some days I don't miss my family and some days I do | green bean, lemon & spinach soup

It has been a while. I'm not sure exactly what it is that has me writing here again, after so long. Perhaps it was making kefir yoghurt again from grains gifted by C, an ex-Melrose resident. Perhaps it was catching up with a fellow foodie friend A who reminded me of just how much I love food and cooking. Perhaps it was writing a bit about Maitland St and the food we made for the Triangle project of another now-ex-Maitland St resident, B. Perhaps it was J phoning me while in the midst of preparations for a dinner party to impress with a couple of guinness cake questions. Perhaps it is that I now have the challenge of cooking for myself each and every night, so the type of meals I make has changed quite a bit, and finding the motivation to cook can be even more of a challenge than it once was.

So many things have changed. I no longer reside at Maitland St, and neither does J. I'm now living on a different hill in a new but still old (1907) "house" that is really more of a mansion. I live in the old servants quarters with 3 other ladies, on the third floor of the original house; the lower two floors of which is kept as a museum/gallery and open to the public. As much as I love the new place, there are times I still miss Maitland St and my room with a harbour view from my bed. Maitland St was home for a wonderful and also challenging three years, and I'll always remember my time there with a certain degree of sentimentality.

So many things have stayed the same. I still work in a lab, which has taken over my life more and more with each passing month. I still sometimes need to remind myself to cook a proper dinner and eat proper meals. When you don't have the expectation or need to cook for someone else it is much easier to convince yourself that porridge / boiled eggs / cheese on toast is an appropriate dinner. And sometimes it is, but the habit of cooking is a good one to nurture.

I can't promise I will be posting any more frequently than sporadically or whenever I feel the need to write something that isn't scientific or poetry, but you might see a few recipes here over the coming year. Most likely focussed on easy but also delicious meals you can cook for one or two. As much as I miss cooking for six (the default amount as I first started cooking for my family when I still lived at home), when it's only you eating it's best to not let the leftovers situation get too out of control. Not to mention our fridge/freezer capacity is pretty much always at maximum. However, I'm still pretty fond of soups and other easily scaleable things, and so even if you cook regularly for a few more people than I, hopefully you might find something useful.

green bean, lemon & spinach soup

Of course it would be a soup recipe! I often find that it is difficult to use up produce before it goes bad, and soup is an excellent way to use up anything that is looking a bit past it (but not quite at the furry stage). This was inspired by the lemon, lentil and coriander soup I've previously written about, and is perfect for those unexpectedly cool summer southerly nights. 

300g green beans

1 onion

1 cup vegetable stock
1 cup water
2 lemons (or more), zest and juice

200-300g spinach

1 clove garlic

butter/olive oil

about half a can of coconut milk

salt

feta

herb paste

sunflower seeds

flaxseed oil

Dice the onion and garlic, and trim the ends from the beans. Heat the butter or olive oil in a heavy fry pan and sauté the onions for a while until they start turning golden. Add the garlic and stir so it doesn't burn. Add the beans and lemon zest to the pan, and fry for about a minute before adding the vegetable stock and water in small amounts. You may not need all the water. Cook for about 10 minutes, until the beans are starting to soften a little. Add the spinach - I used baby spinach, but if you've got the big kind just rip the leaves off the stalks first, and remove from the heat while the spinach wilts. 

Blend in batches and transfer to a pot. Heat the soup through. If it's a bit runny, let it reduce on the heat for a while. When you are happy with the consistency, add the coconut milk and lemon juice. I used about 3 lemons because I like the flavour quite lemony. Don't be tempted to add a whole can of coconut milk, it's just there to make the soup more creamy, not add any flavour. Add salt to taste - I added about 1 teaspoon. 

To serve, toast some sunflower seeds, crumble some feta over the bowl, add a spoonful of herb paste and a small drizzle of flaxseed oil. All of these additions are delicious but not necessary. Eat with toast or just by itself. 

This soup freezes well and you can even freeze it before adding the coconut milk and just finish it off when you defrost it. The recipe's vegetarian already, and also appropriate for vegans if you use olive oil rather than butter, and omit the feta. The amounts I've used made enough soup for a dinner for three, with bread, or two dinners and two lunches just for me. If there's more of you, just increase the amounts. 

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So, perhaps I will 'see' you again soon. The only recipe I half-wrote in the blog hiatus (really doesn't seem like nearly two years!) was for borscht, something I got mildly obsessed with over autumn, so perhaps that will be what I write about next. Though I have also been testing out our new-ish oven with a few kinds of baking, so, you never know..

The two photos at the top are of a particularly special beach not far from the city centre. 

title from the mountain goats - wild sage

I'm sittin' in the railway station, got a ticket for my destination | panforte for christmas

I'm not sitting in a railway station, but I am sitting in an airport with a ticket to my destination. It almost didn't happen - when you wake up, disoriented and groggy and look at your phone to see it showing 5.45am - the same time the shuttle is supposed to pick you up: well, let's just say I'm thankful I didn't decide to "finish packing in the morning" at 3.30am. Everyone in the shuttle says 'congratulations, you made it!' and it's a bit much when you've (literally) woken up 10 minutes before. As fate would have it, my flight ended up being delayed by a couple of hours so the airline gave us vouchers for breakfast and happily, Dunedin airport recently (finally) joined the 21st century and got itself a bit of free wifi, so this long overdue blog post might actually make it to the blog!

December has been a social month - I think it always is. Everyone wants to catch up before the end of the year - and while it can make you a little weary, it's also really lovely to catch up with everyone, all happy with summer holiday anticipation. December has seen some epic Maitland dinners, celebrations involving decorated cakes "for no reason in particular", farewelling H's seven years living in Dunedin with a pretty epic return to late night dancing of more youthful days, countless beers at Albar or at the beach, ciders in the Maitland courtyard to make the most of the long evenings...

