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Curried Kumara Soup (honouring Alison Holst)

Alison Holst's curried kumara (sweet potato) soup

In the barely imaginable days before food blogs and websites, recipes came only from cookbooks, your female relatives, or TV shows. How the world has changed, but how much that past life still informs us. I bet that all self-confessed foodies can trace their early food influences. My first memory of being interested in food was as a child of 7 or 8 reading Famous Five books, and realising that I was just as interested in what the characters ate (so much warm crusty bread!) than in their adventures. During a long illness as a teenager, I spent several hours each day watching TV. My favourite shows were cooking shows – Jacques Pepin, who religiously saved every scrap of vegetable trimmings “for stock”, Graeme Kerr, on a mission to reform his saturated fat-laden past, and always, Alison Holst, New Zealand’s own home-grown and dearly beloved celebrity cook.

Alison Holst as a young TV presenter and Dame Alison Holst in 2010

(Left) Alison Holst as a young TV presenter during the 1960’s (photo credit here); (Right) Dame Alison Holst in 2010, honoured for her services to the food industry (photo credit here).

Dame Alison Holst is as quintessentially New Zealand as jandals and hokey pokey icecream. Endearingly referred to as the “Mother of the Nation”, Alison was the first woman to front a cooking show in New Zealand, only a few months after the introduction of television in 1965. At a time when there was only one channel on TV, Alison’s show Here’s How beamed into our homes, showing us how to make simple, nutritious and economical food. The first dish she ever cooked on TV was a meat loaf which contained hard boiled eggs embedded at one end. Alison’s advice was to eat the egg-less half hot for dinner, and the second half cold the following night. She went on to have an amazing career as a television chef and has written over 100 books (at last count). Alison’s name became so trusted that her endorsement was advertising gold.

Alison Holst's famous Curried Kumara Soup

The first cookbook I owned was Alison Holst’s Meals Without Meat, inherited from Mum when I moved away from home at 18 to attend university. Off into the big wide world of Auckland I went, a jar of homemade chocolate chip cookies and Alison by my side, secure in the knowledge that I wouldn’t starve. I cooked my way through this book during my 20’s, and in a sense, it served as my training. I recall that Alison’s Vegetarian Shepard’s Pie was received surprisingly well when my grandmother, always suspicious of my vegetarian tendencies, came to stay. The Cream of Lentil Soup was the star of a potluck dinner at the Women’s Centre, the Self-Crusting Quiche made a perfect lunch for Colin’s auntie and cousins, and I frequently made the delicious Oaty Muffins, storing half of the uncooked batter in the fridge (as Alison advised) to bake a fresh batch later in the week. Just about the only recipe I didn’t like was the Hummus, but I think that was my fault.

Alison and Simon Holst and their book Very Easy Vegetarian

(Left) Alison Holst and her son Simon, with whom she has published over 27 books (photo credit here); (Right) Just one of their bestselling cookbooks, another favourite of mine (photo credit here).

Alison has never pretended to be fancy (her lifetime focus has been on easy food for the home cook), but she has been responsible for introducing all manner of kitchen gadgetry, new ingredients and eating habits to the nation. Beattie remembers her demonstration in the 1970s of the fabulously new electric frying pan, and she certainly produced her fair share of microwave and bread machine books (my Mum had her food processor book). Meals Without Meat appeared in 1990 at a time when the traditional “meat and three vegetables” New Zealand dinner was beginning to shift, with more people – including Alison’s children – thinking about eating meatless or vegetarian meals. By the time that Very Easy Vegetarian Cookbook appeared in 1998, Alison was highlighting the use of exciting new ingredients, such as basil pesto and thai curry paste. However, her ability to translate the new into a digestible form never lessened her love of classic kiwi favourites, like corn fritters and lolly cake.

