Lemon Chiffon Cakes - Heaven!

This is a recipe I cut out ages ago from Feast (SBS) - finally made it on the weekend and absolutely love it - it's sort of a Japanese modern take on cream sponge cakes.

Here it is:

Ingredients:

60ml vegetable oil
165g castor sugar
1tbs lemon zest
3 eggs, separated
150g plain flour
1/2 tsp bicarb soda
2 tbs lemon juice
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
150ml thickened cream
1tbs icing sugar, sifted

Glazed icing
240g icing sugar, sifted
1 1/2 tbs lemon juice
10g unsalted butter, melted

Preheat oven to 160c.  Line muffin pans with muffin cases.
Place oil, 110g castor sugar, lemon zest and egg yolks in bowl of mixer and beat until combined. Add sifted flour and lemon juice.
Place egg whites and tartar in clean dry bowl of electric mixer and whisk to soft peaks  Add remaining 55g sugar gradually and whisk until stiff and glossy. Working in 2 batches, fold the egg white mixture into cake batter until well combined, then divide mixture among muffin cases. Bake for 15 minutes or until a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean.  (mine took about 25 minutes).
Cool cakes in the pan for 5 minutes, then turn onto wire rack and cool completely. When cool, gently peel off cases.
To make icing, combine icing sugar, lemon juice, butter and a little hot water (it has to have a runny consistency).
Place wire rack with cakes over oven tray. Drizzle glazed icing over cakes to coat, then leave for 15 minutes to set.
Whisk cream and icing sugar.  Pierce each cake with a skewer or chopstick and pipe cream mixture through.  Serve.

Pina Colada Icecream with Pineapple Salsa - Yum!

This is a recipe I got from Delicious magazine - with a few slight tweaks of mine!

Ingredients:
720g sour cream
375g pure icing sugar sifted
440can crushed pineapple, drained
125ml coconut cream
100ml Malibu liqueur
245g shredded coconut, toasted
Mint leaves, to garnish

Pineapple Salsa
1 lemongrass stalk (inner core only0 bruised
10cm piece ginger, peeled chopped
150g castor sugar
4 kaffir lime leaves
1/2 pineapple, peeled, cored, thinly sliced

Pina Colada Ice Cream
Whizz sour cream, 300g icing sugar, crushed pineapple, coconut cream and Malibu in food processor until smooth.  Transfer to an ice cream machine and churn. Place in a terrine lined with plastic wrap and freeze until firm.

For the salsa, pace lemongrass, ginger, sugar, kaffir lime leaves and 1 cup water in saucepan and cook, for 2-3 mins until sugar dissolves, add pineapple and cook for 5 minutes.  Remove pineapple and cook syrup for further 5-6 mins, discard lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves.  Pour syrup over pineapple until ready to serve.  To make the crumb, toast coconut in non-stick pan until golden, add remaining sugar and pulse lightly in food processor to make a crumb.

Remove ice cream from freezer 5 minutes before serving, uncover and invert onto plate, removing plastic wrap.  Slice and roll the edges in coconut crumb.  Serve with pineapple salsa.  Decorate with mint leaves.

Cafe Soleil - Episode 8

“Christ, did you call the police?”

“No, I didn’t, because he’d only get madder.”

“What do you want me to do?  Beat him up?”

“Oh, Darryl, I don’t think you’d stand a chance.  He’s got a black belt. No, that’s not the answer.  It’s just one more problem I didn’t need.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“I just don’t know.  I don’t want to burden you with muy problems.  You’ve got enough of your own…with Mark…and all”

He didn’t want to say that they’d face their problems together, because it was just too soon.  There were too many unanswered questions.  It was a co-incidence surely, that she was in that very same hospital as mark at the same time after he was knocked down.  They never found the car or the driver.  He didn’t want to think that there might be some connection.  She did like a tipple, that was true, but that didn’t make her culpable.  He rubbed his eyes, as if to dismiss the thought.

A few weeks later, when the detective showed up at the café – it wasn’t one of the locals that he’d been serving flat whites to for ages – it was someone from the “Accident Investigation Team” – Darryl was surprised and had to admit to some fear.  What if his worst case scenario was true and Susannah had something to do with Mark’s accident? No, no, no.

“Take a seat, “Darryl said, wiping his hands on his streaked apron.  It was near closing time and luckily there weren’t many people in the café.  In the quiet corner he’d picked, they could be pretty much undisturbed.  What would the locals think, that he was in some sort of trouble? Rosie would take care of any stragglers at the till.

 
He looked at Detective Cassidy expectantly.

“Would you like a coffee or something? I was just about to turn the machine off, but…”

“No, I’m fine.  I wanted to talk to you about Mark’s accident.  We think we may have found some new evidence about what happened on that night.  Someone has called in new information about a vehicle that was seen speeding from the scene.”

“It was rainy and wet that night.  Blowing a gale.  I don’t know why he went out”

He didn’t know why he was adding this information, and he really wanted the detective to tell hjm what they had found out, but there was a small voice in his head saying “not yet, I don’t really want to know” so he just ploughed on.

 

“Always headstrong.  Never listens to his dad.  Even though he had to get up early to open the café, still goes out to get smokes.  Never took any notice of the Quit programmes that are all over the place now.  Gave it up myself years ago.  Never looked back.”

Detective Cassidy gave him a quizzical look and continued.

“Anyhow, our investigation are still continuing.  But I wanted to talk to you about your son.  I know you went through all this with the local police, but I hoped you wouldn’t mind me asking a few more questions”

God, did they suspect him now, because that was what it sounded like.  It was like an interrogation, the ones they do on CSI or Criminal Minds or something.  He’d have to stop watching so many of those crime shows, they were getting to him.

“So I know this might be an obvious question, but did Mark have any enemies…that you know of, I mean?”

