simple pumpkin lasagna

Due to popular demand at the office — colleagues stopping me in the corridor and popping into my office to catch me eating al desko — here is what I’m eating this week for my lunch.

It’s a very simple lasagna: only ricotta, pumpkin and peas. My idea of lasagna — and perhaps yours too — is hours spent making the various layers and sauces, before you even begin to assemble and bake the collated final dish.

With the minimum of main ingredients, this version cuts out much of that pfaffing about. Therefore you get straight to creamy, gentle comfort food, just right for the shocking onslaught of winter cold in Hobart.

There’s a subtle dash of smoky paprika and chilli and sage, and a little parmesan, just enough to tease your tastebuds (I didn’t want anything aggressively cheesy). What you’ll enjoy is the richness of the ricotta and smoothness of the pumpkin, punctuated by waxy, nubbly bits of walnut and those polka dots of peas. With the fresh pasta sheets and thin, elegant layers, this is not a greedy lasagna; it’s comfort carbs without tipping over to stodge.

I know I’ll make this again because it was so easy and delicious. The question is, will I be seeing this in my co-workers’ lunchboxes now?

Simple pumpkin lasagna

Adapted from delicious magazine, July 2007. You can find the original on the taste website. Next time, I would simply steam the pumpkin, as roasting did not add extra flavour, and it qould be even quicker; and I would use any variety or mix of pumpkin, even sweet potato. Finally, I don’t have a 24 cm square baking dish so just made do with my largest round one, and it worked out fine.

• First take one cup of frozen peas and allow to thaw. You need a packet of 8 fresh lasagna sheets and I find these easier to use at room temperature, so get them out now too.
• Preheat oven to 190 and line a baking tray with paper.
• Peel 1.2 kilos butternut (or other pumpkin) and chop into small chunks. Season with S&P and smoky paprika and dried chili, to your taste, and drizzle with oil. Cover with foil and bake until tender. As noted above, you could also steam this, and then fold thru the flavourings.
• While the pumpkin is cooking, blitz in your food processor 375 gms ricotta (from the deli), 1 egg, 1 generous tbspn greek yoghurt, and half a cup of grated parmesan; all til smooth. Spoon ricotta mix into a bowl and clean your food processor.
• Now take your cooked pumpkin, add 1 tbspn finely chopped fresh sage leaves, and whizz in your food processor til smooth.
• Now, butter a 24 cm square baking dish or other large sized one, and start assembling.
• Lay two lasagna sheets on the bottom; smooth half the pumpkin; sprinkle over half the peas; lay another two lasagna sheets; smooth out half the ricotta mix; lay another two lasagna sheets; smooth the rest of the pumpkin; sprinkle over the rest of the peas; lay another two lasagna sheets; smooth out the rest of the ricotta mix.
• On the very top, sprinkle over a layer of panko breadcrumbs, some freshly ground pepper, and some walnut pieces – as much or as little as you desire.
• Cover with baking paper then foil and bake for 35 minutes (in your still heated 190 oven). Then uncover and bake for another 15–20 minutes or until golden.
• When cool, portion out into your lunch boxes; and the next day, tantalise your co-workers.

garden share collective: may

Dead peas

Autumn is traditionally the season for tidying up the garden after the glories of spring and summer. With the recent extended Easter-to-Anzac Day break, there was plenty of uninterrupted time, and mostly cool fine weather, for doing just that.

I spent a few days at my parents’ place, helping dad prune his apple and pear trees; chopping down desiccated corn plants; helping mum deadhead the agapanthus; and generally weeding and helping where I could. We added to the vast stockpile at the bottom of their property that is the remains of the trees cut down in the aftermath of last year’s January bushfires. That will be one magnificent blaze when the local firies come to burn it for us, and a significant milestone for my parents and me. I intend to be present to witness this event.

I then returned home to tackle my large garden to-do list:

 

This covered both the back yard (which is predominantly the vegies and fruit trees) and the front garden (ornamentals). High on the list was removing trees that had literally outgrown their welcome: the apple tree whose fruit was always spoiled by coddling moth, then consumed by birds and wasps; a bay tree that was all of a sudden a giant, blocking light and sending its insidious roots into the surrounding vegie plots; a rosemary that also had a carpet-like root system that made it impossible for anything nearby to flourish; a self-sown yellow peach that was simply in the wrong spot (plus I have its ‘mother’ tree).

