Method

Cut pita breads in half and brush  with oil  and grill until golden on both sides. Break pitas into bite-size pieces.
Place cucumber, onion. tomatoes, olives, parsley and basil in a platter. Flake salmon with a fork and mix through salad.
 In a small bowl combine garlic, lemon juice, salt, pepper and oil and drizzle over salad.
Toss pita crisps over salad and serve at once.

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Ingredients

• 125g butter
• 1 cup caster sugar
• 2 eggs
• finely grated zest and juice 1 lemon
• 1/2 cup natural yoghurt
• 1 1/2 cups self raising flour
• 3/4 cup blueberries (fresh or frozen)

Method

Preheat oven to 180 C. Beat butter and sugar until pale and creamy.  Add eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition.   Add the lemon juice and finely grated zest and stir in flour, yoghurt and blueberries.
Pour into a lined loaf pan and smooth the top.
Bake for 45-50 minutes or until a skewer inserted comes out clean

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Ingredients

1 cup oil
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 cups grated courgette
3 eggs, whisked
3 cups flour
1/2 teapsoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

Method

Preheat oven to 150 C. Place oil and sugar in a large bowl and mix well.  Add courgette, eggs and combined dry ingredients. Mix until well combined.
Pour mixture into 2 x greased or lined loaf pans and bake for 1 hour or until loaves tests cooked.

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Virgil Evetts

And as we bid a fond adieu to another summer (technically speaking anyway, still plenty hot around my neck of the woods), the final flurry of fruitfulness arrives on shop shelves.  Among the season’s last orders are some of its very finest, including my all-time favourite summer fruit- the Black Boy peach.

However great this fruit might be (and believe me, it is), there’s no getting away from the fact that its name is seriously off, and harks back to an earlier, and alarmingly bigoted, age. Even more cringingly, the fruit does not exist under that name anywhere else in the world; in fact it barely exists anywhere else, full stop.  The Black Boy, hereafter known as the red-fleshed peach, is (in spite of a lucrative cult following in foodie circles) very rare in cultivation.  It’s not a hybrid of a peach and plum as some have suggested (although such hybrids do exist), but a natural mutation of a white-fleshed peach, selected and propagated in France, several centuries ago. The infinitely preferable French moniker, Pêche de Vigne, translates as ‘vineyard peach’ and refers to the old French habit of growing the trees in vineyards, as pest and disease indicators.  Rosaceous plants (roses, stone fruit, pip fruit, brambles etc) are susceptible to many of the same undesirables as grapes, and are often grown alongside vines to help vintners identify problems early. Obviously the French never waste an opportunity to eat well, and made damn sure that their sacrificial trees bore the very best fruit. 

How this obscure fruit made its way to New Zealand, and practically nowhere else in the world, is more of a mystery.  At my most romantic I like to attribute its arrival to the efforts of 19th century French settler to Akaroa or similar, but the truth is probably far less interesting.  Back in the golden, and regularly disastrous, days before the notion of bio-security existed, keen nurserymen could stroll off the ships with cuttings of whatever took their fancy under their arms, or a brace of monkeys on their shoulders for that matter.

The red-fleshed peach, or Black Boy if you must, is very much a substance-over-style sort of affair.  Put simply, it’s a bit of a munter. Although typically peach-shaped, the skin is of a sort of clotted mauve colour, off-set by a pelt of thick and rather gloomy greyish fuzz.  It’s really no wonder that supermarket produce buyers have shunned them so assiduously until quite recently.  However, to anyone bold enough to plough on past its ‘face for radio’ exterior, what lies beneath is just about as rewarding as fruit eating ever gets.  Dense yet burstingly tender crimson flesh gives way to indelible juiciness, and a flavour combining the finer points of plum, peach and the richest red wine.  The fragrance is heady, complex and intoxicating peachy.  I know I’m prone to throwing around hyperbole with gay abandon, but if anything I’m probably underselling this peach.

