Introducing the Pear of Anguish

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!

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

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

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.

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

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!

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