I don't have crabs :(

John and Jack took to Labu Market today, to buy mud crabs.

This is one place I am definitely NOT allowed to go to on my own.

To get to Labu Market, you have to go via the docks.. which is where Furry got the bullet hole in his car.

Labu Market sells mostly buaii and marijuana, but also mud crabs.





Except today, they sold out.

So, Tuesday, I am grabbing a banana boat



and for $15AUD, I am being taken to Labu Village



to forage for them myself!!

Hooray for Labu-ians with no crabs, that lead to foraging adventures!!





and here's my posse.. complete with Jack (in the safety vest)



heading off to Top Town to buy a baby billum to take to Madang for the weekend.

Will report back later.

coconut prawn curry

Get some prawns



Open some coconut milk







marinate.



Total cost? about $10AUD for the prawns and about $0.75c for the coconuts.

Arbinoon ol man an meri!

Dudes.

I am in love.

Totally, utterly smitten!

with Lae.

Forget everything you might have read, or seen on the Interwebs.

It is simply the most amazing, foreign, wonderful place in the entire world. Sure, we've got pot holes that would swallow a small family saloon, but pretty much everything else I'd heard is crap.

So far,I've walked around the markets (the ones I had photos of last time), driven around with my window down (a huge no-no according to Lonely Planet), stopped on a lonely stretch of road to buy fish from the scary-looking dudes who string their catch up between two palm trees (no photos, I was being well-behaved and respectful)

Highlight?, Myhaus mari came running thru the gate, with her arm out, and gave me the biggest hug and said "Missus Ella!!! OH! I am so happi!! Welcome HOME!"

Everything here is so BIG.. I mean, freaking HUGE!!!!! The mountains, the bird, the freaking prawns the size of lobsters... on steroids....



The giggles of the young women at the market, when I told them I would cry if there were no mud crabs.

Here's a little sample of my life over here. I am sitting in my very chi chi poo poo house, with my guards and my house staff, typing on the internet to a worldwide audience of educated people. But later this afternoon, I am going to meet with a 9th generation female witch doctor, whose going to read my future.


Day one here, I drove around in the car, with John and Jack .. the Company "fix it" man, who is an ex-PNG policeman, and HIGHLY respected up here. He is very gruff and tough, and not above ordering someone beaten badly for a perceived slight on me.

So I am packing some serious "cred" with these two guys in the car.

Lae has a population of about 50,000 Nationals, and I reckon, withing 24 hours of me arriving, the word was out that Missus Ray was in town and driving around (the cars are all recognised)..., people were waving out in the street and calling out "Hello Missus!! You good driving!!"

So, Jack and John take me to the Supermarket..... queues part, as Jack leads me thru. Armed guards follow us, to make a point of keeping me "safe"... and showing Mr Jack how fearsome they are...

And there is music in the Supermarket... piped in music.

And on comes a song......

That I like.......


So I start singing.....

And dancing......

In the supermarket aisle...

To "Buffalo Soldier"

And the armed guards do this:

And Jack does this:

And John does this:

and withing about 20 seconds I have Jack and John swaying like Hula Girls (complete with hand movements) while I croon Buffalo Soldier into a potato masher.

That is kinda how me and my posse bounce up here.

So, about 2 hours after the above incident, I get back home, and the guard opens the gate and starts laughing at me.

The word is out.

I am not Missus Ray any more, I am "Crazy White Ladi bilong Trukai" or something like that!

So here's another example.

Last time I was up here, was told I wasn't allowed to go to the Botanical Gardens, as it is full of "cowboys and raskols".. ie, escaped convicts and criminals, who would chop me up and sell me back piece by piece to my family.

So I mention to John that I want to put in a herb garden at the house, and he suggests that I go to the Botanical Gardens.

I am a bit worried, but I trust John, so off we go.

Far from what others have described, I find a beautiful, if not poorly maintained garden that could be of world standard with a bit of care.

This dude come out. His English is very good. VERY good. He's wearing a filthy torn shirt, ragged pants and barefoot. he looks like a classic bloody raskol. He takes me walking and shows me stunning... and I mean STUNNING plants. He picks me frangipanis for my hair. He shows me a hybrid ginger plant that he has bred.



Umm.. What?? This guy is a ragged. filthy gardener (at best).

No.

He's the senior Botanist.



And he is giving me a private, free tour of HIS botanical garden.

And he's going to strike me a cutting of a vanilla vine, to grow at the house.



And he asked me why more tourists don't come to visit him.

And I didn't know the answer to that.

I am a firm believer in setting your own house in order. Thinking local and acting global and all of that.

