Journal articles on the topic 'Barossa Valley'

Cette recherche explore l’introduction de designs innovants au travers d’une analyse de contenu et d’une analyse sémiotique des codes visuels de deux régions viticoles : l’une connue pour être traditionnelle (Bordeaux) et l’autre pour être innovante (la Barossa Valley). L’analyse de contenu révèle que les vins australiens se différencient entre eux en utilisant des thèmes et des styles d’illustration variés, tout en se conformant à des codes visuels « dominants » en matière de mise en page, composition, polices de caractères et couleurs. L’analyse sémiotique montre que les thèmes et styles d’illustration introduits par les vins de la Barossa Valley portent des « signifiés » qui sont pertinents pour la catégorie de produits. Ainsi, les résultats indiquent que les « wineries » de la Barossa Valley respectent deux conditions suggérées par la littérature : un degré modéré de nouveauté et un niveau « idéal » d’incongruence (inattendue mais pertinente). Notre étude des significations des codes visuels des deux régions décode les éléments de langage du design graphique des étiquettes de vin. Cela permet de comprendre comment il est possible de créer un design d’étiquette de vin « inattendu mais pertinent ». Enfin, cette recherche identifie quatre stratégies de positionnement des marques de vin et indique comment les exprimer à l’aide du design graphique de l’étiquette.

Fiona Nash, Regional Education Commissioner, provided a keynote and officially opened the National Conference for Regional, Rural and Remote Education, held in the Barossa Valley, October 12-14, 2022. Her keynote discusses the challenges and opportunities for education in rural, regional and remote communities across Australia.

Purpose This paper aims to explore the role of eco-innovation in the competitiveness of the Barossa Valley wine region, which is one of the premier wine areas in Australia. Design/methodology/approach A case study approach using qualitative in-depth semi-structured interviews was utilised to gather data from respondents in the wine regional cluster. Findings The findings suggest that eco-innovation and regional wine clusters contribute to better international performance of wine firms. In addition, environmental issues are important for the wine industry because of the role they play in the global economy. Research limitations/implications This study highlights the growing importance of climate change and sustainability on the willingness of wine firms to be involved in eco-innovation. This is crucial for wine firms in the Barossa Valley being globally competitive leaders based on environmental innovations. Practical implications Due to the large amount of natural resources that wine firms use, clusters can be used to encourage eco-innovation, which can facilitate further expansion into new international markets. This is important because of consumers increasing emphasis on environmentally friendly food products and the government priority given to eco-innovations. Originality/value This paper provides insights into the eco-innovation process that can help wine firms, industry practitioners and regional planners develop better environmental strategies that lead to increased global competitiveness.

This research investigates the introduction of innovative designs through content and semiotic analyses of the visual codes of two wine regions: one known to be traditional (Bordeaux) and the other to be innovative (Barossa Valley). The content analysis indicates that the Australian wines differentiate themselves by choosing various themes and styles of illustration, while still conforming to the dominant visual codes for the layout, composition, typefaces and colours. Furthermore, the semiotic analysis shows that the themes and styles of illustration introduced in the Barossa category carry ‘signifieds’ that are relevant to the product category. Thus, the results indicate that the Barossa wineries fulfil two conditions suggested by the literature: moderate novelty and ‘ideal incongruence’ (unexpected but relevant). More importantly, by analysing the meanings of the visual codes used in the two wine regions, this work decodes the elements of graphic design language for the wine category, thus elucidating how it is possible to create a wine label that is unexpected but relevant. Finally, the research allows the identification of four main strategies for brand positioning and indicates how to express them through label graphic design.

Traditional ‘terroir zoning’ has largely relied on heuristic ‘expert’ opinion coupled with approaches to land classification based on thematic mapping to describe the influence of soil conditions and climate on wine composition. Recent advances in geographical information systems (GIS) and digital mapping have enabled more robust quantitative methods to be developed, but with few exceptions recent terroir research has remained reliant on heuristic opinion and conformity to previously defined terroir units, rather than employing data-driven approaches. Using two case studies at regional scale, the aim of this paper is to illustrate how the use of methods of quantitative spatial analysis, as used to guide understanding of production system variability and to underpin precision viticulture (PV), may assist in better understanding terroir at a range of scales. In the Barossa region of Australia, cluster analysis of indices of soil physical and chemical fertility (available water capacity and cation exchange capacity), with critical climate variables (growing season rainfall, mean January temperature and growing degree days), clearly delineates differences between the Barossa and Eden Valleys but does not robustly promote further sub-division. Meanwhile, in the Marlborough region of New Zealand, interpolation of data supplied by wine companies from over 450 vineyards over several seasons suggests a consistent and characteristic regional ‘terroir’ in terms of vine yield and harvest date. Similarly consistent results were obtained for sub-regions of the Wairau Valley and a comparison of the Wairau and Awatere valleys. Thus, with scale-dependent modification, the methods of spatial analysis used to underpin PV and studies of within-vineyard variability offer much potential for terroir analysis and the identification of terroir zones. Importantly, these methods are unbiased, data-driven, and not reliant on heuristic opinion.

Barossa Valley selections of 5 Trevatt and 4 Moorpark apricot varieties were compared over 3 seasons for their characteristics as drying apricots.Although there was a lack of significant differences between Trevatt clones, enough differences occurred in the Moorpark varieties to suggest that many quality attributes, particularly fruit weight, diameter, pH, and drying ratio, can be improved through rigorous selection from a wide and diverse population. The data suggest that different clones may be better suited to particular sites or management systems. A large experimental error was noted and attributed to the variability in seedling rootstock material and the unknown viral status of the scions and rootstocks.

Anticipating vineyard irrigation requirements in future climates is of strategic importance to maintain sustainability and wine regional identity. In the context of worldwide warming and climate-driven shifts in amount and seasonality of rainfall, we investigate the interactive effects of warming and water deficit on vine transpiration. Transpiration of Shiraz vines was measured with thermal dissipation sap flow probes in a factorial experiment combining two thermal (heated with open-top chambers and control at ambient temperature) and two water regimes (wet and dry). Increased vapour pressure deficit (VPD) and canopy size in heated vines led to higher transpiration rates in irrigated vines during the first season. However, faster depletion of soil water by highly transpiring vines, followed by insufficient soil water replenishment by rain and irrigation, resulted in a negative feedback on vine transpiration the following season when heated vines were more water stressed than controls. The effect of warming was thus reversed the second season, with higher transpiration under ambient temperature. Therefore, dry soil, we suggest, could over-ride the effect of warming on the other variables driving transpiration (VPD, canopy size, and possibly stomatal conductance). Water scheduling will need to incorporate increased water demand under elevated temperature to maintain grapevine production in the long term.

This paper reports on an assessment of the need for early intervention services for children aged 0-8 years in the Southern Fleurieu sub-region of South Australia and an evaluation of the efficacy of utilising a generic community health service to provide the therapeutic and case management services to appropriately address those needs. Previous studies in regional South Australia estimated the incidence of developmental delay in children to be 5% of the total population aged 0-8 years (Barossa Valley, 1997). This estimate indicated a client group of over 130 in the Southern Fleurieu sub-region. The project team adopted a transdisciplinary model for early identification and intervention, with over half the children on the program aged less than five years, indicating that the program addressed needs of children at an early age. Outcomes have demonstrated the appropriateness of using a transdisciplinary approach in a regional setting and the community health service as the auspice has shown an increase in the capacity for therapists to provide the wide variety of programs that are essential in addressing early childhood delay.

Summary. A study of the petiole nutrient status of cvv. Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon and Rhine Riesling (Vitis vinifera) was carried out in 19 vineyards of each in the Barossa Valley, South Australia, during 1979 to 1982. The sampling unit chosen was the petiole of leaves opposite bunches, collected at flowering time. Nitrogen status (assessed as nitrate concentration) varied widely among vineyards and high concentrations of nitrate could be associated with use of organic materials (chicken litter, winery marc) in the vineyards. Phosphorus status was almost invariably higher than necessary. Potassium, magnesium and chloride status were usually high by Californian standards. Of the trace elements, boron was low in 1979 to 1980 in some vineyards, but sufficient in other years. Zinc and manganese were usually present in sufficient quantities. Daily sampling of petioles showed that nutrient levels during the flowering period changed less dramatically in this region than in California. Pre-bloom foliar sprays ofurea with zinc had non-significant effects on petiole nitrate concentration. Differences in nutrient concentrations between the three cultivars were detected in some years. The standards used to interpret petiole analysis data in California, while useful in the survey area, required some modification for local use, and working standards are proposed.

Three senior Chief Executives of acute hospital trusts in the UK recently visited the Northern Territory (NT)and South Australia (SA) to study remote and rural health care in general - and Aboriginal health in particular. As with all other aspects of Aboriginal life, the subject of health status is highly charged and generates heightened emotions and intense political debate across the country but particularly in the NT and SA where many of the remote indigenous people live. Every "mainstream" Australian has an opinion on the trials and tribulations of the indigenous people.The field study was part of the NHS Leadership Centre's Senior Chief Executives' Development Programme. Itcomprised a longitudinal journey across the continent from Darwin (NT) through to Alice Springs to Tanundain the Barossa Valley and then on to Adelaide following the route of the 2,500 kilometre Stuart Highway. Itinvolved visiting rural health services, and meetings with Aboriginal leaders, academics, health practitioners and senior officials of the SA government.A specific research topic was to understand how practitioners working in extreme environments, and delivering long-term programmes of care, can maintain their morale and motivation.

Purpose The study aims to introduce a comprehensive segmentation instrument that incorporates the push–pull winescape attributes, providing a new perspective of the wine tourist profile and explaining their behavioural intentions in the Australian winescape. Design/methodology/approach A literature review, focus groups and expert panels generated an extensive list of push–pull winescape attributes. Pen-and-paper surveys conveniently sampled 739 wine tourists at three wineries across three wine regions in Australia. Adopting push–pull winescape attributes as the segmentation base, cluster analysis identified four segments, namely, inspireds, self-drivens, market-drivens and inerts, and their behavioural intentions were examined. Findings Inspireds demonstrate both self- and market-motivation. Self-drivens exhibit self-motivation but limited market-motivation, whereas Market-drivens characterise market-motivation but limited self-motivation. Inerts are limited in both market- and self-motivations. At the Swan Valley, all four segments were identified, with Inspireds being the most willing to revisit and recommend to others and Inerts, the least willing. At the Barossa Valley, only two segments emerged. Again, Inspireds and Inerts were the most and least willing to revisit and recommend to others respectively. Finally, at the Yarra Valley, three segments were identified. Market-drivens were most willing to revisit and recommend to others, followed by self-drivens and lastly, by inerts. Research limitations/implications A comprehensive push–pull winescape segmentation base of wine tourists is introduced, which provides a more sophisticated profile of wine tourist segments than otherwise would be attained with conventional measures. Practical implications New insights into who the wine tourist is and what it is they seek from the winescape are vital to smaller wine producers whose best access to the domestic retail and export markets is through direct selling at the cellar door. Originality/value The empirically tested 18-item push–pull winescape instrument presents a comprehensive segmentation approach, which profiles wine tourists and predicts their behavioural intentions based on an extensive investigation of push–pull winescape attributes.

Within Australia, carbon capture and storage (CCS) and carbon capture, utilisation and storage will play a significant role as part of an ‘all of the above’ approach to managing greenhouse gas emissions. Two CCS projects are currently operating: Gorgon and the Otway CCS project. The Gorgon and Jansz-Io fields contain approximately 14% carbon dioxide (CO2). The CO2 is brought to shore at Barrow Island and injected into the Dupuy Formation saline aquifer at a depth of 2500 m. While the project has experienced delays with start-up and operational issues, to July 2021 nearly 5 MMt of CO2 had been injected. The Otway CCS Project is a research facility used to study subsurface CO2 storage and behaviour within saline aquifers and depleted reservoirs. Since the start of the project in 2007 a total of 95 000 t of CO2 has been stored. Final Investment Decision was taken for the Moomba CCS project on 1 November 2021 and for the Leigh Creek Urea project in March 2021. In addition, feasibility studies are being carried out across multiple projects within Australia including the South West and Mid-West Projects in the Perth Basin, CarbonNet in Victoria’s Latrobe Valley and Gippsland Basin and the Moonie oil field EOR, Integrated Surat Basin Project and the ATP 2062-P Buckland Basalt projects in the Bowen-Surat Basin. A CCS hub at Bayu-Undan is being assessed as a possible option to reduce the carbon footprint of the Barossa, Caldita and Evans Shoals projects, and feasibility studies are underway into large-scale multi-user CCS hubs near both Darwin and Karratha.

Landscapes of the vineyards of Australia. From the Arcadie to Jacob's Creek. Landscapes of the Australian vineyard are inherited from the agrarian ideals that directed their genesis. They are the complete transposition in Australia of euro- pean landscapes, like in the Yara or Barossa valleys. They are today subjected to a multitude of processes which transform them deeply : integration into globalization, tourism development, or sustainable development - so that they might appear as models of a new modernity with the other vineyards of the New World. The architecture of the wineries and the evolution of the landscapes show this phenomenon.

Desde el punto de vista literario, resulta especialmente interesante contrastar la concepción de la construcción de España desde la obra valleinclanesca respecto a la que recogen los diferentes autores de la llamada generación del 98. En este sentido, es de reseñar el nacionalismo dibujado en Luces de Bohemia frente al de otros trabajos coetáneos, sumamente enraizados en la épica, el heroísmo y la reivindicación medieval (piénsese, verbigracia, en los escritos ensayísticos de Unamuno, Maeztu, Azorín, Baroja o Cossío). Así, no podemos olvidar la importancia del tratamiento de los paradigmáticos Don Quijote y Sancho Panza como ejemplo, por antonomasia, del constructo de lo español. Contrastar la memoria que recogen acerca de estos personajes del pasado (del Barroco, concretamente, aunque en transición desde el Renacimiento con remedos medievales) para identificarlos con la idea de España es definitivo: frente a una idea imperialista, tradicional y patriótica (Vida de Don Quijote y Sancho unamuniana o Los pueblos azorinianos), nos encontramos con una visión esperpéntica de nuestro país en la obra de Valle-Inclán, desde la interpretación grotesca de Don Quijote y Sancho Panza en los personajes de Max Estrella y Don Latino de Híspalis de Luces de Bohemia. Así, mediante la deformación grotesca de personajes del pasado, Valle nos propone una idea de España nada paternalista, sino arraigada en el expresionismo y en la deformación moral: “En España el mérito no se premia. Se premia el robar y el ser sinvergüenza. Se premia todo lo malo”.

Desde sus orígenes, la antropología mexicana estuvo condicionada por su vinculación a las políticas estatales que le consignaron, durante mucho tiempo, el papel oficial de integradora de la diversidad cultural indígena al nacionalismo. Ello impidió que el foco de atención se desviara hacia otros mundos antropológicos posibles, permaneciendo atrapada en el paradigma del indigenismo. Asimismo, la influencia académica en México dio un salto de la teoría boasiana a principios del siglo XX a la de los «grandes pensadores» de la antropología inglesa y francesa con sus respectivos focos etnográficos. No se incorporó de manera habitual, salvo en algunos seminarios puntuales, el trabajo de campo hecho en España por antropólogos autóctonos, que tuvo un gran auge gracias a la Escuela formada por el profesor Carmelo Lisón Tolosana. Aunque la relación entre México y España ha sido un tema recurrente desde la perspectiva histórica gracias en gran parte a los descendientes de los exiliados españoles que se integraron en la Casa de España, actual Colegio de México, desafortunadamente siguen siendo escasas las investigaciones de antropólogos mexicanos que, aunque conscientes de una necesaria epistemología del Sur, no se plantean al Otro antropológico español ni se acercan concienzudamente a los corpus etnográficos ya existente. Es decir que aún no se ha suscitado una mirada inversa hacia España, no en términos de nuestro «Norte» como Estados Unidos, sino de nuestro alter ego. En el presente texto, relato mi breve experiencia de campo en el Valle de Polaciones, Cantabria, llevada a cabo hace dos décadas en la Escuela de Antropología «Julio Caro Baroja» cuyo principal promotor fue el profesor Lisón Tolosana. Con ello pretendo reflexionar sobre la posibilidad de acercarnos desde la antropología latinoamericana al amplio material etnográfico español existente gracias a las arduas y sistemáticas investigaciones del profesor zaragozano así como de su Escuela, y pensar en nuevos temas de investigación que amplíen nuestro espectro más allá del ámbito puramente indigenista.

