If there’s one cuisine that influences the way Aussie families eat, it’s Italian. In poll after poll (including our own reader survey back in April – thanks to all of you who filled them in) it’s the quick and easy pastas, creamy risottos and hearty slow-cooked casseroles of Italy that come out on top when it comes to keeping hunger pangs – and the last of winter’s chilly weather – at bay.

This month we’re serving up the best of Italian cooking in our new issue, which you’ll find on sale now at Coles Supermarkets and newsagents (that’s the cover, right). There are 18 delicious Italian weekday dinners that won’t break the budget and that can be on the table in 30 minutes or less, authentic bikkie recipes from our very own Italian Mamma (or rather our creative director’s mum, Dina), and simple antipasto dishes you can whip up in no time when friends drop by, using ingredients from the supermarket. Or if you have a little more time up your sleeve, invite them over for our leisurely Italian feast – it’s guaranteed to have them saying bravissimo!  

As a writer for Australian Table, the best part of my job - aside from all the great food - is meeting the people behind the brands we all know and love. Most days I’m chained to my desk, but occasionally I go out to the farms and factories to experience firsthand the hard work and love that goes into making the products we throw in our trolleys without a second thought.

People & Food stories can take weeks of phoning and emailing to organise, depending on conflicting schedules and deadlines. By the time the day arrived to go and meet with them, I’ve already built them up in my head – what they look like, what they’ll be like … and of course, I’m always wrong. Some subjects are open and friendly and I’ll come back to the office armed with several tapes of information and funny anecdotes. Others can be a little more difficult. I’m happy to report that the Dairy Farmers story was one of the best – mostly because Martin Hodge and his family (see right) were so friendly and accommodating to the Australian Table crew.

Driving down to Camden Farm to meet the family behind the Dairy Farmers campaign, I couldn’t help but feel excited. After a busy week in the office, my head was filled with visions of a long afternoon of splendour in the grass - milking cows in a picturesque meadow with my pretty wooden stool and Daisy, the personable cow. It was all going to be so beautiful. And neat.

It starts off as I imagined. Rolling hills, baby cows being licked clean by their mothers and the very charming (and unbelievable photogenic) Hodge family. Martin’s lovely mother, Joan makes sandwiches and tea and asks us for lunch before we start, lest André (Martin, our photographer) and I work on an empty stomach. Perfect!

My “splendour in the grass” dream unravels a short time later when I find myself tiptoeing through the piles of fresh cow manure in Martin’s big black gumboots. I’d been asked by my editor to milk a cow by hand for some photos (and hell, for the experience – that’s me giving it a shot in the photo album to the right), but this was not what I’d had in mind. Instead of the meadow and stool sequence I’d obviously snatched from a Disney movie of my youth, I’m in the milking shed, sandwiched in by 24 cows mooing impatiently to be milked, all bottoms facing me. Full of false bravado and aware of André clicking away beside me, I walk over to the smallest one and pull gingerly at the udder. “Yeah, you might want to pull your sleeves up before you start,” Martin advises. I don’t even get an opportunity to consider what he has just said, because as soon the words come out of his mouth, Daisy lets go of her bowels all over my arms. Reeling with horror, I try to keep my ‘country face’ on (I don’t want to forever be known on the farm as that ‘hysterical city chick’) and keep tugging like I’ve been wrestling sheep and joyriding V8s all my life. (You won’t see any of the messier pics because I had the presence of mind to threaten André with violence should he continue shooting at this point). It’s only when the cow behind me starts kicking wildly and pieces of rogue wet patty strike my hair and cheeks that I squeal and practically do army rolls out the exit door. I have cow manure splattered all over me, yet have not managed to extract a single squirt of milk (it turns out I’m hopeless at it).

I managed to get through the rest of the interview and photo shoot with bits of it still planted firmly in my hair (André somehow managed to get out of it fresh as a daisy). The Hodge family, bless them, pretended not to notice but the Table girls have been laughing about it ever since. Anyway, I can only hope this wasn’t in vain and that you enjoy reading the Dairy Farmers story (look for it in our September issue, on sale 15^th August) as much as I did writing it.

Until next time,

Dilvin