Sacre bleu! Nutella-and-crepe stack

Today's terrine is a slight departure from the cheese-and-grain-terrines of late. In fact, it's a more-ish departure, a stackable terrine of crepe and nutella. Mr Reynaud is very fast and loose with the term terrine and I love him for this. If you can stack a food, apparently you can call it a terrine.


Anyone who has ever had one of these fine creations in Europe will remember their first time. Like possibly thousands before me, I had my first nutella crepe at a stand just outside the Basilique du Sacre-Couer, atop Montmartre in Paris. It was a cold, wet, afternoon and I was recreating my own Amelie fantasy. But the carousel was empty, people were few and far between and there were absolutely no gnomes on holiday.

I'm pretty sure I had one in every European stop, perhaps with variations on a theme. In particular, I'll never forget the first nutella waffle I had in Brussels, with my new-found Belgian family, the Govaerts. I think I had several in Bruges, too. And on it goes.


This morning, we had a visiting coterie of cousins, aunties and uncles on their way to the airport to drop my cousin who's off to work at the Melbourne Flower show. The plan to create a nutella-crepe stack was well-received, if not with a little trepidation and the sheer volume of nutella used. You will need a large stack of crepes for this recipe, and a large jar of nutella. I'm not sure how I managed to get to this age without ever having made a crepe in my life, but I suppose there's a first time for everything.  My first crepe was a pancake, and the mixture definitely needed to be thinned out. I made a stack of around 12 crepes, then it was time to assemble the beast:

Layer the nutella between the crepes, and when you cut the first slice, you should have something like this:

And once everyone has demolished it, it looks a little like this:

People were bursting at the gills after this terrine, and I feel it would make a fantastic dessert on its own - or elegant snack post-slumber-party. You'll need a ton of people to finish this off. I have just delivered a fair whack of this terrine over to the neighbours' (both of them eminent psychologists), and in return I'll be getting help with my next psychology assignment. Bon appetit!


PS a special thanks to Helen over at grabyourfork, who writes one of my fave Sydney food blogs, recommending a feast of food (often) off the beaten review track. She's linked cinquante-deux terrines to her blogroll. Cheers, Helen! 

Paradise found - the tropical terrine

I have long been fascinated by the tropics, a cross I bear from my mother's side of the family, despite her side descending from good Northern Hemisphere, cold-clime, hardy Ukrainan-Finnish-Scottish-Welsh stock. Perhaps somewhere crossed with my Middle-Eastern paternal side and my own Australian lifestyle, my mind has been snagged somewhere on the equator. More likely, it was all those episodes of Magnum PI.


Fulfilling this tropical dream led to a stint living in Honolulu and chasing the life aquatic last year, an idyllic  time filled with daily swims on Waikiki, living two blocks from the beach, regular mai tais, and runs around a volcanic headland instead of on a treadmill. It was a slice of heavenly life in the Hawaiian Isles, and has probably tainted me for life.


And so I have been promising to make a tropical terrine for some time now, probably something far too sophisticated to ever appear on a Hawaiian plate itself. French cooking really hasn't penetrated the Hawaiian Islands. Not much sophistication has.


Utilising the last of the tropical fruits for the summer season led to a quest for the last mango, last pineapple and a rather paltry-looking kiwifruit. Choose your own selection of summer fruits:

The binding gelatine concoction needs to have at least three leaves of gelatine (I used four and it still didn't set), and a flavoured schnapps. Luckily we had some apple schnapps on hand from last year's Tour de France watch-a-thon in which we attempted to match food and wine to the regions of each tour stage (yes, it was a little ambitious). It's quite possible that I put too much schnapps in, but a multitude of reasons could have explained why the final terrine didn't set:
1) the recipe called for four hours set aside to set - I had it in the fridge for exactly four and it probably needed more;
2) we had incredibly humid and wet weather - perhaps there is some scientific reason as to why it didn't set? Scientific friends, feel free to post reasons why...;
3) I possibly used too much schnapps.


I went to a lovely dinner with food prepared by friends who are excellent cooks and I was a little destroyed that I didn't have the terrine to whip out (and it had been especially requested! What a blow.). What I served was thus:

It was fancy fruit salad and ice cream, sadly. Still, there is time to re-try this terrine later in the year when I have probably mastered the art of terrine-making.

And yes, my friends' kitchen in their Surry Hills terrace is this gorgeous. And they live right near Bourke St Bakery, too. I have had the pleasure of house-sitting this lovely pad, and their precious little bundle, Zoe:

Zoe is a delight, and far and away better-behaved than Hank.

Good roughage - quinoa, tomato and green olive terrine

Growing up, my mother always had a saying for those foods we never really liked, but she insisted we eat. For instance, I could never brook argument with her over untoasted muesli, bulgur wheat (I'm Armenian - and this equates to sacrilege), chewable vitamins, and bran of any description. 


Mum called it good roughage.


Not that we ate roughage on a regular basis, but I was never allowed to leave these things on my plate. So who knew that at age 32, my palate has morphed so dramatically to be so sophisticated as to crave roughage? My new favourite form of the good stuff is quinoa. I've bored friends senseless about it, argued over its pronunciation (my Chilean friend confirms it's pronounced just as it's spelled...the foodie magazines say otherwise - I say, get a Spanish-speaking friend). All you need to know: it's crunchy, it's a superfood, and best of all - great in terrines. My mate Stephane has a lovely recipe which contains quinoa, which is quite easy to make and a lovely accompaniment to a simple summer meal. I used black quinoa and you lightly fry this up for a few minutes with some softened chopped shallots, until the grains are coated in olive oil.

Then cover this with water, bring to the boil and gently simmer for about fifteen minutes, or until the quinoa is cooked. When ready, it should be slightly crunchy. In another pan, simmer some veggie stock and a dash of white wine. Then add three gelatin sheets, which should be pre-softened in water. I think I've finally got the hang of these things:

Whisk the wine/stock/gelatin mixture briskly, bringing to the boil before removing from heat. In your terrine dish, layer some peeled tomatoes (tinned are fine), sliced green olives and the quinoa at regular intervals. Then pour the mixture over the top, set aside to cool and refrigerate.

You don't need large amounts of any of these ingredients, and I believe that you can add just about any layer of vegetable that you like. The original recipe calls for preserved lemon, but I'm not a fan, so I omitted it. The recipe recommends a setting period of 24 hours in the fridge, but a small version I made of this terrine was ready in a couple of hours. 

Here is the finished product! It has a lovely tang, and is quite refreshing with snags and salad. 

What was your version of good roughage?