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Category Archives: nellie

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

it was the evening my sister returned from a day at the blue mountains. she had been perched on a grubby metal step — hell, let’s call it the floor of the train — for the duration of the journey back to the city, and been kicked by a rat-faced little boy with a filthy mouth to match. after which there was another lackluster ride on another train — a sushi train — for dinner; it was the second last day of the old year, after all.

and so she and the frenchman tumbled back to the house, and frenchie took his place on the blue couch with the red controller and earned himself another five mario stars, and my sister handed me a little package wrapped in a purple paper bag.

i shook it, as i asked, “can i eat it?”

“well…” she said.

“oh! is it matches?” i ventured.

i felt the exhalation more than i heard it.

“but wait ’til you see them,” she said.

“are they pink?”

but she had no chance to answer, because i had slid the box open, and there they were.

it was exactly as it had been a couple of weeks earlier, when my aunt brought my grandmother ’round for a little birthday morning tea. after the sour cream fruit loaf which my aunt had made — un-iced, though solemnly adorned with whole pecans — my grandmother was presented with a few wrapped-up parcels, and as she ran her hands over each one, she pronounced decisively, and uncannily, “purse,” or “cookbook”. clearly, i have inherited her gift.

i immediately jumped up, struck a match, and lit my new oolong-flavoured candle. everything was nice.

and now, two weeks into the new year, things are still nice, though rather a lot hotter than i’d like, especially today when the trains running through western sydney were not air-conditioned, and i thought i might just vapourise on my way home from facilitating an image-making workshop with some young, especially giggly muslim girls in granville.

things are nice, with the intensive swimming classes, and the lemonade icy poles, and the giant red megaphones in the shadow of the opera house, and between it all, i find i haven’t the time — or, alas, the inclination — to blog anymore. shame, i cannot tell you about the salty peanut butter cup taste test, or the wonderful lunch before the crazy-ass thunderstorm, at gastronomia pelagio. what about the cabbage salad at pompei, which turned out to be a great mound of shredded cabbage, dressed simply with a truffled olive oil and garnished with a few planes of parmesan? almost as delicious as the prosciutto and fig pizza one plate over. (let’s not even talk about dessert — a scoop of peach sorbet nudging a scoop of pistachio, both as creamy lush as they were intense.)

it’s not that i would not like to keep telling you stories. but i think that i must step away for a moment, just a quickstep in the vast scheme of things you understand, until the sky is less burny, and my time management improves, and i figure out the terrible minotaur’s labyrinth that is customising a wordpress template.

and when i return, i will drag an rss feed out with me! yes!

in the meantime, other wordy girls will tell you many a fine story, and point you in the direction of a good feed too.

and because i am never far from the innernet (as much a blessing as it is a curse, i tells ya), i might post an update or two on my brand spankin’ new ragingyoghurt facebook page. ok, just for you, a photograph of the cabbage salad goes up as we speak.

and yeah, what the matchbox said: thanks, for coming by. it pleases me that you do.

normal transmission will resume… some day.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 14 January 2009 at 11:54 pm

permalink | filed under around town, blog, cake, nellie

xmas came early — just — when nellie arrived in town.

shortly after 7am, xmas eve, with wandering airport carolers to the right of me, and — surprise — the little matchgirl to the left, and a dark cherry mocha frappucino in my hand, my sister and the frenchman trundled down the ramp, with three suitcases of red, pink and silver.

shortly after that, after the ride back to my very tidy house in the taxi of a very grumpy chinese man (“you are already very happy,” he said almost resentfully, amidst the backseat jollity, “to be on holiday.”), but before the tea had properly brewed, the little red suitcase was disgorged onto my very tidy dining table.

behold: a copy of the new jamie oliver magazine, “jamie magazine“; a dark chocolate and morello cherry fruitcake from fortnum and mason; and a crate of laduree macarons, because pierre herme was not yet open when it was time to board the eurostar a day and a half earlier.

i keep good company, i do.

i ate half the salted butter caramel one, the filling yielding and sweet, then salty, and then half the mango and jasmin, like something made in another world, and then we hustled ourselves to haberfield and waited patiently (though twitchy) in line for cannoli and cold meats.

our christmas day played out in a most agreeable manner: ferry rides, james bond, banana choctops, popiah dinner in the suburbs.

our boxing day began with bread, and mortadella, and smoked salmon. there was raspberry jam and apricot nectar with soda water. my appropriately festive-themed macaron — pistachio, and rose — if you must know, were both divine.

merry ho ho.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 27 December 2008 at 11:43 am

permalink | filed under around town, breakfast, cake, nellie

back when i was deathly ill — well, i’ve finally taken the last antibiotic tonight, so really, the bugs could be back, stronger, tomorrow — my good sister called up to check that i was still alive. we had been talking for a little while, when she casually announced that she had just online-ordered me a box of groceries from fratelli fresh, and that these groceries would be with me the next day, and that maybe i shouldn’t buy a bunch of asparagus if i went out shopping before then.

and truly, the next afternoon, an enormous cardboard carton showed up, gleaming white and emblazoned with swirly gold script. it was like christmas come early, though of course, the packer had somehow forgotten to include the bunch of asparagus.

but what a bounty!

