plate 39: mexico

Save for a few Mexican restaurants I've been to, most of the Mexican meals I've had have come from an Old El Paso box. Sad, but true. So from one Spanish-speaking country to the next this week, I thought I'd try my hand at making a few traditional Mexican plates.

Two essentials of Mexican cuisine are corn and beans, so I combined them, making corn-based tortillas with a bean filling. Not only have I barely ever had good Mexican cuisine, but I don't think I've ever had soft corn-based tortillas. I've only ever eaten flour tortillas, which are more of an American adaptation anyway.

The recipe I found requested something called corn masa mix, not something we can find here. I'm ashamed to admit it, but stupidly I left myself little time this week in the research department, so I grabbed what I thought was the closest thing: pre-cooked yellow corn meal that was almost $6 for a small packet - ouch.

It was amateur hour making the tortillas. Pretty simple in theory: mix two cups of the aforementioned expeno corn meal with 11/2 cups warm water, then portion into little balls and flatten out with a rolling pin between two sheets of baking paper. But for some strange reason I couldn't find my tortilla press - we all have one of those, right? - so I turned out some pretty child-like-looking tortillas that were nowhere near round. They seemed slightly rubbery in texture and I was a little concerned at how they were going to taste.

Surprisingly, they passed. A few flips in the pan - literally 30 seconds each side is all you need - and they were ready. Some split pre and mid cooking, but most of them turned out. Even if they did look  fluoro.

Between flips I made a bean filling for the tortillas. The recipe called for black-eyed peas, but without access to these either at my local supermarket, I opted for the refried beans that featured a Mexican lady on the can.

I let it simmer for a little while to reduce it and let it thicken up otherwise I think it would have been too runny for the tortillas. I guess that's what you get for experimenting with the main ingredient. Once again, I was worried at what the end result would be. This did look frighteningly like dog food. Obviously this is before I mashed it all up.

But again, surprise - pretty yum. Must have been the jalapeno chillies, lime juice and garlic. It could have also been the fact that I've now started to remember to season my food.

Spooned on top of the bean mixture was a bit of tangy tomato salsa, made with white onion, jalapeno, coriander and lime juice. No prizes for guessing the main ingredients used in Mexican cooking... But they make for super fresh, zingy dishes that are flavoursome and refreshing.

And dolloped on top of that, before rolling the whole thing up, was guacamole. A guacamole that I can't take the credit for. Unlike that idiot contestant from a recent Australian Come Dine With Me episode that passed off all the food as his own when he pretty much made none of it (that lying scum made me so irate), I will 100% give credit to AJ for making the guac. I like my guacamole with a bit of chunkiness. And with visible flecks of red onion and tiny pieces of tomato, plus the other regulars - avo, of course, garlic, lime juice and chillies, this was lovely.

Not really anything to write home about this week, but as a casual Sunday-night dinner, it did the trick.

plate 38: argentina

I don't think I've told you how fond I am of caramel. I. LOVE. IT. From chomping on Colombines as a kid - you know, those chewy lollies with the bright pink and bright blue wrappers? - and Gaytimes to creme caramel gelato from Pompei's in Bondi, I totally heart the stuff. The love grew even deeper when I travelled to South America a few years ago and discovered dulce de leche - which means "sweet milk" in Spanish. It's basically just cooked sweetened condensed milk that becomes a rich, sticky, golden and downright delectable spread like caramel paste.

In South America dulce de leche is an ice-cream flavour, used on toast, eaten solo off the spoon, spread between alfajores (shortbread-style biscuits), etc etc etc etc. You can buy it in jars, which travel buddies and I did in abundance as gifts for family and friends. At the airport, Customs informed us we couldn't bring in products from Argentina that had been made with cows milk, but somehow we managed to smuggle them in.

My love of caramel - and my sweet tooth in general - most certainly comes from D Rose - my mum - which is why making this paste of deliciousness was so perfect this week: it was D Rose's birthday.

