Lemon poached pears with cinnamon crema di latte

Image: Kyle Manning. Styling: Jane Graystone

It's all about the apples right now. But why should they get all the fun? Don't forget about the pears, please! Poached pears is one of the first "fancy" desserts that became a regular fixture in my repertoire and it was really thanks to the original version of this recipe. 

It first appeared in the first delicious magazine I ever owned (this really is becoming a post about firsts) and I have since adapted it for the slow cooker. Such a great dinner party idea if you're someone who leaves dessert to the last minute and ends up scratching together a bowl of ice-cream and a fruit salad from the limp offerings in the bottom of the crisper. Set in the morning and forget until serving time. Perfect!

(Ok, so maybe the crema di latte gets in the way of the set and forget concept a little, but you can, and should, prepare it in advance OR skip it. The pears will be delicious alone with ice-cream).

I published this recipe in the winter issue of Downtown Magazine and the shoot was about this time two years ago. I remember it very well because I was pregnant with my youngest child and trying so hard to keep it under wraps. No mean feat when all you want to do is scoff the food and avoid the wine. It was my first ever (and, to this date, only) food shoot - nothing is ever as glamorous as you want it to be, is it.

Lemon poached pears with cinnamon crema di latte

2 lemons
3 egg yolks
325g caster sugar
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
40g flour
300ml milk
300ml cream
6 beurre bosc pears, peeled
2/3 cup limoncello

Serves 6

Using a vegetable peeler, remove the zest from half a lemon.

In a saucepan, lightly whisk 75g of the sugar into the egg yolks until combined. Whisk in flour then gradually add milk and cream. Add the cinnamon and lemon zest and cook over low heat, stirring frequently, for 15 minutes or until slightly thickened. Cool then refrigerate until ready to serve. The crema di latte can be made a day in advance.

Finely zest the remaining lemons using a microplane or grater and juice.

Place the remaining sugar into the slow cooker with 500ml boiling water. Stir to dissolve then add the lemon zest and juice and the limoncello. Arrange the pears in the liquid and cover the mixture with greaseproof paper to prevent the pears from browning. Cook on low for 4 hours.

Just before serving, transfer some of the cooking liquid to a saucepan and reduce over a high heat until syrupy. Serve the pears drizzled with syrup and crema di latte.

Serves 6

Strawberry and rhubarb crumble

Strawberries have been super cheap these last few weeks. Anyone know a reason for this? I thought this meant they were currently in season, but a quick google tells me that between Victoria, New South Wales and Queensland there’s pretty much “strawbs” in season somewhere in the eastern states all year round.

From here we could launch into a conversation about buying in season, buying local and ensuring a fair price for the farmer – all of which are important issues, but it’s late on a Friday night and I’m single parenting three under three this weekend so let’s just talk dessert, ok?

For some, cheap strawberries means jam. I don’t have time for jam. Maybe one day, but in the meantime, cheap strawberries mean strawberry and rhubarb crumble.

If I’ve been to your hens party and was asked to provide a recipe, chances are you already have this one. It’s my go-to for bridal shower shares. Everyone loves a crumble (right?) and I like to think the strawberry and rhubarb filling makes this one just a little sexier. What’s more, it’s super easy to make and a lot of the prep can be done in advance. Sound like perfect dinner party material?

I can’t remember when I first started making this dish. It started out as “strawberry, rose geranium and rhubarb crumble” from The Good Weekend’s “Any fool can cook...” section. I think it was written by Matthew Evans but I can’t be sure. I still have the original clipping but my version is now considerably different. The original had very firm views on the crumble:

“This one doesn’t resemble a muesli topping, relying on coconut or rolled oats. It’s simpler, more classical and far better in my view.”

But somewhere along the lines I put the rolled oats back in. Does that make me a radical? I just like a bit more substance in my crumble. If you’re in the traditionalist camp, or any other crumble camp for that matter substitute in your own mix. The crumble here freezes well so you can whip up a dessert in a hurry and works just as well with a traditional apple filling (try 8 sliced red apples, 2 Tbsp sugar and juice of ½ a lemon instead of the fruit mix below).

Strawberry and rhubarb crumble

170 g plain flour
65 g self raising flour
170 g raw sugar
pinch salt
170 g softened butter
1/3 cup rolled oats
1/2 bunch rhubarb, chopped into 2-3 cm pieces
1 punnet strawberries, hulled and halved
2 Tbsp honey, warmed
1/2 tsp vanilla
A splash of rosewater

Combine flours, sugar, salt and 120 g of butter in the food processor until it resembles breadcrumbs. Add oats and pulse briefly to combine.

In a medium casserole dish, toss the rhubarb and strawberries with honey, vanilla and a splash of rosewater then press the mixture down.

Just before baking, sprinkle the crumble mixture over the fruit. Chop the remaining 50 g butter into small cubes and scatter across the crumble.

Bake in a 200 degree C oven for 30-40 minutes or until the top is browned.

