Black garlic chocolate mousse

If I was the sort of person who did things by the book, I’d be planting my garlic today. But after the failure of last year’s crop – I’ll never know if it was too much rain at the wrong time, the wrong sort of compost, or just bad luck – I’m a bit reluctant. Serves me right for being so smug and getting it in on time last year, I suppose. Traditional garden lore says it should be planted on the Shortest Day, but apparently it can be planted any time from May until the end of July. That’s especially useful information for people like me, who don’t fancy going out in the dark tonight to get the job done.

In the meantime, I’m indulging in some extremely moreish black garlic grown and cured in Marlborough. Black garlic, or ‘garlic noir’ as it’s sometimes called, is fermented for a month to create a kind of super garlic that has double the antioxidants of the ordinary stuff. The fermentation process also changes the texture and flavour profile – black garlic is soft and almost chewy, with a sweet and smoky flavour that reminds me of molasses or fresh dates. It’s extremely moreish and I often find I have eaten a couple of cloves while slicing it up for something else.

 The clever people who make it at Marlborough Garlic suggest using it as part of an antipasto platter, but I’ve also been adding it to vinaigrettes, or adding it as a last-minute flavour boost to risotto, as it doesn't need to be cooked. They also suggest dipping in in dark chocolate, which I was unsure about until a recent lunch at the sublime Wharekauhau Lodge where pastry chef Yannick Beaurienne devised a gorgeous black garlic chocolate mousse with kumara and pear brunoise, kumara ice cream and garlic caramel, as seen below.

Yannick's version was beautiful, elegant (and extremely labour-intensive). Here’s my much-simplified version for the home cook.

Black garlic chocolate mousse with black garlic toffee
Don’t be afraid – the black garlic just deepens and enriches the chocolate flavours. This was a huge hit in my household, to the point that there was barely any left to photograph.

For the mousse:
200g dark chocolate
2 cloves black garlic (about 8g)
400ml cream
1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract

For the black garlic toffee:
3-4 cloves black garlic, finely sliced
4 Tbsp caster sugar
20ml (4 tsp) water

A little extra cream, for drizzling

Break the chocolate into pieces and put into a heatproof bowl. Put half the cream into a small pot and heat to nearly boiling point. Pour over the chocolate and set aside for five minutes.
Mash the garlic to a paste and stir through the chocolate and cream until the mixture is smooth.
Whip the cream and vanilla to soft peaks. Fold through the cooled chocolate mixture,  then pour into a large bowl or divide between six small serving dishes (I use Great Aunt Shirley’s whisky glasses). Cover and put in the fridge to set for at least two hours.

For the toffee, spread the sliced garlic on a piece of non-stick foil or baking paper. Put the sugar and water in a small pot and set over medium heat. Stir to dissolve the sugar, then let it bubble away for five to 10 minutes, until it turns a dark golden colour (don’t wander off, this will happen sooner than you think!) Pour the toffee over the garlic and leave to set.

To serve, remove the mousses from the fridge at least 20 minutes before serving. Break the toffee into pieces and use to decorate each one. Drizzle a little cream over the top and serve.

Are you planting garlic this winter? Do you have any top tips for failed growers?

Frozen persimmon sorbet

Have you been struck by the dreaded winter lurgy yet? It has cut a swathe through our small household in the last week and I don't think it's done with us yet. I lost my voice over the weekend, then lost my hearing as soon as it came back. Worst of all, I've lost my sense of taste - unless it's chocolate or chilli, I've been reduced to eating for texture only. This is profoundly depressing.

I'm hoping that my current high levels of persimmon consumption will speed my recovery. Persimmons are high in vitamin C and look extremely cheerful in the kitchen. Oranges are not the only fruit at this time of year, after all.

This week's Three Ways With... column is devoted to the not-so-humble persimmon, which I have been consuming in huge quantities lately (so imagine how much sicker I could have been!) The following recipe for frozen persimmon sorbet will be extremely soothing if you're unwell, but you don't have to be poorly to enjoy it. 

Frozen persimmon sorbet

I was extremely sceptical when I read about this recipe - and I did have to experiment with it a bit to make it work - but it's a nice bit of fun to try (with minimal effort required). All you need to do is freeze as many persimmons as you have diners for a minimum of three hours. At least 45 minutes before serving, remove the persimmons from the freezer. Slice off the tops and let the fruit sit at room temperature. After 45 minutes they will be icy cold, but soft enough to spoon out the frosty flesh. For an extra treat, pass around a bowl of whipped cream.

If this sounds like too much hassle, be reliably informed that you can freeze peeled, sliced persimmons and whiz them up in smoothies. And if you have a dehydrator, dried persimmon slices are absolute heaven (thanks Ann for the lovely specimens below).

Kitchen DIY: Goats' curd

Q: What do you call a goat that's sitting around doing nothing?

A: Billy Idol.

I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. I fell down a rabbit hole of goat memes on the internet the other day and bad goat jokes were rife. Believe it or not, the Billy Idol example was one of the better ones.

