Tim Tamilicious

I've done a quick review just to survey previous posts for Tim Tams. There were none, so it's fair game. As cliche as it may be, I haven't done a post yet about the things Aussie that I have come to enjoy. People often ask about what is different from the US of A to Australia, and my response is often: the food. Try finding canned pumpkin or canned black beans here. You'll search til your blue in the face with no joy. Mexican ingredients are hard to come by; given the distance we are from Mexico, it shouldn't be a surprise. You can find the packaged taco ingredients, but fresh tomatillos? Forget it. Any Goya products? Only online. Ancho chilis in adobo sauce? If you're lucky, and buy in bulk. Because when you come back, they probably won't have them.

On the up side, we get oysters and seafood aplenty. I'm hoping the amigos are up for trying this place. OVER FORTY different kinds of oysters. And that's fair dinkum (i.e., no lie).  There's kangaroo at the ready and the sweets and snacks are pretty tasty too.

In a quest at the grocery store yesterday to find all-things-Aussie for some friends arriving tomorrow, I discovered the many varieties of Tim Tams. White chocolate, dark chocolate with mint, chocolate with caramel, double coated, just to mention a few. Tim Tams are delciouslly Australian. Eating one correctly is known as the 'Tim Tam Slam,' as demonstrated here. Apparently this amounts to biting off the ends, dipping it in a cup of tea and then eating the whole 'biscuit' before it melts. So we've got a few for the amigos to try out.

And whoever came up with the concept of 'Tasty Cheese' as a type...like edam or cheddar. 

There is of course the infamed 'roo that most visitors have wanted to try. It comes as a surprise too that it's sold in the grocery store. There are roughly 22 million kangaroos in Australia, compared with almost 23 million people. According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, there is one birth every 1 minute and 46 seconds, one death every 3 minutes and 35 seconds, and one international migration every 2 minutes and 20 seconds. All this meaning there is an overall total population increase of one person every 1 minute and 24 seconds.

 My favourite. Chicken flavoured crackers, crisps or pretty much any snack item. Chicken people. It's meat. I get cheese flavoured, because you could make cheese crackers if you so desired. But how would you get the chicken into the cracker. It's just wrong. But chicken salt on the other hand: devine. Nothing ever made more sense that an insanely tasty salt made with chicken flavouring and MSG. Don't knock it til you tried it.

I could go on, but I think I'll stop here for now. The rain has paused for what I hope is a good soild few hours and there's work to be done in the garden.

So to any questions, I say, no worries, mate, I'll catch ya next time round.

Cheers.

Bobbing along...

On this rainiest of rainy days, I'm desperately trying NOT to get cabin fever and claw my eyes out. We were lucky to get our Coastreking Training in a few days ago and walked from Spit to Manly, a short walk at roughly 10 kilometers.

When I lived in London, February was always the worst month. The joke amongst us was that by Feb, you'd be ready to poke your eyes out. So off to Spain or Italy or Greece you went...

Travelling remains a different sort Down Under. A weekend away is much more local. As in get in the car and drive to the Blue Mountains. Like I said, different, not better or worse, just different.

So, I digress. Instead, we are lucky enough to have the ocean in our reach. Which is worth all the weekends in Spain, Italy, Greece or beyond.

So this has been my Friday night quite happily spent the past two weeks...

This was after an early evening storm following a 46 degree (115 for you Fahrenheiters) day.Swimming in the ocean when there's lightening over the abyss is a unique experience. The only other time I've truly seen a stormy sea is in Aruba during a most impressive lighting storm over Venezuela.

Now, don't let all this waxing lyrical about rambling waves cover up the truth: swimming in the ocean is a skill. And it's hard. And you're likely to lose your swimming gear at least once if you're a newbie.

All of this on top of trying not to lose a contact, get used to the salt water in your various facial orfi (orfices?),  and not get completely hammered by the waves. Like I said: skill. And rules. Swimming in between the flags is pretty basic, but the nuances that come with the 'surfers code' (which, yes, is very real) I have yet to make out. MacBoyfriend is ever so patiently teaching me the difference between a rip, swell and a wave. It's more complicated than it sounds, especially to this Chicago native that grew up on the much tamer beaches of Lake Michigan.

