Mrs Robertson Presents...

Don't Worry My Little Dumpling, Daddy's Gonna Make It Alright

2011-08-29T10:15:00.000+10:00

Ohhh, there seems to have been quite some time between posts. Let’s blame a technical hitch, shall we? It’s not like one spent the past two dark and frozen months lying inert by the fire snivelling into a tankard of shiraz and mumbling incoherently at the television, the horrors of which only Seasonal Affective Disorder can bring. Not like that at all.

Dumplings though! Dumplings could warm the heart of Otzi the Iceman. And I’m talking the Chinese variety. Those slippery, wrinkly, salty, slightly rubbery little pouches of delight that can be savoured in the mouth one or two at a time.

Chinese dumplings (jiaozi) may be divided into various types depending on how they are cooked: boiled, steamed or shallow fried. In China, jiaozi are eaten all year round and at any time of the day – breakfast, lunch or dinner. They can constitute one course, starter or side dish, or the main meal. Every family has its own preferred method of making them, with favourite fillings, and of course, jiaozi types and preparation vary widely according to region. According to folk tales, jiaozi were invented by Zhang Zhongjing, one of the greatest practitioners of traditional Chinese medicine in history. They were originally called "tender ears" because they were used to treat frostbitten ears. (Which is very handy to know in this climate).

A prosthetic frostbitten ear. Image courtesy of Bodytech Emporium.

To save leaving the house, one recently whipped up some jiaozi. Two kinds – steamed and shallow-fried. The steamed contained a fine filling of mashed firm tofu, finely chopped oyster and shitake mushrooms (lightly sauteed first), finely chopped coriander, about a centimetre of freshly minced ginger, not much minced red chilli, a splash of sesame oil and a glug of kecap manis. I love Kecap Manis. And I believe he loves me.

Using store purchased dumpling wrappers I shaped these ones into round ‘twist-top’ dumplings, making sure to apply some water around the edges to ensure they stayed together and being careful not to over-stuff them. These were then steamed in a two-tiered bamboo steamer for about fifteen minutes. You can tell they’re ready when they go slightly transparent and wrinkly.

For the shallow-fried variety, I mashed up a large orange kumara (sweet potato) which I had baked in the microwave, some finely chopped red chilli and some salt and pepper to taste. Easy as that. These ones I shaped into what the Chinese probably don’t call ‘quarter moons’ and shallow fried them in grapeseed oil and a little sesame oil for about 10 to 15 minutes until the skins were golden and bubbly.

One has been growing one’s own greens over the winter which when sauteed in plenty of garlic, yet more sesame oil, a drop or two of tabasco, some teriyaki sauce and finished with a sprinkling of toasted sesame seeds, make a delightful accompaniment to the jiaozi.

Jiaozi Two Ways

Look at moi! Look at moi! Tending to ma greens...

This month I shall be endeavouring to update my musical tastes. But until then, here's a little something from the vault...

The McBenry Cabbage Butterfly Defence Method

2011-06-15T22:18:00.000+10:00

One’s vegie patch is teeming with brassicas. Though some have been ravaged by the dreaded Large White, early on I adopted the McBenry Cabbage Butterfly Defence Method with stunning results. For those unfamiliar with the McBCBDM, it is an organic, high-tech system of pest control invented by My Grandparents. “Grandmother McBenry, what do you use to deter cabbage butterflies?” “Well dear, your Grandfather McBenry sits in the garden wearing a hat-deterrent and wielding a tennis racket. And, should they dare to land, he swipes furiously at the winged creatures shredding their tiny paper wings to confetti! Battering their young into caterpillar pulp and mashing their eggs betwixt his gnarled old fingers!”

And so I found myself on Saturday with broccoli to spare. Broccoli evolved from a wild cabbage plant on the continent of Europe. Indications point to the vegetable having been around for some 2,000 years. It is high in vitamin C, as well as dietary fibre, and it also contains multiple nutrients with potent anti-cancer properties, such as diindolylmethane and small amounts of selenium. Because of these special properties, broccoli can sometimes get ideas above its station. Nevin and Patricia here are a case in point…

Nevin & Patricia appear courtesy of SMN/flickr

I also found myself with a recipe for Paneer with Broccoli and Sesame which I had the good fortune to have cut out from the Australian Good Food magazine earlier in the week…

Into a pan of boiling water for two minutes I put 200 grams of broccoli florets, before submerging them in icy water and draining thoroughly. Next, I heated a tablespoon of vegetable oil in the wok and stir-fried a tablespoon of sesame seeds, a teaspoon of brown mustard seeds and a teaspoon of cumin seeds until fragrant. (Beware, the mustard and cumin seeds are prone to popping in your eyeballs). Having regained my sight, I added one thinly sliced onion, a 140g packet of paneer (cubed), a tablespoon of freshly grated ginger and two crushed garlic cloves. The recipe suggests that it should take four to five minutes for the paneer to become golden but mine took a little longer to change hue (about 10). Almost last but not least, comes the par-cooked broccoli and once heated through a teaspoon of lemon juice and half a teaspoon of mace finishes it off nicely. A quick and tasty dish which The Robertsons teamed with Curried Yoghurt Chickpeas, Cumin & Lime Rice, Naan Bread, Mango Chutney and Eggplant Pickle. No wonder one’s trewsers were tight!

The Leftovers

Whatever happened to Macy Gray?

Go the Pies!

2011-06-07T14:27:00.000+10:00

Winter has come to The Ranges. And with it the urge to do nothing but position one’s pasty loins beside the fire, devour bottles of red wine, watch marathon sessions of ‘Don’t Tell the Bride’ and eat. Pasta with gloopy, creamy sauces. Potatoes smashed with butter and shitloads of salt. Pizza drooping under the weight of quattro formaggio. Pies. Hot puffy pies!

If the producers of "Julie and Julia" don't call soon, I'll eat my pie hat!

The first pies appeared around 9500 BC, in the Egyptian Neolithic period. Early pies were known as galettes, wrapping honey as a treat inside a cover of ground oats, wheat, rye or barley. These galettes developed into a form of early sweet pastry or desserts, evidence of which can be found on the tomb walls of the Pharaoh Ramesses II, who ruled from 1304 to 1237 BC.

