This brownie will change your life

If my year to date could be epitomised in a food item, I'm quite sure this Brownie would be it. It's delicious. It's exciting. It's a little bit sassy, it's confident in it's own abilities, and it sometimes surprises even itself. Like 2011 so far, it is awesome. It's life-changing, it's mind blowing and with each bite it kind of feels a little bit like you've won lotto.

I've actually never been a huge fan of Brownie. A few too many average experiences - too dry, too hard, or hopeless at communicating it's true feelings - cake? slice? square pudding? Maybe it had been sitting sadly in a cafe cabinet for a couple of days too long and was just generally not up to much. All this meant I've never really been that interested. I embraced other baked goods. I used my dark chocolate in other ways.

But not all Brownies are stink. Some Brownies are actually worth the (surprisingly little) effort. Like a ray of sunshine, along came the addition of cream cheese. The perfectly cracked top. The crisp outer shell and the gooey soft inside. With each bite this Brownie gets better. You've got to give it a chance - you will be rewarded. If you're apprehensive from previous Brownie experiences; maybe you thought you'd sworn off Brownie for good - give this one a go. You might think it looks like hard work, or will result in hard work, running off all those calories. You might think that you're crazy for embarking on such a feat - what with all that sugar! and chocolate! and butter! Don't focus on the negatives. Just get in the kitchen and have fun. You won't regret it. Trust me.

Life-changing Brownie (stolen and adapted from my dear friend Harriet)

180g butter
180g dark chocolate
350g white sugar
pinch of salt
a capful of vanilla essence
4 eggs
125g white flour
2 Tbsp cocoa
1/2 cup chocolate chips (I went with dark)
Cream cheese (use the hard stuff - non-lite and non-spreadable is best)

Grease and line a baking dish with baking paper. I used a rectangular brownie pan, approximately 30cm x 20cm. Preheat oven to 170*C (if your oven is particularly hot, you might want to turn it down to 160*C or 165*C)

Break the chocolate into chunks, place in a saucepan and add the butter, cut into cubes. Add vanilla, and gently melt over a low heat, stirring with a wooden spoon.

In a bowl, crack the eggs. Whisk well, then add the sugar, then whisk well again until thick. Stir in the melted chocolate mixture. Add the flour, salt, cocoa and chocolate chips, and mix together well.

Pour half the mixture into your prepared pan. Drop many teaspoons of cream cheese as you can fit all over the mixture, then pour over your remaining mixture to cover all the cream cheese up.

Bake for between 50 minutes and an hour. Keep an eye on it in those last ten minutes - you want a perfect cracking on top, and you want it gooey on the inside but not too soft.

Don't over-think it. Just enjoy! I mean that, I really do.

trashy/classy

The slightest bit of food fatigue crept in over the weekend, and I had neither the energy nor the creativity for cooking or blogging. Tired (hungover) on Sunday afternoon saw me distribute a packet of nacho chips into an oven tray, cover in a tin of chilli beans with some splashes of store-bought salsa, grate over some cheese and cook in the oven. Dolloping sour cream over the tray upon exit from the oven, combined with a couple of hair-of-the-dog Peroni beers, I felt ever-so-slightly like a middle aged overweight American man off a sitcom or something, settling into a bean bag with my team t shirt on, ready to watch The Big Game surrounded by friends and family. They were nachos the way I like them (cheap and unauthentic) and even though the Mystics didn't quite take out the ANZ Netball championship, they were delicious.

On a slightly classier note, the Sunday before I spent un-hungover and totally creative and inspired, in my kitchen creating a 10 person Italian feast. My friend Dion (of photobooth fame) had asked me to cook Italian style for his Mum's 60th, so I did so in the private room and downstairs kitchen at Betty's. The four courses included individually plated antipasti, a pea and pecorino and pancetta pasta, slow cooked lamb shanks with rosemary potatoes and to finish, a French chocolate cake (which I didn't make) served alongside the most luscious, sorbet-like, creamy, limoncello ice cream (which I did).

Limoncello Ice Cream (I got the recipe from my Aunt Robyn)

4 large egg yolks
250g caster sugar
600mL cream
1/3 cup limoncello

Beat egg yolks with half the sugar until thick and pale.

Beat the cream with the remaining half of the sugar until thick, but do not over beat.

Fold one into the other and stir in the limoncello. Freeze. Makes between 1.5 and 2 litres.

