A Kiwi afternoon tea

I often tell people that the food we eat at home is different from the food Americans eat.  When they ask me to elaborate, I'm often at a loss for words.  The differences are too subtle to generalise them in just a few words.  But this afternoon I served my American friend a Kiwi afternoon tea.  I know that it was Kiwi because it reminded me of any number of afternoon teas my mother made for us when we got home from school as kids.  The fact that I call it 'afternoon tea' in the first place is also quite Kiwi.  Here we'd call it a snack.  

She had coffee and I had boiling water with lemon - for us Kiwis, afternoon tea can be any drink you feel like although as a child I would have had cordial* or water.  Or milo* if it was a particularly rainy/cold day.  The food menu was toasted hot cross buns with butter and orange wedges.  She only knew of hot cross buns from the song so I was especially glad to share our good sourdough ones with her.  She has eaten orange wedges in this way, but not as a chosen afternoon snack.  It doesn't remind her of her after school snack.

*cordial: powdered juice
*milo: the only hot chocolate I knew growing up.  It's no way near as chocolatey as other brands. But quite delicious with some marmite on toast.  It's also a common drink in many parts of Asia and probably Australia.

A great Hot Cross Bun bake-off

It seems hot cross buns have been in the supermarkets back home - probably at a dollar for a packet of six - for a good long time because there have been lots of status updates about them on facebook.  I thought the tradition was to have them on Good Friday but wiki tells me they're generally served during lent.  All I remember from my childhood is Easter eggs were definitely a no-go before Easter Sunday. Regardless, I've been craving them for a while but kept forgetting to prepare the sourdough starter the night before I had some time to bake bread.  Finally I prepared it during a morning when I thought there would be some spare time within the next 48 hours.  Because I am more wary of my starter working, I decided to also bake some dried yeast hot cross buns.  That way I knew there would be some successful buns (dried yeast always rises) and I could compare the two types of breads.  Both recipes called for 1/4 cup of sugar but because I'm still trying to be basically sugar-free, I only put in a teaspoon or two to help encourage the yeast to activate.  

The first photos are the yeast buns, the second are the sour dough buns.  They both rose beautifully and have a soft, yummy looking crumb.  However, we both thought the sourdough buns were better.  Somehow they seem to have more substance to them, with a richer crumb.  The dried yeast ones were so light and fluffy, they were like eating air.  I was surprised as they called for two eggs and twice as much butter.  I'm definitely hooked on sourdough bread - it's the good stuff.  It was very hard for me not to spread a berry jam on the final outcome but I didn't succumb, settling for melty butter instead.

Sometimes you can't have it

I'm feeling far away from home.  Do bad things come in threes?  Dad's in hospital, he had his appendix out and it doesn't sound like he's doing well.  Mum and my older sister went to Uncle Willy's funeral.  His sister (Aunty Mary) couldn't, she's in hospital with suspected heart attack or water on the lungs.   I know it's not nice being around those things but I would still choose to be there if I had the choice.  I want to drive between hospitals and a funeral, not sit here writing a paper about an imaginary naughty boy that needs interventions on his behaviour.  

Accent-a-licious

I met the new kiwi at the music school.  He's from Wellington and his accent is heavenly.  Which is a silly thing for me to say because everybody I meet says to me: I just love your accent.  Literally everyone.  Just yesterday I spent half an hour listening to someone go on and on about the British accent, as she had decided mine was British.  And that I must be Australian.   These days I nod and smile.  I used to tell them I loved their accent too.  But they mostly didn't get it: after all, they don't have an accent.  I digress.  

His accent was heavenly and it actually made me homesick. Talking to people in NZ on skype no longer does this to me.  I'm used to being away from them, and they just sound like them, not like a Kiwi.  His was not a familiar voice but an ordinary voice.  I wanted to pack it up in box only to be opened on special occasions but the technology is not yet available and I suppose he has use for his voice. 

I didn't make a particularly good impression on the Kiwi, we barely talked.  I'll have to try again another time.  Maybe I'll get the chance to win him over with my Shepherd's Pie one day.  It should be a good one: the potatoes and beef grown here are supposed to be the best in the world.

The sale of a car

My parents have been storing Jbird's Toyota Corolla in their garage since we've been here - we sold my Ford Festiva to my mum before we left.  We used Jbird's Toyota the first summer we went home but didn't want to bother registering it and getting its WoF* the next summer.  My parents were about ready to get their garage back so Jbird's parents tidied it up recently and sold it for a nice little sum.  That was pretty nice of them if you ask me.  Now we're officially car-less.

