SOCIETY is overdue for a new group dance. I'm not talking about the wiggle-like-this-and-thrash-about-a-bit steps of the Twist, Mashed Potato or the Watusi but a serious four-glasses-of-champagne-and-Uncle-Max-is-up-with-the-bridesmaids along the lines of the Time Warp, the Nutbush or the most recent addition to the stable - and geez, that was in the late 1990s - the Macarena.
While line dancing is the domain of lonely cowboys and the denim-clad girls who wish to woo them, there is something utterly liberating about being on a dancefloor with a group of the choreographically challenged, stomping out a set of straightforward steps like a well-oiled machine to a funky, driving beat. With group dancing, even those with two left feet and no sense of rhythm can shine.
I am, I proudly admit, a queen of the group dance. My husband has won money on me being the last sweat-stained bridal guest standing on the dancefloor with a no-error count doing the Nutbush to the extended mix at a wedding. That sucker goes for more than 15 minutes! It's a dance I learned on roller skates, not blades, when the disco ball glittering over the roller rink at suburban Glen Waverley was the most romantic thing on earth.
If you can Nutbush on skates, then stilettos are a cinch, as it is a well-known fact that shoes you cannot walk in are tops for dancing.
At end-of-year parties, you'll find me head of the line, leading the Macarena and getting the most out of the hip-swirling turn, tart that I am. I have even been known to shake a tail feather and I could do the Time Warp in the days when I was too young to know what a transsexual was. I'm not sure whether it's the alcohol that unleashes the Flash Dancer in me, or the jazz ballet lessons I endured as a child where you simply did not leave the stage until the routine was over, but group dancing is, I believe, the only kind of extended exercise I can reliably see through to the end.
Musical history shows it is a long time between drinks for group dancing fans like myself. A quick search of Wikipedia claims there are 35 "novelty and fad group dances" but like most things on Wikipedia, you have to question the veracity.
How many people have heard of the Smurf Dance? I've never "done the Roger Rabbit" at a wedding. Neither, it seems, has anyone else because these listings are just "stubs", which means more information is needed - and I reckon that will be some time coming. Some dances listed are just plain dumb.
The Hokey Pokey - oh please, people. Even after 15 champagnes the Hokey Pokey is never a good idea, unless you're at a kindergarten end-of-year and aged under four, and the Bird Dance should only be contemplated by people who speak languages with guttural stops.
No, it is sad but true that about a decade separates the truly great - and even half-decent - group dances. Consider, if you will, the fact that the Nutbush rose to popularity in 1973 with Tina Turner's song Nutbush City Limits and yet it was not until the 1980s that the Blues Brothers got everyone shaking a tail feather, although the judges are out on whether this can strictly be called a group dance as it requires freestyle during the verses.
Turner had a second go with Nutbush in 1991 but it only got to 16 on the Australian chart and 23 in Britain and I'm not sure whether we're counting re-runs. The critics say the key to the Nutbush's success is its long introduction, which gives people time to get off their backsides and onto the dancefloor.
As evidence they cite the fact that only a few of us tragics can still remember the Bus Stop, which did not have enough of an intro to commit it to the group consciousness.
And indeed the "intro argument" may have some merit as it was not until 1996 when Bayside Boys remixed the Los Del Rio hit Macarena and gave it English lyrics that everyone got back on the dancefloor to get their arms tangled and shake their hips around.
Laugh though you might, Macarena spent 14 weeks at No. 1 on the US Billboard Hot 100 singles chart, which was one of the longest runs at the top in the list's history.
But when and where will the next one come? I for one will be knocking back the champers in anticipation and waiting for my turn to shine.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
Monday, 3 August 2009
Great salad secrets
ON SUMMER days, or whenever our
extended family gets together, my
job is to be on Salad Patrol.
It's the result of two things - a
childhood being forced to eat iceberg
lettuce topped by soggy and
tasteless tomatoes, followed by
teenage years when I realised that
the girl who cooked the meal decided
the menu. With this revelation,
our family's eating habits
changed instantly, as my overworked
mum cheerfully handed
over the cutting board and I began
to explore the idea that Kraft Italian
dressing was not necessarily the
height of sophistication.
