PIAF - Haircuts by Children

It's time again for that month-long arts extravaganza called the Perth International Arts Festival.  Fabulous event, something for everyone, I wrote about attending the Writer's Festival portion of it last year.  And I will attend Writer's Festival events this year, but I already know what my favorite part of this year's Festival is.

Haircuts by Children.  Never mind the whiney, we-don't-overpraise-our-kids enough description of the event [e.g. "Each stylish new coiffure proves that kids are competent and creative members of society who deserve our respect."] it is just a bit of fun. The kids of Roseworth Primary School were clearly excited about a huge supply of real heads (not dolls heads) to work on and took to their duties--under watchful eyes of pros--with proper import.  My style team consisted of Skye Watson and Jack Leighton-Jones. Skye tended to the details: the welcoming chitchat ("Is this your first time here?"), the obligatory compliments (" Your hair is very soft"), confirming the order ("So, we're doing a trim, style and color. Right?")  and hairdressing insider secrets ("My mum and nanna are from Scotland, that's where I get my beautiful red hair.")  Jack has an eye for the big picture: hair never stayed on the floor for long and the clips & pins were always in order.
The choices of service were clearly displayed at every station: Trim, Style, Mohawk, Whatever?!, Colors.  Having done numerous hairshows in my life, I opted for the full complement. After Skye trimmed my hair, made the sides shorter (er, much shorter), put styling gel in, combed and pinned it into place and applied hairspray.  Jack enthusiastically sprayed on the gold glitter. I was Stylin' ! It is not exactly even, but balance & symmetry can be so overrated. Doubtless that is the reason so many hairdressers signed up for the free haircut.


Roseworth Primary School, an ethnically diverse school whose students might not otherwise have been able to attend PIAF events, is also in charge of the Children's Choice Awards. They've been shuttled to events in order to be able to judge such categories as: Best Hair, Most Enjoyable for Old People and Most Cheering Applause. Bravo, Roseworth!


Appearing Rooms.  Not wanting the party to end so soon, Kev and I walked over to one of the art installations at the Culture Centre area.  A different kind of architecture, "...jets of water shoot into the air to create 'rooms', which disappear as quickly as they emerge." Too cool. And on a hot day, the temptation to walk through walls is great indeed.
Scouts Parade.  But wait, there's more.  What is an exciting day in the City without a parade?  Don't know why  Scouts of all ages (and both genders) were marching, but I was there for the entire thing. Only my secondary Hannah Montana cam was handy, but you get the picture.  Pity you didn't get to Perth for the Festival.


 

The Summer Kitchen

   Antebellum homes and people in equatorial countries have it right: all of the cooking should be done outside.  At least in the summer, anyway.
    Our townhome has a lovely,
white new stove. But the little beauty is not only electric, the heating elements are solid. It takes forever to heat up and twice as long to cool down.  This is not ideal in a home without air-conditioning in the summer. (Or any other time if you are asking the cooks.)  So, as a matter of self-preservation and adding a touch of urban bushman, we shifted the base of culinary operations to the back yard.

  And "yard" really is the operative word here.  It is narrow and also has to function as storage area, tool shed and lanai. We try to satisfy all functions without feeling we are in a junkyard. I insist upon that.  Our herbarium is split between the front porch (where onions, basil, oregano and rocket grow) and the side path (where mint & parsley thrive and green onions, chives, garlic give their best shot.) All close enough for clipping regardless of where one cooks.

Our Summer Kitchen is pretty much outfitted the same way our camping trips are: compact essentials gleaned from endless garage sale hunts.  Our two burner gas stove, the "Walkabout" model fits two small vessels or one large skillet with paella in it.  Outdoor cooking is also handy when somebody doesn't like the smell of the lamb kidneys I made just before he made the fishy paella.  But I digress.  Our gas can, a 1.25 kg "Jackaroo" (could these names get any more Australian sounding?) is as small as they come but the size works for us when it comes to space in the backyard, in the car and the time it takes to use it up.  Those large tanks are very heavy and are capable of keeping those mansions-on-wheels  retirees drive around in operating for awhile.  

