We knew we need only follow our nose and glimpses of the teasing dappled light of paper lanterns, flailing in the wind, hung to tents like bobbypins holding myriad iridescent petticoats, to know we had reached The Night Noodle Market. Had we been oblivious to the many signs and songs, the parades of Chinese dragon dances and, perhaps not surprisingly, beer cans and bottles, it would have been easy to know we were in Hyde Park by the crowds. Masses of hungry patrons descended upon the stalls, queuing irregular and fiercely impatient three-laned lines, all the while fiddling with their twenty-dollar notes and chatting about the working week.
I took the opportunity to take as many candid photographs as I could from all angles and perspectives, trying to realise the event from the eyes of somebody truly taking part in everything that was on offer. It was well worth the change in viewpoint, especially in the numerous instances in developing the courage to visit the chefs at their stalls in the restriced area. At first some were a little shy, others somewhat hostile, the chefs gradually warmed up to me and allowed me to take a few close-ups of their craft. It seemed only fair that I ask permission first, thank them for their co-operationand make a silly gesture about being ravenously hungry. Don’t worry, I did the right thing; I went to buy some curry puffs and spring rolls from the same tent.
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A scene from Nonna's garden in the summertime.
It was late November. A Sunday. Unseasonably cold at ten degrees below the average. The door chimed, a happy mother entered, unloaded her Santa sleigh of goodies, blew a kiss and said goodbye. The next day, a jolly fellow (not dressed in a Santa suit, sadly) repeated the aforementioned. Three kilograms later, I write the post about the arduous journey in progress to remove this excess weight. It is proving more difficult than I could have ever imagined.
Day one began with a game of tennis for one hour: the time passed so quickly and I barely broke a sweat. Day two saw a short jog that ended with a delightfully unexpected craving for McDonald’s. Day three found me more interested in playing Theme Park on the Nintendo DS. Day four was like a sauna in the office, and because of this dehydration, I decided against any further exertion. Day five was the last day of that weight-loss routine, and given my mental exhaustion I decided that a delicious dish of fish and chips was in order. Little did I know that a secret, unannounced dinner invitation had already been made. Soon I found myself burying my stomach deeper and deeper in the specialities of the festive season, Italian-Australian style.
It’s the first day of December; the last month of the year and the beginning of the warmer season. Standing upon this weathered plateau that has seen the turbulent year passing, we commemorate and reflect upon our achievements during the year and perhaps some of the regrets and concerns along the way. Before I had the chance to stow away those fuzzy jumpers and pullovers from the transient winter-spring hybrid season that just ended, the mercury has risen to its resting point of 31 degrees centigrade, meaning that public transport to and from the city bustles, booms in the peak hours and beyond, swelters and swells, with smells of body odour from those returning from gym sessions and nervous students awaiting their examination results.
These days (which seem to keep stretching on longer and longer), I’m kept busy by my commitments at the University of New South Wales, providing my nine-to-five of technical support for the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences and a small cache of personal projects on the side. For example, Sevendales.net is due to see a revamp as I finally knuckle down to get those anthologies written, those photographs uploaded, the forums powered up and a few personal ballads recorded in good time. Of course, in between all of that, I am visiting with friends I haven’t seen in a long while, queuing for make-it-yourself salads at work and discussing existentialism with colleagues over a thick slice of ciabatta. And who could forget, writing, editing and planning all of those recipes and reviews to come. Some would say it’s all in a days work. Just between me and you though, the ratio probably resembles two parts cooking and documenting to four parts ordering in take-away and procrastination. There are moments when I stop to pick up fallen flowers like dandelions, frangipani and azaleas (as seen above), not to mention the indulgence of Christmas lights which I still haven’t come around to hanging up on the inside of our window, facing the carpark. The residents might have a good laugh at our Chrissie cheer, even if they are Scrooges’ themselves!
