Tuesday, September 30, 2008

One for the boys

My awesome friend, first and foremost, now housemate is interviewing Gary Numan tonight.

Yeah, that's right.

He's going to post it on his blog electrorash.com

I'm going to listen to Cars now.

Monday, September 29, 2008

Sad Face

Ok, so I had eggs and odd ends, and it has taken me to make sauces again to experience irony. That's right, everything in this post-modern world is so bloody ironic, and is even more ironic when you don't realise it till later.
I have a housemate who is never home and never cleans. Fair enough, he's not here to make a mess.

But, this is what happened. (I will, post-modernly tell you the story in a cartoon, seeing as the majority of my friends think I have walked out of one. The quality, I tell you now, is questionable.)

Anyways, My phone rings and I go off to another room to talk because I have no reception in the kitchen. Strange, I know.

Anyways, after the conversation, I see that my housemate who is never home is home (gasp!) and that he is cleaning (double gasp!). Actually, he is doing the dishes.

And really, I wanted to draw a picture of him because he is a body builder and I was going to make him look like an Asian Ninja Turtle, but I have already given up on that dream.

Back to the point...he looks at me and says,
"Oh, I wash dishes. There was this yellow stuff in a bowl, and I thought it was off milk because it is warm so I pour into sink.
Ok la. I go to gym now, bai bai!"

And this is me after he leaves.

But it is okay, I was just filling time and have nothing to eat with the Bearnaise anyways. So, what do I do with the whites?

I have learnt from using the 'Preview' option and checking in with my patience that I shall never attempt to use Paint again, and should probably use the camera. But it proves entertaining for me, nonetheless.

Its such a shame, shame shame. Shame is the shadow of love.

We can all thank PJ for that line, but after stopping myself from going to the market because of the bus, my food stores have reduced to this...and the cheese in the fridge. I'd take a photo of that, but no one wants to look at a sharehouse fridge.

Basically, it's beer, cheese and condiments.

Run away now, it's all a farce. I don't really eat, I just sustain myself with vitamins and crackers.

Its a sad, sad day, my friends.

Retract Like Stanley Knives!

Well, it appears my stupidly intelligent friends are not so intelligent. The emails sent through in the previous post were not just send to the Stuffings of the Greyhound, but to the people at TiNA.

So, they are under the impression that some artists (such as Glen from The Suitcase Royale) are dead. Or we're all being little shits with them, or, we are all assholes. On top of that, one of the boys behind this act of stupidity decided to impersonate Dario, signing off at "D" and dragging him into the mess. Another stupid thing is that the mailing list wasn't hidden, and now the festival people think everyone involved in this delayed exercise is a tossbag.

tsk tsk.

so...after much yelling, confrontation and shame, this is what one of the boys have to say on behalf of their drunken actions.

"To all recipients of yesterday's emails concerning the omnipresent Bus.

Firstly I must issue my sincere apologies for the hurt which has been caused by our ill-thought words. As part of the collective organising this venture, I necessarily made an unspoken commitment to collective participation in all parts of the project, open communication and trust in the good faith of those involved. I disregarded these things this afternoon in a misdirected effort to create some sort of laughing stock out of our hard work, particularly as, had I bothered to check with other members of our collective first, they almost certainly would not have endorsed the use of their names or their work in this way. Although my intention was to provide some form of comic relief to the flatness of a temporarily sidelined adventure, it seems obvious at this point that my judgment was clouded by a lack of sleep and alcohol – the twin terrors of organising.

Secondly I wish here to directly clarify the misinformation that was released this afternoon. The bus did not crash, both Henry and Glen are very much alive, and Dario has most certainly not gone to Tahiti. As per previous communications we all worked ceaselessly for the past few weeks to get this thing up and running. When it unfortunately fell through at the last moment, it was the product of unfortunate circumstances and not enough time. Any suggestion that the temporary halt to this trip was caused by mismanagement or incompetence should be strongly discouraged. I am ashamed that this was the suggestion that came out in our half-baked attempt at myth-making.

Here it should also be noted that there was no broader consent given to the writing or sending of these emails, and that the message signed with “D” was not a genuine response to the initial release from Dario. Once again I apologise for blatantly disregarding other people’s reputations in this matter.

As a result I intend to here tender my early resignation from all positions of social importance. From now on I am to become an ascetic hermit, retreat to a monastery and cut off my balls.

Sincerely yours,

(ex) Wing Commander Jones.


Saturday, September 27, 2008

The Abridged Version.

