Four-step baked rhubarb custard recipe

We’ve been in London this week. Kristoph has been super busy finish up various pieces of urgent work, and buzzing around our apartment in a whirlwind. I enrolled in five days of intensive French classes. It’s my latest effort to bring my dream of nattering easily with my French neighbours, in French, closer to reality.

I understand quite a lot of French, but I stumble (and that quite frankly, is a generous interpretation) along in shops and restaurants. I do a lot of nodding, “d’accord” etc. And I’m great on the non-verbal forms of communication. But I can’t converse freely, let alone express myself.

So here I am in London, enrolled in five days of French. It’s intense, just four students, myself included, and a jovial Guadeloupe national named Karine. Karine is passionate about the French language, teaching us French, and hearing us speak to her in French. Her energy is contagious and carries us easily though the four hours each day.

One of Karine’s homework tasks was to listen to as much French material as possible. Obligingly, I tuned our DAB kitchen radio to France Radio London before and after classes each day. Having French on in the background, subtly and gently entering my subconscious, is actually quite lovely. I barely notice it on, until I hear a word that is in my (limited) vocabulary. Then I feel very pleased.

Food has this week been playing second fiddle to my linguistics pursuits. Our dinners have been quick, simple, with few ingredients and little thought. After four straight hours of attempting to move my mind around the nuances of French grammar, I’ve had little motivation to construct complicated dishes.

And so today’s recipe is an abridged version of a Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall rhubarb and custard tart, included in last week’s Observer. Loving the combination of rhubarb and custard, but without the time to make a sweet pastry case, nor to blind bake it, I dropped the tart. Instead I baked the rhubarb and custard in individual ramekins.

The result is fabulous. The slightly tart rhubarb is complemented beautifully by the citrus tang of the orange juice and rind, and enriched by the vanilla infusion. The finished product – served chilled, is a lovely winter treat.

Here’s the recipe, it makes four individual portions. Hugh’s original tart is available here:

500 grams rhubarb (cut into 5cm lengths)

 Zest of ½ orange

Juice of half an orange

6 tbsp caster sugar

250ml double cream

1 vanilla pod, split (cut it in half, you’ll need half for the rhubarb and half of the custard)

5 egg yolks (save the whites for an egg-omlette)

Step One: Preheat the oven to 200C. Mix the rhubarb, half of the caster sugar, half of the vanilla, the orange rind and the orange juice together in a bowl. Make sure the rhubarb is coated. 

Step Two: Transfer to a roasting tin. Roast for 25-30mins, until the rhubarb is soft. Remove from oven. Then turn the oven down to 130C (you'll need the oven again for the custard). 

Step Three: Make the custard. Heat the cream and the remaining vanilla in a pan until the cream is scalded. Whisk the egg yolks with the remaining sugar, then pour into the cream. Remove the vanilla bean, scraping any remaining seeds into the custard.

Step Four: Place the rhubarb into ramekins, dividing it evenly among the four. Pour over the custard. Bake for 40 minutes, until the custard is set. Pop it in the fridge and serve cold.   

  

Please note that vanilla beans are expensive – so don’t immediately discard them. The spent bean casing will have retained quite a bit of its flavour post use, so dry the two halves out and drop them in some caster sugar to infuse for a vanilla sugar.

Also if you have any rhubarb left over, don’t discard it. Swirl it and it’s juices into yoghurt for an excellent breakfast!

Cooking Along to Delia - Iced Lemon Curd Layer Cake

Food is powerful stuff, it brings people together. Sharing a home cooked meal is an intimate experience. It’s not only about the meal. There’s more going on. You are also being invited into someone’s private space, eating at their table, sharing a little bit of their life.

Home cooking is a collaborative affair. One or more people do the cooking. And in our house anyway, others are put to work setting the table, deciding who should sit where, determining if we have enough cutlery, and selecting the wine that will be served. Others still, in our house usually Kristoph, are sent to source those all important, yet oft forgotten, ingredients, from neighbours gardens, or the little epicerie on the corner.      

Dinner at our house in Segur le Chateau is often ad hoc, occasionally chaotic (too many people, too few chairs, and the increasingly common occurrence of canine guests), and usually ends in a post-dinner dance off around the kitchen and dining room.

