Greed, gluttony and sloth

You know you’ve had a great weekend away when you've managed to commit most of the fun Deadly Sins.

Despite my love of food and piggish appetite, the thought of getting fat horrifies me so I generally employ a fair degree of self-control with respect to eating and exercise. That is, until I go on holiday. For some reason, holidays bring out my inner fat slob and this weekend was no exception.

The kids and I spent the weekend at Mangawhai with our friends Lindsay and Freeman, and their two kids. In addition to being good company, Lindsay and Freeman are avid foodies, so I knew it was going to be just my kind of a trip.

Mangawhai is only an hour and a half’s drive from Auckland but we managed to take nearly four hours getting there, thanks to two foodie stops and some grocery shopping en route. The Ginger Cafe in Warkworth’s main street turned out to be worth a visit, and a trip north is never complete without stopping for cheese and salty liquorice at the Dutch cheese shop in Kaiwaka.

Upon arrival I opened some absinthe. I’ve heard all about the Green Fairy, but have never had occasion to try it and never been willing to commit to buying a large bottle just in case it was revolting. The perfect opportunity presented itself when I recently spotted a miniature bottle in my local liquor store.

At 60 per cent proof, it was - unsurprisingly – very strong. As for the taste; herbal probably best describes it. It was okay, I guess, but I can’t say I’ll be hurrying to buy more.

Our post-arrival dinner comprised vast amounts of potato crisps, cheese, even vaster amounts of red wine and cognac, and – late in the evening – a lamb tagine. I couldn’t face breakfast the next morning.

Although it’s a small place, with a permanent population of around 900, Mangawhai’s beachside location and relatively close proximity to Auckland has enabled a small yet vibrant food culture to develop.

First on our ‘to do’ list was checking out the Saturday morning market in the village hall. The foul weather resulted in there being fewer stalls than usual. I had to admire the owners of one of only two outdoor stalls, huddling in a sodden tent mired in a sea of mud, and I felt a bit mean not at least buying a handful of curly kale or a bunch of fresh violets.

There were maybe 20 stalls inside, selling an interesting range of (mostly) food items: freshly roasted coffee; locally grown olive oil; crusty sour dough bread; home-baked cakes, savouries and morning teas; locally made sausages, pates and salamis; cheeses; pickles and jams; and a range of fruit and veges.

From there it was off to the fabulous Bennetts complex across the road.

Even if you’re not a chocoholic, the chocolate shop is well worth a visit. True to form I went for the most unusual flavours I could find and can pronounce that thyme chocolate tastes surprisingly good, as does cardamom chocolate. The fresh coriander chocolate was disappointingly bland.

After buying up large, we headed upstairs to a delicatessen, where I zeroed in on a display of chilli sauces. The man behind the counter advised me that the top of the range was New Zealand’s hottest sauce, made from the world’s hottest chilli, Bhut Jolokia.

I couldn’t resist asking for a sample. Warning me that it was unbelievably hot, he cautioned Freeman and I to taste only the tiniest bit.

Actually, it was okay and we both guzzled the sample and hoovered up seconds. I didn’t even have to pretend that my eyes weren’t watering. The sauce was actually pretty hot, but I’ve had far worse in the form of an almost unbearably firey Mexican chilli sauce I bought at Auckland market some years ago.



I won’t bore you with all the details, other than to say we ate a lot on Saturday.

  

It might have only been

10 degrees but it's never

too cold for ice cream.

Undeterred, we returned to Mangawhai village that evening to try dinner at Bennetts Cafe. It was a lovely meal. The setting was charming – Italianate, complete with a large open fire. The service was friendly and very obliging. And the food was nice too. I sampled the lamb shank in a tomato stew, which was meltingly good. My roast chicken with Puy lentils and watercress aioli was very nice, although I’d have preferred the chicken to be falling off the bone.

Despite being full, Miss Piggy couldn’t resist concluding the meal with cinnamon doughnuts and rich chocolate dipping sauce topped with a large pillow of whipped cream. Yum.

The weather remained foul on Sunday so I barely moved from the couch. Most of the day was spent lazing about reading, doing the crossword, talking and eating: chocolate, coffee, cheese, crisps, bread, leftover tagine and anything else we could lay our hands on.

