Time To Effect Meaningful Change -- October 2019

Bashing Fonterra in the media is so prevalent it’s almost a national pastime; farmer shareholders keen to share that phone call they got from the chairman, commentators sticking the boot in at the behest of their dairy processor clients and any politician looking for some airtime will happily have a crack.

If the payout is low it’s due to the incompetence of directors and management, if the payout is high it’s because Fonterra is screwing the scrum and forcing their competitors to pay more for milk than it’s worth.

While there are legitimate criticisms to be levelled at the Co-op, and they’re not above scoring own goals in that department, it’s so easy that writing a column panning them is almost lazy. I make no secret that I’m a fan of Fonterra’s new direction; the honesty that is largely on display at shareholder meetings, the way they now engage with the government instead of the ‘Fortress Fonterra’ mentality of old and their willingness to show leadership and vision in areas that affect their farmers.

When this newfound engagement and sense of purpose draws praise, who ever thought we’d see headlines from a Green MP commending Fonterra for their leadership, it also draws a barrage of criticism: bloody Fonterra is cosying up to the Government!

An agricultural journalist recently tweeted that Tatua “… will pay out $8.50, $2.15 more than Fonterra”. While I’m a huge Tatua fan and am happy to celebrate their success, that sort of linear and uncritical comparison is pretty unhelpful.

“Imagine,” I replied, “if Tatua had the same regulatory constraints as Fonterra and had to accept milk from everyone who wanted to supply them.” Unfortunately it seemed the journalist couldn’t imagine this scenario and the point I was making was somewhat lost on him.

I think the point has been lost on a lot of people, with all the noise about fresh water and emissions and Zero Carbon, the fact there is a very important issue under consideration by parliament at this very moment has slipped under the radar.

The continuation of the Dairy Industry restructuring Act (DIRA) in its current form runs the very real risk seeing New Zealand with too much milk processing capacity. Fonterra is obligated to supply new processors with at-cost raw milk, essentially subsidising the competition and allowing them to enter the market with almost no risk. This subsidised supply doesn’t benefit domestic consumers; the processed product is shipped offshore along with the profits.

In the face of a static or declining milk pool, excess processing capacity can only lead to one thing: plant closures like those we are seeing across the Tasman.

I don’t understand the reticence of successive governments to radically reform DIRA; after nine years in power and a bit of tinkering, National have finally promised to repeal DIRA. They did this after realising that Labour were more proactive with deregulation than they had ever been, but that doesn’t do us any good while they’re in opposition.

The Greens should support the wholesale reform of DIRA; it has had the unintended consequence of being the single biggest factor in driving land use to dairy by compelling Fonterra to take all of the new milk. Labour should support the reform of DIRA if only  because Fonterra has a highly unionised and happy workforce whom they look after very well, and a strong Fonterra means a strong dairy worker’s union. Of all the parties New Zealand First should be leading the charge, subsidised foreign companies coming into New Zealand and exporting the profits is anathema to them.

Legend has it that Shane Jones once quipped every time he attacked Fonterra he went up in the polls, and he’s not the only politician to have had a crack in recent times. It’s time for the politicians to take a serious look at what’s holding Fonterra back and do something about it.

Taking action is not as easy as snide remarks and soundbites, but it’s their job, they can effect meaningful change and it’s time they did.

My Nemesis, The Country -- October 2019

Roast beef has always been my nemesis; no matter how hard I tried it was either overcooked and chewy or an undercooked lump mocking me from its bed of crispy roasted potatoes.

Not for me the perfectly pink, tender slices of succulent goodness that the online recipes promised, my roasts of beef were garnished with sadness and regret and served with a side of wistful unfulfilled promise.

This was the case until one day a few years back I was watching a TV show where the host visited people’s houses and had dinner with them, and after he’d had dinner with them he cooked the meal they had served but he did it better. On this day it was roast beef and I watched intently. Reader, I even took notes.

The trick, he said, was a meat probe. A thermometer to measure the internal temperature of the roast, a device without which most roast beef is doomed to abject failure. A scenario with which I was all too familiar.

I rushed out and bought one. I defrosted a bolar roast, I pierced it and poked bits of garlic and rosemary inside, I massaged it with oil, I seared it, I preheated my oven and I inserted my meat probe. When the probe told me we had hit perfection I removed the roast and let it rest, it had been quite a journey and the poor thing deserved a wee lie down before the moment of truth.

Then I cut into it and OH LORDY! Faultlessly medium-rare! Instagramable af.

I instantly tweeted that I had finally mastered the dark art of roasting beef, part science and part black magic, I was finally in the club.

“Oh,” replied Trudi Bennett in the truly annoying way that only Trudi can, “I do mine in the crockpot. Never fails, perfect every time.”

What the actual what!? You can’t cook roast beef in a crockpot, it’s an abomination. It’ll never work, it’ll be horrible. Of course I had to try it.

The recipe is so simple it makes me cry. You take your crockpot, you empty a sachet of onion soup into the bottom and place your roast beef on top. Then you smear some cranberry jelly on top of the beef, put the lid on and set it on low for 9 hours. That’s it. Seriously. I weep.

Somehow when you lift the lid the meat has miraculously browned, it smells distractingly delicious while it rests and you make gravy from the large amount of liquid that has accumulated in the pot. Trudi just stirs in the onion soup, but I add butter and flour to thicken my gravy because I’m fancy like that. The meat is pink and tender, slightly sweet from the cranberry. I’ve taken to adding garlic as well, but the beauty of the original recipe is its simplicity.

If you’re on Twitter you should check Trudi out on @WardrobeFlair, she’s a personal stylist and fashion blogger, she may be annoying but she knows her way around a crockpot.