Eumundi Papers: February 2009

Friday, 20 February 2009

The poet and her muse

Pictured left is a poet, holding her muse.

Our friend Kathy is a woman of many talents, not the least of which is her laser wit and wicked, typically British sense of humour. For me, however, her true genius lies in her ability to pen the most extraordinarily lyrical poems. I don't know much about poetry ... as they say, but after reading Kathy's words, I often feel the need to sit oh-so-still for awhile, and let the sounds and imagery wash gently over me, before finally sinking in.

Sadly though - and like too many artists out there - her talent is in inverse proportion to her humility, so you won't find her work on bookshelves, or in the literary supplement of the papers. And yet, thanks to the goading of her IT-boffin partner Josh, she does have a blog: The Mouse's Tale. (See also under sidebar in "blogs I follow")

I give it a five snout rating* - for quality, if not quantity.

Do take a peek sometime, and leave a comment if moved to do so. Who knows, it may embolden her to write more, and then we'll all be happy.

And her muse? Well, it started with a suggestion tossed casually onto her Facebook page. Without hesitation, like the doughty Brit that she is, she took the pig by the tusks and dashed off the most touching poem, that somehow, with an almost breathtaking economy of language, summed up the one-of-a-kind relationship between a certain pig, his owners, and the little piece of rainforest they've come to call home.

And here it is, by kind permission of the author:

The Present

We travelled a long way to find you

From the tropics to the gentler climes.

So small you were! A stuffed toy

Jumping off the shelf in your urge to be noticed

And that snout

Never still.

We brought you squealing

To your new home

Where you lay in lushness

Stunned out of existential horrors

Into a deep trough of luxury -

A pig in mud!

Things changed around you

Shadows on a house

Lengthened, trees crept upwards

Downwards, the hill fell into a creek bed.

And your shadow lengthened

Knee-high the chickens

We scurried with our plans

Which you kindly kept an eye on

You exist

And your absence would be

A creek draining

The trees falling

A lack in the lushness.

Unthinkable. You grew with all the growth

Our plans became paradise...

"Oh yes, and Hamlet, of course."

Beautiful. As I said to Kathy, I've been busy memorising poignant couplets to recite to him. It may have a calming effect during those not infrequent, attention-getting tantrums.

And for those who know only his portliness, and doubt that he once was "a stuffed toy jumping off the shelf ", I give you:

(*And a final thanks to K for the concept of snout ratings. Graphics currently being workshopped.)

Sunday, 15 February 2009

Add Some Yum to your Saturday

Croissants - the essential ingredient for a relaxing Saturday breakfast. And fresh from the oven of Didier Richeux, our trusty Eumundi patissier, they're simply scrumptious. So scrumptious, in fact, that it's even worth braving Saturday market rush hour to grab some.

So what makes a good croissant? I would say a perfectly crisp, flakey and golden brown outside, and a pillowy, buttery, pull-apart heaven on the inside. This miraculous pastry manages to be light, yet substantial. It takes the French. And that, of course, is just the plain variety. Then there's the divinely rich almond, filled to bursting with the ambrosia that is marzipan, and thickly dusted with icing sugar and almond flakes. And lastly, what I like to call "Phil's downfall" - the pain au chocolat, laced with layers of wickedly bitter chocolate.
Should you feel a slight pang of guilt as you walk away with your bag of not-entirely-health-conscious indulgence, consider the golden rule (no doubt invented by the French), i.e. it's quality, not quantity, that counts. Generally speaking, the French are a slender, healthy people - despite their apparent fondness for dairy products and goose fat. Of course, the fact that they invented the concept of joie-de-vivre - a quality in which Didier himself is not lacking - may also help to explain their relatively low incidence of heart disease.

