Cheap and Cheerful!

 

Gentrification is not without its advantages. My suburb, Hilton, is within the Fremantle municipality but isn’t as groovy or expensive. For a long time you had to head elsewhere for interesting food and good coffee. Not anymore.  Hilton and indeed Hamilton Hill now have several good places to eat and drink.

I’m not about to provide any 5 star/knife and fork ratings but I do want to let you know about a couple of new local oases. Ready Eddie‘s is definitely a family run business serving Filipino food – and isn’t that something different in Perth? They serve, amongst other things, some damn good barbequed chicken. Service is home-style, unsophisticated but very warm and friendly. There’s a lot of pork on the menu, not my favourite food, but it may be yours.

Then there’s San Zaab Thai Takeaway. Used to be A Taste of Spice in the Lefroy Rd shopping centre.  They don’t have a website, but they have delicious quality Thai cuisine. They are mainly doing take-away but we ate in and received attentive service and great food. I thought hard before recommending this restaurant because I don’t want  to have to fight for a table next time I go. But I want it to prosper.

Ready EddieShop 2, 337 Carrington St. Hamilton Hill: (08) 93373399

San Zaab: 19/115 Lefroy Rd, Beaconsfield  : (08) 6161 6520.

Honey, honey?

No surprises as to what is making me cross this week. And I’m not surprised to find that much of the cheap honey being sold in supermarkets is not 100% honey. Nor is it 100% Australian product.

Vegans don’t eat honey. I don’t understand this. I do respect those who choose not to eat animals. I’m not so sure about fish, but then my Dad was an enthusiastic angler.  I don’t enjoy seeing fish struggle, or removing the hook. Oh alright I’ve never done more than sun myself on the deck!

But when it comes to honey I’m very confused. How can you give up honey? Where are the swarms of bees demanding the return of their stolen honey? Me? I’m keen on bees. I’ve never been stung (oh, here we go) and they don’t bother me, and I don’t bother them when out gardening.

However, honey is a product of living creatures, as are milk and eggs. If we treat these providers well it doesn’t seem unfair. I will never give up eggs. They are an integral part of Jewish cooking and have the status of being neither milk nor meat, they may be freely eaten. Jews will know what I mean, Orthodox Jews are forbidden from eating milk and meat in the same meal. Eggs go both ways. I buy organically produced eggs and hope the chooks are having fun.

So while I have never visited ‘the land of milk and honey’, I am convinced of the sanctity of those foods. I’ll just add bread of course, with apologies to those restricted to the gluten-free kind. These are staple foods we have eaten for millenia.

But honey!! Honey is indeed the nectar of the gods, it is sublime. It is also the only food which never goes bad. It may go hard but can be made runny again. It is a natural sweetener and I don’t know why anyone would want to eat honey that isn’t honey.

I could rant about the damage the demand for cheap food is doing to farmers and to the environment. But you have probably heard it all before. I do understand that we can only eat food we can afford. I  believe that most of us do buy the best we can afford.

Good honey can be found everywhere. At the moment I’m eating honey from the hives kept in bushland by a work colleague. Let me know if you would like contact details. I’ve also bought honey from a guy who kept hives about four streets from my house. Okay I do live in the latte-loving Fremantle precinct where I’m privileged to be able to source all manner of local produce. We have an excellent grower’s market nearby where I can get organic meat, bread, eggs and local honey.

I can also carry a basket and pretend I’m in Europe. But chances are that you have a grower’s market nearby. Yes I am a fussy foodista, but buying food from the producer is wonderful. And no local honey producer is going to sell you adulterated rubbish.

The Milkmaid

 

So a stupid post came up on Facebook that offered to show me the painting that reflects my soul. Putting aside the question of the after-life, I want to say bugger off Facebook because I refuse to engage with their notion of a “soul”. But I do expect art to move me. Last year’s visit to the Van Gogh Museum reduced me to tears at the first sight of one of his self-portraits. Perhaps it was simply being in the presence of the brush strokes of this tortured genius.

FB can keep their algorithmic nonsense to themselves, because there is one painting that reflects and captures the essence of my obsession with food. Vermeer’s The Milkmaid is not a large painting, unlike the many still lives at the Rijksmuseum, too many to even look at.