Alison Holst's Curried Kumara Soup

One of my all-time favourite recipes from Meals Without Meat is the Curried Kumara Soup (kumara is a type of sweet potato with purple skin and yellowish flesh grown in New Zealand that is sometimes available in Australia). It’s a simple recipe, but it has such a punchy flavour from the garlic and spices. I tend to use the larger amount of curry powder and the smaller amount of milk to achieve a thick, colourful soup – perfectly warming on cold winter days. It’s a recipe that I never get tired of and I expect to make it all my life. I remember eating it in every house I’ve lived in. I remember one time putting in far too much curry powder so that we had to eat it cold (it was still good).  I remember that it’s easy, but each time I’m still amazed that such little effort produces such amazing flavour. So for this recipe, not to mention all the others, I’d just like to show my appreciation and say thanks to Dame Alison: “you’re simply the best”.

Curried Kumara Soup

Slightly adapted from Simon & Alison Holst, Alison Holst’s Meals Without Meat

75g butter
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1-1 1/2 tsp curry powder
500g kumara, peeled and sliced into 1cm thick pieces
1 1/2 cups vegetable stock
2-3 cups milk, to taste
Salt and pepper, to taste

Melt the butter in a large saucepan on medium heat. Sauté the garlic and curry in the butter for a couple of minutes, taking care not to burn the garlic. Toss in the chopped kumara and cook for a further minute or two. Add the stock, cover, and cook for 10 minutes, or until the kumara is tender.

Puree the soup using a blender or stick blender, then thin with milk until you reach a consistency and flavour that you like. I tend to prefer a thicker soup with a more intense flavour, so usually use about 2 cups of milk. Adjust the seasoning if required. Reheat gently to serve, adding garnishes such as a swirl of cream or coconut cream and/or chopped fresh parsley or coriander.

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Orange & Pistachio Granola

Orange and Pistachio Granola for breakfast
For the longest time, all I knew about “granola” was that it was some strange, American breakfast. I didn’t connect it with the toasted muesli that Mum made most summer holidays, or the soaked, bircher muesli I learned to make as an adult. I eventually discovered that it’s simple enough – granola is oats, nuts and fruit baked until crunchy, while muesli is technically the same ingredients, consumed raw. In New Zealand though (or maybe just in my family?), we always called granola “toasted muesli” and muesli “natural muesli” so it’s no wonder I was confused.

Granola and yoghurt for breakfast with shadows
For years I assiduously avoided buying toasted muesli/granola due to its higher fat and sugar content. During a fling with the Liver Cleansing Diet in my early 20s, I also learned that roasting nuts destroys some of their nutrients and that the whole baked-until-crispy business renders the oats and nuts harder to digest – not exactly what I was after for The Most Important Meal of the Day.

Granola ingredients - oats, coconut, almonds, pistachios, currants and orange zest
Thankfully, these days I like to live a little so I’ve been exploring options for the ultimate goodness-dipped-in-happiness cereal. Incidentally, “goodness dipped in happiness” is a phrase used by Cadbury to advertise their Brunch Bar, which is a (healthy) muesli/granola bar coated in (delicious) chocolate. I have used the phrase before to describe the bliss of battered, deep-fried tofu, and all things considered, it’s a pretty good way to sum up my approach to cooking and eating. It’s quite inconvenient then, that Cadbury has trademarked it.

Butter and maple syrup - melted together to pour over the granola
It’s a wonderful thing to have a large jar of this granola in your cupboard. It keeps well if sealed tightly and can be stashed away for several weeks. I like to save it for breakfasts on the run, when a small bowlful topped with yoghurt provides quick sustenance and smug self-satisfaction for being responsible for such deliciousness. It has the most wonderful scent and flavour of orange. The coconut threads are rendered crispy and caramelised, and the currants become chewy little nuggets of concentrated sweetness. Maple syrup and butter also have something to do with the excellence of the end result, in fact, they are primarily responsible for the “happiness” part. Adding butter to your breakfast cereal might sound scary, but trust me, it’s not much, and butter (consumed in moderation) is swiftly becoming the fat de la mode. Anyway, it could be worse – I could be asking you to put butter in your coffee.

