Day Three 06/01/12

Posted on January 9, 2012 by Andrew Dwyer

Escapade at anchor in Fortescue Bay

Wattlebirds are cackling in the forest as Escapade rides on her mooring.   The ripples on her hull and the gentle rocking of the boat lulls me back to sleep, no-one surfaces until after 9am. We have a rope snubbing line across the bow so the chain is not connected to the windlass, which makes for a smooth ride, no hard jerks.  Fortescue Bay is one of the few places on the east coast of Tasmania where there is no internet access, so we have to fire up the HF radio to get the weather report. The radio operator sounds like he once worked for the BBC, but the plumb in his throat made his report easy to hear through the static. There are so many weird noises on HF one would almost suspect aliens are using it to communicate. The report is not ideal. There is a front coming in, and the wind will be from the North West for the next couple of days, right in the direction we want to go. Its either go now or stay. We elect to stay; I can think of worse places to ride out a storm, we are pretty well sheltered here from anything but a howling south easterly.  And besides, it is said gentlemen never sail into the wind. The report mentions waves up to seven meters in the south west. I am thankful we are not headed there.

Breakfast is muesli and fresh yoghurt, followed by a visit from the constabulary. They are primarily interested in checking for undersize fish, and are singularly unimpressed by our performance. In Tasmania a fishing license is not required for most species of salt water fish, but there are bag and size limits. I settle down to do some work on the computer, Robert sets about putting an eye in a length of orange spectre he is going to use to replace the main halyard, which is getting worn, a job that will end up occupying him for most of the day. Aimee makes us ham, cheese and tomato jaffles for lunch. It is one of those days where time gets away, and before we know it, its happy hour! I serve up some gravelax from the Springs smokehouse on vita wheat biscuits with Philly cheese and horseradish. Dinner is going to be a chorizo and chickpea stew, which no sooner do I start to prepare when Aimee and Robert start hauling in squid. We’ll have them tomorrow, I serve the stew with another Tasmanian Chardonnay, this time a Heemskirk Tempest, a seemingly fitting choice given the forecast weather.  I read a chapter on eighteenth century whaling from Geoffrey Blainey’s The Tyranny of Distance.. At that time the whales were so prolific that most of the bays around the island were inhabited by whaling crews. One story tells of a whaling boat chasing a bull whale which turns on them and charges the boat. One fellow jumps straight into the mouth of the whale and is never seen again! On that thought I retire into the mouth of the quarter-berth and drift off into a deep sleep as Robert,still at the table splices his halyard into the night.

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Day Two 05/01/12

Posted on January 9, 2012 by Andrew Dwyer

Escapade happily swung all night on her anchor in winds that gusted to 25 knots, and we awoke to a pair of sea eagles gliding above the trees and a breakfast of Daci Sourdough with French strawberry jam and fresh coffee. Today we will sail along some of the most spectacular coastline on the planet.

Aimee takes the helm out of Bull Bay

We motor out into a headwind. The predicted North Westerlies turn out to be steady South Westerlies, so we beat into the aptly named Storm Bay and raise the sails. We have around 40 nautical miles to make, which will take most of the day. Every time I sail into Storm Bay I feel I am touching history, my mind always wanders to the famous seafarers who discovered and charted this coast. My eye follows the silhouette of Bruny Island down to Adventure Bay, where in 1777 the great Cook anchored in Resolution, with a young William Bligh on board. I have an electronic copy of a beautiful drawing Cook made of Adventure Bay. It is identical to todays coast and could have been drawn yesterday. My eyes are seeing exactly what Cooks did. Young Bligh made numerous open boat journeys around Storm Bay, surveying and sounding it’s depths. He was to return in 1788 as Master of the ill fated Bounty, and again in Providence in 1792. Some years later was to plunder merchant vessels in the Derwent for provisions after being deposed as Governor of New South Wales in what was to become known as the Rum Rebellion. He would rise again to become recognised as one of the greatest navigators of all time, perhaps only second to Cook, and eventually promoted to Admiral of the Blue. I can almost feel his presence here in Storm Bay. Hollywood has completely misrepresented this great man.

