of the forest my concerns with vanity soon disappear.  Who can think about shoes when there are mushrooms to be had.  The forest looms large as I step out of the car to meet my friend and forest guide, Carolyn (better-known as 'Chef').

 

     

Chef regularly walks the forest tracks and so is confident we'll find what we're looking for.  But what exactly are we looking for?  Chef says she's seen plenty of mushrooms along her walking track but has never picked and eaten them.  We've both done plenty of online research and have detailed fact sheets about mushroom species.  Too bad we both forgot the print outs.  Hmm, good start.

And so it is with a vague idea and a sense of trepidation that I lean down to inspect our first funghi find.  Chef recognises it almost immediately as a Saffron Milk Cap.  I'm not so confident.  I'm sure the print out sitting on my kitchen bench says something about a yellow-tinge being a no no.  But then, this shroom is more orange than yellow.  I decide to trust Chef - anyone who can cook a curry like her deserves my vote of confidence.

 

 

As we walk along my bag gets heavier and heavier.  It seems we've come on the perfect day.  Each time we bend down to harvest one mushroom another five come into view, their saffron-coloured tops peeking out from the woody grass.  I'm already thinking about risotto, pasta and shrooms on toast.  Mmmm shrooms on toast.

And then we spot the nasties.  No need for a fact sheet here.  These little red beauties are like deadly Sirens.  Their brilliant scarlet hue is enchanting and we can't help but stop to stare at their beckoning beauty.

 

  

 

By the time the cars come back into view we're loaded with enough funghi to make mushroom toast for a small army.  We set down our harvest and take a well deserved break - hot soup, cheese and a glass of wine.  I could get used to this mushrooming routine!

 

 

 

On my way back home I decide to take further steps to identify my mushroom harvest.  It's not that I don't trust Chef, it's just that I want to have as many people to blame as possible if I end up in hospital getting my stomach pumped.  So I stop in at Fino to get head chef David Swain to conduct an inspection.  He gives the go ahead and I leave him with a bowlful of mushrooms.  A Twitter consultation reveals the same conclusion - my mushrooms are Saffron Milk Caps or Lactarius Deliciousus.  Success!  A mushroom called 'deliciousus' is sure to be tasty.

As the thick chunks of 'deliciousus' hit the pan with some garlic and butter I know I'm in safe territory.  Wafts of earthy savouriness fill the kitchen.  As they cook, a silky orange liquid starts to form in the pan.  It's a deep orange-coloured sauce - thick and glossy, unlike the watery brown mess you get from field mushrooms.

I made fresh pappardelle, mixed the pasta through the garlicky mushroom sauce and topped with fried sage leaves (pictured above).  I also made a rich mushroom risotto (pictured below).  Just put the shrooms in the pan with a chopped onion before the rice goes in.  Simple treatments for a great mushroom.

 

  

Colour me Autumn

 

Okay, so I know I crap on about how much I love my local farmers' market but when the produce is this good, it just can't be helped.  As a reformed city girl, the change of seasons now means more to me than the excitement of dusting off my beloved leather boots and snuggly jackets.  My weekly visits to the Willunga Farmers' Market have instilled in me a passion for the fresh palette of produce and ingredients each new season brings.

Today's visit ended with me staggering back to the car with a heavy load that included golden beetroot, bunches of carrots, ashed goats' cheese and a generous loaf of sour-dough bread.

  

As I sliced through the first roasted beetroot I couldn't help but smile at the brilliance of its soft yolk-coloured centre.  The honey and balsamic marinade had turned into a dark caramel that formed a sticky shell around the soft flesh of the beetroot and carrots.

The rich colours and the burnished caramel smell were too much for Tim and I to stand on ceremony.  We simply scooped up handfuls of the salad onto thick slices of sour-dough bread and munched in satisfied silence.  Licking of fingers was a joyous necessity.

 

'Colour Me Autumn' Salad
Serves 4

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Ingredients:

1 bunch small to medium golden beetroot (if you can't get golden beetroot, simply use purple beetroot)
1 bunch small to medium carrots, washed
1 Tbsp honey
4 Tbsp balsamic vinegar
3 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup red wine vingear
1 tsp ground dried ginger
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup water
150g goats cheese
Flat-leaf parsley
Fresh mint leaves
Salt & pepper

Prepare the beetroot by snipping the fat bulbs off the stems.  Rinse well and pull off any hairy bits.

Place beetroot and carrots into a baking dish large enough to hold the lot in a single layer.

In a saucepan, heat up the honey, balsamic vinegar, and olive oil.  Pour the hot mixture over the beetroot and carrots.  Season with salt and pepper.  Cover the tray with aluminium foil and bake in an oven preheated to 180 degrees celsius.

After 45 minutes of baking, take off the foil and turn over the vegetables.  Put the tray back into the oven uncovered and continue to cook until just soft.  Times will vary according to the size of the vegetables. I pulled the carrots out first because they cooked faster.  The largest of my beetroot took a total of an hour and a half.  Use a skewer to test the softness of the beetroot - it should pierce through to the centre quite easily.  Leave to cool so that the vegetables are only luke warm when you serve.

