I'm not really one for reality television (or television at all for that matter), but my little sister Phoebe (aged 7) recently discovered the program My Kitchen Rules. Having watched a total of one episode, I think the premise is something to the effect of teams of 2 from around Australia take turns each week to cook for each other and 2 judges. The cooking is timed, and each week’s couple has to “plate up” before the time is up. Once the food is served, everybody eats and makes comments about the presentation, choice of dishes, and taste of the food. There is some sort of elimination involved, along with lots of hugs, crying, and close up shots of the couples talking about each other. Anyway, Phoebe, inspired by the program,  decided that Saturday night’s dinner was going to be an intense, pre-grand final, episode of My Kitchen Rules. Meg (my step-Mum) and Phoebe, and Mr and Mrs Invisible, were this week’s contestants. Dad and I were the evening’s guest  judges. 

The Menu 
Entree -
Deconstruction Salad 
greens, spanish onion, beetroot, and organic fetta served with a drizzle of balsamic vinegar 
 
Main -
Cous Cous and Vegetables
cous cous cooked in orange juice and served with a mixed summer vegetable salad, and corn on the cob
 
Dessert - Chocolate coated strawberries
chocolate coated strawberries served on a bed of crushed meringue and ice cream 

The Verdict
Presenting the salad unmixed, with the ingredients artfully arranged on the plate was an interesting choice. The combination of ingredients was delicious however - light and refreshing and the perfect use of end-of-summer ingredients. The beetroot was cooked to perfection and matched well with the organic Southern Highland’s fetta. 

The cous cous cooked in orange juice and served with cranberries was surprisingly rich, and was a lovely contrast to the light though flavourful mixed summer vegetable salad. The fresh corn on the cob was sensational, however the team lost a point for not promptly serving butter with the corn. Overall, wonderfully fresh and full of flavour. 

Dessert was sweet and rich. The chocolate coated strawberries were indulgent on their own, however the combination with the crushed meringue and strawberry and vanilla ice cream made this a decadent dessert that was indeed a real treat and the perfect finisher for a fabulous meal. 

Phoebe (and Meg), scored a resounding 11 out of 10 from the evening’s judges, however Phoebe insisted that scores had to be out of 10, and she would rather an 8, so an 8 was awarded. Mr and Mrs. Invisible were awarded 2 points. 1 point for trying, and 1 point for having the guts to serve thin air. Phoebe also mentioned that they had burnt their main course, and failed to dish up on time. A disappointing effort from Mr and Mrs. Invisible, but a wonderful (and delicious) effort from Phoebe and Meg. If this is what reality tv inspires, then bring it on. The best part about it? There were no ads, the food tasted sensational, and the television was NOT the centre piece of the evening. Now that's my kind of kitchen rules!  

Back  in the 19th century, before carbon footprints and climate change and “going green” had entered the lexicon, some enlightened beings living in large cities saw that their metropolises were polluted, grimy, dank places in need of fresh air. They campaigned for the preservation, and in many cases, the creation, of green spaces within the city that would act as literal and metaphorical lungs within the industrialised environment. As a result, we have such fabulous places in the world as New York’s Central Park, Sydney’s Hyde Park, and up the road from Hyde Park, Victoria Park. Man made oases in the middle of concrete and tar  landscapes with pretty water features, trees, grass, and wild life.

I’m fortunate to work just a 5 minute stroll from Victoria Park, and on Friday afternoon I found myself, along with two colleagues, sitting by the water’s edge goose gazing. Yes, this entire blog post is not really about lush green spaces, it’s about a goose. A lovely white goose that captivated my attention throughout my lunch break with his glorious goose-ness. When we arrived at the park, the goose was swimming in the water. Just gliding along, not worrying about the other birds, seagulls and ibis’s and ducks, enjoying the cool of the water. Soon he waddled up onto the bank and proceeded to dine on all the bugs in the grass. He would rip and tear at the grass, gobble the bugs and leaves down, and rip and tear some more. After a hearty lunch, he plonked himself down in the sun, craned his neck so that his head could rest on his own back, and promptly fell asleep. He was a gorgeous bird, and it was all I could do to stop myself from marching down the hill and giving him a hug.

