A Dinner to Rival My Mum's

I grew up in a family of foodies. My Dad likes to BBQ. Riley loves to bake. Kacy likes to make scientific experiments involving unlikely ingredients. My Mum loves to cook.

And boy, does she cook.

(I think Steven may have asked me to marry him so he could keep coming back for dinner!)

Having an epicure with a European background as a mother really made dinnertime popular. We were never the kids who had to be coerced and threatened to be home for supper. If anything, we would invite our friends over for dinner so we didn’t have to miss it ourselves!

Okay, so you get the picture – I love my Mama’s food. So when Steve and I went out to eat on Wednesday to Bluestone, I had my knife and fork ready for battle. Steve works downstairs at the bar, but the upstairs restaurant is noted citywide for its fresh, tasty ingredients, imaginative dishes, and ideal aperitifs. In the end, it didn’t disappoint. In fact, Bluestone revealed itself as a worthy adversary to Mum’s home cookin’.

I was salivating with anticipation; the warm, fresh baked bread, olive oil from the local Grampian mountain range and beetroot infused rock salt happened across our table to hold us over while the chefs prepared the first of our 8 courses.

First up to bat was a magenta coloured tuna sashimi paired with finger lime “caviar” and wasabi sorbet. Hervey Bay herb-encrusted scallops, still sleeping delicately in their shells, followed as the second.

The seafood party didn’t end there. Next was calamari stuffed with prawn and chorizo sausage, lying on a bed brushed with lines of pesto and it’s own ink, and topped with the crispy, buttery tentacles.

At this point, Steve and I weren’t even full yet. We were having too much fun pretending we were wealthy people eating in a schmancy restaurant, and all of the delicious wine was just whetting our appetites. The timing of the plates’ arrival was a tease – just long enough for you to start getting antsy for the next bite and your imagination running wild as to what it would be. It was hard not to scarf it down once the surprise arrived!

To cleanse our pallet for the next dish, we were served a bite of refreshing broccolini sorbet. (Which, I thought, tasted like a dreamy combination of green tea and sweet pea.)

Cured, spiced sirloin and a hearty, nutty-flavoured winter bean soup started to assuage our appetites. Interestingly, this dish was served with a cold, sparkling Shiraz - I couldn’t decide if I liked it or not since my taste buds were thrown from the peculiarity. Of course, I drank it all trying to decide.

The deal-closer to this long line of hedonistic fare was a plate of rare wallaby, with a splash of Jamaican-themed capsicum sauce. The wine served with this was my favourite by far – however I forget the name! I’ll have to get Steve to find out because it was delicious! Then you can try it at home!

After the wallaby, I was almost too full for dessert. Almost!

In strawberry, lime and macadamia infused glory, the creamy cheesecake served as the finale. If I hadn’t been raised with manners I would have licked the plate. Actually, it was really hard not to, considering my inhibitions had previously been swallowed with the 8 glasses of wine that came with dinner.

Steve and I wobbled home with satiated smiles on our faces, and stretched bellies. For only the second time since I’ve been in Australia, I had found a dinner to rival my Mum's. 

Bake Fail

I had a bake sale today. It was probably the most unsuccessful thing I’ve completed in my life. 

To make a long story short, I accidentally broke Steve's fishing rod in the apartment door when Riley, Kacy, Heather, Steve and I got back into Melbourne from the road trip, late on a Saturday night, exhausted and covered in mysterious road trip filth.

In transferring our stuff from the corridor and into the apartment, I had backed myself up against it to keep it open while I tossed things inside. Steve’s fishing rod was leaning up against the door. What happened next was one of those moments you cringe as everything starts sliding in slow motion. The fishing rod slipped into the crevice of the door, and as I leaned forward to get a hold of something that was just beyond my reach, the door closed enough to snap the pole into shards. Shit.

I hid it in the closet. 

The secret ate away at me the whole night. It was niggling into me, relentless. It’s not that I thought Steve was going to be mad about the accident – I wasn’t afraid to tell him because I thought he was going to lose it. I just know the kind of guy he is. He loves that fishing rod, and I knew he would feel guilty buying another one on our budget. I needed to fix this.