Desde finales de los años noventa la legislación estableció que el gobierno colombiano tiene posibilidad de disponer de las utilidades que generen las empresas industriales y comerciales del Estado y las de economía mixta (Reglamentación vigente sobre el tema: Decreto 111 de 1995). La responsabilidad de hacer los estudios técnico-financieros que sirvieran de base a las decisiones que tome el CONPES sobre el porcentaje de las utilidades retiradas de cada empresa con el fin de ser empleado en la satisfacción de otras necesidades financieras del Estado, recayó desde un principio en el Departamento Nacional de Planeación -DNP. Inicialmente, en 1991, Y posteriormente en 1995, el DNP recurrió a la Facultad de Ciencias de la Administración de la Universidad del Valle (de aquí en adelante UV) para que le asesorara en el diseño de los modelos financieros necesarios para llevar a cabo satisfactoriamente esta responsabilidad. En este artículo se describe el modelo diseñado por la UV para el DNP. En razón a que el modelo de evaluación de desempeño histórico de cada empresa es bastante similar al descrito en otra parte (Barona y Trujillo, 1994) aquí se hará énfasis en el modelo de pronóstico, el cual se elabora y se fundamenta en el modelo de evaluación de desempeño histórico.

El teatro de Cela resulta una rareza en el panorama literario español muy poco estudiada por la crítica. El escritor gallego ofrece un teatro con un sello muy propio, a caballo entre la tradición española y la modernidad de las Vanguardias europeas. Se muestra marcadamente rupturista, experimental e innovador, al tiempo que bebe de la tradición del esperpento o incluso del clasicismo grecolatino, añadiendo a todo ello como telón de fondo, la crudeza de su ya característico -y mal llamado- tremendismo y un abanico interminable de lecturas que forman parte de sus aprendizajes literarios y de su personalidad como escritor. Homenaje a El Bosco II (Seix Barral, 1999), su última obra dramática, tiene la voluntad de ser una síntesis de la historia de España desde la pérdida de Cuba y Filipinas, en 1898, hasta el triunfo de Franco en la Guerra Civil, a pesar de que en la obra se insista en que “esto no es un tratado de historia ni un manual de buenas costumbres”. En efecto, se trata de un gran guignol -diremos- “neoesperpéntico”, conducido en gran parte por lo que el escritor denominó “las cuatro columnas del 98”: Valle-Inclán, Unamuno, Baroja y Azorín. Cela demuestra de nuevo, como ya hizo anteriormente en numerosos ensayos, ser un gran lector del 98 y muy especialmente de la literatura y el pensamiento de estas cuatro figuras axiales.

Este estudio tiene como objetivo presentar aquellas constantes relacionadas con la visión y papel social de la mujer casada en los cuentos del Valle Nuevo (Egipto), las cuales fueron extraídas tras la realización de un análisis comparativo de temas, personajes y símbolos. En el mundo de estos cuentos, lejos de «vivir felices y comer perdices», la protagonista femenina casada sufre duras pruebas de fidelidad y lealtad por parte del esposo, es víctima de los celos de mujeres de su nueva familia y padece la presión de engendrar hijos varones. Son elementos comunes al resto de las tradiciones orales, con un marcado acento dramático. A este conjunto se agregan componentes de esta sociedad particular: la llegada de una nueva adversaria al hogar, la coesposa, una amenaza para la estabilidad y privilegios de esta y de sus hijos; la preferencia por el uso de símbolos concretos referidos a la mujer; y la descripción de costumbres locales, como es la boda tradicional. Todo ello ayuda a revelar el modelo social y valores específicos que transmiten estos cuentos, habida cuenta de que su narración es en sí un acto de habla que influye sobre su receptor: describen, a la vez que legitiman y perpetúan, en un flujo bidireccional.***Aquest estudi té com a objectiu presentar aquelles constants relacionades amb la visió i el paper social de la dona casada en les rondalles de la Vall Nova (Egipte), les quals van ser extretes després de realitzar una anàlisi comparativa de temes, personatges i símbols. En el món d’aquestes rondalles, lluny de «viure feliços i menjar anissos», la protagonista femenina casada pateix dures proves de fidelitat i lleialtat per part del marit, és víctima de la gelosia de dones de la seva nova família i pateix la pressió d’engendrar fills barons. Són elements comuns a la resta de les tradicions orals, amb un marcat accent dramàtic. A aquest conjunt s’hi afegeixen components d’aquesta societat particular: l’arribada d’una nova adversària a la llar, la coesposa, una amenaça per a l’estabilitat i els privilegis d’aquesta i dels seus fills; la preferència per l’ús de símbols concrets referits a la dona; i la descripció de costums locals, com és el casament tradicional. Tot això ajuda a revelar el model social i valors específics que transmeten aquestes rondalles, tenint en compte que la seva narració és en si mateixa un acte de parla que influeix sobre el seu receptor: descriuen, alhora que legitimen i perpetuen, en un flux bidireccional.

Abstract Recently, have been evidenced in central/eastern French Pyrenees sub-marine polygenic breccias (Comus/Baixas Breccias), assigned to Upper Danian-Lower Selandian (P1c-P3) by means of planktonic foraminifera found either within their matrix, or within associated microrhythmic hemipelagites. These ante-Upper Eocene breccias, which are posterior to the HT-LP « Pyrenean » metamorphism (Mid.-Cretaceous in age and characterized by dipyre-bearing marbles and hornfelses) and to the Upper to Uppermost Cretaceous foldings, are only restricted to the Cretaceous orogenic axis of the range [Internal Metamorphic Zone (IMZ) and North-Pyrenean Zone (NPZ)]. They are dated in about 20 layers known from Mediterranean coast to Garonne valley. The breccias define in this part of Pyrenees a wide and long (more than 200 km) W-E trough (subdivided into several meridian palaeocanyons) inherited from former karstic topographies and separated by mountains with a steep topography, flanked to the South and the North of continental areas (covered by « Vitrollian » fluvio-lacustrine deposits). It was important to evidence if this marine breccia-filled « trough », Palaeocene in age, could extend westwards, West of Garonne, in Comminges/Barousse and Bigorre, where, laterally, the « Vitrollian » continental areas are replaced by outer-shelf marine sediments (clinoform carbonates), both covering the Sub-Pyrenean Zone (SPZ) and the High Primary Range (HPR) (Gavarnie-Mont-Perdu thrust sheet). In fact, the presence of those breccias has been already suggested (but without micropalaeontologic arguments) by Mattauer [in Choukroune, 1969 and 1976] in the Lourdes area (Bigorre). The topic of this paper is to characterize and to assign to the lower part of Palaeocene (63-59 Ma interval) several significant outcrops (St-Béat, Bramevaque/Troubat/Gembrié, Lortet, Medous/Bagnères-de-Bigorre and Lourdes/Pibeste) of these marine breccias (some of them previously used as black/yellow marbles called « Brèche romaine de St-Béat », « Portor des Pyrénées » or « Marbres de Medous ») recently identified from Garonne to Gave-de-Pau (fig. 1). Although quite poor in argillaceous hemipelagites, most of the breccias (which contain Mesozoic clasts) are now well dated by sections of « globigerinids » (= superfamily of Globerinacea) observed within their matrix. Other marine Palaeocene breccias also exist, more to the South (col de Gembre) along segments of the North-Pyrenean Fault, but they only rework Palaeozoic clasts. The « globigerinid » assemblage checked within all the Palaeocene breccias of Comminges/Bigorre includes, as more to the east, the following taxa: Globanomalina compressa, Gl. ehrenbergi, Gl. imitata, Parasubbotina varianta, P. variospira, Igorina pusilla, Morozovella angulata, M. praeangulata, Praemurica spiralis, Pr. inconstans and Woodringina hornestownensis. This assemblage is also laterally present within the marine carbonate sequences of the SPZ – HCR cover (« Lasseube Limestones » from the Nay/Pont Labau area, « Globigerinid-bearing Limestones » from the Gavarnie-Mont-Perdu thrust sheet), regions which are peripheric to the Pyrenean Lower/Mid. Cretaceous orogen (IMZ, NPZ) because exempt of major angular unconformity between Maastrichtian and Danian marine deposits (only a short gap of Lower/Lowermost Danian underlines the K/T boundary). On the contrary, the herein studied regions, belonging to this orogen, are characterized by a clear unconformity (both angular and cartographic) along a well-marked ravining surface inherited from erosional processes and karstification. The substratum of these breccias is strongly folded, cleaved and sometimes metamorphic and its younger formation seems to be Mid.– Cretaceous in age at least. Thus, it is very probable that the ante-Palaeocene unconformity seals compressional/transpressional structures (followed by emersions) assigned to the Uppermost Cretaceous phase (palinspastic transect, fig. 5). Danian/Selandian marine breccias and their already folded Mesozoic substratum are later tectonically reactived together by the « Pyrenean » compressions, Upper Eocene in age. If the elements of these breccias sometimes correspond to marbles induced by the Mid.-Cretaceous thermometamorphism (as around the famous « Etang de Lherz », more to the East, where lherzolites are also reworked in similar Danian/Selandian breccias), their matrix locally contain neogenic phyllites (never dipyre !) which could be related to a light (hydrothermal ?) post-breccia metamorphism. The clasts are generally angular, showing a very short transport from emerged steep topographies separating the different elementary canyons of the trough. The last problem is to determine the eventual westwards extension in the Bearn and Basque Pyrenees (fig. 6), particularly in the « Chaînons Béarnais » Zone which belonged to the North-Iberian palaeomargin (Iberian Plate) of the future range during Lower/Mid.-Cretaceous times. At this first level of micropalaeontologic investigations, it seems that several breccias (Lauriolle, Etchebar, Bosmendiette etc …), previously interpreted by several authors (synthesis in James and Canerot [1999]) as Aptian and « diapiric » (collapse) breccias, should be assigned to marine Palaeocene deposits because containing (in their matrix and associated hemipelagites) Danian-Selandian planktonic foraminifera similar to the Comminges/Bigorre ones.

The objective of this paper is to make the case that the United States became an economic super-power in the nineteenth century on the backs of African-American slaves and Native Americans.It was in 1619, when Jamestown colonists bought 20-30 slaves from English pirates. The paper starts with ‘The 1619 Project’ whose objective is to place the consequences of slavery--and the contributions of black Americans--at the very center of the story we tell ourselves about who we are as a nation.Slavery was common in all thirteen colonies, and at-least twelve Presidents owned slaves. The enslaved people were not recognized as human beings, but as property: once a slave always a slave.The U.S. Constitution, adopted in 1788, never mentions slavery, yet slavery is at the very heart of the constitution. The U.S. government used the Declaration of Independence as a license to commit genocide on the Native Americans, and to seize their land.Racist ideas have persisted throughout American history, based on the myth that blacks are intellectually inferior compared to whites. However, in a 2012 article in the Scientific American, the authors reported that 85.5% of genetic variation is within the so-called races, not between them. So, the consensus among Western researchers today is that human races do not represent a scientific theory, but are sociocultural constructs.After end of the Civil War, the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution abolished slavery in America, and the 15th Amendment protected the voting rights of African Americans.However, in the Confederate South, Jim Crow laws legalized racial segregation between 1870-1968. In 1965, thanks to the Civil Rights movement, the Voting Rights Act was passed to overcome barriers created by Jim Crow laws to the legal rights of African Americans under the 15th Amendment.British and American innovations in cotton technology sparked the Industrial Revolution during the latter part of the eighteenth century. The British cotton manufacturing exploded in the 1780s. Eighty years later in 1860, Manchester, England stood at the center of a world-spanning empire—the empire of cotton. There were three pillars of the Industrial Revolution. One was the centuries-earlier conquest by Europeans of a colossal expanse of lands in the New World. It was the control of huge territories in America, that made monoculture farming of cotton possible. Second was that the Europeans drastically—and unilaterally--altered the global competitive landscape of cotton. They did it by using their military might, and the willingness to use it—often violently--to their advantage.The third—and the most important--was slavery: without which there would be no Industrial Revolution. America was tremendously suited for cotton production. The climate and soil of a large part of American South met the conditions under which the cotton plant thrived. More importantly, the plantation owners in America commanded unlimited supplies of the three crucial ingredients that went into the production of cotton: labor, land, and credit. And this was topped by their unbelievable political power.In 1793 Eli Whitney’s revolutionary cotton gin increased ginning productivity fifty times, and thus removed the bottleneck of removing seeds from cotton. Because of relying on monoculture farming, the problem the cotton planters were facing was soil exhaustion. So, they wanted the U.S. government to acquire more land. Surprisingly, in 1803 America was able to strike an unbelievable deal with the French--the Louisiana Purchase--which doubled the territory of the United States. In 1819 America acquired Florida from Spain, and in 1845 annexed Texas from Mexico.Between 1803 and 1838, under President Andrew Jackson, America fought a multi-front war against the Native Americans in the Deep South, and expropriated vast tracts of their land, that culminated in the ethnic cleansing of the Deep South.With an unlimited supply of land—and slave labor--even soil exhaustion did not slow down the cotton barons; they just moved further west and farther south. New cotton fields now sprang up in the sediment-rich lands along the banks of Mississippi. So swift was this move westward that, by the end of the 1830s, Mississippi was producing more cotton than any other southern state. By 1860, there were more millionaires per capita in Mississippi Valley than anywhere else in America.The New Orleans slave market was the largest in America--where 100,000 men, women, and children were packaged, priced, and sold.The entry of the United States in the cotton market quickly began to reshape the global cotton market. By 1802 America was the single-most supplier of cotton to Britain.For eighty years--from the 1780s to 1865--almost a million people were herded down the road from the upper South to the lower South and the West, to toil on cotton plantations. The thirty-odd men walked in coffles, the double line hurrying in lock-step. Each hauled twenty pounds of iron, chains that draped from neck-to-neck, and wrist-to-wrist, binding them all together. They walked for miles, days, and weeks, and many covered over 700 miles.The plantation owners devised a cruel system of controlling their slaves that the enslaved called “the pushing system.” This system constantly increased the number of acres each slave was expected to cultivate. In 1805 each “hand” could tend to five acres of a cotton field. Fifty years later that target had been doubled to ten acres.Overseers closely monitored enslaved workers. Each slave was assigned a daily quota of number of pounds of cotton to pick. If the worker failed to meet it, he received as many lashes on his back as the deficit. However, if he overshot his quota, the master might “reward” him by raising his quota the next day.One of the most brutal weapons the planters used against the slaves, was the whip: ten feet of plaited cowhide. When facing the specter of an overseer’s whip, slaves were so terrified that they could not speak in sentences. They danced, trembled, babbled, and lost control of their bodies.When seeking a loan, the planters used slaves as a collateral. With extraordinarily high returns from their businesses, the planters began to expand their loan portfolio: sometimes using the same slave worker as collateral for multiple mortgages. The American South produced too much cotton. However, consumer demand could not keep up with the excessive supply, that then led to a precipitous fall in prices, which, in turn, set off the Panic of 1837. And that touched off a major depression.The slaveholders were using advanced management and accounting practices long before the techniques that are still in use today.The manufacture of sugar from sugarcane began in Louisiana Territory in 1795. In sugar mills, children, alongside with adults, toiled like factory workers with assembly-like precision and discipline under the constant threat of boiling hot kettles, open furnaces, and grinding rollers. To attain the highest efficiency, sugar factories worked day and night where there is no distinction as to the days of the week. Fatigue might mean losing an arm to the grinding rollers, or being flayed for not being able to keep up. Resistance was often met with sadistic cruelty.The expansion of slavery in the first eight decades after American independence, drove the evolution and modernization of the United States. In the course of a single life time, the South grew from a narrow coastal strip of worn-out tobacco plantations, to a continental cotton empire. As a result, the United States became a modern, industrial, and capitalistic economy. This is the period in which America rose from being a minor European trading partner, to becoming the world’s leading economy. Finally, we hope that we have successfully been able to make the argument that America became an economic powerhouse in the nineteenth century not only on the backs of African-American slaves, but also on the genocide of Native Americans, and their stolen lands.

