It's high time I began this thing, this great dream of mine, and so shall it begin.
I will capitalise on the fact that I have just returned from an unscheduled visit to New Zealand,to Wellington and to Wanganui (or Whanganui, as it shall no doubt be called sometime in the fore-seeable future).
At the expense of my posture and the health of my neck muscles, I will proceed...
I was in New Zealand primarily to mourn the loss of a dear old friend and loved father of my Dad's niece (and it is a long story, of which you will be enlightened one of these days, just not now...). Jim was a good man, in that he adored his children, and had loved his wife, who had died 21 years before. He lived a good life, full of days on the land as a farmer, but his passion was for shooting, and fishing. His family of four children grew up eating pheasants,venison, home killed pork, lamb, beef, freshly caught lobster,paua,and river trout. The photos at the funeral that skimmed by all night long were a testament to what a prolific hunter he was, and I'm sure the wildlife in the North Island has picked up considerably since he got ill with cancer a year or so ago.
We celebrated his life (and passing) with a traditional afternoon tea spread of sandwiches, sausage rolls, pastries and lamingtons, cups of tea, and coffee.
Then,back at the wake, we drank beer, wine and soft-drink, bowls of chips were passed around, and later 25 people helped themselves to farm-killed pork and mutton, roasted for hours in the oven, accompanied with buttered rolls, potato gratin and salad. Plain but hearty fair- some genius had added a slow-cooked casserole of lamb to the spread, seasoned as a Moroccan tagine, (but I believe it was called "curry"). It was great. We ate and drank for hours, and finished with mighty chunks of a cream filled sponge sandwich of epic proportions- commercially made, but obviously creamed and jammed at home.
You might think this blog is just about food and eating- and, it actually is- but it is about eating in a context- and the context is the tradition, cuisine and eating habits of my fellow Australians and New Zealanders. I hope, in time to be able to tap into the way my other neighbours in the South Pacific Islands do it as well. I feel a strong affinity with all of these countries- I happen to be studying their combined and individual histories as nations, and am naturally curious to add to my superficial experience and knowledge by digging into their respective food cultures and traditions, as well as get to know them as people. Woo hoo. Should be fun I reckon.
I happen to be born of Kiwi parents, conceived in New Zealand, but born in Melbourne Australia. I have a romantic notion that I was conceived on One Tree Hill, after dad 'kidnapped' mum from the nurses home on his Indian,to spend a night of romantic passion on the hill... but it is more likely that it was some tryst in a house in Ponsonby. Anyway, whatever the case, they shouldn't have been doing it at all, he was engaged to his teenage sweetheart, and mum knew it, and ... well let's just say, it is quite amazing that I happen to know both of my parents, wasn't given up for adoption, and got to have a relationship with my Dad in my 30's.
The wonderful thing about being an Antipodean, (apart from that amazing fact of itself- My God we live in an amazing part of the world geographically, physically speaking- look at Wellington, perched on those ridges so precariously, in bright coloured cottages on the most beautiful harbour- in danger of earthquake and tsunami at any given moment)- is that the more I dig, the more I understand about the history of those Nations which I have come to feel are BOTH my home. And the more I learn about myself, about my origins, and about the origins of many of us, I kind of suspect, that there are not too many New Zealanders, nor Australians who can claim pure European descent, and I feel this makes us all the more interesting.
I was at this funeral the other day, and I looked around the room; at my cousin's husband's obviously strong Maori features, but then I saw myself in the camera, and saw the hint of Maori in my face also, and in the face of another woman there, and another...It filled me with a comforting feeling- and it was an awakening feeling too- so many of us are connected by the blood of the original inhabitants of this place. Wow. I have an inkling of how I came to have this smudge of Maori in me, (there are written anecdotes depicting a Maori woman, who married a man from Boston- it is all really fascinating, but many documents were destroyed either in a fire or a shipwreck or something)- and it is not something I can really begin to properly tap into, my iwi- it is not something I am worthy of- my knowledge is so sketchy, my connection so flimsy.
But I'd like to try to remember the heritage of my Grandpa, Patrick, who I loved dearly. His blue eyes and his strong features belied that he was even more closely connected to his Maori ancestry- and yet he was not culturally connected at all- and so it was never passed down to his descendents, of which I am one. I think this is sad, and I can't rectify it. But maybe I can be worthy of my Antipodean foundations, and I can learn and experience all that I can about my heritage as a Maori in a more general sense- as a New Zealand blooded person. And maybe I can do the same about my Australian heritage also, it is after all, the place of my birth, and my home.
Surely I could show respect to the Indigenous Australian people who cared for my country for all those millennium by finding out more, and enriching my own life in their history and culture. Why on earth not?
and so we begin...
