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It was the first recipe I saw when the message came through on my phone. My mum and dad were at a dinner party and the hostess had pulled the well-worn red and white checked book from her collection. Dad snapped a couple of photos on his phone with the words, Bit of history in these books. Suzanne is going to lend it to you. And so it was, a couple of days later, that this gem, in all her Antiquitarianess, came to be in my home. I ran my hands over the cover. Up and down the spine which was held together with four strips of sticky tape. The thin, musty pages drew me in more and more. It is from the pages beginning at 49 with the introductory words under Butter Cakes that state.... Cooking times will vary. When perfectly baked the cake will be elastic to the touch and a scalded hairpin or very fine skewer inserted into the center will come out clean and dry. If you don't want to pierce your cake, put your ear down and listen. A whisper of steam will tell you if it isn't sufficiently cooked. The story of this book begins here. You see, from this page onwards, until about page 91 where "peanutties", "Ginger snaps", and "Home hermits" reside is the tell-tale sign of thumbed-over pages - their filo-pastry-like edges are torn and stained. It is no surprise that crusted bits of flour and buttery smudges are prevalent where one finds pikelets and scones. Coming in at a close second are the pages marked with "Snowballs", "Apple delights", and "Lemon Queens". The black and white photos are basic and minimalistic but so too are the recipes - rarely is a time given and brisk, moderate, and hot are stipulated for the temperatures at which to bake. I particularly enjoy reading the little notes that accompany these photos - Starred for morning tea. Add glamour with chocolate glaze. A pleasant rattle of cups and a melting, sugar-crowned teacake, the fragrance of crusty brown nut loaf fresh from the oven....you'll attain new heights of hospitality with these mouth-watering tea-time attractions. I mean, what is not to love about these words, I am transported immediately into a cocoon of coziness. But getting back to that first recipe, the one that caught my eye, or should I say the name that caught my eye. For it was intriguing - Stuffed Monkeys. What in the world could this entail? Dried fruits, spices, and honey, encased in a pastry shell. Well, let me tell you they did not disappoint. In fact, they were so joyful that when I broke the little parcel into two it was like discovering hidden treasures. I liken them to fruit mince pies, although the pastry is more biscuit-like. They are sturdy enough to wrap in baking paper and nestle into one's pocket. Which is exactly what I did as I set off for the school pick-up. I unfolded it in front of Beau, his eyes instantly sparkled as he devoured each and every last crumb on the walk back to the car. I do recall that I had spooned dollops of jam into a few, which went down a treat. I must make a note of that, for next time. Cheese and Gherkin scones are in order. Followed closely by a condensed milk tea cake and a batch of cookies for good measure. Oh, and let me not forget about the cheese pastry! I better hop to it, otherwise, my loan may expire. Maybe I can pay my late fees with buttery sugar-laden delights and gain new heights of hospitality while I'm at it! Stuffed Monkeys Recipe slightly adapted from New Australian Cookery Illustrated Filling 4 tbs Spectacular dried fruit mix or 2 tbs each of raisins, currants, sultanas, and mixed peel (Or your choice of jam) 2 tsp honey 1/4 tsp ground cinnamon 1/4 tsp ground ginger Pastry 140g unsalted butter, at room temperature 140g caster sugar 2 tsp ground cinnamon 1/4 tsp nutmeg 1/2 tsp ground ginger 1 egg, at room temperature 225g plain flour Slivered almonds or blanched almonds Preheat your oven to 180c fan force. Line two baking trays with baking paper and set aside. Mix the ingredients for the filling in a small bowl and set aside while you make the pastry. Beat the butter, sugar, and spices with an electric mixer until light and creamy. Beat in the egg until combined. Stir in the sifted flour. Bring together into a soft dough and then lightly dust your bench with a shower of flour. Cut the dough in half, and working with one half at a time, roll it out thinly and cut out rounds. I used a 6cm round scone cutter. Continue in this manner until all the dough has been used up and you have rows of little circles in front of you. Place a spoonful of filling on half of the rounds and then dab your finger into a small bowl of water before dampening the edges of the pastry. Lay the other half of the rounds on top, and then pleat them together to form a neat little parcel. You can place a blanched almond or some slivered almonds on top for a nice finish. Pop them onto your prepared trays and bake for 15-20 minutes or until golden and feel dry to the touch. They will harden on cooling. Remove from the oven and place onto a cooling rack. They keep well in an airtight container, but you will probably find yourself baking another batch before too long.

