Timberrrrrrrrrr!
Sadly my creative juices haven’t been flowing lately; at least, I think I have been expending them on resurrecting my musical talent instead of arranging words in a pleasing fashion. Though I also haven’t had the camera out much lately, I did manage to take some photographs of an exciting excursion at the weekend: the 7th Annual Glenreagh Timber Festival!
Glenreagh is currently known as that town near where Russell Crowe lives sometimes, and is soon to be known as that town with the giant statue of a dog, that may be part dog, part kangaroo (no pictures, sorry). I was invited to check out the action by my wonderful friends Mrs and Mrs Leicester and their family, and we spent a lovely afternoon picnicking in the sun and watching large men wield axes with our new friends the Friendly Timbermillers.
The sport of woodchopping is a lot more structured and elaborate than I expected. It’s not just a bunch of blokes hacking into lumps of wood. There are rules. I don’t know what they are, but they seemed to be very complicated. The whole thing reminded me of a Freemason-style secret society, complete with handshake and a uniform of singlets, white pants and white dunlop volleys. OK, I made up the handshake bit, but it could be true. I did not make up the Dunlop Volleys. These were ubiquitous. I wonder if they were steel caps.
Apart from the dazzling array of champion axe-men, there were sheep dog trials, pony rides and a humungous jumping castle which was very popular with the four-year-old. Here are some of the highlights of my day.
Fancy looking sheep
Working puppy
The entertainment
Floss fairy
Loads of logs
The axeman
Fence post splitting in under 5 minutes
Late in the day
Specialty footwear
Endless summer
We all like to think of winter as a time to indulge in comfort food: boldly flavoured slow braises; soups, stews and ragouts; pies with flaky pastry and fall-apart fillings; Sunday roasts. In my part of the world however, the truth is that we don’t really experience winter, at least in the extreme way we experience summer, and that is reflected in the produce that grows in our climate. Though of course the shorter days and chill in the air pique the appetite for the classic foods of winter, we need not subsist on lamb shanks and turnips alone.
Reflecting the mildness of our winter, our garden is currently full of heirloom tomatos planted at the end of the warm season. I didn’t expect them to thrive, and although they have been slow growing compared to the summer crop, they are prolific to the point that we’re eating them nearly every day.
I was a latecomer to the lure of Pomodoro in their virgin form, previously preferring the shit to be cooked out of them before ingestion. No doubt this was due to the hard, floury, insipid specimens that populated supermarket shelves when I was growing up in the ’80s and ’90s. The fruity half of the old iceberg lettuce and tomato salad was to be avoided, and literally made me gag. I started coming around when premium ‘vine-ripened’ fruit began to appear in supermarkets.
A delightful revelation took place however when I tried my first organic heirloom tomatoes from The Farm Gate by Nashdale Fruit Co and realised what a tomato is supposed to taste like! These were fruit that I actually wanted to eat unadorned and uncooked. Since then I have embraced the increasing availability of heirloom varieties, recently making friends with a tomato specialist at the local farmers market who helps me select the best fruit.
Most of my fresh tomatoes come out of the garden though and we’re always looking for new ways to prepare them. We had a particularly large harvest last week, and I decided that I wanted to make the tomatoes the star of the meal. As always when I am contemplating a vegetarian recipe I consulted that expansive cookbook, google, to find out what Yotam Ottolenghi, chef, Guardian columnist and author of Plenty, had to say on the matter. This recipe for a (lively, summery) tomato ‘galette’ was just the ticket: it would take advantage of the range of beautiful tomatoes in different hues, and I already had all of the ingredients in the garden/larder. I haven’t cooked with sundried tomatoes much since the 90s, but in this context they provide a great punch of concentrated tomato flavour. You could also substitute pesto or tapenade. I also included some glorious anchovies, which beautifully complement the tomatoes and provide an extra salty hit.
