Goose. Cabbage. Carrots. Stuffing. Potatoes. Corn. Ham. Gravy. Tiramisu. Oh my god, I feel sick all over again. Which is probably why it’s taken me two weeks to muster up the strength to look at the photos I took of the food (whilst slowly working my way through the leftovers) so that I could do up this post. But boy was that a meal to write home about. :) One guest at our dinner of Christmas orphans, D, even dubbed our apartment The Goose & Cabbage and proceeded to draw a sign for our gastropub. (PS: D – Don’t kill me, I love that picture to bits!)

I’ve always wanted a Christmas dinner with a gigantic roast bird, but the size of my flat (and, therefore, the respective sizes of my dinner table – seats 6, tops – and my tiny, tiny oven) meant that roasting a turkey was pretty much out of the question. Which wasn’t an issue, since I’m not the biggest fan of turkey anyway. Chickens didn’t seem festive or special enough, which is how I landed up with a 6kg goose stuffed in the bottom of my fridge on the 23rd of last month.

That got roasted with a blend of fresh citrus zests and spices, glazed with a little extra marmalade and honey mid-way through the cooking process, and once I had decided on that, I got to thinking about the more interesting tasks: the sides. To me, big meals centering around a roast (be it a prime rib, chicken, turkey, or goose like in this case) are more about the sides than the main event. Potatoes roasted in goose fat were a no-brainer, and I picked two more veggie sides (creamed corn with parmesan and nutmeg, and savoy cabbage shredded and sautéed in more goose fat and scented with rosemary and minced garlic), outsourced the glazing of a ham to E, and then set about thoroughly researching stuffing (or, if you’re gonna be a pedant, dressing, since I didn’t actually stuff it in the bird’s cavity) recipes.

And boy was that stuffing my downfall. I barely managed to finish one small helping of the actual goose, delicious as it was, ‘cos I couldn’t help going back for seconds and thirds and fourths! of stuffing. Juicy, well-seasoned sausagemeat, toasted pine nuts, garlic ciabatta croutons, packed together with loads of herbs into a well-buttered dish and baked to juicy perfection. But I’m glad I made tonnes of it, ‘cos it made a delicious breakfast hash or two with the leftover roast potatoes, and topped with a fried egg.

Stuffing and Roast Potato Breakfast Hash
1 cup sausage stuffing (see recipe below)
1 cup leftover roast potatoes
3 tsp goose fat, divided
2 eggs
salt and pepper

Roughly chop the stuffing and potatoes. In a cast iron pan (or another heavy based sauté pan), heat 1 tsp of the goose fat over high heat. Add the potatoes, and cook, stirring gently, until sizzling hot and starting to crisp up again around the edges, about 6-8 minutes.

Lower the heat to medium and add the stuffing, stirring gently until completely heated through.

Fry each egg in 1 tsp of the remaining goose fat in a nonstick pan to your liking – I personally think a very runny yolk makes a delicious sauce for the hash. Divide the hash between two warmed plates, and top each with an egg. Season the eggs with a sprinkle of flaky sea salt and a few twists of the pepper mill, and serve immediately.

Yield: Serves 2

Sausage, Sage and Pinenut Stuffing
2 cloves garlic, microplaned (divided)
1/3 loaf bread, torn into 1/2 inch dice (I used ciabatta, but I think brioche would work wonderfully too)
2 tbsp butter, plus extra for greasing
2 shallots, finely chopped
1 stalk celery/leek, finely chopped
500g sausage meat (I used sage sausages, but any fresh sausages you normally like would work well here)
large bunch of fresh sage, minced
slightly under 1 cup chicken broth
1 egg
small handful of flat-leaf parsley, minced
100g pine nuts, toasted
salt and pepper
olive oil

Preheat oven to 160ºC. Combine 1 tbsp of the microplaned garlic with 2 tbsp of olive oil, and mix well. Toss the bread pieces with the garlic and oil, season lightly with salt and toast in the preheated oven until golden brown, rotating the pan and tossing the croutons to toast evenly, about 15-20 minutes. (Can be prepared a day in advance and stored, once cool, in an airtight container.)

Turn the oven up to 180ºC. Melt the butter in a large, heavy-based pan over medium-low heat. Add the shallots, the rest of the garlic, and leek, and gently sweat until softened, about 5 minutes. You don’t want the vegetables to brown too much. Remove from the pan and set aside.

Turn the heat up to medium, and add about 1-2 tsp more of olive oil to the same pan. Tip the sausage meat and the minced sage into the pan. Using a wooden spoon, break up all of the sausage meat and stir well so that there are no large clumps remaining – the largest pieces should be no bigger than 1/2cm or so. Continue to stir and cook until about 75% of the meat is no longer pink, about 8-10 minutes. Add the reserved vegetables and half the chicken stock to the pan, then remove from heat.

Whisk the remaining stock, the egg, and the minced parsley (about 2 tbsp) together, and add this to the sausage mixture, stirring continuously. Season with a little more salt (you shouldn’t need too much since the sausages are already seasoned), and very generously with black pepper. Gently fold the croutons and pine nuts in.

