Mum's Magic

When I was a kid, my mother was magical.  She kept her secret potions in her red make-up case.  She also had a treasure-trove of vitamins, tonics, powders and pills (and had the skills to use them) in the tupperware container in the kitchen.

Did everyone's mother have a make-up case?  They were hard and quite three-dimensional and were often placed beneath the Mum's feet in the car on trips, or regally towards the left of Mum's dressing-table.  If you were a very, very good girl, you got to go into Mum's Room and gaze upon the wonders that were in her make-up case.

It was always "Mum's Room" in my experience. Occasionally, if he had somehow kindled a feeling of warmth and regard, you might refer to it as "Mum and Dad's Room" but you and he both knew it was a concession of love.  There was, indeed, "Dad's Side of the Bed" and "Dad's Drawers" (upon which lived folded handkerchief's, a notebook, loose change, the other watch and mystery objects), "Dad's Toilet" was a luxury we all aspired to and "Dad's Chair" (a beauty that still exists in our living room, thirty-five years after its fortuitous entry into our lives through a one dollar raffle ticket from the Eidsvold Sport's Day), but there was a definite leaning toward the "Mum owns everything in the house because" philosophy in my childhood.

But I digress.  (and Dad did have does have quite a land claim on some of my childhood memories)

Mum used Oil of Ulan.  It was beautiful.  It smelt so luxurious and the little dab we were allowed on our fingers were so smooth and rubbed in to such a soft dream of nothing on your skin.  But you must never, never, never, never, never go in to Mum's room without being allowed to.

The living room used to be right next to Mum's Room.  The house was an original design, the sort of warren that exists from the family home emerging from an outstation heritage.  One where unexpected doors offered entry into rooms that geographically should not adjoin.  I didn't know, during my childhood, that there were homes out there that didn't have this feature.  Our home did, as did the majority of our neighbours.  Cupboards that were secret passages to other rooms did exist.  Laundry chutes were of the seventies child's secret dreams, and when they were discovered, always coveted.

The doorway between these two rooms, in my memory, were double doors with square panes of that gorgeous rough glass that worked so well behind paper with decent crayon action.  It is possible that my siblings may have attempted such feats without the paper.

These doors were permanently open - however the doorway ensured privacy with a curtain of green beads - circles and rectangles and diamonds and spheres.  We were NOT ALLOWED to tug on them or race through them but these ILLICIT ACTS were so tempting - especially when you had siblings who were fun to laugh with and make noise with and play with.

Mum's Dressing Table was heavenly.  It had little drawers and boxes with treasures beyond imagination.  If ever anything was needed in any part of the house, no matter how obscure, and the finder asked "Mu-um, do you know where the (insert obscure object here) is?" the answer would more often than not be "have you tried the dressing-table?" - and so often, by magic, this was indeed the hiding place of the object required.

The May Post

I have not been very chatty on here of late, mainly because I am currently half-way through working in a 3 month gig that is big on involvement and short on what I can actually share.

Here are a few random snaps, however, that I have gathered...

Saturday night - or the journey that led to the recipe that led to late night philosophizing...

Good evening all. (tap. tap.) Is this thing on?

A funny thing happened on the way to the post - I would be lying if I said this has happened oft of late, because the inspiration space in my brain has not been activating much in a blogly direction of late.

It is a downside of regular employment, it seems.  Still, they pay me for the use of quite a lot of my brain, so the worky sphere has sub-let a fair bit of the arty-farty blog warehouse (which includes the old poetry cupboard towards the back).

However - it seems an old grant application has been found beside the filing cabinet and so some pity funding has been thrown in that direction, requesting a prospectus for a post, and congratulations, your reading of my blather is one of the proposed outcomes of the project.

(Nah.  Actually, that is pure bs.  Its just that I am in front of a computer and actually engaging a part of the grey matter that apparently has a sick sense of humour involving charity, the arts, funding submissions, submission bodies, artists, bureaucrats, citizen rights, politics, the economy, multimedia, media rooms in McMansions AND theoretical studies in the sociological adaptive behaviours creating the interface between lexicological sculptors and the oozing clay of the minds of the masses... Que?)

How did it all start?  

