Undertaking a war on waste

This is my latest project - a war on waste food.

Every so often there is a noticeable increase in the cost of food. This is prompted sometimes by food shortages caused by floods or drought or cyclones in major food producing areas and at other times increases are inevitable and related to the cost of production.

I consider that throwing out food is a waste of money.  This is not an opinion held by everybody. There seems to be a point of view where the amount of food thrown out to landfill equates with the bank balance and a sense of financial superiority over others.  Cutting back on food waste is a tedious, petty idea which doesn’t sit well with the busy lifestyle of the rich and famous and the whole idea smacks of parsimony and petty small-minded people too afraid to spend a cent.

Producing food which is destined for landfill is not just a waste of money it’s a waste of resources. Food production requires water and energy to grow and there are the added energy requirements for processing, packaging and transporting.  While the energy companies, the processors, packers and transport companies could not give a toss what goes to landfill as long as they are paid, our energy resources would go that bit further if we wasted less.

And then there is the problem of food waste going to landfill, breaking down and emitting methane which science has shown to be a contributor to climate change. One of the problems with methane is its invisibility. There is much talk about something which no-one can see; methane doesn’t drift along in a dark blue cloud with its very own homing device and return to settle in your yard or over the exterior of your building. If it did people might think more about their actions. Then again, they might not, the current default position for nearly everything currently, is to deny responsibility for the problem.

And so back to my teensy-weensy actions in my war against food waste, which will certainly not save the world but might give me a few extra coins to rattle around in my purse and the idea that I have made an effort in making a difference to something I see as important.

The battle front in this war at the Trash Palace will be in the kitchen cupboards, the inside of the refrigerator and writing up a shopping list that has only essential items on it.

I have done very well for the first month of the year but it is early days and there are many hurdles at which I might fall.

Bolte Bridge - Melbourne                                       April 2015

Kewpie mayonnaise

Photo courtesy    My Asian Grocer

With the rise in popularity of Japanese food in this country, has come the rise in popularity of Kewpie mayonnaise.

I was reminded of this recently when I bought some take-away from a Japanese café in the city. The shop was busy and noisy and my hearing isn’t what it used to be. The man behind the counter waved something in a container over the food and I asked for a small amount. Later, when I opened my lunch bag, the contents were slathered with squiggles of Kewpie mayonnaise.

What intrigues me most about Kewpie mayonnaise is not the actual product but the name; having an enquiring mind, I searched through the Encyclopedia Electronica to find out more.

The origins of Kewpie Mayonnaise go back to the 1920s, when Toichiro Nakashima, who spent some time a few years earlier in the United States and Britain, studying food production techniques, started Nakashimato Corporation, a food production business.

 He brought a jar of mayonnaise back to Japan from the United Sates and after making adjustments to the ingredients to better suit Japanese tastes, this famous mayonnaise came into being.

As for the name, not a lot of information is available.  I am assuming the name and the figure may have derived from the Kewpie comic-strip drawings of the well-known American cartoonist, Rose O’Neill, who was a prolific artist at that time.

The ingredients of commercially produced Kewpie mayonnaise are: vegetable oil, egg, vinegar, spices and flavouring.  The egg yolks only are used, which give the mayo a richer flavour; rice vinegar is used instead of white vinegar and MSG also makes its particular contribution to the end-result taste.

If you are interested in making your own version of Kewpie Mayonnaise, you might like to try this recipe.

I won’t be making it; when it comes to dressing for salads I’m more of a vinaigrette person.                

Home territory

I find new eating places in the neighbourhood sometimes by accident.

I happened to be walking along a section of a nearby shopping centre in an area that is sometimes on my beaten path and found a French bakery and pastry company has moved into a small shop previously occupied by who knows what. There is a constant turnover of businesses in the area and within the time frame of a few of months it is not impossible to find a business has closed its doors for whatever reason and vanished into the blue.

