Dinner for two: Coconut and date chutney

Sitting on the front porch, mango juice dripping down my arms, cicadas shrilling in the background. The dog chases flies, snapping at them as they buzz. Older cars that pass have their windows wound down, all the way, and snatches of their music filter into my garden. Party music, all thumping bass and angry words, alternates with the chatter of afternoon radio, a voice or two almost recognizable. Almost. I throw the leathery mango skin into the garden, frisbeed against the fence. It’s summer after all. The black bird and his wife, scratching around in the undergrowth, will be happy enough to pick at the tiny amount, if any, of flesh left. It will be gone, skin and all, before the daylight fades.

School is nearly over for the year. The dragging days, countdown to six whole weeks of freedom were, as a child, excruciating. A week, often longer, would pass before Christmas arrived. I'd play cricket in the street with my brother, calling as cars approached, slower than they do now. The forbidden thrill of roller skating on the Bennett's driveway, the most satisfying of surfaces to roll across, was noisy and wonderful, but only if they were out. We'd skate past nonchalantly just to make sure. Riding bikes full pelt down the steepest of roads, no hands, definitely no helmet. You fell, picked the gravel out of your knees and started again, winded, but laughing.

The difference between the cozy northern Christmas and the sunny southern one is vast. Despite this we share the same snowy imagery, an irony not lost on Australian children. So, our Santa is often depicted in shorts, fur-lined thongs (the shoes, thankfully, not the underpants) and sports a jolly beer belly. Kangaroos pull his sled, a cringe-worthy but amusing thought. He sometimes wears a hat strung with corks that dangle from the brim to keep the flies off. Sitting in the front yard, flies everywhere, I could do with one of those hats. Luckily the dog does what she can.

Holidays again. Off to Sydney, to blue carpets of Jacaranda petals and the squealing of parrots as they settle colourfully in my parent’s leafy suburban yard. Glimpses of the harbour, sun-sparkled, caught between blocks of flats; congested streets but knowing all the short cuts, all the back ways. Seeing mum, dad and my brother (my brother!) who has, I think, fallen in love. Cooking with mum, who shares her daughter’s obsessive interest in food and literature. Talking, properly, with my dad. Friends. Jo especially. She’s had a tough year, but it’s been good. This is what Christmas holds for me.

Until then, though, we still have a week or so up our sleeves. Just like that break between the last day of school and Christmas itself, it stretches ahead of me. But it’s passing way too quickly. Something tonight, then, for just the two of us. A quiet night in before the silly season gets into full swing.

Coconut and date chutney

Adapted from Claudia Roden’s unbelievably useful Book of Jewish Food. This addictive fresh chutney, easy to make and easier still to eat (said as she pauses to dip in yet another cracker) is from the Bene Israel community of India. You’ll need to be an unabashed coriander-lover (cilantro) to enjoy this and while a combination of mint and parsley might work, I love coriander. Adore it. Great with fish, especially the fragrant banana leaf-wrapped parcels below, but wonderful too with slices of fried eggplant. Try serving it as a dip with crisp papadams, rice crackers or those mini toasts that the French make. Hard to stop eating, I tell ya…

1 tablespoon of tamarind paste
1 ¾ cups (about 125g) of shredded coconut
2/3 cup (about 150ml) of warm water
1 large bunch of coriander (cilantro), well washed
12 dried, pitted dates
Juice of 2 limes (or one juicy lemon)
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
½ teaspoon of sea salt
¼ teaspoon of hot chilli powder

Dissolve the tamarind paste in 2 tablespoons of boiling water. Tip the coconut into a large bowl and pour over the warm water. Leave both tamarind and coconut for 20 minutes.

Discard the roots of the coriander and roughly chop the rest. Push the dissolved tamarind paste through a sieve, pressing to extract as much liquid as possible, making sure to scrape anything that accumulates on the underside of the sieve too. Place all the ingredients into the bowl of a food processor and whiz until well chopped. Add a tablespoon or two of water down the chute to make the chutney smoother. Keeps for a few days, tightly lidded, in the fridge.

Banana leaf snapper parcels – for 2

We had these with tiny, pebbly new potatoes, boiled in their skins until tender (10 minutes), drained well and then sauteed, whole, in 2 teaspoons of ghee. 1 tablespoon of garam masala was added moments before serving.

Preheat the oven to 200 C (400 F). Take 2 banana leaves and lay them out flat on the bench, dull-side up. Place a fillet of snapper (or any firm-fleshed, white fish) in the centre of each leaf. Top each fillet with a sprinkling of freshly ground cumin, a few slices of lime, 1 long green chilli, sliced on the diagonal and some thin slices of ginger. Season, then wrap securely, tying the parcels with kitchen string or using bamboo skewers. Bake, on a tray, for 15 minutes. Unwrap at the table. Serve with the coconut and date chutney.

