I think New Years for some brings a sense of joy and relief, a feeling that another year has passed successfully, or perhaps just by its whisker, but either way, another year has passed.

Me? I laid awake with raging insomnia on Monday night, playing and replaying my 2009 over and over and over again in my schizophrenic little head. I started to hyperventilate, my shortness of breath accentuated by Panu’s insanely slow and steady breaths. How can he sleep so still? Honestly, sometimes in the middle of the night, I poke him til he grunts because otherwise I wouldn’t know if he was actually alive.

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I’ve never professed to know anything about what makes food “good”. I mean, sweet chilli sauce is one of my favourite condiments for gods sake and I know that saying blogging that out loud has already condemned me to the bland and empty depths of foodie hell, to spend eternity in a damp pit of “nasty” condiments like sweet chilli, mayonnaise and BBQ sauce.

Oh my, what a lovely hell.

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Christmas ~ a time for celebrating the birth of Christ, a time to gather with family, a time to share the wonders of a white Christmas or for those in the Southern Hemisphere, the wonders of shrimp on a barbie.

But for me, too far from home and having no such religious inclination (I’m busy enough what with my worship of all things edible and spend Sunday mornings eating not praying), Christmas doesn’t appeal to me in the same way as it does some others ~ as a highly spiritual and loving time when families far and wide gather to eat turkey (or tofurkey as it may be in this day and age) and drink eggnog. Or vodka.

For me, Christmas is an excuse. An excuse to eat, cook, bake and sleep in. And further more, it’s an excuse to wear green and red at the same time because damned if I’m gonna be caught wearing that at any other day of the year.

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Hyde Park Christmas markets; hot chocolate with cream

Those of you who follow me on twitter knew eons in advance that Panu’s mum was coming to visit. Why? Because I tweeted relentlessly about the packets of timtams she was bringing with her and how I just could. not. wait. to get my dirty little paws on them.

Well bring she did. But wrapped she also did. The timtams are my Christmas present and y’know, I can’t be upsetting Santa what with opening presents before Christmas day, right?

Wrong. I opened it anyway. Just to make sure it was all there ~ and yes it was ~ and it’s now re-wrapped and only T-minus two days until the great (official) unveiling! Let’s see if they last that long 😉

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Nobu Berkeley; rose; scallop taco

Last Saturday night was primed to be one of the highlights my culinary life. That is, aside from the inimitable Fat Duck, but that experience reigns supreme and blitzes any competition out of the stratosphere.

Last Saturday night, we went to Nobu. And not Nobu Park Lane, which I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying, but the reputedly superior Berkeley branch, what with its wood fired oven and all that shiz.

Well, primed as it may have been and good as the food was, my experience was still partially shattered by the fact that they now have a no photo policy.

I mean, come on food bloggers, all together now: WHAT. THE. FUCK.

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