I knew I couldn't just dish up a dessert of dulce de leche on its own with six spoons. I had to do something more special than that. I contemplated making it a filling for melting moments, but then came across something even more amazing: dulce de leche cheesecake. Cheesecake is D Rose's absolute favourite dessert, so this would be a winner. There are tonnes of recipes for dulce de leche cheesecake out there, but whoever came up with it in the first place, you are nothing short of a genius.

Some people make dulce de leche by boiling a whole can - not pouring the contents of it, but simply putting the can itself - in a pot on the stove for a couple of hours. The risk here is that the whole thing can explode. I'm not a fan of a messy kitchen, so the fear of having sticky caramel bits splattered all over the walls was not something I was excited about. I found a recipe on Not Quite Nigella and she, too, was nervous about cooking this way, so came up with a safer method, which works really well. Just pour the sweetened condensed milk into a pie dish. Cover the dish tightly with foil. Sit it on a baking tray and pour a little water on the tray to make a bain-marie, then cook it in the oven at 220C for about an hour or so.

I was amazed at how easy it was to make. In just 60 minutes it turns a beautiful caramel colour, then all you do is let it cool and whisk until it's smooth. Incredible. SO easy. A few dips in and licks of the finger confirmed this was the goods.

That done, it was cheesecake time. For anyone out there who hasn't made a cheesecake before, like I hadn't, this recipe is a pretty easy one to start with. You just make a basic cheesecake then swirl the dulce de leche through it and bake as normal. Cheesecakes are prone to cracking, but one trick is to turn the oven off once it's baked, then leave the cake in there with the door slightly ajar for a while. I did this and was bummed when my cheesecake formed two little cracks on top - they looked like two little eyebrows, stretched into angry position. Oh well - as long as it tasted good.

And my god, did it. D Rose squealed in delight when I presented her birthday cake and she realised it was cheesecake. I must say, I was mighty pleased with my efforts and there was silence as we all dug in, trying to savour every little bit, not wanting it to end. The only thing I'd change to the recipe is the crushed vanilla wafers as the base - they were a touch soft - you'll get a better, crunchier result from regular sweet biscuits.

I of course want you to try many things on this blog, but this is up there as one the best, so please please please try it. And when you have a little dulce de leche leftover, pop it in a little container, wrap a ribbon around it and give it to your favourite person in the whole world. x

plate 37: israel

Jewish New Year has just passed, so in an ode to the "Land of Milk and Honey" - aka Israel - I baked a honey cake. It's the traditional cake of this teeny tiny nation, and the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs tells me it's a must-make at Jewish New Year - which if you're interested, just ticked over to the year 5771.

Honey is a symbol of the Jewish New Year because it represents the sweetness that the new year is hoped to bring. In this case, two cups worth of sweetness. Last week I tried to be "good" - I tried really really really hard to abstain from the naughty treats that magically appear, from various sources, at work. It's unusual when the table behind my desk isn't piled high with lollies, chocolates and homemade cakes. I know I shouldn't complain, but I'd had enough of their tempting. I'm pleased to say I lasted the week. Well, until 5pm Friday when AA presented a plate of genius: a round of brie cooked with brandied pears and topped with caramelised walnuts. OMG. Amazing. I inhaled it, on piece upon piece of freshly baked, still-warm olive bread.

So I was pleased when I came across the honey cake recipe and realised that it wasn't that bad for me. The cake has no butter - just a little bit of oil, flour, spices, nuts, half a cup of coffee and the aforementioned two cups of honey.

I'm desperado to become a better baker, and everything was on my side this weekend to produce a great cake. I would be cooking in AJ's parents kitchen - I love my kitchen, but the Kwong kitchen features a much more superior oven to ours. I also had no time pressures - it was just me, the ingredients and a fabulously fast oven to myself for the afternoon. But it was so fabulously fast that I think I overcooked the cake. I've no idea why it sunk in the middle either!

