Wintry Pumpkin Pie

When one has close to a dozen pumpkins stacked in a corner of the kitchen, meal times become a game of finding ways to disguise pumpkin in anything and everything. As delicious as they may be, there are only so many times that I can eat variations of Parmesan-crusted pumpkin wedges (Gruyere and torn basil is an excellent combination by the way), baked oatmeal with pumpkin and maple-soaked raisins or chickpea-hiding-pumpkin-patties before I feel inclined to start pulling my hair out.

I've never had a proper pumpkin pie before (the orange-coloured cream masquerading as said pie at Cotton Duck doesn't count), so I thought I'd give that a go. I wanted a really beefed up version full of warming spices and wintry nuances so I scoured through my books for a few ideas which I mashed together into a single recipe.

Spices from a traditional American diner dessert - sweet potato pie were added and the amount of sugar scaled back to let the natural sweetness of the pumpkin sing. Instead of making a classic pie with flaky pastry, I cooked the pumpkin pie filling in jars and dished them up with homemade yoghurt, dried lemon peel and some shortbread biscuits infused with lemon and rosemary.


Dried lemon peel

1 lemon
100 g water
50 g castor sugar

Peel lemon with a vegetable peeler.
Remove white pith from the peel with a small, sharp knife.
Cut peel into thin strips about 2 mm wide.
Place water and sugar into a small pot and bring to the boil.
Add lemon peel and bring back to the boil.
Allow to simmer for 2 minutes.
Remove pot from heat and cool to room temperature.
Strain out the peel and drain well.
Spread peel onto a flat tray lined with baking paper or a silpat mat.
Dehydrate at 55ºC for 3-4 hours or until crisp.
Cool to room temperature.
Store in an airtight container.


Pumpkin pie

1 kg pumpkin, unpeeled
30 g olive oil
134 g castor sugar
3 g salt
2 g ground ginger
2 g ground cinnamon
1/2 g ground nutmeg
1/2 g ground allspice
4 g vanilla paste
7 g all-purpose flour
260 g evaporated milk
20 g water
10 g lemon juice
2 eggs

Slice pumpkin into 2cm thick wedges.
Brush with olive oil and roast at 200ºC for 40 mins or until pumpkin is cooked through and caramelised.
Remove from oven and set aside to cool to room temperature.
When cool to the touch, scrape away pumpkin flesh from skins and set aside in a bowl.
Discard skins.
Place 320 g of pumpkin flesh in a food processor with sugar, salt, spices, vanilla paste and flour.
Blend until smooth.
Whisk together evaporated milk, water, lemon juice and eggs in a bowl.
Add liquids to pumpkin mixture and blend to combine thoroughly.
Transfer to a jug and half fill 5 small 300 ml jars.
Place jars into a roasting tray and fill with boiling water.
Bake at 160ºC for 35 mins or until pumpkin is just set in the middle when shaken.
Transfer jars to a rack to cool slightly.
Serve with homemade yoghurt and a sprinkling of dried lemon zest.

A bastardised pumpkin recipe

My first was an accident, a mishap, the result of unintentional volunteer seed spreading through unprotected contact. A certain somebody had thoughtfully deposited half of a mouldy supermarket pumpkin into the compost heap which, much to my annoyance, somehow lodged itself onto the prongs of my garden fork every time I turned the heap. After much cursing, It eventually disintegrated and I spread the compost around the base of my chilli plants as mulch. At this very moment, I had become the unwitting propagator of pumpkins.

The Chinese lady next door told me that pumpkins are ready to harvest once the white splotches turn a yellow, creamy colour. My dad the self-proclaimed 'expert' confirmed this but failed to mention that pumpkins require a few weeks to cure before eating. So excited about picking pumpkins was I, that I cracked one open immediately and made a big batch of soup that tasted like total ASS.

I thought I'd done something terribly wrong. Maybe pumpkins and chillies are not fitting companion plants and are instead, bitter instigators. Maybe pumpkins DETEST being watered with seaweed emulsion. I was full of self-doubt and loathing and distasteful pumpkin. I wept silently while the pile of pumpkins slowly grew.

