spring pea pasta

Spring weather has finally arrived to the bustling student city of Uppsala. With the season comes crisp and buttery lettuces, crimson rhubarb with its long and slender celery-like stalks, gently perfumed wild garlic, vigorously growing soft-stemmed herbs, and the quintessential podded pea. 

Peas are a great addition to every student kitchen. The frozen variety requires no preparation, no lengthy defrosting period before it's able to be used, no compromise of taste or texture compared to fresh produce, and each individual pea packaged in its natural form and size means that it's obscenely simple to measure out exactly how much is required to avoid cooking too much and to minimise waste. If you're able to get your hands on some fresh peas, be sure to hang onto the pods and use them for a stir fry or to flavour a stock.

Spring Pea Pasta

2 handfuls of penne pasta

2 dl peas

2 tbsp creme fraiche

a small chunk of Pecorino cheese

2 slices of parma ham, torn into small ribbons

5 or 6 small mint leaves

salt and pepper to taste

• Half fill a frying pan with water and bring it to the boil.
• Throw in the pasta and stir it around for the first few minutes to prevent it from sticking together.
• When it's nearly ready but is still a little hard in the middle, toss in the peas and let them cook.
• Drain off most of the water, leaving some to bind the sauce.
• Stir in the creme fraiche and crumble in the cheese.
• Continue cooking until the pasta is done and the sauce has thickened.
• Season to taste (I like it with lots of black pepper).
• Allow to cool for a few minutes then toss through the mint leaves and parma ham.
• Serve immediately.

Pasta e Fagioli

This simple dish traditionally contains prosciutto but it is just as good without. I love that this recipe only requires one pot to cook it in which means minimal washing up. The hearty flavours of cannelloni beans and tomatoes really shine through and is perfect for the days when you don't have much in the fridge. This recipe makes enough for two.

1 tbsp olive oil
1 small brown onion, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, sliced
1 sprig of fresh rosemary
1 ½ tbsp tomato paste
2 dl penne pasta
1 tin of cooked cannelloni beans
1 lemon, zest
½ dl parmesan cheese, grated

• Gently fry the onion and garlic in olive oil until translucent 
• Add the rosemary leaves and cook for another minute or two
• Add tomato paste and cook for one minute
• Pour in 500 ml of water and bring to the boil
• Add pasta to the boil and simmer until almost cooked
• Rinse and drain the beans. Add half to the pot. Mash the rest with a fork and divide into two bowls
• When the pasta is cooked through and the beans are warm, ladle the soup into two bowls over the bean puree
• Sprinkle over the lemon zest and grated parmesan cheese

Maple Syrup & Vegemite Glazed Lamb Ham

I'm Asian. I love freebies and I'm a sucker for good food.

The cunning pants at Meat & Livestock Australia and Hausmann have played me right into their hands with a sacrificial offering of Hay Valley lamb ham, gourmet mustard and sourdough tucked neatly into a red linen-lined basket. If Little Red Riding Hood had a hoarding habit and accepted her goodies in styrofoam boxes, we could very well be twins.

There was a lovely note slipped in beneath the bread, just in case I'd been struck by a sudden case of amnesia and forgotten the email I'd received two days prior confirming my availability to accept a perishable delivery from so and so.

"Thanks for all of your hard work - taking pictures of random things, chowing down on free food and taking more pictures, posting said pictures with delirious comments attached on a blog that nobody in their right mind would ever read.  Lots of love from the seedy man in admin who signs notes under exotic female aliases to build customer rapport."


I'll pretend to be frank for a moment. I was intrigued yet dubious about the concept of lamb ham from the beginning for the following reasons: 

1. I've never ever heard of 'lamb ham', thus it must be a terrible concoction of farce and nitrites. Perhaps past tasters in market research groups contracted botulism and were unable to speak of its delicious flavour and paralytic effects.

2. This so-called 'lamb ham' contains 20% less fat than the traditional porker. Since fat is flavour and a lubricating agent, the proportionally lower fat content of lamb would no doubt result in a despicable product with the dry and unpalatable texture and flavour profile of shredded cardboard. 

