Home Sick

 Winter is one of those times when I get home-sick. I only really notice what it is that's wrong when I think about what I've been cooking. It's always comfort food, not really in the 'Donna Hay' sense of the word with chocolate or lard and potatoes, but things I grew up eating. I've been covered in flour and butter for about a week cooking things that make me feel warm and cuddly. Like 'Gingernut biscuits', how could anything be wrong when you have a cup of tea and a gingerbut (as James' calls them)? They are so hard and gingery you don't even need to worry about it falling into your cup, let alone the woes of the world.

Polenta porridge is another one of those things, my dad used to make us eat it for breakfast nearly every morning. No fruit-loops or nutrigrain- not even weet-bix, it was oat porridge, rice porridge, semolina or polenta porridge with honey and milk. I used to feign death to get out of eating it but now polenta or semolina porridge is prized. I have it for dessert with our home-made quince jelly and cream.   Mostly though, I think bread is one the most comforting things in the world. I sit munching away on bread thinking that even old Jezey ate this- I must be doing something right. Then I look at James and curse Jesus and his beard that has regained fashion.

Dad's sourdough just before baking

  I'm not sure if it's because my dad is a baker or if it's because bread is one of the only traditions I can truly relate to in my mostly cultural-less Australian background but freshly made sourdough is a little bit  of old magic. When I go home I often wake up with the sound of the mixer and sit on the bench chatting away while my dad makes bread. I couldn't resist sharing these with you...

My Papa and all his dough

Little Turkish bread bunnies