Cooking with Mary

Watching Mary cook is a wonderful thing. There are no measuring bowls, no gadgets, no timers, and no timing. Lunch may be at 12:30, or at three. But as soon as you catch a scent of her art in the kitchen, you won't mind waiting. You also know that when it arrives, it won't simply be curry.

She paces from one end of the bench to the other, rubbing her thumbs and forefingers together, sometimes even shaking her hands in stages of desperation, looking for that perfect ingredient. The entire bench is covered with jars and crumpled shopping bags full of spices that look like weeds and dirt but taste like heaven. Sometimes you can see the proverbial idea-globe light up like a halo, and she will rush to the pantry to retrieve something obscure like maple syrup or Teriyaki marinade. She makes food like a mad professor, writes her curry like a story. Every time she cooks it has a slightly different ending, but it's always happy, balanced, complete, and often with a twist in the tale.

She never writes anything down - she can't read. She won't follow a recipe, and doesn't expect you to either. If she's teaching and finds you with paper and pen out, she will purposely over-fill teaspoons, go too fast, sneak pinches and adjust later, just to make sure you are watching and learning HER way. Cooking is always done by feel. She dips a teaspoon in, drips it onto the skin above her thumb like a piece of snuff, and tastes it, assesses, shakes her head and resumes pacing and searching. And always more salt, more sugar.
 

She didn't introduce me to curry leaves, rampe or tamarind, but for some reason, they never tasted or smelled as good as they have since I have been cooking with Mary. When she is in the kitchen on a Friday, cooking for her husband on his weekly visit, all our neighbours know. Sometimes they feign reasons to visit, and end up staying for lunch. One by one, our family pokes our noses into the kitchen, lift lids on pots, peer over her shoulder while she stirs. She always clicks her tongue and says "It's ok, Madam. I made for you. This for the boys - no chilli. Here for Sir. Special sambal - good for sinus." She laughs sometimes, and says "OOOOHHH, Madam! Don't eat that! Too hot for you!" She should know by now that she has tempered my tongue, I now eat chilli like a Sri Lankan. But my white face and soft life always seem to throw her. Maybe she thinks my palate is as weak as other parts of me. Maybe, before, it was.

Sometimes I try and trap her. I go to Indian supermarkets and bring home vegetables that look like stringy beans from a triffid, gourds covered with acne, troll-like root vegetables covered in dirt. None are baffling, and always find their way to the plate with success. I have tried, several times to see if she can work her magic with what I believe are more western ingredients - she will attack smoked salmon, rhubarb or chantarelles with similar gusto. It won't be like anything I've ever tasted before, but it will be good. Sometimes I display my envy by throwing down some basic ingredients, a vague recipe and command, walking out the door on Madam's business - hoping in some insane way, that she can't roast a chicken, crumb a cotaletta milanese, crackle a belly of pork. She can, even if she's only ever watched me do it.

I'm sorry, I can't share Mary with you. There is only one of her, and for the time, she is with me. What I can share are some recipes - some that are based on Tamil cuisine, but all with Mary's stamp. But when you cook them, make sure you take a taste every now and then, and adjust. Maybe pace the kitchen a little, get into the groove. Put your own signature on it - Mary would like it that way.

Mary’s Recipes:

Note – for measurements, Mary’s “cup” is 280ml, a teaspoon is 5ml, and a tablespoon is 20ml

Garam masala

· 1 tbs coriander seeds
· 1 tsp cumin seeds
· 1 tsp cardamom pods
· 1 cinnamon quill (broken)
· 2 tsp black mustard seeds
· 1 tsp fennel seeds
· 1 star anise


Dry-fry for a few minutes until fragrant, then crush in a mortar and pestle

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Eggplant Curry

For the Marinade

· 1 tsp salt
· 1 tsp turmeric
· 600-800g eggplant sliced

Shake and leave for 10 mins, then shallow fry in canola oil until soft on the inside and crispy on the outside

For the sauce:

· 1 tsp kashmiri chilli powder
· 1 tbsp garam masala
· 1 tsp turmeric
· 3 1/2 tsp coconut powder
· 1 1/2 tbsp sugar
· 1 1/2 tbsp Seeded mustard
· 1 1/2 tsp cumin
· 1 1/2 coriander
· 2 1/2 tbsp white vinegar
· 1 tsp salt
· 1/2 cup water

stir to combine then set aside.

