Five years ago, when I first started my blog and Twitter was a free-for-all every-night house party, I met Cate Bolt. I say “met”, although I’ve never seen her in the flesh in my life. She could be a 13-year-old called Steve, for all I know. But that’s quite a commitment to an extensive back story – Steve has nine children and an orphanage in Bali keeping vulnerable young girls out of sex trafficking.
I remember the first time I tried to buy a fair trade easter egg many moons ago, and it was like searching for the back of your earring at 2am in the club. I ended up in Myer in the extremely expensive gift shop section, buying a bright blue monstrosity that I couldn’t even be sure tasted any good.
Nowadays they’re much easier to find, although still (sadly) not ubiquitous, nor plentiful. But, thankfully, we’ve come a long way since that night at the club. I mean, Myer.
It’s that time of year when the tomato growth is outdoing our capacity to eat them all on crackers with sea salt. Right? Right.
I make a lot with good big juicy red ripe tomatoes, and this year I experimented even further. Between that and the jam, there’s no room left in my pantry for anything else. Except probably more salt. I love salt.
If you’re finding yourself swimming in more tomato than you know what to do with, then grab a big pot, some sterilised jars, and flavoursome odds and ends. You’ll thank yourself in the middle of winter!
You guys, it’s getting colder.
There’s no denying that creep of autumn into Melbourne. Cool, dark mornings, days where it just doesn’t quite warm up, the re-emergence of evening socks. What, you don’t have evening socks?
What’s better than chocolate pudding?
Chocolate pudding in a cute pot, that’s what!
Whatcha gonna bake this weekend?
Is it chocolate and pear cake?
It’s been quiet here, huh? I’ve had a lot on my mind (and on my to-do list) so I’ve been re-evaluating some stuff. I still don’t know what I’m doing, or where I’m going, but I think I may arrive at a conclusion soon. I think. I hope!
While my brain’s been whirring and my heart’s been AWOL, I’ve just been trundling along, doing the mundane and finding relief in its mindless usefulness.
Peach pancake, meet my facehole.