All posts in Homestead

Letter To My Car

Jump in, kids! Time to go to BiLo again! #blessed!

 

This column was originally published in Practical Parenting Magazine, January 2016

Dear Car,

I feel like it’s time that I wrote to you to acknowledge that things have changed between us. Our relationship is not what it used to be, but that’s OK, right? Life is about the journey, right Car? Not the destination! (You should totally get that on a postcard, Car.)

When we first got together we had some wild times. Remember, when I was a teenager, all that aimless driving around? I used to put $3 worth of petrol at at time into your broken petrol gauge, and you were always full of my girlfriends smoking ciggies out the window. Sometimes we listened to Kylie Minogue, sometimes The Smiths, and sometimes Public Enemy. We were figuring out who we were, Car.

We drove around the suburbs, to nightclubs, to the city, and to so, so many coffee shops. I didn’t really spill coffee in you then, Car, because I had time to spend hours actually drinking it inside cafes, talking about 90210 and feminism and crap like that with my girlfriends. Just hours talking, uninterrupted.

No time for those shenanigans any more, Car! You feeling me? I know you are! My constant companions these days are three feet tall and drink babycinos. Sure, they’ll talk about 90210 (they’ll give any topic a red-hot go)but their grasp of popular culture is not nuanced. They are more ‘Zombie Bums From Uranus’ fans.

Also, I still drink a lot of coffee, but now I drink it in you, Car, as I ferry kids around to Girl Guides and footy training and shout ‘Don’t bite your brother!’ into the back seat.

You know how recently one of the kids was caught short on the highway and I had to help him wee into an empty coffee cup and then a bit of it spilled? I know we laughed, Car, but it probs wasn’t as funny to you. Sorry.

That reminds me that I want to apologise for what I’ve put you through in the last few years, Car. There’s been a ridiculous amount of vomiting in you since the kids arrived. (Even more than through the nightclub years.) The children peel fruit and blow their noses and throw bits of rubbish in all directions, like tiny little Tudor Kings. At best, I can describe your interior as ‘gently composting’, Car. At worst, the public health implications of you are quite scary.

Remember that time we could not find the source of the stink for weeks, and then one day in the glove-box we found a liquefied banana? How we laughed, Car! It was almost like we were crying! Remember that time the baby threw up and then started eating bits out of it, Car? Champagne comedy, that was.

You know, Car, some of my favourite times are in you. After the mad rush of the morning, when we jump in you to drive to school, Car, the kids and I have great conversations. And as a family, road trips have made some of our best memories. And biggest messes.

But when you are I are alone together Car, that is gold. Just you, me, Google Maps, news radio and takeaway coffee. These moments alone are rare, in this season of life with small children, and I relish them. It smells disgusting in you, Car, but it feels fantastic.

I love you, Car. You’ve got indefinable little bits of gross stuff all over you, but that’s OK. So do I,these days.

 

X Rach

#Freeboobing And Other Ways I Am On The Cutting Edge (And You May Be Too)

Sadly, I have no idea of the original source of this fabulous picture. It’s been floating around for years though. If you know, please tell me so I can give credit!

This post was originally published in Practical Parenting Magazine, June 2015

Newsflash, dear readers! It has come to my attention that ‘freeboobing’ is a thing. This, the art of letting the ladies loose, is a skill that many of us have perfected with Olympic athleticism.  For me, seconds after I walk in the door, the bra is off, signalling that the relaxation hour has come.  Cup of tea, breasts roam free.

I used to keep my bralessness for private moments. At least, I tried.  I did realise one day how habitual the bra-flinging had become when my mum and dad were over for dinner. Next to Dad, mid-anecdote, I unclipped my bra, threaded it through the sleeves of my shirt like a sexy conjurer and threw it over to join the rest of the washing on the lounge, all without losing the thread of my story.

All class, me. But apparently, I’m not alone and this behaviour now has a name: it’s called ‘freeboobing’.  #freeboobing, to be totes modern and specific. Freeboobing! It’s like Christmas for women everywhere.

This got me thinking.  What else is there that is happening in my life that I never knew was a trend? Have I been on the cutting edge of fashion this WHOLE TIME?

What about #bathslobbing, where I soak in my own discarded skin cells for an hour? I am seriously good at that.  Perhaps #nobbysinging will take off, where I sing Streisand and Mariah Carey to my children with full commitment to the dramatic arc of the song and every power note it holds, knowing from their guileless little faces that they don’t yet realise how terrifyingly daggy I am? (This also applies to #mumdancing.)

