gluten and sugar free crumble

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I didn’t feel like sugar and I didn’t feel like flour… but I did feel like dessert. The rhubarb was fast becoming friends with the flacid celery in the fridge and I still had some squirrelled away blueberries in the freezer. A crumbley thing it was. Lots of similar variations of this had been popping up around the blogosphere. It’s funny how a food dish can sneak it’s way in, and suddenly everyone is happily eating a variation of the same thing. 

So did rhubarb without sugar work?

It probably didn’t work as well as it could have. However, the honey was a decent trade off and completely passable if you were going easy on the sugar and didn’t want any gluten though. The Monkeys had two serves of this, so it certainly passed their palate test. Mr Chocolate got through it and declared yes it was good… but the last one was better, (with sugar and flour.)

Blueberry Rhubarb Crumble

(gluten/ sugar free)

Bunch of chopped rhubarb and a punnet of frozen blueberries

in the microwave for 3 minutes

while that’s cooking

blitz 1 cup of toasted almonds/hazelnuts/linseed in food processor (chunks not crumbs)

add 1 tsp vanilla and 1 tsp cinnamon

then 3 tablespoons honey

mix it round and pop on the top of the fruit

into the oven at 180C until golden

eating through kids books

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Kingcup Cottage was the first book I ever had. I still love it, and now get to read it to my boys. My mum lovingly kept a lot of our childhood books, so I get to relive all the pages again though reading with The Monkeys.

And read we do. We always read a lot to, although their book case is getting mighty squishy.

It hadn’t occurred to me until recently just how much food has always played a part in my life. Even going back to my childhood books, it’s the food pages that held my attention. The end party picture of Kingcup Cottage with the array of goodies spread out, and all the woodland animals tucking in. It’s the sort of picture that I would have spent a long time absorbing every detail of it all and scrutinizing each corner of the page.

I’ve been subconsciously drawn to, so many pages in favourite early children’s books. It’s actually quite funny to look back as an adult and realise how I have come to these attractions or thoughts I guess, and how it has effected my way of thinking.

Midnight feasts were always very idyllic sounding thanks to Enid Blyton. As I got a little older, those idyllic notions were still implanted in my head from younger years of reading. It was the thing to do on early teen sleep over nights. Somehow though, it never felt the same as reading those books. Stories of school kids getting up to high jinks and eating a selection of goodies in the dark of the night. Goodies, that I would never normally eat but always sounded delicious reading through Enid Blyton’s pages. When it came to my midnight feasts though, we either annoyingly slept through, or ate a handful of smarties and a swig of soft drink as we paused ‘The Breakfast Club” or “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” and that was that. No glass bottles of ginger beer and tongue sandwiches…(although I’m not really sure I would have gone for the sangas anyway.)

It wasn’t the same.

Back to early childhood books and ‘Come over to my House’- Theo LeSeig (pen name of Theodore Geisel aka Dr Seuss), was also another early favourite. It’s worn, frayed on the spine and still has oodles of love to give anyone that is drawn in by its pages. Each of those pages take the reader to a different country. I know that this book contributed to me wanting to know more about different cultures and countries from its colourful pictures. I aspired to eating spaghetti in Venice with the watery canals beneath my balcony and long gondolas silently polling by because of this page.  I wanted to see the Northern Lights glow over a snowy landscape, and lie on a hammock on a tropical island feeling the balmy breeze between my toes. I’m still waiting to see the Northern Lights, but I have eaten spaghetti in Venice, and have felt that balmy breeze.

I wonder what impact The Monkey’s books will have on them and whether they will be drawn to the foodie pages or something else completely?

What ever those books do, I hope they help my boys to dream…

Did loved childhood books have a strong impact on you?


caramel hazelnut chocolate tarts

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I’m not allowed to make these very often, as restaint happily sits outside the front door and away from ear shot. Just the right size to pop into your mouth in one sugary sweep. Gone like a flash, as the hand reaches for another… ahem, and another.