Browned and crispy granola, fresh from the oven
This recipe is another of my favourites from the wonderful Heidi Swanson who never fails to surprise with her fresh and innovative approach to vegetarian whole foods. Heidi advises using walnuts in the granola, but after experimenting with a range of nuts I’ve settled on a combination of pistachio and almond. It’s the only improvement I can think of for this already amazing granola. Although…I must admit that adding chips of dark chocolate has a certain appeal. But that’s just taking breakfast-happiness too far, right…?

Orange & Pistachio Granola

  • Servings: makes about 8 cups
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Adapted (barely) from Heidi Swanson’s Super Natural Everyday

4 cups rolled oats
3/4 cup pistachios
3/4 cup almonds, roughly chopped
1 cup shredded coconut
1/2 tsp fine-grained sea salt
2/3 cup dried currants
Finely grated zest of two oranges
85g unsalted butter
1/2 cup maple syrup

Preheat the oven to 150°C/300°F. Prepare two baking trays by lining them with baking paper.

In a large bowl, place the oats, nuts, coconut, currants, salt and orange zest. Mix together to ensure the zest is distributed evenly.

Heat the butter and maple syrup in a small saucepan over a low heat. Once the butter has melted, whisk to combine with the syrup. Pour the mixture over the oats and stir until the oats and nuts are all lightly slicked.

Divide the granola between the two baking trays and spread out into thin layers. Place in the oven and bake for 40-50 minutes, stirring twice during this time and rotating the trays once to ensure even baking.

Remove from the oven and leave to cool completely. Store in an airtight container.

 

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Being in Brisbane

The McWhirters building in Fortitude Valley
I can’t believe it’s been almost three years since we moved to Brisbane. It feels like just a short while ago that we said goodbye to our South East Asia holiday and flew to Australia. We were sad that our travels had ended and apprehensive of what was to come. We only had the contents of our backpacks to get by – a small stash of summer clothes faded from harsh detergents; too little to keep us warm in the cold, dry Brisbane winter.

Bougainvillea spilling over the wall in Teneriffe
We intended to trial Brisbane for six months and head to Melbourne if it didn’t work out. Melbourne had always been a strong contender for our destination, but the lifestyle, certain job prospects and the presence of good friends in Brisbane made the decision easy in the end. It didn’t take long to settle in and within three months we had jobs, bank accounts and Medicare cards. We had leased an apartment, joined a gym, and were forming tenuous connections with people who would soon become friends. So it worked out, and here we are nearly three years on.

The infamous Story Bridge connecting the banks of the Brisbane River
About 12 months ago I picked up a battered book at the market, initially attracted by its retro cover photo of a dapper young man, and then by its description as a novel of “an Australian boyhood in the forties, of the pubs and brothels of the fifties [and] the sleazy tropical half-city that was wartime Brisbane”. The book was Johnno by David Malouf, and I had no idea that I had just bought an iconic classic written by one of Australia’s most awarded writers.

Interesting apartment design, in New Farm, Brisbane
Johnno is the story of two friends who grow up together, attend school, university, and leave for Europe before finally returning to Brisbane. The complex relationship between the unpredictable Johnno and the insecure Dante is what drives the story forward, but it was the backdrop of Brisbane that made this a compelling read for me. Malouf grew up in Brisbane and he draws heavily on his memories to paint a vivid picture of the city in its not-so-distant past. Johnno and Dante’s adventures as young men occur along the banks of the dank and weedy Brisbane River, amongst the winos and tramps of seedy Fortitude Valley, within the winding streets of an unruly city and its weatherboard-and-beaten houses: “Brisbane is so sleepy, so slatternly, so sprawlingly unlovely”, thinks Dante.

