Australia

It is a movie with expectation and preceding hype from the media, word of mouth and a sense of belonging. What is the reality?

Not based on any best seller novel, but with a background of historical fact, Baz Lurhmann has tried to capture the quintessential core of what it has meant to be Australian in the portrayal on screen of three structured episodes - the harshness and beauty of surviving and adapting to the tropical Australian countryside; the circumstances faced by the stolen generation, whereby Aboriginal-blooded children were separated from their families to stay with white adoptive parents; and the impact of Darwin being bombed by Japanese planes more than sixty years ago on the heart and soul of Australian society.

The cinematography offered splendid vistas of dry and wet landscapes in all their detail and stirring of the senses. The shots of people at the city ball and of the aftermath of a city besieged evoked of both Christopher Doyle and graphic digitisation. The running cattle brought me back to weekend John Wayne movies. The passion between the two main characters, as played by Hugh Jackson and Nicole Kidman, reminded me of scenes from Gone With the Wind, circa 1930s. The most captivating acting naturally flowed from child actor Brendan Walters, but how many meaningful film roles can be offered to him in the future? I hope there are, as the world should see more of his talent, but not just confined to his "creamy" heritage.

I had been warned that this is a chick flick - and I have to concur. The teenage girl sitting next to me at the Shellharbour cinema was actually crying - and also swooning in an automatic response to the sight of a dressed-up Hugh Jackman suddenly appearing at the Darwin ball. Our emotions as an audience were carried up high and plunged to possible uncertain lows by the plot and specific scenes, as if this was a soapie. I was amused to find that Drover, as played by Jackman, looked more clean shaven and skin-sparkling in the desert than when he was supposedly in downtown Darwin.

There was a preponderance of references to the flag tune from the classic movie The Wizard of Oz - Over The Rainbow. When sung by the Sydney Boys Choir, it almost turned into a stage performance instead of being a film medium. It was with relief that this was balanced by episodic notes of Waltzing Matilda and Wild Colonial Boy.

For a three hour movie, I did not fall asleep once, nor even realise that I did not nod off. I was sufficiently captivated by the film not to notice the passage of time. Acknowledgement of outward and obvious racism by individuals, or as condoned by sections of the society of the time, was handled delicately and transparently, especially within a period of time even before the White Australian Policy was born. Challenges to this racism by Drover reminded me of James A Michener in his novel Tales of the South Pacific.

Facets of Aboriginal belief and practices are scattered throughout, without making a travesty of them but cleverly weaving them into the flow and pace of the plot. I was amazed by how multi-cultural Darwin was by the start of the Pacific War. When faced by outside threats, there is a suggestion from this movie that Australia can find stronger unity despite its diversity. The audience I was with spontaneously broke into applause as Australia the movie ended on a happy note. This was in a cinema hall which had specific seating, a practice long ago dropped in most capital cities. My cinema companion loved this experience as much as I did.

A Touch of Mexican

Over twenty over guys sat decked out along two sides of a long cantina table.

It could be a night out at college, or it was a gathering of a sports team. Whatever it was, where ever they came from, there was a camaraderie buzzing with them, easy conversation from relaxed mates and the food served quickly eaten with gusto. I thought a chap looked like Beckham, another reminded me of the Miscel I know, two were obviously brothers and the joker in the crowd had a sense of showmanship and effective expression about him.

Ee-lane had organised this outing into the land of burritos, thick pizza crusts, nachos, lettuce, lamb and chicken fillings and attentive waiters. The master of the laid back restaurant was traditional and came out to ask about the food and service -is everything all right? The waiters kept their cheerfulness despite a busy night and even if no sangrias or Margarita's had been ordered. My group favoured the quasiladdas, so tasty with the soft and aromatic fillings providing a wonderful contrast to the crusty bite from outside. I always have a soft spot for nachos, but in this place - Had To Happen - they were melting into my heart. The food served had a touch of cooking from the heart and did not evoke of fast food like I had feared.

