How we come together

Have you ever noticed those garish calendars hanging in Asian grocery stores or restaurants? Each month is accompanied by inked gold fish paintings or airbrushed photographs of Hong Kong actresses. There are Chinese characters against each date which indicate dates of the Lunisolar calendar. This year, Chinese New Year falls on Australia Day and even now, red festoons are displayed in many Chinese restaurants in readiness for weekend celebrations both in the city and in various suburbs.

Australia Day marks the arrival of the First Fleet at Sydney Cove in 1788. This was the start of British colonisation of Australia and the holiday has been called 'Invasion Day' by indigenous people. Admittedly, and especially since I no longer have the luxury of the holiday occurring as another sleep-in during a long summer break, the Australia Day public holiday is a welcomed day off work. The tennis is on, everyone is usually sweltering in the heat, sometimes there is a bbq and on the news we hear who is Australian of the Year and who was awarded an OAM. That is the impression Australia Day has on me.

Last year, my nephew was born on Australia Day. I visited my sister and her husband at an inner city hospital, watched in wonderment that my little sister is now a mother (and not that little anymore) to this little human with an Italian name, swaddled and sleeping in her arms. Afterward, I wandered to the city to watch the Australia Day fireworks knowing the extra layer my nephew's birth has added to this day.

I don't think these simultaneous occurrences are incredible, at least not in the 'No way! Shut up! Get outta here!' sort of way, but I do ponder the richness of our country that has led to all three events being celebrated, freely and concurrently.

Despite past laws and controversies calling for the stop to migration, Australia has always been built by immigrants. These waves brought with them traditions which added to the experience of living in Australia and being Australian. What is it to be Australian? I dislike cricket like poison, can't stand to eat lamb and have never said "G'day" to anyone and yet I was born here. How was this configuration possible? My parents were immigrants and despite their influences I am no less Australian than a fifth generation Australian.

I would say that it doesn't matter your tastes in food, your accent nor the leisure activities you pursue, I would say that to be Australian is to love this country, to acknowledge its uniqueness in the world and to embrace whatever it has to offer whether it be Australia Day celebrations, birthdays for our Italian poet nephew or New Year's traditions from far away.

The Welcome Table

I come from a family of hoarders. My parents had a huge garage which they filled with offcut pieces of timber from old furniture as well as shoes, old paint, our old baby clothes, chinese herbs and on occasion, the current rooster of the household. The latter was let out after dawn and his crowing were done for the morning. One time my mother bought 50 tins of Chinese mushrooms (bought for 40 cents/can 'is cheap!') and there they sat over a number of years as a can or two were taken back inside for a meal.

Partly due to lack of space and also a mild dislike of mess I have taken away a relatively dilute form of my parents' love of stuff. But thrown back into the mix is my apathy for most things domestic and we end up with a fine balance between utter chaos and pristine living.

What I have inherited and which has started to manifest itself here with this blog and on various family members' waistlines is that I enjoy home cooked food. This would seem a very peculiar revelation for those who cannot imagine an alternative. It was certainly something my mother always drummed into my head, the virtues of home cooking on our souls and physical well being and on the chances of roping in a kindly husband with 'Doctor' for a title. Alas, none of those things really mattered when I thought my body was invincible and could sustain itself on restaurants, take away places and junk food. I do suppose now that I think about it, the very reason why I took no notice was that I didn't want to be seen as a house frau and my mother's vision of a proud husband looking on at a wife with wonderful culinary skills was a very horrid vision indeed. I should have dispensed with such ridiculous thinking years ago but I suppose the love of cooking is something that can be cultivated without time limits and with a sense that to be able to cook and welcome those you love to share the spoils is wonderful indeed.

What's this trap door thing again? A foray into baked goods.

Choc chip cookies
Originally uploaded by donna_3011

After an email from MJ who discussed intentions to bake Mrs Fields style choc chip cookies I got a craving to do the same. Well actually I got a craving to just go over there and eat them.

I am not much of a Kitchen anything, instead relying on the efficiencies of various appliances to heat up food and clean up the mess afterward. The closest thing to making food from scratch is beef koftas or tacos or other meals that require 500g minced beef, loads of spices and a hot frying pan.

Of course it's all my parents' fault. They were the ones who insisted I studied hard whilst they cooked all our meals. The smell of garlic in hot oil and the sounds of wok and wok charn clattering away busily are motifs of my childhood.

Later as my mum suddenly realised that time had passed so quickly and I was now of marrying age she told me to stand by her and the stove so that I may absorb some good housewife skills. Unfortunately I yawned and dreamed of real estate and stocks instead. My loss indeed.

When I moved out of home mum gave me a 30 years old brand new National brand rice cooker with matching HK-Australia power adaptor. She also gave me 25 identical china cake dishes which she had hoarded over the years. Both gifts have been very useful.

These days it is my good fortune to still enjoy mum's meals, occasionally appearing on my front veranda in air tight containers and encased in 2 plastic shopping bags. The last time I nearly missed it sitting on my little veranda seat away from the front door 'so that the ants near the front door I saw last time I visited don't get to it'. Inside were 3 serves of fried noodles with beef and snowpeas.

Lately, I have been visiting her one night a week for a meal and I have even started jotting down recipes with seasonings relayed from years of experience as 'add salt so it tastes a little salty'. Seeing me take interest at long last she replies that there is really no need to write it down, 'I make for you'. Without saying so much, in my family and many others, food is the way love is expressed to children. End Amy Tan moment.

A few months ago, after putting up with the late 80's oven, the stove top, range hood and oven were upgraded. The main reason was that pizzas took way too long to cook due to the crazy whims of the oven thermostat only ever having one setting of 'Lukewarm'.
Having spent a small fortune buying and installing it all so that pizzas could be timely, I thought it was time to use the oven to cook things, rather than to reheat things. I made a roast for the first time and that turned out great and roast potatoes tossed beforehand in olive oil, rosemary and salt are also replacing supermarket bought sacks of oven fries.

I had a free afternoon today and with MJ's baked goods in my mind, I tried my hand at a googled choc chip cookie recipe. The first step of beating the butter and sugars together had the butter pieces flying about a little because my definition of softened butter was sitting it on the table for 2 minutes followed by holding the pack in my warm hands for 30 seconds. After a while it did in fact become 'pale and creamy' and I was delighted by the amount of choc chips the recipe allowed.
The fan forceness of the oven worked well with two levels of cookies on the go and afterwards I scoffed down 3 of the misshapened ones and they were quite moist and downright delicious.

http://www.exclusivelyfood.com.au/2007/11/chocolate-chip-cookie-recipe_24.html