Aim: To evaluate the effect of elevated temperature on the yield of Shiraz vines in the Barossa Valley of Australia.Methods and results: We compiled and analysed 37 pair-wise yield comparisons between heated and control vines spaning seven consecutive vintages from 2009-10. Heating with open-top chambers increased daily average temperature by approx. 2 °C above ambient in realistic vineyard conditions, in comparison to 0.9 to 2.9 °C projected warming for south-eastern Australia (2030-2070). The combination of seasons, varieties, fruit loads, pruning times, and water regimes returned an 8.5-fold variation in the yield of unheated vines. Warming had no statistically significant effect on yield in 32 out of 37 comparisons, reduced yield in 2 and increased yield in 3.Conclusion: Projected warming is unlikely to cause widespread reduction of yield in environments with thermal regimes similar to Barossa Valley; extrapolation to cooler or warmer regions is not warranted.Significance and impact of the study: The relevance of this finding is three-fold. First, it demonstrates vine resilience against the target of the Paris Agreement setting a long-term goal of holding global warming below 2 °C. Second, further research on adaptation to warming needs to focus on logistic issues such as early harvest, and fruit composition with implications for wine quality, rather than yield. Third, this summary data set is a robust reference to benchmark time-series and modelling analysis of vine yield in response to warming.

The increasing prevalence of the grapevine trunk diseases Eutypa and Botryopshaeria dieback has been attributed, in part, to abiotic stresses imposed on vineyards as production intensifies worldwide. The aim of this study was to evaluate the influence of water deficit irrigation practices on the infection of pruning wounds by Eutypa lata and Diplodia seriata, and the subsequent rate of colonisation. Two vineyard trials were conducted over 2 years in South Australia, one in the Riverland using ‘Cabernet Sauvignon’ with four irrigation treatments (100, 50, 25 and 12.5% of the standard irrigation program) and another in the Barossa Valley using ‘Shiraz’ on six rootstocks and own roots, either irrigated or not irrigated. According to leaf water potential assessments, vines with reduced irrigation were generally in water deficit, and therefore subjected to stress. On the whole, incidence of wound infection and distance of colonisation were similar among irrigation treatments for both pathogens, except in the Riverland, where E. lata colonized canes to a greater extent in well-watered vines than those in water deficit. Only vines on rootstock ‘Ramsey’ in the Barossa Valley had greater extent of colonisation by E. lata in the non-irrigated vines. There was no correlation between internal staining and colonisation, with both pathogens recovered up to nearly 20 cm ahead of the staining. Water deficit did not increase the susceptibility of grapevine pruning wounds to infection, nor colonisation of the subtending tissue by E. lata and D. seriata. In fact, there was evidence of decreased susceptibility to colonisation by E. lata in vines subjected to severe water deficit.

A wines’ terroir, represented as wine traits with regional distinctiveness, is a reflection of both the biophysical and human-driven conditions in which the grapes were grown and wine made. Soil is an important factor contributing to the uniqueness of a wine produced by vines grown in specific conditions. Here, we evaluated the impact of environmental variables on the soil bacteria of 22 Barossa Valley vineyard sites based on the 16S rRNA gene hypervariable region 4. In this study, we report that both dispersal isolation by geographic distance and environmental heterogeneity (soil plant-available P content, elevation, rainfall, temperature, spacing between row and spacing between vine) contribute to microbial community dissimilarity between vineyards. Vineyards located in cooler and wetter regions showed lower beta diversity and a higher ratio of dominant taxa. Differences in soil bacterial community composition were significantly associated with differences in fruit and wine composition. Our results suggest that environmental factors affecting wine terroir, may be mediated by changes in microbial structure, thus providing a basic understanding of how growing conditions affect interactions between plants and their soil bacteria.

This study evaluates the main determinants of wine tourists’ intention to revisit the winerycellar door. The proposed tourist behavior model suggests that past wine-related knowledgeand behaviors as well as motivation affect satisfaction with the cellar door visit. The modelsuggests that actual behavior at the cellar door (number of bottles bought and amount ofmoney spent) is dependent on the previously mentioned factors. A survey of wine tourists inthe Barossa Valley, Australia, led to 676 useable questionnaires. The results of a binarylogistic model show that only monthly household expenditure on wine consumption and themotive of tasting wine predict satisfaction with the cellar door visit. A negative binomialmodel shows that the probability to buy more bottles at the winery increases if the visitor isfrom Australia, satisfied with the visit, has tasted wine at the cellar door, is younger, spends more on monthly household consumption of wine, and was primarily visiting to buy wine.However, intention to revisit is predicted only by satisfaction, awareness of the winery beforethe visit, motives of buying and tasting wine, and some socio-demographic characteristics.Implications for the management of visitor behavior and the cellar door experience are alsodiscussed.

Aim: To investigate whether timing and duration of exposure to elevated temperatures impact the reproductive development of field-grown Shiraz grapevines.Methods and results: The reproductive responses of Shiraz grapevines (Vitis vinifera L.) to two levels of elevated temperatures at budburst and flowering were investigated in an irrigated vineyard in the Barossa Valley (South Australia) over two consecutive growing seasons. Custom-built under-vine ‘tents’ and closed flow-through chambers enclosing a set of grapevines in the field were used to raise canopy temperatures above ambient. Higher temperatures at flowering resulted in lower yields due to decreased fruit set in 2007-08, while yield was virtually unaltered the following year despite the lower fruit set. Two indicators of grapevine reproductive performance, Coulure Index and Millerandage Index that quantify abscised and underdeveloped berries, respectively, were calculated to be higher as a result of the heat treatments in both seasons. Stigma receptivity, pollen germination, and pollen tube kinetics were generally lower in vines grown under the tents.Conclusion: Flowering and fruit set are strongly influenced by temperature changes during this period of development.Significance and impact of study: This is one of the first field based studies to demonstrate that extreme temperatures (>35°C) during the flowering period detrimentally effect fruit set and final yield and thus providing critical knowledge for managing vineyards in a changing climate.

Presented on Tuesday 17 May: Session 8 Within Australia, carbon capture and storage (CCS) and carbon capture, utilisation and storage will play a significant role as part of an ‘all of the above’ approach to managing greenhouse gas emissions. Two CCS projects are currently operating: Gorgon and the Otway CCS project. The Gorgon and Jansz-Io fields contain approximately 14% carbon dioxide (CO2). The CO2 is brought to shore at Barrow Island and injected into the Dupuy Formation saline aquifer at a depth of 2500 m. While the project has experienced delays with start-up and operational issues, to July 2021 nearly 5 MMt of CO2 had been injected. The Otway CCS Project is a research facility used to study subsurface CO2 storage and behaviour within saline aquifers and depleted reservoirs. Since the start of the project in 2007 a total of 95 000 t of CO2 has been stored. Final Investment Decision was taken for the Moomba CCS project on 1 November 2021 and for the Leigh Creek Urea project in March 2021. In addition, feasibility studies are being carried out across multiple projects within Australia including the South West and Mid-West Projects in the Perth Basin, CarbonNet in Victoria’s Latrobe Valley and Gippsland Basin and the Moonie oil field EOR, Integrated Surat Basin Project and the ATP 2062-P Buckland Basalt projects in the Bowen-Surat Basin. A CCS hub at Bayu-Undan is being assessed as a possible option to reduce the carbon footprint of the Barossa, Caldita and Evans Shoals projects, and feasibility studies are underway into large-scale multi-user CCS hubs near both Darwin and Karratha. To access the presentation click the link on the right. To read the full paper click here

Escritor y fundador de la editorial Grup 62, Josep Maria Castellet se recuerda en esta necrología en el año de su muerte, 2014. Fue una persona realista, alejada del surrealismo, y bastante racional, sin miedo a la muerte, entendida como un proceso natural e inevitable. Desde joven se interesó por los escritores del siglo XX español, como Pío Baroja, Azorín, Valle-Inclán, entre otros como Antonio Machado, y se alejó entonces de la religión. También fueron fundamentales para influenciarlo Sartre y Josep Pla. El autor de esta necrología comenta todas las entrevistas que le hizo a este importante escritor catalán, que recibió el Premio Nacional de las Letras Españolas y siempre estuvo dispuesto a colocar la cultura hispana por encima de cualquier diferencia.

We are enslaved by speed and have succumbed to the same insidious virus: Fast Life, which disrupts our habits, pervades the privacy of our homes and forces us to eat Fast Foods. -- Manifesto of the Slow Food movement In Australia, we like our food fast. We spend more than a third of our average weekly household budget eating out or on takeaway food, a figure that may jump to 50% in the next five years (Macken). An ever increasing proportion of the food we do prepare at home has been processed for convenience, so that now we manage to spend just an hour and a half eating and drinking each day, or less time than we spend watching television (ABS, How Australians). If the sharing of food fosters family and social ties, and strong family and social relationships are an integral part of civil society, statistics such as these should give us pause. While it is beyond the scope of this article to give this topic the full attention it deserves, the article will nonetheless briefly examine some of the implications of life on the fast-food track. But first, why have we become so reliant on convenience foods? One reason is that significant numbers of women have entered the workforce during the last few decades and today, more than 60 percent of Australian women who are married work outside the home (ABS, Labour Force). As the value of women's labour in the market increases, their time becomes a more precious commodity and they seek ways to use it more efficiently (Bourdieu). Because women have traditionally been responsible for the preparation of family meals, and continue to shoulder most of the responsibility regardless of their role in the workforce, they naturally look for ways to save time buying and cooking food. However, this is not a trend confined solely to working women with families, but rather one that crosses many demographic and economic lines. We all seem to feel our time is at a premium, even though we are actually working less (ABS, Social Trends). That is because we are increasingly placing a greater value on our leisure time, and although we have more of it because of the shorter hours we work and the multitude of time-saving devices we use, we do not want to spend our free time shopping for food (Cheeseman & Breddin) or cooking it. Instead, our preferred activities are watching television and videos, socialising and talking, listening to the radio and reading (ABS, Social Trends). Interestingly, we have placed socialising and the family meal into completely separate categories. But first, why have we become so reliant on convenience foods? One reason is that significant numbers of women have entered the workforce during the last few decades and today, more than 60 percent of Australian women who are married work outside the home (ABS, Labour Force). As the value of women's labour in the market increases, their time becomes a more precious commodity and they seek ways to use it more efficiently (Bourdieu). Because women have traditionally been responsible for the preparation of family meals, and continue to shoulder most of the responsibility regardless of their role in the workforce, they naturally look for ways to save time buying and cooking food. However, this is not a trend confined solely to working women with families, but rather one that crosses many demographic and economic lines. We all seem to feel our time is at a premium, even though we are actually working less (ABS, Social Trends). That is because we are increasingly placing a greater value on our leisure time, and although we have more of it because of the shorter hours we work and the multitude of time-saving devices we use, we do not want to spend our free time shopping for food (Cheeseman & Breddin) or cooking it. Instead, our preferred activities are watching television and videos, socialising and talking, listening to the radio and reading (ABS, Social Trends). Interestingly, we have placed socialising and the family meal into completely separate categories. While the nutritional benefits derived from 'replaced' meals may be questionable, there are more important considerations at stake. People who have come to feel they do not have time to cook are not likely to feel they can spare much time to eat, either. 'Eating on the run' has now become part of our lexicon. And truthfully, who would want to linger over a meal made from reconstituted foods? But more importantly, what message do meals such as these impart to those who eat them? The social engagement, for example, that occurs over a frozen dinner "is very different to that which occurs over a long meal that has been carefully prepared and is shared with family or friends" (Finkelstein). The message inherent in quickly prepared or purchased foods that are in turn quickly consumed, often at different times by different members of the family or household, is that the family or communal meal is not an occasion worthy of much attention. Nothing can be farther from the truth. According to Claude Lévi-Strauss, food is at the very core of sociality. Humans evolved as food-sharing animals (van den Berghe), and the origin of the family can be traced in large part to the necessity of sharing meals. Today, meal times not only serve to strengthen family and social ties, but also to acculturate children into the norms of 'civilised' behaviour" (Lupton). Yet, they are under attack as family members are increasingly left to forage for food on their own. We need to consider what social and emotional skills our children are developing as they nibble on leftover pizza by the kitchen sink or unwrap their microwaved meal in front of the television. In an interview with Psychology Today, Ruth Reichl, renowned food writer and current editor of Gourmet magazine, said that the trend for family members to eat five-minute meals on their own will have a profound psychological impact on future generations of children, who will have missed out on a vital part of the socialisation process (Toufexis). Perhaps the Slow Food movement, then, has hit upon something. Its manifesto states, "a firm defense of quiet material pleasure is the only way to oppose the universal folly of Fast Life... . Our defense should begin at the table with Slow Food. Let us rediscover the flavors and savors of regional cooking and banish the degrading effects of Fast Food" (Slow Food). The movement was founded in Italy in 1986 by Carlos Petrini as a reaction to the establishment of a McDonald's near Rome's historic Spanish Steps. While global fast food colonisation is certainly a rallying point, the movement also encourages members to eat seasonal foods, support and protect regional cuisines, reinstate the ritual of family dining and educate children's palates. Mostly, however, Slow Food is about taking the time to enjoy a meal, to value the ingredients that go into it, and to share it with friends and family. It is appropriate, then, that the movement's symbol is a snail, "a talisman against speed" (Slow Food). While speed may be exciting, fast foods are not, and the idea of slowing down to savour meals with family and friends is one that is gaining momentum. The Slow Food movement, which started with a few delegates from 15 countries just over a decade ago, has now grown to 60,000 members in 35 countries, complete with 400 convivia, or local branches. Australia hosts eight of these chapters. Maggie Beer, the well-known Barossa Valley chef, entrepreneur and food writer, is also a Slow Food member. Her solution to the daily dinner dilemma is simple: by planning ahead and keeping a well-stocked pantry, it is possible for time-constrained cooks to have at hand many of the ingredients they need to make simple and nutritious meals in as much time as it takes to go get takeaway food (Beer). Nonetheless, keeping the pantry well-stocked with quality foods instead of dinners-in-a-packet means deciding that meals matter, that they are worthy of consideration and of time spent in preparation and consumption, and that the long-term rewards of Slow Food are worth far more than the short-term benefits of Fast Food. As the training grounds for future generations and important sites of reconnection for current ones, meals should be welcomed as opportunities for interaction rather than chores to be completed as quickly as possible. They should make people want to linger, while enjoying the company, the conversation and the food. As the French gastronome Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin wrote in the early nineteenth century: One may find round a single table all the modifications which extreme sociability has introduced into our midst: love, friendship, business, speculation, influence, solicitation, patronage, ambition, intrigue; that is why conviviality affects every aspect of human life, and bears fruits of every flavour. (Brillat-Savarin). Reviving the ritual of a family meal does not mean returning to 'traditional' 1950s household dynamics, but rather, adopting a modern view that meals are important, even vital, and that all members of a family should contribute to making them special. The preparation of a meal can become part of the social process; Italo-Australians, for example, have turned the making of tomato sauce into a very communal and social event that draws friends and family closer together. It is a type of meal preparation that can be replicated on a far smaller scale by simply involving family members, housemates and partners in the making of a meal, which can be accomplished in a myriad of ways by people of varying ages and skills. However, it means periodically suspending time, for a good meal that satisfies body and soul cannot be rushed. The evidence suggests, however, that many of us are not yet able to jump off the treadmill, even though the current trend toward faster and faster foods may have a significant impact on the structure of the family and the nature of our relationships with each other. If we continue to eat on the run, if we consistently eat meals that do not make us want to linger, then we may find ourselves in danger of losing that uniquely human ritual of sharing food, which is a cornerstone of our sociality, the bedrock of family life and a building block of our collective spirit. Much does, indeed, depend on dinner. References Australian Bureau of Statistics. How Australians Use Their Time. Canberra: ABS, 1998. Australian Bureau of Statistics. Labour Force Status and Other Characteristics of Families, Australia. Canberra: ABS, 1999. Australian Bureau of Statistics. Social Trends 1999. Canberra: ABS, 1999. Beer, Maggie. "Advance Australia's Fare." The Australian Magazine 1-2 Jan. 2000: 40. Van den Berghe, Pierre. "Ethnic Cuisine: Culture in Nature." Ethnic and Racial Studies 7.3 (1984): 387-97. Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1984. Brillat-Savarin, Jean-Anthelme. The Philosopher in the Kitchen. Trans. Anne Drayton. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1970. Cheeseman, Noel, and Robyn Breddin. Food Retailing in Australia. Brisbane: Queensland Department of Primary Industries, 1995. Finkelstein, Joanne. "Fast Foods: The Dangers of Eating Too Quickly." Proceedings of the Sixth Symposium of Australian Gastronomy: Much Depends on Dinner. Melbourne, 1991. 173-7. Lupton, Deborah. Food, the Body and the Self. London: Sage, 1996. Macken, Deirdre. "The Death of the Kitchen: Will Cooking Survive the 1990s?" Sydney Morning Herald Spectrum 7 Sep. 1996: 10s. Mangosi, Sandro. "Pie-and-Sandwich Corner Shop Threatened by Dynamics of Fast Food Industry." BIS Shrapnel News Release. 18 May 2000. Slattery, Geoff. "Accept No Imitations." The Age Food 11 May 1999. Slow Food. "Manifesto." 2000. 1 June 2000 <http://www.slowfood.com/>. Toufexis, Anastasia. "Dishing with Ruth Reichl." Psychology Today 31.6 (Nov.-Dec. 1998): 48. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Gwendolyn Stansbury. "Arresting Fast Food." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.3 (2000). [your date of access] <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/food.php>. Chicago style: Gwendolyn Stansbury, "Arresting Fast Food," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/food.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Gwendolyn Stansbury. (2000) Arresting fast food. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(3). <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/food.php> ([your date of access]).

