Showing posts with label Twitter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Twitter. Show all posts

Friday, 9 March 2012

Ten top tips for making memorable soup, and MasterChefSA blogging

My Roast Ratatouille Soup with Basil Mayonnaise
There's an agreeable crispness in the air in the mornings here in Cape Town, a sure sign that autumn's on its way. Never mind Keats's season of mists and mellow fruitfulness; all I'm really looking forward to is making and eating more soup. The older I get, the more I enjoy soup, and during winter often have a bowl of it for breakfast - I think of it as a sort of hot smoothie. But making a really good, well-textured, flavour-packed soup does require some effort, and I hope you'll find my top tips for memorable soup (below) useful.

Before we get to them, though, some news. It's been a very busy six or seven months here at Scrumptious HQ, and with so much freelance work on my plate I've not had the time to compile my usual newsletters (each one takes me up to a week to put together, and I haven't had a single one of those to spare!). I hope to resume sending you them as soon as the dust settles.

I recently joined hopping Cape Town digital agency Liquorice as a social media strategist. In another exciting development, I've been appointed one of four official bloggers for Woolworths, who are a main sponsor of MasterChef South Africa. This action-packed reality show starts in South Africa on 20 March, and I am certain that it's going to cause a sensation when it airs: there's already much talk and speculation in social media circles. You can follow MasterChef on Twitter at @MasterChefSA  (and the hashtag #MasterChefSA), and Woolies at @WOOLWORTHS_SA.  A link to my Twitter profile is on the top right of this page.

Now to the important business of making soup.

1 
It’s an old-fashioned notion that soups need to be boiled for hours. Good stocks certainly require slow simmering, but many soups need less than 25 minutes’ bubbling after the initial softening of aromatics such as onions, leeks, carrots, celery, garlic, and so on. A speedy cooking time helps to preserve the colour and vibrancy of fresh ingredients.

2 
Soups should never cook at a furious boil. A gentle, rolling, burbling boil – a notch above a simmer – is ideal. Take time to skim the foam off soups as it rises.

Cream of Watercress Soup with Wobbly Eggs
Cream of Watercress Soup with Wobbly Eggs
3
Some of the heartier soups (as with many stews, casseroles and curries) improve enormously on standing: their flavours mellow and mature as the ingredients have time to mingle. Meaty soups, spicy soups and soups made with pulses are often tastier the next day, so feel confident making them in advance if you're cooking for a crowd. Lively vegetable soups that don't require long simmering should be served on the same day they're made.

4 
Invest in a good-quality stick blender. Stick blenders have a huge advantage over liquidisers and food processors in that you don’t need to remove the soup from the pot when the time comes to purée it, so there are fewer things to wash up and a lot less mess. A powerful modern stick blender can quickly produce a very fine purée – finer, in fact, than one produced by liquidisers and food processors, which can be reluctant and often need stirring or scraping down during the blending process.

5
A soup – or a stock – is only as good as its component parts. Avoid the temptation to use supermarket ‘soup packs’ or ready-chopped bags of vegetables. Soup packs often contain unimpressive specimens of vegetables left over from the supermarket packaging process, while ready-chopped vegetable cubes have such an enormous combined surface area that they quickly turn slimy in the fridge. Take the time to hand-pick the best, freshest, snappiest ingredients.  When it comes to deep flavours, there is nothing quite like a good home-made stock.  Although not every fine soup requires a stock, they do add body and complexity, and it really is worth taking the time to make them -  even a quick stock made with six chicken wings and a few well-chosen aromatics is better than no stock at all (or, worse, a salty stock cube).  Here's my recipe for a chicken stock that's partly made in the oven.

6
When seasoning a soup with salt and pepper, always do so judiciously, adding a pinch at a time. You or your guests can always add more seasoning to a soup, but an over-salted soup cannot be rescued. Not even with slices of raw potato, as many older cookbooks advise.

7
Many soups are improved by a squeeze of lemon juice added just before serving; this little spritz of acid can really lift a soup that’s punching below its weight. The same applies to cream - even a few tablespoons can magically mellow and bring together the flavours of a soup.

