Split Pea Soup goes Asian

Recently I made a split pea soup to imitate the pea and ham soups that my mum used to make for me. On the weekend I made a split pea soup with an Asian makeover which was equally tasty but worlds away from my childhood.

In fact it made me think about Michael Pollan’s directions not to eat anything your great-great grandmother wouldn’t recognise as food. She wouldn’t recognise this soup, although I know that he is referring to what is edible rather than what is recognizable. But it did make me think. What if I showed her a star anise or a piece of seaweed? Would any of my ancestors think you could eat them? Even within my own modern household, E is wary enough.

I have seen Michael Pollan’s books (The Omnivore’s Dilemma and In Defence of Food) in the stores and been tempted but it was only when other bloggers mentioned him being in town, that I read this New York Times article online. I like his stuff. He talks about the complexity of food and nutrition and he suggests we have not yet unlocked all the mysteries of the carrot’s soul. He reminds us that we are just part of a larger picture that depends upon the whole food web being healthy for our own survival. His wisdom is quite obvious – such as the reminder that the more a food is promoted as healthy, the less likely it is to be compared to fresh food – but a welcome reminder to think about what we are told by corporations. His refrain is: eat food, mostly plants, not too much.

His ideas reinforced mine. I agree with him that I should use gut instinct rather than in-depth nutritional knowledge to work out what to eat. Admittedly my inclination is partly laziness but I like his suggestion that we treat food as a relationship rather than a medicine. This resonates with my interest in food history. Best of all I am pleased to see him suggesting we eat less meat. I know that the world is not going to turn vegetarian (or at least not overnight) but it disappoints me that there is so little discussion of reducing meat consumption when people talk about green issues. So maybe I will buy one of his books.

But back to my soup. I really do find the star anise an odd object. Most like something you might find on a beach than a food of any sort. Pretty to look at but more ornamental than flavoursome. It is the first time I have used it. So E and I stood in the kitchen marveling at its beauty and smelling its scent. E wasn’t too keen on a liquorice soup.

But the soup was not reeking of liquorice at all. It was tasty, thick and warming with hints of shitake, soy sauce and ginger. The delicate greenery of watercress and spring onions plus the chewy slivers of shitake mushrooms give it a more complex texture than the hearty heaviness of the more traditional split pea soup. Maybe it tasted even better because we waited until my pumpkin bread came out of the oven. An intense and interesting soup with freshly baked bread gives such simple and satisfying pleasure.

I made this soup for Holler and Lisa’s No Croutons Required event. This month Lisa is host and has asked us to make a soup or salad with legumes. For this event I wanted my soup to look as amazing as it tasted and so I used my star anise to garnish it. If you wish to do so, remember it is pretty to look at but not edible so remove before digging your spoon in. Maybe you might say that my great great grandmother would have been right about that. Aren’t they always!

Shitake and Star Anise Split Pea Soup
(from The New Vegan Cookbook by Lorna Sass)
Serves 4

- 1 oz dried shitake mushrooms
- 2 whole small star anise ‘flowers’
- 2 cups boiling water plus 4 cups additional water
- 1 tbsp peanut oil (I used canola oil)
- 5 spring onions chopped, white and green parts kept separate
- 1 large onion, finely diced
- 2 tsp crushed garlic
- ¼ cup dry sherry
- 1½ cups split peas, picked over and rinsed
- ½ tsp salt
- Chunk of fresh ginger (2-3 inch was enough for me)
- 2 to 3 cups loosely packed watercress leaves (from 1 average bunch) or spinach
- 1 tbsp Japanese soy sauce
- 1½ tsp toasted sesame oil – optional
- 1 tbsp black sesame seeds for garnish – optional

Place the shitake and star anise in a small bowl or measuring jug and pour 2 cups of boiling water over them and leave for about 10 minutes or until the shitake to soften. If your shitake mushrooms are whole, remove from water and slice thinly. Return to water and set aside.

Heat the oil in a medium-to-large saucepan. Fry the onion, white part of the spring onion and garlic over medium high heat for about 2 minutes or til they start to soften. Add the sherry and cook over high heat for about 30 seconds or til most of the liquid has evaporated.

Add 4 cups water, sherry, split peas, salt and shitake/star anise water that was set aside. Bring to the boil, cover and simmer for about 50-60 minutes or til split peas are soft and mushy. Stir occasionally and taste from time to time to check if enough flavour released from star anise. Remove star anise early if required but I just removed them when the peas were cooked.

