March 2010

March 29, 2010

I never thought these words would be uttered under my own roof, let alone hear them slip from my own lips, but here goes: Mr Rupert Murdoch, I do believe you have a point. Quality has a value. Paying for content is critical if you what you want is the best.

Saturday morning. An interesting email arrived. I retrieved it from the spam folder, noting it as yet another ‘unique opportunity’-style of email, the kind I normally delete. (Note to PR people out there - I delete them all.) This one however had legitimacy stamped all over it because, and I must be honest here, the words ‘publisher’ and ‘book’ are guaranteed to make me weak at the knees. The email began with a flood of flattery, a deliberate play, which I largely skipped over – yada, yada, yada, heard it before – but the offer seemed genuine enough at first glance. My work, published, in a book. Not bad, right? Still, something jarred. I went outside to prune the hedges and think.

About two-thirds of the way through the email, the following statement appeared:

“We are a small publisher and cannot offer payment for contribution; however, we believe the benefits you receive in terms of exposure and satisfaction will make involvement worthwhile.”

Frankly, I found this deeply insulting. To not even offer a share of the profits? Really? If the profits were going to a worthy cause, I would jump on board in an instant, but to ask for free content without so much as even a token payment? Are you kidding? Not only insulting, it’s downright patronizing.

I have a long and involved history with bookselling. The publisher in question is not what I, with 17 years of experience behind me, would call a “small publisher” and if they were, then how could I, a contributor, be sure that the work I’d generously donated would be prominently displayed in an already saturated cookbook market? Something tells me this book has Remainder Table written all over it...

Now. I don’t wish to upset anyone who has already said yes to the project because I have no doubt that the final book will be a beautiful, desirable object, but I offer a small plea to think on this. Many people out there still view blogging as some kind of not-writing, and if we keep letting them have our content for free, how will we ever turn our work – and it is work, people - into something of real worth? As someone who has been blogging for 4 years this month, my writing and photography – my work here among these pages - have developed into a shape and form of which I am unashamedly proud. Hoodwinking writers like myself into providing free content is not only unfair, it’s deceitful.

More reading: AOF on blogger/PR fail and Lisa offers some interesting, thought-provoking ideas.

MORE: Matt made me snort tea out of my nose laughing, with his post (thanks to the lovely Sophie for the link) and Aun, of Chubby Hubby fame, not only refused the very same offer, he actually got a response. (Thanks Duncan!)

March 25, 2010

Slow to start, our beans became prolific during a cooler than expected February. Blue Lakes and Purple Kings were pushed, without much thought, into earthy, revamped beds of soil, straw and manure late in October, trussed (slightly clumsily) a month later and subsequently burnt to a crisp in our January holidaying absence. Some water, some love, a chat about pulling up their socks – keep calm and carry on - and back they came. Pods dangled heavily and seemingly grew overnight; picking beans each morning, barefoot in long grass, became late summer ritual.

Most days, we’ve had them dressed with oil and lemon - a simple side dish for a zucchini and tomato gratin or bowls of pasta or braised baby carrots or Peter’s stellar omelettes. The recipe that follows, earmarked last winter, was the single most useful recipe of summer, its minimal method belying its moreishness.

There’s a school of thought that suggests that green beans, being fresh and snappy creatures, should remain so with only the very quickest of cooking times. Having never actually liked crisp beans, when Anna Del Conte pointed out that all beans need to be thoroughly cooked in order to be properly digested, I found myself nodding in agreement. Sensible advice. A green bean is simply the young, still-podded version of the dried ones that, as winter creeps in, you’ll soak and slowly coax to softness in soups and stews. A certain limpness is desirable.

A recipe for the harvest months.

Elizabeth David’s French Bean SaladOne of those occasions when a rewrite - the re-wording of a recipe to comply with copyright rules - would betray the precision, elegance and simplicity that makes David’s recipe so perfect. Frankly, I cannot say it any better and won't even try. Besides, "Is There a Nutmeg in the House" is worth owning. Seek a copy out - Elizabeth David is as good as food writing gets.

