Order envy is a terrible thing. You know when you're out at a restaurant, and your dining companion orders something so delicious-looking that it's all you can do not to plant your unbidden fork in it territorially? It happened to me recently at Sorellina, when Daniel ordered the Kobe beef meatballs. One small taste of the dish simultaneously conveyed to me the very essence of beefiness, yet made me feel like I was tasting something entirely new. I immediately wanted to sob into my (excellent) appetizer of crab with corn crema. My regret at not having ordered those meatballs still haunts me.
The incident reminded me of another such, years back, in Australia. I should preface this anecdote by saying that my family is very much a family of habit. Every year growing up, we would go to the same destination (Apollo Bay) to stay in the same cabin (Beacon Point Lodges) for the same period of time (one week) and eat at the same restaurant (Chris's restaurant). As a stroppy teenager, I found this summer routine terribly dull, and longed for a family who went on adventuous, glamorous vacations, preferably without me. But I now look back on our times in Apollo Bay with great fondness. The glorious sympathetic curve of the bay where we swam is one of the few mental images I hold in my head (I retain words, not pictures, you see). When we weren't at the beach, we would play mini-golf and pool and scrabble, all of them games which transform both my Father and I from mild-mannered intellectuals into ruthless, vicious competitors (although we both vehemently deny as much). And I have always adored Chris's restaurant: they serve the fresh, ingredient-driven, unfussy yet refined food that is definitive of my culinary aesthetic.
The time when my sister Lucy ordered a feta and leek tart (with a buttery tomato coulis) at Chris's restaurant was my first experience of order envy. I remember surveying the tangle of sweet leeks perked up with tangy, salty feta and bound in a delicate, eggy custard, and immediately yearning to switch lives. I've been replicating the dish in various forms ever since, but I think this savoury cheesecake interpretation could be the best yet. I'm not sure how it fares in comparison to the original, but we're going to Chris's restaurant for Christmas this year when we visit my family in Australia. I can't wait. Here's hoping Chris's menu changes as little as my family's routine, and that I have a chance to finally order that feta and leek tart for myself.
Feta and Leek Cheesecake
Ingredients:
The white and just barely green parts of 4 well-rinsed leeks, finely sliced
1 tsp butter
1 tsp kosher salt (divided use)
6oz feta cheese, crumbled
10 eggs
2 cups ricotta (I used part-skim)
1 cup milk (I used fat-free)
A large handful of flat-leaf parsley
Paprika
Method:
Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Put the butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the leeks and half the salt, and sauté for about 10 minutes, until well-softened.
Place a 9-inch non-stick springform cake pan over a baking tray (to catch leaks, no pun intended). Spread the leeks over the bottom of the pan, and then top with the feta.
Whizz the remaining ingredients except the paprika in a blender until well-combined. Pour the custard mixture over the leeks and feta.
Sprinkle the surface of the cheesecake with paprika, and then bake for about an hour and 15 minutes, until it is softly set. Cool to room temperature, and then unmould. Chill before serving. (You could also serve this warm if you like, but then make sure the cheesecake is a little more firmly set before pulling it from the oven.)
P.S. Don't discard the green parts and stalks of the leeks! I made a delicious vegetable broth using these and the remaining parsley, together with a head of soggy celery, 5 dingy carrots, the carrot tops, 2 peeled onions, 1 unpeeled, smashed head of garlic, and 3 bay leaves. I simply chopped these ingredients into pieces small enough to fit into a stockpot, and then covered them with cold water and added a tablespoon of kosher salt. Two hours at a simmer left me with vegetable broth that was good enough to sip on its own.
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