Herbage
Yotam Ottolenghi’s tomato galette
375g all-butter puff pastry
8 stalks fresh oregano, leaves picked and roughly chopped
100g goats’ cheese, crumbled (I used some beautiful Meredith cheese)
450g red, yellow or green tomatoes of various sizes, sliced 2mm thick
8 stalks fresh thyme
8 anchovies (optional)
Olive oil
For the sundried tomato paste
10 sun-dried tomatoes from a jar
2 anchovies (optional)
1 fresh red chilli, sliced
2 garlic cloves
½ tsp sugar
1 tsp salt
Preheat the oven to 200c. Roll out the pastry to 3mm thick and cut out four rectangles about 10cm x 15cm. Transfer the pastry rectangles to a large baking sheet lined with baking paper and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
To make the sun-dried tomato paste, put all the ingredients in the small bowl of a food processor and process to a rough paste; if necessary, add a bit of oil to bring it together.
Spread a thin layer of the tomato paste over the chilled pastry, leaving a border about 1cm from the edge. Sprinkle with the oregano and goats’ cheese, and arrange the tomatoes on top, slightly overlapping but not too precisely. Make sure the tomato paste is covered by fresh tomatoes because it tends to burn. Place two anchovy fillets on the top of each tart. Drop the thyme stalks over the tomatoes and drizzle with a little olive oil.
Bake for 15 minutes, until golden on top; check the base to make sure the pastry is brown and fully cooked. Remove from the oven and leave to cool before drizzling over more olive oil and serving warm.
The tart was brilliant, full of flavour and light but satisfying. I served it with a simple salad I knocked up with some roasted beetroot, blanched sugar snap peas and (more) Meredith goats’ cheese. Colourful and flavourful food to brighten up a winter’s day.
My kind of salad
Life.
Hello strangers, it has been a long time since our last encounter. The past months have seen me return to work after a long period of rest and recalibration. I am still privileged to be a part of the amazing Dictionary of Sydney team thanks to the magic of the interwebs. I was also recently thrilled to be asked to join the team at local creative hub Yoohoo Web & Graphic Design, where I am writing, editing and collaborating on design projects. I have also just taken on a new role managing publicity and promotions for the local Clarence Valley Business Excellence Awards. I feel like I’m back in my element doing what I do best: communicating and connecting.
Essentially, I am working towards making writing, and writing-related activities, my profession. To this end, I am constantly seeking projects in different media, and today I proudly made the leap from the letters page to the lifestyle section, with my first story published in the Daily Examiner, our excellent local rag. My experience researching this story was an example of the great privilege that comes with being a writer; the opportunity to meet a quietly extraordinary person and capture their life in words. A life that puts your own in perspective. For those of you who aren’t locals, I’ve reproduced the article below.
True survivor did it all on his Pat Malone
By Felicity Watson (Daily Examiner, 4 June 2011)Pat Bancroft is a quiet and unassuming man who has lived an extraordinary life. At 90 years of age, he is nearly three decades older than the average life expectancy of Aboriginal men. He began his working life aged 10 and has survived war, economic depression and the dangerous toil of years of gold and asbestos mining. And yet, he continues to live and work on the land as he always has.
Born in 1920 to Arthur Bancroft and his second wife, Aboriginal woman Annie Tindal, Pat grew up in the small goldmining town of Lionsville. Before the Great War, Arthur had some lucrative interests including Mount Arthur and the Mountain Maid, which yielded over 500 ounces of gold (worth more than $500,000 in today’s prices). By 1920 however, the once bustling towns of Lionsville and Solferino were languishing, the mining boom a distant memory.
On the Banks of the Washpool, 2009, by Bronwyn Bancroft. Pat, left, poses with his brother Bill, the artist's father, c1925. (Courtesy of Bronwyn Bancroft and Wilson Street Gallery)
By the time ten-year-old Pat began to work for his father, Australia was gripped by the Great Depression. ‘There wasn’t much in the depression days, in the 30s, you’d go and do whatever you could. Trap rabbits in the winter, cut girders,’ says Pat.
Despite this hardship, Arthur had faith, and his luck came in when he struck a 60 ounce nugget in 1935, a rare find which made news around the country.
Pat soon learned to make the tools of his trade. ‘We used to call it a whip but it was pretty rough,’ he says of his first whip, made at age ten. The packhorses needed to be shod if they were to transport ore along the steep mountain tracks each day, and Pat became a fine blacksmith.
