The Elegant Sufficiency

Sweet Potato, Spinach and Lentils

5.38pm.
Escaped office early to plot a new publication, a very exciting new publication, that I'll be superintending at work. (More on that to follow.)
A glass of red to lubricate creative process.
Then another one.
Then my stomach starts rumbling and I remember that the wine really doesn't fit with Weight Watchers points-keeping and that I need to cook a nutritious, low-points meal for myself, and that I can't order pizza which I'm craving shockingly.
The plan was to do something with sweet potato, spinach and lentils. They're all out there, in the fridge out there, and I'm hungry, and lazy, and consumed with the desire to keep being creative in my warm little office where the fan-heater is on at full blast.
Ideas, please.
Sweet potato, spinach and lentils.

A Million Things on My Mind

You can blame my scant presence here in the past couple of weeks on the screenprinting-on-fabric course that I’ve been engrossed in — at the College of Fine Arts in Paddington, every Saturday for the past month. (Have I told you about the homewares line I’m imagining? Elegant Sufficiency teatowels… table napkins…) Every spare moment has been spent planning for Saturday, looking for appropriate images, manipulating them on Photoshop, photocopying them to bring out the contrasts… I’m now wondering if I can turn my balcony into a screenprinting studio. … and whether the blotches and smudges I’ve so far managed to achieve might be considered the work of an artistic genius…

But my attention span right now is short. Walking home from work the other day I drew up a mental ledger of all the things I’d like to do:

• Find a yacht heading out from a South Pacific port into the tropics and join it as a cook/crew member. (Was offered such a job once. Regrets? Yes…)
• Find a little farm on a river and grow things as Sean Moran does (when I rang him a couple of weeks ago he was in the kitchen of his Blue Mountains farm experimenting with a recipe for a chestnut cake using his own chestnut flour … I figure a bit like this brilliant one). And if I had that farm, I’d learn poultry husbandry as my colleague John Lethlean has been doing.
• Learn to make sourdough.
• Go and live on the Greek island of Corfu. Favourite book ever, My Family and Other Animals by Gerald Durrell. Old schoolfriend Marina Kenway (Marina … would be so lovely to catch up) and I went through a stage in Grade 10 at Toowoomba State High School of saving all our tuckshop money, holding back from the Red Seal tomato chips, planning a trip to Corfu to live a Durrell-esque life. 
• Study screenwriting: a copy of the Australian, Film, Television and Radio School’s magazine fell out of my newspaper last week – there’s a new graduate program in screenwriting. “Novelists, journalists, playwrights and screenwriters, please step up,” it said. “This course is not for the faint-hearted; it is for people driven to engage with the world, serious about contributing to Australian screen culture and brave in their choices of subject and style.”
• Go to art school. Mixing colours, thinking about imagery, getting paint-splattered during my screenprinting course was immersive and thrilling… Am I a frustrated artist?
• Learn Japanese and travel from top to toe of the country … write a book about the experience. (Time for another post about the trip I suppose…)
• Go white-water rafting on the Franklin River.
• Etc.

Meanwhile, a dear friend and mentor is telling me to get off my bum and write something. Something serious. Something that didn’t finish after a few hundred words by clicking “Post”. Lots of ideas, something half in progress, but I’m self-doubting and distracted.
Loved this quote by the 19th century French painter Delacroix that I found on the blog The Happiness Project the other day, which seems to sum up some of what I’m feeling:

“A man does not work only for the sake of producing, but to set a value on his time. We feel more satisfied with ourselves and with our day if we have stirred up our minds and made a good start, or have finished a piece of work.”

On top of everything, I’m trying to adhere for a while to the Weight Watchers points system. It focuses my mind on just how much happiness I get out of food and how depriving myself of my usual eat-whatever-I want policy makes me feel deprived and grumpy.
And it reminds me too why I started Elegant Sufficiency in the first place: the mission was to come up with strikingly flavoured dishes, low on fat and carbs.
And so to a recipe: I think this one below almost fits the mission statement, especially if the lamb is trimmed of too much excess fat, you hold out the butter and use low-fat yoghurt as an accompaniment. (Two similarly lovely recipes here from Greg Malouf and Karen Martini.)
But the real question is … am I the only one who dreams and imagines and plots too much for my own good?

Moroccan-inspired lamb tagine
Serves 6

boned shoulder lamb (1.5kg)
½ tbsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
generous pinch ground saffron
2 tbsp olive oil
1oz unsalted butter
2 onions, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
6oz raisins, soaked in water and drained
2 tbsp honey
3 tbsp chopped coriander
2oz flaked almonds
sea salt

Trim the lamb, discarding excess fat. Cut into cubes. Dissolve saffron threads in 4tbsp hot water. Mix in cinnamon, ginger and pepper. Toss the lamb and spice mixture together. Marinate for up to 24 hours.
Heat oil and butter in a wide pan. Brown the lamb — you may need to do this in batches — stirring constantly to prevent it sticking and burning. Add the onions and garlic and stir until they soften. Add a good pinch of salt and enough water to just cover meat. Bring to the boil, then reduce heat and cover. Simmer for an hour, stirring occasionally, until the lamb is tender. Add the drained raisins, honey, and half the coriander. Simer for another 30 minutes or so, uncovered, until the sauce starts to thicken. Taste, and adust seasoning.
In a small non-stick frying pan, fry the almonds until golden.
Just before serving, sprinkle almonds and remaining coriander over lamb. Serve with a good blob of yoghurt and couscous.

20 Questions, 1 Light Dish, Number 3

"20 Questions, 1 Light Dish" is an (occasional) Elegant Sufficiency feature in which I ask the people who really understand flavour – chefs – to share a brilliant, light, guilt-free recipe for everyday eating.
Last chef to share his thoughts was Greg Malouf, who offered up a wonderful 18-Minute Chicken Tagine.
This time round, I’ve asked Maurice Esposito, chef/owner of Esposito at Toofey’s in Carlton, Melbourne, for a contribution. Maurice draws on his Italian heritage and his love of seafood to create fine, contemporary food. His brilliant recipe below — Red Emperor, Carrot Puree, White Asparagus, Carrot and Ginger Reduction — relies on a great piece of fish and the intense, concentrated flavours of a slow-cooked baked vegetable and reduced juices.

 

MAURICE ESPOSITO

1. Molecular gastronomy: yes or no?
Yes — it’s an evolution in cooking and it’s always important to push boundaries.
2. Chef you’d most like to meet?
Alain Ducasse. I believe in Ducasse’s philosophy – that all wonderful cuisine starts with wonderful product. In one of his books he states, “haute cuisine is 60% product, 40% technique”.
3. Restaurant you¹d most like to visit?
The Fat Duck – Heston Blumenthal really intrigues me. He’s challenging palates and I think his restaurant would be inspiring for any chef. I saw him on a science documentary on the Discovery Channel – you don’t see chefs in that context everyday. He challenges people’s perception of food and that’s the good part of molecular gastronomy for me. We need to go forward.
4. Most stained cookbook?
Grand Livre de Cuisine by Alain Ducasse – it’s also the biggest book I have. Ducasse is strongly influenced by the Mediterranean and so (it features) olive oil, olives, zucchini flowers – not heavy reductions. He brings traditional French into the realms of modern cooking – he is relevant to today.
5. Most memorable meal?
The French Laundry – 16 incredible courses, no duds. Aspects of dishes stay in my memory like a slab of candied smoked bacon – sweet, salty unctuousness; foie gras parfait with popcorn – a signature dish of Thomas Keller’s — with a glass of Sauternes. It was so bloody good.
6. Favourite dish your Mum cooked?
Braised rabbit with artichokes on pappardelle.
7. Desert island ingredients?
Rye sourdough from Baker D.Chirico and good salty butter like Mauri butter from Piemonte in Italy.
8. Favourite holiday destination?
Spain, anywhere in Spain.
9. Favourite kitchen utensil?
Hand-held Bamix. I use it to emulsify sauces – I like to use it for some dishes just before I plate up – if I introduce milk or citrus at the last minute the air lightens what could otherwise be a heavy sauce.
10. Favourite food store?
Mediterranean Wholesalers, Brunswick: I stock up on tinned tomatoes, unfiltered olive oil, pastas, olives – the standard pantry stuff.
11. Last food-related purchase?
I bought a restaurant in Carlton, that’s a food-related purchase isn’t it?
12. Biggest kitchen disaster?
The opening night when I was at Otto restaurant in Sydney. It was a new development in an old building and the sprinkler sensors obviously hadn’t been checked. As we opened the combi-oven to organise the first course, the steam that poured out of it set the sprinklers off. It was literally flooding in the kitchen and there were 100 people in the restaurant. They spent the rest of the evening being fed cold canapés and plenty of Bollinger and all left very happy (must have been the never-ending Bolly!).
13. Average breakfast?
Café latte with two sugars.
14. Guilty pleasure?
Valrhona chocolate semifreddo — a dessert at work I can't take off the menu.
15. What would you never give up?
Red wine – at the moment it’s Chestnut Hill Pinot Noir from Mount Burnett in Victoria.
16. Do you like a drink?
Hell yes!
17. Best snack for someone watching their weight?
A handful of nuts – almonds in particular.
18. Exercise regime?
I’m always at work, but I do like to go for a run once a week – if I’m lucky.
19. Hot weight-loss tip?
All things in moderation (including moderation).
20. Why this dish?
It’s seasonal, it’s healthy, you can eat this dish everyday – it’s not heavy, the flavours and textures are so simple but full of flavour.



Red Emperor, Carrot Puree, White Asparagus, Carrot and Ginger Reduction
Serves 2

2x 200g fillet red emperor
Carrot puree and reduction:
1 bunch dutch carrots
¼ teaspoon coriander seeds
500ml orange juice (5-6 six oranges)
½ teaspoon tarragon leaves
½ clove garlic, crushed
2 whole star anise
sea salt
Asparagus salad:
12 spears white asparagus
1 sprig tarragon leaves
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
sea salt to taste

Carrot puree and reduction: Preheat oven to 220C. Peel carrots. Place coriander seeds in a flameproof baking dish and toast in the oven for two minutes. Add remaining ingredients, cover and seal with foil and bake in the oven for about 50 minutes until carrots are tender. (This sounds like a long time but you want  carrots to be very soft, full of the flavour of the cooking liquid.)
Asparagus salad: Trim the asparagus and blanch in boiling water for three minutes. Refresh immediately in cold water. Drain. Pick the tarragon leaves, chop roughly and sprinkle over the asparagus. Drizzle the asparagus and tarragon with the olive oil and season to taste. Set aside.
When carrots are cooked, cool carrots in the cooking liquid. Remove carrots from liquid and strain the liquid into a small saucepan. Blend the carrots in a blender, using a little of the juice, until they form a puree. Set aside.
Return the liquid to a medium heat, and reduce until it has the consistency of a syrup.
To cook the fish: Heat a frying pan that can go in the oven. Season the skin side of the fillets with salt and pepper and brush with a little olive oil. Place skin-side down for three minutes, turn the fillet and cook for one more minute. Depending on the thickness of the fillet, you may need to finish it in the oven for a few minutes.
To serve: Reheat the carrot puree, then spoon on to a plate. Place the fish on the puree, then dress the dish with the asparagus salad. Finish the dish with the remaining syrup and, if desired, fried shallots.

