FISH AND CHIPS, FRIDAY AND THE LAGUNA BELLE ON MY MIND!

The little fish and chip shop that sat halfway along the jetty leading to “The Laguna Belle” was just that – little.  It was an adjunct to the restaurant; its role was a minor one in the whole scheme of the operation.  Our main focus was on the restaurant; making it a profitable business once again after the owner had allowed it to run into the ground…or, perhaps more appropriately, the river.

At the time of our taking over the business, the owner’s daughter, a young woman in her late twenties to early thirties, had been managing the restaurant.  I use the word “managing” very loosely. She, along with her father, was another reason for the business failing and falling into the red. The daughter mixed with the “wrong” people.  She was known to the police. Amongst other misdemeanors we were led to believe she was a user of hard drugs. 

With a certain amount of goodwill, misguided as it turned out, we kept the daughter on as a member of our staff with the proviso that she stay away from the operation of the restaurant completely. Her job, alone, was to run the fish and chip shop; the restaurant was out of bounds to her; but before too long we realised the arrangement, no matter how well intended, wouldn’t work out.

Her operating times were erratic, and when she did appear her public relations’ skills were somewhat lacking.  It didn’t take long for some her cahoots, her partners-in-crime to come sniffing around.  They lurked about on the jetty; at the front of the shop; and then, when they began creeping nearer to the gang plank leading onto “The Laguna Belle”, that was the last straw.  We fired the daughter on the spot, telling her to never return; and to take her hangers-on with her. 

Our timing was perfect! 

We sacked her late on a Friday afternoon.  The sun had already begun its rapid run for the western horizon.  Friday, as you know, was, and probably still is in some areas, notoriously the most popular day for a feed of fish and chips; whether you’re a Catholic or not! 

I grabbed a surprised; and then questioning Jill, our kitchen-hand, out of the restaurant’s galley and headed for the shop, explaining the dire situation to her as we ran. 

Potential customers were already leisurely strolling along the river bank at Noosaville, enjoying the late afternoon ambience; their noses twitched like those of eager rabbits.  Thoughts of fish and chips for dinner played mischievously in their minds.  The rumbling I heard in the distance wasn’t thunder, it was their empty, hungry stomachs! Every so often, their eyes were drawn uncontrollably towards the tiny timber store attached to the side of the jetty. It was built over the water; buffered by rubber tyres to protect both the building and the jetty.

Inside the shop, bedlam was already in full swing.  Deep-fryers were switched on. Batter had to be made; crumbing ingredients prepared. A quick scan of the stock of fish fillets needed to fill the soon-to-be placed orders from an already surging crowd was conducted; as was a breathless count of the bags of potato chips (French fries) on hand.  Salt, pepper, grease-proof paper and butcher’s paper were laid out at the ready on the bench beside the deep-fryers for the wrapping of the cooked products. Lemons were sliced; a search began for the vinegar bottle.  Tantalising crumbed prawn cutlets and crumbed calamari rings were certainly off the menu! A queue of starving people had already formed when I realised that we may have been a floating fish and chips shop, but we had no float!  At my request, Jill high-tailed it back to the restaurant to rectify that problem, grabbing the shop’s money bag.

And that was just the start of my hilarious introduction to operating a fish and chips’ shop!  Coincidentally, Jill had never worked in a fish and chips shop before, either; and after the couple of hours that ensued that afternoon, she never again repeated the exercise!

The general public, bless their little hearts, really have no idea what goes on behind the scenes in the operation of fulfilling their needs – and their stomachs. 

Unfortunately, in this particular case; on that Friday, everything was going on in front of them! We had no where to hide. Jill and I were centre stage; the star performers!

I’d never before in my life cooked fish and chips on a grand scale; not with a thousand hungry eyes pouring into my back; and a thousand eager hands outstretched waiting, pleading for their food!  Talk about pandemonium - we had it down pat!

That Friday, Jill and I were confronted with a thousand impatient Oliver Twists!  And we had to pretend we were professionals; that we were efficient, proficient, purveyors of the task at hand.  We had to feign experience and skill! 

We were within a hair’s breadth of coming undone when I cooked one of my first baskets/batches of hot potato chips!  I was so proud of myself…and the chips.  They were golden.

After allowing the chips to drain for a few minutes, I flipped the basket over to deposit the crisp, golden beauties onto the waiting paper.  Nothing happened.  I tried again – still nothing!  Jill got the giggles, which didn’t help at all; because I was in a similar state!

I mumbled at her under my breath to stand really close to me so the waiting customers couldn’t see what was going on.  We needed to block the mayhem from their keen eyes!  The performance Jill and I were putting on was far better than any reality television show!

Refusing defeat, forcefully I banged the basket once more on the bench. To my relief and delight, the chips were released from their prison; in one large, rectangular solid block!  Jill looked at me; her eyes were like to spinning saucers!  I felt the size of my own eyes matched hers!  Both of us could have lit up the whole Sunshine Coast!

By that stage we were hysterical, but still desperately trying to hide our hysterics from the people standing at the counter, waiting.  The crowd had grown in number.  I wasn’t sure if it was from hunger, or from the free entertainment Jill and I were providing!

I tried a karate chop on the chips in an attempt to separate them; but they weren’t going to break up no matter what I did!  Giving up, I wrapped them up as is, and handed the waiting customer a parcel of potato chips that looked like a shoe box wrapped in butcher’s paper!