My Grandmother used to bottle Black Boys every year (taken out of context that is one disturbing line!), and a jar or two nearly always made its way up to us in Auckland.  These were treated with great reverence – the fruit being so painfully seasonal – and were carefully rationed out as an ice-cream accompaniment, or used in exquisite fruit tarts.  Given a moment alone in the kitchen I would drink the velvety, sanguine syrup straight from the jar, leaving my lips treacherously stained.  In addition to standard preserving Black Boys make a rather fabulous fruit paste too, and, if you happen to have enough peaches to justify the effort, can be squeezed and rendered down into peach nectar par excellence.  French juice and jam masters Allain Milliat produce  Pêche de Vigne nectar, and while very, very good it’s really not a patch on homemade.  This ambrosial stuff can be used to show-stopping success in Black Boy Bellini’s.  With just a drop or 2 of cassis, and a very decent measure of Prosecco or Champagne, this little number is one of the reasons I could never be a long-haul teetotaller.

Also in the shops right now, and a nice contrast to the Black Boy, is the bizarre and beguiling Flatto peach.  This relative newcomer to the local stone-fruit scene is most notable for its seriously tacky name, and strange, seemingly mutated looks which have led some to mutter quietly about genetic modification.  In reality, China flat, Doughnut or Saturn peaches (as they are known overseas) have been cultivated for over two hundred years in China, and many decades in North America and continental Europe.  Flat peaches are almost exclusively white-fleshed, and when properly tree-ripened are juicy, luscious and wonderfully fragrant.  Unusually for peaches, they develop sweetness long before the flesh softens, meaning they can be picked, sold and eaten while still relatively hard and unripe.  This quirk of the fruit’s unique chemistry imparts an extraordinary shelf life, making it a produce manager’s dream.  Neither this apparent advantage, nor the peach’s lunch-box-friendly shape really interests me; I only care that at its best and ripest it tastes really, really good. It’s worth any amount of ire from your fruiterer to find the ripe ones via the squeeze test.

In my occasionally humble (but mostly smug) opinion, the best way with the best produce is invariably the simplest – and peaches are no exception.  Almost every restaurant in Italy features macedonia di frutti di pesca on their summer dessert menu, and it takes about one mouthful to work out why – it’s a true revelation.  Despite the Balkan suggestiveness of the name, it really just means macerated (in sugar and grappa) and/or mixed peaches.

Macedonia di frutti di pesca

Peel and chop equal quantities of Black boy and Flatto peaches (actually any tree-ripened peaches or nectarine will do) into eighths.  Sprinkle with a tablespoon of icing sugar and half a tablespoon of grappa or brandy per peach.  Toss together and refrigerate for at least 2 hours.  Serve with fresh cream or mascarpone, and a scattering of roughly broken crisp amaretti biscuits.  This sounds almost pedestrian, I know, but is to my mind the most respectful, nay reverential, treatment of peaches ever – apart from sun-warmed and straight off the tree.

For those with room and ambition to grown their own, Black Boy trees are available through most garden centres and nurseries from late autumn until spring.  They seem to perform better in some regions than others, but as with all peaches, should fruit at least modestly in all but the coldest parts of the country.  Flatto trees are available to the home gardeners for the first time this year from garden centres. Supplies will almost certainly be limited, so don’t mess about.

What are your favourite ways with summer stonefruit?

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Following almost 2 weeks of intensive labour my house has given birth to a new kitchen. It’s not the flashest new kitchen in Godzone but it’s my new kitchen and I’m suitably thrilled. It posed something of a challenge for the “Kitchens For Less” man, the space available being only a tad larger than the average family’s bathroom. But he came up with an ingenious plan that involved moving the back door and knocking through to the laundry/loo. This would enable me to actually have a pantry, as previously I’d made do with a narrow wall-mounted cupboard, the upper shelves of which could only be reached by a step-ladder that I kept handy just around the corner in the lounge. The new plan would also allow me considerably more than the 2 foot square bench space I have made-do with for several years.

There being some upheaval involved in ripping out the old and bringing in the new, it was also decided to simultaneously replace the asbestos-coated 85 year old copper superheater along with the clogged-up antique water pipes which had all the tap-turning immediacy of dial-up broadband.

It all started as a bit of a lark. Large cartons were procured, filled with pots, pans, crockery, cutlery, foodstuffs and sundries. These were parked around the lounge. The electric jug, teabags, coffee and sugar found a new home on the sunroom coffee-table.  Him Indoors had a whale of a time with a crowbar that evening, the plumber and builder/carpenter arrived next day…..but not at the same time.

