Have had a shocking and unbelievably painful double ear infection for the last couple of days, but now the drugs have finally kicked in I'm feeling quite spacy, although almost totally deaf. Terrible time to write a post, as it will be rambling, incoherent and in need of a good edit. It won't get one though, so wade on in if you dare:
Recently I was rash enough to mention the G.A.B. to Vallyp (vereeniging.blogspot.com), who was then even more rash in expressing interest in hearing more. So … get comfy and we'll begin with: The Traditional.
It’s a simple concept – the barbecue is the one meal that the male of the house cooks. However, the accompanying salads and breadsticks are still the domain of the females. The males gather in a ceremonial circle around the barbecue to perform the ritual, while the women have their own area far away from the action. This is often in the kitchen.
First, the Barbie itself. In days gone by this would have been a fire under a hotplate balanced on a pile of bricks (with the added bonus of further male bonding opportunities while sharing pyromaniac techniques), but we have now moved on. There was the bottled gas / hotplate in the sixties, the Weber in the seventies, the four-burner combination on jarrah trolley in the 80’s and 90’s, and we now have the fully-equipped mobile stainless steel outdoor kitchen. The true SNAG (sensitive new-age guy, of course) will even have a wok-burner on his, but we are getting ahead of ourselves. We are still in the Good Old Days.
Now - the food. All good barbies of the past had eight staples. Steak, snags (sausages), green salad (nothing fussy - iceberg lettuce, tomato wedges, cucumber slices if you're trying to impress, and bottled dressing), coleslaw (with tinned pineapple), potato salad and soggy white bread. And, of course, tomato sauce and BEER.
The key factor in Traditional Barbecue Cooking is time, and plenty of it. All meat should be left long enough to char, and under no circumstances should a piece of steak show any sign of pinkness, tenderness to the touch, or of anything other than having endured a full cremation service. You are welcome to request “medium” if you wish your masculinity or sanity to be called into question, but this will make no difference to the end result. Likewise, while it is compulsory for all males to offer advice on cooking times and techniques, this will have no affect on the finished product. All cooking is one-handed, with ‘stubby’ of beer grafted to the other. The ‘girls’ drink sweet whites, but only a glass or two, as drinking is boys’ territory, and besides, someone has to drive home.
For a crowd, limp paper plates are a must. The art of juggling plate, knife, fork and beer is one acquired over years of practice, and is to be admired. Coleslaw juices soaking into uncoated plates adds a further challenge, in that you must finish eating before the plate collapses.
Ah, such fond memories – but it must now be said that the Traditional, although it still exists in certain heartlands, has now largely been replaced by Modern Australian Outdoor Entertaining. Re-enter the wok-burner. Stir-fries, fabulous seafood, beautifully constructed kebabs, butterflied and marinated legs of lamb, tofu burgers and perfectly roasted vegetables are all new staples of the genre. Beers are still consumed, but you’re more likely to find a glass of great red pressed into your hand. Breads are Italian ciabattas and olive loaves,and salads are miracles of creation which would make Jamie Oliver proud.
The actual barbecuing is still mostly done by men (except in our house – don’t quite know how that happened), but they are now likely to impale themselves on a bamboo skewer in abject remorse if the steak is anything less than perfectly pink inside. Out with the paper plates – in with the full table settings of hand-blown glassware and gleaming white crockery or French provincial terra cottas. Diviiiiine, darling!
So there you have it. And, stereotypes aside, I have also been to Greek weddings here with lambs on spits, sat around campfires where the food cooks in the ground under the coals, and attended more fund-raising sausage-sizzles than I care to remember. All are Australian, and all are fabulous, though the quality of the food may differ. It is truly written that as long as there is sunshine, a fire and a lamb chop, friends will gather.
