Squolch

But some things don’t seem to be determined by my conscious mind. I noticed limes in the fridge, ginger in the cupboard, enormous ruby grapefruits in the fruit bowl. No big deal. Normal life, que sera sera, c’est la vie ordinaire mon petit choux-fleur. And then I was chilling with a cup of tea at work and I suddenly thought of those three things all at the same time and knew I had to have marmalade. I mean: grapefruit, lime and ginger? That is GOLD, son.

Criteria for recipe: easy with no dicking about; must produce a sour and/or bitter concoction; must not require overnight sitting. Mostly because it was Sunday and I wanted it NOW. Turns out I’m not a unique and special little snowflake in this regard. Came across this marmalade post on Thursday Night Smackdown, and it seemed like my sorta thing. Only, of course, I wasn’t using lemons. Thursday Night Smackdown’s recipe was an adaptation of this one on Sally and her teacakes. Essentially, you boil your fruit, whole, until it’s soft and squalchy and then purée it. Pick out any seeds, then add sugar, water and any other flavours you want to add, and start boiling. I boiled my enormous ruby grapefruit with a couple of limes: it took about half an hour, which was quicker than I thought. Then into the food processor! Whiz! Squalch! Splurt! (Sexy.)

It's there, trust me.

I added fresh ginger, crystallised ginger, half a cup or so of pineapple juice (because we had some and why not and stop asking questions) and sugar and a little water. Boiled everything until, well, until it was marmalade. And boy howdy snap-pants, is it ever! YEAH! On toast: beautiful. Stirred through Greek yoghurt, awwwwHELLZyes. Yeah marmalade! IS THERE NOTHING I CANNOT MAKE? (The answer is no, but that results in a triple negative — too much for you? TOO MUCH GRAMMAR?)

Gel test, as if I can't tell what marmalade is.

But my triumph could be greater. Here’s what I’ll do next time:

• Purée it to a much smoother pulp. Really really really smooth: the texture of this batch is a little on the chunky side.
• Simmer the fresh ginger in some sugar syrup, or use only crystallised stuff: it’s a little blunt as is.
• Use more pineapple juice in place of water.
• Make more. Much, much more. I only had one grapefruit and two limes, so I only got three jars outta this. They have not lasted very long.

If there’s any lesson to be gained from this (apart from how splendid I, as a cooker, am, but that’s more a gentle reminder than a lesson as such) it’s this: if there’s something you want to try cooking, do it. It’s likely to be easier than you think (unless you’re making, like, walrus consommé or something), and the sense of chuffedness when you realise “YEAH, one more thing I can make for myself” is unmatched.

Food traditions are interesting: in particular, I get a kick out of “use it up” traditions. You see them in every culture, techniques for reusing leftovers, extending food past its best, or preserving in times of abundance in anticipation of times of scarcity. I think I love it because I get all hippie-zen and reflect on the beauty of the world turning and people learning to bend their food around the vagaries of the seasons. You see recipes that make use of abundance and excess in just about every culture: fatoush, ribolita, bread and butter pudding, almond croissants — all great ways of using up extra and stale stuff. And stockpiling: every single jam, marmalade, sauerkraut, kimchi, relish and pickle ever. EVER. They’re all about making abundance last through the times of chill and lack.

My tomatoes, planted late, yielded a measly five (5) tomatoes. And they were out too late to ripen (my fault, really). So this isn’t really making use of abundance as much as squeezing whatever I can out of the scant harvest. Enter green tomato relish! Wait — why stop at relish? We’re in a preserving frame of mind…can anyone say Pickle Party? Pickle party!! Woot!

This is why I don’t get invited out. But screw you, I don’t need to go out. I got pickling to do.

Few but beautiful, I have to admit.

Step zero: start the day before! Finely chop your beautiful green tomatoes. Finely chop an onion (I discovered, mid-chop, knife poised, my onion was smulchy and gross in the middle, so I dispensed with most of it). Pop the chopped goods in a bowl and toss with a liberal dash of salt: this will help slurp out a lot of excess water.

Step nought-point-five: jar preparation — whatever your method, you want your jars ready to go when the relish is done, so get things underway. I personally favour the technique of piling all jars and lids into a big pot and boiling the dickens out of them as long as possible, but I take no responsibility if you try this and get crippling botulism poisoning.

Step one: next day! Drain off the excess water and sling your tomato/onion/salt in a pot with some white vinegar. Bring it to the boil, and simmer for about half an hour. This step cooks the tomatoes and onions.