"verbiage very thinly sliced and plated up real nice" (Barrett 1)IntroductionMany of us share in an obsessive collecting of cookbooks and recipes. Torn or cut from newspapers and magazines, recipes sit swelling scrapbooks with bloated, unfilled desire. They’re non-hybrid seeds, peas under the mattress, an endless cycle of reproduction. Desire and narrative are folded into each other in our drive, as humans, to create meaning. But what holds us to narrative is good writing. And what can also drive desire is image—literal as well as metaphorical—the visceral pleasure of the gaze, or looking and viewing the sensually aesthetic and the work of the imagination. Creative WritingCooking, winemaking, and food and wine writing can all be considered art. For example, James Halliday (31), the eminent Australian wine critic, posed the question “Is winemaking an art?,” answering: “Most would say so” (31). Cookbooks are stories within stories, narratives that are both factual and imagined, everyday and fantastic—created by both writer and reader from where, along with its historical, cultural and publishing context, a text gets its meaning. Creative writing, in broad terms of genre, is either fiction (imagined, made-up) or creative nonfiction (true, factual). Genre comes from the human taxonomic impulse to create order from chaos through cataloguing and classification. In what might seem overwhelming infinite variety, we establish categories and within them formulas and conventions. But genres are not necessarily stable or clear-cut, and variation in a genre can contribute to its de/trans/formation (Curti 33). Creative nonfiction includes life writing (auto/biography) and food writing among other subgenres (although these subgenres can also be part of fiction). Cookbooks sit within the creative nonfiction genre. More clearly, dietary or nutrition manuals are nonfiction, technical rather than creative. Recipe writing specifically is perhaps less an art and more a technical exercise; generally it’s nonfiction, or between that and creative nonfiction. (One guide to writing recipes is Ostmann and Baker.) Creative writing is built upon approximately five, more or less, fundamentals of practice: point of view or focalisation or who narrates, structure (plot or story, and theme), characterisation, heightened or descriptive language, setting, and dialogue (not in any order of importance). (There are many handbooks on creative writing, that will take a writer through these fundamentals.) Style or voice derives from what a writer writes about (their recurring themes), and how they write about it (their vocabulary choice, particular use of imagery, rhythm, syntax etc.). Traditionally, as a reader, and writer, you are either a plot person or character person, but you can also be interested primarily in ideas or language, and in the popular or literary.Cookbooks as Creative NonfictionCookbooks often have a sense of their author’s persona or subjectivity as a character—that is, their proclivities, lives and thus ideology, and historical, social and cultural place and time. Memoir, a slice of the author–chef/cook’s autobiography, is often explicitly part of the cookbook, or implicit in the nature of the recipes, and the para-textual material which includes the book’s presentation and publishing context, and the writer’s biographical note and acknowledgements. And in relation to the latter, here's Australian wine educator Colin Corney telling us, in his biographical note, about his nascent passion for wine: “I returned home […] stony broke. So the next day I took a job as a bottleshop assistant at Moore Park Cellars […] to tide me over—I stayed three years!” (xi). In this context, character and place, in the broadest sense, are inevitably evoked. So in conjunction with this para-textual material, recipe ingredients and instructions, visual images and the book’s production values combine to become the components for authoring a fictive narrative of self, space and time—fictive, because writing inevitably, in a broad or conceptual sense, fictionalises everything, since it can only re-present through language and only from a particular point of view.The CookbooksTo talk about the art of cookbooks, I make a judgmental (from a creative-writer's point of view) case study of four cookbooks: Lyndey Milan and Colin Corney’s Balance: Matching Food and Wine, Sean Moran’s Let It Simmer (this is the first edition; the second is titled Let It Simmer: From Bush to Beach and Onto Your Plate), Kate Lamont’s Wine and Food, and Greg Duncan Powell’s Rump and a Rough Red (this is the second edition; the first was The Pig, the Olive & the Squid: Food & Wine from Humble Beginnings) I discuss reading, writing, imaging, and designing, which, together, form the nexus for interpreting these cookbooks in particular. The choice of these books was only relatively random, influenced by my desire to see how Australia, a major wine-producing country, was faring with discussion of wine and food choices; by the presence of discursive text beyond technical presentation of recipes, and of photographs and purposefully artful design; and by familiarity with names, restaurants and/or publishers. Reading Moran's cookbook is a model of good writing in its use of selective and specific detail directed towards a particular theme. The theme is further created or reinforced in the mix of narrative, language use, images and design. His writing has authenticity: a sense of an original, distinct voice.Moran’s aphoristic title could imply many things, but, in reading the cookbook, you realise it resonates with a mindfulness that ripples throughout his writing. The aphorism, with its laidback casualness (legendary Australian), is affectively in sync with the chef’s approach. Jacques Derrida said of the aphorism that it produces “an echo of really curious, indelible power” (67).Moran’s aim for his recipes is that they be about “honest, home-style cooking” and bringing “out a little bit of the professional chef in the home cook”, and they are “guidelines” available for “sparkle” and seduction from interpretation (4). The book lives out this persona and personal proclivities. Moran’s storytellings are specifically and solely highlighted in the Contents section which structures the book via broad categories (for example, "Grains" featuring "The dance of the paella" and "Heaven" featuring "A trifle coming on" for example). In comparison, Powell uses "The Lemon", for example, as well as "The Sheep". The first level of Contents in Lamont’s book is done by broad wine styles: sparkling, light white, robust white and so on, and the second level is the recipe list in each of these sections. Lamont’s "For me, matching food and wine comes down to flavour" (xiii) is not as dramatic or expressive as Powell’s "Wine: the forgotten condiment." Although food is first in Milan and Corney’s book’s subtitle, their first content is wine, then matching food with colour and specific grape, from Sauvignon Blanc to Barbera and more. Powell claims that the third of his rules (the idea of rules is playful but not comedic) for choosing the best wine per se is to combine region with grape variety. He covers a more detailed and diversified range of grape varieties than Lamont, systematically discussing them first-up. Where Lamont names wine styles, Powell points out where wine styles are best represented in Australian states and regions in a longish list (titled “13 of the best Australian grape and region combos”). Lamont only occasionally does this. Powell discusses the minor alternative white, Arneis, and major alternative reds such as Barbera and Nebbiolo (Allen 81, 85). This engaging detail engenders a committed reader. Pinot Gris, Viognier, Sangiovese, and Tempranillo are as alternative as Lamont gets. In contrast to Moran's laidbackness, Lamont emphasises professionalism: "My greatest pleasure as a chef is knowing that guests have enjoyed the entire food and wine experience […] That means I have done my job" (xiii). Her reminders of the obvious are, nevertheless, noteworthy: "Thankfully we have moved on from white wine/white meat and red wine/red meat" (xiv). She then addresses the alterations in flavour caused by "method of cooking" and "combination of ingredients", with examples. One such is poached chicken and mango crying "out for a vibrant, zesty Riesling" (xiii): but where from, I ask? Roast chicken with herbs and garlic would favour "red wine with silky tannin" and "chocolatey flavours" (xiii): again, I ask, where from? Powell claims "a different evolution" for his book "to the average cookbook" (7). In recipes that have "a wine focus", there are no "pretty […] little salads, or lavish […] cakes" but "brown" albeit tasty food that will not require ingredients from "poncy inner-city providores", be easy to cook, and go with a cheap, budget-based wine (7). While this identity-setting is empathetic for a Powell clone, and I am envious of his skill with verbiage, he doesn’t deliver dreaming or desire. Milan and Corney do their best job in an eye-catching, informative exemplar list of food and wine matches: "Red duck curry and Barossa Valley Shiraz" for example (7), and in wine "At-a-glance" tables, telling us, for example, that the best Australian regions for Chardonnay are Margaret River and the Adelaide Hills (53). WritingThe "Introduction" to Moran’s cookbook is a slice of memoir, a portrait of a chef as a young man: the coming into being of passion, skill, and professionalism. And the introduction to the introduction is most memorable, being a loving description of his frugal Australian childhood dinners: creations of his mother’s use of manufactured, canned, and bottled substitutes-for-the-real, including Gravox and Dessert Whip (1). From his travel-based international culinary education in handmade, agrarian food, he describes "a head of buffalo mozzarella stuffed with ricotta and studded with white truffles" as "sheer beauty", "ambrosial flavour" and "edible white 'terrazzo'." The consonants b, s, t, d, and r are picked up and repeated, as are the vowels e, a, and o. Notice, too, the comparison of classic Italian food to an equally classic Italian artefact. Later, in an interactive text, questions are posed: "Who could now imagine life without this peppery salad green?" (23). Moran uses the expected action verbs of peel, mince, toss, etc.: "A bucket of tiny clams needs a good tumble under the running tap" (92). But he also uses the unexpected hug, nab, snuggle, waltz, "wave of garlic" and "raining rice." Milan and Corney display a metaphoric-language play too: the bubbles of a sparkling wine matching red meat become "the little red broom […] sweep[ing] away the […] cloying richness" (114). In contrast, Lamont’s cookbook can seem flat, lacking distinctiveness. But with a title like Wine and Food, perhaps you are not expecting much more than information, plain directness. Moran delivers recipes as reproducible with ease and care. An image of a restaurant blackboard menu with the word "chook" forestalls intimidation. Good quality, basic ingredients and knowledge of their source and season carry weight. The message is that food and drink are due respect, and that cooking is neither a stressful, grandiose nor competitive activity. While both Moran and Lamont have recipes for Duck Liver Pâté—with the exception that Lamont’s is (disturbingly, for this cook) "Parfait", Moran also has Lentil Patties, a granola, and a number of breads. Lamont has Brioche (but, granted, without the yeast, seeming much easier to make). Powell’s Plateless Pork is "mud pies for grown-ups", and you are asked to cook a "vat" of sauce. This communal meal is "a great way to spread communicable diseases", but "fun." But his passionately delivered historical information mixed with the laconic attitude of a larrikin (legendary Australian again) transform him into a sage, a step up from the monastery (Powell is photographed in dress-up friar’s habit). Again, the obvious is noteworthy in Milan and Corney’s statement that Rosé "possesses qualities of both red and white wines" (116). "On a hot summery afternoon, sitting in the sun overlooking the view … what could be better?" (116). The interactive questioning also feeds in useful information: "there is a huge range of styles" for Rosé so "[g]rape variety is usually a good guide", and "increasingly we are seeing […] even […] Chambourcin" (116). Rosé is set next to a Bouillabaisse recipe, and, empathetically, Milan and Corney acknowledge that the traditional fish soup "can be intimidating" (116). Succinctly incorporated into the recipes are simple greyscale graphs of grape "Flavour Profiles" delineating the strength on the front and back palate and tongue (103).Imaging and DesigningThe cover of Moran’s cookbook in its first edition reproduces the colours of 1930–1940's beach towels, umbrellas or sunshades in matt stripes of blue, yellow, red, and green (Australian beaches traditionally have a grass verge; and, I am told (Costello), these were the colours of his restaurant Panoroma’s original upholstery). A second edition has the same back cover but a generic front cover shifting from the location of his restaurant to the food in a new subtitle: "From Bush to Beach and onto Your Plate". The front endpapers are Sydney’s iconic Bondi Beach where Panoroma restaurant is embedded on the lower wall of an old building of flats, ubiquitous in Bondi, like a halved avocado, or a small shallow elliptic cave in one of the sandstone cliff-faces. The cookbook’s back endpapers are his bush-shack country. Surfaces, cooking equipment, table linen, crockery, cutlery and glassware are not ostentatious, but simple and subdued, in the colours and textures of nature/culture: ivory, bone, ecru, and cream; and linen, wire, wood, and cardboard. The mundane, such as a colander, is highlighted: humbleness elevated, hands at work, cooking as an embodied activity. Moran is photographed throughout engaged in cooking, quietly fetching in his slim, clean-cut, short-haired, altar-boyish good-looks, dressed casually in plain bone apron, t-shirt (most often plain white), and jeans. While some recipes are traditionally constructed, with the headnote, the list of ingredients and the discursive instructions for cooking, on occasion this is done by a double-page spread of continuous prose, inviting you into the story-telling. The typeface of Simmer varies to include a hand-written lookalike. The book also has a varied layout. Notes and small images sit on selected pages, as often as not at an asymmetric angle, with faux tape, as if stuck there as an afterthought—but an excited and enthusiastic afterthought—and to signal that what is informally known is as valuable as professional knowledge/skill and the tried, tested, and formally presented.Lamont’s publishers have laid out recipe instructions on the right-hand side (traditional English-language Western reading is top down, left to right). But when the recipe requires more than one item to be cooked, there is no repeated title; the spacing and line-up are not necessarily clear; and some immediate, albeit temporary, confusion occurs. Her recipes, alongside images of classic fine dining, carry the implication of chefing rather than cooking. She is photographed as a professional, with a chef’s familiar striped apron, and if she is not wearing a chef’s jacket, tunic or shirt, her staff are. The food is beautiful to look at and imagine, but tackling it in the home kitchen becomes a secondary thought. The left-hand section divider pages are meant to signal the wines, with the appropriate colour, and repetitive pattern of circles; but I understood this belatedly, mistaking them for retro wallpaper bemusedly. On the other hand, Powell’s bog-in-don’t-wait everyday heartiness of a communal stewed dinner at a medieval inn (Peasy Lamb looks exactly like this) may be overcooked, and, without sensuousness, uninviting. Images in Lamont’s book tend toward the predictable and anonymous (broad sweep of grape-vined landscape; large groups of people with eating and drinking utensils). The Lamont family run a vineyard, and up-market restaurants, one photographed on Perth’s river dockside. But Sean's Panoroma has a specificity about it; it hasn’t lost its local flavour in the mix with the global. (Admittedly, Moran’s bush "shack", the origin of much Panoroma produce and the destination of Panoroma compost, looks architect-designed.) Powell’s book, given "rump" and "rough" in the title, stridently plays down glitz (large type size, minimum spacing, rustic surface imagery, full-page portraits of a chicken, rump, and cabbage etc). While not over-glam, the photography in Balance may at first appear unsubtle. Images fill whole pages. But their beautifully coloured and intriguing shapes—the yellow lime of a white-wine bottle base or a sparkling wine cork beneath its cage—shift them into hyperreality. White wine in a glass becomes the edge of a desert lake; an open fig, the jaws of an alien; the flesh of a lemon after squeezing, a sea anemone. The minimal number of images is a judicious choice. ConclusionReading can be immersive, but it can also hover critically at a meta level, especially if the writer foregrounds process. A conversation starts in this exchange, the reader imagining for themselves the worlds written about. Writers read as writers, to acquire a sense of what good writing is, who writing colleagues are, where writing is being published, and, comparably, to learn to judge their own writing. Writing is produced from a combination of passion and the discipline of everyday work. To be a writer in the world is to observe and remember/record, to be conscious of aiming to see the narrative potential in an array of experiences, events, and images, or, to put it another way, "to develop the habit of art" (Jolley 20). Photography makes significant whatever is photographed. The image is immobile in a literal sense but, because of its referential nature, evocative. Design, too, is about communication through aesthetics as a sensuous visual code for ideas or concepts. (There is a large amount of scholarship on the workings of image combined with text. Roland Barthes is a place to begin, particularly about photography. There are also textbooks dealing with visual literacy or culture, only one example being Shirato and Webb.) It is reasonable to think about why there is so much interest in food in this moment. Food has become folded into celebrity culture, but, naturally, obviously, food is about our security and survival, physically and emotionally. Given that our planet is under threat from global warming which is also driving climate change, and we are facing peak oil, and alternative forms of energy are still not taken seriously in a widespread manner, then food production is under threat. Food supply and production are also linked to the growing gap between poverty and wealth, and the movement of whole populations: food is about being at home. Creativity is associated with mastery of a discipline, openness to new experiences, and persistence and courage, among other things. We read, write, photograph, and design to argue and critique, to use the imagination, to shape and transform, to transmit ideas, to celebrate living and to live more fully.References Allen, Max. The Future Makers: Australian Wines for the 21st Century. Melbourne: Hardie Grant, 2010. Barratt, Virginia. “verbiage very thinly sliced and plated up real nice.” Assignment, ENG10022 Writing from the Edge. Lismore: Southern Cross U, 2009. [lower case in the title is the author's proclivity, and subsequently published in Carson and Dettori. Eds. Banquet: A Feast of New Writing and Arts by Queer Women]Costello, Patricia. Personal conversation. 31 May 2012. Curti, Lidia. Female Stories, Female Bodies: Narrative, Identity and Representation. UK: Macmillan, 1998.Derrida, Jacques. "Fifty-Two Aphorisms for a Foreword." Deconstruction: Omnibus Volume. Eds. Andreas Apadakis, Catherine Cook, and Andrew Benjamin. New York: Rizzoli, 1989.Halliday, James. “An Artist’s Spirit.” The Weekend Australian: The Weekend Australian Magazine 13-14 Feb. (2010): 31.Jolley, Elizabeth. Central Mischief. Ringwood: Viking/Penguin 1992. Lamont, Kate. Wine and Food. Perth: U of Western Australia P, 2009. Milan, Lyndey, and Corney, Colin. Balance: Matching Food and Wine: What Works and Why. South Melbourne: Lothian, 2005. Moran, Sean. Let It Simmer. Camberwell: Lantern/Penguin, 2006. Ostmann, Barbara Gibbs, and Jane L. Baker. The Recipe Writer's Handbook. Canada: John Wiley, 2001.Powell, Greg Duncan. Rump and a Rough Red. Millers Point: Murdoch, 2010. Shirato, Tony, and Jen Webb. Reading the Visual. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin, 2004.