I’ve often wondered what that poor person thought when they got home and opened up their surprise package!

And then came a break in the crowd!

In a state of panic and every other emotion possible, I bellowed at Jill, who by that stage was almost rolling on the floor in helplessness, to pull down the front shutters to the shop; that we were out of there!  There was not time to waste.  We had to grab the money out of the till and run before a next group of starving people descended on us; we had to get back to the restaurant. It was due to open in about one minute!  Diners had already started to walk down the jetty. 

What innocents they were…they had not a clue what had transpired the previous hour or so.  I doubted that Jill or I did, either!

Out of breath, we leapt on board “The Laguna Belle”.  More quickly than Clark Kent changes into Superman; or Bruce Wayne into Batman, Jill and I changed into restaurant-mode.  She raced into the kitchen to join Phil; and, with a welcoming smile as if all was peaceful, uneventful and harmonious in the world, I greeted the arriving guests.

At the end of each night after the final guests departed; after we’d cleaned up the kitchen and re-set the restaurant for the following day, Randall, the staff and me would gather around the bar for a few of drinks; the first drinks were always “on the house” – staff drinks were part of our deal with our crew. There were times, after a particularly exceptional service that a couple of free staff drinks were part of the play.  It was always a good “bonding” time, and one that was never taken advantage of.  We’d talk through the day and night’s events before branching off onto general conversation.  We all got on well together.

That Friday night’s end when Jill and I arrived at the bar we both collapsed in laughter as we recalled our introduction to operating a fish and chips shop.

Panko Prawn Cutlets: Grab, nab, net, haul or buy a few large green (raw) prawns. Heat some vegetable oil in large pot over high heat. Peel prawns leaving tails intact.  Coat prawns in flour; shaking off excess; dip into beaten egg; and then roll in Panko breadcrumbs. Place gently into the hot oil for about 2 minutes; remove with slotted spoon; drain on paper towels.  Have some tartar sauce or a sweet chilli sauce (whatever or whichever takes your fancy) and lemon wedges at the ready!  Don't dilly-dally! Dig in! 

Crumbed Calamari Rings: Slice 4 calamari tubes into rings. In a plastic bag, combine 2/3 cup stale breadcrumbs with salt, pepper and garlic powder.  Beat 1 egg; add ¼ cup milk; mix well in small dish.  Dip calamari rings individually into egg wash; then into the bag with the crumbs; shake well; repeat until all rings are coated. Deep fry in hot oil (160C) until golden; about 3-4 minutes; don’t over-cook the calamari. Serve similar to the crumbed prawns.

 

STILL CRUISING DOWN THE RIVER….OR TIED UP TO THE JETTY! THE LAUNCHING OF “THE LAGUNA BELLE”

A newspaper clipping from "The Noosa News" about Randall and me taking over management of "The Laguna Belle".

"The Laguna Belle" at sunset. And another newspaper cutting. (I apologise for the quality)

Sunshine Beach

Duke Street circa 2013...about where Dougie's fruit shop used to be back in the Eighties...the good old days!

Another view of Duke Street, Sunshine Beach - circa 2013

Circa 2013...what is now named "Jeffery Cuddihy & Joyce - known as "Tozer & Jeffery" when I worked there from the early to mid-Sixties.

  Sir Horace Tozer (23 April 1844 - 20 August 1916) was an Australian lawyer and politician. Tozer was son of H. T. N.Tozer. He was born at Port Macquarie, April 1844. He was admitted to practise as a solicitor at Brisbane in 1866. He settled at Gympie; established a successful practice and was alderman in the town's first council; elected in 1880. In 1888 he was elected to the Legislative Assembly where he was Colonial Secretary in the second Griffith ministry from August 1890 to March 1893. He held the same position in the McIlwraith-Nelson ministry until October 1893; and was home secretary in the Nelson ministry until March 1898.

 Further to my “Cruising Down the River on a Sunday Afternoon! Well, That Was the Plan!” post that I wrote in early July, I thought I’d continue drifting along the river of memories of my days and nights spent on Noosa’s floating/cruising restaurant. 

And what better way to start than at the beginning…

When Randall and I were approached to go in as managers of “The Laguna Belle”, the cruising restaurant, I was employed as a legal secretary at a local firm of solicitors/lawyers in Tewantin; “Bergman & Reeve”.  Their main office was in Hastings Street, Noosa.  I worked for Chris Reeve in the Tewantin branch office. 

Yes…that was his real name; but he didn’t wear blue tights with red underwear worn on the outside; and he didn’t sport a cape; nor was there a huge "S" emblazoned upon his chest.  He did, however, spend a lengthy amount of time each morning in the toilet, so, perhaps, anything was possible.  I never had the heart to check on his movements…if you know what I mean!

Years previously, four months before I turned 16 years of age, my first place of employment was with a law firm in Gympie.  I left high school to become a legal secretary.  When I applied for the position, I didn’t even know what a solicitor was!  In reality, I was an innocent, unworldly 15 year old child.  I knew solicitors had something to do with law; but that was about all I knew!

About six months after moving to the coast we bought our house in Sunshine Beach where we began our own real estate agency. Randall held a real estate license, having studied for it when we were still living in Brisbane, and he was working for a real estate company in Toowong; an inner city suburb.