We ended this December social season with a "festive cheers" last night. L, J and I teamed up again to create a pretty colourful array; complemented by broken heart gin and empire tonic - with a slice of cucumber and a wedge of lime, we decided this is the classiest g & t - and all NZ-made ingredients! Despite J and my best efforts to be organised, we neglected to get the sourdough underway in time for it to rise, and so in lieu of a loaf of sourdough, we made flat bread instead. S called it pain perdu which traditionally refers to French toast made from the forgotten end of a baguette; but seems appropriate in this situation also.

But it isn't the festive season without something delicious and rich, involving dried fruit and nuts. I remember spending this time of year travelling around India a couple of years ago, eating dal and chappati, Christmas spent in the desert with three camels and our guide for company. Just before the end of the year, in a different city, we came across a German cake shop. Devouring plate after plate of dark, alcoholic plum cake (it is amazing how much you can eat when you've been living off curried vegetables) - then it truly felt like Christmas.

This year we made panforte, and raspberry and ginger beer cake for our 'festive cheers'. The panforte was a last minute decision when we were trying to think of something sweet, gluten free, and delicious. Panforte is an ideal cake to make gluten free because it isn't meant to rise very much anyway.

panforte

1 cup almonds

1 cup hazelnuts

150 g flour - to make this gluten free, we used 75 g brown rice flour and 75 g buckwheat flour plus 1 tsp guar gum. 

100 g dried cranberries

50 g dried figs

50 g dried apple

50 g dried apricots

50 g dates

3/4 cup liquid honey

200 g dark chocolate

1/2 cup brown sugar

Roast the almonds and hazelnuts in a 200ºC oven. They will take 10-15 minutes. When they're done, vaguely bash them up or 'gently' blitz them in a food processor. I like them to be very roughly chopped, not too small.

Chop all the dried fruit. This is a somewhat arduous task but, bear with me, it's completely worth it. The fruit you use is also interchangeable - our recipe called for mixed peel but we decided to use apple instead. Raisins would be a good addition, as would prunes.. You can't go wrong with all these delicious ingredients. J also suggested a small amount of chilli which I think would be completely amazing but have not tried first hand.

Mix the nuts, flour, and fruit together in a large bowl. Melt the chocolate, honey and sugar over a gentle heat - you don't want the chocolate to seize up. When all the chocolate is melted, pour over the fruit and stir. Don't wait around too much, the warmer the chocolate/honey mix is, the easier it is to stir. Your arm might feel like it will fall off but it should come together in a really thick, sticky dough consistency. If not, add a very small amount of hot water.

Press into a round cake tin. The recipe called for one that had a 30cm diameter, but we used a 20cm one and it was thicker than usual but wonderful just the same. Bake at 180ºC for 40 - 60 minutes. It should be firm to press the top, and darker around the edges. Remove from tin and if you lined the tin with baking paper, remove as soon as possible - if it cools in the paper you will never get it off prettily. Try (but not too hard) to not eat all of it at once, although it's pretty amazing to eat warm. It's dairy free, gluten free (if you choose), and vegan (apart from the honey) so it's able to be enjoyed by people of all different dietary persuasions, and it's also quite good for you. Personally, I am taking panforte next time I go on a climbing/tramping weekend.

And now it's three days later since I sat in the airport and wrote the above in a sleep deprived state. It's good to be home, very very good as it always is to spend time at Mum and Dad's, spend time with my siblings, missing the other brother S who won't make it home this year (hi, love you!), spend time with Wellington-based friends, and being thankful for all the good surrounding us all. Hope you and yours have a merry and bright festive season. Thank you for reading these somewhat sporadic posts, and see you in 2014!

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title from simon & garfunkel - homeward bound

as still as a river can be | coriander pesto

Sometimes, I like to think of months as people. To me, November is a tall, slender male, with long fingers and a pointy nose. When you're least expecting it, he creeps up behind you, and suddenly it's November and that's the second to last month of the year. I've been calling Maitland home for almost two years, I've become used to the warmer weather, the kōwhai bloomed and dropped its leaves all over the street, and then the yellow rotted into gold and blew away down the drains at the bottom of our street. The salt water pool's opened up again, I'm back from travels and back into the real world, with goals and lists of 'things to do before Christmas'.

Despite the somewhat inevitable frantic nature of this time of year, I'm really loving November at the moment. Cycling home from the pool last night, I came around a corner to see another cyclist passing the other way. He gave me a big smile and lifted his head to say 'sup, and then I realised I too had a big silly smile on my face, for no particular reason. I just felt happy - the simple kind of happy that doesn't require a reason.

At Maitland, the garden is also very happy. This time of year I am always amazed by the speed at which things grow out there - all the salad greens say 'hello', and 'eat me!', the coriander grows tall and sometimes sprouts tiny flowers, the carrots have had enough of growing roots and put all their energy into their green tops. Our neighbour has seedlings she's been nurturing in wooden crates outside our front door, and seemingly overnight they've turned into bright green lettuces.

We had so much coriander we didn't know what to do with it all. I remember this time last year (although a bit later) I nearly wore out our blender making spice paste out of the coriander roots. This time we've had two big harvests already, with more just sprouting out of the ground, and we've been mass producing pesto.