We're not stuff-less though, we have a lot of stuff.  We have a house full of furniture and items here, and another garage full of items at Jbird's parents place.  Two beds here, two beds there, a viola here, a viola there, a piano here, a grand piano there.  I feel like a double person.  I like all the stuff in NZ more, it has more sentimental value, items from when I was a little girl, all our wedding presents, and my own viola which is special to me.  The stuff here is perfectly comfortable and functional, but I would say it doesn't really tie me here.  I could pack up and leave tomorrow and not be very devastated about leaving most of it behind. When it gets down to it, though, the stuff in NZ is more pretty, but I'm surviving pretty well without it.  Thanks for storing it all, folks.  I'm going to be a happy girl the day we set up a house in NZ. 

*Warrant of Fitness

A clip from home

I have been indulging in some homesickness, phone calls from two lovely sisters will do that to me.  I'm glad we didn't go home this summer for loads of reasons.  We needed to have a summer and we definitely got one of those this year.  But I am also sad to miss out on my usual NZ injection, where my Kiwi Bank gets all filled up.  Sisters are something I'll never be able to find here.  

Doctor Baby Bev* put me onto a youtube clip which didn't help my homesickness.  Those ever so funny, home grown comedians from Flight of the Conchords wrote a song and did a skit for the Red Nose charity in NZ.  I wish they'd make another season of their show.  The song has the usual smattering of celebrity singers which just seems to make their earnestness even funnier.  Can you imagine Bret's raps sung be actual hip hop artists?  Now you don't need to.  In addition there are some interviews the guys did with some school children to get their lyrics which made me miss teaching in NZ.  The accents kill me.  I shed a few tears after talking to my sisters and a few more after watching this video.

*she's the youngest of us four, a doctor, and 'Bev' is a twisting of her name.

A view of home

I watched a couple of these NZ ads.  They're narrated by our local cult celebrity, and I thought they were nice enough to share.  They're not based on exact truth.  Helicopter rides are not an every day affair, and we don't all live in the South Island (in fact, I think only 1/4 of our population does) surrounded by those gorgeous mountains.  We'd like to, but it would be pricey (to pay for the helicopter rides) and cold (to live that far south).  It doesn't really matter where you are in NZ, the scenery is always very pretty.  Not like here in the States: once you're on a highway, that's basically all you'll see.  Concrete.  And the tips of dry corn or another unknown crop.  I guess that's a fair description of the midwest.  Though I know there is other scenery to behold, our travels just haven't taken us there yet.  Anyway, in my opinion, NZ is always a good view.  I don't think that's the tinted glasses of the homesick speaking either.

User Pays

This is the only NZ replay I have been able to find from the Olympics.  The only one.  Just in case you don't bother to check it, it's an iphone video of a t.v. screen of NZ winning a gold in rowing.  I viewed exactly 6 minutes of the opening ceremony.  The US and NZ has cut me off.  And I feel mad about it.  NBC has the rights.  I don't have a t.v. and won't subscribe to NBC online.    Even if I chose to pay to watch it here, it would all be US centric.  I'm not that interested in the US's kabillion medals.  Or listening to them pat themselves on the backs. 

No NZ site will allow me to view olympic replays.  I don't really know who they're trying to protect and with our increased global worldliness, I'm not used to being left in the dark.  I read the NZ paper each morning and have mostly  been able to follow how we're doing, but it's getting harder to keep up.  And I want the darn replay!

I happen to be proud of my little country claiming victories.  What's the point of the Olympics anyway, except to promote nationalistic pride? And if I am feeling frustrated, I'm less likely to try to 'participate'.  I'm more likely to start cutting the ties.  

And that's my rant.  Mostly.

A visiting kiwi

We had a kiwi guest last week stop by for lunch.  She's originally Argentinian but I knew her as a little, little girl in Auckland when she was BFFs with my mum and we'd see her all the time.  It turns out her mother was a professor at IU and her brother's still here.  She visited him here just last year but we didn't know of her Bloomington connection and she thought we were still in Baltimore.  At the time, I noticed on that-social-networking-site-which-shall-not-be-named that she was at Indianapolis Airport.  I commented on her post, asking why she was there and telling her where we were.  Turns out she had been in Bloomington for two weeks and was on her way home.  What a surprise.  

Her sister-in-law passed away unexpectedly last week so she is here again to help her brother and attend the funeral.  She made sure to include us in her visit this time.  It felt so strange, and so normal, to have her over being all kiwi-like.  The world feels really rather small at a time like that.  It's a fun kind of story to tell.

Only questions, no answers

Disclaimer: this post was not intended to hurt anybody, it is merely a reflection of some recent thoughts I have had.  They have grown from the study I am doing regarding critical pedagogy.  The personal history stands on memory alone, it may be inaccurate. 

