how to cook

The cafe I work in serves their pies, quiches and fritattas with a little side salad.  Sometimes it’s a simple green salad with a little vineagrette, but usually we give customers a couple of scoops of our salad-of-the-day.  Today we had two choices, and one of my customers asked for a taste of each.  After lunch I caught her writing the list of ingredients on a napkin.  She admitted that she’s not a particularly adventurous cook but the flavour combination in the salad had inspired her to have a go.  Then she said she never knows what herbs go with things, and that she needs to find a book that lists all the uses for different herbs (she grows them in her garden, but doesn’t know how to cook them.)  I asked her if she had a copy of Stephanie Alexander’s ‘The Cook’s Companion’ and she said she hadn’t heard of it.  Stephanie devotes a chapter to every ingredient (just shy of  120 in her first edition) and helpfully lists all the other things that each ingredient goes well with.

The Cooks Companion (2nd Ed. 2004)

I have the 1st Ed, 1996.

She said she has recipe books, but only cooks the things she knows how to cook – over and over again – and doesn’t try new things because she lacks the confidence to give it a go.  We are a cooking school as well as a Cafe so of course I told her about our classes, and she said “oh, I thought it was just for kids!”

It’s interesting, in this day and age of celebrity chefs and Masterchef and foodie magazines with extensive How To sections – and cooking blogs! – that there are still people out there for whom cooking is a bit of a mystery.  But I think they just need to be shown how to do it.  Not by watching a chef on television – because they make everything look really easy, and they do it too quickly, and in Nigella’s case the camera is usually focused on her cleavage and not the pot – and not by reading a recipe in a book or a magazine.  You need somebody standing beside you, showing you how to do each thing, how to judge cooking times and what to do if you make a mistake and how you can take little shortcuts in the kitchen that will save you time and energy…  In short, you need to grow up in a house where somebody is a decent cook and you need to help them in the kitchen as much as possible.

My mum is a great cook, and although I didn’t do a lot of cooking in her kitchen (I stirred things, or put the leg of lamb in the oven when she asked me to) I must have learned a few things along the way because when I moved out of home I was able to follow a recipe and not chop any limbs off while dicing onions.  Learning to cook a whole meal, with meat and vegetables that came out of different pots and took varying lengths of time to prepare, was a slow process and I can recall a few meals where the meat was overdone or the mashed potatoes particularly lumpy.  But I had enough confidence to give most things a go and over the years I’ve only had a couple of epic failures.  One in particular, involving smoked salmon and a jar of artichoke hearts.  But I laughed it off and made a mental note not to try that again.

Our cooking classes are for people of all skill levels but I would be surprised if the woman I chatted with today signed herself up for any of them; I don’t think she’d believe she could do it.  Isn’t that a shame?

Here’s what she jotted down on her napkin, or thereabouts:

Green Salad:

Broccolini (cut into 5cm lengths)

Green beans

Asparagus

Sun dried tomatoes

Pine nuts

Seeded mustard

I suggested she steam the vegetables or plunge them into a pot of boiling water for a minute, then immediately rinse under cold water to stop them cooking and preserve the green.  She’d never heard of that way of cooking vegetables, she’s always just boiled them until they’re soft.  And she’d never cooked broccolini – “it’s one of those things that I always see at the supermarket and wonder what on earth people use it for.”

Sometimes I feel like I’ve got so much more to learn in the kitchen, and other days I realise I’m doing alright.

how to cook Jun30

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priceless

This vase was a birthday gift from Vanessa, whom I met at work about five years ago.  It is blue-green, depending on how much light is coming from behind.  It was impossible to photograph and get the colours right.  You’ll just have to take my word for it.  This vase looks as though it’s blue glass, but it glows green from the inside.  It’s quite extraordinary.  Actually, it’s a lot like Vanessa… there’s a lot more going on than meets the eye with that woman.  She’s a treasure.

This vase is a little more confidently green!

This was a gift from my four fabulous girlfriends – Melissa, Ann, Helena & Sue.  This vase is sparkly – I know the picture doesn’t show it, but it is. I had a drink with all four of the girls in the afternoon before my party and was telling them about the beautiful vase the kids had given me, and then how Vanessa had given me one, too, AND how I’d met the glass artist, Harriet Schwartzrock.  It wasn’t until a few hours later that they gave me this vase, laughing at the coincidence of it all.  How gorgeous is that colour!?

So here’s my green glass collection.  It has received a fabulous boost from my wonderful girlfriends and my daughters and now I am in urgent need of a shelf suspended across a north-facing window.  And when the vases are not on the shelf they’ll be filled with flowers and placed around my house.

Am I not the luckiest girl in the world, to have friends with such good taste and such generous hearts?  Priceless gifts from priceless friends.

priceless Jun29

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emerald

Somewhere in my archives is a post about my green glass collection.  When I was in Oslo last year I spent a few hours in a small town called Drøbak (here’s the story I wrote on the THAI Airways site) and found two glasses in a gallery/store which I stumbled across – I’d gone to Drøbak to see the Christmas Shop.  Then in Copenhagen, I found a little glassworks and gallery in a side street and bought a beautiful green bowl.  In Sweden, there was a glassworks at the train station in the town of Båstad where I was visiting friends, and I bought a little glass apple.  I’ll post pictures of these things soon, I can’t find the original shots in my archives!

These four things started my green glass obsession/collection, and when I got back to Canberra I went immediately to the Glassworks in Kingston to see if they had anything green.  Yes, they did.

Harriet Schwartzrock is a local glass blower and she makes stunning vases, among other things.  It’s always the colour that leaps out at me, and her green vase caught my attention right away.  I dropped a none-too-subtle hint to the family that this might make a nice birthday present one day.

The cafe I am now working in has a selection of Harriet’s vases for use on all the tables, and there are a couple of her business partner’s creations as well (his are more like glass installations – very large, dramatic pieces).  Among Harriet’s vases are a couple of the coveted green ones.

Last Friday I was at work and a friend of the owners was helping out behind the coffee machine.  She was introduced to me as ‘Harry’ and we worked together all morning before someone told me she is a glass artist.

