Just like a politician, I’m breaking my promise. On June 27th I talked about the political coup that saw Julia Gillard replace Kevin Rudd as Australia’s Prime Minister, resulting in Australia’s first female Prime Minister. At this time I promised that I would never again mention politics. But the events that have taken place between then and now are just too good not to share.
On July 17th, only three weeks after becoming Prime Minister, Julia Gillard called a federal election for August 21st. Elections are held at least every three years and with the last election being held in November 2007 and the PM holding the power to call an election, Ms. Gillard took advantage while still riding strong on the wave of capitalizing on the former PM’s pitfalls. This announcement was followed by five weeks of non-stop campaigning between the two major parties – Labor (left) and Liberal (right), because at the end of the day, the people vote for the party and not the candidate. Although you wouldn’t know it. And remember, the party has the right to change their leader and thus influence who sits as Prime Minister.
Voting is compulsory in Australia so on Saturday, August 21st Shane went into the local elementary school and voted as I sat in the car reading the paper and sipping my coffee. That night we sat at a friend’s house and watched the results roll in. In order to be deemed the winner, at least 76 out of the 150 seats in the House of Representatives must be won. As it turned out, each party won 72 seats resulting in a hung parliament, leaving the final decision in the hands of the one Greens seat and five Independents. The Greens party, as one may assume in this day and age, primarily represent environmental issues.
Over the past two weeks the Labor and Liberal parties wheeled and dealed with the six men who had the power to get their party to 76 seats. Yesterday agreements were made and Labor remains on top with 76 seats vs. Liberal’s 74 seats.
Now in the aftermath no one really appears happy – not surprising. An argument circling the media is that the Liberal party actually won more individual votes. The top issues? Refugees, climate change, a super profits tax on mining companies, housing affordability, and infrastructure. But the issue that apparently sealed the deal was a $43 billion dollar national broadband network. Life, liberty, justice, and high speed internet for all.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Two years and counting
Holy S*#t! I can’t believe it’s been two years since Shane and I left the UK to move Down Under. They say as you get older the hands on the clock tick faster. Add in a few life changing moments including two international moves, new career, marriage, and time can play some funny tricks on you. While the days and nights inbetween may appear fuzzy, the important moments remain frozen in time.
I remember August 28, 2008 as if it were today. We celebrated our last night in England with each of our favorite meals – take-away Chinese from the shop below our flat for Shane and take-away Indian from the village for me. We left our newly renovated flat in pristine condition, ready for the tenant who moved in that same day. As it’s still our flat, someday we’ll be back to say hello, making the experience even more familiar.
Our flight to the US was departing at 11am. Before sunrise, we left our home (southwest of London) in order to be in Essex (northeast of London) at 7am when the doors opened to the shipping company where we would leave our car to be shipped to Australia. We said good-bye to the car, a very small classic car, crammed with as many of our personal belongings as we could manage and rushed to Heathrow airport, nearly two hours away. Fighting time, we decided in advance that the only way to make it from Essex to Heathrow and not miss our flight was to rent a car.
Right on track with not a minute to spare we dropped off the rental car and shuttled it to our terminal, only to discover that we were in the wrong terminal. Waiting for the tram would put us at risk for missing our flight so we paid ten pounds to take a taxi from terminal five to terminal four. With four suitcases checked in containing nearly every item we owned (aside from what we could cram in the car) we slid onto the plane with plenty of time to reflect on what lie behind and what lay ahead.
The next ten days were spent in limbo with my family and friends in the US. This too is a very clear time consisting of a lake house holiday, shopping, Mexican food and some very sad good-byes. On September 11th, we landed in our new home country. Our car with the remainder of our material possessions arrived four months later - just in time for Christmas, making it a Christmas filled with gifts we forgot we even owned.
This move was particularly monumental for Shane who had spent the last seven years living in England and was finding himself acclimating to a home that now felt like a foreign land. After 2.5 years of living overseas (in the UK and Australia) I feel I’m now at the point where I can sympathize with Shane’s struggles.
I wish I had done a better job documenting my initial days living in Australia. It’s now difficult to recall the emotions and impressions that filled my head during that time. It’s even more difficult to elicit those thoughts because what was then my initial impressions of life in OZ are now a way of life, no longer foreign concepts but the norm.
As I write this blog I find myself naturally replacing my z’s with s’s and my o’s with ou’s. On my third trip back to the US, I struggled for the first time to drive on the right side of the road. I find myself getting passionate about issues which are important to Australian’s and the slang that leaves my mouth is Aussie not American. The accent is no longer an accent but a native sounding tongue. Of course, the sound of my own voice brings me back home but even that too has changed a bit and is unfortunately completely out of my control.
Only in my dreams, do I sometimes drive on the right side of the road, through the winding mountain roads of Colorado, the green lush suburbs of St. Louis, or the busy city streets of Chicago. After all, I am an American. Even a million miles away from America, you are still surrounded by America. But now, I experience it through the eyes of the Australian nighttime news, the latest films, and weekly gossip magazines.
I’ve read a few books by the author Bill Bryson. As an American married to a British woman, he spent nearly twenty years living overseas. Upon his return to the US he wrote a book titled “I’m a stranger here myself.” I look forward to seeking solace in this book upon my eventual return to the US with some good old-fashioned Bill Bryson humor. In the meantime, I’ll live as an American vicariously through family, friends, and mass media. I’ll continue to enjoy Australia’s finer attributes but will miss endless restaurant options, shopping at all hours of the day, the latest technology at the cheapest prices and most of all my family and friends.