So thank you enlightened beings of the mid-19th century. Your efforts are much appreciated by tired office workers in need of a little inspiration on their Friday afternoon lunch breaks in the middle of a busy city. 

In honour of International Women's Day, which passed by very quietly yesterday (at least in my part of the world), I would like to say thank you to all the amazing, beautiful, talented, inspiring, courageous, forward-thinking, dedicated, loving, strong, independent, generous, spirited women in my life. There are many, but here's a short list (in order of my stream of
consciousness)... 

Mum, Abuela, Meg, Vicky, every single tita and aunty, Anita, Phoebe, Rachel, Flea, Flick, Mrs  Gibbons, Mrs Lukey, Mrs Martinotes, Miss Lorshy, Mrs Stevenson, Mrs Cullen, Mrs McAndrew, Lisa, Ms Paris, Miss Boyle, Ms Davis, Mrs Phelan, Mrs Hand, Mrs Stewart, Mrs Lowe, Miss Simone, Dana-Lee, Kirstin, Catilin, Bridget, Ella,  Elizabeth, Rae, Hannah, Sophie, Trish, Amy, Gina, Laura, Ilse, Megan, Carmel, Kristin, Orange, Joce, Rochelle,  Bernadette Peters, Julie Andrews, Doris Day, Barbara Streisand, Debbie Reynolds, Marni Nixon, Judy Garland, Idina Menzel, Caroline O'Connor, Kristin Chenoweth, Drew  Barrymore, Oprah, Doreen Virtue, Mary Poppins, Maria, Shirley MacLaine,  Rachel Griffiths, Ariel, Judy from Meditation, all the women in meditation, Ali Smith, Virginia Woolf, Gertrude Stein, Louisa May Alcott, Elizabeth Gilbert, Barbara Kingsolver, Alanis Morriset, and Tori  Amos.

To all the women whose  names I have inadvertantly omitted, you're in there too. 

Thank you. 

When you find yourself in times of trouble, Mother Superior tells you to turn around and face those troubles, climb every mountain, and ford every stream until you find your dream. When you’re feeling down and out, nothing lifts your spirits more than sitting in one of Sydney’s most beautiful theatres surrounded by twelve hundred obsessed fans of “The Sound of  Music”. And as luck would have it, this is exactly where I found myself earlier this week, sitting in the third row of the mezz in the State Theatre for the annual “Sing-a-long Sound of Music”. Part of the world famous Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras, the Sing-a-long Sound of Music is an event for die-hard “Sound of Music” fans. It is an event that makes me feel that I am not alone in this world. There are countless others, of all ages and backgrounds, who like me, have watched “The Sound of Music” so many times that every word, lyric, tune, inflection, and dramatic pause has been committed to memory and stored in the heart, ready to burst open on a night such as this. 

The night commences with a fashion parade. The small children go up first, dressed in party dresses or traditional Austrian costumes, they are the Von Trapp children (or as one poor  child proudly announced, the Van Trapp children... The fabulous female host laughed and said she must have lived next door to the Von Trapp’s). The children are followed by a motley conglomerate of nun’s. Traditional nuns in black and white habits with large crosses around their necks, naughty nun’s with red stockings beneath their habits, nuns with short skirts and a business man who has miraculously transformed his suit jacket into a rather convincing habit. The third group are people are dressed in traditional leiderhosen, girls in white  dresses with blue satin sashes, brown paper bags tied up with string, Maria’s, baronesses, Captain’s, an older gentleman fresh off the Mardi Gras float last Saturday in the most stunning cupcake wedding dress, and even a giant raindrop clutching a bunch of roses. 

