Covid Kitchen, July 2020

My overwhelming sense of pessimism is now off the Richter scale. And while the kitchen is still central to our health and well being, it has become a place of drudgery. Any comparison to a glass half full or empty is now meaningless. There may be a few drops left in the bottom of that metaphorical glass, and while I do feel grateful for all that I have, knowing this does little to improve my world view. Things are bad, and they’re likely to get worse. I keep recalling the rise and fall of dynasties in ancient China, where dynastic change followed a sequence of events which built up over time, and included plague, flooding and natural disaster, famine and food shortage, insect infestation, poverty and inequality, ineffectual, corrupt and cruel leadership, followed by war, more famine and the eventual rise of a strong leader committed to change. I sense we are on a similar trajectory. This outlook can be quite crippling when it comes to writing and guarantees a sleepless night. I know I’m not alone in holding this view.

Chestnut haired angels delivering groceries. it’s now a drop and go affair.

I’m trying to address this daily terror. I read far too much most days and remember very little. I’m sleeping in more, and personal grooming has taken a nosedive. One helpful routine is to write down at least one inspiring quotation each day in the diary. This delightful quote from Kurt Vonnegut, in a letter to school students, inspired my return to the keyboard.

Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.

Another useful routine, mainly to counter the daily grind of cooking two meals a day for the last 4 months, is to write a weekly menu, based on the items available in my fridge and pantry. Included in the list will be a few new recipes, largely from cookbooks, rather than internet sites. It’s time to go back to those lovely books and I do have far too may. These meals are substitutes for restaurant dining, a date night at home. I also try to vary the menu from week to week, and include one Indian curry, a few pasta meals, a pizza night, one fish meal if I can get my hands on some, classic old style comfort dishes, as well as soups and salads. At present, we seem to have a glut of pumpkin, eggplant and red capsicum, so the focus will be on these ingredients for the week.

I’m attempting to improve my sourdough baking, aiming for a more disciplined approach to shaping. This is another form of artistic expression for me during this lockdown, mark 2.

The other daily delight includes bird visitations. I often hear Mr T chatting outside, and have often wondered if he was finally losing the plot. But no, he’s chatting to birds, they follow him around like pets, and watch him through the kitchen window as he washes the dishes. Some are special messengers and others are after some seed. Their visits keep us sane and help us ignore the negativity out there on social and regular media. It’s like slime seeping through your kitchen door.

Bird is the Word

We enjoy our bird visitors but lately the word has spread around the bird kingdom that Mr T is handing out free sunflower seeds. At times it’s like being stuck in Hitchcock’s 1963 film, The Birds. The King Parrots are always welcome: some are more interested in a chat than a feed. One cute fellow likes to sit on the ledge of our side door, waiting to say hello each morning in bird language. Other Kings watch through the kitchen windows as we wash the dishes. They are inquisitive, gregarious and always surprising. The kings also like to greet us in the garden or car park by flying past our head within a centimetre. No sound, just the rush of wing air, a gentle bird kiss and nothing like a magpie swoop. This precision flying and affection always impresses me.

The King greets me each morning. Hello, you’re here again birdie num nums.

Lately, a tribe of small Rainbow Lorikeets has moved in. Their colours are loud and startling, their beaks more pronounced. They don’t hang around for a chat: they come for a feed then do a bit of showing off in our Melia Azederach trees, looking a lot like Christmas baubles. They are the psychedelic hippies of the bush. ( see header photo)

Princess Rachael with King
Corellas.

We also have plenty of Sulphur Crested Cockatoos. Big, loud and bossy, they are not so welcome. Lately, their gentler cousins, the Corellas, have moved in. The pink and grey Galahs sometimes pop in, when they’re not getting high on grass seeds. I love the word Galah- it’s an old fashioned Australian label referring to idiotic behaviour that is not too offensive. I’d like to see this quaint word make a comeback . My new year’s resolution is to use it more often, especially around children.

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Water bowls for visitors

If a majestic Wedge Tailed Eagle appears above, all the birds flee at once. They can sense danger and go into hiding.  Other bird visitors to the garden include various small honeyeaters, Meliphagidae, and the Grey Shrike Thrush, the songbird of the bush. Out in the wild bush paddocks we see Yellow Tailed Black Cockatoos while a lone White Faced Heron often lands on the dam.

I never thought I would enjoy chatting to birds so much, and wonder if this is a sign of imminent madness. The following bird song is a fitting conclusion to 2018. The inane lyrics can be sung when thinking of your least favorite political leader. Buon Anno dear friends and readers. May the New Year bring you more birds and good cheer.