Who Needs a Cookbook?

This post could go in one of several directions.
1. It could explore my timid return to the fish markets at Pyrmont.
2. It could talk about the fact that, against all expectations, salted little capers have use-by dates.
3. It could be yet another grumble about the profoundly dissatisfying state of 21st century tomatoes.
4. Or, it could be an exposition on my belief that the century of the recipe book is over.
(It could even be an album review: Listening, and loving, right now, Missy Higgins’s 2007, On a Clear Night, especially the track Sugarcane. On to fourth replay now.)
But to Point 1: Ventured back to Pyrmont during my lunch hour last week. Discovered a reasonable sushi train with fabulous unagi (grilled eel) sushi. At another outlet, an $11 takeaway container of uni (sea urchin roe). I’m going back for that. I'm helpless in the face of it. Fled De Costi Seafoods after being asked, for a 10th time by yet another sales assistant, whether I needed help. Although very dazzled by their range of squid/calamari/cuttlefish/octopus.
Finally settled on a whole flounder at, I think, Peter’s Seafoods. It was caught in New Zealand waters, and that bothers me, but I set my environmental/air miles concerns to one side, as I wanted something on the bone, not a fillet, to feed one, and that seemed the best option.
No idea what to do with a whole flounder but I’m finding my confidence with fish. Heat+Flesh=Result. I’m looking at the thickness of the fillet or the size of the fish and drawing logical conclusions. That worked on Christmas Day with a whole ocean trout and, last night, like a dream, with my flounder.
Which leads to Points 2 and 3, which can be dealt with quickly. Pulling a little plastic container of capers out of the pantry — Zuccato Capperi Al Sale (product of Italy), it was clear pretty quickly that they don’t last forever, as perhaps I think I imagined they might. Hard little pellets they were, although nothing a little water couldn’t fix. And I ignored the use-by date. What? 2006? That couldn’t possibly be right! I can’t possibly be turning into my mother?!
As for the tomatoes. … well, what more needs to be said. Seems to me that, in this city, unless you have the time to travel half way across town to an overpriced fruit and vegetable merchant, or you’re a restaurant chef with access to the best suppliers, you’ll struggle to find a decent tomato. I’m increasingly using cherry tomatoes, or those little grape tomatoes, as I did with my flounder. Perhaps the tomato story is the same in every city?
Point 4 though, is the one worth spending some time on.  My confidence with fish may be increasing, but I still needed some inspiration. And, on the day I came home with a whole flounder, poor sad ugly little thing it was, my books were still in boxes, waiting for new shelves to be delivered. In any case, it would have taken me half an hour or more to wade through umpteen book indexes looking for flounder ideas. Two minutes on Google turned this up (but I really didn’t need the butter); three minutes and I’d come upon this — Michael Lomonaco of Porter House New York demonstrating a recipe for whole roasted flounder (he calls it “fluke”) with caper and tomato dressing (I guess the olive oil could do as much damage?).
Took me about 10 minutes to pull it all together with a little green salad at the side. Just brilliant. And the fish was superb, coming away from the bone without a murmur.
Given the resources online — especially those from many of you — and given my already considerable collection of food books, and clipped recipes, it’s a rare cookbook that entices me enough to spend money these days. It needs to offer something very special, a very clear point of difference: I’d hoped to find it in Kylie Kwong’s latest, My China, but was disappointed by the lightweight text. Movida: Spanish Culinary Adventures has caught my interest more; partly because I love the restaurant, partly because the recipes are so very appealing and accessible, partly because each recipe is prefaced with a small introduction that explains an element of the dish, or an associated tradition or memory. Beyond Nose to Tail, by British chef Fergus Henderson, has that X factor thanks to its considerable eccentricity and humour (“toss with conviction” is the suggestion in one recipe). And, offal lover that I am, it’s impossible not to be persuaded by recipes such as Confit Pig’s Cheek and Dandelion, and Chicken and Ox Tongue Pie.
But all that said, I find it fairly easy these days to avoid cookbook purchases. Am I the only one to feel this way? What new releases have lured you to part with $$?
Meanwhile, I’d love to be in a position to build on my semi-regular "Recipe Scout" — and to find a way to more effectively search it. I’m working on it.

The Problem with Salmon (and Kingfish, and ...)

Had a great chat yesterday with Craig Bohm, Sustainable Fisheries/Threatened Species Campaigner at the Brisbane-based Australian Marine Conservation Society (AMCS). Was talking to him in relation to a short piece I’m writing for work but our conversation strayed into territory unrelated to the article and he confirmed some facts about fish that I knew, but was pretending not to know, would prefer not to know.
Eating ethically requires a strength of character that I wonder if I have. I like fish. I like seafood. I adore bluefin tuna belly (toro), love salmon and ocean trout, and probably any number of other species that should be left alone.
I asked Craig about salmon. In Australia, and probably in most other western countries, consumption of salmon — sea-cage aquaculture salmon — just keeps growing. Yet, the AMCS's Sustainable Seafood Guide tells me that we should avoid eating it.
For two reasons: first, the potential for environmental problems caused by escapee fish; second, the salmon are carnivorous, hungry things and eat massive volumes of wild fish. Apparently, there have been 20,000 lost fish from these sea-cage aquaculture properties since 2000. Those fish can form their own populations in the ocean, transfer diseases, become predators of wild fish, and cause displacement of other fish species, which previously might have lived happily in their natural environments. If it seems a remote possibility that farmed salmon could establish itself in the wild to such a degree, Craig offers the example of foxes, an introduced species in Australia that has caused any number of problems. It took three separate incidents of introduction in Tasmania before the species firmly established itself.
Then, as if I’m not feeling uncomfortable enough about my occasional salmon purchases, Craig tells me all about what farmed salmon eat. They like to eat other fish — pilchards and other small fish that’s turned into fishmeal. According to Craig, to produce one kilogram of farmed salmon can take between one and four kilograms of wild-caught fish.
Then he raises the subject of the other carnivorous fish that can be farmed, and so present similar problems – ocean trout, barramundi … and yellowtail kingfish.

Nobu Inspiration
I didn’t tell Craig that, only two days before our conversation, I’d pulled the hefty bones out of fillets of yellowtail kingfish on my kitchen bench and then dunked them in a marinade of sake, mirin, white miso paste and sugar.
A post on Rasa Malaysia had reminded me of Nobu's signature black cod dish and, with Nobu opening its first Australian restaurant in Melbourne last month, it seemed like a good time to try the recipe (it also fits my criteria for Elegant Light dishes). Black cod – any sort of cod – isn’t something I see where I buy fish and an expert had suggested to me that kingfish might be a good substitute. I liked the result (see below), but it was certainly dryer than I expect fish to be.
Then I called Nobu Melbourne chef Scott Hallsworth and it became apparent that yellowtail kingfish really isn't the best substitute for black cod (he gets his black cod flown in from Japan). Far better, he mused would be Patagonian toothfish. Or salmon. So I'm back to square one. Of course, you're supping with the devil if you eat Patagonian toothfish, which is threatened by illegal overfishing and definitely not on the Australian Marine Conservation Society's list of approved fish.
But, if my conscience stops me from trying the Nobu recipe with salmon, there is one sliver of light and hope: Scott Hallsworth tells me that it's a fabulous technique to use with Wagyu beef.

Nobu-style Kingfish
(Serves 2; needs to be marinated for at least 24 hours before cooking)

2 yellowtail kingfish fillets
1/4 cup sake
1/2 cup mirin
2/3 cup white miso paste
1/2 cup caster sugar
Green onions to finish or, if you can be bothered, 2 stalks hajikami

To make the marinade, bring the sake and mirin to a boil in a medium saucepan over high heat. Boil for 20 seconds to evaporate the alcohol. Turn the heat down to low and add the miso paste, mixing with a wooden spoon. When the miso has dissolved completely, turn the heat up to high again and add the sugar, stirring constantly with the wooden spoon to ensure that the bottom of the pan doesn't burn. Remove from heat once the sugar is fully dissolved. Cool to room temperature. Set aside a small amount of the marinade for serving.
Pat the fillets thoroughly dry with paper towels and remove any bones (they should be large and simple to tug out: tweezers help). Slather the fish with the marinade and place in a non-reactive dish or bowl. Cover tightly with plastic wrap. Leave to steep in the refrigerator for a minimum of 24 hours – two days is better.
Preheat the oven to 200°C (400°F). Lightly wipe off any excess miso clinging to the fillets but don't rinse it off. Heat a non-stick frying pan and fry the fillets until the surface of the fish turns brown. (They will burn very easily, so keep a close watch on it.) Transfer the fish to the oven either in the frying pan or to a baking dish. Bake for 10 to 15 minutes.
Arrange the black cod fillets on individual plates and garnish with sliced green onions. Add a few extra drops of warmed marinade to each plate.

More Than One New Me

I’ve been fashioning a sleeker new me. More than one sleeker new me in fact.
Sleek New Me Number 1 (above right) is an hour-glass-waisted brunette with impeccable, if conservative, taste. The decision to give myself an oblong face and full lips was simple, but it was a tougher call to decide between Mistress Juliya hair or the Layered look (the Layered look won out.)
Sleek New Me Number 2 (above left) is an altogether saucier thing, with Microbraids, pierced belly and Samba Dress. Oh yes, when it came to the creation of New Me Number 2, I went to town.
I’ve been wasting time at Meez.com, where you can “create unique 3D avatars that animate in minutes”. (Thanks to Meez.com, I’ve discovered you use avatars as “your personal ID on instant messaging, blogs, MySpace and other sites” – the Me Generation mentioned in the New York magazine article of my last post would roll their eyes at my Gen-X ignorance.) On Meez.com, you (and that includes you, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John…) choose whether you want an oblong or round face, your skin tone, hair style and dress sense; choose a theme – Brazil couture, Heiress, Sexy or Preppy; choose a background – Spiritual, Urban, Parties.
And I’ve been wasting more time at Style.com, picking up a head full of avaricious steam and a new wardrobe full of marvellous frocks and coats and shifts and pants – by designers such as Dries Van Noten (below left), Chloe, Marni, Donna Karan, Jil Sander, Bottega Veneta (below right).

Style.com, very courteously, allows you to create Lookbooks of the fashion items you covet – couture and ready-to-wear, shoes and bags and accessories. I’ve spent hundreds of thousands of dollars in my Lookbook by now I’d say (my codename there is "Annie99" if you're remotely interested.)
But if you must know, it’s Galliano's Spring 2007, Japanese-inspired collection for Dior (below) that has me really hot under my sad, non-couture collar. You wouldn’t wear the creations of course, but I could feast my eyes on them all day – it’s art, I say.

