Burma Pistachio Baklava

By cyberiagirl | Published: 21 June 2010

The plate of baklava is piled high with rounds of pastry sweets. It hides within crinkling curtains of plastic, tied with a ribbon to make a protective casing.

Then the ribbon is cut and the plate is placed on the table.

There’s at least three or four varieties before me. I’m not a huge fan of the most common baklava, the layers of pastry and honey, so what else do we have?

Hmm, slices of a cylinder. The outside looks like golden vermicelli, tightly-packed, wrapped in a thick doughy layer around a very green filling. Pistachio I’m guessing, from the context.

Yup, give that a go. Hopefully the large chunk of filling will make it moist.

Picking it up. It’s densely heavy for its size.

Bite. Urk, my teeth are almost stuck. The pastry is chewy and solid, initially giving way and then needing to be torn to break it. Little noodle-like flakes of pastry splinter and fall into my lap. The pastry is sweet and buttery, but not overly sugary. It reminds me of honey, a little. I think they’re soaked in syrup.

Eating enough pastry to get a clear go at the green nutty filling. There are small hunks of pistachio mixed with a fluro-green paste. Disconcerting taste, a bit salty, buttery, but sweet with pistachio notes. Almost creamy, the weird part. The filling is so crumbly when against the pastry it’s hard to eat them both at once; they have to be bitten in completely different ways.

It’s okay. Actually my mouth is tired from the effort of the pastry. About the same as regular baklava. But more nuts makes it more healthy, right?

Yeah, right.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Specifics: Burma pistachio baklava, bought in Bankstown

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Dragonfruit

By cyberiagirl | Published: 18 June 2010

Such a funny looking thing! It looks more like a child’s toy or an alien egg than something to eat!

The pinky-purple oval is the same size as my hands cupped together. It’s like a tiny rubber football with light green triangular tags. Quite solid and heavy.

Picking up a knife. Too flimsy, need a sharper one. Cut it right down the middle – this is a lot easier than I expected, the skin’s not so tough – into two halves. Brightly purple liquid drips out, like psychedelic blood. The flesh inside is also surprising, it looks just like canned beetroot. Same colour, same wetness, same gloss. Lots of tiny black seeds all through it.

Scooping the edible insides into a bowl. Juice tries to spray, hope it doesn’t stain the kitchen and I.

Pushing the spoon edge in to make a bite-sized piece. It puts up a token resistance but the metal smoothly moves through… like firm beetroot. The little seeds are hard and slippery.

Cool and soft, with crunch from the seeds. Pleasingly slippery on my tongue.

That’s… pretty much it. No real taste. It’s just wet and watery. Strange. But refreshing and light, would be good in summer. I’m not even minding it now in winter.

Munch. Munch. Why don’t you taste of anything when you’re so bold looking?

Such a weird, weird fruit.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Specifics: Red-fleshed dragonfruit, bought from a random fruit store in Cabramatta

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Greek Coconut Cake

By cyberiagirl | Published: 17 June 2010

I wonder when it was that Mr Beez first started talking about the coconut cake from Sideways? Probably shortly after they moved into their house… so that would make it a year-ish. And now I’m going to taste it!

Too bad I’m full from Mrs Beez’ amazing cooking. Mmm broccoli and quiche and eggplant… the foods I am not allowed to cook at home.

Come on dessert stomach, where are you? You’re letting the team down!

Momentarily wavering in my resolve to try the coconut cake by the menu’s mention of ‘Persian love cake’. No! Must get to the source of Mr Beez’ delight!

The cafe is gleaming white, with an over-abundance of staff. They bring us water and we sit sipping while Mrs Beez recounts the documentary movie they saw recently that featured the life of a Mongolian baby.

I do remember while we were in UB being surprised that children as young as eight would be left home all day as the supervisor for their younger siblings. This movie seems to confirm that habit: Mrs Beez says the baby would be tethered to a post and left! I guess there aren’t many babysitters in the Gobi Desert.

And coconut cake arrives! It’s a large high square (how am I going to fit this in?) with a thick thatching of desiccated coconut, covered by a dusting of icing sugar. The pure white of the coconut and sugar plays off against the straw yellow of the cake and even matches with the decor. It seems a darker brown on the bottom, extra cooked.

Forking up a piece. The cake is moist and fluffy, tasting strongly of coconut and butter. It’s sweetish but not sugary, rich but not heavy. The coconut has merged into the batter so there are no strands visable, just the heavenly lifting flavour infusing the butter. The sprinkled topping adds extra texture.

