an epic meal at Hibiscus Restaurant in the name of gluttony and Panu’s birthday

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Last Thursday, April 8, was the auspicious day that was Panu’s birthday. I was still suffering from the horrid stomach bug so he went out for drinks with his buddies and I stayed at home and watched Brokeback Mountain ~ my first time and dude, it’s a good movie. Sad, but good.

Though I missed the festivities, I wasn’t about to let an occasion pass me by without celebrating with some form of eating so I resigned myself to get better by Saturday, when we had reservations at Hibiscus to properly celebrate his birthday.

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chocolate. what’s love got to do with it?

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I have a theory about something. Actually I have millions of theories about a squidadlion things (sheesh, that’s a new word even for me) but don’t ask me about them because well, I won’t ever stop telling you.

Take Panu for example. He asked me about one of my theories once and look what happened, he’s now chained to me and I even followed him across the hemisphere because people, if you find someone who listens to your outrageous theories, you hang onto them. Tight.

But anyway, I’m gonna share one of my theories with you. It’s about chocolate. And love. And the fact that chocolate has nothing to do with love.

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my burger babies: the Goodman burger and how it holds up against Byron

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It’s no secret that I love a good burger. My love stretches far and wide, and hell I’m even obsessed about meatballs, and really, a patty is just a big flat meatball, no?

The answer is yes. End of.

Anyway, my number one burger joint in London thus far is Byron Burger, but everyone’s been going on about the “Hawksmoor burger” and the “Goodman burger” and which one’s better manana. Having always come from the school of I-want-to-find-out-for-myself, last week I hit up Goodman Restaurant and ho’d into the “Goodman burger”.

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a day in picturesque Oxford (pre-stomach bug)

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I’ve been struck down by the mother of all stomach bugs. I can’t think about food, I can’t talk about food and I can’t even look at a photo of food without feeling nauseous so that does not bode well for my wee little food blog here.

Instead I’ll share with you some photos taken at Oxford on Sunday, moments before I keeled over.

Enjoy!

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Jak’s Cafe, Chelsea: I give you home cooked Mediterranean and a lesson in dignity

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Sometimes when you wander a little bit out of your comfort zone, you stumble across a hidden gem. For me, this tends to happen a lot because my comfort (read: lazy) zone is incredibly tiny, and anywhere that’s more than five tube stops away constitutes “the outside”.

And on this outside, there’s been some brilliant finds, my favourite thus far being Donna Margherita, seriously the best Italian food I’ve had in London and beyond. And now I can add Mediterranean to that list with Jak’s Cafe, exactly five tube stops away and tucked along distinguished little Walton Street in the heart of Chelsea.

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