ragingyoghurt

Category Archives: cake

i thought i’d escaped the cold that the kid brought home from school the other week, but i was fooled. it was just biding its time, and when it finally struck last thursday, it gave little indication that it would be sticking around for more than a week, and certainly no warning at all that it would turn into a raging sinus infection that would block up my nasal passages for two whole days, and then cause alternating numbness and pain (though mostly pain) in the entire right side of my face, as well as a disconcerting and piercing ache in my right ear. this is day number three of pain beneath cheekbones, dizziness, and funky rainbow snot. not to mention the green goblin gunk that i still keep coughing up from my lungs.

at least i can breathe through my nose again. aside from that, i was especially happy to get my taste back.

because this afternoon i got to fully appreciate the cereal killer from adriano zumbo patissier. it looks like a glass topped in frosties, does it not? but they lacked the caustic sweetness of this most cherished childhood breakfast cereal. instead these comforting layers of vanilla-flecked creme anglaise, condensed milk jelly, “milk bottle chantilly” — variations on a theme of soft — and yes, crunchy cereal, were the perfect mild and milky pudding for this convalescing correspondent.

i have been remiss in eating my way through the latest zumbo collection, but bel has been taking inventory over here. nice job, lady!

posted by ragingyoghurt on 26 June 2010 at 12:07 am

permalink | filed under cake

i’ve been juggling projects, and the fairground music (metaphoric) in the background is at a pace that is at the same time jaunty and unsettling, rather than frantic and horrifying. i have new spectacles, with a new — lower! — prescription, which has made it such that my left eye no longer feels like it’s being wrenched out of its socket after a not unreasonable amount of time in front of the computer. the constant rain has also been a help, keeping me inside, hunched beneath my mossy green poncho, with my trusty oil heater close by. really, i can’t complain; it’s all good.

it’s been raining for just over a week now. last sunday, we stepped into the grey and wet, and onto the slick deck of a sydney ferry bound for circular quay. we were there mostly to go to the MCA zine fair, and indeed we must’ve done four or five laps of the trestle table maze, because the kid has a girl crush on sonya gee and spent much of her time at the fair nestled in sonya’s lap behind her stand of ‘kind of like a party bag for the unwell’ — “zomg you’re sick”.

in between, we delved into the MCA proper and made a half-hearted attempt at appreciating the biennale, and headed out across the road for lunch and pastry in the drizzly courtyard at la renaissance patisserie.

we started off sharing a baguette filled with poached chicken and aioli, and it was pleasant and all, but we knew we were just passing the time until dessert. unfortunately, there were no rose cream macarons on offer that day (my number one favourite, you may remember from before), so we made do with a trio of jasmin (number two favourite), passionfruit-chocolate, and cassis. the la renaissance macaron is consistently perfect: i have never encountered a brittle hollow shell, and the plump, moist biscuits hold a good amount of well-flavoured filling.

at the counter, the kid had also requested this sunny dome of a gateau — the mango-jasmin mousse cake. beneath the golden jelly skin, it was lush and light, and the two separate mousses atop a thin sponge base burst with fruitiness. not quite halfway through though, the kid stopped, quite bewildered, and whispered urgently, “there are strange beans in here.” upon investigation, i uncovered an entire nest of pinenuts hidden in the mousse, which is all fine and good if you like pinenuts… but we don’t. here’s a fun rainy day activity: pick all the covert pinenuts out of your otherwise enjoyable mango-jasmin mousse cake.

the rainy day fun continued once i got home with my bundle of swag:

two issues of vanessa berry‘s “disposable camera”, each one a rambling little freeform narrative. one has an intriguing recipe for red rice involving a whole tomato, and i will surely give it a try. the other has an amazing fold-out thought map and a reference to the one bit of “microserfs” that i remember: where one of the characters has a meltdown and locks himself in his office, and his colleagues, concerned, slip flat foods like cheese slices under the door to him. i also got some sweet mini comics from miss helen, to whom we were recently formally introduced and with whom we shared pizza and table-top drawings of kawaii cupcakes.

a couple of aisles down, i got a tiny and adorable japan guide from dudley redhead, and the heartfelt memoirs of one girl’s relationship with tamagotchis. (the girl’s name is zombetty.)

from the table of georgia perry and my candy castle, i procured “nu yoik”, a dazzling technicolor tribute to new york, in photographs and hand-drawn type. the kid picked the hilarious “kitten club”, full of cheesy cat pictures improved through the power of collage.

