Re-saucing the budget

In light of the weekend of indignation experienced across the globe, I thought I would share a couple of strategies which helped me cut kitchen costs during my student years.


Fortunately for me, living in Australia made student life easier than in most other countries. Centrelink ensured I had enough bacon on the table to last me till Hanukkah, but it certainly helped to be fiscally conservative in the kitchen, while being alcoholically liberal outside it.


Some financial facilitators were quite well known across the cheapskate community, like the closing time sales. Following suit from markets places around the world, Woolies regularly discounted their perishable items 5-10 minutes before closing time. This meant you could pick up a loaf of bread and 500grams of mince for a total of $1 (about $1.45 in A$2011). I'm sure other perishables were also discounted, but once my trolley had meat and carbos, I hardly saw the point in sticking around. When the butcher didn't feel like handing out student aid, I often resorted to 1kg packets of no-frills-branded frozen burger patties, which went for about the same price. This was the beginning of my on-again off-again love affair with frozen foods. Together with rice, 2-minute noodles and the occasional pizza run, these made up the majority of my dietary intake.


Over the years, to the amazement of some, I stopped 'attending' Woolies at 8.55pm. Although I still look for bargains and sale stickers, I eventually started paying full price for meat. There is, however, one habit I picked up which took much longer to let go of. Until my mid-twenties, my cooking was characterised mostly by the lack of effort and dollars spent on it. These two features of my 'cooking' helped me develop sauce-infused pasta.


This simple but effective method diminished work and cost by more than 50%. Pasta (be it spaghetti, penne, tagliatelle, etc), being the cheaper and less arduous half of the meal, as well as possibly the most filling, is too boring by itself. The sauce, higher in nutritional value and flavour, is not only time consuming and messy, but also the most expensive part of the meal. When producing a dish, there is an ultimate ratio of pasta to sauce. Attempting to lower costs and effort, one is tempted to meddle with this ratio, but to no avail. As expected, increasing the pasta to sauce ratio (therefore decreasing cost and effort) renders the dish an insult to the entire Italian community. The ratio is not to be messed with.


As the experimenting continued, however, I found the right strategy to achieve my goals: eat the pasta, taste the sauce. After serving myself the perfectly ratio-ed dish, one where the sauce covers the noodles without drowning them, I proceeded to only eat the pasta, and leave the sauce behind. My visual and olfactory senses were tricked into believing I was consuming a full-flavoured meal, while my taste buds questioned the deceitful nature with which my student budget and lazy nature conspired against them. Once I ate the noodles, being the eternally growing lad that I am, I would refill my bowl with more pasta, recycling the sauce from my first serving. I now recognise these to be my first steps towards sustainable cooking, decreasing my meat intake from a wealthy Argentine to a middle class Italian in just under 10 years.


I have not run the figures, but I suspect this nifty strategy also saved me from washing hundreds of saucepans, and making many unnecessary late night market runs.


Seeing as it is a culture non-specific strategy, able to support stir-fries, curries, tagines and other carb-heavy dishes, I think perhaps I should float it by Centrelink's multicultural division, and run a course on re-saucification. But if Centrelink doesn't buy that, perhaps we could still push for the provision of simple budgeting training and services to be provided to those receiving benefits. Living within means can be tricky no matter what the budget is, but perhaps providing advice and information to help those whose ends won't meet might help them change ends.


While teaching how to fish, perhaps we can also show where to buy half-price in the mean time.

Country fusion

Unlike many modern things (eg. cars, women and rock'n'roll), food does not appear to fare badly when compared to its previous models. Rarely, if ever, have I heard the phrase “they just don't make burgers like they used to!”. Not that I believe that when used to describe the golden era of any other commodity, that phrase holds much ground. I would much rather drive the cheapest car on the market today (a Kia, a Proton or whatever Great Wall cars recently released) than a 1950's Chevrolet (actually, the Chevys were pretty cool, but their non-existent safety features, lack of aircon, AM only radio and lacklustre steering just don't cut it any more... neither does Elvis). So, seeing as most of the food we consume today was available to previous generations, why doesn't it bear the brunt that only time and wisdom can provide?


