Blood Orange and Haloumi Salad

Crunchy, salty, squeaky and delicious. Not the descriptor you normally hear when describing a Greek salad is it.

 A few months ago when we were in remote WA visiting our son I made a salad for a group dinner in his share house. Boy that brought back memories, a house full of young people and their comings and goings. One thing doesn’t change, hungry tummies. I’d found the recipe in a wrap up email from NY Times food. Always at opposite times of year I often see recipes for the seasons to come and save them convinced I’ll remember and follow through and cook them but as you’d expect, rarely do, such is the nature of these best intentions. This time though I was heading to the warmth of the north Australian sunshine and make it I did. A twist on Greek salad with the addition of another Hellenic ingredient, Haloumi and pasta from across the straits of the Adriatic and Ionian Seas. A true Mediterranean delight. We’ll be enjoying this one on the regular when summer comes. 

 Reading the recipe it caught my attention because of it’s unique twist on a classic dish known the world over. The type of dish we know so well we often don’t even contemplate how you could vary it. A dish that’s reliably easy, enjoyed and takes no brain power. So much so that it doesn’t even occur to you to try and change things up then you come across one like this one blending the base classic combination with some extra ingredients faithfully chosen from the original cuisine.  Evolution.

 Both Nigella and Sophie Hansen have talked about this, the delight and admiration they have seeing their creations take on new guises with new versions. A pinch of something else here, the addition of another ingredient there or pairing with a food not originally imagined, all sparked by the different tastes, and skill sets beyond the original.

 To see recipes reimagined is a delight I myself can attest to. It’s like watching your children grow in a way. The original creation that sprung from your own hands and tastes takes on new characteristics in the hands of a reader in the same way your children go out into the world taking on life’s experiences and their own self takes on new layers of characteristics here and there. From there a recipe is often handed to another with words of praise after serving perhaps at a dinner or party. The new recipient may add their own twist wrapping the dish in a new layer of taste or technique. Each time this happens a recipe evolves becoming the one of the cook who’s hands have reshaped it adding branches to the original recipe’s family tree.

 Often it’s one ingredient that sparks that creativity taking you off on a whole other tangent. The haloumi croutons in the original salad with it’s Greek flair and roots is just that ingredient that sparked this salad. Blood oranges are in season at the moment. Their mottled ruby red and orange flesh both look and taste delicious against the salty crunch of the haloumi cubes with the sweet spicy crunch of the honey roasted walnuts adding a pop of extra flavour to balance out the salty and tangy freshness of the other ingredients. Whilst she sits well next to any protein, especially pork, this one is great to have at a shared table where a vegetarian may joining you. Croutons are best made close to serving for crunch and extra leaves are always a good idea to pad out for extra comers.

Ingredients:

 100 gm walnut halves (a little more is fine if your packet is bigger.)

1 tsp fennel seeds

¼ tsp chilli flakes

¼ tsp salt flakes

1 level tb honey

10 gm butter

 3 generous handfuls of mixed leaves of your choice. Bitter greens are particularly good but whichever is your favourite will be fine

2 blood oranges peeled and filleted or sliced. Blood orange season is short, regular is fine outside the season. Cut over a bowl to catch the juice.

¼ Spanish onion finely sliced or too taste. You can always run sliced onion under cold water to temper it’s sharpness.

150 gm haloumi cut into crouton sized cubes

1 tsp honey dijon mustard or 1 tsp Dijon and ¼ tsp honey combined

3 tsp olive oil

1 tb juice from the orange carcasses

Method:

 Preheat oven to 190c and line a large oven tray.

 Combine fennel seeds, chill and salt flakes in a mortar and pestle and grind roughly. They don’t need to be finely ground just crushed up. If you don’t have one pop in a plastic bag and bang out the days frustrations with a rolling pin.