“No, no, no.  Mark wouldn’t hurt a fly.  I can’t understand why you’re asking this…”

“Just routine, Mr Cavanagh.”

“Call me Darryl, please.  No, I can’t think of anyone at all.  Why is this coming up now?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Episode 7 - Cafe Soleil

Susannah didn’t quite know how to answer him. Her memory was hazy about the time she had spent in the hospital. Later when she’d driven back along the road – the scene of the accident, she’d felt a dull ache in her stomach and a pervading sense of panic. Sometimes she wanted to remember more and sometimes she didn’t. It was enough for now that she and Darryl were getting closer, that she had someone to share things with – she hoped that might be true for the two of them.

Darryl stuck his head out the window the following morning and realised the weather forecast had been right, for a change. The clouds moved ominously across the usually blue sky, greyer and gloomier by the minute. The weather dictated what sort of a day he would have in the café – sometimes bad weather meant fewer customers, since a lot of their tables were outside. Perhaps he could cope without Rosie – and now there was Susannah. He felt a little thrill knowing she was around. He’d get to spend more time with her. It was midweek and the dive boats wouldn’t be operating – it wasn’t worth their while unless they got good numbers. It was probably going to be a day in for the pipe and slippers brigade and even the most intrepid runners wouldn’t risk a downpour. He’d wait and see.

When he got to the café and started putting out the chairs, a tall, well-dressed man sat down on one of the first chairs he put down. He looked kind of familiar, and then Darryl realised he was the one sitting with Susannah the first day he saw her.

“Hi, do you mind if I sit here? I’m waiting for someone”

“No, not at all. Just give me a minute. What can I get you?”

Darryl wondered whether the someone was Susannah. He would have to wait and see. It wasn’t any of his business really.

After he’d served the guy his coffee, Darryl lurked behind the counter and watched him. Was it some ex? Someone in the background that was still a part of her life? Even though they hadn’t moved in together yet, Darryl had been thinking about a life with her. She was so much fun and they seemed so compatible. It wasn’t too much to imagine them continuing to stroll on the beach together, work in the café – and when Mark got better, he could come back to it. But who was he kidding, really? That might never happen. The odds were certainly against it.  

When Susannah eventually arrived, she appeared flustered when she saw the man. Darryl just crooked his thumb and said:

“Old boyfriend?”

Her face darkened.

“Hardly.”

She put her bag down and went out to where he was sitting, relaxed and sipping his flat white, enjoying the ocean view. From what Darryl could see, they were quite amicable, kissing briefly on the cheek before she too sat down. Darryl was too busy getting cakes in the display stand sorted and the rest of the chairs out, to keep an eye on them. So when he suddenly heard her scream, he flew out to see the man twisting her arm.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“You stay out of it, you fat bastard.”

“Susannah, are you alright?”  Suddenly the man had let go and stormed off, knocking his cup over. Darryl quickly righted it and mopped it up with a napkin.

“What was that all about? What’s going on?”

By now, she’d composed herself, but he could see where her cheeks were wet and the mascara had run.

“You’re not OK. Do you want me to go after him?”

“No, no.”

“Well, are you going to tell me what’s going on then?”

“It’s not what you think Darryl. He’s not an ex. He’s a…well, he’s an ex-client.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t want to pressure her, so he just sat there while she gathered her thoughts, if that was indeed what she was doing. Was she lying? Did he really know her? She hadn’t really told him why she lost her practice. Was she an embezzler? Was an ex-con after her because she’d put him away? What was it?

It took a few hours and a few G and Ts on the deck later that evening for her to open up. She took a deep breath and sighed it out. He took her hand and held it securely in his

“Darryl, that was my brother-in-law. He’s not a bad person, but he’s really angry because when my mother passed on, she left everything to me. He’d just started a business and was desperate for the cash. I was acting for him in the purchase.  While there’s no law against acting for relatives, it’s not advised. The business was not going to make him the sort of money he wanted. It was one of those franchises. I warned him about going ahead with it, but he wouldn’t listen. Because at that time I’d had my accident, I couldn’t do anything. He’s never forgiven me. And he thinks I owe him. He’s got quite a temper. Although he looks very suave and business like, he can get really angry really fast. He almost ran me over one night.”

My Favourite Podcasts - Crime et al

I first started listening to podcasts, mostly French language and then Spanish, a year or two ago, but then my daughter got me hooked on one called Serial, which was all about a case that was tried in the late nineties, in Maryland in the US, involving Adnan Syed, a Muslim teenager who was tried and convicted for the murder of his ex-girlfriend Hae Min Lee.  He is currently still in jail but his trial seems to have been clearly flawed.  Lawyer Rabia Chaudry contacted journalist Sarah Koenig, who began to put the facts out there in cyberspace through her podcast Serial. It became huge, with hundreds of thousands of listeners.   The result is several other podcasts on the same case like Undisclosed and Truth and Justice.

Then I became fascinated by the plight of Steven Avery, whose case was featured in the documentary Making a Murderer – riveting stuff - the story of a man who was wrongfully convicted and exonerated on DNA evidence after he had served nearly twenty years in jail. When he tried to sue the State, a woman was found murdered and he was immediately arrested, tried and convicted a second time.  Serial and other podcasts like Undisclosed talk about the details of the case and the many flaws in the criminal justice system.  You have experts – lawyers, prosecutors, expert witnesses, and profilers weighing in on the relative merits of the case, and his guilt or innocence.  Steven Avery and his nephew Brendan Dassey are currently serving time and I just heard the other day that Brendan is being released in 90 days (apparently the State can still appeal though).

Truth and Justice, is run by Bob Ruff, an ex fire chief, who is quite a character and gets all fired up about the corruption in various counties in the US, where people have been wrongly convicted.  Definitely worth a listen, and he discusses a number of cases, giving his own theories and inviting listeners to weigh in.

There are others like Real Crime Profile where profilers discuss their take on famous cases.

