ragingyoghurt

Category Archives: grumble

6

i was cooking dinner on saturday night…
– char siu and zucchini omelette
– steamed soft tofu with shitake mushrooms
– stirfried choisum in oyster sauce with dried scallops
…when the kid wandered in and started getting in the way of sharp knives and hot dripping liquids. she also has that trick where she opens the utensil drawer and picks this ladle or that pair of tongs, and scatters it to the four winds, um, corners of the room so that apart from the dishes and the pots and pans, i will also have these extra bits to wash up. you know that trick? argh!

i shooed her out. “how hard is it to keep a kid entertained while i make dinner?” i wondered aloud to the boy, who lay sprawled in front of the tv, nattering to his out-of-towner friend.

“i’m sorry?” said the boy, all indignance. “i’ve been entertaining her all day!”

at which point i laughed such black hiccups of laughter that i might’ve fallen over. because somehow, “all day” to the boy means the two hours between 9.30 and 11.30 that morning when he took her up the street to get the newspaper and some groceries. before which i had gotten up and made her breakfast while he lay in bed for a while longer. and after which he provided her a nutritous lunch of a finger bun covered in pink icing and coloured sprinkles. and then he read the paper while i read her stories and put her to bed. and then he had a nap.

after dinner, the out-of-towner said, “wow. that was certainly the healthiest meal i’ve had in a long time”… which i chose at that point to take as a compliment, and now i’m not so sure. and then the boys went off to see radio birdman and drink themselves into a stupor, while i did the dishes, bathed the kid and put her to bed, and then listened to the monstrous drunken snores wafting down from upstairs in the too-early hours of the morning. they were still snoring when i got up to make the kid breakfast at 7.30, and snoring still a couple of hours later when the kid and i left to go to the park so that we would not be in the way of one snoring boy on the sofa upstairs, and another snoring boy freshly transported to bed downstairs.

boys suck! boys who “mention” that they’ve bathed the kid three nights in a row, after conveniently forgetting the 30 or so nights over summer when i performed such duties while they tooled about in their country estates, and the casual throwaway “i’ll put her to bed for the next month” they utter on their return. boys who do… boys who don’t…

whatever.

i have found myself about to be in an exhibition, as part of sydney design 06. a friend of a friend this, designers dropping out that, and suddenly i’m scrambling to get an old illustration printed up to the size of a wall. you can see this wall at horus and deloris for a couple of weeks, from saturday.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 1 August 2006 at 3:10 pm
permalink | filed under boy, grumble, kid, werk

2

back to the comforting clicky-click of one’s keyboard, one could spin fanciful tales of homely cakes that one encountered in the wintery sou’-eastern wodge of this great land.

instead i shall spleen about some ridiculous developments in the field of convenience foods that i’ve seen advertised in the last couple of days.

1 the “café menu” range recently introduced by a prominent instant coffee conglomerate includes four varieties of cappuccino (eg. sweet cappuccino — “authentic café quality coffee targeting younger drinkers, those new to coffee or those who prefer a sweeter, milkier cappuccino”), and perhaps too many flavours of latte, the stupidest being the chai coffee latte. it’s not even the (you might think) tautologicality of the name for a milky tea drink, it’s that it actually is a coffee beverage blended with a spice mix of ginger, nutmeg and cinnamon.

2 the newly-implemented flip-top lid on tubs of ice cream. apparently this makes it “easier”, though the ad didn’t specify what exactly we would find less challenging. certainly, i was more puzzled.

who thinks up these things? argh!

i’m sure these are at last partially responsible for the worrisome dream i had last night. my recurring stress dream, i might have mentioned, is my teeth shatter and i chew on them, grinding them down like broken seashells. a few years ago, i bit into a stale rice cracker, and part of my molar did break off, around an old filling; i sat there a while wondering, am i dreaming, or am i awake and my tooth just broke. argh! my other stress dream, which i’ve had maybe twice, though several years apart, is where i can see parasitic worms floating around inside my stomach, and also involves walking through a shiny white laboratory with stylish stainless steel table lamps.

