ragingyoghurt

Category Archives: trip

we blinked as we re-entered the sunny sunday. we’d been hiding out in the dim cavern that is the london BMI IMAX cinema, wearing dark glasses, stretching our hands out towards the floating cheshire cat. “alice in wonderland”, in 3D, was a rollicking rollercoaster ride — in spite of the curious bit of freaky styley dancing at the end — but after a couple of contraband movie snacks, we were ready for the main event.

a short way across town, upstairs at fortnum and mason, there is a restaurant called, the parlour. it’s a decadent ice cream shoppe straight out of the 50s with a baroque (rococo?) sensibility. there they will serve you a sandwich, or a salad, and you will order one or the other — or both — and it will be a competent affair. however, you will know that it is only a little something to prepare your stomach for what is to follow.

what followed, for me, was a “lazy sundae afternoon”, which entailed

strawberries and 12 year old balsamic vinegar, vanilla bean and frosted strawberry and shortbread ice creams blended with strawberry coulis, crushed meringues, whipped cream and fresh strawberries.

it certainly made an impact as it arrived at the table, served in an enormous pink goblet of heavy cut glass. such fun! all those bits of crumbly meringue! multiple biscuits! a veritable cloud of whipped cream! the taste of strawberries through everything was quite lovely, but perhaps in the end, the overall impression was just that it was… nice.

which is not a bad thing, certainly, and i did not complain as i ate the lot. but i think the ice cream could have been better: more luscious, a little less frosty in parts.

more, in fact, like the coupe we had at afternoon tea not quite a week later and just a couple of blocks down, at the wolseley. i wish i had a picture to show you, but their no-photo policy is stark on the front page of their menu. you will just have to believe me when i tell you that the combination of crushed meringue, lemon curd and lemon yoghurt ice cream, whipped cream and flaked almonds makes for a very luscious sundae indeed. i think of it still, with a sigh, this pale yellow beauty in a frosty silver bowl.

aside from the lemon meringue coupe, we also had a perfunctory round of afternoon tea (a three-tiered tray to share between four) and a slice of treacle tart, which was light and lemony, and possessed none of the sickly sweetness that you might expect. the pastry was just perfect, and the filling, pleasantly sticky, well, that was perfect too. my mother — quite out of character — must have had four, if not five, mouthfuls of it, and i feared i might have to stab her with my fork to get her to stop.

such blissful eating amidst the bustle — a constant stream of tea-takers swarmed through the restaurant, but the waitress never hurried us along. for a moment, this little stretch of banquette seating under the high ceilings and marble pillars, it felt like home.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 5 May 2010 at 12:32 pm

permalink | filed under cake, ice cream, trip

i remember seeing coverage of skye gyngell’s pop-up cafe at the good food affare in sydney the other year. i remember being perplexed by the hay-strewn floor, and confounded by the collection of twee tchotkes on display. having now experienced petersham nurseries, it’s finally all become clear.

the running joke between my sister and her friend about the curation of old stuff piled just so around the nursery, is that someone goes around with a label gun, and randomly sticks price tags on everything. that tarnished mirror? £14,000. that rusty old hoe? £600.

but it was an intriguing wander through the various tents and sheds, admiring dusty antiques and the new things that just looked old. i especially liked the baskets (and baskets) of handy utilitarian brushes. a different one for every task imaginable.

the pastiche of skye’s cafe at the good food affare just pales in comparison. i believe all the stuff on display — the garden furniture with the perfect patina; the shabby chic chandeliers; the bottle green etched drinking glasses — could be purchased from the homewares giant who put on the show. it irritates me just thinking about it.

anyway. bear with me. it’s just some background colour to the preceding post. and besides, who doesn’t like tulips?

posted by ragingyoghurt on 5 May 2010 at 12:32 pm

permalink | filed under grumble, shoping, trip

we were only scheduled to be in london for 10 days, until eyjafjallajökull erupted and gave us a bit of a bonus extra holiday. before then, we operated on a strict program that had been planned and refined over the preceding months, via a very comprehensive spreadsheet. with first day brunch at ottolenghi done and dusted, we found ourselves on the train, richmond-bound, for second day lunch at petersham nurseries.