The next day I confessed my sins to the girls, sans Steve. As I told them, a small idea started to take shape in my mind. “Maybe I’ll have a bake sale or something,” I said to them, grasping to find a solution. Once I thought it, it had to happen. I started putting plans into motion. Recruiting help, looking up recipes, making signs. Anyone who knows me, can vouch that I am stubborn and I put my best into the things I believe in.  This was no exception.

The first thing that went wrong, was that my friend who was going to come share the humiliation with me had to cancel. Family issues came up, and that is where she needed to be.  No worries, I could still do this on my own.

On Friday, I carted a keyboard stand and a cardboard box home from school to be a makeshift table, and hid it under the bed.  Then, I walked to the store and bought $25 worth of ingredients, lugged it all home, and started the bake-off.

In a manic state, I baked cupcakes, cookies, and brownies. Packed them up and chucked them under the bed as well.  I cleaned and put away all the dishes, and threw out the suspicious garbage. I even aired out the apartment so it didn’t smell delicious when Steve got home from work that evening.

All day Saturday I was anxious. Bumming around, knowing we were lounging on top of a small mountain of baked goods and waiting for Steve to head off to work again. The minutes ticked away, and as soon as he was out the door, I was off like a shot.

I grabbed my things and set out with my wares. At the beginning, my tummy was churning with butterflies! The longer I stood there, the more normal it became to be a twenty-something loner selling baked goods on a shoddy table.

Then it started to rain.  Yep, the Melbourne weekend forecast had shown rain developing in the evening – and here I was at 4:30pm selling cookies in a downpour. Nice.

Well, at least I was under cover. I remained optimistic and waited it out, hoping that some millionaire with a weakness for home baked goods would think my signs were funny and give me a massive donation for making their day. The optimism slowly faded into downright embarrassment and after an hour, I packed up again. This time for good.

As I was taking down shop, a friendly neighbor whom Steve and I chat with on short elevator rides or around the BBQ, poked his head out and asked me what I was up to. Sheepishly I explained and tried to laugh off my bruised ego. James, bless his heart, took pity on me and purchased 2 cookies, a brownie AND a cupcake - and overpaid for them, might I add.  $10.50 for the lot. He even helped me carry my ridiculous table and things into the elevator.

I wobbled back in through our door (curse that door!), and did the math in my head as I put things back into place.  After everything, I had come out of this whole ordeal in the red by $14.50.

So now I sit in my apartment eating chocolate chip cookies and writing this blog. I’d like to say ‘it’s the thought that counts,’ but really, that doesn’t bring us any closer to a fishing rod, does it? My bake sale was a bake fail.

 I suppose that Steve and I can do some inventive budgeting in order to subsidize another one – a conclusion I should have come to in the first place before getting the cockamamie idea of throwing a bake sale. The only thing I can say in my defense is that sometimes people do crazy things when they’re in love.  Steve may not have a fishing rod tomorrow, but he will have a whole bunch of delicious treats and someone who really loves him!!

Family Jewels

Before you report me, it’s not what you’re thinking!

Two weeks ago, pre-6am, I waved a salty goodbye to my sisters and cousin as their taxis whipped them away into Melbourne’s inky morning. Steve and I had spent the last 21 days with them, hurtling through Australia’s famous Outback in a tin can on wheels, and living to tell about it. But it turned out to be so much more than a vacation, an adventure or a bunch of photo opportunities. I think it really exposed all of us to the value of family and just how lucky we are that we also happen to be friends. I guess a good old-fashioned road trip will do that to you.

The girls all arrived in Melbourne and our tiny apartment instantly imploded on itself with suitcases, air mattresses, sleeping bags, towels, and a whole lineup of footwear. There were literally paths along the floor where we had to travel along; I think that’s what it must be like to live in an anthill. Anyway. Living in a studio apartment with 5 people might seem tricky, but it was good practice for the weekend, when we would all pile into a camper van for a little over two weeks.

I can only explain the hilarity of the camper in this way: whenever we would pull up to a campsite and pile out like clowns out of a circus car, some curious soul would always approach us for a friendly chat, which, without fail, at some point led to “So, how many of you ARE there?” or “Where do you all sleep!?” We fascinated people – and not only for being able to live in closer-than-close quarters, but even more so because our outfit consisted of 1 guy and 4 girls. When people found that out, their reply usually was, “lucky bloke!” to which I would respond, “we’re all related.”