*begin transmission* in order chronological.

"dear everyone. i have the unfortunate position here right now, to tell you the very sad fucking news that the bus is no longer going to newcastle.
we lost a driver,
we lost another driver,
impossible to do without a registered medium rigid license holder.

there is nothing we can do - this endeavour is too massive an undertaking to risk insurance issues and fines.

we, bus collective have done all we can and worked tirelessly over the last few weeks to bring this project to fruition and we are dissappointed it has ended this way.

for now.

thank-you for your support and interest. the bus will go on again and hopefully very soon. we hope you want to be on board again.

your tickets will be paid back to you in full over the next few days.


"hi all - as part of those responsible for the horrible tragedy which occured yesterday afternoon, i feel that it is my duty to sincerely apologise for the shame and trauma which we have brought upon us all.

"we can feel shame at being human in utterly trivial situations too: in the face of a great vulgarization of thinking, in the face of tv entertainment, of a ministerial speech, of "jolly people" gossiping. This is one of the most powerful incentives towards philosophy, and it's what makes all philosophy political"
Gilles Deleuze"

"shit - Dario just told me that he hadn't passed on any info about the crash out of respect for Henry and Glen. However i feel that you all have a right to know. This is a monster to which we have all contributed. Our thoughts are with the families of those who were injured and are in hospital right now fighting for their lives. Here is the news report as it appeared on the fairfax website last night. Although not mentioned here we have recently been informed that we were extremely fortunate that more were not killed - it appears that the large amount of bread stored in the overhead lockers provided cushioning to some passengers during the rolling of the bus.

Bus Disaster Kills Two A bus has collided with a tree outside of Laverton this morning, killing two and injuring four, in one of the most horrific accidents of Grand final weekend. Henry Lyons (25), of Fitzroy and Glen Walton (24) of Northcote died in the blaze. Four other passengers were taken to hospital with severe injuries. Witnesses say that the bus rolled three times down a roadside embankment, before catching fire, as passengers struggled to escape. "It was Horrific", said Dario VaCirca (29), "none of them were able to get out. you could hear them screaming inside. It was just awful." On closer inspection, it has proven that the bus's break lines had been altered, rendering the vehicle incapable of properly stopping. Police and the fire department also attribute the blaze to a large number of gas bottle improperly stored in the bus's baggage compartment. The Bus, part of a project by several Melbourne based performance companies was on route to Newcastle’s This is Not Art Festival. The organisers have proven utterly blasĂ© about the accident. "They'll be fine," said Mitchell Jones (21), a spokesman for the bus's tour to Newcastle. "this is just the beginning. In a couple of weeks we'll have a good laugh about this" Several have been arrested in regards to the bus's poor management, although no charges have yet been made. - Reuters
"we can feel shame at being human in utterly trivial situations too: in the face of a great vulgarization of thinking, in the face of tv entertainment, of a ministerial speech, of "jolly people" gossiping. This is one of the most powerful incentives towards philosophy, and it's what makes all philosophy political"
Gilles Deleuze"

"Mitch it is not your part to air our dirty burning laundry in public. Keep your damn mouth shut you fool, we might still be able to get away with this. Everyone please ignore any other bus related correspondence. No really please! This email will no longer be accepting any correspondence. Furthermore i am going on an immediate holiday to Tahiti, i advise all those who have been involved in this despicable calamity to do the same as quickly as possible. Also, wear gloves, don't leave fingerprints for them to track.
Peace be with you all during these last few hours.

Let us all have a moment of silence. *tear*

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Completely Unrelated

but I just had to gloat.

Free tickets to Goldfrapp tonight?

Yes, that's right.


Ahem...I'm ok now.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Just a Breather

