black or white; one sugar or two?

Posted on by Eatlovego

At the ripe age of 22, I did the UK pilgrimage-2-year-visa-stint that a lot of Aussie youths find themselves doing. I had just finished Uni and could not care to look at another text book or sit through another lecture so where did I find myself ~ Plymouth, South-West England of all places. A call centre job was paying the bills and while I don’t remember much about the auto-spiel that I once could recite in my sleep to English train travelers, I do remember this lady in a blue smock and her tea trolley that rolled past my desk at 10am and 3pm every day. For 10p/day, this gave me endless cups of strongly brewed EBT otherwise known as English Breakfast Tea. Mainly a cappuccino drinker before that, this is where I deem my love for EBT truly began!


Whilst in the Barossa Valley late 2010, I visited Maggie Beer’s foodie farm and amongst other kilos of jam jars and verjuice bottles, I bought a packet of Scullery Made Tea, in particular the Barossa Breakfast blend. This loose-leaf blend leaves Twinings, T2, Lipton and any other brand for that matter to shame. With one teaspoon for me and one teaspoon for the pot, a good lug of boiling water and 3 minutes up my sleeve to give it some decent brewing time, it definitely makes one cup of damn good EBT. So far I have only seen it for purchase via Maggie Beer’s website.

Oh and if you’re wondering, I love my tea strong with one sugar and a dash of milk.

 

Love a good “I do”

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Masked with tradition or none at all; there’s always bound to be an aisle, romance abundant in the air, a cake cutting moment, cheesy, toothy grins and of course the “I do”! I have always loved weddings. A day to celebrate the loving union of two people madly in love as they publicly declare their passionate feelings to the world. Some shout their written words like they’re on a rooftop, others cry so they’re barely heard and I have witnessed quite a few laughing through their vows as it’s always better to laugh than cry! Stepping away from in sickness and in health, I have vowed to make macaroni and cheese to my betrothed for the rest of our days.

Mr ELG and I have been to two weddings in the past five days with two more to go before the end of May. The first one was a beautiful amalgamation of Jewish and Catholic rituals with readings in French, Spanish and English set against the backdrop of Sydney Harbour. The bride and groom set the scene immediately enticing the entire room of guests to join them in the Hora and with that; the party had started! Last night’s wedding was awash with red and white as a traditional Chinese tea ceremony took place while this bride and groom channeled John Travolta and could have been on Dancing with the Stars instead of dancing their first dance in front of their cheering guests.

And despite all the differences of each wedding there’s one tradition I like to keep to and that is looking at the groom just before the bride walks towards him. It is in this moment that I see love in its finest….bring on the next two!

Ms.G or was that MSG?

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When MSG  (aka Monosodium glutamate commonly used in Chinese food as a flavour enhancer) is added to a dish, the initial reaction is “hmmm, tastes so good!” It’s only when you leave the restaurant and you have this unmistakeable thirst or even worse; a throbbing migraine that the latter reaction is “they must have put MSG in.” Disappointment, especially in this day and age when there are limitless real flavours and ingredients you can add to effectively enhance the taste of a dish.

Ironically I liken my experience of new Potts Point, Sydney showpony “Ms. G” to its namesake MSG. We Sydneysiders are a fickle bunch. Quick to try a new restaurant/bar/cafe, quicker to pack inside like sardines so there’s no option but to try and remain effortlessly chic and absolutely not squashed or sweaty as you cosy up next to a complete stranger and their skin whilst trying to hold your ground of 2cm squared and balance a cocktail and smile at the same time.

Saturday night in Sydney; 7.30pm. Let’s go to Ms. G. It’s the new Hemmes place with the chef from Lotus at Potts Point; it’s meant to be fab!! Upon arrival to its Victoria Street location, it all looks good. What must have once been a stately Victorian terrace in its day has now been gutted and warehoused into a thriving and buzzing money machine of 5 levels where plenty of people were already seated and in the throes of eating, drinking and revelling in their Saturday night sensations. People were spilling out on to the pavement, confident lasses held pens and clipboards trying to manage a growing list of names and contact numbers against a ticking clock and me and Mr EatLoveGo (ELG) barged our way through, heading up to the top level bar where friends were already patiently waiting, names on the list, passing the time sipping cocktails. “They said a table will be ready at 9pm”. Hmmm, a 90minute wait for what was supposed to be THE food to be had – that’s reasonable I guess for somewhere that has a no-booking policy, right?

