Nathaniel Hawthorn, on his Kitchen Garden

“…My garden, that skirted the avenue of the Manse, was of precisely the right extent. An hour or two of morning labor was all that it required. But I used to visit and revisit it a dozen times a day, and stand in deep contemplation over my vegetable progeny with a love that nobody could share or conceive of who had never taken part in the process of creation. It was one of the most bewitching sights in the world to observe a hill of beans thrusting aside the soil, or a row of early peas just peeping forth sufficiently to trace a line of delicate green. Later in the season the humming-birds were attracted by the blossoms of a peculiar variety of bean; and they were a joy to me, those little spiritual visitants, for deigning to sip airy food out of my nectar-cups. Multitudes of bees used to bury themselves in the yellow blossoms of the summer-squashes. This, too, was a deep satisfaction; although, when they had laden themselves with sweets, they flew away to some unknown hive, which would give back nothing in requital of what my garden had contributed. But I was glad thus to fling a benefaction upon the passing breeze with the certainty that somebody must profit by it and that there would be a little more honey in the world to allay the sourness and bitterness which mankind is always complaining of. Yes, indeed; my life was the sweeter for that honey.

Speaking of summer-squashes, I must say a word of their beautiful and varied forms. They presented an endless diversity of urns and vases, shallow or deep, scalloped or plain, moulded in patterns which a sculptor would do well to copy, since Art has never invented anything more graceful. A hundred squashes in the garden were worth, in my eyes at least, of being rendered indestructible in marble. If ever Providence (but I know it never will) should assign me a superfluity of gold, part of it shall be expended for a service of plate, or most delicate porcelain, to be wrought into the shapes of summer-squashes gathered from vines which I will plant with my own hands. As dishes for containing vegetables, they would be peculiarly appropriate.

But not merely the squeamish love of the beautiful was gratified by my toil in the kitchen-garden. There was a hearty enjoyment, likewise, in observing the growth of the crook-necked winter-squashes from the first little bulb, with the withered blossom adhering to it, until they lay strewn upon the soil, big, round fellows, hiding their heads beneath the leaves, but turning up their great yellow rotundities to the noontide sun. Gazing at them, I felt that by my agency something worth living for had been done. A new substance was born into the world. They were real and tangible existences, which the mind could seize hold of and rejoice in. A cabbage, too,—especially the early Dutch cabbage, which swells to a monstrous circumference, until its ambitious heart often bursts asunder,—is a matter to be proud of when we can claim a share with the earth and sky in producing it. But, after all, the hugest pleasure is reserved until these vegetable children of ours are smoking on the table, and we, like Saturn, make a meal of them…”

From the short story: ‘The Old Manse’ published in ‘Mosses from an Old Manse’, 1854. http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/h/hawthorne/nathaniel/mosses/chapter1.html

Making Sausages

I’m posting this particularly for @frogpondsrock (twitter name), who is thinking of making her own sausages. Below is the method that happens at my place. The one that happened yesterday, in fact, when I made a batch of pork,sage and ginger sausages plus a batch of kangaroo, apricot, allspice and clove. Home-made sausages are very good, with a good recipe, but you need the equipment and the time. I was given dad’s old equipment. He had come by an old butcher’s mincer and had bought a hand-extruder to go with it. The mincer is a beast―zips through the meat in no time. Sorry no photos with this post, my hands were too full to take them.

The method:

Preparation

• Be familiar with the sausage-making section of Ruhlman and Polcyns’ ‘Charcuterie’. It’s great. Following is a summary of that plus stuff that the book doesn’t tell you.
• Locate sausage casings, preferably natural ones (salted). You will find suppliers online but they tend to only sell quantities that will make ten years worth of sausages. You need to find a butcher who will sell them to you, and not charge a fortune for the privilege.
• Get large quantities of cheap good meat—you don’t want to be doing this again for a while, so make it worthwhile. Don’t bother with more than two different types of meat. Pork shoulder is good, and inexpensive. Keep in mind that you need about 25% fat (despite what the experts say, any more is sick-making). If you are getting lean meat, like kangaroo or goat, you will need to buy pork backfat to blend with it. Gather the other ingredients according to your selected recipe/s. That typically includes lots of garlic.
• Soak casings in tepid water. They’ll be ready when you are (no need to do them the day before).
• Clear out a whole shelf in the frig and make space in the freezer.
• Place the auger and other loose parts of the grinder in the frig – all equipment needs to be cold.
• Weigh meat, and calculate required ingredient quantities, according to the ratios in your recipe/s.
• Cut meat into chunks, mix in the salt and refrigerate again.
• The meat will need to be ice-cold, but not quite frozen, so keep swapping  the meat/s between freezer and frig  as necessary, while you prepare.
• Clear kitchen benches, sweep/vac  the floor, in preparation for mess.
• Chop other ingredients, grind spices. Have all ingredients measured and ready before removing meat from frig.

