Home Economics was one of my favourite classes through my high school years, right up there with History, English/Creative Writing and Asian Social Studies. For starters, there were a couple of guys in the class—both had a great sense of humour and, yes, they both were cheeky and naughty too. So even the washing up was fun (there were no dishwashers in classrooms back then)—we had more than a few 'sword fights' with the dish mops (the fellas always came out worse!). And if we were super bored (such as when frumpy Mrs M was talking about toad in the hole, fried brains and bacon, or cooking for convalescents), we'd make tiny wet pea balls from paper towelling and shoot them through our pens onto the stuccoed ceiling! I love seeing my Peter watering our kitchen garden—picking ripe baby tomatoes fresh off the vine and eating them on the spot. It reminds me of the days when my father grew heirloom tomato varieties such as Grosse Lisse and Oxhearts in amongst his roses under the grapevines. He would pluck a handful of sun-ripened specimens, then call me to come to his side so that we could enjoy them together, there in the garden. Oh, I can still taste those beauties—fully ripe, warm, dripping with juicy goodness and bursting with flavour! 'Gyere kislányom, a hideg meggyleves nagyon finom! (come my little girl, this cold cherry soup is really delicious!),' my mother, Irén, would say as she beckoned me to taste her freshly made, ice-cold soup. Clearly she loved it, and indeed it must have been very good. For with each spoonful she would close her eyes, form a smile, raise her shoulders towards her neck (as you do when something is immensely pleasurable), and make the 'Mmmm' sound. Actually I can still see the look of bliss on her face... it was as though this lovely lady, who had lived a much harder life than most of us could imagine, had just died and gone to heaven. 'The story of Australian macadamias is an ancient one. In many ways they represent the very essence of Australia, a magical product of our ancient environment — the soil, the climate and the seasons.' Christmas Day lunch — a table laden with season's eatings. Roast leg of pork with crunchy crackling and a drizzle of apple sauce. Orange marmalade-glazed ham studded with maraschino cherries, pineapple and cloves. A platter of prawns with thousand island dressing. Dauphinoise potatoes and baked sweet yam with maple syrup. Sponge cake trifle layered with custard, peaches and jewel-like blobs of jelly. Bowls of cherries and a berry-topped pavlova. And, best of all — crisp and delicious green beans. Yes, green beans. 'Is not possible!. He tell me I not know how to make-a paella! I tell him paella is-a Spanish, not Cockney-stinking eel pie! I make-a paella like my mama! My mother's recipe is big in Barcelona!' 'If you plant it, they will come'. Well, at least that's what I told my niece when I explained to her that I love urban foraging. And if there's a plentiful supply of flowers on a nature strip, then I can't help but take a sprig or two to brighten my kitchen. 'My nanna always made Yorkshire pudding. I think it was to fill us up before we had the meat and vegetables. Back in those days, Yorkshire pudding was stodgy and made with beef or pork dripping. It's nice with roast beef, potatoes baked in their jackets, and carrots, peas and gravy.' |
Welcome...Üdvözölöm
Cooking and writing have been a lifelong passion. Join me as I share with you my favourite recipes; postcards and morsels from my travels; conversations with cookery writers and chefs; and news on food, cookbooks and cooking. - Liz Posmyk
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NB: I use Australian standard measuring cups and spoons in my recipes.
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