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Category Archives: lunch

aloha! bet you didn’t even know that i was gone… but i was! it was my birthday last week, and my father shouted us a trip to hawaii. funny, my mum brought with her three fat novels and just a couple of hundred US dollars, because she thought there’d be nothing to do but sit on the beach and feel bored.

me, i did my research beforehand, and noted that there was a gap close to the hotel. what did end up being a surprise was that our hotel was a stroll away from the rodeo drive of waikiki, and a brisk walk in the other direction took us straight to macy’s.

but of course, it was all about how much american junk food i could eat in a week. my first move was to take up the two-for-a-dollar offer on pop tarts at the enormous drugstore at the local mall.

i also got myself a slice of the famous ted’s bakery chocolate haupia pie. this one i actually procured from the deli section of a supermarket in the mall (yes, yes, i spent a lot of time at the mall, eight hours in one day if you must know, and my mother and i returned to the hotel to discover that my father had already tried to notify the police); there were two kinds available — one which was merely labelled, haupia chocolate pie, and the one i ended up with, ted’s pie chocolate haupia. i asked a store employee what the difference was, and he replied that the former was made instore, and that they were trying to copy ted. so i asked him which one he liked better, and he paused, and his eyes darted, and he said, “well. the ted’s one is pretty good.” so thank you, shop boy, it was pretty good, with a rich, dark layer of chocolate pudding below, and a light, fragrant layer of coconut pudding above, and a cloud of whipped cream above that.

the kid and i split it, and a blueberry pop tart for breakfast the next morning.

we also ate a lot of japanese food, natch, the highlight of which was probably a tuna and shiso leaf inside-out maki on our last night. and then unexpectedly, i ate quite a bit of mexican food. more, anyway, than you’d think, for hawaii.

behold: the tamale platter from the foodcourt (in the mall) on our second day there. two tamales from a choice of cheese, pork and chicken, and three sides from a choice of… plenty. already wilting from the lack of fresh vegetable accompaniments to american meals, i picked pineapple salsa, macerated oranges, and spicy black beans. and three kinds of salsa. and a flowery drink called, “jamaica”. the corn chips were complimentary. i did not get through it all.

i had not had tamales before, and now i know that they are like chinese zhongzi, except made from cornmeal, and thus possibly stodgier. the cheese one was pretty good until it cooled down and congealed, and the pork one was pretty good fullstop, but i would not necessarily have them again.

on my birthday, we were away from civilisation, walking on ancient volcanos on the big island, and sustenance came from the cafeteria dining hall at the lone, appropriately named hotel on the edge of the national park — volcano house. it was not hot and burny up the volcano, as you might imagine, but cold and drizzly, and tinged with sulfurous gasses. the one hot food option was a tub of chili and rice, so i had that, and because it was my birthday, i also picked a blueberry pie from the glass cabinet. the pie was flown in from spokane, WA… it was nice and all, but i kinda wish it had been trucked up from ted’s.

as i write this, i’m realising that i didn’t actually get around to that much american junk food after all. i must have finally realised my limits, or all those lectures from my good mother about trans fats finally found a receptor in my brain, because all those encyclopedic lists of ingredients on the packaging made every second thing look a little unappealing. only every second thing though, and only a little unappealing. and anyway, you can get peanut butter cups at the newsagents at broadway shoping center here in sydney.

what you probably can’t get are these amakara mochi, fat, sticky rice cakes in a beguiling bath made primarily of soy sauce and sugar. they were definitely intriguing, and somewhat moreish, but somehow i could not give them away. not that i really wanted to; they were not the worst things i ate in hawaii.

this was. the “market fresh” sante fe salad from arby’s, in a surprisingly upmarket stripmall surrounded by lava rocks on the big island. i don’t know if it was the icy cold chicken nuggets, or the leathery kernels of corn. perhaps it was the raspberry vinaigrette the consistency of a blood bank donation (perhaps i should have gone with the default ranch dressing, the consistency of an arterial blockage). i’d already come to terms with the standard, shredded iceberg lettuce served everywhere, so it couldn’t have been that. overall it was inedible, so i didn’t. the one saving grace of this miserable lunch was the curly fries. it was my fault, i suppose: who asked me to eat at a fast food chain outlet? it’s just, i didn’t think it was possible to do such vile things to a salad.

