Rohan Anderson's Blog, page 4

The bullshit food haze

Low fat. Low Salt. Added Fibre. Reduced fat. Reduced Sugar. All natural colouring and flavour.

It’s a haze of food bullshit.

For years I was so confused. I’d walk those damn isles scratching my head, trying to make the most informed decision about the food I was buying. I also used to opt for the cheapest option, regardless of understanding why it was so cheap. Things have changed.

In 2014 food is bewildering. Just like all the other ‘information’ we’re fed, it’s skewed towards what they want you to hear. Yes that just sounded very conspiracy theorist. Stay with me please.

For example, (and this may get me in a lot of trouble here). Consider the amount of news we’re getting on ISIS and Syria. Or Australia’s recent spate of ‘home grown’ terrorist arrests. It’s pretty big news for the western world right? It seems like the whole damn thing is falling down around us. Well in a way the show almost winding up, with wild tuna stocks in jeopardy, ocean temperatures all over the place and the ice is still melting away, what have the Romans ever done for us?

But there is a more immediate problem thats knocking out us westerners and in big numbers too. Unfortunately the issue though is rather cloudy, it’s almost consumed within it’s own complexity. I write about this issue over and over again, and I will do so until I finally disappear like the wild tuna.

 Modern processed food is slowly but surely killing us off, or at least making our lives miserably unhealthy.

And the pharmaceutical companies are rubbing there hands together and I’m a living example. As soon as it was discovered that I had hyper-tension I was administered blood pressure medication – Micardis. As soon as I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression I was immediately medicated with Lexipro. These two health problems are linked to diet.

Whether you believe in the science that suggests that it’s sugar or grain oils that are the culprit, or fat, salt, pesticides, herbicides or maybe you believe its the added sulphites or nitrates.

It doesn’t really matter what you or I believe to be as the individual culprit. The reality is that pretty well much all modern processed foods have changed our health in one way or another, not for better, but for worse.

The only real way to avoid the problem is to eat real food.

Nothing fancy. Just real bloody food. Food that’s grown without anything added but love. We should be eating meat that’s come from animals that haven’t lived a shit existence. In fact we should eat less meat. I suggest we each find an ethical farmer and support them for life.

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know what my past is. I know that I was sick because of my lifestyle choices, of what I ate and how I got sucked into fast paced, unbalanced work/life balance.

I do know that by making changes in my life, by learning to live like a peasant, to grow, hunt, and forage like a hipster, that I’ve made an improvement to my health and happiness (start burning incense now). And although that is a triple rad outcome, I think what’s even more rewarding is the whole process of how I live now. For example, I recently dug over the soil where last summers poly tunnel was. The soil has been resting all winter, primarily because my poly tunnel was destroyed by fierce winds. But as I dug into the soil, I felt such an odd sense of familiarity, like the soil has been part of my life for so long now. I have memories of digging over garden beds as a kid, and I’m almost 40 and I’m still doing it! And is’t that the way it’s supposed to be? Aren’t we supposed to be involved in what keeps us alive? What fuels us? There is something indescribable about that feeling I have in regards to raising my own food.

 

So many emotions and feelings erupt when I eat food that I’ve made literally from seed. I think that’s whats been giving me balance and clarity over the last few years. But I’m still learning! I’m still on the journey.

 

 

Today I sent off a few copies of my books off to some important people that I hope can help us out with the Nursery Project, and happened to flick upon a page in my old book with a recipe that had ‘tuscan sausage’ in it. What the hell is Tuscan sausage anyway? I probably bought it from a butcher no doubt, which I don’t often do these days, preferring to make them myself. But the point I’m making is that seeing the old me, the one that bought ‘tuscan sausage’ highlighted how much I’ve changed and learnt over these last three years even just since the books completion. I mean I didn’t even know what was really in those sausages. (I’ve since found out that the pork that supplies that butcher is factory farmed and every sausage has preservatives added).

 

 

I’m still learning but now I’m also teaching. It’s an amazing process.

I’m wrapped to launch the Nursery Project website today.

It’s a big project, for sure, and it’s the next progression for us. To pass on and share what we know in the hope that it might bring some goodness to the community of us. Us the people. You know, the ones that are born from a mother and a father. Just us. Humans. Mad Love.

