Chocolate and potato?

The trouble with this one for me is that I’m the baker. I’m the one who brings a cake. Friends call me for cooking tips. So when I looked about to my Marrickville circle, I realised pretty quickly that I was going to have trouble finding someone with a tried and true recipe. I was tempted to stretch the definition of ‘local’ a bit and call my sister on the northern beaches or my oldest friend up in Toowoomba who bakes more than me. I almost dug into my Bourke Street Bakery cookbook for their delicious carrot cake recipe, rationalising that there was a local branch of their bakery and so referring to the cookbook was kind of like ‘asking’ them for a recipe.

But in the end, and at the last minute, Beth saved the day. I don’t know why I didn’t think of her earlier. Beth is a knitter so of course she bakes cakes. She’s another Marrickville mum, and when I bumped into her at the day care drop-off and asked if she had a good recipe, she didn’t hesitate.

And so began the baking of the chocolate and potato cake, thrown together in a hurry with a fussy baby in the sling and a husband sent out to purchase said potato when I realised at the last minute we had none in the pantry. The recipe is actually quite an indulgent one. Rather than melting chocolate and mixing it through the batter, it calls for the chocolate to be chopped and stirred through at the last minute, which results in yummy chunks throughout the cake. (Actually, the recipe said to finely chop the chocolate so maybe it wasn’t meant to be quite as chunky as mine turned out!) I decided the recipe warranted the use of the 70% cocoa Ecuadorian couverture that I purchased from The Essential Ingredient a few weeks back, and mixed it into the cake and the decadent ganache icing.

It came out of the oven a bit lopsided (definitely the fault of the oven, not the recipe) and I winged it on the ganache, so it wasn’t quite as shiny as in the picture. And I wasn’t about to traipse around looking for the recommended gold leaf decoration which would have made the cake look less like the brown lump it was. (Was it on ‘Masterchef’ last year that Donna Hay said brown food is hard to style?) But in the end, for something mixed almost entirely in a food processor, and considering there was a potato in it, it was a pretty bloody good chocolate cake. And we all know how I feel about chocolate.

Lola declared she didn’t want dessert, and that she’d have some cake instead. The husband was pleased to learn that it was a house cake – our general description for anything baked that isn’t destined for someone else’s place. We’ve just tucked into our second slice, and it’s as good the next day as it is fresh from the oven. Room for thirds, anyone?

Lippy on a Pig

Happy Happy days as Spoutie (Amanda) came to visit us in Honkers. Here is a snappie of us at Stanley Markets, courtesy of the lovely Tim and the new camera. I was so sad to wave Spoutie off, as there is nothing as good in life, as an old friend.

The new frontier zooms into view and I know there will be many new friends made here that I would soon call old friends. But for the moment I am sad to wave Spoutie off. Spoutie on the other hand did not look back at my waving frenzy on the pier as she is off on a 5 star kayaking adventure out of Phuket….

Ok to task. A fantastic lady that I knew in Sydney, Anna, has lived in Discovery Bay for quite a few years now and when she talks about Hong Kong, her eyes sparkle. So she qualified as my local. Now Anna’s baking skills probably outweigh mine (especially given I seem to lack patience in any form). And when I saw the words ‘separate’ and ‘squeeze the pith’ I should have proceeded with caution, but my Aries determination was blinding. The challenge, A Layered Lime and Coconut Cake. To add to the challenge I decided to serve it for morning tea with my Aunt and Uncle who are visiting for the weekend. My Aunt is a great cook. The recipe called for lime juice to soften the coconut for an hour….mmm I gave it a Saturday night classic dry white hour, which was probably more like 20 mins. The coconut could have been softer! My second deviation from normal cooking common sense was that the cake tins were squashed on the one oven rack in my new oven. This meant they were on a slope. What happens to cake mixture on a slope? By now my layers now looked like skateboard ramps.

Now the icing is really simple – lime segments, lime juice and icing sugar. I managed to get tiny lime bits all over the kitchen and only make enough icing for half a cake….at this point Scott comes in (and for all those who are paired with or have been out with an Australian male, you

may agree they are not renown for their verbal sensitivity). Scott’s comment at this point, when the icing is in short supply, the pressure is mounting with the visitors and lime bits are all through my hair, it looks like lipstick on a pig!

Anyway it was glued together at the last minute and I will admit, it didn’t look like something Donna Hay would put on the cover of her magazine but it was delicious. Mouth puckeringly tangy and sweet. I used tiny Thai limes to send Spoutie off on her Phuket holiday with a zing. And for the record, Scott has been back for several helpings, which I have taken as a retraction on his lipstick on a pig comment.

