Drained Maas Cheese Roll with Lemon, Pepper & Smoked Paprika

I've had a lovely response to my recipe for drained maas [amasi] cheese - thank you for the emails and messages!  I'm so excited by this method for making gorgeous soft white cheese at home that I've made three more batches this week, experimenting with a variety of flavours. Here is my current favourite: a 'salami' of cheese with lemon zest and white pepper, rolled in cracked black pepper & smoked paprika.

Drained Maas Cheese flavoured with lemon and pepper.
 Plate by Master Potter of Franschhoek David Walters.

This cheese is so inexpensive to make at home - the two-litre bottle of full-cream maas it takes to make two of these will set you back around R20. A huge saving, considering that a single, smaller (100g) 'salami' of this sort costs between R19 and R23 at upmarket stores.

I am smitten by white pepper, so tend to use it with abandon, but as it has a strong, rather 'dusty' flavour, I suggest you add it to the cheese in pinches, tasting as you go.

This home-made cheese is also good with sweet chilli jam (see Cook's Notes).

Another wonderful flavouring for this cheese is horseradish (see my Cook's Notes at the end of this blog post).

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Drained Maas Cheese Roll with Lemon, Pepper & Smoked Paprika

a drained maas cheese, made from 1 litre of full-cream maas
the finely grated zest of half a lemon
½ tsp (2.5 ml) white pepper
salt, to taste
freshly milled black pepper
1 tsp (5 ml) good smoked paprika

To serve: 
fresh radishes, or crunchy accompaniments of your choice
Salticrax or similar salted crackers, to serve

Tip the cheese into a bowl. Add the lemon zest, pepper and salt, to taste, and knead well with your fingertips. It's quite a sticky cheese, so you might want to use a sturdy spoon instead.

Roll the cheese into a tight salami shape.

Form the cheese into a ball and then roll it into a neat salami shape between the palms of your hands. Place a piece of clingfilm or baking paper on the counter and grind over it plenty of black pepper. Gently roll the cheese back and forth so it is coated all over. Now dip the two ends in the pepper. Repeat the process using the smoked paprika.

Place the cheese on one end of a new length of clingfilm and roll it up, as if you are making a Christmas cracker.  Grasp the two ends of the 'cracker' and continue roll the cheese away from you to form a neat, tight cylinder. Twist the two ends together (see picture above), and refrigerate for 4-5 hours, or until firm.

Unroll the cheese, slice it into discs (see Cook's Notes) and serve with crackers and radishes.

Makes one cheese; serves 4 as a snack, with accompaniments.  

Cook's Notes

• The best way to slice this cheese is with a length of unscented dental floss or similar thin, strong thread.   
• If you're not in South Africa, you can make this with yoghurt, using this recipe.
• This is also good with sweet chilli sauce, tomato jam, wine jelly, quince jelly, and so on.
• Try using the maas cheese in my recipe for Smoked Venison with Horseradish & White Pepper. You can serve this pressed into a mould, or formed into dear little 'lollipops' (see below, right.)

Smoked Venison with Horseradish & White-Pepper Cream Cheese, served two ways

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Paprika Pork Fillet with Greek Yoghurt, plus top tips for cooking with natural yoghurt

When you spend a lot of time cooking and thinking about food and writing new recipes, you can't help but develop ridiculous fascinations for particular ingredients.  You scatter these ingredients all over your blog, hoping your readers will find the flavours as compelling as you do, and then all of a sudden your tastes swerve in another direction and you move onto something new.

Over the years I've been writing this blog, I've fixated on a number of ingredients, among them nasturtium leaves, white pepper, paprika, fennel, capers, quinces, fresh horseradish, dried mint, pork neck and prickly pears. This year, it's Greek yoghurt: not necessarily eaten thick and cold with fruit or honey or nuts, but as a brilliant substitute for cream or coconut milk in piping-hot savoury dishes and curries, and as a cool and calming note in chilled mayonnaisey ones.

Before I give you this recipe, may I warm to the topic of Greek yoghurt? I don't like fruit-flavoured commercial yoghurts, but for many years I've been an ardent fan of tangy Greek yoghurt so thick you can stand a spoon up in it. Mixing glorious natural yoghurt with fresh garlic, herbs and lemon juice to make a low-carb, low-fat smothering sauce has become a habit whenever I go on any sort of diet (about twice a month, and to no avail, I'm afraid).

Postscript, 15 March 2014: Here is my foolproof recipe for home-made Greek-Style Yoghurt.

My particular interest over the last few months has been in cooking with yoghurt, and specifically using it as a substitute for sinful dairy cream (and butter, and fatty coconut cream) in soups, stews, sauces, curries and casseroles.

Full dairy cream wins many glittering prizes when it comes to taste and mouth-feel because - along with its cousin, glorious salty butter - it adds superb silkiness, savour and luxury to so many of the world's best-loved classic sauces. Restaurant chefs all over the world make use of scandalous amounts of cream and butter to make sauces taste heavenly, and who can blame them for that?  A white-wine reduction designed to be draped over fish would be rubbish without a splash of cream to round it off,  and what would a trembling emulsion such as Hollandaise or Béarnaise be without butter?

I haven't much cared, over the years, about using dobbles of cream and cubes of butter in family dishes because I vehemently reject the notion that there are 'bad' and 'good' foods ('Everything in moderation', as Granny used to say).  I always keep a carton or two of cream in the fridge, for dribbling into sauces, scrambled eggs and soups, and when I brown chicken or fish or red meat in olive oil I will always pop in a knob or two of cold salty butter for basting purposes.

But recently I've given thought to cutting extraneous dairy fats out of our family meals, and so my interest has turned again to Greek yoghurt as a 'creamifying' and enriching agent.

Anyone who has tipped a carton of Greek yoghurt into a seething pan filled with lovely ingredients and seen it curdle in an instant to nasty white lumps may give a sympathetic nod at this point.  But please don't give up hope.

