If in doubt, BAKE!

Given I am prone to doubt at times, and the usual parent-worrying type of behaviour I have a new mantra - "IF IN DOUBT, BAKE"

....and so I do. My son reaps the benefits of this and he never has to know the thoughts that go through my head that get him treats; from chocolate brownies, banana bread, muesli slice, jelly slice, Anzac biscuits, chocolate mousse, apple crumble with cream & ice-cream to lemon delicious pudding!

I was never much of a baker, well I told myself I couldn't bake. Then one day I decided that I could and I would. So I did. Simple. 

The power of thought is amazing, all it takes is the first step off that one-way treadmill, a couple of cookbooks, the world of the Internet, a few cooking shows AND of course, a great love. A love of food, yes, but also a love for life, a desire to see kids smile as their eyes glaze over in pure foodie delight. A love of fine things, of friends, of family, of art. 

And of course, self love comes straight out of the pan and into the heart. When I cook 'Love Cake' (adapted from Jamie Oliver) for the love of my life, I pour my heart and soul into the mix. I have a special heart-shaped bowl just for him. It gets left on the bench for midnight tastings and walk-by's. It is my way to say I love you, and, knowing how much he appreciates it, I feel incredibly loved in return. All I need is to see his face as he takes a bite, or the empty bowl, devoid even of crumbs.

Cooking is empowering. I can fulfill those I love in a most basic way. And the best thing? My recipients of goodness don't even know about it, they are just sated, their bellies content. And, I too am content.

A New Year

Spending the afternoon with those you love, drinking beers in the (kids) pool, eating ice-creams and chips - yes in that order - was just a lovely way to end and start a year. We chatted about the year that was, the family's that made us, and that sometime break us. Our personal goals, our wish list, completed or not. No grand promises or resolutions, just quiet reflections to be more creative, to push those boundaries. 

To love and be loved, to enjoy our kids, to make the most of every moment. Whether that moment be lying in a pool with a rubber ducky around your waist, or whether it is spent starting that elusive first novel. Just to have my wonderful friends with me, travelling alongside me on the sometimes rocky road that I chose to travel, means more to me than words can express. It's often a feeling, a look out of the corner of the eye, a loud boisterous laugh at each other. But mainly just the company of friends, who love you warts and all. Sometimes friends come and go, for many reasons, but some are here to stay. Stay in my heart, that special place that is private, that is reserved for big love. 

Thank you my two dear 'wusbands' for your support, love and openness over the years. I look forward to many more laughs, food and friendship!

Chicken Soup for the soul

Chicken Soup, aka 'Jewish Penicillin' I'm sure is good for us all. Jewish or otherwise. While it is wonderful for the common cold, it also does wonders for the common soul. Having been sick for a couple of weeks and not quite being able to shake it, I decided to make soup. I always have a chicken carcass on hand and my freezer has frozen stock at the ready for moments like these. Moments when you just feel a little bit sick, and a little bit tired and flat. The process of making chicken soup is just as rewarding as the eating. The smells that waft through the kitchen, trickle down the hallway and into the bedrooms are uplifting, nurturing and, of course, yummy!

So, while the kids ran in and out of the sunshine and shadows blinked across my vision I got my biggest pot out and threw everything in and let it bubble away. In the meantime, I had some buffalo yoghurt from my friends' farm [Shaw River Buffalo] that needed using and a 20kg bag of lemons we picked up from a local farm for free (thank you!). I'd been wanting to try a new Lemon Yoghurt Cake recipe that I found on a most wonderful website called theydrawandcook.com. The recipes are all hand written/drawn. Quite an easy recipe and what came out of the oven was moist and almost cheesecake-like. My friend Amy popped around - I think she liked it when she had a 2nd piece! 

