You've got the right puff, baby. Chocolate chocolate cookies on.

I sing to my cat Quincy all the time - and I don't know if that's weird, or what. My neighbour probably thinks that it is. But in all honesty, it's one of the things that brings joy to my day. I look at her little face and into her giant eyes and just sing to her, about her. All the time. And I don't really care if people think I'm mad. 

I'm know I'm not the only one who does this, anyway. Two of my closest friends sing to their cats too and I think being able to share that kind of madness is one of the reasons that I love them so much. And I really love that we each participate in this nutty act in our own way. One friend composes songs from scratch. The other makes her cat play along - guitar (or sometimes drums) with his little paws. And me? Well, I tend to rewrite the lyrics of songs I love to make them about Quincy. So it made me laugh very, very much when I received this in an email from a friend this week:

Yep, click on it. That's the artwork to my first album of Quincy covers. Isn't it beautiful? Isn't she beautiful? Or... lovely? I wanted to make something for the friend who sent it to me, so I looked (once again) to Good to the Grain for the answer. And I found it, in Kim Boyce's recipe for 'chocolate chocolate cookies'.

I feel a bit ashamed to say this, but chocolate isn't my favourite thing in the world. I mean, I really like it - and sure, sometimes I'm in the mood for a really good piece (or two). But no chocolate display makes me weak at the knees and (at the risk of Hannah never speaking to me again) I would never buy a packet of Tim Tams. I probably wouldn't even eat one if there was a packet open in the office. UnAustralian, I know. But these cookies! First of all, they're packed full of 70% cocoa dark chocolate; half is melted into the batter, half is chopped and stirred in. All is delicious. Secondly, the texture of the cookies is kicked up into a whole new level when you roll the sticky batter in cocoa nibs. Oh, CACAO NIBS (or however the hell you spell it). Bitter-sweet and fruity, they gently toast as the dough relaxes into a sexy sprawl in the heat of the oven, so that you end up with a crackly and shiny cookie, studded with these crunchy and ever-so-gently-squeaky little bits of cocoa bean. And finally - you might not be able to tell from looking at them - but these little darlings are made with spelt flour. After the addition of all that chocolate, you wouldn't think that'd mean much. But the nuttiness of this sweeter flour lingers beyond the intensity of the chocolate and helps to deliver a cookie with awesome might and complexity.

I think that bloke that did my album artwork liked them. I think you might, too. x

Chocolate chocolate cookies
Adapted from Good to the Grain, by Kim Boyce

I made two small changes to Boyce's recipe as it appears in her book. First, I made a half quantity of the dough, driven by the fear that I may never fit into my swimsuit again. Secondly, I made the cookies approximately half the size Boyce does (1 tablespoon of dough, rather than 2), because I like smaller cookies. I've adjusted quantities and baking times here accordingly. But you really, really should get this book. 

115g unsalted butter
240g dark chocolate (preferably 70% cocoa), roughly chopped
2 eggs
1 cup sugar, rounded (a real full cup!)
1 cup spelt flour
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp kosher salt (or a tiny bit less of flaked sea salt)
1/2 cup cocao nibs

1. Melt the butter and chocolate together in a bowl over simmering water, or in the microwave. Stir to thoroughly combine.

2. Combine the eggs and the sugar and beat with an electric mixture for around 3 minutes, or until pale and creamy. With the beater still running, slowly add the warm chocolate until thoroughly combined.

3. Sift the spelt flour, baking powder and salt. Add to the chocolate mixture and gently mix until all ingredients are combined. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and chill for at least 2 hours.

4. 15 minutes before you're ready to bake the cookies, turn your oven on and set to 180C/350F. Line a baking tray with non-stick baking paper. Use a tablespoon to scoop rounded quantities of the dough, pressing the top of each ball into the cocoa nibs before placing on the tray. Ensure there's enough room for the cookies to spread; I fit about 8 cookies on each tray.

5. Cook for for 15 minutes, or until cookies have spread and the edges have firmed. They'll still be soft in the middle, but that's a-ok! Shift them, paper and all, onto a cooling rack. Repeat until you have as many cookies as you want. Or keep the dough in the fridge for up to 3 days.

olive oil, chocolate and rosemary cake

If you read lots of food blogs, you might think that the last thing the world needs is another glowing review of Kim Boyce's book, Good to the Grain. But I'm afraid I'd have to disagree with you.

