chow-a-bunga II: pearl oyster, thornbury

When selecting breakfast venues probably the most important question you need to ask yourself is 'how big will their mushrooms be?'. Unless you have it on good authority that the mushrooms are massive, you should give the place a wide berth.

Which is why pearl oyster in miller st thornbury is top of the pops at the moment. The mushrooms have elephantitis but in a good, non-diseased way. They come with goats cheese or alternately, poached eggs, the latter option being better. Attest to your anal-ness by requesting gluten free bread and there you have it: the best breakfast ever. (Except if you're Carney and then it's 'where's the rest of it? I want bacon and mini sausages').

Kitty

picture credit: http://www.urbanspoon.com/u/photo_list/1444665?from=cthumb&photo_id=424204

a winter vegetable

Now we have an oven I have no need to leave the house, except for work and to buy more pumpkin. Aided by unlimited internet and specifically, megavideo, I have deteriorated into an orange-hued sloth. Who knew about watching tv on the web? Do I need to be this far behind in seasons of Britain's Next Top Model? The answers are 'everybody' and 'no, no I do not'. Unfortunately, megavideo only lets me watch 72 minutes at a time before locking me out for half an hour. I am sure there is a way around this but really, it's probably not such a bad thing - I do have to wash occasionally.

Tonight I plan to drag myself away from Elle and gang to check out Judith Lucy’s Spiritual Journey. I heart Judith Lucy (pictured), even though she is an old school female comedian in the sense I feel like I’ve heard a lot about her clacker - this may be my imagination though. Her book The Lucy Family Alphabet was hilarious (read this old review, it’s full of good bits) and because it is a bunch of short stories it doesn’t suffer that same fate many biographies do where the author dedicates long passages to not-very-interesting periods of time in which they did some stuff and some other stuff and it was good/bad/indifferent.

Anyway, check my good friend Judith tonight on ABC1 at 9:30. Hopefully no ‘u-who’ talk, but who can tell at this early stage.

Kitty x

Picture credits: http://www.memorabletv.com/global/australian-tv/judith-lucys-spiritual-journey/

the macarena, face jam and awesome

Growing up my parents liked to throw big parties. Most of the time these involved costumes, which totally blows my theory that people who throw costume parties are good at making costumes. What’s that? Want to look like a horse? Just get under this old tablecloth and make click-click noises. Red riding hood you say? Here, hold this basket. Wear my puffy pink raincoat. And: ‘Yes, that hat I’ve sewn buttons on constitutes being dressed up’.

Unfortunately, this is something of a family trait. My older brother Mark led us around the neighbourhood trick or treating dressed as a vampire. If, by vampire you mean ‘boy in a duffel coat with a jar of jam smeared on his face’. My own low point involved a DIY ‘darth vader’ complete with a calculator stuck to my chest, which probably would have been fine had someone else not hired a darth vader costume from a costume shop. Boy was I pleased when their helmet fell off and landed in the Yarra River.

In any case, the parties always involved dancing. My mum can do the dosey doe for eight hours straight – the only time she has ever called in sick to work was when she sustained a sort of RSI/leg injury doing exactly that. My dad’s dance of choice in recent years has been the macarena, which I have seen him adapt to a variety of songs. Prosperity will also remember him for a well executed nutbush.

Anyway, they’re taking the show on the road and are rehearsing to become part of fringe festival flash mob Crowdplay. This week I tagged along and it was awesome, seriously good fun. Check it out here:

Organisers are looking to get 2,000 people to participate and are running dance rehearsals all over Melbourne. There's one on tomorrow at 1pm at RRR in Brunswick. Go and you can meet my folks. If you can get a group of ten people together, they'll even come to you (Crowdplay that is, not my parents, although they are very sociable).

Kitty x

the joy of text

When my good friend Suse said she had free tickets to a play and asked did I want to go I was a little apprehensive. The last play we went to involved naked 70 year olds and was set in a nursing home masquerading as a snow storm. Wtf, you say? Yes, me too.

But I have forgiven her and last night we went along to see Robert Reid's The Joy of Text.

Well. Not since my parents took my ten year old self and two brothers to the Pumpkin Theatre Company's Murder on the Orient Express have I so enjoyed a play. And that might I add, was in large part due to an unmanned snack bar and a rather long interval.

The Joy of Text is about 1) a high school teacher-student sex scandal and 2) a book about a high school teacher-student sex scandal - it's sort of a plot re-creating a plot. It bills itself on the Melbourne Theatre Company website as a comedy which is a bit misleading because its not really funny as such but either way it is entertaining. And well acted, particularly 21 year old James Bell who plays the precocious, bratty and a little bit charming high school student Danny.

Anyway, it gets three and a half stars. Worth going to but you'll have to hurry, it shuts shop on the 23rd of the month.

Kitty

Picture credit: http://www.mtc.com.au/tickets/production.aspx?performanceNumber=3333

the land of yoga

Good yoga is hard to find, mainly because there's about a million different types and some people define 'great' as lying on the floor for three hours like a potato. There ought to be an urban spoon for yoga because on the one hand I want nothing more than to be a lithe vegan environmentalist exuding calm but on the other, I live in fear of spending 90 minutes concentrating on my breathing.

So here's the first of its kind.