So, over to you. How will you be spending the festive season?

Nepalese potato salad

Viewed from the kitchen table, the bright red flowers of the scarlet runner beans stand out against their climbing foliage. An impossibly cheerful shade of red, and a gorgeous thing to wake to. I have of late been consciously sitting myself right here looking out over the fledgling garden at breakfast. A book, my journal, a favourite pen and a pot of fragrant green tea my dining companions; a bowl of muesli with home-made rice milk and blueberries or a slice of these wonderful breakfast bars are regulars on the menu.

Breakfasting is something new, something of a work in progress. A slower, gentler beginning to the day. Still, my anxious nature, twitchy legs and fingers struggle to stay still for the full half hour. This solitary meal is good, I tell my legs, good for the soul. My organised parents (she a tidy virgo, he an earthy capricorn) set the breakfast table, properly, each night before they go to bed. For years this ritual has baffled me, their leonine, misfit daughter. Breakfast, mine, has always been scoffed hurriedly, flying out the door. Why someone who spends a large amount of time thinking about the importance of eating well would ignore a meal so intrinsic to well-being is quite baffling. So, I’m learning to give myself time to wake, think and organize the day over a little nourishing breakfast. And slowly, slowly, the early morning chatter in my head is beginning to quiet, just a little.

Reading books over breakfast (as opposed to reading emails) is becoming an integral part of the self-prescribed therapy that chatter requires. A neat pile of books now sits on a corner of the kitchen table, a version, I guess, of my parent’s table-setting ritual. Writing in her exquisite, enviable style, Marion Halligan’s memory of a warm weather Christmas lunch – a huge platter of fresh, glistening prawns eaten with thin slices of dense black bread, lemons and lashings of butter, washed down with cold, cold white wine - read over this morning’s breakfast got me thinking. Not of Christmas food, though there will be some of that in the weeks to come. Rather it’s made me aware of a need in December for things that, like a generous, elegant, festive platter of prawns, can be prepared with a minimum of fuss. ‘Do I really need another potato salad recipe?’, I hear you ask. I think so highly of this delicious Nepalese street food that you may feel, as I have discovered, that yes, you do.

A spoonful of leftovers, raided at the entirely inappropriate time of 7am one Saturday morning, confirmed Madhur Jaffrey’s instruction to make it well ahead of time. It’s good after two hours, but better after twelve and will keep for up to 3 days. It’s a brilliant, multi-seasonal, make-ahead potato salad. God, it’s good. I serve it with pan-fried fillets of silver-skinned garfish, dredged in rice flour, made by grinding black rice to a powder, a tablespoon at a time, in a spice grinder - a sensational combination.

Nepalese potato salad (Aloo Achaar) for 4

Adapted, slightly, from this book.

This quantity can be doubled, tripled, even quadrupled easily. Four chillies may seem like a lot (it is) but the heat mellows a little on standing. Feel free to use one small green capsicum (pepper) in their place. Lots of vitamin E from the sesame seeds and vitamin C from the chillies.

6 medium-sized waxy potatoes (Desiree or Nicola are good)
4 tablespoons of sesame seeds
Juice of 4 lemons
1 teaspoon of sea salt
2-4 green chillies (see above), finely minced
4 tablespoons of macadamia or sesame oil (NOT the dark, toasted stuff)
Pinch of asafoetida powder
10 fenugreek seeds
1 bunch of coriander (cilantro), chopped

Place the potatoes in a saucepan of cold water and bring to the boil. Simmer for 20-25 minutes, or until tender all the way through when speared with a skewer.

Meanwhile toast the sesame seeds in a small frying pan, tossing constantly, until they are golden. Watch them like a hawk – they burn in the blink of an eye. Cool on a plate then grind to a powder, either in a mortar and pestle or a spice grinder.

Combine the ground sesame seeds, lemon juice, salt and chillies in a large ceramic bowl. Slowly whisk in 3 tablespoons of the oil with a fork until creamy and well amalgamated.

If you have a gas stove, warm the remaining tablespoon of oil in a metal ladle directly over a low flame. If you don’t have gas, a small saucepan over a high heat works just as well, if not a little less dramatically. When the oil is hot (moments) tip in the asafoetida and fenugreek seeds and as soon as the fenugreek seeds darken, remove from the heat and whisk into the sesame seed emulsion. Add the chopped coriander, mix well and set aside.

