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

One of the awesome things about living in London is that you can just “pop over” to another country for a weekend. And not even like a Friday to Monday type of thing. Last weekend, three of my favourite girls and I jumped on the Eurostar bright and early Saturday morning, [...]]]>

One of the awesome things about living in London is that you can just “pop over” to another country for a weekend. And not even like a Friday to Monday type of thing. Last weekend, three of my favourite girls and I jumped on the Eurostar bright and early Saturday morning, ate our way through Brussels and Brugge and arrived back home in London by 10pm Sunday night.  A tight little (weekend) package, and I’m definitely not talking about my butt.

Sigh. Maybe I will miss London afterall.

And in case you’re wondering, that’s Melissa, myself, Loreen and Mags, a photo taken by Mag’s ridiculously long arms.

So. Much to the ghastly horror of true foodies, we arrived in Brussels at midday and zoned in on the tourist magnet that is The Grand Place and plomped ourselves down for some lunch. Our target, La Chaloupe d’Or. Our victims, a couple of cheesy (a little too cheesy) quiches, a steak frites, and some cappuccinos sprinkled with actual chocolate, because hey we’re in Belgium afterall.

Given that we only had a day to Buy Everything We Want To Eat (because our Sunday activity was a day trip to Brugge), lunch was scoffed in record time and the food shopping began. Let loose in Belgium. Me in my element.

First stop: Biscuiterie Dandoy for Belgium’s finest hand made biscuits. I don’t remember the names of the biscuits but there are thin crispy ones and thick crumbly ones all of which are equally mouth watering. My favourite? The earl grey “thin crispy one” and the lemon “thick crumbly one” which I believe was the sable cookie.

Next, a spot of chocolate. We went into SO MANY chocolatiers that I seriously don’t have the brain capacity to remember them all, but I do remember Mel having a hard time picking truffles at Neuhaus…

… and us going completely CRAZY over the truffles at Le Belgique Gourmande!

We’d been in Brussels about two hours at this point and we were already lugging around bags upon bags of chocolates. The outlook was not pleasant. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop us from wandering around town taking in the sights (such as that little boy with his willy out) and enjoying some Tintin culture which aside from chocolate, I’m pretty darn sure is the best thing to have come out of Belgium (well, after good ol’ Jean-Claude van Damme, the original muscles from Brussels)…

Next up… Pierre Marcolini. Ok, I bet you also just felt a deliriously good shudder when you read that name. I certainly did. Sharing the namesake of equally amazing Pierre Herme, this got me wondering if I should be on the hunt to marry a guy called Pierre. I mean, how they can both be so AMAZING? It can’t be a coincidence… or can it??

Pierre Marcolini is a chocolate genius but these days, the store is adorned with a few more macarons than usual and he’s even tinkering with strange confections like the “cornetto” bars. I didn’t actually try one and now, right now, is one of those times I am totally kicking myself for even considering the size of my ass in the decision. WHO CARES? It’s a freaking Pierre Marcolini cornetto!!!

Anyway, mildly exhausted from all that chocolate shopping, we found refuge in Wittamer, managed to avoid chocolate and instead indulged in two scrumptious desserts ~ the rose macaron and merveilleux (chocolate meringue cream). Ok ok, so we also had some chocolate but shhhh…

By this stage we were well and truly gorged beyond belief and given that we’d gotten up at some ungodly hour that morning (what? It’s only been a half day in Brussels?!) a nap was prescribed. By me. Two hours of down time at the Marriott (awesome location, surprisingly cheap rates!) and we’re ready to go!

Right. Dinner. Ok, I want to preface this section by saying that I tried to go to highly recommended Belgium restaurants. I tried booking Viva M’Boma. I tried booking Restaurant Vincent but all these places were closed for holidays! I know, totally unacceptable. And so it was because of this (and because, right when we were walking down Beenhouwersstraat, the craziest tourist street that ever was, it began to bucket) that we ended up at La Terrasse, a touristy but not overly bad seafood restaurant.

In terms of food, it’s kind of a long story, but believe me when I say I would have given my right arm for a pot of mussels provençal. But. Two years ago right here in Brussels, said pot of mussels provençal landed me in hospital in near anaphylactic shock with not one but two bags of adrenaline stuck into my arm. So, no. No more Belgium mussels for me.

We were determined to have a seafood feast though (y’know, to wash down all that chocolate we’d had) and shared a fresh seafood platter, followed by half a grilled lobster for myself and Loreen, and mussels for Mags and Melissa. Bitches.

