What came first? The chicken or the person

The subject that is never far away from my thoughts and one that I’m sure many people will also have given some serious consideration is the notion that we in our privileged society are putting the welfare of animals above those of people.
It’s a question that is positively bursting with zealous responses.
Now just to put the brakes on here a bit, I’m not suggesting that I’m apologising for the abhorrent practices meted out on the poor animals we have deemed fit for human consumption. Nor am I arguing that dollars must come before animal welfare but I do eat meat and I take full responsibility for consuming it.
Recently watching the news I was moved by the images coming out of Somalia where the population is facing starvation on an unprecedented scale. It was one of those moments where the message really hit home. I pulled my gaze away from the tellie and visited it on my own children who looked on, their faces awash with the cathode-ray staccato images of famine. For a moment I tried to imagine my kids similarly exposed to this devastating reality but the thought of it was just too unbearable to contemplate. I retreated from this realism back into my cosy middle class living room, with our mugs of half-drunk tea and the gold wrappers of some chocolate on the coffee table. It hit me again that perhaps; just perhaps we’re putting the cart before the horse.
Its old news that we, in our fortunate society, are immune to the realities of how many people in the developing world are living. Perhaps this is such an insurmountable problem and one that we have been exposed to for so long that we have become insulated to its cries. In fact, due to this, are we seeking problems that we think we can tackle and have a positive outcome maybe even in our lifetimes? That would be great wouldn’t it? Imagine the comfort of being able to choose what problem we decide to take on board as our cause celebre? Well I don’t think it’s a comfort, in fact I think it’s a bit of a cop out. Now before you think I’m being more sanctimonious than usual, I put myself in this camp as well. I’ve copped out too.
“Well Steve, who are the arbiters of what cause we should get behind and what causes should take priority?”
I don’t know and I’m not sure.
It might make us all feel good for a while to know that we are buying ethical meat, that the mouse on Animal Rescue made a speedy recovery and ‘Mr Bigglesworth’ the kitten, was rescued from being stuck in a tree by the fireman. These are quick fixes, a Band-Aid on a gaping wound and one that will never heal just as long as we have inequality between people on our planet.
Now I’ve reconciled that this has been the way since the year dot and will probably be thus forevermore but I also reckon that in the scheme of things surely putting humans first should be a priority?
You could argue that by being human and being humane might mean we do not put ourselves first. That’s an argument that I would have trouble reconciling as the logic makes sense.
However if I were to boil this down to its essence I would say that the furthest thing on the minds of those poor people suffering in Somalia would be tussling in the supermarket aisle deliberating between choosing a free-range chook and a conventional bird.
It’s this ‘choice’ that I grapple with and because we are lucky, maybe this blindsides us to what the real issues are.

PIg Day Out 2011, the post game analysis

A big thankyou to all of our customers, familiar and new, local and interstate, who supported us and made the Pig Day Out the great success that it was. The Cider flowed, the pig crackled and the music trivia tested our memories. Big respect goes out to the staff: Ben, Shell, Jenna, Ben, Kate, Tanya, Glen, Emma, Lewis, Nina, Kelly, James and Kathryn.
Hope to see you all again soon.
Cheers Steve
PS Check out some photos here courtesy of Nick Osborne

It's Time!