When friends come to stay with us, we ask them to cook their favourite dish for us and other guests. Something they do well and easily. It’s supposed to be fun, not stressful. It’s a way of introducing people to our space, maintaining a communal atmosphere in our house, and helping them to feel at home in our kitchen. 

For some of our guests, the prospect of cooking for a gang of people, some of whom they know, others they’ve just met, is horrifying. Those guests usually offer to do the dishes.

We’ve learned a lot from both types of guests. Those that cook have introduced us to fabulous dishes using local ingredients in new ways. And for those that opted for a dishwashing shift, we’ve also learned some of the differing cultural practices of washing up. A Londoner, with Jamaican ancestry, covered our kitchen bench, and all of our dishes in a mountain of foamy suds. He then emptied the sink and rinsed each dish in turn. According to Mr Harrision “you’re unlikely to meet a Jamaican who doesn’t run a full rinse cycle.”

And so it goes in Segur. We host friends every summer, and often the seasons in between, and they help build the shared history of our petit maison. Their visits nourish us in many ways. They bring (much appreciated) news of the outside world, music and musical talents, and fresh eyes on the village.

Recently, as I presented one of my friends with some rosemary and pine nut brittle for Christmas, she told me that she would never have the confidence to enter the kitchen herself. Hearing Vikki’s uncertainty around a simple baking project, it occurred to me that perhaps there is something in between the Segur house guest that cooks a feast, and those that do the dishes. A cooking lesson was in order! Vikki was a ready recipient.

Vikki set herself the task of cooking a friend a birthday cake. She chose Delia Smith’s Iced Lemon Curd Layer Cake as her preferred option. As luck would have it, I also needed to make a birthday cake. So Vicky and I spent Saturday cooking along to Delia’s instructions.

The recipe makes a cake that looks fabulous, is spongy, but not too sweet with a lemon tang. The lemon curd spread through the middle layers is fabulous. We made a large cake and also smaller versions in a muffin tin. The smaller versions were perhaps slightly on the dry side, so I’d probably add a little more butter next time. But the cake is really simple – and quick to make.

Here’s Delia’s recipe:

For the cake:

Grated zest 1 lemon

1 tablespoon lemon juice

6 oz (175 g) self-raising flour, sifted

1 level teaspoon baking powder

6 oz (175 g) butter at room temperature

6 oz (175 g) caster sugar

3 large eggs

For the lemon curd:

grated zest and juice 1 large juicy lemon

3 oz (75 g) caster sugar

2 large eggs

2 oz (50 g) unsalted butter

For the icing:

Zest of 1 large lemon

2-3 teaspoons lemon juice

2 oz (50 g) sifted icing sugar

Step 1: Measure all the cake ingredients into a mixing bowl and beat with an electric hand whisk, until you have a smooth, creamy consistency.

Step 2: Divide the mixture evenly between the two tins and bake them on the centre shelf of the oven for about 35 minutes (at 175 degress) or until the centres feel springy when lightly touched with a little finger.

Step 3: Make the lemon curd. Place the sugar and grated lemon zest in a bowl, whisk the lemon juice together with the eggs, then pour this over the sugar. Then add the butter cut into little pieces.

Step 4: Place the bowl over a pan of barely simmering water. Stir frequently till thickened – about 20 minutes.

Step 5: When the cakes are cooked, remove them from the oven and after about 30 seconds turn them out on to a wire rack. When they are absolutely cold – and not before – carefully cut each one horizontally into two using a sharp serrated knife.

Step 6: Spread the curd thickly to sandwich the sponges together. If you’re making smaller versions in a muffin tin, cut the top off and make a small well for the lemon curd. Fill it, and put the top back on.

Step 7: Make the icing. Remove the zest from the lemon – it's best to use a zester to get long, curly strips. Sift the icing sugar into a bowl and gradually stir in the lemon juice until you have a soft, runny consistency. Allow the icing to stand for 5 minutes before spreading it on top of the cake with a knife, almost to the edges, and don't worry if it runs a little down the sides of the cake. Then scatter the lemon zest over the top and leave it for half an hour for the icing to firm up before serving.

