NOT DRINKING

MY DAD WORKED IN BOTTLING HALL OF THE LOCAL BREWERY but rarely drank. In those days, brewery workers would get a case of beer each, presumably to stop them robbing it (which had variable results, as evidenced by my uncle Morris, who also worked in the brewery until he was sent to prison for robbing the beer).

Round our way, the brewery was one of the main employers of dads, so, when we were teenagers (and I’m talking 13 here), cases of beer and alcohol-fuelled fun abounded.

We had cupboards full of beer and my sister and me would just help ourselves when we came home from school. Double Diamond works wonders with children’s television and I can still remember the taste of my home made Brown Ale ice lollies. I’m talking age nine or so here.

I remember going to my mate’s 7th birthday party – a proper kids’ birthday party with games and jelly and all that—where we all drank glasses of cider.

Added to this, there was always other booze in the house, in case anyone came to visit – cherry brandy, sherry, that sort of thing – and I’d pester my mother until I was allowed a glass. Seriously, man, I was quite pissed quite a lot as a kid. When the parents of the year 1974 realised I was, quite literally, rolling shitfaced on the living room floor after Sunday dinner, aged 9 or so, my dad started selling his beer allowance off. I remember feeling gutted.

I’ve always loved the warm hug of the drink, and was always an enthusiastic participant.

As a young man, my tastes developed and I started to get more into beers – Guinness initially, then onto lovely foaming nut-brown British ales.

I also found whiskey to be very pleasant indeed and would readily move on to a Black Bush or two towards the end of an evening, or warm up a cold winter’s evening – or fight off a cold – with a hot whiskey.

Wine came to me later in my twenties, as did gin and the occasional cocktail (Martinis and Gibsons, and Negronis mainly, but I do have a soft spot for a Black Russian). Oh, and Campari with a sploosh of soda and a curl of orange peel.


Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, the French gastronome once said, “a meal without wine is like a day without sunshine”, and until recently, I wholeheartedly agreed. Also pretty gloomy looking was a holiday breakfast without a Heineken or a wait for a flight without a pint of Guinness.

Other than that, I didn’t drink much; I’ve never driven drunk, never spent the rent on white cider, never pissed or shat the bed due to being pissed (although I have puked in the bed – looking at you, Grand Final Day 2016!), only ever suffered alcohol withdrawals once (Birmingham 2017, on a visit back to the old country, waiting to meet my non-drinking mate for lunch after about 5 solid weeks of drinking the equivalent of about 10 pints a day); I’ve never drunk liveners in the morning, unless it was after a particularly brutal night and it was part of an ongoing session. I’ve rarely missed work due to hangovers, but admittedly, probably should have on occasion.

Australian beer is largely pish – hate to sound un-Australian, but it’s true. Like the very worst European supermarket own-brand 12-little bottles for a fiver, bier blonde. Characterless…unless that character is one portrayed by, I dunno, Adam Sandler or Helena Bonham-Carter. I couldn’t believe how bad VB was when I first visited Australia, yet people genuinely seem to enjoy it. Well, they drink it, anyway. As luck would have it, we live in the city where Cooper’s is brewed. A pint of Cooper’s Pale or Sparkling Ale is well-matched to a hot, dusty South Australian day.

It is my firmly-held opinion that most microbrewed beer the world over is fucking putrid. The current preoccupation with beer so heavily hopped that you could preserve an aborted foetus in it is beyond my comprehension. Back in the seventies and eighties, people would brew their own beer and it generally stank. They would inevitably foist it on you when you went to their houses, with the near-Faustian bargain that, if you are able to summon the reserves to keep it down and mutter some pleasantries, you would go home trollied for free.

As a teenager (here we go again; different times), my mate’s dad would give us each a half-pint glass of 50/50 lager and homebrew. This homebrew was thick as mince and would lay at the bottom of the glass like staunch mercury, refusing to allow the lager to permeate through. It must’ve been about 12% alcohol though. Like Duvel, if it were actually made by The Devil.

