Monday, December 27, 2010

Recipes that Keep On Giving: Honey Baked Lentils.



Too much of too-muchness is glorious, isn’t it?

Except for the day afterwards.

Returning to my humble abode after a lovely few days of camping out at the parents, I’ve decided to make good use of a much anticipated Christmas present and cook a dinner that, whilst richly flavoured and a pleasure to eat, is low-fat, low-sugar, low-GI, high fibre, gluten and dairy free, and vegetarian – even vegan, if you’re flexible.

Normally I don’t restrict what I eat in light of any of those particular dietary requirements. After Christmas, however, a meal that fits all of those bills is not so much of an act of restrictive discipline, but more of a compassionate gesture to my system, in the hopes that it will forgive me, for I know what I have done, and it was BAD.

As for the much anticipated present? Well, let me tell you – or rather, let me show you…




It’s a Le Creuset! Those of you who are serious cooks, or those of you who’ve just watched Julie and Julia, will know that Le Creuset is the Alpha Romeo of kitchen brands. And mine is red.



Along with kindness towards my body, taking this baby out for a test drive is a further compelling reason why tonight’s dinner needed to be Le Creusefied.

So, here is my recipe for Honey Baked Lentils, served with steamed snow peas and soft polenta. I hope that your tummy appreciates your compassion as much as I hope mine will.

Honey Baked Lentils with Steamed Snow Peas and Soft Polenta

Honey Baked Lentils – serves 4, and freezes beautifully.

1 cup black, brown, or green lentils
½ an onion, chopped
2 ½ cups water
2 teaspoons vegetable stock powder (ensure this is a vegan, dairy and gluten free brand if these are core values for you)
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons honey (Here’s where the veganism of this dish is called into question. I personally think that bees are pretty darn happy buzzing around and making abundant rivers of honey, but I may just be an unenlightened philistine when it comes to bee rights. How about we all just do what we know is right in our hearts, m-kay?)
2 tablespoons oil (I use 1 tablespoon sesame oil, 1 tablespoon extra virgin)
2 garlic cloves, crushed
A large knob (about 4cm) ginger, grated. (As a side note, who decided that anything measuring 4cm merited the descriptor ‘a large knob’? Every recipe I read seems to use 4cm as the benchmark for large. In most other contexts a 4cm knob would warrant a completely different descriptor regarding size – ‘small’, ‘miniscule’, or ‘medically interesting’ are all adjectives I would use. Perhaps I should henceforth refer to all 4cm knobs of ginger as size challenged but lovely once you get to know it? But I digress…)
2 bay leaves
2 teaspoons ground cumin
3 teaspoons chilli flakes (more or less, depending on how hot you like it)

1. Preheat oven to 100 Celcius.
2. In your Le Creuset…




or, if you’re still waiting on Santa to make you a member of the Kitchen Equipment Elite, in a medium sized casserole dish with lid, combine all ingredients.
3. Place casserole dish or Le Creuset in your preheated oven for 2 and a half hours, or until lentils are soft and most if the liquid has been absorbed. You can shorten the cooking time by increasing your oven temperature to about 160 Celsius, which means you only have to wait an hour and a half for dinner. The resultant lentils are still amazingly tasty, but will probably be even better the next day, as the flavours will have had more of a chance to get to know one another. Whereas if you let them mingle in a very slow oven for three hours, the resultant flavours have had time to work out their differences and harmonise into a beautiful marriage without the need for a period in the cold wasteland of the refrigerator.

Soft Polenta and Steamed Snow Peas – this makes enough for just me, so adjust to suit yourself and the number you are feeding accordingly. It’s also a nifty way to kill two birds with one stone – you cook the snow peas in the steam emitted by the water you have to heat for the polenta.

Approx. 250g super fresh snow peas, topped and tailed, and cut into largish chunks.
1/3 of a cup instant polenta (you can get this at most supermarkets – it’s in the isle with the flours and other baking goods).
Water
Salt, pepper, olive oil, and/or butter (again, depending on taste, dietary requirements, and how much cheese you ate at Christmas).