Sometimes the doors remained closed for quite some time and the post person does what they are paid to do and that is not think and make personal decisions. They are paid to deliver the mail and even if it builds up into a decent sized pile they must keep stuffing it under the door.

In the case of the French bakery there was very little if any time gap, meaning the alignment of commercial stars; rent, facilities and market share placement must have met an approved business criterion.

The business is a little upmarket for the area which is largely populated by students, both secondary and tertiary. Usually this is a demographic who doesn’t have much cash to splash, especially the tertiary band, who appear to be not as well supported by parents as the secondary students.  It will be interesting to see just how long it holds its place on the street.

I was curious and stepped inside the door to see what was offering.

It is a much smaller version of a very up-to-the-minute café/bakery the same company owns over in the Wood of Colling.   Same pastries and cakes and same bread; I imagine this is delivered on a daily basis from this main bakery.  Their bread, albeit expensive, is excellent.

The seated area at the back holds only a few small tables and is closeted away from the action of the main shop area. However it does have the distinct advantage of being  whole lot easier to access than the main shop in the Wood of Colling, which for me, entails a few changes of transport and a few hours to enjoy the experience.

I may just patronise this new shop in the neighbourhood on an irregular basis.

Eating out in January

It’s not always a simple exercise, choosing a place to eat out in January.

Yesterday's outing was an example. OCCm2 arranged for three of us to go to a nearby suburb and have lunch at a garden centre. I wasn’t too enthusiastic; I had been there before and the menu wasn’t anything to write home about and the prices were in the upper range of café pricing.

The garden centre cafe was closed and our plans were altered; we ate instead at a tearoom-style café a few streets away.  I was pleased about this change as I have often considered eating at Ruby’s T’s. My fellow diners are very conservative about their eating; one is a vegetarian which often means there is not a lot of choice on the menu and the other has her main meal in the evening.

I’m happy to have my main meal in the middle of the day, so I promptly settled for a tuna pattie and salad.  A single, very large tuna pattie, sitting in the middle of the plate, surrounded by salad, arrived at the table. It was very good and I enjoyed every mouthful. Ribbon sandwiches for one and a plate of chips for the other diners filled the remaining orders for the table.

One of the good things about this tearoom is the quiet.  You can actually have a conversation without having to shout above loud music. It might be something to do with the patrons being mostly senior age people.

Now I know about Ruby T’s; anytime I’m in the area I know where to go and I know if I am with others I will be able to hear them and they will be able to hear me.

A win-win situation.

More Roses - Coombe Cottage, Coldstream Vic      Photo File: Nov 2005

Breakfast bench

This is the breakfast bench at Vermont Manor.

My idea of breakfast is different to the Lord and Lady of the Manor.  I eat a piece of fruit, followed by cereal and milk.  If the planets are aligned, the cereal will be topped with yoghurt and strawberries.  The alignment of the planets, you must understand, has more to do with items on shopping lists than heavenly bodies. 

After the fruit and cereal have been consumed, it’s time for two slices of toast.  At Vermont Manor there is only one spread for toast, and that is the great Australian icon, Vegemite. And last, but not least, is the first and best cup of tea of the day.

Breakfast at Vermont Manor for the regular occupants rarely varies. Each day galletes are prepared, poured into the special pan and when cooked tipped off onto a plate and eaten immediately.

Each to his own I say.

Oh yes….. that is a box of biscuits you see on the breakfast bench; not for breakfast but to have with a cup of morning or afternoon tea. Sometimes a muffin, which has found its way into the Manor, will find space among the breakfast provisions.

Variety is an important factor on the breakfast bench.

Best lunch this month

I know. 

It is very early in the month to make the title statement but I am prepared to put down money which says there is only a very remote chance of bettering today’s midday meal  before end August.

