The Bee's Knees: Tasmanian Leatherwood Honey

Honey that deserves a second look- this is what Tasmanian Leatherwood Honey is. After mentioning this honey in a previous post, I thought it was worth another glance as there is more to this exceptional honey than meets the eye. Originating from the flowering parts of Tasmanian Leatherwood trees, this resplendently unique tasting honey may be the last of its kind. I never anticipated that such superlatives could be used in describing, of all foods honey, but this one is certainly worth every adjective it is embellished with. You might say this is a saccharine romance, and indeed it is. With a honey so rare and so irreplaceable, I would even go as far as to say that this needs to be on your list of flavours to try before you die. Yes, put this on your list alongside truffles, Pierre Hermé desserts and possibly, purely out of interest the durian fruit, but nonetheless, this honey is a must.

Leatherwood Honey assumes a distinctive spicy flavour, that either makes you a supporter or a detractor. This honey has been known to divide people; some just cannot abide by the honey’s unusual taste and smell. Do not get me wrong, Leatherwood honey still tastes of honey; and because it is not so sickeningly sweet, the honey and the honeycomb lends to being eaten directly. Although when spread on a thick piece of toast it also cannot err. Just imagine, vibrant amber hues of this sticky delight flavouring your palate with nectary accents and bouquets of fresh flowers. The honey reads like a fine wine, yet the process in achieving such depth of flavour comes naturally without any human interference. Most blended honeys loose much evidence of the flowers from which the bees extracted the nectar from, however with this honey the Leatherwood plant’s scent manifests itself in the end product. Press your nose up to some of this honey and you will smell a strong aroma of fresh flowers.

Why could this honey be the last of its kind? Well, when you think of Tasmania, you envisage lush green woods, mist covered mountains and untouched landscapes. Tasmania almost seems like the last frontier; however this portrait is not quite as picturesque. The Leatherwood tree is under threat due to severe logging and is putting the Tasmanian honey industry at risk. You see the Leatherwood plant is endemic to Tasmania and accounts for up to 70% of all the honey being produced in this region. So no Leatherwood Trees ultimately mean, no Leatherwood Honey and unfortunately due to the narrow-sightedness of urbanisation, apiarists and the honey industry in Tasmania are not a main concern on the agenda. The problem is slowly being addressed, but at what cost should we compromise a resource so unique to this region?

Do not despair; Leatherwood honey is under threat, but thus far not extinct. This honeycomb was procured at the recent Grower’s Market. I asked the stallholder how to properly eat the honeycomb and he said that there are two ways. One is to eat the honeycomb wax and all; another is to spit the comb out once you have extracted all the honey in your mouth. As unpleasant and uncouth as this sounds, I do prefer the latter method as the notion of eating wax does disconcert me a little. I was reassured by the honey-man that eating the wax bears no ill effects on your digestion or your health but it still felt like I was swallowing a candle. And seeing as that I have already endorsed knife-licking, biscuit-dipping and more recently the Homer Simpson style of ingestion on this blog, I have no qualms about sanctioning wax-spitting as well. I am really not one for eating anything that resembles a candle, however if you are not opposed to swallowing the wax, then by all means.

FURTHER READING: Leatherwood honey industry 'under threat';
Leatherwood: Honey from the forest

A Tale of Two Cakes: Part II

Okay, so maybe the last cake I made was a bit of a misguided venture, nonetheless disaster was averted and I was able to turn the recipe from what seemed like a faux pas, into an inadvertent smash hit. You might say it was the Britney Spears of cakes; you know right from the start it’s wrong but yet people are strangely drawn to it and buy it’s albums. Anyway, I was just glad the cake was edible, and I didn’t have untouched pieces of cake taunting and staring me in the face spelling out d-e-f-e-a-t.

Surely this recent episode of unintentional dyslexia should serve as a lesson to read a recipe thoroughly before commissioning yourself to bake the cake. This time around all things went as planned, I read the ingredients list in its entirety and made the mental checklist whether we had all the required ingredients on hand. I also made sure I didn't mistake any ingredients for something else, like I had before.

