Losing taste for Aussie icons
A THICK shivering sweat slicked our national spine when Channel 7’s Sunrise this week declared the lamington had momentarily fallen out of favour with those pesky millennials.
The cafe at Brisbane’s Old Government House ripped the toothsome Aussie delight off its menu in December for the first time in 117 years, and gee whiz did it cause a stink.
It was a particularly low blow for the desiccated tradition, given the lamington was arguably invented at Old Government House (despite what the Kiwis reckon) in 1900 for the then-Queensland Governor’s wife, Lady May Lamington.
“Give me a good moist lamington anytime,” a ravenous Kochie declared with a twinkle in his eye, setting wrinkled knees and pacemakers atremble from Cooktown to Hobart.
Fortunately, those smashed-avo fiends born after 1982 quickly came to their senses and the choc-coconutcoated sponge finger was back on the menu accompanied by a nostalgic and probably short-lived sales boom.
Lord Lamington – whose full name Charles Wallace Alexander Napier Cochrane-Baillie was a bigger mouthful than his namesake dessert – was none too fond of the creation.
The staunchly conservative gover- nor reportedly referred to them as “those bloody, poofy, woolly biscuits”, and would assumedly hate the fact they have borne his name for more than a century.
The origin of the lamington is unquestionably the most controversial point in Australian food lore, and one that will likely never have consensus until New Zealand officially becomes a state of Australia.
Regardless, it remains ingrained in our culture and any threat to lamingtons should be seen as a threat to Australian sovereignty itself.
Here are a few (very) postcolonial traditions that could be a thing of the past in 50 years. Calling mates bastards This also goes for innumerable other terms of endearments that, anywhere else in the world, would be seen as deeply offensive.
Pommy bastards who arrive on our golden shores are often taken aback when we rip into them with words from the sealed section of the dictionary, but quickly learn it just means we’re mates.
Except for those Pommy bastards who really are bastards – it all comes down to inflection. Pants down to Eagle Rock Dropping your dacks when Daddy Cool’s dumb anthem blares through the jukebox is admittedly moronic, but it remains a pub tradition that has lasted decades.
The Eagle Rock Down Trou apparently came into existence at the University of Queensland residential campus Union College in the ’80s, and quickly spread elsewhere around the country.
Pulling your pants off in public is fraught with complex issues, even if you are sporting undies.
It came to a fore last year when a Canberra residential college banned Eagle Rock from being played at formal events after complaints from female students. Worshipping a murderer The bushranger fetish hits a peak every time Australia Day rolls around and yobbos decide to get “Such is life” tattooed on the smalls of the backs.
Ned Kelly has been raised to the status of demigod, but there are mounting calls for his adoration to be abandoned.
Leo Kennedy, whose great grandfather was killed at the Stringybark Creek showdown between the Kelly Gang and police, has led the charge to rewrite history.
“Kelly chased my great grandfather down like a wild animal for more than a quarter mile,” Mr Kennedy told the Herald Sun last year.
“He blew out his heart. He also shot him in the head.” A fair point, well made. Sitting in the back seat We already catch ourselves saying “cab” from time to time, and increasingly Australians are opting to take the back seat instead of riding shotgun with a taxi driver.
It has historically been seen as poor form to sit in the back when you are the only passenger, but with all the stories about harrowing encounters with the tiny minority of creepy drivers, it is hardly surprising the trend is coming to an end.
IT REMAINS INGRAINED IN OUR CULTURE AND ANY THREAT TO LAMINGTONS SHOULD BE SEEN AS A THREAT TO AUSTRALIAN SOVEREIGNTY ITSELF