January 26 has no culinary tradition, which is an absence we can trace all the way back to 2005. It was then that our sovereign, Her Majesty, Sharon II, Regal Defender of Meat and Two Veg, appointed a Lambassador. He became feared throughout the kingdom for his power to overcook meats on any barbecue, even those with empty gas bottles. This is why we have not been bothered to create a national dish.
Sure, a picky historian may dispute this account. What they may not dispute, however, is the claim that January 26 has no sort of ceremonial food attached to it whatsoever. The whole lamb thing is a creation of recent TV advertising—it’s as real as Queen Sharon. Further, the date itself was not uniformly observed in Australia until 1994. We could argue, of course, that this is long enough for us to establish food traditions. What we may not contradict, however, is this: we haven’t.
The whole lamb thing is a creation of recent TV advertising.
This is odd, for Australians. Quite odd. Give us an occasion, we’ll give that occasion a menu. Throughout the nation, Melbourne Cup Day remains a backdrop to sangers, or more fancy hors d'oeuvres in grand places. Even those who see Anzac Day through tears can still honour its eponymous biscuit. On Christmas Day, so many of us serve seafood to friends of all faiths. And, if you have evidence for me that anyone does anything now but Chinese dumplings on Mother’s Day, it must be photographic and notarised.
Oh, and we must mention our Eurovision catering. It wouldn’t be May for some (me) without a home-made national snack soiling her home-made national costume due to her emotional response produced by a moving, home-made national ballad. (Look. You try holding on to your bratwurst while the great state of Bulgaria sings its heart out.)
Nothing special, though, for January 26. No food selected by the folk. This can only be due, in a nation of eager cooks and diners, to lack of interest.
This is not a day to force it. It’s a day, perhaps, to plan for other, more appetising days.
While there may be those who celebrate this date consciously, there are many more—a majority, in fact—who cannot say what the date commemorates at all. And then, there are those who do know what the date commemorates and experience it only as pain. Protest by Aboriginal peoples of this anniversary is no recent thing at all. It was eighty years ago First Nation peoples wore the colour of mourning on this date, and thirty years that non-Aboriginal peoples began to join this protest in great number.
We’re not leading to a moral point, here. This is no instruction to rejoice, reject or object on this date at all. It’s just culinary observation: we have failed to develop an appetite for this date.
What, then, is to be eaten on this day? Perhaps my sister, a very good pastry chef, has our answer. Every time I call her up to tell I’ve ruined another batch of choux, she reminds me, “Helen. Don’t force it.” The trick with a fine pâte is not to pummel it into life. We politely introduce the ingredients, we do not demand that they behave.
Yes, you’re right. This is a terrible January 26 metaphor, in which I deserve to be rotten eggs. I’ll quit now, lest the incautious reader runs off to make eclairs, which often fall flat in hot weather.
Forget the failed pastry. Consider, instead, that this day, our national day, is the only one that has failed to excite a nation full of cooks. This is not a day to force it. It’s a day, perhaps, to plan for other, more appetising days.
Helen Razer is your frugal food enthusiast, guiding you to the good eats, minus the pretension and price tag in her weekly Friday column, Cheap Tart. Don't miss her next instalment, follow her on Twitter @HelenRazer.