The screening begins. The host talks us through the gorgeous opening shots of Austria. The field appears, and Maria is a tiny speck in the distance. The audience, with great excitement,  shouts, “She’s coming! She’s coming!” Maria spins into view and the audience goes wild. The lyrics appear at the bottom of the screen (not that this audience needs help with lyrics), and along with Julie Andrews, we sing to the rafters, “The hills are alive!” We each have a showbag, containing 5 “magic moment” items. For magic moment number one we have two picture cards with an image on each side of the card - a question mark, a picture of Maria, the word “flibbertigibbet”, and a will of a wisp which looks like a  “manic sperm.” When the nun’s sing “How do you solve a problem like Maria”, we flash the appropriate cards towards the screen. Magic moment number two is represented by a square piece of floral fabric. After “My Favourite Things,” (throughout which every time the line “girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes” is repeated, the people dressed as such jump up and cheer), Maria and the Captain have an argument regarding new material for play clothes for the children. The Captain leaves and Maria angrily flops into an armchair by the window. We, the audience,  shout “BEHIND YOU!” and wave our curtain strips  to encourage Maria to realise the curtains behind her will make PERFECT play clothes for 7 children, and when she does, oh the ripples of joy throughout the crowd! 

Magic moment number three is an invitation to the Captain’s Ball. When Gretel skips out of the parlour room, following the decision to have a party in honour of the Baroness, announcing “it will be my first party Father!”, we madly flap our invitations shouting “To the  ball! To the ball!” Magic moment number four is a party popper. Maria and the Captain are in the gazebo. The Captain has told Maria there isn’t going to be a baroness, you can’t marry someone when you’re in love with someone else. The light is shadowy and blurry in the way that only classic love stories on the silver screen can be, the Captain and Maria lean ever closer and closer toward each other, and then, just when you can’t handle the suspense any longer, they kiss! And several hundred people pop their party poppers toward the screen.  Fabulous. The final magic moment is when the Von Trapps sing Edelweiss at the Salzburg Music Festival, and with little plastic edelweiss flowers, we all wave the Von Trapps farewell. 

There is honestly no time in my living memory when I haven’t seen “The Sound of Music”.  I have watched it a thousand million times, and still every time I see it, it raises my heart,  and lifts my soul. And on this magical night, with twelve hundred of my closest friends, I cheered for Maria, hissed the Baroness, booed the Nazis, fell in love with the Captain, and sighed for Gretel. I sang every note from Do to Ti, sobbed my eyes out during “Climb Every Mountain”, and swooned at the glorious rich sumptuousness of one of the most definitive all singing, all dancing, all technicolour musicals ever made.  And watching it on the big screen, surrounded by people who love it as much as I do, is truly one of my favourite things.

Breakfast this morning was heavenly. The bread was homemade by yours truly (containing flour, water, salt, a pinch of sugar, yeast, and fresh rosemary), the eggs were of the free-range organic variety from the Eveleigh Farmer’s Markets at Carriageworks, and the juice was freshly squeezed oranges (from the market) and lemons (from my aunt and uncle’s  garden - thank you Vicky and Trevor!). Mmm hmm! The setting, Mum’s balcony overlooking the Lane Cove River and Lane Cove National Park on a gorgeous blue sky Sydney summer day. Cicadas trilling, minor birds and lorikeets whistling to each other from their branches, a lone kookaburra cackling at it all from his perch in, yes, an old gum tree. What more does one need in life? 
 
On a side note, my visit to the Eveleigh Farmer's Market yesterday was also a real treat.  In celebration of the Chinese New Year, celebrated Chinese-Australian chef Kylie Kwong was giving a cooking demonstration. Her challenge for the morning had been to arrive at the markets, select ingredients, and give a live demonstration using only the ingredients found at the markets. Due to the swarm of people surrounding her, I unfortunately couldn't see a lot. Whatever she was cooking, it smelt amazing. The stalls were a sumptuous feast of (mostly) local, and  (mostly) organic or biodynamic fruits, vegetables, and occasional animal, of the  season. Hot off the vine or tree/out of the ground this week were capsicums, corn, carrots, brocolli, zucchini, beetroot, garlic, macadamia butter, olive oil, olives, stone fruits, oranges, apples, tomatoes, berries, avocados, and a plethora of green and fragrant herbs. Once again, what more does one need in life?!

I often think that it’s about time I got my driver’s license. Get myself a zippy little car and not be tied to the constraints of Sydney’s over-priced and archaic public transport system.  But that one hour (or so) each way of public transport commute is the best uninterrupted Me Time I get all day. I read, listen to music, and journal. And sometimes, when the stars are in strange alignments, amazing human interactions occur.

