inner pickle

high chai

 

Hello! Back in August I sent out a call for chai recipes here - noting my devotedness to the drink and hoping to be flooded with fabulous recipes (aka brownies, for which I have more recipes than I'll ever be able to cook. Or eat.)

Surprisingly (to me) you lot aren't as enamoured of chai as I am. 

In fact, I got only one recipe back. LUCKY, it was perfect. 

It was from my sister Naomi who lives in Germany, and she got it from her guy at the Asian supermarket in Oberursel who is actually from Calcutta and therefore knows his chai.

And so he does.

This stuff rocks.

 

CHAI

Ingredients:

4 Cardamon pods

4 cloves

1/3 cinnamon stick

1 tsp loose tea (ideally Sri Lankan)

2cm small piece of fresh ginger

2/3 cup milk

2/3 cup water

Method:

Bash cardamon and cloves together, in a mortar and pestle if you have one or with a rolling pin or tin of baked beans if you don't.

Put cardamon, cloves and the cinnamon into the saucepan with the tea, the ginger (also bashed up) and then the water and milk. Simmer on low for about half and hour then strain and drink. Personally I think it needs a teaspoon of sugar at the end too but I don't know if that's legit. A bit soulless without the sugar.

So that's one more item off my 20 New Things list which is still dreadfully FULL given I'm s'posed to have completed it by the end of this month...

Well, let's give the rest of them a red hot go, shall we?

xxx

more corners of home

 

Another favourite corner has this old thing in it...

I used to play all the time. I mean, all the time, when I was a kid. I played for exams and I played for fun and I auditioned in Composition for the Conservatorium in Sydney when I finished high school, and was accepted, but decided to go and study Medieval History at Sydney Uni instead.

We still have a relationship, the piano and I, but it's no longer solely monogamous. I like the guitar too. And I flirted with a saxaphone at highschool, I'll admit. It was fun. Short-term though.

The piano, we're long term. I've introduced it to my children.

 

This is Tilly (today.)

This was Henry in 2006 in Brisbane (which is my excuse for why the child is not clothed. It's HOT in Brisbane.)

This is a photo of when the piano was new (to me - it's about 80 years old) and didn't need the serious dusting it requires now. 

Yes OK, I threw that one in because I wanted to look at that little dude again. Check the curls!

Oh, little man. I hope one day you have a piano that you can watch being moved from house to house by skinny tattooed fellas called 'Tiny' who lift it like a shoebox and hurl it into trucks. 

It'd be awesome if playing something, whatever you like, brought you joy. 

Drums? Maybe could we start with a bongo? 

xxx

lasagne: not pretty but damn yummy

So really, who makes lasagne on a work night? 

I do. 

Here's the quickest, tastiest, perhaps not low-fattest lasagne ever. Promise. Please try it. Then send me a photo of how-not-pretty-but-delicious yours is too.

MEAT SAUCE

1 brown onion, finely chopped

3 cloves garlic, finely chopped

1 tablespoon olive oil

500g lean beef mince 

1 800g tin chopped tomatoes

1 small tin (equiv 1 tablesp) tomato paste

2 teaspoons mixed dried herbs (no fresh herbs in the fridge today)

salt and pepper

METHOD

Cook the onion and garlic in the oil for a couple of minutes. Sprinkle the onion with salt to release the onion juices and stop it browning. 

Add the meat and cook till browned.

Throw in the tomatoes, the tom paste and the herbs. Cook for another 10 mins on low heat (longer if you have the time).

To make the "Béchamel", mix 1 carton sour cream and 1 cup grated cheese together. 

Then layer sauce/lasagne sheets/sour cream mix and repeat at least three times.

With any pasta, the best kind is usually 100% Durum Wheat Semolina. I found awesome lasagne sheets just at my local Franklins, all Durum Wheat Semolina, imported from Italy. Totally delicious pasta. Bargain!

