Hi, Bye & Triplets. Random Musings #6

Gus!

     Say Hello to my buddy Gus. He's an Airedale Terrier who I frequently bump into while exercising.  We have much in common, Gus and I: We love walking along the Swan River. We prefer a 'slow and steady' pace. Sometimes our knees creak. We're both really cute. And we love the occasional cookie--especially the expensive kind. Gus' (nameless) owner shocked me the other day by stating that this former abused shelter dog from Sydney is only seven years old. That's 49 in human years.  Gus' slow speed can be attributed to being a bit overweight.  Ummm, another thing Gus and I have in common.  Not much of a dog person, Gus has waddled right into my heart. Occasionally, a collie named Vincent and his (also nameless--as if it mattered) owner come across my path and I say hello to him also.  In fact, my four-legged friend Gus is a great motivator for me to get out there every morning. I look forward to saying hello to him. And both of us ever earlier with a faster step as the days get warmer and warmer.  The sooner finished, the sooner in front of a fan.  We are so smart, Gus and I.

Old at 8 years

     Saying Goodbye to my trusty old cellphone. It served me faithfully for eight years. It fit into my hand and my bag quite easily.  And it also fit into my leather cover from my first cellphone. Technology is making it obsolete.  I'm obliged to buy a new phone that fits only into a child's lost sock and has more bells and whistles than I want.  I am not a technophobe. Those slick smartphones can really come in handy with maps, gps, internet access and the like. Easy to see how people get so glued to and reliant upon them.  And that is where I balk at the idea of getting one (besides being a cheapskate  thrifty.)  Phones are a great tool but not my best friend, social crutch or cleaner of fridge, as handy as that would be.  I would also be a bit nervous about putting my entire life-private and professional-on a single device so easily damaged or lost. And even more wary of turning into one of those phone gawking drones you see on the bus every morning--long rendered by technology incapable of carrying on a conversation with others or even the desire to do so. So hello low tech phone and hello to to all I meet. Lovely to communicate with you.

Twin & Triplet Bananas

     I have Triplets! I've only had twins before so this is really exciting.  OK, maybe just amusing to my eight year-old nephew Nathan and myself. At the Canning Markets lately, I've been finding Siamese twin bananas-two separate bananas side by side under one peel.  These are quite fun but no one seems to want them.  So I get a special deal on them and then pass them out to kids at church the next day and to my nephew. We think these are a hoot.  Yesterday I found Triplets. Way cool.  Nathan is out of town and cannot enjoy it in person so I will turn it into Banana Butter, a happy spread I won second place for at this year's fair.  Alright, I may be amused  by things of little consequence but you have to admit: Twin and Triplet bananas are really cute.


  Author's Note: Found December 24, 2016 at the Canning Markets. QUADRUPLET banana. Yes, all four are connected top to bottom under the same undulating peel. Will be making Banana Butter very soon.

Quadruplet  Banana!

 

Silk Road Uyghur Cuisine...Now Open!

     It's rare that Kev gets super excited about a restaurant opening.  He likes restaurants. He eats in them much more often than I do.  But he doesn't get too worked up about them.  Until a new one took the place of a pancake restaurant (a location that flips owners/food about four times a year) on our local strip.

Silk Road Uyghur Cuisine

      Hello  Silk Road Uyghur Cuisine!   What?  Where?  Uyghur?  I share your confusion but Kev was in no doubt about this. The Uyghur [pronounced Wee-gur] region is the western most side of China just before you bump into Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan. Not easy to find on the map. Not exactly an internationally renown cuisine.  But therein lies its appeal.  We have scores of Asian restaurants on our main drag but none that evoke Old World mystery of the Silk Road. And we were there on Opening Night.

Traditional Uyghur hats

     It was obviously packed with family and friends bringing in flowers, plants, kids and Grandma to celebrate the occasion.  So few non-Asian faces that owner Askar knew who we were as soon we walked through the door. We joined the good will atmosphere as the staff--wearing shirts with the packet fold creases still quite sharp--found their way through a new busy service. We admired regional artwork and coloring of tablecloths and lights while waiting for menus.  And waited longer for our main dishes-mine came first and after a long wait Kev's came and after that his soup.  And we weren't fussed. Our role was to help the staff find their rhythm and taste the mysterious Uyghur offerings.

