Save the Children: Monday, 21 October

Last Thursday I had my wisdom forcibly removed.

I also suffer from the inability to sit still and relax. Thus, despite my cheery disposition, the extraction of my impacted third molars has been a painful experience and one I am pleased I shall not have to experience again.

My long suffering mother kindly looked after me and, on the last day staying with her, I decided in a painkiller induced daze of euphoria to visit the local op shop. 

The result: rather sensational. 

One of my better hauls, if I can say so myself.

Op shop: Save the Children at Glenelg South.

Why you should go here: They don't know the value of what they have. They stock a lot of decent brands (Country Road, Witchery, Portmans, Cue - sadly not many fitted me yesterday). Also, the staff are really lovely and elderly and find ones youthfulness incredible. Stay for a bit of a chat! Complain with the oldies about the air conditioning in Foodland.

The items:

Filo one piece short play suit, $5I look like a bit of a muffin but have always wanted a
play suit, so I thought I could sacrifice $5
to the cause. I'm actually kind of in love with it.

Crossroads cream bolero, $6
I think they again got Crossroads and Country Road
muddled as their Country Road items were sub $5.
However I am a sucker for a bolero so $6 didn't
exactly hurt the hip pocket.

Singlet/dress, unknown brand, $2
This has the pattern of a pair of curtains and I love it.
It may be the $2 I paid for it, though. I pay
more to catch the bus. It's pretty tight and after my
wisdom-teeth-induced-icecream-overload weight-gain
is worked off I should be able to wear it as a dress,
otherwise it makes a nice singlet over my...jeggings.

Witchery long sleeved green bolero, $3
So I love boleros. Sue me.

Unknown brand floor length black skirt, $10
I ummed and ahhed about this item but decided its
comfiness and swooshiness made up for the pricey (...) tag.

Mollini kitten heels, $3
I grabbed these shoes in the way Gollum snatched
away the One Ring. Yeah. I said $3. Barely worn, leather all over.

Total: $29, but this Good Samaritan didn't take the change from $30.

Things I have learned about Rihanna

1. She can sing in her own voice without holding a microphone to her face
2. She has the hardest working backup singers ever
3. She has an incredible body. She is sexy; sensual and sexual
4. Rihanna has a vagina
5. She knows where her vagina is. She demonstrates this by pointing to it 800 times
6. She can walk better in heels- wasted, than I can walk in flats- wasted
7. Adelaide is a lacklustre crowd
8. Ok I didn't learn that, I already knew that
9. But Rihanna can make an Adelaide crowd even lacklust-ier
10. Rihanna works on a different time scale to her audience. It's about an hour and a half behind
11. Contrary to popular performance technique, she actually gets better as the night progresses
12. I assume this is because she begins to sober up
13. I rather like that song Diamonds. Wait, that was written by Sia. Do you know Sia? Sia is an incredibly talented singer-songwriter from Adelaide who is making it big...I digress
14. I wasted a pair of contact lenses
15. Rihanna can tweak better than Miley Cyrus
    
    And finally...
    Did I mention she has a vagina?

Well, that was embarrassing. Embarrassing all round. Embarrassing for us, embarrassing for her, embarrassing for the mums and dads who brought their kids because it was meant to be an all-ages show, just..embarrassing.


I'm not even mad. I'm impressed.

The Support Act

First of all, let's start with the support act, @WeAreGTA. Two grown men twiddling each others knobs on a Thursday night, trying to get Adelaide to "make some noise".

I didn't have nearly enough drugs for that.

Honestly, how can a DJ set have two people? It was almost homoerotic watching them on stage, moving back and forth, reaching across and around each other. On a Friday or a Saturday night when I'm not at a seated concert with a copious amount of alcohol under my belt - I would have been dancing up a storm. On a Thursday night with a belly full of dumplings and my gentle cider-haze wearing off, it was a bore-fest.

Then came the waiting.

And the waiting.

And the waiting.

Intermission

To fill the time, the pill-head to the right of me danced. Oh boy, did she dance! She danced so much that the audience reacted and she danced some more. But the skanky girls wanted to be a part of this too! And thus, the dance off began.

Pill-head vs Stripper.

Stripper vs Gaggle of Skanky Night Club girls.

The camera crew caught on and started displaying the dance-offs on the screen. We flicked to a lithe gentleman doing the robot on the other side of the arena. To an old fat man with two beers, twerking. To some more sluts.

This was actually all rather entertaining! For about 15 minutes.