The skeletal frames stand tall in a river of white. They have survived yet another freezing Quebec winter. The first signs of spring call out to the thousands of producers, inviting them deep into the maple forests when the sap starts to thaw, and the tapping season can begin. Each tree carries a silver bucket around its girth, collecting sap, which is then boiled down in a “sugar shack” to make 100% pure Canadian maple syrup – Liquid gold. Depending on when in the tapping season the sap is harvested determines which of the 4 grades it is classed into. 1. Golden – delicate and light in colour. 2. Amber – pure and rich in taste. 3. Dark – a more pronounced, robust taste. 4. Very dark – strong, distinctive flavour. It was the glistening dark maple, which may I add, comes presented in a maple leaf-shaped glass bottle, only adding to its charm that made my pumpkin, maple, and date cake* with maple cream cheese frosting, complete with a crown of caramelized maple pecans just that little bit extra special. Along with the warming spices of ground ginger and nutmeg, and the kick of fresh ginger, it makes for a wonderful cake to be enjoyed at any time of the day. Particularly during the months when wood smoke casts silvery mists over the tree tops, the air is crisp enough to crack with the back of a wooden spoon, and we hibernate within the warm glow of our homes, awaiting the first signs of Spring. *I am thrilled to have partnered up with Maple from Canada - Australia for this post. You can find many more Maple-inspired recipes on their website Makes one 23cm round cake. For the cake 150g pitted medjool dates, roughly chopped. 100ml orange juice 1 tsp bi-carb soda 4 eggs, at room temperature 160g brown sugar or maple sugar 140ml light olive oil 60ml dark maple syrup 150g wholemeal plain flour 200g self-raising flour 1 tsp baking powder 2 tsp ground ginger ¼ tsp grated nutmeg 1 ½ tsp fresh ginger, finely grated Zest of an orange 500g pumpkin, peeled For the frosting 150g cream cheese, at room temperature 80g unsalted butter, at room temperature 80g icing sugar, sifted 1 tbsp dark maple syrup For the pecans 120g pecans 125ml dark maple syrup ¼ tsp ground cinnamon A pinch of sea-salt flakes Preheat your oven to 160c fan forced. Grease and line a 23cm round cake tin with softened butter and baking paper. Combine dates and orange juice (reserving the zest) in a small saucepan. Boil for 1 minute over medium heat, remove from the heat and then stir in the bi-carb. It will foam up. Allow to rest for 5 minutes. Using a food processor or blender, blitz until smooth. Set aside. Beat eggs, sugar, olive oil, and maple syrup with an electric mixer until it becomes thick and light in colour. This should take about 6 minutes at a medium-high speed. Then add the dates and mix to combine. Sift the flours, salt, and baking powder into a large bowl followed by the spices, fresh ginger, and orange zest and then whisk briefly to combine. Lay a clean tea towel over a large bowl, and then grate the pumpkin into this. Bring the sides of the towel up to form a little parcel and then twist as tight as you can to squeeze as much of the liquid from the pumpkin as possible. Fold the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients, followed by the pumpkin. Stirring well to combine. Spoon the batter into the prepared cake tin and bake for about 55-60 minutes by which time it should spring back when lightly pressed with your fingertips, or a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean. Allow to rest in the tin for 10 minutes before removing onto a cooling rack to cool completely. Now you can make the caramelized pecans. Bring the maple syrup and cinnamon to the boil, and continue to boil for 1 minute. Add the pecans, stirring for 2-3 minutes, or until thickened slightly. Pour out onto a tray lined with a sheet of baking paper, sprinkle with sea salt flakes and store in the freezer. This will make more than what you need for the cake, but it makes for a delicious snack and keeps well in the freezer in an airtight container for months. Beat the cream cheese and butter until smooth and creamy. Add the icing sugar and maple syrup and continue to beat until combined. Set aside until the cake has completely cooled. When the cake has cooled, spread the maple cream cheese over the top, roughly chop your desired amount of caramelized pecans and scatter over the top, then slice, serve and enjoy. This cake will keep for at least 5 – 6 days, stored in an airtight container in the fridge, but do bring it back to room temperature before serving.

The dimpled skin of the chicken in the oven is turning the palest shade of gold. Meanwhile, my skin, immersed in a basting liquid of Dew of the sea milk, is exhaling and relaxing in the claw foot bathtub, in a room that implores one to sink into the nothingness - of doing nothing. Of not needing to be anywhere. Of not being needed by anyone. Slipping between the floral bedsheets, upon a cloud-like mattress, as the chorus of bells from the neighbouring sheep sing their tune upon the ink-blank canvas of nightfall, I can feel myself breathe. I can hear myself breathe. The warm glow of the fire burns rhythmically. The country air feels crisp. I inhale the greenness. My chest undulates with the rise and fall of the surrounding hills. There are layers of melodies, everything awakens, and a new day reaches out. My eyes lay upon the horses in the next paddock. Their breath circling in front of their muzzles, I can feel the softness against the palm of my hand, even as I stand on the long verandah. The wind, strong and known, blasts through my whole being - windblown. Blow away the cobwebs, everything that need not be there disappears. I wrap my hands around the floral china cup and hug my knee into my chest. Sitting at the kitchen table, its perfectly, imperfect rustic beauty inviting me in. I sit, I read. I crunch down on freshly toasted buttered bread, spread with jewels of marmalade. Time does not need to be kept. There is nowhere to be. Except I have a chook turning a burnished shade of deep gold that requires my attention. Caramelized fennel, creamy potatoes and wedges of heirloom pumpkin doused in olive oil and sea salt flakes will accompany vibrant green beans and squares of fluffy focaccia studded with blistered cherry tomatoes (leftover from the night before) to mop up the pools of lemon butter infused with the warming notes of fennel fronds. I will relish in the moment of cooking for two of the people in my life whom my heart has so much love for, my mum and my sister-in-law, and share with them the love I have for a good roast chook*. *You can find the recipe for the roast chook here We spent the most delightful two nights at Marge's Cottage, a rural retreat in Poowong East, Victoria. Hosted by Cheryl, the kindest, most welcoming lady who has created a place that instantly makes you feel at home.