 In a small saucepan combine crushed spices, honey and butter. Warm gently over medium heat until thoroughly combined, we don’t want it too hot as it’s about ot go in the oven. Remove from heat, tip in walnuts, stir to completely coat and tip nuts out onto prepared tray. Spread out to one layer with nuts spaced apart, pop tray in the oven and cook for 8 minutes. Stir once at 4 minutes, don’t allow to burn so keep a close eye on them. Remove from oven, and cool completely. I like to lift the baking paper with nuts still on them off the tray and place it on a cool bench to speed up the cooling.

 To fillet oranges, using a paring knife, slice off top and bottom exposing flesh then slice peel and pith off top to bottom until you have a whole naked orange. Now over a bowl run the knife down along the membrane that separates each section from the outside to the centre of your first segment. Repeat on the other side of that segment, it should slip out from the whole orange. Now repeat on the next segment and all the way around releasing each segment. You’ll be left with a handful or skeleton of the orange. Gibe the is one last squeeze over the bowl you’ve been working over to extract the last of the juice, set aside.

In the bowl of juice combine it with the mustard and olive oil and whisk with a pinch of salt and good grind of black pepper to emulsify, set aside.

On a platter spread your leaves, sprinkle over sliced onion, walnuts and orange segments or slices, set aside.

In a medium pan cover the base with olive oil and warm over a medium-high heat. In the pan cook the haloumi croutons until golden brown and crisp all over. You’ll need to keep them moving the whole time. Sprinkle over assembled salad and drizzle over dressing. Enjoy!

Pea and Cheese Salad

As we got out of the car, dusk settling on the snowy landscape, faces whipped by icy winds our host reminded us to stamp our feet at the door before entering, “we don’t want to bring the snow in,” he told us. Not a consideration we were used to making. Inside we were met by joyous greetings, our coats taken and hung as we were welcomed to our friend’s home and invited to warm ourselves by the fire. The room was filled with conversation flying in all directions to the soundtrack of wind whistling through the trees outside reminding us of the day we’d just experienced on our journey to rural Michigan. A day spent watching snowstorms repeatedly engulf our small commuter aircraft at Toronto airport each one ending in a layer of anti-freeze to no avail until finally we were able to take off and continue to our destination and a visit with friends.

Earlier in that year we’d travelled to Sydney to a family wedding. On a perfect weekend of endless sunshine, a large, lovely group of friends and family celebrating love and friendship in all the ways we all hope for. It was one of those happy celebratory weekends everyone remembers for a long time and becomes a benchmark for such gatherings. The kind of weekend when strangers walk away as friends, exchanging phone numbers and addresses and promises to stay in touch (it was 1989, no socials or emails). We also on this occasion walked away with an invitation of hospitality on an already planned upcoming holiday to the United States. Thirty-five years ago this was a fairly normal and happily accepted invitation, perhaps not so much in today’s society, perhaps sadly. I don’t actually remember how we managed to squeeze in an extra week’s time in the middle of a carefully planned itinerary but glad we did.

Always intrigued by traditions, especially those with food attached, I was excited to arrive days after thanksgiving, a celebration obviously not observed in Australia. After settling into our friend’s home and having watched the sun setting on the snowy landscape outside Sharon, our hostess, proceeded to the kitchen and began directing traffic to prepare dinner. Her husband was sent to the garage to retrieve the turkey, and ham. And her daughter and I commandeered to assist in the kitchen. Curious as I am in other people’s kitchens I was instructed to cut two types of cheese into small cubes, one cheddar and one a mozzarella style. ‘Wait what the?!’ I’ve never seen anything with cheese on a thanksgiving table in any of the hallmark festive movies I’d watched. But chop I did, then was handed more ingredients with further instructions slowly building a salad I was becoming excited to eat.

Bringing everything to a heaving table everyone was called to dinner.  In the middle of the table was warmed turkey, gravy and something reminiscent of stuffing called dressing consisting of torn bread, fruit and herbs, a dish I’d never heard of though possibly one of my favourite parts of the meal. A collection of vegetable dishes was also on offer alongside the fluffiest bread rolls I’d ever eaten. But something I was most keen for was the salad in which those cheese cubes were engulfed.

