Category Archives: Rambles, Waffles and Digressions

Taunting newspapers and Banana Oat Bars

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I’m always curious to see what other people are reading.

Passing by a young man with a very long bushman beard at 7am on a Saturday morning recently. I had to stop myself from sticking my head upside down, and asking, “what ya readin’ there buddy?” He seemed so engrossed in his book, sitting reading at the bus stop.  What was that young man with a long bushman’s beard reading at 7am while waiting for his bus?

I love reading, but too often there isn’t enough time in my day. Certainly not enough time to do all the reading that I would like to be doing anyway. I love reading the Saturday paper, but sometimes I simply have to just not buy it. The pressure to read the thing is too much. Who needs that kind of added pressure? A pile of papers slowly mounting up on the table, taunting me in its silence. If the paper could talk I’m sure it would be whispering.

You haven’t read me yet, have you…

I’m still here…you’ve walked by again and I’m still neatly folded.

Come on now, it’s nearly Friday, and I’m still very much unread…

You know what tomorrow is don’t you…paper day, again.

See how the paper taunts me? How a bundle of paper pages does that, I just don’t know.

Along with the newspaper building up, my pile of books to read is also silently gathering momentum. The beginning of the year, I had set out with a reasonable reading list that I thought was manageable given the slow rate I was reading at the time. That one book turned into two, two turned into three, three turned into ten. I can’t keep up. Have I finished any of them? Maybe one or two… But generally they are all half read. I’m simultaneously reading six books.

Now this, probably isn’t the most clever way to read a book but it’s how I’m slowly creeping through them all. There is the book that doesn’t read particularly well, but I really want to get though it as I think it’s important. There is the light reading book for when I’m so tired just before bed that I can still read a little with an eye stuck shut for want of sleep. There is the informative book that needs to be read with a clear mind, while taking down the odd note here and there. There is the escapism fiction that has essentially only been opened and closed without a proper word been consumed. There are the numerous cookbooks that need to be poured over before I can satisfactorily say that yes, I’m utilising them properly. There is the green building magazine that I adore every page of, so don’t want to flick through unmindfully as by doing that it would almost seem an insult and not do the pages proper justice. Then there is the ever growing list of books that I really want to read next.

My books are pressuring me just as that taunting pile of newspapers.  Thankfully these Banana Oat Bars don’t give out that kind of pressure.

Do you ever feel pressure from paper goods?

 

Banana Oat Bars

2 mashed up bananas

100g melted butter

1 tsp vanilla

1 tsp cinnamon

3 tbls honey

2 cups whole oats

Mix all the ingredients up in order. Press mixture into a greased pan (I used 23cmx 23cm) and bake at 180C for approximately 45 minutes.

Super easy and perfect to nibble on… while you are reading.

travels and tomato chutney

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Maybe wait until I get home and we can book it together.

His words trailed behind him as he ran out the door. I stopped, frowned, and wondered why he wouldn’t have wanted me to go ahead and book the flights.  Hmm, I’m a big girl. Surely I could do this?

It didn’t take long for me to stop frowning.

Maybe it was because the last flights I had booked for his parents, had needed a little tweaking of their itinerary. It had been the parents-in-law once every 5 years break and they had asked me to sort out a weeks holiday for them. Sure. No problem, I’d love to. Three days in and I had it well and truly covered. Itinerary researched, places of interest taken down, accommodation scrutinized and everything just needing to be booked. I started with the flights, the logical first choice. With mother- in- law’s trusty credit card in hand, I paid. Confirmation email confirmed everything, along with the fact that I had just made a huge mistake. I had just flown them into the wrong city.

Excellent. Well there’s a good start. I swore, bit my nails, ranted to a friend, and then made a crazed phone call to Mr Chocolate to tell him what I had done. He laughed and said he couldn’t talk at the moment (he was at work).