A friend of mine offered me a copy of Plenty by Yotam Ottolenghi after inadvertently ordering one too many online. When I chanced upon the recipe for 'Crusted pumpkin wedges with soured cream', the pumpkins too received a second chance, lest I be left with a mouldy collection as a permanent reminder of inadvertent mistakes. 


Parmesan-crusted pumpkin wedges with yoghurt
a recipe adapted and completely bastardised from Plenty by Yotam Ottolenghi

750 g pumpkin (skin on)
40 g Parmesan, finely grated
30 g white breadcrumbs
25 g unsalted butter, melted
26 g black Tuscan kale leaves, roughly chopped
7 g garlic, finely grated
3 g thyme leaves
1 1/2 g black pepper, coarsely ground
2 g salt
1 g ground cumin
1 g ground nutmeg
50 g olive oil

Cut the pumpkin into wedges 2cm thick.
Toss with olive oil to coat and arrange onto a tray lined with baking paper.
Bake for 20 minutes at 180ºC.
Toss all of the remaining ingredients together and press firmly onto the sliced pumpkin.
Return to oven for an additional 30 minutes until the pumpkin is cooked through and crust is golden.
Serve with a zesty natural or European style yoghurt.

Baked oatmeal, buttery pumpkin & maple-soaked raisins

During my last stint as a chef, I spent a good many months stressing out and wondering when I'd have 'the moment of realisation'. When I looked around me I was constantly surrounded by people who knew exactly what they wanted to do and where they wanted to be in 10 years time. I had no fricking clue, I still don't know what I want for the future.

I do have one dream though. I want to do something to change the world (as I'm sure many other idealistic kids my age want to do) but let's be honest, I don't know how exactly so I don't think that we can categorise that dream as being feasible just yet. I suppose that's why it's called a dream. Another thing to pile up on the back burner to check on every now and then. 

This recipe adapted from Erica Lea isn't going to change the world; but this spirited medley of baked oatmeal, buttery homegrown pumpkin, pecans and the occasional burst of maple-soaked raisins sure does make it a nicer place to be in.


Baked Oatmeal, Buttery Pumpkin & Maple-soaked Raisins

285 g pumpkin, (about 2 ribs of medium size) peeled
60 g unsalted butter, diced
80 g maple syrup
50 g golden raisins
200 g rolled oats
60 g pecans
6 g flaked sea salt
250 g milk
6 g vanilla bean paste
1 x 58 g egg

Preheat oven to 180ºC.
Slice pumpkin into 1cm thick pieces.
Place it into a 8 x 8" tin with 40 g butter and bake for 20 minutes.
While the pumpkin is cooking, gently heat raisins in a small pot with maple syrup and remaining butter until plump.
In a large bowl toss together the rolled oats, pecans and salt.
Whisk together the milk, vanilla and egg.
Pour maple-soaked raisins and milk into the bowl containing the oats and give everything a good stir.
When the pumpkin's 20 minute head start is up, spoon the mixture on top and bake for 30 minutes. 
Best eaten straight from the oven with a big spoonful of sheep's milk yoghurt and extra maple syrup drizzled over.

Pulled Pork Pie

Whenever I fall at your feet
Would you let your tears rain down on me
Whenever I fall..
                                        Neil Finn, Crowded House

It's nights like these that I dread the most - when closely knit families gather together under one big roof to celebrate life, and friends toast one another around a tree with clinking glasses and warmed bellies. I feel lost. I feel empty. On nights like tonight I think about lost loves, white lies and aching truths. I sit by the window in the fleeting light with a mug of lukewarm tea and a lonely heart at my sleeve, and watch the world move slowly by.

Once upon a time, when I stared into those deep and endless pools of a soul's reflection flecked with green and brown, I could see myself older, still holding those same hands. There were some moments that I'll never forget: a freezing day in the underground metro, riding up the escalator with hands intertwined, soft and supple lips against my cheek; or another film night, falling asleep on the tiny couch (yet again) with reassuring arms around my waist and the warmth of breath against my neck. It's slightly depressing to open my eyes and realise that these memories are just that.. Memories.

Apparently time can heal all wounds but I'm still waiting for that day to pass. Tonight I just need to be alone. I need to immerse myself in a project that is productive but slow, something I can drag out all night to keep myself contained, a recipe that I can pour all of my love into with results that are both satisfying and reflective.