Nowadays, bearded male purveyors of stinking beer like to call themselves microbrewers, give their filthy-tasting product names like Bummer Dog (©Chart Music Podcast) or, I dunno, Fanny Batter and people nod with acknowledgement of the unripe grapefruit notes until they can no longer speak/stomach any more. They’ve paid $10 for a little glass though. Capitalism, eh?

If I were a microbrewer, I’d call my over-hopped IPA Hoprophagia. You’ll either get that, or you won’t.

The wine down here is very drinkable; reds, heavy like boiled-down cough mixture; Rieslings like cold, delicious washing up liquid. And whatsmore, you can order a glass or bottle of wine in a pub or cafe and still be seen as a proper drinker, rather than a half-arsed drinker.

About 20 years ago, I started getting reflux. I managed this for years with Rennies, then moved on to over the counter ranitidine. then when that wore off, I finally went to the GP, then a specialist, had two endoscopies and ended up on Somac, which worked well for years. I’d still have occasional breakthrough bouts, but not usually anything too concerning. My gastro-intesinal tract never really felt like it was on my side, though, you know?

The start of this year was an epic drinking year. Friends visited from the UK, then more friends visited from the UK, then we went off on holiday to Vietnam, where we drank a lot of very reasonably priced gin and beer, and partook eagerly of the local wine, with its delicate faecal notes. I decided to have a month long break from the booze when I got home, to give my aching liver a rest.

Fuck, it was hard. Charlotte and I would lay in bed pining for something…anything…to take the edge off. Things got easier toward the end of the month, though, where it got to the point that I didn’t really miss it anymore. I also dropped 4 kilos – right off the belly. Despite the fact that all the clothes I had made in Hoi An look too big for me now, this is a good thing. After a couple of weeks, I noticed my reflux had gone. Completely. No medication, no breakthrough episodes, no retribution for eating raw chillis, crisps and pickles right before bed – nothing. Gone.

After the month was up, I drank a Campari, and had one pint of pale when I met my mate for dinner the following week, got a bit of reflux and I haven’t drunk since. The absolute pleasure of feeling like your digestive tract is your friend is hard to describe. Other than that, I’d like to say that I wake up brighter and breezier in the mornings (I don’t), or that I sleep better (I don’t, although I suppose I don’t get woken by rising bile any more) or that I feel less stressed and that my brain chemistry is more happiness-aligned (it isn’t). I do save a shit-load of cash, though. Or I spend a shit-load of cash on other things, is more to the point. I don’t find social situations harder…or easier.

One thing I’ve found vaguely amusing is that people give me their best attempt at a sympathetic aren’t-you-brave look when I tell them I’ve stopped drinking. Even when I tell them the reasons why, their faces say, “I forgive you for concocting such an elaborate lie; it can’t be easy telling people you’re an alcoholic.”

So, what do I drink instead?

When I go out, I drink lemon, lime & bitters or ginger beer when I’m in a pub, and water with meals or chinotto when it’s available. Coke’s nice. To be honest, and to my own utter amazement, I haven’t missed it at all, really.

At home, I tend to drink tea (of course), and water. However, I do quite enjoy chilled rose bud tea – it’s a non-sugary, grown-up drink, which is cheap and easy to make, as long as you have somewhere to buy the rose buds. This can be drunk either in it’s basic-bitch form or given a next-level pimping, like this one I had here, which contained the same sort of shit you’d stick in a Pimms.

KOMBUCHA

IF EVER THERE WAS A SIGNIFIER THAT YOU’RE A THOROUGHLY 21st Century type of dude, surfing the zeitgeist like a pro, then making your own kombucha is it.

I’d seen a bottle is a supermarket a couple of years ago and given it a try, being quite underwhelmed by the pop-vinegar experience. I wasn’t keen to go back a second time, but would read lots about people making their own and how good it is for you.

I work with a chap who is one of those shining examples of what a healthy lifestyle can do for a middle-aged man. He glides round the office on a fluffy cloud of probiotics, offering his (fucking delicious) protein balls around, does hot yoga, karate…you know the kind of thing. He’s a bit of a fermented food evangelist – well, he would be – and gave me the inside scoop on kombucha and its benefits. He also showed me how easy it is to make and then gave me the SCOBY.