3. Google Images reveals numerous pictures of lamb that appear about as appetising as a dinner party consisting of two girls and one cup.. minus the girls.

I don't normally say this because it never ever happens except maybe just this once ..but well.. I was wrong. Cured in maple syrup and smoked, it was as good as (if not better than) a traditional pork ham - unbelievably tender, succulent, oh so moist. 

To enhance the subtle ingrained smoky sweetness, I sloshed together a fairly traditional ham glaze with maple syrup, Dijon mustard and cider vinegar. Hmm.. There wasn't anywhere near as much fat around the outside so I bypassed the scoring and clove studding and added a light dusting of allspice. Oh what the heck. Lamb is the epitome of the modern Australian diet. In went a blob of Vegemite. 

A whole lot of basting, cursing, basting, peering, and basting later, the lamb ham was removed and allowed to rest for two hours. Admittedly I was upstairs watching an enthralling episode of Better Homes & Gardens but it needed to rest anyway. All that basting would have tired the little lamb out. 

I dug out my biggest knife and sliced into the cooled meat with trepidation, but I needn't have worried. All of my niggling doubts and expectations flew out the window as the quivering pink flesh touched my lips. No words can describe the elation of discovering a ham that surpasses all other hams, or the Kodak moment when one tastes the first sliver of barely warm lamb that's been cured, smoked and basted for an hour with maple syrup and rich Vegemite. This is definitely a recipe that I'll be keeping in the books for next year, and possibly one to overthrow past traditions.



Maple Syrup & Vegemite Glazed Lamb Ham

1 x 2 kg Hay Valley lamb ham
200 g light brown sugar
60 g maple syrup (real maple syrup, none of that flavoured fake stuff)
60 g apple cider vinegar
50 g Dijon mustard
25 g Vegemite
1.5 tsp allspice, ground

Trim the skin off the lamb, leaving as much fat on as possible. Remove any visible sinew.
Cover the bone with foil to keep it nice and clean.
Leave for an hour or until it comes to room temperature.
Preheat the oven to 180˚C.
Chuck all of the remaining ingredients into a bowl and whisk until sugar is dissolved and Vegemite is thoroughly combined.
Place a rack over a tray and half-fill it with boiling water.  
Place the lamb ham on top (make sure the water doesn't touch the lamb), covering loosely with foil. 
Roast for 40 minutes.
Remove the foil, top up the water and baste with maple syrup and Vegemite mixture.
Return to the oven and continue roasting for 40 - 50 minutes, basting lightly every 10 minutes or until a beautiful golden brown.
Stick a thermometer into the centre to make sure that the meat has reached 60˚C.
Remove tray from oven and rest for 2 hours before slicing.
Enjoy! :D

Cooking with Matt Kemp

Matt Kemp of Montpellier Public House has very kindly allowed us to publish his recipe for the epigramme of veal breast with crushed carrots and jus that the superstar chef dished up to feed dozens of hungry locals at Barbecue Madness during Crave in October.

In Matt's own words, it's a fancy veal schnitzel and a damn good one at that. The meat is slow-cooked for hours with herbs and madeira until it's melt-in-the-mouth tender, then crumbed and fried for an irresistible textural juxtaposition. You can grab some of the Sydney basin's best veal at Feather and Bone and Victor Churchill. 

PS. For all you grill masters out there, Meat & Livestock Australia is running a BBQ competition next month with the winner snagging an awesome TRIP TO AMERICA BABY! Details below. Happy cooking! :)

Preserving Winter Fruit

Hey you, yes you in the kitchen, holding that bowl of orange peels left from the bounty of winter citrus that were nurtured so lovingly by your favourite producer down at the weekend farmers' market. I can see what you're up to. You were planning to upend the entire contents into the waste bin that'll undoubtedly go into landfill and contribute to our already warming atmosphere weren't you? 

Shake your head. Lie to me. That's right. 

There's something else that we can do with these that'll add another awesome secret ingredient to your pantry and have your neighbours peeking over the fence with jealousy as you entertain your friends and family with beautifully perfumed renditions of Italian classics.

