Jackie's April message continued . . .
Contents:
What's happening
Books
A Few Recipes
The April Garden
Council Wombat
Rose Petal tarts
What's Happening
It's difficult to believe this
place was in drought two months ago. It's the perfect time of year now - cold
green grass that must be the wombat equivelent of icecream, all soft and sweet,
dahlias as big as footballs.
Actually football would be a
lot more interesting if they used dahlias instead of balls, come to think of
it. I like the idea of hulking footballers racing to the goal posts with a
flower clutched to their chests...
Anyway... the flowers are
busting out all over since it rained, and the wombats are fat enough to roll
down the hill, which doesn't stop them from banging on the back door demanding
rolled oats for dessert. Mothball 's still chewing up the doormats
too, the back doormat one night then the front doormat the next. Maybe she's
teaching her baby how to annoy humans: now Hark, she says, first you nibble at
the doormat, then you chew a hole in the backdoor, then you attack the garden
table.
But her heart isn't in it. The
valley is pretty close to wombat paradise now. She just gives the doormat a
token wrestle, munches a few mouthfulls of oats, then gets back to grass
guzzling.
It's almost as though the
drought has never been, unless you look at the bare spots where the grass
hasn't grown back yet- the spots where the wombats dug up the roots to gnaw,
then the lyrebirds dug up the ground like feathered bulldozers, not to mention
the muddy holes where Mothball, Pretty Face and all the others have been
tempted by moist soil and longer nights to have a little dig and see if they
really feel like finishing a new hole.
Mostly they don't. You have to
be really careful at our place whe you go out the door every morning not to
trip over some wombats practice burrow.
But the carrots are fat as
wombat bums and the avocadoes are fattening up too, and all the citrus have
decided to flower again so we should have masses of limes, lemons oranges etc
all through the year, and I am getting totally carried away planting much to
much, but blast it, I've been deprived of dirty fingers for too long. It's
great to plant again.
I've bought another cinnamon
tree this year, and an allspice tree too- they smell wonderful indoors, though
I need to take them both outside as much as possible. They don't die indoors-
just don't exactly grow either, just stare at me like a dog who's been indoors
too long and is longing for a walk.
Must pick some lillypillies
soon, too, to make jelly- they make wonderful jelly, a bit astringent but
lovely with anything sweet or creamy, and good cordial too.
Must also find something to do
with the sapotes. There are masses this year- they didn't even notice the
drought. Sapotes taste good. Not great, just good. Which means two or three is
quite enough thank you. wonder what sapote jam is like? Or chutney? I suspect
you could turn even wombat eaten doormats into chutney, with enough sugar and
vinegar.
Books
The most recent books are
Golden Valley- stories that tell the history of gold and a valley, and Big
Burps, Bare Bums and other Bad Mannered Blunders, which is a guide to behaving
almost perfectly, and even if you don't want to behave perfectly it's a
hilarious read anyway, and the illustrations are even funnier. But if you want
to know how to be as cool as James Bond, or stop Great Aunt Ethel kissing you
in public, read on.....
And Ride the Wild Wind has
just been shortlisted for the NSW Premier's Historical Fiction Award, which
makes it sound very boring, but it isn't- it's' the histroy of the partnership
between huamnsd and horses for the last 3,500 years- and that makes it sound
REALLY boring. But they really are exciting horse stories, with everything from
Ghengis Kahns armies sweeping across Asia (on horseback- 100,000 horses) to a
kid who tames a wild horse that no one else could manage in the 1830's in
Australia.
And Diary of a Wombat has just
been shortlisted for the CBC awards- I still feel extraordinary delight every
time I open that book. How could Bruce Whatley have known exactly what Mothball
is like? Stroppy, bad tempered, totally self centred, and sometimes a bit
smelly too- and enormous fun to live with.
A Few Recipes
Curried Galah
(This is based on an old Australian recipe that really was for cooked galah.
Have never made this with galah- they might object- but it's also good with
chicken.)
Ingredients
absolutely no galah
1 cooked chook
half cup mayonnaise
1 tb lemon juice
1 tb good fruit chutney
1 tsp curry paste
Optional: chopped red capsicum, chopped parsley, chopped fresh pineapple
(The better the mayonnaise and curry paste the better the dish- I fry my
favourite curry spices in oil and add them- cumin coriander tumeric garam
marsala- a tsp of them altogether fried for 1 minute in a tsp oil. But the dish
is still quite good with a bought curry paste)
Shred meat from chook. Mix
everything. Serve. Good served with hot rice even if it's a cold dish; also
good with boiled new potatoes.
Macadamia Brittle Icecream
one and half cups milk
two and half cups cream
6 egg yolks
1 cup raw sugar
1 tb honey
3 tsp vanilla essense
Mix; place in double boiler or
bowl on top of saucepan and cook without boiling till thickened, stirring all
the time. Take off heat and leave to cool, then place in container in freezer
(or use an icecream machine). Stir three times during freezing.
