Thursday, February 26, 2009

Sugaroom Turns Sour


Tuesday a few weeks ago, my companion and I were traipsing around city hall and Darling Harbour after she'd finished work for the day. As we lazily explored the wharves towards Pyrmont we spoke nostalgically of holidays gone, a recent review of Bronte Road Bistro, bad cruise dining experiences and ridiculously unaffordable 60 dollar steaks.

At 7 in the evening as the air suddenly chilled, we straggled over the metro bridge towards Sugaroom located at the very end of Harris St. For those who are unfamiliar, Sugaroom is an old sugar refinery cum-bar/restaurant which was established by Greg Anderson, a chef who trained under Matt Moran, did a stint for Greg Norman on his private yacht and regularly writes short columns for a local newspaper. A few years ago when it was but a mere budding restaurant, it was hailed as a cheap and unpretentious, accessible modern Australian diner of sorts. I hate to tell you this Greg, but your vessel has busted quite a leak and now your ship is sinking.

As we were seated, napkins were graciously unfolded and complimentary bread (both plain and linseed) were brought out with a ramekin of soft cultured butter. A few minutes of negotiation resulted in our ordering of the baked eschallot tart, crab gazpacho, barramundi and confit pork, all to share. Silly Jane decided to go out on a limb and try the Leeuwin Estate sbs from WA which was listed as $12/glass and $52/bottle. An exorbitant amount to pay for something that brought to mind oh so romantic memories of eating grass in my childhood years. I'm trying to avoid using the word SHIT here. Granting them the benefit of doubt, when considering it for their wine list, perhaps they thought it would pair well with an extremely bitter green salad. Or maybe someone doesn't quite understand the notion of 'Surf and Turf'. Either way, fish with fermented barnyard grass anyone? For the entirety of the meal it sat to the furthest corner of the table, taunting our wallets and poor choice.

The waitress was lovely however and presented us both with an amuse - a warm shot of cauliflower cream with a bare dusting of cumin. Entrees were delivered: my "Baked eshallot tart with goats cheese, beetroot and chervil" and Jane's "Roast quail with Israeli couccous [sic], figs and pomegranate dressing"..? Gazpacho.. Roast quail.. I can see how the order could have been bumbled had my companion spoken in anything other than her Sydney born and bred accent. We were both starving and were too impatient to notify them of their blunder and so we dug in anyway.

Oh! What a mistake that was! Two sweet but tiny quail legs poked out from beneath a tasteless halved green fig under a scattered mound of hard Israeli couscous. The pomegranate dressing made for a more interesting middle-eastern influence on paper than on plate and the resulting dish was robust with a two-toned flavour that played discordantly over our palates like an expectant car crash.

We turned to the eschallot tart tatin with a little more gusto. Surely one could not manage to fuck up something so simple?

Wrong again.

The puff pastry was granular from the white sugar sprinkled over the top instead of being deeply rich and caramelised. The eschallots themselves were bland and still retained their undesirable outer layers of skin which had become so leathery during the cooking process that as I went to cut into one, the inner bulb popped out and launched itself halfway across the plate while the rest remained, completely unaffected by the knife.

