King Island, Tasmania

I am sitting on the steps from a terrace leading down a grassy slope towards the white sand of Yellow Rock beach, mere metres away. The pale turquoise blue of the cloudless sky is glorious but no match even for the deep blue and light sapphire hues of the sea beneath it.

Earlier this morning a wallaby mooched pass the same spot where I am sitting, leaning forward on its short forepaws to nibble the grass, allowing the joey in her poach to grab a few blades at the same time, before doing a gentle hop forwards on her powerful hind legs.

In just a week I feel I have stepped back in time to a place where community life is still a vital part of living, and where the wild is still on almost equal footing with the cultivated.

King Island is a tiny island off the coast of Australia. It is a short 35 minute flight from Melbourne, the nearest city on the island, yet it feels like a different place entirely.

Arriving at my friend’s house, our first sight was a colony of honeybees that had taken up residence on one of the posts on her terrace! Concerned for her eight month old baby, Clare decided a new home must be found, but rather than look for ways to banish them, she called on local beekeeper and producer of King Island Raw Honey, Dick Stansfield, who popped in the next morning to guide the bees into a temporary hive box and resituate them. If all goes well, Clare and her husband will have their own source of honey in a few months. Before departing, he left a bucket of his own honey in the house.

This first experience of King Island left me with two impressions: One, nothing is wasted – from the wind or solar generated electricity and bottled gas to compostable or recyclable waste, every potential resource is precious when it is limited as it is here on the island. Two, the generosity of spirit on King Island knows no bounds.

Listening to Tim and Clare it seems like their ability to settle into their new life on King Island has been made possible and indeed pleasurable by the friendliness and warmth of its locals. From friendly gifts of just caught fish, rock lobster and abalone, to much needed deliveries of firewood, gas, advice and general well wishing, King Island’s residents seem more concerned about the wellbeing of the community than of the individual self. It was surprising and truly inspiring to experience. It is no longer surprising to me that Tim and Clare wish to make a new life there, offering retreats for bird watchers (the pristine landscape is a haven for vast varieties of bird species), food lovers, and generally disenchanted modern day dwellers.

In my short week’s stay, I met Paul and Cynthia Daniel, who supply most of the island with delicious biodynamic grown fruits and vegetables, Caroline Kininmonth, artist in residence, who built the Boathouse – a restaurant with everything, including outstanding harbour views, cutlery, tableware and beautiful surroundings, except the food (BYO please!), and Andrew and Diane Blake, also artists, whose son Will took us diving. From our first meeting each made an effort with me that I have never seen elsewhere.

Paul took me on a tour of his vegetable and fruit fields, teaching me how to grow tomatoes, pick carrots and beetroots and abide by a biodynamic philosophy in order to grow produce that is unrivalled in taste and health benefits. Together we picked bucket loads of carrots as slender as lady’s fingers and as sweet as sugar, alongside bouncy lettuces, juicy beetroots and earthy sweet potatoes and pumpkins. Later Will and Tim took me out on a boat and showed me how to catch rock lobsters with their bare hands and spear sweep fish. All these efforts were brought to together that evening when both families joined us to enjoy a dinner that celebrated the best of land and sea gathered that day. To me it did not feel coincidental at all that it also happened to be Thanksgiving, an American tradition but so appropriate for the occasion.

The next day Tim went fishing with his friend Ben, while Clare and I marvelled at the home that his wife Sharelle, has created from, literally in her own words, “just sand and the house where it stands”. Looking over her verdant grass lawn, recently planted avocado, peach, fig, nectarine, lemon and lime trees, alongside her raised vegetable beds and tomato plant conservatory, it is hard to believe she is just in her early 30’s and has lived there for only a few years. Inside the house, her repurposed, redecorated furnishings would put any store selling ‘shabby chic’ furniture to shame. Tim returned with a truly magnificent cod, which we roasted that evening and I tasted the freshest fish of my life so far.

The highlight of my week, alongside the beautiful hikes and astonishing scenery, had to be a trip with Tim to find fresh abalone for dinner. Clad in a wetsuit, hood and shoes to ward off the chill of the Bass Strait, Tim taught me how to look for green lip, black lip and tiger lip abalone in the sandy shallows just off the rocks of the island. King Island is a major exporter of abalone to eager Chinese customers, and the island is not short of supply. In a restaurant a single fresh abalone may cost upwards of USD100, but, with the right knowledge and awareness of sustainable harvesting, the delicacies are there for the taking.

