Sunday, June 14, 2009
Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?
Perhaps the most fraught area parents face in raising their kids are meal times, when children bemoan their misfortune at not being cast in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and parents resort to the kind of plea bargaining that would raise the eyebrow of even the most seasoned judge.
"C'mon Johnnie, just eat your broccoli and we'll take you to Disneyland."
It's war out there and neither side is taking prisoners.
A fair bit of the fight is not really about the flavour or texture of food, rather, it's about control. Think about it, young people, especially those under, say, ten, don't experience much sense of control over their environment, but soon discover that what they are eating is of great importance to their parents or carers along with the sense of power which stems from that.
Rarely is it that they find this or that vegetable repulsive, but that there is so much more to gain in refusing a food that is of no consequence to them if they eat it or not.
In our house with a nine year old, dinner time is often an exercise in absolute power and as parents, we have to find different strategies to overcome our dinner plate dictator.
Playing with textures is one way to handle the situation, shredding, mashing and pureeing often times gets the job done. But just lately, we have discovered a new, somewhat shameful, method.
Deceit.
Yep, we tell bald faced lies to our own flesh and blood and I'm becoming increasingly worried that it's all going to come and bite me on the bum one day.
Our dilemma is this. M has discovered that some forms of meat come from rather young, okay, let's say baby animals and in a kindly display of empathy, is now refusing to eat veal or lamb or anything that suspiciously could be mistaken for such, which just about covers all forms of meat.
The one meat that she does love however, is chicken, so magically, just about everything she eats now is chicken - only it's not.
Lamb cutlet...chicken on a stick, veal shank, why that's just an overblown drumstick, cubed pork becomes chicken pieces, though both happily and sadly, M knows exactly how good crackling is!
My problem is this, it cannot go on forever; one day she'll be able to recognize all the various cuts, M must be absorbing something from all those regular trips to the butcher's shop.
When that happens, I'm sure I'm going to hear something like this...
"Dad, you don't even know what a bloody chicken is, are you sure you really know how to cook?"
I'm practicing my shamefaced look.
"C'mon Johnnie, just eat your broccoli and we'll take you to Disneyland."
It's war out there and neither side is taking prisoners.
A fair bit of the fight is not really about the flavour or texture of food, rather, it's about control. Think about it, young people, especially those under, say, ten, don't experience much sense of control over their environment, but soon discover that what they are eating is of great importance to their parents or carers along with the sense of power which stems from that.
Rarely is it that they find this or that vegetable repulsive, but that there is so much more to gain in refusing a food that is of no consequence to them if they eat it or not.
In our house with a nine year old, dinner time is often an exercise in absolute power and as parents, we have to find different strategies to overcome our dinner plate dictator.
Playing with textures is one way to handle the situation, shredding, mashing and pureeing often times gets the job done. But just lately, we have discovered a new, somewhat shameful, method.
Deceit.
Yep, we tell bald faced lies to our own flesh and blood and I'm becoming increasingly worried that it's all going to come and bite me on the bum one day.
Our dilemma is this. M has discovered that some forms of meat come from rather young, okay, let's say baby animals and in a kindly display of empathy, is now refusing to eat veal or lamb or anything that suspiciously could be mistaken for such, which just about covers all forms of meat.
The one meat that she does love however, is chicken, so magically, just about everything she eats now is chicken - only it's not.
Lamb cutlet...chicken on a stick, veal shank, why that's just an overblown drumstick, cubed pork becomes chicken pieces, though both happily and sadly, M knows exactly how good crackling is!
My problem is this, it cannot go on forever; one day she'll be able to recognize all the various cuts, M must be absorbing something from all those regular trips to the butcher's shop.
When that happens, I'm sure I'm going to hear something like this...
"Dad, you don't even know what a bloody chicken is, are you sure you really know how to cook?"