Serves 4

Traybake meal ideas

I love a one pot, set & forget meal. Less washing up and less time spent prepping. I sound like Suzie Homemaker but it's true!

Now that the weather is warming up, hearty stews on the slow cooker are a little less appealing (although, only a little...) so I've been seriously hitting up traybakes in the oven. And you know what? I think they're even easier than the slow cooker. Much less chopping and no need to brown any meat.

Roast chicken pieces and baked sausages are high on rotation at our house right now. Below is an adaptation of a sausage and fennel recipe that my mother in-law snipped from Good Weekend magazine way back in 2008 (pictured above). Bonus points if you can find pork and fennel chipolatas.

I'm also loving Baked ratatouille with snags, another Fairfax recipe from way back in 2008. It's a Jill Dupleix dish that I clipped from Epicure  and then subsequently lost. Now whenever I want it I google "oven lovin' sausage". I really should write it down in case it's one day unavailable.

And then there's chicken. Any variation of chicken and chorizo is a winner in my book. Bonus points if you can get hold of chicken pieces with bone in and skin on (actually not always that easy here in Tamworth). I'm loving these recipes:

• Spanish chicken traybake with chorizo and peppers (pictured) from BBC Good Food. I allow an extra serve of chicken per person so we all have enough to eat without carbs.
• Chorizo chicken from BabyMac. You might like  to whip up a salad or steam some greens to complete this meal but no need to cook spuds, they're already included.
• Mediterranean oven-baked chicken drumsticks from Annabel Karmel. Ok, there's no chorizo in this one but it's super easy and the kids love it, as you'd expect from AK. I often cook thigh cutlets for the adults as well as drumsticks.

And in case you can't be bothered to follow the links above, here's the sausage and fennel recipe.

Baked sausages fennel and tomatoes

1 small fennel bulb

2 red onions, peeled and sliced into rounds
4 roma tomatoes, halved lengthwise

Half a bunch of thyme

5 sprigs of rosemary

3 tbsp olive oil

12 pork chipolatas

150 ml white wine

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees. Cut the fennel vertically into wedges, keeping a little bit of the base on each to hold it together. Arrange in a roasting pan with the onion and tomato. Scatter with thyme, rosemary and fennel seeds and drizzle over the olive oil Season well then tuck in the sausages, add the wine and bake uncovered for 45 minutes or until sausages are browned, tossing the veges and turning the sausages after 20 minutes. 

Serves 4.

Recipe road test: Beetroot & Sweet Potato Soup | Downtown Magazine

In last month's post about mandarins I mentioned our generous neighbour, who went overseas and left us in charge of her citrus trees. Well, she also left us in charge of a vege patch consisting of a two metre long wall of snow peas and two square metres of beetroot. That's a LOT of beetroot.

I love beetroot but I find cooking it is rarely fuss-free... all the dirt and the stain-risking juice. Can I bang on any more about how I need fuss-free meals at the moment? Even simply roasting the crimson bulbs in a square of oiled foil involves a messy peeling process.

And yet, I feel the universe was telling me to quit whinging and start cooking. The neighbours had been gone for just a few days when I opened the latest Downtown Magazine and saw this recipe.

I had an endless supply of beetroot and it was soup weather. Universe speaking!

There is a bit of messy prep involved, particularly if you are lucky to be using beetroot fresh from the garden. I had to rinse the tap roots free of soil before peeling the skin (which I'd given a light scrub, too). My top tip for handling beetroot, raw or cooked, is disposable food prep gloves. Get a box next time you're at the supermarket. If you're like me they'll sit in your cling wrap drawer largely untouched but you'll be thrilled they're there when you need them.

Downtown's Editor in Chief, the talented and determined Anna Davis, has generously allowed me to reproduce the recipe below but honestly, I'd be tempted to throw it all in the pot together and hope for the best. Ok, that's not entirely true. DO brown the onion in the oil first, but maybe skip the step where you rub the root vegetables with oil, cumin, salt and pepper. Instead, add them to the pot after the onions are browned. Toss over medium heat until fragrant, add your liquid of choice (I used chicken stock), cook for 30 minutes, blend and voila!

The beetroot, coconut oil and cumin flavours are faaaaan-tastic. Who would've thought a soup could be so fresh and light yet hearty and warming at the same time.

The recipe is a bit "choose your own adventure" when it comes to garnish. I can recommend a serious dollop of full fat greek yoghurt, torn mint leaves and a bit of crunch. 

Crunch? Try dry frying pepita and sesame seeds until toasty. Let me know how you go with that as I didn't quite get there. Best intentions and all...

Beetroot & Sweet Potato Soup
Downtown Magazine, Winter 2017

3 sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into bite-size chunks
3 beetroots, peeled and cut into bite-size chunks
2 tablespoons coconut oil, melted
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 onion, finely chopped
500 ml bone broth, chicken or veggie stock
200 ml water
salt and pepper

Rub the chunks of sweet potato and beetroot in 1 tablespoon coconut oil, the cumin and a grind of salt and pepper.