When the potatoes are cooked, peel them while they are still hot, using a tea towel to protect your hand. Dice the potatoes into 2 cm (¾ inch) chunks. There’s no need to be too precise here. Toss, gently, in the sesame dressing while still hot. Cool, cover and refrigerate until serving. Best eaten at room temperature.

Can you believe that the year is almost over?

I don't know where it went...

Fish and chips: Vaguely Mediterranean

The nights are finally beginning to get that familiar chill, the kind that makes you want to curl up on the couch, bowl in hand, and eat deeply warming food.

But we’re not quite there yet. The leaves on the maples out the front are only just now turning a shade more seasonally appropriate. Officially winter may be snapping at our heels; the reality is however very different.

Yesterday, Friday, was stunning. Autumn at her best. Sun streamed in through the windows urging me out on to the office balcony to finish the week's work.

I wanted to make Susan’s incredible Andean potato soup. I really did. The annatto seeds, an exotic and totally unfamiliar spice, arrived a couple of weeks ago. I was eager for the cold nights to settle into a pattern. Then that sunshine broke through - a reminder that it’s not quite deepest, darkest winter yet.

Instead, a slow-cooked Mediterranean potato dish called. Well, sort of Mediterranean. Some of the spicing (saffron and garlic) is from that region. The addition of a tablespoon raisins imitates the sweet/sour flavours of Sicilian food. Quite proudly I can say that this dish is pretty much my own with only a bit of technique nicked from Nadine Abensur.

The chips: This will serve four people, though I heartily recommend that even if you are only two that you make the full amount – you won’t regret it.

Braised, sort-of Mediterranean potatoes – for 2-4

300g of shallots (eshallots), small ones if possible
2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
500g of kipfler potatoes (or waxy salad potatoes), sliced into even chunks of about 3cm
2 cloves of garlic, finely sliced
2 cloves
Finely grated zest of 1 orange
1 tablespoon of raisins, soaked in hot water for 10 minutes and drained
Pinch of saffron
350ml of vegetable stock (cube is fine)
½ cup white wine
1 lemon
A handful of coriander leaves

First, peel your shallots. This is frankly annoying and difficult. So, here is the easy way. Bring a saucepan of water to the boil, chuck in the shallots and leave to blanch for 1 minute. Drain and cool a little before easily peeling away the skins. Much easier. Much less swearing.

Warm the oil in a large, lidded frying pan over a low-medium heat. Add the shallots, whole, and fry, stirring occasionally, for 15 minutes. Try not to let them burn too much, though there will inevitably be some that catch on the bottom of the pan. Add the potatoes and sauté for 2 minutes. Add the garlic, cloves, orange zest, raisins and saffron.

Tip in about 100mls of the stock. Fry for another 15 minutes, shaking the pan from time to time rather than stirring to concentrate the flavours on the bottom of the pan. Pour in the remaining stock, cover with a lid (a sheet of baking paper pressed right on top of the potatoes and liquid will do the same thing) and bring to the boil. Lower the heat and simmer, gently stirring occasionally for 30 minutes.

Lift off the lid, add the wine and cook until only a small amount of sauce remains in the pan (about 5-10 minutes).

Before serving, squeeze in some lemon juice to taste and stir through the fresh coriander. A green salad would complement these ‘taters nicely.

The fish: Firstly, I need to learn to cook fish more adventurously (suggestions are not only welcome, but encouraged!). That said, this is a favourite way with thin fillets of white fish – though next week I’m going to try the method kitchen hand described.

Take one or two fillets of King George Whiting per person. Dip into rice flour, pressing to coat well. Heat a large knob of butter in a frying pan over a medium-high flame and when it foams add your fish fillets, skin-side down. Fry for 2 minutes, flip and fry for another 1-2 minutes. Remove to the plates, add the juice of one orange to the pan and bubble for a second or two. Pour over fish.

'Fish' and 'Chips': Spice

Autumn is finally here, though the days still vary wildly from one another. Crazy-making wind, knocking over my pots of herbs one day; hot, sweltering days and nights the next. Unpredictability is something I have learned to expect of Melbourne weather over the last five years. What did Crowded House sing about four seasons in one day?

Thankfully, regardless of the weather, Indian is always right.

Indian food does all the right things for me. Being traditionally vegetarian is a huge positive, but it’s the spice that I keep coming back for and the myriad of flavours that spices can create, both alone and in combination with one another that excites my palate.

Looking at the recipes below, it’s become blindingly obvious that I love two things. Spice and fat. Admittedly, fat is used judiciously most of the time in our kitchen. Well, maybe my idea of ‘judiciously’ isn’t quite yours, but bear with me. These potatoes are well worth it. The combination of turmeric (I used this one from Herbies), fennel seeds and ghee was breathtaking. Neither of us could speak for some time.