I think I need to go back to Pearl's post for the day. (Take a moment - enjoy the detour - "Local woman tells of teens has Nervous Walk Back to Office") 

which led to a conversation with a blogging friend regarding the use of "Bless" with various organs and clothing options, 

therefore I went to her cooking blog and commented on her "Not exactly a how to post" 

- because I too have a love affair with garlic and an understanding of the reaction of the non-participant in romantic settings;

and I have a love affair with a dish I have always known as:

"Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic"

(totally coincidental - I first ate and fell in love with this dish at a friend Lisa's place.  Lisa and I have another friend called Lisa who was there on the day, and I also have another Leesa in my life -  and V and I had a discussion this evening on how all of our Lisas are pretty cool chicks - here endeth that aside)

Ingredients:

• Chicken (d'uh) - the meaty stuff rather than boney and oily stuff (thighs are good but if mixed bits are better value at your local, don't let it hold you back, okay?  You could do a whole chook, you could do drummies) - about the equivalent of a chook's worth (4-6 thighs, 8 drumsticks - whatever works)
• 40 (at least) cloves of garlic (and the really excellent bit of this recipe - you don't need to peel the suckers!!!  Total win.  Makes you want to reach for 60, but stick with the recipe - ish - first go around.)
• 1 bunch shallots (look, try other oniony varieties, too, because I have learned in life that one woman's shallot is another woman's spring onion, and so maybe you are right and I am wrong and I am not going to stand in your righteous path!)
• Butter or oil (I am not judging you)
• 3-4 carrots - peeled (because I am in camp "peel your carrots" but you may have noticed, I am not here to fight your ingrained attitudes) and medium-ly sliced
• A good handful of green beans
• 8 whole baby potatoes
• Chicken stock (don't make excuses for "I only have cubes" - I know cubes, I grew up with cubes, I am just going to look away and we can pretend it didn't happen)
• Fresh white crusty bread - any shape - if you must spread, go the butter on this one...
• (In the original recipe, that Lisa got from some famous TV chef's cookbook - I always thought, for some reason, it was Jamie Oliver, but I asked my old mate google for the recipe for Rootie in response to her response to my comment on her post on garlic - keep up - it honestly kept trying to point me to a heap of wonderful recipes called "Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic" that weren't the "Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic" I knew from Lisa's recipe, and the closest thing that linked Jamie Oliver with any of the recipes for "Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic" was TV chefs/cooks and bloggers who had made all manner of varieties of "Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic" and who had also made or linked to Jamie Oliver's "Chicken in Milk" recipe - which I have also tried cooking and we weren't convinced - and anyway, as I was saying, I am pretty sure that the original recipe for "Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic" also called for Vermouth or Verjuice or some other ingredient starting with "Ver" that I have never had on hand - thus I have never used it, and as this is me blogging the experience I shan't include it in my ingredients list because I have never ingredied it in any attempt at replication).  Anyhow.
• Thyme.

Method:

• Turn your oven on to 160 degrees C (that is a slow oven - about 315 F)
• Heat the oil and/or butter in a heavy based big pan that you can put on the stove and in the oven.  If you don't have that, use what you must - it means less washing up for me AND I have one, so that is what I do.
• If you must season the chicken, season the chicken (I didn't put seasoning up there in the ingredients section - if you use it, it's automatic, if you don't, then you probably would really enjoy it, but the little voice inside your head that makes you shirk from the salt cellar will probably lessen your enjoyment of the taste sensation with sensationalist rants regarding health and longevity - your choice, free country) and then brown it, skin side down, until it is crispy (or you are sick of doing it)
• Take the chicken out, put the garlic cloves (without peeling - gotta love that and celebrate at every possible point), carrots, beans, baby potatoes - swizzle them around, chuck the chicken back on board, just cover with stock and sprinkle in some thyme.
• Bring to the boil, chuck on the lid (or assemble it in the other dish that you have because you don't have the versatility available in your cooking equipment - I highly recommend getting married to close that chink in your resources) and put it in the oven for a good long time - a couple of hours.

Serve with crusty white bread and good friends.   The oozy garlic (squeezed out of the skin - enjoy every moment of that not peeling the suckers while raw) is blissful spread on the bread, soak it in the juice, even kids eat all the veges in the pot - make sure everyone that you want to kiss partakes with gusto.