 

 

 

Some light reading for you here:

Colorectal Cancer Epidemiology: Incidence, Mortality, Survival, and Risk Factors

Pigs, a nursery and big news

Many months ago I got a call from a friend about a bunch of piglets free to a good home. This is the second year in a row something like this has happened. Maybe the word has got out the I’m the man to contact to take care of unwanted pigs. And that’s alright by me.

Anyway, as it turned out there were a whole bunch of piglets, of which I didn’t have the facility to take care of. So the piglets went to another friends farm, where I managed to strike up a deal to house at least one of those piglet’s in his porky nursery to be raised to maturity. All I had to do was cover feed cost. Seemed like a good idea to me.

After a fair bit of mucking around (It’s been a busy year for me), we finally got that pig to the abattoir.  A day later hanging at a mates cool room was our beautiful pig ready for us to break down. I have a few pork gurus/mentors which I’m very stoked about, and this mate, well she guided and trained me in the process of breaking down a pig, just like when Johnny Castle taught Baby how to Dirty Dance. I did this job last year, but with a more commerical butcher who wasn’t really interested in teaching me any skills, he just wanted to chop the pig up as quickly as possible. Which is cool. That’s what I commissioned him for. But here, my mentor (female Johnny Castle, but with pork) really took me under her teaching wings. I learnt so much in just a few hours. It’s a blessing to learn from someone so passionate about what they do. She calls herself an ‘ethical omnivore’ which I’ve never heard of before but it makes total sense to me. Maybe I’m one too.

The story here is that the little piglets where housed at a pig farm, a nursery if you will. They grew up with the care from the dedicated pig farmer, and finally matured into a beautiful animal. One step further and they transformed from living animal into a year supply of pork for our family. To finish of the process, the cuts have started to become cured little gems for future cooking like double smoked loin bacon, jamon, chorizo and hot salami.

I’ve had an idea running in my head for a few years now. In fact for too many years, it’s been an idea,  just that. But I’m moving into action now. Last week we looked at a piece of land which was in fact an old nursery that raised little plants to maturity for sale to the public. It has all the bones I need for my big idea.

The idea? Imagine a place where we can show how to grow food and raise animals in a pegged out space the size of the average Australian backyard.

Imagine a place where we can cook real food for people, and where every meal served comes a recipe card so you can go home and cook the food yourself.

Imagine a place that could facilitate workshops and sharing of skills and ideas. And because I don’t have to rent it I can get the rates affordable so that everyone can attend.

Imagine a place for people to experience, touch, feel, taste a lifestyle so beautiful it makes this bearded grump so very content and happy.

Imagine a place where all people, all races, all religions, all the people can come to experience something beautiful. A mini harmonious nirvana, where it’s cool to be a human.

A place where people can buy food staples from producers. Nothing gourmet. Just real bloody food.

I’m working on a crowd funding project for the ‘Nursery’. It will be launched in the next few weeks. I will be calling in a million favours from everyone that cares. I have a LOT of money I need to raise. Like A LOT. I have a lot of meetings, brainstorming and favour asking ahead of me.

When I hear the word ‘nursery’ it evokes a thought of place’s where little things are raised and nurtured to grow into big things. I want to turn this old nursery into a place where I can nuture little ideas into big action.

In a time of chaos, fear, hatred and consumerism, we have an opportunity to make something beautiful happen. We have a project of hope. Watch this space.

 

Baby Rabbit ravioli with in season avocado

If you have a keen eye, you’ll see the rabbits getting all frisky at the end of winter. They bounce around one another in a flirtatious frenzied ritual. They spring and fly into the air with acrobatic fervour. Sometimes they chase one another from one side of their patch to the other. I could sit and watch them for ages, but more often than not I have something more pressing to do with my time. The result of this annual mating display is obvious; many baby rabbits.

Unending baby rabbits in fact. The cycle is as predictable as the mad north winds of spring. Without fail, the new generation rabbits rise out of their labyrinth of warrens into the world of grassy fields. This generation is weird, they communicate mostly by social media and prefer text to conversation, and seem to take way more selfies than the previous generation.

I cannot deny that there is some element of cuteness to this new batch of rabbits, but the underlying fact is that the species is introduced to Australia, it’s a feral pest species. They cause a lot of damage to crops and the warrens wreak havoc with the erodible Australian soils. When I decided to stop buying supermarket chicken because I’d discovered how said birds where raised, I turned to hunting rabbits as an alternative white meat, and I’ve been hunting them ever since. You’d think I’d have tired of them by now, but it’s the opposite. They’re still very much a joy to hunt, a joy to cook, and a pleasure to eat.

