Carrots, beans and other foods: a contemplation

Unless you’ve been under some or other lockdown a rock for the last few years, you cannot but know about the growing popularity of a plant-based diet. If you read my blog from time to time, by now you’ll also know a few things like:

  • I have long (like, thirty plus years) been a wannabe vegetarian.
  • My father was a gardener horticulturist, and I grew up in a garden that had the biggest vegetable patch in the universe. Growing vegetables and composting is in my genes.
Our emerging vegetable garden just under a year (2012) after moving to McGregor and having had to wait nearly 10 months to get it going
  • I am married to a dedicated carnivore who spent all of his working life in some or other role in stock farming, from beef to poultry and a few things in between – in Zimbabwe and South Africa. You could say, I married Farmer Brown.

A “sustainable” approach to doing things is not a new concept – to me

My 1978 Geography teacher who became a mentor and later a friend, was the first person, that I remember, talking about the dangers of global warming, climate change and environmental conservation, non-renewable resources, like water, coal and oil, as well as the hazards of plastic.

My Standard 8 (year 10) class with Ursula van Harmelen. I am in the front row, third from the right.

Those lessons stuck and I went on to study, along with English, Geography.

Debate

Needless to say, The Husband and I both have strong views about this plant-based fad trend that seems to have replaced the keto diet of a few years ago.

However –

“It” should be about more than just food. As a beef rancher, preserving and maintaining natural pasture was central to production, productivity and healthy beasties – his word – cows are still has favourite animal.

Cattle are still grazed in and around the village. This little herd often wanders past our house.

This brings me to a critical point that he constantly and consistently makes when the question of a dedicated plant-based diet inevitably comes up in conversation:

What about people who live in areas and where you can’t grow crops?

This applies to significant parts of South Africa: close to home, the Karoo. We live on the cusp of the Karoo – classified as a semi-desert. The recovered productivity of our vegetable garden is thanks to the investment in a borehole. Not too far away, is a “proper” desert, the Kalahari. Significant parts of central west and north Africa, are not arable and where communities, like those in the Sahara and the Sahel who live (or try) as they have for centuries. Yes, people forage, but they also hunt and/or keep livestock often leading nomadic lifestyles. If they could not eat meat and use animal products, they’d not (have) survive(d). As it is, these cultures are threatened; that, however, is another discussion for another time.

The conflict in many of these regions is associated with either the shortage, or decimation of, natural and traditional resources because of population growth, climate change and politics. The same applies to indigenous communities on other continents.

Busting the farmer myth

Back to The Husband: he refers, specifically to Matebeleland, the part of Zimbabwe where he ranched – free range – cattle in the late 70s. At the time, he was part of a team (in a multinational company) that roundly rejected the use of growth hormone in animal husbandry. Contrary to popular opinion, many (good) stock farmers are animal lovers, who treat their animals with great respect and humanity and are very concerned about the environment.
Before he fell into stock farming, The Husband was an aspirant vet. Agriculture and farming, are (with water) the source of life, never mind, livelihoods. He abhors, and hated working in, the broiler chicken industry and, similarly, dislikes the practice of feedlots, all of which have become necessary. Agriculture has had to consistently and constantly increase production to keep up with demand.

Demand driven by both population numbers and the almost universal shift towards a “western” style diet which has seen red meat consumption burgeon.

Ethics and spirituality-based choices

Other arguments for dietary choices are based on ethics and spirituality (or religion). These I understand and respect. When someone says to me that s/he will eat nothing with a face, I get it. I also acknowledge, in my own admittedly hypocritical Piscean way, on working very hard at not thinking about the journey an animal must take from pasture to plate.

Climate diet

A couple of weeks ago, I heard a discussion about the climate diet. Of course, I listened with only half an ear, but thought (with my Geographer’s brain),

That sounds to me like “proper” seasonal food: eat what’s mostly indigenous, in season and available locally.

McFadyen also introduced the concept of “flexitarian”: someone who moves between omnivore, vegetarian and vegan. This is just like me, and, more reluctantly, The Husband, who admits to being most comfortable as an omnivore. He waxes lyrical about how humans’ dentition proves that we are designed to be omnivorous.

Fact checking

I did a little research ahead of writing this because one source to which I’d only paid half a mind wasn’t enough. Initially, what popped up suggested that one had to eschew all meat and dairy in favour of a plant-based diet. On further delving, my research revealed that my instinctive understanding was on point: the climate diet is part of living more lightly (being among other things, carbon and environmentally conscious) and, particularly, a climate-friendly lifestyle. Again, I came across “flexitarian,” a notion making its way on to menus in a country with as many dedicated carnivores as South Africa, Australia.

“Climating” one’s diet, is essentially how I grew up, and how we live. We:

  • live in an alternate technology home which is, by and large, more energy efficient than a conventional build
  • have solar water heating (off the grid is a pipe dream…)
  • compost and recycle
  • eat from the garden. A lot (of one thing at the moment…)
The spring vegetable and herb garden eight years later (2020) with a borehole and “normal” winter rains that broke the three-year drought
  • eat between three and four meat-free main meals a week and on a Monday, the meal is often entirely plant-based

And

  • as far as practical (budget is a big consideration), we get our meat, other fresh produce and groceries from local suppliers
  • we limit our shopping (with lists and meal plans), as far as possible, to one 50-odd km round trip to the nearest town per week
  • we cook (with gas or The Husband braais) – from scratch. When I don’t cook, I use up “leftovers” which are not really left over because I’ve planned meals around them. I also cook more than we need, to freeze for those evenings when cooking is a chore and not a joy. They do happen!
  • garden surplus and gleanings are processed into chutneys, pickles, preserves and jams

Compromise

I’ve often described myself as a salmon – swimming against the stream. My shift away from eating meat pre-dates the current trend. When I lived alone, before shacking up with anyone settling down, I rarely ate meat – at home or when I dined out. I just simply didn’t. In this country, many men’s preferred diets are vleis, rys en aardappels (meat – preferably red – rice and potatoes), so until pretty recently, menus (especially in platteland country) tended to red. Now, when we dine out, my (now more varied) choices remain mostly vegetarian or vegan.

The Husband, happily, has always enjoyed vegetables so I didn’t have the hard task of introducing them to his diet. In the same meal. I did give The Husband a baptism of fire, in a sense. Twenty-one years ago, not long after we’d got together, a vegetarian friend came to dinner. The menu: roast vegetables with parmesan cheese and a mixed salad. All set, and waiting for said guest to arrive, his question:

So, where’s the meat?

My reply:

There isn’t any.

He admits that I correctly read the thought bubble above his head: he was contemplating the closest burger joint to which he might escape if he was still hungry after dinner!