from the same table, i got a two-pack of mini posters: “things to know”, containing such hand-lettered gems as fetes are fun, and absolutely everyone should own a yellow + white striped beach towel, and everyone has two stomachs. one is solely for dessert. so true.

and then, from, uh, the same table, i could not go past the little compendium of illustrated junk food, nor the “save room for cake” colouring book, whose page of macaroons (sic) you would have seen beneath the macarons i told you about earlier.

i found a bunch of typewritten stories from maddy phelan, of which “ladybeard” — about her physical and psychological struggles with, and eventual embracing of, her hirsuteness — was particularly engaging; i still don’t know quite what to do with my hair. i also really liked “POTATOES” (much the same way i like potatoes), with its quirky little drawings and its potted history of… potatoes:

back in my day, everything was made out of potatoes.

we had to walk 15 miles to buy a sack of potatoes and they only cost 5c. or perhaps it was 5 shillings. i can’t remember. and i’ll have you know, our shoes were made out of potatoes.

and so on.

the bumper zine of the collection is lee tran lam‘s sold-out “speak-easy #11: the french issue”, really a magazine of interviews and recollections interspersed with photographs stuck down using ribbon and decorative masking tape. i’m still savouring my way through it, but i especially liked the list of memorable food experiences over lee tran’s four visits to france. the aisle of decorative sugar in the bon marché food hall in paris holds a special place in my heart too!

posted by ragingyoghurt on 30 May 2010 at 2:17 am

permalink | filed under around town, art, bookshelf, cake, kid

back in sydney, i wasted no time in recapturing a little bit of european je ne sais quoi. a week after touching down i talked singapore girl into a spot of luncheon at le grand cafe. we have figured out by now, that the best time for lunch at le grande cafe is “early”. just before noon, there are no queues, several empty tables, and a glass case full of options.

all morning, i’d been thinking of the terrine and cornichons that i’d enjoyed on a previous occasion. i considered maybe branching out and trying the duck liver parfait with brioche. however, once i discovered that the baguette on offer that day was filled with duck confit, my choice was made.

they showed up at the table a little while later, one for each of us. the sandwich had been freshly toasted, and there was a satisfying crunch to the baguette before it gave way to succulence: i was pleased to find that the bread was generously buttered, and the filling dressed with mayonnaise, and of course, to start with, there was a good amount of naturally occurring duck fat. it all made for a very moist and tasty mouthful. the slices of crisp, sweet onion provided a good foil to the fat, as did a little dimpled bottle of orangina.

we had planned ahead and picked our desserts when we ordered our sandwiches at the counter, to save us from rejoining the queue when the lunch crowd eventually swept into the cafe around 1. the attentive waitstaff brought them to the table as soon as we were done with the baguettes.

for me: the caramel tart, which turned out to be more of a very nice pastry shell filled with a sort-of creme brulee. the surface of it lacked the crackly, sugary shell of a proper creme brulee, but the mild caramel flavour and light custardy texture was pleasing all the same. the jaunty little beret of a biscuit bore a striking resemblance to a cookie from famous amos.

singapore girl had the petit pot au chocolat, which turned out to be too much chocolat for a girl who had just eaten a baguette filled with three kinds of fat. beneath the nutty crumble topping was a deep expanse of rich, dark, chocolate. at the bottom of that, was a puddle of thick caramel. perhaps she should not have also ordered a hot chocolate as a postprandial bevvie; there was still a good amount of pudding left when the waitress came to clear the table. (by contrast, the caramel tart was completely gone.)

we rolled out the door then, and had barely gone ten metres when we came across gaffa, three floors of art space / shop / cafe housed in a handsome pink heritage building. downstairs it’s little rooms of covetable and affordable contemporary jewelry and objet d’art; upstairs it’s galleries (and studios) around a central sunlit airwell.

one of the exhibitions we perused most appreciatively was food&company, an unprecious curation of food-related stuff: photographs, drawings, tiny interactive installations, and some lovely crockery. here’s the flourishing, by gemma o’brien.

ahh… so nice to see the flourishing of unstuffy, inspiring art space in the heart of this grimy city.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 22 May 2010 at 12:21 am

permalink | filed under around town, art, cake, lunch

it had become a habit towards the end. a couple of times a day, i’d summon the airline website, and click on the special link for updates on the volcano situation. wednesday, when we were due to fly, i clicked and read that airspace was gradually opening up but that our flight, already rebooked from the sunday past, was cancelled.

so i called the airline to change our flight once again, maybe for the coming weekend, and instead of the regular hold music, i heard a recorded announcement that the cancelled flight had in fact been reinstated. i was so stunned that i wasn’t even sure i’d heard right. i stayed on long enough to speak with a real person, who said that, yes, we’d be flying that night.