I don’t want anybody to think I’m obsessed by crime – I actually rarely read crime novels, but there is something very seductive about hearing these cases and the various theories the experts have come up with - finding out what happened and speculating about someone’s guilt or innocence.

A podcast which is aimed primarily at small business owners and entrepreneurs that I find really interesting and sometimes inspiring is Creative Warriors - it features entrepreneurs and well-known motivational speakers – people who have made their mark in whatever field and who are teaching others how to do the same - they’re interviewed and asked how they got their big break and what advice they would give to people starting out.

There is even a podcast for whatever mood you’re in. This one is called Podcast Playlist (brings you the best podcasts from around the world.

I also listen to Chel Hamilton, who does free mini meditation podcasts – on various themes to do with relaxation. She has a lovely voice and is easy to listen to.

One of my favourites though is This American Life, by Ira Glass, by a public broadcasting station in Chicago – there are fascinating stories about ordinary people on a range of topics – how we feel about death and dying was a recent one.  There was a really interesting take on this in a Chinese-American family and their reaction to their grandmother’s cancer diagnosis and how to deal with it, completely different to how we do it in the West.  They’re usually really interesting thought-provoking topics and they make me think – and relieve the boredom of my daily walk – so I’m learning something and exercising at the same time, which has got to be a plus, don’t you think? So if you have an iPod you can download all these for free on iTunes!

Cafe Soleil - Episode 6

The next morning, as he pulled on his trackies for an early morning walk, Darryl felt brighter somehow. And when Susannah came in with Max, he had the water bowl handy and whispered to Rosie – “Latte, extra strong.”

“How are you?”
She motioned to the empty chair beside her and began.

“What’s happening today?”

“Same old, same old.”

“I could help, Darryl. I did some waitressing, way back, when I was in uni, but really, I can’t stay on my feet for long. What I thought was, I could give you a hand in running the café behind the scenes. Doing the ordering, organising, that sort of thing.”

“That sounds wonderful. I couldn’t afford much though.”

“Shall we give it a try, then? I’m not doing much else.”

                                                                          ***

They were getting into quite a rhythm, the two of them. When the café closed, they would walk on the beach in the dusk, silently and companionably, as the screaming lorikeets in the Norfolk pines made taking impossible. Then have G and Ts on his deck. If sometimes she had three or four, Darryl put it down to numbing the pain she told him she still felt in her back and legs. She was a lot of fun to be around and he found himself caring about what he wore. He was actually ironing his shirts these days.

On the nights when he visited his son, Susannah went home, but there came a time when she asked whether she could accompany him to the hospital. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so he reluctantly agreed.

After the gleaming automatic doors closed behind them, the long walk down the corridor made Susannah flinch.

“Are you alright?”

“Just brings back memories, that’s all. I never wanted to see this place again.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

“But I wanted to. It’s fine.”

The bewildering array of buttons and the respirator kept labouring as usual, in, out, in, out, saw a cloud come over Darryl’s face as he took Mark’s pale hand and squeezed it, just like he always did. Susannah stood, unsure, near the wall.

“Take a seat.” He pulled across one of the chairs. They sat there for some minutes listening to the soft whirr of the machines.

“I usually sing.”

“Go on, Darryl.”

He started a Bon Jovi song, but couldn’t quite remember all the words.

“We’ve got to hold on…” Susannah filled in…”to what we’ve got…we’ve got each other and that’s a lot” …Whoah Oh…Livin on a Prayer”

“Darryl, I think we’ve missed our calling. We should have been in a band.”

They started laughing and then abruptly stopped, as though they were in church. The figure in the bed remained silent and motionless.

Theresa, the night nurse, popped her head around the door, smiling as always.

“Everything OK?”

Darryl nodded. She came in and checked his chart, looked briefly at Susannah, and left.

They sat there, watching over Mark, for what seemed to her a long time. Susannah cleared her throat.

“How long has he been here, I mean, like this?”

“Huh? Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, how long…”

“Oh, sorry. Six months.”

She shivered.

“I must have been here at the same time, then.”

“And you were a bit luckier”.

He wasn’t sure what came over her face then – it almost looked like guilt. Or was it something else? Something he didn’t know about. Perhaps it would be too much of a coincidence they might have been victims of the same drunk driver. The last six gruelling months were still a blur still for Darryl. He had spent that time in a fog of incomprehension – one day just melted into another – anger, pain and a frenzy of hope that Mark would survive. He was surviving, but barely. And was it even survival?

Easiest Ever Poached Pear - 2 Ingredients

This is probably one of the easiest desserts you'll ever make! And only two ingredients!

Serves 1

Ingredients:

1 Beurre Bosc Pear
1 Cup Marsala (more or less - depending on the size of the fruit)


(Note: Beurre Bosc Pears are the best for this, as they hold their shape when poached - Marsala is an Italian sweet wine readily available and inexpensive - you can also cut down on the wine and add a little water if you like.

Peel the pear, leaving the stalk intact and trim the bottom so it sits flat, place into a saucepan and pour over the Marsala. Cook on low heat, turning the pear at intervals, so the wine coats the pear and cooks evenly. You have to keep an eye on it and just keep basting, until the pear is soft.  Test with a fine skewer. The wine will eventually turn into a lovely thick sauce that can be poured over to serve. As it's quite sweet, I serve it with a little Greek yoghurt, Yum!

Cafe Soleil - Episode 5

It hurt him to remember that time when one of the new nursing assistants had left the feeding tube in and Mark choked on his own vomit. Come to think of it, she was Vietnamese and didn’t know how to explain what had happened to the ambos. A close call. He’d survived that episode and kept a close watch on the staff now – as much as you could when you weren’t there all day.

