Treat me: Raw raspberry lamingtons

You might think I married my husband for his wit, good looks and charm, but there's more to it than that. What sealed the deal is was that his mother makes the best lamingtons in the world. Once I realised he was the heir to a freezer full of chocolate-dipped, cream-filled spongy delights, there was no turning back. 

More than a decade down the track though, I've come to realise that there are other lamington-makers out there. In fact, there are hordes of them, all of them making exotic lamingtons like there's no tomorrow. They've been whipped into a coconut-dusted frenzy by an adorable English flight attendant by the name of Peter, who is no slouch himself in the lamington department.

Peter is such a champion of lamingtons that for the last four years he has devoted himself to reinventing them every February. Don't tell my MIL, but I think he could give her a good run for her money. In the meantime, he's thrown down the gauntlet to the rest of us. And so without any further ado, I bring you my raw raspberry lamingtons...

Raw raspberry lamingtons

These are not your ordinary lamingtons - there's no sponge, no eggs, no sugar and - gasp - no cream. These are lamingtons, 2014 style. They're raw, gluten and dairy-free, and contain no refined sugar. But there's plenty of coconut, chocolate AND raspberries - for those of you who can't decide whether a lamington should be brown or pink. I was inspired by this recipe, but took it in a completely different direction. The ultimate test was when I asked my brother-in-law to try one. "These," he said, "are dangerous. Is the recipe going on your blog?"

100g ground almonds

120g dessicated coconut

4 Tbsp coconut oil

3 Tbsp real maple syrup or honey

60g (about half a cup) frozen raspberries

Line a small plastic container (like a takeaway container) with plastic wrap and set aside.

Put all ingredients in a food processor and whiz until it clumps. Press this mixture into the prepared container and leave in the fridge for at least an hour, until firm. You can leave it for a day or so if you like, it won't come to any harm, though you may accidentally eat some of it.

When you are ready for stage two, remove the coconut mixture from the fridge and cut into small bars. Gently melt 120g dark chocolate with 1 tsp of coconut oil (I do this in a heatproof bowl in a warming oven, but you can use a microwave on low or a double boiler) and set aside to cool slightly.

Put the coconut in a small bowl and line a tray with baking paper.

Dip the bars into the chocolate, then roll them carefully in the coconut. When you have finished, put them in a lined, lidded container and put them in the fridge before someone comes by and gobbles the lot. Makes about 12-15, depending how much gets eaten along the way.

Have a great weekend, everyone x

Good things: February 2014

Ice creams. Fish and chips. Sand castles. Sand in everything. February has turned out to be the month that January should have been. And boy, am I glad about it.

Very early readers of this blog might recall the summer holiday we took three (THREE!) years ago. We had such rose-tinted memories of that stay (despite the fact that it rained a lot) that we went back for a few days at the beginning of the month.

We shopped at New Zealand's best Farmer's Market, ate New Zealand's best fish and chips, went for swims and made a lot of sandcastles. It was a proper, old-fashioned summer holiday.

Even better, my sister came to stay and brought with her a shiny new ice cream machine and a batch of this ice cream. I've thought about it often ever since.

Back home, we harvested our own tomatoes, which have thrived despite inclement weather and neglect. I listened to this completely charming interview with Wellington's best French patissier and made a mental note to visit his little shop more often.

The pantry is in - and filled - but I've decided to wait for the big reveal until the painters have finished, because the rest of the kitchen is such a tip I can't bear to show it. I'm sure you can wait a little longer.
In the meantime I have more cupboards to clean, more dust to vacuum, and an urgent appointment with a glass of wine in my garden while the cicadas chorus around me.

What have you been up to this month?

Treat me: Frozen yoghurt iceblocks

This recipe - if you can call it that - is direct from the 'I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier' files. If you've ever wondered how to make your own nutritionally sound, outrageously simple and utterly delicious popsicles/ice blocks/ice lollies/freezer pops/icy poles, I have the answer.

But first, here's a beach scene to put you in the mood...

This photo, taken last night, is meant to distract you from the fact that while my amazing homemade frozen yoghurt popsicles are genius in icy form, I have been unable to take a decent photo of them. Try as I might, they just turn out looking wrong. So if you really want to see what they look like, you'll need to make them yourself. And, as I'm about to show you, it's probably the easiest thing you'll do all weekend. Here's how.

