The education of an Australian palette

How can you tell the Australian in a posh restaurant? He asks for the Soup du Jour of the Day, and the Pie à la mode with a scoop of ice cream on the side.

True. True.

Naturally, this Australian boy had to go and find himself an Italo-Italian girl (read: Italian to the nth degree).

This is a lass from a group of people who (of a weekend) sit down at the breakfast table and just kinda stay there, forcing themselves to get up only because they have to prepare lunch, which becomes the second table session of the day, right up until dinner preparations are called for and the third sitting gets into swing. And what do they talk about while they’re at the table? Eating and food, of course.

Enter, stage right: Guy who thinks two minute noodles are pretty damn good eating.

On the subject of food, I have put my foot in my mouth on numerous occasions (more fool me for thinking it tasted OK), but here is probably my finest gaff:

Parmesan cheese. Yuk! I hate that shit, it’s fucking awful.”

To which my wife responded by putting her head in a bucket of water and screaming.

I only figured out I’d said something wrong when she passed out.

I’ll explain to you all now, as I did to my wife, why I said such a thing.

In Australia, there is a company that markets a pre-grated parmesan that comes in a green cardboard tube (sexy image, huh). This stuff smells and tastes like week-old gym socks that someone has thrown up into after a night drinking paint stripper.

Until shown otherwise, this crap (for me) was parmesan.

The company who makes this horrid stuff shall remain nameless, though I will (just for fun) give you the letters in the name all jumbled up, and maybe you can figure it out: K, R, A, F, T.

Anyway, after consulting with her Mamma (whose first advice was that her daughter should leave me), my wife formulated a cunning plan to change my views. One day, when I wasn’t looking, she rammed a chunk of parmesan into my mouth (Grana, just to make sure).

I chewed. I swallowed. I asked for more.


What?” I shook my head. “None left?”

She smacked me in the back of the head.

Then sat down and explained.

Oh … it seems I …”

Yes, you are a dick head.”

4 Responses to “The education of an Australian palette”

  1. Entertaining and humorous… thank you for my first laugh of the morning.

  2. snagglewordz Says:

    That was very krafty of you to jumble the name of the company selling the be-tubed parmesan. On the score of it’s awfulness I concur, wholeheartedly!

  3. […] putnik, I started following putnik this morning, literally. An Australian indie writer and traveller with an extremely entertaining outlook on life. […]

  4. deepamwadds Says:

    You are one lucky Ozzie, to have your palette educated by an Italian. Open your mind and your mouth and your heart will sing!

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