Introduction The recipe is more than just a list of ingredients and the instructions on how to prepare a particular dish. Recipes also are, as Janet Floyd and Laurel Foster argue, a form of narrative that tells a myriad of stories, “of family sagas and community, of historical and cultural moments and also of personal histories and narratives of self” (Floyd and Forster 2). Among the most intimate and personal sources of recipes are manuscript cookbooks. These typically contained original handwritten recipes created by the author as well as those shared by family and friends; some recipes were copied from published cookbooks or clipped out of newspapers and magazines. However, these books are more than a mere collection of recipes and domestic instructions, they also paint a unique and vivid picture of the life of their authors. These manuscript cookbooks were a common sight in many Australian colonial kitchens, yet they are a rarely examined and rich archival source that provides a valuable insight into foodways, material culture, and the lives and social relationships of the women who created them. This article will examine the manuscript cookbook created by Phillis Clark in the Darling Downs during the 1860s. Through a close examination of Clark’s manuscript cookbook, this article will explore colonial domestic habits and the cultural context in which they were formed. It will also highlight the historical value of manuscript cookbooks as social texts that chronicle daily life, both inside and outside the kitchen, in colonial Australia. A Colonial Woman Phillis Clark was born in Tasmania in 1836. She was the daughter of Charles Seal, the pioneer of the whaling industry in that state. In 1858 she married Charles George Clark, the eldest son of a well-known Tasmanian family. Both the Seal and Clark families were at the centre of social and political life in Tasmania. In 1861, the couple moved to Talgai, twenty two kilometres north-west of Warwick in the Darling Downs region of Queensland. Here, Charles Clark established himself as a storekeeper and became a partner in the Ellinthorp Steam Flour Mills, the first successful flour mill in Queensland (Waterson 3). He also represented Warwick in the Queensland Legislative assembly between 1871 and 1873. Clark’s brother, George Clark, also settled in the area together with his wife and family. In 1868, both families set up home in adjoining properties known as East Talgai and West Talgai. This joint property, with its well manicured gardens, English trees, and fruit orchard, has been described as a small oasis “in an empty, brown and dusty summer landscape” (Waterson, Squatter 19). The Manuscript Sometime during this period Clark began to compile her very own manuscript cookbook. The front of Clark’s manuscript is dated 1866, yet there is ample evidence to suggest that she began work on this manuscript some years earlier. Clark was scrupulous in acknowledging the sources of her recipes, a habit common to many manuscript cookbook authors (Newlyn 35). She also initialled her own creations, firstly with P.S., for her maiden name Phillis Seal, and later P.S.C. for Phillis Seal Clark, her married name. By 1866 Clarke had been married for eight years so it can be assumed that she commenced her manuscript some time before 1858. A number of the recipes that appear in the manuscript appear to be credited to people living in Tasmania. Furthermore, a number of the newspaper clippings found in her manuscript can be dated to before 1866, including one for 1861. The manuscript itself is a hard bound and lined notebook, sturdy enough to withstand the rigours of daily use in the kitchen. The majority of recipes are handwritten but there are also a number of recipes clipped from newspapers interspaced within the manuscript. The handwritten recipes are in a neat copperplate style and all appear to be written in the same hand. The recipes are not found in distinct sections, although there are some small clusters of particular types of recipes, highlighting the fact that they were added to the manuscript over a period of time. At the front of the manuscript there is a detailed index noting the page number on which each recipe is to be found. The recipes themselves follow the standard conventions of the period. The Sources The sources from which Clark gathered some of the recipes in her manuscript indicate the variety of texts that were available to her. There are a number of newspaper clippings pasted in the pages of her manuscript for a range of both recipes for foods as well as the so-called domestic remedies (medicines) and receipts for household products. Amongst the food recipes there are to be found instructions in the making of cream cheese in the Irish manner and a recipe for stewed shoulder of mutton as well as two different methods for preparing kangaroo. While it is impossible to fully know what newspapers all these clippings have been taken from, at least one of them came from the Darling Downs Gazette and General Advertiser and it is likely that some of them might also have come from a number of the local Warwick papers (one which was founded by her brother-in-law George Clark) that were in publication during Clark’s residence in the area. Clark also utilised a number of published cookbooks as sources for some of the recipes in her own manuscripts. Like most Australians until the last few decades of the nineteenth century, Clark would have mainly resorted to the British cookbooks that were available. The two most commonly acknowledged cookbooks in her manuscript were Enquire Within Upon Everything and Eliza Acton’s. Enquire Within Upon Everything was an immensely popular general household guide amassing eighty-nine editions in a little over forty years in print. It contained information on a plethora of subjects (over three thousand individual entries) including such topics as etiquette, first aid, domestic hints, and recipes. It first appeared on the British market in 1856, under the editorship of Robert Kemp Philp, and became available in Australia in the same year. Booksellers in the Darling Downs advertised copies of the book for the price of three shillings and six pence. Eliza Acton, for her part, was one of Britain’s leading cookbook authors. Her books were widely available throughout the colonies with copies advertised for sale by J. Walch and Sons booksellers in Hobart (‘Advertising’ 1). Extracts from her cookbook Modern Cookery for Private Families began to appear in Australian newspapers only months after it first was published in Britain in 1845 (‘Bullion’ 4). Although Modern Cookery did not provide any recipes directly catering for Australian conditions, its simple and straightforward approach to cookery made it an invaluable resource in the colonial kitchen. Such was the popularity and reputation of Acton’s work that in the preface to Australia’s first cookbook, The English and Australian Cookery Book, the author, Tasmanian born Edward Abbott, stated that he hoped that his cook book would posses “all the advantages of Mrs. Acton’s work” (Abbott vi). The range of printed sources contained within Clark’s manuscript indicate that women in colonial households were far from isolated from the culinary trends occurring in other parts of Australia and the wider British empire. The Recipes Like many Australian women of her class and generation, Phillis Clark reproduced the predominant British food culture in her kitchen. The great majority of recipes contained in her manuscript are for typically English dishes, particularly those for sweet dishes such as biscuits, cakes, and puddings. Plum pudding, trifle, and custard pudding are all featured in her book. As well, many of the savoury dishes such as curry, roast beef, and Yorkshire pudding similarly reflect the British palate. In There is No Taste like Home: The Food of Empire, Adele Wessell argues that the maintenance of British food habits in Australia was a device to reaffirm “cultural and historical bonds and sustain a shared sense of British identity” (811). However, as in many other rural kitchens, native ingredients also found a place. Her manuscript included a number of recipes for the preparation of kangaroo and detailed instructions for the butchering of the animal. Clark’s recipe for “Jugged Hare or Kangaroo” bares a close resemblance to the one that appears in Edward Abbott’s cookbook. Clark’s father and Abbott were from the same, small social milieu in colonial Hobart and were both active in the same political causes. This raises the intriguing possibility that Phillis also knew Abbott and came into contact with some of his culinary ideas. Australians consumed all manners of native ingredients, not only as a matter of necessity but also as a matter of choice. The inclusion of freshly killed native game in Clark’s kitchen would have served to alleviate the monotony of the salted beef and mutton that were common staples during this period. The distinct Australian flavour that began to appear in manuscript cookbooks like Clark’s would later be replicated in their printed counterparts. Australian cookbooks published in the last decades of the nineteenth century demonstrate the importance of native ingredients in colonial kitchens (Singley 37). The Darling Downs region had been a popular destination for German migrants from the 1850s and Clark’s manuscript contained a number of recipes for German dishes. This included one for the traditional German Christmas cake Lebkuchen as well as for various German puddings and biscuits. Clark also included an elaborate recipe for making ham or bacon in the traditional Westphalian fashion. This was a laborious process that involved vigorously rubbing salt, sugar, and beer into the leg of ham every day for a fortnight after which it is then hung to dry for a couple of days and then smoked. Katie Hume, a fellow Darling Downs resident and a close friend of the extended Clark family described feeling like a “gute verstandige Hausfrau” (a good sensible housewife) after salting 112 pounds of pork she had purchased from a neighbour (152). While, unlike their counterparts in the Barossa valley in South Australia, the Germans who lived in the Darling Downs area did not leave a significant mark on the local culinary landscape, the inclusion of German recipes in Clark’s manuscript indicates that there was not only some cross-cultural transmission of culinary knowledge, but also some willingness to go beyond traditional British fare. Many, more mundane recipes also populate Clark’s manuscript. “Toad in a Hole”, “Mutton Pie” and “Stewed Sirloin” all merit an entry. Yet, even with such simple dishes, Clark demonstrated a keen eye for detail. This is attested by her method for the preparation of a simple dish of roasted pumpkin: “Cut into slices 1 inch thick and about 5 inches long, have ready a baking dish with boiling fat—lay the slices in it so that the fat will cover them and bake for 20 minutes (by fat I mean good dripping) Half an hour will not bake them too much. They ought to be brown” (Clark 13). Whilst Clark’s manuscript is not indicative of the foodways of all classes across Queensland society, it does provide some insight as to what was consumed at the table of a well-heeled rural household. As the wife of a prominent businessman and a local dignitary, Phillis Clark would have also undoubtedly been called upon to play the role of hostess and to entertain her husband’s commercial and political acquaintances. Her manuscript also reflects the overwhelmingly British nature of colonial Australian foodways despite the intrusion of some foreign dishes. As Anne Murcott argues, the preparation and consumption of food provides a way through which individuals can express the more abstract significance of cultural values and social systems (204). The Clark household also showed some interest in producing a broad range of products in the home. There are, for example, a number of recipes for beverages including those for non-alcoholic ginger beers and flavoured cordials. They were also far from abstemious, with recipes for wine, mead, and ale included in the manuscript. This last recipe was given to her by her brother Alfred who, according to Clark, “understands brewing and therefore I think it can be depended upon” (Clark 43). Clark also bottled her own fruit, made a wide range of jams, including grape and mock melon, as well as making her own butter, confectionery, and vinegar. The production of goods like these within the home indicates the level of self-reliance in many colonial households, particularly those finding themselves far from the convenience of shops and markets. Many culinary historians argue that there exists a significant time lag between the initial appearance and consumption of a particular dish in a society and its subsequent appearance in the pages of a cookbook. This time lag can be between forty and 150 years long (Mennell 44; Mason 23). However, manuscript cookbooks reflect the immediacy of eating practices. The very personal nature of manuscript cookbooks would suggest that the recipes included within their pages were ones that the author intended to use in her own kitchen. Moreover, from the reciprocal nature of recipe sharing that is evident from these types of cookbooks it can be concluded that the recipes in Clark’s manuscript were ones that, at least in her own social milieu, were in common usage. In her manuscript Clark clearly noted those recipes which she especially liked or otherwise found useful. Many recipes throughout the manuscript have been marked as “proved” indicating that Clark had used and tested them at some stage. A number of them have also been favourably annotated as being “delicious”, “very nice”, “the best”, and “very good”. Amongst the number of recipes for “Soda Cake” that feature in the manuscript Clarke clearly indicates that “Number 1 is the best”. However, she was not averse to commenting on recipes and altering them to suit her taste. In a recipe for “A nice light Cake”, for example, Clark noted that the addition of a “little peel and currants is an improvement” (89). This form of marginal intrusion was a common practice amongst many women and it can even be seen in the margins of many published cookbooks (Theophano 186). These annotations, according to Sandra Sherman, are not transgressive, since the manuscripts are not authored “by” anyone (Sherman 121). In fact, annotations personalise the recipe and confirm the compiler’s confidence in it (Sherman 121). Not Just Food: ‘Domestic Receipts’ As noted above, Clark’s manuscript contained more than just recipes for food and drink. Many of them are “Domestic Receipts” that reflect the complex nature of running a household in rural Australia. Some of Clark’s domestic receipts are in the form of newspaper clippings and are general instructions for the manufacture of simple household products such as a “ready to use glue” and a home-made tooth powder. Others are handwritten and copied from other domestic advice books or were given to Clark by family and friends. A recipe for manufacturing “blacking for stoves”, essential in the maintenance of cast iron stoves, was, for example, culled from Enquire Within Upon Everything. Here, with some authorial intrusion, Clark includes her own list of measured ingredients to prepare the mixture. An intriguing method for the “artificial preparation of ice” involving the use of ammonium nitrate and bicarbonate of soda was given to Clark by Mrs. McKeachie, the wife of Charles Clark’s business partner. Clark also showed an interest in beekeeping and in raising turkeys, with instructions for both these tasks included in her manuscript. The wide range of miscellaneous receipts featured in Clark’s book highlights the breadth of activities that were carried out in many homes in rural Australia. A hint of Clark’s artistic side is also in evidence, with detailed instructions on how to create delicate fern impressions on paper also included in her book. As with many other women in colonial Australia, Clark was expected to take on the role of caregiver when members of her family fell ill or were injured. Her manuscript included a number of recipes for “domestic remedies”, another common trope in books of this kind as well as in their printed counterparts. These remedies included recipes for a cough mixture composed of linseed, liquorice, and water and a liniment to treat rheumatism which was made by mixing rape seed oil and turpentine with a hefty dose of laudanum. Clark used olive oil in a number of medical recipes to treat burns and scalds. As well, treatments for diphtheria, cholera, and diarrhoea feature prominently in her manuscript. The Darling Downs had been subject to a number of outbreaks of dysentery and cholera during Clark’s residency in the area (Waterson, Squatter 71). For “a pain in the chest” Clark recommended the following: “a piece of brown paper spread with tallow and placed on the chest” (69).The inclusion of these domestic remedies and Clark’s obvious concerns for her family’s health is particularly poignant given her personal history. Her family was plagued by misfortune and illness and she lost three of her ten children in a six-year period including two within just months of each other. Clark herself would die during childbirth in 1874. Sharing and Caring The word “recipe” has its origins in the Latin recipere meaning to “receive”. In order to receive there has to be, by implication, someone doing the giving. A recipe signifies an exchange and a connection between individuals. The sharing of recipes was a common activity for many women in nineteenth century Australia. Wilhelmina Rawson, Queensland’s first published cookbook author, was keenly aware of the manner in which women shared recipes and culinary knowledge. This act of reciprocity, she argued, not only helped to ease the isolation of bush living but also allowed each individual to be “benefited by the cleverness of the whole number” (14). For many, food often has a deeply private and personal component, being prepared and consumed within the realm of the home. However, food is also a communal experience and is openly shared through rituals, feasts, the contexts in which it is bought and sold, and, most importantly, reciprocal exchange. In her manuscript, Clark acknowledged a number of different individuals as the source for the recipes she included within its pages. The convention of acknowledging the sources of recipes in manuscript cookbooks functions as a way to assert the recipe’s authority and to ensure that they are proven (Sherman 122). This act of acknowledgement also locates Clark within a social network of women who not only shared recipes but also, one can imagine, many of the vicissitudes of domestic life in a remote rural setting. In her study of women’s manuscript cookbooks, entitled Eat My Words: Reading Women’s Lives Through the Cookbooks They Wrote, Janet Theophano describes these texts as “the maps of the social and cultural life they inhabited” (13). This circulation of recipes allowed women to share their knowledge, skills, and creativity. Those who received and used these recipes not only engaged in a conversation with the writer of these recipes but also formed a connection with a broader community that allowed them to learn more about themselves and the world. Conclusion The manuscript cookbook created by Phillis Clark is a fascinating prism through which to explore domestic life in colonial Australia. The recipes contained in Clark’s manuscript reflect the eating habits of her own family and those of a particular social class in Queensland. They not only demonstrate the tenacity of British foodways in Australia but also show the degree of culinary adventurism that existed in some homes. The personal, almost autobiographical nature of manuscript cookbooks also provides an intimate view in the life of its creator. In the splattered pages of Phillis Clark’s book we can read the many travails, joys, and tragedies of her life. References Abbott, Edward. The English and Australian Cookery Book: Cookery for the Many, as Well as for the Upper Ten Thousand. London: Sampson Low, Son, and Marston, 1864. ‘Advertising’. Launceston Examiner 9 Mar. 1858: 1. ‘Boullion, The Common Soup of France’. The Sydney Morning Herald 22 Aug. 1845: 4. Clark, Phillis. “Manuscript Cookbook”. 1863 Floyd, Janet, and Laurel Forster. “The Recipe in Its Cultural Content.” The Recipe Reader: Narratives, Contexts, Traditions. Ed. Janet Floyd and Laurel Forster. Aldershot, Hants, England: Ashgate. 2003. Hume, Anna Kate. Katie Hume on the Darling Downs, a Colonial Marriage: Letters of a Colonial Lady, 1866-1871. Ed. Nancy Bonnin. Toowoomba: DDIP, 1985. Mason, Laura. Food Culture in Great Britain. Greenwood, 2004. Mennell, Stephen. All Manners of Food: Eating and Taste in England and France from the Middle Ages to the Present. Oxford, UK: B. Blackwell, 1985. Murcott, Anne. “The Cultural Significance of Food and Eating”. Proceedings of the Nutrition Society 41.02 (1982): 203–10. Newlyn, Andrea K. “Redefining ‘Rudimentary’ Narrative: Women’s Nineteenth Century Manuscript Cookbooks”. The Recipe Reader: Narratives, Contexts, Traditions. Ed. Janet Floyd and Laurel Forster. Aldershot, Hants, England: Ashgate, 2003. Rawson, Wilhelmina. Australian Enquiry Book of Household and General Information: A Practical Guide for the Cottage, Villa and Bush Home. Melbourne: Pater and Knapton, 1894. Sherman, S. “‘The Whole Art and Mystery of Cooking’: What Cookbooks Taught Readers in the Eighteenth Century”. Eighteenth-Century Life 28.1 (2004): 115–35. Singley, Blake. “‘Hardly Anything Fit for Man to Eat’: Food and Colonialism in Australia.” History Australia 9.3 (2012): 27–42. Theophano, Janet. Eat My Words: Reading Women’s Lives Through the Cookbooks They Wrote. New York, N.Y: Palgrave, 2002. Waterson, D. B. “A Darling Downs Quartet”. Queensland Heritage 1.7 (1967): 3–14. Waterson, D. B. Squatter, Selector and Storekeeper: A History of the Darling Downs, 1859-93. Sydney: Sydney UP, 1968. Wessell, Adele. “There’s No Taste Like Home: The Food of Empire”. Exploring the British World: Identity, Cultural Production, Institutions. Ed. Kate Darian-Smith and Patricia Grimshaw. Melbourne: RMIT, 2004.