Cape Raol from across Storm Bay

Our course takes us towards Cape Raoul, the spectacular entrance to the horrendous penal colony of Port Arthur, established by the British in 1831.  One can only imagine the emotions that would have been felt by the convicts, after three or four trying months of transportation, their first glimpse of the place they would most likely spend the rest of their lives the vertical walls of Cape Raoul, rising from a dark, cold angry sea like some fantastic gothic fortress, foreboding and dark, intimidating and angry.

Sailing beneath the cliffs at Cape Raol

We sail close to the cliffs, the great columns of dolorite towering overhead are jaw droppingly spectacular.  The swell has risen to around three meters, as we are now east enough to be in the rollers from the Southern Ocean that have swung around the southern end of Tasmania. It crashes into the cliffs sending great plumes of spray upwards.

Cape Raol

Robert orders the spinnaker pole set to starboard. With the wind behind us rising to 25 knots we are going to goose wing straight to Tasman Island, which means the main sail will be to port, and the headsail to starboard giving us plenty of sail exposed to the wind.

Tasman Island from Escapade's starboard bow

Our intended course rounds the Tasman Peninsular and tracks north along the east coast of Tasmania. At the tip of the peninsular, a thin channel separates Cape Pillar from Tasman island, with sheer cliffs on either side. Whilst the seas and winds are confused here, we have five meters of water beneath the keel. The channel is barely 300 meters wide with cliffs beetling overhead on both sides, and Robert plans to run straight through it, spectacular sailing indeed. On the island side fat southern fur seals lounge about on the rocks perilously close to the surge. Usually smelt before seen they briefly raise their heads to watch our transit, and drowsily return to sun baking.

Cape Pillar from inside the Tasman Channel

Robert helms out of Tasman Channel with Tasman Island in background

Once through the channel we are in the lee of the land, and the sea state is much calmer. A stiff south wester runs us up the coast towards Cape Hauy, which was named by the French explorer Baudin after a French mineralogist, curious, as Baudin was a captain of a scientific expedition, but he despised scientists.

The Lanterns

At the tip of the Cape are a series of Rocks named The Lanterns, which rise vertically out of the sea. Two of these are appropriately named The Totem Pole and The Candlestick, sheer towers rising as vertical needles from the sea, both are revered by rock climbers. There is deep water right to their edge, so we round the lanterns and beat into Fortescue Bay. We are heading to a secluded anchorage at the northwest end of the bay, which funnels in to the outlet of Walkers Creek. The hills around the bay are cloaked in tall Eucalpyts which come right to the shoreline, their leaves hanging over the water. It is a truly beautiful place. We are sheltered behind the wreck of the William Pitt, an old dredge that was towed here and sunk to provide shelter from easterly swells, in the company of three other boats.

The neighbours at Canoe Bay

No sooner have we anchored and secured the boat, the squid jags are over the side. There is a meter of water under the keel, and the clear bottom is sandy with patches of weed. Seems ideal for squid, but the fishing is slow. A couple of stubbies of Boag’s Wizard Smith’s Ale arrive on deck. It doesn’t get much better than this. The label boasts “a traditional English style ale with a warm fermentation and dry-hopping with East Kent Golding hops”.  It is a travesty that this beer isn’t available on the mainland.

Robert jags a squid and brings it around the stern of Escapade. This is one big squid, it will easily feed the four of us. The behemoth’s goggle eyes are staring at us as I try to get a bucket underneath it. The trick is to avoid getting a load of ink on the boat, or worse still yourself. The job looks almost done when the snared cephalopod ejaculates a mother load of black goo all over the stern. No other squid are forthcoming as twilight descends about us, so I set about cleaning the squid and preparing dinner, which will be a squid penne with garlic, lemon and parsley and a salad of rocket and fennel with a lemon balsamic dressing.

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Day One 04/01/12

Posted on January 9, 2012 by Andrew Dwyer

Escapade at Elizabeth Street Wharf

Escapade lies at the Elizabeth Street Jetty, in the centre of Hobart, beneath the buttress of Mount Wellington, and crowds of Hobartians promenading around the docks. The fleet have mostly sailed for home, and we are busying ourselves with last minute preparations. The day begins at the Daci Bakers, a fabulous French bakery at the docks with a bowl of toasted granola, fresh berries and yoghurt, orange juice and a coffee that contains Arabica and no hint of the bitter accursed Robusta sadly favored by so many coffee houses. They offer a simple but delicious French breakfast menu of baguettes with cultured butter and jam, avocado on bread, muesli and Danish and Viennoise passtries. They bake sourdough every bit as good as Poulains in Paris, and I grab some loaves for the boat.