Preserved lemon is an ingredient that I know you're familiar with. Tangy. Robust. A burst of floral citrus and acidity all in one. It's proved to be quite versatile, contributing to some of the great culinary masterpieces and traditional peasant dishes of our time, providing a subtle backdrop or Kill Bill-style smack in the face.

Luckily for us, orange peels have just the same potential if not more. Google preserved oranges and what you'll find is 2.47 million images of sugar-laden, diabetes-inducing goodness. This is not what I'm suggesting.


Preserved orange peel

orange peel (with or without pith, whatever)
cheap rock salt (preferably local, organic and sustainably harvested)
aromatic spices and stuff
fresh orange juice/lemon juice/apple cider vinegar to cover

Pay close attention. This recipe is deceptively simple.

Stuff a sterilised jar with orange peel and handfuls of rock salt.

Throw some cinnamon quills or peppercorns or bay leaves or whatever in.

Cover with juice and/or vinegar.

Screw on the lid.

Chuck it in a dark place for a couple of months.

Jars must be stored in a cool, dark place as excessive heat and UV light can cause degradation of citric acid which is BAD. Reconstituted orange juice and any other non-fresh juice that is heat treated during processing should not be used as heat destroys acidity.

Fresh lemon juice has a pH that lies somewhere around 2-3, fresh orange juice typically has a pH of 3.5 and apple cider vinegar has a pH that falls between 4.25 and 5. For safe preservation, the pH should ideally be maintained below 4.6. 

If using apple cider vinegar this can be achieved by mixing it with a substantial amount of lemon juice to increase the acidity. If you don't have citrus juice, you can try adding powdered citric acid (no more than 8% of liquid weight). Palm vinegar is an inappropriate dress to wear to this occasion. White vinegar will have you thrown out.

Preserved orange peel will take your dinner parties where they never dared. If a riot breaks out when you hit the bottom of the jar, don't blame us.

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.

Hello Hawkesbury

G'day from the outback!

I'm just kidding.. I did see a kangaroo at the train station last week but the Hawkesbury campus isn't that far.. Five weeks into the first semester and things are going swimmingly well. Despite 'Biology A' being perhaps more than just a little overwhelming (there are so many goddamn words and concepts to remember), I'm enjoying my course. I've met some very interesting and passionate people, teachers and students alike.

'Primary Production' practicals make Fridays the days that I look forward to the most. I've traded in my chef knife for a grafting knife and (fingers crossed) when Spring comes around, I'll be posting photos of finger lime buds shooting out of lemon rootstock! Aside from grafting, we've been learning about planting mediums, various methods of propagation, the importance of soil structure, etc. which we then get to apply out in the field.

Our plot (our = Roi + I) no. 11 contains bok choy, choy sum, pak choi, kohl rabi, basil, onion, chives; and also beetroot, silverbeet and celeriac (although I'm wondering if/when these will sprout). I couldn't help myself and interplanted the entire bed with snake beans, which we built a trellis for last week. When faced with a big box of open seed packets, I can't resist filling any extra space in our plot with as many bizarre plants as I can find. Roi is lovely for putting up with me! :b

Unfortunately I can't quite seem to work up the same excitement over canteen food. A caesar salad contains 38 grams of fat. Salad can make you fat. In comparison, McDonalds really is a healthy choice. Who would have thought. No wonder we're facing a bloody obesity epidemic.

Last night I discovered a packet of chickpeas that I'd launched into the darkest corner of the pantry oh.. probably 6 months ago. Anyway I thought it was about time that I cooked them so I tipped some into a bowl and left them soaking overnight. During a very boring lecture, I found a random recipe online for chickpea patties containing peanut butter and whole bunch of other terrifyingly fattening things which I omitted since I now have this grand idea of eating healthy. Or at least healthier.

No more fat salads for me thank you.


