Category Archives: local

Real life on the ground. Anywhere.

eating, food, hl, local, recipes

Vanilla slices – glorious, perhaps mundane, quite mysterious

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I’ve been thinking a lot about the good old vanilla slice recently. It’s one of those standard, humble Australian bakery items that qualifies as “good old” for its longevity and as “humble” because of its modest level of finesse. But there are mysteries in all this (and questions for readers at the end).

A little journey

I grew up eating vanilla slices as my preferred after-school snack, albeit constrained somewhat by the disappointing options opposite my high school. I could choose between the milkbar’s revolting, rubbery Four’n’Twenty vanilla slices (truly deserving of the colloquial name “snot block”), or the hot bread shop’s Greekified version, filled with a semi-translucent lightly lemony paste. Whenever possible, I’d find my way to the Ferguson Plarre bakery, as their vanilla slices were the childhood paragon of gooeyness.

What has brought me to this little discourse was a rare daytrip to the countryside: Woodend, a small town an hour’s drive from Melbourne, has somehow become famous for its vanilla slices. Two bakeries vie for attention. The smaller of the two, Woodend Bakery Café, supplied a not-quite-fresh slice (the pastry was too close to cardboard, despite its very promising appearance) with a creamy sweet custard and clear vanilla notes. A bit tall (perhaps aspiring to life as a millefeuille), it was a greater-than-usual challenge to eat this vanilla slice gracefully (perhaps a mutually incompatible concept anyway).


The second bakery, Bourkies Bakehouse, offers tray upon tray of slices, some with icing flavoured with passionfruit or raspberry. These were fresh (the turnover is enormous), with a custard of similar characteristics to their competitor and stodgy pastry, but of slightly more jaw-friendly dimensions.

While I preferred the texture and dimensions of the latter vanilla slice, both co-eater Mittens and I found the custard of the former slightly tastier. It was a very close call, though, and likely to change depending on freshness and minor variations in formulation. The review on the apparently now dormant Vanilla Slice Blog was scathing of the Bourkie’s slice and praising of the Woodend Bakery Café, but on our visit the differences simply weren’t that marked.

Back home in Melbourne, we tried my childhood favourite from a Ferguson Plarre outlet. This a no-nonsense affair: (1) thick, stiff but airy custard, (2) moderately thick, unimpressive pale pastry, (3) moderately thick, sticky icing. Texturally, I think the custard is great (for a vanilla slice) – my preference is definitely for custards that are less creamy than those in Woodend. The flavour, however, was that of cream and just the faintest hint of vanilla. I like eating them, but on closer inspection, there’s not a lot that’s truly impressive. Somehow, it just all comes together to be something innocuously pleasant. Maybe life just has to be that way sometimes!

This article was originally going to include some baking in my kitchen, but I got sidetracked by some interesting observations, started by the fact that the Wikipedia entry for Millefeuilles dumps a whole pile of things together rather clumsily and imprecisely. (For a beautiful homemade millefeuille, see Sarah’s post.)

So where are the vanilla slices at home?

Although most of the people I know take the vanilla slice for granted as an Australian great, most are unaware that it not only has other names around Australia, but actually occurs in some form in other countries. I’m not talking about the French millefeuille, the distinctly classier relative, nor the Australian “French vanilla slice” which is more of a nod to the millefeuille, sometimes a mix of layers of custard and whipped cream, perhaps with coffee icing. I read once that New Zealanders and USAmericans call vanilla slices “napoleons”, but internet searches favour either clumsy millefeuilles or a layered slice of cake, custard and puff pastry under that name. Sometimes there’s even jam involved! It seems that “custard slice” or “custard square” might be a much closer relative of our target.

The state of Victoria seems to be disproportionately represented in online searches for vanilla slices. Even taking into account other names (it seems (some) Queenslanders prefer “custard square”), Victoria seems to be in the lead. There’s some bias because of the annual competition in the Victorian town of Ouyen.

