To take a tangent both culinarily and geographically from the other hamper fare, I find myself outside of Talho, a Portuguese butchery at the fringe of the Petersham shopping district colloquially referred to as Little Portugal.

Talho is a place I’ve read about a number of times, though this was my first visit to the store. I’ve customed another Portuguese butchery a little further down the road, though the name of the store currently eludes me. On a number of occasions I’ve purchased this forgotten store’s chouriço (really good) and presunto (nothing special). However, since Talho is that name that keeps popping up in foodie references and not the store that’s slipped my mind, I figured I’d finally check it out.

The unnamed store had the feel of any other run-o’-the-mill suburban butchery. Talho, however, had a different air to it. I’m at a loss to adequately describe the atmosphere other than there was somewhat of a unique, ethnic vibe to this place that the yet-to-be-identified butchery lacked. Maybe it’s my imagination…

Not really knowing much about Portuguese meats, and being new to the store, I’d asked for what I would have bought at the “like, I don’t know, whatever!” butchery, namely chouriço and presunto.

Due to the kindness of the butcher serving me, I’d finally found out that the chor-ri-ko that I’d asked for was actually pronounced chor-ri-so, in a similar fashion to the Spanish equivalent. That would explain the weird pause I’d get whenever I placed my order with the staff at the <insert name here&gt butchery.

Two almost indistinguishable looking specimens were purchased – the standard chouriço and the chouriço with chili. I’ve been told that aside from the addition of chili, the two types of chouriço are the same in composition.

Note that they are almost indistinguishable. There is a way to distinguish the chili from the non-chili variety without the need for a tasting sample.

If you’re after a hint, think of the colour of chili and then have a look at the photo above and have a guess.

As for the flavour, unfortunately I cannot speak for the ones pictured, as they were included whole and otherwise untouched into the hamper. However, if it’s anything like the one at the ________ butchery, it should be firm and somewhat gritty in texture with a satisfying meatiness to it. This should be complemented by a smokey aroma, a distinct but not overbearing garlic presence and a pleasantly spicy backnote.

As for the presunto, unfortunately at the time there wasn’t any available for sale. However, a tip on the q.t. – I’ve been informed that their in-house presunto should be matured and ready for sale towards the end of March. I’ll certainly be back around that time to get my hands on some freshly cured presunto, as well as finally find out how those damn chouriço tastes!

The final course, Part 4 of 4, to be served shortly…

An icon of the local Italian community and foodies in the know, Paesanella is a cheese store located at the heart of the Haberfield shopping district. It’s an area I like to refer to as a little Italy away from Little Italy (Norton St, Leichhardt). The same could be said of Five Dock as well, though I digress.

Paesanella manufacturers a variety of fresh Italian cheeses from their factory in Marrikville. This includes (among many others) bocconcini, superbly smooth ricotta, decadently rich mascarpone, as well as my hamper selection of fresh buffalo mozzarella.

They also stock a good selection of hard and semi-hard cheeses (the parmigiano-reggiano is one of my personal favourites), an assortment of antipasto and other pantry goods, no doubt selected to complement their core product.

The taste and texture is not what you may expect if all you’ve experienced is supermarket variety mozzarella. The fresh buffalo mozzarella tastes of milk, with a slight sour, buttery edge to it. It has a texture that is somewhat springy and a little spongy with a luxurious mouth feel; worlds away from the rubbery rennet-rendered rounds.

Try saying that ten times fast :P

Now, at $5.50 for each luscious lobe of lactic love, one could argue that at these prices, why bother? One could. However, I would ask that you reserve judgement until you’ve had the opportunity to experience one.

I’m not so well off to consider this an everyday food item, so I can appreciate if the cost may seem a little much. However, if you do decide to make the investment, treat the product with a little respect. It doesn’t take a lot. Some of your best extra virgin olive oil and a fresh grind or two of black pepper is a good start. Perhaps some ripe tomatoes and fresh basil leaves. Maybe even melted on a homemade pizza base with tomato sauce and fresh herbs. Whatever the selection, simple is best.

Part 3 of 4 on the horizon…

AC Butchery is somewhat of a foodie institution from what I can gather. Quite often I’ll come across a foodie resource which will give a positive review here; an honourable mention there. Once you enter their establishment and sample some of their wares, you’ll start to understand why.

The meat counter is a veritable array of potential taste sensations patiently awaiting their moment to shine as some of Sydney’s best meats and small goods, at least in my humble and unsolicited opinion. There’s quite a selection to choose from, including a variety of cured meats (both local and imported), an eclectic ensemble of handmade sausages (I counted twelve on my last visit), and the usual cuts of fresh meats with the occasional cut of aged beef.

For the gourmet hamper, I decided to go with some fresh prosciutto and an aged standing rib roast.

To a lot of people, prosciutto has a certain quality akin to caviar or truffles whereby its mere utterance or inclusion in a dish implies a gourmet standard, though by no means to the same extent. This made for a worthy starter to the hamper.