Yesterday, having very little experience in the world of pie-making, I bravely attempted some of the mushroom variety. And lo and behold they were pretty, pretty good. Certainly Mr R had a hard time resisting Mrs R’s Flakey Fungus Pie. Herewith the recipe…

I began by roasting a handful of peeled shallots with some seasoning, a little olive oil and a splash of water until they were pearly and tender. Meanwhile, atop the stove, I sautéed four finely chopped cloves of garlic, one finely chopped red onion and three sticks of sliced celery (with plenty of leafage). Once tender I added lots of roughly chopped mushrooms! There were oyster ones, shitake ones, button ones and dried porcini ones (that had been soaking in about half a cup of boiling water). Then in went a large knob of butter and plenty of S&P. Once the mushrooms had cooked down a little, I added a couple of decent glugs of red wine, a ‘chicken’ stock cube, about a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar, a generous tablespoon each of finely chopped fresh thyme and tomato paste and finally the porcini liquid until all was a bubbling, fragrant stew. (You may need some extra liquid to achieve the stew-like consistency – I added a couple of tablespoons of water at this point). Having left the mixture to simmer for approximately ten to fifteen minutes, I then mixed in a tablespoon of cornflour and about 100ml of thickened cream and stirred until the liquid became a thick gravy. At this point I added the roasted shallots, seasoned to taste, and left the filling to cool…

Once cooled it was time to assemble the pies. Still not being the owner of a functioning food processor I went the way of supermarket puff pastry squares which I thawed for about ten minutes until pliable. Using a suitably sized saucer I cut out six large rounds for the pie bases and six smaller ones for the lids. Having already greased six large muffin cases, I lined each with pastry and filled them with the mushroom mixture which was now quite meaty and thick. On went the lids into which I sliced several air holes. Master R then decorated them with an odd assortment of shapes and brushed the tops with beaten egg yolk. Into the oven (at 180) they went for about 25 minutes, until golden. They were then allowed to stand for 10 minutes before being demolished alongside beetroot roasted with orange and thyme, and a feta and walnut salad. Hot puffy pies!

Master R applies the egg wash

Pie Fight!

Unleavened Bread, Just Blows Me Away

2011-05-15T16:32:00.000+10:00

The East–West Schism of 1054, sometimes known as the Great Schism, formally divided the State church of the Roman Empire into Eastern (Greek) and Western (Latin) branches, which later became known as the Eastern Orthodox Church and the Roman Catholic Church, respectively. Relations between East and West had long been embittered by political and ecclesiastical differences and theological disputes. Prominent among these was the issue of "filioque", meaning whether leavened or unleavened bread should be used in the Eucharist.

Jamie Oliver to the rescue! Those eyes! That hair! And his favourite “Anytime Garlic Flatbreads” could undoubtedly seal the Greatest of Schisms. One look, one taste and those hairy old Greek dudes would surely renege. My Hairy Old Scots Dude was putty in my hands come Good Friday when we demolished a job lot in record time. A bit of yoghurt dip here, some eggplant relish there…!

Big JO says to make the dough in a food processor. But if like me you don’t happen to own one that works, I can confirm that a good old fashioned wooden spoon and some elbow grease perform just as well. So, place 500grams of self-raising flour, one tablespoon of baking powder, 500grams of natural yoghurt (I used Greek!), and one tablespoon of sea salt in a large bowl and mix until dough-like. Then turn out onto a lightly-floured surface and knead for about a minute. Don’t be alarmed by it’s very soft and sticky texture, it’ll be all right in the end. Now leave it to rest in a floured bowl covered in a tea towel for at least 20 minutes. (Big JO doesn’t actually specify a time but having made it again since and charged ahead without letting it relax at all, I can confirm that this is of paramount importance).

Meanwhile you can make the garlic butter simply by melting 150grams of butter and stirring in two finely chopped garlic cloves (or more if you’re a real fan-o-garlic) and a small bunch of chopped flat-leaf parsley. Then it’s time for the cooking…

Pop a griddle pan over a high heat to warm up whilst you’re preparing the dough. Which you do by dividing it into 12 equal-sized pieces and rolling them into side-plate-sized rounds. Then make six or so incisions with a sharp knife in the centre of each round (leaving about five cm at each end). Cook each one on the hot, dry (no butter or oil required) griddle for about two minutes each side or until puffy and golden. Keep them warm in the oven and then just before serving brush them on both sides with the garlic butter. Lovely jubbly!

My Finished Platter

Introducing the Pear of Anguish

2011-04-11T21:00:00.000+10:00

To be honest one would have expected the producers of ‘Julie and Julia’ to have been knocking down the door by now. But not a snifter. Not a sodding snifter.

However, I’m not the type to let down The Lucky 36! So this week’s offerings come to you courtesy of the humble pear…

The Pear of Anguish was used during the Middle Ages as a way to torture women who conducted a miscarriage, liars, blasphemers and homosexuals.

A pear-shaped instrument was inserted into one of the victim's orifices and consisted of four leaves that slowly separated from each other as the torturer turned the screw at the top. It was the torturer's decision to simply tear the skin or expand the "pear" to its maximum and mutilate the victim. Tough choice.

There’s a lovely organic pear stall at our local Farmer’s Market and feeling all autumny I purchased several with the intention of turning them into a comforting dessert. Which I managed rather ably, if I do say so myself (with a more than a little help from www.taste.com.au).

Firstly, I preheated the oven to 180 and greased and lined a 22cm cake tin. Then I chopped up 150g of dried pitted dates and soaked them in one cup, that’s one cup of boiling water and a teaspoon of baking soda. Using an electric beater I mixed 215g of caster sugar and 125g of butter until pale and creamy then added one egg. Next came 225g of self-raising flour and one teaspoon of cinnamon. To this I added the by now mushy date mixture and three peeled, cored and cubed pears and folded it all together with a big metal spoon before pouring into the tin. The recipe recommended baking for one hour and ten minutes but my splendid creation took about 55 minutes. Also, I covered it up with foil after 20 minutes because she went mighty brown, mighty quick.

The sauce is as easy as it is sinful. Simply place 185ml of cream, 50g of butter and 200g of brown sugar in a pan on a low heat and stir away for a few minutes until golden and slightly thick. Pour on top of the hot cake and serve with vanilla ice-cream. Like this…

By God, Mrs Robertson, You Should Have Been a Photographer!

It's Enough to Make You Sick!

2011-03-28T22:34:00.000+11:00

Spent most of Saturday cooking up a subcontinental storm for some Newfound Friends. The sun beaming through the kitchen window, Neil Young shining from the stereo, you know the drill. “This is what it’s all about”, I said to Mr R. “This, Mr R, is the life!”

And then I threw-up. And Mr R had to call our Newfound Friends and tell them not to bother coming. And then there was the problem of what to do with the mountain of curry and the sea of samosa. Thinking they may be contaminated by my mystery bug, I thought them best disposed of. Thinking of his tastebuds, Mr R thought them best scoffed immediately and gallantly proceeded to do so. Thus far, no ill-effects have been reported.

The meal was to have started with Pumpkin and Ricotta Samosas and a Spicy Tomato Sauce, recipe courtesy of Maria Elia’s The Modern Vegetarian. I’m a big fan of Maria’s. She’s vegetarian and she’s modern.

As one of the most popular crops in the United States, 1.5 billion pounds (680,000,000 kilograms) of pumpkins are produced each year. The top pumpkin-producing states in the U.S. include Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and California. According to the Illinois Department of Agriculture, 95% of the U.S. crop intended for processing is grown in Illinois. Nestle produces 85% of the processed pumpkin in the U.S. In the fall of 2009, rain in Illinois devastated the Nestle crop, resulting in a shortage affecting the entire country during the Thanksgiving holiday season.

