the h word.

friday night i went for a spontaneous dinner at thekla’s house.  we ended up being a group of four girls and the night got quite fun and more than a little raunchy for an evening without tequila. banter flew back and forth and at some point thekla shouted at me (yes, we even got to a shouting point without tequila) “oh my god, you are a total hipster!”

silence. that really hurt.

whether i am a hipster on the grand scheme of things or not, living in cape town and being called a hipster wasn’t okay for me. look, i don’t mind the concept of things organic, artisan, and authentic, but the hipster breed in this city is something else altogether. so i told thekla if she wanted to call me names, she had to call me an original hipster.

when i lived in williamsburg 10 years ago everybody was already a hipster, before the term and definition had even made its way over from portland.

skinny jeans? check.

skinny artist boys in skinny jeans? check.

charm bracelets and lockets? check thanks to inheritance from my mother.

vintage something? paisley blouses from a flea market in rome, ironic mickey mouse t-shirt from avenue b, old motorcycle boots worn with mini-skirt in august.

mexican peasant skirts and leather sandals? handmade on a mexican curb side.

check, check, check, and check.

farmers’ markets with ugly organic tomatoes and homemade lemonade? every sunday.

eating “gourmet” burgers in a little hole in the wall? that’s what the east village is for, check please!

in addition i smoked gauloises at that time, which was more hipster than growing your own tobacco in new york. gladys and ipek did the knitting, marie organized stripy socks for us at her job in the sock company.  we also had julian, the cat. he was awesome and liked to sleep in the rice cooker. if i would have had my way his name would have been norbert and i don’t think you can get a more hipster name than that. we took pictures of him constantly and while people liked our cat pictures, they did refuse to eat at our place after seeing him in the rice cooker.

before lomo and instagram we had the original old school camera – the polaroid. i must admit that i have been taking selfies long before the term was coined and pictures of my shoes too. there are already many unflattering pictures of me with a protruding nose due to the awkward selfie angle, so these days i try to limit their exposure on the internet. personally i think most people’s shoes are not that exciting and only warrant a picture if they are louboutin or dangle above a volcano.

we listened to the strokes when they were the first band with a the and saw them live when they were still playing in bars. the same went for a whole lot of indie bands that by now have come and gone or landed a gig at rocking the daisies.

no offense, or take it if you must, but south africa is lacking a bit behind with certain things or gives them a let’s call it interesting angle. it seems a bit like playing telephone. americans, those silly people, whisper hipster and south africans hears wears ugly jerseys and thinks their cat, overpriced craft beer and coffee makes them a better person. i don’t want to wear an ugly jersey with a horse head that was hand knit by someone else’s mother and pretend it is cool. an ugly jersey by any other name is still an ugly jersey. my uncle has been making moonshine in his basement since forever so i call moonshine the new craft beer. and when it comes to cats…well, i like cats. i also like dogs. i think bats are cool. and giraffes are the most awesome of all animals. cats were never my  thing to write home about. if you are a fan of origin, truth & co. rest assured i am too. however most days i am perfectly fine with instant and when i lived in new york filter coffee from the corner deli was my favourite. if you think cat poop coffee is thing to drink i may just silently applaud someone with brilliant marketing skills who turned that shit into gold.

the thing is that i grew up in the 80s and a lot of things considered hipster in this city tend to go back to this era of unfortunate style choices. so to almost anything you throw at me, i can say been there, worn that. i already wore jerseys in unfortunate colours and prints as a child, so i am very happy to stick to black cashmere these days.  i learned when i was 8 years old that to pull off bangs you need to have a certain shape of face. if you don’t have said shape you will look scary or scared. or both. if you had to wear big glasses as a child and were teased for it, you are happy for the advances of modern days and the contact lenses that come with it. you won’t go out and spend a fortune on a pair of xxl bamboo frames. call it whatever you like, but this was not a good look back then and it ain’t a good look now:

on a final, very personal note, love it or hate it: i have been wearing my hair up in a high, somewhat messy bun since 2001. it wasn’t chloë sevigny, it was me who did it first. 

that and my onesie make me an original hipster if you care to call me such.

peasant blouse home made and shovel for organic 

gardening in the sand pit. 

rocking my christmas onesie and my brother's vinyl.

Secret Society.