On a discussion forum recently, I tried participating as a Pakeha amongst Māori regarding bicultural discrimination.  In this discussion, though it was online, I sensed myself as ‘other’ by the silence of my peers in response to my comments.  I shared my personal history with Māori kōrero: an eagerness to learn to speak at school which couldn’t be fully realised.  I only heard kōrero during Māori class and snippets as part of media or at meetings.  It was not enough to fully gain it, I needed to practice and have more immersion so I ended up giving up up after 5^th form (15 years old).  My Grandparents were anti us learning it at school and our parents suggested we try not to bring it up when we visited him.  If it came up at their house, we heard negative, largely racist thoughts.  Yet my Poppa was involved in his local Marae, often attending various important functions, I was told he was respected there.  My father had Māori friends when he was at school, his best man was Māori.   As an adult and teacher, I continue to feel distant from Māori, incapable of giving the kōrero and culture its full deserve in the classroom, feeling like an outsider.
  

I have begun to wonder about my grandfather’s attitude.  I would like to know what he saw at school.  Were Māori children allowed to speak Māori at school in that generation?  Did they even try to any more?  I’m almost positive they wouldn’t have been allowed, it had been forbidden early on in NZ school's history and there had been no reason to change that yet.  What questions did he have as a child that were silenced by corporate punishment, teachers at his school, and people close to him?  He was such a loving man.  Did he love without questioning the way things were?  Did he grow tired of questioning? Or did he not realise he had questions? 

I also wonder about people who appear to have lost - or never found - their Māori culture, including Jbird.  He had no desire to learn Māori at school, he could not see it as beneficial in any way.  Yet he is enough Māori to gain a scholarship at university for his heritage.  Where did his culture go?  His great great grandmother was full Māori, family photos show her with a moko in amongst only Pakeha.  Was that the deal, that she silence her culture to marry a Pakeha? Or was it already silenced?

 

Pakeha - White New Zealander

Māori - indigenous people of New Zealand

Kōrero - language

Marae - meeting house 

Moko - tribal tattoo

A kiwi update

Months ago I shared my surprise at the lack of worldwide knowledge about the kiwi bird.  Turns out the rarest type of kiwi - the rowi -  are making a come-back and I thought you Americans (and other non-NZ-types) would like to see the gaze of this unobtrusive fellow.  He's not just a figment of my imagination. 

T.V. gig

I worked on a t.v. ad. set when we were at home last American summer and here's the result.  It's probably been on telly in NZ for ages but I forgot to see if I could find it online. I was given a Prius for a few days and it was my job to drive the kids around and look after them on set.  I had to carry a walkie talkie and announce whenever we were moving around the set.  The boy was a real pro, he'd had a lot of experience and would act on command. It was pretty fun to go to the race track, the kids were easy to look after and fun to be around, and there was always a lot of nice food and a coffee cart, but I found it tedious as we tried to coach them into taking that bite and saying their line at the same time.  It took three days, one day on the race track and two at the house.  My bank balance thanked me.

The Introduction

I just wrote a pretty nice introduction.  I don't know if I'll use it because I wrote it before I wrote any of the body of the essay, and it might read too much like a narrative.  However, at the moment it makes a lot of sense to me and I'm glad because not much of anything else was making any sense.  I like it enough to put it here just in case it doesn't make the final cut.

When considering this essay choice, it was hard to clarify what ‘cultural background’ meant.  I kept emphasising the word ‘cultural’ to myself, considering what culture might mean.  I don’t believe people are ever a single culture.  In my own life I have always identified as a Pakeha/European, it seemed essential to who I am.  Yet I moved to the USA to find that I am not that here.  Here, I use my country descriptor, New Zealander or Kiwi.  Neither ‘Pakeha’ nor ‘European’ would make sense to an American. 

It made me think: Well, what is a Pakeha?  Why are we European?  I have heritage but I know the move from rural to urban in my early life affected me in tangible ways while I'm unlikely to consider who my great-great-grandparents were.   After some research, a definition was found which satisfied my unease: “For each individual student the intersection of social class, ethnicity, and gender can markedly influence cultural practices, preferences, and prior experiences.”  (Alton-Lee, 2003).  I came to realise that the word ‘background’ needed more emphasis.  It alludes to what has been, and what is but is not necessarily seen, to influences on a life.  etc. etc.

Alton-Lee, A. (2003). Quality Teaching for Diverse Students in Schooling: Best Evidence Synthesis Iteration (BES). Wellington, N.Z.: Medium Term Strategy Policy Division, Ministry of Education. 