It’s time.
For some time now the groundswell of interest in the provenance of our food has been steadily building. We’ve come a long way and many people are actively seeking information about their food purchases which I believe is a great thing and I suspect many of you reading this blog will concur.
Inevitably though, there are already opportunists amongst us who seek to profit from this relatively recent circumstance and by doing so, threaten the currency of people legitimately making the extra effort to provide food not found in the mainstream.
With alarming regularity it seems that not a day goes by where the ethics of some operators is under scrutiny. For instance, if all the so-called free range eggs alleged to be used were actually accounted for, I for one would be surprised if our current National free-range chicken census would be anywhere near large enough to have laid all those cackleberries.
For years, the true names of scale fish have routinely been misused by unscrupulous fisherfolk in order to shift their catch. This led the CSIRO to initiate a book a few years ago to once and for all confirm the correct species. It’s called ‘The Australian Seafood handbook’ and I recommend it highly.
Years ago, one very cold Melbourne morning I was at the Footscray wholesale fruit and vegie market inspecting a possible supplier. I asked what that fruit was over there in the corner, which seemed to me, past its prime and looking a bit worse for wear. With a wink and a cheeky grin, the bloke said to me, “Oh that, we’ll flog that as Organic and twice as much!” I was stunned.
More recently, menus are being peppered with references to certain butchers, fisherman and growers which is fine but how truthful is it to the punter when that business might have only ever made one purchase from said supplier but continue to attract kudos from the name of the supplier appearing?
Then you get the innocent mistakes and misunderstanding occurring. A few posts ago I discussed a trail of intrigue uncovered by a fairly innocuous question whilst dining at a high table restaurant of note. The answer given to me at the restaurant didn’t sound Kosher and curious, I made many phone calls, each one frustratingly, leading me to another. Finally when I did get to the bottom of the riddle it seems misinformation and ignorance were the culprits rather than what I had initially thought, which was sheer deception. Either way, as a customer I made my menu choice under a false pretext.
Let’s now turn our attention to the phenomenon of Wagyu Beef. Many people are still confused about what constitutes Wagyu and for some the only way to discern if it’s the real McCoy is in its hefty price. Well that would be a wrong assumption. I have seen beef advertised as Wagyu commanding a King’s ransom but later discovered that the cattle in question only had a one night stand with a Wagyu Bull at the Bovine Club Med. Conversely for a product so associated with luxury, how did it ever get on the menu on one of the Subway chains sandwiches? Little wonder we are left scratching our heads.
Then there was another time at another noted restaurant I was informed that the clams that were served came from a particular part of Tasmania. Knowing the area quite well I contacted every person related to the commercial supply of these and not one of them claimed responsibility. Yes it could have been a snarky chef responding to the waiters query flippantly however for a place whose stock in trade is the provenance of their produce, it left me a little disappointed quite frankly.
It's my belief that its time for restaurants, cafes, producers and suppliers to fess up and state exactly what products they are using especially if they are leveraging off them. Those that don't comply and continue to be conveniently ambiguous I fear will damage the efforts on many people with much integrity who make the effort to source products of merit for the benefit of their customers.

an afternoon sketch, the cusp of spring

end of a school week

some warm weather

icy poles

jetty diving

shivering in the shadows

blue toes and chattering teeth

mates

and memories

Cygnet Market

And dont forget

Whatever happened to Mr Manners?

When working with French chefs over the years, what united them and impressed upon me the most was their sense of camaraderie and hospitality.
From the Chef du cuisine to the plongeur, everyone said good morning and shook hands upon arriving at work, such a simple set of gestures but so shockingly foreign to what I was used to. Of course there were exceptions but it was mainly the older staff members that always found time to say good morning and goodbye to their workmates. I concluded that it might be the malady of a young person.
In some kitchens I have worked it was not uncommon for some staff not to communicate to each other until orders were barked during service. It always intrigued me at how someone could work with another person for so long and not acknowledge them upon arrival or departure?
Maybe one of the reasons for this situation is that many of the chefs were perpetually hung-over or coming down which is quite plausible if you knew whom I worked with. Another reason and I think the most credible is that these people simply have not been taught these basic manners at home.
I always make a point when employing new staff of making sure they say G’day to all their workmates and you’d be surprised at how many people think this is some sort of archaic ritual rather than just showing some reverence to ones colleagues.
Popular culture has been a ripe ferment for the cult of the ‘me’ where the individual is showered with opportunities to validate their sense of entitlement, because as the ad says: ‘You’re worth it’. Whilst this might be empowering I reckon its also whittling away at our sense of community and with it our sense of responsibility that being part of such a community means. Listening to an interview with the young rioters in London I was shocked to hear that they could not make any connection between their stealing and the people whom they robbed. It was akin to the way people talk about ‘the government’ in a way that removes them from any kind of connection or obligation.
I reckon this disconnect is responsible for people to conveniently forget or overlook their responsibilities toward the greater good and it often presents initially as a lack of respect for our fellow human beings. Saying hello in the morning costs you nothing but its value is priceless.