My mucking around online has been a bunch of fun, but it hasn’t helped me feel anymore content with the shape of my body nor the contents of my wardrobe.
Spain can send skinny shop-store mannequins packing; actor Kate Winslet can defend her curves as “natural, womanly and real” and pick up an apology and damages from Grazia magazine for claiming she visited a diet doctor to slim down; Dove can wage its Campaign for Real Beauty for a century; and "new research" can reveal that models are lonely, unhappy and have lower life satisfaction than people in other careers. But none of it is going to change the fact that most women and, I’d hazard a guess, more than a few men, want to look more like someone else. (OK, maybe not more like their Meez.com avatars.)
Where, I wonder, does this all lead? To a society ever more afflicted by eating disorders, spending ever more on cosmetic surgery, and ever more materialistic. Or is there a tipping point somewhere along the line soon, when we’ll all throw our hands in the air and say enough is enough, no more, I am what I am. Perhaps that’s just called growing old.
And today’s recipe? It’s a little something that might, marginally, be considered Elegant Light (if you pull back on the olive oil, discard the chicken skin and turn your back on a carb companion); something that might please my trainer; something with such brilliant flavours that they might keep my mind off the fact that I’m determined not to eat bread this week – and determined to see a different, lower number on the scales in a week’s time. Guess I’m not old just yet.

Karen Martini's Syrian Chicken

2tsp sea salt
2tsp ground cumin
2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp freshly cracked black pepper
1 tsp ground turmeric
size 14-16 free-range chicken, cut into eight pieces
100ml olive oil
2 brown onions, thickly sliced
100g fresh ginger, peeled and cut into matchsticks
5 cloves garlic, bruised with the back of a knife
2 small red chillies, split
1 750ml bottle of tomato sugo
2 pinches of saffron threads
½ tsp cumin seeds
5 sprigs thyme
1 lemon, juiced and zest finely grated
2 tbsp honey
100g currants
½ bunch coriander leaves
couscous or rice to serve

Combine salt, cumin, cinnamon, pepper and turmeric in a large bowl. Add chicken pieces and cover them with the spice mix.
Heat olive oil in a large, heavy-based pan and brown chicken on each side. Remove from pan and fry onions, ginger, garlic and chillies in the oily-spicy residue for a few minutes. You may need to add a little more oil. Add sugo, saffron, cumin seeds and thyme and cook for a little longer.
Return chicken to pan and add lemon juice and zest, honey and currants. If necessary, cover with a little water so chicken is just covered with liquid.
Simmer, covered, for 10 minutes, then remove lid and simmer for another 20 minutes until chicken is cooked and sauce has thickened just a little.
Stir in coriander and serve with a starch, if you must.

A Fine Mussel Soup

I like my mussels rough around the edges. Butch and hairy and crusty as though they’ve been away from civilisation for too long like an offshore oil rig worker or a merchant seaman. There’s some considerable satisfaction to be had in giving them an extreme makeover. Manhandling them into the sink, tugging out their beards, scrubbing away the grit and dirt until they gleam in all their blue-shelled Sunday best. These mussels? They came looking like they’d never done a day’s work in their life. Took me a while to work out why, then it clicked: I’d bought them at Melbourne’s Prahran Markets south of the river instead of my normal Queen Victoria Market on the northside. (Melbourne’s north-south demarcation is a curious thing worth a story on another day.) Prahran Markets are a pair of Manolo Blahniks to Queen Vic’s Blundstone boots. The ladies and gentlemen south of the river clearly have soft hands, squeamish tendencies and don’t like to dirty their shiny European kitchens. My mussels were disappointingly clean-shaven and twice the price (about $8 a kilogram instead of $4 to $5) because Claringbold's had done most of the hard work for me.
Didn’t affect the taste though: mussels are still one of the most brilliant and underrated of seafoods. I love their voluptuous-slippery texture, their sweet-salty fleshiness, their briny aroma. They stack up on the sustainable seafood front too, according to my Sustainable Fish Finder. And, very conveniently, they’re also acceptable when it comes to points. WeightWatchers points. My trainer’s on my back and my wardrobe is looking scrappy and I refuse to invest a brass razoo on anything new for winter until the size on a label is one I can say out loud without blushing. So I’m counting points and clocking up miles going nowhere on an exercise bike and again focusing my mind on dishes that deliver on flavour but not on too much else. So, another ES Light dish, this time inspired by one from Elizabeth David’s delectable Italian Food.
I have an illustrated edition, first published in 1987 (Ebury Press), and it’s seductive from still-lifed cover to cover. David devotes a chapter to fish soups and, like every other chapter in the book, it’s illustrated with appropriate works of art: Giuseppe Recco’s “Marine Landscape with Fish and Oysters” (1634-95); Vincenzo Campi’s “The Fish Seller” (1536-91); a fishing detail from a Roman mosaic.
The recipe below is based on her Zuppa di Cozze. In terms of the issue of recipe copyright, I reckon this is one that I’ll get away with. David is endearingly vague and free-form when it comes to quantities and direction, so what follows is my interpretation. And I’ll be at the Vic Markets this week to pick up some butch mussels to try out either Stephanie Alexander’s suggestion in The Cook’s Companion (Viking, 1996) of a mussel salad – shelled steamed mussels, boiled waxy potatoes, parsley, spring onions and a mustardy vinaigrette on salad leaves; or Peter Gordon’s salad in Salads (Quadrille Publishing, 2005) – potatoes, broad beans, mussels, red onions, hijiki seaweed and watercress with a saffron-cumin dressing.

(The Fish Seller, top)

Mussel Soup
(Serves 2)

5 pints of mussels, debearded and washed
1tbsp olive oil
1 onion, finely chopped
1 stick of celery, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, sliced
pepper
250ml white wine
720ml bottle of tomato sugo
1tbsp thyme or marjoram
¼ cup basil
twist of lemon peel
dried chilli flakes to taste
¼ cup parsley, chopped

Heat the olive oil in the bottom of a deep heavy-based saucepan. Add the onion and fry over a medium heat until it starts to brown. Add the celery, sliced garlic and a good grind of black pepper. Fry for about two minutes then add the white wine. Fry off for a couple of minutes, then add the tomato sugo. Add thyme or marjoram, basil, lemon peel and chilli.  Bring to the boil, then turn down to a low simmer. You can prepare this soup base a day or more ahead. Just before you are ready to serve, add the mussels to the simmering soup, cover and cook. They are cooked when they open: remove each mussel as it opens and set aside. To serve, remove half the mussels from their shells and return to the soup. Return the remainder of mussels in their shells to the soup. Add the parsley at the last minute.

20 Questions, 1 Light Dish, Number 2

"20 Questions, 1 Light Dish" is a regular Elegant Sufficiency feature that asks the people who really understand flavour – chefs – to share a brilliant, light, guilt-free recipe for everyday eating.
This month, I’ve interrogated Greg Malouf, the acclaimed Melbourne exponent of “Modern Middle Eastern” food and co-author of Arabesque, Moorish and Saha. Greg, whose parents were both born in Lebanon, has lived through not one, but two, heart transplants and, to one degree or another, has watched his diet his whole life. In the next few months, Greg will fire up the kitchens at the new incarnation of the landmark Melbourne city restaurant, Mo Mo. Below, his recipe for 18-Minute Chicken Tagine with Dates and Ginger.

Photograph: Mark Chew

GREG MALOUF

1. Jamie Oliver or Gordon Ramsay?
There’s an honesty about both of them but I think there’s more of a bolshie honesty about Ramsay. Oliver appeals to women … they want to mother him or well, f--- him.

2. Chef you’d most like to meet?
Joel Robuchon … it was a honeymoon lunch in his restaurant that hooked me back in 1994. I remember the rouget – it was just perfectly cooked – but also this little veloute, or soup, that had little morsels of seafood, the tiniest octopus and shrimps, and it was so delicate. As a young chef, the whole place overtook my palate … I was in awe.

3. Restaurant you’d most like to visit?
I don’t have a wish list of restaurants but I’m looking forward to discovering the pilafs and eggplant dishes of Turkey when I go there in March to research my next book with my co-author, Lucy.

4. Most stained cookbook?
The Time Life cookbook series and Claudia Roden’s bible, the Book of Middle Eastern Food.

5. Most memorable meal?
It’s something I still dream about: when I was living and working in Paris as a young man, about 25 years ago, my aunt took me out to dinner for my 21st birthday to a small local Italian restaurant. I had zampone (pigs trotter stuffed with cotechino sausage) for the first time. It was thickly sliced and served in a bowl of intensely flavoured broth, garnished with mint, chervil and chives. Nor can I forget roasted suckling pig I had in the mountains of Córdoba, southern Spain, or my favourite – roast goose noodle soup in Hong Kong 

6. Favourite dish your Mum cooked?
Kibbeh nayeh (chopped raw lamb): Every Lebanese son will put up their hand and say their mother makes the best kibbeh nayeh … it’s a given. Often a potential bride is judged by her ability to make it. Traditionally it’s pounded in a mortar and pestle until it is very fine … almost a sticky paste … my mother’s was a lot coarser and she seems to get the balance of spices and cracked wheat right every time.

7. Desert island ingredients?
Yoghurt, olives, sauerkraut, garfish, eggplant, crème fraiche, egg noodles, pigeon.

8. Favourite holiday destination?
Anything that has nothing to do with runners or track-suits … so mostly indoors. Also Aleppo, Syria. It’s a biblical town that reinforces what I’ve done over the past 40 years with cooking. The markets are in front of you, behind you, there are donkeys in the street … you kind of just want to fit in with them and go with the flow.

9. Favourite kitchen utensil?
An electric mincer. It’s a cost-effective way of using the by-products of things … and you can produce the most simple things or lavish things from it, from sausages to a silly thing like making breadcrumbs.

10. Favourite food store?
There’s a place in Milan called Peck; it’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant. The first thing that comes to mind is prosciutto crudo. Closer to home you can’t go past A1 in Sydney Road, Melbourne, and its little open-faced meat pastries and squeaky haloumi cheese turnovers. Then I’ll have a snoop in the aisles for whole sumac berries and giant couscous and chocolate halva.

11. Last food-related purchase?
Some Iranian orange-flavoured candy floss from Sydney Road, which I took to Stones of the Yarra Valley, where I’m cooking Middle-Eastern banquets every Sunday. It garnishes a red-fruit plate.

12. Biggest kitchen disaster?
I was a first-year apprentice studying at William Angliss College and working at a restaurant called Haggers. It was the night before an apprentices’ cook-off. My boss, Dennis Hagger, trusted me with the keys to his restaurant to practice after service. It was a disaster: a buddy was watching me and we spent too much time chatting. At three in the morning I got fixed on the idea that I needed fresh tarragon and chervil for the béarnaise sauce I was going to serve with beef tournedos or something the next day. I sent my mate out and told him, “don’t bother coming back without them”. He jumped a nursery’s fence and eventually, about 5am, returned with a little pot of each. I was half an hour late for the competition the next day, but came second ... I was the only one using fresh herbs. I still thought what I cooked was shit though.