🙁

it was mid-morning, and my mother was out buying cuts of pork and chicken so that she could make dumplings and pies for the long days ahead. i sent her a txt. i also sent one to my sister, beavering away at her deskjob, and she wrote back shortly afterward: i see i do not deal well with change.

my mother showed up at the door a half hour later, with bags of meat. stoically, she began making a tray of chicken pies. i went downstairs and attempted to pack two weeks of accumulations and roughly four days of vague happy plans into my big black baggage.

the night before, we’d sat, the four of us exiles (and honorary exile) in volcanic ashland, at a not-too grimy laminate table at HK diner in chinatown. spread in front of us: a platter of peking duck, a saltfish and chicken hotpot, a large dish of noodles fried up with nothing but beansprouts. i gazed fondly at the expanse of shiny food, and said, “so this is what it feels like, to be a refugee”. oh how we laughed at our good fortune.

now, fate laughed at us. outside it was warm and sunny; inside, behind shutters, i wrapped jam jars in knits and nestled them tetris-like and fingers crossed in a cradle of folded tshirts.

but we still had to eat. a little past lunchtime, the kid and i left my mother rolling out puff pastry, and headed up the road towards euphorium bakery. it was late enough that most of the sandwich counter had been depleted — only a few lay forlorn amidst the crumbs of the empty cabinet. i was too sad to eat a regular sandwich, so i picked an alternative from the display: the whoopee.

back home, the others ate their sandwiches as i finished up my packing, while a disagreeable feeling gnawed at my stomach. when i was done, i made myself a cup of tea and ate half the whoopee. under different circumstances, i’m sure it would have been delicious: a couple of moist, cakey, dark chocolatey biscuits held together by a respectable amount of lightly sweetened cream. as it was, i ate it too quickly, all hungry and preoccupied, and it caught in my throat like a handful of dry crumbs.

the other half i left for my sister, and she ate it standing up in the kitchen when she returned that evening, while we waited for the taxi to show up to take us to the airport. i think she found it… bittersweet. the chicken pies were golden on the counter. the pork dumplings would just have to wait for another day.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 18 May 2010 at 10:40 am

permalink | filed under cake, chocolate, nellie, trip

ten days into our london holiday, i found myself on hold on the phone, cup of tea going cold, waiting to speak to the airline about possibly resheduling our flight home. we were due to leave that night, but the airports were still closed due to ashy skies. three hours and forty-two minutes of hold music later, i had five minutes of pleasant chat with a helpful man in india, and hung up with a numb and sweaty ear, and a new departure date three days away.

with a whoop, we pulled some clothes on and burst out into the sunshine. the columbia road flower market would still be on for a good three hours or so. though of course, we weren’t there for the flowers, oh no.

i still had fond memories of my cupcake at treacle from four, count ’em, four years ago. where does the time go, i ask you. such worrisome concerns dissipated as we moseyed about the shop, which seems to have doubled in size since our last visit. there were some very covetable bits of crockery on display, as well as candles in such flavours as cucumber sandwiches.

and there were the cupcakes, in two sizes and several variations of chocolate and vanilla, displayed in large drawers behind the glass counter at the front. the smiley shopgirl was dressed up like the technicolor 50s, and gamely encouraged us to choose exactly which cupcake we wanted. mine was perfectly nice — the cake itself had a light chocolate taste and a fine, crumbly texture, and there was just enough of the not-too-sweet frosting — although much of my enjoyment came from standing in a doorway, trying to keep out of the way of the flower market crowd, by a window display of novelty puppy dog mugs.

i had also been looking forward to visiting rob ryan‘s shop, ryantown, which did not disappoint, filled as it was with his wonderfully schmaltzy papercuts. even the plate glass window was not spared, nor a very desirable umbrella with £45 price tag.

resisting the urge to buy stuff makes me hungry, so i was pleased when we made it to the end of the road, and my sister pointed out campania gastronomia, where lunch could be had. ’twas a homely sort of place, with rickety old tables and chairs, yellowing snapshots tacked to the wall, and a clatter of mismatched cutlery and vintage china. every torta and pudding on show looked hopelessly homemade too, in a good way, mostly.