the sad story of a well intentioned product

You’ve probably heard this familiar story before.
In a bustling little village somewhere, some folks eager to find an option to mass produced food decide to start their own small business providing an alternative. After much research they kit out their premises, get all the appropriate authorities and start making their local and seasonal product and selling it at farmers markets and such.
The product attracts the attention of some foodies and before long interest picks up. In next to no time the product is regularly appearing on local menus and demand increases significantly.
Calls from mainland grocers and A list chefs have increased the burden on the producers now who have employed some staff and begin to get approached by distribution companies who are eager to represent their product in their portfolio.
Then the days arrives and like the deep timbre of a church bell sounding in a Gothic novel heralds a fork in the road, where demand completely outstrips the capacity for the fledgling producers to keep up and choices have to be made.
In order to meet this growing demand the producers are forced to consider ‘tooling-up’ to increase production and distribution. This will mean a hefty injection of capital investment on the existing infrastructure and perhaps call into question whether the current premises are suitable for expansion.
To justify the expenditure, forecasts are initiated on future growth of the product which means new markets will have to be tapped into. This brings marketing into the equation and its subsequent costs. By now, the product has attracted the attention of investors who are eager to ‘get in on the ground floor’ to park some money in the product for a while.
Soon, the bullet has been bitten, monies are borrowed, and capital partners are taken on. The day-to-day manufacture of the product is now overseen by many staff and in-roads into suitable markets are now being explored. The small village in which the business started now employs most of the townsfolk and as a result other businesses have closed unable to hold onto staff.
Production ramps up. Money is coming in, smiles all round and everyone’s happy.
Then another one of those ominous Bell rings occurs, more change to come.
It seems the investors keen to see more margins squeezed from production costs enquire if the product could be, you know, made with cheaper or alternative ingredients? The rationale is if production costs are hacked into, it would make the product a very attractive acquirement to a big food player’s group.
The decision to cut costs is made after lengthy and impassioned negotiations.
Some of the staff are made redundant as a result, the product now has a list of ingredients that are no longer recognisable and some of them are shipped in from other parts of the world. The village contracts and goes on with unsteady but stoic steps. The desired outcome has been achieved, profits increase and investors are happy.
Finally the day dawns when an offer by a large multi-national to buy-out the product sits on the table.
After much hand wringing, and soul searching, the resolution is made to sell.
The original producers move on with fuller pockets to greener pastures.
Meanwhile, some signs of anti-consumer sentiment come to the attention of the multi. It seems that the product has lost some of its lustre since the merger and subsequent acquisition by a major food player.
Despite the rosy image of the countryside on the packaging and all of the spin at their disposal the company takes a few too many hits and decides to cut cost further by out sourcing more of the ingredients for the product and using offshore labour.
The factory in the village is closed and all its remaining workers are sacked. The prodcut now has no link to its origins nor its heritage, it has finally become a brand only.
With few prospects left in the area, most people move on. The village suffers years of neglect and economic depression until tree/sea changers eager to get way from the big cities, start buying properties in the area. Pretty soon the village is alive with people and hope. Then one day a couple decide to start a small artisan food business...

London Riots- exclusive first hand account of foodie caught up in the action!