It's dangerously easy to make, requiring only the foresight to prepare it the night before to enable it to set in time. The sweetness of the pre-frozen mixture mellows, and the lemon intensifies. It is simple, delicious and heaven by the spoonful.

a mended heart and a cheeky lunch date

I realised this afternoon that one year ago today I grabbed heartbreak by the balls and started writing about my sorry state on the internet, by publishing my very first blog post. I had made my friend Jimmy a batch of afghans, watched a Northern Mystics game, and was freezing my butt off living with strangers in a little flat in Mt Victoria, where 1990s limited edition sports star coke cans lined the mantle (they weren't mine, by the way) and the kitchen window looked directly into the lounge of the neighbours, like a giant fishbowl. I was marginally happier than I had been, but I had no idea that 12 months later I would be here (mentally, emotionally and sitting on my sister's bed in Auckland, obviously).

So what changed? Well, I went and got myself happy, that's what. I baked. I cooked. I got drunk and spewed at bars. I met guys at parties and they pashed my friends. I went on the most awkwardly tragic blind date that I was too embarrassed to blog about. I made a crepe cake, I hung out with my Gran, I had a lot of fun, I moved house, got a front fringe, went to Asia, surrounded myself with wonderful friends, cooked on TV, met a ton of new awesome people, got mocked, laughed at, telephoned for baking advice, had photography/dating/writing/recipe feedback thrust upon me over gins and all in all it has been awesome. Well, it hasn't all been great, in fact some of it was quite shit. But 2011 has been awesome, and right now is awesome and amongst all the shit, awesome stuff still happened.

It dawned on me this afternoon that a lunch date was a highly appropriate way to celebrate, and I didn't even realise it at the time! Lunch was spent in my favourite cafe in Auckland's CBD and I was highly entertained over delicious bruschetta with field mushrooms, feta and spinach, and a beautifully made kokako flat white. I then cooked my family dinner, and channelling my chef-friend Theo I made a breadcrumb mixture with fresh basil and parsley, lemon zest and salt and rubbed it into fresh tarakihi and lightly panfried it. We had a roasted Mediterranean vege and couscous salad, alongside a roast brocolli, baby spinach and feta salad too. I am currently looking at ways of curing my addiction to roasting brocolli, but coming up blank. Last night catching up with all but a couple of my favourite girlfriends we had it atop homemade pizzas with blue cheese and good gracious they were good.

So, enough reflecting. From heartbreak to hot dates happiness, thanks for reading. And (to be totally self-indulgent) don't worry, this does not mean it's over. To quote Happy Gilmore, It's only just begun.          

floriditas, back to back

As well as two beautiful and talented sisters of my own, I have a sprinkling of friends that feel like sisters, and a smattering of males who have grown up as my honorary troupe of brothers. They're the ones who first got me drunk on Lion Red in the Coromandel, were probably the reason I was single all through High School and they're the ones who phone in their support when shit hits the fan. It was their shirts I was ironing when I was a fellow groomsman for one of them who got married a couple of years ago. Here in the capital, I also have adopted myself a couple of honorary little sisters.

Having caught up with a friend Saturday morning in the late autumn sunshine, I was meandering down Cuba St when I ran into one said-honorary-little sister, who was having the weekend off from second-year study. She was looking extremely sassy in a fawn vintage coat and a bowler hat, and we yarned and giggled the afternoon away with citrus-based sweeties and coffees at Floriditas.

Although I don't make it there that often and although I'm yet to make it there for (what I hear is wonderful) dinner, there is one thing that strikes me about this cafe. It dishes out consistently excellent food, service and coffee. There is nothing I appreciate more in a cafe than it being consistently excellent. The delightful Miss H's lemon curd butterfly cake looked positively lip-smacking, and my sweetly-sharp lime brulee tart was encrusted in a perfectly crisp buttery pastry case. The coffee is Supreme, and reliably good. 

I also happened to come here for lunch last Sunday, and when I ordered the Chicken, Thyme and Riesling Pie, I was laughing at the fact eateries and chefs now feel the need to specify what wine they use in dishes.  No longer content on mussels in white wine sauce, or chicken and white wine pie, now it has to be pork braised in pinot gris, or eye fillet with pinot noir reduction. Anyway, the pie was in traditionally homemade pastry, which reminded me for some strange reason of visiting years ago an old school bakery somewhere near the highlands in Scotland; buttery flaky goodness in every mouthful. The beautifully balanced filling was piping hot, with thyme and wine perfectly matching the chicken. The bitterness of the side salad offset the richness of the pie, just as any good accompaniment should. It was also noted with good humour that a pie in a bakery can happily go for about $5, but chuck some salad on the side and put it on a lunch menu and you're skyrocketing prices acceptably into the late teens. I didn't mind, lunch was divine. 