House and graffiti in Teneriffe, Brisbane
Through Malouf’s writing I learned that cattle trains used to stop overnight at Roma St Station, that there once was a zoo in the Botanic Gardens, and that by the 1950s the Gold Coast was already “the centre of a wickedly alternative life”. So constantly present is the city that on finishing the novel I felt like I had read its biography: there were the descriptions of birthplace and genealogy, there the anecdotes of trials and triumphs, Dante’s analysis was like a biographer’s interpretation, and my own imagination filled out the photographs. So intimate was Brisbane’s portrait that I felt guilty for presuming that I had known this place.

Crow on the rooftops, Fortitude Valley, Brisbane
In the minds of New Zealanders, Queensland is a lush, semi-tropical getaway. The theme-parks of the Gold Coast are a favourite place to visit, as are the pristine beaches of Noosa. If tourists make it to Brisbane, they rarely see more than pretty Southbank with its fake beach and bougainvillea-laden arched walkways, or glitzy Eagle St Pier and Queen St mall. Few get to know Brisbane’s shadowy past, beginning with its establishment as a penal colony, the displacement of its original inhabitants, a spectacularly dodgy state government in the 1970s-80s, and legends aplenty of organised crime, gang violence and dirty cops. And then there is The River, periodically thrusting itself on the psyche in the form of devastating floods, and which even when tranquil, shelters aggressive bull sharks.

The Brisbane River and CBD at sunset
It wasn’t until the late 1980s that Brisbane started to shed its infamous “large country town” sensibilities in the pursuit of greater sophistication. This recent facelift is alluded to by Malouf in an interview filmed for the David Malouf and Friends exhibition currently showing at City Hall. Malouf describes how houses were often built facing away from the polluted Brisbane River, which existed “like a dirty secret at the bottom of people’s gardens” (I’m paraphrasing). In contrast, the river is now a central focus for the city. Multiple bridges connect its banks, shiny City Cats cut sleek tracks through the water, and properties on the river-front are prime real estate.

Inside Glass Bar, Brunswick St, Brisbane
About 18 months ago I wrote a post reflecting on my experience of “the city”, past and present. I was still unsure back then but much has changed since we bought our apartment and put down a shallow root. There’s also the fact that almost every time I pass over the river on my way to and from work, something still makes me pause and observe the river below and the bright city lights. It’s no longer the thrill of the new; more a self-conscious acknowledgement of being in this place. When speaking about the major influence of Brisbane on his life’s work, Malouf explains that  “the world as you first come upon it, the place that first strikes you as “the world” stays with you for the rest of your life” (paraphrasing again). That particular world is elsewhere for me and nothing can replace it, but this place, which is not my home, has become a part of me (or I a part of it). Learning a few of its secrets somehow makes it more like home: it makes me feel like we have history together, Brisbane and I.

Looking towards Newstead, Brisbane
“I liked the city in the early morning… It was so fresh, so sparkling, the early morning air before the traffic started up; and the sun when it appeared was immediately warm enough to make you sweat. Between the tall city office blocks Queen Street was empty, its tramlines aglow. Despite Johnno’s assertion that Brisbane was absolutely the ugliest place in the world, I had the feeling as I walked across deserted intersections, past empty parks with their tropical trees all spiked and sharp-edged in the early sunlight, that it might even be beautiful…” (Johnno, 1975: 82-83).

Stunning winter sunrise in Brisbane

 

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Lazy Sunday Brunch

Baked eggs with silverbeet and mushrooms
The last few weeks have been big, in a whole range of ways. Three major work tasks which have taken months of planning all culminated simultaneously, requiring long hours and weekend overtime. We had an unexpected trip back to NZ because of a family emergency, which was both sad and lovely in an intensely bittersweet way. I’m also back in the gym after 6 months off due to a neck injury, pushing through the protestations and post-workout aches of an unfit body. I’m tired, mostly in a good way though, and seriously ready for some laziness and indulgence over the Queen’s Birthday long weekend.