Of further interest, there are remarkably few recipes for vanilla slices in common older Australian cookbooks, which makes me wonder if the popularity is less national than regional. Cooking queen Margaret Fulton, for instance, has no recipe in her main book or encyclopedia. Some Australian Women’s Weekly books do feature a recipe. The recent NSW Country Women’s Association Cookbook doesn’t. It’s not unusual for there to be no common recipes for baked goods that were only produced commercially, but it does make it harder to trace the history of the thing!

The majority of (more recent) recipes combine custard powder with milk or cream and egg. Most overseas recipes seem to omit cream. (You also have to ignore the “blinged up” recipes that have aspirations to be a millefeuille, so leave the recipes of Bill Granger and Maggie Beer and countless others out of the equation.)

And what should a vanilla slice be?

For me, the prototype of a vanilla slice is a square about 7cm (?2.5″) wide and about 4cm (?1.5″) high, with soft (not runny) white icing. The stiff custard is not a rich crème pâtissière and has a slightly aerated character (see pics). It is not lightened with whipped cream. The pastry is never particularly crisp (alas).

For my elderly neighbours, the size they remember from their childhood (the 1950s) is as above, as is the icing, but they remember the custard as being very pale and not as rich (perhaps a lean milk custard set with flour or gelatine?)

And my mother remembers a firm, pale yellow custard in Sydney’s vanilla slices. Her opinion of vanilla slices in Brisbane in the late 1960s is not flattering: “… the custard was nasty in that it was thick and solid but didn’t taste right for a custard and seemed to be mostly cornflour. In retrospect, maybe they used a lot of water rather than all milk to make the filling.”

Neither my neighbours or my mother can find a recipe from the time, so vanilla slices might well have been the preserve of the commercial baker. (I can find an English recipe for “vanilla slices” from the 1950s, which features white icing on top, and consisting of three rectangular layers of puff pastry, sandwiching two modest layers of both jam and either whipped cream or “confectioner’s custard”.)

I think the culinary world needs clarity, so tell me, dear readers (especially Gen X and older), did you grow up with the Victorian-style vanilla slice in your neck of the woods. Or was there something with a heavier custard? What was it called? And how long ago? Or was there nothing? And what about overseasy people?

My apologies in advance for any rumbling stomachs these questions may cause.

food, hl, local, society, travel

Eating your politics (or prejudices)

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I first tried Max Brenner when it was just a shop in Paddington in Sydney. After that visit, I was surprised to discover that the chocolates I had bought were made in Israel. The presence of Israeli companies in Australia isn’t strong, and often obscured (the Australian Max Brenner website makes almost no mention of the Israeli connection)

In the following years, the company has expanded into a hot chocolate empire (although a chocolatier, in Australia the brand is known mainly as a place to have hot chocolate, and is extraordinarily popular for its overpriced chocolate foods, often with underripe strawberries). Extraooooordinarily popular, seemingly with a broad cross-section of consumers here.

Until, that is, you walk down the street past a Chocolateria San Churros (another overrated hot chocolate place, this time with disappointing sweet churros) and notice a different mix of consumers – many Indonesians and faces from across the Middle East, for instance, alongside the range of consumers you also see over at Max Brenner. At first I was just puzzled at the different faces, then the light went on. No surprise that the Muslim population (amongst others) might choose to avoid Max Brenner for political/social reasons.

Examples of this sort of consumer behaviour lie well below the radar for most Australians, quite simply because there a few examples of that sort of home-grown or home-sustained political/social polarisation. Sure, Melbourne’s Lebanese population is, I’m led to believe, quite clearly divided between north and east in their choice of shops, and perhaps the Croatians and Serbians refuse to enter each other’s shops too, but those are deep-rooted historical divisions.

I can only think of two locally nurtured discriminations, now quite old: (1) When I was a kid, I’m sure that my parents would have strongly discouraged me from frequenting, say, a South African shop (if such a thing had existed in Melbourne) because of their views on apartheid. (2) Severe antipathy between Catholics and Protestants in Australia lasting until the mid-20th Century presumably affected where people shopped/ate (as it did their employment, leisure and marriage options – here’s an interesting radio documentary).

