Manager's Specials

You know what tastes really good? Farmers' Union strawberry Greek yoghurt. But you know what tastes even better? Farmers' Union strawberry Greek yoghurt with chopped dates, bananas, tropical muesli and Be Natural cereal. Holy shit, I nearly died in my breakfast bowl. I spent most of last night concocting this pile of deliciousness:

I think my Nike Training Club app tried to kill me this morning. That or it malfunctioned something stupid. Or the people who created it are sadistic bastards. There I was, doing my Body Buffer Get Toned workout or whatever that shit is called. When all of a sudden... well, not all of a sudden because two minutes prior, I had done a two minute side plank. But then, all of a sudden, the app asked me to do another two minute side planks.

Two minute side planks, or any side plank for that matter, are what I consider "hell." Because they hurt a lot. They hurt my arms, my abs and my heart. The only thing that keeps me going whilst performing aforementioned side plank is the knowledge that it will soon be over and that it is contributing to my future abs of steel.

But two minute side planks in quick succession are even more uncool. As such, I was very angry at Nike Training Club this morning. But then I ate my Farmers' Union strawberry Greek yoghurt with chopped dates, bananas, tropical muesli and Be Natural cereal and quickly forgot what immensity of pain I had been in.

After breakfast (I am writing this like a back-to-school, what-did-you-do-during/on-your-holidays recount even though I am writing at 11.22am and I ate breakfast at 9am so what is this farce? But step off, okay?), I went to the local IGA to pick up some things. I quickly realized that I am the biggest sucker for specials. You know how they strategically have all those coloured tickets telling you that oh shit, this item is on special? You are about to save 20c! This item is only $1.06 per 100g! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!

I fall trap to that shit every single time. My mind goes haywire. I suddenly see all these pennies I will be saving if I buy that pack of seaweed Sakatas. And my God, those seaweed Sakatas will surely taste better with the knowledge that I saved 46 whole cents on them!

So, I did it. I took the plunge and bought those damn seaweed Sakatas. But I think the Gods were out to get me because, as I sat in the car, perusing my (lengthy... There were many Christmas and Manager's specials at IGA today) receipt, I saw that I had been charged $2.45 instead of the sale price, $1.99, for my seaweed Sakatas.

My heart plummeted. My stomach fell out of my ass. The world collapsed around me. I had a Tolkien moment with fiery blazes whirling and everything sounding like I was underwater.

But I had to move on. I just had to. There were beansprouts to buy and coffee pastilles to ponder over. So, I did. And I think I am a better woman for it.

And, to end on a very different and random note, my brother has decided to open up a taco food truck after he graduates (instead of going into investment banking, earning lots of money, slowly developing alcoholism and learning to hate everything in life). He has apparently been making many different types of tacos whilst I have been traipsing through Europe (complete Flickr album to come). I think this is one of the few of his business/social enterprise endeavours that I can actually get behind, mostly because it involves food.

He has actually asked me to join him, albeit in a joking manner. But I am seriously considering it. I will probably develop dessert tacos or just start selling baked goods out the other window of the food truck. Or develop my own food truck selling date and walnut loaf and park my truck next to his. I won't be competition as we will be selling completely different things. Instead, our affiliated food truck businesses will bring us closer together in our brotherly/sisterly affection.

Amen.

J

Stephen Colbert vs. James Franco

Holy shit. He is such a nerd:



I don't even know which one I'm talking about!

J

Lavatory Findings

Remember when I said I would report back with my lavatory findings after stuffing my stomach with as much fibre as I could get? Well, I'm back and happy to report that things are going well. Except I just ate a 2kg salad (this is no exaggeration) and am now in excruciating pain. Note to self: eating 2kg of pure fibre may not be the best idea.

Regardless, I'm kind of pleased that I haven't puked from the sheer volume of greens I am currently consuming. I also haven't puked from my ass either (read: diarrhoea). This is comforting as I literally didn't poop for the first five days of my European Adventure. Is this too much information? Is this disgusting you? If so, read on because you really should be exposed to this level of bodily scrutiny to prepare yourself for even more confronting things later in life.

So, there I was, in my London hostel (http://www.tripadvisor.com.au/Hotel_Review-g186338-d209147-Reviews-Clink_261_Hostel-London_England.html), being all young and backpackery and constipated. I was complaining every morning and every night of my inability to process and pass the contents of my digestive tract. I was so mad. I was so uncomfortable. And then, one night, I woke up at about 2am.

"The time is now," my mind said to itself. I climbed down from the top bunk, probably waking up Big Michelle and Little Mishelle in the process, and raced to the communal female toilet. I walked out of that toilet about three minutes later, light as a feather, physically, mentally and emotionally. It was a stunning experience.

J

No to Rocket

Rocket is the worst vegetable in the world. Rucola has nothing on this bad boy.

