Bf Cooks - Enoki Mushrooms Wrapped in Prosciutto

Bf can cook too. He made me a delicious snack (we love snacks) the other day. Enoki mushrooms wrapped in prosciutto, flash-fried briefly to crispen the ham and then served immediately hot.

This is a very pungent dish, very salty and full of cured-prosciutto ham flavour. The enoki mushrooms are very mild but provide a silky delicateness in texture.






I remember when he first made me this dish. We had only started going out and it was one of those days when I had spent all day at uni writing the thesis. I was tired, had eaten my reheated leftovers (I had started taking dinner to uni because then I could just reheat, eat and then continue back writing - I also had no income at this stage because my scholarship had run out) and was generally feeling down.

I had come home earlier than I had expected because I cut short my gym workout and brought some work home. Bf got into a cute fluster as I came through the door, "No no no! You're home early! It's not ready, it's not ready!" So adorable. I peered over at the kitchen bench, I could see neat little rolls of something but he whisked them out of my sight and into the frying pan. The aroma of frying prosciutto ham filled the air and when they were served, these adorable parcels made me fall all the more in love with him.

When he said he was making a snack, I thought maybe peanut butter on toast, or maybe an omelette or something similar; I was blown away by this. Some prefer flowers or chocolate - I guess enoki mushrooms wrapped in prosciutto do it for me.

Easy Breezy Saturday Lunch

Another one of those Saturday lunches when bf L came down to visit in January. I was still excited by the Sydney Fish Markets and used to bicycle down, pick up fresh fruit, cheeses and of course seafood, before cooking him something nice.

This time the prawns seemed especially fresh.



I also picked up some mussels and steamed them in a tomato, garlic and herb broth.



I fried the prawns in a little oil, garlic and ginger. These prawns were so large that I fried them one side at a time, like little minute steaks. Stir-frying did not work in this instance, I tried.



These were also served with some stir-fried green beans and pan-fried snapper. You can just see these in the corners of the other pictures.

I don't cook like this for him anymore. Absence made the heart grow fonder. He's here all the time now: we just eat instant noodles for lunch. Just kidding. It's been a busy few weeks and the routines have changed a bit.

Summer Snack

During the month of January, bf L was still in Canberra and whilst I had relocated to Sydney. Many long lonesome nights were spent buried at work and I tried to make the weekends a bit special for when he came to visit me.

I live very close to the Sydney Fish Markets and prepared a light summer snack for L when he visited:


Hiramasa kingfish sashimi, caperberries, watermelon, edamame (brined soybeans)

The edamame I defrosted over cold tap water - not homemade, but I figure if that's good enough for average Japanese housewife, it's good enough for me. Caperberries are always hit and miss. Once I ate some delicious ones that tasted like sweet pickles. I've been trying to recapture this taste again, but so far all the caperberries I've tried have that weird seed pod architecture that is so off-putting.

I also made a small dessert:


Citrus mascarpone, sponge fingers and berry compote

These strawberries were a little past their best and needed rescuing. Macerating them in feijoa vodka, cointreau and sugar revived them a little. I soaked the sponge finger biscuits in the macerating liqueur.

Word of advice: Never mix acidic citrus juices with mascarpone. The beautiful luscious cream will seize into a big spongy mass. Still edible, but with a totally different texture. I had to find this out the hard way. Next time I will just use the orange rind.

Paper Chef #5

The Paper Chef event is akin to the Iron Chef television series. Whilst the latter has top-notch chefs from around the world competing against the appointed Iron Chef Italian/French/Japanese/Chinese in Kitchen Stadium, this internet event has amateur to semi-professional cooks beavering away in their home kitchens trying to make a masterpiece out of four randomly selected ingredients.

I have meant to participate in this even ever since it started but practicalities (moving, Mardi Gras, etc.) have conspired against me so far. Finally, I have managed to dip my toe into this competitive pool; I've seen some of the entries from prior winners and the quality of their blogs - it's intimidating.

This month's Paper Chef #5 features the ingredients:
Goat cheese (chevre or any cheese made from goat's milk)
Sherry vinegar
Prosciutto
Green Garlic

Green garlic is supposed to be the "topical/seasonal" ingredient. Hmm...I guess that definition only applies to the Northern Hemisphere. Green garlic has nary a mention Downunder at the moment. Persian fairy floss seems to be the ingredient du jour according the the frou-frou food magazines. It is also definitely not seasonal because we are going into autumn this side of the world and it is a spring vegetable.

I also had difficulty finding a definition of what green garlic purportedly is. The picture I found via google depicts it looking somewhat like spring onions. Epicurious also does not have a definition for green garlic. In the absence of clear guidance I invoked The Spirit of Paper Chef and made a substitution. I have used garlic chives instead of green garlic.

Winter Garlic Chives

These chives are the winter version, i.e. they are from the stems of garlic about to go to seed. The flowers have been removed and instead of being flat the stems are turgid and round. They still possess a very noticeable garlic aroma - they stunk out the bf's car on the way home and there were numerous (bad) jokes made about me indulging excessively in leguminous vegetables. I hope this substitution was indeed within the spirit of the competition.

My entry for Paper Chef #5 is:

Garlic chive and Goat's Cheese Ravioli with Sherry Vinegar Reduction and Prosciutto Shards

First I cut the chives into rounds and parboiled them. These will later be incorporated into the ravioli filling; I wanted to soften the stalks so that they didn't clash texturally with the soft goat's cheese.

Parboiling garlic chive rounds

I used an approximate 1:1 by weight combination of chevre and goat's feta from Tasmania. The proportion of chive to cheese is approximately 2:3 in terms of volume but this is all estimated and to taste. The filling was seasoned with a moderate amount of black pepper.

Ravioli filling

Whilst preparing the filling I had already started the sherry vinegar reduction. Approximately 600 ml of sherry vinegar from Simon Johnson was vigorously simmered with 100 g of yellow lump sugar until reduced to 3 tablespoons. Personally, I think Simon Johnson is overpriced for a lot of things, but they usually have all of the world's most esoteric non-Asian ingredients. I choose to use yellow lump sugar because I wanted a moderately sweet taste without excessive caramel overtones at the start because these would be produced during the reduction. Brown sugar would have been too caramel flavoured whilst white sugar would be too sweet. This process took the good part of an hour and stunk out the kitchen with vinegary fumes. When doing this, it's best to reserve some vinegar and make the reduction too sweet and thick, then thin and sour to taste.

Caramelised sherry vinegar

I confess to using store-bought lasagne sheets. I'm essentially a very lazy cook and this Paper Chef event has seen me attempt the most finicky work ever in the kitchen. I drew the line at making my own pasta though. I used lasagne from Pasta Vera on Harris St which make their pasta fresh daily and on bronze dies and rollers. I don't know if that makes a difference, but the food magazines assure me that it does. I nearly cheated and used their Goats Cheese and Roasted Pumpkin Ravioli; but I thought that would definitely disbar me from the competition. Is it still a Paper Chef entry if all the entrant did was reheat and pour sauce on top?

I placed approximately 1.5 teaspoons of the filling onto a pasta rectange (~12 x 7 cm) and sealed the edges with water. These parcels were boiled for 5 mins then drained and tossed with a tiny amount of unsalted (sweet) butter.

Boiling ravioli

I first encountered this method of serving vinegar reductions at Aria restaurant. The sherry vinegar is now a very thick and viscous paste with the consistency of toffee. I painted the glaze in a long arc following the edge of the plate.