He didn’t. Escape. He wasn’t still hungry…

Not really

Although I suggest that introducing more and more meat free meals was a compromise, it wasn’t really. I am lucky that not only does The Husband enjoy vegetables, but he’ll try anything at least once. If he enjoys it, he’ll eat it again. And again. Folk who follow me on Instagram will know that when I try a new vegetarian or vegan dish, my notes often include The Husband’s response. The highest accolade is not: “delicious” or “you can do that again”, which he says quite often, but rather, “you can add that to your regular repertoire”.

The upshot is that our diet is as climate-friendly as it can be, and it is “flexitarian”. That is the compromise: I prefer to cook one meal rather than two, and after all these years, it seems to be working for us.

About those beans and carrots

It’s taken a while to get to the point: there are times that although I do have a weekly meal plan, the planning fairy deserts me and the already sparse headline is reduced to “veg something”. The “headlines” are prompts and not much more. If, by the time we get to that point in the calendar and my imagination remains a wasteland, after checking the garden and pantry for ingredients, and I’m still not inspired, I turn to the interweb. Usually it doesn’t take long to find something that gets the juices flowing. This happened late last year when I discovered carrots and fresh coriander (a classic combination) in the fridge. There are always beans in the cupboard and, at the time, there was a little roasted butternut.

In the end, that evening’s supper combined carrots, haricot beans and harissa served on a bed of wild rocket, topped with the roasted butternut and fresh coriander. All piled on flatbreads.

Truth be told, I didn’t follow the recipe properly. I used harissa and just winged it. It was sufficient of a hit to get a “you can add that to your regular repertoire”…

The next time I made it, I did pay proper attention to the recipe. Partly because I couldn’t find the piece of paper with my notes and because we had wonderful green beans in the garden. I figured that they’d make a great addition: just as carrots like coriander, so green beans like cumin.

I “lost” the butternut and harissa, and instead of using white (haricot beans), I used red beans. I’d forgotten about the rocket until I looked at the photograph, but it wasn’t missed. This time, instead of flatbreads, I served the dish on a bed of one of South Africa’s traditional staples, umngqusho, which consists of dried corn (samp) and dried beans that are soaked and boiled until soft. On its own, it’s a meal, but rather bland and traditionally served with a type of local spinach or a sauce – with or without meat. But I digress. As usual.

This time round, I did a much, much better job. The addition of the green beans took it to another level. They enhanced an already an already versatile dish that can be eaten as a cold or warm side salad or main meal. Using the red, instead of white beans didn’t affect the flavour. In future, my choice will be guided, to a large extent, by the visual impact I’d like the salad to make. If it’s to be a side on a platter, I’d probably choose white beans.

On the umngqusho: as I said, it’s bland. Before plating, I stirred through some finely sliced sweet chillies (deseeded) and some fresh tomato chilli sauce left over from another meal.

The verdict this time round:

you can add that to your regular repertoire…

The full recipe, and my notes, are available for you to download here and, if you do, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?

A last word or three

My ruminations on dietary choices are partly a function of ongoing conversations that happen around our table, and partly rising to the tongue-in-cheek challenge from my blogpal, Katie (on WordPress and on the Hive blockchain as @plantstoplanks). Unlike The Husband, she is a dedicated herbivore. That said, we have much in common including our love of cooking, food and flavours, which transcends the Atlantic and our specific dietary paths.

Since 2104, people around the world have been encouraged to participate in “Veganuary“. Back on the blockchain and in a “community” in which I play a little, it was suggested that we document our journey (or not) to a plant-based diet. It did give me cause for pause and provided the opportunity to share my thoughts.

Also, some of my blogpals, anyway, have been waiting for the first 2021 Fiona treatment of some or other topic. How could I disappoint them?

Disclaimer

None of the above is intended as either a judgement of, or attack on, the move to plant-based foods – there is much to recommend that choice. Nor is it a defence of my choices, but rather contemplation of a constant conundrum.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post Script

  • In search of English writing, research and editing services, look no further: I will help you with –
    writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers

    formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
    more information here
  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.
  • I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised appplications. From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click on the image below to sign up –

Image: @traciyork

  • I also share my occasional instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click the icon below, and give it a go.

Saucy tomatoes: otherwise known as Passata

When I met The Husband, he fended for himself and it wasn’t long before he informed me that a kitchen should never be without onions and tomatoes:  no tasty main meal (other than breakfast), could exclude onions.  Add tomatoes, he maintained, and you have the basis of a good meal.  I didn’t disagree, but over the years, I’ve learned that there are some dishes that don’t need onion.  However, it’s the tomatoes that have my attention, today.  We both love them and have our own associations with their cultivation.  The Husband, when he was beef ranching in Zimbabwe, and had the dubious pleasure, on occasions, of overseeing the harvest of the fruit for the local cannery.  He also talks of the dire gastric consequences, for workers, of eating not just sun-ripe but sun-hot tomatoes.  Talk about learning the hard way….

tomatoes_brinjals2016
Brinjal and tomatoes (Moneymaker) from our 2016 crop

Tomatoes and brinjals are all members of the deadly nightshade (Solanum) family, as are potatoes.  You’ll see the similarity looking at their flowers, not the leaves, which are poisonous.

Dad’s tomatoes

I remember my parents (my father, actually), growing tomatoes every year until they moved into a retirement home.

SAM_6908
Mum & Dad outside their house in Marshall Street, Grahamstown, a few months before they moved into the retirement home. And the last picture I took of them together.

Dad grew Moneymaker tomatoes from seed.  Rarely anything else.  This variety is a medium-sized, high-yielding tomato with excellent flavour.  They were sewn in June and would germinate in very cold weather – the little seedlings felt the cold.  They’d often be blue.  Really.

Before they retired and living in a small town, they would go home for lunch.  The pinching back and inspection of the annual tomato crop was a lunchtime ritual.  Pinching out the side shoots and staking them ensured tall, robust plants, that would eventually be weighed down with delicious red, sweet fruit.  I remember tomato-filled trays on every surface in the kitchen and sometimes the diningroom.  Now, the same is happening around our home. Tomatoes were never stored in the fridge.  It ruins the flavour.  Tomatoes served from the fridge infuriated The Dad.  Now it infuriates me…

For some reason, Mum didn’t often preserve tomatoes.  Only twice do I remember my mother “doing” anything with them:  once when a hail storm damaged the not-yet-ripe crop, she made green tomato chutney and on another, she made ketchup.

Now me, on the other hand, I’ll bottle anything.  Almost.  It’s a standing joke among some of our friends who warn The Husband that he might end up pickled and/or in a jar!  Besides that, and enjoying tomato, both tinned (bottled) tomatoes and a basic, traditional Italian tomato sauce, are useful and versatile.  Since first making it in about 2014, I make passata whenever I can get my hands on a goodly quantity of tomatoes.  The recipe is courtesy of the Katie Caldesi’s 2012:  Italian Cookery Course (Kyle Books, Great Britain) a gift for my 50th birthday.