45 minutes later, I was trying to unpeel my eyelids from my eyeballs with boredom.

The "Concert"

When Rihanna finally took the stage, to boos, might I add, all I could do was roll my eyes. I couldn't even muster the energy to clap and utter a bit of a "woo".

After stumbling around for the first few songs and intermittently yelling, "Adelaide, what the fuck!", she began to sober up and attempted singing a few songs.

It finally ended and I got to go home.

The quest for the perfect warm caffeinated beverage: Colin & Co

I have an addictive personality.

A couple of years ago I discovered a substance called caffeine. It revolutionised my life. In those days, I loathed the taste of coffee. The smell of coffee would make me gag. I soon discovered some caffeinated chocolates to the tune of one-and-a-half-espresso-shots in each tasty bitesized square and I was set. Until they stopped importing into Australia.

Roll forward a few years to today. I still do not like the taste of coffee, however the smell has taken on new connotations. The smell now has become linked with the feeling and I have begun to enjoy the scent of gently roasting beans because I know how buzzy I will feel having injested them. 

I have in the past had a very healthy double-shot-espresso-with-two-tablespoons-of-sugar-a-day caffeine addiction. Yes, I did write tablespoons. I brutally weaned myself out of this addiction using green tea, but continue to have phases where I require caffeine on a regular almost daily basis.

Now, you may have noticed dear reader that I am writing caffeine, not coffee. This is because my poison of choice is the mochachino.

The mocha.

A travesty to true coffee aficionados and a disappointment for hot chocolate drinkers,  the mocha combines two of my favourite things: chocolate and caffeine. 

Therefore, after this rather lengthy introduction, I have decided to review the humble mocha. There are four elements to the judging process: amount and consistency of froth, chocolateyness (aka can I taste any coffee?), temperature and cost. 

Colin & Co, Rundle Place. 

I had a sneaky solo coffee here on Saturday at about 4pm, getting close to winding down time. Here are my thinkings:

Froth: 2/5. Froth was tasty, not coffee tasting at all but too thin and not enough. I like a good inch of froth and a couple of millimetres just doesn't cut it, no matter how little it tastes like coffee. I should really rate froth out of 10 because it is my favourite part and also the cause for the most disappointment. I'd have a cup of froth if it contained the same amount of caffeine...

Chocolateyness: 4/5. Nicely chocolately, to the point where I wondered if there was any coffee in it at all. 

Temperature: 5/5. I need to be able to drink it immediately. No burning of my tongue. If my tongue is burnt it means you fail as a barista and you have BURNT THE MILK AND MADE BABY JESUS CRY WITH YOUR INATTENTIVENESS. Put you hands around the milk jug and when it becomes almost too hot to touch, fucking STOP. Deep breath.

Cost: 2/5. A reasonably pricey coffee at $3.90 especially with my lack of froth disappointment.

All in all an agreeable coffee, although the disappointing froth factor will make me think twice about returning. Overall 3/5. 

Seafood Laksa - Kopi Tim

How to lose your appetite out of fear in 10 easy steps.

1. Ask the company at the table for a recommendation. Ask again, confirm repeatedly.
2. Order the seafood laksa.
3. Devour entree.
4. When said seafood laksa is produced, begin clearing the table to make room. Realisation begins to dawn as things are struggling to fit onto the table alongside your bowl.
5. Pick up your spoon and chopsticks.
6. Put down your spoon and chopsticks
7. Gawk at your bowl and stall by taking photos.
8. Pick up your spoon and chopsticks and swirl everything around. Consider where to begin.
9. Put down your spoon and chop sticks. Look frightened.
10. Chide your table company and blame them for doing this to you.

The saving grace that prevented me from tumbling into an abyss of terror?
"Excuse me, do you do doggy bags?"

Thank you God for supplying me with a take home container in my time of need.

***

After an extremely serious session of Badminton Wednesday, we decided on Kopi Tim for our reward. Located on Grote Street, but just on the other side of the main food section, it's glowing red signage greeted us cheerfully.

The entree was an utterly divine roti which I fell upon greedily and with haste. In hindsight, pacing myself would have been wise. Also at our table was four serves of coconut water, an interesting liquid that was rather enjoyable with floating fleshy chunks of coconut.

Then my seafood laksa arrived.

And it was enormous.


It was three times the size of my head.

 I was fearful. I was consumed by fear. How do I start? I plaintively wailed, gingerly picking up a piece of tofu with my chopsticks.

But it was delicious.