It felt odd to eat a salad in the depths of winter, as snow blew sideways across the windows and a fire warmed the house. Somewhat cautiously I served myself a scoop of salad and had a small taste. Bright fresh flavours floated on my palette, with little pops of sweetness from emerald, green baby peas, dotted with sharp savoury twangs of salad onion and the perfect foil of salty cheeses with a slight bite and chew all encased in a creamy dressing of mayo and sour cream. Every time I reminisce about this salad, I can almost vividly taste it in my memory. Obviously I went back for seconds and thirds, enjoying its vegetal lightness against the richness of the gravy gilded meat and warm roast vegetables.

So many of our memories are wrapped around food and indeed food and its flavours and aromas wrap inspire our memories. This recipe perhaps has it’s own memories attached to it for the family who first served it to my family and I. For me it’s one that always takes me back to that wintery stormy night, the laughter, the many conversations flying across a table oozing hospitality from relatively new friends across the miles and the delight of a collection of new flavours and food traditions.

While this is a dish that makes a wonderful side to a plethora of main courses one of my favourites is to offer it alongside lamb, leaning into the tradition of peas and mint accompanying the rich meat. It’s also lovely with fish but as always you do you and see what delicious combinations you come up with.

Ingredients:

 2 ½ c frozen baby peas blanched** and well drained.

1 Tb Spanish onion very finely diced

60 gm sharp cheddar either crumbled into small pieces or diced into small cubes

60 gm baby bocconcini halved

2 Tb mint leaves finely chopped

2 Tb dill leaves finely chopped

25 ml mayonnaise or aioli (I use Kewpie)

15 ml sour cream

 Method:

 Whisk mayo and sour cream together with a pinch of salt and a few salt flakes, set aside. Combine all other ingredients and fold through dressing. And you’re done. It’s really that simple. You could replace the sour cream with Greek yoghurt if you want to lighten the flavour but either are delicious.

 **To blanch peas, if you’ve never done so before, bring a small-medium pot of salted water to the boil. Add peas to the boiling pot and bring back to the boil. Whilst waiting for the peas to resume boiling prepare a bowl of cold water with a few ice cubes added. As soon as the peas have resumed boiling remove from heat immediately and drain tipping the peas into the ice water. This will immediately arrest the cooking process and retain the emerald green colour.

Confit Fennel with Chardonnay and Honey Mustard

I’m sitting in our caravan, a relatively small one by today’s standards. We’re in a western NSW town for our fourth day, a day longer than planned. My keyboard is dappled with pretty dancing light and shadows tip toeing across my hands back and forth as I type. They float through the window in the shape of old-fashioned bottle brushes and finger shaped leaves created by sun peeping through waving branches of blooming Callistemon trees that surround our little patch of earth on which we’re parked. Waving branches perhaps a polite description 30 knot gusts. Not only do the shadows move back and forth, but our small home on wheels jolts side to side too. We’re being buffeted by gusts of winds strong enough to remind us our salubrious little abode is indeed on wheels and not permanent. The weather front passing our locale has halted our travels, grounding us, keeping us in place another day as it passes. The thought of hauling a large square ‘box’ not really designed for cross winds behind a car of equally square arrangement, enough to force us to make do and stay put for just one more day.

The phrase ‘making do’ is often preceded with the word just… “just make do,” suggesting making do is a compromise. That to live with what’s at hand, what’s around you, what’s available is somehow not as great an existence as what could be, or what’s missing. However a holiday touring and traveling is one requiring the utmost compromise and making do, but in the best possible way.