in last night’s dream, i realised too late, as i was getting a sandwich for dinner, that the pearl jam show started in half an hour, and it would take me at least an hour to get there. and even more horribly, i had forgotten to go to the previous night’s concert, and had also forgotten to sell my spare ticket. i believe i may have sobbed. somehow, i made it there in time, and my only concern was how a short person gets a good view of the stage. phew.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 14 July 2006 at 11:30 am
permalink | filed under drink, grumble, packaging

3

i had already shut down the computer for the night (what! only 8.30!) and was feeling so sorry for myself that i wasn’t even going to make myself a sundae to cheer myself up. fortunately i came to the same conclusion that you did, just then: it is stupid to let abject self pity get in the way of dessert. so here i am, back, with a cup of vanilla green tea and a glass of double chocolate ice cream, chocolate sauce and strawberries. i feel better already.

why, apart from the ice cream, am i feeling so crumpled? the spongihead is upon me! and with it, the sneezing, the drippy nose, the mildly throbbing temples, the smarting eyes, the tinge of a sore throat… (so clearly i should not be having this chocolate sauce — so heaty!)

but more aggravatingly…

about a month ago i was offered a job laying out an annual report. at that stage none of the copy had been written, and so based on the calculation that i would need two weeks to design it, and the printers would need two weeks to print it, and the report was needed in about that time, i declined the job.

“that time”, you might have surmised, is now. you are sharp. a couple of weeks ago i was contacted by the editor who’d been hired to pull the report together. she explained that it was in fact a concise 20 page book, and that each page would have essentially the same layout: a small picture, a highlighted quote, and a slab of text. it was a tight schedule, but once the design was sorted ahead of the wednesday copy deadline, the text could be dropped in easily and quickly, and it would be at the printers on friday. today. somehow they’d managed to find some magical printer who’d do the job in 24 hours.

i should have been more wary of this straighforward task when the sample story came through early in the week, and despite having agreed on the style of the report (based on someone else’s annual report they’d seen and liked), the word count was about three (if not four) times the length of what was required. of course, of course you can fit 750 words into an A5 page, with a picture and a headline and a picture caption and a quote. oh yes, of course.

wednesday came, and then thursday, and now friday — printer day! and just right now, 9.13pm, the first half of the text has arrived in my inbox. along the way, i’d been sent reassuring (yet threatening) emails saying things like, “text arriving later today” and “first half of the text arriving tomorrow”, and then the one yesterday afternoon that made me laugh (it was not a pretty laugh):

“I will have half text pages for you tonight.
Images tomorrow.
Financials over the weekend.
Aim for printer Monday depending on the time you need…??…”

on top of all that, the book has grown to 36 pages.

on top of that, this is one of the sentences in the 36 pages:
“While one of the positives of this project was that the participants were the center of the project, and they were driving it artistically, because it was their lived experience and there were so many big issues that they had a strong desire to deliver them.”

but wait! this is the next sentence:
“The process was cathartic and emotionally difficult for the filmmakers, but highly rewarding to create something which has a broader reach than their own communities.”

i’m the graphic designer though, right? i should just typeset it 8.2/11.5pt and leave it at that. it’s just, i can’t. i sit here, reading while i lay it out, and maybe this is what’s causing my face to hurt.

but, haha, this is where i say, “HAHA! i have fooled you, you april fool!”.

but, no. alas it is only 31 march.

i am so grumpy. and my ice cream is gone.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 31 March 2006 at 8:48 pm
permalink | filed under grumble, ice cream, werk

6

shall i finish telling you about the picnic, and the tart, from before?

it’s just that, if a group of people goes into a kebab shop to pick up some supplies for a picnic, you might imagine that there may be a platter of meats shaved off the great revolving thing behind the counter, if not from the special grill set up by the door, with those kebabs that are minced lamb moulded onto a mean skewer, or chunks of marinated meat and onions; several tubs of salads and dips; maybe a handful of falafel; and a fat bundle of bread — maybe even a couple of those tasty-looking ones drizzled with oil and za’atar — for everyone to share.