While the soup is cooking prepare the ginger juice by finely grating the fresh ginger and squeezing it between your fingers til you have made up 1 tbsp. Discard the wad of ginger pulp. The juice made by my ginger was cloudy and amazingly yellow. Set aside.

When the peas are cooked remove star anise and stir the soup to encourage the peas to dissolve and thicken it. About 5 minutes before serving add the watercress (keep a few sprigs aside for garnish if desired), spring onion greens, soy sauce, ginger juice and sesame oil. Cook until greens have wilted. Serve garnished with toasted black sesame seeds and a few sprigs of watercress (and star anise if you are aiming to impress).

On the stereo:
Greatest Irish Bands: Various Artists

Who gives a fig about dried cherries?

Blogging makes the world seem like one global community until it comes to sourcing ingredients that are common elsewhere than my own little corner of the world. Most foods I can substitute but as a lover of cherries, I wish we could readily buy the dried version.

I have grown up with glace cherries as part of most dried fruit mixes that are used in fruit cakes and puddings. Vividly red and senselessly sweet they don’t seem to have much in common with the dark complex flavours of fresh cherries. It is like comparing the sweetness and light of Pride and Prejudice with the gloom and intensity of Persuasion (no prizes for guessing what was on the telly tonight). While Lizzie Bennett is a fine heroine, I can’t help but feel that she is merely wishful thinking. Anne Elliot, on the other hand, is so much more authentic if we are trying to find Jane Austen preserved in her literature.

Similarly, glace cherries have a particular charm but a recent opportunity to taste dried cherries made me wonder why we would do this to fresh cherries. Why must they be processed beyond recognition? Why couldn’t they retain some of their intense flavour? What a waste of lovely cherries! According to Wikipedia, the practice of making glace, candied or crystallized fruit goes back to the 14th Century and involves boiling fresh fruit in a sugary syrup to preserve it. Sure drying it will do this just as well these days.

And why am I so concerned? Because I decided I would use dried cherries for two different recipes this week. I wanted to use them instead of glace cherries in a solstice cake for AOF’s event (which will take some time as all good fruit cakes do) and in Ricki’s Fig and Cherry Bars. But when I finally got to the one place in Melbourne that I know sells them (David Jones) there was one 80g packet left on the shelf! Plus, they are imported from the USA and ridiculously expensive.

I wanted to make Fig and Cherry Bars but instead I bought some dried mixed berries which was the next best thing. I would love to make these bars with cherries and envy Ricki a little for being easily able to buy them. However I was able to add dried apricots which are readily available and cost about a tenth of the price. I am sure now that you will understand me renaming these bars. Although I used berries and apricots for this batch, it would be easier to use just apricots next time with no sacrifice in taste.

I hope there will be a next time. These bars are easy to make. I made them after dinner and was able to nibble on one by the time I sat down to watch Spicks and Specks (a favourite music quiz show) on the telly. I have found them an excellent alternative to the choc chip cookies I like to make. These bars are delicious, nutritious and satisfying. I am much less likely to feel the need for just one more as I sometimes do with the cookies. Yet another great recipe from Ricki!

Fig and Almond Bars
(Adapted from Diet, Dessert and Dogs)

1¼ cups (200g) roughly chopped dried figs, stems removed
2 cups (200g) ground almonds
¼ cup (30g) finely ground flax seeds
zest of 1 orange
2 Tbsp (30ml) agave syrup (or orange juice?)
2 Tbsp (30ml) tahini
1 cup (130g) dried cherries, berries or dried apricots (I used a mixture)

Place figs in the food processor to finely chop. Add remaining dried fruit. If your food processor is like mine it will end up a ball of fruit. Add remaining ingredients and process further. It will look a bit like sticky crumbly dough and should hold together when pressed between your fingers.

Use the back of a spoon or your hands to press into a lightly greased a 28 x 18 cm (or 20cm x 20 cm) slice tin. (If you use your hands they will smell heavenly and I find it much easier than the back of a spoon.) Place in fridge til firm (about an hour) and then cut into bars. Ricki suggested 12 bars but I cut it smaller. Keep in the fridge for up to 2 weeks.