and the best things i ate in hawaii? just outside the hotel grounds was what i’ve since discovered is a local institution, wailana coffee house and cocktail lounge. truly the diner of my dreams, with its roster of waitstaff straight out of “ghost world” and its all-day, all-you-can-eat pancake special.

i did not get to eat the triple-layer cubes of rainbow jell-o from the all-you-can-eat salad bar, nor the giant belgian waffles i’d had my eye on from our first visit. i might’ve had a sandwich or something on that early, bleary night, but then i returned the morning after for the old fashioned french toast — each massive eggy, bready slice concealed a secret pocket of guava jam.

i knew it would be futile trying to squeeze a final breakfast in before our 7am departure to the airport on the last day, so i put in a request for lunch the day before. and this is what i had: the chuck wagon. a smoked pork chop with apple sauce, two eggs (i chose googy sunny side up), two macadamia hotcakes with whipped butter (so large they came on their own plate) and all the syrup i could eat. yes, three pitchers of maple, coconut and boysenberry syrups, jest fer me.

does it not make you weep with joy? the meat — a ham steak, really — was lean and tender, singed just right. the pancakes were soft and fluffy, with crunchy edges round the sides, and chopped macadamias all the way through. i’d already tried the trio of syrups on the french toast earlier in the week, and was happy to go with just an endless stream of maple. happy!

but i still had unfinished business. from my research i knew there was a cupcake shop in the vicinity, and so after lunch, while the kid went for a last hurrah in the swimming pool with her grandpa, i steered my mum’s afternoon coffee expedition in the direction of satura cakes. look — they really do come in cups!

i didn’t actually eat anything then… well, i couldn’t — this is my mum’s konamisu cupcake, a pretty convincing alcohol-free tiramisu with creamy, chocolatey mascarpone and light sponge and locally grown coffee.

because i hoped i might be able to eat again later, i came away with the store’s signature strawberry shortcake for the kid (a light as air confection of sponge cake and whipped cream), and the red velvet cupcake for me. the rich, moist, red cake was topped with a dreamy dollop of white chocolate and mascarpone. i only wish i could’ve been more awake as i scarfed it the next morning before the cab came to whisk us away.

but look. a week in hawaii is more than enough time to eat, even if it seems like you’re eating nonstop. aside from the chuck wagon, the highlight of the trip was probably walking through the 500-year-old lava tube in the middle of the lush rainforest on the edge of the kilauea volcano crater.

because you think hawaii and you think hula, and soft, sandy beaches, and swaying palm trees (and out-of-towners with leathery skin and far less (and more colourful) clothing than they probably should be wearing), but there we were, down from the volcano, on a beach of black sand created by centuries of broken down lava rocks, surrounded by… nothing.

coolness.

i was still eating at the end, of course. i considered revisiting the pumpkin spice cream frappucino i’d had at another airport starbucks a couple days earlier, but decided that the one not unpleasantly pumpkin-flavoured beverage topped with whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon was enough. instead, i cracked open my final container of pineapple slices. i’d probably already eaten three or four local pineapples cumulatively over the week, but i couldn’t get enough. they were so juicy you’d be sticky all down your chin, and sweet, like they’d come out of a tin. and so, there i was, in the lounge waiting for the boarding call, savouring my last three slices. they went all too quickly.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 20 November 2008 at 3:31 pm

permalink | filed under cake, dinner, lunch, snacks, trip

it was my mum’s last day in sydney, and i asked what she would like to do. “would you like to go into the city to buy shoes?” i asked. “no,” she replied, “it is my last day, and i will do anything you like.”

so we caught a bus and a train, and not too much later, arrived in auburn just in time for lunch. the kid, having had the presence of mind to assemble a backpack of train snacks — jellybeans, raisins and dried pineapple, a previously decapitated gingerbread man (thank you, biscuit tree!), a pink lady apple (my addition) — wasn’t too hungry, but was happy to play along.

we claimed a table at sofra, and spent too long by the rotisserie deciding which shish kebabs we wanted. minced lamb? or chunks? chicken?? the salads were much easier: clean and crunchy red cabbage, a pool of creamy hommos, and tumble of fried (and charred) potato, eggplant, cauliflower and broccoli. oh, it was a pleasing feast.

and left room — just barely, after a postprandial meander through the bargain emporiums for a bout of scumbag shopping — for a good few scoops of dondurma down the road at mado. we bought turkish delights and sweet sticky cakes, and just before catching the express train back to the city, my mum bought shoes.

