Some long overdue photos.

The weather here has been somewhat crazy. Terribly hot and muggy and then suddenly, we are plagued (it’s a good thing really I just think that for others, many do not welcome the rain) with days of unceasing relentless rain. Doing the laundry gets a little tricky for most. I’ve seen lots of women queueing at the laundromat for the dryers with bright blue baskets of washing. My sisters have been complaining that the air is getting more chilly and the nights are nippy. By my standard, I really do not feel it. It just feels a little less oppressive and I hope the air stays that way. I don’t mind the rain (other than it annoys my hair a little) as long as our neighbourhood doesn’t flood. Because now that, is a whole different predicament altogether.

When I was in Kyoto in June, it was raining quite a bit as well. Hence, it just sprung into mind that I should upload some of the shots taken there. A little warm it was, a little rainy some of the days in Kyoto. Honestly, the weather then is exactly the same as what we’re experiencing now. Funnily enough, the weather makes me crave for soba ~ cold soba, hot soba whatever. It’s a need. So I dug up these pictures of handmade soba I had in Arashiyama. It was really lush, and fresh, soft but firm and well-made. The dipping sauce for mine and the broth for my pal’s was really delish. Oh how I wish I were there now again, slurping soba on the top floor of a tiny crooked shop with a (somewhat blocked but chilled out) view of the river.

The shop has a lovely, quaint, shadowy upper floor with just a few tables. The ones that are by the window facing the river are quite sought after since you can see the Togetsu Bridge on the left stretching over the river. We were lucky to get 2 spaces next to some salarymen who were quite so busy slurping their soba they didn’t even notice us arriving and noisily shoving ourselves into our seats. It took my friend Mr. Patience (yes that’s his real name) quite some time and effort to fold his lanky long BFG body into the little cranny of a space, obviously designed and built to comfortably seat the Japanese male/female physique.

A lovely rest stop. Fantastic handmade soba, good view, wonderful service, not to mention lovely ceramic cups/bowls/etc. that are also for sale just under the stairs next to the till.

It might seem a little hard to find but look out for its brown exteriors on the right footpath if you’re walking towards the river. You’ll notice a little zen stone garden once past the doors. You’re there.

Yoshimura
2 Togetsukyo Kitazumenishi
Arashiyama, Ukyo-ku

http://www.arashiyama-yoshimura.com

11am-5pm Daily

*ps. Around this area, you might spot geisha…or rather, women who pay to dress up like geisha. I was tempted. Truly. Which girl doesn’t like to get all decked up in shiny silk stuff and have their faces painted!

When we ventured into Gion, one thing that motivated us was seeing the streets of this pleasure district, grabbing a few bits of traditional Japanese crafts and also seeing a geisha show if possible. One other motivation, made more intense by the summer heat, was to eat wagashi and Japanese ice. Out of three places I’d noted down to visit in Gion (for these culinary delights), one was shut, the other a little too out of the way and so 祇園小石 Gion Koishi it was! And what a precious little shop this was.

This time of the year, you start seeing shops hanging out ‘氷’ signs which basically say ‘ice’ and more often than not they will have a variety of shaved ices (kakigori) or ice creams and parfaits. Gion Koishi I hear is famous for their black sugar syrup (kokutomitsu 黒糖蜜) made from kurosato sugar which is very similar to dark molasses but we weren’t so much intrigued by black sugar at all. Instead, we wanted anything and everything green and matcha-related!

Here’s what we tried and it seemed everybody else around us (school-kids and adults alike) were all ordering and eating the same thing, most of them in complete silence. It was like stepping into the dark recesses of a sacred cave and joining fellow pilgrims in the humble and elaborate process of licking their wooden spoons off of matcha ice cream, shiratama and kanten jellys. What an atmosphere! When eating something rather sinful, I sometimes do it alone in the dark in the privacy of my bedroom and scoff it down like a real animal. Here, in Gion Koishi, feel free to do the same and wash it down with cups of hot hojicha. You don’t have to feel embarrassed. Because everyone is sorta doing the same, with the occasional hum of satisfaction.