But when you do catch a wave, even if it's only a few feet, you realise why the Aussies love their body surfing. Because it's fun. It's even great as a spectator-sport. Watching the waves and the surfers / swimmers in them is incredibly relaxing.

I usually last about 15 MAYBE 20 minutes before I have to retreat to the sidelines, usually chocking on sea water and with only one contact.

But it's not so bad there either.

Egg salad memories

I'm baaacckkk!!! It's been over a month, and a new year has rolled on through. Firstly, happy New Year and whatever holiday you observe, I hope it was enjoyed with family, friends and was a most joyous occasion.

Now....what have I been up to...

A bit of a shameless plug, but I'm waiting for the Coastrek manual to print.1st March D-Day, so it's t minus six weeks and a few odd days now, and no holds barred training is out in full force! Please visit the page and have a look at what we're undertaking, 50 kilometers (roughly 30 miles or so) walking along the Sydney coast. From Palm Beach to Balmoral for those locals. It's a challenge of all sorts: physical, mental, emotional and will give our feet a run for it's money (pun intended)! There should be spectacular scenery and we're praying for good weather! Watch this space...

There was Christmas and New Year's, the former of which was spent up at the Gold Coast with MacBoyfriend's extended family. It blows my mind that it's hot in January, but also that people still cook turkeys, hams, and lambs among other animals on a 25-30 degree (75-80) day. The Christmas cards also all have snow on them. So there you have it.

But today, I'm really here to talk about egg salad. Yup, egg. Salad. During this most festive of season, I can often find myself missing home and those that are still there. I remember a friend in the UK saying she cried from Thanksgiving to Christmas one year. After Thanksgiving, it really hit home how much the women in my family have taught me.

So I make egg salad because it reminds me of my mom and her kitchen. And that's a  very comforting thought. My job was to cut the eggs using this little silver egg slicer that was just the bees knees. I have no memory of what it tasted like. I'm not sure if she used a recipe or not. If she did, it hasn't been passed down. I don't remember if we ate egg salad often, but do for some reason connect it with my grandmother. All I remember is that egg slicer, and the French's yellow mustard that went in with the eggs. To this day I find mustard a very reassuring thing.

So when I came across egg salad in this book it was lunch served.  So for the past two weekends I've made egg salad for Saturday lunch. This week's included some chopped dill pickles and lemon juice, because how can you go wrong with those two. The last meal game is a favourite of mine.....as in, if you had to choose your last meal, what would it be?

Today, mine would be egg salad, white bread, and a green salad with little slice of mandarins made by my mother.

It's beginning to feel a lot like...summer

I sit, somewhat sadly, watching Nigella's Christmas Kitchen and willing it to be cold outside. After Thanksgiving, come Christmas. And it's cold at Christmas. The leaves change colours, stews abound in the kitchen, and if you're lucky, you get some good snow. One year at Christmas saw MacBoyfriend take his first trip down a sled hill, and get to use the snow blower (much to his, and my father's, excitement . I blame Nigella for making me feel slightly homesick, and went looking for images of Chicago in the snow. Thank you CNN for this one.

But alas, it's summer Down Under. Hot, humid, sweaty summer. I continue to try and reconcile the seasons and the holidays, it's an ongoing thing clearly. MacBoyfriend reckons it got to 31 Celsius (that's about 88 Fahrenheit) yesterday, but with the humidity it felt way hotter. At 11 a.m. I was sitting in my unairconditioned house dripping, not attractive, I know, but these are the cold-hard facts (pun intended). Funnily enough, we did add an air conditioner to the bedroom yesterday, and just in the nick of time.

But yesterday was SO hot it required a trip to the cinema to escape the heat and get into the a/c. We chose Argo. And am I ever glad we did. It was AH-mhaz-ing. I have a lot to learn about the Middle East and America's role. To that end, I'm armed with knowledge in the form of books. For some reason our library has a plethora of history books on China (because it is Ashfield afterall), Afghanistan and Iraq. I dove right in, so watch this space to see what comes out.