After some experimentation, I've figured out how to use yoghurt to enrich hot dishes. If you follow these steps, you'll find you can very effectively enrich soups and stews with Greek yoghurt in place of cream.

In my experience, there are two things that yoghurt hates: 1. Acidity and 2. Fierce heat.  Or a fatal combination of both.

I've found that it is possible to add fairly large quantities of Greek yoghurt to dishes containing much acidity - in the form of fresh or tinned tomatoes, for example, or freshly squeezed lemon juice - without ending up with a curdled mess you wouldn't feed the cat.

Here are my three golden rules:

1. Add the yoghurt in small quantities, at the last minute, dollop by slow dollop, and never in one big go.

2.  Never add yoghurt to a dish that's energetically boiling, or bubbling briskly. Turn the heat down to the lowest it can go, or turn the heat off.

3. Mix the yoghurt with a small amount of cornflour - just a teaspoon, or less, depending on the dish  - to stabilise it, before you add it to the hot pan.  This isn't strictly necessary, but it is a great help.

But on to the recipe, which is a good example of how you can use yoghurt to add lovely softness to dishes traditionally enriched with cream.  This is a quick and easy dish that takes some short cuts (not browning the onions, for example), and it's a good choice for a family meal. Pork fillet isn't expensive compared to chicken or beef fillets, and it's exceptionally lean if you trim off every bit of fat.  Although this dish is quite acidic because it contains fresh tomatoes, it accepts the yoghurt gracefully, and is - I reckon - the better for it.

A top-quality paprika makes all the difference to this dish. I'm not saying you can't make it with ordinary supermarket paprika, but what a difference a beautiful Spanish paprika makes.

One or two tablespoons of cream will help to round off the flavours (sorry, I just can't resist it). See my Cook's Notes at the end of the recipe.

Paprika Pork Fillet with Greek Yoghurt

1 kg pork fillet (about three fillets - or tenderloins - of 300 g each)
4 Tbsp (60 ml) cake flour
salt and milled black pepper
2 Tbsp (30 ml) olive oil
2 Tbsp (30 ml) butter
2 medium onions, peeled and roughly chopped
500 g ripe cherry or Rosa tomatoes
3 cloves garlic, peeled and roughly sliced
1 tsp (5 ml) white granulated sugar
1 Tbsp (15 ml) tomato paste
a large (10 cm) sprig of fresh thyme
¾ cup (180 ml) dry white wine
¼ cup (60 ml) water
the finely grated zest and juice of one lemon
1 Tbsp (15 ml) mild Spanish paprika, or more, to taste
1 tsp (5 ml) good quality smoked paprika [optional]
1 cup (250 ml) thick natural Greek yoghurt
a handful (125 ml) finely chopped fresh parsley

Trim the pork fillets of any fat or sinew. Cut into slices 3 cm thick. Put the flour into a big mixing bowl and season it generously with salt and milled black pepper.

Heat a large frying pan and add the oil and butter. While the fat is heating, put the fillet slices into the bowl of seasoned flour and toss them around so they're well coated.  Pat and shake the slices energetically to remove the excess flour - they should be just lightly dusted.  When the fat is very hot, brown the slices on both sides (in two or three batches, and without overcrowding the pan) until they have a nice golden crust, but are still somewhat raw on the inside.  Set each batch aside on a plate while you finish frying the rest.

In the meantime place the onions, tomatoes, garlic and sugar into a food processor, or similar liquidising device, along with any remaining flour left over in the bowl in which you dredged the meat slices. Whizz the mixture to a fairly fine coral-pink purée, but don't over-process it, because it will become foamy.

Once you've browned the final batch of pork slices, tilt the pan over the sink to drain away any excess fat, turn down the flame and add the tomato paste. Cook the tomato paste over a gentle heat for a minute, then pour in the white wine to deglaze the pan, stirring and scraping energetically to release any golden sediment clinging to its base. Add the water and the puréed onion/tomato/garlic mixture, along with the thyme sprig. Turn up the heat again and cook at a lively bubble for about 10 minutes, or until the mixture has slightly reduced and thickened, and has darkened in colour.  It's ready when you drag a spoon across the mixture and your spoon leaves a narrow channel that closes reluctantly.

Add the yoghurt patiently, a dollop at a time, stirring carefully between each addition.
 Don't boil the sauce, or the yoghurt might curdle. 

Put the browned pork slices back into the pan and add the lemon zest, paprika and smoked paprika. Turn down the heat and gently simmer the pork slices in their sauce for 4-5 minutes (turning them over once or twice during that time), or until they're cooked right through.

Stir in the lemon juice, to taste, and bubble the sauce for another minute. Now turn the heat down to the very lowest it can go and add the yoghurt, tablespoon by tablespoon, stirring well between each addition. When all the yoghurt has been incorporated, remove the thyme sprig and taste the sauce. Add more salt and pepper if you think it's necessary, plus an extra spritz of lemon juice to add some pleasant acidity. Stir in the chopped parsley and serve immediately, with mashed potatoes and steamed green beans, or a pile of fresh rocket, beetroot and watercress.

Serves 4-6 as a main course.

Cook's Notes

• Two or three tablespoons of fresh creamed stirred in at the end will beautifully finish off the flavours.
• I've found that ultra-low-fat yoghurts are more unstable in the pan than full-fat yoghurts.
• You can use tinned tomatoes in this dish, if you are in a hurry, but please bear in mind that tinned tomatoes are often extremely acidic, and that they may cause your sauce to curdle once you've added the yoghurt. A pinch of bicarbonate of soda added along with the tinned tomatoes may prevent this.

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Easy-Peasy-Lemon-Squeezy Pea and Gammon Soup with a Cool Mint Topping

This is my lighter, brighter version of classic pea and ham soup, and it's made quickly, with minimal boiling, in order to preserve some of the fresh colour of the peas.  Because I love the contrast of hot and cold, and to add sparkle to the soup, I've topped it with a cool mixture of thick Greek yoghurt, mint, lemon and Tabasco sauce, and a ripple of fruity olive oil.

