Rohan Anderson's Blog, page 10
June 5, 2013
oregon you bastard, you’ve stolen my heart.
The window was down in the adventure mobile, a honda people mover…(anythings possible). My hands gliding through the force of the wind like a samurai blade. An unfamiliar smell of cedar and pine gently welcoming me with open arms. The road weaved up mountains to Lost Lake, one tight corner after another. And with each new turn my anticipation for a good camp site grow more intense. What would this camping be like? What noises would I hear? What would I see?
(Mt Hood National Park)
I’ve never camped here before, I’ve never seen the Blue Jay, Chipmunk or Squirrel in their true habitat. I held back my excitement to my guide for fear of appearing too nerdy and naturalist, then I forgot to hold back and I just let it out. “Wow…did you see that?!!!” Normal scenes for him where like a different world for me. The experience was phenominal to say the least. To be fortunate enough to see such a natural wonder in this life time is pure indulgence, I’ll definitely be back.
(Yes morels are in season….amazing tucker)
Indulgence was the theme (or so the fella’s suggested) as I told them what I was cooking for camp dinner. In reality it was just some ingredients thrown together cooked very simply in foil with smoke. Not being permitted to bring a rifle on carry on I had to make do with a Portland chicken from a supermarket, but it’s Portland so it’s not some normal supermaerket of course, it’s totally clean, well almost. The meat, vegetables and wine all clearly marked with what state they’re produced in, allowing the consumer to decide on purchasing food closer to the store/home. What a novel idea, I yearned to see something like this in Australia, pretty slim chances of it happening though. I grabbed some chicken thighs, plump and fresh, with a small tub of in season wild morels (yes guys they have wild mushrooms at this eco market…USA!….USA!!!). In the mix was a Salmon, a hard choice to make as we had a time schedule too tight to catch our own fish. Some herbs, veg, wine and we were set.
The fish was like no other I’d seen before, durr it’s a different country Ro. I rubbed the de boned flesh with brown sugar and red wine and marinated it for an hour or so before hot smoking it in a webber, served it with a cous cous salad with pan fried camp eggplant, fresh parsley, new season tomato, spanish onion and plenty of garlic. I figured if all of us ate garlic we’d not notice our stinky breath! The chicken I marinated in parsley, garlic and white wine, wrapped in tin foil and cooked sealed practically steaming the tender flesh from the heat of our comfortaing camp fire. The food was simple….that is until Mr Fancy pants Jason French rocked up and took it to a new mega level of awesomeness. A smoked Lamb bacon thing, a riulette of mixed beast, a wheat butter with rose and a tone of salt that had the boys lining up for bahqette and butter. Actually the guy turned out not to be a douche bag which was a relief becuase I was talking at his resutrunat the folling day at Nedd Ludd, which just happens to be the raddest palce in town.
After tucker we settled in with glasses of this blow away liquor drink called Snap, mixed with portlandier ginger bear with lime. Wow dangerously easy to drink, easy to easy to sink. We sat around the fire, the poler boys, Jason and me talking first world problems, food and getting away from it all. Eventually one by one we slipped away into adventure mobiles and tents. As I lay in my tent looking through the little celling window I thought about the nights conversation. The views and similarities between us men either side of the Pacific. What I admire about the poler guys is their love for getting outdoors, out where we belong with nature. I know this sounds really simple, but I have a theory, that if they convince more people to get into loving the outdoors then maybe that person would change their food habits and prefer food that has less impact on said environment. Lets face it, everything we do has some sort of impact, I guess minimising our impact is the cause.
Special thanks to Jason French (the most rockin Portland Chef) and Benji, Kharma and the poler boys (including Gary).
June 3, 2013
USA books and events
Guys I’m here in the USA!
If you haven’t yet seen the list of dates and venues here is the link for everything. It’s a long way to come from Australia but it’s worth it if I get to meet a good bunch of people, and to be honest I don’t know if/when I’ll be back so lets meet up while the goings good!
