Dinner party

Once upon a time, I loved to host a dinner party. Or thought I did. The truth is, I love a dinner party hosted by someone else. Anyone else really.

I went off the idea big time a couple of years ago after I just had one too many such parties. We used to live in a tiny house in which it wasn't possible to entertain so when we moved, I went a bit crazy on entertaining. Then I got over it. I get tired. Cranky. Stressed. Full of self doubt and then I collapse in a heap and wonder why I bothered.

To be clear, it's not the food part of it that distresses me. I love cooking and am mostly pretty confident about my abilities in this area. I'm not a perfectionist but I care, so the food is usually fine and once the wine flows everyone's happy.

Really, I'm just excessively hard on myself about other the stuff involved in a dinner party, like trying to do everything as well as talk to people. I can do the food. Or I can do the talking. Not both. When I try to do both I come away feeling like I did neither very well. Again, possibly not the reality of the situation so much as just my own insecurities, but insecurities are exhausting when they rage at full volume in your head so I decided for the sake of my mental health, no more dinner parties.

Friends could come for a meal but it'd be low key. Minimal expectations. And even then it felt too hard so I gave that up too.

Then a month ago, old friends of ours who moved to Perth said they were going to be in town and could they invite themselves for dinner. Without a moment's thought I said yes and knew at once that I'd have a dinner party for four because in the past, these friends have cooked for us and cooked well back in the day when we could not have reciprocated in out tiny one bedroom flat. They catered for us lavishly and lovingly. Doing anything less than that for them would have been just wrong.

So I created a menu, and I was kind to myself. I didn't go overboard in planning. I arranged things so that as much work could be done beforehand as possible. Sean does a fair bit with preparation too but he knows really it's my thing so he steps back and does stuff on the side and frankly I'm a bit of a control freak so don't delegate very well.

So here what is what i came up with. A little festive, a little different, a little special. That's what I was aiming for and I think I got it.

I cheated on the entree. I sent Sean out for a selection of good quality Turkish dips from a place near home that also makes their Turkish bread on site. I set them out in pretty blue glass bowls and we ate them with champagne.

The main was a dish I discovered a few weeks ago and knew at once it would be my dinner party dish. Pomegranate and Pistachio Chicken from Sydney food blogger, Not Quite Nigella.



It was, I have to say, incredible. Slow cooked in a dutch oven with the lid on, it was moist beyond my expectations, rich with a sauce of pomegranate molasses and brandy, and decorated with the ruby seeds glistening on top. Amazing. This will become a standard for me.

I served it with a green salad and herbed couscous.

Dessert was made the night before and was left to soften a little before serving. A Raspberry, Pistachio and Rosewater semifreddo. Semifreddo is an Italian dessert that is deceptively easy to make - it's kind of an icecream cake. Eggs, whipped cream, sugar and whatever flavouring you like. Make it the night before, freeze then serve slices. Like this.



We ate this meal with a Lakes Folly Chardonnay and were all very, very happy. Most importantly, I managed to do with a real feeling of contentment. I felt relaxed and very much at ease. Lots of conversation, friends who were happy to see us and who enjoyed the meal. I'm not going to run headlong into a bout of entertaining any time soon, but I think I got a bit of the joy back. Feeding friends is really nice and I don't want to stop doing it. I just need to remember the ways that make it enjoyable and not a trial.

Bells

Another Year Older

Today is my birthday. Sean and I took the day off work, planned some time ago, and disappeared down the coast for the day.

We would never dream of going to Bateman's Bay (or Little Canberra) in summer, when you'd have to queue just to get a table at the fish and chip shop. But in winter, we like these touristy places a lot.

The sun poured down on us today. I'd had visions of a bleak, wintry seascape but really, who gets annoyed at the sun?

But first, the day began with Sean gifting with me a lovely set of Knitpicks Harmony needles. As I noted recently, the name has changed outside the US to Knit Pro. I hadn't realised the names of the needles also changed. They are no longer called Harmony needles. They are Symphonie Birch needles. Doesn't matter to me. I will still call them Knit Picks harmony because, really, who is going to pay attention to the name change?



