unconstructed Vietnamese prawn rolls

When we were at the Soup Dragon on Pub Street in Siem Reap, we ordered beef in betel leaves (for the uninitiated, think dolmades, filled with minced beef and char-grilled) and it came with the usual accoutrements of herbage and greenery, but this time there was also a stack of rice wrappers, a bowl of water and some vermicelli noodles. Make your own rolls. What a genius idea. Who can be bothered faffing about making them up for guests who will never appreciate the stress you endured in their creation, when you could just get them to make them themselves?

"The sum total of all human misery that is Pak-n-Save", as an acquaintance so aptly put it, has a fish counter in Gisborne that keeps drawing me back. And their latest offering, $13.99-a-kilo raw prawns, presented the perfect opportunity to reach into the dark recesses of my pantry and liberate the jar of Hoisin, the bundle of vermicelli and the packet of rice wrappers that had been lurking there since I sent Matt forth to one of Auckland's wonderful Asian supermarkets all those months ago.

$6 of prawns, some noodles and some herbage later - along with some dipping sauce - and Matt was shaking his head as his caveman brain attempted to comprehend that he was actually full, and sated, by a meal so lacking in MEAT.

~unconstructed Vietnamese rolls~
stack of rice wrappers
bowl of water
platter of freshly washed, crunchy romaine (or whatever) lettuce, basil leaves, mint leaves, coriander, julienned cucumber
bowl of Hoisin
bowl of prawns, cooked whole in a big pot of salted boiling water - they'll take just a few minutes and will considerately float to the surface to let you know they're done - then rinsed in cold water, beheaded and peeled
bowl of vermicelli noodles (put in bowl and cover with boiling water for 3-5 minutes, drain and rinse in cold water)
bowl of dipping sauce (mix 2T palm sugar (or regular old sugar), 3T fish sauce, 4T lime juice, 1 clove crushed garlic, 1 finely chopped Thai chilli)

Assemble @ table @ leisure.

charred squid tacos

A fish trader friend of mine tells me that 80% of the squid eaten in Spain comes from New Zealand. Meanwhile, what are we eating in New Zealand? Not squid. I have been lamenting this fact for two years, and today @ the most depressing supermarket in the universe, I spied some and it was fresh, and it was local, and it was only $8.99 a kilo. Bargain. Beats my other recent find of Indian prawns for $13.99 a kilo which are by far the tastiest I've had since being home. That price beats mince and chicken and even blade steak.

I got a couple of medium-sized specimens for the grand total of $3, brought them home, cleaned them up, tossed them in some Maldon (I will pay $10 a box for this salt that makes all other salt ashamed of itself), black pepper and olive oil, and charred them in a glowing grill pan.

I'd ferreted away some masa harina (corn flour) so was also able to make some proper tortillas with the cast-iron press my lovely brother and sister-in-law brought me on their travels in Mexico. So good. Add limes and avos from the Farmers' Market, coriander from my garden, and I had all the guacamole and lime-drenched onion I needed. Mucho delisioso! (Yup, all I got was blank looks when I pulled that one out after every meal in Mexico.)

~tortillas~
150g masa harina
warm water to form a soft pliable dough

Combine in a bowl and leave for a few minutes. Knead into a soft dough, then break off small balls and press with a lined (2 sheets of plastic) tortilla press. Cook in a hot pan.

~guacamole~
2 avos
1 clove garlic, crushed
1 red chilli, finely chopped
1 tomato, chopped
1/2 small red onion, finely chopped
handful coriander, chopped
juice of 2 limes

Mix in a bowl with a fork or spoon, breaking up the avo as you go.

~lime & coriander salsa~

Finely slice a red or white onion, squeeze over a lime and scatter with chopped coriander.

~squid~
300g squid, cleaned and scored, tentacles removed
olive oil
Maldon
freshly ground black pepper
lime
chopped coriander

Toss the squid in oil, salt and pepper, then place in a searingly hot pan. Cook for a couple of minutes on one side, then turn and cook for another minute or so. Leave tentacles in pan until crispy. Remove squid from pan and dress with olive oil and lime juice, Maldon and pepper. Slice into bite-size chunks and scatter with the coriander.

Serve with the warm tortillas, guacamole, lime & coriander salsa and lime halves.