Easy-Peasy-Lemon-Squeezy Pea and Gammon Soup
 with a Cool Mint Topping

Frozen peas are essential for this dish (I never use anything other than frozen peas, because their taste and texture is so superior to raw peas that've been sitting on a supermarket shelf for days).

Do try to find white pepper to use in this soup: it makes a small but appreciable difference to the flavour of both soup and topping.  If you have chicken or vegetable stock to hand, use that, but boiling water will do fine. (And the world won't end if you add a good stock cube to your water.)

The cornflour in the soup is there is help bind everything together. The first time I made this soup, it kept separating, but the addition of cornflour in the next batch sorted out that problem. With peas cooked for such a short time, you won't achieve a perfectly smooth purée, but I like a soup with a bit of texture.

Easy-Peasy-Lemon-Squeezy Pea & Gammon Soup with a Cool Mint Topping

1 kg frozen baby peas
1.5 litres (6 cups) boiling water or stock
4 lean gammon steaks (about 400 g)
2 Tbsp (30 ml) olive oil
the juice of a lemon
a large onion, finely chopped or grated
a clove of garlic, finely chopped
1 Tbsp (15 ml) cornflour
an extra squeeze of lemon juice
5 Tbsp (75 ml) cream
salt and white pepper

For the topping:
1 cup (250 ml) thick natural Greek yoghurt
2 tsp (10 ml) finely grated lemon zest
the juice of half a lemon
1½ tsp (7.5 ml) Tabasco sauce
a handful of fresh mint leaves, finely shredded
salt and white pepper
fruity olive oil

First make the topping. Put the yoghurt, lemon zest and juice, Tabasco sauce and mint into a bowl and stir well. Season with salt and a little white pepper. Refrigerate.

Put the frozen peas in a large bowl and pour half the boiling water or stock over them. Stir gently to break up any icy lumps and set aside.

Cut the gammon steaks into small cubes. Heat the oil in a large pot and add the gammon. Fry over a high flame, stirring often, until the cubes are nicely browned. Now add the juice of a lemon (stand back, as there will be spitting) and stir vigorously to loosen the brown sediment on the bottom of the pan. Cook for a further 30 seconds. Remove the gammon with a slotted spoon and set aside.

Add the onion to the pan (you may need to add a little more olive oil) and fry gently for a few minutes, or until soft and translucent. Stir in the garlic and cook for another minute.

Add the now-defrosted peas and water to the pot, along with the remaining boiling water or stock and a big pinch of salt. Bring rapidly to the boil and cook for a few minutes, or until the peas are tender but still bright green. Remove a soup-ladle full of peas, drain and set aside to use as a topping. Tip the soup into a liquidiser or food processor fitted with a metal blade, along with the tablespoon of cornflour, and whizz until smooth. (Or use a stick blender.)

Return the soup to the pot along with the gammon cubes (but set aside a few cubes to use as a topping). Reheat, using a spoon to skim off any foam on the surface. Simmer for four minutes; any longer and the soup will begin to lose its colour. Turn off the heat and stir in the cream and big squeeze of lemon juice. Don't reheat the soup at this point, as it may curdle. Season with more salt, if necessary, and a pinch of white pepper.

Serve piping hot, topped with a big blob of minty yoghurt, the reserved peas and gammon cubes, and a generous swirl of fruity olive oil.

Serves 6.



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Spiced Butterflied Chicken with Saffron and Yoghurt

This is an easy oven-baked dish that adds great flavour and succulence to a whole chicken. It doesn't take long to prepare, but it does need to marinate in its spicy, yoghurty cloak for two to three hours.

I'm a great fan of thick natural white yoghurt, especially in savoury dishes, not only because it has a lovely texture and taste but also because of its amazing tenderising qualities.

It's taken me several tries to get this new recipe right, because yoghurt is a tricky ingredient. It tends to curdle at heat, and even more so when combined with one of the great loves of its life, namely lemon juice. I can't promise you won't have some degree of curdliness (I know that isn't a word, although it should be) but if you roast the chicken in a moderate oven it should turn out perfectly.

This recipe is based on my marinade for butter chicken, described here, although I've added saffron to the mix. The reason some people have an aversion to saffron is, I think, because restaurant chefs have a somewhat heavy hand with it, even though it's such an expensive spice. The trick with saffron is to use just a tiny pinch of threads - and by that I mean a smidgen; perhaps 8 to 10 threads, depending on the quality of the saffron you've bought. Those delicate filaments may look as if they won't add much flavour to your dish, but just a whisper of saffron packs a powerful punch. If you don't like - or don't have, or can't afford - saffron, leave it out, and use one to two teaspoons of turmeric instead.

Don't be tempted to add more than one slice of lemon to the roasting pan, or it will make the pan juices bitter.

If you can't find a butterflied chicken - what is charmingly called a 'flattie' in South Africa - ask your butcher to butterfly it for you. Or buy a whole chicken and do it yourself: it's very easy. Here are some good written instructions.

This is delicious with boiled new potatoes and a simple salad of dark leaves dressed with the hot pan juices (the ones in the picture are red-vein sorrel, which I grow in pots).

Spiced Butterflied Chicken with Saffron and Yoghurt

1 large free-range chicken, fat trimmed, and butterflied
a thin slice of lemon, peel and all
3 bay leaves
a large sprig of fresh thyme
1 cup (250 ml) thick white yoghurt
2 fat cloves garlic, peeled and finely grated
2 T (30 ml) grated fresh ginger
the juice of a large lemon
1 tsp (5 ml) chilli powder (or more, to taste)
2 tsp (10 ml) cumin
1 tsp (5 ml) garam masala
1 tsp (5 ml) coriander
½ tsp (2.5 ml) cinnamon
a pinch of saffron threads (or 1½ tsp [7.5 ml] turmeric]
salt and freshly milled black pepper
a little melted butter, for basting

To serve:
chopped fresh coriander [cilantro]
lemon wedges

Using a sharp knife, make deep slashes in the thighs, breasts and drumsticks of the butterflied chicken. Lay it in a roasting pan and tuck the lemon slice, bay leaves and fresh thyme sprig underneath. In a bowl, mix together the yoghurt, garlic, ginger, lemon juice and all the spices. Season with salt and pepper.