It was also just as delicious (and cost effective) the next day when I continued the laksaness for lunch.

Go on. Order the laksa. Quake in your boots. I dare you.

The Phantom of the Opera

Night time, flattens
Dulling each sensation
Darkness wilts and
stifles imagination...

I have a few things that I am obsessed with.
Food.
Bargain hunting.

And The Phantom of the Opera.

I don't know what it is about it that has me hooked. It is like the Andre Rieu of the theatre world*.

Real musicians don't listen to Andrew Lloyd-Webber.

The Phantom of the Opera is my guilty little pleasure. I know all of the words. And when I say all of the words, I mean all of the words.

I've lost count how many times I've seen the movie. I've seen two full scale productions - one in Melbourne and one in Adelaide. I will continue to see productions whenever they a) come to my city or b) I visit theirs. And now I can add an amateur production to the list.

For the first time, despite all of the times I have experienced The Phantom, I discovered something new.
Until this week, I had never known that The Phantom of the Opera was a comedy.

I was concerned the amatuer production would ruin it for me. What I didn't expect was it to be side splittingly hilarious, my shoulders heaving with barely contained laughter.

We were given the wrong seats and I didn't realise until we went to sit down. They had given my really good seats to someone else, so we chose to sit on the left of the stage in a group of three seats. It was as close as we could now get - and turned out to be a fantastic spot as I didn't disturb others.

Each time a main character was introduced, I had to stifle my fits of giggles. Carlotta. Raoul. The Phantom. Christine had be sold to me as "300 pounds"- I had to see this. This turned out to be a gross overestimation and she was very pretty and had an amazing voice and was not big in any sense of the word - except that Christine is meant to be a tiny little 16 year old ballerina so it was a little disconcerting seeing her towering over the other dancers.

The Phantom left me horribly confused. He had moments of utter magic, which were then overshadowed by Elvis-style inflections reminicient of his kareoke king title. The one thing that shouldn't have bothered me - and this is going to make me sound incredibly shallow - was that he was fat.

The Phantom of the Opera was fat.

This messed with my mind. I can't bare it. My dearest readers, in confidence I tell you this, but I may have on occasion had a dream about said Phantom (a la Gerald Butler).

Never again. Ruined.

Now all I will see is straining pant buttons as The Phantom rubs himself sensuously while singing What raging fire will flood the soul, what rich desire unlocks its doors, what sweet seduction lies before us?

In truth, I found him and Christine to be really rather good and they had a very pleasing chemistry.

Raoul, on the other hand...

Every time he took the stage, I giggled. I'm sorry. But this actor was clearly only chosen on account of his boyish good looks. Consistently flat and out of tune and a strange I'm here, look at me possessiveness when he took the stage and a horrible lack of chemistry made me long for Christine to run away with The Phantom (which I kind of want her to do anyway, but...).

I'm so glad I went. My dearest Phantom of the Opera wasn't ruined, but in actual fact taken to brand new dizzying heights.

In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came...


*Note: Andre Rieu is not well respected the music world. He brings "classical" music to the bogan masses and makes uncultured people feel cultured because he is playing music on a - god forbid - violin. He plays Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on a violin with a firework display and makes a shit tonne of money because it makes people feel high class. We can't be friends if you like Andrew Reiu.

Wagyu Bangers and Mash - The Stag

Steak.

Steak steak steak. Steak steak steak steak. Steak. Steak steak steaksteaksteaksteaksteak!

On Badminton Wednesday, I felt like steak.

Had a hankering for the ol' red meat.

All day. Since 9.30 in the AM.

"Steak?" I would ask passersby hopefully.
"Steak," they would respond in the affirmative, and I was content.

We went to Adelaide's "worst vegetarian restaurant", The Stag. Upon reaching The Stag, my appetitive wasn't up to its usual standard (enormous, for those who may be thus unaware). This was largely in part to the two Hungry Jack's mini burgers I had succumbed to before badminton. As an aside - they were delicious and amazing and mustardy and fantasmic and then I felt really nauseous for about an hour and a half because my body has become unused to eating junk food. I'm still fantasising about those tasty bundles of processed unhealthiness. 

Alongside my diminished appetite, I had also forgotten that The Stag is a little bit pricey and the combined lack of hunger and lack of funds propelled my choice. Therefore, I forewent the steak per-say, and settled on the Wagyu Bangers and Mash.

An odd choice, perhaps, but I have had bangers and mash so infrequently in my life and it was a solid wintery meal for a very wintery night and it felt like a comfortable choice.