Didier has been proudly selling his fine produce at Yum, his premises in Eumundi, for the past five years. Tourist trade aside, he has a loyal local clientele who regularly drop by - not just for the food, but also for the jokes (not great), the rambling anecdotes, and a dose of Didier's homespun philosophy.
As for his CV as patissier/glacier/chocolatier (as the trade is respectfully known in France), let's just say it's impressive, and includes some very prestigious establishments and clients. Sadly, I've been forbidden to name drop (and they say the French are arrogant). Didier is, however, more than happy to reveal that he once ran his own pastry cooking school in Uzés, near Nîmes. And he's justly proud of the numerous awards he's won for his delicious ice cream - his true passion. It's full of real fruit, and is truly made fresh on the premises. On a hot Eumundi afternoon, a cone of Didier's creamy frozen confection (passionfruit highly recommneded) is the perfect antidote to the summertime blues.

And now to the final stages of the perfect Saturday breakfast (or Sunday, if you have enough willpower to wait till then). Place your croissants, still in their bag, in a very low oven to keep warm. Make a decently strong pot of coffee. Pour into small, deep bowls with a generous quantity of hot milk. Now take a croissant, pull gently apart and then "one, two, three dunk!" Then devour. Repeat. No it's far from bad manners. It's French - no, make that Eumundi/French - style. Life is short. Enjoy! Bon appetit!
Didier can be found at Eumundi Markets every Wednesday and Saturday, (find him on Memorial Drive, just up from the servo), and is more than happy to discuss pastry, ice cream, the meaning of life, or anything else of interest. [This article originally appeared in Greaternoosa Living magazine, January issue. Words and photos by me. Thanks to Corina Best for the snappy title!]

Sunday, 1 February 2009

Objects of Creation

February in the sub-tropics, and the sane amongst us are well and truly over humidity and surprise downpours, and already looking forward to those perfect, 23 degree-ish, blue sky days of autumn.

There are, however, many reasons to be cheerful. For a start, it's not Adelaide, where it's been 42 in the shade for the past couple of weeks. Some people have been keeping themselves amused by cooking eggs on various unplugged metal surfaces. Others are simply keeling over.

So no, it ain't that bad up here. And those sudden bursts of pelting rain every half hour or so really do cool things off a treat.

Another reason to be cheerful (wasn't that an Ian Dury song from the 80s?*) is the garden. The plants are deliriously happy about the sauna-like conditions, and growing like nobody's business. All the gingers and heliconias are bursting into a riot of colour, and you actually can watch the grass grow (okay, that's a negative). Just look at the photo left, and below - instant rainforest. Well, more like five years - but impressive nonetheless.

Such bizarre plants these, with those weird, alien shapes and rubbery textures ... but the best part is you just pop 'em in the dirt and stand back.

Another great thing about all this mad profusion of vegetation is the fun of tucking whimsical pieces of scrap amongst the undergrowth. Tip a junked outboard motor on its side and presto - alien praying mantis. Nice one Phil. And you can never have enough lengths of rusty concrete reinforcing - add wok for bird feeder, use as climbing frame for dragon fruit etc etc ...

In its youth, the barbie was a forge ... and the fish pond simply an old concrete planter that used to be white, but so much more attractive after a few lashings of Porter's Instant Rust. The bird bath (below) is the top off an old boiler found in a Ballarat scrapyard. Oh yes, and then there's the weathervane ...

Yep, it's a sperm - a hand-beaten, hollow form, patinated copper sperm. Phil made it some 14 years ago, when he had a house and studio in trendy downtown Unley (S.A.). Not long after installing it, he had a visit from the director of the neighbouring beauty therapy college:

"We've been having a discussion about that thing on the roof," she said, "Is it what we think it is?"

Phil: "It's an object of creation"

"Okay, that's what we thought it was."

And now, many years later, it swings proudly above the palm trees in Eumundi. It is rather cute, although as a piece of meteorological equipment it's next to useless, spending most of its time spinning aimlessly.

"Typical sperm," says Phil.

[*1979 - Reasons to be Cheerful: Part 3. Let's have a listen, shall we?]