While I’m here I am able to sign books and have them posted which I can’t do from Australia due to publishing agreements. So if you’re keen to come to an event there or even if you don’t but would like to order a copy of my book you have a few choices.
I hope to see more of you guys over the next few weeks.
Ro
Differences are the same
The thrust of the 777 set me back in my seat, I sat tight as we raced down the tarmac, I felt squished, it was snug fit between the two blokes sitting either side of me on a Delta flight to LA. “Heading to LA?” one asked. “No, Brisbane” I replied. A blank look was returned.
Across the Pacific lay a world waiting to be explored; not in the sense of discovering new lands, resources or landscapes, it was waiting for me to discover people, to connect. After a few days of shuffling from one airport to another, plane changing, luggage retrieval I finally arrive in San Francisco. I called my host, Daniel, on my cheap AT&T disposable phone – it crackled, the line was as cheap as the handset. “You’re earlier than I expected” he announced. “Sorry dude, but I’m here now”. He said he’d be there in a minute, and by there he meant the BART rail system. I waited at Daly Station and stood observing the people as I waited. There were subtle differences in clothes, cars, number plates but the people were fundamentally the same. Kids giggled and sucked on soft drinks, people spat on the footpath, passengers were dropped off by loved ones, hugged, kissed and left for their destination. Yep, all normal human activity.
The Toyota pulled up with a wave from the driver’s steering wheel. I had no idea what this bloke was going to be like, I’d just opened my arms up to San Fran a week earlier and asked anyone for help with accomm, and this couple said come on over. I hoped he didn’t have some hard metal implements and a lot of rope in the back of that pick up. Too late now. “Hey man how you doin?” and we were off.
Daniel turned out to be a real gentleman, one with so many of the same thoughts as myself, especially obvious when I spotted the Walden Pond picture framed, hanging on the wall in the lounge. I settled into my room and checked in with home while the smell of Dan’s beer bread filled the kitchen. I knocked the top off a coldie and we talked for a while, it wasn’t anything dissimilar to what I’d be doing at home. The bread finally made it from the oven and what a ripper it was. We grabbed one loaf, wrapped it up and headed out for coffee and to drop the bread off at his mates restaurant, Outerlands, where we’d be hopefully tucking into a meal later that evening. At Daniel’s favourite cafe we sat on high bench stools while this fella that looked like a 60′s revolutionist/beatnik called Jay poured our coffee, He was right into the whole process of the coffee creation, he had passion about what he was doing and reasons why he was doing it. Just like some people I know back home. We sipped our black gold, chatted and headed out to see some San Fran, well to be more precise, Dan’s view of San Fran. We walked a high suburban peak that looked over the sprawling Golden Gate park, which we ventured into and I fell completely in love with. Not only is Golden Gate Park an absolute jungle of botanical gems, but more impressive is that it has bison in it. Yes roaming bison in the middle of San Francisco. Beat that Central park?
We didn’t drive to see the steep hill with the bendy road with the pretty flowers, we didn’t go to Alcatraz, go down town or walk the Golden Gate bridge, instead we headed straight for a park that resembled a jungle, a piece of nature right in the middle of a bustling city. It’s one of Dan’s favourite features of the city and I can see why. When you live in the suburbs with human environment constructed all around, your heart must yearn to see, touch and smell nature.
In the early evening we ate at Outerlands. I rarely eat out, I’m not rich enough. But here I was happy. The place has a reason, a carefully pondered reason behind what they do and why they do it. The have relationships with growers and suppliers, they know where the food comes from and the actually cook seasonally and not in some wanky foodie way. As impressed by the values I was, I was more impressed with the food. As each dish was brought out, wow. Each mouthful an exciting experience. How the hell do people like eating horrible food when you can eat this? Glazed young carrot with a ricotta the guys make, savoury oats, eucalyptus honey (grows like a weed in SF) and wild fennel. Turnip and smoked onion soup topped with crispy pork shank, oregano and a few slices of home made bread. Fresh (in season) morels, with soft poached egg, crispy barley, mugicha and some sexy-as sauce. Moaning ensued, so much so that Dan explained to the waitress it wasn’t him making me moan, it was the food. After all he has a lot of sailor tattoos, he’s well groomed and we are in San Francisco. The experience is one that I’ll never forget. Thanks to Dan for dragging me out. I don’t make recommendations often but there is a reason why people queued out for a seat. Try the fish. Try the mushrooms. We finished the night with a few drinks at a bar, but eventually after being on planes for a few days I was ready to hit the hay.