Pour the mixture over the chicken and rub it into the skin, pressing it deeply into the cuts. For even more flavour, gently separate the breast skin from the meat and spread some of the marinade into the 'pocket' you've made. Cover the pan with clingfilm, place it in the fridge and allow to marinate for two hours, or longer (but no more than four).

Sprinkle a few pinches of extra chilli powder, cumin, black pepper and sea salt over the top of the chicken. Roast at 160ºC for an hour and fifteen minutes, or until cooked through. (Check by inserting the point of a sharp knife into the deepest part of the thigh: if the juices run clear and there's no sign of pinkness next to the bone, the chicken is cooked). Every twenty minutes, baste the chicken, using a pastry brush or a big spoon, with the pan juices and a little melted butter.

Remove from the oven and allow to rest for 10 minutes. Cut into portions, scatter with some freshly chopped coriander and serve hot, with lemon wedges.

Serves 4

Cook's note: Line the bottom of the dish with good baking paper, which will make it easier to clean. Print Friendly

Spiced Baked Aubergines with Yoghurt and Pomegranate Seeds

Every family has a handful of famous recipes, and a famous recipe in my family is my brother-in-law Freddy's Aubergines with Garlic Yoghurt. (We call them brinjals, as do most people in South Africa.) Freddy, who is of Cypriot descent, always makes this excellent dish for family gatherings, along with his equally famous Smashed Olives).

Spiced Baked Aubergines with Yoghurt and Pomegranate Seeds

Freddy's recipe involves salting and rinsing thick slices of brinjal, frying them in hot oil until crisp and golden, then layering them in a dish with thick, garlicky yoghurt and few secret ingredients. (I assume he has secret ingredients, because when I make this, it doesn't taste half as good as Freddy's.)

This recipe is a variation on the theme, except that I have added lemon thyme, and lightly spiced the slices with some warming flavours of the middle east. The combination of aubergines, cumin, coriander and yoghurt brings to mind Persan cuisine, so I've also added a scattering of fresh pomegranate seeds, which pop gloriously in your mouth and provide a bright crunchy contrast to the silken centres of the brinjal slices.

Also, I've baked these, not fried them, to prevent the spices from turning bitter in the pan.

This is a good party dish because you can prepare the brinjals in advance and keep them, covered, in the fridge until you're ready to bake them. You will find that the slices suck up the oil like blotting paper (especially if you haven't degorged them; see below), but don't be tempted to add more before you bake the dish: I promise they'll be beautifully golden and crispy-edged when they come out of the oven.

It's not strictly necessary to degorge the brinjals before you bake them (today's modern varieties are not as bitter as the brinjals yesteryear) but I have found that this process helps to prevent the slices from absorbing too much oil. Choose firm, tight-skinned brinjals with a dark glossy skin, and not too big.

A very rich, creamy Greek yoghurt is essential. Use ordinary thyme if you can't find lemon thyme.

The sumac sprinkled on the slices at the end of cooking gives them a lovely tang. Sumac is available at good delis and spice shops, but if you can't find it, leave it out. Smoked paprika is now widely available, but you can use ordinary paprika. As always, use very, very fresh cumin and coriander (and by that I mean that you bought them less than a week ago!).

Spiced Baked Aubergines with Yoghurt and Pomegranate Seeds

4 medium aubergines
1 tsp (5 ml) salt
⅓ cup (80 ml) olive oil
1.5 tsp (7.5 ml) cumin
1 tsp (5 ml) coriander
½ tsp (2.5 ml) smoked paprika
½ tsp (2.5 ml) chilli powder (or more, if you'd like some real heat)
milled black pepper
8 sprigs of lemon thyme
1 tsp (5 ml) sumac

To serve:
thick natural Greek yoghurt
fresh pomegranate seeds
extra olive oil
lemon wedges

Heat the oven to 180 ºC. Remove the tops and tails of the aubergines and cut them into 1-cm thick discs. Sprinkle the slices with the salt, place them in a colander, put a small plate on top and allow to degorge for half an hour. Pat them dry with a piece of kitchen paper (but don't rinse them).

In a small bowl, mix together the olive oil, cumin, coriander, smoked paprika, chilli powder and pepper. Take a spoonful of the oil and smear it across the bottom of a baking sheet. Rub each slice, top and bottom, with a little of the remaining oil. Arrange the slices on the baking sheet, scatter over the thyme sprigs and season quite generously with black pepper.

Brush the aubergine slices with the spiced olive oil. 

Bake the slices at 180 ºC for 25 minutes. Now turn the heat down to 160 ºC and bake for another 20 minutes, or until the slices are golden and rustling on the outside and soft and silky inside. Crumble the now-dry thyme leaves over the slices and discard the stalks. Sprinkle the sumac over the slices and season with salt, if necessary (but remember they may be salty enough after degorging).

Arrange the slices on a plate. Add dollops of yoghurt and drizzle with a little extra olive oil. Scatter with pomegranate seeds and serve piping hot or warm, with lemon wedges.

Serves 6 as a starter or side dish.


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Moroccan-Spiced Mini Meat-Loaves with Lemon & Mint Yoghurt

What a great stand-by beef mince (ground beef) is when you're feeding a family. I'm not wild about mince (isn't it an annoying and gristly word, 'mince'?) and I loathe the way it goes all lumpy and grey and sticks to the pan when you fry it. However - provided that it's lean mince you're using - it's a good healthy high-protein staple, loved by most kids and teens and also by men hankering after mom's spag bol or meat loaf.

I have shamelessly copied the words above directly from the opening paragraph of my 2007 post on this blog - 'Mince for supper again?' - because I can't be arsed to think up a new way of introducing this most humdrum of ingredients.