Chickpea & Pumpkin Patties

425 g cooked chickpeas, drained well
22 g parsley leaves
75 g breadcrumbs
1 egg
250 g pumpkin, diced
2 garlic cloves
120 g onion, finely diced
10 g olive oil
6 g sweet paprika
5 g ground cumin
115 g greek yoghurt
4 g lemon juice
1/2 cup plain flour for dusting

Bring pumpkin and garlic to the boil in a pan with water.
Simmer until cooked through.
Strain and cool.
Heat olive oil in a pan.
Add diced onion and a pinch of salt.
Sweat over medium heat (the onion, not you) until cooked through.
Add paprika and cumin.
Toast spices for a minute until fragrant.
Remove from heat and cool.
Throw the chickpeas, parsley, breadcrumbs, egg and garlic into a food processor and pulse until it binds together (a few whole chickpeas here and there doesn't matter).
Gently stir through pumpkin and onion.
Form into as many patties as you like, keeping them about 2.5 cm thick. (The thinner you make your patties, the more you increase the likelihood of them falling to bits before they reach the pan. You could even shape them into balls and then flatten them in the pan afterwards, although the sides won't be nearly as neat.)
Dredge both sides in flour.
Pan fry over medium heat (give them a gentle press with a spatula to maximise surface contact) with a little oil for 3 mins each side.

Stir together the yoghurt and lemon juice.

Season and serve.

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.

­

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.
­
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. 
­

A Taste of Hangzhou

The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks;

The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.
                                                                       Li Po

I've been travelling around for a number of weeks - from Guangzhou to Hong Kong, Macau, back to Guangzhou, before Dali, Lijiang, Shangri-La, Kunming, Xishuangbanna, then Shanghai, Wuxi, Suzhou, Nanjing, Hangzhou and finally Longquan. I've taken a little time to recuperate and now I'm back in the blogging saddle! Well if you want to get technical, I left the saddle in Lijiang after riding through an escarpment in rainy weather, getting muddied up to my knees and singeing my clothes dry over a mound of flickering coals; but that's another story.

This wasn't my first trip to China. I've been twice before although the cultural progression and cosmopolitan development that have bridged the last twelve years left me a little bewildered at times. On my return to 'Paradise on Earth', better known as the city of Hangzhou where I'd spent a Summer of my childhood, I found it completely unrecognisable aside from the invariable view of West Lake. The apartment where my grandparents lived has been torn down and is overrun with thorny weeds, a supermarket franchise has replaced the local market where we once bought a chook that I tried to walk home on a leash, and the waterfront is now dotted with Starbucks, Häagen-Dazs, American car dealerships and French patisseries. Although I partly lust after the liveliness and romantic charm of the old city streets, it's incredible to realise just how much change has occurred in a country that everyone was once so fearful of being static.

At 6AM by the monumental red gates, women once stood beside carts selling steaming hot mantou (wheat buns filled with a mixture of pork or vegetables) - breakfast for the morning crowd. Nowadays, only the deep, rolling mist hangs over the lake at this hour. A couple jogs by on the narrow, zig-zagging path that juts out over the gently undulating water. At 7AM a marching band meets for morning practice in the square while park officials tend to flowering plants in the central display and an elderly man rollerblades around them in sweeping arcs. By 8AM the sun has risen high into the sky and peeks out from behind the perpetual clouds with a strangely orange glow. Everyone is out now it seems. Men stretching against pagoda railings, women dancing with folding fans against the backdrop of a silent wharf, and retirees practicing Tai Chi in large groups with music crooning from portable loudspeakers set down on the pavement.

Tiny wooden stalls mark the major tourist spots, stocked with ice blocks, ridiculous hats and boiled corn cobs (a popular street snack food). I'm told that up to a hundred people come to West Lake every day to have their wedding photographs taken and as I cycle past, I count five couples on one bridge dressed in Western-style wedding attire, waiting patiently for the photographer's attention. Not far ahead an expanse of lotus is growing along the banks, the huge green leaves like flat parasols basking in the sun's rays. If you're lucky you might discover a lone man pedalling fresh lotus seeds, prized for their cooling property, along the outskirts of the lake. Encased in their olive green exocarp, they're piled high into woven baskets and hefted onto shoulders in a bamboo balancing act.

