{penguins and parentheses}

Reflections

2011-12-08T19:00:00.000+11:00

You mightn't think that penguins have all that much to do - go fishing, waddle about, slide across the ice, shiver a little - and yet, it seems to have been inordinately busy around these parts over the past few weeks. Here are a few snippets of the latest goings on...

Taking time to notice that things can be beautiful without being perfect
Studying colourfully, hopefully for the very last time - studying colourfully doesn't come close enough to embodying Kate Spade's maxim of living colourfully
Far, far too much caffeine (and far, far too little sleep)

A long walk in the sunshine, with a detour for gelato. This one was caramelised white chocolate and ‘the whole package’ (peanut butter, banana and salted caramel) from Gelato Messina. Much as I love to try something new, my heart (or its arteries, at least) belongs to the salted caramel and white chocolate. And my curiosity hankers after the strawbachio (strawberry and pistachio – another long walk will be needed very soon...)
A spell of subsisting on the offerings of the vending machine at work (thank goodness that's over!)
The cafe downstairs has wonderful chicken and avocado sandwiches on Brasserie Bread sourdough - a good way to recover from a deadline. Getting away from the vending machine's good, but getting further than the foyer will be even better

Making calissons for the first time – these ones are cherry flavoured, with lemon icing (a bit of pink icing never goes astray)
A very late night combining glamour (unusually for me, and apparently second nature for many of the others) and sobriety (second nature for me, and apparently entirely anathema for many of the others)
Taking time to prepare things that aren’t perfect to be a little more beautiful can be rewarding (I’m starting to realise that instagram is handy for test shots, too)

Fresh, warm potato and rosemary sourdough from the new Bourke Street Bakery in Potts Point
Some light and sugary reading for the week.
Because I can’t just bounce between Daring Bakers and batches of brownies forever, when there are so many wonderful cakes to be made
A little something sparkly picked up on the walk home – a flippy metallic skirt from Minty Meets Munt

Wherever you are, I hope you're having a lovely (and sparkly) week...

Nutty But Thankful - Pecan, Maple and Pumpkin Sans Rival Cake

2011-12-05T19:00:00.003+11:00

In the midst of chaos, being told (or even gently encouraged) to be thankful can be akin to having the Trifle-Eating Cat's Dad shout "Dropped it!" on hearing a crash from an adjacent room. That is, it's completely true, patently obvious even if you don't want to hear it, and therefore entirely infuriating*. And yet, there can be a lot to be thankful for, even if you have to poke under a few rocks to think of it. Good friends. Sleeping in. The prospect of Christmas. The absence of bagpipes. More occasions than usual to justify wearing sparkly shoes. The limitless patience of the Other Penguin.

Pecan, caramel and pumpkin Sans Rival cake - an innocent buttercream exterior hides nutty meringue inside...

Thanksgiving, a holiday that (unsurprisingly, given its origins) passes in Australia with barely so much as a peep, has just been and gone for another year (passing with a much louder peep indeed on the food blogs, where pumpkins and pecans abound in every possible incarnation). This was on my mind when I tackled this month's Daring Bakers challenge.

Catherine of Munchie Musings was our November Daring Bakers’ host and she challenged us to make a traditional Filipino dessert – the delicious sans rival cake! And for those of us who wanted to try an additional Filipino dessert, Catherine also gave us a bonus recipe for bibingka which comes from her friend Jun of Jun-blog. In a rare application of common sense, I decided that, much as I did want to try an additional dessert (when do I not...?), it was wiser to tackle one thing with conviction than bite off more than I could chew and end up grumpy (and with a pair of baking fails).

Alternating layers of pecan meringue and caramel buttercream, with pumpkin cookie dough for good measure and to add to the festive flavours

A sans rival cake is a form of dacquoise which involves alternating layers of (traditionally) cashew meringue and buttercream. When I first read about the resulting crunchy, silky, rich confection, it sounded like eating a generously buttered cloud. Half the fun of Daring Bakers is trying to find a creative way to interpret the given recipe (the other half, I often have to remind myself while muttering intently at something untried and initially seemingly impossible, is the challenge bit of it). So, I decided to combine my Filipino dessert with a US celebration, and bring Thanksgiving to the Sans Rival...

My sans rival incorporated layers of pecan meringue and caramel buttercream with, for good measure, gooey pumpkin cookie dough with more pecans added.

The finished recipe was a mix of invention and evolution. It began with the discovery that pumpkin was thin on the ground in my local supermarket, unless I felt inclined to roast and puree it myself (which I didn't). This led to some improvising with pumpkin soup and brown sugar, which produced a satisfyingly rich and pumpkin-y syrup. I also discovered that this was another recipe that didn't lend itself to a rustic baker - the assembly process had more in common with bricklaying than with Donna Hay.

The rustic effort in icing the cake didn't detract from its indulgent taste (phew!)

However, after the finished cake had been put in the fridge to cool down and set, it turned out surprisingly well. It wasn't particularly cloud-like, as the nuttiness of the meringue gave it more substance and texture than the melting crunch of the regular variety. The deep caramel flavour kept the taste of the buttercream from being dominated by, well, butter. Combined with the pumpkin cookie dough, the finished cake had a complexity that was belied by its rather cobbled-together look. Still, it was very indulgent, and a little cake went a long way.

Don't be taken in by its small size - even a half-size Sans Rival packs a serious sugar hit

If you'd like to make your own Thanksgiving Sans Rival, here's what to do...

What you need
For the pecan meringue
(note: this was half the quantity in the original recipe, as I decided to make a smaller cake)
120 g chopped pecans
5 large egg whites, at room temperature
½ cream of tartar
113 g sugar
For the caramel sauce
(note: this makes more than needed for the recipe - I simply can't imagine what leftover caramel sauce could be useful for, though!)
115 g butter
200 g sugar
120 ml cream
For the maple buttercream
(note: this is the full quantity from the original recipe, as adapted for my flavourings. Why twice as much buttercream as meringue? Well, it matched the number of egg yolks remaining, as well as giving a bit of room for trial and error. But there was still way too much - enough to ice a batch of small cupcakes as well, for instance...
5 egg yolks, at room temperature
225 g sugar
60 ml water
275 g butter
2½ tbsp maple syrup
180 ml caramel sauce
For the pumpkin cookie dough
560 ml pumpkin soup (I used Darikay)
150 g dark brown sugar
75 g butter
125 g dark brown sugar, additional
200 g flour
1½ tbsp molasses
130 g roughly chopped pecans

What to do
For the pecan meringue
1. Preheat oven to 160°C. Line the base of two 10 cm springform cake tins (or four if you have them - I needed to do two batches of two) with baking paper, and grease the sides with butter, taking care not to miss any spots as the meringue will stick very easily.
2. Whiz the pecans in a food processor until they are roughly ground. (The recipe recommends not processing them so much that they become an even powder, as the textural contrast of the nuts is an important part of the cake).
3. Whisk the egg whites until frothy (around 2 minutes in a stand mixer), then add the cream of tartar. Continue whisking on high speed, adding the sugar a couple of tablespoons at a time, until firm glossy peaks form.
4. Gently fold the ground pecans into the egg whites.
5. Carefully dollop the meringue batter into the prepared cake tins. Plonk the tins down on the kitchen bench to ensure there aren't any gaps (just the once or it'll knock out all the air), and level the top with a knife or an offset spatula
6. Bake for 30 minutes. Remove the cooked meringues from the tins 2-3 minutes after removing from the oven, and place on a wire rack to cool. Then, wash, re-line and grease the cake tins, fill with the second batch of meringue batter and bake.
Important notes on baking time: I scaled back the original meringue recipe by half, and cooked it in smaller tins. Even after this, I ended up filling the cake tin each time. In hindsight, thinner, flatter meringues would have cooked more quickly and evenly, and then been easier to work with when assembling the finished sans rival.
Interestingly, the results varied quite significantly between batches - while the same quantity was put in the tins, the first batch came out thinner and crispier, and the second batch was thicker and chewier. I left both batches in the warm oven overnight and then, before preparing to assemble them, cooked them (on the wire rack, not in their tins) for a further 60 minutes at 120°C. This helped dry them out and crisp them up appreciably more. And taught me (yet again) that tinkering with recipes I've never attempted before can have mixed results and need a bit of tweaking.
For the caramel sauce
7. Put the butter and sugar in a large saucepan and heat, stirring only minimally, until it turns golden brown. When it's ready, it will be starting to turn a darker brown, and may still look almost frothy. If you leave it till it's going too much darker, it'll get beyond salvation as it keeps cooking after removed from the heat.
8. Remove the pan from the stove and add the cream, ¼ cup at a time, stirring in between. The mixture will froth and bubble up as the cream is added, so be careful not to get scalded. Also, be careful not to sound like a little old woman when writing recipes full of boiling sugar...
9. Allow the caramel sauce to cool to room temperature before using it in the buttercream.
For the maple buttercream
10. Put the egg yolks in a mixing bowl and beat on high speed until they are thick and pale yellow, and almost double in size (this took quite a bit longer than I expected).
11. Put the sugar and water in a large saucepan, and heat until it reaches 112°C. As it heats, brush the sides of the pan occasionally with water to avoid sugar crystals forming.
12. Make sure the splash guard is on your mixer, and very carefully, slowly pour the scarily hot sugar syrup into the egg yolks. Mix at high speed until the egg and sugar mixture has cooled to room temperature, which takes around 15 minutes.
13. Add the room temperature butter about a tablespoon at a time, and continue beating on high. It helps to make sure that each addition of butter is incorporated before adding more. Then, add the maple syrup and beat in until well combined.
Important note on adding the sugar syrup: The recipe requires this to be done with the mixer on high speed, but my wariness around boiling sugar meant it was on about middling speed, and the syrup went in far quicker than it should've. I was very, very nervous indeed that it was going to turn into scrambled eggs. While it wasn't perfect, it ended up not being too bad for my first ever attempt at French buttercream. It improved significantly as the rest of the steps were completed.
14. Refrigerate the buttercream for at least an hour (mine was in the fridge for over 12 hours, to enable baking to fit round important things like sleeping and going for brunch with the Penguin Wrangler). This is the finished buttercream as adapted from the original recipe - it reminded me that I find buttercream, well, entirely too buttery and without enough other flavour, so I decided now that it needed something else to give it some depth. That something was caramel...
15. When ready to assemble the sans rival, remove the buttercream from the fridge and beat on high speed. Add 180 ml of caramel sauce, a little at a time, and beat until thoroughly incorporated.
For the pumpkin cookie dough
16. Put the pumpkin soup and 150 g of dark brown sugar in a saucepan and heat until thick and syrupy - about 15 minutes. Set aside and allow to cool to room temperature.
17. Beat the butter until pale, add 125 g of dark brown sugar and cream together with the butter until light and pale.
18. Alternately add the syrupy soup and the flour, a little at a time of each, to the creamed butter and sugar, beating well at a slow speed after each addition.
19. Add the molasses and mix thoroughly, then add the chopped pecans and mix again to distribute evenly through the cookie dough. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before using.
To assemble the sans rival
20. Trim the edges of the meringue so that the layers are an even roundness. I also sliced each of the two meringues from my second batch into two thinner layers, so they were consistent with the thickness of the layers from the first batch.
21. Starting with a layer of meringue, alternate layers of meringue and buttercream, spreading the buttercream to the edges, Every third layer, add a layer of pumpkin cookie dough.
22. Spread the sans rival with buttercream and decorate with additional crushed pecans. I also added some chopped pecans in caramel sauce to the top of the cake.
23. Refrigerate the finished cake until ready to serve, and before cutting it.
Assembly is resoundingly not my strong suit, not by a long shot. My initial reaction to the sans rival was that it would have plenty of rivals, and would succeed on appearances only by pulling a proverbial Steven Bradbury... I ended up with a badly engineered tower with an uneven smeary coat of buttercream. Paddington Bear would have been very proud.

* It may not surprise you after hearing this to hear that the Trifle-Eating Cat's Dad has prior form in consulting, which involves saying much the same things, only about technical matters and getting paid for it...

Yes Sir! Three Bags Full (Of Breakfast)

2011-11-22T19:00:00.002+11:00

Sometimes, the prospect of a holiday can be a more powerful motivation than the holiday itself. It's all about anticipation (which might be a point that's reinforced by my family's tendency to open their Christmas presents in, at best, late afternoon - and not just because we're too busy grazing). One of my favourite things to look forward to about a holiday is the very important matter of where to eat. It's where my holiday planning efforts begin and (perhaps to the occasional frustration of the Other Penguin) often where they end, too.

Sticky gingerbread with mascarpone, cumquats and pistachios

Time Out's list of the best breakfasts in Melbourne was one of my starting points on the trail for promising restaurants and cafes before a recent long weekend visit. The combination of tea cup light shades and "grungy warehouse chic" at Three Bags Full sounded intriguing, so I popped over to its website. And it had me at Sticky Black Gingerbread. Hook, line and sinker.

The menu at Three Bags Full

It was a good thing I was committed and, perhaps, an even better thing that there aren't too many other brekky options in the vicinity of Three Bags Full on a wide but surprisingly peaceful road in Abbotsford. Because the rest of Melbourne's discovered it too. And when we got there, at a pleasantly civilised hour of mid-morning, they all seemed to be ahead of us in the queue. We fidgeted and chatted, eyeing the rather hardy souls game to sit in the still-rather-nippy fresh air at outside table under the hungry gaze of the waiting hordes, and held out for a table indoors.

The cafe felt comfortably modern and quirky, and rather reminded me of the artfully curated style at Anthropologie. The tea cup lights above the counter added a spark of whimsical colour, while road signs turned into stools and vintage finds brought an industrial edge and hinted at the building's past. I had plenty of time to take it all in as, being so busy, service was a little stretched (but also friendly).

The cosy interior - love the teacup lights

Looking at the menu was a bit of a cursory effort for me - I already knew exactly what I was going to order. Although twice-baked French toast sounded pretty appealing, too. And so did the braised leek and potato omelette with gruyere.

The Other Penguin opted for the big breakfast, which was very true to its name - even after the appetite-whetting queue, it was a bit too big to finish. It included eggs, bacon, tomato, spinach, mushrooms, a rich and slightly obscene looking cheese kransky, relish and toast.

The (very) big brekky at Three Bags Full

The keenly-anticipated gingerbread initially concerned me with its crunchy-edged appearance. Where was the stickiness I was hoping for? As it turned out, though, toasting the gingerbread was a great move - it gave it a textural contrast to the rich smoothness of the vanilla bean mascarpone and the syrupy tang of the candied cumquats that accompanied it. And the sprinkle of pistachios brought it together. The menu grouped it into the 'Sweet Tooth' section, and it was definitely indulgent - but not tooth-achingly so. Looking forward to a particular dish for a fortnight could have created an almost-insurmountable expectation, but this was the perfect beginning to set up a hungry penguin for a day of pootling across town.

The menu of reliable favourites plus some more unusual options and the friendly laid-back atmosphere make Three Bags Full worth the wait. Which is lucky, because it could be quite a while before I make it back to Melbourne to have more gingerbread for breakfast... but it all just adds to the anticipation.

Take An Umbrella In Case There Are Cupcakes

2011-11-20T19:00:00.002+11:00

When it's raining and sunny at the same time, there are rainbows. But if it's raining while you eat a cupcake... does that mean you end up with sprinkles?

Cupcake Weather by Mitra Farmand via Dear Musketeer

Or do you just end up with soggy icing, feeling like you've ended up in MacArthur Park?

With cupcakes like these, you might not even notice it was raining...

Cupcakes with cupcakes on top - eep! These ones are from Baked Perfection

I love this colour combination, too (they're actually truffles, but they're so pretty I'll let them off)...

Cupcake truffles from The Family Kitchen

Or, for something (slightly) more understated, there are these sandwich cookies...

Banilla sandwich cookies by Bakers Royale

If I was going to eat cupcakes in the rain, this might be the perfect skirt to wear while I'm out there...

Twinkle Lights pencil skirt from Anthropologie

I think I'd wear it with a simple black top and black patent wellies. It's important to look glamorous when you're out in the rain eating a cupcake, after all.

It's hard not to feel cheerful surrounded by sprinkles (or sparkles). You might even feel like dancing...

Photo by diastema via weheartit

Dancing in the rain with a cupcake? Just perfect...

Sweet Dreams

2011-11-18T19:00:00.001+11:00

In the list of trade-offs to try and do seven impossible things before breakfast, sleep is almost always the first thing to go (and that's before reconciling myself to the notion that sometimes, doing two and a bit things by afternoon tea is as good as it's going to get). Sticky Penguin, brought to you by an Awful Lot Of Caffeine - so much that it requires capital letters to convey just how much.

But, even after going to bed, sleep can be elusive. There are things to think about, to worry about, to plan. Terribly pressing matters of global significance, like what sort of filling should go in the next batch of brownies, when on earth I'll get my Daring Bakers done, and whether wearing black to work three days out of five is unimaginative. And the dreams that follow can sometimes be much the same...

Would those dreams be that much sweeter if you went to sleep snuggled in crisp, clean layers of... chocolate?

Chocolate sheets from Bed Toppings

(not to be confused with bed hopping, which is something else entirely - or so I hear)

The pillows are the same sort of too-cute-for-words as Japanese food erasers (and if you've noticed the new profile picture lately, you might spot a certain weakness there!)...

Chocolate pillow case from Bed Toppings

Sadly, they're only available for kids - the size of kids that sleep in single beds, that is. Those of us bigger kids who dream of dozing off in more of a family-sized block of chocolate will just have to... keep dreaming.

Bed Toppings was discovered while pottering on hardtofind.com.au - source of all sorts of distractions and covetable (or, in this case, duvetable? Nope, that really doesn't work...), and which hasn't had anything to do with this post - the only sort of sponsoring of penguins happens here.

Not Over The Rainbow Yet

2011-11-10T19:00:00.010+11:00

A sure-fire way to crave a particular food more than ever is when you Just. Can’t. Have. It. Recent hankerings after viennoise au chocolat, crack pie, fondant fancies and (absurdly after all that sugar overload) diet Cherry Coke support this highly scientific allegation based on a gluttonous sample of one.

The difficulty in obtaining some (although by no means all) of the various things to eat that skitter distractedly across the bit of my brain that is permanently devoted to thoughts of food is their belonging to a particular place or a specific point in time. The power of food to transport you somewhere else is simply amazing.

When I came across this photo, it immediately made me think of food...

Photo via Satellite True

Probably not the reaction you’d expect from a picture like that! But it took me straight back to being a small girl in New Zealand, waiting with my dad for a Friday-night order of fish and chips to be ready. The takeaway shop had walls panelled with wood-printed laminate, and a tank of tropical fish that I never thought to connect with the coming meal. The fish – often shark – was thickly coated with batter that never seemed soggy in the middle and was extra-specially crunchy towards the head and the tail. And the chips were crispy and golden with fluffy middles and a generous sprinkling of salt, in the days before people worried about high blood pressure.

Sometimes, after the fish and chips, there might be the promise of a rainbow bar. Like a bigger, better version of a licorice allsort, rainbow bars were long and thin and came in packs of six, each a different colour. I was convinced the candy exteriors had distinguishable flavours, and whether they really did was maybe less important than your imagining it was true. I almost wonder whether I imagined the rainbow bars themselves, because when I went in search of them, they were nowhere to be found...

That’s a lot of memories to come from a brightly coloured piano. What’s the most unexpected thing you’ve come across that’s made you think of a particular food? I’d love to hear about it...

Comfort Food From Outside The Comfort Zone - South East Asian Food

2011-11-06T19:00:00.000+11:00

What does 1970s food make you think of? Retro dinner party classics like prawn cocktail and beef wellington, perhaps. The sweet nostalgia of blancmange, peach melba, knickerbocker glory and trifle (always trifle). Pot luck dinners and so-uncool-it-never-goes-out-of-style fondue. Leaving for work or school only after a Proper Cooked Breakfast. More pre-packaging – TV dinners and fish fingers anybody? (didn’t think so...).

Lots of those things have a rather stodgy waft of comfortable familiarity. Some are rib-sticking and hearty and even dishes that once seemed the height of sophistication (devils on horseback and duck a l’orange?) are something to be tucked into and enjoyed, rather than a delicate morsel artfully arranged on a plate. They can evoke feelings of childhood and a sense of innocent – even naive? – pleasure in food, even in people who didn’t grow up in the 70s. But not all the recipes from back conjure up images of Kath & Kim crossed with Enid Blyton.

South East Asian Food by Rosemary Brissenden

The idea of what was exotic was very different to now. Unless they were part of your native culture, things as simple as espresso, pumpernickel, souvlaki and felafel were curiosities that didn’t lurk on every corner (although 20 odd years later, I used to get funny looks eating pate sandwiches for lunch at school…). Chinese food was likely to begin with spring rolls and end with sweet and sour pork. But some people had abroader frame of reference…

Rosemary Brissenden first visited South East Asia in 1957 when she was a student at Melbourne University. South East Asian cuisine was largely unknown beyond those who’d experienced it first-hand and Australian food at that time was yet to stake out its territory as a global pick-n-mix held together with something of its own. Brissenden set to and wrote South East Asian Food, which was first published in 1969 and was the definitive guide to food from that region.

