chez olivier

121 Greville Street, Prahran
www.chezolivier.com

Winter Solstice is upon us again. Well: officially tomorrow is the shortest day, but my trip to Sydney tomorrow put the kibosh on our usual 21st June celebration of winter. So a Solstice Eve Sunday luncheon was in order.

Eileen suggested Chez Olivier in Prahran, a tiny slice of France in Greville Street surrounded by chi-chi boutiques and jewellery shops. We found Mena sipping a Baileys at a window seat by the bar, surrounded by pastis bottles, fifties French posters, urns full of wine corks, and French waiters wearing black waistcoats with the tricolour on their breasts.

We gathered at an upstairs table, by a huge picture window - great for natural light. We had the whole floor to ourselves. Mena, in her element, ordered escargots for a starter. Each snail came served in a tiny steel jug, drowning in butter and laced with garlic. My warm goat's cheese salad had a centrepiece of crusty bread smothered in beautiful chevre. Onion soup, a seafood millefeuille, seafood bisque and a caramelised onion, anchovy and olive tart completed the traditional French fare for first course, all washed down with a good pinot chosen by Kelvin (of course).

After a decent interval, the mains arrived, all accompanied by a 2006 bottle of Sanguine Estate's Heathcote shiraz. Duck ruled, with Mena choosing the magret of the day served on creamy mash and wilted greens, Robyn choosing the "Frozzie duck", double-roasted and served with lemon and pepper mash, bok choi and pickled ginger, and a few more opting for the cassoulet a la "Jacky", with duck confit and pulses.

My bouillabaisse was full of fresh salmon, prawns, mussels and scallops, but could have been a lot more tomatoey and a lot more garlickey. Orlando's baked salmon was served with creamy mash, and looked good but Orlando thought it ordinary. A second bottle of the Heathcote was ordered, but like a lot of the wine list they were out of stock so we upgraded to a 2006 Sanguine Estate d"Orsa shiraz which did very nicely.

Desserts looked and tasted good for the most part. The mousse au chocolat (Orlando's choice, naturally) was a huge helping served with fresh strawberries. A few chose the "self-saucing, self-indulging chocolate fondant" which lived up to its legend. My tarte tatin was a little disappointing: none of the bite of a good cooking apple in there. And Mena completed her classic French lunch with crepes Suzette complete with flaming Grand Marnier, which she pronounced divine.

Interestingly, from Sunday to Thursday the restaurant charges $11 a head for whatever wine you have chosen, so despite the wine list suggesting a total bill of about $200 for the wine alone, that is all we were charged - $11 a head. This certainly made up for the limited availability of some wines on the list. Total bill for seven came to $598, which was about $85 a head.

By then, we were alone in the restaurant, the wait staff had mostly gone home and those remaining were preparing for the evening's sitting. The light was fading as we wrapped ourselves in coats and scarves against the chilly evening air. Quite a civilised solstice lunch to mark the passage of time in winter. Tomorrow, the days will get longer by a cock's stride, and we can look forward to spring.

As for Chez Olivier, despite one or two pedestrian meals, our overall experience was lovely, and fantastic value too. I can imagine this will become a favourite winter haunt.

Good Food Show 2010 - before and after

I started blogging about the Melbourne Good Food Show before this blog existed, so I've kept those posts with their older sisters on my other blog.



Follow these links to get the before story and the after story!

mammy dinner

A routine trip to the hospital and a dose of anaesthetic yesterday meant I needed chaperoning overnight. Lee and Mena came to visit, the former to stay over and play nursemaid, and the latter to cook dinner for us.

I was feeling perfectly fine and totally compos mentis, except Lee said I wasn't really: apparently my intelligence level seemed to have decreased somewhat. Now and again I made a declaration which elicited a puzzled response from her, because apparently I was making no sense whatsoever and even getting simple sums wrong. Horrifying.

Meanwhile Mena arrived and set to work cooking the exact menu that was served in our family home for decades on a Tuesday (and still is). Eggs, beans and chips. Perfect comfort food. I added sausages to the menu, having been to Paddy's the Irish butcher last week and so having a plethora of pork products to hand.

