Yesterday was a good day.
Firstly, though perhaps not life-changing (or is it?), I had a new recipe win. This doesn't happen terribly often around here, but when it does, by golly it's like God The Master Chef himself comes to hang out and chop some onions with me in my kitchen.
The story goes like this. There's a chain of pasta restaurants down here in Australia called, unimaginatively, Fasta Pasta. A while back, when the kids could finally hold a fork without trying to stab a sibling, we decided to upgrade our eating out experiences from the Golden Arches to something a little nicer. Not too high-brow, since we were (are) still on a budget, but somewhere that we could sit down in as a family and share a delicious, good value meal that came to the table on REAL HONEST TO GOODNESS PLATES. Fasta Pasta fit the bill and for a while, my dish du jour was always the classic Chicken Parmigiana.
And then I found a new love.
The Pollo Delizia was the answer to a question my husband posed. "Hon, is it possible to come to this place and NOT order the very same thing each and every time?"
I branched out, and was thus hooked.
The problem with this new, delectable dish was that I couldn't reproduce it (to justice, anyway) at home. I tried, believe me. I kind of had an idea in my mind of what would go into it, but I knew I was missing something. I even went out to lunch a couple of times with my girlfriends, praising (and eating) the Pollo Delizia each time, and wishing aloud I had the guts to ask for the recipe. I was always too chicken to do that in person.
Then one day - this week to be exact - I caved, emailing the head office and literally begging for the recipe. I was going insane trying to recreate it. To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure I'd be successful, considering restaurants tend to like to keep their recipes close to their chests, but you know, I kind of figured 'why not?' and jumped.
The wonderful, awesome Sarah, from the Fasta Pasta marketing division, took pity on me and sent the recipe a mere two days later. I whooped with glee!
I tried to wait until the next week's menu rotation (beginning Monday), I really did, but the culinary awesomeness was calling me so I made a special trip to the supermarket yesterday to pick up the ingredients. We cooked it for dinner last night.
OH. MY. WORD.
I am a kitchen genius. It actually worked! To appreciate the thrill of that statement, you really need to have been in attendance the many, many other times I have tried to do a copycat/new recipe and failed miserably - suffice it to say, I can count on my ten fingers the times I've been so enamoured with a brand new recipe that I've instantly known I'd be cooking this for my grandkids one day. Cooking just doesn't work that way for me! I ate so much I was very nearly ill but I don't care because GOSHDARNDANGITWORKED and I didn't burn the food, or myself, or have the whole thing fall apart at the end. I cannot tell you how excited I was!
So there was that. Enough of a good day right there.
The rest of the 'good' part of yesterday actually happened earlier that afternoon, after our trip to the supermarket. Earlier in the week we'd gotten a flyer in the mailbox about a garage sale being held nearby, with proceeds to aid a sick little baby girl. The sweet girl first came to our attention when she was featured on a current affairs program in my city a couple of weeks beforehand - in that story, a charity tin raising money for an upcoming trip to the States for her medical treatment had been swiped, low-life style, from the counter of a local business. Thankfully, after the story aired, the money was replaced by kind-hearted community members, but of course they still needed a lot of money for the trip, so they were fundraising through garage sales and business donations.
Anyhoo, I walked Moo around the corner to the garage sale yesterday and was surprised to find the very same baby (and her parents) in attendance - and it turns out, the sale was at their house and all this time they'd lived just a few houses down from us.
I had a lovely conversation with the mother and got to meet baby Hayley - who is, I should point out, the most angelic little snippet you ever did see. She has a very rare medical condition - only ten or so kids in Australia have it - and so far, she's doing 'okay but not okay' (in the words of her mother - I wish I could name the condition, but it's one of those obscure collection of words you instantly forget the second you hear them). The first three months of her 5 month life were spent in the hospital. The trip to the States is to attend a conference on her rare condition. I guess because so few kids have the condition, there's no specialist they can see down here in Australia.
Baby Hayley has been on my mind ever since. Sometimes I marvel at life's little 'coincidences'. I had been planning to attend the garage sale earlier in the morning but the day kind of got away from me and after lunch I expected them to be wrapping up - so I was surprised to drive past after our trip to the store and see things still going strong. Hayley's mum said the morning had been freakishly busy, so had I gone when I intended, I daresay I would have missed out on a really sweet conversation. And I just can't get over the fact that the family lives on my street. We might never have crossed paths had it not been for the providential run of events.
Please keep baby Hayley and her family in your thoughts and prayers. They leave in two weeks and will be gone for a month to attend the conference and to hang out as a family with Hayley and their 2 yo daughter doing fun holiday stuff. On their return, Hayley undergoes an operation.
