48 hours in Melbourne

I decided at the last minute to weave a trip to Melbourne into my Australian break. Partly to see friends and partly to break out my black clothes and find some new hidden cocktail bars. The best thing about having lived to the full for a year in a city is that when you return you have a comprehensive list of your favourite people and places you just have to visit and experience.

With that in mind I was staying in my old apartment with wonderful old housemate PW. We spent the first night in Fratellinos, our local pizzeria which is perpetually packed, incredibly authentic, cheap and BYO. In the haze of catching up, chatting and drinking Penfolds no photographic evidence was taken. But suffice to say if you happen to be on Malvern Road anytime soon swing by for their garlic and spicy sausage pizza, a steal at 9 bucks. You won't regret it.

Breakfast at Hobba
428 Malvern Road, Prahran
(03) 9510 8336

The next morning I decided to torture myself and visit Hobba for breakfast. This is torture because Hobba coffee is amazing and this place, situated two minutes from my old apartment, only opened a week before I left. Hobba ticks all the Melbourne boxes it is a) in a warehouse b) has exposed brick c) serves single origin coffee. The new 3rd wave coffee movement in Melbourne is something you should slip into conversation if you want to impress a Melbournian. I'm still not entirely sure what it is but it tastes amazing! 

With a belly full of fried egg, brown butter hollandaise, bubble and squeak, slow roast tomato and farmhouse slab bacon I decided to start my action packed day re-uniting myself with Melbourne.

Coffee at De Clieu

187 Gertrude Street Fitzroy VIC 3065, Australia

(03) 9416 4661

The rest of my day was planned out by my favourite Gaga loving and delightfully droll amateur food critic RF. I had an hour to kill before we met so I decided to take a wander around my old stomping ground, Fitzroy.

I was already in caffeine withdrawal so a trip to De Clieu was most definitely on the cards. If you look past the painful coolness of this place the coffee is truly something amazing as are the delicious breakfasts. My favourite being the De Clieu special of cheese, ham, soft boiled egg, fresh sourdough, butter, a cold drip coffee and a pot of jam all for $15. Amazing.

Huxtaburger

106 Smith Street, Collingwood

http://www.huxtaburger.com.au/

With my stomach full of numerous cups of amazing coffee it was time for my long awaited catch up with R! We decided to begin our reunion day at Huxtaburger.

Huxtaburger is a new tiny hole in the wall on Smith Street that serves a variety of cold beers and some seriously hot meat. We grabbed a Brooklyn beer and sat in the sun enjoying the shiny bun, perfect cheese and tangy mustard. It was utter perfection

Drinking the best cocktail in the world at Cabinet
11 Rainbow Alley, Melbourne
http://www.cabinetbar.com.au/

Dumping our bags we decided to do what we do best and get a cocktail. Jumping on the 112 down Collins into the city there was only one place on the radar...Cabinet. Cabinet is home to my favourite drink of all time their signature gingerbread martini.

We chatted to the lovably camp owner Al about it's pure genius, the salt and pepper, the gingerbread sugar surrounding the outside. He said that they had all tried really hard to top it but never succeeded. We agreed. This was worth the airfare alone.

Fuelled by sugar we roamed the city for another snack, as we strolled past Flinders Lane an idea emerged. Chin Chin..of course! As with all Melbourne restaurant fads, Chin Chin didn't just open, it exploded. Lovable Masterchef judge Matt Preston claims to cross town for just one serve of the Son in Law eggs and rumour has it that it's impossible to get a table, no matter what night of the week. Well it would be rude not to give it a go!

Chin Chin
125 Flinders Lane, Melbourne VIC

We arrived at 5pm and amazingly it was relatively quiet so we easily grabbed a table for two. Within 15 minutes of being seated the place began to fill up with queues upon queues of hungry city types standing at the door. By 5:30pm the place was positively heaving, and all on a Tuesday, Melbourne never fails to amaze me. As we weren't starving and not really in the mood for spontaneously having a $200 meal we decided to share some small serves and shockingly no alcohol to keep the bill down. RF informed me firmly that we HAD to have the Son in Law eggs and two serves because 'he's not sharing'. Oh R how I have missed you.

Son in Law Eggs

To compliment our orgasmic eggs we chose beef roti with dipping sauce and salt and pepper squid with Vietnamese mint and the chunkiest and most delectable lemon wedge I have ever seen.