Given that I’d gone to the trouble of making them before the Heaving Happened, I may as well give you the lowdown…

I gently heated a good glug of olive oil in a large frypan then added 12 fresh curry leaves, one generous teaspoon of yellow mustard seeds and a pinch of dried fenugreek seeds. As soon as the mustard seeds began to fizzle I added a finely chopped onion, three teaspoons of cumin seeds, three cloves crushed garlic, a four centimetre piece of fresh ginger (grated), a pinch of chilli flakes and two decent teaspoons of ground cinnamon then left them to sizzle until the onion had softened. O the aroma!

Meanwhile, in another good glug of olive oil, I sauteed about 750grams of chopped butternut squash until tender. This took quite awhile and when it was done I combined the pumpkin with the onion mixture, seasoned to taste, and left to cool. Then it was time to add approximately 375 grams of fresh ricotta. When making the ricotta purchase at my local supermarket, the delicatessen assistant sneered “haven’t I served you 375 grams of ricotta before? What’s with the 375 grams of ricotta?” “Lady!” said I, “nevermind the cheese, what’s with your 'tude?”

Then came the tricky bit. I have trouble working with pastry. Do Not Fear the Filo! Keep it covered with a damp teatowel, be self-assured yet gentle and you shouldn’t go far wrong. I laid out one sheet on a large tray, brushed it with melted butter, then placed another sheet on top and cut it into three even strips, lengthways. Then I put a heaped tablespoon of the pumpkin mix on the top right-hand corner of each strip, folded it over to form a triangle shape, then flipped the triangle over to encase the filling and kept on going over and over until the whole strip was used up and formed a bulging parcel. I sealed the edges with more butter (and in some cases had to give them a wee trim), placed them on a non-stick baking tray and brushed with MORE butter. Cook for 20 – 25 minutes until crisp and golden, Maria says. She also says the filling is enough for twelve but I made fifteen and even then they were a tad over-stuffed. A couple of them spewed forth in the oven. Bon Appetit!

The One-Hour Chickpea Challenge

2011-03-18T07:35:00.000+11:00

My blog-o-rhythms are all over the show. Having lost the interweb for 10 days due to ‘human error’ at HQ, I appear also to have misplaced my self-discipline. Or perhaps it is spent? Perhaps one gets a limited supply at birth rather like one’s lady eggs? Perhaps those two years I spent as a teenager avoiding anything but lettuce accelerated the process and thus I am experiencing something of a motivational menopause? So I have set myself a challenge! Laid down a gauntlet! I have one hour and one hour only to write. This is what it’s all about! Welcome, Dear Reader to the world of Extreme Blogging!

Speaking of ova, earlier in the week I rustled up some tasty Chickpea Patties. I could tell from the get-go that The Boys were far from excited about eating them but in the interests of not having to endure an impassioned monologue about the perils of modern housewifery they managed to devour one each.

Not to be confused with Chickling pea, the chickpea (Cicer arietinum) (also garbanzo bean, Indian pea, ceci bean, Bengal gram) is an edible legume of the family Fabaceae, subfamily Faboideae. Chickpeas are high in protein and one of the earliest cultivated vegetables; 7,500-year-old remains have been found in the Middle East.

The kind of contentment only crouching in a field of chickpeas can bring.

Thirty-six minutes to go! To make, I squashed one can of drained chickpeas in a large bowl with a potato masher. In went a large grated carrot and two of the freshest, prettiest zucchini you’ve ever laid eyes on (also grated). A handful of coarsely chopped parsley (Italian, Darling!), about half a cup of wholemeal flour, a sprinkling of chilli flakes, one beaten egg, a liberal quantity of black pepper and a whole lot of love. Remarkably, this formed a perfect stodgy mix, easily shaped into six fat little fritters which I popped in the fridge for fifteen before pan-frying in a little olive oil until golden. To complete, I smothered the suckers in natural yoghurt and sweet chilli sauce and served them with broccoli (stir-fried in a little sesame oil) and fresh corn cobs. Next time a drop of cumin in the mixture wouldn’t go amiss. Sixteen minutes to go and I still have to find a song!

We Rule the Old Skool

2011-02-22T15:26:00.000+11:00

And so the country adventures continue! Last week I attended my first CWA meeting and I tell you, it won’t be my last. We spoke of slices and jams, of knitting and sewing, of gardening and grandchildren, of sandwiches and savoury scones. We giggled about drug busts, saggy breasts and silly husbands and promised to “put away all pretence and meet each other face to face without self-pity or prejudice, to never be hasty in judgement and to always be generous”. Take note crafty-hipster-indie-peoples (CHIPS), these ladies have been doing it forever!

Problem is, one is going to balloon. It’s near impossible to turn down Jean’s Lemon Slice or June’s Date Scones or Jane’s Strawberry Sponge. Having never made a slice in my life, I was somewhat alarmed when asked which variety I’d be bringing to the next meeting. But now I have the answer - Slicus Passiflora Edulis.

Passiflora edulis is a vine species of passion flower that is native to Paraguay, Brazil and northeastern Argentina. Common names include Passion Fruit (UK and US) and Passionfruit (Australia and New Zealand). The passionfruit has had a religious association as reflected by the name "passion" given to it by Catholic missionaries who thought that certain parts of the fruit bore some religious connections. For example, the three stigmas reflect the three nails in Jesus's hands and feet and the ten petals and sepals resemble the Apostles (excluding Judas and Peter). Indeed.

To make I preheated the oven to 180 and greased and lined a slab pan. Then I combined one cup of self-raising flour, one cup of dessicated coconut, half a cup of caster sugar and 100g of melted butter until they formed a dough (of sorts). I pressed this mixture into the pan with the back of a big metal spoon and popped it in the oven for about 12 minutes, until just golden. Meanwhile, I whisked together a can of condensed milk (leaving ample behind to savour and lick like a woman possessed), half a cup of lemon juice and the pulp of three passionfruit. Once the base had cooled down a little I spread the sweet, seedy mixture on top and returned to the oven (temperature now at 150), for about 15 minutes. The topping sets almost like a cheesecake and can be cut into squares when cool. Mr R thought it had a very rural flavour which must have been a good thing because he polished off four pieces in one sitting. One can only hope the ladies like it!

And here it is...

Still No Luck on the Job Front. If Only I Had a Brother-in-Law in Publishing.

2011-02-14T14:54:00.000+11:00

So as I was saying, The Girls came to visit a couple of weekends ago and boy were they in for a treat! Following the obligatory G&T’s we tucked into some fresh asparagus that I’d roasted for a very short time with only a smidge of olive oil, pepper and sea-salt for company. I served it topped with toasted flaked almonds, basil straight from the garden and a lemony wee aioli in which to dip the spears. Britney Spears.

Asparagus on an Odd Angle

After quite some time and quite some champagne, I managed to produce a main course. Which consisted of cardamom flatbread, a lentil, parsley & tomato salad, panfried haloumi with preserved lemon and Harissa Eggplant with Coriander Yoghurt Sauce. I’m rather proud to report that I sort of made that up (mostly due to the fact that I couldn’t find any smoked paprika in this godforsakenhellhole).