but we wanted savoury. to share, a very pleasing antipasto board with three sorts of cheese in different degrees of stinky saltiness, and as many kinds of cold meat including great pink circles of pistachio mortadella. there were slippery strips of marinated capsicum, and olives, and hunks of bread drizzled in oil, and even after that, i still thought that i’d be able to tackle the sausage risotto.

i was wrong. it was a veritable lake of salty, buttery rice, with nuggets of meaty sausage all the way through. it was delicious, and i wished i could’ve eaten more of it. as it was, i couldn’t eat more of anything, not even the fat chocolate biscuits i’d seen on the way in, sandwiched with ricotta, and then wrapped up in a twist of greaseproof paper.

we were all smiles though. we felt like we’d won the grand prize, not having to get on the plane that night. the possibilities were endless.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 14 May 2010 at 12:51 am

permalink | filed under cake, kid, lunch, trip

i don’t know if you know, but i LOVE pizza. i do. i don’t love bad pizza, when the base is too bready, or the cheese too thick, gluggy, or yellow. and yet, i am by no means a pizza snob; i will happily eat ham and pineapple pizza, if the base and cheese don’t offend.

one monday evening, we sat up front on a double decker bus, and raced (like snails) through peak hour traffic, across town, to make it to dinner at pizza east. the restaurant was all unpolished floorboards and exposed beams, white subway wall tiles and wooden tables worn smooth. the windows were of the sort of glass that people don’t make anymore. the napkins were gingham.

there was a heightened sense of excitement, the anticipation of pizza that has come well recommended. we inhaled the ethereal sea bass carpaccio – pale and translucent slices with a a hint of fennel and chilli. we picked our way through a lovely salad of lettuce, with pancetta, hazelnuts and pear in a pleasingly mild gorgonzola dressing. and then the pizza arrived, and there were no other sounds at the table, besides, “mmmmmm…” and “slurp”.

you would not ordinarily think of “slurp”, but i should explain that it was a veal meatball pizza with prosciutto, sage, lemon, parsley and cream. you would not ordinarily think of “cream”, but there you go. it wasn’t a creamy pizza by any means; it just meant that everything was covered in a blanket of succulence under which all the flavours sang in sweet harmony. truly, it was like eating angels. the base was blistered and puffy, a little charred from being in the woodfire oven, perfection.

there was also a zucchini pizza with taleggio, and another one of spicy sausage — very spicy — with broccoli, and by the end of it we thought we might be so full that we might not be able to manage dessert.

and yet…

if we thought we had a winner in the meatball pizza, the salted chocolate caramel tart completely took out the grand champion trophy. it was made up of two distinct, yet barely perceptible layers. up top it was a smooth chocolate ganache, which would have been just fine on its own in a regular chocolate tart. and down below. rrraaarrrr.

down below was a dense, soft, sticky caramel, cooked dark. it was so salty that you almost might’ve thought something had gone wrong. but no, everything was completely all right. better, even, as the initial salty burst melted away into a rich, deep carameliciousness. in conjunction with the chocolate, it wreaked all manner of sweet-salty havoc in my mouth.

this is now the salted chocolate caramel tart against which all other salted caramel tarts will be judged. no wonder the dollop of thick cream stands so tall and proud in its company. even as the last brown skiddies were scraped off the plate, i was fantasising about getting a slice to take away.

lurking in the back you will see its worthy competitor: a maple pannacotta, whose delicate texture belied a bold maple flavour. a shard of sweet biscuit, and a dribble of macerated raisins were the perfect foil. this too, was gone in a whisper.

our stomachs, on the other hand, distended to their final, painful limits, demanded in no uncertain terms that we summon a taxi home. and so we did.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 6 May 2010 at 10:35 pm

permalink | filed under cake, chocolate, dinner, trip

we blinked as we re-entered the sunny sunday. we’d been hiding out in the dim cavern that is the london BMI IMAX cinema, wearing dark glasses, stretching our hands out towards the floating cheshire cat. “alice in wonderland”, in 3D, was a rollicking rollercoaster ride — in spite of the curious bit of freaky styley dancing at the end — but after a couple of contraband movie snacks, we were ready for the main event.

a short way across town, upstairs at fortnum and mason, there is a restaurant called, the parlour. it’s a decadent ice cream shoppe straight out of the 50s with a baroque (rococo?) sensibility. there they will serve you a sandwich, or a salad, and you will order one or the other — or both — and it will be a competent affair. however, you will know that it is only a little something to prepare your stomach for what is to follow.

what followed, for me, was a “lazy sundae afternoon”, which entailed

strawberries and 12 year old balsamic vinegar, vanilla bean and frosted strawberry and shortbread ice creams blended with strawberry coulis, crushed meringues, whipped cream and fresh strawberries.