Enjoy

Paradismal Displays and Diction Delight

It is so rare that I would write a post that was all images with few words - true.  However, it is rare that I would post these days full stop. 

 

Life, hey - it sometimes takes up way too much of your time.  

The weather has not been conducive to frolic, and the enthusiasm that should accompany autumn seems to be hiding around some not yet met corner. 

 

I am blessed, because I have a teenager who, when I look at her, I see someone who I probably would have liked hugely when I was her age, 

and from a child to parent angle I am offering abject apologies to my own parents for some of my more melodaramatic explosions at that age

and profuse thanks that she has handled things with a great deal more grace and aplomb than I ever did.  

It is early days, true, so allow me to wallow in the vainglorious hope that this will continue.  

I am blessed, because I have a tall, shy, enthusiastic, mummy-loving girl who surprises with her imagination 

 

and language exploration yet still can be unintelligible on occasion because she mixes up consonants and tries to say it all at once while hopping and spinning. 

I am blessed, because my home is nurtured by someone who loves me and our family and who tills the soil 

 

and encourages dreams and fiercely protects all of his girls from the world and themselves.  

 

I am blessed, because I do have a wonderful support group of family and friends and memories of great people in my life.  

I am blessed because there is currently enough work for me to earn money by my skills and labour with a great bunch of people. 

There is a lot unsaid in this post in regard to the clouds (not mine but I get to brush amongst it), but I am extremely thankful for the light that filters through.

When I was a Girl

Reading a message board elsewhere, I realised how interested I was in how everyone grew up - what some people got to take as "normal" and what was deemed "exotic".

When I was a girl:

We had a party line phone - our number was 4S which meant that if there were three short rings, the call was for us - and if you wanted to make a call, you would pick up the phone and say "working?" before you rang - if it wasn't for anyone on our line, we had to call the operator and get connected.

Our school still had thunderboxes - septic toilets came to the school when I was about year 3, prior to that we had to walk to up near the oval, sit on a wooden seat above a pit and bucket, sprinkle sawdust on any business that was done and George would empty it every week - when a teacher went a bit mad one Arbour Day and they planted over 20 new trees, one of the science experiments was that the pre-fertilisation treatment for a few of the trees was courtesy of such - and those trees did grow a treat!

The toilet that we had at home was downstairs - it was known as "the library" as it was on the subscription list for the Readers Digest.  There was a gas bottle kept outside of it with a patch of black paint on it - I gave myself nightmares for years after a poignant episode of "Whodunnit" where a pirate's patch was integral, as I imagined it to be a pirate.  I had NFI what a pirate actually was.

We had meat with every meal - meat was cheap for us, as we lived on a cattle property (and corned beef was far more regular than ham).  Vegetables were a little harder to come by.  When Mum first moved up there, she was flat out finding potatoes or onions locally.  While pumpkin were truly plentiful (Dad would always throw a few seeds into the ashes of any burned trees), other fresh commodities were scarce.  Mum did try to make a vegetable patch, but kangaroos and rabbits fared far better than we did.  I thought peas were either tinned or surprise.  I thought mushrooms naturally were wrinkled. 

Television was a choice of 2 channels (zero with bad weather) and I didn't see Sesame Street in colour until I was about 6 - I was shocked at how yellow Big Bird was.  These days, with digital and the weather we are having, most nights I have a choice of 2 channels (as NITV is still picture NITV, sound SBS so not an option)

If you were blessed enough to be have been bestowed with a camera, generally you bought a 100 film (unless you were a bit fancy) and really conserved your pictures as even though you had heard rumours of 26 photos being achieved on a 24 roll, all too often they were busted as myths with doubled pictures or blurred results.  Once you had finished a film, it was sent off (with a price tag of 24.95) to be returned a week or so hence full of surprises and disappointments.

It would take us a full day of driving to get to Brisbane - and visit one Grandmother.  We used to play "White Horse" with the billboards and number plates we zoomed past -it was preferable to be on the drivers side during the first part of the trip, as cars whizzing by were your best bet - but passenger's side nearer to the city, as the billboards offered riches.  When we saw the "Supa-Maid" ad on the side of a shop, we knew we would see Grandma in only a few minutes and that she would be down by her little blue fence waving once she saw us at the top of the street.