This bold statement might have been influenced by yesterday’s meal which was ordered in anticipation of eating a delicious marinara risotto, only to find disappointment was one of the ingredients on the plate.  Along with rice, a vivid orange sauce, some reasonable prawns, a scattering of small, empty and unknown white shells together with some large and recognisable mussel shells; the last item was the big disappointment.  The mussel flesh appeared to have evaporated and a thin film of membrane and a tiny sliver of flesh were the only offerings.

I eat from time to time at this cafe and have never been disappointed in the past; the usual man in charge of front of house seemed distracted and perplexed.  The chef was new and hadn’t quite hit his straps and the waitress was handling her first day on the job relatively well, under the circumstances. Orders arrived at the tables of those people dining in the outdoor area, questions were asked and plates returned; not a happy day all round for either the diners or the staff.

By contrast, lunch today at Our Kitchen Table was so good.  No photos because my android phone and close up photos are incompatible.  A Mexican Rice Bowl, where every ingredient was beautifully presented, instantly recognisable and very tasty. I can assure you I could not have wished for a better meal

I was only half way through the bowl and already I was planning how I could return for another lunch.  Unhappily, it is a very circuitous route by public transport from my door to the café door.  However I like the occasional travel challenge and you can be sure if there is the faintest chance of a repeat visit you will hear about it at some time in the future.

And last but not least, the coffee was excellent.

Welcome back!

Vegemite.  You either love it or hate it.  It is very salty, has been described as having a meaty taste and you will find it in many Australian pantries.  In the Trash Palace we don’t run to the luxury of a pantry, but a jar of Vegemite sits on the top of the fridge.  For ease of access you understand; anything in immediate sight has a better chance of being consumed on a regular basis.

Vegemite has returned to the fold after some years on the globalized financial and commercial merry-go-round. Sucked up by the vacuum cleaner of international company buying and selling, Vegemite has now returned to our shores. Starting out in Melbourne in 1922, it attracted American interest and part ownership, early in the piece. This was the beginning of a joint venture with Kraft Foods and in 1952 Kraft Foods took over sole ownership of the company.

After that the plot thickens and Vegemite was swept into the ongoing and convoluted world of takeovers, mergers and other commercial flim-flam.  Recently the merry-go-round momentum slowed and Vegemite jumped off into the arms of Bega Cheese.

A marriage made in commercial heaven.  After all what is better than a sandwich of white bread slathered with butter,  thick chunks of sliced cheese laid on same and Vegemite generously applied the top piece of bread.   Press together, slice and eat.

Good to see you home again Vegemite.

Cake, cereal and conventional cow’s milk.

 Listening to BBC World Service recently, I was informed that Britons eat far too much cake at work.  Too much cake at work?  Can this be true?  The suggestion is made that fruit, nuts and cheese be offered instead of cake; a birthday cheese?  An idea which may not go down well with people wanting to avoid fat in their diet. And try sticking candles on a wedge of cheese.

At the moment cake features high on the menu of what might pass for supper time at the Trash Palace.  The blame is placed squarely on the festive season and particularly those shops (you know who you are) selling such delicacies as mince pies and dastardly, dark fruit Christmas cakes.

Cereal came in for some criticism on the same program, in particular the amount of cereal consumed by British children at breakfast time.  While breakfast is often touted as the most important meal of the day, there is no doubt the amount of sugar in packaged cereals is very high and as a result much loved by children with a sweet tooth.

Examine any packet of sugar cereal, especially those where Milo and cocoa and fruity-loopy-frosty words are boldly displayed on the packet.  Simply reading the sugar content label is enough for instant cavities to form in your teeth.  And while all this may be financial music to the ears of some dentists it is going to be costly to parents who find they are faced with huge dental bills and a painful outcome for the small person sitting in the chair.  Sugar is both seductive and addictive; adults are often just as attracted to the taste of sugar as children.

And now for conventional cow’s milk.  I wouldn’t have a conventional cow’s milk dilemma if I wasn’t clearing up the clutter – in this instance paper/magazine clutter.  Here I was thinking a conventional cow was one that roughly filled the cow criteria of having four legs, a head, a tail and all the workings within and without that lead to milk production.  Further research (read time spent poodling around on Google) on this topic tells me I need to be thinking about the milk word, not the cow word. 