So the ‘chips’ part of the meal uses what initially seems a huge amount (4 tablespoons) of ghee – please don’t try to compromise, just go for a walk afterwards if you are inclined to worry about such things. Personally, I’d rather not worry and just enjoy this sort of cooking as the weekly treat that it is (and should be). After all, Ayurvedic practitioners have been cooking with ghee for centuries and I remember reading in Madhur Jaffrey’s beautiful memoir ‘Climbing the Mango Trees’ that sickly Punjabi children are fed spoonfuls of the stuff to strengthen their prana. That’s good enough for me.

Following the Indian theme, these spicy fishcakes are a great accompaniment to the potatoes being both light and succulent, akin to those beautiful, if not a little ubiquitous tiny Thai ones. That was the starting point at least. These were actually very successful. Was very pleased.

The fish: For 2 (makes about 10)

I used flathead fillets, but use any white fish fillets that you like.

In a food processor, blitz 1 peeled and finely chopped shallot, 1 peeled and roughly chopped clove of garlic, 10 roughly chopped fresh curry leaves and a tiny piece of fresh chilli. Or pound to a paste in a mortar and pestle (much less washing up and so deeply satisfying after a crappy day).

Add ½ teaspoon of garam masala, ½ teaspoon of mustard seeds and ½ teaspoon of ground cumin and mix well. Take 250g or thereabouts of flathead fillets and chop them really finely, mincing them to a paste. Or pulse to a paste in a food processor. In a bowl, combine the spice paste with the fish, mix well and shape into small patties. Lightly coat in a little flour, dusting any excess off and set aside for about 30 minutes in the fridge on a lightly floured plate. Shallow fry them in a little oil until golden on both sides.

A sauce:

All this spice needed a sauce to go with it and the best one I know for a spicy meal is a bit of thick, plain yoghurt mixed with a bunch of finely chopped fresh mint leaves, or coriander leaves if you prefer. I used to think that people preferred mint over coriander, but the times, it would seem, they are a changing.

The potatoes: Serves 2

Sookhe Aloo sounds so much better than Dry Potatoes with Ginger and Garlic, though that is a more accurate description. Adapted from Madhur Jaffrey.

500g of waxy potatoes

Sea salt

Thumb-sized piece of ginger

3 cloves of garlic, peeled

1 teaspoon of ground turmeric

4 tablespoons of ghee (or a light olive or macadamia oil)

1 teaspoon of fennel seeds

Scrub the potatoes well and place them in a saucepan of cold water. Add a good pinch of salt, bring to the boil then simmer until just tender at knife point (anywhere between 10 and 25 minutes depending on the size of your spuds). Drain and cool. Peel, then dice the potatoes into 3 cm pieces and set aside.

Peel and roughly chop the ginger and the garlic. Using a mortar and pestle, pound the ginger, garlic, turmeric and 1 teaspoon of sea salt to a paste. Alternatively, use a food processor, adding 3 tablespoons of water while the motor runs - the water isn't really neccessary if your pounding the mixture by hand.

Warm the ghee or oil in a frying pan over a medium heat. When hot, drop in the fennel seeds and let them sizzle for a second or two. Stand back (it will sputter) and add the ginger-garlic paste, reduce the heat a little and stir fry for 2 minutes.

Chuck in the diced potatoes, turn the heat up to medium and keep the potatoes moving about in the pan often for about 10 minutes. Madhur’s recipe suggests that the potatoes should end up with an even, crispy coating. Mine were delightfully half-mushy, sticking to the base of the pan and those crusty bits, scraped as I stirred, made all the difference.

'Fish' and 'Chips': Asian flavours

Spent too much time working at the bookshop this past week. Too much time dealing with the general public, cranky and ungrateful buggers that they are. “I’d love to work in a bookshop. You must get to sit around reading all day”, they say. Never, not even once in my fifteen years of flogging books in various full time roles have I ever been able to stop for even a millisecond to actually read a book on the shop floor. Obviously my recent freedom from such duties, resulting in only one blissfully quiet day per week there now, is about all I (and the public) can take.

So by the time Friday came around, I was ready to cook something comforting.

If the pages of this blog are to represent the sort of food I cook on a regular basis, there was bound to be some coconut milk creeping in at some stage. What started out as a spoonful added here and there to enhance a stir fry, to deepen the flavour of a vegetable curry, has developed into a full-blown addiction to the full-fat stuff. No, none of that ‘light’ coconut milk for me thank you. On it’s own, coconut milk is fairly bland but, introduce it the fresh tastes of South East Asia and it’s another story entirely.