 

Restaurant offerings in Hobart are very good, and getting better. Sadly the oysters are spawning at this time of year and are not at their best, because when they are good they are sublime. This year we didn’t make the trek down to Prosser’s in Sandy Bay, arguably Australia’s finest seafood restaurant, but we did manage a wonderful dinner at Smolt, Tassal’s shop window in Hobart. The tasting platter was a joy, the quail wrapped in crispy proscuitto was stunning washed down with a full bodied La Montessa Spanish Tempranillo, but the duck was sadly tough and rubbery. Our crew dinner was at Methes Taverna in Salamanca Place, always a safe bet, my favorite is their grilled octopus.

To provision, I have chosen to stock up on condiments, add a few tinned items, plenty of fresh greens, and hope we haul in plenty of fish as we go. The man in the tackle shop who sold me a rod tells me there are plenty of tuna at the 300 foot depth contour in the Tasman Sea. He reckons its best to trawl for them at eight knots to avoid “undesirable species” . We are lucky to maintain eight knots in a twenty knot wind with a spinnaker set, so I guess we’ll be attracting some “undesirables”. There are supposedly Yellowtail Kingfish up north, and lots of squid and flathead to be had in the bays.

Robert has been busy splicing cord and performing general maintenance jobs about the boat, and Aimee has been sightseeing Battery Point with its delightful Georgian Village atmosphere. At 14.00 we put to sea, and against a 25 knot headwind we motor around to the Derwent Yacht Squadron in Sandy Bay to fuel up. We then head out into the wide Derwent estuary, William Bligh once wrote that this splendid waterway could comfortably hold a thousand ships of the line at anchor. Today all there is at anchor is a couple of empty bulk traders, bows into the wind. Three hours later we drop anchor in Bull Bay, a delightful sheltered inlet right at the mouth of the Derwent Estuary on the north east end of Bruny Island. We look up to sheep grazing on the hills above the bay, and across the estuary to the lighthouse known locally as the Iron Pot, the gateway to sheltered waters for yachts coming in from Storm Bay, the welcoming beacon to Hobart. Some welcome it gave us this year in the race. We were running second in the AMS handicap and flew past the Iron Pot at around 23.00 straight into a wind hole, where we sat becalmed for hours, crossing the finishing line 4 hours later and in second last place. They say the race is won or lost in the Derwent. For us this year it was lost there, however we had a great sail and sailed well.

Fortune however smiled upon us in Bull Bay, Robert landed three squid, so dinner was tempura squid on a mixed lettuce and tomato salad with a lime dressing, which we washed down with a Golders 2008 Pipers Brook Chardonnay which was delightful. I am steadily becoming a big fan of Tasmanian white wines.

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Escapade – The sail back

Posted on January 9, 2012 by Andrew Dwyer

Gentle reader, please accept my abject apologies for not writing sooner, but time has been in short supply. I returned from the desert in August to find that hungry termites had been eating my house, bringing forward the planned kitchen renovation by a year or two. Then out of the blue I was called away to location manage a documentary film shoot in Central Australia which took all of October and some of November. The renovations were almost complete by Christmas, and on Boxing Day I sailed in the Melbourne Hobart yacht race, crewing on Escapade, a Farr 38. We saw in the new year from the balcony of our suite on the Elizabeth Street jetty at Constitution Dock overlooking the Sydney-Hobart fleet, prime position for the annual fireworks display. Over the next few days the party gradually packed up, and on the 4th. January, Escapade put to sea again for a three week cruise back to Victoria. We plan a leisurely sail up the east coast of Tasmania and through the Bass Strait Islands. On board is skipper and owner Robert, his wife Felicity, their daughter Aimee and my good self. Over the next few weeks I plan to share with you our journey home.