See. Troublesome little tarts they are. Trouble with a hazelnutty bottom, a sticky caramel middle and just enough chocolate drizzled on for some to get stuck on your top lip.

You’ve been warned.

Caramel Hazelnut Chocolate Tarts

Pastry

1/3 cup toasted hazelnuts

1 cup plain flour (150g)

100g chilled cubed butter

All into a food processor until resembles bread crumbs. Divide mixture and press into greased mini muffin tray (I also cut strips of baking paper, lining one hole with a strip- easy to pop them out then.) Bake at  180C until a light golden. Press mixture down with a teaspoon to compress it while it’s still hot.

Caramel

In a pot, add one can of condensed milk (395g), 30g butter and 2 tablespoons of golden syrup over a low heat. Stirring until butter melts, then bring it up to a simmer, and keep stirring until mixture thickens and darkens a little. Divide the caramel over the pastry tarts, cool for 5 minutes and then over to a wire rack.

Chocolate

Melt the chocolate really slowly and then drizzle it over the tarts. If you melt it slowly the chocolate should stay ‘in temper’, and will avoid any streakiness, (if you don’t mind a bit of streaking now and then, just go for it.)

Chia Quinoa Bread

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Hippy bread. That’s what my mum would probably say if I told her what the loaf of bread sitting beside me was called.

Maybe it should be called superfood bread? Both chia and quinoa seem to be happily sitting under the superfood umbrella at the moment. Basking their superfood bodies in the healthy food spotlight. Rightly so, as this loaf certainly feels good and healthy on eating. I’d picked up some locally grown quinoa in Tasmania and already had some chia lounging in the back of the fridge. I was ready to jump back into the sourdough making after being away and these two super heroes had their names written down for my upcoming loaf.

After we had got back from Tasmania, checking the sourdough starter in the fridge was one of the first things I did. Actually I checked both of them, as I had put two in different bowls in different positions to try to make sure something was still happy when we got back.

Why so pedantic?

It all started a few weeks back.  There I was on an everyday Monday, with a head full of things that left very little room for much else. I needed to make bread and while in my whole heartedly distracted state, I used all my starter. Yes. Allll my starter. My starter that I had been gently nurturing for over a year, providing my family with abundance of loaves of bread, and I had just used it all.

A sharp intake of breath, a slight sweating of the brow, and a quickened heart beat. Oh, oh, oh….

It’s ok! I’ve got a frozen bit for back up. I had recently used another frozen portion to see how the whole bringing it back process actually worked. I’d also written a draft post on it. It was going to be fine. It was going to be fine…

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t fine. I gave that little frozen starter so much love it clearly didn’t know what to do with itself. An encouraging one teeny tiny bubble a day kept my hope alive. Come on little thing, you can do it, I softly whispered.

It turned grey. I changed bowls. I added more water. I added more flour. I added honey. I added rye… It smelt funny.

I suspected death was around the corner and in a last attempt before quietly putting her in the bin, I turned it to three different bowls with three different ways of encouraging the starter to grow to her old bubbly self. One bowl died immediately, and two decided to give themselves one more go. Two bubbles…three bubbles, four bubbles. Frog spawn! Oh the joy! Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Yes, I could have got some starter back from friends who have now embraced the sourdough pilgrimage. I could have made another, and I could have just let it rest awhile and played with commercial yeasted bread. I could have, but I didn’t want to. I wasn’t the only one who had despaired at the thought of no sourdough. Mr Chocolate had looked on with horror when I had explained what had happened on that first distracted day. Horror again at the thought of his lunch going to have to come from shop bread…

So that’s what happened. But now, the old girls back. She was clearly itching to get cracking with some loaves of bread this time around, as it didn’t take long for those reassuring bubbles to come back at all, (thank goodness.)