Painting the reduction

Ravioli and sherry vinegar reduction

I grilled the prosciutto until crisp then lightly crushed them in a mortar and pestle. Some shards were reserved for garnishing. The prosciutto crumbs were sprinkled on the ravioli which were then anointed with lemon-infused extra-virgin olive oil. There is a garnish of rocket at the side.

Anointing the ravioli

Rocket garnish

And voilà, my entry for Paper Chef #5:

Garlic Chive and Goat's Cheese Ravioli with Sherry Vinegar Reduction and Prosciutto Shards

Did it taste good? The bf said that he'd pay to eat this as an entrée (appetizer) at a restaurant. High praise indeed.

Garlic chive and goat's cheese ravioli filling, reduction and prosciutto

The texture of the filling viz. the chive rounds and goat's cheese were complimentary - soft cheese and tender chives like tiny perfectly-cooked asparagus. The flavour of the goat's cheese and garlic chives also went well - I'd forgotten how strongly flavoured goat's cheese is and needn't have worried about the chives overpowering it. The reduction was sweet but sour - a nice compliment to the richness of the ravioli whilst the prosciutto provided crunch and a hit of smoky saltiness. The lemon-infused olive oil I could have omitted or used a lot more lemon rind. Next time I will use store-bought lemon oil instead of trying to make my own. I think a garnish of watercress leaves would have been prettier: round shapes to compliment the square ravioli.

So, good luck to the other entrants and I hope my readers enjoyed this entry. If you know me personally, maybe, just maybe I might make this for you. I've still got uncooked ravioli in the freezer and the reduction is in a jar in the fridge.

Deli Bertoni

The latest autumn edition of the Australian edition of Vogue Entertaining and Travel had a small box mentioning Bertoni Deli (281 Darling St, Balmain). I initially bought this magazine because of the sumptuous picture of crème caramel (my favourite dessert) on the cover. This articlet, for it was only a sentence long, also had two pictures; of the proprietor-Boys with their Mama and a long shot of their barista station. The art in constructing this piece - home-y boys, Mama's recipes, fake warmth - was almost vomit-inducing in retrospect.

L was keen to try this place because their "Casalinga-style food has become a new favourite with locals" according to VE&T. We should have looked up what "Casalinga" meant - a brief search using an internet translator reveals it to mean "housewife".

Needless to say we were disappointed. Although the menu was well conceived, balanced, hearty, wholesome and comprehensive (pizza, pasta al forno, foccacia, etc.); this was not really anything special. This being a deli, everything was re-heat and go. Nothing wrong with that but we were hoping for a little more attentive detail towards the food.

We both could do just as good ourselves at home, so elected to leave. A nutella doughnut caught my eye just as we went for the door. I love nutella and the combination with deep fried sugared bread was quite appealing. Whilst queueing to pay, the proprietor idly chatted with a customer and his barista, "How are the kids; that hat suits you; you can't even tell I'm bald; there's already sugar in that; I'm so full of shit; I don't care that this guy is waiting to buy his doughnut; etc." I thought the whole interchange extremely rude. It felt so cliquey and exclusive - I felt like I was trespassing onto Their Place.

This place was so mediocre that L was annoyed that it was even written up at all. I rationalised to us that VE&T probably had 8 square cms of space in this issue that needed to be filled. A sub-sub-sub-sub editor probably lived close by and when the call came out, pulled out the one-sentence articlet and grabbed a couple of photos. Later when we were driving home, we noticed a big fat BMW SUV parked outside this place in the disabled zone. The number plate had a little VOGUE sign next to it. L was in full bitch-flight now, "Now we know why this got a mention. The editor is disabled so parks here because it's convenient. She's also so fat and unfit that she can't wheel herself up the hill. Or the motor on her chair can't cope with her weight. That's why she visits this place and can write about it."

Max Brenner Chocolates

Max Brenner Chocolates is "creating a new chocolate culture". It certainly has - Cadbury Dairy Milk just doesn't cut it for me any more. It's got to be 70% cocoa solids or nothing, baby.

Max Brenner Chocolate Bars are located in Oxford St, Paddington as well as, quirkily enough, the Manly ferry terminal. This I only discovered by accident when I took my visiting mother to see The Other Side of Sydney. It was uncomfortably windy and cold and with half an hour to kill before our ferry left we resorted to investigating the sheltered ferry terminal as a last resort for some interesting shops. Our huddled windswept selves browsed amongst the overpriced made-in-china koalas and I avoided looking at the grease-pit chicken kebab onna sticks. But lo and behold this chocolate oasis appeared in my view.

My first experience with Max Brenner was serendipitous as well. I found the Oxford St store, usually jam-packed with young Asian females, stylish shopping ladies and young couples on dates, during a shopping expedition in Sydney. It is a small location and usually has a queue of people waiting for their delicious hot chocolate and other dessert treats on cold days. I was doing my usual Paddington shopping-crawl, it was a hot summer's day and I was feeling a little exhausted from the incessant fashion value analysis. A glass pane and a white plate on an old window-seat table caught my eye. I looked closely and discovered a perfectly formed strawberry, some sort of heart-shaped chocolate and some other kinds of small desserts. The woman partaking of this plate of luxury was eating it with a knife and fork. The ultimate in gastronomic indulgence - dessert eaten with two implements.

I resolved to check out this place. I went into the narrow shop, avoiding the shelves of display chocolates overflowing their tins - ample granules of dark, milk and white beans spread out with so much abandon.

The shop has a front café section and a back retail part. The back has handmade Israeli chocolates for sale in gift boxes as well as all the implements for their signature hot drink - the suckao. My first taste of Max Brenner magic was their dark chocolate espresso frappe. A chilled blend of ice, dark chocolate and espresso. Just the thing to perk one up on a hot summer's day.

At Manly, Max Brenner has obviously anticipated its demand and created ample and roomy seating. My mother and friend ordered a milk chocolate suckao.

The large ovoid vessels contain a metal insert that is heated with a tea light. To commence hot chocolate imbibation one pours milk from the milk jugs into the heated insert then gently spoons in the chocolate granules; you can see these lazily spread out on their little platters. The metal spoon doubles as a straw as the long stem is hollow. So one can spoon in chocolate, sip the velvety smooth drink and eat the melted chocolate, in whatever order one wishes - this is surely the only way to partake of hot chocolate.

I ordered a hazelnut hug mug: hot chocolate prepared for me by the expert chocolatiers and whipped to a light froth. Incorporating air into chocolate beverages enhances the flavour I was told.


We couldn't resist their dessert menu and also ordered a sunken chocolate souffle cake.


For balance we included the strawberry Belgian waffle. We all need some fruit you know.


My mother was so impressed with her chocolate experience that she wanted to take away a memento. We bought her a suckao gift set and a tin of chocolate beans so she could enjoy the experience at home.

I love indulging in my mother (and my father) when I can. They've scrimped and saved all their lives to raise my sister and myself and it's only now, close to their retirement and the kids supporting themselves, that they are allowing themselves to enjoy life's little luxuries.

Later that week whilst checking into their flight home I had a horrible thought: those metal suckao straws were very knitting needle-like; and we all know that those crafty weapons of personal destruction are definitely not allowed on carry-on luggage. There was a mad rush at check-in to remove the straws and quickly insert them into their check-in luggage. Phew.