An Immodest Aubergine

The eggplant, aubergine, melongene, brinjal, or guinea squash (Solanum melongena) is a plant of the family Solanaceae (also known as the nightshades) and genus Solanum. The fruit is botanically classified as a berry, and contains numerous small, soft seeds, which are edible, but are bitter because they contain nicotinoid alkaloids, unsurprising as it is a close relative of tobacco. (I never knew! But it does go some way to explaining why eggplant is my very favourite vegetable/berry).

To prepare the dish I cut two large eggplants in half lengthways then cut each half into thick wedges. Having scored each wedge in a criss-cross fashion I rubbed them all over with a marinade made from about two generous tablespoons of harissa paste, 60 mls of olive oil and two cloves of garlic. Easy as that, and into the fridge they went for the night allowing the flavours to develop and the lazy cook to snooze. (Make sure you leave them in a crockery or ceramic dish rather than a metallic one otherwise they’ll taste all tinny). At cooking time the theory was to dry fry them over a medium-hot griddle for about 15 minutes until smokey and melty, charred and caramelly. In practice they took about three times as long and I ended up finishing them off in the oven because there is nothing worse than an uncooked aubergine. I then piled a sticky sauce of greek yoghurt, lemon juice, mint and coriander on top and finished it off with a smattering of pomegranate seeds for colour, texture and the sheer joy of popping the balls between one’s teeth.

The Finished Feast

We finished off the evening with Karen Martini’s wickedly rich Chocolate Cherry Brownie Mousse Cake and a repeat screening of the best film ever made. Here’s a little something from the soundtrack…

A Lazy Filler

2011-02-02T10:04:00.000+11:00

It is 39 degrees and we have just been chased out of Best and Less by a plague of baby locusts. Then to my astonishment I heard my own voice bellowing ‘G’day!’ to a man resplendent in khaki who was bailing straw on the back of a truck. Add to this my horror, sheer horror when last weekend’s hipster city guests (HCG’s) turned up asking for soy milk (“yes one moment whilst I go out and milk the soy cow”) and I think one can safely say I’ve gone all country! It’s hardly surprising really given my chameleon-like ability to adapt to new landscapes – it only took me three weeks to acquire a Scottish accent back in ’92 when My Life Changed Forever.

More about last weekend later as the photographic documentation comes to hand, but in the meantime Dear Reader, might I recommend this pesto recipe? It is one of the few I have come across which has I think, a lovely balance of flavours and quite a substantial consistency . Previously I’ve ended up with too much oil or not enough cheese or god forbid, I’ve gone a pine nut too far.

It’s taken from The Silver Spoon for Children which recommends whipping up your own linguine to serve it with, but I found opening a pack of Ikea’s reindeer pasta rather faster. It also advocates the use of a mortar and pestle which whilst undoubtedly giving a more rustic result, wasn’t within my wilting capabilities. So into a food processor I popped the following – 40g grated parmesan cheese, a clove of garlic, a pinch of salt, about 40g pine nuts, about 30 basil leaves (basil is originally native to Iran, India and other tropical regions of Asia, having been cultivated there for more than 5,000 years) and four tablespoons of olive oil. I also snuck in some black pepper. Master R who proclaims only to tolerate factory pesto, said it was “okay”. Oh it's so worth it, just to see their little faces light up!

Bon Anniversaire Peter Peril!

2011-01-26T11:51:00.000+11:00

Mr R has high-tailed it to Berlin for a week. But not before a huge feast was given in honour of our dear friend Peter Peril's* anniversaire. If I’m honest Dear Reader, we were quite unaware of Peter’s special status prior to the poor bloke turning up with his own champagne and cigars. Facebook soon confirmed that he had it right, it was his birthday! And so the celebrations began…

I Forgot To Take Photos But This Captures The General Vibe

The theme was ‘modern barbecue’ and commenced with a yoghurt and chickpea dip accompanied by grissini. It was supposed to be a cannellini bean and artichoke dip but in my haste I picked up the wrong tin at the supermarket and for once instead of flinging the impostor ingredient across the kitchen and sobbing until Mr R offered to go and find a replacement, I made do and mended. A bit of lemon juice, some cumin and fresh coriander soon perked it up and no-one was any the wiser.

The main course consisted of several salads including a cos lettuce, cucumber and feta number and an heirloom tomato and basil mix. The unexpected victor though was a cheeky little beetroot salsa which I prepared by roasting some fresh beetroot then mixing it with mint, coriander, grated red onion and olive oil. Just before serving I added a couple of capfuls of precious rosewater. Sounds like it wouldn’t work, but it did. It did! The carnivores amongst us ate fancy red wine sausages, the herbivores vegetarian sausage delights, and the hypocrites chomped on ocean trout fillets that I had marinated in olive oil, lemon juice, capers and dill. There were chunks of award-winning sour dough with which to mop up the juices and an array of pickles and sauces with which to disguise the taste of anything one didn’t fancy.

The triumph though, the piece de resistance was dessert. Chocolate meringues straight from Annabel Langein’s book Eat Fresh are indeed quite delicious, (and that’s coming from someone who pretends not to like puddings). Chocolate is a raw or processed food produced from the seed of the tropical Theobroma cacao tree. Cacao has been cultivated for at least three millennia in Mexico, Central and South America, with its earliest documented use around 1100 BC. The presence of theobromine renders chocolate toxic to some animals, especially dogs and cats. Not to these cool cats though, one guest had three (3) helpings!

Chocolate Cats On Sticks

To whip them up I preheated the oven to 160 and lined two baking trays with paper. Then using an electric mixer I beat six egg whites to soft peaks before slowly adding one and a quarter cups of caster sugar. I continued mixing for another ten minutes (until thick and glossy) and then whisked in two teaspoons of cornflour and one teaspoon of white vinegar. Into this I folded 130 grams of melted and cooled dark chocolate (I used the 85% cocoa version) and carefully swirled it through for a marbled effect. Then it was simply a matter of dolloping the mixture onto the trays in even amounts and tidying up any particularly unruly mounds. Into the oven they went for three minutes before it was turned down to 120. They cooked for one hour before I turned the oven off leaving the meringues in there to cool completely, after which time they can be stored in an airtight container for several days. I served them with whipped cream and mixed berries. I think. It was almost midnight by then.

The Closest Resemblence To My Meringues The Interweb Can Come Up With

Back in the day my Dad loved Berlin. And Mr R is in Berlin. See they do have something in common!

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent

Slice Slice Baby

2011-01-18T09:20:00.000+11:00

Too busy gardening to cook. Who would have thought! And who would have thought it such a dangerous pastime. Yesterday one was rather absentmindedly rooting about amongst the courgettes, hummin’ a happy tune, when a squadron of apple-wielding cockatoos descended and attempted to fruit bomb me from on high! Luckily no one was hurt but from now on I shall have to add a bicycle helmet to my already quite unwieldy snake-proof suit.