It’s now coming up to a year later and I’m still making it every week. I don’t bother with the second ferment and flavouring, but just have a sploosh every day in my muesli smoothies. This, I find, is much more pleasant than drinking it as a drink. Also, I understand it can be a bit harsh on the old tooth enamel, and at my age…

The good thing about making your own is that it is cheap. You don’t need to go out any buy loads of specialist equipment or supplies. My total ‘kit’ consists of:

Large coffee plunger (a few bucks from Big W)

Chopsticks

Tea strainer

Small plastic funnel

Rubber band

Kitchen roll

Pop-top glass bottles ($2 each from Big W)

The total ingredients are:

Green or black tea

Honey or sugar

Water, boiling.

SCOBY

All you do is make a large pot of sweet tea. Wait for it to cool, then add the SCOBY and a sploosh of your previous batch, cover it and leave it for a week to ten days.

When it’s ready, you get a lovely home-brew, yeasty smell from it. You just put the SCOBY to one side, decant it (straining it if you want), and add the SCOBY to the next batch. Easy.

Each time you make a brew, your SCOBY will grow a layer, so you just throw the top layer (the ‘mother’ in the compost).

Motherfucker

And it’s forgiving – my SCOBY has survived through the hottest of Adelaidian summers and coolest of winters, doesn’t mind if it brews for a few days more than usual, because I don’t get round to making the next batch, or if the ingredients are a bit over or under.

I recently had a commercially-produced bottle, (this, here) – which overwhelmingly tasted of artificial sweetener and was really rather unpleasant. Made me realise, actually, how good my home made stuff is.

BIRYANI

I HADN’T HAD A BIRYANI IN YONKS. Then, the other week, we were having a few days away in Sydney, stuffing as many of that fine city’s foodie-treats as we could into our fat faces, and my wife suggested we have tea here, because it’s a bit of a Sydney institution. I didn’t have to be asked twice.

Occupying the midway space between fast food joint and curry house, their specialty is knocking out plates piled high with meat or chicken, spiced to your preferred level, under mounds of long grained basmati, glossy, succulent, and with the occasional crispy bit. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

This started a biryani craving, and my internet research led me to this recipe, which I followed almost exactly (for me) – I used skin-off, boned chicken thighs, cooked my onions in ghee, forgot to add the coriander before cooking, so added it after, did the final cook in the oven. This was a total success. If I’d had this in any restaurant, I’d have been raving about it…in fact, I was raving about it.

So, I strongly suggest you give it a go. It’s fancy enough to be a special, weekend/day off dinner, but not particularly time-consuming.

I served it with just a dollop of plain yoghurt.

Fancying a vegetable/vegan biryani, I thought I’d give it a go and it worked out really well.

INGREDIENTS::

Top layer – where you hope to achieve that combination of glossiness, crispness, lightness and fragrance.

Basmati rice 450 grams

Water 3 litres

1 star anise

10 cloves

6 green cardamom pods.

2 tbsp salt

5 Bay leaves

Middle layer – where the onions bring succulence and sweetness and the coriander adds that soapy floral note.

5 or 6 medium brown onions

Vegetable oil, I used sunflower

Copped fresh coriander.

Bottom layer – where the protein and your own choice of seasonal/available vegetables, contained in a delicious sauce bring the texture and an intense hit of spicy flavour.

A few potatoes, cubed

A couple of carrots, sliced

Half a green capsicum, chopped

Half a cauliflower, broken into florets

Tin chickpeas, drained

2 cups soya yoghurt (or 1 tin coconut milk)

Vegetable oil (I used sunflower)

6 garlic cloves

2 tsp ginger

½ tsp turmeric

¼ tsp cinnamon

½ tsp ground cardamom

½ tsp cayenne

2 tsp garam masala

2 tsp ground coriander

1 tbsp ground cumin

2 tbsp paprika

Salt to taste (approx 1 ¾ tsp)

About a cupful of water

1. Slice onions. Gently fry them in the oil until caramelised, golden and sweet. Resist the urge to over cook them.

2. Bring water to the boil in large saucepan. Add vegetables according to length of cooking time (I added spuds and carrots, then cauliflower and capsicum 5 minutes later) and boil until they are partly cooked. Remove with a sieve or slotted spoon.

