Chicken, red grape, pecan and brie salad

A top-down shot of a leaf-shaped bowl of salad with a fork on a dark wooden board

Now that my debut novel Hoods Landing is past-tense launched in Wellington and Auckland, normal transmission must resume, and yet! Every time I blink an hour has passed and it’s next Thursday and a certain flat the-party’s-over malaise threatens.

Nonetheless I’m clambering onwards like a self-absorbed and energetic goat with a food blog, and bring you a salad of such glad tidings that it could only be inspired by a hedonistically carefree Silver Palate cookbook, whose authors address the reader as if we all have holiday homes in Portugal and the Hamptons, and let’s face it, the government still hasn’t worked out a way to privatise and flog off one’s personal vicarious thrills so you might as well get them while you can. And although it has a lot of words in the title, this chicken, red grape, pecan and brie salad is more or less practical, and can make quite a lot out of a little lux-ness.

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Basal bil Sumac (Sumac quick-pickled red onions)

An open jar of pickled red onions on a blue and white cloth with a pink spoon

If you don’t consider yourself a great condiment-maker, you could at least pause to consider the condiment as a magnificent concept. In Boustany: A celebration of vegetables from my Palestine, Sami Tamimi discusses Mooneh, or ‘pantry’ in Arabic—“preserving seasonal goods”, which “plays a significant role in maintaining the region’s cultural tradition”. Taking something fragile and making it last, to feed many mouths long after the emphemeral ingredients should be occupying the realm of memory; the condiment is both practical and beautiful. In the case of this Basal bil Sumac, it’s also monumentally quick—just chop some red onions, pour some water-diluted vinegar and salt over them, spike with sumac, and try not to watch the clock for an hour or so while the carmine cellular bitterness breaks down.

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triple tomato beans

Triple tomato beans and a gold spoon on a black and white striped plate, sitting on a blue and white cloth
Mariah Carey has taught us many things: gratuitious vocabulary words, chopping the top off your jeans with scissors so they’re more low-waisted, and of course, the art of the creatively honourable remix. For the true of heart, riffing on an existing idea doesn’t mean simply swapping out a teaspoon of this or that—it’s about giving a recipe another reason to live. In this case, I suspected that my triple tomato risotto could also be lavishly excellent when pulsified with beans instead of rice. I was correct—and it took quarter of the time to make.

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Sha’aktoura (rice and lentil pilaf)

a gold plate of sha'aktoura with mint leaves on a floral patterened fabric

One of the more lamentable ways I begin sentences these days is “I saw this in a screenshot of a tweet on Instagram”. Now, to be fair, I could try receiving information in more highbrow, or at least more trustworthy formats and sources but those formats and sources are mostly decaying and I haven’t quite shaken the time-corrupting doomscroll muscle memory just yet, so here we nevertheless find ourselves. To that end; I saw a screenshot on Instagram of a tweet by cowboypraxis that said “i tried to make two plans in one day. as if i were god. as if i were literal god.” and I understood completely; My weekend comprised two such that-way-lies-folly plan-filled days, and yet! This Sha’aktoura from Sami Tamimi’s new cookbook Boustany is so breathtakingly calm and accommodating to cook that it can both be a plan and fit around your plans and make you feel really rather godlike in the process. Or, at the least, like someone who doesn’t begin sentences by referencing screenshots on Instagram.

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Tallarines verdes

Tallarines verdes on a black and white plate on brown and red fabric

I love examples of everything-old-is-new-again. Take the—admittedly, likely apocryphal—Socrates quote about young people being disrespectful of authority, or ‘Tiffany’ being a perfectly contemporaneous first name in the 1600s. And I can now add the delicious Tallarines Verdes to my list; this literal Green Spaghetti presents as an exceptionally 2020s recipe and yet it originated in 1940s Peru, fusing the incoming food of Ligurian migrants with the existing Peruvian cuisine.

