Originally published by The Clifton Courier, May 9, 2018

Now, we Maguires aren’t much of a Paul Kelly family. Dad’s into Slim, The Eagles and, as all sensible people should be, Diana Ross and the Supremes. Mum dabbles in a bit of Johnny Farnham and Petula Clark. And ever since it made its cracking debut back in 1999, Britney Spears’ banger Hit Me Baby One More Timehas been getting spins in the Maguire house. Last time I looked, it was still next to radio in the kitchen, ready to be played at a moment’s notice.

As such, we’re not too familiar with the framed Kelly gravy recipe. Thanks to a bit of incidental exposure due to the boom of ironic bogan culture in metropolitan areas, I know to shout about giving my love to someone called Angus when the song comes on at a house party, but that’s about it.

I’ll also point out that I’m from a staunch Gravox family. We’ve tasted perfection and we don’t want to muck around with all the variables that can spoil a gravy. We’re not going to chance it with a risky pan-juice-and-flour combo when there’s a ripping lamb roast at stake. Nah. We like the powdered stuff you get from the box.

But that doesn’t mean we settle for a weak, salty dam water concoction of a gravy. We like a nice, rich glob of flavour to drown our potatoes in.

And just because our gravy is made up of hydrolysed vegetable protein and “natural flavour”, doesn’t mean we don’t make it our own.

Mum, for example, will sometimes mix it up with a few sliced mushrooms. When she’s cooking sausages under the griller, Mum will spice up a batch of gravy with a few slices of onion – this particular recipe calls for Dad gleefully calling out “onion gavy” at least twice, which I believe stems from an inside joke about a bloke he knew who pronounces “gravy” without the “r” and loves his onions.  Some traditions are best left unquestioned.

I however, have put my own stamp on the goo of the gods.

I like to say that it’s “a secret”, as if I’m from a cultured family that passes recipes down through the generations. It sounds wholesome.

In reality, most of my recipes come from the back of packets and the only things passed down my family trees are a tendency to hoard things and scoliosis. So this is the best I can do.

The secret: rosemary.

Thrilling, right?

But there’s more to it than that. It’s not about the rosemary, it’s what ya do with it:

The first thing you want to do is to get the Supreme Chicken gravy. Don’t get the instant just-add-boiling-water stuff – it will only disappoint you and make your potatoes/entire life limp and soggy.

The next thing you want to do is get your hands on some oil. If you’re cooking a roast, collect the juices from the roasted hunk of meat and tip this rich, bloody oil into a non-stick frypan. If you don’t have meaty juice, just use a good olive oil.

Then, chuck in a few teaspoons of dried rosemary. Now, you could defs use fresh rosemary from the garden, but us Maguires aren’t great gardeners so the concept of plucking some herbs from a functioning veggie patch is foreign to me. And considering we’re using powdered gravy, we may as well go down the highly-processed path.

Speaking of highly processed, now is the time to make your gravy paste. It’s like curry paste, except less natural. The box says to use one-and-a-half tablespoons of powder, but because of my undeniable zest for life, I tend to end up with two heaped spoonfuls. I put this powder in a cup measurement, adding a splash of water to first make a paste, then gradually adding more water once that’s been mixed. This process makes me feel like a real cook, but also prevents lumps from ruining your day.

Next, fry the rosemary on a medium heat until the leaves start crisping up.

Gently pour in the gravy water, stirring with a plastic spatula. Why a plastic spatula? Because it’s usually already dirty by this point and I can’t be arsed washing up unnecessary spoons.

The wide surface of the frypan should make your gravy thick and rich in a few minutes, so keep watching it until it reaches your desired viscosity.

Next, tip this delightful brown sludge into a jug of some sort. You can either place this on the table with your roast, or grab a straw and take the jug into a darkened room to watch reruns of The Nanny by yourself.