Banana Cakes & Sacher Tortes.......and Misbehaving Kitchen Appliances!

I had owned the Kenwood MultiPro FP905 food processor for several years, I knew that. In fact when we came to think about it, the husband and I, he distinctly remembered buying it for a Very Special Birthday. I had to be honest with myself, if not with anyone else – it had been in my possession for five years! And it had always been a pain in the proverbial, quite unlike its predecessor. In fact its predecessor had been a true paragon of virtue, lasting for thirty five years and only discarded when the plastic attachments began to wither and crumble because they didn’t like the dishwasher. Very possibly dishwashers were not standard kitchen appliances when the original Kenwood was born back in the late nineteen seventies. In any event I didn’t have one in my somewhat basic kitchen in Kohimarama where I whipped up one banana cake after another as well as home educating the children and patching the flat and leaky roof with odd bits of tarpaulin. So it was sad for several reasons when Kenwood Mark One passed on and had to be replaced. I consoled myself with the fact that in these more enlightened days Kenwood Mark Two could very possibly make phone calls and attend to cleaning the windows as well as whip up banana cakes. It would most certainly be resistant to the daily attentions of the dishwasher. So it was with some excitement that I carried it home on that Very Special Birthday, looking forward to its first Chocolate Truffle Cake. Imagine my dismay when I found that the Kenwood MultiPro FP905 demanded the attentions of two strong men in order to allow its lid to be prised from its high tech and innovative bowl. `It will get easier with wear,’ murmured a visiting son, glancing at his watch and remembering a rehearsal he had to attend. `Yes of course it will,’ I stoutly agreed thinking to myself that it more than likely would get worse. And it did get worse – much worse. But instead of returning it to Noel Leeming in Newmarket from whence it came, I simply returned it to the back of the cupboard and gave up making cakes. Well, not entirely because from time to time I ventured to bring forth a batch of muffins because then the offending lid and bowl would not be strictly necessary – its blender still worked beautifully, as did all its other futuristic attachments so it wasn’t an entirely lost cause. And so the sad saga of lost cake making was set aside until a few weeks ago when re-arranging my now more miniscule kitchen I rediscovered the unruly appliance sadly inactive in the furthest corner of the topmost shelf. I would make a cake! After all the Kenwood MultiPro FP905 must surely have decided to behave itself by now, in its new, downsized, city fringe environment. Thirty minutes later the husband, and the neighbor on our right who speaks no English were both struggling to twist the lid from the bowl. Contemplating the number of eggs trapped within I rang Noel Leeming in a minor fury and asked for their service agent’s details. A helpful young woman, clearly alarmed by this Friday afternoon ferocity immediately gave me the contact details for Sharpen Repair in Mt. Eden who were definitely going to be open on Saturday morning and were dedicated to the servicing of small household appliances – especially those manufactured by DeLongi. The Sharpen Repair Manager was briskly efficient. It was decidedly stuck he said. He would do his best. He would even contact DeLongi in Australia though there was the small problem of the lost receipt to consider – and the fact my particular processor had been sitting on a kitchen shelf for at least four years. It wasn’t going to be easy, he said. And it wasn’t of course even when I explained rather aggressively that naturally it had been sitting on a bloody shelf, it had been sitting there because I was waiting for it to improve. He looked at me strangely, exchanged glances with the husband who was lurking in the background and did not argue. `I bet he does absolutely nothing,’ I said angrily as we walked back to the car. `Well maybe you should have taken it back to Noel Leeming in the first place - when you first noticed……’ the husband began and then faltered into silence. I wondered how much a totally new, replacement one might be and he said probably too much so the matter was left at that. Imagine my amazement when some weeks later I got a call from Mr. Sharpen Repair to tell me that my replacement bowl for the MultiPro FP905 had arrived from DeLonghi in New South Wales. They had decided, he told me, to replace it as an act of kindness even though I had had it for a number of years and I had lost the receipt and in any event they had never, ever had a similar problem with their Kenwood MultiPro 905s. I was both surprised and delighted. Sharpen Repair had gone above and beyond the call of duty to be of assistance – and it has to be admitted, so had DeLongi! And I should add that as I write a Sacher Torte (yes, a Sacher Torte – why not?) cools on the kitchen bench and a banana cake rises in the oven.