I will admit that sometimes I’m a bit envious of wannabe somewhat famous people/blogger for being invited to events which serve free champagne and macaroons. Usually I’m not. I prefer to buy my own drinks and treats and enjoy the freedom of not having to feign excitement over a not so exciting goodie bag. Or having to write about an evening even when it didn’t surpass a re-run of Friends on the entertainment scale. I realized a while ago that in these cases, working an event with easy access to the bar stock can be way more fun than receiving a personalized invitation which will only soothe my ego.

Last Saturday I wouldn’t have minded being an official guest, but attending in the function of mingler, decorator, baby-sitter, food pre-taster, hug giver, and enthusiastic noise maker while eating the food was much better…
My wonderful, talented cousin Thekla was asked to cook for one of the Spier Secret Festival dinners. Her parents own one of the original houses on Dorp Street in Stellenbosch, which they currently rent to Rheta Erichsen, who was hosting the secret dinner. The house itself is magical. It is full of nooks and crannies filled with memorabilia and stories of generations. The centre has always been the kitchen with various family members and selected friends cooking, tasting, exploring, eating, and sharing. It seemed almost logical that such a house would make the perfect stage for a special secret dinner and that Thekla, daughter of the house, should cook, sharing family traditions and even some secrets from this kitchen.

I had won tickets for the Toffie market so Adam, Thekla’s husband, and I started the day by drinking our way through some barrels of Chenin while chatting to old and new friends. We also stuffed our faces with everything there was from dumplings to Eton Mess and smoked cheese braai broodjies, so it was actually surprising I was still able to eat anything at all in the evening, not to mention the amounts.
In the afternoon we made our way over to the house where we were put to work and art&crafts was mixed with bubbly and posset tasting. From there I went on to baby and cat sitting while decorating the garden. While the house is reminds of the wardrobe of Narnia, the garden is as if Alice in Wonderland has sprung to life and the cat perfects it as it looks like the Cheshire cat sans grin. The property is small, but there are paths and a fountain and a pond, tables in different corners, a swing, and a platform which used to host my aunt’s summer bed, but was now converted to a stage for the musicians. That’s right – we had our own private band! Rheta had already decked the trees with lights and I was allowed to add pincushion proteas to the tables and work on perfecting the welcome cocktail.
That was all well and good and a fun way to spend an afternoon, but now I want to rave about the main part: the food. I learned through various historic novels that back in a day when a noble person was holding a banquette they not only served several courses, but each course consisted of several dishes. That’s how I imagine what it would be like if you were to eat at El Bulli every night and that’s what we got on Saturday, but without any explosions or test tubes. Thekla’s whole approach to food is simple and she cooks with an almost off-handed ease. Her menu was based on local, seasonal ingredients and childhood memories of cooking in her mother’s kitchen.

Summer was in the air with the first mozzies and rugby fans roaring over the walls when guests started to pour in. Each host was allowed to pick the amount of people they could cater for, but somehow Rheta was assigned everybody who was left and so we ended up with an eclectic group of almost 30 people and so everything was served buffet style.
We started with a variety of dips, crudité, and pot baked bread which revived the meaning of ‘breaking bread’ and was a nice touch to add for a group of people who didn’t know each other. If you think I got in by nepotism, you are right; if you think I’m biased, you are probably right too, but still…the dips already won over the toughest food critics amongst the guests and it only got better from there. The main starters were a raw Asian salmon trout salad and a plate of artichokes, which led to lots of laughter when Thekla was explaining how we needed to eat them as it involved lots of sucking and licking. And before you accuse me of a dirty mind and because some guests didn’t understand the subtle difference: you suck the leaves and then you lick your fingers and not the other way around.
For the mains we were snaking around the kitchen island and had the opportunity to make new friends over duck and lamb, both falling of their respective bones, rice pilaf with roasted vegetables, and mozzarella with peaches on greens. With smacking lips people went back for seconds only to be told that there was going to be not one, not two, but three deserts, which still required space. And so we also queued for hazelnut apple cake with koeksister ice cream, rice pudding with berry compote, and refreshing Mrs Moxon’s Posset.

After desert I decided it was time for a nap. So holding my full belly I quietly snuck out and made my way home. When I went to bed I dreamed of meals fit for a king and when I woke up I thanked the gods that I can call such a cook family and just invite myself for dinner whenever I need to feel like a queen for a day.

p.s. If you do wonder where the pictures of the food are, which will make you lick your screen, you will need to ask the master of the kitchen herself as my camera refuse to work after dark.

Thekla shot by Walter Koeppe.

