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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Attica chef Ben Shewry has been thinking about your buttocks, and wants to introduce them to an Australian design classic.
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.
A bloody good dinner for a bloody good cause.
An ambitious, brand new regional hotel has been awarded not one but three top accolades this year.
Andrew McConnell’s yakitori, buns, dumplings and lobster rolls head south of the river.
Sydney’s favourite whisky bar makes a rare overground appearance at a pop-up on Pitt Street Mall.
Our guide to the best of the region.
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.
A far cry from Tuscany’s familiar gently rolling hills, Monte Argentario’s appealing mix of mountain, ocean, island and lagoon makes it one of Italy’s hidden treasures, writes Emiko Davies.
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.
No, it’s not a pop-up. The team behind Sydney’s Moon Park is back with an all-day east-Asian eatery.
Kick off winter with a week of cheese tasting.
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.
Like its oft-disputed name, the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia defies simple definition but its rich diversity extends from the dinner table to the welcoming locals, writes Richard Cooke.
Prepare to enter a picture of the countryside framed by note-perfect Australiana but painted in bold, elegant and unsentimental strokes. Over 10 or more courses, Dan Hunter celebrates his region with dishes that are formally daring (Crunchy prawn heads! Creamy oyster soft-serve! Sea urchin and chicory bread pudding!), yet rich in flavour and substance. The menu could benefit from an edit, but the plates are tightly composed - and what could you cut? Certainly not the limpid broth bathing fronds of abalone and calamari, nor the clever arrangement of lobster played off against charred waxy fingerlings under a swatch of milk skin. The adventure is significantly the richer for the cool gloss of the dining room, some of the most engaging service in the nation and wine pairings that roam with an easy-going confidence. Maturing and relaxing without surrendering a drop of its ambition, Brae is more compelling than ever.
In the Deep South of the USA, writes Shane Mitchell, the way you make your gumbo depends on the answer to one question: who's your mama?
"Gumbo is what your mama taught you," says Janice "Boo" Macomber. "And there are as
many gumbos as there are mamas." We're drinking Miller Lites in the
cluttered kitchen at Boo's fishing camp, a raised shack next to an
alligator-infested canal that empties into southern Louisiana's
Vermilion Bay. Boo, who grew up in Abbeville, has eaten gumbo her
whole life, and it's one of the things she teaches at the New
Orleans Cooking Experience, an informal culinary school for
The term "gumbo" is derived either from the Bantu "ki ngombo" for okra or the Choctaw "kombo" for filé, a Native American seasoning of finely ground dried sassafras leaves. Both make appearances in many versions of the dish. The origins of gumbo reflect the colonial-era migration of cooks and ingredients from Europe and West Africa to this low-lying state on America's Gulf Coast. It's a kissing-cousin of French bouillabaisse and Caribbean callaloo, but like most melting pot-dishes, gumbo lacks definitive pedigree. Okra and filé are primarily thickening agents, although they can both overwhelm more delicate ingredients, which is why some cooks leave them out entirely.
Nonetheless, there are two immutable aspects that define gumbo. All recipes start with a roux and an onion-celery-capsicum mirepoix that Boo refers to as the holy trinity. A proper Cajun roux is a different beast from its French ancestor and takes much more time and patience. Browning flour is not a technique for the inattentive cook: when added to roiling vegetable oil, it requires constant stirring to prevent scorching, or worse, the volatile spatter that New Orleans chef Donald Link calls "Cajun napalm". A well-tempered cast-iron casserole is the best equipment for preparing gumbo. "One pot, one spoon, one plate" is Boo's line.
Boo gradually reduces the heat as the flour darkens in hue. The finished roux, she says, should be "the colour of the bayou after a heavy rain". It takes at least an hour to reach this stage. Sometimes I cheat by dry-browning flour in a skillet ahead of time.
The onions should be allowed to sweat in the roux for a few minutes before celery and capsicum grace the pot. Then stock is introduced gradually. Don't stop stirring, or else you'll get lumps. (A wooden spoon proves more effective than a whisk.) This is the stage when gumbo becomes a matter of personal taste. Boo, whose daddy was a shrimper, prefers seafood over chicken-and-sausage, rabbit or duck, which are some of the other classic gumbos found along the Gulf Coast. I clean partly steamed crabs and toss in the bodies. Another hour of simmering passes and more empty beer cans are stacked on the counter. Boo is down on her knees, head deep in a cupboard filled with Zatarain's cayenne pepper, Queen Bee "The True Cajun Queen" Seasoning and instant Community Coffee. "There's rice in here somewhere," she mutters. She emerges with a plastic sack of Mahatma medium-grain. It's the standard accompaniment to gumbo, although some Cajuns like to serve creamy potato salad as an auxiliary side. Louisiana falls squarely within America's rice-growing region. Half the year, fields throughout Acadiana - west of the Atchafalaya Basin, east of Lake Charles - are flooded for planting season. These also happen to be an ideal environment for raising crawfish, a close relative of yabbies.
"Boo," I ask, "Do you ever put 'crawdads' in your gumbo?"
She turns away from the stove and peers over her reading glasses. "A sacrilege," she says solemnly. "I never use okra or filé either. Just don't want the flavour taking over from the shrimp, the crab. But I like bay leaves. That's the difference between my mama's gumbo and mine."
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