Step two: add sugar and spices! You will be aMAZed to notice as soon as you add sugar, a thick sauce forms over everything and begins bubbling. This step sweetens and flavours the tomatoes and onions. Simmer for another half an hour, but pay close attention and stir regularly. It’s thick and will burn easily at this stage, and you do not want the smell of burnt sugar/vinegar/onions in your house.

Step three: mix some cornflour and extra vinegar in a separate tub, then add to your relish to really thicken it. Cook it for another five to ten minutes, stirring vigourously, and then switch off the heat.

Your jars, of course, are ready at this stage. Try to avoid ladling hot relish into cold jars, as they ‘splode. True story. Ladling hot relish into hot jars, then allowing to cool, yields this beauty:

Yay!

From five tomatoes, I managed two smallish jars of relish:

Enough.

Which is enough to be getting along with. I didn’t get much out of my tomatoes this year, but what I did get I have put to good use. Hooray!

Proper recipe: Green tomato relish

• 5 green tomatoes
• 1 brown onion
• a few tablespoons salt
• 140gm white sugar
• 200mL white vinegar
• yellow mustard seeds
• black mustard seeds
• allspice
• 1-2 tablespoons cornflour

What you do

1. Finely chop the tomatoes and onion. Sprinkle liberally with salt and leave overnight. The next morning, drain off the extra liquid and put the tomatoes and onions in a pot with 100mL white vinegar. Bring to a boil, then simmer for half an hour, stirring regularly.
2. Add a generous pinch of yellow mustard seeds, black mustard seeds, allspice, and 140gm white sugar. Stir well and bring back to the boil. Boil for another half an hour, stirring regularly.
3. Taste the relish now and see if you would like any extra salt or sugar: now’s the time to add it! Dissolve the cornflour in the rest of the vinegar and add to the mix. Cook for another minute or two, stirring constantly. When it’s thick, switch off the heat.
4. Ladle the mix into hot jars. Let it get cool, but not cold, and put the lids on. As it continues to cool, it will seal tightly.

Use it wherever you like good condiments. I mostly go for crackers and sandwiches, especially with sharp, crumbly cheddar. Ooooh baby, brine my flank.

Many delicious, uber-ripe green friends are now crowding my fridge. A mix of Shepherd and Hass, if you’re interested. I’m not even sure how I’m going to use them all up, since I have enough to make the phrase “I’m sick of guacamole” more than an hilarious fib. While I’m tempted just to strip off and take photos of myself in a bathtub full of them, smirking at the camera in a salacious display of squishy green wealth, I’m going to take a more practical approach and think about my options.

Day one: avocado on toast, with tomato slices. An oldie but a goodie, and with good reason.

Day two: avocado and salad rice paper rolls with carrot/ginger/miso dressing (adapted from Happyolks).

Now from here, I’m looking for inspiration. Help me foodgawker!

There is an arresting number of sweet avocado dishes out there. I’m not at a stage where I’m interested in avocado ice cream or avocado smoothies — I can see where people are coming from with avocado as a butter substitutes in cakes. I could totally get behind that if I hadn’t gone haywire on the chocolate cake front recently, leaving me with a strong sense of antipathy towards that whole food group for the time being. So let’s rule out avocado cakes, shall we?

Ohh, has anyone got some butcher’s paper and textas? I feel a brainstorm coming on!

• Avocado, tomato and lettuce rice paper rolls!
• Avocado, boiled egg and pesto tossed salad!
• Avocado, preserved lemon and chilli sushi rolls!
• Avocado and banana quesadillas!
• Avocado…on toast again!

I’ve run out of butcher’s paper. I’ll be honest: I don’t really feel like I want to get too inventive here. I love avocados and I don’t think the challenge here is to find ways of keeping them interesting. The challenge here is to eat them all before they go funky. I think a ginormous bowl of guacamole and friends over for burritos is going to be the best option. It combines my love of guacamole with my friends! What more could I want? (Spicy beans, that’s what.)

Preliminary stages of WHOA.

Well, ’round Chez Spoonfully, we be smart. Enter M and his dynamic brains.

Carroty sizzling.

He roasted four fat orange carrots until they were mashable, and then puréed them a bit further with the blender. Then he added egg, flour and salt until he had a soft but stable dough, and moulded them into gnocchi. After a quick cook in some boiling water, he got some onion, basil and rosemary sizzling in a bit of butter, then added the little gnocchs to crisp them up a little.

