I’m not the world’s best cook. It’s safe to say that there won’t be any cook books coming out of this little chicken any time soon. And I live with a family of food connoisseurs.
The Farmer is fairly accommodating. He is fairly happy to see any food cooked for him, and will (mostly) eat anything I serve up and be grateful for it. Except for my ‘special nachos’; he can’t stomach them at all. This is only a shame because it is also the children’s favourite meal. It’s loaded with salad and guacamole and meat, and The Farmer said he has just eaten it too many times to stomach it any more.
Mr 6 doesn’t like my roasts. Or any roasts. I’ve explained to him that this is a farmer staple, but he still won’t come to the party. He’s a sausage man from way back.
Miss 8 is fairly accommodating of my cooking. She isn’t a fan of chicken, but will eat almost everything else. Yesterday we were out walking and she explained to me that she suffers from guilt when eating fruit. She loves fruit, so this surprised me. I asked what she meant and she explained that she imagines that the bigger {mandarins} are the parents and the smaller ones are the children. She said she feels like she is killing them when she eats them. I asked if she felt the same way when eating meat (which really does have to die in order to be eaten), and she said that eating meat doesn’t bother her at all. She’s a funny child.
Miss 10 is my fruit bat. She will eat whatever is put in front of her. Unless it is McDonalds or any other fast food outlet food. And I know I should celebrate that, but on the long drive to the city, the convenience of those food outlets is incredible.
I always prefer cooking to eating. Once I’ve spent time preparing something (and usually sampling as I go), it rarely holds any interest for me when it comes to eating. I am always so excited to eat food that has been prepared for me by someone else.
For now I will stick to my day job. I am better at teaching and mothering than I am at cooking. We all eat well, but I’m not setting out to win any medals. There’s plenty of time for improvement.
A city girl's take on life in the bush. I call it as I see it, and I don't always let the truth stand in the way of a good story.
Showing posts with label meat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meat. Show all posts
Friday, June 12, 2015
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
The Thing About Meat
Before I met CP, I had learned to survive on a staple diet of stir fry, Mexican food, Asian cuisine and Italian dinners. As a university student, mince and chicken met my food budget. And as a first year teacher, friends and flat mates inspired my stir fry craze. Back then, I couldn't tell whether or not I was eating beef or lamb, and steak was something you could eat at the Breakfast Creek Hotel for half my weekly earnings.
On the first few outings with CP there were no opportunities to actually eat. It was usually a night out at the Pub with friends, which involved more alcohol consumption than food intake. On the rare occassion I did see CP eating, it was probably a steak burger or something similar.
Early in our relationship, I visited the farm. It was an opportunity to meet his parents, and take a small tour of the most important place in CPs life. It was a lovely afternoon.
His mother took the time to ask me if I could cook and clean. Luckily I can. But I didn't have the heart to tell her that if CP had two arms and two legs and a beating heart, so could he.
When he came to visit me on weekends, I usually prepared a healthy stir fry. Lots of chicken, loads of veges, and a nice flavoursome sauce. I was cetain that my meals would be enough to impress him. He ate every last bite. Even though he probably enjoyed those meals, he probably snuck out for a roast of the day when I was sleeping.
Over the next few months, dinner with his parents usually consisted of a roast, with potato and veges, or cold meat and salad, or chops, steak or even stew. I should have seen the signs far sooner than I did.
For even though CP ate my chicken, all the poor boy really wanted was beef and lamb.
The simple truth about all the farmers I know, is that meat, three veg and potato is all you need impress them.
Ten years after meeting CP, the large majority of our meals revolve around red meat, salad or veges and some sort of potato dish. And CP couldn't be happier. On the nights I serve up a stir fry or a quiche or something similar, I am met with either 'This looks delicious! What's for the main course?' or 'What meat will we be eating with this?' A meal is incomplete until red meat is served alongside the other ingredients. I have developed my cooking skills as a farmer's wife, much to the credit of CWA cook books and The Country Table.
And don't get me started on seafood! Living 650km from the sea, I am always slightly dubious about using seafood as an ingredient in my cooking. CP is even more dubious. I love a good prawn on the Bar-B as much as the next person, but it's become something of an extravagence these days.
Thankfully (according to the Blood Group Diet - of which I am not really familiar with at all) being an O+ means that I can pretty much eat all the meat I like, as often as I like. And thankfully being married to a sheep and cattle farmer means we have the luxury of not having to pay for red meat. Our grocery bill is scary enough without even having to add meat to the equation.
On the down side, there is such a thing as 'too much of a good thing'. On more than one occassion CP and I have had a discussion something like this:
Me: "What do you want for dinner?"
CP: "I don't know. What do you think?"
Me: "We don't have any meat left."
CP: "There is lots of meat! I saw it myself yesterday."
Me: "Only roast lamb. And I can't be bothered cooking and eating roast lamb again. I'm sick of it."
