Aussie Aussie Aussie! Et du vin aussi

D's Australia Day Pavlova

Yes, it is that time of year when those of us not lucky enough to have been born in a country or a hemisphere where the average annual temperature rarely dips below 'balmy' take part in celebrating with those who have.

Yes, it was Australia Day on Tuesday 26 January!

Commemorating the arrival in Sydney Cove of the First Fleet of the British Navy in 1788, this rather controversial public holiday is typically rung in on the beach with copious amounts of beer and barbecue.

Here in Blighty, however, being in the dead of January chill, we celebrated with our Aussie, D., huddled in warm kitchen where we devoured a pavlova to end all pavlovas... The meringue was perfection--firm, dry and crunchy on the outside with a tacky centre layer--topped with cream and a bounty of fruit. It was neither heavy nor too sweet, but was light, pillowy, and fresh. We all asked for seconds.

Prior to this celebration on the 26th itself, we found ourselves at a wine tasting of Australian and New Zealand wines sponsored by the St Antony's College Wine Tasting Society--commonly known as the Antonian Wine Tasting Society.

Our host--let's call her Janine--was a bubbly Social Secretary who apparently hadn't eaten much preceding the tasting. As the evening progressed, her introductions to the wines became ever more abbreviated as her eyes ravenously scanned the plates of cheese and crackers dotting the tables. D. made the point that, perhaps, slabs of Sainsbury's Own Mature Cheddar and Brie, unceremoniously slid from plastic and plopped onto plates, may not have been the best choice of accompaniments for maintaining an untainted palette.

In any case, Janine held it together quite well, and we ignored the lactic slick on our tongues as she led us through a flight of six wines:

1. Saint Clair: Pioneer Block, #6 'Oh Block'
2009 Sauvingnon Blanc
Marlborough, NZ
14.99 GBP

This wine was reminiscent of a Sancerre and had bold citrus flavours of passion fruit and black current. Its acid would counter any creamy poultry or seafood dish. Spaghetti alle vongole or clam chowder, anyone?

2. Tarra Warra Estate, 'Tin Cows'
2004 Chardonnay
Yarra Valley, Australia
9.99 GBP

Not one to choose Chardonnay even when the best varietals are on offer,
I hesitated with this one. We all have experienced
those horrible Chardonnays from California and Australia
too many times. Thankfully, we were all pleasantly surprised.
More mineral than fruity, buttery with subtle notes--
none of that smacked-in-the-jowl-with-an-oak plank woodiness.

3. Schild Estate
2006 Riesling
Barossa Valley, Australia
10.99 GBP

This Riesling was much drier than any of us anticipated, which was nice. A very balanced, all-around sturdy Riesling.

4. Rabbit Ranch
2008 Pinot Noir
Central Otago, NZ
16.99 GBP

Central Otago's location along the 45th parallel ensures the slow ripening of this wine, whose grape requires such gentle coaxing. Rabbit Ranch says it's made in a 'very soft, fruit-forward, low tannin style', and that's precisely what it was.

5. Redbank, 'Fighting Flat'

2006 Shiraz
King Valley, Australia
10.95 GBP

This wine could have seen a few more years in the cellar, as the winery's website suggests 5-7 years. It might have developed a bit more as the red fruit and cedar-y notes were blunt.

6. Grant Burge 'Holy Trinity'
2003 Grenache-Mouvedre-Shiraz
Barossa Valley, Australia
19.95 GBP

50 % Grenache, 33 % Mouvedre and 17 % Shiraz
Full and up-front fruit and spice that would be great with
red meat or an arrabiata sauce.

AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE! OYE OYE OYE!

Something old, something new, something tangy, something...slippery

One of my favourite things about Oxford is how international a community it is. My close-knit group of friends alone represent Africa, Australasia, Asia, Europe, the Middle East, and North America. I clearly need to make a concerted effort with the lovely Central and South Americans around!

If our pot luck dinners had a representative chef it would more likely be Marcus Samuelsson than Julia Child or Gordon Ramsay.

Our friends enrich our lives every day, challenging us, helping us to see ourselves as we are, making us all better people. One of the best things, though, is gathering around a table of food cooked by friends or for friends and tucking in to something new and different and--whether you like the taste or not--made with much love.

What is also truly exciting and wonderful is receiving gifts of food from other parts of the world, offering the opportunity to taste something that I truly would never have been exposed to otherwise. When I returned to the UK from the December holiday I was graced with two such tokens!

N. was kind enough to bring back a hefty bag of FaFa Fruit Bar from Tehran, which is something like a giant sheet of fruit leather. Being something of a connoisseur of fruit leather from those early days of after-school snacks and last-minute pick-me-ups surrounding sports matches, I was overjoyed to be presented with such a bounty of it.

The paper closure to the enormous plastic bag containing the snack shows cartoon characters, each more happy about their respective apple, plum, apricot, red currant (I think), cherry and tamarind paste (unsure, here also...) than the other.

N. informed us that, just as one might find in the States, the product comes in a variety of flavours, but that the sour was the best. Even without having tasted the others, I would have to agree. The tar-coloured stuff tastes great! It's also oddly addictive. The sourness is not too intense, just enough so that I find myself tearing just one more bit off as I'm writing this.

The package also claims that it is 'A Bound Between Children & Fruits'. I cannot read or speak Farsi, and I can barely hold on to a second language, so I truly mean no disrespect when I say that I think this a highly amusing incidence that brings to mind images of siblings braiding lengths of fruit leather into ropes with which to tie each other up.