I made an Orange and Almond Cake out of the remaining few oranges from my dwindling stash of Rosey Reds. I was quite hesitant to use these last two Rosey Reds, as though they were the last two remaining in the entire planet, however my appetite for a moist, dense cake was too fervent to ignore. After the recent episode of dry gritty cake, I needed to redeem myself with this cake.

The result- citrus indulgence. The cake was without doubt moist and dense, and the addition of syrup not only intensifies its moistness, but also permeates the cake with a delicious tang that is somehow lost in the cake after baking. I found myself simply relinquishing all better judgement and etiquette and simply began slicing pieces off the cake and picking them up with my hands and shovelling it straight in my mouth. I wavered between gluttonous shame and blissful gratification; and although my mother would be ashamed of my table manners, or rather inherent lack thereof, I cannot and will not apologise for the effects great cake has on a person. With a dollop of thick cream this cake is heaven in a slice.

Almond and Orange Cake
(Serves 6)
from this publication, Issue 28

¾ cup caster sugar
170g unsalted butter, softened
1 tbsp finely grated orange zest
3 eggs
1½ tbsp orange juice
¾ cup plain all-purpose flour, sifted
¾ tsp baking powder
2/3 cup almond meal
thick double cream to serve

Preheat oven to 170°C. Line a loaf tin with greaseproof paper.
Place the sugar, butter and orange rind in a bowl and beat until light and creamy.
Gradually add the eggs and orange juice, beating well.
Fold through the flour, baking powder and almond meal, until incorporated.
Pour the batter into prepared baking tin and bake for 45 minutes or until cooked when tested with a skewer.
Cool in the tin for 5 minutes and turn out on a wire rack to cool.
Serve with Orange syrup and cream.

Orange Syrup

2 cups caster sugar
1 cup water
¼ cup orange juice

Place the sugar, water and orange juice in a small saucepan over low heat.
Stir until the sugar has dissolved completely.
Bring to the boil and cook for 30 minutes or until the mixture is thick and syrupy.
Pour over cake before serving.

A Tale of Two Cakes : Part I

Where the proverbial cake is concerned, of course I want to have my cake and eat it to. The very purpose of cake is for its eating; there truly is no need for cake unless it is to be eaten. Imagine telling a little girl who has just turned two that she is not allowed to eat her birthday cake but merely look at the thing. Well that right there is temptation at its best, deliberately goading her to disobey orders. Cakes are irresistible and not only to two year olds, but to adults alike. The last time I was at kids’ party, I recall it wasn’t actually the seven year olds that were stealthily sneaking past the cake swiping a finger full of coffee buttercream icing, but the parents of those very children.

And when it comes to cakes, the citrus varieties are always my preference, and luckily we are smack bang in the midst of citrus season. This first cake came about after a stroke, not of genius but of unintentional dyslexia. For reasons unknown, I had read a recipe all wrong and thought that “semolina” somehow said “polenta”. I know this is quite difficult to fathom and quite far-fetched, but sadly it is true. The two words actually do not sound alike, nor do they look alike except maybe for the letter “a” at the end. And they are actually two totally different things, but I had somehow deluded myself into thinking that the recipe called for polenta, and I did not realise this “slight” oversight until after the first step, which was to combine all the dry ingredients.

Thomas Edison, was known for his countless blunders and failed attempts, in fact his laboratory even burned down after an experiment that went awry. So I don’t feel too bad, as that this cake turned out surprisingly good. The cake was rather dry, as polenta absorbs quite a bit of moisture and the texture was obviously gritty. However the addition of the syrup over the cake does alleviate any dryness and grittiness. And if it is in the eating that lies testament to whether a cake is good, well, I can assure you there was not a crumb left. I will point out that the cake's taste and texture does improve overnight, so if you are able to restrain yourself, then urge yourself to do so.