1x punnet tomatoes – cherry
1x 400g cannellini beans
1x 300g jam – homemade – conservi del padre – raspberry
1x 250g pasta – guiseppe cocco no. 15 egg papperdelle
1x 500g pasta – guiseppe cocco no. 59 orecchiette
1x 250g cheese – ricotta – paesanella
1x 1kg mandarins – imperial
1x punnet berries – blueberries
1x 150g peas – snow peas
1x 190g antipasti – mushroom fantasy in olive oil
1x 100g deli – mortadella – sliced
1x 500g sausage – lamb, rosemary and garlic
1x each bread – fruit loaf

you really can’t tell from the descriptions on a packing slip, and so you will be amazed that a kilo of mandarins numbers 30, and 100g of mortadella is but four slices (but still a magnificent offering packed on a golden board with a fancy sticker), and the lamb sausages are from a.c. butchery.

i expect nellie had already prepared the meal in her head — a couple of nights later we had orecchiette with sausages and snow peas.

of course, you must remove the meat from the casing, and fry it up with chopped garlic and a tin of tomatoes, and then later in the game you can add some broccoli florets, and roughly sliced snowpea pods, and a handful of frozen peas for good measure.

and while you are eating it, you will smile large, and toast the good name of your good sister, and curse the day and a half — and the halfway ’round the world — that separates you.

happy birthday, nellicent!

posted by ragingyoghurt on 6 October 2008 at 10:50 pm

permalink | filed under kitchen, nellie, shoping

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

this is how the days go when a sister is in town.

you might wake up early on a sunday morning, breakfast in a flurry, catch a bus and then another bus to the sparkly blue edge of bondi. you will meander through the markets, spurring each other on: a sausage on a roll, a red pleather handbag. you will eat fish, and chips, and pineapple fritters, when all the while you really want to get to the gelato shop on the corner. you will meet with cousins. you will bury your hot feet in the cool sand, and build a colony of tiny sandcastles, fashioned from an empty gelato cup.

you might wake up at a respectable hour, breakfast leisurely, catch a bus and then a train out west, to auburn, just to eat a couple scoops of chewy turkish ice cream. you will step into one, then two, and maybe even three dollar discount stores, coming out with bags of cheap household treasures. a pink plastic basket for pegs, perhaps; a rubber anti-slip mat for the tub; some rolls of masking tape… all these things take on a desirable mystique when they are under $3. you will step into one, then two, then three bakeries, and come away with as many little paper bags of sticky sweet lebanese biscuitry. meat shaved off a large rotating torpedo will be eaten, as well as dips the colour of candy.

you might wake up just in time to be lazy, and sit in the park across the scout hall, while the kid takes a music class, and then you will catch a bus to the art gallery, to meet another cousin — the city is just full of them at the moment. you will look at bats — wooden ones at the gallery, and real, hanging-upside-down, screechy ones in the botanic gardens. on a whim you will catch a ferry to luna park, to arrive just in time for a ride on the carousel — it spins at a cracking pace, to the tune of “bonanza” — before the park closes. because you can, because it is the last day of your weekly travel pass, you will catch a train back across the bridge to marrickville, and walk a great distance to a restaurant you know will serve you excellent chilli-lemongrass squid (or tofu, you can’t decide), and when you get there, you will learn that said restaurant is closed mondays.

nights, after the kid has given up and gone to sleep, there might be a selection of truffles unearthed during the day’s outing, or a rose syrup and shaved chocolate sundae. there might be something from zumbo with the gilmore girls. or a whole season of “sex and the city” and the ensuing pangs of not being in new york. there are always cups of tea. jasmin, rose pu erh, chocolate spice.

days, well, they go by, and today, we followed the script we know by heart. someone takes someone to the airport. “see you real soon,” we say, although we don’t know if it will be one year, or two. we felt queasy, but we put it down to hunger. we felt queasy, and we put it down to the mcdonald’s we ate simply to quell the hunger, because the hot cross krispy kreme doughnut hadn’t quite done the job. and then she got on the plane and i got on a train and our lives returned — instantly — to normal.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 14 March 2008 at 11:34 pm

permalink | filed under around town, nellie, snacks

of course, we could not visit haberfield and only get food to go.