When I was a full blooded bogan I used to visit a Italian style pasta chain restaurant that’s relatively famous in Australia. I often ordered a pasta dish that consisted of chicken, avocado in a creamy creamy sauce. It was delicious, but I’m pretty sure the ingredients wouldn’t fit my current view of the world. I’m not sure anything is organic, local or ethically raised. I know sometimes I hear myself and think, “Rohan you’re annoying”. The reality is, right or wrong, I just give a shit about my food. Thus I haven’t eaten there for well over a decade.

With that old favourite meal in mind, I figured I could make my own version. A version of the old meal but through new Rohan eyes. The baby rabbits are fresh and at their best in spring and avocados are now at peak season. The avocados are at peak season and my mates up at Barham Avocado’s grow a selection of varieties that stretch the avocado season from winter to summer.

What could be better than combining in season avocados from the guys up at Barham with the tender meat of new season rabbits. Seemed like an interesting twist on the old meal that I used to order with my blind robotic eyes, but now with my new approach influenced by the new version of Rohan.

I use baby rabbits because the meat is the best quailty, it’s tender and delicious. And before you get on your high horse about me eating baby rabbits, please remember these guys grow up to be adult rabbits. And just like humans, the adults are the ones that do all the environmental damage.

Now I know we have serious issues in the world. Issues that have split the community in two. This dish represents one of those major issues. Apparently it’s very wrong (culinary speaking) for me to have avocados in a hot dish. Seems ok to me, but apparently it’s a big no no. The kids and I didn’t seem to be that concerned as we devoured the meal for dinner. If my kids eat it, I’m happy. If it’s works for you in life, just do it. No one is your boss but yourself. Well that’s how I live anyway.

With everything I cook I make an effort to source good local stuff. If I can’t make it myself, I look for the local option. To be honest, it doesn’t take much effort. Well I don’t think it does. It’s easy to say I’m too time poor. I believe that’s a state of mind. You’re only as busy as you allow yourself to be.

FULL RECIPE available HERE

An idealistic notion

The evening air hung thick and warm. Summer was in full swing at Elkhorn. During the daylight hours the shade of ancient trees offered some respite from the sting of summer sunlight. When the sun fell from view and fireflies danced in the still air, it was the lake that sang to me. In the cover of darkness we swam, lazy and slow. Floating with bodies parts poking out of the wetness. Our faces looked into the night sky, mesmerised by the moment.

The lake was surprisingly warm, it was also full of lake weed that tickled feet as we wriggled about. It was a refreshing momentary break from the draining heat of a Wisconsin summer. Our bodies where confused as we’d just travelled from a cold winter back home, I’m sure they experienced some sort of shock from the extreme contrast in weather. Only a few weeks ago I was standing in snow, now I was on the other side of the planet, sweating it out in summer.

I’d made my way to Camp Wandawega to run my first American workshop in ‘practiculture’. The idea was to share my skills with whoever wanted to learn them. From skinning a rabbit to making sourdough bread and everything in between. I don’t have much these days, be it money or possessions, but I do have a handful of learned skills that I’m keen to share. That’s my commodity.

That was the idea of this workshop. To share skills. That did happen, and people seemed pretty happy walking away with techniques like how to smoke pork loin or how to butterfly a trout. But something happened to me at this workshop that I did not envisage.

I’ve come away asking myself a lot of questions. About my purpose. About what I want to achieve.

When I was a kid, Mum used to call me an idealist. She spotted it early on, and she was dead right. I am an idealist. Ideally I’d like to see more people embrace a certain way of living. I’d like to see people source food that’s not going to make them sick or make the environment worse off. But the reality is this just isn’t going to happen. I don’t have the reach, I don’t have the media presence and I definitely don’t have the money to make that happen.

I’ve now travelled the world trying to peddle the idea of ‘sustainable’ living. I get on stages all over the place and share my story and talk about how making certain changes in ones life can in turn provide massive positive benefits for the individual, their family and our environment. I’ve spoken to thousands of people on this topic but I know that I’m not even scratching the surface.

When I sit in a plane, on that slow approach to land on a runway, I look down at the massive cities. The network of roads, buildings, the built human environment. These places are massive machines. The are too big to be altered. The massive companies that are manufacturing the shit food have budgets, of endless supplies of money to keep the machine going.