The soup, I decided, could wait for Sunday. I was still quite ill and only when 6pm Sunday evening rolled around could I think about food. I dished a bowl up for myself and my little man - he loves chicken soup, nearly as much as lasagne I think. A big call. I inhaled my big steaming bowl of deliciousness. And then I inhaled a second bowl. It made me feel good, simple. All other concerns receded and all I could think about was scooping up noodles and finding chunks of roasted chicken. I did add ginger at the last minute to ward off any more evils lurking in the vicinity. I was so full I couldn't fit any lemon cake in! My soul, and my stomach, were fulfilled - to the brim! So, thank you to all those Jewish grandmothers out there, for a wonderful bowl of goodness.

Birthday Sunday

I just love birthdays! And not just mine, I love to celebrate that one special day that we all have, that is our own. To celebrate the birth of a wonderful friend or family member, to see the joy on their face when opening presents, to cook or be cooked for, to be around those you love and hold close to your heart. It is pure joy.

Last week was my son's 10th birthday and we all gathered round, with a cornucopia of sweets, popcorn, chocolate cake and games. The kids laughed and whooped with joy running from one game to the next, stuffing as much food in their mouth as possible whilst drinking lemonade and running in the 3 legged race. It was a cool day but it didn't stop ten 10 year olds from starting a large scale water fight - they all went home soaked. Job done.

Today is my birthday and a little more sedate, though we did get wet wandering around Auckland's waterfront in a fine Spring mist. My friend's kids jumped in every puddle they could find, not fussed by the extra water. A surprise lunch at 'Soul' at Auckland's viaduct waterfront area started with bottles of wine and major decisions about what to eat! The menu was a delightful array of starters, and entrees, so difficult to choose. As the plates and platters arrived, a silence settled itself comfortably over our table. We ate, we offered tastings to each other, we shared the most basic of things. Food. I watched faces light up and heard the barely audible gasps of delight. We nourished ourselves and each other. They sang me happy birthday for maybe the fourth time, we clinked glasses, we smiled. Nothing else mattered at that moment of happiness, pure and simple. And as for me, my heart sang and my eyes glistened with the humble pride of being loved. I know that love is a luxury for some, I know that love can be brutal and unkind sometimes. So, I take love seriously. I am humbled completely by it and continually surprised by the generosity and love in all of us.

Toasted Sangas

So, the talk turns to toasted sandwiches. 'Can your fiancé cook?' I ask my dear friend Noo. She collapses in hysterical laughter. 'No, he puts funny ingredients in things. Like that time we were eating spaghetti Bolognese and I asked "what's that taste in this, I can't quite put my finger on it?"

"Oh, that's ginger" he said. We collapsed again into fits of laughter. 

"So, I said, just toasted sandwiches for him then?"

"Oh, no way, said Noo, I can't trust him with them!"

 We definitely agreed that there has to be that fine balance between crunchy and greasy outside, and it must have butter before it's toasted...not the cheap margarine slathered across the top after toasting - when you take a bite all you get is the taste of bad marg and cold toast. No, there is an art form to the humble toasted sandwich. The cheese must be oozing, but not too much, and if you have ham then it can't overpower the cheese. The bread needs to be thick enough to withstand those sandwich toasters that are like rock crushers. You don't want a pancake with plastic cheese, or a 'cardboard sandwich with blue tack,' as Louie and I later decided.

And the final touch? Salt and pepper on the outside! Oohh...now I have not tried this and am most excited about my next toastie, which I think I will make myself because I also like grainy mustard in mine, but not too much, just a tiny slither for that hint of taste.

No, there needs to be a fair amount of love put into making the perfect 'toastie', as with life, you take out the love and there is nothing. There is an emptiness, a bland taste and still the need to fill the lonely vaccumous void. I would love to hear your ‘toasted sandwiches’ creations, feel free to comment with them. Until then, enjoy!