Cannes cancan.

In honour of my fabulous cousin Thekla who just landed in the sunny South of France, I thought I should do a quick Cannes post.

Also the fact that style.com actually posted this picture of some Buddhist monks. 

I am not sure how it is related to all the glitz and glamour of Cannes, but it sure seems an appropriate welcome for Thekla. Considering that her husband is Buddhist, I thought this would make her feel right at home.

Other than that I assembled some random Cannes facts for no other reason than the sheer amusement of it…

1. Even in the rain, the red carpet in Cannes looks glam and walk-worthy. I want to go!

2. Brad Pitt seems a bit random in his choice of hand to autograph these days.

I mean, can we talk about these nails? Caroline (which one I wonder), please find yourself a new manicurist!

3. I didn’t really know who Jessica Chastain was before Cannes, but I think she is the best dressed all around this year. Just look at her…

 Tripple Va-Va-Voom.

4. Diane Kruger as Marie Antoinette. Yawn. Diane Kruger all. over. the. freaking. place/ red carpet. Double yawn.

Can you tell I really don’t like her?

Yes, that would explain the lack of picture.

5. I am in love with Marion Cottilard. Officially.

And how could I not?

6. Kirsten – sourface – Stewart inspires me to read: I want to attempt On the Road again.

Who would have thought this girl can inspire me to do anything at all? 

She might not even prevent me from watching the movie.

7. Prada surprises me again with some awesome evening wear, but why does she look like she hit a tornado? The hair…the dress almost coming off…pity that.

8. I think my uncle would agree: Jane Fonda has spunk! 

9. Not all alligator skin is good alligator skin:

This simply takes worst dressed ever. I think she knows it, trying to put on a brave face. I guess that’s all she could do at this point.

10. I would do Cannes really well. Hanging with my pals Adrien and such.

Chez Pucci and hat. On a yacht. Of course.

 Yes, I would do very well at Cannes.

Anniversary II.

Thanks to the Frenchman taking the cake (I love this expression, it is my new favourite now!) I have moved on from the all-about-trees-approach of my posts. Last week I was still attempting to make everything green here. Therefore, even though I really wanted to write about Keenwä after going for the first time, I decided not to as it obviously wasn’t tree related. Bit of a bummer really, because there was so much happiness to write about. Then my dreams came to the rescue. That same night I dreamed about our dinner, but in my dream they told me the restaurant was now called The Green Door and not Keenwä anymore. My dream-self got very excited and came up with the following writing concept: trees are green so if the restaurant is called The Green Door it totally relates to trees and I can tie it in with my tree stories just by the name. Yes, I am that good in my dreams! Pure dreamy genius.

Does this even make sense to anyone but me? Can you follow me?

So upon waking up, I realized that my tree tie-in was gone as it is obviously still called Keenwä. But now I actually don’t care anymore, because their Pisco Sours are a force to be reckoned with, green or not, even a week later. So to sum it up: I blame those drinks for getting me out of my irksome slump last week…and the décor…and the service…and German (with a Gch… he is obviously not a German), the owner…and the food, especially the chilli icecream…and the second glass of Pisco…and last, but not least the company – thank you lovely @theklasalmon for the cheer and the picture of these beauties:

On a totally unrelated note, but maybe you have guessed from the title - this is my 200th post. Happy 200th posts me!

A little me.

It’s a ramble, but I think you will forgive me. Just have to get it off my chest…

I think the reasons for heartbreak are eternal and with history repeating itself will remain timeless. I do find a small comfort in this fact. Just knowing that I am not the first person and won't be the last to feel how I feel and why I feel this way. I do feel bad for women though ten, fifty, one hundred years ago who couldn't listen to Adele yet, because that girls knows about heartbreak alright. Listening to her makes mine at least seem a bit more insignificant and not so much to write home about.

All good things...must come to an end. Which is something I knew except yesterday when we were watching the movie All Good Things and I complained what a horrible, depressing movie it was. Thekla asked me if I wouldn't have guessed considering the title. I didn't. My knowledge of English sayings is a bit limited and it made me very upset to see Ryan Gosling as a psychopath with no warning.

Regardless though I will admit that my heart is neither truly broken, just a bit scratched, and things weren’t always good, which was the reason why they had to come to an end. That is life. Sometimes there won’t be any sexy time (trade mark creation used courtesy of Thekla and Julia) in a pink lace trailer, but a girlfriend on your side to eat macaroons in bed with instead. Which is not a bad way to spend a Monday evening after your boyfriend just broke up with you…

Vote for food!