Pesto is one of those delicious but luxurious food items. Also on the list would be avocados, organic balsamic vinegar (quite expensive), hummus unless you make it yourself, good cheese.. Can you tell I'm hungry writing this? We rarely, if ever, purchase pesto at Maitland, as the stuff you can buy can be so expensive. However, one of our local pasta making places sell their pasta, and also pesto, at the Farmer's market. They have several different types, one being coriander pesto. It's a bit different, fresh but a little spicy. So when we had lots of coriander, pesto inspired by the pasta d'oro one was the first thing that came to mind. And the great thing about making your own pesto is it's much cheaper, especially if your garden produces the greens, and so you can stop feeling guilty about piling it on bread or crackers, or making a pasta sauce by just warming up some pesto ..

coriander pesto

2-3 cups coriander leaves and stems, chopped roughly

1 cup nuts and seeds - we use a mixture of almonds and sunflower seeds

2 garlic cloves

juice of one lemon

a good pinch of salt

300-400mL olive oil

optional - 1 tsp cumin seeds

This is really a very simple recipe. Roast the nuts and seeds in a hot oven, 200ºC, for about 10-15 minutes. You might hear a couple crackle or pop, that's when they're ready. They shouldn't look browned. We usually use almonds and sunflower seeds, but you could use cashew nuts, or macadamia nuts if you're feeling fancy and are blessed with a suitable nut cracker. I usually use 3 times as many sunflower seeds as almonds, because they're cheaper and they're also pretty delicious.

Roast the garlic cloves too - I usually do this separately because they only need five minutes. They just need to be soft. Blitz the nuts and seeds first. If you happen to put the lid on your food processor the wrong way, some very hot water run over it, and 20 minutes of frustration, will help to remove it! Add the coriander leaves a small amount at a time, alternating with the oil. Add the lemon juice and salt to taste. If you want to use cumin seeds for a slightly different flavour, add them at the beginning. Keep adding oil until your pesto is the consistency you want it. If it's too sticky, you need more coriander leaves. I found that I used more salt and more oil than I was expecting to.

Et voilà! Pesto for crackers, on toast, over pasta, in just about anything you make in a frypan... Enjoy! You can freeze it in plastic containers, or store it more short term in the fridge, in glass.

We've been busy around these parts - although it's the time of year where everyone's busy in their own way. Maitland's lounge has hosted a range of visitors, all of them lovely. H baked often, and filled our freezer with soups we're still enjoying, and D & L made the most delicious tarte tatin, and I learned the word for nasturtium en français, which is the lovely sounding word capucine, in case you were wondering. 

Speaking of Europe, there are still travelling stories to tell, and many photos to sort through and perhaps share. I think they'll come, eventually...! I had to end this blogging hiatus with a recipe and real life - travelling seems like a different time now. I found a recipe over the weekend for borscht, I think I feel cooking inspiration returning, just like the garden's growing. 

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title from bill callahan - rococo zephyr. I think I'm addicted to Bill Callahan's voice at the moment. 

but I still say we're too old for clichés | chocolate guinness cake

It's always difficult to get back to blogging after an unexpected hiatus. It seems like my 'voice' fades away amidst the other things that can fill up a life, and I come back here and realise it's been a whole month since I've shared a recipe here.

Cake is one of those excellent things in life that are always unfailingly good. Many of my favourite memories centre around cake - of course, birthday cakes, and my grandma's famous pumpkin cake, my Dad's favourite - pink lady cake, the time me and my brother flooded the bathroom and we ate his birthday cake surrounded by shampoo bottles and wet cabinetry, apology cakes and numerous other cakes made at the infamous Flat F ..

This weekend has been an unexpectedly eventful one. I awoke to discover that my trusty bike had been stolen, but my luck turned when I just happened to meet a guy going to a sold out gig with an extra ticket, so I got to see the phoenix foundation. And such is the nature of Dunedin, I ended up in the front row dancing between two friends anyway.

So, whatever the reason: a "sorry your bike was stolen cake", an apology cake, a celebratory cake, this recipe fits the bill. It's a classy cake - not too sweet, and an interesting bitter chocolate flavour. An added bonus - your house will smell amazing as its baking. It's originally a Nigella recipe, so of course it's a classy cake. She's a classy lady.

chocolate guinness cake

250g butter

250mL dark beer - guinness if you like, or an interesting stout. The darker the better!

75g cocoa (preferably fair trade)

200g dark muscovado sugar

150g demerara sugar (or just white sugar if that's what you've got)

2 eggs

1 cup plain, unsweetened yoghurt or sour cream

1 teaspoon vanilla extract (I always forget this, and it's still delicious).

275g plain flour

2.5 teaspoons baking soda

250g cream cheese

1-2 cups icing sugar

lemon juice

Melt the butter and the beer in a saucepan on a gentle heat. Add the cocoa and both sugars - you could use 350g of plain white sugar but I like the taste of a really dark muscovado sugar better. Whisk the eggs with the sour cream/yoghurt and vanilla extract. If the butter is not too hot, mix in the eggs/yoghurt. In a separate bowl, mix the flour and baking soda. Make a well in the middle and gently mix the liquid a little at a time. Don't be tempted to save on dishes and add the flour to the saucepan. You will end up with lumps that are impossible to remove - I speak from experience.

Bake at 180ºC (350ºF) for between 40 minutes - 1 hour. The top will look a bit shiny but when it's done, you'll be able to prick the cake with a skewer and remove it clean. Let it cool before icing.

The icing is really just mixing the three ingredients together until you have a good consistency. The sweetness is the perfect match to the cake - but equally it's a delicious cake uniced. This cake freezes well, should you ever need to freeze it. I've taken it to potlucks before and I'm yet to find someone who dislikes it. 

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title from wilco - open mind

but without songs we're lost | beetroot and balsamic tart

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Where did June go? It seems like those weeks before the solstice dragged, and just when I thought the middle of winter was never going to come, it disappeared into days with familiar routines and rhythms. There's not much to report - it's been cold, days have passed, and cooking at Maitland has been feeling a little uninspired - at least, from my perspective it has. We've been eating lots of soup: spiced carrot, jerusalem artichoke, french onion, potato, leek and kale..