You've seen outdoor kitchens- in photographs if not in person - and may wonder if our little set-up is really convenient. To this I say: We don't live on a sprawling ranch. Second, I spent a year cooking on a single burner which used hairspray can sized bottles of gas in Korea. Call me a spoiled One Pot Wonder with two burners and no need to change the hairspray can mid-meal.   And thirdly, one can get tired of tuna fish sandwiches five nights in a row. Boiling water is truly one of God's many miracles.

A day to celebrate

   We have come full circle, you and I.  A full year and 78 blog entries.  Today is  Australia Day, again [ see "Australia Day in WA", Jan 26,2009 ]  On this day 222 years ago, the first fleet filled with convicts landed on sun-burnt shores.  So today was filled with civic ceremonies, airshows, water shows, bouncy castles and fireworks.  We joined the polyglot on the foreshores, cooked supper in our makeshift solar oven (baked potatoes this year instead of kangaroo chili) and watched the fireworks from our balcony.

   But do let me brag for a moment because, truth is, I don't get too many brag-able moments.  I have emailed this news to many, however, there may be someone in some far fetched corner of the planet who does not yet know.

   I won a writing contest!  I was so thrilled.  No, no big paycheck- it was a wine industry site asking about an interesting wine/wine experience--a bottle of wine is actually the prize.  I, however, accept all "major awards" no matter how minor. Here is the text:

  Sometimes in wine, just like in the kitchen, overthinking a prospect is not a good thing. Indeed, just the opposite is frequently true..."Don't think, just do!"..."Go with your gut feeling"..."Take a step, any step"... and you will come up with  a  EUREKA! moment.  So describes our experience with Guinea Run's 2005 Cabernet Merlot (Marri Wood Park, Margaret River, WA).    Rushed at the time of purchase, the label's graphics- two guinea fowl sommeliers rushing to service- seem to catch my husband's eye and fancy. Seems hardly more discerning than an eenie-meenie selection process, but hey...   Fast forward to Date Night at the Kookaburra Outdoor Cinema to see "The Julie/Julia Project". Long drive ahead...no nibbles packed yet....RUSH! And he grabs the Guinea Run Cab Merlot.   The movie, about famous chef Julia Child and Julia-wannabe Julie, is excellent. The wine is no more French than Julia Child and served in small plastic cups but the pairing is perfect.  The movie, the yummy wine and the yummy food onscreen that we can almost taste in our seats under the stars.  Bon Apetite!
  
   The bottle hasn't arrived yet.  I'll let you know how it was.

 

Pickled Laundry

   Australians really love their polyester clothing. Difficult to comprehend, especially during the very hot summers, but this is as it is.  Kev has his share of  poly and poly blend tops which, along with being pique knit, are serious lint magnets.  Regardless of how the pullovers are washed or what with, they come out quite furry.  This then takes quite a bit of brushing as all of our clothing is dried on the clothesline on the back porch and not in a dryer.  A colleague suggested that I put white vinegar in the rinse cycle as a lint deterrent.  It reduces the amount of lint on the clothing and no, your clothes won't smell vinegary.  Pickle the laundry?  I tried it again today and there does seem to be some improvement.

   It certainly doesn't have an Australiana kind of sound to it, I thought later as I was handwashing a party dress. But the delicate fabric washing  liquid does.   It harnesses the natural cleaning power of eucalyptus, ballyhoos the label.  So many cleaning products make the same assurances to homemakers from coast to coast.  Eucalyptus extract is the OZ equivalent of  North America's  orange oil.  And why not, it grows on trees around here. Ha ha ha ha. (sorry.)

   Tonight we may have another opportunity to employ native, Aboriginal-ly, natural-type home remedy to mosquitoes.  We've got those green, clay-like rings that you burn like incense that is supposed repel mosquitoes, but I doubt their efficacy.  A few whiffs of that noxious, toxic smoke and you are more likely to feel your DNA shifting than witnessing mosquitoes in full retreat.  Again, we head to the trees.  This time sandalwood comes to the rescue.  Natives in the bush have long burned sandalwood  as a defense against "mozzies".  Fortunately, and with  greeny pride, a company in WA collects fallen sandalwood from the ground and process it into over-sized incense sticks.  These garden spears do a credible job deterring skeeters with a far more pleasant scent.

