I Could Never Be a Vegetarian

I distinctly remember
As a teenager
Eating a chicken leg
Actually gnawing on the gristle
And declaring to my vegetarian step-mum
"I could NEVER be a vegetarian.
I LOVE meat!"
Nom nom nom.

And then
When I was twenty-something
I got sick
Really sick
I was sick for a year
I had everything
Laryngitis
Bronchitis
Influenza
I got sick of being sick
I did a bit of research
And decided what was making me ill
Was my diet

I cut out meat
And boosted my intake
Of fresh leafy greens
Became friends with farmers' markets
And devoured
All colours of the rainbow
In fruit and vegetable form

I did it slowly over time
To get used to new flavours
New ways of cooking
And you know what?
I stopped getting sick
I started appreciating
Food
I learnt how to cook
With what was available
And seasonal and fresh

If you had told my teenage self
That one night
For fun
I would whip together
Raw courgette and carrot noodles
With a red pepper and pine nut sauce
And meatless eggplant balls
Because those were what she had in the fridge
She would have laughed
And said
"GROSS! Where's the MEAT?!
That meal has NOTHING in it!"

But my present-day-self
Offers thanks
To the farmers who grew all the veggies
The people that delivered them
And the recipes that inspired their ultimate
Delicious consumption

The end.

Into the Wild

Tucked away in
The brightly coloured
Hippy quarter of
Covent Garden
Known as
Neal's Yard
Is the wonderful
Wild Food Cafe

They make fabulous food
And sinful smoothies
And it's all
"Healthy"
Full of vitality
And nutrients
And goodness

Today I had a "raw Shepherd's pie"
Which sounds ridiculous
And gross
But it was utterly
Amazing
Finely chopped olives and carrots and peas
With bright orange pumpkin on top
The flavour explosion was
Out of this world

They call their
Chocolate smoothies
With raw cacao and aloe vera and cinnamon
"Ecstasy"
They're not far from the truth

The staff are friendly
The food is amazing
And every time I go there
I feel better
About life

The end.

Vegging Out

Coming home
At the end of a
Long week
And doing a batch of
Roast vegetables
And a makeshift
Ratatouille
And having the time
To catch up
And veg out
That is bliss

The end.

Let Them Eat Cake

Wandering around the
Real Food Markets
At Southbank
And eating fresh
And garlicky
Bruschetta
And a falafel wrap
And hot cider
And a chocolate brownie
For dessert
With a lovely
Kindred spirit
And relishing the melting pot of cultures
You
An Australian/Spanish person
Living in London
Eating
Moroccan and Italian and English foods
With a Russian/South African/Australian
Who lives in France
And you think
This is precisely
The life
I wanted to lead

The end.

Thank You

Thank you
Mum
For your generosity
And looking after me
Even when you're
Far away

Thank you
Skype
For keeping me connected
With my boy
Even when he's
Far away

Thank you
Raspberry sorbet
And white chocolate shavings
For your deliciousness
And taking my troubles
Far away

The end.

Tuesday Morning

Sometimes
All you need
Is to sit
With a lovely
Group of women
And meditate
And cut out magazines
And glue pictures
To paper
And share delicious food
And go along your way
Knowing you are
Surrounded by lovely
And are
Not alone
In the Great Struggle
That is London

The end.

You Say Potato

From Abel & Cole

Abel & Cole
Who deliver my food every week
From local farms
Suggested making potato mash
By first
Baking the potatoes on a bed of sea salt
And then mashing...
You say potato,
I say
Oh, sweet. heavenly. goodness!!!!

At the end of the day

thankfully, not my day. 

It is nice to come home
To cheese and crackers
And homemade hummus
And to chat with your love
And to light a candle
And be still

The end.

Apple and Cheese

Dear apple and cheese,

Thank you for being in my fridge at the end of a long day.

Love,
Tired-but-feeling-better-thanks-to-deliciousness-and-grateful-that-I-have-a-roof-over-my-head-and-food-in-my-belly-and-sometimes-really-that's-the-world-to-be-grateful-for-the-end.

July 4th

My friend Helene and I singing the Swedish frog song.
Photo by Rene Macioce. 

