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Category Archives: lunch

anytime now, though i’m not sure in which order, my child will awake from her nap, and my mother and my aunt will arrive on my doorstep. this will be the cue to bundle everyone off to bar italia for a late sunday lunch. who knows what treats and surprises will be in store: a tiramisu-affogato? a great big sugo stain down the front of my shirt? in fact, while getting dressed earlier, i took the child’s grubby paws into consideration, and put on a black tshirt.

there is a bar italia in london too; you’ve probably been reading about it at stellou for several months now… “the boys at bar italia this… the boys at bar italia that…”

the first time nellie took me there was about 10.30 on a tuesday night, post-drizzle, and more importantly, post-“fame, the musical” at the aldych. we were still gobsmacked by what passes for musical theatre these days (and outraged at the lack of the song, “fame”), and felt we had to sit down to something sweet to recover our sense of balance. while the hot chocolate and tiramisu were ultimately forgettable (and really, i can’t even remember if that’s what i actually had), the street theatre that unfolded before us — drunken, dischevelled yobbo taunts dapper black bouncer — was an enjoyable few minutes.

but we were back for lunch a week later, and a pizza was ordered. what a pizza!

all thin, crunchy crust with a modest amount of melty cheese. and on top, just left to wilt at their own sweet pace, several handfuls of rocket and great sheets of prosciutto. a large bottle of chili oil had preceded the pizza, and was put to good use. one of the best pizze ever, oh yes.

addendum: no saucy stains on anyone, not even the baby! a ricotta cannoli split five ways was our reward.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 21 May 2006 at 1:16 pm

permalink | filed under kid, lunch, nellie, snacks, trip

your trusty correspondent on the isle of wight, circa 1974, already cultivating a sneer of disdain for anything less than artisanal gelato (though still happy to guzzle whatever you might stick in front of her).

just as it was thirty years ago, it was my father’s idea to make a trip to the isle of wight this time ’round. what i thought was, eh, it’s in a beatles’ song; can’t be bad. we even rented a cottage.

in two days on the isle of wight, in-between car ferries, it is theoretically possible to have six, maybe eight, cream teas. this would depend on whether or not you’d have a cream tea at teatime, after substituting cream teas for all other main meals. the number of cream teas we actually ended up having is: two. hngh. but don’t hand-lettered signs like this make you want to go the extra mile?

no? what about this one?

the sign outside the first tea shoppe we tumbled into, late in the afternoon after a rainy morning spent in a flamingo park, which served up their clotted cream in hygienically sealed plastic tubs:

mmm… appetising… but after the lid was removed and the crusty yellow cream scum scraped off the top, all went according to plan.

the next day we had much more luck with cinammon scones and already-decanted cream.

but it’s not all about cream teas is it? what of the other regional british delights one may encounter on this wee island off the main island? amidst warning noises emitted by those who’d already seen behind the counter, my father ordered a cappuccino in a sandwich shoppe in an olde village. how they make it is, the guy behind the counter tears open a little sachet with the word “cappuccino” printed gaily on it, empties it into a cup, adds hot water and stirs. it’s even pre-sweetened. when it arrives at the table, it will be accompanied by a little square of good dark chocolate. if you ordered a normal coffee instead, you might whiten it with this:

“a blend of glucose syrup and vegetable fat”

i’m not saying the food on the isle of wight is not tasty. there was the first meal off the boat, in a greasy diner on the main street of ryde, where a mother sat fagging into her son’s chips, and the friendly counter woman warned me against the king-sized breakfast on the basis of it being really quite big (and also containing black pudding); the delicious and authentic indian takeaway later that night: curry, biryani and chapati eaten in the toasty warm kitchen of our cottage; and then dinner at the crab the following evening: a brie, mushroom and cranberry wellington, in which everything was wrapped in puff pastry and served with potatoes, vegetables and a jug of mustard-watercress sauce.

