Introducing Mamamia Live – a frank conversation between two of Australia’s most outspoken women
Mia talks to Rosie about her best-selling new memoir The Anti Cool Girl and of course, The Bachelor. It will be as raw and moving as it is hilarious and you can meet Rosie in person afterwards as she signs copies of her book (which will also be available to buy if you haven’t got one yet!).
Catch them at the Intercontinental Sydney Double Bay on Monday 14th September at 6pm. Grab your tickets here.
This is an edited extract of Rosie Waterland’s debut book, The Anti-Cool Girl.
I started making ‘Rosie’s Chicken Soup’ (patented, so hands off) not long after my dad died. It’s a complex culinary masterpiece I developed for the nights when nobody would come home, and I realised if I wanted dinner I’d have to figure out this whole ‘cooking’ thing for myself.
In a trend that would follow me into adulthood, I kept things simple. The recipe is as follows: boil water in saucepan. Put pasta into saucepan (any pasta will do; I like spirals, but it’s up to you). Put powdered chicken stock into water (no specific amount, but if the water gets gluggy, you’ve gone too far). Wait for pasta to cook. Pour entire contents of saucepan into bowl. Eat.
It was basically my more sophisticated take on two-minute noodles, which although lovely as a treat, I didn’t think were a dignified enough choice for dinner (oh, how times have changed). Rosie’s Chicken Soup would be the start of my lifelong journey with preparing food, which now, along with adding water to things, also includes placing various products in the microwave.
But back then, I was still just an eight-year-old cooking novice, waiting for an adult to come home and make me a goddamn steak.
Mum had pretty much lost her mind after Dad died. Although, given we’d already been in and out of rehab numerous times, it could be argued that she was losing it well before he sat in that yellow chair and never woke up. Her bipolar was, at the very least, a rubber band that had been stretched to its limit for a while, and Dad dying was the thing that finally made it snap. Even though she had married Joe the Removalist, had a new baby and we were all living in a fancy private rental in West Ryde, Dad’s death broke her.
She started going to the fridge to fill up her glass from a chilled box of wine more and more often. Then the wine in the fridge must have run out, because soon she started leaving the house to fill her glass. And she must have had trouble finding wine elsewhere, because some nights she’d be out looking for so long that we’d wake up in the morning and she still wouldn’t be home.