Warning

Be warned, though, if you embark on this journey: passata takes an enormous quantity of tomatoes and a considerable amount of time to make a relatively small quantity.

Caldesi_cover_Passata
My first attempt at making passata in 2014

This year (2021) we have a bumper crop of tomatoes so Passata is back on my agenda.

Passata

The basic ingredients, other than tomatoes include garlic, onions, carrots and celery as well as, of course, olive oil.

In terms of quantities, I generally double up the ingredients for the two-step process:

For the first step

Ingredients

200ml olive oil
2,5kg cherry tomatoes (I use both cherries and “ordinary” tomatoes – more often the latter)
200g carrots, diced
200g celery, diced
225g white onion, diced
3 cloves garlic
10g salt (which I omitted)
5g freshly ground black pepper

Chuck all these ingredients into an enormous saucepan (my stock pot just coped with the double quantity).  Cook over a medium heat, stirring and squashing the tomatoes to break them up.  Bring to the boil and reduce heat and simmer for about 50 minutes.

Caldesi says that the mixture should then be passed through a sieve or passetutto to remove the skins.  I tried that once and it’s seriously time-consuming and tiring.  So, this time round, I followed her alternative suggestion and stuck in the stick blender and puréed the mixture.

For the second step

Additional Ingredients

3 tablespoons olive oil
100g white onion, finely chopped
1 fat garlic clove
salt (which I omitted) and freshly ground black pepper
3 sprigs of basil
2 tablespoons sugar, as necessary (I find that if I don’t add salt, sugar is often not necessary;  also if the tomatoes are sun-ripened, even off the vine, they are generally sweeter than those that ripen artificially)

Heat the oil in another, large, clean pot (I used the base of my pasta pot) and add the onion.  Stir and season with salt and pepper.  Cook until soft (7 – 10 minutes).  Add the basil and garlic.

Add the puréed mixture and cook until it reaches a sauce-like consistency.  Depending on the water content of the tomatoes, this could happen relatively quickly or could take a while – anything from 10 minutes (I should be so lucky) to an hour.

Pour into sterilised jars and boil again.

The quantities in the recipe should yield about 1,4 kg.  My 5 kg of tomatoes produced 11 jars (and a bit).

You can download a printable version of this recipe here.

Quick pasta supper

I’m thrilled with this batch:  it’s delicious and some of the half-filled jar was used to make us a quick pasta supper that night.  It consisted of homemade pasta, with passata stirred through it, and served with a drizzle of basil pesto and a locally made mature Gouda.

Final word

I first wrote this post in 2014, so not only was it due for an update especially given this year’s fantastic (and currently ongoing) harvest, but I have promised a recipe to Mary – she of the famous flatbreads.  So, Mary, this is for you!

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post script

If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:

  • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
  • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts.

I blog to the Hive blockchain using a number of decentralised applications.

  • From WordPress, I use the Exxp WordPress plugin. If this rocks your socks, click here or on on the image below to sign up.

Original artwork: @artywink
  • lastly, graphics are created using partly my own photographs and Canva.

 

Aubergines – awful or awesome?

In our house, we call them brinjals, and other people call them melanzane or egg plants. You either like them or you don’t – like a friend’s daughter who, when she was little, announced to her mother

I don’t want to eat allmyjeans!!

It took a while to work out that then little girl, now a beautiful young woman, meant aubergines…

We grow brinjals – the variety we have grown, are beautiful, shiny and a glossy deep, deep purple, and feature in cuisine from all shores of the Mediterranean, and the Middle East. Smaller varieties, in other colours, are a feature of Asian food.  We’ve grown them, too, and I’ve served them – stuffed as a vegetarian option for Sunday Supper.

We always have brinjals in the fridge. Our regular Sunday breakfast includes a slice of fried brinjal, something I used to feel somewhat guilty about until Tim Noakes’ flip to a high-fat diet!

I have, subsequently, made some changes to my own diet that echoes those tenets.  That, however, is a story for another time.

Versatile

Brinjals are really versatile.  One can do much more with them than the relatively popular Melanzane Parmigiana and Moussaka in which they are centre pieces.

I must also mention that brinjals are not as fiddly to cook with as they used to be: most recipes recommend that you salt and allow them to stand for half an hour to remove the bitterness. Modern horticulture has developed brinjals that are no longer bitter. I never salt brinjals anymore, and I don’t recall the last time we had a bitter brinjal.

So, here are two awesome, really quick and easy things to do with aubergines, followed by a special request:

Ratatouille

Brinjal, together with courgettes are an integral ingredient of Ratatouille, the dish that famously turned food critic, Anton Ego, into a warm human being, fond of rats…

Its fancy name (pronounced rat-a-too-ee) belies how easy it is to make: sauté a chopped onion in olive oil, followed by one or two cloves of garlic, chopped, a diced robot of bell peppers, brinjal and courgettes (zucchini), adjusting quantities so that they are in proportion. Finally, add two or so skinned, chopped tomatoes. Some recipes suggest mushrooms and no brinjals, while others include both. It’s up to you. The most difficult part of this dish is not to overcook it – you want lovely liquid from the various vegetables but you don’t want them to turn to mush, so watch the pot!  As it’s just about done, add a good handful of fresh, chopped oreganum and/or italian parsley.

More recently, I’ve taken to roasting the peppers and then adding them towards the end, which I did here:

Serve hot or cold – with pasta, beautiful bread or rice – accompanied by a sprinkling of cheese (mild or strong, depending on your preference).

Ratatouille makes a lovely side dish, vegan or vegetarian meal.

Grilled Brinjal salad with a chilli yoghurt dressing

This is a variation on a platter served at Jakes in the Village, a few years ago, and a favourite spot when we lived in Cape Town.  We enjoyed it so much, I experimented and have now made it my own. The salad consists of slices of brinjal, grilled, placed on a bed of leaves and drizzled with a yoghurt dressing. This simple dressing is made from plain yoghurt, a little chilli jam (or fresh chilli, chopped and some honey) lemon juice, salt and pepper, and olive oil. Of course, garnish with fresh coriander which works so well with chilli!

100_2870

In this salad, I added fresh avocado and dill.

Keeping a paté promise

This post was one of my first – back in 2014.  It makes me realise how far I have come – blogging, cooking and taking happy snaps of my food.  I do admit that some of those early posts have been consigned to cyber oblivion.  No blockchains then.  Again, another conversation for another time.