Sometimes at this time of year, I find myself getting a bit sick of soups. Most of the time, though, I'm a soup fan - I spent a good amount of time in a previous flat making soup for flat dinners despite 3/6 of my flatmates not believing soup to be a 'proper meal'. Speaking of 'proper meals', I recently invited a friend over for dinner with this text: "I'm making porridge for dinner, do you want some?". He arrived at Maitland about 45 minutes later and the first thing he said was "Are you actually making porridge?" I  was.

Beetroot is one of those polarising vegetables - people seem to either love it or hate it. Growing up, we didn't eat much beetroot and so it wasn't until a friend cooked beetroot soup for me one night - made simply with beetroot, red wine and onions, and eaten with feta cheese, I realised how much I'd underrated it as a vegetable. Beetroot is now an autumn and winter staple in our kitchen. We make soup with it, roast it, or use it in risottos. There's something about the purple colour that I find myself craving. I've also made roast beetroot hummus (delicious), and beetroot bread (a hot pink mess) and I'm yet to try making beetroot brownies (a Hugh recipe, of course) ... but one day soon!

However, one of the nicest ways to enjoy beetroot is to make a simple tart - this would be the perfect dish to take to a fancy pot luck, or if you want to have a slightly more special dinner with minimal extra effort. It's also based on a Hugh recipe - the man is a genius, after all.

beetroot & balsamic tart

beetroot - either 3 large ones or a bunch of baby ones
3-5 cloves of garlic
about 20g butter
2 tbsp balsamic vinegar
pastry - you can either make this yourself (not as hard as it seems), or if you're pushed for time, use pre-made puff pastry. We've made this both ways - either way tastes delicious. 
2 shallots
a few parsley leaves
lemon juice
olive oil
1 tsp mustard - preferably the seedy kind.

Halve the beetroot, or cut into small-ish pieces if you're using big beetroot. Heat the butter in a pan, and add the beetroot. Let the pan get quite hot before you add the balsamic vinegar. Cook on a medium heat for about 30 minutes, covered. It will smell delicious. When it's ready, the beetroot will be softer and shiny, and there will be a small amount of dark purple, syrupy liquid.

While the beetroot is cooking, roll out your pastry until it's the size of the oven proof container you'll cook this in. You want to have enough beetroot and pastry to cover the bottom of this container in a single layer of beetroot - not too crowded, but not too spread out.

When the beetroot is ready, place them cut side up (if you've halved baby beetroot) in the dish. Pour the syrup over them too. Lay the pastry over the beetroot - tuck this in at the sides. Bake for about 20 minutes at 200ºC, until the pastry is golden and puffy.

While the tart is cooking, make the dressing. It's not strictly necessary, but if you've got the ingredients you won't regret making it. Chop up the shallots and parsley leaves, and mix these with the lemon juice, olive oil and mustard. Add salt and pepper to taste.

To serve, invert the tart onto a plate (be careful doing this, I nearly dropped a whole one onto the floor once!). Pour over any remaining beetroot juice, and serve with the dressing and some feta cheese if you like.

This would make a good lunch by itself - we've eaten this with salads from the garden, left over risotto, and on one memorable occasion, multiple other tarts including one with tomato, goats cheese, and thyme - back when tomatoes were in season.

Stay tuned - our fridge is currently stocked with several bottles of unpasteurised milk (Hi, Dad!), soon to be made into haloumi.. so next time you might hear some cheesemaking stories..

  title from irresponsible tune - the dirty projectors

let's not try to figure out everything at once | baked polenta with tomato

There are many things in life you can't control. Sometimes I find it best to deal with these things by distracting myself - with work and cooking and people and food. This works for a while, and then there's a week where everything catches up with you.... I had that week last week. But even though there were many moments when I questioned my sanity or purpose - it all worked out in the end.

Now I'm feeling a little burned out, but looking forward to less chaotic June filled with winter dinners and lab work. As it would happen, the other morning we woke up to silence - true silence.. and a blanket of snow covering our hill and city. It's an unusual enough occurrence to spell a snow day for us - so we made porridge this morning and ate that in our pyjamas, before venturing the long way into town to look at the snow.

After a few slips and slides down the hill, I purchased a few more onions and made french onion soup to warm us up - I used red wine this time, as it was all we had, and it made a hearty, salty broth. It warmed us up - especially needed as that day the temperature didn't get over four degrees!

This time of year can be hard - it's dark when you have to get up, dark when you come home from work, difficult to get out of bed in the mornings, and there's still another month of the days getting shorter to get through before the solstice. Also, it can be cold - the kind of cold that settles in your bones and stays there all day; the kind of cold that requires thermals underneath your pyjamas and at least two hot water bottles ... the kind of cold that requires a hot, warm, easy to eat dinner.

This dish is perfect for those times where you feel a bit unnecessarily irritable, or flighty, or unsettled. When all of a sudden there's a wind through the house, slamming doors and making maracas out of the leaves. When there's so much to do you don't really want to spend time cooking but you don't have the money or inclination to go out. When it has been cold for a while and, despite loving soup, you're a bit tired of it. You can make it any time of year, it's gluten free, and you could easily make it to be dairy free too. It's hearty, filling, and simple to make.

baked polenta with tomato

You won't believe how little this recipe requires in terms of effort. It's inspired by this recipe with just a few changes.

2 cups coarse polenta/cornmeal

1.5 L water

1 tsp salt

50g butter

1 tsp chili flakes

1/2 cup grated, or about 50g cheese - any kind, the stronger the better! 