There is something deeply satisfying
about making a beautiful
salad - the perfect combination of
colours, flavours and textures, the
crisp crunchiness of in-season ingredients,
the way they should be
chosen to complement a meal, the
use of unexpected ingredients to
surprise and delight. I love the tang
of fresh herbs, a good vinegar and
quality olive oil. But mostly I love
the speed that salads can be created
so that when catering for the
hordes, within an hour you have
three or four bowls sitting sparkling
on a bright, clean tablecloth with
people walking past and saying:
"Wow, they look delicious."
The salad obsession began during
a period of weight watching by my
husband and I, spreading to the rest
of the family one Christmas.
We engaged everyone in the idea
of a celebratory lunch that did not
leave us feeling fat and bloated.
"But I hate salad," Dad said. "It
makes me feel cold inside."
"I promise you'll like these ones,"
I said. "If you don't, I'll cook you
some peas."
The turkey was stuffed with
couscous made with stock, cranberry,
spring onions, pinenuts, sage
and parsley. We had a baked vegetable
salad with a tahini dressing as
the first dish and a rocket, pear and
parmesan salad as second. A green
bean, mushroom and vine-ripened
tomato salad with a dressing made
of coriander, soy sauce, ginger and
garlic added deep colour to the
table, while a potato salad, to cater
for the traditionalists, used the
Christmas ham and had a dijon
mustard and sweetened mayonnaise.
Lunch was a huge hit. There
was no call for peas. And we all had
room for pudding.
Salad Patrol has since become a
ritual in my family. The morning
after the day-long drive to my
parents' home, Mum and I sit up in
her bed together, recipe books
spread across the bed.
She gives me a rundown on what
she's got in the fridge and freezer
and, notebook in hand, we flick
through the books looking for
inspiration. It's rare we follow a
recipe to the letter but something
will "look nice", or a substitute ingredient
will already be in the
fridge, and so we mix and match
ideas, decide the menu and write up
a shopping list. With this plan of
action we hit the local supermarket.
There is something utterly indulgent
about needing two shopping
trolleys and lugging the bounty
home to spread across the pantry,
two fridges and an Esky or two. But
we are feeding 12 or more.
And then the creations begin
with the contents moving from
fridge to chopping board to bowl, to
sit on the table awaiting the feast.
There is always an abundance of
sous chefs to slice and dice, tasters
abound and the table is miraculously
set by anyone not in the kitchen. Dad
and the boys are in charge of
barbeque and bar fridge. On Salad
Patrol, everyone has a job - it's my job
not to do everything but steer the
action - and ensure there's not a
limp lettuce or soggy tomato in sight.
First published in the Sydney Morning Herald, January 13, 2009.
extended family gets together, my
job is to be on Salad Patrol.
It's the result of two things - a
childhood being forced to eat iceberg
lettuce topped by soggy and
tasteless tomatoes, followed by
teenage years when I realised that
the girl who cooked the meal decided
the menu. With this revelation,
our family's eating habits
changed instantly, as my overworked
mum cheerfully handed
over the cutting board and I began
to explore the idea that Kraft Italian
dressing was not necessarily the
height of sophistication.
There is something deeply satisfying
about making a beautiful
salad - the perfect combination of
colours, flavours and textures, the
crisp crunchiness of in-season ingredients,
the way they should be
chosen to complement a meal, the
use of unexpected ingredients to
surprise and delight. I love the tang
of fresh herbs, a good vinegar and
quality olive oil. But mostly I love
the speed that salads can be created
so that when catering for the
hordes, within an hour you have
three or four bowls sitting sparkling
on a bright, clean tablecloth with
people walking past and saying:
"Wow, they look delicious."
The salad obsession began during
a period of weight watching by my
husband and I, spreading to the rest
of the family one Christmas.
We engaged everyone in the idea
of a celebratory lunch that did not
leave us feeling fat and bloated.
"But I hate salad," Dad said. "It
makes me feel cold inside."
"I promise you'll like these ones,"
I said. "If you don't, I'll cook you
some peas."
