Just when I thought I would vote to have some Maori put in the hangi pit (ie, the Maoris from the fracas at the fence), I had an experience at Mum's nursing home. See, every week, I cook a main meal for about 12 people, and we have lunch with Mum at the home (aged care facilty, whatever, ok). I make something in my slow cooker, and usually it is me and Papa, Mum, and Linda, Woki and baby. But Linda is always keen to take the pot home for her family, so I make plenty.
There is a Maori section (Mai Moa - from the prehistoric times, still funny) and we set up lunch there. This week, there was a lady in for respite. She has no hair, and minimal speech. I don't know what is wrong with her. But her son was there, and he was feeding her so tenderly. I told him he had to eat some of my boil-up and he was happy to do so (see, he was my cooking-naieve, probly won't happen again...) We wiped her mouth and gave her a drink from one of those funny cups with a teat. He rubbed her back when she had finished. He was tall and looked really fierce, but he really loved his mum. It was so sweet and tender and my heart melted to see him.
It went a long way to getting over the fencers!
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