Chia Quinoa Bread

2 tbls chia

150g quinoa

300mls water

—————

300g starter

450g strong bakers flour

375mls water

300g cooked quinoa and chia (I had a bit left over)

1 1/2 tsp salt

In a pot add the quinoa, chia and water. Cook for about 10 minutes or so. When the water is all absorbed and grains have softened, cool a little. Add starter, flour and water. Mix together and then I left it for about half an hour. Add the cooled quinoa and chia, mix well (I used a dough hook) then add the salt. A 30 second knead/fold on lightly floured surface and back in the bowl for an hour or so. Another 30 second knead/fold and then back in bowl, covered and into the fridge for a cold sleep for about 12-ish hours. Back out, getting a tight knead together, than into the banetton for about 4 hours.

Out on to tray, slash, steam, and bake at 240 for about 40 minutes.

*This post submitted to the lovely yeastspotting

art and food…yes please

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entrance

I don’t think I had any expectations of MONA (Museum of Old and New Art- Hobart). I had heard it was good. Had also been told of a couple of particular pieces on display, but other than that I didn’t really know what to expect, besides knowing that I did want to go there.

Driving in, vineyards line the drive way up. Guinea fowl, chooks and ducks roam the carpark. I think anywhere that has that as a welcome, along with striking architecture and a tennis court in front of the subtle entrance, immediately has my attention and I wanted in.

Little Monkey had timed a nap in his pram perfectly and the iphone used for orientating yourself with the artworks suited the tech savvy Monkey Boy. The gadget distracted him enough away from any adults only pieces and it was quicker to ask him to find the information I needed, than from Mr Chocolate.

This place is awesome. No other word for it. If you go to Hobart, make sure you head over for a couple  of hours. It ooozes with funk, intrigue, thought and a bucket load of awesomeness….and it’s free. I loved our afternoon here.

falling water drops forming words

30 people singing Madonna songs in unison...brilliant!

 Now food in Tasmania is a big factor. If you like being out doors, being active and like your tucker a whole lot- it really is heaven. This time around we weren’t dining out in fancy places that had two types of wine glasses set up. Not all. If they had kid sized milkshakes excellent. Drawing paper and colourful pens…even better. Fast and tasty, yes please.

A few of the stand outs for me were, (and you don’t have to have kiddo’s to enjoy them).


The Red Velvet Lounge, Cygnet. This place is really appealing as soon as you walk in. My eyes moving straight to the stacked (still warm) sourdoughs and brimming cake counter, (why fight it?) Steve the owner also blogs from The view from my Porch. This is where I got to have lunch with the lovely Kate from Vegetable Vagabond.

Global Kitchen, Moonah. Three cooks from India, South Korea and Ethiopia, all offering different dishes. A tasting plate that left me gasping for air and The Monkeys skipping out with a chocolate chip biscuit gripped in their little monkey hands.

Machine Laundry Cafe, Hobart. This place was recommended to us 7 years ago. We dutifully seek it out and the Fat Boy Roti was remembered for ever more by Mr Chocolate. Back again, and it was a given that we would see if it was all still there. It was, and definitely worth the wait to get in. Part laundry, part cafe. It’s got retro seating, a line up of people outside and a menu that doesn’t disappoint. It was certainly worth the seven year wait to come back.

 
roti filled with scrambled eggs

bacon and parmesan pancakes

he got really slow at the end of that one...

So, with my muddy shoes stacked up, my scarf draped over the back of the chair. I lean back contentedly, give my belly a happy pat and  say very enthusiastically…that, was a lovely holiday.

See you again Tasmania.


* Apologies to any subscribers who got the delightfully titled 4252 post- sometimes my brain pauses…pressing publish without a title was one of those moments. 