We operated out of our home office that we’d set up on the lower level. Randall took care of the sales side of the business, and I, the office duties, along with rental properties.  I did manage to sell one house to George and Cindy Beasley who ran a popular menswear store in Hastings Street Noosa during those years.  The house I sold to them was my one and only sale; a sale about which I was very proud!  However, my heart (or, in reality, confidence) wasn’t in selling; in the sale of property, anyway.

In the early Eighties the economy had a huge hiccup, not only in Australia, but worldwide. Because of the economy’s nose-dive it became a time of transition for us, too; hence my finding outside employment.  We sold our house in Elanda Street, Sunshine Beach; and moved into a little cottage we’d bought a year or so earlier down around the corner a bit; in Duke Street, Sunshine Beach.  It was built on two blocks of designated commercial land; closer to the beach.  We’d virtually closed our real estate office.  Randall still took in listings and sold properties. He had portfolio of clients; both buyers and sellers.  Most of Randall’s time was spent convincing buyers that it wasn’t a good time to invest in property; to try to hold onto what they owned, and, if possible, to the money they had.  We might have been cutting our noses off to spite our faces, but we had to be able to look ourselves in the mirror; and sleep straight in bed at night.  We’d scaled down our small operation even further because of the state of the economy.

His honesty with the clients always impressed me, and I believed it to be very admirable on his part.

To reach the few local Sunshine Beach businesses, which, back in the early Eighties consisted of Dougie Robinson’s greengrocery store, a surf board shop, a small grocery shop with a restaurant and a French patisserie operating on the upper level; all of which were situated across the road from the foreshore, beach and ocean; we had to walk a grand distance of about 200 metres (218 yards), give or take, along a well-worn track that branched off from the side of our tiny weatherboard cottage; past a banksia tree that we’d christened “The Banksia Lounge”; I’ll explain the naming in more detail in a later post; through untamed grasses that grew out of the sandy slope leading down to the Duke Street shops.

So there I was back in the arms of the law, pounding the beat on a typewriter, when the restaurant offer was placed on the table; across our dining room table, in fact. 

As I wrote previously, we jumped at the offer. 

My initial intention was to continue working nine-to-five - Monday to Friday as  a legal secretary to Chris in the Tewantin office; and then, in the evenings assist Randall in the running of “The Laguna Belle”.   

 It didn’t take me very long to see the folly of my plan!

The pull of the restaurant was far too strong for me to withstand; the excitement of the hospitality industry too alluring for me to ignore.  Without further ado and time-wasting, I handed in my resignation to Chris, telling him I was sorry if I appeared to be letting him down, but my loyalties were with my husband; and I knew had to join him in the running of “The Laguna Belle”.

Living next door, a few yards across the way from us, not on the ocean side, in small cottage similar to our own was a married couple with a toddler.  Phil, the husband was the second chef at a very popular Noosa restaurant.   

“Barry’s Restaurant” was on the beachfront at Laguna Bay, Noosa Heads.  At the time it was the most popular restaurant in the area.  We used to love going to “Barry’s”; and did so often even when we were still living in Brisbane before relocating to the coast.  We’d head off after work on a Friday afternoon, with “Barry’s” our destination.  The memories of that restaurant still hold a special place in my heart; even though the restaurant no longer exists, and hasn’t done so for years. Sadly, Barry Ritter, the owner, passed away five or so years ago.

The stage was set; time rapidly drew closer for us to lower the “Belle’s” boarding plank; and raise the curtains; the day for us to take over the restaurant neared. 

Filled with excitement, my energies went into planning a new menu for “The Belle”.  Food orders had to be placed. The pantry and cold room needed replenishing. The bar needed re-stocking.  There was a lot to put into place before we were ready to open the restaurant’s door for our debut into a whole new world.

It was a grey Monday; intermittent, misty showers tried, unsuccessfully, to interrupt the flow of the day.  The floor our tiny cottage’s main room was covered in recipe books, cooking magazines, note pads, pens and coffee mugs, leaving little room to move about. Conveniently, it was Phil, our neighbour’s day off from his work.  Having heard about our future plans he was keen to join me on our magazine and book cluttered floor as I ploughed through recipes. 

All morning we bounced ideas back and forth between us.  Jokingly, Randall and I offered him a job. We light-heartedly suggested he leave “Barry’s”; to come work for us as our chef.  The operative word was “joking”; but to our amazement he said he’d think about it! 

At that point in time, our plans were for me to handle the cooking side of things until we could find ourselves a chef to take over that position.

Before week’s end, Phil decided he’d join us in our exciting new venture. Of course, Randall and I were over the moon. However, Barry Ritter wasn’t too thrilled at Phil's decision; neither was “Mumbles” the head chef at “Barry’s Restaurant”.  “Mumbles” had a great reputation around town; his food was beyond compare in those days.

As well as unexpectedly gaining an excellent chef, Phil introduced us to a friend of his whom he’d previously worked with, and whom he vouched was an extremely efficient kitchen hand.  He described Jill as being quick on her feet; and as being one who needed little direction; that she knew her way around commercial kitchens. He assured us when the pressure was on in the kitchen, Jill was a godsend.   