Incredible first hand account from the perspective of a punter at London’s two Michelin starred restaurant ‘The Lead Balloon’

“We were onto the second meat course when we heard all this commotion outside, banging and shouting. The Maitre’d assured us everything was alright but anxiously swiped our credit cards anyway, even though we hadn’t finished our meal yet. All of a sudden there was a huge commotion and the front door literally exploded showering glass and debris everywhere. Straight after that, a posse of hooded and masked people stormed into the restaurant. My first thought were: I didn’t think people from the council estates could afford to dine here but then again they could be CHAVS? Pretty quickly bedlam ensued and we were being threatened by these hooligans to divest ourselves of any jewellery, cash and other personal items of worth. I was so excited I couldn’t contain myself! I mean, dining here has always been so predictable but this was something entirely different, this was exciting!
I eagerly got into the spirit of things and tossed my wristwatch into the bag outstretched before me. I then looked up to see the Maitre ‘d being king-hit from behind by a muscular yob in a Kappa t-shirt and hoodie, it all looked so realistic.
The noise was reaching fever pitch by now as many people in the process of being robbed were screaming and crying and the cacophony was punctuated by a few heavy blows to wobbly, over indulged flesh. It was exhilarating when one of the brave kitchen brigade went at one of the assailants with very heavy and no doubt expensive copper pan and the clang as it hit the cranium of the Yoik elicited a round of brief applause from some of us before he was set upon by the rabid mob.
What struck me though was the head chef, a former bad ass Ramsay acolyte known for his fisticuffs and hot temper, was curled up in a ball weeping and inconsolable! This was extraordinary! Bravo, what a show!
The melee ended all too abruptly in my opinion and we were left there, amongst the glass and rubble whilst the staff, whom provided very convincing job of looking like they were ‘in shock’ gathered themselves together.
I said to the wife as we left, bathed in the strobe like blue lights of the local plod car, we simply MUST do this again”

Cookbooks: the new headstones? Redux

Today on twitter there was a comment that said maybe Andy Warhol should have included 'bringing out a cookbook' with his famous quote ''everyone has 15 mins of fame". It made me think of a post I had written back in 2007. Back then I thought that cookbooks were a way for restaurants to live on in the memories of their customers.

In a post a while back I discussed the many names that were prevalent in the Melbourne restaurant scene two decades ago. It made me think about how many hours these people would have worked and how many meals they would have served.
It is interesting to note that every generation of people will have their favourite places and on how they imprint themselves on our memories. They can stir some pretty big emotions. Memory is such an unreliable and subjective thing.
Look at how Guy Grossi and Iain Hewitson tussled over the rights to Tolarno in St Kilda. Guy’s lineage could be traced through its kitchens and Iain owned it for years. Both covet its special place in Melbourne’s restaurant history and both sought to gain leverage from its colourful past as a legitimate link to a world most of us never knew.
There are very few connections these days to the kitchen of yesterday. Many chefs are now retired, burnt out or have simply dropped out of the industry.
It is interesting that whilst there are many memories of restaurants, front of house staff and chefs that linger, it is not a history that has been well documented.
The Tasmanian book, ‘Before we eat’ (cheers Paul for correcting me!) is a notable exception. I was amazed reading this book that there was not a similar one for each State. It is a very readable and informative account of the history of Tasmanian dining, food culture and the colourful characters that inhabited it. Interestingly it was Tasmania that produced the nation’s first cookbook, ‘The Colonial Cookbook’ by ‘an Australian Aristologist’, Edward Abbot.
It is surprising that there is so little information around on our food culture and history. Of course Michael Symons books, ‘One continuous picnic’ and ‘The Shared table’ set the standard. Barbara Santich, Gay Bilson, Cherry Ripe, Marion Halligan all have contributed to an overall picture of the historical State of play. However there is not much around on say Sydney or Melbourne’s restaurant scene through history.
Speaking with older waiters and chefs who were working way back when, one can begin to join the dots and colour in the detail of what was a very interesting time.
So many people are drawn to this industry and so many have contributed. It’s as though it has always been there that we have ignored its additions and influence on our cultural landscape. This is intriguing when so many of us are eating out, blogging, comparing and gossiping about restaurants and cafes.
Perhaps it’s because restaurants are so much ‘of their time’ that we don’t see them out of their context until we move on, they close or they change. In this light we can see that they are to a degree part of the fashion industry. One can observe cycles returning, re-invention and retrospection and sometimes in a post modern kind of way, all three at once! Knowing that there is generally a limited life cycle for restaurants, perhaps this is why some take a stab at immortality to stave off the inevitable.
Cook books, it could be argued, have become the new epitaph or headstone, validating that a particular restaurant or cafe existed and will outlive them in the long run, long after the last meal was served. In another way they are also about branding as they seek to capture the athstetic and the spirit of a place. It is interesting that both Grossi and Hewitson have released cook books borrowing heavily on the art and influence of Mirka Mora who is their conduit to the glories of the past. It is as if they have set each book into the arena to do battle over which has the most legitimate link to past. Both obviously feel the need to map their own place in the restaurant family tree of Melbourne and as we all get older, that tree gets just a little bigger.
Is it about knowing where we fit in? Where we come from and what legacy we’ll leave? The contributions of Hewitson and the Grossi family to the Melbourne scene cannot be overstated and I believe history will demonstrate that their influence will be felt for a long time to come, book or no book, Mirka or no Mirka.

