thefidgetyfoodie

Hokkaido (Foodie) Highlights

*Just one of many mouthwatering bowls of ramen we enjoyed in Hokkaido*

Japan has long been on my tastebuds’ travel hit list.

Sushi, sashimi, okonomiyaki, ramen. These are some of the most perfectly formed dishes in existence.

It’s hardly a surprise that the Japanese discovered and christened the fifth taste – umami. Only this culinary powerhouse could have identified the savoury flavour present in meat broths and fermented products. I can imagine the scientist was slurping on ramen at the precise moment he made this discovery.

Having recently spent time in the -11 temperatures of Hokkaido where three layers of thermals are mandatory at all times, I started to understand how other iconic dishes fit into the wintery landscape. There seemed to be a perfect meal for every snow-laced occasion. These are my 6 favourite finds:

Matcha soft serve

I’d never considered ice-cream to be a winter delicacy before and I certainly never held much regard for soft serve. Until I met Japanese matcha soft serve.

The region of Hokkaido is renowned for its dairy output. The farming conditions are ideal with a cool climate, fresh air and large open pasture for the dairy cows to live. Happy cows make creamy milk which makes a dense, rich and unctuous soft serve that is not even distantly related to the airy industrial whipped stuff I knew.

We spotted soft serve machines all over the place, handy for satiating the thrice-daily habit that quickly emerged. The matcha soft serve is particularly on point, juxtaposing the sweet creaminess and vanilla tones of the milk with the slight bitterness of the green tea. All packaged in a mint green hue that jazzes up any meal, snack break or otherwise random craving.

Crab

Wander around the average fish market and you’ll spot live crabs desperately struggling to escape from their capture. Japanese fish markets are not average however and neither are their crabs. January is the height of crab season in Hokkaido and you couldn’t miss the giant Alaskan, King and hairy crabs lining the stalls of every seafood market.

We wanted a piece of the action so we selected our own hairy crab to eat then and there, with a quick little photo opp first. We hedged our bets by having half of it boiled and half of it barbequed. I was convinced the barbequed crab would be the most flavoursome but I was wrong, it was the boiled crab that was more luscious and juicy. And there was plenty of meat, even from the legs thanks to the enormity of the crab, which had a delicate sweetness. A touch of lemon and the meal was perfection – I’m now spoiled for life.

Crab was always a hit even when it wasn’t plucked from the water a few metres away. One of the most delicious and satiating lunches on the ski fields, introduced to me by George, was the King crab ramen. I’m talking legs of cracked King crab splayed over a steaming bowl of ramen noodles, white miso broth, sweet corn, spring onion and chilli floating on top. Perfection.

Seafood in general

Japan is known for its strong seafood game. The crabs were just the start, everything else we tried in and around the seafood markets was sensational. The Sankaku seafood market in Otaru was our favourite and we settled in to try all the local delicacies.

*Sashimi so fresh it was practically still flapping…*

George was particularly enamored with the sashimi which he declared was “still flapping”. Slivers of prawn, octopus, salmon, tuna, scallop and sea clam were incredibly fresh and virtually melted in the mouth.

*Mackerel served with a range of accompaniments*

The fish we saw pop up on menus time and time again was atka mackerel or ‘hokke’. It’s a fish that spoils easily which is why we always saw it smoked or dried, opened up like a butterfly. It’s a local delicacy to enjoy this fish grilled on a teppan plate and served with rice, miso and pickles, and it became one of our favourite dishes of the trip.

*Fresh sea urchin served with roe on a bed of rice*

Other seafood highlights included the sea urchin and roe bowl, served atop a bed of rice and with a rich miso.

Ramen

Ramen has long been a cult dish, a noodle soup revered for its umami broth, silky noodles and considered arrangement of braised pork, spring onions, egg, seaweed and bean sprouts. Ramen always tastes good but never more than when you’ve been in seemingly Arctic conditions all day. Then it tastes phenomenal.

We munched our way through the classic bases including shoyu (soy sauce), shio (salt) and miso but it was the creamy tonkotsu made from boiled pork bones that became my go to.

*The delightfully quaint Ramen Alley in Sapporo*

Our favourite ramen experience was undoubtedly in Sapporo’s Ramen Alley, a narrow pathway tucked between two main roads that houses only tiny ramen joints. Each one hosts a maximum of ten people but more often than not just six. We picked one at random and marvelled at how such bowls of deliciousness could emerge from possibly the tiniest kitchen on earth.

*Trying to slurp our ramen like the locals*

We also watched the locals intently to see how they consumed their ramen. As business men knocking off for the day and uni students gearing up for a big night dropped in and out, the one thing they all did was slurp their soup like it was going out of style. This is standard ramen etiquette and apparently the slurping enhances the flavours while cooling down the hot noodles.

We were also bemused when handed a hard-boiled egg right before our soup arrived and watched others intently to see what they did with it. The common trend seemed to be peeling it and adding it to the soup but we also observed one man eat it solo. It seems the art of ramen is all about freestyling as you see fit.

Hot pot

Not to be confused with ramen, hot pot or ‘nabe’ is the other soup that monopolised our palates while in Japan. And it’s easy to see why because in -11 degrees when you’re in a group, hot pot is the answer to all of life’s problems.

The staff only need to know how many of you there are and then almost instantly, a portable gas stove of bubbling stock filled with goodies appears in front of you. It does its thing for about 20 minutes and when you start to see steam spouting from the sides, its work is done. You’re left with a rich soup that always warms and soothes.