Grinding, Kneading and Washing Casings

• Lug the grinder onto bench―mine requires two strong people―and assemble it. I prefer a chunkier blend, so use my middle-sized die and blade.
• Grind meat, together with other dry ingredients, and quickly return it to the frig – it must stay ice cold. When grinding (and later extruding), always put the milder flavoured batch through first. It’s okay to get a little bit of pork in your kangaroo sausages, but not vice-versa.
• Wash the grinder. If you lose a washer/spacer, trust that it will turn up later.
• Add the liquid/s and knead the meat for a few minutes, till the consistency is right, but not too pasty.
• When main helper decides he has to go to in-laws for very important family stuff, look around for other helpers. Negotiate with handy teenager, offering lots of cash. Preferably one who is not sleep-deprived and is wearing old clothes. Get them to set up their dodgy music, so they feel it’s a bit about them.
• Put water in sink, wash casings very, very gently – DO NOT swirl them into a tangle.
• Replace water in sink, and let casings float (to help with tangle removal) while flushing the whole length out with water.  (Slipping the end over the tap nozzle helps). Wind casing onto rolling pins – small ones if you have them.
• Empty sink and refill it with soapy water for washing your hands as you go to and from the equipment, the frig etc. Forget rubber or disposable gloves – it’s a nice thought, but this is serious business.

Extruding and Linking

• Find a large circular tray (an old giant microwave glass is great). Place it, wet, on the bench to collect sausage tube.
• Get ready to do lots of explaining to teenager, who should now be helping.
• Feed length of casing (from rolling pin) onto the nozzle (the right size nozzle for your casing).
• Attach the nozzle to the canister, fill it with sausage mix, pushing the mix in firmly to expel all the air, set up the canister in the holder and start extruding.
• You need one person for turning the piston handle and holding the extruder steady. The other person guides the casings and rotates the tray so that sausage tube falls in a spiral on the tray.
• After the meat starts to flow out of the nozzle and into the casing, squeeze out air at the end and tie off the casing.
• When the  canister is empty, leave the casing attached while refilling, then cut and tie off the casing and start a new section – otherwise there will be air in the casing, the extruder will make rude noises, and the sausage tube could rupture.
• Feed on new casings as needed, always leaving enough excess to tie off. (Note that when you stop turning the handle, there will still be a little more meat flow out of the nozzle, unless you back the piston off a little).
• When the extruder accidently dives to the floor, don’t blame the teenager. Just call the dog to clean up the mess, make a mental note to not walk in that spot and move to another part of the kitchen – recall you can’t allow the meat to warm up in the extruder.
• When extruding is complete, you start to make the links. Twisting every second link works well for me. Some clever people can do triple linking.
• Bag up sausages, keeping one bag fresh for tomorrow night’s dinner (not tonight’s, despite insistence from non-helping family members).
• Be thankful that teenager is now an expert with the extruder and has learnt how sausages are made. Say goodbye to teenager.

Denouement

• Clean up, and clean up some more. Then clean up.
• Mop floor.
• Stretch neck and arms to try and get rid of the burning sensation at the back of your shoulders, from all that hunching over.
• Have a good shower. Take extra time with your fingernails.
• Get a very long drink, sit down and decide not to make sausages again for a long time.
• Give orders for dinner.

