Crème Egg Easter Brownies

Good Friday dawned last week and the walk to work was eerily quiet. Unsurprising given that it is a public holiday so most people were lazing in at home, hot cross buns and breakfast in bed, or whatever you do when nothing's open and you don't have to go to work. Our office doesn't observe any holidays apart from Christmas Day, which means we get about 10 extra days off each year instead - quite handy to take whenever, but sucks at the time with everyone's Facebook going all "checked in at Gatwick,  woohoo off to the sun". I can't say that Friday was my most productive day of the year, given the distraction in the form of hot cross buns, chocolate and some rather amazing crème egg brownies that one of the girls had brought in.

Managed to hide brownie for about half an hour in my stationary drawer..

I had planned on bringing some in also, but..ended up at the pub for 'half an hour' (multiply by about 7), on Thursday night so it didn't happen. We'd seen these all over the internet last year while in Morzine, and had been keen to make them, but couldn't get our hands on crème eggs out in France at the time. Petra was coming for brunch on Sunday so I made a coeliac-friendly version that were a total success. Very easy and obviously outrageously decadent. I haven't tried the recipe minus the crème eggs but should give it a go for plain brownies as it has a lot less sugar and 1-2 less eggs than my go-to Pandoro recipe, with great results.

Before

After

Recipe (from the internet, adapted from 'Isaac Gluten' blog)

185g butter

185g dark chocolate (2 x 100g blocks - eat a square and chop the rest)

3 eggs

275g sugar (about 1 1/4 cups)

85g ground almonds (I take a tablespoon out to top yogurt or something, then use the rest of a 100g packet)

40g cocoa powder (about 6 tablespoons)

6 crème eggs, cut in half length wise

 

1. Melt the butter and chocolate together, in a bowl over simmering water, or the microwave, or saucepan.

2. Beat the eggs and sugar together til thick and creamy. I used my new amazing food processor, basically because we don't have any large bowls at the moment. Blitzing resulted in a super thick, pale mix which created a lot of volume.

3. Pour the butter/chocolate in and mix (spoon rather than motor running).

4. Stir in the almonds and cocoa powder until everything is mixed and smooth.

5. Pour into a lined tin.

6. Place the crème egg halves, sunny side up, evenly atop the batter.

7. Bake at 170/gas 4, for about 40 minutes, or until firm to the touch but definitely erring on the side of under-done. Warning, be careful with time and temperature when using almonds rather than regular flour.

8. Cut into squares when cool.

 

Very yummy, lazy Easter spent watching episodes of HBO series Girls and drinking tea like a rebel.

Emma, Sarah, Barcelona

“What are you doing next weekend?”

“Ummm well I am in Iceland this weekend…”

“Come to Barcelona, I will be there for a conference”

“Ok”.

Having thought that I wasn’t that crazy for Barcelona, I went twice recently in as many months for spontaneous reunions – and had a ball.

The above conversation represents an approximation of the brief dialogue between oldest bestest Emma in Sydney, and me in London back in November. Having had a great time in Shanghai together a couple of years prior, a sub-48-hours in Barcelona was always going to be a winner. Our apartment in the Born area of Barcelona was another winner (with the advent of Airbnb et al, I may never stay in a hostel in Europe again). As per usual, I did no research, but Em was armed with a few recommendations including a nearby street of classy wine bars and restaurants, Carrer de la Fusina. I landed Friday night and by about 9pm we had sat ourselves up at the bar at Llamber, and were immediately impressed/surprised by how refreshingly friendly and welcoming the staff were, chatting away in English and recommending all sorts to us. The wines were delicious and outrageously good value for some good drops (3ish euro a glass) in such a trendy setting. Emma’s delight in particular set off warning bell reminders of exactly how expensive a wine might be back in the Antipodes.  We had at least 2 years to catch up on, during which time we nibbled away on croquettes, grilled veges, Iberico jamon, bread.. then angelically took ourselves back home across the market square, via an icecream-espresso pudding stop. The locals were really only just getting started!