This is a completely new recipe for me. I had grand plans to do a long, slow braise with dried and podded lazy housewife beans from my garden but changed my mind at the last minute when I found a roll of puff pastry that I'd tucked deep into the freezer many months ago. Not counting the cherry pie with almond cream that I made this time last year, this was my first go at a savoury pie and I'm pretty chuffed with the results.

I collected all the bones and bits (head included) from a suckling pig that would normally find their way into the bin at work. After a quick blanch and a few hours of slow cooking, I picked the meat off the bones and used this to make the pie filling. Despite everyone in my family professing to dislike parsley, I made a parsley sauce anyway. It took me two nights of simmering and reducing, rolling and baking to make my pulled pork pie. I haven't received much feedback yet but I can confidently assume that it would be welcomed back with open arms and mouths seeing as there is nothing left aside from the polite, obligatory sliver and a scraping of sauce. Ho ho ho!

Braised Pork Bits

3.7 kg pork bones (head, bones, trotters)

3 carrots, sliced into 1" pieces
8 fresh bay leaves
5 g thyme, picked (reserve leaves for filling)
70 g parsley, picked (reserve leaves for sauce)
3 g star anise
4 cm cassia bark

Place bones in a large pot and cover with cold water.
Bring to the boil, discard water and rinse well to remove scum.
Cover with fresh water, add carrots, bay leaves, thyme stalks, parsley stalks, star anise and cassia.
Bring to the boil, reduce heat to low, cover and simmer for 2 hours and 20 minutes.
Remove pot from the heat and allow to cool.
Strain and reserve the stock
Pick meat from bones, discarding any cartilage, skin and fat.
Return bones to the stock and simmer for 4 hours.
Strain the stock and discard bones.
Reduce stock over low heat until only 240 g remains.

Roux

50 g unsalted butter
50 g all-purpose flour

Melt butter in a small saucepan.
Add flour and cook for 2 - 3 minutes over low heat.

Remove from heat and cool.

Store in the refrigerator.


Pulled Pork Filling

10 g vegetable oil
125 g brown onion, finely chopped
reserved thyme leaves (approx 3 g)
100 g white wine (I used an Australian Gewürztraminer)
240 g reserved pork cooking stock
50 g roux
30 twists of cracked black pepper
3 g sea salt flakes

Heat oil in a small saucepan and sweat off onion until translucent.
Add thyme and cook for another minute.
Add wine and reduce until almost dry.
Add pork cooking stock and bring to the boil.
Add roux and cook, stirring for 4 - 5 minutes until thickened.
Season with salt and pepper.
Mix through reserved pork meat.
Place on a tray and refrigerate until cold.


Assembling the Pie

375 g puff pastry
1 egg
2 Tbsp milk

Roll out puff pastry to about 4 mm thickness between two sheets of baking paper.
Place onto a tray and refrigerate until cold.
Use an 8" pie plate turned upside-down to mark the pie lid.
Place the remaining pastry over the plate and fill with the cold filling.
Whisk egg with milk to create an egg wash.
Brush egg wash onto the edges of the pastry.
Crimp the edges with the back of a knife.
Trim off excess pastry and cut out leaf decorations.
Stick leaves to pie lid with egg wash.
Brush the pie lid with egg wash.
Cut a few slits in the lid with a sharp knife to allow steam to escape while baking.
Bake at 200ºC for 10 minutes.
Reduce heat to 170ºC and bake for a further 30 minutes.
Remove from oven and place on a wire rack to cool.


Parsley sauce

300 g milk
5 g thyme
70 g brown onion, finely chopped
50 g roux
20 g reserved parsley leaves, chopped
1 g sea salt flakes
20 twists of cracked black pepper

Place milk, thyme and onion in a small saucepan.

Cover and simmer for 10 minutes to infuse.

Strain, discarding solids.

Add roux and cook for 4 minutes to thicken.
Add chopped parsley and cook for another minute.
Place in a blender or food processor and blend until smooth.
Season and taste.

