Let the pictures speak.
The inveiglement of a 4am sunrise, worn ruins, local murmurs, light singlets and slacks.
Cue Chopin’s Nocturne No. 20 in C Minor, interrupted by tribal rumblings.
During: Crisp enlightenment, blistering heat.
After: a weary heart, bowed head, close to tears
Here’s an introduction not by me, but by one of my favourite people in the world. In other words, the dashing guy you see right above (: :
Nothing will ever beat meals cooked at home. There’s just something about food cooked by individuals for others in the comfort of their own home that gives it an edge over the most exquisite fare in top restaurants. It’s the warmth that breathes through a messy but lovingly made dish, the loud laughter echoing across the table and the comforting presence of close friends. Maybe it’s love.
I’m actually not sure what compelled me to ask for rare cuts. I would’ve gone straight for the bleu stage, but my parents were there and they would’ve sliced my fingers off. Living on the edge calls for some necessary sacrifice. Sometimes. The goo of that red meaty interior, the pairing of a rustic baguette, the cool crunch of beans bathed and massaged with a tender vinaigrette. Stick your knife in the wobbly belly of a slice, poke a few greens, layer it all on a bite of boule. Tossed together on the honesty of a white plate, made perfect over hours of talking and drunken merriment. That was easily the best part. An easy flow of musical conversation, booming voices and laughter to weigh down the aimless night air. It was all too spectacular, and all too comforting.
Last course: fromage platter. I put some blue on baguette (fanciful alliteration made all too appropriate here), and allowed the rich velvet to combine harmoniously with the fresh bread in my mouth. Crunch and cream. A galaxy of flavour. I could carry on talking about the humble and dazzling dishes, but I’m sure the pictures speak for themselves, and I’m not inclined to treat it all as a normal cafe or restaurant review. Needless to say, the experience of it all, with the company and ambience, overwhelms a breakdown of dish by dish statistics. They are no longer necessary in the golden entirety of such nights.
And it’s during nights like these when you can lay back with full satisfaction, heavy, blushing, dizzy with happiness. Because the best company on Earth is absolutely irreplaceable.
Consecrated, shy Saturday rays.
There’s just something about stuff on toast. Sometimes, it’s not just about the smushing together of peanut butter and jam. Oftentimes, a more savoury and nourishing hat rattles the old engines and breathes life into mornings. So easy you feel guilty. But guilty at pleasure’s stake.
A fork affair. Moist avocado ‘crumbs’ and the warm tang of fresh, halfway-there compote.
I’m excited.
For what?
For the possibilities this world holds when it come to breakfast. The sacred routine of waking up, pondering a little, hovering a little, before either following a set recipe, or perhaps just mixing unexpected ingredients together, just for the sake of amateur experimentation, laden with a golden hope.
Ready to learn.
Ah. What a beautiful science.
I’d like to dedicate this recipe to my puppy Celeste!
I’m quite picky whenever it comes to things like cookies or pastries. If it’s not mind-blowingly good, I probably won’t take a second bite. I’m horrible and snooty like that, and it’s one part of myself which is quite hard to change (tragedies). These were an absolute breeze to bake, firstly because the aesthetics of the whole method was ridiculously enticing, and secondly because you don’t need any schmancy kitchen equipment. Double whammy dear.
As you can see, these still have a bit of lift to them, but they did sink after a while as the ones shown were still warm from the oven’s belly.
Key points:
-Use crumbling, DARK brown sugar with a high percentage of molasses.
-Don’t use just baking powder; either use both powder and soda or just soda on its own. The ones here were made with just baking soda, but I think I’ll use a little of both the next time, for extra chewiness.
– If you have shortening and use it instead of butter, add extra salt to help give the flavour a boost.
– Watch those cookies. Any extra time and they’ll lose that golden density and chewiness. Once you observe a slight brown edge and almost-set middle, take them out. In this recipe, it takes about 15 minutes, for extra, extra large cookies. So if you’re looking for bite-sized ones, 8 minutes or so should do it. Then again, it all depends on the surrounding temperature and that of your oven. Did I mention this is a beautiful science.
Monster-large, with a ridged top. I think a little undercooked in the centre is just fine, yes?
RECIPE
– 2 cups all purpose flour
– 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
– 3/4 teaspoon salt
– 3/4 cup (171g) melted, unsalted butter
– 1 cup packed, dark brown sugar
– 1/3 cup white sugar
– 1 1/2 tablespoons vanilla extract
– 1 large egg and 1 egg yolk
– 2 cups semisweet chocolate chips (or chopped up 70% cocoa chocolate bars)
DIRECTIONS
= the art of judging someone’s character by examining his/her facial features.
Do not lie. You have done so before. And even if you’re a God sent cherry-faced cherub living on Earth to witness and record all human sin to report back to heaven in preparation for the throwing of us all in a deep dark pit once we die, you know that such judgement is both ubiquitous and unforgiving.
Careless example right here. Look at the man above. I caught sight of him in a café the other day and took a sneaky picture, pretending to be fiddling with my cold brew and adjusting the aperture for the damn window lights, before I finally let loose my inner Warhol and started sketching his beard. Clearly, my life requires odd fulfillment. Because the thing is, if I didn’t draw him, I would have felt inclined to steal something from him, just to obtain some physical souvenir from this fascinating creature.Unshaven, almost bohemian, dare I say Australian. Rugged, pale lobster. Isn’t it amazing how these are my judgements and my judgements only? I don’t even know the guy and here I am thinking he earns a living painting portraits and riding horses. The Love Traveller with a Macbook.
Another one. Angelina Jolie is known as the most beautiful woman in the world. The chiselled rectangle of a face, pearl-like complexion, as if her face were set in stone centuries ago and emerged only now to separate true beauty from mediocrity. Sleek feline, killer jaw, ravishing plump mouth. Not that I disagree with the fact that she is considered such; I’m much more interested in the meticulous and fascinating science which established all this. What scientists call the ‘golden ratio’. Phrenology. Physiognomy. I read in an article today that we typically unconsciously fall victim to our surroundings, mentally suggesting preconceived notions on what lies beneath the human face. What a terrible world, you must be thinking. It’s so obviously wrong, allowing our egos to thrive or be bust with each turn of the head, with each examination. But everyone does it, and everyone does it without a conscience.
The human face is fascinating because everyone has a life and everyone has a story, yet we allow ourselves to make such rapid judgements, usually without even taking into account how others may perceive our own selves. Wouldn’t you love to walk up to a clone of yourself and get some conversation flowing? To see what it’s like outside of your precious set of organs, outside of the two holes on your face.
To really see you for the first time.
alexcrumb 