Sean's a good husband. This is the third year in a row he's sourced a set of Knit Picks needles from Donni, my supplier. Wonder if they'll come up something new he can buy for me next year?

Before we left for the coast, I found out Adele had provided me with a year's subscription to Donna Hay magazine. Life is good.

We headed down the coast soon after and soaked up the difference that approximately 7 degrees can make in the air. It was 15C (59F) in Bateman's Bay today.

First stop was the village outside Bateman's Bay - Mogo. Antiques, second hand books, artsy stuff.



We found a couple of treasures in the bookshop and headed to Bateman's Bay for lunch. This was our view from the deck of the fish and chip shop.



And this was one of the main reasons I chose the coast for my birthday. Oysters.



Sean can't eat them. He's got an allergy. But I can and the Bateman's Bay oysters are quite wonderful. I lapped them up.

We passed the afternoon with a little more wandering, a little more sitting and taking in the ocean views. I wore my February Lady Sweater today, but it was possibly a little warm for it on the coast. I don't think worsted weight yarn is good for coastal weather. Thank goodness I live in Canberra where we have real winters!



Eventually, we had to head home and when we arrived, I found my birthday present to myself had arrived from the lovely Sarah Durrant. This woman's service is second to none. I ordered this on Friday. Colinette Tao in Ginger Cinnabar. Delicious.



Could you imagine a more blissful end to a birthday? Oh, other than your five your old nephew singing happy birthday down the phone line to you. When I described my day to him he declared, 'how good is that?' It's very good, Willem. Very, very good.

Bells

Good Food and Wine Show 2009

For the fifth year in a row (that makes it a tradition right?) my sister and I have set aside a special day for each other to attend the Good Food and Wine show. It travels all around the country and we attend it in Sydney.

The first year was the year Adele became a mother; it was her first big day out on her own away from her just months old baby boy.

Now, he goes out with his dad for the day and recounts stories to us of his adventures. That makes me realise how much time has passed since we first went along. I've been capturing our days for the last two years, and here's this year's wrap up.

This year we had tickets to see celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay. Here we are in the theatre (fourth row!) just before the show began, bright and early at 9:30am. We hadn't seen any of the show at this point. Photo courtesy of Adele's workmate, David, another show veteran.



We were a bit unsure about seeing Gordon Ramsay. Which is to say, we bought the tickets long before the scandal broke out in recent weeks. The scandal, if you don't know about it, involved him having a public slanging match with host of tabloid trash news program, A Current Affair, Tracy Grimshaw. It was all a bit juvenille and yet, it took the tarnish off the idea of seeing the man on stage. We went along anyway and I'm happy to say, we were thrilled with his show.



It was pretty hard to get a decent photo so this'll have to do. For those of you who, like me, fancy Mr Ramsay a wee bit, I'm happy to report he's just as appealing in person. Sure, a bit rough around the edges, but what hard working chef isn't? He was charming, funny and inspiring. The best celebrity chef performance we've been to. Much more interesting than some - hello Donna Hay, yes I'm talking to you!

Near the end of the performance, there was a give away of some great prizes. Adele will have it that I accosted the nice man who was on the floor handing out expensive kitchenware, but I swear, I was in the aisle seat! When I stood up, the $260 Analon frying pan fell into my hands. Honest! Adele was, I think, so mortified that I got it and she didn't that I damn well nearly gave it to her because I felt so bad! I didn't though. I kept it for me and it's huge and gorgeous.



The rest of the show followed in much the way it does every year - the two of us let loose like kids in a lolly shop, sampling goods (mostly olive oil, chocolate and wine) and filling up our backpacks with all manner of great treats.

I did a lot of this.



Adele did a lot of this (sampling Rocky Road and other chocolate treats).



We were happy.

