There is much that I remember about València — the ancient port city of Spain on its Mediterranean coast. I remember the plazas and gardens, the extraordinary architecture and markets — but it’s a cake I recall most easily.  It was in the Fitzroy-like neighbourhood of Ruzufa, just south of the city’s historic centre. One Sunday,…

Salad has never been my thing. Menu in hand, my beloved gravitates to a salad every time, but not me. I remember dad dismissing anything raw and leafy as ‘rabbit food’ and for years the prejudice stuck. More recently, for the sake of good health, I’ve embraced the leaf with a more open mind.  The…

Sometimes the taste of fish is lost in a dish that’s full of spice. The subtle flavours common to many fillets are overpowered. Not so this one … not for me anyway. I’m told it’s an Anglo-Indian recipe common in Kerala on India’s tropical Malabar Coast. Some speculate Portuguese origins, but its popularity has spread…

Here’s my second curry to originate in the northern city of Delhi. Apparently it’s a relatively recent invention — it didn’t appear until the 1950s. A restaurant specialising in tandoor-cooked chicken came up with the recipe as way of using the chicken and juices leftover from service. I’ve heard it’s now one of the most…

“Rosemary is a smell I come across often, and one that warms me somehow. I cook with it: roasted nuts with rosemary, roast lamb and rosemary, roast vegetables and rosemary. It’s neither a happy nor a sad smell, now, but the sprigs worked their intended magic: I remember. Rosemary is a smell of hope and…

There are two types of people in the world: those who love custard and those who don’t. The custard lovers are good people — decent, nurturing and kind. The others … well, enough said. I like custard. I always have. In whatever form it comes, custard is the most palatable form of reassurance. There’s that…

I ate my first blueberry when I was 16. It was just days into my kitchen career. Ray was the pastry chef left with the new boy. He was a good natured Kiwi with a foul mouth and a permanent grin. As he scooped a mound of reddish-blue berries into a sweet pastry case, he…

There is NOTHING as cosseting as a homemade Anzac biscuit. Especially one still warm from the oven. It’s the combination of crisp and slightly chewy, and that sweet mouthfeel of oaty, syrupy, coconutty goodness. And the memory. It’s baking gold! I’ve just read Allison Reynolds’ little book with a big title, Anzac Biscuits: The Power…

I don’t recall nuts when I was a kid. I do remember mum passing around a square each of Cadbury’s fruit ‘n nut after the fish & chips were done, and dad’s Christmas jar of chocolate coated peanuts not so generously shared. But apart from those, nuts were not a thing. I like them now….

There were lemons in the Garden of Eden. I’m sure of it. To imagine a place of perfection without these yellow jewels of acidity is impossible. Though northern India claims its origin, the lemon has been regarded the most significant fruit in Middle Eastern and European cuisines for centuries. And for good reason. In the…

I have a thing for apricots. Dried. Every week I buy a bagful from fruit-n-nut-man at the market. They’re not those dry, inedible nuggets you get in sealed plastic at Woolies. These are large, moist, succulent. I love them. A few weeks back I arrived at the stall to collect my stash. Fruit-n-nut-man smiled, looking…

The communion table brings comfort. No matter what flavour our Christian faith — Anglican, Baptist, Catholic or some other— the table at the centre of our churches is a heady reminder of the grace that colours our lives. As often as we meet there to break bread, we rediscover our connections to God and each…

Let’s be honest. The pursuit of comfort is no fast track to virtue. In fact, there are moments when it’s more like a detour into decadence  — think a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, a block of Lindt chocolate, or a large bag of salt and vinegar chips munched down in front of the TV….

Most often, comfort is the taste of home. Occasionally, though, it travels. It comes to us from places far away— places that have, at one time or another, nurtured our souls. It’s the comfort of memory. In this season of closed borders, I crave tastes like these. In 2017 I spent time in the Val d’Orcia…

I call it Gospel soup. In my memory, it was one of those things served up before we headed to church on Sunday nights — a bowl full of a hearty and warming goodness served with toasted white bread slathered with melting butter. Mine was a church-going family, committed to the core. Though Sunday morning…

Comfort and sophistication are awkward friends. The truth is, the food that is more comforting to me than any other is entirely devoid of kitchen glamour. It is my mother’s tuna casserole.  It’s an embarrassing admission. As a self-respecting cook, I normally dismiss recipes that include a can of anything. I’ve sniffed at those contributions…