bon iver, wellington, magnificent

It has been, unusually, for all sorts of reasons, but maybe just because it was in the stars, or maybe a bit of saturn returning, an emotional few weeks. Needless to say inspiration in the kitchen has not been running high, and dinners more frequently than not lately have featured a microwave, a toaster, and something out of a tin (creamed corn, garnished with cheese a favourite, occasionally baked beans and maybe if hungover, spaghetti).

An especially emotional Friday lead to much-needed friends-surrounded drinks on the deck that evening, and then a very sociable weekend. Amongst all the eating and drinking, I did manage to whip up and write up my first lot of Good Morning recipes for 2012 - I'll be hitting your screens on Monday 5 March!

Some good friends and my little sis were down this weekend too, especially for the Bon Iver concert last night. As part of the NZ International Arts Festival, this one-man turned 9-piece musical outfit from the States, fronted by the rather delightful and very incredible Justin Vernon, was something I was never going to miss. The contrast, the songs, the atmosphere, that voice. It was one of the more incredible things I've ever seen, and with many of the songs I could just about track my life in Wellington. With Skinny Love to Sunday afternoons playing 3 hour scrabble battles in Mt Vic. With Flume to a lonely loft bed in Oriental Bay. With other songs: to cracked ipod screens, to gin filled nights, to walks along the waterfront, to drifting off to sleep.

I've had many many conversations about just how awesome live music is, but this gig, like no other, lifted the songs, brought them to life and unfolded on stage in a way that left me dumbstruck. The 9 guys singing the "my my my" and the floor shaking drums in Wolves (Acts I and II) and numerous other occasions saw me pretty much lose it. This review gave me goosebumps, and the two drum kits, the trumpet and trombone, the voice range and the standing ovation and shouts of encore, all made it something I won't forget in a hurry.

So with visitors for the weekend we visited mostly old favourite Wellington eating and drinking spots. And so, since I'm often getting asked, here is a short list of excellent places to take out of towners. You'll no doubt have your favourites, and this is in no way a comprehensive or full proof list. But for some good eating and drinking, here's a smattering from recently:

Monterey, $10 Tuesday burgers. Have some beers and write on the tables and talk smack while you wait.

Fidel's (cuba street), still can't get past a savoury muffin with butter and relish, and a banana thick shake. Consistently good coffee, much friendlier staff than years gone by, and quite tasty hash browns (I may or may not have gotten heavily amongst my little sister's friend's shake and hash brown - me: "can I try your hash brown?" him: "I thought you'd never ask"...we weren't really on steal-food-off-each-others-plates terms yet, but over a hungover brunch at Fidels friendship was cemented...)

Sweet Mother's Kitchen (on Courtenay Place) have delicious po boys (baguette sandwiches: the creole fish is really good, washed down with a ginger beer) and they're also notorious for quite epic sauce alongside their curly fries (although our shared basket the other day was stingily half the usual sized portion). Beignet doughnuts dunked in coffee are also recommended at any hour of the day or night.

Deluxe (on Kent Terrace) has inspiring counter food of the vegetarian variety, and good and strong coffee. I can't go past their oaty slices filled with fruit and slathered with yoghurt. Ever. It's a problem.

The Cambridge (is a pub on Cambridge Terrace). There were Jager-bombs. There was the Backstreet Boys alongside Cold Chisel. Saturday night. Enough said.

Ancestral, is a much classier establishment, and colloquially known as the Courtenay Place Matterhorn. It has a sweet sweet outdoor area and delicious beverages of all kinds.

Queen Sally's Diamond Deli is closed on Mondays (nein!) but just around the corner is the equally delicious Maranui (blogged slightly here). Well worth a trip in the sun out to the beachy 'burb of Lyall Bay.

The Tasting Room which is no longer a Monteith's craft bar, and in fact has many many delicious beers on tap and in bottles, will always be a favourite. We couldn't, for old times sake, go past a jug of Monteiths Golden in the Sunday arvo sun, but their awesome platters and a bottle of wine go down a treat any time. They also have quite the gourmet meat raffle on Friday nights.

