help wanted

Posted on April 9th, 2013

For the last few months, every Saturday morning at 5am my alarm goes ding. It’s veg box delivery day. It’s become a weekly ritual of sorts. A ritual that encompasses my whole view on food production and distribution. The food we supply is grown down the road from our place in rich volcanic soil, totally organic (certified for 30 years) and it’s pulled out of the patch the day before we deliver it to city people. A far cry from what’s available at the big supermarkets, but I don’t need harp on about that western world problem right now, we have our own problems to contend with.

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So on Saturday before the sun rises from it’s slumber, we load the boxes of vegetables from the farm and head down to the big smoke. We talk to the veg eating customers as we hand over the produce, we love hearing about all the meals that have been enjoyed over the previous weeks with the fresh vegetables and fruit.

 
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After the three drop of point in the city we head back west to complete the final drop off to a handful of townies in Ballarat then home to rest with a cuppa then continue the daily chores before a well deserved rest, and no doubt heavy slumber.

 
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When I lay my head down, shoulders and back a little challenged by the days activities, I can’t help but contemplate the purpose of what we’re doing. On the western Highway heading to the city we’re often passed by oncoming 16 wheeler trucks marked with the big brands of supermarket chains heading back to the country to deliver food, often driving food back to where the primary produce was raised. We have a 7ft trailer, they have semi trailers shipping endless pallets of stuff, destined for the shop floor. We are just a miniscule dint in the food delivery system, not even a bee’s dick. We have no intention of competing, and we run on the smell of an oily rag. In fact if we can’t generate more orders for veg boxes I regret the inevitability of continuing the venture all together.

 
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Last week we hardly filled the trailer, and just covered our running costs. I’m stubborn in the belief that the vegetables and fruit are so organically good that they don’t need any advertising. I assumed word of mouth would be enough, but I now wonder how valid my assumption was. I often cook with this veg and we love it’s possibilities for family meals. I’d love to see other families tucking into this real food also, but I think I’m going to have to ask for some help. So if you know any family or friends that would like to order, even joining forces and a few mates sharing one box for the week. Any help would be grand. There is an alternative to the supermarkets, it’s families like us delivering it to you on a Saturday morning with a hired trailer and a bombed out old Jeep.

Veg boxes can be ordered here….

http://wholelarderlove.com/generalstore/

a house is not a home

Posted on April 5th, 2013

The sun drops over the western paddocks gliding with ease, from pleasantly warm afternoons, into cool and crisp evenings. The days shorten, as the sun exits earlier, and the moon appears brighter. Bright too are the hordes of unknown constellations filling the night sky, which most nights, of late, have been devoid of clouds, exposing a celestial vista of brilliantly dotted suns. It has a way of putting a man back in his place. The seasons have shifted.

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Around dusk we walk the surrounding land picking up fallen sticks and pine cones, kindling for the evenings fire. Its probably not a necessity to light a fire but it sure does wonders for the soul, especially after busy days when you feel you’ve worked hard all the waking hours but achieved very little. I’m not sure why, but it’s the evenings when I complain to myself about what I failed to achieve that day. There is always something needing to be done the following day. Planning the oncoming day is best done in the company of a crackling fire and a glass of pinot.

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The food patch, currently in a metamorphic state, is looking a little shabby, rest assured it’s very much productive. The many variety of beans, both climbing and bush, are now full of pods ripe with green beans, but we don’t eat them now, they’re a staple for winter. As are the pumpkins that still grow, resilient for now but soon to be defeated with the first frosts of Autumn. Their bounty, however, will be enjoyed for many months, as will the carrots, kale, spinach, beetroot, parsnip, potato, onion and celery…

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This garden, as beautiful as it is to us, is set to be completely demolished in the coming months. A requirement of our rental agreement. There is an element of frustration with this predicament, as I planned to be in this house longer than a year, but that is the unpredictable nature of being a poor man tied to a rental agreement. I dream that one day I may have enough money to purchase the right block of land and own it outright. To build for the future with permanency guaranteed. I see so much good land being used inappropriately or not being used at all, it’s often a heartbreaker but I must persevere.