 

We dragged ourselves out for a bracing and rather sodden walk along the beach after lunch, warming ourselves up with instant soup, chunks of ciabatta and the last of the cheese upon our return.

All too soon, it was time to return home. As I got in the car it dawned on me that a weekend of gluttony, a longish journey and skin-tight jeans and were not the best combination.

Rory's roasted marshmallow.

And no, I didn't eat it.

Surreptitiously, I pulled my jersey down and undid my trousers so I could drive home without passing out. 

Non sequitur

It won't surprise you to learn that I’m a “live to eat” kind of a gal. No sooner do I finish a meal then, chances are, I’m thinking ahead to the next repast. Some people count sheep when they can’t sleep; I plan my next food foray.

People who don’t care for food perplex me. I happen to be married to one of those and it took me years to accept that, no matter how many weird and wonderful things I tried to tempt him with, Don prefers plain food.

To his credit, he will at least try things (in an early victory, I managed to convert him to olives) but give him steak, chips and peas over foreign muck any day.

As much as it pains me to admit it, I’ve recently joined the plain food brigade.

I’ve felt unwell all week, which probably came about because I've had one or other of my kids home sick from school for most of the past fortnight. It might not actually be their fault because my lurgey seems different to theirs, but I’m going to blame them anyway.

Even though I haven’t been bedridden beyond needing to lie down from time to time, I’ve been off my food. Weird and wonderful food holds no appeal. Worse still, any kind of food fails to interest me in the least.

I've managed to work up an appetite a few times, only to feel over-full almost the instant I started eating. Cooking for the family has been a pain and my minimal efforts have been plain in the extreme (“Yay!” say Don and Rory).

My love of weird and wonderful food helps to define who I am, and finding I don’t give a damn is exasperating, boring and dislocating.

I miss the adventurous, gluttonous, food-obsessed Anna and I hope she comes back soon!

Social experiments

As much as I enjoy trying new foods out on myself, it’s far more fun experimenting on friends.

Don't get me wrong; I enjoy solitary pleasures as much as the next person, particularly when it comes to sneaking the cake mixing bowl leftovers before the kids spot them.  But, as you know, food usually tastes better when eaten in company.

Last year an acquaintance attended the master class at the Melbourne Food and Wine Show and ended up with an extra copy of the recipe book, which she very kindly gave to me.

I’ve cooked a few things out of it – all delicious – but one in particular caught my eye: Melbourne chef Adam d’Sylva’s Vietnamese inspired “crispy prawn and tapioca betel leaf”. It comprised a paste of Vietnamese spiced prawns; wrapped in betel leaf; coated in a batter comprising tapioca, rice and glutinous rice flours; and deep-fried.

Betel nuts, wrapped in betel leaf, are chewed in many Asian and African countries for their stimulating effects. The idea of cooking with betel leaves rather appealed and, although a cursory trawl through my local Indian grocery stores drew a blank, the recipe stuck in my mind.

  

Last week I nipped into my local Spice Invader (love that name) to top up on a few Indian supplies when what should I spot but fresh betel leaves! I bought some and promptly invited friends and willing lab rats, Lindsay and Freeman, over for lunch.



Crispy prawn and tapioca betel
leaf fritters.


And what a success it was. The fritters were absolutely delicious. On their own, betel leaves taste surprisingly spicy and unsurprisingly vegetal – a quality that became virtually unnoticeable when they were wrapped around shrimp paste, battered and fried.

I’d definitely cook this again, using spinach or sorrel leaves if I couldn’t get hold of betel leaves.

The following evening provided another experimentation opportunity when we had Mark and Fiona over to dinner. I'd never cooked any of it before, with main and dessert being drawn from cookbooks. Peter Gordon’s Moroccan lamb shanks were delicious, as was the Australian Woman’s Weekly Dessert Cookbook’s crepes with pears, fresh dates and spiced mascarpone.

Rather than play safe with another cookbook experiment, I decided to cut loose with the pre-dinner nibbles and made this creation – a savoury ‘ice’ cream.

