Recently I watched a video in which Stephen Hawking talked about our intergalactic future, a documentary about colonizing Mars (it’s possibly available on YouTube). The great man says: “perfectly foreseeable technology will make it possible to transform Mars into a habitable planet for humans.” He goes on to predict that bio-domes will be created within which whole cities will be housed, and that roughly within 500 years or so a human population will emerge with its own language, currency and cuisine.

Martian cuisine! The mere thought sent me into a cosmic whirl of conjectures and got me wondering as to what sort of concoctions the colonists (or Martians, if you will) would have on their table, that is if they still eat off tables. Who knows, they might have some sort of nutrients injected into them at certain hours (though I hope nutritional suppositories don’t make it to Mars!)  or they may be able to subsist on a diet of printed food (see pic below), or perhaps all that will be needed is the press of a button on the translucent screen of a wall machine to select their meal (a la Jetson’s).

Or, and this is a big or, the romantic in me thinks that they might revert back to ancient cuisine replete with banquets, mountains of roasted meat joints and drinking nectar or fortified wine: since gravity does exist on Mars local chefs could cook up anything they have on hand. Vegetables and spices could be grown hydroponically and Earth scientists could devise genetically engineered cattle (though I’m not sure if mammalian embryos could be sent into space and survive the g force of the launch and the long voyage) and subsequently have cows & pigs grazing on mineralized grass areas. Research will be needed to determine the best fish eggs to start fish farms and eventually have a product that can be eaten as a passable salmon curry, among other “seafood”.

I know that food scientists are currently creating healthful plant-based alternatives that taste just like eggs, chicken, and other sources of protein. I would not be crazy about raising meat in laboratories though. Plants that produce edible materials with little waste should be given preference. Genetic engineering can be used to make specific plants for the settlers to produce complex compounds (as long as it’s not Monsanto rigging the game again).  We will never know though.

I have read that the total journey time from Earth to Mars takes between 150-300 days depending on the speed of the launch, the alignment of Earth and Mars, and the length of the journey the spacecraft takes to reach its target. And the amount of fuel: more fuel, shorter travel time, after all it’s only 55 million km away! And since Mars, like Earth, orbits around the sun, the spacecraft must be pointed at where Mars is going to be, black holes notwithstanding!

I have read that in space, you’re in a form of sensory deprivation and I can only imagine what it would be like to travel this great distance and then settle into a strange world. What we don’t know is how the human mind responds to spending years in an alien environment millions of miles from the other members of our species. With these thoughts swirling in my head I made up a small list of dishes that may end up as possibilities, and since we won’t know what cuisine will be in 500 years my boneheaded predictions will not make me recoil in disgrace, that is unless some time machine-sent weirdo from the future comes to beef me one on the nose for spreading nonsense!

While I may not fancy any of these “dishes” it’s a good thing to use our noodle: let me start this astral menu with “compressed salmon with rarified essence of spring algae”; “ragout of nitrogen-filled lamb shanks with spirulina pasta shells”; “chicken fizz with xanthan gum jelly”; “curried oyster mushrooms hydrocolloid with kaffir lime granité”; “shredded dehydrated beef in microgravity sauce”; “reconstituted garlic pizza with infused Parmesan”; “gelified eggs Benedict”; “edible film funnel filled with cucumber air and toasted crab dust”; “duck foam tartlet with smoked spinach”; “pearls of venison with carbonated coconut cream”; “Venusian apple pie flavored with chocolate truffle vapors”; “caviar of vodka with synthesized green peach ice-cream”; “lemon cloud soufflé with emulsified tangerine”….have you had enough? I could go on…

To illustrate the possibilities, Kyttanen has 3D-printed models of pasta in plastic and cheese burgers in plaster. “I printed burgers just to create an iconic image and make people realise that one day we will be able to 3D-print a hamburger. And once you do, you don’t want to print a traditional hamburger; you can print the weirdest thing you can imagine.”

Above is a pic of printed hamburgers, the sort of food which will be widely available in the future!

On a bright sunny day in December 1970, exactly a year to the day after my arrival in Australia, I opened up the immodestly named Juillet Restaurant in Macleay Street, Potts Point, Sydney. That particular road to proprietorship was indeed paved with many obstacles and larded with plain lunacy. I did not anticipate running a kitchen and becoming a chef. I had spent the preceding two and a half years in swinging London, worked the last as an assistant stage manager on “Hair”, and thought that maybe, just maybe, I could continue life in the theatre in Sydney. Well, fate has a way of handing out a loaded dice, sometimes to one’s advantage and sometimes not. I had to lower my vision of sugar plums and instead saw myself as a jovial bartender, cracking bad jokes and sipping cocktails, sacramentally, with an adoring clientele. One day.

So much happened that first year: I got married to Chrissie who I had met at Biba’s in London, explored Sydney and its cache of hidden treasures, survived the dreaded ”pie-floater” at Harry Café-de-Wheels (which was the subject of a previous post), and bought my first car, a green automatic Ford Falcon station wagon, for the royal sum of $250, which I promptly painted blue the next day, by hand. My only two (and last) jobs lasted two days for the first one and two weeks for the latter. The first one was in a swanky restaurant where I was asked to chop up parsley finely. The chef in charge did not like the way I used a tea towel to envelop the chopped product in order to draw out its moisture, a standard procedure in all the kitchens. I was told, bluntly, that wet parsley was the rage as a garnish. I moved on to de-boning a squadron of quails. That task was not to his liking either. Needless to say that I disliked this pompous ass on the spot, and left the next day. A friend of Chrissie had landed me the job as a grill chef at a popular garden restaurant, run by a skinny man whose adipose wife kept hovering around my station, giving me the eye and fluttering about. I lasted almost two weeks, the last straw being repeatedly told by the demented wife how beautiful she really was. I decided to work for myself. The same night, at the local pub, I met an Irishman who offered me a job as a house painter. I accepted, knowing that I had never been near a pot of paint, but this was Australia in 1970 where anyone could become a professional in a matter of minutes.

