Let’s Do Lunch at Becasse – Crave Sydney International Food Festival

This article was written for The Sydney Morning Herald blog.

The Crave Sydney International Food Festival ends this week, and last Friday I was feeling slightly guilty for not having taken advantage of all that is on offer. To make up for it, I thought it would be a good idea to fit in as many events as possible from now until the 31st of October. For most of us, the only time we have available is our lunch break – and that’s perfect for a series of one of Crave Sydney’s favourite events, Let’s Do Lunch.

Many of the city’s restaurants participate yearly, and the concept is simple: a main course, a glass of wine and a coffee for $35.00. I managed to convince two of my colleagues to go all out and join me for a Let’s Do Lunch session for every work day this week. Trust me; nothing makes you look forward to a Monday like knowing that lunch is at Becasse at Clarence Street, Sydney.

Olive Biscotti with Goat's Curd

I am in love with Plan B, the busy, little food outlet also by Becasse’s chef/owner Justin North, where I get my $10 wagyu burger fix (if you haven’t tried it, go, now). Becasse is right next to Plan B, and this time, I am excited to actually be going inside rather than staring sadly through the glass, holding a Plan B takeaway burger bag.

The space is elegant and minimalist, with uniformed wait-staff and table linen – its neutral colours remind my colleagues and I of our office and though comfortable, we feel the room lacks a bit of vibrancy to offset our usual drab daily decor.

The friendly French-accented waiter swiftly navigates us to our table and hands out the menu. A more expensive, three-course Let’s Do Lunch is also on offer, but we opt to remain cheap and stick to plan A, the $35.00 option.

To start, an amuse-bouche of wonderfully crunchy olive biscotti is slightly sweet, its texture well contrasts with a silken dollop of goat’s curd, aromatic with lemon. Justin North ought to branch into packaged foods, mass produce and wrap this little fellow in cellophane – I could happily munch on a dozen, or two.

Prawn and Prosciutto Risotto

To follow, a small, warm bread roll comes with a separate dome of whipped butter. Again, nothing too fancy, but totally delicious. Good bread and good butter. Then comes the main event, a risotto of prawns and prosciutto. At first glance, the portion seems lean and a bit mean, but the big flavours make up for size. The rice is cooked with velvety prawn shell bisque enriched with cream and brandy, and the taste of the sea is torrential. Prosciutto adds a punch of meatiness, while slightly translucent South Australian prawns are amongst the softest and sweetest you’ll ever try. South Australia, we salute you.

This is a good omen for the week ahead and we leave more than satisfied. On the way out, our sweet tooth is tempted by Plan B’s tarts and brownies, but the decision is unanimous – we’d better not. There’s a whole week of eating ahead, and the kilos won’t shed themselves.

Raki and Redemption – Dinner at Efendy, Balmain

I know. I’ve already written a post about the article I wrote for The Sydney Morning Herald Good Living. But hey, The Food Blog should feature the story too, right?
Here it is, once more, but this time, with some of my own photos.

Raki and Redemption – Dinner at Efendy, Balmain – Written for SMH Good Living

Cevizli Biber - Walnut and Red Capsicum Dip similar to Muhammara

Only recently, I was let in on a dark family secret. More than 100 years ago, my great-grandfather, known by the affectionate name Jiddi, a respected landowner and political leader in south Lebanon, was visited by a tax collector. At the time, Lebanon was under Ottoman rule and it was law to pay taxes to the Turks. Tax collectors were then, as now, not the most loved of people. Jiddi had had enough of handing out his hard-earned cash to a foreign occupier and in a fit of rage, or calculated cool, grabbed his knife . . . and the rest is history. True story.

More than a century later, I attend a presentation at the World Chef Showcase, part of the Crave Sydney International Food Festival. It is given by one of Turkey’s foremost chefs and food scholars, Musa Dagdeviren of Istanbul’s Ciya restaurant, aided by the head chef and owner of Balmain’s Efendy Restaurant, Somer Sivrioglu. Inspired, I book a table at Efendy for a meal cooked by Dagdeviren and Sivrioglu.