We simply couldn't have slept without choc-nut coated waffle cone gelato, and espresso before bed

With only one whole day there, we rose early in Saturday to a gorgeous, sunny day. First stop was Sagrada Familia – the eternally unfinished cathedral - via coffees, then on to some Gaudi architecture stops and a few shops.

Early morning rooftop

Coffee #1 in a typical Spanish bar

Coffee #2

That famous cathedral

Handsome guy strolling, pretty nonplussed about Gaudi's church

Sagrada Familia - a UNESCO world heritage site, despite being unfinished

Saturday shoppers and more architecture by Gaudi

Caravelle had been suggested to me by London Aussie JB, whose cousin owns/runs the show - a great little café in the centre of Barcelona . Conveniently located at the end of our morning walking loop, and tucked away from the hordes of tourists on Las Ramblas, we sought our first sit-down refuge. Full of cool, laid back people, kids, and dogs, definitely a great place for a flat white (cheeky mimosa for moi), and lunch bite numero uno. The menu was a tasty mix of Spanish / café style, and we waited patiently a few minutes for the clock tick around to 1pm when the lunch options come available. We opted for a pork sandwich with a bunch of very tempting fillings - can't remember its official name. What was presented to us was an absolutely delicious hunk of sourdough bread, filled with pulled pork, salsa, corn, coriander, a chilli kick, coleslaw.. a cross between a really amazing taco and a Vietnamese/Laos sandwich – probably the chilli made me think of Asia, though we're obviously miles away from the Mekong. Absolutely delicious, and huge!

A fine selection at Caravelle

The pulled pork number at Caravelle

After introductions and chats, and armed with local recommendations of some gems for the evening, we made a move to the nearby Boqueria food market, for a compulsory stroll and a cornet of jamon and queso (that's shaved, cured Spanish ham, and cheese, to the monolingual).

A couple of hours later, it was time to head home for a refresh/cuppa and we were back out again in no time, hitting up Caravelle recommendation, and perhaps my favourite spot of the trip, El Xampanyet. A small skinny tavern/bar rammed with people sipping cava from champagne saucers, this was clearly a favourite of the neighbourhood, and rightly so. The owner quickly cleared us a perching spot and took care of bringing out olives, fresh anchovies and Catalan tomato bread for us, from the tiny little home-style kitchen tucked in a cupboard at the back of the tavern. We ended up back there several hours later in the evening, where the atmosphere and buzz were electric again, after its early-evening shutdown break. At that point, a Swedish couple bought a bottle of cava for us to share with them to apologise for knocking our drinks all over the table.

Packed

Door rolling down for early evening breather between sessions

By this point, map reading skills were slightly impaired but we found the highly anticipated Can Paixano (La Xampanyeria), without going round in circles too many times. A variety of cavas were available for about 6euro a bottle, and with each you had to buy a tapa choice (so ‘responsible’ of the bar to insist on blotting paper). This was another place that would easily be mistaken for a garage from the street, standing room only, with a sizzling grill and staff guys having to shout across the din to get your orders. So much atmosphere! Although everyone seemed to be eating rolls filled with meats, we stuck with little tapas plates, the Morcilla (Spanish black pudding) being the winner. The morcilla would have also been a good option the next morning!

La Xampanyeria

Morcilla and croquetas

Unsuspecting hole in the wall

Into the evening and the night, we hopped throughout the neighbourhood, sampling more than our fair share of delicious local food, speaking the odd bit of Spanish and trying to engage with locals.

 Things were certainly pretty dusty on Sunday morning. However I insisted on a walk to the beach before we got our respective planes, the beach being a novelty for the Londoner that the Sydney-sider probably didn’t need.

Rather large churro, Barceloneta

In any case, the sea-breeze, sandwiches and chips probably had a marginally positive impact on our wary constitutions, and Emma needed to tick off having a churro in Spain before we jumped in her Emirates chauffeur car (amazing), to head to the airport.

A wonderful weekend that more than proved the value of quality time over quantity of time.

