a great love

I am a hopeless romantic. Not a Mills and Boon type by any means but I love a good rom-com, I still subscribe to Polka Dot Bride to see all the beautiful weddings showcased even though I was married almost 12 months ago and I do believe without a doubt that my single girlfriends will find true love despite the shrinking Sydney male population of remaining eligible bachelors!

When I heard the news that Elizabeth Taylor had passed away earlier this week, I went online to ascertain more details and read a recent quote from her, “I have been supremely lucky in my life in that I have known great love.” Not just any old, plain love but a great love! Whether or not she was referring to the renowned great love between her and Richard Burton or any of her other numerous husbands and lovers; I found this to be very inspiring and and a terrific insight into her state of mind especially at the end of such a coloured life; despite the loss and heartache that goes hand in hand with the incredible highs and ultimate lows of a great love.

So what what defines a “great love“? I believe my great love is characterised by plenty of passion, equal amounts of respect, a solid friendship, undeniable sexual chemistry, a shared sense of belonging and is ever-changing and evolving. I hope this is how Elizabeth saw and felt it too…

Go…Eat…Love!

No, I have not gone mad and forgotten the name of my blog nor confused the flow of the verbs. Instead, let me explain…

It’s no secret that Mr ELG and I love to travel and go places. It could be a local getaway, a longer road-trip or aboard a jet-plane. Doesn’t really matter where we go because somehow it is always a given that by the time we come home, we are numerous kilograms heavier luggage-wise…all due to the innocent jam jar (most likely to be plural).

Fact: Mr ELG loves JAM. Quite unlike anyone I have ever met before. This condiment love-affair also extends to marmalades, chutneys and honeys ~ savoury or sweet and at any time that you happen to open up my pantry, there will always be a jar or maybe 10! Blackberry, Fig and Raspberry rate up there at the top of flavour chart but anything goes really. Personally, pre-Mr ELG; my favourite spread of choice on hot toast was always Nutella. A definite chocoholic morning or night; I love it thickly laden and and spread right to the edge of the crust. Jam for me as a spread was hit and miss, although from time to time, I have bought a jar of Bonne Maman’s apricot variety but I will tell you now, I do not display the same enthusiasm for jam as Mr ELG.

Last year in Tasmania, on a road-trip up the Freycinet coast leaving Port Arthur behind and en route to Swansea, we began to see signs for Kate’s Berry Farm. Unfortunately the sun had just started setting so we cruised past the signs promising to go back the next day to explore. The next day’s exploration did not disappoint and after a flurry of sugary taste-testing, we left the quaint berry farm with two jars of raspberry jam; sugarless and another variety with Cointreau.

Back at home, I remember twisting open the sugarless raspberry jar and within a week, its contents were gone. Spread, devoured by both of us ~ it was happiness in a jar.

A week ago, it was time to clean out the pantry. Looking at the shelf with its numerous jars we had collected various jams from our travels sourced from Maggie Beer, Beerenberg, St Dalfour and Christmas Hills. And there at the back behind the 20 other jars was a familiar looking black and white label. Long lost but certainly not forgotten, there had obviously been a bit of a backlog of jam to get through. It was the other jar; the Raspberry with Cointreau jam we had bought from Kate’s Berry Farm. I must admit at this moment of discovery, I let out a little squeal (it’s always the simplest things!) Throwing aside my pantry cleaning chore, bread was quickly toasted and to eat this jam was priority!

And so I deem this post GoEatLove…pretty similar I think to “I came, I saw, I conquered” as this is what I did. Having gone to Kate’s Berry Farm, I ate some jam and fell in love, on par with Mr ELG’s enthusiasm. Simple as that but admittedly spreading this Cointreau one a bit thinner; in order to enjoy every last morsel!

Kate’s Berry Farm @ 12 Addison Street, Swansea TAS

Little Italy on Hastings Street, Noosa

I always maintain…a great restaurant is one you go back to twice, three times and then who’s really counting at that point? Especially when it’s located in another state, it’s 2 hours away and that’s just flight time.

In terms of what Aussies love to eat, I am certain that Italian food rates up there in most people’s top 5 and well for me it certainly does. I know Chinese, Indian and Japanese are favourites too in terms of our ever-evolving palates but for me, #1 is my love for a food that hails from that gorgeous Mediterranean boot of a country! I love to whip up a spag bol after work (from scratch – none of this bottled sauce for me please!), I often crave for rich lasagne with lots of bechamel sauce, I have boxes of Pastabilities Roast Duck with Star Anise ravioli in my freezer (just in case) and I cannot ever go past ordering spaghetti/linguine/fettuccine/tagilatelle/pappardelle marinara when dining in an Italian restaurant. I immediately scan a menu for this when I am in a restaurant and if I have been there before I know what I am ordering before I have sat down.

This was the case when I went back to Lindoni’s on Hastings Street, Noosa at the beginning of March this year. It was just under two years ago that I was in Noosa for the jazz festival and I dined at this al fresco Italian restaurant with black and white checkerboard tiles, handpainted pictures of Positano adorning the walls and knowledgeable waiters milling around telling me of the night’s specials. Grazing over the menu which was in both Italian and English, my eyes quickly picked up on Fettuccine Marinara al Cartoccio. The waiter explained that this was not your average marinara but baked and served in a paper bag and that this was a “fine decision!” Fine was an understatement ~ magnificent and eternally etched into memory is a better description!

Two weekends ago, I was back in Noosa on a family weekend. I said to my sisters who share my love of Italian food, “I promise this will be the highlight.” I didn’t lie. While the others purveyed the menu and ordered other tantalising tit-bits, one of my sisters and I ordered just as I had two years ago. Not just your average waiter, Tony also picked up my growing 32-week belly and omitted the mussels on my order this time around (as I mentioned above; ever-knowledgeable and on the ball). Just as my hunger pains peaked, out came the dish ~ the baking paper was removed with a flick of the wrist and out poured a steaming yet delightful version of Marinara and for the next 20 minutes it was all about me and the plate and my love affair continued.

The home-made tiramisu finished off the night for me and confirmed that when in Noosa, do as the Italian lovers do and go to Lindoni’s. Book so you’re not disappointed as the restaurant fills up most nights. And now I wonder when will I get back to Noosa next…?

Lindoni’s @ 13 Hastings Street, Noosa Heads QLD

black or white; one sugar or two?

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”

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?

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

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

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!

the importance of that first meal of the day

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

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!