Adelaide MasterChef Callum Hann welcomes a new baby girl
An Adelaide-based MasterChef contestant has welcomed a baby girl into the world.
Callum Hann is a celebrated chef, author and entrepreneur who first skyrocketed to success after appearing on the second season of MasterChef Australia as a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed 20-year-old in 2010.
Now an entrepreneur and a married man, Mr Hann is in the midst of his newest journey – fatherhood.
Adelaide-based former MasterChef contestant Callum Hann and is wife Crystal Jagger have announced the birth of their third child Fleur Audrey Hann. Picture: Instagram
Baby Fleur takes in the world around her. Picture: Instagram
Mr Hann and his wife Crystal Jagger had their first child – a baby girl named Elle – in early 2020 and their second child, a boy named Henry, in 2022.
Posting on Instagram on Tuesday, Crystal revealed the couple had welcomed a third child into the world – an adorable little girl they've decided to name Fleur.
Callum Hann cuddles with his newborn baby girl. Picture: Instagram
Crystal poses for a photo while prepping to give birth to baby Fleur. Picture: Instagram
'Welcome to the world baby girl. We love you so much and you are the perfect addition to our little family,' Ms Jagger said in a post she tagged Mr Hann in.
Mr Hann finished as runner-up on MasterChef and now runs a profitable digital business.
He recently joined the latest season of MasterChef: Back to Win, and is currently participating in filming.
Originally published as MasterChef star Callum Hann welcomes new bundle of joy into the world
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ABC News
21 minutes ago
- ABC News
These modern mums have taken the tradwife hashtag and made it their own
Who mops the kitchen floor in your house? Or oversees the grocery shop and meal prep every week? For generations, the burden of household labour often came down to traditional gender roles — dad went to work, while mum stayed home with the kids. Today, many families split these responsibilities or juggle them alongside dual careers. But now some young women are choosing to quit work altogether and stay at home. They call themselves "traditional wives", or "tradwives". The term was made famous by social media influencers like Nara Smith, a model and mother of three young children, with a fourth on the way. She seemingly spends most of her day cooking food from scratch, from the cereal she serves her kids at breakfast to the hundreds and thousands she uses on their ice cream. In highly curated clips posted on their online accounts, self-proclaimed tradwives tend to their gardens, homeschool their children and bake sourdough bread. Imogen Dixon-Smith is a stay-at-home mum who "devours" tradwife content. She discovered Smith's videos while trying to decide if she should stop working as an art curator to care for her daughter. "I identified with the feeling of wanting to create the most nurturing and enriching environment possible for my daughter," she says. Dixon-Smith is as far from the tradwife movement as you can get. The Sydney-based mum is gay, sports a shorn head and doesn't know anyone else with young children. But she jokingly refers to herself as a tradwyf — the queer, feminist version. "It feels camp, it feels intelligent, it feels like it has a satirical edge, but most importantly it feels entrepreneurial to me," she says of tradwife content. So, what is it about this movement with its strict traditional gender roles that has struck a chord with mothers like Dixon-Smith? Dixon-Smith feels "absurd" attaching herself to the tradwife movement but says her fascination with its content came at a time when she was deeply enthralled by the world of mum advice on TikTok. That's despite Dixon-Smith having very little in common with the likes of Nara. "Offering nutritious and homemade food was one realm where our ideals collided," she says. Dixon-Smith admits that unlike the tradwives she follows online, she often feels as if she's not doing enough on the home front. "Our house is not spotless. There are countless unfinished jobs around the place," she says. "I still accept home-cooked meals from our parents for nights when I am run off my feet. And our dog doesn't get nearly the mileage she is looking for on her walks because we stop every five steps to look at a new flower." The inability to secure a flexible work arrangement was one of the reasons Dixon-Smith decided to become a stay-at-home mum. Childcare was also an issue. Dixon-Smith found herself reconsidering her daughter's care after a series of "underwhelming" tours of day care centres. But her decision to stop work and become a stay-at-home mum was met with surprise from many. "Queer individuals are assumed to follow a form of feminism that might chastise a woman for deciding not to work," she says. "Being a woman who wants a career but was hesitant about utilising childcare in the first two years of my daughter's life, it became clear that there is no perfect option for women." Stacey Knight describes herself as a modern-day homemaker and regularly posts on social media as Staying Home With Stacey. The Australian-based influencer looks after two young children while her husband works and says her average day consists of tending to her veggie garden and chickens, and cooking food from scratch. Knight