End of an Era in Mosman

I live in a suburb which has its own “village”.  The central part of Mosman is referred to as Mosman Village. There are many things about Mosman one may like or dislike. It is not a suburb for everyone. For some  it may seem posh in a snobbish way and for others exclusive, charming and elegant. For me it is all of that and I like it. What one likes about village atmosphere is that it is small, familiar, centres around its “institutions” and has its markets. Mosman fulfills such requirements. Every first Saturday of each month Mosman Arts & Crafts Markets http://www.mosman.nsw.gov.au/mosman/culture/market  are held. This is fun and reminds me of the times when as a little girl I walked enchanted with my grandmother holding my hand  through the rural food market. This was magic and I hope that Mosman kids have similar feelings to mine and that memories will stay with them for a long time. 

I had two favourite places in Mosman Village to pay a visit to passing them at my errands. One of them already closed its doors and moved away from Mosman. The second one will stop its business the Thursday before Easter. I feel sad about it. Passing the old dojo of John Dolic at Spit Junction where John held his Tai Chi, Qigong, Kung Fu and many other Chinese practice classes where now Reece Plumbing rains I feel things are no more the same. When I came to live in Mosman, 10 years ago, John and his dojo were already a well established land mark of Mosman. John operates now from Carlton and one can meet him in cyber space to practice Qigong. For me it is not the same. I miss my visits at the dojo for friendly chats and healthy,  spiritual practices. 

                             

My second favourite place has been Bridgepoint Books that used to say: we  buy books, we  sell books, we read books, and we talk to people about books.

Very well managed place with books taken care of well, at times covered in plastic for protection . Some of the books were displayed on tables in front of the shop on the first floor of  the Bridge Point Shopping Center.  

                               

Going for shopping I had a choice to take a shorter route or pass the book shop. Most of the times I chose the longer way to see what titles were displayed this time. It was fun and I will miss my detours. The owner of the shop said: something new will come up. I am sure it will, but the Mosman shoppers, including myself, will miss the shop and its owner.

                         

I know that things change with time and that new things come into our lives but a little sadness of good things that have passed will linger.

All the best, guys from Bridgepoing Books and Chinese Martial Arts dojo, I miss your presence in my village.

Story of mussels

           

I have been inspired by the last week’s lunch at Epoque in Cammeray where I had a great pot of mussels mariniere.  That lunch brought memories of a funny situation I experienced long time ago when travelling through France.

I and my partner were travelling by car from Warsaw to Paris. It was a very long journey. Google tells me that now it is 1,596 km. It was a tiring trip but I am glad that we made it as it was educational and fun.

It was my first trip to France and through France. I have been brought up on French literature and films. I admired the country and thought that anything French is the best. I must say that  in Poland I was not unique in my Francophile attitude. Poles, for ages, loved France and anything French, even if the love was not reciprocated.

So here I was, travelling at night in France, with heart full of admiration and awe but it got late and I was hungry, sleepy, impatient and tired. I was not in the best of moods annoyingly pressing my companion to stop as soon as possible. He wanted to find a really nice place to show this Polish girl, who did not know the big world yet, the best West had to offer. Eventually we left a motorway in search of any place to eat and sleep. 

We were lucky to find a smallish town and a charming hotel and a restaurant. Things started to look up. We rushed to the restaurant as soon as possible. It was a typical French place with red and white checked table cloths and not too bright lights.

So, we were eventually sitting at a table expecting a fantastic French meal. However, we had a small problem; none of us knew French at that time. Loving France as I did, I got a job to decipher the menu.  We both were to soon realise, that loving a country does not mean that it is always easy to communicate with the natives. Nobody wanted to help us to make a right choice.  I was completely lost looking at the menu and suddenly I saw the word POMME. That was promising. If something is served with apples it must be good, I thought. My French did not stretch to understanding “ de terre”. Pomme maybe be a sign of fine dining but potatoes - pomme de terre are quite pedestrian.  We were waiting with anticipation for the dish served with apples and after a while THIS appeared in front of us.... 