I worked for the Irishman a few weeks until I realized I could do this for myself. I bought a second hand milk truck, a ladder and a few brushes and posted a few ads in the local advertiser sheet. I purchased a nifty, bright orange flying suit and waited by the telephone. Work came through and off  I went in my milk truck, giving free quotes and painted, badly, houses and roofs and sheds. I once spent an entire month painting roof tiles a dark shade of grey. A local judge, whose roof it was, went up the ladder, and onto the roof to bring me a silver tray laden with tea and scones, several times a day. I suspected, rightly, that he may have had other ideas in mind beside having a young Frenchman splattering acrylic paint everywhere.

Because this particular line of work was messy, and I kept smelling of methylated spirits, I started thinking about doing food for private parties, cooking in people’s homes. I stuck an ad in the same paper, this time advertising a French chef and promises of solid, traditional fare. Chrissie and I would show up in the afternoon, take over the kitchen and cook away. Chrissie would do the serving and the chatting while I remained near the stove. We did this for a few months, with various degrees of success. We once catered for a very rich and famous billionaire (though in those days, he was merely a millionaire) and managed to serve a rabbit stew Provencal style to a stunned party of 60 technocrats and their wives. I love rabbit and did not realize that there had been a massive cull of the furry ones via the release of the myxoma virus in 1950 which led to a dramatic reduction of its population. Rabbit was not featured on many menus, if any. However I must have done a good job, they ate it, and I was offered a partnership by one of the ladies in attendance to cater for the trendy and the super rich. I declined, not quite knowing why but I did, and fate proved me right: the same week a man, a friend of a friend, approached me and asked me if first if I was really French then would I be interested in taking over a German restaurant. I accepted on the spot.

This was the start of a long and arduous road, one fraught with financial frustrations, dizzying laughs, a spell with alcoholism, and, as I said above, a path larded with unalloyed lunacy, somewhat my preferred state of being. I had to get a liquor license as a condition to run the place since it had a bar and a wine cellar. The lawyer in charge added a demand of taking over the existing wine and spirit stock and a stiff rent. I promptly agreed, knowing that I didn’t have the money to kick start the whole shebang. Chrissie’s father came to the rescue with a loan guarantee. I made a deal with the rapacious lawyer to pay off the stock over a two year period. The license, however, became a horror story: my entire life had to be investigated for crime-free behavior. This took the best part of six months. I had to meet several times with the licensing sergeant, a humorless man of a few words, for questioning, and I guess some kind of personality evaluation. Apparently a liquor license, I found out years later, could enable the holder to become a councillor, run for mayorship or apply for a casino license! They interviewed neighbors all the way back in France, checked school records, and I was told years later, they even managed to track down an ex girlfriend. It’s a good thing that one of my life’s policy is to remain civil with former partners (another policy I closely followed was to jump from the boiling pot into the fire, as the next few decades proved me right).

Because this checking process took so long and the clock was running out, Chrissie, being a Sydney girl, was asked to stand in for me and was awarded the license just in time for us to open before Christmas. I got my own license some six years later! Now it was time to conduct staff interviews. I wanted a French chef and I got one. Possibly the worst one to ever come out of cooking school! He seemed right at the time, answered all my queries, and yes, he could make soufflés and terrines and stuff…I wanted to be behind the bar and Chrissie would be the front of house hostess.  Well that didn’t last long. The prelapsarian cook made very dark, tar-like stews, watery onion soups and non descriptive dishes that bore no resemblance to French regional fare. I was brought up in a hotel, no stranger to busy kitchens and as a nerdy youth, I had cooked many times for friends and organized large weekend parties so I had an understanding of what should end up on a plate and how. Additionally the time spent as a party chef for hire did help in reorganizing the kitchen. Of course I had no idea how difficult it would be to cook for upwards fifty people on a daily basis, more on the weekends. Running a home kitchen as opposed to a commercial one is like chalk and cheese, so to speak. The one thing I have learned over the years, perhaps the only thing, is the word consistency. To cook is easy, to produce good food on a regular basis is hard, really hard. That is why so many eateries come and go.

After I fired the incompetent lout, I hired a French butcher who taught me invaluable tricks and a French patissier who made light, airy cakes and great ice-creams. I worked myself to the bone and started early in the morning, going to the vegetable and fish markets, pushing a wheelbarrow and buying fresh produce, some of which I had never seen. I devised a rule: beside purchasing known produce, each time I would  buy something completely new and unknown, and try to incorporate it into a new dish. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it went horribly wrong. I scoured every single Chinese shop in Dixon street to hunt for new spices, and studied Japanese cooking methods. I was impressed by the simplicity of their presentation. It was fairly easy to change the fare on a daily basis as I introduced the first blackboard menu in Sydney. When a dish sold out, a quick rub and it’s gone! That way everything remained fresh.