What about #rabbitholing, when hours that could have been spent learning more/anything about Middle Eastern politics or cleaning the bathroom were spent in a fruitless, addictive and soul-rotting quest to understand what a Freelee the Banana Girl is? What about #hotpantsing, when my legs are too hairy for shorts on a hot day and I am forced to wear jeans so as not to frighten strangers with my mohair stockings?

Perhaps  #scrispering, will take off. This brilliant combo of ‘scream and whisper’ (this word is not my invention, although I wish it was) describes the tone one is forced to use with naughty children in public. Painful but brilliant, #honestchilding is when the kids are the only ones telling the truth, as in ‘Mum are you growing a beard?’, ‘Have you got another baby in there?’ or ‘Your breath smells like bad eggs.’

Maybe #idiotdriving will become a thing, when I back into yet another letterbox, followed by #idiotconfessions, when I must go home and tell my husband that I’ve done it again. I’m sure #anychocolating has the potential to go viral. That’s when there is no actual chocolate left in the house and one has to resort to making icing to eat while watching the Real Housewives.

Last night I had something of a peak human experience. I was so thoroughly modern that I performed a number of cool hashtags simultaneously. There I was, #freeboobing while #bathslobbing,  #rabbitholing and #anychocolating. It was a top night in. And  – who knew?- totes on the cutting edge of fashion.  Finally, my hour has come!

Bookshelf: Books About Cooks

In case you haven’t bought a Mother’s Day present yet, I thought I would write a Bookshelf post today and explore one of my favourite genres; the chefs memoir.

I love books about cooks and cooking. Chefs are interesting people. They are artists,  tempered and cured in that sweaty, high-stress, crazy kitchen world of fire and shouting and temporary creations of great beauty. Chefs are something of a cross between performance artists and craftspeople, whose creations are consumed and then disappeared, before their workshop is scrubbed clean for the next performance.

The atmosphere of a commercial kitchen (as any waitress who’s had to venture in with a customer complaint will tell you) is stressed and intense. It’s weird back there in Kitchenland, and a it takes a certain type of personality to handle it, let alone excel at it.  I once managed a restaurant in London where all the Algerian chefs in the steamy hell-hole of a kitchen downstairs  could not pronounce my name (Rachael) and so called me ‘Richard’ instead. I got on with them well, and they taught me my only Arabic phrase: Yalla yalla. (Hurry up.) Once I hid in the dumbwaiter, sent it below and jumped out to shout ‘Yalla! Yalla!’ at them. Head chef Mo nearly had a heart attack. How we laughed!

These days, the only commercial kitchen in my life is my own, where I churn out chicken casserole and blueberry porridge for at least three seatings and fifteen covers a day. I might bring back ‘yalla yalla’ though. Could help with the school run…

Here are a few of my favourite books about cooks:

Trail Of Crumbs: Hunger, Love and The Search For Home by Kim Sunee is a memoir that drips with bohemian glamour. If you are partial to the ‘moved to Europe and fell in love and here is my soup recipe’ genre (and who is immune to this?), then you’ll love this offering. It’s Kim Sunee’s story of her search for connectedness – adopted as a child, she feels rootless, and tries to anchor herself by settling in the Provencal countryside with L’Occitane founder Olivier Baussan, and then by opening a bookshop in Paris.  As one does. Kim is a poet, and her style reflects this. Add a hefty chunk of fruit-n-nut chocolate, and this book is a Mothers Day bath waiting to happen.

Spilling The Beans by Clarissa Dickson Wright is a wonderful read; with all of the wit and brio you would expect from this woman, one half of the British ‘Two Fat Ladies’ cooking team. This book traces Dickson Wright’s aristocratic and troubled childhood, scarred by her relationship to her brilliant, brutal father. Clarissa, bedevilled with alcoholism, parties away her fortune in style, and then in wretchedness, and finds redemption, finally, in her love  of food. An amazing story.

Anthony Bourdain is the king of the art-punk (‘don’t touch my dick, don’t touch my knife’) chefs, and he practically reinvented the genre with his first book Kitchen Confidential: Adventures In  The Culinary Underbelly.

