Yesterday I turned the ripe old age of 31. That would plonk me well and truly in the realms of “my thirties”, not just fence-sitting on 30 and enjoying the excitement of a whole new decade. This time around there was no excitement, just a couple of new grey hairs and a ridiculous [...]]]>

Yesterday I turned the ripe old age of 31. That would plonk me well and truly in the realms of “my thirties”, not just fence-sitting on 30 and enjoying the excitement of a whole new decade. This time around there was no excitement, just a couple of new grey hairs and a ridiculous butt load of drinking on my birthday eve.

Hurrah.

I woke up yesterday with an almighty bitch of a hangover, still reeling from numerous shots of straight tequila / rum & kahlua / tequila & frangelico / no-idea-what-was-in-that-shot still swilling around my stomach. I mean, does it just get worse every year? Because I swear to you, last year on my 30th, I was nowhere near this hungover.

Panu, who was equally hungover, still managed to haul himself out of bed though and cooked me breakfast. Sausage and scrambled eggs. Wait. Make that sausage bits in scrambled eggs, one of my favourite simple brekkies.

I ate it. I managed to hold it down.

And then he gave me my cake, a slice of Hummingbird Bakery’s raspberry cheesecake brownie with one giant raspberry, flanked on one side by three candles (30)… and the other side by one (1). How cute is that? Panu’s brain works even when it’s hungover

I didn’t eat this one straight away because this I would not have kept down.

We decided that a bit of fresh air would do us both a world of good and so after breakfast (and a long hot shower and accidentally laying back on the bed and getting up again and finally getting dressed) we tubed up to Hampstead for a tummy-soothing tea at Ginger and White and slowly strolled back down towards Camden with the intention of having lunch. But boy oh boy, did the (normally awesome) smell of meaty, saucy, heavy savoury food turn my stomach.

Never fear! In all my hungover genius-ness, I realised I didn’t need to have a big fat steak sandwich for lunch. What about ice cream? Ice cream is totally ok for lunch, right? I mean, especially since it’s my birthday and all (and even when it’s not)?

It all worked out rather brilliantly anyway because I’d been wanting to check out Chin Chin Laboratorists for a while, a new ice cream joint in Camden Markets where something of a mad scientist blasts liquid nitrogen with a custardy compound and voilà! You have ice cream!

I know it’s gimmicky, but I had to check it out. The mad scientist dude is a bit of a character and explains the process of cooling nitrogen, mixing it with the “ice cream base” to a certain temperature and producing a silky smooth treat of vanilla or chocolate ice cream. His whole explanation is entertaining, but it does cause quite a long queue to form…

The result is a smooth and rich ice cream (with toppings of your choice) but for £3.95? Not quite sure if I paid for the ice cream or the show.

I did like the swings outside though.

With an ice cream lunch in my tummy, we slowly rolled on home and I took my obligatory birthday nap. After Saturday night’s drinking, I never thought I’d be hungry again but it’s amazing what a good nap does. I woke up famished and hello world, I’m back. A whole roast duck for dinner? Are you kidding me? We ordered two.

Chin Chin Labs
49-50 Camden Lock Place
Camden, NW1 8AF
0788 560 4284
website

I’ve been told that when you meet “the one”, nothing else matters. That when you meet “the one”, the world around you blends into a deliriously gay pastel mess but you don’t care. Because there in front of you, in striking focus, is “the one”, crystal clear in all their beauty and it’s [...]]]>

I’ve been told that when you meet “the one”, nothing else matters. That when you meet “the one”, the world around you blends into a deliriously gay pastel mess but you don’t care. Because there in front of you, in striking focus, is “the one”, crystal clear in all their beauty and it’s all you can do to contain your urge for just one touch, one taste.

When this happens, you know you’re in love.

Or lust. Whatever.

I know it sounds like an urban legend, like something that only happens to “other people”  because believe me when I say awesome stuff that happens to other people never happen to me (ok ok, except for that one time when I won a holiday but seriously? That was all karmic energy mishmash because the universe remembered when I was that desperate that I caught a taxi to the beach and decided that hey, let’s give this girl a fucking break and by “a fucking break” I mean “a holiday to Egypt” but that’s not what we’re here to talk about).