out of the station, we walked down the high street to get there, and along the river, and through a muddy paddock, and up a dusty driveway, and through a little of the nursery, and arrived in good time to be shown to our table in a large tentish room with a dirt floor (a tent festooned with enormous bunches of fresh flowers, and strewn with mismatched furniture of varying vintage). my sister thought it was important that we have bread and butter, and lemonade, and quick! and then there they were.

the menu was streamlined – just three options for each course — and according to one of the nicest waitresses in the world, might change from day to day depending on produce available. friday, i was lucky enough to have…

fried artichokes with a caper and mint dressing
such a riot of crispy edges and zingy flavours! such a joyous jumble of leaves! the play of textures was fun indeed as i mix-matched artichoke outsides (brown and crunchy as chips) and insides (pale, soft, and mildly tangy) with capers and lemon juice and minced-up mint leaves that no doubt found their way into all the crevices of my teeth. smile!

grilled sardines with aioli
you know, it looked modest on the plate, and felt light to eat it — all those lemony, fish oily flavours — but golly, i was stuffed when i was done. the sardines were plump and moist, and the sauteed chard yielding, and the lovely dollop of aioli — so full in the mouth, i only needed a little dab on each forkful of fish, and made it last right ’til the end.

almond tart
we had been excited to read it on the menu, and gleeful to see it at the table — this sturdy wedge of pastry with the lazy slurp of cream and candied orange syrup. it was even pleasing to eat, but alas, in the end, the crunchy pastry shell filled with dense frangipane, rough-hewn nuts and rind completely vanquished us. we probably would have appreciated it more on its lonesome, with a big cup of tea, and not the legacy of three fat sardines and as many crisp-fried artichokes.

stracciatella ice cream
truly, the surprise winner of the show. the ice cream — presented in a heavy drinking glass — was super premium, rich and creamy, and served at exactly the right, just melty temperature. mixed very generously into this were more bits of good dark chocolate than you’d think necessary, or possible. the ice cream makes its way down your throat, and then the shards of chocolate melt away and linger on your tongue. blissful, it was, even when the pain of distended belly kicked in. i could not stop eating this.

it looks simple, does it not? this food? there was nothing extraneous on the plate; each course just a tumble of a few flavours, and no adornment except for its necessary elements. but it all looked beautiful, and tasted much more wonderful than what you might expect from such spare plating. everything that could be eaten — with the exception of the noble almond tart — was.

they serve coffee from a cafetière here, or any number of floral infusions. no, not a single normal tea, grumble. so i picked mint from the list recited by the waitress, and was brought a comforting pot of green. a fine way to conclude a meal in the middle of a garden centre on a sunny springtime afternoon.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 4 May 2010 at 11:00 am

permalink | filed under ice cream, lunch, trip

another morning, breakfast for some of us was a remarkably life-like, custard-filled totoro bun. not for me: the day before, i had chanced upon the new digs of the japan centre on regent street. i stumbled into this warren of wonders, and came away with the bready gift for my sister.

it is more frenetic in the store than out on the street. past the sidewalk tables with the unsettling spongey seating, just after the entrance, there is hot steamy action with freshly made savoury snacks. then there are the refrigerated shelves piled with ready-made meals. there are a few rows of tables where people can (and do! madness!) sit and eat this food amidst the crush. there is, somewhat inconveniently placed, a bank of cash registers, before the grocery section kicks in — all the staples and then some, as well as a fridge of treats like cottage industry black sesame panna cotta and maccha swiss rolls. there is a wall of practical kitchen utensils, whimsical bento accoutrement and aluminium foil printed in cartoon characters. beyond all that, almost hidden, a sushi train. truly a fine example of a small but hyper(crazy)efficient inner city supermarket.