Speaking of being busy, and of courgettes, or zucchini as they are called in this neck of the woods, in times of acute activity the Robertson boys are always treated to several nights in a row of the old Kiwi Favourite, Zucchini Slice. Or Cheese and Egg Slice as I have renamed it (on account of the fact they both claim to loathe zucchini).

Zucchinis in Space

The zucchini or courgette is a popularly cultivated summer squash which often grows to nearly a metre in length, but which are usually harvested at half that size or less. In a culinary context, zucchini is treated as a vegetable, which means it is usually cooked and presented as a savory dish or accompaniment. Botanically, however, the zucchini is an immature fruit, being the swollen ovary of the female zucchini flower. (A fact I was previously unaware of. And that’s coming from someone who came second in a recent game of Trivial Pursuit!)

Having long since lost the recipe, and unable to remove all the soil from under my nails I set about grating two rather generously sized zucchini. I always do this over a clean teatowel so that one can wring out the excessive juice. Then I grated a large carrot, half a huge kumara and a big cup of tasty cheese. Also into the bowl I added a chopped red pepper and a finely chopped red onion. (Usually I pop in some sliced vegie bacon but on this occasion I was fresh out.) Next I mixed through a cup of self-raising flour to which I added six beaten eggs, quarter of a cup of vegetable oil and some salt and pepper. Combine well, then it’s straight into a greased dish and into the oven for about 30 – 35 minutes (or until set and Golden-Of-Top). Very tasty both hot and cold, (great for picnics!) accompanied by a dollop of spicy homemade relish and lashings of ginger beer. Or every night until they’ve bloody well finished it accompanied by tinned beetroot and lashings of Heinz Big Red.

The tune I was happily hummin' (because it's how we live now).

Get Ready For This!

2011-01-14T13:48:00.000+11:00

Mr R announced last night that he "felt more warmth" toward me when I was a-blogging and revelling in the glory that only 31 followers can bring. So for the sake of getting some and because we are back from our adventures abroad and sort of settled in to country life, I shall resume. Pretty, pretty soon.

I have been toying with the idea of jazzing things up a bit but have decided to leave the watermelons firmly in place and continue with the crap photography and choice tunes. What may change though is that Mrs R will henceforth present other titbits from country life. Adventures at the CWA, fungal infections in poultry, battling blue-fly on my beans, that sort of thing. But mostly it will still be me cooking vegetables and pretending that I do it like that all the time…

There's No Business Like Show Business

2010-11-23T11:23:00.000+11:00

Life has done a full circle. On Saturday we sunscreened-up and headed for the 150th Kyneton Agricultural Show, the sweet sounds of Creedence Clearwater Revival ringing in my ears courtesy of the teenagers next door. The Snake Handlers were up first. Surprisingly, I had the courage to touch many reptiles, not least of all a junior crocodile (with its mouth taped shut) and an enormous olive python. Mr R was a little more wary and when I bellowed “scaredy cat!” at him he retorted that repeatedly stroking a dry old snake just for the sake of it was not his idea of fun, nor he suspected, the snake’s. Welcome to my world.

Next, and possibly my favourite part of The Show was the poultry competition. This little poppet won ‘Best Behaved Bird’.

I suspect any sort of misbehaviour might mess up that marvellous bouffant, clearly her pride and joy. There were also prizes for ‘Cheekiest Face’ and ‘Best Prepared’. ‘Best Prepared!’ Imagine the prestige back at the hen house. All those early morning exercises, trips to the salon, careful dieting, they paid off!

There were vegetable competitions too, and prizes for the best pavlova, fluffiest scones, loveliest saucer of flowers and biggest bottle of pickles. As the proud inherited owner of a patch of rhubarb, I was pleased to see mine almost measured up to the prize-winning bunches.

And on doing some research, I was excited to learn that rhubarb is actually a vegetable! (Except in the USA where in 1947 it became a fruit for tax purposes). The rhizomes ('roots') contain stilbene compounds (including rhaponticin) which seem to lower blood glucose levels in diabetic mice.

Not being the weather for hot puddings, I decided to experiment with rhubarb ice-cream and this is what happened… I cut a bunch of rhubarb stalks into even chunks, added half a cup of caster sugar, a tablespoon of water and two capfuls of rosewater then let them simmer away in a small saucepan until the rhubarb had cooked through and broken down. Whilst it was cooling I used a hand mixer to beat one cup of caster sugar with one and a quarter cups of milk (in order to dissolve the sugar). Then I stirred in a 600ml bottle (nearly three cups!) of thickened cream. It’s not called ice-cream for nothing. Once the rhubarb had cooled I stirred that in too and added about three extra capfuls of rosewater. This was then transferred to the ice-cream machine for churning which took about thirty minutes. If you don’t have an ice-cream machine then I'm sorry, sucker! Once churned and a delightful pale pink, I popped it in the freezer for a couple of hours to firm up. Served with strawberries, Master R pronounced it ‘a triumph’. Personally I think I was a tad heavy-handed with the rosewater and that it could have benefited from being served with a sharper fruit or possibly lemony or almondy biscuits. But they're for another day.

Rhubarb and Rosewater Ice-cream

Return of the Vegi

2010-11-15T19:49:00.000+11:00

It's a wonder you're not getting a whiff of day-old garlicky breath through your monitor such was the ferocity of yesterday's Caramelised Garlic and Goats Cheese Tart. But what a tart! And what a fine way to kick-off the season of the Summer Sunday Luncheon (SSL).

Garlic is grown globally, but China is by far the largest producer of garlic, with approximately 10.5 million tonnes (23 billion pounds) annually, accounting for over 77% of world output. India (4.1%) and South Korea (2%) follow, with Russia (1.6%) in fourth place and the United States (where garlic is grown primarily as a cash crop in every state except for Alaska) in fifth place (1.4%). Garlic has been used throughout history for both culinary and medicinal purposes as this man can attest...

And so to the recipe. For which we have to acknowledge the pretty amazing Mr Yotan Ottolenghi, (http://www.ottolenghi.co.uk/)... To begin I rolled out some defrosted all-butter puff pastry (from the shop!) that lined the base and edges of a non-stick fluted tart tin. I stabbed it many times with a fork then sat it in the fridge for 20 minutes to come to terms with its new dimensions. Whilst it was resting I pre-heated the oven to 180 and cut out a circle of greaseproof paper to put on top of the pastry and under some brown rice (in lieu of ceramic baking beans). The pastry was then baked blind for 20 minutes before I removed the paper and rice and put it back in the oven for about 10 minutes, or until golden brown. At this point it can be taken out and left to its own devices for as long as it takes you to prepare the filling.