I buy mince at least once a week - as do, I'm sure, many other lucky families in the developed world - because it's still relatively inexpensive, it's versatile, it makes good leftovers, and because I firmly believe that my sprouting teens should eat plenty of nourishing, blood-enriching lean red meat.

I think the last time I got excited about cooking mince was in 1982, when I made a killer spag bol in the kitchen of my student digs, cheered on by my admiring housemates, after we'd had many glasses of OB (Old Brown Sherry).

Frankly, mince does not blow my skirt up.

Until last week, when I found myself staring gloomily at a kilogram of fresh minced beef. I toyed with the idea of making a mommy-style meatloaf, baked in a loaf pan and topped with the usual gloopy sauce of sugar, tomato sauce and spices, and then I thought, well, there has to be more to mince...

Anyway, here is the result. These mini-loaves (more like giant muffins, actually) were tender and flavoursome, and they looked rather cheffy, with their puffed-up tops and neat little collars of streaky bacon (yes, I know bacon isn't exactly a staple food in Morocco, or a particularly healthy choice for family food. You can leave it out if you like, but it does add succulence, keep the 'loaves' in shape, and prevent the mince from drying out).

This is a long recipe, with a lot of ingredients, and it takes a while to prepare. But it is worth the effort, especially if you double the quantities and keep the mini-loaves for lunch, or lunchboxes, or the freezer.

The vegetables need to be very finely chopped; I use this wonderful device, which produces a perfect, tiny dice in seconds. You could, at a pinch, grate all the vegetables in a food processor fitted with a coarse grating blade.

If you don't have preserved lemons to hand, use a little finely grated lemon rind instead. See notes about preserved lemons at the end of this post. You can use fresh mint, instead of dried, in the yoghurt sauce, but dried mint has a special flavour. Again, see notes at end of recipe.

Moroccan-Spiced Mini Meat-Loaves with Lemon & Mint Yoghurt

250 g streaky bacon
2 t (10 ml) sunflower or canola oil
1 large onion, very finely chopped
1/2 a green pepper [bell pepper], deseeded and very finely chopped
1/2 a red pepper [bell pepper], deseeded and very finely chopped
2 10-cm sticks celery, very finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
1 ½ cups (375 ml) fresh breadcrumbs (white or brown bread)
1 kg lean minced beef
100 ml finely chopped fresh parsley
100 ml finely chopped fresh coriander [cilantro]
1 extra-large egg, lightly beaten
6 T (90 ml) plain, thick white yoghurt
6 T (90 ml) tomato sauce [ketchup]
2 t (10 ml) Tabasco sauce (optional)
1 ½ t (7.5 ml) Worcestershire sauce

Spicing and seasoning:

1 ½ t (7.5 ml) ground cinnamon
1 T (15 ml) ground cumin
1 t (5 ml) ground coriander
1 t (5 ml) paprika
1 t (5 ml) red chilli powder or cayenne pepper (optional)
1 ½ t (7.5 ml) salt
plenty of freshly ground black pepper

For the yoghurt sauce:

½ a cucumber, finely diced
½ t (2.5 ml) salt
1 ½ (375 ml) cups plain white yoghurt
1 clove garlic, peeled and crushed
a squeeze of lemon juice
salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 T (15 ml) preserved lemon, very finely chopped or minced
2 t (10 ml) dried mint (see notes at end of recipe)

Take 80 g (about 6 slices, or a quarter of the 250 g packet of streaky bacon) and cut it into a small dice. Set the remaining bacon aside. Heat a frying pan, add the vegetable oil and fry the bacon until it just begins to crisp. Add the finely chopped onion, green and red pepper, celery and garlic, and cook, over a medium heat, and without browning, for 5-7 minutes, or until the vegetables are slightly softened, but not mushy (tender-crisp, in other words). Remove from the heat and allow to cool.

Heat the oven to 180°C.

Put the mince, breadcrumbs and finely chopped parsley and coriander into a big mixing bowl. Add the egg, the yoghurt, the tomato sauce, the Tabasco sauce and Worcestershire sauce, along with all the spices and the cooked, cooled vegetable/bacon mixture. Season well with salt and pepper. Using your hands, squish and squeeze the mixture until it is thoroughly combined; this should take a good two to three minutes.

Set a large baking tray or oven-proof ceramic dish on the counter. Divide the mixture into eight portions (each about the size of a tennis ball). Roll each portion into a ball, then place each one on a chopping board so that its top and bottom are flattened. Using the palms of your hands, coax the vertical sides of the mixture upwards, turning all the time, until you have a squat, round-topped tower about 6 cm (2 ½ inches) high. Wrap a piece of streaky bacon around the base of each 'tower' and secure the ends with a toothpick. (If the bacon doesn't reach all the way round, pat and prod the 'tower' so it is a little taller, and its base a little smaller).

Arrange the towers, just touching one another, on the baking dish. Brush the tops of the towers with a little olive oil or melted butter and place in the hot oven. Bake at 180 C for 30-35 minutes, or until cooked right through.

In the meantime, make the yoghurt sauce. Put the chopped cucumbers in a sieve over a bowl and sprinkle with the salt. Allow to stand for 15 minutes. Press down well with the back of a spoon to remove excess liquid. Put the chopped cucumbers into a mixing bowl and add all the remaining sauce ingredients. Decant into a clean bowl and place in the fridge until you're ready to serve the meat loaf.

Remove the meat loaves from the oven and allow to rest for a few minutes. Serve hot with a dollop of cool yoghurt dressing and baked potatoes, or steamed baby potatoes.

Serves eight.


Notes:

Preserved lemons: So easy to make at home, but the problem is that they need a month or so to mature. Here's a great recipe for preserved lemons.