The battle is between conventional cow’s milk and organic cow’s milk; conventional cows might be classed as grain fed and pastured on grass onto which large quantities of fertilizer have been applied.  Organic milk is classed as coming from cows where less fertilizer is applied to the pasture and there is less reliance on high volume production breeds. 

At the Trash Palace, until a substantial increase in price occurred early last year, organic milk was the first choice of the Head Chef in the Soup Kitchen. The prime reason for this choice was not the organic classification but the fact the milk was non- homogenised.  The Head Chef insists the taste is better and all this spinning and whirling and general mucking about with the milk when it is homogenised, makes the milk taste bland.   And while the increased cost has seen the former first choice milk now sharing equal  purchase ranking with other locally owned and produced milk, it is still rated as best of all.

A bunch of  my favourite conventional cows, borrowed for the occasion. 

Alice in Wonderland

There are some days when I feel much as Alice might have when she fell into that hole in the ground and found herself in an unfamiliar world.

As part of my serious work of assessing the various Eton Messes offered on menus around this town, today it was the turn of White Mojo.  I have had past problems finding addresses in Hardware Lane but today I am in luck. The café inside is packed and buzzing with conversation; it is noisy and I opt for sitting outside even though rain is threatening.

While I wait for my order to arrive I survey the scene outside.  It is like being in a foreign country without the expense and hassle of travelling, packing and spending a small fortune. At the next door table, queuing and waiting at the café across the street and later when I pay inside and look about at the patrons I realise that I am the white western minority.  This café is very popular with Asian people; mostly young, immaculately turned out, very well dressed couples, who may be visitors from overseas.  In this microcosm of Cup Day Melbourne I could be a foreigner in an Asian country.

 It comes as a surprise, sometimes, to realise how the face of this city has changed over the years I have lived here.   Today, for many of these people, all the hoo-ha attached to the day that stops the nation, the first Tuesday in November and the running of the Melbourne Cup, is not of the slightest interest.  They are more interested in sampling the food offerings in this fashionable part of town.

My Eton Mess arrives. A pink, gooey yoghurt with thin slabs of meringue, fresh and dried berries and a coconut concoction; it draws looks of wonder and enquiry from the Chinese family of three at the next table and I mime a response to their questioning looks.

The Mess is not the best I have eaten but if I don’t try it I won’t know will I?

Eton Mess - the breakfast version.

Autumn and aji chili peppers

I looked up today and discovered autumn has arrived and coloured a group of trees. The colour has turned in the last week or so, meaning autumn arrived at the end of February this year.  

One pair of trees has, sadly, only a short time to flaunt their colour.   I feel very strongly that next week I will walk by and those trees will have been bulldozed.  The trees are at the front of a building which is in the process of being demolished to make way for – yes, you’ve guessed it – yet another exciting new development.

This building was a reception centre for many years and in the days of long ago it was the venue where my workplace held their end of year function – the good old Christmas party.  The former work place and the former reception place have both joined the brave new world of apartment complexes proliferating all over the city, like mould spores on bread in humid weather.

The seasons have definitely moved forward in the past ten to fifteen years.  I also noticed last week the camellia tree outside my window has formed buds and is likely to bloom before I leave for Northern Parts in April.  When I first moved into the apartment, July was the earliest when the camellias appeared on the tree; well into winter.

Sitting at the bench in the kitchen at Villa Strode last evening and surveying the vegetable garden produce spread out in front of me, I dipped my fingers into a small bowl of very tiny, orange tomatoes. 

Or so I thought.  

At least I had the wit to ask what they were and received prompt and clear warnings about making the error of popping one into my mouth and biting.

The response was a very loud ‘No!  Do not even think about eating one of those!!’

