Playing with food words

Meatloaf - but I won't do that.

Family GP had a bit of a riot around the table the other night.

I'd managed to pull off one of those meals that was both made up on the spot (along general guidelines provided by Mrs G) and evoked actual "wow"s from the minions. I don't like to brag, but I like telling you how impressed they were. OK, I'm bragging.

I'd made individual meatloaves in silicon muffin forms. In the mix was your standard onion, beef mince, salt and pepper to taste, but I added a very finely grated carrot, some finely minced mushroom, and left out the egg and breadcrumbs, which are really just stand-ins for reasonable food. I also added a good dollop of hoisin sauce to the mix, and another sneaky one at the bottom of each form, so that it bubbled up through the stuff as it baked.

I don't think this is exactly restaurant-grade anything, but the result impressed.

Conversation moved to how it could possibly be improved. The first suggestion was for a little blob of fetta in the middle. Then the fetta had to be poked inside a potato gem (a tater tot, for any Yanks reading) before the meatloaf mix was formed around it. Then the fetta-stuffed potato gem needed a bacon blanket before disappearing inside the meatloaf.

About then we got sidetracked by how it should be described. Following the example of the "turducken" (a turkey stuffed with a duck, itself stuffed with a chicken), and after much hilarious experimentation, we settled on "me-baco-tater-fetta-loaf" to describe this entirely fanciful concoction.

Nobody at any point actually thought we would ever make such a thing, it was just a silly conversation where everybody got to throw in a ridiculous idea and see where it led.

Do other people have dinner table conversations like this? I remember well the terrible punning conversations I and my brothers (and Dad) would have when we were young, while our Mother groaned and sighed. When I married Mrs G, Mum advised her to ignore us when we started to try to out-do one another with ever more terrible puns. Anything else just encourages us. We still do it, because the only encouragement we need is each other.

There's a harmless, silly kind of fun in creative wordplay. I'd much rather be collaborating in the naming of a "me-baco-tater-fetta-loaf" with my minions than talking about the weather, or what they might have seen on television.

There's also laughter.

It's so good to laugh with your minions. The healing power of laughter should not be underestimated.

For all the trials we've faced this year, getting around the table and being silly quickly restores a bit of perspective.

Mrs G and I are blessed to have families which are only mildly dysfunctional. For those of you less fortunate, yet who are obliged at this time of year to share meals with the odd people you're related to, I hope you're able to spot some absurdity and run with it.

You never know who'll try to keep up.

Strange victories

Tomorrow I'll be eating leftover crumbed fish and potato gems, and this is a victory.

Those with even a passing familiarity with the kitchen will realise that leftover crumbed fish fillets and potato gems don't react well to microwaving at lunchtime the next day. They might resemble the cheap tastiness of last night but they by no means resemble the exciting crunchy texture that makes it worth taking things out of the freezer and treating them to heat in a way that makes them acceptable on the plate.

And yet I will be thankful, and here's why.

Cruel and unusual punishment

Mrs G and I were of a mind when it came to naming our minions.

We didn't want to saddle them with a name they would end up hating, so their second names had to be "sensible", a back-up name by which they could choose to be known. Where possible, their names had to be capable of dignified shortening. Their initials could not be allowed to spell anything rude or even pronounceable.

Also, they needed two middle names, after we were told a story by a photographer we met, about the police knocking on his door one night with a warrant for the arrest of someone with his exact three part name and a birth-date in the same month who, nevertheless, was not him. We figured an extra middle name wouldn't be that hard to come up with, and should prevent any such thing happening to our children.

We now joke that, should we have a "surprise child", we're over being responsible. A female daughter will be named "Epiphany Persephone Stephanie Rhapsody Serendipity ..." and on we go inventing further middle names on the theme until we've made each other laugh enough. It's our own "Truly, Madly, Deeply" game. A male child will be named simply "Minion". But we're joking. We wouldn't actually do that.

It is from this perspective that I see the naming of many babies these days as cruel and unusual punishment.

The flag police (they come to me in my sleep)

I love Australians.

I love the way we maintain that we’re very easy-going while allowing ourselves to get uptight about stuff for no very good reason.

I was musing on this topic as I walked into the office this morning, past the flagpoles which were conspicuously lacking the two officially proclaimed indigenous flags of Australia on this first day of “National Aboriginal and Islander Day of Observance Committee” (NAIDOC) Week.

I, for one, welcome our help-desk overlords ...

Problem Exists Between Keyboard And Chair

True office story, for a bit of Friday levity:

This morning someone at the head office of my department sent a message to everyone else in the department who can book travel, outlining a problem she was having with the travel booking system and asking whether anyone else was having the same problem.  I looked at it briefly and satisfied myself I could think about it after I'd done all the other things I had to do this morning.  When I got back to my desk about 90 minutes later my inbox contained about 50 replies to this message, all of them advising "no problem".

(Why must people use "reply all" when their responses are unimportant to every other recipient?  Gaahhh!)

Amongst all the useless messages was the reply from the travel help-desk (yes, someone had been smart enough to forward the message to them).  It's worth quoting the text of their message in full:

Please be aware that problems with the travel booking system should be raised with the travel help-desk in the first instance.  We have the tools to identify, diagnose and rectify individual or system-wide problems.  In this case the only one with a problem was [name of original correspondent].