I have somehow thrown myself on a feverent, hyperactive, creative bus for a 10 day getaway to compose a work for TINA (This is Not Art festival) in Newcastle. This means, by default, that I have somehow forced myself to write a presentation and essay in three days, rather than the 14 that I originally allowed myself during the mid-semester break at uni.
This bus will carry 25 people, each with some skill, whether it be writing, bending, building, braining (you get the idea) which will go from Melbourne to Newcastle along the coast-line for the 4 days leading up to TINA and everyone puts as much or as little of themselves into the work that will be 'presented' at the festival.
Erm, woot!
This also means that by default, everyone is also a poor motherfucker and will, undoubtedly go up poor and come back either in debt, someone's bitch, or turning tricks after a unanimously decided stop at Kings Cross to gather money home (this is running off the assumption that we're all attractive individuals with the ability to hook). We're a collective here, so it is like whore money for a socialist bus full of artists (funnily enough, the project is called istuffgreyhounds...oh the puns).
We're dumpster diving for as much food as we can before we go up before we dig into the money gathered and paid for this trip. We have mapped out a route and also gone price-spotting, as well as having devised back-up plans. We're doing this real, fun and unashamed. There will be fridges on the bus powered by generators, as well as gas stoves for the stops. There will be the cooked breakfast and the dinner, devised by a trio...and I have somehow assumed responsibility for being one of the three.
I smell fun.
I smell so much fun.
However, I am still pushing for people providing a list of dietary requirements and allergies before any of us hear bitching.
I am also scared of nature, and therefore, camping...but fuck it. This is for the sake of art, is it not? Strangely enough, my presentation and essay is on the arts and marketing. Oh, evil bureaucrat I may someday be. How stupidly relevant.
Even if the call for contributors wasn't so goddamn amazing, I would still leave my nature-phobia at the door.
I mean, when the bus is described as "an abscess bursting in the festival's brain" where the artists will be making "social cancer", all I can think is BRILLIANT!
Actually, the rant is a little amazingly entertaining and my kind of crazy (and my presentation head is thinking, oh, what a great marketing strategy...it is their point of difference), especially at the guarantee of being able to ride the bus like a giant, drunken lizard.
Finally, when I am told to be more concerned with my costume and equipment than my own health and surviving, and that explosives are wanted, I am reminded of a very good thing a friend (who undoubtedly wrote the release) who turned to me one day and said, "If we're going to follow the arts, we're going to be poor for the rest of our lives, but goddamn, are we going to have fun!"
'nuff said.

So, as I run away as of the 28th for 10 days, I will be blogging elsewhere, documenting the journey for your misguided pleasure. Any who, this may be a premature adios.

Till then, I am back on the societal arts marketing slide show with annotations and notes.

Back of Fridge Goodness
2 cloves garlic, diced
1 bunch rainbow silverbeet, ribs removed and diced, leaves sliced
20 good quality olives, pitted and chopped
a few forkfuls of pickled eggplant in oil
3-4 anchovies, diced
1 punnet cherry tomatoes, quartered
olive oil
balsamic vinegar
short pasta
fresh ricotta

Sweat off the garlic with the silverbeet ribs till transluscent. Turn up the heat and add the anchovies, olives and eggplant. Fry for a few minutes and add the cherry tomatoes with a generous glug of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Lower the heat to medium as you cook the pasta in salted water.
When the pasta is a couple of minutes from being al dente, put the silverbeet leaves into the tomato mixture and toss till they have wilted and cooked. If the sauce looks like it is drying out, add some of the pasta water to the pan.
Drain the pasta and mix through the sauce. Season to taste. Serve with fresh ricotta broken over the top.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

How Unfortunate.

I work in a bank. Bank people are weird, especially when it comes to group activities, cleaning days and charity events. It is a little like a cult of naive people who think that I am "edgy."

I walk into the break room (which they call the "break-out area") to make some tea and someone is eating what I am assuming is their lunch at 10 in the morning.

Person: Oh, can you take a look at my bread? I think it has gone off. It's sour, but I got this sandwich made today.

Me: Um, you're eating a sourdough bread, its meant to taste like that.

Person: Its really dense.

Me: Yeah, its meant to be like that.

I walk back to my desk and I get a group email about work, that is attempting to satire how institutional the place is. Its not funny. In fact, it is a little racist and derogatory towards marginalised people.

Bah, education.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Special Edition Brunch Bash 2008

Actually, it wasn't that amazing, but the reason why it has the "2008" attached to it is because of how special edition I was.

Special edition= nice way of saying stupidly hung over...over hung and under moist.

I'll stop.

But, you know your friend loves you when you stumble home and ask them to make sure you don't fall asleep in the shower after walking around town in a bra as a top and they end up sticking their fingers down your throat. You see, apparently you were suffering a little too much in the way of spinning rooms and lack of food and they thought the only way to rectify that would be to press the eject button next to your tonsils.

I'll stop there.

But, apparently, after naked vomiting, there was stupid laughter coming from you. Yep, still drunk.

So, in the afternoon, when you looked outside and saw that it was an amazing day where the trees were singing and the birds were swaying, and you felt a little empty, you decide to cook a Brunch/Linner for your friend, housemate and yourself. You just had to make do of your ingredients.

