I have just cleared off the small round table, and plonked my drawing things on it. Ideally, drawing will now ensue. But first, blogging. I have been rubbish at blogging this year. Bloggable things have been happening but sometimes the thought of putting on my "writing voice" just wearies and disgusts me. But if I never do it then I'll never do it.
Today is Australia Day. The Australian people broadly fall into two camps: flag-worn-as-a-cape Aussie-pridesters, and progressive types who go to the "Invasion Day" march in the morning but quietly enjoy the afternoon with a few Coonawarra red wines and some of the later Nick Cave albums.
I know, I know - you and I don't fit into either of those categories. But I don't think Australia Day has ever been bigger - more polarised, more loudly pumped up by the bogans and more studiously deconstructed by the progressives. Some people are even writing blogs about it.
We felt that we wanted to be out of the house for the day, but somewhere quiet, so we did the Cygnet loop. From Hobart you can drive south over the mountains to Huonville, then east to Cygnet. From there you have a choice of several winding mountain roads to take you over to the D'Entrecasteaux Channel, with lovely views out to Bruny Island. From there the Channel Highway takes you back to Hobart.
Cygnet has just hosted its annual folk music festival, and was pretty much shut down for the public holiday, so we had lunch at Fleurty's Cafe in Birch's Bay, on the Channel. The cafe is on a farm which grows irises, blackcurrants, garlic, hops and mountain pepper berries (which they distill into oil).
The outlook was stunning, the food marvellous, and the service friendly and attentive. Thumbs up all round, except that I didn't like having commercial radio on in the background. You just don't do that in a swank cafe in a beautiful setting. Bush dusted salmon fillet with orange pepper berry glaze and crazy bargains from our very good friends at Muffler World - the combination is not right is it?
But to be positive - Marcus and I had the salmon and brie tart with a magnificent salad - the minted beetroot was so good. Michael enjoyed his toasted ham and cheese panini. Elf had a goat cheese tart and it was also excellent but I liked mine better.
This evening back home Marcus and I went I up to the cricket nets, and I introduced him to the physics of the taped-up tennis ball.
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Monday, December 12, 2011
Dietary advice
I popped into hospital for a scheduled check this morning - no dramas, good results, nothing to see here etc. But I did have a general anaesthetic for the first time in my life, which was kind of exciting.
I am very lucky to have an innate attitude of trust towards doctors. To still have that at age 43 I must have dodged all the experiences that seem depressingly common, and which have generally made people wary and weary of doctors, or pushed them off into acai-berries-and-rainbows world.
So anyway, as I was being wheeled in head first, not yet sedated, I already had that "Wheee - someone else is in charge" feeling that I associate with going down the steep twisting bend in Regent St sitting in a backward facing seat on a bus.
The anaesthetist apparently nicked the edge of my hand when trying to get the cannula in, and there was a bit of blood. I was looking elsewhere and as they fussed and apologised I said to them quite honestly that I had already uninvolved myself in proceedings, so not to worry. Then they put a mask on me […] then I woke up, feeling a bit woozy but fine. A few years ago they didn't even anaesthetise people to do this business.
I had taken the day off and I was really looking forward to being picked up and dropped home by Sally, and spending the hours until the end of school just dozing. While I was in Recovery (a crowded narrow room of blue armchairs) the school called me to say Michael had a sore tummy and wanted to come home sick. Sigh.
Sally picked me up, then we got Michael and I had an afternoon awake and keeping an eye on him instead. His tummy improved instantly. I had just fasted for 36 hours so I was reasonably happy to stay awake and just eat, eat, eat.
Speaking of which; here is a little form they gave me at the hospital telling me what I was allowed to eat on being discharged. Some nutrition-conscious nanny-state modernist has updated it by hand. It's a shame – there's something very Tasmanian about the carefree attitude to diet that the original implies.
