Working Man’s Food

I always knew I was pushing my luck with getting back from the park. I’m not sure why but I always seemed to try some sort of excuse.

Bullshit stories never really worked with my old man but I never stopped trying.

“Grounded for a week boy, you know what time you should be home.” You had to be home by 6.00pm, or before it was too dark, regardless of whether or not dinner was ready.

We had this huge freezer that would have fit an entire bull in there if you really wanted to, plus room for ice-cream. We’d usually just settle for half beasts and the occasional whole lamb.

I remember getting picked up from school one day in the old purple Valiant with a sheep in the back seat. I really only remember two small bits.

This thing was loud as fuck and scary, and when we got back to the car after ducking too the old Rolf Voss for whatever reason, the cheeky unit had shit all throughout the car whilst we were gone. Fair to say the old man enjoyed those lamb cutlets more than others.

We were always doing something or going somewhere when I was growing up and meat was always on the menu.

Achieving what my old man was able to achieve as a single Dad with three daughters plus myself relied, I guess, on a lot of different things, but gut-busting hard work was at the top of the list.

The pork dish I had run previously at work was okay, but the new roast of the day had to be solid.

Pork galantine with cauliflower puree, winter vegetables and apple jus. This is the sort of food I would come home to most nights- meat and three vegetables. Rocket fuel for a single dad and bed without pudding if you had a problem with it.

Food for a hard worker. Full time looking after a bunch of ratbags, while working and studying flat chat would surely brew an appetite for wholesome food.

There are plenty of these types of patrons in my local vicinity in the Cressy region. I need to make sure the food is wholesome and the rest generally takes care of itself.

Galantine is a traditional boned and stuffed meat, poached and coated in aspic. Historians would state that they enjoyed this majestic, often lavishishly presented dish served cold, but serving cold main course meat is only going to get me into trouble heading to my car after work.

I’m serving this bad boy hot, so no need to procure the aspic, I’ll use a jus for the glaze.

The meat is shoulder, I’ll get it in bone out, but get them to leave me the skin, I’ll need that for the garnish.

My supplier has hooked me up with a pig supplier somewhere in the Meander Valley. We had looked at trying to get a better, more well known cut from an established pig husbandry, but we’re sticking with Jim’s Goods on this one.

I made a farce of apples, fresh herbs, roasted cauliflower and a couple of my go to spices, and spread that gear all over the inside of my butterflied and boned shoulder of pork. I then started to surgically put my pork’s shoulder back together.

I had taken the skin off with my boning knife and had a prime plan for getting maximum flavour and crack into my crackle.

I’ve got Cape Grim spare ribs on the menu, so the plan is that when I braise my next batch of ribs, I’ll use the skin as a cover for the ribs. This will help prevent any of my love juices escaping the beef, as the skin will suck that deliciousness up all day.

It’ll be like a five hour orgy of flavours, captured forever in the deceased fat cells of an already flavoursome delicacy. If there is a heaven, I reckon we can order this there.

After slow braising my flavour savour for five hours, I removed it from my love ribs, then lightly coated it in select herbs and spices.

Once chilled, I returned the skin to the oven on low temp for its final and most important stage. Any cracking under pressure at this stage, and there will be no crackle being cracked tonight.

I’ve always loved doing a cauliflower puree, ever since I nearly destroyed a 5 litre pot of creamy cauliflower soup when I was an apprentice. I had completely forgot about this pot of soup pumping away on high, unguarded, for what would’ve been close to half an hour. It was a very dark brown colour on the bottom of my pot, not burned, but caramelized to the brink of charcoal. I pureed and seasoned it, very happy I had saved it and myself from a bullocking, then sent it out on the buffet that night to rave reviews. I even had an old duck bail me up about what spice I had used to gain such a savoury, cheesy type flavour? I ended up telling her it was nutmeg- I wasn’t going to tell her it was minutes from being incinerated.

It’s hard work trying to convince the local, rugged type of customers to eat any type of fancy puree’s etc. where I’m based. I just incorporate things like this into my dish anyway, they always thank me later

The Galantine turned out perfect. When you prepare something like this, the idea in wrapping it is to ensure as little moisture as possible is lost and to ensure the temperature does not reach over 100c. The juices will be trying to escape when I remove it from the oven, so I’ll let it rest under glad wrap until the gelatine has set the love juices.