And the night ain’t even over yet. After dinner, we wandered down to the Grand Place to mingle with the gazillion other tourists and as we watched that gorgeous building (yes, I’ve forgotten what it’s called) change colours more than I change undies, we managed to get all silly and eat some ice cream.

And the night still isn’t over! We headed back to the hotel to have a pillow fight in our bunny outfits (what, isn’t that what girls do??) – ok, truthfully? We headed back to the hotel and drank some tea and ate some spéculoos and talked about cellulite and stuff. That’s what girls do (sorry boys).

OFFICIAL END OF DAY 1 IN BRUSSELS. Feck I’m tired.

Sunday! Rise and shine and… I’m sharing rooms with Loreen and I know that even though she’s gorgeous, there’s a monster lurking deep within, especially when someone wakes her before midday on a Sunday. Luckily, having lived with her for a number of years I know how to handle the monster. Just don’t look it in the eye and tell it to shut the f*** up and get ready already. This method usually works.

After a quick pastry breakfast at Panos, we caught the train an hour into Brugge, which if you’ve seen In Bruges (possibly the only movie I’ve liked Colin Farrell in), you’ll know that Brugge is stunning and tranquil and historical and also absolutely “fucking boring”. You only need a half day in Brugge tops but on the flip side, the half day will be the most awesome half day you’ll have in Belgium

We arrive in Brugge around lunch time and head straight for food. Given that we’d been in town for 24 hours and still hadn’t had any waffles, someone (maybe me, maybe Mags, maybe we all did) made the executive decision that it would be ok to have waffles for lunch. And so we did…

… with a side of frites. Because we can.

I totally didn’t take note of the name of this place - sorry! – but anyway, it’s not like you can’t get waffles and frites anywhere else in Belgium!

With lunch done, we wandered through the streets of Brugge, determined to find the Main Square, where we could sit and eat some of the chocolate we’d bought because yes, yes we bought some more. After what seemed like an eternity, we fumbled our way into the Main Square, plopped our butts down and cheers’d our chocolates.

And then we realised we weren’t in the Main Square at all. We were actually in the Market Square but people, forget the Main Square, the Market Square is where it’s happening!

After a lazy afternoon in Brugge (eating, shopping, eating, sitting) we hopped on the train back to Brussels for an early dinner before heading back to Londontown on the 8pm Eurostar. Picking the restaurant completely randomly, we stumbled upon a gem (albeit still very touristy) just outside the Grand Place, close to Central Station.

Le Char d’Or was our pick based on their ample menu of meats, so we grabbed a table outside and watched the other tourists while they watched us watching them. Mel and Mags ordered the filet mignon with tomato or celery cream sauce and I had the entrecôte angus beef, all of which were fantastic but the show stopper was Loreen’s carbonnades flamandes (beef Flemish style), a ridiculously tasty beef stewed in red wine and dark beer.

Determined not to leave Brussels without one last dessert, I coerced everyone into sharing some profiteroles with me (like I really needed to bend their arm), and I’m glad I did because seriously, I wasn’t sure if the custard was frozen or they were filled with ice cream, but damn, the profiteroles were good!

8pm. Back on the train to London and we’re all fuller and fatter and definitely happier.  I love my girls, thank you guys for an awesome weekend… and yes, we do like us a bit of crust and clop.

The cast of this post… in order of appearance…

La Chaloupe d’Or
Grote Markt 24
1000, Bruxelles
+32 2511 4161

Biscuiterie Dandoy
31 rue au Beurre
1000, Bruxelles
+32 2511 0326
check out their website for other locations

Neuhaus Chocolates
Galerie de la Reine, 25-27
1000, Bruxelles
Please see their website for other locations

Le Belgique Gourmand
Galerie de la Reine, 17
1000, Bruxelles
Please see their website for other locations

La Boutique Tintin
Heuvelstraat 13
1000, Bruxelles
+32 2514 5152

Pierre Marcolini
Minimenstraat 1
1000, Bruxelles
+32 2514 1206
website

Wittamer Cafe
6-12-13 Place du Grand Sablon
1000, Bruxelles
+32 2512 3742
website

The Brussels Marriott
Rue Auguste Orts 3-7
1000, Bruxelles
+32 2516 9090
website

La Terrasse
Beenhouwersstraat 12
1000, Bruxelles
+ 32 2513 0229

Le Char d’Or
Grasmarkt 89
1000, Bruxelles
+32 2511 1530
website

I am not a stranger to Le Pain Quotidien. In fact, every other weekend will find me there sipping at my oj / fresh lime juice / hot chocolate and nibbling away on my granola / croissant / porridge. Choice of food is always weather dependent.