Why would you voluntarily eat such a foul tasting vegetable? Why wouldn't you just eat some normal lettuce? Does rocket have some kind of amazing nutritional profile? Somehow, I don't think its nutritional profile is enough to justify eating what may very well be a toxic plant.

J

Tasty Tips

Foods I'm missing:

1. Gustapizza. Their spicy salami, hot sauce and "devilishly good" mozzarella are all fantastic but it's that dough that takes the cake. And the pie next to it.

2. Bicycle Hotel free breakfast. The breakfast that stole my granola virginity. The place where I tasted applestroop (it's basically sugar + apples. Nothing to rave about). The place where I put sprinkles on my toast and ate it like it was a piece of birthday cake. The place where they served cream in a jug next to the jug of milk (still not sure what the cream was for).

3. Gelato. Especially pear oriented flavours. Pear and ricotta. Pear and caramel. Or pera, if you want to get all Italian on me and shit.

4. Baguette. All crunchy and crusty with its chewy interior. So good to rip into or dip into Ayam green curry sauce if you're feeling saucy. Appropriately phallic in nature. Would bang (and I've officially disgusted myself).

5. Kim's Vietnamese Hut. Go to it. Camden Markets. 5.50 pounds can buy you a mega-plate of chow mein, bundles of vegetables and a big, juicy portion of steamed or fried salmon.

6. Spang Makandra. Who would've thought that the best thing I would eat in Amsterdam would be Indonesian/Suranamese food? No fucks given because this was a plate of deliciousness. I was also called "Miss Australia" here by a fellow customer, presumably because my figure, face and stature reminded said customer of Jennifer Hawkins.

7. Hotel Villa San Lorenzo Maria free breakfast. Where individually packaged biscuits are served in mounding baskets. Where delicious, buttery pastries are served on a warmer. Where delightful men ask what beverage you want as soon as you walk in (cappuccino, always). Where muesli has an abundance of banana chips (my favourite part of any muesli).

8. Aperitivo. Aperitivo. Aperitivo.

Ode to aperitivo... Can't be fucked rhyming right now. But aperitivo, you have stolen my heart (and the contents of Little Mishelle's stomach which was deposited at various points on the journey from Rome to Doha). 8-10 euros can buy you a delicious alcoholic beverage (or mocktail if you are like us and can only stomach virgin banana coladas) and access to a buffet of never-ending deliciousness.

My only wish is that the buffet was better lit so I could have gotten some better pictures of it.

9. Pain aux raisin. Pronounced pan oh raison because the French are weird. Croissants bow down to this creation. Its escargot shape allows for greater retention of buttery moisture. Internal raisins are plump and juicy whilst external raisins get crispy from the oven. I had two during my time in France but wish I'd had 2000.

10. Super soft dutch bread. I don't know how they do it but it is like eating clouds. I bought some mueslibollen only to find out it had peanuts in it. I ate it anyway. Its softness reigned supreme.

Foods I'm not missing:

1. Rucola. Fuck you, rucola. You taste like a horse's ass.

2. Icy leaves outside Villa Savoye. You just taste like ice. And make me cold.

J

A Month, A Broad

Okay, so it was less than a month and I'm not really a "broad." I will accept sheila or lass but then I wouldn't have achieved my fantastic play on words, right?

I returned on Christmas Eve. The air was sultrily warm with the feint scent of eucalyptus.

These are all lies. I got off the plane with a greasy face, doubly greasy hair, jeans that undoubtedly smelled like plane food (Big Michelle can probably attest to that as she likely smelled the shit out of her clothes once she got home), boots that (probably) smelled like pee (no comment) and a set of dentition that were in desperate, desperate need of a good brush and floss.

The air did not smell like eucalyptus. But it did smell like home.

This past month has taught me a lot. It has taught me that living with your two best friends for an extended period of time brings you closer than you've ever been before. It has taught me that everyone poos, just like the book. It has taught me the joy of flat shoes after walking for a month in heeled boots (small heels but still. I'm an idiot). It has taught me that gelato is best eaten on a strict schedule (exactly between lunch and dinner and preferably everyday). It has taught me that three is better than two, especially when there are public transport systems to be navigated and dark, Venetian streets to walk through. Especially when you are really shit at reading maps and have 25kg of luggage to lug over cobbled streets. It has taught me that cobbled streets quickly lose their charm when you have 25kg of luggage to lug.

It has taught me the joy of having something new to do everyday. It has taught (reminded) me that eating and exploring food really is my greatest source of joy when travelling. I've given up even trying to pretend otherwise as I thought it might make me more primitive or lacking cultural sensibilities somehow. Screw the Tate Modern (sorry, Little Mishelle) and Oxford Street (sorry, Big Michelle) and those fancy looking apartments at the Louvre (sorry, sorry). Fuck the Eiffel Tower (sorry, sorry, sorry).