This morning, a friend reminded me of a paté I used to make.  Often.  I first ate it in the home of a former uni lecturer and world expert in Dickens.  She subsequently gave me the recipe book from which it came.  Some time in the last nearly twenty years, I lent it to someone, I don’t know whom, and I’ve never had it back.  I’ve continued making the paté – from memory.  In the original version of this post, I gave the recipe somewhat en passant: just a list of ingredients and a basic process, but not much else.

Peculiarly, I have been thinking about this recipe because it’s the season when our market is quite busy and vegetarian options in greater demand.  I learned that it’s not like the chicken liver paté and hummus that are constant good sellers, so I’d not done it for a while.

It is not the middle eastern baba ghanoush of which I am not fond.  Perhaps I’ve not had a “good” one.  Equally, it’s possible that I’ve had a “good” on a meze platter and not known what it is.  It is vegan.  My bringal paté is not, but the cottage cheese can be substituted with vegan cheese.  It’s simple – roasted brinjal, cottage cheese, garlic and fresh herbs.  A remembers it from happier days when we sat in our Cape Town garden enjoying spritzers and not talking shop or, heaven help the world, Covid.

Here we are, 14 years ago in that same garden – a party that marked my 20th year as an independent consultant in my previous day job

Good times as colleagues and friends and good to remember them now – and to be able to keep a promise.

For you, A, and now I’ve applied my mind, the recipe is here.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post Script

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And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain. Click on the image below to sign up –


Image: @traciyork

  • I also share my occasional instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click the icon below, and give it a go.

In yet another aspect of my life –

English writing, research and online tutoring services
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

I’m sure I did. Positive. I did.

Butternut and lentil salad with harissa

You know when you could have sworn that you’ve done something and you have clear memories. Of. Exactly. What. You. Did.

Well, I had that experience with this a Moroccan Lentil and Butternut Salad recipe. I was convinced that I’d written about it. A long time ago. Because, I realised, I’ve been making this salad for well nigh eight years, and quite regularly. The first time, it was part of a Christmas spread when we had vegan diners, and quite a long time before plant-based eating had become quite the thing that it is. It came from a magazine but, as is my penchant, I’ve made it my own. I now realise that I’ve been making it since before I started blogging in 2016.

Last Saturday morning, ahead of the market, I posted this on my Instagram account advertising my vegan offerings for that morning’s market in McGregor.

Butternut and lentil salad with harissa

Moroccan lentil and butternut salad and vegan garlic mayo (a non-authentic aioli – depending who you speak to) on offer at the Saturday market

In my dreams

In my IG post, I explained briefly what it was, adding that it included homemade Harissa.

Then Katie J asked if I’d shared the Harissa recipe.

Nope. But I shall.

As a nutrition coach and fitness trainer, Katie’s a whizz at plant-based food, herself (find her – and her recipes – on WordPress or as @plantstoplanks on Hive).

So certain was I, that I’d “done” the lentil salad, that I trawled this blog and my crypto blog where things were saved after my earstwhile host absconded.

Nothing.

I searched all my pics – even the “lost ones” – thats another story.

Nothing.

Clearly, I’d dreamt all that.

Harissa notes

Katie’s question was, however, the nudge I needed to tidy up the Harissa. That, I knew, I’d not done because it was still on a scrappy piece of paper complete with crossings out and undecipherable notes. It had been on my mental (very) “to do” list. For a couple of years. Again, I’ve made it my own. When I searched online for for a recipe, I discovered that some:

  • include garlic, others don’t
  • liquidise or make a puree, others don’t
  • include tomatoes, others don’t
  • are hotter (with chillies, cayenne, etc.) than others, which really is a personal preference.

All include roasted or charred bell peppers, chillies and spices – cumin, coriander and fennel. In considering my requirements and the recipes which call I leave the tomatoes. One can always add them if need be.

Butternut and lentil salad with harissa

All of that said, Harissa really is a simple, spicy roasted pepper (and chilli) paste. It’s flavour is distinctly North African and Middle Eastern. My last batch was finished off in the broad bean burgers. Because the Moroccan lentil and butternut salad benefits from a goodly amount, I had to make a new batch.

Butternut and lentil salad with harissa

About 500ml Harissa. Stored in repurposed jars. The lid of the large jar is scruffy which explains the equally scruffy photo. Note to self: take another, prettier photo. Don’t wait years…

Stores well

I make a batch of Harissa once or twice a year. My notes say that it can be stored for up to a month in the fridge. I have, however, stored it successfully for much longer by doing two things:

  • gradually decanting into a smaller, sterilised jars as I use it.
  • covering the top of the harissa with olive oil which effectively “seals” in the red paste (also a great way to extend the life of a pesto).

You can download a PDF of the recipe here.

Dream becomes reality

This lentil and butternut salad is, like so many of the things I make, versatile. It consists of roasted butternut and lentils with a “dressing” of sauteed onion, garlic, harissa and tomato paste, with fresh parsley and coriander (cilantro) added last.

Butternut and lentil salad with harissa

Lentil and butternut salad served with sides of couscous and a mixed salad

It’s a meal on its own and it can be eaten warm or cold although flavours do develop if it’s allowed to stand over night. If you do that, and want to eat it warm, reserve the fresh herbs to add just before serving.

You can download a PDF of the recipe here.

A few last things about this salad:

  • If vegan doesn’t do it for you, a dollop of tzatziki or a crumbling of feta cheese adds a different and delicious dimension.
  • It has featured on our Sunday Supper menu and sells well at the local market.
  • It keeps well in the fridge. I haven’t tried it, but I suspect it would freeze satsfactorily – without the fresh herbs.
  • As I mentioned, it benefits from standing which also makes it a great make-in-advance dish that can also stretch over a week. It not only saves cooking but because one doesn’t have to finish, one doesn’t feel as though one is eating lentil salad for seven days in a row.

Now, I know I did!

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post Script

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain. Click on the image below to sign up –


Image: @traciyork

In yet another aspect of my life –

English writing, research and online tutoring services
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here
 

A burger’s a burger, or is it?

broad bean

I associate burgers with quick food.  They are, if one gets them “done”.  They’re not if they’re home made from scratch.  I make both meat and plant-based burgers.  One has to go a long way to find a good vegan or vegetarian patty.  Especially at a restaurant:  I’ve had some really memorable (for all the wrong reasons) ones.  The first vegetarian was – going on 34 years ago – in a burger joint in Johannesburg.  Instead of a slab of rubber, it was a huge, juicy black mushroom.  That joint went on to become one of the biggest local burger franchises in the country, and which last time I had one of their burgers, still set the bar for me.

But, I digress, as usual.

Garden Loot

We do eat meat, and as I keep on saying, The Husband is an avowed carnivore.  That said, he does enjoy his greens vegetables and, over the last nearly twenty years that we’ve shared a life, he’s had to endure many a meat-free meal.  Initially, it was with great reluctance and surprised relish.  Now, he’s less reluctant, but I do get very skew looks when I introduce something new to the repertoire.