As expected, each dish was executed perfectly. Far from tasting like a fishy inner wheel tube like is served at a popular UK tapas chain that will remain nameless, this squid was tender, salty and complimented perfectly by a handful of the mint. The roti was spicy and the delicate dip added a chilli tang. As we left we took a detour to the bar downstairs that by 6pm was absolutely packed. The cocktails looked delicious, the crowd were cool city types interlaced with some typical hipsters. It looked like a great place to have a drink and I'd love to go back there on my next Melbournian visit.

Little Press and Cellars
72 Flinders Street, Melbourne VIC
http://www.thepressclub.com.au/menu.html

We hadn't had a cocktail for at least an hour so it was time to remedy that. I decided to be bold and request a trip to The Press Club, just a drink, no food. Honest. The Press Club is Masterchef''s lovably chubby George's flagship 2 hatted restaurant. Sexy and moody with a delicious fine dining take on Greek flavours I had sadly never quite gotten around to visiting but I had read great things about Little Press Cellars. At 6:30pm the place was quiet with only a trickle of businessmen sipping on their whiskey. I had only one thing on my radar, a decent martini.

A good straight up martini has become my guilty pleasure. Now that I am not a student and can afford to elevate myself from tesco value vodka I can fully appreciate the beauty of a simple ice cold vodka with a twist, shaken not stirred. Who would stir it...please!

To my friend R's amusement and horror I decided to go along with the fancy table service and allow my over accommodating bar tender to select my vodka to compliment my twist of lime. The beautiful article arrived (it was consumed way too quickly to take a photo) and alarmingly tasted like delicious, smooth, warming water (the type of water that makes you giggle for 5 blocks). It was an expensive treat. Suitably buzzed from good food and an extortionate drink we meandered to our final destination for some camp comedy and retired to Rooftop for some blurry skyline hot cider. Knowing that a hangover and an early start was on the horizon it was time to stumble home. Good night for now you sexy city.

Belated Greek breakfast feast

Demitris Feast, 141 Swan Street Richmond
http://www.demitrisfeast.com.au/


Not a cloud in the sky

I awoke bright and early which in reality means I woke up late with a pounding head and some directions to Richmond. It was time to have breakfast with my lovely Melbournite SH. S and I had met through a friend when I used to live in Wollongong and she took me under her Melbourne wing and introduced me to some of my now favourite cocktail bars, most noteworthy Berlin Bar in Chinatown. For that, and so many other things I will always owe her a debt of gratitude. So in my usual calamitous way I stumbled to Richmond.

We decided to dine at Demitris Feast, a beautiful Greek cafe that had won breakfast of the year a few years previously. In it's hype-filled hay day I had read mixed reviews of plates adorned with weird dried oregano and poor seating. But things seemed to have changed, it was a perfect sunny Melbourne morning and we snagged a quiet seat in the courtyard.

The breakfast was just what the doctor ordered, beautiful coffee with some house made beans, chorizo and olive oil soaked sourdough. S had the tomato and feta stack which looked utterly delectable too. With vows of friendship renewed and amusing anecdotes told it was time to say goodbye to S and to Melbourne for a little while. True to form as I waited for the flight, the sun bounced off the Qantas planes making my heart hurt a little with sadness.

But it's ok, you'll always have a place in my heart Melbourne. Goodbye for now old friend.

Shall we go to a trendy cafe?

Darlinghurst leafy love

Every morning of my holiday I was woken by my wonderful bundle of gay energy SS asking me the following magical question 'shall we go to a trendy cafe?'. He vowed to show me all that Kings Cross, Potts Point, Darlinghurst and Elizabeth Bay had to offer and my eager stomach was powerless to resist (besides it's all in the name of research right?).

Uliveto
33 Bayswater Road, Kings Cross
Sydney NSW 2011

Our journey starts at our first brunch together at Uliveto full of giggles, incessant picture taking and watching toned, tanned body builders tuck into their egg white omelettes with far too much enthusiasm (seriously guys, the yolk is the best bit!).

After inhaling my first decent coffee in 7 months we decided to order some food, my lovely companion ordered a chicken salad adorned with that beautiful Australian avocado and olives and I opted for a tuna melt slathered with cheese, tomatoes and lovingly scattered with herbs. It was simple and delicious, highly recommended.