Dad and the bay tree. Dad is about six foot tall, so the bay is perhaps eight foot

I heard landscape gardener Paul Bangay once declare that ‘a garden is not a hospital’ — meaning there is no place for nurturing sickly plants along; remove them and replace them! By extension of this philosophy, I believe that a garden is not a charity, and if a tree or plant is superfluous to my needs or even causing harm to the rest of the garden — well, again, get rid of it.

Dad attacking the roots of the bay tree

It’s a liberating concept once you get used to it, and it does take some getting used to, if you’re someone like me who looks kindly on self-sown plants in particular, thinking that if they’ve decided to grow in that crack in the path, who am I to stop them? And it’s also difficult to cut down or pull out a perfectly strong, healthy, ‘good’ plant; but one has to be realistic and rationale (no, plants don’t have feelings…do they?), especially in a small suburban backyard. There is no space for an eight foot high bay tree that dominates the soil and the sunlight.

 

The bay tree felled! Dad still working to free the roots

 

Of course, now there are great holes in the landscape that my eye needs to adjust to. The back yard in particular looks larger. I have plans, but I’m in no hurry, especially after this work program — which, let me absolutely clear, was done largely by my heroic father and his trusty mini-chainsaw, mattock, crowbar and huge garden fork; and for which I have the utmost gratitude and appreciation.

I’ll need to bring in new soil and other ‘stuff’ to coax the ground back to life. And no doubt I still have some roots to remove. Then, where the apple tree was, will be a damson plum. Our research shows that apart from birds, a damson’s rich, jewel-like flesh is usually free from grubs and disease. And where the bay was, a Lisbon lemon. I have a lemon tree already, but I’ve never liked its flavour, so (again, with research) I think a Lisbon is the way to go.

The vegie patch itself is also on its way out, after, I must admit, a fairly ordinary summer. I was not entirely pleased with the productivity of some of my plantings. I’ve been pulling out the dry, grey-moulded pea and bean vines, and mum collected a small handful of dried borlotti bean pods, ready for next year’s sowing. I’m impatient to remove the rest because they are looking pretty ugly.

Pulled peas. Will be buried as a green manure

But I have a few more weeks perhaps of climbing beans, and there are still a couple of zucchini on. There are a few green tomatoes left, heavy and bulbous, but with the autumnal sun fast losing its heat, I’m not sure if they will ripen.

Last tomatoes. I've already pruned back their plants, so they look very skeletal and forlorn

The dwindling crops signal that the gloom of winter is not far away. You can of course garden over winter in Tassie, but apart from silverbeet and kale, I choose not to. Gardening is restricted to the weekend, as it’s just too dark after work to see the garden! Opportunities and time for work are very limited when you work full-time, or that is my experience anyway. Maybe I’m wimping out (because along with the dark comes the cold)), but the months off do give me time to plan and dream about what I’ll sow and plant and grow and harvest next season.

Currently growing and harvesting

• Beans, tomatoes, peas, zucchini: but not for much longer

• Capsicum. Singular. Hmmm. Still as small and hard as a golf ball and as green as billy-o. Not a great success, but at least I can say I tried.

• Lettuce. A bit like the capsicum; has really failed to flourish, and the plants are not much bigger than when I put them in. This baffles me.

• Garlic (below). I planted perhaps early April, in two grow bags, and already it is shooting ahead. Very exciting.

Things to do

• Tidy, pull out plants when they are finished, and their stakes and supports. This is the first step to putting the garden ‘to bed’ for the winter.

• I’ve asked my friend J (male, with muscles) to dig up another part of my lawn. This will further expand the size of the beds (more tomatoes! Corn!).

• Once the tomatoes are removed, and the soil fed up a bit, I intend to plant my winter crop of silverbeet and kale. I suspect this is late, but I had no other option but to wait for the tomato bed to be freed up.

• Work on those craters left behind by the apple, bay, rosemary and peach trees.

Don't forget to see others in the Garden Share Collective. Click on the logo in the column at right to see more green thumbs.

carla’s tuna and tomato oven risotto

Here is a dish that, as delicious and colourful and filling and wonderful as it is, you will never see on a café or restaurant menu.