And here is a sample of my goodies. See the iphone? Separate post on that to follow!

The olive oil in that photo is a special one I buy every year. Sean and I first bought some Pukara Estate olive oil on our honeymoon in the Hunter Valley in 2004. It's been dubbed our Honeymoon Olive oil ever since (no rude comments from you up the back!)

Outside, we met up with Will and his dad in Darling Harbour.



We returned home on Sunday afternoon and I'm now sick, with a nasty head cold. I know head colds are fairly lame in the scheme of illnesses a person can get, but geez that whole stuffed up head thing isn't a lot of fun is it? Unlike the Good Food and Wine show, which is fabulous fun and I'll look forward to the big day out with my sister every year we're able to go.

Long live sisterly traditions!
Bells

ANZAC Biscuits

As far as classic Australian food goes, you probably can't beat the humble ANZAC biscuit. The folklore surrounding this simple biscuit, a probable relative of the traditional Scottish oatcake, is such that it's virtually impossible to make them without feeling deep levels of nostaliga, romanticism or even patriotism. 

The story goes that they were devised as a way of sending baked goods to loved ones (ie soldiers) at the front during World War I. It doesn't seem clear whether it was an Australian or New Zealand creation (ANZAC, for the non-locals, stands for Australia & New Zealand Army Corps) and I have long thought that was fitting. Neither of our fine nations should claim it solely as its own. We should happily share (but the Kiwis can have Russell Crowe back. Just thought I should get that out there.)



This is a photo I sent to Sean at work to show him what I was up to while home from work today. He thought it was a cruel taunt. Paired with the 'I'll save you one' email, it probably was. 

I was prompted to write about them after, having mentioned on Facebook or Twitter that I was baking some, Julie asked could I blog about what ANZAC biscuits are. Julie, they are yummy.

There are loads of recipes out there but the essential concept remains the same among each variation. There must be flour, rolled oats, sugar, butter, golden syrup and bi carb soda. Some recipes will add coconut. 

I used a recipe posted on Chez Pinry this week.  I could have just as easily used the classic Country Women's Association recipe that Kuka posted recently. Only minor differences between them, but those little differences can really make for a very different biscuit.

I'm of the 'must be chewy' school of ANZAC biscuit baking. Some prefer them hard and crunchy. 

But no matter how they turn out, ANZACs make me think of childhood, of perpetually rainy days in Tasmania when my mum used to make them (it was a rainy day today - very appropriate); that buttery, chewy texture never fails to please. And they never last very long either.

It must be added, in closing, that sometimes I love to make them simply because of the thrill of seeing what happens when you add the bi-carb soda to the saucepan of boiling hot butter and golden syrup. The golden foamy effusion makes me feel all sciency. Every time.

Bells

Sage

Great progress was made on the February Baby Sweater today.



Thanks to some sage advice from George, I managed to get the sleeve stitches onto stitch holders, thereby avoiding Elizabeth Zimmermann's instructions which would mean knitting the sleeves flat.

I imagine I will continue to ignore all other knitting until this is done, such is my love for it right now.

And speaking of sage, look at this.



My herb garden is bursting with sage at the moment and, fortuitously, the aforementioned autumn issue of Donna Hay features an entire section on recipes using sage. Tonight, we dined on sage. The real treat of this issue of Donna Hay's magazine has been learning about mixing herbs with salt. It seems obvious now, but, beginning with Thyme salt, we've been enthralled.

Tonight, we had chicken roasted with sage leaves under the skin and sage salt delicately adorning the dish before serving.



I'm a total convert to herb salts now - just bung the herb of your choice into a processor with a tablespoon or two of salt flakes and Bob's your uncle.

The sky's the limit, really.

Bells

ps do I really have to go back to work tomorrow? I've been so happy.

It Must Be Bunnies

Good Friday has been a wonderfully quiet day here. Sean slept for hours and I watched the final two episodes of the 1990s BBC adaptation of Jane Austen's Mansfield Park, wondering all the while just why people loathe Fanny Price so much. Austenites everywhere write her off as a mousy and generally distasteful.