My only gripe was the delay in delivering my meal; this bordered on embarrassing and left me wondering if I had been forgotten. It arrived eventually though and I wasn't disappointed. Such a simple meal with simple flavours. No complications. Being unable to mash potato myself (welcome to Lumpyville, population: me), I revelled in the buttery-garlicy-spinachy-potatoey goodness. Normally a kitchen debacle when attempted by yours truly, the sausages at The Stag were tender and juicy and topped with a spicy tomato relish for an added zing.

The Stag, you can bang my mash any day.

The Comedy of Errors - A State Theatre Company production

Who knew that a night on the Shakespeare train would be so much fun?

When putting around the call to see a play, namely a Shakespeare play, I was pleasantly surprised at the enthusiastic uptake from my friends. How delightfully cultured! A few minutes later, 6 balcony tickets had been purchased all in row (and a pass to the Red Carpet after party) and there was no backing out now!

While the rest of Adelaide was at the Pink concert, we raucously descended upon the Duncan Playhouse (after eating a delicious, if enormous, meal from River Café) and "excuse me"d and "sorry"d our way to our seats right in the middle up the top.

We had a perfect, unhindered middle view of the stage for The Comedy of Errors by the State Theatre Company, a story of mistaken identity featuring two sets of identical twins. The set comprised a series of doors and the situation had been modernised. Despite the old-timey iambic pentameter, this modernisation worked perfectly and rendered the play relatable. Especially the scene where the ladies had been wandering around the city all evening and had resorted to carrying their high-heels to save their battered feet...

I belly laughed on more than one occasion and was able to follow remarkably well. The words themselves were not necessarily funny but the emotions, actions and tone of the actors brought the impossible situations to life.

At the conclusion of the show, we were led to the deepest darkest bowels of the theatre and emerged into a warehouse type room; complete with DJ, free wine and free food.

As the intellectuals we are, we discussed the play, analysing the themes, characters and situations as portrayed for a modern audience.

Not really. We got drunk and danced!

Nineteen Eighty-Four - George Orwell

BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU

"I'm about to read Nineteen Eighty-Four," I would say. Those who hadn't read it would reply "What's that about?" Those who had read it all had the same reaction.
A sort of a shudder, a bit of a shrug, and a low "Oooooh."

Approaching a book knowing it is not going to be a joyful ride, knowing it will only end unhappily and knowing that you will be left feeling deflated is an interesting sensation.

To even begin, you require resolution and strength and then, as the end approaches, you need all the willpower you can muster to continue. Because you know. You know that all those hopeful fantasies you are harbouring will not come true...

I read it greedily but when the covers were closed and the book tight shut, I had to brace myself for the onslaught afresh. My mind raced with all the possibilities - I was on edge - I simply had to keep reading to know if any of my suspicions or hopes were close.

The energy consumed through trying to guess the end left me feeling empty once I reached it. But I think emptiness is what you are supposed to feel. Flat. Pancake-y.

"The comparisons with today's government are uncanny," I was told. It is true. Certain phrases and situations would case me to start and look up at the corners of my room for hidden cameras while my mind raced wildly to the life I am living and the current state of the world.

I had only read one third of the book before the bleak dreams began. Thoughtcrime. Inability to say what I want. Inability to think what I want. Hidden emotions. War. Big Brother. "This book is fucking me up more than I expected," I would say to anyone who would listen, "what am I going to be like by the time I reach the end?"

Nothing happened.
Emptiness happened.

Here's wishing George Orwell a happy birthday. I know what I'm going to be doing this weekend. All the crime. Sexcrime. Thoughtcrime.

Just in case it is outlawed tomorrow...

Nutella Kronut - Milkaholic

What do you get when a croissant and a donut love each other very much?

This.

This is a Kronut.

I ate in almost total silence, absorbed, focussed. My comrades looked up at me in surprise at the conclusion of my meal (and I'm certain there was a little bit of awe mixed in there too), that I had polished my dessert off so steadily, without pause or fuss, while they continued to enjoy theirs.

My first few mouthfuls however, left me exclaiming "Yes! It is like a croissant, wait, no it's more like a donut! Wait! No, a croissant...donut?"

I have little else to say about the Kronut from Milkaholic except it was delicious and topped with chocolate chocolate chip icecream and covered in chocolate nutella sauce and you should have one.

Now.