This message had also gone to every original recipient, who were thus witnesses to the beautifully constructed put-down at the end of the reply.  Genius.

Okay, it's not Dilbert but, as an example of how help-desks can get stuff right, I think this rates.
Have a good weekend everyone!

Ups and downs

A vast improvement.  Or, "Avast!  Improvement!"

It's been a roller-coaster few days in the Good Plates house-hold.  A birthday dinner with my Dad for the first time in a very long time, some housework and a pretty cruisy Mothers' Day.  But the highlights were watching our youngest minion make a breakthrough at karate and building a better wardrobe.  The lowlight was definitely responding to the realisation that one of our dogs had eaten a lot of rat poison.

Secrets and milestones

The Great Orion Nebula, M42

Among the books which have made a lasting impression on me are the Hitch Hiker’s Guide novels by Douglas Adams. While certainly not the first to combine science fiction and humour, these stories were so memorable and popular that Adams was compelled to make a lot of what he wrote subsequently either an extension or a reinterpretation of them. I’m not sure whether I would be happy being the victim of such success or whether I’d find it creatively confining.

Anyway, if you know that I’m a fan of this material, and have some familiarity with it yourself, it should not be surprising that the prospect of turning 42 years old tomorrow has me slightly bemused.

I can't shake the sense that it's filled with hidden meaning, that it's somehow special.  Indeed, will I wake up tomorrow somehow magically knowing the great question of life, the universe and everything, thus rendering the answer "42" meaningful?

Making our own realities

Figments of Cameron's imagination

A week or two ago I stumbled upon this excellent piece at Cracked.com, titled 6 Insane Fan Theories That Actually Make Great Movies Better.

If you don't have time to go and read that before you press on here (spoilers!), the theories include speculation that James Bond is not a man but a code name, Zion is part of the Matrix, Ferris Bueller's Day Off was all in Cameron's head and Chewbacca and R2-D2 are (always) secret Rebel agents.  (There's a follow-up article here, with another 5 theories!)

I've always had some doubts about fan-fic, because it seems awfully derivative and, well, creepy, but there's absolutely no doubt that these articles rock.  I mean, these theories take the holes that some of the die-hard fans carp about and turn them into reasons to be enthusiastic all over again.

If you take the time to follow those links, there's depth to the theories that actually do make these stories make sense.  I'm in awe of this kind of creativity.  And, as is my habit, it made my brain jump off in a different direction.

Remembering Jim Henson

Mrs G was showing the minions excerpts from Jim Henson's 1990 memorial service this evening.  Back then, for those of a certain bent, this was a very big deal.  There are a couple of reasons.


First there's Jim.  I grew up with the Muppet Show, and the Muppet movies.  Jim's absurd sense of humour completely appealed to me, and has stayed with me.  How he was able to touch so many lives with his energy and creativity is a blessing to us all.

In addition, there's his selection of songs.  The clip above features some of his favourite songs, performed by Dave Goelz, Frank Oz, Kevin Clash, Steve Whitmire, Richard Hunt and Jerry Nelson.  This is a long clip, and at the end, if the Muppets ever meant anything to you, you may need a box of tissues.  Near the start, though, there's "Lydia the Tattooed Lady".  I don't remember when I first heard that song, but I remember it best as performed by Kermit the Frog.  Such a strange song for a seven year old to memorise, but the wonder of it is that Jim made it accessible, amusing and harmless to me.

Lastly, this was one of the very first big "celebrity memorial services".  It was very unusual in that it was televised, so it was ground-breaking in that way.  It was also ground-breaking because it was conceived as an entertaining tribute to his fans and there was no casket in the building.  It was just brilliant.

Now, the minions are familiar with Fraggle Rock and a wide range of the Muppet movies (including the latest one with Jason Segel), but they were still mesmerised by this memorial service, and the fact that Jim's dream is still generating entertainment 22 years after his death.  Take a moment to indulge in this stuff every now and then.  It's a genuine tonic.

Goodbye Dame Edna? Say it ain't so!

Barry Humphries is about to embark on a tour in which he will perform Dame Edna, Sir Les Patterson and Sandy Stone for the last time!  Humphries has been performing this character since 1955 - over 57 years!  Anyone who has encountered Edna knows she is a formidable presence (Humphries is very tall, and has an oversized cranium) but, more than that, she has a fierce and cutting wit.  Mrs G was fortunate enough to encounter both Humphries and Edna (separately) while working backstage at a theatre some years ago.  Humphries' technique involves complete immersion - while in costume and makeup you do not call him Mr Humphries.  And, while in costume and makeup, he is completely in character - Humphries disappears and Edna is all that is there.

It actually must be quite a strain to sustain that kind of performance and, approaching 80 years of age, it's little wonder Humphries is electing to take the foot off the gas a bit.  Both Humphries and Edna have collected a number of honours on the way - although Edna isn't a real "Dame", Humphries is an Officer of the Order of Australia and a Commander of the Order of the British Empire - and in 2007 a street in Melbourne was named "Dame Edna Alley", in her honour.

Thankfully there is an abundance of footage of Edna to remember her by.  I suspect it'll be a long time before we see her like again.