Silverbeet / Swiss Chard
Laziness and indulgence doesn’t really mean sleeping in, because that’s not something I can easily do anymore. My idea of a restorative weekend is lots of yoga, shopping at the market, trialling new recipes, taking photos, writing, getting out of the city, and catching up with friends – hardly laziness then, but these pleasures require an investment of precious time and it’s this that makes them indulgences. True laziness really only came last night in the form of a night at home, a bowl of ham and pea soup, curling up to watch a movie and missing the end because I fell asleep at 8.30pm.

IMG_2801
While we’re on the subject of laziness, having friends over for Sunday brunch has to be my new favourite way to entertain. Dinner takes so much work and planning and shopping, but a half decent brunch can be thrown together with minimal effort and far fewer dishes. Chances are that if you come to my place for brunch in the next six months, you’ll get this baked egg dish. It’s so good that we’ve already had it three times. Recently I made it for Sunday brunch, preparing the greens and mushrooms the night before and stashing it in the fridge. On Sunday morning I was able to hit an 8.30am yoga class, then return to set the table, whip up a batch of muffins  and get organised before our friends arrived at 10.30am. When we were ready to eat it was a simple process of popping the eggs into the oven and baking for a short time. Here, a bit of forethought and planning made for a leisurely, social brunch, unmarred by my usually hopeless ability to multi-task in the kitchen in the presence of guests. Best of all, the final product is sure to impress, with the richness of cream and nutmeg elevating the humble greens and mushrooms into a decadent yet nourishing breakfast.

Baked eggs with greens and mushrooms
The recipe has taken a little fine tuning to get it to the point where I’m happy with it. I prefer to use silverbeet (also known as Swiss Chard) as the green. Spinach does give a more elegant result, but with baby spinach at $3.99/100g, for the quantity needed it is significantly cheaper to use silverbeet (I’m rather fond of it’s deep green, robust leaves and irony tang anyway). Baking the eggs takes a little practice with the timing, as different ovens clearly behave quite differently. Deb recommended baking for 30 minutes, but the first time I pulled out completely rubberised eggs after only 23 minutes (…which we still ate because *omg* it was still so tasty). The next time – 15 minutes – still over-cooked. The next time – 10 minutes – initially perfect, but I hadn’t counted on the hot mixture around the eggs hardening the yolks after they came out of the oven. The lesson is to remove them just before you think they are cooked to your liking, which really is the only concentration required during your otherwise lazy Sunday brunch. Happy long weekend all!

Silverbeet / Swiss Chard

Baked Eggs with Greens and Mushrooms

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

Approximately 500g silverbeet/Swiss chard (1 large bunch, stalks removed) or the same quantity of spinach
1/2 small onion, finely chopped
2 small garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 tablespoons butter
200g mushrooms, thinly sliced
1/2 cup cream
A little freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 tsp salt
Freshly ground black pepper
6 large eggs

Thoroughly wash the greens. I find that the easiest way to do this is to run a sink of water, then immerse and swish the greens. Remove most of the white stalk (if using silverbeet) and chop roughly. With the water still clinging, wilt the greens in a large, hot pan until tender but still bright (about 1-2 minutes for spinach; at least 5 minutes for silverbeet). Cool the greens under cold running water, then squeeze them in handfuls to remove as much liquid as possible. Coarsely chop and set to one side.

Melt the butter in a large pan over medium-low heat. Sauté the onion and garlic for 2-3 minutes until they have softened. Add the mushrooms, increase the heat to medium-high, then sauté until the mushrooms have softened and any liquid they produce has evaporated, about 5 minutes. Stir in the cream, salt, pepper, a little nutmeg and the chopped greens. Remove the pan from the heat and check the seasoning. Transfer the mixture to a baking dish and spread out evenly. If making the night before, cover and stash in the fridge.

When you are ready to cook the eggs, use the backs of a couple of teaspoons to form six large indentations in the mixture. Crack an egg into each. Place into a hot oven (230°C/450°F) and bake for anywhere between 8-30 minutes, depending on the voracity of your oven. Remember that the eggs will continue cooking after you remove them from the oven, so try to pull them out when they are slightly underdone. Serve immediately.

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