When frozen place 2 tb raw
sugar in a saucepan; heat on low heat till just melted; add 1 cup chopped
macadamias and turn onto greased tray or baking paper to cool. Beak up when
hard- it'll be brittle.
Whip icecream till soft and
creamy; add macadamias; refreeze.
This stuff is absolutely
wonderful.
Chocolate Rum Dates
20 fresh dates
1 block good dark cooking chocolate
4 tb rum or orange juicewith a litle finely grated orange peel added
Cut dates in half; remove
stone. Place in a jar with the rum or orange juice. Put the lid on; leave for
48 hours, shaking now and then.
Melt chocolate in microwave or
in a bowl over simmering water- don't over cook it! Dip dates in melted
chocolate. Lick fingers. L:eave to set- not in the fridge as chocolate goes
grainy. Store in a sealed jar out of temptation. have absolutely no idea how
long they last, because every batch has been eaten as soon as I brought them
out, even by people who swear they hate dates but will just try one.....
Chocolate Bush Rat..otherwise known as Aussie Moooosssse... (Def not the genuine French
mousse species)
500 gm ricotta or mascapone- diff result with each
200 gm melted chocolate- really good stuff
sugar to taste- depends on how sweet chocolate is; you may not need any,, or
you may need about half a cupful or even more.
3 tb rum, or cointreau, or very very strong black coffee and 1 tb grated orange
zest
To serve: cream whipped with a little flavouring- more rum and sugar etc
Berries (raspberries best) or poached peaches, or apricots, or apples sauted in
butter till softish
Bung ricotta/mascapone ,
melted chocolate, sugar and flavouring in a blender. Whizz till smooth. Place
in small pots or blobs on plate. As it's very rich you won't need much per
person- two heaped tb is great, plus fruit and cream.
Can be kept in the fridge for
up to three days till needed, but may be excessively sampled during that time
and slowly disappear.
The April Garden
What to do in April
Everything: April is about the perfect month to garden- no wind like the
breath of hell, no frozen fingers, and the weeds have stopped growing so fast
you wonder if they're about to strangle you in bed. Start new beds, plant
shrubs, build steps or a lilypond.....you won't find a better time for garden
fantasies till spring.
Buy: Lots of spring bulbs. Look for heat-hardy Paperwhite or Erlicheer jonquils
and King Alfred daffodils and freesias, mini gladdies, ixias and ranunculi that
will grow anywhere. French tulips - no relation except I love the things - are
the best tulip for warmer climates. Remember - DON'T plant bulbs in small pots,
or they'll be one day wonders, flowering one day, dead the next. Plant bulbs
in the coolest soil around, not near hot walls or terraces.
Plant: Cuttings of lavender, wormwood, daisies and native shrubs.
Divide: Clumps of perennials like agapanthus, red-hot pokers, Easter daises,
salvias, chives: any clump which just gets bigger and bigger. Dividing clumps
now will give you more plants, plus more flowers - big clumps often stop
blooming in the middle. Use a spade and commonsense ie slice, pull apart, and
plant.
Feed: Winter flowering shrubs or annuals; but don't feed any plant that might
be cut by frost, as tender new growth is more easily burnt!
... and take a deep happy
breath of flowers and fresh grass, because most gardens won't look as good
again till next November.
It's time to grow:
Flowers: white and purple alyssum, calendulas, poppies, pansies, primulas,
violas, wallflowers
Frost free areas only: coleus, gerberas, nasturtiums, petunias, zinnias
Veg: broad bean seed, broccoli, caulflower and cabbage seedlings, winter
lettuce seedlings, radish, spinach.
Frost-free areas only: any veg you can get your hands on!
PS Many charts will tell you you can plant carrots, silver beet and beetroot
in cold weather. It's true these aren't killed by frost, but they don't grow
much in cold weather - and then go to seed as soon as spring warms up! Grow veg
that will really DO something instead.
Tip: Plant a row of garlic chives along your flower bed. You'll get bright
mauve pompoms in summer, plus garlicky green leaves to chop into salads,
casseroles etc all winter. Once the clumps thicken up they'll help keep grass
out of the garden too.
COUNCIL WOMBAT
(I wrote this 12 years ago; just discovered it on my hard drive. But there
are still wombats in the pipes under the mountain road!)
He was called Council Wombat
to distinguish him from the other wombats of the road, Roadbat and Dusty.
Roadbat liked cars. He chased
them. He lived on the flat by the creek with a menagerie of holes under the
fence and a worn strip along the road where he'd outrace any vehicle that came
along. I paced him at 40k one day, which is all the old green truck could
achieve in ten metres of river flat. Roadbat had an advantage. Wombats
accelerate faster than ancient green trucks. Especially when they're full of
horse manure.