So, I had two choices. One to try to change all the flights, or two change their holiday… rather a lot. I chose two, (and just between you and me, I think I actually gave them a better itinerary the second time around.) When we met up and I gave them their holiday details. I did toy with the idea of telling them some extraordinary story of how it was all booked out due to an alien space craft having just crashed into the area and all the local spok watchers were coming in from near and far to try and take a look at the big shiny aircraft. I wasn’t sure they would buy that one, so I… a little nervously, told them the truth. I had oops-ed the flight details, BUT had a lovely replacement holiday all booked for them now. They laughed, and said it didn’t matter. I laughed too, while carefully scrutinising their faces to see if it really DID matter… (I don’t think it really did.)

So it could have been for that reason that Mr Chocolate had asked for me to wait for him to book the flights…. OR it could have been referring to the time I booked some accommodation into the wrong town for ourselves and my mum coming back from a holiday. An innocent mistake that I had luckily picked up on just a few hours before we were supposed to arrive. How we all laughed and made funny jokes at my little mistake, (right after I had sworn, bit my nails and ranted to anyone that would stand still.) Thanks to a well organised international booking system, this little problem too was again righted.

As neither (minor) incidents had happened a long time ago, Mr Chocolate was clearly thinking of one or both of them and obviously thought the booking process should be monitored by someone other than myself.

Fair call I say. So I waited.

Flicking through my CWA Preserves book I did think vaguely about waiting until I had all the ingredients to one of these recipes. However, seeing as though there wasn’t a lot riding on the chutney. No flights needed to be caught, no accommodation needed to be checked in to and the chutney wouldn’t be going anywhere except the table. I didn’t. I had a bag of tomatoes waiting to be used and I had chutney on my mind. I just couldn’t decide what flavours to play with. Which recipe would I like? Actually none of them were grabbing me. They all sounded good, but they weren’t quite the flavours I had in mind. They weren’t my flavours. So with a close of the book, a little pause and a think, I got cracking.

Tomato Chutney

5 cloves garlic

2 onions quartered

2 apples quartered

1 inch peeled fresh ginger

all in the blender and give a quick wizz. Then all into a pot, also adding

3 tps cumin

3 tps coriander

and cook off for a few minutes. Back to the blender add

1 kilo of firm ripe tomatoes

pop that in the pot as well, and bring to a simmer, then add

2 1/2 cups brown sugar (loose, not firmly packed)

2 cups white vinegar

zest of 1 lime*

Cook at a simmer for about 35 minutes or until darker in colour and thicker. Then bottle.

* Don’t forget that lime. It was definitely the clincher.

turning that week upside down

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 Tired tears and tantrums, not just The Monkeys.

Have to turn this week around…. turn it upside down.

Find the giggles, the chuckles, the smiles again.

Find that bubble of inspiration…

*****

Buy green stripy tomatoes from farmers markets.

Make a mermaid bread.

Hear Little Monkey run up the hall way…he ran.

Find op-shop sunglasses that scream Eurovision.

Watch planets align themselves at 5am skies.

Crochet in park while The Monkeys deal with swashbuckling pirates, crocodiles and marooned mamas on islands of balls of wool.

…week happily turned upside down.


the humble crumble, and a little bit on what I think…

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I’ve waffled along on a few other people’s blogs recently about a few things food related. Things that I have felt are important, and before I know it my fingers have typed out half an essay. Rather than completely taking over someones comment sections saying what I think I’m going to try to rustle up a few brain cells and see if I can form an opinion here on my own blog.

Here’s a little snippet of what I think…

(Scroll down to the bottom if you want to skip the soap box waffling and go straight to the crumble.)

* I think it makes sense to eat seasonally.

* I think it makes sense to try and get a lot of your foods as locally as you can, (if you can).

* I think it makes wonderful sense to know what you are eating, and where it came from.

* I think it makes a huge amount of sense to know how to cook.

