Coochiemudlo

A friend and her partner are in the process of buying a house on a small island just off the coast of Brisbane--Coochiemudlo.

This sign explains the Indigenous origins of the Island's name. (Click to enlarge).

Today, and last Friday, I was lucky enough to be invited along for a trip to the island, as R- anticipates her new home and small community lifestyle.

It was an invitation I jumped at because it presented the opportunity for a kind of power holiday. To be able to visit a quiet island beach seemed just the salve I needed for my recently tired and emotional state; and Coochie is only a 50 minute drive and a short ferry trip away from where I currently live.

Coochiemudlo isn't a particularly large island, but on our first visit we were surprised to find we hadn't covered nearly as much of the island as we'd thought on our wanderings.

After brunch at a cafe near the ferry dock, we had walked away from that beach around to Norfolk Beach, where Matthew Flinders had landed.


We'd taken a trek through a Melaleuca forest.


We'd spent plenty of time swimming in the ocean and kayaking on the smooth seas.


But it turns out we hadn't even covered a quarter of the island!

Today we went back to Coochiemudlo, determined to see the ochre for which it was renowned by Aboriginal tribes in the region. And we thought we might attempt to walk around the island too.

All was going well until we encountered these steps, just one of the many structures built by Douglas Morton on the island.


Morton also built this jetty. It was at the bottom of the steps, amongst the mangroves and today seemed to lead into the mangroves' reclaimed territory.


I think we were lucky it was low tide when we were wandering around. Later we saw evidence of more jetties and bathing enclosures.


To get here we walked past a community golf course and building, and then more old-fashioned wrought steps.


As you've no doubt deduced, we had finally encountered the ochre on the island.

To me, it seemed to be the texture of Cray-Pas: hard, but soft enough to be scraped away with my finger nail in a smooth, dense paste.

I fancied that the various holes on the surface of the rock were places where Indigenous people from long ago had scraped out the ochre they required.


Of course, I'm not sure I can discount the effects of the sea and tides on the texture of the surface.


Eventually, we left the ochre behind us and made our way back to the beach near the jetty.


It was only when we got off the ferry and back to the Brisbane side of the bay that we looked at a map and, once again, realised we'd covered less than a quarter of the island.

While we were surprised at our lack of ability to judge the distances we had wandered, we weren't at all disappointed to have more of the island to discover another day.

Indeed, it seems there's a whole other beach to explore...

The Other Red Meat

While I was in Melbourne I went to a bookshop I had only previously read about: Books for Cooks. Ever since I first read about this shop on Gertrude Street, Fitzroy, I have known that I could while away an entire day there, perhaps a week if I had nothing else to do. I didn't spend quite that long there, but I did fulfill the other expectations I had for my behaviour: I ran from bookshelf to bookshelf, picking up one book, followed by another, and another, before finally having to sit down, wipe the drool from my chin, and have a deep think about the merits of the books I wanted relative to my budget.

I'll talk about the whole heady experience in more depth when I finally get around to completing the promised Melbourne posts, but for now let me tell you what I'm cooking for dinner tonight. Seasoned Chopped Beef (Picadillo) is a recipe from one of the books I bought at Books for Cooks, The New Complete Book of Mexican Cooking by Elisabeth Lambert Ortiz. It's the filling for Minced Beef Tacos (Taco de Picadillo) I'll be eating.

Ortiz instructs you to use half of the following recipe for Picadillo:

Brown 900g of minced lean beef in a large frying pan. I used that other red meat, kangaroo, because I can't really bring myself to buy beef at the supermarket anymore. I'll eat beef when I'm out, but between what I have access to and what I can afford, kangaroo is a more ethical, environmental, and cost-effective choice for me. Add 2 finely chopped onions and 1 clove of garlic, also chopped. When these are cooked add the following: 2 green cooking apples, peeled, cored and chopped; 450g tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped--I made half the recipe and just added a drained tin of tomatoes here; 3 tinned or fresh jalapeno chillies, seeded and chopped--again I went for the tinned; 1/2 cup of seedless raisins; 12 pimiento-stuffed olives, halved--I only had jalapeno stuffed olives, but I figured they weren't out of place in this recipe; 1/4 tsp each of ground cinnamon and cloves--I just threw in a whole clove that I accidentally crunched on later; and finally, salt and pepper to taste.