“So who the hell, exactly, are these guys, the boys and girls in the trenches? You might get the impression from the specifics of my less than stellar career that all line cooks are wacked-out moral degenerates, dope fiends, refugees, a thuggish assortment of drunks, sneak thieves, sluts and psychopaths. You wouldn’t be too far off base.

The business, as respected three-star chef Scott Bryan explains it, attracts ‘fringe elements’, people for whom something in their lives has gone terribly wrong. Maybe they didn’t make it through high school, maybe they’re running away from something-be it an ex-wife, a rotten family history, trouble with the law, a squalid Third World backwater with no opportunity for advancement. Or maybe, like me, they just like it here. ”

It’s a rocking ride.

Stephanie Alexander, writer of the kitchen staple ‘The Cooks Companion’ and latterly, creator of the Kitchen Garden program that is transforming schools all over Australia, is an Australian icon. In her memoir A Cooks Life she traces her journey from childhood in Melbourne, through her training in London and Paris and finally to Melbourne in the 70′s, when Australia’s restaurant culture came of age. This book is a story of Alexanders culinary triumphs, and the personal toll that her success exacted.

Blood Bones and Butter  by Gabrielle Hamilton is  one of my favourite chef’s memoirs. This evocative and beautifully drawn portrait takes the reader from the sudden ending of Hamilton’s wild, idyllic childhood, through her global wanderings and finally to her internationally acclaimed New York restaurant Prune. She ties the threads of her life story together so beautifully. It’s a wonderful tale, lyrically and honestly told.

A Suitcase and a Spatula was written by my friend Tori, who blogs here (and I interviewed here). In this book Tori takes the reader on a leisurely journey around the world with her as she cooks and eats at a series of wonderful places. It’s armchair-travelling at its finest!

Finally, My Life In France is my all-time favourite food memoir, by my favourite all-time foodie, Julia Child. I absolutely adore her warmth and eccentricity. She is like nobody else, and in this memoir she describes the year she spent in Paris with her new husband, where she first learned to cook. It’s the story of the two great loves of her life – French cooking and Paul – and Child  tells this love story with great humour and energy.  An absolutely delightful read.

To end this post, I’d love to share the last scene of Curb Your Enthusiasm Season 3, where Larry David tries desperately to cover up his chef’s Tourette’s Syndrome, at the opening night of his restaurant. Possibly the best restaurant scene in television history. (And highly unsafe for work!)

Bon appetit! Happy Mothers Day! And if you have any books about cooks to add to this list, leave them in the comments.

More Bookshelf posts:

Trying To Understand Terrorism

Man Vs Wild

A Sweet Look At Crazy Irish Catholics

5 Great Read-Along Chapter Books For Kids

Celebrity Memoirs – The Best, And The Best-Worst

Adventurous Women

 

 

 

The Agrarian Kitchen

Disclosure: I visited the Agrarian Kitchen as a guest of Rodney and Severine, but all opinions are my own.

Be prepared: visiting the  Agrarian Kitchen might involve a stabbing, painful case of the Life Envies. If you love kitchen gardens – this is the garden you would have in our dreams. If you love cookbooks – this is the cookbook collection you would have. And if you like to cook, this is the kitchen you would spend your days in.

Rodney Dunn and his wife Severine Demanet opened the Agrarian Kitchen eight years ago as a place for them to  create ‘paddock to plate’ cooking experiences. They found this farm (5 acres surrounding a 19th century schoolhouse) in the Lachlan Valley, 45 minutes outside Hobart in 2007. They then proceeded to renovate extensively (and acclimatise to the the biting Tasmanian winter) before forging ahead, newborn baby in tow, to open their cooking school in 2009.

‘During the first year of our operation, it was just the two of us’, says Rodney. ‘I would teach the class and Severine would wash up, in between caring for Tristan. She would put him down for a sleep in time to help serve the meal and pour the wine. If we were lucky he would sleep through until the end of class.’

That was then. Now, the Agrarian Kitchen is a bustling, beautiful garden paradise, and the cooking school has won international accolades.

When I visited recently, our day began with coffee and cake, chatting with our group of eight and admiring the cookbooks.

Oh my giddy aunts old donkey, the cookbooks. It’s an amazing collection. (Rivals my mothers, which is saying something.)