At first it was an uphill battle to convince most Australian palates to foodstuff such as squid, rougets, sardines, spiced game, etc…as standard fare in most restaurants was confined to generic dishes like pepper steaks, garlic prawns or mushrooms, beef stews accompanied by scoops of mashed potatoes and watery peas with bits of carrots for contrast. Being of stubborn stock I persisted in innovating, sometimes with a marked bent bordering on sadism. It took time but it paid off. Within a year we were booked solidly on the weekends and doing a fairly brisk trade on other nights.

There wasn’t much of a “Food Mafia” in those days, just a few individuals, curious like me, who ventured into the wholesale fish markets (if you didn’t speak Greek, you’d be at a disadvantage), and the glorious covered vegetable markets. Quite often I would end up with a box filled with odd-looking shellfish, or a basket of strange vegetables or salads stuff from God knows where, a paper-bag full of dried, sinuous bark-like spices, bottles of foreign liquids…nothing was safe from my food-gathering mornings which always ended up with a strong cup of coffee and an enormous Italian sausage sandwich.

Billy Kee – father of the famous Jenny whom I had met in London as a Biba girl with Chrissie a few years earlier- ran a sizeable vegetable stand in the market. He frequently inspected the contents of my cart, marveling at the diversity of my purchases, and questioned me on what I would do with it, to which, of course, I had no answer till I had a chance to experiment in the kitchen. In those days they weren’t many ethnic restaurants about. Most establishments were either serving English food of the unidentified-boiled-vegetation kind or one had to take a stroll down Chinatown and walk up the stairs of a nondescript building, sit on the nearest unoccupied table and point to the hand-written menu in the hope of getting something vaguely familiar to Caucasian taste buds. If you were looking for pasta, you’d have to trek it to Leichardt, or Little Italy, about four or five miles from the center and scour the streets for eateries patronized by local workmen. These kitchens were run mostly by fearsome, no nonsense women, where one would get a steamy plate of penne with clams in tomato sauce, and most importantly for me, fried fresh fish or a bit of broiled calf’s liver served with roast potatoes and a side plate of radiccio doused with lemon and olive oil. Down the bottom of George Street a couple of Spanish places of little note competed with a brace of solid Greek restaurants which served wonderful platters of starters and a heady moussaka dish. Thus Sydney’s culinary world ended up right there and then save for the odd, upmarket, old-world-style expensive noshery kept in plush velvet drapes by the local nabobs.

Juillet’s was situated right next to the “Yellow House”, a famed artists’ collective which was started by Martin Sharp whom I had also met in London. Many a night we would have a number of artists eating and or drinking, some paid cash, some had lengthy tabs which went unpaid and some bartered with impromptu live entertainment. I bought a stereo with large speakers and played all the latest albums as loudly as permitted. The walls were adorned with Martin’s paintings and sculptures of the Perth artist, Tim Burns. One piece in particular was a lifelike cast of a naked woman in which a fan was strategically positioned between the legs, and there was a little string which, if pulled, would start turning. Highly provocative, as were most of my customers, a mix of visiting celebrities, journalists, theater actors and several unsavory members of the local underworld, with menacing names such as Iron Bar Muller, Friendly Bob (who had a chewed ear), Mr Sin, whose real name was Abe Saffron, a man with the coruscating wit of an amoeba and many more. One night I understood how the world of politics really worked: seated at one table was the dreaded licensing sergeant and his wife, and nearby was Abe Saffron and a bevy of heavily-set men. The licensing sergeant was the recipient of two bottles of wine and his bill was paid by a man who handed Chrissie several big notes.

The place became a mecca for late night revelry and a long line of celebrities ate and drank, some fell asleep on the bar sofas and some meandered to the Yellow House: Pink Floyd, Led Zep, Chicago, Ginsberg (who wrote a poem for me on a paper napkin – I lost it), Zandra Rhodes, Marty Feldman, Honor Blackman, (who left an indelible character in young men minds, James Bond’s Pussy Galore in Goldfinger), the formidable Germaine Greer, Robert Hughes (Time Magazine caustic art critic) and far too many to name. We were on a roll and despite the fact that the pressure got to me and began drinking spirits instead of wine (Cognac, Vodka, Southern Comfort etc) we didn’t make much money as the high rent and repayments took most of the takings. We worked harder and moved to another location, then another one followed by yet another one and after six heady years and an eight-month spell in Bali we opened the last one, “Le Cafe Nouveau”, in an old rectory, a beautiful building which had belonged to an advertising agency, with a large boardroom complete with the same wallpaper as the House of Lords, velvet walls, thick carpet and two beautiful, airy dining rooms.

We installed a dream kitchen and borrowed a substantial amount of money to build up a cellar, filled with vintage wines and Champagne. The reviews were excellent and it was booked solid weeks in advance. We lived upstairs with our son, and during the next three years we entertained the Emperor of Japan (who had booked the private room), George Bush (during his tenure as the CIA director, who dined with our foreign minister, Andrew Peacock), Estee Lauder and family (also booked the private room), Patrick White, whom I had a dish named after him, all the Australian Prime Ministers and Premiers of each state, and just about any famous writer, actor or band who happened to be touring Sydney. The son of Henry Ford and his young wife had a regular table each Saturday, during his Australian stay as did a few local luminaries. I had memorable nights, made some money but spent it as fast as it came, usually on my “mistress”, which was the dining room: new fancy glasses, lacy tablecloths, silver cutlery, Lalique vases and so on. And I drank some of the very best wines in the world. My main competitor in Sydney, Tony Bilson, had become a friend over the years; we were invited to cook at some large functions and led the life of celebrity chefs.

