At Theobroma at St Luke’s the other day I had this soy hot chocolate. They do an interesting chilli hot chocolate, too, and if you get a big one it comes in a mug with a candle underneath it. Chocolate and open flame — a truly Betty combination. It’s not a perfect chocolate: it mostly makes me wish there was a Koko Black or even a Max Brenner in the country, but nonetheless, chocolate does the trick.
Betty turned 27.
The boy person friend took her to lunch at Revel on Karangahape Road. Betty loves Karangahape Road. Back in the day, when she was writing her thesis, she used to have breakfast there sometimes. Many is the time she hiked all the way up Queen Street in search of a vegan marshmallow from the SAFE shop in St Kevin’s Arcade. To this day, she occasionally hankers for Thai food from a truly horrendous foodcourt on Mercury Lane. There is a greenish-gold dome on one of the older buildings that she has determined one day to explore. Sometimes she gets a deliciously low-rent tofu hot dog from a tiny hole-in-the-wall takeaway near the Grafton Bridge. I digress.
Revel is a lovely cafe. One time, when Betty was feeling poorly, the man behind the coffee-machine made Betty an impromptu cup of lemon and ginger toddy; he offered a shot of whisky, which Betty declined, though she immediately wondered why she had; but her throat felt ever so much better afterward.
The boy person friend asked for a lemon, lime and bitters, and was somehow talked into this elderflower-and-rhubarb concoction; it was extremely nice.
He also had wedges. Betty had eggs benny with delicious mushrooms and zucchini. Her tea was made of almonds and hibiscus, among other things; they have escaped her memory due to her advancing years.
For the first time in months, Betty and the boy person friend drove down to Hamilton. It was yesterday, the day before Betty’s birthday, which made it all the more exciting, and they were driving the great friend’s car (he calls it the Knight Rider, Betty recently discovered) — this, too, tended to be somewhat exciting. However, all interested parties survived the journey.
It was rather a busy day — Betty taught a couple of clients in the morning, then did the advanced mat class, and then went for a speedy coffee with a visiting instructor who had come to do the class. Massimo, usually exemplary, forgot the soy, and so it took about half an hour to actually receive the coffee; then Betty ran home, got ready in record time, and leaped into the car to collect the boy person. They arrived at the University of Betty’s youth only slightly late, and slipped in to watch the end-of-year piano concert, featuring two of Betty’s sisters on piano and cello. Continue reading
I crept into the city early the other Sunday and had this coffee (soy mocha, in fact) at Columbus on Queen and Karangahape. When I had finished it, some old friends from Melbourne met me there and we had a good old catch up. It was nice. So was the mocha.
Season 6, Episode 12. Doublemeat Palace. The Doublemeat Burger features a slice of Nuttolene and a red bean patty (from Veganomicon, for interested readers, very good; secret ingredient, vital wheat gluten). The salad was hand-reared in Smokey’s garden, which is why there are only three tendrils of it. But that is not the point.
The cherry pie was delish. Note the literary background.
You’re welcome.
I was making dinner at work the other day (today, in fact, in a way: Betty has mastered the cunning techno-skill of blogging in advance), preparing to caramelise some onion for a spinach curry, and I had the whimsical urge to do the onion in rings; these kind of urges strike me sometimes, especially at this job I’m referring to. This job generally involves cooking quite off-the-cuff — no recipes, unlabelled spices, experimental gluten-free substitutions, and a grateful and easygoing recipient – which leads to a kind of reckless, devil-may-care approach. With a song in my heart, I sliced those onions real good and popped the rings out into the shimmering oil. So far, no problem.
Here’s the thing, though. You know the saying about unscrambling an omelette? The same does not apply to onions. Pop those rings asunder, swish them around the pot a little, and blowed if they aren’t attracted back to each other. The bally things practically re-assemble before your very eyes. Just stopping them from nesting more than three deep is approximately equivalent to level seven in a game of Tetris. It’s as if you’re continually turning around from the blackboard to find that little Derek has come out of the corner and is once again sitting with the girls. It’s exhausting.
That is all.
Some themed eats are loosely based on characters; others are pulled directly from the canon. The first one here is one of Spike’s favourites — a delicacy they serve at the Bronze, which he describes as “a sort of flower-shaped thing they make from an onion. It’s brilliant.” It fascinates him endlessly: its dichotomous existence, simultaneously onion and blossom, seems to resonate with Spike, or at least confuses him in an entertaining way. “See, the genius of it is, you soak it in ice water for an hour so it holds its shape. Then you deep-fry it root-side up for about five minutes.” (Mine was baked in a beer batter, but same same.)
Xander: I believe it was vanilla, a cupcake baked in a cone and topped with (vegan) buttercream, raspberry coulis, and chocolate.
And a Weaponry Roast: Mr Pointy parsnips and roasted garlic.
I made this pumpkin pie years ago, but blowed if I don’t want another slice. Lookit the crumchy top, the crumbly spelt crust, the apple syrup artlessly drizzled on the plate. A thing of Beauty is a Joy forever.
The boy person friend and I took his dog for a picnic the other day. I had an extremely fine veggie burger from the takeaway bar, with avocado and so on: it was lovely. The BPF had some sort of pie-like substance, and Monty had a jerky chew and some chips.