we had pizza, and it was fine pizza, but as soon as the seafood-stuffed calamari arrived at the next table, we felt the regret deeply. we had pizza, but not so much pizza that we could not then head across the street straight after for a selection of dolci at pasticceria papa.

i think, even so, that we were being hopelessly optimistic. there were three numbered plaques on the table, and in good time, two of those were replaced by twin plates of mini cannoli. i had my eye on larger things. my order was for a cup of gelato (two, if you count the kid’s mango ice), and a fat chocolate eclair.

there are those in our circle — a solitary frenchman, actually — who believe steadfastly that a chocolate eclair must be filled with chocolate creme. a strip of choux pastry with a slick of chocolate icing on top, filled with fresh whipped cream? a travesty! i should be very amused to see his reaction to an eclair of mock cream. i, for one, would not turn it down.

but. so. papa’s chocolate eclair is filled with both! i cut through the beastie to find a layer of dark chocolate custard beneath a layer of cream. bliss.

the gelato was equally sublime. firmly packed into every last facet of the cup, it made a pretty picture in red, white and green. viva italia! the amarena was a vein of red sour cherry running through light, milky gelato. the pistachio was almost savoury.

there were still biscuits left on the table when we reached the outer limits of our stomachs, but i’m sure you’ve figured out that in the end, i did get a couple of mini cannoli to go.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 12 March 2008 at 11:41 pm

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

so. burrata.

saturday, we barreled up to haberfield, which is always less than the expedition in my head. which is to say, it is a great adventure, but it takes only two buses to get there, and if you time the connections right, and if the buses run punctually, then you can be there in just over 30 minutes. deborah can walk across the highway to get there in 10 minutes, but let’s not hold that against her.

because i don’t actually get to haberfield that often (see: expedition in my head), i end up going a bit crazy with the procuring of comestibles. this time, i’d even brought my stripy esky.

it was exactly the right size. by the end of the afternoon, it was packed to the brim. from the italian deli, a modest package of freshly-sliced olive mortadella, and one of chilli salami, both wrapped neatly in luridly printed waxed paper. from peppe’s, two boxes of ravioli: veal, pancetta, sage and white wine; roasted duck, prosciutto and caramelised onion. and from paesanella, a small tub of ricotta and a large tub containing a voluptuous ball of cream-filled mozzarella. burrata.

according to my recent googling, burrata is “the current darling of cheese lovers” — around southern california in any case. i first had it a couple of years ago, and i think about it from time to time. it is a spongy white lump, formed by hand. essentially, it is a thick outer skin of freshly-pulled mozzarella, filled with shreds of leftover mozzarella and fresh cream, before being sealed up.

we brought it home and had it for lunch a couple days later. it’s true what they say: you slice it open and the cream runs out. it is mild and rich at the same time, and the innards have the texture of scraps of cheese sealed in a pouch.

it was wonderful with sliced tomatoes, pepper, salt and a drizzle of fruity olive oil.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 12 March 2008 at 11:06 pm

permalink | filed under around town, nellie, shoping, snacks

this is how to make a makeshift sausage risotto:

buy some nice sausages. (today at about life, we picked a pack of toulouse sausages from eumundi smokehouse: pork, with pepper and white wine.) split the sausage skins and fry the meat in a small amount of oil, just to break it up and brown it a little. remove the meat from the wok. there should be a puddle of sausagey oil in which you can now fry a finely-diced onion. and some risotto rice.

you would have had you stock on another burner, of course. this may be that stuff out of the freezer that you made three or four months earlier by boiling the remains of a roast chicken dinner. add the stock one painstaking ladle at a time, while it is slowly absorbed by the rice.

i think you generally have to stir for like, thirty to forty minutes? halfway through, return the sausage meat to the rice, then keep going. you might want to sample a couple of grains of rice from time to time, just to see if it’s cooked through enough. you will be excited by the rich, meaty flavour of the broth — the extreme savouriness — and encouraged by the cries from across the counter in the loungeroom, “oh my god, that smells so tasty!”

when the rice has just about lost its al dente-ness, it’s time for mantecatura! i don’t beat in quite as much butter as locatelli prescribes (75 grams), but i like the symbolism. also, i don’t generally add parmesan because i don’t crave the cheesiness.

this is how to fuck up a makeshift — though promising — sausage risotto:

the last couple of times i made this, i added a handful of rocket after turning off the heat. it wilts and adds colour, and a foil to the meatiness.

this afternoon at about life, we’d procured a bag of organic rocket — wild rocket, actually, from ladybird organics. and now i think the “wild” makes all the difference in the world, because where the rocket i’d been buying previously from the local fruitshop was mild and pleasant, this organic stuff was really something else. a vile weed from hell!

