Category Archives: Blah blah blah

Bloggers: A steep learning curve for publicists and old media

2 Comments

The relationships between journalists and their organs of publication, on the one hand, and the various arms of the broader entertainment industries – including the arts, travel, food and drink, movies, sport and more – on the other seem, in hindsight, to have been so much simpler before the advent of the internet.

Not just the advent of the internet, but also the subsequent wild, crazy diversification of the media and, in particular, the arrival of bloggers.

Having a foot planted firmly in both camps – being both blogger and journo, one with much experience working with publicists in a previous life – I am finding it fascinating to observe how new dynamics and ways of relating are gradually being created and learned by all concerned.

Let me recount, without going in to too much detail, three encounters in the recent life of Consider The Sauce.

And let me add at the outset, that at no point in any of the following did I detect any outright dishonesty or aim to offend. The mis-steps that have left me bemused are solely the result of people working under pressure in a rapidly changing and often confusing environment.

First up …

A couple of months ago I was contacted by a publicist working on behalf of a franchise food company of which Bennie and are declared fans.

After informing me about the opening of another of the company’s restaurants, I reckon there were only two viable paths to follow – either express the hope that we’d visit, eat at and review the eatery concerned and keep fingers crossed; or offer to provide a complementary meal to Bennie and I at no cost to us at all.

Instead, I was offered a $20 voucher that would not cover the cost of meals for the pair of us.

This, it seems to me, is the worst possible approach.

Several emails between she and I ensued, but I remain unclear whether the $20 voucher plan was the idea of the food chain or the publicist and/or the company for which she works.

Along the way, some comments were thrown in about mummy bloggers and their insistence on being paid for posts. Just quite what that has to do with me, I also remain unclear about.

Next …

A few weeks ago I received another approach from a publicist, this time working on behalf of  a major international food industry company.

After politely telling the publicist that Bennie and I preferred, where possible, to buy and use the Australian-made versions of the product in question, I nevertheless expressed some interest.

But that would depend, I told the publicist, on just what she meant by “we would love to get you involved and give you the opportunity to establish a long-term partnership” and “I believe your blog would be a great fit for this campaign”.

I have yet to receive a reply regarding this matter.

And that’s a shame, it seems to me.

I am used to working in an environment where even if deals are not done, there is scope for making contacts and having a bit of fun, a bit of back and forth, a sense of playfulness.

As already noted, these are people working under pressure with very specific aims in mind. But I find it disheartening that I am learning to get used to the idea that once it’s obvious I am not going to play ball, contact – and goodwill? – abruptly ceases.

Is the only good (i.e. useful) blogger a compliant blogger?

It could be argued that taking the time to win the support and participation of a more skeptical, question-asking and non-compliant blogger and/or journalist would pay greater dividends in the long run.

And whatever the usual courtesies that are observed, it’s difficult to shake the feeling that many publicists see bloggers as members of some sort of lower species who can be expected to jump at any opportunity to “participate” and who should be grateful for the opportunity to do so.

Finally, and more recently, I fired off an application to an Australian food media company/website seeking “Travel and Foodie BLOGGERS” for its new blog set-up.

This seemed, at the time, like a real-deal potential prospect.

But the longish, polite response I received left me a little deflated.

Reading between the lines, I just intuitively knew what the story was … but it wasn’t until I bluntly asked that I was told: “Am I correct in assuming that you will not be offering any payment for writing done or stories used?”

The answer: “No this is not a paid assignment.”

That’s fine and now I know, even if I reckon such could have been stated a little more up front!

More interestingly, the lovely person with whom I corresponded about this matter wrote: “We wanted bloggers, as professional journalists have the credentials to definitely expect to be paid.”

When I pointed out the difficulties I have with this statement – that some bloggers ARE professional journalists, and that there are many bloggers more worthy of being paid than untold numbers of hack “real” journalists – my contact agreed with me wholeheartedly.

But still, it seems indicative of a mindset that reflects what used to be rather than a whole new world.

I’m happy to say that in this case the door has been left open for further engagement.

Don’t get me wrong – I actually enjoy this sort of banter with these sorts of people.

And I wouldn’t like to be doing what they are – dealing with a world in which every blogger seems to insist on being treated as an individual. That takes time and patience.

Post-script: Thanks to Dianne Jacobs of Will Write For Food for alerting me to this story at Forbes – “How To Approach Bloggers Without Offending Them”.

All I can say … yep!

Westies abroad …

6 Comments

We live in the west and we eat in the west – and we love doing so.

There’s more than 500 stories on this website, and overwhelmingly they’re concerned with the food we’ve discovered in the western suburbs of Melbourne and the wonderful people who produce it.

But we sometimes step out into other parts of Melbourne.

Private vehicles, public transport, Racecourse Rd, Dynon Rd, Footscray Rd, the West Gate Bridge – these are some of the ways westies get to other parts of Melbourne.

So far, passports and visas are not required.

Just sayin’ …

‘Premium fast casual’

11 Comments

“Premium fast casual”?

Sounds like pure PR/marketing drivel, doesn’t it?

I found it in this Age/Good Food story on the new wave of fast-food restaurant and chains – with the focus very much on Lord Of The Fries and Grill’d.

Before reading it, I knew zilch about Lord Of The Fries.

Now I know more, I’m actually keen to give it a go.

I’d hesitate to call us fans of Grill’d, though we most certainly prefer its wares to the dreadful likes of McDonald’s or Hungry Jacks.

In the case of Guzman y Gomez, we happily and unapologetically count ourselves as fans.

But on a general level of taste and flavour, we reckon these kinds of places really are a whole lot better than traditional, trashy fast-food franchise food.

Regarding nutrition and healthiness, I am simply unqualified to comment.

And the story does have a rather narrow focus – no mention, for instance, of sushi rolls or places such as Sumo Salad.

What do you think?