Nothing fancy: real Heinz beans, two eggs dry-fried sunny side up, and potatoes chipped by hand and oven-cooked with a little spray oil. Irish-recipe pork sausages fried in the pan (they are really low fat and dry-frying them gives a much better browning effect than grilling). The only thing was that I only had regular malt vinegar. A nice onion vinegar would have gone down well with the chips. A good dollop of tomato sauce for dipping (sorry, Andy, it was shop-bought) and it was just the perfect Mammy Food.

I probably shouldn't have, but instead of washing it down with a nice strong cup of tea, I indulged in a cheeky glass of two of a nice Langhorne Creek shiraz cabernet. Not strictly Irish kosher, but on the eve of St. Patrick's Day I reckon that was forgivable.

Labour Weekend Foodie Style - Sunday

Labour Day Sunday was time for brunch in Babble On Babylon, the venue for the boys' cycling lunch most Sundays. Marty runs the only West Indian cafe in town, and his Jamaican breakfasts, stamp'n'go salad and curried goat are excellent.

We crammed into the back room while the kids played in alley. Nina's rice and peas and chicken looked excellent - well-seasoned and well-cooked chicken which Orlando manfully helped her polish off.

My Jamaican breakfast was just perfect: chilli eggs on toasted sourdough, plaintain, ackee and saltfish, with a side of roasted tomatoes. I never have the johnny cakes because I find them too heavy.

Eric's big bowl of curried goat (no bones, plenty of spice) went down a treat too.

slow food saturday

Dinner with friends: the perfect excuse to spend a quiet Saturday doing what I do best. Focusing on food.

I was up and at Victoria Market by ten. A bit seedy after a glass or two too many the night before, I kept the sunglasses on despite the heavy cloud. For once, a sea mist was blanketing the city in blessed coolness, the humidity was high and it smelt like Ireland.

Vic Market was buzzing, as it always is. I strolled down the lines of produce in the fruit and veg shed first, comparing prices, tasting locally-picked fruit, getting sidelined by things not on my shopping list. The sellers shouted out their prices, competing with each other. Bananas $1.50 a kilo. I remember after Cyclone Larry when they went up to $15 a kilo. Seems like forever ago.

Laden already with plums, grape tomatoes, fresh basil, cucumber, sweet yellow chillis and mushrooms of different sizes, I headed for the meat department. Again the rows of perfectly-presented meats made me second-guess my menu plan. Perhaps it's not too late to choose steak? Perhaps I should make hamburgers with that lovely mince? (it was the debut of our new barbecue after all.)

No. I steeled myself and kept walking down to the seafood. I browsed the counters, looking for the best prices, the exact tiger prawns I wanted, nice butterfish (which is not sold everywhere). Scallops winked at me; sushi-grade tuna begged to be bought and I capitulated. Something for me and Orlando, not this evening's guests. Back to my usual butterfish man, I bought too much, knowing I would want leftovers. Two kilos of fresh shelled tiger prawns with the tails still on - perfect finger food - and I was done. Almost.

Over in the deli building, I quailed at the increasing weight of my various bags and rued my decision not to bring my wheelie trolley. Who goes to the market without a trolley?? Hungover me, that's who. Plump Ligurian olives won over skinny kalamata. Bocconcini won over a more substantial piece of mozzarella. A sourdough baguette won over the other fifty or so breads on offer: this is always the hardest decision.

Last stop the chicken place for nice locally-produced free range chicken breasts, to round off the feast. Lucky I remembered.

Laden like a pack-horse, I sank to a seat in the food court with a strong flat white, two sugars. That's better. A trip to Dan Murphy's for wine and rum, and Safeway for a handful of remaining ingredients, and back home to take over the kitchen.

Half the prawns I marinated in a mix of red chilli, garlic and Punjabi Kitchen King Masala. It's my favourite for shellfish and a real crowd-pleaser. The chicken was cut into more manageable pieces and coated simply in Italian herbs, garlic, a touch of chilli and green pesto. The butterfish got the Walkerswood jerk seasoning treatment.

Meanwhile more chicken was quickly browned off with some vegetables and slow-cooked in the oven with some of John's seasoning. John Maughn is our friend who is a food wizard and his home-grown and produced seasoning is the best Caribbean flavour you can find. Seriously addictive.