Next forkful includes some of the base. Yum! Some sort of syrup has been allowed to soak in, and it is delicious. Almost like honey in its sweetness, with a hint of lemon. It’s fantastic, it seems to intensify the cake’s flavour. I wish there was more poured on top instead of the sugar and desiccation, getting even more of this absorbed into the cake would be only a good thing.

Mr Beez is on to a very good thing indeed. I can’t fit it all in though, so he bravely volunteers some of his stomach space.

I’d love to come back here and try some other cakes. That love cake did sound interesting, and Mrs Beez’ cheesecake looked divine with its topping of strawberry slices.

Wish they weren’t mopping right alongside me though; they’re not supposed to close for another forty-five minutes.

But that can’t spoil the cake for me! I take care to scrape up every crumb, as they’ve had a chance to take in the ghosts of syrup left in the cake’s wake.

So the Beez have put me onto yum cha, Neil Gaiman, mahjong, Wordpress, Veronica Mars, and now Greek coconut cake. I have good taste in friends with good taste!

Rating: ★★★½☆

Specifics: Greek Coconut Cake, eaten from Sideways in Dulwich Hill

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Coconut Sticky Rice with Banana and Black Beans

By cyberiagirl | Published: 16 June 2010

Prowling John Street in Cabramatta, hunting for grandmothers.

Last time I was here I was thwarted by monolingualism from purchasing a snack from an enterprising old lady surrounded by take-away containers filled with her home-cooking. This time I come bearing a piece of paper with a Vietnamese message written for me by a work colleague: I’m a vegetarian, I don’t eat any meat but I eat eggs and milk. Holding up this baby should get me some kind of mystery food.

Ah-ha! An elderly woman sits on one of the many benches. She has three piles close to her; one of round yellow-orange cakes; one of congeeled black in containers; and a pile banana leaves wrapped around hidden treasures.

The woman next to me in the crowd points to the yellow cakes. “What are they?”

I don’t hear much of the answer, only that they cost $5 so that’s a bit out of my planned budget. But I can tell that it was in English. Darn it, I was looking forward to busting out my sign.

Waiting for her to finish the transaction, then gesturing for her attention. “What’s inside the banana leaves?”

“Coconut rice, banana. $1.20.”

That’s more like it! I pass over the coins, and now I’m holding a warm moist bundle, looking for somewhere to sit and devour.

Unwrapping the leaf. Inside the long flat rectangle of rice is yellow-cream and sticky. I can see an occasional purple-black lump, looks like black beans.

Trying to tear it in half. White starch sticks to my fingers. Inside… it’s purple! The steaming has turned the bananas purple, though I can see the occasional dark pattern of banana seeds same as ever. The rice around the banana has also stained mauve.

Bite.

The rice is long grain and willingly breaks apart in my mouth, sweet and coconut-flavoured, light and not too creamy. The banana has all its flavour despite the colour, the mush contrasting nicely with the slightly firm rice.

The combination of coconut and banana is sweet without being sugary. It all tastes so fresh!

Don’t like the black beans much though. Little pockets of dry dusty blandness. But there’s only about five of them so they can be easily ignored.

Licking my fingers. Glad that this woman is happy to share her skills with strangers; it’s a pleasure to eat freshly-made real food.

Rating: ★★★½☆

Specifics: Coconut sticky rice with banana and black beans (probably khao tom mad) bought from a clever home cook in Cabramatta

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Pandan Waffle

By cyberiagirl | Published: 15 June 2010

Prowling Cabramatta for snacks. I’d like to try an avocado shake but I suspect winter is not a great time for avocados.

The Husband has never been to Cabramatta before. He’s trailing in my wake as I stride purposefully down arcades looking for snacks I’d like to try. There are crowds of people everywhere; it would be hard to walk side-by-side anyway.

In the corner of my eye a girl opens a waffle iron and pulls out something green. Bingo!

“Yay, pandan waffle!” Scooting over to the store, eager to get it into my hands before it cools in the winter air. The Husband follows. I think he’ll like this, he likes regular waffles more than I do. Then maybe I’ll stop feeling bad for dragging him around tasting random foods.

I hand over $1.50 and have myself a large flower-shaped waffle in a paper bag. It’s really light and lots thinner than a western waffle, crisp rather than pancakey.

The flower has five segments. I take two. The two heart-shaped petals weight nearly nothing. The square grooves have toasted brown, little air bubbles speckling through. Around the outer curves of the heart the batter is still green, overflow cooked stiff. Sniff. Smells like batter.