So it was with these burgers.

This year, thanks to good rain and regularly watering the garden, we’ve had a surfeit of garden loot.

One spring afternoon’s harvest

The first pickings are young, tender and sweet.  As the season progresses, and the crops mature, they’re less so.  Also, as one picks, it’s easy to miss pods so some do get a trifle long in the tooth.  Not one to let much go to waste, I always look for ways of better dealing with “tougher” beans and peas. Let’s also be honest, one does need some variety when there are just the two of you and what feels like a year’s supply of, well, whatever.

That’s not always the case with broad (fava) beans – the season is short – and besides enjoying them as they are, they’re really versatile.  Anyhow, since I wrote that, some six years ago, we’ve moved to eating more meatfree meals.  On a Monday, at least, we’ve joined the  Meat Free Monday movement and often the meal is entirely plant-based.

I really do enjoy searching out new recipes and ways of doing things.  So it was with these burgers. If not the accompaniments.

The broad bean crop was coming to an end and beans were coming in thick and fast.

Five litres of broad beans

A while before, I’d been looking for not just things to do with beans and came across this burger recipe.  At the time, what a waste of broad beans, I thought.  Not so, when the beans got somewhat bigger and more chalky.  I admit, too, that there’s something about getting your mouth around a burger and messing all over one’s hands, face and just generally, that’s rather satisfying!

So, I gave them a go:

Broad bean burgers

These burger patties have a chickpea base with the broad beans added in towards the end of the process.  The flavours – mint, coriander, cumin and harissa – are southern Mediterranean and middle eastern – and delicious.  So much so that when I made these the first time, The Husband had a second helping and declared that they could become a regular part of the repertoire, expressing regret (again) that the season for broad beans is so shortlived!

The first time we ate them was on flatbreads which we folded over the patty.

We agreed that the simple leaf dressing of olive oil and lemon juice and the yoghurt dressing was nothing short of heavenly.  His –

You can do these again!

Is all the confirmation I needed.  So I have, and the next time – with equal enjoyment, I served them with my home made, brown sourdough rolls.

If you’d also like to make these, download the recipe here.

Before I go

I have blogpals in different parts of South Africa and the world.  Three, in particular, encourage and inspire me as I continue to experiment in my kitchen – and especially with plant-based food.  Katie (@plantstoplanks) in Atlanta, a personal trainer and nutrition coach, whose WordPress site is full useful information, and The Kitchen Fairy (@thekitchenfairy) in Canada, who shares cooking videos via YouTube and Instagram. Much closer to home, is Lizelle (@lizelle) in Durban.  Thank you all for your encouragement and inspiration to grow my repertoir and confound The Husband’s taste buds!

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

Post Script

Looking for that gift for someone who has everything? Shop with Pearli in my developing Redbubble shop

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine….?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain. Click on the image below to sign up –
Image: @traciyork
  • I also share my occasional instagram posts to the crypto blockchain using the new, and really nifty phone app, Dapplr. On your phone, click the icon below, and give it a go.

In yet another aspect of my life –

English writing, research and online tutoring services

writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

Tuck shop tucker

At boarding school, there was really very little reason to go to the tuck shop.  We used to get sandwiches at break (for my US blogpals – mid-morning recess).  They were always brown bread and usually the freshest of soft fresh.  My favourites were egg.  I still love egg sandwiches.  When I make them, I still grate my eggs they way they were grated for those sandwiches.  Peanut butter or peanut butter and jam (jelly), I could take or leave, and mostly left.  The midday meal was a quick gobble before the final two lessons ahead of the end of the school day just after 2pm.

Clarendon Girls’ High School where I spent five years, and from which I matriculated 40 years ago this year.  I took this photograph ten years ago when I went back for my first school reunion.

Reason besides, I did frequent the tuck shop.  There were certain stand out products that were popular among my peers.  They, and two in particular, became part of my Friday, end-of-the-week ritual.

Pocket money

Each term, our parents put money into our “pockets” which was doled out on request.  These were the days before computers, let alone PCs. Parent communication was either snail mail or a weekly telephone call to or from the ticky box (pay phone).  Back to pocket money – a girl needs cash, right?  The matron had a huge, leather-bound ledger and a cash box.  Each one of us (and there were about 70 of us), had a page on which she kept a running tally of our personal allocation and what we drew.  We had to go to her office, and queue after breakfast to draw money or to get a “sick” note if we needed to “escape” phys ed.  I queued. Frequently.

Tucker

The pupils’ mums ran the tuckshop and the fare, some of which would be frowned upon today, included salad rolls (egg or cheese) on fresh, white hot dog rolls;  vetkoek (deep-fried dough) with curried mince.  And buttery, flaky cheese pies.

The latter two often featured in my Friday ritual necessitated by the ubiquotous fried fish, soggy chips and coleslaw:  after school, I’d head to the tuckshop and order either a cheese pie or a curried vetkoek and a yoghurt.  When I have the opportunity to eat a traditional kerrie vetkoek, those vetkoek remain the standard.

Anyway, not so long ago, there was the inevitable discussion about tuck shop favourites on the “alumni” Facebook page.  I discovered that there is a recipe book from that era which includes a recipe for the curried mince.  The discussion turned to cheese pies and I mentioned that, occasionally, I make them.  There’s no recipe.  They must have been bought in from the local bakery – along with the sausage rolls.

I should not have said anything because, of course, I don’t have a recipe.  Anyhow, I promised that the next time I made them, I’d write down what I do. That meant paying proper attention to weights and measures. And things.

The “girl” who asked for this recipe is in this photograph of the residents of Connaught House, taken in 1976. She and I were in the same dormitory at least once that year, if I remember correctly.  She is at the end, on the right, of the second row from the back.  I am on the grass to the left of the matron’s left knee.

So, Judy, this is for you:  taste memories of forty five years ago.

Old School Clarendon Cheese Pies

The first time I made  these cheese pies was because I had some puff pastry left – from something else I had made.  Until I tasted them, I didn’t think about “our” cheese pies.  One bite and I was transported back to the years between 1976 and 1980, and high school. I admit that I make them with ready-made pastry.  I have made puff pastry:  it’s a mission.  And expensive.  A good quality store-bought pastry is a never-fail, at a far lesser price.  There’s a time when discretion is the better part of valour.  So, this really is a very easy “two ingredient” recipe:

A roll of pastry makes between 4 and 6 pies – depending on how thin one rolls the pastry, how good one is at spacing the rounds and how large you make the pies.  I use a small, plastic side plate as a template (about 16cm) and each pie contains about 100g of grated cheddar.  I seal the edges with milk which I also use to brush the pie and glaze it.  I’m a bit Scottish about using an egg wash: if I’m only making two pies, most of the egg will go to waste.  Bake in a hot oven (210°C) for 15 to 20 minutes until puffed up and golden brown.