but it’s not all about gorging oneself on rich food is it? what of your father’s longing to rekindle the magic of your childhood, when no-one had disappointed anyone else, and years of recrimination and regret had yet to become an insurmountable heap? see, now he has a fresh baby with whom to begin anew.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 11 May 2006 at 2:18 pm

permalink | filed under cake, dinner, lunch, trip

[ this post is to be accompanied by such pictures as:
– a dumpling shaped like a goldfish
– a bowl of minted horseradish and turnip
– a pie swimming (or drowning) in custard
– a cream tea ]

the house is finally quiet. my mother and my sister, dressed in their flowery spring finery, are off at the opera, the child is asleep, and i have before me a cup of almond-scented tea from the neal street tea house in covent garden and an apple cider and cinnamon chocolate truffle from the borough market, south of the thames. you might realise that these are not typical singaporean pasttimes, and that would be because we are living it up in london.

but, hello. i have just reached into the truffle bag, and discovered that in fact, the apple cider truffle is off at the opera with my sister, and i have been left the cardamom and orange truffle. or maybe it is the extra bitter plain chocolate. it does not matter, because they are all divine.

i don’t know where the time goes. well, i do know that the first half of it disappeared into a haze of antibiotics; that tightness in my throat? from the last post? it evolved (quickly) into a demon bug that knocked me over on the train one morning, in singapore, before conjuring up a thick green phlegm and a fever of 38.7. a little over a week later, i’m weaning myself off the cough syrup, still coughing a residual cough.

in the meantime, i flew fourteen hours with a wriggly, sleepless little person strapped to my lap, and then spent three days waking up at one or three in the morning while this little person adjusted to a strange new timezone. fortunately, preparing yoghurt and strawberry breakfast at 2a.m. was only the first of many food adventures to come my way.

so. chocolate truffles at the markets, and little glass pots of fruity french yoghurt and pear and semolina pudding. salmon green curry made at home. dumplings, noodles and bubble tea in a chinatown café. a lamb burger (with a do-it-yourself condiment table) at a streetfair in greenwich. fruit pies, crumbles and lumpy custard from a greenwich pieshop. regional cuisine on the isle of wight, including a really good indian takeaway and not nearly enough clotted cream teas. chinese takeaway back in london. amazing grilled squid at the river cafe(!). a rose petal macaron at laduree(!!).

you have to walk the length and breadth of harrods to get to laduree, and in the hundred metres of sidewalk before the grand, gilt-edged entrance, the air is achingly infused with the scent of sugary donuts. turns out the door to krispy kreme, within the harrods foodhall, is just before the door to fancy french pastries.

but you have already realised, this is not blogging, merely listing. putting a sentence together requires more sleep, and tonight, all cool and drizzly, seems promising. maybe tomorrow (or next week), i shall be able to tell you more.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 23 April 2006 at 9:00 pm

permalink | filed under around town, cake, chocolate, dinner, kid, lunch, snacks, trip

there is a vague queue to get on the bus. having secured my window seat, i only hope that i do not get:
– that musty, musky old chain smoker who sucked his cheeks hollow on his cigarette waiting to get on board, exhaling downwind on everyone
– that obese woman
– any of that quartet of skanky boys, in their big shorts and thin singlets and baseball caps and dirty face scruff

in the end i get a slim, clean asian girl who eats what smells like a salty toasted cheese sandwich, and then spends the first hour of the drive drawing clothes in a sketchbook.

i’m going to canberra to renew an expired passport. a couple of months ago, on the verge of applying for australian citizenship, i called the immigration department helpline, received no help at all from cantankerous old beryl, and so i’m staying malaysian for a little while longer. i know this means that if things went awry, i would be deported to malaysia, despite having not lived there since i was six, but what the hell. it’s mercenary isn’t it, choosing citizenship on the basis of convenience?

this is my first trip away without the child, and without the boy, in forever. in my own bubble of a hotel room, i sprawl across the bed to watch “the amazing race”, and wake up at five the next morning purely on my own volition. stupid volition.

it takes about an hour to walk from the city centre to the malaysian high commission, and from there, about 40 minutes to walk along the foreshore to the national library for an exhibition of ephemera. by this time, you will feel like breakfast, even with that 6.30 cup of tea and sydney brownie under your belt. bookplate, the “not exactly a café and not quite a restaurant” at the library, serves up mushrooms on toast until 11.