What are the odds?

Of course I told her my whole spiel about going to Oslo and Copenhagen and Bastad and my love of green glass and how I had discovered her beautiful vases…

On Saturday morning, I unwrapped my birthday present from Madi and Ella.  I’ll give you one guess.

(taken with my iPhone camera)

In a few days time, I’ll post some more photos.  Because you’ll never guess what else I got.

emerald Jun28

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40!

What a weekend!!

For my 40th birthday I decided on an intimate dinner with my closest friends on Saturday night, then lunch with family on Sunday.I invited around 35 people to dinner and almost everyone could come – one couple are overseas at the moment, and another couldn’t make it at the last minute because of an unwell baby boy at home.  I picked my favourite restaurant – Grazing at The Royal Hotel, Gundaroo – and they gave us ‘The Stables’ which is a large separate building at the rear of the Hotel which, obviously, once housed the horses.

The dining table stretched from one corner to the other, diagonally.  The table was decorated with the yellow tulips and mini gerberas I had bought from the Farmers’ Markets that morning, plus about 30 little tea-light candles, branches from my parents’ lemon tree (complete with lemons) and ivy from my parents’ backyard fence.

We ate an entree and a main course:

Entree:

Croquette of pork shoulder, cheek & smoked hock served with garden rocket, pickled pear & toasted hazelnut salad, sage mayo and Harden honey syrup

Herbed pasta filled with scallop and blue swimmer crab topped with a hazelnut parsley ‘picada’, chive verjus and salmon pearl emulsion

Main Course:

Coq au Vin spatchcock with Murrumbateman mushrooms, garden thyme, mini onions and potato skordalia made from our rosemary and garlic infused olive oil

Grain fed beef strip loin served oven roasted with beetroot and Yass olive oil ‘salsa’, pressed Wagyu, creamy onion puree and potato croquette

And for dessert we had this:

This is a Macaroon Cake, made by the fabulous Owen from Dream Cuisine.  This cake (and the two lemon curd tarts I had at lunch the next day) were a gift from my friend Allan and his wife, Charley.

After the main course PJ and I planned to say a few words.  He spoke for a few minutes, just long enough to reduce me to happy-tears and make a few jokes about being nine months older than he is.  Then my friend Nina jumped up to tell us about a tradition that the family she married into follows on special birthdays – everyone at the table has to stand up and tell all those gathered two things they like most about the birthday girl or boy.  They have to name one personality trait, and one physical attribute.  She asked everyone in the room to join in the tradition.

Can you even imagine how incredible it is to hear your friends, who have known you so well and for so long, tell you how much they appreciate you?  It was one of the most emotional, overwhelming and uplifting experiences of my life.  It was like a living funeral – everyone saying nice things about you while you’re still alive to hear it.

Here’s a picture of me with my dear friend Brooke.  The first time I ever got drunk was with Brooke.  I don’t know whose idea it was to climb up into my treehouse to drink that bottle of Southern Comfort but it made for an hilarious descent.

(Can you see the watch I’m wearing?  That was my birthday gift from my darling husband.  He chose it.  I love it.)

After the love-fest was over, I got up and said whatever came to mind in that moment – I was feeling very humbled and grateful.  Everybody in that room has inspired me in some way at some point in my life, through their words or actions or both, and I absolutely credit them with the person I am at this age.  I have been so blessed to have such great friends!  And… they really like me too!

But I totally forgot to mention PJ.  After I sat down all I could think was that Hilary Swank had forgotten to thank her husband after she won the Oscar and they ended up divorced!  So after dessert was served I stood up on my chair and told everyone how much I love him, and a whole lot of other stuff that I can’t remember because it was completely unscripted and straight from the heart.(I really wanted to post a picture of him but he’s too shy).

It was SUCH a great night!  I had a wonderful time, my friends all met each other and got along famously, and the girls all took turns to cuddle Allan and Charley’s two week old baby, Joseph, who seemed to sleep through all the noise and excitement.  I wonder where I’ll be when he’s turning 40?

40! Jun27

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40

I’m 40 today.

I’m totally OK with this.

But I’m too busy to talk about it right now.  I’m off to a party! Whoopee! :-)

40 Jun25

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good health

Says it all, really.  Get fit, discover joy.

Lumpini Park, Bangkok, 7am

good health Jun24

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easy pasta sauce

 

This is what’s for dinner tonight.  I’ve cooked it before, so this recipe and pictures might look vaguely familiar.  Well, it bears repeating.  It’s delicious.  And EASY.  I’m just going to have to start calling Jill Dupleix Aunty Jill – I use so many of her recipes.  It’s because she’s brilliant.

This version of her recipe is slightly different to the one I’ve been using (taken out of delicious. magazine YEARS ago.)  The earlier version doesn’t have milk or cream in it, but I’ll start using it because this is quite an intensely-flavoured sauce and the cream would settle it down a bit.

Jill Dupleix’s Spicy Sausage Pasta

6 small pork sausages or 3 large – make sure they’re good ones from your local butcher. Pork & Fennel (“Italian-style”) are particularly good, but you might like to get some spicier ones.

1 small onion, peeled

1 tbsp olive oil

1 tbsp butter

6 tbsp milk

400 g canned plum tomatoes

1 tsp sugar

pinch of grated nutmeg

sea saltf

reshly ground black pepper

500 g penne, rigatoni or similar short tube pasta

2 tbsp cream (optional)

freshly grated parmigiano

Slit open the skin of the sausages, and remove the meat, discarding the skins (I wear latex gloves to do this). Finely slice the onion. Heat the olive oil and butter in a frypan and gently cook the onion for 5 or 6 minutes until soft but still white. Pinch the meat into the pan and fry, breaking it up with a wooden spoon, until it is cooked but not browned.

Add the milk and very gently simmer, stirring, for 5 minutes. Roughly chop the tomatoes and add them, with their juices, to the meat. Add the sugar, nutmeg, and salt and pepper to taste, and simmer for 15 to 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Cook the pasta in a large pot of boiling salted water until it is al dente, tender but still firm to the bite.