This article was prompted by some news of anti-Israel political action in front of Max Brenner stores, and the contrary action of a former prime minister to deliberately have a hot chocolate there. I wonder what other examples readers know of where political or social beliefs (not basic broad racism, or a real religious requirement – kosher/halal/etc) specifically affect the shopping or dining habits of sections of the Australian population?

What about in other diverse communities?

Please AVOID political, religious or prejudiced OPINION here. I’m seeking objective commentary about how such opinions in communities shape people’s shopping/dining behaviour.

blogging, food, hl, local, media

Can the honest reputation of foodblogs survive the PR-foodblogger relationship?

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Let me start with a series of questions…

  • Did you hear about the Singaporean blogger who got entangled in a mess of accusation and counter-accusation about a free meal? At first it seemed like ego, but later facts indicate it was other people’s egos, plus some PR/restaurant dirty dealing.
  • Do you sigh with disillusionment when you discover yet another foodblog that now features effusive sponsored product or restaurant reviews?
  • Did you know that there is now a chocolatier (Melb.) and a patisserie (Syd.) banned from all mention on Syrup & Tang because of deliberate pseudo-genuine comments promoting (“shilling”) their products? (And a third (Melb.) will be if they try once more.)
  • Were you invited by PR company Media Moguls to an unspecified “blogger event”, but first had to provide your visitor stats? (In correspondence I described this as “rudely presumptuous”.)
  • Have you seen comments on other blogs protesting their “genuine punter” nature and recommending an establishment? Some of those come from the restaurant’s own internet connection… funny, that.
  • Have you received PR-spam because a Melbourne blogger working for a PR company appears to have added her private address book to the company’s database? (I’ll name her if I get one more piece of unsolicited garbage in my inbox.)
  • Have you heard about (at least one) Melbourne blogger who visits cafés, asks probing questions during busy service, and conspicuously takes flash photos without asking? (It’s about the lack of courtesy, not the photos.)
  • Have you noticed that bloggers are increasingly being invited to PR events for which there is an entry/attendance fee? (They wouldn’t try to pull that one on mainstream media!)

It seems foodblogging has matured far enough to be entwined in a pretty tiresome game of cat and mouse with restaurateurs and public relations (PR) companies, egos, money and more.

This article has been brewing for a few months, as I tried to reconcile my opinions about freedoms, community, advertising and blogging. Luckily for me, Brian at Fitzroyalty was perhaps the first to loudly object in detail to some recent developments while I was still vacillating, then Claire published an encouraging post reminding readers of how diverse and interesting the blogosphere can be. Ed also wrote a simple to-the-point post back in June.

I’ve rejigged what I first intended to write, but there will be some natural overlap with other people’s articles (some of which I may have overlooked or forgotten) or comments. As each of our readerships differ a bit, I hope some readers don’t mind the overlap.

When I started blogging, I knew there were different types of bloggers, variously wanting to share, inform, diarise, explore, think, make friends, review, cook, boast, show off, promote a business, etc. Sydney blogs were already known for a bit of a commercial tinge here and there. More numerous Melbourne blogs were generally a bit less “blingy” and there seemed to be more interaction across a broad range of people.

Our first three gatherings were open-invitation, sponsor-free, competition-free, prize-free, warm affairs, with a bit of trepidation but not much showing off. They were enjoyable. Reading reports of the recent commercially-coloured get-together, I was interested to see how few of Melbourne’s long-standing bloggers attended, and I’m guessing more than a few were put off by the change in tone (though I’m not claiming that the people who did attend were at fault, or didn’t enjoy themselves).

Blogs meet commerce

Just like magazines or TV shows, the publisher/producer of a blog chooses what to present and the readers can choose what content they consume. It could therefore be argued that any blogger can do anything they choose (a point made by a number of irritated commenters on Phil Lees’s post earlier in the year that (rather inconsistently) flagged supposedly commercialised bloggers).

Bloggers develop specialisations, styles, or find themselves growing business ideas out of their blogs. Many have successfully achieved a respectful (to the readers) balance between their new business and the original goals of the blog. For many bloggers, there are also external commercial temptations along the way and each blogger has to work out how or to what degree they embrace that.