Task #3 - CAKE

Ask someone local for their favourite cake recipe.

Bake it. Eat it. Write about it.

Slippery little sucker....

When it comes to markets, Hong Kong is a sizzling smorgasbord of choice. Here there is every type of market you can dream up. The idyllic Stanley markets, for the happy traveller – good for a beer and pair of Chinese pyjamas. Who can resist the saucy night markets on Nathan St in Mongkok if you are looking for a cheap pair of jeans, a rip off handbag and late night noodles. There are the gleeful flower markets that feel as though they are straight out of Mary Poppins. And of course the very unique bird and goldfish markets that are next door.

In the short few weeks I have been here, I have spent a fortune in International Supermarkets looking for produce from home. But ingrained into the mortar of the city are the wet markets, for a fresh supply of crisp vegies and fish jumping straight out of the esky into the pan. I assume it is where the locals shop, as I didn’t see many Westerners. And if that is the case, they are surely smirking at those of us who are slaves to the big food corporations

My journey was to the Graham St Wet Markets in Soho Central. The market descends a thin, steep, wet slope and with a pram and the odd mini bus this was a navigational challenge. But with the colours and the lanterns and cacophony of bartering, Hugo and I loved every minute.

First there is the bean sprout man, whose fingers file the sprouts so fast it is a blur. He moved with the precision of a casino croupier but his mind was somewhere far away.

The butcher is hidden behind a curtain of carcases. He wields his cleaver before your sentence is finished. The smell has a fresh flesh tinge and here you can choose your beast. This shop is not so much for the faint hearted. Hugo watched on in amazement.

The fishmonger sells his wares still swimming. Hundreds of different fish, crabs and crustaceans racing around polystyrene eskies, kept alive by an effective hose system (no comment on sustainable fish marketing practises). Right there in front is where we found the tub of eels, squirming like kids on an aeroplane. But one little guy had escaped! Hugo and I were quickly transfixed by his journey down the street. Unphased by the hustle an

d bustle this little guy was on a one-way trip to Victoria Harbour. I have never witnessed a greater example of courage under fire.

Sadly he was scooped up before he reached the egg stall. It took guts though!

My idea of these markets is that the produce is sourced locally, but could it be that they are as international as the big guns? Take the egg stall for instance. Small towers of crudely displayed nude eggs – they are stacked by colour, shape and spots. Scrawled in front are tiny signs that say, USA, Switzerland, Australia. How is it these beauties arrived so raw and undressed?

Why is it I insist on grocery shopping in a store and subjecting my son to the limitless plastic packaging and brand focussed marketing? This expedition was free from a tantrum at the check out and we raced home to tell Dada about the brave eel trying to find his way home.

To market, to market

Just inside the gate, before the procession of plant, book and hardware sellers, there’s an ageing television actress behind a table offering tarot readings. Small kids bounce on a jumping castle, a Wiggles CD blaring from speakers. But further in is what we’re all here for – the farmers and their food. There’s lots of fruit and vegetables, organic and otherwise, and lots of bread. There’s goats cheese and free-range eggs, extra virgin olive oils and plenty of meat, from saltbush lamb to German sausages. There are exquisite quiches and tarts, and bagels in a dozen varieties. A few vendors will make you a fresh coffee, though you’ll have to queue, and if you’re hungry for something to eat now, you can have Turkish gozleme, Malaysian street food, Chinese dim sum or the best bacon and egg roll in Sydney.

I’m wandering the aisles of the Leichhardt Organic Farmers Market with a baby in the pram and another strapped to my chest. The pram is doubling as my shopping trolley. I shove juicy red tomatoes and strawberries into the basket, then a tub of fresh goats curd and a loaf of ciabatta. Half a dozen eggs follow, then four cobs of home-grown corn. The woman behind the stall selling baby clothes eyes me hopefully, but I avoid her gaze. Around a corner, I cave in and buy a homemade apple pie and, after sampling one of the Royal Gala apples on display, I grab a bag of those too.

I’ve blown my budget and the sun is beating down a little too intensely for my liking. As I head for the exit, a seller comments on the little creature on my chest and is beside herself when she realises there’s another one in the pram. Suddenly there’s a small crowd oohing and ahhing. A teenage girl tells me she’s going to have identical twin girls one day. Someone wants to know if I get any sleep at all. Another assures me, unprompted, that it will get easier. I smile and move on, grabbing an egg and bacon roll for the road.