Add the cream to the sauce, and stir through, gently heating it through. Drain the pasta, toss well and serve with grated parmigiano.

baby photos

If you grew up in Canberra, odds are that you have a photo just like this one in your archives.  This is me, two years old and naked, at Casurina Sands, a local ‘waterhole’ where Canberra families go for summertime picnics and liloing down the river.

So anyway, it’s my birthday on Saturday and I’m going to be 40.  I’m totally OK with this so don’t worry about sending me messages of condolence or jokes about getting old or whatever.  I’m. Totally. OK. With. It.

No, really.  I am.

Confession: I have JUST THIS MINUTE realised that LiLo is short for Lie Low.  Thank God I realised this before I turned 40.

I just received an email from a friend (who, I shall joyously point out, is quite a bit older than me), asking if there’s going to be a slideshow of photos chronicling my first 40 years at the party on Saturday night.

No, there is not.  And I’ll tell you why.Because my father, who is the Keeper Of The Family Albums, is currently in this place:

Actually, he’s not IN Davenport. That’s just the nearest town.  Apparently he and my mother will be there in a few days, after a long trek east along corrugated roads.  This is what happens when you give a couple of Grey Nomads a four wheel drive, a GPS and a Satellite Phone: they head out into the outback and they get very, very far away.  Dad calls every week or so and here’s the conversation:

Me: Hi, how are you? Where are you?

Dad: Fine.  We’re at latitude -19.68056 and longitude134.18083.  We’ll need to find somewhere to get fuel soon.  The wildflowers are gorgeous.

Me: Awesome.

Dad has kindly scanned in many images from those old family albums and posted them on Flickr (no, I’m not sending you a Guest Pass) so I could, in theory, make a brief slideshow.  But as you know I’m extremely busy these days and I just don’t know if I’ll have time.  It’s a shame, really, because every time he took a picture of me as a baby or a young girl he would have been thinking “she’ll be so pleased to have these when she’s 40 and everyone’s expecting a slideshow at the party.”  Except his vision of a slideshow would have involved a white sheet suspended from the ceiling, not an iPad on the table between the candles and bottles of wine.

I will, however, have time to write my speech.  The last time I had an opportunity to say nice things about the wonderful people in my life was almost 15 years ago at our wedding, and there are a few new people since then.  My children, for starters.If you’re not Australian and you don’t know what liloing is…. here’s a picture.  A lilo is an inflatable mattress.  When there’s water in the Murrumbidgee, they float downstream over rapids, with excited children clinging to them…  I’m on the lilo at the top of the picture, complaining that some kid has climbed on.  The rest of the kids are my siblings, and I’m assuming the lady in the bikini is the mother of the boy on my lilo.  No, it’s not PJ. I hadn’t met him yet (I was about 11 in this pic).

baby photos Jun22

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focussed

You can tell when the girls are focussing on the task at hand – Ella pokes her tongue out and Madeleine tightens her mouth into a thin line.  It’s so cute.  Well, it is to me, because I’m their mother.  Everything they do is cute.

focussed Jun21

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Le Pot

I use this is a lot during these cooler months.  I love cooking whole chickens in it, and diced beef, and risotto, and soup, and bolognese sauce.  It’s a great pot for cooking a lot of different things and if you have a spare $294 you can get one from Peter’s of Kensington on sale at the moment (rrp $469).  I know that sounds like a hideous amount of money but remember – it’s all in the cost per use.  I reckon I’ve got mine down to a dollar a go and that’s only taken me ten years.  Yeah, that doesn’t really work, does it.  Ask me again in another ten years.

Tonight I’m going to make what I think is one of the most delicious (and easy) ways to cook a whole chicken.  The hardest part about this recipe, really, is carving up the chook afterwards, but the breast meat pulls so easily off the rib cage and the legs/thighs fall away from the body in such a way that you don’t actually need to understand the anatomy of the chicken.  I think that’s what put me off roasting chickens for so long – not knowing how to carve the thing once it was cooked.  Turns out it’s really not that hard, especially if you’ve got two kids who’ll  share a breast, a husband who wants the other one, and you’re happy (very happy) to have a drumstick and a thigh.

 

Skye Gyngell’s Pot-Roasted Chicken with Sage & Butternut Pumpkin

1 free-range organic chicken

1 lemon, halved

1 small bunch of sage

3 fresh bay leaves

2tbsp mild extra-virgin olive oil

2 red onions, peeled and quartered

5 cloves of garlic, peeled but left whole

1 butternut squash, peeled and chopped into rough chunks

2 tins of good-quality chopped tomatoes

2tbsp crème fraîche

Sea-salt and freshly ground black pepper

Start by generously seasoning the chicken all over. Insert the lemon, half of the sage and one of the bay leaves into it (having first removed the little pillows of fat found just inside the cavity).

Place the casserole dish on a medium heat and pour in the olive oil. When it’s hot and slightly smoking, put the chicken in and brown lightly all over. This will take a little bit of time. Turn the chicken every now and then to make sure it goes an even, golden brown all over. Once brown, remove it from the pan and set aside.

Pour off the excess oil, add the onions, season with a pinch of salt and cook until tender. This should take about 5 minutes. Next add the garlic and the rest of the sage and bay leaves. Cook for a further 5 minutes, then add the squash.

Add the tomatoes and stir once or twice, then return the chicken to the pan, so that it nestles among the vegetables. Put the lid on, turn down the heat to medium-low and cook for about 45 minutes. The breasts do not need to be completely submerged in the liquid; they will happily steam cook – and remain all the more tender for it.

Once the chicken is cooked, add the crème fraîche and adjust the seasoning. It should be slightly sweet, sagey and very comforting in flavour. At home we eat this dish with farro or creamy mashed potato, and a simple green salad dressed with olive oil and lemon.

trust the process

I’m going to say right up front that this post might make some of you squirm a little in your seat and wonder if I’m going a little nuts.  On the other hand, those of you who know me best or who have been reading my blog the longest will just see this as another attempt by me to figure out who I am and what I want, and when I’m in one of those moods anything goes.