1. Place about a cup and a half of water in the bottom of a saucepan which can be fitted with your steamer. Set over a high heat.
2. Pop the snow peas into the steamer, arrange your steamer over your pot of water, which should be heating up nicely now, and cover with a lid, so as not to loose any precious steam.
3. Give the snow peas between one and three minutes, until they are done as you like. Remove from steamer, replacing the saucepan lid. If you’re the kind of person who likes to blanche things, then blanche your peas. I just think it wastes ice cubes and makes your peas cold, but if you like cold soggy vegetables I’ll only judge you a little.
4. Set the table, even if it’s just you, with a cheerful tablecloth, soft fabric napkins, pretty bowls (another Christmas present from my lovely big little brother and his lovely girlfriend) and nice cutlery.




Don’t argue with me, just do it, it’s a very important step in this recipe.




5. Select a dining companion from your bookshelf. Tonight, I’m dining with Paul Kelly.




Paul and I go way back, and his ‘mongrel memoir’, his words not mine, was a welcome addition to my Christmas stocking. It’s the perfect reading for a dinner as soothing and compassionate as this one.
6. By the time you’ve faffed around with the peas, the table, and the bookshelf, the water should be at a good boil (there is method to my madness, as mama-K often says). Add in your polenta. The packet says ‘in a slow, steady, stream’, but I throw it in the pot and stir like hell.
7. Continue to stir until your polenta thickens – this shouldn’t be much longer than a couple of minutes. As the title implies, I like my polenta relatively soft, so I can tell that it’s done because it’s about the consistency of thick porridge. It also has the propensity to spit boiling hot dollops of polenta out of the pot and onto the stovetop, or an unsuspecting forearm, when it’s at this stage.
8. When it’s all getting a bit too difficult, remove polenta from heat, and add in your salt, pepper, oil and/or butter.
9. Pile the polenta into a bowl, top with a spoonful of the lentils, and the snow peas.




10. Eat, read, and drink some sparkling mineral water. Fell your inner equilibrium mercifully restored.


Monday, December 20, 2010

Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.

N.B. This was originally supposed to be an excited post about a wonderful new dress that I recently acquired. It was going to be full of beautiful photos, capturing sumptuous fabric, vintage styling, and va-va-voom shaping, and would make you all green with envy. I’d been thinking about it all week.

Monday comes around. I position said dress on hanger, in front of some artfully arranged flowers, because that’s how I roll. And proceeded to shoot.



Oh dear.



Pride comes before a fall.



Multiple falls, as you can see.





No matter what I did, the dress looked awful. The only way that I was going to take a half decent photograph of it was to put the damned thing on, and photograph myself. But, of course, this blog is based on me being anonymous (like a fashion superhero, remember??) and so a photograph of the dress would, on account of the charming neckline detailing, result in a photograph of my face. Which ruled it out as an option.

Although this seems like a bit of a blah thing to happen on a Monday, it’s actually proved something I’ve long suspected. Photographs are not representative of the real world – or rather, they represent it, but often poorly. I swear to you, this dress looks amazing in real life. Maybe the inability to capture its amazingness lies in my photographic naivety. Be that as it may. But it proves the point that I have been stressing to many of you – and you know who you are – that my reluctance to be photographed is not entirely down to self consciousness, but to the fact that I actually don’t translate well into film, as an objective fact rather than a distorted self-perception.

Now that I have a top-five ranked dress that’s in the same boat as me, I feel a lot better about this. Because I’ve proven, once and for all, that beautiful things can look pez in photographs.

The only thing for me to do, dear readers, is to tell you the story of how I met this dress, excluding the photographs I originally imagined, and let you use your imaginations…


I’d just finished a particularly gruelling fieldwork session when I got one of those wonderful instinctual nudgings.

