Saturday was hot. A scorcher, one of those days when the sky is ripped open by the sun and a blanket falls on the earth and threatens to suffocate you every time you walk out the door. We pulled out the paddling pool and stretched it over the bleached brown and stalky grass of the back garden and let the hose run until there was water enough in there to wet the bottom half of you if you lay down and nip your ankles if you stood up, and the kids laughed and careened and jumped and threw the glorious stuff over themselves and, and over me. They came inside and dried off, then later, when the neighbours came over they went out and splashed and laughed and did the whole thing over again until the day cooled and we realised it was dinner time, and none of us cared.
Because it was Saturday, and because it had been so hot, and because we’d all laughed until our sides ached there was really only one thing to do for dinner, and we did it. I slipped on my thongs and walked down the road to the corner shop and came home with five dim sims, five potato cakes, five fish bites, two pieces of flake, a couple of pineapple fritters and two dollar’s chips, all wrapped up in white paper, and we opened it up on the lounge room floor and squeezed some tomato sauce around and ate it in front of the telly.
It was good, and I smiled and double-dipped my potato cake and thought to myself, This…THIS is Australia.
I’m far from the first person to realise the association of food with culture. We had lunch with our beautiful Russian friend a few weeks ago and she’d baked Russian delicacies for us all morning, and expressed with so much more than her words how her love of cooking came from her love of her family, and how food represented time together and family meals and recipes passed on from generations, and it happy-sadded me. I was happy because those things are important and need to be kept and valued, and sad because somehow in white suburban Australia we’d missed the importance of this, and embraced chicken nuggets and frozen peas.
However, it wasn’t until I was in the US that I realised that there WAS a food culture deep inside me that was all-Australian. There were no corner shops with dim sims and potato cakes or flake so battered you can barely find the fish inside it. There were no jars of vegemite in people’s pantries (unless I brought them), and when I asked for fish and chips from the menu at a restaurant the waitress asked me how I wanted my potato (CHIPS, woman! Is it not obvious?)…chips (crisps), fries (chips), or baked (what the…?) I ordered a lemon, lime and bitters and she had no idea what I meant, so I ordered a lemonade and she brought me a lemon juice and sugar drink. It was very nice, but there were no bubbles. Things are just different. There are burgers and Mexican food, and more burgers and more Mexican food, with a good amount of pizza thrown in for good measure. Trying to find a salad roll at an airport is like trying to find a kangaroo bounding down the main streets of Sydney.*
It wasn’t bad – well, no worse than ridiculous deep-friend batter masquerading as fish – but it wasn’t MY food. It wasn’t home. I wasn’t homesick, but, in a strange-sense of the word, I was food-sick.
And then my darling Michigan friend found me some Weetbix. Well, Weetabix, the Canadian version (tastes the same. God bless the Canadians!), and she made me a vegemite sandwich, and suddenly everything was okay again, and I felt normal. I’d found myself, centred myself, in food.
And this is why on Saturday walking home with my corner shop takeaway dinner after a scorching December day I felt blissfully and completely at home, and totally and absolutely Australian.
How about you? Have you ever noticed strong associations with food and culture, or mourned the lack of food culture in your childhood? I’d love to hear your stories.
*Actually I found the best salad roll in the entire USA at Dallas airport on my way home, which made me supremely happy. I made the comment to a friend that this may be because Dallas is almost Salad spelled backwards, although this was laughed down. I still believe though.
So fun to read about the differences b/t American/Australian foods! Did you go down South on your trip? That’s a whole DIFFERENT set of foods! Isn’t it summer there in Australia? I had an Aussie roomie and she’d go home for Christmas and come back tan (and with a heavy accent!).
Yeah I’ve heard about the food of the South. I’ll have to go there next time and be prepared. I did have some deep-fried zucchini chips though, which sound kind of Southern. They were AMAZING…although a girl could come home needing a whole new sized wardrobe after too many of them.
And yes, it is summer here. Although this is Tassie, so it doesn’t get really hot until February. We have one hot day and then a cold one, which makes it hard to acclimatise – and we still get shocked by the heat.
When I spent 2 months in the Dominican Republic I found that I missed creamy food. Cheeses and cream sauces and milks. They just don’t enjoy it like those of us of European descent. I had to go to a special, German owned shop to get cheese. And even that was…well…eh.
Just so you know, I am a little addicted to Weetabix now. Thanks for that. 🙂
Hehehe! I’m just a little glad you’re addicted to Weetbix. You are my sister after all!! 🙂
And I cannot imagine a culture without creamy foods. Does. Not. Compute!
Yeah! Go the fish and chips. 🙂 This post made me smile and remember how Australian I am.
Hehehe! Funny, isn’t it? I didn’t realise how Australian I was until recently. Makes me smile that I can sum up the best of my culture in a white-wrapped greasy package on a hot day.
Lovely story Megan! But don’t go blessing the Canadians so quickly. We took a trip over to Toronto when our son was three and the hotel staff at the restaurant gave a us strange like we were alien look when we requested Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwhich…We assumed that might have two slices of bread and these two condiments laying around somewhere.. but nooooo….and when the KFC (Kentuck Fried Chicken ) didnt have Mashed Potatoes on their minutes …what’s that you say? Mashed Potatoes? Well..its where you take a potato…skin it…boil a bit then mash it up with milk/butter/salt and then pull globs of chicken gravy on it….hmmmmmm….so yes our small family felt like a wayward alien group stuck on some small planet which had no idea of the finer cuisine….:)
Please free to edit my horroble typos above Megan….its morning here and I’m not quite awake yet for typing…
🙂 you are fine.
But seriously…in TORONTO? That’s a few hours from the US border! Are they trying to assert their Canadian-ness or something? Heavens, even WE offer peanut butter and jam in hotels (if you ask for jelly you’d get jell-o and a strange look) along with vegemite and honey. Crazy!!
I find that some of the take away down here is different from my end of Tasmania, the one thing is deep fried battered hamburger never had one till Hobart and not many get the chips as well done as I like down here, I also love the things like german ginger bread, ollie bollen and other foods that we get here because of the variety of cultures that are mixed in Australia.
Deep fried hamburgers? Oh my Anne, I’ve missed that one (thank goodness).
Yes, ollie bollen are wonderful! I’m realising since I’ve been back just how good Tassie food is (on the whole) and how lucky we are living in a place with such premium quality stuff.
You say the chips are better up North? That’s funny!