The Flavor Bible: First Impressions

‘The Flavor Bible’ is by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg, published 2008 by Little, Brown and Company, New York. http://www.amazon.com/Flavor-Bible-Essential-Creativity-Imaginative/dp/0316118400

 I admire authors who create books about food that aren’t just recipes, but are nevertheless educational, interesting, and useful for a cook. There are so few of these books. McGee’s ‘On Food and Cooking’ is one classic. Hemphill’s ‘Spice Notes’ is another. The Oxford Companions related to food, and of course Larousse Gastronomique are fascinating, but one has only so much shelf space. Certainly this sort of book is worth the space of a dozen gaudy cookbooks, that come and go from fashion.

The Flavor Bible is a little misleadingly named. Sure it’s about flavour and it’s hefty, but it’s not dogmatic. Rather than spelling out hard and fast rules, the authors rely heavily on the comments of various chefs when covering particular phenomena or ingredients, particularly in the early two sections of the book. And it’s not, as the flyleaf says, a ‘guide to creativity’ but it does inspire, and it provides a guide to ingredients and cuisines.

The first section of the book is titled: ‘Flavour = taste + mouthfeel + aroma + ‘the X factor’: learning to recognize the language of food.’ This is clear, concise and has excellent information, much of it new to me. But I’d like more, please. Our perception of food, as it’s consumed, is broken down into elements—a comprehensive matrix.  Also flavour ‘realms’ are described, as physical, emotional and mental—I can’t explain this briefly, you just have to read it.  There is so much here that is eye-opening and yet immediately familiar.  I would have preferred a little basic science in this section. Also absent is a description of how our flavour perceptions change over time, either in the short term (as we eat) or the long term (as we age).

The second section: ‘Great cooking = maximizing flavour + pleasure by tapping body + heart + mind + spirit: communicating via the language of food’, talks about understanding both the ‘essence of the moment’ and the ‘essence of the ingredients’ while planning. This is very, very good, and peppered with excellent quotes and examples. Then there’s an introduction to the classification terms that are used in the third section.

Section 3 is the bulk of the book. Called ‘charts’, it’s really a printed database. Hundreds of ingredients and cuisines are listed, alphabetically. For each of these, appropriate classifiers are used. The classifiers include season, taste, function, weight, volume, techniques, tips, avoid, and botanical relatives (as explained in section 2). Then there’s a listing of related foodstuffs or cuisines for that particular item, like a ‘goes with’ listing. The significance of each entry in that list is indicated by its typeface, whether normal, bolded, caps or bolded caps. This significance is based on a weighting of opinions of a cross-section of experts/chefs. Not just the authors’ opinion – excellent!  Another great  descriptor is ‘flavour affinities’ which lists not single companion flavours, but groups of things which go together. Recommended dishes (by chef) are sometimes listed, plus enlightening quotes about how a chef will use the ingredient.

 

I just wish that the book had come with a CD, or was available online by subscription, so this information could be searched like a database. If I have a recipe calling for a certain ingredient, let’s say a fish recipe using capers, I’d like to be able to find a substitute for capers if I don’t have them, without reading through the book from A-Z. In an electronic database, I’d just tick a few boxes, using the information I find under capers – salty, sour, pungent, light weight, loud volume, and of course, fish. The database would return a list meeting these search terms, each of which could then be clicked for further information. Maybe I might conclude that I’ve just got to go and get capers! Or maybe I need to cook something completely different.

Oh and there’s no entry for silverbeet, not even a ‘see chard’ entry. Hmm.

Successful Kitchen Failures – Yoghurt

Sometimes, despite your best kitchen efforts, things fail to turn out as planned. Before you toss the failed product into the bin, before you feed it to the chooks, or the dog, think about how you can transform it. I had some raw milk which was getting old and was starting to taste a bit sour.  I thought I’d make yoghurt from it, but as soon as it was heated, it curdled, probably because of the high acid. When it cooled again, the curds dissolved, so I went ahead anyway, added the tablespoon of ready-made yoghurt and kept it warm for a long time. A very long time.  At the end of this I was left with yoghurty-flavoured curds and whey.

The whey was added to my sourdough bread dough. It makes the bread a golden colour and softens the crumb.
The curds were drained in several layers of muslin for a number of hours, then upturned and rolled in fresh basil.

 

The end result was more interesting than the yoghurt I had originally intended, and more interesting than the soured milk. Here are some photos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sourdough Bread part 1

I am posting these photos for @tammois (Tammi), to show her some of the breadmaking process that happens in my kitchen on a regular basis. My method is inspired by Dan Lepard’s technique – see ‘The Handmade Loaf”. This post is probably temporary – I’ll put some of the content into another post I’m still planning. 