I remember August 28, 2008 as if it were today. We celebrated our last night in England with each of our favorite meals – take-away Chinese from the shop below our flat for Shane and take-away Indian from the village for me. We left our newly renovated flat in pristine condition, ready for the tenant who moved in that same day. As it’s still our flat, someday we’ll be back to say hello, making the experience even more familiar.
Our flight to the US was departing at 11am. Before sunrise, we left our home (southwest of London) in order to be in Essex (northeast of London) at 7am when the doors opened to the shipping company where we would leave our car to be shipped to Australia. We said good-bye to the car, a very small classic car, crammed with as many of our personal belongings as we could manage and rushed to Heathrow airport, nearly two hours away. Fighting time, we decided in advance that the only way to make it from Essex to Heathrow and not miss our flight was to rent a car.
Right on track with not a minute to spare we dropped off the rental car and shuttled it to our terminal, only to discover that we were in the wrong terminal. Waiting for the tram would put us at risk for missing our flight so we paid ten pounds to take a taxi from terminal five to terminal four. With four suitcases checked in containing nearly every item we owned (aside from what we could cram in the car) we slid onto the plane with plenty of time to reflect on what lie behind and what lay ahead.
The next ten days were spent in limbo with my family and friends in the US. This too is a very clear time consisting of a lake house holiday, shopping, Mexican food and some very sad good-byes. On September 11th, we landed in our new home country. Our car with the remainder of our material possessions arrived four months later - just in time for Christmas, making it a Christmas filled with gifts we forgot we even owned.
This move was particularly monumental for Shane who had spent the last seven years living in England and was finding himself acclimating to a home that now felt like a foreign land. After 2.5 years of living overseas (in the UK and Australia) I feel I’m now at the point where I can sympathize with Shane’s struggles.
I wish I had done a better job documenting my initial days living in Australia. It’s now difficult to recall the emotions and impressions that filled my head during that time. It’s even more difficult to elicit those thoughts because what was then my initial impressions of life in OZ are now a way of life, no longer foreign concepts but the norm.
As I write this blog I find myself naturally replacing my z’s with s’s and my o’s with ou’s. On my third trip back to the US, I struggled for the first time to drive on the right side of the road. I find myself getting passionate about issues which are important to Australian’s and the slang that leaves my mouth is Aussie not American. The accent is no longer an accent but a native sounding tongue. Of course, the sound of my own voice brings me back home but even that too has changed a bit and is unfortunately completely out of my control.
Only in my dreams, do I sometimes drive on the right side of the road, through the winding mountain roads of Colorado, the green lush suburbs of St. Louis, or the busy city streets of Chicago. After all, I am an American. Even a million miles away from America, you are still surrounded by America. But now, I experience it through the eyes of the Australian nighttime news, the latest films, and weekly gossip magazines.
I’ve read a few books by the author Bill Bryson. As an American married to a British woman, he spent nearly twenty years living overseas. Upon his return to the US he wrote a book titled “I’m a stranger here myself.” I look forward to seeking solace in this book upon my eventual return to the US with some good old-fashioned Bill Bryson humor. In the meantime, I’ll live as an American vicariously through family, friends, and mass media. I’ll continue to enjoy Australia’s finer attributes but will miss endless restaurant options, shopping at all hours of the day, the latest technology at the cheapest prices and most of all my family and friends.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Lose yourself in Western Australia
Ok, so both these slogans elicit negative and positive connotations. If you’ve heard of the 2005 horror flick Wolf Creek, which surrounds the disappearance of backpackers in the WA outback and is based on true events, you may not want to "get lost" or "escape civilization" in WA. But all of us, at some point or another just want to get away from it all and escape the dramas of everyday modern life. And if that’s the case, then WA’s the place to do it.
The state of Western Australia covers 2.5 million square kilometers which equates to approximately 1 million square miles. To put that into perspective, that’s four times the size of Texas and larger than Western Europe. Physical size is irrelevant until you take into account Western Australia’s population which is a mere 2.3 million people, 1.7 million of which live in the Perth metropolitan area.
If I still haven’t captured your attention, imagine the following. Take the western portion of the US all the way to the eastern borders of New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana and add in, say, Kansas for good measure. That’s roughly the size of Western Australia. Place a metropolitan area about the size of Austin, TX somewhere in the vicinity of Los Angeles and then scatter another 600,000 people primarily along the coast. Separate Canada and Mexico by vast oceans, and you’ll have WA.
As a whole, despite Australia’s rather prominent stature on the world map as the island country in the Southern Hemisphere, it’s a rather lonely and desolate place. The remaining 20 million residents reside primarily along the east coast, separating West Australian’s from their neighbors by thousands of miles of outback desert. Compare this to the US where a population of 310 million is scattered about all nooks and crannies of the nation. Even the motherland, a much smaller island, is the home to 62 million people – three times the population of Australia. Maybe it’s not just the sunshine and hot weather that continues to attract and upward of 20,000 UK migrants to Australia each year.
I laugh every time Shane answers the question as to how he ended up in St. Louis as an 18 year old foreign exchange student. The answer is he didn’t have much choice. He knew nothing about St. Louis except that it was inland, but his perception of inland was Houston, TX not smack dab in the middle of America’s heartland. He was dropped into St. Louis, in the middle of August, in 100 degree heat with 200% humidity and no beach in sight. Imagine his surprise.