it certainly made an impact as it arrived at the table, served in an enormous pink goblet of heavy cut glass. such fun! all those bits of crumbly meringue! multiple biscuits! a veritable cloud of whipped cream! the taste of strawberries through everything was quite lovely, but perhaps in the end, the overall impression was just that it was… nice.

which is not a bad thing, certainly, and i did not complain as i ate the lot. but i think the ice cream could have been better: more luscious, a little less frosty in parts.

more, in fact, like the coupe we had at afternoon tea not quite a week later and just a couple of blocks down, at the wolseley. i wish i had a picture to show you, but their no-photo policy is stark on the front page of their menu. you will just have to believe me when i tell you that the combination of crushed meringue, lemon curd and lemon yoghurt ice cream, whipped cream and flaked almonds makes for a very luscious sundae indeed. i think of it still, with a sigh, this pale yellow beauty in a frosty silver bowl.

aside from the lemon meringue coupe, we also had a perfunctory round of afternoon tea (a three-tiered tray to share between four) and a slice of treacle tart, which was light and lemony, and possessed none of the sickly sweetness that you might expect. the pastry was just perfect, and the filling, pleasantly sticky, well, that was perfect too. my mother — quite out of character — must have had four, if not five, mouthfuls of it, and i feared i might have to stab her with my fork to get her to stop.

such blissful eating amidst the bustle — a constant stream of tea-takers swarmed through the restaurant, but the waitress never hurried us along. for a moment, this little stretch of banquette seating under the high ceilings and marble pillars, it felt like home.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 5 May 2010 at 12:32 pm

permalink | filed under cake, ice cream, trip

in the days leading up to easter, the cupcake bakery made me an offer i couldn’t refuse. from their gleaming little outpost in the myer-to-QVB walkway, rows of festive cupcakes beckoned. this one, a chocolate cupcake with tiny speckled chocolate eggs nestled in an enormous swirl of pink frosting, pretty much grabbed me by the face and told me i should take it home.

so i did, and the kid enjoyed it very much. she was kind enough to allow me a small bite of the cake, as well as one of the eggs, so i can tell you that the cake was light, and not as dry as it has been on occasion, but the egg, alas, was compound. still, it was all the fuel she needed to put the finishing touches on her hat for the school easter bonnet parade to be held the following day.

and would the rains hold? would sodden papier mache crises be diverted? yes.

and now, some days later, we find ourselves at the mercy of this fickle singaporean weather. it was hovering around 30 when we arrived a couple of night ago. yesterday it was rainy, and almost refreshing. today it’s back up to 34. there is most of a big, fat rava masala dosai under my belt — it cost all of $3 — and i’m struggling against the urge to have a big, fat afternoon nap. the battle could go either way.

next stop: old blighty.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 5 April 2010 at 6:10 pm

permalink | filed under around town, cake, kid, lunch, trip

quick! before i disappear down another warren of werk…

the next day, i finally made it to black star pastry. i’d known about this pastry shop for almost 18 months, but never felt compelled to make the trek to newtown. clearly my devotion to grunge only extends as far as listening to 20-year-old pearl jam records and harboring a secret penchant for plaid flannel shirts. the main drag is such… a drag, but a little way down australia street this comforting little nook welcomed us with aircon and neat rows (and bounteous jumbles) of sweet and savoury treats.

the kid made her choice — “sausage roll!” — within seconds of eyeing the pie cabinet in the back before whisking herself back out onto the footpath. meanwhile, there i was, nose to glass case while she sat almost patiently outside pondering the philippe starck gnome stool. my gaze hovered between the black olive baguette stuffed with streaky serrano ham and parmesan, and the golden brown wheel of pastry by the cash register.

you will see that the pastry won, an intriguing wedge of organic weed strudel served with a slab of fresh ricotta and a dollop of plum relish. (i did not enquire about the provenance of the weeds, but i trust they were not related to the scrabbly shoots at our feet.) despite being served at room temperature, the thin pastry still delivered a compelling crunch. the dense and tangled filling, eaten alone, tasted dark green and pleasantly bitter. smeared with ricotta and the sticky sweet and tangy relish, it took on a whole range of complex and happy flavours and textures in my mouth.

by this stage, deborah and LJ had shown up, weak and exhausted from their encounter with the predatory car salespeople of parramatta road, and clearly in need of sustenance. they ended up with a lamb pie each, because deb felt that it might be something they wouldn’t want to share. quite. what showed up was a sturdy-looking puck of a pie, all puffy and golden, filled with tender shredded lamb and vegetables in a light sauce. no gummy meat adhesive here!

