Kitchen Vixen

‘Have you ever made a souffle?’ my friend asked on one of the first chilly nights of autumn. I had a vague recollection of something rising in my distant youth and replied in the affirmative. ‘OK well let’s make a souffle. Otherwise we’re just going to drink tequila and gooi naam weg at the local again.’

Said friend has a gorgeous house in Napier with an exceptionally beautiful garden. The place oozes country charm and idiosyncratic sophisticat flair. All in all, a perfect place to commit kitchen vixenage.

Simply mahvellous dahlin

You basically have to point and shoot, it’s vignette heaven.

Bespoke artichoke blues

But, at the tender age of 3, the garden truly is the hero. Flowers, herbs, fruit trees and vegetables tumble down the hill in carefully orchestrated chaos.

So a cheese souffle with garden herb salad it was going to be. I found a classic souffle recipe in an old French cookbook, but we didn’t have a conversion table or scale at hand to change the oz to grams etc. Donna Hay provided another recipe and although more slap-up, it had quantities that made sense. A quick shopping trip around town yielded room temperature eggs and some pricey Gruyere from the deli behind Renaissance restaurant. I got a block of pecorino in case the Gruyere wasn’t sufficient. And we stopped off at Theresa’s to borrow a souffle dish.

Souffles are intimidating. Most people never attempt them. Even experienced chefs cast a nervous eye at the oven door while Madame Souffle is doing her thing in there…or not! My friend (who did a Silwood course in his day) was panicky, reading the recipe again and again, mumbling questions and prepping little bowls of grated cheese like the Food Channel was going to arrive any minute. As if I’d let Gordon Ramsay through the door. My gung-ho attitude was partly due to the fact that I’d ‘mastered’ the tricky art of whisking egg whites not too long ago, and also because I still half fancied a pizza and tequila at the local, so what’s the worst that could happen?

The Nerve Centre

We made a standard white sauce (about two tablespoons flour, two tablespoons butter, two cups milk plus seasoning and two cups of cheese towards the end), separated five eggs and whisked the whites. The sauce was left to cool before the yolks were incorporated, one by one, and whisked through. Our souffle dish was prepped (butter the bottom and sides and loosely coat with grated cheese) and then the stiff egg whites were folded into the mixture. Pour in the dish, put on a tray and pop into a hot hot oven. For 15 – 20 minutes, depending on the size of the souffle.

Only our dish was too small so we made a second, smaller souffle in a metal bowl. The only thing everyone knows about souffles is that you never EVER open the oven door. The souffle will say ‘peauf’ like an indignant Parisienne cleaning lady and fall flat. Never to get up again. So now we’re hopping around in front of the oven… is it? Or isn’t it? Will it? Aah, she’s coming, she’s coming! All of a sudden she reared her bouffant head. Excitement levels were off the chart. At one stage I thought the cap was too dark and committed the cardinal sin – I opened the door, only to find that the centre was still loose and sloshing about – but still our little souffle held her head high (heavy hand with the baking powder’s maybe not a bad thing). I still took it out of the oven too soon. It looked successful enough given our low expectations, but wasn’t cooked all the way through. The smaller souffle made from leftover sauce in a metal bowl was the better option in the end.

Voila, mon petit

But it was delicous, light, airy and at the same time rich and decadent. Not surprising as I used all the cheese in the sauce. We retired to the lounge with red cheeks and a feeling of accomplishment. ‘That wasn’t so bad, hey,’ he said. ‘Uh-huh,’ said I, ‘don’t know what the fuss is about.’

But we fussed, boy did we fuss!

This Saturday marks the end of my incredible 20-part, ten-month food journey with Liam Tomlin at Chefs Warehouse. And, we’re finishing off with a Cheese class, how else? I’ve been told a Gruyere souffle is on the cards so I’ll get to see the real deal. And taste it. I can’t wait. Am going to miss cookery school every other week, but am sure this won’t be the end of the line for me and Chefs Warehouse. Let’s face it – there’s still too much to learn.