Restaurant Review - Café Niki

Location: Café Niki, Bourke St, Surry Hills
Date: Fri, 4 Feb 2005

It was the night of the Mardi Gras Launch; festivities were in the air, my cellphone was overflowing with SMSs "R u comin 2 the launch?" - well, two messages. I set out for Hyde Park to meet my friend S1. Halfway through my cycle, I was called away by S1 on an emergency mission: a friend was having a crisis and we were needed. I donned my Sympathy Cape and Supportive Mask to attend to his need. Isn't it amazing how the word "supportive" when used to describe any sort of garment just has a whole different connotation? Launch for us was cancelled, but we spent quality time aiding a friend in need. We went for a walk and I was starved.

Café Niki strode into view - it is set in the back streets of Surry Hills in the tree-lined avenue of Bourke St. This area has become quite pleasant and quiet to live in since the Eastern Distributor was built. The numerous one-way and bike paths discourage people from using this as a main thoroughfare and the old terrace houses give this neighbourhood a lot of character.

We chose Café Niki because it was quiet and secluded. It also had a decent reputation, i.e. no bad things had been said about it. It was within walking distance of S2's house, so very convenient. The Funky Chick showed us to our table; she was smiling and pleasant - hoping for an enjoyable night's work, but with that glimmer of foreboding present, just in case this night's customers were arseholes. We sat outside and they turned on the spotlight blinding us. We felt like we were on stage, but just as I flinched and thought to inform our waitress, the light magically dimmed. I remarked that she must have significant telekinetic powers. She agreed with me. Later I found out that she indicated the excessive brightness to the inside of the café and they turned the dimmer up.

The menu had a decent selection of simple home-style food. S2 had a fruit whip whilst S1 chose a steamed barramundi with greens while I chose a ragout with papardelle - things you might find in the latest issue of delicious magazine or Delia Smith's How-to-Cook, but more on that later.

My papardelle arrived and it was hearty, well done and satisfying. I remarked, perhaps a little too pompously, "This is great. It's exactly how I would have done it had I had the time". The pasta was elastic but pleasant to the bite. I dislike the term al dente as I don't think many people know what it means. In fact, I'm not quite sure what it means myself. I like my pasta to have a similar texture to a good noodle. All noodle-eating cultures would be familiar with the Cantonese song description of ideal noodle texture. The ragout was robustly flavoured with tomato reduction and light spices; I detected a hint of nutmeg and perhaps cloves. I couldn't quite figure out why this dish seemed so familiar though.

S1's steamed barramundi was perfectly cooked but the yoghurt and dill sauce was a little too overpowering for the delicate barramundi flavour. I've always had concerns (and made many mistakes) when using yoghurt as the cream-base for sauces, either in substitutions or intentionally. I find that the sourness of yoghurt can be especially overpowering for delicate fish flavours. I shy away from yoghurt and fish combinations preferring crème fraiche or sour cream. Strangely enough, this dish also seemed familiar.

I put the familiarity down to the fact that these dishes are "modern classics". I dislike this term, but it will do for now. I went home and looked up my cookbook collection - I had it pinned. Delia Smith has published some very similar recipes; I knew I had come across these somewhere before. Of course she did not have access to barramundi and used atlantic salmon. She also paired her fish with a sauce verte made with an egg emulsion; she would not have made the yoghurt mistake. The ragout was part of her winter series and flavoured very traditionally, as was the one that I ate. Nothing wrong with Delia, in fact, I love her ideas and overall philosophy with regard to food. It was just odd encountering her food in a café/bistro.

A dessert menu crossed our path and we were hooked. Although feeling quite satisfied already, S1 and I somehow managed to find room for a chocolate mousse. Funky Chick Waitress said that it was her favourite dessert and how could we pass up such a recommendation. The mousse was rich, thick and thoroughly decadent. Made with dark chocolate and cream, not a trace of gelatin or egg white in sight, it was creamy, velvety smooth but still unctuously frothy. If you can imagine small chocolate bubbles caught in a slow-moving stasis field breaking on your tongue, that was kinda what it was like.

We took our time over our mousses, simply because they were so rich. S1 put his fork down for an in-between dessert break - I gather he was finding his second wind - and after a deep conversation with S2 discovered that the remaining third of his mousse had been cleared away. He remarked with dismay, "I was going to eat that!" Now he'll never go to heaven; the amount of wasted food will outweigh the good that his soul contains and he'll be plunged straight to hell - or so goes Chinese mythology.

Mains: $12 to 17
Dessert: $8

Restaurant review - Aria

Location: The Rocks, Sydney
Date: Thurs, 27 January 2005

A chance reunion with an old friend/flame at another big gay dance party
sparked an invitation to the opera. Lovely - we adore the opera. Fresh on the
heels of a hedonistic Australia day spent shirtless and sweaty amidst writhing bodies at Home nightclub in Cockle Bay, the following day's evening saw us at the Sydney Opera House enjoying some high culture - Così Fan Tutte to be precise.

A had generously provided an extremely drinkable Sauvignon Blanc pre-opera (I think - memory fails me slightly due to my intoxicated state) and the opera was extremely enjoyable. The angled stage did unnerve me at first, but A assured me that my eyes were not fooling me, my depth perception was still working and yes, the stage was indeed tilted up.

Post-opera dinner was at Aria as Guillaume (the restaurant at Bennelong) was fully booked. This is in the block also known as the Toaster, adjacent to Quayside. A very frou frou place, elegantly appointed with stylish and understated decor. The palette was warm but sleek and restive. I felt a right dag with my backpack but the maitre'd put it aside for me.

For entrée I ordered the pork belly with applesauce, caramelised apples and balsamic reduction. A chose the bug-meat boudin blanc, something like a sausage made with Balmain bug (a shellfish) meat. Some tourists (obviously) sat behind us and the husband loudly questioned the menu, "What does it mean, here - one course $27, two courses $57, three courses $73?" Obviously a little slow on the uptake.

The pork belly arrived elegantly presented. The rectangular slice of pork lay flat on its side on tiny circles of roasted apples and the balsamic reduction was adjacent: a flat rectangular stroke of a broad paintbrush - very creative. I had never seen balsamic reduction served this way before and it worked very well. My pork skin was crispy and the fat moist, succulent and tasty. The layering of fat and lean was perfect and the semi-sweet apples a nice contrast to the saltiness of the pork. A's boudin blanc arrived looking like a pale white extrusion. I'm sorry, I know I must be revealing my naivete at never having eaten boudin blanc, but it really didn't look that appealing. Nevertheless, he said that it was delicious.

I chose a grilled jewfish with truffle croute for my main and A chose lamb with Puy lentils. I'm a sucker for anything involving truffles as I've yet to sample the real thing. I'm trying to get an idea of what a truffle is really like - somehow though I think that truffle oil is a very very poor cousin to the pungeancy of the real thing. One day I'll eat truffle, one day.

Interestingly, the waiter asked A how he'd like his lamb done. I've never encountered this before; I've always thought that lamb was best done pink and it wasn't personal preference like steak. But I guess they were catering to all - perhaps they had several requests and now offered variations on the cooked lamb by default.

My jewfish arrived and I was heavily under the influence of the chardonnay. The accompanying pinot noir had already begun to cast its spell and we sat talking about love, life, his absolutely fantastic impending European holiday and my slow-starting scientific career. The fish was delicate and sweet but I found the crumb a little too savoury for my liking. Perhaps that was the truffle oil I was smelling/tasting. I have never had jewfish before but from the texture of the flesh it seemed to be a rather delicate tasting fish. Perhaps the croute was masking the flavour slightly, or perhaps this dish concept was about the croute and the fish, not the croute subordinate to the fish? I enjoyed the freshness of the herbs within the croute and the fish was cooked just right - as you'd expect in a place like this. I knew that everything would be technically perfect, so I was concentrating more on the chef's dining concepts.