Each time a friend back in the US talks about a trip to Chicago one weekend and San Francisco the next, I'm reminded that those days are over, as logistically (and financially), it’s just not possible in Australia. Even our days of living in England, with cheap and easy European weekend trips at our fingertips, seem like a distant memory. Tomorrow, I embark on my monthly two day pilgrimage to Sydney for work. Sydney, the largest city in Australia and one of only five with a population over 1 million - Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth and finally Adelaide, being the closest of the lot to Perth at 2,700km away. This business trip is the extent of my plane hopping mini-breaks these days.
Most short-lived getaways for those in Perth are done by car and for the pleasure of lounging on the beach away from the city, surfing big waves, catching massive fish, or exploring the vineyards of Margaret River - and relaxation and beautiful scenery are high on the agenda. No fast paced cities and weekends filled with endless tourist traps - just peace and quiet and relaxation in a place where you can escape civilization and lose yourself in the millions of stars amongst the milky way.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Whitsunday Islands
We’ve been home for a day but my body still feels like it's on a sailboat swaying to the tune of a gentle ocean swell in the Whitsunday Islands. Over the course of a week Shane and I soaked in the sun on land and boat, fished, and explored the ocean reef from below by snorkel and scuba and from above by seaplane.
The Whitsunday Islands are made up of 74 islands off the Queensland coast and the Great Barrier Reef. Although coral grows quite freely around the islands, the Whitsundays are not considered a part of what they call the outer reef (Great Barrier Reef) which sits about a two hour boat ride from the mainland. Most of the islands are nothing but forested mountains jutting up from the aqua waters with only a handful of the islands containing resorts, some quite luxurious. Hamilton Island, the largest of the inhabited islands, is a town of its own complete with an airport.
If you haven’t heard of the Whitsunday Islands, maybe you’ve heard of two of its most famous icons – Whitehaven beach, consistently voted one of the world’s most beautiful beaches, and Heart Reef which you’ve probably seen a photo of at some point in your life even if you don’t realize it. The six kilometer Whitehaven beach, coupled with adjoining Hill Inlet, is a spectacular site and a bit of an anomaly. Tourism Australia would lead you to believe that the Whitsunday Islands are abound with soft white sand beaches but most of the island shores are made of rock and broken coral with very little beach. I suppose this is what makes Whitehaven so special.
Our trip got off to a bit of a rough start. We departed Perth at midnight and three and a half hours and two time zones later, we landed in Brisbane. It was 5am and we had another six hours till we caught our connecting flight to Proserpine Airport. I jokingly suggested that we get a hotel room and sleep for four hours. Shane quickly agreed and by 6am we were sound asleep at the Novotel hotel. At 9:30am my phone brought me out of a deep sleep. The catamaran that we were scheduled to depart on that night blew an engine and they needed to transfer us to another three night trip. Rather effortlessly we adjusted our hotel stay and were upgraded to what was considered a nicer tour. Crises averted.
The next day we departed on the Pacific Sunrise, a thirty-three meter sailing boat with nineteen other guests from Germany, France, Spain, Japan, the UK, the US and Australia. Despite some questionable weather, the boat, its fabulous crew of six and our wonderful shipmates made it a relaxing and enjoyable experience. The main activities consisted of snorkeling, scuba diving, kayaking, whale watching and relaxing. Rarely did we leave the boat, except to get in the water and step ashore Whitehaven.
The remainder of the week we stayed in the coastal town of Airlie Beach. Airlie Beach is a small tourist town which serves as a hub for many of the island and reef tours of the Whitsundays. Airlie Beach got its origins as a backpacker town and still carries much of a backpacker feel with a wide variety of accommodations to suit all budgets and travel preferences. The hilly landscape provides magnificent views of the islands and the steep one kilometer walk from the town to our apartment was well worth the view, not to mention a relief from the guilt of gluttonous holiday eating.
Shane was keen to fish the east coast waters so after a morning of sitting by the pool indulging in gossip magazines, I spent an afternoon with six blokes on a seven meter fishing boat. There’s nothing like the launch of a fishing reel and the crack of a beer to shut up a group of men. It was all boys' talk for the first thirty minutes but when the engine stopped and the bait was hooked it was nothing but silence for the next three hours. Unfortunately, we didn’t catch anything worth photographing and our boat broke down causing a slow two hour sunset crawl back to Airlie Beach. Despite this, being out on the water with the sun beating down was enough to make me happy. I should also mention that I caught one of the only two fish that met the size requirements for keeping.
We saved the best for last – a seaplane trip to the outer reef. Along with eight other passengers and two crew we took a twenty minute plane ride over the islands to the outer reef where we landed on a small private pontoon and snorkeled for an hour with nothing in sight but multi-colored ocean. From there we flew to Whitehaven beach where we spent an hour lounging on the beach. Viewing the reef from above was like living inside a postcard. I could have stayed in the plane all day and never tire of the view.
The Whitsunday Islands may sound like paradise and in many ways it is. But as a West Australian I must point out a few subtle differences between us and our east coast friends that I feel you should be aware of before booking your flight. Being tropical, it rains, sometimes a lot along the Great Barrier Reef. Winter is the driest time and August the second driest month of the year yet we still battled a bit of rain one or two days. Our first visit to Whitehaven was overcast and unimpressive. On the other hand, the west coast is mostly dry and we can go for months without seeing a cloud.
