We have to start somewhere I guess. This blog is not really blessed with purpose yet. Right now it is here to provide me a platform to experiment with photography, recipes and getting all the garbled garbage up in my head down in some sort of worded format to help me make sense of it.
Originally I started the blog for a food media course I was taking, something to fill in time. But once it was finished and most of the classes blogs faded away with disuse as blogs tend to do over time i felt I wasn't finished. If you come perusing you will probably find layered cakes, soft cookies, the occasional moaning and groaning about the insignificant, photos shot in low light, photos shot in too much light, my hysterical and sad attempts at food styling, words written in philosophical prose, jumbled words that make little sense and paragraphs that attempt to sound impressive but may leave you thinking I am a bit of a wanker. You will find spelling mistakes, pictures of shoes and cats and plums. Oh and lists. I am a chronic list maker.
Food and the act of Creating are deeply entwined with many of my happy memories so it makes sense to me that I should celebrate both these things in my everyday life. I was born in Sydney to to a man who dealt in fractured personalities and to a wild woman with red thread in her veins. They were adventurers. Never satisfied to be in one country for too long. By the time my little sister came along however they decided to put down roots in a small community on top of some Blue Mountains. And so it was my sister and I grew up with our heads literally in the clouds. Mum was a stay at home mum for a while and nourished us on foods she had discovered on her travels. While other kids went to school with lunch meat slapped between two pieces of bread with tomato sauce my sister and I had falafels with hummus and sweet cakes made from zucchinis. I remember helping mum in the kitchen licking spoons and dipping fingers. She taught me how to whip, beat and cream. My love affair for food and how it connects people began early on. Our house in the mountains always seemed to be full of people, friends mum and dad had picked up along the way. Some stayed longer than others.There was Victoria the country princess who wore knee high gumboots and taught me how to steam a pudding. There was Angelica from Germany. She taught me how to make buttery cheesey filo pastries and to not tie your self worth with what strangers think of you. There was Mercury who would read your aura and made spicy fragrant chai.
When I was 11 I met my older sister for the first time. To 11 year old me she was the supreme. She was an artist, shy and quiet. She had been to places I hadn't even heard. She rode horses and spoke with an English accent. The one and only christmas we got to share she made trifle. I remember it to this day. Layers of sherry soaked cake, fresh peaches from the tree and lashings of real custard. It is a food I have tried so hard to replicate but know I never will.
I remember each recipe tried and tested. I can recall each time I tried a new food or flavour. Hot lemon and honey in the foot hills of North Vietnam, fermented chilli tofu and chive pancakes on a rickety boat in Guilin, China, a bite of rare lamb cooked so well it melted in your mouth, hokey pokey ice cream in the middle of winter in New Zealand, fresh mangoes off the tree in Coffs Harbour mingling with residual sea salt from that mornings ocean swim. Each mouthful a confirmation, each new flavour a revelation.
I don't know if anyone out there will be bothered with this blog, after all really it is just another food blog and there are some really amazing ones out there that deserve your attention far more than this one ever will. But by all means please stop by and say hello. it would mean the world to me.