And what a filling! Put the peeled cloves of three heads of garlic into a small pan and cover with water. Bring them to a simmer, blanch for three minutes and then drain well. Dry the pan, return the cloves to it and then add about a tablespoon of olive oil. Fry for about two minutes then add a teaspoon of balsamic vinegar (the best a man can get) and 220ml of water. They will look like this -

Which might not look like much, but by God, it smelt like heaven. Fragrant enough to awaken Mr R from his Sunday morning slumber. Add nearly a tablespoon of caster sugar, a teaspoon each of freshly chopped rosemary and thyme and a mere quarter of a teaspoon of salt. Continue simmering until most of the liquid has evaporated and the cloves are coated in a glorious dark caramel syrup.

To assemble, break 120g of hard goat's cheese and 120g of soft goat's cheese and scatter on the pastry case then spoon over the garlic cloves and syrup. Whisk together two eggs, 100ml of cream and 100ml creme fraiche with some salt and pepper and pour the mixture into the case making sure to leave the cloves sticking out through the top. Throw on a few strands of thyme and pop in the oven (at 160) for 35 to 45 minutes. Well that's what the recipe said. In reality my tart took almost an hour to set and then I just turned the oven off and left it in there to keep warm. Served with a tomato and herb salad and fresh asparagus it went down a treat (though all that cream and cheese will probably be lodged in one's aortic arch for some time to come).

Why Don't You Come Back?

2010-10-03T11:15:00.000+11:00

Mrs Robertson and her vegetables will return to the blogosphere from a new country kitchen location in a few short weeks... xxx

I Loathe the Red Hot Chilli Peppers

2010-09-13T20:05:00.000+10:00

So spring hasn’t sprung after all. But I socked it to Mother Nature, taught her a lesson she’ll not forget in a hurry. In spite of her wintry persistence I prepared a cold dish! Perfect for a balmy spring evening with a chilled glass of whatever takes your fancy followed by the first mangoes of the season.

I like to call it Sesame Soba Salad and it features this week’s lucky vegetable, the good ol’ capsicum. Or the bell pepper. Or the red pepper. The Capsicum is a genus of flowering plants in the nightshade family, Solanaceae. Its species are native to the Americas, where they have been cultivated for thousands of years by the people of the tropical Americas, and are now cultivated worldwide. As a medicinal plant, the Capsicum species has been used as a carminative, digestive irritant, stomachic, stimulant, rubefacient, and tonic. The plants have also been used as folk remedies for dropsy, colic, diarrhea, asthma, arthritis, muscle cramps, and toothache. Handy to have in the refrigerator.

I began by cutting up three red peppers, placing them on a non-stick baking tray and roasting them in a hot oven until the skin was bubbly and charred. Then I popped them in a sealed plastic bag to cool and enable the easy removal of the skins. Meanwhile I cooked a packet of organic soba noodles (the buckwheat variety) in boiling water for four minutes before rinsing in cold water, splashing them with sesame oil (to stop them sticking together), and leaving them to drain. Meanwhile, meanwhile I topped and tailed a generous handful of long green beans and gave them two minutes in the microwave before plunging them headfirst into a bowl of icy water to stop them from continuing to cook and to maintain their emerald hue.

Meanwhile, meanwhile, meanwhile I toasted about 3 tablespoons of sesame seeds and thinly sliced a small red onion. Now to the soy and chilli dressing. I must admit my quantities were a little haphazard and the end result was achieved purely through tasting and muttering, muttering and tasting. I mixed the following ingredients together to make about two-thirds of a cup of dressing – tamari, vegetable oil, sesame oil, lime juice, raw sugar, rice wine vinegar, mirin, minced garlic, minced ginger, chopped fresh chilli, salt and pepper.

Having relieved the red pepper pieces of their skins, I cut them into strips and added them to the noodles along with the beans, red onion, sesame seeds and a cup of coriander leaves. Then I poured the dressing over, gave the salad a gentle but thorough toss and served it topped with cubes of marinated tofu and some more fresh coriander. It was alright. Admittedly if I was a contestant on Iron Chef I’d be marked down for not duly featuring the feature ingredient. But hey, what’s a poor housewife to do?

Sesame Soba Salad

Chris Bell (Pepper)!

Just Beet It!

2010-09-05T15:28:00.000+10:00

Oh Dear Reader! I was all set, truly prepared to rustle up a beetroot, walnut and goat’s cheese risotto on a rainy Saturday evening. It was supposed to be all special, in honour of Father’s Day. And then the father in question, our very own Mr R, sidled into the kitchen and sheepishly announced that he really doesn’t care for risotto and cannot abide walnuts and how about we have a pizza instead? Eighteen years I have known this man, eighteen years! And now I really don’t know him at all.

What to do? A lesser housewife would have ordered in and a better one would have set the yeast to rising and whipped up some dough in no time at all. But I chose the middle way. With tears in my eyes and a pain in my heart, I pulled a packet of Bazaar Gourmet Pizza Bases from the pantry and began to “cook”.

With beetroot, which is this week’s star vegetable. And I hope the last we’ll be seeing of the wintry root vegetables for a good long while. Bring on spring I say! Anyway, the beet (Beta vulgaris) is a plant in the Chenopodiaceae family. Beet pulp is fed to horses that are in vigorous training or conditioning and to those that may be allergic to dust from hay. Beetroot can also be used to make wine. The consumption of beets causes pink urine in some people.

I peeled and chopped five little beets into quarters, drizzled them in olive oil and seasoning and set them to roast for about half an hour (until they were quite purple and withered). Meanwhile, I mixed 250grams of goats cheese in ash with two generous tablespoons of chopped fresh thyme and spread it over the pizza bases with a palette knife. I added some finely sliced red onion for a bit of bite and the now sliced and roasted beetroot. A glug of olive oil and some more black pepper followed and hey presto they were ready for 15 minutes in a hot oven. After that I rather recklessly threw rocket at them as well as toasted pinenuts, that ol' balsamic vinegar, more olive oil and some sea salt flakes. They looked like this...

And tasted much better than beetroot risotto!

Mrs A Young's Apple & Celery Salad

2010-08-29T15:59:00.000+10:00

Lovely Launceston, terrific Tasmania, I bid thee adieu! Having been at a conference for the past four days and now awaiting my flight back across the strait, I don’t fancy my chances of serving up a vegetarian feast this evening. Though there’s every chance the boys will have one waiting for me. Every chance.

I do have in my hot little hands however, a copy of the 21^st Birthday Cookery Book of the Country Women’s Association in Tasmania. It is a splendid publication, reissued this year but not altered I am assured, since it was first published in 1957. This becomes quite evident when one reads the advertisements contained within its hallowed pages – “A Gift She Will Always Appreciate – Fowlers Vacola Fruit Bottling Outfit – To Mother with love from Dad and the Children.” Or there’s “Housewives! You can easily make this tasty dessert to suit all the family – Merry Widow Junkets!” Yum. Or my personal favourite depicts two hat-wearing gentlemen having a likely conversation I'm sure – “My wife’s a real Pet! That’s nothing, mine’s a Prizewinner, she uses McAlpin’s Flour (the housewives choice since 1900)!”