On the Stereo:
Ostpolitik: Spartak

Polenta Quinoa Sticks with Rhubarb Sauce

‘Is that red celery?’ asks the clueless young lad wanding my food through the supermarket check out. I stop for a moment. Is there such a thing as red celery? I am half excited at the idea of a new food and half confused at the possibility that I have picked up the wrong thing. But then I come to my senses and tell him it is rhubarb.

This is so different from buying rhubarb at the farmer’s market where the nice salesperson will advise me on how to cook it. But it did make me wonder if supermarkets do have a role in public education. If this boy hasn’t learnt to identify his fruit and vegetables at home or school, then I hope he will take away a little knowledge as well as pocket money from this part time job.

I might have felt like the one with the knowledge at the supermarket check-out, but in the world of blogging we are constantly learning new things. In making this dinner, I not only learnt that polenta and quinoa go together very well, but also that it is possible to cook polenta in the microwave without having to attempt to stir a pot that reminds me of a belching volcano of vicious lava.

As usual, I have other bloggers to thank for their inspiration. Rachel at Wheat Free Meat Free shared the brilliant idea for Polenta Quinoa Sticks. I found this recipe through the round-up for the Beautiful Bones event held by Susan at Food Blogga. Rachel served her sticks with tomato sauce and cheese, in the style of a parmigiana. But further inspiration came to me from Mansi at Fun and Food who is hosting Meeta’s Monthly Mingle, with the theme this month of appetizers and hors d’oeuvres.

Appetizers makes me think of light first course dishes such as tomatoes stuffed with guacamole or stuffed pears but I rarely serve a series of courses and if I do I am more likely to start with a soup. On the odd occasions that I hold parties, I tend to serve finger food such as vegetarian sausage rolls or dips such as hummus. But I imagine that these polenta quinoa sticks, much like a healthy version of chips, would be perfect for entertaining if served with an interesting sauce. I couldn't resist making the Rhubarb Dipping Sauce that I found in The Vegetarian Lunchbox by Linda Haynes.

The hardest part about making these sticks is the planning. I had to start preparing at lunchtime to have them ready by dinner. I misunderstood what a griddle is (isn’t that a frypan?) and fried these easily without too much smoke or sticking. But I will try baking the leftovers which is what I have now seen that Rachel did and which would be easier if preparing them for a crowd. They were a pleasing contrast of crispy edges, soft polenta and nubbly quinoa. The rhubarb sauce had sweet, spicy and sour notes that made me wonder if it might be umami (a term I still don’t have my tongue around, if you’ll excuse the pun).

At the end of the meal E was quite surprised to find he had been eating rhubarb sauce, despite me discussing it with him a couple of times. I guess the idea just was too weird for his brain to comprehend it. We both loved the polenta quinoa sticks with the sauce. I served it with lots of vegetables (roasted beetroot, pumpkin, zucchini and mushroom, and steamed broccoli) which pleased me but not E so much. But we did find that steamed broccoli is also wonderful dipped into the sauce. (Note the new dipping bowls recently given to me by my dad.)

I think the pairing of comforting chippies and unusual flavours in the sauce makes this the sort of dish that not only might make the tastebuds tingle at a party but would also provide a talking point when people discovered there is rhubarb in a savoury sauce.

Polenta Quinoa Sticks
(From Wheat Free Meat Free )
Serves 4-6

- ¾ cup cornmeal
- ½ cup quinoa (I used red quinoa)
- 4 cups water
- Salt and pepper
- 2 Tbsp. olive oil
- Optional extras: parmesan cheese, tasty cheese, nutritional yeast, fresh herbs, baby spinach, spring onions, sundried tomatoes, olives (I added parmesan and baby spinach)

Place cornmeal, quinoa, water and salt and pepper in a microwave-proof bowl and stir. Microwave the uncovered bowl on high for 7½ minutes. Stir and cook on high a further 7½ minutes. (You can also make the polenta-quinoa in a saucepan on the stove by simmering, covered, for 20 minutes, or until quinoa is al dente. Turn off heat and leave saucepan covered for 10 minutes and then use a fork to fluff up.)

Cool for 5 minutes. Stir in olive oil and any optional ingredients. Spoon mixture into a greased 28 x 18 cm slice tin. (I think I might use baking paper to line mine next time.) Cool for about 2 hours or til it feels to be about room temperature. (I think placing the tin on a wire rack might help it cool.) Place in the fridge for about 3 hours or til cool (You can cover with plastic wrap but I didn’t.) Rachel helpfully says you can leave it here for a few days if necessary.