Cuckoo Cocktail Emporium (here on Queen's Wharf) has vintage furniture to sit on and for sale, so the furniture rotates providing an ever changing couch for you to sneak in a sunny daytime coffee or an afternoon beer.

Kreuzberg summer cafe - which I've blogged about before, has an adorable caravan, great coffee, a bargain happy hour featuring pimm's cups and a killer sounding menu. Get thee there while the sun still shines (corner of cuba and webb streets).

I do have a few recipes up my sleeve, and a wedding cake yet to blog, so stay tuned for buttercream, raspberry cupcakes, a giant bag of Martinborough black doris plums, a piping bag, cupcakes, couscous, creme caramel and much more. Now though, catch up on sleep and sweet sweet dreams.

A very Aro Christmas

Right then. Enough putting it off. It's time to blog Aro Christmas. I know, I know. It's over a month late but you know what December was like? Hectic! And then January? Well, if December hit like multiple swift blows to the head then January hit more like a slow and painful flesh-eating disease. Slow, uninspiring and after a blissful state of holidaying and gins, being back to the daily grind has been, well, a grind. A come-down if you will. And all of a sudden it's February and I've been so busy getting overwhelmed and silly that I haven't even told y'all yet about the incredible duck I made for our flat christmas dinner! A travesty!

And so, with the silly-season food baby firmly still in place, allow me to tell you about Christmas dinner in Aro Valley.

A couple of years ago, I moved house about 5 times in 6 months. Anyone who has ever boxed up all their belongings (read: piles and piles of rubbish due to a wee hoarding problem) and strapped their bed onto the top of their friend's van, knows that moving sucks. When I moved into this here happy home I knew it was a keeper. Since during December 2010 there were only two of us here with no furniture and no TV, we decided this year, with a full house, to celebrate. A flat Christmas dinner was in order and a multiple course feast for five was planned (there was inklings from one of them that she may have organised me a date to keep the numbers even, but alas).

Christmas really got me this time around. I just totally and unashamedly loved it all - the Christmas music, our real-life tree and my tinsel covered halo-wreath which adorned my head to multiple Christmas parties. I was full of Christmas cheer and with the planning of Aro Christmas I infected the flatmates with enthusiasm, which included pre-Christmas Sundays baking gingerbread with Mariah Carey on repeat. Despite sighs of "are we really listening to this?" they embraced it for the night and everyone got excited with secret santa (two secret santas each), Christmas jerseys, music, and delicious, delicious food.

The very talented honorary fifth flatmate Nicola did canapés of cured salmon on egg pancakes with lemon aioli to begin. We moved the table into the centre of the lounge, finished setting it with crackers and spotty serviettes and mountains of hydrangeas, and cracked into the bubbly (nothing gets me juiced up on celebrations like bubbly, and I was very lucky to have been sent a case of Everwild Sparkling Reserve Brut from my cousin (thanks!); it was light and crisp the perfect way to start).

Being inspired by a recent trip to Crazy Horse the Steak House, Nicola then indulged us in Steak Tartare. Apprehensive about both raw meat and raw egg yolk, the combination of flavours - the cornichons, the pickled garlic, the red onion, the capers - was an absolute top notch combo and perfectly executed.

At this stage, everyone was home, the bombe alaskas were in the freezer and it was time to sit down for present swapping. Santa got me some cute new pyjama shorts for summer (I suspect Santa had been offended by my winter flannelette triple-XL Dalmation-print pyjama pants, but I was very grateful nonetheless) a magical mystical garden, and a mini bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Which I had to down on the spot. Other highlights of the present exchange were glamping equipment for upcoming holidays (Karen Walker blow up chairs anyone?), funny gag shot glasses and photoshopped framed family photos.

the mystical garden after growing overnight

Duck had been decided on for the main, and was slightly ambitious given I'd never cooked it before, and only eaten it on occasion in the past (for example at this dinner here). Moore Wilson's unhelpfully in the lead up to Christmas was out of duck breasts, but a frantic lunch break run up to Thorndon meant I nabbed New World's last 6 duck legs whilst cursing and ranting about how I could really do with a personal assistant during December.

