Granola squares

My granola glistens. It’s softer than you’d think, and it’s studded with all sorts of treats.

The recipe draws on inspiration from both the Essential Baking Cookbook and Ottolenghi. The list of ingredients is flexible- Play with it, see what’s in your storecupboard. But this is my fave combo of sweet, crunchy, chewy, citrus-y moreishness. Keep it in the the fridge.

• 1 cup cereal (like special K)
• ½ cup pecan nuts, toasted
• ½ cup flaked almonds, toasted
• ½ cup ground almonds
• 1 ½ cup rolled oats
• ¼ cup sunflower seeds
• ¼ cup pumpkin seeds
• 1 ½ cups dried fruit (I used prunes, raisins, soft apricots, nectarines and pears)
• 1 tablespoons (30ml) mixed candied citrus peel
• 1 tablespoon mixed spice
• 250g butter
• 1 cup castor sugar
• 2 tablespoons honey

1. Preheat the oven to 150 C, line a 25x 35 cm baking tray with baking paper and butter, leaving an overlay on the sides for easy removal.
2. Place all the ingredients in a large bowl, except for the butter, sugar and honey.
3. Place butter sugar and honey in a medium- large saucepan and stir without boiling until the sugar has dissolved. Allow to boil and continue stirring until a light coloured caramel has formed and thickened slightly.
4. Combine caramel with the dry ingredients and pour into baking tray, spreading evenly. If you like your granola a little thicker, use a smaller tin.
5. Bake for about half an hour, then check for doneness. It should be light brown on top.
6. Allow to cool in tin the refrigerate for a few hours until set before slicing into bars or cubes. Keep in the fridge.

Road tripping: The Garden Route

Storm's River  is a magical place. The background of dark trees, craggy rocks, course sand, and the wild sea make me feel sort of crazy and content simultaneously. We arrived just before sunset, and settled into our little forest cabin. Dammit; I like forest cabins. Then off to the beach for a look around. I reached happily back into memories of my childhood holidays there. Everything seemed to have shrunk, now that my lens was no longer that of a twelve year old's. 

Dinner at the restaurant surpassed all expectations (previous encounters had been tough, bland and poorly served). I had blackened sole,  the flesh melting tenderly in the mouth before giving way to a shock of well- selected spices.

Christmas fever: Quince, red onion, rosemary and rosé wine stuffing

You know it’s Christmas when the queue in the Hermanus Woolworths winds up and down three aisles at 7 30 am. It’s a killer hot day, and everyone’s dashing around trying to keep the festive spirit together.

I’m also getting in on the fever. I’ve baked like a banshee today, a second batch of mince pies, a lemon and vanilla biscuit wreath, a batch of puff pastry and a few other things are ticking over. The other day I attempted to bake some Lebkuchen but they turned out rock hard. So I whipped out the gold and silver dust, and a dash of yellow raffia, and did some cookie pimpin' for the tree.

My fave thing from today is the quince stuffing I dreamed up for the half- smoked turkey tomorrow:

Quince, red onion, rosemary and rosé wine stuffing

Decemberitis: The fear of cooking failure

Mageirocophobia: The fear of cooking. I am not a sufferer. But every year I fret from a dose of what I call Decemberitis: the fear of flops.  It creeps up on me towards the start of the festive season. After six months of my academic, student lifestyle (where I eat communally on a low budget, only cook once or twice a week, and leave my favourite kitchen equipment to gather dust in the cupboards) I start to prepare for my private cheffing stint in Hermanus.

The annoying worrying starts. What if I’ve lost my touch? What if I can’t chop fast enough? What if… what if…. They don’t like the food? I try to resist it, going through old blog posts, proof that I can. Paging through my favourite recipe books, hoping inspiration will strike. Googling away at food blogs while I should be studying for exams.

On my first day of work I get a caught by a speed trap en route to Hermanus. Then, the guests arrive late. The butcher order isn’t in yet and I go shopping elsewhere. The meat is not top notch. (I don’t recommend Woolworth’s sirloin, mine was super- stringy) A first lunch flop. This is exactly what happened last year and the year before. A tradition perhaps?

Road tripping: Eastern Cape

I'm writing now from Bantry Bay; the doors are open to let the sea air through and there is still sand between my toes from Glen Beach.

The sea was as cold as slush puppy but we stayed in, soldiers.

Beach bats.

Good friends.

Ice cold coke.

Paragliders suspended in the blue sky; Table Mountain grand behind us.

I feel rested and smug. My skin is browner.  My hair curlier from the sea. My brain has rebooted.  December has been a most beautiful month. 

It started in the Eastern Cape, with a Nanaga Pie that was confirmed to be the best pie ever (By a man who doesn't normally like pies) .Then Grahamstown: The rain had finally cleared, it smelled of dust and the stench of exams had finally been erased. We celebrated the holidays with wine at the Monument, and pizza at the Rat and Parrot, which is just as it should be. 

Bathurst toposcope.

The End of the Year

I love the end of the year, I really do.

It’s bursting with promises.

It unties the twisty knots that built up through the year.

It’s beach time. Families hanging out. Talking about 2011. And 2012. Stories and pipedreams.

It’s being silly with brothers and sisters.

Ching chong cha.

Road trippin’.

It’s ice cream and presents and listening to all the music on your iPod you’ve been neglecting. It’s finding new favourites.

It’s many cappuccinos and remembering how to be a tourist in your own country.

It’s moaning about the weather that’s never compatible with your plans.

Sunblock. 

It’s saying goodbye to sweet Grahamstown and its criss-cross networks of friends and people buzzing in and out from my home to the peripheries of this bubble.

It’s me getting the chance to go to Hermanus and private chef and play, play, play

Love: Chocolate mud Cake with Raspberry Meringues

I attended a very beautiful 21^st party recently. The kind with warm friends, great outfits and songs written especially for the birthday girl. Someone shouted “cake is love” before Candace cut the cake, and screamed; with a room full of people who adore her joining in.

Cake contains the kind of love that cut be portioned and shared, from plate to mouth to mouth. With receptive grins and crumb- cornered mouths and licking of icing off fingers.

I had a cake- making project coming up and I was feeling inspired. Efe is a cake- lover, a dark- chocolate lover; and the kind of person who generously shares her passions. She commissioned me to make the party centrepiece and I agreed, despite 7 looming academic pieces of work and all sorts of other little stresses hanging about my mind. I agreed because there is nothing as satisfying as

Googling chocolate cakes when you should be studying (thank you Sweetapolita, you are great.)

Going shopping and putting 2 kilograms of chocolate and 1kg of butter in your trolley. 

Discussing cake making with Chef Jenny, and Thandi from next door.

Making a cake of three tiers that you know will be dismantled in minutes

The reward that comes with a chocolate- smattered/ pink/ silver dusted dirty apron 

Watching the birthday girl’s face when she sees the sparkles and the pink fairy dust and the crowds of friends singing, and bursts into tears.

Before you start worrying that this is going to be a deeply emotional and teary post let me tell you that making this kind of cake requires brute physical strength. Well, ok, if you don’t have a whisk attachment for your mixer, that is. The rest is all quite sentimental and airy and fun.

Three tier Chocolate mud Cake with Raspberry Meringues