Elizabeth Bay Cafe

Shop 2 & 3, 45 Elizabeth Bay Road

Elizabeth Bay NSW 2011 (I wish British postcodes were this straightforward)

Our next adventure took the birthday boy and I to Elizabeth Bay nursing a Beresford hangover and seriously craving ricotta. 

Elizabeth Bay Cafe is small and perfectly formed. The lunches are made with love and some really fresh ingredients, the best being these beautiful sweet tomatoes. The fresh sourdough was spread with olive oil, scattered with sea salt and toasted with a squeeze of lemon providing the icing on the hypothetical cake. It was a perfect start to a perfect Sydney day.

Birthday ricotta

Gelato Messina

Shop 1/241 Victoria Street, Darlinghurst

Sydney, NSW 2010

After our ricotta feed I had an epiphany, a birthday wouldn't be a birthday without a delicious dollop of beautifully made ice cream from Gelato Messina. When I was an Australian newbie S and I used to be flatmates. Our secret shame was our late night ice cream run to Cold Rock to order family sized tubs of cookies and cream ice cream with crushed chocolatey goodness. Gelato Messina takes this to a new level (the level that wins you best gelato in Australia).

What I love most about this place, apart from it being filled with lovely memories, is that you get to try whatever flavour you like before your buy, the hardest bit is deciding.

Fondante

Simple...delicious.

Petrol

9 Springfield Ave, Potts Point

Sydney NSW 2011

After already eating my body weight in delicious food, S announced excitedly one morning that he would take me to not one, not two but three cafes in one day. While this sounded excessive who was I to stand down from such a foodie challenge!

Starting the day with a coffee in a tiny hole in the wall (the name escapes me) and celebrity spotting Lara Bingle we decided to retire to one of our favourite little haunts, Petrol.

I really love Petrol, on a sunny day (and let's face it, in Sydney that's most days), sitting on the terrace is a dream. On a rainy day couches full to the brim with pillows provide a port in the storm. But the best thing about Petrol is it's beautifully crafted food. A favourite is the smoked salmon and sourdough platter but today I went for the Greek breakfast, olives n all complete with a poached egg, Persian feta and honey soaked sourdough. Absolutely incredible.

My handsome companion always loves to put me to shame and ordered a salad, although this was not just any salad it was speckled with slightly squidgy, slightly crunchy, squeaky and salty pieces of haloumi fried within an inch of their life. It was perfectly accompanied by soft juicy raisins and peppery balsamic rocket. Slightly warm, it was heaven on a plate.

By this point well and truly buzzing and completely stuffed we staggered our way to our final destination.

11 Cafe

It's so cool it apparently doesn't have an address

11 is a brand new cafe located on a Melbourne style lane way strip just around the corner from the debauchery of Kings Cross. The tiny little space is cool and enriched by the beautiful smell of freshly ground coffee. Swearing off food forever I took a glance at a wooden box full of desserts and suddenly was sold, there is always room for a Portuguese Tart.

Portuguese Tarts are a little pleasure of mine, apparently very easy to make I occasionally indulge in some eggy, buttery goodness. Today the perfect accompaniment to my treat was a spicy chai latte covered in cinnamon.

So we took the challenge, and we won. Now if you will excuse me I need to lie down.

La Buvette

35 Challis Avenue, Potts Point

NSW, 2011

Our cafe journey had to come to and end soon (are you hungry yet?) and our journey ends here at my favourite end of Potts Point. Delis are interlaced with bookshops which hide little espresso joints, everybody seems to know each other, passers by beam with happiness as if they can't believe their luck to live around the corner. I don't blame them.

We decided to settle at La Buvette, it was 32 in the shade so juices were mandatory, with our coffees of course. Then, heady from the heat I decided to do something shocking....order a salad.

Whenever I scan a menu I am somewhat predictable, if it has a high cheese or butter content I generally order it. Less concerned with someday getting chunky thighs i'm more concerned about cardiac events so now and again I reluctantly look over the croque monsieur and get something fresh and healthy. Today I opted for a grilled chicken caesar with extra bacon and poached egg (ok so this health thing is a work in progress).