Introduction Many destinations promote culinary encounters. Foods and beverages, and especially how these will taste in situ, are being marketed as niche travel motivators and used in destination brand building across the globe. While initial usage of the term culinary tourism focused on experiencing exotic cultures of foreign destinations by sampling unfamiliar food and drinks, the term has expanded to embrace a range of leisure travel experiences where the aim is to locate and taste local specialities as part of a pleasurable, and hopefully notable, culinary encounter (Wolf). Long’s foundational work was central in developing the idea of culinary tourism as an active endeavor, suggesting that via consumption, individuals construct unique experiences. Ignatov and Smith’s literature review-inspired definition confirms the nature of activity as participatory, and adds consuming food production skills—from observing agriculture and local processors to visiting food markets and attending cooking schools—to culinary purchases. Despite importing almost all of its foodstuffs and beverages, including some of its water, Singapore is an acknowledged global leader in culinary tourism. Horng and Tsai note that culinary tourism conceptually implies that a transferal of “local or special knowledge and information that represent local culture and identities” (41) occurs via these experiences. This article adds the act of reading to these participatory activities and suggests that, because food writing forms an important component of Singapore’s suite of culinary tourism offerings, taste contributes to the cultural experience offered to both visitors and locals. While Singapore foodways have attracted significant scholarship (see, for instance, work by Bishop; Duruz; Huat & Rajah; Tarulevicz, Eating), Singapore food writing, like many artefacts of popular culture, has attracted less notice. Yet, this writing is an increasingly visible component of cultural production of, and about, Singapore, and performs a range of functions for locals, tourists and visitors before they arrive. Although many languages are spoken in Singapore, English is the national language (Alsagoff) and this study focuses on food writing in English. Background Tourism comprises a major part of Singapore’s economy, with recent figures detailing that food and beverage sales contribute over 10 per cent of this revenue, with spend on culinary tours and cookery classes, home wares such as tea-sets and cookbooks, food magazines and food memoirs additional to this (Singapore Government). This may be related to the fact that Singapore not only promotes food as a tourist attraction, but also actively promotes itself as an exceptional culinary destination. The Singapore Tourism Board (STB) includes food in its general information brochures and websites, and its print, television and cinema commercials (Huat and Rajah). It also mounts information-rich campaigns both abroad and inside Singapore. The 2007 ‘Singapore Seasons’ campaign, for instance, promoted Singaporean cuisine alongside films, design, books and other cultural products in London, New York and Beijing. Touring cities identified as key tourist markets in 2011, the ‘Singapore Takeout’ pop-up restaurant brought the taste of Singaporean foods into closer focus. Singaporean chefs worked with high profile locals in its kitchen in a custom-fabricated shipping container to create and demonstrate Singaporean dishes, attracting public and media interest. In country, the STB similarly actively promotes the tastes of Singaporean foods, hosting the annual World Gourmet Summit (Chaney and Ryan) and Pacific Food Expo, both attracting international culinary professionals to work alongside local leaders. The Singapore Food Festival each July is marketed to both locals and visitors. In these ways, the STB, as well as providing events for visitors, is actively urging Singaporeans to proud of their food culture and heritage, so that each Singaporean becomes a proactive ambassador of their cuisine. Singapore Food Writing Popular print guidebooks and online guides to Singapore pay significantly more attention to Singaporean food than they do for many other destinations. Sections on food in such publications discuss at relative length the taste of Singaporean food (always delicious) as well as how varied, authentic, hygienic and suited-to-all-budgets it is. These texts also recommend hawker stalls and food courts alongside cafés and restaurants (Henderson et al.), and a range of other culinary experiences such as city and farm food tours and cookery classes. This writing describes not only what can be seen or learned during these experiences, but also what foods can be sampled, and how these might taste. This focus on taste is reflected in the printed materials that greet the in-bound tourist at the airport. On a visit in October 2013, arrival banners featuring mouth-watering images of local specialities such as chicken rice and chilli crab marked the route from arrival to immigration and baggage collection. Even advertising for a bank was illustrated with photographs of luscious-looking fruits. The free maps and guidebooks available featured food-focused tours and restaurant locations, and there were also substantial free booklets dedicated solely to discussing local delicacies and their flavours, plus recommended locations to sample them. A website and free mobile app were available that contain practical information about dishes, ingredients, cookery methods, and places to eat, as well as historical and cultural information. These resources are also freely distributed to many hotels and popular tourist destinations. Alongside organising food walks, bus tours and cookery classes, the STB also recommends the work of a number of Singaporean food writers—principally prominent Singapore food bloggers, reviewers and a number of memoirists—as authentic guides to what are described as unique Singaporean flavours. The strategies at the heart of this promotion are linking advertising to useful information. At a number of food centres, for instance, STB information panels provide details about both specific dishes and Singapore’s food culture more generally (Henderson et al.). This focus is apparent at many tourist destinations, many of which are also popular local attractions. In historic Fort Canning Park, for instance, there is a recreation of Raffles’ experimental garden, established in 1822, where he grew the nutmeg, clove and other plants that were intended to form the foundation for spice plantations but were largely unsuccessful (Reisz). Today, information panels not only indicate the food plants’ names and how to grow them, but also their culinary and medicinal uses, recipes featuring them and the related food memories of famous Singaporeans. The Singapore Botanic Gardens similarly houses the Ginger Garden displaying several hundred species of ginger and information, and an Eco(-nomic/logical) Garden featuring many food plants and their stories. In Chinatown, panels mounted outside prominent heritage brands (often still quite small shops) add content to the shopping experience. A number of museums profile Singapore’s food culture in more depth. The National Museum of Singapore has a permanent Living History gallery that focuses on Singapore’s street food from the 1950s to 1970s. This display includes food-related artefacts, interactive aromatic displays of spices, films of dishes being made and eaten, and oral histories about food vendors, all supported by text panels and booklets. Here food is used to convey messages about the value of Singapore’s ethnic diversity and cross-cultural exchanges. Versions of some of these dishes can then be sampled in the museum café (Time Out Singapore). The Peranakan Museum—which profiles the unique hybrid culture of the descendants of the Chinese and South Indian traders who married local Malay women—shares this focus, with reconstructed kitchens and dining rooms, exhibits of cooking and eating utensils and displays on food’s ceremonial role in weddings and funerals all supported with significant textual information. The Chinatown Heritage Centre not only recreates food preparation areas as a vivid indicator of poor Chinese immigrants’ living conditions, but also houses The National Restaurant of Singapore, which translates this research directly into meals that recreate the heritage kopi tiam (traditional coffee shop) cuisine of Singapore in the 1930s, purposefully bringing taste into the service of education, as its descriptive menu states, “educationally delighting the palate” (Chinatown Heritage Centre). These museums recognise that shopping is a core tourist activity in Singapore (Chang; Yeung et al.). Their gift- and bookshops cater to the culinary tourist by featuring quality culinary products for sale (including, for instance, teapots and cups, teas, spices and traditional sweets, and other foods) many of which are accompanied by informative tags or brochures. At the centre of these curated, purchasable collections are a range written materials: culinary magazines, cookbooks, food histories and memoirs, as well as postcards and stationery printed with recipes. Food Magazines Locally produced food magazines cater to a range of readerships and serve to extend the culinary experience both in, and outside, Singapore. These include high-end gourmet, luxury lifestyle publications like venerable monthly Wine & Dine: The Art of Good Living, which, in in print for almost thirty years, targets an affluent readership (Wine & Dine). The magazine runs features on local dining, gourmet products and trends, as well as international epicurean locations and products. Beautifully illustrated recipes also feature, as the magazine declares, “we’ve recognised that sharing more recipes should be in the DNA of Wine & Dine’s editorial” (Wine & Dine). Appetite magazine, launched in 2006, targets the “new and emerging generation of gourmets—foodies with a discerning and cosmopolitan outlook, broad horizons and a insatiable appetite” (Edipresse Asia) and is reminiscent in much of its styling of New Zealand’s award-winning Cuisine magazine. Its focus is to present a fresh approach to both cooking at home and dining out, as readers are invited to “Whip up the perfect soufflé or feast with us at the finest restaurants in Singapore and around the region” (Edipresse Asia). Chefs from leading local restaurants are interviewed, and the voices of “fellow foodies and industry watchers” offer an “insider track” on food-related news: “what’s good and what’s new” (Edipresse Asia). In between these publications sits Epicure: Life’s Refinements, which features local dishes, chefs, and restaurants as well as an overseas travel section and a food memories column by a featured author. Locally available ingredients are also highlighted, such as abalone (Cheng) and an interesting range of mushrooms (Epicure). While there is a focus on an epicurean experience, this is presented slightly more casually than in Wine & Dine. Food & Travel focuses more on home cookery, but each issue also includes reviews of Singapore restaurants. The bimonthly bilingual (Chinese and English) Gourmet Living features recipes alongside a notable focus on food culture—with food history columns, restaurant reviews and profiles of celebrated chefs. An extensive range of imported international food magazines are also available, with those from nearby Malaysia and Indonesia regularly including articles on Singapore. Cookbooks These magazines all include reviews of cookery books including Singaporean examples – and some feature other food writing such as food histories, memoirs and blogs. These reviews draw attention to how many Singaporean cookbooks include a focus on food history alongside recipes. Cookery teacher Yee Soo Leong’s 1976 Singaporean Cooking was an early example of cookbook as heritage preservation. This 1976 book takes an unusual view of ‘Singaporean’ flavours. Beginning with sweet foods—Nonya/Singaporean and western cakes, biscuits, pies, pastries, bread, desserts and icings—it also focuses on both Singaporean and Western dishes. This text is also unusual as there are only 6 lines of direct authorial address in the author’s acknowledgements section. Expatriate food writer Wendy Hutton’s Singapore Food, first published in 1979, reprinted many times after and revised in 2007, has long been recognised as one of the most authoritative titles on Singapore’s food heritage. Providing an socio-historical map of Singapore’s culinary traditions, some one third of the first edition was devoted to information about Singaporean multi-cultural food history, including detailed profiles of a number of home cooks alongside its recipes. Published in 1980, Kenneth Mitchell’s A Taste of Singapore is clearly aimed at a foreign readership, noting the variety of foods available due to the racial origins of its inhabitants. The more modest, but equally educational in intent, Hawkers Flavour: A Guide to Hawkers Gourmet in Malaysia and Singapore (in its fourth printing in 1998) contains a detailed introductory essay outlining local food culture, favourite foods and drinks and times these might be served, festivals and festive foods, Indian, Indian Muslim, Chinese, Nyonya (Chinese-Malay), Malay and Halal foods and customs, followed with a selection of recipes from each. More contemporary examples of such information-rich cookbooks, such as those published in the frequently reprinted Periplus Mini Cookbook series, are sold at tourist attractions. Each of these modestly priced, 64-page, mouthwateringly illustrated booklets offer framing information, such as about a specific food culture as in the Nonya kitchen in Nonya Favourites (Boi), and explanatory glossaries of ingredients, as in Homestyle Malay Cooking (Jelani). Most recipes include a boxed paragraph detailing cookery or ingredient information that adds cultural nuance, as well as trying to describe tastes that the (obviously foreign) intended reader may not have encountered. Malaysian-born Violet Oon, who has been called the Julia Child of Singapore (Bergman), writes for both local and visiting readers. The FOOD Paper, published monthly for a decade from January 1987 was, she has stated, then “Singapore’s only monthly publication dedicated to the CSF—Certified Singapore Foodie” (Oon, Violet Oon Cooks 7). Under its auspices, Oon promoted her version of Singaporean cuisine to both locals and visitors, as well as running cookery classes and culinary events, hosting her own television cooking series on the Singapore Broadcasting Corporation, and touring internationally for the STB as a ‘Singapore Food Ambassador’ (Ahmad; Kraal). Taking this representation of flavor further, Oon has also produced a branded range of curry powders, spices, and biscuits, and set up a number of food outlets. Her first cookbook, World Peranakan Cookbook, was published in 1978. Her Singapore: 101 Meals of 1986 was commissioned by the STB, then known as the Singapore Tourist Promotion Board. Violet Oon Cooks, a compilation of recipes from The FOOD Paper, published in 1992, attracted a range of major international as well as Singaporean food sponsors, and her Timeless Recipes, published in 1997, similarly aimed to show how manufactured products could be incorporated into classic Singaporean dishes cooked at home. In 1998, Oon produced A Singapore Family Cookbook featuring 100 dishes. Many were from Nonya cuisine and her following books continued to focus on preserving heritage Singaporean recipes, as do a number of other nationally-cuisine focused collections such as Joyceline Tully and Christopher Tan’s Heritage Feasts: A Collection of Singapore Family Recipes. Sylvia Tan’s Singapore Heritage Food: Yesterday’s Recipes for Today’s Cooks, published in 2004, provides “a tentative account of Singapore’s food history” (5). It does this by mapping the various taste profiles of six thematically-arranged chronologically-overlapping sections, from the heritage of British colonialism, to the uptake of American and Russia foods in the Snackbar era of the 1960s and the use of convenience flavoring ingredients such as curry pastes, sauces, dried and frozen supermarket products from the 1970s. Other Volumes Other food-themed volumes focus on specific historical periods. Cecilia Leong-Salobir’s Food Culture in Colonial Asia: A Taste of Empire discusses the “unique hybrid” (1) cuisine of British expatriates in Singapore from 1858 to 1963. In 2009, the National Museum of Singapore produced the moving Wong Hong Suen’s Wartime Kitchen: Food and Eating in Singapore 1942–1950. This details the resilience and adaptability of both diners and cooks during the Japanese Occupation and in post-war Singapore, when shortages stimulated creativity. There is a centenary history of the Cold Storage company which shipped frozen foods all over south east Asia (Boon) and location-based studies such as Annette Tan’s Savour Chinatown: Stories Memories & Recipes. Tan interviewed hawkers, chefs and restaurant owners, working from this information to write both the book’s recipes and reflect on Chinatown’s culinary history. Food culture also features in (although it is not the main focus) more general book-length studies such as educational texts such as Chew Yen Fook’s The Magic of Singapore and Melanie Guile’s Culture in Singapore (2000). Works that navigate both spaces (of Singaporean culture more generally and its foodways) such Lily Kong’s Singapore Hawker Centres: People, Places, Food, provide an consistent narrative of food in Singapore, stressing its multicultural flavours that can be enjoyed from eateries ranging from hawker stalls to high-end restaurants that, interestingly, that agrees with that promulgated in the food writing discussed above. Food Memoirs and Blogs Many of these narratives include personal material, drawing on the author’s own food experiences and taste memories. This approach is fully developed in the food memoir, a growing sub-genre of Singapore food writing. While memoirs by expatriate Singaporeans such as Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan’s A Tiger in the Kitchen: A Memoir of Food and Family, produced by major publisher Hyperion in New York, has attracted considerable international attention, it presents a story of Singapore cuisine that agrees with such locally produced texts as television chef and food writer Terry Tan’s Stir-fried and Not Shaken: A Nostalgic Trip Down Singapore’s Memory Lane and the food memoir of the Singaporean chef credited with introducing fine Malay dining to Singapore, Aziza Ali’s Sambal Days, Kampong Cuisine, published in Singapore in 2013 with the support of the National Heritage Board. All these memoirs are currently available in Singapore in both bookshops and a number of museums and other attractions. While underscoring the historical and cultural value of these foods, all describe the unique flavours of Singaporean cuisine and its deliciousness. A number of prominent Singapore food bloggers are featured in general guidebooks and promoted by the STB as useful resources to dining out in Singapore. One of the most prominent of these is Leslie Tay, a medical doctor and “passionate foodie” (Knipp) whose awardwinning ieatŸishootŸipost is currently attracting some 90,000 unique visitors every month and has had over 20,000 million hits since its launch in 2006. An online diary of Tay’s visits to hundreds of Singaporean hawker stalls, it includes descriptions and photographs of meals consumed, creating accumulative oral culinary histories of these dishes and those who prepared them. These narratives have been reorganised and reshaped in Tay’s first book The End of Char Kway Teow and Other Hawker Mysteries, where each chapter tells the story of one particular dish, including recommended hawker stalls where it can be enjoyed. Ladyironchef.com is a popular food and travel site that began as a blog in 2007. An edited collection of reviews of eateries and travel information, many by the editor himself, the site features lists of, for example, the best cafes (LadyIronChef “Best Cafes”), eateries at the airport (LadyIronChef “Guide to Dining”), and hawker stalls (Lim). While attesting to the cultural value of these foods, many articles also discuss flavour, as in Lim’s musings on: ‘how good can chicken on rice taste? … The glistening grains of rice perfumed by fresh chicken stock and a whiff of ginger is so good you can even eat it on its own’. Conclusion Recent Singapore food publishing reflects this focus on taste. Tay’s publisher, Epigram, growing Singaporean food list includes the recently released Heritage Cookbooks Series. This highlights specialist Singaporean recipes and cookery techniques, with the stated aim of preserving tastes and foodways that continue to influence Singaporean food culture today. Volumes published to date on Peranakan, South Indian, Cantonese, Eurasian, and Teochew (from the Chaoshan region in the east of China’s Guangdong province) cuisines offer both cultural and practical guides to the quintessential dishes and flavours of each cuisine, featuring simple family dishes alongside more elaborate special occasion meals. In common with the food writing discussed above, the books in this series, although dealing with very different styles of cookery, contribute to an overall impression of the taste of Singapore food that is highly consistent and extremely persuasive. This food writing narrates that Singapore has a delicious as well as distinctive and interesting food culture that plays a significant role in Singaporean life both currently and historically. It also posits that this food culture is, at the same time, easily accessible and also worthy of detailed consideration and discussion. 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Acknowledgements Research to complete this article was supported by Central Queensland University, Australia, under its Outside Studies Program (OSPRO) and Learning and Teaching Education Research Centre (LTERC). An earlier version of part of this article was presented at the 2nd Australasian Regional Food Networks and Cultures Conference, in the Barossa Valley in South Australia, Australia, 11–14 November 2012. The delegates of that conference and expert reviewers of this article offered some excellent suggestions regarding strengthening this article and their advice was much appreciated. All errors are, of course, my own.