Over forty years later, a substantial new edition of the book has been released. In the cluttered and growing cookbook market full of next big things and toqued experts, South East Asian Food has become an enduring classic while staying relevant and up to date. It can be described as a seminal work without a trace of hyperbole – an assertion supported by Elizabeth David providing a ringing endorsement on the book’s warm chartreuse cover.

"A book that every serious cook should possess" - Elizabeth David"

I first approached South East Asian Food with a degree of caution; its initial impression is of a Book That Means Business. Its heft reminded me of Stephanie Alexander’s The Cook’s Companion which, I learned to my surprise, was only published in 1996.

South East Asian Food isn’t like the majority of modern recipe books. It isn’t a glossy coffee table book designed for show (or showing off) as much as for cooking. Nor is it a magazine-style format to flick lazily through on a weekend afternoon before, with a rumbling tummy, pottering into the kitchen to try out whatever caught your eye. It has more in common with a textbook – investing some time reading carefully and planning your approach will reward you by unlocking flavours that – for me, at least – I’d not imagined being able to recreate at home.

Lamb and spinach curry - its not-so-exotic name belies its depth of flavour

The book’s authoritativeness and detail could make it initially a bit intimidating for readers who are new to recipes from the region, or who favour cookbooks full of glossy pictures showing the finished product. However, Brissenden is a patient teacher. Her style is instructive and no-nonsense, a little like being taught by a slightly stern but very wise and generous aunty. The instructions are direct and clear, and explain why things are done a certain way (satisfying bothmy curiosity and my ignorance). A touch of lightness is provided by Daniella Germain’s illustrations (now taking centre stage of their own accord in My Abuela’s Table).

A couple of Daniella Germain's illustrations in South East Asian Food

South East Asian Food traverses a culinary journey from Indonesia to Vietnam, passing through Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia along the way. The recipes are arranged by country and then into categories – grills and barbecues, braises, fried dishes, curries of almost every sort and persuasion. Brissenden gives an insight into each country’s culinary history and traditions, important ingredients and how meals are served. This follows a meaty introduction to ingredients and techniques, which instructs on everything from ‘making prawns crunchy’ to the uses of fresh coconut and making your own Javanese soya sauce.

If the 1970s are, at first glance, all about comfort food, South East Asian Food took me far outside of my comfort zone. I can safely confess to being a complete novice in relation to cooking Asian food of any variety and most of my experiments tend firmly towards sweet rather than spicy. The first recipe I tried was a lamb and spinach curry from Malaysia, and involved making my own curry powder. The finished dish had a depth of flavour that grew on the Other Penguin and me with each mouthful. It was quite mild, but had a subtle intensity – the freshly made curry powder made a noticeable and refreshing difference.As it turns out, this recipe was comfort food - just perhaps not the kind I'd first think of...

Lamb and spinach curry

Being in such new territory, I tried to minimise my tinkering with the recipe. There were a few items where I used some pre-ground spices because they were what I had to hand, but I was keen to stay true to the instructions to get a good sense of the intended flavours.

The recipe, with my extra notes and comments, is as follows:

Meat Curry Powder

(The quantities below are for a quarter of the recipe shown in the book – the original recipe makes a substantial amount, and I thought it was worth seeing how it tasted before making a giant batch (especially as the Other Penguin has quite a low chilli threshold))

What you need

25 g coriander seeds

8 g cumin seeds (I used ground cumin)

8 g fennel seeds (I used ground fennel seeds)

3 tsp turmeric

1 tsp black peppercorns

9 dried chillies (or more to taste – even twice as many if you like it hot…)

What to do

1. Roast the coriander seeds, cumin seeds, fennel seeds and turmeric lightly in a dry pan for around a minute and a half.

2. Remove the spices from the heat and place in a mortar or the bowl of a small food processor (I used the attachment for a stick blender), add the peppercorns and dried chillies and whizz (or grind with a pestle) to a powder.

Making lamb and spinach curry

Lamb and Spinach Curry

What you need
1 tbsp grapeseed oil (the recipe uses ghee or other vegetable oil)
1 large brown onion, cut in half across and then sliced finely
1 cardamom pod, broken open
1 cinnamon stick
2 cloves of garlic, peeled, smashed and chopped finely
1 tbsp meat curry powder, from the recipe above
500 g very lean lamb, cut into 2 cm cubes (I used two lamb backstraps, which felt a little extravagant, but gave a tender and juicy result)
2 tomatoes, skinned and chopped or 2 tbsp yogurt (I used half a tin of peeled plum tomatoes, roughly chopped, and opted to not include yogurt)
Salt to taste
1 packet (which is a mysteriously unspecified quantity) of frozen spinach, or 500 g fresh spinach (I used 150 g of fresh baby spinach – a bit more would’ve been good, but my local shop was running out in a big way… terrible excuse, I know!)
A little chopped mint (optional, and I can’t stand it, so I left this out)
Pinch of ground cumin
1 tsp garam masala, or to taste (I also left this out as, having been positive there was some in the cupboard, I discovered I was mistaken – gah!)

What to do

1. Heat the oil (or ghee) in a pan. Add the onion, cardamom and cinnamon, and fry until the onion is deep golden (and enticing smells have suffused the kitchen).

2. Mix the garlic and curry powder with a little water (to add enough moisture for it not to burn) and add with the lamb to the pan. Stir well to combine.

3. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the meat is browned all over and the spices smell “cooked and fragrant”. (The scent develops a bit more complexity as this happens).

4. Add the tomatoes or yogurt and stir well. Check for seasoning, and add salt if needed. Then, add the spinach, a splash of water if the consistency is getting a little dry. Add the mint now, too, if using it.

5. Simmer until the meat is cooked through and the sauce and flavours are smooth. Add the cumin and garam masala before serving.

Served with jasmine rice, the recipe serves two for dinner, with enough leftovers for two (or one very hungry Other Penguin) for lunch.

There are lots of other recipes I’m keen to try out in South East Asian Food after such a successful first experience. Some of these are…

- Ayam Semur Jawa (chicken in soya sauce)

- Dadar Jawa (Javanese omelette)

- Abon Daging (tasty meat floss… I’ve seen pork floss rolls in Chinese bakeries and am intrigued by the idea of trying to make meat floss – this one is an Indonesian recipe)

- Hainanese Chicken Rice

- Roti Canai (because I’ve read so muchabout it on other food blogs!)

- Khao Tom Kai (chicken rice porridge)

- Bubur Ketan Hitam (black rice pudding – because desserts are thin on the ground in this book, so I’d love to try at least one of those that are included)

A few more desserts - though I'd love to learn more about making Asian sweet treats

Brissenden explains that desserts “are few because main meals in South East Asia traditionally do not include them. Sweets are usually enjoyed as snacks and between-meal indulgences and warrant a book of their own”. Now there’s something to wish for…

Not Drowning, Swirling - Four Varieties of Povitica

2011-10-27T19:00:00.000+11:00

Change can be good. Especially when you unexpectedly find it down the back of the couch. But if a change is as good as a holiday, too much change can feel about as comfortable as a three month trek across the Arctic wilderness in Jimmy Choos a size too small. Is the ice going to crack underneath me? Is that polar bear eyeing me off for its next meal? Have I got my heel caught in a crevasse?

So, having moved to a new role at work, and in a new grade in dancing, with an exam lurking menacingly round the corner (a bit like a hungry polar bear), I approached the prospect of Daring Bakers with trepidation. Can’t I just come up with another flavour of brownie and not go looking for unfamiliar and difficult things and poking them with a stick to see what happens? Nope…

Traditional walnut povitica

Some Daring Bakers challenges involving making something beautiful (as well as delicious). Lots of them involve making something that’s time-consuming (some of them, mind-bogglingly so). Almost all of them involve making something unfamiliar (because that’s the point). Not many of them involve something a little rustic round the edges, baked in a loaf tin. So, odds are that the rustic loaf is going to involve all sorts of trickiness and will take half the night. And it did. But it was so tasty I quite forgave it, through my sleep-deprived haze. And I was so pleased I gave it a try (even if it turned out a bit more resoundingly rustic than just around the edges).

The Daring Baker’s October 2011 challenge was Povitica, hosted by Jenni of The Gingered Whisk. Povitica is a traditional Eastern European Dessert Bread that is as lovely to look at as it is to eat! It’s a sweet loaf made by rolling up thin dough spread with a filling so that each slice has a beautiful swirled pattern and every bite contains a mix of flavours. The traditional recipe combines ground walnuts with cinnamon, sugar and cocoa, but the recipe lends itself very well to experimenting with other sweet or savoury fillings. The recipe makes a monster four loaves, so there was lots of opportunity to try out some new varieties. As well as the traditional recipe, I also made:

Caramelised white chocolate with chocolate chips (if you decide to do this version, you’ll need to have made the caramelised white chocolate in advance – or to be a vampire and so not need any sleep. Luckily, I had a jar I’d prepared earlier for the purpose... though since discovering this recipe, I’ll be needing to make some more)
Peanut butter and strawberry jam
Moreno cherry and ricotta

The povitica has a detailed swirl pattern in each slice

The most challenging part of the recipe involves rolling and stretching the dough to the requisite thin-ness and shaping it into loaves; otherwise, the recipe is relatively straightforward. It does involve quite a lot of “process” though – getting started late on a Sunday afternoon with the added distractions of a (thankfully rare) crash of the Daring Bakers site and an (even more thankfully rare) lengthy phone call by the Other Penguin to wrangle a travel arrangements, during which the noisy machinations of the KitchenAid would not have been well received.

The finished loaves, however, were definitely well received. They came out a deep golden brown and their unexpected heft belied their light-but-filling texture. When cut open, the filling formed a clear swirl pattern – I’d been a little worried it might just become a jumbled, albeit tasty, mixture. The different fillings impacted the consistency of the loaves, as well as their cooking time – the walnut and peanut butter versions came out dense and tightly coiled, while the cherry and ricotta one took quite a bit longer to cook through as the filling was wetter. As helpfully foreshadowed in the comments for the challenge, allowing the bread to cool completely and to sit overnight in the fridge made it easier to cut evenly. Even so, it was a little crumbly round the edges, probably from how it was rolled up and coiled into the tin.

The crunchy golden crust on the peanut butter and strawberry jam povitica

I tried a little of the peanut butter and the walnut versions, and was pleasantly surprised. The bread itself was sweet-tasting, and reminded me of a heavier version of Chinese milk bread. Combined with the well-dispersed filling, it had an unexpectedly subtle flavour and was neither too plain nor too stodgy. The traditional walnut version was It’s well suited to a simple morning or afternoon tea, but could also be good at breakfast time (I’d be interested to see how it came out if you toasted it) or for one of those late-afternoon high teas which graze across baking, charcuterie, cheese and fruit (one of my favourite things about Christmas with my family). The bread is quite filling, so more than one of those options might leave you a little sleepily full, much as I’d love to advocate baked goods for every meal!

I would definitely like to try making the dough again, although next time I’ll scale it back to half the quantity and just make two loaves. A marzipan version, a little like a swirly stollen, is an appealing possibility. More likely, though, is that I’ll try using the dough for loaves or small rolls without the swirled filling, or with some fruit or chocolate scattered through. A dark chocolate chip version might even tame my longing for a pain viennois chocolat, which I’ve been carrying since that wonderful discovery in Paris last year.

If you’d like to try making povitica ("povateetsa") for yourself, here’s how it was made:

What you need

To activate the yeast

2 tsp / 9 g sugar

1 tsp 3 g plain flour

2 tbsp / 14 g dry yeast

½ cup / 120 ml warm water

Dough

2 cups / 480ml full cream milk (as we don’t tend to have this around, I referred to Joy of Baking and substituted skim milk with 50 g extra butter added)

¾ cup / 170 g sugar

3 tsp / 18 g salt

4 large eggs (at room temperature, lightly beaten)

½ cup / 115 g butter (melted and cooled)

8 cups / 1.12 kg plain flour

Walnut filling (these quantities were for one loaf – if you make the above dough recipe and want to do all of them with this filling, it’ll need to be scaled up by 4)

1 ¾ cups / 280 g walnuts (ground – I used whole ones and whizzed them in a food processor)

½ cup / 113 g sugar

2 tbsp cocoa powder (this is way more than the recipe called for in the original recipe, but I wanted to go extra chocolatey, and also to have a greater colour contrast in the swirls)

¼ tsp cinnamon

¼ cup / 60 ml milk (I used skim)

¼ cup / 56 g butter

1 egg, lightly beaten (note: the recipe for the full quantity, which makes 4 times this amount, uses 2 eggs – as others had needed to add more milk to make the filling wetter, it seemed sensible to use a whole egg and no extra milk, than to use half an egg and get rid of the other half – this worked well – the mixture didn’t need any extra milk to be spreadable)

¼ tsp vanilla extract

Peanut butter and jam filling

240 g peanut butter (I used smooth, but crunchy would work well for the textural contrast)

55 ml milk (just under ¼ cup)

400 g jam (I used strawberry)

Ricotta and cherry filling

375 g light smooth ricotta

200 g (approximately) Moreno cherries (squashed), plus 3 tbsp (45 ml) juice from the jar (a small splosh, for those of a less precise persuasion)

Caramelised white chocolate filling

1 batch of caramelised white chocolate (made from 400 g white chocolate, using this recipe)

White chocolate chips – enough to cover the dough as liberally as you wish (I used around 150 g))

Glaze (for traditional version)

¼ cup / 120 ml strong coffee (cooled)

2 tbsp / 28 g sugar (which I added to the hot coffee so that it dissolved)

Melted butter

Glaze (for the other versions)

1 egg, lightly beaten

2 tbsp / 28 g sugar (which I added to the hot coffee so that it dissolved)

Melted butter

The dough needs to be rolled our very thinly before being spread with the filling

What to do

To activate the yeast

1. Put 2 teaspoons of sugar, 1 teaspoon of flour and 2 tablespoons of yeastinto a jug or small bowl. Stir and then add 120 ml warm water and stir again tocombine.

2. Cover with plastic wrap, put in a warm place in the kitchen and allow tostand for 5 minutes.

Note: if you activate the yeast beforestarting making the dough, as I did, it ends up sitting for a lot longer than 5 minutes, although thisdidn’t seem to cause a problem. Next time, though, I would activate the yeastpart-way through making the dough, after removing the scalded milk from theheat (step 3 below).

To make the dough

3. Heat the milk (or, if using skim milk, the milk and 50 g extrabutter) in a saucepan until just below boiling point (about 180°F/82°C),stirring regularly so that a skin doesn’t form on top. It should be scaldinghot, but not boiling (this can be done using a sugar thermometer, or just byeye and experience). Allow the milk to cool slightly (until it is about110°F/43°C, or very warm but safely bearable to the touch – this took about 10minutes, for the avoidance of burnt fingers, for anybody else who lacksasbestos hands!).

4. In the bowl of a stand mixer (or a large bowl if you’re going to mixthe dough by hand), combine the cooled scalded milk, 170 g sugar, and 3teaspoons salt.

5. Add the lightly beaten eggs, yeast mixture, cooled melted butter, and280 g of the sieved flour (about a quarter of the total amount).

6. Mix thoroughly and slowly add the remaining flour (840 g if you useit all), mixing well until the dough starts to clean the bowl. Note: At thispoint, much as I’d seen from the challenge that the dough was meant to be quitesticky and that others didn’t need all 1.12 kg of flour, I decided it wasentirely too sticky and added around another 75 g (½ cup) of flour. It wasstill very sticky, but at that point I decided to live with it and see whathappened, which ended up turning out quite well).

7. Change the mixer attachment from the beater to the dough hook andknead until smooth (if making the dough by hand, turn – or, perhaps morelikely, scrape – the dough out onto a floured surface and knead, gradually addingflour a little at a time, until smooth and a bit less sticky). As I was makingthe dough in the ever-reliable KitchenAid, I didn’t add any more flour at thisstage (although I did worry whether I should – this was even stickier thanbrioche dough).

8. Divide the dough into 4 equal pieces (they should each weigh about 550g).

9. Place the dough into 4 large lightly oiled bowls (large saucepanswork if you’re starting to run out of bowls – if you’re starting to run out ofkitchen bench space by now, you’re in the same spot I was in...) cover looselywith a layer of plastic wrap and then a tea towel. Allow the dough to rest and risefor 1 ½ hours in a warm place, after which it should be roughly doubled insize.

Traditional walnut filling

10. Placethe ground walnuts, sugar, powder and cinnamon and cocoa powder in a bowl andstir to combine.

11. Heatthe milk and butter to boiling and pour over the nut and sugar mixture.

12. Addthe egg and vanilla and mix thoroughly.

13. Allow to stand at room temperature until ready to be spread on the dough. (If themixture thickens, add a small amount of warm milk – I didn’t need to do thishaving scaled the recipe to use more egg).

To roll and fill the dough and make the loaves

14. Preheat oven to moderate 180°C / 350°F, and line your loaf tins with bakingpaper (I only had two loaf tins, so I baked in two batches).

15. Coverthe kitchen bench with non-stick baking paper, ensuring it overlaps so therearen’t any gaps.

Note: The original recipe advocatesrolling the dough, and forming the loaves, on a clean sheet or cloth – I’vefound previously, with dough – including phyllo – that baking paper seems towork just as effectively for this purpose, and creates less washing (which isimportant, given this recipe seems to use almost every utensil in the kitchen,as well as most of the tea towels).

16. Sprinkle the paper with a couple of tablespoons to a handful of sieved flour(use flour sparingly, but ensure there is a light sprinkle over the wholesurface as, without it, the dough may well stick when you go to roll it up).

17. Place one of the four blobs of dough on the baking paper and roll it out with alightly floured rolling pin, starting in the middle and working your way out,until it is roughly 40 cm square (15 inches).

18. Using a combination of the rolling pin and your hands, roll, stretch or gentlypull the dough out from the centre until it is thin and a consistentlyalmost-translucent. You should be able to see the outline of a pattern throughthe dough (if you slide a picture or some writing under the baking paper). Tryto keep the shape roughly square. Gently sliding your lightly floured hand,palm down, beneath the dough as you go will help make sure it doesn’t stick tothe paper.

19. Dollopfilling evenly over the rolled out dough and, using a spoon or your fingers,spread over the dough until evenly covered.

20. Gentlyand tightly roll up the dough. There are several ways to do this:

- The easiest way is to just roll the dough along its horizontal edge(either from front to back or from back to front depending on which is easier –I found this was much of a muchness) until you have one long, thin sausage ofdough. Then, coil the dough around itself into the base of the loaf tin (alittle like in the picture shown, courtesy of the Daring Bakers website):

- Alternatively, roll the edge of the dough nearest you into the centre,and roll the edge furthest away into the centre, so there are two long sausagesof dough joined up beside each other. Then, carefully fold the long ends of thesausage on top of each other (so that you have a roughly loaf-shaped lump whichis two sausages wide, and three sausages high), as shown in the diagram below from the povitica genius at Wolf's Den.

21. Repeat the filling and rolling process with the remaining three blobs of doughto create another three loaves, coiling each sausage of dough in its own loaftin. The different fillings I used are prepared as follows:

Peanutbutter and jam

Place the peanut butter and milk in amicrowave-safe bowl or a small saucepan, and heat until the peanut butter issoft. Stir thoroughly until well combined. Spread the peanut butter evenly overthe rolled out dough. Then, dollop with strawberry jam and spread this evenlyover the peanut butter layer. Roll up as explained above.

Ricottaand Moreno cherry

Mix the ricotta, cherries, and extracherry juice in a small bowl until thoroughly combined. Spread evenly over therolled out dough. Roll up as explained above.

Caramelisedwhite chocolate

Warm the caramelised white chocolate ina microwave or small saucepan until it reaches a slow pouring consistency.Spread evenly over the rolled out dough, and sprinkle evenly (and liberally)with white chocolate chips. Roll up as explained above.

22. Brush the top of the traditional loaf with the coffee glaze (a mixture of 60 mlof strong coffee and 2 tablespoons of sugar, cooled). For other fillings, Iused a glaze of a beaten egg and 2 tablespoons of sugar).

23. Cover tins lightly with a tea towel and allow to rest for around 15 minutes.

24. Placethe tins (without tea towels) into the preheated oven and bake forapproximately 15 minutes.

25. Turndown the oven temperature to slow 150°C / 300°F/ and bake for an additional 45minutes, or until the top of the loaves are golden and crisp, the texture isfirm rather than squishy when gently prodded and a thin skewer inserted intothe centre comes out clean. Check on the loaves after a total of about 30minutes, to ensure they’re not getting too brown – if that looks to behappening, cover them with a sheet of aluminium foil.

Note: I did the first two loaves withthe oven initially hotter, then turned down after 15 minutes, and found thatthe walnut and cherry versions took quite a different time to cook through (thecherry one took almost 15 minutes longer). Consequently, I decided to turn theoven up to the higher temperature for the second batch, and left it therethroughout. These second loaves took around an hour to cook, and didn’t end uptoo dry from the hotter temperature – and it’s less faffing about with astill-rather-temperamental oven!).