After the movie we tottered off to quench our Mexican thirst, and MacBoyfriend's thirst for a margarita. We have a few tried and true Mexican's in Glebe, but we tried something different in Surry Hills, El Loco. The tiny tacos are a little pricey, but delicious. We had a carne asada (beef/salsa/queso), pork with pineapple salsa and a prawn/salsa/pico de gallo. MacBoyfriend had two serves of chips, salsa and guac over another taco. Washed down with some Dos Equis Amber, it was a perfect way to end a very hot day.

On another note, it has come to my attention that it has been one year, and sadly only 25 posts, for A Leg Up. And hopefully another year to come.

Gobble, gobble...Happy Thanksgiving

I've been off busily preparing for my favourite holiday of the year. One of the few holidays that is truly American. The one day where we get together with friends and family, eat and be thankful for all that we have. No presents, just us. In my family, we are thankful for the people that are with us, and for those that could not be with us on the day. I have no doubt we were remembered as they sat at around the table, and now I was able to offer the same thanks in return. 

We celebrated our first Australian Thanksgiving this weekend. It was amazing. Two turkeys totaling 10 kilos (20 pounds), three kilos of cranberries (about six pounds), and a mashed potato bar with bacon, cheese, sour cream, spring onions/scallions and, of course, the real star, gravy. Mushroom with thyme to be exact. There was even pumpkin pie. 

It couldn't have been a better night with good company, great food, and lots of laughs. I couldn't have done it without MacBoyfriend though. He went to Manly Vale for the three kilos of cranberries and Marrickville for the turkeys. He flipped the turkeys and bought a poinsettia table cloth for the backyard table. So simply, for him, I give thanks

I'll leave you with a bit about the food....sweet dreams.

The Turkey

We brined both turkeys. One was a Martha Stewart recipe with bay and onion brine, and a Penzy's Bicentennial rub (tumeric, pepper, salt, sugar and something else I can't remember right now). The other was a Nigella brine with oranges and star anise, with a maple and butter glaze. They were delicious. 

We had cranberries, stuffing, wild rice, and a cranberry-apple chutney.

But the real star was the mashed potato bar.

This I believe...

Today is incredibly ordinary in Sydney. The sky has remained gray and cloudy, and it is surprisingly cold for a mid-spring day. I forgot my running shoes at home, and didn't realise I needed a light jacket until I was waiting for the train. This all after an epic alarm of the wattle bird at 5 a.m. I was happy it was Hump Day, especially after a weekend full of parties and pork in Melbourne.

I've been at the helm of my career path for a few months now, and have been questioning if I am heading in the right direction. So after this completly ordinary day, I came home and found something extraordinary. Funny how those two words, ordinary and extraordinary, mean polar opposites. I found a list of things I believe in circa October 2005. I remember starting the list based on the NPR program 'This I Believe,'which was often on in the car while tooling around the ghettos of Milwaukee. It was fitting. This was right after the time of Hurricane Katrina, and P-to-the-Earl and I were heading down for Mardi Gras that February. The theme was the Blue Roof Blues. One of the essay's was a social worker from New Orleans, who was writing about the aftermath of the storm.

For those of you that don't know the program, you should have a look. There are essays by American author Amy Tan, boxing legend Muhammad Ali, and 12-year-old Macklin who really likes the Beatles.

My list was started out of this program, and I had forgotten about it until now. Now, I won't keep you guessing, I shall share a few gems with you:


I believe I want to run away to Africa. 

I believe in the imperfections in people. 

I believe someone’s got it worse than me right now, and I should suck it up.

I believe I’m drunk.

I believe I shouldn't have said that.

As it's Veteran's Day this past Sunday in the States, the website for the organisation is doing a feature on stories from the Military Family. I can't do them justice. So many talk about compassion, peace, hope and connection in the talons of war. To be able to find something beautiful among so much destruction.  The ability to every day come across strangers searching for some meaning in their experience, and to help in some small part. To impart hope and reflect bravery. One Vietnam vet, ironically from Wisconsin, tells the story of a young girl giving him a magazine on the flight home. Thirty-six years later, he remembers, and gives her thanks, for this gesture of kindness. That. That is what I have to believe in today. It is in this belief in belief that today, I give thanks for. 