 I could write a novel about all of the things we did, but then you might stop reading my blog, so I’ll just highlight a few things that glitter in my memory.

So many times on the trip (and afterwards for that matter) we would ask each other – “what was your favourite part/day/place?” None of us could ever really answer. All of the experiences were unique and hold different sentiments for everyone. Some quick-draw ones for me include:

• Riley making homemade Calzones and baking them over the fire at Standley Chasm.

Cheesy perfection!

Makin' dough

The coals were the key!

• Playing beer pong in an underground hotel in Coober Pedy.

• Free camping under a lighthouse in Portland, and stepping out to see the night sky awash with stars and a milky trail, being rhythmically pulsated with the lighthouse beams.
• Meeting a retired farming couple whom we shared our mulled wine with by the fire, and in return were gifted with a jar of the wife’s homemade tomato relish
• Meeting yet another retired couple and teaching them the card game of “A-hole” at a camp ground in Alice Springs, rounding off the night with some of their delicious French-pressed coffee

• Seizing victory over Steve in a round-robin tournament of a ridiculous paddle & ball game we invented with backdrop scenery of the native forest and craggily escarpment of the Flinders Ranges.
• Renting a 5-person pedal bike in Clare valley and  taking it on a wine tour, in the rain!
• Making Canada proud by faithfully donning every scrap of red and white that we owned, eating poutine and riding an electronic bull on July 1^st in Adelaide 

I could go on, but I would like to expand on a few of the experiences that I think we all hold close to us. I think one of the first outstanding memories was really our first night in the Outback. We had been travelling along our merry way, and chatted to some folks at a rest stop about places to camp. They suggested Lake Hart, a free camping spot just off of the highway.

When we pulled our van into the place, we realized instantly how magical it was. The lake itself was stunning, imbedded in the rusty earth of the ‘red centre.’ We rocked up just before sunset, and made our way down to the water to snap a photo or two. When we reached the shore, we quickly noticed the frosting of salt that the sand dunes were capped with. At the water’s edge, we understood that it was a natural salt lake; the mineral had cemented itself in ripples under the shallow water as far out as we could see. We all tasted some of the natural seasoning and Kacy and I took our shoes off and got right amongst it. I think this may sound underwhelming to anyone reading, but I assume we all thought this was spectacular, not only for the view, but that we were fresh on our journey into the desert, and happened upon this scenery by pure chance. Don’t you think that sometimes things are more enjoyable because you didn’t expect them?

Something we did expect to be awe-inspiring was one of the main reasons we drove 2,324 kms towards ‘nothing’ in the first place - Uluru. Ayre’s Rock, as it is also called, is an Aboriginal dreaming place of the Anangu people, a peculiar sandstone formation in the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park. We pulled up to the Sunset viewing area and made dinner in our portable-home as the sun dipped and painted Uluru in many different shades; glowing orange, copper, white and brown before it faded into the night.  

The next day our team assembled at the crack of dawn and set out to hike the neighbouring Kata Tjuta (the Olgas) rock formation and then secondly, the base walk at Ayres. In all, it was nearly a day of ~20km of hiking, however well worth the humbling feeling of nature in some of her grandest forms. Admittedly, we were all a little thirsty as we rounded the last bend of the walk, and celebrated our travels with a traditional Australian bevvy in a traditional Canadian style.

Kata Tjuta 

The last experience I want to highlight was our encounter with a fleet of Kangaroos. The entire trip, we had only borne witness to some unlucky marsupials lying on the shoulders of the highway. Many people had warned us not to drive at dawn or dusk to avoid totaling our car on the Australian icon – however we had seen nary a one. I even began to think all of the ‘Kangaroo Crossing’ signs had been put up for tourists to take pictures of.  Finally, our persistence was awarded when we curled into the folds of the Flinders Ranges. While pulling up to our campsite for the eve, we began sighting the ‘roos everywhere! Cruising up to a field, our eyes nearly glassed over; in front of us, hardly 10 meters away, grazed an uncountable number! We turned off the van and whispered excitedly to each other as our camera shutters clicked and captured the peaceful moment. We even noticed some of the ‘roos had joeys, leaning out of their pouches to munch a few wisps of grass as well. Two young fellows started testing out their boxing skills; we giggled as they stood on their tails and tried to get a good kick in. Of course, eventually we got a little too close and they bounced cheerily away into the hills.