Secondly, Jelly fish are rife in the northeast. Wetsuits or stinger suits are required between November and March, although the Pacific Sunrise required we still wear them this time of year. We did not wear them on the outer reef. Due to the stingers (and possibly also the dramatic tidal changes) many coastal towns have man-made lagoons for public swimming. The colder waters of the Indian Ocean keep the jelly fish at bay so we don’t require stinger suits but instead we live in fear of sharks so maybe not so much a win for us. Finally, the beaches. Growing up in WA, Shane is a beach snob as he’s been spoiled with a lifetime of beautiful beaches. To me, a beach is a beach but now that I live in WA I’m starting to understand.
Differences aside, I was sad to return to the real world and leave the Whitsunday Islands as only a memory.
The Whitsunday Islands are made up of 74 islands off the Queensland coast and the Great Barrier Reef. Although coral grows quite freely around the islands, the Whitsundays are not considered a part of what they call the outer reef (Great Barrier Reef) which sits about a two hour boat ride from the mainland. Most of the islands are nothing but forested mountains jutting up from the aqua waters with only a handful of the islands containing resorts, some quite luxurious. Hamilton Island, the largest of the inhabited islands, is a town of its own complete with an airport.
If you haven’t heard of the Whitsunday Islands, maybe you’ve heard of two of its most famous icons – Whitehaven beach, consistently voted one of the world’s most beautiful beaches, and Heart Reef which you’ve probably seen a photo of at some point in your life even if you don’t realize it. The six kilometer Whitehaven beach, coupled with adjoining Hill Inlet, is a spectacular site and a bit of an anomaly. Tourism Australia would lead you to believe that the Whitsunday Islands are abound with soft white sand beaches but most of the island shores are made of rock and broken coral with very little beach. I suppose this is what makes Whitehaven so special.
Our trip got off to a bit of a rough start. We departed Perth at midnight and three and a half hours and two time zones later, we landed in Brisbane. It was 5am and we had another six hours till we caught our connecting flight to Proserpine Airport. I jokingly suggested that we get a hotel room and sleep for four hours. Shane quickly agreed and by 6am we were sound asleep at the Novotel hotel. At 9:30am my phone brought me out of a deep sleep. The catamaran that we were scheduled to depart on that night blew an engine and they needed to transfer us to another three night trip. Rather effortlessly we adjusted our hotel stay and were upgraded to what was considered a nicer tour. Crises averted.
The next day we departed on the Pacific Sunrise, a thirty-three meter sailing boat with nineteen other guests from Germany, France, Spain, Japan, the UK, the US and Australia. Despite some questionable weather, the boat, its fabulous crew of six and our wonderful shipmates made it a relaxing and enjoyable experience. The main activities consisted of snorkeling, scuba diving, kayaking, whale watching and relaxing. Rarely did we leave the boat, except to get in the water and step ashore Whitehaven.
The remainder of the week we stayed in the coastal town of Airlie Beach. Airlie Beach is a small tourist town which serves as a hub for many of the island and reef tours of the Whitsundays. Airlie Beach got its origins as a backpacker town and still carries much of a backpacker feel with a wide variety of accommodations to suit all budgets and travel preferences. The hilly landscape provides magnificent views of the islands and the steep one kilometer walk from the town to our apartment was well worth the view, not to mention a relief from the guilt of gluttonous holiday eating.
Shane was keen to fish the east coast waters so after a morning of sitting by the pool indulging in gossip magazines, I spent an afternoon with six blokes on a seven meter fishing boat. There’s nothing like the launch of a fishing reel and the crack of a beer to shut up a group of men. It was all boys' talk for the first thirty minutes but when the engine stopped and the bait was hooked it was nothing but silence for the next three hours. Unfortunately, we didn’t catch anything worth photographing and our boat broke down causing a slow two hour sunset crawl back to Airlie Beach. Despite this, being out on the water with the sun beating down was enough to make me happy. I should also mention that I caught one of the only two fish that met the size requirements for keeping.
We saved the best for last – a seaplane trip to the outer reef. Along with eight other passengers and two crew we took a twenty minute plane ride over the islands to the outer reef where we landed on a small private pontoon and snorkeled for an hour with nothing in sight but multi-colored ocean. From there we flew to Whitehaven beach where we spent an hour lounging on the beach. Viewing the reef from above was like living inside a postcard. I could have stayed in the plane all day and never tire of the view.
The Whitsunday Islands may sound like paradise and in many ways it is. But as a West Australian I must point out a few subtle differences between us and our east coast friends that I feel you should be aware of before booking your flight. Being tropical, it rains, sometimes a lot along the Great Barrier Reef. Winter is the driest time and August the second driest month of the year yet we still battled a bit of rain one or two days. Our first visit to Whitehaven was overcast and unimpressive. On the other hand, the west coast is mostly dry and we can go for months without seeing a cloud.
Secondly, Jelly fish are rife in the northeast. Wetsuits or stinger suits are required between November and March, although the Pacific Sunrise required we still wear them this time of year. We did not wear them on the outer reef. Due to the stingers (and possibly also the dramatic tidal changes) many coastal towns have man-made lagoons for public swimming. The colder waters of the Indian Ocean keep the jelly fish at bay so we don’t require stinger suits but instead we live in fear of sharks so maybe not so much a win for us. Finally, the beaches. Growing up in WA, Shane is a beach snob as he’s been spoiled with a lifetime of beautiful beaches. To me, a beach is a beach but now that I live in WA I’m starting to understand.
