A Beach Too Far

One way I torture myself is by asking people about great places to eat even when I know said places are going to be geographically challenging. I mean, I'd love to go to Australia's Bondi Beach this winter, escaping the Bay Area cold rains for some Sydney sunshine, but it's not gonna happen. Yet Nigella made a little spot there called Sean's Panaroma sound so enticing I felt compelled to learn more about it.
To my great joy, I found chef-owner Sean Moran had written a cookbook called "let it simmer" -- a book filled with enticing recipes and photographs of food he describes as "Anglo-Italian...based on Australia's freshest seasonal produce."

I've only had the book a few days but I've already had one smashing culinary success from it: my version of Moran's "Good Chook, Roasted with Oregano." I used a plump organic chicken and substitued sarriette for the oregano, but stayed true to one essential ingredient: duck fat.
I'm not going to give you Moran's full recipe, partly because I think you should buy the book for yourself and partly because I do not love typing out long recipes, but if you just use this under-the-skin stuffing and your usual way of roasting a chicken you'll still have a very special dish.

Sean Moran's Orgasmically Good Roast Chicken Enhancer aka Damned Delicious Duck Fat
2 cloves garlic
2 generous handfuls oregano [Margin Note: fresh, of course. I substituted sarriette, aka summer savory, because my herb garden had lots of it and pitifully little oregano]
Salt
Freshly ground pepper
2 heaped tablespoons duck fat or butter [M.N.: forget that "or butter" bit; use the duck fat]

Peel the garlic cloves and pick oregano leaves, then grind to a smooth paste in a mortar and pestle with a generous pinch of salt and a few twists of pepper. Mix duck fat through paste.
With legs of the chook pointing towards you, slip your fingers under the breast skin to free it from the flesh, pushing carefully all the way down to the wing-bone joint on both sides, then slide seasoned fat under the skin, being careful not to puncture as you go.
Roast.
Let set a bit while the juices settle.
Carve and enjoy.

I found the next day's leftovers to be almost as wonderful as the just-from-the-oven meat.
And I still wish someone would whisk me off to Bondi Beach next November.

Sprouts Salad: Warm and Wonderful

Sublime Sprouts Salad

In the not too distant past I avoided brussels sprouts almost as assiduously as I did (and do) peas. Almost. And then, at a Christmas party six years ago, J cajoled me into trying this warm salad of shaved sprouts and pancetta. Twas bliss in a bowl.
I'm going to be very honest with you and admit that if you're making this for more than three or four people, the prep is a PITA, but I promise you on my love for Jeremy Irons, Kris Kristofferson and my border collies that the result is worth the work.
Oh, and if you aren't willing to search out duck fat, you'll never achieve the taste nirvana of this dish, although chicken fat probably would work *almost* as well. You need only two ingredients in addition to the sprouts and fowl fat: pancetta and white pepper. No salt: the pancetta does that duty.
This is one of those annoying no-quantities-specified recipes--you have to play around with it a bit to discover the proportions you like best, but as long as you apply a modicum of common sense, you're going to end up with a delicious result.
The basic method: fine-chopped panecetta is sauteed in a bit of duck fat until it is browned but not yet crisp and then a mound of shaved-as-thin-as-possible brussels sprouts is added to the pan, tossed just until wilted, seasoned with white pepper and then served promptly.
The PITA factor? You have to shave the little sons-of-cabbages on a mandoline or Japanese slicer to get truly thin strands and, god, it gets tedious after a while. But, no whining. The chef who gave me the recipe prepares it for the staff Christmas party each year and he told me on Sunday that he'd spent an hour and a half that morning slicing enough sprouts to satisfy a hundred people.