worked as a nurse before she had children, but following the arrival of her second child, she "leaned into" being a full-time stay-at-home mum. She says the tradwife lifestyle she's cultivated for herself and her followers online came about for a few reasons. "You can save money gardening, growing your own food and cooking meals from scratch, and obviously there's the health aspect of it," she tells ABC Radio National's Life Matters. But she describes her and her husband as a modern couple who are only traditional in the sense that he works while she remains at home with the kids. "There's still a lot of support, open communication and equal rights, which I think is the most important part," she says. Knight is therefore unsure of the tradwife term and its connotations. "Tradwife doesn't mean to me the same sort of associated terms and views as it does in America … I just have a genuine interest in caring for my family, cooking, gardening, and a simpler way of life without the associated views of it," she says. Much has been made of the far-right ideals that have recently taken root in parts of the tradwife movement, where notions of white womanhood is espoused. But Kristy Campion from Charles Sturt University argues tradwife is an umbrella term. "The tradwife phenomena is not just a right-wing notion. It also exists in the left wing. It exists in religious spaces and in non-political spaces as well," she says. Being a tradwife is also something that many people simply can't afford to be, which partly explains its attraction online. "It becomes more of an individualist fantasy or an escape. The idea of leaving the workforce and becoming a tradwife," says Dr Campion. "Cost of living is so dire right now that many women don't have the choice of staying home with their children. "Some women feel like they're being forced into the workforce in addition to continuing to carry the broader weight of domestic duties and domestic labour. 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ABC News
22 minutes ago
- ABC News
David Campbell, Virginia Gay, Natalie Abbott and Victoria Falconer on Australian cabaret
David Campbell inspired Virginia Gay to get into cabaret. She was just 14 years old, and Campbell was teaching at her performing arts high school in Sydney's inner west. "He was very young and very handsome," Gay recalls. "I developed a psychotic crush on him." Still in her school uniform, she would travel to RSLs across Sydney to watch Campbell perform, sometimes carrying the gift of a bunch of gerberas in her arms. "David Campbell is one of the best in the world at cabaret, even [in his early 20s]. He felt so close to us in age, so we were like, 'Ah, you're doing it!'" she says. "And I remember thinking, 'I cannot get enough of this art form.' "I loved that sense that, with no set at all and with just a little bit of subtle lighting, just David and a piano, he'd suddenly built a whole world." This year, Gay asked Campbell — who is now a good friend who never brings up her teenage obsession — to be one of the headliners for Adelaide Cabaret Festival, her second and final as artistic director. It's a job Campbell held himself, 15 years ago, from 2009 to 2011. Campbell exemplified one strand of Gay's 2025 program: a focus on legacy artists, alongside the likes of cabaret royalty Rizo and Carlotta. The rest of last month's festival combined the "cutting edge" of contemporary cabaret — with local artists like Victoria Falconer and Reuben Kaye, who assumes the role of artistic director next year — and performers working across genres, including performance art, burlesque, drag, circus and comedy. It also looked to the future of the form, with artists including Natalie Abbott (ABC TV's Aftertaste; Muriel's Wedding the Musical) and Seann Miley Moore (Hedwig and the Angry Inch) performing their debut shows. Funnily, Campbell's first festival as artistic director was Gay's first as a performer, in Gentlemen Prefer Jokes, with Trevor Ashley and Courtney Act. "I was like a demented nurse who also just got up and did her dance numbers, which was little more than a box step," she says, with a laugh. Within three years, she was performing her debut solo show at the festival: Dirty Pretty Songs, following it up with Songs to Self-Destruct To. Along with artists like Yve Blake, Eddie Perfect and Tim Minchin, Gay honed her creative voice through cabaret. It led her to making works of theatre like Cyrano, which she toured last year to Edinburgh Fringe. "Sometimes people dismiss cabaret, and I think it is so vital," she says. "There's a real immediacy in the authenticity of a totally unique, magical voice that is delivered very intimately and with a really strong connection to an audience. "It is about what makes live theatre exciting, and it is unreplicatable." While Gay is still a regular on stage and screen, she rarely performs cabaret anymore. Instead, taking on the top job at Adelaide Cabaret Festival has made her realise how much she enjoys creating space for other artists. "Perhaps it's a kind of ego death, where I don't need to be the star," she says. "What I love is to make a space for other people to play in — both audience and performer." David Campbell came to cabaret out of necessity. In the early 90s, he moved from Adelaide to Sydney to work as an actor, but a couple of years into his