You don’t have to be cooking like a chef, but a little cooking knowledge can go a long way. You need to eat, so maybe you need to cook. Seeing pre-cooked rice, and avocado in a tube in the supermarket makes me sigh. Is this becoming our normal? Cooking rice, surely is no more difficult than learning to tie your own shoelaces, (maybe not at the same age.) It’s tricky to begin with, gauging the right way to do it, but then with a little practice it becomes second nature and you just do it.

Why do people say they can’t cook? This brings up so many questions in my mind. Is it because they have no interest in it or are daunted by being in the kitchen? If kids were brought up watching other adults go about preparing evening meals, I think it becomes second nature and an almost default setting for them. Here, stir this pot while I chop this. Turn it off when you see bubbles. Do this enough times and without even noticing you child has just absorbed some valuable cooking experience. Maybe that experience won’t be drawn upon completely while they are still living at home and busy being an insufferable teenager, but that experience will be invaluable when it’s time to move out. (No need to buy pre-cooked rice and avocado in tubes then.)

It’s never too late to learn to cook. My grandfather in his late 70’s started to cook, and I’m really proud that he has taken that on. Not out of necessity, as my grandmother still produces the majority of the meals, but out of interest. A school fundraising cookbook landed on his lap, and something in the bottom of his belly was ignited. He started to bake. Under the watchful eye of my grandmother, he starting producing snacks and meals and getting an obvious enjoyment from it. I think he also cottoned on to the fact that if he cooked, he could cater things to his own taste buds and not what someone else wanted him to eat. Sweeties!

Simple cooking doesn’t have to be tasteless. I’m sure some of my most stand out meals have been the ones with the least ingredients. Zucchini quickly cooked in some diced local garlic and olive oil, with a little sourdough on the side and I’m a happy woman. For a lot of lucky people there is an amazing amount of choice of foods out there. Simple doesn’t have to mean an un-interesting diet.  Olive oil, garlic, asian/middle eastern style spices, and legumes can be cheap and all help in making a meal mind blowing within minutes. Choice is a wonderful thing. I really value the fact that I have food choice and I don’t want to feel indifferent about those choices.

Celebrity and competitive cooking shows aren’t a bad thing. In prime time television in every corner of the globe there is probably a cooking programme going on. A lot of people have embraced the celebrity chef and televised cooking competitions. If this encourages people to cook, to jump off the couch and head towards the kitchen, surely it can’t be a bad thing.  A celebrity chef as a pin-up idol seems to be a much nicer alternative to some C grade celebrity famous for being famous. If I had a tween, I would much rather posters of Jamie Oliver on the wall than ….some toad who just got arrested again. There will always be some negative things to watching these programmes, but I really think the postitives far out way. I’ll take watching and learning how to cook a souffle over another dead body in CSI something or other any day.

Knowing where your food comes from, brings a sense of value. I love knowing where my food comes from if I can manage it. When ever a meal is produced from either making it myself or buying the ingredients from a producer I have met or know something of… pickle me in ginger if I don’t feel warm and fuzzy from it. I’ll be more inclined to eat in moderation and be mindful of how it tastes. Mouthfuls aren’t being thrown back willy nilly without a backwards glance to the plate.  If I’ve just spent 2 days making that sourdough, I’m damn sure I’m going to appreciate every crumb of it. I’m really proud to be able to produce something tasty to go on the family table. I have a lovely memory of the first time Monkey Boy helped out making dinner. The pride he had, and the joy he got in telling Mr Chocolate, “I made that…isn’t it delicious!”

Knowing how to cook helps with staying on a budget. Knowing how to cook and stretch the ingredients that I have, has taken time and practice, (and still with much more learning to go.) Knowing how to cook gives you cooking options. Cooking to a budget, also makes you resourceful with ingredients. I’m sure that as a family unit we are spending less on food now than when Mr Chocolate and I were Monkey-less. It bugs me serving up the same meal for 3 consecutive nights, I lose interest and so do The Monkeys…But, I do get a kick out of ‘upcycling’ the meal into something else.

