This year for Mother’s Day, we had our annual Mother’s Day picnic in Centennial Park. It is the one time in the year that all of the mums and families of Mr NQN’s extended family get together and it’s always a good excuse for cake and a bit of motherly pride. On that day Mr NQN’s mother Tuulikki felt particularly proud of her youngest son Manu. He works in television as part of the crew and she was talking about his work on a television series called Underbelly which is about unsavoury underworld criminals in Australia.
Mr NQN, ever the imp asked her if she enjoyed watching the show. After all Tuulikki doesn’t even like the colour black and nice, happy people with pure motives abound in her world. And as far as her kids go, they are rays of sunshine that can do no wrong, as you would hope a mother feels.
“Oh errm yes…well” she said looking around smiling gingerly and holding a finger to her chin, her trademark gesture when she is thinking. Underbelly is full of crooked police, prostitutes and criminals and I could see that she was struggling to make a positive comment about the show’s storyline. But then her eyes lit up and her pointer fingers rose skywards like an orchestra conductor! “Oh yes! The colours in this television show are very beautiful!” she said in her sing song Finnish accent.
This cake is for the mothers that believe in their kids and believe that they can do no wrong. It’s an enormous cake as you can probably tell and if truth be told, I had no idea that it would be that high at 15 cms or 6 inches iced and would necessitate repositioning the shelving in my fridge to accommodate it. But for large multi family crowds it’s actually not a bad size at all. It’s a chiffon sponge cake which is really so light and gorgeous and I decided to make it in three flavours for a Neapolitan cake in raspberry, chocolate and vanilla.
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May 20th, 2013
by Not Quite Nigella
A few years ago, I met a woman that worked in tourism who had also had a past career as a massage therapist. She was very friendly and we spent a few hours in the car driving so the talk inevitably turned to our work and previous jobs. I’m insatiably curious about people and can’t help asking strangers loads of questions-some of them odd.
“Can you tell what the person on your massage table is like?” I asked her hoping that it wasn’t too strange a question. After all, people are drawn to each other or can sometimes get a “bad vibe” from someone through your intuition.
She smiled and nodded and told me that there were times that you picked up the energy of a person and sometimes, you could definitely feel as if you “knew” what they were like through touch and intuition about that person. She had one client that exhausted her and she would leave a session feeling drained and depressed. She later learned that her client had had a recent bereavement. Conversely, some people made her feel energised after a treatment. She also divulged that the best sign of appreciation is a client that is so relaxed that they’re snoring.
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May 8th, 2013
by Not Quite Nigella
When I was overseas recently, we stayed in a secluded eco-lodge a few hours away from the capital of Jordan. We were getting ready to leave the next day after a restful night in complete stillness and darkness, the candlelight affording us the only light we had and it was a surprise to see everything in the light of day. I was talking to one of the lodge managers as people filed into the lobby after breakfast and he asked where we were from. I answered that we were from Australia and his eyes lit up and he smiled broadly.
“Oh I love Australians!” he said genuinely and enthusiastically. “Yes you are always easy going and you’re always happy saying ‘No worries, f**king this and f**king that!” he said clapping his hands delightedly. Our jaws dropped and we burst out laughing and we wondered how the usual impressions of Australia had gone from kangaroos and koalas to someone that swore a lot and that somehow, that had become our signature move or most memorable gesture.
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April 16th, 2013
by Not Quite Nigella
Dear Reader, what is your favourite sense? Is it sight and being able to see beauty up close? Is it hearing or the ability to listen to music that turns a foul mood into a joyful one? Is it being able to taste the most delicious food or drink on your tongue? I find that one of the most evocative senses for me is smell. I was cursed with a keen sense of smell. Our first house was a very long one and I recall one afternoon being in the front of the house. One of my mother’s friends had come over to visit and they were in the kitchen which was at the back of the house. I had situated myself as far from them as possible because my mother was fond of asking me to play the piano for guests and I was, quite frankly, spectacularly untalented at it (I could tell from the frozen fixed smiles of polite slow torture on the guest’s faces while I was playing).
I had been in her cupboard and had taken one of her fur coats out and was lying on it reading a book on their bed pretending to be from Dynasty or something (did they ever read books on fur coats?). Suddenly, something wafted under my nose. It smelt not only like rotten garbage but the rotten garbage of a whole city and it took on an almost solid, menacing form. No matter where I turned, it followed me. I thought immediately that it was a noxious gas. I covered my face with the coat and ran to the window screaming “Mummy, something’s happening, something’s wrong!” thinking that the world was somehow ending and that we were being gassed out.
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April 8th, 2013
by Not Quite Nigella
A couple of years ago, a friend of mine Teena had a birthday party. Mr NQN was unable to make it because he was asked to go sailing one afternoon and having not been on the water for a few months, he decided to go sailing instead of going to her brunch. He sent her an apologetic text message letting her that he wouldn’t be able to come along. I turned up by myself and the brunch went smoothly. I apologised to her for his non attendance and she was understanding. Having lost her husband Philippe to many a rugby game, she knows that some menfolk love their sport.
It was roughly one year later that we were having another birthday dinner for her. Her phone beeped and she looked at it and her expression puzzled. She turned to Mr NQN and asked him what he meant by his text.
“I didn’t text you” he said, his brow crinkling so she showed him her phone.
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March 4th, 2013
by Not Quite Nigella
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