Transfer to an appropriately sized, buttered baking dish, cover tightly with aluminum foil, and bake until the centre of the stuffing registers 66ºC on an instant-read thermometer, about 45 minutes. (The stuffing can be prepared until this stage a day in advance, then cooled and kept refrigerated. Just bring it to room temperature before the next step.)

Uncover and continue to bake until golden brown and crispy on top, about 15-20 more minutes. Serve warm.

Yield: Makes enough to serve 6 with leftovers (about a 9″ square cake pan’s worth)

I don’t know about you lot, but I’m still recovering from the last month of mayhem. And I think I will be for another month or so. When I begin to think about the buckets of booze, piles of food, and general excess we partook of in the name of festive fun, I still feel a bit sick.

But! January’s here – which means it’s time for everyone to hit the gym, cut back on the unhealthy food (until the Chinese New Year anyway), and get on with life. For me, one of my weekday morning rituals that I’ve missed is having a quiet breakfast and cup of coffee (thanks, Vick, I still use the V60 almost every day!) on the balcony after I send the bunny to work. This morning, having stockpiled a nice stash of the awesomest brioche in HK in my freezer, I decided to go with Egg in the Basket.

This dish is probably best described as the bastard child of a fried egg sandwich and oeufs en cocotte, where you replace the cocotte with bread and cook it all in a frying pan instead! (GENIUS, I say!) The trick to doing this dish well is to toast one side of the bread first and then to crack an egg into the middle after you’ve flipped it, and then to moderate the heat carefully so your bread doesn’t burn before the egg is cooked. I generally also cover the pan to let the top of the egg steam a little (or pop the entire pan under the broiler for a minute). The resulting 2-D sandwich is the picture of perfection, especially with the tendrils of egg-white that spread out under the bread and go crispy and delicious! This way, you also avoid having to flip the entire thing over which could result in a broken or over-cooked egg yolk (read: CATASTROPHE).

Egg in a Basket

1 2cm-thick slice of brioche (or your bread of choice)
softened butter
1 large egg
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper

Using a cookie cutter, cut the middle of your slice of bread out. I generally just go with round, but please feel free to use whatever shape tickles your fancy – as long as the hole is large enough to mostly contain your egg. Spread a thin but even layer of butter over both sides of the bread, and on the cut-out portion as well.

Crack your egg into a small bowl or ramekin; set aside.

Heat a frying pan with a well-fitting lid over medium heat, and drop the slice of bread in. Cook for about 2-3 minutes or until golden brown. Flip the slice of bread over, drop about half a teaspoon of extra butter into the hole, and carefully tip the egg into the hole.

Lower the heat slightly, and cook for 2 minutes. The egg should be mostly cooked by now, but you will probably still have a layer of uncooked white on the top. Pour about 10-15ml of water into the pan (near the side, not directly onto the bread), then immediately cover with the lid for 45 seconds to 1 minute. Uncover, nudge the egg gently to see if it is cooked to your liking, then remove to a plate, sprinkle with salt and a few twists of the pepper mill, and serve immediately.

Yield: Serves 1

WOW – I’ve been gone for a while, huh. I’m not entirely sure what happened – but an entire summer came and went and I seem to have completely forgotten about this space. Yeesh, I’m still trying to wrap my head around how that happened. But I’m sorry! And I’m back! And the weather is cool again! And I’ve gotten the blown lightbulbs in my kitchen replaced! Which means I’m back in the kitchen, pottering around with jamming and breading and various cookery, including getting cracking on my Christmas 2011 menu (I’ve earmarked a few roast goose recipes) so I’ve got my fingers crossed that I won’t get too distracted by the festive season and forget to take pictures and post the button-popping, pants-splitting feast I’m intending to inflict upon my guests.

In the meantime, I thought I’d post a recipe which we could all use on those hungover mornings amidst the festive (read: alcohol-drenched party) season. It’s a post that I’ve had saved in my drafts for over a year now, and that’s not even because I managed to forget about my blog. Scrambled eggs are a slightly controversial topic – in the kitchen, at least. It’s probably got to do with how there are so many different incarnations of scrambled eggs – do you like large or small curds, runny or fully set eggs? How creamy do you like it? And do you want them plain or flavoured with simple herbs like chives, or have you been fortunate enough to come into possession of truffles whose fragrance you can imbue your raw eggs with, before topping the hot mess with a few (or many!) thin shavings?

Since I figure we who scramble eggs at home don’t tend to have fresh truffles on hand, I figured I’d talk about how I like to do my basic scramble. If I feel like poshing it up a little I’ll fold in some fresh chives, or drizzle with truffle oil (for the fragrance without the cost!). I also don’t normally bother with cooking my eggs in a bain marie – it’s too much of a hassle without a proportionate pay-off, especially if I’m hungover and just want to cobble together a hot meal to settle my stomach.

For the record, I’m a fan of medium-soft set large curds, and in order to scramble eggs to my liking, I find the best tool to move your eggs around a non-stick pan is a silicone spatula. It’s flexible enough to scrape up every last bit of egg from the sides of your pan, whilst allowing for the least disruption of your eggs, which leaves you with large ribbons of eggs weaved around each other as the proteins coagulate. And one point to note which I find most important, regardless of how you like your eggs done, is to ensure that you pull your eggs off the heat (and onto a warmed plate or slice of toasted bread) before they are cooked to your liking, so the residual heat doesn’t overcook your gently scrambled eggs by the time they move from the kitchen to your mouth!

