Half-Price Chook

    Chalk up another one in the Cheapskates-R-Us category.  
    It is well documented in these missives that the cost of living here in Western Australia is shockingly high.  The best of bargain hunters will not always come out victorious from every shopping foray.  But there is a difference between 'belt tightening' and  deprivation. The former requires creative solutions, the latter desperate acts.  We try to keep our dumpster diving to a minimum - don't want to look too desperate- so Creativity is King.

    Enter Kev. Dyed-in-the-wool-carnivore-since-birth Kev.  Man whose idea of vegetables is meat that has turned green.  Guy who cannot see a cow in a paddock without imagining it between two slices of bread. You get the picture. 

    Poor Kev.  Paying $15 a pound for lunchmeat was bugging him big time.  Yes, he puts leftover dinner meat on his wholewheat but leftovers are not guaranteed at every meal.  And potato salad on rye (which he has done on occasion) is just not the same.

    Smart Kev.  Figured out while walking through Woolworths grocery store just before closing  that the rotisserie chickens get marked down by 50%.  AND that the meat pulled from them would make many lunch sandwiches for a lot less money than slices from the deli counter. Woo hoo!  Roasted chicken isn't just for lazy, last-minute cooks anymore!  Cheap Chook is now a standing order in this house.  And we've got the wishbone collection as evidence.

Half-price Chook

Wishboneyard

 Intermediate reductions of a paltry 15% don't count.  And it's a waiting game, "Woolies" will hold their chicken for up to 6 hours before giving it the reduction it/we deserve.
"Extra Large" is rather misleading unless you are comparing it to Tweetie Bird.


       And don't think we are the only poultry poachers in the store.  A small crowd tends to hover around the rotisserie table: a young Asian female in a uniform blouse indicating that she works in the service industry,  a retired couple who have preselected their chicken and are now just waiting for the store employee to come by with the reduced stickers,  young tradesmen ("tradies")  with a six pack under one arm and a growling stomach.  Sometimes we get lucky, we're there when they are marking them or there are plenty to be had.  Sometimes we are not lucky.  Woolies won't steeply discount when just a few remain  or other people were faster on the draw than we were.  And then there is the old lady from the bowls club, known to all of the employees, as she scoops up salvageable  bin-bound produce (for free) and any other bargains she will be first in line for.
    Educated Kev.  I like to think Kev observed the bargain hunting patterns of his clever wife or soaked it up by osmosis.  But he now knows what most of us die hards know.  "Luck" is being at the right place at the right time, usually serendipitously.  "Skill" is knowing when to be at the right place at the right time.  And that does require regular reconnaissance runs to see what is  -- the best way to know what will be.  And so, for roasted chicken and other meats,  our Kev is now the Recon Man. 


    All this begs the question:  What to do with all of the wishbones?

Coolgardie Box Porch

    Walk into just about any Australian heritage exhibit dealing with life in the bush, outback or mining and you are sure to see a rather curious object.   A bread box size container made of metal with a door on one side and a jillion holes hammered into all sides.  In its day, food desired to remain cool(er) would be put into the box with  a wet cloth covering it.  Air would flow through the wet cloth getting cooled as it did so. And, by consequence, so would the food inside.  This is called a Coolgardie Box here in Australia.

My Coolgardie Box porch

    Before I had ever heard of a Coolgardie Box , I had witnessed this effect first hand here on my back porch. It's a rather small, semi-enclosed porch which houses an outdoor table with chairs, two bikes, some garden implements and a clothes line.  When I wash a load of laundry, I will frequently rest with a book and a drink on the porch after having hung the laundry to dry.   When even a small breeze passes through, say, these bed sheets,  it always felt a real pleasure to pass time there. The breeze was cool, with even a faint waft of the detergent's perfume mixed in it.  Or is that scent from the jessanine or gardenia plants at the opening to the porch?  

     A colleague of mine who spent some time living in the near-tropic state of Queensland  remarked that almost everyone there put wet towels in front of fans in the house to cool it down.  We're not talking ice cream making temps here but cool enough to make a warm place on a hot day bearable.

     Now why hadn't I discovered this before?