26. Remove bread from oven and brush with melted butter. Allow theloaves to cool on a wire rack for 20-30 minutes, preferably still in the breadpan. (If it’s stupid o’clock and you’ve still got two loaves to cook and needto use the loaf pans, turning them out earlier won’t kill them, but might meanthey sink a little as the baked loaves are quite heavy and cooling them in thetin helps them to hold their shape. I think the varied shapes of mine had moreto do with slight differences in the rolling technique than with the coolingprocess).

27. The loaves can be cut into slices with a serrated knife and it isapparently (and which I overlooked, rather to my regret) easier to do so afterturning the bread upside down. I’d be interested to hear from other folkswho’ve tried this recipe whether that’s the case and why. I did find theysliced more easily after being refrigerated overnight.

Warning: resting povitica dough may take over your kitchen!

But the results are worth it...

Apricots And Chaos

2011-08-27T20:07:00.000+10:00

Sometimes, cakes emerge cleanly from their tins, withoutleaving crumbs lingering in corners. Sometimes, sauces thicken at just theright time, and don’t bubble away to a burnt and smoking nothing the moment youturn your back. Sometimes, the steak is perfectly cooked when you slice intoit. And sometimes, the words flow like gravy over roast chicken.

Sometimes, though, they don’t. And what happens then?Practising. Pondering. Howling at the moon. Furtive baking in the tightcrevices in between “real life”. Hoping that you haven’t talked so much thatyou’ve used up your lifetime’s quota of words already.

Only the foolish might take on bubbling sugar in such aframe of mind. The foolish… or the daring. Daring Bakers dragged me from areluctant but accidental baking hiatus, and tipped me into sweetness andstickiness. It didn’t turn out quite the way I imagined, but, in the midst ofchaos, it turned out at all and, sometimes, that’s more than enough to begrateful for.

The August 2011 Daring Bakers’ Challenge was hosted by Lisaof Parsley, Sage, Desserts and Line Drive and Mandy of What the Fruitcake?!.These two sugar mavens challenged us to make sinfully delicious candies! Thiswas a special challenge for the Daring Bakers because the good folks athttp://www.chocoley.com offered an amazing prize for the winner of the mostcreative and delicious candy!

I wanted to make sweets that tasted real, with a concentrated but subtle flavour from ingredients whichdon’t have unpronounceable names, and with delicate colouring rarely encounteredin the confectionery aisle. Bright, clear, sunny tastes called out to distractme from the tail end of winter. There was a vague idea of making variations ona theme based around one core element. And then a package of apricot nectar, inthose little pale blue glass bottles, sealed the deal and the experimentingbegan.

Eventually, a trio of apricot confections (apriconfections?)emerged from the kitchen. There were pale clouds of apricot marshmallow, glassyvivid squares of apricot Turkish delight and stickily dangerous (or should that be dangerously sticky?) chocolateganache truffles filled with apricot marzipan and chocolate pistachio paste.

If it wasn’t quite the perfect apricot assiette I’dimagined, it was still a more than satisfying sugar high. The Turkish delight,in particular, turned out especially well, with a soft chewy-but-meltingtexture, a jewel-like glow and an unmistakeable apricot flavour. Themarshmallows weren’t quite as fluffy as they’ve been on previous occasions andwere so subtle that the apricot could’ve been easily mistaken or overlooked. Alittle added colour would have perked them up and added the power of suggestionto enhance the taste (although I’d been keen to try to keep the sweets“natural”, without artificial colours, flavours, or added glucose or corn syrup– not from any particular principle other than a desire to see how it turnedout). The truffles were appropriately rich and sticky, with the apricotmarzipan matching well with the dark chocolate coating, and some crunch addedby the chocolate hail on the outside and the crushed pistachios lurking within.

So, if you’d like to try making some apricot confections ofyour own, this is how they were made…

Apricot TurkishDelight

Adapted from a recipe forpassionfruit Turkish delight by Jane and Jeremy Strode published in Good Livingon 21 June 2011

What you need

2 cups* / 440 g castor sugar

3 cups / 750 ml water

¼ tsp cream of tartar

1 tbsp lemon juice

¾ cup / 90 g cornflour

250 g icing sugar

18 g / 2 tbsp powdered gelatine

120 ml apricot nectar, refrigerated

What to do

1. Line a square or oblong baking tin or containerwith baking paper (I used a 20 cm (8 inch) square cake tin).

2. Put the caster sugar and ½ cup of the water in asaucepan and cook, stirring occasionally, on a medium heat until the sugardissolves. Increase the heat to medium-high and bring the sugar syrup to theboil. Allow the syrup to boil until it reaches 115 °C (240 °F). Stir in thecream of tartar and lemon juice (being careful in case the mixture spits alittle when you add them).

3. In another saucepan, combined the cornflour andicing sugar with another ½ cup of water and whisk until smooth. Put the kettleon to boil the remaining 2 cups of water, then whisk this into the cornflourmixture. (Note: this saucepan has not yet been put on the heat).

4. Add the sugar syrup mixture to the saucepancontaining the cornflour mixture. Whisk over medium heat for around 30 minutes,after which the mixture will be thicker and more translucent. (Note: it’s already quite thick and translucent whenyou start, but will become more so as it’s cooked – it will end up smooth, butquite gloopy. Keep whisking it very regularly – it doesn’t have to be so continuous it gives you a cramp inyour arm, but it should be watched carefully and whisked a lot. It will glumpand bubble like a brightly coloured version of the Rotorua mud pools, so becareful not to get splashed).

5. While the mixture bubbles away (and in betweenwhisking), combine the gelatine and cold apricot nectar and stir until smooth.Allow to sit for 10 minutes. When the bubbling mixture reaches the desiredthickness, whisk in the apricot nectar and gelatine.

6. Pour the mixture into the prepared tray. Give ita jiggle so that the mixture levels out, and plonk it down firmly onto thebench top a couple of times to dislodge any air bubbles. Allow to set (eitherat room temperature or in the fridge). (If putting it in the fridge, be carefulnot to seal a lid over it, as condensation will form on the surface of theTurkish delight.

7. When the Turkish delight is firm, slide it(still attached to the paper) from the tray, carefully peel away the paper, andcut with a large sharp knife dipped in hot water or (even better) a pizzacutter. (Note: from an 8 inch tin, cutting 36 (6 x 6) or 49 (7 x 7) squares givesgood-sized pieces. The original recipe suggests 24 pieces, but looks like ituses a much deeper container; still, that would be a big sugar hit in one go!).

Apricot Turkish delight will keep in the fridge for at leasta week.

Apricot Marshmallows

Based on a recipe bySugar Plum

What you need

18 g / 2 tbsp powdered gelatine

½ cup / 125 ml apricot nectar, refrigerated

2 cups / 385 g white sugar

½ cup / 125 ml water

1 tsp golden syrup

Olive oil spray

Icing sugar for dusting

What to do

1. Spray a cake tin or deep baking tray with oliveoil spray, and dust thoroughly with a sieved icing sugar It only needs to be alight coating, but get right into the corners, or the marshmallow will stick –it tries to stick to everything!

2. Place the gelatine and cold apricot nectar intothe bowl of a stand mixer and mix on low speed for a minute or two, using thewhisk attachment. (Note: If you have a splash guard for your stand mixer, it’sa good idea to fit it now, as boiling sugar syrup is something to definitelykeep a safe distance from).

3. Put the sugar, water and golden syrup in a largesaucepan, and stir over medium heat until the sugar dissolves. Increase theheat to medium-high and bring to the boil. Allow the syrup to boil until itreaches 115 °C (240 °F) (this will take around 15 minutes).

4. With the mixer on low speed, pour the sugarsyrup very carefully into the bowl of the mixer. Once all the syrup has beenadded, gradually increase the speed to medium. Beat the apricot and syrupmixture until it becomes thick, white and glossy and stops increasing in volume(around 10 – 15 minutes).

5. Spread the marshmallow mixture into the preparedtray, and smooth the top with a spatula dipped in hot water. Dust with sievedicing sugar, and allow to set for at least 4 hours (or overnight).

6. Carefully prise the set marshmallow from the tinand cut into squares using a sharp knife or pizza cutter. Dust the cut sides ofthe squares in icing sugar so they don’t stick together.

Marshmallows will keep in an airtight container for at leasta week (but will gradually start to dry out as they get older).

Chocolate, Apricotand Pistachio Truffles

A sticky invention ofthe Sticky Penguin, with ganache recipe based on the Daring Bakers

What you need

100 g almond meal

50 g icing sugar

25 ml apricot nectar (approximately)

50 g pistachios, blanched and with shells and skins removed

200 g dark chocolate

200 ml cream

Dark chocolate hail

What to do

1. To make the apricot marzipan, place the almondmeal and icing sugar in the bowl of a food processor and pulse to combine. Addthe apricot nectar, a little at a time, until the mixture comes together into aball that moves freely (but stickily) around the bowl. Wrap in cling film and refrigerateuntil required.

2. Finely chop the dark chocolate and place in a heat-proofbowl. Heat 130 ml of cream in a small saucepan until it bubbles round the edgesbut doesn’t reach a full boil. Pour the hot cream over the chopped chocolateand stir well until the chocolate is completely melted and the ganache issmooth.

3. Finely chop the pistachios, and combine with 60 gof the ganache. Place in the freezer until the mixture becomes firm.

4. Heat the remaining 70 ml of cream, and add tothe remaining ganache, stirring in well.

5. To assemble the truffles, roll the apricotmarzipan into balls (I got 12 balls from the quantity I made). Flatten eachball and use a ½ teaspoon measure to scoop a sphere of chocolate and pistachioganache, and place this in the centre of the marzipan, pinching the marzipanover it to close it together. Reform the ganache-filled marzipan gently intoevenly shaped balls. Coat the marzipan balls evenly with the thinner, plainganache and then roll them in chocolate hail. Refrigerate or freeze until firm(although the truffles will still be a bit sticky).

* All references to cups in the recipes in this post areAustralian / metric cups (1 cup = 250 ml)

From Couch Potato To Decadent Dessert - Peanut Sticky Rice Dumplings with Chocolate Shortbread and Salted Caramel Sauce

2011-07-13T19:00:00.000+10:00

Does reality television kill off brain cells like a game of Space Invaders so that you stare slack-jawed at the accomplishment of others while sitting glued to the couch, shovelling down fast food? Or does it inspire you to leap forth, conquering new frontiers you would never have imagined? The truth is probably somewhere in between, but that would never make the news...

Last week, Marty Wilson wrote in the Sydney Morning Herald about what else people could accomplish in the time they spend watching reality shows and the artificial emotions experienced from vicariously living through the contestants. As a population, we watch more TV than ever before, we get bigger by creeping increments, we move less. But the (increasing) weight of statistics conceals the quiet minority, gobbling it up like a packet of salt and vinegar chips without pausing to brush the crumbs from its Snuggie.

From reality TV inspiration to the sticky reality of dessert...

Because some people are out there, writing their novels or working as lifeguards on the weekend or renovating the house. And some of them (especially, perhaps, the ones doing all those things) collapse in a heap at the end of the day and watch some TV to relax and switch off from whirling thoughts of chapter structures, training drills, how they’re going to fit the microwave into the redesigned kitchen or whatever else has been occupying their attention.

Others see people on TV doing something that looks like fun and think “Wow, I’d like to try that!”. In the place where that brain cell was killed off, a seed gets planted instead. That’s partly why I’m writing a food blog. Watching the enthusiastic amateurs on MasterChef make a huge range of dishes (and, sometimes, a hell of a mess as well), push their limits in the kitchen and visibly improve their skills was so much more approachable and motivating than watching a well-prepared and tightly edited chef make the same recipes. And into the kitchen I went. Tentatively at first, and then with increasing confidence (punctuated with regular baking fails, but also lots of things devoured happily by friends, workmates and the Other Penguin (who has infinite patience with a cinnamon-sprinkled and chocolate-daubed blur dashing between bowls and saucepans in the wee small hours, and even with the ensuing mountain of washing up).

This season, still watching MasterChef (go Team Billy!), I turn over ideas of what I’d make if faced with that particular range of ingredients. I look at the techniques and think of other places I could apply them. And, on a good day (and there are more and more of those), looking at a recipe gives me an idea for an adaptation of my own, or even a completely different dish. And, just this week, this led to sticky peanut dumplings with chocolate shortbread and salted caramel sauce…

Crunchy peanut filling

Alvin Quah was one of my favourite contestants on the second series of MasterChef – owing to a wonderfully sly sense of humour and a range of recipes that looked evocative and delicious in equal measure. He returned to the current series as a guest on last Friday’s masterclass, where he made black sesame dumplings in ginger syrup with wonton wafers. It looked like a perfect winter dessert – warming but not too stodgy. I’ve often enjoyed sweet, sticky dumplings with a peanut paste filling at yum cha, and this provided a starting idea. But, rather than pairing them with other Asian flavours, I took inspiration from the likes of Dan Hong and David Chang, and decided on the combination of peanuts, chocolate and caramel for a different twist.

I started out with such a vivid impression of the dessert I was aiming to create that I was a little apprehensive that it might’ve all been a little premature. Perhaps I’d bitten off more than I could chew – as those glutinous dumplings can be very chewy indeed. As the components gradually came together, I started to relax a bit more and felt quite proud when it was completed, as it was more elaborate than a lot of my usual baking inventions...

Can you have too much caramel sauce...?

This is how it was made:

Sticky Penguin’s Peanut Sticky Rice Dumplings with Chocolate Shortbread and Salted Caramel Sauce

What you need

For the shortbread

125 g (1 US cup) plain flour

63 g (¼ US cup) white sugar

32 g (¼ US cup) icing sugar

3 tbsp Dutch cocoa powder

¼ tsp salt

1 tsp vanilla extract

113 g (½ US cup) butter

Cold water as required (I used about 3 tsp)

For the dumpling filling

75 g peanuts (unshelled and unsalted)

37 g butter

37 g sugar

For the dumplings

250 g glutinous rice flour

240 ml water (approximate)

For the salted caramel sauce

115 g butter

200 g white sugar

300 ml heavy cream

Salt to taste

What to do

For the chocolate shortbread

(adapted from a previously adapted recipe)

1. Combine the flour, white sugar, icing sugar, cocoa powder and salt in the bowl of a food processor, and pulse until evenly combined.

2. Add the vanilla extract and butter, and pulse to combine until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs.

3. Add the water, a teaspoon at a time, until the mixture comes together into a dough that rumbles round the bowl leaving just a few sticky traces behind.

4. Turn out the dough onto a piece of kitchen wrap or baking paper and roll into an even sausage (I made mine about 30 cm long and as wide as the circle formed when you join your thumb to your middle finger). Refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Note: if you’re trying to be efficient (and in a sticky penguin’s case, trying is usually the operative word), the dumplings can be made and filled while the shortbread dough chills and firms up.

5. Preheat the oven to 190°C / 375°F and line two baking sheets with non-stick paper.

6. Using a serrated knife, cut the chilled dough in slices around 3-4 mm thick and place on the baking sheets. As the dough warms up a little, the cookies can be reshaped slightly if needed (if you're being fussy and want to make them completely round).

7. Bake the shortbread for around 12 minutes. The cookies will be firm around the edges but still a little soft in the middle when they are ready - they firm up as they cool. Cooking them longer will make them more of a brittle consistency.

8. Allow the shortbread to cool on a wire rack so they're barely warm before using them in the dessert. Leftover cookies (as the recipe makes more than you'll need for 16 dumplings) are great with a cup of tea (or, with the rich chocolate flavour, an espresso).

For the dumpling filling

1. Grind the peanuts until they are reduced to very small pieces (just a little finer than the consistency coarse breadcrumbs or sea salt flakes). I used a food processor to do this (a stick blender attachment would be more efficient with this small quantity, but, alas, mine has recently died).

2. Melt the butter and sugar in a small saucepan, and then stir in the crushed peanuts. Stir to combine thoroughly, and continue cooking for a minute or two. Set the resulting crunchy peanut paste aside to cool.

For the dumplings

(made using the recipe from Alvin Quah, with my notes on what I discovered in the process of making dumplings for the first time)

1. Place the glutinous rice flour in a medium sized mixing bowl (the texture was loose enough that I opted not to sieve my flour, and didn’t end up with lumpy dumplings) and make a well in the centre.

2. Gradually add the water into the centre, mixing with one hand (or with a small metal spoon). Keep adding the water until the mixture comes together into a firm paste, which doesn't stick to your fingers (at least, not more than a tiny bit - I'm incapable of working dough without ending up in a bit of a sticky mess!).

Note: I made my dumplings in advance and left them for around half an hour while I pottered onto other kitchen experiments... when I came back to fill them, the dough had dried out and cracked when I tried to work it. I made a second batch of dumplings and used a tiny bit more water to make the dough more malleable, and rolled and filled the dumplings straight away, which was much more successful. I also followed rolled and filled the dumplings, as per the following three steps, one at a time, so that the dough didn't dry out quicker from sitting there in smaller pieces.

3. Divide the dough into 15-16 even pieces (they will weigh around 30 g each, if you're being fussy and want them all the same size), and roll each piece into a ball.

4. Gently flatten each dumpling a little, and press an indentation into it to contain the filling. Scoop a small amount of peanut filling into the centre of each dumpling (I found a measuring teaspoon was the ideal shape and size for this).

5. Fold the edges of the dumpling over the filling and press them together to seal the join. Roll the dumpling lightly between the palms of your hands to achieve a uniform shape and remove the sign of the join.

Note: When folding and sealing the dumplings, it is preferable for the filling to remain centred inside them, rather than off to one side. Next time I make these, I will roll the dumplings a little thinner and squeeze in more filling for a better squish-to-crunch ratio.

6. The dumplings can now be set aside until you're ready to start assembling the dessert.

7. To cook the dumplings, bring a large saucepan of water to the boil. Carefully add the dumplings (I lowered each one into the water using a quarter cup measure) and use a metal spoon to separate any that cluster together (I cooked the dumplings in two batches to avoid overcrowding). The dumplings are cooked when they float to the surface of the water (this took about 5 minutes).

8. Remove the dumplings from the boiling water (I used the cup measure again) and drain on a plate. I was very wary of using a sieve or kitchen paper to drain the dumplings, in case they stuck.

For the salted caramel sauce

(adapted, just a little, from Ready for Dessert, by David Lebovitz)

1. Place the butter and sugar in a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan (it's important to use a big saucepan, as the sauce will bubble up when the cream is added) and cook over a medium heat until the butter melts and the sugar has dissolved. Stir occasionally.

2. Continue cooking until the melted butter and sugar caramelise to a deep, rich golden colour. For quite a lot of the cooking process, the melted butter didn't emulsify with the sugar and floated as a separate layer on top. This will be resolved as it continues to cook and thicken, and a bit of a stir with a silicone spatula also helps.

3. Once you've boiled the caramel until it is as dark as you'd like, making sure you don't let it burn, remove it from the heat and, standing well back as it bubbles, add the cream and whisk like mad. Keep whisking until the mixture is smooth.

4. Add salt to taste (I used just under a teaspoonful).

5. Sieve the sauce into a container - it will keep for over a week in the fridge, and the recipe makes more than you will need for the dessert (though it is utterly delectable, so having some on hand for top ups might also be an option!).

To assemble the dessert

1. Place several spoonfuls of the salted caramel sauce in a flat bowl and swirl to evenly coat the bottom.

2. Put a shortbread biscuit in the centre of the caramel sauce.
3. Balance a dumpling on the shortbread, and sprinkle lightly with some of the leftover peanut filling.

The finished dessert was much more glamorous anything that's eventuated on a Sunday night at home before. It turned out very close to my imagining, and the mix of flavours and textures made the overall dish better than the sum of the parts. The silky caramel sauce unites the sleekly chewy dumpling with the crunchy crumble of the shortbread. The saltiness of the nuts and caramel, the slight bitterness of the dark chocolate just balance out the overall sweetness of the dish. I also liked that the dumpling, rather than making the dish heavy, was a simple contrast with the other flavours.

The Other Penguin, not typically a dumpling fan, polished it off, pronouncing the caramel sauce his favourite part. This is definitely a recipe I will return to – it would be ideal for dinner parties, as the components can be made in advance, and the dumplings cooked in a few minutes before serving.

After my first attempt at making sticky rice dumplings, I've decided that I’d far rather be one of the people who does stuff and then watches crap TV shows to unwind, rather than somebody with impeccable taste and nothing to show for it. Now, I’m off to knock up a batch of scones in the ad break...

Pulled Pork? Pull The Other One!

2011-07-05T19:00:00.000+10:00

Sandwiches tend to be practical. Utilitarian. A concise report rather than a dulcet whisper. A pit-stop for fuel rather than a longed-for indulgence. The Other Penguin flat out refuses to buy them, on the basis that paying for something so mundane and so readily made at home is a highly objectionable concept. While I don't go quite that far, the number of sandwiches that are etched in my memory are few and far between.

Don't be deceived by its innocent appearance - this roll packs a porcine punch!

