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In October last year, we went to San Francisco and I had the absolute pleasure of dining at The House of Prime Rib. And actually I just want to end this blog post right now, because really, there is no life after The House of Prime Rib. But sadly, there is. 
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And here I thought my post from the LA trip in October was big. Goes to show how much I know because this post laughs in the face of the old one. It sh*ts all over the old one, and seriously, can you believe this trip was actually shorter?! I can’t. But it was. My luggage put on 6kgs while it was there and so that it didn’t feel bad, I stuffed myself full of SoCal culinary goodness and gained like 6kgs myself. Or something like that. I mean, this post doesn’t even cover it all! There was already that dinner at Market, followed by channelling my inner Homer with a pizza & beer dinner. And there’s also a fabulous dinner at Izaka-ya by Katsu-ya but that one’s gonna get a post of its own. This post is for all the adhoc eating that I did. And boy did I do a lot. Buckle up!
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Once upon a time, I turned thirty years old. I threw a party, put on a dress and revelled in the fact that thirty, it really is the new twenty-one. I mean, my spritely youthfulness, doesn’t it just eminate from this blog? All that life! love! colour! BAH. What am I talking about. I spotted three grey hairs the other morning and another one yesterday. Life starts at thirty if by “life” you mean “researching geriatric wards”. But who am I to complain? When I turned thirty, my friends gave me some most awesomeness foodie presents, from gorgeous le creuset pots to adorable silicone cupcake cups and of course, cook books. From the moment I laid eyes on it, the Hummingbird Bakery cookbook had my heart ~ the scrumptious cakes, slices and all things sweet, what was I to do? I hadn’t the will to fight, what with frosting… all that frosting… and more sweet sweet.. frosting. Wait a minute, is this post even about the Hummingbird? I don’t think it is. Ok, focus. So after four months of monogamy to the one cookbook I will utterly love forever, I’ve managed to unearth the dozens of other cookbooks I received and lookie here! Another gem! Not quite sweet, no frosting in sight, but a legend in its own God-given right: the Ottolenghi cookbook.
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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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There are three things in life that I can’t say no to.
Offer any of those to me, in any order, or better yet – all together – and I am in a slice of catty heaven.
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