plate 44: norway

There have been amazingly joyous happy fun times in our family this week. AJ's lovely sister Harmony got married to "Grumpy Behr" (his friends' nickname for him, not mine - we love you Nick!) and, with a host of aunties, uncles and cousins from Hawaii, Washington, Macau and England in town for the big day, I needed something celebratory to mark the occasion for the post-wedding family barbecue.

Apart from Sweden in week 16, Scandinavia is a region rather untouched by Destination Degustation, so I headed back there, this time to Norway to make blotkake, more appetisingly translated in English as cream layer cake. While the cake is primarily made to celebrate Norway's Constitution Day (May 17 if you're interested), it also graces the dessert table at other festive times, too.

What is it? Basically a very simple sponge cake that's cut into three, horizontally, and layered with custard, fruit and a few splashes of orange juice. I've read that Norwegians buy the sponge cake (lazy sods) using the theory that the less-than-fresh-from-the-oven versions are drier, therefore soaking up the juice better. True, maybe, but I didn't want to spend money on a store-bought sponge. I hope this didn't compromise the end flavour.

I am quite particular about how I go about making my Destination Degustation recipes. No one is to help. I have to fly solo. It's just the way it is. Usually. But this week there was no way I could resist the little helping hands of our coolest little Hawaiian cousin, Jack Pang. A keen sous chef from way back, Jack was super keen to roll up his sleeves and get mixing and stirring (and washing up!) with me.

We put out everything we needed to make the sponge: eggs, sugar, flour and baking powder, and set ourselves up in a little corner of the kitchen. (This was to steer clear of the Macau cousins' cooking extravaganza that was happening at the same time. They were making jin doi - deep-fried sticky sesame balls filled with coconut, which were awesome by the way.)

Jack and I beat the eggs and sugar until really thick (this takes quite a little while, so be patient as the recipe doesn't give a time guideline), then sifted in the flour and baking powder until smooth, spooned it into the pan and slid it into the oven. Too easy. And too quick - it was ready in half an hour.

Once the cake is cooked it needs to cool right down before slicing it up, so about midnight I got to slicing. Only problem is, I spooned it in wonky so one side of the cake was fairly thick, while the other quite thin. There was no way it was going to cut into three, so I settled on halving it.

The orange juice was poured over to soak into the cake, then topped with thick custard and crushed strawberries, mashed roughly with a fork to release oozy strawberry liquid.

The top layer of cake went on, more juice, then whipped cream. Note: don't overwhisk! It'll turn into a yellowy, watery mess.

After chilling it in the fridge overnight, it was time to pretty it up with red and blue berries in a nod to the Norwegian flag.

The time came to cut it up, distribute and taste test.  Taste? A nice combo of creaminess and fruity sweetness. Texture? Lusciously light and fluffy, like a good sponge should be. No bought cake required.

plate 43: sudan

I haven't done much of Africa, and as the continent with the most countries there's certainly no shortage of choice. I picked its largest country - Sudan - for this week's meal. A land that boasts about 600 tribal communities and 142 languages, with Arabic the major tongue.

Speaking of tongues, one of the most common Sudanese foods is maschi: tomatoes stuffed with a minced beef and rice mixture cooked in a cinnamon and garlic scented sauce. Maschi can also be made with cucumbers - just slice in half lengthways, scoop out the flesh then stuff - or eggplants - peel, remove the tops and dig out the insides.

The tomatoes were a little tricky to cut - but I blame my poor comprehension skills. I interpreted the instruction to "cut a slit in the (very firm) tomatoes, halfway across the centre" three ways: 1. cutting a small shallow cross in the centre top; 2. slicing it from one side of the top halfway down one side of the tomato; and 3: slicing it in half crossways halfway through.

I'm not sure which method is correct, if any, but I decided the last was possibly the way to go. The problem was that they asked for very firm tomatoes, which made scooping out the seeds and flesh a tad difficult. But once I got them out (I think I might make a homemade tomato sauce with the insides) and stuffed the filling inside, they were so cute. They almost looked like little pacmen. See?

The filling was super yum. Lucky there was some left after I'd completed the stuff, because AJ and I couldn't stop spooning it into our mouths. It was a pretty basic mixture - just minced meat with rice, garlic and fresh dill, but it tasted delicious. Also good the day after, microwaved and piled onto toast.