The turkey was stuffed with
couscous made with stock, cranberry,
spring onions, pinenuts, sage
and parsley. We had a baked vegetable
salad with a tahini dressing as
the first dish and a rocket, pear and
parmesan salad as second. A green
bean, mushroom and vine-ripened
tomato salad with a dressing made
of coriander, soy sauce, ginger and
garlic added deep colour to the
table, while a potato salad, to cater
for the traditionalists, used the
Christmas ham and had a dijon
mustard and sweetened mayonnaise.
Lunch was a huge hit. There
was no call for peas. And we all had
room for pudding.
Salad Patrol has since become a
ritual in my family. The morning
after the day-long drive to my
parents' home, Mum and I sit up in
her bed together, recipe books
spread across the bed.
She gives me a rundown on what
she's got in the fridge and freezer
and, notebook in hand, we flick
through the books looking for
inspiration. It's rare we follow a
recipe to the letter but something
will "look nice", or a substitute ingredient
will already be in the
fridge, and so we mix and match
ideas, decide the menu and write up
a shopping list. With this plan of
action we hit the local supermarket.
There is something utterly indulgent
about needing two shopping
trolleys and lugging the bounty
home to spread across the pantry,
two fridges and an Esky or two. But
we are feeding 12 or more.
And then the creations begin
with the contents moving from
fridge to chopping board to bowl, to
sit on the table awaiting the feast.
There is always an abundance of
sous chefs to slice and dice, tasters
abound and the table is miraculously
set by anyone not in the kitchen. Dad
and the boys are in charge of
barbeque and bar fridge. On Salad
Patrol, everyone has a job - it's my job
not to do everything but steer the
action - and ensure there's not a
limp lettuce or soggy tomato in sight.
First published in the Sydney Morning Herald, January 13, 2009.
Sunday, 2 August 2009
Mirror, mirror
THERE have been just two ??aha?? moments
in my life when the reality of my own body
image has smacked me across the head and
dealt me a stern talking to.
The first was as a 14-year-old student,
sitting with my peers on the asphalt, skirts
rucked up, ??tanning?? our legs in the hot
summer sun. Sweating and headachey as I
squinted at the models in the teen magazines,
I realised that it didn?t matter how
sunburnt my legs got, it would not address
the key issue ? they were way too short.
Trying hopelessly to tan would not change
my genetics. I got up and sought shade.
The second took place 25 years later,
wandering happily lost through the Musee
D?Orsay in Paris when I stumbled upon the
Renoir room. I stopped at the nudes in a
shock of recognition. Those same beautiful
women had exactly my body ? feminine
curves, small breasts, rounding belly and
cushiony thighs. ??It?s not that I?m not
attractive,?? I realised. ??It?s my shape that?s
not currently fashionable.??
Within a heartbeat, more than 10 years of
feeling negative about my body melted away.
I celebrated my new sense of self with a
lunch that included a flute of champagne
and the attention of a flirtatious waiter.
It?s been 18 years since Naomi Wolf
argued in The Beauty Myth that women are
coerced or seduced into conspiring to
become their own jailers and torturers, by
subscribing to the compulsive pursuit of
personal improvement.
But nothing has changed. If anything, the
pressure to conform to an unobtainable
expectation of what success looks like is even
greater ? with a daily diet of images of
skeletally thin celebrities, screaming obesity
headlines and good and bad food obsessions
that are now directed not just at teenagers
and twentysomethings but women throughout
pregnancy and menopause and,
increasingly, men and young boys as well.
Christine Morgan, chief executive of The
Butterfly Foundation, which seeks to raise
awareness of eating disorders and body
image issues, says Australian society is in the
grip of a body-image crisis.
??We are talking about people feeling they
don?t fit the stereotype and as such they don?t
fit in,?? she says. ??It is the most predominant
issue for young people and it is coming
through at a younger and younger age. Kids
as young as five years old are starting to talk
about the need to diet.
??Our unhealthy obsession with body image
? which is on the increase ? has resulted in
a health crisis that crosses gender and
cultural borders. There is particularly a crisis
in the lack of appropriate health services.??