He was a keen sportsman, one of the founding members of the Lionsville cricket team. Formed in 1937, the team had a few successful seasons, but everything changed after the outbreak of World War II.
Pat left the Clarence Valley for the first time when he enlisted in 1941, joining the 2/4th Australian Pioneer Battalion along with many others from the North Coast. They travelled north and worked on defensive positions between Adelaide River and Darwin.
On 14 February 1942 the battalion sailed for Timor, but came under attack from Japanese bombers and was forced to retreat. Later camped out by the Darwin airstrip, ‘these planes came over, we’d seen them a couple of days before’.
The bombs fell on 19 February, sinking the ship that had brought them back to Darwin just the previous day. After surveying the damage, the 2/4th started digging defences past the airstrip, working through the night. Amid the chaos and fear, ‘all you could do was go and do something,’ remembers Pat.
After another 13 months defending Darwin, the 2/4th traveled to the Atherton Tablelands for jungle training before travelling to Morotai and Labuan, off the coast of Borneo. It was while they were here that ‘[the Americans] dropped the bomb and the peace was signed’.
The war had changed everything, including life on the home front. ‘It was easier to get on after the war, there was plenty going on, y’know. [In the] 1930s, for ten years it was hard going for everybody,’ he says.
Lionsville, 1940Upon his return to Lionsville, Pat found work fencing, droving and at the Baryugil asbestos mine. He purchased his first property, with 700 head of cattle, in 1950. He also 'played a lot of good cricket'.
Over the decades, Pat has rarely missed a cattle sale, rodeo or camp draft. His life on the land continues. While he now lives in Southgate, he visits Lionsville regularly to work on his old property, since passed on to his niece, acclaimed artist Bronwyn Bancroft.
Through his family, Pat has fostered a new generation of custodians. Much of Bronwyn’s art is inspired by the country around Lionsville and her family’s history. She describes her work as ‘about respecting and reinforcing the hard work that members of my family put in, both the Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal’.
Pat continues to make his now famous stock whips. Objects of beauty and practicality, they speak not only of his skill, but of his life and the land he loves. He cures and cuts out the leather by hand, then binds it to a handle of hand-carved water gum from Lionsville. The same wood his Pop used, light and strong.
Pat's now famous stock whips are objects of beauty and practicality. (Photo: Felicity Watson)
Crafternoon tea
One of the most special friends I have made since retiring to the Clarence Valley is the lovely Lola. Passing acquaintances during the latter days of our school years, we met once again by chance, and have since realised that there are many things we share in common such as a quirky sense of style and humour, an interest in art, design and photography, and a necessity to create in order to survive, and thrive. Her talents are dazzling in their breadth, from photography to dyeing and spinning yarn.
This weekend she invited me to her house for a crafternoon to make Valentines with her daughter Little L and son JD. Since I was unable to bring many useful skills, I decided to bring delicious cakes instead!
I had a couple of punnets of blueberries from my friend Paul the Barefoot Farmer, which I thought would be just the thing. The nearby town of Corindi is known for its excellent blueberries, and you may have seen them in greengrocers this summer. Paul’s property is located on the Orara River, and his berries are the finest I have ever encountered. Picked much smaller than the mealy, bloated fruit you usually find in the supermaket, his blueberries are an old variety which are piquant and juicy.
I found a recipe in a new addition to our library, The Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook, a gift to my mother from Brother Explody. An ‘American-style’ bakery in London, the Hummingbird Bakery lies towards the the frou-frou end of the cake spectrum. There’s a glowing endorsement from Gwyneth Paltrow on the cover and, indeed, some of the cakes within its pages are reminiscent of her 1999 Oscars dress. Nevertheless, the recipes don’t only have style, but substance too. With tea, cakes and Lola’s incredible crafty resources, a wonderful crafternoon was had by all, even if some of us (ok, me) weren’t exceptionally productive. Multiple packets of googly eyes proved to be somewhat of a distraction.
As endorsed by Gwyneth Paltrow
You call that a blueberry?
