bday_01

WARNING: this post has nothing, nudda, not-one-thing to do with food. I thought I’d throw a 100% boda fide personal post in here just for kicks, so if you’re all about the food and not about the catty (screw you), I have a doozy of a post ready for you: The Fat Duck.

So. A few years ago, while renewing my drivers licence in Sydney, I remember choosing the five year expiry option, because it’s just a rip off to renew for a year or three. Or maybe I’m just cheap. Roz from Monsters Inc, who so happened to be working at the York Street RTA (who knew?), barked husky orders at me through cigarette-yellowed teeth and I was too petrified to not comply.  I filled out my forms with perfectly square printed letters 4mm high x 3mm wide, I signed, I paid, I sat, I smiled.

“WHAT YA SMILIN FOR?” she bellowed.

Me, the rest of the RTA and all the people in the Starbucks next door, we all shat our pants. And she took the photo.

Five effin’ years I was to have this I’ve-shat-my-pants photo as my single form of ID. I couldn’t believe it was going to last me til I’m 30. I mean, gawd, really? That is SO. FAR. AWAY.

But look at that. Five years passed without too many glitches, and I was very much excited about turning 30 because, yes, that photo is now expired (and incinerated).

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bun thit heo nuong cha gio (grilled pork & vermicelli noodle);

One: I went to Cafe East.

Two: I did not order pho.

Now get over the shock so we can move along with this post.

I have been searching for the best bun thit heo nuong cha gio forever. It’s ok, I didn’t know that off by heart either, I had to ask my Vietnamese friend, copy and paste it into the photo description and then hover my mouse over the photo while I copied it into the post. Why I didn’t just paste it into the post I don’t know. My brain is fried, it’s one day before I go to Fat Duck and I am sick. Sick. I’m not sure what I can taste at this point in time, but goddamn my taste buds better wrench themselves out of this misery and be in top condition tomorrow. Or else.

But anyway, I’ve been searching for the best of that long winded dish forever. Forever.

And we know how I don’t ever exagge-ma-rate.

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fries & mayo; dutch breakfast; poffertjes; waffle with banana & cream

Location: Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Theme song: Bicycle Race, by Queen

Objective: Amsterdam is a hodgepodge mix and everyone seems to be there for far and varied reasons. Sure there are the bucks weekends which is a no brainer really because there is just so much sex walking around on legs of all shapes and sizes that it’s bound to be a good weekend. There are also hens weekends, which has me more perplexed. There are also the maryjane fiends, who giggle their way in and out of coffee shops. And there are the genuine architectural enthusiasts who are in awe of the canals and bridges ~ more canals than Venice and more bridges than Paris, they say.

And then there is me. My objective? Eat Amsterdam.

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prawn and pork fried rice

So we had a friend over for dinner the night I cooked my pork & prawn fried rice. He’s an English guy, born and bred, about five heads taller than me and clearly far more intelligent. Because here I am cooking away, he pokes his head around the kitchen door and says “hey what’s for dinner?” to which I reply “oh, just fried rice… it’s got pork and prawns in it.. and egg.” and then he goes “oh right, yong chow fun”  with a totally straight face.

What?? Is that what it’s called? 

I would have keeled over laughing at his geniusness if I wasn’t so appalled by the abomination that I am – a completely useless Chinese person.

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vegetarian duck rolls

My friend Khrystyne just had a baby. She had a baby! I mean, after the endless hours of contractions, anguish, pain and sweat, she made a baby, and they let her take it home. Little baby Emmerson, and OMG is it legal to be that cute? She gurgles and coos and gurgles some more, and forms that little ‘o’ shape with her mouth, as if she’s suckling on thin air, but probably searching for a nipple. Not mine though, bubba, you’d be left high and dry with that one.

I’ve just come home from meeting little Emmerson for the first time, and holy tabouleh my cluckiness has kicked into overdrive. I don’t even know what to do with myself. I already attend Freaks Anonymous for my uncontrollable staring at fat, dumpy babies on public transport ~ my eyes glaze over and I’m so completely mesmerised that it actually scares me a little. Now I just look like I want to gobble one up, right there on the spot. It’s definitely an urge not unlike hunger. Like I’m gonna go ape-shit insane if I don’t eat right now.

At least I can satiate my hunger with relative ease.

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tiramisu

Sometimes Panu goes to work and comes home with little gifts. Mostly they’re techy gifts, like this awesome teeny tiny unbreakable water resistant usb stick (I love techy gifts by the way, because I’m too much of a numpty to buy them for myself) or a new wireless mouse or an awesome KEF surround sound system. Ok, so that last one wasn’t for me, but hey, I can now hear Ari Gold sexily screaming profanities from all angles, so I’m happy.

But the best present he’s ever brought home was when he came home with two lovely Italian-Canadian human beings ~ David and Isabella. David is great, he makes me laugh and tops my wine glass like he really doesn’t believe I’m about to hurl, and Isabella? Well, Isabella, she made that tiramisu you see right there.

I love her. I’m keeping her.

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