Compacting your normally busy and plentiful life into a 5 metre long caravan and car with barely a plan but a vague direction into which you head, following the sun, a midway point as a guide and the coast your road home, requires some thought and a lot of concession. It requires thought and planning. Enough clothes but not too many, ingredients to make meals but the right ones for maximum flavour taking up minimum space while still maintaining enough nutrition and interest (maybe that’s just me), spare parts and tools for any mishaps or glitches, medicines to last, toiletries, water etc ad nauseum. It can be enough to make your brain spin and consider a well-planned all-inclusive tour on which someone else does all the planning and you just turn up and enjoy. But that wouldn’t really be the point or the same holiday. We’re fairly well versed at this exercise, we’ve traversed the highways of Australia zig zagging across the wide-open planes many times. We’ve travelled with tiny babies, toddlers and kids in the most basic of camping set ups through various iterations to what now feels like a floating hotel room. Our family has gazed at billions of stars while our toes burrowed in the red dirt of the outback, breathed in eucalyptus fragranced mist at dawn on mountain tops in the high country (ok I may have done that from the comfort of a sleeping bag with one eye half open #notamorningperson) and walked isolated beaches as sapphire blue waters lapped our feet. What we’ve not done before is travel with nary a plan. Our journeys are normally planned to the day with itineraries dictating the day’s location, travel or plans, their length instructed by school holidays or annual leave from work. This time is different and while planning what’s required to stow for enjoyment, comfort and safety remains a necessity a plan as loose as that with which we’ve set off requires a willingness to travel with fluidity and adaptability.

Our first week saw an overnight stop in a tiny town with the only availability for our new car’s first check-up service for hundreds of miles and consequently a birthday dinner for my husband at the local returned serviceman’s club.

A misstep by a very confused google maps taking us down a narrow road leading to a laneway style carriageway between paddocks of grain crops not really suited to a touring rig and the discovery that whatever grain was growing and I are not friends. Hello hives on legs after squatting amongst roadside stray crops to take photos. Maybe I should suggest an upgrade to google maps in which you can set a preference for roads worthy of a four-wheel drive trailing a caravan.

Also this week, the beautiful kindred spirit of small town communities found in a riverside precinct, a beautiful multicultural celebration and a spring festival marking the harvest of Griffith’s food crops and a promenade of sculptures created with a surplus of oranges from the region, one of only two places in the world in which this happens.

All inspiring and all examples of towns making the most of their communities and what their regions offer. Making do perhaps or making something special. Maybe that’s what ‘making do’ is. Maybe making do creates the space for a serendipity of its own leading to an unexpected ‘special.’ Maybe traveling with a mostly open-ended vague plan, without the limitation of a strict timetable and with a shrunken down life that fits into what amounts to a trailing box is the path to learning the joy in making do and appreciating the results.

With the ‘limitations’ this adventure presents my pantry is a modicum of what I’m used to reaching for. My dinner time yearnings however are not. With limited ingredients and a hankering for something delicious to accompany the lamb backstrap that Hubby was planning on barbecuing I started plotting. I’m now lucky enough to travel with an, albeit small, but normal fridge freezer arrangement. As you’d imagine its filled with a strategically selected collection of meat and vegetables, a perfect canvas for the equally tactical collection of flavourings and accoutrements in the cupboard. With the outback sun settling into the horizon the air had cooled and my desire for something warm and hearty to sit next to our lamb had also settled on me. With the bulb of fennel in the crisper, my favourite mustard found at a small local supermarket and the remains of a delicious chardonnay sourced in Wagga on our first night and some patience at the stove I made do, and the result created confit fennel with chardonnay and mustard.

I offer you this recipe with a warning of sorts. In the true spirit of making do I am travelling without scales, measuring spoons and, at best, a vague notion of time. Whist I’ve made my best effort to make this as precise as I normally would offer it does come with a small disclaimer that, like I have, you should trust your cooking gut and use your senses while following my instructions. Make do my friends.