Top and tail (and string if need be) your beans and, if yours are a not "bootlace thin", cut each in half through its middle, to make two shorter lengths.

“Allow 125g (4oz) beans per person. Cook them for not more than 7 minutes in boiling salted water. Drain them, and while still warm, mix them in a bowl with olive oil, lemon juice and more salt if necessary. Do not be tempted to add anything else. It is the simplicity of the seasoning and the fresh flavour of the beans which make the dish.”

In the meantime, Kathryn just explained the fascinating idea of brining red cabbage to me over the telephone. Now I'm keen to get playing 'cos cabbage and I have some major digestive issues and I'm determined that this winter, cabbage and I will work together for some kind of greater good. It's cheap, it's cheerful, it's cancer-fighting, health-on-a-stick reputation is reason enough to learn to love it and rows of them look stunning in a garden.

March 17, 2010

Last night, in the darkroom, I watched the first photo I have printed myself in twenty years magically appear under red lights. Sexy figs, on an old tin plate, on my kitchen table. Photoshop does my head in, but being in a darkroom makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. The three hour class flew by. I'm giddy with it all.

Now. The question is, what to do with those figs? I'm thinking savoury/sweet starter/main combinations and get a wee bit bored by the 'wrap with proscuitto' suggestion because, as I've mentioned here before, the Jewish blokes I live with wouldn't ever go near the stuff and I only have on exceedingly rare occasions. (In Rome, I ate it draped over slices of perfect melon on a hot, hot day. Bliss, but that was a long time ago.)

March 12, 2010

DMBLGIT? (Does My Blog Look Good In This?) is a long running blog event, this month hosted by Susan of The Well-Seasoned Cook.

I'm thrilled to have be chosen as one of the panel of judges - I seem to have caught the Judging Bug of late - and encourage you to head on over to Susan's blog, check out the rules and submit your best shot from February. What would I like to see? Something different; some real originality and something from all of you Antipodean folk!

March 07, 2010

It wasn't bad, this summer. Some days were bright blue and breezy, but the hail and subsequent dumping of rain that came yesterday? Divine. If not a little destructive...

Autumn suits me so much better. I'll admit though - and anyone who knows me will find this statement highly unusual - I didn't hate this summer. Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles.

Summer nights in Matarangi (New Zealand) were perfect as the new year clicked over. There were only a couple that made me grump about back home, too.

Most sunsets, in fact, were glorious.

So it's farewell summer, but hell-o Autumn.

I'm off to the airport to collect Kathryn, as we'll be shooting a large chunk of the next edition of An Honest Kitchen over the next couple of days. Very excited. Some of the recipes I've been getting a squiz at...you won't be disappointed.

We'll keep you posted on our flickr group. Come and join us there, will you?

March 01, 2010

So. Though I won't be talking about photography at the conference, I will be sitting on a diverse panel of judges selecting work for a show highlighting the photographic talents of Australian and New Zealand food bloggers.Ed's been working away at this for a while, and he's got SBS Food on board to finance things. His post explains things beautifully.

1. Submissions are open to Australian and New Zealand food & drink blogs only.

2. Try and limit your submissions to half a dozen or less. (Please do - casting a critical eye over your own work is crucial to the process)

3. Each picture will be framed and the entrant will receive the framed copy. At some point we will need to get hold of a high resolution copy of the pic for printing.

4. The pictures should be original works from 2009/2010, have been blogged and the copyright owned by the entrant.

5. In return for SBS Food’s support, I’ve said they can include each of the pictures in the exhibition in an online slideshow which will include a blogger profile on the SBS Food website. By entering you will be agreeing to this.

6. That’s about it. All entrants will be invited to the cocktail launch.

7. A judge cannot vote on their own work but we’d love them all to enter.