Matcha Chiffon Parfait 抹茶シフォンパフェ – ¥1050

This was the best matcha parfait I’ve ever eaten in my life! I’ve never been this happy with ice cream before. Generous scoops of vanilla and matcha ice cream, shiratama mochi in both plain and green tea flavours, kanten jelly, a Mont Blanc-like mountain of kuri (chestnut) paste, adzuki bean paste and slabs of fluffy matcha chiffon cake. Oh, and whipped cream. Yea, a real list of ingredients and a real tall glass of it all. Mine. Consumed. The experience? Totally beyond words, indescribable.

Wagamama-gori Uji (green tea syrup) わがまま氷の宇治 – ¥970

Next up, what Gion Koishi is notorious for! Their Wagamama (literally meaning selfish) kakigori is just a bowl of surprises this one. It may look more like a luscious green mountain with an egg yolk on the top than a luxurious dessert but this was one real refresher. The shaved ice is heavily doused with a bittersweet matcha syrup, topped with a candied chestnut (love these things!), sweetened adzuki beans and underneath this promising heap of ice lies a bed of kanten jelly, light and sweet. Who needs mints to wake you up when you can have a whole bowl of kakigori to yourself.

Now I merely wish teleportation was possible. I’d throw myself into the fireplace and teleport every evening for the best dessert Kyoto can offer.

Gion Koishi is on the north side of Shijo St (四条通り) about 1 min walk from the gate of Yasaka Shrine (八坂神社). If you are walking towards Yasaka Shrine, it’ll be on the left side of the street.

School’s out. Well, sorta. Other than a few projects that have gotta be done and leftover bits of housekeeping matters, it’s all been folded up and chucked into boxes to be forgotten over the short summer break we’ve got. I am thrilled that we’ve finally got a bit of time to put our feet up, let down our hair and for me, be absolutely lazy lousy hungry like I don’t give a shit.

And that also means lots of brunches and lunches. One thing about being in Singapore is that it’s too hot to walk. I mean it. I love walking to places. It saves bus/train money, its good exercise and it’s always healthy to have some ‘me-time’, get some fresh air whilst you catch up on some of your favourite iPod playlists. But in this humidity and oppressive heat, it’s a one-way ticket to skin cancer, heat exhaustion (for me at least) and fainting spells. So it’s kinda great when people offer rides to those hard-to-get cafés and all that. When they invite you along, ride included, you do the right thing and say yes, and then, BRING THE BANTER (and the appropriate appetite).

So finally I got whisked to the Singapore Turf area where the fortunate few ponce around on beautiful horses on the race course and all that. I had a right mind to turn up in riding trousers and a Ralph Lauren polo. Tucked deep into Fairways Drive situated in Bukit Timah Saddle Club is this lovely, charming colonial house Riders Cafe. The name is simple, direct, speaks for itself and hence, exudes that individuality no other can replicate simply because. It had a nice ring to it as well.

I’d heard quite a bit about their poached eggs here (I rave about eggs benedict so I suppose it’s only natural people recommend the spots where real awesome goods can be found). That was ordered, of course. Two comely ballooned, slightly wobbly, bulbous and comely cloyingly thick molten yolks tenderly shrouded in delicate clouds of milky egg whites, precariously (I mean it) balanced atop two halves of herbed grilled tomatoes, streaks of fried bacon lazying on a bed of sourdough. [pause] And then the whole thing is just ridiculously and generously doused with hollandaise and bits of chopped parsley. Kill me now. I want to relive that again.

But before this was all sat down very elegantly before me — my eyes all this while are eagerly following every gradual fated movement of that plate’s advancement towards the space directly in front of me — one of me poached eggs decided to make a run for it before it got devoured without a care for finesse. Not so much a run, more like a suicidal backflip. But a poor attempt at that.

It went … flop, SPLAT –…–squelch…a puncture somewhere; yolk bleeding. A pool of runny yellowy orange yolk gets bigger and bigger with each millisecond that passes. ABSOLUTE SILENCE. Shock on one end, amusement on the other. The pool of warm yolk is getting to the size of my palm now and threatens to make its way close to my glass of ice water. I’m willing someone to move or say something. I think I see a bit of billowy egg white shudder. THERE’S A CRIME SCENE ON MY TABLE. Somebody do sumfing! Finally, the waitress moves. She apologises. Someone else comes to clean it up. Too late. By then, my whole table’s quaking with giggles all around and I’m doubled over, howling with laughter and grabbing my sides to stop the stitches. I’ve laughed so hard tears have actually sprung into my eyes. Hilarious! Laughter’s so infectious at this point, even the willowy dude cleaning up that murdered mess of egg can’t stop a grin from forming. Accident #1.

