About a year ago, as part of a writing course, I was tasked with writing a passage about the food that most reminded me of being a little boy. I chose my mum’s rice pudding, the scent of which would fill the house for hours before it was ready. The wait was agonising.
A few weeks ago, Mini-CBRbound decided that, for his own school writing project, he would blog about his favourite foods from his childhood in Denmark. Watching him rediscover all those tastes has been a wonderful experience.
If you’ll permit me a small indulgence, 10 year-old Mini-CBRbound is going to be blogging for the next several weeks as part of a term-long school project.
I have a small confession to make. Well, actually, quite a big one, and one that I fear may result in our Australian visas being cancelled and see us ushered onto the first flight out of the country by clench-teethed officials.
You see, despite living here for more than a year. Despite our professed love of the Aussie way of life. Despite our attempts to assimilate into the Canberra community, there’s one thing that marks us out as not quite belonging.
We don’t actually own a barbecue.
Anyone for non-specific battered fish?
Things you never anticipate when you move to Australia…
Fish and chips have been a favourite family treat for the CBRbound clan for many years. Whenever we visited family and friends back in the UK, our journey from the airport usually went something like this: “What’s for dinner tonight?”
“What do you fancy?”
“Can we stop and get fish and chips?”
And so we did.
We keep running out of food. Seriously.
This isn’t a plea for community donations. Just an observation of something that we hadn’t really prepared for in our move to Australia.