The land of yoga is an actual place. Today was the second time I'd attempted to go there. The first time I drove around High St in Preston for half an hour before realising (too late) that it is actually located on Plenty Rd.

Pinpointing exact location is not the only reason it may have been wise to consult the website before heading along to the land of yoga. Repeated references to 'the art of relaxation' and the fact that blankets were provided may have alerted me to the fact this place was not for me. Then again perhaps not, I had already purchased a ten pass (for a mere $40!!!) on one of those 'daily deals' type websites.

Regardless, I arrived ridiculously early as I am wont to do and hovered out the front. There didn't appear to be a lot happening so I called Toby the owner who assured me the class was definitely on. An aside: how annoying when mobiles are listed for shops, I hate calling strangers on mobiles.

Anyway, finally there was movement and a bearded man appeared in the window. He saw me and must have unlocked the door but I didn't want to try it in case he hadn't and then I looked desperate to get in, much better to just linger awkwardly. After a few minutes staring at the menu of the takeaway shop next door another guy - who was not the full quid - arrived and said something loudly to which I responded:--- (nothing) because I didn't know if he was talking to me.

The two of us - me and the not the full quid guy - went in. It was a bit like entering a hairball/experiencing what it would be like to actually be valour. There were lots of draping furry fabrics and things.

I had to get changed so I asked to use the bathroom and Toby directed me down the hall. At which point the experience deteriorated and so does this review. I realised on entry that the bearded man lived at the yoga place. I was in his bathroom. And it was covered in stickers of Hindu Gods, toilet seat included. But the worst bit was there was only one towel and it was big. Which meant it was probably the towel he used to shower with and I didn't want to wipe my hands on it. That, combined the plethora of garden gnomes (in a bathroom?) pretty much told me all I needed to know: I should get the fark out of there. Not because of any wierd serial killer vibe just because it was definitely going to be one of those breathing-type sessions, possibly with chanting and I'd really rather walk the dog.

Of course, the mature thing to do would be to just say this to the bearded man and his other customer. Instead, I pretended I had to go to my car to get some water and then just drove off. Clearly, I am a weiner. But not that sort of weiner, congressman anthony.

Later Toby text me - because I'd called his mobile and he had my number - : Hi its toby from yoga i guess this was your number, im sorry, you must have felt uncomfortable. Good luck with your yoga.

I responded: Thanks Toby, sorry to flee! Not my thing i think. Take case and best of luck yourself.

Of course the 'take case' is meant to be take care, hopefully he is savvy with predictive text.

And so, that's what the land of yoga is like. Great if you're into that sort of thing.

Kitty x

cheap and cheerful local haunts: pho hung, preston

It seems we were a little premature in celebrating the advent of the internet. Our fickle, fickle modem gave up the ghost halfway through the fourth episode of Downton Abbey which was just as devastating as it sounds. I don't even know if Mrs Hughes accepted the farmers marriage proposal.

Despite our proximity to the fine Maccas on Bell St, last night Carney and I ventured further afield heading to Pho Hung on High St (447) in Preston for some Vietnamese.

This place is always packed and even though we arrived in time for Wheel of Fortune last night was no exception. My recommendation for the excellent nosh at Pho Hung comes with two caveats. First, the service is poor and you will be lucky if your coke zero arrives. Second a word of warning: give the 'function room' - a wide berth. It's a generous name for a small and poorly ventilated cave down the back of the restaurant, past the toilets. Think Thai smoking room crossed with a public sauna and then dilute your expectations tenfold. I don't suspect anyone goes in there twice- we certainly weren't the only ones happy to wait. Having said that, the place does EXCELLENT pho and bons. I highly recommend.

The other local goodie is Noodle Kingdom, also on High St. This place either makes their own noodles or employs a small army of people to stand in the window and make long strips of dough all da

y long. Order #24 or #96, whichever has the crispy chicken.

I sigh. There are definitely good things about not having an oven.

Kitty x

so much to tell you

Title based on a book I loved by John Marsden, todays post is small items I would tell you if you were here.

Firstly, we have the internet.

Secondly, I cannot believe I mocked the telephone training. Now I covet, I yearn for telephone training, having spent all of yesterday morning answering calls about showering and feeding old people. Honourable endeavours but nothing I want to provide assistance with.

Thirdly, our 'oven' is on the chopping block! I 'quotation mark' this because the oven is pretty much ornamental - three quarters of the stove top works, the griller is MIA and the oven itself is a big black box of useless. Which is not such a bad thing, our house was vacant for about four years before we moved in and I fear squatters shat in it (oven poos and squatters = peas and carrots). But I digress, the new oven is excellent news, future guests will agree. Even more so now.

Four - look at this happy character:

It is a Tasmanian truffle (placed alongside a lemon for artistic reasons), purchased this morning at the Vic market along with other tasty items.

And now, check out this bad boy:

Lemon delicious pudding blog

It belongs to my friends Barker and Laura. They are connoisseurs. Barker grows his own king oyster mushrooms - a massively impressive undertaking - and I learnt from Laura to request ice cream in a ramekin when ordering pudding. This minimises the cross pollination which results in a) liquid ice cream, b) lack of hot/cold deliciousness and c) speed eating. Barks and Laura recently fed us large quantities of meat which we ate with gutso to show how pleased we were that Barker had turned 30.

Kitty x