This is Tassie country bliss, showcased and upgraded with trade cooking skills and experience.

I never really got much for nothing growing up with my father and three sisters. You had to work hard for it. And my old man has always set that standard for me.

We got most of the usual perk days like birthdays and Christmas. Pocket money was $2 a week if you weren’t grounded, mostly spent on pineapple lollies, followed by an hour of lying down in the park with a gut ache.

If you wanted cash you had to earn it. And hard work drives an appetite for wholesome food. I wanted to make money as soon my old man had explained some things about the have and have nots in life, and how to be successful. Basically, get shit done and you should be rewarded. Selling kiwi fruit was my first shot at earning money.

We had planned to wait until the fruit was ripe before selling bags of ten for two dollars around the local neighbourhood. From memory the kiwi fruit were still awhile away from being picked, but ready or not I was into the sandwich bags by dawn the first Saturday after we had talked about it, loading up with my gooseberry fur-coated currency.

I was home in what seemed like ten minutes, cashed up and planning to buy all the pineapple lollies in the world.

I don’t know when I realised that the twelve dollars or so wouldn’t fulfil my dreams of a swimming pool full of lollies, but it wasn’t long until one old unit had come ’round to my house, complaining that these kiwi fruits could be used as lethal projectiles. They were green as fuck as well as being hard as rocks.

I got grounded for a week and had to go around to all the houses I had sold then to and give them their money back. It was a couple of years before I was allowed to sell them again, and fair to say my previous customers were not interested in investing in my business venture.

If you’re going to do something do it properly was the mantra, and my first job off the bat I had found out why. Whether it was stacking wood, washing the car or anything that involved making money, you had to do it properly or you didn’t get paid and got a shit reputation.

I remember coming home around dinner time once, just after my Dad had gotten out of hospital. He had huge staples right up his belly, from some sort of clean out from his cancer diagnosis, and wasn’t supposed to be eating anything hot. He was into some pureed roast and three veg.

I remember my step-mum ripping him, as all sorts of side effects could arise. “Eating this is hard work enough without you guys giving me the shits, piss off!” he said. That for me is about as hard of a job as I can think of. It was the steam rippling out that made it like something out of a horror movie for myself as a teenager, but its played a great role as a source of motivation when I need it.

I’ve been involved in some big jobs, but seeing that still trumps anything hard I’ve ever witnessed. People say that kitchens are hard work, and they’re not wrong, but they’re nothing like that.

I’m a metal head so to speak, so I’ve always enjoyed the organized chaos that the Metallicas, Panteras and Slipknots of the world are really good at. Great restaurants are organized chaos when they work well. You need a thirst for grinding through the shit in hospitality, whilst making things happen as harmoniously as you can at the same time. Something my father seemed to be very good at on occasion and keen to teach us kids as much about as possible.

Great work ethic has never been a problem for me, and in turn it’s given me an easy way to create good food in whether in the country side or elsewhere. I just put together what I would enjoy after a hard day grinding the axe. Couple that with my upbringing of doing many hunting trips through the Meander Valley, I’m comfortable that I should be able to do a roast meat and three vegetables that my locals will enjoy, as well as other foodies that are keen on a good feed.

Having some sort of motivation though when things get somewhat overbearing is vital. From Pantera’s Vulgar Display of Power, watching people grind through hardship, or just not wanting to let the people you care about down. Where it comes from is irrelevant, you just need a source, and you’ll get through.

I worked with a deaf chef many moons ago on Cradle Mountain and found this guy, Damo, to be an awesome source of daily motivation. He had hearing aides so he wasn’t entirely deaf, but he would turn them down and grind away like a world class boiler maker after savaging you for something you did wrong, in his tone deaf manner. It was somewhat humorous at times, but he got your attention and as a junior you wanted to impress him. His sense of smell was insane, you didn’t need a timer for toasted nuts, Damo would let you know. It was mainly his ability to work in an environment that relies heavily on clear communication that inspired me. The hard character edge he carried was no doubt ingrained from the fierce kitchen environments he had cut his teeth in, he was no pushover, savage as fuck in all honestly. Most importantly though, he was a great chef and a good teacher.