Summer in Sicily

 I am waking each morning wanting to be back, to open the door of our little farm house and to breathe in the fragrance of figs, green, earth and distant sea, to say good morning the skinny cats mewing at my feet for sweet milk from the cereal bowls. I want to be thinking about what to wear to the beach, where I left the sunscreen, how long we have until it gets too hot to bear, to wake and be in Sicily again.

Two weeks we've been back and I am mourning, my moment in the sun was all too short and Sicily spun some magic on me; her promise of an elemental life, made steady by the ocean, kept true by the rugged rocks, glowing fine with fresh fruit straight from the trees.

Old men still buy their picking ladders from the back of a truck on a dusty Sunday road, fine wine is grown then sold in plastic bottles from great vats in tiny shops that offer you a glass with your tuna and artichoke panini, a man selling onions the size of melons sleeps in a hammock hung between lamp-posts in the mid-day heat, caramel-skinned gods and goddesses of all sizes and ages flaunt their bodies with grace and ease, sipping espresso at the beach cafe.

We stayed on an organic farm, our hosts, Fabio and Annarella, welcomed us into their lives with immediate and natural abandon and we spent many evenings under the stars with them and their friends and family eating pasta and drinking wine then limonchello, the children playing happily outside as cicadas and Euro pop from the kitchen radio soundtracked our conversations.

Our Sicilian friends were philosophical about their lives, hoping to join young idealists like themselves together with an intricate and ever-expanding bridge of land-care, organic farming, intimate agriturismo, musical happenings, pop-up restaurants in mamma's kitchens and modern art. I was in awe of their energy and their motivations seemed less fuelled by ego than an authentic longing to partake in the unique opportunities that economic and spiritual realities offer them.

Cooking with food that has been ripened under the sun, picked and sold within days and without packaging and micro-managed marketing was refreshing. I couldn't get enough of my small blue-tiled farm kitchen, getting herbs, lemons and figs fresh from the garden, splashing Fabio's incredible olive oil on everything. Even Lidl in Sicily was a revelation - chunks of their smoky panchetta made their way into my pastas, they sold increadibly cheap but good wine, fresh raviolis and fat wedges of Grana Padano, the fruit and vegetables were restricted to seasonal and local supply, and, heaven! Italian tuna in olive oil sat beside saffron and tapenades. And that was the budget supermarket.

Here's some snaps and a recipe, that quite frankly should only be produced on Fabio's farm with figs from his tree and oil from his olives after a day at the beach with some Avola red to hand, but failing that, make sure the figs are ripe and soft and your oil is the best quality you can afford.

Prosciutto con melone  - sweet melon sits beside soft salty ham, perfect with chilled wine in a nutella jar

Annarella's salad with cherry tomatoes, fine sliced garlic, roast red peppers, basil and olives - dress with olive oil and salt

Fig, rocket and Grana salad
(Cooking for Italians is a bit daunting, like trying on swimwear with Giselle, but Fabio's mamma coo-ed appreciatively at this salad I made one night. It was a gratifying moment.)

A few handfuls of rocket
3 figs, sliced
shavings of grana padano
fabulous olive oil, white balsamic and salt to dress

that's it.

Absence and presence

I have been working so much this blog has been impossible to find time for, but  to let you know, I am travelling to Sicily in 10 days staying on an organic farm. I fully expect to come back with many food ideas and images and will put a Sicilian post up on my return.
In the meantime, check out my other blog work, for Phood Studios.
happy summer to you!

Dawn raiders and raspberry ripples plus pretty portfolio pics

I made ice cream! The first time in years and years, since we used to make it at De Los Santos, where the richest chocolate icecream was served with petite little cinnamon churros.

Amazing, the quality and amount of food we prepped in that small kitchen now that I reflect. We made an unctuous cheese dough for cheese balls that were sprinkled with smoked paprika salt when fried, I gutted buckets of squids every second day, pulling whole fish from their bellies sometimes, before skinning and preparing them for calamari, sinks full of spiky shrimp needed veining and shelling, fillets of salmon had their bones delicately tweezered out for curing, an orchard of lemons were preserved in cinnamon and bay leaves, rabbits came delivered whole for boning to be cooked for hours in stews.