 

Why? Because it’s made with tinned tuna. A tin of tuna is the stuff of home cooks; of mid-week fishcakes made with leftover mashed potato, of creamy, cheesy macaroni tuna mornay. Simple, un-starry meals; cheap and cheerful; and undeniably nostalgic and comforting.

 

So as the days get shorter and cooler, one craves something ever-so-slightly more substantial than a salad. This is it: oven-baked risotto. Before you think ‘stodge’, let me tell you this is lightened by green polka-dot peas and grated zucchini, the last of the season. And a luscious topping of almost-last of the season tomatoes, juicy and vibrant.

 

And of course, tinned tuna.

Carla’s tuna and tomato oven risotto

Adapted from Carla’s recipe; I halved her original quantity for four modest servings, and added zucchini. I’ve since made it without following quantities too strictly at all; as long as you get the water-to-rice ratio okay (and you can easily remedy that if you don’t), risotto is pretty accommodating.

First, some prep:

• Bring 250 mls vegie stock and 250 mls water to simmer. Have a kettle of boiled water on standby, in case you need to add more during the cooking process.
• Take a generous half cup of frozen peas and allow to thaw out (you can zap in microwave or pour boiling water over them, as I did).
• Grate some zucchini, about a cup’s worth (don’t get too hung about the quantity).
• And roughly chop some tomatoes, enough to cover the surface of the baking dish you’re going to use (probably three or four, depending too on the size of your tomatoes).
• While we're at it, dice half a large onion (or a medium one!) and crush three or four garlic cloves (or to your taste).

Now get cooking:

• Preheat your oven to 180.
• Melt a small wodge of butter and a slosh of olive oil and gently cook the onion and garlic until soft and translucent.

• Add ¾ cups arborio rice and stir around to toast for a few minutes.
• Add hot stock and two 95 gm tins of good quality tuna in oil that you’ve drained.
• Transfer the risotto to a large baking dish and cover with foil. Pop in the oven and bake for 20 minutes.
• Remove from oven, remove the foil (if it’s looking a bit dry, add some hot water from the kettle), and bake for another 20 minutes.
• Remove from oven, stir thru the peas and zucchini (again, if it’s looking a bit dry, add some hot water), top with the tomatoes and drizzle with a little olive oil. Bake for another 20 minutes or until rice is tender.
• Remove from oven, and serve with a good squeeze of lemon juice, some capers, and some basil. Enjoy.

passionfruit cheesecake slice

Let’s stretch this gorgeous summery weather out for as long as possible. Defiantly bare legs and sundresses — okay, maybe with a scarf around the neck in the morning — before we descend into the full-body armour of winter woollies. And creamy, zingy cheesecake, rich with lemon and tropical passionfruit. What says summer better?

The wonderful thing about this slice — quite besides its whipped clouds of creamy perfection, quite besides this is my first ever cheesecake — is that this petite treat uses only half a block of cream cheese. So you have to make the slice again, quickly, to use the cream cheese before it spoils. I don’t see any problem with that.

I hope you are still enjoying cheesecake weather where you are!

Passionfruit cheesecake slice
Torn from a magazine years ago; no magazine title on the page. The base will be quite hard the first day or two, even if you cook it for the minimum time. But after that, its starts to soften from the topping, and becomes delectably sort of chewy from the coconut. You will need to allow an hour or so for the base to cool before topping it, then it needs chilling time before it can be served. Patience!

• Preheat your oven to 180 and line a brownie tin with paper.
• Melt 125 gms butter. Combine 1 cup SR flour, 1 cup desiccated coconut and 1/2 cup sugar in a bowl, then slowly add the melted butter, combining it with a fork. It may appear crumbly.
• Pour into the brownie tin and again using a fork, spread around the base, firming it up once it is evenly distributed, then finally pressing down with your hand.
• Pop into the oven and bake for 10-15 minutes until very lightly golden. Allow to cool (leave it in the tin).
• Now make the cheesecake topping: cream together 125 gms soft cream cheese with a 395 gms tin of sweetened condensed milk and 1/3 cup lemon juice. Once finished, do lick the beaters.
• Now fold thru ¼ cup of passionfruit pulp*. 
• Pour over the base and swirl about (yes, you are playing with your food. But it’s so dreamy!). Chill for a few hours until firm, then remove it from the brownie tin (holding the paper lining) and store in a container in the fridge.