However, unlike your counterparts, you swapped the second espresso for a beer and a couple of Advil. Goddamn, that dog was hairy.

1/2 bunch of silverbeet, ribs diced, leaves sliced in 1 inch thickness
1/2 clove elephant garlic, minced
1/2 lemon

Wash the silverbeet very well, and fry the ribs first in a medium heat pan, salt generously and add the garlic. Add the sliced leaves and add a few drops of water. Cover to steam and when it is ready, squeeze lemon juice over before serving.

Pathetic guacamole
1 avocado
1/2 spanish onion, diced
1/2 clove garlic, diced
lemon juice

Dice the avocado and combine well with the onion and garlic, mashing the avocado slightly but not turning it into mush. Season with tobasco, salt, pepper and lemon juice to taste.

Mushroom, Leek business
1 large leek, washed and sliced, white part only
200g mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
1 elephant garlic clove, minced
balsamic vinegar

In a pan on medium heat, add a generous splash of oil and start cooking the mushrooms, when they start to sweat, add the garlic and leek, salting slightly and adding a generous amount of pepper. When everything is a minute from being ready, add a glug of balsamic vinegar and allow the vinegar to cook off and caramelise.

I served this all on some decent bread, toasted with the guacamole on top, with a poached organic egg. The silverbeet and the mushroom/leek thing was on the side.

It is preferable if you have 3 sets of newspapers, a balcony and good company on a 25 degree day.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Laneway Fornication.

We all know Dondons in the city. We also all know Rue Bebelons in the city. They are two completely different schools of fish, besides the fact that RMIT students run them over.

They also share laneways.

A while ago, they opened up a Don Two on Lt Lonsdale st.

Well, it appears that on Cardigan St, they have opened up a Don Tojo.

I saw the old owner of Rue Beb's (as the 'cool' kids call it) in there making coffee, then stopped and looked at the menu. It is the Dondons menu. I have concluded that through the city stores, they fornicated and spat out this concoction through their meeting laneways and mutual toilets.

It's a little weird as they constantly play bad covers of good songs, but maybe that is what they think Melbourne Uni students like. At least they have a coffee machine.

However, it doesn't mean that their coffee is any good. I found that out the hard way.

I spoke to the old owner of Rue Beb's and he said that he doesn't want this place to be associated with either Dondons or Rue Bebelons.

Sorry to say, but it is a little difficult, dear.

And on a side note

I donated blood today. Yeah, they finally let me, after three previous attempts. The woman who interviewed me kept raving on about Gary Glitter and his bad touchy, touchy through the whole thing while ABBA blared in the background.

Yet again, my veins are hard to find. Stupidly I had a work out instead of eating lunch before my appointment.

Hot tip; don't do that.

So, when my head finally connected to simple, every day motor skills, I hid in my room. Hmm, still a little woozy and faint, but that's just my own fault.

Made tofu burgers, for some strange reason.

I hate getting on my moral high horse, but you should go and bleed for people if you're able...and I'm not talking in the emo kid way.

For the Love of Food.