                               

This was not fine dining and my reputation was shattered.

Blood sausage, if prepared well, can be fantastic. I think that most likely this one was rather a nice country dish. Alas, we were not in the mood to enjoy it. It was too rude a surprise. My memory of how it tasted faded away. It was pushed into insignificance by what we saw next. On the tables around us big  bowls full of mussels started to appear.

                          



It was obviously a specialty of the restaurant. My partner may have not known enough about French but being Swedish knew all there is to know about mussels. I learnt that not only Belgium love their mussels but Swedish as well and French know how to cook them extremely well. The Swede was looking at the dining people with envy and chagrin, disappointment with his own meal showing clearly on his face. I felt that I failed him badly.


After some wine and good food, the atmosphere in the whole restaurant was significantly lifted. My companion started to communicate, in rather original way, with the French around to find out the name of this heavenly dish they were eating. He wanted to make sure he orders the right thing the next time. And it sounded like that...

People at the tables around us were now smiling, gesticulated energetically animated by wine and food. They were talking to us about things we could not understand, but it was friendly and fun. It reminded me of the Babette's Feast. 

It was an evening of learning. I learn the difference between pomme and pomme de terre and between blood sausage and mules mariniere.  And I learnt how to eat mussels "properly" using empty shells as tongs.  

My perfect day

Yesterday was a perfect day. It was a combination of catching up with a good friend, walks through beautiful parts of Sydney, seeing a great, thought provoking film, good food and overachievement of my physical exercise targets. I could not ask for more in one day.

The day started with a walk with my friend from Mosman to Balmoral. The views on the walk are breathtaking. We walked the route many times before but each time I see the bays view from the Mosman hills I stop in awe of beauty of the place, I stand silenced in admiration  and count my blessings that I live in such a beautiful place.

Balmoral is a beautiful part of Mosman famous for its beach, beautiful houses and fine dining. The Balmoral beach has views over Sydney Harbour National Park and the gateway to Sydney Harbour. It is a place that people like to come for a picnic or a swim. For me it is often a destination of my morning walks interrupted by a stop for breakfast in one of the local cafes. The cafes are always full at any day of the week but waiting for a table is pleasant watching the passersby and the water views. Yesterday we also had our traditional breakfast. Tea for my friend, flat white for me and two bircher mueslis with yoghurt and fruits. Yam!

We walked uphill back to the village part of Mosman to have yet another tea and a chat.

 
The next part of the program was a walk for lunch to Cammeray and its Epoque Belgian Beer Cafe famous for its beer. The walk was longer than I anticipated. I was tired, hot and impatient to get to the restaurant where we intended to have specialty of the house – mussels. We had a pot of mussels mariniere with a glass of sparkling rose so my spirits and enthusiasm for further walking was revived.

The film we chose was Wadja, a Saudi Arabian film directed by a Saudi Arabian woman Haifaa al-Mansour and filmed in the suburbs of the Saudi capital, Riyadh. I must confess that I am somewhat of a feminist even if not a militant one, I believe that we are all equal and I have a tendency to support women whenever I can. This film made me think that I want to do more for women than I have been doing so far. Maybe I will focus my coaching program on women? So, for me the film was inspirational and educating. I did not know much about Saudi Arabia except that it is a rich country. Maybe I knew a bit more than that but I did not have any idea of everyday life in the country. It is a subtle film, does not shout about difficult life the women is. It shows the problems of the country in such a way that I got really moved. The scene that particularly moved me was when the mother, defeated by the Islam rules allowing men to have more than one wife gains understanding for her daughter unconventional dreams. In that scene there is so much dignity, acceptance of hard reality, love and hope that things will change that it made lasting impression on me. 

It was time to walk home and check the parameters of physical exercise I had that day. This is impressive! We walked 13km, burnt 407 kcals and walked 23,549steps!.

