The Fabulous Life of Binky Silhouette

De Cero

2008-08-03T10:20:00.002+10:00

Chicago Nighttime
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

One of the best things about Chicago is the easy access to a great Margarita and exceptional Mexican food. I can be as relentless as an anteater in my pursuit of a well made cocktail.

I had been in Chicago for less than three hours before I headed to Chipotle for some of their carnitas. Chipotle used to be a guilty pleasure for me, what with formerly being majority-owned by MacDonalds, but they’ve been free of the golden arches since 2006, so you can visit without putting your morals on hold. It’s worth a visit (although probably not worth almost missing an international flight like I did after one visit).

I’m not here to tell you about chain restaurants though. Monday saw me head off to De Cero, a “modern-day tacqueria”. Modern-day signifies that the tuna is ahi, the raspberry daiquiri has basil in it and they’ve gone for a “stripped-down” design ethos. If I worked for Wallpaper*, I’d call it “”a raw-urban aesthetic…with a hint of rustic”, but I don’t, so I’ll call it brown and acoustically-challenged with a hint of I’m sorry I can’t hear you. The only things capable of absorbing the noise in this place are the tamales. It’s busier than a one-legged Riverdancer, but they accommodated me. Chicagoans are nice like that.

I’d been guided towards the duck taco, so that was ordered, along with the ahi tuna, some ceviche and a goat cheese tamale. Oh, and a Margarita, because it was Monday and I am instigating Margarita Mondays from now on.

Chef Jill Barron (who has some interesting tattoos), describes the food as “fresh coastal Mexican” and I would concur, but suggest she tones down the lime in the ceviche as the fresh flavours of the baby scallops and rock shrimp disappear. It’s about as unbalanced as Amy Winehouse’s Glastonbury performance this year. Luckily the tacos are much better, especially the duck. It’s partnered with roasted corn, and the juiceness and sweetness of two make a nice two-part harmony.

Then my tamale arrived. I realise that I am about to have a restaurant malfunction. I don’t actually know how to eat a tamale, I had been seduced by the thought of hot chilli masa. I start scanning the room for clues, but my vision is disintegrating from the noise. I can’t see, it’s so loud. I’m beginning to panic. I’m an autodidact when it comes to restaurants and am happy to make mistakes. That said, most people don’t spend as long as me researching exactly what to do when you’re seated at the sushi bar (use your fingers for nigiri, chopsticks for sashimi, don’t ask the sushi chef for soup, don’t mix your wasabi and soy together and don’t dip the rice in the soy, just in case you were wondering. Any of those will have you pegged as a savage, quicker than you can say irasshaimase). I never expected to be defeated by a tamale though.

The essential problem is that I don’t know if the wrapper is edible. I have encountered a problem like this before, when I nearly choked to death on some edamame in Yo! Sushi! I didn’t know you were supposed to pop the beans out, so scarfed the lot. I soon realized you’d need the teeth of a ruminant to get through one and attempted to swallow it, rather than spitting it out discretely. This caused someone to have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on me. A tentative nibble on the tamale husk proves that it is, indeed, inedible, and akin to eating macramé. Crisis averted, I can dig in. It’s OK.

Of course I had to order another Margarita to get over the panic. Luckily that was delicious.

De Cero is at 814 W.Randolph. Call them on 312 455 8114 but don’t expect them to be able to hear you.

www.decerotaqueria.

The photo is of Chicago. I thought the photos of the tacos were a bit uninspiring.

Wahaca

2008-07-10T19:27:00.005+10:00

Wahaca, Pork Scratchings
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

Oh Thomasina Miers. You’re so clever. First you win Masterchef and then you make a book about soup. Everyone likes soup. Then you decide to start a restaurant. You begin with modern British, but come to realize that this is what every other pub is doing at the moment and the market is too tight. I can see you now, scouring the internet food forums to see what everyone thinks that London is missing.

And of course it’s authentic Mexican food.

You open in a big space in Covent Garden. You don’t take bookings, because this is casual street food. You make the portions right for sharing, because that’s what we’re all doing these days. You make sure your fish is sustainable and the pork and chicken free range, because we at the top of the food chain need to be nice to the things we eat.

And then you ruin it all by Anglicising the spelling. We’re not idiots. We can work out how to pronounce Oaxaca. You call it Wahaca. I gnash my teeth.

But it’s really not bad. The fish pastor taco is a bit too sweet and too oily but the salmon ceviche tostados are a real winner with great balance between hot chile, sweet salmon and sharp lime. The guacamole needs more salt and more spice, but the Mexican pork scratchings turn out to be one of the best things to dip into anything since food began. Crispy pork skin dipped in avocado or some refried black beans. What do you mean, you can hear my arteries hardening? Pass the salsa.

A quesadilla with broad beans, mint and feta wasn’t half as light and summery as I had hoped, but it was still a delicious cheesy treat. Another with chorizo and potato disappeared quicker than you can say mole. They make a mean margarita, but serve them in champage flutes, which means soon we all have salt rimmed noses. But it’s all fun, in a continental kind of way. World domination is next, with plans to open in a new shopping mall in Hammersmith. I hope they can keep it up, this is a worthy, if a bit posh-mex, addition to the London Mexican food scene.

Wahaca is at 6 Chandos Place, Covent Garden.

St John and the rise of the London Gastropub

2008-07-09T20:59:00.002+10:00

Sweetbreads
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

One of the things that I love has been the evolution of the gastropub in London. It has democratized dining by creating a reliable middle tier of restaurant. It wasn’t that long ago that your choices would be either high-end fine dining, or scampi in a basket from the brewery-owned pub down the road. Not that there’s anything wrong with scampi, but there was something wrong with pub kitchens making sole use of the microwave or the deep-fat fryer.

Of course it’s not all good, and for a while there wasn’t a boozer that hadn’t stripped its floors, painted the walls white and put a terrine on the menu, but generally speaking, the gastropub has raised the standard of casual dining across the country. You no longer need to go all white linen and fish forks to get a good meal.

So I make a concerted effort to get to some of the gastropubs in London when I am here. Partly because when you earn Australian dollars and the credit crunch is in full-flight, you can’t afford to eat high-end every night, but also because I like this casual dining thing.

Strangely enough, any look at gastropubs begins, not with a pub, but with a restaurant. It’s called St John and when chef Fergus Henderson opened the doors in 1994, he caused a bit of a stir. St John is now always in the world’s top 100 restaurants list, which is amazing when you consider that many people wrinkle their noses when you tell them what you ate there. I still don’t think Frog has forgiven me for eating that squirrel. What St John did was to reinvent the London restaurant. The menu reads like paired down Hemmingway, with no place for adjectival fripperies such as “pan-fried” or “on a bed of”. You get what you order, so “langoustines and mayonnaise” or “lamb’s sweetbreads”, (pictured) will be just that. Luckily this is sourcing and cooking of the highest order and the langoustines are so fresh and sweet that you don’t really need the raspy mayo, so I just smear that, quarter inch thick, on their exceptional bread. The sweetbreads are seared and served with a hint of wobble and their frying juices. “Salad” offered some contrast. It takes big balls to serve a plate of butter lettuce with spring onions, but when it’s dressed with the best salad dressing you’ll have all year, everything is elevated.

Most gastropubs follow the St John menu taxonomy, with starters blurring into main courses, some dishes meant for sharing and those sparse descriptions. The great thing about St John is that it has been around for long enough to have spawned some imitators and for its chefs to have moved on to do their own thing. The former head chef at St John Bread and Wine, Tom Pemberton, has recently opened Hereford Road and, based on my lunchtime experience there, is going to do very well. It’s St John but in a less austere room, with a wonderful skylight and burgundy walls. We shared most of the starters, including some great crab on toast that was more tasty brown meat than white (a Good Thing, in my book) and some great sand eels. The chips were superlative, all scronchy and golden and perfect to mop up the blood and juices from an onglet. This is simple, seasonal food with nowhere for mistakes to hide, although I was a little underwhelmed by the globe artichoke.