As convoluted my relationship to food might be, I have always had a strong one with it. That didn’t occur to me until I realized that I was breaking out in rashes from all the tomatoes I have been eating a couple of weeks ago. I have never had that happen before, but I also hadn’t dated any Sicilians.
I have always dictated and followed a rigid set of rules when it came to food, even though the ideas had changed through time. However, I was never the kid that would only eat white foods…or sand. In fact, as a child I refused to eat unless it was a bowl of Chinese herbal soup. Strange, but the fact that I looked like a tiny skeleton with a giant head instead of a baby Buddha, as all Asian babies do, made everyone think that my parents were abusing me. But really, I was too busy being paranoid that everything might just kill me.
I remember being in prep and refusing to eat a mint slice because I somehow thought the combination of peppermint and chocolate was poisonous. Of course, I thought that every wrong note I played on the piano at that stage would allow something bad to happen to me and I had to be ‘good’ or ‘right’ all the time. I was completely manic and swallowing books that you would only hear about mid-way through high school by the time I was in grade two. I also remember them weighing me and being only 18kg.
I think the mania caused my head to explode a bit, because before I was even in grade three, I would be too scared to shower, thinking that we all lived in our own heads and realities, but were spatially the same in relation to how we saw our placement in our heads. For example, the shower in my reality may not be the shower in yours; perhaps it is ‘actually’ a supermarket. What would happen if someone managed to break out of their reality and see how physically vulnerable I was, and bring it into my reality and shame me? What if they broke someone else out of their reality into the real reality to point and laugh? I would stand for hours in the bathroom rationalizing this idea until I developed the courage to strip, lather, rinse and then hide under the covers in my room.
At the same time, my arse was permanently purple from the weekly injections I had, to make sure I would get all the nutrients I needed. I cried a lot. Every time I ate as well, I would always end up throwing up, nothing could stay down and I always sounded like water was sloshing around inside me.
Finally, when I was seven, my parents sat me down and force fed me and threatened to pull a tooth out for every grain of rice left in a bowl. It took a while for my body to take to solids, but all of a sudden I was a balloon. I took me seven years to realise how hungry I was. I felt sluggish and hid from the world, curled up in front of a heater all the time and slowly expanding till I developed huge issues about the way I looked. I couldn’t stand my reflection, and then I stopped eating altogether.
My family is somewhat aware of how paranoid I was about food and things in general, and haven’t stopped pointing the finger at each other. Really, it was all of them, but that is too much dirty laundry to air out.
I became a vegetarian at eleven, despite having killed a chicken a few years back and liking it. It wasn’t a decision made on moral terms, but more so I would give myself more boundaries and therefore fewer options when it came to choosing food. Even to this day, I find it almost impossible to make a decision.
It just made sense.
I started cooking for myself and being very conscious of the way things worked together. I was very proud of getting my first severe oil burn at thirteen. My dad was more impressed with the fact that I didn’t care, but he always saw me as the son he never had.
I would manically exercise and then decide to eat a plum. That’s all. A plum, I was testing the boundaries of my body a bit, plus did I need anything more? Not really, it would just eat into my reading time, my time away from my mother. I was convinced she was trying to poison me, so I would start arguments with her and storm out of the room whenever I knew she cooked, so I wouldn’t have to eat her meals.
My sister didn’t blame me. She knew my mother didn’t like me either.
It was the same thing for a few years and I looked a little sick. A little like a bug, and I had developed stomach ulcers, acid reflux and was sick 365 days a year. I had three doctors, and I saw each of them at least once a week. None of them knew what was wrong with me, and my hair was falling out.
They said it had to do with my depression.
And stress.
I was fourteen for fuck’s sake, what the hell did I have to be stressed about?
Finally I moved out and I was working three jobs, while going to high school and being an over-achiever with an apathetic attitude, playing with cameras with my head in a book or a notepad.
I had no friends and I forgot to eat.
My partner, who was living with me at the time was scared that I was going to be dead next to him every morning.
I cooked a lot because I started training and working in kitchens. My insomnia was at an all time high and I would find myself baking bread and scones, making croissants and curry pastes in the middle of the night. I would bring them to school for the few people who could stand being around me, and not be sucked into my vacuous hole of self-loathing and lack of aural exchange.
I was baking a lot.
With this particular partner, I was playing around with a lot of flour and bought my first pizza stone. His parents loved that I cooked and would ask me to cook them dinner a few times a week. I baked goods for the local tennis team, even thought I never met them.
The ‘Ladies.’
Then I broke up with this one.
In the first two weeks apart from me, he apparently lost something like 8kg.
I realized that I was spending hundreds of dollars on produce every week at the market, cooking it and feeding everyone else. I had to sit with that and deal with it, until I just had a fridge with condiments, carrots, celery and booze. Lots of booze.
I think I was living on mustard on carrots for a few months. Then I got bored and moved on to lettuce.
If I was feeling particularly brave, I would eat vitaweats. If the world had to fuck itself, it would be vitaweats with a sharp cheddar.
At the same time, I would be cooking for my friends, holding dinner parties that I wasn’t really apart of and discovering the awesome power of the egg. Sweets and savouries in many different forms and textures. I remember one night, being so far from sleep that I managed to bake more than four hundred meringues and macaroons and just went straight to class with boxes to give away to teachers. I had way too many yolks and made a mayonnaise, hollandaise, bĂ©arnaise, custard and a ginger ice cream. I was pretty proud of that ability at seventeen, but I was yet to master the perfect poached egg. That came around just after I turned eighteen.
As with those sauces, they went rancid because I didn’t eat them and they ended up in the bin. The ice cream went to whoever visited me, and finally met with the sauce.
I started wafting around town and eating only whenever I was instructed to. I was pretty much mostly drunk, all of the time. This is when the antipasto plate period arrived, but I still didn’t eat bread. It seemed like a happy medium between vegetarian and someone who wanted something to eat, with lots of flavour.
I was also making a lot of pastas at the time, filled, rolled, whatever. But now, I had moved in with people and I was able to feed these kids now.
I started spending time with another alcoholic. A bit of a mess really. We met while I was drinking on a roof, would see each other drunk all the time and wake up sipping warm beers that had been sitting beside our heads all night. Obviously, this ended well.
Then, my vegetarianism broke. I lived in a house of meat eaters, who just wanted me not to be frail. But they didn’t do it. I developed a friendship with people who had a love of cold meats and would in turn, turn me. Now, I pretty much drank broth, ate cold meats (specifically sausage) and cheese. We developed an obsession for pho and any other fragrant noodle soups, but, hold the noodles for me, please.
Oh, and beers. Lots of beers.
Finally, gin made an appearance and then the Bloody Mary. We’d always be on cycles. It went something like this over a year and a half;
-Bloody Mary’s
- Gin and tonics
- Espresso Martinis
- Leffe
- Becks
-Bloody Mary’s
- Weihenstephaner Kristal
- Schofferhoffer hefferweizen
- Schofferhoffer Weiss
- Baltika 8
And so on…
Still, the cold meats have stuck. Then, my fondness for bread came when I started seeing a guy who lived near Sugardough and would tell me stories about French bread. It didn’t last long, but I am very aware of bread at this time.
Then, I became a vegetarian again. Briefly. I just needed to cleanse myself.
And then, a little obsession with wine, just because it was the right time and I had someone to share it with. I’d cook and then we would sit around drinking wine. I remember a lot of pesto and mushrooms happening in this stage, and again, back to the antipasto. Friends, they do that to you.
And as I let that part of me go, actual dining started to take over. I would take people out for their birthday and find that half the money now I spent on food was spent at restaurants.
Good restaurants.
I hate that I live so close to so much good food.
Now, I guess there is a balance between cooking and eating out. I hide the eating out side of me from my current partner, because of a slight disapproval. Strange to say though, despite my background, I have never eaten so much Asian food in my life, and I am seeing a Sicilian.
I like how I can manage to map out the stages in my life to food, as well as the relationships I have to people. There is a whole lot of swapping and shifting and changing as well as development. Although, in asking all my friends about how they associate me with food, the general response is that they’re all now heavier after they have met me and find themselves spending more money on food than they ever have.
Gee, thanks guys, I love you too.

