By Nick Bikeman
Winning first prize in the Melbourne Royal Show cookery competition was no piece of cake!
To spice things up on our annual family visit to ‘the Show’ during the September school holidays, I decided to enter the fiercely competitive cooking contest. Egged on by my kids, after numerous attempts, I finally won the highly coveted blue and gold embossed first prize ribbon for my plain white scones. Arguably, the holy grail for amateur competition cooks. However, winning turned out to be no piece of cake.
Controversy arose when another participant, known for buttering up to the judges and stirring the pot, bit off more than they could chew. Somehow also being awarded first prize in the same category. The judges then found themselves in a bit of a pickle. An investigation was conducted, correspondence was exchanged, and terse letters were written. The Royal Agricultural Society of Victoria (RASV) served up their sincerest apologies. However, my trust in the show’s cookery competition had soured, leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I guess that’s just the way the cookie crumbles. Anyway, there’s no use crying over spilt milk.
The Melbourne Royal Show had its genesis in the Port Phillip Farmers’ Society, established in 1848. The society was renamed the National Agricultural Society of Victoria in 1870, then, under royal patronage, became the Royal Agricultural Society of Victoria (RASV) in 1890. In 2022, the show was rebranded as The Melbourne Royal Show. Regardless of its many alliterations over the years, the Show remains a quintessential ingredient of springtime in Melbourne, that continues to occupy a special place in our cultural life. The Show is ‘where the city meets the bush’.
The Woodchop Championships are a real showstopper, a perennial favourite drawing huge crowds to the rural pavilion. Competitive woodchopping is a country sport steeped in history and arcane traditions where hefty men in regulation uniforms of singlet and white trousers wield razor-sharp axes in handicap events to determine who can chop through a 300mm hardwood log of Alpine Ash the quickest.
“Axemen, take your positions, for the standing block handicap”, crackles the gravel-throated commentator as the countdown begins. Then one after the other axes slice through the air as splinters fly; the crowd inhales, holding their collective breath. Can the young bloke ‘off scratch’ come from behind with a flurry of sharp blows to take out the prized Golden Axe Trophy? Or will he tragically chop off his toes trying?
On their way to the Grand arena for the big parade, Cuban-heeled country kids in Akubra hats effortlessly lead massive French Charolais bulls the size of small cars easily through the swarming crowds.
“Everyone wins a prize”, yells the ‘showie’ as I walk down Sideshow Alley. Not me, though. Instead, I come face to face with evil incarnate in the guise of the Laughing Clowns, whose swaying heads, hollow mouths, and narrow-set eyes follow me relentlessly, triggering my undiagnosed coulrophobia (fear of clowns).
Meanwhile, over at the poultry pavilion, chicken fanciers flock to see the officious white coated Poultry Superintendent oversee judging of the Bantam Hardfeathers, where the prestigious prize for best spangled cock is up for grabs.
Nighttime in the showgrounds is all about colour and movement, amid an atmosphere buzzing with fun and possibility. You surrender to the ‘flow’ drawn into a swirling vortex of multi-coloured flashing lights, pulsating 70s rock music, manic laughter, squeals, and screams. Floating along on a heady aroma made up of moist hay, fatty fast food and fairy floss, until some gap-toothed ‘showie’ bundles you into the ‘Turbo Ride’ for a wildly unsafe gut-wrenching journey spinning off into the unknown, that has you spewing up your Dagwood Dog battered sausage, just as the evening fireworks display explodes across the sky.
Exhausted, weighed down with assorted Bertie Beetle, Barbie, and Bluey showbags, we arrived home with a few helium-filled balloons. The kids and I decided to release them into the blustery night sky with our names and phone numbers attached, hoping to discover how far they would travel. Maybe they might make it to Paris, France? Six weeks later, I received an unexpected phone call from Jack, a wheat and sheep farmer from up near Patchewollock in the Mallee. He had found one of our balloons stuck in a peach tree on his farm some 425 kilometres from Footscray. Jack admitted he had never been to Footscray, while I confessed that I couldn’t recall visiting Patchewollock either. We enjoyed an animated conversation, chatting about all manner of things while also making a genuine human connection. I have the Show to thank for that.
Perhaps the most enduring aspect of the Melbourne Royal Show is the paradoxical ability to be the same yet different each year. Staying relevant by providing entertainment, variety and excitement for everybody from the city to the bush for over 175 years.
The 2025 Melbourne Royal Show will take place from Thursday 25 September to Sunday 5 October at the Melbourne Showgrounds in Ascot Vale.