Right. Where were we?

Oh yes, so it’s an urban legend this love [lust] at first sight, right? I thought so too but WRONG. It’s real, it exists, it came right up to me and bit me square in the ass on Wednesday night.

Introducing Bocca di Lupo’s brioche sandwich of pistachio, chestnut and hazelnut gelati. Or as I like to call it, The Ice Cream Burger.

“That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet…”

And I’m now quoting Shakespeare. Love does this to you, man.

So. Wednesday night and I’m having dinner with the elusive Laissez Fare, who’s packing up and heading stateside in a week or so. Dinner at Bocca di Lupo is well above par, with flavours ranging from…

… the clean and eclectic salad of shaved radish, celeriac & pecorino salad with pomegranets and truffle oil…

… to the delightfully fresh and sweet crudita di mare (raw sea bream, red prawn, langoustine & scallop with rosemary oil)…

… the immensely meaty rustic pork & foie gras sausage with farro & porcini…

… to the fat and juicy grilled scallops with gremolata…

… and the orecchiette with ‘nduja (extremely spicy home made salame), red onion & fresh tomato, which yes it was spicy indeed.

For dessert we shared the bombe calde, a freshly fried donut with chocolate cream…

But love (or maybe it was deep, throbbing, dirty lust) didn’t hit me til I laid eyes on this, my heaven, my everything, my goddamn ice cream burger.

In all of my years of existence, in my all of my journeys and pilgrimages (like, when I went to Rome to eat gelato), no one had ever presented me with the gloriousness that is not one, not two but three scoops of gelato ensconced within two sweet, fluffy and perfectly crumbly pieces of brioche.

It came to me. Laissez Fare dissolved into the pastel surroundings and I, I only had eyes for the burger and my urgency to touch it, to bite it, to linger slowly in each mouthful. It was all too much, I surrendered to carnal desire and gave myself to the burger.

But I took a photo first. I mean, what kind of food blogger would I be if I didn’t?

Bocca di Lupo
12 Archer Street
Soho, W1D 7BB
0207 734 2223
website

Here I sit, in London’s business district, flanked on one side by the monumental St Paul’s Cathedral and on the other by London’s star-bright West End. Some might say they envy where I am right now, I mean it’s even sunny in ol’ Londontown today, but all I wish for right [...]]]>

Here I sit, in London’s business district, flanked on one side by the monumental St Paul’s Cathedral and on the other by London’s star-bright West End. Some might say they envy where I am right now, I mean it’s even sunny in ol’ Londontown today, but all I wish for right this moment is to be back in Santorini. Even in London’s sunshine, it just doesn’t compare.

I mean, there are no donkeys in London!

Anyway, as I wallow in the depths of post-best-beach-holiday-ever-depression contemplating the pulpy mess I might create should I take the metaphorical gun and shoot my metaphorical self (pulpy? Do humans even do pulpy? Or have I been watching too much True Blood?) I decided that the best cure to any ailment is to face my fears.

And my fears right now? Sifting through the 300 photos I took last week and facing the God-awful truth that I am no longer lazing on the beach/pool/deck and am rather now sitting in a stale, air conditioned office, wearing my trousers which are undeniably much tighter this week than they were last week.

Sigh. It’s a tough gig, but the truth must be faced.

Anyway, because I really did take over 300 photos, and also because I am a true believer that an image speaks a thousand words, I’m going to relinquish the story telling in this post and hand y’all over to my trusty Canon s90 camera…

View from Family Taverna, Kamari – our first lunch and one of our favourites

Mythos beer in super frosted beer glass at Family Taverna

Iconic architecture in Fira

Panu and I in Fira

A Greek salad overlooking the Greek Islands. There is no other way to live.

“Our milkshakes bring all the…”… yeah

White-washed buildings in Fira. I want to live here.

Oia by night

Chilled fruit juices in Fira

Fried calamari ~ 6 out of 6 days, baby.