A fresh plate of eggs benedict arrive soon after. We wonder if both eggs got replaced or merely one. That thought doesn’t even last a second as I move in onto my plate and gently pierce the fattest part of poached egg with the tip of my knife. Like a surgeon I carefully make a small incision, then move the knife around to spread the waterfall of yoke that floods all of the bacon beneath it. The sourdough slowly soaks up the thick orange yoke. I can’t help thinking, at this point, that the act of eating a poached egg is quite so sensual; I am glad it requires an undivided attention that my focus doesn’t deviate away to check if anyone is observing me. I would not have been able to stop a blush otherwise.

Across the table, the same thing’s happening with a plate of eggs royale: the make-up of which is pretty much the same except for a substitution of bacon and tomatoes for smoked salmon, avocado and sour cream, all with a side of rocket and asparagus salad. The smoked salmon is soft, creamy and lightly smoked. A mouthful of the eggs royale (although this wasn’t my plate) I could imagine would’ve been flavourful, richly enveloped in runny yoke and reinforced with a comfortingly fluffy bite of brown sourdough. Gorgeous.

Next to me, a boy with a hearty appetite and naturally of good cheer is tucking into a plate of golden hued brioche french toast with smoked bacon, grilled bananas, strawberries and maple syrup. It smells amazing from where I’m sat, buttery, sweet and savoury with that scent of strawberries lightly hanging in the air. I want a bite of that. And I do get offered one. The brioche is so tall and nicely browned, buttered and yes, soaked with maple syrup. The bananas look gloriously caramelised although that still doesn’t convince me to like bananas. The whole dish is a plate of fireworks, its beauty is intense – the colours implore you to take a bite and he seems utterly in his own world when he tucks into it. Oh yea, he washed down this handsome breakfast with a tall glass of peanut butter & jelly smoothie…yea, you heard me right – PBJ smoothie. Intense.

Really intense.

The plates are getting cleared as I slurp up the last bits of my iced cappuccino and it appears the disaster magnet I have somewhere in my aura is still going strong. The same willowly dude picks up my plate which is pretty much wiped clean save some strands of rocket. And like a strong force of attraction between myself and anti-rust metals, the knife comes sliding off it. I could see it just aiming for my lap and my hands were too busy rubbing my food baby so I was just about to surrender my black trousers to grease and hollandaise, when this fine young man with a deft flick of a wrist caught that knife and saved me from Accident #2. What a load of drama, and all for poached eggs.

It’s like it was the damn Rape of the Lock going on or sumfing like that today. Anyhow.

We gotta go back for seconds, and dessert. There’s yet more to be explored.

I was a birthday girl last Saturday. (big cheshire cat grin)

Knowing it was going to be my last week in London before I move back in with the -rents, and after reading Catty’s amazing post on Vintage Patisserie’s vintage tea service, this Madhatter-loving girl just had to throw one party like she meant it. Go out with a bang.

Don’t know what this Vintage Patisserie is all about? Hit up the link to find out more about Angel and her wonderful team who let you step back into the 20s. This includes gorgeous vintage teaware which she’s been collecting since forever, champagne teas, a wicked dress-up trunk, a personalized afternoon tea and decor to send your senses tingling and toes curling. Angel (whom you might’ve seen on Dragon’s Den), in all her sweet glorious fiery head of hair and personality to match, knows how to host and prep a party good. Leave it in her fairy godmother hands to spin you up a magical time; and she doesn’t even need a lame-ass magic wand to do that.

I was truly embarrassed to see my face on cupcakes and my name on little cubes of milky white chocolate. But every girl should be showered with attention and treated like a bit of royalty on her birthday, no? However, having me mates eat my face was a tad bit unsettling at times. The champagne spiked tea did help settle my nerves. The girls (and boys) had a jolly good time trying on stuff from the dress-up trunk. And so did I. It was so much fun and a good excuse to smear on more layers of red rouge than necessary. Win.

My recent addiction to Mad Men (now that I’ve found time to get back on track with television) has caused my longtime obsession with menswear, tuxedos and those funky accessories for the male gentry to go absolutely off the charts! This meant I was eyeing the tophats for forever. The red ones were pretty yum. If I could have gotten away with a size L tophat on my tiny head, I would’ve.