The ‘people’ don’t want to hear the news that the cheap food they eat will make them sick. The people don’t want to hear that man made chemicals have negative impact in all areas from our health to the health of the natural world. There are just too many distractions that divert peoples attention form the reality. The sad part is that a lot of our modern world woes are cause and effect i.e. If we stopped eating bad food our hospitals would be quieter.

Ideally I’d love to see little changes made that can reduce our impact on environment. I shouldn’t have to spell out exactly what those changes are, it’s up to the individual to figure that out. We don’t need to be hand fed anymore. We’re adults. Let’s figure things out for ourselves. See there’s me being idealistic again.

The workshop went well by all accounts. It was a stunning venue at Camp Wandawega. That place is something special. The people there where amazing, the students where amazing and the sharing of ideas and skills was a productive two way street. It’s just that I’ve come away asking myself so many questions that, at the moment I just don’t have the answers for.

People keep telling me that I’m doing this or that the wrong way. That I’m not putting enough science behind my message or that I’m wearing the wrong hat. I’m realising now, after being on this path for a few years now that it’s easy to become a target. I know now that if you put out a message your going to get shot down at times. Acceptance is part of the role.

I have one conclusion from this experience. And I’ve turned to my outlaw country hero Willie Nelson for my answer. See, he did his time in Nashville in the 1960′s trying to become a country music star. He tried to play the industry game, was clean shaven and well dressed and tried to write clean songs. But it wasn’t the real Willie. Then he started to do things his own way. He was more honest and became real Willie. Branded an outlaw from the Nashvillie scene, because he ideally wanted to be himself because thats something he could believe in.

Now I know I’m not Willie, I’m not comparing myself to Willie, but it’s the metaphor that lies within the story that I’m interested in. I can’t walk the streets of the worlds great cities telling everybody that they’re living it all wrong. No one will want to be told, and who the hell do I think I am saying that the modern world is slowly but surely killing the health of the natural world and us humans. I can however be myself. I can live my way and record it here, on this old blog. Here I can be the real Rohan. I can continue my journey of discovering real food, and living a more mindful and purpose driven existence. This is not an idealistic notion. This is practical and achievable.

Big thanks to everyone that helped out to make the Camp Wandawega workshop a success.

David and Tereasa for all you’re help getting the event off the ground. Thanks to Max Wastler, Kate Berry, Dillion, Dale, Jacky, Joe, LL Bean, Sweet Paul, Karen and Bob, Ruby Roasters, Underground Porky Jonny and all the students that came, learnt and swam in the lake with me.

The Dead Paddocks

They’re back. The dead paddocks.

Only a few weeks ago they where still green. Lush and green. Now they’re turning grey, they’re dying off. We see them dotted around the country when we drive to town. It’s hard not to notice them.

It’s not from natural causes. It’s not a result of some rare agricultural disease, nor has it anything to do with severe weather. No, these paddocks, the very paddocks from farms surrounding our home have been turned grey because somebody chose to make it that way. It’s another example of human intervention, of meddling with nature, trying to get better yields, trying to make more money.

It’s the annual spring preparation by farmers to prepare paddocks for growing summer crops. So how do the paddocks turn grey? They’re boom spayed with a broad spectrum herbicide, the active constituent is Glyphosate (aka Roundup). It’s a non selective herbicide that’s used to kill all the ‘weeds’ so the oncoming crop has little or no competition (and thus the yield is improved). So popular is the chemical that companies now sell, ’round-up ready’ crops which are genetically modified seeds that are not susceptible to the effects of glyphosate. Mmmmm tasty GM.

There is mixed science about the toxicity of glyphosate. Some people say it’s so safe you can eat it. For those that have attempted to test this theory they have subsequently died from toxic poisoning, so I’m not rushing to pour it on my cornflakes. Well I don’t actually eat cornflakes, or any breakfast cereal for that matter. Do you know what’s in that stuff?

I just wanted to share this with you because the food you buy at the supermarket or at the take away drive through most likely doesn’t have a warning on it stating that synthetic chemicals where used in the production of this ‘food’. See no food company has to legally tell you that the food is certified ‘non-organic’. It’s only the other way around. So everything that you eat that isn’t certified organic most likely has been treated with either a pesticide, herbicide or agricultural antibiotic.