Hot pots typically have green onion, cabbage and mushrooms and then would feature either chicken, beef or seafood. The Rolls Royce for us was the ‘Shabu-Shabu’ we tried in Rusutsu which had thinly sliced wagyu loin, Hokkaido pork and seafood. The term is onomatopoeic, coming from the “swish swish” sound that emerges when the ingredients are stirred in the pot. It came with a ponzu and sesame dipping sauce.

Wagyu

Last but not least is the prized protein of this carnivorous nation, wagyu beef.

It’s one of the most expensive meats in the world, probably because the cows are treated like gods: they are regularly massaged (to relieve stress), their coats brushed with sake and they are fed beer to whet their appetites (in Australia, beer is replaced with red wine). The combined effort creates a unique marbling effect which produces tender and tasty meat.

We went all out and tried A5 wagyu – the highest graded meat on the wagyu scale. It certainly was the most melt-in-the-mouth steak I’d ever tried, selected and served with much fanfare. We tried more pedestrian wagyu also – not quite as spectacular but still a very satisfying steak.

It’s not hard to eat well in Japan. It’s only hard to resist the cornucopia of delights that have been perfected over years and represent the incredible culinary genius of the Japanese people.

Kythera… my island home

Posted on August 13 by thefidgetyfoodie

Santorini, Mykonos, Crete, Paros.

Bet you’ve been there, strolled past the white-washed houses, tasted the moussaka and drunk the ouzo.

Yamas!

These are all gorgeous, albeit very-touristy islands. And rightly so. They ooze the essence of Greek island life with their bougainvillea-lined cobblestone laneways and evocative taverna lifestyle. Who doesn’t dream of living a Greek island lifestyle?

Except that the Greek island lifestyle wasn’t always so picturesque.

If it was, my papouthes and yiayathes would not have fled in the 1930s and 1940s respectively to start new lives in Australia.

Their Greek island was especially exposed. Its strategic location in the Ionian Sea had made it a red hot target through history and any conqueror worth their sea salt made their way there; Venetians, Turks, French, English, Nazis…… when my Thea Marika once pointed to the second-story of the family home dating to the 1500s and told me they used to hurl hot oil through the window to scare the pirates below – she wasn’t kidding.

That island is Kythera.

Where you ask?

Exactly.

With the pirates now less of an issue, Kythera is the under-the-radar Greek island that you’ve never heard about and with any luck it will stay that way. Its strategic location, marooned between the Peloponnese and Crete, was a drawcard for those pirates but doesn’t suit modern-day travellers. You can’t ferry hop easily the way you can between the Cycladic islands. There’s only one flight a day in summer in a plane that fits 20 people. Traverse the island’s perilous roads in a bus at your peril. Mass tourism is literally not possible.

Which means that the only non-locals you encounter when you visit are the other Kytherian-Aussies who visit in droves in the summer months. Locating my extended family is as easy as strolling along Kapsali beach on my way to have a frappe.

It feels indulgent to have 100% lineage from one single island. To have visited the houses where my grandparents grew up and walked through villages bearing their name, e.g. Kastrissianika which is named after my Papou Con’s family. (Side note: where is the village of Megaloconomosanika?).

Being in Kythera reawakens part of my culinary soul. Of course I was eating the delicious food that originated from Kythera from the moment I started on solids. And many traditions followed my family across the sea to their new homes in Australia. But being in my homeland connects me to those traditions like configuring pieces of a puzzle.

Dad points out Papou’s hut through the horafia

Olives – the bedrock of Greek culture – are a good place to start. The foliage makes up crowns, the fruit is delicious to eat and the oil is essential in rituals (and deters those pesky pirates). I’ve always maintained that the secret to Greek cooking is 50% love and 50% olive oil. But that never feels as prescient as it does when I am standing in the olive groves that have been part of my family’s subsistence for over 100 years. While one olive tree looks the same as the next (at least to me), what sets this grove apart is the hut at the back that my Papou Peter built when he was a teenager so he would have somewhere to sleep when spending long days tending to the trees.

The other main source of subsistence was horta, or wild greens, which I have written about before in an effort to explain why Greeks love weeds. Not a single meal on my recent trip passed without a bowl of vlita on the table with lemon and olive oil.

“Give me horta and horiatiki (Greek salad) and I’m happy” declared mum.

It’s hard to find the exact same greens in Australia. There were murmurs of smuggling in seeds from Kythera so we could recreate the exact breeds here. I’m fairly sure the older generations did exactly that.

While vlita is in season during summer it switches to rathikia a few months later. Eating in season is the only way Greeks eat and it’s a revelation. You want figs in July? Go home and come back in August because that’s when they’re in season and that’s when you’ll get them. Not a moment before or after.

That’s the reason why kolokythi, zucchini, was in every second dish while we were in Kythera. It was in season, it tasted great, so the entire island got involved. The idea of bringing in produce from elsewhere so it’s always available is never a consideration. We ended one meal with fresh karpouzi or watermelon. Our host noted that watermelon wasn’t grown on the island and it had come from the Peloponnese, in a tone of regret that implied the Peloponnese was a far-flung foreign country versus being the Greek mainland.

That was a particularly memorable lunch. It started at 3.30pm, which seems ridiculous until you consider that dinner is usually eaten around 10pm. Once you acclimatise to Greek time you never look back.

The cocky foodie in me thought I had Greek sweets down pat. I’ve been known to eat galaktoboureko for breakfast and will move heaven and earth to track down the best bougatsa in town. I didn’t expect to unearth a new (for me) sweet and was delighted when I did. It was mum who put portokalopita on my radar and we ate our way through copious amounts while on the island. It’s made from phyllo drenched in orange syrup and I am now officially obsessed. No Greek cake shop in Sydney seems to make it (why, why?!!) so I will have to turn my hand to it instead.