Differences aside, I was sad to return to the real world and leave the Whitsunday Islands as only a memory.
view from our Airlie Beach Apartment
Heart Reef
the white pontoon where we landed and snorkeled on the reef
Whitehaven and Hill Inlet
some of the islands from above
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Black Diamonds
They are a 3000 year old culinary mystery. I enjoy them mostly with mashed potatoes. Some prefer them in pasta or with steak. However you take them, add one to your dish and watch the price triple. They are a delicacy with a distinctive taste and an indescribable scent. At $3,000 a kilogram, Black Truffles have rightfully earned the nickname black diamonds.
At the end of May, Perth was all a buzz with the launch of the truffle season, or at least I was all a buzz with the launch of the truffle season. Living three hours north of the largest truffle producer in the southern hemisphere, I was keen to learn more about this rare fungus. With the truffle season soon coming to an end, I finally had my chance this weekend at the Mundaring Truffle Festival in “the hills,” an area 30 minutes east of Perth which comprises the rolling hills and small towns on the outskirts of the Perth metropolitan area.
The Mundaring Truffle Festival was an opportunity to eat everything truffle, purchase truffle products, and learn a bit about truffles, including watching truffle sniffing dogs in action. With options such as truffle risotto, wagyu beef burgers with truffles, and truffle pizza, I made sure I arrived on an empty stomach.
Nearly half of the world’s Black Truffles are harvested in France and Southern Hemisphere production didn’t begin until the late 1980’s in New Zealand. Today, Western Australia (specifically the southern region) is the largest producing truffle state in the largest producing truffle country in the southern hemisphere. The cultivation first came about in an effort to satisfy the large truffle markets of Europe and America during their off season. This time of year, West Australian truffles are flown to top restaurants all over the northern hemisphere. Eating local produce is all the rage these days but truffles are an exception.
So how do you grow them? Well, you don’t really. It’s a delicate combination of the right temperatures (hot summers and cool but not too cold winters), the right amount of rainfall (at least 700mm a year), the right type of soil (free draining with a ph of 8), the right trees (mostly oak or hazelnut), some well trained dogs (usually a retrieving or hunting breed such as labradors or beagles), and lots of patience (about 5 to 10 years for the first crop to sprout). Truffles begin to grow around the roots of the trees during summer and are harvested in winter. The dogs, or sometimes pigs, detect the smell and a knowledgeable grower digs them up and determines if they are ready to be released from the ground. And about that smell. I smelled my first fresh truffle today and I can best describe it as a mix of earth and vodka. Most commonly it’s described as smelling like old socks and sex which for some is kind-of like earth and vodka I suppose.
We left the festival with our bellies full of truffle infused foods and local wine and for $40 I came home with truffle oil, truffle mustard, and truffle butter from the Wine and Truffle Company. It’s safe to say, I’m all stocked up on old socks and sex.
At the end of May, Perth was all a buzz with the launch of the truffle season, or at least I was all a buzz with the launch of the truffle season. Living three hours north of the largest truffle producer in the southern hemisphere, I was keen to learn more about this rare fungus. With the truffle season soon coming to an end, I finally had my chance this weekend at the Mundaring Truffle Festival in “the hills,” an area 30 minutes east of Perth which comprises the rolling hills and small towns on the outskirts of the Perth metropolitan area.
The Mundaring Truffle Festival was an opportunity to eat everything truffle, purchase truffle products, and learn a bit about truffles, including watching truffle sniffing dogs in action. With options such as truffle risotto, wagyu beef burgers with truffles, and truffle pizza, I made sure I arrived on an empty stomach.
Nearly half of the world’s Black Truffles are harvested in France and Southern Hemisphere production didn’t begin until the late 1980’s in New Zealand. Today, Western Australia (specifically the southern region) is the largest producing truffle state in the largest producing truffle country in the southern hemisphere. The cultivation first came about in an effort to satisfy the large truffle markets of Europe and America during their off season. This time of year, West Australian truffles are flown to top restaurants all over the northern hemisphere. Eating local produce is all the rage these days but truffles are an exception.
So how do you grow them? Well, you don’t really. It’s a delicate combination of the right temperatures (hot summers and cool but not too cold winters), the right amount of rainfall (at least 700mm a year), the right type of soil (free draining with a ph of 8), the right trees (mostly oak or hazelnut), some well trained dogs (usually a retrieving or hunting breed such as labradors or beagles), and lots of patience (about 5 to 10 years for the first crop to sprout). Truffles begin to grow around the roots of the trees during summer and are harvested in winter. The dogs, or sometimes pigs, detect the smell and a knowledgeable grower digs them up and determines if they are ready to be released from the ground. And about that smell. I smelled my first fresh truffle today and I can best describe it as a mix of earth and vodka. Most commonly it’s described as smelling like old socks and sex which for some is kind-of like earth and vodka I suppose.
We left the festival with our bellies full of truffle infused foods and local wine and for $40 I came home with truffle oil, truffle mustard, and truffle butter from the Wine and Truffle Company. It’s safe to say, I’m all stocked up on old socks and sex.
not just for savory dishes,
a custard and truffle tart
a truffle under the cup
goodies from the Wine & Truffle Co.