Invert on cutting board and cut into sticks or cut in the tin. I cut mine into batons about the size of large chips. Spray oil on a non-stick frypan and fry for about 20 minutes, turning occasionally. Or place on an oiled oven tray and bake in a moderately hot oven (200 C) for about 20-30 minutes or until brown and crusty.

Serve with melted mozzarella and tomato sauce (parmigiana) or with a dipping sauce such as the Rhubarb sauce below.

Rhubarb Dipping Sauce
(adapted from Linda Haynes)
Serves 4-6

2 cups rhubarb (about 2 medium stalks)
½ cup water
¼ cup honey
Juice of ¼ lemon
1 tbsp seeded mustard
1 small garlic clove, crushed
Pinch of cayenne pepper

Cut rhubarb into 1 inch chunks and place in a small saucepan with the water. Bring to the boil and simmer for 10-15 minutes (mine was well done after 10). If you have a bit extra cooked rhubarb it goes well in a smoothie.

Add remaining ingredients and blend using a hand held blender or a food processor.

On the Stereo:
Revolver: The Beatles

Shamburgers

I love a good name for a recipe. Some of my favourites are rumbledethumps, the enchanted broccoli forest and mock turtle. These names conjure up wonderful images that make you curious if not enlightened.

I have always been particularly fascinated by the names inspired by the vegetarian’s search for alternatives to meat: facon, tricken, and chilli non carne. So I was delighted recently to discover a recipe for Shamburgers. What a great name!

The recipe comes from a 1963 cookbook called Sixty-Three Meatless Meals by Bridget Amies that I recently purchased. It is written for the harassed housewife and advises that ‘the preparation of meals should be undertaken in a happy state of mind’ and you should never eat when you are worried or tired or in a hurry. If I took this advice I would be sure to lose weight because there would be days that I would never eat. More reassuring is that assertion that meatless meals can be tasty and nourishing.

Ms Amies presents recipes with some slight differences to those we expect to see today. They are rich in cheese and nuts, use outdated measurements (such as a gill and a dessertspoonful), and don’t give as much instruction as today’s recipes (how long? how hot?). She feels the need to explain that ‘gniocchi’ is pronounced ‘noky’. And I don’t think many modern cookbooks would recommend an asbestos mat for cooking ‘rissotto’.

It is interesting to see how the terminology has changed. No one today would freely use the word ‘fats’ rather than oil or butter. What we know as ‘raw food’ seems to be the same as her ‘unfired foods’. Saying ‘fireproof dish’ rather than ‘ovenproof dish’ suggests a world where people still cooked on an open fire or had those around them who remembered such times.

Her recipes for nut cutlets, nut roasts and shamburgers shows why such vegetarian substitutes for meat were quite unpopular. I couldn’t resist making the shamburgers because I loved the name but I probably would not usually make such nut-heavy burgers. In a way, I understand that the concentration of nuts does make it more like the meat burgers I once ate but it seems quite old-fashioned. Their unrelenting nuttiness reminded me a little of the Michaelmas nut roast I made from a 1910 cookbook.

But it does show how the vegetarian diet has changed along with other general dietary changes. Most modern nut roasts I have come across have more vegetables, flavours and breadcrumbs (or other grains) so they don’t feel like a mouthful of ground nuts. I also found out just how dry the dreaded nut cutlet could be when I left the shamburgers in the oven to reheat a little too long on the second night.

However, if you manage not to overcook them, these Shamburgers are quite tasty. Ms Amies suggests serving them with brown gravy and two vegetables such as cauliflower and carrots. We had them with marinated, roasted root vegetables and some brussel sprouts on the first night. On the second night I was inspired by AOF's gravy to mix tahini and miso with mashed pumpkin to make a side dish that wasn’t sure if it should be called a sauce or a vegetable. It is something I will continue to experiment with. And I hope I will try some other recipes from this book. Seems our ancestors weren’t completely clueless about vegetarian cooking.