Given the immense heat that has us under a spell, commuters face the flies by the dozen and by the retiring night, the mosquitoes biting. Nobody can deny it any longer for it’s as official as it gets; the Southern Hemisphere has turned its pasty white limbs lethargically toward the Sun to greet the dawn of summer, the beginning of December and the rebirth of thousands of saplings and tender troops of seeds eager to burst forth from the earth, ready for another season of yields. Thanks to Eastern Daylight Savings Time, Sydneysiders are enjoying their extra few hours of sunlight beyond 4pm and are roused in the morning by the happy chirp of birds in their trees rather than the sound of a monotonous alarm clock. Did I mention the dazzling, succulent fruits on sale? Bananas, cherries, raspberries, strawberries, currants, lemons, lychees, mangoes, melons, dews and passionfruit, pineapple, rambutan, starfruit and apricot have all poked their noses out for the consumer market to take advantage of the best on offer.
And as with every season, there is a bounty of goodness to enjoy in the great outdoors with family and friends, pulling out and dusting off those old recipe books hastily crammed away while we braced ourselves during the winter months. And whilst the author will be sipping sangria and feasting on fruit salads, he wishes to remind his readers that Wild Thyme and Sweet Pea will not let a moment of good food and inspiration pass through the sieve of time. So what are you waiting for? ‘Tis the season to cast off the shackles of the gloomy time past and brew up a pot of inspiration, while spending other times chilling with a kind of careful contemplation. Stay tuned for our unfolding catalogue of delicious weekly updates and anecdotes to come.
A great war, one of unspeakable consequences for the culinare, of an impact so profound and meaningful, a fercious debate of epic proportions rages and you must declare your allegience or face a lifetime of uncooked food. Well, not really; only for the purposes of creating dramatic effect and to catch your attention to something seemingly insignificant. When was the last time you thought about your stovetop and gave serious consideration to whether it suits your purposes aptly?
It makes sense to consider the implications of how important the right stovetop can be to your lifestyle and your methods of cooking in the kitchen – whether you like to let off a little gas while you cook and love to throw your weight around, or perhaps you like to let things heat up under the glassy surface while the bubbles rise in that pot of pasta or even a fetish for allowing thousands of electrical molecules work their magic, until they’re red in the face.
But why make such a big fuss about a cooking stove – they’re all the same, right? Definitely not! Food and food products each pertain to a metric of manipulating and maintaining chemistry in what we cook, and so long as we are in control of what appliances fill our kitchen, it’s time to review some of the important tenets of stove-choosing and the pathways to more successful results with your dishes.
Here's a little something we prepared earlier: home-baked solutions to the global economic crisis.
Bracing ourselves in the fear of a global recession that threatens to push up the price of everything from crude oil to that obscure pasta crimper in the local department store that you have been eyeing for a solid year now, there’s no questioning the fact that the developed nations whose fingers are dipped deep into the once-baking pies of foreign investments, are feeling the pinch upon their private bundles of ravioli. There’s no surefire solution to the problem – neither working harder or working less will help in every possible way, and only certain aspects of our day-to-day life are affected in a noticable way (such as a fluctuation in the grocery bill).
For the majority of us, we do our weekly shop at green grocers and supermarkets to get our foodstuffs and luxuries – as we’ve discussed in an earlier post, it’s convenient and buying in this bulk convenience paradigm means extra savings on the shopping docket. However, a select few of those with a few extra shiny notes in their wallets frequently choose to dish out extra ‘dosh for a slice of specially selected and maintained organic produce on offer, for whatever reason they might choose – these folks are more health conscious, perhaps?
The ‘organic’ movement has its credibility is some ways – I would much rather have my berries and apricots without layers of pesticides, thank you kindly, but who in the wide world would profit in any way from organic foie gras? The last time I checked, all produce hails from nature, from the earth that it spawned from and suckled by the rays of the sun – all produce is thus, in fact, organic. A lovely bit of marketing has spun up tattle-tales about the health benefits and nutritional efficacy of standard produce. So who should we believe? Is organic really worthy of its title?
The Wild Thyme and Sweet Pea project found its roots when it was plucked excitedly from the garden, washed briskly in a basin of water and lovingly left out to dry in a soothing marinade of vision and ambition ... More »
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