Remember how I got to travel to Bangkok and Oslo last year, and how that opportunity came completely out of the blue after years of wanting to travel?  I could never have guessed that I would be taking that trip, under those circumstances, and I still look back on the whole thing as an incredible blessing that came about through something I’m going to call ‘divine intervention’.

I consider myself an agnostic – I’m a fence-sitter.  I don’t believe there is a God, but I don’t believe there isn’t.  There is something, I just don’t know what it is.  I think there is something spiritual – I just said out loud to PJ that I think I’m a ‘spiritual agnostic’ and he said “there’s plenty of them”.  I knew I wasn’t on my own but it’s nice to know I’m part of a crowd.

Over the last year or so I have really been getting a strong feeling that things happen for a reason, and good things can happen when you simply ask for them.  Actually, it’s not really “simple” to ask for them.  There seems to be a way to ask for things so that [whoever is listening] can hear you and then deliver them. It involves being very quiet, meditative, calm, clear, accepting, trusting, believing, thankful, grateful… and so on.  I find it hard to be completely in that frame of mind, and this is frustrating.

I do think that, on some level, my wishes are being heard.  There are too many coincidences happening.  The other day I was thinking about my Top Secret Business Idea and realising that I needed to find a group of people with a particular skill set who could help me develop the product in these early prototype-building days.  A group of people who might be willing to help me out, out of the goodness of their hearts.  The next day I accidentally received an email from somebody who belongs to exactly such a group; she had sent out an email to the whole group, organising their next meeting, and I was accidentally included in the mailout.  What are the odds?

Maybe that’s all it takes to Ask?  Just have the idea clearly in your mind, without consciously saying “you know, [whoever is listening], I could really do with the email address of a group of people who know how to make prototypes, do you reckon you could fix me up with one of those?”  Just have the thought, then release it, and feel confident that once it’s out there, [whoever is listening] will respond.  Don’t stress about when or how or why it’s going to happen, just trust that it is.

And don’t turn yourself inside out trying to be meditative and calm.  Just trust that someone is listening.Who is listening to you?

I think Angels are listening to me.  That’s what I think.  When I launch my product I’ll tell you some stories that will make you believe… something.

(this card keeps coming up for me… if you want to see your cards, click over to Diana Cooper’s site)

trust the process Jun19

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GeorgianaBanana

This is Georgiana (Georgie, aka Georgie Banana).  She is the youngest of my dear friend Penny’s three daughters, and the last to warm up to the presence of a big lens in her face.  But once she gets going, she can strike a pose as good as the rest of ‘em.

I need to update the galleries on my Trish Smith Photography homepage, I’ve got a lot of new, very cute kids in my portfolio!

GeorgianaBanana Jun18

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Soup!

There’s nothing better than soup on a grey, wintery day – even better if it’s bright green.

This is what’s for dinner tonight.

Nigel Slater’s Soup of Broccoli & Bacon

200g smoked streaky bacon

3 smallish potatoes

1.5 litres chicken or ham stock

300g broccoli, purple sprouting or other dark calabrese

150ml milk

Peel the onion, chop it roughly and soften it in the butter in a deep pan. I never let it colour, preferring to keep it pale and translucent. Stir in half the bacon, snipped into short lengths (keep six short pieces for later), then the potatoes, scrubbed and cut into small pieces. Let the ingredients marry with as little colour as possible, then pour in the stock and bring to the boil, adding salt and pepper as you go. Turn the heat down so that the mixture simmers gently for 15 to 20 minutes or so, until the potatoes will collapse against slight pressure from the back of a spoon.

Introduce the greens, trimmed of any exceptionally tough stalks, and simmer for 10 minutes. The greens should still live up to their name.

Pour in the milk, simmer briefly, then process the mixture in a blender till smooth, checking the seasoning.

Grill the remaining bacon until crisp, then serve the soup in warm bowls, each with a piece of crisp bacon on its surface.

Soup! Jun17

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working girl

I had forgotten how exhausting work can be.  It’s not just being on my feet all day, it’s having to think about things other than what’s for dinner or whether I’ll have time to fit in a quick coffee with Mel before Oprah starts.  I’m absolutely shattered after 4.5 hours on my feet and to be honest I can’t think of anything profound to write about.  I’m sorry, I know I promised you improved content on this incarnation of my blog but today I can’t do it.  I’m going to crash out on the sofa with the remote control and hopefully Colin Firth and tomorrow I’ll be back with something more interesting.

working girl Jun16

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agapanthus

New life clinging to the dead stalks.  These agapanthus live in the gardens around Madeleine’s horseriding school.  I’m tempted to shake the seeds off and bring them home to our place.

agapanthus Jun15

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basics

I bought two cauliflowers at the Farmers’ Markets this weekend – they cost me five bucks.  This recipe is from Stephanie Alexander’s “The Cook’s Companion” and is officially the cheapest, easiest soup recipe in my arsenal. And, it’s delicious.

CAULIFLOWER SOUP aka MUFF’S SOUP

1 cauliflower, cut into pieces, including the stem

1 litre fat-free Chicken Stock

1 teaspoon vegemite

freshly ground black pepper

freshly chopped parsley

freshly grated parmesan cheese

Cook the cauliflower in stock until tender.  Add vegemite and stir until dissolved.  Puree cauliflower and stock, then check seasoning.  Stir in parsley.  Serve, and pass the grated parmesan (be generous with it).

* Stephanie credits a friend – presumably ‘Muff’ – for the recipe, saying that she described it as the perfect dieter’s dinner.  So, that’s a bonus.

basics Jun14

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do something, anything.

This article appeared in the Sydney Morning Herald’s Saturday magazine, Good Weekend, two weeks ago.  It is the very sad and tragic story of a young Australian girl called Zahra Baker who was murdered by her abusive American step-mother in North Carolina last year.  Her father met the woman on the internet, they married, and all went to live in America.  It’s the story of a young girl who was let down by ‘the authorities’ who should have stepped in to rescue her from an abusive home, and of the neighbours’ and school’s attempts to help that didn’t succeed.