The Husband is already well into his.

Tastes… like waffle. This is the first pandan-flavoured thing I’ve eaten in my life and I still can’t tell what pandan tastes like. Like vanilla? It’s certainly not strong, whatever it is. The light crispness is pleasing since I still want to fit in lunch after this. It’s a bit like eating a sweet bread. Sugary blandish carbohydrates that vanish with no aftertaste once swallowed. At least it’s not dry. Actually there is a bit of moist softness in parts that are less cooked.

Looking at his progress. Oh, what’s that? “Does yours have coconut in it?” Those little white bits sticking out of one side of the waffle… is it batter or desiccated coconut?”

The Husband looks. “I don’t really taste any coconut. I don’t know.” Returns to eating.

Inspecting mine for any sign of coconut. Nothing. Slow down my eating and… yes, okay, not in every bite but occasionally I feel chewy thin strands between my teeth and a vague coconut flavour.

Still not sure what pandan is supposed to taste like – perhaps there is no actually pandan in the waffles, just food colouring? – but I clearly don’t dislike it!

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Specifics: Pandan waffle (Bánh kẹp) from a random snack and drink outlet in one of Cabramatta’s arcades

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Sustain

By cyberiagirl | Published: 14 June 2010

I don’t feel like Weet-Bix. How disconcerting. Weet-Bix is my breakfast habit and I am an orderly person of routine. If I pick something up then I put it back in its place. If it’s not in its place then I have no idea where it is and I wander aimlessly with no clue about where to hunt, certain the item will never be seen again.

Similarly I am now stranded standing in front of the cupboard, staring up at the cereal shelves, frozen with indecision.

I just don’t feel like anything as heavy as Weet-Bix. But if I don’t eat a decent amount then I’ll be hungry and cranky later.

The Husband has a small collection of little Kellogg’s travel cereal boxes. One of those is Sustain. I’ve never eaten Sustain because they always used to advertise it as the cereal eaten by athletes at the AIS and I am not a sporty person so surely it was never meant to be eaten by people such as myself. Though I’m not an iron man and I used to eat Nutri-Grain, and they always have cricketers on the Weet-Bix box so I guess my thoughts are illogical.

But! This box of Sustain has no picture of a fit person leaping hurdles! So maybe it’s safe to eat.

Ripping the top of the box open, pulling out the little sealed plastic bag inside. Bah, they never put a realistic serve of cereal in these things. Struggling with the bag… open, will you? Ah! Upending it into my bowl.

Oh, my apologies. This actually does seem to be a decent-sized bowl. Peering. Uh-oh, mostly cornflakes. I don’t really like cornflakes. What else? I see rice flakes, wheat flakes, a few oats, the occasional sliver of almond, some sultanas and currants…

Enough staring. Pour in milk enough to provide pleasant moisture but not too much to avoid sog. Seating myself with a spoon and the paper.

Crunch. Noisy cereal! The main taste is the corn, but not as strong as I was fearing. The mixture of wheat and rice flakes don’t have much taste in themselves but they keep the corn mild.

In the first few mouthfuls there seemed to be a honey sweetness but that’s died away now. Maybe that was dried apple that I’m confusing. The sultanas are nice, adding some sugar chew. The currants are a bit hard, there’s one lodged in a molar now. Pretty easy to miss the almonds with all the crunch of the flakes but they’re there.

Half-way through the bowl. Trying to leave some dry piles of cereal on the sides so they’re not soggy before I want them.

This isn’t half-bad. Don’t know how full it will keep me, flakes seem like they would digest quickly, but I think it’s hitting the spot for now.

Mixing the last bits into the milk. Less crunch than at the beginning but still definite bite.

Well, Sustain, I guess it remains to be seen if you live up to your name, but right now I think I would eat you again.

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Specifics: Travel pack of Kellogg’s Sustain

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Thai Preserved Mango

By cyberiagirl | Published: 11 June 2010

Bible study. We’re reading the story of Samson. He’s eating honey from inside a lion and I’m hungry too. There are bags of chips and soft-drink, but I only want sweet after dinner and I hate the fizz of things like Coke.

Time to break out this week’s mysterious dried fruit! A bag of dried orange-yellow mango strips.

Using scissors to cut across the top. Tug at the piece on the top. Ooops, all the bits are fused together. Pulling. Nope. Gotta pull the whole clump out and prise it apart.

