Meat Free Part Three

there's nothing here for you, Lucy. Sorry.

There’s nothing for you here, Lucy. Sorry.

Meat Free Week is upon us again − and as usual, it’s taken me until the evening before this annual fundraising event launches to get my act together and commit myself. Thankfully, I live near a bloody amazing deli that is open seven days − MFC Supermarket, on Gardeners Road, Rosebery − which not only has a section filled with vats of different olives and other oily wonders, but all manner of curious convenience foods for slackers like me who spend more time faffing around on their smartphones or watching Dates on BBC First than being all artisanal and cultivating sourdough-frigging-starter. So for the next seven days, I’ll be racing home from work (not an easy feat when you live on Sydney’s slowest and least reliable bus route) to whip up something inventive and delicious from ingredients that, as far as I can ascertain, have never felt the pain, terror or depression of being ‘farmed’ in a cage smaller than those cookbooks above.

For a week at least, we can all live safe and happy in the knowledge that the only animal suffering in my household will be Lucy the chocolate lab, because no crumbs of flesh, whether beast, fish or fowl, will be dropping to the kitchen floor for her to hoover up.

This year, the challenge has been made a “little more interesting”, as they might say on MasterChef Pt 12 With a Vengeance or I’m a Nobody, Get Me Out of Here, when things have got so dull that even the contestants’ relatives aren’t watching, because Meat Free Week has gone global, or at least to the United Kingdom. Which means my oldest friend, Amanda, who lives in Bath, has signed up for the first time − and she can cook. Really cook, goddammit. She even told me last night that she just so happens to have vegetarian involtini ready to go in her freezer. I’m feeling quite faint already. I only have little cheese and spinach pies from the MFC freezer section in my freezer. And some broad beans.

Not that I’m competitive or anything (much) − but it is a matter of parochial pride that Australia, founder of this worthy initiative, should lead the field in both food fabulousness and money-raising ability.

So, I need your help, gentle readers, to keep my spirits up and the charitable coffers overflowing. I’ll be posting a daily pic of what I’ve cooked and/or something pertaining to meat-free matters over the course of the coming week on Instagram and Facebook, and you can show your appreciation (and the colour of your money) through my official fundraising page.

And thank you – on behalf of the animals – except Lucy.

 

Meat Free Week: a long dame’s journey into knight

Entitled rocket fit for a king

A brief post this evening, underlings, as there is much to be done still in the kingdom of Royal Botania before dusk’s murky shadows turn to inky night.

The household has been all of a flutter as we prepare ourselves to make haste to Parliament House to receive official recognition for our services to dog-ownership, skirting-board-cleaning and the growing of immaculate salad leaves.

While my liege, Lord Fox of the Silver Sideboards, anxiously watches a pre-recorded football match between the two Manchesters, United and City, in mortal fear for the fate of his beloved Chelsea, I am busying myself with the preparation of this evening’s repast. It will be a simple and not entirely meat-free affair: for he who must be obeyed, a nest of spaghetti, hand-extruded by vestal virgins and crowned lovingly by defrosted, reheated bolognese sauce; for me, his humble servant, and the soon-to-be Dame Sally, Holder of the Volkswagen Keys, a homemade mushroom ragout folded tenderly through same.

And to celebrate our good sense at living in The Fortuitous Country, we will cap off our feast by tossing together a right royal rocket salad with balsamic and olive oil, drinking deeply of a bold Australian red and throwing another asylum seeker on the fire.

Until next time – and may the farce be with you.

Meat Free Week: day one

Sunday night inspiration
– better than watching the news

So, last Sunday evening was spent in a flurry of recipe thumbing – heaven knows why, because it’s more than likely that, as usual, I’ll make things up as I go along. But the spirit was willing, and, even if I don’t follow all the recipes I’ve marked with little stickers, it kept me off the streets.

The first day has passed innocuously enough, despite the near-miss I had while preparing tonight’s dinner – Neil Perry’s Pasta with Simple Zucchini Sauce.

Anchovies – they’re seasoning for heaven’s sake; barely fish at all.

Happily, I managed to avert a crisis that could have been even more humiliating than the now-infamous Meat Free Week Tinned Tuna Incident of 2013, and make a Simple Zucchini Pasta Even Simpler. Winner.

All you need is some short pasta (call it vertically challenged, if you will), three large zucchinis, grated, a generous pinch of dried chilli flakes, three plumptious garlic cloves, olive oil and salt and black pepper. Squeeze the living daylights out of the grated zucchini to get rid of any excess moisture. At this point, if I were a health-juice kind of gal (which I’m not), I’d drink that green, foamy liquid and do a few dozen salutes to the sun (which I didn’t). Instead, I watered my aloe vera with it, musing as I did as to whether I was committing some sort of twisted vegetable cannibalism.