Taking him at his word, we hired Jill on the spot at our first meeting. She exuded a good nature, confidence, speed and restaurant/food knowledge.  She never disappointed. Jill was a pleasure to work with; she knew what she was doing, and what had to be done. When the pressure was on, so was she; when it was time to have some relaxing fun, she was an expert at that, too!  

More was yet to come...

Phil’s younger brother, Ken, whose daylight hours were spent surfing was in need of a job.  Ken’s sun-bleached hair and golden-tanned body were testament to the hours he spent under the sun catching waves.  Ken was hired for the “dish pit”.  In other words, he was to be our hands-on, manual dishwasher.  After a false start, he soon cottoned on to what needed to be done; and done fast! 

Ken, although a pleasant, good-mannered young lad had only one speed – slow; very slow, would be a better description.  He moved slower than a snail. When he spoke, which wasn’t often, not being one to instigate a conversation, he spoke slowly, too.  He was never in a hurry it seemed. I doubted there would be any emergency that would speed up his movements.  Life, to Ken, was meant to be unhurried and unharried.  That was about to change - we put a fire cracker up his butt! 

I didn’t care how slow he operated when not working, but once he set foot on “The Belle” he soon learned that life on board the restaurant moved at a more rapid rate of knots!

I've witnessed a few, uninitiated dishwashers during the years I spent in commercial restaurants. I shared in and saw their first time out in the real world of restaurant kitchens!  So many have, when they first started working in a kitchen, thought dish washing a breeze.  No amount of telling those "wet-behind-the-ears" to “keep ahead of the game”; not to let dishes, pots, pans and cutlery build up; to remain standing over the sinks; to keep washing, washing, washing worked.  They had to learn the hard way!

 

But, of course, these young blades know everything…until that first time when, before they know what has happened around them, they’re confronted with a pile of dirty plates, pots, pans and cutlery; a pile higher than Mount Everest - with no room to move! And, more dishes, pots and pans coming at them from all angles!

It only happens once; that first time.  Their lesson is learned…and it's a hard lesson!

Our staff members grew in numbers.  Next we hired Melinda, our local Sunshine Beach fruit and veggie man, Dougie’s niece to become our first waitress; and then, Sue joined our mad crew. Both were lovely young girls who shared shifts waiting on the tables.  Sometimes we needed only one girl on the job; other times, particularly the weekends, both lasses worked in harmony, serving our happy customers.

Halfway along the jetty that gave access to the “Laguna Belle” was a little fish and chip shop.  It, also, was under our jurisdiction as it was a part of the “Belle” business. It was up to us to operate the fish and chip outlet.

There is another whole story attached to that little shop attached to the jetty that “The Belle” was attached to when dockside! 

I’ll leave the tale of the fish and chip shop for another day…..

And, also,  my stories about "The Belle" don't stop here.....I have a few others to tell about "The Belle"....

(The photos above of Duke Street, Sunshine Beach depict a totally different landscape to when Randall and I lived in Sunshine Beach.  Our little cottage was just up around the corner from those businesses shown; at that time the property we owned consisted of the cottage built, straddling two commercial blocks of land...the last two commercial blocks of land in Sunshine Beach at that time...in the early to mid-Eighties.  Unfortunately, after we separated we were unable to hold on to the property.  Of course...a few years later, it went for a great deal of money; and a high-rise apartment block was built on the land; with a luxurious penthouse at the top...commanding magnificent ocean and beach views.

Oh! Well....that's life....one should never look back in regret.  We can't change the past and what has happened...but we can ensure our memories remain; and those memories are remembered fondly).

TIME MARCHES ON - AND I WONDER WHAT’S NEXT!

Lennons George Street, Brisbane 1965

Lennons George Street 1949

Chifley at Lennons circa 2012

When Lennons Hotel opened in 1884 fashionable ladies wearing bustles, trains and “Josephine Curls” brought glamour to the new hotel. Lennons stood proudly in George Street, Brisbane until 1972.  By 1972 fashions had changed. In vogue ladies of various ages wore chignons and mini-skirts. Hemlines had risen; some disapproving eyebrows were raised.  

Brisbane’s Lennons Hotel played host to many dignitaries over the decades. It was home to General Douglas MacArthur and his family during WW11.

On a frenetic Saturday night in October, 1966 we went all the way with LBJ; and Lennons went all out accommodating him and his entourage.  With clarity, I remember being pushed from pillar to post by the hysterical hordes in George Street waiting for the President’s arrival.  The crowd erupted wildly when his cavalcade came into view. LBJ’s massive frame stood tall through the sun roof of his limo.  I cheered loudly along with the best of them. The air was electric with excitement; it was impossible not to get caught up in the moment.

The Beatles had already caused mayhem at Lennons on 29^th June, 1964; but I wasn’t present for that life-affirming, earth-moving event. At the time of the mop heads’ visit, I was still living and working in Gympie.  For whatever reason that has now slipped my mind, I was unable to make the trip to the city to join in with the screaming throng of hair-pulling, tearful fans.  I imagine the main reason for my not being a part of the fray was the 29^th June, 1964 fell on a Monday.

Lennons closed for business; and moved from its iconic George Street address into its brand new, modern Queen Street building in 1972.  It was a newsworthy, exciting event in capital city of Queensland.  Locals and visitors to the city alike couldn’t wait to taste the delicious, modern fare on offer in Lennons’ “Hibiscus Room” Restaurant; a restaurant the like of which the city had not seen before.