Uyghur Polo

     And it is clearly a mix of traders and marauders tastes on this part of the road.  Lamb prevails, rice has carrots in it, yoghurt drinks and spice enough for those who like it.  I ordered Polo, a traditional Uyghur rice with two skewers of lamb and salad.  The lamb was not too spicy (and easier to eat off the skewer especially where we were sitting) and the portions filling.  Kev ordered the Tawa Kewap, a lamb shank with bread, salad and yoghurt.   They hadn't mentioned that the lamb is fermented overnight in salt before being marinated and cooked.  This makes it a bit salty but the addition of bread, salad and yoghurt to the same dish was a first for the culinarily adventurous Kev.  Dessert was Kunafe, a Turkish cheese pastry soaked in a sugar syrup and served with ice cream. Again, a multi-regional blend that had never before tickled Kev's palate.  And let us include the traditional salty yoghurt drink--the sweet one was not available as they make their own yoghurt and had not made enough for both versions by opening night.  Happily, all of this food came at a reasonable price.

Where is Uyghur?

Here!

      Good food, happy atmosphere, affordable prices...what more could you ask?  Where's Uyghur?  Our Han Chinese waitress couldn't tell us but the wall at the entrance gives us a clue. A bit far for a meal.  Happily the Silk Road is nearby.

Austral-American Food

    When I was in college a new restaurant opened up. It was called Olga's Kitchen and I loved its food and the picture of the Mediterranean-looking lady who spearheaded the place.  Who knew that Greek food could be so yummy?!  I mentioned this to a classmate who snarled back that it wasn't real Greek food and it would never fly anywhere in Greece.  Olga did well because she adapted Greek cuisine to the American palate.  
     Just like every other national cuisine adapts to the palate of its new home.
     And that goes for "American" food in Australia.  And we are not talking about McDonald's here but the staples that appeared on plates in just about every dining room in America--and in every American movie or TV show with a dining table in it.  You knew Mom loved you when she served up meatloaf and mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, turkey with gravy/stuffing/yams/cranberry sauce,  Jell-o with fruit in it, etc. You get the picture. So when I go to events here in Perth that have an American theme, my hopes rise high for a nostalgic meal.  I should know better.
     Yesterday's  tourism industry event had a western hoe-down theme.  Too hot for cowboy wear, we were OK'd for cooler clothing--I did wear my cowboy earrings, bolo tie and best John Wayne accent to get in the spirit of things.  There was a mechanical bull to ride (no, thanks) and a real horse too spooked by its surroundings to oblige the promised rides (drats). Then there was the food: Old El Paso salsa with domestic corn chips, mac and cheese (inedible in any country), cracker crust pizza with either pulled pork or tuna on it (Really? Can someone look up Chicago-style pizza recipes and attempt that, please?), some kind of meat pie (totally Australian), pulled beef on a bun (not tooooo bad) and some nasty mess I cannot name nor could swallow.  And all of it was served in miniature (an act of mercy.)   The desserts were from a Swedish bakery named Miss Maud's and were a welcome--if not overly American--sight.  The mini cherry pies had no solid fruit and too much crust but very edible, the brownies were more fluffy cake than dense treat (a common mistake) and the mini jam filled doughnuts were yummy and disappeared quickly.  I softened my critiques (when asked) by mentioning how foreign foods are adapted to the local palate as I put my unfinished whatever on a passing tray.  The above menu has pretty much appeared at other American themed events--with slightly better success. The menu is right, its execution....Australian.
      For a moment I thought I should change vocations and go into catering real American food.       But, would anyone eat it...?

Music : The Decade OZ Cannot Leave Behind

    The bold caption of the photo above the fold on the front of the weekend paper read  "Boys in black roar back with a bang."  The first paragraph sums up the entire experience perfectly. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it--that's been AC/DC's motto  since they first plugged in their guitars at Sydney's Chequers Nightclub 42 years ago." With the exception of  a few new songs, the concert was identical to the one played at the same venue five years ago.  Guitarist Angus Young, now 60, still dons his trademark school uniform and whips up an audience aged from 14 to 74.  Television stations have cameras outside waiting to hear from the premier (governor) of the state  and anyone else of note give a drooly critique of the magical evening.  A reunion of legends? A final farewell of old rockers looking to spend more time in their chateau vineyards?  

    Hardly. This is business as usual in a nation whose musical clock seemed to have stopped in the 70s.    