Was very pleased that Catty, Suyin, Sasa, Mowie and Bruce could join in the fun. Thank you for coming, my special foodies. Didn’t manage to get a good shot of them gorgeous ones but one thing I can say for sure….I’ve never been surrounded by so many beautiful people ever. Fact.

Time seems to have just melted by. A year has literally flown by. New friends made and memories treasured; loves been and gone; mistakes made and remembered. Now…a year wiser and a step into another chapter of my life.

•••

Ps. In the last few days of coffee/lunch/dinner dates with pals, and of course that dreaded packing and repacking of suitcases, here’s what I’ve been doing: admiring these beaute Pierre Hermé macarons Mowie and Bruce gave me! Muchos loveage! Honestly, I think I’m dying and going to heaven.

The past month I’ve not only been busy but I’ve been considering the future of this blog. Should I give it a major facelift, should I redesign and reconceptualize everything seeing as this was really a brainchild of a teenager, should I scrap it completely or should I leave it to age in a corner with only some good photographs to keep for memory’s sake? I’m not sure yet where that’ll take me but once the decision is out, I’d be sure to post back here and let you all know. I’m at the crossroads.

One half of the hungry crew

Anyhows, last weekend Mowie organised a dinner for us hungry ghosts, including Suyin, Panu and Bruce, at Catty’s recommendation. I’d been told the ordering here was high-tech, you could play with your tables (literally) and the food was impressive. I mean, this is heaven’s playground for food geeks! The food was lush, the music being played in the restaurant groovy and chic, and the ambiance completely otherworldly. And as a first-timer to Inamo, you could be sure that I was reduced to a wide-eyed child, going back to basics to my 5 senses to explore the wonders of the world – Inamo’s world. I was utterly and completely in awe of anything that moved, on my table, that is.

The world is your oyster. The table is your iPad, or menu. Ie. You touch your table. There’s a little circular touchpad on the bottom right for you to maneuver through the menu of starters, main dishes, side dishes and dessert, drinks menu or other fun things like a map of the surrounding area, games, spy camera that stalks the chefs in the kitchen. Be careful not to get carried away with changing the ‘ambiance’ or settings of your table, or desktop (now I’m getting confused with restaurant dining or computer speak). Yes I kid you not, you can change the background of your table: send it to outerspace, to the rocky deserts or lotus gardens. Mad! Can’t decide? Your table’s got the ‘random shuffle’ function too. Some of the images are a bit neon or psychedelic but I suppose having your face lit up a ghostly cyan can be pretty fun whilst you chomp down on a Thai Green Curry or sumfin. Some people are into that.

It’s trippy and really fun. Only problem is that you might get way too engrossed with the damn table and forget you’re actually dining with others. You can play Battleship with your dining mate across the table, however. So that’s got my thumbs up. Although I’m shit at Battleship and got called a coward by Bruce for backing out in less than a second.

You know menus without pictures really put people off? And then there are those menus with ridiculous out-of-this-world very deceptive pictures that look nothing like the real deal when it gets dished out from the kitchen? Inamo shows you the image of your meal, when you hover over the option via your touchpad, and screens it onto the round plate-looking placemat set in front of you. So, it looks real, it looks like its there. It’s virtual menu. It’s virtual dining. OMG it makes me want to eat the table.

Well enough said. Here’s some of the food we ate. The dessert’s the pretty part and very impressive from what I tasted!

Truffle Marbled Beef

Black Cod with Spicy Miso

Berkshire Pork Neck with Apple Confit & Chocolate Sauce

Pandan Macaron, Yuzu White Chocolate Mousse with Lemongrass & Coconut Sorbet & Milk Chocolate Sauce

Vanilla Crème Brûlée

I would have taken more pics but the table’s a straight rectangle so getting across to the other side isn’t quite that easy. And with all the distractions offered from my table, why on earth would I be hanging on to the camera?! The meal was truly enjoyable and this futuristic way of dining a great experience. I would definitely go back here again and ban myself from the ‘games’ section.

Oh. And one more thing, if you’re a compulsive online shopper who loves sending truckloads of goodies into your online shopping basket with one click, practice restraint at Inamo. It’s easy to get carried away and click ‘ORDER’.

inamo restaurant
134-136 Wardour Street
Soho
London W1F 8ZP
Tel. for reservations: 020 7851 7051

There’s a street in London called Pudding Lane. That always tickles my funny bone. The word pudding. It makes me grin, it makes me laugh, it sends excited shivers down my spine, gives my sweet tooth a massive itch and also, activates my drool reflexes. And just a bit of trivia: did you know that there’s a breed of hamsters known as ‘Pudding’? That’s slightly weird but suppose that’s kinda cute. My kid sister’s got one of those. Quite adorable, if a little fat, lazy and greedy.