Happy Anzac Day!

ANZAC day is our memorial day.  It's 'happy' because it's a public holiday (unhappy if it falls in the weekend).  Placed strategically at the end of summer, the day starts with a dawn ceremony, and ends with a barbeque with friends.  You may watch a war doco somewhere in between, or visit a war memorial museum, hopefully while eating some ANZAC biscuits*.

The story goes that these bickies* were often sent to the ANZAC soldiers during the war.  Made with oats, golden syrup, dessicated coconut, and other biscuit type ingredients, they were hardy enough to survive the long months before the package was placed in the hands of the soldier.  They must have arrived hard as a rock and barely edible!  Sound unappealing?  Since then the recipe has been doctored a fair bit and of they're delicious now.  

They're the primary reason I stock up on golden syrup every time I go home.  I'm still not happy with any recipes I have used here in the States though, because of the flour conundrum.  This year I used an Australian recipe, taking out some of the flour.  I got them to taste right but I still can't get the ideal crispness.  I may have to bake another batch. 

Failing a good war doco, I'm reading Catch-22.  I started it once before, but I was 19 and couldn't find the motivation to get into it.  I would love to read Tu by Patricia Grace but I don't fancy my chances finding it here.

ANZACs are the Australia and New Zealand Army Corps, so named in WWI. ANZAC day commemorates the day the ANZACs attacked the Gallipolli Peninsula.  It was meant to be a bold strike but turned into an eight month stalemate, and they were finally evacuated in December.  The day is now used to remember all soldiers who fought and were lost at war for Australia and New Zealand.  Read more about ANZAC day here.

*biscuits/bickies = cookies

What's in the tape player?

When we were little, my dad drove a Mercedes.  I believe it was in this very car in which he once lost his driver's license because of too many infringements.  They were mostly speeding, but he also wouldn't wear his seatbelt.  Don't worry, none of his kids have lost our licenses, even with that fantastic role model.

It was also in that car that I was introduced to some Violin Concertos by Great Masters thanks to one of the tapes he'd put on repeat in the tape player.  The Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in E minor was on there and so was the Bruch Violin Concert in G minor, among others. 

Last night I went to a concert put on by the European Union Youth Orchestra.  Soph's teacher, Mark Kaplan, was their guest soloist and he played the Bruch Violin Concerto in G minor.  You can listen to the three movements here, here, and here.  It was such a delight to hear Soph's teacher play live, in the flesh.  I got to see him teach recently, and I've heard him on the radio a number of times.  

It was also a delight to watch a tune I know so well performed live.  Isn't it lovely how music can bring back a different time in your life? 

Some Easter traditions

This was my third Good Friday in the States and I was once again surprised to find that it's not a public holiday in this fair country.  A day off was one of those things I'd taken for granted so I struggle to remember now that it's not to be taken for granted.

Good Friday is hot cross bun day and I put some in the fridge to rise over night.  I am normally a stickler for keeping them simple with just raisins but I added some mixed fruit left over from Christmas's fruit cake and was surprised by how delicious these turned out.  The smell lingered through the house for most of the morning.  Too bad Jbird is still suffering from allergies and couldn't smell them at all.

We received some Easter Eggs from my mum in the post last week and we enjoyed gorging on them on Easter Sunday.  She sent some real good kiwi flavours too: cadbury creme eggs, pineapple lump marshmallow eggs and jaffas.  Though the latter were not in egg form, they were much appreciated.  I haven't stumbled across any marshmallow eggs here.  They're not my go-to egg but I certainly missed them when I couldn't find them.

Dad sent some Easter eggs to Bangladesh the year I left.  The post is so bad over there, they didn't arrive until 3 months after he sent them, a few weeks after I'd gone.  No eggs for me that year but my friends enjoyed the chocolate in my absence.  Wax-less/good chocolate is a scarce commodity in Bangladesh.

Happy Rising Day!

It's Soph's birthday today - HAPPY BIRTHDAY SOPH - and Easter Sunday.  As a child, we had an Easter tradition of staying at Peter Snell's Youth Village over Easter with members of my Great Aunty Mary's church.  We had some Cook Island friends that came too and they'd always bury an umu early on Easter Sunday morning.  It's basically a roast with all your usual meats, potatoes, and kumura* buried in the ground under hot coals. 

Last year Mum and Dad were visiting us in Baltimore over Easter.  We found a reasonably priced lamb chuck at the farmer's market sired by a New Zealand lamb, and couldn't resist.  I am trying to carry on the tradition, it's the only time in the year that Jbird and I fork out for lamb.  I didn't buy a whole roast - it would have more than doubled our usual budget - I decided chops would suffice.  Delicious looking chops they are, too.  I will also steam some buttery asparagus and roast baby red potatoes with rosemary and garlic.  