My daily goal is 300 kcals and 10,000 steps. Nice overachievement and encouragement for the future.

My obsession with congee

I even do not remember when I first heard or read of congee. It must have been in relation to heath foods. From time to time I get on a health kick and search for foods good for me. I even strongly believe in food as medicine. Please do not take it against me. I can indulge in eating unhealthy food with the best of them. Not that I consider that to be my strength, perhaps the opposite, but to me it is important to enjoy food which is interesting, fresh, simple or, in contrast, refined tastes. I am very eclectic in my food preferences.

But I deviated from my today’s subject. Congee came to my awareness as a plane food but with some magic, healthy qualities. Now that I know much more about it I have realised  that congee’s health improving qualities are simply based on it being easy to digest. It does not cure that much as gives our system a break to recoup after an illness.

This is what Wikipedia sais about it:

Congee or conjee is a type of rice porridge or gruel popular in many Asian countries. When eaten as plain rice congee, it is most often served with side dishes. When additional ingredients, such as meat, fish, and flavorings, are added while preparing the congee, it is most often served as a meal on its own, especially when one is ill. Names for congee are as varied as the style of its preparation. Despite its many variations, it is definitionally a thick porridge of rice largely disintegrated after prolonged cooking in water.

                                   
                              

Maybe it does not look as something one would like to try but I am still interested in finding more and learning how to cook it.

I decided to try to cook congee one day and I found, to my surprise, many recipes on a Polish sites. They seemed sensible enough and I gave it a go. After 2 hours of cooking my congee the water disappeared and the rice started to stick to the bottom of the pot. It was not a success but it was edible. Overcooked rice on its own has a small appeal to me so I experimented with adding in turn goji berries, vegetables, honey and nuts. Honey version was the most pleasing.

From my Chinese friends who treat their food seriously, I got very clear and detail instructions how to cook this specialty. I bought the right rice, picked the time when I intended to be at home for a while as it takes around two hours to cook. In fact my first recipe told me that it takes 4 hours. I was very happy to shorten the time to just over one hour.

My second try was following the recipe given by my Chinese friends. This time I could not believe that I had rice – water proportions right so I changed them to have less water than it was advised. This was another mistake, I think, as I got again a very thick concoction. When I compare my product to pictures, I subsequently found  on Internet, I think that the next time I will follow the recipe to a letter.

Lately I read again about curing power of congee. Traditionally a congee is cooked as soon as a family member is developing a cold. Another use is for stomach upsets and for hangovers. Practical even if time consuming. The hangover cure must be a western use of the remedy, I do not believe Chinse drink that much.  There are stories that Chinese men are very popular with Russian women who chose Chinese man for husbands as they do not get drunk and they do not beat their women.

Buying my special congee rice in a Chinese supermarket in Chatswood, I asked a Asian looking women about how she cooks her congee. Her answer was – I do not cook it, when I want a congee, I go to a restaurant.

The other day I was in a Chinese restaurant and I thought that maybe it would a good time to taste a professional version. To my great disappointment, the owner  of a very good and authentic, Chinese restaurant did not know of such a dish. Did we have linguistic or pronunciation problems? Not sure. I feel like I am in a search of not yet found congee. My post also seems to remind of Proust writing in its verbosity. I wish, I wish...

Mixed feelings about visiting Poland

I am already planning to go to Poland. This time it was going to be a fun trip. At least in parts. I have unfinished business there requiring me doing things which I am not keen on but I organised the trip in such a way to mix duty and pleasure. I am going to have a couple of nice trips while in Poland. 

One trip will be with my best friend I met the first day at uni. Being with Basia is fun  wherever we are and whatever we do. We  seem to talk as if in shorthand. We share jokes which we know very well and still find it funny. We do not have to tell them in full to laugh. A word or two is enough to bring the jokes to our memories. This is the special value of old friendship, I guess. We went our own ways years ago. We both got married and had our lives which did not overlap. But we kept in touch and each time we meet it is as if there was no break between our meetings even if in the past there were many years between them. I am looking forward to the time with Basia.