Monday, July 26, 2010
A winter holiday
I’m having kittens (so excited!) because next week Shane and I are headed to the Whitsunday Islands on the Great Barrier Reef for a week’s vacation and what will be our 2nd annual winter getaway to escape the frigid 60 degree temperatures in Perth. Although only in its second year, this is a winter tradition that I could get accostomed to.
For our first annual winter getaway we drove up the WA coast with a fishing boat, a tent, and a dog, and spent six days fishing and camping along the little known yet spectacular Ningaloo Reef in Australia’s northwest. Although the Ningaloo Reef is not as vast nor an ounce as popular as the Great Barrier Reef, it has the advantage of sitting along the coast and even holds the title as the world’s largest fringing reef. The Great Barrier Reef, as it’s appropriately named, is a barrier reef meaning it runs parallel to the coast but is separated by a deep lagoon or channel.
What’s even more enticing about the Ningaloo Reef is the isolation. If you don’t enjoy camping or at least caravanning (RVing that is) then you’ll miss out on what this incredible slice of Earth has to offer.
Our first stop was Quobba Station about a 10 hour drive north of Perth, on the southern edge of the Coral Coast. Because we departed after work, we spent our first night sleeping in our SUV on the side of the road (literally) six hours into the drive. About half way through the 1,000 km stretch between Perth and Quobba is Geraldton with a population of less than 30,000. Just before reaching Quobba you’ll pass Carnarvon with a population of 7,000 making it the second largest city on the route. Driving until you are tired and rocking up to a hotel is not an option. Neither is stopping for fuel or food always an option. You won’t get much action on this drive, unless of course you hit a kangaroo, or possibly a cow or emu.
Quobba was established as a sheep station and is a popular spot to reel in some big fish or even do some surfing. After one night we decided that the wind and treacherous waves were a bit too much for our small fishing boat and costal fishing on the cliffs should be left for more experienced fisherman. So we continued north to seek the shelter and calmer waters of the reef. In Quobba we enjoyed the beautiful jagged coastline and watched migrating Humpback Whales play in the distance. Bronson enjoyed making friends with the camping site’s pet sheep.
We then crossed the Tropic of Capricorn and made our way four hours up the coast to Exmouth, a bustling town of 2,500 on the northwest cape of Australia. Exmouth was established as a town in the 1960’s when the US and Australian governments agreed to establish a Naval communications station. Even before then it was a US Naval submarine base during World War II and was bombed by the Japanese in 1942 then abandoned three years later after a cyclone.
The US Navy has since left and it is now a tourist hub for the Ningaloo Reef, particularly during the winter months for nomad travelers and retirees. On our fourth night we headed two hours back south to Coral Bay which is home to less than 1,000 people. If you plan to explore the Ningaloo Reef, Coral Bay or Exmouth are where you’ll pitch your tent.
When you go on a holiday and you’re provided very few options to entertain yourself, you are forced into a state of relaxation. Our days consisted of beautiful 80 degree weather, no humidity, no clouds - just white sand beaches, turquoise waters, fishing, snorkeling, reading and making friends with our neighboring campers.
Camping and caravanning in these parts is truly a culture unto itself. You could even say that staying in one of the very (very) few modern accommodations is frowned upon. The sites have modern plumbing but bring along your salt water shampoo because fresh water is only at the drinking and dish washing stations and is a precious commodity in the arid northwest.
School was in session during our time “up north” so our neighbors mostly consisted of retirees caravanning around Australia or other southwest Aussies in search of some heat up the coast. On the roads we passed caravans suitably named “adventure before dementia” or “my children’s inheritance”
The remoteness of this part of the country limits the number of visitors and allows it to remain untainted with the tourism of equally beautiful beach destinations elsewhere. I fear that by the time Shane and I reach “adventure before dementia” it will be filled with resorts and home to an international airport. Already I had noticed some changes from when I last visited this area in 2000.
This winter we’ve opted for a slightly more sophisticated winter getaway, without the dog or a tent. We’ll still have a boat. Not a small tin fishing boat, but a twenty person catamaran where we’ll spend half the trip. The fishing won’t be free. We’ll have to fork over $190/person for a day’s group fishing charter and the fish we catch won’t be feeding us for dinner.
There’s definitely something to be said about the simple pleasures of self-sustainable beach camping but this year I won’t miss the dog hogging the tent or those salt water showers.
For our first annual winter getaway we drove up the WA coast with a fishing boat, a tent, and a dog, and spent six days fishing and camping along the little known yet spectacular Ningaloo Reef in Australia’s northwest. Although the Ningaloo Reef is not as vast nor an ounce as popular as the Great Barrier Reef, it has the advantage of sitting along the coast and even holds the title as the world’s largest fringing reef. The Great Barrier Reef, as it’s appropriately named, is a barrier reef meaning it runs parallel to the coast but is separated by a deep lagoon or channel.
What’s even more enticing about the Ningaloo Reef is the isolation. If you don’t enjoy camping or at least caravanning (RVing that is) then you’ll miss out on what this incredible slice of Earth has to offer.
Our first stop was Quobba Station about a 10 hour drive north of Perth, on the southern edge of the Coral Coast. Because we departed after work, we spent our first night sleeping in our SUV on the side of the road (literally) six hours into the drive. About half way through the 1,000 km stretch between Perth and Quobba is Geraldton with a population of less than 30,000. Just before reaching Quobba you’ll pass Carnarvon with a population of 7,000 making it the second largest city on the route. Driving until you are tired and rocking up to a hotel is not an option. Neither is stopping for fuel or food always an option. You won’t get much action on this drive, unless of course you hit a kangaroo, or possibly a cow or emu.