    Acca Dacca, as they are affectionately nicknamed, has never stopped. The death of their charismatic front man, Bon Scott, three and half decades ago, nor the dementia nor legal troubles of other band members seems to faze anyone or soften affection. Bon Scott has a statue erected in Fremantle--practically a shrine for locals and visitors alike.  Joining them in the Australian musical pantheon of bands never allowed to retire or change their act are groups like KISS and Cold Chisel. Yes, KISS. Still in platform shoes and greasepaint while padding their retirement accounts with regular tours in the sunburnt land. These bands appear on up-and-coming concerts posters along with current  hot performers like Sam Smith.  I think it provides a measure of comfort to folks who really want to keep the vibe of a happy time in their collective souls.

    But what about those bands whose members fell off the perch entirely or insisted on retiring to their private Scandinavian islands?  Well, thank heaven for tribute bands.  Australia has the only ABBA-approved tribute band which goes by the name Bjorn Again.  Agnetha has never had to shed her white bodysuit and we all sing merrily along to Dancing Queen. Tribute bands have long filled in the entertainment gap when bands like Queen, Eurythmics and Fleetwood Mac couldn't or wouldn't come in personally to perform.  And it just doesn't stop there.  Any performer who remotely looks like Dusty Springfield, Kenny Rogers, Dusty Springfield, Roy Orbison, Dusty Springfield, Johnny Cash, Dusty Springfield, Patsy Cline, Dusty Springfield (oh wait, I've mentioned Dusty before) can hit the solo artist concert trail. Their shows are sandwiched between performances by four suited guys with cereal bowl haircuts on a 'Classical Mystery Tour' and three sequin-dressed ladies in bouffant hairdos singing about baby love. And all keeping us permanently in our happy place.

    Are Australians embarrassed by any of this? Far from it.  Aussies embrace their quirkiness. They own their national musical psyche with fierce pride and unrepentant vigor. In fact, the average Aussie has a problem with a fellow countryman who feels a need to get above himself. Think INXS.  Their music was just too slick, too over-produced, too "American". Why, that just isn't done. They would be ignored completely save for the fact the lead singer used to date a pint-sized, half-talent named Kylie Minogue  who mostly covered others' songs.  A bit of redemption there, mate.

   Oh. I should mention that Jim Morrison of The Doors is not dead.  He is playing at the Bickley Harvest Festival.

Birthday Parties and Garage Sales

    Some weekends are busier than others. We find ourselves rushing around from one place to another hoping to get in all in and still catch our breath. This weekend was one such experience with some rather interesting trends noticed.

     First, it was the Garage Sale Trail - a national movement to reduce waste by encouraging reuse of items. People and businesses all across the country are exhorted to have a garage sale on the same day. Having everyone on the hunt --or sale-- on the same day benefits everyone: more traffic out looking for sales and more sales for wandering shoppers to find.  
     We joined the fray. We hoped to find a few pieces of furniture to replace the broken garage sale finds of yesteryear.  Not much there but nestled among the usual collection of old toys, 40 year-old Tupperware being sold at new prices, dated clothing and chipped coffee mugs were a few treasures: a Sony Walkman tape player with a solar powered alarm clock, another portable tape player with the all important three equalizer quality controls (neither of these have I seen before) and the a most gorgeous peacock purse.  This never-used, antique piece of art decorated with peacock feathers was selling for $60 and probably worth four or five times that. I was afraid to touch it. The seller was afraid to touch it. She kept this beaute either behind a glass hutch door or inside acid-free tissue paper.  Which is what her grandmother did with the purse.  One would be a hit at the Perth Fashion Festival with this lovely purse but who wants to push the cabinet holding it everywhere?
      Highly disturbing and all too frequently found was make-up.   Used make-up.  Very used make-up.   Ewwwwwww.  Really, people, I know it's a Chanel compact but the powder is now three-quarters gone and who really wants to use the rest?  Crumbling eye shadows, congealed nail polish and mashed eyebrow pencils all had price tags. I almost fainted when I spotted an unused eye shadow refill still in the box.  We did not find this day what we have seen at garage sales in the past.  Used booze. O.K., opened booze bottles being sold by people who don't drink anymore.  And all priced accordingly--the 3/4 full bottle was priced at 3/4 of the purchased price, the half-full bottle asking for half the duty-free price it sold for and so on.  I don't know how I made it to the car before bursting out laughing.  The entertainment value of visiting garage sales sometimes supersedes the bargains found.

I'm 3 years old!