Upstairs the atmosphere was going off; literally. 3 flustered bar staff were attempting to serve a growing number of patrons. Seat options were either a sunken wall lounge or low wooden stools. Others wanting to rest their feet were perched on the funky looking compacted boxes tied with string-serving as makeshift tables for drinks as maintaining more than your own personal space became a little luxury leaving your grasp. Mr ELG stepped up to the bar responsible for the next round of drinks for the group. Slowly swallowed by more and more patrons, Mr ELG disappeared into the crowd edging closer and closer to the bar and buying his round when I heard someone say “Where’s Mr ELG? Is he still at the bar getting drinks?” 45 minutes had gone by and it was obvious that Ms. G needed to get more than 3 staff manning this bar as the round had still not appeared. 15 more minutes passed and I finally saw his hand reach through the crowd with each of our drinks being passed through one by one. Mr ELG himself finally appeared; flustered being an understatement and I began to see those nasty effects of MSG starting to take its toll. To top it off, one of our group had gone downstairs to get an update from clipboard-girl and what was originally a confident “you’ll be seated by 9pm” had become “there’s still about 8 groups in front of you and it’s unlikely you will be seated before 10pm.”

Hmmm reasonable I think not and a clarity on what inevitably makes us so fickle. All it takes is just one hint of bad service or an unreasonable wait time of over 2 hours to eat or 1 hour to quench your thirst and a foul taste is left in my mouth despite a want and desire to try the newest destination in town. Running a successful restaurant that ticks all the boxes from the first day is a tough gig. I grew up with a Dad who opened many. Some worked and some didn’t. It’s not enough to have a great location, gorgeous interior, a tantalising menu, a damn good wine list and enough bodies to take the orders. Essential ingredients for success at any restaurant/cafe/bar are also the friendly and attentive staff who are honest and gracious, a point of difference to survive in our fickle, harbour-loving landscape and may I ask; who invented no bookings anyway? As someone who loves to eat and dine outside of my kitchen; I would rather hear “We’re fully booked” to “um…it’s about a 2 hour wait; give me your mobile number and I will call you when a table is ready.” Certainty is much better than hopes being dashed when no one bothers to call at all especially when you’re still at the pub down the road waiting for the phone to ring and the stomach is still rumbling.

As we left Ms. G, famished but en route to a place that took a last minute booking, conversation turned to its long-standing neighbours on Victoria Street Jimmy Liks and Mezzaluna. We all agreed Jimmy Liks has such yummy food and great cocktails and “it’s still packed after 10 years; geez they must be doing something right” and Mezzaluna has “such a great view and yummy Italian food too”. It was refreshing to realise that some destinations surpass the fickle hill and last the distance despite their neighbours changing names and paint colours every season.

I don’t know if I will go back and try to get an elusive table at Ms. G again as there are so many more places that keep popping up in Sydney town and unfortunately I am fickle just like the rest of them. For now though, I think I’ll call A Tavola, a favourite that has surpassed and is a stayer that takes bookings!

Ms. G @ 155 Victoria Street Potts Point NSW 2011

Puff Royalty

Posted on by Eatlovego

One thing Mum always taught me was to have a number of staples in the pantry or fridge just in case you don’t have anything to cook and no time to get to the shops. Therefore 9 times out of 10, I will always have eggs, pasta and puff pastry amongst other ingredients in my current possession. Strange I know, but several times I have been able to whip something up in no time at all with these bare basics. 5 years ago, I lived in Paddington, Sydney and of all things, I knew I was out of puff and had some friends popping over in 30 minutes for afternoon tea. With IGA closed and unable to buy my usual Pampas variety, I headed into Paddington Fine Foods and pondered the $19.95 price tag of some pastry called Careme. It was all fancy in a lemon-yellow rectangular box and certainly much more than the usual $4 budget and after only a couple of seconds pondering with only 20 minutes now to spare, I whipped out a twenty and I was walking home quick smart re-counting the recipe in my head.