– – –

this morning at the airport, my grandmother, my aunt and i collectively gasped in horror, when my mother unzipped her carry-on to reveal her newly purchased, still-in-its-box electric carving knife.

“why have you put that in that bag?” asked my grandmother. at 88, she is still pretty sharp.

“ma, my suitcase was too full,” replied my mum, who on a good day is still not quite as quick. she rummaged for a pen, or something.

they repeated the exchange a couple more times before we spelled it out for my mum: y.o.u. c.a.n.t. b.r.i.n.g. k.n.i.v.e.s. o.n. t.he. p.l.a.n.e. she glanced over at the check-in counter; her suitcase had trundled down the conveyor belt not five minutes before. insert: chortle chortle guffaw.

i left my mum at the the airport with the glinting blade in my backpack, and the emasculated motor packed snug in her case. they will be reunited one day, when we are.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 2 November 2008 at 10:46 pm

permalink | filed under around town, lunch

somehow, my mother being in town led to me immersed elbow deep in hot, soapy water on a hot, soupy morning, handwashing three days worth of dishes retrieved from my cockroach den of a dishwasher, covered in bits of eviscerated cockroaches. thanks, mum!

let us think back to happier times — last monday, say — when we sat in the shady courtyard of la renaissance patisserie at the rocks, eating a brie baguette and drinking perrier with peach syrup. afterwards i bought a handful of macaron to go:

one each of chocolate, chocolate-passionfruit, jasmin, and two of rose because i knew i wouldn’t want to share.

they were all five plonked unceremoniously into a paper bag, and after a sweltering afternoon walk through the botanic gardens, they were not quite the fine, plump specimens they had been, sitting pretty in their plastic display cases back at the cafe. the fresh cream filling of the rose ones had surely come within millimetres of turning into butter.

but look! even with the beating they’d taken, they are still plump, their shells still crisp. the biscuits are moist and chewy on the inside, and the fillings generous. the rose macaron, despite losing half its height in transit, was delicate and wonderful — i always prefer a cream filling rather than a flavoured white chocolate ganache — and heady with perfume.

the chocolate one was impossibly rich and dark. the chocolate-passionfruit one was tangy and intensely fruity up front, before relaxing into a smooth and comforting milk chocolatey finish.

the jasmin one was… somewhat disappointing. it had a familiar clean and airy taste, but i imagine it could’ve had THIS MUCH more jasmin flavour. engh. three out of four ain’t bad.

in fact, they were great!

– – –

we also battled the gale force coastal winds at sculpture by the sea.

– – –

and — thursday afternoon, with the kid safely ensconced in playschool — we dallied with hot chillis at spice i am. moving between the brutal som tum — you can’t see the chillis in this green papaya salad, but they are there, oh yes, alongside crunchy dried prawns and many roasted peanuts, and green beans, cherry tomatoes and a wedge of raw cabbage (unwashed, my mother pointed out) — and the unrelenting kaeng som pla, a watery curry of fried river fish and watercress, it was like dousing our tongues in fire water. hot, sour, fire, water.

sweet respite came only from a tall glass of iced tea which tasted of candy.

you would not think it, but this particular meal from this particular restaurant, is perhaps the one that i pine for most often, in those long months between finding a suitable dining companion on a day that the kid is otherwise occupied. sigh.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 27 October 2008 at 11:22 pm

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

holy crap, but the kid turned four last saturday.

just look at her, eating cake like a pro. that very morning, as we were on our way to the supermarket to pick up picnic supplies, she volunteered from the back seat of the car, “i want a sponge cake, with strawberry cream, and chocolate, and sprinkles.”