And that’s it. I’d be keen to make this again and add in a rosemary infusion, as I’m really into the flavour of lemon and rosemary at the moment. Have you made alterations to this recipe? Any other ideas? Please leave me a comment.

   

Tales of frost and sunshine in Segur

 

It’s the dead of winter in Segur le Chateau. The leaves, long departed from the trees, now carpet the frozen ground. Most mornings one can find them decorated in fragile crystals of ice. The last few days here have been well below freezing, but the air is still. The day lit sky is bright blue, while the night sky is a sea of stars.

Pia, a friend and colleague, has been visiting. We’re working together on some writing projects, and have been spending our days between brainstorming (while nursing the logburner), and exploring the woodland trails around the village. For inspiration, procrastination, and to ensure we appreciate the warmth that the little logburner is pumping out.

Showing new friends and old friends around Segur, and witnessing their response, is one of my favourite idle pleasures. Rambling Segur has a certain impact on our guests. Some are immediately captured by the medieval feel, and rustic charms, others wonder aloud how on earth we found this place.

Despite the still cold encasing Segur, on our walks we encountered deer, buzzards, wren, and finches, all happily wintering in the Correze. So I thought I’d share with you some of the scenes of winter. I seem to have developed a certain infatuation with frost, photographing frost covered – ivy, leaves, logs and bridges. There’s something about sunlight, radiating the icicles, that captures my imagination, forces me to stop in my tracks, stair at my feet, and put my camera to work.

I hope you like the pictures!  

Tangy Pink Grapefruit Curd

Curd is somewhat of a new concept to me. Growing up in a small town in Victoria, Australia, it wasn’t something we ate. Our toast was smeared with vegemite. A cliché? Yes. An accurate one? Yes, also. Being a slightly contrary child, I declared at a young age my preference for promite, to vegemite. 

I was imitating my maternal grandfather, also contrary by nature, and of whom I was very fond. Like him, I mixed my tomato sauce, with Worcester sauce, making a fairly tart concoction, affectionately termed (and also labelled) Pa’s Sauce. We ate it with ham that my grandfather cut in thing slices from the bone.

But alas, I digress. The point is: my childhood toast was smeared with a dark brown, salty, yeasty paste. Not curd. It wasn’t until I landed in London in 2005, and discovered excellent British yoghurts, that I was introduced to lemon curd. Full fat Greek style yoghurt infused with lemon curd quickly became one of my favourite breakfasts. I was informed by my British friends that lemon curd was also excellent on toast, scones, waffles, crumpets and pancakes, as well as for flavouring tarts or cakes. It’s an institution.    

For Christmas this year, Kristoph’s mother, keen to nurture my interest in foraging, preserving and cooking, gave me Catherine Atkinson and Maggie Mayhew’s book titled: Preserves. Inside there’s over 150 jam, pickles, relishes, chutney and curd recipes.  

Drawn immediately to the grapefruit curd recipe, I was amazed at its apparent simplicity. Trecipe came at an opportune time, given I’ve been recently waxing lyrical to Kristoph about the beauty of cut grapefruit, and just how photogenic the fruit is. He hinted he thinks I’m slightly off kilter. Ho hum.

And so I made my first batch of grapefruit curd. It’s sweet, tangy, and as predicted delicious swirled into Greek yoghurt. If I were to make scones and invite you around to tea, I’d likely serve it. Admittedly it may not fit into my recent – completely healthy January - ethos, it is sugar based. But, in defence of curd, it’s almost a garnish, a little goes a long way. So January remains fairly healthy, with the occasional treat thrown in.    

Here’s the Preserves recipe, the only change I made was to use pink grapefruit, as opposed to yellow ones. I hope you like it.

Recipe:

(Make 650 grams of curd)

Finely grated rind of 1 pink grapefruit

Juice of 1 pink grapefruit

200 grams caster sugar

4 large eggs (lightly beaten)

115 grams unsalted butter (cut in cubes)

Sterilised jars

Step 1: Heat the grapefruit juice, rind, butter, and sugar in a heatproof bowl, over simmering water. Heat until the sugar has dissolved and the butter melted. 