A's lamb was quite delicious. A very earthy dish and I dare say done better than mine. However, my writing cannot be trusted at this point as the pinot noir had me well and truly within its thrall. The dessert menu was a blur but I requested an affogato from the waiter. It was a non-standard coffee item and I internally chastised myself for asking for it after he mentioned that he'd see if they had any vanilla ice-cream. They would have been embaressed if they hadn't, but I would have understood that I did make a non-menu request. Fortunately they did have some and I enjoyed my post-dinner espresso with ice-cream.

Aria is definitely a once-in-a-while experience for many. The quality of food and service were immaculate and technically flawless. Conceptually, the presentation was inspired (I'm still hooked by that paint strip of balsamic reduction) but I was a little disappointed by my fish. I have no doubt that proximity to the Sydney Opera House significantly increased the price of the meal quite significantly but I had a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

Restaurant Review - Update on Golden Century

Location: Sussex St, Sydney
Date: 26 Dec, 2004

Over the Christmas/New Year period I had the good fortune to eat at Golden Century Seafood Restaurant twice more within the span of a week. Very indulgent, I know, but hey they were both special occassions. The first one was with my mother and her friend; both from Malaysia and starved of good quality Cantonese food in Wellington.

Although we had turned up early, we still had to wait 20 minutes for our table. The function room was booked out on Boxing Day and I was glad I had called ahead as there was a two-hour wait for people that turned up at the door. My mother's eyes grew big at the King crabs in the tanks in the window and I promised that we'd order salt and pepper snow crab. Once seated, I asked my mother's friend to order in Cantonese as I thought that this might guarantee us special treatment. I needn't have worried as they brought out the Welcoming Soup. Although complimentary, this was judged to be of extremely high quality by my two matriach food connoisseurs as it was a real herbal soup with visible chinese almonds and wolfberries.

Salt and pepper snow crab followed, which was greeted with silent wonder, and more silent eating enjoyment as the two ladies (and myself) tucked in with gusto. My mother doesn't say a lot when eating and this time was even more quiet but looking really concentrated. I could tell that she was enjoying this a lot. We also ordered a steamed silver perch with ginger and shallot. A very tasty river fish, an unusual treat for mum and friend as it is forbidden to sell freshwater fish in New Zealand. A delicious side of king mushroom was accompanied by steamed bean curd with minced prawns - perfect accompaniments to the previous seafood flavour sets.

Everything was perfectly cooked; the crab crisp and fresh, the fish steamed to the microsecond, the mushroom flavoured and braised tenderly, the bean curd an appropriately bland counterpoint but sweet with the scent of infused prawn.

Mum and friend were very impressed. My mum’s friend remarked that the lightning-fast but silent waiters looked like they were Hong Kong trained. I imagined that they had table setting practice and restaurant-given lectures on service.

Complimentary dessert arrived: small deep-fried sesame doughnut balls without filling and three slivers of banana-scented buttercake. Even these were pronounced by my mother to be perfect. This is a very high accolade indeed; for she is a tough food critic being both a superb cook, well-versed in the food/restaurant industry, an accomplished baker and raised in the gourmet traditions of a fussy Hainanese husband. The dessert perfectly balanced the meal as the plain doughnut balls were just sweet enough but not heavy and took the edge off the savoury main meal. The small slice of light-as-air butter cake was infused with banana essence - the best way to make cake according to my mum. I don't think my mum can remember the last time she ate out where the meal actually exceeded her expectations.

I made - Christmas hampers

This year for gifts to bf's mum, uncle and dad I made little Christmas hampers instead of buying gifts. It was an opportunity to try two festive recipes that had interested me for some time: Donna Hay's Gingerbread Shortbread and a christmas spice cake I had seen on the Domestic Goddess.

The shortbread recipe, to say the least, had me screaming and swearing in the kitchen, "Stupid Donna Hay!" I don't know what I did wrong but after rolling out the cookie dough in between the baking paper and cutting out the cookies, they were so limp that it was impossible to remove them onto the baking sheet. I thought I'd chill the dough to make it firmer and easier to work with, but to no avail. I ended up scraping the dough back into the bowl and adding another 3/4 cup of flour. Thankfully this produced a more pliable cookie dough. Perhaps any cookie cookers reading this can suggest what may have gone wrong - was it my technique, or the recipe (as I'm hoping)?

110 g butter
1/3 cup caster sugar
1 cup plain flour
1/4 cup rice flour
2 tsp ground ginger, 1/2 tsp mixed spice
1 egg

A food processor bowl was loaded with the dry ingredients and butter then processed until a fine crumb obtained. Subsequently egg was added and the mixture worked into a soft dough that was rolled out to 0.5 mm thick between two sheets of baking paper. Cookie cutting was attempted but the dough was far too soft. Consequently, it was scraped back into the bowl and 3/4 cup flour added to form a firmer dough. Re-rolling to 0.5 mm followed by cookie cutting gave approximately 9 stars and 3 gingerbread men.

I iced the cookies with lemon icing made from icing sugar and lemon juice. The cookies looked quite cute and rustic. Tasted ok, but they were a little on the floury side.



The spice cakes, on the other hand, were fantastic. I was a bit concerned at a cake recipe that did not use any egg yolks, butter or oil of any kind. But the substitution of butter with applesauce, a common technique in low fat baking I hear, was quite successful. I put some extra spices in, because I like 'em spicy, and the result were cute little bars of Blueberry Spice Cake.



The texture of these cakes was different from a conventional full-fat cake but this was ok. It was slightly chewy and did tend to dry out quickly but the blueberries made sure that enough moistness was present. This was my first time using a silicone baking mould and I'm pleased to report that this was quite successful. Though next time I will put the very floppy mould on top of a baking tray before putting the batter in as it was a small acrobatic feat getting the fully laden and wobbling mould onto the chopping board, to slide it onto the baking tray, to put into the oven.

I individually wrapped them in cellophane with festive ribbons. What a task! Thankfully there were only 16 bars. The ribbon tying and curling nearly drove me insane - next time I will use gold twist ties instead.



The hampers looked quite nice - little gingerbread men, stars, cake bars and chocolates all covered in shiny cellophane. Bf remarked on how beautifully spicy they smelled as I carried them down the apartment stairs.

Restaurant Review - Courgette

Location: Marcus Clarke St, Canberra
Date: 5 Dec, 2004

Dearest, darling and best-beloved bf is turning 30 on Monday. Alas, he will be away in Sydney attending a training course so all celebrations of this momentous milestone must be conducted this a-weekend. He organises so much for me, so it was up to me to create something special for Saturday night. Our favourite pizza in Canberra is from Pizza Arte (to be reviewed soon) and I planned to get some pizza, some sparkling apple juice and having a nice little romantic picnic by the lakeside as the sun set.

Apparently the wrong decision; he qualified, “When I said low-key, I didn’t mean low-brow!” Oh. A new restaurant choice was needed. We had succesful dined at the Charcoal Restaurant (a place whose menu hadn’t changed since the mid-80’s and where you can still order Avocado with Vinaigrette as a starter) so elected to try the revolving restaurant up in Telstra Tower. Yes, I know these places are not known to have the best food – something about not having a fixed geospatial position whilst eating is always unnerving – I imagined numerous tossed salads flung up into the air and falling far from the bowl because of the revolution.