A study by the Children?s Hospital,
Westmead, and the University of Sydney
released last year found 80 per cent of
Australian children with eating disorders
were admitted to hospital, almost half with
life-threatening illnesses. Australia also had a
higher proportion of boys affected: 25 per
cent compared with 20 per cent in Britain
and 17 per cent in Canada.
The overall mortality rate for anorexia
nervosa is five times that of the same aged
population in general and the risk of suicide
by people with anorexia is 32 times higher.
Although the incidence of children with
eating disorders ? which include anorexia
nervosa, bulimia and binge eating and are
defined as psychiatric disorders ? is slight at
1 in 100,000, Morgan says the incidents of
??disordered eating?? are now increasing
dramatically across the population as our
relationship with food, exercise and the
perfect look becomes obsessive. Disordered
eating is defined as skipping meals, excessive
exercise, regular dieting and feeling bad
about yourself because you do not fit a
prescribed image.
The issue of just how much popular media
affects body image came home to Morgan
personally when she realised just how many
calls to the foundation?s help line were
coming from young men.
??Initially, it was young men wanting to
build up their six packs and become musclebound
and fit,?? she says. ??Then skinny jeans
came in and the calls changed to men trying
to achieve the emaciated look.
??One young man wanted to know if it was
normal not to eat for three days.??
To combat the pressure, the Butterfly
Foundation is working with St Andrew?s
Cathedral College in Sydney to teach psychological
and emotional resilience to male and
female students at every level of the school.
The Resilience Program will help students
deal with the influx of messages that set
expectations around body image and help
them become ??disorder proof??, says St
Andrew?s principal Phillip Heath, who is also
lobbying for the issue to be addressed as part
of the national curriculum.
??Apart from the appalling statistics on
mental health in young people that do
compel us, we know this generation faces a
far more complex and arguably less friendly
world than their parents. Students are being
assaulted by a range of messages and some
of them are quite pernicious.
??We talk about preparing our students for
life as being one of the jobs of schools but
life is changing. It?s about teaching good
habits of mind and behaviours that will
help them become a more resolved and
intelligent generation.??
The initiative comes on the heels of a plan,
anounced by the Federal Minister for Youth,
Kate Ellis, late last year, to create a national
media and industry code of conduct on body
image. The code, which would be voluntary,
would consider the need to notify audiences
about digital alterations to pictures, seek to
set a 16-year-old age limit for adult fashion
shows, magazine shoots and television
programs, obtain a commitment to the diversification
of body shape and size and an end
to the glamorisation of severely underweight
models or celebrities. A committee, which
includes fashion models and magazine
editors, as well as eating disorder experts,
will report back in August.
The proposal follows a federal announcement
of $500,000 being spent funding
research into the causes of eating disorders.
??There has never been a generation that
has been so subjected to the media, popular
art and digital images as this generation of
young Australians is going through,?? Ellis
says. ??It is not just magazines ? it is through
the internet and online communication, chat
rooms and social networks. Young people
today are constantly bombarded by the
media and the media says that there is only
one version of an ideal body.
??We have to help young people understand
that they should not let these images affect
their self-esteem ? they are just fantasy.??
See butterflyfoundation.com.au.
First published in Spectrum, in The Sydney Morning Herald, March 22-23, 2009
in my life when the reality of my own body
image has smacked me across the head and
dealt me a stern talking to.
The first was as a 14-year-old student,
sitting with my peers on the asphalt, skirts
rucked up, ??tanning?? our legs in the hot
summer sun. Sweating and headachey as I
squinted at the models in the teen magazines,
I realised that it didn?t matter how
sunburnt my legs got, it would not address
the key issue ? they were way too short.
Trying hopelessly to tan would not change
my genetics. I got up and sought shade.
The second took place 25 years later,
wandering happily lost through the Musee
D?Orsay in Paris when I stumbled upon the
Renoir room. I stopped at the nudes in a
shock of recognition. Those same beautiful
women had exactly my body ? feminine
curves, small breasts, rounding belly and
cushiony thighs. ??It?s not that I?m not
attractive,?? I realised. ??It?s my shape that?s
not currently fashionable.??
Within a heartbeat, more than 10 years of
feeling negative about my body melted away.