It would be remiss of me to talk about Kythera without talking about the sea. The waters around the island are special, but don’t take my word for it. The ancient poet Hesiod recounts in his epic Theogony that Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, was born in the foam of the sea of Kythera. As far as I’m concerned we’re distant cousins and I’ve forgiven her for defecting to Cyprus.

The influence of the sea is strong in my family. Both of my papous were in the Greek navy. By the time they came to Australia their maritime roots ran deep and profoundly influenced their lives. My Papou Peter was a deep-sea fisherman and also the seafood chef at the Royal Automobile Club. My dad was the lucky kid at school with lobster sandwiches in his lunchbox.

My Papou Con ran the most buzzing fish shop in Sydney in the 1950s and 1960s – Wynyard Fish Supplies – with his brothers. It was the go-to place for city workers to pick up their seafood essentials, especially on a Friday.

Greek food is never just about the food. It’s the vessel that brings loved ones together to share, laugh and live life. Holidays in Kythera revolve around your morning frappe, which taverna to meet at for lunch (Pierros in Livadi or Lemonokipos in Karavas?), and where to reconvene in the evening. On Sundays, the bulk of the 4,000 strong island gravitates to Potamos for the Sunday market and the chance to reunite with friends, complain over coffee and peruse the local gliko (spoon sweets) or ladi (oil). If the entire island didn’t already know you were in Kythera, they do now.

The beauty of Kythera is not just Aphrodite’s legacy. It’s not only the sand, sea and sweet smell of golden grass and olive wood (so intoxicating that French luxury brand Hermès has bottled it into a fragrance – Un Jardin a Cythere). Kythera is the origin story for this fidgety foodie and a place that will always feel like home.

Bienvenidos a Miami

Posted on November 7, 2022 by thefidgetyfoodie

“Sure, it’s hurricane season” I pondered. “But what are the chances of actually encountering a hurricane….?”

Ha!

Ever the optimist, my glass-half-full approach to life usually works in my favour. But on this occasion, I clearly underestimated the forces of nature. Specifically, the forces of Category 4 winds in the Caribbean in late September.

Carefully laid plans to explore Puerto Rico were smashed by Hurricane Fiona and any further ideas of heading west annihilated by Hurricane Ian. It was in fact a hurricane sandwich that left me with a week to play in Miami.

“Welcome to Miami, Bienvenidos a Miami” in the words of the Will Smith hit.

It wasn’t the plan… but a week in a new town with nothing booked but a ticket out is my favourite type of conundrum.

In truth I had never thought much about Miami or Florida. It’s Latin American that has beguiled me in recent years.

What I didn’t expect was that Miami IS Latin America. As one local put it so eloquently for me:

“Latin America runs up until Fort Lauderdale. That’s where the USA actually starts”.

Aha. Suddenly hurricane season was not so problematic.

I knew that thousands of Cubans fled to Miami when Castro came into power, congregating in what’s now Little Havana. I expected good coffee and a rocking salsa scene. What I didn’t expect was that Spanish would be the mother tongue of almost everyone I encountered, as a result of almost two thirds of Greater Miami’s population having Hispanic origin.

My taste buds got excited.

By the end of the week I had firm favourite Cuban restaurant and had eaten enough Puerto Rican food to feel like I had been there in spirit. This was interspersed with cuisine from Venezuela, Colombia and Peru.

I am still obsessed with Cuban guava pasta and brought back a sizeable stash.

When I wrote about the food in Cuba, I wrote largely about ham and cheese sandwiches coupled with cheese and guava paste. Cuba was sensational for many things but it’s not somewhere you go for the cuisine. A dictatorship communist regime will do that to an island.

Miami however, has the benefit of Cuban expertise and an unlimited supply of ingredients.

Our go-to restaurant was Puerto Sagua, a no frills diner a few blocks from the beach which has served comfort-food staples like Cuban sandwiches and ropa vieja since 1962.

Ropa vieja in the back and marinated prawns in the front from Puerto Sagua

Ropa Vieja translates to ‘old clothes’ because the shredded beef and vegetables seemingly resemble a heap of colourful rags. It’s one of Cuba’s designated national dishes.

I was very happy to see that the iconic guava and cheese combo was alive and well in Miami. I truly love the way the saltiness of the cheese enhances the sticky sweet guava – and I’ll never forget that way it concluded every meal I ate in Cuba. Here my favourite bedfellows were ensconced in a delicate croissant pastry.

It worked a treat with a Cuban coffee, which was everywhere you looked and tasted sharp and sweet.

Of course, nothing says Cuba like a Cuban sandwich. I tried a few and while the classic combo of ham, pulled pork, cheese and pickles is always a winner, I never quite found a version that was best-in-class – either it was too dry or the meat lacked flavour.

One of the things I was most looking forward to in Puerto Rico was visiting the legendary La Ruta del Lechón, or ‘Pork Highway’. Vegetarians look away now – I’m talking about long stretches of road packed with restaurants selling lechon, a whole pig that’s been marinating for hours, roasted over coals for several hours until it’s juicy and crisp. I’m salivating just at the thought…

In lieu of a dedicated highway we settled for Puerto Rican restaurants in Little Havana for our lechon and that other Puerto Rican stalwart – mofongo. It’s traditionally made from deep-fried green plantain pieces mashed with garlic and pork.

My favourite was a version with beef cheeks which was rich and moreish (slightly too much ballast for a night of salsa dancing as it transpired).

