Gourmet Traveller: Where Chefs Eat

Some of my fondest food memories from growing up in the Snowy Mountains are of spending longafternoons exploring a nearbyravine in the national park. We'dskim along dirt tracks overrun withblackberry bushes, plucking thefruit and filling up ice-cream bucketsto the brim. We'd come home a littlescratched-up from altercations withblackberry barbs, but with a fullbounty of juicy berries that mymum would then turn into pies, soft buttery teacakes and jam.We lived in a small, isolatedtownship called Cabramurra.Our nearest supermarket wasnearly two hours away, so cookinginteresting meals required a fairamount of ingenuity and a heavyreliance on the deep freezer. But myparents were adventurous eaters andpassionate cooks; they used whateverresources they could to recreatedishes from books they'd boughtand restaurants they'd visited