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Taking the path less travelled on the Canning Stock Route

Posted on June 27, 2011 by Andrew Dwyer

I am back in Alice Springs after leading an expedition down the Canning Stock Route in Outback Western Australia. I shot this video traveling on an unused track through the Great Sandy Desert between wells 36 and wells 33. The track was completely overgrown, I suspect no-one has used it since I last did two years ago. The spinifex is beautiful, its silver blonde heads waving in the breeze. Tomorrow I leave again, this time for the Western Deserts. Click on the link here to watch the video. I will try and post more soon. Taking the path less travelled on the Canning Stock Route

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The Ninya are abroad – Winter has come

Posted on June 2, 2011 by Andrew Dwyer

Winter has arrived, and I am on my annual migration north. I am now over 2000 kms from Jamieson in the centre of Australia, driving along the Lasseter Highway, the bitumen conduit through the desert that ferries millions of tourists to Uluru.  On the horizon to the south one can just make out the Musgrave Ranges, a spectacular mountain range rising 4000’ above the Great Victoria Desert.  My mind wanders back to a time many years ago when I used to run expeditions deep into the heart of Pitjantjatjara Lands, to the mountains where explorer Ernest Giles wrote, “A white man could truly live and be happy”

Mt Connor in the pre dawn light

To the south of this endless highway I travel is the singular massif of Attila, or Mt. Connor, a spectacular inselberg whose sheer buttressed walls rise spectacularly from the surrounding desert plains. The sun is coming up, spreading its first rays across a frozen frosty desert landscape, proof positive that overnight, the Ninya have been busy doing their dastardly work.

The highways department has recognized the importance of Mt Connor by installing a roadside viewing platform with toileting facilities at a high point. It is crowded daily with hundreds of international tourists who stop to relieve themselves, take in the view, then hop back in the rental and push on towards Yulara. I doubt that any of them are really aware of the significance the great mesa has, and the vital role it plays in the process of winter. And I am sure none of them are aware now close they would be to having their nuts frozen off save for the sanctuary of their heated motor vehicles nearby.

The Pitjantjatjara, or Anangu associate the mountain with a group of the most fearsome mythical beings in the dreaming – the Ninya or Ice Men. There is little to distinguish a Ninya from an everyday person, except that their bodies are a ghostly white colour, and there are icicles hanging from their beards and eyebrows. Long ago, back in the time of the dreaming or Tjukurpa the Ninya camped at Mt. Connnor, but in modern times they have moved, and now live beneath two salt lakes just north of the road we are on, in icy dark subterranean caverns.  On dark winters nights they surface from the depths and make long expeditions across the desert, freezing the waterholes and laying frost across the land.  A chill wind follows them. The ice falls from their bodies creating frosts, and on the higher peaks very rarely even snow.

In the cold of the dawn, the Anangu would sing the Ninya back to their dark caverns to bring on the warmth of the day. But in summer, when the outback is in the grip of oppressive heat waves, the women and children would assemble at Anneri soak near Mt Connor to coax the Ninya out of the ground, thereby reducing the temperature.

The outback is certainly a land of extremes. I have worked in the sandhills of the Simpson Desert when the thermometer has gone to 53° (127°F), where the baking dry air is so hot you must breathe in air slowly lest your nostrils burn. And once when camped near an abandoned native well in the central Simpson Desert whilst preparing breakfast I noticed my feet were acheing. When I checked the thermometer I noticed they were not acheing, they were FREEZING, the temperature was -8°C (17° F).

The road goes on. I struggle to overtake an endless stream a caravans and RVs all heading for Uluru, like giant snails dragging their carapaces behind them. I am comforted by the thought that soon I will be leaving this reality, leaving the bitumen and heading west beyond Uluru, beyond the caravans and crowds, back into Aboriginal lands, to the peace of the Western Deserts where unencumbered, the Ninya will continue their work.

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The Sexiest Fruit Alive

Posted on May 24, 2011 by Andrew Dwyer

Figs from my tree and organic regianno in Jamieson autumn sunlight Image © 2011 Andrew Dwyer

My fig tree is covered in a white net that looks like the terylene curtains still favoured as lavatory windows by the caravanning set. Without the net any fruit would have long since been devoured by the ever present hordes of voracious satin bower birds that loiter around my garden like mobs of spivs lasciviously eyeing off my fruit. The allegory here is not lost on me any more than it is on you gentle reader.