The Mixed Fish - Paul's on the Parade

 

"We do not have any butterfish," proclaimed our haughty waiter.
There was no butterfish on the menu.
"Oh. Then we do not have any hake."
There was no hake on the menu, either.

Badminton's dinner this week saw us abandoning our original idea of schnitzels for food of the piscine variety. 

We traipsed into Paul's Fish Cafe on the Parade in our trendy sportswear and made our way to a table. While I made a quick exit to the little girl's room, it was decided by the remaining party that tonight's fish experience was to be an educational one. Prepare to be educated.

I shall digress for a moment to introduce my Badminton buddies; namely the ones who attended dinner on this fine evening. On my right at the "window seat" sat Jason, purveyor of a fine curry; opposite sat Thu, food connoisseur; and to the right sat Pamela, the daughter of a chef. We are a fine company of experts, if one includes my outstanding ability to eat anything and, in most cases, everything.

We decided to order two serves of the mixed fish; 3 pieces of fish in each serve. This equals 6 pieces of fish. There were 5 different fish available on the menu, therefore one piece of fish had to be repeated twice to equate to 6. 

I just used maths. Have I lost anyone? No? I shall continue.

Unfortunately, this concept was a little too hard for our self-important waiter to grasp.

"Yes but what fish do you want with your mixed fish?"

"We'd like one serve of each, with two of the garfish."

"Yes, but what fish do you want with your mixed fish?"

After some time and some careful pointing to the menu, and gently reminding the waiter that he sold neither butterfish or hake, our order was sorted. 

2 serves of the mixed fish with:

One piece of flathead

One piece of baramundi

One piece of King George whiting

One piece of snapper

Two pieces of garfish

Thus, in the name of science, we could compare the different kinds of fish and how their fishiness differentiated.

I have no idea what fish is what.

Promptly forgetting the varieties of each fish as we were told them, we carefully divided each piece into four. We ate together, examining the texture and the fishiness of each fish, comparing and contrasting as the experts we are.

At the conclusion of our meal, we decided that there are two types of fish. 

Baramundi, and everything else.

     "Well done everybody!" Pamela declared, "We can taste baramundi!"

     "I think I can pick garfish!" piped up Thu.

     Pamela looked knowingly across the table.

     "Except Thu. She's got garfish covered."

The Two Pearls of Wisdom - Alison Goodman

"...the truth can be  deadly..."

I've discovered I have a type. I think we all do. I've known for a long time that my favourite is fantasy, but I realised that I specifically like fantasy with strong female leads. I will read others of course, but I am instinctively drawn towards feisty beautiful female characters with magical abilities and a penchance for a dashing price.

I think this is where I went astray. Instead of being instinctively drawn to this book, I was seeking it out. As I sat cross legged on the floor of the second-hand book shop, classical music playing soothingly in the background, I picked up book after book looking for female leads. The premise of The Two Pearls of Wisdom fascinated me and I like to support Australian authors.

Sadly, the book felt somewhat amateur and it didn't end, meaning I have to purchase the next book in the series. Which I will, of course, not because I truly want to follow the characters on their journey, but because that is where I will find the ending of the first book.

However, it was a pleasant and easy read. I wanted a light fluffy read and I got more than I bargained for. Maybe I am being too harsh on the poor book, seeing as it follows The Time Traveler's Wife which unceremoniously ripped out my heart...

The little feminist within me rallied with Eon/Eona, I desperately wanted her to succeed. Her struggle with her womanhood in a male dominated society and the need to conform, to hide her true self as something shameful both insulted me (as a feminist) and compelled me to commend her strength. 

     He grunted. "You have the courage of a warrior."
     "No," I said flatly. "I don't. " 
     "Are you frightened now?"
     I nodded, shame flushing my skin.
     "Is it going to stop you?"
     "No. "
     "That is the courage of a warrior."

Also there was magic and dragons and shit. I love that.

A poem

I wrote a poem. It's not a very good poem. 

And it's a poem of the non-rhyming variety.

I felt the need to post it, a bit of release, a bit of letting go, per say. To preface my poem, I parted ways with someone I had loved for many, many years and the resulting breaking of heart was almost more than I could bear. It was the first time in my life feeling these feelings that many have felt before me, and many will feel after me, and I will no doubt feel again - but having felt them for the first time, I was entirely blindsided by the experience.

If my poem - for just one person - allows them to think, "You have put my feelings into words," then I will be supremely happy. I have left it largely unedited (it could easily do with a working over) but I don't want to mess with the raw feeling of when I initially wrote it back in May.

Hope it makes you feel something.