My Favourite Scrambled Eggs

3 large eggs
fine sea salt
50g whipping cream
10g cold unsalted butter
10g unsalted butter, softened
fleur de sel
freshly cracked black pepper
freshly toasted bread
optional: truffle oil and chives, to garnish

Crack the eggs into a bowl, a season very lightly with a tiny pinch of fine sea salt. Add the cream, and beat gently with a fork until the whites and yolks are amalgamated, but try not to incorporate too much air into it. Cut the first 10g of (cold) butter into small cubes, and add it, along with the cream, to the eggs, and stir briefly.

Heat a medium-sized nonstick pan over medium-low heat. Add the next 10g of butter to the pan, and move it about to coat the entire surface, until it melts and starts to foam. Be careful that the butter doesn’t burn – you don’t even really want it to brown at all.

Tip the eggs into the pan, and let it sit for about 15-20 seconds: just long enough to form a thin skin on the base, then gather the solidified layer from the outside to the inside, or in a large, circular movement. You don’t want to beat the eggs or whisk them up to form tiny bits, you want to smoothly crumple up large curds and allow the uncooked egg to settle back to the bottom of the pan before repeating this process. Depending on the size of your pan, it should take about 2-3 minutes to cook altogether. If the egg seems to be setting too quickly, remove the pan from the heat and to let the pan cool slightly.

About 1 minute before the eggs are done, remove the pan from the heat. Fold the eggs gently, one last time, then tip them out onto your toasted slices of bread. If using, drizzle the truffle oil over the eggs, and snip a couple of lengths of chives over to garnish. Otherwise, just sprinkle with a little extra fleur de sel, and top with a few more twists of the pepper mill. Serve immediately.

Yield: Serves 1

A couple of months ago, D – a good friend of mine – suddenly turned to me whilst we were having drinks, and declared that she wanted to make blueberry jam. Naturally, I was delighted to hear this, having assumed she meant she was going to make some and gift me with a bottle or two. :P Sadly, what she really meant was that she wanted to learn how to make jam (specifically, blueberry), and was hoping for a lesson. Naturally, I obliged.

Blueberries are a soft, sweet, and not especially acidic fruit that generally contains about 0.4% concentration of pectin at most. This means that when making jam, you will most likely need to add additional acid and pectin to the fruit in order to get a firm set, as you generally need about 1% pectin in your jam, and a pH level of around 2.8-3.6 for the jam to set.

I had a sniff around a couple of supermarkets here in Hong Kong, and for some reason, couldn’t find any plain pectin, but I did find a bag of jam sugar – which is sugar that has pectin already added to it. (Jam sugar normally also contains some added citric acid in order to allow the jam to set.) As you can see in the picture above, the appearance of jam sugar is kinda clumpy – this is to be expected, thanks to the additives.

Now, one benefit of using jam sugar over extracting your own pectin (or cooking a jam without any added pectin), is that you only need to bring the mixture to a rolling boil for between 1-4 minutes (depending on your brand of pectin – just follow the manufacturer’s instructions for timing), and you’ll be able to achieve your firm set. This translates to a jam that generally will retain brighter colours and flavours, as the amount of time you need to cook the jam for is greatly reduced. (Some say it also retains more nutrients in the fruit since it’s not cooked to hell and back – anybody know if it’s true?)

Nutritional content aside though, when making jam, it’s always important to taste some of the fruit you’re preserving before you start. Like all cooking, the flavour of your final product is very much contingent on the raw ingredients you start with. For example, the blueberries we used were fairly sweet, but not very acidic, so I decided to add in the juice of two lemons, and used a ratio of about 3:5 for sugar to fruit (by weight).

Anyway, she’s probably going to kill me for putting up this picture, but I really couldn’t resist. :) Hopefully, this post (this picture?) will inspire you to get jamming too – it probably took about 15 minutes of weighing, measuring, juicing, and stirring before D was delightedly peering into that steaming pot of jam. And in case you needed a little more convincing with regards to commercial pectin, all I can say is this: the faster the jam sets, the faster you’ll be on your way to making out with a sticky ladle too. ;P

Blueberry Jam

1kg fresh blueberries
600g jam sugar (I used this one)
juice of 1-3 lemons
20g unsalted butter

Wash and drain the blueberries. Tip them all into a large, heavy-based pot set over medium heat. Add in the sugar and lemon juice.

Stir the mixture, crushing the blueberries as you go, with a wooden spoon, and as it heats up, until the sugar has dissolved in the blueberries and its juice. Moderate the heat and do not allow the mixture to come to a boil until the sugar is completely dissolved. Have a taste, and adjust the sweetness and/or acidity, if necessary.

Once the sugar has dissolved, add in the butter, stir it in, and turn the heat up. Let the pot come to a rolling boil (that doesn’t go away with stirring). When it boils, let it cook, stirring occasionally, for 4 minutes (or as long as the manufacturer of your jam sugar instructs). Ladle or pour the jam into warm, sterilized jars, screw on the lids and place in a deep pot of boiling water. The jars should be submerged by at least an inch. Boil rapidly for 10 minutes, then remove from the heat, dry off the bottles and allow to cool to room temperature in a cool, draught-free place. With their seals intact, bottles of jam will keep in a cool, dark place for about a year. (Once open, keep refrigerated and consume within 4 weeks.)