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Corn Bread, Avocado, Summer Salad

Rolling up the driveway and peering at my garden through the car window after four weeks of absence filled me with apprehension. The black radishes I'd planted just before my departure had sky-rocketed and become a huge, impenetrable hedge. The purple podded peas were leaning precariously to one side, threatening to topple their support and smothering any rainbow chard that got in their way. Giant red mustard seemed desperate to flower, their leaves dotted with dull yellow spots. Beneath it all, dreaded onion weed had popped up everywhere and rambling nasturtiums had taken over once more.
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Six weeks and buckets of sweat later, a new bed has been prepared and little Pasilla Bajio chilli seedlings have been planted out. Zebra tomatoes are now waist-high and about to bloom at any moment. Red Aztec corn are sprouting underneath the peach tree which, at this present moment is covered in recycled envelopes and paper bags. The old compost was spread over the garden to provide all the growing plants with extra nutrients and the new compost gets turned diligently with my super sturdy, super awesome Digadoo fork which I bought online after testing out their unbreakable hand trowel at the Gardening Australia Expo earlier in the year.

Along with the pruning and the weeding, the perpetual sowing and expanding, it feels extraordinarily satisfying to create a meal from what most people would see as nothing. An avocado, some maize flour, a few basic pantry items, sharp scissors and an open mind were all the ingredients I needed to make this simple Summer-y dish.

Corn Bread

165 g flour
140 g maize flour
12 g baking powder
5 g sea salt flakes
4 eggs
306 g milk
15 g light agave syrup
100 g unsalted butter, melted

Lightly brush a shallow 8" x 12" (20 x 30 cm) tin with a little melted butter.
Sift flour, maize flour, baking powder and salt together into a large bowl.
In a separate bowl, lightly whisk eggs, milk and agave syrup.
Pour over flour and whisk to incorporate.
Add remaining melted butter and whisk.
Pour batter into the greased tin and bake at 180ºC for 25 minutes or until golden.
Cool on a rack for 10 minutes before removing.


Avocado 

130 g avocado, flesh only
18 g verjuice

Puree the avocado with verjuice.
Cover with clingfilm and refrigerate.


Salad Dressing

7 g garlic
16 g extra virgin olive oil
1 g light agave syrup
17 g verjuice
2 g sea salt flakes

Slice the garlic and let it steep in olive oil for an hour.
Whisk agave syrup, verjuice and salt in a small bowl.
Add olive oil and whisk to combine.
Discard garlic slices.


Summer Salad

5 g parsley, leaves only
4 g chervil, leaves only
2 g mint, leaves only
2 g nasturtium leaves
2 g nasturtium petals
1 g bronze fennel fronds
1 g giant red mustard flowers
20 g walnuts, toasted

Mix all ingredients and salad dressing together with light hands. 
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An Old Love, Crumbled

A few days ago I caught up with someone who was once a very special person in my life. Years have gone by since we last conversed but she's still the same striking, unconventional, deeply intelligent and self-possessed woman that I remember. It's strange - even after so much time apart we met again with the same comfort and ease. Amidst the frantic pace, I'd resigned myself long ago to the thought of never seeing her again. Together in the silences, sitting close enough to trace her hands, her face, her lips; I wanted so much to cast off my remaining inhibitions and blurt out "I've never stopped loving you".

Somewhere on the journey home I realised that occasionally a taste is required to remind ourselves of the things that we've always loved and momentarily forgotten.

After a long leave of absence, rhubarb crumble made a reappearance at the dining table to much delight, and perhaps, even a little surprise. It's been a while since I've given a humble crumble the time of day. I've come to consider it as a "fallback dessert" - possible to whip up with minimal ingredients and the most meager of tools.

Perhaps it was the crimson rhubarb, stems snipped from their crowns under drawing dusk; maybe the apples with their blanket of floral perfume were to blame, the mandarins, just fallen from their bowing branches; or the Madagascan vanilla, so sweet and seductive; that brought me back to appreciate this simple dessert.

Baked in the oven with a sprinkling of rapadura sugar for a boost of extra caramelisation and served while still warm with a zealous dollop of cold and tangy sheep's milk yoghurt, some old loves are truly worth pining for.

Rhubarb Crumble

a dozen stems of freshly picked rhubarb (20cm long)

1 fuji apple

2 mandarins, zested and juiced

castor sugar

unsalted butter

1 vanilla pod, split & scraped

all-purpose flour

a sprinkling of Murray River salt flakes

rapadura sugar

lots of sheep's milk yoghurt

Give the rhubarb a rinse and dry.