back home, totoro-pan was met with an appropriate amount of appreciative gasping, and delivered a comforting combination of airy, sweet bread (complete with “polo” topping for the belly) and nice light custard. me, i had the tiniest nibble, and then contented myself with eating quite a bit of the kid’s hello kitty bun. really, i’d bought it for effect, as the child does not like custard, not even chocolate custard. shame: kitty’s filling was a smooth, dark specimen, rich with cocoa. when i was done tearing limb from bready limb, i licked my fingers clean.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 3 May 2010 at 10:08 pm

permalink | filed under breakfast, shoping, trip

let me tell you about breakfast. this morning, sitting at my desk and watching last night’s episode of masterchef online and writing this — how’s that for multitasking? — i have before me a slice of buttered and vegemited bourke street bakery soy and linseed. i also have another slice slathered in a big sticky blanket of laduree caramel au beurre salé. and i have milky tea.

it’s mostly back to normal: trying to fit a plate somewhere on my paper-strewn desk, or on the dining table which is mostly a thing repository. sometimes just an empty spot on the carpet littered with crumbs from the kid’s last three meals. oh how i miss that clean expanse of candy-striped oil cloth on an almost awkwardly positioned table in a lounge room in london.

our first day there, i steered the excursion into waitrose, where i found an enormous jar of bonne maman apricot compote. just look at that vibrant orange colour — it was very striking against the green gingham lid. i commandeered a packet of scones then, and a tub of clotted cream, and waited eagerly for breakfast time to arrive.

my sister does not have a microwave oven, so i ate the scones cold in the first jetlaggish light of day. however, by ensuring that the volume of cream and compote was greater than the volume of scone, i managed to counter any cold hardness that an overnight scone might normally possess. in any case, this supermarket scone was moist enough inside, and performed admirably its role as vehicle for deliciousness.

and the fruit compote? my word, it was some kind of wonderful. tangy-sweet with huge chunks of succulent apricots right down to the bottom of the jar. we ate our way through it over the next couple of weeks, mostly on buttered toast, and were sorry to see it go.

now, here’s something completely different: we only made it out for breakfast once, and that was to euphorium bakery. i surprised myself by going savoury; even the counter girl seemed taken aback when i ordered the british pork and apple sauce sandwich. but she grabbed one from the pile and sliced it in half before plonking it down on a plate and pushing it across the counter.

i was silenced. it was as big as my forearm. every mouth at the table dropped open in awe as i set it down — except for the kid who was grappling with a perplexing and sodden (and ice cold and rubbery) blueberry clafouti (tchk. there is really no need to serve such a fail in a cafe, especially one where they make everything fresh inhouse.) i began to eat, and the meat was moist and a little bit streaked with fat. there was soft bread, and salty butter generously spread, a foil to the sweet-tart apples. there was crisp lettuce, and crunchy edges of crackling. it really was a most pleasing sandwich.

it was so good i had in again for lunch, after carrying it around in my satchel for some hours as i wandered through the excellent national portrait gallery (a compact and well curated selection of the permanent collection; a quite mesmerising exhibition of three centuries of indian portraits; and a room of mind-boggling contemporary “miniatures” by the singh twins). though mainly because i only managed to eat one half of it for breakfast.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 3 May 2010 at 12:25 pm

permalink | filed under breakfast, trip

i went to singapore, and all i got was this packet of fish pancake gummies.

no, i lie. but four days goes superfast before you have to get on another plane to take you to london, and then if, say, a volcano erupts somewhere in europe and grubbies up the skies, and your flight back to singapore is cancelled for several days, it will not leave you much time to mosey before you are due back in sydney. two days, in fact. ish. it will leave you with many eating plans unfulfilled. ah well.

these fish gummies were procured during a leisurely supermarket trawl during the first couple of days. now see, i like the idea of taiyaki — those japanese fish pancakes most commonly filled with red bean paste — but they are scarce around these parts, and besides, i suspect i would much rather have the ice cream version of it: vanilla ice cream and red bean sauce in a fish-shaped wafer shell.

and now, i would happily have a taiyaki gummy, an adorable little fish-shaped nubbin that tastes uncannily like caramelised batter and white bean paste — a feat probably referenced by the “!?” punctuation on the packaging. it even has the slightly grainy texture of mushed-up beans (the list of ingredients includes bean powder). amazing.