Blueberry Muffins, recipe from the Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook
360g plain flour
370g caster sugar
1 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
375ml buttermilk
1 egg
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
70g unsalted butter, melted
250g blueberries
Preheat the oven to 170 degrees. Sift the dry ingredients into the bowl of an electric mixer. Beat on slow speed. Put the buttermilk, egg and vanilla extract into a jug and mix to combine. Slowly pour into the flour mixture and beat until all the ingredients are incorporated.
Pour in melted butter and beat until the butter has just been incorporated, then increase to medium speed and beat until the dough is even and smooth. Finally, gently fold in the blueberries with a wooden spoon until evenly dispersed.
Spoon the mixture into paper cases (I used rigid cases, but you could used a greased muffin tin, or muffin tin lined with paper cases). Bake in the preheated oven for 20-25 minutes, or until golden brown and the sponge bounces back when touched. A skewer inserted in the centre should come out clean. Cool on wire rack.
Let them eat cake!
Crafternoon tea
JD's first bite
Lola loves
Felix's Boardwalk Empire-inspired piece, with Little L's Many-eyed Monster in the background...
The pursuit of excellence
One of those peccadillos of country life is that if one requires specialist medical treatment, one is often forced to travel many a mile to obtain it. That can be unfortunate for those who work full time or don’t have a drivers’ license. Or, as I discovered two weeks ago, all the surrounding major roads are closed due to freak weather events.
Once the threat of imminent flooding had subsided and my appointment had been rescheduled, unencumbered by full-time gainful employment, I planned a big day out with Mama Explody to visit some of our favourite spots in the region, heading towards our final destination of Byron Bay. A medical obligation soon became a pleasant road trip to obtain quality smallgoods and pantry items which are also unavailable in the motherland.
The first substantial town one encounters north on the Summerland Way from Grafton is Casino. Best known as beef country, Casino is also the home of Da Leone cafe and delicatessan. Da Leone is an unexpected delight. The Leo family, who have operated the cafe and deli for over seventeen years, are Italian immigrants who arrived in Australia via Argentina after World War II. The family-run business reminds me of the warm and welcoming shops and cafes I used to frequent in my previous home of Leichhardt. They serve good coffee with a selection of homemade biscuits, cakes and other sweet treats. They also sell olives from their own olive grove, Mongogarie Lodge, and that’s what we’re here for. These olives are among the most exceptional I have ever tasted: plump and juicy green fruit, simply preserved in vinegar and salt with a sprig of oregano. We picked up a monster two-kilo jar for just $24.
After some exciting antique shopping which yielded an immaculate Globite suitcase for my inexplicably growing collection of vintage luggage, our next stop was Lismore. Specifically Howard’s Butchery and Delicatessan. Howard’s represents a number of things that I don’t usually like. This small butchery and deli is also a busy cafe. I find that deli/cafes are often unsuccessful because the quality of either the retail or cafe experience is compromised due to understaffing or a lack of focus. Further, Howard’s offers a wide range of value-added meat products. Maybe I’ve just walked past one too many Lenard’s displays of chicken fajitas, but I usually prefer to buy my meat unadulterated so I can add the marinades and stuffings myself. However, Howard’s differs from most other retailers who have attempted to pull off these challenging additions to their core business by, very simply, doing it exceptionally well.
One stop shop.
So it has come to pass that the Explodys now regularly travel to Lismore just to stock up on fleisch. Pork, chicken, duck, beef, lamb, we’ve found all to be superlative produce. Best is their range of smallgoods, especially those smoked in their own smokehouse, resulting in a subtle smoky flavour which doesn’t overwhelm the flavour of the meat. A smoked chicken was incredibly moist, while a misplaced order unfortunately meant we couldn’t try their smoked lamb over Christmas. Best of all is their Merguez sausage, a plump and spicy coil, perhaps the best sausage I’ve ever tried. (And I used to live two blocks from AC Butchery, so I’ve had a few.) The cafe also turns out great coffee and fantastic house-made eats such as their gorgeous terrine. There is also a useful range of pantry items including a house line of sauces and preserves. A small but well-chosen selection of Australian and international cheeses is also a treat. I live in hope that they will one day consider opening a Grafton branch.
