I like “who woulda thunk it” moments.
Those instances where, as Tim Winton says, we are
“moved from a fixed position”.
Who woulda thunk it? Pumpkin and prawn dumplings at a joint in Canberra, the Dickson Dumpling House (2 Cape St, Dickson ACT). Outstanding.
In the one corner, we have pumpkin which I think of as
“foona” – food as comforting as a heavy doona on a cold night (something
Canberra specialises in besides politics).
In countless cafes during countless lunch hours, Aussies
count on pumpkin to make things better in the ever-available pumpkin soup. And,
in many homes from Parramatta to Coolangatta to all the other atta’s, it’s
still the stuff that binds families together during Sunday roast dinners.
In the other corner, baby prawns (a.k.a, shrimp on the "Up Over" side of the planet). I reckon there’s no food more celebratory than the prawn.
The excitement of Aussie Christmas. The pink mountains on
ice at a special-occasion hotel buffet. The guilty pleasure of a bowl filled
with prawn shells after we stuff our “just one more” faces down at the Pyrmont Fish Market.
Here we have them together in one morsel. Joy and
reassurance. Exuberance and stability. The celebratory and the day-to-day. East
and West. Big night out and at home on the lounge in front of the telly.
You madly run around the playground with the prawns and then you get to jump on your mother’s lap with the pumpkin.
Or, the prawns are the screaming guitar solo to the pumpkin rhythm
section's steady beat. (At Dickson Dumpling House, the bass was beautifully played by a Malaysian beef fried rice heavy on the tomato.)
So, yeah, I liked ‘em. They were yum. And, they sent me
into a spiritual spin.
Here’s something to shock you. I sometimes struggle to make
my beliefs (and my writing) orderly.
Indeed, I can be described as “Christian by faith, Ukrainian
Catholic by culture, Buddhist by practice, and Islamic and Jewish by respect”.
I wonder aloud if it’s self-indulgent – this bespoke Bushido of mine.
A friend with a big beard, a big hat, and a big heart gently
reminded me of the luxury of my musings this week. (He isn't the serious dude making the Canberra dumplings pictured.)
And, I’ve listened to a fine
and fired-up preacher point out that when we abandoned core truths, when
everything becomes personally-determined and relative, there can be a world of
hurt. Bottom line: when we become our own god, right and wrong and obligation
to others are seriously at risk.
Smart blokes, them. God guys. Humble guys who know tradition
and history. I need to get them around a bowl of pumpkin and prawn dumplings
but.
Here we have this fusion; here we have this new and
improbably good thing that is created by different traditions; here we have been
given, as no other generation before us, this opportunity to experience so much
of the world and it’s wisdom so readily.
Are we wrong to dabble? I dunno.
Maybe, some stuff just works to get us
out of bed. To remind us to be kind, helpful and thankful in our daily lives. To
inspire us to build and beautify. To appreciate the divine in the little. Indeed, in the dumpling.
Who woulda thunk it?