As with everything all things must pass. I think I had enough of late nights, the incessant, daily deadlines of having to produce creative lunches and dinners as I acquired a short temper which led, sadly, to a divorce and after Chrissie and I split up I stayed for another year, built an Art Deco bar upstairs (where our living room was) and plotted my next career move in the film industry: in other words, jumping into the fire. And that is another story.

If you have time on your hands, then it’s best to have fun and create something crazy, like crazy foods! I found these pics all over the (cyber) space, it’s only fair to share!

As long as it’s edible it’s all good!

Green oats! Patrick’s Day is next week. Must. Go. Green!

This is made out of jelly beans.

An orange can go a long way.

A romance of two fruits!

Eggs presto!

Mmmmm….bacon, looking for life…

That would take some time to make. Not sure if it’s a dragon or a dinosaur.

Grrrrrr….don’t eat my hot dog!

Gummy Bear senior, taken prisoner!

KFC never looked this good!

The bacon mobile!

An elephantine pancake.

Trouble in toastland!

Made out of chocolate.

That’s an easy thing to achieve, if you still have figurines hanging around…

A kiwi turtle. Clever.

A chocolate tank.

Stranded on an island?

The United States of Pepperoni

Beware of the death star lurking near you…

My good friend Mnem Osyne sent me this article a couple of days ago (which you must read). A fellow foodie, she reminds all health aficionados who have known this from time immemorial: a generous splash of a good extra virgin olive oil in a salad or stir-fry adds immeasurable goodness to our well being. And it benefits the heart.

There are numerous studies on olive oil that have come out in recent years, all of which have lauded the “green gold” as a stroke fighter.The following is an extract of a piece I wrote some years ago (Sun Jul 06, 2008)  about the fabled Mediterranean diet:

It’s official! The Mediterranean diet can reduce the risk of cancer by almost a quarter, according to a major study of people’s eating habits. We Mediterranean folks have been on to this since the invention of Greek tragedies, so to speak.

So my question is: do you believe, like George Santayana, that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it? Or would you believe, as did George Bernard Shaw, that all we learn from history is that we learn nothing from history?

More than 26,000 Greek men and women were studied over eight years by the scientists who found that consuming high levels of mono-saturated fats – the “good” fat found in olive oil – in relation to the “bad” saturated fats found in dairy produce had the single biggest effect in relation to lowering the cancer risk from the diet. More olive oil and less butter reduced the risk by 9 per cent. Our diet does indeed contain produce that is rich in antioxidants and “good” cholesterol. It is based on wholewheat bread, fresh fruit and vegetables, fish, loads of olive oil, garlic, onions, herbs, fragrant wild greens and little meat. Another great reason to start growing your own vegetables! And consume less meat.

As Bender would say, it’s a twofer: better health for you and you’re doing your part for the environment.

As kids this mantra was drilled onto us on a daily basis: eat a bit of everything, and drink in moderation, and only when you’re thirsty. I was given a soft drink occasionally, maybe once week, and on the dinner table there was always a choice of mineral waters, water from the tap and wine. I was allowed a drop of wine, with water, when I turned thirteen. This way, my parents reasoned, I would not turn into a raging alcoholic as my body was preparing itself for adulthood.

But this piece is about our secret weapon: olive oil, the cornerstone of our well-being. The greatest exponent of monounsaturated fat is olive oil, a natural juice which preserves the taste, aroma, vitamins and properties of the olive fruit. Olive oil is the only vegetable oil that can be consumed as it is – freshly pressed from the fruit. I use it liberally. Great in salads, stir-fries, I even use it in making bread and pizza dough. There’s nothing like a piece of fresh goat cheese on crusty bread with a dash of olive oil.

But before you part with your hard-earned currency, beware of what you buy. Just because a bottle of olive oil is labeled “extra virgin” olive oil, there is no guarantee that it even contains a smidgeon of olive oil in it. Lately several scams in the form of swindle have been uncovered.
According to another in depth article in the New Yorker, chances are good that what’s in that bottle is cut with hazelnut, sunflower seed, or canola oil. The reasons behind are economic. The problem with most of today’s olive oil is that it is rarely produced properly, which is more time consuming and expensive. Due to the increasing demand for olive oil, the trend has been to reduce production costs by moving toward more automation and concentration of production in ever larger installations. In southern Europe, to reduce costs dramatically, olives are machine harvested along with leaves and twigs and old olives that have dropped on the ground are scooped up and mixed with the fresh ones. Then they are shipped in poorly ventilated containers, and heaped in large piles where the olives are stored for too long and often become moldy. The oil is eventually extracted in a continuous centrifuge where hot water is used to help separate out the oil. Since antioxidant polyphenols are soluble in water and are washed away in this process, it lowers the shelf life and the nutritional quality of the oil.

Italy alone produces 800,000 cubic meters of waste water per year from this process. Because substantial amounts of antioxidants are washed away, factory produced olive oils have a short shelf life of only months, whereas real olive oil lasts for two to three years.

However there’s no need to panic as there are numerous olive oil companies in the USA who are family owned and operate their business the old-fashioned way, that is, by pressing the olives traditionally. I’m personally fond of the Bariani brand, made in Sacramento by the Bariani family.

