Rita’s chocolate mousse

Two coupe glasses of chocolate mousse, one resting on a stack of small plates with two pink teaspoons also on the plates. A stack of Hoods Landing books are in the background

Kia ora, and welcome to a special edition in honour of my debut novel Hoods Landing launching TODAY, 31 October 2025. If you’re in Wellington, please join me at Unity tonight to fete its arrival, if you’re in Auckland I will see you on 13 November, Christchurch—something’s imminent. And no matter where you are, you can order this book online or ask for it by name in your local indie bookshop! Thank you all so much for both bearing with me and being part of this momentum and this momentous occasion.

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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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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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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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Pink grapefruit posset with white chocolate pumpkin seed mendiants

A sliced pink grapefruit on a green plate next to four coupes of grapefruit posset

There are a few load-bearing moments in my youthful journey towards becoming a food blogger slash person obsessed with cooking; the epiphanic first time ever I saw Nigella Lawson’s face and cooking show in 2001, winning the best cake award at the 1998 Calf Club, my childhood adventures in microwaving (largely borne from the fact that we only had a microwave, but). Another such signpost is the lemon posset recipe from a Cuisine magazine—I want to say it’s from April 2002 but regrettably I lost the hard copy years ago—being my signature dessert at family gatherings for several years in my teens. It’s one of those recipes that feels like magic, and for reasons I can only chalk up to time management and perception of time itself, this is the first time I’ve recreated this dish for my almost eighteen-years-old blog. Except, here I’ve hoisted up the citrus stakes by replacing lemon with bitter pink grapefruit.

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Shawarma-spiced roast vegetables with feta

A serving spoon in a dish of roasted veges

A tray of roast vegetables is a noble dinner. Huddled low topographically yet covering so much surface area; the magnificent juxtaposition of tender internal cellular structure and crisp-lipped exterior; so much result for so little fuss. If you want to make a modicum of fuss, however—perhaps by borrowing the multiplicity of rich spices present in shawarma—and then crumbling over a genuinely modest quantity of feta—then you’re really in for a good time. The hardest part of these shawarma-spiced roast vegetables with feta, for me at least, is that every time I open up my spice drawer the boxes of spices have re-ordered themselves or got themselves all wedged and bunched up the back like an upwardly-directional pair of underwear; I intend to be the kind of person who has spices neatly contained in small, labelled containers but it never comes to pass, luckily this doesn’t put me off using them.

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