A sit-down, a cup of tea and a Creme Egg later, I tackled the Greek salad and prepared the ingredients for an Italian pasta salad: grape tomatoes, bocconcini, fresh shredded basil, more pesto. Vegie skewers were constructed from yellow chillis, mushrooms and more grape tomatoes. The table was set and the mossie coils in place ready to be lit: all done.




The evening was a success. Two bottles of divine Brown Brothers 2002 Patricia Shiraz, and two more of Stanton & Killeen's Rutherglen Shiraz Durif (2007), washed down the feast. The barbecue acquitted itself well, as did the chef. I thank you. Eileen's cheese platter, Robyn's handmade chocolates and Orlando's orange muscat and flora rounded off the evening in style.

Evening the washing-up went swimmingly.

it's Pancake Tuesday!

The day before Lent begins means a stack of pancakes for lunch and more after dinner. Or that was how it was when I was a child.

I would come home from school for lunch and Mum would have made a big stack of pancakes, frying-pan sized, made from freshly-mixed homemade batter. Simple: flour, eggs, milk, beaten until smooth then poured into a frying pan spoonful by spoonful.

The first one was always less than average. The frying pan was never hot enough, and the skill of pouring just exactly enough batter to make a thin pancake forgotten since last year. The second one was always better.

A perfect pancake was extra-thin, it filled the whole frying pan and it was cooked just long enough to give it dark brown grooves of caramelised loveliness on each side.

There was no messing about with exotic toppings in our house. This was a pre-Lent ritual, designed to get all the flour, eggs, sugar and butter used up before the fasting began. Each pancake would be spread with butter, sprinkled with a liberal amount of sugar and finished off with a good squirt of lemon juice. The three toppings would mingle into a sweet-and-sour liquid of perfect viscosity.

Mum always stacked the pancakes one by one, topped individually as described above, then when the whole stack was done she would slice them into wedges like a cake. Personally I always preferred to eat my pancakes whole, rolled up, with butter, sugar and lemon juice added fresh each time. This is how I do it myself when I make pancakes in my own house.

Anybody else doing Pancake Tuesday? Anybody got any other family rituals you want to share?

making patties

We set up a pattie-making factory one hot afternoon, Eric, Orlando and I. We had been hankering for a proper West Indian pattie for a while and Eric was the resident expert. We would have liked saltfish patties but the salted cod here takes far too long to prepare - a full weekend for one side of salted cod. So we went with beef instead.

First, Orlando set about cooking the beef filling. He browned a large chopped onion, then added 800g of heart-smart minced beef, four large chillies (two red and two green) finely chopped, a decent dollop of old-fashioned curry powder and some Indian meat masala. When the meat was brown he added four medium potatoes which had been cooked, cooled and diced beforehand.

About a cup of beef stock was added to make the mixture moist, then about the same again of breadcrumbs to make sure the mixture bound enough for us to fill the patties.

Actually, we didn't have breadcrumbs so we used cornflake crumbs instead - which I think worked better.

Meanwhile I coloured the pastry by painting it with turmeric, then rolled out the sheets and cut out large circular shapes using a breakfast bowl. I kept all the offcuts and Orlando insisted he would not waste a bit. He persevered, and from the scraps of five pastry sheets he got an extra size cutouts plus one tiny piece we made into a party pie. Then the factory line began.

Orlando placed a dessertspoonful of the beef mixture onto the pastry round. I wet the edge with water, folded it over and used a fork to seal the edges into a half moon shape.

Then once we had a full tray ready, Orlando brushed the top of with a beaten egg to glaze them. Not too many in a tray - we didn't want to crowd them. Then into the oven at 200C for about half an hour.

The results were splendid: 26 perfectly golden, sturdily made patties with a rich beef filling with just enough bite to them. We ate two each on the spot (just to make sure they were ok).

Now we know how long it takes, and we have had a bit of practice, there is no stopping us. Two hours in the kitchen makes over two dozen patties. Only problem is, they take less time than that to polish them all off...

le parisien geelong

15 Eastern Beach Road Geelong
www.leparisien.com.au

A long lingering lunch with my sister Mena was in order. We had much to catch up on. we headed to Mena's favourite place on a breezy Sunday afternoon, to sit by the water and graze the afternoon away.