it was with regret that i scraped the last strand of bitter green weed from my plate; the silver lining was dessert! my mind was set on the strawberry, watermelon and rose cake, for i had been thinking about it since seeing it over at the unbearable lightness of being hungry many months ago. it was every bit as dreamy as i had imagined: layers of light, nutty dacquoise sandwiching cream and thin slices of fresh watermelon. the combination of creamy and crisp and juicy and sweet was most agreeable, though i failed to detect any discernible rose flavour. the kid began a stealthy attack on the top of the cake, poaching a strawberry, then a half blueberry, then a pistachio, then — brazenly — another strawberry; i had to fend her off with a fork.

she had ordered the vanilla pannacotta topped with a delicate lime jelly into which slices of papaya and slivers of fresh ginger had been set. alas, it proved too gingery for her, and she abandoned it a little way in. i wasn’t quite willing to do an outright trade, but sampled enough of it to report that it tasted fruity and fresh, with a definite bite from the ginger — a perfect treat for a hot afternoon, until the pannacotta liquified beneath the autumnal sun.

when the kid had eaten as much of my cake as i’d let her, she turned her attention to deb’s tarte tatin. again, the pastry was golden brown delicious, and the enormous chunks of soft, caramelised apple most divine.

i may have to rethink my aversion to newtown. perhaps it will not seem quite so out of the way if i make it the destination. black star is surely worth the buses and trains, the grit and the smoke, the draining crush of humanity.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 23 March 2010 at 2:52 pm

permalink | filed under around town, cake, lunch

i’m filling in a questionaire at the moment, and the number one question is: what is your secret food shame? it took me aaages to think of something. i mean, i eat a lot of crap, but i’m not necessarily ashamed of it. i recently came to the conclusion that my favourite food may well be hot chips, but i wear that badge proudly. (figuratively, mind; i might now have to set about making an actual thing with a pin in it, oh boy!) i don’t like oysters? is it not possible to have a dedicated interest in food while studiously avoiding those slimy, putrid bivalves? sure!

and then it struck me: my secret food shame is that i horde food. i don’t mean to. behold, this rather dramatic looking chocolate mooncake that i won off grab your fork way back in — ahem — september last year. where does the time go, i ask you!

do not fear. it has been cryogenically preserved in my fridge, still sealed in its ornate plastic packet with its little sachet of desiccant. i broke it open this afternoon, desperate for a mid-annual-report-layout snack. the bag emitted a barely perceptible sigh as i cut it open; at last the mooncake would fulfill its destiny.

it was the smell that struck me: an aroma so rich and chocolatey that i was surprised when i bit into the skin, and discovered it actually wasn’t. instead it was mild and cakey, with an undercurrent of regular mooncake pastry. no, the chocolate lay beneath.

GAH. a big, moist mouthful of fudgy chocolate. mmm… quite trufflicious. and here’s the surprise: a pure white heart of mochi. well, ok. so i wasn’t so surprised. having eaten a couple of them not quite — ahem — six months ago, i knew of the chewy treat within. and also, there’s the sticker on the pack that says, “o-mochi mooncake”.

yes folks, this is mooncake innovation at its… well, that level a little way short of “finest”. the mochi isn’t really there for flavour i think, but it does a good job breaking up the mass of sweet, sweeet, flavoured lotus seed paste — mellows out the flavour while providing some thought-provoking texture. and how striking it is, against the chocolate.

i like it. taste aside, i love the sharp impressions in the skin, from the mould. it looks like it’s been carved out of ebony, no? the macha omochi mooncake looked to be an objet d’art crafted in jade. when mooncake season comes round again, i’ll be looking out for these in the usual chinese grocery shops.

so yes, i am a little bit embarrassed that it’s taken me six months to eat it. but hip hip hurray for those food technicians who engineered this long life mooncake, still delicious after all that time.

anyway. the reason i’m filling in this questionaire is that a picture i submitted on a whim to eat. drink. blog. was selected to be part of the SBS photo exhibition at the inaugural australian food and drink bloggers’ conference in melbourne this coming weekend. hopefully it doesn’t melt away into a little puddle, my snapshot of a watermelon and pineapple ice pop, amongst such illustrious, gorgeously styled, DSLR macro company.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 17 March 2010 at 11:46 pm

permalink | filed under blog, cake, chocolate, snacks, werk

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