Medcalf in Exmouth Market was one of the first St John-a-likes and is always a reliable place, especially if Moro is unable to accommodate. The battered old metal tables always annoy though, especially when they flake rust onto your hands. Head Chef Mark Spence has moved on from here and opened Market in Camden, a place that has been crying out for this sort of thing for as long as I can remember. The service is charming, the chairs all old wooden school chairs and the slip soles were as good as any I have eaten. Portions are massive though, so be warned.

The Anchor and Hope, with its no bookings, wait in the packed bar like calves waiting to be crated across Europe-vibe was on the Binky boycott list for a long time, but I relented at Christmas and had a wonderful game pie. I completely understand why restaurants go down the no-bookings route, but it still irks me. Luckily the food is wonderful and the hectic atmosphere makes this a buzzy, fun place to eat. They opened Great Queen Street at the tail end of last year, and it’s basically Anchor and Hope, but with bookings. Last night’s hastily grabbed meal shows a restaurant that almost knows what it’s doing, but lets itself down with distracted service. I’m not sure you can ever serve potato soup with cockles and laver bread to a Welshman and expect him to not complain at paying more than 50p and my terrine needed more larding, but this is a reliable place in the West End. I’m not sure I’ll be rushing back but it’s a massive improvement on the Thai place that used to be there.

Hereford Road is at 3 Hereford Road, W2. 020 7727 1144. http://www.herefordroad.org

Great Queen Street is at 32 Great Queen Street, WC2B 5AA. 020 7242 0622.

Medcalf is at 40 Exmouth Market. 020 7833 3533. http://www.medcalfbar.co.uk

The Anchor and Hope is at 36 The Cut. They don’t take bookings, so there’s no point calling. Get there at about 5.30pm for the 6.00pm tables.

Market is at 43 Parkway, Camden. 020 7267 9700

St John has two branches and a very helpful website http://www.stjohnrestaurant.co.uk/

Introducing the NomNomNoms

2008-07-08T00:31:00.002+10:00

NomNomNomsGroup Pic
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

So it all really started when we discovered that I know two people called Giles. Actually, I know five people called Giles, but it turns out that the bloke from Buffy the Vampire Slayer doesn't count.

It was clear that we needed to get these Giles' (or should it be Giles's?) together, to see if the world would implode and what are the correct rules for possession and pluralisation of names ending with an 's'. Oh yes, and to eat some good food. People called Giles like to eat.

So Damana came up with the name, because we're all greedy weasels and are likely to make ravenous noises when eating. There was *a lot* of discussion about where we would eat first. Emails like this flew about:

"Right, I love the B theme too. So the nominees for the first dinner are:

Bilsons
Billy Kwong
Bistrode
Balzac
Becasse
Boathouse on Blackwattle Bay

Three votes each. You can put all three onto one restaurant or spread them out. Idea is to get the broadest possible idea of where people want to go.

Rah."

Votes were purchased, gauntlets thrown down, handbags parried at dawn. Bilsons won. The fact that I wait until last to vote and was collating the results, means that one day I'll probably end up being dictator of a small African nation.

And then it all gets rather interesting. Bilsons had a dish on the à la carte menu that I had wanted to try for years. Lièvre à la Royale, or Hare with black truffles, foie gras and a sauce made of the hare's blood.

Calls were placed. Hares were caught. Bilsons ended up substituting the dish onto the Menu Fin Bec. We were hoping they'd actually create a whole new tasting menu for us, but they didn't seem to want to go that far. Either way, we were having a special menu created for us at a very special restaurant.

We've created a group blog about the NomNomNoms. The idea is that we'll all contribute. I still need to organise my thoughts about the meal but you might like to check it out.

Oh, and if you'd be interested in joining us, please let me know by either leaving a comment with your contact details or emailing me. Am sure we'll enjoy dreaming up a devilish hazing for new members

Bentley Restaurant

2008-06-28T11:08:00.002+10:00

Duck.
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

I had a not bad three course meal at Bentley Bar and Restaurant in Surry Hills recently. Unfortunately it was part of an eight course tasting menu, so I left feeling financially mugged and gastronomically frustrated.

Do I not like fine dining anymore? I’m really starting to wonder if my travels to eat in all of the temples of avant-garde cuisine were the mere folly of youth. Did I let my brain get in the way of my taste buds? Did I really enjoy all that molecularly modified food? Am I having some sort of gastronomic mid-life crisis?

I can’t actually remember the last time I left a fine-dining restaurant ecstatically happy. Tetsuyas? White truffle ice cream tastes of bad breath.. Hibiscus? Nice sausage roll.There are more, but I can’t actually remember any of the meals without going to Flickr and that’s part of the problem.

What I can remember are the roast chicken with bread sauce at Glebe Point Diner in Sydney. The locally caught mussels wrapped in home reared and cured lardo at the Sportsman in Seasalter. Neither of these are fine-dining (although the Sportsman does have a Michelin star) but both of these punch far above their weight in terms of their deliciousness, despite their lack of pomp and circumstance.

So why did I dislike Bentley so much and why I am writing about it, given I said that this blog was here to celebrate the good? Because sometimes you have to call people out when they are serving bad food. So here’s the new rule from the fabulous life of Binky Silhouette. I’m not just telling you about the good stuff anymore.

But I can’t resist some positivity. There was some good to be found here. The amuses bouches were unusual and delicious. I know I’m a patè whore, but serving jerusalem artichoke soup with a schmear of chicken liver patè at the bottom was a good idea, and one I will be stealing at home. The roasted duck breast with kohl rabi and black fungus was earthy and rich and showcased a nice piece of duck. The white chocolate and mandarin fizz with mandarin ice cream was a beautifully balanced desert, albeit with elements I first saw at WD-50 about five years ago. You can’t fault someone from re-using a good idea.

However, serving pork with salmon roe is not a very good idea. There’s a reason why pork and fish are generally kept apart. You can’t take a pork cheek, an unctuous, fatty piece of meat at the best of times and contrast it with the…unctuous, fatty, fishy richness of some salmon roe. You then can’t serve it with some smoked salmon and beetroot. Especially when the smoked salmon is inside an ersatz ravoli that appears to made out of purple-tinged polystyrene.

I’m going to stop here. I’ll let the Flickr set tell you the rest.

Bentley Bar and Restaurant is at 320 Crown Street. You don’t need the number. You won’t be going.

Glebe Point Diner is at 407 Glebe Point Road. You can make a reservation for one of their two dinner sittings on (02) 9660 2646.

I'll tell you more about the Sportsman very soon.

North Bondi Italian Food

2008-06-23T02:04:00.002+10:00

NBIF menu
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

I think I’ve found a reason to want the Sydney winter to continue.

The Global Corporate Challenge has awakened my latent competitiveness and I now find myself walking everywhere. The planned walk from Spit Bridge to Manly had been cancelled (due partly to inclement weather and partly to 74 sub-standard Margaritas at La Cita the night before) but I had a terrible urge to “get the steps in”.

This is the only reason I have for why last Sunday, I was one of only three people walking along Bondi Beach in the sleeting rain and a force 12 gale. I’m fairly sure that the other two were also British.

If any Australians had spotted me, I’m sure they would have rolled their eyes twice. Once for the fact that they don’t think Bondi is “all that” and find my obsession with this beach risible. And twice because it was bloody cold.

But I was walking with purpose and I figured I would treat myself to lunch at North Bondi Italian Food, little sister restaurant to Icebergs.

It’s a casual (but not inexpensive), chic place, which doesn’t take reservations. It was already rammed at 12.30pm and the wait time for a table was an hour. Luckily, you can also eat at the bar, and given I looked like the wild wombat woman of Wooloomooloo (I love saying that. More “oohs” than a lorry load of adult DVDs), I can imagine that the Maitre’d was quite happy for me to be hidden by the door, away from the far more glamorous Sydney residents who’d already bagged a table. I love restaurants with a bar that solo diners can eat at. You feel much less inconspicuous (not something I generally worry about, but last night’s mascara was halfway down my cheeks and I was wearing a Yahoo t-shirt), you don’t feel the need to tip double (which I generally do in a nice place when I’ve taken up a two-top) and you can flirt with the hot barman (which, given I discovered the mascara when I got home was perhaps over-ambitious). The menu is utterly eatable and it took me a whole, very delicious, latte and about 26 complimentary monkey nuts to make my decision. It was meant to be a light lunch, so some salami and bread to begin and soup to follow.