I was feeling really ill, with a chest infection picked up in Perth just not going away. I kicked off with two paracetamol and a full-fat Coke to get the heart going, quickly followed by a nice glass (or two) of Austin shiraz - a local red. I was starting to enjoy this.

We both chose the seafood chowder to start, and we were not disappointed. This is one of my favourite soups and it is rare to get a good one anywhere I find. By the time I had soldiered through mine I was feeling much better and wondering how I could fit my main course in.

The waiter had taken a shine to me so our service was impeccable. The owner, a grand-sized Frenchman, also took time to visit each table and chat with the lunchtime crowd. It was a nice vibe and we really felt at home sitting at the window. There was no rush.

An elderly lady came in to lunch alone, nicely dressed up in a navy blue suit complete with hat. Perhaps she had been to church that morning. It seemed to me that she was a regular - maybe she had a favourite dish she had every week. She stayed about an hour and then walked briskly on home along the waterfront in the wind. I want to be like her when I am that age.

My fillet steak Cafe de Paris was huge: topped with sauteed mushrooms, bacon, onions and garlic butter it was a heart attack on a plate but I dug in and mopped up the sauce with chat potatoes. We tried to ignore the complimentary French fries on the table but failed dismally. My defence is that I did my sore throat good with all that salt.

How we managed to leave I do not know. We sat for over four hours putting the world to rights, sipping on our wine and finishing off with a couple of good quality lattes before facing the long drive home. It was comfort food at its best, and a location probably best enjoyed in the autumn or winter months when you want cosiness with your lunch.

At $202 the bill was not cheap, but I can see why it is Mena's favourite and I will find an excuse to accompany her there again!

Melba at the Langham

Langham Hotel, Southbank, Melbourne
melbourne.langhamhotels.com.au

It was Mena's birthday. Lee organised a family lunch to celebrate. The Langham on Southbank is a favourite Sunday lunch destination for lots of families, and we were one of a number of family celebrations.

Dressed in our Sunday best, we met at one o'clock. Some of us had been reading the menu for weeks - some of us (well, me) were afraid of becoming too obsessed, so made do with a turn of the buffet counters to get prepared. I didn't know where to start.

Seafood seemed the right place to start, washed down with a glass of bubbly. The king prawns were plump and juicy, but the cocktail sauce could have been a little spicier. Then Lee found Peking Duck pancakes, so there was a run on them. Orlando tucked into the sushi as well.

The Indian buffet counter looked good, so I got the chef to make me a keema naan while I watched, and filled my plate with lamb korma, potato and pea curry and mixed pickle. It was delicious. I ate slowly, relishing every mouthful, and washing everything down with more sparkling wine.

The thing I didn't know was that it all finished at 3pm. I was sitting back, tasting a morsel of this and a sample of that. Then somebody said it was last orders. I'd not realised we were on the clock. Whilst I would like to say that the focus was firmly on my sister and her birthday, the reality was that we pretty much only talked about food. It's what we do. We love it.

But suddenly it was all hands on deck. I could have eaten more if I'd had time to digest a little - why does a buffet bring out the avarice in everyone? Amy and Orlando hit the chocolate bar whilst Mena sensibly rescued a cheese plate for us all to share. I felt a bit like I was back in Butlins and we had to vacate the dining room for the second sitting. But I ordered a nice glass of Galway Pipe tokay, tucked into the cheese and ignored everything.

All in all, it was a lovely afternoon. Easy company, great views, anything you wanted to eat, all freshly cooked. But next time I would arrive at twelve or twelve-thirty: by the time we get the chat out of the way and order the wine, it would be just time enough to eat. Then there would be no hurry!

Cicciolina's

I've wanted to eat at this restaurant almost since we arrived here. Another Melbourne institution, this Italian restaurant doesn't take bookings so you have to choose your moment to dine here. I have crashed a work dinner of Orlando's here once, but still didn't feel that I had experienced the full Cicciolina's thing. So back we went on a chilly Friday night after a hard day's work trawling the bookstores of Melbourne.