Mila's Asia

Of course, we were a bit angsty about bringing our 10-month-old away on holiday. Twelve hours on a plane with a baby is a scary thought and when that baby is yours, taking full advantage of the drinks cart and watching a movie is no longer a viable option to drown out the crying. As it turned out (and doesn't it always?) she was great on the plane. Trying to get her to sleep for the night in the hotel that followed the flight, however, was another story...

I'd had this vision of arriving to see our London friends, Azom & Sunny, on a beach in Southern Thailand playing in a loop in my head for some months before our departure. It went something like this: having arrived the day before, our friends would be sunning themselves on the beach, cocktail with pink umbrella and fruity decoration in hand, when a distant wail would disturb their tropical idyll. Sitting up and squinting into the distance, they'd see us. After a 12-hour flight, a night in Bangkok followed by another flight to Krabi, a taxi ride and a longtail to aforementioned beach, we'd approach the beach, the lead boat in a flotilla of longtails, looking like extras from The Walking Dead, Mila in my arms wailing inconsolably. Cue to tight frame of London friends faces with "WTF?" wrtitten all over them.

Thankfully this vision was not realised. Along with my paranoid delusions, the beach didn't exist. It was a mangrove swamp and the tide was out. There was a concrete walkway but it was half submerged and slick with mud. The longtail anchored and I waded, in jeans, carrying Mila and walking painfully slowly in the relentless, sweltering sun as a group of American backpackers making their way out kept a volley of warnings coming at me "Be careful!"/"It's really slippery"/"Oh my god, and with a baby! Make sure you are sooooo careful"/"Don't even walk on the concrete"/"Watch out for rocks!"/"I saw someone fall over"/"Be careful!"/"It is so slippery"/"Be careful!"

We'd known that Thais love babies but let's face it, how much attention do you really pay to a world you don't inhabit? Prior to having kids you don't even occupy the same time zone as people with kids. When Mila and I would go to breakfast at 7am, there they were: all the people with kids. Breakfast ran until 10.30 and Azom & Sunny just scraped in on two mornings out of seven. Each morning, we'd head to breakfast and from the guy raking leaves in the garden to the receptionist to the waiters and waitresses in the restaurant, Mila would soak up her morning dose of adoration.

Yes, Thais really do love babies. And babies with blue eyes and blond hair who smile a lot like our one does are treated like minor celebrities. Everytime we walk down ta street, into a hotel, restaurant, temple, airport or shop, everyone stops for Mila. They coo, they cuddle, they fuss, they smile, they kiss, they play. And she loves it. In fact, she's grown to expect it and on that rare occasion when we are somewhere and it's not forthcoming, she pulls out everything in her baby arsenal of cuteness to reel them in. Cocking her head to the side, shooting smiles out like Spiderman shoots webbing, playing peek-a-boo, cooing and shouting for attention.

In the 40-degree heat of Ko Lanta while Matt had a massage, the staff gave Mila a cool bath. As I held her and she gazed down a line of massage tables, every massuese's eyes were locked on her as they returned her smiles of delight. At Wat Pho in Bangkok when we entered a chamber housing an enormous golden buddha, the devotees turned and suddenly all eyes were on Mila. They cuddled her and got photos taken and our little blonde buddha beamed beatifically.

Vietnam is just the same. The Saigonese passport controller finished his pesky paperwork and then put his arms out for a cuddle with Mila. Matt and I think that she will get back to New Zealand and tell all the other babies about this place she visited, this baby nirvana, and it will become a legend amongst babies - this place at the end of the rainbow where babies are universally adored and all daily demands fall aside for one smile, one moment.

Nothing lasts Benjamin

Matt came home a few months ago after a night out with some new friends and told me he'd had something of a revelation. Over some beers, someone's age came up and so everyone started asking everyone their ages. Matt was the oldest. In fact, he was one of the only ones over 30. He said he suddenly realised "Hey, I'm the old guy. I'm that guy".

In our twenties in London we had a couple of much older friends (those guys). One was in his forties and the other was 50! And they partied with us in warehouses, clubs and flats all over London. And we thought, how crazy that they are still doing this kind of thing at their age.

When we first visited Thailand in 2001, we met a Swiss ex-heroin junkie on Ko Chang (he'd come to Thailand to dry out would you believe?). He was in his forties and was so worldly he blew our innocent little kiwi minds. He had been to Thailand ten years before. We looked at him in awe and asked with bated breath, "What was it like here back then?"