I am very lucky to have an innate attitude of trust towards doctors. To still have that at age 43 I must have dodged all the experiences that seem depressingly common, and which have generally made people wary and weary of doctors, or pushed them off into acai-berries-and-rainbows world.
So anyway, as I was being wheeled in head first, not yet sedated, I already had that "Wheee - someone else is in charge" feeling that I associate with going down the steep twisting bend in Regent St sitting in a backward facing seat on a bus.
The anaesthetist apparently nicked the edge of my hand when trying to get the cannula in, and there was a bit of blood. I was looking elsewhere and as they fussed and apologised I said to them quite honestly that I had already uninvolved myself in proceedings, so not to worry. Then they put a mask on me […] then I woke up, feeling a bit woozy but fine. A few years ago they didn't even anaesthetise people to do this business.
I had taken the day off and I was really looking forward to being picked up and dropped home by Sally, and spending the hours until the end of school just dozing. While I was in Recovery (a crowded narrow room of blue armchairs) the school called me to say Michael had a sore tummy and wanted to come home sick. Sigh.
Sally picked me up, then we got Michael and I had an afternoon awake and keeping an eye on him instead. His tummy improved instantly. I had just fasted for 36 hours so I was reasonably happy to stay awake and just eat, eat, eat.
Speaking of which; here is a little form they gave me at the hospital telling me what I was allowed to eat on being discharged. Some nutrition-conscious nanny-state modernist has updated it by hand. It's a shame – there's something very Tasmanian about the carefree attitude to diet that the original implies.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
That's Ridiculous
Some things that have got my goat.
- Encore Edition. Tonight on ABC1, before the start of Foreign Correspondent, a little disclaimer came up saying "Due to our election coverage, tonight's Foreign Correspondent is an Encore Edition". Come on ABC - if it's a repeat, just say its a repeat.
- Faux Republican. Julia Gillard, supposedly a republican, says that the time to talk about an Australian republic is when this queen has passed on. But, ahem - then there'll be a new monarch. Possibly a younger, more exciting one. There'll be dancing in the streets, bunting, a big coronation, new coins and stamps throughout the Commonwealth. The tradesperson with the paintbrush will just be heading out to re-do the monograms on all the letterboxes, when Julia will say "Excuse me - can I have some shoosh - sorry everyone. Hello? OK. I'm ready to ditch all this anachronistic rubbish now! Who's with me?"
- Hazard lights. Quite often in traffic I see a truck by the kerb indicating, and I think "I'll just help out that fellow by letting him in" - then I see that the fellow has actually just run into the shop for some fags, and does in fact have his hazzies on. Is there any electro-mechanical reason why the same lights that go "blink... blink... blink" to indicate, couldn't go "blink blink.... blink blink.... blink blink..." to say "look out - I really just needed some fags" or "I have broken down" or "I think I just ran over a quoll, I've gone back to check"?
- My new phone. I lost my mobile some months ago and have just got around to getting a new one. The cheapest handset you can get with 3G coverage cost about $65, and includes a video camera, still camera, audio recorder and MP3 player. Which is pretty amazing really - even cheapskates like me are now carrying around the equivalent of a radiogram, a telephone, a Betacam, a tape deck and an Instamatic, in their pocket. That's why whenever Paris Hilton, a fatal earthquake or any other hideous phenomenon happens, everyone in sight gets out their phone and points it at the action. I have started using mine to take happy snaps and, yes, OK, I have shot a bit of sub-Dad-with-a-borrowed-Betacam-in-the-80s footage of the dog, sure. Yesterday I tried to get all that stuff off the phone onto the Mac, using the included Mac-compatible software. Wasn't happening, so I emailed tech support to ask why their "How To" bore no resemblance at all to what I was seeing on screen. The answer today: actually, the Mac version of their software doesn't do any of those things. I think it lets you back up your phone book, full stop. All that other "media" is there on your phone forever! Although I can send it to other people, so if you want grainy footage of a substantial labrador, let me know.