To celebrate my first cookbook, Recipes in the Mail, I would like to invite you into the warmth of my humble white weatherboard home, located on the beautiful Mornington Peninsula. As you walk through the front door, the aromas of comforting home cooking will welcome you and the golden glow from the crackling fire will draw you closer to warm those chilled hands. We will enjoy a three-course lunch together, with recipes from the book, whilst sitting around my great-grandmother's dining table, sharing the many stories and memories that weave their way into the food we cook, share, and eat. You may come with a friend, or in the company of yourself, but at the end of our time together my hope is that new friendships will be formed and that when you wave goodbye you will do so with an added dose of joy and a tummy full of homely, nourishing food. There are only a limited number of places available so if you would like to be a guest then simply pop on over here to purchase a ticket. I so look forward to cooking for you and welcoming you into my home. x Saturday the 8th July 12 - 4 pm. Photographs by @sallyfrawley x

The last few weeks have felt a little like being on a rollercoaster, at high velocity. Time simply blurs between day and night, with my head hitting the pillow, eyes close, only to open wide once again a few hours later. Try as I might get to bed earlier, these nights are few and far between. But that's ok. It is just the season I am in at this very moment, and quite frankly I couldn't be happier. I think I can speak for many a mother here. Sometimes, more often than not, there is just not enough time in the day to keep on top of the daily goings on as well as trying to find that time of "in-between" moments to focus on our creative pursuits. As I write this, I am leaning on the center console, while Ben drives the car. Amidst the bumps and dips in the road and the incessant demands coming from the back seat of two small humans, I try and block it all out and then let the words flow. They often come racing ahead faster than I can keep up. Why is everything so fast? I have to constantly remind myself to, breathe. which brings me to this cake. A cake that was baked in a moment of what I like to refer to as, "just because baking", something that has not happened in such a long time. There has always been a reason - be it recipe testing. or a dessert requested for a gathering. So when I found myself in a carved-out wedge of time on a Saturday morning I whisked almond meal and flour together. creamed sugar, butter, and fragrant orange zest until light and fluffy. Scrubbed the fuzz from a quince. Grated said quince and folded everything together with thick dollops of Greek yoghurt and orange juice. The result was this glorious, dense yet light, pudding-ish cake which I served still warm on pretty china plates. The irony of it all, however, was that everyone enjoyed it so much that I had to quickly grab the nearest pen and scrap of paper to scribble it all down, along with a reminder to re-test before sharing it here in the hope that it may be baked by you, in an "in-between" moment, "just because". Special thanks to Lisa Brown, for being my recipe tester and suggesting a couple of very welcome additions. Quince, almond, and orange cake Makes a 15cm cake *This recipe has been adapted from Tilly Pamment's citrus and semolina cake 125g unsalted butter, at room temperature 160g caster sugar finely grated zest of 1 large orange 2 eggs, at room temperature 80g self-raising flour 100g almond meal 1/2 tsp baking powder pinch of salt 1 quince, (approx 170-180g) 125g Greek yoghurt 2 tbsp orange juice Orange syrup 1/4 cup caster sugar 1/4 cup orange juice Preheat your oven to 160c (fan-forced) and grease and line with baking paper a 15cm round cake tin. Beat butter, sugar, and zest with an electric mixer until light and creamy. Add the eggs, one at a time, and continue to beat until combined. You may need to scrape down the sides of the bowl to ensure all the eggs have been incorporated. In a separate bowl, whisk the flour, almond meal, baking powder, and salt until combined. Wash the quince well and remove any of the fuzz. Using a box grater, grate the quince, skin, and all. Add the flour, quince, yoghurt, and juice to the creamed butter mixture and stir to combine. Spoon the batter into your prepared cake tin and bake for about 1 hour or until the top springs back when lightly pressed. Alternatively, you can check by inserting a skewer into the middle, if it comes out clean, it is ready. Meanwhile, stir the sugar and orange juice over medium heat until the sugar has dissolved. Simmer for 2 minutes and then set aside. When your cake is ready, use a skewer to make half a dozen or so holes in the top and pour over the hot syrup. Allow to rest in the tin for 15 minutes before turning out onto a cooling rack. Serve warm or at room temperature, with a dollop of thickened cream, creme fraiche, or simply as is. *You can also bake this in a 20cm cake tin, baking time will vary, so just keep an eye on it and check at about the 45-minute mark.