The sauce the tomatoes were cooked in had a little pinch of cinnamon, which lended a lovely sweetish flavour to the overall dish. The tomatoes were still fairly firm, but went well with the rich sauce, made from tomato paste and garlic, and the filling. Served on the side was some asparagus cooked on our new awesome turquoise-coloured grill pan (thanks Lily x) and sweet potato mash made from sweet potatoes pretty much straight from the earth, dug up on a farm in Bundaberg that I visited last week. The mash was made with a not-as-small-as-health-professionals-would-advise knob of butter, a splash of maple syrup and a sprinkle of nutmeg. Of course, that recipe is courtesy of a Canadian - a lovely fella who was working on the farm.

It all made for a plate as colourful as our makeshift tablecloth - a multicoloured beach towel that we draped over our coffee table. We shifted from dining table to coffee table so we could eat Sudanese style. Sources tell me they eat at low tables, sitting on cushions on the floor. It was a wonderful picnicky Saturday night in.

plate 42: chile

There are many things I remember from my trip to Chile four years ago. Like losing one thong at the beach, walking the deserted streets on Christmas Eve searching for midnight mass, and eating intestines.

Surprised as you might be, this isn't a food I've ever hankered to recreate at home or ever eat again for that matter. However, inspired by the amazing rescue efforts to unearth the trapped Chilean miners last week, I searched for more appropriate and appealing Chilean foodstuffs, such as humitas.

I was attracted to the celebratory nature of these little presents of corn. Fresh corn mixed with tomatoes, onions, paprika and basil, all wrapped in fresh corn husks and tied up with string - they're a few of Chileans favourite things. Sorry - I couldn't help myself!

I absolutely love corn, and it's been particularly sweet this year, but I always forget what a mess fresh corn makes in my kitchen. As I slice down the cobs, the kernels seem to fly from one end of the kitchen to the other, and the silk sticks and decorates the bench, but I pressed on.

Tired and weary from a rather busy weekend, I didn't set to making the humitas till about 8.30 last night. And I didn't quite realise how time consuming they'd be. First you have to carefully remove the husks, one by one, keeping them as intact as possible since you need them to house the corn filling.

 Then you have to remove the kernels, add them to a mixture of cooked onions and tomatoes, pour in a dash of milk, and assemble the little parcels before boiling them. To make one parcel took me almost as long as it did to bring one miner to the surface in the capsule, but I take pride in wrapping presents so this was a task I rather enjoyed.

 About an hour later, the bobbing little parcels were ready to come out of the water and be opened up to eat. Having not tasted humitas before, it was hard to know what they were supposed to taste like. While they had good flavour from the herb and spice, I don't think they really turned out how they were meant to. You're supposed to grind the corn, but I don't have a food processor and as I was about to mush it up in the blender I stopped, thinking it would just turn to liquid which would make it near impossible to wrap up. So I left the kernels whole.

All this did then was boil the corn, whereas if I'd processed the corn and added the milk, it probably would have become almost like a creamed corn consistency, which would have then cooked like a little cake inside the husk. Like so...

We were pretty hungry, so maybe anything - bar intestines of course - would have tasted good at that hour, but they were quite nice. Just not as delicious as I'd hoped. Lessons learned: buy a food processor, follow the recipe, don't start cooking fatigued at 8.30 on a Sunday night.

plate 41: brazil

Two weeks between desserts is a long time. Of course I've eaten many during this time, I just haven't made any. But something sweet was required for someone sweet: my one-and-only aunty Viv who celebrated her birthday this week.

A random thought back to my South American holiday prompted me to search for Brazilian desserts. I wanted something tropical and sunshiny, and I came across something that sounded delightful. Quindim. Apparently pronounced "keen-jean".

An upside-down coconut custard, this sweet beauty is a loved Brazilian treat, one that they sell at the annual National Fair of Sweets in Brazil. Isn't it cool they have a yearly festival dedicated to all things sweet?

Quindims don't really require many ingredients, just lots and lots of egg yolks. This recipe called for 14. I sweated slightly at the thought of having to test my egg separating skills once again, but managed to get through it. After beating butter and sugar, I added the yolks, one by one, until the mixture was super-smooth and creamy before folding in desiccated coconut and a dash of vanilla and coconut flavouring. 

While this recipe used mini muffin pans, I ended up using regular-sized muffin tins, which worked a treat, because it was a nice-sized little portion for everyone for dessert. It's always dangerous making mini treats because it's so easy to wolf down a few too many.

