areiamus

As a child, I attended group piano lessons with Forte on Saturday morning. I remember some aspects of them quite vividly, the layout of the building, the view through the windows of the classroom, its place in the week. I remember you younger childhood as cyclical blend of Friday fish & chip nights, Saturday morning piano lessons, Saturday lunch at the nearby shopping centre food court where we, along with the other ten thousand outer-suburb proletarians who descended on the place during the weekend, first consumed food, then consumed mass-produced merchandise, and Sunday family outings or household maintenance.

Following some minor scandal, our beloved piano teacher resigned from the music school and so we were relegated to solo lessons, in smaller rooms and more individually-attentive instructors. I was not a fan. As far as I remember, the trips to the music school ended shortly after that. I don’t know how or why, but they resumed in a little stand-alone building close to the small cluster of Camira Shops (as they were back then, at least) with an old, highly-eccentric - and now that I look back on it with some slight objectivity, perhaps a little scary - man by the name of Mr Zimmer. He loved jazz, which was fortunate for me, because I also loved jazz. I remember looking with wonder at his aged, almost emaciated fingers as they flew across the cheap electronic piano’s keys, striking each note with perfect judgement of what was needed to bring a piece together.

At some point, and it embarasses me that I don’t remember when, my parents purchased a real upright piano. It’s followed me everywhere. It’s been tuned a few times, though I never really thought much of getting back into it, until relatively recently.

Sadly, it’s film soundtracks, anime BGM and ending songs to ludicrously popular games that have tempted me back into the world of piano. I say sadly, because it would seem so much more cultured to be inspired by a recent performance by Rogé at the Queensland Performing Arts Centre - but I’m glad to be back, whatever the reason. It provides a welcome break from study, from television, gaming - it’s a relief to engage some other part of my mind for those few minutes I’m submerged in a piece. Hearing the notes come together is a very pleasurable experience.

I understand it won’t happen in a few weeks, or even a few months. Apparently it takes 10 years to properly learn a skill. I look forward to a recital in 2018.

When I catch the train later in the evening, which is any time after 6, I have a tendency to doze off. This seems to happen more often when I’m sitting in the aisle seat and the unfortunate window seat occupant must either: tap me awake, mutter ‘excuse me’, or lift their arms (and bags, I suppose) high in the air and attempt to navigate the 15cm gap between my knees and the seat in front of us – all of which rouse me and spark an awkward moment where it’s clear that they’ve broken the commuter code of non-interaction, and I’ve broken the social convention of impersonal helpfulness without acknowledgement.

The aforementioned happened at Taringa this evening, just one station from my destination of Indooroopilly. As I struggled to gather my thoughts and decide what to eat for dinner, salmon attacked - not grilled or fried, but perched atop ribbons of pasta with fresh basil. Inspired, I set off to Coles.

Ingredients:

• 200-300g salmon fillet (preferably not actually from Coles)
• 300g or 5 small or 3 big tomatoes
• 3 fresh basil sprigs
• 200g linguine
• 3 garlic cloves
• sea salt & cracked pepper
• olive oil

And so:

1. Set 2-3L of water to boil. Add linguine, stir briskly and cover until water reboils. Cook for the rest of the time uncovered, around 10 minutes. If you bite a strand and it’s the same colour all the way through, it’s ready. Tip some of the water off to a spare pot. Drain pasta in a colander, toss with a little olive oil to prevent sticking. Return the saved water to the main pot, set the colander in the pot and cover until you’re ready to serve.
2. Finely chop garlic, dice tomatoes and wash basil. Add garlic, salt & pepper to 2-3 tablespoons olive oil over high heat. As the garlic starts to sizzle, turn the heat down to medium and add tomatoes. Cover and simmer for until the tomatoes have softened and there is some liquid in the pan.
3. Cube the salmon not smaller than 2cm a side. Lower the heat and evenly space the salmon pieces in the pan - there should be enough liquid that they’re not frying. Scatter basil leaves over the mix and cover for 2 minutes. Very gently stir, turning the salmon over and mixing the basil into the sauce. Cover for another 2 minutes.
4. Serve immediately.