3. Add rice, spices and salt to water and cook for 4 mins, then drain.

4. I blended together the garlic, ginger, oil and yoghurt, (but you can do this by hand, if you prefer) then put it in a bowl with the spices and a drop of water.

5. Add the par-cooked vegetables and chick peas to the mix and make sure it’s well-mixed.

6 Put the veg and spicy sauce mix into the pan.

7. Layer on the caramelised onions.

8. Sprinkle the chopped coriander leaves evenly over the top.

9. Add the par-cooked rice (leaving the whole spices in).

10. Put the lid on the pan, and place in the oven at around 200°C for about 30 mins. You’ll smell when it’s done.

Once more, I’d forgotten to take a photo of the finished meal, so here’s one of some of the leftovers I took to work the next day.

There’s an interesting article on vegetable biryani here. I know you should never read the comments, but fuck me…!

VEGAN PULLED ‘PORK’

MY ONLY PREVIOUS CONTACT WITH JACKFRUIT was having once tried a smoothie made from it in our favourite Vietnamese restaurant. After doing a bit of internet research, I now realise I’ve seen the fresh fruit for sale in Asian grocers as well. I recently read something about it being the meat-substitute-craze-that’s-sweeping-the-nation and thought I’d give it a try. After all, I am rather partial to a meat substitute.

I regularly visit one or other of the Asian supermarkets round these parts and picked myself up a couple of tins of young green jackfruit in brine. I’m particularly glad to report that one of the tins was ‘Cock Brand’.

I must confess also, that I’ve never actually tasted pulled pork. I know it’s been everywhere over the last couple of years, but there’s always been something on the menu I’ve fancied more.

I had a quick squizz at a couple of recipes online and, basically, you boil the fuck out of the jackfruit, until it becomes stringy and pulled pork-like and you serve it mixed with a barbeque sauce. Recipes vary as to whether you cook the jackfruit in the sauce or cook it separately. Mostly, I reckon, this depends on whether you’ve already got your sauce made, in which case you’d boil up your fruit separately. If, like me, you’re making this up as you go along, it makes sense and saves washing up to do it together.

Pull the other one…

So, in a pan, place the following ingredients:

Water – start with half a litre and see how that goes. You can always add more if the fruit needs more boiling.

2 tins Young Green Jackfruit in brine (drained).

2 tbsp tomato ketchup

3 tbsp Sriracha (I used more and mine was blistering-hot)

Heaped tbsp smoked paprika

Tsp ground allspice

Tbsp ground cumin

Tsp celery salt

Tsp garlic salt

Tsp onion powder

Tbsp molasses

Tbsp cider vinegar

Black pepper

Salt, if needed.

Sugar, if needed.

All you need do then is boil until most of the water has evaporated and the jackfruit has gone stringy. I had to add more water for a second boil, but then used a wooden spoon, and then a potato masher, to break the chunks down.

I served mine with a brown rice salad (brown basmati rice, sweetcorn, finely chopped red onion, chopped yellow capsicum, chopped cucumber, grated carrot, chopped parsley, hemp seed – dressed with soya mayo cut with olive oil), which went really well, and took the edge off some of the heat from the sriracha overload.

It was delicious. Whilst it looks a lot like pulled pork, the ‘meat’ doesn’t quite have the same chewy texture. Bloody close though.

Arff, arff.

CHICKEN DUPIAZA

I had a day off yesterday and I’d received family requests for chicken curry. Rather than just make it up as I go along, I thought I’d dig out a recipe book that I picked up in a charity shop for a whopping 75p years ago and actually try to follow a recipe: Murghi do-piazza (Chicken with onions). Dupiaza was one of my frequent choices when we lived in Brum, and I’ve always got lots of onions to hand, so thought I’d give this a go.

The book is Michael Pandya’s Complete Indian Cookbook. Published in the early eighties, it gives a basic grounding in Indian ingredients and simple recipes for a wide range of vegetarian and meat dishes. I’ve referred to it a few times over the years, which makes it a success as a cookery book.