Drinks will be equally exciting tonight.  We were in the mood for strawberry daiquiris and pina coladas so I've dusted off the blender, made an excess of ice, and prepared the sugar water.

I can't decide on her birthday cake - she needs a birthday cake - but we have home-made chocolate mousse for dessert.  Yum Scrum! 

*Kumura - NZ Maori name for sweet potato.  Generally purple skinned.

In Marmageddon News

The shortage of Marmite in New Zealand has brought to light some of the long term effects - job losses, company closures - of the Christchurch earthquakes that have ravished the South Island city since September 2010.  I believe Sanitarium distributes to Australia, don't they have stock that New Zealand could borrow from? 

I don't crave many New Zealand food items but marmite is definitely one of them.  I always have a jar, since my first international move in 2005.  We forgot to bring a jar with us when we first moved to Baltimore, the move was so overwhelming, but some cousins came through and sent us a care package.  Now I pick up a new jar every time I go home - whether we need it or not.  It's a slow condiment to get through, we slather just a little on a slice of toast every now and again, but I opened a new jar today.  We had two unopened ones in our pantry and I was sure to choose the one with the closest best-by date.  

It was satisfying, in a way, to sink my knife for the first time into the previously untouched mold, knowing I had been careful to stockpile in preparation for this moment.  I wonder if Sanitarium will be up and running again by the time we need to get more?  I'm not keen to buy the British kind that is probably available here.  I also wonder if you were one of those to rush the stores when news of the shortage got out?

Travel Insurance

I hate the concept of health insurance, partly because of the lovely socialised medicine which I'm accustomed to and especially because of our current lack of income.  For the majority of the time that I have lived in the States, I have gone without.  I put it off and put it off and put it off.  I didn't even let myself think about it the first year we were here.

It seems like the world has conspired against me this week because I could not say No anymore.  My neighbour from China came home from her trip to the grand canyon with a hairline fracture in her ankle.  She had to be airlifted out of that massive canyon.  I read an article where a lady had her baby prematurely in Canada and her and her husband are now faced with a one million dollar bill - they are not from Canada.  I do not know the state of their respective insurance coverage but we want to go to the Grand Canyon this summer and I have none.  No baby on the horizon, in case you were wondering.  Big news on the radio this week is about the bill in congress deciding whether or not it is legal to force people to have insurance.  I am going to keep quiet about my opinion on that one but every time the news comes on, once an hour, I found myself thinking I need to get health insurance.  I had a small infection last week.  Luckily, it didn't get out of control, but if it had, how much would it cost to visit a doctor?  How much would antibiotics cost?  I shudder to think about it.  

The insurance I eventually went with is a travel insurance. It's pretty basic, though I couldn't get the most basic because it's from NZ, I've already left NZ, and they just don't offer it to people like us.  I figure if I get really sick, we'll probably head home, but in the case of an emergency, I have something. 

I have a friend from Texas whom I love dearly.  Her plan is to hightail it to Thailand where medical expenses are phenomenally cheap.  Here's prayin' for our health.

A little historical detail

I was named Annabel after my great grandmother, Annabelle.  My mother didn't love the name so she took away an 'l' and an 'e' at the end.  She thought the original name was a good one for the family cow, the one you keep out the back for your every dairy need. 

Everybody called me Anna until I was 13.  I even remember talking about my name to my teacher when I was 5 - I thought the 'bel' part was a middle name, giving me two middle names.  On my first day of high school, my form room (home room) teacher asked me what I wanted to be called and I announced to the world that I had always been called Anna but I preferred Annabel.  

Most of the world didn't hear this and continued to call me Anna well into my 20s, no matter how many times I asked to be called Annabel.  I think I'd always said when asked: "My family call me Anna but I really prefer Annabel"  When I moved to Bangladesh, I didn't mention the Anna bit and I was firmly Annabel.  It works much better than my first approach.

Just before I went home last November, I sent a rather abrupt, almost shocking, email to my immediate family, who fail time and again to introduce me as Annabel.  I basically shouted at them over the interweb: I AM ANNABEL, NOT ANNA, PLEASE STOP CALLING ME THAT.  It all arose from nerves about travel, the tension that comes with planning weddings, and feeling so disconnected over here, on the other side of nowhere.   

It worked, I even got a few apologies and explanations.  On my visit home I was clearly introduced as Anna... bel (with a little pause, as they remembered).  I love you, family! Thanks for breaking an old habit for me. xx