Fussier than mushrooms
I was a bit fed up yesterday, but not today. It's impossible to feel glum today, f-list, because I now own not one, but two - two! - containers of mushroom spores. As I've mentioned before, my mother always warned me about eating mushrooms that grow under trees, but she never said anything about ones that grow in boxes under the laundry bench. So in a few weeks I will be dining on portobello and oyster mushrooms. I've grown the portobellos in boxes before, but never oysters. They are in a tube that the mushroom company insists on calling a grow bag. I won't be calling it that because it sounds silly. I was also going to get some shiitake mushroom spores, but then I read that I had to provide my own log and drill holes in it with a special bit and plug them up with wax, and that all just sounded like too much hard work. So portobellos and oysters it is.
Then I found out that I could also purchase a small hive of stingless native bees and imagined myself as a famous stingless native bee keeper, supplying the world with stingless native bee honey from my one hive. But I will give that a bit more thought. I imagine they're a bit fussier than mushrooms.
Also, my mother came round for dinner before heading off to work the night shift at the hospital. We caught up on the big issues, like will the Phantom ever realise his wife is still alive and is being held prisoner under a fake name?* We are an intellectual family. My mother loves the Phantom. When I was little, she once used her powers of couture to send me to a Brownie fancy dress party as the Phantom, complete with striped shorts. None of the other kids knew who I was meant to be, but the Brownie leaders were impressed. I won fifty cents for Best Costume.
Then Masterchef Australia started again. O Masterchef Australia, how I've missed you. It is my second favourite program (after Collectors, the show about people who collect things). Masterchef started off with fifty cheftestants and had them do a barbecue. 'I'd do sausage in a blanket,' I said. 'And you wouldn't win,' said Mum. Which is true. But I would love to see someone dish up burnt sausage in a slice of white bread, just to see what the judges would say.
Anyway, then they had to make pavlova, which is where I definitely would have lost. I make pav using my grandmother's recipe. The Masterchef pavs had to be high and filled with puffy meringue. That's crazy talk in the Daisy family. We like a flat, cracked pav, with oozy meringue. One of the judges complimented a cheftestant for decorating her pav with mango and blueberry, 'a classic Aussie combination', as though no other nation has thought of putting them together. Another judge congratulated another cheftestant on her 'handsome meringue'. Not one of them decorated the pav with grated Peppermint Crisp, the Daisy family way. We are just too avant-garde. Although not quite as avant-garde as the cheftestant who served up caramelised banana with snapper and prawns for his barbecue dish.
Finally, I read that drinking twelve cups of coffee a day makes a person 67% less likely to develop diabetes than someone who doesn't. And 100% more likely to be permanently wired.
* Probably, say I. It will be as touching a reunion between a bald woman and a man in purple tights as you will ever see.
Then I found out that I could also purchase a small hive of stingless native bees and imagined myself as a famous stingless native bee keeper, supplying the world with stingless native bee honey from my one hive. But I will give that a bit more thought. I imagine they're a bit fussier than mushrooms.
Also, my mother came round for dinner before heading off to work the night shift at the hospital. We caught up on the big issues, like will the Phantom ever realise his wife is still alive and is being held prisoner under a fake name?* We are an intellectual family. My mother loves the Phantom. When I was little, she once used her powers of couture to send me to a Brownie fancy dress party as the Phantom, complete with striped shorts. None of the other kids knew who I was meant to be, but the Brownie leaders were impressed. I won fifty cents for Best Costume.
Then Masterchef Australia started again. O Masterchef Australia, how I've missed you. It is my second favourite program (after Collectors, the show about people who collect things). Masterchef started off with fifty cheftestants and had them do a barbecue. 'I'd do sausage in a blanket,' I said. 'And you wouldn't win,' said Mum. Which is true. But I would love to see someone dish up burnt sausage in a slice of white bread, just to see what the judges would say.
Anyway, then they had to make pavlova, which is where I definitely would have lost. I make pav using my grandmother's recipe. The Masterchef pavs had to be high and filled with puffy meringue. That's crazy talk in the Daisy family. We like a flat, cracked pav, with oozy meringue. One of the judges complimented a cheftestant for decorating her pav with mango and blueberry, 'a classic Aussie combination', as though no other nation has thought of putting them together. Another judge congratulated another cheftestant on her 'handsome meringue'. Not one of them decorated the pav with grated Peppermint Crisp, the Daisy family way. We are just too avant-garde. Although not quite as avant-garde as the cheftestant who served up caramelised banana with snapper and prawns for his barbecue dish.
Finally, I read that drinking twelve cups of coffee a day makes a person 67% less likely to develop diabetes than someone who doesn't. And 100% more likely to be permanently wired.
* Probably, say I. It will be as touching a reunion between a bald woman and a man in purple tights as you will ever see.