Tasmania part two

Tasmania really is so beautiful and my photographs don't really do it justice. We travelled to Huonville and through a number of sweet towns like Geeveston where we stopped and turned around to head north. I wasn't really kitted up for serious hiking but the walks around the Tahune AirWalk were easy enough with plenty of information about different plant species and plenty of furry green trees. I swear, there must be fairies there - it must be quite magical in Summer. There were lots of moments of sunshine and no serious rain to dampen our spirits - I think we were pretty lucky. On our way back to Hobart we drove through Cygnet, Kettering and Snug and ended up in Richmond on our last day, eating more pie for lunch and wandering around the quaint township. 

Thanks to those people who gave their recommendations - freely or unwittingly - of where to go and what to do; Saan and Rowan, Jade, Ryan and Elizabeth. It was certainly worth getting out of Hobart and taking a drive. Next time it will be the coastal beaches that I'll have my eye on.

Hobart part one

It's rare that an artwork gives me that exhilarating heart thumping moment, but that happened a number of times at MONA. I felt rather privileged to stand among some interesting and confronting work and be inspired by it all. Especially great was their display of barkcloth from areas such as Fiji and Papua New Guinea. This space also displayed one of Alberto Giacometti's standing bronze figues. I loved the Sol LeWitt wall piece, the old treasures in their new exhibition, Theatre of the World, Rafael Lozano-Hemmer's Pulse Room, Julius Popp Bit-Fall and too many others to name. I can't wait to go back again.  

Here are a a few things I got up to... Dinner at Garagistes. Breakfast at Pigeon Hole. When asking, we found that Pigeon Whole supplied quite a few of the places we went to with delicious sourdough bread. Sidecar for their pickles and hand made chips and the intimate little bar space. Bruny Island cheese at A Common Ground. I wish I wasn't quite so full when we tucked into coffee at Tricycle. I really wanted to try their food. Jackman and McRoss bakeries make a mean meat pie. We wandered around North Hobart and bought a few things from Sweet Envy. I tried one of their desserts that I can't stop thinking about. Covered in chocolate and sandwiched between two layers of thin chocolate cake, was a delicious chocolate buttercream and gooey salted caramel. On this occasion, we found our way here on the way home to Melbourne, but would have loved to have turned around for more delicious treats. Perhaps next time!

Wintery things

My tata (dad) is a maker of things. Each year, the smell of wood fire permeates the air in his backyard as he goes about making sausages, prosciutto and other preserved meats. In Istria where he is from, charcuterie were hung and dried by the winds of the bura, or bora in English. This particular wind would herald the beginning of the preserving season. Now that it is cold enough outside, the activity has begun. Most of my older siblings have picked up the knack of making their own, but in the quest to learn for myself, I've been watching and taking notes. As kids we were given the task of peeling what seamed like a million garlic cloves, which we hated as it left a terrible smell on your fingers that was near impossible to get out. Now that he doesn't use garlic, the pressure is off. The prosciutto below are from last year and sausages we made on Sunday. My tata is one of those people who aced rope and knot tying, and he turned the long filled casing into individual sausages with a few deft turns.  Six new prosciutto legs sit on a table laden with salt. They will be ready to eat in a few years time. My sister reminded me of something my father says quite often when making sausages; pazi zrak! It translates as be careful, air! Air is the enemy of the humble sausage. I'm looking forward to trying these out in a few weeks, once they have had enough drying and smoking time. For now, I can't help but smile at the thought of my tata saying pazi zrak over and over again.