5 years on and my man recently surprised me with a gorgeous weekend away to the Barossa for my birthday and following my love of markets, we headed to the Barossa Farmers Markets. Open each Saturday, the markets are the finest selection in the valley of all the local produce and immediately my senses were enticed the minute I entered the gates. On an A-stand up ahead, I suddenly recognised the word Careme written amongst lemon meringue, chocolate – and passion-fruit and not being able to help myself, I wandered over to the mini glass fridge showcasing its delicate pastries and tarts – all ready and shiny to eat. Looking like they had just come out of the oven, I purchased a lemon meringue tart and watched as the girl carefully lifted it out and into a tiny white cake box before taping it shut with a oval yellow sticker. Holding my prized possession upright and licking my lips with anticipation, my man only had to look at me for half a second to realise I had succumbed and found something to love and so tantalising to buy. Reaching the car, I tried to hold back but could not resist a nibble or more like the whole tart, instantly savouring the sweetness of the lemon curd and the lightness of the Careme pastry and the Paddington memory came flooding back. Based in Tanunda, S.A. and owned by locals, William and Claire Wood, Careme is named after the famous Patissier, Antonin Careme (1783-1833) and after devouring the lemon meringue tart, I now know in reflection that it was definitely worth every last cent of that $19.95.

when it wasn’t rude to stare

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At a dinner table conversation last month; all I heard was “the baby is…like…the size of…this room.” Enough to pay attention when you’re in a restaurant of normal size and enough to hold a good 60 people comfortably. Looking around me and taking in the width and length of the room, I thought “no, it can’t be.” Paying slightly more attention I heard a friend describing the latest art exhibition in the Christchurch Art Gallery, “his name starts with an R, Robert something maybe but so lifelike…a must see!” In Christchurch last month specifically for a spectacular birthday celebration 72-hour stay, thoughts didn’t carry much further than cake and candles but with a spare morning and time to kill, my man and I headed to the gallery to find a queue of people waiting patiently for not a Robert something but a Ron Mueck.

I consider myself to be somewhat of an arty fart; not obsessed but I have been to my fair few share of art galleries and exhibitions around the world. Aside from staring at the Mona Lisa for 15 seconds in the Louvre, I love wandering through the MoMA when in New York and last year I spent a couple of hours walking through the Peggy Guggenheim in Venice; unable to comprehend that this was once someone’s private collection of art. However, never before has an exhibition stayed with me for so long after, as real as if I had just left the gallery, taking me back to the moment when I saw and simply stared and kept staring trying to take it all in. Ron Mueck is a first for me in this regard.


Turning the corner and stepping into the exhibition the first thing I see is Dead Dad, so fantastically real (from all the CSIs I watch) with its stubble, yellowing skin, floppy but stiff pose if not for being 2/3 smaller than an actual human. Ron Mueck is a renowned hyper-realist sculpture artist, born in Melbourne and working out of Great Britain. Discovered by Charles Saatchi after making a lifelike Pinocchio for a London play, he has made a series of human forms so lifelike in sculpture that you can’t help but stare and ponder and wonder how on earth has someone made this? Following on we come across the larger than life newborn baby who looks like it has just popped out of a giantess, with its umbilical cord laying there and its skin all creased from the pressures of labour. I am next confronted by a woman In Bed, contemplating life with her doona pulled up and her hand raised to her face. I feel like I have been that woman at some stage when all of life’s woes come to a standstill and are still unfortunately there the morning after; if only she wasn’t at least 15 metres long. Through Mueck’s processes, he manages to use resin and silicone to get the creases of the skin right when the foot bends in a stocking, to finely place hair by hair on a chin to get a 5 o’clock shadow right and to get the tautness of a muscle so correct that you can feel your own leg mimicking the sculpture before you.

I left the gallery in awe and astounded by this person’s talents. So, when you next see a poster where it announces that Ron Mueck is showing at an exhibition near you, all I can say is – go!

