Welcome to Yes, Chef! A monthly newsletter in which food writer Sophie Hansen shines a light on our regional chefs. This week she talks with Ryan Tierney.
Welcome to Yes, Chef! A monthly newsletter in which food writer Sophie Hansen shines a light on our regional chefs. This week she talks with Ryan Tierney.
To get to Hearth by Moonacres in the NSW Southern Highlands, you walk through the Ngununggula regional gallery. There’s beauty and clever design all around and, above, canopies of Bunya pines and oaks planted in the 1890s.
But the main drawcard for me is chef Ryan Tierney’s food. It’s prepared and served in Hearth’s kitchen and dining space in an old vet clinic and dairy next door to the National Trust property Retford Park.
You know how some chefs can put up a dish that, on paper, we should all be able to rustle up, but their technique and care takes the whole thing a few levels higher? That’s Ryan’s food: fresh and deceptively simple.
As a professional golfer, his early 20s were spent competing and travelling and, consequently, eating in restaurants around the world. “I developed a deep appreciation for food, wine and great service,” he says. “It grew into an obsession.” Eventually he gave up the game and moved into professional kitchens, and then he opened his own cafe in Picton, NSW.
Here he worked directly with a nearby dairy and with local produce and producers, and eventually expanded the business into three cafes and three restaurants across the highlands.
This was, Ryan tells me, a good and busy time, but eventually, he needed to take a breath. He sold the lot and was taking that breather one morning at Moonacres Kitchen in Robertson, a favourite local haunt, when the barista called in sick. Ryan offered to jump in and help, then he asked if he could hang out in the kitchen to learn about sourdough ("bread is the final frontier for chefs").
A couple of years later, he's running Hearth by Moonacres with a tight team of staff and a stream of keen regulars.
Ryan is also the chef in charge of Galah’s upcoming collaborative lunch at Moonacres Farm in Robertson on 5 April. He’s sourcing as much local produce as possible, mostly from the farm we'll be walking around and dining on. From what he told me of the menu, it will be as fresh, thoughtful and brightly flavoured as every meal I've been lucky enough to enjoy at Hearth.
Sophie x
At the time of writing, there are 9 spots left for our lunch with and at Moonacres farm on Saturday, 5 April., Click here for more information and to book.
A Vegemite sandwich. I'm not sure you can call it a recipe, but it certainly takes me home instantly. And a good one is so much more than the sum of its parts. I grew up with wholemeal Vegemite sandwiches but, when I went to my grandparents', we had white-bread ones and that always felt so luxurious.
Why do they feel like home? I think because only two people can make you a good Vegemite sandwich: you or someone who loves and really knows you. For the record, I like mine on whatever bread is in the house, with one part butter and two parts Vegemite. And it has to be cut on a diagonal. I'm home.
It has to be cheese soufflé. I should start by saying I want to eat Comté cheese every day, and sometimes I do. Executing a soufflé is like learning a second language – it's impressive to anyone who hasn't had the time to learn how. But, that said, it isn't something you knock up mid-week; it suggests celebration, and it doesn't hurt that this is a dish that pairs perfectly with champagne.
While trying to impress my now wife, I made a cheese soufflé for a picnic we were having in the park a short walk from my house. I was more nervous about the soufflé holding up than what we were going to talk about.
Chicken en cocotte. I love Staub cast-iron pots; I find them very soothing just to look at. But add a beautiful free-range chicken cooked with root vegetables in a little wine, and I'm transported to a warm room, a cosy blanket and a crackling fire. This is food for the soul. It can be eaten at a beautifully dressed table with a glass of wine or picked at with folks when you’ve had “that” kind of day.
At Hearth by Moonacres, we work alongside Ngununggula regional gallery. You can't picture a more idyllic location in the Southern Highlands. I get to work with the most amazing organic produce on our farm. I have an amazing team. We get to meet some of the country's most important and exciting artists. And I get to call it work.
I can't get enough of heirloom tomatoes. We use Moonacres tomatoes at work and grow our own at home. Tomatoes are the poster kids for seasonality. In season, they are pure joy; then all too soon, their season is over and, weirdly, you're happy to wait till next year because eating something inferior seems pointless.
For a busy service, Icehouse’s Electric Blue. On quiet mornings, Max Richter’s On the Nature of Daylight.
Coffee. So much so that we have our coffee brewer with a timer in our bedroom.* The best alarm is the sound and smell of coffee brewing.
Madeleines is the correct answer. Accept no substitutes.
In summer, pastis. In winter, a martini. Champagne for every time in between.
A fresh croissant and coffee. The pro move is to have croissants in the freezer. Take them out the night before so you don't need to leave the house.
* PS: If, like me, the first thing you wanted to do after reading this was google Ryan's coffee-brewing alarm clock, here it is.
In its “pure” form, this would be called pasta al tonno. Mine is by no means authentic and, to stay safe, I'll just say it's inspired by a recipe from a country that resembles a boot. For this recipe, the rule of using the best seasonal produce is vital. It simply won't be delicious with anything other than tomatoes in their prime.
Serves 4-6
Ingredients
Method
Place the tomatoes in a small saucepan and cover with olive oil. Add a good pinch of salt, 6-8 turns of a pepper mill, two garlic cloves and any aromatics you like (I usually use bay leaves and thyme).
Place the pan on low heat so there's the slightest bubble (the French call this "mijoter") and confit the tomatoes for one hour.
After this, they'll be soft and delightfully full of the flavour from the oil. Decant into jars and refrigerate till needed or press on with the pasta and use immediately.
Bring a large saucepan of salted water to the boil and cook pasta according to the packet instructions. Drain, reserving a cup of the pasta water, and immediately return the pasta to the pan you just cooked it in.
Remove the confit tomatoes from their pan with a slotted spoon and add to the hot pasta; any excess oil from the spoon will add to the flavour. Add drained tuna, capers, and a good grind of pepper.
Start stirring, which will break up the tomatoes and will be the beginning of your pasta sauce. Add some of the pasta water if it looks a little dry. Add half the pecorino and keep stirring to thicken the sauce.
Plate up and finish with the herbs and remaining cheese (or as much pecorino as you can before your Italian friends get too uncomfortable because you're using cheese on a seafood pasta).
See you all next month for the April instalment of Yes, Chef! And as always, if you know of a regional chef we should profile here, please let us know.
Sophie x
