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.

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...