see those crunchy brown bits? you have never had mushrooms on toast like these. buttery and salty, yes, but the burnt edges are a bonus. the toast — is it helga’s? — is so buttery you might contemplate not eating both slices, but do so anyway. the magazines on the rack are either australian gourmet traveller or waitrose food illustrated, and you can read them in the mozaic light of the stained glass windows. you can flip through waitrose, while eating mushrooms on toast and drinking a “chai latte” (why does it roll off my tongue to say “raspberry white chocolate frappucino”, but only wince and curdle up inside when i have to order a “chai latte”?), and then be so surprised and pleased to come across an illustration by a girl you used to know.

in the national art gallery bookshop, i bought a book on the fundamentals of illustration, because during the week i drew a horse for money, and things like this could happen more often. but when i picked up my passport later that afternoon, it turned out that the clerk had been too lazy to type in “illustrator” in the profession box, after “graphic designer”. tchk.

in that last canberra hour, i stepped into a chocolate shop in a mall and found the mother lode of desirable chocolate, emerging some time later with $19 of truffle –marzipan–marzipan–chocolate in a white paper bag. “you’ve chosen all french chocolate today,” said the counter woman, “top of the line.”

“my mother gave me a box of valrhona once,” i said, “and now i can’t go back.” counter woman didn’t need to know about the milk chocolate bar with M&Ms minis peanut butter chocolate candies at the bottom of my backpack.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 12 March 2006 at 9:53 am

permalink | filed under bookshelf, chocolate, lunch, trip

a passing comment snowballs, and before you know it, four girls congregate on a footpath in ashfield, slightly giddy from all the possibilities knocking about their heads.

not even a block from the start, the chinee-style english writing on an awning called to us from across hercules street. “MR. WONG,” it said. we walked into the path of cars to get there, this little filipino grocery, full of powdered ube this and frozen ube that, those chocolates which seem to be made of flour, many sacks of rice, and even more tins of sardines in tomato sauce. there were three brands of cooked dried green peas in water, all in little golden tins. i showed great restraint, because it was only the first stop along the way, and so i only came away with a little packet of garlic flavoured cornick… and a ten-pack of individually wrapped blueberry cream sandwich crackers. “i know exactly how these will taste,” said sue, “the cream will be all sandy.” it was the clincher, really.

two bakeries later, we were standing in an aisle in go go chinese supermarket when the shopman came up and said, “can i helptch you?” in mandarin. he was most suspicious about the surreptitious photo-taking that was going one, and wanted to know whathowwhywhy?

“is this where we get kicked out?” we wondered. but then helen pointed feebly at the amusing row of tinned peanut octopus, and i thought about how i couldn’t explain blogs in chinese, and he eventually stomped off. this meant i could buy a package of pickled mustard greens and a bottle of hot dumpling sauce. more importantly it meant sue could buy a tantalising box of crab spawn biscuits (but i might let her tell you about that one).

the counterlady at the polish deli was much more welcoming, offering to explain all the sausages behind the glass and then handing slices all round when the words became inadequate. but there were more important things than meats! on the counter, polish doughnuts! on special! and cake!

“um, what is that cake?” i asked, pointing at the one that looked like cheesecake on a layer of poppyseeds.
“that is cheesecake, with poppyseeds,” she said.
“and this one?”
“ah. that is poppyseeds with things in it. like nuts. and apple.”
“and this one, is it cheesecake with apple?”
[ noise of affirmation ]

i came away with a slab of cheesecake, with poppyseeds, and two doughnuts — tennisball-sized with a modest filling of sticky red jam, and glazed in sugar, from wednesday, so they are not fresh, and that is why they are on special — and some sour cherry confiture: 70% cherries!

and then, at the first indian spice and video shop, a masala spice mix for tea; at the second indian spice and video shop, a bag of red rice, both with deb‘s seal of approval.

the calico strap on my shoulder was starting to sink deeper to the bone as the bag filled up, so it was with great disappointment that i walked through the fragrant wonderland of the enormous fruit barn across the road. all the greens were fresh and dewy, all the eggplants (of which there were five varieties) were glossy and plump. even the 99c jar of apricot and amaretti puree — all left on the shelf.

but we weren’t done yet. there was still the chinese grocery in the underground carpark, the one that had started all this. as promised, there were two trays of chang perched on the meat counter, and a bit anticlimactically, no-one bought any. i blame the voices of chinese mothers muttering in the backs of our heads. or maybe we were just hungry and distracted.

because of the way we are, we crossed four lanes of main-road traffic to get to shanghai night for dumplings. and, as it turned out, pan fried pork buns, with crunchy brown oily bottoms. and red bean pancakes. oh, and did we want noodles? under the ‘cold noodles’ heading, we pondered.