The Sticky Penguin Sandwich Hall of Fame comprises the following members (some of which, I'm almost certain, are all the more alluring for being hard to come by):

Coronation chicken from Albion Caff in Shoreditch. London's a long way for a sandwich, though (even one that good, and large enough to qualify as dinner).
Special chicken salad* with celery and mayonnaise on fluffy white bread, that used to be served in the murky peace and quiet of the cafe underneath David Jones, before it was very ill-advisedly removed to stuff in more cosmetics. Preferably accompanied with thin and crispily golden chips (that'd be the sandwich, not the make-up. Not so keen on fries with that when hunting down mascara or browsing the latest OPI shades).
Ham and cheese baguette in the cafe at the Louvre. A combination of the appetite built up wandering corridors gazing at art, the happy surprise of finding exactly-what-I-felt-like-eating at a major tourist spot (let alone finding it well-executed) and the timeless simplicity of the food itself.
Just about anything from EARL Canteen (with preference for the slow-cooked lamb or - so far, alas, only vicariously - the duck confit).
Sausage and tomato sauce sandwiches, made using cold left-over sausages. Long ago, a favourite lunch-box discovery (second only to leftover home-made lasagna**) and now a summertime pleasure after over-catering for barbecues, and Christmas treat when down the coast (the Trifle-Eating Cat's Parents have a ready supply of sausages, and aren't the slightest bit sparing in their use. Squee!)
And an honorary mention also goes to just about anything from the now-departed and much missed Moose General Store.

Having settled on that list (with one notable omission, which is of such significance as to warrant proper consideration separately), I will doubtless go pootling through the week beset by random thoughts of the Sandwiches I Loved And Forgot. Which tends to be the way when trying to come up with any sort of definitive list, from groceries to wedding guests.

This weekend, though, a new contender for the Best Ever Sandwich emerged. Like the cool new kid at school, it swaggered in and grabbed my attention, distracting me from faithful and familiar friends...

Could you go past the pulled pork?

The prospect of a trip to the Pyrmont Growers Market was sufficiently enticing to prompt a rare early start on a Saturday morning. It was ages since I'd paid a visit, and I was keen to suss out what interesting discoveries might be made. The market was bigger, busier and much muddier than I remembered . Old favourites like the Australian Honey Sellers and Whisk & Pin had been joined by wontons, micro herbs and an array of condiments that bordered on boggling.

I'd run out the door without breakfast in the hope that something tasty would present itself, and I wasn't disappointed. There were lengthy queues for coffee and at any stall with the wafting fragrance of bacon. There was also a stall offering a minimalist menu of pulled pork rolls and porridge. It smelt fabulous. It looked delicious. I got in during a rare lull in the crowd. Much as the porridge, on offer with rhubarb and almonds, sounded entirely satisfying, there was no going past the pork. And there it was... a sandwich revelation...

The pulled pork (made with Berkshire free range pork) was matched with vividly pink beetroot coleslaw, squirted with a tangy barbecue sauce that bore as much resemblance to the usual sugary gloop as a duck does to a flamingo. The roll was soft and tender, filling but still light, and the perfect size and shape to pick up. The proportions of pork, slaw, sauce and bun were the edible equivalent of the golden ratio. Heaven, without need of a stick. I perched on a sandstone wall and blissfully munched until all that remained was a warm, comfortable not-too-fullness and a fuchsia smear on the plate. The astonishing sandwich came from The Table Sessions, which also does guerrilla dining events in Sydney, something which I'm now going to need to investigate very thoroughly.

Once more, for those who missed it! Complete with dodgy camera phone photos...

Have you had a sandwich that elevates the lunch--on-the-run staple to something special? I'd love to hear about it, and where you found it. I suspect the next stop on the trail to find culinary nirvana might need to involve a Reuben...

* For those to whom "special chicken" denotes a source of protein originating from almost any bird, beast, fish or creature other than an actual chicken, I believe the description of "special" is properly applied in this instance to the chicken as turned into a salad, or perhaps to the sandwich in its entirety.

** The range of foods which a Sticky Penguin will cheerfully tuck into with relish (not literally - I've never been one for pickles and suchlike) at cold-to-room-temperature is an occasional source of mystification to others. Perhaps it's because microwaves are relatively rare in the Antarctic. But then again, so's home-made lasagna...

Talking About Food Doesn't Have To Be Funny

2011-07-02T14:12:00.000+10:00

When I first came to Australia, I wanted to fit in with all the desperation my ten-year-old heart could muster. I longed to fly under the radar after the “new girl” awkwardness had faded. But there were two things that stood in my way. The twin crimes of an English accent and an apparently precocious vocabulary marked me as that most un-Australian of things, “up myself”. I was frustrated and confused by it – I’d recently arrived from a small-ish town in New Zealand, where I’d never been singled out for being different, much less had it held against me.

What time had (mostly) dismissed as the ability of children of a certain age to go straight for the jugular came back to me earlier today. Sue Bennett’s article in the weekend Sydney Morning Herald transported me from sprawling on the couch with the weekend papers on my lap to standing in a playground in the height of summer with my words stuck in my throat.

Bennett takes a well-worn Blundstone to people who say foreign words with the accompanying accent when it isn’t native to themselves. Saying parmegiano instead of parmesan, for instance. Such pronunciation apparently amounts to pretentiousness of, if not the worst kind, at least a kind that can be safely lampooned from behind the pie stand.

The particularly blood-boiling example Bennett gives is when people apply an accent when all they’ve done is to live there. How dare they have the temerity to live in Italy for ten years and then come back here and talk about gelato instead of ice cream? Or have spent a decent length of time in France and be so bold as to not stumble when pronouncing hors d’oeuvres. And a friend who’s travelled widely in China and can hold their own ordering dim sum is a rare gift, and no cause for mockery.

When we travel abroad and try different foods in their countries of origin, efforts, however wobbly and unconvincing, to speak the local language almost always receive a kind reception. Why can’t we practice a little before we go without being sneered at? Why not show respect for another whose food you’ve had a lifelong love for by trying not to mangle the names of recipes and ingredients. The “poor ill-educated person out there” at the deli counter, patisserie or café who doesn’t know the word might not mind finding out what it is, as long as you don’t ram it down their throat.

Sure, there are some people with affectations to rival Hyacinth Bucket’s, who grasp at every misplaced opportunity to appear more sophisticated. And I’ll cheerfully laugh at that sort of thing through a mouthful of sausage roll. But the idea that simply using the right word for something, native pronunciation and all, makes you a snob is to sit in a Vegemite-smeared cave of ignorance.

On the multicultural platter that is Sydney’s food scene, should we have to ask for gnocchi, pho, dulce de leche or (gulp) gewürztraminer in broad ‘Strine? And where would Bennett have us draw the line? Should we all be calling a jus a juice or lumping it in alongside lumpy gravy? And there’s the never-ending macaron versus macaroon debate that’s been bubbling away ever since we discovered those delectably impossible confections. How presumptuous of us to lay claim to these foods with names that make us feel more comfortable. If all we want is comfort, why not stay at home with cheese on toast. As long as it isn’t groo-yeah, that is. Better just have a couple of slices of good old Bega tasty.

We want to embrace the ever-increasing variety of delicious food that’s available here, as long as it fits in and we don’t have to use any funny words. If we applied that sort of logic to people, there’d be an uproar. Oh, hang on…

But if you say tomato on toast and I say bruschetta, does it really matter? If we can eat better, travel more, and revel in the opportunity to enjoy everything that other parts of the world have to offer, getting caught up in the semantics seems a petty schoolyard relic. Some of us, though, are left with the memory of a choked up feeling that didn’t have words, as though a piece of prosciutto had gone down the wrong way.

Feats Of Daring - Macadamia & Lemon Myrtle Baklava

2011-06-27T18:24:00.000+10:00

Foodie. It's a term that can make some people quail* and others bristle with indignation (or indigestion, perhaps). There's a resemblance to greenie or hippie, with connotations of smug righteousness and well-intended but rather impractical passion. A hint of the facile. "I eat, therefore I am". Or worse, "I eat, therefore I'm going to gloat about it to everybody".

Like it or not, I realised I was a foodie on my honeymoon last year. Roaming Paris and perusing Rome with a long list of patisseries and pasticceria and purposeful intent to visit each and every one. Skyping restaurants in New York from the other side of the world to secure dinner reservations weeks before arrival. Squeaking with glee on first encountering the astonishment of the grande epicerie at Bon Marche. Foraging through cookbook shops, snaffling my way across markets and walking for miles on end in pursuit of all manner of comestibles. Gulp! Or should that be gobble...?

Similarly, I was reluctant to claim the "baker" moniker. Of course I'm not a baker. They know what they're doing. I just make occasional batches of brownies (seven batches in a weekend, for instance). I'm far too rustic and messy to be a real baker. I'm only tinkering in the margins, experimenting. And taking morning tea for my group at work at least once a week. With the occasional evening class thrown in, to learn something a bit more unusual. Much as I can dream up gooey, squishy, crunchy and excessive things to put into a brownie for hours on end, I decided it was time for a bit more of a challenge. After seeing the beautiful confections created by so many others online, I bit the bullet and signed up to Daring Bakers.

For anybody not already familiar with Daring Bakers (the dessert-obsessed counterpart to Daring Cooks), it's an online group which takes on a monthly challenge to test their skills, creativity... and patience. There's a base recipe provided, which provides plenty of scope for variations while helping you learn the basic (or not-so-basic) techniques involved. When I discovered the theme for this month, I wondered quite what on earth I'd got myself into. Erica of Erica’s Edibles was our host for the Daring Baker’s June challenge. Erica challenged us to be truly DARING by making homemade phyllo dough and then to use that homemade dough to make Baklava. Baklava. From scratch. Eeeep!

I decided to put my own spin on the baklava by adding some local ingredients to give it a different flavour - macadamias, lemon myrtle, and blue box honey. If you'd like to try making it, here's how it was done...

Note: recipes are my adaptation of the Daring Bakers recipes:
- phyllo dough recipe originally from Kaffeehaus - Exquisite Desserts from the Classic Cafés of Vienna, Budapest and Prague, by Rick Rodgers
- baklava recipe originally from Alton Brown, Food Network

Macadamia and Lemon Myrtle Baklava
I doubled the basic recipe for the phyllo dough to make enough to fill a 23 cm (9 inch) square tin and a mini version in a 10 cm (4 inch) round springform tin. Had I been a little more careful with my trimmings, the recipe would've made enough for at least another second mini version. The syrup quantities below have been increased from the original recipe to allow enough for this additional tin. There was plenty of filling (and a little left over) without any changes to quantities (although I was using quite a different nut mixture).

What you need
For the phyllo dough
370 g plain flour
¼ tsp salt

210 ml water

4 tbsp / 60 ml vegetable oil (I used grapeseed oil), plus a little extra to brush the dough

1 tsp / 5 ml apple cider vinegar
For the filling
180 g macadamias
180 g almonds, blanched
105 g walnuts
1½ tsp ground lemon myrtle
¼ tsp mixed spice
150 g brown sugar
For the syrup
300 ml honey (I used blue box)
100 ml golden syrup
400 ml water
300 g granulated sugar
3 strips of lemon zest
2 tbsp / 30 ml lemon juice

What you do
Phyllo dough
1. Sieve the flour and salt into the bowl of a stand mixer and stir to combine.
2. Combine the water, oil and vinegar in a separate bowl or measuring jug.
3. With the mixer on low speed, gradually add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, mixing with the paddle attachment until it becomes a soft dough. If it doesn't come together, it may be necessary to add a little more water to get to this consistency (although mine was just right with the specified quantities, and quite sticky enough).
4. Change from the paddle attachment to the dough hook with the stand mixer, and let the dough knead for 10 minutes. After this time, it should be smooth, squishy and stretchy.
5. Remove the dough from the mixer and knead by hand for another couple of minutes. During this process, pick up the dough and throw it down hard onto the benchtop several times (which makes a very satisfying thwack, as well as developing the gluten in the flour). I kneaded my dough on a sheet of baking paper and found it didn't need any flour added at this stage to avoid any sticking.
6. Shape the dough into a ball, and lightly cover it with a thin film of oil. Wrap up tightly with plastic wrap and leave to rest for 30-90 minutes (the longer the better). As suggested in the recipe, I left mine for 2 hours and found it very easy to work with. Although, as it got easier to work with as I reached the end of the dough later on, it might be even better left for 3 hours (or perhaps it just improves with practice!).

Filling
While the dough rests, make the filling, so that as soon as the dough is ready, you can begin assembling the baklava. This will avoid the messy predicament of ending up with sheets of phyllo all over the kitchen!
Place all the ingredients into the bowl of a food processor and process on high until finely chopped.

Roll out the phyllo dough
After the dough has rested, it needs to be rolled out as thinly as possible. So thin you can see through it. It sounds scary, but it turned out to be much less of an impossible task, especially after a bit of experimenting with the technique.
1. Tear off a piece of dough about the size of a golf ball, making sure you re-wrap the remaining dough so it doesn't dry out.
2. Liberally flour your work area, rolling pin and hands. I used a piece of dowelling, and it made the process much lighter and easier than a regular rolling pin.
3. Roll the dough out a bit to flatten it out. I then found that the most effective way to roll the dough as thin as needed was to roll with one hand, while using the other hand to gently pull the dough away from the direction I was rolling. After repeating a couple of times, I then turned the dough 90 degrees and continued, so that it ended up evenly shaped.
4. The original recipe suggests wrapping the lightly-rolled dough around your dowel or rolling pin, and roll quickly back and forth, after which the dough neatly unrolls from the pin, thinner and larger. When I tried this, I ended up with a sticky muddle which would not unroll from the pin. But the roll-and-stretch approach produced good results.
5. Keep rolling until the dough is as thin as possible. If it has some small tears, this doesn't matter and won't show, as long as you have one neat and tidy sheet for the very top of the finished baklava. Also, as you cut the phyllo to fit the shape of your tin, if it isn't as thin around the very edges this won't matter as this area will be trimmed away.
6. Towards the end, it can be easiest to pick the dough up and stretch it out with your hands (a little like pizza dough).

Assemble the baklava
1. Line the tin with baking paper and brush with melted butter. Preheat the oven to 180°C (355°F) (I didn't use the fan setting).
2. With a sharp knife or pizza cutter, cut the first sheet of phyllo to fit the base of the tin. As I have several 9 inch square pans (they're the perfect size for brownies), I used an empty tin as a template for cutting out the sheets. If you just have one tin, cutting a piece of paper to the right size would also work well.
3. Carefully place the sheet into the tin, making sure it is flat and not curled up in the corners.
4. Brush the phyllo sheet very lightly with melted butter.
5. Repeat this process with another 4 phyllo sheets, brushing lightly with butter in between. After this, you should have five layers of phyllo in the tin, with butter brushed in between and on the top layer.
6. Add an even layer of the filling on top of the phyllo, making sure it goes right to the edges. The recipe advocates adding 1/3 of the filling, but I found I had so much filling it was more like a bit less than a quarter.
7. Repeat the process with another 5 sheets of buttered phyllo and then add more filling.
8. Repeat the process again.
9. Finish with 5 layers of buttered phyllo. Make sure your final sheet is even and rip-free.
10. Gently tuck any stray edges of phyllo down the sides of the tin using a spatula. Pat the baklava down so that it's even and to remove any air bubbles.
11. Using a sharp knife (a small paring knife worked well, as it was easy to maneuver in the tin), cut the baklava into pieces. I cut mine into 25 squares (5 by 5), then cut each square on the diagonal. If it's tricky to get all the way to the bottom, don't worry as this can be finished part-way through baking, although I found it ok to do fully before baking).
12. Brush liberally with melted butter, ensuring the phyllo is completely covered and there are no bare spots.
13. Bake for 30 minutes, then remove from the oven and, if necessary, finish cutting all the way through to the bottom of the tin. Return the tin to the oven for around another 30 minutes, or until the top of the baklava is an even light golden brown. Mine took exactly one hour in total.

Syrup
Start making the syrup when you put the baklava into the oven, so it will have time to cool to room temperature by the time the baklava is ready. When adding the syrup to the baklava, once of the two needs to be hot, and the other at room temperature - doing it this way round seemed to be quicker and easier than waiting for baklava to cool and adding boiling syrup.
1. Combine all the ingredients for the syrup in a saucepan. Stir occasionally over a medium heat until the sugar has fully dissolved.
2. Bring the mixture to a boil and boil for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.
3. Set aside to cool, then strain into a jug.

Finishing off
1. As soon as you remove the baklava from the oven, pour the cooled syrup over the top, starting by pouring it along all the cut lines, and finishing by ensuring that the whole surface has been coated with the syrup. It looks like an enormous amount of syrup, but it will absorb to produce a beautifully sticky baklava.
2. Leave the baklava overnight to rest and absorb the syrup. The finished baklava can be stored in an airtight container at room temperature (if it lasts that long) or in the fridge if you prefer (which will make it firmer and less gooey).

I was really quite thrilled with how well the baklava turned out, as I'd never made it before (or made my own phyllo pastry). It looked quite convincing, and smelled sweet and fragrant. The Other Penguin was quite impressed with the look of it, too.

The verdict on the tasting will be updated on this post tomorrow, after the finished product has been sampled at work...

* Lightly roasted and wrapped in prosciutto, perhaps? Although not for some of us, who just can't handle cute food...

Unexpected Sweetness – Sticky Date Cake

2011-06-19T22:42:00.000+10:00

Do shiny new recipe booksfollow you home like wayward kittens and creep into every room of the houseuntil they reach such epic proportions that they threaten to fall with aterrible splat! into a bowl of cakebatter*? Or is that just around this neck of the woods? My name is StickyPenguin and I’m addicted to cookbooks.

The Other Penguin has takenevasive action in an effort to slow the arrival of further cookbooks (realisingthat stopping them entirely is likely to be like trying to bail out the QE2with a tea cup). He arrived home last week with two glossy books of dessertsborrowed from the library. A quiet evening of reading and gluttonously plottingbaking efforts followed...

The first of the books was The Sweet Life.Not to be confused with The Sweet Life In Paris, David Lebovitz’s love affair with Paris that guided so much delicious pootling aroundthat city last year, this is a book of desserts by Kate Zuckerman, the former pastrychef at Chanterelle in New York. Sadly, after going in search of the restaurantonline in anticipation of trying some of their sweet offerings for myself, I foundthat after 30 years in business and being among the first wave of fine diningdestinations in TriBeCa, Chanterelle had fallen foul of the financial meltdownand closed in 2009.

Zuckerman was named in 2005 as one of the ten best US pastry chefs by Pastry Art &Design and Chocolatier magazines (now combined into Dessert Professional).So she knows her onions. Or perhaps that should be her quinces. And tarts. And chocolate...Best of all, she’s keen to share her knowledge along with her creations. TheSweet Life mixes the how-to of essential dessert basics – browning butter,making caramel, even simply creaming butter and sugar – with recipes applyingthose skills along with a handful of variations to inspire you to venture intonew territory for yourself.

Many high-profile chefs can beall about personality, whether bubbling with butter and slapdash enthusiasm or instructingwith haughty precision. Zuckerman, while leaving you in no doubt of herpassion, has a pleasantly conversational tone. She offers the helpful guidanceof an experienced mentor standing beside the kitchen bench, ready to let youtry to scale new heights but ready with advice before you bite off more thanyou can chew.

Some people might find thefrequent cross references to tips and techniques on other pages of the book anunwelcome distraction. However, I liked that these were largely for extrainformation, with the method for each recipe all found in one place so avoidedthe need to flick back and forth with floury hands or at crucial moments. Notesexplaining the science underlying the method (written with the input of Kirsten Hubbard, a food scientist) are also a useful resource for those, like me, whose baking experimentsbegin with “I wonder what would happen if...”.

The book is grouped intochapters by type of dessert that run the gamut from tarts to ice creams and candies.There are quick options for a last-minute dessert or a rainy afternoon(flourless chocolate bête noir, strawberry-rhubarb crisp), approachable challenges (chocolate caramel tart, prune armagnac creme brûlée) and stand-out-show-off showpieces(cardamom and honey pistachio nougat glacé). Tina Rupp’s photography shows off the detail of a selection ofZuckerman’s recipes – although, for those who use the photo rather than theingredients to make their selection, be warned that not all of the recipes areillustrated.

In an ever-more-crowded fieldof dessert cookbooks, The Sweet Life is a valuable guide for those eager to learnnew techniques as well as expanding their repertoire.

Trying to decide where tobegin in testing out some recipes, the Date Cake with Toffee Sauce looked like theperfect way to use up a bag of fresh Medjool dates lurking neglectedly at thebottom of the fridge. While the recipe wasn’t a difficult one, I was interestedin applying the guidance on effectively creaming butter and sugar to achieve alight consistency and the highly liquid cake batter was a way to put my newlyrepaired oven** to the test.