Culinary genius Jessica Simpson gave us the following two gems: While ordering take-out her husband at the time suggested Buffalo Wings and Jess said: ‘Ah didn’t know buffaloes had wings?!’ And on another occasion, again ordering take-out, she asked what tuna was and he replied (whilst calculating the cost of a quick divorce) ‘It’s like the chicken of the sea’. So why am I talking about this again… o yes! Yesterday I dragged my weary bones to Mozzarella SA in Kloof Street to settle the local vs Italian mozzarella debate for myself.

The selection was a bit underwhelming but an Italian on duty told me deliveries were due later that day. He was helpful, though a tad exasperated by my mozzarella-101 questions. I settled for the only true Italian buffalo mozzarella (R50 for 125g) and a cheese which they make themselves, from cow’s milk but using Italian machines. This range boasts different styles of mozzarella so I chose the one best suited to a Caprese salad, at R30 for 250g.

Mozzarella face-off

Top is Italian, bottom is local. The SPAR closest to me had a truly shocking tomato selection so excuse the green around the gills tomato. First up, the Sofia Loren of mozzarella:

And it was…bliss. Creamy taste and texture. None of that watery chloride taste so typical of mozzarella in this country. The consistency is what sets it apart. From the centre to the edges it’s the same. It wobbles yet holds itself without fraying. My friend Leon thought it felt just like a silicone implant – which is odd cause he bats for the home team – but I’m inclined to go with his appraisal.

One of this world's perfect combos

And then the locally made (by Italians with an Italian machine using local cow’s milk) cheese. The edges crumble while the centre is dense. Taste-wise it just doesn’t compare. No wonder my cousin flatly states: ‘Mozzarella is over-rated as a cheese.’

Dense and edgy

But as my dear departed friend Edric used to say: ‘When faced with two options, choose the third’. Enter Mr Wayne Rademeyer of Buffalo Ridge Mozzarella. An imported herd of buffalo produce the milk that he turns into local buffalo mozzarella. Mozzarella SA doesn’t stock it and I had no idea where to find it late last night so I grumpily concluded that my mozzarella face-off was one worthy contender short. Little did I know that Bertus Basson would provide the missing link at lunch the next day. A beautifully crafted little salad, using Buffalo Ridge cheese. It’s almost as good as the imported stuff… and better than the locally produced Italian cheese. And with Bertus putting his own spin on the Caprese, it was an all-round taste bomb.

Flavour knock-out

But more about this lush little salad in my Overture post. To conclude, I’d buy mozzarella as follows:

I’m depressed screw everybody I need something amazing to make this world right: Buy imported Italian. And have it all on your own.

I want to make a delicious, quality, impressive Caprese: Buy Buffalo Ridge and share it with pride.

I want to bake this in the oven with lots of garlic, sauce etc: Buy the other stuff.

But I’ll probably disagree with the last one once I do a BAKED mozzarella face-off. Winter’s a comin….

But that’s how you pronounce the restaurant name – Bice – like Beetchay. In the Hyde Park Southern Sun Hotel with panoramic views of Joburg’s Northern suburbs. Unlike the other restaurants that I’ve reviewed for SABC3’s Expresso Show every Tuesday at exactly 6.50 am (copy that), I admit I have mixed feelings about Bice. I very much enjoyed the others. They are all very different yet true to what they’re supposed to be… and therein lies the problem, me thinks. Unlike most Italian restaurants that I’ve encountered, this is not a family affair. Not directly. Bice is an international chain of restaurants, still owned by the descendants of Beatrice ‘Bice’ Ruggeri who established the first restaurant in Milan in 1926, but with 45 restaurants around the world there’s no little Italian lady to back peddle into a cupboard when service is over.

The interior is suburban sanatorium chic – sparse and somehow receding as if the good doctor doubled up on your chill pills – plus they’ve incorporated the Northern suburbs culinary must-have, the ubiquitous sushi bar. Under license from Daruma, this is not a bad thing as they make excellent sushi and offer reasonably priced Milano-Kobe set menus. But I’m beginning to think that kugel hell must be a sushi-free zone… I thought the Italian side of the menu was rather expensive. I love Caprese salad and immediately ordered one.

