03 Magazine: October 02, 2023

34 Magazine | Feature
The kitchen is the space in any abode (old or new) that
embodies and welcomes all the senses.
The familiar sight of a faded formica kitchen table
anchoring the room, the whistle of the old kettle, the sweet
smell of fresh baking escaping from the worn-out seals of an
old Shacklock electric oven, the feel of that favourite teacup
clasped between your hands first thing in the morning; and,
of course, the taste of some sort of fritter fresh from the
skillet or being passed about with the first round of G&Ts in
the late afternoon.
I often speak of the importance of people and place and
how those two simple ingredients – who you are with and
where you are physically located – play such a significant role
in our most vivid and influential food memories. Bach kitchens
evoke that narrative. The kitchen of course is the heart and
the hub of the bach: from a pre-dawn early morning cuppa
to those welcome impromptu visits throughout the day, as
friends drop in unannounced.
I love the way we forgo our regular lives of formality and
structure: lunch often gets eaten mid-afternoon, which then
pushes out dinner well into the night. Once the dishes are
washed, dried and put away, the kitchen table then hosts the
obligatory late‐night card game or some version of Scrabble.
The whisky bottle will usually make an appearance, along
with half a packet of chocolate biscuits or the last few pieces
of ginger crunch, which – while still tasty – by now have
unfortunately lost their ‘crunch’!
And that’s the thing: baches seem to bring a liberating sense
of freedom, where life’s regular timing is simply ignored or
paid no mind. The somewhat rigidity of formal everyday life,
with its protocols and established ways, is replaced with a
spirit of generosity, nourishing hospitality, and tolerance for
bouts of harmless lawlessness.
I think it’s the misfit-ness and informality of baches that
seems to strike a chord in our collective character as a country.
There is a sense of letting go, and a comfort that comes with
familiarity and simplicity.
There is something almost sacred that most baches
embody, which I believe stems from the original family or
whānau who built or moved the dwelling to its location. As
the decades pass, each new generation and the descendants
of these original families continue to add layer upon layer of
that spiritual DNA to each humble residence.
“If these walls could talk” is the line that always comes
to my mind when I’m lucky enough to be staying in a
classic bach.
It has been fun updating and re-releasing Eat Up as the
‘Bach Edition’. I get another bite of the cherry as it were.
I have always been super proud of the ‘original’, and, even
though it was released in 2017, the recipes still ring true to
me. The vision was always to celebrate where we had come
from with our food, and where we are currently.
I have penned five cookbooks over the past 15 years or
so. I recently got them all out and spent an afternoon reading
some of the text, looking at the photos and going over
many of the recipes. I found it cathartic, as well as reassuring.
My philosophy around how I like to cook and serve hasn’t
changed much at all in the past 20 years. I have never really
been swayed by trends that become popular for a time, then
come and go over the years.
I am always inspired by clever food, no matter where it
originates from. But I believe there is a fine line between
clever food and overly worked pretentious food, which I think
is more about the personal ego of the chef who created the
dish. As in “Look at me, I am so clever” rather than looking
at it from the diners’ perspective: Is it tasty? Is it generous? Is
there textural contrast in the components? Are the layers of
flavour balanced? Was it a satisfying plate of food that left you
feeling I would, or I could, order that again?
To be totally honest, I don’t believe I’m an overly talented
chef. What I do know is that I understand the fundamentals
of a well-executed dish. I am relatively confident in my ability
to cook a lot of decent-tasting food, and I also think I have
a good handle on, or understanding of, what people enjoy
– and why.
The two main drivers when I am cooking are generosity
and fun. They are kind of like insurance policies around how
the dish will be perceived. Both of these components are at
the basis of my thinking with every dish that I think up and
work on. I like to trust there is some creativity in there too,
but being generous and having fun is what I think eating is
all about.
Bach food is all about that … it is not complicated, it
doesn’t require a trip to a specialty food store or taking out
a second mortgage to purchase a bloody sous vide machine,
etc. It is about feeding loved ones who are famished with
food that is simple, fresh, delicious and, thank goodness,
sometimes a little down and dirty.
Anyway, I hope you love it, share it, use and abuse it.
Always keep in mind that nothing pleases a cookbook
author more than a wine-splashed, sauce-splattered and
oil-stained cover!