After yesterday’s admittedly very blue post today something more fun. Let’s talk about food. Yes, you read correctly not pasta, but food. In general. All sorts of food. Food and the fact that I think it may have just been me who nominated my wonderful cousin Thekla for the Eat In Best Food Blogger Award. Because she just is!

A little over a year ago she started in this venture called blogging and though it was after Julie & Julia and Jamie Who not a new thing by far, there was something that she was just doing right… and different…and lovingly.
In a world of 50 course menus, blobs of food served in test tubes, and portions that make French cuisine look like a Mount Everest on your plate, there has been a new trend in food lately. Call it back to the roots. Old school is nouveau. Not little is more, but simple is. With her blog and service Domestic Goddesses I think Thekla has hit the mark of this new appreciation for honesty on a plate and simplicity in the kitchen.

For me personally...well, she was the one who inspired this little blog here. She also inspires me in the kitchen. I still mainly cook pasta, but I try and play with new things thanks to her. If I find a recipe I don’t quite dare to attempt myself I will take it to her. Most of the time she ends up cooking it while I keep company with a glass of bubbly or two. I just pretend I learn all there is while watching and do my share by chopping the occasional onion.

Out of an impulse when putting things in my kitchen after moving in, I put this picture of her and me up next to the stove. A picture taken when I had just moved here and had enough time to acquire a proper tan. Though it might be an odd place for a photo, I just like it there, cooking, looking at my inspiration – we look happy, it makes me smile.

When I was back home in August I went through old boxes of photos and I came across the one on the left. It was taken when I first came to South Africa 16 years ago. It shows Thekla's Mum Colleen and myself at some farm stall and though photographically it seems a silly picture (no faces, no scenery, no nothing) to me it sums up everything that drew me here in the first place: light, warmth, and extraordinary people.

I took it back to Cape Town with me and for some reason it found a fitting place in my kitchen as well. Considering that Thekla draws her cooking inspiration from her mother, I think it closes the circle nicely.

Now we get to the deal: Thekla is nominated and needs votes. Either you liked this post or you liked my cooking and since now know where it comes from – vote for Thekla!*

*Or I shall never cook for you again. Obviously.

Office chit chat.

This week has started on a much better note than last which resulted in me being able to actually have a chat conversation with Thekla during office hours like any normal person.
The conversation was started by this picture which I had found on Facebook and reposted on her wall:

As you may know I dig kittens and vampires but my allegiance isn’t to Edward wherefore I could enjoy this one much. Thekla on the other hand would have needed Edward to hold the vampire-kitten-thingy for it to work, as she wrote me.
Yes, this is what two grown up women talk about during work hours to amuse themselves and if you think this is bad, let me tell you the conversation went down hills from here.

 Thekla: Shall we do our date on Thursday?
 Me: Sure, that sounds great. 
Thekla: I need some one on one girly time.

Silence.

 Me: Hehe.
 Thekla: Okay, that came out wrong.
 Me: Why? Considering you are my cousin, no one could misunderstand without having a really twisted mind.
Me: I will put Thursday in my calendar.
Me: My calendar is finished, I still need to get one for the new year.
Thekla: Why don’t you use Google calendar? They send you email reminders too.
Me: Ach, there are some things that I still like to do manually. 

Silence.

Thekla: That also came out wrong.
Me: I know. I realized the moment I typed it, but it was too late. I knew you would notice!

Ach… the little joys and giggles of afternoon office chats.

Of weddings and vampires.

This was supposed to be a straight on wedding reminiscence and congratulations post, not sure how it happened, but the vampires just snuck in somehow…

Weddings, even when not your own, are a tricky one. The line between just going down to City Hall and a big white Hollywood thing a la Breaking Down is actually quite fine. I would say I don't want either, but I will admit I was completely mesmerized by those hanging tree branches covered with white flowers in the latter that made everything just look magical. Or for me magical as in vampires eating Mississippi Mud pie, which I totally dig. I know - no more True Blood for me. Anyhow back to the real weddings…

The only wedding I really remember is my friend's Deniz, who in fact went all out and avoided an either or scenario by simply having three weddings. One at City Hall in NY, classical with post-yes dry martinis; one in New Orleans, and one in Istanbul. I attended New Orleans and that may have started my Mississippi Mud pie wedding craving, because at that time no vampire except Brad Pitt or Buffy had ever be seen on a TV screen.
I remember it was beautifully hot and humid, everything we ate was fried, and we convinced Kervin to not only buy, but also wear a t-shirt saying “I have the body of a God (unfortunately it's Buddha)”. In addition we just spend an overall great amount lounging by the hotel pool, drinking Coronas, and convincing even the bride to cancel her hair appointment so she could join us for the fun. The outrage Gladys and I displayed when Ipek got us egg salad sandwiches instead of Po'boys for lunch that day still makes me giggle and long for a fried oyster Po'boy.