For the base:

· 5 cardamom pods
· 1 Cinnamon quill
· 5 cloves
· 15 curry leaves
· 1/2 tsp fenugreek seeds
· 1 tsp Ginger, grated
· 2 tsp garlic crushed
· 2 small onions, diced

Fry off till brown, then add the sauce, and then the cooked eggplant. Stir well over heat for a few minutes then serve.

Dhal (Parippu)

· Masoor (orange) dhal 2 cups
· 1tsp turmeric
· 6 curry leaves
· 1tsp salt
· 1 1/2 cups coconut milk
· 1 tsp mustard seeds
· 1 chopped onion
· 1 tsp chopped Ginger
· 1 tsp chopped garlic

Put lentils (dhal) in a pot on a medium heat with turmeric, curry leaves and salt. Then cover with water. Cook for about ten minutes. When nearly cooked through, add coconut milk.

Fry mustard seeds, onion, ginger and garlic until brown, then pour lentils over. Add more coconut milk/water if necessary to make soupier.

Chicken Curry

· 1.5 kg chicken pieces (Mary used skinned chicken thighs with the bone and breast fillet without bone)
· 1 tsp turmeric powder
· 2 tsp coriander powder
· 1 tsp salt
· 10 cardamom pods
· 20 curry leaves
· 1 cinnamon
· 2 tsp Ginger chopped
· 1 1/2 tbs garlic crushed
· 3 onions, diced
· Rampe leaf about a palm size
· 4 chopped tomatoes
· 2 tsp chilli powder
· 1 tbsp garam masala
· 1 tbsp roasted sri lankan curry powder
· ½ cup chopped coriander
· fresh chilli and sugar to taste

Rub turmeric, coriander and salt into the chicken pieces and set aside.

Fry cardamom, curry leaves,ginger, galic, onion and rampe fast for a few minutes. Add tomatoes, chilli powder, garam masala and curry powder, then fry for a little longer, stirring every now and then.

Add the chicken to the curry base and brown, then add enough water to fill pan to half-way, then simmer until chicken is cooked (about ½ hour)

Add sugar, fresh chillies and coriander to taste.

Mint and Coriander Chutney

· 6 whole green chillies (chopped loosely)
· 7 garlic cloves (chopped loosely)
· 2 bunches (3 cups) chopped coriander
· 1 bunch (1 cup) chopped mint
· 1 onion (diced)
· 2 tsp tamarind
· 1 tsp salt
· 1 tbsp sugar
· Olive oil (about 1 tablespoon plus 1/3 cup)
· Sugar, lemon and salt to taste

Fry off top 7 ingredients in a tablespoon of oil for about 5 minutes, stirring frequently. Do not allow to brown.

Place in a blender with other ingredients plus just enough water to allow it to blend (about ¼ cup). Taste, and add sugar, lemon juice and salt if necessary. Mary makes this dairy-free for us, because of our family's diet, but it's also great with a big dollop of natural yoghurt.

String hoppers

· 2 1/2 cups rice flour (Mary uses red rice string hopper flour – similar to appam flour)
· Boiling and tepid water - about 1/2 cup of each

Pour in boiling water stirring, then add cooler water alternating, keep stirring until the dough firms large clumps. The hot water ensures the dough is pliable, even though it is quite dense. Do it by feel - this should not be a sticky dough, but soft enough to squeeze through a sieve.

Place balls of mixture in a 'Sevai Nazhi' or Idiyappam mould, and press over bamboo mats into squiggly pancakes.

Steam on mats in a large steamer for about 3 minutes, or until noodles are not sticky to touch, then remove from mats and plate up.

Can be served with almost anything – sweet or savoury. Partner with the dahl, or even eat for breakfast with butter and kithul treacle or maple syrup.

Watalappan

· 2 cups jaggery, finely chopped or crushed (Mary uses a dark Kithul Jaggery)
· 1 tsp cardamom dry-fried then crushed
· 3 cups coconut milk*
· 10 eggs
· ¼ cup roasted and chopped cashews

Put a large deep pot with 1-2 inches on the boil. Beat jaggery, cardamom and coconut milk vigorously with an electric beater, then add eggs, continuing to beat. If necessary, strain out solids then blend them separately then add back to mix. Remove cardamom husks.

Place liquid in a buttered deep bowl with a lid, that fits in the pot (also with a lid) on the stove. Cover the bowl and then the pot, and steam for about 45 minutes, or until just firm (will still be wobbly, like a loose jello).

Remove lid from bowl, replace pot lid, and steam for a further 10 minutes.

Chill until set – about 3 hours.