The other trip will be to Florence. I have never been there. And I am going with my niece, who I feel a very special connection with. She is quite artistic and some time ago was thinking about studying art. It is a shame, in a way, that she decided against it as she would have fulfilled my mother’s dreams of being a painter. My niece studied philosophy  instead and she just recently did her PhD. Impressive girl. It was some years ago when we did our first trip with main goal to visit art galleries. We then went to Holland. We stayed some days in Amsterdam and did a trip to The Hage. I think that we must have visited then most of the Duch galleries. From the beginning I was wondering how I could spend time in my favourite galleries without Martyna, being only 18 then, getting bored with looking at so many paintings.  How wrong I was! She may have had then a stud in her lower lip, she may have been only 18 but she loved the paintings. She did not have enough. Often, I was waiting for her in coffee places, tired and happy to leave the place when Martyna came running towards me to share her impressions and asking for yet another half an hour as she was not done yet. I always thought that galleries are the places to go without a company and see things at my own pace. Martyna and another  friend of mine are an exception. So I am very much looking forward to see art in Florence in a company of the like-minded person.

A lot of fun and pleasure to look forward to even if my mood has been seriously dampened by Mr. Putin’s activities rocking my feeling of safety in Eastern Europe. From Australia the political situation in Crimea does not seem to be directly threatening but listening to Polish radio I have developed different point of view and I hope this is only silliness and unnecessary panic. 

Trust there are no more courses in this dinner

                                             

Pick-up truck and compressor

It is difficult to think that a new pick-up truck and a compressor could be all a person considers the only desirable things in life. Woody Grant, the hero of Nebraska, does.

Ramana , in his post on Nebraska, wrote about the film in such positives that I decided to see it  even if it did not look like my type of thig. And I did not regret it. Actually, I was very much moved by the film, by its warmth, humour and the way Alexander Payne shows us life in Nebraska.

Woody seems to be a little confused by life and due to his age one thinks – Alzheimer? But no, as Woody’s son says – he only believes in what people say. That makes him look as if he was not all there. He believes that he will win million dollars if he shows up in Lincoln, Nebraska by closest Monday to claim the prise promised to him in an advertising campaign. He needs to travel some thousands of miles from his place to get to Lincoln, so he energetically starts walking. As the walking idea does not work out his son decides to drive him there. Good, soft hearted son and stubborn old man. The whole film is about their journey from Montana to Nebraska and reminiscing. The old man’s reason for the journey is to get his one million dollars price and David’s to bond with his father, taking maybe the last trip together. Woody, asked by his son what he is going to do when he gets his million dollars, after some hesitation answers: I will buy a new pick-up track. Prompted by his son what else, declares that he will buy a compressor. Not that he needs it but his old compressor was stolen years ago by his neighbour from Nebraska. He just wants to have a compressor again. I guess, he needs to regain an equilibrium in his possessions. Is it a sign that with age we stop to dream and desire? Maybe for some of us but I would not generalise it. Going for one’s dream, however humble, with Woody’s determination is enviable in my mind. And his dream comes true, strangely enough.

My favourite scene of the film is Woody’s triumphant drive down the main street of the place where he used to live years ago. He is driving his new truck, with a brand new compressor in the back. Woody is sporting a cap with the word WINNER and that tells us how he feels. This honorary round restores his dignity and self-value. And all of this experiences given to Woody by his son. Indecisive man and seemingly less successful than his brother.

I have been introduced by my friends to - Breaking Bad. Brilliant, captivating attention serial, I would recommend. Bob Odenkirk, in Nebraska the more successful but less likeable brother, plays convincingly a corrupted lawyer in Breaking Bad. 

Judy Cassab Exhibition - disappointment?