“uh huh,” i said. at least she had given up on the chocolate cake covered in jelly snakes that her cousin had had last year.

we swung by bakers delight for a loaf of pane di casa (for the record, casa broadway is at least 73 times better than casa balmain) and a loaf of olive pane di casa — where big chunks of kalamata olives are worked through the dough, and pulverised olive puree must surely be part of the dough, because the bread, she is purple.

we did a lap around harris farm, picking out such treats as a bunch of radishes, a couple of red onions, a tub of coriander hommous and a tub of parsley pesto, a jar of cornichons, a block of fetta, two avocadoes, and a kilo of smoked salmon for the bargain price of $26.

and then with a little covert manouvering, i was able to collect the enormous pink cakebox and slide it onto my lap while she was being clipped into her seat. at some point, she asked, “what’s that pink thing?” but wasn’t actually interested in the answer.

in the minutes before the guests were due, i halved baby roma tomatoes, and sliced red onions, and dressed them in a basic vinaigrette; i cubed the fetta and anointed it in olive oil and crushed garlic; i sliced radishes. there: a salad platter to go. the kid’s dad drove it all to the park. the family arrived, bearing gifts and chips and bread and salami and a big tub of toum.

an unabashed display of eating ensued. the kid and her cousin downed the tops of four supermarket cupcakes before running off to the playground, but the rest of us made tartine after tartine. this one was my favourite i think:

white bread topped with a dollop of the pungent garlic dip and a smear of the parsley pesto and a couple slices of smoked salmon. mmm… stinky…

at the end, there wasn’t much of anything left. my cousin’s dog, peanut, discovered he really liked fetta.

we adjourned to the house for tea and cake, and the kid was not too disappointed with the pink, sprinkly hello kitty rainbow ice cream cake. there was even a layer of sponge at the bottom.

the best part about an ice cream cake — just under $40 from wendy’s. do it. you know you want to — is that even with two kids, and two aunts, and two cousins, and a gran, and a great gran, and a mum and a dad, there will still be enough for two post-birthday breakfasts for two girls who like ice cream, and cake.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 23 October 2008 at 10:25 pm

permalink | filed under cake, ice cream, kid, lunch

childfree days are precious ’round these parts, so errands are carefully scheduled and executed with military precision (that is, the precision of an army of flying monkeys).

for example: last friday morning, in the three hours after peeling the kid off my arm at playschool — “hold my hand,” she cried to me as miss sarah carried her off to the playground, “very tightly.” — i bought a package of large envelopes from kmart, then hustled over to my accountant in surry hills to deliver a year’s worth of receipts and bank statements stuffed into one of these envelopes; i just made the train to the blood bank, where i deposited 470ml of my finest red; afterwards, there was exactly enough time to try (and fail) to find a refill of shichimi togarashi at the japanese minimart on clarence street, before crossing the street to bécasse.

the last of which, i suppose, wasn’t really an errand at all. hurrah!

deborah and i were doing lunch as part of good food month, and there was a lot of lunching going on when we arrived. it was close to 2, but most tables were still occupied. we were led up the stairs at the back of the main dining room, to a table right at the very back corner of the mezzanine. it’s a very strange space, is becasse: a beige (gold, if you’re being kind) curtain runs the entire length of the restaurant, for acoustic reasons i guess; there is interesting feature lighting down front, but up where we were, it was recessed downlights and vents galore in the low, white ceiling; the wall alongside our table was white too, with a disconcertingly drippy sort of stain beneath the airconditioning vent; the carpet was beige. it all lent an air of function-room-in-an-office-building to the proceedings.

fortunately, instead of annoying paper salesmen, there were efficient waiters gliding across the floor, and it wasn’t long before one of them brought a small platter of amuse bouche to our table. small bites served in chinese soup spoons usually irk me, but the fleeting and delicious mouthful of shaved fennel and smoked trout more than made up for it.

we’d been presented with the special let’s do lunch menu, and it contained a number of extras with which to supplement the $35 main course price tag. we eschewed the two entrees (a scallop risotto and a wagyu beef salad), made a note of the dessert (a praline parfait for $15 — regular desserts are around $20), and boldly asked for a serve of bread. “one each?” asked the waiter.