Are Grill’d and Lord Of The Fries a boon? Do you eat at such places often, occasionally or never?

‘Facilitating’ a blogger soiree …

17 Comments

bash1

Looking back on the first Consider The Sauce post and those that soon followed evokes a feeling of simplicity and perhaps even innocence.

It all seemed so simple – got out, have a feed somewhere or do some shopping, take photographs, go home, write about it.

Bingo!

Instant food blog!

We still do a lot of that, of course. Indeed, it remains the very core activity of this site.

But as we approach the end of our third year in operation, much has changed.

It’s been a gloriously enjoyable learning curve, with mis-steps and challenges, and many friends made in the process.

Central to that learning curve is that realising while the website itself remains the key element of what Consider The Sauce is about, there is a lot more to being a (hopefully) successful food blogger and running a successful food blog.

Along the way, I have sometimes attempted to tap into the wealth of experience and wisdom of blogging pioneers.

But as previously noted, more often than not I find doing so a particularly tiresome exercise, no matter how much I would like some or a lot of that good stuff to rub off on me.

The problem seems to be that no matter where a famed blogger starts his or her journey – be it as a specialist in stamp collecting or vintage horse shoes or whatever – once they become successful, what drives them on is the process itself. And that can be mighty boring, no matter how righteous the advice is.

So I am very grateful to Cheryl Lin of the blog BusinessChic for an excellent tip – the book microDOMINATION by PR warrior Trevor Young.

I’m only halfway through it. And, yes, it does have its fair share of self-help-style feelgood stories.

But it’s reverberating with me in many ways.

It’s been a pleasant surprise to discover that several of the initiatives taken – or at least attempted – by Consider The Sauce are very much part of Young’s broader aim of how to become what he calls a “micro maven” and using a blog to create a personal “brand”.

For example:

  • Not passively accepting that friends and fellow bloggers who leave comments on CTS must remain mere electronic cyber buddies, and seeking instead to meet face to face and see what happens from there.
  • Running, in conjunction with Ms Baklover and her Footscray Food Blog, a picnic late last year. The repeat event, coming this spring, will likewise be part and parcel of the broader picture of running a food blog. As will a special event, yet to be announced, that will be part of the picnic.
  • I have also learned that doing an occasional post about topics such as moving house or a bingle with a neighbour’s car is not only perfectly fine but helps give context to the ongoing CTS narrative.
  • A soon-to-be-announced CTS benefit/fundraiser being organised with wonderful and generous support from a local business and the funds raised from which will go to a very fine local organisation.

Another such event in the life of CTS occurred this week with a gathering of bloggers and a non-blogging likely lad at a Port Melbourne restaurant.

With CTS having already written about Third Wave Cafe twice, Greg from that establishment had contacted me.

His problem and challenge was that his business was in the process of transforming and extending itself from a place highly regarded for its lunchtime fare, including Russian specialties and fine coffee, to one offering American-style BBQ at night.

He and his team had invested considerable time and money into the project, and were eager to get the word out and help broaden and correct pre-conceptions in the wider community about what Third Wave Cafe has to offer.

Could I help?

And so, on the basis that Bennie and I enjoyed the food being offered – and boy oh boy, did we ever – Greg and I shook hands on a project that would see me organise a list of food bloggers and then invite them to try out the Third Wave BBQ goodies for themselves on the simple understanding they would write a story about their experiences.

Greg fully understood that neither he nor I would have any say whatsoever in what the invitees subsequently wrote.

And, yes, I would be paid what both Greg and I agreed, easily and quickly, was a fair amount for my efforts.

The list I configured was a mixture of firm and very good friends, bloggers with whom I had had at least some personal contact and others for whom I had high regard.

In all cases, the people involved were of what I considered to be of the highest integrity – no “floggers” or egomaniacs allowed or wanted!

In the end, about half of the invitees responded in a positive fashion, and the table of five – including myself – turned out to be just the right size for a superbly enjoyable evening.

Those who attended were: Nat Stockley, a non-blogger (so far …) widely known for his entertaining and excellent reviews on Urbanspoon; Eve from Conversation With Jenny; Catty from Fresh Bread; and Bryan from Let’s Get Fat Together.

This gang had a quite varied amount of previous experience with this style of food, but everyone seemed to enjoy their meals, which like that of Bennie and myself were a broad sampling of the Third Wave Cafe BBQ line-up.

As the meal wound down, Greg emerged from the kitchen to see how we’d gone and tell us about how his Russian-menu cafe had taken such a bold and surprising leap into new territory.

Rather delightfully, for two of the participants this was a debut occasion to be sharing a table with full-on likeminded souls and in a situation in which EVERYONE involved was using a camera.

There was much telling of tales and swapping of notes; much laughter, too.

On that basis alone, I am happy to judge the night a success.

Of course, I suspect that will mean very little to Greg and his team, for whom this was a straight-out business proposition.

But then again, who knows where such connections may lead? That, too, is part of blogging.

I gave some serious thought to the ethical ramifications of accepting paid work of this type from a restaurant.

And I’m sure there are those for whom taking this step will forever have tainted me in some way.

But I’m entirely comfortable with the whole process.

Greg had a need that I met with honest endeavour. The dinner invitees didn’t seem to think it off or otherwise noteworthy that I was getting paid for pulling it all together.

Or not so they told me, anyway. Indeed and instead, they seemed more than happy to be involved.

However, this event was the result of a confluence of several particular circumstances – so I’d be surprised if similar projects eventuated in the future.

Another topic covered in Trevor Young’s book microDOMINATION is the importance for bloggers of complete transparency at all times – which, of course, is one of the reasons for writing this post!

You can read Catty’s review here and Eve’s review here.

 

Taking stock

5 Comments

stock1

Our impromptu decision to move house next door is proving to be the most brilliant move ever.

Our new abode is small, compact, cosy and easy to keep warm – so much so I find myself turning off the heating after about an hour, no matter how low I have it set.