Goats have been on my mind because today's Three Ways With... column is all about using goat meat, milk and cheese. The latter has become much more common in New Zealand in recent years -there were loads of great goats' cheese entries in the recent Outstanding Food Producer Awards, for example - but the former two are only just on the cusp of being mainstream. It's a pity, because they're delicious - and they tick all the boxes in terms of careful production and quality.

I was inspired to make my own cajeta (pictured above) after tasting Hamilton company Cilantro's version. Making your own is fun, not difficult and yields a generous amount that will disappear quickly. It's the closest thing I've tasted to manjar, the highly addictive Chilean dulce de leche. One spoonful and you'll never be satisfied with salted caramel again.

If you're too pure to sully your palate with such decadence, but want to have a play with goats' milk in the kitchen, I strongly recommend DIY goats' curd. I make it quite often (short-dated goats' milk is often on special at my local food emporium) and it's the sort of kitchen magic trick everyone should know how to perform.

DIY Goats' Curd
This is about as simple as cooking gets - milk + heat + coagulant + time = soft, creamy goats' cheese. Smoosh a bit on some toasted baguette, drizzle over some extra virgin olive oil and bliss will be yours.

500ml (2 cups) goats' milk
3 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
a pinch of salt

Heat the goats' milk until simmering point. Remove from the heat and stir in the lemon juice. Let sit for 10-15 minutes, until curds have begun to form. While you're waiting, line a sieve with muslin (I use a very fine cotton table napkin) and set it over a large bowl.
Carefully pour the curds/milk into the sieve. Leave to drain for at least 20 minutes, pressing it gently to squeeze out the whey. If you're not in a hurry, you can put the sieve/bowl arrangement in the fridge and let it drain for a couple of hours.
When you're ready, scrape the curds into a small bowl. Use immediately or cover and store in the fridge.

Are you a fan of goats' produce? Or do you have a good goat joke to share? Let me know!

Ice cream daze

I don't want to be a weather bore, but Wellington is having the most dismal summer ever. I mean, really. On Monday I was so cold at work I had to borrow a jacket destined for the lost property box. On Tuesday I ended up buying a winter coat. On Wednesday I wore it. Yesterday it rained so hard I had to wring my wet clothes out when I got home - and that was after sitting in the car for AN HOUR because the weather wreaked havoc on the traffic. Harrumph.

Tangelo and cinnamon sorbet. Yum!

But today the sun has come out and it seems like the long weekend might even be fine. Ish. Which means it might be more appropriate to tell you about the Three Ways With Frozen Treats column I wrote two weeks ago. Here it is, for your reading pleasure. Bonus points if you can identify the model in the photo.

Have a great weekend, everyone. May the sun shine on you, wherever you are!

Spicy gingerbread and creamy apple whoopie pies

Remember whoopie pies? They were going to be the new cupcakes, or the new macarons, but I don't think they ever really took off. A shame, really; it's always sad when little cakes never grow up to reach their full potential. Perhaps they'll make a comeback (if slip dresses over white t-shirts, like we wore in the late 90s, can make a resurgence this summer, then surely there's hope for the whoopie pie). I'm hoping I can get ahead of the pack on this one and I might have made the thing to do it.

Spicy gingerbread whoopie pies with creamy apple filling

This is a recipe with three stages, but it's not hard. Just make the apple compote the day before, so it has time to chill in the fridge. The pies can be filled in advance and stored in an airtight container.

For the apple compote:
2 apples, peeled, cored and diced
3 Tbsp caster sugar
3 Tbsp water
1/2 tsp ground cloves

For the pies:
1 large egg
150g caster sugar
100g butter, melted
150g sour cream
60ml milk
1 tsp vanilla
3/4 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp ground allspice
1/2 tsp grated nutmeg
250g plain flour

For the cream cheese filling:
200g cream cheese, at room temperature
50g butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup icing sugar
1 tsp pure vanilla

To make the apple compote, put all the ingredients in a small pot and set over medium heat. Cover and bring to a simmer. Cook for 10 minutes, until the apple is soft. Whip to a puree with a fork, then transfer to a bowl. Cover when cold and store in the fridge.

To make the pies, heat the oven to 160C and line two baking trays with baking paper.
Put the egg in a large bowl and beat until thick. Continue beating and gradually add the sugar. Beat until pale and thick, then add the butter, sour cream, milk and vanilla. Beat to combine, then sift in the dry ingredients. Fold together until combined. Spoon into a piping bag with a wide nozzle and pipe small rounds of the mixture (about the size of a tablespoon) on the prepared trays, leaving room for spreading. You can also spoon the mixture on to the trays, but piping gives a nicer finish.
Bake for 10-12 minutes, until the pies are risen and golden brown. Remove to a rack to cool.

To make the filling, beat the cream cheese, butter, icing sugar and vanilla together until smooth. Fold in the apple compote and transfer the mixture to a piping bag fitted with a large nozzle (or use a plastic bag and snip off the end). Pipe a generous tablespoon or so of mixture onto the flat side of a pie half and top with another. Dust with icing sugar and serve - or store in an airtight container. Makes about 32 little pies.