I bought fresh wonton wrappers, brushed them with a little oil and sprinkled them with sea salt and sesame seeds. The wrappers were then wound around cream horn moulds and baked 10 minutes or so until golden and crispy.

Great idea so far, but what to put in them? I’m not sure why, but something about making finger food sends me into a total brain freeze. Hurrah for supermarket dips and pita crisps, is all I can say.

I ended up putting some fried strips of lemony leek in the bottom, then piled creamy spinach moose on top. A blob of harissa provided a colourful finish. The 'ice creams' were edible – but only okay at the best. There was far too much cream in the spinach moose, making for an overly rich and sickly effect. Mark and Fiona politely ate them but I don’t think that creation is ever going to win me Master Chef.




Everyone's still smiling
despite my creative capers.

I think the wonton cones worked well though, so I’ll keep working on the idea.

As much as I love to involve friends in my experiments, some investigations are best left unshared.


While buying the betel leaves, I spotted this rather intriguing looking "eating gum" amongst the packets of whole spices.

When I asked the storekeeper what it was used for, he disconcertingly gave me a really odd look and informed me it was “medicinal”.

He didn’t proffer any further information about what it was supposed to cure, but did volunteer that it needed to be soaked in water and could be consumed when it had gone all "fluffy".

I could, of course, have put it back on the shelf at that point.  But I was feeling bored and buying a $4 pack of mysterious medicinal Indian 'eating gum' provided the welcome diversion of a cheap thrill.

I briefly considered offering some to Lindsay and Freeman when they were here for lunch but decided against it, so they remain blissfully unaware of their narrow escape. After they left, I soaked a few grains in a ramekin of water until, sure enough, it dissolved into fluffy ooze.

Tempted though I was to abort the mission at this point, I scooped up a finger full and tasted; it was gummy, sour, revolting. Ugh!

Who knows what I was trying to cure myself of? Whatever it was, I think I’d rather keep the disease, thanks.

A lucky break

After a desultory and largely unsuccessful effort at being productive at work this morning, lunch time – and the perfect opportunity for a foodie diversion – intervened.

I decided to visit a restaurant I’d read about, which serves authentic Dalian style Chinese food but all I could remember was that it was at 700 and something Dominion Road.

I spotted a small restaurant at number 704 and wondered whether that was the Dalian place. There was no English on the signage and the only patrons were Chinese. You can’t get more authentic than that, so I decided to try my luck.

They had some menus in English and I quickly surmised that the food was fairly bog standard northern Chinese fare – with nothing from the Dailan cuisine, so far as I could see. My dilemma over whether to stay was quickly resolved when I spotted ‘Wang Wang Special Soup’.

In my experience, many Chinese dishes are pretty ‘special’ to Western tastes, so I was intrigued to find out what could be so unusual about this soup that even the Chinese would label it as special.

The waitress was obliging but not particularly fluent in English. She managed to convey that it had no pork, contained tofu and potato, had something else that she didn’t know the English for but whatever it was, she advised, it wasn’t rabbit.

She also told me that she thought I wouldn’t like it. So what else could I do, but order some?

As I waited for the soup to arrive, I started to worry. What say ‘wang wang’ was Chinese for ‘intestine’ or other really icky bit? Worse still, what say it referred to an appendage with a similar sounding English name?

The waitress had warned me and I’d ignored her. No matter what wang wang might be, I’d have to save face and – for the sake of all other Westerners who despair when given Westernised versions of ethnic food – I’d have to eat it.

Fate was kind to me today. Wang Wang Special Soup was what I’d imagine Chinese invalid food to be. It was based on a thickened, slightly oily, faintly sesame flavoured stock and contained very finely shredded: cucumber, carrot, black fungus and tofu skin. Delicate fronds of just set beaten egg waved gently amongst the other ingredients.

Deliciously, it was topped with a pile of deep fried very finely shredded potato sticks, which provided a crunchy counterpoint to soup’s soft, unctuous texture. How clever! I’m going to borrow that idea for use on a Western style thick winter soup.

As for the Dalian place? I almost got it right: for the record, it’s two doors down at number 708.