If she is such a doormat, how come she manages to stand up for herself and save herself from certain misery in an unhappy marriage? Wouldn't a doormat say yes Uncle, I'll marry that shitty snot of a drip, Henry Crawford and condemn myself from a loveless marriage in which my husband will cheat on me forever?

I don't think so. I love Fanny Price and have done since I had read Mansfield Park for the HSC. I won't hear a word against her, or the novel.

Sorry, I digress and I may be just a little drunk. Apologies to readers who don't know Jane Austen or Fanny Price.

Anyway, onto what we did/ate for Good Friday because the only knitting I did was on Tangled Yoke and it's only slightly bigger than it was yesterday. Two hundred and fifty stitches in garter rib is a bit slow. For me, anyway.

So instead I can show you what we had for Good Friday brunch, not that we are overly observant of such things in our house, but never let it be said I allow even a significant religious day go by without some sort of culinary acknowledgment. Of course, true acknowledgement would have included eating fish, I'm sure, but, you know, atheists don't have to eat fish on Good Friday, I'm sure. We're no doubt exempt.

We don't like Hot Cross Buns. We find them tacky and just a little bit pointless. The fact that they show up in the shops almost months ahead of Easter doesn't help their cause, in my view. So we avoid them and this year, I bought, on a whim, some brioche.



For the uninitiated, brioche is a vaguely sweet and soft, buttery French bread. We hadn't had it before. We just knew about it and this morning, when we toasted this heavenly delight under the grill and slathered it in butter, we were in heaven. Apparently you can freeze it quite successfully but I don't think that's going to happen. I don't think this stuff is going to see the weekend out, frankly.

Then we piled it high with ham and creamy scrambled eggs and we knew at once we'd never succumb to tacky hot cross buns at Easter again. From now on, it's brioche for us.



Three more days to go before we have to rejoin the world.

Bliss.

Bells

On work trips, taxi drivers and dinner

I've had a long day. I went to Melbourne and back today for work and so that means my day began at 4:45am and it should have ended by now but I'm a bit wired and have committed to daily blog posts, so here I am!

These long days of going interstate and back are a bit screwy but there are benefits. They include:

- going into the Qantas Club lounge with your boss who is a member. Free wine! Sadly we were running late so only got one glass, but as we'd already had a couple at the post-meeting socialising, that was ok.

Oh wait, I can't think of anything else. Not that the day sucked, by any means, but it was long and I got the most irritating taxi driver ever on the way home. I reckon he was about 25 and apparently and had no qualms about lecturing me on the merits of various car models (the Toyota Swift is a good little goer, I learned); British men are apparently all closet homosexuals. Did you know that? I didn't; and if you're a bloke and you want to sleep with women, you should just agree to everything they say, even if it's stupid.

Gen Y huh?

Whenever someone, like this guy, thinks it's ok to just dump whatever crap is in their brain on me, I find myself wondering why I don't just break into a lengthy description of Elizabeth Zimmerman's percentage system of jumper design and to hell with whether the audience is receptive or not!

There was one other fabulous thing about going interstate for the day. Sean had dinner almost on the table when I walked in the door at 8:30pm.



On the weekend, he read Adele's copy of the autumn Donna Hay magazine and he insisted we buy our own copy almost solely because of this dish. Pork chops with thyme and mashed parsnip.

It was so good. I dreamed of it all day and it was worth it.

Now, I must knit so I can sleep.

Bells

Dinner for One

While undertaking some frankly not particularly appealing tasks at work today, I've been dreaming of tonight's dinner which I would be eating alone.

Sean has been in far north Queensland, in Townsville and is in transit tonight. Relishing the chance for a quiet night in on my own, I was longing to eat this delightful meal for one. Soft boiled eggs with grilled asparagus, sprinkled with sea salt. It's been wonderful. 