It was going to have to be classic for it to work, and having had on loan earlier in the year Stephane Reynaud's amazing book Ripailles, I searched and found his tips for duck. This recipe was crash tested on the Guardian, so I decided to go very traditional and do Duck a l'orange.

Stephane Reynaud's Duck a l'orange
Serves 6
(from his book Ripailles, and found online on the Guardian)

3 breasts from fattened duck (I used duck legs and they worked extremely well, see below)
4 oranges
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tbs honey
200ml soy sauce
50g butter

Take the zest from two of the oranges, the juice from three, and the peeled segments from one. Slash the fatty side of the duck breasts in a criss-cross pattern (the flesh should show through).

Mix the orange juice with the zest, cinnamon, honey and soy sauce. Place the duck breasts in a dish, skin side up, pour over the sauce. Chill for 24 hours.

Pan-fry the duck, skin-side down, for 10 minutes on a gentle heat (the fat needs to melt and brown). Drain off the fat and return the meat to the pan. Add the orange segments, half of the marinade, and allow to reduce for five minutes.

Remove the meat and whisk in the butter to make a sauce.

A few tips about the recipe - I used the marinade, but I cooked it very differently. Firstly, with time not on my side, I only marinated the legs for about 2 hours. Secondly, I put the legs straight into an oven dish, with the skin uncovered, but the main meaty bit of the leg submerged in marinade. What this did was ensure the skin was crispy and amazing, and the meat fall-off-the-bone soft. I cooked it for about one and a half hours at about 170C. I did reduce some of the oven juices with some butter to make a sauce, and it was one of the most delicious meals I've ever cooked.

 

Seasonal and non-traditional accompaniments were chargrilled asparagus and roasted baby carrots in three different colours. 

We sat up at the beautifully set table, and by this point we were all a bit merry. Behaving like your annoying great Aunt, Christmas crackers meant hats were compulsory at the table. There had been banter earlier in the month that we would actually be celebrating Festivus like the Costanza family - and it had been touted that over dinner we would participate in the "Airing of Grievances". We instead embraced goodwill and went around the table talking about what we were grateful for, and paying everyone a compliment. Having all indulged in a few too many christmassy beverages, details are hazy but there was belly-laughter to accompany what was quite simply, a fabulously festive celebration. 

The duck was well received, and everyone's favourite Christmas songs provided a hilarious background. I managed to slop sauce all over the table. Pretty standard behaviour.

Bombe Alaskas were something I'd never made but had always been intrigued by, and so when they were suggested we ran with it for dessert.

Although I'd ambitiously bought cornflour, and really truly believed I could make the sponge before the dinner rolled around, I realised when sprinting frantically around the supermarket like a mad-crazy bag lady, that I was not wonder woman, and I bought pre-made sponge cakes. I don't actually think supermarket sponge is that bad (having used it before here) and it worked a treat along Kapiti vanilla bean ice cream and boozy berries.

Individual Bombe Alaskas
Serves 6
I essentially googled a whole lot of recipes and ended up mainly using this recipe from about.com. I also used a cookie cutter of 8cm across to cut out the sponge and went from there.

Ingredients

6 rounds of sponge cake
1 cup of frozen raspberries (roughly) cooked up with a splash of brandy and a little sugar (you can replace this step with good quality jam, or with different berries)
6 scoops vanilla ice cream (I used Kapiti. So good!)
8 egg whites
1 cup white sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
   (I know that seems like a lot of eggs, but we started with half that and had to do an emergency egg run part way through because our meringue only covered 3 of them. You might be able to get away with less, but see how you go!)

Serve with blueberry sauce (click here, or see below)

Set cakes on a large baking sheet. Spoon raspberry mixture onto each cake - be generous! 


Top cakes with a scoop of ice cream. Top each scoop of ice cream with a little blueberry sauce. Set in freezer, pan and all. 

Beat egg whites until foamy; gradually beat in sugar and salt, beating until stiff peaks form. Using a rubber spatula, cover each dessert completely with meringue. Be sure there are not gaps or air spaces. Return to freezer.

Before serving, preheat oven to 230C. Place baking sheet with cakes on it in the oven and bake for about 10 minutes, keeping an eye on them, until meringue is lightly browned. 