*2 1/2 coconuts ground and blended with 3 cups water makes about 4 cups of strained coconut milk

Dairy-free Carbonara

Did you know that traditional carbonara recipes often don't contain cream? It's amazing, isn't it, that you can get a creamy sauce without using cream. Think about mayonnaise. It also doesn't contain cream (if you make it yourself - who knows what they put in the jar). Egg yolks are amazing little things - they have so many properties, and when you whip them up with olive oil, they go all creamy. 

Unfortunately, carbonara has always contained cheese. So to make up for lack of the flavour this adds, I've added a little extra salt, a touch of paprika and some crushed garlic.

Ingredients:

• 500g Pasta (I used gluten free macaroni)
• 400g bacon, trimmed and chopped (I used a smoked pork fillet)
• 3 egg yolks*
• 1 whole egg
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 2 cloves of garlic, crushed
• salt and paprika to taste
• chopped chives or parsley for garnish 

Instructions:

1. Put the pasta on to boil. In a blender (or use a small jar and a stick blender), place a pinch of salt, the egg yolks and olive oil. Whip up until nice and creamy, then add the final egg and whip once more.
2. Fry off the bacon and garlic in a dash of oil in a large pan, adding paprika last of all. 
3. When pasta is cooked, drain and add to the bacon pan, and stir well. While still hot, but off the stovetop, add the egg mix, drizzling and stirring quickly so it doesn't scramble. Season and garnish.

All kids love carbonara. I add grated zucchini (corgette) or baby peas (just pop them in the pasta pot when it is nearly cooked) when I feel they need a veggie hit. For adults, try steamed asparagus.


*keep your egg whites in a small container in the fridge (1-2 days) or freezer, then whip them up to add to your gluten free and dairy free cake mixes - it helps lighten them up.

The holiday bubble - Les Maldives

I know, I've been gone for a while. I've been trapped in that holiday bubble, and known that as soon as I start writing about it, the visions will fall out of my mind and onto the page. In a supernatural way, I won't exist in the Maldives anymore. My holiday will be here, on my blog page, and in my photographs. The concrete evidence will replace my lackadaisical memories, and from that moment, I will only see it as an article, an album, something that I used to be. It's depressing. The holiday bubble is a fragile thing - it doesn't take much to break it, but its skin varies in strength, I find, in relation to the surreality of the vacation. The Maldives are so surreal, a holiday there is not just a vacation - it's more (and in some ways, less) than that. It's a trip to another world, particularly when you stay at a place of such obscene luxury as the Four Seasons on Kuda Huraa.

It's a little like Thomas Moore's Utopia. It's an island like no other. There is no money. One walks through life on Kuda Huraa, simply asking, and receiving. Smiling faces accompany orange polo shirts and the product of demands, whether they be fresh towels, a cocktail, or gluten free hotdogs. There are only two uniforms - the previously mentioned orange shirts, or a swimsuit. There is nothing to distinguish people except the colour of their tan - no watches, handbags, shoes or cars, glitz or glamour. One must ditch ones own trappings to wander in the provided robes and slippers, and carry hemp bags with not-so-subliminal messages to remind all to stay at peace, "Laugh Often" and "Love Much". Even children discard toys in preference of nature, and are more likely to be found playing with a hermit crab than a $400 set of Lego. Everyone is happy. Everyone is healthy, Everyone is safe.

It's a little like Eden. The gardens impossibly green, the water iridescently aqua, the sand blindingly white. Humans and all other forms of nature co-exist in a magical way. Geckos are honoured guests in rooms. Natural oils supplied mean insects don't bite. Step into the water only four metres from the shore, and float above a coral reef full of butterflies and angels, and stingrays that do not sting. As the sun makes its decent, it's time to watch the baby black-tipped reef sharks come in for dinner. Feed them chunks of tuna tartare and they will pose for photographs. After, as dinner continues on a weathered deck,  a thousand crabs patrol the dusky shore in playful turf-war fashion, fighting over morsels of bread or the coziest sand-hole. Go fishing, and snapper will jump onto the line as if willingly sacrificing themselves to the greater good - the human belly. Coconuts fall safely away from the pathways, and yet always roll onto them, complete with a tiny slit - just large enough to turn it over and drip its milk out over a thirsty mouth.

It's a little like a fantasy. A world where kids actually want to go to kids club. The weather always resting in at the perfect, skin-temperature level, the water just cool enough to take the heat off. A world where it is perfectly acceptable not to have a real shower for several days, because you never really get out of the ocean, the main pool, your own freshwater plunge pool or outdoor shower for long enough to bother. A glass of champagne finds its way to the swim-up bar, just as one decides it's drinking time. Beds make themselves during breakfast, lunch and dinner. Fruit bowls appear in the room, unbidden. Each night, a magical elf steals into the garden to set candles around the pool so you will be enticed into a night swim. Faeries slip notes under the door to remind one what is scheduled to tomorrow.