With the remainder of a side of ocean trout in the freezer, enough for the two of us, I wanted something sharp, fresh and clean from the fish part of the meal. The potatoes, as always, were the starting point. They would be creamy and comforting, but with a depth of flavour from lemongrass and kaffir lime leaf. As it turned out these two meals, delicious as they are on their own, are perfect together.

No, let me rephrase that. They are incredibly, seductively sexy together.

The fish: Simple. For 2.

Preheat the oven to 200 C. Take a large sheet of baking paper, and an equal sized sheet of aluminium foil. Lay the foil down on the bench and place the paper on top. Take two fillets of ocean trout or salmon and, using a sharp knife, remove, and then discard the skin. Place the fillets in the centre of the paper and top with 2 kaffir lime leaves, a small mound of peeled ginger cut into matchsticks, a small red chilli, finely chopped and a handful of fresh coriander. Drizzle over a splash of soy sauce or tamari and a thin dribble of macadamia oil (a light olive would be fine). Wrap up your fish parcel and cook in the preheated oven for 20 minutes. The fish will be tender and juicy.

The potatoes: I was left wanting some for lunch on Saturday, so beautiful are these and I urge you make the full amount. You’ll be glad you did.

South East Asian crushed coconut potatoes – serves 4

675g of waxy potatoes, scrubbed
Salt
2 stalks of lemongrass, tender white part only, finely chopped
400ml tin of coconut milk (full fat – go on, it’s so much better)
3 kaffir lime leaves, finely shredded
A large handful of fresh coriander, roughly chopped
Fish sauce
A grating of palm sugar (or a pinch of brown)
Half a lime

Cut the potatoes into quarters. Place in a large saucepan of cold water, salt it well, and bring to the boil. Toss in half of the lemongrass and reduce to a simmer, cooking for 20-25 minutes or until they are just beginning to break up. Drain very well when ready and return to the saucepan.

Meanwhile, warm the coconut milk in a small saucepan. Add the remaining lemongrass, the lime leaves and half of the coriander (use the roots too if you’ve been lucky enough to buy it root-end attached). Bring to a simmer then turn off the heat. Leave to infuse while the potatoes cook.

Strain the infused milk over the drained potatoes. Add a little fish sauce, tasting as you go. I love it so will happily add a rather generous splash or two, but suggest you start small – a teaspoon should be a good starting point. Grate a little palm sugar (or add a pinch of brown sugar) into the saucepan, squeeze in half a lime and stir it well. Gently reheat the whole lot, adding the remaining coriander just before serving.

'Fish' and 'Chips': Potato soup

Friday night is the best night of the entire week. It signals freedom, providing a definite end to the week that was and a window into the weekend that might be. For me it’s an afternoon spent thinking about food and an evening of slow, pleasurable cooking. And eating, more to the point. Probably more than I should – but who cares, it’s Friday, right?

Humble though the potato may be, it never ceases to amaze me that it can be elevated to the most amazing heights. Is there anything it cannot do? In combination with other, equally humble ingredients, it never fails to surprise me.

So, on my own again with the Artist working overseas, I needed something lovely, but easy. Autumn is here, officially that is, so despite the fact that the day had been quite warm, I settled on a potato soup. Something buttery, creamy and soothing with a little bit of bite.

The fish: A tapenade of anchovies and black olives. Okay, so this is a loose interpretation of ‘fish’, but somehow it’s right here, providing the necessary oomph to cut through the creamy soup. Take 6 anchovy fillets out of their jar, drain them on a bit of kitchen paper to mop up any excess oil then place them in a little dish and cover with some milk. Let them sit for about ten minutes before draining and patting dry again. Now chop them really finely. Take 12 black olives, bash them with the flat of your knife and pull out the pits (they should come away easily) then chop the olive flesh as finely as the anchovies. Take a tablespoon of capers, drain and rinse them, then roughly chop them too. Mix it all together and there’s your tapenade, ready for the soup.

The potatoes: The soup is thick and creamy and is finished with a thread of truffle oil, a tiny bottle of which was given to me and has sat unopened at the back of the cupboard for two years. I was starting to feel sorry for it, but any really good olive oil would be just as welcome. And it’s just occurred to me that if you soaked the hard rind from a chunk of parmesan in a jar of olive oil for one month, the resulting oil would be spectacular with this. And almost anything else you can imagine…yum.

This will comfortably feed four very hungry people not at all concerned about the tightness of their waistbands. Otherwise it will serve six, though you'll need more food to follow and there won't be any leftovers. This is the sort of thing that will feed people well, get you all sorts of complements and there's no great financial outlay for the cook. All in all a winner methinks.

