October 25, 2011

Happy pasta (holic) day!

I know I just did a pastaholic post, but I thought I quickly had to share the exciting news: It is World Pasta Day today. I must admit I didn’t even know such thing existed, probably because for me, every day is pasta day. In the vast sea of ordinary days and world something something days I couldn’t care less about, I am thrilled to know that such a thing as Pasta Day exists. It makes me happy. It shows me there are still things right in the world. Best of all –I can stuff myself with pasta tonight without feeling guilty one little bit. In fact I think I will have pasta for lunch as well in order to honour this day as it deserves!

From an old blog post, but so fitting for today.

October 24, 2011

Into the wild with YSL.

It is no big secret that I am not the most outdoorsy person. Outdoorsy in a South African kind of way. When it comes to the European or New York kind of way I am very outdoorsy. I am quite comfortable in any kind of sidewalk cafe with a glass of bubbly as well as running up and down Soho streets with a credit card in my hand. Unfortunately that doesn’t count in Cape Town.
The only appeal that the outdoors African style would have for me is the chance to dress up in vintage YSL safari gear. But again this doesn’t work here, South Africans just love fleece too much, whereas it gives me a visual rash.

You can tell me Dad is a different generation. Without even trying he had the YSL safari look down.
Namibia, Christmas 2009.

Despite the fashion factor, I tried, but getting into this kind of lifestyle has proven difficult for the simple reasons that my friends split into two groups: the group that would rather drink the bubbly with me and the group that is so crazy outdoorsy that any attempt to join made me feel completely inadequate and usually didn’t work. Even my attempts of getting into the whole big wild slowly i.e. in form of a festival or something didn’t end well. A torn ankle ligament finally proved that my cowboy boots are really no cowboy boots, but made for the city girl in me (in fact there aren’t even cowboy boots, but try to explain that to people like my uncle), and countless fights with my ex, proved to me that world peace would have a much better chance if there were proper drinks involved and no sleeping in a tent required.
My Country Road meets YSL safari version,
which I have to admit, is not really meant for the great outdoors.
So I have been sticking to the inside of my yoga studio or walks on the promenade if I need a fresh breeze in my face. I don’t necessarily like it, but I have come to accept it and when I secretly look up longingly to Lions Head when the moon is full, I remind myself of the one and only time I attempted to go up there and how I paid the price: One fully broken camera for getting up a half a mountain (not due to my inadequacy but to a really thick fog coming in).

Having that said, I was quite excited when my new friend Kate asked me to go for a hike with her yesterday. Kate is the perfect friend to go hiking with for someone like me – she is enthusiastic, knows her way around, but can take it easy and doesn’t roll her eyes when I grab for my water bottle.

With this plan in mind and the volcano of Reunion looming on the horizon I set out to conquer my nemesis: Century City. If Yves Saint Laurent could do it and make it chic, so could I – hiking boots were on my shopping list. I will spare you the details. There is nothing chic about getting into arguments with Cape Union Mart sales people. How do you explain to someone that you want indeed the pair that looks old and raggedy already? That it will spare you a few trips up the mountain because they already look like adventure and desert and ‘The English Patient’. Nope. He did not get it and neither did I. These boots that is. They were sold out everywhere in my size. So I had no choice, but buy the newish looking pair. I can proudly report that they already show a few scuff marks after my first venturing into nature yesterday.

I expect them to look fully worn, telling stories of the wild in no time. And should it take too long for my impatient mind, I think I can still remember a trick or two from my styling kit to make the new look old and cool...

October 14, 2011

Pastaholic speaks the truth.

I was working last weekend and was also quite busy over the week. My body and mind are not used to it yet after the long, lazy winter break so they were screaming for comfort after work. Comfort comes in form of pasta for me, so much pasta in fact I will not even put it in writing.
With all that deliciousness on my dinner plate a few things became clear to me over the last couple of days. I shall call it “The truth about pasta”. All really true and tested of course.