Looking at the calderra

Adorable donkey! I want one!

The calderra (volcano) ie. a big pile of rocks

Sun starting to set in Fira

The famous sunset ~ magical and sublime

Best Moussaka on the island at Naoussa Tavern, Fira

Heading up to the Thira Ruins

On top of the world in the Old Thira ruins

Prickly mofo impaled my big toe

Slow cooked lamb at God’s Garden, Perissa Beach

Sunset at Amoudi Bay (Oia)

Fried zucchini (courgette) at Sunset Tavern, Amoudi Bay

Flip flops on Kamari Beach (damn pebbles)

Ok, so I could totally post another 288 photos, but at some point I just need to stop my trigger happy fingers.

One thing I like to do though, in my travel posts, is to share with you guys my restaurant recommendations. Usually this comes with a restaurant name, address, phone number and a website if they have it. Now what totally shat (control freak) me about Santorini is that places don’t have addresses. They just DON’T. And don’t ask me how they get their mail because that totally beats me! Their addresses read something like “Acqua Vatos Hotel, Central Street in Kamari”.

So, here are my restaurant recommendations and best of luck finding them!

Kamari
Family Taverna, on the beach front slightly to the south of where the central road in Kamari meets the esplanade. Best Greek salad we had, with creamy smooth feta. Also the best fried calamari and potato chips, and according to the boys, the best frosted beer glasses on the island. Our favourite.

Oia
Sunset Tavern in Amoudi Bay, this one’s easy, just drive all the way down to Amoudi Bay and it’s the last restaurant on the end. This is a seafood restaurant and probably pricier than any old tavern but the food is fresh and the ambience is magical at sunset.

Melevia Cafe Patisserie, on the main sunset esplanade of Oia, selling homemade Greek sweets and the most gargantuan slice of baklava I’ve ever seen.

Avoid Kasteli Tavern, though it looks like a nice traditional tavern, the food is bland and servings are tiny! We were bitten

Fira
Naoussa Tavern, not on the main sunset esplanade of Fira, but about two “lane ways” back, parallel to the esplanade.  Recommended to us by some friends, this tavern is family run and makes the best moussaka on the island.

Perissa
God’s Garden, slightly off the main drag on a street adjacent to the beach. A little humid without the seabreeze but their slow cooked lamb more than makes up for that.

We managed to eat about five main meals a day in Santorini, starting with breakfast at our hotel, Acqua Vatos. Our meals were then supplemented with numerous ice creams and milk shakes everyday because… well, it’s hot. And we’re on holidays. And I love Snickers ice cream bars.

We ate so much that by the last day, we weren’t even hungry anymore. Do you know how insane that is? It’s CRA-ZEE.

Anyway, now I’m back, back to reality and struggling to un-love this beautiful island that I’ve just gone and fallen in love with so quickly. The only thing motivating me to do any work is that I have my boss on my ass and I need this job to pay for more (more! yes, more!) trips to anywhere but here.

ps. We had a car and travelled all over the island from tip to tip, side to side. Each area of the island is quite different so if you’re planning on going there, drop me a line and I might be able to point you in the right direction.

pps. And I might come with you.

ppps. If you want to see some more (mainly silly) photos, check out my facebook.

As this post goes to air (thank you Mr. Scheduler), I am sunning myself on the most gorgeous caldera in the world ~ Santorini. I’m probably having the time of my life, but this time last week I was most definitely not having the time of my life.

In the interest of not boring [...]]]>

As this post goes to air (thank you Mr. Scheduler), I am sunning myself on the most gorgeous caldera in the world ~ Santorini. I’m probably having the time of my life, but this time last week I was most definitely not having the time of my life.

In the interest of not boring you to smitherines and oh, that little rule about “not talking about my work on my blog”, well, I’m just not going to talk about my work on my blog. But needless to say, last Thursday was one of those days that I would have liked to have just taken and shoved up the nether regions of Jabba the Hutt’s ASS, never to be seen or heard from again for all of glorious eternity.

