ANZAC Day

This post originally appeared on April 27, 2009 and is re-posted here with slight modifications. 

Today, April 25, is ANZAC Day. It is sort of an Australian version of Memorial Day. But only sort of.

April 25 is significant because it marks the date, in 1915, when Australian and New Zealand troops (ANZAC = Australia New Zealand Army Corps) began their prolonged and costly assault on the beaches of Gallipoli alongside their Allied counterparts. The campaign in this part of the world was an attempt to break the stalemate that was already occurring in the entrenched lines of the Western Front, or at least to divert attention from it with an Allied victory. The initial ANZAC assault was marred by poor planning, which in turn led to flawed execution, at huge cost of life. The casualty rates are gruesomely familiar to anyone with a passing knowledge of First World War history: nearly 45,000 Allied troops, of whom 8,700 were Australian.

Gallipoli has assumed iconographic status in the historical memory of Australians. The death tolls of those days in 1915, horrendous as they were, would be surpassed in later years in pivotal battles at the Somme and Amiens, but Gallipoli was the first: Australia’s coming of age in war. And every year, at the same dawn hour when the ANZAC troops began their amphibious attack, Australians gather, in small towns and big cities all over the country, to honor not only their service and sacrifice, but also the contributions of all Australian veterans.

Since I’ve been in Australia, I’ve visited the national Australian War Memorial here in Canberra, and also the Shrine of Remembrance in Melbourne, both of which were originally constructed to honor the dead of the First World War. After having lived in England, I was familiar with the awesome and lasting impact of this war on generation after generation, but it was only in coming here that I have fully grasped the importance of such physical memorials: how Australians in particular, far removed geographically from where their loved ones had died, and with little prospect either of having a body to bury or of traveling to a distant grave, poured the energy of their grief into communal memorials, as a tangible reminder and commemoration of those they had lost.

I don’t think most Americans even know that Memorial Day originally existed to remember the dead of the American Civil War, and any communal celebrations that still take place are more likely to be of the parade variety. For most people, the only thing Memorial Day commemorates now is the first barbecue or weekend away of the summer season. And there’s plenty of that here, too, for ANZAC Day. But I admire a country that, more than 90 years after the fact, makes the time to reflect quietly upon patriotism, soldiering, and sacrifice: for those who were at Gallipoli, all those who have served since, and for every individual, military and civilian alike.

ANZAC Biscuits
These cookies are an Australian icon in their own right. The recipe was devised to create a biscuit that would survive the long journey to Australian troops stationed overseas, arrive intact, and still taste good when the homesick recipient opened his package. You can find commercially produced versions of them in every shop, and the biggest producer, as standard practice, donates a portion of the profits to veterans’ charities. They’re good out of a package—they do indeed keep forever—but, as (nearly) always, they’re better homemade. I haven't made my own (yet!), so I direct you to an online authority instead. For my first attempt, I definitely want the real thing that someone's gran was baking back when.

Wordless Wednesday

Sign in the entranceway of the largest (and most surreal) sporting-goods store I've ever visited, Kansas City, KS, March 2010

Wordless Wednesday

Sculpture garden, Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri, USA, March 2010

Pizza pizza

My pizza travails continue. I had no idea I was so picky about it, or (more to the point) that its construction was so location-specific.

You’ve heard of Chicago-style pizza? Perhaps eaten a pie at Pizzeria Uno, or the (in)famous Deep Pan Pizza chain in London?

I thought that kind of pizza was just a gimmick specific to a certain restaurant, or to a few restaurants in Chicago—an illusion perhaps influenced by a long-defunct Boston restaurant chain that purported to serve an “English pizza” (soft crust, topped with cheddar cheese) that I’ve never seen anywhere else. I didn’t realize Chicago-style (mainly the buttery biscuity crust, not necessarily the deep-dish part) is the way people prepare pizza in a significant portion of the United States. I didn’t understand, when I went to New Mexico to visit my brother-in-law seven years ago, why he insisted we eat at the New York-style pizzeria he had found. I thought he was just happy to have found a good local pizza place. I didn’t realize it was possibly the only New-York style pizzeria in greater Albuquerque. 

Rock chalk

Did you know that President Obama filled out his NCAA March Madness bracket on national television?

Did you know he picked Kansas University (KU) to win the whole thing? And even more important, that he picked them to beat Kansas State (KSU or KState) in the Final Four?

If you’re not American, you might not have the faintest idea what I’m talking about. Even if you are, you might not have realized what a big deal this is. I certainly didn’t, until I moved to this part of the United States.