We arrived before seven-thirty and put our names down for a table for three. We were told there was a two hour wait. Amazingly we quickly procured a booth in the back bar and settled down with two glasses of wine, happy to be sitting comfortably after our marathon day out.

With two hours to wait, we scanned the blackboard and ordered an antipasto platter to keep us entertained. It was a pretty good spread: salami and prosciutto, goat's cheese, grilled mussels, a couple of dips, marinated mushrooms, black olives, sourdough bread.

In the end, we had barely polished off the last morsels when our waiter came and called us into the main restaurant.

The place was buzzing, the atmosphere helps along by the fact that the tables are very close together. I ordered a raviolo stuffed with ox tail to start. Sitting on a bed of spinach, the single stuffed square of pasta looked simple and small, but it was filling. And divine.

For main course, Orlando ordered a fillet steak and Mena a lamb roast. Both looked and smelled great, and they were happy with their choices. Mena was still talking about hers the next day. I chose pasta again: linguine with a spicy ragu which was much more complex than a matriciana sauce, but I couldn't tell you what was in it. I savoured every mouthful and washed it down with a few glasses of Pizzini sangiovese.

All in all, the experience was fantastic. Even the wait for a table doesn't have to be too bad if you are lucky to get a seat in the back bar.

The European

The European is a bit of a Melbourne institution, and I've loved it ever since I lived here for six months way back in 1998. The long, darkly-lit, wooden interior reminds me of all the best Spanish, Italian and French bars I've eaten in, and it is a great antithesis to the classic Melbourne eateries we are used to.

So Mena and I found ourselves having breakfast there last Friday morning. It was an auspicious date: twenty-six years to the day since she and Lee left Ireland to travel to Australia, and the spring equinox to boot. We were on a bookstore crawl to celebrate Mena's birthday the month before.

We sat in the back near the kitchen hatch, and settled in with two glasses of bone-dry champagne to get us in the mood. The staff are supremely professional, but started off a bit cold but perhaps it was just the time of day. They ended up being lovely.

My eggs benedict was divine, accompanied at my request with some grilled portobello mushrooms. Mena chanced the Croque Madame, worried that she might be disappointed, but she was also delighted. The champagne flowed, as did Mena's long macchiatos and my Earl Grey tea. Our waiter complimented Mena on her "double-beveraging" when she ordered fresh coffee.

Almost two hours and almost a bottle of champagne later, we finally prised ourselves from our table to get on with the bookstore-crawling. We could have stayed there all day, chatting and nibbling. Why can't we start the day with breakfast at the European every day?

Ballyfermot Resource Centre

The place I grew up in Dublin is a working-class suburb. In my whole time living there, there was never any place you could go to eat out, unless you counted the takeaways or the pubs which sometimes did food at lunchtimes.

In England, even if there are no restaurants you will always find a little cafe where you can pick up breakfast or lunch on the run. Ballyfermot didn't even have this. Until now.

My brother is associated with the Ballyfermot Resource Centre, a place which provides services for the local community like self-help groups, a counselling service, adult education and childcare. It also has a little cafe which offers breakfasts and lunches to the people in the adult education centre upstairs and anybody else who wanders in. They also cater for the local meals on wheels service.

Whilst being shown around by my brother one morning, Theresa the restaurant manager offered me lunch but I couldn't stay. So I popped in another morning for a chat and breakfast. Most people in the cafe at that time of the morning were eating a full Irish breakfast which looked and smelt delicious, but I opted for a toasted bacon sandwich. Well done bacon and well done toast, I said cautiously: there is nothing worse than a limp undercooked bacon butty. Theresa sat down with a healthy bowl of muesli for her breakfast, and Angela the centre manager joined us for a chat.

My mug of tea was scalding hot, and the teabag had been added to the mug at the kettle (the little things one takes for granted in Ireland - most tea in Australia is made with not-quite-boiling water and it shows). My bacon sandwich was perfect: excellent quality Irish bacon well cooked on the grill, and perfectly-done toast. I savoured every mouthful.