Apart from some sweeping in the kitchen, we haven’t knuckled down yet for any serious housekeeping.

Yet I can already tell that a serious go at it – three carpeted rooms, tiles in the kitchen, short hallway and bathroom – will take Bennie and I about half an hour. Or less.

Bliss!

The place just doesn’t seem to attract dust, unlike our previous place next door.

The very manageable small and front gardens are not going to have us sweating either, again unlike the previous joint.

One of the loveliest things about our new home is the joy of being surrounded by so much unpainted, unvarnished old wood, some trimming aside.

The bathroom/kitchen/laundry side of the house is a later addition also done out in wood au natural, and is pretty cool.

But in the three other rooms, the wood – a plane blond wood, but not pine, I think – adorns the lower half of all the walls and ALL the ceilings, while the glassed doors are  likewise lovely, but of another tree species.

All this seems original and could be, I suspect, up to a century old.

Simply gorgeous!

stock3

We’ve yet to re-establish any regular cooking routines – in fact, I seem to be off cooking for the time being.

But we have become familiar with the dear old Parkinson Princess stove.

She’s kinda narrow in terms of the oven.

But the stovetop is ace – there’s a heap of space between the flame output and the bottoms of the pots and pans above, so when we need some REAL heat, it’s there for us.

Having discarded the surround-sound nonsense, we’re back to the simplicity my old but good amp, CD player, two speakers.

Sadly, it’s not sounding the best in the room it’s in, but it’s OK and it seems a small price to pay for the pleasures, warmth and security our new home is providing us.

Meanwhile, our new next door neighbours – the folks who moved into our old joint – have balloons flying from their gateposts and many lights ablaze.

I guess they’re having a house warming.

Should we consider ourselves invited?

stock4

My Mum, an excellent cook!

9 Comments

mum4

Pauline, Russell and Jean celebrate a combined 240 years!

Bennie and his father have just returned from a quickie four-day visit to New Zealand –  to New Plymouth in the North Island region of Taranaki, to be precise.

The ostensible reason for the visit was to help Bennie’s Grandma, Pauline Ethel Weir, celebrate her 80th birthday.

But it was more than that, as it was a triple-banger 80th birthday party taking in also the milestone’s of Pauline’s brother-in-law Russell (Kenny’s uncle), and his partner Jean.

And it was far more than that again, as relatives and friends flew or bussed in from all over New Zealand and Australia.

It was a family reunion of the likes never before experienced by myself, let alone Bennie!

Over three organised events on the Saturday and the Sunday and more informal get-togethers, tales and family lore were exchanged and rolled out.

Relatives and neighbours only dimly remembered were introduced and much laughter and tears flowed.

How magnificent it all was.

mum3

I revelled in digging back in to the family history.

And found, too, that I am more than old enough to have completely forgotten some events and quite starkly mis-remembered others.

In particular, my sister Judith (Bennie’s aunty) took umbrage at the suggestion that our Mum may have been a crash-hot baker but was a less than impressive all-round cook.

Her point being that while the food traditions and resources available to us in the Dunedin of the 1960s and ’70s may have been lacking by contemporary standards, within that context Pauline was pretty much at the pinnacle of cooking prowess.

You know what?

Judith is dead right – and my belief in that judgment was only enhanced as, over the course of our stay in New Zealand, I picked Pauline’s brains about what and how we ate as a growing family.

Mum’s baking was extraordinary – cakes, slices, cookies and more, all superb.

But while we may have gone without olive oil, garlic and ciabatta, there was plenty more that was terrific.

And in that regard we did way better than most families in similar situations – and that was thanks to she.

mum5

Roast dinners and lunches were a regular, of course, but what I recall with particular sharpness is Mum’s homemade mint sauce. It was a far cry from the gloopy concoctions mostly served up these days. It was runny, awash with minced mint and quite vinegary.

Mum’s vegetable soup, made with beef bones, and beef stew were likewise dynamite. They, too, were runny at the outset but gained body and texture in consequent days.

We had heaps of fish – both fresh water and sea varieties, almost all of it caught by ourselves.

According to Mum, there was never any suggestion that fish be cooked any other way than pan-fried.

Baking seafood or putting in a stew or soup was unthinkable, and while Pauline was very partial to white sauce, the same could not be said for her husband or children.

mum6

Uncle Russell, sister Judith, her partner Tim, cousin Susan and her Mum, Aunty Faye.

Another high point in Pauline’s bag of tricks – a very high point – was a dazzling array of preserves and pickles.

Bottled tomatoes were a reliable, lovely staple in a time and place in which canned toms were unknown.

Pauline’s pickled onions were to die for, as were various chutneys and relishes – all made from local Dunedin or Otago produce.

Jams! OMG!

These were, likewise, made from Otago berries and stonefruit, some of which was picked by us.

I have particularly fond memories of the peach jam.

Another regular was a superb plum sauce – a prized alternative to store-bought tomato sauce.

Any and all of these preserves and pickles were of such high quality that any “gourmet” producer would today be ultra-proud to claim them as their own. And they’d be winning gold medals, for sure.

According to Mum, chicken was something we had only on special occasions. Rabbit was far more common in our household, invariably prepared following pretty much the same recipe as the beef stew, with the bunny pieces sometime browned at the start.

Our home was divided on the issues of mushrooms and oysters.

Dad loved both, as – eventually – did son and daughter.

But Pauline has never cracked her dislike of both.

Mushrooms – always gathered by us, never bought – were only ever pan-fried in butter and had on toast.

Oysters meant only Bluff oysters – bought already shucked in containers and eaten raw. Or obtained deep-fried from the same places and at the same times as our regular fish and chip feeds.

And yes, I can fully recall when those items really were wrapped in newspaper.

mum2

Other Weir home favourites are familiar to this day around New Zealand, Australia and the world, but I have no doubt the quality has dropped.