Monday, September 8, 2008


I am not sure how I feel about cooking in them. Generally, I am ok with bits and pieces, but lately, I have been putting vegetables in a box and cooking them at work in the microwave.
It is more that it is the whole meal in the zapper, without seasoning and being unevenly cooked with impatience from the bankers behind me.


Anyways, I went to Kamurikan Cafe again. Oh lord, their food makes me cheaply happy and satisfied in the simplest of ways.

Now excuse me, I have class in the morning and Howling Bells to listen to.

Oh, and I am so glad fashion week is over.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Make me dessert, bitch.

I went with my friend to Box Hill to look after his parent's house last week. There, we cooked a steak dinner with crispy potatoes, broad beans and salad. I did the potatoes and broad beans and he did the salad and steak.
At the end of it, we were both stupidly full and watching terrible late night television, telling our stomachs that it was all going to be ok. Of course, we were watching SBS where there was this awful Australian film with Jaqueline Mackenzie getting naked, yet again.
I think that was pretty much the only reason why we were watching it.
Boy, she really does like showing her tits.
Really, she's been doing it since Romper Stomper...and I am guessing that was quite some time ago.

As a woman, I feel obliged to say, good on her.
As a human being, I say, I'm over it.

Anyways, when we were finally comfortable, my friend turns to me and shamefully says, "I feel like dessert. A bread and butter pudding, specifically."

You see, the problem here is that neither of us can drive, and we had to work with what we had. No, correction, I had to work with what his parents had. It is a good thing that his mother is a big food person.

So, after scrounging around, I managed something that was apparently pretty awesome.

I didn't eat it. As I said, FULL.

NOT bread and butter pudding.

1/2 an apple tea cake, sliced to 1cm thickness
2 eggs
soy milk
raw sugar
home made fig jam with brandy

Arrange the tea cake in a greased, deep baking dish. Beat together the eggs with a splash of cream and some soy milk. Add a few tablespoons of fig jam and some sugar, and beat till the sugar dissolves. Pour over the cake in the dish and dot butter over the top of the mixture.
Bake at 180 degrees for 20 minutes or till just set.
Serve hot with cream and icecream.