We headed out to the big farmers’ market in the morning to meet up with Casey who worked at a peach stall on weekends. The market had a lot of the artsy foods, the stuff that tourists get a kick out of but when we made our way passed the stalls and shops inside we came out into the open where the real action was. And again I saw it was just like back home, stalls of food lovingly grown by people that give a shit about what they’re doing and passionate about why they’re doing it. Everything was grown locally, the seasonal food was a treat as its a the flipside of what we’re doing down south. Ripe cherries, plums and peaches found their way into my mouth, the variance in taste, texture and sweetness making me one happy bloke. I was tasting California and I liked it.
By late afternoon after I’d done a talk at Omnivore books, I found myself on a small prop plane leaving the tarmac for Portland. On recommendation from Dan I was reading ‘Farm City’ by Novella Carpenter, her story of becoming an urban farmer. As engrossed as I was with Novellas story, I couldn’t help but put the book down for a spell, I had a huge amount in my mind to digest. What I’d seen so far was a people similar to those in Australia. It seems that we’re facing very similar problems and subsequently I saw that there were some people trying to deal with those problems in similar creative ways as back home. For instance, Dan’s baking of bread, he’s little porch garden, the food he and Casey eat from the farmers market. Sure this is nothing new, and for a town like SF it seems pretty standard, but let’s face it they could eat takeaway constantly and shop at the supermarket for everything.
The majority of people in the city still eat food from a supermarket, that’s why Safeway there is doing a good trade. And as much as I think the farmers’ market is wonderful and full of amazing Californian produce I can’t help but lament that it’s a once a week affair with only a handful of stalls in comparison to the big corporations that feed the nation. Same can be said about the restaurant Outerlands, it runs on a concept of understanding where their food comes from, it’s done with care and thoughtfulness and appreciated by a few. But in the scheme of things it’s not something everyone can access, afford or even contemplate. I wonder how do we get people excited about good food that ticks all the boxes, the food that had me moaning at the restaurant table. And by people I’m not just talking about well-off middle class I’m talking about all of us, all backgrounds, all people, rich, poor, Aussie and Yank. How do we get people to change from eating chicken nuggets to new season carrots?
I reckon it’s something only achievable when there is no other choice remaining. The more I look into the woes of the food system of the first world the more I get cynical about the future. With all this amazing stuff happening all around us we are but a few, a small percentage lost in a much larger number. Sure there is a tide, but we really need a tsunami. Currently people have choice. It’s easier to buy food from a supermarket than it is to grow your own and eat seasonally. It’s easier to eat food that been processed, added to and packaged than cook a meal from raw ingredients. So what would entice someone to change? It’s a first world problem thats the same in both America and Australia. The only way we’ll see change is financial hardship. Because that will remove the choice. If the price of food eventually does skyrocket because of rising fuel prices then the choice will be removed and thus the Cuba approach will be implemented. Until that time, while the choce for people remains, the easiest, cheapest food will rule supreme. The down side is the impact we scare the environment as a result.
May 29, 2013
The final veg
The winter is upon us, the paddocks are getting wet and boggy, and the frosts wreak havoc on the delicate veg. Our veg grower is calling it a day for the season, and the reality of living through the cold months bares it’s ugly head.
It’s the sad reality of growing veg up here in the central highlands. Its a tough climate.
Thank you for everyone that has support us by buying our veg. We will be back on board in the warmer months and maybe we’ll even put together some winter soup and stew veg boxes together, and obviously we’ll give you a tingle.
Orders are open for the last week of veg boxes. Order here.
Over the winter and into spring I’ll be running my workshops (of course with the amazing help of hellokateberry) if you’re interested book here.