Alas, this was booked out for a corporate Christmas function so our dreams of an 80’s dinner celebration were dashed.

The proprietors of the frou-frou restaurant Aubergine had recently opened up a new venture, Courgette. I often joke that one day they will also open up bistro-style or budget versions of these elegant joints called Eggplant and Zucchini; maybe even an Indian incarnation: Brinjal. I was half expecting this place to be booked out or full as well. It was just becoming that kind night and I was getting grumpy from low-blood sugar, but thankfully it wasn’t. We turned up at the restaurant and a cheery maître’d showed us to a table for two in the Boardroom. The restaurant proper was full, so they had converted their function room into additional dining space. Although not as intimate as the dining room, this was a bright, white and open space built for good acoustics, it was pleasant enough.

The menu was absolutely delightful and I was gasping inwardly to myself at their possible treats available. Some of the entrées were lamb’s brains, a rabbit loin with leg confit and duck confit. I chose a roasted deboned quail with mixed mushroom risotto and quail egg. I think eating deboned quail topped with a single fried quail's egg is the height of indulgence and such a luxury. Dearest, darling and best-beloved bf ordered the special entrée – sautéed prawns and pork belly. Have I mentioned to pork belly is my favourite meat? More of that to come in other posts.

I’m not much of a wine fan as I usually can’t drink a lot before I stop tasting the food. Also, I’ve drunk so many foul-tasting wines which were claimed by others, usually the host of the dinner, to be absolutely mah-vell-us that now I’m totally confused as to what a “good wine” is. I’m slowly beginning my wine re-education with bf and I’m pleased that I can actually trust my tastebuds and nose when it comes to wine too. I will mention wine in this post because this was an occasion where the pairing up of food and drink was memorable for me.

We started with a Seppelt sparkling shiraz – a sparkling wine made from red Shiraz grapes. Kinda like fizzy Ribena but alcoholic, not as sweet and a lot more classy (that last word is to be read with a high nasal über-ocker 'Strine accent). Meanwhile, a delightful pre-dinner amuse had arrived: smoked salmon and dill on a blini. Delicious, tantalising and perfect to whet our appetites. Bread rolls were next and these were the cutest little brown balls you had ever seen. Each one was a smooth matte ovoid with three little tufty peaks each like the curl on Popeye’s baby Swee’Pea’s head.

The table next to us had just finished their dessert and feeling a little jolly and talkative from the wine. My surreptitious eavesdropping informed me that it was an Italian-Australian daughter having her parents and her fiancé/boyfriend/live-in lover for dinner. It was also plainly clear that although her parents were of high breeding, this characteristic had definitely not been passed down to the offspring. She had also chosen a similarly disposed boyfriend as he loudly declared and compared the McCafé offerings in Tugerranong with the coffee and petit-fours served here at Courgette. “Yeah, the new McCafé’s rool noice too,” he squawked.

At any rate, we felt vastly superior as we sipped on our sparkling shiraz, nibbled on our bread rolls and ate our entrées. My deboned quail was absolutely delicious – moist, crisp and full of flavour. The mushroom risotto was creamy, earthy and redolent with field mushrooms. Totally scrumptious. This beautiful assemblage was crowned with a single fried quail’s egg. Now that’s what I call luxury. You must think I’m so naïve being impressed by this, but anything to eat requiring fiddly painstaking work and last-minute assembling always gets me going. Bf’s sautéed prawns with pork belly were sublime. The large sea-fresh prawns were juicy, crisp on one side but succulent on the other. The pork belly had melting tenderness and was not the least bit greasy – a perfect marriage of lean meat and fat.

Thankfully, the table alongside us had vacated and we were free to enjoy the rest of our evening sans crap-chat. We had chosen appropriate wines to match our mains: the sommelier recommended a Semillon-Sauvignon Blanc for myself and a Grenache Cabernet Sauvignon-Merlot for bf. I can’t recall more details (how useless, I know) but I’ll endeavour to find out if we revisit this place soon.

The choices of mains were a little less stellar compared to the entrées; we were initially tempted to order five entrées instead. However, I settled on a prawn crusted salmon with mushroom velouté and poached oysters whilst bf chose a seared fillet of cod with potato gnocchi, tomato compote and Eden Bay mussels.

At this point a loud female voice could be heard from the table located in the wine cellar, another special-event type room. A rousing discussion on the pronunciation of “gnocchi” soon followed to our amusement. Everyone knows it’s nyeeo-kee.

I was a bit worried about choosing the prawn crusted salmon as visions of a salmon fillet lined with paper-thin slices of prawn and then grilled came to mind. I wasn’t sure what the prawns would actually be adding in that case; I’m not really one for gimmicky food. The poached oysters also sounded a little odd – although I love oysters I only really like them fresh or steamed with ginger and garlic. But the waiter assured me that it was a minced prawn crust and that the thick fillet would be sautéed on only one side. I was not disappointed. I love deep-fried crunchy prawns and this was perfect. After enviously sampling a third of one of bf’s entrée of sautéed prawns I was now pleased to have a bit of prawn all to my own. The poached oysters were also delicious – a nice counterpoint to the prawns and the mushroom velouté. Again, the earthiness of the mushrooms complemented the rich and powerful protein greyness of the oysters.

Bf’s cod was conceptually a total contrast to my dish. Whereas mine was all about careful composition, delicate balancing – akin to a parade of haute couture with impossibly high hats and uncomfortable shoes – his dish had a casual, fun, get-out-of-bed looking gorgeous with bed-hair aesthetic about it. The cod was silkily flaking on the fork and the crisp skin salty and oceany. The nyeeo-kee were four cute little dumplings dotted in the tomato compote. We had also ordered a side of Paris mash with our mains and I thought that this would be mashed potato with truffle oil or something exotic. But it was just a very creamy mashed potato. It arrived extruded into a deep concave shape and at first I thought that it was some sort of crispy snack or wrapper à la San Choi Bau style. Bf laughed at my food gaffe, again poking fun at me whenever an opportunity arose.

Now thoroughly replete, we sat back and enjoyed the rest of our wine while contemplating dessert. It was that type of time where you think, “I’m so full, almost to bursting point. But I still want to eat because I like the taste.” This is how people get fat, or bulimic, I think. The thought did cross my mind that I could just quickly chew and taste the food and then spit it out thus avoiding absorbing any calories. Sometimes I worry myself.

We had made it clear to the waiter that dessert was still to be ordered and as we contemplated what breathing exercises to do in order to alleviate our slight discomfort and make room for dessert, an in-between course refresher of grapefruit sorbet arrived to our delight. It’s the little touches that make the meal so special.

We debated on getting a mango tarte tatin with ginger and lime ice-cream, poached peach on sticky meringue with fresh raspberries and crème chibouse or blood orange parfait. The poached peach and parfait won out in the end, mainly because bf wanted to find out what a “chibouse” was. Perhaps some sort of creamy custard dancing with a wiggling bottom to Ricky Martin?

My blood orange parfait was rich and citrusy. The orange countered the creaminess well and the sweet and fruity sauce was delicious. Bf was having difficulty with his dessert; it was proving too unwieldly to cut his poached peach with a fork and knife. So he attempted to eat his poached peach all in one mouthful. I was glad the McCafé crowd at the former table had left, because here I was feeling all culturally superior over them and there was bf trying to stuff a whole dripping peach into his mouth. The crème chibouse felt like a thick crème anglaise to me, but I’m sure there was more to it. I blame the wine as by now I was feeling pleasantly drowsy and extremely satisfied.