The camp where I work was founded by pacifists, people who had endured the horrors of Nazi Germany. Today our place of work is staffed by people from all over the world Australia, New Zealand, Mexico, Ireland, Scotland, Canada, Poland, Czech Republic, Sweden... As a result, we don't celebrate Independence Day, we celebrate Diversity Day. In the evening the international staff and international campers share their cultures, their music and stories and tidbits of information that make their cultures different to the American one. But even Diversity Day makes me uncomfortable. I feel anxious around displays of nationalism. And so, I wrote and shared the following. 

Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. 

Allow me to explain. I am Australian. I am Spanish. I am descendent from Filipinos, Dutch, and Polish. I have blood relatives in Spain, Switzerland, England, America, Canada, the Philippines, and Australia. I speak un pocito Español. I grew up in Sydney, approximately 10,000 miles from this place. Where I come from we wear thongs instead of flip flops, the forest is called the bush. We eat lollies and not candy, and wear singlets instead of tank tops. We say it is hot outside, and not it is hot out. I call my friends on a mobile not a cell, We don’t walk upside down. Nor do our toilet bowls flush in the opposite direction... I don’t think. I never rode a kangaroo to school. I never owned a pet koala. I never met Steve Irwin. 

I’m rather uncomfortable with declarations of nationalistic pride. I grew up in a country whose national day of pride is Anzac Day, which commemorates the landing of Australian and New Zealander troops on the shores of Galipoli, Turkey, and were subsequently slaughtered in their thousands. Now we’re friends with the Turkish, and we eat their delicious foods and every year thousands more Australians congregate at Galipoli to remember the fallen from nearly a hundred years before. 

I’m a raging pacifist. I don’t get war. I really don’t. Once upon a time the British fought the Americans. Then they decided to stop. Now they are allies. Now they laugh at each other from across the pond. Seventy years ago my country was shooting Turks, and Germans, and Italians. Seventy years later I grew up eating pita bread, pretzels, and pizza. When my grandparents were teenagers they were sheltering from Japanese bombs and fearing death. My grandmother now drives a Japanese car, we all eat sushi, and my class at school almost had more Japanese students than Australian. 

I don’t get displays of nationalistic pride. They make me uncomfortable. I’ve spent the last five years traveling the world. I’ve been to Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Germany, France, Switzerland, England, Wales, and the US of A. Now I may have only begun to scrape the surface of the metaphorical travel iceberg but here’s what I’ve discovered in my travels. No one place is better or worse than any other. America is no more the land of the free than Australia is the land of sunshine. In all those places I’ve seen people going about their daily lives. They wake up, they eat food, they go to the toilet, they spend the day making ends meet, if they’re lucky they’ll have time to play. At the end of the day they gather with their families and then they go to sleep. There are variations on this theme. Yes, many people have less other people. Yes, you have the occasional people that spend their days plotting the demise of other people who aren’t their people. But you know what? Most people just happened upon this here crazy planet, and they’re doing the best that they can.

Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. I care that you treat me decently just because. I care that I can be open to cultures and traditions and foods and that aren’t my own. It may be naive. It may be simplistic. But we’ve got to start somewhere. I hope you’ll care less where I come from. At the end of the day, let’s just exist on this planet together. Let’s draw on several thousand years of human history and share the foods that our ancestors ate. Let’s find a way to share life, liberty, and the pursuit of happyness in all its rich diversity. 

The end. 

On the Road Again

Far out, I love traveling!

I love packing my bags

I love the heartache of saying goodbye to somewhere that’s become familiar

I love getting to the airport and the thrill of all the possibilities

I love checking in

I love watching my bright blue backpack being tagged and sent off to the bowels of the airport where people unseen will make sure it goes to where I’m going

The logistics of it all boggle my mind

I even love going through security

The quiet patience of people waiting in line

To be checked by other people

To make sure that the waiting people

Don’t hurt countless other people

The strange routine of it

Imagine if someone were looking in from outer space

What would they say?! 

I love getting through security and seeing the departures board

And all those destinations

And the way you have to search for the flight that is yours

I love living in Europe

I love that last weekend I was in Geneva

Eating local organic fish

Because the restaurant didn’t have a single vegetarian option

Because in many parts of Europe, being vegetarian just doesn’t exist

You’re vegetarian? Ah! I make you lamb. 

It’s actually true! 