Spicy sausage!
Say yes to Sopressa
Say cheese
With an esky full of meat, it was time to find a spot of lunch in Bangalow. The village of Bangalow, as far as I can tell, is the Woollahra of the north coast. So much so that it is conceivably a colonial outpost established by residents of Sydney’s eastern suburbs to accommodate holidays and tree changes. At least, it’s the only place I know of outside of that area where the pharmacy stocks a large range of Missoni towels and has an Aesop consultant.
Indeed, the quaint main street is not completely unlike Queen Street Woollahra, with attractive heritage buildings housing boutiques full of fabulous things as well as restaurants and cafes. One thing that Queen Street doesn’t have, however, is a Country Women’s Association shop. The ladies of the Bangalow chapter showed remarkable foresight locating their rooms at the hub of this village, where the price of real estate is now prohibitive. Through their shop front they raise funds by selling homemade crafts, and their window display, complete with Golliwogg tea cosies, is a warm addition to the streetscape.
CWA on display
Honour to God, loyalty to the throne, service to the country, through country women, for country women, by country women
It's a small world after all
Once I was able to drag myself away from the delights of the Bangalow CWA doll display, we headed to find some lunch at Ate, younger sibling to hatted restaurant Satiate, where the parental Explodys had dined several weeks previously. The service was somewhat brusque and indifferent in the way that it often can be in popular eating houses. It does boast a cracking menu though. We were told that the duck jaffle wasn’t on, so we both went for a croque monsieur made with Bangalow pork. It was a fine specimen: crunchy, melty, salty, with a squeeze of lemon juice, a brilliant touch which cut through the fattiness of the filling (though it was unfortunately afflicted with the scourge of limp, superfluous rocket which is undermining the sandwich, and to a lesser extent cooked breakfast, Australia-wide). I look forward to returning to Ate and Satiate to try something more substantial. There’s obviously great talent in this kitchen!
Ate: the art of food
Croque monsieur
My exciting discoveries have necessitated another trip north this coming weekend, when Lola and I will be taking Chairman Kaga and a selection of mixtapes on the road for a leisurely Antiques Roadshow (with garden ornament interludes).
Da Leoni cafe and deli, 78 Centre Street, Casino, 02 6662 3390
Mongogarie Olives, 1310 Mongogarie Road, Mongogarie, via Casino, 02 6664 1254
Howard’s Butchery and Delicatessan, 106 Keen Street, Lismore, 02 6621 9779
Ate, 33 Byron Street, Bangalow, 02 6687 2555
Gaelic pride
Happy new year readers! May I be the first to say: thank god that’s over. The year of our lord 2010 was, in many ways, a traumatic one for me, and I will be endeavouring not to think about it at least until I have to publish my memoirs to fulfil the obligations of a lucrative publishing contract.
Among many unexpected developments throughout the year, one which I welcomed with excitement however was the procurement of my first motor vehicle. At twenty seven, I have waited longer than most to experience this rite of passage. I had hitherto resisted such an acquisition citing environmental, financial and health considerations while in fact preferring to spend my money on boozy dinners at Marque. Almost a year to the day after arriving in the countryside however, I succumbed to the desire for wet-weather transport and brought home an immaculate 1991 Toyota Corolla. It has been christened Chairman Kaga in honour of its Nipponese heritage, after the founder of Iron Chef, that most 90s of institutions.
"Allez cuisine!"
This weekend the Chairman and I went on our first big day out to visit my dear friends the Little Piggies at their home in Yamba by the seaside. First though, we made a diversion off the highway to Maclean, “The Scottish Town in Australia”, also known as the home of one of the most unsightly and controversial bat colonies in New South Wales. Lately it has also been earning a reputation for its culinary and cultural attractions, with a small but wonderful collection of cafes, shops and galleries making it worthy of a detour, or for Valley locals, a regular pilgrimage.
Located on the Clarence River, the town of 3,500 proudly flaunts its Gaelic Pride, with tartans adorning its electricity poles, street signs written in Gaelic as well as English, and annual events such as its Easter Highland Gathering.