Preserving preserved lemons by freezing them: Another drawback of preserved lemons is that they only last for four or five months in the fridge before they lose their flavour and go slimy. The answer is to freeze them, and here is how: when your preserved lemons are ready and at their best, remove the jar from the fridge. Tip the contents of the jar into a colander set over the sink and rinse the lemon slices under cold running water to remove excess salt. Put each wedge, skin-side down, on a chopping board and, using a sharp, thin-bladed knife, its blade held parallel with the chopping board, slice the yellow softened skin away from the white pith and pulp. Discard the pith and pulp and finely chop the skin into tiny pieces. (If you have enough skin, you could whizz it in a food processor to reduce it to a fine shred). Place the chopped lemon rind into a polythene bag or small tupperware box, label and freeze. Use as needed.

Dried mint: To dry fresh mint, wash a bunch of mint and strip off the leaves. Shake well. Spread the leaves loosely on a baking tray, and put them on the middle rack of your oven. Turn the heat down to its lowest setting and bake until they are quite dry. Crumble the leaves and store in a clean, airtight jar for a up to a month.


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SA Food Fundis II: Michael and Michele Karamanof

Say I had a choice: indulge in an exquisite meal at the finest restaurant in the city, or enjoy a home-cooked Sunday lunch, under a whispering tree, at the home of Parkview couple Mike and Michele Karamanof. No contest: I would head over to my friends' house with a bottle of wine and no regrets.

Maybe I'm getting old and crabby, but I'm fed up with restaurant food in Johannesburg. I can't afford to eat out often, and when I do, I almost always end up feeling ripped off. I do enjoy a slap-up meal at a good family steakhouse or pizza joint, if it's good value for money, but I really resent forking out R800 to R1000 - which is about what it costs to take five people to dinner at an upmarket restaurant these days, excluding wine - for a meal with absurdly stingy portions, pretentious stacked towers of food, dabs of this, drizzles of that, and shriekingly disgusting 'foamed' sauces that look and taste like spit.

All I want is a full plate - or several plates, for that matter - of honest, gutsy, delicious home-cooked food. I want it hot, I want it fresh, and I want it made in a home kitchen by a friend.

Chemical engineer Mike Karamanof and his wife Michele Botha (a graphic designer) have, for many years, and in their spare time, run a small home industry supplying several Johannesburg restaurants with top-quality home-made products, notably superior home-made pesto and tiramisu.

The Karamanofs are small fish in the Johannesburg-Foodie nibbling order: they're not caterers, chefs, restaurateurs or food professionals, but they are still among the best cooks I know. They have an instinctive love of food, they care about fine ingredients, and they understand simple combinations of brilliant flavours.

Welcome to the second of my new series about local South African food fundis!

Michael Karamanof is an ebullient, warm-hearted Greek with a passion for food that borders on obsession. His knowledge of food and ingredients is encyclopaedic: there are few butchers, greengrocers, fishmongers and wine merchants in Johannesburg with whom he isn't on first-name terms. He loves food, he adores wine, and Michael's idea of heaven is whipping on his apron and spending countless deliriously happy hours cooking for friends and family.

Actually, Mike is a complete know-it-all about food, and the only reason he gets away with this insufferable attitude is because he does actually know an enormous amount about food, and especially Mediterranean food. Mike speaks fluent English, Greek, German and French, and can hold a conversation in Italian and several other languages.

Michele Botha, the thoughtful, organisational, highly creative wing of this partnership, and a talented cook herself, is frequently maddened by Mike (the Karamanofs cannot prepare a meal for friends without having a good argument before everyone arrives).

But, back to the food: although they can cook anything, it's simple Greek food that Mike and Michele really adore. And this passion has accelerated since they bought, a year or two ago, a beautiful, tumbledown old house on the Greek island Kythera. The Karamanofs and their son, Leo, try to get back to the old house twice a year. Most of their time there appears to be spent arguing with builders and architects and each other, while they figure out how to to renovate the place, but they also do manage to spend a lot of time finding, eating, and thinking about food. One of the gorgeous desserts featured here - thickened yoghurt with sweet stewed grapes - is a speciality of Kythera.

For weeks, I've plagued M&M, as they are known among friends, for recipes for my SA Food Fundis section of this blog, and as they haven't produced the goods, on the grounds that they 'don't really have proper recipes' (and they genuinely don't, preferring to cook from their hearts) I'm giving you what they made me for lunch a Sunday ago. This represents a tiny portion of the wonderful food I've eaten at their home over the years.

Our meal started off with beetroot greens - the top leafy portion of beetroots, with their crimson stalks - simply cooked and dressed with olive oil, vinegar and salt, and a loaf of yeasty home-baked bread. Thin-crusted, crispy pizzas, freckled underneath with the black spots you get only from a proper wood-fired pizza outdoor oven (manned by Michael in his apron) and topped with gorgeous mozzarella, anchovy, tomatoes, herbs, mushrooms and the best salami, came next. Then, when we thought it was all over, two earthenware dishes of youvetsi - a dish consisting of rice-shaped pasta (orzo) combined with the tender rippings of lamb cooked for many hours with tomato, and topped with feta. And then, to crown it all, the yoghurt and stewed grapes.

All this around a wooden table, under a tree, in glowing autumn sunshine, and the scent of lemons drifting from a nearby tree in Michele's organic vegetable patch.

Does food get any better than this?

Want to go for dinner at Chez Auberge de La Mon Repose in Poshville, Sandton, for a Tower of Scottish Salmon with Rooibos Jus and Biltong Spit?

I thought not.

Here are the recipes:



- Stewed Sweet Grapes with Thick Yoghurt and Mascarpone, Kythera-style
- Beetroot Greens with Olive Oil
- Mike's Youvetsi


This post is the second in my series about South African Food Fundis. To see the first post, about Gilly Walters of Wedgewood Nougat, click here. Print Friendly

A delight from the Greek islands: Kythera-style Yoghurt with Stewed Sweet Grapes

I never, ever, ever, ever, ever eat pudding, but I darn well ate this. Here is a most unctuous and intriguing dessert: sweet, late-season grapes, stewed in a light syrup, and served with a combination of thick, creamy Greek yoghurt and mascarpone.

 Stewed Grapes with Mascarpone & Yoghurt.

This unusual recipe comes from my dear friends Michael and Michele Karamanof, a Johannesburg couple who are superlative cooks.