Final Farewells & Vexatious Valedictories

I seem to attend rather more than my fair share of funerals these days and the husband maintains it’s an age thing and in any case at least we get a chance to catch up with old friends, at times those we haven’t seen for years. Well maybe and catching up with friends from the past can’t be overlooked of course. What I really take issue with about the modern funeral is the length of time it takes to say goodbye to the departed one. There was a time when a funeral service took a mere fifty minutes before it was time to cross to the hall to partake of either cups of tea and sponge cake, or, more lavishly, glasses of wine and bits of cheese on toothpicks. I always preferred the latter. Things have changed drastically in recent years and now the service itself can drag on for so long that elderly ladies and young children are forced to excuse themselves after ninety minutes and head for the lavatories. This is not on account of a plethora of extra prayers from the officiating minister you have to understand because today’s priests, vicars and celebrants stand back and listlessly stare ahead whilst friends and family form an ever lengthening queue, notes in hand, all anxious to speak for `a moment or two….’. And these valedictories become ever longer and more exasperating for a great proportion of the captive audience as one after another they begin. `I first met Tom at secondary school…..’ (bad enough because Form 3 was a very long time ago and this guy has many a tale to tell about the intervening years). Even worse is `You could say Tom and I were acquainted before we were born – our mothers were in adjacent beds at Nurse Newton’s Nursing Home….’ But infinitely worse was a more recent opening `word or two’ - `I will begin by telling you all a bit about Tom’s grandparents who left their home in Edinburgh to emigrate to New Zealand…..’ - and yes, he spoke for forty eight minutes; I was timing him. And there were still the members of the Probus Club, the Bridge Club, the Golf Club and a group of five anxious grandchildren awaiting their turn. Do these people actually not realise how utterly tedious and wearisome these speeches are? Do they care? If funerals get much longer the congregation will be entitled to an intermission for health and safety reasons. To add insult to injury on the most recent occasion, the longest funeral of all time, when we shuffled blinking into the daylight we were rewarded only with cups of tea and tiny sandwiches.

A Comment On The Trip to France

I have to say that the trip to France, organised by daughter Sinead (a very good organiser I have to admit) went extremely well. Her father has talked of nothing else since we returned. Nobody in the immediate neighbourhood is safe from extended descriptions of the Tapestry, the Food, the Chateaux.....and I have to say that he is gaining a moderate audience.

Home Again, Home Again

Just back a day or two ago from a month in London. Four glorious weeks bathing in late August/early September sunshine. Well, that was the plan but of course the weather was not exactly kind to us and the temperature in central London rarely rose above that of an Auckland winter accompanied by considerably more rain. And the London rain seems to have changed its nature somewhat. Years ago it was a steady drizzle that dampened hair, clothes and spirits but did not exactly drench. In those days you had to visit Auckland to be truly drenched in two minutes flat. No longer so! Today’s London downpours have adopted all the North Island characteristics we have come to know and love. London coffee was another disappointment. There was a time when a cup of coffee in that mighty metropolis was infinitely superior to anything that could be found in the fleshpots of Ponsonby or Parnell. No longer the case and the closest we came to a halfway reasonable example was in the local Canonbury Turkish café closely followed by the first floor cafeteria in Marks & Spencers at Marble Arch. M&S featured large over the four weeks because they still reliably offer their extraordinary dinner for two with side dish & dessert plus a bottle of wine for a mere ten pounds! A culinary bargain that could not on any account be overlooked. Talking of food, I have to say that Malaysia Airlines on our return journey provided the worst airline food we have ever experienced. I assume that the recent unfortunate incidents have resulted in massive cost cutting but even bearing that in mind a dinner dish comprising of cold pasta minus any kind of sauce is hard to justify. Their coffee, strangely enough was not too terrible and the service was pleasant enough it must be admitted. And finally, how pathetically grateful we were when we finally reached Auckland Airport after midnight last Saturday to find our previously booked QUICK SHUTTLE service waiting patiently to escort us home – most especially since we were more than twelve hours late all because the husband didn’t really believe in the twenty four hour clock. But I won’t go into that. Far too humiliating!

Captain Gordon Vette

I’m proud to have been a friend of Gordon Vette. He was one of the first people I met when I came to New Zealand in the early nineteen seventies and to be honest at the time I thought he was what my mother would have called `a bit flash’ . For one thing he was way too good-looking, he had the kind of tan girls like me drooled over and he wore a lot of gold around his neck. At the time he seemed to be dallying between wives but there was a positive and personable woman in his life called Eleanor. Later we attended their wedding. I rapidly grew very fond of them both and together Eleanor and I investigated new -fangled supermarkets in suburbs with what seemed to me extraordinary names, and hurtled frequently into the depths of the countryside for ladies’ lunches given by one or other of her many friends. Today the husband and I went to Gordon Vette’s funeral at Holy Trinity Cathedral in Parnell. Hours later I’m still shedding tears for the passing of a truly remarkable man. Not that he was devoid of faults of course. You’d only have to ask Eleanor and she’d gladly list them for you - and probably wife Charmain could also catalogue one or two. Those speaking at today’s celebration of his outstanding life naturally dwelt a great deal on the epic Erebus saga. He was a senior Air New Zealand captain in late 1979 when the accident occurred with the loss of two hundred and fifty seven lives. The speed with which the initial inquiry began to point to `pilot error’ seriously alarmed Gordon because he had total faith in the competence and capability of Captain Jim Collins. So he embarked upon a fact finding exercise that was ultimately to cost him a great deal financially including his career and many former friends. Impervious to pressure from all quarters of the establishment to abandon the fight, Gordon doggedly fought on. Due to his efforts and subsequent work in visual perception in sector white out, ground proximity warning systems have since been developed that make flying a great deal safer for all of us and he has received world -wide acclaim. We were close to Gordon during the crusade for truth and witnessed first- hand the effect it had upon his life and marveled that at no stage did he consider giving up. Gordon’s health eventually suffered and some years ago he had a stroke that robbed him of the power of speech and made his day to day world smaller. Gordon Vette the man, however, was in no way diminished by it and that came as no surprise to those close to him. Today, coming out from the cathedral into the sunlight, we witnessed the enormous regard with which this man is now held. Out of nowhere half a dozen silver triangles were suddenly there soaring above us, outlined between showers in an all at once azure sky, roaring their presence and issuing vapour trails. A significant fly past formation of planes worthy of that which might acknowledge a sovereign’s birthday. Their presence overhead brought a substantial lump to the throat. Yes, I’m definitely proud to have known Captain Vette.