Some people believe that all commercial interactions are in some way “compromising”, but I think that’s both rigid and rather unrealistic. It’s possible to run obvious ads, for instance, without that affecting your own content (though I think it can degrade the perceived quality of a blog — see some US blogs, for instance, plastered head to toe in banners and commercial bling). It’s also clear that foodlovers can benefit from access to events and information that they might not usually get, even if this is in the context of marketing activity of some sort. Mild bias might be inevitable, but it’s unavoidable under any circumstance as a consumer anyway. Managing the bias is a more critical issue as a blog owner.

As the years have passed, some people have joined blog networks, such as Foodbuzz, only to discover that these were intended in no small part as revenue generators seducing bloggers into a sort of interdependence with niche advertisers. And others have joined ad networks like the much mentioned Nuffnang, which is perhaps little different from Google as an display-ad provider, but has successfully persuaded many bloggers to compromise the integrity of their content by variously providing freebies for review, sometimes with editorial guidance, and arranging events or access to events where most bloggers feel obliged to write at least moderately positive things.

Meanwhile, PR companies have embraced blogs as genuine media participants and therefore fair game for a myriad of marketing approaches (Another Outspoken Female’s rants about this (1, 2) are excellent), but pay-for-attendance event invitations reveal that the respect is fairly limited.

At the same time, individual businesses and talentless PR people seek increasingly to manipulate blog readers by posting false or anonymous comments on blogs, willingly lying about their “genuine” nature, and too many bloggers let this happen (a fair proportion of such comments are quite obviously false, either through the wording or the technical info accompanying the comment).

Clean reputation matters, for everyone

Is all this a problem if bloggers and blog-readers get to choose what they write or read? Yes. There is an obvious risk that the hard-fought-for recognition of food bloggers as genuine and honest reviewers, writers or cooks is being directly undermined. Some bloggers who started to ride the PR gravy train have already reassessed their enthusiasm, becoming more careful in choosing the invitations or freebies they accept, and approaching reviewing opportunities with a far more critical eye. That’s a natural development, and I hope that trend continues.

Running advertorial content, sponsored reviews, or similar material can endanger the respect people have for your own blog, or for the whole spectrum of foodbloggers. Unfortunately, some comments on both Brian’s and Phil’s posts, show there are people who feel an entitlement to some sort of commercial reward for blogging or who will uncritically promote a product as long as it is a basic “fit” with their blog content, and I doubt they care if the scepticism they cause spreads to the large numbers of other bloggers. As the flattering PR attention increases, will we see a wave of blogging egos demanding privilege and special treatment? I’ve heard rumours that it’s happening here already.

Many bloggers have been trying for years to educate PR people about blogs, respectful engagement, and not filling inboxes with irrelevant rubbish. It would be a pity to see the public and mainstream media regarding foodblogs as untrustworthy PR mouthpieces, where previously the biggest battles were with restaurateurs who hated bloggers for telling the genuine everyday experience of a customer, and journalists who loathed the unedited and sometimes faster-to-the-news nature of blogs.

Will the good intentions and often noble goals of many foodbloggers be suffocated by tempations, egos, and the taint of careless commercialism? Many longstanding bloggers have been quieter than usual in the last six months, perhaps in part due to disquiet at the change in tone.

 

A note about my own sites:

I like reviewing stuff, and originally intended to do much more than I have over the last three and a half years. Only on very rare occasions have I received free samples or attended events, and usually they were too rubbish to write about. Nonetheless, I don’t oppose writing about things I discover as the result of recommendation or press release and genuinely find worth commenting on, but whatever the case, I review without fear or favour (which might also be why I’m rarely offered freebies;) ).

I deliberately separate most of my regular macaron-making announcements from the main Syrup & Tang site and RSS feed because I don’t expect my readers will want to wade through frequent commercial announcements. I think it’s a sensible, respectful approach which many other bloggers have also taken.

I own a book review website, The Gastronomer’s Bookshelf, and occasionally make announcements on Syrup & Tang about the reviews. The site was set up because there were so many crap, PR-driven book reviews out there. Blogs are particularly problematic, because most bloggers feel obliged to write positively about free books they receive (especially a problem in the US and UK). On The Gastronomer’s Bookshelf we tell all publishers that if they supply a book, they do so at their own risk, because we definitely publish critical reviews.