The recipe, with metricconversions and my extra notes and comments, is as follows:

Date Cake from The Sweet Life: Desserts from Chanterelle

What you need

255 g / 9 oz fresh dates (I used around 15 Medjool dates)

2 tbsp brandy (the recipe also suggests you could use Grand Marnier)

2 tsp instant espresso powder

170 g / 6 oz / 12 tbsp butter, at room temperature

175 g / 1 cup soft brown sugar (references to cups are US cups, not metric)

4 eggs, at room temperature

220 g / 1¾ cups plain flour

1/8 tsp ground cloves

1/8 tsp ground nutmeg

¼ tsp cinnamon

½ tsp salt

1½ tsp bicarbonate of soda (baking soda)

What to do

1. Preheat the oven to 160°C (325°F).

2. Line a 23 cm (9 inch) square cake tin with baking paper.

3. Halve the dates and remove the pits. Place the dates in a mixing bowl and add the brandy and espresso powder. Add 240 ml (1 cup) of boiling water to the bowl and allow the mixture to steep for 10 minutes.

4. Puree the date mixture in a food processor (or you could use a resilient stick blender, or a stand mixer) - it doesn't have to be completely smooth.

5. Cream the butter for 1 minute in a stand mixer, then add the sugar and continue creaming for another 6 to 8 minutes, until the mixture is light, fluffy and pale. Stop periodically to scrape down the sides of the bowl.

6. Add the eggs, one at a time, and mix on low speed for around 20 seconds after each one. If it starts to look curdled, don't worry about it - it will balance out when the dry ingredients are added.

7. In a separate bowl, sieve together the flour, clove, nutmeg, cinnamon and salt. Don't add the bicarb soda yet - just in case you were going to plonk in all the dry ingredients, and then go 'bugger' after going back to the recipe (which didn't happen this time...). With the mixer on slow speed, and half the flour mixture to the butter, sugar and eggs.

8. Add the bicarb soda to the date mixture and stir for around 10 seconds.

9. Keeping the mixer on slow, add the date mixture to the cake batter and incorporate thoroughly. Then, add the remaining half of the flour and spices and mix until combined and no floury streaks remain. Scrape down the bowl, then mix on slow speed for 30 seconds.

10. Pour the batter into the lined tin, and level the top with a spoon or spatula. It's a very runny batter before being baked, just in case you look at it and wonder how it's going to turn into a cake (or is it just me that has those worries, borne of the until-now dodgy oven?). Bake on the centre shelf of the oven, for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until the centre of the cake is set when tested with a thin skewer. My cake was done after 48 minutes. Allow to cool in the cake tin, then turn out onto a wire rack.

Note: The recipe book suggests serving the cake with warm toffee sauce, although I think it would be wonderful with custard. A coffee ganache could also be interesting to try. I was taking the cake to share at work, so kept it plain (a sticky cake is so much trickier in that setting), and just sprinkled it lightly with icing sugar.

The novelty of an evenly baked cake after a newly fixed oven

The finished cake was thebeautiful dark golden colour of a jar of treacle held up to the light. Thecoffee and brandy introduced deeper, subtler flavours than found in the stickydate cakes and toffee puddings on cafe menus from Double Bay to Dungog. It hada light, almost springy texture. While lovely and moist, no hint of its runnyincarnation prior to baking remained. Also, to my enormous delight, the cake rosegently and evenly. Perhaps to trulyexperience the joy of a functional oven, you need to have suffered five yearsof grappling with a disgruntled Smeg.

If all new baking effortsturned out as well as the Sticky Date Cake, it would be a sweet life indeed...

* And I do mean the recipebooks here, not the kittens. AlthoughI’d be so happy to have a kitten that I mightn’t mind too much having towrangle a squirming, biting one in a bowl of soapy water to clean up the resultof the splat!

** For those of you familiar with the trials of the Evil Smeg, it has lately had its thermostat replaced, causing great joy and rejoicing in one half of the penguin household, and a welcome break from (quite so many) dark mutterings from the kitchen in the other half.

Paddington Bear On A Diet – Marmalade Loaf

2011-06-16T19:00:00.012+10:00

Sometimes, you just feel like baking something quick and easy without ending up with a kitchen full of over-indulgence waiting to happen. A little sweetness, just enough to keep you going. Something you could toast lightly and call breakfast. Or supper. Or afternoon tea.

Something like a marmalade loaf, perhaps. It’s faintly sweeter than bread from a sunny zing of orange marmalade, a bit more unassuming than a cake, with a satisfying tender, almost scone-like consistency. At first bite, it seems so innocent – but it creeps up on you* and whispers like the angel on your shoulder (a warm, plump sort of an angel) to abandon the sinful excesses of those devilishly indulgent brownies and follow the true path to baking enlightenment. But before I lapse into any more extravagant personification, perhaps I should just get on with telling you how it’s made, and let it convince you for yourself...

Marmalade Loaf

Adapted, very slightly, from Serious Eats

(http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/08/bread-baking-orange-quick-bread-recipe.html)

What you need

237ml / 4 fl oz / 1 (US) cup milk (I used non-fat skim milk)

57 g / 2 oz / 4 tablespoons butter

113 g / 4 oz / ½ (US) cup orange marmalade (using good quality marmalade - or home-made - makes a big difference; I used Bonne Maman)

1 tsp lemon juice

383 g / 13½ oz / 3 (US) cups plain flour

1 tbsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

What to do

1. Preheat oven to 175°C (350°F).
2. Line a loaf tin (I use one that measures 23½ x 13 cm (9¼ x 4¼ inches)) with baking paper.

3. Over a low heat, melt the butter with the milk in a saucepan. Remove from the stove and add the marmalade, mixing in well (I found the back of a fork useful to break up the marmalade-y clumps). Allow to cool for around 10 minutes, and stir in the lemon juice.

4. Sieve the flour, baking powder and salt into a bowl and stir to combine. Add them to the contents of the saucepan and mix until combined (given the scone-like texture of the loaf, avoid over-mixing, as it’s likely to make it tough and chewy).

5. Spoon the batter into the lined tin and spread out evenly (if you’re using particularly chunky marmalade, poke in any bits of orange zest sticking up from the top of the batter, as they are likely to turn dark brown during baking – they still taste good, but detract a bit from the appearance, if that sort of thing is important to you).

6. Bake for around 40 minutes, until the top is golden and a skewer inserted into the loaf comes out clean. Cool in the tin for 5 minutes, then slide out onto a wire rack to finish cooling (the loaf is delicious served still warm, but if you leave it sitting in the tin for too long, it can get a little damp underneath).

The marmalade loaf has come in handy when baking for friends who are trying to steer clear of tooth-aching quantities of sugar, and for the Other Penguin to take to work for a home-made snack that’s sustaining but doesn’t result in a sugar crash half an hour later. I also like that it’s so easy to transport compared to lots of baking, too – no sticky icing, a regular shape that can be wrapped in paper and foil (or a tea towel) and not too prone to being squished**.

I’d like to try out some variations next time I make this loaf, starting with the substitution of the quince marmalade I recently made from a David Lebovitz recipe, but also experimenting with other flavours of marmalade and jam. And a little voice in my head in wondering whether the angel and the devil can reach agreement with a nutella loaf...

* Not literally – I’m not sure whether being crept up on by baked goods is the stuff of dreams or of cheese-on-toast-induced nightmares...

** This is the sort of practical consideration that comes from far too many occasions of wrangling bags of dance gear with boxes of muffins, bounding out of taxis with foil-wrapped packages of cake, and walking round Centennial park with carrier bags of brownies.

A Life Half Lived - Breakfast Discoveries

2011-05-26T19:00:00.004+10:00

Ok, it might be a little far fetched to suggest that life is only half-lived* before discovering a particular food. But it's cheese**. And it tastes indulgent and satisfying, but is actually good for you. How did I survive *coughspluttercough* years without discovering the deliciousness of ricotta on toast.
It's slightly less healthy, I suspect, when served on toasted slices of golden brioche from Bourke Street Bakery for a weekend lunch. But it looks so much more appetising than the eaten-at-the-desk version that make a regular appearance on weekdays, sprinkled with cinnamon...

Brioche toast with ricotta (which really wasn't burnt round the edges - the lovely flaky golden brioche just doesn't come across in hasty photos)

Sitting beside the Other Penguin, who's eating a sausage roll, also makes your own lunch feel more nutritious...

Pork and fennel sausage roll (perhaps a little on the crispy side underneath, but still very tasty)

He has a better iPhone, too. Although photos are always a little dodgy when they're standing between a penguin and her lunch!

* Well, a type of cheese. Going this long without any cheese whatsoever is a terrifying thought...
** Maybe 10% less lived would be more accurate? Thinking about numbers definitely needs a good breakfast. And not thinking about numbers is greatly improved by one, too!

Chasing Your Tail

2011-05-25T19:00:00.004+10:00

There are some days where itfeels like you’re running to catch up to yourself all day. Whether you’vestarted out behind and are working furiously to climb the to-do list equivalentof K2, or you just can't get into the swing on things from the get-go, there are just not. enough. hours. to. get. it. all. done. Eep!

Sometimes, it feels like ifyou could only run fast enough, you’d eventually catch your cruisier, lazierself a lap behind (or on the couch with a plate of cookies), give them a shakeand get them to run with you so you could get more done*. Or perhaps you’d justflake out beside them on the couch and accompish the ever-admirable goal ofeating twice as many cookies!

Moomin blanket by Ekelund from Scandinavian Design Center

Aside from being my favouiteshade of periwinkle blue**, this blanket has a Moomin. A Moomin! Or possibly two, depending on how you look at it. Itmight be entirely too cute and obvious with just one, centrally placed Moomin –but with a wrap-around pattern it becomes so much more striking.

It would be a cosy addition tothe couch, too. Perhaps along with these cookies...

Moomin cookies from Lindsey Bakes as featured on Kitka Design

Why did the Moomin cross the road? To escape a gluttonous penguin trying to turn him into a cookie!

* This is also a more drasticway to check your back view compared to the pedestrian utility of a full-lengthmirror.

** Maybe my equal favourite with seafoam green (although not not necessarily together). But, as a total inability to confine my blog design to an subtle and minimal palette, and a repeated admiration for rainbow-hued baking will attest, this might rapidly turn into a much longer list.

Canned Heat

2011-05-24T19:00:00.006+10:00

When left to my own devices with too many distractions (and a dishwasher), I seem to end up accumulating half-finished (or, for the optimists out there, half-started) cups of tea all over the place. They get cold, they get forgotten, they get replaced with newer hotter ones*. They also make an awful lot of clutter.

While my favourite Emma Bridgewater mug offers a bit of encouragement to remember a cuppa, perhaps a way to keep the contents hotter for longer could come in handy. Especially if it was to resemble a penguin in a sombrero!

Penguin mug from ModCloth

At this time of year, even penguins could do with a bit of added warmth!

* Which is a bit of a slippery slope to get started down...

Holding Court

2011-05-22T19:00:00.003+10:00

Queen for a day, king for a lifetime? The thing that strikes me about this Disney-regal cake is that it looks positively pedestrian after Princess Beatrice's recent millinery madness...

Cake from Bright Ideas

I do like the thought of scaling this back to a simple white and silver version - tiara cake, anybody?

Sugar High Brownies – Fairy Penguins

2011-05-21T11:50:00.000+10:00

What do you do when you driveyour partner to distraction and your workmates to hungry frustration by yourconstant talk of baking? When every time you catch up with a friend, you take apackage of a little something (or three) that you thought they might like totry? When your last waking thoughts are of what on earth to do with a jar oflavender and how to tinker with the proportion of flour in cookie dough. Andwhen you sleepily ask your aforementioned and infinitely patient partner, whois tinkering on his phone, potentially in a most-probably-futile effort to stopyou going on about varieties of brownies at a ridiculous hour of the night,could he please write down salted caramel marshmallows in case you forgetbefore morning?

Home-made cherry-flavoured sprinkles - get ready to pipe lots (and lots) of lines!

It’s time for a Plan (and ifit has Capital Letters, then it hasto be Serious Business). To bring just a bit of order to the chaos, and alittle momentum to the whimsy. Finding other like-minded souls who share theobsession with wielding spatulas into the wee small hours would also be good*.Joining a baking group sounded like the ideal solution.

The Domestic Goddess’s Sugar High Fridays look like a perfect place to begin. It’s monthly, so there’senough wriggle room to fit it round non-baking-related real life. The themesare wonderfully broad, so they can push you as far as you let them and be aprompt to realise some of those percolating ideas and experiment more, withoutsending me in a worry to a culinary dictionary.

When I came across thismonth’s theme, which is hosted by Little Bitty Bakes, all thoughts of a fast-approaching deadline and better-to-put-it-off-till-next-month drifted away. Because it was sprinkles.Sprinkles! Once more, for the people up the back who’ve stopped payingattention until I stop waffling on and actually cook something... SPRINKLES! Orhundreds and thousands, for the local folks.

The finished cherry sprinkles - I love it when something actually looks better for looking home-made...

On last season’s AustralianMasterchef, a jar of sprinkles was included in one of the mystery boxchallenges, and the judges treated it with the utmost derision. Any thought of actually using the sprinkles (rather than chuckling at them smugly and goingon to make something with duck and cinnamon and hollandaise sauce from scratch– or possible all three combined) is met with an arch expression and the riskof imminent doom. It was like a red rag to a stubborn penguin. Then, a coupleof months ago, my interest was piqued further by a recipe for making your ownsprinkles. I started wondering about how to incorporate them into a brownie,because that is my starting point for all baking. And sometimes also myfinishing point.

So, after far too much ado,I’m very pleased to introduce you to Fairy Penguins. They’re small, they’recute, they’re ever so chocolaty, and they leave fairy bread in a pallid heapin their wake (and that takes somedoing, especially when it’s this sort).

Here’s how they’remade...

Sticky Penguin's Fairy Penguin Brownies

What you need

For the sprinkles

(variation on a recipe from BraveTart)

An important note: if you planto make your own sprinkles, this needs to be done at least the day before (althoughthey do keep, so you can be prepared in advance if you prefer). Alternatively,this could be a good excuse to use up a lurking jar of bought hundreds andthousands, or to treat yourself to some of those cute little colour-themed orfancy-shaped sprinkles that are popping up in corners of stores. This recipe makes (at least) twice as many sprinkles as I used in the brownies.

227 g / 8 oz icing sugar

1 egg white

½ tsp salt

Flavouring and / or colouringof your choice – I used a couple of drops of Roberts Confectionery cherry flavour oil and severaldrops of red food colouring

For the cookie dough

(based on a recipe by Culinary Concoctions by Peabody)

These quantities make twice the amount of cookie dough needed for a batch of brownies. It keeps well in the fridge (if you let it - be warned, it's highly addictive!)

113 g /½ (US) cup butter

155 g / ¾ (US) cup (densely packed) dark brown sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

288 g / 2 (US) cups plain flour

400 g / 14 oz sweetened condensed milk (I used Nestle low-fat condensed milk, and 400 g equates to one whole can. Possibly minus a couple of sneaky teaspoons for the cook...)

For the brownies

(as evolved by the Sticky Penguin)

198 g / 7 oz / 1¾ sticks butter

118 g / just over 4 oz dark chocolate

3 large eggs

1 tsp vanilla extract

163 g / 5¾ oz granulated sugar

70 g / 2½ oz dark brown sugar

75 g / 2.65 oz self raising flour (yep, I know these imperial conversions don't look pretty, sorry)

1½ tbsp Dutch-processed cocoapowder

What to do

To make the sprinkles

1. Line baking sheets withnon-stick paper (or silicone mats, if you’re ~~being fancy~~ well-equipped). I used four baking trays andstill had some mixture left over at the end, but was running out of places toput baking trays.

2. Sieve the icing sugar andstir through the salt. Whisk in the egg white until you have a smooth paste.

3. Add the colouring andflavouring and mix thoroughly to combine.

4. Spoon the icing into apiping bag fitted with a narrow tip (or, if you’re like me and have too manygadgets and an unsteady hand, one of those small concertina piping bottlesmakes the next step so much easier and stops me getting icing all over everything!).

5. Pipe long thin lines oficing the length or width of the baking pan, repeating until you have filledeach pan or run out of icing and making sure the lines aren’t touching eachother(I started out very cautiously piping the width of each tray, and as I gotfurther along was able to pipe down the length of each tray with the linesfurther together – practice definitely seems to help with icing).

6. Allow the icing to dry outand harden over at least 24 hours (really).

7. Use a sharp knife to cutthe icing into short pieces, and there you go... sprinkles!

To make the cookie dough

I like to make the cookiedough before starting on the brownies – it takes a bit longer this way (youcould also make the dough during the half hour that the brownie batter isrefrigerated), but it’s a little less frantic this way round and it makes thecookie dough a bit easier to handle if it has some time to rest before it’sused.

1. Cream the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy (about 3 minutes in a stand mixer), scraping down the sides of the bowl part-way through.

2. Add the vanilla and beat in thoroughly.

3. Keeping the mixer on low speed, add a few tablespoons of sieved flour. Follow this with a few tablespoons (or a glug or two from the can) of condensed milk. Continue alternating between flour and condensed milk until both have been fully incorporated and the mixture is smooth.

4. Using a metal spoon or a spatula, stir in around 4 tablespoons of sprinkles and mix in thoroughly.

5. Leave the cookie dough to rest for around half an hour before using it so that it firms and is easier to handle. To make it even easier, refrigerate it for this period, or make it the day before when you make the sprinkles.

To make the brownies

1. Line a 23 cm / 9 inchsquare baking tin with greaseproof paper (there’s no need to butter or spraythe paper).

2. Melt the butter andchocolate in a large heat-proof bowl rested on top of a saucepan of gentlysimmering water. Remove it from the heat just before the last pieces of butterare fully melted – the residual heat in the mixture will melt this, and itavoids it being overcooked. Allow to cool slightly (around 10 minutes isenough).

3. In a separate bowl, lightlywhisk the eggs and vanilla with a fork or small whisk and add the granulatedsugar and the dark brown sugar. Mix well so that the sugars are evenly combinedwith each other and with the eggs and vanilla.

4. Gradually pour the eggs andsugar into the melted chocolate, whisking as you go (doing it this way round,rather than adding the chocolate to the eggs and sugar, seems to make it easierto scrape out the bowl and makes the washing up less messy!). Mix thoroughly.

5. Sieve the flour and cocoapowder into the brownie batter and mix gently until combined and there are nofloury streaks at the bottom of the bowl.

6. Pour about half the browniebatter into the prepared tin and refrigerate for half an hour, so that themixture firms a little.

7. Preheat the oven to 175°C /350°F.

8. Using your fingers, or arolling pin dusted with icing sugar, flatten out the cookie dough to around 3mm / ¼ inch thick. Arrange the dough evenly over the cooled brownie batter,making sure you go right to the edges of the tin and that all of the batter iscovered.

9. Pour the remaining brownie batter over the cookie dough, making sure that it is completely covered. Spread out evenly with a butter knife or spatula (this also helps to get rid of air bubbles).

10. Bake for 30-35 minutes, until the edges of the brownie are pulling away from the tin, the top has formed a thin crust, and the centre has just set if tested with a thin skewer.

11. Allow to cool completely in the tin before removing and cutting into pieces. I let mine cool overnight, and it helps them firm up considerably, so that they keep a lovely squishy consistency without descending into a gooey mess (which is what happens if you go near them when they're warm - which could actually be scrumptious if made in individual pans for a dessert...). I cut them into 20 pieces when using a tin this size.

The finished brownies had a distinct layer of cookie dough sandwiched between the fudgy chocolate brownie. The pink sprinkles were less pronounced after baking than I would've liked, although still discernible. Interestingly, the cookie dough actually tones down the richness of the brownie a little - I'd expected it might have the opposite case and be painfully rich, so was happily surprised to discover that the Other Penguin had the capacity to eat more than one of these in one sitting!

When I make these again, I'd try using more of the sprinkles to make them more apparent in the finished brownie. I suspect that bought sprinkles (with all those additives they have) might well hold their shape more during baking - and would be a hit as an alternative to fairy bread at parties. Overall, though, I was satisfied with how they turned out, and it was fun to finally realise a recipe I'd been imagining for quite a while.

* And, because things always seem to happen at once, is also happening in real life about now, too. Eep! Squee! Bake something before I start to panic...

Macaron Mania

2011-05-20T19:00:00.000+10:00

I still have never braved the ferocious challenges of macaron making (although there has been plenty of sampling to make sure I know what the finished product should resemble!). A couple of days ago, the Evil Smeg was finally attended to and received a new thermostat. While warned that it still runs 10-15°C hot, that's an enormous improvement on its previous pick-a-number-and-double-it dysfunction. So, perhaps macarons are gradually creeping a little closer.

Could a fabulous necklace be the way to distract myself from thinking of those tricky little confections a while longer?

Seafoam bauble necklace from Oliphant

Or is it really just a variation on a theme...?

Macaron photo by sfgirlbybay via the Paris Hotel Boutique Journal

And, once again, it all comes back to food...

Simple Things...

2011-05-19T19:00:00.003+10:00

Some things can be so simple that you just take a deep breath of astonishment and wonder how on earth you never thought of them. And then you're just glad that they exist, wherever they came from...

Nutella fairy bread from Kidspot

I'm thinking of a slightly more grown-up version, with speculoos spread on slices of brioche and topped with dark chocolate hail. This needs to make the leap from delicious daydream to actual plate very soon!