When embarking on any renovations it is of paramount importance to appoint a site manager.

Texts flying between Him Indoors At Work, Me At Home, and various tradesmen tend not to dovetail. This resulted in many a mix-up, including the plumber arriving to instal the kitchen sink before the carpenter turned up to place the bench. The flow-on effect from this involved two boilings of the jug, two coffees (milk and 2 sugars), half a packet of Tim Tams and an extra $47 an hour on our bill.

When the kitchen components arrived unheralded, a second able-bodied person was required to help lug them up 2 sets of steep steps from van to house. That person wasn’t about to me. Neither was it Him Indoors summoned via the XT Network which didn’t appear to be working that day.

The plumber wasn’t keen (a bad back and surfeit of Tim Tams)but fortunately the carpenter arrived (a plucky wee

Scot) so he obliged but then needed to rest and fully consult with the plumber before embarking on the job, necessitating further jug boilings, more coffee and milk, tea-bags and the cracking-open of a packet of chocolate shortbreads.

On and off for about 8 working days the noise drove me to distraction. If it wasn’t the carpenter with a buzzsaw or hammer, it was the plumber up in the loft banging away doing something with the header tank. Or it was the pair of them “dans armchairs” yakking away while I did the metaphorical French Maid thing with Dilmah, Nescafe, the cow’s udders and half the biscuit aisle of Countdown.

For 2 days I could not see the lounge carpet – it was covered in piping and assorted pieces of plumbing accoutrements which were left languishing for 24 hours as Mr Plumber was called to an “urgent” job. For an entire week the toilet became open-plan due to the demolishing of part of a wall. I took to rising at cocks-crow (next door has a rooster), doing my business and then abstaining from liquids. During those days I was never aware of a tradesman using the toilet (are they

catheterized?) despite their need for tea or coffee plus the biscuit tin on a strictly hourly basis.

And then the hot water packed-up after the installation of the brand new super-heater. Noting the switch had tripped I phoned an electrician. Two of them arrived. One youngblood and an older one in “advisory” capacity. The latter had a cup of tea and 3 Mallowpuffs whilst maintaining a running commentary on the lounge decor, the view from the sunroom window and the state of the nation whilst his apprentice beavered away. Both left after rewiring and telling me all was hunky-dory but for some inexplicable reason failed to flick the switch in the cupboard right next to the hot water heater that ensures it is actually turned on. Thus, several hours later I was scratching my head wondering why no hot water was gushing forth from my shiny new mixer taps.

But it’s all over now and, like giving birth, I reflect on the past pain and reckon it wasn’t so bad after all. I love my new “baby” so much that I have provided it with a “layette” of mammoth proportions from the supermarket: herbs, spices, cans of this, jars of that, packets of the other, condiments, chutneys, and baking ingredients galore.

After all, when you transfer the meagre contents of a miniscule kitchen cupboard into a huge new pantry it does tend to look a bit Mother Hubbard.

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It is easy to make jokes about the food of the USA. We love visiting the supermarkets to marvel at the rows of sweet breakfast cereals, the enormous muffins caked in frosting and the butter flavoured sprinkles. I’ve read “The Omnivores Dilemma” and been glad I live in New Zealand. I’ve watched “Supersize Me” and I’ve marveled at just what you can put high fructose corn syrup into. We’ve bought back peanut butter chocolate easter eggs and have made it a challenge among our friends to eat a whole one.

But there is so much more to food in this enormous place. I spent three weeks in a small town in South Carolina having delicious dishes like shrimp and grits. I’ve been reading some great books from the library on American food and there are some fantastic traditions and recipes. Now I just want to learn more.

 From “Two for the road, Our Love Affair with American Food” by Jane and Michael Stern, I have added Mama Lo’s broccoli casserole recipe to my otherwise small repertoire of cooking up broccoli and have made their Cornell Chicken (which is another great way to cook pieces of chicken).

I love this  pork rib recipe   -  slow cooked in the oven. The best macaroni cheese recipe I have is from an African American recipe book and I’ve also made the spoon bread and a sweet potato dish from this book too. Karl made a fantastic Jambalaya for Sunday night dinner. And we are merely scratching the surface of great recipes to try.

