TALKING ABOUT FOOD

  I feel like in the last few weeks there has been a focus on meat. Beyonce made a ‘big (anti-climactic) announcement’ that she was a vegan; then confirmed she does eat meat on occasion. The Chinese ‘dog eating’ festival dominated headlines and was counteracted with articles about how our (the west’s) consumption of meat is very problematic - for the animals, for the environment, and for our health.  Hadley Freeman wrote a great, well balanced piece this weekend about the increase in healthy-eating gurus; which I could rant on about, in particular the fact that it’s a scene dominated by privileged, white women, who are also ridiculously beautiful. I mean, who has time to be that good, unless you have the financial luxury to focus on those things and don’t have to run around just trying to survive? (I too would do daily yoga and make delicious foods if I wasn’t juggling multiple jobs, yet still dipping into my overdraft… for starters, where would I do my daily y...

"Wine is not a solitary drink. It is essentially sociable, and one of the greatest pleasures it has to offer is the sharing of it..." -  The World Atlas of  Wine , 7th edition Twitter has been playing on my mind of late. I mean, it’s always on my mind – which is kinda the point. Twitter has an omnipresence and my thumb is addicted to the swiping movement.  The immediacy and intimacy of social media makes me a voyeur. Which I love, and hate – in equal measures. I wonder what Lacan and Mulvey would say about it all. It means that when meeting someone in person, I can say, non-murderoulsy, but still creepily “I know what you did last summer”. I don’t know how I feel about that.  I eavesdrop (twitter-drop?) on conversations between people I follow, and so I know details of people who have no   idea that I even exist!! And I’m ok with this. Most of the time. I don't what that says about me?! When looking at my phone the world narrows, it fe...

I love Primeur. I love the wooden floor, where my muddy puppy is at home on, padding his wet paws all around my feet.  I love the golden mustard, velvety chairs. I love the slick look, but cosy feeling that the furniture and colours seem to conjure up. I love the chalk writing on the tables. Primeur is glorious in summer, with doors open; and is light and warm in autumn.   I fail so often at being a grown up, but have in my life the wonderful Josie who walks my puppy when I work, and the lovely Elaine who cleans my house once a week – so I have successfully managed to be middle class, if not entirely grown up. Today I heard my ex-husband is having his second baby. This isn't a life I wanted, or quite possibly he wouldn't be an ex, but I still feel incredibly anxious about this fact, it is another point to prove that I haven't “successfully” grown-up. Therefore my concepts of 'grown-up' are, rather boringly, rooted in societal norms. But, even if I don't ...

I started writing about my recent food eating experiences because I needed a writing exercise to get over my writer's block. But I've really enjoyed writing in detail about food and all that accompanies food. When I first started writing these little posts I thought about liking each experience to an ex-lover, as each restaurant had its own little quirks, likes and dislikes, and eating is such a personal, visceral experience that conjures up strange connections that can only be likened to love and lust. Then I realised that I eat out quite a bit. If I continued writing these posts I'd get to the point of running out of ex-lovers and I'd be referring to an eatery as 'like that guy, with the funny hat I made out with near the bathrooms in Fabric all those years ago', plus it was possibly a slightly clichéd analogy and a little crude. Pollen Street Social is anything but crude. It is a restaurant that is in delicate, soft focus - romance through calm, clea...

Mission is that lover you want roll around with all day on a grey Sunday, till your hair is in knots and you just don’t care. The lover whose scar on his left hip you want to run your tongue over and hear the story of how it got there, time and time again. Unlike Pollen Street Social, who has no scars. Side note: these are restaurants; restaurants do not have hips or scars. This is a metaphor, in English class at high school we were told that these were good to use in creative writing. How and why we ending up at Mission was because of Drapers Arms, our favourite pub. Favourite because we can bring the dog, eat great food, drink great wine and have great service. Pretty standard needs, but often hard to get. On Broadway you would say Drapers Arms was a triple threat. One day we went and the food was great, but different. With a little sleuthing we discovered it was a new chef – so where was James de Jong? Another sleuthing affair (Google) lead us to Mission. Who were Mission? ...

For me the night began in the line outside, behind the white girl wearing a bindi. Someone didn't get last year's memo about cultural appropriation! (If you missed it too, my little brother writes an  articulate blog post  about it, in particular check out 'part 2' – “sacred things are a no, no”).  The line moved along fast enough, there were heaters outside, it was fairly pleasant. I was there by invitation, as everyone was, because I am holding an event next year at Sushi Samba for 350 people. I went because I wanted to see how the space worked as a drinks reception. You won't be surprised to hear that it does work. I will change a few things, like what doors to the balcony I have open, but that's mainly due to the fact I'm having May event, as oppose to a November one. 

Food is best enjoyed when eaten with your hands. Sauce sucked off finger tips, feeling your way around the textures of the food, mopping up jus, being at one with it all. Therefore I introduce to you – Som Saa's prawns. Packed with salt and chilli they are a revelation in flavour. Well, maybe that's over the top, the combination of salt and chilli is hardly new, but, they are covered and coated in both, and yet not over powering the prawn-y-ness. Prawns are only ever meant to be eaten with your hands, and Som Saa's prawn's soft flesh pops out of the shell, squishy and firm, in equal measures, between your fingers. Dip in sauce, pop in mouth, tongue tries to cover every surface so as not to miss a morsal of taste, lick fingers for salt and chilli. In the words of Heather “fuck me gently with a chainsaw”, it's so good.