We ordered coffees and I also thought I’d experiment with a Calvados. I’d heard about this apple liquer from various sources before and was keen to see what this was all about. I imagined that it would be similar to an apple-flavoured port. Since this was a special occasion I elected to try the most expensive 32-year old Calvados at $25 for 80 ml. I figured that I should try the best if I wanted to truly know what Calvados was all about.

I hated it. But finished it nonetheless as I’d just paid $25 for 80 ml of alcohol and if I didn’t like the taste, I was at least going to get the intoxicant effect of it. I kept thinking that $25 would have bought me three litres of 80% ethanol from work. I found it an extremely harsh liquer: not smooth at all. If ever I had drunk anything akin to the proverbial “firewater” this was it. There were hints of oakiness and the barest glimmer of an apple fragrance. This was definitely a drink to be taken with copious amounts of soft-membrane and tastebud destroying cigar smoke. I didn’t like at all. Oh well, chalk one up to experience.

Aside from the Calvados incident, which was entirely my fault, this dinner was altogether superb. The food and wine were beautiful, the service excellent whilst being friendly and not too formal.

Entrées: $17.50
Mains: $28.50
Desserts: $14

The chocolate cake that never should have been

A post by umami prompted me to look through the latest issue of Gourmet Traveller. Something I'm not usually wont to do as the food just makes me envious and frustrated at not being able to learn and recreate the recipes that I know I could if I had the time. This week's feature was Slab Cakes. Basically home-made versions of the kinds of cakes you might buy in a supermarket in rectangular blocks. But GT gave a down-country hokey kind of spin to the whole article. Also, some of them were very prettily iced: meringue frosting, candied lime, etc.

I tried their chocolate slab cake:
butter, chocolate and water - melted and mixed
flour and baking powder - sifted
the ingredients combined, stirred with brown sugar and sour cream and baked.

Maybe the oven was too hot: I used a fan-forced setting instead of ordinary radiant heat. Maybe the recipe was totally wrong(!): Who melts dark chocolate, butter and water??

At any rate, the cake was overcooked on the outside but still soft on the inside. I figured after 45 mins at 180 dC it was done so I took it out of the oven, rested for 3 mins then inverted it on a rack to cool. After 20 mins I wanted to try it, so turned it onto a plate and discovered that approximately 10% of the very centre of the cake was still uncooked; a puddlet of thick brown gooey batter had oozed through the hole made by the cake-testing knife onto the kitchen bench.

Naturally, I was dismayed and a bit disappointed by this result. It also didn't help when my darling and supportive bf L charmingly pointed out, "Your cake's done POOS!" before laughing out loud, pointing and giggling at me. That over-under-cooked battery-brick mass just sat lumpenly before me, unanswering.

It tasted all right but deep in my stomach, I knew no one would eat it. A cake eaten out of Chinese-induced clean-up-your-plate guilt will believe it is worthless.(*) I committed the equivalent of patisserie euthansia and guiltily slid it into the bin.

Footnote: (*) This sentence is modified from a sign at the Teddy Bear Shop: A Stolen Teddy Will Believe He is Worthless.

Nana Diver’s Double Chocolate-Chip Supa Chunk Great Tasting

Great tasting what? You might asking yourself. What has Nana Diver made in her kitchen? The title leaves you guessing, doesn’t it? Great tasting disappointment is what it was. This is one of those chocolate chip cookies from a vending machine aka “fatbox”. I had just finished a rather gruelling step aerobics workout and needed a sugar fix in order to continue functioning. I was craving a Cookie Time cookie but I could only find Nana Diver’s bakery product.

Needless to say, it was a profound letdown. For 22g of fat, I had expected something tastier. I found one double-chocolate-chip-supa-chunk in my cookie, and it wasn’t even that “supa-” sized. The biscuit was crumbly, sweet but tasteless and there was no aroma to speak of. Quite a let down, but I should have known and read the label. It doesn’t even declare itself to be a cookie!

I want my Cookie Time. I didn’t know it was a New Zealand phenomenon, but I guess the best things come from NZ, like me.

New Mango Variety

I never thought that mango eating was such a trial. I heard on the radio, and subsequently found on the net, that a new mango variety has been launched in the Northern Territory, near Darwin. It’s supposed to be easier to eat, with a smaller seed and, get this, milder in flavour.

Apparently first-time mango eaters are deterred by the strong mango taste so they hope to capture new markets by having a bland mango variety. When I used to live in Malaysia, my aunts, uncles and extended family prized the intensely aromatic Philippine mango. They held it in the highest esteem because of the wonderful almost incense-like intense fragrance that it had. My green-thumbed grandfather had managed to coax a mango tree of the Philipine variety and I remember being taken out in the evening, when the smell was most intense, by my uncle to savour the thick aroma exuding from the one tiny mango. Unfortunately we were waiting for this mango to increase to decent eating proportions but, just like Peter Pan, it didn’t want to grow up and was attacked by my grandmother’s chickens before we could rescue it.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve eaten a Philippine mango but my friend K, who recently spent 6 months in the archipelago, assures me that they are still as beautifully fragrant and delicious as I remember them.

Why would anyone choose to eat a bland mango? “Oooh, this mango’s too strong, I feel all funny – might need a lie down.” If you’re so scared of it, why not just eat a peach?

This new variety is also supposed to be easier to eat: less messy and fleshier. But I have never had a problem eating mangoes tidily. Yes, I admit that preparation is vital, and you can’t eat a mango like you would an apple; but if the cheeks are scored then inverted, little cubes of mango flesh practically jump out at you. All that’s needed is a teaspoon to enjoy. The seed is another matter, but the good host will shave the flesh off the seed into a little pile for his guests, or himself, to enjoy.

Restaurant Review - Golden Century Seafood

Location: Sussex St, Sydney
Date: 1 October, 2004

The date of a big gay dance-party isn’t usually the occasion for a feasting celebration. On the contrary, usually the months of near-starvation and frenetic gym workouts, not to mention solarium sessions and artful manscaping (body-hair trimming/removal), preclude any thought of good eating.

But this time was different. On this particularly dance-party eve, Sleaze 2004, a particular confluence of friends was in Sydney. My good friend D and his bf R both from New Zealand, my glam LA-living friend P, my adopted (unofficially) brother S and his friend (and now ours) the cyberpimp J. It was D’s first time in Sydney, let alone overseas, and he was much excited to be in town. So I had arranged for dinner and gradually the circle of six got wider until it became a party of eight.

Usually I would cook, but since I live in Canberra and everyone else was in Sydney, this wasn’t such a convenient thing to do. I had arranged for dinner at the Golden Century Seafood Restaurant: a place that L and I had previously checked out with S. That time we feasted on steamed murrawong with ginger and spring onion, hot and salty snowcrab, and chicken steamed with ginger and spring onion. This time, with a party of eight, I was looking forward to the greater variety of dishes possible.



Golden Century was reviewed during the Sydney 2000 Olympics and is probably Australia’s best seafood restaurant. It is on an upper level and from the street you can see the tanks and tanks of live seafood swimming away or sitting, in the case of the abalone and scallops. On this particular occasion, I made the bold step of choosing what we were to eat. I felt that it would be too hard to come to a consensus amongst eight people, and that a Prime Directive of Food Concept should come from one person. I had already started thinking of the menu the night before, something that L found amusing, but I thought was deadly serious. I needed to match the flavours, yet leave room to take advantage of specials, and still cater to filling bellies. Tough work, I tell ya.