If only I could work out how to not ruin at least two eggs every time I try this. I put them out to bring them to room temperature; I've tried putting them in a warm water for a while to make really sure they're not going to crack. And still it happens. It's most frustrating when you're not keen on wasting eggs (who is?) and when you're dying to eat.

If anyone's got suggestions, I'm keen to hear them.

Nonetheless, I got there in the end (the house is now bereft off eggs) and dipped my grilled asparagus into the yokes. Fabulous.

For now, it's back to this rather tiny crochet and waiting for Sean's plane to land. It's raining tonight. It's a good night to be in.



Bells

Broad beans and why I love them

There were a fair few questions or comments on the last post after I'd mentioned broad beans, enough to justify a post on them and why I love this misunderstood legume. I also thought it was a timely chance to wrap up the broad bean season with some photos I took over winter and spring as they grew - and as we ate them!

I think a lot of people hate them because of how they've so often been appallingly dished up. Giant broad beans, when they're getting too big and tough for eating, are not helped at all by being boiled to death and slapped down on a plate, unadorned and ugly. Their skins become crinkled and water logged; they taste bitter. Yuck. No wonder people hate them.



We grew them because we read that they were a great way to feed the soil over winter (the roots add nitrogen) and last year, the tomatoes we grew in the former broad bean bed were the best we'd ever had. Success! 

Here's how one of our beds looked over winter. 



They fast became a tradition, if by tradition you mean 'we did it two years running and plan to do it again'. 

Another reason to grow them is they have delightful flowers that run the length of the quite tall stalks, adding some interest to an otherwise dull winter garden. 



When the pods themselves are still quite young, I find them irresistible to nibble on while I'm out and about in the yard. So tender and delicately sweet! 

So, what can you do with them? My favourite recipe, cobbled together last year from a bit of research when I found myself overloaded with the pods and unsure what to do, is a pasta recipe.

This recipe requires that you double peel the beans, which means taking them out of the pods, blanching the beans for a couple of minutes, then peeling the skins off to reveal the vibrantly green insides, which are tender and sweet. They look like this.



It's kinda fiddly to double peel them, but I got into a groove with it this year and found it, as so many repetitive jobs can be, quite soothing and the results were worth it.

Saute them with garlic for a few minutes in olive oil and toss them through angel hair (or any other fine) pasta, maybe with some chopped red chillies if you like. I added some chopped salami to it this year, too. With a glass of wine, it was delicious.



When they were still quite young, the first dish I made was a thrown together salad with baby spinach, diced capsicum and cucumber. Add extra virgin olive oil, a little sea salt and some red or white wine vinegar and it's perfect! They're served raw here, obviously not something you'd do later in the season.



Over time, they went into soups, such as one that had diced zucchini, leek and, of course, the tender young broad beans in a vegetable broth. Can't beat it.

And finally, the Moroccan dip I mentioned on the weekend. If you have Stephanie Alexander's excellent Cook's Companion, you'll find the recipe there. If not, it's here. Think hummus - it's got a similar texture.



Byessar  - Moroccan Broad Bean Dip
500g podded broad beans (the older, bigger ones are perfect for this - you can also use the frozen ones from the supermarket)
2 cloves garlic
1 tsp fresh oregano
1 tsp ground cumin
150ml extra virgin olive oil
Fresh ground black pepper


Garnish
1 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp chilli powder
1/s tsp ground cumin
1 tbs extra virgin olive oil
3 spring onions chopped

Boil the beans for 15 minutes, drain and reserve the cooking water.

Combine all dip ingredients, except for garnish, in a blender. Blend until smooth, adding some of the cooking water a little at a time to stop it from being so thick.

Transfer puree to a flat dish. Mix garnish ingredients and drizzle over the dip. Serve immediately.

I hope that's demystified broad beans a little, or maybe even piqued your interest in a legume you might have thought was a disgusting, tasteless item best avoided. I can't imagine my spring cooking, or my garden, without them now. 

Bells

Best birthday cake ever

See this cake?


