34 <strong>Magazine</strong> | 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!
CHRISTCHURCH’S LANDMARK SHOPPING PRECINCT 363 COLOMBO STREET, SYDENHAM STENCIL SPRING AT THE COLOMBO THECOLOMBO.CO.NZ
Change language