Potato soup with tapenade and truffle oil – serves 4 (in theory)
You do not need to use truffle oil – it’s not essential by any means. Substitute with a good extra virgin (how that still make me giggle!) olive oil.

900g of potatoes (either waxy or floury ones – I used kipflers as that was what was in the drawer)

100g of butter

2 red onions, peeled and finely sliced

2 bay leaves

Sea salt

4 tablespoons of double or sour cream

1 quantity of tapenade (see ‘the fish’, above)

2 tablespoons of truffle oil (see the introduction)

Scrub the potatoes well then slice them very, very thinly. One of those cheap plastic mandolins does the job admirably, but you do have to watch your fingers - a sharp knife is just as good. Melt the butter in a large saucepan, add the onions and bay leaves and cook over the lowest heat, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes. They need to soften, but not brown.

Add the sliced potato to the pan and stir well. Continue to cook over a low heat for about 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add 1 teaspoon of salt and 1 litre of boiling water. Bring to the boil, then cover with a lid and lower the heat to a simmer, cooking for 40 minutes.

Pick out and discard the bay leaves. Liquidize the soup in small batches in a blender. It should be velvety smooth, so blend it for perhaps longer than you might think sensible. Pour the now smooth soup back into the pan, stir in the cream and check the consistency of the soup – it might need more boiling water added if it’s too thick for your liking. Taste for seasoning (it might need a bit more salt – mine did) and gently reheat without boiling.

Ladle the soup into bowls and place a dollop of tapenade in the centre of each. Pour a little oil in a rough circle around the tapenade and serve it, piping hot.

'Fish' and 'Chips': Potato pizza

February has been a month of mostly meals on my own. The Artist has been on numerous overseas trips, working in New Zealand and, as of this afternoon, Prague, so it’s just me. Not a bad thing at all. Indeed, I get to cook and eat whatever I please when I’m on my own. But I was starting to miss cooking for all of us.

Because the Artist’s been here so irregularly it was decided that the Actor, 16, and the Musician, 13, would spend last Friday night with us, eager eaters that they both have become. There was a time when the Musician wouldn’t have contemplated eating a meal based on fish and potatoes – he is the only child I have EVER met who claims to loathe roasted potatoes (madness, I know). Fish would rarely knowingly pass his lips. He’s a Bolognaise boy from way back. But something (was it his bah mitzvah last year?) has changed both him and his eating habits. He is now more adventurous than I’d ever dared to hope. Both boys, it would seem, love good food.

The peppery nasturtium plants in the back yard have finally begun to trail over the side of the wine barrel, a sure sign that they are ready to be picked and made into a salad, one with avocado and smoked salmon. Pizza, packed with potatoes, was the perfect choice for dinner.

The fish: Take 4 handfuls of washed and dried baby spinach leaves and toss into a bowl. Next add 2 handfuls of freshly picked nasturtium leaves. Drizzle with walnut oil, about 2 tablespoons worth and about 1 teaspoon of white wine vinegar and a pinch of sea salt. Toss until the leaves are well coated and glossy. Seed, peel and slice 1 avocado and add this to the bowl, tossing very gently. Transfer to a shallow serving plate. Toast a small handful of walnuts in a dry pan until fragrant (about 5 minutes) and break with your fingers over the top of the salad. Tear some strips of smoked salmon and drape over the whole lot. Pick a few nasturtium flowers and set on top as a finishing touch.

This worked really well, though the salmon wasn’t necessary, and it didn’t add anything special to the meal – I’ll leave it out next time. If you haven’t got nasturtium leaves, either omit them or use well picked watercress leaves – both are peppery and from the same botanical family.

The potatoes: Homemade pizza is something special. Something that never, ever fails to impress. A potato-topped pizza is one step better.

Pizza - makes 4 pizzas

120g of wholemeal flour

450g of plain flour

1 teaspoon of sea salt

2 x sachets of dried yeast

2 tablespoons of milk

4 tablespoons of olive oil

For the base, mix the flours together in a bowl. Add the salt, yeast, milk, olive oil and 250ml of warm water. Using you hands, bring the ingredients together until a dough starts to form. Place the dough on a lightly floured bench top and knead for 8-10 minutes (therapeutic work this bread making) then shape the dough into a ball. Place it in a lightly oiled bowl and rub the dough around to lightly coat it (this prevents a skin forming on the surface, one that would otherwise stop it rising properly). Cover with plastic wrap and set aside in a warm place for 30 minutes to rise.

For the potato topping

3 medium-large sized potatoes, washed and thinly sliced

5 onions, peeled and very thinly sliced

6 tablespoons of olive oil, plus extra for drizzling

Small handful of fresh thyme leaves

1 large globe of buffalo mozzarella, torn with your fingers (quite satisfying!)