Here is a handy guide of US olive oil companies here.

If you happen to have a recipe using extra virgin oil, please share it us.

Many food writers seem to neglect Persian food (well, except this guy here, written some time ago under my not so clever handle, Asinus Asinum Fricat, originally a piece for Daily Kos) and I would surmise that because it is modern Iran, it is not so sexy and in people’s minds it may possibly be devoid of great recipes. Though Iranian eateries are on the whole pedestrian, serving endless kebab & pilaff rice dishes (there are exceptions of course) but the traditional Persian cuisine is varied and gutsy: it uses fresh herbs, fragrant scents and combines ingredients in interesting ways….and the desserts are supremely imaginative in their simplicity.

From a cultural point of view, Persian food has always been considered to be an art providing enjoyment to both body and mind. Iranians have looked at food at 3 different ways for many centuries; medicinal, philosophical & cultural. Iranian physicians and philosophers considered food and beverages as the main factor to revive body.

In Persian lore, consuming food is a way of weakening or strengthening human character. “Consuming a lot of red meat and fats was thought to create evil thoughts and make us selfish”, which is a telling point now that we know a whole lot more about red meat and its abuses (as well as being a factor in climate change via methane emissions from cattle.) The interesting line below I read in one of the official Persian history site:

However, consuming a healthy diet including fruits, vegetables, fish, fowl, mixed petals & blossoms of roses create unusual powers & make us gentle & noble creatures.

Before I go on, the dishes that have made Persian cuisine famous worldwide are mostly made at home, because Iranian women generally don’t work in restaurants or hotels. Women have had a great influence throughout the history of cooking in Iran. The best Persian cuisine chefs were and still are women.

About the food: it’s simple, tasty and simplicity is they key of Persian cuisine. As I wrote in the other piece (link above) their cuisine is based on a philosophy of marrying “warm” tastes with “cool” tastes. For example, chocolate and mint are “warm”. Yogurt is “cool” as are most vegetables. And so on.

This recipe is known as Ash é sâg, a wonderful, robust soup made with spinach and minced lamb with a pronounced mint flavor. Add a little yogurt as a garnish and it is a very satisfying first course.

For 4 to 6 (plus leftovers) serves you will need a cup of chopped baby spinach leaves, 400 grams (14 ounces) of minced lamb (you can make this with beef as well), a handful of good quality raisins, a large pinch of turmeric, 2 large onions (finely chopped), half a cup of broken (though here we call them split peas) yellow peas, 2 ounces of rice flour, a little bunch of mint (dried ok), 1 ounce of butter, water, and salt & pepper to taste. Additionally, if you wish,  a small amount of plain yogurt to decorate each plate before serving.

First bring the split yellow peas to boil in 3 liters of salted water. This forms the base liquid of the soup as once the peas are more or less soft (which should take roughly 20 minutes) the water is not discarded. In a large cooking pot melt the butter and quickly add the minced onion and the minced lamb, stir well until cooked (around 5 to 6 minutes), add the split peas, turmeric, raisins and the rice flour, then slowly add the water in which the peas were cooked, and cook gently for 20 minutes. Check for salt & pepper, then add the chopped spinach and chopped mint, and cook slowly for another 15 minutes. Serve with crusty bread or the real thing, Nan-e barbari .

The next recipe has a name but I can’t remember it. What I remember is the taste it left in my mouth after leaving the house of an Iranian friend in Los Angeles. As it is served cold, the delicate savor of the eggplant (aubergine) infused with liquefied saffron is left lingering for a while. The combination of potato, eggplant, tomato and green bean in equal parts is simply stunning, a triumph of rusticity and well balanced spices. A note about liquefying saffron which features in a number of Persian and modern Iranian dishes: all you need to do is to crush a few strands of saffron (a mortar and a pestle can be very handy!) and pour over a half glass of boiling water and allow it to infuse for at least 20 minutes. You can keep it in a refrigerator for up to 3 or 4 days. In my restaurant days in Sydney, I used to make aspic infused with saffron, for fish terrines.

For 4 to 6 persons you will need 2 large eggplants/aubergines, 8 medium-sized tomatoes, 6 large potatoes (roosters or russet), 200 grams of fresh green beans, 4 garlic cloves, peeled and minced, 2 small onions, finely chopped, a small handful of basil, chopped up roughly, a half glass of olive oil, some liquified saffron and salt & pepper to taste. This dish is, in a sense, the Persian version of the Provencal ratatouille, minus the bell peppers and courgettes. And it is easy to prepare, can be eaten the next day or two. Add a couple of eggs and you have breakfast, or eat it as a side dish or simply by itself.

First cut the eggplants lengthwise and chop them in thick slices. Sprinkle a little salt to remove the bitterness (though I never do that, I like the way they are). Peel the potatoes and cube them, roughly the same size as the eggplant. Peel the green beans if need be, and cut in three or four; parboil the tomatoes briefly to remove their skin and chop into quarters. In a cooking pot, pour the oil, add the chopped onion and garlic, cook till translucent and add the eggplants, potatoes, tomatoes and green beans. Cover with water, add the liquid saffron, salt & pepper and cook slowly, with the lid on for 20 minutes, then add the chopped basil and cook for a further 10 minutes with the lid off, check for salt & pepper and let it cool off.