How I got home: EasyJet from the city's most boring terminal

How Em got home to Sydney: Leisurely 1st class upgrade

I opened the dutyfree chocolate purchased for the London flatties to snack on the plane.
Meanwhile, much higher up in the air. Emma gets her own salt and pepper grinders.
She wins. 

Iceland is Green and Greenland is Ice (apparently)

Iceland seems to be one of those mystical places that you know about, without really knowing anything much about it at all. As an exchange student ten years ago, I spent a weekend in Vieux Boucau on the French Atlantic coast with a bunch of friends, including an Icelandic girl. I can't remember her name, but she had the Nordic blonde hair and blue eyes and was really down to earth and fun. Fast forward a couple of years, and Sigur Ros became all the rage, showing up on 'mix' CDs and playlists put together by friends. They are an Icelandic band from Reykjavik who I have probably not listened to since about 2007.

18 year old me with Swedish (pink) and Icelandic (white) friends

I guess I forgot about Iceland for a while, you don't meet a lot of Icelandic folks in New Zealand and our countries are probably about as far apart as you can get geographically. More recently however, friends and acquaintances started going there on holidays, the economy completely crashed and a volcano erupted, causing an ash cloud that held flights up all across Northern Europe at Christmas time. Iceland became accessibly or at least familiar-ly foreign.

About a month ago, I finally went there to see Iceland for myself. Much like Lisbon earlier, a long weekend in Reykjavik was a panicked booking when I thought my English number might be up, and Joan and George mentioned they were all going there for a long November weekend. Yet again, I did little other than book the flights and Google a token restaurant recommendation after Jess mentioned 'the one at number 1 on Trip Advisor is great'.

When we boarded the purple plane, the air hostesses excitedly informed the flight about the FIFA qualifier happening as we flew, with Iceland playing Croatia on home turf for a place in the World Cup. Then about half an hour before landing, the crew told everyone that they would switch the lights off and suggested we find a spot to squint at the Northern Lights out the right side of the plane. Magical. It was clear pretty early that Icelandic people are friendly and welcoming and proud of their tiny, beautiful country. Not surprising to later learn that the population is a mere 300,000 or so. It was snowing outside when we arrived, we stuffed our wallets with thousands of krona and went to pick up the car to drive from Keflavik into Reykjavik to the apartment.

Having overlooked the fact that the sun would rise late, it was about 11am by the time we woke up on Saturday. A quick hustle and trip to the bakery and we were on the road for the day 1 road trip. Public transport is great, but there is nothing like the freedom of a road trip. Especially with a pre-planned play list featuring everybody's new number one fave song about animals. What DOES the fox say?! A one hit wonder for those Norwegians, surely.

Marty with co-pilots Joan and TomTom, guiding us up to the Golden Circle

We ooohed and ahhhed our way around the Golden Circle, braving the cold to check out waterfalls and geysers and allowing blasts of air in through the window as we snapped happily away with our cameras dangling out the windows of the Qashqai. It was pretty chilly. Parts of the drive were a bit hairy as the weather really closed in on our way home so we were very glad to have upgraded to a four wheel drive.

Gullfoss waterfall

What it would look like if it snowed at the geysers in Rotorua, NZ

We had an early booking for dinner at Fredrik V. It was our first Icelandic 'proper meal' and therefore first introduction to the value Iceland places in sourcing local produce, and indeed to how much variety there is there, in spite of the whole place feeling like a frozen planet. Fredrik takes local sourcing to the extreme, with everything except the Spanish peppercorns being from Iceland. I loved the concept of a surprise set menu, you just turn up, decide on 3 or 5 courses, with/out beer or wine matchings, and you get whatever is on the menu that night. We went with 3 courses, and our delightful waitress explained every course and ingredient in great detail as each one was brought out. There was even a little map of Iceland on the table to point out where each main component came from, and she explained how things were grown - Iceland seems to be quite clever with using energy to grow things in spite of the cold, and they even grow bananas! It was clear how much love and attention went into each dish and it all tasted exquisite. The highlight for me was actually the second amuse-bouche: an espresso cup of creamy wild mushroom soup served in between the trout entrée and lamb main course. Simply heavenly and a definite contender if I had to pick my last supper. 