Step 2: Strain the lightly beaten eggs through a sieve. Whisk together, and heat until the mixture thickens. You will know it is done, when the mixture lightly coats the back of a wooden spoon.

Step 3: Place the mixture in warmed sterilized jars. Cover and seal. Use the curb within three months. 

Enjoy! Have you made any other curd flavors? I’m keen to make more. Also, please let me know if you make this and how it turns out.

Red Rice Salad with Lemon Sesame Dressing

Kristoph and I recently took a holiday to Bali. Actually Kristoph is not as comfortable as I am with the concept of “holiday.” In his view those that say they need a holiday, should re-evaluate their lives, so that they can find more enjoyment in every day. It does sound quite harsh, but perhaps philosophically I see his point.  

So Kristoph called our trip a “reconnaissance” mission. Reconnaissance, because for the last couple of years we’ve been toying with the idea of a move to the tropics. We thought perhaps we could set up home in Bali, live in a rainforest, close to a river gorge, and grow more things to eat. I’ve been (not so subtly) marketing the idea to him for a couple of years. 

As it turned out Bali was far too hot for Kristoph. No sooner had he landed, than he morphed into a quintessentially “hot English” struggling with the powerful sun, and the slightly repressive humidity level. Although we both adored the snorkelling over colourful reefs, battling rivers to reach remote waterfalls, meeting monkeys, and hurtling through jungle tracks on mountain bikes devoid of breaks, the traffic was horrendous, and on a few occasions, soul destroying.

There are over two million people living in Bali, and despite being a huge island – it takes four hours to drive across it (we did it, twice), each year more and more people trade their scooters for cars. Although we’re no longer contemplating a move to Bali, we both loved the diversity of the island’s landscape, and the opportunity it affords the Balinese culture. They grow everything. We visited clove forests, orange groves, coffee plantations, walked through jungles of cacao trees, as well as the ubiquitous picturesque rice patties.

Bali is largely a rice bowl. It’s been grown in Bali for centuries, and the landscape has been slowly and permanently moulded into spectacular green terraces, running like giant steps over the mountain landscape. There’s red rice, black rice, white rice, super fast growing rice, and countless further varieties. Growing rice is hard work though. Every year, lured by the powerful incentive of tourist dollars, more farmers turn away from their ancestral terraces. The land is left, or turned over to developers, as once were farmers, take up employment as drivers, or as hotel staff. 

Despite this worrying trend, others persevere, tapping into the organic market, with its hunger for (organically grown) nutrients and super-foods. Such is the case with Jatihiwih Fragrant Red Rice, harvested annually on the southern slopes of the UNESCO world heritage site, Mount Batukaru. Credited with practicing the most ecologically sound rice growing techniques in Bali, farmers produce red rice, as grown on the slopes for centuries, and still rich in vitamins, minerals, folate and fibre.

And so today’s recipe is my first experiment with this nutty red rice. Keeping to my cleansing approach to food this January, I added it to a salad with steamed spinach and kale, dressed with a lemon, sesame and mandarin vinaigrette.

I hope you enjoy it, here’s the recipe:

Recipe

(serves two for side dishes)

1 cup red rice (if you can’t find any, use wild rice, or brown rice)

2 handfuls of kale (chopped)

2 handfuls of baby spinach (chopped)

For the dressing:

2 tbsp sesame oil

1 tbsp whole grain mustard

1 shallot (finely chopped)

Juice of 1 lemon

Juice of 1 mandarin

Ground black pepper

Step 1: Prepare the rice, as per the instructions on the packet. My red rice requires socking overnight – so this recipe can require some forethought.

Step 2: Prepare the dressing. In a screw top jar place all of the ingredients. Shake them well. 

Step 3: Chop the spinach and the kale. Add the kale to the steamer first. Leave it steam until tender and then add the spinach. The spinach only needs around 30 second. 

Step 4: Mix the rice, together with the kale and baby spinach. 

Step 5: Add the dressing, to taste. You’ll probably have a little left over. Enjoy!               

