on suburban wildlife

Whenever mum and I are having a moan about the garden (which this year, has been often) we invariably end up saying ‘if it’s not one thing, it’s another’.

So let’s start with the ants. Every summer the ants move inside — it’s as if my kitchen is in their path as they travel from the front garden to the back garden; they just make their way across the walls, from west to east.

This year, however, they detoured. Via my honey and vanilla jars.

I’d arrived home from Christmas at my parents’ place, and was unpacking fruit and veg. Oh, there’s an ant, I thought. There’s another. Wait, there’s a whole busy trail of them ... where are they going? I followed them around the sink and over the hot plates and past the oven and into the cupboard and — IN MY HONEY! And golden syrup and vanilla paste and macadamia chocolate goo! Welcome home. I spent the next half hour washing down all the surfaces and jars, and putting everything sweet and sticky into plastic ziploc bags, where they still live months later (thankfully none of the ants actually got into the honey or chocolate goo, which saved me throwing away everything. But still!).

Another time they marched in and made a bee-line (ant-line?) for some egg shells in my otherwise-empty compost bin. Or they trooped into a vase of silverbeet — heading for the water — but ignored the jug of drinking water I had on the opposite side of the sink. Go figure.

Since the heat of summer has abated, I’ve had only the odd ant or two walking around the kitchen, but I work around them, and try not to get too annoyed. Actually, I usually shoot these lone wanderers a withering look: ‘What are you still doing here, by yourself? Don’t you know, everyone else has moved on? Loser.’

But, if it’s not one thing, it’s another. I’ve had lots of little brown grasshoppers around (thankfully they’re staying outside and are not migrating thru the kitchen). I’m not sure what damage they do to a garden, but some of my plants had very small holes in the leaves, and I could spy no caterpillars in the area.

Then again, it may have been the sparrows. I blame them for my failure to grow any peas this year. I’ve never seen such large flocks; again, it’s the dry and they’re desperate for food, but I have come to despise these small birds because they have deprived me of homegrown sugar snaps!

Why don’t the sparrows eat the aphids? Because there’s plenty of those around. A couple of years ago, I decided to put down the pyrethrum and live in harmony with those little green suckers (literally), in the hope they’d attract insect-eating birds. The only things I defend chemically are my climbing roses, but by and large the aphids restrict themselves to the nasturtiums, aquilegias, and birch trees. I’ve seen wattlebirds picking along the birch branches, and while part of me loathes that there are aphids around, another part of me sees the silver lining.

This year I’ve attracted more little birds into the garden than ever before. I’m sure it’s the lower chemical use, the bird baths I maintain, and the extra lion’s plants I’m growing. New Holland honey eaters come noisily in for the sweetness of these orange flowers, swinging from one tall stalk to another (and often breaking them, too). They also enjoyed red nerines! I’ve had young eastern spinebills, with the longest, thinnest beak I’ve seen, slurping out the goodness from tubular flowers and chasing insects in the dense jasmine wines. They were enchanting to watch as they flitted about; once or twice they even did a good impression of a hovering hummingbird!

But the sweetest bird ever to grace my garden — only once; never before and never since — was a spotted pardalote. Look it up: a small, rounded little bird with the most amazing spots and markings (hence the name) I’ve ever seen. She was not at all shy about me standing so close to her and mimicking her call. I slowly extended my arm out to see if she’d come closer and land on my finger. She didn’t, but we stood there chatting and eyeing one another off for quite a few magical, happy moments.

It’s wondrous to attract that kind of wildlife into my suburban garden. Now the weather is cooling, I have some small grevillea plants to add to the garden, to supply more food for more of these feathered visitors. I’ll just put up with the ants and aphids and grasshoppers.

What sort of wildlife do you get in your kitchen and garden; good and bad?

And sorry there are no pictures of the wildlife, especially the pretty birds. My camera and skills aren't that good. And who wants to see a plague of ants? 

tomato-tuna pretend pizza

When I first started making this dough, I was sceptical: this ain’t going to go very far, I thought. I’ll be lucky to have a tomato biscuit. But as I started rolling out this small but elastic round, I got excited: it was the perfect size for a single girl’s pizza!

I love good pizza: thin crisp crust and simple, fresh toppings. Good tomato sauce and in-season, ruby-red tomato slices; basil and a bit of garlic, and some rounds of stretchy mozzarella. Maybe a little chilli every now and then, but essentially, that classic red-white-and-green of the Italian flag makes me very happy.

But most recipes for pizza dough cater for ravenous families of dozens of people (or so it seems). I had trouble downsizing recipes; and really, leftover pizza doesn’t always translate that well. I’m also pretty hopeless at working with yeast. Some times of the year in Hobart, finding a warm spot for the dough to rise is difficult. So, I gave up making pizza.