Two big loaves will come from today’s batch, based on 1kg flour: Laucke bakers flour (unbleached and very good). Today I used oatbran bits, leftover whey and some  raw milk that had soured and needed to go.  And our bees’  honey. I did also sneak in a bit of instant yeast, as insurance, for two reasons: my leaven had been refrigerated for a couple of days, and was refreshed again only late last night. And I was a little concerned about what all that sour milk would do to the leaven. So…

Firstly I tare my plastic bowl on my digital scales, add the leaven and liquids (by weight). I whisk it vigourously, re-tare and then add flour and salt. Then mix by hand.

               

This is the dough just after it has been mixed. I hold the bowl with one hand and use the other hand to mix, starting in the liquid pool and swirling the flour in gradually. It sits like this in the bowl for 10 minutes.

After 10mins, it's time for the first knead. The plastic bench/dough scraper is great for emptying the dough onto the bench and then for lifting the dough as you do the first knead. The knead is 10-20 secs only!

This is the dough after the first brief knead. It sits on the bench for a further 10 mins, while I go and do other things, including cleaning and oiling the bowl.

Now to oil the bench. I use my hands to spread it out - that saves my hands from drying, and gets some oil into the dough.

              

This is the dough after the second 10-20 sec knead. It has been returned to the clean, oiled bowl.

After another 10 minute wait (kitchen cleanup time), the third short knead is complete. The bench is clean, because I just roll the dough over it to pick up any remaining flour. The oil is good for the wood.

The dough then goes into the bowl, covered, for 30 mins before another short knead. Then the length of time between (short) kneads/ dough turning is lengthened, until it’s time to shape. (A future blogpost)              

Notice the refreshed leaven, below. I weigh everything with digital scales – it’s so much easier. The ratio of flour to water added to the leaven is 5 to 4, by weight.              

Eating Kangaroo I – Brining and Grilling

Below is an edited version of something I posted elsewhere, a few weeks ago.

There are some very good reasons for experimenting with kangaroo meat. Eating roo is a controversial subject. On the one hand the kangaroo stands proudly on the Australian Coat of Arms, and it is a truly amazing creature, loved by Australians. On the other hand, if we are to eat meat, then the kangaroo is hugely better environmental choice than cattle or sheep, whose methane emissions contribute significantly to global warming (and whose hooves destroy natural vegetation). There are still questions surrounding kangaroo culling, which need resolving – cruelty and hygiene related. But to my mind the balance at present lies in favour of giving kangaroo meat a go.

Kangaroo meat does not readily substitute for beef, or lamb. Roo bolognaise sauce has a heavy, sickly taste, and meat balls can be quite rubbery.

When I really think about it, the smell of roo meat is like the smell of blood. It’s not a coincidence that the iron/protein ratio for roo meat is an order of magnitude higher than for other meats, and not too different to that of beef liver. It is a very dark meat. It’s very healthy, and the fat content is extremely low. But is it too healthy to be palatable? Roo fillet, cooked quickly and rested long, is very nice, but the fillet is the most expensive cut. What happens to the rest of the carcase? The absence of fat generally, and the fact that roos actually do use their muscles, rather than just wallowing in pens, makes roo meat naturally tough.

I have started some cooking experiments with kangaroo meat. Two of these involve salt. The first is brining. According to Ruhlman and Polcyn’s book ‘Charcuterie’, in the brining process, not only is the meat tenderised (due to the ‘loosening’ of the bonds between the protein molecules), but introduced flavours in the brine (onion, garlic, herbs and spices) are delivered quickly to the inner depths of the meat, via osmosis, which is instigated by the brining.

So I brined some kangaroo steaks.  Less expensive than fillets, steak cuts are still not cheap (I’m trying to find out which part of the beast the steaks come from).  After brining, I rinsed them and dried them uncovered in the ‘frig. And then I smothered them in olive oil, hoping that the fats would seep right in, further separating those proteins. Then they were barbecued, rare, and let rest for a long time under aluminium foil, so that the inside would continue to cook without overcooking the outside. I served them with sweet caramelised onions and rich creamy mashed potatoes, with a little sweet potato for extra depth. And they were tender, and juicy, not bleeding any liquid at all. They were great.