May 22, 2013
america here I come
Going back to America has been on the agenda for a long time. Finally it’s happening. in fact, I fly to LA next week.
For three weeks I’ll be visiting as many places as possible. I want to meet as many people as I can, I want to talk sustainability, food, philosophy, music and hamburgers. I’ll be sharing a dinner meal, sharing ideas and creating new memories. I’ll be giving talks and signing books. Best of all I get to meet you all! And let me tell you…I can’t wait to see you all! It’s been a long time coming.
Here are the cities I’ll be dropping by. Some events are still being finalised so I’ll post more details as they get confirmed. Contact me at info@wholelarderlove.com
May 19, 2013
more questions than answers
“Dad…what does exist mean?”
Fuck. How the hell do I answer a question like that? My four year old has nailed me with a question that I’m still asking myself as an adult. We’re driving out of the forest, our baskets devoid of mushrooms our hearts a rather deflated. I’m not sure where the question came from, maybe it derived from our existential philosophical conversation walking the paths searching for wild mushrooms, which in fact is just me talking to myself with the odd effort to include a random kid in conversation. I’m often overcome with what my kids ask me, so stumped am I that I end up asking myself the questions my kids are asking me. Often I reply by simply asking them for time to think about the question until I can come up with an answer. This answer to this question however, was no where to be found, like the mushrooms we’d just been searching for, it was a mystery.
As far as I’ve experienced, existing simply invites more questions. I’m aware that I’m only around for a short time, I’ll blaze as brightly as I can, then my light will fade away to be lost forever. We all face the same reality, the difference is in how we blaze.
My hands dig deep into the frigid soil, the tips of my fingers ache cold, deep into from the flesh into the bone. My garden is in a state of chaos, it’s being ripped, dug out and transported to the new house by order of the landlord. The soil I’ve worked, the soil that has provided us such valuable asset is now just something that has housed things to exist, which in turn feeds us so we continue to exist. As I work the soil I feel for the wide head of parsnip, the round bulbous of beetroot, the whte stalk of fresh leek, everything must be harvested, and in turn cease to exist.
As I pull out one specimen after another I feel the question from my four year old daughter resonating in my thought. I exist because I’m fed, I’m fed because I grow, because I work for my nutrients. It makes sense. It’s a simple cycle of energy out….energy in.
Later that week I run a workshop sharing the skills of my everyday live with those keen to learn. We discuss, we share ideas and concepts, techniques and concerns. It’s not just a skills sharing its a stew of thoughts, ideas and attitudes. We walk the forest paths searching for this years elusive mushrooms and no matter how much I assure people that they are safe to eat, there is always a few that feel apprehension. Eating food that’s grown wild and natural is something foreign for most of us and invariably intimidating. We do however, put absolute faith in food that we can select off a shelf and place in a shopping trolly based on the picture on the packet or the television commercial we saw on the item on last nights television. The reality is that the wild food is better for us, even though there is often apprehension that it may poison us. The irony is that the food we eat from the supermarket is probably making us unhealthy and in many cases slowly killing us. It’s just less obvious than a poison mushroom. It’s slow and discrete.
I have yet to answer my daughters question. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to answer it in full. While I work on a suitable answer I’ll plant more seed, I’ll continue to walk the forest for mushrooms, the fields for rabbit and pass on what ever skills I can to those who’ll listen. Maybe that’s all it is for me to exist.
May 13, 2013
yesterday and tomorrow
The morning sunlight snuck in through the cracks in the tin wall. The chill of morning slapped my face, I wasn’t bothered none. I was well rested. Maybe it was the labour of weeks of preparation, maybe it was just the effect of sleeping out where I belong, no matter, I was stretching well and ready to embrace the morning. I’ve never slept in horse stables before, but I was determined to test out the beds I had made for my guests before they arrived, just in case there were improvements to be made that I’d not thought about. There’s nothing like putting yourself through an experience just to ensure you’ve got it right.
