![]() Perhaps a summer rainforest wild foods roast, complete with foraging, in the northern NSW hinterland. Think the Snowy Mountains in the late spring, fly fishing for trout, roasting and smoking them on the rocky riverbed, sharing the freshest river to plate meal. Plus always an extra element, a slow living or adventure element, to really relish the day. ![]() They are going to become a thing! A real, ongoing event, finding the very best Sunday spots all over Australia, to roast. A gentle and grateful nod to my time learning the way of the south, spending time with its generous people and eating and roasting their oysters. From days out on the bay on the Raffield's boat, from learning how to make smoked mullet dip in the Farrell's kitchen, from oyster farm visits and raw bars and picnics with the girls eating crab claws and tomato and shrimp pie. It was only appropriate to share a piece of this place and celebrate the process of the book throughout our Sunday oyster roast (the photos looked so good in print!). The photos that I took were for a book, a beautiful book about the traditional lifestyle of ‘old’ Florida (I would love for you to follow along with the publication and upcoming release of the book, ‘The Saints of Old Florida’, here). A selection of prints from my time spent photographing the Floridian Gulf coast - a place that taught me so much about gathering and tradition and about honoring seasonal food and location. Our roast was also accompanied by a small pop up gallery. Homemade vanilla bean marshmallows and slabs of cocoa rich chocolate were sandwiched between layers of homemade honey graham crackers. No southern fire would be left without first roasting s’mores, so we did that too. The bottom burned a little and the extra charred flavour worked. Chicken, prawns and okra took on the scent of the fires smoke. To go with, we ate from a big pot of Gumbo - a southern Creole stew, heated over the fire and served on a bed of rice cooked in river water. To wash them down, we drank a local brut cuvee, and later, cardamom spiked mulled wine. We let them bubble in the most intoxicating, garlicy stinging nettle butter. We roasted them too, on their half shell. They were washed in the icy river then dressed in a blood orange mignonette. Not only did we steam them but we also shucked them by the river’s edge, upstream from where they grew. Hessian was dipped in the water and we began to steam them the southern way. Sitting pretty in their hessian bag, we had options to cook them. Days before, Tara and I had been to the Clark Oyster farm to harvest the oysters from the roast.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |