Beef Stroganoff

Okay, so I know that it’s not really Beef Stroganoff weather (or ‘Beef Strongenough’, so named by one reader of the Jamie Oliver forum) right now, but just before Christmas, Melbourne threw down one of those characteristic wet and cold patches that make you want to yank the Le Creuset out of hibernation and crank up the electric blanky.

It was during this wild week that I happened to catch an autumn episode of Jamie at Home, and found myself salivating as he prepared a fetchingly dark and succulent Beef Strog. Big chunks of meat, garlic, onions, mushrooms and the seemingly out of place pickled gherkins to go with the usual sour cream and parsley sauce. I wasn’t sure about the gherkins, but I was prepared to give it a crack, especially given that years ago, Jamie put me on to anchovies in stew, and I’ve never looked back. I may well complain about him a lot, but it’s definitely thinly disguised jealousy, because I will ogle his food and his garden at any opportunity. It’s practically stalking. Lucky he lives in the UK.

So, despite Channel Ten’s advertisements claiming that Jamie at Home recipes were available on their website, there were none to be found. As a matter of fact, the blurb on the program page still says ‘not currently showing – new episodes coming soon’. Might I tactfully suggest that the PR Ho-Ho-Hoes at Network Serious get their shite together? Anyhoo, I googled the recipe, found afore-mentioned Jamie forum, which contained recipe queries from several similarly inspired Australian viewers. I also happened upon this old thread on Kitchen Wench’s blog. If you don’t have time for a look, let’s just say that there is a lot of anti-gherkin sentiment out there. In fact, the recipe itself did not receive rave reviews. In the end I decided to go with a combination of Rich Stein’s recipe (thanks Wench-reader-Mellie) and the Bill Granger version from the August '04 Delicious. (does anyone else find that full stop annoying?) that I have been using faithfully for the last couple of years.

As you can see, it’s still not the most photogenic of dishes, however I do think the tomato paste adds a bit of richness to the colour (and flavour). This one we ate with steamed rice (because that is what Mini Chef requested), but it is lovely with fresh buttered noodles.



Ingredients:
6oog beef fillet or rump steak, trimmed and cut into thick strips
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoons of Hungarian paprika
1 large red onion, thinly sliced
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
400g mushrooms - I prefer swiss browns, but whatever takes your fancy
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme leaves
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1/3 cup chopped parsley
1/2 cup creme fraiche or sour cream
fresh pepper and sea salt

fresh lemon and hot buttered noodles, to serve

Directions:
Melt butter in a large heavy-based frying pan and cook onion and paprika until onion is soft and sweet. Add garlic, thyme and mushrooms and fry gently for a few minutes. Remove to plate.

Heat olive oil in the same pan and add the meat in batches, seasoning with pepper and sea salt as you go. Brown the meat quickly on all sides, remove to a plate and add the next batch until all of it is done.

Turn down the heat, return the meat to the pan and add the tomato paste and mustard, cooking for about a minute. Add the mushroom mixture, stir, then add the sour cream and parsley. Stir through and simmer for no more than a minute, then remove from the heat. Season if necessary.

Serve with the hot buttered noodles, a squeeze of lemon juice and a blob of sour cream.

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Do I really want to cook a Cassoulet?

A hearty stew is as essential to winter as a warm blanky, Ugh Boots and a hot water bottle. I am always on the lookout for a nice, interesting variation, but this year, I've been somewhat preoccupied with the idea of preparing an authentic Cassoulet. For those unfamiliar with the delights of French cookery, a Cassoulet is a traditional stew of pork, sausages, duck (or goose) and haricot beans originating from the Languedoc region of central France. It is creamy, and yes, it is as fatty as it sounds, but oh my, is it exquisite. I've found no shortage of recipes, however one which balances authenticity with time constraints is proving rather elusive (perhaps I am being a little naive in thinking that I can find a recipe that is simple, yet still authentic).

My first stop was the bible - Larousse Gastronomique (because I don't own a copy of Elisabeth David). According to Larousse, there are a number of different variations on the dish, and what meats you include depends upon the specific region the recipe comes from. For example, the inclusion of mutton is 'sacrilegious' according to the proponents of the Toulouse version, whereas it is considered 'essential' in Carcassonne. I myself, am leaning towards the no-mutton variety (she says tentatively, as members of the Carcassonne Cassoulet Preservation Society throw they hands in the air and cry, 'merd!') Anyway, if I want to give one of the Larousse options a crack, I am going to need vast quantities of goose or pork fat, a baker's oven, and a glazed earthenware pot, called a toupin (not to mention about 27 hours to cook the thing).

Valiantly, I continued my search. Next I turned to Stephanie Alexander's Cooking & Travelling in South-West France. According to her PR, this book won best French Cuisine cookery book in the WORLD a few years ago (not sure what happened to the French cookery books that were actually French, but anyway) so should provide some useful suggestions. Unfortunately, Stephanie's Cassoulet (as it is entitled - a little narcissistic, if you ask me) requires minced pork fat, rind from a loin of pork, rendered duck fat... the fatty list goes on.

So at this point, I was thinking, maybe I like the idea of making a Cassoulet more than I like the Cassoulet itself (forgive me for the existentialism). After all, I've only really eaten it a couple of times (whilst on a brief foodie-jaunt in the Lot region of France). Perhaps the challenge is what's keeping me so focussed on this (thus far) fruitless search? I'm not sure, but I do remember that Cassoulet tasting pretty freakin' good. I remember the confit duck falling from the bone, I remember the sweet and juicy sausage bursting in my mouth and I remember the creamy beans and crusty bread that soaked up all the delicious juices. Mmm.

Onwards and upwards. Given that this whole episode was inspired by John Burton Race (that's him... the picture comes from the Channel 4 promo page for the program) frolicking around the stunning countryside in French Leave (if you haven't see it, you should; it's yummy and hilarious), I thought I'd check his recipe out. John spent weeks visiting copious little old ladies demonstrate their own version of the classic before embarking on a marathon session of his own. It began at 5am and didn't finish until the dish was presented at 8 that night to the 'Order of the Cassoulet' (not a Harry Potter parody). Members of the Order, who were actually wearing hats shaped like a toupin, gave it the thumbs up (stressing that it was excellent for 'an Englishman'), however they all suggested that it should have been cooked a little longer. Longer?!?

JBR's recipe is about 150 lines long (and that's just the list of ingredients), and he wants me to find juniper berries to crush, and veal shin for the stock and now it's all seeming a bit too hard. I may just have to concede defeat and find one of those celebrity chef, quick-fix bastardisations of a classic recipe. You know the ones; the title is usually preceded by the word 'lightning'. I bet there's a Jamie Oliver or Ainsley version out there somewhere. I'll keep you informed.

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Syrian Chicken

Karen Martini is a legend. Apart from the fact that she named her baby Stella (an excellent choice, I feel) she manages to devise recipes that are absolutely packed with flavour, but still maintain a rustic, bistro vibe (it's Mabo) to them that just makes you want to rush out and buy all of the ingredients immediately (it also makes you want to give her a big cuddle and mumble, "thank you," into her ample bosom. Or perhaps that's just me). Her cookbook, appropriately titled, Where the Heart is has been in my possession for around six months now, and I have already cooked at least twenty recipes from it. Considering the number of cookbooks (not to mention food mags) I own, this is high praise indeed. Karen Martini is personally responsible for every purchase of Better Homes and Gardens Magazine I buy. Since receiving the precious cookbook as a Christmas gift, I've noticed that a number of the recipes have already been published in a glossy Fairfax mag, or dumbed down for Broken Homes and Gardens. Sometimes though, Karen pulls a swifty, and stuns us all with a weekend recipe that we won't be able to find elsewhere. Take this Syrian Chicken recipe, for example. It's been published twice (on request) in the Sun Herald and Sunday Life in the past twelve months. I, for one, cannot get enough of it. Eat - then let me know if you agree.

Syrian Chicken

Ingredients:
2 tspn salt
2 tspn ground cumin
2 tspn ground cinnamon
1 tspn ground turmeric
1 tspn freshly ground black pepper
1.4 - 1.6 kg chicken, cut into 8 pieces
100ml olive oil
5 cloves garlic, bruised
2 brown onions, thickly sliced
100g fresh ginger, peeled and cut into matchsticks
2 red chillies, split
2 tomatoes, coarsely chopped
2 pinches saffron threads
1/2 tspn cumin seeds
5 sprigs thyme
1 lemon, zested and juiced
2 tbspn honey
100g currants
2 tbspn vegetable stock powder
1/2 bunch of coriander

Directions:
Combine salt, cumin, cinnamon, pepper and turmeric in a large bag, add chicken and shake to coat. Heat olive oil in a large heavy-based pan over a high heat. Add chicken and brown on all sides. Remove and set aside. Add onions, ginger, garlic and chillies to pan and cook for around 3 minutes, adding a little more oil if necessary. Add tomatoes, saffron, cumin seeds and thyme and cook for 2 minutes.

Return chicken to pan and add lemon zest, juice, honey, currants, stock powder and enough water to cover. Cook, covered for 10 - 15 minutes. Uncover and simmer for a further 10 - 15 minutes or until chicken is cooked through and sauce is slightly reduced. Stir in coriander and serve with couscous and roasted vegetables.

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Romas go home

After this year’s bumper crop (which we have attributed to the drought, smoke haze from the bushfires and loads of Charlie Carp), we have decided that there is little better than home-grown tomatoes. The Romas came first, all deciding (rather considerately, as it turns out) to ripen at once. At first we tried eating them in sandwiches and salads, but soon discovered that they were somewhat watery and lacking in flavour. So, I referred to the trusty copy of ‘Fork to Fork’. If you’ve never heard of it, Fork to Fork was a most excellent program run on the Lifestyle channel several years ago. It followed this couple, Monty and Sarah Don (who are apparently quite well known in the UK) around their spectacular organic garden, as they planted, tended and cooked their produce through the seasons. We were simultaneously engrossed and tortured with jealousy through every episode. They had spent ten years planting fruit trees, walling the garden beds with WOVEN BRANCHES (for goodness sake!), composting, more planting... it was like ‘The Good Life’ on HGH. They even had an original baker’s wood oven in the farmhouse on the property, and had ‘discovered’ and done up an AGA (oh, but how I coveted the AGA) for the purposes of everyday cooking. Unfortunately, there is no DVD available for the program, but you can get a hold of the accompanying book through Amazon.

Digression. So I checked in the Fork to Fork book, and Monty, bless him, had a suggestion for what to do with slightly tasteless, as he described them, ‘English’ tomatoes. You basically just cut them in half, drizzle them with olive oil, sprinkle over a few cloves of some finely sliced garlic and herbs of you choice (I used fresh thyme), season, and put them in a hot oven for half an hour or so.

My, oh my, were they tasty. I would have included an after shot as well, but we ate them too fast. I served them as an accompaniment to a yum-yum meatloaf wrapped in prosciutto. I cooked about a kilo of them, so we now have several containers waiting patiently in the freezer for the perfect occasion to arise. I’m thinking pizza. Mmmm.

Here’s the meatloaf recipe to make you hungry, hungry hippo. It makes a huge portion, so you might want to halve it. It’s based on a recipe in last year’s winter edition of Donna Hay magazine.

Posh Meatloaf

750g quality minced meat (I used half pork, half beef)
1 large carrot, grated
I large zucchini, grated and squeezed
1 ½ cups of cooked couscous
6 green onions, chopped
1 cup chopped oregano or thyme leaves
1 cup chopped basil leaves
sea salt and cracked black pepper
12 slices of prosciutto

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees. Place all the ingredients except the prosciutto in a bowl and mix well to combine. Lightly grease a loaf tin and line with the prosciutto, leaving enough excess over the edges to cover the meat loaf later. [Important note: in Donna’s recipe, they suggest an 8 x 26cm tin, but this isn’t a standard size. Mine was shorter and wider, which increased the cooking time considerably.] So then you just push the meatloaf mixture into the tin and fold the prosciutto over the top. Bake for 45mins – 1 hour 15 mins (depending on the width of the tin), or until cooked through. Remove from the oven, rest for a bit then turn out and slice. Serve with afore-mentioned, roasted tomatoes.

Serves 6 – 8.