I’ve filled in NCAA brackets before. I even won the office pool once, years ago--because I got lucky and picked a few upsets by chance, not because I had any idea what I was doing. I’ve watched my share of March Madness games. But until I moved to Kansas, I didn’t fully understand what a big deal college basketball really is here.

 

Globalization 1.0

We spent a lot of time at last week's conference talking about the concept of "Web 2.0". As I went about my business in Singapore, I mused about taking that idea in the other direction, because Singapore is really Globalization 1.0--an example of globalization from before a theory of globalization existed. If you look at all the common notions of globalization (intermingling of cultures, free-flowing exchange of goods, readily available money), they're all there in Singapore, and apparently have been for decades, ever since Sir Stamford Raffles established a British East India Company trading post back in 1819. Singapore subsequently became a center of British power in Asia, attracting substantial immigrant communities of Arabs, Chinese, Indians, and Malays, and in the modern era, flourishes as a major international port and financial center.

The continuing influx of immigrants at all levels of society nourishes an established, thriving, and multi-faceted expat culture. On my last day, I had a chance to sample a cross-section of Singaporean culture and commerce with my friend S., who had come from the US for the conference and who I hadn't had a chance to spend any significant time with in about five years. We planned to spend the day walking, talking, and eating, plus whatever else struck our fancies, and that's what we did. We started off wandering the spotless, gleaming, air-conditioned malls that seem to go on for ever, featuring chain shops and restaurants that I recognized from the US, the UK, Australia, France, Germany, and beyond. When we'd had our fill of that, we headed over to the open-air markets in Little India, teeming with noise, heaving with people, saturated with color, soaked with sweat. It would be difficult to imagine a bigger contrast in such a small place.

Even our meals reflected the paradox: breakfast was a quick last sampling from Toast Box, a mall chain putting a Singapore spin on classic western staples. Lunch, on the other hand, was a foray into the Little India hawker markets, where we saw virtually no other westerners, but rows of stalls selling fresh meats, fruits, and vegetables (including the guy who tried hard to sell me some goat meat and, when I told him I had no place to cook it, cheekily offered to find me one). There was also a huge section of tiny stalls selling prepared Indian, Pakistani, Chinese, and Thai food, so we each picked one dish--S. chose the Indian with a long queue out front and I, true to form, chose Thai--and split them. The quality of the meals we were served, in those no-frills surroundings, confirmed my opinion one more time that the food, as I had been promised, is the best thing about Singapore.

Stepping out

Even in the throes of a conference—rushing from meeting to workshop, spending hours in one windowless conference room after another—there are, as long as you're not stuck in some kind of convention-center wasteland, small opportunities to connect with what's particular to the place you happen to be. On Sunday, when our conference opened, it was an unplanned but very refreshing detour into the courtyard of Raffles Hotel for frosty cocktails and some quiet conversation with a couple of people who didn't require keeping a work face on. On Monday, it was the chance to unwind in an open-air neighborhood café. And on Wednesday, in the first break in a day packed with appointments, it was breakfast at Toast Box, a local chain discovered in the food court on the first floor of the convention center.

Toast Box features a variety of treats served on (surprise!) toast. According to our hosts, this is real Singaporean breakfast fare, and almost as enjoyable to me as the food itself was watching the guys behind the counter. One older cook, in particular, quietly made a small ballet of each order, preparing ham and cheese sandwiches and peanut butter on toast with the focus and precision of a sushi chef. My eating experience was definitely enhanced by watching my thick slab of peanut butter toast cut into nine identical squares with a meat cleaver, and then slipped deftly onto a plate without a dribble, crumb, or smear. Together, they provided the perfect combination of familiar and exotic: a toe in the water, culinarily speaking, but one that still felt like a bold step away from the generic conference pastries and coffee on offer upstairs.

Native speakers

As I continue my semi-immersion in Australian culture, I regularly come across new (to me) Australian slang terms. Most of these examples, encountered over the last month or so, were self-explanatory in context, so I’ve described the circumstances to the best of my recall, in case other non-Australians want to have a shot at figuring out what each one means. (I’ve also provided links to definitions.) I did have to ask for some clarification on the first one, so I could determine just how insulting it was. (Also, my abject apologies in advance for any regional stereotypes perpetuated here.)

Bogan
On a drive into the countryside
RL: Why don’t some parts of Australia observe Daylight Saving Time?
Local #1: Because they’re a bunch of bogans who think cows can tell time.

Daggy
At the weekly parents’ coffee morning
Local #2: So my husband saw me come out of the house in my new boots the other morning, and I saw his eyes light up. I made sure I got home before he did, and put on my daggiest tracksuit, just in case.
RL:

Doona
At the bedding shop
RL: This is my first winter in Canberra. I’m beginning to think we’ll be needing some more bedding.
Local #3: You’re going to need a doona to make it through winter around here!

