Tart with a heart.

I'm often asked to bring desserts when there's a family gathering happening, and I'm always happy to oblige. It gives me an excuse to scour google for something luscious, or go back to tried-and-true crowd pleasers. Otherwise, desserts can be dangerous in this house - just us two, plus one huge cheesecake (or equivaent) in the fridge can take on the look of a grim challenge by day three. So, having a guaranteed flock of mouths to feed is my insurance, and gives me carte blanche to whip up something decidedly decadent.

This past weekend, we went away with some friends to the beautiful Ellis House, and I volunteered to make dessert. Taking into account the levels of indulgence we'd likely soar to over the weekend, I decided to make something light, tart, and full of antioxidants - a fruity galette. 

Its rustic, freeform spirit just seemed to suit a weekend away in the country.

I adapted the Plum Galette recipe from Food & Wine, with the following changes: for the filling, I used 5 tablespoons of almond meal, and added the seeds of one vanilla bean; for the fruit, I used around one dozen plums, a bowlful of cherries, and a punnet of blueberries; and instead of sprinkling on third cup of sugar over the fruit and the edges of the rolled-over pastry, I used barely half that amount. And I didn't dot butter over the top, because I forgot to.

I also omitted the jam glaze at the end, because I just didn't think it needed it. Served with generous dollops of double cream, this tart provided a memorably zingy end to a lovely evening.

You could pretty much use any fruit in season to fill a galette. The drive home through winding country roads was spent dreaming up new combinations - banana and brown sugar, with a squeeze of lime? apple? pear? apple and pear? - though I'd love to do one with just morello cherries and cinnamon. Pumpkin would be nice, even.

The best part? There was just enough left for the two of us to share when we got back home. 

Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside...

I did think of waiting for the weekend to pass and posting an update after the 29th so I could pretend that no, a whole year had not passed since I last blogged. But the urge struck, and I thought, best to just go with it. So here I am, going with it.

I've just returned from two weeks by the sea. I spent some happy, squinty hours on the beach, watching the dumpy surf pick up my niece and nephew, sometimes tackling them, engulfed in a swirl of foam and sand, sometimes swelling up under their tiny bodies and boogie boards to deliver them, shrieking with delight, all the way to the shore. My youngest nephew, too little to tackle the surf on his own, was content dig-dig-digging the damp sand, and diving chest-first into single-bucket sandcastles as quickly as we could unmould them.

We found a flatter beach on the second-last day, and even though it was going to be a scorcher, the possibility of close encounters with local sea-dwellers had us camped on the narrow beach before midday. Wading out to hip-depth, I watched as my husband attempted a swim to the sandbar out ahead of us; the flatness on top of the water concealed a current. I watched as he drifted further and further to the right, then out of my field of vision. I quelled the predictable panic, and seconds later he appeared at the top of the stairs we'd used earlier to access the beach; "That undertow is strong!"

I love the different shades of blue the seaside showcases. At the dumpy beach, the waves rising and cresting in the distance took on an opaque opal brightness just before they crashed into froth; bands of teal and aqua and ultramarine between there and me till the swirl of muddy brown at my feet, retreating to crystal-clear, anchoring me deeper and deeper into the wet sand till I'm happily stuck, watching schools of fish dart back out to deeper water, invisible but for their sleek shadows.

The flat beach offered moodier tones than the dumpy one, starting off clear and descending quickly into inky-blue darkness. I watched neat clumps of seaweed glide past under the surface, sailing neatly around our legs as if steered, little islands on the move to somewhere specific. The small beach, empty but for the two of us and a young family of four, was the perfect contrast of brisk water and scorching sand. As we stood side by side, looking out to the patch of black where the sea floor dropped away, a strange thing happened. A piece of the blackness separated from the rest; a patch the size of our dining table. It broke away and began slowly, deliberately gliding toward us. This was not the shadow of a kite; it was a local resident. A stingray. We followed in awe as it glided past us, and away.

Apparently stingrays are quite common in the area, though I still feel  little glow when I think about it. Like I've been let in on some sort of secret.

Wake, bake, blog.

That was the drill this morning. As I eased myself into productive wakefulness, the hint of baking wafted into my mind like the smell itself. Gentle, sweet, slowly intensifying - till all there is to do is haul yourself out of bed and head to the kitchen.