career, work started to dry up. The son of Cold Chisel frontman Jimmy Barnes, Campbell had been reluctant to sing professionally because of the inevitable comparison to his father. His then-manager encouraged him to do it anyway; to "do something different [to Barnes]", Campbell recalls. That's when he started combining personal monologues with songs from musical theatre, performing them on stage in bars and cabaret venues to audiences of anywhere between 6 and 20 people. "[My cabaret] started out very strict and clunky, and very angsty and emotional," Campbell says. "I was so stressed by being on stage, being a people-pleaser and not wanting to do anything wrong." At the time, the local cabaret scene was dominated by powerful women performers, including Nancye Hayes and Geraldine Turner. "It was seen as a chanteuse-y world, and here I was, an upstart, trying to be like, well, maybe I could do that too," he says. But it wasn't until Campbell moved to America in the late 90s that he truly found his cabaret voice. "Going to the US was extremely freeing for me because they didn't know who I was, they didn't know who my dad was, so I could start again," he says. "It was really a great safe place, without the eyes of our industry here in Australia looking at me going, 'Ah, he sucks. There were only 15 people in the audience, and he did a Jimmy Barnes joke.'" In New York, he met performers — including White Christmas star Rosemary Clooney and Broadway legend Barbara Cook — who encouraged him to try new things, and taught him how to work a room. "These people were themselves on stage," he says. "They were the song. You know, my dad does it: it's when the song and the singer become one. It's just this amazing thing. "You do need runs on the board to do that. It doesn't just happen." Now 30 years into his cabaret career, Campbell says he wants to be "reaching down" to support the next generation — just like Clooney, Hayes and more did for him. During his tenure at Adelaide Cabaret Festival, he nurtured emerging cabaret artists, like Gay, Christie Whelan Browne and Hugh Sheridan. He also set up Class of Cabaret, an ongoing initiative of the festival, which mentors high school students. "There might be some young David Campbell or Virginia Gay; nerdy kids that don't fit in with everybody else that want to do this," he says. "To be able to say, 'Come in, this place is for you as well,' is really important." Like Gay and Campbell, Victoria Falconer is a cabaret artist who wants to create space for others. She's the co-artistic director of Hayes Theatre Co in Sydney, a small theatre dedicated to musicals, which in June hosted a winter cabaret season, including some of the artists from the Adelaide festival. She's also the musical director for Hedwig and the Angry Inch, now in Melbourne for Rising, before touring to Sydney. For Adelaide Cabaret Festival, Falconer curated a late-night salon, The Parlour — an opportunity to bring together performers from across Australian and international cabaret, including the local independent scene. "It's the perfect level of controlled chaos, where I personally feel like I thrive," she says. "Seeing the magic that happens when you bring everybody together is something special; that's what The Parlour is about." But, like Campbell, Falconer had to leave Australia to forge a career in cabaret. She moved to London in 2003, where she formed "risque cabaret character comedy" duo EastEnd Cabaret, with German performance artist Bernadette Byrne (aka Bernie Dieter), started playing the musical saw and experimented with androgyny on stage. "I knew I wanted to make cabaret because I was obsessed with Marlene Dietrich and cabaret performers of the 30s," she says. "When I first started performing with [Byrne], we thought that we were the only people doing what we were doing. "Once we started putting it out there, other weirdos started finding us, finding each other, [and] creating [cabaret] nights." It's a reflection of the DIY attitude of cabaret artists across the world — where performers stage their shows wherever they can, from dedicated theatres to queer and dive bars. "Cabaret gets made, regardless of whether there's a stage or not," Falconer says. "There's an inherent need to create new spaces where there weren't spaces before; to express beyond what a lot of mainstream genres can do; and to connect to audiences that maybe don't feel as comfortable or welcome in mainstream spaces. Falconer stresses the depth of talent that exists now in the Australian — and especially the Adelaide — arts scene. "When I moved back from London and lived here for a few years, I knew the arts scene here was fabulous," she says. "But I think it needs to be talked about more." As for what's distinctive about Australian cabaret, Falconer describes it as "larrikinism that then gets draped in feathers and sequins". Her role as host and curator of The Parlour is about outreach; finding performers who are already doing something like cabaret on Australian stages (and in the corners of bars). "If I find them, I will put them on a cabaret stage, introduce them to a bunch of other people who are also doing weird stuff, and foster community that way." One of the artists who performed their debut cabaret show at Adelaide Cabaret Festival was musical theatre and TV actor Natalie Abbott. Her show Bad Hand was