When I am making these recipes, I do adjust the sugar content to my taste which usually means adding much less but then I might add less chilli in an Indian dish to suit my palate too.

The only other problem I encounter is that sometimes the recipes have ingredients just listed as poultry seasoning or amounts given as one stick of butter or a sachet of yeast rather than the amount in grams. 

Then I have to look up how much that is or a recipe for the poultry seasoning, but the internet always comes to my rescue.

I haven’t yet even told you about the great book  <http://www.slate.com/id/2219170/%22%3ebook%3c/a> I am reading at the moment edited by Mark Kurlansky. During the Great Depression, to keep writers employed they were taken on by the Federal Writers Project and one of the things they did was to record what Americans were eating. It is a fascinating read and also has some recipes I am tempted to try

Summerfields <http://summerfieldsfoods.co.nz>

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Indulge your creative side and transform your baking into colourful creations with Queen Writing Icing and Cake Decorations.

Available in an assortment of colours including glitter gels and chocolate fudge, use Queen writing icing to draw pictures, write messages and decorate like a professional.  

Or if decorating by hand isn’t your thing then Queen’s great range of pre-made cake decorations including icing Roses and Pansies will be just your thing. Perfect for wedding cakes, family celebrations, children’s and adults birthdays, anniversaries and more.

Available from Supermarkets nationwide, for more information and helpful instructional videos visit www.queenessences.com.au.

To enter into the draw to win a box of cake docortions and writing icing email helen@foodlovers.co.nz with Queen in the subject line.
Competition closes March 31st.

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Virgil Evetts

My current hiatus from wine and other delectable inebriants (coupled with typically oppressive high-summer weather) has forced me to plumb the depths of sobriety for a range of refreshing but chaste alternatives.

Actually the break from the demon drink has been a welcome test. You see, I have habit of obsessing over small things. Dad has had his issues with the bottle so I’ve forever been fearful that my fondness for a tipple might be a sign that I’m heading down the same sordid street- despite my rather modest intake.

Well apparently it isn’t. Having tossed it all in for a 9 month solidarity sabbatical, I realised very quickly that I don’t really need, or even miss, the softening effects of polite society’s’ drug. What I’m more attached to is the fair and gentle sense of calm that comes from sitting with a glass in your hand, reflecting  and breathing out just a little before the night overwhelms you completely. The contents of the glass, I have discovered doesn’t really matter.

Now before I go any further, I’d like to assure you that this is not some sanctimonious prohibitionist piece. I enjoy wine and a number of its kin immensely (yes, yes, in moderation) and have every intention of relapsing just as soon my best beloved is free of the foetus and able to imbibe with me in the vine.

Iced Tea

Apart from the occasional tryst, I’m not much of a tea drinker. I just don’t see the point of the stuff, but I’ve learned to make an exception, (in the parched interior of summer at least), for iced tea. In fact it’s become my trusty social side kick these last few months.

In recent years, thanks to the efforts of Lipton, Nestlé and one or two other minor players, iced tea has become an almost mainstream soft drink around much of the world. Unsurprisingly these readymade approximates are a pretty long ways from what most people would call tea, irrespective of frigidity. ‘Tea-like’ substance might be more accurate. But credit where it’s due – dubious provenance and preposterous flavours aside, ready-made iced tea can be perfectly drinkable stuff, when needs must. When you’re lost in the Western Desert with nowt to drink but a flask of peach Nestea, for example.

However there is a big difference between drinkable and dreamy, which is what the best ice tea really ought to be.  Not a word I use freely, or even very comfortably, but if the hat fits, you know. Real iced tea, homemade and by the jug, can be a drink worthy of high praise and the deepest draughts.

Although it’s popular all over in various tame and elaborate guises, iced tea has acquired a uniquely fanatical following in the USA, particularly in the cloying, devout states south of the Mason-Dixon. Recent research conducted by tea industry marketing-monger types indicates that upwards of 85% of all tea consumed in the United State is in the form of iced tea, most of which is indeed quaffed down south in bayou country.

I’m yet to travel to the Deep South myself, but have pieced together a pretty good understanding of the regional culture from television, which like the internet, never lies. In a nut shell I can tell you this of the Southern USA: it’s full of vampires, pecan pie and iced tea. And the odd hurricane too.