There was a seat in front of “The Milkmaid and I spent quite some time with her, having burst into tears yet again. She is a timeless representation of the traditional view of woman as nurturer. What do we associate with nurture more than milk? She’s preparing the family breakfast, though it’s probably not her family, and yet she performs her duties with a such tenderness. It’s been suggested that she may be about to make a bread and butter pudding as she pours the milk from a pitcher into a bowl.

I don’t really care.  I only care about the way Vermeer has captured this fleeting moment of tranquil domesticity. And while my feminist consciousness rejects the notion that this is woman’s natural place, I love the way that Vermeer has celebrated it.

What a week!

This week we’ve seen an unremarkable PM replaced by a significantly more vicious person. Some of us are breathing a sigh of relief at the elevation of the “not as bad” choice. I generally stick to matters culinary in this blog, but these climate change deniers will do nothing to ensure food security for Australia.

Morrison was the original (!) author of the decision not to provide comment on “on-water matters”. While you might agree with offshore detention, (I don’t), whatever happened to freedom of information in this country? Gulag Australia? Hence my feeble attempt at humour: “A Pentecostal, a Jew and a mad monk walk into a bar”.  There’s no punchline because it’s not funny.

I am a migrant, and the child of a migrant father whose father was a refugee. My Mum was born in the UK as was her mother, but Nana’s parents were refugees from a small town in Lithuania. Unsurprisingly not one Jew from that town survived the Holocaust. My paternal grandfather’s sisters who remained when he fled Tsarist Russia, were never heard from again either, because no-one would take these refugees.

I do take it personally, but then I know that fair minded Australians without these histories also take it personally. The ALP has shown no guts or compassion on this either. Is this what we have become?

I’m a big fan of Samantha Bee and I find her anti-Trump rants are as funny as they are astute. This week she pointed out America’s dependence on so-called “undocumented workers”. She suggests that you shouldn’t “bite the hand that feeds you”. In fact, she goes further arguing the country would go hungry without those folks working in hospitality, food manufacturing and farming. Watch this week’s episode!

Who knows whether Australians still think of us as a multicultural nation? Eating the odd kebab won’t do it, nor will Morrison’s  Scomosas. Yes, we have a multiculinary food culture, but does that make us a successful multicultural nation the week after Fraser Anning’s disgraceful speech? Calm down, we aren’t Singapore!

Empire Builders

Some years ago I had the privilege of interviewing esteemed Perth restaurateur Harry Ferrante (Alberto’s, Romano’s, Mama Maria’s, Cicero’s, Harry’s Bar & Grill, Simon’s Seafood Restaurant and Harry’s Seafood Bar & Garden Restaurant) for the brave but sadly defunct SPICE magazine.

Harry had a lot to say about the hospitality industry and Harry was a member of a dying breed – the owner operator. This was the model while I was growing up in Sydney where famed restaurants such as Beppi’s  and The Blue Angel endure. There are also a number of contemporary restaurants doing the same. But we are living in an age where growth is everything and making a tidy profit is not good enough – businesses must grow, apparently.

Justin Hemmes’ Merivale group is an exception. But he has the exceptional talents of Dan Hong! If you haven’t caught the SBS cook show, The Chef’s Line, you should. https://www.sbs.com.au/food/programs/the-chefs-line

Worth a look for many reasons, including food writer Melissa Leong and the Black Olive – bush tucker exponent Mark Olive. No drawn-out tales of “what this means to my Nona and how it’s the only way for me to follow my food dream”. Seems like Masterchef contestants have never heard the word “apprentice”.

But I digress! It takes strong leadership to keep an empire together. Sometimes you wonder why the empire? Why expand if you can’t do so in a business-like manner? Why have George Colambaris’ staff been underpaid to such a great extent?

Apparently George is devastated:

https://www.smartcompany.com.au/people-human-resources/george-calombaris-devastated-repays-workers-2-6-million-poor-processes-lead-underpayment/

I imagine his underpaid staff aren’t thrilled either. Claims of ignorance are a bit hard to digest when speaking of $2.6 million.

But it’s not isolated behaviour. Et tu ponytail?