Instructions:

1 bulb of fennel trimmed of tops, cored and thickly sliced into 1 cm slices

1 french shallot peeled and sliced

2 tbs salted capers washed and drained

1 garlic clove peeled and finely sliced

¼ c extra virgin olive oil

2 tsp butter

Good glug of white wine, I used chardonnay and would say a good glug is something akin to 2 tb

1 heaped tsp of Dijon honey mustard. If you don’t have this used 1 of regular Dijon and half of tsp of runny honey

¼ tsp dried oregano flakes 

Method:

Preheat olive oil in a medium to large fry pan (mine is 28cm at the base) over medium-low heat until oil is just starting to be runny and looser when you lift and roll the pan, 3-4 minutes. Reduce heat to low and add fennel and shallot. Stir to coat thoroughly in the oil and allow to simmer stirring often for 5-7 minutes until the edges are translucent one third of the way to centre of the slices As pictured below, the middle of the slices will still be white. Ensure when stirring the shallot is not browning.

At this stage add the garlic and capers and stir well again cooking another five minutes stirring often to make sure the garlic softens and melts not browns.

Once fennel is soft and completely translucent stir in the butter and increase heat to medium high, watch closely so the vegetable doesn’t catch and butter burn, it’s fine if it caramelises at the edges. After 1-2 minutes when it’s increased in heat splash in the wine, it should immediately bubble up and start to reduce. After the wine has reduced by perhaps half’ish after a couple minutes stir in the mustard and sprinkle over the oregano. Allow to simmer a minute more then serve immediately.

We enjoyed it next to barbecue lamb backstap topped with beetroot relish stirred through Greek yoghurt, bbq’ed corn and green salad. It would also be delicious with roast pork and greens or chicken. This served the two of us, both fennel lovers.

Warm Chorizo and Potato Salad

So it’s the first of December, perhaps the official start of the silly season, or is it? More and more each year the season dawns ever earlier. Major sale days now have become major sale weeks with us all hunting bargains and ticking off shopping lists smugly celebrating the completion of parts of or whole shopping lists. Company Christmas parties now dot squares in the November page of calendars and diaries. Christmas trees and decorations adorn our homes in November festooning every corner with festive cheer. And of course our social plans fill with all the annual Christmas catch ups with family and friends.

It's a funny thing really, we’re all so busy feeling like our personal bandwidth has reached capacity yet we feel compelled to load up even more. Don’t get me wrong, the social side of the festive season is actually one of my favourite parts of farewelling the year. Life, in the thick of the year is busy, we’re distracted by all the weekly commitments and demands on our time so making the effort to commit to time with special people feels all the more precious. December seems to bring with it a slow sense of curtains slowly drawing to a close. It’s an atmosphere well suited to a time of year marked by gatherings with loved ones. Likewise, a time of year here, where the weather mellows and warms and we’re drawn outside, dining under gently waving trees, warmed by sunshine and serenaded by birdsong and chirruping crickets. In amongst all these events though life still tumbles along taking us with it. Indeed alongside this period of reunions can be a sense of frenetic lists to tick off. Work tasks to close out for the year, maybe holidays to pack and plan for and all the other commitments we feel compelled to fulfill. Would I change it? Not on your life! I love the atmosphere of all these fun lunches and dinner dates. We’re all a little reflective, reminiscing on all the milestones and events and hopefully excitedly looking towards what the year to come brings. Corks pop, barbecues sizzle, laughter fills the air and shoulders, set firm with tension start slowly descending.

In the midst of that festive paradox the last thing I need is to struggle with what to cook or bring to a dinner when asked to contribute while still trying to fill hungry tummies. Where I can keep it simple I will, relying on a few loved flavours and filling, hearty ingredients. Spuds, or potatoes more politely, are where it’s at aren’t they. No matter how they’re prepared, nearly everyone loves them, they’re cheap and filling and will be the thing that will get passed between diners the most. What better way to keep the conversation flowing and cater for everyone.

Ingredients:

1 kg potatoes unpeeled in large cubes/chunks**.