How to make really good soup from nothing (and a $2.50 bunch of cavolo nero)

Today's Three Ways With... column is all about food waste - using up the stuff you'd normally throw away. While I was thinking about it, I realised I do a lot of food 'saving' that's unconscious. Things aren't so desperate that I reuse teabags (I remember seeing a posh and terrifying friend of my mother's doing this and being thoroughly shocked), but I do like to extract maximum value from things.

Leftovers get taken for work lunches, baguette ends are turned into breadcrumbs or crostini, spotty bananas are frozen for smoothies or baking - it's stuff that seems basic household common sense. But I fear that the very existence of campaigns like Love Food Hate Waste (which I'm proud to support) means that people have lost their way.

I guess if you don't cook often, or see cooking as a difficult chore, then you're less likely to think about using up your leftovers. Or, you may be like someone I know who cooks a lot, but over-caters massively and then just chucks stuff in the bin (a long-lost Presbytarian gene means I am morally outraged by this). But it's not that hard.

If you want to waste less, you need to be mindful right from the start. You need to plan meals to a certain extent, you need to shop with purpose and cook with efficiency. That means, when you get excited by seeing huge bunches of cavolo nero at the shops for $2.50, you need to think on your feet about what you're going to do with it. In this case, I let it sit in the fridge for a few days, waiting for inspiration to strike. We have a small, ill-designed fridge and it's fundamentally unsuited to having lots of stuff in it. So, when I realised the cavolo nero was balanced on Sunday night's leftover roast chicken, something stirred in my brain.

The chicken, stripped of fat and skin, went in the pot, with an onion, a carrot and some limp celery. I covered it with water and an hour or so later, I had a vat of delicious stock. I sauted the rest of the celery, another onion and some garlic in a bit of oil leftover from a jar of sundried tomatoes, added a bowl of cooked quinoa from the fridge, a kumara from the cupboard and the cavolo nero. The stock went in, along with some herbs from the garden and before long 'nothing' had turned into soup. We ate half of it on the spot, and the rest went in the freezer. Not complicated, not costly, not wasteful. Why is this stuff dressed up to be difficult?

What's your favourite way to combat food waste?

Asian mint sauce

Remember mint sauce? I wouldn't be surprised if you don't. I'd all but forgotten about it myself, until last week when the Mr brought home half a slow-cooked lamb shoulder as a souvenir from a night out.

While I was reheating it for dinner the next evening, watching fat pooling in the roasting dish and feeling too tired to make hummus, I remembered the ultimate in traditional accompaniments. Five minutes later...

Asian Mint Sauce
Let's be clear, this is a mint sauce with vaguely Asian ingredients, not a sauce of Asian mint (though I'm sure that would be nice, and if you have some growing, adding it would be a good experiment).

2 Tbsp grated palm sugar, or brown sugar
1/2 cup rice vinegar
a good pinch of flaky sea salt
about 40 fresh mint leaves, shredded

Put the sugar, vinegar and salt in a small pot. Bring it to the boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar and salt. Remove from the heat and add the mint. Stir and leave to cool, then transfer to a lidded glass jar. Store in the fridge and use liberally on appropriated roast lamb, among other things.

Given the weirdness of our weather - nearly May and it's still t-shirt weather in most parts of New Zealand, while it's sleeting in the northern hemisphere - it seems this fits the bill for Lavender and Lovage's Cooking With Herbs blogging challenge for April, which focuses on herbs for spring and Easter.

Lemon verbena syrup + an elegant fruit salad

Four years ago, not long after my mother died, someone I didn't know very well left a lemon verbena tree on our doorstep. I found this gesture incredibly touching and kind, not least because my parents' garden had a huge lemon verbena tree and Mum often made tea from the leaves. I'm not sure if I ever properly thanked her - but Kate, if you're reading this, I often think of that kindness when I walk past the tree.

The tree has thrived, despite my neglect, but I seldom do anything with the leaves except for the occasional cup of tea. Then, while pottering around in the kitchen a week or so ago, I made this syrup and the whole house smelled like lemon verbena. It was gorgeous.

If you've got a lemon verbena tree, make this syrup now to get a dose of that intense lemony sherbet flavour in the depths of winter (or scent your house with it in summer). You can use it in drinks (nice with soda, or with very cold vodka as a kind of martini-ish number), or pour it over vanilla ice cream, or use it in this simple and elegant fruit salad (recipe follows). I'm thinking a lemon verbena sorbet could be next...

Lemon Verbena Syrup

1/2 cup boiling water
1/2 cup caster sugar
1 packed cup lemon verbena leaves

Put the water and sugar in a small pot and set over medium heat. Stir until the sugar has dissolved, then lower the heat and add the lemon verbena. Let bubble gently for five minutes, then remove from the heat and leave to cool.
When the syrup has cooled completely, strain it through a fine sieve into a sterilised bottle or jar. Discard the lemon verbena leaves or use them as a garnish (they will be almost candied). Makes about 1/2 cup.

Simple fruit salad with lemon verbena syrup
2 white-flesh peaches
2 apricots
2 dark-fleshed plums
1 1/2 cups blueberries (or boysenberries)
1/4 cup lemon verbena syrup

Cut all the stonefruit into slim wedges - about eight slices - and put in a bowl. Pour over the syrup and stir gently, then add the berries. This can be done in advance, but I think it's nicest at room temperature rather than fridge-cold. Serves 4-6.