- Trivial Medical. I had to have a medical today - all fine BTW. I have been trying to get an appointment to see this guy for months. My appointment was definitely for 10, but when I arrived, reception told me to come back at 12. Never mind, I had a nice walk. At 12 I was back - doc took my blood pressure, all good, then asked me my height and weight. And that was it. So, two nice walks.
- A cafe write-up in The Australian last weekend. It's a vegetarian organic cafe, and the article talked about their winter comfort food. Restaurateur: "People often cry when they try our food - the flavours remind them of when they were little". People often cry? I simply do not believe you, sir. Someone, slightly imbalanced, may have cried in your cafe, once. At the end of a really bad day. Your polenta may or may not have had something to do with it.
- Flag proportions. The US flag should correctly be in the ratio 19:10. Come on - is 2:1 really too long, America? Meanwhile, if you don't mind, Denmark would like to be 37:28. Well I'm telling you now, Denmark - it looks ridiculous. (Even though I can go to jail for saying that, since Princess Mary is actually in town as I write, visiting her Dad. I like to think he's cleaning out the garage and is making her take back home a carton of old Dolly magazines and mix tapes).
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
14 days of plucky British food
I am prone to belittle the British, without ever having visited their isles. Perhaps I let their hapless sports teams, boy bands and the fall of Singapore colour my judgement. Perhaps its time I gave them a fair go.
So join me in celebrating the recently completed British Food Fortnight! I never thought I would see the words "British" and "Mozzarella" together in a sentence.
Next, stand by for German Comedy Week.
So join me in celebrating the recently completed British Food Fortnight! I never thought I would see the words "British" and "Mozzarella" together in a sentence.
Next, stand by for German Comedy Week.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Restaurant reviews
Elf I and do not dine out very often. We have had a bit of a purple patch in the last week or so, with two dinners out on the town. I am also going to roll into this another dinner back in June because it was so ridiculous. But first;
Pasha's, Elizabeth Street, Hobart.
Each year we dine out for our pal Anna's birthday. In recent years we have gone to this Turkish restaurant and had a banquet in a room upstairs. The extremely steep stairs (with bit of pipe for handrail) are heritage listed, like most of inner Hobart. The room has a huge square table and everyone sits around it, at shouting distance from each other. The food is excellent. My only grizzle would be that as we have a banquet each year, which is a little-bit-of-everything deal, I don't get to gorge myself on great chunks of lamb which is my main preoccupation when I get out to dinner these days. Menu: sensible and comprehensible.
The Boathouse, Queens Walk, Cornelian Bay.
We had our wedding reception here in 2001. The location is terrific, right by the water with a nice river view. The building used to be a seaside toilet block, dating back to the days when people swam at the little beach. It's too silty and yuck these days, but still looks pretty, and the ducks like it. It is still run by the very nice lady who we dealt with back then, and she always remembers us - which is good business but gives you warm fuzzies all the same. It's not as though we are in and out all the time.
This time it was Sally's birthday. We had martinis at the new house up the road a little, then strolled down to the waters edge for dinner. I have never had a martini in my life, being more of a beer/wine guy, so that was something. Gin and an olive, basically, although the mystique around them does make you feel somehow sophisticated as you sip. Olives on little plastic swords.
But back to the restaurant. Besides us there were about a dozen of Sal's friends, many from the cutting edge contemporary art scene. They are all very nice people. I was expecting the talk to be all residencies and grants and curatorships and the thematic nexus between sex and death but there was none of that, in my earshot at least.
The food is all pretty innovative, with plenty of jus and coulis and the like on the menu. You always want the serves to be bigger. Mains are around $30 and entrees $15-$20. You can order oysters one at a time, so I had 4 oysters as a cheapish entree. For main I had a little lamb fillet the size of my two thumbs, accompanied by a hockey puck of shredded lamb brisket. The lamb with lamb approach was new to me. It came with a wodge of mashed potato, which most of the other blokes eyed hungrily. I had panna cotta for dessert, three little units about thumbnail size, with a cone of creamy something.