I am so not a stranger to Le Pain Quotidien [...]]]>

I am not a stranger to Le Pain Quotidien. In fact, every other weekend will find me there sipping at my oj / fresh lime juice / hot chocolate and nibbling away on my granola / croissant / porridge. Choice of food is always weather dependent.

I am so not a stranger to Le Pain Quotidien that I don’t even say its full name any more. I just call it “Le Pain” which, I know it sounds more like a medieval torture device but actually just means “bread”. “Le Pain Quotidien” for those playing at home? The Daily Bread.

Ah, I *heart* Le Pain.

After recovering from the damn ‘lurgy last week which totally wasted my sunny Saturday by rendering me bed-ridden for most of the day, I was itching to get out and about for some quality time on Sunday with I-didn’t-really-care-who because I just wanted to be outside. Actually I lie, I did care who.

I really didn’t want to miss brunch with my girlfriends. And I especially didn’t want to miss baby Emmerson.

Baby Emmy has been “brunching with the ladies” since she was two months old, so she’s already an old hand at this. She giggles and gurgles and demands for her food and shoves it in her face and most of it ends up on the floor. I mean, really, that sounds just like me! (except maybe the gurgling).

We all received our obligatory cuddles and started ordering breakfast. Some of the girls opted for Le Pain’s customary bowls of coffee. I had an orange juice because it was an oj kind of day.

As for foodage, I had my hot filled croissant with Gruyère and ham which is always deliciously warm, fresh and super crumbly. Served on a small cutting board, don’t be surprised if half the crumbs land on your lap (or if you’re like me, on your face and in your hair).

Some of the other breakfasts ordered were…

Organic soft boiled eggs (you can choose how long you want the eggs boiled for) with bread, and scrambled eggs with salmon and toast…

… Belgian sugar waffle with fresh fruits, and scrambled eggs with mushrooms and toast…

… and one of my All Time Favourite breakfasts ever ~ the granola parfait with organic yoghurt and fresh fruits. Somehow having breakfast in a tall glass just makes it feel like dessert. Child psychology works awesome on me.

We ate and talked and coo’d over the baby and cuddled her til she cried and handed her back to her mum (my gorgeous friend Khrystyne).  And when she stopped crying, we started all over again. Poor baby but seriously, check out how CUTE she is! I especially love her squidgy thighs *nom*

Le Pain Quotidien
18 Great Marlborough Street
Soho, W1F 7HT
0207 486 6154
website

Once upon a time there was the interwebz. The interwebz was a funny ol’ thang. It was born in a pin prick of light, a cyberspace baby and it grew and grew and GREW. The interwebz became everything, and though you can’t touch it, you always know it’s there.

It lives and breathes through [...]]]>

Once upon a time there was the interwebz. The interwebz was a funny ol’ thang. It was born in a pin prick of light, a cyberspace baby and it grew and grew and GREW. The interwebz became everything, and though you can’t touch it, you always know it’s there.

It lives and breathes through you and I: a hobby, a way of life, an institution, a religion.

I’d always been a sucker for the interwebz. I remember being in highschool, saving my pennies so that I could buy some skanky old modem. I plugged it into the telephone socket and dialled onto… telnet. I MUD’d and IRC’d and then I mIRC’d which for those of you as ancient as me, you’ll remember the god-given communal sigh of relief we all breathed when mIRC’s interface actually had separate windows.

Oh yeah, Captain Nerd here.

The interwebz gripped me young and it gripped me good. It brought me happiness (because chatting to complete strangers seems to have always brought me joy) and sheer heartbreak (when my dad physically ripped my precious modem from the wall).

I’m sure I could have been institutionalised for my obsession with being online but hey I’ve managed to avoid capture so far although… and Panu will attest to this… when 3G drops out on my blackberry, I start to gnaw on my lip and pick at my nails and fidget with nervous energy because What. If. It. Never. Comes. Back?!  WHAT IF I MISS A TWEET?! For realz. I’m actually totally certified insane.

Hi, my name is catty and I am an interwebolic.

Not that being an interwebolic is all bad. Far from it! My relationship with the interwebz has always been nothing if not positive.

The interwebz has taught me and nurtured me and connected me and showed me and laughed with me and dare I say, loved me. It’s given me an avenue to express myself in 140 characters or less, and well, when I have more than 140 characters to express I have my blog and you, all of you crazy awesome readers, the interwebz has brought me you, the wonderful blueberries in the tart that is my life.

I’ve made true friends through the interwebz, I even thought I found true love once but then it turned out to be not so true. It’s all right, interwebz, it wasn’t your fault. The interwebz has brought people into my life. Sometimes for a moment. Sometimes for a day. Sometimes a week. And maybe a life time. Who knows.