(https://www.smh.com.au/business/workplace/rampant-exploitation-at-rockpool-restaurant-empire-20180706-p4zpvc.html)

This isn’t a case of “oops, silly me”. According to the Sydney Morning Herald:

“All point to the group’s dependence on extensive unpaid work by permanent skilled chefs and managers who are often migrants”. http://ww.smh.com.au/business/workplace/rampant-exploitation-at-rockpool-restaurant-empire-20180706-p4zpvc.html

You don’t have to have read Anthony Bourdain to know that cooking in a hot kitchen or whizzing around a busy restaurant for hours on end is damned hard work. Surely being paid for the hours you work is the least you would expect?

She’s Back…

Smartfoodmama has been completely absent for a long while ..for reasons best left alone. Please forgive me – I’m back and I promise to post every Friday. This week’s  news is Galati’s 19c butternut pumpkin. Galati’s are offering amazing specials every Saturday and very good value every day.

And on this World Cup final weekend I fondly remember Senora Galati giving my Brazilian ex more than a mouthful when Brazil beat Italy in a penalty shoot-out. Great days..love you guys! Go CroatiAllez les bleus?

 

 

 

Hotter than Hell

So the ex has been hassling smartfoodmama for my chilli sauce recipe. Some might think that this is an issue for his solicitor, but I think it’s an opportunity for a quid pro quo – feijoada recipe Gomez!

Like so many recipes, this one just sort of developed.

I had spent a day in the kitchen with the late Alan Mansfield and wonderful ex-South Africans Aunty Joan and Ivan. We were there to make lime pickle and chilli paste.

I’d never seen anyone drinking port before lunch so as you can imagine it was an unforgettable experience! I still have the lime pickle recipe somewhere but I don’t think I ever wrote down the chilli paste recipe.

My “recipe” resulted from the need to use a half full sandwich bag of the hottest chillies I have eaten (not quite scotch bonnet – bird’s eyes). I bought about 300 gm of milder chillies and set to work.

The sauce I made was then used by the drop. Except for the ex-South Africans Gomez worked with up North. They woofed it down, making me think I might have got Aunty Joan’s recipe right.

While we’re talking chilli, for the longest time I wondered (well occasionally) what Shriracha chilli was and why it was so special. So one day I actually read the label on my chosen commercial sauce. Seems I have been using Shriracha chilli for years! It’s the only one that doesn’t use (that dreadful) bottled garlic.

But I digress.

Smartfoodmama’s Chilli Sauce

Finely dice:

2 large cloves of garlic

Ginger: approx half a thumb size piece (perhaps not Jason Mamoa’s thumb)

Gently sauté in about 2 Tbs EVOO (okay, extra virgin olive oil) for about a minute then add:

1 tsp raw sugar to caramelise (not carmelise as our American TV chefs are won’t to suggest, they also like to marinade things! Of course we know that you put things in a marinade to marinate them. Life is not easy for a food AND grammar Nazi).

Then add the chopped chillis (4/500 gms) and sauté till softish.

To seed or not to seed? The seeds have much of the heat and when the paste is blended it thickens it.

Add a cup of water, cover and simmer for about half an hour.

Remove lid, keep cooking another half hour or so, adding water if it starts drying out.

Blend and put in a container of your choice, keep the surface covered with oil to preserve.

I’m not one for sterilising jars – too much carry on and this will keep for ages in the fridge as long as you keep the surface under oil.

This can be made with any chilli you like, but will be unpredictable. If you made it with birds’ eyes do warn guests, though I have had a guest douse his entire plate with it, despite the warning. We really enjoyed watching him try to eat it. Feats of strength should not include chilli!

Still feeding me

I’m not sure anyone at all will read this, given the fact that I’ve been absent for so long. Illness and catching up on work have definitely got in my way. Travel tales will have to wait. Then there’s dealing with loss. I recently travelled to Sydney for Mum’s consecration. Jewish mourners wait a year before the headstone goes on the grave, though it can be a shorter period. It gives folks the chance to recover form their grief and join together to celebrate the life of their loved one.

Like any secular Jewish family the food was the most important thing. I spent the previous evening making Mum’s sausage rolls. Rolling out the pastry in a kitchen no bigger than my Mum’s tiny kitchen with the radio blaring maudlin hits from the 70s. I got a little reflective. Observant Jewish women bake challah bread on Fridays and the kneading and rolling provides the rhythm for serious meditation. Mum never baked challah though it was always on the Shabbath table warm from the oven.