Plain yoghurt

Shavings of parmesan

Bring the potatoes to the boil in salted water, reduce the heat and simmer for five minutes. Drain thoroughly and gently place in a very clean tea towel to absorb all the water – the potatoes need to be super-dry to work here. Set aside.

Fry the onion slowly in the oil until soft and golden (about 25 minutes).

Preheat the oven to 220 C.

Divide the risen dough into 4. Roll each piece out to a round of roughly 23cm (the more ‘rustic’ the shapes, the more charming the pizzas, so don’t be precious). Leave to rise on a baking tray in a warm place for about ten minutes. Evenly spread the onions over each base, followed by the potatoes, thyme, cheese and dot with yoghurt. Drizzle with oil, top with parmesan shavings and bake in the oven for twenty minutes or so, until the bases are crisp.

The photo doesn't really do the pizza justice - but I'd had a couple of glasses of wine by then...

'Fish' and 'Chips' 2: Poor man's potatoes

On Friday afternoon an old school friend of mine arrived in Melbourne for the weekend, someone I’ve known for a very long time. Our friendship was forged in 1985 during a rather heated debate about Duran Duran and Wham. As I said, it was a long time ago. Luckily we’ve both moved on in terms of both musical and fashion sense since then. Kylie was down here to farewell a friend of hers who is moving, following her heart, to Switzerland. So, as the visit was last minute and potentially frantic, lunch in the city somewhere was the best option.

After a beautiful meal of crab and red mullet ravioli and a few glasses of very well chilled white wine, it was clear that neither of us could fit anything else in. So, it would seem, my Friday night fish and chips post would be, well, empty. But I had a little something up my sleeve, a meal I had cooked and wanted to share; it’s just that there was no photo. No matter – words alone will have to suffice. Instead, here are two unrelated photographs; a close-up of one of the artists paintings, the other of our cumquat tree. I love that tree.

The fish: When the potatoes are well and truly ready, get your fish on the go – they will take only a moment or two of your attention. Over a high heat, quickly pan-fry King George Whiting fillets (or any thin, delicious white fish) in a little butter and grated orange zest. Cook for 2-3 minutes, skin side down. Flip over and cook for 1 minute longer. When nearly ready, douse with a good squeeze of orange juice and allow it all to bubble for another 30 seconds or so. Ready to go.

The potatoes: A peasant dish, Spanish in origin, of slowly cooked potatoes and capsicums (bell peppers). It’s yet another example of how the humblest of ingredients can be elevated something magnificent with little effort. The Artist moaned with pleasure over these. So did I. The fish, so sweetly scented with orange, were a good accompaniment, but these potatoes are a meal in themselves. Fresh bay leaves really do make all the difference here.

Patatas a lo pobre – serves 4

Or ‘Poor Man’s Potatoes’. All I can say is that things aren’t too bad if this is all you have to eat. Yes, that is a lot of olive oil and it’s not a misprint, but not all of it is eaten, rather it is drained away at the end. You can use it to fry onions (delicious) or anything else for that matter, just make sure that you put the oil in the fridge and use it within a couple of days.

1 cup of extra virgin olive oil

3 large red onions, sliced into thin half moons

6 cloves of garlic, sliced thickly

2 red capsicums, roughly chopped

1 yellow or green capsicum, roughly chopped

3-4 fresh bay leaves

1 kilo of waxy potatoes, desiree or kipfler for example, peeled

A couple of handfuls of cherry tomatoes

Sea salt and pepper

In a large, heavy-based frying pan with a lid, gently heat 5 tablespoons of the olive oil and add the finely sliced onion with a pinch of salt to release their juices. Cook on a low heat, stirring occasionally, for 20 minutes, until softened and translucent. Add the garlic, roughly chopped capsicums and bay leaves. Cook gently for another 15 minutes.

Cut potatoes lengthwise, then cut each piece into 3 chunks and salt lightly. Add the rest of the olive oil to the pan and when it has heated up, add the potatoes and tomatoes. Leave to simmer for 20 minutes with the lid on, then remove the lid and continue to cook for another 20-30 minutes, by which time the potatoes will have cooked through completely when pierced with a skewer. When ready, drain much of the oil off the potatoes through a sieve into a jug. Just enough oil will be left to coat them, making them very beautiful and luscious indeed.

The leftover oil is a boon – store it in a jar and fry onions in it when next making pasta sauce. It is richly flavoured and luscious.