What The Wild Things Eat

2011-05-18T19:00:00.000+10:00

Whether it’s the skillrequired to create the perfect disguise, or the surprise of discoveringsomething quite different to what was first expected, I have a definite thing about food that looks like... other food. Because when you thinkof an ice cream cake, I suspect this isn’tthe first thing that comes to mind (although it might be a much more practicalchoice than the real thing, given Sydney’s current chilly snap*)...

Ice cream cake from Hey Cookie

It’s not just food thatpretends to be something else, though. Somepenguins will cheerfully dance on tables, dye their ~~hair~~ feathers purple and dream of hooning down narrowcobbled streets on anything from a Vespa to an Aston Martin**. Other penguins find alternative ways toexpress their wild side...

Where The Wild Things Arepenguin from My Dear Darling

I’ve only just discovered the shopand blogof My Dear Darling, who make all sorts of distracting things – best of whichare their customised penguins. Oh, how I long for a Sticky Penguin mascotwearing polka dots and brandishing a spatula!

And where are the wild things? The only possible natural habitat for a wildpenguin could be the vast and gently swaying expanses of asparagus... in theform of one of Sweetapolita’s ever-more-extraordinary layer cakes...

Asparagus layer cake bySweetapolita. I’ve shared one of these before, but this is the latest marvel,with eight layers (so there's even more wonderfully fluffy filling in every bite).

* Ooh – a chilli snap! It could be like a brandy snap with extra kick... Now, is that an idea worth pursuing...?
** Those penguins don’t just dress like James Bond, you know...

When It All Goes Pear-Shaped

2011-05-17T19:00:00.002+10:00

Sometimes, despite your bestintentions, baking is a thoroughly sticky business. It sticks to your fingers.It sticks to whisks, spatulas and wooden spoons alike (except when you flickthem to try and remove it, and then it sticks to whatever it finds). It sticks,without careful application of baking paper, to cake tins (and occasionally,when the application of baking paper isn’t careful enough, it sticks to that as well). You get the sticky picture...

Not content with sticking toeverything in its path, baking can also be very effective in sticking to itself. Carefully placed dollops of biscuitdough creep flatly across the tray, spreading into an amorphous mass. Huddled fluffyscones unite to be become the enormous beast that is The Mega Scone!

Much as it’s ultimately thetaste that counts, removing a tray ofconjoined cookies from the oven causes a pang of disappointment. It’s likely tobe met with a sympathetic hug when offered round at home, hopefully followed bya surprised exclamation when it turns out to taste so much better than itlooks. It’s not likely to draw a hungry horde if taken to work. And how on earth am I going to photograph it?

Don’t despair! Help is at handwith these brilliant plates that can make your baking hiccup look like youplanned it all along...

Skyscraper plates by Maxime Ansiau, via Hovering Cat (although I bet they’re a nightmare to fit in the cupboard...)

But, if you don’t have theperfect plate to display your latest creation with pride, perhaps there’sanother solution... Present it with a Picnic bar alongside, secure in the knowledge that it’ll look wonderful in comparison, and that delicious ugliness can be embraced as a rather unconventional distinction.

At the risk of incurring the wrath of Matt Moran, is it better when these ugly ducklings of the baking world taste as questionable as they look and can be turfed unceremoniously onto the compost heap without mounting guilt at the very real problem of food wastage? Or that they’re a delicious mess to be treated not with disappointment but with tenderness and perseverance? What do you do with a recipe that doesn’t quite go according to plan?

Like Strawberries And Cream

2011-05-16T19:00:00.001+10:00

Some things are just made for each other. And, along with the usual suspects - strawberries and cream, chocolate and penguins, fish fingers and custard - there are other pairings that might be less obvious, but that are equally indisputable once you see them.

When I first saw this delicate porcelain bowl adorned with a flurry of flowers, I imagined it upside down, as an alternative to a glass dome on a cake pedestal. It couldn't help but make you wonder about the possible astonishments concealed beneath - or it could be a handy way to dress up a rather more rustic offering!

Flower petal bowl by Emma Clegg from Miratis

And then I found its sugary soulmate...

Domed rose two-tier cake by I Am Baker

I'm not even sure where to begin with that cake. Despite all my previous protestations about the starchy formality of white cakes and the tooth-numbing richness of buckets of buttercream, I simply adore this cake. It's unusual but doesn't shout at you. It's classic but oozes originality. It's elegant but just invites you to indulge. It has a beautiful home-made charm but leaves you in no doubt that its perfect imperfection took some very serious work. If this cake was a person, I'd love to meet her...

It surely can't be sensible to start imagining what sort of person a cake would be. Have you ever wondered about your cake equivalent?

Real Men Eat Bacon

2011-05-15T19:00:00.000+10:00

I’m convinced there are far,far fewer differences between men and women than popular opinion* would have usbelieve. But, before I clamber atop a soap-box that I happen to have preparedearlier, let me steer this pondering in a slightly less controversial directionfor today... towards food.

While most of the men I know(and, certainly, the one I’m married to) don’t rate recieving flowers terriblyall that highly on the list of preferred ways to be spoiled, these ones mightgo over quite a bit better with the gents andthe ladies...

Bacon roses from Instructables

Would a rose by any other namesmell as... salty?

If you want to capture thatjust-eaten-a-rose feeling but don’t have a bouquet handy, this might be theanswer...

Bacon lip balm by J&D's (picture via Loft 965)

I’m a little divided on thelip balm, I must confess. To some, the very ideamight be a bridge too far. But stashed in my handbag (in addition to aportmanteau and a medium-sized walrus**) are the following lip balms in thefollowing flavours: Coca-Cola, chocolate (M&Ms, to be specific) andlemon-flavoured Skittles. Sweet tooth, much? While a slick of lip balm’s nevergoing to triumph over a dollop of ganache, the availability of the former doesseem to make it a little easier to resist over-indulgence in the latter. Andyet, savoury lip balm just doesn’tseem quite right – I can’t shake the thought that it might just feel a littlelike the aftermath of a greasy fry-up for breakfast (perhaps that could make ita perfect hangover cure, though!). And it might be a not-entirely-welcomesurprise for your significant other. Unless they’re the type to send youbacon...

P.S. It might be untoward toend without an honourable mention to Chocolatesuze, whose husband took over her blog to contemplate sending pizza on Valentine’s day instead of flowers. If you can’t have a bunchof irises, thin and crispy cheesy goodness might be an admirable alternative, Ithink!

* And by popular opinion, I might be focusing entirely too much on the tattle rags.

** By all means laugh, but they’re very handy to hide behind in a crisis or a stiff breeze. And, if there isn’t a walrus in there, then what on earth is making it so damn heavy...?

A Cup Of Tea And A Small Morsel – Earl Grey Cookies

2011-05-14T19:00:00.000+10:00

I’m hungry! You think to yourself, at about half past three in theafternoon, when lunch is a fading memory but the time before the next mealstretches out into the distance like the thought of a heaped basket of ironingor the prospect of preparing your taxes. Or perhaps it’s in the morning, andyou had an early start and have been rushing round scarcely pausing for breathsince wolfing down some toast and a scalding cup of coffee. Or it’s a lazyweekend afternoon and your mind starts drifting from your book, your footballgame, your rabble of domestic chores that you're putting off by gazing out the window...

All photos on this post are by the Sticky Penguin, who is completely in love with her shiny new(ish) Emma Bridgewater mug which was definitely worth carting back from London

It could be almost any time,really – once that impudent little gremlin starts to poke a miniature fork inyour innards in a most impolite manner, he can be very hard to ignore. And that’s where these cookies come in. They’rea couple of bites of pale golden gently crumbling faint sweetness that justsatisfy the little gnawing hole inside, without being achingly sugary orleaving you guiltily licking buttery fingers. They can be enjoyed without anyfancy accompaniments, although they’re perfect with a hot cup of tea. And theyhave a hint of something familiar but slightly unexpected that can keep youcoming back for just one more as you try to pin down just what is that taste. The answer might alreadybe in your cup – it’s Earl Grey tea.

These cookies were the firsttime I’d made a dough that is chilled before being sliced off into pieces andbaked. I tend to think of recipes that need resting or cooling time part-waythrough as an unwarranted bother unless I’m in the mood to make somethingcomplicated. But these cookies have converted me – that half an hour they spendin the freezer gives just enough time to sit and relax, to get the washing updone and stick a load of washing on, or – far more likely – to get started onthe next recipe for the day’s baking frenzy!

Theoretically, you can leave theraw dough wrapped up in the freezer until you need it (perhaps for some ofthose unexpected guests!), but while I love the idea of being so organised, it’d need a freezer bigger than thecurrent overflowing chilly and creaking shoe-box. And it would feel entirelyunfair to the Other Penguin to start making what have turned out to be hisfavourite home-made snack, only to thrust them, half-formed, into the freezerand deny him freshly baked cookies right then...

Earl Grey cookies have alreadybecome a recurring fixture on the baking list in the penguin household, whichis definitely saying something, given my frequent impatience at making the samething twice when the list of possibilities grows ever longer.

If you’d like to enjoy a fewsmall crunchy morsels for yourself, here’s how they’re made:

Earl Grey Tea Cookies (adapted from The Kitchn)

What you need*

1 cup / 125 g plain flour
¼ cup / 55 g granulated sugar
¼ cup / 31 g icing sugar
1 tbsp Earl Grey tea leaves (I used 3 bags of Twinings' Lady Grey)
¼ tsp salt
½ tsp vanilla extract
1-3 tsp water
½ cup / 113 g butter (I've also tried this recipe using a low-fat butter blend, and that worked fine, too)

What you do

A quick preparation note: I’veonly ever made these cookies using a food processor. While that doesn’t worryme at all (it’s still such a novelty to have one!), if you don’t feel the same,or don’t have one, I suspect it can be done pretty easily with a wooden spoon and some elbow grease, as noted in the steps below. If you do go down that route, it's probably a good move to let the butter come to room temperature before getting started.

1. Place the flour, white sugar, icing sugar, tea leaves and salt in the bowl of a food processor (which means there's no need to sieve it - hooray!) and pulse in quick bursts until the tea is finely ground. If you're using good tea leaves and/or making the recipe by hand, I suspect this step can very easily be left out without being missed, and just stir the dry ingredients together in a mixing bowl.

2. Add the vanilla and butter and pulse in quick bursts until it is just combined. Add water a little at a time until a dough is formed (the amount I've needed has varied a little each time I've made this recipe, so I've found it's best to add it last, and only use as much as is needed for the dough to move cleanly around in the bowl. If you're not using a food processor, some vigorous mixing and a little pressing and kneading should get the same result.

3. Turn the dough out onto a piece of non-stick baking paper or kitchen wrap. Divide the dough into two roughly equal pieces. Shape each piece roughly into a sausage shape around 3-4 cm in diameter (about as round as the circle made by joining your thumb and middle finger). You can have a thicker log, and larger cookies, but I've found these dimensions a good combination of easy to handle and just big enough for a couple of bites - they're not the sort of flavour that lends itself to a whopping great size like a chocolate chip cookie might. And, of course, when they're so small and cute, it's very easy to have more than one!

4. Wrap the sausage of cookie dough in the non-stick paper or kitchen wrap, and repeat the process with the remaining half of the dough.

5. Place the wrapped sausages of dough in the freezer to firm up (or the fridge will do if you're not baking on a sticky Sydney afternoon) for around half an hour. Or, if you're organised and want to prepare things in advance, leave them in there for a few days or a couple of weeks until you want to enjoy some fresh cookies. That's if you can resist the lure of fresh cookie dough for long enough - not an option in the penguin household!

6. Preheat the oven to 190°C / 375°F and line two baking sheets with non-stick paper.

7. Remove the chilled dough from the freezer and, using a serrated knife, cut into slices of around ½ cm thick. The recipe makes around 24 cookies, depending on how round and how thick you've made them. And how much cookie dough you may have snaffled along the way.

8. Place the cookies on the baking sheets (re-shaping them a little if they're not quite circular and if that's important to you), and bake for around 10-12 minutes. When the cookies are done, they should be light golden brown around the edges (not a uniform golden brown all over, in which case they will probably be a little too crispy).

9. Allow the cookies to cool on the trays or on a wire rack. If kept in a cool place (or in the fridge, if you happen to inhabit a badly insulated apartment), the cookies will keep well for at least 5 days. If you let them...

I'm hungry! you think to yourself... and that's quite ok, because now you have Earl Grey cookies to nibble while you take a break and curl around your cup of tea...

* Cup measurements refer to US cups, which aren't the same size as Australian (and other) ones - this is why the alternative weights are also shown.

Muddled In The Middle - Keeping Track Of Recipes

2011-05-11T19:00:00.001+10:00

It used to be so easy. Most of the recipes that were made regularly were ones you just knew, that probably weren't written down anywhere, unless it was by hand. And most of the others came from two or three cookbooks that led a quiet existence in a murky corner of the kitchen. And now...

Now, there is a cupboard of cookbooks positively bursting at the seams and considering a bid for freedom (from where total domination of the apartment may swiftly follow), a clutter of pages cut from magazines and newspapers and, most unruly of all, list upon list and link upon link of online recipes which I swear seems to multiply when I'm not looking (and most certainly grows even faster as soon as I pay it any attention).

So, it's a bit of an exaggeration. But it gives you the gist. Amazing library (it's Karl Lagerfeld's) photographed by The Selby

And, when you want to cook something, where do you even start to look for a likely option? Or, more often, how do you try to pin down that elusive recipe you were certain you'd seen, but weren't sure where. Which, after digging through half a dozen books turns up in an old Donna Hay magazine. Or which, after a solid half hour of hunting through bookmarks, browser histories, Instapaper folders and badly tagged Google Reader feeds, dangles just out of reach, taunting you with delicious promise and the prospect of using up three-quarters of a cup of buttermilk, half a packet of dark chocolate or some stray almonds. Until, defeated, you look for an alternative and end up bookmarking another half a dozen must-try recipes. It's like trying to cut the head off a hydra...

The latest attempt to bring order to the chaos is this one - which makes a bit of sense, given the "I think, therefore I cook" mindset that so often prevails. But, useful as the Thinkery is turning out to be, it just doesn't have the glamourous minimalism of a luxurious notebook like this...

'Have your cake and eat it' leather notebook from Smythson

Are you being overrun by an avalanche of recipes? I'd love to hear how you stay on top of the towering heap!

If I'd Known You Were Coming, I'd Have Baked A Cake

2011-05-10T19:00:00.000+10:00

Do you have a jumpy Gah! They're HERE?! moment when visitors arrive? Whether they're genuinely unexpected, planned-but-semi-absent-mindedly-half-distracted-from-preparing-for, parents (in which case you can start getting sorted out a full two weeks in advance and still feel utterly caught on the hop), or just organised people running anything earlier than the fashionable 15 minutes late (in which case, please give lessons in how you manage it), I always seem to feel like I fell into a time warp and lost a seemingly-critical hour along the way. I suspect the only seemingly-critical thing is potentially the hostess - of herself...

Fiona Cairns Victoria sponge cake; picture by Jason Lowe via The Independent - this was a recent highly successful but sadly un-photographed expansion of the baking repertoire. Although mine replaced a whipped cream filling with a lemon and cream cheese frosting, as well as the traditional jammy middle. There will be a reprise (with camera) as soon as a halfway decent excuse (or, failing that, a little more time) presents itself...

Much as the thought of being Martha Stewart-esque kitchen queen who throws together an exquisitely measured shindig without a hair or a dribble of gravy out of place, there's the resounding feeling that it's so much more welcoming, fun and sanity-preserving to be a domestic goddess Nigella-style. To be found in your natural habitat with unruly hair, wafts of promise escaping from a clutter of saucepans and licking the wooden spoon. And to smile, secure in the knowledge that the important bits will all somehow come together once the important people have done the same.

P.S. The title of this post might belie (and oh, how that word looks wrong however I attempt to spell it...) the likely eventuality that I will have baked a cake (or, even more probably, brownies) regardless of even the unlikeliest of visitors or any vaguely tenuous justification.

P.P.S. And for anybody who knows me in real life, this post isn't intended in the slightest as a deterrent from bringing yourselves round, or as a plea to arrive four hours late so I can finish running, chicken-like, about (as that may lead to Gah! They're not coming! and subsequent arrival being met with a pjyama clad appearance). It's just a small musing on the peccadilloes of penguins...

Yee Ha!

2011-05-09T19:00:00.031+10:00

Wow, it's been quite a while! There's been a little more going on in the penguin corner of the world that was quite expected*. Rather than try to cram an explanation of the goings-on into the unwieldy vessel of an ill-chosen analogy (for once), this cake sums it up much more effectively...

Rollercoaster cake from Hey Cookie (and the Mazel Tov Will isn't an obscure part of the analogy, by the way)

Except that, if a specific rollercoaster were to be chosen as representative of the past few weeks, it'd be Space Mountain, where you're strapped in and hurtle through the dark with no idea what's coming next and when it's ending. And then you get to the end and line up, on unsteady feet, to go again!**

Hopefully, normal programming is about to resume. With recipes. And pictures. And something resembing an occasional articulate thought. And a sticky penguin keeling over from shock... But you never know what's around the next bend...

* Which is a right pain - planned madness allows for scheduled blog posts, whereas unplanned madness results in radio silence or, potentially, actual madness if attempting to be in ten places at once. What was it about needing minions? Butler! Fetch me my minions!

** Also much like Space Mountain, I suspect it'll seem a whole lot tamer with the benefit of a bit of time and the benefit of hindsight...

A Slight Misunderstanding

2011-04-21T19:00:00.003+10:00

When I said I needed cake minions, what I meant was that I needed a troupe (just a small one would do) of general spatula-wielders, icing stirrers and washer-uppers. This wasn't quite what I had in mind...

Minion cakes (a la Despicable Me) from Emilie Handmade

Even if they don't clean the kitchen and generally do my bidding, I do think they're pretty cool! And that's without having seen the film...

Today is, in fact, a day of wishing for just about any variety of minions, cake-related or otherwise. Bit of a big day in the real world. Looking forward to a return to sanity (or at least the usual level of slight eccentricity) over the Easter break. Hope you all have a good - and slightly eccentric - one, too!

Ice Cream Is Always The Answer

2011-04-20T19:00:00.000+10:00

The Tower of Pisa is leaning because the world is really a giant bowl of gelato, which tends not to be the most stable of foundations. Which explains both its elemental appeal (the gelato, I mean, not the tower) and the reason global warming is such a problem.

Photo by lightmatter (Aaron Logan) on Flickr

And if the world is just the bowl, I'd love to know what else is lurking in that freezer...

Is Done. Is Good.

2011-04-19T19:00:00.001+10:00

There are people who like taking photos. There are people who like cooking. There are people who like taking photos of cooking. And there are lots of people who enjoy the results of cooking (when it goes mostly according to plan, at least). There are also some people who don't just enjoy cooking, photographing and eating, but also the editing, cropping and, worst of all, narrowing down of fifty very similar shots of a plate of whatever-it-was-you-just-made. Or, if they don't enjoy it, they at least have fortitude and avoid procrastination. I am resoundingly not one of those people.

Poster by Ben Barry for Facebook (a maxim that website appears to live by to great effect / frustration, depending on which side of the fence you happen to be); quote by Scott Allen

I have photos of all sorts of baking experiments that I'm bubbling over to share with you, and sit down all keen to write a post. And then I look at the photos. And then at my Google reader. And then tweet a bit (procrastination is infinitely improved by both Artwiculate, and by adding custard to poetry. Or adding custard to almost anything, really...). And then I go and make a cup of tea. You can see where this is going... even if you can't yet see the photos.

So, while I continue to harrumph at pictures of plates of biscuits and slices of cake, my general (if occasionally lessening) ineptitude with a camera and the vagaries of Tastespotting, Foodgawker and the like, here's a little distraction in the form of an intriguing piece of kitchen gadgetry. When I saw it, I wondered why anybody would cross a muffin pan with a foosball table...

Debbie Meyer Cupcake Genius; photo from Cupcakes Take The Cake

It turns out that the rack is put on top of the muffin pan after the pans have been filled with batter, to create little indentations in the cakes as they bake. So then, the cakes are ready to be filled with lemon curd or buttercream or jam or ganache or whatever intriguing substance you feel inclined to stuff into a cupcake. Assuming you didn't prefer to bake it straight into the cake in the first place!

Now, as the owner of a cupcake corer, I know I have fewer legs to stand on than a heron on a unicycle when it comes to highly specific and relatively-infrequently-used baking accoutrements, but this seems to be making something pretty straightforward just a bit more involved than it might need to be.

What do you think of the cupcake genius, and where do you draw the line with peculiar kitchen gadgets?

No Chintz

2011-04-18T19:00:00.000+10:00

If I started out unconvinced by icing transfers, I'd now like to eat my words. And my cake. Especially if my cake happened to be this one...

Cupcake with icing transfer by Hello Frosting on The Underground Ferris Wheel (which is such a wonderful evocatively whimsical name, too)

And if I could eat if while perched elegantly on a botanical print chair, with a cup of tea beside me (perhaps on a stack of magazines set on lime-washed floor boards, looking out to a balcony), then that would be very good indeed...