Stickybeak
At Kingston Miniature Railway, when all four children in our party simultaneously realized that the portaloos were directly behind where we were sitting to have elevenses (oops, UK slang sneaking in here)
RL: What are they all looking at....?
Local #4: Oy, stickybeaks! Turn around and give those people some privacy.

Mastering a new language is exhausting sometimes. I think I need to make like my friend here and go take a nap.

ANZAC Day

Today, Monday April 27, is the official holiday commemorating ANZAC Day. The actual date of ANZAC Day is April 25, and it is sort of an Australian version of Memorial Day. But only sort of.

April 25 is significant because it marks the date, in 1915, when Australian and New Zealand troops (ANZAC = Australia New Zealand Army Corps) began their prolonged and costly assault on the beaches of Gallipoli alongside their Allied counterparts. The campaign in this part of the world was an attempt to break the stalemate that was already occurring in the entrenched lines of the Western Front, or at least to divert attention from it with an Allied victory. The initial ANZAC assault was marred by poor planning, which in turn led to flawed execution, at huge cost of life. The casualty rates are gruesomely familiar to anyone with a passing knowledge of First World War history: nearly 45,000 Allied troops, of whom 8,700 were Australian.

Gallipoli has assumed iconographic status in the historical memory of Australians. The death tolls of those days in 1915, horrendous as they were, would be surpassed in later years in pivotal battles at the Somme and Amiens, but Gallipoli was the first: Australia’s coming of age in war. And every year, at the same dawn hour when the ANZAC troops began their amphibious attack, Australians gather, in small towns and big cities all over the country, to honor not only their service and sacrifice, but also the contributions of all Australian veterans.

Since I’ve been in Australia, I’ve visited the national Australian War Memorial here in Canberra, and also the Shrine of Remembrance in Melbourne, both of which were originally constructed to honor the dead of the First World War. After having lived in England, I was familiar with the awesome and lasting impact of this war on generation after generation, but it was only in coming here that I have fully grasped the importance of such physical memorials: how Australians in particular, far removed geographically from where their loved ones had died, and with little prospect either of having a body to bury or of travelling to a distant grave, poured the energy of their grief into communal memorials, as a tangible reminder and commemoration of those they had lost.

I don’t think most Americans even know that Memorial Day originally existed to remember the dead of the American Civil War, and any communal celebrations that still take place are more likely to be of the parade variety. For most people, the only thing Memorial Day commemorates now is the first barbecue or weekend away of the summer season. And there’s plenty of that here, too, for ANZAC Day. But I admire a country that, more than 90 years after the fact, makes the time to reflect quietly upon patriotism, soldiering, and sacrifice: for those who were at Gallipoli, all those who have served since, and for every individual, military and civilian alike.

ANZAC Biscuits
These cookies are an Australian icon in their own right. The recipe was devised to create a biscuit that would survive the long journey to Australian troops stationed overseas, arrive intact, and still taste good when the homesick recipient opened his package. You can find commercially produced versions of them in every shop, and the biggest producer, as standard practice, donates a portion of the profits to veterans’ charities. They’re good out of a package—they do indeed keep forever—but, as (nearly) always, they’re better homemade. I haven't made my own (yet!), so I direct you to an online authority instead. For my first attempt, I definitely want the real thing that someone's gran was baking back when.

Black Mountain

It’s officially autumn in Australia, but summerlike temperatures persist in Canberra—this weekend was in the high 20sC (80sF) both days. We took advantage of it on Saturday with another picnic, this one at a park on Black Mountain peninsula. Despite its ominous name, Black Mountain is one of the landmarks of Canberra, looming just west of downtown, home to extensive parkland and topped by the Telstra Tower. The park we went to is on a spit of land right at the bottom of the mountain; it juts out into Lake Burley Griffin, which meanders through the center of Canberra and divides the northern (business and university) and southern (government) sides of the planned city. It had all the features I’m coming to expect from Australian parks: shaded picnic tables; extensive playground equipment; not much grass; and built-in, communal gas barbeque grills.

Yes, you read that right. The Australians’ love of grilling is known worldwide to the point of cliché, and for good reason, from what I’ve seen. Even so, I was amazed at my first encounter with a built-in, free, gas grill in a public recreation area. I was especially impressed that it was clean and in perfect working order. This has continued to be true almost everyplace I’ve eaten an outdoor meal: if it has picnic tables, chances are it also has a working grill. A few of them have been coin-operated, but most have been free, and all have been well cared for and functional.