Gaelic pride
For all your Nessie needs
But while I come for the kitsch, I stay for the coffee. My first stop on the way into town is Espresso Botero, a rapidly growing boutique roaster supplying cafes up and down the east coast. At their Maclean headquarters you can now enjoy a brew just metres away from the warehouse where the beans are roasted daily. The retail space has recently been converted into a slick espresso bar, where customers can sample their range of blends, and browse their impressive range of domestic espresso machines. Owner Danny Young is passionate about good coffee, and Botero is by far the best grind I have tasted since I was a stone’s throw from Campos. Its increasing availability on the north coast and beyond has much increased one’s chances of finding a decent cup, frankly not a moment too soon.
Espresso Botero
Bean bags
Fully caffeinated, it was time for a spot of lunch at On the Bite which, in my humble opinion, is the best cafe in the Clarence Valley, if not on the North Coast. There are hints of serious coffee geekery on display, with brewing paraphernalia and bean-themed reading material decorating the cosy interior which brings a little bit of Melbourne to the north. Indeed, that’s where their coffee hails from, by boutique NZ-based roaster Coffee Supreme. Co-owner Rob makes a great cup, and one of the simple joys of eating here is quietly admiring his dexterity carrying several orders at once, never forgetting who ordered what or spilling a drop. He handles the floor with the skill of one who has done this before, likely at somewhere of note. Forgive my fawning, but this is refreshing in a neck of the woods where coffee orders are almost invariably met with the ubiquitous “D’ya want that in a cup or a mug, love?” and you’re lucky to receive your order without half of it sloshing in the saucer.
Customer service
It’s the food I come for though, and it’s consistently excellent. The concise menu focuses on Middle-Eastern and Asian flavours, and while ‘global’ menus can sometimes lead to confusion on the plate, each dish here is carefully and expertly prepared and seasoned. Something tells me that the secret ingredient is love. This time around I opted for the Bangalow pork belly poached in masterstock and then caramelised in the pan. Cooked to sweet, tender perfection, it was complimented by a crunchy and fresh Asian-style slaw. Small details delighted such as the contrast of crunchy fresh red chilli with crispy caramelised green chilli. Zing!
Get some pork on your fork
After all this indulgence, my last stop was Eklektika, a surprising and delightful shop, the kind which you might expect to find in Newtown, Surry Hills or Fitzroy.
Every available surface is covered in an artfully chaotic collection of clothing, books, jewellery, antiques and other ephemera. Sensory overload ensues, accompanied by the overwhelming desire to buy one of each.
One stop shop
For such a small town Maclean is punching above its weight, and the combination of its proximity to the highway, picturesque riverfront location and currently affordable real estate mean that its future is bright. Whether you come for a highland gathering or a latte, I can certainly recommend finding out what Maclean’s got under its kilt…
Espresso Botero – 277 River Street, Maclean, 1300 540 337
On The Bite – 215 River Street, Maclean, 6645 4488
Eklektika – 241 River Street, Maclean, 02 6645 2929
Painting the town purple
When we write, we sometimes run out of words. This is because we come to the edge of the city of words, where there are no more words left in the place we find ourselves.
Stephen Muecke
Now beyond the limits of this city, I have no map, no compass, no words. All I have is my trusty camera to record what I see, to remember colour, shape, sound and smell while I can’t find the words to capture them for keeping.
Grafton’s Jacaranda Festival, Australia’s oldest floral festival and now in its 76th year, painted the town purple for one week in November. Tradition and the excuse to get purple and get silly were embraced by young and old. Here are some glimpses of our town in costume. There are more on my flickr page.
Jacaranda childrens' party
76th Jacaranda Queen crowning
The incumbent
Take aways
Ready and waiting
Jacaranda gloaming
Hula hips
Jacaranda fairies
Gladioli
Messy
Jacaranda Princesses on parade
Miss Showgirl
Seniors on segways
Leaps and bounds
Ladies of the Red Hat Society
A pack of pipers
Leader of the pack
The end.