Butterfly chair by Tortie Hoare from via Sunday In Bed (which is less whimsical a name, but an excellent idea)

Can you perch elegantly and eat a cupcake, though? Or is it better suited to curling up in a comfy corner and digging in?

The manner of eating cupcakes brought back to me that, when I was at uni, and used to eat a luridly pink-iced cupcake for lunch for days than was probably wise, I used to eat my cupcake upside down. It began with peeling off the wrapper, and nibbling my way through the vanilla sponge in anticipation of ending with the glossy icing. This might be another reason I prefer buttercream inside cakes, rather than on top of them, as it makes the turning upside down rather messy. I wonder if an icing transfer would fix this, though...

Do you have particular rituals for eating cakes?

Not Subdued, Fondued - More Cupcakes On A Stick

2011-04-17T19:00:00.002+10:00

What's brown and sticky?

A brown stick.

This sort of dad-joke (fool's) gold can reduce me to a quivering panna-cotta-like heap of mirth*, generally after that witching hour when you realise that you're so tired that the most stupid things become hilarious. Perhaps because of their very stupidity, but I suspect it doesn't do to analyse such things.

Another thing that's brown and sticky is a cupcake in a fondue...

Cupcake fondue from Cupcake Project (where they have a fondue pot that looks like a Hershey's Kiss)

Food on sticks has been rather a preoccupation this week, whether to be dunked in fondues or simply because you can. And finding a way to fondue a cake is perhaps a little too good to be true. Variations on a theme are now coming to mind thick and fast (or thick and gloopy, which might be more appropriate for a fondue). How about cornbread muffins in a cheese fondue? I suspect attempts to DIY a deep-fried Mars bar in the original carnivorous and artery-clogging type of fondue pot might only end in disappointment - but that might not put me off trying it out...

But if you think that the whole fondue-d cake equation is definitely not greater than the sum of its parts, perhaps keeping those cupcakes on a stick simple and elegant** is the best way to go...

Cupcakes on sticks from Style Me Pretty, photo by Carla Ten Eyck

Simple and elegant, though, would mean you miss out on the sheer unadulterated bright perky sugar high of this particular cupcake fondue. It's like a cake version of fairy bread, with extra icing...

Cupcake fondue by Pint Size Social via Only Cupcakes

I'm torn between the appeal of a seemingly bottomless pot of orange glacé icing, and the concern that it might not quite be a proper fondue unless the dunking liquid of choice is bubbling away merrily. Do you fondue?

P.S. Asking that final question suddenly made me think of the Yahoo advertise (back before searches came in every variety as long as they're Google!). Fonduuuuuee! Yee haa optional...

* I'm not sure I've encountered a mirthful panna cotta, but I'm sure it would be fun...
** Can a cupcake be elegant, or is cute the best it can ever hope for?

Temporary Identity Crisis

2011-04-16T19:00:00.001+10:00

The grass can be greener on the other side... of the iceberg. Sometimes, a penguin can be a bit uncertain about whether a dinner suit really is always the best sartorial selection, and if they might like an occasional change from sashimi for dinner. Maybe other creatures are having far more fun (or at least being more glamorous and with a more interesting dinner)?

This is when a penguin wonders...

All of which is a very thinly disguised effort to make general squee! noises about having discovered a website which has a font made of llamas. Of llamas! What more could you possibly want to randomly discover on a bucketingly wet Saturday afternoon? Well, perhaps an endless tray of brownies and that the spare bedroom has been taken over by speculoos spread and the Kate Spade fall collection. As neither of those is the slightest bit likely, I'll settle quite happily for the llamas...

Pianissimo

2011-04-15T19:00:00.001+10:00

Xylophobe - a person who can'tstand tinkly piano music...

The Choir Of Antarctica by I Love Doodle (who has a fabulous website, and sells his prints on Etsy)

Much less common is the bagwuss, who runs andhides at the first sound of the Edinburgh Military Tattoo and has a penchant for wearing pink stripy tops...

Bagwusses - sorry, bagpusses - by geese on Flickr a sea of pink and white stripy feline humbugs! These ones look considerably less jowly and rotund than the original, though...

Between the Other Penguin and me, we cover both bases. Whether it's Alicia Keys, ballroom music or The Whitlams, I do enjoy a piano (where he tends to prefer guitars and synthesisers, and I haven't yet encountered a bloke who enjoys The Whitlams). But busking bagpipers will send me bolting down the road with fingers in my ears quicker than nails down a blackboard...

Finding Your Inner Bree - With Brie

2011-04-14T19:00:00.004+10:00

I sometimes joke that baking my way of embracing my inner Bree Van De Kamp. Mostly in the sense of domestic goddess with a fabulous line in acerbic understatement. Occasionally for qualities somewhat less noble, but equally compelling. And conveniently overlooking the rabid perfectionist / impossibly repressed / reformed alcoholic elements. I also rather envy her astonishingly well-behaved hair (although it may be immaculate simply from blind fear of what will happen should it dare defy her, combined with either an iron will or a straightening iron).

Alas, my culinary ventures tend to leave me resembling nothing quite so much as a flour-sprinkled haystack. And much as waking up to the smell of cinnamon sounds appealing when it's in the form of warm sticky rolls with cream cheese icing, it's less fun when you realise that it's just... you. Apparently making a vast batch of spiced marzipan cookies and speculaas blondies the evening before take their toll.

So I think it's time for the world to follow this lead and embrace the joy of being a little unkempt...

Print by funnelcloud

And if that's just too hard, this advice is likely to be much easier to follow...

Print by funnelcloud

A recent article in The Punch on retro food brought back (to me and numerous others) the joys of the seventies classic, the fondue. And, with cooler weather on the horizon, perhaps this might be the best way to get more cheese into your life...

Cheese fondue from Sippity Sup

So, would you prefer perfect hair, or more cheese? Or is it greedy to hanker after both...?

Food With Bite - A Banana Blog

2011-04-13T19:00:00.001+10:00

There's nothing like scarcity to increase appeal. Bananas are usually, if not quite literally a dime a dozen, at least sufficiently plentiful and cheap as to seem a little pedestrian, especially when there are berries and stone fruit to be had. Now they're up at well over $10 a kilo, suddenly there are all sorts of banana recipes I want to try, and buying bananas to let them go squishy and stick them into recipes seems a little extravagant (in an impractical-yet-mundane way, rather than a purple handbag sort of way).

Which means that delicious possibilities like banana bread ice cream will just have to wait a bit longer...

Banana bread ice cream with peanut butter and stracciatella from Guilty Kitchen

There's also a banana upside down cake by David Lebovitz which is also calling my name loudly from a lurking corner of the kitchen. And as soon as I went hunting for the link to it, another one (with mocha frosting and caramelised peanuts) was added to an ever-growing list. Oh, how I need to christen that lovely shiny new copy of Ready for Dessert...

Bananas might have become such an indulgence that they're not going to put on stripy PJs for less than $10,000 a day. Maybe it's time for a new approach...

Piranhas in Pyjamas!

Whether it's the perfect solution to get kids to eat more fish, or a way to make the naughty corner seem like a pile of cupcakes and rainbows, I can't quite decide. Although either mightn't be a bad thing...

Mars And Venus Buying Paint

2011-04-12T19:00:00.000+10:00

There's been a bit of a polka-dot fixation going on around here since the recent re-design (and there was certainly a latent fondness for them long before). And, after a visit to the paint shop with the Other Penguin on the weekend, in which I discovered and then attempted to narrow down the impossible number of textures, finishes and shades of pale neutrality which could be applied in painting a plain wooden table, this diagram struck a bit of a chord...

Picture via Geek In Heels

That said, and at risk of stepping into much more controversial territory than types of icing and permutations of brownies*, I think there are far fewer differences between men and women than lots of people (with a special shout out to columnists and writers of self-help books) might (like to) think.

But whether you see colours differently when wearing cowboy boots might be worth pondering...

* And all those caveats before stepping in where wiser mortals might fear to tread are most uncharacteristically wary. Clearly some practice at charging headlong into polarising and insufficiently informed opinions like a bull in a china shop is called for!

Dropping A Bombshell. Or Maybe An Eggshell.

2011-04-11T19:00:00.000+10:00

Wearing black and white mightbe the only thing waiters have incommon with penguins…

“OK, fellas, this isn'tlooking good. Bob, what were you thinkingletting go?!”

“But Sam, it's kinda hard to carry a cake when you've got wings”

“I know, I know, but youdidn't see me drop the platter, now,did you?”

Penguin print by Avalisa, available (among other places) from All Posters, ice cream cake from One Charming Party, and conversation between penguinsimagined by their sticky, baking relative. Sometimes I know just how they feel,too – things have a habit of ending up upside down when you least expect it(and least can afford it). Perhaps all available coordination gets used up onballroom dancing. Or perhaps baking half a dozen things at once at the witchinghour is asking for trouble...

As long as you can be clumsy without an audience, it’s not so bad. And if the results turned out as well as this cake, well, I’d be dropping things left, right and centre – but possibly from shock!

Stamp of Disapproval

2011-04-10T19:00:00.004+10:00

If all those stamps yesterday just made you want to stamp your foot, here’s something for the grumpy, the snarky, and those who think that the only queen they want anything to do with went downhill after the demise of Freddy Mercury or wears towering platform heels, a bouffant wig and a feather boa*.

Stamps by Heather K Phillips from Schooled

These tell-it-how-it-really-is stamps gave me such a chortle when I first came across them on Paper Pastries. Although I can certainly think of times they’d come in handy...

Though, in defence of queens I do like @Queen_UK on Twitter. Ascerbic asides, bad puns and a slosh of gin – perfect. For some reason, I imagine her as being far more glamorous than her real-life counterpart (not at all difficult, I realise, when you’re competing with sugared-almond pastels and hats that look more like cake boxes. She’s more of a Mrs Lilien version of a queen...

Mrs Leo by Mrs Lilien

Perhaps those stamps could do with a we are not amused version. All this monarchy malarkey could be enough to drive you to gin!

Stamp Of Approval

2011-04-09T19:00:00.003+10:00

Cake bunting seems to have gone from a quirky one-off to a growing trend. It’s hoisting its custom-decorated flag all over the place and claiming ts turf on behalf of bakers who want to dress up a cake without needing to be a dab hand with a piping bag. And hallelujah to that – those of us who view a spatula as more cutlery than a utensil can breathe a sigh of relief at a distraction from our rough-iced creations!

This twist on cake bunting combines a cheery one-in-every-colour feel with a bit of elegant restraint. At first glance, it might not quite register what it’s made from...

Postage stamp cake bunting design from D Sharp (who sells via Etsy and Big Cartel)

The portrait on the postage stamp reproduced in a range of colours strikes me as a little bit Warhol, but with the slightly muted shades is more toned down than technicolour – Warhol with a polaroid camera, maybe? And the simple white icing mixes the retro charm with clean modern lines.

With the fashion for Union Jack designs and all things vintage, it’s surprising that the classic English postage stamp doesn’t seem to have had a similar revival yet. Perhaps it’ll be the next design equivalent of the cupcake? This rug might not be everyone’s cup of Earl Grey, but it has a certain strikingly eccentric charm...

Postage stamp rug by Rug Maker from Rockett St George

I wonder if the hyped-to-pieces English royal wedding will tip Empire chic out of vogue, or if we’ve only reached the tip of the iceberg...

Stick In The Mud

2011-04-08T19:00:00.002+10:00

My theory about serving tiny plates of tiny food is that it’s a bit like pouring sand into a jar of pebbles – the sand fills in every last gap because the grains are so small. Yum cha is perhaps the most extreme example... those small, innocent dumplings in harmless little bamboo steamers collectively result in a certain need for a wheelbarrow to be carted out in (perhaps the steamers of pork buns, tarts, noodles, polar bear balls and all sorts of other things play a contributing role as well, but I mostly blame the dumplings. There always needs to be a scapegoat). Tapas can produce a similar (but usually marginally lesser) level of gluttony – I’m sure this is why small plate eating is so in vogue – while it’s also about the enjoyment of sharing food with your friends and the ability to graze across a range of tastes, perhaps the commercial imperative of how much gets eaten plays a part as well.

Could you resist all those enticing little morsels? Yum cha photo by Edwina Pickles for The Age

Whoever came up with that diet tip of “eat everything off a tea plate and you’ll eat so much less food” has obviously never been to yum cha. Or, for that matter, to afternoon tea...

But you can do away with the little plates entirely, and still have the same effect. And this is where little bites on a stick come in...

It could be baked Alaska...

Baked Alaska on a stick via Cupcakes and Cutlery

It could be cheese (it could always be cheese)...

Cheese (with crispy bacon) on a stick from The Kitchn

There are plenty of pops on sticks, but pop tarts? Homemade pop tarts? Yum...

Pop tarts on a stick from Family Kitchen

Just because it's a drink doesn't mean it can't go on a stick...

Hot chocolate on a stick from Giver's Log

Even salad's more fun on a stick!

Salad on a stick from parents.com

Almost everything acquires just a little more novelty when served on a stick! And that's before you get to things that are supposed to be served on a stick. Easter's not too far away, which means it's nearly the season for battered sausages and fairy floss (or, for the less gluttonous or adventurous, sweetcorn). Just as long as it's not a stormy petrel on a stick.

In Japan, there's a whole group of food-on-sticks in the form of dango. If yum cha is trouble, just imagine dumplings that come on a stick...

Dango via The Anime Blog

Closer to home, and a whole lot more appealing than a sausage on a stick, Primrose Bakeshop sells cupcakes on a stick at Paddington Markets. Get ready for a new sort of stick-y penguin!

Going Round The Bend – Orange Wacky Cake

2011-04-07T19:00:00.003+10:00

Lots of things can be persuasive when deciding on a recipe to try out. Important things, like the tastes of the people you’re making it for, and how much time it (is meant to) take. Practical matters like whether you can get all the ingredients for it (all those possibilities for yuzu juice and quinces – not necessarily together – are having to take a back seat for now. The inclusion of chocolate tends to move a contender higher up a short-list, too. But a silly name, now, that always grabs the attention. Whether it can keep it (let alone live up to it) can be another matter...

I was trying to decide on a cake that might lend itself to being taken to a brunch. Something not so indulgent that it was too much of a dessert – some people don’t like too much (obvious) sugar early in the day* – but with a sufficiently distinctive flavour so as not to just fall by the wayside with the toast. It was going to have to compete with bacon after all, and that can be tricky. The idea of a cake that included ingredients that might be consumed at breakfast time (not, in this case, bacon...) appealed to me. So I went looking for cakes with orange juice, coffee or tea, maybe a streusel topping or some fruit. Trying to narrow down quite what I was looking for was a bit of a challenge.

And then I came across a wacky cake. Just what on earth is a wacky cake, anyway? Turns out, it’s a cake that doesn’t use eggs, milk or butter in the batter. Some are even wackier and get mixed directly in the cake tin. It apparently originated from wartime rationing, and uses vinegar and baking soda to make the cake rise. Vinegar in a cake might sound less than appealing but the cake did indeed rise and (somewhat to my surprise) was very more-ish.

The version I tried out was a sticky orange wacky cake (although if butter and eggs were in short supply in WWII, one can only wonder where on earth people were getting oranges, in days when they were such a treat you were lucky to get one in your Christmas stocking**). Leaving aside historical accuracy (because I don’t want to start getting all Heston Blumenthal and looking for a mock turtle or some other culinary anachronism to be made impossibly delectable), this is a good recipe if you’re looking for an orange cake that doesn’t also involve almond meal***.

If you feel like getting wacky in the kitchen, here’s how to make a sticky orange cake of your own...

Sticky Orange Cake
Adapted from a recipe at The Kitchn

What you need
Cake
3 cups plain flour
1½ cups white sugar
½ cup soft brown sugar, tightly packed
2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
Zest of one orange
2 cups of orange juice (I cheated and used bottled juice for the cake)
2/3 cup low-flavoured oil (I used grapeseed; olive oil tends to be a bit too heavy and dominate the flavour, I’ve found)
2 tbsp apple cider vinegar
1 tsp vanilla extract
Filling
¼ cup orange marmalade
Icing
1½ cups icing sugar
Juice from the orange you zested earlier, strained

What you do
1. Preheat oven to 175°C (350°F). Line two 9-inch round cake tins with baking paper (I used springform pans, and found they worked well – I’m never keen on trying to extract a cake from a regular tin and risking it disintegrating – or getting dropped!)
2. Sieve the flour white sugar and soft brown sugar and add the baking soda, salt, and orange zest. Mix until well combined.
3. Separately mix together the orange juice, vegetable oil, vinegar, and vanilla and whisk to combine. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and whisk quickly and thoroughly. If it looks a bit like it’s bubbling and expanding slightly, that’s a good thing, and is the reaction between the ingredients starting to happen.
4. Divide the batter evenly between the two prepared cake tins and bake for 30 to 35 minutes, until the cakes are set, springy when gently prodded, and a cake tester inserted comes out barely clean.
5. Let the cakes cool in the pans before removing them. And let them cool completely before icing them (speaking from experience, as somebody who has had beautiful cakes in puddles of icing far too often).
6. Spread the top of one cake with marmelade, and place the other cake on top of it. Allowing a bit of the icing to escape down the edges gives it a rustic and tasty look, I think (but I’m messy, so potentially biased...).
7. Sieve the icing sugar and add the freshly squeezed orange juice, a teaspoon at a time, until the icing is a spreadable consistency. Pour the icing onto the top cake, and arrange using your spatula / butter knife / spoon of choice for this purpose (I like a small, angled metal spatula).

The cake had a squishy but light density (which does sound like a contradiction in terms) and the orange flavour really came through. I’d be keen to try it using freshly squeezed juice in the cake as well as the icing, next time. I found the taste grew on me – while it initially seemed quite simple-tasting, it was easy to be tempted back for a bit more. It kept well for several days, though becomes squishier in the middle when left – I’d like to try it again in a larger cake tin, perhaps cooked at a slightly lower temperature and for longer (a risky business, messing with cooking times and temperatures) to do a single layer version.

I think I'll definitely be experimenting with wacky cakes again. Have you tried them? I'd love to hear about your wacky baking – or just mildly eccentric baking if you prefer!

* This is a preference I just can’t relate to. Just like breakfast cereal can be eaten at any time of day, so can dessert. Although perhaps for every meal in a day, it might be going a bit far. Unless it’s a special occasion. Or there’s an ‘r’ in the month. Or...
** So I’m reliably informed by those who lived through post-war frugality in England, which hadn’t exactly been rife with tropical fruit (not that an orange really qualifies as tropical, but you hopefully get my drift) in any case.
*** Much as I could eat cakes with almond meal until I turned into a friand, sometimes there’s an urge to try something a bit different. That, and it avoids the need to try to compete with sticky and almondy cakes done so beautifully by friends recently as well!

Harrumph! Tweet! Yum! Eating Those Angry Birds

2011-04-06T19:00:00.005+10:00

A confession: I had no idea what angry birds were until I saw them on a cake. And then I got curious, and googled. And dowloaded. And played. And discovered a new and addictive form of procrastination. And then (when the iPhone battery went flat) I discovered just how much food out there was inspired by those cranky featherballs.

There are bento boxes...

Angry Birds bento box from My Meal Box

And cheeses...

Angry Bird Babybel from Cute Food For Kids (who has a round-up of other grumpy eats, too)

And lots...

Angry Birds cupcakes from Aunty Yochana

And lots...

Angry Birds cake from Copacabanya (Anya Richardson) (via Fonatic71)

Of cakes...

Angry Birds tiered cake by Laura Finlay for That Takes The Cake! (via Snarkygurl)

There's even a playable version...

Angry Birds cake (before and after) from Electric Pig. Now that's a combination of form and function!

And the pigs don't get off scot-free either...

Angry Birds pork rinds (because it always comes back to bacon) from Think Geek

And Banksy's, well, been Banksy-ed by the angry birds, too (not just the polka dots!)...

"Angry Birdsky" by Brandon Ortwein (via Design Fetish)

What's going to be next - Skyburgers? Maybe after all the kerfuffle in the media about the KFC Double Down it's just a matter of time...

Having Your Cake And Drinking It Too

2011-04-05T19:00:00.003+10:00

In Italy, the hot chocolate can be so thick that a spoon just about stands upright by itself*. So when I first came across this hot chocolate, I had to look twice to decide whether you eat it or drink it...

Hot chocolate cake via Girly Bubble

Its simplicity seems to make it all the more convincing. Although I'm not necessarily a fan of a hulking great mouthful of fondant (unless it's home made, in which case a penguin in a china shop could be something to be reckoned with...).

For those who prefer their crockery to be a little more permanent, but still in close proximity to a hot chocolate (or just a steaming mug of something less sticky and more caffeinated), this could be an option...

Dunk Mug by Dominic Skinner, available from Mocha (via Fashionotes)

It even comes in a left handed version (so as to not drop the biscuits promptly into your lap!) and (would you believe it) polka dots (they're everywhere...).

How do you like to combine your drinks and snacks? Do you have a favourite sort of hot chocolate?