I never knew what day it was, what time it was. I never needed to. If there was an activity that I had meant to join, I could simply wait for an orange shirt to come and get me, call me by my name, and lead me to the departure point. The kids would tumble out of the breakfast pavilion into the kids club without even a word of goodbye. One afternoon when I went to pick them up for some family time, they were having 'spa day' - Goldilocks had every fingernail and toenail painted a different colour, and Lion was getting a foot massage. On our final day, we celebrated the birthday of Pickles, a one year old green turtle, with green cake, green jelly, sack races and giggles. It's about as far away (in the right direction) from our real life as it can get.

It was unreal, in both meanings of the word. Colloquially, it was awesome. Literally, it was not true, fake. There was no culture on the island but that which the Four Seasons had made for it. Even much of the reef has been fashioned over the years by the marine biologists in residence (see the work here). It was Utopia - Hospitality Utopia, where comfort can be found at every turn, and guests are both fawned upon and sheltered from real life in every way possible. Food was delicious, service impeccable, facilities supremely luxurious. Staff and guests came from every corner of the globe, except, it seemed, the Maldives. I met only one Maldivian on my trip - and that was while I was away from the resort.

It was a different holiday for me, one, that I had in fact, not looked forward to. My husband had booked the trip, desiring a good surf far from the glassy waters of Dubai. After being to the Maldives once before, I had thought that the lack of local culture would bore and disappoint me, that I wouldn't be interested in just lying around in a beautiful place all over again. What I discovered is that I am far more shallow than I have allowed myself to admit. I loved it, every minute. Except when I got the final bill - not so much bubble-popping, but earth-shattering. But just this once, I'm happy we got carried away.

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Rooms at the Four Seasons Maldives Kuda Huraa start at about $750 per night in the shoulder season, including transfers and breakfast ($1096 per night for the four of us on a surf package). No, it's not cheap. Kids Club is free, as are welcome baskets and basic snorkeling equipment, and some activities such as a beginners' pool dive by licensed PADI instructor.

The reasons to stay at the Four Seasons Kuda Huraa (apart from the luxury of course) include the access to great snorkeling straight off the beach, proximity to airport (only 25 minutes by speedboat, and out of the flight path), and to one of the most highly populated spinner dolphin areas, just out of the lagoon. Four Seasons Kuda Huraa also have a Tropic Surf outlet at their water sports centre, which gives lessons in the lagoon, and takes more experienced surfers to nearby breaks three times a day. (Sultans is the closest break)     

The Maldives is notoriously expensive. There are a couple of options for those who baulk at the $1000 per day price tag (I don't blame you, I usually do too).

• Families should look at Holiday inn Kandooma at less than $300 per night. It is beautifully appointed and has passable surfing and diving straight offshore. They have the best pool chairs in the world and a gorgeous rooftop bar, and a kids club. (And an onsite doctor, who stitched my son's head after a little too much excitement.)
• Surfers will also enjoy Dhonveli, a short swim from the Four Seasons, but a long swim from the price, starting at about $350 per night. It has the Pasta Point break accessible offshore, and is a fairly large resort with plenty of activities and facilities.
• Quite famous for Europeans is Embudu - an island just south of Male, with some luxuries like day spa and PADI instructors, and newly refurbished rooms starting at $200, and probably some of the cheapest nice water bungalows around (starting $320)
• Budget and a little more 'real' is Happylife Safari Lodge - a tiny beach-side lodge just south of Male, with rates at $119 per person (including all meals and taxes).
• And my only Maldivian friend recommended the Baa atoll - not so good for surfing, but wonderful for diving. For Luxury, try the Six Senses from $500 per night, or budget the Adaaran from about $250

 

 

Let them eat cake - gluten free eggy bread

The greatest things missed by kids when attempting a gluten free and casein free diet are bread and cheese. I'll get to cheese in another post, but today I'm tackling the daily staple. 

There are ways of making gluten free bread. I have tried tackling it myself, and I have sampled just about every bread mix on the shelf (by the way - I think Springhill Farm is the best one, followed after a large gap by Red Mill and Schär).  It is very possible to make a gluten free bread that tastes good, warm out of the oven with a drizzle of olive oil and some pink salt. But that's the end of it. As soon as it cools down, it the texture rests somewhere between a bag of breadcrumbs and corragated cardboard. The only rescue from this time on is toasting. So how do I put sandwiches in the kids' lunchboxes and send them off to school to eat it four hours later?