(NB: There are some great producers out there that don’t use chemicals but also don’t believe in the ‘pay to be certified organic’ arrangement…..so keep that in mind, and please don’t write to me telling me your issues with organics or non-organis, I’m simply not interested in the conversation. We can talk about fishing instead.

My parents eat this food. My neighbours eat this food. The townsfolk eat this food. Most of ‘us’ eat this food.

Most of us are also getting sick. We now have an unending list of modern medical aliments from alzheimer’s to IBS, asthma to hyper tension. We’re more sick than we were pre-war, before food started to be produced in this manner.

I’m sharing this because I want people, I want anyone out there to think not just about this dead paddocks story, but to be mindful of all the other chemicals that are added to crops that eventually make our food. Think about the chemicals added to food during processing, added to food to extend it’s shelf life. I’d love to see more people hungry to know how our food is made and what it’s doing to our health.

This is one of the big reasons why I changed my life. My personal health was in tatters and I was concerned about the future health of my daughters. I’m not saying what I’m doing is perfect, hell I ate a burger last week (I WAS IN AMERICA!!!). I’m just saying it’s something we all should be aware of. For my everyday food, I’m glad the majority of it comes from my garden and it’s no longer coming from the dead paddocks.

NB: When I lived in a city house I grew vegetables just like this. I also worked six days a week.

Growing food is really easy. Too easy.

Anything is possible, if you want it bad enough.

Peasant Beans on home made sourdough.

A meal for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

Home grown almost all the way.

Scarlet Runner Beans, Home made Passata, Onion, Garlic, Carrots, Kale, jalapeño, Parsley and home cured prosciutto.

Home made sourdough made from Powlett Hill Rye and whole wheat.

Side of Harrisa made from, yep you guessed it, home grown Jalapeño and garlic.

Hidden

From the kitchen she yelled loud with excitement “It’s snowing!”

All of sudden it came down hard and fast, just like the waves of long grass in a windy paddock. Covered up in a warm jacket and wide brim, I let the flakes land delicately over me. How often do we get to really stop and enjoy these moments? Even though this is our five spell of snow here, each time it’s still special. Her giddy smile and childish excitement and my boyish playfulness, all brought about by gently falling flakes of frozen water. Amazing what the weather can do to an adult.

Snow bellowed in like dust storm, the ground was soon covered in white. Everything from discarded kids toys to stacked firewood, all disappeared under the white. The dogs ran about confused while we tried our best to capture the moment for our absent kids. But it was a futile task. Nothing could capture this moment but our ‘memory cams’. We held each other, hoping to hold onto the the moment as long as possible, before we realised we where getting cold. Love was impractical in this blizzard.

After a spell, we headed across the paddocks to return to the old farm house. I stood looking back at our home. Everything was hidden. Everything all looked the same. The white of snow had hidden everything from view.

 

These last few days since the snow fall, I’ve had a burning question in my mind. Why is so much hidden from us? I came up with what might be a silly question. But I’m going to ask it anyway.

My kids go to primary school. Each year they have excursions to places like Science Works the museum or zoo. Great experiences for young minds. Here they learn about history, animals and science stuff. And that’s all good. On these days out the kids are asked to take lunches which is standard practice I believe. In these lunches you’re sure to find the odd ham sandwich, some chicken rolls, I’ve even heard of chicken nuggets and party pies. Now answer me this. If it’s ok for the kids to eat meat that’s come from intensive factory farm, then why don’t we take the kids on an excursion to go visit these farms? Wouldn’t they learn something new there? It’s not like the farms have anything to hide right?

Nah. Lets cover everything in white snow. It looks better.

The Wandawega Schedule

I’ve had a few people ask about the schedule for the weekend workshop in Wandawega, so I got myself organised and put one together. As per usual it’s all subject to confirmation especially in regards to sourcing the materials and livestock needed. It’s a jammed packed weekend of skills sharing. By the end of it I will have shared a great deal of what I apply in my daily life.

I remember once paying a few thousand dollars to learn Photoshop at a two day workshop. This workshop is much cheaper and the skills are real world applicable. And it’s Wandawega dudes. Come on! Have you seen this place?

I have 8 passes remaining. Email me if you have any questions.

Elkhorn, Wisconsin, 23rd-24th August.