How many can you spot?

After the Ranges, we continued on our journey back in to Melbourne and arrived in the dark and the rain on Saturday night. The girls flew home in the following days and Steve and I returned to our grown-up lives. Back to business as usual. The grunt work, the grind, the rat race; scraping up some more savings for the next big adventure. But if I can share with you what I learned on this trip (other than, you have to keep up with blogging) was that the run-of-the-mill stuff is what makes those times so much better. And I couldn’t have picked 4 better people to do it with. I want to say thank you to Steve, Riley, Kacy and Heather for combining your effort, humour, patience and love to make our endeavor an epic one. You truly are my family jewels, and I wouldn’t trade you for alllllll the opals in Coober Pedy!

Life's a Beach

Zen Sharks

When you fly into the town, your eyes scrape across the arid desert countryside – catching on scraggly bush, rocky outcroppings, and dusty sheep. And then, in complete contrast, you’ll hit the ocean. Clear and bright azure, the Pacific poignantly outlines the edges of Australia – you’ve come to Exmouth.

Steve and I arrived in this mysterious, far-removed place on Friday afternoon. On the shuttle ride from the airport into the small outcropping of buildings that calls itself a town, I could barely stifle a laugh. Gone is the North American ideal of a perfectly manicured lawn. In fact, despite some beautiful housing, the place comes off like it’s a perpetual construction site. Quite simply, it’s all hot and beach and no one really bothers to kick a stray rock off their property or trim a few random patches here and there. Exmouth doesn't pretend to be anything. No one is keeping up with the Jones’ and you deal with what the land gives you. What’s beautiful is that everyone seems content.

Try as I might, I probably won’t be able to explain the vibe to you. You’ll just have to go there.

Anyway, our story begins here; this desolate yet comfortably happy town.  Checking into the Potshot Hotel Resort was sort of like picking up the keys to your new place in the shantytowns of Tijuana. The backpacker rooms were basically a large rectangular tin shed dissected into separate compartments. Dirt, tin, sunshine. We were missing beer. Quickly picking up a 30 pack of Emu Lager, we settled out front of room #80 to relax.

This night was an early one because we had a monumental day planned for the next. We slept with the lullaby of party raging backpackers sending us into an anticipation-charged sleep.

Then Saturday, we swam with whale sharks.

I’m finding it hard to give this experience justice as well; such a special, particular event that I can’t compare norms to. I can’t think of anything that relates, because there is nothing. I can only try to tell you about the buzz that is running through your body as you leap off the back of a boat into the deep blue ocean to swim with a giant. I can only scrape the surface of describing how it takes your breath away when you see it emerge from the murky plankton filled sea and appear, as if in a dream, into the frame of your snorkel mask.  And the only way I can compare swimming with the spotty sharks is with that of meditation. Their slow, easy sashay pretty much entrances you as you tour alongside for a little while – forgetting any and every trouble in the world, forming your mind around the simplicity of life itself and the beauty that nature extends to us. You just have to pay attention once and a while.

Our journey home was exhausting; we were shuttled back into harsh reality when we took the red eye flight

Live for the moment

from Perth back to Melbourne and arrived at 4 am with a whole work day looming ahead. Yet, all the while: sleeping on the airport floor, slurping a coffee on the train, groggily trying to teach music all day – life seemed a little readjusted. There is such magnificence and goodness, not only in our daily lives, but especially in the extraordinary experiences we have. So often we let this magic drain from our memories too quickly. I think we need to savour it. Marinate in that special feeling it gives to us, hold it close for a while, and bring it up to the surface when the mundane and routine phases of life dull our days. 

Perhaps the whole experience wasn't just a touristy occasion - maybe there’s a lesson here we can all learn from.

Oh, and whale sharks smile. 

Have a fabulous day, friends J !