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Balls of meat

April 19, 2015 · 2 comments

I generally view meatballs with the same degree of mistrust I reserve for sausages and pies. Unless you’ve made them yourself, you really can’t be sure of their lineage. And even if you have made them yourself, mince is an inherently suspicious ingredient.

Mystery meatballs contain an extra level of excitement for those of us who have common food intolerances, as they are frequently contain surprise onion and are bulked up with bread or breadcrumbs. My one and only experience with being sucked into the apparently savvy financial decision to dine on IKEA meatballs resulted in me having to shuffle through the rest of the labyrinth store with unbuttoned jeans, bemoaning my decision and the consequently crippling indigestion.

When I came across a meatball recipe by Perth’s upmarket version of Cut Me Own Throat Dibbler, Vince Garreffa, I thought it was worth reassessing my meatball suspicion. Vince’s recipe contains no wheaty fillers, and uses a variety of spices to add flavour instead of chucking in an onion or the more insidious onion powder. I changed a few things to suit my dietary quirks and what I had in the pantry, as you’ll see in my notes below. [click to read the rest of this post…]



I always felt ripped off by the Monday’s Child nursery rhyme. Monday’s and Tuesday’s children were off swanning around being graceful and attractive, hanging out as usual at Friday’s child’s house as they throw another party for Sunday’s child, while poor Wednesday’s child was at home weeping into a cup of Ovaltine.

I was admittedly consoled by the fact that Thursday’s child had lost their bus pass again and Saturday’s child was working a double shift, and it it possible I may have been overly sensitised due to also being a little girl with little curls and thus apparently very, very horrid , but it nonetheless felt that Wednesday’s child drew the particularly short straw in this situation.

Despite living a life of horrid woe, as a child of summer I’ve at least been able to celebrate my birthday at a time of year when the living is easy, the fish are jumping and the cotton is high.

Another child of summer – a boy of summer, if you will – is my BFF C’s little boy who celebrated his very first birthday last January and had a suitably beachy party thrown for him. I was given the honour of making his first ever birthday cake, and I thought it worthwhile sharing the fruits of my googling, planning and baking efforts with you on this first day of summer in case you have a summer’s child, woeful or otherwise, who needs to be taught that sand tastes like biscuits.

[click to read the rest of this post…]



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You remind me of the babe What babe? The babe with the power What power? The power of voodoo Who do? You do! Do what? Remind me of the babe! You know who’s a total babe? My friend Kate. She is also the most impressive fancy dresser I know, proven by her win of best […]

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So, I think I’ve left sufficient time between blog posts for Hold the Beef to become retro. Ten months is about all it takes these days, yeah? I realised too late that I should have had a Rugs-a-Million style closing down sale or a Farnesy-esque final tour before I disappeared off into the ether, but […]

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