The diminished form with the still vibrant red hair under the covers was really a ghost. And how did you communicate with a ghost? Darryl had been a sort of Catholic in his youth – everyone was something – Catholic or Protestant mostly – in those days you never heard of Buddhists or Muslims and people would never admit to being agnostics or atheists – you had to have something to belong to – even then you’d get teased depending on which side of the religious fence you were on. Catholics went for drama in a big way with incense and those ghastly bloodied figures nailed to crosses. Proddies somehow seemed more genteel – arranging flowers in church and baking cakes. His Mum always covered her head when she went to Mass although she didn’t understand the Latin, and fingered rosary beads and sometimes cooked for the priest.

Darryl had tried to believe, had tried to hope. His God had deserted him. There was now a void where before at least there had been ritual and habit. Eventually he began to realise his prayers were falling on deaf ears. Or maybe he wasn’t praying hard enough? What was he now? He was just a man and this was just his son.

The sand squelched under his feet, little sharp shards of shell he could usually see in the daylight made him wince when he stepped on them – in the distance the floodlights from the oval where they were training for Saturday’s match, illuminated the water, gave the waves an unnatural glow. He breathed in the sharp sea air – and tried to think of nothing. A lonely fisherman was just packing up his tackle. Darryl waved and said something like “catch anything?” but he couldn’t hear the reply as the relentless waves continued to wash the sand. In the distance he could hear the sound of teenagers laughing as they skinny dipped further down the beach and the muffled roar of bikies engines on their way up the hill.

When he got to the edge of the lagoon, he could make out a shape sitting on the sand. The beach was near deserted in the evenings. He drew closer and could see it was a woman and she seemed to be weeping. He almost turned away, but something made him go up to her, just to see if she was OK.

“Are you alright?”

She muffled “Yes. I’m OK.”

The voice was familiar. It had to be Susannah.

“It’s Darryl.”

“Oh.”

“Can I sit down?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. They stared out at the lagoon, where the full moon was casting an unnatural glow. Tentatively, he put his arm around her.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Nup.”

“Alright.” Do you think we should be getting back? You could get weirdos on the beach at night.”

“Like you, you mean?”

“I’m harmless. Just a middleaged bloke trying to run a café. And not doing that great a job at it.”

He took her arm as she got up.

“You do fine, Darryl.”

“Can I escort you home? Do you live far?” He realised as soon as he said it that it was a bit presumptuous. “Sorry, not my business, is it?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got my car in the car park though. You can walk me back there. I like to come down here to be alone with my thoughts.”

“Me too.”

“A penny for yours then.”

“Oh, just about how my life is going nowhere. I’ve still got the insurance from the accident but don’t know how long that’s going to last.”

“I suppose going back to your job is not an option?”

“They declared me unfit to take on any more cases. Legal aid, it was. I did enjoy it. But it was very stressful and…” she trailed off.

He didn’t like to prod, so remained silent.

She began “And what brings you down to the beach at this ungodly hour?”

“Same. To think, to relax. My son…”

“You have a son? I didn’t know.”

“He’s with us and not really with us. “He’s in a hospital. Persistent vegetative state.”

Her face was turned away, but her swift intake of breath was audible.

“I’m so sorry.”

“That’s alright.”

The headlights on her Toyota flashed as she clicked the door open.

“Can I give you a lift?”

“No. It’s OK. I need the walk.”

“See you tomorrow, for a coffee?

“Sounds great.”

He leaned in for a kiss on the cheek and she hugged him. He was surprised.

 

Kids in the Kitchen - The Alchemy of Cooking

When I’m creating something delicious in the kitchen, I’m always reminded of how much food preparation is like alchemy.

Wikipedia and other sources refer to alchemy as the transmutation of matter - traditionally alchemists used to try to turn base metals into gold. 

Alchemy is the art of turning something into something else – from several things we create something new and delicious. When I’m cooking I feel truly alive – I’m making some food, sustenance for myself or my family and I feel I’m tapping into something that is a basic human drive.

I look at a few ingredients, sometimes leftovers, and decide what I’m going to turn them into.

I’m completely in awe of people like Heston Blumenthal of molecular gastronomy fame – I’ve never used something like liquid nitrogen to transform a dish (although I do do a mean Crème Brulee with my blowtorch!) as I do quite well with the tools I already have to hand and as an avid consumer of cooking magazines like Delicious and Gourmet Traveller and shows like Masterchef, I’m constantly bombarded by new ideas and techniques. Still, it’s not often I don’t tweak a recipe to either suit personal taste or make do with a different ingredient for one that’s not available or in short supply. So there’s always something new and different to create. I take inspiration from great chefs like Otam Ottolenghi, great home cooks like Maggie Beer and my own forays into markets for fresh ingredients.

It’s shocking to me that people don’t cook – that that is something that they outsource, like cleaning or pesky IT problems. Or that they would sign up for a whole bunch of prepared meals and freeze them, pop them in the microwave and be content. I keep seeing an advertisement that declares that people would rather spend time with their kids than cook. But you can spend time with your kids and cook too! That concept would be completely foreign to me – I think teaching kids to cook is an important life skill for them to learn. Feeding friends and family and searching for different combinations of different foods is a sometimes astonishing and interesting pastime. Well, for me it’s more than a pastime – I couldn’t ever imagine not cooking and baking and sharing recipes. All my kids know how to cook (and they’re good cooks) and now I’m teaching my grandchildren. They absolutely love it and are keen to be in the kitchen and help me create. It’s a proven fact that kids will more likely eat something that they’ve made themselves.

Last week, my grandchildren Thomas and Gabriella played Masterchef for me – they created some interesting dishes – strawberries, custard, savoury Dippit biscuits, basil and Minions lollies. Needless to say, I gave them both Immunity pins!

     

The other day, my granddaughter and I made some cupcakes. I popped them in my daughter’s oven and we accidentally burned them. I went to throw them out and Hope said “Oh, don’t do that, I’ll eat burnt cupcakes.” Hilarious! She’s only three and was involved in every step of the process.

