KITCHY SUPPLIES

Food from my motherland has a special place in my heart.  Usually a negative one, a dark bitter cockle with memories of over cooked lamb chops and bizarre freak-show meals (ie. lamb's brains) battling for supremacy.  There are some bright spots though (see Sausage Rolls and Lamington, not to mention packaged Aussie treats, like Milo and Tim-tams, and Cherry Ripes), and the feeling that perhaps my interpretation of Australian cuisine could be mistaken lingers.  After all, my mom is a fantastic cook.  

Her best friend since childhood came to visit recently and brought with her belated Christmas gifts for me:  Tim Tams, Beerenberg Ketchup (they have the loveliest rose petal jelly too!), and her grandmother's cook book.

This is probably no surprise, but I love reading cookbooks.  The $40 word that comes to mind is geschictsbild, meaning a "picture of history" or a sort of zeitgeisty snap-shot of society. Cookbooks are a perfect barometer of a culture's views on life, priorities, and sensibilities as they dissect how we feed and entertain ourselves.  Think about it:  how would future man interpret an Alice Waters or Suzanne Goin cookbook, or even one by Rachel Ray or Sandra Lee?  What would it say about our taste as a culture? I guess this is why reading vintage cookbooks gives me such a thrill.  The style of cooking and entertaining, the "rules" attached to both, seem so distant and yet familiar, like watching a silent film flickering on a screen. I can't help but look for the creased pages, the ones dotted with stains, or where the binding is particularly weak: it reveals the favorites of whoever owned it before.  Even looking through my cookbooks, my favorites are ridiculously apparent.  Not dotted with some residual flour, but covered in greasy finger prints and maybe an accidental splash of red wine.   

 

"Calling All Cooks" is the perfect example of a style completely separate from what is familiar today.  Entire sections on at-home remedies, cleaning tricks, and a chapter on how to care for an invalid where uproariously entertaining.  And perhaps that is why my image of Australian cuisine is so flawed, it's not an imprint of its current state.  I'm thinking of the food my Grandmother grew up with, the food her and her friends surround themselves with.  It's style and tastes are attached to entirely different sensibilities (such as cooking everything to completely well-done).  

Thank you Ann Marie for the wonderful book, I look forward to trying out a few recipes soon!

The introduction:



Helpful Tips for the home cook:

My favorite tip.  Because really, what the hell are they talking about?  In what world does milk equate grape juice?

Cooking for Invalids:

Because the first thing every sick person wants on their menu is fish custard.  Yum!

This "rule" for serving invalids made me giggle, simply because this must've happened to the writer for them to have included it in the book.  I bet it was an awkward trying situation.  

Writer: Here's your fish custard.

Invalid: My fish cus--umm...actually, I'm already full thanks.

Writer: No no, we want you to get well. (pushing the plate subtly towards them) Eat. the. custard.

Invalid: (unsubtly pushing the plate back) I. don't. want to!

Writer: Eat your fish custard, or I'll show you the real meaning of the word sick!

Invalid: Gross! Never!

Scene fades to black over the sounds of clattering plates and fish custard ignobly splatting on the floor.