I just want to do MORE, you know? But I'm feeling very blessed today to have met the family :)
11 comments:
on a slight tangent, isnt it funny how we rarely know anyone we live near anymore? i used to know everyone within a 4 house radius of me. now i know the italians next door (and next door to them), the bogans behind, and the snooty older couple accross the street. ive SEEN some of the other people on my street (theres koreans on the other side, a family with a guinea pig and 16million children across the street, egyptians on the corner, and i think theres an indian family up the end), but i dont know them. and my street has less than 20 houses on it. there could be all manner of people living here and i wouldnt have the foggiest idea.
It's quite sad really, isn't it? We're about as guilty of that as the next person but perhaps something like this is a kick-in-the-pants to get to know your neighbours?
BTW, we have bogans across the street. I'm sure they're lovely people, once you look past the all-hours death-scream matches they have - one of them stands in the street and the other is (presumably) inside somewhere. I mean, I'm embarrassed for them. The guy there gives me the heebie jeebies...
so I take it you you won't be able to share this recipe . . .
sounds fabulous!
what are bogans?!
There were no stipulations placed when the lovely Sarah emailed me with the recipe, so as long as I (you etc) keep the credit intact, I think we're fine.
It's set out a bit strange at the moment, with two parts, the first being a bulk bechamel recipe (which the restaurant obviously makes up at beginning of night and ladles out as needed) and the rest of the ingredients for a single serve. So gimme just a little bit of time, and I'll multiply everything appropriately, convert to lbs/oz for my American friends, and then I'll post. I'm snazzy like that, LOL.
Oh gosh...how to describe a bogan. They're the 'rough around the edges' element of Australian society. Like rednecks perhaps? Some will readily admit to being a redneck (and thus, bogan) with a sense of pride, while others consider bogans to be a little less savoury.
To be clear?: We're toooooootally laid back about the whole affair here in Australia. 'Bogan' is just as easily intended to be a term of good natured stick-it-in-the-ribs-ya-big-goose endearment, LOL.
I had similar thing with garage sale around the corner. For over a year, as they shopped at my store, I'd watched a baby boy grow from a few months old to a walking preschooler. Then at a garage sale just around the corner I met the parents. It was their house and their little boy that I'd had the pleasure of hearing daily as he played in their backyard which backed on to my driveway fence.
I hope everything goes well with Hayley, I remember seeing the same TV coverage that you did.
Can you please share the recipe with us? I love trying new things. Chicken Parmigiana is already a favourite.
Like Sarah said, it's funny how we all keep to ourselves much more these days. I live in a block of 8 units, I've waved at some of the others as they've driven past in cars coming or going, but apart from that I don't know them. So different from my mum. She was the type who'd move in somewhere and know everything and everyone in her immediate neighbourhood within about 5 minutes.
Please, please, share the recipe.
the bogans behind are lovely, he's a plumber, the son is his apprentice.. but theyre still bogans. they go pig shooting regularly, and the music i hear blasting from the radio while theyre working on the boat.. makes me giggle.
absolutely no malice behind the term, just like i call my husband a wog (and he calls himself so also). and my little wog-babies.i still cant believe i have wog-babies, although my pasty-paleness seems to have tempered the wog-look enough that no-one would ever guess.
mrs fuzz - see also http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bogan
Mrs Fuzz (and everyone else not an Australian!)
Please don't misunderstand MY use of the term bogan, LOL. Despite the Wikipedia link (whose first paragraph might raise some eyebrows), honestly, down here (and definitely for me) it's mostly used in a fun, non-negative way.
wog - basically someone of mediteranian descent. italians, greeks, and lebanese are wogs. they often refer to themselves as wogs and it si generally not considered offensive.
NOT SO IN ENGLAND. in england, it refers to black people, and is QUITE derogotory. my brittish cousin was quite startled when i reffered to my husband as a wog and had to ask for clarification
Thanks for the info Sarah! My husband could be called a wog I guess. He's Italian descent. Except he's more of the pale variety with the dark eyes, black hair, etc. i wonder if there's any correlation between wog and wop. When italians first immigrated to the united states, they were nicknamed, "Wops" meaning Without papers.
Anyway, I love all these little cultural differences. Fun stuff.
my man is almost half italian, and american to boot, so i know about the wop thing. its actally his preffered nickname, although he cant use it online as it gets flagged as offensive. and he's the dark variety. people used to ask if he was mexican when we lived in CA.
oh, and uh.. sorry for the hijacking lizzie!!
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