This is one of those incredibly simple, incredibly good recipes. Don't be fooled by its simplicity; try it once and you'll be hooked. Its 'proper' name is Italian Beef Noodle Bake, but in my family we always called it Italian Special. I've been eating this since I was a kid, so it's officially an antique. Last night when I was making it, I got to thinking about how things have changed. The first time my mother made chicken cacciatore, she had a devil of a time finding a supermarket that stocked canned tomatoes. Back then, the more a recipe claimed to be Genuine Chinese Style Chicken or Authentic Chinese Style, the more likely it was to call for something like Vegemite. And spice equalled salt. Want more genuine? Add more salt. Want more authentic? Yep. More salt.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
It started with a bath. More accurately, it started in the bath.
Bleary of eye and sleepy of head, I wandered into the bathroom early one morning to undertake some secret women's business when the periphery of my unfocussed eyeball perceived a dark out-of-place shape in the white enamel bath. There was a lizard in my bath. So, being a card-carrying, died-in-the-wool, rusty-razor-blade toting feminist, naturally I shrieked and ran away. Mr. Lizard did the lizard equivalent of shrieking and running away by sticking out his tongue and disappearing down the plug hole.