13. Average breakfast?
Black label Jalna natural yoghurt with fruit.

14. Guilty pleasure?
Brioche and foie gras … anything that’s a recipe for a triple-bypass.

15. What would you never give up?
Kibbeh nayeh.

16. Do you like a drink?
Yeah, anything bitter or sour because my palate’s sour … anything that has citrus flavours, or anything that’s kind of brown with a touch of peaty-ness.

17. Best snack for someone watching their weight?
Raw vegetables: carrot, celery, fennel. But make sure you buy carrots with round tips – they’re sweeter than the pointy ones.

18. Exercise regime?
Waddling every now and then around the city.

19. Hot weight loss tip?
As a quick weight-loss program, stop sugar and alcohol. And minimise your carbs.

20. Why this dish?
The dates add a lovely caramel, toffee-ness to the dish and, when you start to layer it with spices, the sweetness starts to soften, especially when you add a little bit of heat to it – and then you hit it with some lemon …

18-minute Chicken Tagine with Dates and Ginger
Serves 2

80 ml olive oil (not extra virgin)
6 pearl onions, quartered; or two medium onions, cut in large chunks
1 leek, white only, cut into 1 cm dice
2 cloves garlic, finely sliced
2 long red chillies, seeds removed, cut into strips 
½ teaspoon fresh black pepper
10 threads of saffron 
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon ginger
600g free-range chicken leg meat, skin removed, and cut in large pieces
½ tsp sea salt
500ml chicken stock
80g fresh Medjool dates, seeds removed, chopped in chunks
6 Dutch carrots, peeled, leaving stalks on, cut in half (peel around the stalk to remove any grit)
2 tomatoes, seeded and diced
1 400g tin chickpeas, drained and lightly rinsed
½ cup parsley
Juice of ½ lemon

Heat olive oil in a heavy-based saucepan and, before it’s too hot, add the onions, leeks and garlic. Fry over a low heat until softened. Add the chilli, pepper, saffron, cinnamon and ginger and stir well.  Season the chicken pieces with sea salt and sauté in the spicy mixture for about 2 minutes, until well coated.  Add the stock and bring to the boil.  Lower the heat and simmer for 8 minutes. (Cook as gently as possible, which will help keep the chicken tender.) Add the chopped dates, carrots, tomato, chickpeas and stir well, making sure the carrots are submerged in the stock. Bring back to the boil, then reduce to a simmer and cook for another 8 minutes or until chicken pieces are tender.
Add the parsley and lemon juice. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary.  Serve with plain steamed couscous or a simple rice pilaf with natural yoghurt.

(20 Questions, 1 Light Dish, Number 1: Tony Tan.)

An Invalid in the House

Yeah, well, who said going to the gym was good for you? My left foot, twice its normal, delicate size, is swaddled in an ice pack, my right wrist is sweating inside an ugly blue support guard thingey, and my bum hurts. 
7.30am Friday morning. A session with my personal trainer. Half asleep. Short warm-up followed by some stepping exercises … you know, onto a platform and off it. No dumb-bells today, he said, I want you to go faster to get your heart-rate up. I’ve always been a bit uncoordinated, last person picked for sports teams at school, the jester of the ballet class. Around me, elegant things in lycra working on quads, biceps, pecs. And what do I do? Mid-sentence, I mis-step. As in, I missed the step, for one heart-stopping nano-second was suspended in mid-air, then crashed backwards – ankle, wrist and bum taking the fall. Awful pain and a panic-attack-like response to the shock which was even worse.

“… the first and indispensable step, in every case of sprain, is perfect quietude of the part; a single bend of the joint will retard what nature has been hours in mending,” my decrepit copy of the American Housewife Cookbook (by Miss T.S. Shute, published by George T. Lewis and Menzies Company Philadelphia, 1880) tells me. “It is in this way that persons with sprained ankles are many months in getting well. In cases of sprain then, children who cannot be kept still, should be kept in bed, and so with many grown persons. The ‘swelling’ can be got rid of in several ways: by bandages, which in all cases of sprain should be applied by a skilful physician, otherwise mortification and loss of limb may result.”

A Good Poultice

At this point, I set aside Miss Shute’s work and turned instead for more reasonable invalid advice to the fascinating Antipodean Cookery Book and Kitchen Companion by Mrs Lance Rawson (George Robertson and Company, Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide, Brisbane and London 1897). Wilhelmina (Mina) Rawson, who lived on cattle stations (ie, ranches) in northern Queensland and in the town of Rockhampton, was enlightened beyond belief  and I was sidetracked for a bit. Under “Food Value of the Bush”, for example, she writes:

“I am beholden to the blacks for nearly all my knowledge of the different edible ground game … Many people are disgusted at the mere idea of eating the white wood grub which the blacks are so fond of. As a matter of fact, there is nothing nasty or disgusting in these soft white morsels, any more than there is in an oyster. It is all a matter of taste. Both are swallowed alike; for my own part, I prefer the grubs parched before eating … I have never tried them in a curry, but feel sure they would be excellent.”

I moved on, through recipes for hop beer, rabbit croquettes, polishing paste, past marrow toast, jugged wallaby, old maid’s pudding and “Killing Day on a Station”, and on to “A Good Poultice”.

“Many a time the lonely Bushman suffers a matyrdom of pain rom neuralgia, cold earache, etc, etc, because he has nothing by him to alleviate it ... Yet while there are gum leaves to be got he can have nothing better. Let him cut the young leaves up very fine with his tobacco knife, mix them with some fat, if he has it, water if not, and boil them for a few minutes, then pour into a handkerchief or a clean woollen sock; put this into the place where the pain is, and in a minute or two it will give relief.”

But I have neither gum leaves, tobacco knife nor clean woollen sock to hand, so I kept searching. Mrs Rawson didn’t let me down. She recommends a “Good Stimulant for an Invalid”, the ingredients being “1 pint of new milk, 1 cup cream, yolks of 2 eggs, ½ ounce Swinborne’s isinglass sugar (a type of gelatin, I believe), 2 wine-glasses of good brandy.” Mrs Rawson adds: “This is excellent in cases of great debility, and with consumptive patients, if  given before rising in the morning, will often stave off a fit of coughing while dressing.”
With all due respect to Mrs Rawson and her considerable expertise, I don’t think mine is a case of great debility. I’ve followed the RICE advice – Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevate – and hobbled a bit here and there, and expect that by Monday, I’ll be back in the office. And, as for my invalid cookery, I’ve kept things simple – divine scrambled eggs with sauteed mushrooms and ham, reheated casseroles pulled from the freezer, toasted sandwiches – as cooking on one foot isn’t much fun. And tonight I might reprise this unpretentious, satisfying, light and simple combination.

Marinated Lamb Cutlets with Zucchini Mash*

(serves 1)

3 lamb cutlets
juice of one lemon
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 tbsp olive oil
2 medium zuchinni
1 tbsp olive oil
salt and freshly ground pepper
70g Bulgarian feta
big pinch of allspice (or two allspice berries, ground in a mortar and pestle)
juice of ½ lemon

Combine the lemon juice, garlic and olive oil in a shallow dish that will hold the cutlets. Make sure the cutlets are saturated with the marinade, cover with cling film, and return to the fridge for at least half an hour.
Grate the zuchinni on the largest hole of a metal grater. Heat a non-stick pan with a little olive oil and add half the zucchini. Cook gently without colouring for 2-3 minutes, and season with salt and pepper. Remove the cooked zucchini and repeat with remaining half.
Return all the zuchinni to the pan and heat through. Crumble in fetta, add the allspice and toss in the pan until the fetta is almost melting but still in small pieces. Drizzle with lemon juice and season to taste.
Heat a griddle or non-stick frying pan and cook cutlets on one side, for about two minutes, until they are brown. Turn and cook on the other side for another two minutes.
* I found the inspiration for the zuchinni mash component of this dish in an Australian newspaper’s recent weekend magazine. But I’m buggered if I can remember which one. Does anyone remember where it was?

The Suckling Pig Debate

On Christmas Eve, my brother, his partner, their 10-month-old daughter and a plastic-wrapped suckling pig will board a flight in Sydney, destined for Queensland. My brother and his family will travel in cattle class. The poor, stiff little suckling pig will be in cargo. And its fate? To be stuffed, trussed, oiled and thrown on the family’s woefully ill-equipped barbecue for a southern-hemisphere Christmas feast.
The funny thing is that I was thinking of writing a post about food magazines and media and the impossibly chic, profligate images of Christmas they thrust under our noses. Their cornucopian, festive-season spreads are the equivalent of the pouting, couture-clad, super-styled and airbrushed waifs of fashion magazines in their capacity to induce neuroses and insecurities. Don’t have a little beach shack with a schmancy collection of mid-century Scandinavian furniture; a collection of friends who moonlight as models when they’re not trading futures; and a table groaning with specially imported Spanish jamon, recently caught lobster, artfully styled salads, and some pricey and interesting bottles you put away specially for the occasion? Well clearly you’re a failure. What if your ham isn’t from a well-raised, free-range, naturally smoked pig (female of course) with plenty of marbling through the leg? You might as well forget it. You don’t cut it. Can’t find the figs or the energy to make that luscious iced honey mascarpone and almond cake with fig salad you spotted on the cover of the December edition of Australian Gourmet Traveller? You’re pathetic.
Then I thought about my brother. Extravagant, just a little obsessive, and influenced, I’m sure, by the pre-Christmas gluttony he has witnessed in the elite restaurant where he works as a sommelier, he falls into that very trap every year. Shucking oysters for hours on Christmas morning; maxing his credit card out with his favourite new champagnes and wines; and, in the past couple of years, wrestling a dead baby pig on to a spit. Brilliant result on his barbecue-crazy father-in-law’s outdoor rotisserie in the national capital, but on the tinny little barbecue at our parents’ house up north, where he’ll be attempting it for the first time, I’m not so sure the result can be guaranteed. Nor is Dad. And, over the phone, I hear my restrained father’s stress levels rising about both the extravagance and the logistics of my brother’s suckling-pig passion. Dad is so easily stressed these days, and this year of all years, he shouldn’t be. I do get tired of being a big sister, but that suckling pig must not board that plane!
In the meantime, as a potential argument between siblings looms, I’m practising my own form of restraint. With or without the suckling pig, our festive-season spread will be substantial and, ahead of it, in between Christmas drinks, parties and catch-ups, I’m doing my best to keep things light.