That's it. Sprinkle a layer of grated cheese over the top because frankly there is not quite enough artery hardening components to this dinner. (But you don't make it that often, right?) Put in moderate oven for about 20 minutes. My kids are generally fussy, uncooperative eaters and Henry wolfed a whole serve and Tilly went back for seconds. Unprecedented.

Hope it's a hit at your place!

Like I said, not pretty. Delicious.

xxx

freedom

 

photo credit

Freedom, hey?

At liberty. Free of constraint. Independent. Able to exercise free will. 

It's what we all, here, hopefully expect. 

Its loss, in some ways, is what is so confronting as a parent.

And it is so inspiring to see our small charges striving for it. As they run away up the street, straight for the road with the buses. As they leap the neighbour's fence in a single bound. As they put their heads down and speed determinedly towards the chip aisle. 

I still haven't lost the deep joy that grown up freedoms afford. And I'm politically conscious enough to really appreciate the superficial stuff.

I choose to go to bed at 1am if I want to. I choose to read Dostoyevsky or Who Magazine, I don't care what anyone says. I choose to eat cheesecake for breakfast if it's in the fridge. 

I was talking to my mate Ben about this last week, he too is someone who appreciates grown up freedoms.  Ice-cream for breakfast, pizza every night for a week, bed whenever you want. Maybe even more appreciative this week as he's about to hit the big 3-0 (happy birthday dude!) 

What are your greatest freedoms? 

When I really think about it, it makes me so so grateful, because the list is so endless.

I choose to : go skinny dipping. Wear boots, not heels. Have short hair. Listen to incredibly daggy Celtic music. Write. Drink. Laugh. 

You?

xxx 

a happy working song

I love working. It's kind of all protestant and ernest, but I really do. 

An old boss of mine once asked me if I'd ever had a job I didn't like. And this was before I spent three months in a Brisbane kitchen cooking for 100 preschoolers. And still the answer is no. 

I got my first job at 14 scooping icecream in the local antique shop for $3 an hour, $12 for a 4 hour shift. (And I spent it on old jewelry I admired when I was dusting. It was awesome.)

When I went off on maternity leave in 2004 I was only ever going to take 6-8 months off. I was a marketing communications manager for a big bank and damn I loved my job. Plus my boss let me bugger off once a week and go back to uni to do postgraduate medieval history subjects. How cool is that?!

Then they re-structured, and told me they'd find something for me when I came back, I'd probably only be part time right? 

I realised I didn't want to leave a tiny baby in daycare while I worked 80 hours per week. And with no dispersions cast on Adam's feminism, it was always going to be up to me to do the juggle. Actually, no, I should be honest. If I'd wanted him to work part time and take the lead in childcare he really would have. But I didn't want him too. I begged a redundancy and hung out with my baby. God it was awesome. I applied for a part time PhD in Medieval Studies and got accepted. With a scholarship. So cool.

And then Ad's work asked us to move to Brisbane. Given his was the job paying the mortgage, it kinda made sense to go. I was pretty reluctant, but it was such a great offer. 

So we went. I worked for a year on the PhD before we figured out the extent of Henry's special needs. We had Tilly and I had another lovely year of making playdough and jumping on the trampoline before I decided to go cooking again. 

And now, back in Sydney, in this really cool company doing more marketing and admin, really really loving it. 

I love two things most of all:

my coffee guy...

... and the people I work with.

But damn it's a juggle, right?

Every morning, two lunch boxes, bags packed, kids breakfasted, dressed, half way out the door I realise I'm not wearing any bottoms, better go back for my skirt...and crap, I've run out of petrol. (You've heard this story.)

Everywhere I look, and I'm looking at you, there are women juggling.

You're throwing on a load of washing while you check your internet banking and think about dinner. You're hanging it on the line while calling to make a doctor/dentist/hairdresser appointment and wondering if you'll get the book read for bookclub this month. 

There's a present to buy for a birthday party and a skirt to hem and a funny smell in the bathroom and a dishwasher to unstack (if you're lucky) and a carpet to vacuum and children to be listened to and homework to supervise and bills to be paid and tax to be submitted and time to be taken for yourself. (Guffaw.)