The other culinary hero of Puerto Rico is the piña colada – this heady mix of coconut, pineapple and rum was certainly created on the island but there is uncertainty by whom. I’m not sure how traditional this particular skyscraper of whipped cream is, but judging by the pace they were being made it seems no one cared.

There is of course, one other way to drink cocktails in Miami and that is illegally on the beach through a plastic pouch. The Latin tradition of mobile beach cocktail service is sadly not permitted in Miami but it doesn’t stop enterprising young off-season hospitality staff from making their own cocktails at home and selling them on the sly from cooler bags on their back. They are so subtle that you can barely hear them whisper ‘piña colada, margarita….’ as they stroll down South Beach. Once I cottoned onto the ruse I realised they were everywhere. And I wanted IN!

The pitches were creative. “I use Patron in my margarita mix” was my personal favourite.

One of our new friends looks up his favourite salsa spots for me.

I thinketh not my friend. But hey, I can report that every cocktail I tried (and there were many), tasted good and suitably boozy so I had no qualms with the tequila they were using. And several ‘beachtenders’ were happy to pull up for a lengthy chat as we plied them for local intel about the best (real) bars and destinations for salsa.

I still plan to get to Puerto Rico at some stage and relive my version of The Rum Diaries, but Miami and its Latin charms made for a damn fine Plan B.

The 4 food groups of Christmas

Posted on December 27, 2021 by thefidgetyfoodie

I am nostalgic at the best of times but at Christmas I am in overdrive.

For example, I am emotionally attached to every decoration I’ve grown up with so when one disappears from my parents’ tree I am immediately concerned. Last week I noticed that a (technically edible) decoration I made in primary school (a real orange spiked with cloves and dried) was gone.

“It rotted last year. I tossed it” said mum matter-of-factly without a shred of regret.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat????????????” I wailed with my arms in the air (an appropriate reaction given the severity of the disaster and on par with mum’s reaction when she thought we’d lost her beloved Rod Stewart Christmas CD).

I was devastated. I made that decoration with my own two infant-sized hands, it was priceless! Rotting was no excuse for disposing of it, no matter how decomposed it was.

If I’m like that about decorations, imagine what I’m like about the food????

I am extremely attached to our Christmas eating traditions. We have developed a very specific style over the years, a mélange of Greek, English, Aussie traditions with a few other random European touches. It’s unique and reflective of the extraordinary cooking talent that exists in my clan. Spearheaded by my dear yiayias – Alexandra and Maria – and deftly continued by my mum, aunties and sisters.

A highlights reel of Christmas day feasting over the past 25 years (spot the retro photography!)

In my typical nostalgic state over Christmas, I got to thinking about our foodie traditions and how special they are to me. So… what exactly is on our Christmas lunch* table?

(*I call it lunch but we’ve never eaten before 4pm.)

I’ve whittled down the magic into 4 key food groups. There are others of course – there’s always a healthy smattering of mezedes, salads, roast vegetables and carbs. But they ebb and flow with the seasons and the styles. Mum’s dining table wouldn’t have been caught dead without her signature potato casserole nestled beside her artichoke and avocado salad in the 90s. So chic. These days the salads are more artisan and the roast veg extend beyond the humble spud.

So here are the 4 key food groups of my family’s Christmas.

Prawns

Our family Christmas lunch always starts with prawns. I should know – I’m usually the poor sucker who has to peel and devein them. A facebook memory reminded me that 5 years ago I peeled 125. That was good context for this year as I peeled 65 and that felt like torture. I moan but it’s worth it – who wants to have to do all that work on their own plate? Apart from the effort, which is better channeled into pulling crackers, the prawn debris takes up valuable real estate for other delicious things. I happily take one for the team most years. And they are delicious whatever way you cut it – naked with lemon or in a salad with avocado and mango like this year.

Lasagne

Okay I know what you’re thinking. Lasagne is Italian. You’re Greek.

True.

(Although we are technically Italian too as my island was a hotbed for Venetians who used to sail past and get frisky with the girls. You only need to go about four generations back to see how our family name was Venetian. DNA tests show the same thing.)

But back to the food.

There are Greek variations of lasagne. Pastitsio – which uses penne instead of thin pasta sheets. There’s also the powerhouse of moussaka which switches pasta for eggplant and potato.

Why don’t we stay in our lanes here? Good question.

Yiayia Maria started it. Mum tells me that she remembers yiayia making pastitsio when she was young but at some point yiayia switched to lasagne and never looked back. Christmas isn’t Christmas without yiayia’s lasagne. It’s unbelievably delicious. She once showed me how to make it and technically there’s nothing flash about it and no secret ingredients but mine doesn’t even come close. Mum’s does though. The baton has been passed.

Big meat

For many years I thought everyone had a giant turkey, ginormous leg of ham and huge pork roast for Christmas lunch.

Nope. Just my family.

The turkey and ham are pretty self-explanatory, they are long-standing English and European traditions that have been appropriated by much of the world. The addition of pork is a nod to our heritage and the main ingredient of a traditional Greek Christmas feast because pigs were typically slaughtered in the weeks leading up to Christmas day.

The roast pork has faded out over the last few years. And we have all come around to the cold hard fact that a roast turkey is stressful, time consuming and never as tasty as the dream (making another one of yiayia’s lasagnes would have a better return on investment).

So instead we’ve gravitated to turkey rolls and even a turducken for kicks.

Does that mean less meat overall on the table? Hardly. We still had 60 souvlakia on the table this year, you know, in case anyone was still hungry.