Bolognese- to mexican beans- to huevos rancheros

Left over rice- to bread

Dhal- to lentil burgers

Porridge- to sourdough oat bread

I also get a huge kick out of being able to preserve the seasons. Jams, chutneys, marmalades are staples and used daily in our family eating habits. Jams are used to sweeten homemade yogurt, marmalades to jazz up toast and chutneys to take a simple dinner to another level. In time to come, (with more space and more access to produce) I would love to have preserved fruits, tomato sauces, passatas and other goodies all lining my cupboards, but for the moment I’m happy with what I am doing. They aren’t tricky, and it saves us money. Oodles of it, I’m sure.

Having my own vegetable garden would be lovely, but… I can’t grow more than a few token extras where I am. So, by choosing to buy from local farmers markets, or using CSA boxes when ever I can, (and it’s convenient) it helps with buying locally, eating fresher and knowing what’s in season. When I shop at the local fruit and vegetable shop or supermarket, yes, it’s convenient by being all in the one spot, but I wouldn’t have a clue whats in season. Not a tooting clue.

The internet is full of recipes. Lots of them. You can learn how to make just about anything you could possibly imagine at the click of a button, and this I think is rather lovely.

So tell me…  what do you think? Everything up for discussion if you have the time and the inclination…

The Humble Crumble

There are so many variations on the humble crumble. It can be a quick an easy dessert stand by, and without it in my life there would be a huge crumbly hole.

The quickest and most basic way I have found is to…. melt 100gms butter. Add 1/2 cup brown sugar, and then add one cup of plain flour. Fork it through so it resembles bread crumbs and then lay it on what ever seasonal fruit you have.  Chopped fresh plums, cooked apples, mixed berries….endless possibilities. It can go in single ramekins, a large deep dish, a low flat dish, an oven proof pot. What ever you have that is bakeproof is fine. Fruit in and crumble mixture on top. From those three topping ingredients you can build. Additions of oats, lemon zest, ginger, coriander, vanilla, almond meal, make it cake-like, crispy, cobbler-esque…

So many combinations of deliciousness! Then bake it all at 180C, until golden.

colours of Autumn

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The cooler air, the different light, the crispness on your cheeks.

Autumn is certainly here now and with it everything seems to be deeply exhaling.

A gentle sigh.

Not the sticky wet heat that was summer.

A chance to stop and look at things with an alertness that I haven’t felt for months.

A soft breeze from far away mountain tops, stop me…

Tilting my head towards it, I embrace it and let it fill my soul.

Autumn brings promise.

A promise of creativity, warming foods, cradled mugs, looped scarves, and long exploring walks holding soft little hands.

Hands that one day will shake mine off in embarrassment.

So I’m savouring every second.

the odd week that was

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What an odd week it’s been.

Full of twists and turns.

A week now ending with a shudder and a shake.

Like a clapped out old kombie, driving into park for the last time.

This week, Little Monkey has his legs back. The cast came off early. Which was a bit of a lovely surprise. Xrays showed he was healing well, and after 4 weeks in a double hip spica and nearly a week in traction, he was free. Free. He’s going to have jelly legs for a while and will probably take as long as he was off those legs to get back on them, but… he has legs again.

Goodbye Captain Redlegs, hello Captain….Skinny Whitelegs?

Then he got sick the day after the cast came off.

Happiness and love was sent to me in an envelope.

I lost my house keys.

Someone found my house keys in a shop and I got them back.

Went to a friends wonderful art exhibition opening.

Lost my wallet on the street.

Got my wallet back due to two kind strangers finding and returning it home.

Good news from a friend.

Bad news from another friend.

I made a fish bread.*

…and it was delicious.

 

What’s been happening in your week?

* Using the ever versatile olive oil yeasted dough. To get the scaly look, just use scissors. Now how easy is that.