Last night heading home from work on the 440 bus down Parramatta Rd, a lady sitting next to me asked in a thick accent how many stops were there until Wynyard Station. The eldery gentleman sitting on the other side of the lady piped up and said it was two or three. He then asked the lady, “¿Tu  hablas Españoll?” (do you speak Spanish?). She laughed and said yes. Excited at the prospect of practising my Spanish, I said, “Yo hablo un pocito Español!” (I speak a little Spanish). It turned out that the rather adorable elderly gentleman was Italian, and he was a fluent speaker in Italian, Spanish, and English. The lady was Brazilian, and she was a fluent speaker in Portuguese, Spanish, and English. For the next 10 minutes we had ourselves a conversation in a mixture of Spanish, Italian, and English! It lifted my heart and soul to think  of how the three of us had come to be in this conversation. Three people of entirely different ages and backgrounds traveling together down the road getting from A to B.

Sure every bus trip isn’t filled with such magic, but how wonderful that there is the chance that it could occur. I’m sure I’ll get my license eventually. But in the meantime, I’ll enjoy the me time, and occasional surprising magic, of catching the bus. 

The hip, not-so-new thing amongst organic food lovers and locavores (people who try to source all their food from within a 100 mile radius of where they live) is cooking with sprouted grains. You take whole grains, sprout them by rinsing them in water twice a day for a few days, grind them into a paste and bake. Apparently sprouting grains helps one absorb more minerals, increases the vitamin content of the grain, and is more easily digested. Woohoo. Plus, it is meant to taste fabulous. Inspired by an article in my 2010 Permaculture Diary, I decided to have a go at baking “Essene bread” (the Essene’s, my diary tells me, were “peace loving, mostly celibate, vegetarian folk who lived communally with collective ownership” around the time just before and after Jesus. They have since, not so surprisingly, died out).
 
I took four cups of whole dry wheat grain, and watched with amazement as the little brown grains grew longer and longer white and green tails over the space of a couple of days. When the sprouts were long enough (approximately the same size as the grain), I threw them in a food processor with a bit of water, and churned out a gooey paste. I discovered I’d used a  little too much water, and the paste was a little too gooey. But I persevered. I beamed positive vibes at the round goo as I placed it in the oven and let it bake for over 2 hours.

The result? The edges, which had caramelised, were as delicious as the article had promised. Like a rich dark brown sourdough with bursts of juicy flavour. The insides however were just sloppy goo... But, hurrah! I have baked with sprouted grains! And I know for next time not to use  so much water, to set the oven at a slightly lower temperature, and to let it all bake for longer. I’ll be back Essene bread... even if your inventors never will be! 

Coming home on the train last night I was imagining what I was going to cook for dinner. I decided on roast tomatoes and cous cous. I could taste the light and fluffy yellow cous cous, prepared in vegetable stock, mixed in with peas, carrots, capsicum, and creamy fetta. Once home I sliced two tomatoes, drizzled them in the dark balsamic and light olive oil, and  liberally sprinkled the juicy red half-moons with salt and pepper. Next step, to the cupboard to claim the cous cous. But when I got there, the cupboard was bare. Well, not quite bare, but bare of cous cous. The sadness! 

Luckily for me, my wistful taste buds and I have spent the last week reading Frances Mayes' mouthwatering memoir “Under the Tuscan Sun.” Oh how I wish we could all jet off to Tuscany every summer to restore an ancient farm house and fill it with ingredients picked up from the local town or back(vine)yard! Even as a vegetarian, Maye’s descriptions of chickens roasted with 40 cloves of garlic (40!!!!) and endless variations of bruschette, and hazelnut ice cream have made me a salivating wreck on Sydney’s buses and trains after work. 

So, with Frances Mayse and her Tuscan kitchen on my mind, I turned to the classic staple, pasta. I roasted the tomatoes, along with some diced potatoes, garlic, and onion until they were all sweet and soft. Along with a generous helping of kalamata olives, a drizzle of olive oil, and a sprinkling of oregano, I tossed them through a batch of pasta. Mmm hmm! And  there’s still enough left to take for lunch this week. Ah, heaven. Thank you  Frances Mayes!