Next, we clambered into the house gumboots, gathered our baskets and went out for a roam around the garden, animal pens and smokehouse. Across their five acres, Rodney and Severine have created a vegetable and herb garden, berry patch, and orchard, all functioning around principles of sustainable practice. From the poly-tunnels to the smokehouse, it’s a living work of art.  Really beautiful.

We gathered ripe and seasonal provisions for our feast, and all the while, Rodney – charming, taking even our stupidest questions seriously –  explained their farming practice and pointed out interesting things in the garden. For instance, we stood chatting and tasting herbs for ages, while Rodney explained that purslane has the highest omega 3 of any herb – a great nutrition boost for salads – and chive plants made the loveliest (edible) purple dandelion-like flowers. Lemon balm mint has a lovely flavour ( and makes a nice tea) while lovage, an under-utilised garden hero can be used ‘like a stock cube’ according to Rodney.  Also, tomato plants love a tea made of beetroot leaves. From Rodney, to me, to you. You’re welcome!

We got up close and personal with Rodney’s goat. I was so excited to milk her, which felt, unexpectedly, like squeezing a hot, furry, water balloon, something I’ve had on my bucket list for quite some time. We collected enough milk to cook with, and to taste (fun fact:  fresh goats milk tastes like a very creamy cows milk. The ‘goatiness’ develops with age.)

Next, we headed into the kitchen, where a most glorious moment came for me (hallelujah! )when I found the stools tucked away under each perfectly stocked counter-space. I’d been stepping from foot to foot for a while like an high-strung pony and worrying about how to manage the next four hours on my feet. My back would never stand up to a commercial kitchen. Also, I’m pretty sure that Gordon Ramsey doesn’t bring you a coffee while you read through your cooking plan.

We all strapped on our aprons and grinned at each other across the long bench. Real life Masterchef! With coffee! And stools! I could not have been happier.

We split into pairs to work on each section of the menu, under Rodney’s guidance. Here’s our menu:

My team-buddy and I were put on the Wagyu beef dish, which featured the most glorious Cape Grim beef.

Pretty soon the kitchen was full of activity as we all chopped and diced and simmered. We made ricotta and ice-cream with our goats milk and learned to roll a pasta rotolo – sort of a roulade – in a clean tea-towel, rather than glad wrap. Rodney advised and taught. Tips from a chef! So much fun. Here’s one: little patty-pans make the perfect blind-baking-bean holders when making individual pies. Also, ‘never miss an opportunity to develop flavour, ‘ says Rodney. ‘Always cook your onions for ten or fifteen minutes to give them a chance to release the sugars. Have patience.’

After a couple of hours, our feast was ready to hit the table and we all sat down for a glass of wine and to taste our creations – which were delicious of course.  Ingredients fresh-collected from the garden and cooked by an enthusiastic team of eight. Plus, all that country air had worked us all up quite an appetite.

It’s so fun to be in the company of other food-lovers, learning a new skill and wandering through such an astonishing garden. Plus, it’s hard not be inspired spending time with somebody like Rodney, who, along with his wife, has imagined and executed his dream with such panache. If you are visiting Tasmania, the Agrarian Kitchen might well be the highlight of your trip.

More details of the Agrarian Kitchen

Buy Rodney’s (signed)  cookbook

Bon appetit!

Cooking With Kids: Overnight Bread

Are you familiar with the concept of no-knead bread? This method basically replaces the usual  kneading time with a very long prove on the kitchen counter. This way, the gluten develops through a long, slow fermentation and the bread develops a delicious flavour.

We’ve been making this bread for a few years now. It’s a lovely thing for the kids to do – they can mix it after school, leave it to prove overnight, and (if I’m on top of life and up early) we can have fresh bread for breakfast. Otherwise, lunch.

You can search the web for lots of no-knead bread recipes, but here is ours:  the simplest version of them all. You can throw this baby together in five minutes: the work to pleasure ratio of this recipe is very, very high. (Just mentally prepare yourself to spend a good five minutes scraping messy, sticky dough off the children’s fingers.)

  •  3 cups of flour, 1 3/4 tsp of salt and half a teaspoon of yeast. Use your fingers to spread the dry ingredients around the bowl, which helps to start the yeast activating. (We add a little LSA or kibble grain here too.) Then, add the water and mix until it just comes together into a sloppy ball.
  • Leave it overnight in a bowl covered in plastic wrap. We tend to make it after school, and bake it in the morning. Anywhere between 12 and 24 hours proving time is OK.
  • In the morning, take a cast iron pot (I use my Le Crueset here), and heat it, lid on, in the oven at 200 for twenty minutes.
  • Take the sloppy bread mix out of the bowl and drop it in a little flour on the counter. Flip it over and into your pot, and bake it in the oven (lid on) for half and hour, lid off for another fifteen minutes.

