Recipes

The Sunday roast moves outside — and the kitchen stays cold

Every hooded barbecue in Australia is a wood-panelled oven in disguise, and most of them never get asked to prove it. Here's the job that changes that: the 1.4kg roast from your share, coated in a smoky paprika rub and roasted under the hood with the burners set around it, not under it. You get a burnished, faintly smoky crust the oven can't match, a pink centre, and a January Sunday roast that doesn't heat the house one degree. Beer in hand, hood down, thermometer doing the thinking.

Ten minutes with a knife buys you the barbecue's best-kept secret

Inside every blade steak there's a flat-iron trying to get out — you just have to remove the seam of gristle running through the middle. It's honestly a ten-minute job with a sharp knife, and what you're left with are trim, even steaks that barbecue beautifully: tender, big-flavoured, and built for high heat. Do it once and you'll never look at blade the same way again. Fire up the barbecue, keep the seasoning simple, and slice it across the grain — that's the whole game.

The Saturday the hooded barbecue finally earns its keep

Fair warning: this is a project, and I won't pretend otherwise. Six hours of low, indirect heat, a rub you made yourself, and a rack of grass-fed ribs slowly turning mahogany under the hood. But here's the thing about proper low-and-slow — almost none of it is work. You set the barbecue to barely ticking over and it does the cooking; your job is a spritz every 45 minutes and the self-control not to lift the lid. What comes off — dark bark, smoke-sweet edges, meat that surrenders at a touch — converts whole households to ribs.

The wok-beef secret hiding in your steak pack

Here's a trick worth knowing: great stir-fry beef isn't about buying the most expensive steak — it's about slicing the one you have properly. Thin, across the grain, into a ripping-hot wok, and the BBQ steak turns out strips with more flavour than fillet at three times the price. Add a packet of hokkien noodles, an onion and a capsicum from the crisper, and a sauce that's mostly the oyster sauce jar doing the work. Twenty minutes, one wok, dinner for four.

Char from the grill, cut from the sauce

A big barbecued T-bone brings the richness all by itself — salsa verde's job is to argue with it. Parsley, basil, capers, anchovies, a little vinegar and good olive oil, all chopped into a rough green sauce with sharp elbows. It's five minutes of knife work while the barbecue heats, and it changes the whole plate: spoon it over rosy slices of grass-fed T-bone and every mouthful finishes bright instead of heavy. It's the fastest way to make steak night feel like you cooked, not just grilled.

Salt it tonight, eat like a steakhouse tomorrow

The steakhouses aren't hiding a special pan or a secret marinade. Their trick is time: the steak gets salted the day before and sits uncovered in the coolroom overnight, so the seasoning works its way deep and the surface dries out — and a dry surface is what makes that thick, crackling crust possible. It's the easiest advanced technique in cooking, because the fridge does all the work. Add a pile of proper homemade onion rings, shatteringly crisp in their soda-water batter, and the share's premium scotch gets the full Saturday-night ritual it deserves.

One steak, one jar, one very hot wok — dinner for four in 25 minutes

Black bean beef is the takeaway order half of Australia grew up on, and the home version is faster than the drive to pick one up. The trick is the steak. Rump has enough flavour of its own to stand up to that salty, savoury jarred sauce instead of disappearing underneath it — sliced thin across the grain, one 320g steak stretches across four bowls of rice without anyone feeling short-changed. Get the rice on first, chop everything before the wok goes near the heat, and the cooking itself is ten minutes, start to finish.

The taverna classic that makes onions the co-star

Stifado is what Greek home cooks do with a tough cut and a bag of little onions: braise them slowly in red wine, tomato and warm spice until the beef turns silky and the onions go impossibly sweet. A cinnamon stick and a few allspice berries do something quietly magic here — it's warming rather than spicy, and the gravy comes out glossy from everything the blade gives up along the way. Serve it with crusty bread, pour a glass of whatever's open, and take your time over it.

The whole Sunday dinner from one heavy pot — and one thing to wash

Melissa worked this one out years ago: the fight after a roast dinner is never about the cooking, it's about the washing up. So here's the Sunday roast rebuilt inside a single Dutch oven — the beef browned in the pot, onions cooked in its juices, then potatoes and carrots tucked around it while the whole lot braises to tenderness in what becomes its own onion gravy. It goes from oven to table in the pot it cooked in, and the sink stays almost embarrassingly empty.