A note about comments:

Comments must be respectful and constructive, whether agreeing or disagreeing. There is no right to comment (this is my website), but most comments are usually published after checking. Anonymous comments for publication can be emailed directly to me (you have to identify yourself to me, but request public anonymity, with a good reason). Private emails which are rude to me might be published.

food, local, macarons, media

The flexible macaron Top 20 and why I’m off it

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Many people have asked me why I’m not participating in the Melbourne Macaron competition, I’ve decided I have to write this article explaining my perspective. Despite my criticisms, please note that I do hope that event turns out to be fun and successful.

Mystery

Was it poor execution or a cynical PR-thing? First, Twitterers noticed they were being followed by @eatmacarons, a new account that announced the impending revelation of the “top 20” Melbourne macaron establishments and a competition event in October. The account profile pointed to a website “coming soon”. No identification of who was behind the list or the event. Nix. Tantalising tweets went out, tweet-incentives too (free tickets). Still no uncloaking of the organisers.

To me, it smelled like yet another public relations game among the many now playing in the food-internet/blog-world. Managing to follow over 1000 people on Twitter in less than a month is seriously impressive. After some technical research, I discovered that this “Food Designer” was behind it.

On the Sunday before the public announcement of her list, I got a call. (I don’t think out-of-the-blue non-crisis business calls on a weekend are polite, but clearly, telling me I was on her Top 20 list was so urgent that calling was absolutely necessary.) At the same time an invitation letter and entry form for the October competition arrived by email.

The Top 20 list was interesting (and still is). As someone giggled to me, “are there that many good macaron makers in Melbourne?” How did the list come about? As far as I can divine, personal recommendations to the organisers. (And I know who nominated me – thank you.)

Less than 24 hours later another organiser called asking me to verify my participation in the competition (the closing date was still four days away).

The invitation letter described the event as a “student-run initiative”, but the signatory to the invitation was the “Food Designer” Linda Monique Kowalski. She didn’t identify her business or that she (presumably) isn’t a student in this initiative.

Eventually, the website revealed that “A team of 15 volunteers directed by creative consultant & fooddesigner, Linda Monique, aim to promote this petit four as the next cosmopolitan cupcake.” Oh yay. It was still oddly unclear why the students/volunteers were involved (revealed only after I enquired directly to be a Melbourne University student entrepreneurship initiative).

Pay-to-play, and don’t read the rules

The letter informed me that a participation fee for the competition was due by Friday. $220 thank you. This sort of thing might be common in PR/industry competitions, but no thanks.

Reading on, the short set of competition rules finished with clause 6:

“Additional rules to the competition my [sic] be implemented by the Melbourne Macaron team”.

I see. So one agrees to compete and they can do whatever they want with the competition? Amateur or dodgy?

The flexible Top 20

I declined. So did Café Vue, it would seem. Both our names vanished from the “top 20” list tout de suite. We were promptly replaced with backups. I’ve just noticed that Baker D. Chirico is now also gone, replaced by Brunetti. And OMG ROFL the organisers even went so far as to purge their earlier tweets naming us on their list.


The website Top 20 list at the start, and today.


The Twitter feed for @eatmacaron seems to have suffered a deletion. Where’s no. 4? It used to be Café Vue.

There’s something inherently dishonest (or amateurish) in creating and publishing a Top 20 and then editing it post hoc to suit your needs. And it’s just a tad optimistic to assume every nominee would leap at the opportunity to compete (with or without a fee). There was no explicit linkage of Top 20 status and any requirement for participation in the competition (usually you’d name your flexible Top 20 after all the entry forms are in, if that’s how you want to play it).

I continue to hope that the lack of transparency and other issues are more due to inexperience than part of some ill-conceived marketing game, and that it can be a fun event for the participants in the end. I can see the attraction for others who might want a boost in business and I wish them success if they compete.

