Domestic Sunday

The Elkingtons have a wide variety of talents, paramount among which is their inventive and ever expanding use of white flour.  When I first moved into 63 Glebe Point Rd. (affectionately known as The Glebe Hotel), it appeared as though I'd settled in some freaky Irish/Australian version of Little Italy.  I'd arrive home each night to the familiar scent of stewing tomato (now pronounced, grudgingly, "tomaaahto"), Italian Herbs (that H mustn't fall silent in this house) kissing my nose like the busomy hug of an incoherent Sicilian Grandmother.  Ossian would be found stirring pasta ("fancy pasta" if they were feeling indulgent) or chopping eggplant while instructing Eimear (unnecessarily) in the (verrry well known) art of grating cheese.  If they were feeling crazy they'd layer up a lasagna and Eimear would fight internal combustion while the thing spent time in the oven,  tolerating the excruciating wait knowing that when Ossian finally called her name for dinner, the payoff would be ample.   Always a team effort, the Elkington's dinners are infused with love and sarcasm- arguably the 2 best things on the planet- and plenty of highly processed bleached wheat.  

Sydney summer passed gently into autumn (aka 65-75 degree temps with 10 days straight of rain followed by an eternity of blue skies), which brought with it an evolution in the culinary aspirations of my dear flatmates.  Stir fries made a brief appearance but tapered with Ossian's inability to cook up anything less than a bucketfull of white rice.  I met Diane Pie (which is, as far as I can tell, Lasagna whose pasta has been replaced (deliciously) with puff pastry) for the first time at our Easter brunch(aka: extravaganza-of-starch-- pictured above)  

This pie has since taken on several variations (they love their hot pies down here) including the most impressive "Swumpkin Pie" comprised of sweet potato, pumpkin, caramelized onion and feta.  De-freakin-licious... even in the business card sized portion I allowed myself to savor.  

I bought Ossian an apron the next day, for he had earned it.  

The real shift happened when Osh took it upon himself to build his own pizza crust.  When that was a success, he ventured into the most ostentatious world of homemade pastry, followed by a recent crusade into hand made pretzels and succulent apple-berry crumble.  Breaking all the rules, indeed. 

It is easy to witness Ossian's drive and competency in the art of white flour manipulation and overlook Eimear's role in these indulgent feats-- but be not mistaken friends, for she is the muse behind the man, and tireless provider of stock and stores.  She is the apple slicer, the crumble topper, the sculptor of cheese, the common-sense-checker, the company to all who traverse the Glebe Hotel Kitchen.  

(Left:  Eimear applies what is left of the self-approved crumble while Ossian manhandles her efforts. )