So easy, so rewarding. Smelly so good.

(You can share your creations too: post your bread to Ruth’s Instagram thread at #ggbreadrevolution )

Happy baking!

More cooking with kids: Greek yoghurt pannacotta with raspberry sauce, and toasted muesli. 

 

Week Ahead, I am Grabbing You By The Buttocks and Squeezing Gently.

This morning I showed the kids how hippies danced (Hair soundtrack, overly expressive Delta Goodrem/Kate Bush arms), and then Keith and I practiced playing Bob Dylan’s Forever Young in various styles (honky-tonk, blues, Christian-country and ‘Beaches soundtrack’).  After all that, we were not even late for school. Win!

After the drop off, I went to the gym( not my natural habitat) and I did not, repeat not,  hit myself in the face with the equipment like last week. Win! I went to Aldi,  stopped myself from buying a sous-vide machine (Aldi, you evil geniuses, you’re killing me) and basically worked out again trying to keep up with the athletic enthusiasm of the checkout girl.  Win!

At lunch, toasted sammies and a game of Uno with K and small Pudding. Tonight, potato gratin and roasted chicken drumsticks. This afternoon, banana blueberry cake snaffled from the school-lunch baking. Win, win, win, says my belly.

In general, I am practicing the art of not complaining. (So far, so good.)

My hope for you is that every morning this week begins as sweetly as it does for this pig eating a cookie.  Have a good one, comrades. That’s an order.

Kids in The Kitchen: Making Muesli

Muesli (or granola) is such a great thing to make with the kids. It’s all tipping stuff out of jars, mixing and measuring, getting hands sticky. Excellent fun. Hard to bugger up. And although the cleanup can be epic,   the payoff is delicious. A weeks worth of yummy whole-food satisfaction.

Here’s my recipe.

Ingredients

6 cups rolled oats

2 cups dessicated coconut

1 cup wheatgerm

1/2 cup LSA (linseed, soy, almond meal)

I cup chopped nuts (peanuts, walnuts, almonds)

1/2 cups raw cacao nibs

1/2 cup pepitas

1 cup of dried berries

!/2 cup chopped dried apricots

Really, it’s just about a bowl full of grain, nut and seed goodness. I just superboost that bad boy with whatever I have in the pantry (or can vacuum from the bottom of my handbag.)

Method

1. Preheat oven on low (160 degrees)

2. Get your little soux chef to mix all your dry ingredients together  in a great big bowl. (Do not look at the floor after they do this. It’s chaos. It’s a car crash. It’s the Costa Concordia. But it’s recoverable. )

2. For the syrup, take  1 cup of honey, half a cup of raw sugar, a quarter cup of coconut oil and a quarter cup of butter. Melt this gently over a low heat until deliciously dissolved.

3. Do this part yourself (it’s hot) : pour the syrup over the dry mix, and using a spoon first and then hands, squish the mixture until it forms a great big squidgy, sticky mess that has all been slightly coated with syrup.

4. Get a couple of big baking trays (you may need three), line with baking paper and press the mix down firmly to fill the tray right to the corners. This is a great job for little hands.

5. Bake the trays for ten minutes or so, until the tops of the mix are browning slightly. Let them cool on the countertop and then decant it all into a big container. Admire this with pride and satisfaction. DO NOT look at the mess on the floor until you’ve had a nice cup of tea and restored your energy.

6. Eat with pleasure (We like it with Greek yogurt, bananas and the inner glow of gastronomical smugness.)

7.  You had better deal with that floor now.

Also:  some tips from a granola expert (I like the idea of adding the fruit after toasting), Ruth from Gourmet Girlfriend  with her recipe for muesli bars, and more cooking with kids: greek yoghurt pannacotta with raspberry sauce.

Bon appetit!

x

 

Whipped Lemon Coconut Body Butter: A Five-Minute Tutorial

(Seven-year-old presents to you her dirty nails and afternoon pajamas and says ‘Hooray for school holidays!’)