2 onions

3 cloves garlic

1 tsp cumin

1 can tomatoes (or fresh, if you've got them)

1 tsp chili flakes

bay leaf

optional - other grilled vegetables like aubergine, olives, mushrooms, courgette.. 

Pour the polenta into a large, oven-proof dish, large enough to contain 1.5 litres of water. Add the salt, and water, and stir until the water goes a bit cloudy. Bake at 180ºC for 45 minutes.

While the polenta is cooking, make the sauce. Lightly cook the onions, add the tomatoes and chopped garlic and spices, and let reduce for a while. If you have some red wine handy, you could add this in for a heartier flavour. Keep warm until the polenta is ready.

After 45 minutes, take the polenta out of the oven and stir through the butter, cheese and chilli flakes, and cracked pepper if you like. Return to the oven for another 15 minutes. It will be done when the top is dry, and the polenta doesn't wiggle too much. The polenta will hopefully be the consistency of a thick porridge, creamy and delicious.

To serve, spoon the sauce over the polenta. Eat with grilled vegetables if you like, and you can add extra cheese to the top if you so desire as well. Enjoy!

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I've been finding myself thinking lots of India recently - perhaps because I am in the process of finalising a different trip overseas - this one is a lot more unexpected and I am feeling very lucky to have the privilege of travel.

When I think of India at the moment, I think of sounds - a camel braying at a camel farm just outside of Bikaner. The hauntingly beautiful Muslim prayers broadcast into the desert air five times a day - the first thing I'd hear in the morning and the last thing I'd hear at night. The soft whumpf-whumpf of the pigeons that nested under the windows in the guest house we stayed at in Pushkar. The deep and sustained snoring of one of the most obnoxious men I've ever had the (questionable) privilege of sharing a sleeper car with. The chai-wallah's particularly unique way of offering their wares. The cracking sound of a stick on a dog's back. Horns, of all different timbres, usually all at once. The loveliest Japanese man playing ravanahatha so beautifully on the first morning of the New Year... so many sounds I'll always remember.

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title from the national - fake empire

but the fighter still remains | lemon, lentil and coriander soup

 

A week ago, we turned the clocks back, and just on cue, autumn has well and truly arrived around these parts. It's bittersweet - on the one hand, I welcome the extra light in the mornings, and I love how cooler temperatures have me craving soups over salads. The flipside is it's been really quite cold - cycling to work now requires a woolen hat under my helmet, a wool scarf around my neck, and I'm definitely going to have to invest in some gloves soon! 

I've said to a few people over the years that Dunedin does autumn and spring well. It's true - I love the autumn produce: pumpkins, kale, parsnips, apples and feijoas. The trees I see outside the lab now have bright red leaves - and soon those bright red leaves will fall to the ground. 

Last week began with the last swim in the sea after climbing on a beautifully hot day; and ended with going for a walk on a much cooler day with a hot water bottle in my coat. I've been having showers to warm up in the mornings as incentive for getting up early, we've been making soup and beans and lots and lots of tea. The summer we had was sublime, but it's definitely gone now.

Last Saturday evening saw us at the stadium, listening to Rufus Wainwright and Paul Simon. Both were incredible - we sat for Rufus' set. Of course he played hallelujah - and his voice echoed around the covered stadium like it was made for him to sing there. Paul Simon's set was incredible too - in a completely different way. We were up and dancing by the second song, and despite the best efforts of the stadium security, didn't sit down for the rest of the concert. There were at least two encores, lots of songs from Graceland played. Singing this song with 12, 500 other concert goers was a particular highlight, as was "The Boxer", which we hoped and hoped he would play - and it was the last tune.

I made bedouin lentil soup from this book for Friday night's dinner. We've made it before, many times, at Maitland, and I've promised to share the recipe before too. It's the perfect soup for all seasons - we've eaten it frequently through late winter, spring and summer. It's simple without being too plain, warm and filling without feeling like too much. It also freezes well.

lemon, lentil and coriander soup

for the soup:

1 onion

1 clove garlic

1 tsp ground cumin

1 bunch spring onions - optional, but I had some from Mum's garden to use up.

2 cups brown lentils or puy lentils, soaked overnight/8 hours

2 lemons - juice, rind optional

1/2 cup coriander (or more), chopped finely

1-2 cups leafy greens - such as spinach, chard, kale or a mixture

2+ cups vegetable stock/water

for the taklia:

2-4 tbsp olive oil

2 tsp cumin seeds

1 tsp coriander seeds

2 tsp sea salt

2 cloves garlic

Honestly, this is quite a forgiving recipe. You can use up almost any vegetable you have - I grated a couple of yellow courgette into the version I made on Friday night. The key ingredients are the lemon, lentils, coriander, and the taklia.

Chop the onions and garlic finely and lightly sauté with the cumin, but don't let them get too brown. Add the lentils and vegetable stock and bring to the boil, then simmer for 45 minutes - 1 hour.  

While the soup is cooking, make the taklia. Briefly fry the chopped garlic cloves - use a medium-low heat for this as you just want to make them a bit soft. It will only take about 3 minutes. Add these to a mortar and pestle with the other ingredients and "bash" or "stir" until all the ingredients are combined and the seeds are cracked. You want the consistency to be quite runny, so add more olive oil if necessary. Set aside. 

Once the lentils are soft, add the greens, lemon juice and rind. If you're using kale, you'll probably want to simmer for about 5 minutes with a lid on. If you're using spinach, you won't want to cook it very long at all. Carefully use a stick blender or blitz in batches in a benchtop one. Be careful - if it's really hot the steam can blow off the lid and you can end up with hot soup all over yourself and your kitchen. I (unfortunately) speak from experience - I was very grateful that nobody was there to witness that! 