Briefly plated before gomfing.

These were awesome! Significantly sweeter than potato gnocchi, and beautiful with a little rosemary. In the future, we’ll make them smaller, and maybe serve with some roast red capsicum slices, too. Awyeah. Full marks to M. Someone get that dude a sash: he’s got some merit badges to sew!

Ever had pizza? ‘Course you have. I’m not going to fuck with you on that one.

Now add the two together. I’m going to leave your choice of base up to you, but I will say that if you can persuade M to make a fresh pizza base, you certainly should: dude’s got skillz. Make a shakshouka pizza sauce (roast capsicum if you’ve got it, purple onion, garlic, tomatoes, spices/sugar/salt: simmer the crap out of that emmereffer until it’s thick and saucy, blend if you want it smooth), topped with jalapenos, cheddar, feta, chilli flakes, za’atar; then you make little wells in the sauce and crack raw eggs into them and sprinkle a bit more za’atar on because why the fuck wouldn’t you?

I’ll be the first to admit the Internet does not need any more pizza photos. So consider these a luxury:

Before.

You need to be pretty careful shifting it into the oven so that you don’t spill raw eggs everywhere, but it’s not that hard.

After!

It’s ready when the eggs are cooked to your liking and the cheese is browned; if you really want to ascend to true awesomeness, may I suggest sprinkling with finely chopped preserved lemon and a drizzle of your hot sauce of choice?

Not pictured: Going to the shops

WEIGH ANCHOR! IT CAKE TIME!

I very strongly much recommend that recipe. The cake is a straight-up-and-down, moist, super-dark cake. It’s soft and springy and delicious. But you get a huge whacking bowl of batter, tell you what. So I poured some in the Feature Presentation Cake tin and some in a Supplementary Loaf Tin and bunged ‘em both in the oven.

The Feature Presentation Cake: flawless. I used the chocolate glaze from Pencil Kitchen’s page (40g butter + 100g super dark chocolate; melt, mix, paint on the cake with a pastry brush) and sprinkled with coconut because I was feeling a Bit Fucking Fancy. Behold:

That's how you wave a towel, son.

The Supplementary Loaf Tin cake, however, cooked equally well but suffered the fatal fate of sticking to the bottom. Aie! Inverting the tin yielded nothing: in the end we had to get the gazunder into it and scroop it out. It was still delicious, but it was all in bits. That’s when the flame of genius inside me BURST into a full CONFLAGRATION OF SMARTNESS. Cake balls.

I crumbled the cold cake into a bowl, and then mixed in a few generous spoonfuls of strawberry jam and some natural yoghurt to make it moist and squooshable. Mashed it all together into a thick, moist paste, then rolled them into balls and into the coconut.

Genius Balls.

These were incredible. Moist and soft and flavoursome, like little truffles. Most cake pops and suchlike use cream cheese, but we didn’t have any of that, and besides, too much cream cheese makes me squoozy in the tum. The strawberry jam was a killer winning move: you could definitely taste the strawberry through the chocolate. Oh GOD yes.

I don’t know if I’d make a cake from scratch just to make these, but it’s certainly a fantastic way of using damaged or too-crumbly cake. And they’re massively popular for parties.

Today’s spectacular triumph: cornbread. Cornbread is so easy I feel a bit embarrassed about listing it anywhere even tangentially connected to the word “challenge”. It’s easier than muffins. It’s easier than garter stitch. It’s easier than growing mint.

Perfection: what a bore.

Mix your wet, mix your dry, bake. DONE. That’s it over-simplified. I pinched this recipe from The Curvy Carrot, via foodgawker. Mods: hmm, didn’t measure my cheese, so I think I ended up with less. Next time, more cheese. Also, I didn’t have any buttermilk, so I Just used the ol’ regular-milk-curdled-with-lemon juice trick. I think that barely counts as a mod, since everyone knows about that, right? I also threw in half a cup or so of frozen corn kernels. That was a seriously good move.

My GOD this is some tasty business. It’s got a texture like a coarse, crumblesome, savoury cake, and I’m really excited about all the other flavourings I’m going to add next time I make it. Cheddar, jalapenos and cherry tomato halves! Roast capsicum and crumbled feta! Chives and roast garlic! It stands alone, but the texture begs you to serve it with something thick and hot like baked beans, ratatouille, or whatever — which would be why it’s traditionally served with chilli, of course.

