Leaving a lover

Leaving Italy is like leaving a lover.  For a long time after, you think about how things might have been, wishing you were together.  You long for the sight of him, for his touch and the sound of his laughter.  Simple things remind you of him, bringing a smile, and then perhaps a frown.  Uprooted, supplanted, for the longest time you think about the way he would have done things.  You have no interest in anyone else.
You have to stop yourself reminiscing for fear of boring people.  You hear people telling you, "Sue, it's time to move on," but you can't help wishing it didn't have to be so.  No one else seems to understand what you need like he did.  You feel only half-alive without the joy he once brought to your soul.
With luck, with time, he will become a happy memory.

Bugnara castle and village in the Valle Peligna

Brisbane in the springtime

Barely a moment to blog these days - I've been buzzing across the Tasman Sea for work.  I'd like to see more of Sydney, meanwhile I enjoyed a few days in Brisbane with Owen and Elaine.

Owen & Elaine putting on a brave face despite the wind against the Brisbane skyline

Story Bridge at night, Brisbane

One of BrisVegas's prettiest buildings is a casino...

Early morning in Sydney

Having been away so much, I got a nice surprise coming back to the garden.  Everything is sprouting and shooting upward.  I can't help being excited about all the growth.

Chooks & books

Ross at Tawharanui

My birthday was almost two weeks ago now and I still haven't shared the lovely time we had in Tawharanui -  a peninsula not far from Ross' parents.  Actually it wasn't lovely.  My birthday is preceded by two of Ross' brothers' birthdays, and I'm the kind of girl who doesn't like to share the limelight on her birthday.  Bad planning on somebody's part...  Apart from that it was rather nice.  Tawharanui (ta-fa-ra-nooey) is a native bush and marine regional park (you can see it at the top right of the map to the left).  It has big spiral fences keeping mammals out, and posters explaining why even cunning cats can't get past 'em.  It has electric gates that make you feel like you're entering Jurassic Park.  It has lovely beaches where the most cunning mammal of all goes surfing.

But the best part of my weekend was getting back to the veggie garden, which is starting to sprout.  I had some beetroot seedlings to "companion plant" beside my onions - which are showing a few green spikes above the clay-ey soil.  I planted out some strawberry plants (10 for $10 - bargain!) and am waiting to see which tastes better out of "Elsanta" and "Camarosa".  Camarosa is what I've put in the hanging baskets in Auckland, so here's hoping they're good.  I put them in my raised bed, which despite the name has sunk considerably, so I topped up part of it with bought compost.  None of the compost bins Hugh put in at the start of winter are finished yet.  I'm going to get him some compost activator to speed things up.  When buying the strawberries and compost, I also spotted some raspberry plants in the clearance area, which pleased me no end.  I have planted them against the fence in Auckland, and I'm hoping they hold their own against the palms and kiwi vine on the other side.

Enterprising chook

Also delightful are the chickens ("chooks"!? as they call them here) now installed at Ross' parents.  Very tame and friendly, and I can't wait to try the eggs.  The two ewes and two lambs are slightly less exciting, but do keep the grass under control in the olive grove.  Only one of them - a little black-faced lamb - has a bit of personality about him and has won the hearts of the carnivores around me.  I hear he'll probably live to a ripe old age...
But the moment of my birthday which will be hardest to forget, mainly because I haven't recovered yet, was a quintessentially kiwi experience.  I'd heard quite a lot about the annoyance of sandflies.  Foolishly, I assumed (a) that they couldn't be as bad as the evil mosquitoes who'd already sucked me dry, and (b) that I could avoid them by avoiding sand.  Of course, Ross had already set my boundaries for complaining by opining, once again, that people who suffer only have themselves to blame because they don't itch unless you scratch them.  Why anyone would scratch something that didn't itch I'm not sure.  Anyways, I didn't.  Yet I got the full-on rash and swelling experience.  In no time at all, they'd got me five times on the arms and three on one leg (which might seem slack on their parts, but give them credit, I was wearing trousers).  I now own repellent, anti-histamines, hydrocortisone cream...
In the absence of nephews, cats or other achievements, I share with you my pride and joy - my seedlings:

I'm off to Oz twice this month.  To Brisneyland (where I plan to visit cousin Owen) and then back to Melbourne at the end of the month.  I'll see the place in a whole new light now that I've read "The True History of the Kelly Gang" (a much-vaunted biography of Ned Kelly).  To be honest, I didn't get as much out of this book immediately as an Australian probably does.  I think it'll stick with me though, and bits will take on meaning as I learn more about the place.  Gradually I'll instill in myself an interest in this antipodean culture.  But just now I miss Italy.

Tawharanui estuary

Fantastic Whangarei

A weekend in Whangarei with the girls was my first excursion into Northland - the uppermost region of New Zealand.  At 2-3 hours from Auckland, it's a nice spot to relax for the weekend, and relax we did.  There were country walks, shopping, cafes, arty films, bubbly in the jacuzzi... all in all a great girly weekend.  

Best of many laughs which filled the weekend was had at my expense.  It turns out that even moving somewhere like New Zealand can lead to linguistic bloomers (I should be used to it after getting mixed up between tetti (roofs) and tette (tits) in Italy!).  In Maori language, wh is usually pronounced f.  So fantastic Whangarei is alliterative.  One of the most interesting monuments of Whangarei is a stone waka (canoe) and wave.  Instead I called it a whaka.  Try saying it out loud.  The laughter was heard as far as Auckland.