Sweets

This is where our Christmas really shines. The meat, salads, carbs, etc are just a warm up for the main event – the sweet table! No matter how full you are, space can always be found for sweets.

I’ve never seen a Greek sweet table with less than a dozen (big) dishes on it. I remember once my mum was entertaining and accidentally forgot to serve a huge cake that was waiting patiently in a cupboard. No one even noticed its absence because there were at least 10 other mammoth desserts on offer.

This is where we weave back in Greek traditions.

Mum prepares this year’s batch of kourabiethes

Starting with kourabiethes – those delicious toasted almond spiked crescent-shaped shortbreads that are groaning under the weight of icing sugar. Never sneeze while holding one or you’ll turn into a snowman. Apart from the toasted almonds, the other differentiating feature is the addition of ouzo.

There’s also melomakarona, a traditional orange and cinnamon scented biscuit doused in honey and crushed walnuts. And rozethes, a typical honey almost biscuit from my island of Kythera.

This is on top of an array of other sweet treats – tiramisu, trifle, mousse cake, white Christmas, fruit cake, pavlova and mum’s signature ice-cream cake made with glace fruit and Vienna almonds.

An obligatory fruit platter rounds out the offering and our bellies.

And because we’ve catered for a small army there are leftovers for days.

It really is the most wonderful time of the year.

Tassie’s Top 5

Posted on June 4, 2021 by thefidgetyfoodie

I was a bit late to the Tasmania party. While seemingly everyone else has been skipping through Salamanca markets and MONA, or hiking the Three Capes – I only recently experienced the Apple Isle for myself.

There were 5 foodie highlights for me. At one point there were 7; I took out gin because that deserves a deep dive of its own. I also took out salmon thanks to Richard Flanagan’s book Toxic, which has left me horrified and scarred over the Tasmanian salmon industry.

Scallop pie

Full disclosure – I had my doubts about the scallop pie. I adore scallops and could eat them a dozen ways but swimming in a creamy sauce infused with curry powder was not high on my list. I generally believe that the less you do with seafood the better – some lemon and possibly a dab of butter/olive oil for a light sauté/bbq is all you need.

No one is exactly sure about the provenance of the scallop pie (although rumours it’s a descendant of devilled scallops seem sound), only that eating one in Tassie is mandatory. My pie had around 4-5 big whole scallops enveloped in a creamy sauce stained by Keen’s Curry. It has to be Keen’s as the 150y old spice mix actually heralds from Hobart. I grew up watching my dad pile tablespoons of the stuff onto all sorts of delicious dishes (poor mum) and I’ve never quite understood the allure – but I do think the packaging is iconic.

The pie was actually quite tasty and the scallop to sauce ratio was impressive. Definitely one to try for the simple quirkiness of it all.

Saltbush

I am (sadly) no bush tucker woman. But thanks to my regular trips to Margaret River and a few lessons in foraging by Peter Kuruvita, I have come to recognise saltbush when I see it. And I saw lots of it along the stunning beaches of the Bay of Fires. My hiking pals thought I was mad when I started grabbing leaves and chewing them energetically. Coastal saltbush grows on beaches and around salt lakes all over Australia but sadly I’ve never seen it on the NSW coast (although it pops up on menus here and there – like the Archie Rose distillery who use a sprig of saltbush as a garnish for their martinis). There is something very liberating about eating the natural ingredients around you (and not being poisoned).

Oysters

I love all seafood but oysters in particular. There were oyster farms littered all along the coast line of the mainland and Bruny Island and I couldn’t pass without picking up a cheeky dozen. I always looked in pity at the people who bought a dozen to share. My only hesitation was whether to buy two dozen…

Plump and creamy Pacific oysters are generally the order of the day in Tassie as they take half as long to grow as the native flat oyster, the Angasi, which was almost harvested to extinction in the 20^th century (even through Indigenous communities have been enjoying them for thousands of years). They are now sustainably grown and harvested from oyster beds to ensure this doesn’t happen again. I was a bit early for the Angasi season so will have to try them on my next trip, but the Pacifics were delicious and needed no more than a squeeze of lemon to reach perfection.

Cheese

The cheese game in Tassie was delightfully strong. It really punches above its weight – producing 10% of Australia’s cheese despite being home to only 2% of the Aussie population. All that rain comes in handy for creating fertile land.

The lush North East highlands are known for their cheese, especially cheddar. I almost bought a giant cloth bound wheel of it from Pyengana Dairy (actually why didn’t I? Oh that’s right, I maxed out my weight allocation on gin). The farmstead cheddar comes from an 1885 recipe passed through the family. It’s the sharpest, craggiest version of this dinner table stalwart I’ve come across. And even better when mixed with pickled onions – unconventional but a genius ideas.

And did I mention the cows choose when to be milked via an automated system? Their incentive is grain and a mechanical back-scratch. No wonder all the cows looked so satisfied.

While I’m always a fan of a bit of cheddar, what I love even more is a pungent, unctuous washed rind cheese. The sort that leaves an indelible scent in its wake. I specifically wanted to try the famous washed rind cheese from the Bruny Island Cheese Co. called 1792, the year French explorers first landed in Tassie. This cheese is matured on a small round of local Huon pine (revered in Tassie), which gives it a subtle smoky flavour. It was a sensational cheese and I couldn’t help but think how brilliant the Huon pine element was, both from a taste and marketing perspective.

Pinot

I need to declare a bias and that is that I am a white wine kind of girl. If you ask me what wine I feel like, regardless of what I’m eating (yes Katia, even cheese!) red will never be my first choice. I will happily drink it, but it will never be the wine I turn to first. That’s probably why I start wine tastings with gusto, then run out of steam in the middle before perking up right at the end when the sticky comes out.