Always the optimist, Jane ordered a scotch to make the night appear a little more palatable. It arrived in a timely fashion, along with a table of four who were seated right beside us in the almost empty restaurant. An awkward silence ensued as we became suddenly aware of ourselves speaking in hushed tones. Then the mains arrived. "Pan-roasted barramundi, peas, baby leeks, tarragon and truffle dressing" with "pork confit with candied fennel, cauliflower puree and salsa verde" but wait.. What is this? LAMB?! I spun around uncomfortably with an unimpressed expression on my face to stare at all three waiters huddled around the door chatting to one another until one finally came over. The offending lamb was removed and eventually replaced with pork as we'd initially ordered.
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The barramundi was the highlight of the entire meal. Its juicy and succulent flesh coupled with wondrously crispy and well-seasoned skin. Tiny dices of boiled potato marked the plate with an equally tiny number of trimmed baby leeks leaning against them, pointing towards the ever so bleak sky. Peas encircled the fish, complete with a creamy yet very subtle truffle dressing and a drizzle of voluminously green tarragon oil.
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I wish I could say that the pork was worth the wait. Despite the earlier setback and my love for all things pork however I was utterly disappointed. The so-called 'candied' fennel was simply roasted and lacked in any sort of seasoning. Salsa verde was fibrous and tasted horribly of mint toothpaste. A streak of thick cauliflower puree ran across the plate, a vector to the rounds of pork and jus. The thought of pork confit causes me to subconsciously lick my lips. The thought of pork confit, shredded, moulded, reheated and dry, not so much.
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Dessert is always the last chance for redemption at any establishment. The "Eton mess with balsamic reduction and almonds" arrived in a tall parfait glass, overloaded with sickly sweet strawberry puree and was a fairly clear representation of the rest of the menu. Not very well executed.
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Service: friendly but faulty
Atmosphere: bring your own party
Food: insipid
Value: stay at home
Jane's word of the day: uninspiring




Sugaroom on Urbanspoon

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Pudding Gone Bananas

This was the very first food blog that I began reading back in 2004. I had just started working as an apprentice then (much to my entire family's dismay) and was wildly searching for like-minded people. Unlike the drearily common mentality of Kitchen vs. Floor, blogs gave me a sense of fellowship and I adored the humour and support and being privy to the foodie lives of others, as I had not yet mastered the art of juggling both work and what little life I had outside of work.

Well, as it usually goes, this led to that and I was inspired enough to start my own little recipe blog although I never really quite started writing until just last year. Funnily enough, Johanna is hosting the February edition of WTSIM and I've yet to post about my banana pudding which made an appearance 3 times in the last fortnight due to popular demand. It seems wholly appropriate to make this an acknowledgement of sorts to the lovely woman whose long time blogging efforts first introduced me and led me to appreciate food in a totally different medium.

I advise you to save this recipe as you'll want to pull it out time and time again. It has proven to be extremely popular and it's wonderfully quick to prepare. You simply cream a little butter with a little white sugar and salt in an electric mixer until pale then add a few drops of vanilla extract, an egg and a ripe banana. Continue beating the mix with the paddle attachment until it's all combined. Now slice up another ripe (but not too ripe) banana and toss it in a tablespoon of lemon juice. Drain the excess juice into the batter and stir it through with a cup of self-raising flour and sprinkling of baking powder. Pour it all into a greased and floured cake tin, spread the sliced banana over top, shake on a few good spoonfuls of unrefined cane sugar then cover the whole thing with a mixture of boiling milk, cream and butter. It only takes 30 minutes in the oven and voila!

At 25 minutes - you'll see a noticeable skin forming on the top from all the rich butterfat and milk solids. At 15 minutes - it will begin to bubble up around the sides and you should rotate the pan 180 degrees. At 10 minutes - it will be browning nicely and have risen by about 1" (which is why you'll need a 3" tall pan). In the last few minutes, the bubbling will subside as the liquid is absorbed by the batter beneath. The cane sugar will have formed a light fudgy caramel on the top and your kitchen will be perfumed with the gorgeously seductive aroma of baked bananas.

I like to use a springform tin for ease of removal and to prevent any possible mess i wrap a piece of foil underneath, folding halfway up the sides and sliding it into the oven on a tray. A small amount of baking powder is essential in this recipe to give the pudding a little lift and aeration as the banana would otherwise cause it to be quite dense. If your bananas are larger you can throw a little more into the batter. As the batter bakes, the bananas will cook down and sink to the bottom so as you cut into it, hot banana will ooze out gloriously from underneath to self-sauce your pudding. Hot from the oven, it is a delight served simply with a dollop of cold vanilla yoghurt.