     And then, a child's birthday party.  My first since moving to OZ.  I had not given any thought to what differences there may be but why wouldn't there be in a different place?  This party was well-themed in Peppa Pig, an animated cartoon character watched by all little kids.  Joining the plastic tablecloth and napkins sporting the image were cups, goodie bags, carrying cases, masks, cake decorations, balloons and little raisin boxes. Standard, thus far.
     The food was different.  What would a party be without Fairy Bread? Triangles of nasty cheap white bread spread with butter and doused in sprinkles (called Hundreds & Thousands here in Australia.)  Paper cups filled with jelly (translate that to Jell-O)  and lamingtons (a small vanilla cake rectangle covered in chocolate and rolled in coconut)  all help get the party started. The cake has no ice cream served with it.
     There is a bit of a shift in the party itself here in OZ. Fewer people live in homes with big backyards, so parties are in public parks or expensive party venues that have paint tag games or other amusements ($500 for a kid's party, anyone?)  And in a public park many of the little reindeer games we all enjoyed--Pin The Tail on the Donkey, Musical Chairs, Pass the Parcel--are no longer done. But this park had Zipline (also called a Flying Fox) attraction and a big mud puddle, so all of the kids were happy.
     
    After all this excitement, I took a nap.   It WAS the weekend, after all.

Adelaide--the Pie Floater

    Many places have special foods closely associated with them.  Cornwall has its pasties, Russia has borscht. Boston boasts about its Baked Beans and one goes to Chicago for real pizza.  Adelaide has the Pie Floater as its culinary crown jewel. Indeed, the National Trust now lists the Pie Floater as a South Australian Heritage Icon.
    The Pie Floater, a classic Aussie meat pie doing some synchronized swimming in a pool of pea soup, can be traced back to the late 1860s and was sold from carts starting in the 1870s. Working men, and more recently after-party revelers, lined up to eat a meal that had everything going for it. Walk the streets today and ask about them.  Everyone in Adelaide will say, "Yeah, Pie Floaters. Just look for the carts."  But street food has fallen out of vogue in the last 140 years. Food has moved indoors. And what cart vendor wants to hang around until 3a.m. to service the inebriated falling out of bars?  This icon is proving to be rather elusive but I was determined to try one before leaving Adelaide. Two options were uncovered and I will report on this local comfort food research.

Mr H's homemade Pie Floater

    The Homemade Pie Floater.  Mr H, a friend of my host, stepped up to the plate (using a sports metaphor here, not a kitchen one) and offered to make us some if we invited him to the party. Deal.  Mr H soaked blue peas in water and baking soda for several hours, rinsed them thoroughly and then boiled the peas in fresh water until soft.  Think Britain's Mushy Peas here.  There was no seasoning save possibly for a hint of salt.  The thick soup was ladled into a deep bowl and a warmed up commercially made meat pie of his choice was carefully placed in the middle. These meat pies are not to be confused with pot pies, which have gravy in them. And I don't blame anyone for not taking the huge effort to wrangle a meat/onion/tomato paste mixture into a pastry crust in an artful way. Pull it out of a packet, I say.  The mildness of the peas and pie suited me well but many might use the word bland.  It certainly was filling.

Vili's Pie Floater

    The Pro--Vili's.   Tucked in the middle of an industrial area is Vili's, but it's location certainly isn't a detractor for fans of the bakery.  Vili's is busy and open 24/7 with customers crossing all age, ethnic and social lines.  Skipping their dazzling desserts, I got to order from a long list of pie possibilities (18!) for my floater. I picked a Hungarian pie. Not shy on the paprika and with the the peas being amply peppered, this did a fair amount of dancing in the mouth.  A lot of people like ketchup--ooops, sorry, I mean tomato sauce--on their pies and Pie Floaters and Vili's obliges in an artful way.  But it looks more like a Pie Drowner than a Floater. I'm not sure why some places put the pie on the bottom with the soup on top (quicker to plate up?) or the instructions that sometimes suggest the pie should be upside down (again, why?)

     I had thought of trying one more Pie Floater to better complete the research.  There are two places in the heart of downtown Adelaide, one on William Street and the other in the Central Markets, that sell pie floaters. But neither was available for this research at the right time and, well, three Pie Floaters in four days is a bit more heroic than I feel.   And it exceeds my annual quota I have decided.  I say go ahead a try one.  When in Rome...

Adelaide--In Two Days

    Adelaide, South Australia.  City of Churches.  Festival Central of Australia.   Gateway to several World Class Wine Regions.   Named after a queen and the butt of uncountable jokes by other Aussies.  And where I recently spent a long weekend visiting an old friend.
    I won't pretend that this entry defines everyone's visit or is the most comprehensive, Each traveller has their own experience. Their activities will define their trip in a unique way. Visiting during in March--the height of festival season that includes Adelaide Festival of Arts and Fringe Festival along with five others--will offer an entirely different experience from a trip made in winter's June. May being a fairly even tempered month plus the city center being very easily navigated on foot or free circuit bus meant that I was going to take in Adelaide's version of Tourism's Greatest Hits. Really, it's OK to be a tourist. Don't be afraid or embarrassed.

