City Lights

It's been a while, hasn't it? Disappointingly, this is going to be a very nothing post because I'm feeling a bit rusty. I thought I'd show you my new/old home - Brisbane. New because I'm newly moved in and closer than ever to the city. Old because I've lived here for four years before moving home for the last six months.
When I left Brisbane in December last year I was thoroughly sick of the city. I'd originally moved here for uni and was, at first, overcome by the size and pace of everything. Being a country mouse everything about city life overwhelmed me, and I honestly thought I wouldn't survive the first six months. But I did. I realised the city wasn't so big or scary, you just had to learn your way around. Once I started settling in and getting comfortable, my relationship with Brisbane changed. It became boring and lived in. The weeks became predictable, and the bright lights became garish and tacky. By the beginning of last year I was thoroughly disenchanted with the city, desperate to move somewhere with new experiences, new life, and new reasons to wake up every day.
Moving back after six months in a town trying far to hard to be a city, I have a newfound love for Brisbane. The pace seems not fast but exciting, the places I'd been to a million times have become old favourites rather than last resorts, and the lights at night make me smile at the brightness of possibilities swimming around me.
I think maybe my difference of opinion has come from a new direction - a designated path that wasn't there six months ago. Maybe it's also come from the knowledge that I can leave if I want, and so the city has become my playground rather than a jail cell. I still miss the quiet of the small town, the blanket of stars at night, and the freedom of living with family rather than housemates. But I'm falling in love again with the ability to walk everywhere, the astounding mix of people and ideas, and the never-ending list of places to visit, or revist, at the nearest opportunity.   

Bag lady

I'm going back to study. After a year of desperate job searching, six months of unemployment, and far too long feeling utterly useless. I decided this about a month ago and started seriously researching courses, finally getting up the courage to apply about two weeks past. I found out two days ago I had been accepted into my first and only preference, and have been thinking non-stop about it ever since.
While I'm thoroughly excited at the thought of moving back to Brisbane (where the course is run) and catching up with old friends and favourite haunts, I'm also sad to be leaving the comfort of my family and the newfound closeness I have with Miss V and Wabi. I also have to admit to some trepidation at the thought of being a new student again.
I decided I should find a way to make the transition back to studentdom a bit easier. And what better way to do that than with a fun vintage bag that says "I'm smart, I'm sassy, and I'm super sure I'm going to ace this class":

1. Houses are fun, especially if they look all Hansel and Gretel like. And bags that look like houses, well even better! This one's from Cosas Raras etsy shop.
2. I'm a bit of a tan leather fan so this handcarved satchel tote from Bags Babylon is top of my list so far. What do you think?
3. A Swiss military fly-fishing bag as a uni tote? Why not. Although I also like this, and this from Meatbagz. 
4. Ok, so I wouldn't use this for uni but for storing my needles and yarn. Although Aunt Carrie says the insert is removable so it does have the potential to be a cute wicker picnic basket, right? 
5. Um...I need somewhere to store my sewing stuff as well. Yeah, so I got a bit sidetracked, but this sewing caddy would totally keep all my bits and bobs neat. And dirty birdie's basically giving it away.

All items courtesy of my Etsy obsession.

Alastair McLeod's nuts

Tonight is cold. Today was cold. And I’m still a wee bit sick. You’d hardly expect me to jumping around in excitement would you? BUT…Even with a day of little no sunshine and a cough which threatens to dislodge both my lungs, today was my favourite day in a long while. Why, you ask (ok, so you don’t really care. Humour me, yeah).

Today Darling mother and I, after a night of craftiness with the ever-fabulous Wabi and friends, headed out to a local food and arts festival. We tried jams and jellies, dukkahs and dips, and a rather delish ice-cream (because it’s never too cold for dessert). We ran into Wabi there as well and she tagged along with us, laughing at my childish excitement all the while. You see, as much as I love food - and as much as I adore free stuff - my real purpose for traipsing around in the cold was to see my very favourite chef in the whole world. Alastair McLeod just happened to be cooking at the festival today!
Who? Alastair McLeod is an Irish-Australian chef, probably most famous for his boisterous bouts on the Australian version of Ready Steady Cook. He is also head chef at Brett’s Wharf, touted as Brisbane’s best seafood restaurant and the place on top of my “must visit” restaurant list. He has cooked at a number of five-star restaurants around the world, and even worked at the Michelin-rated Da Giovanni in Torino, Italy.
But that’s not why I love him. His use of new and fun ways to cook - like today’s five-minute berry sorbet, made using dry ice - and his strong belief in continued learning, mean his food is always on the cutting-edge of foodie fashion. He’s also big on growing the next generation of top chefs, actively involving himself in apprentice education. AND (and this is the best bit) he’s a champion of supporting local food and local producers, believing that sourcing food locally cuts down travel, creating fresher, better-tasting food while lowering our carbon footprint at the same time.
Mr McLeod is passionate about his food, the way it is prepared, and the process the produce goes through before getting to him. He’s also passionate about educating others and creating a food experience revolving around the simple joy of the food, not the snobbery and arrogance which seems to have become a part of the whole foodie culture. And he’s wickedly funny to boot, telling jokes about horse’s appendages and offering us a taste of his nuts (wink wink, nudge nudge), throughout his cooking demo.

