Hell’s Treats

Hell’s Treats

So, for many years now I’ve made my ‘treats’ and given them away. I’ve done this because it motivated me and giving something yummy to people is a nice thing to do. For about 6 or 7 years I did this every month to some of the ABI groups I go to and to my neighbours where I live so I can introduce myself and they can know who I am and what I’m about.

About 2 years ago I made the decision I could no longer afford to give these treats away and that being generous was making me poor. Sorry poorer (is that even a word?) and I was told I would need to start listing my ingredients and to do a food handling certificate. The first, I said “Hell NO” and the second I said “find me some funding” and that never happened.

I assure you, I come from good CWA (Country Women’s Association) stock.

If you want to risk it, I suggest you get out an Epi pen and train a colleague and give it a try.

I really favour my favour my Ginger Kisses as even one-handed they are easy to make, even if I start the filling late on a Sunday night I can still find the energy at 1am to smash out 3 packets before going to bed.

Please help support my Independence!

Occasionally I’ll make a packet mix and when I do you will forgive me. I’ll not tell you it’s a packet mix, but when I make something from scratch I will definitely tell you.

There is a recipe I like to make that has a difficulty rating 20+.

Because it has many ingredients and they all require careful measuring. Tablespoon of vanilla essence, 1/4 teaspoon bicarb soda or baking powder.

Try doing that one handed!

Yes! ONE HANDED!

And you can get back to me with your grumpy attitude about occasionally smashing out a packet mix. This particular recipe I love to offer people – guess the secret ingredient?

No! Straight out. IT IS NOT POT! MARIJUANA OR MARY JANE. Not my thing, but I imagine if I could afford it I wouldn’t be giving it away.

I’m yet to cost these so that’s going to be a while.

And when I do make a packet mix if asked I will admit, this by muttering it out the corner of my mouth so it’s mostly indistinguishable. Such is my shame.

 

Being Italian

I should also mention, I will use the term “Wog”, from time to time and to those who are unaware.

Wog.

Now, I tried to do a Google search and after an attack of OCD and being distracted by rubbish for 20 minutes, the basic definition of Wog is ‘a foreigner’.

I learned from an early age , it actually meant “Western Oriental Gentleman”, but in Australian culture we really save it for Italians and Greeks that immigrated to Australia back in the late 1940’s and after. The immigrants also came from other European places too, however w!!hen Aussies use that term, we generally mean Italians/Greeks!

I went to a Private Catholic School where even the kids with 2 Italian parents would yell out and call me a wog! And I only have one Italian parent. I don’t consider myself a ‘wog’ per say, but I think I’ve .”

Great Italian food culture and that ‘feed an Army mentality’ and all the other good stuff from my mum. The great CWA –cooking/baking.

CWA being Country Women’s Association of which she does not belong and does not need to. Anyway, occasionally I’m going to drop the ‘Wog-bomb’ and I feel I’m allowed as I’m a little Italian as I like to say…

I speak a few words of Italian and even less Greek, but when I walk into my GP’s office, the 2 Greek ladies start speaking briskly in their native tongue and you can pick up a lot from their hand gestures and tone!

I have often discussed this with my GP who is Greek!

They’re tone says “Oh, that’s a pity, but she’s so pretty! Hopefully she has a husband!”

WTF?!

I usually get asked by the Greek ladies on my tram in guttural/broken English “you Greek?!”

I return in the same tone “no Greek, a little Italian.” I tell them from my father and they often ask from what part of Italy?

After the last 10 years or so living in an area with plenty of ‘wogs’ that can put my finger tips together and tap my forehead and reply “Calabeze!” Given up years ago saying “Calabrias” The hard movement is to symbolize “stubborn!”

The Italian from that area are known to be stubborn. Sounds about right!

Years ago, I worked across town in a Supermarket and a guy asked where the Tzatziki was? I confess I was younger and didn’t know what that was. I tried a cheeky question to ascertain what it was. FYI: If you aren’t sure, it’s a dip! It’s kept in the Supermarket in a fridge.

He looked at me rather disgustedly and asked how I would not know what this ‘thing’ was.

I asked “why?’, this wog motioned to my name badge and said ‘you’re Greek!”

Why do you say that?

“Your name is Helen!”

FUCK OFF! (Obviously not what I said, but I then explained I was not.)

So many times I’ve had to respond to the query “You Greek?” Always asked or as a statement and I always respond with “No! No, Greek!” Greek ladies always look so disappointed. I am surrounded by Greeks these days. The good ones luckily. My GP! My Chiropractor! My taxi driver, young John! So lucky!!!

I have a mobility scooter, which I like to call Hell on Wheels!