It was a crucifyingly stressful day, and at 5pm I slinked out of the office in one long exasperated sigh, ready to… I don’t know what, go home and cry? Actually no, at that point I hadn’t wanted to cry yet, but trying to order a matcha soft serve at Wasabi at 5.30pm and being told they shut the machine down at 3pm really did make me want to cry.

And then going to Tesco to buy supplies for brownies and finding out they’re shut for renovations; that also made me want to cry.

I was in such a state that on Friday, I decided that I had hard-earned my goddamn right to have whatever the fluck I wanted for lunch, and so it was with great wisdom and responsibility that I decided my lunch was going to be a serve of avocado & honey sorbet from Gelupo.

Why not, right?

Gelupo
7 Archer Street
Soho, W1D 7AU
0207 287 5555
website

I was 12 years old, in Year 7 at Craigslea Primary School on Brisbane’s north side. I hadn’t really come into my own yet and was a painfully shy, timid, quiet (I know it seems impossible, but I once was very shy, very timid and remarkably quiet. Lord knows what happened) and ridiculously [...]]]>

I was 12 years old, in Year 7 at Craigslea Primary School on Brisbane’s north side. I hadn’t really come into my own yet and was a painfully shy, timid, quiet (I know it seems impossible, but I once was very shy, very timid and remarkably quiet. Lord knows what happened) and ridiculously nerdy girl (this bit hasn’t changed).

I wasn’t popular (I tried to freeze hell so I’d become popular; it didn’t work), I didn’t have all that many friends and at lunch time, I pretty much sat on my own and ate the kick ass fried egg, tomato and onion sandwich my mum used to make. I think I told myself that I had no friends because their mums didn’t make awesome sandwiches.

One day, there’s a new girl in school. She gets introduced to everyone in class and kids being kids, everyone ignored her because it would be too uncool to make friends with the funny looking (oh hi Shari! Don’t take that one personally ) skinny little new girl. I thought she looked intriguing. Mostly because I couldn’t quite pinpoint what sort of Asian she was and y’know, Asians do like to know what kind of Asian other Asians are. It’s in our blood.

Lunch time rolled around as it inevitably did and I’m seated on a wooden bench, picking at my lunch while all the other kids did weird kid things like hopscotch. I never did understand hopscotch. Suddenly there’s this person standing next to me. Yikes it’s the new girl! What does she want with me?

“Hi,” she said, pretty darn quietly.

I kind of wanted to say “speak up, love, I can’t hear you” but remember, this is shy little catty, not the outspoken critter y’all know.

“Hi,” I said.

She was quiet for a moment, looking all small and cute and lost in the one-piece blue dress that was our Smurfette uniforms. “Uhhh… can I play with you?”

I kind of wanted to say “do you see me playing? I’m eating, bitch” but again, little catty was far too nice. So I said “Uh, yeah I guess.”

So Shari sat next to me and we ate our lunch in relative silence. And then we did that again the next day. And the next. And the next.

And over the course of the next few months, Shari got me into HEAPS of trouble, like when we passed notes in class about flouro yellow condoms and what not, because that’s what 12 year olds do. Apparently.

Our mums tried to un-friend us for the flouro yellow condom incident (because clearly we were lousy influences on each other), but that was never going to work.

I bought Shari a sunflower stuffed toy one year, and she suction-cupped it to her bedroom window. It’s still there today, almost two decades later.

And although I escaped the quaintness of Brisbane at the tender age of 18, Shari and I have always remained the best of friends and if there’s one thing I look forward to every time I’m home (aside from my mum’s fish head curry) it’s catching up with her, because we do have some awesome and random conversations and really, people may change but friendships do not.

… *sigh*… memory lane…

Ok ok, I can feel an unrest spreading through the crowds right now, people murmuring about whether I’ve complete lost the plot because yo, this is a Food Blog, where is the food? Chill out, brussels sprouts, I’m about to hit you with a  10-course beauty.