We did it all to the sounds of reggae rocking a transistor radio propped on the dishwasher's window. We'd shimmy around and do the work, singing while stirring, pausing here and there on the back alley steps for coffee or a coke on scorching Melbourne summer days. After work on Saturday nights we'd all go out to an underground club run by one of the casual chef's who was also a DJ and dance to ragga and trance and stumble out to the rising dawn and the Victoria Market fruit and vegetable marketers loading their shelves, the fishmongers and florists starting their day as we headed home for bed before another shift began.

Anyway, I was testing a recipe for a video we are doing at Phood and I am gobsmacked at just how good this icecream is. Phoebe is eating it with a slow kind of bovine dedication, using a tiny teaspoon (the only way to eat icecream).
It's raspberry ripple, or raspberry nipple as 5 year old River hears it. Unbelievably good, and although a little bit of standing around holding an electric whisk is required, it is very very easy. I can't wait to show it off to someone. I feel exalted, clever in a culinary way that I haven't experienced since making bread for the first time.

Rasberry ripple icecream

3 eggs

2 egg yolks, extra

1 teaspoon best quality vanilla extract

1 cup castor sugar

2 cups double cream

350g fresh or frozen raspberries, defrosted

2 tbsp icing sugar

Method:

To make the raspberry ripple place the raspberries with the icing sugar in a food processor and blend until smooth. Set aside.

Place the eggs, extra yolks, vanilla and sugar in a heat proof bowl over a pan of simmering water and beat for 5-8 minutes with a hand-held electric mixer until thick and pale.

Remove from the heat and beat again for 5-8 minutes until the mixture has cooled.

Whisk the cream until stiff peaks form.

Fold the cream into the egg and sugar mixture, removing as many lumps as possible while still being gentle. A figure 8 movement works for me.

Pour into a 2 litre capacity tray and spoon over the raspberry puree. using a spatula or butter knife, gently fold it through the cream mixture to create swirls.

Freeze for 6 hours.

A while back I posted about shooting with Darren Hickson from Shoot the Moon for a food photography competition. We did the shots at the lovely Trove in Levenshulme - well, I can now publish these shots because the competition is over (we didn't win - boo hoo). I love these pictures - the light is natural and warm, the wood from Trove's great table and floor makes a great backdrop and, if I do say so, the food looks pretty good too. The first dish is a salad of ricotta and local lettuces with blood orange, fennel and radish, and the second is baked quail eggs with parma ham.

Powerhouse Phood

On the work-front, thought I'd show some photos I did at Powerhouse back in winter, with Andy Goodfellow. Powerhouse have branched out and now have a fully-fledged food specialist photography business Phood. I am lucky enough to be working with them in developing this business as a food consultant and stylist. Many thanks for the opportunity guys!.
Andy loves moody shots, texture and not-perfect, rustic food. I have to pay tribute to my influence - the fabulous food blog What Katie Ate. The more I grow as a stylist the more confident I am to take a reference and go somewhere else with it. Perhaps one day people will be referencing me!

It hails, Jeff wails, but Spring is on my plate

The thing I like about shopping at my organic grocer (find it here) is that I can actually tell what season it is - which is more than I can say about the weather. I was delighted to find spring garlic (looking like dwarf leeks), spring onions and sorrel, lovage and a mad arrangement of salad leaves on my Saturday shop. While I was in layers of leggings and leather, dashing from the car park to the trolley bay, shaking the hail from my hair, inside was SPRING, in the bright and delicate freshness of her green bounty. I made a lovely light lunch from some leaves, an avocado and chickpea salad, coriander and creme fraiche on corn tortillas.

 Despite the endless misery of rain and more more more grey days, I can delight in Spring while driving through the suburban streets of South Manchester; the canopies of trees forming a collage of colour. Sometimes it is the hazy mellow shades of yellow and green, from the dandelions and daffodils in the grasses to the elms and willow trees above, other streets are awash with the rapturous pinks and rubies and magentas of cherry blossoms, camellias and those deep-purple leaved trees whose names I don't know.

But I must be feeling a tad melancholy because on Sunday I heard Jeff Buckley on the radio and started crying into the dishes, washing the crumbs from the breakfast plates, trying to sing along but my voice breaking up, Oh, lover, you should have come over...