In fact, according to my favourite series of the moment, True Blood (based on Charlaine Harris’ wickedly trashy and darkly comical Sookie Stackhouse novels), the good folk of the steamy south spend their days languishing on porches, drinking gallons of iced tea and shooting the breeze in their deliciously Cajun inflected drawl. This is all frightfully attractive to me, even if what goes on at night in the True Blood universe is a little less my – ah-hmm – cup of tea, what with the blood drinking, inter-species sex and all.

So, inspired by Sookie Stackhouse and her polite, if rather vapid, southern sensibilities, I bring you…

Classic Southern-States Iced Tea

2 litres water

Juice of 2 lemons

4 tea bags- preferably English breakfast or similar

1 cup sugar

Fresh mint

Lemon slices (NEVER Meyer lemons though.Shudder)

Optional: a few drops of Angostura bitters

Bring the water to the boil with the sugar. Remove from heat and add tea bags. Allow to cool and add lemon juice. Remove tea bags and strain through a sieve.

Refrigerate until fully chilled. Serve over ice with a slice of lemon and a sprig of bruised, fresh mint.

Note: Sweetness can be adjusted to taste. In the true spirit of the North American palate, most ‘authentic’ iced tea recipes suggest quite staggering quantities of sugar. Personally, I value my teeth and lack of diabetes, so have taken a more conservative approach, but hey- it’s your funeral.

Angostura  does contain alcohol but with the proportions used here or in any halfway sane recipe, you’d get a bigger buzz from an over-ripe piece of fruit.

Various fruit based and herbal teas can be used in place of the more traditional ‘gumboot’ prescribed above, if you’re that way inclined. Personally I find most of the beverages in that whole hibiscus flower and dolphin sphincter genre tend towards a rather predictable formula of alluring fragrance and flaccid flavour. Suit yourself though.

So effectively and completely has iced tea replaced wine in my life (for the time being) that I find myself salivating at the very thought of a tall, cool glass from around 4:30 each day. How sad am I?

Do you have favourite non-alcoholic summer-time tipple? I’m all ears for inspiration!

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Ingredients

150g caster sugar
2 tbsp water
1/2 cup cream
25g butter
6 large freestone peaches
2 sheets  (350g) butter puff pastry

Method
Preheat oven to 200 C.
Place sugar and water in a saucepan over a gentle heat, stir well until sugar dissolves.  Bring to the boil and then continue to boil without stirring until sugar starts to change colour.  Tilt the pan gently so the colour spreads through the sugar.  As the sugar turns from golden to dark amber quickly remove from heat and carefully pour in the cream, take care as it can splatter.   Add butter and mix until smooth.
Rub excess fur from peaches and then cut in half and remove stones. 
Pour at least half the caramel over the base of a 26cm flan pan (don’t use a loose bottom pan) making sure the base is covered.  Place peaches skin side down in the pan.
Cover peaches with one sheet of pastry and then cut strips from the second sheet and tuck them around the edges of the pastry to form the sides of tart.  Press the pastry edges together so you get one large piece.  This is easier to achieve with one piece of rolled pastry but I am assuming most people purchase ready rolled sheets.
Place tart in the oven and cook for 20 minutes until pastry is puffed and golden.  Remove from the oven and allow to sit for a few minutes.  Loosen edges with a knife.  Invert tart onto a serving plate so that the peaches are now on the top and the pastry is the base and serve with extra caramel sauce and icecream.

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Win two tickets to the Royal Easter Show Wine Awards Dinner, worth $500.

Copy:  The Royal Easter Show Wine Awards is New Zealand’s oldest, most respected wine competition.

Each year the event culminates in The Royal Easter Show Wine Awards Dinner, New Zealand’s only culinary event that matches 14 Trophy winning wines, with a degustation menu created by Michelin Star, UK trained, chef Simon Sheehan. This glittering black tie event, held at the ASB Showgrounds Auckland, Saturday March 20^th, is highly anticipated by all areas of the wine industry, as well as lovers of outstanding food and wine. For more information phone (09) 623 7726 or visit www.royaleastershow.co.nz/wineawards 

If you’d like to be into win a double pass to The Royal Easter Show Wine Awards Dinner valued at $500 then simply email helen@foodlovers.co.nz with Easter Show Awards Dinner in the subject line.

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