Shamburgers
(From 63 Meatless Meals)
Makes 8-12

50g ground almonds
100g ground peanuts
100g nut meal
50g grated cheese
100g breadcrumbs
Rind of 1 lemon
2 tbsp parsley, finely chopped
1 onion, finely chopped
1 tbsp mixed herbs
2 eggs or 1 gill of white sauce
Seasoning
For crumbing: 2 eggs and extra breadcrumbs

Mix all ingredients together (except extra eggs and breadcrumbs). Before shaping set out two shallow bowls. In one pour a generous amount of breadcrumbs and in the other lightly beat two eggs. Shape into burgers (the recipe says to shape as for fishcakes - I just made palm sized burgers). Toss each burger first in breadcrumbs, then in egg and then in breadcrumbs again. Fry or bake. I suggest lightly frying for about 5 minutes either side and then bake in a moderate oven for 15-30 minutes til just starting to brown. (The first night I served them I fried them for about 7-8 minutes per side and the second night I put the cold burgers in the oven for 45 minute which was much too long and they were on the dry side.)

On the stereo:
Stasis: the UA Years: 1971-1975: Hawkwind

Black Ruby: light and luscious

Spending a long time in one neighbourhood means you see cafes open and fold, your past comes back to haunt you and you get to know the best places to eat. Or so it seemed when E and I met fellow blogger AOF on the weekend in Rathdowne Village.

Having spent far longer around this area than I ever did, she can tell stories of the rise and fall of certain places. We were happy for her to recommend a café. She chose Black Ruby. When we arrived she was buried in a cup of coffee and the weekend paper at a chunky wooden table in front of a disused fireplace. I warmed to the airy brightness of the place. Light poured in the large front window and reflected off the cream and red walls. It seemed surprising to me, given that the name suggested dark caverns.

The place was busy, but it didn’t seem cramped. I approve of a café that isn’t full of tiny tables which leave no room for the paper once a meal is served. When our brunch came on large white plates, we could have easily had room to spread out a broadsheet.

The menu offered lots of interesting veggie choices. E played the stereotypical Scot and ordered porridge with berries and apples. He was most pleased with its creaminess and happy not to have too much fruit. AOF had a fine looking plate of hash browns, poached egg, mushrooms and relish. It all seemed so healthy. But I took a risk and indulged in pancakes.

My coconut pancakes were served with pears, walnuts and toffee sauce. The stack was swimming in the thick sticky sweet sauce. I enjoyed the addition of desiccated coconut which made the pancakes more substantial than the usual fluffy offerings. The pears and walnuts offered an interesting and refreshing contrast to richness of the sauce. Delicious but decadent. I probably could have done with more fruit and less sauce. Would I order it again? Probably not. Am I glad I tried it? Definitely. Next time I would like to try the vegetarian big breakfast despite AOF’s reservations about the black bean sausages.

So yes, it seems that living locally does help AOF pick an excellent café. When we got talking, we discovered that staying in one place also means you are never far from old faces and places. In fact, we discovered that we had both lived in the same share house, but at different times. Isn’t the blogosphere a small world!

But I have to end this post on a sad, albeit esoteric, note. After brunch, E and I picked up a painting we have had framed and headed on up to the Melbourne Museum to see the Melbourne Story Exhibition. Afterwards I insisted we go to see in the giraffe in the menagerie of stuffed animals. But there was no giraffe. I thought I had seen him there, but the staff thought he hadn’t been on display since the museum moved to Carlton from Swanston Street some years ago. I am now hoping that one day my friend the giraffe will re-emerge to once more bring joy to many visitors.

Update 2012: My mum now goes to Black Ruby regularly to buy gluten free bread.  My celiac sister says it is the best GF bread she has tasted.

Black Ruby
344 Rathdowne St
Carlton North 3054 VIC
Phone: (03) 9348 2777

Rabbiting on about Cheese and Rarebit!

"The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese." G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936)

This quote was on a birthday card I received this year (thanks Chris). It gave me cause to wonder about if cheese really had been ignored in literature. Seems odd, given that our culture vultures enjoy nothing more than a night of cheese and wine.

Firstly my thoughts turned to humour. Some of my favourite moments in comedy have revolved around cheese. There is Monty Python in The Life of Brian with the Blessed are the Cheesemakers scene. (Incidentally, did you know there is a location near Jerusalem called the Valley of the Cheesemakers?) Monty Python also had the classic Cheese Shop sketch (which in turn begot the name of a local subscriber radio comedy show in Melbourne). Who can forget Alan Partridge running around after a BBC executive yelling ‘Smell my cheese’? And then there were the silly cheesy peas skits on the Fast Show.

