WHAT’S COOKIN’, GOOD-LOOKIN’?

My friend Joy (blonde) and Me...Circa 1962

I might not have had the papers saying I was a qualified chef, but I certainly qualified by the long, hard, sometimes stressful hours I put in over commercial stoves/ranges/deep-fryers; by the blood, sweat and tears.   

However, there few tears, except for the first time I watched my food being taken out of the kitchen in the hands of a waitress to diners.  I almost shed tears at that special, unique time.  I felt like a mother watching her children being taken away from her! 

Over the years many tears were shed from laughter, though. 

I learned very early in the piece, and very quickly, no tears needed to be shed over the slicing, dicing or chopping of onions.   I always stored the bags of onions in the cold room.  Using onions that have been stored this way (or in a home refrigerator) was/is a sure-fire method of stopping the flow of tears caused by the chemical in the onion, when the onion is cut, that irritates the glands in our eyes, causing us to tear up.

Over the years when I was working within the hospitality industry I wore a few different hats, and one of those metaphorical hats was a chef’s hat.  I prepared and presented thousands of meals to the dining public in various venues.

From my childhood, watching our Nana prepare our meals, I showed a keen interest in cooking. I learned a lot of the basics from Nana.  Her pastry-making skills were beyond compare, and to this day, from the lessons I learned from her, I’ve never made pastry other than with my hands/fingertips.  I’ve never used a processor to make pastry, and I probably never will.

My interest in cooking that began when I was a little girl carried through to my teenage years.  

Take-away food wasn’t high on our radar when I was a teenager.  There were “mum and dad-owned” fish and chip shops, many of which doubled as a hamburger “joint”. And, of course, the good old Aussie meat pies, pasties and sausage rolls were available at every corner store. The iconic Chiko Rolls, which originally originated in Bendigo, Victoria, hit the market in the early Fifties. Chico Rolls later really hit their strides in the Sixties, and became a popular addition to the fish and chips/take-away outlets.   

There were no McDonalds, Hungry Jacks, KFCs and the like when I was a child and teenager.

As I’ve written often in previous posts, during the halcyon years of my teens my girlfriends and I spent every weekend during spring, summer and autumn at the coast.   

On those weekends most of the time I took on the mantle of “cook”; a role I willingly performed.  During our weekends at the beach my mates and I lived mainly on freshly-prepared food, using fresh produce; a lot of which we purchased en route to the coast from the roadside stalls belonging to farmers along the way.  Fresh fruit was also a regular on our menu.  

Similar applied to our mid-week get-togethers/parties when we used to sit around philosophising and listening to music. We prepared our own food, never buying it in, already prepared.  We loved to experiment with recipes, and probably me more than the others.  We ate well.

From my very first visit to a restaurant at the tender age of 16 I was hooked by the romance and allure of restaurants.

Joy, a friend (we’re still friends to this day – we’ve known each other since early primary school days and our beach-going/surfing days) and I went to Brisbane for a weekend.

Our main intention once in the city centre was to purchase our first bikinis.  This we achieved on the Saturday morning.  

In those years the major stores closed at noon on Saturdays and remained closed until Monday mornings.  There was no late-night shopping; no seven days a week opening hours for the major retailers.  Corner, family-run shops operated under their own jurisdiction.

Joy and I bought a pair of towelling bikinis each at Weedman’s in Queen Street, the main street in Brisbane’s CBD.  

(Weedman’s, which originally, in 1931, had started out as “Players”, in 1970, became “Sportsgirl” – just a little background history that is probably of little interest to anyone other than me).

Later, in 1982 Queen Street was turned into a pedestrian-only mall, encompassing Queen, Albert and Edward Streets; and then later again, in 1988, the mall was extended to cover a larger area.

I had my mind set on buying a white bikini, but Joy struck first and chose white for herself.   I didn’t want to have an identical bikini, so I chose hot pink – same style; same fabric; different colour.  

We’d already stretched the limit more than far enough by purchasing a similar style; choosing the same colour would’ve meant we’d gone way over the line by miles.  She and I went to the coast together every weekend; and as much as we liked each other, were the best of mates, we had no desire to dress the same, whether on the beach or elsewhere.