During the 14 years I lived in Brisbane I was employed by The Kolotex Group of Companies, as I’ve mentioned previously.

Kolotex was not only a hosiery manufacturer, with it head office and factory in Leichhardt, Sydney, New South Wales; the company also produced other aspects of women’s fashion - i.e. dresses, hot pants, pant-suits; summer, winter and in between; everything the contemporary stylish ladies wore about town for play and for work.

Glo International, the maker of Glomesh handbags etc., (not dissimilar to the Oroton Group who, in the early Fifties, discovered the fashion potential in interwoven metallic mesh.  In Australia, Oroton was Glo International’s main competitor; and vice versa).

Some menswear items were thrown into the mix; more as an afterthought, or appeasement. Women were our prime targets. The late Sixties fashion scene, worldwide, was evolving; and, in some areas, Australia was a step ahead of the game. We didn’t mimic all overseas trends, many of which evolved in Britain. We beat the UK and the US in the manufacture of pantihose!

To clarify - when I first started working for Kolotex in July, 1965 there was only myself and my boss, the manager in the Queensland office.  Our office, reception area and a small back room that carried some hosiery stocks (at that time we had wholesalers, Gresham, Down and Johnson as our wholesalers who distributed our products throughout Queensland, Northern and some central parts of New South Wales) was situated on the first floor of Heindorf House in Queen Street, Brisbane.  In those first four or so years of my employ Kolotex manufacturered and supplied of hosiery products only; they then ventured further forth into ladies’ and men’s fashions; and in metal mesh handbags, powder compacts, cigarette cases, clutches et al.

By 1969 six James Bond movies held our imagination.

In 1969 we, in the Queensland office hosted a promotional evening at Lennons in George Street to launch Kolotex’s new product, “Top Secret”.  Our new release was vibrantly colourful, befitting the fashion predictions for the winter ahead. "Top Secret" was very "Carnaby Street"....very "Mod"!

Four of Brisbane’s popular, beautiful models of the time were hired to showcase our new line.  Decked out in dark glasses, trench coats and turtle-neck skivvies, they looked mysterious and spy-like. With Fedoras pulled low over their foreheads, and our “Top Secret” covering their shapely long legs, they strutted confidently along the catwalk to the beat of John Barry’s Bond themes. Some themes were belted out by Shirley Bassey and Tom Jones; others were sung more sedately by Matt Munro and Nancy Sinatra. The scene was set for a lively evening.

And then, sometime or other when I wasn't looking; when my attention was elsewhere, Lennons in Queen Street became known as "Chifley at Lennons".  What Chifley was doing there and why I had to know about it, beats me!

Now Lennons and its pseudonym, "Chifley at Lennons" - either or - is not to be any longer. 

What’s next, I ask?   Well, I'll tell you....

What’s next is - 

Lennons is being redeveloped and refurbished -  and…wait for it… renamed…“Next”! 

Lennons closed in June. It’ll re-open mid-next year. 

The sands of time don’t change shape or name, but all else does!  

Next?

Swinging Sixties Prawn Cocktail: Place shredded iceberg lettuce in 4 chilled serving glasses. Sauce: Combine1/4c each cream and tomato sauce, 1tbs lemon juice, 1tsp Worcestershire sauce and dash of red Tabasco sauce; season. Top lettuce with peeled prawns; drizzle over sauce. Balance lemon wedge on side of glass.  

Lobster Thermidor: Split 2 lobsters, lengthwise; remove meat from shells and claws. Clean shells and polish shells. Simmer 1/2c each, dry white wine and fish stock, 1c béchamel sauce, 1tbs English mustard, 1 chopped shallot, sprig of tarragon and a small bunch of chervil; strain carefully; gently reheat with the lobster flesh. Pile flesh back into shells; sprinkle with grated Parmesan; brown under grill. 

Veal Cordon Bleu: Flatten 4 large, thin veal fillets well. Grab 4 slices of ham and Gruyère cheese that are half the size of the fillets. Cover each fillet with the ham and cheese; then fold like a sandwich. Coat in beaten egg; and then in breadcrumbs. Chill for an hour. Heat 55g butter and 1tbs oil in pan; carefully cook the fillets; brown fairly quickly; then lower heat. Don’t over cook the veal; garnish with lemon wedges. 

Crêpes Suzette: Batter: Combine 125g plain flour, pinch salt, 2 eggs and scant 1c milk with a dash of water added. Cook pancakes the usual way. Filling: Cream 125g butter and 125g sugar; add grated rind of 2 oranges and dash of orange liqueur. Fold pancakes into 4 over the filling; place into very hot dish. Combine juice of 2 oranges, 2-3tbs orange liqueur and a little sugar; heat; pour over hot pancakes; ignite just before serving.

  

Brandy Alexander: Shake together 22ml each, cream, brandy, dark crème de cacao; pour into martini glass; sprinkle with grated nutmeg. 

OBSERVATIONS OF AN OVER-ACTIVE IMAGINATION!

Western view from up here on the mountain...taken just around the corner from where I live

Ad The plateau at the right rear in this photo is the hill upon which I dwell - Tamborine Mountaind caption

Me smiling - or is it Shama?

Remy pondering what to write in his blog...or is it me?

Have you ever noticed that some people suit their names or vice versa...either which way? 