Mum’s shepherds’ pie, just for instance, was made with hand-minced leftover lamb roast.

As it should be …

Likewise, the meat loaves we buy locally are humdrum by comparison with those of our childhood.

Now there’s a challenge for the new kitchen of Bennie and Kenny – making homemade meat loaf and regular!

Thanks Mum – we love you!

mum7

Pauline and Milly.

Honesty is the best policy?

14 Comments

I’m a cautious driver.

Having a child will do that to you.

I hate tailgaters and am scrupulous about never falling in to that silly, dangerous habit.

I try very hard to always stay below or no more than at the speed limit pertaining to wherever I am driving. And if I do find myself speeding, I am quick to slow down.

I am regularly appalled at the speeds so many people – including parents with children on board – travel through signposted school areas.

But I do have an achilles heel – I can get a tad absentminded when backing out of the driveway.

So it was earlier this week when I backed out and very gently bumped the driver’s door of the car of one of my neighbours with my rear bumper bar.

His car is not a recent model, but it is in sparkling, pristine, immaculate, shining condition.

But I was going at considerably less than walking pace.

The damage was about as little as is possible. About 10cm of scuffed paintwork, a slight indentation.

I went about my business for a few hours, mulling the situation over.

To ‘fess up or not?

In the end, I did what I was always going to do – and told my neighbour of my mishap involving his vehicle.

He was crestfallen, but goodwill seemed to win the day. After some consideration, though, he did maintain he wanted the damage rectified, as the reason he’d bought his car in the first place was its near-perfect condition.

We amiably compared notes on our different but equally financially fragile lives.

He said he’d get back to me after making some phone calls and talking to some people.

He got back to me this afternoon … and the news is rotten.

He’s talked to a couple of panelbeaters, and both our insurance companies – and it seems the minimum it’s going to cost to put the damage right is $1400.

My “excess” is $750 – so I’m going to be $750 out of pocket in terms cold, hard cash, not to mention whatever my insurance company penalises me in terms of no-claim status and so on.

All this for damage so minimal that it defied my very best efforts to photograph it.

I’m angry …

Angry at what seems like a cartel-like scam job between insurance companies and panelbeaters. It seems ridiculous to me that this sort of damage costs more than quite significant mechanical or electrical servicing and repairs.

Yes, I know labour costs are high … but still.

I did the right thing – and in the long-term I’ll no doubt be glad about that.

But in the short-term, it sucks.

At least our new home doesn’t have driveway for me to back out of – our car is now parked on the street.

Yarraville goss …

21 Comments

Heard from two sources today … news that a Yarraville retailer is to be replaced by a bakery/patisserie producing, no doubt among many other things, “artisan bread”.

I don’t want to name or publish a picture of the current business concerned as it is still very much in operation and there are no signs in its windows announcing closure plans.

But … it’s interesting to think about.

Businesses selling bread and/or baked goods in Yarraville central: Alfa Bakehouse, Hausfrau, Plump, IGA, Village Store, Baker’s Delight, Heather Dell.

There are others at Yarraville Square and further afield in Seddon.

I have no knowledge of whether this new business will serve eat-in food or beverages. But if it does, the overlap with existing businesses will be that much greater.

So … I don’t know about you guys, but this all seems a bit mad to me …

A Very Moving Day

5 Comments

Well, it’s mostly done.

Plenty of cartons of books and CDs to be unpacked.

Kitchen chaos, trying to fit all our stuff into a smaller space. Though there are plenty of cardboards.

No hot water yet, but that should be sorted before nightfall.

So I can enjoy a richly deserved shower.

Pay TV issues could take up to 10 days to resolve, but we got back online quick smart.

Not that it’s that big a deal in terms of moving house – we’ve just moved right next door after all.

But Bennie’s been a trooper.

And our next door neighbour and occasional food outing pal, Rob, spent the morning helping me with the heavy stuff.

Mind you, we did ditch the bulky, springs-are-shot sofa and armchair in favour of a Scandinavian retro number that is cool and much more in fitting with our reduced space. The old-school, hideous “entertainment unit” is gone, too. Though we still have an old-school telly!

I had no excuses for goofing off this morning, as the internet/phone and TV had already been cut off.

Naturally, getting some cool sounds happening in our new abode was a priority.

And the first tune to played be loud and proud in our new abode?

Why, Dulcie’s Song of course!

I wonder what the first meal I’ll cook in our new home will be?

It sure as heck won’t be tonight, that’s for sure.

I’m knackered!

Oh, the shame!

7 Comments

We’re moving house.

No big deal and not very far.

But still, there are things to be done, utilities to be connected and disconnected.

There is much to be sorted and much to be tossed out. Because our new joint is much smaller than one we’re leaving. Much warmer and cheaper, too, mind you.

And last night there was a live Asian Champion’s League match featuring an Australian team.

It, too, went ignored for an hour or so.

Because – oh, how it is embarrassing to admit it – Team Consider The Sauce has become addicted to My Kitchen Rules.

It’s unclear how this has come about.

The process seems to have taken about two weeks, but has been one of insidious stealth.

There we were – well, there I was anyway – determinedly snooty about reality TV shows, and their foodie incarnations in particular.

And now here we are – hanging on every pronouncement, every kitchen meltdown.

Mind you, the idea that this show is real, that there is any “reality” of substance here at all strikes us as fanciful.

Villains such as Ashlee and Sophia just seem too preposterously cartoonish for that.

And the music? Used with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Alfred Hitchcock the MKR producers are not.

I’m sure there are websites, forums, Twitter conversations and the like where we could find about this stuff and all sorts of juicy conspiracy theories.

But we’re not that far gone.

Yet.

We do, however, wholeheartedly admire the skill and wisdom The Age’s Ben Pobjie brings to his regular MKR recaps.