So it surprised no one more than me when I realised I was starting to like Tassie pinot more than I thought possible. Its softness and fruit seemed that little bit kinder on my palate. I’ve always had soft spot for cool climate wine regions like Canberra and Orange so this might have been a factor too. And I may possibly have been a bit caught up in the romanticism of a bit of grape picking (next year’s pinot release). I know from experience in Alsace this is hard yakka so was happy with just a light touch effort this time. Cheers to that!

Pondering Palermo

Posted on October 11, 2020 by thefidgetyfoodie

Ballaro Market, Palermo

I feel exceptionally fortunate to have a head (plus several hard drives and 20+ travel diaries) full of extraordinary travel memories. If my home was on fire they’re the first things I’d grab. Along with my Smeg fridge (as I fully expect adrenalin would kick in and make light work of lifting my 85kg beauty).

Those memories are particularly sweet in a time when travel is nigh on impossible. It’s a cracker of a first world problem when so many are in strife but I can’t help but feel sad about unlived adventures. Which is even more reason to relish the happy experiences I’ve banked up.

Exactly two years ago I was in Sicily with two dear friends and it was one of the best experiences of my life. Sicily is positively intoxicating. And while I would go back to Taormina in a heartbeat for those exquisite gelato brioche buns and Syracuse for piled-high paninis, it was Palermo that especially grabbed me because of its effortless cool.

My partner in culinary crime agrees that Palermo’s charisma would pull us both back in a heartbeat. The food was exceptional, as it is in all corners of Sicily, but the edgy vibe and tangle of laneways left us craving more. It’s the perfect city for the flâneur (and flâneuse) to wander with abandon.

When I go back this is what I’ll want to relive.

Cool laneway bars

Palermo makes Melbourne’s laneway bar scene look tame and that’s saying something. Bars were nestled in all sorts of random nooks and crannies, often slightly crumbling like most of the city.

Always dimly lit and a bit dingy, it did not seem a stretch of the imagination to assume there were Mafioso-type deals going on around us. Slick cocktails with aperitivo thrown in (free snacks to whet the appetite) meant we were in heaven.

Ricardo kept us entertained with his gold accessories and quick tongue

Comical market stall holders

The street markets of Palermo are magical, each snaking languidly through the narrow streets. The colours and character were such a delight and every stall held something exciting; from glimmering produce to stacks of fresh fish and crustaceans. The most endearing part to me though were the entertaining stall holders, seemingly professional comedians who just happened to use a stall in place of a stage. They’d capture your attention and hold it – through compliments, jokes and gentle teasing. I never needed a heavy duty sales pitch because I was always eager beaver to try their wares but it was fun watching them dial their charm up to the highest rating.

Gelato anywhere, any time, all the time

I expected to see gelato everywhere but I did not expect to be eating it for breakfast. But who am I to argue with a well-worn tradition? Having come from Taormina where granita and brioche was the standard breakfast combination, gelato and brioche seemed completely normal. The gelato was always creamy, intense and popping with flavour. After experiencing the pistachio festival in Bronte just days before I only had eyes for the pastel green hues of my new favourite nut.

Arancini

These babies are really worth a post of their own. Could any other single food be so perfect in every way? Maybe scotch eggs. Arancini in Sicily are as ubiquitous as hot dogs in New York but much more creative. I already thought I’d died and gone to heaven when I experienced pistachio and porchetta arancini in Bronte, stuffed with mozzarella, crumbed and fried. Swoon. But Palermo had its own riff on classics, like roasted pork, sweet ‘n’ sour onion and smoked scamorza cheese or Nebrodi black pig ragout. The best part was watching the world go by while we ate them.

The produce

It’s actually a shame we didn’t make a concerted effort to do some cooking (impossible because we were too busy eating every type of street food we could find) because the produce was unbelievable. Zucchinis that were a metre long. Vegetables in shades I didn’t think possible!

I was so taken by the violet aubergine (yes aubergine is already ‘purple’ but really it’s black. This was purple!) that I was trying to work out how I could get a bag back to Sydney without being arrested (I couldn’t so I didn’t).

Flash fried sardines with lemon – street food at its best

The seafood

I was born to love seafood; it’s in my genes thanks to Greek island lineage and grandfathers who worked in fish shops and restaurants when they moved to Australia. Nothing excites me more than fresh seafood and it’s everywhere you look in the markets. Sardines caught that morning would be flash fried and served with lashings of fresh lemon juice. Fantastic.

Then there were the ostriches (yes confused me at first too) which came with free wine. Free wine! The ostriches were oysters shucked on the spot and full of salty briny goodness. The wine wasn’t half bad either.

Perfectly grilled cow intestine by our friend Ricardo

Offal

It’s contentious to admit but I love offal. Greeks and Italians are similar here – we eat the whole animal because for a long time we couldn’t have survived otherwise. I find most people have a mental block about eating the innards of an animal but the flavour always belies the mind. Intestines, tripe and the like are as common as any other cut in Sicily and every stall we came across had long lines of hungry customers. I was particularly enamoured with cow intestine; grilled to perfection with salt and lemon by one of our favourite ‘comedians’.

This spleen sandwich was a culinary highlight

Then there’s Palermo’s spleen sandwich, one of its most iconic street foods. Pani ca’ Meusa is made from boiled cow spleen, lung and trachea which are then fried in pig lard right before eating. It’s piled on a bun and sprinkled with ricotta and caciocavallo cheese. It’s rich but oh so tasty, especially as the oil soaks into the bread nicely.