Make sure that the pastry is sealed and that no cheese escapes – if you don’t, you’ll have pastry shells.

Pimped cheese pies and canapés

Although there is only one way to eat these cheese pies: hot, out of the oven with an entire bottle lashings of tomato sauce (ketchup), one can shrink and pimp them:

Shrink them for canapés and cut the pastry using an 8 to 10 cm cookie cutter and to pimp the filling, if you use cheddar, mix it with fresh herbs (like oreganum or thyme) and/or thin slices of raw or caremelised onion.  Inspired by a friend in the village and a pastry I ate at her Country Kitchen even before we moved here, occasionally and decadently, I substitute the cheese with a mixture of finely shredded raw spinach, caremelised onion and blue cheese.

If you’d like a printable version of the recipe, you can download it here.  When you do, buy me a ko-fi?

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

English writing and online tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I also share the occasional post on Medium.

All wrapped up

The Husband and I both enjoy Mexican food.  I have developed, over the years, a greater tolerance of hot and a little more spicy.  Mexican allows for our both respective heat proclivities and penchants for things animal or vegetable. Just down the road and around the corner from our first home was a Mexican spot.

Our first “together” home

We ate there often – we literally stepped out of the front door and went around the corner.  We missed it when we moved.

The mandatory digression

When we got married a few months later, and after we moved, we decided in our wisdom, to host a supper, at home, for about 13 people – the evening before the nuptials.  The most sane part was ordering most of the food from our favourite Mexican spot. The owner (who also owns our favourite Cape Town pizza spot – and still does – even though it’s moved) kindly allowed us to order in most of what we needed.  From the chicken wings and guacamole, to the best pickled and roasted vegetables with, of course, tortillas.   It all arrived and with instructions for flash-frying the wings.

I admit to remembering little of that evening, except that it was fun – even with no Tequila…  (A lot of that period was a bit of a blur with special moments, never to be forgotten, standing out). It was the days before cell phone cameras, so there are no photographs.

Outside our home the day after the nuptials.

Over the years we’ve continued having the odd Mexican meal – using commercial tortillas. More to the point, though, tortillas are versatile and have almost become ubiquitous.  I think my last airline snack was a soggy tortilla.  Also known as a wrap.  Happily I have not had occasion to fly.  For a while.  Not that it’s a sane thing to do at the moment.

Consequences of Covid

Having been locked down for as long as we have (day 88, if you’re counting), I’ve tried making things I’ve been wanting to try for ages.  One of these has been tortilla.  I had a feeling that they’d be cheaper to make than shop bought.  As a reminder, the village has no major grocery shop.  The little convenience stores stock the essentials but very little fancy stuff – tortilla count as “fancy”.  Also, at the beginning of lockdown, going anywhere was frowned upon.

So, inspired by a WhatsApp chat with Pixie to celebrate Cinco de Mayo on May the 5th, I knew had the makings of fajitas, but nothing to wrap them in.  I had a potential problem.

Not really.  It just meant I had to do what I’d long thought about:  find a recipe for, and make, tortilla.

Corn tortilla?

As happens when one consults professor Google, there is a range of options that emerges and one learns how ignorant one is that flour tortillas and corn tortillas are quite different.  Even though we have corn (mielie) meal in this country, the corn meal for making tortilla is not the same as the meal one uses for grits.  I had no choice.  They would have to be flour.

Next challenge

All the recipes that I found, courtesy of professor Google, included lard.  Not only did I not have lard, but I have bad memories of lard.  I prefer, if I can, to steer clear of it.  It also occurred to me that if I could make tortilla successfully, I might be able to add another product to my repertoire.  When.  One. Day.  I can again sell my wares at the market and/or host Sunday Suppers.

Wrapping up a promise

I did find a recipe for tortilla that uses wheat flour and vegetable oil.  So I gave it a whirl.  So happy was I, that I shared my success on social media.  Of course.

Only to be asked for the recipe – some said that they’d had tried, unsuccessfully, to make tortillas.  They’d not found a recipe that worked.  They were surprised when I said that they’re easy to make.  They really are.  The recipe worked:  first time.  I’ve made them subsequently, and I shall, again.  They are also quick and easy.  Best of all, they are much less expensive to make than the store-bought ones.  A lot less.

Flour Tortilla – wrapping it up

Not only is this recipe vegan, but it consists of ingredients that anyone has in the kitchen:  just four – all purpose flour, salt, water and vegetable oil.  While they’re wheat, they contain no yeast.  Resting time is minimal. Probably the longest part of the entire job is rolling them out (a good way to deal with the frustrations of a bad day), but once that’s done, they keep if you won’t eat them all. 

It’s easy – just a couple of steps: mix together two cups of all-purpose flour and ½ a teaspoon of salt.  Then add ¾ of a cup of water and 3 dessert (UK) or table (USA) spoons of vegetable oil (olive oil, canola or sunflower).  Mix this to a smooth, firm dough, adding flour or water if you need.  Before rolling the tortillas, allow the dough to rest for at least 10 minutes.

The original recipe directs the making of eight, 18 cm (7 inch) diameter tortilla.  This is not really big enough for a burrito, but works well for wannabe qesadillas, enchiladas and fajitas, and for more than one per person – if one is spoilt for choice with filling combos.  The second time I made tortilla, I divided the dough into 6 and the finished size was more like that of the commercial ones (about 30cm / 12 inches).  Oh, and if you want to be sure that the tortillas are equal sizes, weigh the dough and then do the math(s), dividing the total weight by the number of tortilla you want. The printable recipe is here. If you do download it, please buy me a coffee?

Cook the tortilla and assemble into your favourite fajita, quasadilla or whatever, in the usual way.

In keeping this promise, I’m also delighted to be reciprocating with a recipe to someone who’s generously shared many recipes with me, including one for flatbreads.  So, Mary, this recipe is for you!

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa


Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

 

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

English writing and online tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post seems familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising your WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I also share the occasional post on Medium.

 

Leftovers – when they are not: leftover

The notion of leftover food and what happens to it, is a divisive one.  I remember my ex returning from a conference with a story about a fellow delegate just would not eat leftover food.  If there was any food left over, his wife had to throw it away.

I must digress

That entire exchange was more than twenty five years ago (as is the memory), but still raises qestions for me.  Firstly, throwing away good food.  Just does not make sense.  I’ll come back to this.  It’s not just the food issue that stuck with me, it was how the story was told:  it was clear that that husband concerned had issued a decree.  I remember thinking to myself:  this still happens in the late 1990’s?  Clearly, I was naive and protected.  I learned that not only did it still happen, but it still does.  It’s one of the signs of domestic abuse.  In South Africa, as with the rest of the world, gender-based violence is a crisis with a surge of femicides as South Africa has entered stage three of the covid-19 lockdown.

