The Elegant Sufficiency

Page Turners, Or Not

I lied.
A few posts back I said that it was a rare cookbook that enticed me enough to spend money these days.
Yet this month, two new Australian cookbooks have captivated me. (Australians among you probably have already pored through them hungrily … they’ve been out since before Christmas…) How lucky am I: in the mail this month I received a copy of Greg and Lucy Malouf’s wonderful Turquoise. (Thanks Greg…) Sub-titled "A chef’s travels in Turkey”, it’s a rare and beautiful thing. Lisa Cohen’s in situ photography (below) and William Meppem’s pics of Greg’s dishes, Lucy’s engrossing travelogue and, of course, his recipes, come together in a stunning package.

Photographs: Lisa Cohen, Turquoise (Hardie Grant Books, 2007)

Greg is a genius, a national treasure. Born in Australia of Lebanese heritage, he has spent his cooking career discovering and interpreting the food of his ancestors and the food of the Middle East. Through his Melbourne restaurants (O’Connell’s and MoMo) and books co-authored with my good friend Lucy (Arabesque, Moorish, Saha, Turquoise, all published by published by Hardie Grant Books), he has introduced these flavours to Australians and trained a generation of chefs.
From Turquoise, I’ll be trying: these crunchy zucchini flowers stuffed with haloumi, mint and ginger; spicy fried calamari with whipped avocado, yoghurt and herb sauce; sultana yoghurt cake; and pomegranate and vodka sorbet.
The thing is, every Malouf book adds something new to the canon of food literature — there’s no regurgitating or rehashing; instead, you’ll find Greg’s original recipes, the vicarious travel and discovery of a new place, Lucy’s lovely words, and, always, terrific photography. (I’ve heard a rumour about what their next offering might be, but I think I may be sworn to secrecy…)

Photograph: William Meppem, Turquoise (Hardie Grant Books, 2007)

And Turquoise isn’t the only Australian food book to have captivated me in the past few weeks: I’ve always loved Karen Martini’s recipes and her new book, Cooking at Home, is yet another treasure. Her recipes in the Sunday Life magazine are always fabulous and figure prominently in my collection of clippings.
But following the lead of a bevy of her cooking colleagues, Martini — or her publishers — has decided that her best marketing asset is herself. As with her first book, Where the Heart Is, there she is on the cover, generous smile and generous cleavage, handsome partner and baby in the background. Is this what food porn is really all about? (I’m endlessly fascinated by the photographs that accompany Martini’s Sunday Life column: let me count the ways to look coquettish…)
Elizabeth David, Jane Grigson, Alice Waters, Stephanie Alexander, Claudia Roden, Marcella Hazan, Julia Child, Patricia Wells … some of the greatest cookbook authors of our time have mostly remained faceless, ethereally drifting through the pages of their books, comforting, shadowy, modest presences.
And then there are the others. Karen, Nigella, Jamie, Kylie, Bill and their ilk. For amusement, if you ever have a few moments to spare in a bookshop, flick through Bill’s latest release, Holiday. Count how many photographs there are of Bill and his teeth. From memory, it’s in the double digits. I couldn’t care how wonderful his recipes might be, if I ever see another photograph of Bill and his teeth I’ll throw up into his picnic basket.
It’s not as if we need any more celebrities in our lives, or more published material to tell us how woefully inadequate and unglamorous our lives are, how plain our friends, how unsatisfactory our home décor, how limited our fashion sense. Countless magazines — even the one I work for — do that very successfully on a monthly basis. (Shall I tell you how much styling goes on to achieve those images you see?)
I like modesty, I like self-effacement — vastly underrated qualities that they are — and there’s something just a bit off about the celebrity-glamour thing overtaking the most fundamental area of our lives — food. Making the food look divine is one thing, but do the people who minutes before the photo shoot might have had their hand up an organic chicken’s bum need to look divine too?
Too much more of this and I might be re-revising my opinion and declaring again that the century of the recipe book is over. English author Michael Booth's thoughts on this dovetail rather nicely into my own. In an article in The Independent a couple of weeks back he wrote about his cookbook bonfire (a pre-meditated marketing stunt?) in which he burnt his every cookbook, his every clipped recipe, in his backyard. His reason? Recipes don’t work, we don’t need them, he reckons. He adds: “Meanwhile, rubbing your failure in your face are the glossy, art-directed photographs that make up half the pages in food books these days. If they were honest, the first line of most recipes would be: ‘First, take your food stylist and renowned studio photographer...’ ”
Booth continues: “Imagine, if we could be free from the tyranny of the TV chef and learn to cook by ourselves without their help. We could skip gaily through our local farmers' market or supermarket, choosing whatever is in season, on special offer or just takes our fancy and, once at home, create our own meals.”
I like his thoughts (never mind his wit) but surely they’re not going to help him sell any books?