Murad, Me, Musa and my good friend Ludwig

Weighed down by the sin of my ancestry, I arrive at the dinner with two tokens of peace to offer my hosts. I have a small bottle of handcrafted orange blossom water from the Lebanese village of Maghdouche, famous for its perfumed orange trees. I also have a bottle of arak, called raki by Turks, an artisan, triple-distilled grape spirit mixed with aniseed made in Ain El Delb, the village of my birth. I hoped that at some point during the evening I would confess Jiddi’s story to my Turkish hosts and they would tell me it was all OK. To be on the safe side, I thought it best to do so towards the end of dinner to avoid getting kicked out too early during the feast.

What a feast it was. Dagdeviren’s food is honesty on a plate: unpretentious yet outspoken, unadorned yet full flavoured, seemingly simple but only achieved with an expert’s touch. It’s a skill Arabs describe as “forbidden ease”. Alaca corba is a prime example: a green-lentil and pearl barley soup from the city of Gaziantep, using just the right amount of tarragon and sun-dried pepper paste – two ingredients that could easily overpower – to create a fresh, wholesome and different starter. This is followed by a jump to Aegean Turkey and balik tursu, a ceviche-like dish of sea bream “cooked” by the acidity of lemon and paired with the classic Middle Eastern flavours: garlic and parsley. The fish is tender and sharp, while the flavour holds its integrity because of the absence of heat in its preparation. I love it. This is Turkish food I’ve never experienced before.

Even Dagdeviren’s pide and dips are far removed from Sydney’s Turkish scene. From south-eastern Anatolia comes dovme, a pearl barley and yoghurt dish that is all about lightness and texture. More familiar to my Lebanese palate is its companion, cevizli biber, from Hatay, a southern province of Turkey. This walnut and red-capsicum dip is sweet, smoky, earthy and spicy. Hatay borders Syria and the Turkish incarnation closely resembles and is equally as delicious as Syria’s muhammara.

A pattern emerges with every dish, each inspired by a different Turkish region. This is intentional and in line with the chef’s strong-held belief that food should be viewed and understood by regionality not nationality. The menu reflects his ethos wonderfully, reading as a culinary travel journal introducing us to the gastronomy of the poor, who Dagdeviren considers the truest of innovators in the culinary realm. We stamp our passport and move on to visneli kofte, a marvel of soft, marble-sized lamb meatballs cooked in a sour cherry and tomato stew. The dishes are so easygoing, so approachable. Real food, cooked by real people and perfected by a master.

Musa and my little girl

Downing raki between every memorable mouthful, I spot Murad Ilgicioglu, Dagdeviren’s assistant, also from Turkey. I invite him to our table. He holds my baby daughter to give me and my wife a moment of not having to be ambidextrous. We drink to each other’s health, laughing about the similarities between our cultures, while he explains the history of the various dishes. I like him and he seems to like us. In a moment of Dutch courage, I spill the beans and recount Jiddi’s story. He looks me straight in the eye and says without hesitation: “Tax collectors. The same happened even in Istanbul.” Instantly relieved, I realise nothing brings people together more than food and raki, other than perhaps a shared hatred of the taxman.

The Food Blog in The Sydney Morning Herald Good Living

Exciting news everyone! Yesterday’s Good Living, part of the Tuesday Sydney Morning Herald, had a full page article written by me!

You can click here to see the article as it appeared, or you can click here to read it directly off the SMH website. Needless to say, I’m over the moon. I never imagined a story telling Lebanese boy would end up published in the Sydney Morning Herald.