   Now to find a tree that will take the laundry off the line....

BYO & Corkage

  Last night we met up with a friend for supper in the Northbridge area.  It was a mid-level, Italian restaurant with al fresco seating.  Justin is heading back to South Korea after 10 months being a working backpacker.  We had lots of  laughs with his analysis of the experience and some of the anecdotes he had to tell.   The restaurant staff was always at elbow, eager to pour more water or wine into our glasses.  This level of service is rather rare at all but the upper strata of hospitality in Australia, so it was noticeable even with all of our carrying on. A stolen glimpse of the bill told the tale.

  Justin brought that tasty bottle of Merlot from a bottle shop (liquor store) with him to the restaurant.  Bring Your Own (BYO) is very commonplace here in Australia, even for places that will sell beer or wine.  So common that only the places that will not allow BYO  actually speak up about their policy.  Read your menu, the more 'service' the restaurant has, the more likely they are to charge a corkage fee-sort of a charge to 'serve' the bottle you brought. It may be per bottle, per person or per table.  The service is usually just bringing you some wine glasses.



  BYO is practically unheard of in  U.S.  restaurants.  I can think of Handke's Cuisine in Columbus' German Village--a very high-end restaurant with a (real)  Master Chef at the helm.  Hartmut Handke allows that you may have a few bottles of  Rothschild LaFitte 1957 in your own private cellar and that it would be perfect for your special dinner at his refectory.  Chef charges $15 to uncork and serve your  wine...per bottle. That's a $3 to $5 per serving depending on the glass.  Most restaurants say "Buy our drop" and we take or leave it with grace.


   Back to  Northbridge.  The Positano charges $8 corkage per bottle.  Yoikes! And they'll bring out a blue bottle of expensive San Vittorio water if you don't specific very loudly and very early on that you want tap water.  Eight bucks isn't a service fee, it is a sign of pretension for a mid-level restaurant.  Keep pouring, indeed.  The bill was not ours to pay (although we did contribute a 25% off coupon for the meals)  because certainly this bit of gouging would have been avoided.


   [For those may not know and were asking somewhere in that last paragraph: tipping is not customary in Australia. In fact, downright unheard of....except in very high-end establishments.]

   Let's end this postcard on a high note.  I don't recall much seeing much wine on the shelves when I lived in South Korea in the mid 90's.  Their champagne was Tang with bubbles in it and Koreans themselves preferred hard spirits.  Wine in Australia was a pleasant discovery for Justin and he will miss it.  A bottle of Merlot that is a drinkable  $18 here is $80 in Korea!!!!!

It's Summer in the Southern Hemisphere

   There seems to be some question about the seasons here in Australia.  A brief lesson: Earth tilts on its axis. When the Northern Hemisphere is tilted farthest from the sun, it is cold and the season is called winter. This means that the Southern Hemisphere is now tilted closest to the sun, it is warm and the season is called summer.   The real questions is what can one do about it? At least for those of us in the southern corner of Western Australia.

   A lot of people head for the Indian Ocean. It's close, lots of beaches and a Christmas and New Year's swim is very Australian.  This holiday season, with a few extra days off from work and tired of staring at triple digit temps (no, we don't have air-conditioning), we fled south. Very south. To the Southern Ocean where cool breezes from Antarctica are most welcome and higher elevations support green vegetation year round.  A perfect escape from a hot, dried-up interior.





   Let's head out to Wave Rock first. OK, wrong direction but it is an iconic natural phenomenon here in WA.  Temperatures are now over 110F with a hot wind coming from the interior (and the public swimming pools are near empty?!) so it is quite alright to trot quickly to the eroded wall of granite, artistically colored by algae during the rainy season.  A really cool  effect.  A brief look-see at some similarly eroded boulders --which gave them a very whimsical animal look-- and you have my sympathies for hot-footing it out of there, especially if you don't have air-conditioning in your car (we don't). 
 
