The Cocoanut

For me, the one thing that makes me happy is garlic. I can never go wrong with garlic. The pungent smell, the taste, the after-effects on your breath. I eat burnt garlic with as much joy as I would a perfectly fried clove; they’re all good to me. When my mom cooks her signature sambal ikan, using my favourite fish, kurau, and of course with a bit of coconut milk (which self-respecting Malay wouldn’t), she leaves her garlic cloves whole, so that I may eat it with all the flavour and juices intact.

It comes as no surprise then, that one of my favourite things to have is garlic bread. Nothing fancy, just a piece of good crusty bread, a slash of butter and crushed garlic and we’re ready to go. Dusting it with parsley not only creates an appealing visual effect, it also makes the act of eating garlic bread seem like a healthy thing to do (all the goodness of herbs packed in a lump of butter-softened bread!). A squeeze of lemon juice provides a hint of acidity that cuts across the sometimes overwhelming richness of the garlic and butter. Or, if you are the sort that loves to be overwhelmed, just add parmesan.

Melbourne has a pretty healthy vegetarian scene, and The Vegie Bar, in the bohemian and rapidly-yuppie Brunswick Street, has long been a well-loved institution in this part of town, and among vegetarians and non-vegos alike. A good friend and I went to check the place out one sunny Saturday morning. The décor is mainly industrial warehouse chic, with unpolished bricks and chunky metal tables partnered with those abstract Scandinavian polymer chairs in fluoro finish. At certain corners lurk exotic artworks and pierced and tattooed and very friendly waitresses that scream BOHEMIAN to first-time visitors.

I skipped breakfast (which is very, very rare) solely for this restaurant trip, and I intend to eat large. We ordered nachos and roti canai as starters, the latter as curiosity over their version compared to the Malaysian standard classic, and as an introduction to my friend of Malaysia’s favourite breakfast. The roti canai came with lentil curry, which is different compared to the dhal I have at home, but it was extremely good nonetheless. Their roti canai is not as flaky and oily as the Malaysian version, but no less inferior. The nachos were generous, and they were perfect with the guacamole, the best I’ve ever had.

In fact we learned, rather belatedly, that generous servings seem to be the rule at the Vegie Bar. By the time our mains arrived, we were already full. We had genuine trouble finishing the pizza Margherita and mee goreng, but we did it anyway because they were that good. I have to say, throughout the course I didn’t notice the absence of meat at all. If all vegetarian restaurants are like this, and if only people are less suspicious of vegetarian dishes, then I’m sure more of us will be less dependent on meat.

I decided to hold a housewarming to coincide with the eve of my birthday. It was going to be a housewarming party first, and birthday acknowledgement second. Not a birthday ‘celebration’, simply an ‘acknowledgement’. I am not looking forward to turning 21.

Most 21st celebrations Down Under are defined by flowing rivers of alcohol, with equal amounts of vomit thereafter. I may be in Australia, but I celebrate like a true Malaysian, with lots and lots of food.

The highlight of any birthday is the cake. I made two cakes that day, Nigella Lawson’s Nutella Cake (or more fancily, Torta Alla Giandula) and New York Cheesecake. Nothing can quite compete with bread fresh out of the toaster and spread with a judicious amount of Nutella. Actually the bread doesn’t even have to be hot and toasted. Cold bread taken out chilled from the fridge will still taste good with the hazelnut spread. A cake version, therefore, was an obvious choice for the housewarming. There are literally hundreds of cheesecake versions out there, ricotta, oreo, white chocolate, lemon, coffee, blueberry cheesecake, but my all-time favourite is the New Yorker, lured by the soft and light texture of the cake. It was amazing! I had to make it, not so much for my friends to try but more for me to indulge on my birthday.

But man, did they take forever to make. The Torta Nutella was quite straight-forward, although still time-consuming, but the cheesecake was something else. Nigella specifically asks of the eager baker to bake the cake with the door unopened (quite impossible, from my experience) for a good hour and a bit, and then leave it with the door still unopened for another 2 hours, after which the cake should be left for another hour with the door opened. Of course, then you have to chill the cake for a few more hours, all while battling the temptation to cut a piece, if only to exact revenge on the attention-demanding cheesecake.

Thankfully, my friends need no coaching when it comes to exacting revenge on cheesecakes.