Back home Diane showed me how to slice the abalone into paper thin slivers and dress them with lemon juice, soy sauce and wasabi. Meanwhile Tim tenderised thicker slices with a mallet and lightly fried them in breadcrumbs. Both were unforgettably delicious.

That night after dinner we took the ‘ute’ (Australian for pickup truck) out to watch wallabys grazing in the scrub, and follow ring eyed possums as they waddled past, swinging their hips to some mysterious wild rhythm.

King Island has left a mark that leaves me wishing for more, for a simpler way of living, and for a return to a time where neighbouring people trusted and helped each other. I don’t think it is something that can be re-introduced to the Big Smoke like some kind of endangered species, so perhaps the only solution is to go back to the island, as soon as possible.

After a bit of a hiatus, more to come soon!

Lunch

You could do worse than pop into Brindisa London Bridge for a quick lunch. Even without Pisarro in the kitchen the quality is still good. A lovely dish of baby artichokes sautéed with onions, nuggets of crisp Serrano ham and topped with a black olive tapenade and chopped chives was a deliciously luxurious treat for an otherwise mundane Tuesday!

A pair of poussin

Here are two recipes for poussin which are fun to do, if slightly unusual in technique. The results are definitely worth it. To be even weirder I've listed quantities for cooking just one poussin with each method, mainly because this is the way I experimented with them first. I did also salt bake six poussins in the oven, which worked very well. Just scale up the quantities for each bird. I found I only needed 3 kg of rock salt for the six poussins. Likewise use the peppercorn powder sparingly and don't feel you have to cover the bird - give it a good rub all over and that will be fine.

 The overnight hanging is to dry out the skin a much as possible, so that it crisps up beautifully in its salty crust. I used some string and looped it a couple times around each wing before tying it around our hanging clothes rail. It was just high enough to be safe from our hungry cats, but low enough to give Ro a fright when he came home from work. If you are short on time you could even position a fan on a low setting in front of the bird, to help speed up the air drying process.

 The hot smoked poussin idea came out of reading too many smoky barbecued ribs recipes and wanting to try out a relatively new gadget. Last summer we treated ourselves to a Cobb oven, to take to festivals with the promise of hot bacon sandwiches on cold, damp and hungover camping days. I couldn't resist also getting the 'smoker attachment' - basically a round cast iron box that you put wood chips into and place over the hot coals so they heat up and produce whatever sweet smelling smoke you have chosen. Smoking a poussin seemed a relatively easy way of breaking in the new equipment. And with what fantastic results! Next time I think I'll try a whole chicken, maybe jointed into legs, thighs and breasts...

Sichuan salt baked poussin 

 a fat little poussin
a teaspoon of Sichuan peppercorns
a teaspoon of black peppercorns
two teaspoons of shaoxing wine (sherry or white wine will also do fine)
about 1 to 1.5kg of coarse rock salt
two tablespoons of ginger or young galangal, very finely minced
three tablespoons of spring onions, white and pale green parts only also finely minced
two teaspoons of sea salt
a tablespoon of groundnut oil

 Combine the Sichuan and black peppercorns in a dry frying pan together over a low flame. Keep an eye on the pan and shake it occasionally, making sure the spices don’t burn. Gently toast the peppercorns until they give off a lovely aroma, then take them off the heat and grind them up in a spice grinder or with a pestle and mortar.

While the spices cook wash the poussin, pull out any remaining bits of feather, trim off any fat still clinging to the skin around the cavity and pat dry with kitchen paper. Rub the bird with the wine and then the peppercorn powder. Hang the bird up in a cool dry place overnight.

The next day, ready your wok with all of the rock salt in it and no oil. Make a hole in the salt and place the poussin in breast side down. Pile the rest of the salt over and around the bird, so that most of the bird is completely covered and none of it is directly touching the wok.

Place the wok over a high flame for 20 minutes, covered. Turn the bird over, cover again and heat for another 20 minutes. This time don’t worry about piling up the salt or anything.

 If you don’t have a wok you can put the poussin in a high sided baking tray and bake them in a preheated oven at 230 degrees Celsius.

 While the poussin is cooking you can make the dipping sauce. Mix together the minced ginger, spring onions and the salt. Heat the groundnut oil in a tiny saucepan or by holding a ladle over a flame until the oil is smoking hot. Pour the oil over the ginger mixture – it will sizzle and smell delicious. Give the sauce a good mix and allow it to cool to room temperature.

