Until yesterday at 2 pm, Sydney was suffering a 42°C heatwave that was not only debilitating but highly irritating. (For those of you that see 40 and think, is that high? It’s 108° F. Yeah.)
Welcome to my blog. I document my adventures in travel, style, and food. Hope you have a nice stay!
Until yesterday at 2 pm, Sydney was suffering a 42°C heatwave that was not only debilitating but highly irritating. (For those of you that see 40 and think, is that high? It’s 108° F. Yeah.)
Hello dear readers! I don’t mean to make you jealous or imply that we don’t work around here.
I’ve never been a huge breakfast person. Most mornings, give me a cup of tea or a mug of coffee and I’m set for the next few hours. But lately I’ve been coming around. And I blame it all on bircher muesli.
As some of you may know, I recently finished a little pet project, which, kind of like this blog, started as a whim and ended up being more than I’d imagined it could be.
It’s still stinking hot here in Sydney and will be for the next few months. Not that I’m complaining. Sure, I miss my hearty baked pastas and braised everything, but summer eating is full of simple pleasures. Like ice cream, which we’ve taken to eating by the carton.
After getting kicked out of our previous, dog-unfriendly accommodation, we moved in with one of our neighbors and have decided to stay forever.
It’s still apricot season here in Australia and I’m taking full advantage. After that indescribably good apricot upside down cake, I still had about 10 pounds of apricots desperately needing to be used up.
I truly don’t know what we would do without our neighbors. They’re the ones who made us feel totally welcome when we first arrived in Australia
These mushrooms never, ever make it into the fridge for tomorrow’s lunch. No matter how many you make, no matter how vehemently your companions tell you they don’t like mushrooms, these mushrooms are always the first thing to disappear.
I’d never live in Kansas, dye my hair, name my child after him, or stop cracking my fingers. I’d never wear high heels in the snow (unless I wanted to) or redirect my moral compass
There’s a small place in Bologna called Bar Paolo where you can sit at the bar and order a cocktail that will make your head spin or a simple dinner that will remind you that all is right with the world.
Here’s a dessert you can whip up in no time at all, handles any number of alterations and won’t make you feel like you just downed a block of butter with a carton of cream.
Here we are on the other side. I hope all you lovelies managed without me. I would’ve come back sooner but I don’t think we’ve stopped eating for long enough to sit down and write a post.
To everyone who has followed this blog over the last 5 months (and over 100 posts!), thank you.
I’ve still got time to share another recipe before Christmas, right? Admittedly, these are a tad more involved than yesterday’s cookie, but, I think, well worth the effort
I don’t know about you, but my favorite part of Christmas is, without a doubt, the cookies. Mind you, being Jewish means that stockings, Santa, tree cutting, mistletoe and Christmas morning wrapping paper mountains are all kind of lost on me
While it is my inclination to write about watermelon salad, gin gimlets and other things I want to make with apricots, I did promise something hearty.
I totally get it. You’re cold. It’s dark when you wake up and it’s dark by 4:30 pm. The feels-like temperature has been hovering around 9°F/-12°C for a few days now.
In my attempts to consume nothing but foods dripping with American during our brief jaunt to the motherland, I made some interesting choices. I bought all sorts of junk that I didn’t actually end up eating,