instead, there was an unspoken consensus that each mini-group within the entourage would cater for itself. hence, boy’s olds bought themselves a doner kebab plate, boy’s sister bought herself a doner kebab plate and a bag of chips for her son, boy’s other sister bought herself a vegetarian pide and a can of coke zero, and boy tried to buy us and the kid a chicken kebab plate and a falafel plate but the shopgirl misheard and made us roll-ups.

thusly laden, we bundled ourselves back into our cars and drove to the botanic gardens, but waiting in line with our picnic, we saw the sign on the gatehouse telling us to stay on the path at all times, which is just not condusive to picnicking, now is it?

no.

we ended up at the picnic tables a short hike away, close to where some kids were playing with a heavy metal chain hanging off a tree branch. i suppose it used to be some sort of swing, but now, without a seat, it was just a braining waiting to happen, flung about as it was with glee and stupidity.

but we got through the meats without incident, and then there was baklava on the table, and the custard eclairs, and well, the plum tart had been there from the start. “this baklava is so fresh,” someone said, lips glistening with sugar syrup. “the chocolate on this eclair is really good quality,” someone said. (it was!) “it’s a pity we didn’t think to bring any tea,” someone said, “because it would be very nice to have with your tart.”

and then, with the tart still pristine, someone said, “i couldn’t eat another thing.” and reached for another piece of baklava.

so the tart went back into the car as we walked round the garden, and after the garden, no-one wanted tart still. well, i wanted tart, but no-one else did. i asked the boy if we should cut the tart up and give some to his family to take home. i mean, i had made it to share with them, but it seemed that these were people who did not want tart. could i force it upon them? was it more polite to leave them with tart or without? in the end, the boy cut a portion of tart that was uncomfortably just short of half, whacked it on a paper plate and saw it unceremoniously into his mother’s arms.

when i got home and finally had a piece of my plum tart with a cup of tea, i j’regretted that i had brought it along to that shamster picnic. i should have kept it all for myself. it was fantastic.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 24 March 2006 at 10:05 pm
permalink | filed under around town, cake, grumble, kitchen

1

i just wrote something, and after i tried to attach a picture to it, everything disappeared. like, happy new year. tchk.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 5 January 2006 at 10:48 pm
permalink | filed under blog, grumble

3

call it reality blogging; this is what i’m eating as i type. a bowl of cherries, strawberries and raspberries, all sweet and flavoursome. it’s making me quite delirious with joy (or is it just the fruit sugars?)… except. there’s a sound of something being dropped in the sink upstairs, and some swearing, and then soft footsteps later, here is the boy at my side holding my most favourite drinking glass which i bought in new york several years ago, in three pieces.

call it irony; the emblem, now in two pieces, says, “drink cheer up”. meh.



posted by ragingyoghurt on 20 December 2005 at 8:54 pm
permalink | filed under boy, grumble, snacks

6

what is a blog for if not to taunt a sibling on the other side of the world about treats you just found on a chinatown expedition? after a wanton display of white rabbits — lychee white rabbits — which i instantly coveted, nellie was nice enough to actually send me some.

you know white rabbits, no? the milky chewy candy wrapped up in a slip of rice paper? i was about to say that the lychee ones are even better, being somewhat less cloying and milky, but perhaps it is more accurate to say they are different. a little sharper with a mysterious and subtle… hmm, what’s that flavour? aahh. lychee!

a package of candy in the mail is a sweet surprise, but candy arranged snug in a blue leather candy purse (from orla kiely no less) is an interactive experience involving placing said purse on a worthy surface and savouring its beauty, unzipping and zipping and unzipping and removing piece by piece the candy, noting the differences between the original white rabbit wrappers and these ones (smiling lychee duo atop a banner reading “lychee” in chinese and english, with a tiny white rabbit logo along the edge), and then placing each little baton neatly back in its place. and then repeating the sequence over the next couple of days before finally unwrapping one and eating it, slowly. well, that was my experience.

a much more awful experience is taking a dud powerbook into the apple service centre at broadway, where the girl on reception will negate everything the phone support guys have told you over the last two days, and ask if you would like to book your brand new dud in and have the problem assessed in seven to ten working days.