The craziness of this isn't lost on me!
Meat is THE staple food of a farmer. CP likes his food simple. He talks about how if more people ate meat, the world would be a better place. But maybe not in those words. And this addiction to meat is clearly genetic, because my kids are all meat addicts. If we go to a BBQ, they will choose steak before sausages. And me? I still like my 'chook food' (as CP calls it). But I can definitely handle a good lamb chop every now and then too.
If you ever find yourself in a position of having to feed a farmer, keep it simple. A well cooked (as opposed to well done) steak is definitely the way to a farmer's heart. Just ask Sam Kekovich.
PS: Please click on the circular "Circle of Moms" badge at the top of this page to vote for me - competition closes tomorrow!!!
On the first few outings with CP there were no opportunities to actually eat. It was usually a night out at the Pub with friends, which involved more alcohol consumption than food intake. On the rare occassion I did see CP eating, it was probably a steak burger or something similar.
Early in our relationship, I visited the farm. It was an opportunity to meet his parents, and take a small tour of the most important place in CPs life. It was a lovely afternoon.
His mother took the time to ask me if I could cook and clean. Luckily I can. But I didn't have the heart to tell her that if CP had two arms and two legs and a beating heart, so could he.
When he came to visit me on weekends, I usually prepared a healthy stir fry. Lots of chicken, loads of veges, and a nice flavoursome sauce. I was cetain that my meals would be enough to impress him. He ate every last bite. Even though he probably enjoyed those meals, he probably snuck out for a roast of the day when I was sleeping.
Over the next few months, dinner with his parents usually consisted of a roast, with potato and veges, or cold meat and salad, or chops, steak or even stew. I should have seen the signs far sooner than I did.
For even though CP ate my chicken, all the poor boy really wanted was beef and lamb.
The simple truth about all the farmers I know, is that meat, three veg and potato is all you need impress them.
Ten years after meeting CP, the large majority of our meals revolve around red meat, salad or veges and some sort of potato dish. And CP couldn't be happier. On the nights I serve up a stir fry or a quiche or something similar, I am met with either 'This looks delicious! What's for the main course?' or 'What meat will we be eating with this?' A meal is incomplete until red meat is served alongside the other ingredients. I have developed my cooking skills as a farmer's wife, much to the credit of CWA cook books and The Country Table.
And don't get me started on seafood! Living 650km from the sea, I am always slightly dubious about using seafood as an ingredient in my cooking. CP is even more dubious. I love a good prawn on the Bar-B as much as the next person, but it's become something of an extravagence these days.
Thankfully (according to the Blood Group Diet - of which I am not really familiar with at all) being an O+ means that I can pretty much eat all the meat I like, as often as I like. And thankfully being married to a sheep and cattle farmer means we have the luxury of not having to pay for red meat. Our grocery bill is scary enough without even having to add meat to the equation.
On the down side, there is such a thing as 'too much of a good thing'. On more than one occassion CP and I have had a discussion something like this:
Me: "What do you want for dinner?"
CP: "I don't know. What do you think?"
Me: "We don't have any meat left."
CP: "There is lots of meat! I saw it myself yesterday."
Me: "Only roast lamb. And I can't be bothered cooking and eating roast lamb again. I'm sick of it."
The craziness of this isn't lost on me!
 |
| I'm doing my best to decrease carbon emissions at our place, one animal at a time... |
Meat is THE staple food of a farmer. CP likes his food simple. He talks about how if more people ate meat, the world would be a better place. But maybe not in those words. And this addiction to meat is clearly genetic, because my kids are all meat addicts. If we go to a BBQ, they will choose steak before sausages. And me? I still like my 'chook food' (as CP calls it). But I can definitely handle a good lamb chop every now and then too.
If you ever find yourself in a position of having to feed a farmer, keep it simple. A well cooked (as opposed to well done) steak is definitely the way to a farmer's heart. Just ask Sam Kekovich.
PS: Please click on the circular "Circle of Moms" badge at the top of this page to vote for me - competition closes tomorrow!!!
Friday, May 13, 2011
Some Things I Know...
Because I can, I want to share some interesting conversations I had this week, which kind of sum up parts of my life very nicely. The first is a story about my present situation. How incredibly lucky and privileged I am when it comes to things I take for granted... like not having to buy meat. The second story is about my earlier life. The happy little bubble I lived in before I learned that life existed outside of Brisbane. Hope you enjoy!
Yesterday I had to walk into a butcher and BUY meat. This is significant because my husband is a sheep and cattle farmer. Buying meat is not something we really ever do. It's kind of a given that it will always be in my freezer. So when I organised a barbeque and realised we wouldn't have enough meat for everyone, I made an executive decision to just go and buy some. Here's what happened.
Butcher: Hello Mam. Can I help you?