While the vegetables are roasting make the dressing by simmering the red wine vinegar, ginger, sugar and water until you're left with a thick, syrupy sauce.

To serve, sprinkle handfuls of parsley and mint leaves over a large platter.  Halve the roasted beetroot and place them on the platter with the carrots.  Strew about chunks of goats' cheese.  Drizzle over the sweet, syrupy dressing.  Liberally annoint with olive oil and season with salt and pepper.  Serve with thick slices of sour dough bread to mop up the sticky sauce.  Eat with your hands.

Take me home for breakfast

 

It was midnight before I walked through the door of my parent's house, but I knew it would be hours before my head hit the pillow.  Dad had been warning me for days before I arrived.  I'd packed my fat jeans in readiness.  And then it began. 

A plateful of plump Japanese pork dumplings had first billing.  They'd been hand-pressed by my mother and pan fried until blotched with patches of golden crispiness.  The vinegary dipping sauce dribbled down my chin as I bit into each little puff of pork.  Just as I polished off the last of the dumplings a steaming bowl of slow-braised pork belly and rice appeared.  And just as I finished off the last spoonfuls of melting pork belly, a large slab of layered blueberry sponge cake appeared as if from nowhere.  And just when I thought I couldn't take any more, I heard my mother fire up her hand-held blow torch.  We finished the night with creme brulee of course.  I went to bed at 3AM.

Every trip home for as long as I can remember begins in this way.  Mum starts cooking a week before I arrive.  Dad calls each day to give me a running commentary on how many kilos of prawns have been bought and what kind of cakes are being baked.  The dishes change every trip but the length and breadth of that first family meal remain roughly the same.

So you'd think my midnight feast would be enough to put me off any kind of breakfast...but the savoury smells of garlic, coriander and simmering rice coming from my mother's kitchen cannot be resisted.  I would give up all the pork belly in the world for this one traditional Thai breakfast dish - Kao Tom (pronounced something like cow thom).  When I was very young we called it sloppy rice.  This Thai rice soup is flavoured with garlic oil, chilli vinegar, ginger, coriander, whatever meat/seafood you wish and a raw egg thrown in for good measure.  It is deeply savoury and intensely satisfying.  It's traditionally a breakfast dish, but I've been known to make it for lunch, dinner, afternoon tea...whenever the urge takes hold.  This is not a dish that graces the menus of Thai restaurants and you certainly won't find it at your local Asian takeaway.  It's a dish that speaks of home, of familiar comforts, of mothers who cook too much and daughters who eat too much.

 

 

 

Kao Thom Goong (Sloppy Rice with Prawns)
Serves 4

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Ingredients:

400g green (raw) prawns, unpeeled
4 cups cooked white rice
2 Tbsp fresh ginger, finely chopped
4 garlic cloves, finely sliced
1/4 cup vegetable oil
3 red chillies, finely sliced
1/4 cup white vinegar
1/2 cup chopped fresh coriander (use stems and leaves)
Soy Sauce
Fish Sauce
4 eggs

For the prawn stock: Tear off the prawn heads and peel off the shells.  Place heads and shells in a saucepan.  Cover with 8 cups of water and simmer for about 20 minutes.  While the stock is simmering a pinkish foam will rise to the surface.  Skim the foam off as the stock bubbles away.  After 20 minutes strain the stock through a fine sieve and discard shells.

For the sloppy rice:  Pour the prawn stock into a clean saucepan and throw in the cups of cooked white rice.  Add in the chopped ginger and 2 Tbsp each of fish sauce and soy sauce.  Simmer gently for about 30 minutes.  You want the rice to end up creamy and soupy.

While the rice is cooking, get on with making your condiments...

Throw your garlic into a cold pan and pour over the vegetable oil.  Slowly heat the oil and garlic until the garlic is a golden colour, but be careful not to burn it.  Pour into a small serving bowl.

Mix sliced chillies and white vinegar in a separate small bowl.  Place your chopped coriander in another bowl, ready to sprinkle.

Get out four individual serving bowls and crack a raw egg into each one.  Splash over about a tsp each of fish sauce and soy sauce.

Now back to the rice:  after simmering for about 30 minutes throw in the raw prawns and cook them in the soup for a couple of minutes or until they turn opaque.  Spoon the hot rice soup over the raw eggs in each bowl.  Make sure to cover the eggs completely with the rice.  Pile the prawns into the centre of each bowl.  Anoint liberally with the shards of garlic and oil, chilli vinegar and coriander.  Add a dash more fish sauce.  Leave the bowls of steaming rice soup to sit for a minute so the eggs have time to cook a little.  Lean down and smell all the wonderful garlic and coriander aromas.  Then dig in with a spoon, mixing the egg through the soup.  Sprinkle in more garlic, chilli, coriander, soy or fish sauce if you wish.

VARIATIONS: Instead of prawns you can use chicken, pork, squid or fish.  Just use whatever stock you want and stir through the meat of your choice while the rice is simmering.