My second gift of food came from another friend, N., this one from Nanjing. The day after she arrived back from China she came into the kitchen sheepishly asking me if I liked duck. N. has witnessed many of my culinary exploits over this year, and has been the subject of much intense questioning and pestering by yours truly. Most of the time, I am the hovering nag asking about the origins of [insert Chinese cooking technique, vegetable, spice, sauce, herb here] while she's trying to relax and cook up something simple and scrumptious for dinner.

I said I loved duck, knowing that Nanjing is famous for its duck dishes. She then presented me with two shrink-wrapped, bright green packages the size of my palm. 'This is Duck?', I thought. There, on the package was a Sanrio Pekkle duck look-alike, sporting a bib and surrounded by flying chili peppers.


N. stood there while I gingerly tore away the top and a mini duck wing began to emerge, covered in a tough, slippery aspic the colour of weak tea. I have had few Andrew Zimmern/Anthony Bourdain moments in my life, but I was coming to the realisation that this might be one of them.

I took a brave, large bite into what looked like the most fleshy part. The gelatinous outer coating was, in fact, a tasty, highly salty combination of flavours that the package lists as its ingredients:
fresh duck's wings, table salt, soy sauce, onion, ginger, anise, pepper, chilioil, Colored ground pepper. The jury is still out on what 'Colored' ground pepper means, exactly, but I have to admit that the, if slightly sinewy, chewy, meat was good.

N. explained to me that her mom had stuffed the sleeves of her sweaters with the packets, all containing various duck parts and flavours; she sweetly offered me a heart packet, but I bashfully declined. So these are the Chinese equivalent to the Hershey's chocolate Kisses I used to find in my suitcase upon arrival, back in my college dorm room! She said that these were snacks that people in Nanjing eat when watching TV or just hanging out.

This packet also had an amusing phrase or two: 'The last English alphabet after production Date. Indicate production location.' It's like a CakeWreck moment of the Nanjing processed duck industry.

All of this is to say that these small tokens mean a lot. Mouthfuls of new, different things open our eyes, make us more aware of how others live and eat, and we are the better for having experienced them, just as we are better people for the friends and family around us. Next time I'm saying 'yes' to the heart!

Noel

'Twas the season of homecoming. I had been counting the days since Thanksgiving to get back home to friends, family, the cat, and--embarrassingly high on the list--the Wolf range. A few years of cooking on the thing, which my dad cleans and polishes as others might a rare Porsche, was like tasting forbidden fruit.

Little did I know that the year following would see me cook every meal in my tiny town in rural France on two electric 'plaquettes' (that's electric hobs or burners). This was followed by kitchen digs which were, essentially, the servants' quarters in a beautiful home in Paris' 16th arrondissement, and finally, my own Marais cuisinette (think mini fridge, two plaquettes, sink, and cupboards in a space of 4' x 2.5' x 5'). It was impressive. Even more so, the food that myself and flatmate, N., managed to coax from those two plaquettes and a micro-onde.

Going home for me in December is like cozying up to a hearth. There are always mouthwatering smells wafting from the kitchen, and the hibernation instinct manifests itself in wearing old high school sweatshirts and manic, early morning, jetleg-induced baking projects that often last throughout the day. Our family holiday season is always punctuated by my brother's Christmas Day birthday and a holiday party of friends and their families who have made the journey back from various continents and coastal states.

There is little drama, in fact, that surrounds these events. Except, that is, when it comes to the menu and cooking. Words like 'overambitious', 'stodge', and 'boring' become verbal lashings in answer to proposed dishes, and despite the six burners and two ovens, there is always the feeling of 'too many cooks in the kitchen'.

My brother's birthday dinner proved a case in point. Meat thermometers flew as grumblings over the timing of the risotto, lobster tails, and sirloin simmered. Somehow it all came together, washed down with some lovely Perrier Jouet, and all was well again.





New Year's Eve this year was a special one. With everyone home, we decided it was the appropriate moment to open a 1977 Taylor Fladgate Vintage Porto. May this year be as earthy, sweet, and balanced. Eat your heart out, Oxford, and a very happy 2010!

Good golly, gnocchi

Peering at me, their little, ugly eyes daring to pierce the side of their plastic bag, my Maris Pipers were begging to be used. Thanksgiving had long come and gone, and while my growing gut said 'no', a little red devil in the form of Mario Batali--red clogs to match his horns tap tap tapping on my shoulder--said 'yes'.

Fresh pasta has never been an avenue I have felt comfortable exploring. Rather, I delight in ordering it in restaurants, where I know a nonna has been deftly and expertly labouring over dough for hours to create perfectly shaped mouthfuls of sauced deliciousness.

However, some weeks ago I bit the bullet. Friend, V., was leaving for North America soon, and a few friends were coming around for dinner.

I peeled and boiled my pound (or so) of potatoes in heavily salted water, mashed them and spread them out to cool on a cutting board. However, I don't think I let them cool enough. My impatience, combined with a gin and tonic during the interim, made me force the dough together a bit prematurely, I think. I kept adding flour, in proportions equal to those that Mario recommends, and somehow added well over 2 cups...and with the addition of the eggs, the mass began to cling to the work surface in a manner that would make Elmer blush. It crept up my forearms, the crevices of the counter...everywhere! More flour. Somehow this all came together into long logs, and I began to cut small (though they grew large) bits away from each end.


Next challenge: the 'rolling' of the bits off of a fork into boiling water to give them that recognizable shape. Mine were less gnocchi-like, and far more odd dumpling-shaped...but they did rise to the top of my pot of boiling water after mere seconds, and smothered in a simple tomato sauce small cubes of mozzarella, they tasted far better than any grocery store variety I'd ever had. They may have been a motley collection of gnocchi-like blobs, but the texture was pillowy (somehow--given the amount of flour that went in!) and ever so soft. So satisfying was it, that I may give it another go--this time those mashed spuds are going to be left to rest far longer!