I celebrated my new sense of self with a
lunch that included a flute of champagne
and the attention of a flirtatious waiter.
It?s been 18 years since Naomi Wolf
argued in The Beauty Myth that women are
coerced or seduced into conspiring to
become their own jailers and torturers, by
subscribing to the compulsive pursuit of
personal improvement.
But nothing has changed. If anything, the
pressure to conform to an unobtainable
expectation of what success looks like is even
greater ? with a daily diet of images of
skeletally thin celebrities, screaming obesity
headlines and good and bad food obsessions
that are now directed not just at teenagers
and twentysomethings but women throughout
pregnancy and menopause and,
increasingly, men and young boys as well.
Christine Morgan, chief executive of The
Butterfly Foundation, which seeks to raise
awareness of eating disorders and body
image issues, says Australian society is in the
grip of a body-image crisis.
??We are talking about people feeling they
don?t fit the stereotype and as such they don?t
fit in,?? she says. ??It is the most predominant
issue for young people and it is coming
through at a younger and younger age. Kids
as young as five years old are starting to talk
about the need to diet.
??Our unhealthy obsession with body image
? which is on the increase ? has resulted in
a health crisis that crosses gender and
cultural borders. There is particularly a crisis
in the lack of appropriate health services.??
A study by the Children?s Hospital,
Westmead, and the University of Sydney
released last year found 80 per cent of
Australian children with eating disorders
were admitted to hospital, almost half with
life-threatening illnesses. Australia also had a
higher proportion of boys affected: 25 per
cent compared with 20 per cent in Britain
and 17 per cent in Canada.
The overall mortality rate for anorexia
nervosa is five times that of the same aged
population in general and the risk of suicide
by people with anorexia is 32 times higher.
Although the incidence of children with
eating disorders ? which include anorexia
nervosa, bulimia and binge eating and are
defined as psychiatric disorders ? is slight at
1 in 100,000, Morgan says the incidents of
??disordered eating?? are now increasing
dramatically across the population as our
relationship with food, exercise and the
perfect look becomes obsessive. Disordered
eating is defined as skipping meals, excessive
exercise, regular dieting and feeling bad
about yourself because you do not fit a
prescribed image.
The issue of just how much popular media
affects body image came home to Morgan
personally when she realised just how many
calls to the foundation?s help line were
coming from young men.
??Initially, it was young men wanting to
build up their six packs and become musclebound
and fit,?? she says. ??Then skinny jeans
came in and the calls changed to men trying
to achieve the emaciated look.
??One young man wanted to know if it was
normal not to eat for three days.??
To combat the pressure, the Butterfly
Foundation is working with St Andrew?s
Cathedral College in Sydney to teach psychological
and emotional resilience to male and
female students at every level of the school.
The Resilience Program will help students
deal with the influx of messages that set
expectations around body image and help
them become ??disorder proof??, says St
Andrew?s principal Phillip Heath, who is also
lobbying for the issue to be addressed as part
of the national curriculum.
??Apart from the appalling statistics on
mental health in young people that do
compel us, we know this generation faces a
far more complex and arguably less friendly
world than their parents. Students are being
assaulted by a range of messages and some
of them are quite pernicious.
??We talk about preparing our students for
life as being one of the jobs of schools but
life is changing. It?s about teaching good
habits of mind and behaviours that will
help them become a more resolved and
intelligent generation.??
The initiative comes on the heels of a plan,
anounced by the Federal Minister for Youth,
Kate Ellis, late last year, to create a national
media and industry code of conduct on body
image. The code, which would be voluntary,
would consider the need to notify audiences
about digital alterations to pictures, seek to
set a 16-year-old age limit for adult fashion
shows, magazine shoots and television
programs, obtain a commitment to the diversification
of body shape and size and an end
to the glamorisation of severely underweight
models or celebrities. A committee, which
includes fashion models and magazine
editors, as well as eating disorder experts,
will report back in August.
The proposal follows a federal announcement
of $500,000 being spent funding
research into the causes of eating disorders.