The other Grandma lived in a house that had an upstairs bathroom AND the old bathroom still in existence under the tankstand.  It was always a gamble, chosing which one to use, as the frogs lived in the downstairs one (but the temperature regulation had been ironed out) but the upstairs one you had to put the hot tap on until it was scalding and then add cold a tiny turn of the tap at a time - because it would go to freezing if you went too far.  She also had a matching set of fluffy yellow accoutrements for her toilet (in the new bathroom) that I thought was so soft!

So - what was it like when you were a girl (or boy)?

At the end of the day (Wordless Wednesday)

(Blogger was truly playing up last night - said it had posted this WITH its label and its link, but not so.

Have linked it at My Little Drummer Boys (the delightful Trish)

Because you just know what I am talking about

A friend is having a turning point in her life...  Actually, more than one.

I know what that is like.  Some years it happens all the time.

Last year, I had several turning points regarding my enterprise quarter.  It seems it continues, with drought (funnily enough - and we need plenty of funnily enoughs in this era - due to severe flooding) to yet another turn in the corner.

My current role has morphed, and I am currently dealing with things like templates and macros and reports and data integrity and pulling my hair out because had I been able to plan the project rather than pick up in the middle and make the pieces fit and - oh, are your eyes glazing over? 

Do you know that I actually know several people who would actually have nodded along with that.

But I also know a lot who put their fingers in their ears and go "la la la la la la la".

A bit like me and photography, really.  I enjoy the outcomes and know enough people who do it well enough that I can graciously bow out before even entering the ring on that one, and I am not that upset.

It means there is more room in my brain for other stuff.

Unfortunately the "other stuff" space is being rented by worky stuff - some of the above and some of stories I am not at liberty to share.

But I do have room to know that it is a case of "some years it happens all the time" and go with the flow right now and see where it all leads.

I also know that the bread in the oven is smelling rather choice right now.  I have done a double batch tonight - some for us, some for my sister who I will get to see briefly tomorrow.

Addled, bamboozled, befuddled, confounded, disoriented, muddled, perplexed and puzzled

are just some of the words to describe my current state of mind.

I know the rest of the world is going on - but I am still trying to comprehend what went on a week ago, and what is still going on in so many communities near to me and near to my heart.

This is a bit of a mind dump - I need to get it out of my head because I need to make sense.  However, I don't expect anyone to read through and I have turned off comments because it isn't about that.  It is about sanity and trying to find my own firm, dry ground.

---

On Sunday, the 20th of January (was it that long ago?), tropical cyclone Oswald, a category one (the tamest) cyclone formed and was set to cross the coast between Kowanyama and Arukun up in the Cape. 

We drove back from Granite Glen, where the heat and an unexpected whirlywind (which twisted a large pool umbrella into modern art and deroofed some 50 year old stables, yet left clothes on the line 30 metres away) were the main topics of conversation.  

We went to a child's birthday party, where the heat and lack of rain were mentioned.  

There was no ominous music or cutaways to what was in store.

---

On Monday, the 21st of January, Oswald had crossed the coast (causing a fair bit of damage in transit - but hey, aren't they used to that up North?) and the Bureau of Meteorology had declared it an "ex"-tropical cyclone, which was to quickly become a rain depression and either head inland and drop rain, or head out to sea and possibly reform.

We bought school stationary and contemplated the end of the school holidays, anticipated visitors and the return to school.

---

On Tuesday, the 22nd of January, there were reports of a tornado in the wake of ex-tropical cyclone over a weather station near Mackay, which was declared "interesting" but, while the North were experiencing rain, it was January and they have complained of the lack of monsoon compliance up there recently...

I worked and verified holiday plans for visitors.  V bought a heap of groceries to cater for the impending hordes.

---

On Wednesday, the 23rd of January, Rockhampton started to feel the full effects of Oswald's depression.

Here, it was hot and we awaited the arrival of our visitors with glee.  When they arrived (with campervan, very new Australian and dog, plans were made to swim often at the beach and festivities with other friends and neighbours.  There were a few showers that evening.