Roadbat was small and round
and brown. Dusty was bigger, about the size of a thickset kelpie. Dusty was
pale gold with an almost bald bum. She liked the road because it was bald too.
She'd wallow in the dust of cold winter mornings when the frost still glittered
on the grass and the bare road was warmer. In the late afternoon you had to
drive carefully. Dusty would be spreadeagled on her back, fluffy stomach to the
weak sunlight, soaking up heat in her dust bath.
Council Wombat lived by the
front gate. The front gate looks down into the valley, soft blue mountains and
sharp green Araluen gums with tall white branches.. From our gate up to Major's
Creek it gets tougher, bends and steep corners and in places the road is eaten
below the edges. You don't want to drive too close.
You can jog down the Major's
Creek road nearly as fast as you can drive it, and a horse goes down it faster
than either. It was built for horses, back mid last century. Ben Hall stuck up
a gold coach just above our front gate, but the cop in charge ducked down over
the road and nipped off to the pub down the road while the driver kept them
shooting till reinforcements arrived.
Ben Hall heard them
coming-given they were fresh from the pub you could probably have heard them in
Braidwood- and hightailed it off before they got there. But the gold was saved.
There's a plaque on the road
to mark the event, but it's not where the hold up occurred. ^That would have
been a traffic hazard, the Council decided, so the sign was erected further up
where people can park. Thus is history recreated.
I like the road. It's a shock
after the bare tableland above to be suddenly in dappled tree light; to smell
maidenhair and wet soil; to see the road fall on one side of you and red tipped
ferns on the other; to hear the lyrebirsd chortle in winter, songs floating on
the mist that hangs till you're half way down the road.
There's one lyrebird that hugs
the road. He gives a startled screech whenever he hears a car in winter. It's
probably a sign of winter hormones starting up. Lyrebirds get sexy and territorial
in winter. If it's a noisy car you'll see him pelt across the road in front of
you, dragging a beddraggled tail behind. He's a tatty lyrebird. He misses quiet
cars till they're on him. You hear a gurgled squawk and he's glinding above
you. One day he'll miscalculate and land on someone's bonnet. The scratches
will need explaining to any insurance company that isn't familiar with paranoid
macho lyrebirds.
The long black things on the
side of the road are wallaby tails. Swamp wallabies feel that if their heads
are invisible the rest of them must be. They plunge over the side at the sound
of an engine but leave their tails behind. You need to navigate carefully on
narrow bits.
On the other side are the
Dangerous Gully cliffs- rock falls deep into the valley on hot days and
waterfalls when it's wet. Most cars miss the waterfalls. When its wet enough
for flowing water the road is usually blocked by mudslides or fallen trees or
just looks more hair raising than usual.The white splashes on the rocks are
wedgetails droppings; the purple fire is indigophera; the deep green trees
hanging from the crags are figs or blackwood or kurrajongs; the scent is
pittosporum, reputed to drive bees mad, or the honey smell of angophera.
Council Wombat lived by our front
gate, on the last sharp curve in the road. He grazed the grass edges with an
occaisional foray up to the orchard for apricots. He sheltered in the culvert
under the road.
He must have had another hole.
Most wombats share several, sociable creatures, though I've known the odd
hermit. But in seven years of watching I never saw Council wombat anywhere near
another wombat entrance.
We first noticed him after
rain. Rain washes silt off the road, the silt clogs the culverts, the water
starts flowing over the road and in a few hours you've got a gully instead of a
track. If you want access you clear out the culverts.
This one didn't need it. The
work had been done. The silt was piled neatly at the far end of the culvert. As
we looked there was a final splatter of dirt; then a wombat's face at the other
end. He peered at our shovels in bewilderment. What did we need those for when
we had hands and feet?
We stood back. The wombat
sniffed, testing the weather. It was suitably cool and cloudy. He clambered out
and began munching. Tea break.
We left him to it.
That culvert never was dug out
by hand. Sometimes he'd finished when I got there; sometimes he was still
scuffling. Sometimes when you peered down the culvert there'd be a wombats bum,
round and cool in its perfectly symetrical hole below the road.
Council Wombat mainained other
culverts too. The next one up the road was checked regularly, the one below
sporadically. That was a longer tunnel. It was impossible to check if he was
down there, except by noting the wombat prints outside.I suspect that was his
winter quarters, warmer and better insulated than the ones above.
Council Wombat never had
Roadbat's sporting instincts with traffic. He ignored cars. He sniffed the
exhausts distainfully and turned his bum on them. He ignored people too. His
life was the grass verges, his road maintenance schedule, and other wombats
The drought came. I saw
Council Wombat more often. Night feeding wasn't enough as the grass grew dryer
and melted away. Whenever the sun went behind a cloud he'd be foraging. It was
a cloudy day when I found him, dead by the side of the road.