Food waste

While I’m on a bit of a downer, and staying with the lockdown, one of the very worrying consequences of the lockdown in South Africa, is the number of hungry people.  I grew up with the constant admonishment that I had to eat every single morsel of food on my plate.

There are children who have no food.

Then I would be regaled with stories about hungry children in Vietnam and other parts of Africa.  What most people who know me now, will have difficulty believing, is that I was a picky eater with the appetite of a bird (a small one!).  It was not unusual for me to whine, “I’ve had enough…” or “I’m not hungry…”  No-one, least of all my mother ever knew that I would feed my winter soup to the lavender bush that was up the back steps, round the corner and behind the garage.  That’s another story.  More relevant is that if I didn’t eat each morsel on my plate, said plate and food remains were deposited on top of the fridge.  They were my next meal.

Needless to say, two, no, three things happened.  I grew up and as I did, so did my appetite.  I also developed an appreciation for most food and an ability to eat virtually anything that’s put in front of me – even if it’s something I’d prefer not to eat.  The third thing is that I did develop a loathing for leftovers that are just the same meal.  Rinse Reheat and repeat does not work for me.

Not the vogue

I think I might have mentioned that my Dad grew up with an alotment and went on to train as a horticulturist at Kew.

My father – the one under the keg tap – “busy” in Kew Gardens.

Consequently I grew up with vegetable peelings always saved for the compost heep.  That compost fed the growing vegetables and flowers.  Sustainble living was just how things were done.  It didn’t have a lable. Then.

Back to my mother: I think I’ve mentioned that she was one of four sisters with a single mother, and grew up in the Second World War.

Mum at about 12 – circa 1940

(Well, I had, and it’s one of those posts I shall have to “reconstitute“.)  The point is, that every morsel had to stretch and nothing went to waste.

Both The Husband (whose parents were married during that same war) and I grew up with the concept of nose to tail eating and wasting no part of an animal.  The Husband talks about his mother who, as a young mother newly arrived on a smallholding in the then Rhodesia, making soap with pig fat. And curing ham.  Eating offal (which, by the way, includes oxtail), was just part of life.  As were meals with leftover meals.  Some more successful than others.  Stovies was one we both remember. In our house stovies were always made after roast beef and was one of my Dad’s favourite winter suppers.  And, let me add he, himself, made a mean pot of stovies.

Patterns repeat

As much as one thinks one rebels against one’s childhood, and “things our parents did”, it sometimes comes as a bit of a shock to discover that we are repeating the same patterns.  Or not.  Anymore.

It’s taken a while, and I’ve made peace with embraced some of those patterns.  Like the compost heap.  And leftovers.  However, in my defence, I plan my leftovers.  Like I plan the weekly meals.  The “deliberate” leftovers are essential ingredients in another meal.  As is the case with my roast vegetable “frittata”.

A while ago, I shared this photo on Instagram and a friend asked if I’d shared the recipe here. Well, I hadn’t then, and I am, now.

Roast Vegetable Frittata

Essentially, this is a baked omelette.  Roast vegetables is a favourite meal and I when do them, I make a huge quantity.  There is so much one can do with roast vegetables:  stir into pasta or risotto;  as part of a salad and in a frittata.   As I did for that particular evening’s meal.  It’s simple and it’s versatile.  One can make it North African by adding harissa and garnishing it with fresh coriander or take it to the other side of the Mediterranean with pesto and basil.  Or one can give it a Mexican touch with cumin, chilli and cilantro (or coriander and dhanya by other names).  I will even add a bit of spinach as I did the other evening when I paid proper attention to what I was doing – to be able to write up the recipe.

This particular evening, I also had some left over spinach from another meal, and I had also roasted some cauliflower (which I usually keep separate because the flavour tends to “contaminate” everything else).  I elected omit the cauliflower, but incorporate the spinach into this frittata.

This transformation of leftovers consists of a layer of roast vegetables in a greased baking dish, over which one pours beaten egg which is topped with grated cheese before being baked in the oven.  The detailed recipe is here in a printable format).

The roasted cauliflower didn’t go to waste, either, it went into the side salad that accompanied the meal.

A last word

This is the first of a few recipes-by-request which have taken a back seat to my lockdown related rants.  So, keeping a promise, this one is for Janette who also writes about reinvention and sustainable living:  under the milkwood tree in her garden which is on the beautiful Eastern Cape coast of South Africa.  Go and have a read.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

English writing and online tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I also share the occasional post on Medium.

Comfort food in a time of Covid-19 – I

I started revising this 2014 post as we entered month two of lockdown in South Africa.  Although we moved from level 5 to level 4 on the first of May, for many, there was no material change to our lives.  Speaking for myself:  the novelty has worn off.  Reserves – of all types – are wearing thin.  We now approach the end of month two and the promise of level 3 in eight days’ time.  There’s a lot about it we don’t know.  Some we do:  social and physical distancing will continue.

So

Not knowing when we’ll be able to break bread with friends, let alone give up virtual hugs, is beginning to tell.  Not to mention not being able to trot down the road to extend physical birthday wishes with real hugs and kisses.  I’m feeling it.  For the birthday girl whose birthday it is, as I write, and who lives alone.  I cannot imagine.

For her:

A bunch of brightness and that went with a brief over-the-gate conversation

Autumn is glorious.  I always say it’s my favourite season.  It is. This year, it’s passing us by we must ignore it. It’s the colours.

It’s the odd rain shower that washes everything clean and leaves the last of the summer brightness covered in sparkles.

I am sure that in the Northern Hemisphere, there are folk feeling the same way about spring.  The kitchen, unlike in other households, is getting less.  Although I cook every day, as usual, I’ve not been cooking as much or spending quite so much time in the kitchen.  Also, given the funk, there’s been a lot of comfort food.  I’ve already shared one of my favourites.  Cottage pie is another.

Tatties and neeps

I grew up with tatties and mince.  It was not my favourite meal because it was  always accompanied by heaps of grey, watery, mashed neeps.  Occasionally, they included the odd carrot.  And mashed potatoes.  I’m not fond of them either – on their own.  Actually, I’m not that fond of mash.  Period.  In combination with mince (ground beef for my American readers), tatties and neeps made for a meal of slop.  Only good for invalids.  In my then childish, and now, adult, opinion.

Tatties and neeps – is probably one of the few combinations in my Scottish heritage, that I don’t get.  Neeps (turnips, for the uninitiated….)  Turnips are one of the very few vegetables I dislike.  Also, if you’re wondering, I have eaten, and do, like haggis.  I keep on threatening to make it. We shall see.