Rainbow colours

I love colour. One in particular for anyone who knows me (PURPLE!) but actually I don’t discriminate. My eye is always drawn to the brightest colour in the room, on the street or on the plate.

Palermo itself is all shades of grey and shadows but layered on top are pops of colour everywhere – from the produce I’ve already waxed lyrical about to the intense marzipan fruits (far too pretty to eat) that could have been art. I can’t wait until I’m surrounded by Palermo’s palette once again.

14 food rules of Colombia

Posted on March 13, 2020 by thefidgetyfoodie

Settling in to the Colombian lifestyle

Colombia is where I started my big South American adventure last year and it will always hold a special place in my heart. Luckily my local guide let my appetite lead the way through every meal, market and farm (thanks Hector). As usual I had the best fun, and learnt the most about the country, culture and people through eating. And these are the food rules I learnt along the way.

An avocado that’s almost the size of my head!

1. Put avocadoes on and in everything
The running joke in Australia is that millennials can’t afford mortgages because they spend all their money on (expensive) smashed avocado on toast. This is clearly not an issue in Colombia because avocados are not only cheap they are MASSIVE. One could feed an entire family. Twice. That explains why avocados can be found in every meal. Having said that I did find the larger the avocado the less flavoursome it was. A bit like prawns. But they certainly made light work of guacamole.

Street-style ceviche

2. Colombian ceviche is…. Different
I’m all for experimentation and new flavour combos. But some things are perfect the way they are and one of those things is ceviche. The original dish created in Peru is simply raw fish/seafood marinated and ‘cooked’ by fresh citrus juice, with a few accoutrements like coriander, red onion, tomato and fried corn. I have to admit I was horrified to order it in Colombia and find it doused in tomato sauce, i.e. ketchup! Why, WHY????? It killed it for me.

Sapote, one of the many exotic fruits on offer in Colombia

3. So many fruits, so little time
I was blown away by how many different fruits exist in Colombia. I tried to get a handle on them all by taking photos of each and making lists and eventually gave up. It’s such a tease as most can’t be found elsewhere. Especially not Australia. Guana’bana, curuba, tomate de arbol, mamoncillo, chirimoya…. How I miss you all! And the best part was picking up freshly chopped fruit on any street corner for next to nothing. It’s an outrage that I now have to cut up my own mango every day.

A fresh batch of my beloved lulada

4. There’s fruit and there’s fruit juice
Fruit juice is expensive in Australia so I always regard it as a luxury. It’s the opposite in Colombia where fruit is cheap and plentiful and fresh juice is a meal staple. Colombians eat a lot of heavy fried food so I honestly believe it’s the juice that keeps them in check. My absolute favourite was lulada made from lulo – a fruit only found in Colombia and Ecuador where it’s called naranjilla. Sweet, tangy and fresh, I drank it constantly. Perfect in cocktails too!

My beloved lulada, couldn’t get enough of this stuff

o5. That little bit extra
Hector introduced me to the concept of ñapa, or ‘that little bit extra’. It’s the lulada left in the blender which the vendor uses to top up your cup once you’ve made some room. The extra serve of soup at the markets. A couple of extra maracuyá over the kilo because, well why not? It says a lot about the spirit of generosity that lives inside a lot of Colombians which warmed my heart whenever I experienced it. Read More

My Passion for Pisco

Posted on November 10, 2019 by thefidgetyfoodie

Pisco sours and ceviche – the quintessential Peruvian combo

My obsession with pisco predates my adventures in South America.

I’ve always had a fascination with the ‘sour’ and its perfect balance of four ingredients – spirit, egg white, sugar syrup and citrus. Success depends on getting the balance between them just right.

The amaretto sour was the entry point for me. Made with what I can only describe as liquid marzipan, it almost felt like cheating. Surely a mocktail in disguise? From there it was a quick slide towards its Latino cousin, the pisco sour. It wasn’t that long ago that it was rare for bars to even stock pisco so I’d often make them myself. It was around the time I worked for hospitality giant Merivale, and I remember incurring the wrath of Merivale’s head of bars at the time when he discovered I was blending the cocktail rather than shaking it (a crime in the world of mixology). I arrived at work one morning to find a photocopy of the recipe from a cocktail bible with the method highlighted for my benefit. Noted Paul.

Regardless of protocol I still blend my pisco sours. Because no amount of shaking (and I can shake!) matches the foaminess that blending creates.

The port of Pisco

So… what is pisco? It’s actually a brandy, made by distilling fermented grape juice into a high-proof spirit. When the Spanish rocked up to Peru, they decided to start making it rather than importing something similar from Spain. The spirit used to travel to Spain via the port of Pisco so they decided to call it… Pisco.

Genius.

Pisco tasting in Ica, Peru

With pisco sours a firm favourite of mine for a while now, it was always a dream of mine to visit the home of pisco. Or rather homes. Because depending on who you ask, pisco is from Peru and Chile and the two countries have bickered for years over ownership of the Appellation of Origin.

So, what’s the difference? Different grapes to start with. Peruvian pisco is distilled to proof in copper pots while Chilean is aged to a higher proof then cut back with water and stored in oak barrels. The Peruvians use the whole grape, the Chileans distil only the skin. Peru is filled with old-fashioned, tiny producers and Chile is dominated by larger, more commercial operations.

Pisco cocktails for every palate

I’ve now tried pisco in Chile and Peru and because I prefer my pisco ensconsed in a sour, I would be hard pressed to tell the difference to be honest. I was more interested in the way each culture drank their pisco. In Chile they love a piscola – pisco and cola. It didn’t really work for me, but nothing mixed with cola really works for me (yes I’m talking to you Fernet & cola – the national drink of Argentina).