Angela and Theresa laughed when I promised them that I would post a review of their cafe online, but here it is. I was only sorry I couldn't stick around for lunch. I shall save that for my next trip.

Avoca Handweavers

The Avoca Handweavers story came into being almost 300 years ago in the tiny Wicklow village of Avoca. In its latest form, owned by Dublin business couple Donald and Hilary Pratt, Avoca has developed into a concept store encompassing homewares, clothing, kitchen shops, gourmet foods, and in-store cooking and baking.

The newest Avoca Handweavers store opened recently in Rathcoole, not far from my mum's home in Dublin. Having already popped into their stores in Dublin city centre and Wicklow's Powerscourt Townhouse, we were interested to see what they had created on our doorstep.

This large concept store has almost equal square footage given to retail space and dining space. Upstairs a large airy self-service cafe offers freshly made soups, hot lunches, breads and patisserie to the well-heeled local residents, as well as busy business people taking a break from their travels. next door a more formal table-service restaurant offers similar fare in more refined surroundings.

The salads are divine. The Mediterranean tomato and vegetable soup almost needs a knife and fork to consume it. The cakes and scones are so large that we had to share one scone between us (and we like scones). The jam is homemade, runny, and intensely flavoured.

Downstairs, we bought some brown scones for my sister's breakfast, and the lady at the check-out gave us a taste of a freshly-baked Bakewell slice. The shelves groaned with gourmet pastas and sauces, marmalades and mustards, nuts and exotic dried fruits. I escaped empty-handed only because of Australia's heavy restrictions on importing food.

I have a feeling that our local Avoca Handweavers will become a fixture in our family outings from now on.

Annette's Wine Musings #1: Cava

CAVA
Cava is Spain's much loved answer to champagne, a dry wine made sparkling by the traditional method.
The majority of Cava is made from grapes grown in Penedes, close to Barcelona.
Here are 2 of my favourites worth trying:

Segura Vuidas Brut Reserva Cava
Pale in colour with small lively bubbles.
On the nose you will find lemon and lime with a hint of pineapple, green apple and biscuit.
A lovely rounded Cava that goes well with everything from a cigarette to a seafood platter. Pop a strawberry in on a balmy summer evening and enjoy!

Codorniu Pinot Noir
This is a wonderful pink cava, cherry in colour with pale and bright tones.
The nose is packed with raspberry, blackberry and strawberry hints, along with a slight citric aroma that gives an extraordinary freshness.
Recommended with dessert or some cheeses but perfect to drink alone in my opinion.
It also goes without saying that Cava will match well with any Spanish tapas - remember, any wine will match local food best.


As the Spanish toast goes:
" Salut, dinero y amor"

Back with a Vengeance

Sorry for the gap folks - I've been globetrotting as you know. Ireland for twelve days, London for a couple of nights, then a glorious five nights on Hamilton Islands in the Whitsundays on the Queensland coast.

It was a double celebration - my mum's 80th birthday and my 40th a week later.

Don't we look good?

More later once I have settled back in: I have many tales of dinners eaten including the wonderful Italian Mum and I had in Don Giovanni's in Dalkey (above).

Mummum's fairy cakes

My mum's recipe is really easy to remember and to increase or decrease according to how many you want. You can make them with just raisins in, or make them without raisins and decorate them with cream or jam and coconut or whatever you want.

Ingredients
Raisins 125g (optional)
Butter 125g
Caster sugar 125g
Self raising flour 125g
2 eggs beaten
1 teasp vanilla extract
2 tbsp milk

Method
Pre-heat oven to 190˚C

Beat butter and sugar till fluffy

Add egg a little at a time, whisking as you go

Add raisins (optional)

Beat in the vanilla

Stir in half the flour

Add milk and the rest of the flour

Fold until well combined

Spoon into cups and bake 10-12 minutes or until golden on top

Cool for 10 minutes on a wire rack

Bajan sweet bread

Orlando's mum makes the best Bajan sweet bread. When I visited Barbados to meet her for the first time, she baked come fresh every day for my breakfast. Divine. Best eaten slightly warm, either on its own or with a little butter.