Frozen yoghurt iceblocks
You need four things to make these frozen treats: Greek yoghurt, good jam (or a variation thereof), iceblock moulds and about two hours. My iceblock moulds are Tupperware ones and, to be frank, they are weird. The shape is good, but the supposedly clever handle thing makes them hard to hold. I'd say that was a design flaw, wouldn't you? I've seen some much simpler looking ones at the supermarket for about $5 - I'm thinking of trading up.
My first attempt was made with the last spoonful of some gorgeous apricot and vanilla jam made by my lovely sister. Since then I've made them with some not-homemade but still good blackcurrant jelly, lemon curd, and a sprinkle of chopped nuts and chocolate. There are no limits - just stick to the quantities I've outlined below.
My iceblock moulds take about 60ml (roughly 1/4 of a cup) each - so these quantities are to suit. But you can scale them to fit your needs (and any leftover mixture can be frozen in a little plastic container or eaten on the spot).

1 cup/250ml full-fat Greek yoghurt
1/4 cup/60ml high quality jam (or lemon curd, or chocolate/nuts as detailed above)

Stir the yoghurt and jam together until well combined. Taste - remember that some of the sweetness will be lost in the freezing process - and swirl through a little more jam if desired. Pour into iceblock molds (this amount will fill five or six) and freeze for one to two hours.
Unmould - dipping them in just-boiled water usually helps - and enjoy.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Why is airport food so bad?

As of last November, I commute by air one day a week. I'd like to say that this was via private jet, or helicopter, but alas, it's not. I know there are worse ways to travel (I usually fall sleep on the flight home, and you can't do that when you're driving), but it's not at all glamorous.

What Cathay Pacific think kids will like to eat: soggy 'chicken' nuggets, peas and corn. 

This week, thanks to the freak fog that smothered Wellington Airport, it was downright depressing. There's nothing worse than being 45 minutes into a 55-minute flight and having the pilot tell you that you're going to have to return to where you came from. Actually, there is - it's getting back to the point of origin, discovering that you are one of about thousands who has to book a new flight for the next day and then discovering that there is not a single hotel bed to be had in the entire city. But I digress.

What has really struck me in the last few months of regular flying - and especially in the last 24 hours - is the absolute revolting-ness of airport - and airline - food. I used to think that things would be better if only I had access to an airport lounge, but I've since realised the food there is not. At Auckland Airport's domestic terminal there are about seven options. The best of the lot is a sushi place, followed closely by a juice bar and a so-called salad outfit, but for the most part the food is distinctly average.

Wellington is not much better. In fact, it's probably worse. Yes, it has two Mojo coffee outlets (Mojo is like the Starbucks of Wellington) but everything else falls somewhere on the spectrum between stodge (doorstopper muffins, pies, wraps) and slop (lurid 'curries').  

Koru Club chicken lasagne - so bad it's good

I used to think that things would be better if only I had access to an airport lounge, but I've since realised the food there is not any better. It's institutional, boarding school-style stuff - which perhaps suits the mostly male, middle-aged, clientele - though I must admit I harbour a secret, disgusting, love for the chicken lasagne served at the Auckland Koru Lounge most Tuesday nights. I feel terrible after eating it though - do you think they design this food to make you even more uncomfortable at altitude, or am I just greedy?

None of this ticket-hall or air-side food is as bad as the stuff you get onboard long-haul flights - the Cathay Pacific children's meal pictured above was the lowpoint of our holiday last year (their other meals are ok, but they need to seriously overhaul the kids' food), but it's still not good. I know airports have a captive audience and - obviously - there is a large sector of the travelling public who really like McDonalds, Subway and Dunkin' Donuts. But do the rest of us have a voice? And how can we be heard?

Which airline or airport has the best food, do you think? And which has the worst?

Fried egg crumpets

About 20 years ago, when I had just moved into my first flat, my flatmate Geoff specialised in what he called 'egg windows' - a fried slice of bread with an egg in the middle of it.

Geoff's dad, an army major, had showed him how to make them when he was a kid and Geoff was a total pro. Then an architecture student, he cut the 'window' out of the bread with exacting precision, and he had the timing down pat. Alas, that was probably the apex of his cooking skills. His other memorable culinary moment was the time he came home drunk, put a tray of oven chips on to cook and fell asleep on the sofa. We were saved by the neighbours calling the fire brigade, but the chips were not so lucky.

I'd forgotten all about Geoff, egg windows and the fire until I saw Maya Adam show how to make what she called 'Egg in a hole' as part of the Child Nutrition MOOC run by Stanford University. Here was the egg window, transformed into a fast, nutritious breakfast for a child. It was genius. But even more genius is my fried egg crumpet - a fast, nutritious(ish) and utterly delicious anytime meal for everyone. Here's how to do it.