Once upon a time I worked with a guy named Dick. He certainly was name-appropriate; if you know what I mean!  Unfortunately, there are a few too many uncontrollable Dicks running about our world; no matter where we live.  They should all be locked away for their safety…and ours!

There is a rumour going around; it’s been running rampant for years, actually.   The rumour is that after a while we humans begin looking like our pet/s (if we have a pet, of course.  It’d be even more disconcerting if we didn’t have a pet, and we started looking like a dog or cat)!

Now that I’ve had pause to ponder the subject, there have been a few instances where I’ve noticed a resemblance between some pet owners and their respective pets!

If once upon a time you used to have straight hair, and you’ve noticed lately that your once-straight hair is turning curly without the help of your hairdresser or rollers, you’re probably a poodle owner.  If your ears have suddenly had a growth spurt and are flopping around a bit, blame it on the cocker spaniel lying over there on the rug in front of the log fire or heater. 

When the morning paper is thrown over your front fence and you refuse to budge, making no effort whatsoever to go out to collect it, you’re mostly likely morphing into your cat. I have two furry, four-legged rascals, so there is no hope for me!

It’s just as well giraffes aren’t popular household pets.  Our ceilings are not high enough to accommodate the changes ahead.

What started me on this train of thought was an interesting, yet somewhat sad and unsettling documentary I watched about an experiment wherein a woman raised a chimpanzee in human society.  When only days old the chimp had been snatched, screaming, from its mother’s arms.  Of course, the story doesn’t end there, but my point, without becoming long-winded (I think it already has), is I could see a marked resemblance between the chimp and his human “mother”! 

Also, there’s a world-renowned, much-lauded and awarded female primatologist who shall remain unnamed herein who closely resembles my time-wasting, personal observations! Again, this is only my own humble, uninformed, probably over-imaginative opinion with no scientific research or facts to prove it; one, I’m sure, many will dispute. In my eyes, it looks like the primatologist has spent too much time with the chimps, if, once again, you understand my inference. 

I won’t even think about broaching dog shows!  I think I’ve covered it all; and have probably said too much already.

I’ve been wondering if the same phenomenon applies to cars and their owners.  I think it does.  At least, it does in my case.    

My poor little car, Bessie, is almost as old as I am.  Bessie limps along; I hobble along.  She’s showing a lot of wear and tear; so am I.  The rot is setting in for both of us. She won’t go anywhere without me; and vice versa. Bessie, like me, only travels as far as IGA Supermarket and back home again. That’s our limited range of travel; but we're happy with that. We’re not an adventurous, curious pair. We're loners, and we're happy being that way, too!

I have my visa extended every time I need to travel further afield to the Post Office or the Westpac Bank. 

I very rarely go off the mountain.  If I can help it, I never leave the hill. 2006 is the last time Bessie and I, as a duo, descended the mountain together to the nether regions.   

However, I have had my passport stamped before accompanying others in their vehicle a few times; not many, to visit the Gold Coast to see a movie; but only when I desperately wanted to see a particular movie on the big screen; for example – Tim Burton’s “Alice in Wonderland”; and “Water for Elephants”. Also, I’ve escaped my mountain greenery for the odd lunch or two.  Not “odd” in a weird way…but in a “rare occurrence” way.

My feet are firmly planted on top of the mountain. I rarely venture further than the invisible elastic rope tied around my waist allows. It rebounds very quickly, taking me with it; and that suits me just fine. 

The Gold Coast has never been enticing to me, even when I was younger.  The Sunshine Coast is my preferred habitat. 

I do love the beach and ocean, but I don’t like concrete jungles; and that is what the Gold Coast has become.  It’s the second largest city in Queensland. I can live quite comfortably and happily without cities playing a role in my life.

These days I have no desire to go to Brisbane, either.

However, that’s just me. That’s how I am. It makes me neither right nor wrong.

It’s no rumour that I’m a bit weird!  I freely admit I'm becoming more eccentric as each day passes.  I'm proud to be an eccentric!

 Even more so nowadays, my old car and I are becoming as one! I’m full of aches, pains and groans. From the sounds that emanate from my little car when I coax her to start, we suffer from similar ailments.  Perhaps I need an oil change!

Getting motivated on rainy days is an ailment we both suffer; but as I refrain from going out on rainy days, preferring to snuggle up indoors, it doesn’t cause despair to me. I love rainy days; and I love staying indoors on rainy days. 

Bessie draws quite a few quizzical, critical looks from passers-by; as do I, no doubt! We both do our best to ignore them.  As long as we can still visit the supermarket, that’s all I ask.  I’ve no desire or need to travel far and wide.  I live a simple life, purposely and with purpose; and enjoy doing so.

What I can’t purchase here on the hill; I do so online without the anxiety caused by wondering whether Bessie and I will make it down the mountain, let alone back up again; or having to deal with the hustle and bustle of large, busy shopping centres, and the mayhem on the roads and motorways where everyone is in a hurry, impatient to arrive at their destinations.  To top it off…I hate large shopping centres.  Allowing my fingers to do the walking and purchasing online in the comfort of my own surroundings suits me down to the ground.

Until I can save enough money to buy a replacement car (which will be sad in a way – as I’m very attached to Bessie; and she to me, I'm sure), my car and I shall remain best mates, We'll continue to ignore the questionable looks tossed our way. We’ve shared much together; we’ve travelled far and wide through the years and through Queensland. We mean no harm to anyone. We hurt no one; nor have we yet lost our dignity!  We get dressed up for every game…and trip!