DAY ONE – MEAT

The Morning Session

9am – 12pm (with tea break)

RABBIT & POULTRY

1. How to dispatch a chicken

2. Pluck skin and gut technics

3. Butchery, break down of different cuts and cooking techniques for game and home poultry

4. Cooking demo – Spanish Rabbit Slow cook – and Rabbit and Chorizo Burgers

Lunch

12:30 – 2pm

Rabbit and Chorizo Burgers

 

The Afternoon Session

2pm – 4pm (with tea break)

TROUT

1. Trout cleaning and basic filleting

3. Butterfly filleting

4. Preparing trout for cold smoking

5. Cold smoking Vs Hot smoking

6. Curing trout (Gravlax)

7. Lake visit for fly fishing casting

8. Setting yourself up for for fly fishing

Dinner

6:30pm

Spanish Rabbit Slow cook with matched wine

 

DAY TWO – BREAD, PASTA AND SALUMI

The Morning Session

9am – 12pm (with tea break)

FLOUR

1. Make your own sourdough starter

2. Get to know your starter. Its alive. How to keep it alive.

3. How to make a no-kneed sourdough loaf.

4. How to make Farfalle, Ravioli, Spaghetti, Fettichini to Paperdelle

5. How to make a pizza dough

Lunch

12:30 – 2pm

PIZZA & BEER with locally sourced ingredients

2pm – 4pm (with tea break)

SALUMI

1. How to cure a panchetta, roll it, rope it for dry cure

2. How to make your own Bacon

3. How to make chorizo

4. How to cure a leg of pork (Jamon/prosciutto)

Dinner

6:30pm

THE FINAL FEAST

Camp Wandawega Workshop 23rd-24th August

It’s something I would have only imagined in a dream. But it’s really happening.

A weekend of my workshops held at the magical place that is Camp Wandawega, Wisconsin. I’ve been wanting to organise a weekend workshop stateside for a while now but nothing seemed to come together until now. This time though everything is falling into place, thanks to Max Wastler and David and Tereasa from Camp Wandawega.

So here it is. A weekend of sharing a bunch of skills I use in my daily life, along with good food, great company and poking campfires. It’s a skill based weekend and they may be skills you want to introduce into your own daily life, or it may just be the experience you’re after. Either way, events like this don’t come up very often. A weekend at Camp Wandawega alone is worth it. The place is a magical fairyland of awesomeness.

So what will we be doing on this rad weekend?

Over the course of the weekend I will teach you how to :

Dispatch a rabbit or chicken (depends on what I can get my hands on)

Pluck, gut, skin and butcher small game

How to prepare trout for smoking and curing, fillet and de-bone

Cure pork; make bacon, prosciutto, pancetta and chorizo sausage

Secrets of sourdough bread, pasta’s and pizza bases

Accommodation at the Camp and all food is included.

Tickets are limited. First in best dressed.

Book Here

 

 

Taking backroads

Opting for the backroads is not just an approach for getting from A to B. It’s also whatever alternative route you choose other than the main more obvious path. I’m all for taking the long way round, those roads with no hitchhikers, no large groups of lycra clad riders and not a sign of the  weekend tourist driver. The rougher the surface, the more remote, or the more bordered in bush the better. The same can be said about an approach to living. I don’t believe that it’s about going against the tide, it’s more so just taking a different path to get to a similar destination.

The previous version of me, he always took the safe road. In life I’d often chose the path that was the brightest lit, the best paved and the clearest in direction. I can’t take that path any more. I’ve avoided that route for years now, and my now preferred alternate route takes me everywhere I need to go. Be it in snow, rain or hail.

If you’re keen on taking that back road you will find that you may be late, you may learn something new and no doubt you may disappoint, aggravate and frustrate some people that may be waiting for you at the end of the journey. You just have to stay the course. You just have to drive whatever way you think is best for you.

I took my truck on one of those journeys that was both literal and metaphorical. At the end was the prise of an oak forest that housed more of the beautiful lilac wood blewitts. They’ve made the most gnarly meals that are fast becoming new winter favourites. Slow cooked bunny, blewits and bows (farfalle) is surely one of those new to my list of winter food traditions. It’s a dish made extra turbo with a few slices of my new Jamon, (aged 9 months from that big old sow we butchered last year), mascarpone and peccorino. It’s most definitely a take on the classic creamy mushroom and chicken sauce, but it’s the backroad version. Another example where taking the alternative route, and choosing a lost path will give you something new to experience and possibly treasure. This meal is triple awesome.