In summary it is a lovely experience dining at The Boathouse, but you might want to grab a curry on your way home. The menu is quite fluid, and I always learn something new. This time I was taken aback by the Mushi of Tasmanian Scallops. I asked, and a mushi is basically a savoury custard.
Das Zimmer Wine Bar, Salamanca Square, Hobart
After Anna's exhibition opening in June, we went upstairs above the Bar Celona to this place. Anna had booked it for dinner, and we went in on the assumption that dinner would be available. The menu was hilarious - I wish I had been able to take notes. Unfortunately the only term I can recall is "microherbs". Those of us who didn't just give up ordered the ravioli. It arrived as five tiny discs on a large stark white plate. The wine list was very very long, and I don't remember seeing a single Tasmanian wine on it. The beers available were exotic and priced accordingly. The doof doof from downstairs kept conversation to a minimum. We mostly just pointed to our ravioli and the prices in the wine list and laughed and laughed.
Pasha's, Elizabeth Street, Hobart.
Each year we dine out for our pal Anna's birthday. In recent years we have gone to this Turkish restaurant and had a banquet in a room upstairs. The extremely steep stairs (with bit of pipe for handrail) are heritage listed, like most of inner Hobart. The room has a huge square table and everyone sits around it, at shouting distance from each other. The food is excellent. My only grizzle would be that as we have a banquet each year, which is a little-bit-of-everything deal, I don't get to gorge myself on great chunks of lamb which is my main preoccupation when I get out to dinner these days. Menu: sensible and comprehensible.
The Boathouse, Queens Walk, Cornelian Bay.
We had our wedding reception here in 2001. The location is terrific, right by the water with a nice river view. The building used to be a seaside toilet block, dating back to the days when people swam at the little beach. It's too silty and yuck these days, but still looks pretty, and the ducks like it. It is still run by the very nice lady who we dealt with back then, and she always remembers us - which is good business but gives you warm fuzzies all the same. It's not as though we are in and out all the time.
This time it was Sally's birthday. We had martinis at the new house up the road a little, then strolled down to the waters edge for dinner. I have never had a martini in my life, being more of a beer/wine guy, so that was something. Gin and an olive, basically, although the mystique around them does make you feel somehow sophisticated as you sip. Olives on little plastic swords.
But back to the restaurant. Besides us there were about a dozen of Sal's friends, many from the cutting edge contemporary art scene. They are all very nice people. I was expecting the talk to be all residencies and grants and curatorships and the thematic nexus between sex and death but there was none of that, in my earshot at least.
The food is all pretty innovative, with plenty of jus and coulis and the like on the menu. You always want the serves to be bigger. Mains are around $30 and entrees $15-$20. You can order oysters one at a time, so I had 4 oysters as a cheapish entree. For main I had a little lamb fillet the size of my two thumbs, accompanied by a hockey puck of shredded lamb brisket. The lamb with lamb approach was new to me. It came with a wodge of mashed potato, which most of the other blokes eyed hungrily. I had panna cotta for dessert, three little units about thumbnail size, with a cone of creamy something.
In summary it is a lovely experience dining at The Boathouse, but you might want to grab a curry on your way home. The menu is quite fluid, and I always learn something new. This time I was taken aback by the Mushi of Tasmanian Scallops. I asked, and a mushi is basically a savoury custard.