Then I found this recipe I’d squirreled away for this time of the year when tomatoes are in abundance.

It’s the simplest dough possible, and the lack of yeast means you can knock this up and have it in the oven faster than you can think ‘what can I make for lunch that’s quick and delish and pretty healthy?’.
 
And I will admit, this made a little more than this single girl can eat all at once; but having pizza (and a green salad) for only two light meals instead of four or five was pretty wonderful. Another time I made it, for lunch for me and mum (dad was at the cricket), I over-rolled and overstretched it and it definitely served two people, but the base was too thin, which made the slices a bit tricky to handle.

Okay let’s face it: this is not a pizza, it’s a tart. Or it's stuff on a flatbread, more probably. But it looks like a pizza, a wonky-shaped homemade one. And yes there’s tuna — something I would never order on a pizza — and no, there’s no sauce or cheese (next time). Okay, it’s not a pizza! But it’s close enough to satisfy those cravings. Those single girl pizza cravings.

Here's one I made for mum and me, using chunks of orange tomatoes. I used my pizza stone this time, but I over-rolled the dough to make it fit that larger size, and then the base was too thin. And using the pizza stone didn't make that much difference to the base's crispness.

Tomato-tuna pretend pizza

Makes enough for one hungry single girl, or two people, or two light meals. Reheats surprisingly well. Adapted from (I think) a Better Homes and Gardens recipe.

• Preheat oven to 200 and line a small baking tray.
• In a food processor, whiz up 1/2 cup plain white flour, 1/2 cup plain wholemeal flour, 2 tbspns olive oil and 1/3 cup warm water.
• Take out this wet sticky mess and on a floured surface, knead to bring together, then roll out to make a wonky kind of shape that would fit your small baking tray (my best pizzas were about 20 cm by just under 30 cms). Go thin, but not too thin.
• Top with finely sliced spring onions, basil or other herbs, thinly sliced garlic, most-to-all of a 185gm tin of tuna, and thick slices/chunks of fresh ripe tomatoes. Sprinkle with a little salt and lightly drizzle with more oil.
• Pop in oven and bake for 20-25 minutes or until crust is golden brown. Serve with a few more fresh herbs scattered over the top.

baking favourites

What's new? Not much. I didn’t bake much over the summer, but when I did turn the oven on, I mostly pulled out recipes for long-forgotten favourites: puddings and cakes and bikkies I made with a crush-like frequency months or even years ago, but I haven’t touched since.

Melting moments — with or without that daub of rich goo — were the first things I baked. I'd been craving these magically short little biscuits for weeks, so much so that I bought one at a cafe. A disappointing move — dry and hard; definitely stale (do you ever find the stuff you make is far superior to what’s in the shops?). I wouldn’t be satisfied until I made my own. Once I did, I decided that I really should have a tin of these in the kitchen at all times, like a sweet staple!

But then I moved on … to bread and butter pudding. B&Bs aren’t obvious summer fare, but when there’s rich stone fruit and other sweet stuff growing, it makes sense. I’d cut a handful of rhubarb stalks, and rather than stew it up for brekkie oats, I couldn’t get the idea of pudding out of my mind (probably because a foray into my chest freezer revealed I had about four panettones stashed away). And because ginger pairs well with rhubarb, I soaked the fruity panettone slices in some ginger wine. Such extravagance!

Then one evening I wooed my lovely friends with jammy cheesecake cake. I'd really forgotten how good that is, which its moist plain base and just-rich-enough cheesecake and jam layer. It  made enough for oohs and aahs on the night, and seconds to take home (which V had for breakfast the next day. Cake for breakfast — what a champion!).

And most recently I’ve been indulging myself with those dark fudgy spelt brownies (so much so that I forgot to take a picture this time around). Next on the wishlist is the speckled prettiness of currant-studded shrewsbury biscuits.

As a blogger, I probably should be trying new recipes all the time, so I’m writing about new things for you to read about. But in real life … I’m in the mood for the familiar and cosy, for enjoying those fondly-remembered flavours again (and not worrying if the new recipe will turn out!). However, because these forgotten stars are (shamefully) not on high rotation, it’s not ho-hum (and how could ginger-wine spiked pudding be ho-hum?!).

Like a comforting hug from your mum, or a laugh on a Friday night with friends, these kind of recipes serve a very important purpose in one’s life.