Phillippa's Gazpacho
Serves 6

1-3 cloves garlic, or to taste
sea salt
1kg ripe tomatoes, roughly chopped
1 green capsicum, deseeded, cored and roughly chopped
2 cucumbers, peeled, deseeded and roughly chopped
2 round tablespoons onion, roughly chopped
2 handfuls homemade breadcrumbs (preferably from Phillippa’s Pane Toscano or Campagnard, crusts removed)
2tbsp good red wine vinegar (my friend Lucy likes to use a fine Spanish sherry vinegar in her gazpacho)
4tbsp olive oil
salt and pepper
1tsp sugar (optional)
6 slices Phillippa’s green olive bread**
150g soft goats cheese

In a mortar and pestle, crush garlic to a smooth paste with a good pinch of salt.
Blend vegetables and bread in a food processor or blender until absolutely smooth – you’ll most likely need to do it in batches. For a finer texture, put three-quarters of the mixture through a sieve or mouli.
Season the soup with garlic paste, vinegar, oil, salt and pepper. For a thinner, lighter soup, add ice cubes to each bowl.
Refrigerate for two hours, then adjust seasoning before serving.
Phillippa’s garnishing suggestions:
Croutons made with day-old Phillippa’s bread
Chopped Spanish jamon
Finely chopped hard-boiled egg
Diced cucumber
Diced tomatoes
Diced capsicum (red, yellow or green)
Drizzle of EVOO*

* Please note that, according to Chow.com, “EVOO” has been recognised as an official abbreviation for extra virgin olive oil by the Oxford American College Dictionary.
* As an alternative to Phillippa’s garnishing suggestions, I like her green olive bread smeared with goats cheese as an accompaniment. Although that’s not really light, is it?

20 Questions, 1 Light Dish, Number 1

"20 Questions, 1 Light Dish" is a new, regular Elegant Sufficiency feature that will ask the people who really understand flavour – chefs – to share a light, guilt-free recipe for everyday eating. It’s not about science, just about flavour.

TONY TAN

1. Jamie Oliver or Gordon Ramsay?
For sex appeal, neither. For technique, Gordon. As a human being, Jamie.
2. Chef you’d most like to meet?
There are two of them. One, Andoni Luis Aduriz of Mugaritz restaurant in San Sebastian. He has movie-star looks and cooks like a dream. He also has real humility, a zen-like quality, and understands flavours. The second is Yuan Mei, who was a chef for a Chinese scholar during the Qing Dynasty. He understood the harmony of food and the seasons. I’ve been following his life through several Chinese gastronomical books.
3. Restaurant you’d most like to visit?
Heston Blumenthal’s Fat Duck in Berkshire. He’s not afraid and I like to be challenged.
4. Most stained cookbook?
Yan-Kit So’s Classic Food of China (Macmillan, London, 1992)
5. Most memorable meal?
My sister cooked me a meal when I was about five – she made an extraordinary version of dung po pork and to this day I don’t know how she made it.
6. Favourite dish your mum cooked?
My mother’s roast chicken; she made it when she was working as a cook at the government resthouse in Kuala Lipis in the state of Pahang during the dying days of the British Empire. The marinade included Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce, mustard, soy sauce and butter.
7. Desert island ingredients?
Garam masala, salt, five-spice powder.
8. Favourite holiday destination?
Ronda in the south of Spain – it’s one of the most romantic spots in the world.
9. Favourite kitchen utensil?
A wok, or a sharp knife.
10. Favourite food store?
Queen Victoria Market, Melbourne.
11. Last food-related purchase?
Mangoes from Prahran Market, Melbourne to make a mango ‘carpaccio’ with basil icecream.
12. Biggest cooking disaster?
Trying to cook foie gras around midnight.
13. Average breakfast?
Wholemeal or multi-grain sourdough with jam or marmalade.
14. Guilty pleasure?
Eating icecream.
15. What would you never give up?
Chocolate.
16. Do you like a drink?
Yes, can’t you tell?
17. Best snack regime for someone watching their weight?
Fruit.
18. Exercise regime?
I walk – early-morning, two or three times a week, along the Yarra River for 5km and every Saturday morning with Stephanie Alexander.
19. Hot weight-loss tip?
Eat seafood – particularly fish – with plenty of greens.
20. Why this dish?
It’s simple – and wonderfully adaptable. It’s one of the most popular salads served in Thai restaurants. The recipe has similar flavours to the northern Thai beef larb, a minced raw beef salad with a heady mix of aromatic herbs including pak chi farang or foreign coriander (cilantro), a long leaf herb similar to fresh coriander. The roasted rice powder isn’t essential but it does give the finished dish a smoky nuttiness.

Grilled Beef Salad (Yam Nuer)
Serves 4-6

½ cup raw glutinous rice (for 1tbsp roasted rice powder – optional)
250g beef sirloin (or fillet)
1tbsp sweet dark soy sauce (kecap manis)
1tbsp vegetable oil
Dressing:
100ml lime or lemon juice
50ml fish sauce
1-2tsp palm sugar to taste (use a sharp knife to shave the sugar from the block)
2 fresh hot chillies (for a good pinch of roasted chilli powder)
Salad:
½ cup mint leaves
½ cup coriander leaves
1 spring onion, finely sliced
1 small Lebanese cucumber, peeled and thinly sliced on the diagonal
1 red shallot, peeled and thinly sliced
2tbsp pak chi farang (optional)
3 kaffir lime leaves, julienned

For roasted chilli powder: Toss the chillies in a frypan over medium heat for about 10 minutes, stirring constantly. Cool, and grind to a powder in a spice grinder or mortar and pestle. (This powder can be made in a batch and stored in an air-tight container.)
For roasted rice powder: Dry-fry rice over low to medium heat in a frypan or wok, stirring frequently, until it is golden brown. Cool, then grind in a spice grinder or a mortar and pestle to a fine powder.
Rub soy sauce over the beef and leave to marinate for up to 30 minutes. Heat a grill or skillet. Just before grilling, rub beef with oil and grill or fry over medium to high heat until rare, or to your taste. Rest for 10 minutes.
While the beef is resting, combine all ingredients for the salad dressing. Taste – it should taste hot, sour, salty and slightly sweet.
Slice the beef and combine with salad ingredients. Pour dressing over the salad and toss gently. Sprinkle with roasted rice.

Malaysian-born Tony Tan is a Melbourne chef and cooking-school proprietor. In February 2007, Tony will relaunch his cooking school in expanded premises. Web: http://www.tonytan.com.au/

Listening To My Body

“You have to listen to your body,” my new personal trainer tells me. I don’t tell him that if I was listening to my body, I wouldn’t be floundering like a dugong on a gym floor doing ridiculous things with my legs and a Swiss ball early on a Saturday morning; instead, I’d be at Babka having a strong café latte and the café's brilliant casalinga BLT (I’m sure they make their own mayonnaise), or at Balzari where I’d order the “triple cheese toastie” (grilled cheddar, fontina and fior di latte mozzarella on toasted sourdough) with the Saturday papers. I tell him instead that I have been listening to my body – after wearing insanely high heels to work two days ago, followed by even more insanely high heels to a black-tie awards ceremony that night, my body, my feet, are telling me very clearly that they won’t be tolerating that conceit again for some time.
My new personal trainer is trying to explain to me why I might have hit the wall with training this week. A week ago I was a demon on the cross-trainer: tapping the incline and resistance levels higher and higher, turning the volume on my iPod up higher and higher (I’ve found The Cat Empire's Two Shoes and The Cloud Room's anthemic Hey Now Now to be fine, crescendo-ing tracks for cross-training purposes), and watching with great satisfaction as the calorie count and my heart rate increased. But the past two days? Bang. Not a scrap of energy. Complete exhaustion.

I Know About Diet

My new personal trainer asks me about my diet. Oh, I know all about diet, I tell him smugly. I may not always be disciplined about it, but I know all about diet, I tell him. What did I eat yesterday, he asks. I think back. Coffee and two slices of sourdough with Vegemite for breakfast. (I was running late for work; no time to cut up the fresh fruit in the fridge.) A cheese and tomato toasted sandwich and some yoghurt with fresh berries at lunch. (No cash and had left my cashcard at home: the simplest work-caff lunch was all that I could afford.) For dinner, a can of sad, sad, smoked oysters, two glasses of white wine, and an after-thought salad of cos, tomato and fetta. (I was exhausted when I got home from work. Not a scrap of energy to do anything else.) My new personal trainer studies me. And I realise I’m hopeless. Where’s the energy for a new fitness regime in all that? All bread, and all of three “serves” of fruit and vegetables (if you can even call them “serves”).
I’ve got to work harder at this.
My thoughts turn to lentils. Vegetarian Action's website tells me: “Lentils are an excellent source of protein, iron and zinc and a good source of dietary fibre, pantothenic acid and potassium. They also supply vitamins of the B complex and various minerals.” According to my neglected WeightWatchers Points Guide, 75g of lentils is 3 points (WeightWatchers allows a total of 20 points a day, give or take a few). As a point of comparison, 50g of rice of any description is 2½ points. Even with my disgraceful mathematics, I can see that, point-for-point, the lentils are looking good; that I’d get brownie points from my new personal trainer if I had a simple but substantial lentil salad for dinner the night before a session with him.

Lentil Salad, Poached Egg, Fetta and Roasted Garlic Dressing
(serves 1, or 2 as part of a meal)

15 cherry tomatoes (or 8 slightly larger tomatoes)
1 bulb garlic, halved
1 tbsp olive oil
sea salt
100g Puy or high-quality brown lentils*
1 onion, quartered
1 bay leaf
sprig thyme
sea salt, ground black pepper
1 tbsp white wine vinegar
3 tbsp walnut oil (or olive oil)
1 red onion, finely diced
1 small hot chilli, sliced
½ cup mint and parsley, chopped
80g fetta, crumbled
1 egg, poached
rocket

Roasted garlic and tomatoes: Preheat oven to 180ºC. Put tomatoes and garlic bulb in a small casserole and toss with olive oil and sea salt. Roast tomatoes until they are soft, but still holding their shape – about 15-20 minutes. Remove from oven and set aside. The garlic bulb halves will need a little longer – around 30 minutes. Remove from oven when the garlic inside is squishy.
Lentils: Thoroughly wash lentils, checking that there are no stones or grit among the lentils. Place lentils in a saucepan with onion, bay leaf and thyme and cover with cold water. Put a lid on the saucepan and bring to the boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook for about 20 minutes. (*It’s easy to overcook them, so make sure you watch the clock and check them as they get close to done. Save your supermarket-bought lentils for soups or dahl – a lentil salad needs something finer. The French Puy lentils seem to be hard to get in Australia but Simon Johnson sells high-quality, well-graded Australian lentils.) When cooked, drain lentils in a colander, remove onion, bay leaf and thyme and set aside.
To make dressing: Scoop the squishy garlic out of one bulb half. Mash in a bowl with the back of a spoon until it is creamy. Mash in salt and pepper. Stir in white wine vinegar, then whisk in walnut oil until dressing is emulsified. Taste to check you’re happy with the vinegar-oil proportions and the seasoning.
To assemble: In a large bowl, combine lentils, dressing, roasted tomatoes, red onion, chilli, mint and parsley and fetta. Spoon on to a serving plate. Poach an egg and put on top of the salad with a pile of rocket leaves. Serve with remaining garlic bulb half at the side. It's all just gorgeous when the egg yolk dribbles over the lentils.