Mother of the Year

8am Sunday morning and I wake with a start. Where have I been? Oh yes, in that wonderful, magical place dreamy world, where we cross borders and boundaries in the blink of an (R.E.M) eye. No rest for the sleepy however, we have to be at soccer training by 9.30am, it's a half hour drive away. I may be feeling a little under the weather. I may have had a couple of glasses of wine last night. It's possible.

We make it to soccer in time, little friend in tow. I sit in the warmth and safety of the car, desperately needing a cup of tea and some breakfast. I race up to 'Fishtales' cafe. I am rewarded with a perfect cup of tea, just sweet enough to satisfy the sugar gods and strong enough to really taste. The toasted ham & cheese sanga is that perfect mix of melted cheese erupting from the sides along with a crunchy yet soft outer. I sit watching the kids in the wind kicking the ball around. I'm in my own heaven of taste sensations and warm cosiness of the car. Safe.

The kids are not exhausted enough so off we head to 'Kaotic Kids' (I'm warned), an indoor playground. I manage nearly 2 hours, hunched over my paper where I can't even do the puzzles because my brain hurts, and my coffee that I can't drink because my tummy hurts! Other people's children. Need I say more? They're snotty, dirty, noisy and annoying. Oh dear... I try to protect my ears from the bad radio station, and huddle into myself because it's freezing in there. I finally extricate the boys from the pit of plastic balls. Ahhh back to the car, where it's warm. Next up is fish and chips back in Port Fairy. We attempt to eat them overlooking the wild ocean but the seagulls have called in their mates for a rave party and we retreat gracefully home.

A lazy afternoon lies ahead of me. More kids arrive and my dear friend Amy. We have cups of tea and rocky road slice while chatting about life, kids, food. The kids are roaring around us, I'm cocooned in my invisible shield that protects me on days like this. 

I decide on a new roast chicken recipe. Mixing together caramelised balsamic vinegar, brown sugar and soy I marinate the meat for an hour or so, then cook with veges. The smells are sensational. I get little man into the shower, wash off the days grime. His eyes are hanging out of his head. Finally, he is tired! I chat away to him as I slice the chicken, plate the veges, re-heat the juices. I'm not getting much of a response so I walk over to the chair and my little man has already gone to the dreamy world. He's crossed the divide between waking life and the deep peaceful land where we rest, recuperate and get ready for another action-packed day.

Sweet dreams.

Sushi in Sydney?

We'd arrived in the big city. A city full of harbours, boats, iconic bridges and the Opera House. We were ready to EAT! Kids in tow, we wandered around Bondi in search of three things: 

1. fulfilment,

2. nourishment, 

3. flavour

Sushi is a funny thing, there are no smells to entice you to it's little corner. With sushi, it's a need. To eat fresh, to feel full and to get the olfactory senses absolutely ZINGING - with wasabi! Well, in my humble opinion anyway. The Sushi Train beckoned, the little old ladies tirelessly slicing, rolling, pinching and wrapping. I sat with my mouth nearly to the floor in adoration of the array of delights that were running past me. Yep, running on that train. You've got to love it. There is 'tobiko', the bright orange flying fish roe; 'soramame', bright green broad beans that just pop; and of course many variations of sushi, all of which look appetising. But how to choose, you've just got to put your hand out and grab one off that train!

I chose what looks to be a crispy fried prawn, wrapped in rice & seaweed with lettuce and I think pine nuts, slathered with the divine Japanese Mayonnaise (I could nearly drink this it's so good!). It goes down whole. Maybe a bit extravagant of me, must slow down....

The world outside of the Sushi Train became a blur, a mutation of dulled sounds, as 2 dear friends and their children dined like Queens. I took another plate of the same dish, this time 'dabbed' with wasabi. Wow, I love that hit of the Japanese horseradish, it's like a little thrill for the senses for about 10 seconds then, as quickly as it hit, it is gone. Leaving peace and satisfaction.