There's more traffic in the
daytime. More strangers, who assume they can speed up a deserted mountain
track who are looking ahead at car height, not wombat. This lot hadn't bothered
to drag him off the road. I pulled him over the edge, through the fish fern
thickets and down among the wattles. I cried because he was an aquaintance of
seven years, even though our friendship was never more than raising an eyebrow
at each other as we passed. Because his death had been anonymous on the side of
the road, another animal that got in the way.
Roadbat died of old age not
long ago. He'd stopped chasing cars in maturity, but like a retired rally
driver still had an approving eye for a nice turn of speed along the creek
flats. Dusty died of mange and heat postration in the drought, burrowing
desperately in the wet sand of the creek for coolness and relief. The council
maintains the culverts now. There's no regular wombat patrol by the front gate.
But if you examine the culvert entrances along the Major's Creek road you may
still find wombat prints, and if you peer inside you might dimly see a cool
and restful wombat bum.
Rose Petal Tarts
The Queen of Hearts she made
some tarts, all on a summer's day... and I bet they weren't those horrible hard
jammy things you buy in supermarkets either.
The most romantic tart I know
is rose petal tart. No, don't shriek...roses actually can taste delicious,
which is why rose water used to be an ingredient in so many lovely old
fashioned recipes, before artificial vanilla (may it disappear into the nether
regions of hell forever) became cheap and popular. (Never EVER put artificial
vanilla into any home made cakes or biccies. Your good home cooking will just
taste like something made six months ago and bought in a packet.)
Back to eating your roses. The
better the rose smells, the better it will taste. The texture of rose petals,
on the other hand, isn't exactly appetising.
Swallowing a rose petal is a
bit like swallowing a slug that's been on a crash diet, sort of tough and slimy
at the same time.
Rose petals tarts however keep
all the flavour, colour and perfume of gorgeous roses, but change the texture
into something delectable. A good rose petal tart is a bit like a custard tart
should be but rarely is, and it tastes like a rose garden smells. Well, to be
perfectly honest, no it doesn't- I've never found a rose that smells of baking
pastry- but maybe you can pretend it does.
First of all you need to go
pick some preferably deep red, highly perfumed roses.My favourites are Papa
Meilland, Climbing Guinea or Mr Lincoln, but there are lots of others. And
yes, at a pinch you can use yellow or pink or even white ones, but the tarts
will look sort of wishywashy instead of reddish pink.
The roses need to be out of
your garden or at least from a very good friend's garden, so you can be sure
they haven't been sprayed with fungicides or pesticides in the past six weeks.
Don't use florists roses, because who knows what they've been sprayed
with....well actually I have a very good idea what they've been sprayed with,
and beliee me you don't want to go eating it.
It is also a good idea to pick
out any bugs or bees or beetles as well as the odd caterpillar, because
although these may add an interesting crunch to the tarts, not to mention
extra protein, they definately spoil the flavour.
Now cut off the little white
bitter bit at the base of each rose petal.
You are now ready to make your
rose petal tarts.
Ingredients
3-4 sheets sweet shortcrust pastry (the exact amount will depend on how deep
your muffin tray is)
1 cup cream
1 tb rosewater (available at all good supermarkets)
2 eggs (preferably free range Australorpe eggs, but that's just because I love
Australorpes)
3 dessertspoons castor sugar
juice of 1 lime or lemon
Equipment: 1 non stick muffin tray, blender, mixing bowl, eggbeater or whisk,
oven
Line the muffin molds with
pastry. If it's not a non stick tray you'll need to coat it with butter or
margerine and then dust on flour.
Bung the rose petals into the
blender with the cream, sugar and rosewater. Blend till the petals are just a
distant memory. Add the lemon/lime juice and eggs; pour into the bowl and whip
with the beater for about two minutes till frothy.
Pour the mixture into the
muffin molds. The mixture should come about two thirds of the way up each
container.
Bake at 200C for about twenty
minutes, or untill the pastry is pale brown and the filling set. (The time will
vary depending on the size of each muffin container.)
Remove and eat either hot or
cold, by themselves or with extra cream.
And if you're the sort that
sprinkles your beloved's bed with rose petals (and if you do I hope you're the
one that washes the sheets too- squashed rose petals make a heck of a mess, and
dried ones are even worse..they get stuck in the most embarrassing places), you
couldn't find anything better for a romantic supper than rose petal
tarts...except possibly two dozen Clyde River oysters and profiteroles with
rich runny chocolate sauce and whipped cream, but then that's another story
entirely.
And if the Knave of Hearts
ever comes sniffing through your kitchen, at least he'll find something worth
pinching!