She’s enjoying one here!

Years ago, I met a woman at a party and she said as she looked with disdain at a delicious canape “I can’t wait till we’re all taking a pill instead of eating”. I felt sorry for her, because surely the pleasure of eating engages our senses - sight, smell, touch and taste and surely if we were meant to pop a pill, we wouldn’t be blessed with our extremely sophisticated internal method of processing food. It’s fascinating to see how our body works at turning food into fuel and to marvel at the way we first create saliva when we see something delicious to eating it and digesting it and it providing us with energy. In the time it takes to wait for a take away (not to mention the cost) you can whip up a tasty meal in just ten minutes.

I think often we are scared of making a mistake and having the whole dish go to pot, literally. Everyone’s probably got a story about the dinner party gone wrong And if the accepted wisdom that you have to spend 10,000 hours perfecting a skill is true, then you’ve got to do a fair bit of cooking before you become an expert. That doesn’t mean you can’t learn shortcuts, easy ways to do things and enjoy the process. I love helping people cook, and I get great satisfaction out of the beautiful things created by my students. The fantastic smell of baking was just heaven this afternoon as my kitchen was filled with the aroma of a butter cake from a French recipe that I got out of Feast magazine. Cooking and baking and therefore creating makes me happy.

Cafe Soleil - Episode 4

“I had an accident.  I couldn’t walk for six months.  Several screws in my leg.  Things just got on top of me and I had a breakdown.  Lost my relationship – no children fortunately.” She pushed back her bob and he got a glimpse of a greying temple.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”  He took her hand and she didn’t withdraw it.

It was the weekend now and thirty or so motorcycles roared past the café and up the hill to the beach.  He could just see them – all in black leather, some really overweight, reliving their heyday – sad grey ponytails flapping in the wind.  Why did they have need of so much noise?  He supposed it was the masculine sense of power throbbing between their legs combined with the speed that made them feel invincible.  He hoped they weren’t going to clog up the café later with their helmets and swagger.  Not much chance of that, they weren’t the coffee drinking types anyway.

The divers were also getting ready, squirming into wetsuits that had trouble accommodating their ample middles and trying to balance those heavy tanks on their backs at the same time. It seemed like so much effort to dive to an ancient wreck. He’d seen the boats coming in to shore and bobbing on the waves as the divers clambered aboard.  It seemed to take them ages, impeded by their gigantic flippers, masks and the heavy weight on their backs.

Then there were the extrovert Middle Eastern types with their gold chains and their “Hey mate…” loud but inoffensive in their souped up jalopies or really flash SUVs and generally just out to have a good time, coming up to the Coast with their botoxed girlfriends, who seemed more intent on shopping the boutiques than actually swimming or surfing.

He was due at the hospital again tonight and he was dreading it.  No change meant no change.  The only bright thing in his day might be a visit from Susannah.  He didn’t like to ask who the well-dressed man was, and he was scared to ask her out on a date.  A date? He must be out of his mind.  Why would someone like her be interested in him? He was never the athlete or the brainy type either and it was a miracle Judy had ever seen any potential in him.  She was fit, watched what she ate. Who’d have thought she’d die before him? It wasn’t fair. Now they’d never be like those impossibly youthful and tanned looking sixty-something couples laughing on the deck of an enormous boat that the cruise lines advertised.  At least he had a good Public Service job and looked forward to an easy if unremarkable retirement.  But a drunk driver put paid to all that, and now he spent his days working like a Trojan and his nights keeping vigil over a ghost.

The automatic doors opened wide as if to swallow him and he started walking down the hall.  The place was clean, terrifyingly so and smelled like a cross between antiseptic and air freshener.  He passed rooms where old men and women moaned and cried.  Sometimes they were completely silent, all tidied up in pristine sheets and blankets – laid out like corpses.  He wondered whether anyone ever came to visit them.  The night nurse on a Tuesday always gave him a beatific smile – she was a Filipina and once told him how she worked sixty hours a week to send money home to her family.  He couldn’t imagine the dedication and sacrifice that took.  She was on duty tonight.

“Hi Darryl”

“How is he?”

“He’s doing fine.  We just give him his night feed.  He is resting OK.  You can go in now.”

“Thanks”

Mark seemed to just be sleeping peacefully. Darryl stroked his hand and sat down by the bed.  He usually sang silly children’s songs to while away the time.  Sometimes it was Pop goes the Weasel or some other song – anything to try to wake up that inert grey matter inside his skull.  Anything to fire up more neurons, to get some sort of reaction,  Creatively arranging his finances, he had managed to get Mark a private room – and it was costing an arm and a leg, but it didn’t matter.  He wouldn’t want to foist his out of tune tenor on any of the other patients – even if they were gaga.  So he sang,   He’d heard miraculous stories of people waking up from comas after months and still believed that it might happen.  He hadn’t been asked to pull the plug yet – that wasn’t exactly what they called it – but that’s what it meant. 

Easiest Ever Cupcakes

These are the easiest ever cupcakes you will ever make. I got the recipe originally from my friend Shirl who got them from her daughter in Adelaide – years ago, and I’ve been making them ever since. I thought it might be a good thing to do as an activity at my granddaughter Hope’s Kindy.

I was all organised and I prepared cakes and frosting myself. It was up to the kids to frost and decorate their own cupcakes. I got the ready-made decorations (pirates or fairies) at Coles – easy peasy! First, the kids put the frosting and then they decorated them.

It went very well, except some of the kids couldn’t resist the frosting (and we know who they are!) before they put the decorations on.

Here’s the cupcake recipe: (for 12 cupcakes)

Crack 2 whole eggs into a cup measure. Fill to 1 cup with pure cream.