---

On Thursday, the 24th of January, Oswald had caused some flooding in Gladstone.

As the rain had started to get a little more determined here also, a friend from Melbourne staying in 1770 and I agreed to monitor the situation before she came South for a barbeque we had organised for the Friday.  I had a  job interview and a carful of teenagers who got to visit the local Art Gallery and Library for fun (the beach being not so much fun).

---

On Friday, the 25th of January, Oswald had started offering us a lot more rain, and it was starting to affect a few surrounding areas.  As I knew rain was hitting the catchment area pretty hard, and also that of a river that regularly cuts the highway at Gympie to the South, I advised our visitors to go home early so that they could actually get home.

---

On Saturday, the 26th of January (Australia Day), we agreed with our lovely "86 year young" neighbour that we would still have a barbeque and they would come over to join us, bugger Oswald.  She and her visiting daughter were to arrive between 12.30 and 1.00pm.

I spoke to my mother on the phone, and she advised they had received a great deal of rainfall at Monto, and many old-timers were saying that they had never seen the water rise so high on the flats.

We had the barbeque set up under the house and the dining table all decked out for our "Bugger Oswald Australia Day" celebrations.

At about 20 to 1, the howling winds and torrential rain seemed to stop - we hoped that our guests could take advantage of the lull - when all of a sudden the wind resumed with what seemed to be double the noise and velocity.  Then all the electricity went out and the howling winds and torrential rain continued.

I checked my mobile - I have a new u-beaut mobile, so was able to see that the bowls club where we had our wedding reception - 2 blocks away - had been demolished by a tornado.  I was able to speak briefly to my sister and let her know we were okay.

The neighbours eventually got over here (in the howling winds and torrential rain) so we still did hold our "Bugger Oswald Australia Day" lunch, but had that whole doomed feeling that perhaps Oswald had buggered Australia Day.

Sirens and emergency vehicles raced past from time to time.  There were rumours of trees and cars being severely damaged - at least one with people inside.  I flicked on my phone from time to time to get a Facebook update, but tried to conserve the very low battery.   We had my daughter's iPod to try to get some digital radio news.

We were advised that there was a high possibility of more tornadoes - not that we could do much, as we had no power, the rain and high tides ensured we had no driveway and the howling winds and torrential rain just kept on keeping on.

That night, there were several times when the wind increased noise and velocity - and we hoped to goodness that it wasn't hitting homes, people - or us.  We were lucky.  A few near by communities were not.

---

Things we have now learned:

• Turn off wi-fi connections and synching (apparently) on your u-beaut mobile phone so it won't run out of battery in hours
• Ensure you have a good supply of the right size batteries for your radio so you can get updates
• Have an old-fashioned plug into the wall phone in case the power goes out to keep contact with the outside world
• Make sure you have some cash, candles, water and long life milk at the ready
• Update all important phone numbers in an old-fashioned address book from time to time, so you are not reliant on phone memories

We also have a list of things that we will have before the next emergency.  We also now acknowledge that the possibilities of a "next emergency" are higher than previously thought.

  

---

On Sunday, the 27th of January, we still had howling winds, torrential rain, no power, no driveway and no phone.  I did try to remind my loved ones that we had a roof, sewerage and running water.

We had to have the doors and windows all shut tight against the might of Oswald - which is a very hard thing to live with without fans or distractions.

Soon after arising, the headache forming behind my right eye turned into a full-blown migraine - I get two different types, this one was the sort that meant I threw up whenever I put anything into my stomach (like water or panadol) or whenever I moved.

V got to experience all of the joys of  being the sole coherent adult in a house with a toddler who didn't really understand, a teenager who sort of understood (but was having to deal with the privations of very limited iPad time) and a wife who kept trying to be stoic and upright, only to race off to the bathroom and crawl back to bed in defeat.  Did I mention thank goodness for sewerage and running water?

Gradually as the day went on, the wind and rain came in waves rather than constantly, and then there was patches of blue sky, and then the water level went back down and then the sun came out and pretended like nothing had happened.

I felt "okay" by mid-afternoon, and rewarded V by taking the girls out of the house for an hour or so while I tried to scout out some ice (THANK YOU to the local petrol station for ensuring the town supply of that), recharge options (lucked out as the half of the town with power was the half of the town on the OTHER side of floodwaters) and information (no go there either).