Following  is the method. It makes two meals. Of course it can be halved.

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Brined and grilled (bbq’d)  kangaroo steaks

1.2 kg kangaroo steaks (I bought 7 pieces, around 2.5cm thick) half of which served four people, and the other half  brined, dried, olive-oiled, peppered and ziplocked, for a later meal.

In a small saucepan, bring to a simmer 1 cup water, 110g rocksalt, 60g honey (sugar if you prefer), 3 garlic cloves smashed with the side of a knife, and your preferred herbs and spices. (I used 1 tbs coarsely ground pepper and two dozen torn leaves each of  lemon myrtle and aniseed myrtle leaves―24g. I thought  I’d try these Australian natives, but  not much of the leaf flavours came through in the finished product.) Stir until the salt is dissolved, then turn off the heat.

Tip all of this into a tall plastic brining container, in which you have already added 1.75 litres ice-cold water (I use a bottle of iced water with 2 trays of ice-cubes). Note that the brining mix must be chilled. Make sure the meat is fully submerged. Cover and refrigerate for 2 hours. Note, if you are using meat other than steaks, the brining time will vary, depending on the bulk and thickness of the meat.  (I strongly recommend Ruhlman and Polcyn’s book for general brining instructions).

Discard the brine solution, rinse the meat and dry it with paper towels. Put it back in the ‘frig for a few hours, uncovered, to dry it out further.

Marinate the meat in olive oil, seasoned with ground pepper, for at least an hour before grilling. Grill or bbq until the meat is just rare–a few minutes each side. Cover with aluminium foil and let rest for at least the time it took to cook the meat, before serving.

Caramelised Onions (serves 4)

Take 3 onions (include red ones if you have them). Halve, peel and cut into thin wedges. Place in saucepan with ¾ C water, 1 tbs brown sugar, 1½ tbs balsamic or red wine vinegar, 1 tbs olive oil, ½ tsp salt, pepper. Simmer 25 mins covered, then uncover, increase heat and boil off liquid, stirring, for another 25 mins.

Mashed potatoes―your favourite recipe. I added sweet potato and sour cream, because I thought the roo could take it, and it did.

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Braising and dry-curing kangaroo cuts, and dealing with minced kangaroo meat, will be covered in future posts

A Dedication, by Adam Lindsay Gordon (1822-1870)

They are rhymes rudely strung with intent less
   Of sound than of words,
In lands where bright blossoms are scentless,
   And songless bright birds;
Where, with fire and fierce drought on her tresses,
Insatiable summer oppresses
Sere woodlands and sad wildernesses,
   And faint flocks and herds.

Where in dreariest days, when all dews end,
   And all winds are warm,
Wild Winter’s large flood-gates are loosen’d,
   And floods, freed by storm,
From broken-up fountain heads, dash on
Dry deserts with long pent up passion –
Here rhyme was first framed without fashion –
   Song shaped without form.

Whence gather’d? — The locust’s glad chirrup
   May furnish a stave;
The ring of a rowel and stirrup,
   The wash of a wave;
The chaunt of the marsh frog in rushes,
That chimes through the pauses and hushes
Of nightfall, the torrent that gushes,
   The tempests that rave.

In the deep’ning of dawn, when it dapples
   The dusk of the sky,
With streaks like the redd’ning of apples,
   The ripening of rye.
To eastward, when cluster by cluster,
Dim stars and dull planets, that muster,
Wax wan in a world of white lustre
   That spreads far and high.

In the gathering of night gloom o’erhead, in
   The still silent change,
All fire-flush’d when forest trees redden
   On slopes of the range.
When the gnarl’d, knotted trunks Eucalyptian
Seem carved, like weird columns Egyptian,
With curious device, quaint inscription,
   And hieroglyph strange.

In the Spring, when the wattle gold trembles
   ’Twixt shadow and shine,
When each dew-laden air draught resembles
   A long draught of wine;
When the sky-line’s blue burnish’d resistance
Makes deeper the dreamiest distance,
Some song in all hearts hath existence, –
   Such songs have been mine.