I let them eat cake.

I drew my inspiration from old fashioned soda bread. I've made this with some success with gluten free flour. I added in another trick I have learned - separate the eggs and beat the whites into soft peaks to add later - this helps the dense gluten free mix to gain a little air. I also added some extra yolk, because: 1 - I had some left from making meringues the night before, and 2 - because I thought it might add a little glue or chew to the mix, as gluten free flour is notoriously crumbly. Apart from that, I simply adjusted my own banana cake mix. Success!

Ingredients:

• 2 1/2 cups of gluten free self raising flour (I used Doves Farm)
• 3/4 cup canola oil
• 2 egg whites and 
• 4 egg yolks
• 1/3 cup rice milk (or any casein free milk) 
• 1 1/2 tbsp raw sugar (or any sugar - use molasses if you want brown bread)
• 1 tsp salt
• 1/2 tsp sweet paprika
• 1 tsp sesame seeds

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 180℃ (375℉) and take two bowls, placing egg whites into one and yolks and canola oil into the other. Beat both furiously, whites first, until they form soft peaks, then the yolks and oil until they cream up nicely (a bit like a mayonnaise)
2. Set the whites aside, then add the rest of the ingredients to the yolk mix, finishing with the flour and milk (alternate them).*
3. Add the whites, starting with a little that you can stir through well, then finish it just by folding. You want it all integrated, but don't whip the air out (slow figure eights with a baking spatula will do it)
4. Pour into a loaf tin lined with baking paper, then sprinkle with sesame seeds (and press in a design if you like). Cook for 40 minutes, or until it tests done with a spike.  

This bread keeps nicely for about 2-3 days on the shelf. It can be used for sandwiches without toasting, but don't slice it too thin, as it is quite soft. It doesn't work so well in the toaster, but is gorgeous lightly pan-fried in ghee or olive oil. Serve it with the previous recipe, pumpkin soup.

*Because all gluten free flour blends (and non-dairy milks) are different, you may need to adjust the ratio of flour to milk. You are aiming for a texture that still allows an electric beater to get through it without clumping onto the blades, but only just. Too heavy and the egg whites will collapse before you get them integrated. Too light, and the bread won't cook through perfectly. It's not exact, so don't freak out about messing it up. The bread will still work, but might be a little denser in the middle.
 

Not for vegetarians - Asado

'Did you like your dinner last night Mama? '
'Best in a while, darling. '
'What did you eat? '
'Kids... '

Very funny, no? But true. Last night I ate kid. Not a whole one - just a couple of ribs. The meat was a little sparse, but it was tender, dripping with puppy fat and buttery juices. I threw it back while gulping on berry-rich Malbec and listening to salsa. I licked my fingers, and I rubbed the plate clean with bread, sopping up every last morsel. I suppose, that to vegetarians, it doesn't matter that it wasn't a human child - it's barbaric none the less. But baby goat, or Chivito, is one of the dishes you must try in my new favourite meat temple, Asado. If you can stomach it, I suppose.

There's no hiding from roasted flesh in this cavernous carnivorous corral. The entire space is coloured like the belly of a beast - dim, brown, red, black. Chandeliers are constructed of antlers, a homage to death. Warmth surrounds like blood, columns rank the walls like ribs, and a mighty mirror shines at the end like a gaping mouth. The kitchen sheds the only bright light, which falls on the centrepice - not flowers, water feature, or other sweet or inane decor, but an altar of sacrifice - carcases of baby goats splayed and roasting over coals. They reside behind glass - probably to stop greedy fingers, but their aroma permiates the room, had us hungering for blood before we even saw the menu.

There are other dishes - Provolata and other cheeses, empanada, salads and soups. But they were passed over for the flesh. Maybe it was the lusty background music - quivering guitar accompanied by a throaty voice from a petite and fedora-hatted alto, or maybe just the sights and smells. I felt all hot-blooded and medieval. I hungered. I wanted to suck the meat from bones and throw them over my shoulder and demand more. All thoughts of abstinence or even moderation flooded me, and I found myself ordering pieces of everything, asking them all to arrive, smoking on a grill at the table, so I could try all the different cuts of meat along-side. Weigh them against each other for texture, tenderness, density and richness. The waiter simply smiled, and suggested a selection for the table - perchance he has seen this bourgeois blood-lust before?