Finely slice stems and place in a small pot.

Dice the apple into small cubes and add to rhubarb.

Add mandarin juice to pot and cook over medium heat, stirring every now and then until apples have collapsed.

Add castor sugar to taste and cook for a few minutes until jammy.

Stir through mandarin zest and spoon into a ceramic dish.

Rub about half a cup of diced cold butter with a large pinch of castor sugar, a small pinch of salt, scraped vanilla seeds and enough flour to form a clumpy, breadcrumby consistency.

Sprinkle this over the rhubarb in a thick layer.

Sprinkle a little rapadura sugar over the crumble topping.

Bake for 30 minutes at 180ºC or until golden and bubbling.

Allow to cool for 10 minutes before serving with a generous amount of yoghurt.

Submitted for Grow Your Own - August 2010.

An Inspired Winter Salad

My little garden is a constant source of inspiration for the dinner table at our house. Being able to watch my food grow has made seasonal produce take on a whole new meaning. I grew my own tomatoes last year and the intense aroma of fruit ripening on the vine, still glistening with early morning dew, is absolutely incomparable to the 'fresh' product available in supermarkets.

The unfortunate reality is that people want their food to be perfect in shape and completely blemish-free, which leads to large supermarket chains buying food that stores and travels well. Just take a look at the rock-hard and under-ripe peaches, and watery, white strawberries when you see them in the shops next and you'll know what I mean. It's great if you want a salad bowl full of fruit on display for three weeks but not so great if you're after real flavour.

Andrew Swallow, graduate of the Culinary Institute of America (the college of my dreams) and author of 'Mixt Salads' (a vibrant book jammed with seasonal salad recipes, some beautiful photography, tips on how to eat sustainably and create your own exciting salads!) inspired me to put a winter salad together.

I combined Brussels sprouts, crisp white icicle radish (I buy my seeds from Digger's Club) and smoked speck that I pan-fried until crunchy and caramelised with a horseradish dressing and some European yoghurt. Let's be honest, what doesn't taste better with smoked speck in it? I really love the sharp, zingy flavour of yoghurt here too as I think it works well with the bite of horseradish. The dressing is light and creamy, slightly sweet but mainly acidic.

Winter Brussels Sprout Salad

58 g Brussels sprouts, leaves only
21 g white icicle radish, peeled and sliced paper-thin
30 g smoked speck, rind removed
30 g European style yoghurt

Separate the Brussels sprout leaves by cutting off the stem and pulling it apart layer by layer.
Cut the inner core into quarters.
Bring a pot of salted water to the boil.
Blanch Brussels sprout leaves into water until just cooked.
Remove and plunge into ice water to stop the cooking process.
Drain and dry the leaves.
Slice the speck into thin, bite-sized pieces.
Pan-fry until crispy.
Reserve the rendered fat for the dressing.
Toss together the Brussels sprout leaves, icicle radish and smoked speck.
Transfer onto a plate and dot around small amounts of yoghurt.

Horseradish Dressing

3 g horseradish cream
3 g light agave syrup
7 g apple cider vinegar
1 g smoked speck fat

Combine all ingredients in a small bowl.

Add a small pinch of salt and taste.

Drizzle over the salad.

MasterChef Challenge: Passionfruit Pavlova

With three contestants from earlier episodes back in play for another shot at the MasterChef title, I thought I'd revisit one of the very first challenges set by Donna Hay. Can you guess what it is? Why it's the pavlova challenge of course!

We all know what pavlova is: crisp and crunchy on the outside with soft, pillowy meringue on the inside and all as white as a cloud on a bright, sunny day. Where most people tend to go wrong in the pav-making process is hmm let's see.. The stage when the egg whites are whisking and the recipe calls to add sugar to create a meringue. If you've read books by the likes of Shirley O'Corriher, Harold McGee or Hervé This, you'll be aware that adding sugar early in the mixing process inhibits the ability of egg white to become light and fluffy with loads of volume.

If you add sugar at the beginning, you'll end up with the perfect paste to pour into a soup bowl. What you should do instead, is beat the whites until they are aerated enough to form soft peaks and only then begin adding sugar (a little at a time mind you). If you dump it all in at once, the egg whites will collapse. If you add it gradually, the sugar will bind with the whites to create a more stable platform to hold up under the weight of the additional sugar and you'll have a meringue with maximum volume!