I made it for Sean's birthday on the weekend, when we had a little gathering so that George and her family and Kuka and her partner could present Sean with a much longed for worm farm (which will get a separate post).

It's a Nigella Lawson recipe - Butterscotch Layer Cake and it was so much fun to make. My first time ever making a layered cake. Rich, decadent and full of caramel, which I've never made before either.

I wrote it up for the Mouthfuls of Heaven blog which RoseRed and I have neglected a little lately, partly due to a general lack of baking mojo. But I think with this cake, I got it back.

Special thanks to Carol who gave me the cake stand a few months ago. It really helped with the table setting.

Bells

Day 24: You used to be so sweet

A while back, I was telling Kuka about how my great love when I was 11 or 12 was Boy George.

Beginning this post, I found myself wondering if the American readers would know who I was talking about. I didn't know if the English gender-bending popsters Culture Club made it 'across the pond' as the saying goes and it turns out they did. Karma Chameleon apparently spent 3 weeks at #1 in the US in 1984. So there you go. Thank you Wikipedia.

Discovering Culture Club in 1984 was the first time I really embraced music that wasn't my parents' music or Abba. A watershed moment, if you like, in my pop music journey. And oh didn't I love them. I played Colour By Numbers over and over and over again. I was passionate. So very passionate. My parents railed against Boy George, as parents must. My dad, as many dads no doubt did, declared Boy George was not a real man. There was talk of perversion. Gay? What was gay? I didn't know. I just liked his songs.

An avid Smash Hits reader then, I defended him vehemently, citing his statement that he would "rather have a cup of tea than sex" as evidence of his normality. I later learned in devouring his rather engaging autobiography, that statements such as that were a deliberate ploy to get the conservatives off his back. But in 1984, I told anyone who would listen (at age 11! Good Lord!) that he wasn't any of the things they said.

Anyhow, life moves on and the passions of a pre-pubescent girl are replaced. They become little more than memories to look back on with a mixture of cringing and nostalgia.

I make no secret of being a nostalgia junky. I can't live in a nostalgic space everyday, but I dip in and out as the mood suits me, which brings me to the reason for writing about my 11 year old self today.

After discussing such things with Kuka recently, she stumbled across a book and snapped it up for me. The Karma Cookbook, by Boy George and a friend.



I laughed and laughed. Then I opened it and declared it to be wonderful. I don't tend towards faddish diets and have no intention of ever adopting the macrobiotic way of life, but this little treasure is full of wonderful Japanese cuisine inspired recipes that look so damn tempting and tasty. I imagine I'll get loads of use out of it, as well as amusement and a nostalgia kick to boot.

In 1984, I could never have imagined a world in which my idol was writing a cookbook with a waitress, or sweeping the streets of New York as penance for his drug addiction. The world is indeed a bizarre place. Back then I just wanted a walkman so I could listen to him all the time without annoying my parents.

And it seems so tame now - a man dressed androgynously and singing such innocent lyrics as 'Loving would be easy if your colours were like my dream'. They don't make 'em like that any more.

Yesterday's controversy really is tomorrow's nostalgia.

Bells

Sisters Who Love Food

It's that time of year again, the time when my sister Adele and I head out to the Good Food and Wine Show. It's our Special Day and woe betide anything or anyone trying to get between us and our day out. Last year, we had a gripe with Donna Hay. This year, we took issue with a certain Scottish chef, but more on that later.

Last year, I headed off in the rain the day before the event and this year, it began to rain as Sean and I headed up the Federal Highway. Anyone would think June is a wet month in Canberra.

But we made it safely to Sydney on Friday night in plenty of time for me to give Willem his new mittens before bedtime. Once we established the the 'surprise' wasn't a toy, the smart boy figured out it was something 'knitted' - because that's what Aunty Bells does!


He loved them and quite surprisingly to me, turned them immediately into puppets who spoke and sang and danced! I didn't expect that! Apparently it was obvious to his parents what was going to happen.