I particularly enjoyed the salty chicken and the delicious parmesan set off with crispy garlic toast. Totally delicious, totally unhealthy. I very much enjoyed my salad, although I do sometimes lie awake at night wondering what that croque monsieur would have tasted like, how thick the layer of cheese and how crispy the buttery bread....

So goodbye for now beautiful suburb cafes, i'll be back to overindulge in you soon.

Spontaneous Sydney

This is what heaven looks like

As I was sitting on my 12 hour flight to Bangkok, one bearable plane meal down, lights out and watching Coldplay live at Glasto I had a thought, isn't it wonderful having friends that you don't think twice about jumping on a 24 hour flight to visit. While this might sound terribly cheesy (picture above demonstrates my penchant for cheese) these recent moments symbolise the point I am currently at in my life, since I moved back from Australia the world suddenly seems to have opened up allowing me to jump somewhat surreally between my two lovely lives.My exhaustion was causing me to be sentimental but 5 hours away from my mid-point destination I suddenly felt like the luckiest girl this side of Eastern Russia (or wherever I happened to be at the time of writing).

My trip to Sydney was hallmarked by some major events, two 30th birthdays, lots of live music, hanging in the hot tub, a vineyard retreat and of course a lot of eating. I have decided for simplicity I will document my adventures into a few separate bits: cafe eating, a weekend in Orange to and a spontaneous jaunt to Melbourne.

So forgive my endless pictures of beautiful food and sunshine. It's a hard job, but someone has got to do it.

Oh Sydney. It's good to be home

Secret Diary of a Long Haul Girl

I worked out today that I have endured 11 long haul flights in the last 5 years. All of which to Australia. I don't want to count up how much money that is but i'm pretty sure it's a nice deposit on a house. But hey, who cares, the words 'getting a foot on the property ladder' make me physically shudder.

What is do know is that's around 12 whole days spent in the air eating plane food, having juice and water brought to my seat and catching up on a years worth of free movies.

Today hovering somewhere outside Singapore was no exception. Long haul flights are both the bain and the favourite part of my life. I often liken them to how I imagine childbirth, the sweet joy of arriving at your destination means that you conveniently forget about the pain.

I have now endured enough long hauls to feel qualified to summarise them into a few key stages.

Arrival at the airport: Freshly showered, either beaming with excitement for the possibilities ahead or mildly sobbing after saying goodbye to good friends. The prospect of the food court always makes my eyes dance with excitement

1 hour later: This is the time I like to call 'disappointment that I didn't get upgraded'. Are flight upgrades an urban myth? I sure as hell have never had one. Also, why do some people have 4 suitcases and boxes containing strange things? Today a man had 4 boxes of cherries. Is that legal?

Boarding leg 1: The sinking feeling sets in as you realise that your obscurely timed flight that you assumed would be empty is completely full which invariably means that you run the risk of being stuck in the dreaded of all seats...the middle of a 4 seater. Is there anything worse in life than that seat? You walk past 1st class and business with a pained smile, everybody hates people who fly business. I also hate the extra leg room people, they always look so smug and DVT free. Also the ones who get the front row with the TVs mounted on the walls, they are always reserved for kids. Why should my sexy childless legs suffer for my life choices thus far? Ok fine, maybe a child does take up more room than my laptop

1 hour in: This is the point where you wonder why you always think long haul is so bad. This is amazing, peanuts, can of coke with lots of ice, meal being served and you've picked from the nice menu, you are halfway through a romantic comedy, you got a window seat and the sun is shining. This isn't so bad

Post meal: Mmmm more tea please, why do I always think plane meals are so bad and how do they get the veggies to be so delicious and buttery and the bread a little crisp? Mmm...

4 hours in: Ok so i've seen 2 films and i'm tossing up whether to watch some rubbish that i've seen a dozen times or to peruse their terrible selection of TV. Could I bring myself to watch 'How I met your mother'? What is that show even about? Also while we are at it, why is the Big Bang Theory now so popular? People I love and respect seem to like it, odd. It's getting dark out and everyone seems to be sleeping. I've already lost track of the day and time.

6 hours in: Ugh my suprachiasmatic nucleus says it's morning and they are serving me noodles in 30 minutes. At least I get some more of that nice warm bread

Halfway: I shouldn't have had that 30 minute sleep just before landing, now my body wants to sleep but my brain knows that I am going to have to engage my brain to find the gate at Bangkok airport. Why do I have to go through security again? Why is my secret stash of water always confiscated? After 20 or more years of being told to drink more water i'm suddenly being punished my the hydration police. The war is out there, leave my Mountain Spring alone.