the thing is, after plating up, i also dolloped a spoonful of rocket pesto onto the mound of risotto, for dramatic effect, so you can stir through for a uniform green tinge, or a burst of something extra. again, when i’ve bought this at the fruitshop up the road, it’s been like the icing on a cake, a little salty green accent to the grand starchy statement. the about life house pesto is a startling emerald green, just gorgeous, but it was like eating poison. the bitterness, just from the tiniest first contact with our tongues, was like one of life’s harshest lessons. i guess in this case, that lesson would be: taste the damn pesto before you use it. or at least, read the label to discover that it contains just a healthy blend of rockets (sic), pistachios, lemon juice and olive oil, and then choose another pesto with salt, and maybe even cheese.

i put an empty bowl on the table, to contain the pesto i was not ashamed to scrape off the top of the risotto. we thought that would take care of things; we trusted that the bitterness had been contained. but we were wrong: it lingered. and that was when we realised what set wild rocket apart from the regular tame stuff.

we scraped the risotto off our spoons with our teeth so that it would not touch our lips, and at least one of us contorted herself so that she could swallow each mouthful without it touching her tongue. did you succeed, nellicent?

we made it through the meal, giggling from the awfulness, and we did not go back for seconds even though there was plenty left in the wok. in fact, after dinner, i spent a good few minutes picking out each strand of wilted rocket from the rice. and then when i had amassed a sizeable tangle, i took a photo of it. sigh.

but see, i’m not discouraging you from making your own sausage-and-rocket risotto — no way, it can be wonderful — but you might just want to check that you’re not using any hardcore, top-of-the-line, clean-living type ingredients.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 5 March 2008 at 9:44 pm

permalink | filed under dinner, kitchen, nellie

the fizz is nice against the prickle. distracting, anyhow. for i am falling sick once again, and in need of distraction, from the sharp (in the back of the throat) and the cloudy (all around my head). my rose-print drinking glass is filled with rose-red fizzy. i’d been searching for a while, in a cursory and on-and-off manner, for a bottle of rose syrup cordial. this involved falling into any indian spice-and-video shop i might happen to pass, and not finding a tall bottle of red. last thursday, though, i got lucky. so. rose syrup + soda water = the bestest red fizzy ever.

thursday was lucky for several other reasons. first up, we dropped the kid off at playschool. and then nellie said, “let’s have breakfast at bourke street bakery.”

at the bakery’s broadway outpost, we lucked into the corner booth. well, the only booth. my sourdough toast with house jam came with a just-right portion of salty butter, wrapped up in a twist of waxed paper to look like candy. my hot chocolate came in a wide, low bowl. it was perfect fuel for a day of trudging through the rainy streets of surry hills.

a litany of old favourites unfurled. at object gallery, we found ceramic thongs hand-painted with intricate blue-and-white scenes. at christopher’s cake shop, we bought a bag of shortbread, filled with jam, dipped in chocolate. we moseyed, ambled up bourke street and down crown, and finally came to climb the galvanised staircase at fratelli fresh…

…to sopra. here’s a tip. get there a little way past two. the masses will have lunched and departed, and the water jugs, though empty, will be refilled with a smile if you bring one up to the counter.

the handwritten blackboard, as high as the ceiling, confounded me with choice, so i fell back on another old favourite: the antipasto plate. there are always four parts, and three of them change according to the seasons; the one constant is egg mayonnaise, which sounds a bit low-rent, but in fact it is a perfectly boiled egg draped in… silk. in the silky mayonnaise there are great chunks of chopped-up cornichon. it is great. great, i tells ya.

today, the lineup included some asparagus, pickled beetroot with gorgonzola, and boiled fennel with salsa verde. everything was simultaneously light and intense, the kind of delicious that makes you slowly whittle away at each element, one at a time, as you weigh up in your mind which you want as the final taste in your mouth.

as it turns out, the final taste in my mouth that afternoon was of an ethereal (and ephemoral) buttermilk pudding, which collapsed halfway into its own puddle of berry sauce.

we caught a break in the rain, and a bus to the city, and then another bus back out to get the kid, and after spending some time looking at pyjama pants and petshops, it was dinnertime. we had lured maeve to playschool that morning by promising a sushi-train dinner afterwards, and we are not girls who fall back on their word.

especially when it involves tomodachi. upstairs at broadway shopping centre, they do a fast trade in exotic sushi filled with schnitzel and cream cheese, or topped with blowtorched scallops and kecap manis. we had a plate of maki, whose crowning glory was a sliced of grilled cheese.

for dessert we pulled this off the train: an azuki mochi, divided into bite-sized portions, decorated with aerosol whipped cream and fresh strawberries.

it’s like all the fun in the world happened on thursday.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 4 March 2008 at 11:15 pm

permalink | filed under around town, breakfast, dinner, lunch, nellie, snacks

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