“what is the smoked fish like?” we asked the waitress.
“orh. the fish… it is cold. and hard. and the noodles, they are cold.”
“and what kind of fish is it?” prodded deb.
the waitress gazed off into the distance. “hmph” she exhaled thoughfully.
“too many questions! we’ll have the new year cake in XO sauce… um, what’s that like?”
“ah!” beamed the waitress. “it is favourite in shanghai!”

there has not been a luncheon of starch so happily devoured before this, and after, with the grit of the last-minute crab spawn biscuits still on our tongues, we went our separate ways into the afternoon.

for me, that was straight into the bbq shop on the way back to the station, for a cup of sugar cane juice, half a soya chicken and a side of siu yoke. “anything else?” asked the shoplady. “you want to try this mochi? red bean, custard and… huasheng jiao shenme? for you, special price.” alas, graciously, i had to decline.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 26 February 2006 at 10:17 am

permalink | filed under around town, lunch, shoping

two picnics in five days! i really do enjoy a picnic, even (or maybe, especially) when the preparation, in today’s case, has been along the lines of, “let’s get something from that food court,” and “shall we take it to that park on the corner?”.

sunday afternoon, we walked down darling in the hot hot heat. stopping at about life for as long as it took to procure:
– a bag of paprika potato chips
– a punnet of blueberries and a punnet of raspberries
– a large fruit salad, consisting two kinds of melon, pineapple, mango, strawberries and blueberries (so many blueberries — the ladle girl kept scooping extra spoons of blueberries as afterthoughts!)
– a tub of fetta stuffed red peppers
– a pearl barley salad and a roast vegetable salad
– a blueberry pop for me: watermelon, blueberries and sorbet in a blender
– a bottle of organic ginger beer for the boy: the surprise at checkout was that it cost $ 5.20 for 500ml.

…then continued walking (and walking and walking) to callan park where sprawling and eating ensued. dinner that evening was unnecessary, although i suddenly found myself finishing a half-eaten bag of paprika chips, and instantly regretting it.

this afternoon, we caught a ferry into the city and stumbled into a nearby food court that was just working up to lunchtime crush. we came away with:
– a schnitzel and eggplant focaccia sandwich for the boy
– a schnitzel and avocado and lettuce (like, a lettuce patch worth of shredded lettuce) wrap for me
– a very unusual pear, fetta and walnut salad (dressed in wholegrain mustard and mayonnaise. and raisins.

we like a schnitzel, our lot. although we figure the baby probably liked the pear more, the way she shoved fistfuls of it into her mouth, one after the other without bothering with such minor technicalities as swallowing… until we hid the tub of salad and pointed her in the direction of an ugly ibis.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 22 December 2005 at 6:58 pm

permalink | filed under around town, kid, lunch

oh all right. a photo. day five of banana bread, and it’s still going strong.

we spent the lunching hours of saturday in the old neighbourhood. it was time for maeve’s twelve-month immunisations, and upon discovering that the balmain doctors would charge for the privilege, we packed maeve, half an orange and a slice of banana bread into the car and drove to the surry hills medical centre, where for children at least, it’s still free. there we encountered a frontdeskman so rude and unpleasant and snatchy of medicare cards out of my hand, that we had to immediately go next door to café mint to while away our estimated one hour wait.

and what a pleasant hour it was.