Quobba was established as a sheep station and is a popular spot to reel in some big fish or even do some surfing. After one night we decided that the wind and treacherous waves were a bit too much for our small fishing boat and costal fishing on the cliffs should be left for more experienced fisherman. So we continued north to seek the shelter and calmer waters of the reef. In Quobba we enjoyed the beautiful jagged coastline and watched migrating Humpback Whales play in the distance. Bronson enjoyed making friends with the camping site’s pet sheep.
We then crossed the Tropic of Capricorn and made our way four hours up the coast to Exmouth, a bustling town of 2,500 on the northwest cape of Australia. Exmouth was established as a town in the 1960’s when the US and Australian governments agreed to establish a Naval communications station. Even before then it was a US Naval submarine base during World War II and was bombed by the Japanese in 1942 then abandoned three years later after a cyclone.
The US Navy has since left and it is now a tourist hub for the Ningaloo Reef, particularly during the winter months for nomad travelers and retirees. On our fourth night we headed two hours back south to Coral Bay which is home to less than 1,000 people. If you plan to explore the Ningaloo Reef, Coral Bay or Exmouth are where you’ll pitch your tent.
When you go on a holiday and you’re provided very few options to entertain yourself, you are forced into a state of relaxation. Our days consisted of beautiful 80 degree weather, no humidity, no clouds - just white sand beaches, turquoise waters, fishing, snorkeling, reading and making friends with our neighboring campers.
Camping and caravanning in these parts is truly a culture unto itself. You could even say that staying in one of the very (very) few modern accommodations is frowned upon. The sites have modern plumbing but bring along your salt water shampoo because fresh water is only at the drinking and dish washing stations and is a precious commodity in the arid northwest.
School was in session during our time “up north” so our neighbors mostly consisted of retirees caravanning around Australia or other southwest Aussies in search of some heat up the coast. On the roads we passed caravans suitably named “adventure before dementia” or “my children’s inheritance”
The remoteness of this part of the country limits the number of visitors and allows it to remain untainted with the tourism of equally beautiful beach destinations elsewhere. I fear that by the time Shane and I reach “adventure before dementia” it will be filled with resorts and home to an international airport. Already I had noticed some changes from when I last visited this area in 2000.
This winter we’ve opted for a slightly more sophisticated winter getaway, without the dog or a tent. We’ll still have a boat. Not a small tin fishing boat, but a twenty person catamaran where we’ll spend half the trip. The fishing won’t be free. We’ll have to fork over $190/person for a day’s group fishing charter and the fish we catch won’t be feeding us for dinner.
There’s definitely something to be said about the simple pleasures of self-sustainable beach camping but this year I won’t miss the dog hogging the tent or those salt water showers.
Quobba
Quobba
Emu road hazard
fishing in Coral Bay
proud fisherman
an even prouder fisherman
happiness
and relaxation
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Olive & Fig Tapenade
It’s a Saturday and with nothing pressing on the agenda I decided to test out my salty homegrown olives to see how they fared as a tapenade. The following recipe is a variation from In Praise of Leftovers by way of Foodgawker (thanks for the tip Nikki). I was drawn to this recipe not only because it looked delicious but because I wanted something sweet to balance out the salty olives. Besides, who doesn’t love a sweet and salty combination. As a bonus, I had all ingredients in the house with the exception of an orange. Rather appropriate seeing that the recipe comes from a blog that’s all about cooking with what’s lying around the kitchen. It calls for a food processor which I don’t own (sad) so I used a blender. I’m sure if I had a
Thermomix I’d be whipping it up no sweat in seconds. Oh yeah, and it’s gluten-free, naturally.
¾ cup kalamata olives
¾ cup dried figs (no sugar added), chopped
1 small garlic clove
1 Tbsp lemon zest
1 Tbsp orange zest
1 Tbsp orange juice
2 Tbsp olive oil
Blend or process the olives, figs, garlic and zests till chunky.
Add orange juice and olive oil and blend till you are happy with what you see.
You may wish to add water or additional oil if needed.
Serve with crackers. Gluten-free rice crackers for us.
The original recipe called for walnuts and a pinch of salt but I opted out of both.
A dash of dark cacoa sounds like it would be a nice addition but maybe I’m just craving chocolate right now.
Thermomix I’d be whipping it up no sweat in seconds. Oh yeah, and it’s gluten-free, naturally.
¾ cup kalamata olives
¾ cup dried figs (no sugar added), chopped
1 small garlic clove
1 Tbsp lemon zest
1 Tbsp orange zest
1 Tbsp orange juice
2 Tbsp olive oil
Blend or process the olives, figs, garlic and zests till chunky.
Add orange juice and olive oil and blend till you are happy with what you see.
You may wish to add water or additional oil if needed.
Serve with crackers. Gluten-free rice crackers for us.
The original recipe called for walnuts and a pinch of salt but I opted out of both.
A dash of dark cacoa sounds like it would be a nice addition but maybe I’m just craving chocolate right now.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Olives so good I could eat 'em. Kind-of.
It’s been eight weeks since I plucked my olives from the backyard tree and placed them in brine for fermentation. Well, I’m sad to report that the final product didn’t quite turn out as I had envisioned. Although the step-by-step process of fermenting olives is rather simple, a perfect balancing act of chemicals and environment is necessary for them to end up as the plump shiny fruit you see sitting behind the deli counter. It’s easier to blame my failure on science rather than the possibility that I made some fatal amateur mistakes.