His comrade in the kitchen today, Matt Golinski, is a champion in his own right. Mr Golinski also supports the Slow Food Movement and actively promotes the consumption of in-season fare (he claims to only eat strawberries when they’re in season in his local area—imagine going more than half a year without a strawberry!). Throw in his cheeky wit (kitchen condoms for your cheese-making?), and he was an adequate competitor in today’s cooking war.

Wanna see some photos?

Alastair getting saucy. 

Matt talking about perfect potato pillows (aka gnochi)

Dry-ice-assisted sorbet in the making

Doing cheffy things

 Serious face during his (impressive) rant about buying local

Mr McLeod's wild Barra with pan-roasted vegetables and caramlised nuts

 Deconstructed cheesecake and berry sorbet (YUM!)

Too cool for school

Two posts in one day. Hurrah!
This is just a heads up for you to check out an awesome blog. Style Rookie is an incredibly witty, intelligent, and rediculously cool blog all about fashion and fun. And the coolest bit. The writer: fourteen years old!
Dear Tavi, if you ever read my blog, I think you're awesome. Can I be you for a day?

Where I want to be right now...

San Blas, Panama

Photo taken by my friend, Crunchie.

So Frenchy

Theme nights. I've always found them slightly tacky and just a bit on the ostentatious side. That was, of course, until last weekend. Inspired by a viewing of the incredible Julie &Julia and all the delectable recipes within, my Darling Friends Vodka and Wabi decided a French theme night was needed. And so we set about creating a night of all things French.There was French film - La Vie En Rose - French word use (limited to our very lacking French vocabulary), French music, and French style in the form of stripes and a black beret. 
And then there was the food. My God, the food! The lovely V provided the mandatory baguette and cheese (Brie and Camembert of course) which we ate with gusto, leaving naught but crumbs as evidence of its existence.
For dessert Wabi pulled out the. most. amazing. Orange-scented Creme Brulee I have ever eaten:

You should definitely check it out and perhaps make it for yourself sometime. Don't share it, you'll want it all for yourself. Promise.
And me? I turned to the master for the main. Of course if you're not French and you want to cook French food there is only one person to learn from, and that is Julia Child herself. And so I tracked down her famous Boeuf Bourguignon recipe, along with a side of her Choux de Bruxelles Etuves au Buerre (or Brussels Sprouts Braised in Butter for all us non-French speaking hethans). I swear to you, even if you hate Brussels Sprouts you will love Julia's - they're amazing. Seriously. And the boeuf? WOW! I'm not going to say it was easy. It wasn't. There's two separate dishes within this dish (the mushrooms and the onions) that must be cooked while the boeuf is doing it's thang, and it takes three hours to cook - not including prep time. But so worth it. The meat practically melted on our tongues, and the sauce was an absolute treat. With the sprouts and some steamed potatoes I'd willingly say it's now in my top ten meals of all time. 
You should make it. I know you'll love it. Look how delish it is:

If only you could smell it, you'd rush out and buy the ingredients today. Tres Magnifique!   

Freefalling

Last night a gentleman took me to heaven. With his hands and mouth he comforted, caressed, and thrilled me for hours. The gentleman was John Mayer. And no, (sadly) I did not sleep with him.
My friend Vodka and I were lucky enough to score front row (!) tickets to his Brisbane Concert. I'm not sure who was more excited, although I would suggest she would be considered more of a die-hard fan - she could guess the song simply by seeing which guitar he picked up! That said by the end of the night I had rekindled my love affair with John (yes, we are on first name basis - he looked at me dammit!), and only wish he was playing again tonight.
Yes, the media have given him a grilling lately, and he may not have the glitz and showiness of say Pink but, putting that aside I would suggest he gives good gig. In fact, the best of gig. His fingers move across the guitar like he is caressing a woman, and (save a tragic drop at the end) Mr Mayer moves around the stage with such ownership of the moment you can't take your eyes from him. And then he sings. Wow. I've spent many an hour trying to come up with the words to aptly describe his voice but, truth to tell, it's impossible. There's a smoothness there that lulls and calms you, and yet an underlying raspiness that's all sex and badness. It's good and evil perfectly combined. It makes it easy to see why the girls love him.
Now of course this magic, while almost totally John-created, also comes in part from his fantastic band. They were brilliant! And I have to give a shoutout to Robbie simply because he looks so very much like one Harold Bishop from Ramsay Street (of Neighbours soap fame, for all you non Aussies and Brits).
We drove home, V and I, thoroughly exhausted and exquisitely content. Best. Night. Ever.
And now, some photo love courtesy of Miss V. He's a bit of a looker.