I failed to follow the recipe to the letter, but the dish was an enormous success. The only changes I made were using soy yoghurt, instead of dairy, because that’s what I had in the fridge, and swapping fresh ginger for the dried in the original recipe, slicing the tomatoes,rather than quartering them, and cooking the garnish onions in thick rings.

It worked well. Really well – the sauce, both sweet from the onions and zingy from the lemons, was really much more complex than it would have been if I’d just improvised.

Such are the comings and goings in our house, that we frequently all eat at different times, so I just tend to leave the pans on the side and the kids help themselves when they get in/get up/get hungry or whatever.

When I got up this morning it’d all gone. Which is about as good a recommendation as you’re going to get. If you’re reading this, Mr Pandya, I salute you!

The leftovers.

INGREDIENTS:

1 chicken

1/2 to 1 tablespoon salt

2 tablespoons lemon juice

175g ghee

4 large onion, coarsely chopped.

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1 inch/2.5 cm ginger, crushed.

300ml yoghurt

300ml water

6 cloves

1 green cardamom pod

12 black peppercorns

2 x 1 inch/2.5cm peices cinnamon

1 teaspoon turmeric

1 teaspoon chilli powder

Topping:

1 teaspoon garam masala

2 large tomatos, sliced.

1 onion, sliced and fried in rings.

Cut the chicken into pieces, feed the carcass and skin to the dog or use it to make stock.

Rub the salt and lemon juice into the chicken pieces and leave to stand for half an hour.

Heat the ghee in a pan and add the cloves, cardamom, peppercorns, cinnamon, then the chicken, onions, garlic and remaining spices. Cook gently for 15 minutes, keeping the ingredients moving to stop them catching.

Over a low heat, stir in the yoghurt, then the water and any juice from the slated chicken. Cover and simmer until the chicken is tender (40-50 mins).

Sprinkle with garam masala, arrange the tomatoes and onion slices on top and place, uncovered in a moderate oven (around 180C)for 10 minutes before serving.

We had ours with this delicious rice.

PULAU BROWN RICE

An acquaintance of mine in the 1990s moved to Balsall Heath and, being a bit of an obsessive sort of chap, set about immersing himself in the culture there. As a result, he lived almost entirely on food bought from the local south Asian grocers, eschewing supermarkets.

He did lots of research on how to make decent south Asian food and I still have a couple of photocopied sheets of recipes which he passed on to me, and which I still refer to all these years later.

This recipe is one of them. I’d no idea what book it was taken from, until my extensive internet research this morning led me to Indian Vegetarian Cooking by Jack Santa Maria, – long out of print, but still available as an ebook. My yellowing and stained photocopy bears the handwritten quantities for using brown rice instead of white, which works really well, especially if you can find brown Basmati rice.

I’ve made and enjoyed this hundreds of times, and there is no greater recommendation than that. It works well in either a pan (on stove top or in the oven) or a rice cooker, although you need to fry the onions in a pan first if you’re using the latter. And it’s delicious, either fresh and hot or as a cold rice salad the next day.

INGREDIENTS:

255 grams Brown Basmati Rice (if you can’t find brown Basmati, use whatever brown rice you’ve got).

2 tablespoons ghee or vegetable oil

1 onion, sliced

4 cloves garlic, finely chopped.

1 inch/2.5cm piece of ginger, finely chopped.

6 cloves

2 inches/5 cm cinnamon, broken

1/2 teaspoon paprika

2 green cardamom pods

1 teaspoon garam masala

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

1 teaspoon salt

1 pint/just under 1/2 litre water

Coriander leaves, chopped (optional)

Fry the onion in the ghee until it’s starting to turn golden, then add the garlic and ginger. Cook for a few minutes more. You want soft-golden-caramelised, not crispy-brown-burnt.

Add the rice and the rest of the ingredients and stir until coated in the ghee/oil and cooked a little bit.

If using a rice cooker, transfer ingredients into the cooker, de-glaze the pan with the water and add that to the rice.