I am going to make the Lae house a place of respectful employment for Nationals, based on mutual trust and respect, and ethical and equitable wages.

And be fucked, if I am going to drive around with my window up, just because the Lonely Planet Guide says I should.

And I am going to use the Interwebs to change the entire world's perception of Lae.

I swear it.

VCE exams.

For the next few weeks, the House of Fur and Purple Love is going to revolve around our son, The Lima Bean. He's sitting his VCE exams. This means that the rest of the household defers to his every whim. It was the same for all his other sibs who have previously sat their VCE. The rules in our house are simple. During your VCE year (and more so during the exams) their job is to study. To eat, sleep. drink., fart and poop study. The rest of the family's job is to facilitate that happening.

The Lima Bean came to me recently and told me that he was thinking of throwing in his studies and becoming a barrista. I instantly went into Jewish Mother mode and told him he was pronouncing it wrong

"It's BARRISTER, dahlink, not BARRISTA"

So, more of the Jewish/Italian/Greek mother came out in me this morning, when I was making him breakfast. What do you make to send your son out into the most stressful time of his entire schooling?

For me it was a no-brainer. It had to be something low GI, nourishing, healthy and "brain-boosting"

Enter my fave range of breakfast foods, Real Good Foods .

What is Real Good Food?

The closest most of us come to eating wholefoods is through a diet of white & refined rice & bread – nutritionally ‘empty’ food that fails to give us the essential nutrients found naturally in wholefood. Advocates of wholefood claim that up to 90% of nutrients such as b vitamins, calcium, protein and vitamin e are removed from the grain in its refinement.

With the idea of returning organic wholefood to our diet in an enticing way, realgoodfood began. Eleven years on we remain committed to our philosophy of working with certified organic and biodynamic organic wholefood. Our ingredients are grown in nutrient rich soil by Australia’s best growers and minimally processed to preserve flavour and valuable oils. This is premium wholefood.

My personal fave is their organic lemon polenta porridge.

A coeliacs delight, this organic porridge has a zesty tang that will warm your heart. Made with freshly ground corn meal & wholegrain rice this is a creamy meal that gives long lasting energy. Corn & wholegrain rice are nutritious grains that are well worth a place in a wholefoods diet. ? We recommend it be cooked with a combination of water, milk & apple or pear juice

I cooked it in whole milk, with some organic honey. It's wonderfully creamy and rich, with a real "stick to your ribs" goodness about it. It's bung full of whole nuts and dried fruit as well. It is pretty much made of pure, organic, biodynamic, Lima Bean-fueling awesomeness. It's not cheap, but 1/2 a cup of mix makes about 1.5 cups of finished polenta. More than enough for a growing Lima Bean. I get mine from the organic fruit shop in Kerrie Road, where they stock quite a few Real Good Food products, including another fave:

So, if you're reading this today, spare a thought for Lima Bean. There is a lot of pressure on kids today to make life decisions at the tender age of 17, and the pressure that's applied to kids, in regard to VCE, is far more than when I did my HSC all those years ago. He may not end up being a barrister, and I am actually quite OK with that, but however today's results turn out, I know that he's gone off with a tummy full of brain-enhancing goodness.

Would you like some slightly furtive pornography with that?

I am far from prudish. There are not that many people in the South East suburbs of Melbourne who haven't seen the tattoo encircling my left breast. Maybe my boss and an aged Auntie or two. But last night, while watching The Simpson's with my son, The Lima Bean, I found myself doing a double take at the above video.

For the record I loathe KFC, and not just because I am a grumpy, middle aged hippy with localvore tendencies.

It's because it's crap.

So, back to the ad. It is just me, or is there something slightly pornographic about it? Admittedly, I have seen almost no porn. I once watched about 30 seconds of a John Holmes film entitled "Nasty Nurses" until I became distressed at the sight of Mr Holmes wrestling with what was obviously a large African Conga eel that was attempting a proctological exam on a Nurse. The Nurse was obviously on her way to a showing of "Rocky Horror" after her shift, as she was wearing fishnets and suspenders, making it all the more difficult for her to fend of said Conga eel.

God Bless you, Mr Holmes, for your valiant efforts.

But I digress.

So, there was myself and The Lima Bean watching some nubile young things writhe and lick and suck and moan and generally gettin' their swerve on with something called a KFC Crush. Seriously. Pause the vid at 5 seconds. Between shots of the guy welcoming a face/mouthful of creamy liquid. What the HELL is that tongue doing??!!??

I remember back to when I was about 14 and ads for "feminine products" made their way onto Prime Time telly. My beloved, much adored, late father who was positively Puritan in outlook would get all twitchy when Modess ads came on. There we'd be, watching Hawaii 5-0 on a Sat night, with our Drops On The Rocks and lemonade, and waiting for the ubiquitous "Book 'em Danno" line, when an ad featuring sphagnum moss and some blue liquid in a beaker came on.