The cross-section of the hard, shiny brown outer shell reveals a soft, delicately sweet flesh that once removed can be the source of many choose-your-own-culinary-adventures, I for one, find it extremely hard not to partake in the "one for me, one for the bowl" when peeling these little gems. The opportunities are endless when it comes to cooking or baking with them and not all of them require standing around an open fire, decked out in puffer jackets, scarves, and beanies all the while swirls of warm breath drift off in the chilled autumn air. It all began when Chestnuts Australia generously gifted me a bag full of, well, chestnuts. Firstly, I was not aware that chestnuts should be stored in the refrigerator and that when tucked up in an airtight container will happily sit in the chill of the fridge for 2 weeks. Forever learning! Secondly, peeling warm chestnuts is by far an easier task than peeling cold ones. They make a wonderfully smooth and creamy pumpkin and chestnut soup but are perhaps more widely known for their addition in sweets. This brings me to this rather lovely apple, chestnut frangipane tart. A celebration of autumn. Of crisp, new season apples paired with the sweetness of chestnut puree folded into frangipane and encased in a short, butter-laden pastry laced with a fine layer of chestnut meal. Once baked, a stream of warmed thyme-infused honey glistens over the top, the aroma alone takes over all control and before you know it, you've taken your first mouthful, standing at the kitchen bench, as the rain outside beats against the window. Apple & chestnut frangipane tart 500g chestnuts, roasted and peeled to yield 350-360g Preheat your oven to 180c (fan-forced). Cut a shallow cross into the flat side of each chestnut shell. Place the chestnuts onto a baking tray and bake for 15-20 minutes or until the shells split open. once cooked, wrap the chestnuts in a clean tea towel for 5 minutes. While the chestnuts are still warm, quickly peel off the outer brown shell and papery thin skin underneath. For the chestnut puree 350-360g prepared chestnuts 1 cup water 1/2 cup caster sugar 1 vanilla bean, split, and seeds scraped Take 50-60g of chestnuts and blitz to a fine crumb in a food processor and then set aside. You will use this in the pastry. With the remaining 300g of chestnuts, place into a small saucepan with the water, sugar, vanilla bean, and seeds and stir over medium heat until the sugar dissolves. Simmer for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Allow to cool, strain, and reserve the syrup. Place the nuts into a food processor along with 3 tablespoons of syrup and blend until smooth. You may find that you need to add some extra syrup, or some warm water to get it to the right consistency. Store in a sealed jar in the fridge. This recipe will make more than what you need, but it is delicious made into a chocolate and chestnut ice cream or dolloped into warm bowls of porridge. Shortcrust pastry 200g plain flour pinch of salt 50g caster sugar 50-60g chestnut meal 200g unsalted butter, chilled and diced 1 egg yolk Place all the ingredients into a large bowl, except for the egg yolk. Rub the butter into the floured mix using your thumbs and fingertips until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs. Add the egg yolk and bring together to form a dough. Gently knead into a round disc, wrap in baking paper, and pop into the fridge for 1 hour to rest. For the apples peel 3 apples, I use pink ladies. Slice these thinly, keeping them whole and slicing them into round discs. Toss with the juice of 1/2 a lemon and set to one side. For the Frangipane 50g unsalted butter, softened at room temperature 50g caster sugar 1 egg 1/2 tsp vanilla extract 50g chestnut puree 50g plain flour Using an electric mixer, beat butter and sugar together until creamy. Add the egg, vanilla, and chestnut puree and continue to beat until combined, scraping down the sides of the bowl if need be. Fold through the flour until smooth. To assemble Lightly dust your bench with a shower of flour and roll out the pastry into a large round, it doesn't matter if it is not perfectly round, the more rustic the better I say! You want to roughly get to about a 30-35cm round-ish shape. Lay a sheet of baking paper over the top of a large round pizza tray, or alternatively a large flat baking tray, and carefully roll the pastry back onto the rolling pin before unrolling and draping over the tray. spread the frangipane evenly over the top of the pastry, leaving a 5cm border around the edge. Drain the apples from any excess lemon juice and lay them over the frangipane, I like to start from the outside, overlapping them as I go, working my way into the center. Now, bring the edges of the pastry in and over the apples, pleating where it naturally wants to fold. Dot over a little extra butter and pop into the preheated oven to bake for about 40 minutes, or until golden. Meanwhile, warm about 2 tbsp of honey in a small saucepan over medium-low heat together with the stripped leaves from a tall sprig of thyme, until runny. Once the tart has baked to perfection, drizzle over the warmed thyme-infused honey. You can either enjoy it right away or allow it to cool to room temperature. Either way, you are in for one very welcoming late-autumn treat. Store any leftovers in an airtight container, in the fridge, but bring it back to room temperature (if you can be bothered) before serving.