I would love to know: what goodies have you neglected, that perhaps need to be baked again?

summer tabouli

I remember the first time I had tabouli as a young kid. Or rather, I remember standing in my mother’s kitchen with the brown pantry doors open, looking at a box of gritty burghul, and feeling sorry for mum. Because she’s tried something new, this gritty stuff served with loads of raspy parsley, and none of us seemed to like it. Or at least — and you can tell by my choice of words, gritty and raspy — that I didn’t. But I felt bad, that mum had tried to be adventurous and we failed her.

This memory also makes me think of the ingredients and foodstuffs that, in the decades since, have found their way more successfully into our pantries. Olive oil is out of the medicinal cupboard and into the pantry, in many incarnations. Spices and herbs have proliferated and represent many cuisines of the world; there’s more than just Keen’s curry now! There’s more varieties of pasta than you can poke a spaghetti strand at. And there may not be burghul, but there’s couscous and freekah and the now-commonplace quinoa. Who’d have guessed!

But back to tabouli. In theory, it’s a lovely, refreshing idea — and a perfect solution to the abundance of cucumbers coming out of dad’s garden, and my own healthy supply of tomatoes. But something had to be done about the burghul. I remembered a recipe using brown rice, but on warm summer days, brown rice seems too heavy (and takes too long to cook).

So I’ve substituted wholemeal couscous, which takes a mere blink to make, and is soft and definitely not gritty. While it’s softening, you can cut up the green and the red — these are the colour of summer, vibrant green beans and basil, and ruby-rich tomatoes.

I’ve been using spring onions, and great handfuls of baby-tender curly parsley and basil; then lots of juicy, seedy cucumbers from dad. The tomatoes are the pure red of a roma-style mamma mia, or the darker black krim or stripey orange big beryl (I have a girl crush on her this season!). I’ve also been adding lightly steamed green beans (because I have loads of those) and occasionally, some juicy red capsicum for some extra crunch. Then a drizzle of olive oil, a good squeeze of lemon juice; and strangely, never salt – all this homegrown produce tastes so fresh and cool, I don’t need any seasoning.

I got all art-director fancy for the top photo, arranging the tomatoes in a line; but mostly my tabouli is a big jumble, more like this:

pate brisee

Life is better in pastry, don’t you think? Certainly summer vegies like zucchinis and tomatoes are elevated when put on a buttery pastry pedestal. The stars of the season — juicy stone fruit like apricots and plums — shine even brighter when wrapped in oh-so-short pastry.

On my holidays I heaved out my marble slab and rolling pin, and re-discovered my love of pastry; specifically, Martha Stewart’s pate brisee. I had all the time in the world to enjoy the pastry making process; though truthfully, when you employ a food processor to whizz the ingredients together, the hard work doesn’t take much time at all.

Galettes are my thing, rustic and very obviously handmade, and that’s because I can’t roll out a perfect circle to save my life. Despite all my best intentions and concentration, things somehow go a bit wonky and pear-shaped! So galettes offer a rustic excuse for my lack of symmetry.

They also get around the need for blind-baking, as fun as that is (and I have the ceramic beads for it!). I mean, I made these empty shells, but despite fridging as advised, and pricking the bases as advised, the sides still shrank down and the bottoms still puffed up:

So, I’m a galette gal.

The beauty of this pate brisee recipe is that it can be used for savoury or sweet offerings without any modification: it is perfectly neutral (and just plain perfect). For example, I used it to encase mandolin-fine zucchini slices, layered over a bed of zesty spring onions and garlic, for a lovely summer lunch:

 

I made a very fine apricot version (with brown sugar and a little almond meal on the base to help enrich and soak up juices):

 

I also filled those mini tarts with fresh raspberries and lemon curd, but the pictures didn’t turn out; trust me, they were bursting with flavour!

And in previous years, I’ve rolled out pate brisee to make beautiful tomato tarts. Must do that again soon!

Pate brisee

From Martha Stewart’s ‘Pies and tarts’. This makes enough for two discs of dough, so two medium sized galettes; it's also easily halved.

Basic version:

• Place 2 ½ cups plain flour, 1 tspn salt and 1 tspn sugar in a food processor and whizz briefly.
• Add 220 gms cold butter and process until it resembles coarse breadcrumbs; a few larger lumps of butter are perfectly fine.
• With the machine running, slowly add enough cold water until it just starts to clump together (Martha advises ¼ to ½ cup water).
• Dump dough onto a clean bench surface or a large bowl, then use your hands to knead and bring the dough together properly (but don't overwork). Divide into two balls, flatten slightly, wrap in clingfilm, and fridge for at least half an hour (you can also freeze it at this stage).
• You can then roll it out on a floured surface to make your galettes. The general rule I follow is bake at 180 until the pastry is golden and the filling is cooked. I’ve found this can vary wildly, depending on the filling — anything from 30 to 60 minutes — so start checking after 30 minutes.