My mother spent the war years ‘on the land’ as she put it.  Here she is pretty as picture growing food for the nation. Of course I have been watching Home fires.

My paternal Grandmother is known to have said “It just isn’t a simcha (celebration) without smoked salmon”. And there was smoked salmon. But it wasn’t a party without Mum’s sausage rolls, so I made them. Lisa baked the richest chocolate brownies I have ever encountered and Sam continued her “I am Zumbo” trajectory with a chocolate and hazelnut cake as big as the centrepoint tower. Well retro theme. And it tasted as good as it looked. I even learned how you slice these darlings, thank you Shirley Smith!

Of course food is at the centre of most celebrations and certainly for Jewish families, and Chinese, Italian, Greek…and on it goes. But food is crucial here because of who Sheila was. She was an archetypal Jewish mother who cooked Shabbath dinner every Friday night. Prayers were minimal but the table heaved with favourite dishes of her children and then grandchildren. Mac cheese and soya Chicken? Why not?

I’ve written a great deal about the way grandmother’s go on feeding their families after their demise .. family recipes? Hence the demand for her sausage rolls, her matzo balls and more. But in my garden I have a miracle, a final gift from Mum. In my last house we had a massive mulberry tree I was sorry to leave. A baby tree had grown next to it and Mum had potted it. I took that one with me when we moved and after an extended period of neglect I finall planted it. It grew and grew as trees do and each year more berries turned up on it. But they were all small. This year the tree is full of mulberries and they are properly sized and sweet, though just beginning. I like to think it’s the Consecration miracle but dynamic lifter should take more credit.

My Mum is still feeding me.

Such a shame, so little has changed

The Guardian – Want to know what it’s like to be a woman in a boy’s club? Ask any waitress

This excellent piece from the guardian is the tip of the iceberg and it’s such a shame so little has changed since I was a gel. I was a waitress for many years, in a planet far away. My first ever job was at “Grandfather’s Moustache” – what seemed in those days to be a fabulous Italian restaurant run by Greeks. After 5 weeks I got the sack – first and last time. Surprisingly, I wasn’t sacked for slapping the chef and co-owner every time he groped my 17 year-old arse. And I wasn’t sacked for the free food and drink I provided for my friends. I was sacked for ringing up an hour before my shift to call in sick. It was a good lesson to learn early on.

Sexual harassment was a very regular occurrence. I later worked in a restaurant where the signature dish was turkey breast – oh how original were the gibes. I even worked temporarily in a disco – yes, smartfoodmama is senior! This, I should add has earned me considerable cred with my students. Go figure: “yes, there was a mirror ball, yes the dance-floor lit up…”. Moving through the crowds I was once grabbed Trump style. I know I sent the cretin flying with my one free hand and the bouncers were happy to finish the job. In truth I was treated more respectfully by the merry band of gangsters running the place then by so-called hospitality professionals in years to come. I’ll always cherish this comment from the owner (read in heavy Balkan accent) “I like you, you good gel, you work with your brayn not your bum”.

Story three: Desperate for work I did a day’s trial in a large commercial seafood house of horror. Wandering in to the kitchen the very first comment from the chef to a waitress picking up a plate was: ”That’s not your meal you stupid f’ing c”. I worked through lunch but didn’t come back for the second shift.

There are many aspects of life in 2016/17 which should have been done away with back then, when I was a gel. That’s why I still call myself a feminist – yes “we’ve come a long way baby” – some of the boys need to catch up.

The Emperor has new clothes

I’ve been a regular at the Emperor’s kitchen in Leeming for years –none of the hassle of getting parking in Northbridge and Yum Cha offerings which are as good as most. But we particularly loved the cheerful and attentive owner who was always there. But now he’s gone – I hope he is putting his feet up and enjoying a well-deserved retirement.

I’m told the new owner is a young mainland Chinese gentleman. The old place has been tarted up and looks much more inviting.

But I was never concerned about the décor, it was only ever about the food and they have kept up the old menu – all of my favourites: fat prawn dumplings, crispy squid, stuffed tofu and crunchy kai-lan.. All just as good.

But these little prawn dumplings are new and simply divine.

I love it when things change and stay the same.