Busy days passed, preparation and hard work the order of the day. Before we knew it the first student of my workshop had arrived, then another, followed by even more. My nerves kicked in, what if they didn’t like me? What if they didn’t like the way I taught? What if the stables weren’t comfortable enough? It was too late now. This was it. My workshops where go.
The idea behind the workshops was skills sharing. I’ve learnt a good deal over the years and I’m keen the share the skills in the hope that a snowball effect may happen.
Maybe people might change the way they view food, by the experience of killing an animal mights open up minds to the the processes of getting that food to the table, the damage done to the environment from conventional food production systems, and the ethical dilemma of animal treatment.
I was as prepared as I could be. I wasn’t however prepared for the people. The diversity of people, the love from people and the determination of people to make changes, to challenge themselves.
I’ve come away from the weekend not as the teacher, but as the student. I’ve learnt a great deal this past weekend. So much so that I guess I need to take a few walks in the forest to be alone and to think. My cynical mind has been recharged by the people that visited me this weekend, they came to learn skills from me, but left teaching me a good lesson in humanity. I’ve shed a few tears secretly these last few days, my arms an array of goosebumbs. I’m inspired by positivity alone. Just by sharing what I take as normal practice, I’ve received a shot of inspiration. I feel I now have purpose. To share is to inspire. And I’m inspired. Thanks for sharing.
May 6, 2013
naturally unnatural
The soil crumbled between my fingers like crystallised salt, void of moisture that would normally bind the particles together. Autumn has been unseasonably dry, a sign of the times or just another dry year? The indicators point to something abnormal. The wild mushrooms that should be prolific by now are slim pickings, the clouds refusing to release moisture, the parched soil responds in a predictable manner.
It’s at this time of the season that I harvest the last round of potatoes that have been secretly growing under the crust of the earth, as they store energy into the bulbs that we in turn harvest and recharge our selves with.
Potatoes seem to soften hard soil, so much so that when you pull tubers out the soil breaks easily. They also draw on what goodness was in the dirt, so it needs to be recharged with a compost and a different crop the following season. Rotating the crop is a well aged tradition, something taught to me and knowledge I will pass onto who ever is interested.
I stacked the potatoes in the wooden tray, my mind a buzz with ideas of what to do with them. Cooking with food I’ve grown, and ultimately picked from the back garden still gets me excited, I assume it always will. There is something intrinsically fulfilling about providing for yourself and your family.
Growing your own food though and cooking with raw ingredients seems to be a pastime of minority. Not long after I was pulling tubers from the dry soil, was I walking the isle of a small supermarket on an errand to source some baking powder. Not being familiar with the location of said item, I walked most isles, gazing with interest with the ‘food’ items on offer. From instant risotto to frozen dinners. Isles of canned items, packaged meals, powdered sauces and meal enhancers. Half the food here would be unrecognisable to someone from the pre war era. Most of it seemed unnecessary.
The staples are still there, the flour, salt, sugar and baking powder. All available for us to make what we produce ourselves a complementary success. I’m glad I can still get the staples, but I wondered if the shop could be a lot smaller, if it wasn’t so full of all the other ‘food’. But then again I reminded myself that I’m a bit unnaturally natural. My potatoes grown without chemical assistance, back yard reared, practically zero food miles and full of flavour and texture too boot. The alternative was at the supermarket where the washed variety grown in South Australia, and shipped over here with a high carbon expense.
I guess at some point we’ve all tired of hearing about the true cost of food. But I wonder what our future generations will think of our affluent lifestyle. The food most of the western population eats these days, and how it effected the environment and the health of the human population. I wonder if the system will change, why it will change and what will be the catalyst for change.
As I tuck into a simple meal of creamy mash topped with chorizo, I can’t help but wonder if it will once again be normal to be natural.
April 24, 2013
forest food
Years ago when I lived in the city, I desperately wanted to own a BMW. They were the epitome of success, and as a young ‘executive’ I dreamed of being thought of as a successful player. Some thirteen years later I drive my teenage jeep into the forest with only one thing on my mind, finding a mushroom. My priorities have shifted.
My home has shifted. Once I felt at home in a city house, now I feel home when I’m here.