At the far end of my garden, a golden passionfruit vine has slowly wound its way up an old stone wall that provides shelter for ferns living on the other side. Using a sprightly young orange tree as leverage, it reaches for the empty sky and basks in sunlight all day long. Late autumn marked the first (ever!) harvest, and even now the vine lays abundant with winter fruit. 

Allowing the season to guide my inspiration, I decided against making a traditional pavlova. Wanting to do something a little more fun, I clambered up the stone wall and reached through the thorns of the orange tree. Waving a spindly stick around like a lunatic, I eventually swatted down about half a dozen ripe golden passionfruit from the creepers that had entwined themselves around the upper branches.

I scooped out the sweet pulp and incorporated most of it into a rich pastry cream, half of which went into the oven to dry into wafer-thin crisps. The other half, I reserved in a piping bag for plating. I made oeufs a la neige in the microwave and mandarin jelly from the juice of freshly squeezed mandarins (straight out of the garden too!). I kept the peel and candied it in a simple syrup with anise, pared a few mandarin segments, cracked open a couple of walnuts and turned the remaining passionfruit pulp into a sharp vinaigrette.

Passionfruit Pastry Cream and Crisps

420 g milk
94 g egg yolk (approx. 5)
85 g castor sugar
32 g potato starch
4 g sea salt (I use Murray River pink salt flakes)
45 g unsalted butter
128 g golden passionfruit pulp

Pour milk into a small pot and bring to the boil. Remove from heat.
Whisk eggs, sugar, potato starch and salt in a bowl until thoroughly combined.
Temper eggs by slowly adding hot milk, whisking continuously.
Pour into pot and simmer over medium heat for 2 minutes to thicken, whisking continuously.
Remove from heat and whisk for a few minutes to cool.
Whisk in butter when it cools to below 55ºC but is still quite warm.
Whisk in passionfruit pulp.
Spread half onto baking paper in a thin layer.
Place onto a baking tray and dehydrate at 90ºC for 2 hours or until crisp when cool.
Push remaining pastry cream through a fine sieve.
Keep refrigerated in a piping bag until serving.


Candied Mandarin Peel

25 g mandarin peel
150 g castor sugar
150 g water
1 g sea salt
1 star anise

Cut peel into 2-3 cm wide pieces.
Remove any white pith with a sharp knife.
Blanch 3 times in boiling water to soften.
Place sugar, water, salt and star anise in a small pot and bring to the boil.
Add mandarin peel, reduce heat until barely bubbling.
Cook over low heat until nearly translucent (approx. 30 mins) and the syrup becomes viscous like honey.
Cool and store in syrup in fridge.


Mandarin Jelly

1 gold gelatine leaf
20 g boiling water
150 g freshly-squeezed mandarin juice

Soak gelatine leaf in cold water for a minute to bloom.
Squeeze out excess moisture and dissolve in a bowl with boiling water.
Add mandarin juice and whisk to combine.
Strain and pour into a shallow dish.
Refrigerate for 1 hour or until set.


Oeufs A La Neige

144 g egg white (approx. 5)
175 g castor sugar
2 g vanilla paste

Place everything in a bowl over a bain marie and stir gently until the whites have warmed up slightly and the sugar has dissolved.
Transfer to an electric stand mixer.
Whisk on high speed for 2 minutes.
Reduce speed to medium-high and whisk for an additional 3 minutes.
Divide into two square plastic containers (takeaway containers work well) and smooth over the top.
Microwave one at a time on medium setting for 90 seconds or until cooked through and puffed like a souffle.
Refrigerate until thoroughly cold.


Passionfruit Vinaigrette

33 g golden passionfruit pulp
5 g extra virgin olive oil (I used Nolans Road - Delicate)
2 g light agave syrup (available in Aus. from Santos Natural Food Store)
2 g apple cider vinegar

Whisk together in a small bowl to break up the passionfruit pulp.