Caprese with imported buffalo mozzarella

Part of the appeal of Bice must be that it is an Italian chain with a celebrated Italian chef at the helm, globally, to oversee and maintain standards. When it comes to certain essential items, only the finest from Italy will do. Local producers like Morgenster supply olive oil and wine, and resident head chef Danny Fabris thinks our produce is fantastic. The mozzarella is imported. Which is why this little Caprese costs a whopping R120… Now, at the risk of revealing what a food buffoon I am, and how little time I’ve spent smacking my lips through Italy, I really like beautiful juicy ripe tomato with my mozzarella. I don’t care how creamy it is. And three quarters of a little roma just doesn’t do it for me. Yes, the mozzarella was very creamy. Is it worth R120? I’m not sure. I think I’ll swing past the new Mozzarella Bar in Kloof Street tomorrow after the show and see what R120 can buy me. Just to be fair. So more on that later.

The average starter costs R80, pasta mains are R90 and meat or fish mains are R130. Chips and veg on the side, add another R30 each. I chose the seafood pasta at R120.

Seafood pasta

All the pasta is made on the premises. And perhaps it’s the Japanese influence but the crayfish tail was a tad al dente and hard to remove from its shell. Apart from that it was a decent seafood pasta. I love apple anything so decided to try their apple pie, made to Bice’s original recipe (R60).

Torta di Mele della Bice

Very spicy… almost like Christmas mince. On a sweeter note, chef Danny Fabris is a lovely guy who is passionate about classic Italian cuisine. I waited until after service to chat to him, which perhaps wasn’t the best thing. There’s a brilliant Afrikaans saying: As die muis dik is, is die meel suur. Loosely translated, when the mouse has had its fill, the flour turns sour. I started noticing the unpressed linen, scuffed menus, tired slip covers, waiters-in-the-making, and… the dirty floor. It was a Wednesday. In case you’re wondering.

Fabulosity fatigue, doll?

I don’t mind a crease or a dog-eared menu, provided the vibe and/or food or something makes up for it. I think a bit of patina is almost obligatory in a good Italian restaurant, but in this minimalist hotel space – and at these prices – it’s a bit jarring… According to Danny the place shines at night. Sunsets must be amazing with the floor-to-ceiling views. And there’s a suave cigar bar on the same floor for pre- and post-dinner drinks. So it’s probably a corporate lunch or glitzy dinner place. I kind of hit it in the grey light of day.

So yes, for once, a mixed review. What a conundrum. I’m too much of a Calvinist to bitch on live television… and the view IS awesome.

Maybe I’m just missing the Italian mama at Bice. Ironic, isn’t it?

Ciao bellas

Whenever I feel tired I think of Gorgeous Rose and the Fabulous Miss Katie who live up the road from me and I shut up. Because they have husbands (one each), children (three and four respectively), farms, businesses to run and long long hair that they maintain really well. So for a recent ladies night I decided to do one of the recipes from my Chefs Warehouse course, not only because it was delicious when Liam made it, but also because I was pretty sure I wouldn’t mess it up: Singapore Chicken Rice. Here’s Liam adding the finishing touch to a bowl of fragrant rice and gently poached chicken, many moons ago at our poultry class:

Looks very do-able, doesn't it?

For starters I decided to do my favourite super-speedy, impressive, flavour-laden rice paper spring rolls. All it takes is a bit of nifty shopping and some lukewarm water. My local SPAR stocks the rice paper wraps.

A rice paper disc

Soak one disc at a time in lukewarm water until it softens. When is it soft? When it looks like this:

A paper-thin wrap is born

I use medium-hot tap water. Cousin J says it will completely dissolve in boiling hot water. And now for the fun part. You can use anything fresh and crunchy for the filling. I always line the centre with a bit of lettuce or soft baby spinach, slivers of cucumber and in this case, red pepper, although carrot is a firm favourite.

(urgh, what a haut frommage pun…firm favourite…bleh!)

Crunch time

With crunchy vegetables, herbs and the right dipping sauce, you really don’t need to add meat. But most things taste better with a prawn thrown in, don’t they? So for my lovely guests, I made prawn wraps.

Most important, the final touch – herbs. I often use basil and mint, this time I used Thai basil (thanks Woolies, you gourmet shopaholic-enablers you) and coriander. And don’t be shy. Green it from top to bottom. All that’s left is to roll and serve. And the wraps are self-stick. How cool is that…

That's how I roll

Cut in smaller pieces for gracious scoffing and serve with your favourite dipping sauce. I used soya and the Woolies Oriental Dipping Sauce.  It’s delicous, sweet and tangy. I bought a bottle about a month ago for R12.99 and thought it was the bargain of the century. Someone must have gotten the price wrong because it’s now R25.99 and still a good buy. Enough about the easy-come-easy-go starter… back to the hot birds!