This is perhaps the most popular dish in the Persian repertoire, Khoresht Fesenjan,  (I took the pic from a French website). It’s a  chicken stew cooked with ground walnuts and pomegranate molasses and garnished with fresh pomegranate seeds. The trick is to find pomegranate molasses. I know it’s available online or at good Iranian or Middle Eastern shops. The end result may not look too appetizing but don’t be put off by its brown color, it does taste amazing. My Iranian friend, to please his American wife, used to “tart it up” with cream, but I thought it became a little too rich. Also some would prefer chicken pieces on the bone (as I do) and some would use chicken breasts. It’s up to you.

For 4 to 6 persons you will need 3 pounds of cut chicken or 6 breasts, whichever. 2 large yellow onions, finely minced, 1 ounce of unsalted butter, 4 tbs of a good olive oil, 6 tbs of pomegranate molasses, 2 cups (roughly) of walnut halves, the seeds of a fresh pomegranate, 2 pints of chicken stock, a cinnamon stick, a pinch of turmeric (a dessert spoonful), a pinch of ground nutmeg, a few sprigs of lemon thyme (this is my friend’s addition to this recipe) salt & (black) pepper to taste. Some add sugar to this dish, I personally think it’s best without it.

First toast the walnuts lightly, in a pan over medium heat with a little knob of butter. it should take less than 3 minutes. When cool, ground them in a food processor or use a pestle & mortar.

Trim the fat off the chicken pieces, rub a little salt and pat them dry. In a cooking pot, melt the butter and mix with the olive oil, add the minced onions, cook for a couple of minutes then add the chicken pieces and brown them on all sides. Add the spices, the pomegranate molasses and the ground walnuts, which serve as a sauce binder, more or less. Add the chicken stock, stir thoroughly, cover the pot and cook gently for 40 minutes, occasionally stirring. Serve on plates and garnish with fresh pomegranate seeds. If you want to go all Persian, obtain a good Shiraz and drink it with this dish.

Which brings me to my two favorite desserts, a date & pistachio cake and a simple Persian cream made with tapioca. The first does take a little time but the result is worth it, the second takes only five minutes!

Again, I can’t remember the name of the cake but as all good things the name is not important, it’s the execution as this is not a baked product but cooked right up on the stove. And the eating!

For the cake you will need the following: 500 grams of seeded dates, 125 grams of walnut halves (roughly 4 1/2 ounces), 125 grams of pistachios (shelled) , 500 grams of wheat flour (a good brand, if possible), 250 grams of unsalted butter, 125 grams of dark (or brown) sugar, a teaspoon of ground cardamon and a tablespoon of ground cinnamon. Some add ground almonds to this, however I think it’s fine without it.

Take the dates, making sure there are no kernels and wrap a half walnut in each. Ground the pistachios with a little sugar and set aside.

This is where it is time consuming: in a thick-based cooking pot, melt the butter and add the flour little by little, over a low flame. Keep stirring until golden brown (this should take 20 minutes, and believe me the end product is to die for). Take off the stove, wait for 2 or 3 minutes, to cool off a little and add the sugar, the cinnamon and the cardamon, stirring, and if it’s still a little dry just add a knob of butter.Cook really slowly for another 6 to 8 minutes, until well mixed.

Next take a shallow tart dish and line it evenly with a third of the cooked flour mix. Then add a lining of dates stuffed with walnuts, and pour the remainder of the flour mix. Press down with a cloth and sprinkle the cake with the pistachios. Wait till it’s cold (you can refrigerate for half an hour if you wish) and cut into slices. This is great with a glass of  sweet wine.

Persian Cream: this is one of the quickest dessert you’ll ever make, again simplicity wins the day. Any kind of fresh stone fruit or berry will do with this cream, apricot, peach, strawberry etc…and it is infused with Kirsch or dark rum.

For 4 persons (double the ingredients if you need more): 1/4 liter of whole milk, 4 tablespoons of tapioca flour, 4 tablespoons castor sugar, 2 free range eggs (yolks & white separated), and you can perfume this with either Kirsch or dark rum. And whatever stone fruit or berry of your choice. A few sprigs on fresh mint will be the garnish.

Cooking this takes 5 minutes: in a pot pour the milk and the tapioca flour and cook slowly to start, until the milk is absorbed by the flour (3 minutes). Take it off the stove and add the egg yolk, the Kirsch or dark rum and cook for a further 2 minutes. When it’s done, set aside. Whip the egg whites stiff, adding the sugar as you go. When it’s done blend in carefully into the tapioca mix and pour in to serving dishes or Martini glasses. Refrigerate for a few minutes. Decorate with fruit and mint and serve.

By now you will all have heard about the “horse meat” scandal still unfurling all over Europe. Though there is nothing wrong with horse meat (in fact it’s leaner, sweeter, tender, low in fat and higher in protein than beef) the labeling system has clearly failed the consumer. Additionally the discovery of pig DNA in beef products is of particular concern to the practicing Jews and Muslims, whose dietary laws forbid the consumption of porcine products. Horse meat is also forbidden by Jewish dietary laws because horses do not have cloven hooves and they are not ruminants. Having said that, the main issue here is how much do we know or don’t about what ends up in our food, and why, since we have had DNA testing for some time, do we not have a safe system in place. As for the farce that is food labeling I have for some time believed that most food processors don’t toe the line and are always looking to cut corners at the expense of the consumer. The pic below proves my point: in this packaged lasagne, the consumer is told that it is beef but in fact it is a 100% horse meat.

