Uni has started up again, and I am convinced that they do not want me to graduate. What was supposed to be my final year in creative arts, has become a detour, miscommunication and frustration that has launched me into learning Swedish and added another 2 semesters to my course.
An interesting and pleasing outcome, however frustrating.
Thank god I am on a scholarship.
Obviously, at this stage, I am procrastinating from writing for a class I have tomorrow, which is a public holiday (god, you're killing me) while listening to the last smoke alarm die after my friend and I performed drunken acrobatics with several chairs and much of the limb-twisting in my wearing of a red shiny leotard and killer heels at four in the morning because they won't stop beeping.
In the last few weeks, I have had a few dinners at Seamstress, have been suprised by being taken to Tempura Hajime again (good god, the sea urchin wrapped in scallop makes me wet) and will be going to France Soir tonight...just for the hell of it.
Writing has come back, and I am doing much of the muchly, but obviously, not on this.
In acts of desperation and boredom, sometimes laziness, much cooking has been done. One disaster that was edible regardless was when my companion and I made a black eyed bean and silverbeet stew/soup like thing with olive oil being the main star. Unfortunately, no one remembered that Celtic Sea Salt is like salt in its most concentrated form. We cried, we ate, we squeezed some lemon and watered down with a good bread and butter. We talked wells in the end.
The successes: angry laksa from scratch (the pounding needed to be done after much of the fuck-around with uni), joong from scratch with the family (I felt like I was in some Asian version of how to make an American quilt, but my dad was there), fish pie, which was quite some time ago (which I have also noticed has been quite the 'thing' of late) caramelised fennel and onion tart (oh, I love you fennel), rice paper rolls which shouldn't really be counted as cooking, many a-salads and lots of breakfasts/brunches including a nostalgic New York-style egg white omlette with brie, leeks and mushrooms.
But, back to uni, because this really ties in with the whole husbands thing. I was recently buying my subject readers from that damned uni bookshop and accidentally walked out with George Calombaris' new book; The Press Club, Modern Greek Cookery. I didn't intend on thieving, but the clerk put it in my bag and thought it was already mine.
Upon reading this, I admire how he is so ridiculously human, willing to admit fault, trial, and obviously not editing his writing. At some times he can be a little repetative, but that is the charm; the grammar, the humbleness, the progression, the unapologetic attitude that he has towards customers and his recipes, the opinions, but most importantly; the respect. I particularly like how he throws in a recipe for his ego, for good measure.
But, he is not my original husband, as cute as he is. I must admit that the passion, gracefulness and overall enthusiasm of Giorgio Locatelli won my heart. I remember seeing him making spelt pasta and putting it in a cabbage and cheese "sauce" and eating it with his wife and child. I was thirteen, and I was in love. About 6 months ago, I bought Made in Italy and for some reason, he is still able to make me interested after blabbering on about salt for 6 pages.
Did I not mention that he is my original husband?
Then, there is Nigel Slater. So simple, so bloody smart, and human. He's my husband, I don't care if he is gay!
Teage Ezard. Oh, I love him. Lotus has won my heart. Mucho mucho love-o. I probably wouldn't say that to him in real life, but we all know how I am feeling.
As I say, this is only a shortlist. I have many more husbands, such as Dylan Moran, Guy Garvey and Noel Fielding, but they're different stories entirely. As for wives, I only really have one; Bjork.
And, if you haven't noticed, I don't live in the real world.