“you ask like i have an option,” i said. “why, what else can i do?”
“yeah, no, yeah, you have to book it in.” she was blonde, but also, she was young.

if i want it seen to faster i can pay $80 for a rush service. she will not let me use her phone to call the support line, or the store, to verify all she has told me. “the apple shop and the apple phone support and us, we are all separate agencies and have nothing to do with each other. and we cannot call and speak on anyone’s behalf. ever. we can’t let you use our phones because it will tie up our lines. and we do not seem to have a phonebook we can lend you.”

resisting the urge to break her or the shiny white computer on her desk — or let’s be honest, the chunk of aluminium alloy weighing me down, i embarked on a chinatown expedition of my own. specifically i wanted meats. chinatown meats! but i was open to anything else that might throw itself in my way.

in front of a sweet shop i made the kind of abrupt stop where your whole body goes rigid, and then anchored at the feet, the top of you wobbles a bit and vibrates to a halt. they had constructed a stove in the window and were cooking up a storm of obanyaki. four flavours of obanyaki: redbean, custard (“the best in sydney”, is what the sign said), chocolate, and green tea. “delicious!” said mr. sign, and “buy three for $5!”, which i thought was diabolically clever, because which flavour does one leave out? in fact, none, because i played into their dastardly plan, and came away with custard, redbean, two chocolates and two green teas. “thank you. have a great day,” said the smiley counter girl.

and then meats were procured: char siu and siu yok and, because i couldn’t decide between soya chickane — i typed chicken, and this is what came out instead — and roast duck, i got a half of each. and green sauce. and because the bubble tea merchant is just a few doors down, and there was a sign outside that said, “happy 4th birthday easy way, 20% off all drinks”, i added some mango blended ice (for the boy) and pickled plum blended ice (for me) to my trusty shopping bag.

who’s the postergirl for that modern affliction of buying stuff to make you feel better? that would be me, doing lucky dips for obanyaki at the bus stop. it was the custard one, and may well have been the best in sydney, still warm and cakey on the outside, and creamy-gooey hot custard within.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 3 December 2005 at 7:58 am
permalink | filed under around town, cake, candy, drink, grumble, nellie, shoping, snacks

12

i don’t know how these things happen.

saturday morning i left the house, leaving a speech bubble trailing behind me: “im just going to the apple shop up the street. and then maybe i’ll go into the city. i’m not buying a computer today. i’m just going to have a look. i’m not buying a computer today. i’m just researching. i’m not buying…”

going to the apple shop is like going to a cake shop, all those things i want to lick and touch, behind glass display cases. the cake shop is generally more fun, because i usually come away with something, and in the process i haven’t had to think of smart-sounding questions to ask the salesperson so he doesn’t think i’m a bimbo.

so, saturday, i think i asked about RAM and processors, and running classic, and so they knew i was a savvy consumer, i also asked if they give discounts for cash sales. (“yes, but not much,” was the reply.)

and then the bus to the city, and a bowl of hae mee (which, due to the two halves of a prawn and the 27 strips of chicken gracing the noodles, should be renamed “kae mee”), and a lift up to electronics where i asked about RAM and processors and classic, and “what do you mean, i won’t be able to start up in OS9 unless i have a hardware-specific version of the installation software and where do i get this from and are you serious? my friends or ebay?”

at one point, one of the questions i asked was, “what’s the difference between this model and this model?”, identical but for 10% off the one hidden in the shadows.

“oh. this one,” said the salesperson, pointing to the slightly more expensive one gleaming in the spotlights, “has a faster graphics card…”
“um. uh huh?”
“but also, if you take this one we will throw in microsoft office and a bag.”
“oh. um.” i said. “what colour is the bag?”

shortly after that i had to take the lift back downstairs. besides telling me that the bag was available in black and red or black and green, the salesperson also told me that the promotion ended today, no, actually, tomorrow. i had decisions to make. i needed strength. i had a weak latte and a tiny chocolate-raspberry brownie. i read the product brochures over and over. i sent out two SOS SMSs. one reply came immediately: “do it”. the other, much later: “i was asleep”.

procrastinating, i got off the elevator at christmas foods and finally surrendered to the pink and silver-foiled wonder that is lindt’s new petites merveilles, that i had stalked twice previously while prowling the twinkly aisles. that gnawing feeling in my stomach intensified as i rode the escalator up a floor, but i couldn’t tell if it was the coffee or the impending purchase.