The Strangest Women on the Planet

I’m terrified of gyms. I’m even more terrified of the female changerooms of gyms. The female changerooms of gyms are frequented by the strangest women on the planet. As if it’s not enough to have to cope with gym-membership officers – the used-car salesmen of the health and leisure industry – and with the size 6 women in their Nuala yoga outfits who without fail climb on to the treadmill next to me, there’s the changeroom challenge.
In the changerooms of my small Hong Kong gym, I was routinely, well, perturbed, by a small, round, preoccupied, middle-aged Chinese woman who never seemed to actually work out, but who was extraordinarily dedicated about her stretching regime. In a perversion of the early-morning routine of countless tai-chi grandmothers and grandfathers who converge on Hong Kong’s public spaces, this woman did her stretches in the gym changeroom. Naked. Often in front of the mirror. Foreign stretches involving considerable spreading of the legs. Most perturbing were the occasions when, jockey-like, I was in the steamroom lazily continuing my workout/weight-loss program (alone, modestly, fully clothed in swimwear) and she arrived. Still naked. Still stretching. And still quite oblivious to anyone around her. I’m not sure cultural differences or sexual preferences can account for this.

Borrowed Undies

An old personal trainer once recounted a story to me about a woman who had become quite a changeroom talking point at a Melbourne gym. Apparently, this woman had no qualms about walking around the female changerooms borrowing deodorant, hairspray, mascara, soap, shampoo, toothpaste etc, from complete strangers, but the day she asked at the top of her voice if anyone had any undies she could borrow was a tipping point.

Public Preening

Testing out my new gym’s steamroom (steamroom 10 minutes, cold shower one minute, steamroom five minutes, cold shower 30 seconds and I feel like I’ve hung out again at the Parisian Hammam in the 5th Arrondissement that I dream of), I was fascinated and horrified at the same time to see Strange Gym Changeroom Woman Mark III. There’s always one who has no qualms about spending inordinate amounts of time preening in a public restroom, but this was ridiculous. Through the steamroom’s glass doors I watched as she moved, as though in a trance, from one changeroom mirror to another. From wash-basin mirror, to full-length mirror, to hair-dryer window and back again she went, fully dressed in street clothes with straightforward, dried curly-tousled hair. Fluffing, preening, tossing her head, fluffing, preening some more. Fifteen, 20 minutes later, I’ve recreated my Paris-Hammam experience, dressed, done my own brief preen, and she’s still moving between mirrors, fluffing.
I flee home. Almost as terrifying is the empty fridge I face. Thank heavens for the stocked pantry, the half-alive balcony herb garden and the one reasonably happy tomato from the last market visit. The first salad of many: drained, rinsed canned cannellini beans, garlic, chilli, parsley, diced tomato, red onion, lemon juice, sea salt, ground pepper, an eyedropper of olive oil.

Fish Trails Part II

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, this is a recipe I’ve wanted to share for some time. It starts to inch me back towards the reason I started this whole thing – to explore, in a non-scientific way, recipes full of flavour but light on fat and carbohydrates. And the broken record? I’ve realised that this is not the first time I’ve gone for the fish-olive-potato combination. And it’s not the first time either, that I’ve raved about John Torode's book Mezzo, where I found this lovely recipe (I’ve pulled back quite a bit on the amount of olive oil listed in Torode’s recipe*).

You can be the judge of the dish – I think it opens up a host of possibilities. Use snapper or blue-eye instead of red mullet, which is a bit of a bugger to fillet and pin-bone (unless you have a great fishmonger); or add or subtract from the ingredients used in the stewy component – as long as you end up with a moist, richly flavoured version of some description. And, it’s appropriate timing to include a mention of an article in The Washington Post that summarises two new reports that both conclude that the health benefits of regularly eating fish outweigh any risk from consuming contaminants such as mercury. Given my last post though, it was interesting to read in the article of environmentalists’ concerns “about the impact the findings could have on marine life if people worldwide try to dine on seafood twice a week, because there isn't enough to go around”. On that subject, I’m pretty sure that red mullet, or rouget, isn’t heading for extinction just yet.

Red Mullet with Potatoes and Black Olives
Serves 2

3 tablespoons olive oil
200g new potatoes, scrubbed and cut into 2.5cm chunks
200g peeled tomatoes, chopped
100g small onions, halved top to bottom
1 garlic clove, finely chopped
2 sprigs thyme
2 sprigs sage
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper
30g black olives (I used little Ligurian olives)
40g flat-leafed parsley, stems removed
4 fillets of red mullet, pin-boned

Preheat the oven to 190ºC (375ºF). Warm 2 tablespoons olive oil in a heavy casserole over a medium heat. Add the potatoes, tomatoes, onions, garlic, thyme and sage, and bring to the boil. Season well and simmer for 5 minutes, watching that the mixture doesn’t start to burn or stick to the casserole. Cover then, and cook in the oven for about an hour, or until the potatoes are cooked through. (Do not stir, as this will break up the vegetables.) Allow to cool slightly, then add the olives and parsley.
Heat a griddle or frying pan over a high heat until smoking. Season the red mullet fillets and drizzle with the remaining olive oil. Place the fillets skin side down on the griddle for 30 seconds, then flip them over and cook for a further 30 seconds. (The fillets will be very thin and shouldn’t require very much more time than this.)
Spoon the vegetable mixture into shallow bowls and criss-cross two fillets of mullet on top of each bowl.
* NB: the original recipe called for more than double the amount of olive oil I’ve used above. Instead, I’ve used more tomato to keep the mixture moist as it cooks.

A Past Life

10 Things I Don’t Miss About Being a Restaurant Reviewer

1. The four out of five average (or worse) meals a restaurant reviewer has to eat.
2. Sitting in the toilet for suspicious amounts of time scribbling notes.
3. The struggle to write something, anything, about the mass of colourless, just acceptable restaurants out there. (So much easier to write either a scathing or a superlative review.)
4. Fuzzy memory syndrome: did Restaurant X have polished timber floorboards or carpet? What the hell was that garnish on the hand-picked crab and lobster salad with green mango foam? Were the waiters in Armani or Helmut Lang?
5. Ruining yet another restaurant’s crisp white tablecloth with pen marks by attempting to write notes covertly under the table without watching.
6. That morning-after-beached-whale feeling after what might be the third or fourth rich, three-course meal, with wine, in a week.
7. Being recognised and either a) having to put up with some gasbag proprietor pulling up a chair and turning a setting for two into one for three; b) getting sent out a procession of unordered dishes that ‘the chef thought you might like to try’ and then being told ‘the meal is on us’ and having to fight to pay the check as ethical reviewers do.
8. The impossibility of conducting a conversation with your guest on the other side of the table while simultaneously writing notes describing the angle the lamb fillet has been sliced at, the texture of the mushroom soy dressing, the flavour of the saffron pappardelle, the mood of the dining room, the degree of stubble on the waiter’s chin.
9. Never having a night in to cook my own food, with my own hands, with ingredients I have bought.
10. Never being invited to friends’ homes for a meal.

It came flooding back last night. Melbourne held its gala, much-hyped, anxiously awaited restaurant awards, which bounce off the contents of the influential annual Good Food Guide, sponsored by the city’s broadsheet newspaper, The Age. The egos, the strutting, the looking-over-shoulders, the drunks, the interminable speeches that no one listened to (or could hear anyway), the so-so sparkling wine, the back-stabbing, the gossip. And the old faces, like stepping into a dusty photo album.
I edited the book for three years until 2001, twice with co-editors and once on my own and it nearly killed me. Last night, two former colleagues, the Melbourne versions of Frank Bruni and Ruth Reichl, except recognisable, stood on the stage in their Sunday best and handed out the awards. I nibbled on canapés, and sipped my wine, and listened to the chefs and hangers-on around me carry on, and thought about restaurant reviewing, and reviewers, and the ethical minefields they trip through, and then my mind wandered off to more interesting things.

Such as how to improve my photography (and styling abilities). I’m often constrained by the need to photograph at night thanks to my day job, and I’ve quickly discovered that dishes that might not have a strong shape or a central focus point, such as a bowl of pasta, or a risotto, or a curry, need to acquire one. If I were to reshoot this dish, for example, I might consider leaving aside some of the trout, cutting it in larger pieces and splaying it across the top of the salad. Perhaps I might also add a handful of leaves such as cress, or rucola. Any other photography-improvement tips will be most gratefully received.
So to the salad. It’s incredibly simple and tasty and, after a couple of indulgent detours, brings me back on the course of exploring how I can eat well and eat wonderful flavours without increasing the number that shows on the scales.
I asked Greg, the chef who was once more than just a good friend, about burghul. He spat out the Arabic name for it that sounded something like “burrual” and said that it’s important to look out for “undesirables” such as weevils or clusters of eggs in your burghul before buying it. “Teta, my grandmother, would buy fresh wheat and cook it, and dry it outside on blankets in the sun,” he recalled. “Then she’d smash and thrash it in the mortar and pestle.” There are, I have belatedly discovered, two types of burghul: coarse and fine. The coarse variety is usually reserved for pilafs and stuffings – it needs to be cooked. The fine variety doesn’t need to be cooked and is used for tabbouleh or a salad such as this.

Cucumber, Ocean Trout Sashimi and Burghul Salad
Serves 4 (as an entrée or part of a meal)

½ cup fine burghul (cracked wheat)
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 tbsp lemon juice
½ tsp ground coriander
½ tsp allspice
½ tsp ground cinnamon
1 fresh birds-eye chilli, deseeded and finely chopped
400g piece ocean trout, skinned, pin-boned and cut into 1cm cubes
½ cucumber, seeded and cut into 1cm cubes
2 green onions, finely chopped
¼ cup flat-leafed parsley, finely chopped
¼ cup coriander, finely chopped
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Cover burghul with enough cold water to cover and leave for about 10 minutes. Drain  and squeeze out as much extra water as you can. In a large bowl, combine burghul with remaining ingredients, adding more lemon juice if needed. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Divide salad among plates and serve immediately.

Shelter Dogs and Skinny Bitches

Bored of CSIRO? Does Atkins give you bad breath? Weak with hunger from WeightWatchers? Bookshop shelves everywhere are straining under the weight of a new crop of diet books.

• The Dog Diet: What My Dog Taught Me About Shedding Pounds, Licking Stress and Getting a New Leash on Life, by Patti Lawson (HCI, 2006): "A shelter dog changed my life," says the woman who now drives a Mercedes E320 convertible with 'Dog Diet' on her licence plates.

• Our Lady of Weight Loss: Miraculous and Motivational Musings from the Patron Saint of Permanent Fat Removal, by Janice Taylor (Studio, August 2006): In which the artist author exchanges fat for art.

• Fat Girl, by Judith Moore (Profile Books, 2005): "You're too fat to fuck," she was told by a boy she fancied as they ate cheeseburgers together at a diner.

• How the Rich Get Thin: Park Avenue’s Top Diet Doctor Reveals the Secrets to Losing Weight and Feeling Great, by Jana Klauer  (St Martin's Press, 2005): In which I discover I have an endomorph body type, a characteristic I share with Danny DeVito and Queen Latifah.

• Skinny Bitch, by Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin (Running Press Book Publishers, 2005): From skinny Californian natives Rory and Kim whose all-teeth publicity photograph sets my teeth on edge.