Measure ¾ cup castor sugar into a bowl. Add eggs and cream. Mix with hand-held electric mixture. Then add 1 cup SR flour (I always use plain flour and add the right amount of baking powder) and a few drops vanilla essence. Beat till well combined. That’s it! Pour into cupcake cases, bake at 175c fan forced for about 20 minutes or until golden. They’re cooked if you touch the surface and they spring back.

Easiest Ever Frosting:

Beat 3 cups Icing Sugar Mixture with 125g Cream Cheese and a few drops of vanilla, until smooth. That’s it!

Here are the decimated cupcakes from the Kindy!

Cafe Soleil - Episode 3

He passed the drunk who was always sitting on the same bench, swigging from an innocent looking large Coca Cola bottle.  The beach had No Alcohol signs everywhere. Darryl had to quicken his pace because up close, the unwashed stench of sweat and alcohol was unbearable.

As he ambled across the squeaky sand, he realised he should have taken his sneakers off. He bent down to untie the laces and was whacked on the back – he screamed, jumped up and was ready to go on the attack.  Luckily he realised just in time it was Luke, the local blind guy who regularly swung his white can back and forth along the beach and promenade.  Darryl had to mumble sheepishly…

“Sorry”

When he picked himself up, he took a deep breath into his lungs and began walking again, quickly glancing at his watch.  Mustn’t leave Rosie too long at the café by herself.  Who knows what trouble she could get into?  Three wrong orders so far this morning.

He looked up to see the woman from yesterday walking towards him – he noticed she had a slight limp.  Her beagle, Max, raced to up to give a doggy greeting. Darryl bent down and fluffed his ears.

“Hi” she said.  “Sorry, he never forgets a face.”

“Don’t be sorry.  I’m delighted to see him.” He added shyly “And you too, of course.”

“You’re not working today?”

“Had to take a break.  It’s a bit overwhelming. Actually, I’d better get back.”

She pulled on the lead. “I was just coming in for a coffee.  Can I walk with you?”

“Sure.  And I’ve put out the doggy bowls.”

“That’s good to know.”

“I’m Susannah, by the way.”

“Darryl”.

 

They walked companionably back to the café.  He learned that she’d taken early retirement – she didn’t say why – she was an ex lawyer.  He told her as much of his own history as he thought she needed to know.

She sat down with Max at her side while he went out the back to fix whatever Rosie had stuffed up.  A few missed orders, customers who were never coming back again, that sort of thing.  He should have fired her weeks ago, but she had a kid to support.  He was a mug, he knew. This couldn’t go on forever.  They were losing money and there were bills to pay – now that the insurance had practically run out. Actually, he needed a miracle.  Briefly he looked up at the sky, but didn’t hold out much hope of God granting him one today. Maybe it was enough that Susannah had turned up.  There was something about her that delighted him; he’d thought most lawyers to be hard-bitten and curt. 

The café crowd was thinning now that the lunchtime run had passed and he could take Susannah’s coffee out to her.  He brought one for himself too, in case she wanted company.

“Do you mind if I join you?  I need a little break, now I’ve got Rosie sorted out.  She’s been skating on thin ice, but hopefully she’ll improve.”

“You’re very patient.”

“I’ve had to be.  Hey, you look young to be retired.  Did you just get sick of sorting out domestic dramas or defending dropkicks?  What was it?”

Is Education Killing our Kids' Creativity?

I came across an old Ted Talk from 2006 by Sir Ken Robinson – and it got me thinking about creativity and kids. In preschool, they’re encouraged to use their imagination and play, but it seems as soon as they hit school, it’s all about achieving “outcomes”. I know anecdotally from teachers at the coalface that kids are expected to achieve certain “outcomes” which equate to marks when they’re as young as five. In many instances, homework is “de rigeur”. Whatever happened to going out in the yard to play? As anyone who’s ever observed young children at play will attest, they’re learning from each other and role playing in quite a sophisticated way at a young age.

Dr Robinson effectively says that children will inevitably give the creative response when it’s needed.

He told a story about a child drawing.

The teacher says “What are you drawing?”

“A picture of God”

“But nobody knows what God looks like”

Child responds; “Well, they will now!”

And another one about the three wise men in the nativity play.

Wise Man 1 “I bring gold”

Wise Man 2 “I bring Myrrh”

Wise Man 3 (after a slight pause) “Frank sent this…!”

(Here I am quoting, albeit not exactly word for word, from Dr Robinson’s talk)

The system is predicated upon turning out pliable employable people like sausages, all the same, to fit into the modern world of business and production. Maths, Science and Language are at the top and subjects like Dance and Drama are sometimes simply afterthoughts. “You have to have something to fall back on” if you are artistic. 

In our evolution, it seems that formal education is a relatively modern phenomenon. Back in the 17th century, for example, William Blake’s seven year old chimney sweeps would simply sweep all day and die of lung diseases at a young age. Poor children weren’t educated at all - they were just little adults, dressed like little adults, worked like adults and were supposed to be “seen and not heard”. Their little lives were often expendable and this was accepted as normal.

We wouldn’t want to turn back the clock, because education is a right our children are entitled to – but with our apparently automated education systems, that sausage factory of lookalike, thinkalike people, are we perhaps not going too far in the other direction? Children are encouraged to work hard, study all night, blitz the competition, ace the exams, to achieve brilliance but within a structured organised system. Nowadays, one wonders if all the after school activities and hot-housing of kids as young as 12 months into early learning programmes has taken education in an entirely new direction. No doubt some of this is fuelled by a sense of competition between parents?

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not suggesting the three Rs should be neglected – not at all. I believe that if children are given the right garden in which to grow, fertilised with love and knowledge and freedom to express themselves, they will bloom into beautiful specimens, whatever their talents.

Intuitive Painting - My Take

 

I’d had a bit of experience painting – firstly in oils, then watercolours and various mixed media, but usually with some reference material to ground me, to guide me.

But I first started painting from literally nothing a few years ago – now I have a name for it – intuitive painting!