1. Different pasta shapes do taste differently. That is a fact.

2. Pasta without parmesan cheese is only half the pasta it could be with parmesan cheese.

3. Whatever you may have thought as a student, no Ramen Noodles (or Two Minute Noodles as you South Africans call it) are not pasta.

4. Pasta is like pizza (only better of course): they both taste great cold at 4am or for breakfast.

5. Pasta is universal. Everybody at least likes if not loves pasta (Unless you are Victoria Beckham, but I think even she would, if she didn’t have to look sexy for David all the time, who seems to like them extra skinny.)

6. Uncooked pasta is the best snack while cooking pasta.

7. Yes, even a pasta dish can be f***ed up. So pay attention while cooking the most glorious food of all!

8. Lady & The Tramp have already proven that pasta is perfect date food.

9. My last trip to Rome was a shocking revelation of the fact that you can easily eat pasta twice a day for a week without getting bored, fed up or even feel guilty.

10. Pasta and parmesan are the kind of love affair you always wanted, but never had. Except now, on a plate. Therefore one must cherish and write songs about it.

11. The only thing I hate about historic novels is that they never eat pasta. I never quite understand the excitement they show about the invention of something silly like ... say a potato.

12. I wish I could say the only pasta better than pasta is pasta with chocolate, but I actually don't believe that to be true.

Is it dinner time yet?

October 12, 2011

My high club.

Sometimes I get overexcited about silly, stupid, little things. Especially when there is nothing else going on in my life, deserving a proper amount of getting excited over. Last night that wasn’t the case. Last night was a bungee jump of excitement for me. The recipe for that was simple and didn’t involve great heights except the ones my mood went. All that was needed was a bottle of bubbly, a sabre, a bit of guidance, and voila I sabred* my very first bottle of bubbly. Two hours later I still felt the adrenalin rushing through me. Okay, maybe mixed a bit with one of the six glasses of wine I tasted after the sabring. Though they are definitely not main reason for the rush I felt, really. Just look at it:
My favourite bubbly and my newfound favourite way of opening it.
Mind you, Nigel was literally holding my hand and moving it, but he was quite nonchalant about it, letting me take all the credit.
The one day I had already been taking so many pictures that I got sick and tired of it and left my camera at home, thinking what excitement can possibly happen at a wine tasting? Am I really going to be taking pictures of Chardonnay? Hm, no. But Murphy’s Law would have it that I got the chance for a great photo op, though in my case it wasn’t so much chance as begging and pleading, and no camera in sight. It would have been a stunning picture since it was a proper sabre too. Engraved it came with a bag/case/whatdoyoucallitforsabres and looked all dashing and swashbuckling. Cathy told me that her husband can do it with a tea spoon. In a way that is quite impressive. In another way it is not. It is having high tea with the queen versus a drink with Jack Sparrow.

So there...I feel like I have moved to a new club - the mile high club of bottle opening.

*Yes, I know it's not, but it should be a verb too.

October 8, 2011

Rocket, flowers and a caramel truffle.

In case you wonder about my mental state after last week – I am a happy girl again with sunshine and light all around me. I am in fact about to draw little bunny rabbits on all over this page. Not. That wouldn't be very me, but I am all smiles and I don't even mind working this weekend. Mainly because a) it is a for a good cause and b) as it comes with the territory I get to be outside. I was on my way to buy sunscreen after a client meeting today to be able to enjoy my balcony fully when I saw my reflection in the mirror and guess what – I already got a 'tan' . Okay fine, I got burned.

No, no picture of my burned cleavage coming up here. Sorry.

What else can I say about this weekend? I realized I am a creature of utter and total habit – I found myself yet again at the City Bowl Market buying yet again flowers, 1 spicy sausage, 2 tuna steaks, 1 salted caramel truffle and 1 cappuccino. I also bought a sandwich for a change, which unfortunately caused my whole routine to crumble, literally, and I dropped my coffee.