I remember when I heard he had died. The radio played that same song. I was driving through the streets of Melbourne, it was night and the lights of cars making their climb up Punt Road blurred into carnival streamers as my eyes welled and leaked.

Today, was I crying for the memory of crying? Or for having once been 20 and hurt so easily, waiting alone in a cold night's house by a phone, drinking wine and smoking cigarettes, waiting for a call from someone, who should have, should have come over?

Music transports us in such subtle pervasive ways. Memories layer upon each other creating a story of their own - the story within the story of our days, how themes emerge by this layering and finally, something like hearing Jeff Buckley unexpectedly on a rainy Sunday morning washing the dishes reminds us of the context of our lives, the invisible imprint of all those small hurts, the endings and thrilling beginnings, the phone calls that never came, the lovers that didn't turn up - these flare up and vibrate again fresh within you - and there you are, bawling, wiping the tears away with a tea-towel.

A bit of greasy comfort food was what I craved after a night of free-flowing wine and conversation with some friends. Luckily I had some left-over risotto in the fridge to make arancini with. Arancini are the perfect antidote to a hangover-hollow tummy. Their golden crumbed crust gently yields to soft, warm, cheesy rice. I also like to serve them with a (not very authentic) creamy mayonnaise-based dipping sauce, for extra oozing indulgence.

You can use any leftover cold risotto as your base for arancini - I am going to assume you know how to make risotto (if not find a recipe here). Using wet hands to avoid stickiness, take a small handful of the rice and roll between your palms into the size of a golf ball, then roll in some fine polenta and fry in hot vegetable oil till golden.

Here is some flavour combinations that work: a simple rosemary risotto would be nice with a small blob of mozzarella in the middle of the balls and served with a roast tomato dipping sauce. For the sauce you can roast quartered tomatoes in a low oven with some olive oil, salt and a sprinkle of dried oregano for about 40 mins and then blend with a little extra olive oil. Another, easy option is to spoon sundried tomato paste into good mayonnaise. The same can be done with some store-bought black olive tapenade served with pesto arancini. My little balls of loveliness here are smoked aubergine arancini (from Yotam Ottolenghi's risotto recipe found here) and my dipping sauce was made with some left-over mint and pistachio salsa verde mixed into a spoonful of mayonnaise.

Mint and pistachio salsa verde
(Spring brings all the nice green herbs and leaves into the forefront of my cooking, this salsa found it's way onto Gareth's toast in the morning, topped with some soft French cheese, it's also good with grilled fish and lamb)

1/2 c mint leaves
1/2 c parsley leaves
6 tbsp olive oil
1/4 cup shelled, unsalted pistachios, chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 lemon, juiced
1 tbsp sherry vinegar
2 tbsp capers, chopped
sea salt

Method

Very finey chop the mint and parsley, put in a mixing bowl and add the rest of the ingredients. Mix together well then store in a clean jar in the fridge.

An accidental Lent

April, and a budget month in our house.

That one glorious week of sun turned foul just in time for the Easter break, spoiling everyone's fun.

I ring my mother in the perfect one day better the next state of Queensland and she says it's 28 and gorgeous. She's having a barbie and has a rolled neck of pork stuffed with fennel and herbs and has made an upside down fig cake. She is putting up her pretty Indian outdoor parasoles, I imagine their twinkling bells in the distance daintily mocking me here, sat on the floor with my back to radiator.

Mum says what are you doing for Easter and I haven't thought of anything. I haven't bought chocolate eggs, don't even know when you are supposed to give them, but Gareth and I have had a few hot cross buns for breakfast. Mum admonishes me saying my kids can't be the only children in the world who don't get Easter eggs and tells me that you dye real eggs on Friday, eat chocolate on the Sunday. So I google how to make real Easter eggs, gather the kids for an Easter-themed mission of buying food colouring and let them choose chocolate bunnies for the Sunday.

Dyeing the eggs was fun. It filled in another miserable grey afternoon and the kids actually begged me to let them eat hard-boiled eggs. Thanks mum.

The reason we are skint is we spent up in March with a trip to London to celebrate my 39th and River's 5th birthday. I got to dine at Nopi, River got to see real Egyptian mummies.