When I signed up for a workshop and was told to simply bring acrylic paints in the primary colours and a 2 metre by 2 metre sheet of unprimed canvas, ENORMOUS! I didn’t know what I was in for – fear and trepidation crept in and the old familiar “I can’t” surfaced. 

But faced with producing SOMETHING we simply threw paint down onto the canvas – Jackson Pollock style – and let nature and the heat and the flies take their course!

It was totally inspiring, and totally our own work!


This is the result – I had an offer to buy it but like it so much that it’s still in my living room!

Cafe Soleil - Episode 2

When he personally took the plate of food out to her, he was disappointed to see she had been joined by a well-dressed man. He didn’t know what he’d hoped, that he’d engage her in conversation, what? Was he that desperate that he had to start hitting on customers now? No. That was not him. Besides, there were so many other things to think about. The daily visit to the hospital for one. One which filled him with dread. The tubes, the breathing apparatus, all that shiny metal. And his son, who looked almost normal. As though he was sleeping and would soon wake up from whatever dreamland he was in.

Darryl woke to a leaden looking sky and wondered if he should just dispense with outside tables today. If it rained there would be fewer fitness fanatics about. As he started pulling the chairs from out the back, he noticed they were getting heavier. Or was it him, piling on the pounds? He was too tired for his late evening stroll on the beach, too tired to get up any earlier and join the buff trainers on the esplanade. The café was something that occupied most of his daylight hours and if he were honest with himself, he would have sold it at a loss after the accident, rather than keep trying to hold on in the hope that something would miraculously change.

He realised his day wasn’t going to go as planned when he ducked out at lunch time and left the new waitress in charge. He just couldn’t hack another skinny thirty-something asking for almond milk in her soy chai latte with go lo or the tattooed sinewy trainer who accompanied her rabbiting on about his gluts and lats. The guy was handing around flyers, right in the café, without even asking. It was blah, blah, blah and I do forty reps of those and I bench press 200 any day of the week. These biceps? I recommend this little shop in town where I get my supplements. If you want the real thing though, give the owner a wink, sling him an extra fifty bucks and he gives you the really good stuff from UNDER the counter.

Then there were the whippet thin blondes and their Buggaboos - their precious cargo strapped inside, fat and dreaming, while their mothers chatted and compared notes about the right formulas and schools. Poor little devils, Darryl thought, let them slumber on in complete ignorance for a little while yet. They had no idea what was being mapped out for them and certainly wouldn’t be thrown out into the backyard with a simple suggestion that they go play! Like when he was a boy. What was that, nowadays? Every single moment of every waking hour would be organised, with some tutor teaching them higher mathematics or something while they crawled, drooling, along the carpet. Their mothers were now sipping lattes.

At mid-morning the retired old farts usually came in for their raisin toast and cappuccinos nattering loudly (most of them were pretty deaf) about their super funds and shares and what was going up and coming down. Darryl’s brain was reeling from information overload.

He had to get out of that chaos just to clear his head for a little while. In spite of the early cloud, it was already blazing hot and the sweat was collecting around his forehead, He thought a walk on the beach, just a short one, might be the go.

Are You a Multipotentialite?

Because I know I am! Finally now I have a name for it – for someone who has multiple interests and careers - a multi-potentialite or multi-passionate.

It’s a term I hadn’t heard before – not sure who originally coined it – but I first came across this notion on a podcast on “Creative Warriors” by Jeffrey Shaw which features interviews with creative entrepreneurs. Fascinating stuff – Emilie Wapnick has researched people who have multiple interests and multiple careers often at the same time and is writing a book about it. Then I saw her on a TED talk. She says that she trained as a lawyer but decided not to pursue that career – she’s felt free to pursue other avenues, such as music.

I realised when I heard that podcast and listened to her Ted talk that that is what I am – and have always been. A multipotentialite – quite a mouthful, but accurately describing those of us who can’t concentrate on just one thing – ever! We’re mega-curious and interested in always stretching ourselves and finding out more.

I’ve spent a lifetime trying to focus on one thing and feeling bad about not doing that – suddenly here I have permission! I’ve done many things and came to a career in teaching fairly late – that is my passion, but not the only one. I love painting and writing and languages and pursue those equally passionately.

I don’t have a one track mind – I have a multi-track mind, and that’s OK!

That doesn’t mean that we’re Jacks of all Trades and Masters of None – not by a long shot! It simply means, I think, that our brains are wired differently and that we should work with what we have, maximising our potential rather than railing against and denying our natural tendencies.

The trick, I think, is to remember that you need to spend around 10,000 hours to actually perfect a skill (or so they say) and while staying on several tracks at once, building momentum and refining those skills is a skill in itself.

What works for some is setting small blocks of time - 30 minutes to an hour on one task and then moving to the next.

Rewarding yourself (not necessarily with chocolate cake, although that’s nice!) when small tasks have been successfully completed is another way to go.

I wonder if our school system recognised these traits in some children, and instead of labelling them ADHD, which they may or may not be, and if they tailored lessons to accommodate just these sort of differences, what outcomes might we have?

Kids are often asked “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and the pressure is already on at a very young age to choose one thing. What if we took the pressure off and said “What things do you want to DO when you grow up?”

Just a thought…

In the world of the future where most people will have more than one career, where job security will not be what it once was and where short term working contracts will be the norm, those who have multiple interests and many skills will most certainly be in demand. And that has to be a good thing, right?