Chakalaka Soup with Little Boerewors Balls
My Chakalaka Soup with Little Boerewors Balls
8
If your soup seems too thick, thin it down with a little hot water, stock or (in the case of creamy white soups) milk. If it’s too watery, put a tablespoon or two of cornflour or flour or arrowroot in a jar, add double the amount of water and shake vigorously until the mixture is smooth. Add this, a dribble at a time, to the simmering soup, stirring constantly, until it reaches the desired thickness.

9
Soup must be served either piping hot or ice cold – there really are no half-measures. Heat the bowls in the oven before you ladle hot soup into them or, if you’re making a cold soup, chill the bowls in a freezer an hour before you dish up. When you're serving guests, don't overfill their bowls: soup is very filling and not everyone fancies downing litres of it at a time.

Beetroot and Gin Shots
My Iced Beetroot and Gin Shots
10
A lovely way of serving soup at a feast is to treat it as a snack course. Halve the quantities given in the recipe, and pour the soup into small, sturdy glasses (or even teacups) that you’ve heated in a gentle oven. Add the toppings specified in the recipe and serve immediately. I often serve vegetable soups as snacks with toasted-cheese fingers: grate some Cheddar or Gruyère over a few slices of toasted bread, cook under a hot grill until bubbling, then dust with paprika or cayenne pepper and slice into strips. Balance a cheese finger across the top of each glass, and provide a few extra for hungry guests.

For more soup recipes from my blog archive, click here.

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Friday, 28 October 2011

Perfect Padkos: Spicy Frikkadels with a Surprise

Everyone loves a frikkie, or a kofta, or whatever name you give to this delicious, much-loved South African snack. A melting nugget of feta cheese wrapped in fresh mint is the surprise inside these lightly spiced meatballs.

Spicy Frikkadels with a Surprise
Perfect Padkos: Spicy Frikkadels with a Surprise
Frikkies are a very important component of padkos. This is an Afrikaans word that is impossible to translate, although its literal meaning is 'road food'. But padkos is so much more than just food for the road.  Most often, you'll take padkos in the car with you on a long trip, but you can also use the word to describe any food you'd take to eat on the hoof. Or on a plane, or a train.

I have fond memories of the long train trips I used to take when I was a student at Rhodes University in the early 1980s. The final leg of the journey involved changing trains at Alicedale, a small railway town in the Eastern Cape. The train that used to run between Alicedale and Grahamstown was pulled by an ancient Puffing Billy that toiled so slowly up the hills that you could hop off and jog alongside the train without any fear of being left behind. On one occasion, half starved, having spent all my pocket money the previous day, I was delighted to see the auntie sitting in the seat opposite me hauling out a big, battered polystyrene cooler box. She and her daughter, who both looked like overstuffed sofas in their floral crimplene dresses, carefully unpacked a wonderful assortment of padkos, including chilled grapes, sandwiches, vetkoek, lemonade and big plastic blikkie [box] lined with foil and filled to the brim with juicy-looking frikkadels. Then, without so much as offering me a taste, they methodically demolished the lot, dolefully chewing on their meatballs all the way to Grahamstown, their bovine eyes fixed on a point six inches above my head.

I asked my friends on Twitter to help me define #padkos. The best suggestion, from @NixDodd, was, 'The refreshing victuals packed to sustain travellers on the long South African roads."   Spot on: 'victuals' is an excellent word for describing this sort of food.

And what, I asked Twitter, constitutes proper padkos? There are too many victuals to list here, but the most popular items included hard-boiled eggs (with salt in a twist of foil), egg- or chicken-mayonnaise sandwiches, frikkadels, biltong, cold boerewors, pork sausages, crisps, rusks, samoosas, naartjies, moerkoffie in a flask (preferably sweetened with condensed milk), toffees, sweets and cold chicken drumsticks. All these suggestions were tweeted with great fondness and nostalgia, revealing just how important a part padkos plays in South Africa's culinary heritage.

If you're still not convinced by the idea of cold meatballs, try my special formula (although you may want to leave out the cheese if they're going to be eaten on the road). You can make these with minced lamb, beef, or pork or – best of all – a combination of beef and pork.

Prepare the raw frikkadels up to 12 hours ahead and keep them covered in the fridge. These need to be fried and then finished off in the oven, or they will darken in the pan before they’re cooked right through. The chickpea and spice dusting helps to create a rich golden crust. Chickpea flour is available from health shops and spice shops. But you can, of course, use ordinary flour.