   O.K. make a quick stop at the Dog Cemetery to count how many dogs died from snake bite. Also note how much money has been raised in a quirky Dog in a Ute (El Camino type car) competition proudly held in this dustbowl. Count on drinking a half gallon of water every couple of hours.


Are we there yet?   

 

  Slowly we start to climb in altitude. This is a good thing. Green is evident. A single dusty road seems to hopscotch amongst the trees giving a very interesting optical illusion. (No, don't have a picture of it- still figuring out this new digital camera I received for Christmas.  But you can see the Stirling Ranges in the background of the Grill Meister in action photo.) Kevin has hiked a number of the peaks in the Porongurup & Stirling Ranges, but on cooler days and without a wife with a gimpy right foot  accompanying him.  He has a plan for the future....

Yes, the Southern Ocean is this blue.  And the breezes just as cool. Kev is standing by a blow hole which would be spouting mist nine feet in the air if the ocean waves were stronger. Whaling was big in the Albany area, indeed a large part of why it existed, although no whaling  is done now.  An exciting feature of Torndirrup National Park is that the coastline fits like a jigsaw piece into the northern coast of Antarctica near Windmill Islands. Very rugged and beautiful this southern seaside coast is.  Crave humanity?  Keep your wallet handy. Every building in the city wanted an admission fee.  Reluctant to wear out too much leather, I skipped many of the buildings.


   Eventually, all escapes come to an end. We headed through familiar areas: Pemberton (excellent pub grub, wineries and where we were extras in a movie on our last visit) - an excellent value region very underappreciated by Perthians; Northcliffe (we spent New Year's Eve here with 16 other displaced people at a country pub) ; and Harvey - there is something right about Harvey. I like its land, feel,  products and festivals--a worthy detour anytime.  And every mile further north was one degree hotter in the oven called WA summer.

 

Bubble & Squeak on Boxing Day

All the Commonwealth celebrates Boxing Day and what a day it is. December 26, officially a public holiday, celebrates the post-Christmas sale season. People wake up early and wait for hours by the entrance to their favorite store so when the doors open they can race in for some serious bargain hunting. Unbridled commerce at its merriest. When I ask celebrators about the origins of Boxing Day, they scratch their heads and mumble something about donation boxes being opened and the collected monies being distributed to the poor. And it comes with a look that says, "What, am I Queen Victoria? Read Dickens or some other writer from Antiquity for the answer." Contemporary times require contemporary answers. It is for having an extra paid day off work. It is for hitting the sales and eating holiday meal leftovers.

Sounds like Thanksgiving and the Friday after it, doesn't it? But you are more likely to eat Bubble & Squeak on Boxing Day. A very catchy name for fried-up leftovers. Traditionally, that would be yesterday's potatoes, cabbage and meat. The dish takes its name from the murmurings and hissings the ingredients make while cooking in the frying pan. I've actually read recipes on how to make some variation of this from scratch. But get real, why deny previously prepared food its noble encore? Especially when your feet ache from chasing 60% OFF all day.

Alas, no Bubble & Squeak for us this year. We had a potluck picnic with my brother-in-laws family. Lots of cold salads and Kev grilled up some quail. You know its a gourmet type of poultry when each six ounce bird has about two ounces of meat on it. No leftovers here. The bro brought just enough ham for the brunch. No doubt there is some squeaking going on in his house. But that is quite alright. It's difficult to drive home when one is in a food coma. And there were more than enough Scottish butter cookies and fruit mince pies to fill any imaginary gaps.

A short word on the picnic site. Observe three Callaghans enjoying the shade of an ancient fig tree surrounded by mature palms. Hyde Park (established in 1897) must have been the place for society to stroll on a Sunday afternoon. Simply gorgeous with a pond in the center (seen behind the Grill Meister in picture above.) It is patrolled by ibis and ducks to make sure that no foodstuffs remain on the ground to attract undesirable wildlife. The royal Callaghans, wearing their paper crowns atop shadier chapeau, approve.