Heartache & Meat Pies – Lahm b’ Ajeen Recipe

I must have been around 17 years old the first time I witnessed earnest, all-covering snow as it dropped lightly but persistently to create a carpet of whiteness over red-tiled roofs. We were at the ski village of Faraya, and I, with my friends, was there to spend New Year’s Eve. There must have been around twenty of us sardined into a room that could hardly sleep five. We didn’t mind. It was a night of celebration, and there was no intention of sleeping. And besides, how could I have slept when she was there, looking as beautiful as only she could? Ah yes. There she stood, with skin that outmatched the whiteness of the freshly fallen snow and hair darker than the charcoal that later glowed to keep us warm. Miss Faraya hardly noticed me but as far as I was concerned, that room only contained her – and the bottles of local red wine; so while she continued, oblivious of my presence, I paused and Château Kefraya and I became the best of friends.

I don’t remember what happened. I have these intoxicated flashbacks of myself after midnight, walking back from the center square alongside thousands of party people. How I got there, I don’t know, but every person I encountered was repeating the same phrase: baddna n’nem (we want to sleep). Baddna n’nem? What? Why? I woke up with a headache so titanic it had created its own gravitational pull, and in its orbit was complete confusion. It was only when I heard someone on the phone wishing a loved one a “Bonne Année” (French for Happy New Year) that I realised that all the people I had met during my hazy, drunken stroll weren’t kindly informing me that they wanted to sleep, but were giving me their wishes for the new year. “Bonne Année” not “baddna n’nem”. This total lack of recall confirmed my doubts. The previous night had been a disaster.

Angry with myself, Mr Château Kefraya (who was no longer a friend of mine) and the French-speaking Lebanese, I convinced my mate who had the car that we needed to return to Jbeil (Byblos). Escape is the easiest way to avoid shame, you can trust me on that one. We were starving and dehydrated but agreed to wait until we reached a well-known bakery that made lahm b’ ajeen. The bakery’s claim to fame was not the quality of its product but rather the character of its owner. We were told that when he served his lahm b’ ajeen, he would theatrically grab a lemon, slice it down the middle with a mighty strike of his butcher’s knife, toss the lemon onto the lahm b’ ajeen and offer it to the customer with the command: hrisa (destroy it)! The rumours proved true, and so it was that we witnessed a Lebanese legend in full-swing. The comedy temporarily soothed my aching brain and uplifted my spirit, and that lahm b ajeen, though not the best I’ve had, remains the most memorable. Maybe because I had suppressed around 24 hours of prior calamity.

Well, you may have guessed it, but thankfully, Miss Faraya and I never ended up together. I have since rekindled my relationship with red wine after a period of enmity while lahm b’ ajeen and I have never lost touch, remaining in close contact. Lahm b’ ajeen is a Middle-Eastern/Levantine pizza of sorts: a piece of flattened dough, usually with a hint of sweetness from sugar, covered with a mixture of hand-minced lamb shoulder, diced tomatoes and onions, salt and pepper and baked in a hot oven. When the sides are a crisp, golden brown, lahm b’ ajeen becomes one of the miracles of Lebanese food that needs to be eaten straight away as it comes out of the oven. Only then does it posses the right crunch, moisture, heat and aroma. A moment in time that needs to be given full attention and respect. Sharp and sweet drizzles of pomegranate molasses, dollops of creamy yoghurt, sprinklings of dried chilli or simply a squeeze of lemon juice: these are all suitable toppings, but the end aim is one. Seek a lahm b’ ajeen and destroy it!

Lahm b’ Ajeen Recipe

Make the topping by mixing 0.5 kilos of finely minced lamb shoulder, 1 large medium diced onion, 4 tomatoes (I used oxheart because of their dry texture), salt and pepper. Using your chef’s knife, mix the ingredients thoroughly using a chopping motion. Add a few handfuls of pine nuts on top.

Make some dough as you saw in my manakish recipe, but add 2 more tbsp sugar and use olive oil instead of vegetable oil. Let it rise and then make the pizzas. Add the topping to the dough and bake on the highest heat possible, until gold and crisp.