• The New Orleans Program: Eat, Exercise and Enjoy Life, by David A. Newsome and Chef John Besh (Pelican Publishing Program, 2006): Is that the program where you hole up in the Superdome with thousands of others for a week?

• The Vice Busting Diet: A 12-Week Plan to Break your Worst Food Habits and Change your Life Forever, by Julia Griggs Havey, with J. Patrick Havey (St Martin's Press, 2006): From a self-described former "290-pound single mother".

• Japanese Women Don't Get Old or Fat: Secrets of My Mother’s Tokyo Kitchen, by Naomi Moriyama and William Doyle (Delacorte Press, 2005).

• Mediterranean Women Stay Slim, Too: Eating to Be Sexy, Fit and Fabulous!, by Melissa Kelly, Eve Adamson (Collins, 2006): What's next? "Sudanese Women Stay Slim As Well: 101 Ways with Millet"?

• The Sonoma Diet: Trimmer Waist, Better Health in Just 10 Days, by Connie Gutterson (Meredith Books, 2005).

• The Diet Code: Revolutionary Weight Loss Secrets from Da Vinci and the Golden Ratio (Warner Wellness, 2006), by Stephen Lanzalotta: In which you run like a crazy thing through the streets of Paris with Audrey Tautou?

A savvy publisher would follow the lead of romance novel factories such as Harlequin, which issue guidelines for would-be romance writers looking for love and a publisher. A savvy publisher would, on request, email out its diet-book formulas. Number 1 on the list would have to be the Tea and Sympathy Style Memoir, in which the once-immense author takes his/her readers on a  journey through devastating playground jibes, teenage taunts, XXXXXL sizes, late-night binge-eating, serial relationship failures and then, the shining, life-altering epiphany that puts them on the speakers' circuit and into the Petite Sizes section of their local boutique and a convertible.
Then there'd be variations on The Wise Doctor/New Research Diet; The What My Mum From Cambodia/Albania/Mexico/Iceland Taught Me About Staying Thin and Sexy Diet; and the aspirational You Can Be as Rich and Thin as I Am Diet. And the genre I'd like to write? The How I Lost Kilograms/Pounds without Denying Myself a Thing Diet.
Until that becomes possible, I'll be cooking things like this dish from The New York Times writer Mark Bittman. (If you're smart, you'll notice that the fish in my photograph is not salmon. I tried Mr Bittman's spicy soy oil with a fillet of rockling baked in a hot oven for about 10 minutes. I don't think the fishmonger was good to me on the day but the soy oil certainly was. And, if you use salmon, please eat the skin ... it's the best bit.)

Roast Salmon with Spicy Soy Oil
Serves 4

2tbsp peanut oil
4 fillets of salmon, cut from the thick part of the fillet, rather than the tail
salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 tbsp sesame oil
1 tbsp slivered garlic
2 dried red chillies
1 tbsp soy sauce
1/2 cup chopped green onions (scallions) or coriander (cilantro) for optional garnish

Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Place a nonstick, ovenproof frying pan over medium-high heat. When hot, add one tablespoon peanut oil; swirl it around. Season salmon with salt and pepper and place skin side up in pan. When salmon has browned (about a minute), flip over and transfer to oven.
Combine remaining peanut oil in a small saucepan with sesame oil, garlic and chillies, and turn heat to medium. Cook, gently shaking pan, until garlic colours lightly, about five minutes. Turn off heat and remove chillies. When sauce cools a bit, add soy.
Salmon will be medium rare after about six minutes in the oven. Cook for a shorter or longer period depending on your preference. Remove to a plate. Drizzle with oil, garnish, and serve.

All the Crazy Things

The crazy things we have done:

Figure 1: We were blinded by insubstantial science: From the late ‘50s, millions of women around the world turned to anorectics such as the amphetamine-related German drug Preludin. Preludin didn’t stop them eating Schwarzwalder Kirschtorte and feeling guilty about it, nor did it help them find a good hairdresser. It did however cause agitation, tremors, excessive activity and insomnia. (Press advertisement, circa 1967)
Figure 2: We took silly prescriptions like Doctor Mackenzie’s Menthoids and thought they’d make us look like Esther Williams in a leopard-skin bathing suit. The Menthoids claim? “In ridding the body of poisonous waste fluids that cause fatness, Menthoids bring new health. Pains disappear and youthful energy returns.” Writes Mrs G. of Bankstown: “I’ve just started my third bottle of Menthoids and already I have lost 24lbs.” And from Mrs F.M. of Manly: “I am no longer always tired, my aches and pains have gone … the reducing has been very even.” (Press advertisment from Australian Home Journal, 1st June, 1957.)
Figure 3:  We spent crazy amounts (£30, US$55, AUD$74, NZ$90, €43) on Palmer’s Slim Fit 20 Caffeine Tights. From the Tights Please website: “These Caffeine tights from Palmers have caused the biggest rush for products we have ever seen. Wearing these caffeine tights on a daily basis can reduce thighs by up to 2cm. Coffee tights do not work for everyone (see our reviews) but we think they are worth a try! They come in a 3 pair value pack. How do they work? Body heat releases caffeine microcapsules into the leg increasing its metabolism rate and the burning of fat. This can reduce the circumference of thighs and of the "orange peel" cellulite effect.” Oh for heaven’s sake. Give me another caffe crème.

As long as there are women who dislike what they see in the mirror each morning, there’ll be silly things for them to do.
In a recent article in the UK’s The Daily Telegraph, beauty editor Kate Shapland described some of the beauty treatments she had endured in the name of research:

“I have spent three days in the past month with a patch over one eye following an allergic reaction to an eye cream, and £185 consulting a dermatologist about the state of my eczema, which extends its nasty red self from my chest to my naval whenever I come into contact with an unidentified cosmetic ingredient.
The dermatologist’s fee did not include the prescription renewal for a heavy-duty ointment, which smells like WD40, that I regularly go to bed in. In my business, believe me, you really can have too much of a good thing.
… but the worst things I have ever done to [my legs] … is to have them ‘stapled’. Quite how I went through with this treatment after seeing the device – a metal sheet with a series of tiny holes in it and a trigger on one end which, when pushed, made tiny needles shoot out of each hole and into my thigh – I will never know.
The idea was that each injection sent a cocktail of active ingredients under the skin to melt the fat, which would then be miraculously metabolised. The reality was an hour of torturous stapling, a week of wondering why I had such low appreciation of myself that I felt it necessary to put my thighs through this torment (even for work) and hundreds of white pigmentation spots all over each thigh.
Needless to say, any change to their size was nonexistent.”

Back to the Beauty Myth

With this post in mind, I was flicking through that old classic, Naomi Wolf's The Beauty Myth (Chatto & Windus, 1990) and zoomed in on a couple of passages that seemed to say so much about all this craziness. Dieting and slimming “are trivialising words for what is in fact self-inflicted semi-starvation,” she wrote. “In India, one of the poorest countries in the world, the very poorest women eat 1,400 calories a day, or 600 more than a Western woman on the Hilton Head Diet.” The Hilton Head diet is a bit of a dinosaur in this world of Atkins and South Beach and CSIRO, but it wouldn’t be the first or last diet to restrict calories so severely.
And a neat wrap-up from Naomi: “My mother, a beautiful woman, got too little of the pleasures that I could understand. I saw that her beauty hurt her: teeth-gritting abstinence at celebration dinners, fury on the scale, angry rubdowns, self-accusing photographs posted over the refrigerator. She’d won – why wasn’t that enough? It would be nice to be  beautiful like her, I figured, sure; but nothing about it seemed nice enough to make up for that endless degradation.”

A Quantity of Guilt

And as for me? There’s no sanctimony in what I write about snake-oil salesman-style stuff. I’m a victim in my own way. I’m above the body-mass-index level that science tells me I should be. I’m happiest in my pjamas when there’s no waistband cutting into the folds around my middle. I am just useless at sticking to any sort of exercise regime – my down-filled duvet is far more appealing in the morning and at the end of a work day there’s no momentum to do anything other than find the corkscrew. Most recently, I’ve tried the Cabbage Diet and Weight Watchers with no success. So, with every mouthful (and right now, that’s a mouthful of quince crumble with cream left over from yesterday’s long-table lunch), I take in another quantity of guilt.
But the bottom line is that I’m not prepared to sacrifice my love for food, eating, cooking, cookbooks, restaurants, eating with family and friends, good wine.
Instead, I’ve been putting a great deal of thought to the types of things that I can cook and eat simply without guilt but still with great pleasure. I’ve combed my cookbook library for dishes that won’t suffer if I pull back on the olive oil quantity, or which don’t really need a carbohydrate on the side. I’m finding the most joy comes from Asian flavours; beautiful fresh fish; things that have been marinated; roasted vegetables; meats that intensify in flavour during the cooking process; and dishes made from the most brilliant, fresh, in-season food. And slowly, I’m building up a catalogue of dishes that I love to eat. I won’t eat them every night; I’ll still find room for crumble, pannacotta, pasta, pork crackling, chocolate brownies, icecream. But I’m trying, a little more frequently, to eat dishes like this one, adapted from Patricia Wells At Home in Provence: Recipes Inspired by her Farmhouse in France (Fireside, 1996).

Salmon with Warm Lemon Vinaigrette

1 cup (125g) best-quality green olives
4 tablespoons capers (the salted variety, not those in brine)
4 salmon fillets (about 200g each)
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
4tbsp extra virgin olive oil
4tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
fresh fennel fronds, or fresh dill for garnish

Bring a saucepan of water to the boil. Add the olives and blanch in the boiling water for 2 minutes to get rid of excess salt.
Drain well and set aside.
Rinse the capers well, and soak in cold water for 10 minutes to rid them of excess salt. Set aside.
Preheat oven to 150° C. Season salmon lightly with a little salt and pepper and brush on each side with a little olive oil. Brush a metal oven tray with a little oil, place salmon on tray skin-side up, and roast for 5-7 minutes. (This will give you very rare salmon.)
Meanwhile, drain the capers. In a small saucepan, combine the oil, lemon juice, capers, and blanched olives. Stir to blend and warm gently over a low heat.
To serve, transfer the salmon to four warmed individual plates and spoon the sauce on top and around the fish. Sprinkle with fennel fronds or dill.
Serve immediately with steamed potatoes in their jackets.

Tofu, with Love

My Dad is eating forests of broccoli and schools of salmon. He’s cooking tomato sauce, tomato pasta and tomato soup. Worn down by the force of my mother’s will, he slugs back fish oil capsules that now have their own spot at the end of the kitchen bench. I’ve delivered him bottles of tomato relish and emailed him recipes for broccoli au gratin and broccoli quiche. I’ve web-surfed into the early hours and discovered Milken's Nutrition Guide in a Nutshell: "eat at least five servings each week of cruciferous vegetables; drink 8oz of pomegranate juice daily; don’t eat grilled meat; increase consumption of soy-based food”. I’ve added The Prostate Diet Cookbook to my Amazon Shopping Cart.