Tasmanian wanderings

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Lured by her siren song, Tasmania has been calling for a long time now. A whispered song at first. Easy to be ignored, turned away for another day, another time. Happy memories of a trip from years before keep the song going. Time moves on and the songs tempo changes. A quickened beat, thoughts of, I wonder…

A fleeting weekend, changes the beat of the song once more. She calls more insistently now. A winter week away beckons…

A week of real winter weather

History

Long quiet nights of reading

Soft snow falling

Apples

Meeting the fabulous people behind the fabulous blogs

And more wonderful food than is rightfully so.

Going back to the Hobart Farmers Markets with the family was like stepping into a familiar pair of comfortable worn shoes. Some of the stalls were different, but some were the same. I was happy to wait while people lined up to make their local food purchases. Gave me a chance to soak it all in. Not as much soaking as I would have liked this time though. The Monkeys were pulling my legs and tweaking at my fingers… as there was cupcakes on the line.

C & C Cupcake Factory make seasonal cupcakes sourcing sustainable and local products. Rhubarb from the garden, quinoa milled from not far away and cupcakes that left us all wishing we weren’t leaving before they were next going to be selling at the markets. I had to reign in the excited puppy within while talking with the lovely Michelle. She had swapped Sydney streets for a slower Tasmanian life years before and I would have happily quizzed her until closing time. I didn’t though, and went and filled my arms with more goodies for meals over the next few days.

I hadn’t got to try any of Rare Food’s piggy treats last time, but this time The Monkeys had put in orders for bacon and what sort of mama would I be if I denied them? Heritage breed, locally bred, locally made products, and I get to talk with the producer. Ticks all the boxes that I’m after. Matthew Evans was also selling his new book just out, which I had heard whispers of.

I wasn’t going to buy it I really wasn’t. I didn’t need a new recipe book, and I had been really happy with the Real Food Companion. But, I did buy it… how could I not?

Winter on the Farm is the kind of book that makes you want to curl up in front of a fire, hot tea by your side, biscuit crumbs on your chest and slowly read your way through. Book marking every second page for further reference. These are the kind of recipes that I like. Recipes that can be easily tweaked, with ingredients that you might have on hand… and the photography is truly, beautiful.

* More Tassie bits to come…

Orange and Passionfruit Jelly

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I find making jams and marmalades really satisfying. If I don’t make any every couple of months it all begins to feel a little edgy.

Cook the fruit up, jar it, wipe them all down, and then line the jars up with all the others sitting in my darkened cupboard. A little contented sigh can be heard and life continues on.

Saves us a whole bag of money in doing so, and I get to preserve the season in a little jar. Summer is still tasted in midwinter, like with my Vanilla Plum Jam, and now winter can still be enjoyed (until I run out again) with this Orange and Passionfruit Jelly. Oranges from my dad’s backyard tree and passionfruit given to me, I needed something sweeter than marmalade as for the most part it this was going to be used on The Monkeys natural yogurt.

I used to get really impatient with making jellys. The whole drip, drip, drip…thing for hours. I wanted results quickly, not in 12 hours time. However now, I think I appreciate the whole process of it a bit better. I like being able to see that dripping bag get smaller and smaller, knowing that soon, a few more jars of golden goodness will be lining up with their counter parts and doing their preserves-in-the-pantry kind of thing.


Orange and Passionfruit Jelly

oranges

1 apple

2 passionfruit

2 limes

Oranges and apple peeled and quartered (a bit over a kilo). Into the pot with enough water to cover it. Cook for about an hour until all soft. Hang from some muslin (or jelly bag) and drain for about 10-12 hours or over night. Measure your orange juice, add juice of two limes and passionfruit, (I had about a litre of liquid) into a large pot and bring to a soft boil. Gradually add sugar, (I used a kilo- equal amounts juice to sugar.) Simmer until wrinkle stage or passes the saucer test.

* Don’t go and make a phone call while it’s cooking and leaving the stirring spoon in…. as it may boil over and burnt sugar and juice isn’t particularly fun to clean off.

a secret tea parlour

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It’s moments like this that I love living in Sydney.

