Monsieur Paul | Just another WordPress weblog

Valentine’s Day has never really done it for me. I once made a boy a card hand-illustrated with motifs from the Roman ritual of Lupercalia, inscribed, of course, in perfect Latin, all with some heavy S&M innuendo that I understood in ironic, naive way but had absolutely no interest (or expertise) in following through on. A few years later, when I admitted to myself that being the smartest - and kinkiest - girl in the room wasn’t appropriate to the wan spirit of the day, and in a fit of hyperconformism, I made biscuits. The recipe came from the Women’s Weekly Italian cookbook, which was (and is) surprisingly authentic in parts. After splitting the cool biscuits in two, I brushed the halves with amaretto, then sandwiched them back together with creme pasticceria. I found it symbolic of our rather messy relationship. He made me collages of dead people. I should have stuck with the Arcadian pastiche.
The very bleakest of them all was my first as a single adult, at 23. I spent it at work at a Japanese hostess bar in midtown Manhattan, with only the saddest of regulars showing up, the rest having finally made it home to Westchester for the occasion. The karaoke machine cranked out My Funny Valentine ad nauseam, and I recall one of my fellow hostesses, a leggy Texan model who had recently been dumped by a famous Bratpack actor, weeping into her warm Champagne. It was probably also the last time I ever ate peanut M&Ms.
Valentine’s Day is, however, good for one thing: a Provençal dish of figs poached in a mix of raspberries, light red wine and some orange peel. There’s only a very slender window when both raspberries and figs are naturally available, and it’s right about now. Not quite sure what kind of crazy alchemy goes on in the pot with these sweet, simple ingredients and a brief, rolling simmer, but you end up with the gastronomic equivalent of Barry or Marvin or Luther. And it’s even better in the morning.

It’s summer. Monsieur Paul is out to lunch. He’ll then need a little nap in the sun and to finish that LRB article about the US civil war and the cult of memory. Maybe take stock of the cellar and sort out his iTunes… But he will be back soon.

At the back of the Commercial Bakery, Gill’s Diner is now in full swing. The space is lovely – airy, slightly disheveled and many-textured – it makes a lot of restaurant design seem like so much piss and wind. I’ve not made it there for dinner yet but I’ve had a flying lunch of prosecco and smoked salmon: a big plate of it, served with an astringent herb salad and a clot of mustard cream. I must admit I’ve also been back for a quick and dirty raid on the sour cherry clafouti – I mean it’s got eggs in it, so it’s not like making a lunch of fairy bread – and I was very impressed. Almondy and with a slightly liquid middle (just the way it is in my kitchen), the sour cherries are really very sour and are the business even if they are from a bottle. It came with a jug of cream and some reduced cherry juice, which I judged superfluous and tried to ignore, but used to cool things down. I was keen to get started and it was hot, hot, hot. Harry, you’ve gone three rounds at Gill’s haven’t you? What did you think?

In the December Gourmet Traveller there’s a great interview with Tim Winton on ‘swimming bush tucker’ and the work of the Australian Marine Conservation Society (AMCS). There’s a sustainable seafood guide available, which you can buy from the website; what a good idea for the under ten buck Christmas present. Winton speaks of why it’s important to preserve the stock of fish and seafood with such passion it made me weep. His reply on why he likes to eat seafood is particularly affecting: ‘How can you go past eating a fresh oyster? It’s like eating the sea. Particularly when its just been shucked for you – you tip it back and get the gush of brine. Good lord. Can you imagine life without that? … What could be better than a forkful of barramundi, guts in, scales on, eyes popping, cooked in the embers of a mangrove fire, with a bit of salt and live green ants squeezed onto it and a swig of water from a plastic coke bottle … When you’ve got that in your mouth or an oyster half-way down your neck, you’re not thinking about what you’re going to be like when you’re old or whether your kids are going to grow up to be good people. You’re just captive’. Good lord indeed. How often do you read something like that?

Like Winton, I grew up with a reel or rod in hand, fishing from a tiny tinny on the harbour or from a jetty up on the Lane Cove River near Read the rest of this entry »

With all my banging on about Gavi whites, both here and elsewhere, I was heartened to discover that Europa Cellars has a couple on offer at the moment at around the $30 mark. (I’m in south coast NSW right now so a long way from my fridge, but once I’m home and have got the taste of Toohey’s Blue out of my mouth, I’ll try them and report back.) They’ve also got the Villa Bianchi vernaccia for $16.50 a bottle – perfect for a summer thirst and all those Edinburgh Gardens afternoons.

Europa Cellars
150 Wellington Parade, East Melbourne
tel: +61 (0)3 9417 7220