Rainy Day picnics, Birthday concerts and summer salads

What image do you conjure up when you think of the word picnic?

Picnics are thought of as an all American invention, but in truth, the word began life in France. In French, the word picquer means to bite, pick or dip, however nowadays in both France and Italy the word picnic is commonly used, although in Italy you may go on scampagnata - an outing. In England around 1800 the word picnic was used to describe a social event for the upper classes similar to a pot-luck gathering, commonly held indoors.

As time passed, the outdoor element became more and more a part of what a picnic is today….not necessarily a gathering of people sharing food they all contributed, but a casual meal held outdoors in a peaceful natural location. For most, the location of the picnic is as important- if not more so-than the food they are going to eat. To me, it seems the picnic really started in Italy where the Romans enjoyed simple foods barely a step away from nature, a blanket on the ground in the shade of a one thousand year old olive tree, a view of the sky, some water or beautiful architecture, refuelling the body with good food, maybe a great chunk of cheese, some ripe fruit, crusty bread and wine—-and olives, some of your favourite sausage, a knife and some plastic cups. Add a friend or two, or your lover….and eat. Slowly.

Now let’s imagine it’s Valentines Day, 2025, you wake up alongside your significant other of almost forty years and written amongst some of the most beautiful words on a page he asks whether you “will follow his lead and see where it takes us”. Alongside the card is a party pack of fine Prosecco, a sparkling wine from Italy, and some fine chocolates presented inside an edible heart shaped chocolate box. He then begins to share some of the adventures he has been thinking about going on to celebrate the day, starting with a nostalgic trip down memory lane to a suburban motel we often visited before we were married….a place we would often set off to with our pretend children strapped in the back of the Camry with the sailboards cleated down on top of the car. We would windsurf all day together and then retreat to the hotel room in the evening to refuel our bodies with fresh bread rolls, stuffed with hot chicken from the local charcoal chicken shop. He told me that he had booked no less than the ‘honeymoon suite’ and then decided to can this plan as the weather forecast didn’t look good.

Next up he’d decided we’d go on an adventure to a beach in the Eastern suburbs, check in to a room at a hotel by the sea and hang out in the bistro, enjoy a drink together and have some dinner. He’d also booked this but decided to cancel because, once again the weather wasn’t going to co-operate and “it wasn’t going to be much of a beach day”.

His final option was to head off on a picnic together, he’d organised a hamper of food from an artisan deli nearby, the party pack of Prosecco had chilled in the fridge and was placed into the esky with two champagne glasses, and we were off together on our adventure.

Now in Italy you might imagine a cute little Fiat bambino with a cane picnic basket filled with food strapped beneath the rear window, a soft rooftop folded back, wind blowing through your hair, a nice Italian love song playing ‘when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s Amore’…and a handsome Mediterranean tanned stallion with a collared polo shirt sitting beside you as you head along the cliff tops of the Amalfi peninsula, looking out across turquoise blue waters, your final destination no less than a tranquil manicured garden surrounding a medieval stone church on a hilltop…oh so sorry, for a moment my imagination carried me away!! In reality we were heading across the Sydney Harbour bridge, in the said cute Fiat, big blobs of drenching heavy rain were thudding down on the soft canvas rooftop, the windscreen wipers were rapidly waving back and forth at a hundred miles an hour across the front window pane, and the blue and white hard plastic esky was sitting on the back seat. We couldn’t put the soft roof top down as we would’ve needed a very big open beach umbrella to protect us from the pounding and I was certainly not strong enough to hold it in place as he was driving. We did however channel the Italian love song which was interspersed with chortles of laughter inside the car. We reached our destination, Centennial Parklands, and slowly drove the circuit to take in the picturesque surrounds which depicted a scene in the English countryside rather than that of the Tuscan sunshine.

We had it all, the foggy lakes, perfumed rose gardens, flocks of geese, bird filled trees and gracious swans. The rain pattered down, it was cosy and warm inside the little car. We were going to have our picnic regardless, not on a blanket beside the duck pond but on the front seat of the car, the cardboard hamper box sitting beside the gear stick and our champagne flutes wedged firmly between our legs.

The next part of the adventure was to be a bike ride around the parklands which we duly completed on a tandem bicycle with a fringed canopy protecting us from the rain. At one stage we were laughing so hard, my significant other almost steered us into the gutter, before my sail boarding muscle memory kicked into play and I quickly leant out to side of the vehicle to right the tyres back onto the tar.

Romance was certainly not dead, after almost forty years, it was just beginning.

On Friday evening, we continued our ‘Italian adventure’ of sorts enjoying handmade pasta ragu and limoncello spritz at Bar Mommoni, a quaint cafe located in a cobbled laneway courtyard not far from the harbour. It was a satisfying small bite before we headed off to the Recital Hall to see the much anticipated Kate Miller Heidke concert. On stage, accompanied only by her musical and life partner Keir Nuttal on guitar, her musical mastery is unbelievable. We enjoyed well known ballads such as ‘Caught in the Crowd’ alongside the manic trilling and warbling of O Vertigo, and her virtuoso soprano soaring in the Eurovision entry Zero Gravity. Comedy and poetry pepper the evening and her compositions for Muriel’s Wedding: The Musical round out the evening demonstrating the full breadth of her talents.

This week as I celebrate another lap around the sun and the privilege of aging, my children are treating me to another musical concert, that of the Irish family pop rock group, The Coors. My daughter reminded me that I played there album on repeat when she was younger. The songs Breathless and Runaway spring to mind, two songs of many that had us up on our feet bopping along.

With the warm weather continuing right up until the last days of summer I relaxed seaside reading Earth, John Boynes fearless exploration of the human heart before scampering home to enjoy simple fuss free dinners including this yummy Miso Grilled Chicken Rice Bowl. The recipe can be found here (Donna Hay).

I have just found my new favourite Japanese word Kuchisabishii, when you are not hungry but you eat because your mouth is lonely. Can anybody relate?

Until next time may your days be both serendipitous and enjoyable.

Eugenia