A Little Pot of Sicily

Since living with a family in NZ I've had the unique and fortunate opportunity to cook whatever I desire.  I took a recipe that I'd acquired from a Sicilian doctor during my stay in the village of Fornazzo.  She'd made me the most delicious dish that I asked for the recipe, in hopes to duplicate it one day.  This time I decided to use the recipe as more of a reference, as ingredients are always dependent upon the country/region in which you live.  Thus, I made a pasta sauce and meatballs in the Sicilian-style.

I began with some pretty fantastic, low sugar/acid tomatoes from the garden.  I blanched them, a easy process, and peeled and partially seeded them (they had very few seeds).  Then I threw them in a huge pot with a bunch of fresh basil and an entire bulb of garlic, chopped.  I let it simmer for a while.

The meatballs took a little more effort.  I made a mixture of pork and beef mince to change up the flavor and moisture.  In Sicily they use Pecorino, a very dry/hard cheese, more often than Parmesan.  I substituted Parmesan.  Finely chopped some parsley, beat an egg, and mixed it all up.  Now, this seems like a fairly normal recipe, but the Sicilian secret is the sweet and sour sauce.  That's the name they call it.  Now, if you're thinking some kind of Chinese sauce, that is incorrect.  It's a mixture of Balsamic and sugar.  It gives excellent sweetness, acid, and flavor.  It's mixed into both the meatballs and the sauce.

I cook the meatballs two ways:  pan-fried and broiled.  On the stove is more traditional, but less aesthetic.  The others look like they are on steroids or something made in a Italian restaurant chain.  When they are halfway cooked, just enough to keep their shape, I put them in the sauce and simmer for a few hours.

The results:  Delicious and rustic.  Spoon over more sweet and sour, as desired.  And I desire it, for sure.

The Infamous Burger

Whilst traveling in New Zealand I've come across several Kiwis that have mentioned this awesome place for burgers.  Everyone knows this place and says that it's a "must" in Queenstown.  When I finally made it down there, I knew it had to be done.  

I had a Fergburger.  

So this place is packed.  Hardly any seating.  A line out the door.  A huge list of weird burgers on the wall. Now, when I say "burger" it means anything between two buns.  Such as a fish or chicken sandwich.  These are called fish burger and chicken burger.  I know, the Kiwis are weird.  I guess it's just easier, plus it sounds cooler when they say it.  

I scour the burger list and decide I should go big or go home.  I order a double Ferg, but I made Bernie split it with me.  I know this thing is going to be massive and I don't want to be waddling out of this joint.  We order that and some chips (fries) with wasabi aioli and await this monster.  We watch them make burgers on the line.  Some with pineapple, fried egg, or beetroot (some with all).  

It finally comes.  I look at the burger tower, admire it and bite.  It's juicy and delicious.  Everything one would want in a burger.  I accompany my bites with the chips and we enjoy the rest of it.  Sat there for awhile and pondered my existence in that burger joint...no, not really.  I walked out full and happy.  I was glad to eat there.  Or was I?  

Later that afternoon my stomach was yelling all sorts of things.  It was not happy.  That night I attempted dinner.  I made myself ginger tea and took echinacea.  What is happening?  I laid in bed for the next week and made frequent trips to my porcelain friend living in the bathroom.  We became quite close.  I barely ate and drank ridiculous amounts of water.  When I finally set aside my stubbornness to see the doctor, I found out that I had, in fact, had a parasite.  It was near the end of it's run by then, so I just waited it out.  After getting back to normal (sort of) I decided the Ferg was infamous in my book, just not in a good way.  

Roasted Chestnut Cheesecake: A Labor of Love

I thought I'd start this first post with something epic.  A first of mine and probably the last.  I decided to finally make a food blog and this is an idea of what type of cook I am.  I don't hold back and I sometimes make things no one else would dare try or give the time of day.  I'm just someone that loves food, cooking, and drinking.

So I decide to make this cheesecake.  Not any old cheesecake, but a roasted chestnut cheesecake.  I was inspired by the idea after picking up 2 lbs of fresh chestnuts in Queenstown off the side of the road.  Now, I'd never actually made a baked cheesecake without assistance (I'd always had my mother there), so I was in for a surprise on how difficult it was going to be.  This is no frozen cheesecake method.  No, that would be TOO easy.  I chose this recipe from Nigella Lawson, whom is a brilliant cook.  I kind of flinched at first because it wasn't until after I began that I remembered how elaborate all of her recipes were.  Oh, well.

First thing I had to do was roast these nuts.  Before that I'd have to cut little Xs in them.  Let's say it was about 70 nuts.  Then I roast them for a bit.  After that I try to peel them, but it's not so easy.  So I plop them in some milk and boil them.  It wasn't until boiling that I realized it was much easier to peel these bitches while they are hot.  Like scolding hot.  I'm convinced my fingerprints were seared off, actually.  After re-heating the milk and peeling for about 3 hours I'm done.  Next:  making puree.

The puree was pretty easy to make.  Threw in the nuts, some of the milk, a splash of brandy and some sugar, processed it.  It was delicious.  The new Nutella.  A much classier spread than peanut butter and way more yummy (and I love pb).  I fold the puree into some room temp cream cheese and lay it on top of this special crust I made out of digestive biscuits, spiced cookies, and butter.  The crust, alone, could be eaten by the spoonful.  I finally pour it all into the springform pan laden with cling wrap and then into a foiled boat of water.  If you've made cheesecake this way you know how temperamental this set-up is.


I put it in the oven.  20 minutes later the oven turns off.  It's overheated.  Fuck!  I leave it in there to try and...the oven was smoking.  This is an OLD ass oven.  It kind of does what it wants and only likes to work on specific settings (ie not the setting I want).  I pull it out eventually and hope for the best.  I refrigerate it overnight in hopes it comes out okay.  What a nightmare.  All this work.

The next day I cut a piece.  It's fine.  I made a brandy and chestnut sauce.  I spoon it over each piece and we have it after supper.  Success!  It's rich and decadent, melts in your mouth.  It was an experience making it, but it'll be the first and last.