Alternatively, store the jam in clean containers in the fridge for up to 4 weeks.

Yield: About 1.5L of jam

Yesterday, 8th March, was Shrove Tuesday, or – more commonly known in our all-inclusive society today – Pancake Day. Pancake Day isn’t that commonly celebrated outside the western world, but for those of you in Asia who may have heard about it but don’t know where it comes from, Shrove Tuesday is the day before Lent, where Christians and Catholics historically practice abstinence in the period leading up to Easter. Since rich foods like eggs, fat, sugar, and dairy (or food containing them) are some common items that practicing households might give up, pancakes were an easy way to use up these perishable items before the abstinence began.

About a week ago, I had a gluten-free cook-date with a friend of mine who’s mildly gluten intolerant. One of the recipes I tried out was this one for Gluten Free Buckwheat Pancakes from Wrightfood. These buckwheat pancakes are so freaking delicious, I’ve pretty much abandoned all hope of ever making any other pancake in my (very much gluten-loving) household. As much as I love pancakes, and as fluffy and lovely as the pancakes I get from my usual go-to recipe are, they tend to run a little plain, and pancakes are just a slightly more texturally interesting version of toast in my Sunday brunches. These, on the other hand, have a lovely nutty and slightly savoury flavour. They go equally well with a lightly spiced chutney, good marmalade, or the classic butter-and-maple syrup topping. In fact, they’re even good enough to eat on their own!

Most pancake recipes I’ve found online don’t generally bother separating the eggs whilst whipping up the batter, but ever since I started doing that, and was delighted with the fluffy, pillowy texture, I’ve never gone back. If you’ve got a handheld mixer, or a stand mixer, these will take no time at all to put together. It’s a bit of a fuss if you need to do it by hand, but I like to think of it as burning off the calories you’re about to consume. As Matt notes in his blog post, it’s also a fairly healthy recipe – whole grains, maple syrup instead of sugar, but I’ve tweaked the recipe slightly and converted the measurements into weight instead of volume.

For this year’s Fat Tuesday, I decided to go the savoury route and have breakfast for dinner. :) Inspired by the Sausage McMuffins, I bought a few sausage patties from Citysuper, fried up some eggs, and sandwiched them together to make a rather scrumptious meal. I’d strongly recommend anyone who likes pancakes to give this recipe a shot – I know it’s a little annoying to have to go out and buy a bag of buckwheat flour *just* to use about a cup of it, but once you taste how awesome these pancakes are, I promise that bag will disappear in a flash.

Browned Butter Buckwheat Pancakes
(adapted from Wrightfood)

150g buckwheat flour
1 tsp baking powder
a pinch of salt
50g butter
300g milk
50g maple syrup (or honey)
2 large eggs, separated

clarified butter for frying

to serve: sausage patties, fried egg, tomato chutney, and maple syrup (optional, but not really!)

Whisk the flour, baking powder and salt together in a medium mixing bowl.

In a small pan, melt the butter over medium heat. Continue to heat until the solids start to brown, and the butter smells nutty. Immediately pour the butter off into a measuring jug (that will fit your liquid ingredients) to ensure it doesn’t burn.

In the measuring jug, combine the milk, maple syrup and egg yolks with the browned butter. Whisk to combine. Pour the liquid ingredients into the dry ingredients, and gently mix together. It’s okay if your batter is a little bit lumpy.

Using an electric mixer, beat the egg whites to stiff peaks. Whisk about 1/5 of the egg whites into the batter to lighten the mixture slightly, then gently – but quickly – fold the rest of your whites in using a large metal spoon. You should take care to not deflate the egg whites too much, but I’ve found that faffing about with the batter for too long also results in lots of the air being lost.

Once the batter is ready, get frying – heat a non-stick frying pan over medium heat, and lightly brush the surface with clarified butter. (I prefer using clarified butter – over regular butter – when frying, since this way the solids don’t burn, but you still get that buttery taste and aroma in whatever you’re cooking.) Pour in about 1/4 cup of the batter at a time, cook until holes form on the top (uncooked bit) of the pancake, and it’s mostly solid, about 2 minutes. Flip it over with an offset spatula or your pancake-flipper of choice to finish cooking, about 30 seconds. Transfer to a warmed plate, and keep warm in a low oven while you cook the rest of the batter.

To assemble a Sausage McPancake (TM), lay one pancake out on your work surface. Spread a good dollop of chutney, layer over as many sausage patties as you’d like, and a runny fried egg. Top with another pancake, then drizzle over a little maple syrup, and tuck in.

Yield: Makes about 10 pancakes – i.e. enough for 3 Sausage McPancakes plus an extra dessert pancake each :)

I’ve been in a little bit of a cooking-rut. I’m not entirely sure how it started or when exactly this happened, but for the last couple of weeks, I’ve been starting to feel like I lost my kitchen-mojo. The first instance I remember was when I left a rib of beef in the SVS for a few hours too long (borne out of my paranoia of oversleeping and not plonking the meat into the water oven early enough for dinner), and, although it remained very much edible, the texture was just a little bit off. Kind of like a cross between pastrami and roast beef (and I don’t mean that in a good way).