A feeling
manifested as physical pain
welling up deep within my sternum
in the place where my heart should be
now a million pieces
broken, scattered. 

It pains to breath,
so shallowly and rasping
my chest flutters,
trying to avoid the
onset of hurt. 

One thought, one stab.
Two thoughts, two stabs.
No thoughts,
Numb. 

They never told me
that a breaking heart
would actually hurt.

Shared meal - Tongue Thai'd

Such a sassy lady

 "Does it have an eyeball?"

Flavours of the Asian Persuasion were the inspiration for our Wednesday night degustation. And so we car pooled our way to Henley Beach Road to get a little bit Tongue Thai'd.

We blew through the door in a flurry and were met with a cheerful "The kitchen has stayed open for you!" We sat and frantically scoured the menu. Minutes later, we were ordered, hungry and rearing to go.

Our fish cakes and tofu entrees arrived first and we were a little hesitant to begin. It all seemed a bit bland. Suddenly, the waiter arrived with our sauces and apologies and we devoured the entrees, glad we hadn't actually begun.

The rogue sauce

Under the watchful gaze of the Tongue Thai'd sassy lady we were delivered plate after plate of deliciousness. Our order included one red curry, one prawn curry, one basil beef..curry, and an enormous whole flounder fish...in curry. It was not long before my eyelids were sweating from the more than mild warmth eminating from our meal and I was asking more and more often to "please pass the rice".

My favourites were the red curry and the whole flounder, which arrived sans eyeball (I am slightly obsessed with cooked fish and their eyeball - not in a good way - they seem so alive still...). I ate, once again, until the point of pain and, even with our four reasonable appetites, we were unable to finish everything in front of us.

The decor within and the choice of music did not leave us at a loss for words. The rich red furniture and interesting artwork brought a warmth and coziness to the restaurant, while we danced and wiggled in our seats to Madonna and Michael Jackson.

Between the excellent food and the lovely atmosphere (and the lovely staff staying open for us arriving so late, and being kind enough not to explicitly shoo us out), this restaurant will definitely not leave you Tongue Thai'd.

Mind the pun.

Wine & Nibbles - Clever Little Tailor

 "I'm looking for my friends. Is there...more?"

It was already dark and I was walking down Hindley Street when I stumbled across Peel Street; a large, tinted windowed car pulled up just inside the street. Peering down, I could see few lights and wasn't comfortable heading down the eerie side street. Mustering courage, I set off and passed a shop front from which a gentleman emerged, locked the door and then walked away with his hands in his pockets, whistling in a sinister horror-movie way. I quickened my pace. Ahead, I saw lights and hurriedly headed towards them.

Clever Little Tailor, was I glad to see you.  I made my way inside and was greeted by the bar staff. I had a quick peek around for my friends and, not spotting them, I asked the bar staff if there was more to Clever Little Tailor out the back.

"No, what you see is it!"

Clever Little Tailor is tiny and scrumptious -  a delicious, perfectly formed canapé of a bar.

I simply marvelled at everything inside. The stone wall to my right. The music. The strange black room-sized box that we decided was the cool room. The tiny little capers on our plate of chatuterie. We ordered a wine each, a small plate of nibbles and settled back allowing the atmosphere envelope us.

While weekends are another story, on a weekday, this miniature bar is a perfect little hideaway from the world to gently catch up with friends.

Oh Clever Little Tailor, I just want to snorgle you.

Savers Expedition: Sunday, 23 June

 

I have failed to mention that I am an op shopper by trade.

It is a way of life.

I am not exclusively op shop, as I do allow myself the occasional brand new item, but I cannot remember the last time I bought something at full price and not on special, and therefore consider myself an exceptional bargain hunter.

Now that I have recovered from that massive oversight of my personality, I will tell you about my weekend adventures!

I have a favourite op shop. The first time I set foot inside, I stood gaping, wide eyed at the rows upon rows of clothes as far as my short-sighted eyes could see. I was overwhelmed and didn't know what to do or where to start and so I pinched myself, believing I had died and found myself in my perfect idea of heaven.