Fried egg crumpets
One of these might do for breakfast, but I think you need two for lunch. The holey nature of the crumpet means it soaks up a) butter and b) egg, so there are lots of textural contrasts - soft, silky egg and crunchy crumpet edges. Add something green on the side and you might even be able to call it dinner.

You need:
An equal number of crumpets and eggs - let's say two per person
A good knob of butter and a splash of olive oil to stop the butter from burning
A heavy frying pan with a lid
A round cookie cutter or small glass (about five cm in diameter)
Salt and pepper
Sriracha sauce or some other spicy condiment
Grated Parmesan, optional

Cut the middle out of the crumpets with the cookie cutter or glass. You can eat the middle bit as a cook's perk now, or toast it to eat later, or (sacrilege!) throw it away.
Melt the butter and oil in the heavy frying pan over medium-high heat. Put the crumpets in, holey side down, and cook for a couple of minutes, until golden. Flip over and let the smooth side cook for a minute.
Carefully crack an egg into the hole of each crumpet. Don't worry if some spills over the sides, this is no big deal. Put a lid on the pan and cook, covered, for about three minutes, until the egg white is set and the outer edges are getting nice and crunchy. Carefully flip over to cook the other side until it is just set to ensure a runny yolk (obviously cook it for longer if you prefer egg yolks to be firm).
Transfer to a plate and sprinkle with salt, pepper and grated cheese, if using. Dollop on the spicy sauce and enjoy!


 

Treat me: Chocolate Cornflake Roughs

Some things are made for each other. Salt and caramel. Champagne and oysters. Walnuts and blue cheese. Chocolate and coconut. Then there's Random Recipes and We Should Cocoa - a match so perfect I can't believe they haven't joined forces before.

For this month's Random-Recipes-Meets-We-Should-Cocoa mash-up I had a very limited selection of books to choose from thanks to our ongoing renovations (it's hard to access the main part of one's cookbook collection when it's hidden behind a king-sized bed, two radiators and a mirror, don't you think?). Anyway, one of the few books I could reach was this handsome tome: a 1971 edition of The New Zealand Woman's Weekly Cookbook, edited by the incomparable Tui Flower.

Like Random Recipes maestro Dominic, and We Should Cocoa founder Choclette, Tui Flower is a force to be reckoned with. She ruled New Zealand food writing from her test kitchen at the NZ Woman's Weekly for more than 20 years. At the NZ Guild of Food Writers' Conference last November she was spoken of with the utmost awe, if not a slight touch of fear.

This book, though a little dated in parts, is a brilliant snapshot of New Zealand households in the 70s (and beyond). I rescued my copy from an charity shop and - while I'm unlikely to make Tui's recipe for 'Picnic Loaf' using a tin of spaghetti and sausages, among other things - I think it's a fine piece of culinary heritage. The recipe I ended up with here is another local icon. Chocolate Cornflake Roughs, or their close cousins, made with rice bubbles, were THE party food of choice when I was a child. They are very sweet, crunchy and best served very cold (ideally, without any children to share them with).

Chocolate Cornflake Roughs
As much as I respect and admire the work of Tui Flower, I've updated her 1971 recipe to reflect the contents of a slightly more modern pantry. The original recipe specifies 'crushed coconut biscuits' - in New Zealand that can only mean the delectable Krispies (which now even come in a chocolate-dipped form). If you don't have a similar biscuit, I suggest something like a digestive or chocolate wheaten. Hey, you could even use these. If you're not a fan of coconut oil, any light, neutral oil will work. Don't forget to use the best cocoa you can for an especially rich flavour. For that birthday party touch, use cupcake cases instead of a lined tray.

1/2 cup icing sugar
3 Tbsp cocoa
90ml coconut oil, melted
a drop or two of almond essence
1 cup cornflakes
9 coconut biscuits (as described above), crushed to make about 1 cup of crumbs.

Line a tray or a large platter with baking paper and set aside.
Sift the icing sugar and cocoa together into a bowl. Beat in the coconut oil and almond essence, then add the cornflakes and biscuit crumbs and stir until well combined. Drop spooonfuls of the mixture on the lined tray and leave in a cool place to set. Makes about 12.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

The food of love

If you believe everything you read, St Valentine's Day is all about candle-lit dinners in restaurants full of couples gazing lovingly at each other while the singletons sit at home, weeping into boxes of chocolates.

Well, not in our house it's not. The last time we went out for dinner on Valentine's Day it was because I needed to review a restaurant and that was the only night they could get us in. That in itself should have been a sign. The food was absolutely appalling and the service was bizarre, but we had a hysterically good time laughing at how bad it was and how desperately unhappy all our fellow diners looked.