I pondered about how Spanish cuisine had been transformed once it crossed the Atlantic. The merging and fusion of European, Mediterranean and native American influences had mellowed in line with the change of climate and the availability of local produce. Picture this after the siesta under the hot sun: cooling shots of alcohol, cuts of fruit and ice. Complement this with the sustenance of beans and the easy supply of corn. Transfer all these to the Australian landscape and beside the Pacific Ocean. Mexican is macho food, yet a laid back reminder to lazy afternoons, Catholic missionaries and warm evenings watching the stars from a base camp. Gracias muchachos!

A Touch of Chinatown

Starting with the brunch of yum cha and finishing up with a ten-course home cooked banquet, the day had been celebrated with touches of Chinatown, in a country that partly shares the same time zone as East Asia and in a city that has seen radical demographic transformations in the past twenty years when compared to its previous two hundred.

Zilvers, located on an upper floor in a complex near the old Sydney Custom House and across the relatively new tram tracks of the Capitol Theatre complex, was already chock-a-block at 11am on a Sunday morning. The usual variety of steamed, fried and braised dishes, savoury, sweet, sour and more, came steaming hot or ice cold atop trolleys pushed between round tables of varying seating numbers. For some unexplained reason, the train of yum cha offerings stopped coming and then resumed with the same old tried ones instead of new ones to keep the palates of customers going. My table of four decided that that it was not worth being stuck playing the old records, so to speak, and we ducked out to a Bangkok cafe.

This indoor outlet with clean white tables did not match expectations, with insipid and bland food, only perhaps mitigated by its fiery fresh cut red chillies and its marinated deep fried chicken wings. So we tracked to a Dixon Street Mall bakery and checked out its tempting pastries, fresh tofu and frozen chicken buns. The place was alive with human traffic, with our eyes glued to the tiramisu, custard cheesecake and chocolate creations. We then crossed to Ultimo Road and explored the dried and cured meats of Wong's Barbecue Meats. There in a covered display case were lap cheongs (Cantonese cured sausages) of a few kinds - liver-based, pork, chicken, dark and light red. I noticed the hams and other meats staring down upon us from behind the counter. The roast duck was from the old school, circa 1960s, associated with grandfathers using choppers to cut up the meat on solid wooden round blocks.

We went past Sussex Street South, where a pair of youngsters were intent on checking out every shop with the fresh green and black-lipped abalone sitting like jewelled pendants on shells. In World Square, I had to re-visit Rosa Tea House for the tea canisters wrapped with Japanese designs.

After a relatively hot and humid day, it was good to settle down to a dinner with a sampling from not just southern China abut also South-east Asia. Succulent fish steaks were cooked in simmering curry. There was roast pork with crackle and Hainan chicken rice garnished with condiments of ginger, lemon-flavoured chili paste and dark soy sauce. Fried tofu cubes had a zesty tang to them, as opposed to the smoothness of stir-fried vegetables. New season cherries were served as dessert with green and red grapes, cooling Nashi pears, water melon slices and more. Barley soup was served hot to cleanse the palate as a finale.

The Sense of Just Being

We work smart and we play hard. Then we long for a time out with no structure, no deadlines, no compulsion and no limitations.

The day begun with passing rainy showers with the occasional lightning. I could hear rumblings from the sky, and felt the heavy weight of humidity hanging there, undecided and restless. Never mind, what a good opportunity to have a lazy start on a Saturday morning.

When I had enough of being in a state of neither full sleep nor an awakened state, I made the coffee and got mesmerised by the on-going and live reporting on telly from two different cities in southern Asia. Travellers frantic on getting out of a city airport that had been occupied by protesters in their thousands. Hotel guests trapped in the rooms they checked in a few nights ago but only now had been released by police and the army. What has the world come to?

I lazed around the lounge reading for leisure, instead of some required purpose. The skies still looked dark and uneasy outside. I loved looking at the wet grass and plants outside through the clear glass - and wondered what the bugs, snails and insects were up to after a rather messy and wet night. This was like Friday afternoons at the end of a long and tiring school week - I was dwelling again totally immersed in the art of just being.