The op shop is Savers at Noarlunga. And yes, I regularly make the trek to fill up on Saver-y goodness with its deliciously categorised clothing (sleeveless, short sleeved, shirts, shorts, skirts, pants, jeans) and lovingly sorted by size. Delightful. With my mum in tow, we descended upon Savers with a fervour only true bargain hunters can muster. As she hadn't been before, I had a few words of advice before we got there:

1. Eat first. We need to keep our energy up. We are in it for the long haul and this cannot be done on an empty stomach. (My mum made some awesome poached eggs with salmon, hollandaise sauce and spinach on English Muffins to keep us energised.) 
2. Get a trolley. The little ones are easier to manuever.
3. Grab everything you even remotely like, throw it in your trolley and decide when you try it on. This is because there is seriously so much stock that you will probably not "go back" to an item you liked, so grab it now.

When it comes to op shopping, I have a bit of a method. I am very picky about what brands I buy - why buy a cheap item that you could get in the shop, new, for $5 or $10? Therefore, I stick to brands that are relatively expensive new. Occasionally, something will catch my eye that is cheap but I try to avoid it. This helps me cut out a lot of items, stops the rows and rows of clothes or shoes from being so daunting and I can move at quite a quick pace.

So, how did I go today? I had a couple of self-imposed rules today especially as I was with my mum and didn't want to be there for 4 hours (...which has happened...more than once...). The rules were:

• No pants
• No skirts
• No black/grey/beige

I looked in my wardrobe recently as I was sad and wanted to wear something colourful to make me feel happy and I found very little that was colourful which made me even sadder. I need some colour, I thought.

Here we go:

Mink Pink dress, $12.99
Note: has pockets!

Rockmans blue vest, $3.99

Unknown brand, tartan winter shift dress, $5.99
Note: has pockets!

Temt knitted top, $5.99
Note: This is a shitty brand, but I liked it so I succumbed.

Miss Shop top with bow detail, $5.99

Portmans black bolero, $9.99

Portmans orange top with bow detail, $4.99
Note: brand new with tags

Total: $49.95

Thank you, thank you. Bows to the rousing applause of her adoring fans.

Chocolate Waffles - The Chocolate Bean

I'm in love.

It was just a harmless crush, so what happened?

The chocolate waffles happened.

We had a dinner of cheap and cheerful dumplings at Dumplings R Us and, although filled to capacity with dumplingy goodness, we decided that our dessert stomach was not satiated and that it needed filling with chocolate: stat. Note: while the exact location of the human second stomach is greatly disputed, it is widely known that there is always room for dessert and the dessert stomach is, in fact, pie shaped.

After a few minutes of quiet discussion, we settled on The Chocolate Bean. To me, The Chocolate Bean is a pioneer; I have been frequenting since university and it is the big mamma to the juvenile dessert craze that is currently taking over Adelaide. I immediately make my way upstairs - which is admittedly less dimly and sensuously inviting than it used to be - and our group of four settle at a table.

The mousse is my usual fare - and one you must try. However, having had the mousse only a week before (Oh my, I am such a dessert slut), I reluctantly eyed the rest of the menu. I had watched my friend have a debaucherous meltdown over the waffles the previous week and decided that I needed to experience the pleasure myself. Our order came to 2 chocolate waffles, a chocolate sundae and a turkish delight martini.

Yes, I did run my fingers around my finished plate in an effort to lick up the remaining chocolate icecream and chocolate sauce without putting my tongue to the plate (I believe I showed extreme self control). Yes, I did drink the remaining chocolate sauce from my little pot. Yes, I did drink from my friend's chocolate sauce pot also. Yes, I did complain bitterly at not being able to mop up all my icecream, which in turn was met with a rather scathing "First world problems" from a gentleman on the neighbouring table.

Oh Chocolate Bean, you can fill up my dessert stomach any day.

Chermoula Lamb Burger - The Colonist

"Where shall we go for tea tonight?"

The call to action on a Wednesday night has been spoken. Every Wednesday, a group of fine, elite athletes descend upon Norwood to "punish some cock".

We play badminton and we play it professionally and seriously.

In truth, the badminton is largely a front for going out to a lovely dinner and allows us to feel less guilty as it is preceded by two hours of intense exercise.

This week we felt like a good ol' pub meal and moseyed our way down to The Colonist on The Parade. The pub feels like a toasty warm and comfortable, slightly run down log cabin with peeling paint and big sofas. The artwork provides a source of conversation and when it lulled, we would fall into a comfortable silence while surveying the room.

Even though I had a burger last week from the lovely Burgerstronomy, the Chermoula Lamb Burger was recommended and I simply couldn't look at anything else on the menu - I think after the workout I was in dire need of something big, meaty and carby. The Colonist Classic boasts a spiced lamb patty, with wild rocket, tasty cheese (and it was tasty!), grilled free range egg (of the deliciously runny variety), tomato, grilled smoked bacon (because everything requires bacon), tomato chutney and a side of chips.