a meditation on grief, love and loss — through song. It was the product of a real tragedy: the sudden death of her partner. In May last year, Abbott's boyfriend production runner Ryan Cuskelly, died after he was diagnosed with a severe and highly aggressive immune deficiency disorder and virus. "When my partner passed away, I thought, 'I'm not going to ever perform again,'" Abbott says. "I was going through a really nihilistic stage of my life … One day I woke up and I was like, 'Oh, nothing matters.'" Perhaps unexpectedly, it was a feeling that propelled her forwards. "Some people might think that [thinking nothing matters] is a sad realisation but it's actually very freeing." In the past, Abbott had been overwhelmed by feelings of self-doubt. So, when Virginia Gay suggested Abbott make a cabaret show while she was deep in her "nihilistic phase", she thought, "Why not?" "Because, in 100 years, no one's gonna remember if it was good or if it was bad," she says. Abbott decided to play a collection of country songs on acoustic guitar about life and death. "I have things to say now," she says. "[Writing this cabaret] I've been able to get a lot of my thoughts out there in a creative way. And I've been able to get back to my creative roots, and I've picked up my guitar again, and I'm singing songs that make me happy." Bad Hand soon expanded from a "country cabaret" to something featuring all the styles of music she enjoys, from musical theatre and country to pop and Australian rock. Think Rodgers and Hammerstein, but also Hunters & Collectors, with a little bit of Kasey Chambers and Tina Arena mixed in. And a song from the soundtrack to Twisters. "The songs that are in my cabaret have been chosen for a particular reason: because they now have a very tremendous impact on me. And they have had an impact on me through this horrific year, and have helped me grieve," she says. "You try to find meaning behind loss, because if it doesn't mean anything, then, what's it for?"
News.com.au
26 minutes ago
- News.com.au
Jockey Joe Bowditch reveals his passion for diving and underwater exploration for seafood
Jockey Joe Bowditch is equally at home scouring the ocean bed for crustacean delights as he is at top speed aboard a 500kg thoroughbred. Bowditch has ridden more than 1450 winners in a career that has taken him to ride in every state in Australia as well as in Dubai and Hong Kong. Bowditch has forged a place in the Victorian riding ranks in the last few years, consistently punching home winners for a variety of stables. While Victoria has provided Bowditch with a good living on the state's bays and inlets have been a bonanza for the jockey's burgeoning obsession with diving. Bowditch takes every chance he gets to head out in search of the high quality Victorian seafood. 'I get out as often as I can, weather permitting and the races permitting as well,' Bowditch said. 'If the weather is good and I've got the day out, I'm happy to head out. 'A lot of people get water up their nose and start panicking. 'I bought a boat when I was up at the Gold Coast and I didn't even know how to put the boat in the water. 'I got into it that way and a good mate of mine in Adelaide, a horse trainer named Darryl Carrison, he's an abalone diver and he took me out and showed me how to do it. 'I've had a passion for it ever since.' Bowditch doesn't seek abalone as he 'doesn't know how to cook it properly and it ends up like eating a gumboot' but delicacies such as mussels, crayfish and scallops often land in his bag. The 48-year-old doesn't use the whole scuba set-up but dives to the ocean bed using an air hose attached to his boat in which he dives with his cousin's husband, who has become one of his best mates. Melbourne's winter is still no match for Bowditch's desire to dive in the ocean while a weight belt helps the lightweight rider get to the bottom. 'I run off a hook-up, a dive hose, so when we go for crays, we got out for crays, we're in anything between 20 or 30m of water,' Bowditch said. 'If we're chasing scallops, we're in four to six metres of water. 'I've got like a 7mm thick wetsuit so even now in the winter time, if the water was flat and the sun was out, I could still go out and not get cold in that wetsuit. 'My weight belt weighs as much as I do. When I'm out of the water, I'm flat out picking it up. 'Once I get it on and get in the water, I'm able to get down to the bottom. 'It would probably be 20 or 25kg of weight in the weight belt to help me get down to the bottom.' While Bowditch is a vastly experienced diver, he said he still had to be extremely careful to stay safe while indulging in his passion. 'It's dangerous if you don't know what you're doing,' Bowditch said. 'If you come up too quick, you can get the bends pretty easily. 'You can even get the bends in four metres of water because you've still got the nitrogen running through your blood. 'You can either get the bends or getting an air bubble in the brain, which can kill you.' But the development of culinary skills has been a pleasurable by-product of Bowditch's diving experiences. 'I've become a good cook on the barbie,' Bowditch said. 'Just before I went on holidays, I went out and got probably a dozen squid and feed of whiting and flathead. 'I catch plenty of scallops that I've learned about 15 different ways of cooking them. 'I just love it.'