Can anyone identify these flowers for me? They look like oversized differently coloured violets and they smell amazing.

I also read somewhere that if you grow rocket love will come to you. Now look at this:

That of course might be complete nonsense, made up by someone like me, but still I'm quite happy the rule doesn't apply to basil. I would be screwed and not in the good way.

So tonight I set up office on my balcony and it is stunning all around. Have I mentioned how much I love it to hear the sounds coming up from Bo-Kaap calling for prayer? It makes me feel I'm in a very exotic place, it is like vacation, adventure and a feeling of home all together. It also reminds me of New York, but that is a different story...Today I will just be a little blogger and one of those, saying: Happy Weekend and yes, yes early birds/bookies – good luck for tomorrow!

Did I spell bookie correctly?

October 6, 2011

A walk in the park.

Literally, that was the black out for me last week. Taking things as they come these days, I was actually quite excited to be unable to work or be reached and went to Company Gardens. I don’t go there ever, which I realize is quite sad, because you could call it essentially my extended balcony. Like Bua, the Irish Bar on St. Marks Place, was our extended living room when we lived in the East Village. Proximity so close, it’s technically part of your flat.
So I went and I thought it a perfect idea to finally visit the library – yes, yes, I am a nerd. I liked the thought of going back to the roots i.e. books when technology failed. I quite underestimated how far this technology had crept into all part of our lives: The library was closed – due to no light and no security scans possible. What a bummer, but the forced walk in the park made up for it and I learned loads too:

White squirrels are exciting and novel in real, but really scary looking in pictures.
I don’t mind tourists so much when pretending to be one of them.
As much as I love taking self-portraits when walking around with my big shades, they just do not work. Just believe me, don’t expect proof.
You sometimes don’t notice a sprinkler till it is too late.
Marie is still right – macro shots rock!


October 3, 2011

The Frenchman's final chapter.

Okay, so my weekend was less than peachy. The upside here is that now even a usually common Monday feels quite grand as I am just so happy the weekend is over. There is also a prego roll on the horizon for tonight. Yum.
This is just a short and sweet warning to girls anywhere in the world: Beware. Murphy’s Law works on weekends as well. I thought the bugger was off yesterday, so I left the house sans make-up, wearing sweatpants. After all it was just Sunday and what excitement could there be at Pick ‘n Pay? Excitement in a very tall, very French form right at the entrance by the baskets – voila the Frenchman. I thought it best to face him head on as I didn’t feel like hiding behind shelves for the remainder of my shopping. Off we went with the hugging and the niceties:

He: I thought about you... yesterday.

Me: Funny that. Me too. (Actually true, I was looking for a French translation.)

He: Reeeally? Accompanied by THAT look.

Dude. We are done and over. Do not give me THAT look anymore.

On we moved with our trolleys, talking about electric kettles. Next thing I am informed that he moved and his girlfriend helped him buy new furniture for his flat yesterday.

“Dear men everywhere, do not give a girl you once dated THAT look and tell her two minutes later you have a new girlfriend/ interior decorator. And dear men, on that note – don’t not ever pay for dinner and then tell me you spend a fortune on new furniture with your new girlfriend. Just don’t. Especially not after giving me THAT look. Sincerely, girls everywhere.”

I managed to lose him between aisle 12 & 13 and urged the cashier to hurry up. Exit now! At home I realized a glass of wine was in order, after all it was after noon, it was Sunday, and I had just had a bit of an exorcism, surely three good enough reasons.

Today I feel like phoenix from the ashes. A good feeling which even lasted after reading an email from him, telling me how good it was to see me. Still feeling good after reading a second email from him a few hours later, asking me if I want new episodes of our favourite show. But still...

“Dear men everywhere, do not give a girl you once dated THAT look, then tell her about your new girlfriend, and then send her emails. I mean – seriously? Just don’t. Sincerely, just me.” Just saying.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...