A few days ago I found myself in a cooking class on Ko Lanta with a Danish couple who could barely keep their 20-something-year-old hands off each other and a Texan pair who were visiting Thailand for the first time. I heard myself saying the words "my daughter" and "I came to Ko Lanta 11 years ago" - utterances so ridiculously grown up and from the stable of "my husband", "ten years ago", and "in the 80s" that I can't quite believe they came out of my mouth. And it dawned on me: OMG I am a different generation from these people.Why do I feel like an imposter for saying words that are entirely age appropriate? What next? A one-piece and short hair? Chinos and boat shoes for Matt? And BTW OMG, I am one of those old people that thinks they are talking young (albeit ironically) by saying OMG. Would the real irony please stand up?

Crackers!

I've been pondering crackers for some time now. Why, oh why, in an age when everyone seems to be into making everything - home-cured duck ham, anyone? - are crackers still in exile? I guessed they must be hugely time-consuming to make - but they are not. In fact, they are fast and easy. Not to mention delicious. And free of transfats and additives. Just flour, water, salt, oil and whatever herbs, seeds and spices you fancy. This is Annabel Langbein's lavosh recipe.

1c flour
1/3c wholemeal flour
2T each black and white sesame seeds
1T finely chopped fresh oregano or 1t dried oregano
1t salt
¼c olive oil
1t sesame oil
½c water

Preheat oven to 165˚C and line a couple of trays with baking paper. In a bowl stir together the flours, sesame seeds, oregano and salt. Mix the oils and water together and add to the dry ingredients, stirring to form a soft dough.

Divide the dough into four and roll each out on a lightly floured board as thinly as possible - or use a pasta machine. Cut each piece into strips and roll again. They should be virtually transparent.

Put strips onto tray, brush with oil and sprinkle with flaky salt. Bake until crisp and pale golden – about 15-18 minutes. Allow to cool then store in an airtight container.

I love you more than Ibiza

I saw an ad for the effects of meth a few days ago. It was a series of real mug shots showing people's physical deterioration from meth abuse. They went from relatively normal-looking (okay, some of them looked like snaggle-toothed inbreds from the outset) to extras from The Living Dead. It was hideous. Gaunt, skeletal, slack-jawed, scabby faces with sunken eyes, sallow skin and missing/broken teeth. And a seriously dead look in their eyes.

Apparently sleep deprivation is the worst thing for your appearance.

I hope having a baby doesn't have the same effect.

On the upside, the lack of booze and partying has gotta cancel out the sleep-dep uglies. Surely.

I found out I was pregnant a week before we met our friends for one last blowout in Ibiza. Needless to say, I had a very sedate time while they (and Matt) did their best to represent.

Pulling an all-nighter used to be followed by an endless sleep-in and several days of comfort behaviour - a comedy and macaroni cheese anyone? Now it's followed by another all-nighter, and another, and another. It turns out that four days of labour was actually a crash-course in sleep deprivation.

As I stumble into Mila's room at 6am, I glimpse myself in the hallstand mirror, looking disheveled, pale and dark-eyed, and instead of cowering in her cot, I am greeted by the most beatific smile from an impossibly fresh-faced baby (hang on a minute, weren't you up all night with me?). And I think of all the ways I love her.

Carrot cupcakes with cream cheese frosting

Mums are hungry people. I had a bunch of them coming to my house with their babies, and I needed to feed them something with a little bit of substance and didn't have much time for cooking.  These were the result.

300g grated carrot
50g raisins or currants
2 eggs
130g brown sugar
120ml rapeseed (Canola) oil
½t vanilla extract
2t orange zest
120g plain flour
1t baking soda
pinch of salt
1t cinnamon

Set oven to 160ºC. Line three 12 hole mini-muffin tins with cupcake cases or papers. Combine grated carrots and raisins in a large bowl and set side. Beat the eggs and sugar together and then add the oil, vanilla extract and orange zest and beat well. Sift the flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon into a separate bowl and then slowly add these ingredients to the egg and sugar mixture, beating well after each addition. Pour this mixture into the bowl containing the carrots and raisins and mix using a wooden spoon or spatula until they are well incorporated. Spoon the mixture into the cupcakes cases, filling each case about two-thirds of the way up the paper. Place the trays in the oven and bake for approx 25 mins. Allow them to cool in their tins for 10 mins or so before placing on a wire rack to cool.

~frosting~
1/2c butter
1/2c cream cheese
2c icing sugar

Beat until light & creamy.