I ordered:
Scallops – steamed with ginger, spring onion and soy sauce
King crab – salt and pepper deep-fried (jiu yim), steamed with ginger and spring onion, and noodles flavoured with the roe (three dishes)
Coral trout – steamed with ginger, spring onion and soy sauce
King mushroom – braised with lettuce
Ma po tofu – bean curd braised with hot spicy beef mince
Mustard green (kai larn) – stir fried with ginger and garlic

Okay, so maybe there were a few too many “ginger and spring onion” dishes, but it was busy and I was too shy to ask our waiter what were some other ways of cooking those seafoods. After taking our order, the waiter promptly went to the display tanks, caught and weighed our seafood, and brought it to our table for my inspection and price approval; before taking it into the kitchen to be cooked fresh. The fish was still convulsing in the plastic bag, which unnerved a few of my friends, but I assured them that it was “all part of the experience”.

It was way too much food for eight men, but all quite delicious. J, of Hispanic origin, was most impressed with the premiering scallops. Whilst not familiar with the “ginger and spring onion” flavouring concept, commented that these were the best scallops he’d ever tasted. I couldn’t agree more.



The king crab arrived next divided into two plates: two masses of jumbled claws and exoskeleton piled up high. The jiu yim version was tasty, the flesh firm and sweet, although I thought the deep-frying oil needed to be a touch refreshed. A little heavy on the MSG too, but not unpleasantly so. The ginger and spring onion version was coated in a cornflour thickened sauce, which I found a little unnecessary, but revealed another flavour dimension to the crab. The noodles, which were nestled within the giant body-shell of the crab, were absolutely delicious. They were a beautiful orange, rich with the crab roe colour, but still delicately flavoured to allow the seafood nature to permeate without the excessive iodine-tinge that can sometimes mar the enjoyment of roe. Even non-roe eaters such as R enjoyed the noodles.

The coral trout, although perfectly steamed and the flesh texture just right, had trouble competing against the previous splendour of the king crab. I actually found the flesh texture a bit disconcerting. It was my first time eating coral trout, and I’m more used to the texture of blue cod instead of this very firm and springy fish. One day I will have to enjoy this delicate fish on its own and to enjoy its understated and restrained flavour.

I had never eaten king mushroom before, but thought I would order it as S was on a ten-day vegetarian cleansing ritual, “I can’t eat anything with a face.” I managed to convince him that crustaceans and molluscs don’t really have a face – he was glad to find any excuse to indulge. King mushroom is quite amazing. Obviously it was developed as a vegetarian alternative to abalone, but the silky firm texture alone has meant that many would prefer it to the sea creature. I certainly do. It was flavoured in a very “meaty” sense, I suspect there was generous use of lard if not beef dripping, but the overall impression was a luxurious pale side of mushroom; as if freshly sacrificed.

After all of this, the tofu arrived. Everyone was full now, and the richness of the beef and chilli actually detracted from the prior seafood and vegetable delights. We had to give it a miss. I had actually mistakenly ordered this dish in place of Bean Curd Eight Treasure, which I really wanted.

For dessert, there complimentary plates of watermelon, fresh baked cookies and petits fours. These were executed in Hong Kong style, those of you who know the this particular bakery aesthetic will know what I mean. On our previous visit, with our Asian faces, S and myself had also prompted a big bowl of hot and sweet black sesame soup. Now, with our yellow moon-faces lost in a sea white powderpuffs, no such luck.

Service was quick, efficient but eerily silent. Most of the waiters did not speak good English, but had no difficulty understanding our requests. My limited Cantonese helped on occasion, but many were exclusive Mandarin speakers. The restaurant was particularly bustling that night, and we encountered no less that five birthday celebrations. Periodically when we were eating, the music would quieten down, “Happy Birthday” would be played and everyone would start clapping and cheering. There was discussion at the table that we should have a birthday at the table too - not to give into peer pressure or anything.

Overall, this was a fantastic dinner. The seafood is priced per kg, and the bill came out to approximately $95 per head. A very rare indulgence, but well worth it in the company of great friends.

Braising Sauce

I tried the braising sauce described in AromaCookery's blog today. Although the proportions of the aromatics were not given, I guessed and used:

Half a spanish onion
One lemon grass
5cm of galangal
3 cloves of garlic
2.5 tbsp brown sugar
1.5 tbsp dark soy
0.5 tbsp light soy

For about half a side of pork belly, approximately 500g.

It was delicious, but a bit too sweet. Next time I will use 1 tbsp sugar and twice the amount of garlic. But it was still very aromatic and quite delicious. I paired it with some watercress, red date and chicken soup. My grandmother would have asked, "Is that all? Only two things for dinner?" But since I'm the cook, that's enough. I have a blog to write, nana!

I made - Apple Pie

Feeling fluey, feeling in need of mothering: I made an apple pie. I have pastry-phobia, so I went to the supermarket to buy some ready made sweet shortcrust pastry, but there wasn't any! I didn't want to use quiche pastry, so I gritted my teeth and made my own: vegetable shortening and butter, á la Delia Smith, but with added sugar for extra sweetness.

It turned out reasonably well. Very home-made looking as you can see from the pictures, but that's because I am rolling-pin disabled. I had also put too much nutmeg and mace in, whilst trying to substitute for a lack of allspice, so it was a little too nutmeggy. I made a custard to go with it, White Wings I'm afraid, but that was because we didn't have any eggs - not that I would have made a traditional custard anyway. How horrible, I hear you say, and he calls himself a cook/foodie? No eggs, no allspice, what is in that ill-stocked pantry of his? Ummm...corned beef (lite), over-ripe bananas (for Thai banana paste - really!), two-week old fish curry and pickled cabbage.

The bf liked it though, so I'm pleased. I think it tastes good too; albeit very filling, I blame it on the shortening. Think of it as homestyle, rustic even, and healing. Healing apple pie - I like the sound of that.

Restaurant Review - Mahjong Room

cross-posted, originally written 12 July 2004

Location: Crown St, Darlinghurst.
Date: Sun, 11 July

Mahjong Room was the second in the list of that night's eateries. The first, Billy Kwong, had an hour wait for a table and I had sourced Mahjong Room as a suitable backup. The bf was not impressed initially as the large bay windows showcased an empty room. But we persisted (I whined and he gave in) and we were pleasantly rewarded.

The menu is suitably simple and elegant - comprising a range of interesting Cantonese fare ranging from crabmeat dim sims to steamed fish with ginger and shallot. The selection is pleasingly constrained for a Chinese restaurant which showed that the chef had paid some attention to food matching.

Our waitress showed us through the front room, past the ornately carved antique style wooden chairs and into the back section of the restaurant. We sat in the cobblestone corridoor adjacent to another room entrance with painted chinese signs. Our table perched on the stones and our tea light candle flickered alluringly. The red plastic lampshades barely covered their bulbs, giving them an air of blatant reveal. All vaguely appropriate given its proximity to the major gay strip in Sydney. The carefully crafted decor and atmosphere elicited a slightly homesick feeling within me. I could almost believe I was in a back street in Malaysia or Hong Kong except that it was conspicuously clean and there was a distinct lack of occassional strange and wafting malodours. Such was the ambience that I almost expected a cheongsam clad Maggie Cheung to glide past, her takeaway container swinging, as she came to pick up her noodles for the night.