Cornmeal version:
For a slightly ‘grittier’ version, which I found worked well for vegetable galettes. Substitute ½ cup of the flour for cornmeal/polenta.

Wholemeal version:
For when you want to be a bit healthier! Substitute ½ cup of the flour for wholemeal plain flour.

Cheddar cheese version:
For when you want failure on your hands. Supreme disappointment; went rock hard; only good for the chooks. Don’t go there.

what i did in my garden over the holidays

Watered. Basically, I watered. And then wondered where that water was going.

Towards the end of January we had some rainfall — heavy and tank-filling; as well as just plain misty and annoying. But before that (and since!) it was weeks between drinks. A dry summer where even the weeds curled up and died. Where I contemplated pulling out all my pretty, wilting flowers and replacing them with native shrubs — until my friend F told me even her natives were struggling (then I contemplated ripping everything up and going with fakes).

Lion's plants, which bring nectar birds to my garden

Oh, if you were to pull up in my driveway and look at the front garden, (somehow) you’d see lots of colours from the climbing roses, pelargoniums and larkspurs. But get down close and look at the soil, and you’d see a dustbowl. I do not know where the water I pour in goes; I do not know how anything survives.

But I’m also learning from this bad season, for next summer, because (perhaps pessimistically) I can only see that this is how it’s going to be — dry, hot summers. So let’s plan for it, to mitigate the tears and frustrations. Plant more of what survived this time (not flourishing, merely staying alive) to be guaranteed some colour. Penstemons are top of the list; somehow those delicate and divinely purple larkspurs put on a good show, as did a clump of these spiky blue things (which prickles notwithstanding, the bees love):

Many things finished very early this season: lavender was over and out by December, as were some other usually reliable perennials. The only way I managed this pretty display of pink phloxes (yes mum, phloxes) and cosmos was by slavishly watering them, just about every day. That was a lot of work to tie myself to.

In my vegie garden, usually reliable stuff that you can sow and grow with your eyes closed and hands tied behind your back just didn't happen. Peas didn't germinate (and when they did, the sparrows nipped them all off — more on that later). Zucchinis grew only about two inches long and then stopped (and tasted bitter).

Lush zuke plants - but very little fruit

This has been frustrating and heartbreaking, and at times I've been ready to give up. All the time and work and energy you devote to the garden, and for what? All the packets of seeds you buy? Puny nasty zucchini! A measly handful of sugar snap peas! All bush and no beans! Pah, that’s not what I signed up for!

My prettiest patch, with spring onions, marigolds, beetroot, beans and self-sown capsicums jostling for space

So I’m given up. Oh, I’ll keep watering everything in some vain hope I’ll get a decent sized carrot, but I’ve decided against doing further sowings, because the elements are too much to battle. I’m now waiting til it’s cooler before I turn my mind to winter plantings. I want summer 2016 to be over, so I can start anew.

I’m also pestering my dad about hammering in more structures once it cools down: for higher and better netting over my vegie beds, to guard against the birds; and that is easy for me to get in and out of. I know the birds are desperate for food in this dry season — but I’m not growing peas and lettuce for sparrows!

 

 Apricots and plum tree protected above; tomatoes below

 It hasn’t been completely bad in the veg patch (and looking back at these pictures, it's all quite lush). My tomatoes are coming on nicely, just enough to enjoy a few each day and cook a tray or too for the freezer. The lazy housewife beans are giving me a modest handful every couple of days (my supply being generously complimented by mum and dad, who currently have scarlet runners coming out of their ears!). They are finished now, but just after Christmas I pulled a small but delicious quantity of beetroot and round Paris carrots. And my fruit trees (as noted in my previous post) offered up small but rich harvests.

 

Carrots on dead lawn 

The weather around Australia and indeed the world has been crazy this season — so perhaps you too are having a poor time in your garden. If so, I completely empathise — come on over for a cuppa, and we’ll drown our sorrows together.

Orangey 'big beryl' above and classic 'mamma mia' romas (and a couple of black krim) below

what i cooked and ate over my holidays

There is nothing better than a fresh melting moment, is there?

What about one with a generous dab of macadamia chocolate goo?

Thought you’d agree.

The sweet summer indulgence actually kicked off with the much anticipated Christmas pavlova. Oh, wow. What bliss. I could have quite happily eaten the lot (and stolen my parents’ servings mid-fork, too) it was sooo good.

So a couple of weeks later, we made another one, this time with a layer of zappy lemon curd that I made just for the occasion. Mm-mmm.

