On our recent trip to Asia I ate and ate and ate, in no country more than Singapore (which F. affectionately calls, Singapork). Though, mostly that was because of the sumptuous buffet breakfasts daily, other than those, we really had only a few memorable meals here, with our Chinese New Year Reunion dinner* at no signboard seafood being one of them.
Weird baby cabbage/brussels sprout greens with garlic
The April 2009 challenge is hosted by Jenny from Jenny Bakes. She has chosen Abbey’s Infamous Cheesecake as the challenge.
I have to admit that I was initially a bit disappointed that my first Daring Bakers Challenge would be cheesecake. I thought that it was a bit boring, too easy and not really a challenge at all. But then I thought some more, and realised that because it was really a clean slate, I could challenge myself to come up with something creative, novel and interesting. Daring, even. Happily I proved my initial reaction wrong, and after a little test run for flavours it all became clear. This recipe is amazing.
Ginger Oat Biscuits (fake Anzacs), Anzac Biscuits
Chewy or crunchy, soft or hard, dry or moist, how do you like your anzac biscuits? It seems as though every Australian family has their own recipe, and we all grow up comparing all others unfavourably, holding our childhood biscuits in the highest esteem. So, what better to do on Anzac Day than to have an Anzac biscuit battle to determine who’s family recipe produces the most satisfying treat. On the one hand we have the unpatriotic, barely even an Anzac, Ginger Oat Biscuit that F holds dear. On the other is the latest evolutionary iteration of my family’s haphazard ‘recipe’.
My Anzac Biscuits
Have you ever had someone request a recipe for a dish that is so embarrassingly simple that you feel the need to fabricate extra ingredients and methods? Well, I’m taking that one step further and am now devoting an entire post to the simplest of dishes. Tender green beans, dressed with butter and seasoned. Embarrassingly easy yet deceptively delicious.
I grew up around sheep. Their chewing and baa-ing woke me up in the mornings, and I would chase them back in when they got out, help round them up – jobs which I hated. Then, when the local abattoir stopped accepting sheep, I learned how to help out with that process, too. Maybe it was growing up on the farm, but I can’t recall a time where I didn’t know where meat came from, the animal and the meal were always linked, for me.