Care for a wedge of AWESOME?

I can see why people would be tempted to add sweet things to it: there’s lots of recipes for sweet cornbreads with lemon and blueberries and such out there. But honestly, if you’re not matching it with cheese and something lush and savoury, you’re missing out.

A cri de couer from some friends saw me valiantly rescuing them from their tomatoey burden: I could only manage 4kg, but they had found other channels too, so it was okay. This time of year is the best. (Well, now I think about it…soon the figs and quinces will be ripe at Mumini and Dadini’s place, and that’s an even awesomer time of year. So maybe that time of year will be the best.) (Oh, and then when the frosts are here, that’s so pretty, and cold nights are wonderful. So that time of year is also the best.)

Tomatoes: I had many. This happened.

Big red pot full of savoury abundance!

It’s a family rule: when tomatoes drop below a certain price, you buy up big and make Hot Stuff. The rule is something like twenty cents per flagon. My Nanini made up the rule, pre-metrics. So now I just go with the spoonfully rule: “If tomatoes are really cheap, or someone gives you heaps of them, or if you just want some Hot Sutff, buy up big and make Hot Stuff. If they were given to you, skip the buying stage.” Catchy. Hot Stuff is a tangy, spicy-sweet tomato relish, It’s incredible with a sharp cheddar and crusty bread. Or Kraft Singles and Tip Top. Or a spoon. Whatever you’ve got.

The Ancient Family Recipe is called Hot Stuff because one year my Nanini misread the recipe and put way too much ground chilli in it, so her kids just called it That Hot Stuff evermore. True story.

It’s super easy, but I warn you: it makes your house smell of savoury deliciousness — onions, vinegar, spices, all boiling away. If that sounds too pungent for you, then you should drop the whole thing and go back to your pussy willow sandwiches with the crusts cut off. I’ll be over here, stirring regularly in savoury steam. Take 3kg tomatoes and 4 big brown onions, peeled and roughly chopped. Cover them liberally with salt and sit overnight. Next day, strain off all the juice that comes out, and boil the resulting red stuff with 1 cup of brown vinegar for half an hour. Add around 650g of brown sugar…

ZOMG

…or a bit extra for a slightly more satanic tang, plus a teaspoon or so of ground chillies. I used cayenne pepper and paprika, and I’m pretty generous with my portions. Keep it boiling for another half an hour, and it’ll go dark brown and sludgy.

By the way, right about now you should have a bunch of jars boiling in a huge saucepan of water. I think the rule of thumb to sterilise jars is to boil for at least ten minutes: I wasn’t doing anything else anyway, so I boiled them for forty minutes while I was doing the rest of the Hot Stuff. After that half hour is up, pour yourself another cup of brown vinegar, add a dessertspoonful of mustard powder, a couple of tablespoons of curry powder, and two tablespoons of cornflour (AKA cornstarch) and whisk it all together. Pour this into your Hot Sludge, stirring constantly, and watch it thicken and go darker still. Cook it for another few minutes, stirring stirring stirring. Then ladle the hot Hot Stuff into the hot, clean jars, and leave it to cool. Don’t ladle hot Hot Stuff into cold jars, for the love of garlic. They’ll crack and it’ll go everywhere.

Bottled abundance: bottled awesomeness.

I’ve got about two litres stockpiled now and I’m feeling pretty damn smug. In autumn last year, we bought loads of cucumbers and beets and pickled those, and discovered you can totally make tomato relish with unripe tomatoes as well. I am saving jars and waiting for more friends burdened with horticultural exuberance. bethini to the rescue!

I admit to gloating a little. I'm only human.

I elected to make a lasaagna. There’s a fair bit involved, so you read to the end before you commit. I won’t have you chucking a tanty and calling me nasty names because it takes so long. Fuck that.

I should probably explain that the last time I made pasta was in anticipation of some friends coming over for tea. I’d knocked off early from work and come home to make the world’s biggest pot of minestrone and two loaves of crusty bread, and I was making the pasta towards the end of this process. I have since learned that spending an afternoon being tired and hungry (because you’re saving your appetite for the big dinner later on) does not produce optimal learning conditions. It just makes you shitty and tearful, so when the pasta doesn’t seem to be working somehow, the logical response is to shriek, fling it in the sink and use the dried pasta in the pantry that you suspect came with the house. So I was slightly hesitant about approaching this task, lest I once again have to face the unpleasant shrieking, flinging stage. Turns out that’s entirely optional.