i also found the intriguing pukupukutai air-in-choco strawberry fish, the kind of confection where you tear open the bag, and the air around you fills with the aroma of sweet, sweeeeet fake strawberries. it is a rather perfect rendition of the original pancake fish in crisp pink wafer. encased within is a mass of pink strawberry-flavoured chocolate, the texture of which is that of an aero bar. truly, a stellar light snack for a joyous occasion.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 30 April 2010 at 1:50 pm

permalink | filed under candy, packaging, trip

in the days leading up to easter, the cupcake bakery made me an offer i couldn’t refuse. from their gleaming little outpost in the myer-to-QVB walkway, rows of festive cupcakes beckoned. this one, a chocolate cupcake with tiny speckled chocolate eggs nestled in an enormous swirl of pink frosting, pretty much grabbed me by the face and told me i should take it home.

so i did, and the kid enjoyed it very much. she was kind enough to allow me a small bite of the cake, as well as one of the eggs, so i can tell you that the cake was light, and not as dry as it has been on occasion, but the egg, alas, was compound. still, it was all the fuel she needed to put the finishing touches on her hat for the school easter bonnet parade to be held the following day.

and would the rains hold? would sodden papier mache crises be diverted? yes.

and now, some days later, we find ourselves at the mercy of this fickle singaporean weather. it was hovering around 30 when we arrived a couple of night ago. yesterday it was rainy, and almost refreshing. today it’s back up to 34. there is most of a big, fat rava masala dosai under my belt — it cost all of $3 — and i’m struggling against the urge to have a big, fat afternoon nap. the battle could go either way.

next stop: old blighty.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 5 April 2010 at 6:10 pm

permalink | filed under around town, cake, kid, lunch, trip

so yes, it was hot in melbourne, but it never got too hot for pizza. one day in january, after a short spell at luna park —

[ the kid is still too short for most of the rides, but we did qualify for the ghost train (a dud), and then the mini-roller coaster in the shape of a large green dragon (rollicking god fun for the 105cm-tall set). after which she procured for herself the largest fairy floss in the world. it was roughly half her height, and weighed enough that it eventually pulled itself off the stick. she kept calm and carried on, slipped her arm through the mass of spun sugar, and fashioned herself a fine edible bracelet. ]

– and a large amount of gelato that melted before we even made it down the street, and a good bout of digging in the sand beneath the promenade, and the merry side-stepping of washed-up jellyfish on the shore, we stumbled, somewhat sundazed, into il fornaio, which hangs off the prince hotel on ackland street. i’ve always come by at the wrong time, too late for lunch service, and this time, alas, we were once again told we could have drinks only, or anything from the display case.

fortunately, the display case still held a handful of small pizze. i picked the prosciutto. the waitress was kind enough to put it in the oven for a spell, and it was just the salty, crunchy-edged kind of mid-afternoon snack you might wish for, just in from the beach with your legs all sandy.

some days later, we took shelter at the NGV international. for a while, we pretended to look at art, though really we were more interested in standing over the impossibly sleek airconditioning vents in the floor of the gallery. and then also, lunch. the gallery kitchen beckoned, from its hiding place behind the ground floor escalators. and you will see this picture, and yawn and say, ho hum. i couldn’t help it! i am completely powerless against the lure of a prosciutto pizza, but look! this one was also decked out with fat slices of field mushrooms and a smattering of olives and fetta.

ahh… such pleasurable little discs of modestly puffy, barely charred dough, their sharp flavours uncompromised by just a scant amount of cheese. it’s a rarity around these parts i tells ya. if they had been just three bites larger, they would’ve been perfect.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 25 February 2010 at 2:46 pm

permalink | filed under around town, lunch, trip

what a long, terribly hot summer it’s been. our fault, i suppose, for spending most of it in sunny melbourne. on the most horrible day, we took shelter in the airconditioning of the arts centre; my plan was to see as much of the AC/DC exhibition as the kid would allow. except that we found ourselves drowning in a deluge of pink tulle. turns out it was fifteen minutes away from the lunchtime matinee of the angelina ballerina show, and hundreds of little girls in ballet dress-ups swarmed the lobby. the kid turned her large limpid eyes my way; the temperature in the street was the wrong side of 40; i handed over my credit card, and spent the next hour or so sitting in a sea of battery-operated glowsticks, watching lithe, human-sized mice dance across the stage.