Give me Borough Market any day. Give me street stalls, neighbourhood boulangeries bursting with a shittonne of pastries I've never tasted before. Give it to me all. Write me a dirty song with those words and I will sing it to myself as I loiter creepily at a Florentine pizza shop, willing one of those pizza guys with their strong, delightfully Italian (read: hairy) arms to marry me (marry me!).

More than anything, I wish I'd put a bit more extra effort into researching the cuisine of each city/country we visited. I wish I'd been more generous with my calories and budget and gone all out. I wish I'd spent the month previous slowly expanding my stomach volume so I could really eat.

My next holiday, I suspect, will be devoted to food. I want to go on a culinary tour and learn how to make bread. Make bread good. Make good bread. And then eat good bread. Eat bread good. I want to learn how to make fantastic gelato and then make every pear flavour under the sun. I want to persuade one of those artisan boulangeries to take me under their wing and teach me the secrets of the croissant au beurre. Then I want to eat it.

And then, then, then, I'm going to return to Florence. I'm going to go to this place: http://www.tripadvisor.com.au/Restaurant_Review-g187895-d1155597-Reviews-Gusta_Pizza-Florence_Tuscany.html Every night for a week. Eat every pizza/calzone on their menu. And, in that week, I will persuade one of the pizza guys (or even the Jess Mariano-esque waiter) to marry me. I will move to Florence, work at Gustapizza (oh, Gusta), eat leftover dough scraps cooked to crisp, doughy perfection in their beautiful woodfired oven and go to Grom for fantastic gelato every night with my delightfully hairy pizza-making husband.

It will be glorious.

J

I See Fibre

I went to see The Hobbit yesterday with my brother and his lady friend. It was damn good, especially compared to the first one. Things I noted:

1. Legolas is looking rough as hell. He has aged a lot. What, what? I thought elves didn't age?

2. Kili is easily the hottest dwarf in the history of dwarfism. He kicks Richard Armitage's Thorin in his (also shapely but less so compared to Kili) backside. No big surprise there; he is played by Aidan Turner, hot vampire guy from Being Human.

3. "I See Fire" by Ed Sheeran was written for The Hobbit?! What the what?

I just ate a massive salad, a recreation of a broccoli/cauliflower one I ate at a chain called SLA in Amsterdam. Too much fibre. Will report later with lavatory findings/results.

J

Return of the Jedi

I have returned. From Europe. Some 24 days after I left. Since then, I have climbed the Eiffel Tower, trekked through cow pat infested English countryside, eaten gelato nearly everyday for a week and done various unspeakable things (you know what they are, Big M and Little M).

Will I be bothered to blog about these things? Potentially not, depends on how much energy I have over the next few months. I will put up my pictures on Flickr some day in the near future (actually, we'll see. I get lazy easily) and you can pretend you're interested in my 1000+ pictures of skylines and rolling hills when all you're really interested in is my 1000+ food pictures (it's okay, I'm the same).

Also, I got a harmonica (as requested) for Christmas from my parents. Be prepared for some sick tunes the next time you see me (assuming I don't get bored of it before then).

And, on that note, merry Christmas!

J

You're a Sucky Person

I received this amazing email the other day:

Let's start off with the obvious...

I wrote a fanfiction called Forbidden to Forget. But I didn't just "write a fanfiction called Forbidden to Forget." I wrote at least seven chapters of a fanfiction called Forbidden to Forget with the seventh chapter called Te Amo.

But I didn't just write at least seven chapters of a fanfiction called Forbidden to Forget. I wrote at least seven chapters of a fanfiction called Forbidden to Forget based on the characters of The Mediator by Meg Cabot. Maybe you could have guessed that. "Te amo" being the words I so desperately wanted to hear a Jesse de Silva lookalike whispering into my ear as I lay awake in my prepubescent (I was a late bloomer) bed late at night.

Lizette Ray, as much as your cruel words hurt me, I cannot blame you. I think we can all agree that a Mediator fanfiction called Forbidden to Forget is going to be really, really bad. But props to you, Lizette Ray, for presumably reading seven chapters of my sucky fanfiction. I hope you enjoyed every one of those sucky chapters and sucked them bone dry.

So, if you can be bothered to, you can even hunt down my really sucky fanfiction from the details in the above email. I didn't just write sucky Mediator fanfiction. I also wrote sucky Twilight fanfiction. But The Mediator was my home.

I'm reading a book called Fangirls by Rainbow Rowell at the moment. Its suckitude on a scale of one to 10 is approximately a negative five. It is really good. You would all like it. I now want to move to Nebraska.

J

Ultimate Thick, Creamy Milk Shake (Brings All the Boys to the Yard)

Oh shit, I think I'm in love with this boy/man:



I would advise Little Mishelle to "get on it" but I shotgun him.

J