I've had this book for a little while now and had, until a couple of weeks ago, only made the now-famous whole wheat choc chip cookies. I didn't tell you about them because it seemed that everyone else was telling you about them. But holy heavens, if you haven't made them yet, jump to it: they are good. They've come to be known in these here parts as the cookies by neighbours, friends and family. Can you see why?

But just the other week I realised my fridge had been overtaken by carrots. Does that ever happen to you? I remembered a spelt flour and carrot muffin I'd seen in the book, so got to work one evening preparing all the ingredients so I could whip up the muffins before work in the morning. And holy moly, they were incredible. Moist, wholesome and sweetened not just by the combination of brown and white sugars but by the grated carrots and the spelt flour too. They're topped with an oat bran-fortified streusel topping, which turns them into a textural delight. See?

After the success of these muffins, I decided I really need to bunker down and get cooking. Well, baking, more specifically. I need make everything in this book, ASAP. But then I realised that if I really jumped into the task with the gusto I'd summoned après muffin, it wouldn't be long before I found my velour leisure suit becoming uncomfortably snug (yep, velour). So I decided that I'd let myself make a treat a week from this gorgeous selection - and that I'd give at least half of what I made away.

So this week I made Kim's olive oil, chocolate and rosemary cake. And oh... yes baby. Most people think they've misheard when you first say 'rosemary' followed by the word 'cake'. Unless they're Italian. Rosemary is one of the key ingredients in castagnaccio, the Tuscan chestnut flour cake that also contains raisins and pine nuts. I've been eating the castagnaccio made by Lisa Costa at Coffea Torrefazione Bottega pretty much for years now (and yes - she still makes it, so go try a slice!), so I jumped to try a cake recipe that included both rosemary and chocolate. 

Boyce is right when she writes of the magic that happens between the oil, the smoky chocolate and the pungent herb; the flavours of each are heightened, complemented and yet balanced by each other. It's pretty spectacular. The mix of white and spelt flour generates a toothsome crumb, soft but robust enough to suspend the broken shards of dark chocolate that are scattered through the batter. It is one of the most exciting cakes I've had in a long time: beautiful with coffee in the afternoon, but elegant and surprising enough to be part of a casual dinner. 

As you'll see below, it's also a sublimely quick and easy cake to whip up. Of course you don't have to use a tart pan, but there's a certain genius in the idea: the olive oil in the batter means that the edges of the cake make love to the corrugated edges of the pan while it's in the oven, resulting in the most deliciously crispy and fragrant crust. Dirty, but deliciously true, my friends. 

Olive oil, chocolate and rosemary cake

oil for the cake pan

3/4 cup spelt flour

1 1/2 cups plain flour

3/4 cup sugar

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

3/4 tsp kosher salt, or 2/3 tsp flaked sea salt (like Maldon)

3 eggs

1 cup olive oil

3/4 cup milk

1 1/2 tblsp fresh rosemary, finely chopped

140g dark chocolate, chopped roughly (Boyce says 1/2-inch pieces)

1. Preheat the oven to 350F/180C. With a pastry brush or paper towel, grease the pan with olive oil. 

2. Sift the flours, sugar, baking powder and salt into a large bowl. 

3. In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs until combined, then add the oil, milk and rosemary. Whisk again until all ingredients are well combined. 

4. Add the wet ingredients to the dry and mix in gently with a wooden spoon or rubber spatula until well combined. Fold in the chocolate and pour the batter into the prepared pan. 

5. Bake for around 40 minutes, or until the edges are deep golden and a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean (Do check at 35 minutes, as my oven seemed faster and the cake was done a little earlier).

Poultry, green vegetables, and rest: readings from The Physiology of Taste

A dear friend of mine recently gave me a copy of Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin's The Physiology of Taste. The book is a strange and brilliant collection of musings, philosophies, recipes and experiences that was first published in Paris in 1825. I dunno - I thought maybe you'd like to read some? And I thought you might like some film stills from Jaromil Jires's extraordinary film from 1970, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders. One has nothing to do with the other, except in my head. Sorry friends, that's about all I've got to give at the moment.


