Almost a year ago now, on a blustery morning last autumn, my neighbour George stopped by to deliver 30 litres of fresh apple juice. He'd just crushed it himself, made from a ute load of golden delicious apples picked from a mate's old tree.
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Showing posts with label community. Show all posts
Almost a year ago now, on a blustery morning last autumn, my neighbour George stopped by to deliver 30 litres of fresh apple juice. He'd just crushed it himself, made from a ute load of golden delicious apples picked from a mate's old tree.
Scenes from the weekend, finally uploaded. I went to a cider launch, at Australia’s first certified organic cidery, built at the original orchard planted by William Smith in the Huon Valley in 1888.
Where the apples are grown, then crushed, and through the magic of malolactic fermentation and French oak casks, it's turned into a delicious farm house cider.
There's a lot of argy bargy in our town, about dying industries and loss of jobs. You see orchards being bulldozed and turned into housing, the loss of valuable farm land and a feeling of despair by some.
But I see a family business since 1888, launching an innovative new product using traditional methods, doing it organically and with style (those Tasmanian shaped drink coasters are printed on a 19th century letterpress!) and well, that's something to celebrate. Cheers!
It was with mixed emotion that I accepted the invitation. I was super excited to be spending three days with a group of food lovers, learning new charcuterie skills. But I was dreading the fact that, well, first we were going to kill a pig. A home slaughter. A chicken is one thing, but a pig, sheesh, how would that go?
I'm a firm believer of knowing where your food comes from, and taking responsiblity for the food you eat. And I endeavour to make sure that most of what we eat comes direct from the farmer, including any meat. But yeah, I was about to take a giant leap into, the, um business end of being an omnivore, and I was not sure I if I was entirely up to the challenge.
We all arrived at my friends' farm early on a gloomy winter's morning. Most brought with them a wealth of family tradition and recipes for butchering a pig, sharing their stories over a fortifying glass of Strega. Meanwhile, that little pig sniffed and poked around in her little pen laid deep with fresh straw, took a little nap and looked perfectly content, oblivious to the fact that her hours were numbered. Once everything was ready, a call was made to the butcher and as soon as he arrived I felt a huge sense of relief. He looked strong, he looked capable and reassuringly, he looked kind.
Some people went inside, unable to watch the deed, but I felt that this was something, as meat eater, I had to see, and stayed to watch the slaughter, albeit from a comfortable distance.
Far from the horrific scene I had imagined, it was the complete opposite. It was quick, it was calm and it was respectful. One moment at home, happily burrowing her nose in the straw, the next...
The pig was still warm when the hard work began, breaking down the carcass and divvying up the recipes. Prosciutto, pancetta, brawn, cotechino, salami, bacon, ham, mortadella and sausages, an impressive amount of food to feed five families. The fat was rendered into lard and the skin turned into chicharron. The blood collected and mixed with chocolate, masala and raisins to make sangiuinaccio. Nothing was wasted. Every part of the animal was treated with the utmost respect and care.
At the end of three days we celebrated with a feast. We celebrated our work, we celebrated the abundance of food and we celebrated the pig. Tasting what was ready to eat and admiring what was yet to cure.
The whole experience was the most amazing and humbling three days I could ever imagine. An honour in fact. I walked away with a newfound awareness, a feeling of gratitude to the pig, thankful to the friends who invited me to share and to teach. And also admiration for the incredible tradition that a handful of people continue.
It's easy to buy a packet of bacon from the supermarket, a few slices of ham from the deli. Too easy. I can now see how that makes us so removed from our food and the animals that provide us with nourishment. Absolves us from any blood on our hands (and believe me, there is blood). After this week I'm not sure I can buy bacon from the shop ever again, or ham, or any pork product. Or in fact any meat. For me, I don't think it's the right thing to do. I'd rather eat less meat and pay more for it, buying directly from a friend or farmer. Or perhaps even think about raising our own.
Maybe, some people might find this story uncomfortable, and wonder "how could you?" After this amazing experience, I wonder, how could you not.
P.S. If you're interested in seeing something similar done beautifully you should watch Anatomy of Thrift
The knock on the back door gave us a fright. We don't generally get visitors in the country, you know, especially at dinner time, in the dark, on a week night.
But it was only B our neighbour, delivering several kilos of freshly caught tuna that a work colleague had given him. Living in household of non fish eaters, B knew we'd love it. What a generous gift!
My first instinct was to chuck it in the deep freeze, to be lost in the midst of time, forgotten along with the pig heads and pet mince that lurk in the bottom of the chest freezer (that has been mistakenly used in bolognese by the way. Not good).
Luckily B delivered it during the rush hour so I had a few hours to think about what to do with it before entombing it to an icy grave. Preserving it! Brilliant! Did you see that episode of Gourmet Farmer when they caught that tuna and preserved it on the beach? How awesome was that? I had a plan!
I must tell you that I love canned tuna, but I don't eat it anymore. Sigh. I used to love Sirena, not only for the taste but for that little lovely mermaid on the lid. For a couple of years now I've realised that sadly it's not sustainable, so it's been off the menu. There are other more sustainable brands available, I know, but to me they have the texture of cat food and not those lovely chunks like Sirena, so I don't eat them. I was excited at the prospect of making my own.