I attacked the wine list with similar gusto. It's a paragon of Latin American vinosity. Unusual and exciting wines I have not seen anywhere else in the city. The sommelier arranges specific shipments it seems, and each one particular to Asado has a bunch of grapes stamped alongside. Fortunately I have tried a couple already at the wine tasting - a very reasonable bubbly by Michel Torino and an incredibly vibrant and youthful unwooded Malbec from Ique. I hover between an Argentinian Torrontes and an Albarino from Uruguay, and I am steered the less risky rout towards Argentina's rival to gewurztraminer, Torrontes. Of course, Malbec follows - this time a little more serious, aged and oaky, but still with that blackberry fruit and velvety plushness that accompanies fatty and salty char-grilled meat so well.  Malbec is only a piece of a red wine puzzle in other parts of the world, in particular, one of the big five that make up Bordeaux reds, but in Argentina a most singular varietal - probably of a different (and maybe even superior) clone, it is thought.

Meat arrived both with simplicity and splendour upon a firy grill, sizzling and spitting as the juices dripped. We fought for the choice cuts - the goat was first to go - pale ribs arced and delicate, with tiny strips of soft ripe meat between that could not be discovered via cutlery. Fingers were dirtied, and I got my medieval fix. The tenderloin was quartered sparingly, delivered red and oozing to each plate by my careful husband, but the rest was a free-for-all. Veal and lamb cutlet, beef short ribs, chicken skewers and brisket dissapeared in a flurry, and five minutes later all that could be seen were the silent and sated grins of greedy gluttons as we sat back and sighed into a more appropriate reclining position to enjoy the rest of the evening with our ears and eyes.

I'm told they do desserts at Asado - but savoury flavours held my tongue, and only cheese seemed appropriate, particularly as at this point the accompanying beverage was firmly a gutsy red. It's also possible that there were sides ordered, but I can't remember them. Translated, asado means to roast, and is also the colloquial word for barbecue - Asado needs no more recommendation. The meat is GOOD. (Especially the little kids)

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Asado is at the Palace Hotel,
Emaar Boulevard, The Old Town Island, Downtown Dubai map
P.O. Box 9770, Dubai, UAE
Website: www.theaddress.com/en/dining/asado
Phone: +971 4 888 3444
email: dine@theaddress.com

The restaurant has been open for several years, and I have dined there three times. There are shortcomings in service and the menu, but they are entirely forgivable due to the ripe atmosphere. This particular night, there was a complimentary wine tasting, but the meal was paid for by myself, and worth every penny.

  

Cream of Pumpkin Soup

How do you make a cream of pumpkin soup without cream?

Easy – tofu. Not all dairy can be replaced with soy, but if you are living a dairy-free lifestyle like my family is, you will find there are some things that go together. Espresso coffee and soy milk? Not so good. But Pumpkin and silken tofu? Perfect. Most silken tofu actually has less flavor than soy milk, and its dense texture is perfect for blending – none of those miso soup style soy whirlpools. If you hadn’t been warned this was dairy free, you would swear it was full of cream.

Ingredients:

• Pumpkin* – about 500 - 750g, peeled and chopped
• 1 large onion – chopped
• 200g diced bacon
• 2 cloves garlic – crushed
• slurp of olive oil
• 1 tsp paprika
• 1 bouquet garnis pouch (or a teaspoon of mixed dried herbs like thyme and sage and bay leaf)
• 1 vegetable bouillon and 1.5L of water (or 1.5L of stock)
• 1 packet silken tofu (about 400g)
• salt and white pepper to taste

Instructions:

1. In a large saucepan, brown onion, bacon and garlic in the olive oil, then add all ingredients except the tofu.
2. Simmer slowly until pumpkin is soft, then add tofu and blend

Serve with a dollop of soy yoghurt and a sprinkling of smoked paprika. If you wish to make this a vegan dish, omit the bacon and use 1 teaspoon of smoked paprika and an extra bouillon (stock cube).

I served this with cake bread – recipe coming next!


*Australians call butternut squash by the name of pumpkin, and this is what I used. Any variety of firm orange-fleshed pumpkin or squash would work for this soup.

A little whine...

Where the wine world makes sense….

Wine is an integral part of a good restaurant’s offering. The drinks list is a great source of profit, and so, it is allowed to flourish to the whims of the sommelier as the menu is to the chef. The house wine – the cheapest wine available by the glass is a statement about the restaurant’s total offering, sometimes it is a private blend designed by a local winemaker, specifically for that restaurant. The drinks list is always longer than the menu. Wine price ranges from thrice or twice what one would pay in a retail store, reducing in proportion to the cost of the wine, ergo encouraging drinkers to find value in the more expensive products. Sommeliers are bribed and coddled by suppliers to add their product, and each new wine is celebrated, usually with a sample bottle provided by the supplier for the staff to assist in sales. Floor staff gush about the wine as they do about the food, and diners always leave remembering not only what they ate, but also what they drank.