I was fortunate enough to never attend a traditional wedding, where a pink bow on my butt or similar scariness would have been required of me. It looks like my wedding luck continues as here comes the next bride who is so chilled in fact I seem to have more butterflies than she does. My amazing, wonderful, beautiful cousin, and best friend Thekla and her Adam are getting married. After some thoughts, a long engagement, some more thoughts, tomorrow now is the day. No big ceremony, no big white dress, no bridesmaids (I will just pretend a little bit and use it as an excuse to go to the spa). Simply two people saying yes, two witnesses, two kittens followed by champagne, family, friends…

Simple or not, I must admit I am still excited like a little child with the genuine feeling of complete selflessness – two wonderful people are getting married. Both are great. Together they are even greater. I believe in that and I will remind them if they will ever need a reminder.
Sorry, getting a bit teary here (not that you would actually know), but...that's okay, bridesmaid or not...it's a wedding!

Big kiss and the best wishes for your life together, Thekla and Adam Salmon!

No sweet sixteen.

My friend Johanna has a wonderful pearl of wisdom about aging. She says you don’t realize that you are not 16 anymore while dancing the night away, but only upon waking up the next morning. She certainly has a point and I have proven it over and over again since out of my teens. Yesterday I did realize the upside of not being 16 anymore though. The hangover might be more severe, but now I can cure it with pizza and pinot noir at Massimo’s Sunday lunch and crawl back to back afterwards without anyone berating me. These are the moments when I love being a grown up.

The night which brought along this hangover started innocently enough at a friend of a friend’s house party. The host, a recovering alcoholic, welcomed us and told us where to find drinks. With a laugh she said, we shouldn’t expect tequila, making me think some beer or wine would at least be on offer (My definition of drinks contains alcohol, everything else should be called liquids.) No such luck, I got handed a bottle of sparkling pomegranate juice. The party wore on sober, but entertaining enough, though after a few hours of sitting in the cold with neither drinks nor smokes (It has been a week, thank you very much!) Thekla and I decided it was time to sneak out for a glass. We put on our most innocent faces to pull a quick ‘girls sneaking out of boarding school’ stunt and quietly slipped out of the door only to realize outside that our car was parked in. Stuck on top of a road on top of Highlevel Road we discussed options:

A) Go back inside and skip the drink.

B) Go back inside, trying to find the driver of the other car, potentially having the host find out and insulting her with our intended escape.

C) Walk and freeze as for the first time ever I wasn’t wearing a scarf (Why is another story. Ask my mother.)

Of course option C was the only real option for us and we fully admit we may just have a problem, especially considering that we ended up at The Spur for our red wine and tequila. It was loveliness on a fake cow hide bench. But as Thekla was predicting - at least I got a story out of it.

Of Italian stallions, hams and husbands.

Allegedly single women hate married ones and vice versa. If they dare not call it hate, most will at least admit to some sort of envy. I am no exception. Lucky for me – the single one – I have my amazing friend Thekla, who is happily engaged to the wonderful Pie, to share.
Depending on what mood each of us is in, we will either tell story of our latest fruitful endeavours or failed adventures on each side of the single vs. taken fence. So for me that would include telling her about first dates, first kisses, first sexual encounters and the thrill that goes with it. Thekla will sit and listen in awe. Till a few days/weeks/months later I will tell about the first non returned phone calls, the first of many unsuccessful deciphering of ‘what is he thinking?’ attempts and first break-ups.
She on the other hand will tell tales (I am a bit obsessed with this word these days, I know.) about shared anniversaries, having someone to come home to every night, having someone who loves you no matter what. That usually gets me really envious till she talks about how much she misses to flirt with strangers, how sloppy he is around the house, how he doesn’t tell her she looks pretty anymore.
In our conversation we share the best of two worlds and the worst. We engage in laughter, sympathy for the other, envy and jealousy, but ultimately we always end up feeling better about our own lives, because in the end we know how deceiving ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’ principal can be.