Ingredients
Desiccated coconut 200g
Melted butter 60g
Plain flour 475g
Margarine (or baking shortening) ½ tbsp
Baking powder ½ teasp
Salt ½ teasp
Sugar 90g
Raisins 120g
1 small egg
Evaporated milk 150ml
Almond essence ½ teasp

Method
Grease the baking tin with the margarine

Pre-heat the oven to 350˚C

Mix the flour, baking powder, sale, coconut, sugar and raisins in a bowl

Add egg, evaporated milk, butter and almond essence and mix to a firm but wet dough

Fill baking tin

Mix 2 tbsp sugar and 1 tbsp hot water and brush on top

Bake in centre of oven for about 1 hour or until a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean

Cool in the baking dish

proper Irish scones

My mother makes the best scones on earth. When I was in university I lived at home, and I used to leave early on Thursdays to get home in time for the scones to be taken out of the oven. They are best eaten slightly warm with as much butter as your heart can handle. Not butter substitute, REAL butter.


Ingredients
2 oz butter
1lb self-raising flour
4 oz caster sugar
4 oz sultanas
½ pint fresh milk
Beaten egg to glaze

Method
Rub four, sugar and butter together

Rub in sultanas

Bind with milk

Knead and roll to 3/4 inch thick

Cut into scones with a glass and glaze with the beaten egg

Bake 20-25 minutes at 200˚C

Cool on a wire rack

Mummum's tea brack

Mummum's tea brack is one of my mother's specialities. She is a plain cook but a wonderful baker. This traditional Irish cake is not too sweet and - unsurprisingly - uses tea to moisten it. It would often be served sliced like bread and buttered.


1 lb of sultanas or raisins
1 cup of cold tea
1 egg
3/4 lb flour


1. Steep fruit in tea for at least one hour (preferably overnight).

2. Add egg and swirl around.

3. Sieve in flour and mix well.

4. Pour into 9 inch square tin.

5. Put in oven in middle shelf at Gas Mark 4 for 45 minutes.

6. Cover with tin foil and cook for a further 45 minutes and Gas Mark 3.

7. Test with a knife to make sure centre is cooked.

Fill Up On Bread

My mother was raised in a fairly poor family in a small town in County Dublin, but there was always enough to eat. Vegetables grew in the back garden, there was lots of floury potatoes, fish on Fridays and maybe some Hafner's sausages as a treat on Saturdays.

In our family food and love are interchangeable. As a result most of what we eat, and who serves it, is laden with symbolism.

The rituals of Christmas included the formal post-mortem of the turkey/ham/Christmas cake/Christmas pudding of other family members: my mother and our Auntie Molly being the two main culprits:

"Maggie, your ham is much nicer than mine. Mine is very salty."
"No, Molly, mine is very dry. Yours is better. And your cake is beautiful."
"Yes but the pudding didn't come out very well."
"Ah, Molly, your pudding is gorgeous. Give us another bit."

Christmas dinners were rushed to make sure we had enough time to sit down again at six o'clock for tea. It wasn't much different the rest of the year, and even when the food being served was more modest than Christmas dinner, there was always the exhortion to "fill up on bread". For the families of post-war children, it was always important to "eat loads".

My mother has served the same dishes for dinner since she got married. Now, 52 years later, I can tell you which she will have for dinner this week:

Monday
left-over roast meat from Sunday with a salad

Tuesday
Egg and chips (she used to serve us mince, beans and chips but we didn't notice for years that she didn't eat the meat herself)

Wednesday
Beef stew, except for Lent and summertime when fried fish, mashed potatoes and white sauce is served

Thursday
Pork chops, gravy, boiled potatoes and turnip

Friday
Fish and chips and peas

Saturday
A mixed grill

Sunday
Traditional roast dinner - chicken, beef, pork or lamb
or
Corned beef or boiled bacon, cabbage and boiled potatoes



Over the years, and miles from home now, food still conjures up many emotions and associations.

My mother lists reading restaurant menus as one of her more serious hobbies, and it is always a big highlight to have as many family members around the table for dinner - difficult when we are spread across two continents.

This blog is an attempt to pull together all the recipes from my lifetime, food served to me with love by family, friends and strangers.

Many have a story attached and some speak for themselves.