I even considered the super-speedy oven, cooking the cake at a lower temperature than instructed and for less time, too, but at first bite it was a tad dry. Nothing a bit of yoghurt or ice-cream couldn't fix. But I think the lesson is perhaps not to cook a recipe from the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs website. Maybe next time I'll turn to Claudia Roden - a food writer and cookbook author who specialises in Middle Eastern cuisine - for recipe guidance.

The flavours were actually pretty good and the cake had a lovely golden colour. Ironically, thanks to the cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and ginger stirred into the mixture, this little Jewish cake tasted like Christmas gingerbread. I'll try the cake again in my crappy oven and see how it goes. Until then, I wish you all a deliciously sweet year ahead. x

plate 36: lebanon

Me and Middle Eastern cuisine go way back. With Egyptian-born grandparents and my grandmother who had an incredible repertoire of Middle Eastern delights, I grew up on this kind of food. Even now I try to get my fix where I can - Almond Bar in Darlo (Syrian), Emad's in Surry Hills (Lebanese) and Dergah (a Turkish takeaway chain) are some of my faves.

Although they make primarily Turkish cuisine, Dergah is responsible for my love of kibbeh. Kibbeh is the national dish of Lebanon, but like so many Middle Eastern dishes, the borders blur slightly. Kibbeh used to be a Sunday-night takeaway special at our house, which is apparently the day it's traditionally eaten in Lebanese households, too. My mum and I would buy a bagful of kibbeh and eat them with a side of half-hollowed-out eggplant with a thick capsicum and onion filling. While the eggplant was awesome, the kibbeh was the highlight.

Kibbeh takes on a few forms in Lebanon. There's kibbeh nayeh (raw kibbeh), kibbeh rass (fried kibbeh) and kibbeh bil-saneeya (baked kibbeh), which was what I tried my hand at. Made from lamb mince, burghul (cracked wheat), spices, herbs and pine nuts, kibbeh are shaped like little torpedoes. The baked version consists of a raw meat and burghul mixture that's filled with a cooked meat mixture before being baked. As soon as I'd made the cooked mince mixture with pine nuts, onion, allspice and sumac I breathed in that scent I'm so fond of. It smelled exactly like the kibbeh of my youth - beee-autiful.

While the kibbeh were easy to make, I must admit it was fairly time consuming to prepare, but then again I was making 40 of them for my mate Lauren's spring fling. Every year, on the first weekend in spring, Lauren gets her front garden ready for an afternoon of boozing and barbecuing. Kibbeh would be the perfect barbie finger food.

Sadly though, Sydney spring came and left after its first day. Sunshine graced us on 1 September, then disappeared as swiftly as it appeared, leaving spring fling day grey and rainy. Poor Lauren was heartbroken, but it meant more kibbeh for me and AJ - hehe. Lunch was kibbeh wrapped in white bread (that I'd bought to make fairy bread for the spring fling) with homemade babaganoush.

That was a winner, too. I've made a few dips in my time and after having made this delicious number, I really wondered why I don't do it more often. For a fraction of the cost of bought versions, they're so much healthier when you make them at home, too. Plus, you're guaranteed of no nasty preservatives or additives, and they taste sooooo much fresher.

This babaganoush was fabulous and very easy to make, although there was a little hiccup. AJ had been going on all week about how the gas for our barbecue was lasting so long, but two minutes into turning my eggplant, the flame extinguished, leaving me to stick the eggplant under the grill of the oven.

It was a slight shame because it probably didn't have the wonderful smoky flavour the barbecue would have given it, but the result was still mighty tasty - it was so deliciously garlicky and tangy. Once you take the eggplant skin off, pop the the rest of it in a big bowl and use a potato masher to break it up. The tip from the recipe I used was not to use a blender - mashing it by hand keeps the seeds intact which gives a better, less pasty consistency. After that you just stir in tahini, lemon juice, crushed garlic, natural yoghurt and olive oil until it's smooth.

Voila - homemade babaganoush! Apparently the word loosely translates to "the Imam wept". No one knows for sure whether he wept because it tasted so darn good or because of the cost of the olive oil used to make it, but I know which reason I'm leaning towards...