I’ve been buying this wonderful honey aioli from the deli but at $9.95 for a little jar, it’s breaking the bank. One night of fish and chips and half the stuff is gone. I figured I’d make a litre of it myself.
The trick here is to be patient, especially when you’re starting out. If you get greedy and lazy, and start pouring too much oil in you’ll come unstuck. Canola oil is the key I think, if you base it on olive oil the taste is just so strong. This recipe is based on the Larousse Gastronimique version, with added extras for nom.
Here’s what you need:
6 egg yolks
3.5 cups of canola oil
1/2 cup olive oil
6 cloves of garlic
4 tbsp lemon juice
3 tbsp wholegrain mustard
3 tbsp honey
4 tbsp water
4 tbsp mashed potato
2 tsp salt
Combine the egg yolks and garlic in a blender. Keep blending on low and start adding the oil a few drops at a time. Increase the flow rate to a very slow drizzle once it’s started emulsifying nicely. Once you’ve added a couple of cups of oil, transfer to a food processor (the little blender blades won’t be able to keep up once the blender is getting more full). Keep adding the oil and then add the olive oil.
Mix up the rest of the ingredients (except the mashed potato) in a container and then slowly pour them in. Add the mashed potato and whiz on high for 30 seconds.
Rebecca is generally speaking, an optimistic, positive person. She smiles a lot and is, for the better part, lovely to be around. However, she does tend to worry more than most, and in any given situation will naturally gravitate to the worst possible case scenario. Here, revealed for the first time ever, are 10 of the best of the worst.
Bec: Is my hair iron off?
Matt: Yes. See, it’s not plugged in, you’ve wrapped the cord around it and it’s on the other side of the room to the power point on a granite bench.
Bec: I’m worried it could burn the house down. Are you sure it’s off?
Bec: Will you drive safely?
Matt: Yes. I’m only going down to the shops to get the Sunday papers. I might take the Alfa, it needs a run.
Bec: Can you take the four wheel drive please. It’s safer.
Matt: The Alfa has, like, ten airbags. And I’m literally only going five minutes down the road.
Bec: I just think you’d be safer in the four wheel drive.
Bec: My chest hurts
Matt: That’s because we were canoeing. You’ve been using chest muscles that don’t get used very often.
Bec: I think it might be cancer
Bec: What do you think this is?
Matt: It’s a mosquito bite
Bec: I think it might be cancer
Bec: Does this mole on my chest look funny to you?
Matt: What mole?
Bec: This mole
Matt: That’s a freckle. A very small freckle.
Bec: I think it’s changing shape. I downloaded a mole scan app on my phone. Can you scan it.
Bec: What does it say?
Matt: It says you have a freckle
Bec: I’m booking a doctor’s appointment
Bec: Where have you been?
Matt: It’s five thirty, what do you mean?
Bec: Exactly. How long does it take for you to drive home from work?
Matt: About 20 minutes. I finished at ten past five.
Bec: I thought you might have had a car accident
Bec: Where’s your appendix?
Matt: Why is this idiot not driving through the intersection?
Bec: Give him time, he’s just being careful. You should be more careful like him.
Matt: This is just getting silly now. You could have driven the titanic through that gap.
Bec: Just be patient
Matt: No, I think he’s on the phone. That’s why he isn’t going. He’s on the phone and he doesn’t even know we’re behind him
Bec: Maybe he’s having a heart attack. We should help.
Groceries are always put in the back of the car, secured like Tetris, because loaves of bread can be “very dangerous missiles”.
Matt works in banking. If anything banking or money-related comes on television, I must be silent. He however is allowed to stand naked in front of my favourite show, and swing his privates around.
His jokes are always funnier than mine. Similarly, if he’s doing something that in his mind is entertaining, hilarious, or, physical, like climbing a tree or mowing – I must watch him. “You’re not watching me!” is often screamed like a 7 year old, on our property.
Wherever he puts things in the kitchen, is correct. If I wish to put something somewhere, “You can put it there, but you’d be wrong,” is offered.
When I unpack the dishwasher, I am not to venture into the section of kitchen he’s in, because it causes too much disruption to his work, such as stirring soup.
The mess Matt creates in the kitchen (which has him banned from cooking at his parents’ home) is “art”.
When he is awake, I must be awake too, and this is rectified by him rotating his body about 12 times, until I wake, ‘naturally’.
His wedding speech was significantly better than mine.
He is correct in tallying the number of drinks he’s had. I am incorrect, and apparently always inflate the number by at least 10.
