Showing posts with label Family fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family fun. Show all posts

Saturday, August 10, 2013

Celeriac and Fennel soup, served with board games

This morning when I woke up I had two things going through my mind - one, that I had to do something nice for David today to make up for him looking after me this week, and two, the vegetable market report that was playing on the radio station. Someone was talking about a vague recipe for celeriac and fennel soup, so with my wifely conundrum conveniently solved, as soon as I had breakfast (in bed, after snuggling with Tom) we headed off foraging in the local supermarket.

Celeriac is hard to come by here, with our place being in a culinary wasteland regional town. No matter how "in season" things are, the foodstuffs that are stocked are more reminiscent of a fifties plate of meat and three veg than a foodie's daydream. I was reminded of how we used to wrestle for the three bunches of coriander in the fresh produce store in Corryong. Never mind - after I made myself understood to the fruit 'n' veg guy at Woollies ("Oh! You mean CELERY-iac!" he declared. "That's right, cel-AIR-iac," I responded, without a hint of condescension.)

So, tasty but simple ingredients in hand, I headed home, after a pitstop at Toyworld to get some games on a whim for the kids - dominoes for Clare and Snakes And Ladders for Tom.

The children were set up at the table while David and I peeled potatoes (I know I was doing it for a treat for him but I have torn a triceps muscle and my left arm is largely useless) and chopped onion and garlic. Tom played his first game of Snakes And Ladders, and won! while I simmered and blended our creation. The recipe follows.

Gather your ingredients - a celeriac bulb, a nice large fennel bulb, a handful of potatoes (I used red delight and cream delight - they were what were in the cupboard), a large brown onion, a couple of cloves of garlic, some vegetable stock, some peppercorns for grinding and some salt.

Peel and slice all of the vegetables. Slice the onions and garlic finely.

Make up about a litre of vege stock, according to the instructions of the brand you like. I tried Vegeta Delight Vege Stock and I really like it. I always use relatively good quality olive oil.

Because I'm a wannabe food snob I always use freshly crushed pepper, and I prefer the three-coloured peppercorns you can get from the supermarket (so not quite a successful snob). Then I add Murray River salt flakes to be extra wanky.


Heat up the olive oil in a large non-stick pan that you will fit all your soup ingredients in, and saute the onions and garlic until they soften and start to smell wonderful.


Looks pretty darned good already. Add all the chopped up veggies and stir them through until you can smell those lovely aniseed aromas. Careful not to let it get too cooked though - you don't want the vegetables browning and ruining the look of the soup.

Pour the stock over the veggies until the whole lot is just covered.

Let it simmer until the vegetables are all tender - around twenty minutes.

Engage in some family fun while you wait, and ignore Mt Washmore. There will always be time to fold washing, but getting frustrated four year olds to understand that you go up the ladders and down the snakes is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.


When the whole lot is tender, blend it with a stick blender or whatever you normally use to reduce your food to mush. Don't worry about sieves and things - this is rustic food, wanky salt aside!


Serve in a pretentiously large bowl, garnished with fennel fronds that are totally only there for the facebook picture and will be removed unceremoniously before eating, accompanied by day-old-pizza-dough bread.

Scrumptious!




















Saturday, December 26, 2009

Merry Christmas to you, and to you, and to you...

I'm sitting here in a house full of FOOD. My goodness gracious, there's a lot of it! Leftover trifle enough to bathe in, enough plum pudding to sink a largish sized ferry, cold pork and turkey to disgust a whole commune full of vegetarians, and enough lollies and chocolates to make my dentist a very, very wealthy man. So why don't I know what to have for lunch?

This blog comes to you from the relaxation of the All Food No Responsibility Festival otherwise known as Boxing Day.

Christmas day is all about the kids - following through on their traditions that they love, opening their stockings before church, whining "when will Dad be home?" until he finishes church, and then the orgiastic gift opening ceremony accompanied by the "where's MY present??" chorus. Serving up their favourite lunch, only to have them turn their nose up because they've been pigging out on Two Dollar Shop Christmas lollies since they opened their stocking (see above). Driving long distances to relatives' houses to the next-favourite Christmas carol called "Are we there yet?". Driving home to serve up yet more Christmas tradition in the shape of trifle, Christmas cake and bedtime tantrums. Lots of I Love Yous and promises to get batteries and put things together tomorrow. Fishing pieces of Christmas cracker out of the baby's mouth before he chokes to death on Christmas cheer.

Boxing Day, on the other hand, is a clean house (thanks to my wonderful dinner guests last night who insisted on tidying up before they left - the best kind of guests of all!). A stash of chocolate that I have hidden after yesterday, as well as my favourite confectionary, fruit jellies. Fatigue that allows me not to care enough to nag the kids about their bedrooms. Lots of cups of tea for Beloved and lots of shoulder rubs from him as a show of gratitude for the last few industrious days. A fallow week ahead of lying around and recuperating. Children who are so well entertained by novel piles of fresh toxic plastic that the words "I'm booooored, what can I dooooooo," won't pass their lips for at least another week.

Boxing Day is about forgetting obligations, and just wallowing in it all. It's a bit like a post partum period in some ways - sitting up in hospital letting the midwives take care of everything, since you've done all the hard work.

I wonder what sort of post-partum period Mary had? Her post-Christ's-birth day certainly wasn't characterised by a fridge full of cold meat and Inspector Clousseau movies playing on daytime TV. I wonder who helped her feed her baby, or provided clean cloths for her tiny child. I wonder who kept them warm, once they were turfed out of the stable?