The Fabulous Baker Boys

I think I mentioned that I made a sourdough starter recently; last weekend I actually made bread from it. And it worked! In fact, it worked so well that the whole loaf was gone by mid-afternoon. I don't like sliced bread but I do love real bread. To my surprise, so do the kids. Kid 2 sawed off a fresh-baked piece the other morning when I wasn't paying attention and demolished it; then had two thick slices toasted yesterday - this is the child who eats about three things (peanut butter, fruit, meat). I don't think I'll be able to persuade Spouse to take in sandwiches from homemade sourdough ...

Definitely more exciting than bread - we have our first female Prime Minister!!! The question is whether she can win the upcoming election ... (Oh, and we actually won a soccer game in the World Cup, although we were still eliminated in the first round.)

It's almost too much excitement for me. To cap it all off, I actually wore my new MaxMara jacket yesterday to a client meeting. I felt a) warm and b) almost chic.

Saturday Night Fever

(Pic from bbcgoodfood.com)

On Saturday night, we took a little trip back to the 70s. There is back-story - we have been watching the current Australian series of MasterChef, and last week three contestants had to cook Beef Stroganov without a recipe. One contestant was eliminated because she used the wrong cut of beef and also used nutmeg (!) instead of paprika.

This created a minor kerfuffle, as people argued about the ingredients for a TRUE Stroganov. I amused myself by consulting the ever-opinionated Jane Grigson (who uses mustard and NO tomato paste) and also Larousse Gastronomique (also mustard). The kids decided we had to cook it - but the paprika version.

Spouse then decided that he wanted Bombe Alaska for dessert. I pointed out that a) it's winter; and b) I didn't have time to make the ice cream from scratch. He was unmoved. So we compromised - I used bought ice cream (vanilla and chocolate) but then also made a strawberry ice cream by adding gently cooked (with sugar) fresh strawberries to some of the vanilla. So we had a neapolitan Bombe Alaska, with blowtorched meringue ... We did take a photo, but sadly the dog ate the camera USB cable (true) so I can't show it. (I note also that some recipes for Baked/Bombe Alaska include cake, but we didn't.)

I don't even like Beef Stroganov very much, but I did enjoy the homemade pasta (parsley and black pepper fettucine) that my brother helped me crank out.

It was quite a relief on Sunday to have split pea & ham soup after all that excess ...

Men in Tights

Today I had a client meeting in the city. I went in a little earlier than I needed to, so that I could have a bit of a wander. As I was walking through the park, a man in his 40s with greying hair walked past me. Something about him registered as WRONG. I took another look. He was wearing leggings. No, not bicycle or running lycra. Leggings. With a conservative, dark blue business shirt (untucked, Thank The Lord). Carrying a leather satchel-style briefcase. But NO PANTS. I am one of the many who subscribe to the notion that leggings should never EVER replace trousers. I always thought this was a rule about women's clothing. Now I see that it must be expanded to include men.

I had to get over this experience by spending some time in our one posh(ish) department store, David Jones. It is full of fabulous women of a certain age - of all shapes, sizes and colouring - and I was not disappointed today. In fact, I was having such fun looking at them that I decided to try to distill what exactly made up their fabulousness. This is what I managed - no matter how beautiful/elegant/interesting the clothes, without these three elements, they didn't make the cut.

1. Intentional hair. It doesn't matter if it's a chic blonde/grey bob, a wiry mass of curls, a sharp razor cut in an unnatural colour or any other style - every woman who looked good clearly intended her hair to look the way it did. Note to self: sort the bloody hair.

2. Good shoes. Only a couple of the women were wearing serious heels, but there were plenty of chic flats, kitten heels, low boots, etc. One woman looked great from the ankles up, but had put on running shoes to navigate a day at the shops. They ruined the whole effect - and she could have worn something just as comfy that worked with her outfit (which was that sort of 'academic ethnic' that I don't aspire to but looks great on some women).

3. Demeanour. Every single one of the women I admired held her head high. But it was more than that - a certain je ne sais quoi. It made me feel (almost) glad to be getting older ...

Unfortunately, while following some of these women, I accidentally found myself in the MaxMara section. I tried on a beautiful camelhair jacket, spectacularly reduced (and badly photographed against the wardrobe doors - it is a much softer colour). Fortunately, it was one size too big, as I told the sales woman with some regret (relief?). She told me she'd see if there was one in my size. Unfortunately, there was.


Just as well the job I got briefed on is a lucrative one, don't you think?

When I grow up (in my next life) I will dress in MaxMara, Calvin Klein, Armani and occasionally some Dries Van Noten. I plan also to be about three inches taller. With better hair.

Sixty Six

A lot of Kid 1's school friends are Jewish and they're all turning 13 over the next year. Today we got our first Bar Mitzvah invitation.