??There has never been a generation that
has been so subjected to the media, popular
art and digital images as this generation of
young Australians is going through,?? Ellis
says. ??It is not just magazines ? it is through
the internet and online communication, chat
rooms and social networks. Young people
today are constantly bombarded by the
media and the media says that there is only
one version of an ideal body.
??We have to help young people understand
that they should not let these images affect
their self-esteem ? they are just fantasy.??
See butterflyfoundation.com.au.
First published in Spectrum, in The Sydney Morning Herald, March 22-23, 2009
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Slow and steady
I AM deeply in love with my Crockpot -
sorry, slow cooker.
It's an affair that began in my early 20s
when my grandmother bequeathed me her
hot orange crock, a 1970s original with the
gravy stains of numerous casseroles baked
with volcanic hardness onto the front. No
amount of sponging would ever remove
them and the crock itself sports a maze of
fine cracks created by hundreds of slow
cooked meals.
My grandmother told me that nothing
could go wrong in a Crockpot. She was
always a woman who loved a good culinary
short cut.
"Follow the instructions," she said. And
when I queried her where they were, she
sighed. "They're on the front."
There, hidden underneath the spills were
pictures of onions, chicken, meat, carrots
and other vegies.
"Just throw it all in," Gran said.
"Honestly, you just can't go wrong. The
worst you will end up with is soup."
Slow cooking in a Crockpot is a moist
process.With the glass lid on, the contents
literally stew in their own juices, and I've
never had anything boil dry with my tried
and true recipe of one tin of tomatoes, a
refill of the tin with water and a good slug
of whatever red is open. Put the setting on
high and you'll be lucky if the meal is done
in four to six hours. On low, casseroles
simmer for eight to 12 hours, perfect when
you're working.
I've tossed in cheap skirt steak with a
commercial curry paste, tomatoes and a
handful of assorted vegies from the bottom
of the fridge in the morning to come home
from work and find my husband swooning
with joy over dinner that rivals his
favourite Indian.
I once cooked a dinner party for six with
a Moroccan lamb curry and still managed
the Saturday chores of getting three boys to
various sporting events around town with
one car while appearing to have lovingly
"slaved" for my friends without even
breaking a sweat. (Although I removed the
Crockpot from the benchtop and made sure
I served it in a slightly more stylish dish. A
girl does have standards.)
A slow cooker works because it allows
the throwing - literally - together of a hotch
potch of ingredients roughly chopped and
seasoned in minutes. On Sundays, I've set
up the cooker in the morning and gone for
a snooze in the afternoon to wake to find
the house smelling delicious. It's like
having your Mum over to stay.
Throw the ingredients of bolognaise
into the crock in the morning, and
ravenous teenagers will fuel themselves
after school. A tub of ham offcuts from
the deli, a packet of soup pulse mix, an
onion and half a crock of water, and you
have a filling winter soup. Gran was right.
The worst that can happen is soup.
Fantastic soup. But I've also had
successful risotto, roasts, a brilliant osso
buco and even a pudding.
After Gran's Crockpot died, a garage sale
provided me with my second pot. When I
smashed the lid on that, I was in despair.
Where, oh, where does one find a Crockpot
in this day and age?
Until a random trip through KMart
changed my life. They're not called
Crockpots any more and they're not bright
orange and brown.
My new Slow Cooker has a low, high and
automatic setting. It has a white crock and
is brushed stainless steel. It's so trendy; I
can even leave it out when the guests arrive.
First published in Good Living in The Sydney Morning Herald, January 22, 2008
sorry, slow cooker.
It's an affair that began in my early 20s
when my grandmother bequeathed me her
hot orange crock, a 1970s original with the
gravy stains of numerous casseroles baked
with volcanic hardness onto the front. No
amount of sponging would ever remove
them and the crock itself sports a maze of
fine cracks created by hundreds of slow
cooked meals.
My grandmother told me that nothing
could go wrong in a Crockpot. She was
always a woman who loved a good culinary
short cut.
"Follow the instructions," she said. And
when I queried her where they were, she
sighed. "They're on the front."
There, hidden underneath the spills were
pictures of onions, chicken, meat, carrots
and other vegies.
"Just throw it all in," Gran said.