Most recently, the interwebz has shared with me the wonder that is Maria, a stunning Finnish girl living in Sydney, creating some of the most awesome traditional Finnish dishes definitely that side of the hemisphere. This here is based on her berry tart recipe and it is delish!

So to all you other interwebolics out there, don’t be ashamed. Be proud, peace out and may y’all live happily ever after.

ps. I was not stoned while writing this post. I think.

Ages and ages and ages (read: 6 weeks) ago, one of my best friends in this glorious world, Loreen, turned the ripe young age of 30. She was off on the Inca trail on this momentus day, proving her youth by trekking this hideously high altituded (oh yes, that is now [...]]]>

Ages and ages and ages (read: 6 weeks) ago, one of my best friends in this glorious world, Loreen, turned the ripe young age of 30. She was off on the Inca trail on this momentus day, proving her youth by trekking this hideously high altituded (oh yes, that is now a word) pathway sans any assistance from walking tools or her husband or most impressively, make-up. I know.

Since we weren’t able to properly celebrate Loreen’s birthday with her on the actual day, we kinda sorta tried to bend the time and space continuum and time warped back to the 1920′s to celebrate in style, albeit six weeks late.

Yes, I’m also confused.

Another one of my little buddies Christine (“little” is not a figurative term of endearment, we are just a regular bunch of midgets here) organised this unique and crazy party through Vintage Patisserie, an up and coming and utterly fabulous party business who turn various London venues into a thing of glamour and history, bringing the 1920′s to life with stunning maids, vintage crockery and most importantly, delicious tea party food.

I can’t begin to explain how inexplicably vintagely-cool Vintage Patisserie are. We rock up at the venue and it’s all set to go with personalised cupcakes and chocolates helping us declare our undying love for Loreen, because we’re there cos we love her right? Not because we want to eat, right? Right.

The tables were set with vintage crockery, beautifully laid out with roses and candles and all things that make you feel so disgustingly girlie that you almost want to run and hide but ah, what’s this they’re offering? A completely new concept indeed…

… tea with champagne! At. The. Same. Time. A deliciously refreshing combination of jasmine infused ice green tea, topped up with a little (or a lot of) prosecco….

Fizz away, m’lovely!

One awesome thing about Vintage Patisserie is that they’re not all about the eating. I know, I know, life is all about the eating. But sometimes, just sometimes, we have to pretend that it isn’t, ok?

The party comes complete with Sharon, Vintage Patisserie’s personal stylist extraordinaire, who will help you get in the 1920′s swing of things. She curls like there’s no tomorrow and when she’s done curling, she unleashes you on their treasure trove of dress-up goodies like pearls, feathers, head bands, gloves, fascinators and if you so happen to have boys at the party, they even have some top hats.

As you can imagine, we totally went cra-ZEE.

Gorgeously vintage and ready to eat!

Vintage Patisserie gives any other hotel style afternoon tea a run for their money. On the menu are fresh (and superbly moist) chocolate cupcakes, little shot glass desserts (including raspberry and custard, chocolate mousse, tiramisu, lemon cheesecake)…

… chocolate coated strawberries…

… and of course, the obligatory sandwich and scones. I know it totally looks like I anorexia’d on you guys here and only ate a cucumber sandwich but trust me, that is a lie. The usual afternoon tea suspects were on the sandwich menu and I tried every single one of them.

For the sake of the blog, of course.

And then there are the scones. Absolutely dahling all dusted in pink, these babies are more than just a pretty face. Fresh and moist, they probably would have been great just on their own but who the heck eats scones on their own? Drowned in strawberry jam and clotted cream, the scones were a little slice of glutton heaven.

Whoever invented clotted cream? Hi, my name is Cat, I love you.

So we ate and we drank (tea. and maybe a little prosecco) and had a fabulously girlie afternoon. For £35 a head, this afternoon tea sure beats paying almost twice as much to sit in a stuffy hotel although ok, I admit there is some glamour in sitting in a stuffy hotel.

Vintage Patisserie is a party idea I would totally recommend so seriously, if you want to throw a party with a difference, contact Angel now and get it sorted STAT!

Oh and happy belated birthday Loreen! *muaks*

Note: our little party was held at private member’s bar 93 Feet East down by Brick Lane but Vintage Patisserie have a selection of venues they operate in around London and they’re also happy to set up at your home or office. And… shhhh… a little birdie told me they are in the process of securing their own venue in Soho so *squeee!*

23-Jul-2010 update: watch Angel score on Dragon’s Den!