Lucky I have the perfect muffin recipe at hand - again, I have Nigella to thank for it. But how could I not keep going back to it? It's so versatile, and I've made it even more user-friendly by lowering the sugar content, and replacing the sour cream with greek yoghurt - something I always have in my fridge.

As for the fruits - I've made these muffins as per the recipe several times, and again at least as many, experimenting with the fruit and flavour combinations. She calls for pear and ginger; I've done apple and cinnamon, blueberry and cinnamon, pear and chocolate - and right now, the aromas of pineapple and coconut are creeping into the very corners of my house. Tropical and summery - and let me assure you, a pineapple half purchased for a dollar from the bargain table at your local greengrocers smells just as sweet.

Nigella's Pear and Ginger Muffins (with my changes in brackets)
Dry ingredients:
250g plain flour
2 teasp baking powder
150g caster sugar (I use raw caster sugar)
75g light brown sugar, plus extra for sprinkling (I omit this entirely)

Wet ingredients:
142ml sour cream (I use greek yoghurt)
125ml vegetable oil
2 eggs
1 tbsp honey

Fruit:
300g chopped pear (or any other fruit equivalent)
1 teasp ground ginger (or other flavour/spice to match your fruit)

Method:
Preheat oven to 200C, and line 12 cup muffin pan with papers or cases.

Mix all dry ingredients in one bowl; mix all wet ingredients in another bowl; then fold wet ingredients through dry ingredients.

Add fruit to mixture and fold through.

Divide evenly into patty cases; if desired, sprinkle tops with a little raw sugar to give some crunch when baked.

Bake for 20 minutes.
Congratulate yourself.

Dark times call for These Measures

As a child I was afraid of the dark. Back in the days when I shared a bedroom with one of my brothers (he in the top bunk, me in the bottom), I remember pleading with him after lights-out to 'stay up half night'. After lengthy whispered conversations in which he would try and make me understand that he just couldn't do that, we found a compromise; he would dangle his arm off the side of his bunk, and I would reach up and hold it. This solution was none too practical for either of us. I progressed to taking comfort from the sight of his dangled arm till eventually, I didn't need the reassurance any more.

These days, darkness makes me think of other things. Mystery. Saturation. Depression. Shadows.

Chocolate.

I'm sure there was a time when I liked milk chocolate; even now I sometimes crave the mouth-coating sweetness of white, not-really-chocolate-at-all chocolate. Case in point: a white chocolate Lindor ball. Exhibit 2: Green & Black's organic white chocolate.

But we're not talking about lightness here. We're talking about dark. And now, in the first of my 'cook' posts, I will share with you my all-time favourite Dark Chocolate Fudge Cake recipe. I've adapted this from my little Womens Weekly chocolate cakes recipe book (original recipe here). I love this recipe because it has no butter in it, but it produces the deepest, darkest cake with a beautifully dense crumb. It's not a mud cake, but it's not airy either. When I get an intense chocolate craving, I make this; when I take that first bite, I wonder why I ever even bother looking at other chocolate cake recipes at all. I have tweaked the eggs - instead of using 2 yolks and 4 whites, I use three of each - no muss, no fuss.

No-Butter Dark Chocolate Fudge cake

85g dark eating chocolate (I use the 60% Cacao Bittersweet Chocolate Baking Chips I bought in bulk from from Costco. They lasted a while, but they're all gone now. I miss them.)
50g cocoa powder
200g firmly packed brown sugar
125ml boiling water
3 egg yolks
30g ground almond
50g wholemeal plain flour
3 egg whites

Preheat oven to moderate (180-190 degrees C). Line base and side of deep 20cm round cake pan with baking paper.

Combine chocolate, cocoa and sugar with the water in large bowl; stir until smooth. Add egg yolks; whisk to combine. Fold in ground almond and flour.

Beat egg whites in small bowl, with electric mixer or by hand, until firm peaks form.

Gently add egg white mixture into chocolate mixture, in two batches; pour into prepared pan.

Bake in moderate oven about 40 minutes. Stand in pan 5 minutes. Turn onto wire rack; remove paper. Savour.

You'll never bake another chocolate cake again.