As we all sat watching a movie later that day, I relished the time with my beautiful friend, that I have known for 10 years. She will always have a most special place in my heart. We had our babies together, we went through break-ups together. We have sat and held hands while the other has cried their heart out; until we were spent. We've laughed until we cried - my friend's laugh a great big guffaw that makes people turn around; mine a high pitched giggle that I cannot contain once I get going.
And, while our visits may only be yearly, we pick up right where we left off. Just like the sushi train!

Daughter dearest

She arrived home to spend some time with family. The youngest and sweetest is leaving the family nest and heading to the west. Land of big skies and big mines. 

Up early to get ‘things’ ready. Cake tins, measuring jugs, pots and pans, the oven is on and recipe books cover the bench top. It’s time to celebrate and what better way do we know than with food! Food helps us to celebrate and it helps us to grieve. This ceremony encompasses both. Western Australia is a long way. It’s 4 hours in a plane, which the same as London to North Africa.

Memories are being made while the sugar and butter are mixed to ‘pale and fluffy’, family histories are sifted through the fine flour and added to the mix to create a strong but light bond. Flavours are added, pertaining to the cook and the occasion. Orange cakes are one of my favourite; they remind me of the warm sunny days of childhood. This cake is more complicated - a layer cake for the intricacies of this complex family.

The chicken and vegetable soup is already on the stove, bubbling away absorbing warmth and love. It’s what will start the meal, a soup to warm the hearts, to soften the palate. The middle course will be a beef stew, cooked on low heat for hours, as the liquid reduces and the flavour enhances. I love slow cooking. To create something slowly and simply, patiently over time is so rewarding.

People come and go in the house, commenting on the aromas that tickle their olfactory senses, prepare stomachs and minds for the big evening event. I am merely an observer, listening in to the snippets of conversation that thread this family together. To them, they are living life, doing what they do. 

Mid-winter blues

My young man was getting sick. Mid winter blues had hit the house. Wan faces, cold wind wrapping it's icy fingers around our house, our hearts. We wallowed for awhile, stayed in bed, turned up the heaters. Closed in, walls down. After some time I realised I just had to tell my brain to let the rest of my body and soul know it was time to PERK up! Home-made chicken soup was on the menu and chocolate chip cookies (for the sweet tooth treat when the blood-sugars plummet). Diced the veges to add to the water and chicken carcasses for the stock and let it simmer, topping up as necessary. Decided a tiny bit of star anise would be nice - but not too much as I find this herb can be way too overpowering, so I literally picked off a 'petal' and threw it in the pot. The stock had an overnight stay in the fridge and the next day I lovingly scraped the fat off the top. Popped it back on the stove and added a few more goodies...cauliflower, spring onions, noodles, soy sauce. Served it up in big bowls to the young man who gulped it down as fast as his oesophagus would allow. 

What is it about home-made chicken noodle soup that not only restores our health but our faith? For me, it's about getting back to basics. It's about cooking with love, and cooking for the ones you love. And, of course, self-love, which had been severely lacking. It's nice to have it done for you but oh so rewarding to nurture oneself, especially with food.

We were both better by the end of the day. I felt I had absorbed love and soul nourishment. I'm sure young man felt the same but articulated it differently - "Mum that was awesome, thank you!"

Bitter Sweet

It's been a horrible last week; my cousin died very suddenly and his death has hit our family hard. I'm hours away from my family and have had to deal with grief over the phone, by text and Facebook. It's a lonely thing, grief. It's like a huge well. On the way down you feel all sorts of emotions and your senses are on alert. Then you hit the cold water of the well and you're numb. You bob up and down through numbness and feeling, coming to a state that is neither here nor there, yet is everywhere. You soldier on, sorting through feelings, old and new, past and present.

I went through the motions getting ready for today's Sunday Sweet Fest! I made sure no tears fell into the divine desserts I was creating. I don't want the whole lot of us to start blubbing! Today was all about sugar; the wonderful world of sweet treats! And, with sugar comes kids - big ones and the little ones of course. A plethora of brightly coloured delights were placed before a hungry table of children. We'd actually had to lock them out of the house earlier to stop them eating!  