French Country Market

http://www.frenchcountrymarket.com.au/
Having been a Francophile for ages, I just had to go to the French Country Market up here on the Central Coast on the weekend – our local Alliance Francaise had a stand there manned by my good friend Nathalie, a native French speaker from Monaco and many other parts of the globe. The Alliance runs French classes at all levels and meets once a month at Erina Leagues Club.
So many gorgeous things – from elegant furniture to retro clothes to homewares to kids’ toys – the market had it all!  It was a gorgeous sunshiny day as well – delicious smells of croissants, raclette and coffee - I bought a gorgeous little tea set – it will get a good workout when our Ladies French conversation group meets again…
- I’ll be back in November (it’s only on twice a year, unfortunately!)
Here are some pics…





 

Episode 1 - Cafe Soleil

Café Soleil 

At this hour it all looks very calm and peaceful.  A killer yellow sun is just coming up over the water, casting its spell on the lazy waves, that glow white as they sidle onto shore.   The sun rises and slowly illuminates the buildings - the swish low rise apartments have softer contours in the morning.   The beach and walkways look pristine since the mechanical street sweepers - giant tarantulas - have been swaying back and forth for hours, plucking up all the debris and tucking it all inside their great whirring bodies. For hours the bakery has had its light on and cinnamon, apple and yeasty smells seep from under its as yet closed doors. 

A dairy truck lumbers up, and its driver pulls a trolley from the rear end, and starts loading it impossibly high with milk, pushing it on to the footpath up to the supermarket, where he rolls it inside.

Across the street, portly Darryl, beads of perspiration already forming on his upper lip, wrestles piles of chairs onto the footpath, setting each one down in its place and placing menus on the tables, ready to entice the first joggers, gym junkies and personal trainers with skim soy lattes and egg white omelettes followed by mineral water chasers. 

The car park fills up with four wheel drives and sports cars as the buff trainers wait, after lugging their equipment along the beach effortlessly.  Bright red boxing gloves, pads, witches hats, balls, rope and chains put Darryl in mind of a medieval torture chamber.  For the relentlessly cheerful early risers it's the highlight of their day.

Rosie, the part-time waitress he’s recently hired hasn’t arrived yet, so he’s busy taking orders, keeping an anxious eye out for her.  He’s not used to being front of house, and would rather be in the kitchen plating up or washing dishes, anything but dealing with the public.  Mark was the people person – he felt comfortable wherever he went. A chuckling baby, gregarious teenager and now in a persistent vegetative state, they called it.

“Can I take your order?” 

The trim young brunette checking her mobile phone barely glances up as she replies.

“Soy Skim Latte.”

“Anything else?”

“No, that’s fine.”

He wondered why young people had to be so rude.  Where were their manners?  On their iPhone – that’s why they called it an iPhone, it was always I I I -  iPad, iPod I this, I that…in Darryl’s day it was not done to big note yourself.   You didn’t post selfies.  You waited until you could get your roll of film from your holidays processed and some of them would be grainy and out of focus, but that was half the fun.

He moved past a few more tables to an unremarkable middle-aged woman sitting on her own, except for a very friendly beagle tethered to the table.  He must remember to put out more doggy water bowls.

“Can I get you anything?”

She flashed him a smile. She seemed to light up from inside.  It was very attractive.

“Yes, what do you recommend?”

“Cute dog.”  Darryl ventured a pat.

“It’s alright” she smiled. “He loves people. In fact, he’d probably go home with you.”

“I’d have to get in a supply of dog food, then.”  They both laughed.

“The Eggs Benedict are really good.  Or if you’re vegan…”

“That sounds lovely.”

Rosie rushed up, sweating, slinging her bag down.

“Sorry I’m late.  I’ll just…”

“That’s alright.  I’ll take this one. Maybe you could see what those tables over there want.” To the woman he said – “Won’t be long.”

She grinned and he found himself smiling too as he went to the kitchen.

Facebook is a Foreign Country

                                                

Facebook is a foreign country – you don’t know any of the locals, you don’t speak the language and you don’t know the customs. Did you remember to pack your sunscreen? Are you wearing the right clothes? Casual or formal? Jeans or Dress? Is there an “after five” option? 

When you first arrive, worn down by years of friends wanting you to come, like it’s a trip to the Maldives or Ibiza or the South of France, you take a look around and wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. You’ve finally taken the plunge. Did you get on the wrong bus or train or something? Nothing seems familiar. Was that the 5.47 or the 6.30 that you were supposed to be on? Who knows because you can’t read the signs, they’re in a language you’ve never seen – what’s that widget, thingamajig, whatchamacallit?

There’s a bewildering set of rules and regulations and you’re worried that your visa might be revoked if you contravene any of these. It’s heady stuff. Especially for a Facebook Virgin

You decide to dive in anyway. You follow someone new and fascinating but the path is long and rocky and seems to be going nowhere - you don’t know what to do, but then suddenly you discover you can “Unfollow” them – genius! Problem solved!

You’re scared to say too much as you sure as hell don’t want to offend any of the residents. What’s the right way to behave? How much to expose? What to say? Whom to say it to? And if you befriend someone, does that mean you have to contend with their whole tribe? Could you be biting off more than you can chew?

The powers that be want to know all about you, but you don’t know anything about them.

The first hostel you booked has fleas so you have to move to another one. You’re hoping at least that this one will have hot running water and a working shower. Mind you, at these prices, who can complain?

Things seem to be going well, when suddenly you encounter a bump in the road. Someone has commented negatively on something you’ve said. Have you got travel insurance? And what does it cover you for? Full Comprehensive or just Third Party Liability? Hard to tell, because the policy seemed to contain all sorts of intricate clauses and sub-clauses you couldn’t understand when you embarked on this journey. You thought you were doing the right thing and your travel agent assured you all would be well. Did you have your anti-sensitive vaccination?

In most countries there’s usually a period of residence required before you can claim full citizenship, but here, it’s automatic, and that may be a good thing or a bad thing. You’d better make sure it’s what you want before you commit.

Finally, just remember to treat everyone the way you would like to be treated and give way to the right or left, as the case may be, never forgetting that the pen is mightier than the sword!

Just remember what you learned in Kindergarten, play nice, share and don’t swear!