G'Day, Mates

Years ago my husband and I went on a ski trip, visiting some of the less glamorous but fabulous ski areas that populate interior British Columbia. We booked accommodations by studying the brochures that were sent to us in the mail (remember those prehistoric days before the digital era?) and settled on rooms with kitchenettes. These towns were not exactly swarming with apres-ski options, so it seemed to make sense to bring our own soups and stews to reheat at the end of the day. Imagine our surprise when we arrived at the first motel to find no kitchen in sight, not even a miniature coffee maker. Nothing but a bed, a bathroom, and a Gideon's bible.

At this point most people would have gone into town to find the local greasy spoon diner, but my husband is not most people. Using his creative brain, he whipped up a makeshift hot plate by combining the clothes iron he packed to wax our skis, the trusty Gideon's bible, and a little duct tape. By wedging the iron upside down in the nightstand drawer with the help of the bible and tape, he created the tiniest of motel kitchenettes. Thankfully I had brought along a pot, which allowed me to simmer my homemade soup. In case you want to try this at home, simmering can successfully be accomplished on the linen setting.

I am reminded of this story because we are currently in the midst of a kitchen remodel, and so I am forced to get creative about food preparation. I've done enough camping and backpacking over the years that I don't find it too onerous to have the contents of my kitchen strewn about the house. At least I have a roof and running water. But I will say that my inspiration to cook has flown out the door and into the dumpster along with our old cabinets. These are first world problems, to be sure. Just look at the little cafe I have in my own laundry room. Who doesn't love the idea of making a pot of coffee AND washing a load of laundry at the same time? It's glorious. Really. We have a toaster oven, a microwave, a hot plate, and of course a ski waxing iron, but the head chef is seriously lacking initiative to do anything with those useful appliances.

So what's an uninspired chef to do? Seek out new options. I was reminded recently of our trip to NYC last summer and, in particular, a lunch we had at Bluestone Lane, a hip little cafe next to the Guggenheim. Despite a certain lack of laundry machines, it did have a menu complete with Australian toast, a culinary trend that I had heard about but never experienced. Not surprisingly, it was my always knowledgeable sister who was ready to introduce us. The basic recipe is just that: good, crunchy, rustic bread topped with mashed up avocado, feta cheese, cut up tomatoes, and a little salt and pepper. According to an article in BBC News, you can pay upwards of $22 to have this simple concoction at your favorite Sydney brunch spot, but you can also make it in a makeshift kitchen for about a buck fifty. Ok, I'm a sucker for ambiance. The Australian toast I had at Bluestone Lane was really delicious; the one I made at home was good, but being surrounded by plastic tarp and noticing a thin film of sawdust on every surface around me made it just a little less appealing. I also didn't have the best bread available, and this does make a difference.

But I am going to trust that most of you have a working kitchen and a dining space that will help your food taste better. This is a great option when you're feeling less than energetic to cook. Or just check out Bluestone Lane's menu -- I guarantee you'll find some inspiration there when you check out all the ingredients you can add to the basic Australian toast recipe. When I'm back to a fully functioning kitchen, I look forward to experimenting once again . Good on ya, as they say Down Under.