I'm official

Today we are off to Melbourne for a pig roast. That's right, a whole pig roast hosted by our lovely Africa friends. No doubt something good will come out of this weekend. 

Until then, this came in the mail yesterday. I can't for the life of me figure out how to turn the picture, so apologies to those of you that may have neck problems.

It means not much actually changes, expect that if I go back to study I'll get resident rates, and in two years I can apply to be a true-blue Aussie. And then, much to my mother's dismay, I can go to places like Iran and Cuba.

Land of the free, home of the Brave...Still...

It goes without saying that today was....

And the result was sweet, sweet democracy for another four years. 

I've written and erased about four versions of what I'm trying to say, the result is this: I love my country. I love the opportunities growing up in my country afforded me. I love the diversity that exists in such a large nation. I love that most people don't have passports, because two weeks is just enough time to pile the family in the mini-van and drive to Yellowstone. 

There are daily reminders for how incredibly lucky I am to have lived in not just one, but THREE very wealthy, healthy and safe nations. Most of them come from my clients, mostly fleeing their home countries in pursuit of something better. Many have faced persecution for their beliefs, without ever having done anything wrong. As an ex-colleague put it, in the welfare sector, when do you have a chance to work with single men that haven't committed an offense of some kind? Sadly, the answer is not often. I could go on, but can't imagine my employer would be too chuffed. I am grateful for the opportunity to be a part of this something better. 

In an attempt to educate myself further about Australian history, I am brushing up on my Aboriginal knowledge. For those of you interested, My Place by Sally Morgan is a good beginning. Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence by Doris Pilkington was recommended by MacBoyfriend. These are both incredible Aboriginal stories born out of the European settlement of Australia. My Place made me teary-eyed on the train on more than one occasion, and Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence has taken me under three days to finish. 

Most of the times I fly home, I am greeted at customs with a 'welcome home.' And I'm not ashamed to say that this makes me a little nostalgic. For that passport that is stamped with enthusiasm at each border, I am incredibly thankful.

Gettin' outta Dodge...

Everyone once in awhile I get an an urge to leave Sydney. It creeps up slowly, worming it's way into the monotony of daily commuting on public transport or the inevitable weekly run to the grocery store. Or sometimes it's blatantly staring you straight in the face. Before you know it you're all buckled up in the car without the vaguest idea of which direction you're going. Despite being regularly ranked among the top cities in the world, it leaves a few things to be desired. Such as you ask? Well, in no particular order....

1) Traffic. It's shocking. My favourite is checking out the rear view mirror after sailing through a yellow-turning-red light and seeing three other cars do the same.

2) 'Late night' shopping. You only get one night? I'm American. I'm used to stores staying open til anywhere up to 10 p.m.

3) Fashion. As much as Sydneysiders embrace that easy-breezy-beautiful style, the clothes are getting smaller and smaller. Which means you see more and more of 'what momma gave you.' It's just offensive.

4) Birds. This is oddly one of the things I have a VERY love-hate relationship with at the moment. I love the cockatoos and kookaburra. I love the lorikeets. I DO NOT love the incredibly loud, persistent and consistent bird outside my window at 4.30--5.30 a.m. EVERY. MORNING. I am currently hatching a plan to take this sucker down. I called a bird helpline today (yes, they do exist), and the kind gentlemen sympathized and then told me how he used a pile of rocks to deal with a VERY similar situation. This is definitely numero uno on my list at the moment.

For this and less interesting reasons, we decided to escape to the Hunter Valley, which is wine country 2 hours north of Sydney. It was devine.

We kangroo-spotted and drank some tasty libations. We had a lovely, boozey lunch at little place that just down right stole my heart. Black Creek Farm. If you're in the area, head that way.

We had some tasty Allandale vino, to accompany our starter of mussels with chili and main of salad with braised beef shin. There's a before and after for your viewing pleasure.