A gem from this morning’s effort:

“Everyone just ignores Josh’s disgusting attempts at self-justification, preoccupied as they are by their own devastation at the news that Ashlee and Sophia aren’t leaving. Anyway everyone cheers and hugs and Ashlee and Sophia clap mildly, boredom etched on their faces: they’re not really interested in babies unless they’re eating them themselves.”

And that’ll have to do until … Sunday night.
WHAT? You’ve got to be kidding me!?

Good Friday in Footscray …

2 Comments

friday6

No rest for the buskers who have made the ANZ corner their home for the past month or so.

friday5

Not much action in the mall itself, though.

friday3

But Little Saigon Market is rocking.

friday7

And so is Nhu Lan.

friday2

Sapa Hills is one of the few Vietnamese establishments not open.

friday1

A satisfying lunch at Huy Huy.

friday4

To finish, an excellent cafe latte with Tim & Jane – and a quick skim of the suburban press that doesn’t get delivered to our joint.

Our suburban newspapers – the elephant in the room

24 Comments

sub1

My appreciation for and reliance on our suburban press for finding out what is going on in my community have both deepened significantly in recent years.

This process has been hastened by my metropolitan newspaper career fading to memory, at the very time those newspapers fight for survival and seem often to be pre-occupied with major sport, federal politics, shock/horror and click bait.

And, until recently, I was even working on either a regional newspaper (Geelong Advertiser) or its free, weekly “giveaways”, and even (more recently) for the proprietors of one of our three suburban titles.

As well, doing Consider The Sauce has really heightened my desire for information about what’s going on in the greater western suburbs. And I’m not just talking about restaurant reviews – reading the suburban press has hipped me to many festivals and community events, as well as providing information about local politics and so on.

So I am both intrigued and a little disturbed by events of recent weeks that have revealed to me a suburban press “elephant in the room” – how many, or how few, of these newspapers actually get delivered.

Here’s how it unfolded …

A few days before the Yarraville Festival, the festival Facebook page mentioned that there was a lift-out festival program going in that week’s edition of the Maribyrnong Weekly. Someone immediately replied that they hardly ever saw a copy of that publication.

On reflection, I realised this was very true for us, too! In fact, and speaking very subjectively, it seemed at that point like we’d seen any or all of our three suburban newspapers little more than a handful of times each in about six months.

So I made a phone call to register my unhappiness. You’ll be unsurprised to learn, given the way this story is headed, that the nice people I spoke to were and are well used to receiving such phone calls.

The upshot was that the following week I got a door knock from a representative of the company that distributes the Star and the Maribyrnong Weekly.

After discussing our specific non-delivery issues, I mentioned that as I’m in “full-on job-seeker mode”, perhaps I should be delivering these rags my own self.

One thing led to another, many phone calls were made and it was settled I would become a “walker” for a particular area of Yarraville.

For several reasons that I won’t address here, it all came to nowt – I pulled the plug without delivering a newspaper, let alone getting paid for it.

I will say, though, that my decision had nothing to do with the professionalism or competence of the various people with whom I dealt.

But it’s fair to say I now have insights into how and why getting these newspapers delivered is something of a logistical nightmare.

I have long assumed that non-delivery issues amounted to little more than a fraudulent scam perpetrated by the various distribution companies.

I now know that’s not the case – or not always the case.

The people I conferred with seemed to be doing their very best to deal with a complex operation that involves every neighbourhood being drawn up into sectors that are assigned to the available “walkers”.

Then there are the “walker” issues themselves.

Let’s face it – the pay is pitiful. Had I embarked on this new, um, career, I would’ve been paid at a rate unlike anything I have received since I was a pre-teenager. About $10 an hour, I estimate, and that’s if I’d been going like a bat out of hell.

So, as was said to me this morning, “this is not work that suits everyone”.

Nor, I was informed, is it viable to rely on such work for a living wage.

All this reduces dramatically the pool of potential “walkers”.

Finally, and inevitably, given all this – poor pay, hard work, the changing seasons and more – some regular “walkers” end up taking the sly, dishonest way out by simply not doing the runs for which they are claiming payment.

This is an unhappy state of affairs on several levels.

For one, my respect for the journalism and journalists of the suburban press is these days very high indeed.

They are covering – in some cases superbly – issues, people and events that simply don’t get a look in in The Age or the Herald Sun.

To cite just one example – during the recent local body election campaigns, from what I could see it was very much the suburban press that was on top of the issues and what the various candidates offered or were not offering.

For these journalists, and the sales staff who sell advertising space on the basis that their newspapers will be delivered, such non-delivery issues must be extremely frustrating.

Like many of my former colleagues, I got well used to fielding phone calls from angry and upset readers.

For many in our communities, particularly older citizens who may not have internet access or skills and for whom the daily papers are an unjustifiable expense, the suburban press is a cherished and essential part of life.

Finally, and perhaps most profoundly, it seems to me that our suburban press, and regardless of its corporate ownership, remains a vital ingredient of the glue that keeps our communities together.

And, yes, I believe that holds true even in a cyber age that includes Facebook and Twitter.

Am interested to hear about suburban newspaper delivery from Consider The Sauce visitors – good and bad both welcome!

Melbourne – then and now

8 Comments

Moving to Melbourne in the late ’80s, yours truly had several aims.

One was to avoid becoming immersed in any sort of significant Kiwi expat community, as could surely have been the case had I chosen, say, Sydney. Or, I’ve been told, Brisbane and even Perth.

Another was to work for The Age.

They didn’t want me. Because, I was told by the bloke who did the interview in the dowdy staff canteen at the Spencer St building, I didn’t have a degree. (Still don’t, actually …)

They started using me as a casual sub-editor anyway, but I needed a full-time job so accepted one at the old broadsheet Herald in Flinders St.

After few years there and I did indeed end up at The Age for another few years, followed by the short-lived Sunday Herald and a lengthy, wild and often satisfying decade or so on the Sunday Herald Sun.