I find this difficult to envision in any other place I’ve lived, or even visited. A machine that makes fire that hasn’t been vandalized, broken, or outright stolen? That people share among whoever happens to need it, and clean up when they’ve finished? The mind boggles.

We didn’t have any Australian grilling experts in our party, but we still managed to cook up a bunch of sausages with two New Zealanders, one Indonesian, two Americans, and one UK-born wandering preschooler contributing varying levels of expertise and commentary. Miss B met up with a bunch of slightly older kids who started teaching her to play cricket, while the rest of us ate sausages and accompaniments to our hearts’ (or is that stomachs'?) content.

Croatian cole slaw
This was one of my contributions to the picnic. To me this recipe is Australian, because I learned it in Australia, from an Australian who had learned it from a Croatian immigrant to Australia. But it definitely has the flavors of central European cooking; I recently described it to someone as “fresh sauerkraut”. It’s a great alternative to creamy cole slaws for anyone who is a salt or pickle lover.

1 head green cabbage of your choice
Coarse salt
2-3 scallions
2 tbsp lemon or lime juice*
5 tbsp olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

Strip off the outer leaves of the cabbage, then core and quarter. Slice the cabbage as thinly as you can. As you work, place the sliced cabbage in a large bowl, and sprinkle regularly with coarse salt as you go. When you have finished, put a plate over the cabbage, then weight it down** and refrigerate it for at least 12 hours.

When you are ready to prepare the coleslaw, remove the weight and drain the cabbage of the water that has been released by the salting. Rinse the cabbage and dry it thoroughly. Chop the scallions and add to the cabbage, then mix thoroughly with the dressing and pepper.

Serves 8.

* I used a combination of regular limes and the finger limes I bought at the Farmers’ Market recently.

** Use the heaviest thing you can find; this recipe didn’t work for me once when I didn’t pay enough attention to the weight. This time I used a glass jar full of change that was sitting on top of the fridge; it weighed at least five pounds and worked great

Taste sensations

Today was a busy day. In the morning, I trekked up to Downer on the bus to meet Zoe, one of my Canberra blogging buddies, and her women’s group. Zoe told me about the group a while ago, and I had been wanting to check it out. Of course the reason I finally got off my butt and went was food-related: Zoe was on the schedule to give a demonstration of Asian cooking, featuring lots of authentic ingredients from Canberra’s Asian grocery stores.

I had a great time: met lots of interesting, friendly people; poked, sniffed, and tasted a variety of things I’d never come in close contact with before; learned some really useful information about how various ingredients should be used and where to get them; and, best of all, got to sample three fantastic dishes that Zoe prepared as part of the demonstration. They were really good: complex, flavorful, and authentically Asian tasting. I would have paid good money to eat any of them in a restaurant.

After an enjoyable and instructive morning, I headed back into the city centre to do a slew of errands before heading to the library to get some work done. I had already planned to grab some lunch at a Mexican place I had noticed recently that was conveniently located on my travels. I don’t get much Mexican these days unless I make it myself, and I had high hopes that this place might help satisfy my perpetual cravings.

Alas, it was not to be. It wasn’t bad; it was just that Zoe had set the bar so high already, with her portable gas ring and wok. She had demonstrated how, with good ingredients and a little care, it’s fast and easy to make seriously delicious food. And although my Mexican lunch was fast and easy, it wasn’t particularly delicious. So, after trying out a few of Zoe’s Asian techniques for tonight’s dinner, I’ll probably have to make a batch of this tomorrow, because now my Mexican cravings are stronger than ever.

All Season Salsa
I adapted this recipe from one in Deborah Madison’s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone to increase quantities and to use canned tomatoes, because sometimes you really need salsa when you can’t get a decent tomato anywhere and all the readily available jarred salsa is execrable (yeah, I’m looking at you, English supermarkets).

1 medium onion, peeled and quartered
4 cloves garlic, peeled
1 small red chili pepper, halved and seeded*
10-12 sprigs cilantro/coriander
2 14oz/400g cans whole tomatoes, drained
Juice of 2 limes
Salt to taste

Put the first four ingredients in a food processor and pulse to chop finely. (You could also chop by hand if you’re so inclined.) Add the tomatoes and lime juice and pulse again. Taste and salt accordingly. Serve with tortilla chips, or any and all Mexican meals of your choice. (Also yummy with eggs at breakfast.)

* I use one small, very hot chili, which makes this big batch flavorful enough for me without inciting the dreaded “Too spicy!” reaction from Miss B. Can be adjusted according to your taste/spice tolerance.

Hot enough?