I am OVERJOYED and swimming in a pool of surrealism to introduce to you my very first book, Recipes in the Mail. THIS GORGEOUS BOOK features a collection of stories and family recipes collected from friends, family, and professional associates, as well as a few of my own. Flooded with warmth and charm, it recounts the stories behind the food and pays homage to the ‘kitchen whisperers’, those voices from past and present that inform our cooking practice. My most loved cookbooks are scribbled over with notes and records, together with hand-written recipes, and recipe clippings. cookbooks are never intended to remain pristine they should become spattered with batter and imbued with memories. With this in mind, Recipes in the Mail includes pages for notes and two inner pockets — in which to slip handwritten recipes, cuttings, and other ephemera — as well as matching notepaper. The recipes within contain warmth, love, and nostalgia. I liken it to being in a grandmother's embrace. Published by Brolly Publishing with photographs taken by the delightful Sally Frawley and myself, along with a preface by kind-hearted and generous cook, teacher, and author, Belinda Jeffery. My hope for this book is that it transports you into the stories that have been shared, through both the words and the food, and that in turn, they continue to collect many more moments of memories in your own kitchen. Because what is life without sharing good food and stories? I thought I would share with you an excerpt from the introduction... Putting pen to paper and watching words flow onto the page is a simple act, but how many of us do it today? - especially when an email can be typed and sent within minutes, and a quick text message reaches the recipient with a flick of the fingers. It is all just so easy, isn't it? And it makes me wonder if the art of letter-writing, of sitting down at a table in a park, a cafe, or wherever takes our fancy is becoming a thing of the past... My love of writing and human connection, together with sharing memories from time spent in the kitchen - be it in my own kitchen or the kitchens of friends and family - had me wanting to create something that could be shared with the wider community. And it was this desire that planted the seed for the "Recipes in the Mail" project firmly in my mind...and with thought and care it started to bloom... You can now preorder a copy of my book via the online store, which will come carefully wrapped and delivered straight to your door. Please let me know in the comments section upon checkout if you would like me to sign your book, I would be delighted to do so. Postage within Australia. Free local delivery. Preorders will be sent off in the first week of May. Please get in touch if you live outside of Australia and would like a copy so that I can work out shipping costs. Also available where all good books are sold. Published and distributed through the trade by Brolly Publishing, email andrew@brollybooks.com for more information.

When I have been away from home for an extended period of time the one thing I crave upon returning is a golden roast chook with an assortment of vegetables. It is the flavour of home. A meal that requires minimal fuss with a reward that is so completely satisfying. I recount the many times my mum would ask me what I felt like for dinner after having been away. Be that time away on school camp in my younger years, or time spent travelling over on the opposite side of the world. My answer would always be a roast of some sort, with lots of veggies. My mum makes the most wonderfully moist roast pork with crackling that shatters like a thousand pieces of glass. But let's get back to the humble chook, shall we? From left to right: Eating breakfast (banana and peanut butter on sweet bread) in Cape Coast, Ghana. With the beautiful kids at the orphanage in Hohoe, Ghana on my first trip there as part of CCS exchange program. Climbing to the top of Mount Afadjato, Ghana. Treking the Cape to Cape track, Margaret River, WA. Navigating rock walls at Karijini National Park, WA. Eating dinner at our "home" in the tent under the Mango tree, Broome, WA. This 10 man tent was our home for the three months we spent in Broome. Karijini National Park, WA. I learned how to drive manual in "Troopy" on our almost three-year stint through Australia. One of our first nights on the road after leaving Margaret River where we lived for 18 months. Admiring the view somewhere near the Pilbara, WA. Walking the streets of Montmartre, Paris. Trying snails for the first time. Eating a strawberry tart from Harrods in a park with my pen-friend of 20+ years. My very first trip to Europe with Contiki. Jungfraujoch, Switzerland. Watching the sunset at Cable Beach, WA. Our very first caravan. Our maiden trip, Point Leo, Victoria. Womadelaide festival, Adelaide, SA. My happy place, sitting on the step of our caravan, Adelaide, SA. Rawnsley Bluff, Rawnsley park station, Flinders Ranges, SA. Hiking to Pines Cave, Rawnsley Park station, SA. It doesn't take much - lemons, olive oil, salt, and a good dose of butter under the skin are all that is needed. Even the preparation is therapeutic, it is so calming to massage fragrant olive oil and sea salt flakes over the surface of a nude chicken, is it not? It takes me back to the days I would studiously watch Maggie Beer on the Cook and the Chef. The way she handled a chook, really getting into the crevices, the folds, and under the translucent skin made me much more confident when it came to poultry. The delightful Maggie at Merricks General Wine Store 100th birthday celebrations. And the veggies go hand in hand. Crisp, salty, fluffy-on-the-inside potatoes are a must. Caramelized beetroot with a hint of honey. Vibrant tender green beans dressed simply in olive oil, salt, and pepper while still warm, and burnished pieces of quartered onions that open up like petals as they roast alongside the chicken. If you really can't be bothered with that, then a beautiful green salad of mixed leaves will do just fine too. Oh, and if you must, good bread to mop up those lemony juices in the bottom of the dish. I have tried many recipes over the years, but it is the recipe that resides within the pages of Diana Henry's fuzzy-bound book, How to eat a peach, that never fails. A recipe that originally came from Marcella Hazan. Don't you just love the trickle-down effect of what it means to pass down a recipe, through the many hands that they fall into where they collect adjustments, modifications and tweaks which lead to a never-ending compendium of variations? I too, I must admit, have placed my own little scribbled variations