It’s not so hand-cut and dry, claims Michael Grosse Ph.D.
Every year, the City of Sydney holds a month-long celebration of the staple Asian food: noodles. This year, the Sydney Night Noodle Markets ran from October 4 to October 21 in Hyde Park and swathes of people came from all across the Greater Sydney region to attend this celebration of Asian cuisine. Yet these attendees, mostly white millennials, may I add, paid no attention to the fact that they were paying through the nose for dressed up peasant-meals. I don’t think my generation would ever spend $30 on a bread and butter pudding and in the next breath, decry the housing market.
These cashed-up perpetual students and wannabe food blog influencers also seemed to care very little that these noodle markets were held just metres away from one of Sydney’s most sacred sites: the ANZAC Memorial.
I wonder what our diggers—who died on the fields of war defending this country and its Western ideals—would think of this ludicrous display. I expect that they, and I also hold this opinion myself, would much prefer to see a different celebration held in its place. A celebration put on by the City of Sydney that doesn’t capitulate to the SJWs and ne’er-do-wells that have left the door ajar for this century’s Asian Invasion.
No, next year the City of Sydney should cease bankrolling this affront to Australian values and should instead set up a festival under a new banner: Sydney Celebrates Pasta.
It would occupy the same space in Hyde Park and the same space in October (a month that should be noted is named after the Latin word “octō” meaning eight. I’m sure if our forebears wanted our eighth month to be dedicated to chowing down on chow mein they would have called it Hachitober).
The change has a cultural precedent. Noodles are just pasta, the recipe for which I can only assume somehow found its way from the Mediterranean, across the Himalayas and into the Orient. Now, history books may try and convince you that noodles pre-date pasta by a number of centuries but that is merely a misrepresentation of the facts by ‘progressive’ media.
I’ll admit it. Out of noodles and pasta, the one with the earliest mention in recorded text may be noodles. However, back in the day we didn’t need to photograph or write an essay about every meal we had and share it with the world. We didn’t do that in the seventies and I’m sure we also didn’t do it in 25-220 AD. Maybe everyone was too busy eating the delicious pasta to stop and write a haiku about it.
I understand my idea may spark some hesitation. People may not agree that a pasta festival represents the kind of multicultural Australia we should be striving for. But to that I say, you must update your worldviews. Italians are as much a part of the thread of Australia as our convict ancestors and I will not sit idly by as their good name is tarnished. Yes, they made some foolish decisions in the past two World Wars regarding their allegiances and yes, their arrival in Australia ushered in the broadening of our immigration policy that has led us to the mess we’re in today. But must I remind you that these hard-working, olive-skinned individuals come from the birthplace of democracy, value the contest of ideas and have proven incredibly able and willing to assimilate into our robust Australian society.
After seventy years of valued service to our nation, a festival of pasta would be a reward. A celebration of the food we have to accept as one of our own staples. A Noodle Festival, full of dishes that I cannot and will not pronounce correctly, is an affront to these noble members of our society: honest immigrants who came here from a wartorn country roughly forty to sixty years ago. Kind, generous people who set up small restaurants and shared their cuisine with us. Mothers and fathers who sacrificed everything so that their children might have a chance in Australia. And yes, it occurs to me now that I am also describing the plight of the Vietnamese. But that situation is very different because of reasons I hardly have to explain.