But…the thing the word originally refers to is much more fun, so much more decadent, truly inspiring, and gloriously delicious. I’m sure you’ll agree. No? Who loves pudding, hands up. If you don’t, I’m sorry I think you’re crazy.

SNOG froyo

As you might know, I’m guiltily taking a holiday. My kid sister is here for a short visit and so we’re visiting places in London/England she’s not seen before and eating the city over. Or sorta, as much as my wallet can afford. How ironic that after my wallet was stolen a few months ago, it hasn’t yet been replaced and my credit cards, ID cards, notes and change are all messily plopped together in an ugly pewter-coloured snake-scaled decorated freebie cosmetic pouch from Lancome. Oh dear.

Alright then, enough dallying about. Let me leave you with some pictures of sweet yummies and pudding. It’s nearly 11am, the sister is still concussed in bed like a sleeping dragon, the weather’s so horrid I simply can’t be bothered but things need to be done, and the day needs to go on! Keep safe in this gross weather and let’s hope for more sun this weekend. Until then….. eat pudding.

Hampton Court Palace Foodies Festival

LOVE Red Velvet in a Whoopie Pie

Angel Food Bakery in Brighton

Might get your daily dose of dopamine here in cupcake heaven

Greenwich

Down in the Greenwich Market

Melt-in-your-mouth apple pie in Biscuit Ceramic Café

Ottolenghi – A Necessary Pleasure

In addition to my fav Lemon Polenta Cake, we tried this Chocolate & Rum Fondant bad boy

Afternoon Tea at Sketch with Pam
The Parlour tearoom at Sketch is a wonderfully eclectic and stylish place for tea. To find out more, check out my first post on it here.

Bloody Praline

A Pink Paradise – delicate flavours of raspberry and lime

Olde Sweet Shoppe in Cambridge
Not sure if this counts as pudding, but it’s sugary. So I’m throwing this into the mix too!

More sweet secrets to come. We descend further into pudding underworld.

I haven’t stepped out of the house much other than for groceries, heading to the library or for work. There hasn’t been much venturing towards coffee shops and I have missed that coffee shop atmosphere, the scent of beans brewing, the bustling back and forth by waiters from tables to bar and for neat freaks like you and I, the sight of assorted cakes, cookies, breads all perfectly laid out on trays or stands behind glass covers. I’m a coffee shop girl through and through; and I like bringing work or reading with me to a coffee shop because the atmosphere always gets my motivation going. I’m not going to deny the romance of a smooth black cuppa, and the flaneur-esque peaks I take out of the window whilst sat at a table all to myself. I’m always at such peace in a coffee shop, pensive and sometimes a little relieved (maybe because of the temporary escape from city-paced walking out on the streets). Time seems to slow down to the beats of dripping filtered coffee, ticking away within its own coffee shop universe that is as uncomplicated as a scone, jam and clotted cream. I heart it, and surely many others of you do.

But hanging out in London coffee shops sometimes is much too much effort. The cost of travelling to one (the Starbucks here in Old Street ain’t that bad but it’s just a little too squishy for my liking and hasn’t anyone realized that Starbucks coffees aren’t that impressive) is not great for a poor student like me, walking to the amazing quirky little ones which stock Monmouth coffees out in Shoreditch is just too distracting sometimes, especially when your table-neighbours are wearing lame silver leggings, have streaks of bright green in their hair and this is all some time before midday. And then there’s the cost of sitting in the coffee shop. It’s not the coffee that’s expensive. It’s the other stuff that I can’t resist ordering. I can’t nurse a lone coffee. I’m just not that type of girl. I’d need a cookie, or a pannetonne, or a fruit tart, or a scone, or even lunch and the whole shebang. I’d be broke by the end of the month if I kept up my coffee shop habits like I normally do back home or during my undergrad days (when I got free coffees through a friend).