When you live in a place where temperatures of 40C (104F) are a regular occurrence, and temperatures of 45C (113F) and higher are not unheard of, you need to find ways of keeping yourself cool -- and your perishable food items as well, when you're out and about. As we come to the end of February, and hopefully the end of the sweltering season, I offer some Australian slang useful for keeping your goodies cool when the sun gets hot.

Esky: an insulated container used to hold ice or icepacks and keep food and beverages cold on picnics, at barbecues, the beach, etc. Known in the UK as a coolbox/coolbag and in the US as a cooler.

Usage: "If you hadn't put so much beer in the esky, we might have been able to pack a few more sandwiches."

Aussie rules

This weekend brought us another typical Australian experience, mercifully much more enjoyable and less disgusting than the last one. On Sunday we went with friends to an Australian Football League (AFL) match.

Anyone who has cable or satellite in the northern hemisphere has probably caught at least a glimpse of an AFL match—more commonly known to non-Australians as ‘Australian Rules Football’—a mob of fit guys in short shorts and sleeveless tops, running around a grass pitch in what appears to be barely controlled chaos, in pursuit of what looks like a cross between a rugby ball and an American football. The pace is fast and furious, and any rules the game might have are not immediately apparent.

This is more or less what it’s like when you’re there in person too, except that yesterday we got to soak up some late-summer sunshine (it was a preseason match; the real season runs through the southern autumn and winter) and learn a few useful facts from our Australian companions who actually know and understand the game.

So here, for your edification and entertainment, I present…

Eight Fun Facts about Australian Football
1. AFL matches are played in ‘ovals’—grounds that double (and probably originated) as cricket pitches.

2. Each team has 18 players on the field at any time, hence the 'mob' aspect.

3. Australian football includes elements of rugby (lateral passing), soccer (sideline throw-ins), and basketball (jump balls). However, the sport it most closely resembles is Gaelic football, so much so that the AFL and the GAA play internationals, with slight adjustments to the rules.

4. Australian football originated in the state of Victoria, and more than half of the AFL’s teams are still based there, most of them in greater Melbourne. I find it amazing that a city of four million people can support 10 professional teams in one sport. Compare it to greater New York City, which is more than four times the size and supports nine major sports teams: two professional football teams, three ice hockey teams, two baseball teams and two basketball teams.

5. Teams score points by kicking the ball through goal posts at opposite ends of the field. Each set has four posts, and the number of points you get is determined by whether you get the ball between the middle two or between an end and a middle.

6. Many AFL players can kick a ball accurately from well over 50 meters/yards. There are at least two former AFL players currently place-kicking in the NFL.

7. When the match is over, they let the spectators play ball on the field, or at least they do at Manuka Oval.

8. A few ovals still have a grass-hill general admission area, where you can romp around, meet up with your friends, and bring a picnic. That’s what we did...more on that later.

Rocking politics

I heard Peter Garrett on the radio this morning. He’s the Minister for the Environment, Heritage and the Arts in Prime Minister Kevin Rudd’s Labor Government. He was talking about a government funding program to give people money to insulate their houses. It’s part of the Australian government’s economic stimulus package, and an environmental initiative as well (because if your house is insulated, you won’t use as much energy heating or cooling it).

That’s Peter Garrett, former lead singer of Midnight Oil. One of my favorite bands of the '90s.

Okay, I know that we had Sonny Bono in the US House of Representatives, and before that we had Fred Grandy, better known to most people as 'Gopher' from The Love Boat. Plus that guy who ran for President—Fred Thompson? And probably a few more besides—not forgetting Ronald Reagan, who before he was Governor of California and President was the star of such cinematic masterpieces as Bedtime for Bonzo. And, of course, the Governator. But these people’s previous careers are kind of a cultural joke or, if we’re going to be kinder, a cultural curiosity. (Also, they’re all Republicans, which I never thought about before. What’s up with that?)

I feel differently about Peter Garrett, probably because I vividly remember standing against the back wall of the Paradise Rock Club, mesmerized, feeling like he was speaking directly to me as he passionately expounded on his political views, and then he and the rest of the band ripped into “Dream World”.

I always knew he was political; that was part of the band’s appeal to me. I even knew he was in Parliament in Australia. But he was always in opposition, always fighting The Powers That Be. Now he’s part of the system. In the inner circle, even—the Cabinet. It’s a little weird.

Especially because even his speaking voice is so distinctive that, half-listening to the radio as I made toast, I dropped the butter knife when I heard it and said out loud, “Hey, isn’t that Peter Garrett?” And then realized that it was, and that he sounded like a bureaucrat.

Who knows? Maybe tomorrow President Obama will announce that Chuck D is going to head up HUD. Which is not a bad idea, actually. I just hope his income tax records will stand up to scrutiny.