But what about literary appearances? Well a quick internet search shows that it wasn’t just the comedians commenting on cheese. The history of cheese dates back to around 8000 BC so it not hard to find mention of it in literature. Here are a few examples throughout history:

- c 1000 BCE: in the Bible, David escaped across the River Jordan he was fed with 'cheese of kine' (cows) (2 Samuel 17:29), and it is said that he presented ten cheeses to the captain of the army drawn up to do battle with Saul (1 Samuel 17:18).
- c 8th Century BCE: Homer in The Odyssey describes the Cyclops making and storing sheep's and goats' milk cheese
- 1st Century BCE: Virgil loved it and once wrote, ‘Yet this night you might have rested here with me o this green leafage. We have ripe apples, mealy chestnuts and a wealth of pressed cheese.’
- 1546: John Heywood wrote in Proverbes that "the moon is made of a greene cheese."
- 1602: In the Merry Wives of Windsor, Shakespeare wrote, ‘I will make an end to my dinner, there’s pippins and cheese to come’
- 19th Century: "Many's the long night I've dreamed of cheese -- toasted, mostly." Robert Louis Stevenson

If only GK Chesterton had access to the internet, he would never have made his claim. In searching for this, I was delighted to find that I shared my lifelong love of cheese on toast with Robert Louis Stevenson.

When I was little my mum often made it for us. We usually had it with tomato sauce on top of the cheese. I thought my mum was particularly sophisticated because she sometimes had the cheese plain with just a bit of pepper on it. E and I still eat cheese on toast quite a lot for a quick lunch. It is something he excels at. He always has Tabasco on his and I like mine grilled a lot longer than his. When I am feeling fancy I sometimes have pesto, tomato, mushrooms, and spinach under the cheese. But on days lacking in energy, plain old cheese on toast gets us through.

Of course I would be too embarrassed to tell you how to melt some cheese on toast. That would be like telling my grandmother how to suck eggs! So today I thought I would share a fancy cheese on toast recipe which is now known as Welsh Rarebit. The origins of the name rarebit are full of humour, so it seemed appropriate for a post on cheese in literature and comedy. Rarebit was first recorded in 1725 and so we only have rumours and supposition about the origins of the name.

Some say the name came about because the Welsh were so poor that in Wales the poor man’s meat was cheese. It may have been a dish resorted to when rabbit was not available. Another story that amused me was that of Welsh wives waiting for their husbands to return from hunting rabbits. When they returned empty handed the melted cheese was had instead of the game. A more prosaic explanation is that hors d’oeuvre were sometimes known as forebits and the morsels at the end of the meal as rearbits.

My favourite description is by the American satirist Ambrose Bierce in his 1911 Devil's Dictionary: "RAREBIT n. A Welsh rabbit, in the speech of the humorless, who point out that it is not a rabbit. To whom it may be solemnly explained that the comestible known as toad in the hole is really not a toad."

I made Welsh Rarebit with Leeks last week after a trip to the market that yielded a fine loaf of Irrewarra sourdough bread and Watsonia Cheddar Cheese. The bread has a shiny crust and is so sturdy that you can carry it around under a bag of apples and it wont even dent. The cheese is so creamy that it melts onto the grater and it has a wonderful bite. I also bought a lovely local bronze beer called Three Ravens which is brewed in Thornbury (Melbourne). Only the best for rarebit.

The recipe I have was taken from Delicious magazine some years ago. The leeks don’t seem to be traditional. But their addition seems appropriately Welsh and also lightens the heavy cheese sauce. The intense gloopy sauce needs a good firm bread to soak into or you could end up with something like bread and butter pudding. Even with leeks, it is so rich that you really do need some salad or vegetables on the side. And for those who like a little heat, the English mustard really does give it some kick. This is great quick comforting winter food.

Welsh Rarebit with Leeks
(from Delicious Magazine)
Serves 4 as a light meal, or 2 for a very filling meal

1 large leek or 2 small leeks, trimmed and washed
1 tbsp unsalted butter
4 thick slices good sourdough bread
150g grated mature cheddar or double gloucester cheese
1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1 egg yolk
1 tbsp English mustard (I used mustard powder)
Pinch cayenne pepper
2-3 tbsp beer

Finely slice leeks (including some of the green part). Melt butter and cook leeks over medium heat for 5 minutes or til soft and wilted (mine took longer). Set aside.