The nondescript door is locked  and only opened after a little furtive knuckle rapping. Opened, and in we go… I’m in heaven. The place is tiny and filled with antique loveliness, vintage books, puffy chairs, and cruisey beats coming from the corner. We are here for high tea and if I was more of a girly girl there would have been a high pitched squeal of delight and a little hand clapping with glee. Instead, I smiled from ear to ear and willed our late friends to hurry up so I could see we what the cake selection was like.

They have a long tea selection, with the menu slotted between pages of old books. Tea comes out in individual tea pots, and the cakes sit beautifully on their tiered elegance. Put a cucumber sandwich on an every day plate and I’ll easily pass it up. However, cut it in to triangles, place them on a beautiful antique plate and you’ll hear a little sigh of contentment.

High Tea is something that I love. I love every little part of it and this little secret place might just be my favourite so far.

*********************

Tea Parlour

579 Elizabeth Street, Redfern

Book beforehand

chocolate and strawberries

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Chocolate and strawberries…

Strawberries and chocolate…

There is a lot to like with those combinations.

Lots of ideas, lots of variations to play with…. whatever you do though…don’t do anything like the very average cake I made. Good quality dark chocolate, check. Lovely tasty strawberries whizzed up to make a beautiful red mush, check. Combined together to make a cake that Little Monkey and I refused to eat, Monkey Boy ate very slowly and Mr Chocolate asked whether he had to finish it? Not a success…nope not at all.

Never mind, we still have strawberries and chocolate.

I also finally finished a crocheted hat in strawberry and chocolate colours. Still learning, still trialing, but now I can wear my funny lumpy warm efforts. Chocolate alpaca wool from my mums alpacas, spun by my mum, crocheted by me, and keeping my ears warm. Along with my fingerless gloves, (in strawberry and chocolate.) Lessons learnt…. alpaca wool is lovely and warm, it’s good to make stuff, and taking a picture of your hand and head is hard…quite hard.

Never mind, we still have strawberries and chocolate.


Dancing Lemon Vanilla Stars

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There he was in front of me, eyes intensely locked to mine.

His body convulsed like he was touching an electric fence down in the back paddock. Convulsing in time with the deep thumping bass. The twisting colourful lights bounced off his eyes. When he widened them it gave him a slightly manic look. I awkwardly looked away, thinking he must have been doing this for quite some time for everyone dancing here, but no. He only had eyes for me. He had followed my shift of focus and was again in my line of sight, seemingly getting closer.

His body convulsing from one side to another, his eyes locked again, and he grinned from ear to ear this time. Using his hands in some odd dance like feature that made me think of a baby dinosaur. He was trying to impress me that was for sure. I stifled a giggle. I didn’t want to offend him, but it really was hard not to laugh at his intensity of moves.

The thumping music, darkened corners, squeals of happiness, flashing colourful lights and this odd little red head who was trying his very best to impress me with his dance moves. Except this wasn’t a night club, those club days were but a foggy memory, and that red head was pint sized, lucky to be 3 foot tall. I was at Monkey Boy’s school disco, and currently surrounded by about 200 squealing five, six, and seven year olds and their siblings.

I had Little Monkey perched on my hip clinging to me as only a little monkey could. Too dark and too noisy for him.

Monkey Boy looked on with big wide eyes. Uninterested, when a pretty little class mate tried to gently take him by the hand and coerce him to dance in the centre with her. He clung on to his mama’s leg, (not sure how long that will last.) She looked hurt on the second attempt to try and convince him to dance with her. Flicking her long hair, as she moved off into the heaving dance floor.

Some boys were break dancing. Girls were jumping and giggling in circles. One girl did her very best robot to two unimpressed older boys, and all the shy kids stood by and watched from the side shadows.

Swap the venue, add another metre in height to everyone and not really much had changed since back in my nightclub days. Except here, no stink of spilt beer and vodka mixers.