Closer to home

Having gastronomically roamed the globe this year, it was time to rest my weary taste buds on Saturday and reconnect with something closer to home; kai.

Maori cuisine is, for the most part, pretty plain although, to their credit, Maori have a few pungent delicacies such as rotten corn (kaanga wai) and shark liver (ate mango) that would challenge even the Chinese. You’ll hardly be surprised to learn that I’ve tried rotten corn a couple of times (it’s perfectly eatable in a stinky, foul cheese or fermented tofu kind of a way). I’ll confess to being a bit intimidated by the shark liver but I haven’t ruled out the possibility of giving it a go one day.

Hangi food is arguably the best known aspect of Maori cuisine and I’ve always loved it. I grew up in Palmerston North and the school I went to probably had only one or two Maori kids out of roll of 300 or so. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, every couple of years a corner of the rugby field would get dug up for a hangi.

I remember a great sense of excitement as the hangi was opened, and the evocative aroma of hot earth and steaming sacks, mingled with food. All these years later, that smell still takes me right back to Russell Street primary school circa 1970!

I also love the way hangi food is cooked using a technique that, apart from a few modern twists (using metal hangi baskets and hessian sacks), has been unchanged since time immemorial.

Unfortunately, I rarely get to eat hangi food but seek it out wherever I can. For years I’ve been muttering about making a hangi, and even have a book that gives step-by-step instructions, but – to pardon the pun - it’s gone into the ‘too hard’ basket.

 As is often the case, fate intervened to put things right by way of a hangi making workshop in Auckland Council’s Matariki festival’s programme of events. I enrolled like a shot!

As the workshop drew near, I wondered what the day would hold and wondered who else would be interested enough to dedicate an entire Saturday to the cause. Would there be lots of foodies? Or would there be just me, and a handful of balding, ponytailed whiteys intent on deep and meaningfully connecting with their inner Maui?

Arriving at Te Tahawai Marae, Pakuranga, I was pleased and surprised to note the paucity of ponytails amongst the 30-strong group. We were a diverse bunch, with participants ranging in age from fresh-faced university students, through to a lovely but very doddery old man whom I feared wouldn’t survive the day.

After being welcomed onto the marae, we were asked to say where we were born and what our heritage was. Talk about United Nations! Apart from a handful of kiwis, participants were born all over the globe, including China, Malaysia, Singapore, Japan, Nigeria, Iraq, Spain, France and Portugal.

We were split into three groups and took turns at different aspects of preparing the hangi: food preparation, fire preparation and weaving.

Me weaving a nikau thingy.

The food was standard hangi fare, albeit using far better quality ingredients than is often the case, thanks to the sponsor, New World’s generosity (thought I’d give them a plug).

Into the hangi baskets went: pork, whole chickens, spuds, kumera, pumpkin, bread stuffing and whole cabbages (cut out the core, put butter, salt and garlic in then put the core plug back in.).

The workshop was incredibly well run by three Maori men, who showed us everything from the mechanics of preparing a hangi pit and the food – through to how to weave table decorations and hangi pit covers from nikau fronds.

Intriguingly, we were also shown how to create fire by rubbing Mahoe sticks against koikomako wood. It looked like really hard work.

Unearthing the hangi.

We concluded the afternoon by learning a waiata (song), which we sang to guests who joined us for dinner.

As it happened, judging for a rewena competition was also held on the marae. Rewena paraoa, a Maori specialty, is bread made using a potato water starter. A kuia (female elder) told us about making rewena and showed us a sample from a friend’s starter that had been kept going for 53 years. It smelled delicate – very subtly yeasty.

Better still, we got to try the entries. They were both delicious, but the one made using the starter with the impressive lineage was streets ahead in its sophisticated taste and texture.

Hangied pork and cabbage
ready to come out of
the ground.

After a full and interesting day, it was at last time to eat the object of our attention. The hangied food was lovely; delicately flavoured, wholesome and hearty – and utterly unpretentious.

I knew I would enjoy the workshop because I love hangied food. Yet, in a funny way, the hangi dinner wasn’t necessarily the star of the show.

One way and another, every single aspect of the day combined to create a far richer and more fulfilling experience than I could have anticipated.