 Your poussin should be done after 40 minutes, but if in doubt stick a skewer into the thickest part of the leg and press a spoon against the leg until juices run out. They should be clear but if they are pink or red cook the bird for a few minutes more. Put the bird on a carving board and dust off any remaining clumps of rock salt. Let it rest for 5 to 10 minutes.

 To serve, pull off the legs and using a sharp knife take off the two breasts and slice them into bite sized morsels. Dunk the poussin pieces in lots of gingery, oniony sauce and eat while the skin is still salty and crisp.

Mesquite hot smoked poussin 

 a fat little poussin
a dried chipotle pepper
a small shallot
a tablespoon of cider vinegar
half a tin of chopped tomatoes
a clove of garlic, peeled and sliced
two teaspoons of honey
a pinch of fresh or dried thyme
ground black pepper and sea salt

 Soften the chipotle pepper in a little hot water for half an hour, then combine it with the shallot, cider vinegar and tomatoes in a small saucepan and gently simmer for another half an hour or so until the pepper is soft and the tomatoes have melted into a thickish paste. Mash everything together with a fork and mix in the garlic, honey, thyme, salt and black pepper. Taste the mixture – it should be smoky, sweet and spicy. Allow the marinade to cool.

Put the poussin in a zip lock bag, add the marinade and close the bag, keeping as much air out as possible. Squeeze and squelch the bird so it is covered in smoky sauce, then leave it in the fridge overnight, turning it over once or twice if you remember.

 The next day set up your hot smoker with wood chips of your choice. Remove the poussin from the marinade and smoke it for 30 to 40 mins, depending on the heat of your smoker. Check if it is done with a skewer into the thickest part of the thigh as above.

Thursday lunch

It's cold, windy, grey and miserable. So I'm having fried tripe with homemade ketchup for lunch.

Long live St John Restaurant.

Savoury pork ribs

Ribs are one of the best antidotes to the cold weather outside and a thrifty way to indulge oneself during these double dip disaster days. My only gripe in the past has been how long it takes to prepare them if you intend to go the whole hog with a 24 hour marinade and a long, slow roast to tease the flesh gently from each bone. While I am a sucker for experimenting with recipes that have ninety nine steps, some days you just want to come home, fill your belly and dive under a duvet.

Hello Quick Ribs. Perhaps not quite the same as 48 Hour Ribs, but still pretty damn good. These are delicious on their own - hot, spicy and juicy. The vinegar and lime add a fruity sourness to cut through the rich, fatty meat, while sweet and savoury flavours are punctuated with smokey, almost bitter nuggets of darkened garlic. Dipped into the sauce they become an epiphany of pig and Asian flavours.

a small rack of pork ribs
a good sprinkle of cinnamon, paprika, sumac and cayenne pepper
four garlic cloves, roughly chopped
two tablespoons of soy sauce
two tablespoons of rice vinegar
the juice of a lime
half a tablespoon of palm sugar
sea salt ground black pepper
olive or rapeseed oil

Wash the rib rack and lay it meaty side down. Season this side with salt and pepper and then turn the rack over and place it on a sheet of foil, large enough to enclose the rack. Evenly cover the meat with the rest of the marinade ingredients, before sealing the foil tightly around the ribs. Put the package in the oven for 45 minutes, before opening up the foil and allowing the garlic to caramelise
And the sauce to reduce to a spicy sweet/sour stickiness.

Crabshakk, Glasgow

On a blustery November evening splattered with hard pellets of rain, heaven is a place called Crabshakk.

Arriving windswept and forlorn, all thoughts of the unrelenting Northern chill were banished with the arrival of bisque.

I was told that lobster, langoustine and crab shells are slow roasted to produce a caramel-like marine marmite that is the basis of this deep, ruddy brown soup, enriched with tomatoes and vegetable stock. Wafer thin slices of crisp baguette also arrived alongside a pot of garlicky aioli, for dunking and floating. And like treasure at the bottom of the ocean the sweetest nuggets of lobster meat lay waiting to be unearthed. It was a cockle warming revival after a long cold day, and a magnificent start to dinner.

Next came delicate little white and brown meat crab cakes spiked with a little chilli and parsley, bound with mayonnaise and a sprinkling of panko crumbs, which seemed to disappear to form the crisp pan fried crust.

Finally, a dish of scallops and their roe, seared and served bubbling in a bath of anchovy butter with lemon and bread to dress and mop.

If you are ever in Glasgow any day except Monday (all good restaurants have to close sometime) try to go.

Crabshakk
1114 Argyle Street, Finneston, Glasgow G3 8TD