Two thin stiff mango cheeks seperate from the crowd. That’ll do.

Leaving the pack on the table for anyone else and returning to the bean bag, golden snack in tow.

Samson gets his hair woven into a loom and I nibble my mango. Standard dried fruit texture, perhaps a bit more stiff and crisp. Tiny specks of sugar and salt across the lightly sticky surface.

It tastes sweet and vaguely tangy. Not really much like mango. It tastes very much like dried papaya, only not so dominant. More pleasant actually. Sometimes the cubes of papaya in muesli are so strongly sugary that it takes over the whole mouthful. This dried mango is still sweet but happily. It doesn’t bully me or get stuck in my teeth either. Refined and well-behaved!

Not much like mango, however. Doesn’t smell like mango either.

Go back for more. Now that the packet has been near the heater the pieces are softer and more pliable. Taking mouse bites, breaking through the stringy parts where the flesh was becoming seed.

Thai preserved mango: no preserved rose plum but pretty good. Perhaps I will try it in my porridge someday. That’s the real test, can it rescue watery oats? I look forward to knowing.

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Specifics: Heng Fai Thai Preserved Mango, bought from an Asian grocer in Merrylands

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Condensed Milk Hot Chocolate

By cyberiagirl | Published: 10 June 2010

Eyeballing the sweetened condensed milk leftover from the milo cupcakes baking failure. Maybe 200ml? And what’s 14 ounces in millilitres? About 400 says Google. Okay, so kind of halve the recipe. But I don’t want to add that much water since I don’t want that many serves… I’ll just add what I like and use the recipe as a guideline.

Ooops, the fridge has semi-solidified the condensed milk. Scraping it from the plastic container into the saucepan. Tossing in cocoa, vanilla essence, a little salt and a layer of hot water. Stir. The condensed milk tries to stick to the bottom; not on my watch.

Glancing at the recipe. Ooops, I was supposed to mix everything else first and then add the water. Too late now!

Mixing. Lumps of cocoa insist on floating through. Squishing them against the sides of the saucepan with the back of the spoon, making chocolate smears.

Hmm, this won’t make two cups. More water.

Get The Husband over to taste, since it was his desire for hot chocolate that sparked this escapade. He approves.

Pouring into his mug. Fill it up. Pour into mine. Only gets half-full before the hot chocolate runs out. A few clumps of cocoa paste plop into my mug. Should have followed the recipe and added more water. Oh well, I’m sure half a cup still tastes as good as a full cup.

Sip. Ow! Burnt tongue.

Blow. Hush, my hot chocolate, calm down and be tasty.

Sip mark two. Warm and thick. Smoother than I’d feared after those lumps. Sweetly delicious. Swallow. Whoa! It’s so rich it sears my throat, burning as it goes down and leaving a warm trail in its past. Cocoa kapow!

I love heavy, creamy desserts. Works for me in liquid form too.

Imbibing it slowly, surely. The richness is all from the condensed milk; the cocoa is just a backup until the swallow.

This is no morning tea hot chocolate, but as an after-dinner luxury on a cold night it’s perfect.

Rating: ★★★½☆

Specifics: Condensed milk hot chocolate, made roughly to this recipe from Culinary Kicks

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Longans

By cyberiagirl | Published: 9 June 2010

“What are these?” the woman on checkout asks me.

“Longans,” I reply, packing my groceries back into the trolley. These are a spontaneous purchase, glimpsed from the corner of my eye and dropped into my cart.

She taptaptaps into her computer. “I can’t find them in here… what did you say they were?”

“Longans. They were next to the lychees.”

“I know what lychees are… I like lychees…” she mutters.

“They cost the same as the lychees, $7.98 a kilo, if that helps.”

“I’ll put them in as lychees then.” And she does. How odd, a store selling something that it doesn’t recognise at the point of sale! Longans, I will get acquainted with you and your mysteries later in the week.

***

Four tan king-sized marbles, patterned with faint tortoise-shell markings. They’re light in my hand, almost as if they’re not there.

Sitting down at the table, taking one between my fingers. Squeeze. One side is soft, one side the skin feels tough and firm.

To peel, to peel… Digging my fingernail into the skin. Resistance, then a quiet squirting pop. Shelling like an egg until I make a decent hole. I think it should be able to be pulled through, but I’m scared of squashing it… and it’s free!

From the plate it looks like a white-grey glistening ball, smooth and once piece. Holding it near there are fine segment lines. Moist.