Beautiful Borough Markets

Beautiful Borough Market has become a weekend love affair for me. Ten minutes down the road from the flat in London Bridge is one of the world’s most famous food markets filled with mouth watering organic goodness that turns a standard weekend into a gourmet one. After a lazy sleep in we wandered down with no particular plan other than to soak up the busy and chaotic sight of Londoners filling their bags with a week’s supply of fruit and veg, pork pies, pressed apple juice, wine and for the truly adventuress, ostrich eggs. For us the first order of the day was coffee followed by a slow meander through the crowded stalls to taste a little bit of everything. A small slither of creamy stilton cheese, a tiny cut of cured ham, a dip of freshly baked bread into mandarin flavoured olive oil and one of my favourites – a spoonful of the most magical mushroom dip that melts in your mouth. It’s impossible to leave Borough Market without a purchase, or two or three. Today’s selection included Tym’s Boro cheese, a tub of fresh olives and two London bap rolls which when combined with a little basil and avocado made for one truly sensational gourmet lunch. I look forward to doing it all again next week.

Task #2 - MARKET

Go to a market in your city. It can be the local farmers market, a flea market or perhaps a flower market - any type will do.

What scene are you greeted by?

Chocolate

It’s always been chocolate. For as long as I can remember, like a lifelong love affair, chocolate always ends up on my cone. I’ve tried to experiment, tried to live a polygamous life, but it’s impossible. If there’s more than one scoop, chocolate is in the mix. And if a single scoop is the order of the day, it’s chocolate, always chocolate.

I have matured a little bit, though. Whereas in my childhood the scoop was a pale brown affair from the local milk bar, hinting at chocolate flavouring without really being it, these days it tends to be a richer, darker, more real indulgence from a gelato bar.

And the best gelato in Sydney, everyone knows, is from Bar Italia on Norton Street. It wasn’t hard to convince Lola to join me for a Sunday afternoon indulgence. She’s made it to nearly three thinking the ultimate in dessert is yoghurt and fruit, so I was surprised when she seemed to be so knowledgeable on the subject of ice-cream. She nattered away in the car on the way to Leichhardt, and when I asked what flavour she wanted, she didn’t hesitate – “Pink.”

And pink it was. Nothing artificially flavoured or coloured from our gelato bar, though. Her ice-cream was a deep strawberry colour with chunks of fruit in it. As for me, I had plenty of gourmet flavours to choose from – tiramisu, hazelnut, pistachio, panna cotta. But I didn’t even have to look. I ordered chocolate. It’s always been chocolate.

An ice cream Spring in the Capital..

You know you’re away from home when you have to do a Google search for ice cream shops! London is not known for having an abundance of ice cream shops which I guess is understandable given winter seems to average about 5 months of the year.  From October through to the end of March Londoners dream about warmth in any form so this week’s task took a little research however was worth every second of time. A small confession to start with……it wasn’t me that undertook this research. Snazzy new boyfriend (who by the way hates being called snazzy new boyfriend and was horrified at last week’s reference so its Tim from now on) completed said Google search for the best of London’s ice cream shops which highlighted two things for me; 1. Relationship clearly going well given this act of kindness and effort and, 2. Boys do a Google search far more thoroughly than women. In my experience women do a quick search, work out the closest location, memorise the map and add into the week’s tasks. Tim on the other hand had printed off double sided sheets of research on gelato and ice cream sellers complete with maps which is how we ended up traveling from South London to North London, to beautiful Hampstead Heath today. And what a day it was! With the suggestion of ice cream Spring finally broke out in all its glory. A week ago enjoying an ice cream in London would have drawn some very strange looks but today I noticed envy on the faces of passer-bys. Spring is a magical time to be in this city and there is a certain feeling of ecstasy to strip down to two layers rather than three of four, lose the heavy winter coat, to see the daffodils poking through the hills on the Heath and best of all to feel the sun on your face. The simple pleasures in life are magnified ten-fold in the first weeks of Spring in London including enjoying a bright blue bubble gum ice cream in the morning and a greedy second hazelnut gelato complete with chocolate sprinkled cone in the afternoon. All in all – a perfect London day.

41 Flavours last night........

Oh a rare night to myself, and on it I have treated myself to a yoga class (the first in a long long time) and my ice cream task.

The yoga high rise experience was bit like a dog obedience lesson and on my exit I was presented with a report card....so yogic!?*#!

And then I tracked down an ice cream shop. It was found discreetly nestled among one thousand Lan Kwai Fong Bars that burp their contents out onto the charming little lane winding up the hill. But Haagen Dazs found me.

My choice tonight - dark choc orange and lemon sorbet.

When I was a tween my darling Grandfather, Api, would take me to city on the Manly ferry. There was a gelato shop at either end and it was about the poshest thing I had ever seen. The creamy, rich, lush, Italian gelato was a leap from fighting with my brother every night for a spoon of the Neapolitan. My choice at the gelato shop was always the same - Jaffa (also my favourite lolly) and a delicious mouth puckering lemon sorbet to slap you on the bum at the end. It is critical the lemon is savored for the finish.

