Each summer I watch as the banana plant next to the Donald Street bridge develops a healthy crop. Who on earth planted them there? Is it someone from those houses in Baird Street, the ones that back onto the sloping piece of waste ground that separates their back yards and the bridge? Someone did: you can’t just go to a nursery and get a packet of banana seeds.
Equally as mysterious as their arrival is that, every summer (around late February or early March), they disappear. Are they harvested by the person who planted them? Knocked off by a rogue banana trader?
The urban foraging movement has gained a bit of momentum in Australia in the last couple of years; for places to find “Redfern celery” or “mental institution Illawarra plums” go here. I’ve been having a look around Hamilton North and Styx Creek to see what I can find. I think I could rustle up quite a feast.
This morning I found the ingredients for Drowned Rat Goulash.
A schnitzel requires some flattening out, but in Ham North we pre-flatten our animals for your convenience.
Those pesky pescetarians are catered for with a variety of fish dishes. Fruits de mer, anyone?
I had this fellow pegged for a bouillabaisse but now I’m not so sure; I think he’s looking at me.
I came across this duck egg sitting on a bed of water hyacinth. I suppose that even ducks get caught short every now then, the urge to lay overwhelming the ability to waddle back to the nest, but mother ducky’s loss is the urban forager’s gain. Yummo!
To finish off our urban forager’s repast we need a dessert. I have the perfect dish to end such a meal: Cat-Killed Mousse.