My Mate Rick Stein and I

We just like hanging out together, that’s all…

the(sydney)magazine showcase gala dinner

I thought I’d turn your attention to an event coming up this weekend. On Sunday, the (sydney) magazine is organising a dinner with a group of some of the best Middle-Eastern chefs in the world to take place at The Ivy Room. The complete list of chefs is below, and I am so excited to see Joe Barza, Kamal Mouzawak, Greg Malouf and Anissa Helou representing Lebanon. These ten chefs will probably never be cooking together again, so this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to try Middle-Eastern food prepared with the  highest level of skill, right here in Sydney. Are you going to meet me there? Hurry and get those tickets and leave a comment to let me know you are coming.

The following is the text from the Sydney International Food Festival Site. Click here for direct link. The price on the website says $250, but if you go here, you can get it for $175!!

the(sydney)magazine showcase gala dinner

To celebrate the World Chef Showcase’s Middle Eastern theme, the(sydney)magazine presents the Showcase Gala Dinner.

Some of the top names from around the Middle East will cook at The Ivy Room alongside some of our most talented locals.

Ten chefs – including the fabulous Yotam Ottolenghi from London’s Ottolenghi food stores; Musa Dagdeviren, who owns three celebrated restaurants in Istanbul; and Kamal Mouzawak, who founded the first farmers’ market in Beirut – will each create a dish on the night.

Melbourne stars Greg Malouf (MoMo) and Ismail Tosun (Gigi Baba) will also dazzle you with their dishes.

Taste the best of the Middle East, traditional and modern:

1. Joe Barza, The Chase, Beirut

2. Musa Dagdeviren, Ciya, Istanbul

3. Kamal Mouzawak, Tawlet Souk el Tayeb, Beirut

4. Anissa Helou, Middle East food expert and cooking teacher

5. Yotam Ottolenghi, Ottolenghi, London

6. Greg Malouf, MoMo, Melbourne

7. Somer Sivrioglu, Efendy, Balmain

8. Ismail Tosun, GigiBaba, Melbourne

9. Lauren Murdoch, Pastis, Sydney

10. Alfie Spina, Ash St Cellar, Sydney

The cost includes a 10-course banquet, including all wine.

When: October 10, 7pm-11.30pm.

Cost: $175 (see above)

Bookings & Enquiries
Phone: 0292403000

You say Tomato, I say Tomato. You say Labna, I say Labneh.

Labna with olive oil, olives and rosemary sprig

Yoghurt. The oldest of all milk derived foods and the most feared. It is said (by me) that Genghis Khan’s only phobia was due to a recurring dream of drowning in a pool of horse milk yoghurt. The same goes for Alexander the Great, though he, against all odds, managed to overcome that fear through strenuous hypnosis and homeopathic practices, and in fact ended up loving the stuff. Throughout the ages, yoghurt has had many wonderful and amazing uses. Phoenicians used it for facials, and the ancient Egyptians used it in their mummification process in conjunction to consuming it with long grain Egyptian rice as they waited for the mummies to dry.  Allright, enough joking around. Let’s be serious for a minute. This multi-faceted ingredient has helped shape the face of Middle-Eastern gastronomy, yet its origins are shrouded in mystery. Legend has it that after slaughtering a newborn camel, desert travelling Bedouins would saddle the mother camel’s milk encased in the baby’s stomach sack, where the stomach bacteria, along with the heat of the sun, curdled the milk into, yes, yoghurt!