Serve with extra blueberry sauce.

Blueberry Sauce

2 punnets of blueberries 
A sprinkling of white sugar
A squeeze of fresh lemon juice
A small pinch of salt
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Put the berries in a small saucepan and crush them with a fork. Add sugar, lemon juice and salt, stir well and bring to the boil. Add vanilla and stir through well. Use to spoon over the ice cream before covering in meringue, and serve alongside the finished product.

In usual Aro celebratory style, things then descended into debauchery and silliness. There was dancing, heart to hearts, deep and meaningfuls, a cheeky phone call, a swap of secrets, and then a trip to town. After a nameless flat member fell asleep at a nameless bar, and after indulging in drunk Burger King (I know, I know), someone else who shall remain nameless mowed the last duck leg sneakily at the kitchen bench once home. A very merry Christmas indeed.  

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Friday - 

Take one large thin pita bread (alamir, made in Kilbirnie, Wellington, are so good, right?) and grill on one side. 

In a small dish soften a tablespoon of butter in the microwave and then stir through about a teaspoon or so of crushed garlic. Add herbs here if you're feeling fancy. 

Take pita bread out of oven and on the non-grilled side spread the garlicky-butter and grill for about 5 minutes at about 200C. 

Slice up and serve with a ginormous dollop of your favourite hummus ("is that hummus?"). If you feel like making your own, get in there. 

Pour yourself the biggest gin you can and relaaaaaaaaaaaax, it is finally the weekend. 

Wish you were here! Have a good one x  

sunny sunday eggs bene

For soon to be explained reasons related to making mountains of buttercream, I had an abundance of egg yolks in my fridge begging me to get creative with. So after a walk to the market and spending all my spare cash at both the market and Moore Wilson's, and after receiving drunk-happy texts from my sister in Wales, I for the first time ever made hollandaise sauce. I don't know why I was put off for so long. It's easy! And bloody good. Just as well I hadn't made it til now because otherwise I'd probably be the size of a whale. When heart strings are strung out, or emotions are running high, or a funk or a rut has set in, alone time in the kitchen keeps me sane, in control and feeling just a little bit like everything's going to be ok.

Eggs Benedict is a kiwi cafe classic. It first came onto my radar at my very first cafe job when I was 16. I spent my Sundays with four guys in their 20s and while I learned to make beautiful coffees, the banter was both eye opening and hilarious. I was new to the world of hangovers, and even though we were allowed anything off the menu for lunch each shift, I didn't try this buttery eggy sauce until I'd pretty much eaten through the entire rest of the menu. People would go gaga for the dish though, there served on a bagel with your choice of salmon, bacon, avocado or grilled veges. It wasn't until I moved to Wellington that I learnt purists require toasted english muffins and ham. These days, very occasionally every now and then, it's exactly what I feel like for Sunday brunch. Cafes probably get it right about 50% of the time, and having made it at home once with packet hollandaise, I will never buy it again. This stuff is simple and impressive. Go forth and whisk!

Hollandaise Sauce
4 egg yolks
200g butter, melted and clear yellow part only (for me the white part separated to the bottom, which is basically clarified butter)
I used - 1 tblsp white vinegar, juice of half a lemon, juice of a lime, flaky sea salt

Whisk yolks together in a large metal bowl, then put the bowl over a simmering pot of water. Slowly add butter whilst whisking, and it will emulsify into a thick luscious sauce. Remove from heat and add lemon or lime juice, and/or vinegar, and whisk again. Add a pinch of salt and adjust to your taste. I added vinegar when the lemon wasn't quite enough. Other adaptations include mustard or cayenne pepper.

I had it with some lightly toasted ciabatta, some crispy free-range bacon, ripe avocado and poached eggs, a big improvement on these ones. I read the paper in the sun, and on Saturday morning I'd read Gourmet Traveller over a couple of flat whites at Aro Cafe, and generally just soaked up food and writing and having the house to myself all weekend. It was some much needed downtime given the week I'd had. This brunch was indulgent and delicious, and after I demolished it I had a nap on the couch in the sun. I then made creme caramels, white chocolate mousse tart, and went to the movies. But more about that later.

makeshift muesli

Even though this summer weather isn't really coming to the party, it's still not quite porridge time yet. Breakfast wise I'm currently going through a phase of throwing together a few key items in my kitchen cupboard, adding yoghurt and fruit, and mixing it all up in a big, ugly, delicious slurry.