From the shop window of The Tasmanian Country Women's Association

For this week’s star vegetable my initial plan was to test one of the country women’s recipes but the problem is that there are incredibly few vegetable recipes to be found among its 240 pages. Although starting off promisingly with artichoke soup (artichokes, tick), the only other vegie recipe I can see is in the Salad Section. Simply called ‘Apple and Celery’ the ingredients are one head of celery and four cooking apples. Peel and slice apples and celery into small pieces then sprinkle over finely cut lettuce, advises Mrs A. Young of Evandale. I bet Mr A Young of Evandale could barely contain himself at the thought of Mrs Young’s special Apple & Celery dish after a hard day’s yakka on the farm.

I could always try Sheeps Tongues with Sauce, Pigeons on Toast or Jugged Kangaroo, I suppose. Though what I’m really looking forward to is heading to the baking section for proper scones and sponges, the preserving section for delicious chutneys and jams, and the pudding section for goodness knows what else. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Pat Boone was top of the Hit Parade in 1957. I wonder if the ladies of the Tasmanian Country Women's Association cooed over his beautiful babyface whilst they were kneading their scones and bottling their pears?

She's a Celeriac

2010-08-22T20:34:00.000+10:00

Celeriac. Also known says Wiki, as knob celery (!) Someone very knowledgeable, someone whom I would call if I ever found myself in a bit of bother, informed me on Friday night that I need not cite Wiki. Apparently it has been successfully argued in universities in the United States that Wiki is "common knowledge" and therefore does not need to be referenced. So henceforth, I shall pretend that I'm far more clever than I really am. There are a number of celeriac cultivars available, especially in Europe. Among them are 'Prinz', 'Diamant', 'Ibis', and 'Kojak', which all received Royal Horticultural Society Award of Garden Merit designation in the trial in 2000.

I simmered two cups of puy lentils for about 20 minutes until they were soft but not falling apart. Meanwhile, I prepared the celeriac by discarding the top (which in retrospect would have been quite nice finely chopped and added to the salad), and 'peeling' it with a knife. Then I diced it into one-centimetre cubes and sauteed them for 15ish minutes in olive oil, crushed garlic and the obligatory salt and pepper. I mixed the drained lentils and crispy celeriac cubes together in a large bowl and added about half a generous cup of roughly chopped roasted walnuts. I threw in some leftover beetroot for good measure, the juice of two and a half lemons, about a tablespoon of sumac, and some glugs of olive oil. I covered the bowl with a plate to keep the concoction warm whilst I cooked 250 grams of seasoned and sumaced haloumi over a hot griddle. The haloumi went atop the warm lentil and celeriac salad (to which I had added a cup of chopped italian parsley) and was garnished with lemon wedges and another glug of olive oil. Lovely soaked up with some steaming seeded bread. Looking back I could have played it differently and the ratio of lentils to celeriac should have been more even. It seems that celeriac, whilst smelling like celery when raw, takes on a sweet mellow flavour when cooked which was almost lost amongst the earthy, lemony lentils and the beetroot. Almost, but not quite. Close, but no cigar.

Sumac haloumi with warm lentil and celeriac salad

A is for Artichoke Again

2010-08-15T20:47:00.000+10:00

I am fielding requests from international readers! Solly Billen* (59) of Riverton, NZ wonders how one might prepare globe artichokes. Having previously been too terrified to attempt cooking such an unweidly vegetable I have decided that today is the day. Wiki informs me that a globe artichoke is in fact a type of thistle thought to originate from North Africa in Roman times.

In my search for a manageable recipe I've noticed that many advise simply boiling or roasting the beasts and then peeling off their leaves one by one to dip in olive oil or aioli (or areola as Mr R likes to call it). Not finding this a very appealing nor substantial option for a miserable winter's day, I have settled on making artichoke and goat's cheese ravioli as featured in 'The Modern Vegetarian' by Maria Elia. Not as challenging as one might first think, because Maria's a cheat and recommends using ready-made wonton wrappers instead of homemade pasta for the parcels.

Firstly, one must prepare three artichokes. I cut them horizontally through the middle, removed their stalks and all of the hard green leaves around the outside. (Maria says that anything green is tough and anything yellow is tender). Then I scooped out the middle or the 'choke' which is apparently hairy and inedible. Basically you're left with something about a third of the size of the orginal vegetable and this has to be plunged into lemony water immediately or else it will discolour. Also in the lemony water I put the lemon halves, two bay leaves, two squashed cloves of garlic and a big sprig of thyme.

This simmered away with some baking paper and a plate on top of it (to keep the artichokes submerged) for about 20 minutes until the artichokes were tender and the sort of greenish grey colour one associates with overcooked broad beans at granny's. I left them to cool in the liquid and then drained them and diced them.

I then added about 250grams of soft goat's cheese, 30grams of roasted pine nuts, a big tablespoon of freshly chopped basil and thyme, the zest of one lemon, a couple of squeezes of lemon juice, salt & pepper and then I mixed and mashed for England. To make the parcels I lined up six wonton skins at a time, brushed the edges with water and placed a teaspoon of the artichoke mixture in the middle of each square. From there I folded each in half to form a triangle and folded in each corner as well, taking care to squeeze out air and seal edges. For beauty's sake I pressed a fork around each edge to give a corrugated effect. I lined them all up on a floured tray, dusted them with more flour and popped my dear little raviolis in the fridge until cooking time.

Here's my inner 15 year old's favourite song to keep you amused until cooking time...

Quite accidentally we called in to the neighbours on our way back from a rainy walk at 3.30pm. It is now 7.41pm and I have been sitting beside the neighbour's outdoor fire drinking red wine and recounting tales of lost virginity for quite some time. I shall now attempt to cook the ravioli alongside some roasted cherry tomatoes on the vine... Et voila! Cooked the suckers in salted boiling water for approximately 6 minutes. Given that half of them fell apart, I'd recommend sticking to the recipe (instead of concentrating on your blog) and cooking them for 3 minutes before removing with a slotted spoon and drizzling with olive oil and fresh thyme. The taste, according to Mr R, was "creamy, the artichoke subtle yet pervasive and the pine nuts a welcome bit of bite." Though to be honest, I don't know about artichokes. If I had my time again, I'd save myself the trouble and open a jar. Heathen! Heathen that I am!

Whoops!

*names have been changed to protect the innocent

A is for Artichoke

2010-08-09T18:43:00.000+10:00

Or at least it will be next week when I come out of hiding.

It'll Have To Be The Carrot

2010-08-01T17:17:00.000+10:00

It's Shopping Day. But Mr R is away 'working' at a music festival and is thus unavailable to amuse Master R by sword fighting down the aisles whilst I spend inordinate amounts of time comparing the potato content of different brands of gnocchi and staring lovingly at the frozen peas that come claim to come from Timaru. It's also cold, it's gloomy, I have a headache and my hair is limp. I have cancelled Shopping Day! Handily though, a bag of carrots and a slimy looking piece of pumpkin remain in the cupboard from last week. I shall pick the less fancy of the two (like I always do when choosing Christmas Trees just in case the ugly one gets left behind to spend Christmas alone) and pronounce the carrot as Vegetable of the Week! Congratulations carrot.