Once the soup's blended, keep it warm. Add more lemon juice if necessary, or some pepper. Try to avoid adding salt - sometimes I'll add just a tiny bit. This is because the taklia is quite salty and is a necessary addition - so the soup doesn't need to be as salty. 

To serve, add around 1 teaspoon of taklia to each bowl of soup. Sometimes we also add some plain yoghurt but it's just as delicious without. A couple of slices of toast turns this simple soup into a meal filling enough for dinner - particularly if you've got a version of this made with black boy peaches to eat after.. 

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The end of this week marked the completion of some important deadlines - I think that the next couple of months will be less chaotic than the previous two. In many ways, it feels like the cold air has brought some calm to my days also. I stopped halfway up the hill on my way home one night last week, because I realised the Southern cross was right above my head, and all the stars were out. It reminded me of a winter weekend spent in the Catlins last year ..

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title from the boxer - simon & garfunkel

i feel it in my bones | spiced beetroot & caramelised onions on bread

There's something special about coming home after going away. Today I returned to Maitland and tonight J followed suit. The kitchen is filled with gifts we've brought with us - spring onions from Mum's garden and lemons from the tree at Fitzroy St, organic leek seeds from the Hill St farmer's market my parents frequent, an old book of music with some familiar tunes for the piano, milk and quark from Merrell, wild thyme from somewhere around Cromwell, eggs from Moeraki. We're lucky and blessed here - and tonight I definitely feel appreciative of the people whom I always miss, in some way or another.

For Easter I flew back to Wellington, where I grew up, to see the family. Pictured above is Mum, Dad and I at the top of Brooklyn hill on Easter Sunday. Shortly after this photo was taken, the rain set in, and we returned home completely drenched (but happy). My brothers and sister still live in Wellington and it's hard sometimes to be the only sibling on a different island. Even though it's not that far when you think about distances in astronomical terms (although no distance on the Earth seems large when you think about exactly how great a distance one light year is...) I still miss them. In many ways, though, we're still close. My current favourite pair of jeans initially belonged to my brother A, my brother S recently visited, my sister E (pictured with me below) probably still has her hair in the French braid I did this morning at the airport for her. In my parents' fridge there's a jar of aubergine pickle and they're also enjoying roast apricot jam: both made at Maitland. 

Perhaps the highlight of my Easter weekend was when A came and cooked dinner, and S drove up the hill after the game at the stadium, and the lounge was filled with all six of us, just like it once was almost every night. And I guess even though Dunedin and Maitland are now my home, it's always so good to be just the six of us: whether it's in Wellington over Easter, in the Wairarapa over Christmas, or in fact, anywhere in the world. The place doesn't matter so much as seeing those other five familiar faces ...

You might have wondered where I've been. Just like life has its ups and downs, so does my cooking motivation. The past couple of weeks I've only just had the energy to make simple lentil curries or baked spaghetti squash (more difficult than it first appeared). However, perhaps due to watching a couple of Hugh's autumn at river cottage episodes over Easter, my inspiration has returned! Here's a recipe for what I made for dinner last night .. 

spiced beetroot & caramelised onion on bread

I thought very carefully about what to call this one. Technically, you could call it a "toasted sandwich" but those words together in my mind conjure up an image of spaghetti and cheese toasted sandwiches, a favourite of me and my siblings for those after school afternoon teas. There is no appetite like the after school appetite of a teenager!

It might seem like this is a bit fiddly, using multiple pans, but it's the perfect thing to make when you're really just moseying around on a Sunday evening/night, maybe put some emily king on, and really enjoy chopping and cooking and stirring ..

2 baby beetroot (or 1 medium-sized)

2 cloves garlic

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp mustard seeds

1 onion, red or brown

1/2 tsp honey

balsamic vinegar (about 1/3 cup, but I never measure this)

olive oil

butter or a high-heat oil, eg coconut

bread - if you're me, it will be something seedy

cheese - optional, but I used quark and also a bit of cheddar 

cherry tomatoes or 1 tomato

spring onion

thyme (optional)

1 lemon

The first job is to caramelise the onion. Chop the onion into fine half-rings and briefly sauté in a hot pan with a little oil or butter. When they've cooked for a couple of minutes, add the honey and balsamic vinegar. Cover, turn the heat down to medium, and cook for 20-40 minutes, stirring occasionally.

The next job is the beetroot. I didn't peel these, just removed the top and long roots, and grated them with a cheese grater. Heat a small amount of butter or coconut oil and add the mustard seeds and ground cumin. Chop the garlic finely, and add both the garlic and beetroot to the pan when the mustard seeds start making a popping noise. Cook for about 10 minutes on a medium heat.

Chop the tomatoes and spring onions into small pieces. Add chopped thyme if you've got it, and make a simple dressing with a bit of lemon juice and olive oil.

If you've got a sandwich press the next part will be simple. We don't, and it's not too difficult. Slice the bread, assemble, press down a little and then toast in a hot pan (I reused the caramelised onions pan) until golden on the outside. Slice, and then tip the tomatoes over the top.

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If you clicked on the emily king link above and enjoyed "georgia" - why not enjoy even more this version - made by some talented folk including one of my closest friends' talented brother who's been playing the piano in a remarkable way since pretty much forever. He's the one on the keyboard. 

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title from step - vampire weekend

rollin' down the track again | jam drops for autumn

By no means am I the creator of this recipe I'm going to share with you today. Jam drops are something I'm sure my grandmothers would've made, something my own Mum made lots growing up, something I have that instinctual, familiar love of. Sometimes you have to question instinctual love - in the case of jam drops, you do not!

