Wish you were here

What's left of summer's tomato plants still sit sadly in the garden beds.  A sad, brown, crumply heap desperately waiting to be pulled out and thrown on the compost heap.  A telling sign of neglect on my part, and a little like this space here. Yes, it has been quiet around these parts.  And I miss writing in this space and I miss working in my garden too.  But there has been so much going on, that at the end of the day I am too tired for words and it's too dark to be in the garden.

At least I'm never too tired for pretty pictures and have been keeping my instagram updated. Unlike the laundry.

This week I'm spending several days at a gorgeous seaside cottage, styling the new Gourmet Farmer cook book.  A dream come true to be styling an entire cook book with such a talented group of people. Oh my, it is so much fun, it can hardly be called work. Although sourcing props for 60 odd recipes while prepping 3 000 pork buns and 1000 pork pies for last week's Dark Mofo was actually quite a juggle when I think about it.

Dover, the location, is cold but utterly breathtaking, and I can picture myself happily living in this sweet seaside cottage, safe inside, watching the sea change through its pretty windows.   Here are some pictures so you get the idea.    

Next week I hope things quiet down a little, except I will be working on a new Festival in the Huon Valley, so it won't really be very quiet at all.  There will be fires, costumes, cider and ceremony and me trying to catch up with a huge to do list.  I hope I have time for a cider.  

It seems those tomato beds will indeed need to wait a little bit longer for some attention.  Hopefully I can get to them before it's time to plant next season's crop.

Winter Kisses

The sun is slung quite low in the sky during these short midwinter days.  Some days it seems to barely make an appearance,  breaking through the fog around noon, rising, fleetingly over the northern hillsides before sinking again below the horizon.   It seems dark by 4:30pm, which makes for short days and very long nights.

Yet despite the cold and the dark, to me it feels a little bit magic, because these short days are so very fleeting, they are days to be cherished.  Perhaps it's because I like the idea of sitting by the fire, drinking endless cups of tea and knitting wooly jumpers.  Of eating comforting foods like hearty stews, mushroom risottos and drinking mulled wine.   Although the reality is it's still business as usual, with busy children, busy work and busy chickens.   

The mornings, blanketed in fog, cast mysterious shadows as I go about the chores, feeding the chickens and hanging out the washing, hoping it will dry, but really, it's a futile exercise at best.  

But I like to step outside anyway, and my cheeks sting from the cold, like a kiss from winter.   I like it.

Geeveston Fanny Skillet Cake

Come autumn in the valley, the light softens as the leaves turn golden, the smell of bonfires fill the air and best of all, roadside stalls sell new season apples.   Ramshackle sheds, with charming handwritten signs spruiking their wares, signal to passing drivers to pull over.    Bags of apples are piled high, usually fujis, galas, goldies and grannies.  Just leave your money in the honesty box before heading on your merry way, not before tearing open the bag and passing around the apples to munch as you drive on to your destination.    

 

I must say of all the apples you can buy around the valley, it's the Geeveston Fanny that's our favourite.   Not only is it a front runner in the best name ever stakes, but it's actually a really delicious apple.  Lovely red skin with a super white flesh and a perfect balance of sweet and tangy.  My kids eat them by the bucket loads.

I couldn't help but buy a few kilos when I saw the word Fannys on the chalkboard at a shed near Castle Forbes Bay.   And now blessed, with a box full of them, a simple apple cake was called for.   Baked in a cast iron skillet, my new favourite baking tin of choice. I seem to have got myself quite a collection these days.



Geeveston Fanny Skillet Cake
60g caster sugar

150g plain flour


1/2 teaspoon salt


1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder


60g butter, melted then cooled slightly


1 egg, beaten


2 tablespoons milk


2 or 3 Geeveston fanny apples cored, and cut into ½ cm thick slices
 (any apples will do really)

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

2 teaspoons sugar (extra)


Preheat oven to 180 C.

Coat the bottom of a 25cm cast-iron skillet with olive oil.

Sprinkle the skillet with 1 tablespoons of the sugar.


Whisk remaining sugar, flour, salt and baking powder together in a medium bowl.

In a small jug, mix together the melted butter, beaten egg and milk.


Make a well in the centre of the flour mixture, then add the butter-milk-egg mixture. Gently fold until just combined. Do not over mix.

Spread the batter into the prepared skillet, smoothing the top with the back of a spoon.


Starting at the edge of the cake, arrange the apple slices in a circular pattern.

Mix together the cinnamon and extra 2 teaspoons of sugar. 

Sprinkle evenly over the apple slices.


Bake for approximately 25 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the middle comes out clean.


Allow the cake to cool for at least 10 minutes. Don’t forget to be mindful of the handle, which will be hot!  I'm happy to serve this cake straight from the skillet.  But if you wish to be fancy, remove the cake by loosening the sides with a spatula, turn over onto a plate then flip back onto a cooling rack.

Cold weather camping

Despite the less the than perfect weather forecast, nothing was going to stop us heading to Bruny Island for one last camping trip of the season.  Some said we were bonkers, made of stern stuff, but really, camping in cold weather has many benefits including no crowds and almost no bugs.  Besides, I don't mind if it pours with rain, or blows a gale, I just love the feeling of being outside.

The first day brought perfect weather for fishing, long walks along the beach and fireside whittling.   On the second day, however, we got hit by a downpour and took shelter under a fly we suspended between several trees. There, we huddled around the fire, listening to the sizzle of raindrops as they hit the flames, carefully rationing the remaining firewood until the next delivery arrived at 4pm.  The children retreated to the tent, warm and dry, to spend hours happily playing ludo and dominos.  

The rain passed and the winds came up and helped to somewhat dry the sodden fly.  We baked potatoes in the coals and serve them with butter, baked beans, cheddar cheese and plenty of sriracha sauce followed by campfire peanut brittle.


The wind died down a little, the fire is stoked and wet layers of clothing replaced with clean dry ones.   At night we boil the billy one last time to fill hot water bottles, and sleepy children are tucked under cosy cotton sleeping bags covered with vintage woollen blankets.

Cold bones warmed with whiskey in our bellies, the parents sit around the fire, talking nonsense whilst listening to the soothing crash of nearby waves and the rush of the wind through the tall eucalypts, captivated by the glorious night sky and the green glow of the southern lights.

I take my cue from the children who are so happy to be here. Wet weather doesn't phase them at all, there are too many other distractions.   Secret paths cut through the forest lead to the Land Of Sticks, and they are oblivious to the wet bracken that brushes against their clothes and chills their little feet.  The shore is filled with treasures for beach combing and they find whopping big sea bird feathers and make quill pens and their own ink by grinding charcoal with water.  I'm happy to watch their goings on, fortified with books to read and plenty of tea.

Puddles in the tent, wet socks and smokey clothes are all part of the charm of cold weather camping, "you smell like bacon!" cry the little ones.   On the last day, after we've packed up the car, we take one last walk along the beach before we head home on the ferry. The wind blows cold and another southerly is approaching, bringing more rain.  But I don't care,  I close my eyes, feel the wind on my face and know that this holiday is perfect, because we're outdoors, it's peaceful and we're together and that makes it perfect, proven by the fact that no one wants to go home just yet. 

And as ever, when I visit Bruny Island, I dream of living in a tiny shack, in a forest by the beach, just like this one, so I can walk along dark and moody windswept beaches every morning.