I almost hoed into it before taking a picture, it looked so inviting to my ravenous badminton fueled hunger. It wasn't huge, thankfully - but just the perfect size for a filling meal and I had to push myself for the last couple of mouthfuls (which I tried not to eat but found missing from my plate, meaning I had absentmindedly finished it when I wasn't paying attention). I was initially disappointed by the number of chips in the little side bowl (chips are my kryptonite) but I couldn't have fit one more in if ninjas tried (this is a hilarious and unintended autocorrect that I am keeping).

The Colonist is consistent, reliable, stable.

Much like a comfortable pair of nanna knickers.

Peanut Chocolate Fondant - Onyx Dessert Bar

"Oh yes," she moaned, "oh yes," as she closed her eyes in ecstasy.

So, I went to a dessert bar on Sunday night with some friends and was thoroughly pleased.

On O'Connell Street in North Adelaide, Onyx greeted us with a broken door, a door that would only open a sliver and forced us to think thin thoughts as we squeezed our way inside - ironic thoughts to be having upon entering a dessert bar. Onyx takes itself much too seriously while trying to soften the blow by having fun and colourful decor. The juxtaposition of the service versus the furniture was confusing, and so we simply sat on our comically large round chaises with our chins almost on the slightly-too-tall tables perusing the menu on mini iPads while very formal waiters in black tie attire took our order.

I ordered the Peanut Chocolate Fondant and, after seeing the coffees ordered by my friends, hastily threw in a mocha (this turned out to be a mistake that I didn't discover until much later, approximately 2.04am as I lay wide eyed and staring at the ceiling). My dark chocolate mocha returned on a trendy and apparently difficult to carry slab of slate ("Is this real slate? Dishwashable, microwaveable, oven safe.. I think it's ceramic") with a teeny tiny little almond cake, sugar cube - cue equine jokes - and a strange silver stick masquerading as a spoon.

Enter the Peanut Chocolate Fondant. Placed jauntily off-centre and perfectly aligned with the circular pattern of the plate, it looked reasonably harmless and demure, kind of. Topped with peanut brittle and salted caramel ice cream, and surrounded by more salted peanuts, the Fondant was simply oozing with peanut chocolate sauce.

"Der ver zwei peanuts, valking down der strasse, and von vas . . . assaulted! peanut."

I finished it wild eyed, scared and shaking. "What have I done?" I cried, upset no one had saved me from myself, looking at the unfinished desserts around me and wishing I had the same level self control as I lifted my spoon and tried to scrape up the last little bit of melted-salted-caramel-icecream-chocolate-peanut-sauce without resorting to licking my plate.

I don't think I can go back any time soon, I probably can't fit through the door.

The Great Gatsby (Film) - Baz Lurhmann

"I've never seen such beautiful shirts before."

Having drunk an innordinate amount of tea before descending upon the cinema, I wasn't certain I would make it through all 142 minutes of The Great Gatsby. I did, however, as I was distracted and dazzled by the Baz-iness of it all.

I went in with low expections; from memory I had enjoyed the book (while studying it) and I enjoy Bazza's style, so I didn't want to get my hopes up. The Great Gatsby was a pleasant, flamboyant journey and Bazza did not disappoint on his usual ability to create a stunning spectacle.

And by pleasant, I don't mean pleasant in the sense that the story was jovial, but that it was visually appealing and the story line executed smoothly.

For those unfamiliar with the story of Gatsby, go read it. It is a wafer thin sliver of a book.
I'll wait for you.

Waits.

Welcome back. I studied this book in high school, which both ruined and enhanced it. I approached the film with themes in mind; money, material wealth, love, status, the colour green and its significance, The American Dream. Despite trying to take an intellectual approach, I was sidetracked by Bazza's volumptuous portrayal of the parties and I lusted after the ladies' dresses.

Admittedly, the movie slows down in the middle, but seeing as you have now read the book you will understand that there is a great deal of soul searching and reflection required when hosting ginormous parties. I enjoyed the acting; Leo was an excellent Gatsby (gosh, Leo is doing rather well for himself these days, isn't he?) and Daisy was played very well by Carey Mulligan but ultimately I felt very little towards her. I think you are meant to feel little sympathy for her, though, as she is a somewhat two-dimensional character.

Oh, and the executive producer was Jay-Z. 'Nuff said.

Bazza, you throw one hell of a party.