I made my first ever jam, using leftover redcurrants - the ones too squishy to use in this loaf - and raspberries. It made one large jar of sweet jelly-jam. It dripped off toast and was rather sweet - but it was good in unsweetened yoghurt. On the phone to Wellington, I told Mum about it. "Why don't you make jam drops," she said, "I'll send you the recipe." So, courtesy of Mum, potentially from the piece of paper I wrote the recipe out on as a 12 year old .. here's the recipe.

jam drops

200g butter

1/4 cup icing sugar

1 tsp vanilla

1 and 3/4 cups plain flour

1/4 cup cornflour

about 1/4 cup jam - I like berry flavours but I've made them with apricot jam before too.

Preheat oven to 170ºC fan bake.

Cream butter and icing sugar until pale and fluffy, then beat in vanilla. Add sifted flour and cornflour and mix until the mixture comes together. Mould dough into a soft ball and chill for 10-15 minutes.

Roll mixture into teaspoonful sized balls and place on a lined baking tray. Press an indent in the centre and fill with jam. Bake for 12-15 minutes until pale golden and set.

Note -

One of the key things with jam drops and other buttery biscuits is that you don't make them on a hot day or you try and keep the mixture cold. I made these on a day that felt freezing after summery temperatures - the butter was hard on the bench and the olive oil was going a bit cloudy (as it does when it's cold).

Another is to not fill the indents completely. A smaller amount of jam than you think will be sufficient! They will not look perfect but they will look rustically beautiful.

Our oven does not have fan bake and is usually cooler than what it says - so mine took longer to cook. We did 20 minutes at 180ºC and then 5 minutes at 200ºC.

This recipe made 16, but in retrospect I would make them smaller. They disappeared very quickly - and that was excellent, as with the amount of butter in the recipe makes these a definite treat food! 

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Hope you and yours have a happy weeekend! Around these parts I'm looking forward to a quiet Saturday night in, possibly involving scrubbing the bath. Sometimes I can be introverted like that - I think it's good to be a little introverted now and then.

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title from neil young - see the sky about to rain. 

it undulates on the waves and crushes the water | aubergine pickle

Sometimes, the universe dictates exactly when you will make a new recipe. Ever since reading the lovely Jay's recipe for aubergine pickle, it's been on the to do list in the back of my mind. At the time, it was spring, heading into early summer, and aubergines weren't available in our part of the country. More recently: late summer, early autumn, I remembered the pickle recipe when I saw Taste Nature had aubergine on special. Thanks to the small amount of data I have on my phone, I located the recipe and purchased all the necessary ingredients, planning to make aubergine pickle in the next day or two.

It wasn't meant to be. The aubergine and capsicum sat in the fridge over the weekend. That weekend was a particularly full one, involving a full day in the lab as well as enjoying the sun (and helping make some earth bricks) out in Osbourne. I cycled home from the lab on Saturday to find J wrapping hot dishes in towels for the 20 minute drive out of the city. We arrived at T and L's lovely nearly-completed abode overlooking the inlet just as the sky was beginning to turn pink. We ate dinner as the sun set. To see pictures of the amazing view and also of the house in progress, have a look at T and L's awesome blog and housebuilding diary. 

Eventually, it got dark enough for the lantern to be switched on and L taught J and I some of her pilates moves to stretch our muscles before the lantern was switched off and all was quiet and dark. I slept under the window on the mezzanine floor and could see the stars outside. I felt overwhelmingly grateful to live in a city in which a short drive from the CBD takes you to a place as beautiful as Purakānui, where the stars are bright and so much more visible than from Maitland, and where the night is so silent, save for the occasional "baaa" of sheep.

As I was drifting off to sleep, I realised that a year ago, I didn't know J or T or L or Maitland St. I was newly back in Aotearoa, 7kg below my normal weight, and with about 20% of my usual energy levels. And while 2012 was a difficult year for me in many ways, I realised then that I do quite enjoy where it led me, because right now, life is pretty wonderful. I'm grateful for our Maitland St home and for being lucky enough to meet inspiring individuals such as T, L and J; who've given me experiences that enabled me to fall back in love with this city I live in, this city that is home. As 2012 drew to a close, I often thought of a wise woman's words: "bloom where you are planted". I'm not sure if I'm "blooming" just yet, but I'm well on the way. I also know that happiness and contentment can change like seasons do, but that's all the more reason to continue to take pleasure in the moments right now. I went to sleep smiling, and slept better than I had in a while.

When we returned to the city and reality on Sunday night, the aubergine and capsicum were redirected into the best gourmet vegetarian burgers, and I put aubergine pickle out of my mind. As it happened, L returned home about a week later with five large gifted aubergine going wrinkly, requiring immediate use. How could I not make aubergine pickle?

aubergine pickle

I modified the recipe both to increase the amount and to compensate for some ingredients I was missing. Jay's version, the original, looks much darker than what I ended up with. If you've only got one aubergine to use, you can scale down this recipe, or use the original. I have modified the spices slightly, added lemon juice, and I didn't add any rapadura/sugar. If you scale this recipe down and plan to eat it straight away, you can just keep the pickle in a jar/container in the fridge - in which case, ignore the instructions for bottling.

3 large aubergine

2 red capsicums

2 onions

3 cloves garlic

2cm ginger root

1 red chili (fresh; optional)

2 tsp coriander seeds

2 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp dried chili flakes

juice of 1 lemon

1 tsp coriander root (chopped)

1/2 cup mint leaves

1/2 cup coriander leaves

500mL apple cider vinegar

sea salt and cracked pepper

1 tbsp olive oil (or more)

Cut the prickly tops off the aubergine, and slice in half. Cut the seeds out of the capsicum and cut into thirds. Place on a roasting tray and roast for 20-40 minutes at ~200ºC or until soft. Let cool, then peel off the skin - try and retain as much of the aubergine flesh as possible. 