To plate up - pipe passionfruit pastry cream into two parallel lines 3cm apart, running from one end of the plate to the other. Using a 3cm diameter round pastry cutter, cut cylinders out of the cold oeufs a la neige. They should feel firm like marshmallow. Square off the ends and place these along the lines of pastry cream. Place a few mandarin segments around the cream and spoon a little mandarin jelly in-between. Slice a piece of candied mandarin peel into thin strips and drape a few over the mandarin segments. Pop a few small pieces of raw walnut around and spoon over a generous tablespoon or two of passionfruit vinaigrette. Break the dehydrated pastry cream into shards and finish by leaning one up against each vanilla eouf.

Ta da! And that's my passionfruit & mandarin pavlova! It encompasses all of the original tastes and textures - sweet, sour, crisp, crunchy, creamy, soft and smooth, but presented in a different form, I think it takes an old dessert to a new level.

Submitted for Grow Your Own: July 2010 hosted by Kitchen Gadget Girl.

MasterChef Challenge: Peter Gilmore's Garlic Custard

Being on holidays this week while the restaurant is having the floor revamped, and after watching MasterChef masterclass on Friday with Peter Gilmore demonstrating how to make garlic custard, I thought I'd head back into the kitchen to give his recipe a whirl.

Peter Gilmore is an AMAZING chef (that's AMAZING in capitals!). He's my biggest industry idol and his incredible food is reflective of his unbounded depth of knowledge. 

Unfortunately I don't have squid growing in a tank out on the back porch and there's not much in the fridge aside from corn milk, a jar of my hot cucumber pickles, middle-rasher bacon and hokkien noodles. I have a little walk around the garden to see what I might be able to throw together and I decide to combine the bacon with a simple salad of red mustard leaves and pickled onion.

My mum owns a nifty machine that makes soy milk. It works basically the same way as a thermomix, ie. it cooks and blends at the same time. This morning she used it to blend up the corn milk that's sitting in the fridge which is actually quite tasty. Sweetcorn kernels, water and a little dehydrated milk powder goes into the machine and 15 minutes later.. Voila! Corn milk! It's surprisingly sweet and I can imagine this being the base for some kind of Mexican dessert though I might have to figure that one out later.

The first thing I do is turn the oven on to preheat at 160ºC. A sprinkle of salt goes into the corn milk to maximise flavour and enhance the natural sweetness. Garlic is sweated away in a knob of butter before joining the milk. The steamer goes onto the stove to boil while the milk is infusing. I temper the eggs with the milk, strain the mixture into 3 small serving bowls, cover and steam.

Meanwhile I lay out a sheet of baking paper onto a heavy steel baking tray and spread out a few thin slices of bacon. I lay another sheet of baking paper over the top and weigh it down with another tray. Into the oven it goes. Ten minutes later the top tray comes off and the slices of bacon are cooking without a kink to be seen. I leave the paper on top to stop the grease from splattering all over the inside of my oven and give it another 10 minutes. I pour away all the delicious fat that's rendered out of the bacon and keep it aside to make the dressing. The bacon's not quite done yet so I throw it back in for a few minutes more until it's 100% crispy.

The custards are done so they're sitting on a rack, cooling. The bacon is nice and crispy so it's out cooling also. I heat up the rendered bacon fat in a small pot and throw in a few small sprigs of thyme to infuse all of those lovely thyme-y essential oils. A quarter of a brown onion, brunoise, goes in next to sweat slowly with a tiny pinch of salt. A splash of white wine vinegar and a teaspoon of castor sugar join the mess and I let it simmer for just a few minutes. It comes off the heat and a few drops of olive oil completes this vinaigrette.

All I have to do now is spoon a little custard onto the plate, arrange a few bits of crispy bacon in an aesthetically pleasing manner, toss a few freshly picked baby red mustard leaves in the vinaigrette, spoon a little more around the plate and just to be fancy, I toss in a few chilli flowers as well.

And there you have it: Corn custard, garlic, mustard, bacon!

Has anyone else tried a recipe that they've seen on the show?

Elderflower Milk Tea To Sooth a Sore Throat

collecting basil seeds / silverbeet from my garden ­

Now that summer is over and the tomato harvest has finally died down, I'm back in the garden and as busy as ever. There are plants to be cleared, seeds to be saved, harvesting to be done and sowing in preparation for next spring.