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Kickarse Pasta Puttanesca

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It has been 8 weeks since my last blogfession. A little guilt-inducing needling from a fellow Blogsketeer last night has driven me, head hung low in shame, to the keyboard. I have of course, been unfathomably busy since last we met. What, with taking care of Number One Child, working, studying and the aftermath of Stingray’s untimely death on Neighbours (blood poisoning, I ask you!) I’ve hardly had time to scratch my proverbial self. Hopefully the goodness that follows will make up for this unacceptable absence.

I thought it was about time I published an actual recipe, rather than just describing one. This is a tasty version of one I saw on Tony & Georgio, a fabulous English cooking program that aired on Seven’s Saturday Kitchen last year. It’s a great show… haven’t been able to find a DVD copy or a related cookbook title, so I’ve had to try out the recipes from memory (too lazy to get up off the couch and find a pen). I saw the Puttanesca on the ‘Hangover’ episode. Tony (English geezer) and Georgio (Italian love-God) charge around London downing bevvies and generally running amok. The Puttanesca was Georgio’s answer to the greasy fry-up Tony had suggested as a possible cure for their self-induced ills. Feeling somewhat fragile myself, I decided to cook it that night. Verdict? It kicks arse. In fact, it could also potentially be renamed ‘Lickarse Pasta Puttanesca’, because it would serve very well for one of those, ‘please forgive me for my minor misdemeanour’ type dinners. Easy AND impressive. Outstanding qualities for any recipe.

Ingredients:
½ tin chopped tomatoes
handful of small basil leaves, washed and dried
small tin of GOOD QUALITY tuna in oil
tablespoon salted capers, rinsed and drained, chopped if you like
3 – 4 anchovies, chopped
2 cloves garlic, finely sliced
300 grams dried pasta

Directions:
Get your pasta cooking (I think dried spaghetti or bavette works best with this recipe). Heat a deep frying pan over a medium heat, add a lug of olive oil then throw in the garlic. Stir for thirty seconds (make sure you don’t burn the garlic) then throw in the anchovies and stir for a bit. Once the anchovies begin to melt, add the tuna and capers. Don’t break the tuna up too much; it’s nicer chunky. Finally, add the tomatoes and basil. Resist the urge to put in the whole can. This is a tuna sauce with tomato, not a tomato sauce with tuna (thanks, Georgio). Let this simmer gently until the pasta is al dente. Drain the spaghetti, addling about ½ a ladleful of the pasta water to the sauce. Toss the pasta through the hot sauce. Yum. Doesn’t need any parmesan, but hey, whatever gets you through the day.

Serves 2 greedy people.

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Duck Pies

Mmmm. I love duck. I love pies. The logical progression? A pie that is filled with duck!
My best friend Tam and I have both been known to utter an involuntary 'Yum' as we pass innocent (and possibly protected) duckies, swimming or waddling along, oblivious to the danger they face in our presence. I can't help myself. I see cute little feathered animals and some hidden switch in my head immediately flicks to 'lunch'.

This particular recipe comes from a friend of my mother's. She passed it on to me on condition of a promise that I will never publish it anywhere or pass it on to anyone I know. Serious stuff. Given the threat of death, I will refrain from sharing its recipe in its entirety, however I can tell you that the filling is a delicious combination of Asian condiments, Chinese BBQ duck, and a small member of the onion family. Give it a go.

Despite the exquisite outcome, the production of a large quantity of the pies has been for me and my devoted, pastry-cutting minions, an exhausting task. I first attempted the bite-sized morsels of quacky goodness for a good friend's engagement party. His mother was doing most of the catering, and given my culinary reputation amongst my friends (sorry, modesty not a virtue) I felt the need to offer a contribution. I had tasted the pies a month earlier and already begged its owner for the recipe.

After the offer, I forgot about the whole thing for a couple of weeks. Until that is, I next spoke to my friend, let's call him James, to discover that the Engagement Party's guest list had blown out to 130. "Eek," was my private response. Still, alarm bells weren't quite ringing loudly enough to deter me from the task. How bad could it be? A few ducks, some mini muffin tins, a bit of pastry? "No sweat," declared my cocky self to the grateful James. I'd catered before, spent three days cooking for a 30th when I was 36 weeks pregnant, in fact. I was sure I could handle it.