Kid 1 wishes to wear a yarmulke to the synagogue. He is also strangely excited about getting his first suit. I think he half wishes he could have a bar mitzvah also ...

I realise that the main criterion for Kid 2 and myself, being female, is modesty. So I won't be doing my Amy Winehouse interpretation. In fact, it might be an excellent excuse to buy a (modest) new dress and shoes.

Saturday Night Fever

It's been a long weekend here, and one in which I seem to have been cooking and/or eating almost non-stop, but nothing I cooked stands out enough to mention (although I did cook my first chocolate souffle). And I successfully made yoghurt (something that I've always failed at in the past) and I have a sourdough starter fermenting happily away ... you see, if I didn't live in the inner city and work as a corporate copywriter, I'd be a PERFECT farmer's wife. Hmm. Shame I married a journalist.

And speaking of food, as I generally am, we are planning a few days in Melbourne during the kids' school holidays, so I have to find places to eat. I'm rather excited about it, as there is an amazing exhibition on at the National Gallery of Victoria, plus Melbourne is the fashion capital of Australia (Sydney is a) too hot; b) too casual; c) too, um, flashy); AND there is fabulous food down there too. We're planning to fly down, then drive back via my family in country New South Wales. A modest and rather parochial little holiday, but it will be fun to hang out with the kids, and we've always enjoyed the driving - you end up talking about things that simply never get a look-in during the usual domestic chaos.

CHiPS

To me, this story says so much about what is wrong with people's attitudes to food ...

The Piano Teacher

Kid 1 hates learning music, although it's a big deal at his school. He has opted for percussion - drumkit and Latin - which suits his need to be constantly fiddling, jiggling and making repetitive noises that annoy me. He's not what you'd call musical, although his sense of rhythm is good. He can't sing.

Kid 2, on the other hand, LOVES music. When she was fresh home from hospital, all 2kg of her, she used to lie in her cot and shout at her musical mobile. At first I thought it upset her, then I realised that she was happy - so they were either noises of delight, or attempts to sing! She hasn't changed much since then, always singing, humming, listening to music, etc.

And finally, many years too late, I have organised proper piano lessons for her. She has an electronic keyboard, but I'm hoping get a little upright piano for the library ... We begin next Monday. Now, to the 'have you done your homework?' nagging, I can add 'time for your piano practice, young lady'.

Saturday Night Fever

The other day, apropos of not very much at all, Spouse said 'I think we should buy more art'. I agreed wholeheartedly, but had to point out that, what with mortgages, school fees, braces, too many pets and a trip to NYC in November, it was probably low-ish on the list of financial priorities.

But obviously art got stuck in my brain. Yesterday I went to a couple of exhibitions with a friend of mine - at the second, instead of buying any of the paintings (done by a friend), I just HAD TO buy this small steel sculpture.


And on Friday I pre-ordered a book of Cressida Campbell's woodblock paintings (because I couldn't possbily afford to buy the real thing ... ever). I don't speak 'art', so all I can say is that I utterly love her work.


[Image from www.cressidacampbell.com]

And I found this painting from a South Australian artist whose still life work I really like ... it's not my favourite of her quince paintings, but it's on the market.


Anyway, back to regular programming. Because I was going to an opening at 5pm, I had to get dinner done largely in advance; because my vegetarian SIL was coming, I had to cook vegetarian. So I cheated and cooked things I know are foolproof - fresh tomato soup and a Persian vegetable omelette with walnuts (served with yoghurt). For dessert I did cook something I hadn't cooked before, which was pecan pie. As I made the soup during the day, pre-baked my pie crust and kept the main simple, it was easy to get back from the show at six thirty and have dinner on the table at seven thirty ...

An Education

Yesterday, Kid 1 and I had harsh words about his education. Well, I had harsh words AT Kid 1 regarding his perceived lack of effort at school.

Later, I apologised for my delivery; not for my opinion, which I maintain, but the way I expressed it. Kid 1 said, equably, 'That's OK. It's like Scout [the dog]'. I must have looked mystified. 'Sometimes', explained Kid 1, 'you really have to shout at him for him to understand that what he is doing is wrong.'

I didn't mean to treat him like the dog.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

A couple of weeks ago I posted a few comments on a book I'd read and been disappointed by. Interestingly enough, VERY soon after I'd posted it, I received a comment that: a) misunderstood/misread what I'd written; b) told me I had read the book incorrectly; c) was from someone who claimed to 'usually like your reviews' although I don't actually make a habit of reviewing books; and d) had a name but no identity (ie was not a blogger).

I declined to publish the comment, but it did occur to me that there might be media monitoring at work - thus the prompt (and inaccurate) response to my mild criticism.

I had largely forgotten about it, then I read this article in The Guardian. Interestingly enough, the pseudo-philosopher's aversion to any criticism is mentioned more than once in the comments. And as for his attitude to food, well, I wouldn't be inviting him to dinner at my place any time soon ...