The next day, Sydney turned on some fabulous sunshine. This was our view from the queue, which, we soon learned, was not the right queue. It snaked out into the grounds outside the Entertainment Centre and was in fact the queue to get in to see Gordon Ramsay!

So we headed off in search of the right queue. Three queues later, we got the right one. Would it hurt the organisers to put a sign up saying something like, oh I don't know, 'Good Food And Wine Show Entrance'?

Still we were smiling because we were there.


Our issue with Gordon Ramsay, who we didn't see in any of his performances, was that it seemed our beloved show is not so intimate anymore. When we first went, you could arrive a bit before ten, line up in a sensible and not in the least bit daunting queue, have the place more or less to yourself for a few hours and disappear after lunch when the crowds arrived. Now, it seems people are onto our scheme and many of them, we guessed, were there to see 'the guy who swears on TV and gets noticed in parliament for it.' Not for the food and the experience.

Now, I like Gordon Ramsay. Some friends recently talked me into watching him and I decided he was not the arrogant jerk I'd imagined but in fact a bit of a handsome rogue. But I'd want to go and see him cook at the show. I wouldn't want to go just because he says the F word 80 times in one episode. From things we overheard in the lines, it seemed that people were keen to see him just because he's a super famous chef. And as a result, the place was insane.

Anyway, rant over. The show was fun. We saw pretty things.


We ate and drank a lot of goodies.


That's Adele's very likeable buddy David who hung with us for a bit and was more interested in tasting wine with me than Adele was. After this, Adele vanished and David asked where she was. I guessed she was off eating chocolate. I was right.


We went to a performance by Jamie Oliver's man on the ground in Australia, Toby Puttock (who only mentioned Jamie twice; we were counting). He did stuff with squid ink. We got the sense the audience wasn't quite into that idea.

And finally, it was time to go. By around 1:30, it was impossible to move. You almost wish they could stagger entrance times because really, what's the point of just passing by stalls in a sea of people and not having the chance to actually talk to people about their produce? You don't get to taste anything by then, much less actually find out what it is. Sad, really. I imagine if we turned up late, we'd be horrifically underwhelmed by the experience.

Nonetheless, we had a marvellous time and I imagine we'll queue up to do it all again next year because we love it.

And because when I go there, I get to buy some olive oil that has come to be known by Sean and I as our 'honeymoon olive oil.' We honeymooned in 2004 in the Hunter Valley and came home with a bottle of Pukara Lemon Infused Extra Virgin Olive Oil. We loved it and I have bought a bottle every year at the show since when I come across the stall for Pukara Estate. Lovely, lovely stuff.

Bells

Because it's Mythbusters night

I'm not entirely sure I have a blog post's worth of stuff to say tonight, or indeed enough photos to make it worth anyone's while, but it's 7:30 Monday night and Mythbusters is on. I hate Mythbusters. I find it unbelievably dull. I'm happy for Sean that it's one of the TV highlights of his week but it's also my blogging time. I ALWAYS write a post on Monday nights at 7:30.

So, here I am. You'll just have to deal with my lack of focused content!

But I'll start with this.

Over at Chronic Ennui, Kim has declared her Strawberry Cookie/Cake is 'the easiest and yummiest recipe that one can whip up in record time!'

I'll give it a go and see if she's right, because over at SadieandLance Bianca has provided, unwittingly, a recipe to rival it in speed.

If you grew up in Australia, chances are your mum, your aunty, your grandmother, or perhaps even you, made this recipe. It's the most basic, store cupboard easy chocolate slice recipe you're likely to come across. Recently, Bianca posted it and I don't think she had any idea of it's being so happily received. It's showing up all over the place. I once scorned slice. But no more. Here's mine.


Do you know what's so good about it? It takes 10minutes to prepare, 20minutes to cook, then you ice it. Soooo easy. And it doesn't require cooking chocolate. Just baking cocoa. *Someone* in my house eats all the cooking chocolate (although he denies this, the empty packets, left in the cupboard to fool me, are fooling no one). No one ever eats the baking cocoa.