Doesn’t sound like it’s going to amount to much, does it?

But this is a restaurant that takes its sourcing very seriously. So the salami is a cacciatore salami made from 90kg Black Berkshire pigs that have clearly had a very happy life. It’s served with some exceptional breads from Sonoma bakery and Fratelli Fresh olive oil. My only complaint was that you can’t get a tasting plate of the salumi and I really want to try to cutaletto and the guanciale. Next up was a massive, steaming bowl of twice cooked chicken broth with chicken polpette and chunky carrots. The bowl’s big enough to drown in and is everything that chicken soup could ever be. The stock was beautifully clarified, full flavoured and sparkling. The meatballs were firm and tasty, the chunky carrots all sweet and…well, chunky. It’s so easy to do chicken soup wrong, but all of the components were carefully thought-out and a lot of extra effort had gone into making this a wonderful dish.

I would have stayed for an averna (this place has a great digestive list) but it was getting hugely busy and I was being bumped and clattered from all sides. The noise level was unbearable. I’ll never understand the fashion for restaurants made entirely of hard surfaces that don’t even think to put some linen on the tables. I can imagine that this isn’t a problem in the summer, when the huge French-windows open and you can both see and hear the waves, but for now, my only criticism can only be righted by beautiful velvet drapes around all of the walls.

I cannot wait to go back here. It’s my new favourite place. Next time I want to get stuck into the (be still my beating heart) offal section of the menu, or perhaps try a roast of the day. And the marinated sardines. And some pasta. Oh God. I really can’t wait to go back.

North Bondi Italian Food is at 1 Notts Avenue, just opposite Bondi Beach.

Fresh borlotti beans with prawns

2008-06-14T19:18:00.001+10:00

Prawns
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

I’ve become slightly obsessed with Giorgio Locatelli’s book “Made In Italy, Food & Stories” recently. Not just because I almost had to pay an excess luggage charge to bring it back to Australia (it’s slightly heavier than a small breeze block), but it’s a great overview of Italian regional cookery and the life of a chef.

So it was a rainy Monday public holiday in Sydney, and decided to cook from it.

I’d picked up some beautiful fresh borlotti beans from (yes, you’ve guessed it) the Norton Street Grocer and some prawns from David Jones Food Hall. The beans didn’t let me down and podding them was a joy, revealing the speckled beans that look like little pink lizard’s eggs. The prawns were a bit meagre, but luckily I had bought plenty, so we didn’t go hungry.

This could be classed as cooking for inept single men. You don’t have to make the shellfish stock or cook beans from fresh, but sometimes it’s nice to go to a little extra effort, isn’t it?

Ingredients (for two as a starter, one greedy weasel as a main course)
About 400g of fresh borlotti beans, podded
½ head of unpeeled garlic, plus two extra cloves, minced
1 stalk of celery
Some herbs, I used parsley and sage
Nice olive oil
As many prawns as you fancy. I used medium sized green prawns
1 long chilli pepper (not too fiery, don’t use a birds eye one)
Some nice white wine (I used a pinot grigio from Harndorf Hill winery in Adelaide)
A couple of tablespoons of passata

To serve
Some chopped parsley
Some minced garlic
Your best olive oil

Start by cooking your beans. You want to boil them in plenty of unsalted water with the garlic, herbs and celery. It’s important to not salt the beans as salting them now will make them really tough. Which is appealing in an action hero, but less so in a bean. Cover them in cold water, bring to the boil and skim off any scum. Reduce the heat and simmer, with the lid on, until they’re soft to the bite (probably about 45 minutes to one hour). Once cooked, keep them warmish (I just left the lid on the pan).

At this point, heat your oven to about 180 degrees.

Peel your prawns, leaving the heads on and remove the digestive tract. This can be a bit fiddly if you’ve never done it before. I recommend first running your thumb down the underside of the prawn, which loosens the shell, and then peeling from there. Save the shells for the stock. Once peeled, lay your prawn down and slice the tail in two (known as butterflying). As you slice through you’ll be able to remove the digestive tract which runs along the top of the prawn. If you’re unfamiliar with the anatomy of a prawn, it looks like a thinnish black line encased in a membrane. To be honest though, you’ll be able to tell. Prawn crap is quite distinctive.

To make your stock, heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil in a pan and sauté the shells with a splash of white wine, about half a chilli, a couple of smashed garlic cloves and a tablespoon of passata. Add enough water to cover, but don’t go mad as we’re trying to concentrate the flavours. Cook for no more than 10 minutes and then strain through a sieve, making sure you scronch down the shells and push all the flavour through. Don’t forget to scrape the underside of the sieve, the stock will be thick and concentrated here. Just stir it in.

You’ll need your biggest pan. If all of the prawns won’t fit, cook in two batches. We want to fry the prawns and get them caramelizing, not steam them. Heat your oil, add the garlic and chilli and cook for a few moments to flavour the oil. Do not allow the garlic to burn. This is the critical part of the recipe. Burnt garlic tastes of ass. Season the prawns and drop them into the pans on their backs. Resist the urge to shake or stir, let them caramelize. Once this had happened, press down on the heads to release the brains. I’ll let you into a secret. Prawn heads are the best bit of a prawn. Next time you have them, suck the heads. Pure concentrated essence of prawn. Don’t want the heads, I’ll have yours. Once cooked, keep your prawns warm in the oven. You did turn it on, didn’t you?

Use a slotted spoon to add the beans to the pan that you cooked the prawns in, season and bring to the boil. You’re going to sauce the beans, either with some of the cooking water or the stock (depending on how much effort you wanted to go to). If you’re using the water, add the passata and some wine, but don’t let the sauce get too thin. Crush some of the beans to mingle the flavours from the prawns and to thicken the sauce.

I plated this by placing the beans in the centre of the plate and then artfully arranged the prawns ontop, drizzled with some best olive oil and some chopped parsley, a couple of rings of chilli and some garlic.

A full photoset is available on Flickr

Perfect Manhattan

2008-06-09T17:07:00.006+10:00

How do you know when you're in safe hands? Eating and drinking out is an act of trust and I've come to believe that there are benchmark items everywhere. I mean the single thing you need to order to know if the establishment knows what they are doing. A pain au chocolate in a patisserie, patatas bravas in a tapas bar, xiao long bao (aka Shanghai soup dumplings) in your yum cha joint of choice. And when I'm in a bar? Fix me a perfect Manhattan. It used to be a Margarita, but having drunk too many that reminded me of battery acid, I switched. Oh, and in case you're wondering, the world's best Margarita is at Adobo Grill in Chicago.

I've had some really good Manhattan's recently. The smoked Manhattan seems to be in vogue, and although I usually give short shrift to remixes of classics, both Cristal bar and The Victoria Room in Sydney do a fine job. Perhaps it's because we're in indoor smoke-free times (and the Manhattan is best enjoyed with a Marlborough light) but both drinks work. So The Victoria Room serve theirs with a smoked cherry and Cristal seem to waft some burning paper in the general direction of the martini glass.

So what goes into a Manhattan I hear you ask? Well, it's a drinkers' cocktail...No fruit puree, no sugar syrup, nothing sparking with bubbles. It's whiskey, vermouth, bitters and a maraschino cherry. All of the major food groups represented then.

I take mine straight up and perfect (meaning equal parts red and white vermouth) and, ideally, with Makers Mark. It's always nice when you have a choice.

Other great Manhattans I have known are found at Murmur in Melbourne (where the photo of my brother was taken) and at the Majestic Hotel in San Francisco. Both are, quite simply, perfect. Like my drink.