We’re clutching at the power of food. It can comfort, excite, nourish, tease and love, but can it attack an ugly thing the size of an apple inside my father that shouldn’t be there?

My Dad appreciates the nexus between food and love. Every day for the 17 years I lived at home before moving to the city and university, he had a bowl of my mother’s homemade muesli and hand-squeezed orange juice on the breakfast table waiting for me and my brother when we emerged. Then, once he saw us settled, he turned his attention to cooking us a hot breakfast as well.

“How hard is it to put some Weetbix in a bowl and some milk in it?” asked Bradley on ABC TV’s awful Agony Aunts the other night, when the aunts were trying to persuade him to help his roly-poly wife, Gigi, get their kids ready for school in the mornings so she could start an exercise regime.

I guess there are different kinds of love. 

This dish is very Cantonese in its inspiration, especially in the hot oil flashed over the top at the end, as is done with steamed fish. It's also light, easy and really delicious.

Tofu, sweet corn and young broccoli with a hot soy dressing

1 cob corn

½ bunch young broccoli (broccolini)

250g soft tofu (bean curd), drained

2 spring onions, finely sliced

1 red chilli, finely sliced

2 tablespoons chopped coriander (cilantro)

2 tablespoons soy sauce

80ml peanut oil

1 teaspoon roasted sesame oil

Bring a saucepan of water to the boil and add the cob of corn. Cook for about 10 minutes, or until it is tender. Remove corn from saucepan. When cool enough to handle, cut cob in half. Stand one half on its end and shear kernels off around the circumference. Repeat with remaining half.

Lightly cook broccolini in boiling water until a thin sharp knife easily pierces the stalks. Drain. (Don’t allow to overcook.)

Cut the bean curd into cubes and put it on a heat-proof plate. Scatter the corn kernels, broccolini, spring onion, chilli, coriander and soy sauce over the bean curd.

Put the oils in a small saucepan and heat until they are smoking. Immediately pour over the bean curd.

Serve with steamed jasmine or basmati rice.

Rump Stakes

I met the chef John Torode once and, the circumstances being what they were, and with at least one glass of wine under my belt, I told him that I thought he was arrogant and rude. I was involved in a cooking demo he was giving and I also decided that he was a lightweight, a shallow celebrity chef who made his living cooking for rich Londoners and collecting a pay packet from Sir Terence Conran. (I didn't share these conclusions with him.)

John, I’m sorry. I thought you were glib. I thought you were rude. I thought you were mightily pleased with yourself. And maybe you were. But I’m really loving your recipes. Tonight I tried yet another one from your Mezzo book, and again, it was brilliant. As ever, my recipe search was about looking for something light—as in low in fat and carbs but high, high in flavour.

I found your Marinated Rump of Lamb with Sweet Potato Mash. The fat content: whatever the lamb rump might have contained (the rump has more fat than lamb fillet, but beats fillet in flavour and succulence stakes); a bit of vegetable oil for a marinade; whatever carbs might be in the sweet potato; and whatever was in the salad I plonked by the side, which included avocado and some macadmia nut oil. Last night, I got the marinade going. When I got home from work tonight, I thrust a rather large sweet potato in the oven. About 200 degrees, just sitting on the oven rack. I couldn’t believe how fast it cooked: it seemed to be in there for only about 30 minutes before it started to split and ooze, and the flesh just under the skin had started to caramelise beautifully. Meanwhile, the marinade aroma was wafting through the kitchen, a heady, promising mix of spices that had been so easy to pound in the mortar and pestle the night before.

I’m no butcher, but from what I can gather, the rump is the cut between the mid-loin and the topside and thick flank. And, as my new friend John Torode says, this is an excellent barbecue recipe.

Marinated Rump of Lamb, Sweet Potato Mash

2 rumps of lamb (about 425g each)

4 red chillies, deseeded

4 tbsp coriander leaves

2 tsp ground cinnamon

1 tsp cardomom pods

1 tsp cloves

2 tsp black peppercorns

1 tsp turmeric

2 garlic cloves

2 tsp sea salt

250ml (1 cup) plain yoghurt

1 tbsp vegetable oil

1kg sweet potatoes

sea salt

freshly ground black pepper

2tbsp lemon juice

1tbsp vegetable oil

Olive oil for drizzling

1 lemon, quartered

The day before: Score the fat of the lamb in a criss-cross pattern and set aside. (Your lamb rumps may not have a layer of fat to allow you to do this—mine didn't.) Place the chillies, half the coriander leaves, the cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, black peppercorns, turmeric, garlic and salt in a mortar and pestle and pound to a paste consistency. (John suggests a blender or food processor but a big strong mortar and pestle will do the job just as well, although a larger quantity might be more challenging to pound.) Transfer to a shallow bowl and stir in the yoghurt and oil. Spoon the mixture over the lamb, rubbing well to cover all the meat, and set aside for 24 hours.

On the day: Preheat oven to 180 degrees. Bake the sweet potato(es) for 40-50 minutes, until soft. Allow to cool slightly, then peel and mash until smooth. Season well and mix in the lemon juice. Keep warm. When ready to cook the lamb, preheat the oven to 200 degrees. Brush a heated griddle or heavy-bottomed frying pan with the oil and sear the lamb, fat-side down, for five minutes. Turn and repeat on the underside. Transfer the lamb to an oven dish and roast for 15-20 minutes, until just cooked through but still pink inside. Remove from oven and leave to rest for five minutes, then slice each rump into six slices. Pile a mound of sweet potato mash in the centre of each plate and lay three slices of lamb on the top. Drizzle a little olive oil around the outside, and serve with wedges of lemon. Serves 4.

 

A Slim-Line Omelette

Have I found the finest Parisian solution to an adult life spent disconsolate about lavish belly, thighs and bottom? Hedi Slimane, a man who knows a French collar from an Italian cutaway, is a renaissance man, and not just because he has, in his role as head of the house of Dior, apparently, forever transformed the silhouette of man. He is a man whose insight is sweeping. He is a man who knows the importance of stovepipe trousers and narrow jackets. The importance of a slender outline that vanishes when one turns sideways. He is a man who clearly appreciates a social X-ray. (Nicole Kidman and Sarah Jessica Parker, both of whom know a thing or two about social X-Rays, are said to be salivating at the prospect of Hedi's impending women's line.) If only I had found Hedi earlier. If only I had known of his solution to weight gain.

Hedi is a man who eats baby food to stay slim.

How wonderful. How ground-breaking. Thank heavens there is The New Yorker Magazine to share such critical information with us all:

"It matters what Slimane looks like, because he is, in a way, his own best model...Because he's so thin and others would like to be, his eating habits are a subject of curiosity. He says that he eats baby food, and some stories have suggested that he hardly eats at all. But the fashion designer who can do without food is a mythical beast, like the business executive who never sleeps. (Slimane's friend and mentor Karl Lagerfeld supposedly survives on Pepsi Max, and has said that the reason he lost eighty pounds, not long ago, was to fit into clothes designed by Slimane.)"
'Pretty Things', by Nick Paumgarten, The New Yorker, March 20, 2006, p. 126

No wonder Hedi is reputed to have melancholy eyes.

I wonder what his favourite flavour is: Perhaps Creamed Corn, or Applesauce and Bananas with Rice Cereal. I wonder if he snacks on rusks?

I feel like cooking him a good roast chicken, skin on, and distended with stuffing; potatoes, par-boiled, tossed around in the saucepan to rough them up, then dunked in a baking dish of stinking-hot oil (lard is even better) and cooked until crisp on the outside; followed by a crumble, maybe apple and raspberry (the more brown sugar and unsalted butter through it, the better), with clotted cream. Perhaps we'll take smaller steps though, so as not to frighten the poor man.

An omelette shouldn't upset a true Frenchman too much. Even if it does have some Asian flavours.

This recipe here is inspired by one dug out of John Torode’s book Mezzo (Conran Octopus, 1997), from his days at Sir Terence Conran’s Soho restaurant Mezzo (I had my 30th birthday there; Veuve Clicquot and, from memory, a  brilliant roasted red mullet with white beans and pesto). Torode now heads Smiths of Smithfield, near the wonderful old meat market in London’s east end.

So, to the recipe, it’s an Asian-ish omelette that Torode suggests rolling like a Swiss roll at the end. No need. Serve it simply, half-moon-style, as you would with a normal omelette. You'll still get a creamy luscious result thanks to the fact that you don’t flip the omelette during cooking: only one side feels the direct heat of the pan, the other stays a little gooey. The following cut-down and adapted version of Torode's recipe is a perfect, swift, healthy, green-filled, zero-carb meal for one.

Even for one Hedi Slimane.

Asian Omelette, Greens, Garlic, Ginger

Filling:

½ tablespoon vegetable oil

½ onion, sliced finely

2cm piece of ginger, peeled and grated

1 clove garlic, crushed

1 chilli (if you choose)

100g bok choy, stalks cut in 4cm chunks, the rest very roughly so the leaves remain large

2 stalks of broccolini, stalks cut in 4cm chunks, the rest roughly so the vegetable doesn’t turn to mush

1 teaspoon sesame oil

7cm section of cucumber, peeled, then thinly sliced lengthwise using a vegetable peeler/or zuchinni

1tbsp fish sauce

Omelette:

2 medium eggs (for a great result, it’s essential that you pull out all the stops here: really fresh, free-range organic eggs from much-loved chickens)

fish sauce to taste

white pepper

sea salt

fresh lime juice to taste (maybe a teaspoon)

½ tablespoon vegetable oil

Heat first half tablespoon of oil in a frying pan over high heat. Cook onion and ginger for a minute or so, but don’t allow them to burn. Add garlic and chilli, stir, then throw in the bok choy and broccolini. Toss for three to four minutes until the greens are wilted. Add the sesame oil and cucumber and stir well for a minute or so. Remove from the heat and add the fish sauce. Use a fork to lightly beat the eggs with a little fish sauce and a squeeze of fresh lime, plus salt and pepper to taste. Heat a small non-stick frying pan over medium heat and add the oil, tilting the pan so it’s evenly covered. Pour in the eggs and roll around the surface of the pan, tipping the pan so the runny bits run to the edge of the omelette. After a couple of minutes, the omelette should have firmed on the underside and the top will be soft and just a little runny still. Gently ease or slide the omelette onto a dinner plate. Lay the wilted green mixture across one half of the omelette and then flip one half of it over to cover the greens. Serve immediately with extra fish sauce to taste as seasoning.

In David Thompson's Thai Food (Penguin Viking, 2002), Thompson offers a recipe for kai jiaw, a simple omelette, and suggests it “can be embellished ­– with a few sliced red shallots, a little crabmeat or minced pork, some pickled mustard greens or dried prawns.” I love the sound of the crabmeat. If you wanted to try the Thompson idea, you could simply make the base omelette above and, instead of the green mixture, lay on the crabmeat. Meanwhile in Taiwan, and parts of China, an oyster omelette is a famous snack, usually served with a spicy tomato sauce.

Perhaps these ideas might bring a sparkle to Hedi's melancholy eyes.