As we grow older, it can be all too easy to forget what it's like to do something for the first time. I try to make sure I note every first in my life, no matter how big or small. It's advice I received years ago- view the world through a child's eyes, and you can't help but hope for the best.
Anyway! Last night, I ate no less than four foods that have never crossed my lips, not once ever, in my 26 years on earth. This is no mean feat for someone who has travelled far and wide, not to mention eaten kangaroo (regularly), goanna, crocodile and witchetty grub (not all in the one sitting). The occasion was the Taste Great Southern Seafood Set Menu dinner at the York Street Cafe, to which friends invited me without telling me the word "seafood" was included in the title.
See, I was allergic to seafood when I was younger. It never reached the heights of my walnut allergy, but suffice to say, when eating fish brought out hives around my lips, my parents weren't keen to feed me any other seafood. As a result, I've never eaten more than the very occasional tin of tuna or small piece of fried fish. This is very odd in Australia, since we're such a seafood-oriented country. Because I haven't eaten it before, I'm not so keen on the taste, either. I don't think others realise it's a little acquired, being able to stick something like an oyster in your mouth and chomp it.
So! This dinner was six courses of seafood, and like I say, four of the six I had never even contemplated eating in my life before. I ate my first prawn last year, for goodness' sakes. The newcomers last night were oysters, mussels, sardines, and yabbies. I'd eaten a little crab and salmon before, but that was it.
How was it? Well, I found the yabbies a bit bland. I had to psyche myself up for the oysters like I did for the witchetty grub, but they were a pleasant suprise- I ate three, with salsa verde, salsa crude, and citrus (big slice of orange- fabulous). The herb-crusted sardines with crab brandade (that's kind of fancy mashed potato- LOL) were delicious. The mussels were set in cucumber jelly, which sounds odd but was actually very tasty. The big winners of the night were the salmon (which was done in a soy and ginger marinade, and was just beautiful, and the dessert, which was a lemon and raspberry posset (sort of like a very thick custard) with languedechat biscuits (spongey- GOLD). With each course, we had wines from local producer Oranje Tractor, who are one of the only local makers who don't use preservatives in their products.
All in all, a triumph for local produce and for the restaurant- we were very impressed with the chef, who is a young guy, and seriously passionate about sustainable fishing and great food.
I'll be revisiting most of these again. Well, the yabbies I can take or leave (which is good, because they cost plenty), and the oysters- hmm. But the rest was grand.
Here's to new experiences!
Excerpt from Between the Lines
A memory wavered into his mind, shimmery as heat rising off the road in summer.
He was six years old, and he’d been in Stonehaven no more than a week. He was hollow and lonely, confused. He missed the bustle of Melbourne. He missed the other kids on his street, the whole gang of them and their scampy games. He was stuck out in the bush, all of a sudden, with nobody but Lionel for company. Lionel had spent the first day ignoring him completely, and the last few beating the stuffing out of him whenever he got the chance. So that day, he’d wandered out to the back garden, if it could even be called that- just a scrubbed, flat expanse of hot red dirt with a veil of tangled trees and shrubs behind it.
The bush.
On impulse, he’d taken a couple of steps toward it, bare feet burning on the hot ground. The air was filled with the lemony scent of eucalyptus and the fresh tang of the distant sea. He'd filled his lungs and the two steps had turned into six, then ten, then before he knew it he was running headlong toward the wall of whispering green and brown, pushing all his mother’s warnings about snakes and savages from his head. He barrelled between the first spicy-scented leaves and, to his surprise, popped out on a sort of beaten down track, hidden from view of the house. After a moment’s pause to wonder how many strokes of the belt he’d get for this, he set off down the track toward the most interesting noise he’d heard so far- the babbling giggle of flowing water, and laced in with it, the high, clear notes of a girl’s voice, singing.
He stepped off the track with his heart hammering in his chest, suddenly terrified as he caught side of the wide river bank and the rolling mass of glassy green water.
She was standing there, all right- a girl not much taller than him, skinny as a rake, skin the golden brown of tree bark lit by sun. A cascade of golden curls rolled over her shoulders to skim at her waist, tendrils flicking out here and there as she drew back her arm and lobbed a big rock into the water.
He watched it go, traced the arc with his eyes until it hit the water with a loud splash and was swallowed. She was singing, still, her voice high and clear. She was wearing a white dress that finished at her knees and puffed into short sleeves at her shoulders. He looked down at himself, his grey shorts and jumper coated in jam, dirt and everything else he’d been busy with that morning. He stared at her back with suspicion. She was pristine. The only dirty bit of her was her feet, bare as his.
If it hadn’t been for those feet, he might have thought she was an angel. Or a ghost.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
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