The viability of the humble rissole was brought up at a recent Australia Day long weekend barbecue.
Not literally brought up, although the way some people went on you'd think that was the case. More "brought into question".
A modern day barby anachronism was the suggestion. The victim of its own success/excess, the claim. Perhaps outstripped by a calorie conscious community trying to keep track of its collective BMI?
Hard to imagine the third, given how much food was on offer at this barby, but the genie leapt out of the bottle as it can do in learned barbecue forums like this, and the conversation ignited.
Do rissoles have a place alongside say steak (yes), sausages (of course), lamb (for sure) or pork ribs (you bet) on the modern day barby plate?
The major rissole detractor claimed he rated them even lower than chicken wings as something he'd cook up voluntarily, let alone eat.
This caused me to double take a second time that day, having something of an extreme liking for chicken wings too.
Particularly the signature batch cooked up by the neighbour of the host of this particular barbecue.
That the rissole detractor had devoured these delicious entrees with what can only be described as rampant enthusiasm somewhat undermined earlier claims, clouding his credibility on rissoles too.
Yet the fact not everyone lined up for a rissole when the announcement went out that food was on the table highlighted we might have a thing here.
The main criticisms were twofold: one, it is a little unclear what's in a modern day supermarket purchased rissole; and two, they repeat like buggery.
Let it be noted, I did eat one when prompted midway through seconds and not just because I am a rissole loyalist.
The truth is there just hadn't been enough room on my plate during the first wave of attack.
Guessing the ingredients ain't easy, I'll grant you, apart from possibly sawdust. I hope it's sawdust. And yep, taming the reflux is tough. They are the gift that keeps giving.
But I know what I'm getting myself into with rissoles, or rather letting myself in for. Burp.
This is not to denigrate those artisans who make award-winning rissoles, like my mum and various top-notch butchers around town and throughout the valley.
They are time-honoured and simply lack the profile of say award-winning snags, which seem to hog all the meat limelight.
This learned discussion could well have taken in other important topics of the day, like the Corona virus pandemic, but this was a cocktail party so we figured we were safe.
The rissole debate quickly faded when someone presented for dessert what must surely rate as one of the most diabolically wrong Australia Day concepts ever - the Lamington potato chip.
Now there's a topic to digest, and quite rightfully regurgitate.