down next to this recipe for future reference. For I like to think that one day this book will be passed on, landing on many kitchen benches and opened to a worn, well-loved page which will in turn nurture and nourish the body of a son or a daughter (or anyone for that matter) who, after days, weeks, months, or years of being away will arrive to the flavour of home. 1.6kg free-range chicken 2 lemons extra virgin olive oil sea salt flakes 60g unsalted butter, softened 4-5 cipollini onions (they are flat Italian onions that are much sweeter than regular onions) or 1 large brown onion if you cant find cipollini a large sprig of rosemary 1/4 cup white wine Preheat your oven to 180c and line, with baking paper, a large enough roasting tin to fit the chicken and onions into without leaving much space around the outside. I find that if you crunch the paper up and then spread it out on the base of the dish it makes for a much more comfortable fit. Pat the chicken dry using a couple of sheets of paper towel, on the inside and the out. lift the skin over the breasts gently to create a pocket to stuff the butter into, pressing down to spread the butter out. Roll the lemons on your bench to soften them and then prick the skin with a sharp knife a few times. place the lemons inside the chicken and then tie the ends of the legs together with kitchen twine. There is no need to do this too tightly, it's just to keep the lemons from popping out. Stick the sprig of rosemary through the neck cavity. Drizzle a generous glug of olive oil all over the chook followed by a shower of salt and then massage both all over the skin. place the chicken, breast side down into the tin and then scatter the onions which have been quartered, skin intact, around the bird, drizzle with a bit more oil and pour the wine around the base of the chook. Pop into the oven for 30 minutes and then turn the chook over so that the breasts are now facing up and roast for another 30 minutes. Turn the oven up to 200c and roast for another 15-20 minutes. The skin should be golden, your home should smell incredibly comforting and the juices should run clear when the thickest part of the leg is pricked. If there is any sign of pink continue to cook for a few more minutes, then check again. Allow to rest for at least 15 minutes then either take straight to the table to carve away, or do as I do, as I always seem to make a mess of carving chicken, and carve up in the kitchen. Position the pieces onto a serving platter along with the onions and spoon over the fragrant lemony juices. Serve with your choice of accompaniments. You may even have leftovers for lunch the following day. It is the dish that keeps on giving.

That first of week of school felt a little like being stuck in a fog. My bearings were all out of kilter. A new routine to adapt to and my eyes had to get used to the sight of seeing my little man in his navy and red school uniform. A kiss, a hug, and another kiss, and then a wave from behind the glass window that now separates us from one another. His eyes glaze over with tears. Not the welling-type tears that fall over his cheeks, but the moistness that comes from being a little unsure about officially being a "schoolboy". I too was left in an emotional limbo of feeling nervous, happy, sad, and overwhelmed all at once. It's a big thing, this school thing. For the whole family. A chapter that we are only just beginning to feel our way into, and my goodness, it's exhausting, to say the least. One thing that does come naturally, however, is packing his lunchbox. I love deciding what to nestle into each of the compartments in the quietness of the early mornings before little heads are peeled from their pillows. I like to place a few of his favourites amongst a couple of surprises. These zucchini, cheese and ham muffins were a surprise. I cut one down the middle, spread a generous amount of softened butter on each side and wondered whether it would be consumed...it was not. Hadn't even been touched. Instead, I ate it, while I stood at the kitchen sink contemplating what to cook for dinner. Is this a thing other "school mums" do? Eat the uneaten contents of their child's lunchbox? To a point, I must add. There are some things that come back (soggy biscuits, bread crusts) that are disposed of in the compost bin, but there was no way I was letting a perfectly good savoury muffin escape my enjoyment. Especially when it had been made with a @regenerating_farms zucchini from @barragunda. And so another week begins. This time the savoury muffin has been replaced with an apple and cinnamon muffin. We'll see how that goes... Update: The latter of the muffin varieties was devoured. But here is the recipe for the savoury variety, because I think they are delicious, and so does Vivvy. Zucchini, ham and cheese muffins makes 12 This recipe has been adapted from, Bluebell's Cakery - Sweet and savoury by Karla Goodwin 1 medium zucchini 4 slices of ham, I like to use Grandmother ham 250g plain flour, sifted 4 tsp baking powder a good pinch of salt 1 cup grated tasty cheese 2 tbs melted butter 2 tbs olive oil 1 cup full cream milk 1/2 cup of greek yoghurt 2 eggs, at room temperature 1/4 cup chopped parsley 1/2 cup grated tasty cheese, extra Preheat your oven to 160c (fan-forced) and place paper cases into a 12-hole muffin tray. set this aside. Grate the zucchini into a bowl and scatter over a touch of salt. Mix to combine and then set aside. Slice the ham into thin strips and then place this into a large bowl along with the flour, baking powder, salt and cheese. Give this a mix with a wooden spoon until combined. In a separate bowl, whisk together the melted butter, olive oil, milk, yoghurt, eggs and parsley until combined. Then pour into the dry ingredients, mixing once again until just combined. Using your hands, squeeze as much of the excess water from the zucchini over the sink. You can also place the grated zucchini into a clean, dry teatowel and twist the ends to squeeze out the excess water if you find that easier. Place the zucchini into the batter and gently fold to combine. Spoon the mixture into the prepared paper cases, evenly distributing between each. Scatter over the extra grated tasty cheese and pop into the oven for 25-30 minutes until golden. A skewer inserted into the middle should come out clean. Cool in the tin for 10 minutes before transferring them to a cooling rack. I like to freeze these muffins so that I can pull out as many as I need each morning. They are quite delicious warmed (reheat in a 160c oven for 5-10 minutes) or even sliced in half and toasted under the grill or simply enjoyed at room temperature.