The Victoria Room is at Level 1 231A Victoria St, Darlinghurst, NSW 2010 (02) 9357 4488
Adobo Grill is all over Chicago, but my favourite is at 1610 N Wells (at North Avenue)
Murmur is at Level 1, 17 Warburton Lane, Melbourne, Victoria (03) 9640 0395
The Majestic Hotel is at 1500 Sutter St, San Francisco, +1 415-441-1100

Longrain

2008-06-04T21:53:00.003+10:00

I’ve only ever had one motto when it comes to food. "Never eat more than you can lift." For that, I have to thank my spiritual guide, Miss Piggy.

But now I have a new one. Never fight a Papua New Guinean for pork. Especially when the pork in question is the caramelized pork hock at Longrain.

Longrain is a terminally popular “modern Thai” restaurant in Surry Hills. They’ll tell you it has a “Manhatten feel” but they’re wrong. This is the quintessential Sydney restaurant. But, of course, they’ve gone and opened an even more glamorous branch in Melbourne. It’s my omni-restaurant, one that is suitable for all sort of occasions and I send *everybody* there. Fun first date when you want to see if your potential partner knows their way around a menu and can share? Longrain. Dinner for a group of less than nine that’s fashionable and noisy? Longrain because you can’t book. In need of a quick pick-you-up at lunchtime? Longrain and sit at the bar. The menu won’t tell you this, but about 40% of the dishes are available in smaller serves, so you can go by yourself and not have to just order one dish. Cocktails after work with some friends and you just want a nibble? Longrain and have a couple of plates of the betel leaves with smoked trout. The cocktails are sensational too.

I love this restaurant. It’s consistent, fun, delicious and even caters well to our vegetarian friends. They can have the salt and pepper tofu. You have the pork hock. You deserve it.

I’ve been so many times that I’ve eaten the entire menu. If you’re a first timer, have the crispy pork hock with five spice. It’s chewy and porky and fatty and the caramelized vinegar tips the whole thing over the edge. The soft-shell crab with pork and a papaya salad is the best soft-shell crab you’ll find in Sydney (that’s a challenge. Know anything better? Prove it). There’s a dab-hand at the fryer here, so the crab’s ethereally light and disappears in seconds. The barramundi isn’t killed to order (despite the fact that the menu tells you it’s from the tank. If you’re going to tell me it’s from the tank, I want to see the number of barramundi diminishing during the evening. I checked recently and the story is that it’s more humane to kill and skin them outside of service. I am not entirely convinced, but then, I am strangely into fish being killed to order for me).

Even the deserts are good, and I am not the biggest fan of the Asian banana/palm sugar/coconut combo. Have the sampler plate. I’ll eat all the roasted coconut ice-cream.

But best of all, for me, are the betel leaves with smoked trout. I think this one mouthful of food might have been what convinced me to move to Sydney. Obviously Bangkok might have been a more obvious choice if I wanted Thai food on-tap, but sitting at that bar in January 2006 and having that explode in my mouth made a lasting impression. It’s a bit like being mugged by a gorgeous man with a bottle of fish sauce, who tickles a chili under your nose and spritzes citrus in your left eye while he slaps your lips with a piece of smoked trout.

The light in there isn’t great, so instead of a photo of Longrain, you’ve got a similar betel leaf dish from Pomegranate Thai in Balmain. You could go there instead, but it’s not as good.

Longrain is at 85 Commonwealth Street in Surry Hills. I’ve developed a homing device that means I know when I am within about 400 meters of the place. I really hope you love it as much as I do.

Longrain is at 40-44 Little Bourke Street in Melbourne.

Pomegranate Thai is at 191 Darling Street in Balmain. They also have a place called Prasit’s Northside Thai at 77 Mount Street.

Broccoli Pasta (for inept single men)

2008-06-04T09:57:00.001+10:00

anchovy
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

I’ve had a request and am very excited. Someone has asked me for a recipe! It seems that finally I might have found my niche in life, and that’s to provide recipes for inept single men. I would request, however, that if any inept single men have any “success” with my recipes, you post a testimonial on the site.

I need to know if this stuff works.

It all came about when this chap shared his recipe for “pasta with vegetables” with me. It was more a jumble of misconceptions than a delicious meal. It was something along the lines of capsicum, tomatoes, zucchini and…yes, you’ve guessed it, pesto. The single man’s lubricant of choice.

I’ll never understand a. what possesses people to purchase store bought pesto and b.to add it to whatever pasta dish they’re planning. Pesto has its place, ideally when you’ve got a beautiful bunch of fresh basil, a pestle and mortar and a really great chunk of pecorino.

Anyway, I digress. Here are the rules of healthy(ish) pasta and vegetable dishes.

1. Pick one vegetable. Perhaps two. Certainly no more.
2. Plan your flavour accents. Garlic, olives, anchovy, onion, herbs, dried chili, perhaps some cheese. Not all of them.
3. Find a texture contrast. Pine nuts, hazelnuts, toasted flaked almonds, sesame seeds, perhaps some cheese.
4. Have some sort of sauce. Might just be oil, might be a splash of cream, could be some melted anchovy.
5. Keep it simple. This is easy cooking for a Tuesday night, not Iron Chef.

So, for this dish, our vegetable is going to be broccoli. The flavour accents are chili, onion and garlic. The texture is going to be pine nuts. I’d recommend using penne because the onions and pine nuts get stuck in the ridges but the smooth penne has worked for me because of the smooth pasta with broccoli floret contrast. Works for me.

Ingredients (to serve two)
A handful of pinenuts
A red onion, sliced into elegant, thin strips
A clove of garlic, mashed or sliced, up to you (I don’t wish to be proscriptive)
About ten anchovies in oil
A teeny tiny dried red chili, crumbled
A very large head of broccoli, perhaps two
Enough pasta to feed you both

Begin by toasting your pine nuts. Pop them into a cold frying pan with no oil, and watch them constantly. Pine nuts are slippery buggers and will burn in a pico-second if you leave them unattended. Set aside.

Add some of the oil from the jar of anchovies and a little extra EVOO, warm and add the onion. We’re aiming to wilt the onion so it’s slippery, not crisp it. Add the garlic, chili and the anchovies. The anchovies will melt into the onion and garlic.Yum. Keep warm.

Find your largest pan and fill it with boiling water. Wait until it’s at a rolling boil and then add lots of salt. Most people don’t salt their pasta water enough. It needs to be as salty as sea water, although don’t use sea water for convenience and don’t ever try tasting your boiling water to see if it’s salty enough. You’ll burn your tongue. Just throw in a really good handful of (preferably Maldon) salt. Bigger than you think you should. Live a little. The reason restaurant food tastes better is because they use more salt and butter than we do at home. I cook the broccoli and pasta in the same water (to save on washing up) and I steam the broccoli over the top of the pasta. You could just mix them, but the broccoli will cook first, so you’ll need to fish it out.

Drain the pasta, reserving a cup of water. Mix all the ingredients together, adding some of the cooking water for lubrication (not pesto). The cooking water contains a lot of starch, so it will, curiously, help to thicken your sauce. Don’t use too much though. Sprinkle on pine nuts. Or toasted sesame seeds. Or some nice hazelnuts now I come to think of it. Chow down.

Ribollita

2008-06-02T12:08:00.003+10:00

Ribollita Ingredients (this time in focus)
Originally uploaded by Suzi Edwards

There’s an old Italian proverb about soup.

Sette cose fa la zuppa, cava fame e sete attuta, empie il ventre, snetta il dente, fa dormire, fa smaltire, e la guancia fa arrossire.

Which, for those of us who don’t speak Italian, translates as;

Soup does seven things; it takes away hunger and thirst, fills the stomach, cleans the teeth, makes you sleep, makes you slim and puts colour in your cheeks.

I always cook soup when it’s cold and I’m feeling a little peaky. I find making soup restores the soul, so maybe there’s an eighth thing in there too. Whatever case, soup is the thing I turn too when I need a bit of cheering up. Well, that and shoe shopping.