As soon as I actually sighted the recipe, the volume of the alarm bells increased from a faint, wind-chime like tinkle, to a living next door to the airport, jet-engine roar. "Makes sixteen entree-sized pies". The recipe, amongst it's other important ingredients, listed one Chinese BBQed duck.

"Okay," I rationalised. "Let's not panic." I was, after all, not making entree-sized pies. I was making mini pies. Using mini muffin pans. If one duck made sixteen entree-sized pies, then I should be able to get at least 24 mini pies to a duck. After a brief discussion with James, I calculated that I should be able to get away with four ducks, to make around 100 pies. Didn't matter if there wasn't enough for one each. There were a number of vegetarians (heathens) invited and a few people (crazies) didn't like duck, so we'd be right.

I enlisted the help of a friend, who had volunteered herself and her boyfriend to fill the muffin holes with pastry, while I filled, topped and cooked the pies. It started relatively simply. A one and a half hour round trip to Box Hill, chiller bag and infant in tow, to buy the ducks. Luckily I used to work in the area and knew where to park. Once home, the ducks were deboned and chopped (juices reserved) in a little over an hour. They were then refrigerated overnight, due to an ill-timed dinner invitation. The following morning, the unpaid help arrived and I set to work making the filling. Half an hour later, we began to fill the pies. Luckily, the recipe calls for store-bought puff pastry sheets, so it was just a matter of cutting out the bases and lids with cookie cutters, filling the pies, trimming to make them look pretty, basting with egg wash and placing in the oven for around ten minutes. Easy, right?

As I began to fill the pie trays, I noticed that each little base was taking around a teaspoon of the pie filling. I had a very large pot of filling (four ducks, remember) and only seven mini muffin trays. I had expected that there would need to be some rotation of trays, but after half an hour of filling pies and baking had made barely a dent in the vast quantity of filling before me, I began to get nervous. There was no way I was going to waste any of that gorgeous (not to mention expensive) filling when I knew that there were 130 duck-hungry (minus a few weirdos) mouths to feed in a few short hours.

So on we worked. We cut, we pressed, we filled, we forked and we basted. We went to the supermarket for more puff pastry. We voted (the party happened to fall on the day of the Victorian State Election). After four and a half hours, we had around 200 duck pies in containers and trays filling our usually ample fridge. And about minus 30 minutes to get to the party on time. I barely had time to wash the eu de canard from my hands and we were out the door.

The effort was certainly well appreciated (but probably not with a full understanding of the scope of my team's efforts - nobody likes a whinging gift horse) and the pies a hit. There were 12 left over, and I brought them home, revelling in the memory of the many accolades my contribution had received.

It was probably the buzz of victory (and possibly that of the champagne I was quaffing) that lead to my next dubious offering on Christmas Day. My brother's lovely financè was talking about the date of their engagement party, planned at her parents' home, her mother intending to do most of the catering herself.....

You can see where this is heading. The party was last night. Miracle of miracles, the same friend offered her support. The pies, again, a hit. And my maths is improving. I halved the recipe.

The resulting pies, cooling:



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Land Downuner

Did you know that a monkey has an angry 'oo-oo' noise, and a happy 'oo-oo' noise? Apparently you can also tell the difference between a grimace and a smile. A little bit more monkey info every day.

Well, what a weekend. Mark and I managed to successfully paint the town dark brown in just a few short hours.

He arrived very late Thursday night, and we were able to catch up Friday afternoon after my class had finished (those of you who are not interested in food should skip the next couple of paragraphs).

The first thing we did was head for the markets, as Mark was hanging for some Wurst & Kraut. The outdoor market here in Munich is stunning; in terms of meat, you can get absolutely everything (from both inside and outside the animal), both beautiful and stinky cheeses (the stinkier the better), local wines, organic fruits and vegies and even seafood (although 100g of scallops costs about $10). Mark was particularly impressed by the fresh pig's heads sitting in one butcher's window.

Needless to say, we went out for some traditional Bavarian food (and beverages) that night. The meal was outstanding (as was the entertainment - there was a family feud going on a couple of tables down). Mark had roast pork, knödel and about 3 & 1/2 litres of beer. I had roast PIGLET (is that what we call 'suckling pork'? Doesn't sound so horrible when you say it like that) which was absolutely amazing. The crackle was the best I have ever tasted, and it was served with knödel and a lovely wine gravy. Felt slightly guilty about eating Babe, but what can you do? I figure he was already dead before I ordered.