“ah! you’re back,” said the salesperson. “you went for a walk to think about it?”
“i had some chocolate and thought about it,” i said, and, “i’m a little bit stressed out right now.”

and so. it sits gleaming on my desk right now, this magnificent silver beast. stone cold. i haven’t really used it yet, because the battery doesn’t charge. two calls to the tech support boffins, and still the battery sits at 0% full — the optimist in me would say 100% empty — and the time needed to fully charge fluctuates between 144 and 200 minutes, even though it’s been plugged in for three days.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 30 November 2005 at 5:12 pm
permalink | filed under around town, chocolate, grumble, shoping

1

here is second breakfast: a perfect boiled egg, salted and peppered, then smooshed onto buttered sourdough toast.

here is a rotten egg: i was sent an unsolicited email yesterday from a publicist at a publishing house, heralding the release of an upcoming “fictionalized memoir”, a “novel as a food diary” about “a young woman who equates food with love and with disastrous consequences”. the publicist — let’s call her ms. matsumoto — also offered me the chance to announce this book to my readers, or to interview the author. she also pasted into the “to” field of the email, the email addresses of about 80 other food bloggers.

i sent her a reply, thanking her for spamming me and 80 other people and EXPOSING OUR EMAIL ADDRESS TO ALL AND SUNDRY, and i was surprised to receive an apology from her this morning.

“i’m so very sorry! i assumed that food bloggers shared a sense of community and had asked an intern to work from a list called food porn.”

thing is, i consider this only a sort-of food blog. i don’t think i am as committed to the eating or, more precisely, the documenting or cooking as are others out there. so it’s nice to feel validated by being pulled from a food porn list as a target for spam.

and of course i feel terrible at letting the team down, what with my grandious lack of a sense of community and all.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 23 November 2005 at 9:46 pm
permalink | filed under blog, breakfast, grumble

7

what is this ethereal thing, all nestled in white tissue?

there is a stall at the balmain markets, selling small, gluten-free cakes. you may think that small, gluten-free cakes would be mean little pellets, like hockey pucks… but they are not. after standing in front of the display trying to choose between the raspberry-coconut (pictured above, so you already know who won) and the lemon curd (a sunny yellow thing topped with a swirl of meringue), the shopman helped me out.

“the raspberry-coconut is very good” he said.
“yes, i cannot decide between that and the lemon curd.”
“ah,” he said. “that is very good too. but take the raspberry-coconut.”
“i’ll come back next week for the lemon one.”
“yes, come back, next week is my last week here.”
“…” my face was a question. “and you’re never coming back, ever?”
“i have a baby,” the shopman said, “and so i have found another job, working for someone else, less hours for the same pay. so i get to stay at home sometimes and my wife can work too.”

to which i nearly fell over, because goddammitt, that is the complete opposite of the life i live. i’m not bitter, o wait, yes i am.

i came away from the markets with a short stack of old books, despite my resolve not to buy any more cookbooks. but one was a 1970s penguin paperback of japanese recipes, written by a european couple who had lived in japan for a few years “and spoke the language”. and another was a slim hardback, also from the 70s, called “chinese dinner party” from the “international party series”, offering not just a menu and recipes, but advice on “dressing up for your party” (“oriental styled clothes are fairly popular and easy to find. specialty shops and department stores often carry beautifully designed oriental dresses, jackets, slacks and fashionable slippers.”) and “oriental hospitality” (“you can create a relaxed party atmosphere with a smile and a simple bow as you welcome guests to your home for a happy and wonderful time.”)

the raspberry-coconut cake was a layer of almondy-biscuity stuff, with a raspberry-studded cakey bit, and then a macaroony crust on top. it tasted of sweet, and i wanted it to be somehow better. i think i should have picked the lemon curd.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 7 November 2005 at 12:01 pm
permalink | filed under around town, bookshelf, boy, cake, grumble, kid
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