Paua with garlic, chilli, coriander and lime

We are blessed with the best neighbours in the world. They are great neighbours for all sorts of reasons, but for the purposes of a food blog, they are the best neighbours because they do things like turn up with freshly caught crayfish, or duck, or smoked trout. Now they've just set the bar even higher by bringing us three massive paua. It's going to take a lot of reciprocal bottles of wine and cakes to beat that one.

I can't remember the last time I had fresh paua - it appears in dishes on restaurant menus sometimes but my sources tell me it's usually squid, so I never order it. When I was 13 I remember a magical holiday with cousins in the Far North of New Zealand, where the crayfish and paua were in such abundance we begged to have sausages as a treat. If you happen to have excellent neighbours, or a source of paua, here's a way to cook it.

Paua with garlic, chilli, coriander and lime
Paua is notoriously tough - I remember my cousin beating it with a wine bottle to tenderise it - but my neighbour passed on the 'boil it first' method, which works well (and requires a lot less effort). Quantities here are very approximate - adjust to suit the amount of paua you have. If all else fails, do what the restaurants do and use squid instead.

Half-fill a pot with water and bring to the boil. Drop in the paua and cover the pot. Let the water come to the boil and simmer for three minutes. Drain immediately and slice the paua into thin strips.
Heat a couple of sloshes of olive oil in a large, heavy frying pan. Add a couple of cloves of garlic, sliced, some fresh chilli and a bunch of spring onions. Add the paua and cook, stirring frequently, for another couple of minutes.
Scoop onto a warm waiting plate, then squeeze over some fresh lime juice and strew with coriander. Eat immediately.

Hello 2016

I'm writing this in the room we grandly call 'the office'. There is just enough room for the laptop on this huge old wooden desk, jammed between a pile of notebooks on one side and a stack of what looks to be school 'art' projects, plus the recently deceased cover of the ironing board, on the other. I have a cup of tea balanced precariously on a pile of papers that includes a recipe for 'pancetta' cured kingfish and a cookbook idea I wrote down in a hurry last week. It is a mess and I really should do something about it.

The dishwasher is purring upstairs, but not so loudly that I won't be able to hear my best beloved cutting into the loaves of bread I've just taken out of the oven, despite knowing this is a terrible crime. So far, 2016, so good.

We ended 2015 with vintage champagne, whitebait fritters and lamb racks cooked to a recipe from the first Ottolenghi book, plus chocolate fondants from The Cook's Companion. The fondants were a disaster (I was so desperate not to overcook them that I erred too far in the direction of undercookedness), but no one seemed to mind. The champagne may have had something to do with that, or perhaps it's because molten chocolate is better than no chocolate. Anyway, I'm going to get them right eventually.

Apart from that, I have no pressing food goals for 2016. I'm not going to drink less wine or eat less cheese. I'd like to grow more vegetables and see if I can nurture a new sourdough starter. If that sounds all a bit too virtuous, I'm also going to master the new ice cream attachment I have for my KitchenAid.

The latter goal reminds me of a clipping I have pinned to the wall above my desk. It's a fragment of an interview with Ingrid Betancourt, the French-Colombian politician who was held hostage in the Colombian jungle by FARC guerillas for more than six years. At the end of the story, Betancourt says the experience made her decide that she would learn to cook when she got out and that she would "always have flowers in my room and wear perfume; that I would no longer forbid myself to eat ice-cream or cakes. I understood that in my life I had abandoned too many little pleasures, taking them for granted."

Ingrid Betancourt had to suffer unspeakable horrors to reach that realisation, the rest of us should learn from it. Like she says at the end of the story, "I never say no to an ice-cream."

What are your ice cream dreams for 2016?

Roadtest: The Zoku Quick Pop Maker

"Mu-umm," she says, bedraggled and worn-out at the end of a busy day at school. "I'm very hot and bothered. Do you think it's a good day to have an iceblock?"

This is what's known as parental roulette. Say yes, and you've got a 10-minute walk to the village, followed by a five-minute high, which will not be enough to get you all the way home again.  Say no, and you get a stompy six-year-old who is less than impressed with your suggestion that a nice glass of cold water when you get home will help her cool down.

After roadtesting the Zoku Quick Pop Maker, I may have found the solution.

Zoku's Quick Pop Makers are benchtop instant freezing units. You keep them in your freezer (the three-pop maker takes up about the same amount of space as a two-litre ice cream container), then whip them out to make DIY ice 'pops' (that's ice blocks to Kiwis and ice lollies to the British) in less than 10 minutes. You can make them as simple or as fancy as you like (Zoku even have a dazzling recipe book full of inspiring ideas) and - best of all - you get to control exactly what goes into them. We made the Mint Choc Chip Pops from the recipe book, using organic whole milk, agave nectar, peppermint essence and Whittaker's 72 per cent cacao chocolate - and they were fabulous.