Introduction I am a transmigrant who has moved back and forth between the West and the Rest. I was born and raised in a Muslim family in a predominantly Muslim country, Bangladesh, but I spent several years of my childhood in Pakistan. After my marriage, I lived in the United States for a year and a half, the Middle East for 5 years, Australia for three years, back to the Middle East for another 5 years, then, finally, in Australia for the last 12 years. I speak Bengali (my mother tongue), Urdu (which I learnt in Pakistan), a bit of Arabic (learnt in the Middle East); but English has always been my medium of instruction. So where is home? Is it my place of origin, the Muslim umma, or my land of settlement? Or is it my ‘root’ or my ‘route’ (Blunt and Dowling)? Blunt and Dowling (199) observe that the lives of transmigrants are often interpreted in terms of their ‘roots’ and ‘routes’, which are two frameworks for thinking about home, homeland and diaspora. Whereas ‘roots’ might imply an original homeland from which people have scattered, and to which they might seek to return, ‘routes’ focuses on mobile, multiple and transcultural geographies of home. However, both ‘roots’ and ‘routes’ are attached to emotion and identity, and both invoke a sense of place, belonging or alienation that is intrinsically tied to a sense of self (Blunt and Dowling 196-219). In this paper, I equate home with my root (place of birth) and route (transnational homing) within the context of the ‘diaspora and belonging’. First I define the diaspora and possible criteria of belonging. Next I describe my transnational homing within the framework of diaspora and belonging. Finally, I consider how Australia can be a ‘home’ for me and other Muslim Australians. The Diaspora and Belonging Blunt and Dowling (199) define diaspora as “scattering of people over space and transnational connections between people and the places”. Cohen emphasised the ethno-cultural aspects of the diaspora setting; that is, how migrants identify and position themselves in other nations in terms of their (different) ethnic and cultural orientation. Hall argues that the diasporic subjects form a cultural identity through transformation and difference. Speaking of the Hindu diaspora in the UK and Caribbean, Vertovec (21-23) contends that the migrants’ contact with their original ‘home’ or diaspora depends on four factors: migration processes and factors of settlement, cultural composition, structural and political power, and community development. With regard to the first factor, migration processes and factors of settlement, Vertovec explains that if the migrants are political or economic refugees, or on a temporary visa, they are likely to live in a ‘myth of return’. In the cultural composition context, Vertovec argues that religion, language, region of origin, caste, and degree of cultural homogenisation are factors in which migrants are bound to their homeland. Concerning the social structure and political power issue, Vertovec suggests that the extent and nature of racial and ethnic pluralism or social stigma, class composition, degree of institutionalised racism, involvement in party politics (or active citizenship) determine migrants’ connection to their new or old home. Finally, community development, including membership in organisations (political, union, religious, cultural, leisure), leadership qualities, and ethnic convergence or conflict (trends towards intra-communal or inter-ethnic/inter-religious co-operation) would also affect the migrants’ sense of belonging. Using these scholarly ideas as triggers, I will examine my home and belonging over the last few decades. My Home In an initial stage of my transmigrant history, my home was my root (place of birth, Dhaka, Bangladesh). Subsequently, my routes (settlement in different countries) reshaped my homes. In all respects, the ethno-cultural factors have played a big part in my definition of ‘home’. But on some occasions my ethnic identification has been overridden by my religious identification and vice versa. By ethnic identity, I mean my language (mother tongue) and my connection to my people (Bangladeshi). By my religious identity, I mean my Muslim religion, and my spiritual connection to the umma, a Muslim nation transcending all boundaries. Umma refers to the Muslim identity and unity within a larger Muslim group across national boundaries. The only thing the members of the umma have in common is their Islamic belief (Spencer and Wollman 169-170). In my childhood my father, a banker, was relocated to Karachi, Pakistan (then West Pakistan). Although I lived in Pakistan for much of my childhood, I have never considered it to be my home, even though it is predominantly a Muslim country. In this case, my home was my root (Bangladesh) where my grandparents and extended family lived. Every year I used to visit my grandparents who resided in a small town in Bangladesh (then East Pakistan). Thus my connection with my home was sustained through my extended family, ethnic traditions, language (Bengali/Bangla), and the occasional visits to the landscape of Bangladesh. Smith (9-11) notes that people build their connection or identity to their homeland through their historic land, common historical memories, myths, symbols and traditions. Though Pakistan and Bangladesh had common histories, their traditions of language, dress and ethnic culture were very different. For example, the celebration of the Bengali New Year (Pohela Baishakh), folk dance, folk music and folk tales, drama, poetry, lyrics of poets Rabindranath Tagore (Rabindra Sangeet) and Nazrul Islam (Nazrul Geeti) are distinct in the cultural heritage of Bangladesh. Special musical instruments such as the banshi (a bamboo flute), dhol (drums), ektara (a single-stringed instrument) and dotara (a four-stringed instrument) are unique to Bangladeshi culture. The Bangladeshi cuisine (rice and freshwater fish) is also different from Pakistan where people mainly eat flat round bread (roti) and meat (gosh). However, my bonding factor to Bangladesh was my relatives, particularly my grandparents as they made me feel one of ‘us’. Their affection for me was irreplaceable. The train journey from Dhaka (capital city) to their town, Noakhali, was captivating. The hustle and bustle at the train station and the lush green paddy fields along the train journey reminded me that this was my ‘home’. Though I spoke the official language (Urdu) in Pakistan and had a few Pakistani friends in Karachi, they could never replace my feelings for my friends, extended relatives and cousins who lived in Bangladesh. I could not relate to the landscape or dry weather of Pakistan. More importantly, some Pakistani women (our neighbours) were critical of my mother’s traditional dress (saree), and described it as revealing because it showed a bit of her back. They took pride in their traditional dress (shalwar, kameez, dopatta), which they considered to be more covered and ‘Islamic’. So, because of our traditional dress (saree) and perhaps other differences, we were regarded as the ‘Other’. In 1970 my father was relocated back to Dhaka, Bangladesh, and I was glad to go home. It should be noted that both Pakistan and Bangladesh were separated from India in 1947 – first as one nation; then, in 1971, Bangladesh became independent from Pakistan. The conflict between Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) and Pakistan (then West Pakistan) originated for economic and political reasons. At this time I was a high school student and witnessed acts of genocide committed by the Pakistani regime against the Bangladeshis (March-December 1971). My memories of these acts are vivid and still very painful. After my marriage, I moved from Bangladesh to the United States. In this instance, my new route (Austin, Texas, USA), as it happened, did not become my home. Here the ethno-cultural and Islamic cultural factors took precedence. I spoke the English language, made some American friends, and studied history at the University of Texas. I appreciated the warm friendship extended to me in the US, but experienced a degree of culture shock. I did not appreciate the pub life, alcohol consumption, and what I perceived to be the lack of family bonds (children moving out at the age of 18, families only meeting occasionally on birthdays and Christmas). Furthermore, I could not relate to de facto relationships and acceptance of sex before marriage. However, to me ‘home’ meant a family orientation and living in close contact with family. Besides the cultural divide, my husband and I were living in the US on student visas and, as Vertovec (21-23) noted, temporary visa status can deter people from their sense of belonging to the host country. In retrospect I can see that we lived in the ‘myth of return’. However, our next move for a better life was not to our root (Bangladesh), but another route to the Muslim world of Dhahran in Saudi Arabia. My husband moved to Dhahran not because it was a Muslim world but because it gave him better economic opportunities. However, I thought this new destination would become my home – the home that was coined by Anderson as the imagined nation, or my Muslim umma. Anderson argues that the imagined communities are “to be distinguished, not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined” (6; Wood 61). Hall (122) asserts: identity is actually formed through unconscious processes over time, rather than being innate in consciousness at birth. There is always something ‘imaginary’ or fantasized about its unity. It always remains incomplete, is always ‘in process’, always ‘being formed’. As discussed above, when I had returned home to Bangladesh from Pakistan – both Muslim countries – my primary connection to my home country was my ethnic identity, language and traditions. My ethnic identity overshadowed the religious identity. But when I moved to Saudi Arabia, where my ethnic identity differed from that of the mainstream Arabs and Bedouin/nomadic Arabs, my connection to this new land was through my Islamic cultural and religious identity. Admittedly, this connection to the umma was more psychological than physical, but I was now in close proximity to Mecca, and to my home of Dhaka, Bangladesh. Mecca is an important city in Saudi Arabia for Muslims because it is the holy city of Islam, the home to the Ka’aba (the religious centre of Islam), and the birthplace of Prophet Muhammad [Peace Be Upon Him]. It is also the destination of the Hajj, one of the five pillars of Islamic faith. Therefore, Mecca is home to significant events in Islamic history, as well as being an important present day centre for the Islamic faith. We lived in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia for 5 years. Though it was a 2.5 hours flight away, I treasured Mecca’s proximity and regarded Dhahran as my second and spiritual home. Saudi Arabia had a restricted lifestyle for women, but I liked it because it was a Muslim country that gave me the opportunity to perform umrah Hajj (pilgrimage). However, Saudi Arabia did not allow citizenship to expatriates. Saudi Arabia’s government was keen to protect the status quo and did not want to compromise its cultural values or standard of living by allowing foreigners to become a permanent part of society. In exceptional circumstances only, the King granted citizenship to a foreigner for outstanding service to the state over a number of years. Children of foreigners born in Saudi Arabia did not have rights of local citizenship; they automatically assumed the nationality of their parents. If it was available, Saudi citizenship would assure expatriates a secure and permanent living in Saudi Arabia; as it was, there was a fear among the non-Saudis that they would have to leave the country once their job contract expired. Under the circumstances, though my spiritual connection to Mecca was strong, my husband was convinced that Saudi Arabia did not provide any job security. So, in 1987 when Australia offered migration to highly skilled people, my husband decided to migrate to Australia for a better and more secure economic life. I agreed to his decision, but quite reluctantly because we were again moving to a non-Muslim part of the world, which would be culturally different and far away from my original homeland (Bangladesh). In Australia, we lived first in Brisbane, then Adelaide, and after three years we took our Australian citizenship. At that stage I loved the Barossa Valley and Victor Harbour in South Australia, and the Gold Coast and Sunshine Coast in Queensland, but did not feel at home in Australia. We bought a house in Adelaide and I was a full time home-maker but was always apprehensive that my children (two boys) would lose their culture in this non-Muslim world. In 1990 we once again moved back to the Muslim world, this time to Muscat, Sultanate of Oman. My connection to this route was again spiritual. I valued the fact that we would live in a Muslim country and our children would be brought up in a Muslim environment. But my husband’s move was purely financial as he got a lucrative job offer in Muscat. We had another son in Oman. We enjoyed the luxurious lifestyle provided by my husband’s workplace and the service provided by the housemaid. I loved the beaches and freedom to drive my car, and I appreciated the friendly Omani people. I also enjoyed our frequent trips (4 hours flight) to my root, Dhaka, Bangladesh. So our children were raised within our ethnic and Islamic culture, remained close to my root (family in Dhaka), though they attended a British school in Muscat. But by the time I started considering Oman to be my second home, we had to leave once again for a place that