I made it, somewhat anxiously, to take to an afternoon tea with old uni mates yesterday. Admittedly we're all in our late 30s and early 40s now and have mellowed somewhat, but I was still anxious about turning up, slice in hand, to a gathering with a handful of cool people. I felt it was something more fitting to showing up with at a ladies' Christian fellowship (apologies to Christian ladies) and not a bunch of wine swilling, rowdy former uni mates who wanted to take to the memory of our old days with a mix of wild and hilarious scorn and nostalgia.

But I concede, a good slice is a good slice and this was snarfed (is that a real word? I've been saying it a lot lately) by everyone, from the cute 2 year old to those in their 40s. And the recipe was asked for.

So there you go, Bianca. You've done us all a favour. Thank you.

And I made with salted butter too - because that was, mysteriously, all I had. I never buy it. Sean must have bought it by accident. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. And no one commented. No one noticed! Crisis averted! Salted butter CAN be ok!

***

In other news, well there isn't much. We've been painting our much neglected spare room; I've been injecting myself with fertility drugs; we've been tending the baby plants in the garden and I've been going hell for leather on the green pi shawl. Here's the original photo, in case you've forgotten what it looks like.


It doesn't look much different to this, just bigger, with some lace diamonds worked into it.

The 2.5 year old girl who inhaled my 'shlocklate' slice yesterday watched me knitting this and said the following, 'My mummy made me a jumper. Is that your jumper?'

Too, too cute.

OK, that's knocked over half of Mythbusters. I'll go read some blogs.

Bells


ps a special shout out to Tinkingbell. She sent me a Box of Happy today, like RoseRed did. People are so great. Many of them. I love people.

FO 2008: Fetching Mitts

It's ANZAC Day today. For the foreign readers, this is a day of rememberance for Australians and New Zealanders. We remember those who have fought for our nations. I may not have gone to a dawn service, but I did watch one on TV.

In the afternoon, my little sister came to visit. I got her to model my recently finished Fetching mitts.


I had a cunning plan at play here. I have been wanting to knit some for her but wasn't sure she'd like them. So I asked her to model them for me and she was so very enamoured with them, I don't think there was any chance she wouldn't ask me to make some for her. Too easy. There's nothing like letting the item speak for itself!

These were made from yarn that Amy in Rhode Island sent me as a swap gift last year. It marinated in the stash until I decided what it needed to be.

It's Farmhouse Yarns "Bessie" worsted weight. This is such a great company - they call their yarns after the sheep the yarn comes from. Too cute.

This yarn had that solid, scratchy feel that in so many yarns can be a little off putting at first but once you start knitting with it, and most importantly, once you wash it, it's fabulous. And the colours! It's not entirely clear in these photos but there are so many shades of green and blue in this yarn. It's gorgeous.

I had to make sure Fee didn't leave with the mitts stuffed into her bag. They're that good looking!

I've had a couple of baking firsts in the last day or two. I made scones for Fee's visit for afternoon tea. When she and her boyfriend arrived, I announced these were my first scones.

"You've never made them before!" was the cry.

Yes, it's true. I haven't. These are buttermilk scones. I don't know why I've never made them before. Clearly, there was a huge, buttermilk scone shaped hole in my life that has now been filled. Thank God.

Then, in an attempt to start dealing with the mountains of spinach in the garden, I made spanakopita, or Greek spinach pie. This has been snack/lunch food during the day when we've been busy painting our spare room.

And between all that, I've been lusting. See this?

RoseRed included it in the Box of Happy and when I found it* on Wednesday, I was in awe. Noro on Tuesday. Jaeger Silk on Wednesday. My stash is moving up in the world!

Two days left before we head back to work. I'm in denial.

Bells

* 'Found it' is kind of a loose description of what happened. More accurately, you could say I dug around in the box until I found something squishy. I had a need, ok?