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When you grow tromboncinos, you have to accept one indisputable fact.

If the plants like your garden, then you are going to be overrun with trombies. Our four little seedlings have colonised the adjacent bed, climbed over two camellia trees and are now hanging over the neighbour’s fence. And don’t think they’ll finish up peacefully once the weather gets cold – these plants are incredibly hardy. Linda told me that hers kept producing all through winter, although ours are now struggling a bit with the recent cold change.

I’m not complaining – we’ve had a wonderful bounty, and it’s been a treat to always have a vegetable in the crisper drawer! I’ve become quite creative at using them – in everything from bhajis to warm salads to savoury slices. We’ve made grilled vegetable lasagne, stir fries (flavoured with either oyster or yellow bean sauce), added them to our pasta soups, and created a ripper satay chicken and tromboncino main dish. My neighbour Liz even brought over chocolate trombie cupcakes last weekend!

It’s probably fair to say though that the boys are getting just a teensy bit sick of them…

The most recent harvest of our rampant zucchinis (as they’re known in Italian) have been turned into a thick soup.  I’ve made several large batches and stashed them in the freezer, to be eaten over winter as simple, warming lunches (note that the soup will need whisking back to smoothness once it’s been defrosted).

The soup consisted of:

  • chopped tromboncinos (and zucchini, if available)
  • one large, peeled and chopped potato
  • Spanish onions, peeled and chopped
  • homemade chicken stock (leftover from poaching chicken)
  • salt and pepper, to taste
  • Piment D’Espelette (only about half a teaspoon or so to a large pot – it’s potent stuff)

All the vegetables were fried in a little olive oil until just starting to brown before adding the chicken stock. The pot was brought to a boil, and then simmered, covered, until the vegetables were soft. Then it was simply a case of blitzing the entire mixture until smooth (I used a handheld stick blender), and seasoning to taste.

It really couldn’t be easier, and I thought the end result was delicious, so I asked Big Boy to taste it for me.

“Hmm. It’s very nice, Mum. The only problem is that it tastes a bit like tromboncinos..”

Sigh. I guess I’ll be the only one eating it out of the freezer!

I am not, as my husband likes to tell people, a single event learner.

It took me three separate attempts at drinking Gin before I realised that it made me weep. I would happily drink a G&T one night, then another one the following evening, only to find myself bawling at breakfast the next day.

And I’d completely forgotten that Tequila is not my friend. It makes me quite paranoid – after a couple of Margaritas, I find myself ringing family members to check everyone’s still alive. I seem to forget this phenomenon every five years or so, and buy myself a bottle, despite Pete’s very vocal protests.

My most recent purchase was a Margarita pre-mix from Costco, and it was divine. It took just two glasses for me to remember exactly why I don’t drink Tequila, and then I was left wondering what on earth to do with the rest of the 1.75 litre bottle I’d bought (17½ standard drinks, the label boasted).

Thankfully, my friend Words came to the rescue (Tequila apparently only makes her indignant, rather than neurotic), although I did receive an sms from her this morning complaining of a sore head and beseeching me not to buy any more Margarita mix.  Clearly, she is a single event learner.

The problem is this: I adore cocktails. When I was a young adult in the 80s, they were hip, fun and exciting. They’re also highly potent, with each glass hiding up to two standard drinks (it used to be more, but liquor laws in Australia now limit the allowed alcohol per glass).

Cocktails can be very caloric, not to mention expensive, and I’m loathe to stock my pantry with liqueurs just so that I can make a very occasional mixed drink.

Thank goodness for my blogging mates! Last Friday night, gorgeous Sally from My Custard Pie tweeted about champagne cocktails, just as we’d opened my birthday bottle of Bollinger (which had been languishing in the fridge for months). I didn’t have the ingredients for her recipe, but on her assurance that using Bollie for a mixed drink was perfectly acceptable (after all, she’d had solid gold in her last champagne cocktail), I added a half nip of our homemade blood plum brandy to my glass.

May I present…the Baby Grace…

The Baby Grace is sweet, elegant and completely charming. She is also delicious, although it’s hard to justify opening a bottle of French champagne every time I want a cocktail.

My sweet, elegant and completely charming friend Anne from Life in Mud Spattered Boots, who is also just a little bit wicked, suggested using cider instead. The Dirty Granny blood plum brandy blend proved to be an absolute winner!

And in Anne’s honour, we’ve named it…The Muddy Boot…

Tell me, do you have a favourite cocktail?

And do you find certain sorts of alcohol affect you in strange ways?

Overnight, the weather turned cold.

We switched on the gas heater, pulled out jumpers and slippers, and started hunting around for ingredients to make a warm dessert.

