Ten to go....

Ten days out from the wedding and many people are asking me the same question.

"Are you excited?"

How does one answer that? If you don't answer with an emphatic "Yes!", people think there is something with you. But really, describing my feelings as "excitement" is a strange thing, more like joyful anticipation. I am a little anxious, but only for the day and the plans to all come to fruition. I am looking forward to marrying Subtle, and being on our holiday. But, honestly, the progression to marriage in our relationship seems so natural, that "excitement" is not the right word.

That all said, this is after all, me, and drama should be my middle name. I could have made things easy on myself by sub-contracting out all jobs for the wedding, and just sat around doing my nails. But, no, I must have drama, and have given myself the job of cooking the wedding cake - the multi-layer, multiple, fancy iced wedding cake. So my currently list of things to do prior to next Friday's joyous event includes;
- Purchasing 4kg of butter, 3 dozen eggs, 4kg of sugar, 1.2kg of Chocolate and then bulk amounts of other delightful ingredients
- Cooking in my domestic oven, 6 cakes in ranges of 10 to 12 inches in diameter
- Finding time to somehow get my nails looking decent
- Continue removing any trace evidence of hair on my body for my beachside honeymoon
- Meet Subtle's family matriarch and impress her
- Entertain out of town guests
- Practice wearing my wedding shoes so I don't have blisters the size of beach balls
- Continue daily exfoliating to avoid any last minute stress pimples
- Bleach my teeth white so that I can at least attempt to smile in some photos
- Write romantic and meaningful wedding vows that don't sound like bad greeting cards
- Avoid killing any or all members of my or Subtle's family

Anything else I have left out?

A meaty encounter

One of the great joys of my weekend, nay, any day, but weekend is when I get to actually indulge this joy, is brunch. It is a holistic experience. The lazy and slow start to the day, the cup of coffee to start, the food... perhaps with a book to read, or the paper, or even a friend to chat with. My requirements with this wonderful ritual are few, but perhaps, particular.

I like to have a nice environment - somewhere small and cosy, preferably a little left of centre. I also like table service - queuing at a counter dispels any form of relaxation for me. I like the music to not be intrusive and the presence of screaming children at a minimum. And then we can get to the menu and the food on offer. I tend to prefer a simple menu. Don't bring me any of your fancy, gourmet, "inspired" menus. I want good quality, plentiful, delicious Breakfast/Brunch fare.

And this is where the problem is arising in cafes these days.

There seems to be a move amongst the newest wave of eclectic cafes to removing one ingredient from the menu which I believe, for me, defines Brunch. This item is Bacon. Religious grievances aside, bacon is quintessentially Brunch. The one legacy of the pig may one day its contribution of heart valves to human transplant, but for now, it is bacon. That magic, salty meat is manna to one's heart and soul. It eases the pain of a hangover, and cures all manner of emotional ailments.

So why why why is it now becoming so loathesome to restauranters of late? More and more I am striking cafes from my list of eating posts due to the lack of bacon on the menu. I beseech the cafes in my area, consider the crimes against gastronomy that you are committing. Please return our piggy friend to the pages of your menu, and then I shall return to your establishments. Until then, Babe and I might have to stay home!

A Return Appearance by a Long Overdue Special Guest

Well it seems that Subtle is nearly all moved in. The crap in my house, which was always quite significant, has increased substantially to now include even more books and DVDs (I didn't think that possible!), quite a lot more in the way of computers, some furniture and various other boy-related things I haven't had around my home in a long while. But it seems that with the now established relationship and partner*, another person has moved back into my life.

Many years ago when I was married, I acquired a nickname from some friends. It appeared I was, for all intents and purposes, "the world's second best wife". Second best you say? Well the role of world's best wife was taken already by another friend. She also cooked amazing gourmet meals every night, sewed and crafted, kept a wonderful home, worked full time and entertained dinner parties for hordes. Her and I were level pegging there. But she also raised two kids, and repeatedly accepted her philandering husband back into her life. So, I really couldn't compare and hence was relegated to the role of second best wife. There might be some that wouldn't say second best wife, more likely, second most stupid. But I was very happy.

So the other evening, I was hands deep in preparing some appetisers and desserts for Subtle's birthday get-together when the friend that appointed me with my nickname rang for a chat. I explained what I was cooking and doing, and he declared, "Has the world's second best wife come back again?". I laughed. Apparently, when I wasn't looking, she moved back in. And strangely, I really don't mind. I actually feel happiest when planning cooking, preparing and entertaining - especially when I get to do it for someone I care about.

And Subtle's reaction to this title? "I don't know about the wife-bit, but you are definitely the world's best girlfriend."

Awwww.



*I really hate saying that word - it sort of feels contrived or weird. Subtle is a great fan of being simple - it is girlfriend or boyfriend. End of story until another title comes along (aka wife, husband). I am inclined to agree.

Just one small step for a woman...

There was a time when I LOVED cooking. And I did an awful lot of it. Dinner parties were often. Every week I would experiment with new recipes and ingredients. And everything was always wonderful. I enjoyed it all. The planning of the food, the cooking and preparation, but mostly I enjoyed the sharing of it with others.

Many years of singledom has meant that I don't cook so often for others anymore. Combinations of the finances involved in fancy dinners, availability of friends who are not committed to children and long-distance friendships, have all contributed in part to the waning of the feasting.

I used to still maintain the fervour of cooking for myself - for quite a while - but now it all feels too hard. Meals have become more laboured, and honestly, they just don't taste as good as they used to.

So it is with much shame that I admit my final degeneration. I have, after many many years of always preparing everything from scratch*, bought one of those packets of flavouring to which one is instructed (by the handy pictures on the rear), what ingredients are required to make the "delicious" meal presented on the front of the packet. I was embarrassed purchasing it. I felt embarrassed cooking it. I am only
one small step away from buying frozen dinners. What have I become? And importantly, how do I turn back from the face of Hell?


*Pasta (including tortellini - hand chopped), pastries, all manner of sauces, jams, pickles.......