This morning it was black doris plums (I treated myself over the weekend), half a banana, some dry rolled oats, a few walnuts, a sprinkle of pumpkin seeds, some ground almonds and a few raisins. Topped with Clearwaters organic honey yoghurt, and stirred up well, it was a delicious, filling mess. 

say hello, wave goodbye

Sunday evenings can be a bitch. They can be great - a group of mates, a funny movie, a lovingly home cooked meal, clean sheets. Sometimes though, you'll find yourself wallowing in self-pity questioning your existence having had the weekend allllll of a sudden catch up on you.

It seemed like a good idea on Friday night to turn a couple of quiet wines and a platter with a couple of girlfriends into a couple of beers at home, a few gins and then a couple of bottles of wine after said platter. Throw into the mix getting a text message you had given up expecting, and your friend’s new boyfriend’s ex girlfriend, as well as another friend coming off the back of a huge working week, hammered after two glasses of wine, and some deep and meaningful conversations and you have yourself quite a Friday night indeed. Having earlier in the night declared my 2012 thus far kebab-free, it was tempting fate really. Not obviously satisfied after the delicious platter, all class you find yourself walking up Cuba St mowing into that felafel like your life depended on it.


Saturday morning and I had very tentative and last minute plans to attend "Wellington’s biggest party" (enough time having passed since the last round of rugby-related partying), which meant the wedding cake I’m making my workmate once again went on the back burner, despite my best intentions of utilizing having the house to myself. What eventuated was costumes and beers and before I knew it, with my flatmate’s brother and his butcher clad friends I was funneling cans of Smirnoff black like an enthusiastic 16 year old.  I then unfortunately found myself in yet another kebab queue, having earlier retained my jager bomb sculling title against a crew of Miss Piggy's. 

Sunday was slow starting, but I was grateful to attend a family lunch with delicious chinese spiced duck, with bok choy and noodles, and the mint and chilli dressed salad was a delight. I came home to a humungous list of weekend tasks, and with neither the energy nor motivation to undertake even the simplest I just had a nap. A burst of post-nap energy meant I made it to the supermarket, and having indulged in the most delicious apple ever (NZ Beauty – get them while they’re in season. They’re amazing!) the energy sap returned to the point where only the dairy products were put away and the remaining groceries stayed in bags on the floor. 

It then swiftly became the kind of Sunday night I remembered so well in my heartbroken state of a couple of years ago. Lonely. Hungover and tired. A bit sad for no reason. What I felt like I needed was a bunch of girlfriends and a litre of chocolate milk, but both are not always forthcoming. Instead I had the couch and the music channel on TV and before you know it David Gray came on and I was nearly in tears (fun fact: when I was on my gap year I fell asleep to David Gray’s Say Hello Wave Goodbye every night through the headphones of my discman.) Life contemplating this most certainly was not the time for. 

But then things took a turn. A blissful turn. Firstly, I cooked some vegetables - specifically, I had a re-read of the ever-inspiring and wonderful blog Orangette and made a slight variation on these citrusy-peanut soba noodles for dinner.

Then, just as I decided I wouldn't dwell on my recent revelation that in all things relationship-y I’m all or nothing and that the grey area of unknowingness is something I don't really handle, my phone rang. Just like that, an old dear friend who I don't see nearly enough of rang and announced her engagement. I was thrilled. I'd caught up with her and her now-fiancé at the end of last year, and to get this news was just so exciting. We briefly reminisced about being 18 year olds in England, and the shenanigans we got up to in Amsterdam and Italy and High Wycombe and Tring. It made my day. 

Nothing like a hilarious phone call with an old friend to put things right back into perspective. I’ll get to the wedding cake tomorrow. I’ll clean the bathroom. I'll tidy my room. I’ll blog the backlog. I’ll do some exercise. Less hangovers and more recipes to follow. Tomorrow is another day and everything will be ok.