* You can omit the passionfruit and use other fruit as I did the second time I made this (to use the other half of the cream cheese block), such as berries. You may want to scatter these on top of the filling once it is on the base.

 

 

garden share collective: april

We’re on the tipping point of the seasons: the mornings are darker and cooler, but the days are still warm and sunny and delicious, without the fierceness of summer. Many here will tell you that autumn is the best time of the year, and their favourite season. It certainly is mine.

It’s also a tipping point for the vegie garden. Some of my crops are showing signs of slowing down or finishing; the tomatoes are one. With only four plants in the ground, I feel it keenly when even one decides it’s time to give up; that’s a quarter of my crop! I still have some fruit coming on, but I’m picking maybe once or twice a week, not every day.

 

This is true of the beans and peas too. The lazy housewife beans continue to thumb their nose at whoever named them, producing a handful of slim green pods very couple of days; so does the row of mixed climbing beans – yellow, green and purple; a haphazard, pretty line. Some of the peas planted in the first week of January are only just starting to turn from soft white flower into tender green pods. However, they are a disappointing supply; despite the consistently warm and sunny months and diligent watering from me, those peas and beans sown after Christmas have been poor performers.

This time of the year invites reflection on what has worked and what hasn’t. My first attempt at growing zucchinis was a modest success; each time I harvested a politely-sized specimen I got an inordinate thrill – I’ve grown a zucchini! Sadly I wasn’t overwhelmed by zukes, but I proved I could grow them, so they’ll definitely appear again next year, and in greater number.

What I won’t grow again is beetroot – a lot of time for a ‘one-off’ crop, and I don’t think that’s practical in such a small garden. ‘Come and come again’ things like peas and beans and tomatoes and silverbeet are more efficient, spreading the harvest and joy over many weeks.

And against all expectations, the basil grown in pots was far lusher than that grown in the ground. So back to pots, positioned in a sunny spot close to the back door, for quick dashes from the kitchen.

Currently growing and harvesting

• Basil.
• Beans.
• Beetroot.
• Capsicum. My goodness, this is slow! Like beetroots, may not re-appear next year.
• Lettuce. Though soon salad season will be over!
• Silverbeet.
• Tomatoes, though not for much longer.
• Zucchini, though not for much longer.

Things to do

• Keep watering (though we are getting some very welcome rain) and seasoling.
• Start planning the garden expansion – I want to convert more lawn space to garden beds so I can grow more tomatoes and maybe even corn.
• Collect the gnarly old borlotti beans that hid under leaves and became monsters! I’ll collect the beans for next year’s planting

Don't forget to see others in the Garden Share Collective. Click on the logo in the column at right to see more green thumbs.

roasted tomato sauce, roasted beetroot + apple sauce

There is a wonderfully comforting feeling I get as I take the trip from my kitchen to my garage headed for my curvy vintage chest freezer, carrying freshly made, labelled-and-dated vats of sauce or stewed summer fruit.

I used to think laying down these stores of summer riches was a bit domestic goddessy – look how wonderful I am, doing a little twirl in the kitchen now so in the depths of winter I am glossily ready with my tomato sauce or sweet stewed nectarines! That it was all a glamourous trick, being ever prepared and well-stocked.

But last weekend — as I made a few trips back and forth between kitchen and garage - I realised that it's not ‘exciting’; rather, it’s satisfying, knowing I am preparing for the winter ahead. It’s good to know that I’m enjoying tomatoes in all their glory now – and will be able to again in the gloomier months, albeit in a richer, garlickier sauce form.

I fuzzily remember the tale of the squirrel sensibly tucking away her stockpile of nuts. That’s a little what this is about: being sensible. But I also feel generations of women standing behind me, preserving summer’s bounty, colours and flavours for later. My plastic tubs of whizzed up roasted beetroot may not be as visually appealing as their carefully arranged glass jars of peach halves, but the intent, the result – and the pride – is the same.

Roasted tomato sauce

Inspired by Hugh F-W's recipe in 'River Cottage Veg Every Day'. In both sauces, quantities are free and easy – it’s more the methods and ingredients I wish to tell you about. They work whether you have a small crop or a large glut. Simply choose a baking dish or tray that will accommodate your harvest and go from there.