The production of food has undergone considerable change over the past century as the emphasis of its preparation moved progressively from our humble kitchens to the factory floors. This transition has been accompanied by significant changes in the diverse types of food we eat, and the methods by which it is prepared, packaged, managed, distributed and more importantly, marketed (or lied to, it you prefer). Much time and effort has been expanded by manufacturers to recreate factory-processed food products having traditional “home cooked“ appeal. But the apparent lack of flavor in most modern food stuff is regretted by those, like me, who remember when everything tasted so much better than it does now. None of the ready-made meals I have ever bought have tasted any good to me, mere fillers is about the best I can come up with and no amount of horse meat, which is superior to beef, is going to change my mind.

Which brings me to labels. Reading labels is a minefield. Apart from needing a doctorate in chemistry and knowing the proper amount of cholesterol one should subscribe to, who among us would know what Polyglycerol esters of fatty acids and Propylene glycol mean? I don’t and the chances are most of you don’t either. Pick up a product, you will be confronted by a long list of chemicals, generally written in very small letters with an appropriate amount of numbers and daily percentages, usually at the back of it. On the front most food manufacturers slap on health labels haphazardly, featuring all the goodness from here to eternity, but so many packaged foods are little more than white flour, fat, sugar, salt and additives in various combinations with meat or fish or vegetable matter, yet they are marketed as modern-day medical miracles, offering vague benefits for virtually every part of the body, including long-lasting bones and a cure for eternal well-being! Some even offer a lifelong immunity! To what, one wonders! And don’t get me started on HFCS, trans-fats and the “fat free” pronouncements of just about every brand: that’s a huge can of rotten worms, one that we will never be able to decipher in our lifetime.

Many well established food products and beverage could not be produced without recourse to the use of added flavorings (a little known fact is that a Tralee company – my neck of the woods here – Kerry Foods, is a world leader in flavors). The choice between natural and synthetic flavorings is still a subject for debate and this is likely to become more emotive as the demand for safe and wholesome food increases and a greater proportion of what we eat and drinks will still become subject to mass production methods and associated standardization. That is, I guess, the price we pay for the so-called globalization. The problems of flavored foods are numerous and complex, they are not amenable to facile answers and the fact that there are no strong regulations that govern food flavoring plants is just not plain oversight but borderline criminal. In addition, there are no regulations that govern the chemicals used in these plants. Organic products never sounded better.

Going back to a simpler life, with a mind to shun processed foods as much as one can (it’s not easy to cook from scratch, I know) is going to present some difficulties as our lives are more or less governed by time (and the lack of), having to work a little harder for less money in these austerity-riven times. Cooking at home is ideal if one has the inclination and some know-how and it sure beats anything you might find in the supermarkets shelves or in their refrigerated units. A return to bakeries, local butcher shops and corner greengrocers would be ideal. But a return to those simple days may be only possible if, and I guess – darkly – that in the near future we either run out of energy or will experience a banking system meltdown which will force us into a new mindset, a wholly new paradigm of living, hopefully in peace and harmony. But I doubt that.

There are a numbers of food writers and ecologists who have been at the forefront of nutritional habits and food chains. One is Michael Pollan (also a New York Times contributor) and if you haven’t heard of him I would I suggest a reading of his coruscating book, “The Omnivore Dilemma”, a masterpiece of understanding dietary needs and offers a comprehensive critique of modern agribusiness:

In The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Pollan describes four basic ways that human societies have obtained food: the current industrial system, the big organic operation, the local self-sufficient farm, and the hunter-gatherer. Pollan follows each of these processes—from a group of plants photosynthesizing calories through a series of intermediate stages, ultimately into a meal. Along the way, he suggests that there is a fundamental tension between the logic of nature and the logic of human industry, that the way we eat represents our most profound engagement with the natural world, and that industrial eating obscures crucially important ecological relationships and connections.

Discuss. I look forward to your views.

When my youngest daughter recently asked me to make my smoked duck cannelloni for her 12th birthday dinner I knew I was on a winner! Cannelloni had been, alongside gnocchi, my favorite food as a young buck (with interplanetary ambitions, no less) and still is in my top five of all time great dishes in my private Pantheon. In my heady days as a Sydney chef I had made a slew of cannelloni concoctions for the daily menu, with various meat and game fillings, and even one with a mixture of lobster and perch, which somewhat failed to appear a second time as I then discovered that seafood mixtures were best encased in choux pastry for optimum taste and presentation (the pasta made it look kind of messy.)

First of all, the pasta. Unless you want to make it yourself (I used to own an Imperia pasta machine, from Italy, a nifty contraption which could turn out pasta in any shape within minutes) you can purchase a very good brand, made with eggs, as in the pic above. The reason I don’t bother making my own cannelloni is because it is going to end up covered in sauce & cheese, baked till golden, and it would take some kind of extraterrestrial palate to differentiate between freshly made and bought, as long as I said before, make sure you buy a top brand. Besides, it is easier to fill and saves time. And the filling is the very thing to concentrate on.

The pic above is a mixture of minced lean beef, a little smoked duck, basil & coriander (cilantro) and couscous. Plus two free range eggs. I rarely measure my ingredients except for pastries & cakes so let’s say that for a packet of cannelloni (roughly 26 tubes) you would need the following:

200 grams of lean beef, 50 grams of smoked duck, 50 grams of couscous which is “swollen” with a little olive oil and boiled water – it takes, virtually, a minute to swell to size – a handful of sun-dried tomatoes (I prefer to use them instead of salt, half a pint of cream, half a pint of passata (tomato puree) 2 free range eggs to bind the stuffing, and pepper. I use a couple of handful of grated mozzarella for the topping.