Otherwise, add the water to the pan and cook gently, covered, either on a stove top or in a medium oven

Garnish with the coriander, if you choose.

I completely forgot to take a picture of the finished rice, but this is what it looks like when you’ve added the rice and other ingredients to the pan.

MAKING FACON

Fear can

I DON’T MISS MUCH ABOUT ENGLAND, to be honest. In fact, since the whole Brexit debacle has kicked off, I’m really quite glad to be one 16,328.404 kilometre step removed from it all. I find it disturbing enough to watch from here.

I used to miss British beers, until I gave up the piss; I miss watching my football team (the mighty Leyton Orient, in case you were interested); I miss the chips; I miss Birmingham’s multiculturalism, London’s pie and mash shops, beigel bakeries (yes – beigel bakeries), and my mates (although those who can have got the fuck out of Dodge.)

Bacon in Australia just isn’t the same. I’ve tried the very best and the very cheapest and every step in between, including those purporting to be British or Irish-style. None tastes as good as even the cheapest shit there. Don’t know why.

When I was vegan, there were two types of facon available: the one made of gluteny stuff, shaped and dyed to look rasher-like, with a taste similar to a Frazzle (an allegedly smokey bacon flavour snack from my youth). I preferred the tempeh rashers. These were more expensive, but less artificial in both construction and flavour.

After a few years of trying to find the right Aussie bacon for me, I kind of gave up and thought to myself, I’d rather have a tempeh rasher. However, they seem to have been discontinued long ago.

Once the preserve of ‘health food’ stores and Asian grocers, tempeh is now far more common (available in most supermarkets here) and it’s really easy to make your own facon rashers.

Block party.
Tempeh tantrum.

Block of tempeh, sliced.

Two tbsp veg oil (I used sunflower)

Teaspoonful of smoked paprika.

2 tbsps of Tamari (although any soy sauce will be fine)

Tbsp honey or brown sugar or maple syrup.

Marinating in the marinade.

All you do is marinate the sliced tempeh in the other ingredients and fry like you would if it were sliced pig-arse.

SOUPE AU PISTOU

I FIRST TASTED THIS DISH when it was cooked for me by my then prospective mother-in-law, a woman with a bit of an Elizabeth David fixation, when I was a vegan. It moved straight into my repertoire of delicious winter dinners, where it has remained ever since.

Essentially, this is a mixed vegetable and white bean soup, more of a stew, really, with some pasta added and served with a basil/garlic ‘pistou’ (the French version of pesto). It’s healthy, wholesome, can be easily made in either vegan or vegetarian versions and pretty cheap.

It’s a good recipe to use up those vegetables that have seen better days from the crisper drawer of the fridge and is good for freezing.

In my humble opinion, if people on the bus/in the lift/in the street aren’t asking where that strong smell of garlic is coming from two or three days after you’ve eaten this, you’ve failed.

If you want a better example of my haphazard method, you won’t find one. I decided to cook this for tea on a whim at lunchtime on a day off work. In a perfect world, I’d have gone out and bought the right veggies, rather than digging out what was in the fridge, and soaked the beans overnight, but…

INGREDIENTS

For the soup:

White beans (Cannallini, Haricot, Great Northern – whatever) – either dried or canned. I used dried Great Northern

Olive oil

Chopped onion

Crushed garlic

A leek would have been nice.

Chopped celery

Diced carrot

Diced capsicum (mine was kind of 50/50 green/red)

Diced potato

Diced zucchini/courgette

Glug of leftover prosecco

Water

Few bay leaves

Some chopped bits of tomato, leftover from breakfast.

1 tin tomatoes (these were mini ones, but chopped or full size ones will be just as good)

Some recipes include chopped fresh parsley, but I didn’t have any, so used a bit of dried thyme instead.

Salt

Black pepper.

Small pasta shapes (added 10 minutes before serving) – I used little shells.

For the pistou:

Bunch of fresh basil leaves

Garlic

Olive oil

Salt

Black pepper

Parmesan (or similar) cheese, if desired. This can be incorporated into the pistou or,a swe did, sprinked on top after, using pecorino the first night and walnuts the second. Walnuts work really well if you want to replace the cheese for a vegan.