Lightly toast bread on both sides in grill or toaster.

Add remainder of ingredients to the saucepan of leeks. Only add 2 tbsp of beer initially and then add an extra tbsp if needed. The cheese sauce should be of a gloopy consistency.

Divide sauce between pieces of toast and spread to cover each piece. Place under the grill for two minutes or until scorched, hot and melting. I served ours with a green salad and corn on the cob.

Sources:
http://www.gol27.com/HistoryCheese.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheese
http://www.foodreference.com/html/fcheese.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welsh_rabbit
http://www.foodtimeline.org/foodfaq1.html#rabbit (includes traditional recipes)

On the stereo:
The Singles: Suede

Eggless Chocolate Cake Misadventures

One of the most interesting series of posts I have seen lately is Wendy’s experiences in learning to bake the cake for her friend’s wedding. As a novice baker, she tried a few different recipes and solicited much useful advice from other bloggers. These posts and the comments that go with it are full of humour, drama and wisdom. The result was a spectacular cake.

So in the same spirit of sharing I thought I would share with you a recent misadventure with a chocolate cake. Many of my cakes are made to share with friends and family. Fortunately this one was made for just the two of us on a whim one night when I wanted a little comfort and saw an alluring picture that promised great things for my half can of condensed milk that was lurking in the fridge.

Chocolate, condensed milk and no eggs. Sounded like a perfect combination. So I followed Dhivya’s recipe and took it out of the oven after 20 minutes. The skewer came out clean but the top of the cake looked like it was so light as to be quite fragile. Nevertheless I tipped it out onto a teatowel on a wirerack, wanting to believe it was cooked. And then, not feeling inclined towards delayed gratification, I cut myself a piece or two of freshly baked cake.

The edges of the cake were a good light cake but the inside was oozing uncooked cake mixture. Now there are some cakes which benefit from a gooey middle but this is not one of them. This is an old-fashioned chocolate cake that develops proper crumbs rather than a rich sludgy molten texture. Just the sort of cake my mum used to make. Luckily, it was made for comfort rather than to impress. I managed to flip it back into the cake tin and baked it in a low oven for another half hour. After that it was quite nice although probably a little heavier than it should have been. Fresh it was deliciously moist and soft. The next day I iced the rest of it which meant E was quite happy to share it.

Dealing with this problem, made me think about baking cakes. I often see it said that baking is a science and you can’t veer from the straight and narrow. A lot of comments in Wendy’s posts suggested she had to follow instructions to the letter but I was more inclined to think that with practice she would develop instinct. The more you bake the more you understand the science intuitively. My brother once worked at a cake shop and his boss never used a timer for a cake but used her nose to know when a cake was ready to come out of the oven. But I guess you need to know the rules to break them.

So later I gave some thought to why this cake veered off the tracks. Maybe my measurements were a bit out because I use Australian measuring cups which are a little larger than American. I confess to having a lackadaisical attitude towards measurements and methods at time. Most probably the problem was that my oven is not a particularly powerful one and the tin I used was probably a bit smaller than Dhivya’s.

I was pleased I was able to rescue my cake. (Wish it was as easy to fix the slow broadband connection we have been having the last few days! Grrr! It is taking forever to load this one wee post!) But back to the cake, we really enjoyed it as an after dinner treat. This is a good store cupboard cake to make when you need a quick chocolate cake fix. I will make it again but will be a bit more wary of baking times.

Eggless Chocolate Cake
(from Tarla Dalal via Culinary Bazaar)

2 tablespoons cocoa powder
1 cup plain flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon bi-carbonate of soda
½ can (200g) condensed milk
½ cup (125g) melted butter
100ml water
1 teaspoon vanilla essence

Combine all the ingredients together in a bowl and mix well. Pour mixture into a greased 15 cm (6") square cake tin. (Dhivya used a 15 cm round tin.)

Bake in a pre-heated oven at 180°C (360°F) for 20 minutes or till a skewer inserted into the cake comes out clean and the top of the cake feels springy. I baked mine for an extra 30 minutes at 150°C. Turn out onto a wire rack to cool. Ice with chocolate icing if desired.

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