This weekend there are several Letters to the Editor of Good Weekend, overwhelmingly asking the obvious question – why didn’t someone rescue her?  Why didn’t somebody go into that house and search for her and take her to a hospital, when it was so obvious that she was in danger?  Why does ‘society’ allow children to be treated like this?

A few years ago there was a family in our street with two kids the same age as our two.  The parents had split up, and the kids were living with their mother during the week then going across town to their Dad’s place for weekends.  The divorce had devastated the mother and she was drinking more and more. I was worried about the kids.  I talked to some of the other neighbours about it.  We didn’t know what to do.One night I went over to their house – I can’t recall what prompted me to do this – and found the kids in the end room watching television, whilst their mother was passed out drunk on the sofa in the living room.  She didn’t even know they were there, she thought they were with their Dad.  And you know what I did?  I told them they could come over if they wanted to.  I told them they could come around for dinner if they were hungry.  And then I went home.

Despite the fact that their mother was just about unconscious on the sofa, I left them there.  I didn’t feel that I could take them away.  Maybe I worried that they would get upset by that?  Maybe I didn’t know what I would do with them once they were at my house.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  But I was very relieved when they knocked on my door ten minutes later and told me they couldn’t wake mummy up.  They spent that night at their Dad’s, and every night since.  He got full custody, partly because I wrote an affidavit about the night they had come over.  Their mother, incidentally, is sober now and I think she sees them regularly.

The thought of all the adults who crossed paths with Zahra, who had an inkling that something was not right, but who did nothing – or not enough – makes me sad and angry at the same time.  But then I have to ask myself, why didn’t I act sooner when I knew there was something going on in that house in our street?  The kids didn’t get physically hurt, but they saw their mother unconscious from too much alcohol; I can’t even begin to imagine what effect that has had on them, and will continue to have on them for the rest of their lives.  I knew she drank a lot, and I knew she drank a lot when the kids were at home.  Should that have been enough of a trigger for me to do something more?  Would that have been enough to empower the ‘authorities’ to act in the kids’ interests?  These are tough questions.

People don’t like to be told how to live their life, and generally people don’t like telling others what they can and cannot do.  We all prefer to mind our own business, wherever possible, don’t we?  Getting involved can be messy and upsetting and perhaps even dangerous – certainly the people who knew Zahra Baker’s stepmother were afraid of what she might do to them.  This is why we look to the police and the child protection agencies, to act on our concerns.  They look to us to be vigilant, and we expect them to do something about the things we see and hear.  If they don’t act, who is going to?  Are you really going to walk into somebody else’s house and take a child out of there?  I read this story and thought that if I was there, I would have done something, but when I think about that family down the street from our place I realise that it’s not that simple and I’m not sure what I would have been able to do.

do something, anything. Jun13

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crown jewels

This crown is in the Skatkammer – the Danish Royal Treasury housed within Rosenborg Castle in Copenhagen.

I don’t think I had ever seen real, live crown jewels up close before.  If I have, I didn’t have my camera with me.

Canon EOS 450D with Canon EF  24-105

f/4 IS USM lens

ISO 500

Focal length 60mm

Aperture f/4

Exposure 1/50

Tip for photographers:  If you’re shooting in low light and you can’t use your flash (common in a museum or gallery) you need to have a very slow shutter speed and a wide aperture to let more light in.  The only way you’re going to be able to have a slow shutter speed without ending up with a blurred picture (from your shaky hand) is if you have your camera on a tripod or resting on a solid surface.  If you don’t have either of those, then the best you can do is lean your body against something solid (walls and railings are good), keeping your arms tucked against your body, and hold your breath as you squeeze the shutter.  Take a few shots if this is the case and cross your fingers that one will be OK.

crown jewels Jun12

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basics

This afternoon I’m making four different kinds of soup – five, if you count the pot of chicken stock on the stove.  My tummy has felt a little delicate since the infamous weekend with the girls (reminder: I ate and drank a lot of everything that I avoided on the detox) so I have decided that soup is for dinner for the next couple of weeks.  Also, I found a dress to wear to my 40th and it requires me to gain no weight between now and the party.  I have reached what I think is my ideal weight; if I lose any more it’s going to start coming off my boobs and as PJ will attest that will never do.  And the dress requires cleavage.

Vegetable soups are really easy.  My recipe usually goes something like this:

1 litre home-made chicken stock (not too flavourful; I’ve made that mistake and pumpkin soup that tastes like chicken is pretty unpleasant)

500g – 1kg chopped up vegetable (carrot or pumpkin or cauliflower or sweet potato)

One medium onion or a couple of leeks, chopped

Couple of tablespoons of butter

Two cloves of garlic, crushed.

Method:Melt the butter, fry the onion + garlic until soft, add the vegies, stir for a couple of minutes to coat in butter, then add the chicken stock (preferably hot), bring to boil, reduce to simmer, simmer until veg is soft, hold back a cup of liquid, blend the rest of it in the pot with a stick blender, adding back the liquid as required to reach desired consistency.  Add salt and pepper to taste.

See? Dead easy.

So I’ve been looking up recipes for soup because the recipe above will give you something pretty dull.  Like those steamed veggies I always serve with the meat at dinnertime, vegetable soup can really benefit from a bit of extra flavour.

Today I am making:

Cauliflower soup with Vegemite

Carrot soup with Orange

Roast Pumpkin Soup with cumin and nutmeg

Broccoli Soup with prosciutto and almonds

I’ll post the recipes over the coming weeks.  If you’re in a hurry you could google each of them and find them in several different places online.

Here’s the pumpkin before it went into the oven.  Love that colour.

While that’s roasting, I’ll be making chicken stock.

Here’s how I make mine:

BASIC CHICKEN STOCK

One roast organic chicken, meat removed OR buy a couple of ‘chicken frames’ from the deli, roast them in a hot oven for about twenty minutes to get them lovely and brown and crispy OR save all the bones next time you get a BBQ’d chook from the supermarket.

One onion, chopped in half, skin still on OR a leek

Half a bunch of parsley

One carrot

One potato

One stick of celery

A dozen black peppercorns

Put the chicken bones and all the vegies into your biggest saucepan and cover with cold water.  Bring to the boil, then reduce heat and simmer for at least two hours.  Skim anything nasty-looking that floats to the top.

