In the autumn of 1997, a few weeks after the sudden death of my mother, I sat down with my elderly father, András, and listened intently as he told me his life story. He and I talked for several hours, our precious conversation, and my father's rich narrative, preserved on film.
'Just look at the "picture-skew" view from our balcony,' Peter exclaimed, as he drew back the curtains in our room. He had been longing for us to stay at the Sebel Harbourside in Kiama - among his favourite hotels in the region and one he had frequented when travelling as a Search and Rescue Training Officer with the Australian Maritime Safety Authority. 'I love this place, it's such a nice hotel' he added. 'And wait until you see the outlook from the breakfast bistro!'
I could sense that there was "something different" about the vibe when we arrived at the Olympic swimming pool this morning - but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. I just knew it was going to be a good day.
Author and Advanced Accredited Practising Dietitian (AAPD), Sue Radd, has fond memories of climbing sour cherry trees, and watching her grandmother at work in her kitchen and garden in Croatia. She says her grandmother always taught her the value of homemade food and "unsprayed" produce.
I had one of those ear worms happening on baking day this week. It wasn't an annoying tune, it was an upbeat number from the 1960s, and I found myself happily bopping around the kitchen. Some of you might remember the song in question. It was originally recorded by The Drifters and the chorus was: "Sweets for my sweet, sugar for my honey, I'll never, ever let you go."
It's another scorcher out there, and I have enjoyed not one but two swims today. I've been meaning to share a stone fruit dessert recipe with you, but truth is the only baking I'm doing lately is when I am lolling about in the open air swimming pool, soaking up some delicious Vitamin D from the sun.
Hello February. Most of the kiddies are back at school and folks have returned to work after the holiday season. The roads are busier first thing in the morning, not that we're out there mind you, it's just that Peter and I can hear the stream of traffic going past our house from about 6.30am onwards. Ho hum, I yawn quietly as I pull the linen sheet up over my head before drifting back into slumber for another hour or longer. So are the days of our lives in retirement.
My first taste of a gooseberry was during the 1960s in the garden of my friend Sandra's house. The family was English and Sandra's mother, Norah, grew rhubarb as well as the gooseberries.
Standing tall, with her shoulders back, she stares out over the shimmering depths beneath her. Drawing her eyes to the edge of the board, she takes two steps forward, her hands outstretched and her toes pointed, like a dancer. Lifting one leg, she jumps into the air, while balancing on the other, then quickly bringing up both knees and lifting her arms high above her head. Bouncing as she lands at the edge of the board, she springs forth into the air, bending slightly at the waist as she points her outstretched arms and body towards the pool below. She pierces the water in a clean, streamlined fashion, leaving a mere splash of tiny bubbles. Moments later, she emerges and swims to the edge of the pool, exiting gracefully by the tiled ladder.
A few days before the festive season, we watched the Simply Nigella Christmas Special on the ABC. One of the dishes Nigella prepared in that episode very much appealed to the both of us.
Hello. I'm Liz, the writer, cook and traveller behind 'Good Things'.
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I use Australian standard measuring cups and spoons in my recipes.