Rose struck a demure pose on the couch with Fine Wine mag, while Katie (who LOVES her food) offered to lend a hand to get things moving in the kitchen.

Lady Bartinney of Helshoogte Upper

Barbarella 'The Blade'

Katie and I love going for lunch together because we always order two mains. Big up, ya? We’ve subsequently joined Bootcamp so this bravado comes at a price… Rose and I also enjoy ordering doubles, though of the liquid kind. From this point onwards my dedication to photo documenting the dinner went for a crock, as the knife-wielding one was starving plus she doesn’t stand for tweeting (yes I’m on twitter @kitchenvixenSA) and crap when there’s good food to be had. So all I have of the delicious Singapore chicken is this hasty snap:

Singapore Chicken Rice

Might look a bit bland but it’s everything but… A whole bird, poached in fragrant chicken stock. The white meat is cut and served on a bed of deliciously flavoured long grain rice, garnished with spring onion, cucumber and coriander, and served with a hot and spicy Togarashi dressing (in the gravy boat, what can I say) and Chinese spice salt (red bowl). The chicken is succulent and the rice is beyond comforting, although the kicker here is the Togarashi dressing. Lots of chili, garlic, ginger, sesame oil and lime juice. A sauce to add zing to grilled fish, meat, seafood or a crunchy salad. Recipes to follow courtesy of Liam Tomlin of Chefs Warehouse in Cape Town.

Rose, thank you for my WONDERFUL belated birthday present… two cases of the yet-to-be-released Bartinney 2009 Cabernet Sauvignon. A lovely wine, set to make its mark. On your shirt, the table cloth – wherever you’re having an awesome time! I still felt it the next day… ah ladies, we shall do this again.

Lovely logo, innit?

I’ve been hearing about Hemelhuijs since before it opened… the beautiful interior, delicious food, funky artwork, gorgeous basalt ceramics for sale… so on a recent trip to Cape Town to see the dentist, I made a point of popping in. Owner and chef Jacques Erasmus has set up shop right next to the Free World Design Centre on the CBD side of the fan walk bridge. If that description makes any sense…

Bokkie with crockery embellished horns

The hype was justified. Artistic, retro glam with a paired down city chic aesthetic. Undeterred by the inability to move the left side of my face (the dentist erred on the side of caution and paralyzed everything from the tip of my nose to below my chin) and with a stomach grumbling on evil-tasting mouthwash, I ordered the marzipan chicken with sour cherries, a very green, funky side salad and potato wedges with truffle mayonnaise. I almost never order chicken in a restaurant, except if I’m not really hungry, which wasn’t the case here. It came recommended and was absolutely delicious. Fortunately for my fellow diners, I regained oral control halfway through the meal… no doubt encouraged by the subtle flavours on my plate.

Tadaa!

For more on my yummy chicken and my friend’s equally morish open beef burger, you’ll have to tune into SABC3’s Expresso show, tomorrow morning (that’s Tuesday) at 6.50. Yip. At 6.50 in the MORNING. Is it mean not to post more pics now? Nooo. I have to be up at four to get there in time. But I’ll leave you with this, the Toasted Lady… not her real name, but a portrait made up entirely of little pieces of toasted bread. Jacques is all about food and design and this artwork, to me, reflects his passions. In a beautiful, cheeky way.

Hold the Pecks...

Night night….

When I suffered from a bout of existential constipation recently, my friend Susan sent me an sms with the following advice: ‘Make Yotam Ottolenghi’s green pancakes with lime butter. It always works for me.’ I love Yotam’s book PLENTY. It is meat free, not that you’d miss meat with all the amazing robust flavours that he conjures up. Earthy, delicious and just so sensible. It’s how we should eat, with or without a side of meat. And perhaps how we should ‘build’ our meals. Make the veg or salad your centerpiece and think of the meat or fish as the side. Just a slight shift in focus, really.