Fig Leaf For Eve - Movie Poster 1944

I remember my own adolescence and can empathise with the poor birds, the fruit of the fig sliced open not only looks erotic, but it’s flavour is complex, sweet and exotic.  To bite into the flesh of a fresh fig is a truly sensual pleasure. To me it is curious that the leaf of this, the sexiest of fruits has also become the tool of censorship and prudity since the time of the renaissance. Curiously, the fruit of the fig is not a fruit at all, but a synconium, which is a fleshy hollow receptacle with multiple ovaries on the inside.

Sadly for the fig, the plant’s sexual activity is confined to giving pleasure to others. They themselves are symbiotic, meaning they can only reproduce with the aid of another creature, in their case the fig wasp, which drills its way into the synconium to reproduce. The female progeny departs on maturity to find another synconium, carrying the pollen with it to fertilise the new host tree.

The juicy ripe synconium exposed Image © 2011 Andrew Dwyer

Originally occurring from Afghanistan to Portugal, humans have nurtured and revered the common fig Ficus carica since antiquity. Fossil remains in Jordan reveal that figs have been cultivated for over 11,000 years. Australian Aboriginal people have been chowing down on the fruit of several species of native figs for over 40,000 years.

Some 34,000 years later than that -according to Genesis 3.7- when Adam and Eve were turfed out of the Garden of Eden “then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked: so they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves aprons”.

Masaccio The Fall 1425 Before and After "Renovation"

And henceforth the sexy fig became unfairly maligned as a symbol of prudity, and one of the great oddities of western art, the “oversized single leaf of dubious botanical provenance we find in Renaissance art”.  Cosimo III de’Medici saw nudity as “disgusting” and ordered that fig leaves be painted over the genitalia of Adam and Eve on a fresco painted by Masaccio in 1425.  Across Christendom, Protestant preachers such as Luther, Zwingli and Calvin were railing against the sinfulness of human flesh. The Catholic Church, playing catch up, issued an edict at the Council of Trent (1545-1563) that explicitly forbade the depiction of genitals, buttocks and breasts in sacred art. Sound familiar? In Politics it seems nothing has changed in 500 years!

Rubens Adam and Eve 1597

In 1557, fig leaves were instituted by the bull of Pope Paul IV as the accepted device to reduce the amount of nudity on display, and so Raphael, Rubens, Titian, da Vinci and Michelangelo jumped into line and started slapping them on all the good bits.

Sometimes as in Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment, drapery or extra branches from any nearby bush were added; at other times, as on the statue of Mercury that stands in the Vatican, a fig leaf was arbitrarily slapped on the offending appendage.

 

 

 

The fig gets a positive mention in the Qur’an. In the Hadith, Sahih al-Bukhari quotes the Prophet as saying, “If I had to mention a fruit that descended from paradise, I would say this is it because the paradisiacal fruits do not have pits…eat from these fruits for they prevent hemorrhoids, prevent piles and help gout.”  Perhaps there’s help for me yet !

Aside from the medicinal benefits of the fig, its culinary contribution is inestimable. It is simply one of my favourite foods. Its versatility is astonishing, it can be put to use in the most simple or complicated ways you can think of. At this time of year it is great to just wander across to the tree, pick a handful of plump ripe black figs and saunter back to the table in the courtyard. (Under the watchful eye of the satin bower birds lurking in the shadows).  On a simple wooden board, slice them in half and wrap them in a slice of Toni Marino’s gorgeous prosciutto.

They are delicious with cheese, almost any cheese, or on pizza, with pine nuts, mozzarella, sun dried tomatos and pesto.

My friend Gayle Goldsmith places fig quarters in a baking tray with fresh raspberries from the Jamieson Berry Farm. Over the top she spreads crème fraiche and then sprinkles the lot with a dusting of raw sugar and places the tray under the grill. The result is magnificent. Rich, complex flavours in no time at all.

Cheong's Stuffed Chocolate Figs Poached in White Port Image © 2009 John Hay

The master Cheong Liew has a wonderful recipe where dried figs are stuffed with chocolate and chopped almonds, placed in a heavy pan and poached in white port. Rich and luscious, this dish is something else, and so easy. Cheong used to serve this at his 1970’s Adelaide restaurant Neddy’s in old vegemite jars!
Get the recipe here.