Me: Ummm... yeah you could lower the price of lamb and beef by about $10 a kilo for a starters... (I should add that I was smiling, so he knew I was trying to be funny.)
Butcher: Yeah... you must be a farmer's wife?
Me: That obvious? I'm actually trying not to pass out or vomit at the moment. Are you kidding me? Is this how much meat seriously costs? Actually, we run sheep and cattle, so I don't do this very often... this is really hurting me!
Butcher: (laughing)
Me: Okay then... I'll take some of your overpriced porterhouse steak, and some of those lamb chops that surely must be laced with diamonds...
Okay, so maybe the conversation didn't go EXACTLY like that... but that was definitely the tone of it. And now that the meat is at home, I'm not sure if I want to eat it, or frame it?
It's kind of been a week for sharing completely irrelevant stories like this about my life. Earlier this week at work I had a discussion with a colleague about how on earth I ended up out here. The gist of it is as follows.
About eleven years ago, I received a phonecall from District Office (for non-teacher people, this is the group of people who hire teachers and put them into specific jobs). The conversation went something like this...
D.O: Hi, we'd like to offer you a teaching position in St George.
Me: Uhhhh... how can you offer me a job in Sydney, if I trained in QLD?
D.O: I think you might be mistaken. I mean St George, western QLD. Ever heard of it?
Me: No.
D.O: What about Roma?
Me: Uh-uh. No.
D.O: Toowoomba?
Me: I've heard of it before, I think.
In retrospect (and this will only really make sense to anyone who either knows ANY of these towns and their locations well enough to see any humour in that conversation at all, or who just checked an atlas to see what just happened) the poor lady on the phone at District Office probably rolled her eyes 175 times over the duration of a 5 minute phone call. Toowoomba (for those not in the know) is an hour drive from Brisbane. Having lived out here for over 10 years now, I find that when I am driving to Brisbane, and reach Toowoomba, I already feel like I am 'there'. So it is pretty funny to think that once upon a time, I considered Toowoomba to be the 'sticks'.
Everything changes when you live out here. Your perception of distance. Your understanding of just how small Australia is. The actual amount of money you are prepared to spend on red meat. Whatever it is, I have had my mind opened. I appreciate the vast difference between city and country. I can even laugh about it.
These are just some things I know.
Yesterday I had to walk into a butcher and BUY meat. This is significant because my husband is a sheep and cattle farmer. Buying meat is not something we really ever do. It's kind of a given that it will always be in my freezer. So when I organised a barbeque and realised we wouldn't have enough meat for everyone, I made an executive decision to just go and buy some. Here's what happened.
Butcher: Hello Mam. Can I help you?
Me: Ummm... yeah you could lower the price of lamb and beef by about $10 a kilo for a starters... (I should add that I was smiling, so he knew I was trying to be funny.)
Butcher: Yeah... you must be a farmer's wife?
Me: That obvious? I'm actually trying not to pass out or vomit at the moment. Are you kidding me? Is this how much meat seriously costs? Actually, we run sheep and cattle, so I don't do this very often... this is really hurting me!
Butcher: (laughing)
Me: Okay then... I'll take some of your overpriced porterhouse steak, and some of those lamb chops that surely must be laced with diamonds...
Okay, so maybe the conversation didn't go EXACTLY like that... but that was definitely the tone of it. And now that the meat is at home, I'm not sure if I want to eat it, or frame it?
It's kind of been a week for sharing completely irrelevant stories like this about my life. Earlier this week at work I had a discussion with a colleague about how on earth I ended up out here. The gist of it is as follows.
About eleven years ago, I received a phonecall from District Office (for non-teacher people, this is the group of people who hire teachers and put them into specific jobs). The conversation went something like this...
D.O: Hi, we'd like to offer you a teaching position in St George.
Me: Uhhhh... how can you offer me a job in Sydney, if I trained in QLD?
D.O: I think you might be mistaken. I mean St George, western QLD. Ever heard of it?
Me: No.
D.O: What about Roma?
Me: Uh-uh. No.
D.O: Toowoomba?
Me: I've heard of it before, I think.
In retrospect (and this will only really make sense to anyone who either knows ANY of these towns and their locations well enough to see any humour in that conversation at all, or who just checked an atlas to see what just happened) the poor lady on the phone at District Office probably rolled her eyes 175 times over the duration of a 5 minute phone call. Toowoomba (for those not in the know) is an hour drive from Brisbane. Having lived out here for over 10 years now, I find that when I am driving to Brisbane, and reach Toowoomba, I already feel like I am 'there'. So it is pretty funny to think that once upon a time, I considered Toowoomba to be the 'sticks'.
Everything changes when you live out here. Your perception of distance. Your understanding of just how small Australia is. The actual amount of money you are prepared to spend on red meat. Whatever it is, I have had my mind opened. I appreciate the vast difference between city and country. I can even laugh about it.
These are just some things I know.
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