They are, according to Steve who grows them in a tub in the back yard, Peruvian Aji Charapa chili peppers.   

As it is my nature to give almost everyone an argument about almost everything, I am here to say I think they may be Bolivian.  Of course all my research has been done on the good old internet, where many things are not what they seem to be, maybe Quintisho peppers even.  However I am sticking to my guns and I think they are Quintisho peppers.

Bolivian Quintisho hot peppers in fact, according to this place…

Happily there were no Quintisho hot peppers in our delicious dinner; oven-cooked ling, with tomatoes, garlic and a small amount of common red chili and sides of potatoes and garden-fresh green beans.

An evening of excellent food, wine and conversation.

Moving on

All good things come to and end; living the good life at Somerset Rise Palace ended today.

After packing the bags and having the general factotum, aka The Mahjong Queen, carry them out to the Royal Red Wagon, I took one last look about for the inevitable possession that missed the pack. 

Well drugged up – legal painkillers, of course - I sit in the passenger seat; the MahJong Queen decked out in her chauffeur's livery starts the motor and we cruise away on the next leg of my recovery phrase.  Today we are off to that regional city best known as Shepp. There, over the next ten days, my every need will be attended to by MyVeryBestFriendCarmel.  Or at least, this is what I am hoping for; this is the plan.

The sky promises rain and a few showers come our way before we arrive in Benalla.  We agree Benalla would be a good place for a coffee stop and to my surprise we don’t turn towards the main street but pull off the highway near a service station.  Parked to one side of the service station is a mobile coffee cart – there goes any idea I might have had about having coffee and cake while sitting at a table.

We talk for a few minutes with the coffee vendor; she took over the running of this coffee cart and found she had a lot to learn about running a mobile café and even more to learn about making cups of coffee that kept customers returning.  After an initial down turn in trade she spent some time and money learning the basics of coffee making and slowly but surely the coffee cart fortunes turned around.

As we arrived on the outskirt of Shepp the MJQ talked about an article she had read about a new food venture in town selling local produce. We also talked about a café which serves Thai food, the one which I always refer to as the Straw Bale.    

MVBFC had a light lunch waiting for us and it was not too long before the MJQ was on her way back to the Capital of the North-east, MVBFC was driving down town to meet friends for afternoon tea and I was sound asleep in bed.  

Long Live the Revolution

It’s Bastille Day; in Melbourne I would celebrate this day by eating at a French restaurant or café.

 

No such things exist here in the Capital of the High Country; we have to be innovative and make up our own events and activities for Bastille Day. 

The café was the easiest part; here at Somerset Rise Palace it is usually known as the dining room table.  The MahJong Queen donned her imaginary chef’s hat, peered inside the fridge and opened and closed kitchen cupboard doors looking for ingredients to make up a quiche. French Onion Soup had been suggested and the idea quashed immediately.   So quiche it was tonight and a damned good one too, I might say.  Not the regular round variety but a rectangular flan, proving a flan by any other shape would taste as good. 

The before photo - there is no after photo.  It was too late, the quiche had been eaten.

Finding French wine anywhere in the Capital of the High Country, to accompany the quiche, was akin to searching for the proverbial aguille dans meul de foin.  I set out in high hopes, combed through the offerings in the supermarkets, tried two pubs and in the second one, out of desperation, settled for a bottle of wine with one French word on the label.  Yes, I was dredging the depths at this point.  The word?  Rosé. One word on a bottle of Wild Fox organic wine.

The final challenge was to find a French film on DVD at the local DVD rental shop; Netflix is an unknown at SR Palace.  The man behind the counter at the DVD hire shop had never heard of Bastille Day; I’m sure he’s heard of France but a revolution over two hundred years ago drew a blank stare.  

In spite of these small hurdles he did have the movie I wanted, Folies Bergere.    We watched it after demolishing the quiche and dropping the level in the wine bottle.  It was voted as a good film choice for the day.

Long live the Revolution.