Lovely

Yesterday I was invited by a lovely friend to join her at her lovely house for some lovely Thai inspired cuisine.

Fish sauce, lemongrass, garlic, bird's eye chili, ginger, and coconut--please go and make beautiful babies together because you're all matches made in heaven.  Speaking of babies, I probably ate enough last night to feed myself along with my four food babies.  It was the real deal.  I mean, I probably never had more in common with a bowling ball than I did last night.  How so?  Well, after two main courses and a few successful attempts at filling the dessert pouch with meringue, cake, and ice cream, I, like a bowling bowl, was not only feeling very round, but I also couldn't walk.  I swear I'm not exaggerating.

I also never wanted to pay Thailand a visit any more than I did last night.  It's definitely hit the number one spot on my future foodie destination list.  Now, to find a generous donor to fund this shamelessly indulgent trip.

Yours,

Kimmy

T-Swizzle

I learned at an early age that when you pair certain words together, they become kind of magical.  They’re more powerful as a pair than as individuals—kind of like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, and peanut butter and jelly.  Some things are just better together.  If you won’t take my word for it, take Jack Johnson’s.  Not all word combinations, however, yielded the same results, and it took some trial and error to figure out what type of magic each word pair would and could produce.

Take “open sesame”, for example.  This proved to be really useful around lunchtime, when it would release any dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets that were spending some undeserved jail time in my cousin’s clasped hands.  The right amount of “pretty pleases” would score me half-baked chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven at the expense of slightly burnt fingers, and extra time.  Yes, extra time.  You see, with the proper placement and usage of pretty please, time, or rather, the shortage of it, was no longer an issue.  That extra hour I spent playing laser tag at Andy’s birthday party, the extra episode of Simpson’s I got to watch before cracking open my math textbook, that extra ten minutes of sleep I got to treasure—all thanks to the strategic use of pretty please.

Unfortunately, as I’ve grown older, many word pairs have either lost their magic, or were not blessed with any to begin with.  Fire-truck you, for example—no magic there.  Every now and then, however, a new word pair will come up, with the potential to be better together, the potential to be the next Brangelina—the potential to be magical.  When that happens, it’s my duty as a responsible blogger, to let you know.  And so, I have two words for you, Taylor Swift.

No, thankfully, those are not the magic words.  Taylor Swift is just where the story begins.  You see, I woke up yesterday morning with Taylor Swift on the brain.  In fact, her songs were swimming in my head and through my bloodstream all day, and the day before that.  It was so extreme that if I got a cut, I probably would have bled some mighty classy lyrics about a former T-Swizzle ex.  So, naturally, I woke up, made my way to my laptop, scrolled through iTunes, double-clicked “Everything Has Changed (ft. Ed Sheeran)”, and turned down the volume.  Why did I turn down the volume?  Easy.  Taylor Swift is my guilty pleasure.  And there goes all the judgment.

You see, those are the magic words: guilty pleasure.  What I’ve come to realize is that once you label something as a guilty pleasure, as your guilty pleasure, all the judgment and hate that was once oh so mercilessly and relentlessly aimed your way just seems to dissipate into thin air—it just disappears!  It’s kind of like the world cutting you some slack.  We know you hate yourself enough for liking Taylor Swift, so we won’t shame you any more than you’re already shaming yourself.  But after some thought, I realized what’s more shameful than having a guilty pleasure, is not sharing your guilty pleasure, because your guilty pleasure could just simply be or become someone else’s simple pleasure.  Are you still with me there?  Hello?

Being ashamed of a guilty pleasure is only natural, and naturally, being ashamed means you’re less likely to share your guilty pleasure with the world.  Or if you do, the world would consist of your Samanthas, Charlottes, and Mirandas.  But if it were up to me, I’d leave Miranda out.  To be honest, I’ve never been too keen on her. 

So there I was the other day, telling my Samantha that I was listening to Taylor Swift, justifying the act by labeling it as a guilty pleasure, when she responded with “Why?  I love Taylor Swift!” Mind blowing.  Nevertheless, I proceeded to play “All Too Well”, turning the volume up all the way.  Why?  Because I realized something.   Feeling guilty about a guilty pleasure prevents you from sharing it with the people around you that aren’t Samantha, Charlotte, and occasionally, Miranda.  But if you find that guilty pleasure, pleasurable, who’s to say that someone else won’t?  So take off the “guilty”, turn up the volume, share your pleasures, and blast the T-Swizzle.

While we’re on the topic of guilty pleasures, here’s another one.  You probably guessed it before I even started the post…IT’S ANOTHER MARKET!

This is the Eveleigh Market, held every Saturday, from 8am to 1pm at Carriage Works in Darlington. 

Specifically, 243 Wilson St, Darlington NSW 2008.

I honestly cannot believe it's taken me this long to share the beauty that is this market with you all because it's actually one of my favorite markets in Sydney and the one I frequent the most often.

You can find it all here, from ewes milk yogurt, to cupcakes, to panforte, produce, eggs, goat, brownies, and freshly made pasta!  