Early into the process I was exposed to the vulnerabilities of olive fermentation. At the end of week one I headed out to the garage for the first check-up. I was immediately deflated when I discovered that white spots had started to develop on most of the olives. I consulted with my local olive expert who diagnosed mould over the phone but reassured me that mould growth is rather common and the cure is a rinse in fresh water and a new batch of brine. After dissecting a couple olives and doing a bit of research I discovered that it couldn’t be mould as mould would grow on the surface and I wasn’t dealing with spots or surface growth but with a loss in pigmentation making my olives look pale and unattractive.
I decided to keep on with the process to see what evolved and in the meantime I’d do some research. As the weeks went by the loss of pigmentation spread but I continued forward refreshing the brine occasionally. After about four weeks they started to smell like olives (a good sign) but I wasn’t quite ready to give them a taste test.
By week seven I was ready to risk my health and send one down the hatch. I probably should have offered Bronson the opportunity to be my guinea pig but I’m not that patient or cruel. He’s already had one adverse olive experience. Besides, I figured if it was lethal, surely I would have come across something in my research that said “do not eat olives if they change color or you will die.” The good news is they tasted like olives, albeit very salty olives and I’ve survived with no problems thus far. I decided to give them a fresh batch of brine and let them stew for one more week and on Saturday I vacated them from their home for the past eight weeks and put them in a large bowl of fresh water to sit in the fridge for a day before preserving in oil and garlic.
I wish I could tell you that a clear diagnosis has been made but after doing research at the world’s largest library, google.com, I have yet to come up with a final conclusion. One site alluded to the fruit turning white from the salt leaching into its body. Yeast colonies are a common pest however, the yeast appears as bumps on the surface and I’d already determined that it was a change in color and not a growth. I think. Even if it is yeast, the experts on google.com have assured me that the olives are still safe to eat.
But one possibility appears more likely than the rest. I used iodized salt, and after the fact, I learned on a handful of sites that you are not to use iodized salt. In fact iodized salt should not be used when brining any type of food. I also think I may have left them in the brine too long, further adding to the salty flavor. The smaller the container the shorter the fermentation period and I probably didn’t need eight weeks. Both rookie mistakes.
I was recently told that when Bikram Choudhury, the founder of Bikram Yoga, makes a mistake he says “excuse me for living.” So live and learn I shall. I’ll do some proper research between now and next autumn and hopefully next year I’ll have beautiful olives so I can fulfill my fantasy of lounging on the sofa eating my own homegrown olives. I’m not completely giving up on this year’s crop. I plan to let them sit in oil for a while and put them to use as a tapenade. However, I don’t think I’ll be giving them out as Christmas presents this year.
Early into the process I was exposed to the vulnerabilities of olive fermentation. At the end of week one I headed out to the garage for the first check-up. I was immediately deflated when I discovered that white spots had started to develop on most of the olives. I consulted with my local olive expert who diagnosed mould over the phone but reassured me that mould growth is rather common and the cure is a rinse in fresh water and a new batch of brine. After dissecting a couple olives and doing a bit of research I discovered that it couldn’t be mould as mould would grow on the surface and I wasn’t dealing with spots or surface growth but with a loss in pigmentation making my olives look pale and unattractive.
I decided to keep on with the process to see what evolved and in the meantime I’d do some research. As the weeks went by the loss of pigmentation spread but I continued forward refreshing the brine occasionally. After about four weeks they started to smell like olives (a good sign) but I wasn’t quite ready to give them a taste test.
By week seven I was ready to risk my health and send one down the hatch. I probably should have offered Bronson the opportunity to be my guinea pig but I’m not that patient or cruel. He’s already had one adverse olive experience. Besides, I figured if it was lethal, surely I would have come across something in my research that said “do not eat olives if they change color or you will die.” The good news is they tasted like olives, albeit very salty olives and I’ve survived with no problems thus far. I decided to give them a fresh batch of brine and let them stew for one more week and on Saturday I vacated them from their home for the past eight weeks and put them in a large bowl of fresh water to sit in the fridge for a day before preserving in oil and garlic.
I wish I could tell you that a clear diagnosis has been made but after doing research at the world’s largest library, google.com, I have yet to come up with a final conclusion. One site alluded to the fruit turning white from the salt leaching into its body. Yeast colonies are a common pest however, the yeast appears as bumps on the surface and I’d already determined that it was a change in color and not a growth. I think. Even if it is yeast, the experts on google.com have assured me that the olives are still safe to eat.
But one possibility appears more likely than the rest. I used iodized salt, and after the fact, I learned on a handful of sites that you are not to use iodized salt. In fact iodized salt should not be used when brining any type of food. I also think I may have left them in the brine too long, further adding to the salty flavor. The smaller the container the shorter the fermentation period and I probably didn’t need eight weeks. Both rookie mistakes.
I was recently told that when Bikram Choudhury, the founder of Bikram Yoga, makes a mistake he says “excuse me for living.” So live and learn I shall. I’ll do some proper research between now and next autumn and hopefully next year I’ll have beautiful olives so I can fulfill my fantasy of lounging on the sofa eating my own homegrown olives. I’m not completely giving up on this year’s crop. I plan to let them sit in oil for a while and put them to use as a tapenade. However, I don’t think I’ll be giving them out as Christmas presents this year.
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