Strain the stock through a fine sieve (remove all the big bits with a pair of bbq tongs first, then pour the liquid through a strainer into another pot.)

Heat this liquid over high heat to reduce, if you want a stronger-flavoured stock.

Allow to cool before pouring into 500ml or 1L containers and freezing.

(If you can, cool the stock in one pot in the fridge overnight, then the next morning you can gently lift the solidified fat off the top before straining your new, low-fat stock into containers).

filter

The other day I saw something on a real estate agent’s website that made me do a double-take.  It’s a picture of the kitchen of a house they are selling.  Have a look at this picture and see what you think of it.

The first thing I saw was the black guy hanging from the ceiling.  I found it offensive.It didn’t even occur to me that this was supposed to be funny.  I just thought it was in poor taste.

So what did I do?I sent an email to the real estate agent and told her that I found it offensive.  I told her that it wasn’t a good look for the house, or for the agency.  I told her that my first impression was that it was a Barack Obama doll, hanging from the roof.  I noted that other photos showed the rope was tied under his arms (ie not around his neck) but that the first picture – the one above – was ambiguous, and a bit shocking.

She wrote back and told me that she had forwarded my concerns to the client.

They wrote back to her and apologised if I was offended, but that this was a Steve Urkle doll and they’d had him for years and even when they had him in their home in Zambia their African friends weren’t offended.

I guess the message to me was – you don’t know what you’re talking about, lady, and mind your own business.

So I wondered about this for a moment, and wondered if they were right.  It was meant as a joke, clearly they weren’t actually condoning the lynching of Africans.

Clearly I don’t have a sense of humour.

Whatever, it got me thinking about the fact that I wrote that email at all.  Why did I feel that was necessary?  Why did it get me THAT fired up, that I felt like writing?  Maybe it was simply because it is so easy to send an email now.  Instead of hunting out a piece of writing paper and an envelope – which would give me time to reflect on what I was doing – I just clicked and typed and hit ‘send’, all within about two minutes.  At no point did I ask myself if this was a worthwhile exercise.  I just did it.

In hindsight, what was I hoping to achieve?  What difference does it make to my life whether or not somebody hangs a doll over their kitchen island?  And who am I to tell somebody whether or not something is offensive?

Oh my god.  I’m turning into a Grumpy Old Woman.  Somebody, shoot me.

I really do try to stay positive, to keep silent unless I’ve got something nice to say, to give people the benefit of the doubt.  But obviously my filter is not completely perfect, and the odd knee-jerk reaction slips through.  Invariably, whatever it was that I was commenting on or complaining about didn’t really justify me saying anything, let alone putting it in writing and sending an email.  It was just me, spouting an opinion, filling the air and the airwaves with a sprinkling of negativity, for no real benefit or advantage.  Yes, I still think it’s offensive to hang a doll, especially an African-American one, from the ceiling.  But I can keep that opinion to myself, I don’t need to bother other people with my opinions when they don’t really matter all that much in the great scheme of things.

Must try harder to not let stuff bother me.  Or to think twice before speaking or hitting ‘send.’

filter Jun10

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sooc

Here’s a picture I took the other day when I was out at horseriding with Madeleine.  The sun was setting and there was some great colour in the sky.  But there were also these dried out, dead stalks of something that was growning in the rockery near the stables.  This was taken with the 50mm lens, shooting in aperture priority mode (I set the aperture, the camera adjusted the ISO and shutter speed to get the exposure).

Canon EOS 450D with Canon EF  50mm f/1.4 USM lens

ISO 200

Focal length 50mm

Aperture f/5

Exposure 1/100

PJ offered to do some post-production on this image.  He and I often have completely different ideas about what a picture is about.  When I shot it I was thinking about the colours in the sunset, and that’s what I probably would have concentrated on if I was doing the post production.  PJ saw something else in it.   The first thing he did was crop the image, then set about lightening the foreground up a bit.

I think what he’s done is absolutely beautiful.

sooc Jun09

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detoxed

This past weekend I went away with my four girlfriends whom I’ve known since our daughters were all in school.  Now, before the couple of them who read this blog start to panic…What happens on tour STAYS on tour.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t talk about myself, which I am apt to do, given that this is my blog.

On Friday night we had pre-dinner champagne (alcohol!) with cheese (dairy!) and crackers (wheat!) followed by creamy (dairy!) pumpkin soup with some delicious olive + herb bread (wheat!) with butter (dairy!) and then we had some more wine (alcohol!).  Quite a lot more, actually.

The next morning, not surprisingly, I felt very, very ill.  I think I probably drank the equivalent of five glasses of wine (a bottle + a bit more) so not only did I wake up with a scorching hangover, but I also had indigestion. Oh, and of course it was, er-hem, that time of the month.  Throbbing head, gurgling, crampy tummy.

We all were booked in for massages/facials at the local salon on Saturday morning and when I turned up for mine at 11.30am I could think of nothing worse than lying on a bed in a small room surrounded by overpowering aromatherapy oils.  I was so embarassed to confess my predicament to the young woman behind the counter.  Fortunately, the lovely Aromatherapy Masseuse talked me into having my massage, telling me she promised she would make me feel better.

She took some time choosing the best oils (black pepper, wild rosemary and grapefruit) and an hour later I emerged, feeling fantastic.

I had two small glasses of wine with dinner that night, because I had brought two bottles of really good pinot noir from home and I wanted to try them.  I must confess that they did nothing for me.  Maybe I was still hung-over, maybe I really have lost the taste for wine.  I haven’t enjoyed a glass in weeks.

Whilst everyone else indulged in delicious-looking cocktails and all different types of wine on Saturday night, I drank water.  And do you know what really surprised me?  I didn’t mind one bit.  I drank my water out of a wine glass, with a slice of lime, which made it feel a bit special.