Thrice cooked recipe

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Keeping to my love of mushrooms, I have now made this one-pot-wonder mushroom risotto three times and as a sign of success, my man has licked the plate clean each time. With the Junior Masterchef craze about to take off this weekend, Coles has certainly lifted its game in providing shoppers with an excellent variety of mushrooms from the stringy enochi to the crunchy oyster variety to the standard button. Risotto is known to be a bit difficult to cook in terms of getting the balance right with having the right amount of stock, the constant stirring motion and keeping the rice moist and not too al dente and with this quick recipe I can definitely confirm that it makes risotto-making a breeze. Using a heap of whatever combination of mushrooms you desire, brown them in some butter and place into a bowl. With some more butter add 1 chopped brown onion and 2 cloves of crushed garlic to the mushroom pot and stir until soft before adding 2 cups of alborio rice and a dash of dry white wine. Stir briefly before adding 3 cups of hot chicken stock and return the browned mushrooms. Cover the pot tightly with foil and place into a preheated oven at 180 degrees celsius. Bake for 25 mins and just before serving, stir through some chopped chives and a handful of freshly grated parmesan. Season with pepper and you will have guaranteed deliciousness!

first feed at Fergburger

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I’m not really a fan of Jetstar or any low-frill airline for that matter. Yes, I get the whole bargain-basement-methodology when there are offers like $207 fares enticing you to be your own Hawaii 5-0 but when I travel I am partial to a bit of luxury and the very minimum I expect is a personal inflight entertainment screen, a seat where there is a gap between by knees and the next seat and a free cookie to keep my sugar levels spritely. Unfortunately on a recent leg from Sydney to Queenstown, I ate my words and boarded a Pacific Blue flight and after 3 hours of flight time, a patient wait for my red suitcase and an even longer wait to collect the keys to the hire car; I was, you could say more than chomping at the bit for some sustenance and given the absence of cookie, I was definitely in need of more than a couple of crumbs.

First stop – Fergburger.

One thing that Masterchef has done quite successfully after two record-breaking seasons is to build the celebrity-esque reputations of many a restaurant around. Our tastebuds are searching for signature dishes, savouring speciality flavours and giving their chefs Hollywood Boulevard status. Move over Quay and put your snow egg snowball to the side so you can make enough room on the plate and in the stomach for a Fergburger because the likes of a Little Lamby, Big Al or a Cockadoodle Oink are certainly not for the faint-hearted.

Go to Shotover Street, follow the beanie/ear-muff/puffa jacket crowd and cram inside to get in line for a super-heart stopper. The burgers are massive in taste and size, prices range between NZ $10-16.50 and the funny thing is – at the end, the only thought on your mind is when will you be back for more?

Fergburger @ 42 Shotover Street, Queenstown 9300 New Zealand

the importance of that first meal of the day

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Ask most nutritionists “what is the most important meal of the day” and the answer that will likely roll off their tongues is that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Most weekdays, breakfast for me on limited time consists of a smoothie made lovingly by my man which is quickly slurped down before I rush out the door and run for the bus. So when I wake up on a Saturday with far more time and the tummy is quietly rumbling, I immediately start to think what’s for breakfast? Do I poach some eggs with spinach and pancetta on some lightly buttered rye at home or do I throw some clothes on and hurry out the door to explore the big wide world of cafes at my fingertips?

This morning my man and I did the latter option and scurried around the corner to try the recently opened Caffe Dieci on Mallett Street, Camperdown Sydney. Having heard great things about this hole in the wall I was eager to see what would be on the menu to choose from. Sometimes I love a great french toast drizzled in copious amounts of maple syrup and other times, I can’t go past eggs with an assortment of sides. As I was sitting there waiting for my poached eggs, I started thinking about other breakfasts that I’ve eaten; those memorable ones that make you salivate just at the thought. Cafe Sweethearts in South Melbourne with their poached eggs and rosti obviously rates up there as my previous blog entry will attest to but locally I can never go past Flat White Cafe on Jersey Road in Woollahra and their brioche french toast or salmon omlette. Recently I also went to Bitton in Erskineville and ordered their ultimate breakfast which was poached eggs with hollandaise sauce on a bed of spinach and smoked Black Forest ham. My man ordered the exact same thing and as soon as it was placed on the table, both of us had basically inhaled it in a matter of 5 minutes, it was that good!

