We're championing fresh food that packs a flavour punch, from salads and vegetable-packed bowls to grains and light desserts.
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We asked our favourite confectioners and cafe owners from around the country for their hottest tips.
Sydneysiders revive a landmark restaurant in country New South Wales.
You’ve got another chance at last winter’s sell-out drop from Four Pillars.
A bar for art’s sake pops up at Semi Permanent.
Attica chef Ben Shewry has been thinking about your buttocks, and wants to introduce them to an Australian design classic.
Charleston, the antebellum jewel of the Carolina coast, has embraced its Lowcountry roots, writes Shane Mitchell, and now shines anew.
Our June issue is out now, and it's all about breakfast. Pat Nourse kicks things off with his editor's letter.
Andrew McConnell’s Cantonese-inspired restaurant will become a classroom for a night during the Emerging Writers’ Festival.
Here we've scorched apricots on the grill and served them with torn jamon, shaved Manchego and peppery rocket leaves. Think of it as a twist on the good old melon-prosciutto routine. The mixture would also be great served on charred sourdough.
Farro can be used in almost any dish, from a robust salad to accompany hearty beer-glazed beef short ribs to a new take on risotto with mushrooms, leek and parmesan. Here are 14 ways with this versatile grain.
This year's finalists across 11 different categories include established and new hotels, all with particular areas of excellence. Stay tuned to find out which hotels will take the top spots when they're announced at a ceremony at QT Melbourne on Wednesday 24 May, and published in our 2017 Australian Hotel Guide, on sale Thursday 25 May.
Kick off winter with a week of cheese tasting.
Where would Spanish cuisine be without the chorizo? This versatile smallgood lends its big flavours to South American stews, soups, and salads, not to mention the ultimate hot dog. Let the sizzling begin.
There's nothing new about Nordic interiors - blond timbers, concrete surfaces, warm, mid-century charm without the twee - and thank heavens for that. It's a style that augments the beauty of everything around it, in this case, gorgeous Hobart harbour, which makes up one whole wall. What is new here, however, is the food - by veterans of Garagistes, which once dazzled diners down the road, Vue de Monde in Melbourne and Gordon Ramsay worldwide. There's a strong Asian bent, but with Tasmanian ingredients. In fact, the kitchen's love of the local verges on obsessive - coconut milk in an aromatic fish curry is replaced with Tasmanian-grown fig leaf simmered in cream to mimic the flavour. Other standouts include a gutsy red-braised lamb with gai lan and chewy cassia spaetzle, pigs' ears zingy with Sichuan pepper and a fresh, springy berry dessert. While the food is sourced locally, the generous wine list spans the planet.
Our guide to the best of the region.
Liberal doses of fruit and booze, and a good chunk of time go into Christmas pudding chez Fergus Henderson.
The mighty Christmas pudding is a wondrous thing, the crowning
glory of what, for most of us, is the biggest lunch of the year -
the belt-loosener to end all belt-looseners.
It has no easy audience. By this stage of proceedings, we've lost an aunt to a turkey and claret stupor, while two elderly friends of my parents sit either side of my brother-in-law fast asleep this past half-hour. Full marks to the bro - he's been doing a fine job at keeping the conversation going, even if it's a little one-sided. But once the majestic flaming pudding arrives at the table, brandy the cause of the combustion, the smell of singeing dark fruit brings on a tummy reappraisal and everyone finds room for a slice. Yes, the pudding has won again.
I'm talking, of course, about grey-and-cold Britain here, while you'll most likely be baking in the sun of an Australian summer, but please indulge me - all I've ever known are freezing, damp Christmases. I imagine the barbecue features heavily at Christmas in Australia, with Dad in his Santa suit building up a good head of steam, Santa's tailoring being more suited to the North Pole. I'm sure a pavlova makes for a fine dessert after that sort of Christmas lunch, but I shall stay true to the dark pudding: heavy with dried fruit and suet (the purest of fats, which surrounds the kidneys) that have been soaking in booze for many a month.
An aged Christmas pudding becomes something more than the sum of its parts. Like a fine wine, it evolves over time and develops its many strong flavours and complexities as you keep feeding it brandy. The pudding on the Henderson table last Christmas was two years old. Sublime.
We make our puddings with suet, mixed spice, nutmeg, cinnamon, self-raising flour, dark brown sugar, breadcrumbs, sultanas, raisins, currants, nibbed almonds, mixed peel, oranges, lemons, apples, eggs, stout, brandy and rum. Little wonder these ingredients need time to get to know each other. We use a mix of spirits when we're first making the pudding, but to feed it as it ages we stick to brandy for its rigorous nature.
Now, you might have come to your own conclusion that this pudding is not the lightest of foods. The trick, though, is fighting fire with fire. Eating something rich to help down something equally rich is not a theory I would ordinarily subscribe to, but with Christmas pudding the usual rules don't apply. The top contender among the helping hands is brandy butter. It's made simply by whizzing sugar into brandy and then adding chunks of cold butter. For a little light relief, grate in some lemon zest. When you sniff it you might experience a slight pressure on your liver. Chill it until it's hard and serve it in dollops. Jersey cream is another healthy option - healthy in the sense that we're only doing this once a year. The pudding also goes well with sharp Lancashire cheese, like the famous and similarly fruit-filled St John Eccles cake.
As far as a liquid companion is concerned, you can't go too far wrong with Madeira. Or something frivolous to lift the spirits: pink Champagne.
Don't fret if you find yourself defeated by the pudding at the first sitting; it's splendid cut into slices and fried in butter. Some racy folk make Christmas pudding ice-cream by breaking nudgels of pudding into vanilla ice-cream as it churns. One of my finest culinary full stops is the Christmas pudding toasted sandwich. A sandwich-toaster is required to administer the stern discipline that results in the toasty pockets.
Checking in back at the Henderson Christmas, lunch is over and vieille prune has been administered liberally around the table. Family and friends can barely move, so have decided to make tableaux of the life of Christ. Perfect - no movement is required at all. While they prepare for the crucifixion I construct my toasties.
I slip a slice of pud, a spot of brandy butter and a blob of cream between two pieces of white bread, then pop the whole thing into the mighty jaws of the Breville.
A triumph; though one best taken in small doses.
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