There’s something awfully naughtily gluttonous about eating tapas at MoVida. I’m a Sydneysider and this Spanish hot spot had long been on my Melbourne restaurant hit list. During a recent work trip I tore out of my hotel to get there early enough to score a seat before the hungry after-workers streamed in. I asked for a stool at the bar and was literally wedged into a corner. I didn’t complain. I didn’t care. I had my pew. And a ring-side view of the action.
Botanical Ark's tropical treasure chest
I’m suffering from the post-holiday blues, a bad dose of ‘over it’ brought on by the damp Sydney summer, and a gnawing ache sparked by a tousle with the corporate treadmill and the growing reality that it will be another six months before i can luxuriate in annual leave. I need a shot of ‘Vitamin Me’. I know where to get it. It’s just getting there that’s the tricky part. Continue reading
Freshly dug potatoes (istockphoto)
I love a good spud. I have done since I was a kid. Mashed potato was always a firm favourite. I would look forward to it so much – on the side of a casserole, or a Sunday roast lunch – that i’d be close to tears if it turned out to be lumpy.
If I could see it was a rush job when my mother was making it – because she was plating up six meals, getting five people to the table, and dealing with the last minute chaos of preparing a large family meal – I’d get fidgety and anxious. Continue reading