The drawer of paper notes
A small kitchen drawer in a flat above a Christchurch bakery — clipped magazine pages, neighbours' recipes, two grandparent notebooks, butter stains everywhere.
Phrexxontholmare is an everyday recipe and cooking journal based in Banks Peninsula, Te Waipounamu. It began as a kitchen drawer of folded paper notes — quantities scribbled in pencil, ingredients crossed out, butter stains on the corners — and slowly became a place to share those notes with anyone who likes weekday cooking in Aotearoa.
Every dish on this site is cooked at home before it appears on a page. We write quantities while a pot is still hot, swap an ingredient when the shop is out of one, and revisit recipes a week later to see if they still hold up on a Tuesday night.
The notebook is shaped by Aotearoa's seasons, by the small markets we walk to, and by the simple idea that a meal does not need to be impressive in order to be cared about. Most of what we publish is built around five ingredients or fewer.
We do not promise faster suppers or transformative routines. We share what we make, write down what we learn, and leave a margin for you to add your own notes.
None of these are rules. They are the habits the notebook keeps coming back to.
We cook with what's grown nearby and reaching its best. Fewer kilometres on a carrot tend to mean better cooking, week to week.
Slow cooking is not a weekend project. Most of our recipes are written so they fit alongside a working day, not in place of one.
No exaggerated language, no claims of transformation. We tell you what we put in the pot and what came out the other side.
Stems, peels, ends, off-cuts. Nearly every recipe leaves a small note for what to do with what's left over.
Every supplier we mention is paid for their work, on time. If a recipe relies on a small grower, we list them by name.
We share corrections, swaps and reader notes. The recipe you see today is not necessarily the recipe of next month.
Numbers we trust because we wrote them down ourselves, week by week.
We aim for short ingredient lists you can read in a single breath.
Long enough to teach the dish; short enough to stand on the bench.
Every correction we receive is read; useful ones are credited and added.
The mean distance from grower to bench across the past 12 months of recipes.
From a drawer of recipes to a small daily kitchen, in five honest steps.
A small kitchen drawer in a flat above a Christchurch bakery — clipped magazine pages, neighbours' recipes, two grandparent notebooks, butter stains everywhere.
A short Sunday email to twelve friends with one recipe and a few lines about the week's basket. The thing kept coming back; it kept being asked for.
A small house at the bottom of Rawhiti Street, a working stove, and a vegetable patch that has more failures than successes for the first two seasons.
Eight people, two long tables, a Saturday morning of bread or preserves. The format that quietly shapes what now goes into the journal.
A quieter home for the writing. Not a feed, not a database — a small Aotearoa-based site you can read once on a Sunday morning and close for the week.
Tap a tab to read about each strand of our work — they all share the same wooden table.
A single tested dish, posted every Sunday at 8am NZST, alongside the email letter.
No paywalls, no advertising. The journal is supported by workshops and the printed booklet.
Send a note if a step doesn't read well — we credit and update the page within a week.
No "transformative", no "ultimate" — only what we cooked, what we measured, what we tasted.
Roughly once a month, four hours, at the Diamond Harbour wharf hall — eight chairs only.
We offer gluten-free flour and dairy-free options where the recipe allows. Please tell us at booking.
The wharf hall has a level entry ramp, accessible bathroom and a clear chair height range.
An end-of-year booklet of twelve seasonal recipes, printed locally on uncoated stock.
NZ$28 including GST and tracked NZ Post delivery, sent in compostable cardboard.
We print to order so nothing is wasted. Pre-orders open in late October each year.
Damaged in the post? We replace at no charge under the Consumer Guarantees Act 1993.
"We try to leave the kitchen a little quieter than we found it. The recipes are simply the receipts."
Editor's letter · Volume ThreeYou're warmly invited to read on, write in, or sit at one of the small Saturday workshops at the harbour hall.