The green pancakes with lime butter are more like flapjacks, only packed with spinach, spring onion, green chili and cumin. Lightly fried in a bit of oil and served with a dollop of lime butter. The lime butter melts and adds to the flavour of the pancakes. This is superfood. Eat it and feel great.

My version of Yotam's pancakes

There’s some lime butter left which will be great on grilled chicken, fish or veg. Total preparation time is about 45 minutes and once you have surplus lime butter in the fridge, even less. This is a great light lunch or side. I had it with grilled haloumi (an old favourite) and tomato (without which I would shrivel up and die, unceremoniously). They might look a bit lumpy and ordinary in my photo but believe me, they’re ambassadors of goodness and clean, caring flavour.

Thanks for the rejuvenating advice Susan.

At Saturday’s chocolate class at Chefs Warehouse I made a fuss about not having much of a sweet tooth… just a little one that is easily satiated with one or two blocks of Lindt chocolate after dinner… until this baby crossed my path:

Afterlife by chocolate

They’ve been at it since 1845 and with this one they’ve achieved perfection – in my book. My sweet tooth turned into a fang and the slab was devoured in a matter of seconds. It’s from their new PASSION range… Noir with Caramel & Fleur de Sel. That’s dark chocolate with caramel and salt. Beautiful crunchy caramel and just a hint of salt bursting on the tongue.

Here I sit with just an empty wrapper and a sense of longing… IT’S NOT FAIR!!!!

I’ve been to some really lovely restaurants lately and have been raving accordingly… to the extent that I might seem perennially positive about all eateries. Not so, dear friends. I’ve just been lucky but luck always runs out. And yesterday it did.

I used to work for a publication that never printed a bad review. If they didn’t like you they simply didn’t mention you. I’m of the same mindset. Mostly. Because life is short and there’s so much good out there, why focus on the bad? Or even the less impressive? Today I’m making an exception, yet will refrain from naming the establishment. Suffice to say that I’ve been meaning to go there for some months. And expectation is a frigid mistress.

The menu seemed enticing enough… colourful, unusual combinations and we so wanted to have a great lunch that we were a bit slow on ordering our mains. But we were absolutely starving so ordered two starters immediately. This isn’t really about the food, though. It’s about the waiter…

Handsome, cool, relaxed, slack, absent, overly familiar… Dude, what were you sinking? Just because we’re not in our sixties and from Frankfurt doesn’t mean we don’t need service. I do mind getting up to order water for the second time, getting my own salt, pepper, olive oil, vinegar, wine. And when I ask you to PLEASE bring us some bread because I’m STARVING while I can see the neighbours tucking into their bread baskets, I don’t want to hear ‘I’ll bring it with your starter’. That’s too late. Why you holding back on the bread mister? At one stage my friend made a frightening ‘Waar’s die f*****n brood’ face. Pity I didn’t capture it on camera. I would have posted it right here. All gnarly lips and squint-eyed…

The food was fine. Somehow lacking in oomph and passion but FINE. Not on par with Bar Bar Black Sheep (scroll down for review) or DW Eleven-13 (further down), two vastly different establishments but each super enjoyable for what they are. Maybe I was disappointed because of the proximity to the oh-so-sublime Rust en Vrede restaurant, the roof of which I could have hit if I’d tossed my pepper grinder with enough disgruntled chutzpah… I took photos of the food but won’t post them because, like my waiter, I just couldn’t be bothered. And don’t invite me back because, like Brad, I never go back. Deal with it Jennifer.

This estate’s wine is fantastic and I was so looking forward to tasting the award-winning blend, but with all the legwork between table and service station I just wasn’t in the mood. Too bad. In this valley, there’s always more. The tourists can have this one.

Praat maar...

(No, it’s not Overture! I can’t throw a pepper grinder THAT far and although I’ve never been to Overture, I’d very much like to go as I’ve always heard great things… so, keep guessing… or look at a map)

Like blanket jackets, double belts, Alphaville and bubble skirts, if you were Afrikaans in the eighties a triangular frozen cheesecake would have surfaced at a braai near you. In a poeding landscape populated by trifle, malva pudding and dodgy fridge tarts made with Moirs packets, this triangular log was a breath of fresh air. For some reason it was called Expo kaaskoek where I grew up. Like pastorie hoender and coca cola chicken it fell out of favour when people discovered ratatouille and pesto but I never completely forgot about it. In fact, it was a childhood food memory that I wanted to recreate. I finally found the recipe a few weeks ago and was planning to make one, soon, so imagine my glee when at a friend’s birthday party an Expo kaaskoek was served! Complete with cherry in the centre, chocolate frosting, rich cream cheese filling and tennis biscuits as scaffolding. Behold… the bubble skirt of eighties desserts:

Boere Casata?