Blood Orange Polenta Cake
(serves 6 to 8)
adapted from this book

1 cup plain flour
½ tsp baking powder
1 2/3 cups polenta
4 eggs, separated
¾ cup caster sugar
½ cup olive oil
1 tbsp blood orange zest
½ cup blood orange juice

Blood Orange Syrup

1 cup caster sugar
¾ cup orange juice
1 tbsp blood orange zest

Preheat oven to 180°C. Line a round 22cm baking tin with greaseproof paper.
Combine flour, baking powder and polenta in a bowl and mix. Set aside.
Place egg yolks, sugar, oil and orange zest in another bowl and beat until light and fluffy.
Fold flour into egg yolk mixture in three parts, alternating with some orange juice.
In a separate bowl, whisk egg whites until stiff peaks form.
Using a wide metal spoon, fold in egg whites into the batter.
Pour into prepared baking tin and bake for 45 minutes or until cake is cooked when tested with a skewer.
Cool in the tin for 5 minutes and turn out on a wire rack to cool.

While the cake is cooking, prepare the syrup.
Place sugar, orange juice and zest in a saucepan over low heat and stir until sugar has dissolved completely.
Allow to simmer for 2 minutes and turn off heat.
Pour half the syrup over the cake.

To serve, cut the cake into wedges and spoon over a few tablespoons of remaining syrup over each portion.
Serve with some vanilla yoghurt.

PART II: TO BE CONTINUED...

It's my party and I'll fry if I want to

I’ve never been much of a fryer. Frankly the idea of being in the presence of oil, hot enough to scald your skin right off is not exactly my cup of tea. I do enjoy fried foods, but it’s the oiliness and that greasy film that it leaves on anything around the frying vicinity that makes it a less desirable undertaking. And not mention the unfortunate splattering that occurs; and when that rogue globule of hot oil hits you in the eye, well you can imagine the expletives that accidentally slip out. And if you were able to curb your cursing, im certain you would have said it in your head.

Moreover, don’t get me started about that pervading unpleasant fatty smell that it leaves behind when all the frying is over. Oh how I hated visiting a certain childhood friend’s house after long hot afternoons spent playing on the street. You see, as soon as you stepped through their front door, a wall of fried-fish smell would smack you in the face like a punch from Sugar Ray Robinson. I loved fried fish, it was one of my favourite things to eat growing in the Philippines, but fried fish is not exactly aromatic in that pleasant kind of way and it really is the last thing you want your house to be smelling like, essence des poisson.

Although I posses a palpable dislike for the method of frying, I do love the result. Where would doughnuts, beignets, fritters and fries be without frying? It may be an unsightly thing to do, but when properly contained, the hot-oil ogre can be tamed. And really, what is a party without a few bits of your flesh falling victim to several villainous spatters of hot oil. Growing up, a party wasn’t a party until we saw lumpia (spring rolls), turon (deep fried banana fritter), fried chicken, batter-fried prawns; you name it, we fried it.

Seeing that we were having some friends over for weekend festivities, the only thing I could think of doing was frying something. And although the perils of frying did abound, they were certainly not outweighed by the prospect of Ricotta Orange Puffs; and seeing that there was a surplus of Rosey Red Oranges and ricotta in my kitchen, the only option was to fry. An hour later, and several burn marks to bear witness to the fact that I fried for this party, a pile of puffs saw themselves being presented to a small group of ravenous adults. These puffs were great crowd pleasers and were not at all cloyingly sweet; so they will attract even those that do not have a sweet tooth.

Incredibly moist and fluffy, the puffs do not possess the greasy aftertaste that so many other fried foods tend to develop. I attribute it to the presence of orange zest. The aromatic zest counteracts any greasy tendencies, and because they are in the oil for such a short time, there really is no time for the oil to saturate the little puffs. So all I can say to you is, puff away to your heart's content, it will not disappoint. Perhaps the frying part will, but the eating part will definitely make you forget about the second-degree burns.

Ricotta Orange Puffs
(serves 4-6)

250g fresh ricotta
2 eggs, lightly beaten
½ cup plain all-purpose flour
20g unsalted butter, softened and sliced
2 tablespoon currants
3 teaspoons finely grated orange zest
vegetable oil for shallow-frying
icing sugar for dusting

Mix ricotta, eggs, flour, butter, currants and orange zest in a bowl until properly combined.
Cover with some clear plastic and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Heat the oil in a heavy based saucepan over medium heat.
Shallow fry a tablespoon of the ricotta mixture in batches for 30 seconds on each side or until just puffed and golden brown.
Drain on a paper towel.
Sift icing sugar over the puffs.

Serve with some dessert wine.