A small thing though - my brunch companion last week enjoyed the pork and sage sausages with Floridita's famous poached eggs and it's magically luscious hollandaise. As an onlooker my only gripe being my despair at why cafes serve two eggs on one slice of bread. Bread is cheap and brunch tends not to be, why the one slice stinginess? To be fair, having witnessed waitressing wastage, maybe they'd noted a few too many Atkins diet disciples pushing the bread aside. Who knows, but in my world two eggs equals two toasts. Maybe it's just me!

It's still one of my absolute faves. Floridita's - 161 Cuba St Wellington. Open Morning, Noon and Night. 

Later on Saturday evening, I assisted above-mentioned honorary little sis whip up a very simple salad to take along to a pot luck. She "freakin' loves" baby spinach, so mixed into a bag of it, to cater for many a gluten-intolerant-vegetarian, went goats cheese feta, hazlenuts, some slithers of fresh orange, and a dressing - which in the end went: olive oil, the juice of half an orange, the juice of one lime, red wine vinegar, a dash of balsamic, and salt and pepper - whisked together well. She thinks she can't cook, but make this salad and chuck a frypanned piece of salmon on top and you have yourself a million dollar meal.     

cupcakes for lunch

I feel like all I've done this week is reflect on the party and embrace sweaty yoga. Post-yoga, an overcast Saturday morning saw my flatmate Harriet and I get some quality time in the kitchen in preparation for a friend's ladies' lunch. Harriet doesn't think she can cook, but this weekend she not only created the most beautiful cupcakes imaginable, she also mastered the now infamous scrambled eggs. Last night at the pub someone asked what my signature dish was, and  when my friend said 'scrambled eggs' I was a bit embarrassed, so I quickly said, 'probably steak, with awesome vegetables?' Which is also not really true. I don't have a signature dish, but I like whipping up something awesome from what appears to be not much in terms of ingredients. Anyway!

I've talked before about how cupcakes don't generally do it for me, especially since they seem to be bloody everywhere. And because so often they're just gross boring little cakes with fancy icing. These cupcakes though are the perfect mix of sweet and salty with the cream cheese and the dark chocolate, and are a delicious bite sized treat.

Harriet's pinkalicious chocolate cream-cheese Cupcakes (adapted from Edmond's basic cupcake recipe. Also, apologies for the word 'pinkalicious' in the name - it's the name of the pink sprinkles, honest!)


125g butter, softened
1 tsp vanilla essence
1/3 cup caster sugar
2 eggs
1 cup plain flour - minus 2 tbsp
2 tbsp cocoa
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cup milk
50g dark chocolate, cut into chunks
100g cream cheese

Cream butter, sugar and vanilla well. Having the butter soft makes a real difference. And I know I've harped on about it before, but your baked goods will be all the more soft, light and fluffy if you cream the butter and sugar extremely well. Be patient and persevere!

Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.

Sift flour, baking powder and cocoa together. Fold into the creamed mixture and stir in the milk and the chocolate chips.

Place 24 mini patty cases in mini muffin pans. Using a teaspoon, place a small spoonful of mixture into each one; just under half full. Place a small dollop of cream cheese into the centre of each one. Then cover with another spoon of mixture so that the patty cases are just under full.

Bake at 190*C for 15 minutes, or until cakes spring back when lightly touched. Allow to cool on a wire rack before icing.

To make the chocolate icing, sift one heaped cup of icing sugar into a bowl with a tablespoon of cocoa. Add a small knob of butter and a tablespoon of boiling water. Stir to get a good spreadable icing consistency, adding more water if required. Ice each cupcake with a knife, and add pink sprinkles should your heart desire them.

The word moreish comes to mind  - I managed to demolish one pre-icing, one during icing, one finished product pre-lunch and then about four at the lunch itself. That was after Harriet declared we should lick the bowl so clean we don't need to wash it. You've been warned.