I find it interesting how much we change as humans as we age. We’re all different in what we believe in, dream for, lust for, aspire for. But we’re all humans, we all face the same unavoidable fate. We all leave a mark on the world, both spiritually and physically. For some unplanned reason, my mind has changed over the last decade. I’ve been questioning why I do what I do, and how I live. The outcome is, I’ve made changes based on the beliefs I’ve formed, and thus I live a life of simplicity. I don’t do things I don’t want to do, I’m not interested in growing business and making more money, quite the opposite. I’m quite happy just being able to pay the rent and utilities and fend for myself and the kids.
I was talking with a friend yesterday about this very thing. An approach to life that surely must have some mental and emotional health benefits. The idea is that you rid yourself of things in your life that you can actually survive without. A car loan, an extra house, a credit line. Removing these debts frees up your time and money which means you can actually concentrate on real living. I know how I ended up being in debt all those years ago. It’s simply that I wanted stuff, stuff that would make my life better. But it doesn’t. Not in the slightest.
My current lifestyle doesn’t allow for idleness. I’m the busiest I’ve ever been. But I do things on my own terms, I do what I believe is right, not what’s expected of me. I don’t have an allocated lunch break, instead I’m free to eat when I’m hungry. I sleep when I’m tired, and I fill my days with tasks that need to be done, each task either contributing to food stores or homes comforts i.e. firewood collecting or cleaning. My greatest achievements are seemingly diminutive. A good crop of beans, a basket of found chestnuts and a cap filled with the first wild mushrooms of autumn. Food is such an integral part of all of our lives, and when you start to play a significant role in its preparation you can taste the result.
My food is simple. It is made by hand. It’s grown. It’s hunted and it’s fished. When I look at a dish it has traces of effort layered all over it. The mushrooms I picked, the sourdough bread I made, the garlic and thyme I grew.
I know I’m at an extreme end of the scale and that most people living in the city couldn’t do everything I do. But there is always something all of us can do to live better and reduce food print. Maybe I should list them?
I’ve been humming this song in my head a lot lately. The line that gets me is, “inaction is a weapon of mass destruction”
April 23, 2013
hot stuff
Leaves are falling all around, the northerly wind turns to a south westerly, bringing the cool air up from Antarctica in turn the veg of summer calls it a day. Plants lay weary and limp, leaves discolour, they begin to rot, returning the goodness they acquired over summer back to the ground as the perpetual cycle continues. It’s an ominous time, there’s a morbidity to these days. One might suggest its the polar opposite of that awareness of the re-birth of spring.
There is however a charm to this slow down in nature, it comes in the form of the fruit of summer. It hangs ripe and full, like a mothers bosom, nurturing and comforting. It fills you with not only wonder for the beauty of nature, but puts you at ease with the knowledge that the larder is stocked, we will survive.
It’s a lifestyle I’ve grown accustomed to. There is no doubt that its not mainstream to live like this in this age, but its the way people have lived for generations, utilising summer’s warmth to grow food for a crisp winter. Now it’s the time to pickle and preserve.
As winter rears its frigid head, I long for hot stews and warming dishs. Mornings with eggs and home cured bacon, improved with a dash of that hot salsa picante, a chilli sauce that’s hot and smokey and makes everything ok. I love growing chilli in the warm months. Even in our tepid climate we can successfully grow them in pots, bathtubs and anything that has good drainage and retains the warmth of a summers day.
Nurturing many varieties gives me a bit of culinary choice, some are hot and some not so much. Some work well as a garnish, some in cooking and all of them help make a nice chilli sauce, my salsa picante. It’s a mix up brew of all my chillies, but it always has the addition of smokey chipotle or mulato chilli giving it that distinctive mexican vibe. This season I’ve likely made over four litres of this powerful conduction. It will warm my meals over winter with summer chilli heat. Its exciting to have it bottled at the ready for those fresh eggs and smokey bacon on my sourdough. My life is now made exciting by home made chilli sauce. No longer rock and roll. But pretty stoked.
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