I attempted to put a rather large bounty of limes to good use after my sister-in-law had forwarded a video to me on how-to-not-let-the-last-of-the-seasons-citrus-go-to-waste. It sparked an idea. Sadly, my grand plan of boiling these little green spheres failed miserably when I was left with a whole lime and ginger cake that not even Ben could stomach! And that is saying something. Beau and Vivvy made no sign of hesitation as they devoured every inch of the sweet creme fraiche frosting but I knew something was amiss when Beau screwed his face up and Vivvy proceeded to let the half-chewed contents speedily escape her mouth. With the tropical flavours of lime, coconut and ginger combined I was sure I was onto a winner. The crumb was light yet moist, but that first moutful was overpowered with an intense bitterness that made the whole cake inedible. I am sorry to say that its final destination was the bottom-most section of the bin. A few days later, 2 large orange orbs bobbed up, down and around in a bubbling "spa" treatment on the stovetop. I was determined to make this cake shine in all of its zingy freshness. This time around I had the addition of the "helping" hands of two small humans. Needless to say that things got a little bumpy... I had not even turned my back for a second when I heard it. The sound of Beau losing his footing, the bowl turned onto its side, Beau's arm submerged in cake batter, cake batter then sliding down the face of the cupboard pooling onto the floor. Thankfully I managed to rescue most of it and I couldn't get it into the oven fast enough! It was under the canvas of a cornflower blue sky, amongst the kaleidoscope of colour at the Tulip festival that this whole orange and ginger cake descended onto the tastebuds of the testers. I held my breath. I need not have been so worried. Everyone loved it. I loved it. Beau had two pieces. And this time it stayed firmly behind the walls of Vivvy's mouth and the bin didnt see a crumb! Whole orange & ginger cake Makes a 23cm cake 2 large oranges (about 350g) 300g caster sugar 3 eggs, at room temperature 300ml light olive oil 150g self-raising flour 50g shredded coconut 150g almond meal 1 tbsp ground ginger 20g fresh ginger, finely grated Creme fraiche frosting 70g creme fraiche 150g icing sugar, sifted juice of 1/2 - 1 lemon sliced crystalised ginger (optional) Bring a pot of water that is big enough to fit two oranges to the boil. Slip the oranges in and allow them to bob around for at least an hour to an hour and a half. You want them to be soft enough that you can insert a knife into them easily. Drain and allow to cool. Trim the knobbly ends off and cut them into quarters, discarding any pips. Place the whole lot into a food processor or blender and blitz until they turn into a smooth pulp. You can always do this the day before and leave it in the fridge overnight. Preheat your oven to 170c fan-forced and grease and line a 23cm springform tin then set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer beat the eggs and sugar together until thick and pale. This should take at least 5 minutes. Turn the mixer down and slowly pour in the olive oil in a thin and steady stream, followed by the orange pulp. Beat together until combined. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, coconut, almond meal, ground ginger and fresh ginger until combined. Then fold this through the batter. Spoon into your prepared cake tin and smooth the top evenly. Pop into the oven for about 65 - 70 minutes, or until a cake tester or skewer inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. If you find that your cake is browning just a little bit too much at the 60 minute mark, simply pop a sheet of foil over the top and return to the oven to continue to bake. When your cake is ready, allow to sit in the tin for 10 minutes before removing and allowing to cool completely on a wire rack before icing. While you are waitng for the cake to cool you can make the icing. Simply whisk the icing sugar, creme fraiche and lemon juice in a bowl until the desired consistency is reached. I would start off with the juice of 1/2 a lemon first and then see how you go from there. Using a spoon, dollop the icing on top and then spread out towards the edge. Sprinkle over some thinly sliced crystalised ginger if you so desire. This cake will keep well in an airtight container in the fridge (once iced) for 5-6 days, if it lasts that long.