¼ c extra virgin olive oil

½ tsp smoked sweet/mild paprika

2 tsp dried oregano

Salt flakes

3-4 whole unpeeled garlic cloves, lightly bruised with a lite bash.

2 cured chorizo sausages chopped into large chunks

¼ c garlic aioli or sour cream (choose your own adventure) or more depending on you’re preference

2 spring onions sliced to serve

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c.

Line a large roasting tray or dish big enough to hold potatoes in a single layer. In a large bowl whisk together oil, paprika and oregano. Add the prepared potatoes and stir to coat well. Tumble the mixture in the lined baking tray and sprinkle with the salt flakes. Pop into the oven and bake 30 minutes. Remove and stir and sprinkle over the chopped chorizo and return to the oven for 10 minutes or until potatoes are golden brown and sausage caramelising on the edges.

Now here’s the choose your own adventure part. Dollop over the top either the garlic aioli or sour cream and sprinkle the sliced spring onions. We prefer the aioli, it’s just that little bit richer and we love the extra garlic flavour it imparts, however if you’d prefer a lighter flavour try sour cream. As it melts down over the warm potatoes it will melt into the flavoured oil now infused with the chorizo flavours and form a delicious sauce to scoop up and drizzle over whatever protein you’ve served alongside.

**Floury potatoes are usually preferred for baking but don’t get hung up on that, if you only have white or waxy potatoes just go with it, they’ll be fine.

Confit Capsicum

I’m fascinated by all the different, yet often, interchangeable terms in cooking. I’m also compelled, when writing, to honour Mrs Alexander’s pedantry words to always use synonyms in our writing to add colour and movement to the language. She was my Year 11 and 12 English teacher and perhaps the one teacher who’s words and lessons I remember most. She had a way of loving, nurturing and inspiring her students all at once and they returned that love and ardour tenfold, many of her greatest yet at the time seemingly small lessons still impact me today.

So it is with naming this dish. It reminds me of the zucchini dish of a few weeks ago, cooked low and slow, with few ingredients gently coaxing the natural flavours out like a rose emerging in spring releasing it’s sweet heady fragrance in morning sunshine. Not quite a braise, favouring low temperatures without caramelising nor a stew , the brightly coloured globes bathed in glistening flavoursome olive oil rather than a salty stock. It’s most definitely a confit, though not with the rich gamey flavour of duck that first comes to mind when you think of confit. It seems this method of gently enveloping the ingredients in warmed oil and letting the dish murmur on the stove for a while, rather than sizzle, extends beyond that which it’s more recently become famous for.

As it’s listed below, confit of capsicum will be a nice side for 4-6 alongside some other sides or 2-3 as a main with some protein padding. I like to serve it atop a grilled chicken breast with rice pilaf though I ate some of this with some canned chickpeas for a quick lunch. Topped with a poached egg next to some grilled sourdough for breakfast or an easy end of the week dinner on the couch goes well too.

Ingredients:

¼ C Extra virgin olive oil

3 Eschalots peeled and sliced

3 Garlic cloves peeled and squashed lightly

1 heaped tsp washed salted capers

1 Tbs tomato paste

3 Capsicums various colours, deseeded and chopped in large dice, roughly 2cm square’ish

1 long red chilli pierced with a fork a few times

1 small zucchini finely diced

1 tsp raw or white sugar

1 Tb White balsamic or white wine vinegar

*Basil shreds or whole fresh oregano leaves to serve

Method:

On a low heat in a medium sized shallow pan gently warm the olive oil. Add the eschalots and stir constantly for a minute or two while they settle in to prevent browning. They’ll quieten down to a gently hum and can sit gently like that needing a stir only every few minutes. Cook like this for five minutes then add garlic and capers to the pan, Stir to coat in the oil and allow to lightly cook for another five minutes. Pop the tomato paste in the pan and stir to combine, it won’t amalgamate completely but don’t worry it will sort itself out later. After a couple minutes stirring, tumble in the remaining ingredients mixing everything thoroughly. Cover with a lid, preferably glass so you can keep your eye on it, and gently simmer on a very low heat (I like to use a jet smaller than pan) for 40 minutes stirring occasionally. Season with salt flakes to taste and sprinkle with shredded basil or whole oregano leaves to serve.