alright then.

we were each served two adorable little rolls — poppyseed and sourdough — and a wonderful and aromatic rosemary… um, vine, with a block of olive oil emulsion. which was a cold mass that held its shape until it hit your tongue and liquified into a rich, fruity taste. pretty good for $5.

the main course of slow roast provencal lamb with spring vegetables, olive and herb vinaigrette arrived. oh! so pink and tender! so casually adorned with broad beans. so buttery and herbalicious the quenelle of potato. and, most importantly, so appropriate a size as to allow ample room for dessert.

the room had mostly emptied by the time we’d finished eating our meat, and our waiter had grown ever more personable. we hesitated only the briefest moment when he asked about dessert, and he read the situation correctly, and offered to bring us the regular dessert menu because it was “more exciting”.

and this is how we ended up with a surprise pre-dessert course: a tiny, delicate panna cotta with wine-poached pears, wearing a fine, tasty biscuit at a jaunty angle.

pre-dessert!

oh yes, we did chortle at our good fortune, and were somehow still overcome with wonder when dessert proper was brought to the table.

my chocolate and caramel cadeau was just as the waiter had described — a dome of chocolate mousse with a caramel heart, encased in chocolate, and then more chocolate “to make it shiny” — only better. just look how it shines! the mousse was icy cold and dense, almost solid really, and a burst of intense chocolatiness. the milk sorbet was perfect respite.

deb’s strawberry trifle with cinnamon donuts was an impossibly pretty dish. all the key ingredients were there: sponge cake at the very bottom, vanilla-flecked custard, a pure and genius layer of strawberry jelly over the lot that served as a bright canvas for the donut artistry. they were chewy delight, still hot from the fryer, with the cinnamon flavour echoed in the cinnamon ice cream.

by the time we were done, our $35 booking had just about doubled. my wallet was empty, but my heart and stomach were joyously full.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 20 October 2008 at 11:30 pm

permalink | filed under around town, cake, lunch

i have returned home from an evening that began with the final preschool parents’ committee meeting for the year, and ended with several rounds on the sushi train. in between i bought — for twenty bucks in the sale racks of gleebooks — a heavy tome with a simple typographic cover, called, “vegetable love“.

it contains no pictures, and 750 recipes. o how i love vegetables!

why, this very afternoon i made a matching set of tartines, topped with a couple wedges of laughing cow and a bunch of asparagus and some green capsicum, grilled and seasoned. a selection of green vegetables makes me so happy. sometimes i can get five or six in a meal, but today, just two was enough to put a smile on my face.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 16 October 2008 at 10:44 pm

permalink | filed under bookshelf, kitchen, lunch

the best part is that it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. i had just come from the medicare office with a $65 refund still warm and glowing in my wallet. it was lunchtime, and after i exhausted the list in my head of cheap and acceptable city eateries where i might find sustenance, it struck me that i could (should!) take myself to the lindt cafe while the kid was off bonding with her grandmother somewhere in the hills district, being plied with crayons and sketchbooks and fairy wings, and forcefed pink cupcakes.

it was all in the name of comprehensive research of course, but after the travesty of the guylian cafe “chocolate” milkshake, i thought i should give the one at lindt a go.

it was extremely busy, but the friendly waitress was happy to answer such questions as, “between the iced chocolate and the chocolate milkshake, which is milkier?” and, “and which is chocolatier?”. no, her bright smile never once faltered, as she replied that the milkshake is milkier, and that they were both chocolatey and decadent, and the main difference between the two was that the iced chocolate contained ice.

and it was just as a chocolate milkshake should be. a $7 chocolate milkshake even! rich, dark chocolatey flavour. just thick enough that your cheeks let you know you were making an effort sucking. served in a tall, weighty glass. topped with a mound of dark and white chocolate shavings.

bliss! and nicely tempered by a perfectly toasted (and corrugated) schiacciata filled with delicate slices of roast lamb, grilled eggplant, baby spinach and ricotta.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 16 October 2008 at 9:17 pm

permalink | filed under around town, chocolate, lunch

so, even though you have to spend the morning at kinko’s, and the afternoon at the ear, nose and throat specialist to see whassup with your freakishly large tonsils (three months and counting), there is no reason why you cannot have a spur-of-the-moment lunch date with a handily located friend. you just have to remember to pack your toothbrush, toothpaste, and some dental floss for after.

we met on the sunny corner of broadway and abercrombie, not the best place to meet at the best of times, but these days it’s at least worthy of curious gawking now that the old brewery has been torn down. just look at all that sky!