Fridrik himself (magazine from Waterstones)

 

From dinner, we went home to put tights on under jeans and basically wear all the clothes we'd brought with us before getting picked up to go on a Northern Lights tour. Long story short, we were driven around in a bus for 5 hours in the dark and didn't see anything. Had hot cocoa from a thermos and a dry doughnut in a snowy coach park, then returned home circa 2am.

Sunday came and we had planned on doing a 9 hour road trip to see some glaciers. I've seen photos and they look beautiful. However despite Marty being a very safe driver, we vetoed this plan given the snowy conditions, especially as we accidentally didn't wake up until half way through the day again, pushing our timings out quite considerably. Everyone had heard mixed reports about riding Icelandic Horses, one of the 'things to do in Iceland', but we decided we could do micro-breweries anywhere (the other option - for next time) and signed up for the horses.

Looking out to sea off a side street in central Reykjavik

Reykjavik Cathedral up to the right

After breakfast and a wander, we were picked up and driven to the riding centre, where we donned ski/sky-dive style onesies and were given a rather long introduction about the horses. I might have been the only one to find this genuinely pretty interesting, and Inga  the guide was certainly a passionate lady. The horses are a unique breed, aptly described in a magazine I bought as "hardy work horses, with the personality of a puppy". When you consider the geography and isolation of Iceland, it is no wonder that the Icelandic people would not have survived if it was not for their horses, stocky little animals brought across the North Atlantic by Norse settlers. The Icelandic Horse is the only breed of horse in the country and is so protected that once an Icelandic Horse leaves Iceland, it is never allowed back in. It was love at first sight when I was introduced to Somi! Since a picture tells a thousand words, I will simply say that what started out as a lovely sunset ride very quickly became a trek through a blizzard. An adventure, to say the least.

Sunset/ serenity team pic

Horizontal shards of blizzard (me laughing my head off)

Our evening meal was at another highly regarded restaurant that everyone seems to talk about in Reykjavik, The Grill Market (or Grillmarkadurinn, in Icelandic). Probably one of our best decisions of the weekend was opting for the tasting menu for 5, which went down great with a couple of bottles of red. Whale and puffin sliders as one of 4 entrées were a bit controversial for us, so these were swapped out for some epic beef skewers, following a calamari/salt fish combo, duck salad, and pork ribs. We were then served 3 mains (salmon, lamb, beef) and a rather outrageous dessert tasting extravaganza. I loved the way everything was presented in the middle of the table with the perfect amount for 5 people. No pesky how-do-you-divide-4-ribs-by-5 situations here! We toasted the excellence of the weekend, and the recent engagement of Joan and Marty.

Small subset of Grill Market tasting menu

To no real avail, the Northern Lights were again attempted after dinner, since we loved that 5 hour bus trip so much. Joan at least got to try out a new setting on her great new camera.

 

With an afternoon flight back to London booked, we got up at a 'normal' time on Monday morning. 8.30am looked like midnight. by 9.30, on our way to breakfast, nothing had changed and we got to Laundromat Café in the dark. I grumble like most Londoners about the darkness and shortness of the days, but Iceland daylight hours (lack of) is next level. The sun pretty much rises and sets at the same time. Monday eventually dawned a beautiful clear day for taking some city scenery pictures and heading onwards to the Blue Lagoon thermal pools, en route for the airport.

Any café with an enormous map on the wall gets brownie points from moi
Laundromat

Shipping container bikepark



Harpa concert hall, on the edge of the sea

View from waterfront downtown Reykjavik

Accidental photography skills on the way to the Blue Lagoon

Testing out the free mudmasks at the thermal pools

Snow machinery and twilight waiting for our 3pm flight

Suffice to say, an amazing 3 days, great people, food and a beautiful country. Will be going back. Can't give up on the Northern Lights that easily.