And the thrill of looking out across Lake Leman (not Lake Geneva, the French get cranky)

And seeing Mont Blanc

Rising impossibly like some kind of cloud

Perpetually white

Perpetually beautiful and tall and majestic and all the cliches a mountain should be

And the weekend before that I was in Bath, England!

And walking around the ancient streets with a man dressed in 18th century garb

Showing us where Captain Philip resided (and fell out of a window and died)

And standing at the said Captain’s front door and thinking

Because this man once sailed far away

Because god and country

Because colonies and history

I am an Australian/Spaniard whose ancestors traveled from Poland and the Philippines and Spain and China standing outside an Englishman’s front door in Bath.

It is ridiculous. It is wonderful. It is life. 

And there are friends and family 

Scattered all over this globe

And you think no matter how often you travel

How many places you tick off the destination list

You will never quite manage to see them all even just once

And the excitement of going someplace new

To see things you’ve never seen before

And try foods you didn’t even know existed

(Until last week I had never heard of raclette, and now it’s a firm favorite! The Swiss and their delicious amazing cheeses! Until the week before I had never been to Stonehenge or seen the Roman Baths in Bath! The overwhelming delicious ancient history of it) 

To breathe air that is new and different 

To be a person whose life occupation is discovering the world

To look out at it in wonder

And sometimes be frightened by it

And sometimes be in love with it

And sometimes just be amazed that you’re here

And that you get to see it

The thrill rush joy of it.

The end.

Lanzarote

Despite my pasaporte de España

I’m not fluent in the language

An 8-week course and a little time in Spain 

Do not a fluent Spanish speaker make

But I can follow a conversation

Catch words I recognize

Get the gist

Churros con chocolate for breakfast

Now there’s a language I understand! 

The energy of the island

The blanco of the houses

My titos, relatives who lift my heart and soul and make me laugh

Spoil me rotten

Feed me up with tortilla y papas arugadas con mojo

The onions and garlic and olive oil

National signifiers of Spanishness

The essential ingredients to any good meal

(Remember standing in the markets in Islington

And the three musicians

Who played flamenco music

Were set up next to the olive oil stand

And you thought that was very appropriate

The glorious delicious cliche of it)

And from the tiny aeropuerto

You can fly to Nuremburg or Madrid or Varsovia or Gran Canaria or Gatwick or Amsterdam

And you think no matter how long you’ve been away from

Your island home

Far away in another hemisphere

The novelty of being able to travel to such destinations for a weekend

Will never quite wear off

And you’re entirely grateful

That so much of the world is your oyster

And you can understand enough to say

Gracias. 

The end. 

A Weekend in anoTHEr Country

In the morning you go out to meet another Aussie-expat and you go to a lovely Australian/New-Zealander cafe called Flat White and enjoy your renewed-found love of coffee. You make a note-to-self to find an alternative to espresso, as even four sugars per tiny cup seems excessive - though it is down from five. You enjoy delicious toast with homemade hummus and fresh avocado. It is the best hummus you have had in ages but you spend the rest of the day paranoid you reek of garlic. Afterwards you walk through beautiful St James's Park to the War Rooms. There are ducks and geese and swans and a woman is hand-feeding them over the fence. You think she is a bit mad, but realize that these birds are probably rather used to people hand-feeding them. 

The Churchill War Rooms are bizzare. They are secret bunkers for the British War Cabinet during The War. Small and slightly claustrophobic and when the war ended the people literally turned off the lights, walked out, closed the door, and didn't come back for decades. Now the rooms and corridors and bunkers are a museum and you can walk through and see exactly how it all was over seventy years ago. Imagine being in the rooms Back Then. The rooms would have been smokey because everybody smoked back then, and above you the world was falling apart and you didn't know if when you left work for the day (or night) if your house or even your street was still going to be there when you did. No one except the government was allowed to know that you worked there because it was Top Secret. If you were a secretary you had a special gas mask that allowed you keep talking on the telephone even during a gas attack. The War Stops For Nobody.  

You walk back to Soho to the Soho Theatre Bar to mingle with other drama students. You are late, but it seems you haven't missed much except a free drink. A casting director is giving a talk. She says things you have mostly heard before, but you're feeling light and inspired and you scribble down some of her points and feel a sense of renewed enthusiasm. Then you wander around the room and meet some of the other actors. They are all graduating this year too, ready to go out into the Big Wide World and try their luck at this acting thing. Will all this time and money and effort be worth it?

