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“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
  • 22g 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 is.  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

A couple of nights ago, Big Boy cooked dinner.

It’s not something he does very often, but under the watchful eye of his father, he produced an amazing Mexican-inspired dish of mince and beans, flavoured with smokey paprika, Italian tomatoes and (unbeknownst to me) a decent splash of my vintage port (sigh).

Anyway, I digress. Dinner was so good that we all ate until we couldn’t move. And as a result, I didn’t finish drinking my bottle of Dirty Granny apple cider.

Later that night, I was looking at the remnants of a bowl of sourdough starter (there always seems to be a bit of starter leftover after baking), trying to decide if it was worth keeping.  On a whim, I emptied my half bottle of cider into the bowl, and stirred in a roughly equal quantity of bakers flour.  The bowl fizzed up, then settled into a thick, creamy coloured soup.

The next morning, I awoke to find a very bubbly, sweet smelling bowl of starter. I knocked together a dough comprising just four ingredients:

  • 300g Dirty Granny sourdough starter
  • 550g water
  • 1kg bakers flour
  • 18 fine sea salt

For instructions on how to make the bread, please refer to our Bread #101: Basic Sourdough Tutorial.

The three loaves released an amazing aroma after just five minutes in the oven, and the finished bread was redolent of cider and apples. I’m quite amused that my Dirty Granny sourdough loaf looks like a breast, complete with nipple…

The crumb was tender and quite closed (which is not surprising, as the dough was reasonably stiff), with a delicious, subtly sweet flavour…

Inspired by a conversation I’d had recently with Lorraine, I used the loaf for chicken sandwiches, made with leftover poached meat from our simple soup recipe, a half batch of our speedy mayonnaise, a few leaves of homegrown cos lettuce and cracked black pepper…

It was the perfect mid-week lunch to eat sitting outside on the deck…

One of the things I love most about breadmaking is that I’m often able to incorporate leftover bits and pieces into a loaf. I might never throw a half bottle of cider away again!

We had a full and (mostly) fun-filled weekend! Here’s a diary of events as they unfolded, captured on my iPhone…

The weekend began on Friday with lunch at our favourite Marrickville Thai with the Spice Girl. It had been a long week, and I was looking forward to lunch with SG so desperately that I nearly wept with joy when we arrived at the restaurant. We always order the same thing – Pla Rad Prik (deep fried fish in an amazing sauce), green papaya salad (Som Tum), and sago pudding

After lunch, SG suggested we meander up Illawarra Road to peek into the Vietnamese grocery stores on the way to our respective cars. We were amazed by the intriguing assortment of fruit and vegetables – I surreptitiously took lots of photos to show you…

There were rambutans…

…and pomelos…

…okra, or lady’s fingers, as I’ve always known them…

…my mother’s favourite, bitter gourd or bitter melon…

…big fat stalks of lemongrass…

…green papaya for Som Tum salad…

…I had no idea what this was – does anyone know?

…lotus root – I’ve only ever bought the tinned version…

…I really should know sort of yam this is, but for the life of me, I can’t remember…

…galangal, a root which we’re hoping to grow in our garden…

…and another mystery melon/squash…

. . . . .

On Friday night, we cooked pasta con cime di rapa – the broccoli rabé plants are back in season in our garden. Apart from oil and salt, the only ingredients are garlic, chilli, broccoli rabé and pasta…

The boys happily devour this vegetarian offering…

. . . . .

On Saturday, Pete and I walked up to the local shops. Along the way, we passed this discarded piece of exercise equipment on the nature strip.  For the life of me, I can’t figure out how it’s used, and every possible scenario that comes to mind is somewhat..um..risque. Can anyone enlighten me?

. . . . .

On Sunday morning, we were beside ourselves with excitement – our gardening hero Linda Woodrow was joining us for brunch! We were also just a little bit nervous…would she like us? Would she approve of our garden, which had been built following her plan?

Of course, we were being silly, because Linda is the nicest person we’ve met in forever. We talked almost non-stop from the moment we picked her up at the station to when we dropped her off at the airport. I knew she liked very dark chocolate, so I made a batch of rocky road just for her, using a 75% cacao blend mixed with marshmallows, cranberries, slivered almonds and crystallised ginger…

Brunch was a laid back affair, with homemade focaccia and ciabatta, served with jamon, quince paste, cheeses, smoked salmon and antipasto…

I also made Chicago John’s grandfather’s tuna salad – tinned tuna in oil, topped with sliced Spanish onion, anchovies, ground black pepper, extra virgin olive oil and red wine vinegar. It’s a fabulous combination of flavours, and destined to become a house favourite…

. . . . .

On Sunday afternoon, I accidentally cut half my nail off while chopping leeks – I sheared it clean off the nail bed and then proceeded to bleed profusely all over the kitchen.  After the melodramatic wailing had died down, I took this photo and posted it on my twitter feed, much to Pete’s amusement.

Needless to say, this blogpost has taken me a very long time to type, and if I’m slow with commenting and replying, please excuse me for a few days…

. . . . .

I’d promised to bake bread for a party the following day, so I had to wear latex gloves! And not for the first time, I was incredibly grateful that my doughs in general, and my ciabattas in particular, require very little hands-on kneading…

. . . .

My darling friend Becca, the very tolerant InTolerant Chef, stayed overnight with us on Sunday to attend the party the following day. On  Monday, we sat down to a Japanese feast for lunch at Manmaruya

. . . . .

And here are my loaves, artfully arranged at the party on Monday night!

. . . . .

It was a fun few days and I love that my iPhone lets me share them with you!

How was your weekend?

Our apple butter is a byproduct of pectin production – it’s never a preserve that we deliberately set out to make. For that reason, I’ve been reluctant to post our recipe in the past, because it’s such a loose construction – the few ingredients will vary depending on the type of apples we’re using and our mood on the day.

But…given the numerous kind requests I’ve had since posting our muesli cookie recipe, here is a rough guide on how we make it. Please understand that it’s not a fixed formula – if you use sweet apples, you might need less sugar, and the spice mix can be adjusted to suit your personal preferences.

We start with the pulp leftover from boiling apples to make pectin. If you’re not making pectin, you could peel, core and chop up the apples, then cook them in a little water until they go soft and mushy.  We try to use either green or Pink Lady apples – as I said, you might want to reduce the sugar if you’re using sweeter fruit.

In a large mixing bowl, combine together:

  • 4 cups of apple pulp
  • 1 cup white sugar
  • 1½ cups brown sugar
  • juice of 2 large lemons (about 150ml)
  • ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • ¼ teaspoon allspice

Stir well, then pour the flavoured pulp into a large roasting pan – I use an Emile Henry clay one.  Spread the mixture out evenly with a spatula, then bake in a preheated 150C with fan oven for 2 – 3 hours.

Make sure you stir the mixture frequently (every 15 minutes or so), scraping into the corners of the pan to ensure it doesn’t catch.  Over the cooking time, the apple butter will darken and thicken – pull it out of the oven when it’s a little bit looser than you’d like, as it will thicken up in the jar.

Spoon the hot apple butter into clean jars, seal them tightly, and then process them in a hot water bath.  From our experience, jars of apple butter processed in this way keep well for at least a year.