But for my money’s worth, I like nothing better than perusing the tree, giving the odd one a little squeeze, checking out the dark skin, looking for a little burst of sweet juice bubbling out, then picking the best and putting it straight in my gob. It is so good it must be a sin. If you have any comments to add, please do so below.

Fortunately I am happy to report that in 1980 during a restoration of the Brancacci Chapel in Florence, the fig leaves were removed from Masaccio’s Adam and Eve, and Adam’s pecker once again leads the way out of paradise.

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Saffron Mushrooms – Autumn Colours

Posted on May 21, 2011 by Andrew Dwyer

A fresh haul of Pine Mushrooms Image © 2011 Andrew Dwyer

Autumn is almost over in Jamieson.  The higher peaks now have a light dusting of snow on them, and while there is still plenty of autumn colour about the town, many of the trees are bare The leaves that remain on the oak trees are now mostly brown, the tree sucking back in the nutrients photosynthesised by the rapidly retreating summer sun.  In preparation for the winter, the tree now collects the rent. The deep green snowdrop sprouts are pushing up, commencing their wintry growth spurt that will culminate in the delightful late winter splashes of white about the lawn.

For some reason or other, the autumn colours this year seem to be more vivid than usual. I thought I was suffering from some kind of ocular disorder-perhaps I have been eating the wrong mushrooms – but arborists reckon a sunny summer followed by good autumn rains and a couple of cold snaps produces more vivid autumn colours. Apparently in many of the deciduous species, good growing conditions allow the plant to go into photosynthesis overdrive, creating lots of sugar, which creates luscious foliage. This also generates extra pigments, so it is no hallucination that this autumn Jamieson has taken on a hue and saturation akin to a world viewed through Fuji film.  Yesterday found the valley bathed in autumnal sunshine, the sky that surreal deep blue you only see at this time of year, and sunshine after rain means – Mushrooms!

Autumnal view from Toni's Hut Image © 1983 Andrew Dwyer

I was brought up on field mushrooms and taught from an early age that all other mushrooms were toadstools, and deadly poisonous. All that changed when as a lad of 21 I moved to the Austrian Tyrol to teach skiing and climb mountains.  It was here during the alpine autumn that I was introduced to the delights of wild mushrooms.  When we weren’t climbing my friend Toni and I would forage endlessly about the Kitzbüheler Alps in search of a feed of fungi.  At the tree line, where the alpine grasses were peppered with edelweiss we would pick the bitter yellow flowers of the arnica plant and infuse them in schnapps to use as a muscle rub, and on the lower slopes, from Toni’s hut we would wander out and collect delicious peppery golden chanterelles and the wonderful Stein Pilz, the meaty Boletus Edulis.  I had never tasted anything like it in my life.

Back in Australia you can imagine my delight when I discovered that lurking beneath the pine forests around Jamieson were plentiful crops of Pine Mushrooms, otherwise known as the Saffron Milkcap Lactarius deliciosus, and the Slippery jack Suillus luteus

The Pine mushroom is not native to Australia, but is now found widely throughout pine forests in the south east of the continent. Whilst mainstream Australia is only now discovering what a delight these mushrooms are, they are widely consumed in many parts of the world, especially in Europe. In Poland they are pickled in jars with vinegar, in Spain they are popular in Valencian  and Catalan cuisine, they are eaten in Provence and in Italy they are grilled with balsamic vinegar. In Cyprus they are grilled on coals with lemon juice, garlic and parsley, a truly delicious combination.

Grilling Pine Mushrooms on the BBQ Image © 2011 Andrew Dwyer

When picked, they exude a saffron coloured sap, and when bruised they stain blue, in fact they look seriously toxic, but fear not, identification is easy, they are singular in their colour and shape. They are a meaty mushroom that holds their texture well when cooked. Unlike many mushrooms, I find they suit cooking in olive oil far better than in butter and cream. I like them either grilled on the barbecue in the Cypriot way, or slow cooked in a heavy based saucepan on the wood stove with olive oil, garlic, salt, pepper and loads of parsley to make a pine mushroom goulash. This is stunning on top of a nice crisp potato, bacon and parsley rösti.

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The hottest chilli in the world is an Aussie!

Posted on May 18, 2011 by Andrew Dwyer

When one thinks of chilli, one thinks of Mexico, Thailand, Szechuan and India, but believe it or not, a chilli producer in Australia has just produced the WORLD’S HOTTEST CHILLI!