Of course, there are always restaurants that churn out a bland and commercial offering. They often take the bribes a little too far, and allow one supplier to design the total wine list in return for corporate bookings, printing costs and discounts. They offer non-descript swill as their house wine, something they can buy for $4 a bottle and sell at $5 a glass, because it is a label never found on retail stores. Unfortunately the industry needs restaurants like these, just like good needs evil, so we can keep reminding us how green our grass is elsewhere.

In Dubai, you don’t get really either of these extremes, but a whole load of muddy middle ground. There are really only two suppliers – MMI and A&E, a duopoly that control prices and range in a way that could not be done in a competitive market. Premises that serve alcohol are charged an extra tax for the privilege, on top of what the public pay at retail stores. Alcohol is allowed here, but wine is certainly not embraced as art and culture in its own right. As befits a Muslim country, alcohol and its news is kept quiet in the press, and advertising is forbidden. Wine tastings are rare and elite – not for waiters and the rest of the supply chain, but for merchant bankers and lawyers buying a bottle or two of Bordeaux on indent.

In the face of all this, many restaurants have simply given up. Restaurant wine lists are not only expensive, they are dull, commercial and repetitive. In other cities I place aside the menu in order to delve into the wine list with as much glee as a trashy novel, but here I inwardly groan and try to hand it to someone else. They all send it back to me, knowing that I will choose the best of a boring bunch, but I'm over it. It's worse than reading the obituaries in the local newspaper - I am shown names not of the dead, but those I am sick to death of. Sauvion, Montes, Peter Lehmann, False Bay, then Pinot Grigio, Pinot Grigio, and more Pinot Grigio. Champagne? Yes, you can have Moet at 150AED a glass, or soapy rubbish at 70. For red, you can choose from five bottles that taste exactly the same under 500AED, or 45 that don't for over 1200. Dessert wine? It's always an overly expensive glass of Muscat de Beaumes de Venise - hasn't anyone figured out it's a fortified wine and decided to offer us something without spirits in it?  If I see another list with only Argento Chardonnay or Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc served as whites by the glass I just may switch to beer (quelle horreur!).

Wine, unfortunately is one of the major elements holding Dubai restaurants back. Dubai architects know how to design a beautiful restaurant space. Dubai restaurant owners know how to buy a name and ship in a great chef. The Dubai public (and our wonderful tourists) know how to eat out with total abandon. But it seems to be forgotten that we also know how to drink. Note, I use the word 'drink', not 'booze'. There is a distinct difference between the two, and many in this city don't seem to isolate these. It's certainly not the fault of Muslims and other non-drinkers - they don't have anything to do with it. We are permitted to drink here, and although the supply chain is not ideal, it is sufficient to create a reasonable wine list, and with a little creativity and nudging of the appropriate bodies, even an excellent one. The complete lack of effort on restaurant managments' behalf to both employ decent sommeliers and demend a unique wine list is atrocious.

Some of the better wine lists in Dubai illustrate the ability to work with the offering, and temper it to the restaurant. My picks are below - a little test for you - find a hole as big as the middle palate in a poorly made Cabernet Sauvignon:

Asado - a Latin steakhouse with superb South American range of wines. Private wine tastings available with Sommelier from 200AED

Cin Cin - Sleek yet classic wine bar at the Fairmont, with a decent selection by the glass.

Oeno - More contemporary wine bar with special imports and many good wines by the glass. Well priced Champagne at the last visit.

Casa Mia - Benefits from the master wine list at Le Meridien. Good Italian focus, and plenty to choose from.

Stay by Yannick Alleno - was a creative wine list upon opening, with some surprisingly good lower end options despite the class of the restaurant. Let's hope this continues

Reflets par Pierre Gagnard - don't be thrown by the price of the food. Sure, the wine here is expensive, but also better value than you would expect. Comprehensive.

Rostang - an almost good list at nearly approachable prices, and a good value wine pairing menu on Thursdays (the Grape Escape)

Found the niche waiting to be filled? A restaurant or bar serving a good, small selection of well chosen, affordable and frequently rotating wines. Somewhere I can go for a drink each Thursday night, spend 30- 60 AED a glass, be enthralled by the flavour and value, and then return the next week to try something new. I'm thinking wonky bar stools, tapas, chalkboards and a modern bossa nova playlist. Think it might be time to set up shop....