Das Zimmer Wine Bar, Salamanca Square, Hobart
After Anna's exhibition opening in June, we went upstairs above the Bar Celona to this place. Anna had booked it for dinner, and we went in on the assumption that dinner would be available. The menu was hilarious - I wish I had been able to take notes. Unfortunately the only term I can recall is "microherbs". Those of us who didn't just give up ordered the ravioli. It arrived as five tiny discs on a large stark white plate. The wine list was very very long, and I don't remember seeing a single Tasmanian wine on it. The beers available were exotic and priced accordingly. The doof doof from downstairs kept conversation to a minimum. We mostly just pointed to our ravioli and the prices in the wine list and laughed and laughed.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Windsor, Friday
On Friday morning I awoke to the sounds of a happy baby. Etta Basanti Tyers was having a bath. She's 7 months old now and super cute. She is caramel coloured with shiny black eyes. When the mail arrived I compared her to it and announced that she was actually cardboard box-coloured. No, corrected her parents, she's caramel coloured alright.
Suparna looks very well and is right into full-on natural mothering. She bring all kinds of age-old south asian knowledge to it, as well as surfing the net for the very latest tips. It seems to work pretty well, as;
a) Etta was happy all day, and
b) their house isn't untidy or odorous in that acceptable-but-still-stinky we've-got-a-baby way.
In India babies learn very young to announce if they are going to poo, and they are moved to the potty or the appropriate spot. Nappies are absolutely NOT for poo. This makes the washing/germ killing process a snap. Suparna says that babies know how to do this, mum and dad just have to keep their ears open and encourage the little button to be as clear and prompt about it as possible.
After the bath, we moved to the main event of any day in Windsor, which is breakfast in Chapel Street. We went to a place called Batch which seems to be an island of New Zealand culture. Over scrambled eggs and chorizo we caught up on the last few months, and tried to avoid any discussion of football. Minor TV and music celebrities came and went. The menus were sticky taped into old Enid-Blyton era clothbound books.
Anthropology side note: Hip cafés in Hobart try hard to be very Melbourne. I have not been anywhere hipper than Melbourne in my life that I can think of (Santiago? Jaipur? Albury?) - so I can't pick quite where the Melbourne cafés are trying to be. But they are trying, so hard.
After breakfast we walked home. Alex took me to his studio and ran me through his current work. He started out as a graphic designer/illustrator like myself but he has taken his work to a few levels beyond that now. He takes a holistic look at the communications of an organisation (super fund, bank, telco, power company) and cleans them up - graphics and text.
One interesting point he made is that "Plain English" is a furphy. If someone doesn't understand something labelled thus, they are guaranteed to not ask questions, as they think they will look dumb. Unfortunately a lot of documents labelled "Plain English" aren't designed to be read by anybody except lawyers. Alex's mission of clear communication will often meet with a big obstacle: the client explictly prefers jargon and weasel words because they don't want to be understood.
While Etta had a sleep Alex and I went for a big walk around Windsor and Prahran. The Grand Prix buzzed in the distance, like having a cloud of mosquitos around your head. Not far from Alex and Supa's is the Melbourne Bowls Club, which featured prominently in one of Australia's finest recent lawn bowls movies, Crackerjack. I have urged Alex to join up as soon as Suparna will let him.
On the corner of Alex's street is a large knick-knack shop, that is full of the sort of stuff I love. Old wall maps and anatomical charts, deer skulls, old factory machinery and so on. Metal letters. They had tons of those wooden lasts for manufacturing shoes. The longer I was in there, looking at the frankly staggering prices, the more I decided I don't like all that stuff any more. Or perhaps it depends on the provenance and price. If something has been salvaged at the tip and is sold for $15, maybe that's OK. If something has been snapped up as a factory closes for practically nothing, and then sold in Chapel Street as decor, for $25, maybe that's not OK. I'm not sure.
We picked up the girls and hit the strip again for lunch, this time at a small butcher-shop-turned-deli that served meals in the old cold room out back, at one big table. Shiny metal walls. Half the people on the street said hi to Alex and Supa and goo-gooed at Etta. In the deli she is obviously a regular. There were only about five items on the menu. I ordered a chicken avocado roll - the lady had just made one for her husband so she gave me that. It was superb.
We walked back home after lunch (negotiating more hellos and goo-goos) and it was time for me to head to the airport.