* Meaning that almost all hot chocolates that come after are too watery, too milky, too much like drinking the washing-up water or just not Italian. Better to have loved and lost...

Perky Polkadot Penguin

2011-04-04T19:00:00.055+10:00

The Army Reserve advertisements used to say it took "one weekend a month, two weeks a year" - you could sign up and still have enough leave to take a holiday each year, too. This popped into my mind when recently thinking about blogging. Keeping up a blog can take (at least) as long as one weekend a month plus two weeks a year (albeit dispersed across countless late nights, weekend afternoons and random snatches of time here and there). Not only that, but almost every job in the civilised world gives you the ability to take a few days off. Perhaps one of the differences between a job and a ~~compulsion~~ passion is whether you do take that break.

So, after starting {Penguins and Parentheses} on the 21st of March last year, as a quiet little repository for occasional thoughts, and gradually turning it into a slightly-less-quiet repository for rather more regular thoughts that are very frequently about food, it was time for a short break. No leaping celebratory blogiversaries just yet (although I'm certainly hoping for many more happy returns), just a quiet fortnight to draw breath (after posting very nearly Every. Single. Day. including scheduling posts for six odd weeks of traipsing hither and yon through Paris, New York and untold numbers of bakeries).

And now {Penguins and Parentheses} is back, with extra polka dots and the promise (after today's brief detour into navel gazing) to be more sticky and penguin-y than ever. Hopefully with more recipes more often, better photos more often, and lots of capricious ponderings in between.

While I was away I tidied up, too. Hope you like the new look! After much muttering and gnashing of teeth, I've come closer to HTML and CSS than I ever thought either possible or wise. And that was before almost reaching the end of a redesign and then changing my mind and starting all over again. There are still a few corners to be dug into, so it'll be a work in progress for a little while to come, but I decided it was time to take the plunge and unleash a shiny new penguin on the interwebs. Please let me know if you encounter any glitches, or have any suggestions for things you'd like to see...

In the meantime, there's a pairing that just suits the new look of the place, starting with this Damien Hirst painting...

"Albumin, Human, Glycated" by Damien Hirst (via The City Review)

Which inspired this fabulous cake...

Polka dot cake from Martha Stewart Weddings

Although I do like this modification by Banksy - it seems to link the original work with the cake, in a madly domestic sort of way...

"Keep It Spotless" by Banksy (via Eddie Dangerous on Flickr)

Can a penguin change its spots, I wonder...

A Balancing Act

2011-03-19T19:00:00.001+11:00

Equibbleibrium – the ongoing debate about where a level of balance is achieved

If I hold bowl of fruit in one hand, and a plate of chocolate cake in the other, do I reach equilibrium? Perhaps if I stand on one leg, lean hard to the left, have a five kilogram apple and a delicate morsel of cake, there’s a chance. But that would just look utterly silly*, and not be terribly much fun, either.

Picture from The Kitchn

It’s all a question of balance, really... Which gets me thinking about the concept of “work/life balance”, a term I particularly despise. It suggests all the other aspects of existence can be lumped haphazardly into one jumbled bucket (you don’t hear much about work/sleep/baking/studying/dancing/rabbitting-on-the-phone/gallivanting-round-Paris balance. Much as it might be far more realistic, and sound a bit more fun too). It suggests that work isn’t life which, for lots of people, is inaccurate and even just plain presumptuous. It’s almost always a euphemism for work/family, with a presumption that people that don’t have family responsibilities don’t do anything else besides work. Insert indignant and slightly self-righteous Harrumph! Right here beside the soap box, thanks.

So is it the apple or the chocolate cake that represents work? One makes you feel better for eating it, but, while satisfying, isn’t always what you crave. The other can be the stuff of daydreams, but might not live up to expectation and can leave you feeling lethargic after too much at once. It could go either way**. Perhaps that’s why it’s so important to have your cake and eat your apple, too...

* And is making me come over all Monty Python and think about standing on one leg and singing Jerusalem. What on earth do flamingos get up to, given they spend almost all their time on one leg? Perhaps they joke about acting funny when they’re on both legs...
** It feels a little like the food version of a Rorschach test. Now, what do you think of when you look at this brioche?

'Nuff Said

2011-03-18T19:00:00.003+11:00

It's Friday. The day of grand plans and big ideas. A whole untouched weekend stretching ahead like a blank canvas, ready to fill with anything. Whether that's seven impossible things before (or for) breakfast* or just retiring to a quiet corner with a good book (which can be even more of a challenge than those seven impossible things, especially for people who need to be Doing Something Productive All The Time).

Sometimes you can surprise yourself with how much it's possible to achieve. And other times, you can be astonished by how good it feels to do, well, nothing terrible much...

Print from Upper Case Magazine (via Timothy Buck Walter)

Whether or not being in ~~pajamas~~ pyjamas precludes doing things is another matter and best saved for another day. Here's to a weekend of distracting typography and as few ought to-s as possible...

* I would very much like to try an impossible thing for breakfast. Provided it was in an appealingly whimsical way, and not a Man Vs Wild sort of impossible way, that is.

Bringing Lego To Life - Bright Sweetness

2011-03-17T19:00:00.014+11:00

It's a little bit like Lego brought to life, and a little bit like a complicated layered confection that defies the laws of gravity. Now there's an idea for Adriano Zumbo, and I'd love to see (a) how it stayed up and (b) what the blue flavour would be. I'm thinking about buttered popcorn, espresso and tomato (and whether such a combination could possibly work. Although surely if burnt toast macarons can, that could. I just can't decide on the blue layer...).

But really, it's a lamp...

PXL table lamp from Scandianvian Design Center

And then I discovered this cake, and had one of those moments when things just make sense...

Primary coloured striped layer cake from Martha Stewart

Funny how randomness and eyecatching colour can perk up a day. And stripes. Stripes are always a plus, too*.

* Although one little horizontal stripe by itself is really a minus. It really is all about randomness, sometimes. And bright colours. And thinking quiet little stripy thoughts...

On The Run From Breakfast

2011-03-16T19:00:00.003+11:00

People can be very particular about when they eat breakfast. It might have to be before getting ready, or not until after a good hot shower. Some like to exercise beforehand, others need at least one cup of coffee. A few (and a good many more on weekends, I reckon) don’t even like it to be in the morning. For me, weekday breakfast only ever happens once I get to work. It’s never as late as mid-morning, but I much prefer to be at least almost (and preferably completely) awake before greeting food for the day.

This cupcake looks like the perfect iced excuse...

Cupcake from Abbie Tabbie (I know, it's becoming an obsession, but they're just brilliant!)

“Of course I had cereal for breakfast!”. The fact that I also ate the crockery, the tablecloth and a decent quantity of icing and fluffy vanilla sponge is entirely irrelevant. I wonder if there’s a version with that bowl of cornflakes sitting beside a computer monitor and an unruly pile of papers (overseen by an equally unruly penguin, perhaps!).

It seems* that there are far more specifics and quirks about breakfast than any other meal. Are you a picky breakfaster too? What are your morning munching rituals?

* On the highly unscientific straw polls on which I base blog-related inquiries (other than baking, where as many hungry folks willing to exchange opinions for sticky treats are welcomed wholeheartedly!).

Let Them What?

2011-03-15T19:00:00.003+11:00

It doesn’t have the imperious and flippant ring to it of Let them eat cake!*. It’s perhaps more of a friendly exhortation, or an answer to what to serve at a relaxed dinner with friends while there are still long evenings left to enjoy. And maybe that’s what appeals about this little card**...

Print by Katydid Paper Goods (available on Etsy or from her very cute online emporium)

That, and it didn’t say Keep calm and have a pav! Which might have prompted an onset of the colliewobbles. As opposed to keeping calm and carrying a pavlova, which just can’t happen owing the the worry about it collapsing, or dropping it, or the cream slithering off in the humidity, or some other such catastrophe.

Although letting them eat pavlova isn’t necessarily the issue – stopping them eating pavlova might be more of a challenge. It’s the cold, quiet hours when it lurks unattended in the fridge when danger is most likely...

* Even if that wasn’t really what Marie Antoinette said in the first place, which is pretty much beside the point by now...
** I wonder, though, what the appropriate occasion is for such a greeting? Or if it's for gluttonous typophiles (moi?!) to pin on their noticeboards.

Good Things Come In Small Pastry Packages - Sticky Penguin’s Portable Pies

2011-03-14T19:00:00.018+11:00

It’s finally autumn, which means long hazy days are replaced with a bit more frantic activity and a sense of where on earth is the year going already? It also means the return of the football season*. And that means pies! Don’t you love the way a train of thought, however circuitous, always leads back to food?

This is what we’re here for – please bear with me while I finish waffling, because they’re quite delicious!

Pies can be messy. Serving slices of a large pie often means at least one slice that looks like it was dropped from a great height into a disorderly and not-very-appetising heap onto the plate. And eating a smaller pie can be a gravy-spattered reminder of the point when there ceases to be enough crunch pie crust to contain all that squishy filling and... splat! There should be some obscure geometric ratio about the maximum area of a pie that can successfuly be contained by its circumference. Preferably with dodgy pi-related puns.

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold**. This is what we’re trying to fix...

Pies can also be difficult to photograph***. Which is my flimsy excuse for only sharing now the idea that I came up with prompted by the Culinary Smackdown hosted by I'm A Pretend Chef back in February. Ah, the sound of deadlines as they whoosh past!

The combination of a recent encounter with a recalcitrant and messy pie, and all those cake pops I keep seeing all over the interwebs, made me think about.. pie balls****. No collapsing slices. Small enough to avoid escaping filling. And with just the right amount of pastry to meat in every bite. They’re a bit like the carnivorous version of a doughnut hole (without the deep frying, though!).

I could imagine buying paper bags of steaming portable pies from carts at the football, within a little tub of tomato sauce for dipping (because a meat pie without sauce is just wrong). More realistically, you could serve them in large bowls for easy-but-interesting casual party snacks. Or take them for packed lunches or picnics. And their handy size would make them great for little penguins, too (something unexpected and not too unfamiliar in the lunchbox could go down well).

If you’re keen to try out some portable pies, here’s how they’re made...

Sticky Penguin's Portable Pies

What you need

Pastry

400 g / 14 oz plain flour (it's actually 396.9 grams, but this isn't a recipe that calls for astonishing accuracy at any stage, so I went with rounding it. Just for anybody out there who does imperial/metric conversions in their head and thought it sounded off)
200 g / 7 oz butter (or butter blend / margarine works fine as well. Home-made shortcrust pastry is always preferable to bought, but I'm not going to start being all pastry-purist about things!)

Cold water (around 2-4 tbsp, preferably straight from the fridge)
Pie filling*****
1 onion, finely chopped
500 g lean minced beef
1 cup beef stock (note: as this is adapted from an Australian recipe, cup measurements are metric. But, as the measurements are more a guide than an exact science, using US cups, or just sploshing things in till they look and taste about right, is just as good)
¼ cup tomato sauce / ketchup
2 tsp Worcester sauce
pepper to taste
½ tsp dried oregano
Pinch nutmeg
3 tbsp plain flour
¼ cup water
beaten egg for glazing
What to do
First, make the pastry – it can rest in the fridge while you cook the pie filling (Or, if you prefer not to rest your pastry, it might be quickest to start with the filling, and make the pastry while the meat bubbles away. Or I could just stop trying to tell you how to be efficient in the kitchen, which is probably just a wafflly nuisance!)
1. Rub the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs (it's ok to have a few tiny blobs of butter left, so don't worry about it being perfectly even). Or pulse the flour and butter in a food processor until this texture is reached (which is generally quicker than I expect, so be wary of overdoing it!).
2. Add cold water, one tablespoon at a time, until the pastry can be shaped roughly into a ball. The dough shouldn't be too wet or sticky, so opt for the least amount of water that enables the pastry to come together.
3. Turn the dough out onto a large expanse of kitchen wrap / cling film, flatten the rough ball into a disc (around 2-3 cm / 1-1½ inches high), wrap the disc with the cling film and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes.
Then, make the filling
4. Cook the onion in a large pan until translucent. Add the mince and jab with a wooden spoon to break up the meat so no large lumps remain. Cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the meat is browned.
5. Add the stock, tomato sauce, Worcester sauce, oregano, nutmeg and season to taste. Bring to the boil and simmer, covered, for around 15 minutes. Give it a stir every 5 minutes or so to make sure it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pan. Taste and adjust the sauces or seasonings if required.
6. Whisk the flour and water until smooth, add to the bubbling stew and stir in quickly and thoroughly with the wooden spoon, so no floury bits remain. Simmer for another 5 minutes, during which the mixture will thicken and reduce to a dollop-y consistency. Give it a bit longer if needed to get to that consistency. The mixture will firm a little more as it cools, but the gravy should be thick and rich rather than runny, to avoid squidgy pies.
7. Remove from the heat and allow to cool (at least to a temperature that you can comfortably poke a finger into) before assembling the pies. If you leave it to cool for longer, or make the filling in advance and refrigerate it, give it a good stir when you're ready to use it if it seems too thick.
To make the pies
8. Preheat oven to 200°C / 392°F.
9. Roll out the pastry to about 2 mm thick (it should be thick enough that the filling doesn’t burst out, but thin enough to not overwhelm the small size of the pies). I find rolling the pastry out on a sheet of greaseproof paper, with a lightly floured rolling pin, ~~avoids~~ minimises both overly floury pastry and total chaos in the kitchen.
10. Cut circles from the pastry with a biscuit or scone cutter, or a glass lightly floured round the rim. I used a 6½ cm (2½ inch) cutter. I also found that "fluting" the edges of the circles with my fingers, so that it thinned out a little, made it easier to form the pie ball and avoid a lumpy join when bringing the edges together.
11. Add a dollop of pie filling to the centre of each circle. I used a small coffee scoop, around 1 rounded tablespoon in size, to get consistent amounts. Its shape also helped keep the pies roughly spherical. I also filled and assembled each pie ball as I went (rather than filling all of them, then assembling all of them) so that the moistness of the filling didn't make the pastry more fragile when handled.
12. Bring the edges of the circle together and crimp with your fingers to join firmly. Smooth the join as much as possible, then roll the pie ball lightly between the palms of your hands to re-shape it if it's flattened out a bit.
13. Place the pie balls, join side down, on a baking tray lined with a sheet of greaseproof paper. Brush the pies lightly with beaten egg.
14. Bake the pie balls for 10 minutes, then turn the oven down to 180°C / 356°F and bake until golden brown and crunchy (they take around 20-25 minutes in total). Allow to cool to avoid any mishaps with boiling pie filling - these have a habit of disappearing from the baking tray!

I was really pleased with how the pie balls turned out - they had a good ratio of pastry to filling, and were less messy (and much cuter!) than big pies. They reheated well, too. Now I'm thinking about what other recipes could do with a portable version...

* For some of us, that means AFL. For almost everybody else in the world, it probably means something else entirely!
** One of those quotes of uncertain provenance that seems to have been around forever. Apparently it comes from a Yeats poem, The Second Coming. And not originally from a sci-fi series much better avoided. Now I’m feeling half like Pioneer Woman for hunting down obscure references (I wonder if that’s what prompted her quizzes?), and half like an poorly-read and under-educated penguin. The ability of final year English classes at school to put me off poetry for fear of overanalysis and the need to discern murky layers of meaning in the manner of peeling an onion knows no bounds...
*** So can brownies. Why don’t I ever want to cook things that look pretty?
**** Not piebald. That’s for ponies. And it would just be wrong on so many levels to eat one of those.
***** The original recipe for this pie filling was from an Australian Women's Weekly recipe for Aussie Meat Pie. It's been adapted, first by the trifle-eating cat's mum, and then by me, to the version above.

Having Your Cake And Talking About It Too

2011-03-13T19:00:00.008+11:00

The henna-style piped icing detail on this trio of peacock cakes is just beautiful...

Cakes from Rora Does Cake*

I love the subtle neutral colouring – it’s a bit of a change from the sea of whites, brights and pastels out there**. The chocolate and caramel shades are such an effective combination of elegant and appetising. And the slightly different designs on each cake are much more interesting than an identical approach, or the formality of stacking them into tiers (and keeping them separate gives more surface area for icing – both to decorate and to enjoy).

It would be a good way to do a combination of complementary flavours, too, perhaps chocolate, espresso and hazelnut. Maybe with some praline buttercream filling. Or salted caramel... Now I’m just starting to get carried away!

But I don’t know that I’d want to try saying “perfect piped peacock cakes” five times very quickly with a mouthful of cake... Not with such a sophisticated cake, anyway.

* Who, if you check her out on Flickr, has one or two more explicit iced designs. Just something to watch out for in case you're cake spotting while at work!
** Which sounds a bit too much like an escaped soundbite from a laundry detergent advertisement...

When I Am An Old Woman I Will Eat Purple

2011-03-12T19:00:00.003+11:00

My mum and I used to joke about becoming an ascerbic old woman who said whatever she pleased and prodded recalcitrant young whippersnappers with a silved-topped cane*. It sounded quite fun (although not as much fun as hooning about on a quad bike!). I like the thought that the (hoped-for) wisdom of years frees us to be more eccentric, rather than growing fusty and conservative.

Then I came across a poem by Jenny Joseph, called Warning (but better known as When I am an Old Woman). It was in a little book sitting on the counter (where much of the whimsical, distracting and just plain silly reading material tends to be), and when I flicked through it, I didn’t realise just how much of a following the poem already had. If you’d like to read more of it, there’s an online version of it here.

When I am an Old Woman cupcake from Abbie Tabbie

I already wear copious quantities of purple althought very much doubt that (old or otherwise) hats (red or otherwise) will form a regular (or anything but reluctant) part of my sartorial repertoire. But eating purple? That could be an interesting thing to consider...

Lavender macarons with honey dark chocolate ganache from The Ginger Cook

Purple sweet potato pie with easy oats crust from Foodiva

Meyer lemon and blueberry curd from Sunday Hotpants

Purple pizza from The Cooking Photographer

Plum ice cream from Pink Parsley

Beni Imo Dango (deep fried sweet potato dango) from The Sugar Bar

Festive devilled eggs from Eating Out Loud

Ube mochi cake from Une-Deux Senses

Blueberry cardamom cheesecake from G Living

Whether it comes from okinawa potatoes, berries, beets, violets or ube, there's a lot of purple potential out there!

Matching purple with brownies is my kind of combination...

Baker's one-bowl brownies from A La Carté Kitchen, photo by Joe Longo Photography

But I think I would like to wear more purple right now, just as the poem suggests. Eccentricity is wasted on the old!

* Preferably adorned with an obscure animal, and even more preferably carried only for show and not necessity.

Spamalot...

2011-03-11T19:00:00.005+11:00

Whichever way you slice it,Spam just exudes dodginess. More than a canapé hedgehog of cheese and cabanossiimpaled on cocktail sticks and arranged in half an orange (glacé cherries foreyes optional). More than blancmange, or even than junket (insert quiveringshudder here). Definitely more thanfondue (some things never go out of style! Especially with cheese...).

Canapé hedgehog (with antipasto - yum!) from A Table For Two

Attempts to update, disguiseor just make Spam ~~more~~palatable seem a bit like putting ~~lipstick~~redcurrant jus on a (fake) pig. But this Spam musubi is surprisinglyeye-catching – I like how it works with the shape (although it might need a lot of wasabi!)...

Spam musubi from Jun-Blog

Wasabit: the merest smear of wasabi able to be enjoyed by a chilli wuss

And, in case that’s not enoughdaftness, let me leave you with Steamy Kitchen’s ode to spam,and the immortal Monty Python sketch. That’s one bit of spam I don’t mind in myinbox.

How Long Is A Piece Of String?

2011-03-10T19:00:00.000+11:00

Baking tends to need a bit more accuracy than just plonking what looks about the right amount of something in a mixing bowl and hoping for the best. Even recipes with a margin for error need a pretty good eye for ingredients, or some actual measurement, let alone the complex creations. But there’s more than one way to measure ingredients – which one do you prefer?

I’ve always preferred to use kitchen scales (even more now there are digital ones which you can re-zero as you add each ingredient – it saves so much time and washing up!), measuring in grams or (for recipes from my mum or, more recently, US websites and cookbooks) ounces. Measuring cups feel like more of a fidget, with levelling off and scooping out and washing up in between if you have equal quantities of sticky substances. And then there’s the question of how much settling or packing ingredients in gets done (even if you do it consistently, there’s no guarantee that the person supplying the recipe for today’s baking experiment does it the same way as you). But worst of all is the dreaded cup conversion. Thankfully, I now have a set of US measuring cups, which make life much easier. But it can take a bit of thought to figure out which cups an unknown recipe is using (I generally assume that if their temperatures are in degrees farenheit, then the cups are US cups).

Measurement apron from Suck UK via Steamy Kitchen

A new upside-down apron comes in very handy when you get stuck and don’t want to have to start doing sums with a scrap of paper.

While my oven thermometer means I don’t have to convert between temperature scales any more, this print still struck a chord with me...

Picture from bb-blog

Because baking can be so warm* and fuzzy, it’s refreshing to come across something that sends up everybody pretty much equally!

* Or, more accurately, hot. About 220°C (or 428°F)...