Six interconnecting bridges form the Su Causeway, the arched stonework dating back to almost a millennium. Along the causeway ballast, elderly men with folding stools and fishing rods relax in the shade of osmanthus trees, enveloped by the entrancing perfume of fragrant silver laurels. When Spring comes it is said that the entire causeway is blanketed by peach blossoms. What a vision of romance I would imagine that to be - pink flowers scattered over cobbled paths; tourists dismounting their brightly coloured bicycles to ascend arched bridges, pausing briefly on the other side for a photo under weeping willow branches that dance lazily in the warm afternoon breeze.
­

The Su Causeway is not the only lasting legacy that Su Dongpo left Hangzhou before his death. He is attributed with the design of Dongpo rou - pork belly simmered over a low fire for hours in Zhejiang wine and many seasonings to produce a sweet, red meat that is both soft and mellow. Hangzhou's famous Longjing (Dragon Well) tea is used to cook an aromatic dish of silky shrimp, while dried osmanthus flowers are combined with lotus root starch and wild chestnuts to create a thick, sweetened soup. Grass carp thrive along the entire Eastern coast from Vietnam all the way to the Siberian-Chinese border. The species has been introduced to the Netherlands, New Zealand and the United States but not only is it handy as a biological control, it gets bonus points for being tasty too. West Lake Sour Fish is perhaps not the most palatable dish I've eaten but its origin lies entwined in a dramatic tale of love and vengeance, and is a characteristic example of classic Chinese cuisine.
­

­

The city's newest night market spans 1.4km on Zhongshan Nan Lu, a leisurely stroll away from Wushan Square which is situated at the base of the mountains. There are over 120 stalls featuring both Chinese and international foods, and many more selling silk purses and creepy, hooting chicken toys. Walking up and down the street I attach my sticky fingers to as much as I can possibly manage - flaky peanut pastry, black sesame rubber candy, freshly juiced sugar cane, steamed chicken wrapped in fragrant lotus leaf, chilli-salted BBQ yak, grilled Indian flatbread filled with banana, and a Portuguese egg tart. ­
­
One thing I learned in China is that nourishment is integral to daily life. We are constantly surrounded by food. Good cooking can be elusive sometimes, as I found to be the case in particular regions. There will often be tasteless grit masquerading as something better, but the existence of bad food is no reason to give up hope. Under the watch of a rigorous eye, often the ostensibly simple results in the most pleasing meal.

­­
From 'The Art of Chinese Cuisine' by Hsiang Ju Lin and Tsuifeng Lin is a recipe for Dongpo pork. A simple recipe but one that requires the cook to have a clear understanding of the ingredients at hand to obtain the best result.
­­
­

"..

Dongpo Pork is customarily served at the end of a meal with
bowls of rice. People sigh, shout and groan with happiness when
they see it. This is one of the pinnacles of gastronomy, and sums
up the appreciation of fat in Chinese cuisine.

Dongpo Pork 

575 g belly pork in one piece
2 level tablespoons salt
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon wine
2 spring onions
2 slices ginger

Trim pork into a precise square. Wash it and wipe it dry with a towel.
Rub it with salt and let it stand for about 2 hours. Discard the blood-
tinged liquid.
Bring 12 cups water to the boil and blanch the meat in it. Rinse it free
of scum and repeat the blanching with a fresh portion of boiling water.
Place the pork skin side up in a pot with a tight-fitting lid, adding soy
sauce, wine, spring onions, ginger and 2 tablespoons water. Bring to the
boil, then reduce the heat to very low and simmer for 2 hours, adding
a little more water if necessary. Keep the amount of liquid as small as
possible, and do not keep uncovering the pot to see how the pork is
progressing. Let it stew in its own juices.
Discard the spring onions and ginger. Place the square skin side down on
a dish of soup plate dimensions; add the juices and cover it very closely
with foil, cellophane or an overlapping plate. Steam it for 4 hours, until
the fat is tender and can be cut with a spoon. Invert the square so that
the fat is uppermost, and pour the juices around it carefully.

                                                             .."
­

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.