It was really wonderful to get home even after just one night away. I was so tired. I just piled children on my lap and closed my eyes.
Suparna looks very well and is right into full-on natural mothering. She bring all kinds of age-old south asian knowledge to it, as well as surfing the net for the very latest tips. It seems to work pretty well, as;
a) Etta was happy all day, and
b) their house isn't untidy or odorous in that acceptable-but-still-stinky we've-got-a-baby way.
In India babies learn very young to announce if they are going to poo, and they are moved to the potty or the appropriate spot. Nappies are absolutely NOT for poo. This makes the washing/germ killing process a snap. Suparna says that babies know how to do this, mum and dad just have to keep their ears open and encourage the little button to be as clear and prompt about it as possible.
After the bath, we moved to the main event of any day in Windsor, which is breakfast in Chapel Street. We went to a place called Batch which seems to be an island of New Zealand culture. Over scrambled eggs and chorizo we caught up on the last few months, and tried to avoid any discussion of football. Minor TV and music celebrities came and went. The menus were sticky taped into old Enid-Blyton era clothbound books.
Anthropology side note: Hip cafés in Hobart try hard to be very Melbourne. I have not been anywhere hipper than Melbourne in my life that I can think of (Santiago? Jaipur? Albury?) - so I can't pick quite where the Melbourne cafés are trying to be. But they are trying, so hard.
After breakfast we walked home. Alex took me to his studio and ran me through his current work. He started out as a graphic designer/illustrator like myself but he has taken his work to a few levels beyond that now. He takes a holistic look at the communications of an organisation (super fund, bank, telco, power company) and cleans them up - graphics and text.
One interesting point he made is that "Plain English" is a furphy. If someone doesn't understand something labelled thus, they are guaranteed to not ask questions, as they think they will look dumb. Unfortunately a lot of documents labelled "Plain English" aren't designed to be read by anybody except lawyers. Alex's mission of clear communication will often meet with a big obstacle: the client explictly prefers jargon and weasel words because they don't want to be understood.
While Etta had a sleep Alex and I went for a big walk around Windsor and Prahran. The Grand Prix buzzed in the distance, like having a cloud of mosquitos around your head. Not far from Alex and Supa's is the Melbourne Bowls Club, which featured prominently in one of Australia's finest recent lawn bowls movies, Crackerjack. I have urged Alex to join up as soon as Suparna will let him.
On the corner of Alex's street is a large knick-knack shop, that is full of the sort of stuff I love. Old wall maps and anatomical charts, deer skulls, old factory machinery and so on. Metal letters. They had tons of those wooden lasts for manufacturing shoes. The longer I was in there, looking at the frankly staggering prices, the more I decided I don't like all that stuff any more. Or perhaps it depends on the provenance and price. If something has been salvaged at the tip and is sold for $15, maybe that's OK. If something has been snapped up as a factory closes for practically nothing, and then sold in Chapel Street as decor, for $25, maybe that's not OK. I'm not sure.
We picked up the girls and hit the strip again for lunch, this time at a small butcher-shop-turned-deli that served meals in the old cold room out back, at one big table. Shiny metal walls. Half the people on the street said hi to Alex and Supa and goo-gooed at Etta. In the deli she is obviously a regular. There were only about five items on the menu. I ordered a chicken avocado roll - the lady had just made one for her husband so she gave me that. It was superb.
We walked back home after lunch (negotiating more hellos and goo-goos) and it was time for me to head to the airport.
It was really wonderful to get home even after just one night away. I was so tired. I just piled children on my lap and closed my eyes.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Gourmets on the footy oval
Today was Taste Of The Huon day, at Ranelagh. During the week Elf emailed me at work to ask "Do you want to go to the Cygnet Regatta this weekend?" (Cygnet is a small town south of Hobart). This morning as we packed to go, I asked for a few details. It turned out my wife didn't have any, but she was sure there was some sort of regatta, boat race, raft rally or possibly billycart derby on down there somewhere, so hey, let's just drive around.