Cooked in a bain marie so the custards cook evenly, once baked you have to let them cool a little before very very carefully turning them out of the pans, otherwise they can turn out all misshapen and ugly. Once flipped out, they looked great. A beautiful bright yellow. Because the pans were dusted with a bit of melted butter and sugar before putting in the mixture, the quindim had a shiny, sticky glaze. And they smelled divine, too. Too bad we had to wait 24 hours before indulging.

A small water accident as I was filling the bain marie caused some egg scrambling, so I was one down.

They're traditionally served chilled though, but even thought they'd been refrigerated overnight when I arrived at the folks' house, where the dessert devouring would be taking place, there was a blackout. The fridge wasn't working. Thank God just before we left for our dinner at Amarcord - fantastic northern Italian cuisine - power was returned so the little goodies could be chilled some more.

Presentation wise they didn't look amazing solo, so I plated them up on a cake stand, embellished with strawberries, blueberries and fresh plump dates, which made them more outstanding. They look nice, no?

And they tasted good, too. Naughtily sweet, with that delicious coconutty texture. Everyone seemed to like them, especially the birthday girl who loves coconut. If you wanted to make them small I reckon they'd be lovely as part of an afternoon tea, all girly and high-tea like with other little dainty treats.

plate 40: malta

Forget hotcakes. There's a saying in Malta: "it'll sell like pastizzi" - and once you take a bite, it's simple to see why. These savoury pastries have been famous on the Mediterranean island of Malta for more than 400 years. From school kids to old ladies, apparently everyone's devouring them no matter what time of day. The country is littered with pastizzerias - whether they're street stalls, hole-in-the-wall joints, or larger cafes - so you can always get your fix.

I've read that because pastizzi are so cheap, most locals don't make them at home anymore, which is understandable given they're a little time-consuming to make. But I didn't mind. I couldn't think of a better way to while away the hours of the long weekend with the pitter-patter of rain outside than rolling out pastry, stuffing it with filling and shaping pastizzi into little boats. Plus they're dead easy to do.

I went a bit posh on the pastry - paying nine bucks for a 375g packet. Foodie friend Gemma instructed me that making my own butter puff pastry, which I was determined to do, would be way too time consuming and difficult, but that she knew of a wonderful French-made product that was worth the expense.

As I opened the packet, I handled the pastry like it was a sheet of gold - I was so scared of cracking it. But after I'd patiently waited for it to thaw to the right point of pliability, I rolled out the whole sheet until it was nice and thin. If there was ever a pastizzi competition I'm sure one of the criteria would be the thinness and flakiness of the pastry, so I wanted to make sure it wasn't too thick.

Of course you can fill your pastizzi with whatever you like, but the two authentic varieties are pastizzi ta’ l-irkotta - also called Maltese cheesecakes - we all know I love cheesecakes ;) - filled with ricotta and pastizzi tal-pizelli that are stuffed with peas cooked in onion and sometimes spices.

Lucky I learned my lesson in patience waiting for the pastry to thaw because I was going to need more of it. A whole half an hour once I'd slid the pastizzi into the oven. The tick tock of the clock was torture, but the smell wafting from the oven was intoxicating. All golden and puffed up, the pastizzi were ready to be pulled from the oven.

The idea is to eat them straight out of the hot oven. Wait a bit though so you don't burn your tongue. If you do, you run the risk of not being able to properly taste them and that would be diabolical.

As for flavour? Insert all adjectives that relate to incredible taste here and one more: addicitve. AJ, my aunty and I had about 10 each, no exaggeration. The pastry was well worth the money - it was beautifully buttery and helped the pastizzi to pass the flake test: a bite in and it fell ceremoniously like confetti over the plate.

If there was one criticism, it would be the pastry to filling ratio. The pastizzi needed a tad more filling, which was tricky because I was careful not to pack in too much for fear of them busting open in the oven. Other than that, 10 points to Malta this week.

The other bonus is that pastizzi can be frozen. My two packets of expeno pastry yielded about 50 of the little beauties, although I can't guarantee that they'll last in the freezer too long.

Give them a go at home, but if you want to taste test a few before spending a few hours - and $18 on pastry, head to the Pastizzi Cafe in Newtown. Pastizzi of all flavours line the walls. They even have dessert pastizzi with cheese and cherry (which from experience are A1) and chocolate, too. You can also buy frozen packs - perfect for late-night hunger emergencies or quick dinners.