I'm practicing my shamefaced look.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Gordon Ramsey's Real Mum's Existence Revealed
In today's Herald Sun, Gordon Ramsey claims the real reason he apologised about insulting and demeaning remarks he made towards Channel 9's Tracy Grimshaw, was that he received a 'bollocking' from his mum on the phone.
His alleged mother denies making any such call to her son, leading to the conclusion, that in fact, Ramsey has another mother, hidden away somewhere.
There are whispers that her mouth and temper are much worse than her famous celebrity son's, which could go a long way to explaining why her existence has never before been revealed; there simply isn't enough oxygen to fuel the both of them at the same time, without either one passing out.
In another stunning revelation, Miss Piggy has alleged that Gordon is the father of her new born off-spring and a photo has been circulating of the apparent love child.
Readers are invited to make up their own mind.
Miss Piggy, however, was completely distraught as the latest scandal unfolded.
"Why can't Tracy Grimshaw just butt out, I was there long before her. The way he picked me up was just amazing, he called me an ugly old pig and I just melted. I can't believe he wasted those words on that woman, he gets all the pork he needs from me."
His alleged mother denies making any such call to her son, leading to the conclusion, that in fact, Ramsey has another mother, hidden away somewhere.
There are whispers that her mouth and temper are much worse than her famous celebrity son's, which could go a long way to explaining why her existence has never before been revealed; there simply isn't enough oxygen to fuel the both of them at the same time, without either one passing out.
In another stunning revelation, Miss Piggy has alleged that Gordon is the father of her new born off-spring and a photo has been circulating of the apparent love child.
Readers are invited to make up their own mind.
Miss Piggy, however, was completely distraught as the latest scandal unfolded.
"Why can't Tracy Grimshaw just butt out, I was there long before her. The way he picked me up was just amazing, he called me an ugly old pig and I just melted. I can't believe he wasted those words on that woman, he gets all the pork he needs from me."
Monday, June 01, 2009
Ticket Prize
The two lucky people to get a ticket to the Good Food Show and cheese masterclass are lexrial and Cindy. Could you email me with your postal details, my contact button is in the right hand side column.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Perfect, Really?
I was somewhat disturbed last night, when chef George Calombaris on MasterChef Australia said that red wine sauce should be silky smooth, like “velvet knickers”. Has he just revealed a side to himself that could have only be guessed at?
In fact I could handle that about Calombaris, but what left me dismayed and perturbed was his masterclass on how to make the perfect chip. The perfect chip? Perfect?
Only hours earlier, I read in this month's edition of Gourmet Traveller how to make perfect roast potatoes.
Perfect food is everywhere and it's driving me nuts.
I suppose we could blame Heston Blumenthal for this plethora of perfection. After all, it was his program, In Search of Perfection, where practically everything, or it may have even been everything he cooked, was proudly pronounced perfect.
But what does it really mean, a perfect dish? What is the subtext?
Does it mean that there is no need to look any further, for the definitive recipe has been laid at your feet? It can't possibly, it was only a few short years ago that Blumenthal stunned the world by blanching his chips in water before frying them off, in fact, what Calombaris showed us what a shortened version of that, less the probes, exact temperatures and timing.
Before that, the perfect chip would have been the twice fried version, but even that wasn't enough for some. A friend's dad used to fry his chips ten times before he considered them worthy.
Perfection has always been a moving target.
The problem with describing a dish as perfect is that it suggests that there is no possible way to do any better and as a latent adapter of recipes, that's a thought that ought to be consigned to the garbage. All cooks know that cooking is an intuitive process, hand a recipe to ten different cooks and you will get ten different results and how those results are perceived is totally up to the individual.
Sure, there are better cooks than others, but a cook capable of producing perfect food is a laughable idea.
I wonder what a food critic like Matt Preston actually thinks when he hears a dish described by a chef as perfect?
Probably something like, 'You stick to the cooking, I'll do the describing.'
Perfect, bah, humbug.
In fact I could handle that about Calombaris, but what left me dismayed and perturbed was his masterclass on how to make the perfect chip. The perfect chip? Perfect?