The bloke who did the original Age interview ended up at the HWT building at Southgate eventually.

And like just about everybody I ever had anything to do with newspapers in Melbourne, he’s gone.

In fact, the very last of my colleagues from the Sunday Herald Sun officially finish up this Friday.

And of course I discovered there are Kiwis everywhere in Melbourne, but they tend to fly under the radar. Which suits me fine.

My first abode was a one-bedroom flat in Greeves St, Fitzroy, just a block from the Black Cat.

Brunswick St was just beginning its journey to hip, so the Black Cat was one of the few happening places.

Bakers, next to the Provincial Hotel, was a regular.

The pub itself was strictly a hard-drinking boozer of the old school.

From there I moved around … a few years in East Brunswick, then something of a cultural and food desert. St Kilda for a few  years more, followed by a wonderful time in the CBD – Flinders Lane, if you don’t mind, in a gorgeous old building called Bible House.

Since then it’s been all western suburbs and fatherhood.

Before actually relocating west, first in Seddon, followed by West Footscray, Seddon again and now Yarraville, I did visit a few times.

Sometimes I’d get on the train to “do Vietnamese” in Footscray.

More frequently, I’d go by rail to Yarraville to watch wonderful old B&W films at the Sun. Gosh, how I wish they still did that!

During all my early years in Melbourne, no matter where I was living, food was far from being the serious focus it has become.

I was far more intent on what was happening at the Prince of Wales, the Club in Collingwood and myriad other live music venues.

Music wasn’t even on the list of things that found me moving to Melbourne.

But I soon found out that what was happening here was every bit as thrilling as anything I’d encountered in the US or living in London in the late ’70s.

It blew my mind!

Country, rockabilly, western swing, serious grunge (years before Nirvana!) and much more – and eventually jazz – became my life.

My music passions have become something of a private, non-gig-going pursuit these days, but I will never forget the music I experienced or the people who made it.

But even then I was a cheap eats hound of some repute.

I recall one former newspaper colleague saying to someone: “Go and ask Kenny – he knows all about cheap eats!”

So how was it then, compared with how it is now, for me?

My most immediate joy on arriving from the food barrens of Wellington had been the fact that it was possible – indeed easy – to eat Indian food in restaurants.

Back then, though, that almost always entailed the more formal and expensive eateries.

Since then, and particularly in the past decade or so and fuelled by many Indian migrants, that situation has changed to a remarkable degree.

Those more formal Indian places still exist, but they have been joined by a multitude of cheap eats-style establishments serving thalis, dosas, biryanis.

That the western suburbs, very much including West Footscray, seem to be one of the leading areas for this magnificent eventuality is something that I find thrilling beyond measure.

There have been many other changes to the food scene since I became a Melburnite.

Coffee culture, north African food (of course!), dumplings and many more.

But the ease with which I can enjoy sub-continental tucker – rubbing shoulders with students, taxi drivers, young Indian families and other fellow travellers – would seem to top them all.

However, the shadow cast by recent and ongoing news stories about pitiful wages, sweatshops and the like in the restaurant business is something with which I will continue to grapple.

Bennie’s Kitchen Rules

9 Comments

bennie3

Chick pea, lentil and chorizo soup

Efforts are being made to extend Bennie’s involvement with affairs in the kitchen beyond eating and doing the dishes.

This seems to be having beneficial and laudable effects.

He certainly seems to more at one with breakfasts of yogurt, fresh fruit and muesli now that the latter is largely a product of his own hands and effort.

When let off the brekkie leash, he gets his own toast and jam (“No butter!” he proclaims).

He has a way with eggs.

And he’s an expert at instant noodles.

What’s next?

Soup!

bennie2

Bennie has developed a deep fondness for the Iraqi red lentil soup shortbat adas that has become a routine fixture in our home – he certainly prefers it to the various Indian-style pulse stews and soups I regularly knock together.

So I’m hoping to combine something of that vibe with a soup that also involves the kid-friendly tantalisation of fried chorizo and one that will also hopefully nudge him back towards the fondness for chick peas he once possessed.

I’ve soaked a cup of chick peas overnight and have cooked them prior to us starting the soup proper.

As I’m seeking a sort-of South American or even Middle Eastern feel through lemon juice and cumin, we’ll be using capsicum rather than carrot.

We’re using good quality Istra chorizo, but it’s soft so Bennie struggles a bit in finding the right cutting motion to slice it into nice, even discs.

He does much better with the celery, once I show him what’s required in terms of fineness of dicing.

Still, for a parent it’s nerve-racking watching a child – even one as generally capable and always smart as this one – handling very sharp blades.

He also oversees the roasting and mortar-and-pestle grinding of a 1/4 teaspoon of cumin seeds.

bennie4

And he really, really digs what is the key moment, the most headily intoxicating part of making this dish and many like it – when the diced vegetables hit the hot, fragrant oil that is a mixture of olive oil and grease from the sausage.

Oh my!

It’s in this phase of the cooking process that my boy shows that he may have just the right stuff to make a good home cook: As he’s stirring the vegetable/oil/sausage mixture, he simply and intuitively assumes “the cook’s prerogative” – without asking his father’s permission – and nonchalantly gobs a couple of pieces of fried chorizo.

The resultant soup is perfectly fine, but I am somewhat disappointed – it simply doesn’t have the depth or richness of texture and flavour for which I have been hoping.

Bennie?

Oh man, he loves it to pieces.

Now we’re cooking!

Later in the night he asks me: “Dad, am I going to take over the blog when you’re gone?”

bennie5

Thank you …

7 Comments

Picture 4

The first month of 2013 saw Consider The Sauce receive 16,580 page views – the highest ever, as illustrated by the above bar graph, which charts our history since the modest opening total of 91 in August, 2010.

Oddly enough, the last two days of January saw figures only matched for lowness in the past year or so by the likes of Christmas Day and Good Friday.