• Preheat your oven to 200 and line your baking trays with baking paper (not foil).
• Lay down a lush scattering of basil, or your favourite herbs. Marjoram and lemon thyme would work well.
• Fill your tray with roughly chopped tomatoes. You can leave the skin on and the seeds in – we're not too fussy here at chez Dig In.
• Peel three or four garlic cloves, cut into slivers, and stud your tomato chunks. I figure this embeds the fruit with the flavour and prevents the garlic from burning. Plus it’s fun.
• Season generously with S&P, and lug heartily with good olive oil.
• Pop in the oven and cook for at least an hour, or until soft and cooked through.
• Remove from oven, allow to cool a little, then transfer the lot into your food processor (don’t forget the pan juices). Whizz til you achieve your desired texture – as smooth or as chunky as you prefer.
• Ladle into freezer-proof containers, stick a few more fresh basil leaves into each one, then seal, label, date and freeze.

Roasted beetroot and apple sauce

This is quite thick, so when you use it, you may wish to thin it with water, stock, wine or cream. But it’s just as good thick like this. As before, don’t worry too much about quantities, be guided by your supply and tastes. Choose a baking dish or tray that will accommodate your harvest and go from there.

• Preheat your oven to 200 and line your baking trays with foil, overlapping in the shape of a cross. You want to be able to wrap the ends up and enclose the beetroot entirely.
• Roughly chop your beetroot and an apple (skin and all) and fill your tray.
• Peel three or four garlic cloves and add to tray.
• Season generously with S&P, pour in a good slosh of white wine (I guess about a quarter of a cup; you could use water), and lug heartily with good olive oil.
• Wrap the foil up to enclose the beetroot like a snug parcel.
• Pop in the oven and cook for at least an hour, or until soft and cooked through.
• Remove from oven, allow to cool a little, then transfer the lot into your food processor (don’t forget the pan juices). Whizz til you achieve your desired texture – as smooth or as chunky as you prefer.
• Ladle into freezer-proof containers then seal, label, date and freeze.

Thanks to Becs for this photo idea:

my favourite ice cream

In the grand tradition of Anna Pavlova and Dame Nellie Melba having meringues and bits of toast named after them, I give you:

Yes, I'm famous! Well, at the Bellerive Farmgate Market at least. Perhaps.

Having swooned for many weeks over the decadently grown-up flavour of this ice cream - it brings to mind the dark, brittle lid of a sophisticated creme brulee - I found my vocal enthusiasm had been rewarded with my name up in lights, so to speak.

Unfortunately, I was away and did not witness this fleeting moment of fame in person; Sam (or 'the ice cream man') of The Contented Cow Ice Cream showed me this pic last weekend when I returned to the market and his stall. But you can surely imagine my delight. Especially when Sam told me that my flavour (yes, my flavour) had completely sold out. What a thrill! Such is the power of personal endorsement, even by a complete nobody.

Sadly the market closes for the winter months at the end of March. So I'll be eating as much of Sam's ... my ... our ice cream over the next couple of visits.

lemon curd

 

Zap! Here is sunshine on a spoon! How many adjectives for lemon can you think of? Fresh and zingy are good ones to start with. But when coaxed into creamy perfection with butter and eggs - yes, that's lemon curd - well, I think of cheery domestic-goddess-goodness.

How can you not be happy when contemplating a great dollopy spoonful of something this yellow and sharp?

Lemon curd
Adapted from Nigella Lawson's 'How to be a domestic goddess'. I use more lemon, and make the curd over a double boiler - that is, a bowl sitting atop a saucepan of simmering water. Nigella uses the saucepan only, but I don't trust myself not to make lemony scrambled eggs, so gentle indirect heat is the way for me.

• Juice enough lemons to produce 150 mls of juice.
• Set up a large bowl over a saucepan of gently simmering water on your stovetop.
• Add 75 gms butter, 3 large eggs and 75 gms white sugar, whisking or stirring (depending on your implement) all the time to ensure the eggs don't scramble (if the odd white bit does form, just pick it out) and until the mixture starts to thicken. You'll feel this thickening beneath the spoon, just as you can catch that wonderful moment when you're whipping cream and it starts to get some body. It's one of cooking's quietly satisfying moments, don't you agree?
• When nicely thick, transfer to a clean jar or bowl and allow to cool before covering. Store in the fridge and as Nigella would say, use greedily.