The tapestry of food memories continues to unravel, revealing a fascinating array of family culinary quirks. Robyn Yavor, from North Ryde, recalls a childhood in Tasmania marked by simple meals of “meat and three veg,” punctuated by the occasional “savory mince.” Later, her mother’s culinary repertoire expanded to include “Kai See Ming,” a dish involving mince, onion, cabbage, rice, and curry powder, a culinary enigma potentially originating in 1960s New Zealand. This anecdote underscores how dishes, often with unclear origins, can become ingrained in family culinary traditions. It highlights the adaptability and experimentation that often characterizes home cooking, especially as families encounter new flavors and influences.
Paul Marynissen, hailing from Watanobbi on the Central Coast, shares an amusing anecdote about “crash hot potatoes,” a dish involving twice-cooked, flattened, and crisped potatoes. His sister’s memorable re-christening of the dish as “roadkill potatoes,” despite its evocative imagery, has become the family’s preferred moniker. This story reflects the lighthearted and often humorous way in which families interact with food, ascribing personalized and sometimes irreverent names to dishes, creating lasting inside jokes and memories around the dinner table.
Susan McMahon, of Lismore, offers a rather less appetizing culinary memory, though equally memorable. Her brother-in-law has a deep aversion to marmalade, thanks to a grandmother who playfully claimed the preserve was made from toenails, even going so far as to request his own clippings for “contributions.” This anecdote highlights the enduring power of childhood impressions, particularly those related to food, demonstrating how a seemingly innocent jest can shape a person’s dietary preferences for a lifetime. It also serves as a testament to the sometimes mischievous nature of family storytelling and its impact on future generations.
Beyond the kitchen, Randi Svensen from Wyong recalls the technological landscape of the 1970s, sharing her experience as a secretary working with telex machines. The laborious process of typing, recording on paper tape, and transmitting messages to New York, along with the potential disaster of a stepped-on tape, underscores the dramatic changes in communication technology over the past few decades. Svensen also highlights the real-time, typed conversations with her counterparts across the globe, a precursor to the instant messaging we take for granted today. This anecdote offers a fascinating glimpse into a bygone era, reminding us of the significant advancements in communication technology that have shaped our modern world.
Kerrie Wehbe, from Blacktown, provides a practical application of seemingly obscure medical knowledge. The use of dermatomes, outlines of the body divided into numbered sections representing nerve distribution, isn’t just limited to outback clinics as previously discussed. Wehbe explains that these diagrams are used in hospital recovery wards to monitor the receding effects of regional anesthesia. By applying ice to different body parts and observing patient responses, medical staff can efficiently assess sensory recovery and provide accurate information during handovers. This insight reveals the unexpected ways in which medical knowledge is applied in everyday clinical settings and the importance of precise communication in patient care.
Finally, in a sign of the ever-advancing march of commercialism, Richard Stewart of Pearl Beach poses a simple, yet telling question: “Could I be the first to report that Easter eggs are now in Woolies?” This seemingly innocuous observation points to the increasing tendency for holidays to be commercialized earlier and earlier each year. It reflects the anticipation and, for some, the slight exasperation, that accompanies the premature appearance of seasonal goods in stores, blurring the lines between holidays and creating a sense of perpetual festivity.
