Roasted chicken breast with corn, potatoes and green garlic sauce

My ugliest habit in this world is talking over people. More specifically, finishing sentences for people that are perfectly capable of wrapping it up for themselves.

The worst thing is, 99% of the time I get it totally wrong. Like, radically wrong. "So I went out on the weekend and bumped into my friend from school. She told me she's...." I jump in: "Pregnant and has cancer and is deciding whether to have chemo because it's risky for the baby?" (All my guesses are Steph Scully storylines from Neighbours). "No, she's starting a new job on Monday". Oh. Right. Sorry.

Most people are pretty patient with me in this regard. But to be totally honest, I wouldn't blame them for getting a bit ticked off. I'm displaying total impatience for people just trying to finish their thought, and total arrogance to think I am soooo insightful I can glean every piece of information they were hoping to express from the first three words of a sentence. Like I said, pretty ugly.

My second ugliest habit is being fairly inflexible when it comes to cooking techniques. I remember have a conversation with my buddies Nellie and Nadia. Nell and I were saying we thought chicken thighs were the best eating, but Nadia insisted a quick pan fry and bake for a chicken breast was the bee's knees. "Hurumph! Outrageous! Never!" was my response. (Now I've morphed from Steph Scully into Harold Bishop. And over cuts of chicken.)

I now have to eat my words. And my chicken breast. These babies were out of this world. I picked them up at the Coburg Farmers Market one fine Saturday morning from a mob out in Mirboo North (in Gippsland). It was their first pass at the market in Coburg, and I'm pretty glad they took the leap. This was some seriously good chicken - moist and tender, but a beautiful deep chicken flavour that you just cannot get in a supermarket bird.

Right nextdoor to the chicken stall were some fabulous looking veg. One pile caught my eye. Long, grassy, green stems attached to slim white and purple bulbs. I thought I'd seen these on some food blogs from the States. Ramps, maybe? I asked the friendly chap across the table and he advised they are similar to ramps, but really, they're just young garlic. They hadn't formed bulbs yet and were still quite sweet. You could simply chop them raw (but pretty finely) in salads. I chose to roast them instead and make a brilliant green sauce from the full plant. There'd be no smooching in our house that night.

I haven't totally overcome my interrupting habit. I'm working on it though. This weekend, I listened to an old man tell a story about his family and it went for at least 5 minutes and I didn't say a word. The intolerance for alternative cooking techniques? Well, today I told Matt he was stirring the pot of bolognaise wrong. Seriously guys. He was stirring. There's not that much that can go wrong. Let's just say I'm a work in progress.

Ingredients

2 chicken breasts
1/4 cup olive oil
2 tbsp duck fat
3 nicola potatoes
3 corn cobs
2 stems of green garlic
1/2 bunch parsley
1/2 bunch coriander
1/2 bunch mint
1 lemon
1/2 tsp salt
freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup olive oil

Preheat oven to 200ºC. Scrub and wash potatoes well to remove all dirt on the skins. Chop into even sized pieces, around 2cm square. Add to a roasting pan with the corn cobs and green garlic. Roast for around 45 minutes, or until crispy and golden.

In the meantime, season chicken breasts and rub with a little olive oil. Heat the first quantity of olive oil in a heavy based pan and add the chicken breasts, skin side down. Cook on each side until a deep golden brown in colour. Add to cook for around 10 minutes in the oven, on top of the potatoes and corn. Remove and rest for around 10 minutes in a warm spot.

To make the green garlic sauce, remove the green garlic from the oven around 20 minutes before the potatoes and chop roughly. Add to the food processor with the remaining ingredients and blend until roughly combined and saucey-like.

To serve, remove kernels from the corn cobs and mix with the potatoes. Slice the chicken in 1cm thick slices and fan over the top of the potatoes and corn on a plate. Top with a drizzle of the green garlic sauce.

Corn and barley risotto with quick grilled chicken

They call me Thrifty Bennetto. Correction. They almost never call me Thrifty Bennetto. Even if my friends came up with such lame nicknames, it would be one of those ironic ones, like when they call a fat guy Tiny. Apologies to all the Tinies of this world that are now just realising where that one originated. You'll live.

I've mentioned before that Matt is endlessly throwing out leftovers from our fridge because I cannot bear to eat the same thing twice. I'm a work in progress in that regard (and many others). I have taken to refashioning leftovers to create a whole new dish. To be honest, it's a pretty great test of my creativity, because the main ingredients are already chosen.

The creamed corn was whipped up for our engagement party when I was making the chicken and corn wonton tartlets. It was pretty sublime in that dish, so I knew I needed to give that corn the send off it deserved. Yes, I was sending that vegetable to food heaven: my belly. It's where every cob dreams of ending up.

Wonton tarts with corn, chicken and celery

I'm marrying a man with a taste for the cuisine of the 1970s. Chicken kievs, apricot chicken and spag bol are all among his favourites. I've never seen him so excited as the night a friend suggested he combine his two besties and make apricot chicken kiev. He couldn't whip the french onion soup out of the pantry quick enough. That dish was a bit of a letdown (garlic butter leeching into the apricot sauce may have had something to do with it) but it hasn't quenched his thirst (hunger?) for all things retro.

Recently on a lazy night of no cooking enthusiasm, Matty and I visited our local Chinese restaurant for a quick, cheap meal. I spied chicken and sweet corn soup on the menu and decided that I too would venture into the retro zone. It was just as good as I remembered - sweet, gelatinous and as hot as the fires of hell.

Fried chicken fiesta

I'm not sure what the Bureau of Meteorology says, but it feels like it's been over 30 degrees for the 30 days straight (if we were a fancy restaurant, we'd be called 30'30' humans or something). With no aircon and 1970's insulation (ie. none) our flat has a tendency to become something of a hotbox. It's not fun to cook inside these days, so we've been barbecuing our little hearts out recently. So you can imagine how it felt to stand over some sizzling hot oil on a particularly scorching day. To say my forehead was a little shiny would be something of an understatement.

I knew I wanted to do a fried chicken cook up for our friends, but to be honest I hadn't mastered a recipe. No matter - I found some good sources round the traps who knew a thing or two about chicken of the fried variety. Matt Wilkinson, from this post, recommended soaking in buttermilk and mustard. I can't deny he's onto a winner there. He also suggested a quick dredge in breadcrumbs or flour and frying. I went with flour, because another learned meat man, our lovely butcher from Skinner and Hackett, had kindly passed on a chicken spice rub from Peter Watson. It was a cracker when paired with flour, salt and pepper.

My latest purchase: Mr Wilkinson's Favourite Vegetables

Matty is an avid reader. If we had his books alone, they'd fill a pretty decent bookshelf. He'll read a book a week, but is generally pretty good at passing them on when he's done. Sharing the literary love. The real problem is my complete inability to say no to a cookbook. I don't hear voices in my head, it's more that the cookbooks grow legs and jump into my hands, take out my credit card and pay for the purchase. They even know my PIN for heaven's sakes!

There was no buyer's remorse with this one. Mr Wilkinson's Favourite Vegetables has actual recipes you'd reasonably believe you can cook and won't stuff up. They're also interesting and creative without being naff. It's one of those cookbooks you open and instantly feel a connection to the dishes: approachable but impressive.