Simmer over a low heat for 20mins. When this is done you can sprinkle it with 1/4 cup of slivered almonds that you've fried in a bit of oil--I missed this touch since I didn't have any slivered almonds and didn't feel like the trouble of blanching, chopping and frying regular almonds. I'd bother if someone other than me was eating this.

So that's the filling for the tacos.

The Tacos de Picadillo are just a matter of assembly. I used some small, soft tortillas and filled them with the Picadillo, added some Salsa Verde Mexicana Picante, and some shredded ice-berg lettuce that came in this week's organic fruit and vege box. Ortiz recommends guacamole as well, but as I didn't have any avocado, I substituted with some Greek yoghurt--I didn't have any sour cream either.


I should mention that while the recipe book has recipes for both tortillas and the salsa verde I went for the pre-made and tinned varieties. I don't think I'll be too hard on myself for not making tortillas from scratch. As for the salsa verde, it's a case of lack of availability of the key ingredient, tomatillo, the green tomatoes that seem to be used extensively in Mexican cooking. The closest I could find to this ingredient in my, admittedly, rather short search was an enormous tin of them, as big as those Golden Circle juice tins. On that shopping expedition, I went for the much smaller tin of ready made salsa. It seems to be quite simple, consisting of the tomatilloes, serrano chillies, onions, and coriander, to comprise a rather refreshing sauce.

Overall, I found this to be a really tasty meal. I hope I haven't come across as too flaky in my lack of purity about all the substitutions. I used to be really up tight about such things, but ever since the woman at the Indian Grocers advised me that 'you cook with what you have', I've felt a whole lot freer about making substitutions. Maybe what's worrying me is that I used tinned things instead of fresh, but again, needs must.

When I first flicked through the book in Books for Cooks, I thought that the ingredients would be a bit more accessible than they've proved to be so far. Much of my decision to get the book was based upon the use of pineapple and banana and other sub-tropical ingredients readily available in South East Queensland. I was intrigued by the use of fruit throughout--and perhaps it's no surprise that I've since learnt that the used of fruit derives from the Spanish influence on Mexican cuisine via the Moorish influence on Spanish cuisine. Here I like to think that my use of kangaroo adds an Australian influence to Mexican cuisine.

Another reason I bought the book was because there's a fellow post-graduate at uni who is Mexican, and on the subject of Mexican food in Brisbane, Australia even, she is dismissive. 'Tex-Mex' she sniffs when people ask her about Mexican food in restaurants. Her response has long piqued my curiosity because it made me aware that of course all I know of Mexican food is Tex-Mex, exemplified by the 'Mexican' section in the supermarket that consists entirely of Old El Paso products.

I guess at the moment I'm sort of stuck between wanting to know more about Mexican food and being faced with the trouble of getting the ingredients. I don't think I'm ready to give up just yet, because clearly there's a whole lot more to know--about all the varieties of chilli alone. First, I'll be a bit more concerted in my efforts to find suppliers in Brisbane or who deliver to Brisbane.

An Australian Hallowe'en

Or more pumpkins and some skulls

The pumpkins just didn't stop at Jimbour. And they seemed to pose just perfectly for as many $5 poster shots as I could muster.


Almost as numerous as the pumpkins were the bones of long dead cattle.


Most especially the skulls.


Old wagon wheels also seemed to vie for supremacy. But in this instance, for me, I don't think these old spokes quite trumped the sight of that leg bone in the foreground.


The old stables had displays inside telling of the history of the property.


This building was the original homestead, and was once a two story structure, but was forcibly remodelled after a fire. (More shades of The White Earth). Then, if I recall correctly, it became the accommodation for the property's workers. You can't really see it in this picture, but the blue stone from which it was built is quite beautiful.


Here's a closer look at the stone, along with a plaque that tells you of the transfers of ownership at Jimbour:


The newer homestead has itself undergone some extensive renovations, which are still in progress. This is the back of the house. That balcony doesn't look particularly safe to walk on.


The house will be even more impressive when it's fully restored. It's still a private residence, just as the property is still a working property, even if the focus is now on wine production, so there probably won't be much opportunity to do a tour of the interior for quite some time.

Garden Retreat

As noted in the last post, there was a fairly impressive herb and vegetable garden at Jimbour, which visitors were encouraged to wander through.