Only hours earlier, I read in this month's edition of Gourmet Traveller how to make perfect roast potatoes.
Perfect food is everywhere and it's driving me nuts.
I suppose we could blame Heston Blumenthal for this plethora of perfection. After all, it was his program, In Search of Perfection, where practically everything, or it may have even been everything he cooked, was proudly pronounced perfect.
But what does it really mean, a perfect dish? What is the subtext?
Does it mean that there is no need to look any further, for the definitive recipe has been laid at your feet? It can't possibly, it was only a few short years ago that Blumenthal stunned the world by blanching his chips in water before frying them off, in fact, what Calombaris showed us what a shortened version of that, less the probes, exact temperatures and timing.
Before that, the perfect chip would have been the twice fried version, but even that wasn't enough for some. A friend's dad used to fry his chips ten times before he considered them worthy.
Perfection has always been a moving target.
The problem with describing a dish as perfect is that it suggests that there is no possible way to do any better and as a latent adapter of recipes, that's a thought that ought to be consigned to the garbage. All cooks know that cooking is an intuitive process, hand a recipe to ten different cooks and you will get ten different results and how those results are perceived is totally up to the individual.
Sure, there are better cooks than others, but a cook capable of producing perfect food is a laughable idea.
I wonder what a food critic like Matt Preston actually thinks when he hears a dish described by a chef as perfect?
Probably something like, 'You stick to the cooking, I'll do the describing.'
Perfect, bah, humbug.
My Ragout of Snails & Liquorice
The mysteriously disappeared photo, showing my version of a ragout of snails and liquorice, has just as mysteriously turned up.
Must be time for another snail dish.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Good Food Show
The Good Food Show is here again, with what seems to be a more serious foodie slant this time around. As a veteran of all previous exhibitions, it's an encouraging move in the right direction.
Gordon Ramsey is a return visitor as the headline attraction; with all his recent press one would hope that this time around it's all about the food rather than any titillating extra-curricular activities.
What has really caught my eye though is all the other talent lined up for the celebrity theatre. First up are those two boys of the moment, Gary Mehigan & George Calombaris, fresh from MasterChef, no doubt revealing a few insider secrets, as well as two more wonderful television personalities and great chefs in their own right, Matt Moran and Tobie Puttock.
Wine buffs haven't missed out either, Matt Skinner and Jane Faulkner are presenting amongst others, but if you want my real tip, then the Burgundy masterclass presented by Nick Stock and a friend of this blog, Phillip Rich from the Prince Wine Store, is a must see.
With a restaurant, bar, a whole host of exhibitors, there is something for everyone. Go and see the USA Foods stand for amazing American products including a great range of chillies and sauces. Don't buy their flavoured popcorn, you'll be addicted for life!
To whet your appetites I have passes for two lucky people to enter the show and attend a cheese masterclass, on Saturday, 6th June at 10.00am, presented by Naomi Crisante, a food educator, television presenter and food writer. That's worth $57.50
All you have to do is to leave a comment saying why you'd like to go, or mention what you liked about other Good Food Shows. Winners will be drawn this coming Sunday night.
Good luck.
The Good Food Show, Melbourne Convention & Exhibition Centre, Queen's Birthday weekend, Friday 5th June, 12pm - 9pm, Saturday 6th June, 9am - 6pm, Sunday 7th June, 9am - 6pm, Monday 8th June , 9am - 5pm
Please note: because there isn't much time, just leave your name in comments and I will draw two winners Monday night instead of Sunday.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Ragout of Snails and Liquorice
My good friend Elliot, from 1001 dinners 1001 nights, suggested it.
He had just been to a Langham Melbourne Masterclass, part of the Melbourne Food and Wine Festival and attended the session, The secrets From My Jura, presented by two-star chef, Jean-Paul Jeunet, whose eponymous restaurant is in Arbois, part of the rolling, wooded mountains of the Jura in eastern France
Those who follow Elliot's blog know of his excellent palate, so when he excitedly showed me the recipe for Ragout of snails and liquorice, I knew it would be well worth trying, especially, as Elliot pointed out, it was a million miles from traditional snails served with copious amounts of garlic and butter.