An elusive worthwhile win in the Lotto would help. One must have his/her pipe dreams and fantasies!

If I’ve started to look like Bessie, too bad; I don’t mind if I now resemble a Ford Festiva!

On the same theme, many couples after cohabitating for numerous years begin to look like each other; or so some do believe!  If this is true, I’ll bet London to a brick Maria Shriver is glad she kicked Arnie out of the nest! Sharon Osborne should take the time to look at her options, as well – just to be on the safe side; perhaps that’s the reason she’s had so much facial adjustment!  It’d be okay if both partners were female with Angelina Jolie as one partner; or the other way around; with one partner, Brad Pitt!  You know what I mean!

Oh! Dear! I’ve detoured from the beaten track!  Such an easy thing for me to do – with or without a vehicle.

Banana-Blueberry Bread: Grease and flour 2 loaf pans. Cream 1/2c butter and 1c sugar; beat in 2 eggs; add 1c mashed ripe bananas. Measure 1-1/2c plain flour; reserve 2tbls; coat 1c frozen or fresh blueberries in reserved flour; set aside. Add 1tsp baking soda and 1/4tsp salt to flour; mix well; stir in 1/2c quick-cook oats; fold into banana mixture; add 1tsp vanilla; fold floured blueberries into batter; add 1/2c chopped nuts; pour into loaf pans; bake about 50mins in 163C oven.  

Savoury Banana Drop Scones: Mix together 250g soft cream cheese, a little milk and 1-2tbls chopped fresh chives; set aside. Combine 2 large, very green bananas, mashed, 25g finely-chopped onion, 1 crushed garlic clove, pinch each oregano, thyme, salt and pepper; add 1 beaten egg; mix into dough. Heat oil in pan; drop spoonfuls of mixture into hot oil; fry until set; serve piping hot with lashing of cream cheese-chive topping.  

Peanut Paste-Banana Sandwich: Use fresh whole wheat slices or toast the bread; whatever you desire; slice ripe bananas; spread honey and peanut paste on bread; add banana slices; cover with other bread/toast slice.

  

Apple-Banana Sandwich: Mash bananas with lemon juice and lemon zest; add 1c shredded carrot; place lettuce leaves on pumpernickel; smooth banana mixture over lettuce; top with a couple of apple slices. Spread peanut paste on the pumpernickel first, if you like – experiment!

FISHING FOR A DIFFERENT ANGLE TO GRAB THE NET RESULT

Tropic of Capricorn Spire, Rockhampton

Pioneer Valley, Mackay

Slade Point Lookout

Lamberts Beach

Fish Traps

Rockhampton in Central Queensland is where I was born.

A few months after that momentous. memorable event... between 12 to 18 months later, at a guess...my family moved to the Mackay area taking me with them, of course! I can’t confirm the exact dates as I’m the only one left to tell the story.

For those who are unaware and who could be interested in a bit of trivia that isn’t trivial; The Tropic of Capricorn crosses at Rockhampton.

For the ensuring two or so years after leaving Rockhampton I lived beside the ocean at Slade Point, a beachside suburb of Mackay. Mackay sits 330kms (205 miles) north of Rockhampton. In reality, we were on the southern fringe of Slade Point; down along the esplanade; on the southern side of the Point; closer to Lamberts Beach; an area of coastal dunes and paper-bark wetlands.

My brother and I swam in the warm waters of the Coral Sea every day. We learned to swim at an early age; a smart idea because the beach was our playground. The area is protected by the Great Barrier Reef; meaning there is no large, rolling surf pounding the shores. 

Our residence was attached to the local store – “Hill’s Cash Store”. The shop was run by my mother, grandmother and stepfather. I’m not sure if it was named after us, as that was our adopted surname…the Hill part, that is; not the cash or the store; or if it was so named because the buildings were situated at the base of the hill looming at the rear. The name remained for years long after we’d left the scene; and then it became a 7-Eleven Store. I’ve no idea if the store still exists today.

“Hill” wasn’t my birth name. It was the name of my stepfather. When he unfortunately came onto the scene our surname was changed from “Nicholson” (our biological father’s name) to “Hill” after our mother re-married.  

There was a lot going on in our small family unit in those years.

My mother and Joe Nicholson, my biological father, separated when my mother was pregnant with me. My brother, Graham, was older than me by almost three years.

 It matters not who we are - Life presents every one of us with hurdles to conquer; that was just one of many to follow.

I carried the surname “Hill” throughout my childhood until I changed it upon my first marriage. 

As a child I swore to myself I would change my name back to “Nicholson” when I reached 16 years; but I never did. I thought it would cause embarrassment to my mother that she didn’t deserve; and I’d be handing the gossip-mongers a story on a silver platter.

My step-father wasn’t a nice person. In fact, he was an arse-hole of the first degree; and that is putting it very politely. I have many more descriptive adjectives I could, and do use, but I shall spare you those.  I won’t go into further details of his sordid, brutal behaviour at this point in time. Suffice to say, a few years after we moved from Slade Point to Gympie, the police ran him out of town, with strict orders never to return.  The police no longer have the power to do similar; and some in our society, far too many, suffer because the police have been stripped of the capacity to perform their jobs effectively in such cases.