Shari and her dude Matt are currently visiting us in London and for one night, we had to ditch the boys in favour of a little style. So last Friday night saw us dining the 2-Michelin-star way at Pied à Terre on Charlotte Street, and between conversations about everything, we managed to consume the following…

An amuse bouche quartet of potato gnocchi & parmesan cheese; cod mousseline with sliced pickle; poppyseed cracker & foie gras; watermelon salad with black olives, feta & chocolate leaf.

This felt like a whole meal in its own miniature right, starting with the fluffy and light potato gnocchi, followed by the strong flavoured cod mousseline and foie gras, and chased down with a delightfully refreshing watermelon salad.

Red mullet escabeche with salt cod mousse, white grapes and fresh almonds ~ my least favourite course of the night and having it come out first scared the bejeezus out of me. It wasn’t bad, but a little fishy for my liking and thankfully everything went uphill from here on in.

Marinated scallops with a salad of golden and purple cauliflower,fresh wakami, argan oil and wasabi creme fraiche dressing ~ astonishingly fresh, sweet scallops and in all my life I didn’t realise that cauliflower could taste this amazing.

Poached foie gras in a sauternes consommé, charred red onions, bortolli beans and smoked bacon ~ hands down our favourite course of the night. We could have had 10 courses of this… or ok maybe nine and a dessert. The foie gras is as soft and silky as they come, served in a consommé rich in flavour and just perfect. Per-fect.

Poached Icelandic cod, viola flowers, pineapple and coeur de boeuf tomato, marjoram dressing, baby gem ~ maybe I wasn’t in a fish mood but again this course wasn’t a favourite. The cod was cooked wonderfully, but somehow the tomato and dressing and flowers seemed to coagulate into a mess of flavours in my mouth.

Herb crusted best end of lamb, viola aubergine, samphire, ice plant, white currants, lamb jus ~ cooked a perfectly pink medium rare, the lamb course was interesting and unusual at the same time, the familiar taste of herb crusted lamb, mixed with white currants and what the heck are ice plants?!

Cheese selection: goat’s cheese and French brie ~ normally one to opt out of a cheese course, I had no choice here as it was included in the tasting menu. The waiter launched into a long monologue about the origins of each cheese but I completely blanked. Something about 50 kms from Paris. The cheeses were surprisingly palatable, the goat’s cheese a little milder than the brie.

Salad of charentais melon and blueberries, liquor de sapin ice cream, toasted linseeds ~ dessert! And a delicious one at that. It may look all simple with its melon and blueberries and a scoop of ice cream but this beauty is sitting in a pool of what tasted like pineapple syrup but I’m sure it’s something far more special than that because it Blew. My. Mind. YUM.

Bitter sweet chocolate tart, stout ice cream & macadamia nut cream ~ yes, yes you read that right. Stout (ie BEER) ice cream. The chocolate tart is more like bitter bitter chocolate tart, but paired with the stout ice cream it somehow goes down a dream. The macadamia nut cream and sugared nuts themselves are also great but y’see, Shari and I, we grew up in the land of macadamias…

A tower of petit fours consisting of: macaron, mini rum bundt cake, raspberry & cream tart, ginger truffle, chocolate pot, passionfruit marshmallow.

Well hello, beautiful. A tower ain’t a tower without fantastically awesome desserts on each level. The petit fours at Pied à Terre were just ridiculously cool. And it’s not just the presentation, what with layers of itsy bitsy little treats and the sweet wafers slotted into the side of the frame, but they each tasted fabulous, in fact each one better than the next. Shari and I cheers’d each of our itty bitty yummies and ended with the passionfruit marshmallow which is seriously a slice of glutton heaven.

So there you have it! This is Shari and I, almost 20 years from the day we met, all chubby and skinny and bespectacled and braces’d. I’ll let you figure out who was what, but it’s really not that hard.

ps. I so wish I had old school photos of Shari and I to show you guys but I don’t have any here. Will dig some up on day when I’m back home and update this post just for kicks

pps. We had the £90 tasting menu.

ppps. Not quite sure how it’s possible that I am so much more tanned than a person from Australia.

Pied à Terre
34 Charlotte St
Fitzrovia, W1T 2NH
0207 636 1178
website