Three rows of tennis biscuits on a sheet of foil, spread the cream cheese mixture on top, put a row of cherries down the centre of the middle row and flip the two rows of biscuits up to form a triangle. Wrap and put in the freezer. Once frozen, make the chocolate icing, unwrap and place on a plate or board, coat with chocolate and refreeze. On the day, slice and serve.  I know you want this recipe…

And with all the fancy food that has come my way since the eighties, this is still a winner. Rich but frosty enough to be refreshing. And the shape still tickles me.

Happy birthday Maretha, and thanks for the yummy flashback!

Bar Bar Black Sheep in Riebeek Kasteel is one of my all-time favourite restaurants, in one of my favourite towns. Hence my garbled attempt to do the place justice in a four-minute review on SABC3’s Expresso Show yesterday morning… At the center of the retro-fabulous Short Street development in this hot and blossoming town, Bar Bar Black Sheep serves country fresh fair with cosmopolitan flair.

The red arrow top right.... my blaar

I initially thought the  Short Street development in Riebeek Kasteel was a charming barrio of old buildings, until developer Anton Espost pointed out the zol leaf on the gable of one little shop… dah…. all of the buildings were erected a few years ago but with a great eye for lived-in ambience.

And in the midst of all this, Bar Bar is a haven of bright table cloths, enamel plates laden with delicious food and a surround sprinkler system to alleviate the Swartland heat.

My horse for a pitcher of Pimms!

Chef and owner Mynhardt Joubert was a professional ballet dancer who thankfully swapped his ballet shoes for kitchen clogs. No Black Swan dramatics here but his level of dedication to fresh produce and real food that delivers on flavour would induce such feelings of self-loathing in Natalia Portman, she’d fall face first in a fresh malva pudding… And never mind the carbon footprint, a lot of Bar Bar’s food is cultivated but a few footsteps from your table.

Backyard bounty

Light, crispy delicious courgette flowers

The menu is creative – unusual dishes sourced from exotic cultures and made with the best local produce – yet includes easy favourites to please less adventurous eaters, like fish cakes, fillet, slow roast pork and pasta. But how can anyone resist this, the prettiest plate of soup you’ll ever see?

'Cacik' - ancient Turkish soup

Don’t be a ninny, order the Cacik! Made with yoghurt, cucumber and mint and served with fig, prickley pear, pine nuts, herbs and a drizzle of olive oil, this cold soup warms my heart. The beautiful blue blossoms are cucumber flowers.

Pho Bo or not, that is the question

Pho Bo, a Vietnamense dish with slices of beef fillet in a hot herby broth with noodles, is not for the faint hearted. She’s hot, chili hot! But a wonderful taste sensation if you can stand the heat. And sometimes served with a little hand-held Chinese fan…take heed.

More than anything on the menu, I love how friendly this restaurant is. And how that facilitates having a great time with family and friends. And dogs. And little people. There’s space for all.

Milly my hound and a nice young man

Ah, lest I forgot… with all this talk of local produce, central to the quality times at Bar Bar would be the wines of the area. From the Mullineux cellar just a few metres away, to hotshots Eben Sadie, Adi Badenhorst and smaller producers within a 50km radius who press with passion. Bar Bar showcases the locals and there’s a great bottle of wine to be had at almost any price.

Stock up at The Wine Kollective next to BBBS

As all good things must end, we decided to finish a lovely meal with a little lemon tart. My friend Susan insists that I  include more people (and more recipes) in my blog… so thanks Sanna for this one… we had such a good time an angle grinder would have come in handy to get this crazy senora off her seat!

My only reservation about this post is that I may never again get a table… so if you promise not to go in droves on days that I head out… the number is 022 448 1031 and their interwebs is www.bbbs.co.za

Here’s to black sheep with grape appeal…