Spicy Frikkadels with a Surprise
The middles of these frikkies contain a nugget of feta and a mint leaf

Spicy Frikkadels with a Surprise

1 large egg
5 Tbsp (75 ml) natural yoghurt
1 cup (250 ml) fresh white breadcrumbs
750 g minced beef, lamb or pork
1 small onion, peeled and finely grated
2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
½ cup (125 ml) finely chopped fresh coriander
1 tsp (5 ml) finely grated lemon zest
1½ tsp (7.5 ml) cumin
1 tsp (5 ml) ground coriander
½ tsp (2.5 ml) chilli powder, or more, to taste
1½ tsp (7.5 ml) salt
milled black pepper
100 g feta cheese, cut into 1-cm cubes
a small bunch of fresh mint
sunflower oil, for frying

For the 'crust':
½ cup (125 ml) chickpea (channa) flour
1 tsp (5 ml) turmeric
1 tsp (5 ml) paprika


Whisk the egg and yoghurt in a large mixing bowl, stir in the breadcrumbs and allow to stand for 5 minutes. Now add the mince, onion, garlic, coriander, lemon zest, spices, salt and black pepper to taste. Using your hands, squish everything together to make a fairly firm paste.

To form the meatballs, pinch off a ball the size of a large litchi. Slightly flatten it in the palm of your hand, place a mint leaf on top, and on top of that a cube of feta. Gently squeeze and pinch the mixture to fully enclose the filling then roll it, very gently, between your palms to form a ball. Put them in the fridge for 30 minutes to firm up.

Heat the oven to 180º C. Mix the chickpea flour, turmeric and paprika together a plate and season to taste with salt and pepper. Roll the meatballs, eight at a time, in the seasoned flour and dust off the excess. Fry in hot oil, in batches, for 3-4 minutes, or until crusty and golden brown all over, draining on kitchen paper. Place the meatballs on a baking sheet and roast in the hot oven for 5-7 minutes, or until cooked right through.

Stick a toothpick into each one and serve hot or cold, with Lemon-Yoghurt Dipping Sauce. 

Serves 8 as a snack.

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Friday, 4 March 2011

Onion Tart Cook-Off: I take on two talented South African food bloggers

My hungry VelvetI've never cooked in front of an audience in my life, let alone given a demo of any sort.

Actually, that's not quite true, because sometimes a small crowd gathers in the kitchen an hour or two after the sun goes down. A crowd of seven, usually, comprising my husband, our three children, our cat Alice, and the two queens of our household, the bassets Velvet and Akamaru.

The latter few in this list are the most attentive. The basset hounds watch my every move while their tongues and ears fall floppily to the floor. Alice flicks her tail and glares at me with her moon-size topaz eyes.  Others (the humans) stand around the kitchen counter rudely drumming their fingers.

So this isn't exactly what I'd call an appreciative audience.

My fortunes are about to change, though, because I've been invited to compete in a real cook-off, in front of a proper audience. The challenge is to make and bake an onion tart - using my choice of secret ingredient - for Paarl's Ommiberg Festival on 12 March 2011; the cook-off will take place at Rhebokskloof Estate.

Linda Harding of The Squashed TomatoI'll be pitted against two clever Cape Town food bloggers I've recently met: Matt Allison of I'm No Jamie Oliver, and Linda Harding of The Squashed Tomato.

I'm nervous, to be honest. Both Matt and Linda are somewhat younger than I am (which counts in my favour, I reckon, when one takes into account actual hours spent sweating at the kitchen coal face) but they are also smart, talented and rather scarily motivated (which definitely counts against me, a middle-aged couch-loller of note).

But, then again, I'm glad that these new friends will be my companions on the day.

I don't know Linda well -  I met her for the first time only a fortnight ago, at the South African Food and Wine Bloggers' Indaba - but I'm a big fan of her blog and her beautiful food and photographs, and she's earned many brownie points in my Little Secret Brownie-Point Book by regularly posting encouraging comments on my blog. (See how easy it is to make me happy?).  She's a livewire, Linda is, and  I'm looking forward to getting to know her better.