Can't beat a good sunrise

At gate: Ugh what day is it? Surely I haven't still got 12 hours to go? On the plus side I live for the following: free internet (everybody is invariably checking Facebook, including me..what have we become?), those elusive loungers that you have to wrestle a child to get, a hazy sunrise or sunset, the almost alarmingly clean toilets, the serenity and the unfamiliar languages, mulling over whether to go for some traditional breakfast congee with the locals but always going to McDonalds for a sausage and egg McMuffin, entertaining the fantasy of becoming a spontaneous extremist and jumping on a flight to some remote Thai island.

1 hour into leg 2: Ok this is getting a bit painful, the aforementioned cute menu is no longer appealing, the smell of this bread is making me feel ill, this seat is way worse than the last one why didn't I sleep instead of watching 'What's Your Number?'. It wasn't Anna Faris' finest hour. I have no idea what day it is. Time for Tetris

5 hours into leg 2: I hate my life, I hate these seats, I hate the people next to me, there is a very real possibility that is somebody offers one of those horrible bread rolls then I might throw up. I hate everyone who is peacefully asleep. I wish I had managed to get a boyfriend mainly because putting my feet up on him right now would be amazing. How do some people look so fresh? I've never realised how bad my skin was before. I am never getting off this plane. How can there be 6 more hours to go?

2 hours until landing: Ha! In your face sleeping people! I too got some sleep, albeit broken and unsatisfying. I feel like I've spent 5 days in the same spot. I would sell my cookbook collection for a shower and a teeth clean. I have consumed 4 bottles of water and my mouth is still dry, why are these breakfast sausages so weird and oddly delicious? How do they get the omelettes perfect every time?

Arrival: Yes! I'm off the plane! I made it! Isn't life wonderful, oh the customs queue. Mental note must get one of those weird new passports. Oh it's good to be home, i'm never doing this again. I wonder when I can get back to Australia?

I hate long haul
Ps- I love you

Disclaimer: This post was written whilst heavily under the influence of Carol King's Tapastry somewhere near Singapore. 15 hours until landing

A Love Letter to Public Transport

Lazy Bristol Days

A fun fact about me, I can't drive. In fact I've never even entertained the thrill of sitting behind the wheel or experienced other adventures such as putting petrol in a car. Far from this being any conscious decision it has mainly been due to life events up to this point. Or at least that's what I tell people.

In fact, not being able to drive was a conscious decision. At the tender age of 17 years old the world was my financial oyster, I was living at home and working long hours at a hardware store getting double and triple time of disposable teenage income. During this time my mother in her infinite wisdom informed me that now was the time to learn to drive before life and money took over. Being a brazen teen I informed her that I'd much rather spend my hard earned cash clubbing and buying new Quicksilver clothes. Little did I know how much my addiction to Swansea's nightlife and expensive surf wear would alter my life.

Of course she was right, I could never have predicted that I'd spend 7 years at University and leave owing literally everybody loads of money. When I graduated I could just about afford to buy myself a loaf of bread let alone intensive driving lessons.

In a second twist of fate my first two heady years of proper income were spent in Australia meaning that unless I wanted to spend my beach or cafe time attempting how to parallel park a UTE there really was no point.

So that brings me to modern day, sitting on a Cross Country train to Cardiff contemplating my love affair with public transport. I think about myself as a driver and it slightly scares me. Having an addiction to packing an overnight bag and darting off around the country at a moments notice I fear owning a car would turn me into some kind of travel monster, making my modest carbon footprint resemble that of Bigfoot.

Plane vs train

The funny thing about not being able to drive is that you do get savvy with public transport (I'll save missed international flight anecdotes for another day). The train is my new British addiction, I love the freedom of being able to select a part of Britain and whimsically go there in a few hours. I also love the novelty and social order of the train. Don't sit in someone else's reserved seat for fear of public humiliation, always lock the sliding door on the toilet (for fear of carriage-wide humiliation) and if the drinks cart comes around you will be the only one not ordering a can of Stella, even if it is 9am.