Nibbling. Lightly sweet, watery. Texture firmer than mangosteen but similar in the gentle taste. Pleasant. Like eating natural jelly.

The layer of flesh is surprisingly shallow; the stone is sudden and beautiful. An off-kilter black jewel sphere, so smooth the light above makes pin points on the surface. Amazing that something this lovely was so cleverly hidden beneath a translucent cocoon.

Peeling the other three, enjoying the gift-wrapping of black in translucent in brown, cheered each time the black seed comes into sight.

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Specifics: Longans bought from Coles in Macquarie Fields

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Milo Cupcakes

By cyberiagirl | Published: 8 June 2010

I have one planned and two unplanned guests in my home for lunch. I also have all the ingredients for milo cupcakes. Now is the time to strike!

Reading the recipe. Wow, it just says to throw everything into the food processor. Awesome, even I can do that! Flour, in! Sugar, in! Raising agents, in! An epic amount of butter, in! Milo, in! Eggs, vanilla, sour cream, in in in! And now the machine does all my work for me. I had no idea you could mix batter in a food processor. Good to get new ways to use old appliances.

Taste. Whoa. It tastes like buttery icing. Have I done this right? It’s the most solid batter I’ve ever made.

Hmm, no cupcake liners. Muffin liners it is! Plopping the mixture spoon by spoon in. I think these are going to flop out rather than grow the cake up. Oh, I’ll just dump the liners into the holes in my muffin tray. No real reason that shouldn’t work… I guess? Man, I am not a baker…

Ooops. Got so busy cooking mushrooms for lunch that I didn’t check what time I put them in. Tap them on the top. Soggy. So longer then!

Okay, tap. Yup, pretty firm. That’ll do. Out on the rack to dry. They’ve risen okay, some are poking over the lining to make muffin-style tops but whatever.

Left the butter out for ages to soften but it still seams rather firm. Should I try and soften it in the microwave. No, probably it will melt into liquid and that will be no good. Maybe just being whacked by the electric beater will pummel it into submission.

No good. The butter is all caught up in the beaters, like candy floss on a stick. The beaters whirl and whirl but the butter just clings.

Pushing the speed up to the fastest. Whoa, the mixer bucks against my grasp… but yay, little bits of butter are beginning to splatter against the side of the bowl. Fighting with it, getting them.

Caster sugar. It’s very lumpy and solid, but the beaters will break those up.

Oh. No, the beaters do not break them up. There are little white sugar marbles moving through my creamed butter and they are not leaving. Crushing bits of sugar in my hands before adding them. Trying to sift it. This sugar is boulder-firm! Only got about half of what the recipe said in.

This icing is not turning out. Well, the only thing to do is to add the sweetened condensed milk and see how it goes. If it’s gross I just won’t use it and we can have ice cream.

Opening the can. The condensed milk is so thick and creamy-sticky. In it goes!

More beating… and I think it’s working! It looks okay!

Finger in. Tastes like butter.

This is going to be the predominate taste I can see.

But it’s good enough to use.

Sticking a knife into the thick icing and buttering my cupcakes with it. Not very fancy but hey, it’s working fine. Dribble on some condensed milk and dust with milo. Done.

Putting them in front of my guests. Waiting for someone else to go first but no-one is! Fine then.

Peeling back the paper, going in for the kill.

The cake does not taste like milo. It does not taste like much of anything. It’s neither dry nor mudcake moist but has texture like a muffin.

A bite with the icing is more satisfying. Really the cake is just the vehicle for the rich buttery topping. It’s so strong, it feels like just one bite and I’ve had enough.

The most pleasurable part is where the cake has grown crunchy from peeking over the liner. The crack against the soft cake and thick cream is most enjoyable.

Actually, I do like the icing. It’s richness is good, and it’s not too sweet. The smoothness in my mouth is nice; except for the pockets of dry sugar. I could use this icing on a banana cake or something perhaps.

Nibble the cake alone. Nope, really can’t get any milo flavour. Maybe I didn’t put enough in. Now I remember why I don’t bake: I can never get cakes to turn out right. Plus I always prefer the feel of something sweet to be cool and wet, like ice cream. Where can I get ice cream cupcakes?

Everyone agrees that they’re nice enough but no-one loves them.

Oh well. At least I tried! We can’t all be baking queens. I’ll stick to my cheesecake specialty and let others keep their well-deserved limelight.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Specifics: Milo cupcakes with condensed milk icing, made to the recipe from Raspberri Cupcakes

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