Then I had a few bread-baking mishaps – No-Knead Bread not turning out at all how I would have liked (and no idea if the fault lay with me or the recipe), and my first few attempts at making this milkbread went strangely awry, thanks to an overzealous addition of random ingredients on my part, and very uncooperative yeast. (It expired, apparently. Then I bought some new yeast, and it failed to proof in warm water, the bowl of yeasty water staring balefully at me and stubbornly refusing to froth. But I tried anyway – the dry ingredients were all weighted out and mixed together already – and when it rose, I may or may not have left it to rise for too long, in too warm a spot.) Finally, I tried to make some peanutella to cheer myself up, in spite of not having any home-baked bread to spread it on, but for some reason it turned out rather clumpy and dry. It tasted pretty good, but it wasn’t the delicious, glistening, oozy spread I’d envisioned either.

But! That’s all over now – knock on wood. Before throwing in the (kitchen) towel and declaring myself officially kitchen-mojo-less, I decided to give it one last shot. I took Michael Ruhlman’s 5:3 bread ratio, swapped out about a third of the water for milk, and threw in a couple of teaspoons of sugar for a hint of sweetness. And – behold! – it felt like the kitchen gods were all smiling down upon me once again! My dough kneaded to a delightfully supple elasticity; it rose; it smelled wonderful! When I punched it down, it deflated happily, and was most amenable to being kneaded again briefly before its second rise, and subsequent baking, in a cast iron cocotte.

For those of you interested in bread-baking, baking the loaf in an enameled (or well-seasoned) cast iron Dutch oven is a great way to improve the texture of your bread, without having to invest in some high-tech steam-injection oven, or risk damaging your oven by spritzing the inside of your oven with cold water. The thick, heavy walls of the cocotte do a great job of retaining heat, and – covered for the first half of your baking time – steam in the cooking vessel, which in turn softens the outer layer of the loaf, allowing for a greater initial growth (also known as oven spring, which is the effect of the yeast’s last activity before it’s killed off by the heat of the oven), before the crust dries out and hardens.

There are two ways to go about doing this – one is to preheat your cocotte along with the oven (for about 20-30 minutes), and drop the proofed dough straight into the pan. The other is to let the dough proof directly in the Dutch oven on the second rise, and chuck the entire pot – dough and all – into your preheated oven. The upside of the first (potentially messy and slightly dangerous) method is an even greater oven spring, but I personally prefer the second method, as you don’t disrupt the structure you’ve just developed in your second rise. (Also, I’m a little prone to burning myself, and why play with fire, right?)

As you can see, this loaf gave me a delightfully airy (and fairly even) crumb, with a thin crust. It was fantastic fresh with a little salted butter – rather delicately straddling that bridge between tender and chewy, and it toasted up great – rendering the crust crisp and shattery once reheated – for breakfast the next morning, smeared with a spoonful of homemade blueberry jam. (Post on the blueberry jam to follow soon!) I really can’t think of a better way to have been welcomed back into my kitchen’s good favour, than with this beautiful boule. :)

Dutch Oven Milk Boule
(based on Michael Ruhlman’s Ratio – you can also find this book in my store!)

300g unbleached bread flour, plus more for dusting
5g salt
20g caster sugar
120g warm water (preferably at around 35-40ºC)
2g active dry yeast
60g whole milk

Combine the flour, salt, and sugar in a large mixing bowl.

Proof the yeast in the water, and let stand for 5-10 minutes, before combining with the milk.

Add this to the dry ingredients, and mix with your fingers or a wooden spoon till you’ve got a shaggy-ish dough. Dump the contents of the bowl onto a floured surface, roll your sleeves up, and start kneading. I like to press forward using the heel of my hand, fold the dough over and turn it 90°, then repeat. You should be going at this – dusting your hands and the surface lightly with more flour as necessary – for about 10 minutes. The dough will become smooth and elastic, and slightly tacky. Try not to add any more flour than the barest minimum to keep it from sticking, as too much flour will give you a dry dough and dense loaf.

Cut off a small bit of dough, and roll it into a ball. Gently stretch this piece between your fingers – if it can be stretched thin enough to be translucent (you should be able to just about make out the print of a newspaper through it) before tearing, congrats! Your dough has passed the windowpane test: this means long – and strong – enough gluten strands have been formed during the kneading, which will give your loaf structure, and hold up the air bubbles that the yeast creates. If it doesn’t, smush the little ball back into the rest of your dough, and knead until it passes this test.

Transfer the dough into a lightly oiled bowl, cover with clingfilm, and leave to rise in a warm spot – preferably around 20-25°C. Once it has doubled in size, tip the dough back onto a floured surface, punch it down to deflate it, and knead it gently to redistribute the yeast.

To shape the dough into a boule, gather the ends of the dough and pull them together, smoothing, tucking, and pinching the crease to form a smooth, taut surface on the opposite side. As far as my experience goes, it’s pretty much impossible to have the smooth side tight enough, so keep going at it till you’ve got a nicely formed ball. This will help the dough to rise upwards instead of spreading out during the second rise.