Everywhere I look there are women with so many balls in the air their hands are a blur.

Damn you look good; Look at you go.

Stretched so thin but I see your sinews. You're made of piano wire. You can't break. (You can't afford to.) 

I tell you, you're a gorgeous ship on a stormy sea and everyone is hanging onto your mast. And it feels pretty good, right? Go on, steer. You're doing it with your eyes shut. And you're afloat. And marvellous.

Northward, gorgeous girls. There's a star in the sky to steer by: it's the collective hearts of women strung so tight they're thrumming. Beautiful, bright and boundless.

xxx

hie ho, hie ho...

So this is kind of funny.

I was going to blog tonight about working mothers... the part time question... the child care question... but I'm still working. 

(It's 10.45pm, I worked all day today, picked the kids up, gave them dinner, got them showered, stories read and into bed, sat and ate pizza and drank a glass of wine with Ad and our friend Charlie, and now am back working. I love it. That's the problem. Please tune in for this tomorrow.)

Meanwhile here's a photo of one of my favourite dogs in the world, Amy, who my darling friend Catriona belongs to. (No, I didn't get that muddled up.)

Mothers of young children who love their jobs and are trying to work as well as mother. 

A dog's breakfast?

See you tomorrow!

xxx

who is feeding the children?

 

We were at The Big Banana in Coffs Harbour last week, such a hoot, and took the kids back a couple of days later to the water slide park they have there. Also a hoot.

More so for Tilly who tore down the biggest slides possible while Henry was much more reticent and preferred to sit at our picnic table and nibble rockmelon.

So while Adam went up and down enormous water slides with our adrenaline-junkie two year old, I sat with Henry at the picnic table and thought about food. Not unusual for me. 

On our table Tammy and I had food for five small kids. Rockmelon, multigrain vegemite sandwiches, corn thins spread with hummus and as a treat, muesli bars. 

Pretty typical, right? Probably what you're feeding your kids as snacks.

Just a little way off on the table next door was a big plate of lollies. Two plates of chips. Hot dogs. Red cordial. Henry kept a covert eye on the feast and would have insinuated himself to the party if given half a chance.

Because it was a party, the kids, older than ours, came leaping off the waterslides and onto the treats. And they were big kids. And I don't mean age-wise. Interestingly the two supervising adults weren't, but the 7 or 8 kids all were. 

It bugged me. I still can't articulate why. It's party food at a party, each to their own and all that. Except pretty obviously we have a problem with heavy kids. And who can say what these kids are eating for recess and lunch but somehow I'm doubting it's fruit and crackers and the occasional yoghurt.

Is the problem more input or lack of output?

And I found myself talking to Tam about it afterwards, wondering whether working women just get so sick of putting steamed chicken and vegetables in front of whining children when they know if they deliver chips or pizza they'll be thanked.

I felt like garroting myself. So it's women's fault? Childhood obesity is the fault of worn out working women?? 

Of course it isn't.

And of course it's not about apportioning blame, it's about everyone making fresh good food choices. Which is what Jamie Oliver tried to do in English schools and what canteens around Australia are attempting to do. Wouldn't it be interesting to review school canteens by area and see if the quality of food offered is even. 

My friend Estelle gave me a fabulous book last Christmas called Eating Between The Lines: Food and Equality in Australia which I thought was very interesting although I felt the research didn't go far enough. 

It's something I'd like to do a lot more reading on.

One thing worries me though: it's so much harder to swap kids from chips to carrot sticks at 10 yrs old than at say, 3. We control their food in the early years, although I'm careful to stress that women are not responsible for this health epidemic. We tend to shop, prepare and serve. 

Maybe there's a way to make it easier for people. 'Grub Organics' weeks-worth-of-snack-boxes? Organic, additive-free, low sodium, low sugar, low fat snack options. 

Maybe a party pack option.

Hey, there's a business idea in that.

Your thoughts?

xxx

more corners of home

dinner time, our place, tonight

You know I don't really know anything about blogging.