Back to Caffe Dieci and poached eggs with a side of prosciutto and halloumi arrived. I admit I wasn’t overwhelmed and the plate after I finished was certainly not spotless as it had been at Bitton. The eggs were a tad dry and I know I am a bit of a harsh critic, but there was no wow factor especially for the $15 charge. However the coffee was good and it was service with a smile so given its literally-around-the-corner factor I feel it will get a second chance in a couple of weekends or so…

Breakfast to me is important and no I haven’t just been to see a nutritionist. In fact it’s a critical and essential part of my weekend but then so is lunch and dinner and snacks in between because if you haven’t figured this out already, I just love to eat. Tomorrow, I think I will just play it safe and settle for some eggs at home.

Call me Homer

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I have quite an acute sense of smell and came to this sole conclusion as I was pounding the pavements along George Street, Sydney. Amongst all of the random whiffs of garbage, lingering deodorants, bad BO and greasy Maccas smells, a familiar smell floated past my nose. It was unmistakable, instantly recognisable and barely lasted a second and as I looked around trying to search for the source, I realised I was definitely having a bit of a Homer Simpson moment. Now, I am the first to admit that I have never been a big Simpsons fan but I do know that Homer loves donuts and this is what I have in common with the big yellow fella.

For a mere second the whiff of cinnamon donuts stopped me in my tracks. It’s that hot-just-piped-batter-and-rolled-in-cinnamon-smell that takes me back to being a child after school and eating one from Donut King for afternoon tea. I lick my lips now at the thought of eating a fresh and hot cinnamon donut!

Now, I realise that donuts are not the healthiest snack and don’t think that this is an everyday snack for me as I definitely consider them to be more of a treat. As the cinnamon smell whooshed on by, I had a good  think about when I had last savoured the taste….Australia Day; 26 January 2010 – I was in Byron Bay for the long weekend. Strolling around with my niece and her boyfriend, they both suddenly turned around to my man and I and adamantly insisted that we eat a Byron Bay Organic Donut. “An institution”, they cried. “A must!” Shaped more like a long churros than a circle with a hole, the Byron Bay Organic Donut ticked the rest of the boxes in being hot and crispy, doused in cinnamon and finger-licking good. It was with sadness that I learnt recently that the shop had closed down on Lawson Street however I have been assured that their stall does make regular appearances around the local markets.

Admitting to a love of donuts makes me feel a bit sheepish and slightly bogan. But on second thoughts, I am a proud donut lover and the holey cinnamon circles sit up there with my other bogan loves of iced vovos, toobs, meat pies and passiona. Homer, I’m right there standing beside you!

High Tea that brings tears to my eyes

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Thoughts of scones, tiny cucumber sandwiches, fine pastries, mini quiches and English Breakfast would come to most people’s minds when thinking of High Tea. Most people would go to the Victoria Room in Darlinghurst or the QVB Tea Rooms and some may even contemplate an extravagant celebration at the Dorchester, London to have a bit of High Tea. But when my sister recently enquired as to whereabouts in Sydney serves High Tea at night, it reminded me that not everyone knows about my type of High Tea.

This is a high tea which still involves pots of EBT served at the door in teapots of all sorts but secret squirrels replace scones and sandwiches and somewhere in a Surry Hills, Sydney location there are 100 or so people on a Thursday night who come together and unite over a shared love of music. Seated on cushions or lounges and cooling off under a paper fan, musicians take an acoustic stage and croon or play songs to their heart’s content. Suddenly the High Tea that is usually associated with high-end hotels hailing from the British Empire takes on a dramatic new light.

It was on a summer’s night in early 2010 when I went to my first High Tea for the year not having heard of this musician before or knowing what his music was like. Walking into the room, there was warm candlelight and people already chatting when I arrived and the ambience had an immediate electricity. When Renny Field moved across to the piano and started singing “Your Eyes”, I felt time stop for the duration of the song. His words brought tears to my eyes as I listened to the beautiful melody. And when I listen to the song now, it takes me right back to that moment at High Tea that I shared with the others in the room that night.

So come and find me at High Tea; I will be there tonight listening to Sam Buckingham. There may be no scones but this is a secret worth discovering for yourself!