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White icicle radishes are growing to about carrot-sized proportions and eggplants are still going strong. Coloured silverbeet have been nibbled on by caterpillars but there's more than enough to share a little here and there. A massive 2.2kg gourd was harvested and the ground cleared to make way for black Tuscan kale and golden beetroot. The crimson rhubarb have finally settled in and are getting bigger every day. Purple podded climbing peas.. Wow.. I only sowed the seeds a month ago and they're already as tall as me and covered in glorious, deep purple pods!

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I just started reading a new book called 'A Year With James Wong: Grow Your Own Drugs' and I'm learning so much about the inherent properties of plants, especially herbs and edible flowers. Have you ever used lemongrass as an insect repellent or made your own cough syrup from hollyhock flowers? Who knew that so many common ingredients could be used as remedies for such a myriad of ailments! The book even covers tips on growing your own herbs, flower preservation, foraging, and 'how-to' of concoctions, decoctions, tinctures, infusions, etc. Definitely something I'd recommend for every home gardener with an interest in sustainable living on a household level.

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potted cardamom

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With a terrible scratchy throat, a hacking cough and home remedies in mind, I started mixing up an infusion of elderflowers last night to create my own decoction to fix a sore throat. Elderflowers were traditionally used to treat the common cold and flu and are known for their anti-inflammatory and antiviral properties. Peppercorns and ginger are warming spices with ginger working to improve circulation. When crushed, cardamom pods are intensely aromatic with the essential oil known to be antibacterial. Similarly, the essential oil from cloves are used as an anodyne for pain relief and like ginger, it also acts to warm the body.

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Elderflower Infusion

25 g elderflowers
2 g lemon zest
3 g orange zest
50 g lemon juice
500 g water
250 g castor sugar
2 g salt

Make sure there are no leaves or stalks attached to the elderflowers.

Place elderflowers and zest in a bowl.

Bring lemon juice, water, sugar and salt to a boil and simmer until dissolved.

Pour over flowers and steep overnight.

Pour into sterilised jars and refrigerate.

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Elderflower Milk Tea

300 g milk
5 g fresh ginger root
1 g cardamom pods (approx. 4)
1 g cloves (approx. 5)
1 g black peppercorns
20 g elderflower infusion

Slice ginger, crush cardamom pods and place in a pot with milk, cloves and pepper.
Bring to a simmer and reduce heat to lowest setting.

Allow spices to infuse for 10-15 minutes.

Add elderflower infusion, strain and drink hot.

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Beetroot Relished

­I would like to give my solemn thanks to the single beetroot that died in the making of this very post. It was the only seedling that survived through the many trials and tribulations of summer. I remember when it was just a seed and pushing it gently into its very own jiffy peat pellet which, at the time, was purely for novel reasons. And then at some stage I placed it outside along the grey retaining wall to fend for itself out in the open. It was bullied by a tiny little caterpillar once but I took care of that! They grow up fast don't they? Of course time just seems to fly past. You think it will never happen to you and then one day you wake up and everything changes. My dear beetroot passed away on January 2nd, 2010, weighing 450 grams. It will be with us forever in our hearts and stomachs. May we never forget the joy that it has brought to the kitchen table.

Roast Beet Relish

350 g beetroot, peeled and diced (approx. 1 cm cubes)
200 g cherry tomatoes, halved (keeping stalks and stems)
6 g garlic, crushed (3 cloves)
30 g olive oil
5 g rosemary sprigs
3 g salt
35 g brown onion, sliced
85 castor sugar
50 g white wine vinegar
20 g balsamic vinegar
12 g horseradish cream

Heat the oven to 180ºC.
Toss beetroot, tomatoes, garlic, oil, rosemary, salt and any tomato stalks and stems you have, together in a medium bowl.
Transfer to a thick-bottomed tray and spread out evenly.
Roast for 20 minutes.
Sprinkle the sliced onion over the top and give it a good toss.
Return to the oven for a further 15 minutes.
While that's cooking, combine sugar, vinegars and horseradish in a small pot and heat just enough to dissolve the sugar.
Discard tomato sprigs, stems and rosemary.
Pack beetroot into 2 x 300 g jars (sterilised of course).
Pour over vinegar and seal while hot.
Cool to room temperature then refrigerate for 1 week before opening.