As is often the case, food was the unifying factor, but what made the experience so special was our hosts’ willingness to so openly share their culture with us – and our collective willingness to be open to and partake in that knowledge. Maybe I’d better go and grow a ponytail.

Yummy, yum!





After glow

Until yesterday my knowledge of the Philippines and its cuisine could have fitted on a small postcard. Besides Imelda and her shoes, Spanish and American colonisation, a lot of mail order activity, Catholicism, and the Tagalog language, I knew almost nothing. I could barely even find it on a map.

A Filipina friend recently told me about the festival and emailed me a flier, providing the perfect opportunity to put things right.

My friend (left) following
her dance performance
at the festival.

As expected, none of my family was keen although, to his credit, Kieran put in an order for some interesting food. I was too lazy to organise anyone else to join me, so poor Anna No Friends headed off alone.

Upon arriving I couldn't find the event so asked directions from the first Filippine looking person I spotted. As luck would have it, he was the president of Auckland’s Filippine Society - and he was wearing the national costume.

As we chatted, I discovered a few interesting things:

* the shirt in the men’s national costume is made from pineapple fibre (!) and silk

* Filipinos are Auckland’s third or fourth largest ethnic group

* the festival was only a small one – there’s a really big one held at the ASB Stadium every October.

The cultural performances hadn’t started yet and it was lunch time, no prizes for guessing where I headed first.

There were half a dozen food stalls, all of which looked interesting.  Some of the food looked familiar – a whole roast pig, spring rolls, and sweets that bore a strong resemblance to Thai ones. 

Other things looked quite foreign: large pots of mysterious stews, an assortment of dried whole fish, and many desserts that I’d never encountered. Passersby and food stall owners alike were really friendly and seemed keen to enlighten me on Filippine cuisine. Apparently it uses little in the way of herbs and spices but frequently features vinegar, soya sauce and coconut milk.

 Thinking of you, my readers, I whipped out the camera and started snapping away – until I spotted two of the very few other Europeans there being almost pushy in their photographic quests. So I put my camera away and focused on what I was really there to do: eat! (And, of course, discover more about the country and its people.)

It was difficult to know where to begin. I don’t like pork, so that eliminated many dishes. In the end I chose a selection comprising jackfruit and coconut stew, taro leaves cooked in coconut, mixed vegetable stew and beef stew on rice. I also bought three different desserts to take home and try later; and some charcoal grilled pork for Kieran. (I tried a bit and, for pork, it was very nice.)

The food was completely unspiced, yet very tasty thanks to generous seasoning to bring out the flavours. The taro dish was very much like the palusami eaten by Pacific Islanders, a dish I really like. The Filippine version differs by being saltier and having a coarser texture. The beef stew was lovely – soya sauce flavours coming through loud and clear, nicely complemented by a subtle vinegariness. I’m going to track down a recipe and cook that one for the family.



My lunch (clockwise from top left:
jackfruit and coconut stew; vege stew;
beef stew, taro and coconut stew.

  The jackfruit stew had a nice soft-yet-firm texture and had none of the cloying fruitiness that fresh jackfruit has. The pumpkin, bean and okra vege stew was plain, but pleasant.

As I was eating, a group of three Filipinos sitting next to me struck up a conversation so I was able to further add to my body of knowledge. Some more new facts: there are 7000 islands in the Philippines; the main ethnicities are Chinese, Malays and Negroes. Islam is the predominant religion in the southern islands, Catholicism everywhere else. Exports include bananas and other fruit, and electrical goods.


Me and my new friends.


Before long it was time to head into the auditorium to watch a few cultural performances, including my friend’s dance.

While driving home I mulled over what had been an enriching and enjoyable afternoon.

As you know, I’m drawn to spicy and boldly flavoured food so I wondered why my inaugural foray into the more subtle Filippine cuisine rated so highly.

I figured it was because food isn’t just about what’s on the plate; it’s about the total eating experience, therefore the warmth of the Filipino people I met more than compensated for the food’s lack of spicy heat.  Salamat!

A Filippine sweet: palm-sugar flavoured,
softly chewy, only slightly sweet. Yum.