 

pregnant bellies

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There are four pregnant bellies in my life at the moment. All with beautiful rounded baby bellies and all due within 10 weeks of each other.

Seeing one of my friends recently, and it’s hard to keep my hands to myself. That swollen belly seems to radiate all that is good in the world.

My hands draw nearer, it’s like there is a magnetic force pulling them. There is an energy that seems to surround her swollen tummy. An unseen aura whispering “I’m here, I’m here..’ I try to hold back but my hands draw closer, willing and wanting to connect with the still growing life force within my beautiful friend’s belly.

She indulges me. One gentle double hand placed on her growing belly.

Pregnancy does funny things to taste buds. Odd things you may never have eaten before become an item of ‘must have now’, only to be replaced by something completely different just a few hours later.

Mr Chocolate learnt very quickly to act on these impulses if it was something he liked as well. Mountainous burger with chips and caramelised onions on the side?

Quick for the love of god, quick!

If he was at work, and the taste for a burger was indicated through a text message from me. He would most assuredly be greeted by me on the couch with a bowl of cereal, by the time he had hurriedly made it home through peak city traffic.

Sorry babe, window period closed.

A soft sigh would be heard, shoulders would slump and perhaps a few mutterings of maybe next time, could be heard.

Lobster pasta with Lemon Meringue Pie could be turned in to a white bread and cheese sandwich, (followed by a bowl of cereal) in the matter of minutes.

You had to be quick, as the taste buds set the pace. Dictating what to eat and what not to eat at a frantic pace.

For any men who are reading this and are yet to experience this hormonal taste bud dictatorship, just go with the flow. Your blossoming partner will be back with regular taste buds in no time.

So my advice. Go get that peanut butter covered wagyu burger while you can.

happy moments

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Lots of lovely happy moments this week.

Getting caught in a quick Autumn storm.

Unwrapping boxes sent to me from kind friends and kind chefs.

Wearing earrings bought from Lilac and Snow for the QLD Relief Auction, that every time I put them on, it jump starts the happy again. I love these little earrings to bits.

No one is sick. Little Monkey is healing and his pain is a lot better.

Reinterpreting old classics. Did you know one of the three bears nearly fell into his bowl of porridge?

Restoring dinner with girlfriends.

Super star kind friends who cook extra and drop off multiple meals.

Arm and toe dancing with Little Monkey to chunky guitar music cranked up way too loud.

What happy moments have you had this week?

incy wincy freakin’ spider

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It’s true what they say about Australian spiders. They are bigger and badder than any you may have seen else where in the world. I know, because I live here, and there is one currently residing in my worm farm.  Sure it might not be the biggest I’ve seen, nor the deadliest, (apparently harmless they say….pfft.)

The problem is not so much the spider, it’s the fact that I have gotten a little…city-fied.

I am no longer the person that would happily exclaim, crikey, look at that little beauty and gaze lovingly at my new co-tennanting eight legged friend. That person is no longer, (and some would doubt that person was ever really there.) I am what I am, a city hippy farm girl, and in this instance the city well and truly comes first.

So what to do when I casually slip off the worm farm lid to feed my squidgey friends, and am met with a skittish hairy eight legged freak?

Do I…

A/ Gaze lovingly on to its ample body, marvelling at its intricate markings and upright leg hair engulfing all of its rather quick legs?

Or do I…

B/ Scream like a crazy person, grabbing the nearest hard implement to me, (probably a wooden spoon) wave it ruthlessly in front of its four eyes before pounding it to spider crumbs while yelling, Diiiiiiie eight legged freak!!!!

Or I could,

C/ Assess the situation. Survey the nearby land. Establish that the kids are inside and don’t need to know. Mr Chocolate won’t be home for another 12 hours, and do I really need to ‘man-up’ and do anything at all?

Answer= C

Let’s quietly put the lid back on and pretend I was never here shall we? The worms weren’t really hungry anyway.