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Peach, prawn and corn salad

A blue-rimmed plate of corn, peach and prawn salad on a background of blue and white fabric

I would never describe my food blog as particularly data-driven—more data-damned, than anything—but I could not help noticing that of late, American and British readers not only outnumber those from New Zealand, it’s at a proportionate size that I could only describe as comparing the hair height of a Dolly Parton wig to that of a person wearing a swimming cap. Some of that is the old per capita thing, in that there’s only so many New Zealanders to go around and our entire population could fit into a slight yet undeniably gerrymandered county on the Eastern Seaboard. Between the metric measurements and the highly locale-specific hatred of the supermarket duopoly (and referring to cilantro as coriander) I’m not sure what’s in it for the Americans specifically, but can only assume the ones reading this are cool as I am and as horrified by the same things as I am. This isn’t the first time I’ve noted this palpable attention; nonetheless, upon taking in this persistent data point I feel cheerfully obliged to throw the northern hemisphere another culinary bone acknowledging your being right in the middle of summer, with this utterly stunning Peach, Prawn and Corn Salad.

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Silek ma’ Basal [Braised silverbeet with crispy onions and sumac]

Silverbeet and fried onions on a green plate with a serving spoon, surrounded by different coloured plates

To paraphrase myself: If your perception of an ingredient is polluted by the disdainful memory of it being served prosaically and—most likely—boiled into limp oblivion, then do yourself a favour and look to those who are doing it better. Sami Tamimi’s new book Boustany: A Celebration of Vegetables From My Palestine demonstrates this point, having made me view silverbeet, or chard as it’s known in other hemispheres, with new and acquiescent appreciation through this recipe for Silek ma’ Basal. To that end: These are beyond catastrophic times for Palestine, as well you know. I don’t have enough of a platform to render talking or not talking about food particularly impactful either way. The food of Palestine is beautiful and so is this book; uplifting it is a privilege and I can only hope that any person who denies Palestinians their own food, tastes nothing but the ash and dirt of their own souls in their mouths forevermore. Onwards.

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23 Bean Recipes for you

Hummus with pomegranate seeds and pine nuts.


To paraphrase Robert Altman: Beans, now more than ever! Real ones know beans shouldn’t be introduced with an apologetic tone—yes they’re cheap and nutritious, but they’re also elegant, buttery, robust, with the axis of history contained within their stout little bodies. If you’re after further inspiration, here’s a round-up of 23 recipes from my back catalogue for all the bean lovers out there, from Palestinian Msabaha to salt and vinegar beans, to freeform black bean cobbler. I’ve broadly included a few lentils in there, too.

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Noodles with smoky gochujang bokkeum

A pan full of noodles and vegetables

Some years ago I posted a recipe for a vegan variation on gochujang bokkeum, a Korean fried chilli sauce, and though I’m no longer vegan, the sauce in this iteration has lost none of its monumental appeal. Here I’ve simply stirred it through wide, chewy noodles with some flash-wilted greens and a hazy splash of liquid smoke; it makes for a dinner of such wild splendidness that even though it’s something of a retread; it does both bear repeating and stand alone on its own merit. Indeed, I’ve made a slight variation of this three times this weekend alone because it has thrice been the exact correct answer to ‘what should we have for dinner’, prosaic though that is.

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Ricotta, peas and greens on toast with black garlic

Portrait view of greens, peas and ricotta on toast with a knife and fork next to it

Sometimes, of a drab, sink-coloured Tuesday or glooming Sunday evening with Monday sitting on its chest like a sleep paralysis demon, I want something stupid for dinner that reclaims a sense of whimsy from what’s left of the day. Food that in its odd vividness jolts you awake and reminds you that you’re alive and—somewhat—living in the moment. The sort of dish, like this ricotta, peas and greens on toast with black garlic that is potentially non-scalable because the more people you have to explain it to, the less likely you are to gain a consensus. But for yourself, as a droll supper, sidestepping the prosaic meat and three veg? Spectacular. The next night after this I had pasta, then noodles the night after that, but the day after that? I had this again and it felt as giddy as the first time.

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