[ i happened to walk by the day they began — a crane with a large pincer at the end of its arm was grabbing hold of the walls and ripping chunks off it. such violence and destruction. a crowd of people stood and stared. ]

cafe giulia is a heaving mass at lunchtime, every booth filled; every table, counter stool, comfy chair, window seat… taken. the number of people in the queue to order at the counter is only surpassed by the number of plates of food on the counter waiting to be delivered. but the long queue gives you just enough time to confront the even lengthier menu. it was deb‘s first visit, and my second, and i think we may have changed our minds about four times each before we finally made it to the cash register.

despite missing out on the waffles with brown sugar yoghurt last time, and my ensuing vow to go sweet on my subsequent visit, the word that popped out of my mouth was, “panzanella”. i like bread and i like salad, but i don’t think i’ve ever been compelled to order bread salad after my one soggy, oily encounter at an outdoor food fair a decade ago. what made this version particularly alluring was that it was panzanella with prawns.

which i suppose is neither figuratively nor literally kosher, but the thought of grilled prawns and cool tomatoes on a hot day was so enticing. and when it arrived, this riotous tumble of colour held aloft, i was not disappointed. in fact, i believe i may have said out loud, “i am so happy!”.

but, so. the tomatoes were succulent, though not bursting with flavour; perhaps it’s still too early into tomato season. the prawns were perfectly cooked — plump and juicy, and a little charred around the edges. there were just enough of them, until i got to the end and wanted one more. the croutons were crunchy, and the shards of parmesan plentiful. but something was missing… i think it may have been the fruity flavour of olive oil. and salt. this, from me, who doesn’t like salty food. still, it was an enjoyable meal, perched up at the front counter, overlooking the rakish barista with the rockin’ collection of fine tattoos.

“it feels just like new york,” sighed deborah wistfully. i think she rather enjoyed her corn fritters with bacon too.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 11 October 2008 at 9:40 pm

permalink | filed under lunch

well. since i can’t taste anything at the moment, i thought i’d show you these pictures from a while ago. like, march, when my sister was in town, and i still had money in the bank and a sister in town, and we traipsed around town and pretended to be the types of girls who have long, leisurely lunches at inner city hotspots like bentley.

oh wait, we really did.

although, twenty minutes to our noontime reservation (made that morning), we were twitching on the newtown station platform, realising we weren’t gonna make it. i called up the restaurant to let them know we were running late, and to please hold our table. and when we finally arrived, our table was truly still available. as were most of the other tables, for most of the time we were there. whoulda thunk it? you’d expect friday lunchtime to be packed to the rafters.

so hurrah, we took our time reading and re-reading the menu, and then took our time eating our meal, and it all unfurled slowly and delicately and quite beautifully, from the straighforward but delicious beginning of chewy bread and fruity oil.

we each ordered a white anchovy stick with pistachio praline; perhaps we should have gotten a couple more. a number of clean, salty fillets were rolled up and impaled on a skewer, and then coated in sweet crunch — a perfect balance of textures and flavours, none of which could be described as “fishy”.

we shared the gazpacho three ways, pristine, chilled soups of herbs, tomato and almond milk. my favourite one changed with each sip i took. in between, we picked at the colour-matched kingfish ceviche with pickled watermelon and coriander.

we did order cooked food as well of course, although the calamari served over squid ink rice and green chilli were so light and ethereal it seemed they must have been cooked by tiny sea nymphs. it certainly smelt of the ocean.

everything up until then had been from the tapas menu, plated to share. so we were surprised and impressed when our one item off the entree menu — caramelised pork cheek with beetroot and smoked salmon ravioli — came divided up into two perfectly art-directed miniature servings, one for each of us. we sat and gazed upon it for some time, our fingers poised quivering on our own cheeks.