I love seeing bits of the countryside that you wouldn't see from a car, looking at people's shiny luggage and wondering where they are going, eavesdropping on their lives just for a few hours before you go your separate ways. I even love the terrible food, my latest addiction being the semi-decent ham and emmental croissants at Nottingham station washed down with a heart starter coffee that makes listen to The Prodigy for 3 hours on my iPod at maximum volume. I love the polite conversation with strangers, usually about the disappointing efficiency or lack of available seats. I love taking the time to absorb a new album or tuck into the Guardian weekend that weighs more than my luggage.

A lesson in how to make a croissant more unhealthy

So my tastes have changed since I was that brazen 17 year old, I suppose I could not drink that Friday night cocktail, take that trip to France or boycott those gorgeous new Monsoon trousers. I'm sure i'll get around to learning to drive..someday.

Oh the drinks cart is coming around again. I wonder if I have enough for a Stella.

Arrival at Cardiff Central, right on time

Welsh Christmas Reflections

It's my first Christmas at home for two whole years, airfares from Australia sky rocket at Christmas (pardon the pun) and I never had enough time off to make the long trek home worthwhile. So this year I am determined to make the most of it by living in the festive moment and appreciating every second.

My favourite food writer and chef Nigel Slater has the same ethos as me about Christmas, it's a time of year that always evokes memories, the smell of the turkey and brandy butter, the real pine Christmas tree because I always insisted that anything else wasn't really Christmas.

This year I took the time to appreciate the little rituals that I craved when I was away, one such ritual being the decorating of the Christmas tree, a seemingly small task steeped in memories. Handmade baubles from when I was nine that still catch the light, decorations that were bought with loved ones gone by. All little time capsules to the same cold day many years ago. The baubles seem to hang there as festive mirrors to the past helping us to remember wonderful times of the past, make us appreciate the present and think about the future.

Every year I make a culinary contribution the most noteworthy being the famous glazed ham of 2008, sticky with fortified and freshly squeezed citrus fruits served with simple salads and crusty bread. This year inspired by Nigel's thickly rimmed specs and beautiful words I will be attempting his lemon curd trifle adorned with crystallised violets and crushed pistachios with a homemade mincemeat sponge soaked in brandy and laden with cream.

As i'm burning the custard and curdling the curd (isn't that the point?) i'll take extra time to appreciate the moments this year, feeling very lucky not to be travelling and seeing new things but for once to be home enjoying the familiar.

Merry Christmas and Nadolig Llawen from Wales

The Walk: Nottingham's Worst Kept Secret

The Walk Cafe
12 Bridlesmith Gate, Nottingham NG1 2GR
Tel: 0115 9477 574 Website: www.thewalkcafe.co.uk

Due to work commitments I had left Christmas shopping until the very last minute so the last but one Saturday before Christmas was set aside to bite the bullet and brave the hoards of Nottingham folk in the city centre.

To give me enough fuel to be able to shoulder barge groups of jeering teens and side step mums with triple buggies I decided it was time for a warming hearty lunch. I wandered around Delilah for a while assessing the food situation. Deciding it was too cold to sit outside (are these people mad?) I was just about to give up hope when I smelt a waft of fish and chips and spotted a small sigh. Ah ha I had finally found 'The Walk' cafe, Nottingham's worst kept secret.

Nottingham veterans had previously recommended 'The Walk' as having the best fish and chips in town, I was excited! One thing to note is don't come here if you aren't very hungry for fear of ordering from the children's menu. Luckily three days of stress and sneezing had left me ravenous. I settled on the battered haddock and triple cooked chips with mushy peas. A highlight was watching the super slender fashionistas trying to order. Now should I share a small plate of calamari with you or split a salad? I was having no such thing, my food was arriving as nature intended, piled up on a massive piece of slate!

Triple cooked chips.

I really enjoyed my lunch, the fish was beautifully cooked and the chips definitely put some meat on my cold bones. The highlight was the mushy peas, just like grandad used to make. I swallowed it all up and prepared to brave the Christmas crush. I will return to try some panko covered schnitzel for some Australian nostalgia and maybe a massive slice of cake.

Recession? What recession?

As it's the festive season it seems fitting to end this post with a  rubbish cracker-esque expression, so Merry Fishmas everyone. Here's to some festive eating before more wonderful adventures in 2012.