Mum has perfected the ratio of crisp-and-chewy meringue and pillowy marshmallow filling. Modest clouds of whipped cream and fresh berries — am I making your mouth water? We wondered why we don’t make pavlovas more often; like that other classic, the sponge cake, a pav is deceptively easy to literally whip up and the pay-off is wonderful.

In Hobart, summer finally kicks in around Christmas time, and then sweetness comes from our luscious stone fruits. Decadently fat, dark juicy cherries from dad’s trees; this greedy picker follows the ‘one for the bucket, one for the mouth’ rule. Quality assurance in juicy action! I happily gorged myself on these beauties.

 

I’ve also been stuffing myself silly on apricots (mine and dad’s), plums (ditto — here's my first modest harvest, below!) and nectarines, which, with their juicy combination of sweet and sharp, are perhaps my favourite summer fruit. Luckily my digestive system copes well with the extra fruit and fibre!

I bought a new enamel colander for collecting harvests. I'm quite in love with it!

 

Our harvests were modest this year — the dry conditions have meant smaller crops and smaller fruit — which mum and I do agree has an upside; we haven’t been completely overwhelmed by buckets of fruit to cut up and stew or freeze before they spoil. But I am restocking the freezer ahead of the winter months, and that is always satisfying. As were these delicious tarts:

The warmer months also mean lots of colourful healthy veg, too. Sometimes I fall into eating in a monochrome manner — a bowl of greens with vivid pesto, herbs and pasta, all absolutely emerald, can be my idea of heaven. But ‘eating the rainbow’ makes me very happy. How can this not?

 

Between dad's garden and mine, these are completely home-grown meals!

 

I’d like to think with a meal like this, I’m eating at my optimum. I can literally feel all those vitamins and antioxidants throwing themselves at me! 

Makes up for those times I indulge in a short little biscuit daubed generously with chocolaty goo...

farewell 2015!

I have the December blahs. An end of year ennui (I’ve never used that word before!). Tired of the 9 to 5 treadmill, sick of sitting inside on a sunny day, hurry up holidays, what have I done with this year?, December blahs. Actually I probably had them in November, what with that wretched cold, but yes … blah.

The weeks go fast and the weekends even faster. In the evenings, I don’t want to go to bed; I’m happy curled up on the couch with a magazine. In the morning, I don’t want to get out of bed, because the predictability of each day, whether it’s chores at home or going to work, are all that await.

And I don’t feel like Christmas. There, I’ve said it, to someone besides my mother. Admittedly, I don’t ever feel much like Christmas as I get older — I think it’s great if you’ve got little children, or the true religious significance of the season resonates with you. But mostly now, Christmas looks like endless catalogs in the mailbox, junk for sale in the shops, and TV ads of Curtis cooking a ham on the barbie. I’m not completely bah-humbug — if, amongst the chaos and commercialism you find meaning, I applaud you. But me, not so much.

All I want for Christmas this year is a pavlova, and so does dad, and mum reckons she can do that for us. I’m sure a pav will be like a sponge cake — so easy to make, why don’t we make them more often? Then again, only once or twice a year, at Christmas or birthdays, it will retain that aura of rarity and specialness.

So I’m looking forward to my summer holidays, to re-charging my physical and emotional batteries. Reviving my yoga practice, which has slipped away in recent months; that’s good for a stiff body and creaking soul. Reading something longer than the clothes credits in Vogue, which is all I can manage at the moment. I have Nigel Slater’s newest kitchen diaries from the library, and I find his writing so calming and thoughtful; months ago, I bought Michelle Crawford’s inspiring account of creating a new life in the Huon Valley, and I’d like to crack that open.

I also love being outside in my garden in the summer months, pottering about as much as possible. There’ll be lots of watering, because it’s so dry, and has been for months. That is not so uplifting — I don’t know where the water goes, and I honestly don’t know how the plants survive. I’ve got peas and beans that refuse to germinate, but a scattering of self-sown tomatoes with fruit on them. In gardening, you’re not always the one in control. You have to take the good with the bad.

And I’m hoping I’ll find some fresh energy for Dig In. I love this small but thoughtful community that has welcomed me here — that’s you — but the December blahs have made it increasingly hard to write meaningful posts. I always want to say more than just ‘Here’s a cake I made’, but that’s all my brain cells can come up with right now.

So enjoy the rest of your December, your 2015; I hope your celebrations are filled with joy. Thank you for your support at Dig In, and for showing me new and marvellous worlds through your own thoughts and messages and blogs. After a good off-line, real-life, fresh-air break, I’ll see you in 2016.