It was falling apart delicious. Dessert was tempting, but we decided on a few coffees with a 'tea box' of Lamingtons, biscotti and chocolate truffles. Perfect. We ended the day with a wine tasting at Gundog Estate, which turned into a beer tasting. We hit a few other of the favourite cellar doors and headed home relaxed and stocked up on wine for Thanksgiving!

And I remembered that though there are things Sydney could do better, there's a lot that Australia does quite well. Like wine. Like good, slow-cooked, locally prepared food. Like lazy spring morning. Like a nice latte.

So for the chance to live in this sunburnt country, I am very grateful indeed.

Wontons

As I type on this slightly chilly but otherwise perfect spring evening, there is a cauliflower/broccoli/cheese getting to the right stage of goldeny goodness and slow-cooked lamb shanks in their parchment parcels awaiting my dinner table. MacBoyfriend is at the neighbours playing Mario Kart (yup, you read that right. They even have the blow-up carts and all), so will retrieve him momentarily. Until them, the complex can enjoy their laughter and that music that plays every time someone gets a coin/star/whatever.

We have returned from the Hunter Valley today, and that in itself will make for some excellent blogging. It's a wonderful place, and if you have the chance, GO! DRINK! EAT! BE MERRY! And look for kangaroos.

But first, my long-overdue post on wontons  Yes, wontons. Homemade-filling-wrapped-in-a-tasty-wrapper wontons. Hong Kong neighbour was making them last weekend and I joined for a 'break' (read: procrastinating) from filling out a job application. Here are a few pictures of the treats that are now cozied away in the freezer just waiting for that weeknight no one wants to cook. They are pretty self-explanatory, but I will lay claim that Hong Kong neighbour is responsible for the very attractively constructed final photo of the wontons in all their glory. For this (and other delicious morsels), I am thankful.

 

Holiday....not the Madonna version...

As I piddle around catching up on fellow blogs, I remember the best news all week....FOUR DAYS of 'recognition leave.' With bank holidays, that's a whopping total of 11 days off from 22nd December to 2nd January. Hello 2013, and thank you Australian Red Cross. Don't mind if I do. 

Now what to do...what to do. It's gonna be a scorcher this summer, so hanging around Sydney doesn't sound terribly appealing. We'll leg it up to the Gold Coast to spend Christmas with some family for a few days, but world's the oyster after that. Well, maybe not the world, but at least most of Australasia. 

Suggestions? Thoughts? Complaints? 

It's cliche, but home is where the heart is...

I love where I live. Like really, really, REALLY love it. Our Sydney suburb is like a mini Chinatown and incredibly diverse. There's a great park we can stroll around in the evenings and we're only a train ride to the city and a short car ride to the beach. I love the signs on Liverpool Road for souvenir shops, all written in Chinese.

And I really, really like that every evening at dusk about a thousand rainbow lorikeets will  occupy the tree outside the Civic Centre. I tried to take a video, but it just doesn't do it justice. It's an incredible sound when they sing. 

I also really like our garden. It started off being quite the jungle. Saying it needed a bit of TLC was an understatement. Don't be fooled by the pebbles. They are a ruse to trick you into thinking the garden is a very zen place. After lots of  manual labour and some Googling on how to get rid of aphids, it's  perking up quite nicely. We've got a lemon, lime and mandarin tree in there now, along with some lavender and rosemary bushes. My favourite though is the bay tree. Fresh bay leaves in cooking are totally different than dried and really smell deliciously out-of-this-world.  

 To the left is the before, and below is the after. 






It's a place I can call home. When living in London, I used to say that I have a home there, but that Chicago would always be home. Sydney is different. It's definetly (sorry Mom) more permanent than London ever was. Perhaps it's because MacBoyfriend's family is here and he has 'roots' here, but it fits that little bit better than the dark, dank days in London. 

Do I miss the culture of London and free trips to the Tate Modern on Saturdays after a stroll through Bourough Market? You betcha I do. Do I miss £50 return tickets and the ability to go pretty much anywhere in Europe for a long weekend. More than ever.