It arrived wrapped in a textured, hand-painted piece of wallpaper - an offcut from a farmyard scene that lines the walls of their mudroom. I've always liked the idea of a mudroom - a place to hang rain-soaked jackets. De-shoe out of the weather. An in-between area sheltered from the elements of nature before entering the comforts of home, telling the story of any given day, a day that will no doubt have provided many of those small joys we so often overlook in our busy lives; the shift in seasons when my nose picks up the scent of spring after a long, cold winter. The knowing smile between two weary mothers. Getting all the green lights when running late. Receiving a handwritten letter. Sinking my teeth into the tender curve of a blushing, sweet pear. A moment of pause. In order to really feel, hear or see these small pockets of wonder, joy or delight one must be open to receiving them. Once this happens a whole world of daily miracles awaits. A bowl of creamy, vanilla-infused rice pudding sits in front of me. The whirls of steam mesmerise. My spoon sinks effortlessly into the glistening poached pear which is laced with warming spices and brandy. The flavours dance on my tongue. I feel comforted. I feel happy. I feel love. If a single bowl of rice pudding can invoke these feelings imagine the abundance of other small delights that are eager to be felt, heard and seen. As Ross Gay writes in his book, The Book of Delights, "Holding open doors. Offering elbows at crosswalks. Letting someone else go first. Helping with the heavy bags. This caretaking is our default mode..." So, here I am, caretaking and sharing one of my small delights with you - the recipe for my rice pudding with brandy-poached pears. So you too can be mesmerised by whirls of steam. How many small delights must that parcel have witnessed as it travelled from one salty-sea aired province to another salty-sea-infused town, on opposite sides of the world? Many, I am certain. But none more delightful than the moment I peeled away that textured farmyard wallpaper scene to reveal a gift that keeps on giving. As I prop myself up against my pillow, becoming immersed in the words on the pages of Ross Gay's The book of Delights, I am comforted by the thoughts, actions and feelings that are shared and it makes me even more aware that small delights are in fact, everywhere. Rice pudding with poached pears serves 4-6 depending on serving size 3 pears, cored and quartered (I used Rico pears) a thumb-sized piece of ginger, sliced peel of 1 small lemon 3 cardamom pods, bruised 1/2 cup brandy 1/2 cup water 70g sugar Chopped walnuts or pecans and chocolate (optional) For serving In a medium-sized baking tray, toss together all the ingredients. Cover tightly with a piece of foil. Pop into a preheated 180c (fan-forced) oven for about 40 minutes. The pears should feel tender when a knife is inserted into the thickest part. Uncover and pop back into the oven for a further 20-25 minutes. Set aside. 1 cup arborio rice 1-litre full cream milk 1 tsp ground ginger 1/2 cup caster sugar 1 vanilla bean, split and seeds scraped While the pears are in the oven combine the rice, milk, ginger, sugar and vanilla in a medium saucepan. I like to use my cast iron pot for this. Bring to the boil then reduce the heat to a low simmer, cover and cook, stirring occasionally for 25-30 minutes, or until the rice is tender. Place large spoonfuls of pudding into warmed bowls. Place desired amount of pears, a little of the syrup, a scattering of chopped nuts and a fine grating of dark chocolate over the top if one feels so inclined.

Rummaging around the depths of the freezer can uncover forgotten treasures. A bag brimming with de-kernel-ed corn cobs was the gold I discovered. In my quest to reduce any type of wastage I had collected these naked cobs during the warmer months, squirrelling them away in the hope that I would find a use for them. It was a crisp winter's day when this bag of gold presented itself to me. I had been playing a game of freezer Tetris. I knew exactly what I was going to use them for, corn stock. Golden, sweet, sunshine fuelled stock in the depths of winter. I tumbled the slightly frost-bitten cobs into my largest soup pot, and scattered black peppercorns from up above; a couple of bay leaves followed as well as an onion, quartered and the skin left intact. I also added sticks of celery, about two, and covered the whole lot with water. There it sat, simmering away, for the next three hours before it was strained. The golden nectar was bottled and awaited its final destination where it would linger with thin egg noodles, ginger-infused poached chicken and vibrant green snow peas brightened with a squeeze of fresh lime juice. It was the soup that kept on giving, for in the days that followed it provided nourishment and warmth and dare i say, left me feeling slightly smug at having made good use out of what would otherwise have ended up in the compost. Chicken, corn and noodle soup You can of course just use chicken or vegetable stock in place of the corn stock, but if you do find yourself with naked corn cobs I urge you to give this a go. It takes the soup up a notch. 1 whole chook 1 brown onion, peeled and halved 4cm piece of ginger, sliced 1 tablespoon brown sugar 1/4 cup fish sauce 1-litre corn stock (recipe below) 1-litre chicken stock a tin of corn kernels, or fresh if in season thin egg noodles, I used 6 nests snow peas halved 4 spring onions, sliced juice of a lime, plus extra wedges to serve fresh coriander, sliced fresh chillies (optional) Place the chook, onion, ginger, brown sugar and fish sauce into a large stock pot and then pour over the corn and chicken stock. You need enough to cover everything. Bring to the boil, then reduce to a simmer. cover and cook for 1 hour, turning the chicken over halfway through the cooking time. Allow chook to rest in the stock for half an hour. Remove chook, strain stock and then return strained stock back into the pot. Simmer for another half an hour. When chicken is cool enough to handle, shred the meat and set it aside. Cook noodles according to packet instructions and then rinse with cold water. Add the drained tinned corn (or fresh) along with the noodles, shredded chicken, snow peas, spring onions and lime juice. Taste to see if you need extra salt, some sweetness or a bit more tang. Serve with extra lime wedges, chopsticks and a spoon if you don't intend to slurp directly from the bowl. fresh coriander and sliced chillies would make a wonderful addition too, we have little mouths to feed and they don't appreciate green spindly things nor do they have the tolerance for anything too spicy. Naked corn stock Makes about 1 litre 8-10 naked corn cobs 2 tsp black peppercorns bay leaf 1 brown onion, skin intact, quartered 2 sticks of celery about 5 litres of water Place everything into a large stock pot, bring to a boil, and reduce to a simmer. Cook for at least 3 hours before straining and bottling.