Springbok knuckles, Julia Child and foodie aspirations …

I recently succumbed to the mother of all food blogger porn, Julie and Julia.

Who of us can watch the coming-of-life movie of food legend Julia Child and original food blogger Julie Powell without scratching open all our cooking, writing and living the best life possible passions? To top it all I happened to have some springbok knuckles slow cooking in red wine and apricot jam, which only made the situation all the more romantic. Oh god, why can’t we all live the life of Julia Child, beef bourguignon and Meryl Streep? Continue reading

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The art of planning a chilled wedding …

A vent.

I am a planner. There are few things in this world that I take on without planning every detail. I even plan on cancelling Friday night plans and plan the pizza I will order and bottle of wine I will finish. So when it comes to my wedding (18 August 2018 if you were asking) I am of course the planning queen. (Drama queen, yes, but a queen no less!) Continue reading

One Star House Party: A true foodie experience.

Every now and then you come across an experience that is truly one of a kind, something so special that you know you are almost never likely to meet its equivalent again. For many people this can be something like a wedding or birth, for me it was dining at One Star House Party.

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Mr Albert Potter’s grandfather clock.

A story about Principles.

Mr Albert Potter’s antique grandfather clock struck at 6AM. The polished mahogany giant was located inside room 4A, where Mr Albert Potter’s stayed and would wake the entire floor in the “Autumn Leaf Care Centre for the Elderly but still Full of Life” retirement home. Mr Albert Potter inherited the clock from his late father Mr Albert Potter Senior who was given the clock by the shoelace factory where he worked for nearly 50 years upon retirement. Continue reading

Wine. A place where everyone knows your name.

In a dark, hip bar she sat against the window on a red bar stool…

The naked lightbulbs hung trendily above her, illuminating her face with a soft yellow glow. The place had an atmosphere of poetry, art and intellect. Her thick dark hair braided over her head like a German milkmaid fit this high image in a measured, ironic way. She was drinking a glass of chardonnay, wooded, in a tumbler that looked like it was stolen from the set of Downton Abbey. She loved the way the tumbler fit in her hand, cooling her fingertips before the rich liquid flowed icily down her throat. She never understood why some bars insist on serving wine in tumblers instead of elegant long-stems, but she didn’t really care either, she loved how it made her look.  Continue reading