I really think I’ve turned a corner with this detox.  And maybe it’s because I’m inching ever closer to 40 and am feeling really great with all the exercise I’ve been doing (running, riding, boot camping).  Perhaps it’s the realisation that the days of over-indulgence – in anything unhealthy – are past me?  I felt so, so awful on Saturday morning and it wasn’t just the physical symptoms.  I felt a bit stupid, to be honest, to be waking up with such a hangover.  I’m almost 40.  I should know my own limits and not push through them.

Yes, I’ve definitely had an epiphany.  From now on I’ll hardly even need to make a conscious effort to convince myself to avoid the foods and other things that make me feel unwell; I don’t have the appetite for them.  I’ll still have the occasional coffee, but it’s not something I start to crave at 10.30am like I used to, it’s just something I have from time to time if the occasion calls for it.  Same goes for dessert.

I’m really glad to have gone through this process.  I probably should have gone through it ten years ago.  Oh well, better late than never, eh?

detoxed Jun07

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willa & me

As long as it isn’t raining, I’m going to spend every weekend doing this.

I cannot believe how much fun I’m having on this bike!  If you haven’t ridden a bike in 20 years, and you miss the sensation of zooming around the streets with the wind in your face, then get thee to a bike shop and get yourself a bike.

(On this blog I can shamelessly plug Ride Shop of Lonsdale Street, Braddon – thanks Tim & Louise!)

And the best thing about getting one of these bikes?  These cruisers?  These “lifestyle” bikes? Nobody expects you to go off-road and up mountains or to the nearest velodrome.  These babies are just for getting around, and getting happy.

(Photo by PJ, who lay on the chilly footpath to snap me as I whizzed past)

willa & me Jun06

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basics

This is dead-easy.  Take a piece of thick fish (I used Blue Grenadier) and top it with a herb-y, lemon-y, crunchy breadcrumb crust and serve on a dollop of creamy mashed potato.

This is a huge piece of fish – that’s a regular-size cutting board.  The fish is about an inch thick at the thickest point.

Blue Grendadier is one of my favourite types of fish.  It always sells out very quickly at the Farmers’ Markets so you need to be there at 7am if you want some.

Lemon zest…

The herb breadcrumb mixture…

Spread it over the top, nice and thickly…

I can’t even tell you how delicious this is.  It’s quite rich with the crust.  The serve above turned out to be too much for me.  I should’ve had less mash ;-)

Jill Dupleix, you’re a genius.

4 skinless fish fillets, say 180g each (I did the whole side of fish in one piece then cut it up to serve, which added to the cooking time)

1 tbsp Dijon mustard* (I didn’t include this, my kids don’t like mustard)

4 tbsp fresh white breadcrumbs (I used day-old pane casa – Italian Bread)

2 tbsp finely chopped flat-leaf parsley leaves

1 tbsp thyme leaves

2 tsp grated lemon zest

Sea salt and pepper

1⁄2 tsp cayenne pepper (didn’t include, too spicy for kids)

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

Heat oven to 200C.

Trim the fish neatly and place on a foil-lined baking tray. (oil it too so the fish doesn’t stick)

Spread the tops lightly with mustard.

Mix the breadcrumbs, parsley, thyme, lemon zest, sea salt, pepper, cayenne and olive oil in a small bowl until mushy.  Spread on top of the fish, patting to fit the shape.

Bake for 8 to 10 minutes, or longer, depending on the thickness of the fish.

basics Jun05

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fantasy comebacks

Case #1

Somebody I know recently started a new job (no, this post is not autobiographical) and although she loves the work and the workplace, she’s finding it difficult to warm to her boss.  He’s a grumpy bastard who has nothing nice to say about anything or anyone, he is frequently rude and bossy just for the sake of it, and he brings the morale and mood of the whole place down.  He has announced he is leaving soon because he “hates” Canberra, but he hasn’t been able to find a job to move to so for the time being he’s stuck, sharing his hatred of the world with anyone and everyone.

Fantasy Response:

“Oh for goodness sake.  I have three children under the age of 10.  I’m sure you think I am somehow intimidated by your bullying or frightened by your angry outbursts.  The thing is, you are behaving like a two year old who has shat his nappy whilst sitting in the high chair at lunchtime, demanding the crusts be cut off his vegemite sandwich.  Show a little professionalism or at the very least some dignity and save your tantrums for mirrors on your bedroom ceiling.”

Actual Response:

Silent prayers for a job offer elsewhere (for him, or for my friend)

Case #2

Today I was out on my bike and I came up behind a couple of people walking their dog on the footpath.  In Canberra, you are allowed to ride your bicycle on the footpath as long as it is not within 10m of a shop that is open for business.  I tinkled my bell (I was going to say “rang” but I wanted to accurately convey the lovely, tuneful, friendly tone of my bell) to let the couple and their dog know that I was coming up behind them.  I thought I could probably ride around them both, but they weren’t walking in a reliably straight line and I was worried they might jump into my path if I gave them a fright.  As I rode past, the lady smiled and I said I was just letting her know I was there, I didn’t want to sneak up on you, and thanks!  The man turned and said “You know this is a FOOT path!”

Fantasy Response:

“Yes, and your enormous arse is taking up the whole thing!”

Fantasy Response 2.0:

“Yes, and I’m allowed to use it too!  Google the legislation!”

Actual Response:

“Thank you!  Have a nice day!”

Case #3

I was at the bike shop picking up the mirror I had ordered (essential for keeping an eye on the kids following behind me) and I got chatting to Tim and Louise, the owner and one of his staff, about the usefulness of the bike racks just outside the shop.  I was wondering where to park and lock up my bike when I came into the city to go shopping or see a movie or just have coffee, because I was worried about somebody swiping my gorgeous basket panniers.  Tim’s happy for me to park the bike in front of the shop because it’s one of his bikes and it’s like free marketing for him if it’s out there where people can see it in all its fabulousness.  I was just happy to have it in front of the shop where he and Louise could keep an eye on it for me.

So there was another customer in the shop, a guy in head-to-toe lycra, still wearing his helmet and his sunglasses, standing beside what I assumed was his road bike, presumably waiting for a spare part or something.  Anyway, he was privy to the whole conversation about parking my bike outside, about how lovely it is to look at, about how I am trying to take extra-good care of it, and he chimed in with…”We could put an electric blanket on it for you too, if you like.”