Dust the entire ball lightly with flour, then sit it, seam-side down, on a circle of parchment that will fit in your baking vessel. You can then either drape the loosely with a floured kitchen towel (the linen, not terry-cloth, sort), or transfer the entire thing into the Dutch oven to proof, depending on whether or not you intend to preheat the pot. Leave it to rise for about 1 hour, or until doubled.

About 20-30 minutes before the second rise is done, preheat your oven to 220°C. (If you’re preheating the Dutch oven, go ahead and pop it – lid and all – into the oven too, at this point.) Once the dough is ready, slash it a couple of times with a lame (I just use a Stanley knife, lightly oiled to prevent dragging, that I keep specifically for bread-slashing.) and pop it into the oven. Cook for about 20 minutes, covered, then uncover, turn the oven down to about 175°C, and bake for an extra 20-30 minutes, rotating the pot halfway through for even browning.

To check that your bread is done, you can either tip it out of the pan and tap the bottom – you should hear a hollow thump. Alternatively, insert an instant-read thermometer into the middle of the loaf (from the side, so you don’t mar the appearance of your gorgeous boule!) and it’s done once the thermometer reads 91°C.

Remove the bread from the pan and allow to cool completely on a wire rack before slicing. This bread should keep fresh for about two days, well-wrapped, at room temperature, or you can freeze it for about 3-6 months, well-wrapped in foil. If freezing bread, I prefer to pre-slice it and freeze it (fresh) in pairs, then you can chuck the whole foil package into a low oven (about 125°C) for 15-20 minutes and you’ll have steaming bread that tastes like it’s been freshly baked. :)

Yield: Makes one small boule (about 8 inches in diameter, 5 inches high) – good for about 8 good slices of bread, plus the two crusty ends (baker’s treat!)

Note: Active dry yeast is the same as instant yeast, only it needs to be dissolved in warm water first for the spores to be activated. If you use instant/bread-machine yeast, you can substitute it with the same amount. There will be no need for you to proof the yeast, so you can just mix all the ingredients together all at once. To proof active dry yeast, stir the yeast into a small amount of warm water (the water should be around 35-40ºC, or just warm to the touch), and leave it to stand for 5-10 minutes. Once bubbles form on the surface of the water, indicating microbial activity (if none form, there’s a pretty strong chance your yeast has expired), continue with the recipe.

I’ve been making my own jam for a couple of years now. I don’t do this on a regular basis (though I really should!), and I definitely don’t make jam nearly as often as I would like to. But every now and then I’ll come across a glut of beautiful fruit that I won’t be able to avoid buying by the crate, then there’s nothing to do but cook it down into jam and bottle it up.

Making jam is much easier than many people realise – whenever I make a new batch and hand out samples to my friends, I am invariably met with shock – What?! You made your own jam?! – or confusion – How on earth does one make jam? Doesn’t it take forever?! – and while that’s all well and good for my ego, it really isn’t that difficult. One friend recently told me that she’s always wanted to try making jam, only she was worried by how complicated it seemed to be to sterilize jars and canning equipment. Thing is – you don’t need to bottle it for it to be jam. Sterilizing your containers and canning the jam just allows you to keep it longer and prevents you from losing precious fridge space, but you could always just keep the jam in a container in your fridge.

The easiest way about it is to start out with fruit that naturally contains a high amount of pectin (the stuff that gels your jam together and gives it that jelly-like consistency), like apples, quince, gooseberries, or citrus fruits like oranges. All it takes then is peeling (or zesting) the fruit, cutting it up into little pieces or blitzing it into a puree, and cooking it down with sugar (with fruit that’s high in pectin you won’t even need to bother looking for jam sugar!) and some water until it reaches the setting point. To test for the setting point, stick a saucer or small plate into the freezer for 5-10 minutes, and plop a teaspoonful of your jam onto the cold saucer. Run your finger through it, and if it holds its trough, it’s ready. To sterilize your equipment, all you do is wash it thoroughly with hot, soapy water, then place the rinsed jars, open-side up, in a deep pan. Cover with boiling water and boil rapidly for 10 minutes. Lift them out with tongs and leave to drain, upside down, on a thick, clean, dish towel, and keep them warm in a low oven while you’re preparing your jam.

Below, I’ve provided one of my favourite jam recipes – this one’s a beautiful mandarin jam from Melissa of The Traveler’s Lunchbox. Your usual bitter marmalades have nothing on this obnoxiously vivid jam, and it’s one of the easiest I’ve ever made. And there’s really nothing like having a lazy Sunday brunch in your balcony, with crusty toast (or home-baked bread!) smeared with freshly churned butter, and topped with jam you made all on your own.

The only thing to note is that this jam is so delicious, you’re gonna run out of it in no time. So do yourself a favour, stock up on some fresh lids, wash those bottles out, and double (or even triple) this recipe. Trust me – you won’t be the only one sneaking spoonfuls of it when you think no one else is looking.