(I did however, suspect a little too much diluted apple juice… and clearly that little convulsing pint-sized red head may have had a drop too much.)

 lemon vanilla stars

200g softened butter

150g sugar

2 tsp vanilla

1 1/2 tsp lemon rind

225g (1 3/4 cup) plain flour

Cream butter and sugar, add vanilla and lemon. Then mix through the flour. Chill in fridge for a little while wrapped in plastic (if weather is warm) and then roll out (I find rolling between two sheets of baking paper easiest, as it’s a sticky dough), cut out stars and bake at 170C for 20 minutes.

This dough also freezes easily into a log, then just cut off rounds to bake as you need them.

the weight of the steak

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When I was researching what piggy options a city girl had, I discovered Feather and Bone, in Rozelle. A supplier of sustainably raised meat. I started getting their weekly emails filled with interesting meaty information and what’s on offer at the moment. From there, I went to one of their open days and got to see for myself at how it was all done, coming home with a weighty little number that had cook me up just right, written all over it.

I’ve written before about knowing where your meat is from and asking whether you would be prepared to do the killing yourself. Reading back on that post I realised that even in the last not quite 6 months our meat buying habits have changed since then. I’m fine with that, I like evolving. I now very rarely buy any meat from a super market or butcher. Instead, the meat intake has dropped even less, and the majority of it is now coming from farmers markets. If those markets are few and far between because I can’t get there or the meat isn’t available, then so is the meat eating. Why? Because I really want to know where it’s from. I want to know more of how it was raised before slaughter, who reared it and if possible, what their farming philosophies are like. I simply can’t get this if I’m buying from the supermarket.

Meat has been the topic of choice in this fair country of ours for the last few weeks. Ever since the ABC’s Four Corners program was shown about the live cattle export business to Indonesia, people have had things to say. A lot of things to say. The footage was graphic, confronting and got people into action to get things changed.

It might have changed Indonesia’s meat eating habits for a bit as the supply from Australia has almost stopped, but would it be enough for people to question their own meat eating habits here within Australia? Could that daily/weekly slab of meat become less? Could it become just a special occasion meal?

Back to the weighty number in my possession, and I had a little treat in store for Mr Chocolate. Special occasion, yes it was. After visiting the warehouse of Feather and Bone, I came home with a steak. Not just any steak but a Chianina steak, aged for 6 weeks, rib eye cut, weighing 673g and costing $45. There was, a small intake of breath, (you can’t fight history right) at the cost of it, but overall I was more than happy to hand over the cash for the hefty piece of meat. I knew where the beef was coming from, I knew how long and where it was aged and butchered, (Feather and Bone.) I also knew that this steak was going home to my loved one as part of a twice a year meal of steak, (the last one being at Aria.) It was also going to be enjoyed by him, (I hoped.)

Now on getting that steak home, I started to sweat a little. Not from the weight of the thing, but the pressure to cook it the right way. (To clarify, I don’t eat steak, which means I don’t cook steak.) This however, was a treat. It had to be cooked just right. I had quizzed Grant, (at Feather and Bone) when I purchased it and then also made a frantic phone call to my friend who proudly has Meat on her bookshelf. Plan put into action and I’m off.

Plates at the ready, the steak was brought back to room temperature, salted, seared, into the oven, and then rested for the same amount of time it had cooked for. The pressure was high, the weight of the steak was sitting firmly on my shoulders, and geez, it was a hefty one.

No cooked pictures, as that was the last thing I needed was to try and get a ‘good’ picture in the fading light and building anticipation of Mr Chocolate about to cut into his rib eye.

But how did it taste?

Let’s just say… if Mr Chocolate was about to leave the earth tomorrow and he could choose any meal to end it, this steak cooked by me (*nervous giggle*) is now top of the list.

I think that just might be a success.

Isola (producer)

Chianina Beef

6 week aged

Rib eye

673g