Banana Pudding

55 g cold unsalted butter, chopped
95 g castor sugar
2 g salt
1 (55 g) egg
6 g vanilla extract
2 large ripe bananas
15 g lemon juice
126 g self-raising flour
2 g baking powder
85 g cane sugar
125 g milk
125 g cream
50 g unsalted butter
Cream butter, sugar and salt in an electric stand mixer with paddle attachment until pale.
Beat in egg and vanilla until well-incorporated.
Beat in 115 g banana (or 150 g for oozier version) until combined.
Slice remaining banana and toss with lemon juice to coat in a small bowl.
Tip excess lemon juice into the batter.
Sift self-raising flour and baking powder in a bowl to incorporate evenly.
Beat self-raising flour into the batter over low speed.
Pour batter into a greased and lined 8" cake pan.
Spread sliced banana over the top.
Sprinkle over cane sugar in an even layer.
Heat milk, cream and butter in a small pot until boiling then pour directly onto the batter.
Bake at 180ºC for 30-35 minutes or until golden.


Thursday, February 19, 2009

They're Going Like Hotcakes!

noun 1. hotcake - pancakes, flapjacks and griddlecakes; a type of flatbread prepared from a sweet batter that is cooked on a hot griddle or in a frying pan. They exist in several variations in many different local cuisines. Most pancakes are quick breads, although some are also made using a yeast-raised or fermented batter.

I walk past Bill Granger's self-titled cafe in Surry Hills every day. It's always bustling with hip young locals dressed to the nines, hoping to satisfy their mid-morning caffeine cravings, to fill up on luscious cream-laden scrambled eggs or perhaps snack on a slice of cake of the day. The coffee can be a downright disappointment sometimes depending on who serves you but there is one thing that shines like a beacon of light, which may very well have brought this gaily dressed self-taught cook into the spotlight along with a plateful of scrambled eggs. For 'The Bread Mania' event, Bill Granger's ricotta hotcakes done instead with a smoother substitute - cottage cheese, and drizzled with rosemary red currant jam.
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Rosemary Red Currant Jam

100 g red currants
65 g castor sugar
8 rosemary leaves
20 g water
Combine everything in a small pot and simmer over low heat until thickened.

Cottage Cheese Hotcakes

160 g cottage cheese
2 g sea salt
95 g milk
2 eggs, separated
65 g flour
2 g baking powder
30 g unsalted butter, soft
Whisk cottage cheese, salt, milk and egg yolks in a bowl.
Sift flour and baking powder into the cottage cheese.
Fold until just combined.
Whisk egg whites until stiff and fold into batter.
Brush a little butter into a heated pan and drop 2 Tbsp batter into the centre.
Cook over low-medium heat for a minute or two until golden then flip and repeat.
Keep hotcakes warm in the oven or under some foil until you finish.
Serve with rosemary red currant jam, a dollop of cottage cheese and a scant dusting of icing sugar.

Real Food


".. Cauliflowers are cauliflowers only during the warm months.
Winter-hardy cauliflowers are more likely to be a type of broccoli,
rated as tougher than true cauliflowers .."
Bob Flowerdew, The Gourmet Gardener