This trend looks like continuing, in the short term at least, and for once I am declining to fret.

I know well enough by now that the internet is a weird place.

And that Google, search engines in general, algorithms, weather patterns and a whole lot more can have effects that defy explanation by even the most savvy SEO “experts”.

None of it lessens at all the pleasure CTS continues to provide people and the satisfaction we continue to derive in delivering it.

Of course, 16,000+ page views represents far fewer actual visitors.

Some people visit our site for just a quick read of a single post.

Others, perhaps finding Consider The Sauce for the first time, can and do spend hours going through hundreds of posts – often in the course of a single visit.

Nevertheless, we can truly say we deeply appreciate every visit and every comment left.

****

On a different note, it’s been a while but CTS has received another invitation to be provided a complementary meal in return for having us write about the experience.

In this case, it involves another of the trucks that are these days hitting the west big time and also involves what is pretty much Bennie’s favourite food genre.

Kudos in this case to those doing the inviting for getting the spelling of my son’s name correct.

Such is not often the case.

Maybe that should be our criteria for deciding whether to respond positively to such approaches.

In the meantime, like many other bloggers I continue to mull over the pros and cons of accepting such arrangements.

On the one hand, who doesn’t like copping a “free” feed every now and then?

On the other, for what is really a very small outlay the business owners concerned, providing the food is good and CTS story is positive, get coverage that is read by hundreds and eventually thousands of the very people who are likely to be most interested in their wares.

Not bad going for, say, $30 at the most.

Random thoughts …

8 Comments

random1

This is my top, No.1 all-time favourite Christmas present of 2012.

So obvious!

So affordable!

So efficient!

So easy to clean!

Thanks, Bennie!

****

It’s gratifying that my boy seems far more “connected” to his breakfast now that he’s eating from a batch of our muesli that he made all his own self.

Tonight – lentil soup a la Bennie!

****

A lot of people seem to be enjoying the arrival of food tucks in the west.

We have yet to sample the wares of Dos Diablos, but have noted with pleasure the regular “sold out!” notifications posted by the team from White Guy Cooks Thai on their Facebook page.

On Friday night, we had a supreme example of just what a pleasure and a boon such an operation can be.

No photos, no taking of notes, no seeking of information – just a feed for a tired but otherwise very normal family.

With dad returning from a return to work and subsequently tuckered out, we’d picked up Greek salad makings for dinner, but really … not in the mood to cook.

We’d just turned into Gamon St from Charles, when Bennie yelled out: “White Guy Cooks Thai!”

A quick application of the brakes and a U-turn later and we were parked in front of the White Guy truck and ready to rock.

Hainan chicken and mango salad, with heaps of pomegranate seeds, for him.

He loved it, opining halfway through: “I’d like to know how to make this!”

Green vegetable curry with rice and coleslaw for me.

Quite spicy, light, delicious, with green beans, potato, pumpkin, eggplant and more.

A fantastic, affordable meal, the timing of which could not have been better.

How have your food truck experiences been?

How evil are prawn crackers?

5 Comments

prawn1

Lunch after a school holiday swimming pool session with Bennie and one of his school mates.

A Chinese restaurant that has already appeared in these pages but that has no relevance to this post, so shall remain unnamed.

As we await our food, we are presented with a big plate of prawn crackers.

Chimp, chomp; crunch, crunch.

Halfway through the rapidly dwindling stack of snacks, I voice a not particularly original observation: “These taste like nothing!”

But then I think, to myself this time: “What are prawn crackers made of?”

Further, could it be they are actually made from the eponymous anti-matter “nothing” that is such a feature of the Garth Nix seven-book fantasy series The Keys To The Kingdom, which Bennie is just about to complete and I am just starting?

And if they’re actually made from prawn meat and other stuff, are there any really nasty ingredients as well?

And if not, are they good, bad or indifferent in health and nutrition terms?

I have a hunch that prawn crackers inhabit the same realm of foodiness, if not in practice then at least a little in theory, as seafood extender.

Some rudimentary sleuthing turns up first of all, and no surprise, a long story at the always informative if notoriously unreliable Wikipedia.

My loss I know, but my Asian travel experiences are virtually non-existent, so living in Melbourne’s west for more than a decade is as close I’ve gotten.

And that’s a pretty darn fine “second best”, IMHO!

Still, while I’ve had the more homely style prawn crackers served at Vietnamese places such as Phu Vinh, I am wholly unprepared for the information that prawn crackers – krupuk in Wikipedia’s preferred name – are widely and enthusiastically eaten all over Asia and beyond, with all the regional and national variations you would expect.

A little more digging turns up various forum discussions, recipes and ingredient lists.

The gist of it all, I gather is prawn meat combined with tapioca flour plus seasonings, including – according to many links – MSG.

But while it seems prawn cracker makings are mostly on the benign side, the cooking process – deep frying – is not.

Presumably, then, they’re on the same sort of footing as potato crisps.

I even find a celebrity recipe!

And a 2012 UK news story in which a company using another celeb chef was pinged for false advertising – no prawn in them thar prawn crackers, M’Lord!

More digging and things start to get seriously weird, as I start turning up questions such as “Can rabbits eat prawn crackers?”, “Can you feed your hamster prawn crackers?”, “Can you feed your hamster crackers and tuna?” and even “Do rabbits eat their own rabbits?”

Still, I reckon commercial variety prawn crackers are the food equivalent of muzak.

A smile for the customer? Priceless.

8 Comments

So I see one of our favourite places is about to re-open after the festive hullabaloo.

I wish I could say this is cause for jubilation.

But it’s not.

I fact, I’m beginning to realise that perhaps it’s not one of our favourite places after all.

Because, despite the outrageous excellence of the joint’s food – and they charge for that excellence, but not TOO much – truth is eating there is a downer.