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When the time comes to vacate, I’ll have to rip up all that work I put into setting up the patch, then move to the new place and start turning the soil to yet again, set up another renters garden. My new landlords have assured me that we will have longevity in our lease, which is very comforting. Thankfully we’re moving in early winter when the garden isn’t so full of produce, and I’ve been working hard to bolster of stores in the larder to accommodate any shortfall in food supply.

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While we still live here we decided to make the most of the current place, and decided to spend a few nights in the cabin. Just me and my girls, back yard camping for school holidays. No theme parks or indoor play centres, just a smoke house sitting by the veg patch, campfire dinners and plenty of warm blankets. We had a ball.

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The wind howled through the trees in the evenings and the morning the early light snuck in through the cracks in the roof. The girls wished they could live in the cabin, and I wished I’d made it bigger. We enjoyed the experience and thats what matters. I hope the kids remember this place, for what it’s worth it’s been a hectic challenging year for us all. I’m hoping we settle more at the next home.

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An Unprejudiced Palate

Posted on March 26th, 2013

Autumn not only brings the beauty of the deciduous trees to life, it also hails in the busiest time of the year for larder stocking. The kitchen is a hive of activity, the stove often on with large pots bubbling and boiling above the flame. Steam fills the room, as does bowls of discarded fruit peel, and empty bags of sugar and vinegar. A large fowelers pot sits bubbling away, stocked with jars of pears, apples, plums and nectarines all being preserved for winter baking and fruity treats.

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Tomatoes are sliced, salted and dried in a warm ventilated oven, then carefully placed in jars filled with chilli and olive oil. Crushed tomatoes are decanted into long thin jars as passata for winter stews and anything that requires that taste of summer to bring it to the fore.

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Old variety pears site in wooden crates, finishing off the ripening process before they’re either bottled or sneakily eaten by small marauding children.

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Pumpkins sit in odd places for the lack of storage space. Here they’ll store cool and dry, by the time winter comes they’ll become a regular feed. From soup to pizza, risotto to simply roasted, pumpkins are a mainstay of our winter diet. Soon the beans will be stored, they too are a winter staple as they dry well in the pod and store cleanly in large jars waiting to be included in the weekly chilli bean stew. And chilli is dried for cooking or made into a hot salsa picante to dress the mornings bacon and eggs, roast vegetables and anything else that demands the kick of chilli sauce.

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The kitchen shelves, the deep freezer and the outside larder fill up with pretty jars of stuff and things, all different colours and shapes, all edible, all delicious, all made by hand. Not made by craftsmen, or people of the food industry, but people like you and me … it’s us folks.

 

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What was once a dream is now not just a reality, it’s a life well lived. Most evenings end the day with a “I’m knackered”….or….”Yeah I’m stuffed too” as we fall into bed spent. Where I used to lie in bed and worry about work politics or money, I now merely drift off, barely able to last a few pages of a book before I concede that tiredness has got the better of me.

When I first read ‘The Unprejudiced Palate’ I smiled with hope at the end of most pages. Now I feel like Angelo and I could be friends sharing our daily stories of cooking and living the good life. It’s a life thats often sort after by many, and often it’s dismissed as something of a romantic notion. But for me it’s something thats within reach for anyone. All thats required is determination to make it happen. Do I have it? Well I’m trying my best and as a result I’m enjoying life like I never imagined.

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My larder is full of food that is free of chemicals, factories hands and machines, it’s local, it’s branded with low carbon miles. But best of all, it’s just simply real food. Stuff that’s grown in my yard, in my friends orchard, on trees that surround abandoned settlements, picked wild from the ground or bartered with friends.

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If I was asked what I was cooking with, many years ago, I’d have a stag in the headlights moment. I often re-heated factory food in an oven, open store bought sauces and added them to out of season vegetables and badly raised animals. I’d often microwave processed pasta meals and crumbed chicken. I made a decision to leave that behind, head for the hills and life a life like something you’d imagine to see in rural Spain, where food is appreciated for it’s seasonality and cultural importance, it’s also grown in the back paddock.

Anyway, enough talk. It’s late. I’m stuffed. Good night.