They even have a stand featuring the celebrity Australian Chef, Kylie Kwong!  If you try one thing, you must try the spicy pork bun from her stall!  It's nothing short of amazing!

Many of the stall holders actually sample quite generously so you'll definitely know what you're getting when you decide to buy that jar of blackberry, raspberry, and mountain berry jam, along with that beautiful jar of guava balsamic vinegar.  Be sure to check out the Macadamia stand while you're there too!  I'm obsessed, and that might actually be an understatement.

They were holding cooking demonstrations that day, and handing out plates of oatmeal pancakes topped generously with berries and yogurt, to promote Love to Cook, an Australian cookbook. 

We shared an intimate moment together before I stuffed the beautiful thing into my belly.  

It was a guilty pleasure, but you see, maybe if I'd realized sooner, I could and would have shared this pleasure, and we all could have had beautiful pancakes together!

Thank goodness that there is and will always be a next time!

Cheers,

Kimmy

Holy Moly Ricotta Cannoli

I woke up and found out that the Norton Street Italian Festa was going on today in Leichhardt.  This could only mean two things: food, and more food.  Obviously, I was down.

There were tons of cooking demonstrations going on all day!  I sat in on a few to rest my tummy in between rounds...

I had lunch right before the festival, but I couldn't resist the porchetta sandwich.  It's apparently one of a list of traditional Italian foods with cultural relevance and significance.

According to Wikipedia, "Porchetta [porˈketta], also sometimes spelled porketta in English, is a savoury, fatty, and moist boneless pork roast of Italian culinary tradition." 

"The body of the pig is gutted, deboned, arranged carefully with layers of stuffing, meat, fat, and skin, then rolled, spitted, and roasted, traditionally over wood." 

"Porchetta is usually heavily salted in addition to being stuffed with garlic, rosemary, fennel, or other herbs, often wild."

There was only one thing Wikipedia forgot to mention...Porchetta is absolutely delicious!  

It was an absolute beautifully stunning combination of fat, juicy pork, and crunchy pork skin.  I had mine with chili sauce.  It was a masterpiece--gluttony at its finest.

These guys were adorable!  They were so cheery!  I had no idea what they were singing about, as it was in Italian, but I'm sure it was of happy things!

These slushies in pouches seemed to be really popular amongst the little kiddies!

These were the Mustazzoli, which are essentially Italian honeybread cookies...which are essentially Italian gingerbread cookies.  Except these were absolutely massive.  

There was also gnocchi, which I was dying to try, but unfortunately I was only born with one stomach, and gnocchi wouldn't belong in my dessert pocket.

There was also some granita!

And fresh squeezed orange juice!

This stand would have to be one of my favorites of the day.  Locantro Fine Foods was serving an assortment of irresistible desserts.

It was a tough decision but I had to go with the ricotta cannoli, and let me just say, holy moly ricotta cannoli....life is good.  

Cheers,

Kimmy

The Best Is Yet To Come

The other day I came upon what I had then considered to be a very sad phrase: “The best is yet to come”. 

At first the quote seems to be absolutely radiating with positivity and untarnished optimism.  I mean, if the quote were a flower, it’d definitely be a sunflower, and if it were a person, it’d be J.K. Rowling, because that lady has probably brought joy to more children in the world than jolly old Santa himself.  It’s a phrase seemingly brimming with hope and cheer.  The best is yet to come.  It’s what you tell your girl friend, all the while helplessly watching her mascara stream mercilessly down her face after a messy break-up.  “Don’t worry, it only gets better; the best is yet to come”, you tell your wide-eyed younger sister as she’s flipping through the final pages of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.  “The best is yet to come”, you say to your friend after you miss your bus by just a few seconds.  In this case, “best” and “bus” can actually be used interchangeably.  The bus is yet to come.  You see, it’s a happy thing.  It’s why it goes, Halloween, then Thanksgiving, and then Christmas.  And when it seems like nothing can trump the best-ness that is Christmas, you get fireworks on New Year’s.  You see, right when you start to wonder how things could possibly get any better than mistletoe, stockings, candy canes, and tinsel, New Year’s surprises you with fireworks, because I mean, who doesn’t get excited by fireworks?  It, along with the list of New Year resolutions, serves as a reminder: great things, including a five-pound lighter you and money in the form of Chinese New Year, are yet to come.

And then I thought about it.  But what if, while waiting for the best to come, you miss out on the best things in the present?  What if the best is doing cartwheels right in front of you and you’re turned the other way?  Instead of waiting for better times, shouldn’t we be making the best out of the current moments?  Shouldn’t we be jumping out of our seats to join in on those cartwheels?  I mean, after thinking about it a bit more, if the saying were a person, it’d actually be Severus Snape—well intentioned, but very, very misleading.

I was sitting in my last pair of clean underwear last night contemplating, waiting for a load of fresh laundry to finish up.  Desperation takes on a whole new meaning once you reach college.  So there I was, desperate and in complete agreement with the phrase, because nothing screams “better times” like a huge, heaping load of clean panties guaranteed to last me two weeks.  Putting off any form of productivity by scrolling through iPhoto, taking a nice, leisurely stroll down memory lane, I realized something.  Sure, clean undies may lay ahead, but the chandelier tree lay behind me.  Actually, it didn’t just lay…it sparkled.