When a blog post is an Ad

Recently we went bushwalking in the Hartz Mountains. Upon returning though I discovered that my feet were very sore and I had developed a bunion or two!
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I have been using them for a few weeks now and the effect is amazing! Say goodbye to Bunion discomfort forever with the help of Dr Scholl's!
Thankyou Dr Scholls for getting me back on my feet!

El Bulli-the wines gone AWOL!

As those whom prophesized that life as we knew it would end with the last meal served at El Bulli came out of their panic rooms, emaciated and blinking into the flashes of the paparazzi-sunlight, understood that life, does indeed, go on.
So many hand wringing and woe-is-me obituaries have flooded the papers, mags and blogs lamenting the closure of what was arguably the world’s best restaurant, whatever that means. Well, worlds best according to a mineral water company anyway. I wonder which restaurant would be crowned best in the world if the major sponsor was a hamburger-pattie manufacturer; my guess is that it wouldn’t be Noma. However, I’m not going to demean this passing by calling into question the legacy that Ferran Adria has left the cooking universe but I think it fitting that a company peddling beverages can neatly fill a segue into the topic I intend to discuss here. That topic is of the alcoholic beverage variety.
You see, in all of the panting reportage of meals enjoyed at the Pantheon of world dining colossus’s I have found it difficult to find any mention of…err…wine?
Maybe I’m not looking hard enough; I am a bloke after all. But I even had a Mum-Look and have come up with sweet Fanny Adams on the subject of wine and particularly, wine matching with this type of food delivery. If someone can show me evidence to the contrary, I’ll happily eat my Kangol.
As we are all generally aware, wine and food are mostly meant to be enjoyed together so the notion that worlds most celebrated restaurants whose stock in trade is the multi-course degustation seem to ignore this most basic of fact seems like a massive grey elephant in the room, why has such an obvious transgression gone mostly unnoticed, or worse, why have we failed to question it?
Disclaimer: I have never been to any of these restaurants however their dedication, zeal for the craft and uncompromising standards are inspiring.
But in the pursuit of culinary envelope pushing maybe someone just assumed that the wine would just tag along for the ride? I know this might sound a tad trite but seriously how does one match a wine with a Dego whose courses stretch into infinity?
Maybe we should ask: ‘The Wine Guy’? Whomever that apron emblazoned vinous Yoda might be.
As a friend said to me recently, ‘some of the courses are but a tiny spoonful of something’. My question is this then: Do you sign up for the Full Monty, multi course extravaganza and prey that the two or three bottles you choose will match the high notes of the menu?
I’ll go further her to provoke and ask: does wine ultimately know its place on the dais of magnitude when it comes to the sport of eating and drinking and does it accept that it will always be a silver medallist?