While you’re cooking the pasta in a large saucepan of boiling salted water, fry up (not ‘off’ – you’re not a bloody chef) the garlic and chilli in a couple of generous tablespoonfuls of olive oil for a 2 minutes, then throw in the zucchini and toss it all around for a couple more. Add the drained pasta and season well. Toss through a bit more olive oil and serve with liberal amounts (that’s small ‘l’ liberal, mind) of grated parmesan.

I reckon it would also be nice with some finely grated lemon zest tossed through it, but don’t tell Neil Perry I said so.

Finally – big thanks to Kerry W, Andrew M, Amanda K and ‘Someone’, for your very generous donations to my Meat Free Week campaign. If anyone reading this would like to do the same, just click on this link. Until next time.

Away with all flesh

Not a meat in sight

Once again, the time is almost nigh for Monetise This and her alter ego, Sally Feldman, to lay her omnivority on the line and launch into her second annual Meat Free Week (beginning next Monday, 24 March).

In this endeavour, I’m joining a host of far more able ambassadors, donation-gatherers, vegetarians, vegans, simpatico died-in-the-wool meat-eaters, environmental evangelistas, sustainability sisters and brothers, animal activists (the human kind, obviously; there aren’t any rabbits or beagles able to don balaclavas and harness the power of social media as yet, but, hey, I’m sure science’s finest are working on it) and the colon-concerned. Our aim – to boldly raise funds for, and awareness of, the unconscionable cruelty of factory farming, the short-sighted idiocy of unsustainable cultivation practices and the adverse health effects of excessive meat consumption (I’m talking to you, paleo nutbags).

Hello, Voiceless, Australian Conservation Foundation and Bowel Cancer Australia!

This week of meatlessness will be no laughing matter – especially now I have to commute on the infamous 310 bus to and from Surry Hills to earn a crust. Chopping up lots of stuff is far more irksome when you’re bus-lagged and buggered than chucking something hard to digest on the barbie or in a slow-cooker. It will, however, be a lot easier than my maiden week of meatlessness last year, which started badly due to my misapprehension as to the meat-free viability of tinned tuna. The shame. This year, no majestic creature of the deep – however unrecognisable once canned – will sully these lips. Promise.

In fact, since last year’s efforts (in which I managed to scrape together almost no sponsorship, thereby rendering myself not only chastened but broke) our household’s consumption of animal protein has pretty much halved. Not only Meat Free Mondays, my friends, but Wednesdays, Thursdays and more! This was due to our decision to cut down drastically for the betterment of our four-legged/wing-ed friends and as well as our own self-serving health concerns. My decision, actually – the silver fox goes along with it because it’s a choice of less meat or homelessness.

As some of my more patient blogthren will know, the salad, in all its wondrous configurations, is my most treasured food group, second only to cake, which I am far less equipped to construct without requiring therapy. I have photographed (shakily) and written recipes (snarkily) for some of these elsewhere on this site, and will doubtless plagiarise myself (and others, whom I promise to give due credit) to hell and back in the coming week.

Next week’s daily Instagram and Facebook updates will be illustrated predominantly by nude glamour shots of vegetables and fruits such as the one above, with the occasional legume and complex carbohydrate thrown in for extra raunch.

Rather than weary you with poorly rendered facsimiles of what those classy purveyors of food porn at The Food Dept do so much better, I’ve set myself the task of describing my travails instead. Unless something I cook happens to end up looking particularly edible.

All this, dear readers and prospective sponsors, in the cause of kindness, mindfulness and cleanliness (of the planetary kind) – plus, hopefully, money from you. My aim is to raise a pitiful $250 towards my chosen animal charity, Voiceless, and I’ll be damned grateful if you’d be kind enough to cough up some of your small change so that I don’t end up broke and chastened again this year.

To sponsor me (or anyone else taking part), follow the links at www.meatfreeweek.org.au where you’ll find me, hidden somewhere among luminaries such as Valli Little, of delicious., Simon Bryant, of Tasting Australia, and Maggie Beer, of pretty much everything else.

Spanakopita with a fringe on top

For now, though, here’s something I made earlier, for which I’ll rustle up a recipe and post next week. Kudos for the scrunchy, curly filo pastry lid goes to the indomitable food team of Kim Coverdale and Claire Brookman at Super Food Ideas, where I’m learning just what steeliness of character it takes to come up with a squillion recipes a month to feed a family in under 30 minutes and still be able to walk with a modicum of dignity in towering black patent court shoes. Respect.

Until Monday then – start fossicking down the back of the couch for a few coins – and may the fork be with you.