Located on 2811 W Silverlake Dr, Los Angeles, CA 90039, the chandelier tree began as a way to display several vintage chandeliers too large and grand for Adam Tenenbaum's home. 

Over time, the collection grew, as did the number of admirers and the support from the city of Silverlake.  You could actually show your support by donating some spare change in the parking meter to help cover the electricity costs and keep the tree lit!

On the day we went, we were actually bummed to find the tree unlit, but at the arrival of a larger group, we actually went up to and knocked on Mr. Tenenbaum's door and he was more than happy to turn on the lights for us!

It was simply magical!  If you're in the area, you really do need to put it on your list to visit.  I definitely plan on making another visit around the holidays...I guess the best is yet to come!

Yours,

Kimmy

Hot Dogs, Burgers, and Markets

I know I like my hot dogs downtown LA style, wrapped in bacon and smothered with an unforgiving layer of mayonnaise and onions, served with a chili for the bold and a generous amount of napkins for the messy.  I like my burgers Hawaiian style, slathered with sweet teriyaki sauce, topped with a bright and juicy pineapple wheel, and served with a bottomless bucket of fries and a pool of pepper-sprinkled ketchup.  I like my yoga unbearably hot, my pizzas for breakfast and cold, and my before-bed-showers just a bit warmer than warm.  I like my tea green, my running socks black, and my closet staple V-neck a crisp white—especially after Labor Day.  Bananas to be eaten, I know to be spotless, while my room on the other hand, I, along with any unfortunate roommate I’ve had or will ever have, know will never be.  I’ve been a good listener and a great observer, yet it still surprises me how well I’ve gotten to know myself.  Even more surprising though, is how much I’ve yet to learn.

I’d always expected it to be a surprising and rather unpleasant feeling to realize that I didn’t know someone as well as I had once believed, but contrary to that belief, when it comes to myself, it’s great.  In fact, it’s better than greater—it’s a feeling to look forward to and live for.  Let me explain myself.  It was about a week ago when I realized that I liked pecorino.  Yes, cheese.  Never would I have imagined myself to be a cheese person—to be able to appreciate, let alone distinguish between various cheeses.  That was to be my sister’s niche in life, not mine.  It was one of the things that differentiated us.  She liked her pastas looking as if a snowstorm of Parmesan had hit spaghetti city, whereas I preferred mine—well, I preferred mine as if a snowstorm of Parmesan hadn’t, thank you very much.  Then, a few days ago, I liked a cube of blue, and from there, a few crumbles of feta, a slather of Brie, a wedge of goat, and heck, bring on the snowstorm.

It’s as if these new discoveries, open windows of opportunity, allowing me to gaze into parts of a world, and parts of myself, I had never known to exist.  Certain people may bring out a certain beauty you never realized you had, while others may summon your inner beast.  Certain conversations may lead you to realize the strength of your ideas and beliefs, bringing out the sagacious philosopher in you, while others may lead you to realize that you’re as boy-crazy as you ever were, gossip-loving as you ever will be, and forever destined to be young at heart.  Different people and different experiences can help to close windows, open doors, close blinds, but open shutters, and ultimately help to mold and shape the beautiful person you become.  Just as well, different cities may bring out different sides of you, and different markets…well, you get the gist.

Being in Sydney has definitely brought out the market-loving fiend in me, leading me to the Glebe market yesterday morning.  If you’re looking to bring out the inner clothes-loving hippie in you, your search ends here. 

 

Open every Saturday from 10am-4pm at 40 Glebe Point Rd, Glebe NSW 2037, this market is not as produce based as others in Sydney.  Actually, let me rephrase that.  If you're looking for produce, you're definitely at the wrong market.

Glebe is what you'd get if a market decided to go all hipster on you.  It's kind of like a huge outdoor swapmeet with vendors selling things from candles to overalls to bow ties for pets to bohemian beach dresses.  The randomness of it all makes it ten times more fun.

And of course, no market is complete without a chai tea vendor; however I must say, nothing beats the chai tea tent at the Marrickville market!

If you can't make it Saturday, you could walk a few shops down where you'll find The Works, which is a permanent marketplace opened all days of the week!!

I could actually get lost in here for hours if I let myself...

If your inner market-loving fiend is dying to burst out one Saturday morning, do pay the Glebe market a visit!  Who knows?  You may discover a new love for bow ties for pets!  Or rediscover an old love for bow ties for pets...Regardless, visit the Glebe markets!  Your inner flower-child-clothes-loving-hippie will thank you.

Cheers,

Kimmy

I've Got 99 Problems But A Beach Ain't One

Let's be real here, Jay Z...you do not have 99 problems.

And if you do, you really need to consider moving closer to a beach or something...

Hope you enjoyed a day at Maroubra in pictures!

Hugs and more hugs,

Kimmy