Bit of a show off

Darling mother and I went to the local show yesterday. Having grown up in small towns, shows to me have always been about the animals - livestock, equestrian events, sheep dog trials - and a lot less about naff games and deep-fried, over-sugared snacks. I believe we spent a total of three hours wandering the animal exhibits and about twenty minutes elsewhere. Those twenty minutes were thoroughly wasted. The three hours, however were not.
I took Darling father's camera and managed to snap a few shots of the more photogenic creatures. I say creatures because the two-legged locals were very much unphotogenic in comparison to their fury friends. But then, it's hard to look as cute as this little fella:

I'm not sure about this haircut or the bib, but maybe I'm just not fashionable enough:

And this little lady had me itching for a packet of Jersey Caramels. Is that wrong of me?:

 

The flipside of Easter

Easter has always represented a bit of a mind-fuck (excuse the french) for me. See, easter is all about the birth of new life, specifically Christ dying and rising again. But it's also represented by the birth of spring - eggs, bunnies, spring flowers, etc. The thing is, on my little scrap of the earth, as I'm sure it is for most in the Southern Hemisphere, it's nowhere near Spring right now. And so I find myself - as I do at Christmas with the snow/blinding heat paroxism - finding easter's acoutrement of all-things-spring somewhat ironic. And then I find this little gem and have to take a photo, because apparantly even the mushrooms are getting into the swing of things:

It looks like an egg, no?
I snapped that yesterday, while wandering around my Uncle's farm in the mountains behind the area I spent much of my childhood. I also stumbled across this perfectly framed glimpse of the endless hills ambling along the horizon:

This year easter is a little less ironic for me, and not just because of the mushroom. With the rains we've had over the last few months, and the fires of last spring, these hills are greener than I've ever seen. They've found new life in the last moments of summer and, with that, brought new life to a once dead valley and all its flora, fauna, and peoples. The easter message - from death springs new life and hope - seems to resound around this place, even without spring on the doorstep.

Writing things down

I applied for a job this morning with both excitement and trepidation. A friend of mine told me she'd put in a good word for me with her superiors if I applied for the position, add to that the horrendous amount of skills I have and I think I've got a rather good shot. The problem: it's as Assistant Manager in a retail store and I'm incredibly sick of convincing people to buy things they just don't need. I'll save my consumerism rant for another time but, suffice to say, after ten years in retail I know how much mark up is on products and I also know the shiny leather Gucci bag isn't really $2000 of better quality than the shiny leather unknown-brand bag. 
There are countless other reasons I'd rather not go back into retail - standing on your feet all day, working every public holiday, nasty customers, the threat of being stuck in retail forever! Yes, that last point is the one that scares me the most, why do you ask? But when it comes down to it, I'm also excited at the possibilities retail offers me. It means I have a job, but it also means I can move back to Brisbane, have a purpose in my days and save some money. And the money is the most important, because with that I can afford to go back to study, travel, and maybe...just maybe create my own little business on the side. 
Besides, the company I'd be working for, kikki.K, is one of my all time favourites. Just look at the cuteness they sell:

Cykle A5 laminated cloth notebook

Oh and of course, it's not all about cute, they do sophistication:

2010 A6 leather diary

and style as well:

Felt A4 wrap notebook

Now all I have to do is get the job. Cross your fingers for me.   

Scrumdiddlyumptious

I've been lazy again. But I've also been away. A Darling Friend turned twenty-four on March 7 and, while this is not such an auspicious birthday, I packed a suitcase and headed south to celebrate with him.
My friend lives in Orange, a medium-sized town about three hours north-west of Sydney. While there I spent countless hours wandering the oh-so-English gardens and parks, snapping photos of all manner of flora and fauna, and eating...eating...eating. Although, with much less of a gap between each bite.
Yes, as with all adventures, much of my time centred around gluttony, the sin for which I'm sure I will eventually be cast into death by heart failure. The area around Orange is prime farmland, filled with cattle, sheep, vinyards, and all manner of delicious foodstuffs. Ironically, Orange is not famous for oranges, rather apples and cherries of which, again ironically, I tried neither while there. I did however buy some local honey (for a belated Christmas gift) and experience a restaurant that you simply must try next time you're in the neighbourhood.
Tonic is situated a half-hour drive from Orange itself, in a town which I'm sure I'll go back to experience sometime in the future. But for now, Tonic. Set in the old Millthorpe picture theatre, the restaurant itself was enough to make me smile (I love old buildings and architecture), but the food: Heaven.
The menu on the website is slightly different to that available on the night, but I'm sure even the fussiest gourmand could appreciate their Vennison with duck liver parfait, or the rediculously delicious amuse bouche of roasted capsicum and tomato soup. It sounds simple but fresh capsicum, basil, tomato, lime...I'm drooling!
Dessert was no less fabulous. My Darling Friend had a raspberry chocolate semi-freddo we all agreed would substitute sex quite nicely, while my mango souffle and french vanilla-bean ice-cream would easily entice me to take a vow of chastity in order to taste just one more bite. If I could offer any advice it would be to skip the complimentary petit fours as they left a dry, dirty taste where once had bean* only sweet delight.

*Still dreaming about that ice-cream...