It Felt Like You Were Eating a RainbowGlazed Earthenware
I have some pretty great memories of preschool. Things like mandatory naptime being the best thing ever, playing shop keeper with a tiny toy cash register and this one little boy who dobbed on this girl to the teacher because she wouldnt share this blue sand mould of a seahorse. Its kind of funny the things your brain choses to remember, like I don't remember important things like birthdays or passwords. But I can recall the colour of the hair of this one little boy and the feeling my little heart felt when he was kind to me.
But I have to say the best memory I have was when I was introduced to fairy bread. We had a lunch lady that made it for our morning tea. She would spread margarine on the whitest bread and then sprinkle on a layer of hundreds and thousands and then cut it into small triangles. It was bloody delicious and when you're a little kid you don't think about diabetes or getting tubby. It just felt like you were eating the rainbow.
As a kid I always developed special ways of eating things. With tiny teddies I'd bite off the legs, then the arms, then the body and lastly the ears. Then I'd slowly naw around the head to round it into a perfect circle and pretend it was a coin. Then I'd look at the toy section of the kmart catalogue and circle what I'd spend my chocolate money on.
With hundreds and thousands I would pick off each sprinkle and lick the pink icing off.
With anything cream centred I'd expertly twist it to reveal the creamy inside and then scrap it off with my front teeth.
With scotch fingers I would break it in half, dunk it a glass of milk just long enough for it to soak up some milk and suck out the milk as the biscuit crumbled in my mouth. I don't drink cow boob juice anymore, the thought of it makes my bumhole quiver. But I do remember all the little biscuit rituals I had. Maybe because when you grow up not having much you try and savoir what you do have and make it last. Now I just open my mouth and inhale food. Fat rat for life.
Hot Bread Bakery
I love bread. Sometimes I go on bread benders and become bread. Its usually when I’m sad and find it hard to cope or when I really miss someone I love.
In the Vietnamese bakeries you could get all the classics like finger buns, neenish tarts, giant lamingtons, vanilla slices, custard tarts and chocolate eclairs filled with fake cream. But my heart always lusted for bread.
Mum would buy me a Bánh mì from one of the many Vietnamese bakeries in Cabra that all seem to be called HOT BREAD. Or we would just buy the bread rolls freshly baked that had hot steamy insides and crusty outsides that cut the roof of your mouth. My favourite thing to do that my parents taught me was sprinkle soy sauce on it. Or to pop it in the grill with butter and sugar on it. The butter would melt and the sugar would caramelise making this perfect combo of toffee and buttery goodness.
All You Can Eat Baby
There used to be a buffet in the food court of my local Westfields. The deal was you get a plate and shovel what you could on top. You could basically feed your entire family if you stacked everything right like reverse Jenga. It was like building a house, you needed a strong solid foundation of rice. Then placed tight groupings of stirfries on top, never loading up on too much liquid as it destablises everything. Then the fried shit goes on top like a roof. If you couldn’t get at least 2 spring rolls on top, you failed as a provide