It is true that individual ingredients appear to get singled out as deteriorating products: namely tomatoes no longer tasting like tomatoes, and pale egg yolks; but by and large most dishes appear to be enjoyed and praised in a manner suggesting satisfaction, not diminishing standards.


A great example of this was experienced on a recent Sunday drive out country. (The Chevy would've come in handy then, with its bench seating and cruisin' nature, one sure could enjoy music in those cars... sides A and B.) Determined to enjoy a good old-style country-pub lunch, a few of us settled in for a couple of beers at the Healesville Hotel. Unfortunately, a late breakfast had quenched most of our hanger. I, however, was not going to miss out on traditional fare, and as such, we ordered the Shepherds' Pie and Fish 'n' Chips. Not exactly testing, nor showy meals, but old school tucker was the order of the day.


Here, amongst the hordes of city dwellers looking for some country wisdom, lied the perfect opportunity to utter the phrase suggesting previous versions of these meals far outperformed any pleasure currently being felt. But then I savoured one hell of a pie. Nothing fancy, hardly even that memorable (in fact, I'm probably reliving this with a hint of nostalgic inaccuracy) but that slightly modernised version of a shepherds' pie, which one could almost call Modern Country-City Fusion, was spot on.


Sure, I hardly got to enjoy much of it, as my company who exhibited symptoms of 'with-child', quickly devoured it before most of us got a fork in. But I got enough of a taste to tick a box I'd driven 18 gallons for: country food, as good as it ever was.

Putting the x in espresso

My suburb has recently sprouted a new coffee shop. I have seen it every day for the past week, as I make my way up the ramp to my train station. There it stands, less than 50 metres from the platform I patiently wait at every morning, quietly craving away. And yet, I'm still to try it. I put this down to two main points: 

* Metro's (Melbourne's public transport train operators) roulette style time-tabling;
* My monocafenous relationship with Troy, my barista.


Seeing as my train line is known to be punctual only about 65% of the times (and my anecdotal evidence suggests the punctuality rate is way lower at peak hour) it is hard to predict when the train will come. Add to this my own inherent punctuality issues (I blame both nature and nurture for this one), sneaking in for a quick take-away cup is an adventure best left to the audacious ones amongst us.


A different story altogether would be had the café opened up on the train platform itself. What would they have to lose? I can't imagine that in my middle-class suburban haven there would be much of a café society outside of the commuter community. And being located right in front of the train station, their views don't add much to the atmosphere, at least for the less train-ly aroused among us. So why not take the product to the people, avoid the ridiculous rent prices we're currently experiencing across Australia, and crack a deal with Metro to wheel out a cafe-cart. Perhaps even giving the clientele something to do whilst they wait for then next delayed service. (Attention Platform Two: might as well make it a Large, you've got plenty of time!)


This could happen in most train stations, or other places with high levels of foot traffic, in particular where there is a waiting element in place. A large percentage of coffees consumed today (he says using qualitative statements to hide the obvious lack of research) are of the take away variety. And as much as part of the $3 - $4.50 we hand over the counter for 30mls of caffeine and some frothy milk goes towards the décor, music, and the general vibe of the joint, most of that is lost the moment you walk out with your styrofoam/cardboard container full of heart-pumping goodness. Why lead a horse to water, when you can install an Neverfail water cooler in the stable!


Similar concepts are available at almost every market across the country: from the multicultural beauty of the Mindil Night markets in Darwin, to the Anglo havens of the Prahran Markets in Melbourne, you can't escape the expressos; either from the back of a van, or from beautiful bespoke structures complete with patio furniture. There they are, converting beans to means. Why limit these to special events? Everyday people need coffee too.


My second concern, cheating on my barista, would still be an issue. Oh Troy, from TeeRoy Browns on Flinders St (or Banana Alley as it is colloquially known) with whom I've built a strong relationship; having gotten past the awkward first dates, reminding him of how I liked it; through the initial Q&A get-to-know-you sessions; to our now comfortable and fulfilling routine. It would take a special cuppa to steal me away. Especially because Troy makes one of the most consistently awesomest coffees in town! (http://teeroybrowns.com/)


Still, if Troy were to lose the walls, and set-up shop on the side-walk, I wouldn't judge, because it's what's inside the cup that really counts.