You meet a girl with Scandinavian/American heritage. She wants to move to New York and live the life of a starving actor. She knows it's a bit weird to want that life, but you understand what she means. It's New York. And then you meet a boy who gives you the feeling that he is on the cusp of something brilliant, but you're not quite sure what it is, but you're sure he is destined for great things. And then you meet another girl who is interested in verbatim theatre and using theatre to make a positive difference to the world. And it is nice to meet someone as excited and passionate as you about the possibility of theatre. 

You head home on the tube. And you get home and you make chickpea patties, which you haven't made in the longest time, and you make a big batch of quinoa and steam some spinach. And you spread a little beetroot dip from yesterday's cooking adventures on the chickpea patties, and you pour out a little sweet chilli sauce. And you sit at your desk to do some work and you breathe and smile and know that you have had a most wonderful day. 

The end.

Into the Woods

Imagine going out for a stroll
And a little while from your house
Are not one, but three woods!
And they are part of ancient woodland systems
Visited by people for thousands of years
And you walk along a well-worn path
And although it is December
And the middle of winter
Everything is so green!
And you smile at the holly and the ivy
And the families playing soccer in the park
And the mud beneath your boots
And at the end of a long walk
You find yourself in an Indian restaurant
In the middle of London
Eating delicious courses of spicy tomato soups
And vegetables and rice mixed with large helpings of coriander
And you walk home
And the sun sets around 3pm
And you enjoy another cup of tea
And you think
This is London
And it is lovely.
The end.

The Hunger Banquet

Talking about issues of food security and food distribution and the wealth of people and economics and people living in the world and the way we eat and distribute our resources. I was in the “middle income group” and so my dinner was rice and beans and it was surprisingly delicious and the kids on the floor, the “low income group”, ate bowls of rice and the people at the “high income” table ate three different kinds of pasta! Imagine the luxury, three different kinds of pasta in one meal! 

I live in total luxury. I have everything I ever need in the world at my fingertips. I have the power of my mind at my disposal. I can choose to be happy with my lot. It is a surprise that the people who live in the most wealthy most product filled most resourceful countries have the highest rates of depression. They have everything and still the world holds no joy. I choose to hold joy. I choose to have gratitude for all that I have. All that I have access to. I want to make a difference. I want to make the world a beautiful place, a joyful place, leave it a little better than when I found it. This place I came into. This time, this place, this age of terrorism, of mass consumption, of food aplenty yet mass starvation, of highest technological innovation, of new age hippie spiritual life. To love, to life, to joy. To be. To be here. Here I am. Hello.

Chestnuts Roasting

What on earth possessed a human to look down at a chestnut pod and think

Hmm, I’m going to crack open that there spiky pod and then I’m going to take out what ever is inside and I’m going to throw it on a fire and crack it open again and eat the yellowy white flesh in the middle

Because truly, chestnuts are a strange item

And it is hard to imagine that you didn’t eat your first roasted chestnut until you were 24 and walking the Camino in rural northern Spain

Because by that time in history chestnuts had already been reduced to a cliche

Swooney tunes sung by swooney men at Christmas time in the northern hemisphere

Entire worlds away from your birthplace

And at 24 you are walking through a chestnut forest with your beloved

And you wonder if the chestnuts on the ground all around you are edible

And you exclaim I want a roasted chestnut! 

And you round a corner and there are Giuseppe and Maria collecting chestnuts

And Giuseppe calls out to you

And you start chatting

And he talks about the niños in the area lighting fires at this time of year

And you and your beloved shake your heads and tsk-tsk those naughty niños because where we come from children who light fires in the forest at the end of summer are asking for trouble

But this is northern rural Spain

And autumn time is chestnut time

And Giuseppe lights a fire and throws a couple of chestnuts into it

And you stare around nervously wondering if it is ok to be in the middle of the forest with old Spanish men lighting fires