Just flicking through the photos I took, I can see that I don't really have one that takes it in as a whole. This is probably the best I can do, looking back towards the big house:


In spite of the overcast skies, it's obviously still pretty dry in the area. Perhaps the best marker of that is the fairly slim looking bottle tree at the centre of the garden. Here's a closer look:


They tend to get fatter when there's more water to hold in their trunks. Although, maybe it's just a younger tree, since this one, below, which was along the path to the big house, seems to be holding it's shape quite comfortably.


But back to the centre-piece of the enclosed garden. I couldn't resist taking these $5 poster shots of the pumpkins that formed the boundary of the centre-piece.

Brace yourself for even more pumpkins a bit further on. Pumpkin soup was a key feature of the kitchen menu, so it was rather nice to see they were using the local produce.


I think I would characterise these next couple of shots as a bit Sidney Nolan in the sense of looking for figures to put in the landscape. (Did you groan out loud at that? I'm still a bit flushed from going to see Sidney Nolan: A New Retrospective at the Art Gallery yesterday. I hope you'll forgive such a clunky attempt to work that in. More on Sidney Nolan another day. Back to Jimbour).



It seems the garden wasn't so much of a retreat from death in a bygone era as I had anticipated. Still, these photos give you some more sense of the scale of the garden. Beyond the garden there were various stables and old buildings, as well as an aeroplane hanger, because there's a landing strip at Jimbour too.


Perhaps I didn't need to locate figures in the landscape as much as I thought. I think the sight of these vegetable growing is intrinsically of interest:


Don't these vegetables just make your heart glad?


I confess to experiencing beetroot envy when I saw these:


I think this post might be getting a bit long, especially with all the photos. It looks like the tour of the out buildings and even more pumpkins will have to comprise another post. Meanwhile, let me leave all the poultry lovers out there with this lovely vision, tucked away on the outskirts of the garden, which clearly they're not allowed to maraud:


Next: An Australian Hallowe'en

Haunted Housekeeping

It's been three months since I promised to post photos about the trip back from the Bunya Mountains. The moment may well have passed, and it isn't as if those posts I've linked to elicited any kind of discernible reaction, but since it was such a lovely trip back, via the Jimbour Estate Winery, and I'm not one to waste a mobile phone photo, well I've decided to make a record of it here for myself. (Sometimes I wonder what will happen if Blogger ever goes belly up; they will take these years of my life with them).

Upon arriving at the Jimbour Estate, this is the first building we encountered. I think it's a converted mill tower, but I can't really remember. Anyway, this is where we tasted some wines, and where the kitchen was, from which we ordered lunch.


As we walked down a tree-lined path towards the main house there was this church. I did take some photos inside but it was fairly non-descript in a strictly Protestant way.

This sign pays homage to Ludwig Leichhardt for whom Jimbour Station served as the last outpost of civilisation before he went off on one of his explorations. I thought of Voss when I saw this sign, but I'm not sure if it was actually the point of Leichhardt's last hurrah.

Here is the Jimbour Station house. I have to credit one of my friends for making me think of The White Earth, which we read at bookclub. After the thoughts about Voss, the thoughts about decrepit, crumbling station house of The White Earth, which was set in this area, just made everything seem creepier, or rather just unbearably sad and haunted.


Next to come into view was this magnificent pool. Another of my travelling companions informed me that this was the pool from the mini-series, Return to Eden, starring Wendy Hughes and James Reyne. I remember watching it as an early teenager, so that just added crocodile attacks to the haunted atmosphere.


And as if that wasn't enough to make us all jumpy, then the information that back in the station's heyday they used the bottle trees for target practise ensured a quick retreat to the expansive vegetable garden nearby.


Next: Garden Retreat.

Food of the Bunya Mountains

You didn't think I went to the Bunya Mountains (indeed, do I go anywhere) and not manage to sniff out the local produce did you?

Well, 'local produce' might be overstating it a bit in this instance, but the Bunya Mountains, being one of the few places in the world where the Bunya 'Pine' grows, is home to the Bunya Nut, which on account of the Bunya tree not growing at all outside of Australia--barely outside of Queensland, even--is quite unique as an ingredient. So, I thought I would take the opportunity to post a few more photos that I took on the Queen's Birthday long weekend, because I can delude myself that an unusual ingredient is a bit more interesting than boring you all with my holiday snaps. 