Things changed this week though. I handed in one essay 4 days early and I thought this sort of behaviour just had to be rewarded! So I visited Le Pain Quotidien in Goodge Street for a little sit down with my library books. No food photos I’m afraid but I was thoroughly impressed with the atmosphere and the communal dining table. I didn’t order much except an iced black coffee (which came extremely milky because the dude with dreadlocks who took my order was ditzy to the core), a flourless oh-I’m-in-love-type of brownie (which was expensive for the size of it but worth ever penny because it was seriously good) and an Americano after. The coffee was really good and I loved that it came in little bowls – true Frenchness gets my thumbs up.

And then today, I nearly lost my job. It’s a real long story but let’s just say the good news is that I didn’t lose it in the end. And I’ll have to thank my Mama’s fighting spirit that I’ve inherited for that. Well after the whole meeting, my brain was all a little fuzzy and my stomach – which had not stopped growling all through this serious meeting – was about to throw in the towel. Hence, my 2nd coffee shop trip/treat of the week was well justified. Again, I had no camera on hand. But from the outside, the stylish brown Princi sign was like light at the end of a dark tunnel. Stepping through the glass doors into this underworld of glorious breads, the sound of excited chatter, the smell of flour and cheese, the clinking of wine glasses, the spitting and hissing of opening cans of soft drink – it was truly my safe haven. And the interiors don’t get any more chic than Princi’s.

I ordered a slice of woodfired margherita pizza and an Americano (which wasn’t as impressive as Le Pain’s I’m afraid), had a great big chat with the mates at work on my Blackberry whilst this beautiful man next to me flipped through a Tom Ford folder. The lady on my right was reading the paper. The sound of the pages turning was quite comforting and reminded me of my Dad who reads the paper every morning religiously. Although there are quite a few tables and communal ones about, I was attracted to the bar at the back. I love bar stools so naturally I zoned in on that area quick as anything. The zen water feature of running taps in front of the bar tables was very nice too. See what I mean about the safe haven?

I’m loving this place so much I can’t wait to visit again. On my next visits to Princi and Le Pain Quotidien, expect more pictures! Til then, check out what I took home with me: Tiramisu and Olive Bread. You so have to love Princi for making their cakes in neat little rectangles!

Princi
135 Wardour Street
London
W1F 0UT
Tel.: 020 7478 8888
Opening hours: Mon-Sat 7.00-00.00 Sun 9.00-22.00

I was in Oxfordshire since last weekend soaking up some good ol’ countryside. If the weather had been a little less harsh and a little more forgiving, I think I’d have more pictures to share. Frankly speaking, however, I was just a tad bit lazy. Knowing this was probably the only ‘break’ or ‘holiday’ I was gonna get for about another 2 months, I wanted to be as lazy as I could and to enjoy myself thoroughly without having to frustrate physical movement with camera-slung-around-neck or camera-held-tight-in-both-hands. Getting away from any sort of technology was very refreshing as well. I admit I was still visibly active on Twitter but my Blackberry got minimal usage. The beloved laptop was left back home in London, the iPod got squished into a corner of my bag very often saved for used sweet wrappers and crushed receipts hardly given a second thought. And believe it or not, I barely touched my camera. It was food shoveled into mouth (or if it was busy chomping, it was engaged in very precious conversation with H) before the clicking of shutters. It may not have been the vacation of a lifetime but the sense of peace and zen, and the joy I had in reuniting with a friend who’s practically my soulmate would’ve beaten any holiday package hands down.

In the span of 5 days, we covered much ground. We (or rather I) woke up to beautiful breakfast spreads, coffee-ed at our much loved Morton’s and lunched at Maison Blanc where I missed the man himself by literally 30 minutes! The awesome thing was that H got speak to the man in all his glorious French-accented English. H’s mum got his book autographed. And wait for it, our dear Raymond Blanc even gave her an emergency number to ring lest she needed his help in the kitchen! Now if only I’d booked the earlier train, I might’ve had the chance to witness this most delightful affair.

I didn’t mope about for long as the fresh breads and grassy flavoured olive oil dip at Quod wiped my brain of any other thoughts. Mind became blank, and mouth awash with drool. A bit like a blank canvas ready for painting, I was starving and eager to begin my meal. Two glasses of crisp white and a spankingly good duck confit with this scrumptious orange-laced sauce.