 

Love the purple! 
Yam dessert.  Sweet but not much flavour.
Odd texture.  Okay but nothing amazing.



Mysterious vanilla (?) flavoured sweet
stuff cooked (steamed then lightly grilled?)  in a
banana leaf.  Nice.

Chopity, chop

I truly started to wonder about my eating habits when I found myself heading down to the garage for an axe so that I could finish lunch.

I’m afraid you’ve been suckered into this blog post by the promise of drama, action and violence. Truth be known, I’m going to spend most of the time talking about tofu (although I promise to come back to the axe later).

Go on, be honest: would you have bothered even opening the blog if I was more upfront and started writing about the T word in the first paragraph?

I was a vegetarian for many years, during which time I ate a fair amount of tofu. Most of it was nice enough, apart from one cruel concoction I experienced at 20,000 feet.

I travelled a lot during my vegetarian phase and, despite having flown on most of the world’s worst airlines, the only inedible vegetarian meal I ever encountered was the scrambled tofu and parsley horror on an Air New Zealand red-eye flight to Wellington. What were they thinking?! To this day I’m convinced it was a ploy to punish their vegetarian customers.

I now eat meat, but my love of Asian food leads to frequent tofu encounters.

Earlier this week, on the way back from skiving off work to check out Sabatini’s knitwear sale, I saw the Wesley market in action and decided to stop and take a look. Even though I’ve lived near the market for more than a decade, I keep forgetting about its existence and have never been until now.

It’s only a small market – probably a dozen fruit and vege stalls, a couple of food stalls, and a few other bits and pieces. The only out-of-the-ordinary offering was a tiny stall selling a selection of home-made tofu products. Like a moth to the flame, I was drawn to take a closer look.

Here’s what I ended up buying:   

Marinated bean skin

  

Plain bean skin

The stall owner suggested a few ways to prepare these, as did the ever-useful Internet. So, come lunch time, I got cooking - with delicious results. The marinated ‘bean skin’ was particularly nice. I think it’s flavoured with five-spice and soy sauce. It was tasty on its own, and even nicer when included the salad recipe at the end of this blog.

Deep-fried tofu

 As for the axe, I felt like rounding off lunch with something sweet and, tempted though I was to offset all that healthiness with a big slab of cake, for once I exercised some willpower and resisted.

I had a drinking coconut in the fridge, from which I’d extracted the juice for a Nonya dessert I made the other night. I’d only managed to cut a little hole in the top, which was large enough to let the juice out, but my kitchen knives weren’t up to the task of carving larger hole from which to extract the soft flesh.

So it was off to the woodpile to get a better tool for the job. Trouble was, the chopping block and axe were buried under a mountain kitchen renovation detritus and other general crap in our garage. Too lazy to move it all out of the way, I burrowed my way through stacks of polystyrene underfloor insulation, a bunch of bicycles and bicycle parts, and rolls of carpet and attempted to cleave the coconut.

There was barely any room to swing the axe so all I could manage do without putting my fingers at risk was cut a slightly larger hole, just wide enough to accommodate a dessert spoon.

And that, I’m afraid, is all I have to report. Not very exciting, really, but not your everyday lunch experience either.

Cucumber and tofu ‘noodle’ salad

No matter what your foodie preferences may be, this simple salad hits the mark: sweet, sour, salty, crisp, soft, gluten-free, dairy-free, vegan, low-cholesterol. Most importantly, it’s really tasty! I made some more to go with dinner the next night and, to my surprise, the kids liked it - even fussy Rory.


                                                                                     Salad dressing

Bean skin strips stir-fried with chilli, ginger and garlic (left),
cucumber and tofu noodle salad (right).

Mix to taste:

Vegetable (or other bland) cooking oil

Chinese black vinegar

Salt

Sugar

A few drops sesame oil

You could add some chilli flakes and garlic for extra zing

Salad

Cut marinated tofu skin into thin strips and mix with peeled, seeded cucumber that has been julienned. Pour over the dressing. You could substitute any crisp, crunchy vegetable: lettuce, julienned or grated carrot, finely shredded cabbage, etc.