And it is still a winning combo, although the candied orange rind is not a patch on the more rustic crushed jaffa lolly option.

Now all I need is a Manly ferry, a couple of kamikaze seagulls, Api's Henry Winterman's cigar wafting through the air and I am off to Pitt st mall for a new pair of shoes - oh and for someone to press pause in the Celine Dion currently blasting in Haagen and the antarctic air con blowing the hair off my head.

Lovely.

And so much better than a yoga score card.

Task #1 - Ice-cream

Go to an ice cream shop or gelato bar and order the favourite flavour from your childhood.

Yes! Bring on the colouring and crazy combos!

oh and who am I again

It feels like a crazy time in my life to write an introduction when my world flew to the east 3 weeks ago. Scott (husband), Hugo (son) and I left cushy, sunny, comfortable Sydney for the world’s highest density city - Hong Kong. So the details I would have imagined weaving through my introduction are moments from the past. But if we are, as they say, the sum of our experiences, here are a few previous details.

I was a country chic, eldest of three and the daughter of two teachers. I fell in love with the theatre long, long ago. I graduated with a Bachelor of Creative Arts-Theatre straight from School. That is where I met Greer and Amanda, two hugely talented, openhearted country girls that loved a yarn over a beer as much as I did. And both of them, fired up over the craft of storytelling in its many forms.

I spent my 20's as an actor: theatre mainly, some TV and film. I traveled to New York and LA in search of great work and launching into my dreams. A dream that is always with me, my invisible friend, my imaginations feast.

And amidst every thing else, my most challenging and enjoyable projects were the works produced with Amanda and Greer. Working with good friends and truly talented artists, we were able to make people laugh and cry, and leave them with something. It made me realise what an honour it is to have an audiences eyes and ears for that hour or so.

I have been a script reader and developer, a voice over artist and a hundred other things. But my proudest achievements are as a wife and a mother. And at this moment my true north is how I can reveal the world to Hugo. And funnily enough in this latest job the same truth knocks at my door again…..

Stories are great; they are critical, they connect us to people and places around us. They make us human.

So if that is my story to date, may this 'The Tale of Three', unfold!

The 'me' entry

I’m the one who has stayed behind to keep the home fires burning. A few months ago I was a busy working mother with an expanding waistline. Now I’m a stay-at-homer with a toddler and two-week-old twins. It’s all milk and baby vomit and endless nappies at the moment. The challenge, or the adventure, is keeping some of myself as I care for all these little people. A few months ago, pregnant and exhausted, the washing and cleaning and finger-painting was a drudge. But these new babies have fired up the homemaker in me again, drawing me back to my knitting needles and cake tins and the pleasures of folding washing fresh from the line. And, oh, there is so much washing to fold.

So now I’m the native Sydneysider, my friends flung far and wide across the globe. In fact, I’m not a city kid at all. I’m from the country, central western New South Wales, and I want to return to the rolling green, to take my little brood out of this fast-paced place so a beautiful bakery around the corner can’t be the excuse to not make my own bread. I love Sydney, but 10 years on and I’m only really here because of work and the in-laws. I no longer do any of the things people come to Sydney for – the beaches, the galleries, the shopping, the nightlife. I’m a fair-skinned homebody who yearns for less traffic and more sunsets. But it’s Sydney for a year or two yet, so while I wait to escape, I have to make sure I don’t waste this time. And this blog is a part of that. That and the two newborns and the toddler and the washing…

The inaugural entry

If I emptied my bag you’d find an oyster card, a pair of mittens, a BlackBerry, a high rise building swipe card and a small bound black leather note pad. These simple little objects have started to define my time in the city I now call home – London.

My name is Amanda and I am a long way from the farm I grew up on in rural NSW. I moved to London two years ago for a work opportunity, a taste of adventure in the big city and the one hour golden flight to the Continent. Until recently my life has been about my career, following the usual trends; long work hours, networking sessions (read: trashy Friday drinks) and a poor relationship score card. This year is different.

This year I’m going to give myself an internal make-over. I’m going to become a thirty-something domestic goddess to impress my snazzy new boyfriend. This year I’m going to learn how to cook, attempt to sit still and try on a more balanced lifestyle. I’m going to carry a handbag with domestic goddess objects to off-set the corporate high flyer ones.

I’m so excited about this blog and am looking forward to sharing the ups and downs of eclectic London whilst discovering how the girls are getting on in Honkers and Sydney.