Snails are an ancient ingredient, eaten for thousands of years in many parts of Europe, usually encountered served in a rustic manner. What Jeunet has done is to thoroughly modernise this shelled beast, removed from its peasant roots and placed firmly into the realms of haute cuisine.
A pertinent thing for those who aren't quite sure about eating snails, and there a quite a few of you, is that they are hidden from view in this dish, less confrontingly wrapped in a cabbage leaf, surrounded by a medley of chopped vegetables. At the table were two guests who had never eaten this tasty mollusc, one of whom had been pysching herself up for the preceding week! Both later described the dish as delicious.
If you can't find the liquorice powder called for, do what I did and use very finely chopped liquorice - be careful not to use too much as it has a very strong flavour.
Ragout of snails and liquorice
(adapted from Jean-Paul Jeunet)
Serves 4
25g butter
50g double cream
25g carrot, diced into a fine brunoise
25g turnip, diced into a fine brunoise
25g celery, diced into a fine brunoise
25g fennel, diced into a fine brunoise, save the feathery tops
32 tinned snails
1 tablespoon shallot, diced
1 tablespoon garlic, diced
4 green cabbage leaves
fresh herbs (parsley, tarragon, chives and fennel tops)
2g liquorice powder or finely chopped liquorice
salt and fresh ground pepper
Sauce
2ooml duck consomme or chicken stock
1 tablespoon Pernod
25g cold butter in 4 pieces
Method
Cook each vegetable separately in salted water and drain. Rinse the snails and pat dry. Blanch the cabbage leaves in salted boiling water until soft and pliable, refresh in ice water, dry and keep aside.
Melt the butter in a frypan and gently sweat the shallot and garlic, do not colour. Add all the vegetables, snails, double cream and parsley, tarragon and chives, torn or roughly chopped and gently cook until the cream thickens and the ragout comes together. Season with salt, fresh ground pepper and liquorice powder or finely chopped liquorice.
Lay a blanched cabbage leaf, inside facing up, on a piece of plastic film. Place a quarter of the ragout mixture in the cabbage leaf and roll up tightly using the plastic film. Steam for 5 minutes. Reduce the duck consomme or chicken stock by at least half, add the Pernod, then whisk in the cold butter piece by piece, check seasoning.
In four warm plates, spoon some sauce and place the cabbage roll in the centre, garnish with a selection of the herbs.
The accompanying photo was taken by Elliot Rubenstein and is of Jean-Paul Jeunet's dish, as my photos have mysteriously disappeared.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Sunnybrae Restaurant
It was a gorgeous sunny morning as we headed out to the rolling plains of the western district to celebrate Mother's Day at Sunnybrae restaurant on the outskirts of the tiny hamlet of Birregurra.
There was no scent of discord as we journeyed to George Biron's restaurant and cooking school with a long established reputation for excellence, leaning towards contemporary rustic food, which is such a hit with the locals as well as day trippers like us from the big smoke.
It's a large property with its own orchard and vegetable gardens and the restaurant itself is part of George's home, giving a relaxed feel with excellent views through large windows and plenty of knick knacks scattered around the dining room to catch the eye.
However, for me, a problem arose from the first taste of potato bread, yeasty and warm from the wood fired oven, spread with abundant fresh butter.
It was Mother's Day and all my attention was for the wonderful woman in my life and there was no way I was going to divert myself from the task of providing a perfect day, which was exactly what she deserved.
In short, no blogging. But upon tasting that bread, I flinched.
Alas for you dear reader, my will was strong and I resolved not to tell you any of the details of our meal that brought such great contentment and a not insignificant number of brownie points.
