A little on the nose

To be perfectly honest, I'm not too sure about truffles. I think that I was scarred by working in a restaurant that doused everything in an obscene amount of truffle oil. I would go home at the end of the night with my nostrils indelibly imprinted with the unmistakable aroma of truffle. To me, over time, the smell became indistinguishable from that of dirty socks and bad b.o. I thought I had been ruined for truffles forever.

So when my mother presented me with a fresh Australian black truffle I approached it with some trepidation. Luckily this little nugget smelt very little like the abomination that is truffle oil. In fact, most truffle oil does not contain any actual truffle but is a combination of an ether, which is one of numerous organic aromas found in actual truffles, and a base oil such as olive oil. Which explains why the oil lacks the complexity and subtlety of a fresh truffle.

The best risotto I ever ate was at a Paul Bocuse restaurant in Lyon (yes, very la-di-da). It was a ridiculously simple risotto bianco topped with a perfectly fried egg. In such a simple risotto the quality of the ingredients and adequate seasoning is absolutely paramount. The stock must be home made, the rice must be the best risotto rice you can afford and the butter must be salted and organic. Embrace the food snob within, you're cooking with truffle goddammit. My mother opens a bottle of Moët to use as her dry white but I have a sneaking suspicion that this may just serve as a rather good excuse to drink the other 690ml.

Truffle Risotto with Fried Egg

based on a recipe from 'French' by Damien Pignolet

serves 4

1.2L home-made chicken stock

50g butter

1 small brown onion, fine dice

500g risotto rice (Carnaroli or Vialone Nano)

60ml dry white wine

30-50g black truffle

60g cold butter, diced

60g parmesan, finely grated

salt & white pepper, to taste

4 eggs

Place truffle, rice and eggs in an airtight container and refrigerate for around 5 days.

Bring stock to the boil. Shave truffle.

Melt 50g butter in heavy based saucepan and sauté onion over medium heat until soft. Add rice and stir until translucent. Add wine to deglaze and stir until evaporated.

Reduce heat to low and add stock to rice a ladleful at a time. Stir constantly, add more stock once previous ladleful is absorbed. 

Begin to check rice after 15 mins, rice is done when just al dente. Use a little water if you run out of stock.

Once desired consistency is reached remove from heat and stir in remaining butter, half the truffle and the parmesan. Stir vigorously to make risotto creamy and oozy. Once butter is well combined, cover pot and rest for 5 mins. Check seasoning and add salt and white pepper to taste.

Meanwhile, heat a little oil in a non stick frypan and fry eggs over low heat until whites are just set.

Serve risotto in warmed bowls, topped with a fried egg and reserved truffle slices.

Jelly Wrestling

About a year ago I spent an extended period of time in a hospital bed. A combination of bad hospital food and high doses of morphine severely curbed my appetite and I could stomach nothing but fruit juice, chicken schnitzels and black tea. My fruit juice cravings transported me into the land of jelly, pretty much the only edible thing that arrived on my hospital tray. So reliant was I on jelly as my primary source of nutrition I burst into inconsolable sobs one evening when the tea ladies failed to deliver the sacred jelly. A year later and with a wisdom tooth extraction or three on the cards I am resurrecting my jelly obsession. But no Aeroplane Jelly for me, I'm going for good old-fashioned fruit juice set with leaf gelatine.

There is a lot to love in jelly land.  There is a certain quality to the wobble of a perfectly set jelly that is undeniably sexual, perfectly mimicking the wobble of a well endowed woman. A wobble that makes the most sensible of us giggle, the most inured of us snicker. A good jelly is smooth and slippery, manna from heaven for the toothless and sore-gummed amongst us. But you don't have to be sick or a child to enjoy a good jelly - although a soupçon of infantilism is indispensable for most adult pursuits. This ridiculously easy jelly is simple Valencia Orange, a good dash of Cointreau would make it a little more grown up but I might leave that 'till I'm off the painkillers.

Orange Jelly

From 'Jelly with Bombas & Parr'

Makes 500ml

Juice from about 4 oranges (to make 300ml)

Juice of 1/2 lemon

100ml sugar syrup

100ml water

5 leaves gold-strength gelatine

Choose a mould that will hold 500ml.

Squeeze oranges, pips and all, into a measuring jug until you have 300ml. Squeeze in the lemon juice.

Add equal quantities of sugar syrup and water to make juice up to 500ml.

Cut leaves of gelatine into a few pieces and place into a heat proof bowl, cover with a few tablespoons juice and leave to soften for 10mins.

Bring a small pot of water to the boil, place bowl of gelatine over simmering water and stir occasionally until completely melted

Pour the remainder of the juice over the gelatine and stir to combine. Pour through a sieve into measuring jug and then carefully fill the mould. Refrigerate until set.

To unmould jelly, dip mould briefly in hot water before turning jelly out.

You little tart

Everyone has their signature dish, their masterpiece, their pièce de résistance. Everyone has an auntie that brings that wombok noodle salad to the BBQ and claims it as her own marvellous invention. We all know that the recipe is on the back of the Chang's fried noodle packet but she insists that if she fails to bring it there'll be a veritable riot clambering for her 'secret' recipe. 

I certainly can not claim this old classic as my own and while I am not saying that this is my signature dish, it has certainly been my 'go to' little number for years. The dish I bring to a pot luck, the fail-safe dessert I serve when I've someone I want to impress. I cooked it the night I first cooked for my boyfriend, the fact that we never got to eat it just goes to show how effective it was. It's so good because it's so familiar,  nothing to challenge, nothing to upset. Perfection in it's simplicity.

Although I am lazy I do make my own pastry because otherwise what would I possibly do with my rather excessive collection of rolling pins? That was a rhetorical question, I am more than capable of using my imagination.

This recipe comes straight from Stephanie Alexander's Cook's Companion, the only modification I make is to use spelt flour rather than wheat for a nice nut-brown pastry that's a little gentler on the tummy. Like Stephanie I prefer a savoury pastry for this sweet tart, where we differ is in her insistence that the pastry must be made by hand. As far as I am concerned life is far too short not to use a food processor.

Shortcrust pastry

180g butter, cubed, at room temperature

240g white spelt flour

1/4 cup cold water

Whiz butter and flour in a food processor until it resembles bread crumbs.

Add enough water to just bring it together, try not to over process.

Form into a rough disc, wrap in cling film and refrigerate at least 30mins.

Stephanie's Lemon Tart

1 quantity of shortcrust pastry

6 eggs

250g (1cup) caster sugar

zest & juice of 3 large lemons

200ml cream

icing sugar & thick cream to serve

 Line a greased and floured 24cm loose-bottomed deep flan tin with pastry. If you have time you can pop the tart case in the freezer to rest, I like to leave it in there overnight to minimise shrinkage.

Preheat oven to 200°C and bake blind for 20 mins or until pastry is golden brown and firm. Reset oven to 160°C.

Meanwhile, whisk together eggs and sugar, add zest and juice and then cream.

Pour mixture into just-baked pastry case and bake for 35-45 mins until just set, still almost wobbly in the centre.

Cool in tin for at least 30mins, dust with icing sugar and serve in wedges with thick cream.