Eumundi Papers: April 2009

Monday, 20 April 2009

Rosella Jam: Pretty 'n Pink

On a top 10 list of puurdiest edible plants, rosellas would have to be right up there (possibly vying for pole position with aubergines): Lemon yellow blossoms fluttering from wiry crimson stalks studded with rows of ruby buds - very chic.

Best of all though, they're ridiculously tough ... and prolific - so much so they'd easily make my top ten list of delicious weeds (along with pumpkins ... and cherry tomatoes of course).

Then there's the jam. Rosellas make the best jam full stop. It's rich and tart and unlike anything you've ever tasted. And the colour is outrageous - a magenta pink-red that's pure Bollywood.

You rarely - if ever - see it in shops. Rosella jam is a dinky-di, backyard, homemade, nana-style preserve. Should you ever happen upon it at, say, a CWA cake stall - pounce. It's gold.

As jam making goes, rosellas can be quite labour intensive - but hey, that's part and parcel of the pleasure of homemade: Slow down. Sit outside. Pour yourself a cuppa, or a beer. Relax. Be in the moment.

That's how I spent my Saturday.

Pick a bowlful of buds. (secateurs recommended - they're tough little numbers). Grab a seat under a tree and start separating petals (they peel of quite neatly) from the cute green pods inside.

Now comes the clever bit (as in mumma nature being clever). The pectin comes pre-packaged in the pods. Place these (pods) in a saucepan, cover with water and bring to the boil. Simmer for around 40 minutes, or until the liquid becomes thick and gelatinous. Strain through a sieve or some muslin.

Place the petals in a heavy-based pot, add the strained pod liquid, and simmer for 20 minutes until the petals start to soften (you may need to add a little extra water to avoid burning - and keep stirring).

Now add sugar. At this point it gets a bit tricky. Usually any jam recipe pre-1980 uses way too much sugar - i.e. one cup of sugar for one cup of fruit. That said, rosellas are like rhubarb: They really need sugar to bring out the flavour, but ... you don't want to lose their unique tartness. In this batch, I used about 4 of sugar to 6 of fruit and it seemed about right. It really depends on your tastebuds, and the ripeness of the fruit.

Yes, that colour is for real. Do not adjust your monitor. Simmer for another 20 minutes or so. Careful not to overcook or the jam will lose its glorious technicolour brilliance. Test if ready by putting a spoonful on an icy cold saucer from the fridge. If it thickens and sets you're done.

Spoon into sterilised jars. Sit back and feel smug.

Wait - there's more:

Should this be the first you've heard of rosellas - or at least, the non-feathered variety - well, you're probably relieved to have discovered I'm not making parrot jam.

To learn more, just head on over to the folks at Green Harvest. Their on-line fruit and veg catalogue sure gets my pulse racing, and they post organic seeds, and other gardener's delights, to anywhere in Australia.

Friday, 17 April 2009

Granny Square Renaissance

Look what I've made!

What's that you say? Liar, liar, bras on fire?

Okay, I'll 'fess up. I snapped it up for $5.50 at Vinnies. Yes, $5.50. Perhaps vintage crocheted Afghans (or granny square rugs, as they're fondly known) will be one of the last affordables for the budding collector.

I love it to bits, and not just for the hours of work that must have gone into it. For me, granny squares are nostalgia plus. They give me that warm and fuzzy feeling, inside and out.

I've had a love affair with handcrafts from the day mum sat me on her knee and showed me how to knit. Everyone made stuff at our place - brothers included - all sorts of stuff. And as a schoolgirl way back in the craft renaissance of the late 20th century, I was more than up for a bit of crochet. Granny squares are bewitchingly addictive little things. They're easy, quick, portable, and, like a kaleidoscope, morph themselves into endless variations of pattern and colour with every turn. There's something so soothingly mathematical about their construction (and this from someone who hates maths).

So I'm chuffed that in these heady, post-feminist days, when girls really can do anything, that the homely granny square has made yet another comeback. In craftblogland they're everywhere. Why, over at Meet Me at Mike's, the industrious Pip is hell-bent on churning out a granny a day. (She's also posted a helpful tutorial, should you be inspired to join the fun and games.)

However, when looking for vintage granny inspiration, I'd say there's no better place to start than Golden Hands: the complete knitting, dressmaking and needlecraft guide (c1972), where I found this quaintly-named Killarney Cloak. (Love the dog - evidently, in the 70s, nothing said Ireland like a setter.)

I feel compelled to get crocheting - but would I ever finish it? ... Would I ever wear it? ... Is it really funky, or just plain frumpy? Sometimes, with retro knitwear, it's a very fine line.

Wednesday, 15 April 2009

Home-bake: Anzac Biscuits

Over the Easter long weekend I decided to whip up some Anzac bikkies. Yeah, go figure.

Anyway, if I do say so myself, they were particularly scrumptious. Crispy and sticky and chewy all at the same time. What a biscuit. Makes you proud to be an Australian ... with or without the associated stories of heroism and mateship.

A plate of home-baked Anzacs is a definite crowd pleaser. Sometimes, in a fit of generosity, I make a batch for the students. The Swiss love 'em. I reckon it's because they're like portable Bircher Muesli. Chuck a few in the rucksack and you're all set for a brisk morning hike up the Matterhorn.