Matt AllisonAnd as for Matt? We struck up a cyber-friendship last year, after he emailed me about his blog. (Or I emailed him about mine: I can't remember.) After a few months of the usual Twitter and Facebook banter, we met, and now I'm lucky to count him as a friend.

Matt Allison is one of those slappable people who can do everything well. He's a qualified sound engineer, a gardener, a cook, an environmental activist, a designer, a stay-at-home dad and - as I recently discovered, when he performed a few dizzyingly beautiful songs at the Food Bloggers' Indaba - an award-winning musician, singer and songwriter.

So this is what I'm up against. Wish me luck, will you?

I'll be cooking the best onion quiche in my repertoire, and I hope you'll follow the festivities on Twitter on Saturday 12 March 2011 (look for @ommiberg, and the hashtag #mytart).

Here are more details about the event, and about how you can win some nice prizes, and possibly a place as a 'wild card' entry in the cook-off, by nominating a winning secret ingredient.

Press release from Ommiberg: 

A fluent food blogger can use more than onions to make an opponent cry. Armed with secret plans and taunting tweets, four food bloggers are pre-heating the oven for the Ommiberg Onion Tart Cook-off, set to take place at Rhebokskloof, 2pm, as part of the Ommiberg ‘Round the Rock’ Festival, March 12th, 2011.

Three well-known and vibrant food bloggers and a wild-card entry will compete to make the best Zweibelküchen (onion tart) using only a provided list of ingredients, a recipe – which they may choose not to use – and a secret ingredient of their own. It’s votes that count at the end of the bake, from a panel of judges including the chef and the team at Rhebokskloof, the Ommiberg CEO, two members of the public, and as many of the tweeters and Facebook users as the participants can persuade.

The three food bloggers are:
Matt AllisonMatt Alison of I’m no Jamie Oliver
- “@Jane_Anne62 @squashed_tom all I’m saying is less time on Twitter, more time in the kitchen. @OmmiBerg #mytart”
Jane-Anne HobbsJane-Anne Hobbs of
Scrumptious South Africa
- “They have no idea who they are dealing with. *evil snicker* @squashed_tom @imnojamieoliver @ommiberg #mytart”
Linda HardingLinda Harding of The Squashed Tomato
- “@imnojamieoliver Practising is for amateurs. Prepare for certain annihilation! Hahahahaha (evil laugh again) #mytart @OmmiBerg”
Who will the wild card be?

The public is invited to suggest their ‘secret’ ingredient on Twitter or Facebook. The most creative and delectable sounding suggestion will win the originator the (perhaps daunting) prize of competing against the three foodies listed above.

If you’re up for it, tweet your suggestion, including the term @OmmiBerg #mytart; or post your idea on the Ommiberg Facebook page.

Honour, glory, and the chance to gloat could be yours! And of course the prize – a voucher to use with Yuppiechef, wine tasting with the Windmeul winemaker and tickets to the Nia Nel concert.

For more information, contact Ilanda@melespr.co.za.


Text and images supplied by Ilanda of Meles PR.
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Wednesday, 29 December 2010

Tweeting Christmas recipes: the fun, the festivities, and the failure

My cousin's trifle
My cousin Sarah's mulberry and raspberry Christmas trifle, which
 I whipped outside to photograph while the custard was being made.
I became a Twitter fan (oh, okay, a hopeless addict) this year, and this is the first Christmas in the four years I've been writing this blog that I have had the opportunity to engage, in real time, with people who've decided to give my recipes a whirl. 

(And what fun I had over Christmas! I joined my extended family in Franschhoek to prepare an extravaganza of a feast, to which we each contributed a course or dish; the trifle-in-the-making pictured left was one of two desserts made by my talented cousin Sarah Walters.)

I can't tell you what a kick it gave me to log in to Twitter over the past week to find many questions, comments and photographs posted by readers of this blog.

Not to say that I wasn't gnawing my knuckles at the thought of people putting faith in my recipes. I'm keenly aware that no matter how carefully I formulate and test a recipe, there is always a chance of failure: I might have made a mistake in writing down quantities, or left out a vital step, or neglected to explain the method clearly. (I experienced a spectacular failure myself when my huge Christmas gammon fell to soggy shreds in the pot last Thursday, but more about that later in this post).