It's dead easy. I had a peak at Matthew's recipe on the SBS site, and I also found a recipe, on a blog called Calabria From Scratch *, which I liked because you cut the tuna into thick slices and seemed slightly more manageable. I kind of crossed the two together, Matthew's extra care with preserving and avoiding botulism using the aesthetic of the Calabrian recipe.
Simply boil the tuna in salted water for two hours, drain, then pack into jars, cover with olive oil and boil the sealed jars for two hours. Et voila! The Calabrians leave theirs in the pantry for one month before tucking in, and some say to leave it for six months. I'm not sure I can wait one week.
Now we have guilt free tuna to last for a while, and enough jars for gifts and plenty to share with B. I may deliver them next door at night, and return the favour of a gift in the dark.
PS Sarah Wilson has this great post about what tuna you can eat.
* The link doesn't seem to be working at the moment, but hopefully it's temporary and will be back.
But it was only B our neighbour, delivering several kilos of freshly caught tuna that a work colleague had given him. Living in household of non fish eaters, B knew we'd love it. What a generous gift!
My first instinct was to chuck it in the deep freeze, to be lost in the midst of time, forgotten along with the pig heads and pet mince that lurk in the bottom of the chest freezer (that has been mistakenly used in bolognese by the way. Not good).
Luckily B delivered it during the rush hour so I had a few hours to think about what to do with it before entombing it to an icy grave. Preserving it! Brilliant! Did you see that episode of Gourmet Farmer when they caught that tuna and preserved it on the beach? How awesome was that? I had a plan!
I must tell you that I love canned tuna, but I don't eat it anymore. Sigh. I used to love Sirena, not only for the taste but for that little lovely mermaid on the lid. For a couple of years now I've realised that sadly it's not sustainable, so it's been off the menu. There are other more sustainable brands available, I know, but to me they have the texture of cat food and not those lovely chunks like Sirena, so I don't eat them. I was excited at the prospect of making my own.
It's dead easy. I had a peak at Matthew's recipe on the SBS site, and I also found a recipe, on a blog called Calabria From Scratch *, which I liked because you cut the tuna into thick slices and seemed slightly more manageable. I kind of crossed the two together, Matthew's extra care with preserving and avoiding botulism using the aesthetic of the Calabrian recipe.
Simply boil the tuna in salted water for two hours, drain, then pack into jars, cover with olive oil and boil the sealed jars for two hours. Et voila! The Calabrians leave theirs in the pantry for one month before tucking in, and some say to leave it for six months. I'm not sure I can wait one week.
Now we have guilt free tuna to last for a while, and enough jars for gifts and plenty to share with B. I may deliver them next door at night, and return the favour of a gift in the dark.
PS Sarah Wilson has this great post about what tuna you can eat.
* The link doesn't seem to be working at the moment, but hopefully it's temporary and will be back.
A trip to our local country show today. So much to see....
the glamour in the poultry shed...
the final judging on the chook beauty pageant...
the gorgeous suffolks...
the gorgeous kids...
reluctant 5 year old...
reluctant jersey...
Lots to spend....
...eight dollars on organic apple juice...
four dollars on the jumping castle...
the look on a two year olds face as he sits in a REAL fire truck...
Priceless.
the glamour in the poultry shed...
the final judging on the chook beauty pageant...
the gorgeous suffolks...
the gorgeous kids...
reluctant 5 year old...
reluctant jersey...
Lots to spend....
...eight dollars on organic apple juice...
four dollars on the jumping castle...
the look on a two year olds face as he sits in a REAL fire truck...
Priceless.
I love our village's community hall. It's a simple weatherboard building built, I guess, between the wars. The walls in the supper room, with its cosy open fire, are lined with faded black and white photos of cricket teams from the 1930s and 40s. Along with the obligatory photo of a young Her Maj, in her post coronation glory. Polished floorboards, big old windows and beautiful utilitarian lampshades, I find the building's simple, informal country aesthetic so honest.
The hall was awash with tartan last night for a ceilidh (pronounced kaylee), a Scottish country dance. Not to be confused with Highland dancing, this is danced in groups of two, three or four couples, facing each other in lines or squares. And being held at a family friendly hour of 5.30, all the bairns had a chance to reel around the hall. Very special.
The hall was awash with tartan last night for a ceilidh (pronounced kaylee), a Scottish country dance. Not to be confused with Highland dancing, this is danced in groups of two, three or four couples, facing each other in lines or squares. And being held at a family friendly hour of 5.30, all the bairns had a chance to reel around the hall. Very special.
Today some mammas got together for a bread baking session at a friend's farm. Our friend lives in such a lush green spot. This is her glorious back yard. Well, it's more of a paddock really isn't it?
We spent the morning in a big sunny kitchen talking about things that mammas do whilst watching the children play in the wide green spaces. The whole process of making bread - watching the ingredients come together, kneading and shaping the dough and the delicious aromas that waft throughout the house while baking is so very comforting.
More green goodness awaited at home in the letterbox with a beautiful package from love you big.
Then a lazy afternoon spent dreaming on the lush green grass.
We spent the morning in a big sunny kitchen talking about things that mammas do whilst watching the children play in the wide green spaces. The whole process of making bread - watching the ingredients come together, kneading and shaping the dough and the delicious aromas that waft throughout the house while baking is so very comforting.
More green goodness awaited at home in the letterbox with a beautiful package from love you big.
Then a lazy afternoon spent dreaming on the lush green grass.