Finally, so that there aren’t any misconceptions, I don’t mind not being part of the event – while it was nice to briefly have been on the list, I chose not to be involved for the reasons above and events since then seem, for me, to have further justified that decision.

eating, food, local, macarons

Short and sweet: it seems Adriano Zumbo will be a Melbourne fixture

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The Age newspaper this morning mentioned in it’s local gossip column that Sydney patissier and MasterChef regular Adriano Zumbo is on his way to having a presence in Melbourne. I wonder if that explains his increasingly frequent visits!

In some ways I often hope that good pâtissiers will stay on their home turf, giving a reason for visiting their city for a special treat, rather than succumbing to the business temptation of expansion. I imagine many will disagree vehemently, given that Asian outposts of Pierre Hermé and Lenôtre have made it possible to sample good macarons without travelling all the way to Paris. 😉

Of course, until recently Melbourne hadn’t produced any entrepreneurial pâtissiers with the skills to produce good macarons (there are some I haven’t tasted in a while that might have improved… but I don’t spend money on macarons in Melbourne anymore. Too many utterly mediocre experiences.) So I guess Zumbo is giving Melbourne what it deserves.

I visited Zumbo’s shop in Sydney two years ago and wasn’t as thrilled by his macarons as the large number of devotees in Sydney (half of Sydney’s foodbloggers think he’s cute too, so perhaps there’s extra enthusiasm!). I don’t know what his average quality is, but clearly it’s held in high esteem. He’s a creative fellow well beyond just the macarons, and if nothing else he will bring a breath of fun to the patchy but improving (albeit not as much as PR-sponsored reviews might indicate) retail pastry scene in Melbourne.

cooking, local, macarons

Macarons by Duncan – a project comes to fruition

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[UPDATED: PRODUCTION HAS ENDED FOR NOW. SEE THIS ANNOUNCEMENT] Some people are organised enough to document a project and then tell their readers all about it, blow by blow. Not me. All good intentions of snapping photos evaporated as I juggled the eccentricities of an induction stove, the buttons and dial of a fancy Rational oven (it does almost anything, except tell me why it’s not doing what I want!), and the largest macaron batter I’ve ever made! You see, on Monday I stepped into the kitchen of the new food venture, EARL Canteen, by Jackie and Simon.

You probably all know that I expect a lot of the macarons (one-O, not macaroons) of the world, and Jackie finally persuaded me to try my hand at commercial production late last year (abetted by another long-time nagger who is largely anonymous). I understand the baking challenges that confront the home cook, and have never understood why professionals in Australia don’t do a better job. I also understand the pressures and limitations of business (my dream of gold-leaf initials on my macarons will have to wait… hehehe), but a professional should manage demands of mass production and cost and time, right?

I hadn’t been at the practical end of a commercial kitchen until about three weeks ago, and my first production run was, well, last Monday. I went from home batches of at most eighty macarons to 250 in one fell swoop. And you know what, despite everything (including batter up my armprints and ganache down my front), I’m pretty happy with the final product. There are some things that I think could have gone better (no way I’m telling you what, hehe), and I’m sure I’ll be more satisfied as I get more into the groove. And my piping technique has improved:)

Of course, I hope that customers of EARL Canteen enjoy my macarons and that they meet expectations at least most of the time (hey, I’m aiming for all the time, but nothing can be perfect).

Choosing launch flavours was fun. By pure chance, I saw finger limes at my local Coles supermarket (apparently they bought almost the entire supply for this season… I hate to think how much of the fruit went unsold in the stores). I liked finger lime immediately. Funny little “capsules” (actually “vesicles”) of tart, slightly peppery/musty juice. They’re quite robust, and I immediately thought of mixing them into a ganache. Pop! Pop! Fun. Indeed, someone has already described this macaron as “like a sour warhead going off in your mouth”!


Despite this fun, in macaron mass production I found the fruits are an utter bugger to de-capsulate, so to speak, as the vesicles are a bit sticky, and there are quite a few pips in there too! Grrrr.