El Pisquerito was one of my favourite bars in Lima

The Peruvians will shot it at home and drink pisco cocktails when out. When it’s not a pisco sour it’s usually a Chilcano, a refreshing mix of pisco, ginger ale and lime, served in a tall glass with lots of ice. I was a big fan of this drink. Read More

Why I love Oaxaca – Mexico’s gastronomic heart

Posted on August 4, 2019 by thefidgetyfoodie

Why I heart Oaxaca – Mexico’s gastronomic heart_the fidgety foodie

Oaxaca’s stunning Templo de Santo Domingo

Let’s get the awkwardness out of the way shall we?

I know exactly what you’re thinking. So many vowels in one word. And what does one do with that ‘x’? You could spend hours trying to work out how to pronounce Oaxaca but I’ll spare you. ‘Wahaca’ is the phonetic pronunciation, and by happenstance is also a chain of Mexican restaurants in the UK. Clearly the founder didn’t think ‘Oaxaca’ would cut through on the high street.

All the good stuff and more…

Oaxaca had been sitting in the periphery of my greedy mind for quite some time. I knew from reading food press and listening to general foodie chit chat that Oaxaca was a True. Foodie. Heaven. Up there with San Sebastian. Bangkok. Palermo. How could a city famous for seven moles be anything but?

Piles of the Oaxcan cheese I am so enamoured with

I’d tried to squeeze it into a previous trip to Mexico but knew even then that a few days would not do. I’d argue that my ensuing 10 day trip did not quite cut the mustard either but it was at least enough time to eat an extraordinary amount of delicious and unique dishes, many of which can’t be found elsewhere in Mexico.

Tamales stuffed with Oaxacan cheese and zucchini flowers, made by yours truly

It would take me days, even weeks, to list all the dishes that need to be tried in Oaxaca. Some have travelled over the border well – enchiladas (although vastly different from the Tex Mex version), tamales, tostadas. Others were brand new to me – tlayudas, tetelas, memelitas. There are so many things you can do with a tortilla it made my head spin; Mexicans are true origamists.

Freshly frothed hot chocolate with pan de yema

You’d certainly have to start at one of the incredible markets. Mercado Benito Juárez, Mercado 20 de Noviembre and Central de Abastos are all terrific but for a traditional breakfast it has to be Mercado La Merced. My local friend Oscar introduced me to the delights of frothy hot chocolate with pan de yema and its similarly sweet starchy friends. Dip the carby delights into frothy hot chocolate for a sweet kickstart to your day.

Memelitas and enchiladas – a robust way to start the day

Then move onto something savoury such as memelitas (fried tortillas with tomato, chilli, beans and fresh cheese) and enchiladas – not rolled in Tex Mex style but rather layered like a loose lasagne, doused in a green chilli mole and topped with the stretchy Oaxacan cheese I find so addictive. Plus a side of fried beef short ribs for good luck. Read More

How to eat in Lima

Posted on March 30, 2019 by thefidgetyfoodie

Ceviche and pisco sours = a match made in heaven

Lima is a famed culinary hot spot. Boasting three restaurants on the World’s 50 Best Restaurants list (on par with New York and Tokyo) and many several celebrity chefs, it’s known as the gastronomic heartland of South America. And it’s true. Almost everything I ate was considered and delicious. But I experienced two very different approaches to Limeño food.

One of many variations on a pisco sour

The Lima that most travellers see revolves around the hip central areas of Miraflores and Barranco and has been finessed to perfection. These areas are clean, sophisticated and importantly safe. Of course that’s where travellers go. That’s exactly where I stayed over several weekends.

A view of Saint Martin de Porres from the gym (which I frequented to work through all those carbs)

But Lima is a city of 9.7 million (30% of Peru’s population) and not everyone can afford these desirable suburbs. The city has sprawled extensively to cope with the population influx and the outskirts of Lima are an entirely different proposition to the centre. I came to appreciate this when I spent weeks volunteering at an NGO school for disadvantaged children in Saint Martin de Porres. It’s a mere 20km from central Lima but the difference in living conditions could not be more stark.

However it was the difference in eating which really fascinated me.

Peru’s impressive coastline

Think of Peru and you think ceviche and pisco sours, si? During my time in Saint Martin de Porres I didn’t come close to either. Yet in central Lima you can’t take two steps without tripping over a stylish venue that offers both.
Peru has an enviably long coastline and despite laying claim to just 0.1% of the world’s sea it produces 10% of the world’s seafood. But I found that people in Saint Martin de Porres rarely ate seafood. Partly because of the cost and partly because they are so enamoured with chicken that they have no time for seafood.

The local chicken shop in Saint Martin de Porres

Chicken and carbs are what sustain most Peruvians day in and day out. Rice, potatoes, bread. Heaven help you if you’re celiac. And if you’re a vegetarian it’s huevos for you. One vegetarian volunteer found herself eating rice and eggs three times a day while at the school.

Quinoa and potato stew with rice – for lunch and dinner

I marvelled at how many carbs could be amalgamated into one meal. Quinoa and potato stew with rice was the epitome of this approach. For lunch and dinner. With bread for breakfast. Salad and vegetables did not feature heavily. Or at all.

Peruvians are also extremely religious. They pray before every meal. They don’t really drink. And off topic slightly, because they live at home until marriage there are literally thousands of ‘hostals’ offering rooms by the hour for romantic dalliances that could never happen at home. Read More