So today I set about making some ribollita, while listening to Micah P Hinson and the Gospel of Progress. Truly great stuff for the soul. Especially as I’d got the last bunch of Tuscan cabbage at the Norton Street Grocer.

There’s just no point making ribollita without Tuscan cabbage, also known as Cavolo Nero. Its dark green leaves are packed full of iron and it’s also great sauted with some chilli and anchovy. But today it was the soup pot for these leaves. My version isn’t exactly authentic, as I couldn’t resist adding some pancetta, but feel free to leave it out.

Ingredients:
A good size bunch of Tuscan cabbage. It should be squeaky fresh.
Two white onions, diced
Four sticks of celery, sliced and diced (I sound like Hannibal Lecter)
Three fat cloves of garlic, roughly chopped
A tin of cannelinni beans (I like La Gina brand), rinsed
A couple of slices of pancetta dolce, cut into batons
A tin of chopped tomatoes (I like Annalisa brand)
At least 200ml of good chicken stock
A good chunk of slightly stale ciabatta
Your best olive oil

Begin by rendering the fat from the pancetta in some light olive oil. The idea is for the fat to melt, rather than for the meat to crisp, so keep the heat down low. Once the pancetta is soft and plump, add the onions and soften. Then add the garlic and the celery. The idea is to build up layers of flavour, so it’s important to give each ingredient time to coat in the porky oil and give up their goodness. I took a shower and blow-dryed my hair once everything was in the pot, to allow the flavours extra time to mix. Once you’re happy with your blow-dry (or the base for the soup, depends on which comes first) add the stock, tomatoes, ¾ of the beans and bring to a good simmer. Add the cabbage and cook for around 30 minutes.

While this is happening, you want to puree the rest of the beans (you can use a blender or just mush them up), as they, along with the bread, will thicken the soup. Add the puree and the stale bread, which you’ve ripped into chunks and return to the heat. Check the seasoning and the consistency, ribollita is meant to be thick. If you've used pancetta, you probably won't need too much salt.

Serve with a glug of your best olive oil on top. World becomes better place.

Universal Restaurant, Sydney

2007-11-27T23:54:00.001+11:00

Things have changed since I last posted. I'm just back from a long vacation and Australia has had a change of government. Change is good, especially when it's a move from a party that's slightly to the right of the Nazis to a man who appeared on one of Australia's most popular TV shows and told us who he'd "turn gay for" (his wife, rather bizarrely, but I guess we all now know who wears the trousers in that relationship). More excitingly, the lead singer of Midnight Oil (remember them?) is Minister for the Environment, and the drummer from INXS is Chancellor of the Exchequer.

Amid this cornucopia of change, Christine Mansfield has moved back to Sydney and opened Universal in Darlinghurst. I never got to East@West in London, a comment I heard from several people when she closed and that probably explains why she didn't make it. She's moved back home with several of the team from London and has set up in a rather odd place in the Inner East. I like the space; it's bright, colourful and the open front blends indoors and outdoors really well. Guess I can't see how it's going to work in winter, no matter how many artfully rolled up blankets they leave on each banquette. But never-mind, this is a space that doesn't really look like a restaurant and at least it's not owned by Gordon Ramsey. The menu is "tasting size portions" but doesn't seem to be designed to share, so it's actually clever marketing to get you to spend more money on less food. And you get to be all territorial over your plate. Still, they supply lots of cutlery, should the desire to share overtake you. Each plate on the tempting menu comes with a wine suggestion, which is fine if you want to build your own degustation menu and wine flight, but it was Tuesday night and I really just wanted a simple bite to eat. I must be getting old, but it's nice to not have a "concept" to get from time to time. Matching one wine to a possible 12 different dishes across the four of us was going to be impossible, so we had a bottle of Twofold Riesling from the (I thought) quite expensive wine-list.

Mansfield's famed for her spicing and ability to build harmonious plates of complicated food. I'm not sure she succeeded tonight. A beginning of lamb sweetbreads with surface ripened goats cheese and hazelnuts was a selection of well sourced ingredients, slightly wrongly matched. Everything was high quality and well executed, but I'm still not convinced by a cheese and sweetbread pairing. Worse was a lobster hot and sour soup with an incendiary broth, and a complaint got an unhelpful "did you think we were joking when we said Hot and Sour Soup?". No, but neither did I expect the Universal Gaytime on the desert menu to involve Liza Minnelli and a bottle of poppers.

Luckily our final plates picked up a bit and my rosy veal (don't shudder, all of us who drink milk have a moral responsibility to eat veal) with caramelised foie gras was a juicy piece of sous vide veal and a nice sliver of foie. Sous vide meat can be a bit like nursing home food, but this hit the spot and started to live up to some of the hyperbole lavished on this place.

A chocolate Extravaganza and a decaf long black (with a very rich, very tiny fruit and nut brownie) finished off one side of the table and I managed to make enough puppy-dog eyes to get a couple of spoonfuls of a fairy-floss garnished but otherwise very grown-up peach and vanilla yoghurt panacotta desert from Giles and Kerrie.

The bill? $500. And there's the rub. This isn't cheap and it could be more filling. That said, it's a good way to try a DIY degustation style menu in glamorous, relaxed, informal surroundings. But I don't need a starter restaurant, and this just didn't quite do it for me.

Universal Restaurant
Republic 2 Courtyard, Palmer Street, (between Liverpool & Burton Sts), Darlinghurst
(02) 9331 0709

The Pizza Rules

2007-10-08T20:47:00.001+10:00

I'd never had cause to doubt cousin Howie's sanity before, but I'd definitely heard him say "lamb pizza" at least twice now and I was going to have to investigate. He'd mentioned the word "delicious" too. He'd always struck me as someone in charge of all of his mental faculties, but clearly he hadn't heard of the Pizza Rules.

Rule One: Only Italian Style, Pork-Based Meats.
Forgive me Rabbi, but there's no place on a pizza for lamb, chicken or beef. Pizzas need pork based products; salami, San Daniele and Parma are the pizza holy trinity. Oh, and anchovies. Even though they're not made of pork.

Rule Two: No Pineapple.
The Hawaiian pizza was invented in 1984 at Anglia Polytechnic by man called Gerald who, having smoked far too much weed, called his local pizza delivery place and basically tripped out. Seriously though, I've tried to find the origin of the Hawaiian pizza and it's shrouded in mystery. Which is a Bad Thing.

Rule Three: No Sweetcorn.
I might actually change this rule to no tinned stuff, because there's clearly a correlation between things from tins and badness on pizzas.

Rule Four. No Fusion.
Thai style satay with snow peas and roasted red onion.
Tandoori chicken with sweetcorn.
Roast duck with plum sauce and spring onions.
Ignoring the fact that satay isn't even from Thailand, all of these are the culinary equivalents of a nuclear war. If you want duck, go to a Chinese restaurant and have it with some nice pancakes. It's delicious.

You see, what's happened is that the pizza has become a sort of omni-cultural open sandwich. You wouldn't expect your local Indian restaurant to serve you a fish and chip biryani, so why do pizzerias prostitute themselves this way? Luckily there are some places that are trying to keep the flag flying for real pizza. RossoPomodoro, tucked away in White Bay in Balmain, is one such place. They have their own rules and make a very authentic, yeasty, Neapolitan pizza with a slightly floppy middle and a blistered crust. Their range is split into two- pizza rosso like the San Daniele and mozzarella one I had last time and pizza bianca, like the gorgonzola and prosciutto I first tried- and it's all the better for knowing what it does, and doing it well. This place is so popular it's impossible to just tip up on a Friday or a Saturday night but I'm happy enough to get take out and scarf half of my pizza by the time we've driven home. Because everyone knows that the final rule is

Rule Five: No delivery pizza. Because there's nothing worse for pizza than a 2km bike ride in a steamy cardboard box.