It is hugely rewarding for me, as a recipe developer, to see my dishes being cooked by real people in real kitchens, and on such an important festive occasion. My Christmas Gammon Glazed with Brandy and Coke was the recipe most people made, with others trying my festive turkey stuffing, my Layered Christmas Ice-Cream Cake with White Chocolate and Berries, and several older recipes for salads, including the perennially popular Marinated Mushrooms.

Here are some of the pictures that were tweeted by readers who'd made the Coke-glazed gammon: don't they look scrumptious?

Glazed Christmas Gammon
Some of the gammon photographs tweeted by readers of this blog!
And here's a picture sent to me by Steve Mabbutt (one of this blog's most loyal and informed readers, and a cook of note), of his mise en place for the gammon:


Our own festive feast (traditionally served on Christmas Eve) was just wonderful. It's so special to come together as a family to cook, laugh and talk, to eat, drink and be merry, isn't it?

Even though we are (mostly) heathens of note, I've always found Christmas Eve to be the most magical and merry night of the year. Twinkling lights, frosty champagne glasses, glowing candles, presents rustling under the tree, kids whirling in giddy circles, spicy aromas drifting from the kitchen...

My family, starting the feast.
And then, as the evening blossoms into its fullness, singing of carols, snapping of crackers, stirring of gravy, carving of turkey, munching of chocolate, filling of Christmas stockings, putting-out of milk and biscuits for Father Christmas, and all the other treasured family rituals that make those marvellous and important memories.

And then there is (of course) the food. This year, my family pulled out the stops to produce a humdinger of a feast. My sister Sophie produced a seriously delicious dip of smoky aubergines, garlic and toasted pine nuts.

My other sister Karen roped in the kids to make what is always the star attraction of the feast: little pork sausages wrapped in bacon, with fresh rosemary. My sainted mother glided back and forth, with her usual poise and enthusiasm, dishing out champagne, encouragement and hugs to her adoring children and grandchildren.

The winning dish - in fact, one of the best things I've tasted this year - was a beautiful starter of smoked trout made by my uncle David.  In this truly gorgeous recipe (recipe here) piping-hot sesame oil is trickled over a bed of Franschhoek smoked trout, then topped with miso, soy sauce, black sesame seeds, fresh ginger, garlic, caperberries, dabs of home-made mayonnaise and great dollops of pink and black fish roe.  This was served on exquisite plates hand-made by David, each one embossed with our names.

Bacon-wrapped pork chipolatas, ready for the oven
 My sister Karen's pork chipolatas, ready for the oven
The starter was followed by a traditional turkey course, as demanded by the British-born men of my family (three brothers-in-law: a Scot, a Welshman and an Englishman). We made two turkeys for 20 people (each turkey with its own stuffing), plus potatoes roasted in duck fat, peas, gravy, bacon-wrapped chipolatas and a green salad. For dessert, my pudding-queen-of-a-cousin Sarah and her man Jim produced a mulberry and raspberry trifle and an incredibly delicious Nigel Slater cheesecake.

And finally: my Christmas-feast disaster. I bought an enormous (4.3 kg) bone-in gammon from a local supermarket chain that collapsed into sodden shreds when I cooked it.  I won't name the supermarket until they've responded to my complaint, but I will say that I'm annoyed and frustrated at having wasted both money and time on a clearly inferior piece of meat.

The joint looked beautiful, all right, when I bought it (it's the same joint, from the same supermarket, shown in Steve's mise en place picture, above) but within half an hour of my placing it in a flavoured, spiced stock, it began to swell alarmingly.  Some three-and-a-half hours of simmering later (well short of the cooking time recommended on the packaging) it began to disintegrate into tasteless grey shreds. I couldn't save it, because it fell to pieces as I fished it out of the stock.

All was not lost, though, because a foraging party found another gammon from another supermarket (this time, in Franschhoek) which held together as it boiled, and tasted delicious.

I've cooked many gammons in my life, always using the same cooking times, and this is the first time I've ever seen a piece of meat collapse in such a spectacular fashion. I fretted briefly over whether I'd done something wrong, or miscalculated the cooking time, but when the aforementioned Steve told me he'd had exactly the same disaster with his gammon, I realised that the fault lay with the ingredient, and not the cook  (Whew!)

I will get back to you with details when I receive a reply to the email of complaint I've sent the supplier.


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