The fiery little plant took a circuitous route to find its way to Australia, taking almost 500 years from its discovery by Europeans. On his second voyage in 1494, Christopher Columbus brought chilli seeds back from the new world to the Iberian Peninsular. Portuguese traders then carried the seeds to their African colonies in Angola and Mozambique.  Chillies soon spread across Africa. In the pan-African language of Swahili, Piripiri translates as ‘pepper-pepper’.  At some stage, Portuguese traders brought small red African chillies back to Portugal where they have been known as piripiri ever since. From the Portuguese  colony of Goa in India, the  plant spread across Asia.

With the increase in multiculturalism in the 1970s, the chilli has taken off in Australia in a big way.  But what is it that gives chilli their zing? The capsaicinoids in chilli bind to receptors in the lining of the mouth, those same receptors that register pain, hence that burning zing. The body reacts to the pain by releasing endorphins, the body’s own pain killer, which gives the eater a good solid stone!  But tread carefully gentle reader… capsaicinoids are also used as weapons. The Mayans used to chuck them at their enemies, today many police forces use them to incapacitate felons, and canisters of the stuff has been fired out of paintball guns at demonstrators since the days of the Vietnam war.

I suspect it was the endorphins, not the military applications that led Australian  chef  Marcel de Wit and his wife Connie to establish the Chilli Factory at Morisette near Lake Maquarie in the Lower Hunter Valley.  A couple of years ago, Tim Smith, who runs the Hippy Seed Company, gave him some seeds to try out.

Marcel de Wit with his fiery little stinkers

Working with an honours student studying Chillis at Sydney University, Marcel gradually perfected what is now known as the Trinidad Scorpion Butch T . It registers  an extraordinary1,463,700 Scoville heat units, ahead of the current Guinness World Record holder, the Naga Viper, at 1,382,118.  The superstar of the American chilli world, the Jalapenos measure only about 2500-5000 and the hottest Tabasco is a mere 30,000.

Marcel puts down his success to worm juice, a liquid run off  harvested from his worm factory. In an interview with Australian Geographic magazine, de Wit said “I originally worked with it (worm juice), but didn’t understand why it worked.  I discovered that worm juice contains nutrients, plant growth hormones and promoters, beneficial bacteria that colonise the root area, and chitin from dead insects that triggers the plant’s natural defense systems.

 

Check out this Youtube video showing Marc in full protective kit working on his obscenely hot concoctions.

Top 10 hottest chilli varietal groups with their Scoville unit  ratings:
1.    Trinidad Scorpion Butch Taylor  (1,463,700)
2.    Scorpion cultivars and Naga Viper Chilli  (1,250,000 to 1,350,000)
3.    Chocolate 7-pod and Infinity Chilli  (1,200,000 to 1,250,000)
4.    7-pod varieties; Barrackpore, primo, yellow, red  (1,100,000 to 1,200,000)
5.    The Nagas; Bhut Jolokia, Bih Jolokia, Naga Jolokia, Dorset Naga, Naga Morich (900,000 to 1,100,000)
6.    Naga x Habanero crosses; Habanaga, Nagabon (800,000)
7.    Red Savina Habanero (577,000)
8.    Chocolate Habanero or Caribbean Habanero (250,000 to 350,000)
9.    Habaneros and Scotch Bonnets (100,000 to 250,000)
10.  Tepins, Tabascos, Birds eyes  (<100,000)

Chilli sun drying on a street in Huangshan China Photo © Andrew Dwyer 2010

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Science busts open the Dutch Oven

Posted on May 10, 2011 by Andrew Dwyer

The science behind a Dutch Oven on the coals - Image from Modernist Cuisine Dr. Nathan Myhrvold

Ever wondered how the magical Camp Oven does its thing? Well Dr. Nathan Myhrvold has worked it out. Aside from establishing Microsoft Research, Dr Myhrvold  is no slouch in the kitchen, he was also Chief Gastronomic Officer for Zagat Survey. Click on the image to zoom in to check out the details, which was created using an abrasive water-jet cutter, an electrical discharge machining system, and other machine-shop tools so you can look inside the camp oven as it cooks. Check out more here

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