Sound too good to be true? After some spectacular failures when trying to make homemade pops the normal way (I find they never, ever come out of the molds cleanly enough), I was very skeptical. But the Zoku worked an absolute charm. You release the pops with the aid of the 'Quick Tool' (included in each kit) and it's a mostly angst-free process. The pops are ready to eat then and there, but you can carefully wrap them in plastic and return them to the freezer to eat another day.

On the downside, they're not completely instant. The unit has to be frozen for 24 hours before you use it, and it's only good for two or three batches in a sitting. I found the second and third batches took a lot longer to freeze - and for the third, I actually returned the whole unit to the freezer for half an hour to make sure they set properly. You also need to wait for it to defrost before you clean it.

All things considered though, it's a pretty fun addition to the kitchen. A Quick Pop Maker would also make a fantastic family Christmas present for the people with everything. If you're going to buy your children a device of some kind, at least get them one that encourages real-time social interaction!

THE DETAILS
Zoku Quick Pop Makers come in three sizes - single (RRP $49.99), duo and triple (RRP $110). Each comes with a Quick Tool, sticks and drip guards, plus instructions. Find New Zealand stockists here.

GIVEAWAY
Want to win a Quick Pop Maker? Check out The Kitchenmaid on Facebook for your chance to win one!

Summer berry porridge

The one thing that people who achieve stuff seem to have in common is that they get up and do things, rather than sitting and waiting for the right moment to strike. I admire this, I really do, but I can't seem to make it happen. Take bircher muesli, for example. I love eating it, but I've never been a great one for making it, all that grating and soaking and being a step ahead. Many's the spring or summer morning when I've thought, 'if only I had stayed up last night, grating apple and squeezing orange juice so I could be eating bircher muesli, then I wouldn't be scarfing down a peanut butter-laden crumpet as I run for the bus'.

Then, one night, quite by chance, I just happened to stir a few things together and in the morning, without realising it, I had made a kind of bircher muesli. I didn't even have to grate anything! Maybe I can achieve greatness after all. 

Summer berry porridge

This is hardly a recipe, more a set of guidelines. But hopefully they'll help your mornings flow a little more smoothly and make you feel like less of a hopeless failure at life in general. This amount makes enough for four to six breakfasts - because I'm the only one that eats it in my household I make half this quantity so it's not sitting in the fridge all week. If you forget to make it the night before, just stir it together as soon as you get up. By the time you've had a cup of tea and a shower, it will be completely edible.

2 cups rolled oats

2 cups almond milk (coconut milk is also good)

1/2 cup ground almonds

1/2 cup seeds - pumpkin, sunflower, sesame, chia

2 cups frozen berries

Mix all the ingredients together (I put them in an ice cream container), then cover and store in the fridge overnight. To serve, scoop out a portion into a waiting bowl, then top with a few more berries and a dollop of yoghurt. 

Have a great week, everyone!

How to cook salmon in a plastic bag

Last week a very clever former vegetarian friend confessed she was terrified of cooking fish. After years of avoiding it, she felt completely in the dark about where - and how - to start. I rattled off a few easy methods and then decided she needed to know this one. If you can boil a kettle, you can master this stress-free, mess-free method of cooking salmon. Here's how to do it.

No-stress salmon
I think this is the easiest way to cook salmon tail fillets, which are often on the skinny side. Plus, it’s a great method for first-time cooks, because you can peep through the plastic to see how the salmon changes colour.

2 x 120g salmon tail fillets
1 tsp extra virgin olive oil
Flaky sea salt and cracked black pepper

Set the kettle to boil. Drizzle the olive oil over the salmon fillets and sprinkle generously with salt and pepper. Insert the salmon into a zip lock sandwich bag and smooth out as much of the air as you can before sealing tightly.

Half fill a heatproof bowl with the just-boiled water, then add the bag of salmon. You may need to weight it down with a spoon to keep it under the water level.
The salmon will take between two and five minutes to cook, depending on its thickness. When it’s done to your liking, take it out of the plastic and serve. I like it straight out of the bag with a dollop of horseradish mixed with Greek yoghurt and snipped chives.

The fast, easy way to get a sticky label off a jar

Have you ever struggled to get the label off a jar? Me too. In fact, I think there is some inverse relationship between the attractiveness of a jar and the stickiness of its label. That's to say, the more likely you are to want to keep a jar for repurposing, the harder the label will be to remove.

Not any more. In this absolutely no-budget video below, I show you how to remove a sticky label, with no tears and no fuss. It will change your life!

Can't be bothered to watch the video? Then all you need to know is that the trick is filling the jar with extremely hot water (not boiling, you don't want to break it), then peeling off the label. So easy. No soaking required, no sticky bits of label ruining the aesthetics of your kitchen cupboards (or your recycling bin).

Now, what housewifely tip can you share with me?

Creme fraiche and chocolate nut truffles

Last Sunday my sister-in-law turned up on my doorstep with a huge chocolate cake, a tub of Zany Zeus creme fraiche and a jar of Fix and Fogg chocolate peanut butter.

We anointed the cake with dollops of both - such a good activity on a winter Sunday afternoon, sitting around, eating cake with chocolate peanut butter on top - and then they left. "I expect you to do something creative with that peanut butter," she called over her shoulder as they left. "No chance," I said. "I'm just going to eat it out of the jar."

