Many men cook well these days, and they include several close friends, brother-in-law John, husband Mike and our son, an early career professional chef who suggested I publish these stories. Whether or not men shine with the BBQ or at the kitchen stove, “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that when cooking food outside, this must always be done by a man”.
Dad built a brick BBQ at the Greens Beach shack, rather like this one Mike built years later at our Piesse St., Boulder WA, house (~1982-3).
Dad was a keen Boy Scout, so I’m sure he could have cooked a roast or a stew though I don’t remember him doing that. But at the Greens Beach shack he always made breakfast. If someone had been out early and caught fish, he’d cook that. We mostly caught Tasmanian Flathead around there, and one of my strongest food memories is of fresh flattie cooked in a dab of butter on a flat pan, served with buttered toast, lemon juice and S&P to taste. In the absence of fish he cooked “Fried Bread”.
If you’d like to try Fried Bread, here’s how: From a slice of bread cut a round hole (cooker cutter) quickly dip both pieces into milk, and place on a hot frying pan covered with melted dripping (I never keep dripping these days, so it would be olive oil – sadly missing one important taste element) Once the bread’s golden brown underneath, turn it over, then break an egg into that hole. By the time the egg is cooked, the fried bread will be golden underneath. Serve immediately with the cutout on top and a bit of S&P to taste. It was absolutely delicious, and we ate these things every breakfast for weeks during the summer or whenever else we were down at the shack, but rarely back ‘in town’. No wonder we all developed weight problems.
Tomato chutney was another of Dad’s big numbers, and we got through jars and jars of it each year. It accompanied Mum’s Curry and cold meats. The extended Padman family prepared their poached eggs on toast with a layer of tomato chutney between toast and egg. I veered away from this family obsession when I discovered how lovely a light scrape of Vegemite between egg and toast is.
Dad’s other big number was raspberry jam, which was divine compared with any ‘bought’ brand. Our 4m x 4m raspberry patch seemed much bigger, probably because we had to pick them daily and even twice a day at the height of the season. We argued incessantly about whose turn it was to pick, who was picking slower or faster, and who was eating too many. It was usually hot, there were buzzing insects and creepy crawlies everywhere, and raspberry canes are very scratchy. Jam making was Dad’s work, though I did relief duty stirring quite often. Jars were thoroughly washed and sterilised in the oven. Wet squares of cellophane placed on top sealed the jars of hot jam. Mould occasionally developed on top, but then we just dig that bit out and used the rest left beneath. There were no gastric upsets from doing that, as I recall. Raspberry jam was used in sponge cakes and scones with cream, as morning and afternoon tea were a routine thing in those days.
At the shack, at least one meal a day was cooked outside on the steel plate BBQ. Lamb chops, steak, minced beef rissoles, and fresh fish were cooked with sliced potatoes, pumpkin and onions. Yum. But as far as I know there was never any plan to build a BBQ back in town. (Launceston) Anyway, there was no suitable area in the back yard for what Mum called dining al fresco. Continental terminology was very trendy in the 50s and 60s.
Barbecuing was generally reserved for seaside or lakeside shacks and some rural picnics. Then as now, on those occasions the food is usually cooked by the men. Does this tradition play on hunter gatherer instincts? I have no mental images of Mum lighting the BBQ though she may have sometimes. I rarely do, even though I was a Girl Guide who loved camping, cooking over an open fire, and could start a fire with just one match. All that outdoor stuff stood me in good stead for our ‘Tent Period’, (see Glossary) still many years away in the mid 70s.