You might already know we did some Easter baking. H has two ovens. I have zero at the moment. Or rather, I’ve one but it’s half a world away and I have no hopes of turning this microwave/grill crap that’s lodged into my kitchen wall into something fairly able to churn out cakes and cookies. If you’re presented with the opportunity, pounce on it. And so I did. But a holiday’s all about being decadent. Decadent to the point where you’re not even making the effort. So of course we ate more sweet treats and had tea. And whereabouts? At Blenheim Palace. Yes, where Winston Churchill was born. And where the house (as it used to be called, rather than ‘palace’) was later refurnished in the style of Versailles.

If you’re wondering, no we didn’t have afternoon tea at The Orangery or The Indian Room. The Water Terrace Café, a self-service cosy little one, was good enough for us. And when I say good, I really mean good. Cakes, scones, biscuits all homemade and generously portioned; tasting like bits of heaven and not factory-produced blocks of sugar and shortening. Really helps that the hot drinks are served in large cups (with a saucer) so you feel like you get your money’s worth and enough hot liquid to warm up your soul and fight that bone-chilling damp cold. No kidding. The weather that day was so awful. It did not help that I was wearing ankle cut offs and low-riding little loafers. Where was my performance gear when I needed it!

Nevertheless, Blenheim Palace was enjoyable and this little jewel of a café was like spotting a glowing hearth of a little cottage deep in a cold, dark, unforgiving forest. I can totally say I ate well, rested well and indulged up to Easter weekend. I’m back in the big smoke fighting the tube crowds, uneven cobblestone and sordid transport prices, with only M&S speckled eggs to keep my poor heart settled and at peace.

Happy Easter Sunday everyone.

Blenheim Palace
Woodstock
Oxfordshire
England
OX20 1PP

It was a strange week I had from two Fridays before to Sunday. A whole string of bad luck and unfortunate events. And for all that I fretted, cussed, whined and cried over, I was too busy attempting to right the wrongs and set my life back on the stable path that I didn’t have time to post or cook. In my geek online social life, I wasn’t too tweet/Facebook-sociable either (my apologies!). There was just too many upsetting things popping up like weeds in a garden: lost wallet, food poisoning, being cashless, bank drama, etc. …

In the mean time, I returned to being the snack-myster. Surviving on snacks and oddly put-together meals. Quite thankful I met up with Catty & Su-yin for Korean bbq dinner on Wednesday to soothe my nerves, followed by izakaya with my mates on Thursday. A cold beer after a long day. There’s just nothing quite like that put-your-feet-up and let-out-a-real-loud-AH!-after-the-first-gulp-of-beer feeling.

I woke up on Monday feeling miles better. Body sore like I’d run from here to another continent. The week had taken that much out of me. But it was sunny and full of spring promise. At the moment, I’m seeing the grey, the wet and the windy returning to London from my bedroom window so I suppose the shite weather’s just a real tease. I’m feeling the total opposite though. The grey and the depressed should be nearly out of my system by now. I admit I’m currently dealing with the post-drama (kinda like car accident paperwork that sorta thing) and the mundane housekeeping we all have to deal with.

Nevertheless, it’s Easter break. Three cheers to that.

And until my next post (I really have to sort out my house because the clutter and dirt just keep re-appearing. I suspect sabotage), here’s a couple of pictures to keep you company. Some yum giant olives from Whole Foods.

Whole Foods is cream cheese frosting to my cupcake. Gotta love it.

Last weekend, I was in Shrewsbury visiting a friend and by the end of my visit, it had me purring like a cat (I’ll get to why I was purring later). When it comes to visiting friends I’ve not seen for a while or going countryside, there’s only two words on my mind. And that is: pub food. Somehow my brain immediately identifies the country with – not just the calming and beautiful landscape – pub grub. It doesn’t help that I probably think about food more than sex or shoes or clothes in the day. My whole nom nom obsession is simply exacerbated.

On the Saturday, we visited the first iron made structure ever constructed – the Ironbridge. The weather wasn’t too bad in the day but by the time we’d got there after a thorough walkabout through the Victorian town Blists Hill, the sky was just miserable. It was grey, it was freezing cold, the winds were so strong it was a real challenge to walk in a straight line and the rain was all pissy and furry – the type that was so thin and fine it soaked right through to your bones I bet. You couldn’t escape this sort of rain or you could die trying, really. Thankfully we had a bit of relief from the rain when we stopped at this lovely, comforting pub for lunch. It was one that appeared most welcoming to us (also because our car was parked very conveniently in their driveway) and called The Malthouse, beckoning us with these luscious, seductive interiors.