Matt knows everything about dogs, and I know nothing. I.e. Molly just needed to “walk out” her cruciate ligament tearing,“like a sprained ankle”.
It was one of the key pieces of marriage advice they’d received from Bec’s Dad after saying he didn’t want to give them advice – “Don’t renovate.” They didn’t, but they did buy, fix, and move some furniture, which was horrendous.
The day began with a visit to a series of smelly antique stores. Bec was polite and feigned interest on occasions where she’d she left her iPhone in the car, whereas Matt loved shopping for antiques. Nothing was suitable though, which pleased Bec, as she’d invented the game “Guess how many people have had sex on this couch/table/chair?”
After failing with antiques, they tried a second-hand store, which Bec was more comfortable with, as it meant fewer strands of human genome. Matt spotted a table and got excited – it was cheap and he could see the potential.
Matt was desperate for a project – they had a rainy long weekend ahead of them, and as he’d made a new year’s resolution not to drink before 5pm on any non-public holiday day, he needed something to occupy his time, or he’d have to talk about relationships with Bec. The table was purchased.
Matt and the store owner struggled with the table for 15 minutes, lifting it onto the roof, in the rain. Bec helped by staying in the car and playing on her iPhone.
The drive home in the wind and sideways rain saw the table slide along the roof, with Bec and Matt gritting their teeth hoping it wouldn’t fall.
Matt: So darling, when we get this home I’m going to need your help to get it off the roof before it gets any wetter.
Bec: Arrrgh. I HATE lifting stuff. It hurts, and it’s annoying, and you’re stronger than me and I’m not a removalist.
Matt: Darling it’ll take two minutes and it’s done. And you’ve always done a great job lifting the kayak and canoe off the roof.
Bec: Yes and that always works out well. I believe we have fought EVERY time whilst lifting.
Matt: If you help me, we can talk about your friend’s upcoming wedding for half an hour.
When they got home Bec helped lift the table off the car roof. They yelled at each other four times, then Matt disappeared into the shed for three days (as Bec would tell the story), only popping out to ask Bec if she thought if it was “sexual, me being all manly with the sander and everything?” Bec however was more focused on watching DVDs and moving far away from her wedding day weight.
On the second day, Matt announced that he had taken the legs off the table and would be driving his car over the top of the table to fix it. It had become somewhat swollen and buckled in all the rain and needed straightening. Bec informed Matt that he’d break the table and not to do that. Bec was in the shower though, so Matt ran up to the shed, got in the car, drove over the table and broke it.
For the next few hours Matt sulked about the broken table, and Bec ignored him. After some beers he was in better spirits and decided the crack added ‘character’ to the table, and repaired it as best he could. According to Matt he did such a great job “You’d never even notice the crack, unless you were specifically looking for it.”
It was then the time they’d been dreading – the carrying of the table from the shed to the dining room. Bec was in the midst of reading a heavy-hitting news.com.au article, so was annoyed for the interruption. When she arrived at the shed, the instructions were clear “You hold that end, I’ll walk backwards. Let’s get this over as quickly as possible.”
Bec couldn’t see anything ahead of her due to the length of the table, and Matt didn’t look behind, which resulted in missteps, stubbed toes, and scratched ankles. After seeing all of her toe bones exposed, Bec put the table down, yelling “I’m done with this! It’s stupid, you’re not telling me what’s in front, and I’ve zero skin left on my feet.” “Darling we’ve just got to get it up the stairs, and then it’s done. I’ll tell you what’s ahead of you.” “Fine.”
As they were climbing the never-ending stairs, Matt said “Just one more stair to go,” which Bec was appreciative for, except he meant for him. Bec knocked her ankle on a stair, slammed the table down, and refused to carry it.
Matt called his brother, he came over, and they carried the table the two metres from the deck to the dining room.
“That wasn’t so hard,” said Matt.
“Yes it was,” said Bec.
“We should so buy an old house to renovate,” Matt said. “It would be fun. I could sand it.”
“You spent three days in the shed, and all you have to show for it is a broken table,” Bec reminded him. “It would take us ten years to renovate a house because you’re so easily distracted. You haven’t even finished painting this table leg, I can see where you’ve kind of done around the outside a bit and then left it, probably to inspect an interesting looking ant. Are you planning on fixing it up, or are you just going to leave it?”
“Hey, look at that wine rack. It would look good in white. I’m going to paint the wine rack white,” said Matt.