It was on that particular weekend that I had my first restaurant dining experience. 

After our Saturday morning shopping spree, Joy and I decided we’d lunch at “Christies” in Queen Street Brisbane.  We sat upstairs on the mezzanine level.  After studying the menu carefully, I ordered Spaghetti Bolognese.

Joy was aghast that I would even entertain the thought of eating spaghetti in public, let alone bite the strand and chew it!  

In those days, in many ways, Joy was more openly confident that I was, but on that occasion she chose to stay safe by ordering for herself, toasted cheese, ham and tomato sandwiches.  

My choice of fare was made to enable me to conquer my shyness about eating in a public venue; to build up and gain self-confidence by eating, of all things, spaghetti! 

In for a penny, in for a pound...I dived into the pot!  Well, not quite...

A few years later when I was residing and working in Brisbane (employed by the Kolotex Group of Companies) I’d often take myself to lunch at various Chinese restaurants. I’d ask the waiting staff to remove the knives and forks from my table setting; for them to replace the cutlery with chopsticks.  By eating alone amongst and within view of other diners I taught myself how to handle chopsticks with aplomb. No fear...fully confident...and no dropped food!

Spaghetti Bolognese really only became popular in Australia...became one of the “In” foods...around about the late Fifties/early Sixties.  Until then, in most Aussie homes the only spaghetti eaten came in tins/cans. No kitchen cupboard or pantry was complete without a few tins of Heinz Spaghetti in Tomato Sauce. Of course, Baked Beans in Tomato Sauce kept the spaghetti company on the shelves.  Like love and marriage, or a horse and carriage, they go together....

In those days, and probably in the majority of instances still, - Spaghetti Bolognese was prepared and served here in this country using spaghetti, not tagliatelle.  

For goodness sake!  We were still getting used to the long, thin, cylindrical, solid dry pasta called “spaghetti” ; the pasta we, ourselves, had to cook in salted, boiling water.  

We didn’t need tagliatelle thrown into the mix to confuse things!  

I doubt tagliatelle was available in Australia in those days other than perhaps in the homes of Australian-Italian families, where the barely-English speaking Nonnas diligently passed on their cooking knowledge and prowess; where the Nonnas prepared everything from scratch.  

The majority of  “Anglo-Saxon Protestants (or those of the Roman Catholic faith) hadn’t even heard of tagliatelle, let alone eaten it!  

Aussies were just waking up to the fact that there were myriad varieties of interesting food from the rest of the world ready for us to explore - foods other than the British-Scottish-Irish influences we’d grown up with in our homes.

During our weekend in the “big city” the beach beckoned Joy and me.  After all, we were the “Gidgets” of the day.  We couldn’t ignore the lure of the beach.  

One of Joy's cousins, who lived in Brisbane, generously offered to drive us to the Gold Coast.  Being a Sunshine Coast surfer girl, I’d never been to the Gold Coast before that particular Sunday. I can’t remember clearly, but I feel it was Joy’s first visit, too.

Sitting on the beach at Coolangatta we cared not that it was a bleak, grey, windy, somewhat chilly morning in August.  

August is still winter here in the Land of Oz. Our spring springs into action in September.  

With stiff upper lips, Joy and I braved it out, keen to christen our new, and first, bikinis.  We were two trim, taut and terrific 16-year olds. 

On the beach we determinedly remained for a couple of hours while her cousin, who was much older than us (and who obviously had more sense), drank of cups of hot coffee in the warmth of a local cafe.

I believe we looked pretty good in our newly-purchased bikinis.  In those days of yore I think we looked pretty good in whatever we wore.  However, we were in no way cocky or “up ourselves” about it.  If we even broached the perimeter of feeling that way we’d soon be brought back down to earth by someone in our respective families - of that there is no doubt.

Back home in Gympie after our enlightening adventure I decided I’d make Spaghetti Bolognese for the first time.  It was to be a special treat for my mother, grandmother and brother. 

I learned a quick lesson from that not-so-little episode, too.

I managed to cook enough spaghetti to feed the population of Gympie, and probably the nearby towns of Maryborough and Nambour, as well!

Always learning – forever learning!

More to follow...