It's a shame I can't tell you about the fragrant chicken broth drizzled with eggy parmesan shards that disappeared all to soon. Nor would you want to hear about the tarama with green beans and carrots, plated with a tangle of salad leaves and topped with crispy fried garlic, pine nuts and breadcrumbs, a play on a Polonaise topping.
Should I reveal to you that I'm going to tie Mr Biron up until he reveals the secret of his lighter-than-air tarama with its extraordinarily delicate brininess that makes a mockery of any that have gone before under the name? Uh uh.
The on-the-spot smoked semi-soft cheese with home grown tomatoes in a creamy basil flavoured dressing will need to go unmentioned too.
Mellow and salty Spanish style jamon contrasted with a sharp Mexican inspired salsa of avocado, tomatillo and pomegranate is something you will just have to imagine as you will also have to do with the unlikely sounding but endearingly earthy flavours of a kohlrabi, parsnip and leek strudel with anchoiade.
I could tell you about the meltingly sticky slow braised goat shank with just enough deep flavoured jus to moisten things along, with any leftovers mopped up with a potato and shallot galette, but I won't.
Since I'm not telling you anything, there's no need to be reticent describing a bayleaf and honey panna cotta as trembling like a breast and having the sweet breath of a bride on her wedding night.
Sorry, I'm not able to tell about such a fabulous meal, no blogging is no blogging, though feeling a bit guilty and wanting to make it up to you, I'll allow for a one word review.
Go.
Sunnybrae Restaurant & Cooking School
Birregurra, 03 52362276
Lunch Saturday & Sunday from 12.30 pm
There was no scent of discord as we journeyed to George Biron's restaurant and cooking school with a long established reputation for excellence, leaning towards contemporary rustic food, which is such a hit with the locals as well as day trippers like us from the big smoke.
It's a large property with its own orchard and vegetable gardens and the restaurant itself is part of George's home, giving a relaxed feel with excellent views through large windows and plenty of knick knacks scattered around the dining room to catch the eye.
However, for me, a problem arose from the first taste of potato bread, yeasty and warm from the wood fired oven, spread with abundant fresh butter.
It was Mother's Day and all my attention was for the wonderful woman in my life and there was no way I was going to divert myself from the task of providing a perfect day, which was exactly what she deserved.
In short, no blogging. But upon tasting that bread, I flinched.
Alas for you dear reader, my will was strong and I resolved not to tell you any of the details of our meal that brought such great contentment and a not insignificant number of brownie points.
It's a shame I can't tell you about the fragrant chicken broth drizzled with eggy parmesan shards that disappeared all to soon. Nor would you want to hear about the tarama with green beans and carrots, plated with a tangle of salad leaves and topped with crispy fried garlic, pine nuts and breadcrumbs, a play on a Polonaise topping.
Should I reveal to you that I'm going to tie Mr Biron up until he reveals the secret of his lighter-than-air tarama with its extraordinarily delicate brininess that makes a mockery of any that have gone before under the name? Uh uh.
The on-the-spot smoked semi-soft cheese with home grown tomatoes in a creamy basil flavoured dressing will need to go unmentioned too.
Mellow and salty Spanish style jamon contrasted with a sharp Mexican inspired salsa of avocado, tomatillo and pomegranate is something you will just have to imagine as you will also have to do with the unlikely sounding but endearingly earthy flavours of a kohlrabi, parsnip and leek strudel with anchoiade.
I could tell you about the meltingly sticky slow braised goat shank with just enough deep flavoured jus to moisten things along, with any leftovers mopped up with a potato and shallot galette, but I won't.
Since I'm not telling you anything, there's no need to be reticent describing a bayleaf and honey panna cotta as trembling like a breast and having the sweet breath of a bride on her wedding night.
Sorry, I'm not able to tell about such a fabulous meal, no blogging is no blogging, though feeling a bit guilty and wanting to make it up to you, I'll allow for a one word review.
Go.
Sunnybrae Restaurant & Cooking School
Birregurra, 03 52362276
Lunch Saturday & Sunday from 12.30 pm