We saw some devastating scenes - not just the bowls club, but houses, houses of friends, shops and trees.  The path of the tornado was actually quite narrow and very definitive - but I am not sure what Standards would be required to withstand what had gone through.

We went to the park, where there was a yacht against the rock and a few very shell-shocked people wandering around.  Our town is a beachside holiday destination and it was a long weekend.  Not the relaxing holiday many had planned.

---

Monday, the 28th of January was a public holiday.  It was sunny and bright.  We still had no power, and no news - and the freezer full of meat that was so promising when anticipating visitors started to look more like a loadstone.

Luckily, I bumped into a lady I knew through 'Salina's old school whose power had been restored the night before AND she had room in her freezer, and so the majority of the meat was saved.  The rest of the day was an enforced defrost of fridges and freezers.

The road to the other side of town were also reopened, so my phone and 'Salina were recharged at a friend's place and some much needed social contact was re-established.

At 4.05pm, the fans came on and a jig of glee was danced - so many luxuries brought by electricity were welcomed back into our lives.

With electricity was access to news, and this was the first we learned just how widespread and devastating the floods were.  Towns under water.  Roads washed away.  At the same moment our power came on, hundreds of people were advised to climb onto their rooves and wave for helicopters as the local river broke its banks and entered homes at the same rate as the main river flow, estimated at 70 km/hr.

Ex-tropical cyclone Oswald had also wreaked major flooding and devastation amongst many communities to the south of us, and was working his way through the northern region of New South Wales.

---

It is so hard to process what has gone on around you when you are cocooned for so long and thrust back into a world with a whole new set of stresses - truly huge stresses for many - and you just cannot grasp.  You need background, you need context.  I have spent days trawling through old stories trying to see what happened, what I missed.

I know other people have moved on.  Oswald was old news, last week.  For many in the nearby town, Oswald will forever have an impact - but for me, I am lucky.  I didn't lose my house, my possessions 

- just, it seems, a bit of my cognitive ability and grip.

---

Edit edit edit.

Welcome to paradise.

---

I have turned comments back on after a few people contacted me - but I have also turned comment verification back on, because the last thing I need to deal with right now is acknowledging the fact are spammers outnumber people...

Ossie, Ossie, Ossie...

or as I prefer to refer to him, the ex from hell.

Hello from Paradise.  Today is beautiful right here - sunshine, hot enough to steam you from both sides as we have had some rain of late.  Plenty, in fact.

Just inland of us, there are 2,000 families who are without their homes tonight.  A little further inland are whole towns completely isolated, without power, communication or even potable water.

It puts things into perspective.

It puts our last few days into perspective.

So, how was your Australia Day celebrations?

Usual longer version ramble following, but right now I say:

• I am grateful for the roof above my head and the safety that it offers me, as there are many (friends of mine included) who don't have that luxury thanks to a tornado that went by (2 blocks from here) when we were battened down with ex-tropical cyclone Oswald being a bit of a bastard in the region.
• I love electricity.  After 51 hours without it, I love the fact that it offers hot water, fans, the kettle, stove/oven/microwave options, refrigeration, lighting, telephone connection, mobile recharging and entertainment options.
• We now have an emergency kit list - and not a "one day we should" attitude.  Once shops are restocked, we will even purchase all those little things on it.

I hope you all fared well, and haven't been to Ossified.  If you have, feel free to share your stories - and if you want me to share them, I will on your behalf.

P-p-p-pepper Steak

As a child I loved books of all varieties, really, and worked my way through the two-teacher school library by Year Five.

My "most-often borrowed" books were from the second shelf down, 3 bookshelves to the left of the corner - recipe books.  It had everything - history, culture and food.

I had tasted in my mind many dishes that I had no chance of ever getting the ingredients for.   Granite Glen - and the little town servicing it - in the 1980s had little in the shops that held anything more exotic than dried herbs and basic vegetables.  According to Mum, this was hugely superior to Granite Glen - and the little town servicing it - in the 1960s.