Proto-pasta

Pasta

• 1 cup flour
• dash of salt
• 1 egg
• bit of water

Flour + salt + egg, mixed thoroughly, and then trickle the water in little by little until you get a thick, firm dough. It’s a pretty dry and heavy sucker, but it’s not like you’re going to bed with it. Knead it until it’s uniform and even, then worry that you haven’t made nearly enough and reassure yourself that you can always do with more practice and if there isn’t enough, you’ll make more.

Ball o'dough!

Run it through your pasta roller dealie or roll it out on the bench with a rolling pin until it’s translucently thin. Realise you have loads of pasta and won’t make any more today. Hang the sheets out to dry a little while you do the rest:

Delicate sheets

The big pot of ratatouille which is doubling as filling and which I forgot to tell you to put on first should be ready:

You've already done this, right?

Ratatouille you made earlier

• 1 eggplant
• 4 small zucchini
• 2 purple onions
• 2 red capsicums
• 2 green capsicums
• paprika
• cumin seeds
• salt
• 2 tins of tomatoes
• random chilli jam I found in the fridge
• thyme, parsely, oregano, basil

Roughly chop all your vegetables, finely chop all your herbs, add spices and chilli jam to taste, mix through the tomatoes and about half a tomato can of water. Mix well, then bake in the oven at 200° for about two hours. DONE. Ratatouille. Now might be a good time for me to mention that this pot of ratatouille will serve for one and a half loaf-tin-sized lasagna, while the pasta listed above will make enough pasta for two. So you can chuck in an extra tin of tomatoes somewhere along the line, or you can make one loaf-tin-sized lasagna and use the rest of the pasta and ratatouille to make some sort of awesome fettuccine or something. I don’t really care. But don’t waste it, please.

Now, since we’re doing lasagna, we want cheeeeeese sauce. I use soy milk for mine, since moo milk makes me sick. But the basic formula is still the same:

I like this bit.

3 tabs of butter, bubbling away;

Roux roux roux your boat

Add 3 tabs of plain flour and make a roux. Stir it for a bit over heat, giving it a chance to become smooth and cook slightly. Then start trickling in milk, stirring more or less constantly, until you have a thick, warm sauce. A good rule of thumb is 1 tab butter + 1 tab flour + 1 cup milk; I used less because I wanted a super thick sauce. I also would normally add a little salt, but I had plans along the lines of a shitton of parmesan, which brings its own salt to the party. Oh, parmesan. You so crazy.

Bring it together, bitches

Gotcher pasta, gotcher red juicy ratatouille, gotcher cheese sauce. It’s hammer time. Get them all together: this is your mise en place (meez ZON playzzzz).

Check out this motherfucking mise, yo.

Start laying that shit.

A little peak at what lies beneath.

My preference: red sauce, (pasta, red sauce, cheese sauce), pasta, red sauce, plain cheese. Repeat the details between the brackets as many times as you see fit. But always put sauce on the bottom of the pan, so the bottom isn’t a dry, disappointed husk of overcooked pasta. And always put plain cheese on the top. You know why.

Once I’d filled two loaf tins with layered awesomeness, I still had some sheets of pasta left over.

Hm.

Since this was my first — and, I may say, triumphant — batch of pasta dough, I was reluctant to chuck it out like yesterday’s crayfish. Instead I grabbed a pot of ratatouille that was lurking in the freezer from the last batch, threw in some chopped tomato and basil…

Waste not, BE AWESOME

Used the last of the pasta, the last of the parmesan, and the last of the ratatouille. And got two more lasagna, albeit single-serve lasanga bambini. Checkit:

Bambini deliziosa!

And the big suckah:

Dat pasta.

Butter my butt and call me a biscuit, but that’s some arse-kicking lasagna right there, m’friend. The second one is waiting, uncooked, and will be whisked away to a friend’s tonight to be cooked and shared on-site. Happy times ahead.

spoonfully tips on lasagna

• Put red sauce on the bottom of the pan, before any pasta.
• If you’re using dried pasta sheets, soak them in boiling water for a while before you start layering.
• Cheese on top. CHEESE ON TOP. Whatever goes between your layers is your own private concern, but for the love of pi, people, cheese on top.
• Freezes like a boss: lunches for weeks.

I’m asserting this is a win. I’m asserting I know how to make pasta. Cooking challenge item TICK. Next!