And then he gives you a smoldering chestnut

And you peel it

And it burns your fingers

And then you taste your first roasted chestnut

And it is like a hot potato

It is like a hot potato with just the right amount of butter

It is amazing

It is heaven

Suddenly the cliche makes total sense  

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire

And two years later you are at home in Ashfield

And your beloved is gone

But you have a bag of chestnuts from the markets

And you’ve roasted them in the oven according to your uncle’s advice

And the smell of it makes your heart yearn for another time

And you peel the first chestnut

And the heat of it surprises you

And then you bite into it

And the taste is as blissful as heavenly as wondrous as you remember

And you remember the time and place and happenings of your first chestnut

And you smile

And you wonder how it is it all began 

Don't Judge a Soup

Vegetable soup simmers away in the pot and smells delicious and fills the kitchen with warmth and heartyness on a chilly autumn afternoon where the sky is dark and threatens rain. And the soup is ready and it’s pulverised to make it soupy but the vegetables within include two purple carrots and they make the whole soup turn dark purple and look entirely un-appetising. It looks like schlop. You think of Oliver and his bowlful of gruel. And you take a deep breath and try a little sip of that sickly looking soup, and you are pleasantly delighted to find it is delicious! And you mix in a spoonful of goat’s cheese and it melts into the purple and the whole thing becomes a lighter purple and it looks slightly more appetising. But who cares what it looks like. You are feeding yourself and are accountable to no one. It is fairytale soup. It may look a little ugly. But it’s contents are full of goodness. And by eating it you just may turn into a swan who loves to play in the rain that is surely about to come. The end. 

Stratton Cottage

Today I wandered around a lake

And breathed fresh mountain air

And ate beautiful food

Which Zev and I prepared together

And then we sat by the fire and toasted marshmallows

And my inner child positively sqealed with delight

At the gooey molten deliciousness 

And I came home on the train

And watched the sky turn orange

And when I got home 

I sat with Len and we ate icecream with chocolate bits and maple syrup 

And sometimes you feel down 

And sometimes you feel nice

And sometimes you miss old lovers and friends

And sometimes you need to just let it all go

And watch flames turn wood into ash

And drink tea

And know that your friends are the most wonderful beautiful special people

And that life sometimes is scary but it’s only temporary

And everything in life is only for now

Because tomorrow you may find yourself on a jet plane to a land far away

To seek new adventures and new lovers and new people

And dear, you simply must trust that it is all going to be ok

Because it is

The end. 

11 Steps to Bliss on A Sultry Summer's Day

1. Buy bag of achachas from Eveleigh Farmers Markets
2. Freeze entire bag of achachas
3. Take desired quantity out of the freezer (always one more than you think) and allow to sit out of the freezer for 5-10 minutes.
4. Ensure you have a damp cloth or serviette handy
5. Peel off the hard orange skin
6. Marvel at the small white ball of goodness in front of you
7. Sink your teeth into the flesh
8. Enjoy the cold sweet fruity sorbet goodness that is the frozen achacha. Enjoy the sensation of fruit juice running down your fingers and hands. It is like you are five and eating a melting icy pole. It is better.
9. Repeat steps 5-8 as often as necessary
10. Place scraps in compost bin, clean hands and face
11. Enjoy the contented feeling of having consumed frozen fruity sorbet achacha goodness.

The end. 

Magic Beans

Imagine if you will, a purple bean. It is so purple it is the very definition of purple. It is what purple should be. The bean is long and skinny. And you have a handful of these purple beans. And you chop off the end bits and peel off the stringy bits and you throw them in the fry pan along with some chopped zucchini and capsicums and kernels of yellow corn and Spanish onion and garlic. And it all smells amazing. And as the stir fry simmers and sizzles, a miraculous transformation begins to take place. The purple beans, so purple in their purple beanery begin to change colour. It is like kitchen magic. See here my purple beans! See how radiant they are in their purpleness! Look closely, watch carefully... a flame, a sizzle, a wave of the magic wooden spoon and VOILA! Green beans! And before you know it, there are no more purple beans in your stir fry. Just green. And the tiniest traces of purple to remind you of what was once before. 

And soon the stir fry is ready. And you turn off the heat. And you munch into your greens. And they are delicious. And another day you can add purple beans to a salad. You can sauté them in olive oil and a bit of garlic. You can drizzle lemon or garlic butter over the top. They are even delicious raw. And as you consume and remember to be thankful to the people who took the time to plant the beans and watch them grow and harvest them from their vines and bring them to the markets, you know you have shared in the magic that is the bean. Lovely.