Adelaide Central Market

     DAY 1:  I start first at the Central Markets. TOTALLY love this semi open-air market filled with produce stands, butcher shops, bakeries, confectioners, coffee shops, smelly cheese shops, a mini tourist information booth and all sorts of other cool stuff under a weather protecting roof. Have a second breakfast, or a coffee. Load up on fruit. Get lost. Get found. Definitely get your lunch sorted for the day

Botanic Garden Palm House

     Heading over to the Botanic Gardens of South Australia, I am surprised  how central it is to the downtown area and just at edge of long string of universities and government buildings. What a haven! I'm not sure I could just wolf down lunch and leave this rolling greenspace to go back to an office. Green is really the only color here.  This is not a garden chock o'block with flowers from all over, just trees and green grass. A little history museum has an impressive array of botanicals on display and their gift shop specializes in seeds and seedlings in very hard to find varieties of fruits and vegetables.  Good place to eat one's lunch.

    Across the street is the Adelaide Zoo.  Not run by the government but as an

independent nonprofit organization, its biggest bragging point is a pair of pandas. And who doesn't like pandas?  The admission here [and to its outdoor safari-style zoo, Monarto] is a hefty $33 per adult. Lucky me to have friends who have friends with membership cards and are happy to loan me one.  I am surprised at how close people can get to the animals. Aren't they afraid of ne'er-do-wells causing trouble for the critters?  And it seems that so many of the animals are old, alone and irreplaceable. I'm assured that there is a breeding program in place but how many chicks is a 73 year-old flamingo going to have?  No shortage of smart aleck cops hanging around outside the gates, but that is a different story.  And my legs are tired. I'll do more tomorrow.

Central Markets again!

     DAY 2: One street alone, North Terrace, will easily keep one amused for the entire day.  It's all here, all in a row, all inviting.  First stop is , of course, is another hit at the Central Markets to breathe in the vibe and get lunch ready. And then hop the free circuit bus to get to North Terrace. Start right at Government House. The governor is the Queen's representative in the state with a role that is largely ceremonial. Government Houses are usually grand affairs but this building was sloppily painted all the same color of dried sour cream. Gov didn't bother to invite me past the locked gates for a cup of tea but don't call me sour grapes. Hmmmphh.  Move right on to the impressive war memorial still sporting ANZAC wreaths. 
    Next to this is the Migration Museum.  It looks as if it has been yarn bombed.  Because it

Migration Museum Exhibition

has.  The main building has the predictable exhibits one might expect depicting the migrant journey but the rotating exhibition in the outbuilding is all about knitting and crocheting.  Knitting is not just about keeping heads warm and female hands busy.  The patterns and designs of items reflect the cultural heritage of the knitter. Men knit. Why don't you knit? A basket of yarn and needles invites visitors to knit a line or two for scarves for the needy. Kind of a contemporary take on knitting socks for "our boys at the front" during the World War II effort.  Some of the knitting and crocheting patterns are really intricate. Some of the clothes are really scarey.
   What do you want to do next? Peek into the Institute to see the ANZAC through modern eyes exhibit?  How about feeling a little Harry Potter-ish at the State Library and then go

South Australian Museum

ultra modern?  The Art Gallery of South Australia?  Good choices. Pop into the South Australian Museum.  Its central staircase is grand, the exhibit space is compact. All of those animals packed in so close--and so close to you--one waits for that magical 'Night At The Museum' moment when everything comes alive. Still have legs? There are a handful of universities on this same street. A National Trust home beckons. The Rundle shopping mall is one block over and in the opposite direction is the riverfront.  Boredom not possible. And you did not need a car.

    Sorry to say that there was one festival going on that I just did not get enough of. And that was the History Festival. [Hey, History Month sounds way too boring.]  A thick brochure full of the widest variety of cultural, social, historical, natural, mythological and mystical events all across the city, its suburbs and even into regional South Australia.  Church tours, ghost tours, why do Lithuanians like basketball tours, walk the Mint's tunnels opportunity and join the South Australian fascination with its serial criminals of yore.   
     So stop the Adelaide jokes already.  Next time I will share my research on that rare Adelaidean delicacy: the Pie Floater.