I notice that Rick Stein adds a tomato to his, but I haven’t. Ponce.

If you’re really pushed, or if basil isn’t cheap and plentiful where you live, then use a jar of shop-bought pesto.

Essentially, what you do is make a veg soup (by cooking down the vegetables in more or less in the order listed above, then adding fluid, whilst cooking the beans (or opening the cans), then add pasta and beans to the soup and adjusting the seasoning…et voila!

You then blend the pistou ingredients into a paste and serve a dollop on each serving.

In my case, I pressure cooked the beans for far too long, so I ended up adding a panful of bean pulp + disengaged husks. Never mind, though – still delicious.

ICED COFFEE

UNTIL I MOVED TO ADELAIDE, I’D NEVER TASTED ICED COFFEE. Along with AFL, pawpaw cream, emu oil, bikie associates and the chicken parmie, it’s one of those things that are almost ubiquitous here, and virtually unknown in most other places.

Very soon after arriving, we’d noticed that it was everywhere; predominantly Farmers Union down here in those days, although their market share has been encroached upon by many pretenders to the iced coffee throne in the intervening years. Apparently, it out-sells Coca-cola – this is one of those things people in Adelaide tell to newcomers (along with “It’s a large country town”, “two degrees of separation” and “I like to smoke a bit of ice to get the housework done”). I remember me and the little ‘un, keen to start living the ADL dream, going out one morning and sitting on a bench overlooking the sea (or ‘ocean’. As we’d come to know it) and drinking a Farmers Union Strong, which tastes like cold, watery-milky instant coffee with a shit-load of sugar, served in a tetra-brick. Not bad at all.

Iced coffee: the perennial Adelaide favourite.

I later went on to try the fancy ones available in cafes, which suffer from the curse of Australian food, which is Too Many Ingredients. Essentially, they end up being a coffee-based knickerbocker glory.

I’d assumed that iced coffee was introduced to Australia by Vietnamese migrants at the end of the last century, but, according to wikipedia, it’s been around a lot longer than that. The warm weather makes you want your drinks cool, I suppose.

Just the first of many Vietnamese iced coffees.

Earlier this year, I had the pleasure to visit Vietnam, where I did my best to drink as much coffee as possible. These varied in quality, from those where single-filter coffee, full of bitter dark chocolate notes drips tantalisingly slowly into a glass of ice, cooling before it touches the layer of condensed milk in the bottom of the glass, where both elements mingle into, what has to be, one of the world’s great coffee – if not taste – experiences, to those that tasted a bit rough-arsed and Caterer’s Blend-y.

So, here’s my recipe for iced coffee. Sometimes I drink it with sugar; sometimes I don’t.

Large shot of espresso (see here).

Milk (whichever variety tickles your fancy)

Brown sugar

Ice

Dissolve the sugar in the coffee and pour over the ice. Add the milk. Drink. Best served whilst wondering if the weather will ever get cooler again.

BREAKFAST SMOOTHIE

I MENTIONED THIS IN A PREVIOUS POST. It’s a smoothie I make every work morning in my Nutribullet and don’t drink until I’m sitting at work at my desk, where I find it sweetens the blow as I am forced to ponder the crushing reality of another day at the (figurative) coalface. I sometimes vary the ingredients and am constantly surprised that I continue to find it so delicious. It’s also full of lots of good stuff, ‘keeps me regular’, and keeps me sustained until lunchtime.

INGREDIENTS

Mixed the night before:

Half a cup (~70g) of muesli.

1 dried fig

1 dried date (pitted)

Kombucha, water, fruit juice or milk to soak overnight.

Added before blending:

1 banana (fresh or frozen)

Handful of frozen berries.

Large dollop of yoghurt (I use homemade soy).

Ice cubes or water, if needed.

Sometimes, I add a quarter teaspoonful of turmeric powder, which adds a pleasant dry taste.

If I have any odd bits of leftover tofu (which happens more than you’d imagine), that goes in.

Blend until smooth and drink whilst getting paid.