If you were to consider world cuisines distilled to a singular ingredient, would you be able to imagine French food sans beurre, Chinese food with no soy sauce, Italian food before Chris C brought back the first tomato? Well, you may not have guessed it, but when it comes to Middle- Eastern food, yoghurt is the reigning champion, the jamon to Arabia’s Serrano, and without it, Middle Eastern food just wouldn’t be Middle Eastern food. I grew up eating yoghurt. All Lebanese people have. In fact, It is so prevalent that there are Middle-Eastern cookbooks solely dedicated to cooking with yoghurt. When it comes to cooked yoghurt dishes, kibbeh b’ laban (yoghurt kibbeh) is an absolute favourite, but when eaten fresh, there’s nothing that beats labna. Strained through muslin, yoghurt lets go of its whey to become incredibly creamy, and the longer you strain it, the thicker and richer it gets. This is labna: wheyless yoghurt that is salted and eaten in every single Lebanese home, every single day at every single breakfast.  My memories as a child take me back to when dad would stack up the “troups” in the run down 70’s Mercedes (he loved that car) and drive us around. We’d whinge and complain about being hungry, and Mr Kassab would try to find somewhere cheap and cheerful to feed the family of six. Often, we’d end up at small makeshift bakeries with (as was usually the case) a weathered, slightly chubby but very cheerful grey-haired lady sitting cross legged in front of a saj, masterfully baking the thinnest sheets of bread, crisp and translucent. We would demolish a sheet in seconds, dunking shards and folds into most luscious olive oil drizzled labna decorated with sweet tomatoes, salty olives and fresh, fragrant mint. Pure joy.

Saj bread making

N.B. Make labna by straining yoghurt through a clean pillow case or muslin, or by pouring it over layers of absorbent paper towel. Depending on the quantity, it may take a few hours so keep it straining in the fridge. When it reaches the desired consistency, remove it, salt it and destroy it!

Blogger Karma – Sharing blogs that make my day

The other day I realised that despite the fact I read a good amount of food blogs, I hardly have the time to leave comments to encourage those fantastic bloggers who spend a lot of time and effort creating interesting content for very little reward. But recently I thought, hey, why don’t I actually tell people about the guys I follow, and maybe that would make up for all the comments I should have left but never did. So here’s the first instalment of cool food blogs I think you should follow (and there are many I want to share). I think I’ll name this series “blogger karma”. If you like what you see, let these guys know. Bloggers live for comments and a little bit of encouragement goes a long way.

The Cake + The Knife

Amanda Bechara is one awesome girl, and her obsession with food could only mean one thing: she’s Lebanese. Well, she’s also quite Australian, but her genetics hark back strongly to the Levant, and that really does show in her writing. Amanda’s restaurant reviews are more delicious than the food she discusses; her blog entries as enjoyable as a good degustation and just as lengthy. We are now good friends, but my first encounter with this troublesome lass was a through her blog, where she wrote a ditty to a kebab that she came across at the Sydney International Terminal food court, of all places. Both being fiery Middle-Easterners, we battled things out in poetry in the comments, and the rest became history. Check out her hilarious post and the comments that ensued here.

My Mediterranean Diet

Brian is a journalist living in Gibraltar, one of the world’s unique locations, at the southern tip of Europe as it comes closest to Africa, smack between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic. To escape the daily grind, Brian blogs about food, but not about any boring old food. Read about his experience with toro de lidia, meat from the bulls that die at the hands of Algeciras’ matadors, or join him on a trip to Marrakesh to experience how it’s like wandering the bustling streets at night. He has made Gibraltar a high priority on my travel itinerary.

Elegant Sufficiency

This is a very recent addition to my reading list. I found out about the fabulous Stephanie Wood through a common mention in the Foodies’ Guide to Sydney (see previous post). I was as happy about the mention as I was to discover Elegant Sufficiency. Stephanie’s blog is magnetic, charismatic and charming. I know, it sounds like I’m describing my self here, right? Well here’s the deal. Stephanie is a professional journalist and an editor for The Sydney Magazine, but her blog is a personal space, and really, this is what all blogs should be like: confidently clever, extremely humorous, captivating, thought provoking and informative. The man in me hates to admit it, but in reality, I cried when I read her tribute to her late father.