Summer seems to be a bit of a puzzle this year. With raging bushfires one day and torrential flooding the next, a little comfort food in this surprisingly damp weather would doubtless not go astray. Cauliflower and cheese, a bite of pepper and dash of mustard just for perks. A thick and creamy soup that drinks like a warm embrace. One that wraps itself around you tightly and says "I'm never letting go". Does anyone else find that line too cheesy? Never fear, cauliflower and cheese go together like old friends. Take for instance the British dish - cauliflower cheese. I don't think it needs any more elaboration than that.
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Cauliflower is cheap this time of year and it helps the hip pocket to be 'Eating with the Seasons', especially in times such as these when one in five workers fear losing their job and the hospitality industry sits on the brink of turmoil. I have to say, I find it a little hypocritical that Suze Orman came out of the closet only to tell people to stop eating out (har har!). Moving on, cheddar cheese is choice for melting. I chopped up 30 g of cheddar to the consistency of fine breadcrumbs, sprinkled it into four 6 cm circles on some non-stick baking paper on a heavy steel baking sheet, gave them a good crack of black pepper and popped them in the oven for roughly 8 minutes at 180ºC. I removed them when they had coloured up nicely and become firm and crisp to the touch and served them with the soup, alongside a few good, thick slices of toasted soy and linseed bread from Sonoma. If it's to your taste, you could add a dash of Tabasco or Worcestershire and a small pot of mustard or horseradish cream to slather onto your bread before dipping.
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Cauliflower Soup
15 g unsalted butter
100 g (1 small) brown onion, finely chopped
8 g (4 cloves) garlic, minced
5 g maldon sea salt
200 g (1 small head) cauliflower, florets only
10 g hot English mustard
320 g milk
8 g fish sauce
40 g cheddar cheese, grated
Melt the butter in a small saucepan and toss in the onion, garlic and salt.
Saute over medium heat for about 5 minutes then add everything but for the cheese.
Cover and let it barely simmer for 40 minutes then add the cheese, a few cracks of black pepper or cumin and wizz it all up in a blender.
Serve hot with thickly sliced and toasted bread for mopping up the bowl with.
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Thursday, February 12, 2009

Lusse Bröd

If my memory serves me correctly, I'd say that it's been something like two years since the last time I picked up a sliced white loaf from the corner store. Bread does not really make much of an appearance at our house, unlike my time spent with a friend's family in Torrevieja - on the south-east coast of Spain, where a baguette seemed to live permanently on the kitchen table at all hours of the day. For me, it's one of those purchases that I actively avoid, simply because I know from experience that I'm never able to finish it all and after incorporating it into every meal for 3 days straight, I swear never to eat it again. With mixed curiosity and an urge to get off my ass and actually do something for a change however, I tried out a recipe for Swedish saffron bread from a book called 'From Ciabatta To Rye' by Linda Collister.

Peter Reinhart says:
".. Santa Lucia Day is celebrated on December 13. In Sweden, a custom arose to celebrate the day with a festival in honor of this Sicilian saint, a beautiful girl who suffered torture and blinding rather than renounce her faith. she was believed to have carried food to Christians hiding in caves, wearing a wreath of candles to light her way, and thus, during the festival, young girls wear similar wreaths and process in white dresses ties with crimson ribbon. Sweet buns, known as lussekatter or lusse brod, are baked, coiled into various shapes to represent the blinded eyes of the young girl. As the girls in white process, they pass out their Santa Lucia buns to remind worshippers of the saint's victory over evil and of the pending return of the sun and its light (Lucia means "light") .."

..How very touching.. Anyway apparently not all recipes for lusse bröd contain saffron and some even include almond meal and large raisins pressed into the middle of each coil, which I'm guessing are supposed to resemble the pupils.


Swedish Saffron Bread
1 g saffron threads or powder
40 g boiling water
220 g milk
50 g castor sugar
7 g active dry yeast
100 g butter, melted and cooled
2 eggs
5 g salt
500 g flour + extra for dusting
Crumble saffron threads into a small bowl and pour over boiling water.
Leave to infuse for 12 hours.
Pour milk into a small pot and sprinkle in sugar and yeast, whisking out any lumps.
Bring slowly to 42ºC and leave for about 10 mins until foamy.
Pour in saffron, butter, 1 egg and salt, whisking to combine.
Place flour in a large bowl and make a well in the centre.
Pour in yeast and with a fork, gently work in the flour until fully incorporated.
Dust the table with a little extra flour and knead dough for 5 - 10 mins until smooth and elastic.
Place into a greased bowl, cover with a damp cloth and proof for about 1 hour or until doubled in size.
Turn dough onto the table, dusted with a little more flour and cut into 8 equal pieces.
Roll each piece into sausages 24 cm long and roll into coils, tucking the ends underneath.
Grease a heavy baking sheet and place a coil in the centre.
Place the remaining coils around, barely touching one another.
Place a deep roasting tray over the top and allow to proof for half an hour.
Beat the remaining egg and brush over the tops of the coils.
Bake at 200ºC for 25-30 mins until golden.


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