For those of you in Melbourne, I’ll be at the Out of the Frying Pan talk-fest on Monday (dear Melbourne, I'm coming home...). I’m moderating the panel on Recipe Writing (they might want to find another moderator after they read this) and a panelist on Web 2.0: How to Blog and How Not to Blog. For details, go here.

theage(melbourne)magazine food edition

Melbourne people, look out tomorrow (Friday) for theage(melbourne)magazine special food edition — comes free with The Age. You'll find my Vue de monde piece in there, plus a great piece about sushi in Melbourne from my colleague Susan Horsburgh. (The magazine doesn't have a website, so I can't link you to articles, and the company owns my copyright, so I can't post my article here either, but I'm going to see if someone will let me bend the rules in this case.)

Magazine Watch

National Geographic's April edition (OK, I'm a bit slow here; you should see the piles of newspapers and magazines lying around my apartment, waiting to be read) offers a special report, Saving the Sea's Bounty, exploring the tragedy of our desecrated oceans with typically extraordinary images:
Quote 1: "To supply the world's sushi markets, the magnificent giant bluefin tuna is fished in the Mediterranean at four times the sustainable rate."
Quote 2: "Emblematic of First World exploitation of Africa's resources, only the carcasses of Nile perch are affordable sources of protein for some Tanzanians living around Lake Victoria. Perch fillets are stripped in 35 lakeside processing plants and shipped north, mainly to Europe..."
Quote 3: "New Zealanders embraced a simple idea for restoring their overfished coastal seas: Set aside entire ecosystems for protection. No fishing. No traps. By insisting that nothing be taken, a nation watched its waters surge back to life."
Beyond seafood, the magazine's image of two young grizzly bears simultaneously scratching their backs on a road sign in Alaska's Denali National Park is brilliant. (How cool is this magazine: this edition also includes an article called Hip Hop Planet: "Whether you trace it to New York's South Bronx or the villages of West Africa, hip-hop has become the voice of a generation demanding to be heard.")
On a different note, the Australian edition of Travel & Leisure (sadly, no online presence I can find to link to) includes an excellent feature on Kuala Lumpur, as seen through the eyes of KL-born Australian master chef Cheong Liew. Great pics and recipes including Mamak Crab and Curry Laksa.

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?

1948 Banana Cake

It was 1948. Mahatma Gandhi had been assassinated in New Delhi. The Cold War had begun with the Berlin Blockade. The State of Israel was established. In Australia, the pipe-smoking Ben Chifley was Prime Minister and the first Holden car, the beloved FX, had rolled off the assembly line. Australians were eating Maxam luncheon beef from a can, discovering the joys of The Hawkins, “America’s finest pressure cooker”, and sending in recipes by the thousands to The Australian Women’s Weekly ₤2000 Cookery Contest. The slim little volume that published the winning recipes sold for two shillings and featured on its cover a jug and glasses of punch, a bowl of daisies, and an odd brown-pink-and-green layered cake with a piped-cream-and-strawberry ornamentation.

A Novelty Cauliflower Cake
The ₤50 Champion Cake was a Snowflake Cake with Egg-Nog Filling. The poor Australian cook who devised the recipe and its not-unappealing filling of egg yolks, sugar, butter, lemon rind, chopped walnuts, citron peel, raisins and brandy wasn’t named.
Other cake recipes in the edition included a Novelty Cauliflower Cake (the ‘cauliflower’ being a swirl of meringue with green-coloured icing for ‘leaves’), a Jamaican Sultana Cake and the Tutti Frutti Cake. And then there were the savoury recipes, among them, a Creamed Lamb Shape, Curried Rabbit in Grapefruit Cases, and the Casserole Australis (a preparation not the for the faint-hearted of minced steak and diced kidneys with mushrooms, grated carrots and apple, onion, green pepper, celery and bacon, with a “fluffy scone” topping).