Without wishing to teach any grandmothers out there how to suck eggs (delightful expression), here's my adapted version of the recipe from:

The Australian Women's Weekly Original Cookbook (1970)

Mix together:

1 cup unbleached flour

1 cup sugar (I use less - about 3/4 cup)

1 cup rolled oats

3/4 cup dessicated coconut (I use more - about 1 cup)

In a saucepan, melt together:

125g butter

1 tablespoon golden syrup (I use more - about 2)

When melted, add I 1/2 teaspoons of bicarbonate of soda dissolved in 2 tablespoons of hot water. The butter and syrup mix will froth up in a satisfying kind of way. Pour into the dry ingredients. Mix together and roll into balls. If the mix is too dry, just add a bit more warm water. Place on buttered tray and flatten with a fork - a nice homely touch. (I have the best memories of my mum doing this).

Bake for about 20 minutes.

Fend off men and small children until cool.

If anyone has any Anzac tips, or alternative versions, I'd love to hear them!

Tuesday, 14 April 2009

Eames, Scandi-Modern, Play School - take your pick.

Drum Roll.......... At last - the moment we've all been waiting for! Okay, slight exagerration, the moment Phil and I have been waiting for. Yep, the doors have arrived. Well, not all of them - the vermillion red and cobalt blue are still at the powder coaters.

But there's the egg yolk yellow ones, peeking out. Uh huh, primary colours. Reactions so far have been mixed - from the positive:

Emerson: "Great idea. I've been thinking the place could do with some colour." (This from the man whose entire wardrobe is black, bless him).
To the tentative:

Liz: "So it's going to be a Play School house?" (Well no, Liz. Our influences were a bit more Scandi/Eames than Big Ted/Jemima. Although, having said that, there are going to be a couple of - ahem - round windows ...).

Everyone's two cents worth aside, we're feeling pretty darned happy about how they've turned out. Here's Phil doing an in-situ demo of those gorgeously chunky, bright yellow french doors, leading out to the studio. Look at him - that's one happy man. And so he should be - nice design work, hon.

And a big thank you and pats on the back all round to the blokes at Allstar Garage Doors and Gates, Noosaville for taking the job on. It took awhile, but you've done a cracking job with the welding and, in the end, they were well worth waiting for (and I guess we did say we weren't in a hurry).

Say bye for now Big Ted.

Saturday, 11 April 2009

Pumpkin delinquency

I can't say I hadn't been warned about pumpkins. In The Permaculture Home Garden (my organic bible, never leaves my bedside) Linda Woodrow pulls no punches, exposing them as the recalcitrant, unruly and untrustworthy veggies that they are. They'll stick their tendrils in anywhere, and in this hothouse weather, can stage a clandestine coup of the garden while you're caught napping. As a result, we usually plant them well out of the way, down below Ham's pen, which has the added bonus of catching the run off from his copious production of top quality, err, fertilizer.

Then I read in some free gardening mag that you can simply prune the vines to size, thus neatly containing them in their own bed as an underplanting to, say, corn. Yeah right. In this jungle weather, you'd need to be out there every day, armed to the teeth with secateurs - machetes, even - bravely hacking away. I rest my case:

The neighbours are in there somewhere. Nicky! ... Patrick! ... Can you hear me? Are you okay?

And then, having finally plucked up enough mojo to teach a pugnacious plant some manners, you grimly approach with blade raised - only to find this chubby little beauty skulking beneath the leaves. In a flash, all is forgiven. You do a quick head count before retiring inside, out of the rain, to cosy up with some recipe books. Now let's see - pumpkin soup, pumpkin scones, pumpkin fruit cake ...

FYI: Pictured is a Japanese (affectionately known as "Jap") pumpkin or Kabocha. Everyone grows them up here - delicious and virtually indestructible.

And hey, what the heck, it's time for a gratuitous pig shot. Pumpkins are, after all, his all-time favourite vegetable. Well, next to watermelons ... and corn ...

And he can smell 'em a mile off.

Monday, 6 April 2009

Kevin McCloud, Grand Designs, and all things bespoke

It's about now that an imaginary Kevin McCloud turns to camera and looks very, very concerned:

"Bespoke* windows and doors are all very well in terms of aesthetics," he warns (in his inimitable, let's-get-serious-chaps delivery), "yet it's where I've seen so many projects flounder in terms of the inevitable, and more often than not, interminable delays they can cause to a building schedule."

"Not to mention the stress and strain this can add to an already overstretched relationship," he adds ruefully. As the camera moves in for a close-up of Kev's studiously furrowed brow, he confides, in conspiratorial tone: "And I fear Wendy and Phil may be no exception."

Yes, we appreciate your concern Uncle Kev but we're doing fine and dandy thanks.

Oh alright, I admit we do have the odd - cough - discussion about house progress, or lack thereof. Actually, we had one the other day. Here's how it goes:
Phil sits quietly and listens (or appears to listen), whilst I walk around in ever-decreasing circles, waving my hands and ranting. Then we have a nice cup of tea. Or one of us goes off to fetch beer and corn chips.

Seriously though, the reason why the house is taking years, rather than months to build can be boiled down to three factors:

1. Phil believes he is the only person in the world who can do the job properly (read perfectly) - and anyway, tradies never return your calls, let alone turn up.

2. Sadly, he's right.

3. A pesky distraction called "earning a living", usually in the form of huge electronics projects for museums and exhibitions (see philwarddesign.com).
Actually, add to that
4. The torrential, coming down in buckets, creek-bursting downpours that have been pelting the now ironically-named Sunshine Coast for - well, seemingly forever.
Oh my, what a surprise! It's raining now...

Having got all that off my chest, I must admit that there is some progress to report. In fact, most of the door and window frames have arrived, and even been installed. And here they are in all their beefy, industrial-proportioned glory:

Oh how neat and trim and almost finished it's looking. Be still my beating heart! I am soooo antsy to move in. Trouble is, there's no actual doors yet, just frames. Not to mention glass. And it rains every five minutes.
Sigh...