Whizz the roasted capsicum and aubergine together in batches in a blender so they are roughly combined but not as smooth as a paste. In the meantime, chop the onions finely, heat some olive oil and cook on medium heat until the onions are very soft. Don't be tempted, as I was, to only chop the onions into chunks - large pieces will remain in your pickle at the end. 

Grate the ginger and garlic and add to the onions with the ground spices, coriander seeds and root, and chopped, deseeded fresh chili. Add the aubergine and capsicum flesh, and cook for a couple of minutes, stirring continuously. 

Add the apple cider vinegar and stir through, then simmer on a medium-low heat for 20-30 minutes. While this is cooking, thoroughly wash some glass jars and their lids. At Maitland we re-use any glass jars, but are particularly fond of ones with screw top lids that have a poppable button in the middle. Bake the jars for 20 minutes at a low heat (around 125-150ºC) - ensure you are using good quality glass. If any glass goes cloudy or browny or cracks in the oven, do not use that jar and put it in your recycling.

Add the coriander and mint leaves to the pickle, and some sea salt and pepper to taste. You can adjust the consistency with olive oil, and add more mint or coriander leaves once its cooled. If you're bottling some for long term storage, it is important that the glass jar, the pickle and the lid are all hot when sealed. I keep the pickle on a medium heat, and keep the jars in the oven and take them out one at a time to fill. Right before I do this, I boil the jug and put the lids in a stainless steel bowl and cover them with just boiled water to sterilise them. 

Carefully remove the jar from the oven, trying to avoid touching the top or neck of the bottle. Instead, hold jars from the base with a tea towel or, preferably, an oven mitt. Spoon pickle into hot jar, squashing it down to remove any bubbles. Fill to the neck of the jar. Use a clean fork to fish the lid out of the boiled water and use the tea towel to tightly screw the lid on whilst still hot. Repeat this process until all the pickle is used. 

As the pickle and the jar cools, you'll know that a seal has been formed if and when the lid button pops down. Any jars that don't pop down haven't correctly sealed and you'll need to keep them in the fridge and consume immediately. Sealed jars will keep for ages - the vinegar is a preservative - and sometimes, the flavour is much better after 3 months of standing at room temperature. 

Luckily, I had two large jars and one small jar successfully seal, one jar didn't pop down and the left overs went into half a jar that also didn't seal. The two large jars will rest in the pantry until winter, and the small jar was given to a preserve-making colleage L. One of the jars that didn't pop down has formed the basis of my work lunches for this week, and the half jar is in the process of being consumed at Maitland.

This pickle is delicious. It's good as it is, and I can believe that three months of resting will make it even more incredible. In addition, eating aubergine pickle in June will be extra pleasurable for the luxury that is summer vegetables in winter. Everyone who's tried this pickle so far has enjoyed it, even a couple of workmates who don't eat much aubergine. My favourite way to eat it? On top of a cheese toastie at lunch or with cheese and spring onion on top of a corn cracker, as pictured.

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In other news, which is unrelated to aubergine pickle, but may be of interest to food-interested readers, one of my bestest friends, and lovely person Ayla, has just launched her food and wine blog, Taste Flutter, today. She's extremely knowledgeable about food and wine and always feeds me well when I visit her, and she's also hilariously funny when she writes. Have a look!

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day 11/365
today I'm grateful for endorphins - getting me up in the morning and into the pool before 7:30am. Those who know how much of a morning person I'm not will understand how big that is for me! Now, it's late in the day and I've just cycled home via the climbing gym. My muscles are tired - I will sleep well tonight!

title from kings of convenience - my ship isn't pretty

and we breathe it in | broad bean dip

For three weeks over the Christmas period, nobody tended the Maitland St garden. The beans grew tall in our absence and we came back to a jungle, and a lot of broad beans to eat. Last year, when the lovely neighbours C and E moved out of Maitland St, we inherited their blender which we had previously borrowed often. Suddenly, a whole new range of recipes were possible: spice pastes, hummus, smoothies .. I'm not sure you'll ever see a smoothie recipe on here - does anyone ever measure things for smoothies?

However, for those of you lucky enough to have a blender, or a neighbour willing to loan you one, this broad bean dip is easy and delicious. It's a little spicy but tastes a bit like guacamole. I even brought some in for my workmates who said they didn't like broad beans but would try it anyway. They declared it delicious: "It doesn't even really taste of broad beans!"

broad bean dip

2 cups broad beans

juice of 2 lemons

1 clove garlic

1 small onion

1 tsp cumin

1/2 cup plain, unsweetened yoghurt

chilli flakes

sea salt

pepper

olive oil (optional)

If your broad beans are fresh, take them out of their pods. If their husks are leathery/grey, pop them out of those too. Put them in a bowl, and blanch them by pouring boiling water over them and leave for 2 minutes before draining. While the beans are cooking, chop the onion and garlic. Blend everything together. Usually I put the beans in first and add the lemon juice or yoghurt and spices second. If it's too thick, you can add a little olive oil or more lemon juice. I've never needed to because the yoghurt we use is quite liquid. If you use something thicker, like a greek-style yoghurt, you might find the oil is necessary.

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Maitland St. is a little cut off at the moment - we're without internet! Equal parts frustrating and liberating .. regular posting will return soon! In the meantime, if you're into bread baking, Amber's having a giveaway over at her blog that's worth checking out.

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title from nick cave - we no who u r. Terrible title but it's the beautiful first track of his most recent album "Push the Sky Away". I cannot stop listening to it. You can listen here if you like.