Och aye, I’m tired of whinging.  Let me pull focus to something creative and lovely instead: a recipe for this beautiful, simple moisturiser.  I made a batch for all my sisters last Christmas, and since then,  have whipped up a new pot every month or two. It takes only minutes to pull together, and the final result is very pleasing. As in, your old bones might still hurt, but at least they smell nice.

1. Place about a cup of coconut oil (in solid state) in a mixmaster.

2. Add a teaspoon of pure Vitamin E (available at health food stores and pharmacists)

3. Add about ten drops of pure lemon essential oil (or whatever scent and mix you prefer.) Me, I love using lemon for everything.

4. Beat for about ten minutes, until mix is frothy and beautifully light.

5. Transfer to a jar. If you live in a very warm climate, you might want to keep this body butter in the fridge, but in most circumstances it’s fine in the cupboard. If you have a hot day and it reverts to liquid, just give it another good whipping. It  works nicely as a bath oil too.

Happy slapping!

ps - If you’re into home DIY, you  might like these other homesteady posts:

Home-made laundry detergent

Home-made lemon and vinegar surface spray

Cold-pressed zesty lemon soap

Sensing a lemony theme here? Maybe I should spread my wings a little…

 

 

Radio Silence

Ooh lordy.

The toilet fan keeps breaking down #composting dunny #stinkybusiness

The water pump keeps breaking down #sadface #sadanddirty

On Friday we had to choose between running water or our own poo-smell pervading every inch of the house #sophieschoice #wannacomeover?

On Sunday, Keith stumbled upon some sort of tick-nest from hell and had more than 100 ticks. #ouch #bumtickbum

My sinuses are sore and I’m just all tuckered out #surgery #facescrape #hotmess

My laptop has caught a virus and is in the electronics hospital waiting attention #longwait #comutersaysno

In short, #tinyviolins

 

Cooking With Kids: Greek Yoghurt Pannacota with Raspberry Sauce

After school, my kids can be a bit post-institutionalised. They need to wind down and de-stress, and one of the best ways I’ve found to direct that slightly sensitive energy is into cooking.

This pannacotta recipe is particularly suited to an after-school cooking session, because it needs a few hours in the fridge to cool. If you make it in the afternoon, it should set nicely by dessert. There’s also a good amount of measuring – always a good job for little soux chefs – and best of all, there should be a few delicious creamy spoons to lick while processing the events of the day.

This recipe is adapted from the beautiful blog Smitten Kitchen. Using Greek yoghurt adds a lovely lightness and tang to the classic pannacotta, and raspberry sauce amplifies the deliciousness.

Ingredients

4 tablespoons (60 ml) water
2 1/2 teaspoons gelatin
2 cups (460 grams) plain full-fat Greek yogurt
2 cups (475 ml) cream
1/4 cup sugar
Juice of half a lemon

Method

1. Place water in a small bowl. Stir in gelatin and set aside until the gelatin softens, about 15 minutes.

2. In a large bowl, whisk all of the yogurt and 1 cup of cream.

3. In a small saucepan, bring remaining  cream and sugar to a simmer and then stir in water-gelatin mixture (it will dissolve immediately) and remove from heat.

4. Whisk this mixture into the yogurt mixture, then stir in lemon juice at the end.

5. Pour the mix into whatever container you are using. I used martini glasses, but you could do it in oiled cups, ready to unmould,  or a larger cake pan. (The larger the container, the longer you will need to chill the pannacotta.) Use your imagination! This dessert would be lovely served in china tea-cups.

Raspberry Sauce

Simply and absolutely delicious, this recipe will make more raspberry sauce than you need. It will keep it in a jar in the fringe for at least a week, ready for use on ice-cream, in yogurt, stirred into cupcakes, or eaten late at night in front of the fridge with a spoon, Nigella-style.

Just place 500g frozen raspberries (or fresh, if you have them) on the stove over a low heat, with about 7 tablespoons sugar (check and add to your taste, but try not to over-sweeten), a quarter of a cup of  water, a pinch of salt and a squeeze of lemon. Stir until all is nicely melted together, and then blitz into a puree with a stick blender. Cool and refrigerate.

To Serve

After dinner, get your set pannacottas out of the fridge and serve with a generous dollop of sauce.

Scoff greedily, lick the bowl, and don’t forget to congratulate your little chefs.

Bon appetit!