Heat 1 tablespoon coconut oil in a large saucepan over a medium heat for 1 minutes, add the onion and saute with a pinch of salt for 5 minutes. Throw in the sweet potato and beetroot and saute for 3 minutes, stirring constantly so nothing burns, then add the broth or stock, and the water.

Bring the temperature to a simmer for 30 minutes, puree with a hand blend, and serve with your favourite garnish.

 Serves 4

Homegrown mandarins

We are loving mandarin season here at the moment. In years past we've jumped for joy when imperials appear on our supermarket shelves and expressed disappointment when the honey murcotts take over. But this year is different.

This year we're all about the home grown! Not from our own garden, but from the gardens of our neighbour and our aunt, who have generously gone overseas during peak citrus season and encouraged us to enjoy the spoils of their labour.

Last year mandarins were still a little tart for our twins, who are now two-and-a-half, but this year any sharpness is overlooked for the excitement of peeling the things. "My do it" is the common phrase from the pair. This is fortunate, because anyone familiar with homegrown citrus knows that sharpness can vary. A lot.

I'm not sure how much is getting eaten. Sometimes it's more about the challenge of the peel and the joy of spitting the seeds out, a skill they've only just learnt. I'm just happy there's some enthusiasm for something healthy. Particularly from Tommy, who would otherwise survive on nothing but weetbix, eggs and custard.

I've always thought mandarins a little tricky to cook with. So much more fragile than other citrus fruit. How do you grate the rind or juice the interior without rendering the whole thing to mush?

I can't provide the answer to this (can you?) but I can provide links to three mandarin recipes that have caught my eye from my own cook book collection and online. Our newly purchased house backs onto bushland and there is a "wild" mandarin tree down the gully. Next year I might give it some love (ie water and fertiliser) and see what we get. I'm optimistically thinking we might need these recipes to get through a glut... 

Goats cheese platter with mandarin preserve from delicious magazine... if you're anti-goats cheese stop turning up your nose and simply substitute a good smelly washed rind. I love how minimal prep is required for this preserve. 

Mandarin salad with cherry tomatoes and nuts, because someone out there might be a little healthier than me. 

Dark gingerbread cake with mandarin compote from Gourmet Traveller because I can't resist cake and again with the easy-prep. Mandarin is surely the lazy gals' citrus?

NONE of these recipes have been tested by me. I have three kids under three, and two of them are devouring most of the bounty. If YOU cook one of the recipes, I'd love to hear what you think. Keeper or not?

How to cook truffle

A good friend called me the other day and said she had some truffle. I jumped to conclusions and thought I was about to get a dinner invitation. Yippee. 

But no, this mum of three including a young baby, was discharging truffle responsibility to me, another mum of three including a young baby. I can't say I blame her, I'm not leaping to host dinner parties either.

She'd been gifted the truffle, enjoyed some of it herself and thought that I was the most worthy recipient of the remainder. I should have felt honoured. And I did. But I also felt a bit of a fake. I wasn't even sure I liked truffle.

I'm in a lucky minority who has tried the black fungus before, but each time left me a little bewildered. 

The first, shaved onto raw egg yolk at Melbourne's Movida, was never going to end well given a) I'm not an egg fan and b) I became accidentally inebriated during the dinner. Rich, rich, rich food and a woozy head. 

The second was three years ago at said friend's house.She did a wonderful job, finely grating the truffle over risotto, but I was pregnant at the time, so the over-rich, woozy connotations gained more traction. Finally, I'm not even sure the third time counts. Truffle mayonnaise served with butterflied chicken? Rich food during a hot Tamworth summer.

Hence my challenge. I dared not waste this precious piece of black gold, regardless of prior experience. So I set out online to find a recipe. Risottos and pastas were common, but as a mum of three I have limited capacity to prepare a meal that must be eaten immediately.

Instead I found Roast Chicken with Warm Truffle and Cauliflower Salad, from French chef Guillaume Brahimi. Guillaume recommends slipping shaved truffle under the chicken skin. I didn't have enough so I reserved it for the warm salad. And can I say it was amazing? Or is that a bit egocentric given I cooked it myself? Best truffle experience by far!

Coincidentally Sydney Morning Herald's Good Food included an article on truffles the following week. My take-homes from the article were:

• Don't heat the truffle above 80 degrees.
• Store wrapped in paper towel in an airtight container in the fridge and change the paper towel daily. 
• Allow 3-8g of truffle per person per course.

Finally, don't over think it. You don't' need anything elaborate to carry the flavour. Simple dishes are best, such as pasta, risotto, roast chicken and scrambled eggs. We hold the truffle up to some lofty aspirations in the form of French Brasseries and silver service, but try to think more of the marvel's humble, earthy origins when looking for inspiration.