I'm not a Valentine's Day denier by any means, but I do think there are better ways to show someone your undying love and devotion than a slightly desperate night out.

If cooking is an act of love - among other things - then surely the greatest thing you can do on Valentine's Day is cook something that the recipient will really love. But what if that happens to be something that you can't stand?

After more than a decade of eating together, my beloved and I still don't see eye to eye on some things. When I think about it, the list of foods we agree on is small: Chardonnay, strongly-flavoured hard cheeses, scallops, free-range chicken and eggs, good bread, olives, sriracha sauce, dark chocolate, champagne. Of course, we still debate the various merits of these things - and what he thinks is good bread might not match my criteria - but these are not insurmountable differences. It's not like he likes his steak well-done. That would be a deal-breaker for sure.

I love quinoa and barley and other so-ancient-they're-modern grains; he thinks brown rice is fit for animals. I love carrot cake and inch-thick cream cheese frosting; he'd rather go hungry than eat a slice. He doesn't like watermelon or cucumbers, claiming they taste 'like dirt'. He eschews butter (butter!) for olive-oil spread on his toast. He says Marmite is the answer to life's woes; I say I haven't met a piece of bread that can't be improved by peanut butter. He loves ice cream cones and the way they taste of communion wafers; I think he needs counselling. 

He doesn't like chicken livers, lentils or salmon; I just eat them when he goes out. He is happy to spend a lot of time (and money) searching for his favourite craft beer, good olives, the freshest fish and whatever strange ingredient I might have asked him to look for. This is a quality that cannot be underrated.

And so I've learned to live with the fact that he doesn't believe walnuts belong on the top of afghans. It's fine that he doesn't share my love of soft, stinky cheeses. I wear my 'I told you so' face when he feels guilty for binge-eating disgusting chicken-flavoured crisps, but that's as far as it goes.

But the thing I can't get over, the thing that really makes me wonder if we belong together, is his love of white pepper. The smell of white pepper makes me feel ill. To me, it smells of boarding school, and hospitals, and rest homes. White pepper smells like old people. It is the smell of death, ground into tiny, sneeze-inducing particles.

To my beloved, the scent of white peppercorns takes him back to his childhood, to Saturday lunches of sausages and chips at his grandparents' place. To him, that slightly medicinal smell recalls a time when there was nothing to do but ride his bike, play backyard cricket and catch whitebait. Even talking about it makes his face light up. Last week, when we were out of black peppercorns, I found a box of white ones at the back of the cupboard. When he realised I'd put them in the pepper grinder he looked like he'd won the lottery. 

I love that he loves to eat. I get frustrated by the fact that he doesn't like some of the things that I love to eat, but I would rather we ate together and had a robust discussion about whether the steak was rare enough than not. If he has to put white pepper on it, then I guess that's the price of love.

I wish you all a very happy Valentines Day x

Instant carrot and tomato soup

I know I shouldn't complain, but living in a building site is starting to get me down. The fact that I also have to work in one (my office building has been yellow-stickered and I'd rather not take my chances of surviving if it collapses), is adding insult to injury.

Working from home certainly has its advantages, but I struggled to find any today thanks to the bitterly cold wind turning the place into an icebox. Then I remembered that I could make myself something warming and restoring for lunch in between phone calls and emails and life seemed a little brighter. Here's what I did.

Instant Carrot and Tomato Soup
This soup is inspired by - but unrecognisably different to - one in Soup Glorious Soup by Annie Bell. Hers involves carrots and scallops; I like to think of this one as a simpler, humbler relation. It's an excellent rescue remedy for cold days when it feels like there's nothing to eat (and it only takes 20 minutes to make, most of which is hands-free). This amount makes enough for two, but is easy to scale up as necessary. Don't try to scale it down - just freeze the leftover amount for a rainy day. And for more vegetarian soup-y ideas, you might like to check out the links at No Croutons Required (though it's ok to add croutons if you want.)

500g carrots, washed, peeled and roughly chopped
1 x 400g tin of whole peeled tomatoes
400ml (approx) good quality stock or water
salt and pepper
cream, creme fraiche or yoghurt, for swirling

Put the carrots and whole peeled tomatoes in a medium-sized saucepan and set it over medium heat. Using the tomato tin, measure in the stock or water. Cover and bring to the boil, then simmer for 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally. When the carrots are soft enough to collapse at the prod of a fork, remove from the heat. Blitz to a puree with a stick blender or in a food processor (the latter is faster but involves more washing up afterwards), then season with salt and pepper to taste. Reheat until starting to simmer, then serve with a spoonful of cream, creme fraiche or Greek yoghurt swirled across the top.

Do you work from home? What do you make for lunch?