But it turns out there's only so many spoonfuls of chocolate peanut butter and creme fraiche you can eat in a week. Here's what you should do with the rest.

Creme fraiche and chocolate nut truffles
If you're not in the habit of having either of the main ingredients lying around, you could always make your own creme fraiche AND make your own salted chocolate nut butter. Then you can whip these up whenever you like, rather than for the rare occasions when you have some going spare.

1/2 cup creme fraiche
1/3 cup chocolate peanut butter
1/4 cup ground almonds
1/2 tsp pure vanilla
1/3 cup finely chopped dark chocolate (about 10 squares of Whittaker's Dark Ghana)
a good pinch of sea salt

For rolling:
2 Tbsp ground almonds
1 Tbsp cocoa, sifted

To make the truffles, put all ingredients in a bowl and beat until well combined.
Mix the second measure of ground almonds and cocoa together in a shallow bowl.
Roll teaspoonfuls of the mixture into small balls, then roll them in the almonds and cocoa. Leave in the fridge to set for 30 minutes before eating. Store, covered, in the fridge. Makes about 22 balls, depending on how much you eat in the process.

Have a great week, everyone!

How to knit an egg cosy (and make fork pompoms)

One of the happiest winters of my life was spent in Whanganui, where my lovely friend Anna and I amused ourselves with sewing, cooking, art projects and soaking in the fire bath in our garden. If it sounds all a bit Little House On The Prairie, that's because it was. The house we rented felt very much like an idyll from the rest of the world, kept warm by the hum of sewing machines and a constantly-boiling kettle.

Life seems to have become a lot less idyllic of late, but I've decided there is still room in my life for little projects.  Especially slightly ridiculous ones as soothing as knitting an egg cosy.

Lucy's Easy Egg Cosy

I devised this pattern after knitting my daughter a woolly hat - essentially a rectangle that you draw up at the end. This lacks the absolute charm of a more complicated pattern but it's an excellent confidence booster for amateur knitters. The one in the picture is a little bigger than it's supposed to be - or perhaps I bought shorter than average eggs - but this pattern should make one that's just the right size.

You will need:

8mm knitting needles

Double knitting wool - use up any scraps you have, as long as they're the same ply

Wool needle

Cast on 28 stitches. Knit one row, then purl the next. Continue in this fashion until the work measures 6.5cm, changing colour as your wool supplies allow.

Thread a wool needle (as in, a sewing needle, not a knitting needle) with wool and slip it through the stitches as you slip them off the knitting needle. Gather both ends of this wool together and pull tightly - the knitted work will come together like the opening of a drawstring bag. Knot together tightly.

Carefully turn the egg cosy inside out and stitch the open side together. Trim any loose threads and hey presto, your eggs will never grow cold again. For added style at breakfast time, add a tiny fork pompom on top. Instructions follow below...

How to make a fork pompom

When I made my daughter's hat, making the fist-sized pompom for the top seemed to take nearly as long as the knitting did (and it used nearly as much wool!)

These tiny pompoms are much faster than the traditional cardboard donut method. All you need to do is to wind the wool around the tines of a fork - I've used a cake fork in the image above - until you have a fat wodge of wool. Slip another piece of wool between the tines and the wrapped bundle, then tie tightly in the middle (I've used a different colour here for display purposes). Slip the tied bundle off the tines, then snip the ends of the pompom as usual. Be careful not to trim it too agressively if it's a very little pompom as it may fall apart.

Have you got a winter project on the go?

Five essential kitchen gadgets for less than $5

Have you seen Rhik Samadder's hilarious food gadgets testing series in The Guardian? It's very good, not least because it confirms my prejudices that these fancy bits of kit are mostly bought by people who are afraid of cooking.

I like ogling fancy kitchen tools as much as the next person, but it occurred to me recently that the things I use most often (with the exception of knives, my father's cast iron frying pan and my food processor) are actually the smallest and cheapest members of my kitchen army.

Here, in no particular order, are five of my most useful kitchen tools - and they all cost less than $5.

1. Rolling pin: Have you always sighed over those beautiful French rolling pins? Me too. But this cheap and cheerful version - a length of dowelling from a hardware store - is just as good. It's also the perfect length for my kitchen bench and at 50cm it's long enough that two pairs of hands (one little, one big) can use it at the same time.

2. Pot(ato) scrubber: A few years ago I gave my beloved a nifty brush that amusingly resembles a potato (he comes from a family of rampant spud eaters). But I've since traded it in for one of these - a pot scrubber. Nothing beats it for cleaning dirt-encrusted potatoes, both for efficiency and speed. A pack of two costs about $5, so you can use one for your pots and the other for your potatoes.

3. Dough scraper: Even if you don't make bread, one of these is a boon to any cook. They cost about $1.50 and you can use them for all sorts of kitchen tricks aside from breadmaking. Just don't make the mistake of putting them anywhere near a hot frying pan - I speak from foolish experience.