Next day and I had conveniently forgotten about the pit of terror outside my kitchen door. Off to check on my worms and lo and behold… There it is again. I’m sure the little bugger winked at me, while waving four of it’s legs at me in a decidedly jazz hands fashion. Quick inward suck of air and clumsy step back from me and we eye each other off. Ahh, what to do.

I did what any self respecting blogger would do and went and got my camera. Followed by Monkey Boy, who I excitedly showed him the ‘lovely’ spider residing in our worm farm. He was enthralled, gave it some eyeball love “WOW Mama, and then left me with the eight legged freak. You see I’m not silly, I wasn’t passing on any preconceived ideas on how to act around spiders. I waited until he left before I made a small gag noise and all the hairs on my arms stood on end.

So why don’t I like them?

Because they run. They run really quickly… and they jump. They are like the crowned Kings of Parcour , and I don’t like it one bit. I can deal with them when I need to, but as Mr Chocolate was home, I didn’t need to. I encouraged him to join me next to the worm farm of terrors and then politely told him he wasn’t coming back inside until he had ‘dealt’ with it.

Do you want me to kill it?

What ever needs to be done babe…

As I quietly bolted the kitchen door behind me, leaving Mr Chocolate waving a flaccid looking roll of newspaper at a bemused looking spider.

* …and he missed it. The eight legged freak casually parcour-ed off and still remains at large.

chai and raindrops

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Looking out at the fat rain drops quickly soaking my washing on the line. I was thinking two things. One, well that was a really bad call. Apparently it wasn’t going to fine up and the washing would not be ok to put out as I had confidently told Mr Chocolate. Two, how can a man with just a slight raise of the eyebrow say so many things, namely… I told you so, so easily?

Actually make it three… how do those raindrops get so big?

It’s been a bit of a tiring week.

There has been a lot of comfort taken in that green tea cup filled with chai this week. The dangling tea infuser is one of those little things that I enjoy filling and then quietly plopping it into hot water. Watching the water slowly change colour. A tiny thing where it’s as much about the process as it is the taste.

It’s a warm hug in a tea cup.

A double hip spica cast on a 2 year old is not fun. A double hip spica cast on a 2 year old, that is still getting pain and muscle spasming constantly is not fun. It’s also not fun when he gets a rip roaring virus on top of that, which sends him back to Emergency and with high temperatures for days on end.

Counting down the days until I see the skin of my boy’s little legs again.

I’m looking forward to easter, as that’s when those little legs should be showing again. Looking forward to seeing his little legs run around looking for tiny chocolate eggs in a garden. Temperatures will be gone, cast will be gone, and Mama should have some terribly well toned biceps from carrying the not so Little Monkey around.

 

home

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traction

who knew little diggers could do the 'Hokey Pokey' and turn around

 

Amazement

for the boy who has handled being flat on his back attached to a bed, in pain. not able to move, and now with a body cast.

Thankful

to the boy who still wanted to play hide and seek despite these restrictions. Making me laugh so hard when it was his turn to hide.

Feeling lucky

for living somewhere that is so very close to a Children’s Hospital. Not having to travel hours

and hours to get there as some parents  have to, and that his little leg will heal.

Gratitude

for the family and friends who have helped out with entertainment, food and logistical problems of the last week. Thank you.

Glad

for sushi, mobile phones, hospital arm chairs to sleep beside little people beds, dark almond chocolate, loving big brothers, accessible pain relief and healthy takeaway.

 

Now to get through the next 6 weeks with as much love and patience as we can give to our unmoving hip spica plaster cast 2 year old little boy.

*******

* Things might be a little quiet around here for awhile. I’ve got a few draft posts that I will pop up, and I will still be reading a little bit, but comments might be few. Thanks everyone for your concern and kind words though. XX

sounds better singing twinkle twinkle little star at home

double hip spica that starts just below the under arms going down both legs to the ankles