Matt's perfect chocolate chip cookies

For an absolute non-perfectionist, I spend a reasonable amount of time trying to find "perfect" recipes. I'm definitely more Jamie than Rhodes with a tendency towards rustic rather than precision and a lazy streak which means cutting corners and embellishing recipes. My sister-in-law made me aware of a Guardian blog about the quest for perfect recipes - she found it while we were consulting on the perfect Beef Wellington recipe. Something I was very happy to opine on, having eaten it several times but never having made it. I tried their perfect pesto recipe and I thought it was too heavy on the basil and to light on the cheese, nuts and garlic. I have Marcus Wareing's How To Cook The Perfect..., and these are essentially his chocolate chip cookies. I prefer mine a little chewy, but Matt has deemed them "evil", meaning irresistible - aka: perfect.

180g flour
1/2t baking powder
115g softened butter
75g caster sugar
75g brown sugar
1 egg
1/2t vanilla
170g chocolate chips

Cream butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Add egg and vanilla. Sift flour and baking powder into a bowl and fold half at a time into the butter mixture. Form into a log and wrap in cling film. Refrigerate for at least a couple of hours. Heat oven to 170C fan. Slice log into about 20 cookies and place on parchment lined trays. Bake for 14 minutes or until golden. Cool on trays and keep in an unmarked tin in the fridge.

My ultimate Christmas Cake (with brandy icing)

I grew out of and back into oysters: as a two-year-old, evoking the chimp in Space Odyssey, I used to sit on my favourite shore in the Bay of Islands and smash open oysters with a stone. I couldn't get enough of those tasty salty little suckers. At 16 I ate a bad one (from an unknown source) and ended up in hospital. For 15 years I couldn't stomach them, until I somewhat furtively but nevertheless determinedly reprogrammed myself at The Cow on Westbourne Grove and The Queen's Head & Artichoke near Regent's Park. Yum Yum Yum. Yes. Oysters. Yum Yum.

I loved olives all along.

But Christmas Cake? I definitely had to grow into that one. All that fruit and richness never did appeal to little Francy-Pants. But then I turned thirty and realised that fruit cake is good. And for the last four or so years, I've been making my own. Well, Nigel's. Now that our seasons are out of synch (he's in the UK writing recipes for The Observer and I'm in a totally different hemisphere), Christmas is the only time of year we make sense - the season overrides the seasons and he's actually writing about something I feel like eating and can get hold of the right ingredients to cook. I've fiddled about with it year to year, and think I've finally nailed it. For my tastes anyway.

~the cake~
This cake must be made six weeks or so before Christmas as it needs to be fed every week with brandy. This is partially for flavour and partially for ritual...a reverse advent calendar for grown-ups who like making cake.

1kg dried fruits - prunes, apricots, figs, glacé cherries
500g vine fruits - raisins, currants, cranberries
5T brandy
zest of 1 lemon
zest and juice of 1 orange
350g butter
175g light muscovado sugar
175g dark muscovado sugar
150g Brazil nuts
5 large eggs
100g ground almonds
1 tsp baking powder
350g plain flour

Put dried fruit in bowl with brandy, orange and lemon zest and juice, chopping the larger fruit into smaller pieces as desired. Leave overnight.

Line a 24-25cm cake tin with a removable base with a double layer of nonstick baking paper, which should come at least 5cm above the top of the tin. Set the oven to 160 C. Beat the butter and sugar till light and fluffy. 

When the mixture reaches a fluffy cappucino hue, add the eggs to the mixture one at a time, then slowly mix in the ground almonds, Brazil nuts (chop these into 1-2cm chunks), and the dried fruit/bandy/citrus mixture.

Mix the baking powder and flour together and fold them gently into the mix. Scrape the mixture into the prepared tin, smoothing the top, and put it in the oven. Leave it for an hour, then, without opening the oven door, turn down the heat to 150 C and continue cooking for two hours.

Check to see whether the cake is done by inserting a skewer into the centre. It should come out with just a few crumbs attached but no trace of raw cake mixture. Take the cake out of the oven and leave it to cool before removing it from the tin.

Cover with foil and clingfilm and set aside until a week before Christmas, feeding every week with a couple of tablespoons of brandy (pierce the bottom of the cake all over with a skewer before pouring over the brandy). Brush cake with warmed apricot jam before icing.

~brandy icing~
I loathe marzipan so there's no almond icing on my Christmas cake.  
300g icing sugar
50g melted butter
25ml cream
25ml brandy
  
Mix ingredients in a bowl until smooth.