I only read my first blog this year, Soulemama, which impressed me no end, in fact, the first post I read was this one, which impressed AND inspired me. She made a felt pea, for heaven's sake. 

Were there really women not so wrung out by life and small children that they were doing such excellent crafty things? 

In May this year I had a revelation... not only were they doing them, they were blogging about doing them. Perhaps I could blog too! I love writing! Given I'm not overly crafty, I thought I'd blog about my edible craft, food! Food and feeding small children!

I thought maybe Mum and my sisters might read it.

Then I found myself digressing.

I started with food then got sidetracked into taking photos of what I'd accidentally left out of the dinner as I cooked it.

Turns out I was a long way from taking photos of a gorgeously dressed little girl playing with a felt pea I had made. 

Even my best-brownie-ever claim was hijacked by small child sticking her fingers in the photo to pick up the crumbs. 

But still, here you are! 

Thank you SO MUCH for reading my blog. I know you're there, I see the stats, even if you don't comment. (PLEASE comment! Have I told you lately how much I love reading your comments?! Thank you to my fabulous regular commenters, you make my day.)

I got an email today from a lovely reader in Germany (Hi Andrea!) who found my blog through my sister Naomi, and who reminded me why I love this so much. 

And why it doesn't matter that I'm not fabulously inspirationally crafty or artistic, that in fact, it's the underbelly of parenting that you relate to. (Or the picture of the garbage bin the kids are nearly put in, thanks, Andrea!)

So while I was going to continue my corners of home thing after I'd decluttered and sorted out the house, I realised you don't care if there's stuff all over the mantlepiece and last night's quinoa on the floor under the kids' stools (in themselves pretty scrappy) - here's one of my favourite places. Our dining table.

Organic pumpkin soup and spelt bread. IKEA cups. 3 bowls - Adam is due home any minute and his is still on the stove staying warm. No kids because they're allowed TV time while I'm cooking dinner. 

Thanks for reading, it's so nice to know I'm not going barmy on my own. 

xxx

2 minutes of gorgeousness

Watch this!

5D and EX1 Lady Bug Swarm from Michael Ramsey on Vimeo.

cleaning up

I've found myself in a bit of a muddle.

It's not just that there's washing to do after the holidays.

There's always washing. My friend Catriona has what she calls a Clothes Mountain which she frequently attempts to conquer. I find myself in snowdrifts. Darks. Lights. Handwashing (never gets done.) Towels. 

Then there's the overflowing boxes of toys. The boxes in the corner of outgrown-toys for the Salvation Army. (And as long as they're there and not actually at the Salvos the kids continue to hurl things out of then looking for an obscure small plastic special irreplaceable must-find-it-immediately toy.) 

The spare room. With remaining baby stuff not yet given away. A pile of very small shoes on the middle of the bed, pulled out, I think, from another so-called Salvos box.

Piles of paper. Piles and piles. Wasn't I going paperless? 

Tupperware that topples out of the cupboard on top of me when I open the doors. 

And, So. Many. Books. 

No wonder we no longer fit into a shipping container when we move. What is it, forty feet long? 

So this is it. It's Spring Cleaning time.

Time to get rid of some stuff.

My fabulous neighbour Clare and I have decided to have a tandem garage sale, if that's even a term. We're going to find a Saturday sometime in the next month and clear the decks. Whatever's left we'll take to the Salvos. 

I've never had a garage sale, I'm not sure if it will be fun or awful, but Tilly is sure to love it. (An audience! In her front yard!)

My sister Suzie put me onto Flylady years ago now. I quite like Flylady's principles. The kitchen sink thing is very valid although I very rarely actually accomplish it (make sure it's empty and clean every night). I'm more a happy sufferer of her CHAOS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome) although of course I do anyway and just ask them to move the newspapers off the couch or the elaborate car racetrack off the coffee table. 

Anyway, deep breath. Empty box in one hand and bookshelf in front of me. 

Maybe a glass of wine will help.

xxx