This spread to my investigation of Mum's collection of magazines and books on the "recipe shelf" in her cupboard.  Mum's mother used to shoo her children out of the kitchen as "there would be plenty of time for that when you have your own house to look after" - consequently, Mum was taught to cook (on a wood combustion stove) by Margaret Fulton and the rest of the ladies at the Women's Weekly test kitchen.   She kept every magazine and clipping that every gave her that culinary edge - and it was at my disposal because she wasn't going to do what her mother did.

I also discovered offers on the back of packages for "Free Recipe Books" - and I took full advantage of such offers and sent off stamped self-addressed envelopes EVERYWHERE.

When I was 11, mum was hit hard by Ross River Fever (or virus). Dad used to joke about Mum's boyfriend ("she's in bed with Ross") but the aches and pain she obviously had you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.  It wasn't every day, but most days you could tell she was trying hard just to get through.

There was an upside, though - Mum had to hand over cooking to me.  Muahahahaha.

I was her number one pest in the kitchen (trying to get permission to test the above recipes on my family) and my sister was at boarding school.  I broke her in gently, at first - consulted meal choices, best methods of preparation and, invariably, food substitutions (see abovementioned ingredients issue) - but I must admit that I might have taken advantage of the situation by working just a few of the ideas that had been planted into my head by the recipe collections I had trawled and amassed.

Looking back on it, it was truly a horrible year for Mum.  It seemed that when Mum wasn't laid flat out recuperating from another beating by Ross, she was travelling around Queensland ensuring that extended and close family were able to see specialists - the joy of being the family pharmacist therefore keeper of all information and advocacy medical - and putting relatives in/taking relatives out of various hospitals.

Add to that (and pertinent to this story), her firstborn not only went off to boarding school that year, but also seriously broke her arm, was misdiagnosed with appendicitis (and subsequent issues regarding the bits of the body that should have been diagnosed), got forklifted onto a plane (I will leave that there - someone else can tell that story) and had an infection develop in the badly set broken arm.

As a result, Mum and Dad decided to take her to see our personal Orthapedic specialist (Dad is the sort of guy who isn't accident prone, but when faced with an accident does it exceptionally well).

This meant that I was at home alone with my baby brother GB, then aged 7 1/2.  In those days, this was perfectly fine because we had a lot of chores to do when we got home from school, I could organise and cook a meal and Dad was expected home about when we were due to go to bed.

This ALSO meant that I got to look out a recipe that I had never before tried (and Mum was in no position to veto) - I chose Pepper Steak.

The recipe called for several tablespoons of cracked peppercorns - and yay, Mum did have peppercorns in her pantry and I knew how to use the mortar and pestle.

Given his age and lack of Pepper Steak experience, I decided to take it easy on my test subject and used only a quarter of the recommended corns.

I was so proud of my finished meal - there was a fancy potato bake, something green (I may have tizzied up reconstituted or frozen peas - fresh green things weren't plentiful in the day) and probably something orange (Dad always threw a few pumpkin seeds into the ashes of any fire burned up the paddock, and we weren't afraid of sweet potatoes) - supporting the main player, my Pepper Steak.

It was MAGNIFICENT with its crust of cracked peppercorns and a creamy sauce (with a bit more peppercorn activity) artfully poured with a decorative flourish.

GB wanted to try some straight away, but I was a good bossy big sister, and I insisted that we say Grace before eating just as we would have had Mum or Dad been home.

The allure, however, was just too wonderful for my dear little brother.  As I had banned him from trying a mouthful, he just leaned over and licked his steak...

Can you imagine the air of superiority I had when I mentioned that perhaps God didn't like him testing before eating either, and that burning sensation that he had was what smite was about?

GB was truly unimpressed with my attitude and the food on offer, and so we then held a battle that will remain unchronicled - let us just say that by the time Dad got home, his son had been a mute vegetarian for about 2 hours.

When Dad walked in, GB broke his silence with accusations that I had tried to kill him, while it was all I could do to rebut furiously and denigrate his tastebuds and lack of piety.

I remember quite clearly Dad shutting us up with a "Your Sister Could Lose Her Arm" - he was good at that, the capitalised sentence that quieted his offspring.

The funny thing is, Pepper Steak never did get another run under my watch out there.   And my sister didn't lose her arm.

What is your most vivid meal memory?