For some people, their instinctual nudgings take the form of warnings about impending disasters, or loved ones in peril. For me, 99 times out of 100, these instinctual nudgings are shopping related. They go something like this:

‘Behold, blessed child, and praise the name of style, for, in the hallowed halls of David Jones, await pair of shoes. Make haste and rejoicing, for they will be in your size and on sale. But hark, on the morrow they shall be vanished, and all that remains will be dust and size sevens.’

Or, alternately:

‘BE NOT AFRAID, oh sanctified stylist, for that thing-you-need-but-do-not-know-as-yet-that-you-need, is nigh! Look to your left – no, the other left – and ye who have eyes shall see that fabulous vintage bread bin on ye exalted shelf.’

Some people think that hearing voices means you’re insane, but I like to believe it just makes you a bit special. Kind of like the wise men in the Christmas story.

Anyway, I have long learnt to listen to these voices, as they are always – without fail – correct on all matters of purchasing. So, when I heard said voice:

‘Glad tidings to you, wanderer in the wilderness of an Unnamed Fieldwork Location. Under the distant star of Fyshwick, in the little town of Down Memory Lane, awaits a dress. Oh come, all ye faithful, and be joyful in the triumph of the perfect vintage dress.’

I knew that, in spite of my gnawing hunger, tired feet, and field notes that would grow expodentially the more hours I left between end of fieldwork and typing them up, I had no choice but to do as the voice said. So, off I trundled to Fyshwick.

Again, I wish to stress that this blog is in no way sponsored, and, just like last week’s post about the farmer’s markets, this is purely a savvy tip from one shopper to another, but you really must go to Down Memory Lane. Located at the very end of Geelong St in Fyshwick (just keep driving, when I say it’s at the very end I mean the absolute absolute very end), Down Memory Lane is a treasure trove of antiques, collectables, clothes, books and furniture. I make a point of going at least once a month, a whole lot more in the lead up to Christmas, and always come away with something wonderful at a bargain price. It’s also one of the cleanest and most organised establishments I know of, which makes shopping there doubly nice – no need to disinfect the new-to-you goods when you get them home.

Arriving at DML, as I’m abbreviating it, I dutifully listened to the voice in my head and started trawling the racks of vintage clothing. There was a lot there which I liked, but nothing that I LOVED. Nothing, that is, that I was moved enough to get naked for. I always think that you should apply the same rules to shopping for clothes as you do with boys. If you’re moved enough by them that you’re ready and willing to get naked for them, then it – the dress or the boy – will probably reward the time and the effort of disrobing.

I was beginning to think, after a good quarter hour trawl, that my instincts had failed me, and that perhaps my subconscious was merely generating a phantasmic excuse to get me out of some fieldwork that had boarded the train to headache land. I turned in the direction of the hat rack.

But then, ladies and gentlemen, I saw it. I want to avoid the cliché of the dress buried under a mound of others, shoved at the end of the rack, amongst a swathe of dresses that were extra small, but I can’t here, because it’s one hundred percent true. A chink of rich brown fabric poked out from between some pasty florals. I investigated, and my investigations were rewarded with the following:

An Australian made, early 60's, chocolate brown pure wool double-knit jersey boucle fitted sheath with rear vent.

Sing, chiors of angels, sing in exultation. I don’t need to add any more to the description above, because I’m sure you’ve got the picture in your mind. It’s the pinnacle of vintage perfection.

I raced to the change room, threw the dress over my head, and slid the zipper up my back.

Ding dong merrily on high, it fitted! Perfectly! A centimeter shorter than ideal, but the hem, being generous, could be adjusted. I couldn’t get back into my normal clothes and hand over my cash fast enough.

Driving back to write up my fieldnotes, I almost had an accident, so adoringly was my gaze focused on the parcel occupying the passenger seat. I like to think that the fashion gods were smiling down on me then, and protected me from a rather unfortunate incident. Which, for any parties concerned about my driving, was actually the fault of another vehicle to give way – I was just a bit slow activating my defensive driving skills on account of reverent worship.