We decided on the roast duck platter, the jiu yim prawns and the steamed tofu and eggplant with ginger and spring onion. We were also tempted by slow cooked spare ribs and sze chuan hot pot, but as what I had convinced myself were overdeveloped obliques were actually fat deposits (as gloriously pointed out by a well-meaning friend), we chose not to overeat. Our waitress was rushed off her feet but handled all four tables with aplomb, I barely noticed her busyness until the bf pointed out she was short of breath from running from table to table.

Our meals arrived promptly. The duck was gloriously tender, bone-free and served with 5-spice marinated hard tofu and fresh shitake mushrooms. Succulent, juicy and perfectly seasoned. The woody mushrooms complimented the duck and the aromatic tofu beautifully. The jiu yim prawns were a little bland for seafood, but the flesh was firm and the batter crisp and lip-smackingly tasty. The MSG flakes mingled with the chilli and garlic to give that unreal 'too-delicious' taste. I think the usual trick of applying lye water or bicarbonate of soda to 'firm up' the prawns had been used and the rinsing of excess alkali had also washed off much of the prawn flavour. The tofu and eggplant, served in a steel steaming pot, were beautifully steamed, their textures perfectly complementary. The velvety softness of the tofu was just balanced by the ever-so-slightly firmer eggplant and its associated coarser vegetable texture. I would have preferred more of a savoury flavour, but there was only a hint of this because most of it had drained through the mixture and pooled at the bottom of the rack. The remining prominent flavours were coriander, spring onion and ginger.

We were now suitable satiated, but dessert was offered. I searched, located and opened my stomach dessert pocket and we agreed to share some glutinous dumplings. We chose red bean and black sesame and these arrived in a warm sweet soup. They were deliciously chewy and the fillings pleasantly unsweet and tasty. I was a little disappointed in the soup as I had expected a sweeter ginger syrup soup, like my grandmother makes with these dumplings, but I guess this isn't the way it is done elsewhere.

Although the menu is not as creative as Billy Kwong, the flavours were pure, unadulterated and traditional. You'd probably find better value in Chinatown or Chatswood, but the quaint ambience and proximity to Oxford St are a drawcard. This is the sort of place that should serve yumchar, but in the original sense and concept, i.e. copious amounts of boutique chinese teas and just a small selection of snacks accompanied by caffeine inspired debates on ephemera. Mahjong Room is a pleasingly retro reconstruction of old chinese tearooms.

"Small eats" $13-18
Mains $17-21

Restaurant Review - Tak Kee Roast Inn

cross-posted, originally written: 17 July 2004

Wooley St, Dickson, ACT
Thursday, 15 July, 7 pm.
 
The bf and I had spontaneously decided to go out for dinner that night.  I had just been to the gym so my blood sugar levels were low, almost nonexistent, and a decision had to made fast.  We were initially tempted by the newly-opened Ethiopian restaurant but, and I know this sounds racist, my memory associations of food and Ethiopia are not positive.  Ethiopia, I associate more with a lack of food, rather than a developed cuisine.  I didn’t want to eat rehydrated food concentrate with a sprig of parsely.
 
We finally settled on Tak Kee Roast Inn.
 
To call this place a ‘restaurant’ (pronounced with a nasal French accent) is a little incorrect.  The more perfunctory ‘eatery’ or even ‘eating house’ is more accurate but this is not an LSD inspired maison qui mange but one of those service-less Chinese outlets awash in super-bright fluorescent lighting and white plastic melamine.
 
My first brush with Tak Kee was during my second month in Canberra when I was homesick and desperately in need of some homestyle food.  I saw the hanging ducks in the window, shyly walked in and asked in broken Cantonese, “Do you have roast duck on rice?”  The proprietress looked down her short flat mainland Chinese nose to the top of my higher bridged Hainanese nose, snootily said yes, then proceeded to make up a plate for me that consisted mostly of duck skin and bone.  I didn’t complain as I was desperate for animal fat at that time.  You see, I had just started obsessing about my body and nutrition whilst trying to become the Ultimate Gay Sex-object and the prior month's diet of lettuce and chicken breast had induced a primeval craving within me.
 
Nevertheless, Tak Kee has become a favourite haunt of ours.  Tonight we sat next to a table of two middle-aged Chinese men from Malaysia who proceeded to order loudly in Mandarin with heavy Cantonese accents.  They did not order from the menu, as only Whities do that in an establishment like Tak Kee because everyone knows what should be on the menu anyway.  When their food arrived one man asked for some fresh cut chilli and was dumbfounded when they didn’t have any.  His companion remarked, “That’s why I always carry chilli with me.  I have some in the car right now.  Do you want me to go get it?” That’s the mark of a true gourmand – someone that has their own private chilli supply on-hand.
 
The bf had roast duck and gow gee noodle soup which was in a clear MSG-laced broth with thin eggless (wonton) noodles.  The gow gee were fat and juicy little parcels of mixed meat, I suspect mostly pork, with some seasoning.  The roast duck was tasty and reasonably meaty.  Whilst he was eating, the same loud chilli fiend at the next table complained that there was no skin on his roast pork.  “What is this?!  No skin?  Why is there no skin on this roast pork?  Roast pork must have skin and fat.  This is all just white, with no skin at all,” he scolded the proprietress in Malaysian accented Cantonese.  She apologised for the skin falling off and provided a replacement plate of meat. 
 
My own dish was tasty enough, I had udon noodles with black pepper beef but I would have liked a bit more beef with my noodle.  The noodles were tender and tasty but I would have preferred the use of Szechuan peppercorns instead of the more economical black peppercorns. 
 
Tak Kee Roast Inn serves the usual range of chinese barbequed meats in the customary styles, e.g. noodles, soup, rice, etc.  In addition, a wide range of ‘kitchen’ dishes are available such as combination chow mein, fried rice and braised beef brisket.  Each dish can be a complete meal, e.g. roast duck on noodles, or several meat dishes can be combined to have with rice.
 
Price per dish:  $6-12, generally increasing with the ratio of meat to carbohydrate.

Quirky Restaurant Names

cross-posted, originally written: 19 July 2004

The transplantation of Chinese marketing concepts into Anglo-Saxon culture can sometimes be interesting.  We’ve all seen those strange sentences on t-shirts, stationery and other knick-knicks; those amusing slogans that don’t make sense but which always sound so pretty. 
 
Case in point, I noticed a café in Chinatown in Sydney called “Little Lamb Hot-pot”.  The picture is a cute cartoon sheep face smiling at potential customers.  This was a Northern Chinese restaurant and thus lamb features extensively on the menu, but the idea of eating Mary’s pet, especially after it had beckoned and smiled at me with those wide eyes, was not appealing at all.  I don’t know, perhaps the rampaging Mongolian influence meant that those Northern Chinese were hardened to these ‘cute’ notions. 
 
Another café of note is in Market City, also in Chinatown – the Blue Ice Internet Po Po House II.  This is presumably the start of a long lineage of Blue Ice Internet Po Po Houses soon to be springing up at a mall near you.  I have deduced that this place is perhaps of Taiwanese origin as it serves those strange bubble teas and other iced concoctions but it also has internet access – hence ‘Internet’ in its name.  As to what a 'Po Po' is, your guess is as good as mine.  It does mean ‘grandmother’ in various Chinese dialects, but there is nothing grandmotherly about this slick joint, awash in blue lighting, transparent plastic and neon highlights.  It would have to be pretty funky grandma that would frequent this establishment.



I’m collecting a list of strange restaurant names, so please drop me a line if you know of any.