It’s.

ALMOST.

That specific time of year again. And now, since getting my Nikon D3200, I’ve gone on a nonsensical happy-snapping spree.

Absolutely shameless, but I shall attempt to maintain some level of modesty here.

The thought of another big year, starting the IB with more fresh (sometimes acne-crusted) faces and a myriad of projects is mind numbingly intimidating. To celebrate the wonder of Christmas is humble annual tradition in the Lim house~

Oh the fluttery butterflies I get when I see a crisp fake tree. But yes, anyway.

This is just one of those excuses whereby I get to put my nose into the sweaty kitchen work and activate some elbow grease. I am a most pathetic cook and I only just learnt how to chop a bleeping garlic yesterday. Smash, chop off ends, snip snap snop. Mince, pivot, repeat and repeat. Total novice would be a famed title, to say the least.

The buffet spread really was magnificent. Divine, rich, glorious. All other suitable adjectives.

My mother’s signature dessert is her absurdly moist, dense and almost heavy sticky toffee date pudding. Nicely chewy. I enjoy things which aren’t particularly easy to nosh. This is it. Splendor within the process of eating it. Never a one-bite-and-it’s-gone sort of thing.

It’s a squashed brown tin with those wonderful burnt ridges which one would happily pick off the side of a plate. This was trial one and not the actual thing, since we happily starting shrinking mushrooms in pans whilst leaving the oven on a tad too long. It’s a beautiful thing really, to perfect this tart. And it can only ever be glorious when drenched in a rich and blindingly sweet toffee sauce, coupled with a scoop of good vanilla bean ice cream.

Traditionally made in a food processor in this household. A good swig of each ingredient in the perfect ratio to make the perfect, decadent pate. Luscious, milky and almost sombre-looking (though entirely sophisticated). My favourite appetiser of all time. Needless to announce, I do love liver a hell lot.

NOTE: I’m flying off to Mougins, Southeastern France this Wednesday on the 12th. Family will be staying in the blooming countryside near Cannes, before we go to the Italian Alps for some serious skiing business (ah yes, did I mention my very first time?). It’s all fires and starry sweaters and hot chocolates with roasted, melting marshmallows. Dandelions and Michelin-starred restaurants and prosecco and psychedelic fields. Coming back from all the wintery goodness the day before Christmas!

The very notion of simply being at Terminal 3, before sitting on an airplane with best friends Dan Brown and Stephen King, is quite simply warm nostalgia flooding all the senses. I’ll be singing Strawberry Fields Forever on the way, whilst looking down at the ant-sized world beneath. Will also be attempting to finally finish my other reading pressies, including Vanity Fair given to me by my dear (and awfully crazy) lady friend Ruru(: Books are just the most priceless gifts out there, no?

I call it a diamond feeling. Prepping myself for movie marathons and deep stretches in between hours of being confined to a single, neckache-inducing seat. I shall return with a cornucopia of pictures, for no journey may have existed without prized evidence. Love adventures; to escape from routine and familiarity.

“Memory is the basis of every journey.”- Stephen King