The Royal Wedding - Part deux

Many distinguished guests made it to the party to celebrate the wedding of the century. I'd heard wind earlier in the week that a certain male contingent weren't going to play dress-up, which was met with quite the wrath over what was supposed to be a relaxing Easter brunch. Most boys and girls in attendance did manage to come to the party costume-wise. Highlights included beige pants tucked into knee high tanned socks, a red bow tie and top hat, a perfect fitting tweed jacket, and lots of Military. There was also an entertaining Prince Charles, Patsy and Eddy from Ab Fab, bridesmaids in lavender and plenty of wedding guests who simply dressed nice for the occasion it was. One of my favourite friends came down from Auckland especially as a surprise, and others travelled too, which was impressive dedication. The effort was appreciated not only by the hosts, but also by the Amazing Travelling Photobooth.

The Photobooth is in fact, a magic memory making machine. People get behind that silvery satin curtain and crazy things happen. Things that would simply not happen if replaced by a camera-yielding person. The kissing of people you've just met for example. It encourages enthusiasm, creativity and good old fashioned wedding-appropriate shenanigans. It's where couples are formed, dreams are made - no, wait, I'm kidding, that's probably taking it a bit far, but: it is a LOT OF FUN. We had one at my sister's wedding, and not only do guests get to take home a little keepsake of the event, the hosts get to keep one too. My friend Dion is the Man behind The Booth and comes highly recommended from yours truly. He runs a slick operation in the management of drunk party guests, and he's also a great brunch companion. The photos speak for themselves. Thanks Dion! (contact details here)



And so, it has been nearly a week since Kate and Wills tied the knot in event of the century and it has been such a week I fear my life may never be the same. Mainly because, courtesy of my flatmate, I have welcomed into my life Bikram yoga. I was dragged along on Monday night, very much still recovering, to endure 90 minutes at 32 degrees of stretching and sweating - it really was quite the experience. I've also been finalising my Good Morning recipes for Tuesday - watch out for the mini gingerbread loaves with lime glaze: said-flatmate took the test-run to her colleagues this morning and I was forthwith showered with love and affection via email. 

And currently on the to-do list? Blog the last of my Auckland encounter, including a sassy apple tart, and make treats for both a work morning tea and a Saturday ladies' lunch. In the meantime I'll leave you with a select few from the photobooth. Congratulations Wills and Kate. The wedding is over, let the honeymoon begin!  

  

The Royal Wedding - Part One

The bunting was up, and the projector was ready. A last minute costume change occurred thanks to a couple of masks arriving from London, courtesy of my sister. No less than 5 friends purchased wedding dresses on Trade Me, one receiving a note wishing her all the best for her big day. Prince Harry and a Monk (guests who arrived early) were entrusted with the all-important task of making the cucumber sandwiches, under strict supervision of course. In my flurry of excitement I forgot to instruct them to salt the cucumber before lidding the sandwiches - a rookie error on my part. It didn't really matter though; food took a back seat at our Royal Wedding party in lieu of Pimms, confetti and ogling the dress. 

One bride made her own wedding cake, complete with the Bride and Groom atop. I'd managed to whip up a meringue tower earlier in the afternoon, which got devoured throughout the night. There were mini grainy toasts with smoked salmon and cream cheese, and as the night wore on one guest took charge of the kitchen and rolled out no less than 100 sausage rolls. The Amazing Travelling Photobooth came along, but more about that in Part Two.

Most guests were engrossed with the wedding itself, and were glued to it beamed up on the wall. There were squeals, and sighs, and cries of "it should have been me!" The invitation had stipulated that debaucherous wedding behaviour was encouraged, and like any good wedding party there were shenanigans a-plenty. Cream was flicked on faces, bouquets and cake were thrown, private parties of drinking games emerged downstairs, the chavs got heavy on the bloody marys outside. Union Jacks hung down the front of the house, and Margaret Thatcher sat alongside an Archbishop and many a polo-playing countryman. The Queen managed to spill red wine from a tea cup all down her pastel pink two-piece suit, but security guards managed to keep most guests under control. Once all the Pimms was gone a dance floor sort of appeared. One Princess Di kissed both a Knight and a member of the papparazzi, whilst another was too busy scaring people off as a ghost. Elton John got a corgi and a real life bouquet in the photobooth, and Kate Middleton cheekily pashed a random wedding guest in a terribly trashy suit. There were military men, flower girls and guests in dresses from every era. It was nothing short of amazing.




(Part Two to follow shortly, along with the rest of the weekend, and maybe a recipe or two, just for good measure. This is a food blog after all.)