Oh, and the lamb pizza? It's at the Centennial Hotel and it's not bad at all. The base is thin crust, a little floppy and too crisp at the edges, with a rich tomato and aubergine topping. This would have been enough for me, and while not authentic at all, it was delicious enough. It was topped with a couple of large, rare, char grilled lamb filets. Well, you wouldn't serve a steak and kidney pie with a Cornish pasty garnish, and the lamb pizza had about the same cohesion. If they'd rolled the whole thing up and served with with a slick of the Caesar sauce that came with, I would have been very happy with my kebab.

RossoPomodoro is at Shop 90/91, 24 Buchanan Street, Balmain. Call 02 9555 5924
The Centennial Hotel is at 88 Oxford Street, Woollhara. Call 02 9362 3838

Vulcan's, Blackheath

2007-08-01T21:33:00.000+10:00

Vulcan's is one of the iconic Australian restaurants. Tucked away in Blackheath in the Blue Mountains, a good two hour train ride from central Sydney and housed in a former bakery, chef Philip Searle has built a really uncompromising restaurant with a big reputation.

The service is reputed to be brusque, locals are preferred and a serious bottle of wine is supposed to be one of the few things that will get the wait staff to crack a smile. The restaurant itself is quite easy to miss, next door to a serial killer's idea of a garden-centre that only seemed to sell dead plants and nails.

The menu is short and to the point with a 3,4,4 configuration and more signature dishes than anything. Searle runs this as a bit of a labour of love, so I guess there's little need to innovate. Vulcan's is such an institution that there's no way he can take the duck sausages, pot roast beef and chequerboard ice-cream off the menu. I wonder to myself if this limits return visits as I nibble on some exceptional bread and watch the sun streaming in through the large plate glass windows. I'm enjoying myself so much at this point I'm not sure I care...

First up was a steaming dish of thai-style soup with tofu and octopus. This is real big balls cooking from a man who's totally in control of what he's doing. Chunks of slithery, wobbly tofu and a tangle of baby octopus compete with a spicy fish broth with amazing depth of flavour. It's like eating essence of ocean. Not the best match for my wine, but the perfect dish for a freezing cold day. Having not chosen the signature dish starter I went for the pot roasted beef, wanting to try the dish that Searle thinks sums up the restaurant's ethos. "It’s back to the hearth, to the shared table and people love it...We don’t divide dishes into portions. We do the whole thing and everyone shares in it and enjoys that experience. They know that they are getting a bit of what everyone else is having." As a regular solo diner I love the way this dish makes me feel. I am sharing in the food that everyone else is having, even though I am only earwigging on their conversations.

I was not disappointed, although it's fair to say that I could cook this at home. So, best I have desert, and try something I couldn't make, right?

The famous chequerboard icecream. I'd read a lot about this dish. Today the sorbet was pineapple and the icecream was vanilla, although I have seen a version with a couple of squares of lemon sorbet in there too. There's a subtle star anise flavour caramel holding everything together, that just ties everything together perfectly. I'm thrilled that the person who serves pot roast also takes the time to craft something as intricate as this.

I'd go back. This is probably one of the best places for a sunday lunch I've tried. It's not fine dining, it's one man's vision. And you can't say fairer than that.

Kiva.org

2007-06-29T20:10:00.000+10:00

I invested in a butcher's shop in Tajikistan and a smoked-fish seller in Sierre Leone today.

Social responsibility is one of our core values at ThoughtWorks, my employer. There's lots of conversation at the moment about what we should do. A colleague, Angela, mentioned that she is a micro-lender on Kiva and I followed her link.

I saw a documentary recently about micro-loans, but in the same way that I quite often think "I should buy/eat/organise/think/read about that", it went out of my mind. I have several criteria for charity. The overheads of many of the large charities mean that the money we donate doesn't always do quite as much good as we think it might. I'm interested in Africa. I like to support women. I think that education is essential in developing nations. What delighted me about Kiva is that I am able to direct my money to individuals, and the site UI allows me to choose which people I support based on their gender, location and business.

So instead of checking out Facebook at lunchtime today I made a loan to Mbalu Kholifa, a mother of two who runs a business producing and selling smoked fish. She wants her children to have a good education, and the loan will help them to buy materials for the business and improve profits. Flushed by my success I wanted to find more women to help, but couldn't find any involved in food. So I made a loan to Abdumavlon Salimov, who rears and slaughters his own cattle in Tajikistan. I figure that if I am ever in that part of the world, I'll know where to get a good steak.

Cupcakes on Pitt

2007-06-21T21:44:00.000+10:00

There's something about a cupcake. I brought the box on the left into the office and there was lots of cooing and oohing. There's something about the scrummy moistness and the swirly frosting that makes the sanest of adults all excited. I reckon it's to do with getting to eat a whole cake. I'm a sucker for anything that I can have all by myself. Maybe it's a mini Melton Mowbray pork pie with a slick of English mustard. A crisp skinned poussin which I can devour with my fingers. A Vacherin Mont'Dor and a loaf of bread. A leg of lamb.

Cupcakes on Pitt reminded me of Peyton and Byrne in London, only with less frosting (this is no bad thing in my eyes, I am All About the Cake) but friendlier service. They have two branches, one in Bondi and one at 323 Pitt Street. Their best seller (and most delicious cake) was the Lemon Meringue Pie, with its sharp lemon curd filling and swirl of soft French meringue ontop. Slightly less sucessful was the Honeycomb, as the frosting was too sweet, but I heard great reports on the Milk Chocolate.

I'll be back, because as you can see from the photo, there's nothing like a box of cupcakes.

Cupcakes on Pitt, 323 Pitt Street (02) 9264 4644

Wildfire (and a rant about Oscillate Wildly)

2007-06-13T17:03:00.000+10:00

Restauranteurs put a lot of effort into tempting punters into their dining rooms. So I still can't work out why they're so rude when people call to book a table. These days I can't really be bothered to do the whole reservation thing. I'm over the whole faxing El Bulli in Catalan to secure a reservation six months before you want to eat. I understand that having your restaurant booked up three months in advance is good for the restauranteur, but it's just not for the customer. I can see how a three month wait might be feasible if you're making me a sofa but three months notice to cook me dinner?

I called Oscillate Wildly, one of Sydney's hottest restaurants, when I first arrived. I knew the buzz was insane so I was happy to go when they had a table. I'm neither rich enough nor beautiful enough to expect to eat at 8.00pm on a Friday or Saturday night. So my pitch was "I'd like to eat in your restaurant, I know you're booked up, I would like a table for two any night of the week in May, I can come as early as you like. I'm at your mercy."

The person who answered the call laughed and told me they were fully booked until June and hung up.

This was in March.

No wait-list. No attempt to find me a space. No offer to take my number and call me when one of the people who booked six weeks in advance can't make it. I'll try a walk in early one day and I'll probably get a table. Because here's the rub. Restaurant reservationists seem to revel in pissing off the people who call, but when they see the whites of your eyes, they'll generally accommodate you. Funny that.

My mate Dave was over from London and I needed to find somewhere for us to have dinner. I was busy, so I left it until 3.00pm on the day we wanted to eat before I started my search (the best time I find as the restaurants have generally confirmed their reservations by lunchtime and they have a better idea of who's tipping up.) Wildfire is just up from Circular Quay, right opposite the Opera House and so as far as I'm concerned, not a bad spot to eat supper in. They make a big deal about their woodfired Churrasco, and Dave and I were up for a bit of a meat orgy.

First up, the little tapas they bring to get your started are very delicious. The warm flatbread with a tomato and Kryten goat curd dip is especially good. The mini venison sausage rolls were also suitably flaky, although not a patch on the sausage rolls from Mr Christie's in London. But here's the rub; linger over the tapas and a bottle of wine from their extensive list and suddenly you're not hungry anymore.

So we sort of wimped out on the meat orgy. Churrasco is meat on a stick, Brazillian style. The waiters will bring over a spike and slice off what you want, you're even given a handy pincer to help them with their meat. Being Sydney they also do a fair seafood selection, although Dave and I were agreed that this wasn't quite as good as the meat. The highlight for me was the Angus sirloin which had been aged for 30 days, although the lamb wasn't bad too. I'd go back but more likely to their bar, ember, where you can get the flatbread and an amazing selection of wine by the glass.