The kids all dressed up - pink flowing skirts, face paints and attitudes to match. We set before them all the decorating accoutrements available to child-kind ...brightly coloured icing, pop rock candy, choc bits, mini m&m's, marshmallows ....and anything and everything pink, red and orange. It was a madhouse. All sorts of fantastical creations were erupting. Lamingtons like you've never seen before, with popping candy and marshmallows, soaked in jelly. Cupcakes with rainbows of icing dripping and meringues with caramel and berries. Decadence at its best. They were like tornadoes, as quickly as they'd devoured it all, they raced off to the next exciting thing. Face painting was set up in the garage, with the 6 year old in charge! The lovely Zoe came out with an interesting look.... I asked my son why he didn't get his face painted. 

His reply "I don't trust 'em Mum". 

Ha! Now I understand why. I still think Zoe looked pretty with her 'outer space like face'. She posed for this photo then raced to the bathroom to wash it off.

Amy and I sat back, watching the complete chaos around us. Another bourbon she asked? Absolutely. We sat in her outside spa sipping our drinks, the bubbles of the spa drowning out all the craziness around us. I thought about my family, so far away, and the kids who have just lost their dad, forever changed. That feeling of being in the well sat beside me and I counted my many blessings. For blessings there are plenty.

Bruce

Guts

Bruce was grumpy this morning. I woke to groaning, grumbling and rumbling. He wasn’t happy. And when Bruce isn’t happy, well neither am I. He can be so fickle, and greedy; man can he get greedy. He just wants to consume, fill himself up to the brim until he’s expanded so much that I feel exhausted just watching it, and need to lie down. He becomes so fickle, demanding certain things, that have to be just right, not too this and not too that.

Bruce. Sometimes we’re friends, but lately Bruce has been misbehaving. He’s become the hot topic of conversation amongst my friends. I think they’re getting tired of Bruce too, but I’m stuck with him, and have been for a long, long time. He’s not sociable these days, he’s old and cantankerous. I might have to bully him into seeing someone about his bad habits, he needs help. Maybe it’s just mind over matter? Possible. A therapist would do Bruce good, sort him out once and for all. He can be so delicate and touchy though, so I might just make the appointment and insist he acquiesce.

This week Bruce is going to be forced to be good, to do what’s best – not just for himself but for me. So, it’s gluten free – all of our favourite goodies are out – bread, biscuits, pizza, damper, pasta and even sausages! Apparently gluten is in bluddy everything.

Day 1 today: cup of tea and a mandarin for breakfast. We looked longingly in the pantry at cup-of-soups, crackers, bread....no Bruce we cannot! Lunch was kangaroo fillets on the bbq with a chickpea salad and gluten-free wraps (that fell apart when wrapped!). Followed by chocolate cake (gluten free) with Tamar Valley yoghurt and steaming hot cups of tea. My dear friend Mal decided he is ONLY eating gluten free chocolate cake. That’s it, no more of that other crap, EVER! Wow! “Going downhill one piece of cake at a time...” At this point the dozy koala that had been snoozing in the tree above us climbed down, fed up it seemed with these humans who eat such complicated foods. He waddled off to another tree full of eucalyptus leaves. Ahhh...the simplicity of some things.

So why is it that when food is minus an ingredient that it is SO expensive? Eating healthy hurts; the bank account. When Bruce and I got home, he started up his whingeing again – groaning and grumbling about food, yet again. I rested him in a hot bath for awhile. No, not content. We sat in front of the heater folding the washing. No, still not. We cleaned out the pantry – free from temptation! Seems like I’m just going to have to be tough on Bruce. School of hard knocks this time. Water for dinner. No bread. Worse than prison.

Maybe in giving my tummy a name I have given Bruce life. We have to live together forever, so lets just sort out right now who’s boss. ME!