'Fish' and 'Chips' 1 - Tuna

Most Fridays the focus is on the potatoes, the ‘chips’ part of the meal, the fish an accompaniment to the gloriously cooked spuds. I love potatoes. As a child I always wanted what we referred to as ‘cheesy potatoes’, a Gratin Dauphinoise though we didn't know that was it's name then... I would wolf down what was on my plate and try to secretly take seconds before anyone else noticed I was gone from the table. Fat chance! Somehow, there just never seemed to be enough!

So nutritionists and carbohydrate-police be damned; potatoes are virtuous, sustaining and unmatchable. Just ask any Irishman. Nothing else comes close. But occasionally it’s the fish that takes centre stage. Like tonight.

The potatoes – pebbly Jersey Royals from the self-proclaimed ‘Potato Man’(he must be an interesting super-hero, don’t you think?) at the market – are scrubbed, then steamed whole over a pan of simmering water. When tender at knife-point, they are removed to a bowl and gently broken up with a fork, crushed ever-so-slightly to reveal their steaming insides. While still hot they are bathed in lemon-infused olive oil, tossed and seasoned. Simple, but only worth doing if your potatoes are perfect and new, your olive oil magnificent.

The fish - I always feel vaguely guilty about eating tuna. It’s like the beef of the sea with its huge, dense, fillets. And I know that it is not native to our waters in Australia, being reared in the dreaded fish farms off the South Australian coast. For us though, it is a once a year treat. The recipe is nicked, rather shamelessly I might add, from Jamie Oliver. Doubled, this would easily feed 4 or be enough to make a second meal the following night, tossed through pasta.

Tonno di nonna fangitta – for 2

500g of ripe tomatoes, a mixture of yellow and red if possible (ours came from the garden and were so gorgeous I had to put in a photo)

200-250g of super fresh tuna, about the size of 1 fillet

2 cloves of garlic, finely sliced

1 sprig of rosemary, leaves picked

1 small fresh red chilli, deseeded and finely sliced

Olive oil

2 tablespoons of capers, rinsed

3 anchovy fillets

1 teaspoon of fresh oregano leaves

½ cinnamon stick

½ tin of tomatoes (about 200g)

Sea salt and pepper

A handful of parsley to serve – Jamie says it’s optional, but it aint

Use a small pot that will fit the tuna snugly – too big and the tuna won’t poach properly.

First, peel your tomatoes. Prick each one with the tip of a knife to pierce the skins, and place them in a heat-proof bowl. Pour a kettle of freshly boiled water over the tomatoes, wait for 40-60 seconds depending on their size, drain and pop into a bowl of cold water. When cool enough to handle, slip of their skins then carefully squeeze out their seeds.

Make about 5 deep incisions in the tuna flesh on one side with a sharp knife point. Place a few leaves of rosemary, a sliver of garlic and a sliver of chilli in these incisions. The remainder will be used, so don’t be concerned about wastage.

Put your well chosen pot on the heat and add a tablespoon or so of olive oil. Add the remaining garlic, rosemary and chilli along with the capers, anchovies, oregano and cinnamon stick and cook on a gentle heat until the garlic softens. Add the peeled tomatoes, tinned ones and bring to the boil. Lower the heat to a gentle simmer, breaking the tomatoes up with a wooden spoon. Season with salt and pepper then add your tuna, ensuring it is totally submerged. Pop the lid on partially and cook for 20-25 minutes. It will ‘flake’ easily when ready to eat.

Remove the pot from the flame and allow to cool, lid on, to room temperature. Serve with the warm potatoes that you can cook and prepare during this cooling period. Sprinkle with parsley, chopped as roughly or finely as you like before serving. Oh-my-god-good.

Fish and chips

The children’s magazine I write for lost the new address. Bugger. A quick email, just checking what was happening, resulted in a piles picture books and novels arriving at my door and a panicked editor begging for my work with a 10 day deadline. Double bugger. I am up to my ears in books. Again.

Being something of a Luddite, there are times when it is difficult to keep up with posting here, despite the fact that I have more inclination and time on my hands than ever before. Years of working as a bookseller meant that my world and working life were filled with, obviously, books. Computers were used for enquiries and sales; tracking returns and special orders. I didn’t have one in my home until the journey south and only got my first email address in 2001… I’m only just beginning to understand a little of the world of ‘puters. In truth, I still prefer writing and sketching in my Moleskin notebook, but having recently acquired a laptop of my own I feel compelled to use it!

So, in an effort to keep myself posting, I have set myself a task, something most bloggers seem to do. Friday night is often Fish and Chips night at our house, though neither the fish nor chips are battered or deep-fried. It’s a traditional dish for many people and open to lots of interpretation and experimentation. More accurately, ours is Fish and Potatoes (any kind, done any way) a meal that seems a little celebratory, but is easy and luxurious. Each Friday I will try something different, posting the subsequent results here. Wish me luck.