Here's the backstory though. When I called we were told that they'd have to have the table back by 8.30. The reservationist gave a lot of attitude and I nearly didn't take the table because there's only one thing I hate more than having to wait three months for a table, and that's being told how long my meal is going to take me to eat. What happened on the night? The restaurant was half full and we sat on the harbour until 10.00pm. I really don't understand why restaurants make such a hash of making a good first impression.

New Camera

2007-06-11T12:54:00.001+10:00

Hopfully the quality of photos is going to improve on this blog. No more camera phone! I've just bought a Leica D-Lux and plan to do a photography course once work calms down a little bit. I have a couple of meals I want to write about and only have the phone pictures for that, but otherwise there's going to be lovely pictures like this one of the Spaniels I looked after last weekend; Toby and Tassie.

Lemon and Blood Lime Marmalade.

2007-06-11T11:41:00.000+10:00

As autumn turns to winter and as the rain pelts down over Sydney, a young girl's thoughts turn to preserving. I've been inspired by some of my friends' attempts and was determined that this autumn would not pass without me putting some things into jars (and coating the whole kitchen in sticky substances along the way.)

My marmalade making begins with a trip to the Sydney growers market where I picked up some blood limes. I had a vague idea what I'd be able to make marmalade out of this uniquely Australian fruit which is a cross between a mandarin and a finger lime. Their flavour is described online as sour, although I'm assuming that someone wasn't feeling very poetic that day. I'd say they have very high acidity with less of a perfumed flavour than your average lime. The flavour of mandarin isn't very pronounced at all. I then popped to my local chi-chi cookery store and picked up a dozen of the world's cutest Bormioli preserving jars and a citrus reamer ready for the following weekend.

I did my research, scouring my books for marmalade recipes. I knew that nowhere would have a blood lime recipe, so I was trying to work out the best method and a way to convert my blood limes into another citrus fruit. I read what the myths are about preserving (there's no need to warm the sugar no matter what Delia says) and fretted if I'd need to pasturise the jars after I'd filled them. There was a brief flirtation with making a tequila flavoured lime marmalade, but I chickened out as I was worried that it wouldn't set. This was, afterall, my first attempt. I plumped for a Delia recipe in the end, from her Winter Collection.

I scrubbed the fruit in some scaldingly hot water and set about juicing it. It was at this point that I started to regret the whole blood lime thing. Turns out you can squeeze six lemons in about 35 seconds, but it takes far longer to juice 450g of blood limes. Next up came the chopping of the skins. Then lemons were fine once I got over my panic about what to do the with left over flesh and connecting tissue but it took me about 45 minutes to shred the blood lime skins.

The pith and pips of citrus fruits contain large amounts of pectin, the magical stuff that sets your preserves, so I had juiced the fruit into a jug (to keep track of the quantities, I ended up using about three quarters lime to lemon) before adding it to the preserving pan. You're supposed to put your pips into a square of muslin, but of course I couldn't find any. Let's just say we're lucky that Myer's had a 30% off sale on tights. I'd probably go with a lower denier next time (I used 20) as it can be quite hard to squeeze the pectin through the reinforced toe. Otherwise a (brand new) leg of a pair of tights is a really useful option as you can easily tie it to the pan, or just knot it and drop it in.

The skin and juice goes into the pan with the pips and pith tied in their tights. Bring to the boil and then simmer for two hours, or until the peel squashes easily between your fingers. It only took an hour to get to this stage for me and I started to worry as most of the lime shred had melted into the liquid. I trusted my instinct and stopped the simmering at this stage. Take your tights out of the jam and leave them onto the side to cool as your going to squish and squeeze all of the gooey pectin out and then whisk it into the pan. Heat the oven to about 170 degrees at this point and pop four saucers into the freezer.

Now for the dangerous bit. My brother still bears the scar of the last time I heated sugar to any great temperature and asked him to check that it was at the hard crack stage. I was about 11 years old and was already bright enough to recognise that I didn't want to stick my finger into the sugar and see it if was at 150 degrees, although obviously not bright enough to know when you need to buy a sugar thermometer. I did what all precocious children do and got my older brother to do it for me. I don't think I'd prepped Carl very well, as rather than dipping in and pulling his fingers apart to tell me if the sugar was hot enough, he screamed, put his fingers to his mouth but missed and glued his fingers to his moustache with molten sugar. So, I added the 1.3kg of sugar to the pan and brought it to a rolling boil, leaving it there for 15 minutes. After 15 minutes you can start checking for your set, by putting a teaspoon of the marmalade onto a chilled saucer. If your marmalade is set, it will form a skin as you push your (or your older brother's) finger through. If you don't have a set you keep boiling for another 10 minutes before you check again. My marmalade took about 30 minutes to reach setting point which was worrying me a little as lemons and limes are high pectin fruits. I wonder if I should have left it to simmer for a little longer?

It didn't seem to matter as I got my set in the end. It's a good idea to leave your marmalade now to settle for about 20 minutes. This allows the shred to settle throughout the jam and makes sure that you get even distribution of shred. It also means you can pop your washed jars into the oven to warm and call one of your best friends to tell them what you're doing. The filling is the bit where things get slightly messy. I'd recommend getting a jam funnel rather than using a sterilised jug like I did. My jars had little vacuum seals on the top so I was planning to have to pasterise the jars after filling them, but hot filling seemed to do the job and the vacuums "set" (or whatever the technical term would be.) Wait until the jars are cold before you label as otherwise they'll just fall off.

I was planning to wait for a couple of weeks before opening the jars but I was planning to give some as gifts so I needed to test it the next morning. For quality control purposes you understand...

Terrines I Have Known

2007-05-23T09:41:00.000+10:00

I've actually had a request to post one of my pictures! Given that I am the world's worst photographer, this is a first.

I know that the requester is a bit of a terrine fan, so it struck me that this might be a nice time to do a compilation post. I ate a lot of terrine at the beginning of this year but ended up never posting about most of it.

So I give you Terrines I Have Known.

Terrines have been around since Roman times. Originally a mix of a scraggly leftover bits of pork and fat, they stemmed out of a need to make the most of the meat you had. A terrine, with it's wrapping of fat, bacon or later pastry, is a great way to preserve your food for a bit longer and make a little meat go a long way. As cuisine evolved the terrine became a good way for chefs to show off their creative chops and use more luxe ingredients. No British gastro-pub menu is complete without a terrine and it can be a good yardstick to see what the chef's capable of. I tend to order terrine when I'm looking for something big, ballsy and meaty to kick start a meal, although one always hopes that the actual testicle content is minimal.

Let's start with a fairly standard example from The Fox in London. You can see the bacon wrapping, the different chunky meats and a reasonably high fat content. This is what I would call a standard terrine; the chef knows what one is and has has a passable go at making one. It was enjoyable, if a bit fridge cold. It was served with some gherkins and bread, both quite standard . The gherkins (I think) add some acidity as terrine can be quite fatty . I don't need to tell you what to do with the bread.

Next up we have a glossier terrine from Simply Simpsons in Kenilworth. They used to have a Michelin star. This terrine struck me as being a bit pornographic at the time. It was very meaty, rather moist and set with jelly.

You can see a lot more technique here, with the distinctive bits of ham, the foie gras and the carrots. I enjoyed this much more than the previous terrine.

And finally we have the modernist, deconstructed Terrine of rabbit with foie gras and pistachio mousse from Vue de monde in Melbourne. Even the terrine virgins among you will come to realise that the presentation here is a little different to your average terrine.

This is a very haute terrine, despite the slip of the claggy butter. It's served with some fresh pistachios and a pistachio mousse which is a nice nod to the more rustic terrine style which often has pistachios for textural contrast. Chef Doherty has deconstructed the dish well; the bacon which is usually used to wrap the finished terrine is represented as a ham slush (third row down) and there are layers of rabbit rilettes and foie gras. The confit carrot and the pistachio mousse frame the meats.