“what’s the chickpea salad like?” i asked the waiter.
“well… you’d really have to like chickpeas because there are a lot of them.”
“but what is it like? are the chickpeas crunchy, or soft… or al dente? does it come with leaves? or other vegetables?”
the waiter was very patient. “it is not like a regular salad,” he said. “there are other things in it, like apricots –”
“oh, ok, i’ll have that!”

there was also a grapefruit and almond frappé.

the chickpea salad was all chickpeas, with torn herbs and little cubes of pumpkin, and no apricots. instead, baby figs! it was a big bowl of cool, served with hot shards of za’atar toast and fried halloumi.

the baby sat calmly, mostly, and deigned to be forkfed chickpeas… until a supplier walked past with a bunch of bananas. “ba.nana.” she intoned. her eyes followed the yellow trajectory.

“na-naa.”

“naa-naaaaa.”

and suddenly the chef was striding out of the kitchen and offering her a banana. as simple as that. all i have to do now is train her to say “chickpea salad” and i’ll be set.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 20 November 2005 at 8:57 pm

permalink | filed under around town, kid, lunch

behold the bar italia iced chocolate. the surly counter boy took my order, and then turned away. when he faced front again, he held a drinking glass packed with chocolate gelato, to which he added as much cold chocolate milk as he could. and then he splashed a glug of normal milk in for good measure.

it was a luscious thing, but it threw a wrench in my post-cannelloni gelato plans. out back under the tarp, two sets of parents (three, if you count me and the boy), a baby, an aunt, a cousin and someone new, somehow managed to consume most of a lot of pasta. i turned thirty-three. my mother got on a plane. and just now, in two txts, she reports from the front:

“now in darwin to offload ill girl” and “stewardess fell, hit head, was unconscious, then vomited. suspected internal bleed.”

posted by ragingyoghurt on 13 November 2005 at 10:41 pm

permalink | filed under ice cream, lunch

are some cakes created better than others? is it just, four cakes good, two cakes bad (well, ok, less good)? if a dainty little cake sat next to a homely lamington cream sponge, i know which one i’d pick.

but there were no lamingtons on offer at la renaissance patisserie francaise, so friday lunchtime, after sharing a boeuf, leek and mushroom pie with the baby, and after she discovered how to suck lemonade and peach sirop though a straw, i picked out monsieur coupe cézanne from the display case.

he was: moist, alcohol-soaked sponge cake, mousse — chesnut mousse?, surprise chunks of marron glacé, cream, cream, cream, chocolate and pistachios, all sitting in a crisp, dark chocolate cup. he was délicieux.

but the thing is, now i also have lamingtons! [more to come on this matter…]

posted by ragingyoghurt on 7 November 2005 at 12:00 pm

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

over the weekend, i chanced upon a recipe for spinach and ricotta gnocchi. usually i like the idea of gnocchi, but i can’t imagine eating more than maybe two or three before i get bored and start looking around for, um, tiramisu or something. (strangely, i have no problem sitting and eating mounds and mounds of mashed potato, even to and beyond the point of pain.)

this recipe though, was more than just mashed potato. in fact, there was no potato at all. and just look at the picture in the magazine: so green and enticing! and covered in butter and cheese.

so yesterday, after i stopped being distracted by cake, i went up the street and bought a kilo of spinach and a wedge of ricotta, and stood at the stove for a good part of an hour, following the recipe exactly.

after i dropped the first four balls into the lightly salted boiling water, they disintegrated and looked like a bubbling swamp in the pot. hmph. the next four held together a bit more, but when i drained them and put them in a dish, they sighed into each other and became one large, soft… i don’t even think you can call it gnocchi (gnocco?).

each subsequent batch ended up being floured a bit more, and left to cook a bit longer after they had risen to the surface of the water, so by the end it looked less swampy-mulchy and more italian cuisine. sadly, by this time it had been rejected by the baby (and in a cruel twist i ended up making her mashed potato instead, and baked beans), and forsaken by the boy (who thought it was tasty but soft and lacking meat, and then quickly moved on to cake and ice cream), which is why this afternoon, i ate a large plate of them for lunch.

they were still softer than the magazine ones look (oh, maybe the food stylist put some sort of firming agent in to stop them collapsing under the lights, yes yes, that is my excuse), but gawrsh, so yummy.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 26 October 2005 at 3:54 pm

permalink | filed under dinner, kid, kitchen, lunch

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