It all worked out in the end, and the dress is now hanging on the drying rack, gently dropping its hem without the harsh assistance of a hot iron and steam. I will hem it, and wear it, and love it, all the days of my life, or at least until it falls off my back in tatters. Amen.

Monday, December 13, 2010

Farmer’s Market Fashion



My dear friend Mimi Goss and I have a standing date every Saturday morning with the Canberra Region Farmer’s Markets, to stock up on lovely fresh fruit and vegetables for the week.

Have you been? If not, you are missing out on, amongst other things, the cutest and most kitschy cherry bags. See below.



Apart from being fantastic fun, the markets are the best place in town to go to for cheap, excellent produce from the local region. Without going too far into the area of ethical consumption – that’s more Virginia Boots’s area – it’s a nice feeling to know that the dollars you spend at the markets are going straight to the farmer who grew the produce you’re buying, rather than your dollars going to Mr Coles or Mr Woolworths and a few measly cents to Mr Farmer.



But there are a few downsides to the markets. Firstly, you need to get there early, because the hipsters invade after 8.30am, complete with babies and baskets and ironic glasses, and with endless comparisons of the ‘Can-Bra’ markets to the ‘Mel-Bun’ markets (Mel-Bun, of course, being unsurpassable in the hipster stakes). Secondly, you will have to carry all of your fruit and veg to the car, which, by the time I’ve stocked up for the week, is a heavy task. Finally, you will have to work out, at a very early hour on a Saturday, What To Wear To The Markets.

In a combined solution to all three of the above problems, Mimi and I have developed a strategy of getting in early, with cute carry bags, and in outfits that, whilst not entirely hipster, are hip enough to trick the invading hipster hordes into believing that, although we may not be one of them, we’re certainly formidable enough in our style to warrant not being taken out by a side-swipe of an organic wicker basket. In short, dear friends, we’ve perfected Farmers Market Fashion.




As you can see in the above picture of some of my favourite Farmer’s Market Fashions, there’s a strong emphasis on jersey –just as comfortable as pyjamas – which is an important thing to consider at 7.30am on a Saturday. Washability is also paramount, as organic produce oftentimes means wash-it-yourself produce-which-likes-to-dirty-your-clothes. A burst of colour, a cute pattern, or some funky stripes will help keep you visible, particularly when you are re-grouping with your shopping buddy at the HOT bakery, where the tastiest…croissants…hang out.

Complete the look with one or two canvas totes with funky prints, and you’re in clover.




The Canberra Region Farmer’s Markets run every Saturday from about 7.30am onwards, at the Epic Markets, off the Federal Highway. They will be open next Saturday (18 December), but will be closed until 15 January for the holiday period. This post, although gushy, was in no way a paid advertisement or endorsement of the Farmer’s Markets – just a suggestion from one savvy shopper to another! Enjoy!

Monday, December 6, 2010

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas…

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas at chez Peggy. And I couldn’t be happier.

I think the only people who get more excited about Christmas than I are, in order, department store CEO’s, children under five, and mixed fruit manufactures.

If you, like the Dreamboat and several other people I could mention but won’t, don’t particularly get your knickers in a twist about the fact that it’s NOW ONLY NINETEEN DAYS TILL CHRISTMAS, I promise I won’t be striking you off my Christmas card list. I can see the logic in not being too keen on all the enforced jollity, relating to relatives you’d rather not be related to, and carpark traumas at every major shopping outlet in the ‘berra.

But then, when you really boil it down, the way we celebrate Christmas is about things that I fundamentally love: family, food and drink, shopping for gifts, and decorating. Topped off with a speech from a real live queen, as opposed to a drag one.

Yes, Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year.

So, in this time of hustle and bustle, here are some musings from me on the things that I fundamentally love about Christmas, complete with pictures.