Until I’d asked the friendly staff, I’d not realised that there were four varieties of prosciutto available – two imported, as well as one fresh (my selection) and one smoked, both locally produced by the butchery. The fresh prosciutto had been cured for around 9 months. I was told that this was about as young as you’d want it to mature, to allow it to develop the right texture and depth of flavour.

As my order was being put together, I was offered a scrappy off-cut to try; a cast off that would have otherwise made the butchery equivalent of the cutting room floor.

foodgasm _{/fu:d.gæz.^әm/}

According to the Oxford English Dictionary (or Merriam-Webster Dictionary for any Americans out there) foodgasm is yet to be officially recognised as an English word. That’s fine for now. There aren’t words that’d do justice to the moist, velvety texture, and the clean, uncomplicated flavour of this impeccable Italian item.

However, if you’ve ever had a food experience that causes you to involuntarily and simultaneously grunt, moan and sigh, with your eyes rolling back in sheer pleasure; when after you regain your senses, you notice fellow customers giving you odd looks while the floor staff work away as if nothing happened (perhaps out of politeness), you should have some idea of what a foodgasm is like.

Not that I’m speaking from experience…

Three bones of aged standing ribbed roast.

The standing rib roast was sold on the floor as single bone “cutlets”. However, the staff were more than happy to break open a cryovac bag and trim the roast to service my request. If I understand aged meats correctly, this would make it a wet-aged roast.

The meat was quite tender to the touch and smelled very clean i.e. not much of anything. Unfortunately, I can’t speak for its flavour but perhaps that’s material for another article.

Lying rib roast, resting during the shoot.

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Present Frame of Mind
Paesanella – Gourmet Hamper [2 of 4]

I’d recently missed out on attending a friend’s birthday party, something that I referred to in a previous post. One thing I didn’t miss out on was the opportunity to buy him a birthday present. However, buying the right present proved to be somewhat of a challenge.

I’ve always been the kind of person who tries to put some thought into the presents I buy for my friends. Not really knowing what present would suit this person, I’d ended up with the present-selection equivalent of writer’s block. The best I could come up with at the time was either something way out of my budget (damn you, expensive but ultra-cool technology!) or a gift voucher, which in my eyes is a gift that appears to show some thought without the need to actually exercise any (ranks below cash in my books).

With my recent interest in amateur food photography and food blogging, perhaps the whole foodie thing was something worthy of investigation.

So, with furrowed brow and pensive frame of mind, I thought to myself…

Perhaps I should use a lifeline…

The choice was obvious in hindsight.

It also helped that this friend had an appreciation of good food (especially the eating part) and knew his way around a kitchen, making this a worthy selection.

The present ended up looking like this:

A few of my favourite things (minus the string)

The individual portions of the present, as well as the purveyors that these were purchased from, will be covered in subsequent posts.

If you’re still wondering, the answer was D.

I always feel a sense of disappointment when I miss out on a good food opportunity. Especially one that brings together friends and the promise of good, home cooked food made from the heart. It stings that little bit more that it was for a friend’s birthday party. That it was missed due to work. On a Saturday. Evening.

Despite the lament of loss that I’ll no longer languish over, and despite my absence when I said that I would be there, he was generous enough to bring some of the party left overs to work just so I wouldn’t miss out. The most exciting thing was that it was Filipino food, something that I’ve not really experienced before.

As a tribute to a generous friend, my first post at the <3 of food will be about the three dishes that I’d received. I hope this does your mother’s food justice.

Pancit
I was a little taken a back at first when I’d opened the container. The aroma had a certain sour edge to it that initially gave me the impression that it had either turned to the dark side or was a fair way along that path. The investigation into the origin of the smell uncovered soft egg noodles, succulent pieces of pork, baby prawns, green beans and small slivers of something I was unable to identify. The source of the questionable scent ended up being segments of fish balls, whose taste in no way reflected its aroma.

Yes, I did actually eat it.

My curious nature, and faith that my friend was not the kind to seek out sadistic revenge for a no show at the 11th hour had overuled my otherwise trustworthy instincts. The pancit was nice and there was no ahh… discomfort the next day.

Bicol Express
I’d had a mental double-take when I first heard the name.

This dish of minced pork, coconut milk, prawn paste, chilis and other spices was apparently named after a train service between Paco station and Bicol. It’s moist, meaty and very moreish.

Adobo
The name of this marvelous dish is also the process used to make it. Pork belly is browned and then simmered in a marinade of soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, bay leaf and black peppercorns until the meat is tender, while the fat and skin soften to a gelatenous consistency that just melts in the mouth. Oh the colagen! Certainly my favourite of the trio.

I’d heard that this was only a fraction of the food at the party, and that I’d also missed out on the hallowed hues of halo-halo.

Oh well, perhaps next year…