Mandarin Jam
1kg mandarins (about 8-10, depending on size)
400-600g caster sugar
juice of 2-3 lemons

Wash and finely zest half your mandarins, reserving the zest. Peel all the fruit, removing as much of the white pith as possible. Cut each mandarin across the equator and dig out the pips, working over a bowl to catch the juices. Wrap all the pips up in a square of cheesecloth, tying the ends together firmly. (Using the seeds will give you the maximum amount of pectin in your jam.)

Place the halves along with any juice you’ve collected into a food processor, and blitz until you’ve got a puree, 1-2 minutes. Taste the puree, and add an appropriate amount of sugar based on the sweetness of your fruit. If in doubt, start with a smaller amount – you can always increase the sugar content towards the end. Tip the puree, along with the reserved mandarin zest, lemon juice and sugar into a deep, heavy saucepan, stir well to combine, then add in the bag of pips, tying one end to the handle of your pot.

Bring it to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce the heat to medium-low, and simmer, stirring occasionally, and skimming off any scum from the surface. Allow to cook until it sets, about 30-40 minutes. Taste for sweetness and acidity at this point – if it needs more sugar or lemon juice, add some at this point, and cook for a couple of extra minutes.

Pour into hot sterilized jars, firmly attach lids (screw top and rubber gasket lids all work just as well), and place in a deep pot of boiling water. The jars should be submerged by at least an inch. Boil rapidly for 10 minutes, then remove from the heat, dry off the bottles and allow to cool to room temperature in a cool, draught-free place. With their seals intact, bottles of jam will keep in a cool, dark place for about a year.

If you don’t wish to go through the hassle of sterilizing and sealing, simply transfer your jam into clean containers that can be tightly covered, and keep refrigerated for up to a month.

It’s no secret around here that I love eggs. A friend and I were recently – and, rather excitedly – comparing our Top 5 egg-dishes, and there was one rather obvious common thread: we both love them runny.

Now, I haven’t always loved runny eggs. In fact, I still don’t really like the Singapore coffee-shop style of coddling eggs in a tub of hot water for a couple of minutes, until the whites are barely set and the yolks are still completely liquid. Two of these – as far as I’m concerned – completely uncooked specimens are cracked into a saucer, and doused in soy sauce and stirred into a pulp. Thankfully, while I still am not a huge fan of runny whites, I’ve learnt to love runny yolks, which are also the perfect sauce.

Oeufs en Cocotte (the fancy french name for Baked Eggs) are something I’ve read about for a long time. For some reason, I never really got around to making them till this past week – ramekins too small; ovenproof dish too shallow; no cream in the house…. All I can say is that I am one helluva fool for procrastinating for so long.

The entire dish comes together in about 15 minutes, and can be customised for any time of the day – add a little chopped ham or crisped bacon under the eggs for breakfast, unmould over a frisée salad for a light lunch, or serve in the shell, topped with a little caviar, for an elegant starter with grilled asparagus spears for dinner. Whatever the time of day, and however you choose to garnish it (or, eat it plain as below), if you love eggs even a quarter as much as I do, I’m sure you’re going to really enjoy this one.

Oeufs en Cocotte

4 eggs
butter for greasing
40g freshly grated cheese (I used emmental here, you could also use a mild cheddar, gruyere, parmesan, or any other melty cheese that tickles your fancy)
60-100g cream
salt and pepper

optional:
nutmeg
a few tablespoons of shredded/chopped ham/bacon/leftover roast chicken
a large handful of spinach, blanched and drained well

Preheat your oven to 180C, and butter two appropriately sized ramekins or oven-proof dishes (you want a dish approximately 10-15cm in diameter and 3-5cm deep). Sprinkle most of the cheese evenly into the base of the dishes. If using any of the optional extras, scatter the meat/veg in a thin, even layer over the base, then crack two eggs into each dish. Drizzle half the cream around the yolks (I prefer to have the egg yolks exposed), then season well with salt and pepper, grate over a little nutmeg, if using, and sprinkle the rest of your cheese over.

Bake in the preheated oven for 7-10 minutes. When done, it should still be pretty wobbly – the yolks should be runny and the whites just set. (Feel free to take them out a minute or so before the whites are set, as they will continue cooking from the residual heat.) Serve with plenty of buttered toasted bread to mop all the egg up, and a tall glass of iced coffee.

Yield: Serves 2

I find it a little disconcerting that I’ve never posted about les croque monsieurs et madames before. I’m not the hugest fan of sandwiches but I don’t think the words exist to adequately describe my love for these. Stripped back to its core, you really have little more than a glorified ham and cheese sandwich, but oh what a difference that little makes. In one of my most recent food posts, on Mac & Cheese, I waxed lyrical about the joys of pasta, cheese and bechamel. Here, that same heavenly combination of cheese, bechamel and carbohydrate perform in an equally loved sequel, only with ham making his debut.

Of course, no sandwich ever lamented the addition of an additional egg, and that’s where the croque truly shines in my opinion. A sunny side up is the perfect ingredient to any dish – especially if you like it the way I do, that is slightly browned around the edges. From one little 2 oz package, and in a single mouthful, you have the ultimate dish really – a combination of textures, flavours, and a self-saucing one at that. Naturally, the gooeyness of an egg yolk lends itself well to sandwiches which, especially when toasted, might turn a shade dry.