It's a Showdown.

Bread. It is a simple thing, but a tricky issue in my house. I usually buy a really heavy, grainy loaf and take a month eating it out of the freezer. I have one housemate who is gluten intolerant, another who only eats Wonderwhite, the other likes his bread as wholemeal, but to still dissolve in the mouth. The other housemate, well, he only believes in rice and doesn't make much of an appearance in the house.
At the market today, I went to my usual bread people, but there was one woman who I hadn't seen before. I usually try and stay away from the market on Saturdays because of the crowds, but I had nothing but cheese and condiments at home.
There was already something wrong.
So, I ask this woman if they have any of the Irrewarra Sourdough Breakfast Seed loaves left.
She looks around.


and around...

"No, no ILLawarra," she says. And I see her pick up a loaf of wholemeal. No thanks, I like my bread with texture. "We have this one. It's the same."
You're full of shit, lady. Sorry, but you are.
"What is it?" I ask, just to make sure. My friend looks at me and laughs and I turn back to this lady who is trying to get the attention of the regulars.
She's poking them while they're trying to serve people, and it takes around three minutes to get a response. I know this because I keep checking my phone.
"It's a wholemeal. It's the same."
"Um...do you have something that is heavier and grainy?" I say.
"I'll get back to you."

She wanders off for another few minutes and comes back with a soy and linseed loaf. I'm bored already and ask her to slice it for toast.
My friend is now clutching at my arm and can't stop laughing.
There are about ten people behind me and I feel like I am in a mosh pit.
"Where is this woman?" my friend asks.
"Who the fuck knows..."
We're now looking through all their products and counting off all the ones we have eaten before and my friend tells me that he wishes he could have the fig and anise loaf for life.
She finally passes me the loaf and I give her the money.
Fuck, I need change.
We wade through the crowd of people and make a turn for the cheese (yes, more).
"Fucking hell, what a slapper."
"You know you only got away with this because of the green dress you're wearing and the way it falls makes people think that they might be able to see nipple? If you dressed like a lesbitch like you usually do, the crowd would have eaten you" My friend says.
"Oh, and you're passive aggressive. That's true."

I see myself turning into Job from Arrested Development and going , "C'MON!"

*Post script*

Oh yeah, I am now eating a sandwich with brandy port and sage pate and gerkins. Yeah, a 9pm dinner of ridiculous before a stupidly long night. Every time I take a bite of the sandwich, I literally can't help myself but shake my head and think: you idiot, I am going to hit you with a baguette.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Fatties Love Me. Like, Totally.

So, I am going to see a band tonight, they have the most awesome name. They're called the Puta Madre Brothers. When translated, it means, the "motherfucking brothers."

They have never played, but I already know they're going to be good, because I know two of the members and they are a little more than talented. They're a Mariachi band with three members, who all play the guitar, sing and stamp their feet for percussion. They all play at least three instruments.

But, before all this, of course I am bored.

How bored?

Well, after the usual 40 minute walk home from work, the cup of green tea with the housemate, and the exercise...I did the pastry thing.
No, I lie, I foraged around in my cupboards to see what I could make first. I had some Callebaut dark chocolate I had to use up before it would fall away to nothingness and be sacrificed to the rancid gods. It's great when friends give you good quality cooking shit as "thank-yous" rather than wine. I've started giving good olive oil, but it really does make me look like I am 40. On top of that, I had a few blood oranges and a bottle of fresh organic cream that I opened yesterday.
Yeah, I am making a tart. It's good to have a cupboard.
Basically, I made a shortcrust pastry, blindbaked it, filled it with dark chocolate ganache and let it set...and while this was all going on, candied the blood oranges and arranged it on top of the tart.
I'm probably going to give away in pieces or to my mother. It is a littel cruel to torture a gluten-intolerant sweet tooth in this house, and my friends will think I am trying to make them fat. And...the others are all hipsters and don't eat anything that can't be snorted up their nostrils.

Nom Nom Nom stuff

For the Candied blood oranges:
2 Blood oranges
brown sugar

Slice one blood orange in 1/2cm thickness, so you see the cross-section, like in primary school diagrams. remove the pips. Lay on a single layer in a baking tray. Take the other blood orange, and juice. Pour over the slices till they are covered. Sprinkle brown sugar over the top and bake in a preheated oven at 120 degrees for 2-3 hours. They're ready when they're dried out, but still sticky.