I miss all the people and places left behind in both the UK and USA, and have been thinking about this more than usual. Perhaps it's all the Christmas gear coming out in full force, which is not supposed to happen until after Thanksgiving. And it doesn't acutally register that it's mid-October as we're in full spring swing here in Sydney, complete with random rain showers one minute and clear blue skies the next. The seasons remain confusing, but I think it's in my emoti-memory that Thanksgiving is just around the corner. 

So, for all this and more, I remain ever thankful I have lovely people across the globe, a truly amazeballs place to live, and the love of my life to share it all with. 

Can't catch me...

Again, appalling that it's been since May!!! I am not honouring my desire to keep up with the blog, so no excuses. Just more blogging.

In an effort to pay tribute to my original idea of 'thanks-giving'....today I went running. That's right. Running. A few people will appreciate this, namely my poor cousins who had to wait for me to take painfully slow steps on the walk to primary school. I even got out of gym (read: phys ed) class because I told the teacher I 'forgot my running shoes.' It worked a few times...

I ran around our local park that is, unfortunately for me, a little hilly.

This doesn't do it justice, but trust me, I'll be trying to find somewhere that's flat for all future running endeavours.

This was prompted by myself and MacBoyfriend agreeing to do a 100 kilometer (62.14 miles for you Americans) walk for the Fred Hollows Foundation.








So, to wrap it up. Today I am thankful that I can run. Given that I looked like this for three weeks...








I am happy I can use these...not that mine are as awesomely as colourful, but a girl can dream...

Nostalgia Sunday

It's really beyond acceptable that my last post was in February. A few fellow bloggers have inspired me to keep calm and carry on....this whole daily thanks thing isn't really working out for me, is it? I may have to change the theme, but am picking up where I left off. A lot has happened in the past few months, we've made some wicked and fast approaching holiday plans, I've started a new job and am attempting to cook as many tasty, roasted meats as possible (including the shoulder of lamb currently in the oven). So watch this space...

I'm feeling a little nostalgic today as I sit in the sun eating my tuna, fennel and sprout salad, so this was the perfect Sunday afternoon activity. I promised some pictures of my fave moments over the last year, and plan to deliver, so feast yer eyes on these bad boys. Some I like the actual picture, and some for the memory they bring. My technical blogging skills aren't the hottest, so bear with me...

 African sunsets....this one is in Senegal.

 This may seem an odd one, but a fond memory of bush camping when overlanding....if I recall we played frisbee and drank cold beer.

Who wouldn't love a cart with chickens???

 I'm not sure what I like more, the goats in the street, or the girl wearing the Obama shirt....

 By far the best part of Africa is the people, especially the kids. Even if they are snotty, they get SO excited about seeing their picture. Who can say no to this face???

 And now we're in Mali in Dogon Country. An absolutely amazing place. In 40 degree heat (or just over 100 degree for you Fahrenheit-ers) the men of this village danced for us the traditional Dogon dance. It's basically the story of a hunter and the hunted done to some fascinatingly huge drums. Unforgettable. Sadly though last I heard the political situation in Mali was incredibly unstable due to rebellions and so forth and the country has been pretty much off limits for travelling. The next few pics speak for themselves I think...

 A woman carrying sticks on her head. We were regularly lapped by people carrying various items on their heads, most notably our guides who were carrying a few gallons of water in a jerry can on their heads.

 

Dogon Country

 And now we're in Ghana, Cape Coast to be exact. Not only are they fishermen, but the town had a massive role to play in the slave trade.

 The beach in Ghana...the only thing missing from this picture are the millions of bats! Gross...

Hello from Bangkok!!! I couldn't resist this one...

 Bangkok again...Wat Pho to be exact, home of the giant reclining Buddah. Here they sold bags of copper coins that you could drop one by one into the vessel and it made the most amazing sound. You could hear it before you saw it. I thought it must be something amazing the monks were doing.

LAOS!!!

A trek from Luang Num Tha to the Elephant Hills near the China border.

Buddahs Buddahs everywhere...

 Fishermen on the Mekong (Si Phan Don, Laos)

MEKONG!!

 CAMBODIA!!

Dr Fish massage...

 Street food...