Fortunately, in the course of the morning our Carlton River correspondent pointed out that the Taste was happening at Ranelagh (halfway to Cygnet) today, so we just headed for that and ended up giving all aquatic contests a miss.
The Taste Of The Huon is a scaled down version of the Taste Of Tasmania. The Huon Valley has always been the apple centre of Australia (in fact the whole British Empire, once upon a time). Now there is salmon farms, berries, gourmet hand-reared rare breed pork and ham, cheeses, boerwurst (not sure what that is) and a specialist dog biscuit bakery.
I am just trying to remember what we ate. Money is a bit tight, to the extent that if the plan during the week had been "let's go to Ranelagh and eat gourmet food" I probably would have said no. As such we were a bit unadventurous. We ate this and that, nothing too amazing. We watched a band called Groove Ganesh, a 4 piece rock combo fronted by a sitarist who sang mostly in Hindi. They did a cover of We Will Rock You. Michael ran around like a loon to the Indian beat. We left halfway through a tune that the sitarist introduced by saying "this one's kind of pensive".
We watched a Punch and Judy that was OK. The pulcinellist was pretty lucky he had a very good bunch of toddlers front and centre, shouting out all the right things at the right moments to keep it moving along, as his PA kept dropping out. One after the next a sausage machine turned the characters into sausages. First the baby, then Judy, then a policeman, then the inventor of the sausage machine who popped in to make sure things were going along OK. The kids roared with laughter every time.
Fortunately, in the course of the morning our Carlton River correspondent pointed out that the Taste was happening at Ranelagh (halfway to Cygnet) today, so we just headed for that and ended up giving all aquatic contests a miss.
The Taste Of The Huon is a scaled down version of the Taste Of Tasmania. The Huon Valley has always been the apple centre of Australia (in fact the whole British Empire, once upon a time). Now there is salmon farms, berries, gourmet hand-reared rare breed pork and ham, cheeses, boerwurst (not sure what that is) and a specialist dog biscuit bakery.
I am just trying to remember what we ate. Money is a bit tight, to the extent that if the plan during the week had been "let's go to Ranelagh and eat gourmet food" I probably would have said no. As such we were a bit unadventurous. We ate this and that, nothing too amazing. We watched a band called Groove Ganesh, a 4 piece rock combo fronted by a sitarist who sang mostly in Hindi. They did a cover of We Will Rock You. Michael ran around like a loon to the Indian beat. We left halfway through a tune that the sitarist introduced by saying "this one's kind of pensive".
We watched a Punch and Judy that was OK. The pulcinellist was pretty lucky he had a very good bunch of toddlers front and centre, shouting out all the right things at the right moments to keep it moving along, as his PA kept dropping out. One after the next a sausage machine turned the characters into sausages. First the baby, then Judy, then a policeman, then the inventor of the sausage machine who popped in to make sure things were going along OK. The kids roared with laughter every time.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Wash, wipe and quarter 2 squirrels...
Mum unearthed this excellent book at a jumble sale - Food from the Wild by Jenny Urquhart. It is brutally honest about the tasty treats awaiting you in the English countryside, or possibly found dead on the road. It's amazing how many things are quite tasty as long as you wrap them in bacon before you cook them.
Common Mallow Malva sylvestris
... The young furry leaves if picked and boiled make a wholesome though not particularly delicious vegetable...
Hedgehogs are found in most open country but, as they are a valuable animal, eating slugs and snails and other destructive insects, they should not be taken for food unless absolutely necessary or unless found dead, killed by a passing car.Grey Squirrel ... casseroled in a good, tasty sauce, even the rankest squirrel is made quite palatable and they are an abundant source of free food.
Rat ... If you ever have the need to eat rat, it is best wrapped in bacon fat and slow roasted.
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