For the Pastry:
250g plain flour
pinch of salt
1 tsp sugar
150g chilled butter
1 large organic egg

Place the dry ingredients in a food processor. Add the chilled butter, in dices and process till you get the texture of breadcrumbs. Add the egg and process till it all comes together. Chill for 30 minutes. Roll out to 1/2 cm thickness onto a fluted tart pan with a removable bottom. Prick all over with a fork and place a sheet of baking paper over the top and line with pastry weights or rice/beans you are willing to sacrafice. Bake in a 180 degree preheated oven for 20 miuntes. Remove the weights and bake till golden, around 10-15 minutes more.


250g dark chocolate
80ml cream

Melt the dark chocolate in a double boiler and stir in the cream.


After the crust has baked, allow to cool and pour in the ganache. Place in the fridge till it sets and arrange the blood oranges, however the hell you want, over the top. I just made a little circular pyramid in the centre, like a target logo in a bird's eye view, but less weird looking.

Now, walk to the Old Bar on Johnston St, hand over $5, and watch in glee.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Union House

I don't think that I have ever been surrounded by so much shit food in my life. Barring the food-co op from this generalization, I felt a lot of pain.

Sure, I have been going to Melbourne Uni for three years now.
Sure, I have been there before.
Sure, I have set foot in food courts before.
Sure, I have come from the burbs.

However, I have only bought bottles of water or only eaten at the co-op and no one ever forced me to eat food court food, especially in the burbs. Also, the last time I went to Union House, I am sure I was in first year and therefore, too busy avoiding eye contact.

Just to clarify, Union House is probably the most central thing in Melbourne University, and it is where the union, a few offices, a crap bar, a pharmacy and a food court live.
Actually, I lie, I was at the Union House pharmacy a week ago getting the morning after pill for an embarrassed friend, but that is another story. (All you Melbourne Uni hussies out there, note that the morning after pill is cheaper here than normal pharmacies. They care that we're students.)

Anyways, I find it strange that people are complaining about obesity when all the food options that they offer in the food court are either disgusting, or shit that is disgusting and deep fried in sugar after it has been dusted in saturated fat. I also never knew that sushi rolls were as thick as my forearm with overcooked and sweetened rice and only had cooked tuna with mayo in there, the thickness of the carbon in the pencil. Oh, but of course you can eat outside of uni. It is very rare for a student to be able to get a quick and cheap meal around campus unless it is some variety of toasted something something encased in white bread, or more take out. That is unless you decide to head to Lygon St, but most of the food on Lygon st is crap, and even at that, you'll find yourself paying at least fifteen dollars for a bowl of pasta, and no one wants to fall asleep before their afternoon class.

I forget my point here (forgive me, I have had 7.5 hours of workshopping), but thank god for the co op and their cheap tofu burgers in wholegrain spelt bread with hummus (made there), grated beetroot, carrot and alfalfa. They're small and fresh, with flavour and a conscience. The great thing is that you get to queue in line with the most passionate people in the uni who probably, actually read books (read: not a hipster in sight. That's right, no streetparty kids). The great thing about this, is that if you manage to actually finish the burger, you'll be quite full but not sleepy. However, as my dining companion pointed out today, it's annoying that their conscience means they only give you the burger on a square piece of baking paper if you're asking for take away, and no, napkins are not provided.
I only wonder how they would give you soup if you were on the go.

Monday, September 1, 2008



go to these:

wrong town

Now, we should associate these actions with this erm...vegetable.

Supposedly a bitter melon, according to my people. I am not close minded, or restricting my palate. In fact, I deliberately attempt to eat this at least twice a year to see if my palate has changed, or if I can actually grow to like it.

Sadly after twenty years, still nothing.

In fact, if I can say anything that is valid about this vegetable, it is that it looks like that it has contracted herpes.

Green, mouldy herpes.

I will even go as far as to say, if I could give herpes a taste, it would be this very vegetable.

Now, let us repeat...

wrong town

I am not saying that if you have herpes, that your extremities necessarily look like this.
I have also never tasted herpes, so cannot entirely comment on the flavour, so feel free to correct me.
I have nothing against people with herpes.
I have nothing against people who like bitter melon, hell, I eat condiment sandwiches.
I have no authority on the hierarchy of vegetables, or STIs.
I have nothing against you if you so happen to also live in a suburb, state, village or province which is actually called wrongtown, nor necessarily believe you function for the soul purpose of insulting the aforementioned vegetable.