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This week we said farewell to two lovely interns at work, and so the team trooped down the road to Thai @ Home in Glebe for a final farewell lunch. On a whim I ordered coconut juice and almost fell off my chair when they presented it in an actual coconut!
I have since learnt that the type of coconut presented this way is a young coconut. A young coconut (bottom left photo - sourced from youngcoconuts.com ) is green and still full of clear coconut water, or coconut juice. As the coconut ages (bottom right photo - sourced from howtoopenacoconut.com), the liquid hardens into the white fleshy stuff, which we more commonly know in its grated and strained form of coconut milk. Also rather delicious. But I digress.
For my surprise treat, the rough green outer edge had been cut off, and the top sliced to form a lid. The whole thing had been sitting in a fridge to chill, because it was cold, sweet, and fabulously refreshing on a sultry 40 degree celcius (around 104 farenheit for all you American kids) summer day in Sydney. Just heaven in a coconut cup!
I have since learnt that the type of coconut presented this way is a young coconut. A young coconut (bottom left photo - sourced from youngcoconuts.com ) is green and still full of clear coconut water, or coconut juice. As the coconut ages (bottom right photo - sourced from howtoopenacoconut.com), the liquid hardens into the white fleshy stuff, which we more commonly know in its grated and strained form of coconut milk. Also rather delicious. But I digress.
For my surprise treat, the rough green outer edge had been cut off, and the top sliced to form a lid. The whole thing had been sitting in a fridge to chill, because it was cold, sweet, and fabulously refreshing on a sultry 40 degree celcius (around 104 farenheit for all you American kids) summer day in Sydney. Just heaven in a coconut cup!
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The hip, not-so-new thing amongst organic food lovers and locavores (people who try to source all their food from within a 100 mile radius of where they live) is cooking with sprouted grains. You take whole grains, sprout them by rinsing them in water twice a day for a few days, grind them into a paste and bake. Apparently sprouting grains helps one absorb more minerals, increases the vitamin content of the grain, and is more easily digested. Woohoo. Plus, it is meant to taste fabulous. Inspired by an article in my 2010 Permaculture Diary, I decided to have a go at baking “Essene bread” (the Essene’s, my diary tells me, were “peace loving, mostly celibate, vegetarian folk who lived communally with collective ownership” around the time just before and after Jesus. They have since, not so surprisingly, died out).
I took four cups of whole dry wheat grain, and watched with amazement as the little brown grains grew longer and longer white and green tails over the space of a couple of days. When the sprouts were long enough (approximately the same size as the grain), I threw them in a food processor with a bit of water, and churned out a gooey paste. I discovered I’d used a little too much water, and the paste was a little too gooey. But I persevered. I beamed positive vibes at the round goo as I placed it in the oven and let it bake for over 2 hours.
The result? The edges, which had caramelised, were as delicious as the article had promised. Like a rich dark brown sourdough with bursts of juicy flavour. The insides however were just sloppy goo... But, hurrah! I have baked with sprouted grains! And I know for next time not to use so much water, to set the oven at a slightly lower temperature, and to let it all bake for longer. I’ll be back Essene bread... even if your inventors never will be!
I took four cups of whole dry wheat grain, and watched with amazement as the little brown grains grew longer and longer white and green tails over the space of a couple of days. When the sprouts were long enough (approximately the same size as the grain), I threw them in a food processor with a bit of water, and churned out a gooey paste. I discovered I’d used a little too much water, and the paste was a little too gooey. But I persevered. I beamed positive vibes at the round goo as I placed it in the oven and let it bake for over 2 hours.
The result? The edges, which had caramelised, were as delicious as the article had promised. Like a rich dark brown sourdough with bursts of juicy flavour. The insides however were just sloppy goo... But, hurrah! I have baked with sprouted grains! And I know for next time not to use so much water, to set the oven at a slightly lower temperature, and to let it all bake for longer. I’ll be back Essene bread... even if your inventors never will be!
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Coming home on the train last night I was imagining what I was going to cook for dinner. I decided on roast tomatoes and cous cous. I could taste the light and fluffy yellow cous cous, prepared in vegetable stock, mixed in with peas, carrots, capsicum, and creamy fetta. Once home I sliced two tomatoes, drizzled them in the dark balsamic and light olive oil, and liberally sprinkled the juicy red half-moons with salt and pepper. Next step, to the cupboard to claim the cous cous. But when I got there, the cupboard was bare. Well, not quite bare, but bare of cous cous. The sadness!
Luckily for me, my wistful taste buds and I have spent the last week reading Frances Mayes' mouthwatering memoir “Under the Tuscan Sun.” Oh how I wish we could all jet off to Tuscany every summer to restore an ancient farm house and fill it with ingredients picked up from the local town or back(vine)yard! Even as a vegetarian, Maye’s descriptions of chickens roasted with 40 cloves of garlic (40!!!!) and endless variations of bruschette, and hazelnut ice cream have made me a salivating wreck on Sydney’s buses and trains after work.
So, with Frances Mayse and her Tuscan kitchen on my mind, I turned to the classic staple, pasta. I roasted the tomatoes, along with some diced potatoes, garlic, and onion until they were all sweet and soft. Along with a generous helping of kalamata olives, a drizzle of olive oil, and a sprinkling of oregano, I tossed them through a batch of pasta. Mmm hmm! And there’s still enough left to take for lunch this week. Ah, heaven. Thank you Frances Mayes!
Luckily for me, my wistful taste buds and I have spent the last week reading Frances Mayes' mouthwatering memoir “Under the Tuscan Sun.” Oh how I wish we could all jet off to Tuscany every summer to restore an ancient farm house and fill it with ingredients picked up from the local town or back(vine)yard! Even as a vegetarian, Maye’s descriptions of chickens roasted with 40 cloves of garlic (40!!!!) and endless variations of bruschette, and hazelnut ice cream have made me a salivating wreck on Sydney’s buses and trains after work.
So, with Frances Mayse and her Tuscan kitchen on my mind, I turned to the classic staple, pasta. I roasted the tomatoes, along with some diced potatoes, garlic, and onion until they were all sweet and soft. Along with a generous helping of kalamata olives, a drizzle of olive oil, and a sprinkling of oregano, I tossed them through a batch of pasta. Mmm hmm! And there’s still enough left to take for lunch this week. Ah, heaven. Thank you Frances Mayes!