Zucchini Confit with Charred Lemon and Chilli.

Last year was our first year without a child in school and therefore tied to school holiday periods for holidays. With dear friends and treasured traveling companions our little late summer holiday tradition began. Touring rural roads stopping at farm gates for supplies our camp cook ups are often driven by seasonal produce. Last year while camped on a north Tasmanian beach with a haul of local goodies I pulled together an idea that became the seed of today’s recipe. You can read about it here. As with many at this time of year gardens are overflowing with a glut of late season summer veg. At a recent farmers market my favourite market gardener threw handfuls of zucchini into my basket all but begging me to take them off his hands. I was tempted to try Stanley Tucci’s much lauded zucchini pasta recipe but instead was drawn to rework my olive oil braised zucchini recipe and gosh am I a happy zucc lover.

Ingredients:

¼ c extra virgin olive oil

3 (500gm) zucchinis halved lengthwise and sliced on the diagonal about 1cm thick.

1 garlic clove peeled and thinly sliced

2 french shallots peeled and thinly sliced

Red chilli thinly sliced to taste. I like to deseed to control the heat and have used one whole long chilli here but you do you.

1 tb butter

Half a whole lemon

Method:

In a heavy based fry pan large enough to hold all the zucchini gently warm the olive oil over a low heat. Add the shallots and cook gently stirring frequently until translucent and soft, around 5 minutes. Avoid allowing the shallot to colour as we’ll caramelise it later and don’t want to do that now or it will burn later. Add garlic and chilli and cook for three minutes to soften again avoiding colour.

Add zucchini and stir frequently cooking for 5 minutes stirring often to keep the shallots and garlic moving. Once the edges of the zucchini start to colour and caramelise add the halved lemon flesh side down to the centre of the pan and increase heat to medium. We’re trying to caramelise the lemon flesh to release the tang and gently flavour the dish without a harsh sharp citrus flavour. Keep the zucchini moving around the lemon for 3-5 mins. Once the lemon flesh has began to brown add the butter and still constantly to incorporate everything keeping that lemon flesh side down (now I’m sounding like a nag but stay with me). At this point the zucchini will have softened and taken on a darker almost translucent colour, the shallots will have caramelised almost crisping up slightly. Cook for a further few minutes to gently begin to brown the butter and finish the dish nicely.

Notes and suggestions:

* Sprinkle lightly toasted pine nuts over the finished dish for some crunch.

* I served this alongside my White Bean Dip. It will sit happily on a bed of humus, yoghurt or labne. Goats cheese is also delicious dotted on top.

* You could stir through pasta for a lovely vegetarian dinner.

* While this is a very versatile dish it’s a particularly lovely accompaniment to Lamb Shoulder.

White Bean Dip

Combine the following in a blender and blend to your preferred consistency. Mine is a little textured here but sometimes I go a little further and make it much smoother. You may need to stop blending a couple times and scrape down.

1 lightly drained can of white beans, (any kind of white beans will be fine)

1 Tbs olive oil

1 tsp sesame seeds

1 Tb lemon juice

Finely grated rind of a lemon

2-3 Tbs water (this will help loosen it and help it move through the blender more efficiently)

1 garlic clove peeled

1 tsp cumin

¼ tsp salt flakes

½ tsp tahini

* Sprinkle lightly toasted pine nuts over the finished dish for some crunch.

* I served this alongside my White Bean Dip. It will sit happily on a bed of humus, yoghurt or labne. Goats cheese is also delicious dotted on top.

* You could stir through pasta for a lovely vegetarian dinner.

* While this is a very versatile dish it’s a particularly lovely accompaniment to Lamb Shoulder.