4. Scissors: I use these for cutting pizza, snipping herbs, slicing chicken thighs, scoring dough, chopping spring onions - all sorts of tasks. They are in such hot demand from other members of my household too (I must ask 'where are my blue scissors?' about 20 times a day) that I'm thinking of investing in a secret second pair. At about $4.50 from the supermarket, I think we can afford it.

5. Silicone pastry brush: It's not always smart to do things on the cheap. For the last five years I have struggled with a repurposed paintbrush whenever I've needed a pastry brush and cursed every time I've had to pluck a sharp bristle from a fluffy brioche or out of a pie. A month ago I splashed out on this pink beauty - a princely $2 - and it has changed my life. The bristles are soft but strong. It's a gamechanger.

What are your favourite kitchen tools? Do you like to spend up large on shiny things or keep it simple?

The art of writing - workshops at Tea Pea

It's cold, and grey and the news everywhere is bleak. But before you rip open a chocolate bar and sob into your screen, there is a ray of light on the horizon. And you can get involved!

This month sees the start of a series of fun workshops, demonstrations and talks at the lovely Tea Pea School in Khandallah. You can sign up to learn about loads of things, including floral artistry, interior design tricks, cake icing and writing. Yes, writing. I'm particularly excited about that one, because I'll be teaching it.

So, if you long to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) but don’t know where to start, come and join us. The Art Of Writing workshop will help you unearth your inner writer, with tips on connecting with your audience and finding your voice, advice on grammar and construction, how to craft the perfect social media post and more. We might even talk about how to write a recipe, if the need arises.

There will be lots of fun to be had, along with food, drinks and goodie bags. You can find out more about The Art Of Writing workshop and the Tea Pea School here.

Have a great weekend, everyone x

How to fake a wedding cake

This is the wedding cake that nearly wasn't.

When one of my oldest and dearest friends announced she was getting married, I immediately offered to make the wedding cake. She accepted the offer and that was that.

When their wedding was delayed to May, I breathed a sigh of relief and put the cake on the back burner.

Then all of a sudden it was April, the bride was talking multiple layers, chocolate ganache, and the merits of chocolate mud versus chocolate and fig, I had a million other things on my mind and I was lying awake at night, panicking about The Cake.

It was then I remembered that I'd been in this situation before. Five years ago, with a small baby and ideas above my station, I offered to make the wedding cake for some dear friends who'd blown into New Zealand from London to get married.

"Oh yes please," they said. "Don't go to any trouble, but we'd like it to have three layers and have licorice allsorts exploding out the top."

Making the cakes - one chocolate and fig, one chocolate mud and one banana (the groom's favourite flavour) - was easy. Doing the decorating was not. Not for the first time, I recalled a school report in which my teacher said I was often frustrated when my grand plans for artworks didn't come to fruition. I handed the baby to my mother-in-law and spent 24 hours wrestling with kilos of white fondant icing, alternating between wanting to cry and wanting to cheer.

On the afternoon of the wedding, my beloved and I balanced the cake on our knees while my father-in-law drove as slowly as he could around corners. We screamed every time the cake lurched towards my silk dress, more for the sake of the cake than my outfit. By the time we got to the venue the cake had several dents in it and I needed a strong drink to settle my nerves.

It nearly killed me, but the lovely bride and groom were happy and lots of guests said nice things about the cake. Still, I swore that it was the last time I would ever do it.

With those memories flooding back, I rang the bride. "I can't do it," I told her. "I'm too afraid it will be a disaster and you'll be even more disappointed in me than you feel right now."

Like the good friend she is, she took this news on the chin. Instead of making the cake, I decided to redefine my role as chief cake wrangler. I set about getting cake quotes and set up a wedding cake Pinterest board to gather ideas. When they baulked at the quotes - a two or three tier wedding cake is in the region of $400-$500 - I came up with plan B.

Instead of requesting a wedding cake, I asked Pandoro Bakery to make us two large cakes - one a 14" Black Doris Plum Chocolate, the other a 10" Mediterranean Orange, which they present on gold foil cake boards. I got them to ice them identically with chocolate ganache, with the sides rolled in white chocolate shavings.

The day before the wedding, my fellow bridesmaid and I picked them up and took them on a two-hour car ride (mercifully, on very straight roads).

Later that night, the groom helped me engineer the two together, inserting dowel rods to keep the top layer from collapsing into the bottom. With no storage option, we carefully manoeuvred the cake into a beer fridge and prayed it would survive the night.

The next morning, I returned to the venue, rescued the cake from the fridge and plopped some white roses on top. Just like that, the job was done.

The cake looked beautiful, my 22-year friendship with the bride is still intact and my mental health is sound. I may never make a special occasion cake again.

Are you prone to making special occasion cake promises? Do you have any secret tips?

Kombucha 101: Fermented drinks for beginners

Kombucha - a kind of slightly fizzy fermented tea - is having a moment. 

The drink, which is made from sugar, tea, bacteria and yeast, has been around for centuries, but a resurgence in all things fermented means it's especially hot right now. There are Facebook groups devoted to sharing 'scobies' (the culture needed to make the drink), commercially made versions that sell for up to NZ$20 for a 750ml bottle and loads of forums where devoteees discuss the best kinds of tea and sugar to use. A kombucha bar, with six different kinds of kombucha available on tap, even opened in the hip Sydney neighbourhood of Leichhardt last week. 