Mike and Michele first tasted this dish on the island of Kythera, in Greece, this year. 'It's a distinctive dish of this island,' says Michele. 'The recipe uses the very last grapes of the season, which are very sweet, and just beginning to shrivel.'

She adds that the original recipe she and Mike tasted used only thick Greek yoghurt: 'But the yoghurt you get on Kythera is sweeter and richer than South African Greek-style yoghurt, which tends to be slightly sour. So I added a little mascarpone to the recipe.'

Kythera-style Yoghurt with Stewed Sweet Grapes

3 bunches of late-season sweet seedless grapes, such as Sultana grapes
2 cups (500 ml) water
300 ml white sugar
2 cloves
one x 2-cm-long stick of cinnamon
2 cups (500 ml) thick, full-fat Greek-style yoghurt
1/2 cup (125 ml) mascarpone

Pull the grapes from their stalks, rinse well in cold water, and drain. Heat the water, sugar, cloves and cinnamon in a saucepan and heat gently, stirring, until the sugar has completely dissolved. Bring to the boil, tip in all the grapes, and turn down the heat. Cook, uncovered, at a low simmer for an hour to an hour and a half, or until the syrup has reduced by a third. Remove from the heat, set aside at room temperature, and allow to cool completely.

Just before serving, whisk together the yoghurt and the mascarpone. Pile the mixture in a big billowing mound into the centre of a large flat serving platter. Using a slotted spoon, arrange the stewed grapes around the edges of the platter. Pour some of the syrup over the grapes, and splash some of it over the yoghurt mound.

You could dish this into individual pudding bowls, but I think you should do as Mike and Michele did, which was to pass it round the table, with some small teaspoons.

Serves 4-6.

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Paprika Chicken with Sour Cream and Thyme

This creamy oven-baked chicken dish, subtly flavoured with smoked paprika and thyme, is perfect for family dinners. The chicken pieces are smeared with a yoghurt marinade two or three hours before they're baked, which gives them a great succulence. If you want to cut down on calories, you can use plain yoghurt in place of the sour cream, but it will curdle slightly in the oven (see notes).

I used whole chicken legs (that is, Marylands, or pieces with drumstick and thigh still joined) but any cut of chicken will do. You could also use skinned, deboned chicken breasts, but you will need to reduce the cooking time by at least half.

If you can't find smoked paprika, use ordinary, fresh paprika (which should be a vivid brick-red colour, not brown or dusty).


This is lovely with new potatoes and sugarsnap peas, or a green salad. My kids really liked this, although the oldest was a bit huffy because he doesn't like 'gristly bits' in any sort of meat and is a boneless-breast and fillet-steak sorta guy. Hmmmph.

Baked Paprika Chicken with Sour Cream and Thyme
12 pieces of free-range chicken
salt and milled black pepper
200 ml plain white yoghurt
1 Tbsp (15 ml) olive oil
1 onion, peeled and very finely chopped
2 cloves fresh garlic, peeled and crushed
the juice of 1 lemon
1 Tbsp (15 ml) paprika
1 tsp (5 ml) smoked paprika
a handful (about 3Tbsp; 45 ml) fresh thyme leaves
300 ml sour cream or crème fraîche

Season the chicken pieces well with salt and pepper. Place them, skin-side up and in single layer, in an ovenproof dish. In a separate bowl, combine the yoghurt, olive oil, onion, garlic, lemon juice, paprika, smoked paprika and half the thyme. Mix well, and then, using your hands, smear the paste all over the chicken pieces, top and bottom. Cover with clingfilm and set aside to marinate for two to three hours.

Heat the oven to 200°C. Bake the chicken pieces in a hot oven, for 25 minutes, or until the skin begins to brown and crisp. Now cover the dish with a lid or tin foil, turn down the heat to 160° C and bake for 1 hour. Remove the dish from the oven and scoop off any excess fat with a large spoon (or drain by tilting the dish over the sink). Pour the cream (see note below) all over the chicken pieces, sprinkle with the remaining thyme and give the dish a good shake to combine the juices. Bake, uncovered, for another 20 minutes, or until the cream is slightly thickened.

Serves 6-8

Notes:
- If the sour cream or crème fraîche is too thick to pour, thin it down first with a little warm milk or water.

- If you use yoghurt instead of cream, choose a thin pouring yoghurt, and whisk in 1 tsp (5 ml) of cornflour [Maizena or cornstarch] before you pour it over the chicken. This will help to minimize (not prevent) curdling. Print Friendly

21st Century Coronation Chicken with Mango: light, bright and spicy

Coronation Chicken, that classic dish of the 1950s, isn't something you're likely to see on a restaurant menu these days. In fact, I don't recall ever having seeing this on a printed menu. The only time you might encounter Coronation Chicken is if you have lunch with an old granny with strong British connections, or you might be lucky enough to find it between two slices of wholegrain organic bread in a swanky sandwich bar in London.

What a pity this recipe has fallen out of favour, because - given a little healthy tweak and updated with fresh spices - it's delicious.

At a gloved and lipsticked suburban ladies' luncheon in, say, 1959, you might have been served up a dish of cold, poached chicken, coated with a thick, tangy-mayonnaise-and-whipped-cream sauce, flavoured with tomato paste, lemon, apricot purée and a few teaspoonsful of dusty, aged curry powder. A bed of shredded iceberg lettuce might have featured, plus many tufts of parsley and a few artfully carved lemon halves.

The dish was invented, apparently, by florist Constance Spry and her associate Rosemary Hume (original recipe here) for Queen Elizabeth's coronation luncheon in 1953. The recipe appeared in the The Constance Spry Cookbook, published in 1956, and within a few years had become an established classic.

My light, bright and delicate version of this dish uses virtually the same ingredients, but with a healthy twist: skinless, deboned chicken breasts, fresh spices, some good mayonnaise, and tangy white yoghurt. And, because I live in Africa, where mangos are in season, mango slices instead of apricots. But apricots or sliced, peeled fresh peaches would be just as good.