Here are the snaps.

View from the deck

Boathouses

Stone waka figurehead

Wildflowers

Identigulls

Deck

Scary-looking shag: "Behind you!!"

Peekaboo

A (not so) well-earned rest

Big smiles!

Big wave!

More smiles!

Whangarei is a little bit twee

Fern

Sub-tropical canopy

Mangrove... where's the ladygrove?

Wearable art

Spring light on camelia

Pretty lilies

That well-known garden predator - the tree fish

Being a good cook is...

Fish are cunning, be prepared.  Kiwiana.

Being a cook is not about using the trendiest, costliest ingredients and mixing east and west in ever more surprising cocktails.  It's not about perfection, or panache, or even a certain je ne sais quoi.  That might be what being a chef is about, but how would I know - I am a cook.
Being a cook is about taking what your budget, your friends or mother nature sees fit to grant you and making it into a yummy dish just in time for the ravenous hoardes to work up an appetite.  And then taking the same ingredients and making them into something different but equally yummy on day two and day three.  It's about taking advantage of a glut today and preparing for tomorrow.  It's about whipping something delicious up for three guests and then keeping a smile on your face and a clue in your head when six guests arrive. 

Beetroot in my veggie garden

It's knowing when simple and tasty is better than ambitious and risky.  It's getting the most out of other people's recipes without being chained to them.  It's about enthusiasm and pragmatism.  It's knowing why sharing food is a joy and a vital part of being a family, or being a community.

Spring is in the air

This week the trees started flowering and there was that smell of cut grass and the coming of summer as I walked to work.  I can't wait for spring - it's been 18 months since I've had my favourite season.


My winter veggie garden is just about finishing off now.  The broccoli, broccoletti, and cauliflower have all been eaten.  The spring onions and carrots are still going strong, as is the silverbeet.  The kale and leeks haven't really reached edible size, so I guess we'll leave them.  We had our first, delicious beetroots this week.  I boiled them with skins (to keep colour and flavour in) then peeled and roasted the segments for a little while.  They were yum in a goats cheese salad.
We're planning a much bigger patch for the many summer veggies, and I think we'll use my little raised bed for herbs or a seed bed.
Meanwhile, the veggies aren't the only thing that's growing.  Our littlest nephew is quite the charmer!

New house pics! and grapefruit marmalade recipe

It's been a while because (a) I've been rather busy moving house and (b) the new house didn't have internet immediately.  But here, finally, are pics of the new house.  We're enjoying having our own space and I'm really enjoying walking to work.  We're now looking for the right flatmates (why is it that everyone on the flatshare websites seems like a complete weirdo/tart/scrounger?) and after that we'll be a little more financially comfortable - since the house is quite large.

The best bit about the new place is that it's got a great kitchen, with a gas stove no less!  I'm in culinary heaven.  I've already baked cookies and made yummy grapefruit marmalade with all the grapefruit which are ripening at Sandspit.  I had a challenge finding a single clear recipe online, so I'm sharing mine with you.

In a nutshell it's (1) slice fruit, (2) 10 min simmer, (3) wait a day, (4) hard boil with sugar, (5) jar.

Ingredients:
6 grapefruit (mine weren't overly large)
2 lemons (but this recipe works for any citrus combination)
about a kilo of sugar - depends on your fruit
a square of muslin, or failing that, a thin sock or nylon knee high - not one that's been worn!

Day 1:
Put a saucer in the freezer. 
Scrub the fruit thoroughly with soap and rince.  Without peeling, cut the fruit into segments then thinly slide the segments.  Put the slices and juice in a very solid, heavy-based, large saucepan.  Try not to lose any juice (slide them on a plate to hold it). 
Chuck out the pips (make sure you get them all) and keep any seriously pithy or rind-only bits separate and put them in the muslin/sock.  The pith yields all the pectin to make the marmalade set and gives marmalade it's typical bitter taste.  Now tie up the muslin ball and dangle it into the fruit in the saucepan.  Tie it onto the handle of the pan so it hangs there, preferably not in contact with the base of the pan.
Bring the saucepan to a simmer and let it cook for 10 mins, then leave it to cool and wait a day. 

Day 2:
Squeeze out the muslin ball.  Don't open it, just squeeze as much whitish goo out as possible - this makes your marmalade set.
Measure the volume you have in the pan, and add the same volume of sugar (or a little less if your citrus is quite sweet) and enough water so your mixture is runny (I used about 500 ml).  Bring to a rolling boil (this is why you need a big pan!) and continue boiling as hard as you can for about 10-20 mins. 
You can test if your marmalade (which will still be quite liquid in the pan) is ready in two ways:
1) temperature.  It should be 218-220 F.
2) the saucer test.  Bring out your frozen saucer and drop a droplet of marmalade on it.  The droplet should quickly form a skin and be quite gelled in consistency.

Put in sterilised jars (i.e. jars you've boiled) while still hot.  If you don't have a jam funnel, a measuring jug is quite good for this.  Depending on the kind of jars you have, there are various ways of preserving the marmalade - read the instructions.

Then sit back and enjoy on toast, with peaches in a sponge, in bread and butter pudding.... :)