i don’t know that i have ever used the phrase “melt-in-your-mouth” on this blog, but there you have it. and so rich and flavoursome. our plates were scraped clean by the time we were finished, not a tiny purple flower or paper-thin slice of beetroot “pasta” remained.

and then there was dessert. we may be the sort to share an entire lunch, but everyone gets their own dessert. nellie even had two. well, ok, she had two of the small sweets, because how much do you think $6 might buy you at a fancy restaurant these days? turns out, a lot. the hot ricotta dumplings (like eating fluffy little donuts) and the chocolate ganache with orange oil (like eating fancy nutella out of the jar) were more than enough to go round, even with my $16 black olive sorbet with carrot cake and coffee crunch.

i generally don’t pick coffee anything, and never ever carrot cake, but so strong was my interest in the black olive sorbet that i went boldly forth. i was rewarded with a quenelle of sweet and cold that burst on my tongue with intense salty olive flavour before melting away. the carrot cake was an orange sponge, mild and sweet, with a sort of steamed texture — if only all carrot cake could be like this. there was a rich carroty… i dunno, emulsion? and an unexpected, somewhat flavourless and colourless jelly. and the crunch, sweet and sandy, and not overly coffee-ish. not too shabby at all, by which i mean, really good.

it’s true, i’ve rolled my eyes when i’ve read about molecular gastronomy, and was mildly concerned before we rocked up to bentley that our lunch might be a bit ridiculous and gimicky. but bentley doesn’t go to quite the extremes of that spanish guy, and certainly nothing we ate bubbled or squeaked or foamed. (at one point, something vapoury did waft over from the next table.) in fact, this turned out to be one of the most enjoyable, exciting and unforgettable meals ever to pass my table, marred only by the service, which, though efficient, tended to err on the side of the waiters being way too cool. one of them corrected my pronunciation of “ceviche” in that passive-aggressive way of stressing his pronunciation — ceveesh — when repeating the order; the other asked us, “are you sure?” most disbelievingly when we pointed out that we’d only had one bottle of fizzy water rather than the two which had shown up on the bill.

grumble.

but yeah, waiters aside, bentley was lovely and amazing.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 27 September 2008 at 3:27 pm

permalink | filed under cake, lunch, nellie

the day after, i felt so much better that i suggested to the kid we go up the street for a treat. the evening before, i felt so much worse that i was slumped in a chair in the outpatient department, with a litre of saline being steadily dispensed into my arm from my very own drag-around drip. this after two days on the couch with a 39° fever, of drifting in and out of sleep, eating nothing more than a tub of yoghurt and a couple bits of toast — actually, no, the couple bits of crust off the kid’s toast –while the kid mostly attended to herself, watching kids’ tv and playing with a host of stuffed cats, the trouper.

so ordinarily, a treat might be a cake, or a sticky bun, but wednesday it was a pot of detox tea at circle cafe. yes, yes, i know i only just went, but i do love it so.

inside the squat pot was a veritable witch’s brew of fresh ginger, mint, lemon and thyme — the last of which gave the potion a somewhat unsettling meaty edge. without the thyme, it might have merely been pleasant. the tiny pot of honey which accompanied, i surrendered to the kid. i did not think it was possible to eat honey so quickly with a small finger, but there you go.

the food, when it arrived, made me think i was just about healed. just look at the wonderful pink risotto. nothing about it mushy and bland, from the rice, to the chunks of roasted pumpkin, the wedges of fresh beetroot, the wilted baby spinach.

but the walk up the street really set me back. by the time we made it back home, it was all i could do to propel myself back on the couch. my cough kicked in to the next level — the one where you think you might bring up a lung or two. my nose somehow become completely blocked up by something deep in my head which simply would not be budged. as a result, my sense of taste completely deserted me.

so i boiled up saturday’s leftover takeaway charcoal chicken with a knob of ginger, threw in some rice and broccoli, and ate it for the next couple of meals. ugly food for ugly times. it’s true you know, these bugs really are getting stronger.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 26 September 2008 at 10:23 pm

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