Postscript: I have abandoned the cheffy method of cooking chicken breasts in clingfilm, below, in favour of oven-poaching, which produces a lovely, moist, flavoursome result. Here's how to oven-poach chicken breasts

21st Century Coronation Chicken: light, bright and spicy

10 skinless, deboned chicken breasts, poached, or an equivalent amount of cold sliced cooked chicken (see notes below)
2 T (30 ml) olive oil
1 small onion, peeled and very finely chopped or minced
4 t (20 ml) fresh, mild curry powder
3 ml ground cumin
3 ml turmeric
1 clove
a two-centimetre-long piece of cinnamon stick
2 whole cardamom pods
a bay leaf
4 t (20 ml) tomato paste
4 t (20 ml) apricot jam
the juice of one fat lemon
2 thin slices lemon, peel and all
1/4 cup (60 ml) stock (chicken stock, vegetable stock or water)
1/4 cup (60 ml) white wine
salt and milled black pepper
2/3 cup (160 ml) good home-made mayonnaise, or Hellman's mayonnaise
2/3 cup (160 ml) plain white full-fat yoghurt

First prepare the chicken (see notes, below) and set aside to cool.

Heat the olive oil in a frying pan and add the finely chopped onion. Cook over a brisk heat until softened and beginning to turn a golden brown. Add the curry powder, cumin, turmeric, whole clove, cinnamon stick, cardamom pods and bay leaf, and cook for another minute or so, to allow the spices to release their oils. Now turn down the heat and stir in the tomato paste, the apricot jam, the lemon juice and the lemon slices. Stir well to combine all ingredients, and then stir in the stock and the wine. Season with salt and pepper, and allow to bubble on a low heat for ten to fifteen minutes, or until the mixture is slightly reduced and glossy. Remove from the heat and set aside to cool for 10 minutes.

At this point, you can strain the mixture through a sieve into a clean bowl (press down, using the back of a spoon, on the solids) or, if, you would like to keep the sauce a bit chunky, with all its oniony bits - as I do - pick out the whole spices and discard them.

In a new, clean bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise and the yoghurt. Add two-thirds of the cooled spicy mixture, and stir well to combine. Now taste the mixture, and add more of the cooked sauce to achieve the strength that suits your tastebuds. If the sauce seems very thick (this depends on what sort of yoghurt and mayonnaise you have used) thin it down with a little milk or water. Chill the sauce.

Just before serving, slice the cooked, cooled chicken and arrange on a platter, or individual plates. Coat the chicken with the cool sauce. Serve with with peeled mango, apricot or peach slices, and a few green salad leaves.

Serves 6 to 8.

Notes:

Cooking Chicken for this dish:

I detest chicken breasts poached in water or stock: they go all stiff , in seconds, and the liquid gets all milky and curdled. I am also not very fond of pan-fried chicken breasts, which always seem a bit stringy.

Here are my suggestions: if you are making up a big, tossed platter of Coronation Chicken for a crowd, gently poach a whole chicken in stock or water, remove the skin, and then shred the chicken into biggish pieces, before tossing in the sauce.

If you are looking for something more fancy and cheffy, cook skinned, deboned chicken breasts as follows:

Half-fill a large pot with water and bring to the boil. Place a single piece of clingfilm on the counter top, and on to put put two chicken breasts, fillet side up, side by side. Season with salt and pepper.

Now place the salted sides together to make a sandwich. Pick up the edge of the clingfilm and roll the breasts into a tight sausage, as if you are making a Christmas cracker. Twist the ends of the 'cracker' in opposite direction so that you have a neat and uniform roll. Tuck the twists of clingfilm under the chicken roll. Now repeat the process with another sheet of clingfilm to make the package waterproof. Do the same to the remaining breasts. Put the the chicken rolls in the boiling water and turn the heat down to a simmer. Cook gently for 20-30 minutes, or until the breasts are just cooked through (how long will depend on how thick the breasts are: to test, slice right through one of the packages. If there is any pinkness remaining, re-wrap in a fresh layer of clingfilm and poach for another five minutes).

Remove the chicken parcels from the boiling water using a slotted spoon, and place on a plate to cool. Refrigerate for an hour or so. Then peel off the clingfilm and, using a very sharp knife, carve into disks. Print Friendly

Light Potato Salad with Garlic, Lemon and Yoghurt

A light, bright potato salad made with tender baby potatoes and a dressing that includes garlic, Greek yoghurt and plenty of lemon juice.  The only important watch-point is to avoid 'tangy' mayonnaise or 'salad cream', which ruins the flavour.

Light Potato Salad with Garlic, Lemon and Yoghurt

For the salad:
2 kg new potatoes

For the dressing:
2 cups (500 ml) thick Greek yoghurt
1 cup (250 ml) mayonnaise (Hellman’s or home made)
finely grated rind of one lemon
juice of 2 lemons
2 Tbsp (30 ml) white wine vinegar
2 cloves garlic, peeled and finely grated
1 onion, very finely chopped, or grated
1 tsp (5 ml) Tabasco sauce (optional)
½ cup (125 ml) fresh parsley, finely chopped
½ cup (125 ml) fresh mint, finely chopped
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

To garnish:
5 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and quartered
freshly chopped parsley and mint
A handful of capers (optional)

Put the new potatoes, unpeeled, in a saucepan of cold, salted water and bring to the boil. Boil gently until just tender (but not falling apart).

Put all the dressing ingredients into a bowl and whisk well to combine. Season to taste with salt and black pepper.

Drain the potatoes and allow to cool for 10 minutes. Cut into thick slices (about 5mm), peel and all, and place in a deep mixing bowl. If the potatoes are very small, cut them in half.

Pour the dressing over the warm potatoes and toss very gently to combine. Now tip the salad into a wide, flat dish, arrange the quartered eggs on top and scatter with capers, parsley and mint. Allow to cool and serve at room temperature.

You can make this well in advance, but add the boiled eggs at the last minute, or they will dry out.

 Serves 6-8.

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