but the temperature kept climbing, and at 1.40 in the wee hours of the morning, i woke up stifled. i poured myself down the hallway, and had a cold shower, and eventually got back to sleep. later we were to find out it was hovering in the lower-mid-40s all night, and when the temperature finally dropped at about 8am, it was to a refreshing 34°C.

ugh.

so we went out in search of icy treats, often. the lemon-lime and bitters sorbet at trampoline was truly delightful. a very fetching shade of palest pink which dissolved gracefully into a gentle citrusy tang on my tongue. i liked it so much i went back for more.

there was the emergency slurpee from a hole-in-the-wall 7-eleven one afternoon in the melty city, and a golden gaytime krusher at KFC one sunday when nothing else was open in shimmery rural victoria. it was a most unappetising shade of… bilge, a pale and lumpy yellow in the plastic tumbler, that tasted better than it looked, until it warmed up to room temperature.

and then, holy moley, there was the organic cinnamon donut gelato from fritz gelato at the souf melbourne markets. lush and milky with a streak of sticky red jam all the way through. behold its majestic crest sitting atop an enormous scoop of caramelised fig and roasted almond yoghurt gelato, equally lush and milky, and filled with crunchy little fun bits of seeds and nuts and burnt sugar. good times…

and then we came back to sydney, and the holidays galloped to a close, and the kid grew up and went off to school. no tears were shed from anyone involved.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 25 February 2010 at 10:50 am

permalink | filed under around town, ice cream, kid, trip

it’s the morning after the night we poured ourselves through the chinatown new year night market. every year we go, and every year we say how insane it all is, and then a year passes and we forget, and we do it all again. the kid spent two hours in someone’s arms, buffeted, or on someone’s shoulders, above the crowd, so she basically did ok. the rest of us stopped when the crowd did, moved when it moved, and if we were sweaty enough at a certain point in time, we slimed past whoever was in the way.

me, i seemed to be sweatier than most, because we had thought it prudent earlier in the evening to dine on bowls of bakut teh and steamed buns; my body temperature was already up by a couple of degrees. eventually, when we tired of seeing the same exotic delicacies being peddled by every third shop (this year’s new inclusions appeared to be a range of flavoured taiwanese rice cakes, and fig jelly), we insinuated ourselves into a quiet crevice between two stalls, and replenished our sweat glands with icy cold sour plum drinks.

“will we go again next year?” i asked my mother.

“no,” she said, most decisively. “except maybe to buy mushrooms.”

right now i am fortifying myself with a mug of almond-flavoured soy milk. i had seen an ad for it on the back of a bus on the way home from the airport a week ago, and had rushed out and bought a carton the very next morning. see how effective an 8-ft high photograph of a carton of soy milk can be?

but i am particularly susceptible to soy beans this week. so far i have acquired:
• enormous rice crackers embedded with whole roasted black soy beans
• black soybean hot cocoa mix
• some sort of roasted soybean snack, which i really bought for the carton
• soft serve soymilk ice cream

the last of which i would be quite overjoyed to eat every day, but which would leave little room for the bakkwa-on-white-bread sandwiches, or the sambal prawn rolls, or the mangosteens/duku langsat/jackfruit trinity.

if only this could be my only quandry, rather than the pathological fear the kid has developed, of public toilets which flush automatically. in this city, that is the most tiresome thing of all.

- – -
this was originally posted to the ragingyoghurt facebook page,
while the blog lay dormant.

posted by ragingyoghurt on 24 January 2009 at 11:40 am

permalink | filed under around town, kid, snacks, trip

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