How excitement

Last night, we ran out of venison sausages at the Lincoln.

If you know the Lincoln well enough, you will know that they make their own sausages. I asked Graham, the chef, if I could watch him make them when he did.
He told me to get in at nine, if I could.

And I did.

He was surprised.

Before he learnt my name, he said he wasn't sure about me and my lesbian stomping boots.
"It's not Brunswick st."

Anyways, I'm on his good side. There is venison, kangaroo and a little pork in the sausages. The pork activates the protein. Told me about the importance of keeping all the meats cold while making it and the wonderful magic of "pink salt."

It is what makes the meat pink. Corned beef, ham, cutting open a raw sausage. Keeps it from oxidizing. As we were doing this, he brought out his beef, showed me how they hung it and explained the cuts of meat.
I was like a kid in a meaty candy store.

Then, casings were brought out, told me that it is important to soak them overnight so they are easy to separate, and the process of flushing.

Anyways, we made some sausages and he gave me a few serves to take home.
That's right, Lesbian-stomping-boot-girl is on his good side.

They do have to sit for a day though, with air so that the meat will take to the casings and they wont burst or explode.
And all of this before 10am.
I am quite proud.

The perfect pain

is when you're writhing in disgusting nausea from the night before, unable to contemplate solids and getting text messages from your housemate who is directly above you, doing the exact same thing.
You crawl upstairs because he's fucked his knee up from throwing crates in a laneway and high-fiving a "mong" in a convenience store after cutting it open. You're both sobbing for your bodies, and decide that the only way to fix this is beer.
Twenty of them, in fact. Between the both of you.
Every second word out of his mouth is doll.
At around 10:30, you both decide it's time for food.
Actually, when you went to pee, he ate mouldy bread in desperation.

Doll food.
serves 4

4 spicy Italian pork sausages, cut into 1 inch pieces
1 onion, diced
2 cloves of garlic, diced
1 eggplant, diced
chili flakes
salt
pepper
splash of white wine
balsamic vinegar
2 cans of peeled tomatoes
1 handful of basil, torn
bocconcini, torn
Spaghetti

In a hot pan, fry off the sausages till brown. Turn the heat down to medium and add the onions and garlic, seasoning with salt and pepper. Add a little oil and throw in the eggplant, soften. Add the chili flakes and season again. After about 5 minutes, add the wine and a few tablespoons of balsamic. Cook off for a few minutes. Add the cans of tomatoes, crushing them with a wooden spoon. Bring the sauce to the boil, and then turn it down to simmer for the amount of time it takes to drink 2-3 beers, or till it looks thick.
When you're about 10 minutes from the sauce looking ready, or, the second last beer of the night, cook the pasta and then drain. Add to the sauce with the bocconcini and the basil.
Try to keep it down.
Most importantly, feed your doll of a housemate while sucking beers down on a kitchen bench.

Who? Work? What?

Grant applications.

Yes.


Those.

This was eaten next before DOWN.

Potato mash, sausages in a tomato based stew with carrots, zucchini, capsicum and basil...and beans and spinach...mushrooms cooked in red wine.

Very, very filling. Especially when eaten in the 36 degree heat.

It's good when you're fed by other people.

When Friends are good to you.

Last week saw desperation at the hand of myself and DaVa.

It seemed that neither of us had access to our accounts or our cash and had twenty dollars to our names for two days. Just to be clear, that was twenty dollars collectively.

I was feeling a little weary and defeated by technology, and DaVa was left confused. So, as I sat at the computer and sighed, he went off to the local Safeway to scrounge something to cook for the both of us because for the first time ever, I really didn't want to set foot in the kitchen. Of course, my anxiety peaked as I let someone loose in my kitchen where my obvious systems with how I shelve, store, pack, use and wash things showed how obsessive compulsive I was (and still am). Of course he giggled, and then at some stage, admitted that I was a mad bitch, but it was all in the name of Napoli.

So, this is what the boy conjured after the guy at Safeway took pity on him and our coins and let him walk free with cash to spare.

Oh, and we noted that the quality of sausage obviously makes or breaks this.

Fennel Sausages in Napoli with a Broccoli Something-Something.

olive oil
1 tin of tomatoes
3 cloves of garlic, diced
3 fennel sausages

pasta, cooked and drained

broccoli, boiled in heavily salted water

Make the napoli by reducing the tomatoes over a low heat with the olive oil after sauteing off the garlic for 30 minutes.
When this is done, swirl half of the napoli with the pasta so it doesn't stick together.
Fry off the sausages and add to the remaining napoli.
After the broccoli is cooked, dice and fry off with a clove of diced garlic and oil.
Assemble by dividing the pasta, adding the sausage and napoli over the top and serve with the broccoli on the side and mix in with the dish at to your own taste.

The Final Christmas (Gingold makes another special)

On the Sunday, more friends had a little barbecue and it was all a little impromptu. And yet again, we all got pretty tipsy.

It is strange when you keep running into the same group of people in the local stupidmarket/bottle shop and then see them at the party.


This is the beginning. There was a plate of grilled calamari before, but we ate it. We ate it good and with our fingers.
They are oven roasted tomatoes you see over there, stuffed sardines are on their way and that guy over there is eating vegan sausages.


Mr DaVa grilling off Haloumi and onions. This was the only good batch of onions as after that, people would throw lamb and beef on and then, the onions just tasted like animal-fat-special-combination. It reminded me of the meat in the kebab that I had when I lost my drunken food virginity.

The Golden Ging is starting to get a little drunk and cocky. They began to dance as they cooked and lost track of what they were cooking. They're kind of like the not-so-but-very-camp-Ainsley-Harriott-emulators.

The token gratuitous sausage-cock photo.

And the best face that Gingold has ever pulled. Note how he looks like Gargamel. Well, he always does, but he's skinny and not after little blue things, but finally people noticed. This is his face after watching DaVa chop his sausage cock in half...you know, just to see if it was done.

And, if you're reading this Gingold...I still love you, but you have to know the truth.