Such joyous tucker is served by the staff  – and orders and payment taken – with such morose countenances, without exception, that it’s impossible to escape the idea they’d far rather be somewhere else.

I could laugh this off or dismiss it as punter paranoia, except for the fact I’ve read online comments by another customer indicating they get exactly the same impression.

Upon reading those comments, my immediate thought was: “Ah – so it isn’t just me!”

Another place, much closer to home, has also fallen somewhat out of favour with us.

Unlike the first business, those associated with the second know who we are. We’ve written about them. Very nicely, I might add …

But we don’t want to be treated like royalty. We don’t expect favours because we do Consider The Sauce. And we certainly don’t want obsequiousness.

We just want to be treated like the regular, local, paying customers we are.

Yet every time we are in there we see the majority of customers treated with wide smiles and welcoming chat, rather than the pursed, unsmiling lips and brusque, businesslike approach afforded us.

Sheesh!

2012 in review

Leave a comment

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

19,000 people fit into the new Barclays Center in New York to see Jay-Z perform. This blog was viewed about 150,000 times in 2012 (Ed’s note: The precise figure ended up being 151,207). If it were a concert at the Barclays Center, it would take about eight sold-out performances for that many people to see it. (Ed’s note: Thanks WordPress – if Jay-Z was lucky enough to live in the western suburbs of Melbourne he’d really be in the top spot!)

Click here to see the complete report.

Bennie and Kenny go to Avalon Raceway

2 Comments

ava10

It was the corn dogs what swung it.

For the past year or so, Bennie has displayed increasing indifference and even passive hostility to the idea of getting out and about in pursuit of sport.

Rebels, Storm or All Blacks?

Maybe.

Heart, Victory, Socceroos or – heaven forbid – T20 cricket?

No way!

But somehow he intuitively knows an outing to check out Avalon Raceway will be more to his liking.

And when his question about the likely availability of corn dogs is answered in the affirmative, it’s a done deal and off we go on Boxing Day.

Actually, it’s been at least three decades since I’ve had one of those battered critters, so I’m quite open to having one myself.

More pragmatically, I expect the food offerings to be on a par with what’s available at AAMI Stadium, but probably not as good.

As far as the racing goes, I’m not a serious petrolhead by any means, though I’ve always had a soft spot for what I consider to be the blue-collar, everyman variations – as opposed to the billionaire playground that is Formula One.

On that basis alone, I’m up for it.

We get to the track just before 6pm and I’m quite impressed by the number of cars and people already in attendance, even though the “hot” practice laps are just about to start.

Most punters, including many families, appear to have brought their own furniture and/or food.

Not us, of course, though we nevertheless find a cool pozzie against the fence, with wooden sleepers to park our bums on when we’re not eyeballing the racing.

Where we’re at, on corner three, means we’ll be splattered with mud for the rest of the day/night, but after a while we barely notice. Bennie thinks it’s all an absolute hoot.

Various groups around us utilise different and innovative ways to protect themselves from the slung mud, ranging from blankets and umbrellas to screening pinned to the track perimeter fence.

ava4

ava6

The food situation turns out to be every bit as dire as I had expected – at first.

A single shack is selling hot dogs, pies, dodgy looking chips – with gravy for $6 – and that’s about it.

There’s not corn dog in sight.

Bennie later rates his hot dog as a six, once again raising for me doubts about the veracity of his rating system.

The chips are underdone, limp and awful.

My Routley’s beef pie is not hot enough and just OK.

Our food and drink costs us $15, which isn’t too bad. We’ve certainly spent more for worse at sports events in the past.

ava3

ava1

ava2

Like speedway bikes, sprint cars have no transmissions.

And – according to this informative story at automedia – nor do they have differentials, the lack of which is covered by having the inside rear tyres significantly smaller than their outside equivalents.

We’ve packed ear plugs, though they turn out to be non-essential. But I do keep mine in for most of the night.

The sprint cars – ranging from about six up to 18 per race – put out a deep rumble in the laps leading up the green flag. The racing tenor itself is, of course, a good deal higher pitched but still quite pleasant when compared to the killer dentist-drill mosquito-whine pain of F1.

And even Bennie enjoys the racing.

ava11

We don’t know one driver or car from the other, of course, but what with bearable noise levels, the smell of burning race fuel, some torrid racing and numerous bingles and prangs, it really is quite thrilling.

The cars are shunted on to the track by ATVs then push started by a team of utes.

It’s a buzz being so very close to racing vehicles yet feeling quite unthreatened. I suspect the cars may not be going as fast as they appear to be, and certainly no drivers are hurt in the various mishaps.

And still the mud flies!

After a half-dozen or so heats, I leave Bennie at our pozzie and go for a wander.

ava7

Punters can get a beer at Sliders Bar – VB for $4 – but they don’t appear to be doing great business.

Maybe because all booze must be consumed “in-house”, although the racing can be watched on TVs while doing so.

A little further on I stumble upon the Dirt Track Diner.

ava8

The food here appears to be somewhat different but of similar standard – think wilted burgers and leather-tough fried dim sims.

But wait – there’s more!

Yes, they have corn dogs.

I buy a couple for $5 each and make my way back to a wildly grinning Bennie.

He loves his and devours most of mine.

I’m disappointed. I expect the outer batter costing to be crispy – instead, it’s rather doughy.

I discover, courtesy of this informative piece at Wikipedia, that corn dogs appear to have originated in the US in the 1920s and that they have become a multicultural, multinational foodstuff.

ava9

And so it goes …

I’m surprised we make it right through to the evening’s conclusion, the 18-car Gold Cup final.

Then we make a hasty exit, beating the crowds and getting on to the highway home in about five minutes.

For a family day/night out, we can recommend a visit to Avalon Raceway. Our tickets prices of $25 and $5 certainly compare real well with any significant sports event in Melbourne.

You may want to pack your own picnic lunch/dinner, though Bennie snorts with contempt at such a suggestion.