The second launch flavour had to be passionfruit. Why? Well, Pierre Hermé (the Parisian super-master-macaron-deity) has a delicious, popular passionfruit+milkchoc macaron named Mogador, and everyone seems to love it (including Sarah, who indicated dire consequences if passionfruit didn’t make a rapid appearance in my repertoire). I wanted something fresher, brighter than the Mogador, as passionfruits are in season right now, so a white chocolate ganache was ideal. Add a few pips for cosmetic value and surprise crunch, and there you go…

I’ve agonised over branding for my macarons, and eventually settled on simple, clear Macarons by Duncan. I guess it’s as honest as can be! I hope you like the logo. Was fun and fiddly to get that far. Every Macaron by Duncan will bear a small, colourful dot on one shell… it seemed a fun way to “brand” the product. What’s more, every flavour has a name. Sometimes there might be a reason, sometimes it’ll be a whim. Finger lime is CLANCY dark. Passionfruit is ZARA white.

A third flavour is on the way, quite possibly this week. I’ve set up some subscription options on the Macarons by Duncan page, so that people can keep up with new flavours (and a small amount of trivia (if you subscribe via Twitter) relating to Syrup & Tang, The Gastronomer’s Bookshelf or food in general).


For the moment, I have an enormous list of ideas for new flavours, but if you’ve got a reallllly special request, you can always message me… maybe sometime in the next year I’ll squeeze it in! (Honestly.)

Thanks to all who have encouraged me to make the macarons happen, especially Jackie for making it possible, and Harry, Mittens, Josh, Sarah and Thanh. And thanks to Mark, Y-C and Matevz for their technical advice. I hope everyone enjoys them (if you live nearby or are visiting).

cooking, hl, local, media, society

Soulless food: My Kitchen Rules

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Yet another unreality food show has hit our Australian telly screens. My Kitchen Rules, where teams representing five states vie for the title of most-self-confident but not-quite-expert home entertaining maestros. People showing off to each other isn’t exactly my idea of fun cooking viewing, but hey, maybe there’s something to enjoy in it.

My arse.

The first episode surprised me with the ageist comments of some dinner guests (and co-competitors) about their advanced-middle-age hosts. So, like, wrinklies aren’t meant to be able to cook like pros? I wonder what granny might have to say about that…

The competitors, mostly 20-somethings, show a startling lack of humility (except for the lovely, warm Queensland sisters), but if the second episode is anything to go by (perhaps best subtitled The Guys Who Couldn’t), viewers might be in for more lashings of hubris and patchily competent execution. You know you’re watching quality TV when overconfident lads have a range of high class restaurant chinaware on which to serve up their leathery ravioli, burnt pinenuts and (thankfully) excellent chocolate cake, all the while observing that their performance just wasn’t up to their normal standard (what does it take to boil your pasta to the right consistency when you’re competing for food show-offs of the year?).

It’s good that each pair is locked into whatever menu they submitted before the filming started, otherwise the strategic menu designing would perhaps lead to the last couple having a distinct advantage. But of course, that couple will still be able to correct some of delivery problems that the first two pairs have experienced.

Such a pity that the last couple (some episodes away yet) are the most putridly bitchy pair from Adelaide. May their custards curdle, their fish be dry, their spices stale and their dishes greasy. They seem to deserve little better.

We have yet to endure the we’re-perfect meltdown of the Perth team, and (I hope) a fine performance by the only people who seem truly nice: the aforementioned Queenslanders.

Something tells me that out there in high-end-food-mag-land there are in fact obnoxious people actually engaged in this sort of repulsive pseudo-culinary exhibitionism. I’m glad it’s been a long while since I’ve been to any such “event”.

Meanwhile, I was sitting in front of the telly happily, quietly, unexhibitionistically consuming a delicious plate of rigatoni with red capsicum, bacon and delicious naturally cured Victorian olives. Cooked by me for my tastebuds. Cooked for satisfaction, not show. Just like thousands and thousands and thousands of other foodloving people around Australia.

bowlofpasta

Now, if you want to see how really frightening these guests-to-dinner competitions can get, check out some of the mortifying episodes of the UK series Come Dine With Me on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfV9zQQvjAk (competitor 2 Val, part 1)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZGZmdXtKjw (competitor 2, part 2)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oL3_9Jz_rTI (competitor 4 Dawn, part 1)

And if that didn’t make your day, dear readers, nothin’ will! 🙂