25. On Exhaustion

119. Introduction

By exhaustion we mean a state of weakness, languor, and prostration brought about by antecedent circumstances, and impending the exercise of the vital functions. If we except the exhaustion caused by deprivation of food, we may count three distinct types:
    Exhaustion caused by muscular fatigue, exhaustion caused by mental effort, and exhaustion caused by amorous excess.
    A remedy common to the three types of exhaustion is the immediate cessation of the acts responsible for this condition, which, if not actually a disease, is at least very close to one.

120. Treatment

After this indispensable introduction, we find gastronomy at hand, ever ready and resourceful.
    To the man worn out by the protracted exercise of his muscular strength, it offers good soup, generous wines, cooked meat, and sleep.
    To the scholar who has allowed himself to be carried away by the charms of his subject, it offers exercise in the open air to refresh his brain, baths to loosen his aching fibres, poultry, green vegetables, and rest....

20. On the Influence of Diet on Rest, Sleep, and Dreams

94. Introduction

Let a man rest or sleep or dream; he still remains subject to the laws of nourishment, and does not leave the empire of gastronomy.
    Theory and experience are united in proving that the quality and quantity of food consumed exerts a powerful influence on work, rest, sleep, and dreams.

95. Effect of Diet on Work

The ill-nourished man cannot stand up for long to the strain of continuous toil; his body sweats all over, his strength soon abandons him, and for him rest is nothing but the impossibility of action.
    If his work is of the mental variety, his ideas lack vigour and precision; reflection fails to knit them together, and judgement to analyse them; his brain is soon worn out with vain endeavour, and he falls asleep on the field of battle.
    I have always thought that the famous suppers at Auteuil, like those at the houses of Rambouillet and Soissons, did a great deal of good to the authors of the time of Louis XIV; and the cynic Geoffroy (if the fact were true) could not have been far wrong when he taunted the poets of the late eighteenth century with the sugar-and-water he believed to be their favourite drink.
    Following up this theory, I examined the works of certain authors known to have lived in poverty and distress; and sure enough I found no force in them, except when they were obviously stirred by consciousness of their woes, or an envy which was often none too well disguised.
    He, on the contrary, who eats well, and repairs his losses with prudence and discretion, is capable of performing almost incredible feats...
    ...Brown mentions an English Admiralty clerk who, having accidentally lost certain documents which he alone was qualified to work on, spent fifty-two hours on end rewriting them. He could never have survived such an enormous loss of energy without a special diet: first on water, then light food, then wine, then beef tea and finally opium...

98. Conclusion

The man who has reflected on his physical existence and conducts it according to the principles we are laying down, prepares his rest, his sleep, and his dreams carefully and wisely.
    He shares out his work so as to avoid exhaustion; he lightens it by varying it carefully; and he refreshes his faculties by short intervals of rest, which relieve them without destroying that continuity which is sometimes essential.
    If, in the day-time, he needs a longer rest, he never yields to is except in the sitting position; he spurns sleep, unless it comes upon him irresistibly, and above all he avoids making a habit of it.
    When night brings the hour of diurnal rest, he retires to a well-ventilated room, takes care not to surround himself with curtains which would force him to breathe the same air a hundred times over, and avoids closing the shutters, so that whenever his eyes open, they may be soothed by whatever light lingers on.
    He stretches himself out on a bed slightly raised at the head; his pillow is stuffed with horsehair; his night-cap is made of linen; his chest is not weighed down with blankets, but he is careful to keep his feet warmly covered.
    He has eaten wisely, though refusing neither good nor excellent cheer; he has drunk the best wines, and albeit cautiously, even the most famous. At dessert his talk has been gallant rather than political, and he has made more madrigals than epigrams; he has drunk a cup of coffee, if it agrees with his constitution, and accepted a few moments later a spoonful of excellent liqueur, simply to sweeten his mouth. In all things he has shown himself a charming guest, a distinguished connoisseur; and yet he has only barely exceeded the limits of necessity.
    Under these circumstances he goes to bed content with himself and the rest of the world; his eyes close; he passes through the twilight zone, and then falls fast asleep for a few hours.
    Soon nature has levied her tribute, and his losses are repaired by assimilation. Then sweet dreams provide him with a mysterious existence; he sees those he loves, resumes his favourite occupations, and is wafted to those places where he has known happiness.
    At last, he feels sleep gradually dispelled, and returns to social life with no reason to regret wasted time, because even in sleep he has enjoyed activity without fatigue and pleasure unalloyed.

*These excerpts are taken from Anne Drayton's 1970 translation from the French, published by Penguin.