Fantasy Response:

“See, now, why do you have to make fun of my bike?  Why is it that we can’t all just be “cyclists” regardless of what kind of bike we choose to ride?”

Fantasy Response 2.0:

“How about you agree not to give me shit about my girly-frou-frou-pretend-bike, and I’ll agree not ask whether these cool Canberra mornings are to blame or if you just have an uncommonly small penis.”

Actual Response:

“Ha ha.  Good one.  Electric Blanket.  Ha ha.  Ya got me.”

fantasy comebacks Jun04

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piles of leaves

One of the challenges when photographing kids is getting them to relax in front of the camera or, even better, forget you’re even there.  If I feel like they’re getting bored or antsy, I try to get them to play and relax and chill-out.  When there are piles of leaves to be made, it’s very easy.

piles of leaves Jun03

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Sneaky Masterchef

There was quite a lot of roasted cauliflower left over after dinner the other night, and then last night there was left-over brocolli, and I had about 400gm of extra chicken thigh fillets that weren’t going to be needed for a curry.  Leftovers aren’t normally very fancy in our house but this time I decided to put in a bit of effort and… voila!

(still searching for the picture – sorry)

I didn’t really know how to make a pie, to be honest.  I’ve never made one using puff pastry, for starters.  And I knew it would need some kind of gravy or sauce but since I was using leftovers I’d need to make that separately.  So I very cleverly Googled “chicken and vegetable pie” and this is what came up:

Valli Little’s Chicken and Vegetable pies, from delicious. magazine, July 2003, p82

I varied it a little…

LEFTOVER PIE CHICKEN AND VEGETABLE PIES

(Makes about four large or six regular-sized pies.)

1 tbs olive oil
30g butter
500g chicken breast fillet, cut into 2cm chunks
1 leek, white part only, finely sliced
1 garlic clove, crushed
1 tbs flour
1/3 cup (80ml) white wine or water
1 cup (250ml) chicken stock
1/2 cup (125ml) thick cream
1 large carrot, peeled, cooked, diced
1 large potato, peeled, boiled, diced
1 cup frozen peas, cooked
1 tbs chopped fresh or 1/2 tsp dried tarragon
4 sheets puff pastry, thawed
1 egg, lightly beaten
Heat the olive oil and butter in a frypan over medium heat, add the pieces of chicken and cook until lightly browned and almost cooked through.
Transfer chicken to a plate and set aside.
Add the leek and garlic to the pan and cook over low heat for 2-3 minutes or until softened.
Add the flour and cook for 1 minute.
Add wine and bring to the boil for 1 minute, then pour in stock and cream and cook, stirring, for a further 5 minutes over medium-low heat.
Return chicken to pan with cooked vegetables and tarragon, season well, then set aside to cool.
Preheat the oven to 200°C.
Cut four 18cm squares from the pastry, reserving off cuts. Place some chicken mixture in the centre of each square, then lift up the sides of the pastry to form a parcel, pinching edges together to seal.
Cut out leaf shapes from the pastry offcuts and place over the joins. Make a small pastry rose for the centre of each parcel.
Place parcels on a baking tray lined with baking paper.
Brush with beaten egg and bake for 25 minutes or until golden.
(sorry, I can’t find the original photos! Another victim of the virus attack of 2011)
Sneaky Masterchef Jun02

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Listen

On Monday morning I went to my new job, just for a few hours, to learn my way around the shop and to operate the point-of-sale system.  I did lots of odd jobs, such as polishing cutlery and sticking labels on jars of Chilli Jam, and I served a few customers.  I tried very hard to listen very carefully to everything I was being told and it got the the point, after three hours, where I felt my head might explode.  Fortunately everyone is very helpful and friendly and the customers are forgiving, and by the end of next week I reckon I’ll be all settled in.

Sometimes I listen to instructions and the words don’t take hold inside my head.  Last week I was helping on the tea & coffee stall at a school event, and the person in charge asked me to something and half a second later I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was that she’d said.  Then she asked me to do something else, and I remembered, but then I did it wrong.  None of these slip-ups were catastrophic but I did feel like a bit of an idiot when it became increasingly apparent that I struggle to follow clear directions.  Needless to say it made me nervous as I counted down the hours to my first day at work.

Today I helped out at another school event and I listened carefully to everything.  It was a Walk-A-Thon, and the entire student body were required to walk a 12km route through a nature park, along a 4WD-only road.  The route started at the back of the school, looped around the bottom of a mountain, then came back again.  I was at the first checkpoint, about ten minutes into the walk, and it was my job to stamp the walkers’ cards as they came through, to prove they’d made it that far and could therefore collect their sponsorship money.

I was standing at the checkpoint with another volunteer parent and we waited patiently for the kids to start walking past.  Five, ten, fifteen then twenty minutes passed and we started to wonder what was happening.

Turns out, the entire school population – including a handful of teachers – hadn’t listened carefully to the instructions.

The kids got to the narrow footpath at the bottom of the mountain where they were met by a teacher who wrongly thought she was Checkpoint One.  In fact, her job was to stand in front of the footpath and tell the kids not to go that way, but to continue around the bottom of the mountain until they came to where I was standing.  Instead, she told them to head up the mountain.  The kids went, and they followed each other like sheep, not questioning why this was the first time in the Walkathon’s 10+ year history somebody had decided to change the route.  I’m proud to say that my daughter had a copy of the map with her on the walk, and she pointed out to some of the other kids that they weren’t following the route, but everyone decided the teacher must have known better so they did what she told them to do, including my kid.

Many of the kids were half way up the mountain before they received word that they were on the wrong path, and they should turn around and walk back, then follow the route around to Checkpoint 1.  In what was meant to be a three-hour walk, they had already done half an hour in the wrong direction, uphill.

At the end of the day all the kids knew that Miss S had sent them on a massive uphill detour and she would have copped all kinds of unforgiving remarks from 600 exhausted walkers.  I’m SO glad that wasn’t me, because that’s totally the kind of thing I’m likely to do when I don’t have my head screwed on properly.

Listen Jun01

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