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Chips!

Were ever so many chips consumed by a single group of people over a 14 day period?

We have been glorying in the crunch of many flavours. Three years ago we discovered an outstanding number at Extra Foods in Humboldt, President’s Choice Rosemary-and-something, but it has vanished from the shelves, along with the end of its name, and is sadly mourned.

But we live in the present, and here are, I believe, our locally available firmest favourites, in alphabetical order. In short, we like ’em all (but Miss Vicky’s could really be our chip of choice).

Doritos Dillicious Taco Chips
Lay’s Dill Pickle Chips
Lay’s Plain Salted Chips
Miss Vicky’s Lime and Black Pepper
Miss Vicky’s Sweet Chili and Sour Cream
President’s Choice Parmesan and Garlic
President’s Choice Roast Garlic
Tostitos Hint of Lime

Though we have been going mainly dipless, we surely did enjoy our revered blog guru Tracy’s home made salsa while it lasted. And it must be clearly and definitively stated that although Brenda would never normally eat such things, she showed real class when she invested in an armload of chips for the troops one snowy afternoon at the Humboldt IGA.

The gin drinker in me quietly wishes to point out the perfect harmony I discovered between Lay’s Dill Pickle Chips (or Tostitos Hint of Lime) and a large G&T; with lemon.

As the colony progressed, things got more and more excessive. We augmented our chipping with some dipping into other food substances, aside from smoked oysters. Mari-Lou once again demonstrated her elegant way with roast garlic (plus brie plus jalapeno dip) on french bread. Annette offered us some healthful options: green grapes, shrimp rings; and chipped in with Bernadette to assemble some mighty nachos. And last night we were the grateful recipients of a hit and run appetizer strike from the kitchen, when an artfully presented tray of hand-piped tuna and egg salad materialized in the lounge at the appointed hour (thank you Brother Pius!)

Of course, there is also nothing like a good bowl of popcorn, which we enjoy thanks to the colony’s air popper and the tireless efforts of those who know how to aim it.

Dessert Island

Well: now that the gravy situation has been smoothed out, we can focus all the more clearly on what follows our savoury. I have long suspected some unidentified Great Desserts of the Fifties cookbook has provided the backbone of our meals here. Let me pay tribute.

Our first night we were met with an outstanding bread pudding – more of a bar, really – just chewy enough, with fruit, probably apples, huddled somewhere in the sweet middle. We’ve had raisin delight, butter tarts, chocolate wheat puff squares, rice krispie squares, a chocolate-cornflake concoction, almond crunch made with cornflakes and coconut (there’s not much you can’t do with breakfast cereal, one of us astutely observed between bites). There were gooey chocolatey coconut drop cookies, which one colonist identified as hermits (very fitting). And an absolutely heavenly rhubarb crumble, freshly crisp and perfectly sweet.

But let’s be honest: what can round out a simple chicken dinner (with gravy) better than a tub of chocolate and vanilla ice cream that you scoop out yourself and eye through the meal until it has just that perfect gloss that tells you the moment of ice cream bliss – the happy balance of smooth and soft but still frozen – has been reached and it’s time to apply the spoon.

On the other hand, yesterday’s lunch triggered something…

Jello

O red mystery, o berry
of the world’s branch.

Powder of my childhood
lunchbox, a fingerdip surprise
for snack time, cherry dust
in a tupperware nest…

The Gravy Train

Horrors. Something was amiss in the kitchen… the first few days of colony we were gravyless, desolate. Two roast dinners came and went without a drop to drown in. Nought but a few tears moistened my roast potatoes on Sunday, and we quietly despaired amongst ourselves in parched mutters. However, glad to say things have righted themselves since and our universe floats once more in its happy sea.

As fate would have it, when I was at the AWP conference last year I picked up a copy of Poetry International 9 (2005), which we’ve all been browsing and which – wouldn’t you know it – includes a recipe-like poem called Gravy, by Barbara Crooker, which tells us to:

Scrape off bits of skin, bits of meat; incorporate
them in the mixture, like a difficult uncle
or the lonely neighbor invited out of duty.

Thus inspired, and still rejoicing after dinner, I reached for the gravy dish myself last night:

Gravy and More Gravy

Who’d want to live
in a world without gravy,
which makes all things
equal on the plate,
which gives potatoes
a smooth ride, which
comforts the meat
it came from….

Smoked Oysters

So. The poets (and prose writers and artists) gathered together last night at the writers and artists colony at St Peter’s Abbey admired the Fanny Bay smoked oyster dip (made from oysters I bought while last staying at The Cottage at Fanny Bay) and here is the recipe, which I tweaked as follows: instead of one tin of oysters, I used two. I added a dollop (couple of tablespoons) plain yogurt, a squeeze of lemon, a bit (half tsp) of minced lemon rind.

Instead of fresh, I used dried minced onion and dried parsley leaves, and as it sat for about an hour before we ate it, everything had time to soften up nicely I thought. It all seemed to go down equally well with french bread or chips.

I don’t think the Fanny Bay smoked oysters are as oily as other tinned commercial ones I’ve seen, so you might want to drain the oil off those if it looks like you’ll be swimming in it.