Unlike Malaysia’s pasar malam, which is sheltered by the oversized Technicolor umbrellas, Melbourne’s Night Market is held under one giant roof, but apart from that, it has the same vital ingredients that make for a bustling bazaar, arts and craft, the lure of cheap imitation apparel, and of course, abundant food.

While there was the predictable fare of pizza, souvlaki and stir-fry Chinese noodles, regional specialties such as Paella, Persian floss candy and Turkish-style chocolate crepe made for an impressive culinary display. My life-long fantasy of trying out Poffertjes (Dutch pancakes) was once again dashed as a long queue of about 10 metres formed behind the counter.

My missed chance quickly turned into an arresting opportunity as I caught eye on the Ethiopian food counter. Apart from cous-cous, which is a staple of Morocco, I have never tasted African cuisine. I quickly queued behind the growing line and waited in anticipation for my turn to order. At $8, I was given a generous scoop of kik alicha, which is a rough puree of split beans cooked in spices and saf, an Ethiopian beef casserole. These are eaten with 2 pieces of enjera, a slightly sour rolled pancake that was perfect to soak up all the spice-laden gravy.

I cannot seem to end a meal without something sweet, and when you’re in a food bazaar, with the temptation of Pistachio nougat, bird’s nest baklava, fudge, chocolate fondue and even ais kacang (shaved ice drizzled with evaporated milk and rose syrup), it is simply impossible to deny my sweet tooth its craving. I had an almond pudding with custard and fresh strawberries which had a nice crunch that marries well with the softness of the custard.

There is something about the hustle and bustle, the throngs of people walking about and trying out freshly-prepared food that makes the whole night market experience so enjoyable. Cheap prices (by Aussie standards) help too, of course.

However, weekend breakfast is a different story altogether. Ideally, I would like to have brunch on Saturdays and Sundays but for some reason my brain has automatically programmed itself such that I still manage to wake up at 7 am on weekends. I don’t like waking up early, because weekends are the only time I can afford to sleep in, but unfortunately my brain overpowers my desire to sleep longer, and so I am forced to have an early breakfast.

The weekend morning meal is a treat I give myself for surviving 5 days of eating the same thing. If weekday breakfast is marked by austerity, eating wholegrain cereal with low-fat yoghurt and milk, its weekend cousin is an altogether laissez-faire occasion. Ready-made waffles, simply toasted and eaten with a generous spread of peanut butter and banana provide a great pick-me-up at 7 am on Saturday, as is scrambled eggs on Sundays.

This morning, at the ungodly hour of 6:45 am, I find myself woken up again by the brain-that-seems-to-be-taking-control. Today I decided to take a break from the usual waffles and make pancakes instead.

For the past month, I have been trying a different kind of cheese each week, just to take advantage of the many different kinds of cheese available here in Australia. The first week was ricotta, the second parmesan, the third a trio of blue cheese, brie and really good, vintage cheddar. For today, the Cheese Of The Week is mascarpone, the soft cheese whose most famous offshoot is tiramisu.

Basing and modifying my recipe from Nigel Slater’s Real Food, I added a sprinkling of icing sugar to my sour-ish strawberries and mashed some with a fork to give a rough, thick strawberry slurry that would add a fluid texture to the more solid ones. I then added a few drops of vanilla extract to my mascarpone before creaming it to incorporate the vanilla fully.

Onto the hot and slightly charred pancakes I place a dollop of mascarpone cream, and arranged the strawberries, slush and all, on top to give me a breakfast treat that would make waking up at 7 am actually seem like something to be happy about.

The financial, administrative and logistical details involved in moving house was indeed the nightmare that it is renowned for, although I was extremely fortunate to receive help from kind friends, for which I am forever grateful. The fun part for me was planning the interior design and the shopping that follows.

From the very beginning, I had a clear, central idea of the direction that I wanted to take in the décor of the house. Due to space and financial limitations, decorations for decorations’ sake would be an absolute no-no. I like knick-knacks as much as the next person, but the only ones that catch my eye seems to be ridiculously beyond my means. If I give in to temptation, I would either go bankrupt or my house will end up being cluttered by cheap, tacky bric-a-bracs that merely aspire to imitate their expensive cousins.

Make no mistake though; I am not a spokesperson for Austerity. I am by nature quite inclined to habitually overeat, overindulge and overspend, and my house should properly reflect this irrational, self-destructive bend. Yes, I do believe in possessing few things in life, but that’s only so that the money I save from not buying so many things could be used to purchase a few good ones.

Imposing a strict ‘no knick-knack’ rule gives me license to purchase equipments that not only perform their intended functions, but double up as décor and ambience in absence of the decorative objects that I voluntarily (but reluctantly) forgo.

The central feature of the apartment (which coincides very neatly with my interest in cooking) is the kitchen. The distinctive brown, chunky tiles provide a theatrical backdrop over the living and dining areas, and it is this section of the house that demands the most attention. My favourite item is the Breville toaster, its retro design heightened by the chilli red exterior.

For the dining set, I placed one from each component, namely the dinner plate, the side plate and the bowl, vertically and leaned it against the wall to not only act as decoration, but also, to a lesser extent, serve as a label to the horizontally-placed plates, whose sizes it would be difficult to gauge from eye level. Again, this is an example of sensible decoration that not only (in my opinion) looks aesthetically pleasing, but serves a practical function.

Personally, the most important items in the kitchen in terms of symbolism are the yellow and orange food canisters. The colours are in direct defiance to the overall red and green template, and this serves to reflect a trait which I hold in very high regard, and that is one of being different, the non-conformist and, for lack of a better word, the ‘outsider’. I can’t say that I possess this quality myself, which is probably the more reason for the presence of the canisters, to remind me that it is necessary to go against the grain from time to time.

To make things more complicated, this particular friend happens to be a passionate foodie herself, and has enjoyed some of the most delicious fare around town. So good is she in recommending restaurants and picking the best dish in the menu that whenever I go out with her, I give up choosing my meal altogether and simply replicate her order, so that we end up having two identical dishes on the table. This is a win-win situation not only for the chef, but also for a very contented me at the end of a meal.

Determined not to screw up, I decided to make her the one thing I’m best at, truffles. These chocolate candies are so easy to make, and although there are many variations, which includes adding syrup, butter, rum or brandy, the classic recipe of dark chocolate and cream almost never fails.

Normally, I would coat the truffles with cocoa powder, but for a change I substituted cocoa for nuts. Originally I had wanted the coating to consist of hazelnuts, so that the truffles would bear a subtle similarity to Ferrero Rocher, but the local supermarket ran out of hazelnuts when I went there and I ended up using peanuts instead.

The truffles, far from tasting like Rocher, were closer to a bite-sized Snickers bar, which is actually not such a bad thing. In this world of information overload, where brand power is king and everything is labeled, my truffle gifts would be incomplete without the proper ‘packaging solution’. However, due to my complete lack of design skills, I had to solely rely on bright fluorescent colours and bold, oversized text to grab attention to my truffle label. Most companies resort to the same trick, anyway, so I figure I can get off with it.

Considering we were right on Lygon Street, an area exclusively catered for the consumption of food, it seemed like the perfect idea. That, and the fact that College was serving baked potatoes, made the decision-making process a whole lot easier.

Choice is a double-edged sword on Lygon Street. How does one pick from so many, almost identical restaurants?

We made a pact at the start of the year to try out as many of Lygon Street’s establishments as we possibly could, and today seemed just as good as any day to deliver that promise. Trotter’s, at the end of the strip, is popular among the college fraternity as a brekkie joint. I have often passed by the place to find it busy with patrons, and I often wondered if it was its rather quaint size that gave me that impression.

The ambience was comfy, relaxing and had a certain chaotic flair to it, typically what you would expect from a small restaurant filling up busy lunch orders. The menu offered the usual Italian fare, and a whole page dedicated to breakfast, which, conveniently, is served till 3 pm. That explains its popularity with the ‘brekkie bunch’.

I ordered Eggs Florentine, which my waiter commends as a fine choice, which I’m sure he says to pretty much everyone. I’ve wanted to try this rather indulgent take on breakfast for some time now - poached eggs on a bed of spinach and toasted English muffins, glazed with hollandaise sauce. It definitely was a big departure from muesli and yoghurt, which normally defines my breakfast.

Trotter’s version features perfectly poached eggs, with the yolk still golden and semi-solid that instantly oozes when you poke. The hollandaise goes so well with spinach, the salty, rich, creamy emulsion layered on the clean, neutral taste of the vegetable. And the muffins, nicely toasted and buttered, provide the right base from which to eat this beautiful combination of food.