Turnips, under the influence of my accidental vegan blogpal, Katie (@plantstoplanks), I’m planning to give another try.  In a guise other than mashed or in copious quantities in soup. Watch this space.

I digress.

So, now I’ve had a mini melt-down, let me get back to cottage pie. (No, I”m not going to entertain the discussion about the difference between this and Shepherd’s pie….)

Tatties and neeps – for grown-ups

I prepare my mince with braised onions and herbs – either rosemary or thyme – not both, and the choice depends on the mood.  If neither is available, a half to a teaspoon of McGregor Herbes de Provence does just as well.  Some would say, better.

 

Don’t forget to add the essential crushed clove of garlic.  I always include grated carrot and courgette if I have a lot of them – a great way to con those with a vegetable aversion…), and let this mixture simmer for quite a long time.  Depending on how quickly the liquid reduces, add a bit of water and towards the end of the cook, a good glug of red wine.  This last gives your meat a lovely rich flavour.

Topping it off

The topping is not just mashed potato:  I often use cauliflower – with mashed with a generous quantity of salty butter and pepper.

Oh, and that cauliflower is from our garden…before the drought. This year’s crop is planted….

Occasionally, I’ll do a combination of cauliflower and butternut.  This depends on the size of the cauliflower.  Rarely is it just potato which I also usually combine with butternut and ooccasionally add a good dollop of yoghurt.

For mashing, depending on your preference and how creamy, rustic or chunky you like your topping, the toppings can be hand mashed, puréed or creamed.  My choices vary and are often dictated by the day’s mood.

Finally, layer the mince in the bottom of an oven proof dish and then pile the mashed vegetables on top. Spread this over the meat to the edges of the dish. Dot with knobs of butter. Bake in a moderate oven until the top is brown.

Dot this with knobs of butter and cook in the oven until it’s golden brown and beginning to crisp on top.

Covid-19 comfort food served with homemade chutney.

Last but not least, if you want a “proper” recipe, you are welcome to download a printable file here.  If you do, consider buying me a coffee?

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

In yet another aspect of my life, I offer

online English tutoring services

every day conversation and formal presentations
writing – emails and reports, academic and white papers
formal grammar, spelling and punctuation
more information here

And then there’s more:

  • If this post might seem familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you download recipes, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • If you’re interested in a soft entry into the world of crypto currency and monetising WordPress blog, use the fantastic Steempress plugin to post directly to the Hive blockchain.  Click on the image below to sign up
  • I’m still blogging on Steem with the occasional post on Medium.

A Taste of France – II

This simple chicken dish sounds exotic, but it isn’t really.  What adds an extra dimension to it is the Herbes de Provence.  I’ve written about them before, and use them quite often.  Those blogs, alas, are lost somewhere in cyberspace.  It turns out to be a mixed blessing.  I’m refining quite a few of my recipes and the idea of a book is beginning to develop some momentum.  Just yesterday, I was chatting with a school friend in Melbourne, Australia.  She’s been one of my staunches supporters and helped instigate this blog about six years ago.  Some of the recipes I use are inspired by chats we’ve had. On Sunday Suppers, when I said we were coming up to the third anniversary, she said

Wow! I really enjoy seeing your posts and your menus come to life.

I do love it that I have friends, some not seen for a gazillion years, who virtually join us at our table.  All through what I share here, Instagram and via Facebook.  It’s coming up three years since we started hosting Sunday Suppers in The Sandbag House.  Because we’ve not been able to host Sunday Suppers since march, I’m writing up recipes on a Sunday afternoon instead of cooking up a storm.  It’s strange.  It also seems apt to be sharing a recipe that was the main course for that first Sunday Supper, and one that takes one travelling.  Without leaving McGregor.  We also have to come to terms with this new virtual reality.  I imagine that international travel will, for the forseeable future, be severely curtailed.

Travelling through one’s food

Perhaps then, it’s apt that today’s recipe is influenced by provincial French cuisine.  Hearty, warming and comforting.  This chicken casserole is a great dish for cooler autumn, winter and early spring.  You could also cook it in the slow cooker, but I prefer doing it in the oven.  I think it would also be fabulous done over a wood fire in a cast iron pot.  Because it’s effectively a stew, it’s a long cook, so it gives busy parents time to get children tidied up and sorted while it cooks itself.

The distinct flavour comes not from the tomatoes and olives, but rather from the distinctive and unusual combination of herbes that make up the traditional Herbes de Provençe.

The blend I use is made and marketed from McGregor.  They often feature – in their packaging as part of the table decor for Sunday Suppers.

Provençale Style Chicken

This dish is not just easy, but it’s also a great way to dress up chicken.  The addition of olives and the wine add a little touch of decadence.  Especially when we all need a lift.

Oh, and of course, don’t give all the wine to that chicken!

Ingredients

8 chicken thighs (or joints of choice)
Vegetable/olive oil
4 large tomatoes, blanched and skinned (or 1 x tin chopped tomatoes)
1 onion, chopped*
50 g black olives (pitted)
150 – 200 ml dry white wine
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 – 2 tsp McGregor Herbes de Provence*
Salt & pepper to taste

What to do

Season the chicken pieces with salt, pepper and the Herbes de Provence.  Brown in hot oil and set aside. Sauté the onion in the remaining oil. Add more if necessary.  When slightly glossy, add the garlic and sauté for a little longer.  Add the remaining ingredients (olives, wine and additional McGregor Herbes de Provence if liked) and deglaze the pan if it’s not oven proof.

Bake, covered, in a moderate oven for 45 minutes to an hour.  Remove the cover and bake for a further ½ hour and until the chicken skin is browned and the liquid has reduced and thickened.

Notes:
  • Use shallots – they add a different dimension to the presentation
  • If you like a stronger herb flavour, add more at step 4.
  • Serve with rice, mash or hasselback potatoes and seasonal vegetables
  • This freezes well in individual portions.

Download a printable version of the recipe here.

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma

 

Post Script

  • If this seems familiar, it’s because I’m doing two things:
    • re-vamping old recipes.  As I do this, I plan to add them in a file format that you can download and print.  If you do this, buy me a ko-fi?
    • and “re-capturing” nearly two years’ worth of posts because of this.
  • I’m participating in blogpal @tracyork’s April challenge of sharing a post every day during April – on the Hive blockchain. I succeeded last year – on Steemit from which the new blockchain “hived off”…
  • It seems a good way to constructively use the time during a compulsory lock down, right? For more about this initiative, please check out Traci’s post.
  • If you’d also like to both join the challenge and post from the WordPress platform to the Hive blockchain, sign up here
  • I’m still blogging on Steem and more recently share my burbling on Uptrennd.