On the bench was half a loaf of stale sourdough, destined for the worm farm. It was the perfect base for an impromptu bread and butter pudding! I also had a little fresh ricotta leftover from lunch, treacle, and a few eggs from our diminishing supply

  • Half a sourdough fruit loaf
  • Treacle
  • Unsalted butter
  • Golden raisins (optional)
  • 4 large free range eggs
  • 450ml milk (we used UHT)
  • 120g fresh ricotta
  • 110g (½ cup) vanilla sugar (or use plain sugar and some vanilla extract)
  • a generous splash of Calvados brandy
  • Vanilla sugar for topping

1.  Cut the bread up into slices – I left the crust on, but you could cut it off if you wished. Butter one side of each slice.

2. Grease a baking dish (I used two small ones) and drizzle a tablespoon or more of treacle over the base.  Arrange a layer of bread over the bottom of the dishes, butter side up.  Scatter with a few raisins, then place another layer of butter-side-up bread over the top. Chop the bread up as needed to try and fit it into the dish – mine ended up with a few small bits sticking out at odd angles.

3. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, ricotta, Calvados and the ½ cup of vanilla sugar.  Ladle the mixture over the top of the bread until the dishes are quite full and the bread is soaked.  Don’t worry if the bits of ricotta float, it will all cook down in the end. Leave for at least 30 minutes, pushing the bread down every 10 minutes or so to help it soak up the liquid. Preheat oven to 175C (160C with fan).

4. Place the dishes on a baking tray (to catch any drips), sprinkle vanilla sugar over the bread, then bake in the oven for 40 – 50 minutes, or until golden brown (as I’d baked mine in smaller dishes, they only needed 40 minutes).  Remove from the oven and allow to cool for 10 – 15 minutes before serving.

It’s certainly not the most attractive bread and butter pudding I’ve ever made, but it might be the most delicious. The stale sourdough didn’t go mushy during baking, and the top layer was deliciously crispy. It wasn’t overly sweet, with the Calvados and treacle adding a grown-up, dark caramel flavour, and the ricotta contributing a lovely richness to the dish.

Isn’t it fabulous when a whole lot of leftovers destined for the worms and chooks ends up as something so tasty?

“So…what can I bring?”

“Just  bring yourself, don’t go to any trouble!”

“No really, I have to bring something..”

. . . . .

These days I don’t ask anymore.

I take bread – all my friends know I’m going to arrive with a loaf or two, and many now plan their menus accordingly.

Usually it’s a sourdough loaf, but lately it’s been our giant slab of sourdough focaccia, baked in the tray that came with our 90cm Smeg oven. I took this to Lorraine’s book launch (along with these ciabatta loaves) and it was more than enough bread for sixty people.

I’ve written up a version of the focaccia recipe before, but if you have a large oven and would like to try our supersized model, here’s the formula (instructions are here):

  • 440g low hydration sourdough (80%) starter (fed at a ratio of 80g water to 100g bakers flour). Starter should be ripe and bubbly before you start.
  • 750g water
  • 150g extra virgin olive oil
  • 1100g bread/bakers flour
  • 1½ teaspoons dried yeast
  • 23g fine sea salt
  • Extra virgin olive oil, for drizzling
  • Maldon Sea Salt Flakes, for scattering on top

The only downside of this focaccia slab is that it’s tricky to transport…

The book launch was a blast! You can read all about it on Lorraine’s, Charlie’s and Julie’s blogs. And buy the book, it’s a fantastic read (I have the Kindle version, as well as a hard copy).

What do you like to take to a dinner party?

This is a letter to my boys. I’d love to share it with you too, but it’s long and wordy, and I wouldn’t mind in the least if you gave it a miss. Thanks for stopping by today, and we’ll be back to food and garden blogging in the next post!

. . . . .

One of my favourite photos, taken at Small Man’s 7th birthday party..

Dear Big Boy and Small Man

I recently read a letter in the Sydney Morning Herald that a mother had written to her daughter. It made me think of all the things I wanted to say to you, but never seem to get around to at dinner, because the conversation is so often filled with bizarre hypothetical discussions, like the one last night about shrinking humans and comparing their resultant bone and muscle density to that of other creatures.

I thought I would write you a series of letters, via the blog, so you wouldn’t lose them. Indulge me, you know what I’m like when I get an idea in my head.  You two are the left and right sides of my heart, and some times I love you so much that it actually hurts. I desperately want to share my thoughts with you while I can. Not that I’m planning on going anywhere, but if there’s one thing the last few years have taught us, it’s that life is unpredictable.

So here’s the first letter (it seemed fitting to post it on Mother’s Day). Some thoughts, in no particular order (but numbered anyway, because it helps me think clearly)…

. . . . .

