Tweed prawns, The Bay Seafood and self-seeding tomatoes

Tweed (NSW border with Queensland, Australia) king prawns from one of the best local fresh fish shops, if not the best, The Bay Seafood Market, Bryon Bay, were big, clean and smooth on the palate. Small, yellow tomatoes, possibly hybridised in our garden, counter-balance, in their sharpness, the sweetish prawns and the salty triple-cream brie.

Don’t you just love perennial vegetables or those that self-seed? Both kinds thwart eternal capitalist commodity consumption of new seed every season. Sterile seed is the formulation of a dark soul, is it not? Although the yellows crossing with the reds has meant, in our garden, all small tomatoes. But that hasn’t bothered me. I’ve just used the tiny red tomatoes whole, and more of them, replacing the normal slices.

Palate's bouillabaisse at Eat the Street, Lismore

Have you ever had a meal, or meals, you have never forgotten?

For me it was bouillabaisse and truite aux amandes, fish soup and trout with almonds, in France in the 1970s. I have been searching for bouillabaisse ever since, as you do, coming upon the best once in Darlinghurst/Surrey Hills, Sydney.

But I also slurped down a yummy one at Eat the Street Lismore this year, from Palate, with prawns, fish, mussels and more, in a dense, aromatic, brown liquid. When I returned from France, I think I deliberately sought out fresh-water trout, although never making it with almonds. It’s a delicious fish, turning dusky pink when baked, and easy enough to get in Adelaide, but harder here on the North Coast. Our snapper, barramundi and whiting, however, are just-fine substitutes.

Pears and mangoes

Are pears and mangoes an unexpected combination? Though unexpected for me, it proved surprisingly apt. The mangoes highlighted the lemon taste of pears, and the pears the coconut taste of mangoes. Hence, the combo comes up with lemon coconut, that irresistible flavour of icing that makes deliciousness of a plain cake.

2017 Sud de Frank

The nomenclature, Sud de Frank, is a superb joke, playing on South of France, referring to Provence, and more, for its famous Rosés, prompting me to ask the question: is it possible to drink a bad Provence Rosé? And my answer: I think not!

The label’s jokiness resonates more with me, because Frank, a name that connotes a larrikin quality, was what and who my father, Frank, was exactly. Frank paid for a commercially screen-printed t-shirt for himself, with ‘Be Frank’ on the font and ‘I’m Frank’ on the back. That’s from a story I wrote, which is another story.

The 2017 Sud De Frank Rosé (and I only know it’s 2017 because the single shop-, not bottle, label said so) is made from Sav Blanc and Petit Manseng. Neither grape, nor, again, year, is mentioned on the label: most annoying is what I say, although completely in keeping with European practices where everyone knows where a particular grape variety is discretely, distinctly grown. But not here in Australia, I want to say, not here!

 In Australia, practically every grape is grown practically everywhere, although not to its best. Put the @#$$%^ year and the %$##@& grape on the label is what I say. And why a Rosé, you might ask, with Petit Manseng and Sav Blanc – white grapes. Frankly(!), I don’t understand/know. But the website for another wine I drank from a local bottle shop, the 2017 Blind Corner Blanc, a combination of ‘white’ grapes – Sauvignon Blanc and Semillon, and a hint of Chenin – says ‘white wines aren't actually white, unless someone has put peroxide in it or something’! I don’t’ get it.