TALKING ABOUT FOOD

Earlier in the year I wrote about how technology is changing the restaurant industry for CODE Quarterly and I spoke about the american ticketing system Tock, since then The Clove Club have taken on the system. Ticketing systems within restaurants is a topic that elicits strong opinions for and against, and has many in the industry curious about how it can work.  I doubt there is much argument that it is something that will work in some establishments and not in others, but how big is the range of where it will work? Places that are akin to The Clove Club in it’s set menus structure, such as Lyle’s and Typing Room, are not employing the system and seem to have made a conscious decision not to.

When I learnt how to sail, the first thing I was taught was how to capsize. When I went to gymnastics, the first thing I was taught was how to fall. Falling, capsizing – failing - was all about the recovery; and in gymnastics, it was all about recovering gracefully, getting up with style. I got married young. I got divorced young. A dramatic story of my 20s. He left for me another women. My heart broke. The divorce paperwork nearly killed me. But, it was a wonderful relationship; until, it wasn't. And now I'm saddled with this yoke of a 'failed marriage’. But what if we think about failure differently? It’s a cliché, but these kinda heartbreaks are what makes me who I am today - if I am not a success, at the very least I have survived. 100 years ago the average marriage lasted about a decade - women died in childbirth, life span was a lot less, so ‘forever’ had a different meaning. We have thankfully moved on from then and are living healthier, longer lives, ...

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 ...

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? ...

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.