A bit of a forage. Juicy, native, shoe-staining and just 4km from home are these Illawarra Plums growing in Sydney’s inner-west. Spicy jam-spam incoming.
In 2016 I had the wonderful opportunity to travel to Bali for Smudge Eats. In 2016 in Bali my first bite of food gave me immediate food poisoning and I spent the next two weeks on location struggling. I’d purged this trip from my memory but I shouldn’t have (scrolling through my set I have little memory of visiting the places I visited, an Alana world first). Here are some re-worked photos I took while swaying on my feet, including the famous Into the Sawah at Ubud’s Locavore.
A mighty muffaletta and fragrant preserved lemons from my papou’s tree. A passionfruit soufflé with custard poured from my teta’s jug and brownies resulting in an entirely smashed phone as I reached for an ancient recipe online. Cinnamon rolls which almost set my home alight (dodgy oven, not a dodgy chef) and Old El Paso to pacify nostalgia. A cursed pineapple, baby’s first octopus (I’m the baby), ribs pressure cooked into a mess and plated with a powerful apathy. Soft and oily smelly eggplant served on a gaudy, iridescent glass fish, mystery-citrus madeleines and the bunged up delight that is an unfathomably good Basque cheesecake.
During the last couple of week of Flying Fish’s trade at Jones Bay Wharf I was asked to produce some ~arty~ black and white photos of the space before their big move to the new location The Star. Dreamy stuff.
There’s a reality I’ve had to come to terms with regarding my existence on the internet: I once had a food blog (that’s how I began taking photos of food, documenting the nice things I made at home), as such I am often compelled from my pigeon hole to share the food-related things of my life. This is no exception! Here are holiday food-related snaps of Hobart. For the more photos of this trip please visit this gallery of an accidental piece of personal work.
Strictly interior photo shoots aren’t part of my usual repertoire but these Verandah Bar images turned out super happy and green.
Habitus issue #42 is here with a great piece by editor Holly Cunneen about Henry Wilson’s collaboration with Aesop.
If I were more timely on the internet, this would have made an appropriate New Year’s Eve-ish post: Sydney’s newest and most opulent rooftop bar, Nick and Nora’s.
Isaan sausage, Nahm Jim-Jaew inspired grilled long eggplant, smoked bonito dogs. A blessed yellow brief for Single O to showcase the menu of their Aeropress Championships event with food by Rising Sun Workshop and Boon Cafe. Also below are the hands of Palisa Anderson.
I was kindly asked for some travel tips for International Traveller’s latest Top 100 issue. Tasmania! Public drinking abroad! Pick up a copy this month, it’s so good and a fantastic read with so many excellent contributors.
Mjølner is a place which doesn’t do things by halves. For example, if a cocktail is inspired by Nordic fjords, they will set the scene accordingly. Whole birds at the table, beer served in horns. I took some photos when Mjølner first opened so I was very happy to be invited back knowing it would be a fun time – food by Joachim Borenius and cocktails but Alissa Gabriel.
Comfy, earthy feels. Some recent photos for the opening of Ortzi in Surry Hills.
This is it, this is the holy grail, a roast goose restaurant owned by the son of a Cantonese opera singer. For 60 years Yat Lok has been churning out the good geese with secret family recipes.
This restaurant was closed almost every day of this holiday. Five days prior I had turned up, walked in pointless, hungry circles at Google Maps, only to arrive at the devastating realisation that the shopfront I was looking for was the one with the shutters drawn, salivating. On my last day I returned off-peak at 3pm – they were open, surely a mirage – there was no line, no waiting, just pure unadulterated roast meat hours before my flight home. Bless this Bird bestowed upon me at the eleventh hour. This was the most perfect meat I’d ever eaten – sweet, succulent, crisp roast goose and char siu. The plate, a chalice; my face, not worthy.
The above is an excerpt from my book Holiday Notes: Six Nights in Hong Kong.