Now, simple as this sandwich is, I’m not going to try to convince anyone that it’s a dish one should be whipping up every morning for breakfast. It’s a little too rich for that, for starters. But on a lazy Sunday morning, I can really think of nothing I’d rather be eating on my balcony with the bunny. Plus, if you made mac & cheese earlier in the week, all you need to do is save a couple of dollops, and thin that out on Sunday morning with a splash of milk for a croque that will come together in no time. :)

Croque Madame

2 tbsp unsalted butter, plus more for spreading
2 tbsp all-purpose flour
500ml full cream milk
nutmeg
150g freshly grated cheese (I like using either a mild cheddar or gruyere)
4 large slices of country bread
1 tsp of dijon mustard
2 thick slices of smoked leg ham (or as much as you want to pile in)
olive oil
2 eggs
salt & pepper

Preheat your oven to 200C with a rack on the upper third of the oven. Melt the butter in a small saucepan over low heat. Once it is liquid, pour in the flour, and stir briskly so that the butter and flour are evenly incorporated. Turn the heat up to medium, and, stirring often, cook for about 2-3 minutes, or until the butter starts to smell nutty, but before it takes on any colour. Slowly whisk in the milk, adding a little at a time and whisking all the while, to get a smooth sauce. Once all the milk is added, turn the fire down to medium-low and let it simmer, stirring and scraping the bottom every couple of minutes until it reduces into a velvety sauce. Season with salt and white pepper, and grate it about half a nutmeg. Whisk in 100g of the cheese, then set aside and keep warm.

While the bechamel is simmering, spread your bread on both sides with a little butter and toast it lightly. You don’t want it to get too brown, just to very lightly colour it. One one side of each slice, smear a little dijon mustard. Assemble each sandwich from the bottom up as follows: bread (mustard side up), ham, 1/4 of the cheese, bread (mustard side up again), a generous dollop of the cheesy bechamel, and another 1/4 of the cheese. Place the two sandwiches on a baking tray and bake for about 5-10 minutes, or until the sandwich is just warmed through and the cheese is bubbling and lightly browned in spots.

While the sandwiches toast, fry two eggs sunny-side up, or to your liking. Once the sandwiches are done, top each with an egg, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and tuck in!

Yield: Serves 2

Note: It’s hard to make the bechamel in a much smaller quantity than this, so I’d either save a little bechamel from another dish, or save the rest to use later. If you’re refrigerating bechamel, store it in an airtight container, with a little piece of clingfilm pressed to the surface (to prevent a skin from forming). It will thicken (or solidify, really), but you can thin it out easily but whisking a splash of milk in, and – if necessary – reheating it gently on the stove top. I don’t think it’ll keep for very long, but a little tub of bechamel has never lasted more than 2 days in my fridge anyhow. :)

Lane Crawford is a shopping haven for the well-heeled in Hong Kong. If you’re not familiar with the brand, think of a department store, then replace every single item in it with luxury brands, like Prada, Zegna, and a few dozen other less-known (but equally expensive) ones.

But we’ve already established that I’m not really into clothes. Nor bags, nor shoes, nor any of the usual wallet-killers. So what does Lane Crawford have over me? In particular, I’d direct your attention to the store at Pacific Place – which is where they conveniently house their Home & Lifestyle section. Along with a particular set of antique crockery, they also have the most awesome designs for flatware, glassware and tableware.

A couple of weeks ago, I was with bunny in Pacific Place (we were heading towards great supermarket – the other money sucker in PP), and we walked past Lane Crawford and noticed that they were having a sale. I started gathering up single plates of different designs, wanting so desperately to add them to our collection, but as wonderful as the discounts were, Lane Crawford still is a rather high end store. In the end, I settled for three things: a set of cherrywood palettes (they came in a pair), a beautiful spreading knife, and a real hot chocolate pot, complete with moussoir!

As you can imagine, I’ve been having a field day with the lot – the hot chocolate pot in particular. Hot chocolate is pretty much the only way that bunny will ingest any form of chocolate, so it’s been fun using the pot to whip up frothy, rich batches of hot chocolate for the two of us (and any guests in the house). Here’s a simple recipe I threw together, which makes it rather thick and rich – i.e. just the way I like it. Feel free, of course, to add in any other seasonings and embellishments you prefer, like cinnamon, freshly grated nutmeg, a pinch of spice, a shot of whiskey or even to float a handful of mini marshmallows over the top. I like it just like this though, and there’s really nothing better than huddling up under a blanket on a cold, windy night, cradling a warm cup of hot chocolate next to someone you love.

Hot Chocolate

80g dark chocolate (65% cocoa solids and up)
500g full cream milk
100g whipping cream
2 tbsp sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tbsp cocoa powder

Warm your serving jug by pouring in boiling water and covering it. Chop the chocolate into small shards and place into a bowl.

Combine the milk, cream, cocoa powder and sugar together in a saucepan over a low flame and gently heat until it comes to just below boiling point, stirring occasionally. Remove from the heat and pour over the chopped chocolate, and allow it to sit for one minute to melt the chocolate. Whisk the mixture thoroughly in order to dissolve any small lumps, then discard the hot water from your jug, pour in the hot chocolate and froth. Serve immediately.

(Serves 2-3)