1. Be kind to yourselves…

I know I said no particular order, but this one is probably the most important to me anyway.  You have never, ever let us down. You are kind, loving, beautiful human beings who have unique and special talents. No-one is ever good at everything – Small Man, you in particular need to remember that.  Treat yourselves gently and don’t judge yourselves harshly – you are the least lazy teenagers I know, you never whinge, and you have always tried hard. And contrary to what my Chinese ancestors would have said, your best efforts really are good enough.

Life is about trying and failing, and trying again and failing again, and trying some more, and then succeeding. It takes time to get good at things. And finally achieving your goal is wonderful, but it’s often not nearly as much fun as the journey was.  So don’t give up on things too quickly. Having said that, Small Man, you need to listen to us when we tell you that an idea is bonkers. (I’m typing that with a smile on my face, darling.)

. . . . .

2. Find good friends and nurture those relationships…

If you look at our lives, you’ll see how important our friends and community are.  There are folks who live within walking distance of our house who have known us since before Dad and I were married. A few of them knew us before we were even dating.  Choose your friends carefully – look for people who are kind and emotionally honest, and who won’t play silly power games or take advantage of you.  And be a good friend in return – be loyal, and generous, and accepting.  It takes time to figure this out and to build those relationships (and you’ll be shafted by a few so called friends along the way), but when you do, you’ll be rewarded with a community of people you can trust implicitly, who will always have your back.

When Auntie Dan and I talk on the phone, our conversations often begin with, “Now, don’t judge me for this..”, to which the reply is always a tongue-in-cheek, “I won’t judge you, but I might mock you..”

That pretty much sums up all of our close friendships. We don’t judge each other, but hey, we’re always ready to take the piss a little.

. . . . .

3. Don’t let other people disempower you…

I wish I could protect you from all the people who are going to try to do this to you over the course of your lives.  All I can do is warn you to actively guard against it.  Your self-esteem and your self-belief are your power. Don’t let people take this away from you, which they will often try to do for a variety of reasons that don’t make much sense. Sometimes they don’t even realise they’re doing it, and it can be gradual, and one day you can wake up feeling insecure and uncertain about yourself, and not really know why.

Learn to see it coming, and stop it in its tracks. It isn’t always easy to do, but try not to put yourself in a position where you’re vulnerable.  Don’t be cocky or bigheaded, because pride always trips us up, and if you’re proud and boastful, there will always be someone who will try to bring you down a peg or two.

And remember, if push comes to shove, we’re always here.  Come home, and we will reassure you again that the two of you are the most wonderful and interesting people in the world.

. . . . .

4. Learn to say no…

No mother in her right mind would tell her teenagers this, but since you’ve never refused any reasonable request from us, I feel it’s worth taking the risk.

Following on from the previous point, one of the best life skills you can acquire is the ability to say no to things you really don’t want to do. Occasionally that won’t be possible because of work or family commitments (you can’t say no to your mother at Christmas, remember that), but as a rule, being able to say no is incredibly empowering.

There are two reasons it’s so important – firstly, it enables you to resist peer pressure. Both of you are already very good at this, but it can be insidious, and therefore it’s always something to watch out for. Secondly, life is about choices. Try to make them consciously and in a considered manner, and be aware that in this first world life we live, you almost always have a choice.

Learn to say no in an honest, non-offensive way, and it will lead you to better relationships with other humans.  Don’t fall into the trap of trying to over-explain your decisions – “I don’t want to do that” is really a good enough reason.  People will appreciate your honesty and forthrightness – and you will be all the wiser about those who don’t.

. . . . .

5. People are complicated.

Sometimes we all fall into the trap of compartmentalising people – it’s very easy to think of someone as “good” or “bad”. But if there’s one thing Dad and I have learned over our lifetimes, it’s that people are complicated, and no-one is perfect.  Once you understand that, it’s much easier to accept other human beings for the complex mixed bag of happy-sad-angry-kind-greedy emotions that we all are in varying degrees.

Try to search for the good in folks, but don’t allow yourselves be taken advantage of. Remember, complicated works both ways – nasty rude people might have a kind and generous side, but by the same token, the most congenial person might also have a bitter and angry streak. Understanding this will improve your interpersonal relationships no end, because it takes away the element of surprise when someone behaves in an unexpected way. We are all multi-faceted, multi-dimensional creatures with uniquely functioning brains, and to view each other as anything else can only lead to disappointment.

. . . . .

Of course there’s more. But as you know, I like to work in fives, so I’ll leave it here for now.  Also, your grandparents are due for dinner any minute, so I’d better get back into the kitchen!

My deepest love to you both,

Mum x

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