If you’ve seen the first picture, you’ve probably already gotten a general idea of what this was like and why I say it provided us our much sought-after escape from the outside icky weather. Think lush interiors, like really lush, bordering on decadent. Velvety surroundings and a boudoir-ish ambience, Victorian style furniture with animal print or flocked upholstery and lots of red candles and carpeting. Sounds tacky and a bit cheap? On a sunny day when I’m happy, dry and well-fed I might think just that. When I’m a sodding drowned rat, shoulders aching from hunching against the wind and ankles so cold they’d literally failed the rest of my body and stiffened into ice blocks, I think this was like coming home to a warm hearth and a plate of hot food after a long trek in the woods. The Malthouse was seriously like the light at the end of the tunnel for us. And I was nearly moved to tears when they sat us down at our table, all friendly and smiley and attentive to their windswept customers who’d arrived before the dinner crowd.

Like a cat, perfectly comfy in her skin, and luxuriously stretching its limbs, I did a nice big stretch after chucking aside my wet brolly and removing my coat still icy from the wind. Then, I took another look around and I think my face just lit up and glowed from being warm and dry and sat down. I was utterly comforted by the fact that we were about to be fed. And I simply couldn’t help being appreciative of the quirky bits in this pub house like, the day’s menu written on long panels of chalkboard, pictures of hearts framed and stuck on the walls and oh, this bit I thought was so cool – black chandeliers with opaque black beads dangling very sexily from the bulbs. I know I know…that’s not to everyone taste and it’s so flashy contemporary it kind of hurts your eyeballs. But I could have just thrown myself into the interiors, sinking into it like a waterbed with a sort of post-erh-hum satisfaction, so sue me.

Smoked Salmon Baguette

If I’ve made you quite jealous of our experience, then I’ve been quite successful. If I haven’t, don’t worry I won’t try again. Instead, I’ll change my tactic and move on to Plan B. The food.

Chicken & Onion Rings Stacked Burger & Chips

S’s mum had a nice smoked salmon baguette and the rest of us ordered some hot food – dramatic pause here – some hot proper pub food. It was real nice to see the menu being separated out into starters, pub food, mains, soups, salads, desserts (I think that was how it was for the last 3). What I’m trying to stress is the separate category the humble pub fare was given and that really brought a smile to us. I think we all privately reminisced the cheap student pub food from our undergrad years (which ended only just last year) and anyway, I think everyone has a special place in their heart and stomach for the simple yet very much loved pub grub. We’ve all had good pub food, and bad pub food. Even if at that point of time it was a real torture to swallow that plate of pure grease and cheap butter, I can only say that general entity known as ‘pub food’ is always quite fondly thought of. Of course there wasn’t much to worry about here because the food was excellent!

Bangers and Mash

My food was the last to arrive. Although the last, it was definitely not the least by miles! The picture of it might explain why. It was huge! The portion of chips was generous and the battered fish about the length of my forearm. My lunch partners were a little worried and all ready to ask for doggy bag to take home the leftovers.

Fish and Chips

I think my reaction to that was a big ‘errr…there’s no need’. I ate it all. It didn’t defeat me.

Am I disgusting or just a real trooper with a bottomless pit for a stomach? The fish was fab and so fresh. And thankfully it wasn’t just all made up of batter. The chips were nicely seasoned and real yum with a good bite to it. I quite dislike mushy peas. I think the look of it and the texture just puts me off completely so I never ask for it. If it’s on my plate, I push it away as far from my chips and fish as possible (and I really ain’t that kind of fussy eater. Just mushy peas, paté and black pudding I can’t stand). I don’t know if it was the red candle induced happiness or boudoir ambience that had gone to my head, I ate mushy peas.

Yes I really did. And I liked it. I normally don’t. But this one was good. And it had whole peas in it too. Maybe that’s what made it worked. I didn’t have it all, thank goodness. But I had some. And that’s progress. The Malthouse was a real success and I take the mushy peas as proof of that.

Even though the rain had let up and we were getting sleepy from being so well-fed, we were sad to leave and drive away from Ironbridge. Good times though. Great weekend.

The Malthouse
The Wharfage
Ironbridge
Shropshire
TF8 7NH
Bar-Lounge-Rooms-Live Music
Tel.: 01952 433712