Family tops the list of things that make Christmas special for me. Going shopping with Papa-K for Mama-K’s Christmas presents and watching him agonise over what she would like best. Mama-K’s cooking – which, every year, she attempts to cut back on but actually ends up doing more of, because she can’t resist adding some new recipes to the Christmas classics.



Big Little brother and his lovely girlfriend’s early Christmas surprises, both of which are gracing my tree very handsomely. Little Little brother’s preferences for certain unorthodox Christmas gifts – he once bought me a blind spot mirror and a can of mushy peas. True story.

And then there’s the food. So much food. Food in amounts that at other times of the year would be considered obscene, but, for some strange reason, seems perfectly moderate at Christmas time. There are so many foods I could write about – stuffing, almond pears, trifle, prawns, oysters, rumballs…but I’ll pick my favourite Christmas food for sharing with you here. Christmas isn’t Christmas without shortbread.



It’s so simple, but somehow so satisfying, to see a little fleet of vintage shortbread tins (my packaging of choice this year) filled and ready to be gifted away.




Batches and batches of shortbread are made at Christmas time, to the point where I’m almost too sick of it to eat any – almost. One year I worked out I’d made nineteen batches…this year I think I’ll try and keep it to a more moderate fifteen. Although, with the help of a couple of mama-k’s particularly deadly Santa’s Little Helpers, the traditional family Christmas cocktail, I may become slightly more ambitious in my shortbread making. The dangers of the demon drink…

On to other addictions, Christmas is a time for shopping. Shopping with gay abandon. Shopping is something that I adore, but, as mentioned before on this blog, it’s something I have to be rather disciplined about, with the budgetary constraints common to all students. However, Christmas is a time to release all those pent up shopping urges that have been simmering away all year.



And the best bit is, no-one will think any less of you for shopping a lot at Christmas, because you’re not shopping for yourself, you’re shopping for gifts.



I may have to put a little boast in here: I’ve actually already done all of my shopping, except for perishables and a couple of small afterthougthy things. Some people would say that this is a symptom of being very organised: yes, that’s true. Mainly, though, starting shopping in October is a symptom of how much I enjoy it – by starting sooner, I can luxuriate in the pleasures of shopping for that little bit longer. Oh, and for those of you who hate shopping and can’t face the mall or the high street from Mid-November onwards? Go online. There are some fabulous sites – Nordic Fusion, Heart and Heim, and, of course, Etsy – where I have no doubt you’ll be able to locate that perfect gift without having to locate a carpark.

So, the family have been assembled, the menu decided, the presents shopped for and wrapped – now it’s time to decorate. I have a horrible feeling that one day, when I’m really old, I’ll live in a nice quiet cul de sac – AND DECK MY HOUSE OUT IN SO MANY FAIRY LIGHTS I CAUSE DAILY BLACKOUTS OF THE ENTIRE SUBURB. Just kidding...for the moment.



Christmas decorating is a whole lot of fun, and why restrict yourself to just a tree? With a little bit of invention, you can include (tasteful) touches of Christmas all around you. The apartment I live in, being so small, means that wherever you are, you can see the Christmas tree – but that still hasn’t stopped me from decorating the entrance way, the microwave, the bookshelf, and the window ledge above the sink. I wonder what Virginia Boots will say when she gets back from Melbourne?



In all seriousness, I will add a note of caution with Christmas decorating. Avoid further seasonal hassles by placing your decs in disused spaces around your home – tops of microwaves, bookshelves and window ledges are great for this reason. Mama-K once had the genius idea of hanging a series of red baubles from the door lintel. Ever single time I walked through the door, I copped a dong to the head. Not great, when coupled with the after-effects of a Santa’s Little Helper.

I think it’s going to be impossible to stop me from writing more about Christmas between now and the big day, but for now I’ll leave you with these above thoughts, and hope that you are enjoying your pre-christmassing as much as I am, and that you’re all looking Christmassy Fabulous.