Then it was time to get the chores done. Oh ya, how long was this bliss to last?

Anthony at K Mart in Shellharbour gave me a big smile as I sauntered up to his check out counter to pay something. He had been working all morning and still carried on a benign look of welcome to me. Okay, all my chores for that day were completed.

Back to the sense of just being.

At Sydney's Rhodes, I ran around the display of new season cherries, peaches and nectarines. I had a scheduled appointment late in the evening for dinner, so I gave myself a treat of mid-afternoon tea, with pannarocca cake and cappuccino at a cafe. No hassles, no need to make small conversation - I was just in transit from Wollongong on the way to Eastwood, 90 km away one way.

I was on a roll - why not do some light shopping? I locked my intended purchases in a collapsible food cover, an upmarket onion cutter that promises no tears and a filtered water bottle. I could imagine for whom some of these items could be for.
At Eastwood Mall, before dinner, I went on an exotic groceries and food shopping rampage - getting durians, durian flavoured cake and fresh noodles, things more difficult to get in my neighbourhood.

And then the rain and thunder came back around twilight. I was lucky, I was already enjoying a Hong Kong styled course sit down dinner hosted by a niece. There were visiting relatives in town and what a good way to dabble back in relaxing conversation. No deadlines, no pressure. I could just be myself.

A Touch of Lisboa

It had been a rainy and windy morning. The leaden skies threatened to colour our inner selves, but with a touch of spice, a touch of laughter and a touch of custard, that Sunday turned out to be any thing other than cloudy.

In an unassuming suburb of inner city Sydney, I was brought down memory lane. Joyce, Charmaine and I may have started with dessert at breakfast, but we continued to see familiar things from our past to enrich the culinary journey and tour of things essentially Portuguese. Tarts with caramel (pasteis nata) in La Patisserie sat side by side with ricotta creations and other well crafted pastries. I could feel a bright and light sense of homeliness created in this bakery. Fernando insisted on a hands-on demonstration of pressing the thin dough in little flat cups. He showed his innate love of his role in the kitchen through his humorous interaction with each of us, When he chatted, even in a group, it was as if he was talking only to you.

There were passing showers but it did not rain on our parade. The sight of smoked and cured ham and other meats hanging neatly in a row dominated the butcher's shop that we dropped by in. And Christmas is approaching. There were beans and olives to sample,spicy meats and chizoro being cooked over a small traditional device. I finally saw the difference between Spanish and Portuguese cooking ware - was it the ornamental design?

Salted cod from Norway (bacalhau) brought up memories in me of the more intense version found in Penang, Goa and Melaka (kiam hoo). I did not come across any curries in Petersham, but the extent of influence in cuisine, social niceties and culture, arising from the sailing adventures led by Vasco Da Gama around Africa and then across Asia hundreds of years ago, had formed many common beads in invisible links that could be found in the suburb's Cafe Brasilla to the sardines soaked in tomato and chili at the nearby local supermarket.

At De Silvas, at the corner of New Canterbury Road and Audley Street, we had swords pointed downwards on pieces of bread used to capture the marinade dripping down from grilled chunks of meat. The compulsory sardines came out with an option to bite into them with fine bones and all. The garlic prawns reminded me of the French and Italian versions, though there were subtle differences in the subtle flavours.




In another shop, I was captivated by the rose cake, with Belgian chocolate utilised to form a wall around an inner centre of whatever cake you preferred - Madeira, chocolate mud or butter. At the local liquor shop, there were several varieties of wine from Portugal and we sampled those that are normally drunk while eating shellfish (vino verde). Seafood, sweets and preserved meats - they may reflect the moods and fashions of another time, another place, but it was all combined with good company and a relaxing feel that weekend day and which transcended slightly confronting weather and the ability to eat or drink so much within a few hours. We even had good coffee and tea back in Charmaine's house, though far removed from that little spark of Portugal in Australia.