Saturday we did some touristy stuff - went to the Royal residence, saw the crown jewels and the estate rooms. Was fab, but those kinds of details do not an interesting e-mail make, so I will move on. To lunch. Walked past this stunning Konditorei, and had to go in. We both had these delicious (and expensive) berry tarts; the pastry cases were lined with chocolate, then filled with a berry cream (maybe a creme fraiche or marscapone), topped with fresh raspberries and glazed. Mmmmm. Mark had a hot chocolate that I swear, was just a mug of melted chocolate with about a teaspoon of milk thrown in for good measure. He had a bit of a sugar rush afterwards (think of post-slushie Bart and Millhouse).

Okay, so I've got the food rant out of the way. Moving right along, after the Royal Residence we decided it was beer o'clock. We had walked past this very busy looking lokal on our way to the museum, so decided to head back there. On our way, we walked past an Aussie Bar. Of course, we had to go in for a look. It was hilarious. Up above the bar, there were these sort of paper mache (how the hell do you spell that?) sculptures of sharks & crocodiles, little Aussie flags, road signs, a painting of Ned Kelly, bar coasters in the shape of Aus - you name it. Mark and I were dumbstruck (and a little mortified). We we're standing there cacking ourselves laughing and taking photos, when this old guy sitting at the bar said, 'what are you laughing at?' (in a non-threatening way, I should add). So I said, 'this place, it's hysterical,' and he said, 'steady on, I designed it!'

I thought he was bull-shitting me at first, but he wasn't. He's this 60 year old English bloke (Bernie) who lives in Munich and designs the decor for theme bars (Irish, Aussie, English etc) in continental Europe. He reminded me a little bit of one of the characters from father Ted (the old one who says 'feck' all the time). So we're having this amusing little chat, and he suddenly says, 'You're lovely you are. Do kiss with you mouth open or closed?' At this point, Mark ducked for cover (he was in the potential line of fire), but I restrained myself, and simply told Bernie that I was used to dealing with children, but that they generally knew better than to ask questions such as the one he just had [I also told him that had he been 30 years younger, I might have answered his question. One must fight fire with fire].

It was all very funny. He took it rather well and managed to continue our conversation with only a few minor misdemeanours. Apparently, he'd rather have me for a wife than Catherine Zeta-Jones any day (not sure if she was offering - unclear. She does seem to prefer older men).

Also started chatting to one of the bar staff, a girl from Perth, who has been here for about 4 months but doesn't speak any German. When I told her I was a German teacher at home, she immediately asked me how much I would charge for lessons. I was like, 'um, I don't know, 10 Euros an hour??' So I'm now getting $20 an hour ($30 if her housemate comes too) to teach basic German to someone who actually wants to learn - it's like a fairytale! Had our first lesson today - she was actually really quick to pick up everything. We will probably do about 6 lessons before I come home, and the extra cash will definitely come in handy (food here v. expensive. Everything here v. expensive).

Back to the bar. We also got talking to this Irish girl and her partner, who live somewhere in the North of England (forget where) and decided to invite them along to the Hofbräuhaus with us for dinner. I think it is imperative that all visitors to München go to the Hofbräuhaus at least once. Was a right larf. Ordered beers, and they came out in litre Stein glasses. Sang along with the German band (very much like 'The Cuckoo'), found out that Chris (of the couple) was a Buffy fan - yay, bought tacky key-ring with a photo of us in it holding afore-mentioned steins and got chatted up by cute Egyptian waiter (was on fire, I'm telling you), who wanted me to meet him after work. When I told him that I had a husband, he said, 'that's okay - you can leave him at home'.

After that, we went on to another Aussie bar (they're everywhere) and found ourselves dancing to ACDC (but also ABBA, Guns and Roses, Underworld - weird mix really) until 4 in the morning. Apparently the Aussie community in Munich (consisting mainly of bar staff) do a bit of a crawl from bar to bar every Friday and Saturday night after work. Couldn't do it myself. Didn't drink that much, but still felt like shit all day yesterday (still not that crash-hot now actually).

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