 

In South East Queensland, the story of the Bunya Nut and its use by local Aboriginal peoples is part of what you know.  At least it seems that way for me, although I concede this might be a consequence of participating in a youth theatre that, at the time, concerned itself with cross-cultural communication between indigenous and non-indigenous Australians.  

Ever since I found out about the Bunya Nut Olympics (in the sense of putting aside differences), I've been intrigued.  I think the Bunya Nut has come to assume a mythic status in my mind; this is a nut, and it can bring about world peace!   As a foodie from way back, I can get on board with laying down arms for days of feasting--I've never understood the notion of sport as an impetus to do the same.  

The first weekend in June is not Bunya Nut season.  I have to report that the only actual sighting of the Bunya nut in situ was scavenged casings littering the forest floors through which we bush walked:

I did take a photo of a preserved cone that was sitting on a shelf in the local shop:

It's a pretty awful photo, but I was a bit nervous, unsure of the policy towards people taking random phone photos of the shop displays.  You might do better to click through to those links above to get a proper sense of what the fruit looks like.  Or if you can't be bothered, here's a shot from Wikipedia: 

We were lucky that the local historical society were selling bags of the nuts, frozen, for a couple of dollars. They threw in a leaflet with cooking advice too:

The main recommendation was to boil, peel, and salt the nut.  It was cold that weekend, and since I fancied the skins of the Bunya nut reminded me of the leathery texture of chestnuts, I took charge and roasted them in the oven.

Taste-wise, they were fairly subtle in flavour.  I wouldn't say bland because there was enough in the nut texture-wise (floury, oily) to make them somewhat moreish. 

The next day, after the marathon walk I reported on in an earlier post, we went to a cafe and sampled scones made with Bunya Nut flour:

  

I'll go out on a limb and say they're the best scones I've ever tasted.  The Bunya Nuts added a top-note to the palate that was irresistible, and I dare say that it was the fat of the Nut that imparted a wonderful lightness  to the texture of the scones. 

 

Next time:  Jimbour:  On the Way Back from the Bunyas.

Other Flora of the Bunya Mountains

On the second day in the Bunya Mountains we went for a really long walk--about four hours in total--along the tracks in the National Park:

Somewhere along the way I read a sign that spoke about the different kinds of forest in the Bunya Mountains.  And so it did keep changing as we went along.  When we started out the ground was covered in these ferns:

One of the friends I went with to the Bunyas had a keen eye for the surroundings.  He pointed out this twisted trunk, describing it as reptilian:

As one might expect, there were a lot of staghorns in the forest.  Some were perched up in trees, while others were not quite so firm in their grip: 

I'm not sure that these mobile photographs have managed to capture the full glory of the colours of the various lichens and fungi we encountered on the trees in the forest, living and otherwise.  This fungus was a series of rainbows in orange, cream, and brown:

 

There truly were some glorious, yet delicate shapes too:  

This fungi reminded me very much of the dried wood fungus I sometimes use in Asian recipes, after it's been reconstituted.  Given that they were growing on a tree, I don't think my supposition was too outlandish--still, I wasn't going to risk it:

Here are some more instances of the different kinds of forest that we came across, all within quite short distances of one another.  What was extraordinary was how isolated these spots of completely different foliage were.  For only a short distance, in a gully, there was a copse of these large-leaved elephant-ear plants: 

Then there were these grassy patches amidst the various types of forests which were called 'balds'.  Apparently these are indicative of a much colder climate once upon a time.  Again signs explained that the local Aboriginal people had once managed these areas, control burning them to stop the forest encroaching.  Now, of course, the forest is slowly invading these grasslands:

This photo was taken the day before, but it seemed to me that this vegetation was quite similar to that in those areas that led into the balds: 

It was in this kind of forest that  we came across another copse of trees the next day, this time grass trees, a sprinkling of them just in one spot:  

And finally, I thought I'd show you this, because it was a pretty spectacular sight to come across.  It made me think about when the tree fell; I'm glad I wasn't around for any kind of Judy moment.  But the sight of that broken trunk lying there also made me think that it would soon be covered with fungi, delicate and fecund, of the kind we had seen along our walk.  Soon it would disintegrate back into the forest to nourish the ground where once it had flourished.