Wild food. . .who in their right mind would choose wild food over conventionally grown food? It’s 2014, not 1814. We have the technology. Opting for the backroad in this case is one hell of a journey. I used to care knowing that what I was doing was quite different to the norm, but now I couldn’t care less. I just enjoy doing whatever it is that I like doing. Someone once asked me “whats with this hunter gatherer ego trip?” The truth is I don’t know. Only thing I’m sure of is that it’s definitely not an ego trip, it’s a life choice. A choice to live a particular way that I’ve embraced for life.

The upside? Well I get to have rad experiences for myself and I share many of these moments with my little family. My version #2 family. The one I’ve made with lovers, past and present. Us and our kids, our motley cure, our band of gypsies, travelling down backroads together, looking for a more adventurous and meaningful alternative.

We work together, we cook together, we grow and learn together. We have no set path, but we never lose our way.

Life’s too short not to take the alternative. You may just find your way by getting a little lost.

Buckets of Rain

There’s no doubt that it’s winter in the Central Highlands. I’ve installed woollen boot liners into my Bean boots, and made the most important purchase of the month, thermal socks. These are the few months out of a year that can pin a man down. The days are wet, cold, typically grey and often end before you expect them to. Secretly I love them. I love that winter slows life’s momentum to a snails pace.

I’ve worked hard for this time, for winter that is. I’ve stowed away many provisions. I’ve stored, cured, dried, bottled, frozen, jared, pickled and sauced. All in preparation for these few months of winter. As much as I’d like it to be a time of prolonged comfortable reflection by the fire, there is, as always, still chores to be done. There just isn’t that sense of urgency like there is in Spring to Autumn. This time of the year I consider to be a gift from the family of seasons. It’s breathing space to collect yourself.

Food is an integral part of survival at this time. I’m not being literal here, I’m referring to the mental health benefits that winter soul food provides. In this last week I’ve twice cooked a recipe of deer where I slow cook the beast for an entire day. The legs of deer gently bubble away in a cast iron dish, the aromatics blessing the kitchen with sweet promising fragrance. Mouths begin to salivate, a reaction to the intrigue of what may materialise at the dinner table.

Light is different this time of year. If you take the effort to notice you will enjoy a softness of light that is, often mistaken for bleakness. Shadows contrast and detail all seem to manifest a seasonally specific mood. Fire glows deep red, orange and yellow. Nights are long, frigid but mellow. Blankets become treasured items, as do friendly bodies that warm you with embrace.

Meals are hot, full of steam and sizzle. Warming flavours where spice is no longer sparingly applied. Chilli, Cayenne and mountain pepper are added to most meals. The last of the fresh chilli from the patch is a delight, with that unmistakable pepper flavour reminding us of warmer days.

Before the ice, frost and maybe snow arrives, we take advantage of the last of the forest mushrooms. The field mushrooms finished up months ago as soon as the frost arrived, when they retreated until the following year. The forest floor however is still very active, with late season mushrooms starting to peak out from rotting leaf litter.

Rain taps heavily on the roof, the hot oven hums and the hardwood crackles in the fireplace. The smell of fluffy pastry fills the room, that buttery aroma promises a perfectly cooked crusty pie. Steam erupts from cracks in the pie, escaping into the cold air of the kitchen, only to disappear like ghosts in the night. Steel breaks open the pie, the smell of slow cooked deer meat and wild mushrooms is as warming as a cuddle from your grandma.

Roast vegetable soups, pastas, stews and casseroles dominate the evenings dinner prep. Food that was frozen in summer finally gets pulled from the ice box, cooked with a wintery twist. ‘Yab Chow’ a yabbie (crayfish) chowder with fried potato and yabbie dumplings seems right at home on a winter table. The chilli and spices bring spark to the table, like a flare gun in a football stadium. These small things are happiness to us when our bodies are telling us to be miserable because its grey days and buckets of rain.

How can you be miserable when you have so much beauty surrounding you? These elements of nature, the cold wind, the endless sideways drizzle, pure clean water drops gathering on green leaves, these are all beautiful things. They wash, cleanse and renew, just like it’s written on a bottle of shampoo. The seasons are broken up into four very different personalities, all having their trademark quirks. I love them all, but I reserve the softest spot for winter.