Observing Birthdays.

'It pays to be observant of family birthdays and that seems to become as important to the over seventies as it is to the under sevens. The husband had a birthday a day or two ago and was very anxious that it not be overlooked. Having made a slight blunder a few days earlier by presenting him with his Michelin guide to France in advance of the great day I found I had some groveling to do on the anniversary itself. He was delighted with the rather unique cards (two of them) from number one son, Patrick who strangely simply dropped them in the mailbox and didn’t even stop off for refreshment – pressure of work he said later. He was elated to receive emails from two out of three children and overjoyed with the gift box that arrived via daughter domiciled in London and through the good offices of `My Goodness – Express & Impress’ on the North Shore. Not only was the box itself a work of art, but treat after treat tumbled out of it – wine, birthday cake, chocolate and assorted gourmet snacks piled high on the kitchen bench. `I’m having the box,’ I pronounced just in case he was thinking of consigning it to the downstairs rubbish room where all kinds of things get consigned these days on account of the lack of space. He hadn’t heard me though and examined the wine label as he bit into the first Lime Zinger biscuit. Well he is very hard of hearing these days. As it neared one pm it became clearer than ever that he was expecting to be taken out to lunch and he kept mentioning Cibo because it’s at the end of the street. He told me that three times. In the end we compromised and I took him to La Cigale for a glass of wine and a Dijon Chicken Pie and salad. Well I’m not perfect. Later in the afternoon John the violinist dropped by to wish him a happy birthday and regale us with stories of playing at the recent coronation of the King of Tonga. All in all a very pleasant day and neither of us mentioned the glaring absence of any birthday greeting from number two son. I toyed with muttering something about him no doubt being extraordinarily busy and that in any case hadn’t there been a major typhoon in his part of the world. In the end though I thought it better to say nothing at all.

SERVING ON THE RESIDENTS' COMMITTEE

Downsizing from a family home that was on the large side to what is euphemistically termed `city fringe living’ can be challenging.  Well, let’s say such a move brings with it a range of differing experiences.  For me, one of them in recent months has been serving on the Residents’ Committee.   New Zealand thrives on committees of all kinds and over the years I have played a part in a number of them, usually making enemies left, right and centre without even trying.  However, I am proud to report that so far, with this particular group I have managed to make no obvious ones.

Working on a Residents’ Committee can be more time consuming than is at first imagined because all the minor tasks that keep a complex functioning smoothly can be individually onerous.   Nevertheless someone has to be on hand to ensure the contractor who has been approached for the roof upgrade can actually access the roof at a time acceptable to him.   Getting him to come in the first place has been a major triumph – courtesy of my fearless Committee Colleague from Unit F in Row One who courageously offered to `find an alternative quote’ when the initial, in fact the only quote so far appeared to be perhaps a little on the high side.   So naturally, none of us are keen to upset potential contractor number two in any way if it can be avoided.   If seven am on Sunday morning suits him then so be it.

Updating the Pet Register is another vital initiative that is essential to the smooth operation of this particular group, and I have recently discovered, to many other similar ones.   There are Rules around owning pets, a fact that had completely escaped me as in more recent years we have ceased to fall into that particular category.   When we were animal owners we sought approval from nobody except our own clamouring children.  We simply acquired three cats, two rats, a tribe of mice and guinea pigs, two rabbits and several goats as and when we chose without care or concern for our neighbours.  Looking back, some of those living around us certainly objected to the goats who regularly tore free from their tetherings and had feasts and fun in the gardens of others.    Pet ownership works quite differently in a more confined community.   Only unit owners may own animals.  Tenants may not.  The problem is that more than often tenants are unaware of this particular tenet and are most unwilling to part with a much loved pet and even – horror of horrors – disregard the Rule!   Enter the Cavalry of the Residents’ Committee.  

Short term parking is another bone of contention.  Several P120 spaces have been made available specifically for ease of visiting tradespeople and the occasional elderly weekend lunch guest.   They are most definitely not intended for those who simply can’t be bothered relocate their vehicle to its proper place overnight.   Another problem for the Residents’ Committee, each of whom could now easily become in danger of turning neighbours into  enemies.

Yes, all these seemingly trivial tribulations add up to sizeable snags to which somebody is charged with finding a solution.  Time consuming to say the least and so when  any random resident dares to raise their head and venture a Complaint about the manner in which the Committee is dealing with this day to day business they are often greeted with a degree of impatience and testiness they might not have quite expected.