A vegetarian friend pinged me as I was writing this and said that they'd never had a good vegetarian terrine. I'm annoyed with myself as I had a great Tuscan terrine with layers of pesto and tomato and wrapped in provolone cheese rather than ham on the weekend, but I forgot to take a photo. I'll try and get the recipe and report back.

Vue de monde, Melbourne

2007-05-21T20:01:00.000+10:00

Given that Melbournians will tell you that Melbourne is the best food city in Australia, it's fair to assume that the best restaurant in Melbourne will be the best restaurant in Australia right? Vue de Monde, which has won Australian Gourmet Traveller's restaurant of the year for the past two years and was named by the Age as the best restaurant in Melbourne, gets higher plaudits than that. The Age says "Here’s the proof that not only is fine dining in Melbourne not dead, it has soared to unprecedented heights. Vue de monde is not just one of Australia’s best restaurants; it’s probably one of the world’s."

I went with a couple of friends last week and I'd say that it's a good fine-dining experience, but one that just misses out on perfection too many times to quite merit that hyperbole. That said, it's the first restaurant that I've been too for a while where I am interested in getting to know the Chef a little better, so I will be back.

The "twist" with Vue de monde (I hate that missing capital) is that there are no menus. You tell your waiter how hungry you are and how much money you want to spend and off they go. Our pass side seats meant that we were able to see everything that went out of the kitchen and there were points where the three of us were craning our necks to see what people were getting. This place is cooking as theatre, in fact Chef Doherty talks about competing with theatres and shows rather than other restaurants for customers' money and the kitchen is completely open, right in the dining room. There's even a mirror above the pass so you can see exactly what your neighbour is getting. Perfect for the voyeurs among us.

First up was a pumpkin puree with scallops marinated in yuzu with Sterling caviar. I can see where the dish was going, but the pumpkin was a little too sweet and overpowered the scallop, which in turn overpowered the caviar. This is posh nursing home food (no chewing...) and wasn't a patch on the snail amuse with mouselline chicken that really set our palates going.

Things took a turn for the better with this cep risotto which was paired with one of Vue de monde's own wines, a 2005 Pinot Gris by T’Gallant on the Mornington Peninsula. This was a very successful pairing, the wine really enhancing the earthiness of the ceps. Some good technique here too (I sound like Ron Atkinson commentating on the FA Cup) with dehydrated cep powder and a cep foam adding layers of flavour to the risotto. Chef Doherty amkes judicious use of some more modern techniques and uses them throughout the meal to add accent and contrast, but never just for the techniques sake.

Next came a dish I was really looking forward to; a terrine of rabbit with foie gras and pistachio mousse. I love the visual of this, it's a really modernist, bright and colourful terrine, that my terrible mobile phone camera doesn't do justice so I won't share the photo. Each part of the terrine was carefully thought-out; the foie gras contrasting with the pistachio mousse and a layer of serrano sludge that was really well flavoured. And serving rabbit with carrot always makes me smile. The terrine was let down by a layer of clarified butter between the rabbit rillettes and the ham that was just too claggy and fatty, especially on a cold terrine. So, a really beautiful well conceived dish with great elements, just let down by a slip.

Our fish course, red mullet wrapped in crayfish and then blanketed with carrot julienne was an interesting fish course, but was just a little sweet for me. I think I've been ruined for all fished courses ever since I had that seabass cooked tableside at Moto in Chicago. There was something about the simplicity that just was the perfect expression of the ingredient. This dish was a little too complicated and lacked depth in terms of the flavour profile. Might be improved by serving the essence of bouillabaisse that came in a little stopped test-tube with the fish, rather than as a shooter.

The wine pairing here was phenomenal though, a premier cru Chassagne-Montrachet that made up for the slightly unsuccessful dish.

We were then served a palate cleaners of an intense tomato consomme which appeared bubbling with dry ice. We've all seen the trick before, but it did make me smile.

On the left is the lamb dish that was our last savoury course. I've never eaten lamb belly before and the consensus was that it wasn't the best treatment. The sweetbreads were my favourite, all unctuous and savoury, although my companions preferred the confit lamb loin which you can see on the right. This was all really well flavoured meat and the whole dish was really well balanced.

Desert was a classic Souffle Rothschild which showcased the kitchen's some solid French roots and I enjoyed the counterbalance to the frozen kiwi fruit lolly we were served as pre-desert palate cleanser.

All together an enjoyable meal with some neat technique and good flavours. I'm looking forward to getting back here and understanding a little more about what Shannon Doherty's food is all about.

Eurovision Weekend- Part 1

2007-05-15T18:46:00.000+10:00

More homesickness as it was Eurovision Song Contest Weekend.

Eurovision reminds me so many British things. Saturday nights at my Nan's during the early 80's, being able to count to twelve in French by the age of seven (but not knowing eleven or nine), begging my Mum to let me change my name to Suzi G (after Bobby G of Bucks Fizz fame...I probably shouldn't be telling you all this). The 80's turn to the 90's when we choreographed a routine to the British entry rather than studying for our finals and I start planning elaborate buffets based on the host country's cuisine. I like to think my Eurovision Party is a bit of an event, although I'm still annoyed my friend Mark, a Eurovision nut, won't come because I don't take it seriously enough.

For the uninitiated, the Eurovision Song Contest is an institution. Started in 1956, it's either a chance for a variety of countries to showcase their songwriting skills or a chance to get together with your gay mates and eat a Ukrainian themed buffet. Despite the "Euro" in the title it's open to all of the countries that are part of the European Broadcasting Union rather than the European Union, so this explains the inclusion of Russia and Israel. Lebanon is actually rather interested in taking part, but their unwillingness to recognise Israel as a state is stopping them. Given that this year's Israeli entry was about a suicide bomber it's probably for the best...

The show has changed over the years and the Orc rock of last year's Finnish winner Lordi has opened the diversity gates. 60% of this year's semi-finalists were hoary-old rockers from the former Soviet Union. I counted eight pairs of leather trousers and more curly perms than the Bigg Market on a Saturday night.

Ah yes. The semi final. Eurovision is so popular these days that there's no way all of the countries who want to play can, so a semi-final was introduced in 2004. There are now 14 guaranteed places in the final, going to the Big Four (UK, Ireland, France and Germany) and the top ten from the previous year. If you're not a Eurovision fan and find the main attraction interminable, the semi final probably isn't for you...Luckily Bri indulges my passion and I got to see both.

You can't have Eurovision without food though. I've finally found a good butcher, and so I have been cooking meat for the first time since I got here. I needed to counter-balance the European-ness of the TV with something really Australian, so we had lamb and rosemary snags (Australian for sausages) from TJ Quality meats on Darling Street. It's a Demeter certified, organic butcher (more on this soon) and the sausages were damn good. I served it with my favourite lentil salad.

This is a really versatile dish and you can perch some griddled chicken or salmon on top, serve it as part of a salad selection, or with sausages like I did on Saturday. All quantities are up to you; you cannot be prescriptive about lentil salad.

The basics:
Some little green French lentils (as many as you need)
Half a head of garlic
A bay leaf

Rinse the lentil, cover with boiling water, add the garlic and a bay leaf and boil until cooked. Should take about 15 minutes. Rinse when they're done as I find lentil water a bit unappealing and drudgy. Fish out the garlic and bay leaf. Moisten the lentils with some of your best olive oil.

The dressings:
A white onion, diced finely or some shallots or scallions
A good handful of rocket or some leafy herbs. Parsley and mint have worked well for me in the past
A couple of tomatoes, skinned, seeded and sliced
Some little slips of roasted red pepper
Something creamy, like some nice fresh goats curd, ricotta or feta. I used some marinated feta from Meredith Farm and it was sensational
A little chopped chili if you like
Olives, capers or gherkins

Once the lentils are ready, just mix in whatever you have handy from the list above. I didn't bother with any olives, capers or gherkins as I wanted the little dots of feta and red pepper to be the stars. I toned down the chili too, although I'd use more if I were using a blander cheese like ricotta. A swish of red wine vinegar might be good at the end too to make more of a dressing than my olive oil alone.