Mix the minced beef, diced smoked duck (which is available in most delis or supermarkets), couscous, herbs: cilantro & basil, pepper and the two eggs. That’s all there is to it! I don’t use a forcing bag, I use my hands. Yes, I know it’s a slow process but I kind of like dwelling on my food, it passes the time. Fill all the tubes and lay them in a large baking dish.

The sauce: well, it’s not complicated. Basically I add a pint of passata to a half pint of fresh cream, and cover the suspects in the pic below.

Pre-set your oven to 240 Celsius (460 Fahrenheit). Sprinkle the tubes with a generous amount of grated mozzarella, like the pic below!

Cover the baking dish with foil. Then bake for 30 minutes. Remove the foil and cook for a further 5 minutes or until golden. You can also use the grill if you wish to go for a gratinée look.

That’s all, folks! You can, if you wish, substitute the smoked duck and the beef for a vegetarian course, with chopped spinach, and just about any vegetable you like, as long as it is minced finely, and added to the couscous. There are no rules, just use your imagination. In a few days I’ll write about making a Beef Provençale stew, a traditional fare in my neck of the woods!

A European Food Safety Authority (EFSA) scientist has just discovered that major GM crops and products the regulatory agency has been approving for commercial release over the past 20 years contain a potentially dangerous virus gene. Sounds familiar? Read the article in its entirety here!

I don’t really need to remind you of the GMO implications but here is a good refresher course:

GMO Myths and Truths

New Report by Earth Open Source
Genetically modified (GM) crops are promoted on the basis of a range of far-reaching claims from the GM crop industry and its supporters.

They say that GM crops:

Are an extension of natural breeding and do not pose different risks from naturally bred crops
Are safe to eat and can be more nutritious than naturally bred crops
Are strictly regulated for safety
Increase crop yields
Reduce pesticide use
Benefit farmers and make their lives easier
Bring economic benefits
Benefit the environment
Can help solve problems caused by climate change
Reduce energy use
Will help feed the world.

Nothing could be further than the truth. Watch this video and make your own mind about Monsanto.

I’m a huge fan of sushi! I can eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. When I lived in Sydney I would have it at least twice a week, and during my film days I would travel to L.A. several times a year and the very first thing I would do after checking in at the Chateau Marmont would be hitting Sushi on Sunset, and refuel. My very favorite is the sea-urchin sushi followed by the California Roll, which is filled with avocado, cucumber, grilled salmon skin, one ginseng root, a little sushi rice to bind the ingredients and wrapped with a toasted nori seaweed sheet. Add a little Wasabi mustard and you’re in heaven!

California Roll, above. Quite a few sushi places serve it inside out, but I prefer this version.

Below are quite a few pics I have “stolen” from the various sushi sites I visit. Note that there seem to be a mania for bizarre shapes and novel ways to present it.

I’m still working on the cannelloni post, with pictures.

Oddly enough, most of the people I know ask me for the recipe of our salad dressing. Almost everyone seems to fail to understand the basic precept of a successful dressing: vinegar & mustard first, then whisk the chosen oil. Add salt, pepper and spices of your liking.

The worst thing one can do is to buy a bottle of dressing: unless it’s a top notch product, without additives, the choice on the supermarket shelves is poor. Read the labels and see for yourself. Some of the ingredients used I have never heard of, and the amount of chemicals is alarming. It’s insanity! All one needs is a bowl, a whisk, little mustard, a good vinegar and some oil, salt & pepper and fresh herbs if available. And elbow grease, although it can be done easily with a blender. I use one.

I use wholegrain mustard flavored with honey or Guinness. The honey one is more difficult to obtain though all you have to do is to add a spoonful of honey to the 4 tablespoons of mustard. The Guinness one adds a little bitterness which is good if you are making a wild leaf salad with spicy chicken or smoked pork. But I digress. Here is how I make mine, enough for the week: in the blender I put in 4 peeled garlic cloves, 4 tablespoons of wholegrain mustard (flavored with honey), a few sprigs of coriander (cilantro) and basil, one cup of raspberry vinegar, a pinch of turmeric (readers of my blog will have noticed that I tend to stick turmeric in almost anything, well, except in my coffee. Turmeric has incredible curative powers and a godsend if you are a smoker), salt & pepper to taste, and a spoonful of honey if you haven’t managed to get it in the mustard, and now that you have assembled all these ingredients into your blender, give it a whirl. When it’s all mixed, with the blender still on, slowly add one and a half cup of sunflower oil (do not use olive oil unless you have to because it’s not as easy to digest, is expensive and may repeat on you) and about 6 tablespoons of toasted sesame oil. Sesame oil? The oomph it gives to the dressing is magical, and lingers on the roof of your palate.

The dressing should be smooth, covering the back of the spoon nicely, and tart to taste, with a faint sesame kick. If you like it hot, you can add fresh (seeded) chilies. There you have it, my standard salad dressing! You can substitute the raspberry vinegar with a good red wine vinegar or use lemon juice instead, and change the spices to suit your taste, but the process is always the same; vinegar & mustard first! Then oil.