"Honestly, you just can't go wrong. The
worst you will end up with is soup."
Slow cooking in a Crockpot is a moist
process.With the glass lid on, the contents
literally stew in their own juices, and I've
never had anything boil dry with my tried
and true recipe of one tin of tomatoes, a
refill of the tin with water and a good slug
of whatever red is open. Put the setting on
high and you'll be lucky if the meal is done
in four to six hours. On low, casseroles
simmer for eight to 12 hours, perfect when
you're working.
I've tossed in cheap skirt steak with a
commercial curry paste, tomatoes and a
handful of assorted vegies from the bottom
of the fridge in the morning to come home
from work and find my husband swooning
with joy over dinner that rivals his
favourite Indian.
I once cooked a dinner party for six with
a Moroccan lamb curry and still managed
the Saturday chores of getting three boys to
various sporting events around town with
one car while appearing to have lovingly
"slaved" for my friends without even
breaking a sweat. (Although I removed the
Crockpot from the benchtop and made sure
I served it in a slightly more stylish dish. A
girl does have standards.)
A slow cooker works because it allows
the throwing - literally - together of a hotch
potch of ingredients roughly chopped and
seasoned in minutes. On Sundays, I've set
up the cooker in the morning and gone for
a snooze in the afternoon to wake to find
the house smelling delicious. It's like
having your Mum over to stay.
Throw the ingredients of bolognaise
into the crock in the morning, and
ravenous teenagers will fuel themselves
after school. A tub of ham offcuts from
the deli, a packet of soup pulse mix, an
onion and half a crock of water, and you
have a filling winter soup. Gran was right.
The worst that can happen is soup.
Fantastic soup. But I've also had
successful risotto, roasts, a brilliant osso
buco and even a pudding.
After Gran's Crockpot died, a garage sale
provided me with my second pot. When I
smashed the lid on that, I was in despair.
Where, oh, where does one find a Crockpot
in this day and age?
Until a random trip through KMart
changed my life. They're not called
Crockpots any more and they're not bright
orange and brown.
My new Slow Cooker has a low, high and
automatic setting. It has a white crock and
is brushed stainless steel. It's so trendy; I
can even leave it out when the guests arrive.
First published in Good Living in The Sydney Morning Herald, January 22, 2008
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Trust me, I'm a total stranger
The world is fast dividing into two types of people. First, there are those who fear that even writing the word ‘‘MasterCard’’ in an email will result in their bank accounts being emptied by Nigerian scammers. Then there are those who breathe the digital environment like oxygen – who have never been inside a bank branch, who chat with friends without talking and who will cheerfully buy from, sell to and make payments to people they have never met, regardless of the country they live in. What separates one group from the other is neither age nor fashion sense; neither geography nor education. The magic ingredients in the new online economy are confidence and trust. A social network strategist for World Communities Consulting, Laurel Papworth, says the world is moving towards a ‘‘trust economy’’ where the technology is creating a sense of security that is even stronger than a handshake and eyeballing the other person over a latte. ‘‘It is just so naive to say that you can’t trust people online – people are developing their judgment and we’re learning new skills,’’ Papworth says. ‘‘It is an important part of this economy that we like to be seen as respectable, responsible and as a leader. So we are learning what to look out for and we’re becoming increasingly secure about our status online as we put more information about ourselves out there.’’ The combination of experience, confi-dence and clever technical developments means a raft of new activities are becoming commonplace online, including commis-sioning consultants, contracting handymen and even effecting cultural exchanges that make the old ways we came to trust each other seem silly. ‘‘People now have their entire lives online, including their work portfolio, their history, relationships and personal values – and you get a recruiter in the real world, for example, saying they just need a two-page resume to determine if you’re suitable or not for a job,’’ Papworth says. ‘‘You tell me which is the better way to determine if someone is a fit.’’ Robert Finkeldey is the founder of Australian website WhoCanDo.com.au, which allows home owners to post reno-vation or maintenance jobs and tradesmen to put in quotes and bid for the work. Initially, Finkeldey thought it would attract those wanting work done for less than $10,000 but the site recently posted a job for $200,000 and the Victorian Build-ing Commission is using it for quotes for rebuilding work in its fire-ravaged areas. ‘‘Our entire website is built around the issue of trust on the internet,’’ Finkeldey says. ‘‘Tradesmen have to register with an email address and provide a mobile phone number. They then get [a text message] with a code, which they enter to verify their identity. Tradesmen need to have a builder’s licence and registration numbers, so we ask them to upload those and we confirm their status once we’ve seen them.’’ As is the case with other sites, WhoCanDo users can rate the tradesman, who pays a commission when a job is won. But Finkeldey says it is the work done before-hand that makes the ratings meaningful. ‘‘Most of what is running on the internet at the moment is based on email verifi-cation alone,’’ he says. ‘‘But it is really easy to get an email address – you can create hundreds of thousands of them for free and no one would know. And it is no real ‘Technology is creating a sense of security that is even stronger than a handshake.’ Laurel Papworth, social network strategist security. If you get a bad review, you can just re-register under a different name. Our system ensures that can’t happen. ‘‘It means you get the same reputation online as a good word-of-mouth referral but ... when you put it all together online you actually get a greater degree of transparency than you get in the real world. How many people do you know who actually ask to sight insurance certificates and builder’s registration papers?’’ Third-party verification is also the magic ingredient in another online phenomena, CouchSurfers.com. The site is a world-wide network that allows travellers to crash for nothing on each other’s couches. CouchSurfers.com might sound like a ‘‘murdered in their beds’’ headline waiting to happen but the site claims more than 900,000 successful couch surfing and hosting experiences, and more than 1.8 million positive experiences from 232 countries and more than 55,000 cities around the world. It was started when the site’s founder, Casey Fenton, bought a cheap ticket to Iceland. Not wanting to stay in a hotel, he spammed 1500 univer-sity students in Reykjavik asking if he could stay with them and spent the holiday with locals showing him ‘‘their’’ town. At its heart, CouchSurfers.com is a hier-archical trust network of referrals and recommendations. While anyone can join, to become a member you need to have your contact details verified but additional, deeper trust can be developed by being vouched for by other members of the network and even becoming a Couch-Surfing Ambassador. You don’t get to knock on someone’s door and demand: ‘‘Hey, I want to crash on your couch.’’ Upon entering your desti-nation, the site will give an indication of how many hosts are nearby. Those hosts are contacted and asked to check out your profile. If they like the look of you, they make the offer of a bed, or perhaps a coffee. If you like the sound of them, you get to meet. The higher your reputation, the more likely you are to find a bed but hosts are never under pressure. Taking the pressure off is proving the secret to burgeoning freelance site Elance.com, which allows employers to post contract work for freelancers in marketing, communications, multimedia, law, engin-eering and finance. The site’s users bid for work and employers can then check out their credentials, see references and their portfolio before choosing the best. The site builds trust by managing the communication process and payment through an escrow system that is tied to project milestones. The chief marketing officer at Elance, Brad Porteous, says the site launched in the 1990s but needed people to evolve before it took off. ‘‘People’s instincts have honed compared to 10 years ago,’’ he says. ‘‘They are very in-tune to things that they should avoid and the level of information they need to feel secure to transact online.’’ Elance claims to have more than 80,000 experts online and 60,000 companies have hired an Elancer in the past six months. The site has made $73 million in payments in the past 12 months. Australia is its fifth-largest user with 15,000 unique cookies in the past 30 days. ‘‘In any freelance commission, communi-cation is key to getting things done and having a good working relationship,’’ Porteous says. ‘‘As an employer, the site lets me demonstrate to the freelancer that I have got the money and I am really going to pay. On the flip side, I am not sending money in the form of a deposit because even though it’s a smaller amount, I may never see any work for it.’’ There is also a mediation service for projects that go wrong. Porteous points out that only 1 per cent of transactions end up in mediation. ‘‘Australians get it,’’ he says. ‘‘If people see that you have a transparent process that deals with their concerns, trust follows.’’
Published in Spectrum, in The Sydney Morning Herald, May 2, 2009
Published in Spectrum, in The Sydney Morning Herald, May 2, 2009
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