could provide us with a more secure future. Oman was like Saudi Arabia; it employed expatriates only on a contract basis, and did not give them citizenship (not even fellow Muslims). So after 5 years it was time to move back to Australia. It was with great reluctance that I moved with my husband to Brisbane in 1995 because once again we were to face a different cultural context. As mentioned earlier, we lived in Brisbane in the late 1980s; I liked the weather, the landscape, but did not consider it home for cultural reasons. Our boys started attending expensive private schools and we bought a house in a prestigious Western suburb in Brisbane. Soon after arriving I started my tertiary education at the University of Queensland, and finished an MA in Historical Studies in Indian History in 1998. Still Australia was not my home. I kept thinking that we would return to my previous routes or the ‘imagined’ homeland somewhere in the Middle East, in close proximity to my root (Bangladesh), where we could remain economically secure in a Muslim country. But gradually I began to feel that Australia was becoming my ‘home’. I had gradually become involved in professional and community activities (with university colleagues, the Bangladeshi community and Muslim women’s organisations), and in retrospect I could see that this was an early stage of my ‘self-actualisation’ (Maslow). Through my involvement with diverse people, I felt emotionally connected with the concerns, hopes and dreams of my Muslim-Australian friends. Subsequently, I also felt connected with my mainstream Australian friends whose emotions and fears (9/11 incident, Bali bombing and 7/7 tragedy) were similar to mine. In late 1998 I started my PhD studies on the immigration history of Australia, with a particular focus on the historical settlement of Muslims in Australia. This entailed retrieving archival files and interviewing people, mostly Muslims and some mainstream Australians, and enquiring into relevant migration issues. I also became more active in community issues, and was not constrained by my circumstances. By circumstances, I mean that even though I belonged to a patriarchally structured Muslim family, where my husband was the main breadwinner, main decision-maker, my independence and research activities (entailing frequent interstate trips for data collection, and public speaking) were not frowned upon or forbidden (Khan 14-15); fortunately, my husband appreciated my passion for research and gave me his trust and support. This, along with the Muslim community’s support (interviews), and the wider community’s recognition (for example, the publication of my letters in Australian newspapers, interviews on radio and television) enabled me to develop my self-esteem and built up my bicultural identity as a Muslim in a predominantly Christian country and as a Bangladeshi-Australian. In 2005, for the sake of a better job opportunity, my husband moved to the UK, but this time I asserted that I would not move again. I felt that here in Australia (now in Perth) I had a job, an identity and a home. This time my husband was able to secure a good job back in Australia and was only away for a year. I no longer dream of finding a home in the Middle East. Through my bicultural identity here in Australia I feel connected to the wider community and to the Muslim umma. However, my attachment to the umma has become ambivalent. I feel proud of my Australian-Muslim identity but I am concerned about the jihadi ideology of militant Muslims. By jihadi ideology, I mean the extremist ideology of the al-Qaeda terrorist group (Farrar 2007). The Muslim umma now incorporates both moderate and radical Muslims. The radical Muslims (though only a tiny minority of 1.4 billion Muslims worldwide) pose a threat to their moderate counterparts as well as to non-Muslims. In the UK, some second- and third-generation Muslims identify themselves with the umma rather than their parents’ homelands or their country of birth (Husain). It should not be a matter of concern if these young Muslims adopt a ‘pure’ Muslim identity, providing at the same time they are loyal to their country of residence. But when they resort to terrorism with their ‘pure’ Muslim identity (e.g., the 7/7 London bombers) they defame my religion Islam, and undermine my spiritual connection to the umma. As a 1st generation immigrant, the defining criteria of my ‘homeliness’ in Australia are my ethno-cultural and religious identity (which includes my family), my active citizenship, and my community development/contribution through my research work – all of which allow me a sense of efficacy in my life. My ethnic and religious identities generally co-exist equally, but when I see some Muslims kill my fellow Australians (such as the Bali bombings in 2002 and 2005) my Australian identity takes precedence. I feel for the victims and condemn the perpetrators. On the other hand, when I see politics play a role over the human rights issues (e.g., the Tampa incident), my religious identity begs me to comment on it (see Kabir, Muslims in Australia 295-305). Problematising ‘Home’ for Muslim Australians In the European context, Grillo (863) and Werbner (904), and in the Australian context, Kabir (Muslims in Australia) and Poynting and Mason, have identified the diversity within Islam (national, ethnic, religious etc). Werbner (904) notes that in spite of the “wishful talk of the emergence of a ‘British Islam’, even today there are Pakistani, Bangladeshi and Arab mosques, as well as Turkish and Shia’a mosques”; thus British Muslims retain their separate identities. Similarly, in Australia, the existence of separate mosques for the Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Arab and Shia’a peoples indicates that Australian Muslims have also kept their ethnic identities discrete (Saeed 64-77). However, in times of crisis, such as the Salman Rushdie affair in 1989, and the 1990-1991 Gulf crises, both British and Australian Muslims were quick to unite and express their Islamic identity by way of resistance (Kabir, Muslims in Australia 160-162; Poynting and Mason 68-70). In both British and Australian contexts, I argue that a peaceful rally or resistance is indicative of active citizenship of Muslims as it reveals their sense of belonging (also Werbner 905). So when a transmigrant Muslim wants to make a peaceful demonstration, the Western world should be encouraged, not threatened – as long as the transmigrant’s allegiances lie also with the host country. In the European context, Grillo (868) writes: when I asked Mehmet if he was planning to stay in Germany he answered without hesitation: ‘Yes, of course’. And then, after a little break, he added ‘as long as we can live here as Muslims’. In this context, I support Mehmet’s desire to live as a Muslim in a non-Muslim world as long as this is peaceful. Paradoxically, living a Muslim life through ijtihad can be either socially progressive or destructive. The Canadian Muslim feminist Irshad Manji relies on ijtihad, but so does Osama bin Laden! Manji emphasises that ijtihad can be, on the one hand, the adaptation of Islam using independent reasoning, hybridity and the contesting of ‘traditional’ family values (c.f. Doogue and Kirkwood 275-276, 314); and, on the other, ijtihad can take the form of conservative, patriarchal and militant Islamic values. The al-Qaeda terrorist Osama bin Laden espouses the jihadi ideology of Sayyid Qutb (1906-1966), an Egyptian who early in his career might have been described as a Muslim modernist who believed that Islam and Western secular ideals could be reconciled. But he discarded that idea after going to the US in 1948-50; there he was treated as ‘different’ and that treatment turned him against the West. He came back to Egypt and embraced a much more rigid and militaristic form of Islam (Esposito 136). Other scholars, such as Cesari, have identified a third orientation – a ‘secularised Islam’, which stresses general beliefs in the values of Islam and an Islamic identity, without too much concern for practices. Grillo (871) observed Islam in the West emphasised diversity. He stressed that, “some [Muslims were] more quietest, some more secular, some more clamorous, some more negotiatory”, while some were exclusively characterised by Islamic identity, such as wearing the burqa (elaborate veils), hijabs (headscarves), beards by men and total abstinence from drinking alcohol. So Mehmet, cited above, could be living a Muslim life within the spectrum of these possibilities, ranging from an integrating mode to a strict, militant Muslim manner. In the UK context, Zubaida (96) contends that marginalised, culturally-impoverished youth are the people for whom radical, militant Islamism may have an appeal, though it must be noted that the 7/7 bombers belonged to affluent families (O’Sullivan 14; Husain). In Australia, Muslim Australians are facing three challenges. First, the Muslim unemployment rate: it was three times higher than the national total in 1996 and 2001 (Kabir, Muslims in Australia 266-278; Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 63). Second, some spiritual leaders have used extreme rhetoric to appeal to marginalised youth; in January 2007, the Australian-born imam of Lebanese background, Sheikh Feiz Mohammad, was alleged to have employed a DVD format to urge children to kill the enemies of Islam and to have praised martyrs with a violent interpretation of jihad (Chulov 2). Third, the proposed citizenship test has the potential to make new migrants’ – particularly Muslims’ – settlement in Australia stressful (Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 62-79); in May 2007, fuelled by perceptions that some migrants – especially Muslims – were not integrating quickly enough, the Howard government introduced a citizenship test bill that proposes to test applicants on their English language skills and knowledge of Australian history and ‘values’. I contend that being able to demonstrate knowledge of history and having English language skills is no guarantee that a migrant will be a good citizen. Through my transmigrant history, I have learnt that developing a bond with a new place takes time, acceptance and a gradual change of identity, which are less likely to happen when facing assimilationist constraints. I spoke English and studied history in the United States, but I did not consider it my home. I did not speak the Arabic language, and did not study Middle Eastern history while I was in the Middle East, but I felt connected to it for cultural and religious reasons. Through my knowledge of history and English language proficiency I did not make Australia my home when I first migrated to Australia. Australia became my home when I started interacting with other Australians, which was made possible by having the time at my disposal and by fortunate circumstances, which included a fairly high level of efficacy and affluence. If I had been rejected because of my lack of knowledge of ‘Australian values’, or had encountered discrimination in the job market, I would have been much less willing to embrace my host country and call it home. I believe a stringent citizenship test is more likely to alienate would-be citizens than to induce their adoption of values and loyalty to their new home. Conclusion Blunt (5) observes that current studies of home often investigate mobile geographies of dwelling and how it shapes one’s identity and belonging. Such geographies of home negotiate from the domestic to the global context, thus mobilising the home beyond a fixed, bounded and confining location. Similarly, in this paper I have discussed how my mobile geography, from the domestic (root) to global (route), has shaped my identity. Though I received a degree of culture shock in the United States, loved the Middle East, and was at first quite resistant to the idea of making Australia my second home, the confidence I acquired in residing in these ‘several homes’ were cumulative and eventually enabled me to regard Australia as my ‘home’. I loved the Middle East, but I did not pursue an active involvement with the Arab community because I was a busy mother. Also I lacked the communication skill (fluency in Arabic) with the local residents who lived outside the expatriates’ campus. I am no longer a cultural freak. I am no longer the same Bangladeshi woman who saw her ethnic and Islamic culture as superior to all other cultures. I have learnt to appreciate Australian values, such as tolerance, ‘a fair go’ and multiculturalism (see Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 62-79). My bicultural identity is my strength. With my ethnic and religious identity, I can relate to the concerns of the Muslim community and other Australian ethnic and religious minorities. And with my Australian identity I have developed ‘a voice’ to pursue active citizenship. Thus my biculturalism has enabled me to retain and merge my former home with my present and permanent home of Australia. References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London, New York: Verso, 1983. Australian Bureau of Statistics: Census of Housing and Population, 1996 and 2001. Blunt, Alison. Domicile and Diaspora: Anglo-Indian Women and the Spatial Politics of Home. 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Citation reference for this article MLA Style Kabir, Nahid. "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?: A Transmigrant’s Perspective." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/15-kabir.php>. APA Style Kabir, N. (Aug. 2007) "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?: A Transmigrant’s Perspective," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/15-kabir.php>.