It's all a matter of taste - The Ivy

Have you ever found yourself in a famous restaurant, packed to the gunnels with shiny happy people, smiling and chatting, clinking glasses, twirling hair, eating unexciting food with inappropriate relish, and tapping toes to live elevator music? They're in one corner - enjoying life, and you're in the other, feeling bitter. It's entirely possible that I don't understand the gentle nuances of the band.  It's believably probable that because I ordered the three course 'restaurant week' menu (180AED, so much cheaper than going a la carte), I wasn't going to get a fair representation of the restaurant's signature style. It's widely known I that I am far too particular with my wine. And yet, I still feel like I shouldn't be the odd man out, that the other diners appear to be swallowing a package that is quite simply, overrated.

Maybe it's just not my style. The Ivy is decidedly Old English - banquette seating bordered with screens of tessellated translucent glass. It's dark. There are no windows, except for those that are sheathed delicately from the interior view of 'The Boulevard' (which, for those who don't know Dubai, is not actually a boulevard, but a shopping mall) by diamonds of more opaque stained glass. It's all white linen and red roses, dim and covert, rich without looking too rich. Every accent around me is from off the continent. In London, The Ivy is an antique venue in the West End, history wrapped in celebrity. Here, it is new, made to look antique, and filled with Great Britain's outcasts - the breed otherwise known as Colonial expats (and of course, the odd convict descendant, like me)

The chairs must have been stolen from the chambers of parliament - they're comfortable, leather and designed to house old men with gout. The glass dividers remind me of my old local pub (The Retreat), where they were erected to form nooks for all degrees of secret shennanigans, or separate teams on trivia night. The food is from that species formerly known as "gastropub grub" (like the pop star Prince, this cuisine will probably float around nameless until everybody realises that although they hate the previous name, it's the only one that fits.) The napkins are like my Nanna's tea-towels, and want to see a Victoria sponge cooling next to them as they both sit happily on a formica table in Mansfield. The winelist is brief, but contains an offering I am happy to choose from. If there was a fire crackling and I was in another (sub 40ºC) country, spending less that $40 on a glass of dessert wine, I'd probably be happy.

But, I'm not.

My soup was fine - cold tomato and basil with soft mozzerella - not rocket science, but well delivered. His salmon was beautifully poached, but served with a sauce attempting to cross cultures with elegance but ending up as balanced as an Aussie bogan in Emirati national dress. The rump was good, although ordered medium-rare and yet served blue. The cod with leeks sounded lovely, but both bland and a little too odorous - one would imagine hard to achieve simultaniously, but there you go. The desserts - his, a bitter chocolate ganache, nothing wrong with it but hardly ground-breaking. My 'lemon meringue coupe', like the cod, had more bark than bite, and was two-thirds ill-matching vanilla icecream with a splash of (quite decent) lemon curd and a few shards of (delicate and tasty) meringue.

Wine is served in short-stemmed goblets also appearing like they have come straight out of a country pub. Large, but ill-shaped. When ordered by the glass, wine appears in an archaic fashion - not from the bottle, so you know you are getting what you asked for, but from a 1/4 carafe. I count myself fortunate that I know what an 125AED glass of Saint Veran is supposed to taste like, otherwise they could have splashed in a bit of Jacob's Creek Chardonnay and I'd be none the wiser. I've mentioned above that I am overly fussy with wine. Most people would not be bothered with this, and even I would not, if I was paying $5 a glass at my local tavern. But at these prices I need a little more pomp.

So - it sounds like I actually had a fairly good, of not great, feed, doesn't it? So what left the sour taste in my mouth, especially when everybody else seems to be happy with the offering? It's my old Dubai broken record - The label is shipped in, along with the entire concept. No great effort seems to have been made to make this a Dubai restaurant - it is simply another import. There are too many elements that get lost in the transplant. The decor comes off a little contrived and inappropriate in this climate and in its shiny mall-side position. There are no celebrities to gander at while eating, making the prices unforgivable. There are no famous theatres nearby to bring an air of anticipation and art to the scene. The food offering is reasonable, but all in all, I don't think it's enough to keep people returning, especially more discerning drinkers and diners.

Or maybe it's just me, and my taste... Time will tell.

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The Ivy
website: www.theivy.ae
Reservations: ph +971 4 319 8767
Address: The Boulevard, Ground Level, Jumeirah Emirates Towers.