Nopi was amazing, everything and more than what I expected from Yotam Ottolenghi. We dined downstairs at one of the communal marble tables, where I could spy the kitchen staff so serenely going about the business of sorting leaves and podding beans. River and Phoebe spent the entire evening in the ladies toilets where the hexagonal surround of mirrors shot their reflections out like some disco video of the early eighties. I might be kidding myself but I also think the maitre-d mistook me initially for Stella McCartney, but that's another story. Let's just say I was looking and feeling good that night.

River and Phoebe loved London, especially the tubes with their resounding buskers and huge elevators of ascending and descending people all in lines, their maze-like tunnels and the whoosh of outgoing trains. Everything that I was worried about for the kids was what they loved; the mass of humanity all rushing, pressing, charging, quick quick quick, Gareth weaving us around the streets and platforms like the old Londoner he once was - thrilled and delighted them. Mention the word London in our house now and River says I LOVE London! It's sparkling crown jewels, dinosaurs and ruined civilisations made it the best toy ever.

Anyway, it's over now. We are skint and I am cooking with what is in my dry store and what is in the fridge. No quick dash to the shops for a special ingredient - that ends up costing £20 because I always buy more when I'm there. I did a big shop at the beginning of the week - the supermarket, the organic grocer, the bakery, and that's it - I am making it work.

It's kind of liberating actually - that old theme of liberation through restriction - because, in order to use an ingredient before it gets tired I have cooked in ways that I never have before. (That pear with the brown spot's going in a crumble)

Take this lunch I just whipped up out of a quarter bag of spinach leaves that were hanging about, still fine, but may have been forgotten and thrown out in more frivolous months.

I wilted the spinach in a small pan, added a tiny splash of extra virgin olive oil, some black pepper, sea salt and a teaspoon each of some pesto I had made a few days ago and single cream. It's piled on to toasted sourdough, topped with avocado (39p each at the organic grocer The Unciorn this week! I bought 3!) and chopped parsley.

The aubergine is providing the most value-for-money. So far from my Value Bag of 4 aubergines I have made a smoky aubergine and lemon risotto from Yotam (again). I never thought the squidgy, sometimes blandness of aubergine would go well with the squidgy, sometimes blandness of risotto, but I trust Yotam and was fascinated. The trick is charring the whole aubergine on a gas flame, and using the softened, smoky flesh to fold through the rice. Topped with shredded basil, lemon zest and small chunks of fried (or roasted) aubergine and it is equisite.

The second dish I made was a tomato pilav with dill, feta and aubergine (recipe to follow). I followed a basic recipe from Claudia Roden's Middle Eastern Cookery book and added what I had hanging around: it really upped the ante of our usual baked rice dishes.

The third aubergine was thinly sliced and fried and added to a bolognese style sauce with cubed potatoes and layered with pasta and bechamel by Gareth for his and the kid's dinner one night that I went out. I still have one aubergine left that needs cooking soon or else it will go soggy and sour - a batch of baba ganoush may be on the cards.

I was initially miserable at having no money to play with over the holidays, a bit sulky actually, but it's OK. I am realising how often we waste food, buying when we already have plenty. The kids have played  together in the house, making up elaborate games of vampires and animal worlds and who can stuff as many cuddly toys as possible in their pillow case before the police-man comes (an over-sized Lego torch).  I went shopping and tried on lots of clothes I loved and had the strength to turn away. Getting ready for a dinner party that night I re-styled an outfit from my wardrobe and felt fab. We've cut back but not been compromised. A kind of accidental Lent really.

Tomato pilav with dill, feta and aubergine
(Serves two greedy adults having seconds with enough for a left-over lunch for one, or 4 respectable, moderate eaters)


1 brown onion, chopped
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 clove garlic, peeled and whole
500g tomatoes, skinned, seeds removed and chopped
1 medium aubergine, cubed
1 bay leaf
3 tbsp chopped fresh dill
2 cups long grain rice, washed
some water
4 tbsp feta, crumbled
some chopped parsley and dry oregano to garnish (optional)


Method:

Pre-heat the oven to 200 Degrees Celsius
Place the aubergine on a baking tray and drizzle 2 tablespoons of the olive oil over it, turning each piece over in the oil with your hands to make sure it all gets coated. Place in the oven and cook until golden brown (about 15-20 mins depending on your oven). Set aside but keep the oven on, turning it down to 180.
In a large casserole dish fry the onion in the rest of the oil until soft and golden. Add the garlic.
Now add the tomatoes and season generously with salt and pepper.
Saute the tomatoes, squashing them with your spoon, breaking them down, pour a little water over them, enough to just cover, add the bay leaf and simmer gently for about 30 mins, checking to make sure they don't dry out - add a little more water if needed.
Taste the sauce - it should be nice and rich in texture and flavour - add the rice and cover with enough water to double the volume and now put the roasted aubergine in the pot with the fresh dill.  (I also added a sneaky pinch of vegetable boulliion)
Bring to a gentle boil, put the lid on and put in the oven for about 25 - 30 minutes or until the liquid is absorbed and the rice is tender.
Serve in bowls topped with the finely crumbled feta, a sprinkle or dry oregano and fresh parsley.

Hope springs

Daffodils punctuate the grassy strip between the motorway, their bright little heads swishing violently as the bus whirs by. The sky is still grey mostly but sun peeks out some afternoons and my ankles dare to bare themselves to the breeze. Sunglasses can be spotted on some all-too-ready-for-shady-glam mums on the school run and I have made salads instead of steamed veg to balance childrens' meals of pizza. The trampoline has been cleared of puddles and decaying leaves, my daughter's head up and down, smiling at me as I wave from the kitchen, the door ajar. Spring! (Nearly)

Here's some food from a shoot I did with Andy Goodfellow at Powerhouse Photography in Leeds - a great team of super chilled but talented people who I hope to do much more work with in the future in their exciting new venture dedicated wholly to food photography. Watch this space...

chocolate and sour cream bundt cake

meatballs with fennel, cumin, lemon and almonds

sweet potato, hazelnut and orange cakes

chocolate and cherry cheesecake

endaname beans with lilly mushrooms and zesty soy dressing

chilli soba noodle with black sesame

Meatballs with fennel, cumin , lemon and almonds

(meatballs can be made with a variety of herbs and spices, depending on your pantry, mood or the cuisine you are referencing: if making your own simply mix around 400g of minced beef (or lamb) with a finely chopped onion, a handful of breadcrumbs and an egg then flavour as you wish: parsley, ground cumin and cinnamon are nice flavours for this dish. Roll the mix (wet hands are a help) into golf-ball sized balls and put in the fridge for a an hour or so to get firm. HOWEVER  I often cheat and buy pre-made meatballs from the supermarket - basically because I am a sucker and tend to cook two to three different meals a night to suit a: my daughter's fledgling status as an inquisitive gourmet (she is getting very sophisticated but still finds a lot of the food I want to eat too spiced) b: my son's outright fussiness and need for simple food and c: my cravings that must be satiated - therefore, little cheats like pre-made meatballs give me one less job)



approx 15-20 meatballs

2 tabs olive oil

1 bulb of fennel

2 cloves of garlic

1/2 tsp turmeric

1/2 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp fennel seeds

500ml vegetable stock

zest of 1 lemon

3 tbsp chopped parsley

3 tbsp flaked almonds, toasted

Method:

Heat the olive oil in a large frying pan (that has a lid - or else use a large casserole) and cook the meatballs on a medium heat, turning to brown on all sides then remove and place on a plate while you cook the fennel with the garlic, turmeric, cumin and fennel seeds.

Stir for a few minutes on med-high and then add the vegetable stock, turn to high and bring to a bubbling boil for a minute, then reduce the heat to low and put the lid on.

Check from time to time that the sauce isn't drying out - add a little more stock if needed - after about 20 mins remove the lid and bring to boil again to reduce and slightly thicken the sauce. Check for seasoning and add salt and pepper to taste.

Serve topped with the lemon zest, chopped parsley and toasted almonds and a side of cous cous and yoghurt seasoned with paprika and olive oil.

Sneek pre-view

So, I promised to post some pictures from the cookbook I styled with the funny and fantastic photographer Paul Blinston from Millers Photography. It is for a major Asian restaurant here in Manchester called Vermillion Cinabar. Can't wait to see the final product!