Quick and Healthy – Sautéed Rainbow Chard with Sumac

I’m trying to make the most of my January resolution to eat a little healthier. In addition to my staples, of steamed broccoli and kale, I’ve been taking the time to browse the market for new contenders. 

This week I came across mountains of brightly coloured rainbow chard. With its fabulous leaves of burnt yellow, fluorescent orange, deep green, and burgundy, I snapped it up. Surely it will make me healthier. Gosh I felt energised just looking at it.

In an effort to keep my taste buds interested in my resolution, I’ve spending some time perusing blogs focused on simple healthy foods, such as Scandie Foodie (also known as seriously healthy - no dairy, no sugar), for inspiration. My feeling is that Scandi Foodie would probably insert my bunch of rainbow chard directly into her juicer. Although I love vegetable juices, and am totally sold on their health benefits, I really don’t enjoy cleaning the juicer. I actually avoid it at all costs. The resulting odour leads to a certain level of domestic discontent, so the juicer tends to live a quiet life in the cupboard.  

The next healthiest way to eat chard is probably raw. And while I’m keen to increase the proportion of raw foods in my diet this January, it’ freezing here. So a hot lunch was in order. As such I decided to sauté the chard with smoked garlic, shallots and sumac. At the last minute I added some chilli pickle for an extra kick – both because chilli is said to speed up one’s metabolism, and because I love the flavour.

This dish is incredibly simple to make. The whole process from fridge to plate took less than ten minutes. It makes a tasty midweek lunch, and would also make an impressive colourful side dish.      

I hope you like it! Here’s the recipe.

 Recipe

Olive oil

2 loves Smoked garlic (minced)

2 Shallots (chopped)

Sumac (2 tea spoons)

Bunch of chopped rainbow chard

Chilli Pickle (to taste – I used 2 tea spoons)

 

Step 1: Chop the chard. Keep the stalks and the leaves separate. 

Step 2: In a pan, heat a glug of oil, the minced garlic and the finely chopped shallots. Once these are fragrant add the chard stalks.

Step 3: Once the stalks are tender, add the sumac and then the chard leaves. Add the chilli pickle and sauté for two minutes.   

Step 4: Et voila! Enjoy

Any other suggestions on ways to prepare chard? There’s plenty available at the moment and it seems to be almost always organic.

Happy 2012 from Segur le Chateau

 Happy New Year everyone!

Today’s been a slow day in our household. Our house is in a mess, and we’ve not yet found time to take down the Christmas tree. But after a late night out, most of Sunday was spent in our lounge room with friends drinking tea and reading the papers. We made lists of 2011 highlights (getting married to Kristoph), hilarious moments (a certain incident involving a thieving monkey, a flip flop, and a Balinese temple), and cringe-worthy experiences (which will remain unshared...).  

2011 was a significant year for Kristoph and I. We were lucky enough to invite friends and family from all over the world to Segur le Chateau, and to share with them the way we live. In an effort to immerse them into our French way of life, we asked many of them to climb cherry trees for dessert, and others to forage for wild strawberries and mint to add to Pimms. We sent them off to the daily produce markets in surrounding towns, with instructions to try everything and bring back the tastiest delights they could find, to share with others.

Their enthusiasm for Segur, the cuisine, the life-style, as well as for our wedding celebration was incredibly touching to both Kristoph and I, leaving us with smiles that are yet to fade. This experience inspired me to dedicate more time to this blog, to share with a wider audience the foods we forage and feast on.    

So as we welcome 2012, thanks for your support and encouragement so far. It heartens me to read your comments and receive your emails. This January, I’m looking forward to foraging for chickweed, velvet shanks, and oyster mushrooms.  

I’m also looking forward to eating a little cleaner than in December. You may have noticed the dominance of Christmas treats in December, with spiced Xmas bark, pine nut and rosemary brittle, and mince pies all featuring. While most of these goodies were given away as gifts, and served at parties, both Kristoph and I have certainly enjoyed a sufficiency of festive season over-indulgence. In January I’ll be bringing you more cleansing dishes, interspersed with treats.

Please feel free to send me a note with comments, or requests. Wishing you a fabulous 2012, with your plates filled with fabulous seasonal food, foraged finds, and plenaty of time for idle pursuits!