A Young Newspaperwoman
I go nuts for old cookbooks and my foraging mother (addicted, to a disturbing, compulsive degree, to garage sales, secondhand shops, charity shops) has instructions to watch out for anything pre-1965. I’m a sucker for their retro appeal (especially love the little black and white line drawings in this edition) and join the dots of stains and spills and thumbed edges to try to imagine who might have owned and cooked from them. My theory on the owner of The Australian Women’s Weekly Cookery Book (Prize Recipes from our ₤2000 Cookery Contest): she was a career woman, perhaps a young newspaperwoman assigned to the women’s pages in a smoky newsroom full of men. She had cheered when, in 1944, fellow Australian newspaperwoman (and later editor of the Weekly), Esme Fentson wrote the article “Who Will Do the Housework?”, predicting that when men came home from the war, women would want to “discard the duster and earn pay envelopes of our own.” She had sighed when her despairing mother had given her yet another cookbook in the hope that her daughter might start looking for a husband instead of a scoop. She had laughed uproariously when, the one and only time she flicked through that cookbook, she had come upon a recipe for a cake designed to resemble a cauliflower and another, a banana log with toffee chips, designed to resemble a tree trunk. And the reason I have this theory about the owner of my copy of The Australian Women’s Weekly Cookery Book (Prize Recipes from our ₤2000 Cookery Contest)? There’s not a stain, spill or thumbed edge to be found on it.

A Banana Crisis
Despite Australia’s banana crisis (the continuing, devastating effects of a vicious cyclone on the North Queensland banana crop that has seen banana prices hit $12 a kilogram and more), I had bananas to burn. Long before the cyclone, someone had mentioned to me that bananas past their use-by-date freeze well. So my freezer was full of them. And how could I resist a recipe for a banana cake designed to resemble a tree trunk?
According to The Australian Women’s Weekly Cookery Book (Prize Recipes from our ₤2000 Cookery Contest), the cook of this banana cake should “rough the icing with a fork to represent bark”. Presumably the bark effect becomes even more pronounced with the addition of the toffee chips. Still, hard as it was, I fought the overwhelming temptation to make a cake that looks like a tree trunk. The truth was, I simply wanted to use up some bananas. And the result? Not especially memorable. I’m not sure whether it was because my conversions from imperial to metric were off (see below), or too late I forgot to adjust cooking temperature and time in accordance with the firepower of a modern, fan-forced oven, or perhaps it was just a so-so recipe. Whatever, I’m on the prowl now for a better banana cake recipe to use up that freezer-full of bananas. And it doesn’t have to resemble a tree trunk.

Your help will be greatly appreciated. Please send emergency banana cake recipes.

Banana Log with Toffee Chips

Cake:
4oz margarine or butter (113g)
4oz sugar (113g)
Pinch grated lemon rind
2 eggs
8oz self-raising flour (226g)
3 bananas
¼ pint milk (½ cup)
1 teaspoon bicarbonate soda
Icing:
3 dessertspoons butter
2 cups icing sugar
1 dessertspoon cocoa
Pinch salt
1 dessertspoon coffee essence
½ teaspoon vanilla
Toffee Chips:
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
1 teaspoon lemon juice

Cake: cream shortening with sugar and lemon rind. Add beaten eggs. Lightly fold in sifted flour, then thoroughly mashed bananas. Lastly fold in soda dissolved in milk. Turn into greased log tin or loaf-tin, bake in moderate oven 50 to 55 minutes.
Allow to stand in a tin a few minutes before turning on to cake-cooler.
When quite cold, spread all over with icing, rough up with fork to represent bark; decorate with toffee chips.
Icing: Beat butter until soft and white, gradually add sifted icing sugar, salt and cocoa. Continue beating until well-mixed. Gradually add coffee essence and vanilla.
Toffee chips: Place sugar, water and lemon juice in saucepan, stir over low heat until sugar is dissolved. Bring to the boil, cook until a pale amber colour. Pour into buttered tin; when cold and set, break into pieces.