Not the carrots in my cupboard

An urban legend says that eating large amounts of carrots will allow one to see in the dark. It developed from stories of British gunners in World War II who were able to shoot down German planes in the darkness of night. The legend arose during the Battle of Britain when the RAF circulated a story about their pilots' carrot consumption as an attempt to cover up the discovery and effective use of radar technologies in engaging enemy planes. The story reinforced existing German folklore and helped to encourage Britons—looking to improve their night vision during the blackouts—to grow and eat the vegetable. Genius!

Some time later... My bag of carrots has now materialised into a batch of carrot and walnut muffins and a pot of spicy pumpkin and carrot soup. There are two lovely loaves of plaited sesame bread cooling on wire racks as accompaniment. Unfortunately you will never see their true beauty because along with my heart, Mr R has taken the camera away for the weekend. I can assure you however, that they look very much like this...

For the soup I sauteed a large brown onion in olive oil and a little butter, added four cloves of crushed garlic, a finely chopped red chilli, a good dollop of 'lazy' ginger and a liberal smattering of black pepper. Then in went four chopped carrots and about a third of a medium pumpkin (also chopped). I added enough vegie stock to cover the contents, then bought it to the boil and simmered for as long as it took for the carrots to become tender ( the carrots always take longer than the pumpkin so best to cut them into smaller pieces). When it had cooled slightly, I whizzed it up with my new whizzer and checked the seasoning. Lastly, I poured in about a third of a cup of coconut cream, ( makes all the difference). And there we have it, a smooth, spicy, warming soup to enliven even the limpest of hair.

As for the tunes, Missy Elliot's 'Work It' got me over the line today. I love the ending when Missy says "this is hip-hop man, this is hip-hop" and then my i-pod morphs it into the next song which is never ever hip-hop and today in fact was My Morning Jacket's 'The Way That He Sings'. I'll add them both for your aural pleasure...

Holiday Edition

2010-07-26T19:59:00.000+10:00

Hardly looked at a vegetable last week, let alone cooked one, so the serious business of Vegetable of the Week will resume in next week's exciting installment of Mrs Robertson Presents. Our holiday diet consisted mostly of grain waves, buffalo feta, chocolate ice cream and sparkly wine.

Actually, we did have breakfast in a cafe where the 'chef' was so visibly angered by Mr Robertson's request for eggs benedict sans ham that we knew, just knew that he'd hoicked in the hollandaise. And my mushrooms! My mushrooms were out out of a can and smothered in evaporated milk! "Haven't these people heard of garlic and olive oil? I mean really, evaporated milk, it looks like semen!" I snorted to Mr R. Oh, we laughed. And then we laughed some more because they were playing the Spin Doctors on the stereo. "I hear you've brought your own music along!" joked Mr R. We're going to be just fine in the country.

But I digress. Last night, consumed with guilt for having been on holiday instead of performing my housewifely duties I whipped up some 'Winter Bake' and a f#*king incredible crumble. The winter bake consisted of a layer of mashed kumara and potato, topped with a layer of sauteed leek, savoy cabbage, baby peas and oregano then finished off with another layer of the potatoes mixture and some grated cheese. Plenty of black pepper for good measure then baked in the oven for 20 odd minutes. Went very nicely with some suspiciously meaty vegetarian sausages, wholegrain mustard and steamed baby carrots.

The crumble was of the rhubarb variety. I stewed the rhubarb and two apples in orange juice and brown sugar. Made a crumble mixture from equal measures of wholemeal flour and ground almonds, added more brown sugar, a generous handful of oats, pumpkin and sunflower seeds and some whole hazlenuts. Then I rubbed the lot together with a generous chunk of softened butter, put it on top of the stewed fruit and baked for half an hour until the rhubarb was bubbling away at the sides. Mr R enjoyed his with ice-cream and Master R with custard. I treated myself to some no fat, no sugar, no taste yoghurt. One likes to keep trim for Mr R.

The Mighty Red Onion

2010-07-11T16:30:00.000+10:00

Today is a lucky day for the red onion! For today she shall feature as the main ingredient in my soup! Usually she plays the supporting role, the wind beneath the tomato's wings or she's overshadowed by her plainer but very dependable cousin the brown onion. Even on wiki it's suggested that the red onion article be merged with onion general (discuss). Oh the injustice.

I have fielded several 'suggestions' since last week's entry. The first being from "Your Mother of Melbourne" who very much disliked the term 'moreish as crack'. She suggested a more suitable phrase might be 'moreish as chocolate'. By way of a compromise I have settled on 'moreish as chocolate crack.'

The second was from "Your Husband of Melbourne", who feels some mention of modren music would increase the hipster appeal of my blog. He was quite the hipster himself 10 years ago so he knows a lot about these things. So for the record, whilst making today's dish I listened to 'Come Feel the Illinoise' by Sufjan Stevens. Loudly, very loudly.

But I digress. First I peeled and finely sliced (using my amazing new microplane), eight red onions. They bubbled in their own juices and a few glugs of olive oil for about 25 minutes until they were melty and translucent. Then I threw in about half a cup of port, a generous teaspoon each of chopped basil and thyme, a bay leaf, four crushed cloves of garlic and plenty of salt and pepper. When the port had all but disappeared I added a litre of vegetable stock and let it simmer for about 20 minutes. Meanwhile I prepared some french bread by rubbing it with garlic, sprinkling it with olive oil and placing it under a hot grill. To the soup I added two tablespoons of tamari and some more black pepper then ladled it into oven-proof bowls. I spread the toasted bread with goats cheese and a drizzle of oil, placed it atop the soup and popped it back under the grill to melt. A sprinkling of thyme for garnish and bob's your uncle, red onion soup. Pronounced "lovely and meaty" by the vegetarian boys.

Assuming that I'm not strangled by a python or castrated by a cassowary, next week's installment will come to you from the tropical paradise that is Mission Beach in Far North Queensland. (Mind you given that the trip is in aid of one's 10th wedding anniversary, a bit of python strangling mightn't go amiss!)

2010-07-04T18:46:00.000+10:00

Et voila! (Though the egg could have been runnier and in fact would have been had my father-in-law not phoned and my next-door-neighbour not knocked right at the crucial moment)...

Introducing Vegetable of the Week

2010-07-04T17:04:00.000+10:00

This week it's the turn of tuscan cabbage which wikipedia informs me is a variety of kale known to have a sweeter taste following a bout of frost. I braised it in olive oil and a little butter with plenty of salt and pepper and a goodly amount of aged balsamic then threw in a cup of shelled broad beans at the last minute. The balsamic is a present from my mother and her second husband who have just returned from a jaunt around Italy. It is thick, almost syrupy, sweet and sharp and moreish like crack.

The plan is to pile it atop a swirl of parmesan polenta and baked feta then finish it off with a soft poached egg...