There would be an immediate drop in pressure in the room, while we either waited the ad out, or one of us thought of something witty and non-menstrual to say.

So there we were, my 17 y/o son and I, pretty much glued to the telly, wondering how the fuck we'd ended up on a cable porn chanel, when we don't even HAVE cable in the house.

So I resorted to out family's stand-by in uncomfortable circumstances and said:

"So, how IS the study for your Lit exam coming along?"

And you know what? I have NO idea what the damn thing was advertising. Can anyone enlighten me?

Noojee

This weekend past the girls and I headed off to Noojee, where one of their brothers has a B&B. Noojee is a tiny wee little place about 1/2 way between Warrigal and Yarra Junction, on the Latrobe river. Is is set in some of the most spectacularly beautiful country in Vic, and is close to the Gippsland Gourmet trail and only 1.15 hours from Melbourne.

The Noojee General Store is about the place in town that sells the papers, bait, groceries, car batteries etc. It is truly a general store of ole.

The also do a freakishly good Florentine and an AWESOME ginger snap, all home made there on the premises.



I can highly recommend the ginger biscuits as a "I sang Tainted Love too loudly into an empty shampoo bottle under the influence of far too much champagne" cure.

Girls weekends baffle most men. And indeed they should. They're about re-affirming the bonds of sisterhood and kinship. They're all about sleeping in and getting pissed. And gossiping 'till the wee smalls, and talking about husbands and clots and career choices and lice treatments.

Men, I think, think that we sit around and talk about technique. Or comparative "size". But you know what guys? YOU'RE NOT AS IMPORTANT AS YOU THINK YOU ARE. We're more likely comparing boob sag that wedding tackle. We're more likely to pick up a trashy novel, than the local white trash, and I can guarantee.. just like your version of male bonding, the footy trip.. WHAT HAPPENS ON A GIRLS WEEKEND STAYS ON A GIRLS WEEKEND.

So I'll say no more.

Not "Drowning", ... swaying.

Image shamelessly lifted from UK's Channel 4 web site.

I've never done this before. Shamelessly lifted an image off another site. I pride myself on the oft-dodgy but clearly genuine imagery of food that graces this blog. You can tell, I hope, that the photos were taken in my kitchen, as the dogs licked their nethers just out of frame, and Furry huffs loudly while I turn the plate too and 'fro, looking for the "WOB" shot.

But here's the thing.

Has anyone ever tried to photograph ice cream, with boiling liquid poured over it? Can you imagine what you end up with?

I once heard that professional photographers use mashed potato in shots requiring ice cream. Which allays my conscience somewhat, in that the above image of "ice cream" is probably actually Deb.

Anyway, I digress.

Last night, Mme Mouse and her friends came for dinner and I decided to serve affogato for dessert. Affogato is Italian or drowning. The actual name for this dessert/drink is affogato alla cafe, or "drowning in coffee".

Furry recently sent me a care parcel of Goroka organic coffee, my latest obsession. Which was my latest obsession for about 5 minutes before I decided to turn said coffee into an affogato, which is NOW my new obsession.

I made a double strength pot of coffee, chilled some Marie Antoinette style champagne glasses, whacked 3 hefty scoops of Street's Blue Ribbon Vanilla Ice cream.

(Note to readers, Street's also makes the Pine Lime Splice, possibly the most amazing commercial ice cream in the known Universe. It is made of pure awesomeness and when I am Empress of the World, it will be my official emblem)

Anyway, back to the affogato. I poured the coffee into a gravy jug and added a goodly splash of Frangelico AND a spoon of Green and Black's organic hot chocolate powder.

Now take the hot coffee/chocolate/liqueur mix and pour it over the ice cream. Scarf down immediately and savour the intense hot/cold/creamy/bitter sensation that is an affogato.

OR, you can do what I did, which was to pour the hot liquid onto the ice cream and try to take a photo. And end up with a kinda nasty grey schmaltz. So you drink it. And make another. And try to photograph it. But it doesn't work. So you drink it. And make another. And wonder why your photos are now of BLURRY grey schmaltz. So you make another and come up with the great idea of an action pouring shot. Which doesn't work. So you drink it.

And then realised you've consumed 8 shots of espresso, 4 shots of Frangelico, you're pissed and you heart is doing the Tarantela. You sway off to bed and spend the next four hours wide awake, waiting for the booze to override the caffiene, realising that you are meant to be doing Ocsober and cursing your own stupidity.