Devotees believe kombucha has all sorts of health benefits thanks to its probiotic properties. I'm not in a position to make any claims as to kombucha's efficacy - it hasn't cured me of anything or driven me to Instagram my abs on a daily basis - but I do think it's good for digestion. More importantly, I like the way it tastes, which is my main consideration.

Berry kombucha, brewed in November 2014

I've been making my own kombucha since late last year, after receiving a scoby from someone I met via the 'Fermenting Freaks Forever' Facebook group. I know it might sound strange to invite a perfect stranger to send you a gelatinous-looking yeast culture in the post, but it's worked out well. So far I've shared the scobies I've grown with lots of other strangers - as well as any advice I can give them about brewing the perfect batch. 

If you're in New Zealand and you'd like a scoby, don't buy one. Look on Freecycle or Facebook - there is bound to be someone in your community who has some to give away. If you're in Wellington, feel free to contact me - I have more than I know what to do with.

There's loads of information available online about how to get started, but a lot of people find it extremely confusing to navigate. Here's the advice I give to my kombucha recipients - and they've all been successful so far.

Continuous brew kombucha (that's the scoby floating in the tea). Image:Catherine Adam

Kombucha 101

As well as a scoby (which stands for Symbiotic Culture Of Bacteria and Yeast), you'll need a large glass vessel. I recommend scouring your local op shop for a large jar - like a two-litre gherkin jar, or similar - to see if you like it, before rushing off to invest in a big vessel with a spigot. The latter can be found in most homewares stores - the one in the picture came from The Warehouse. Make sure the spigot is plastic (most of them are). You'll also need a supply of glass bottles with lids in which to bottle the brew. I use clean screwtop wine bottles - for some reason we always have plenty of those to hand.

This is how you make what they call 'continuous brew' kombucha - because it's always on the go. If you want to have a rest from it at any stage, then put it in the fridge and bring it back to life on your return.

What you need:

13 cups boiling water

2/3 cup sugar

8 plain black or green teabags (or 2 Tbsp looseleaf tea)

1 scoby and 1 cup kombucha (this is often referred to as 'starter tea' - anyone who gives you a scoby will give you some starter tea as well)

What you need to do:

1. Put the boiling water and sugar in a large pot and stir well. Let cool for a bit, then add the teabags and let them steep for 10-15 minutes. Carefully pull them out and let the hot tea cool to room temperature.

2. Carefully pour the cooled tea into your nice, clean glass vessel (strain it through a fine sieve if you have used teabags). Gently pour in the kombucha liquid and scoby. 

3. Cover the top of the glass vessel with a piece of muslin or fabric and secure with a rubber band or piece of string. This allows the kombucha to breathe, but keeps out flies and other bugs. Leave in an open spot, out of direct sunlight. 

4. After a week, taste the kombucha - it should be 'dry', but not too vinegar-y, with that distinctive flavour. If you think it's ready, then drain it into bottles and add flavouring to them, eg fruit, ginger, lemon or orange zest and 1 tsp sugar. The kombucha will eat up all the sugar, so don't worry about adding it. 

5. Seal the bottles tightly and set aside until you are ready to drink them. They will keep fermenting - if you want to stop the process, put them in the fridge. 

Important things to remember:

1. Make sure you leave at least one cup of kombucha with your scoby at all times or it will find it hard to make more. As it grows, it will form new layers in your jar. This is perfectly normal and a good sign. If, however, it looks like it is growing furry mould, then this is NOT good and you may have to start again. 

2. Make sure you keep everything super clean - clean the bottles and lids with hot soapy water and rinse well with boiling water.

3. Plain white sugar is best - do NOT use honey as it can affect how the scoby grows. Avoid brown sugar too - it makes the kombucha quite yeasty and seems quite sweet.

4. Save any flavouring to the 'second ferment' eg when the kombucha is bottled. The scoby doesn't like any flavoured or herbal teas - just ordinary gumboot tea is perfectly fine. It's like a tradesman - it likes hot, sweet, ordinary tea and regular praise!

5. However, if you want to be fancy, green tea or white tea is also good. You can use decaffeinated black tea, but I'd advise throwing in a normal teabag or two for flavour reasons. Decaff' tea by itself is a bit tasteless. White tea gives the kombucha a delicate, floral flavour.

6. When it comes to flavouring the second ferment, anything goes. I most often use frozen berries (say, six frozen blueberries and a teaspoon of sugar to 750ml kombucha), or slices of fresh ginger. Elderflower and ginger is another gorgeous combination. My all-time favourite is using my sister's homemade crystallised orange peel and a few slices of fresh ginger for a kind of Cointreau-ish kombucha.

7. The kombucha will ferment a lot faster in warmer weather - you may need to check it earlier. If you have left it too long for it to be pleasant to drink, you can always bottle it as vinegar. I've successfully made fridge pickles using kombucha vinegar and my sister-in-law has made raspberry kombucha vinegar. 

Are you a kombucha fan?