When my brother and I were little kids playing around the area surrounding the shop at Slade Point tidal fish traps were still in operation.  Whether they were originally indigenous fish traps, I don’t know.

Years ago stone wall fish traps constructed by Aboriginals were spread throughout the northern and central coast areas of this state.  The traps were common sights.

I can’t say with any authority the traps I remember at Slade Point/Lamberts Beach were originally built by Aboriginals, but I think, perhaps, they were more likely to have been built by Europeans; or, perhaps, another scenario is Pacific Islanders were their originators.

The Pioneer Valley was, and still is, the biggest sugar-producing area in Australia. From 1863 through to 1904 thousands of Islanders were brought to the area to work on the sugar cane farms. I have no one I can call upon to nudge my recall of those early times in my life spent at Slade Point. I’m able only to work off the memories I retain from so long ago. 

Each day on low tide when the fisherman descended upon the beach to pull in the nets strung between wooden stakes set firmly into the mudflats and sand, filled with excitement, my brother and I watched on from the sidelines; keeping well out of the way of the noisy, busy men. 

I imagine the wooden stakes were later additions to the original stone wall traps that ran out into the sea. 

The tanned, vocal fishermen dragged the nets filled with their lively, glistening bounty onto the beach. Generously, they  never failed to give Graham and me a couple of wriggling fish. We’d thank them before running back home holding on tightly to our slippery, squirming rewards. 

Fresh fish was regularly on our dinner menu.

My introduction to oysters was around that time, as well. I loved them at my first “Hello”; and  I’ve loved them ever since, particularly straight off the rocks; or au natural in half shells on a bed of ice!

When I lived on Newry Island in the early Nineties, the lessee of the little resort on the island and the area surrounding held a license for fish traps. The traps no longer existed. There was no sign of their existence, as far as I could see, anyway, but I dare say remnants remained on the sea bed covered by sand and mud etc. Nevertheless, I was instructed from afar to renew the license when it fell due.  If the license was allowed to lapse, one would never again be issued; and my life wouldn’t have been worth living…not on Newry Island, anyway!

Back to Slade Point…often our Nana would take Graham and me for walks around the cliffs leading to Lamberts Beach. It was a beautiful area.  I remember being terrified as I hung on dearly to the cliff-face fearing I’d fall to my death upon the rocks or onto sand into the raging sea below. However, I always managed to put on a brave face as I did my best to hide my fear from my grandmother and Graham.  Like older brothers have a habit of doing, Graham loved to tease me. He got great pleasure from doing so!  

I point out again, at the time I was not yet four years old.  The image of those rugged cliffs stayed with me and haunted my dreams for years.

During early primary school in Gympie I related tales of those adventurous, heart-stopping climbs to my school mates.  Wide-eyed, they listened in awe.

Years later when I was much older – and much taller (at my best and tallest I was 5 ft 9 inches (175cm) – I revisited those steep, high cliffs at Lamberts Beach. 

To my surprised amusement, those stamina-testing, ruggedly dangerous cliffs that I’d bravely tackled time and time again were barely as high as my knees! In truth, they fell short by an inch or two!

I laughed as I remembered the many instances recounting my brave feats to my young school friends.  At the time of telling, I wasn’t exaggerating.  I wasn’t lying.  I was just a little girl; knee-high to a grasshopper; and those cliffs were very real; and so very dangerously high to me – that little girl!

Grilled Oysters with Brie: Slice 1 whole-grain baguette into 24 rounds; brush lightly with olive oil; place on baking tray. Toast in 180C oven until just crisp. Slice 400g Brie into 24 equal pieces. Top rounds with Brie; return to oven to melt, about 5mins. Heat grill; set rack about 15cm from heat. In oven dish, combine 24 oysters with 65g melted butter, a dash of olive oil, salt and pepper; grill until oysters begin to curl at edges, about 5mins. Place one oyster on top of Brie; top with red capsicum strips; serve warm. 

Steamed Ginger-Shallot Fish: Combine 1tbs dry sherry, 1tsp caster sugar, 1tsp sesame oil and 1/2tbs light soy sauce. Place 2 firm white fish fillets into a bowl that fits a steamer; top with 2cm piece of peeled ginger, cut into matchsticks; pour over above mixture. Place bowl in steamer over simmering water; cook, 5mins, or so. Divide steamed Asian greens onto plates; top with fish; drizzle with soy sauce and juices. Top with julienned shallots and mild chilli.  

Fish with Pine Nut Vinaigrette: Grab some white fish fillets; dry and salt; coat in flour. Heat a few tablespoons of olive in pan over mod-heat; fry fish until browned on both sides; remove. With pan on low, add minced garlic, chopped parsley and pine nuts. When nuts are toasted, add a splash of white wine vinegar, enough to coat bottom of pan; pour over fish. Serve immediately. 

Crumbed Fish: Combine 3/4tsp salt, ½tsp each paprika, onion powder and dry mustard, 1/4tsp each garlic powder, pepper, cumin, basil and Italian seasoning.  Rub some of this mix onto fish fillets; add rest to breadcrumbs; add 1tbs olive oil to breadcrumbs; blend with hands; dredge fish into crumbs. Bake on oiled pan, 6 mins; turn bake further 4mins