This is all theory though and could have been in Cosmo, I know. Here is how it really goes and how Thekla and I can move from a spice market in Morocco to an Italian stallion with a ham in mere minutes:

Annika: Is Komati Foods good for buying spices in bulk?
Thekla: Yup, but I would rather try Atlas Trading.
Thekla: There are very nice spice people all over Cape Town.
Thekla: Spice Mecca.
Annika: Do you think if you ever went to a spice market in say Morocco or India you may just faint and die happily?
Thekla: I would love to go but not sure about dying happily.
Thekla: I may die happily in Italy somewhere.
Thekla: With lots of cured hams and wine around me.
Annika: I am having major wedding envy right now - a friend of mine in NY just got married and now they are in Italy.
Thekla: And hopefully being made love to by some young saucy Italian.
Annika: All over - Capri, Santorin, Venice, Rome and they post pics. So cute.
Annika: What about the Pie? Just because he won't eat the ham (he is vegetarian!) doesn't mean he doesn't want some of your ham.
Thekla: One day............. ................ ................ ................ ................ ....
Thekla: That was referring to you post about Italy not the Pie wanting my ham.
Annika: Haha.
Thekla: When one has a fantasy, does one's husband always have to be there?
Annika: No, definitely not. You can just tell the single gal’s fantasy opposed to engaged one’s fantasy.
Annika: My fantasy has a husband, yours a hot Italian stallion with a ham.
Thekla: You are funny! Love it!
Thekla: Think you may need to blog that line
Annika: I was just about to say...good story for the day.

Good story indeed. Even I would like an Italian stallion right now. Or for the lack thereof some ham.

Naked naked naked.

Just testing a theory here...

Today is one of those perfect stay in bed days. I will attend to this project as soon as I get home after work. Including meatball spaghetti a la Jamie or chicken burger a la I’m no Jamie. No, nobody gets to vote on this, it will be decided by me probably only when at Woolies and to be fair I have already made up my mind to 99%. So unless something earth shattering changes, it’s settled. Perfect plan. Just a couple more hours till I can execute it.

In the meanwhile I should happily report defeat. I can no longer call my own pizza the best in Cape Town as I attended the Twitter re-opening of Massimo’s yesterday. Thekla in her semi-official function as food blogger and me, well, as her wingwoman and to stuff my face with as much pizza as I could. In we walked – You remember how back in the day at the school cafeteria each group had their table? The band members, the cheerleaders, the literary circle, etc. and then there was always one table with the left over kids who didn’t quite fit anywhere. That was us last night.  

After the initial envious glances through the room and over to the cool kids’ tables where we didn’t belong and weren’t allowed to sit, we made the best of it and ended up having more fun than the too-cool-for-schools across from us. Of course that wasn’t why we came; it was all for the sake of pizza.  I actually would have been happy to just eat the Focaccia with gorgonzola, cream cheese and rosemary, which we got served first, for the rest of the evening. But thanks to the ever faithful IT guy who kept on refilling our plates when we left for smokes and Massimo’s magic kitchen elves we got to eat about 10 different pizzas and salads instead. All I will say about the food is that if Mowgli still prefers leaves to the pizza there then he can’t be helped. I also did make a bit of a presumptuous reservation for the weekend in the hope for an Easter pizza date. Any takers?

On the note of the PLG project I have news. The lady from the company offering me deals for my blog did email back, saying no unfortunately the giraffe deal was an April’s Fool joke and that they do not make them yet. Yet! A ray of light right there. I do however hope once they get around to ‘making’ them, they will attend to the wait list problem right away too. Otherwise it will take me almost a million years to get Mowgli and I simply cannot wait this long.

P.S. A little update: I just told a friend of mine about the pizza and he was so keen that we decided to go tomorrow. Question: Is it excessive to eat pizza trice a week at the same place? Or since the place is Massimo’s is it reasonable? 

Funny face.

This is for Jazmin, who always says I have a funny face.

Like everybody I know, I hate having my picture taken. I blame my brother. He, a professional fashion photographer, agreed to take my passport picture when I was 16. I was obviously hoping that he could do what the official passport picture machines never manage: make me beautiful in 35x45mm (standard German passport picture size in case you are wondering). I saw my picture which he took, hated it and accused him bitterly of being a bad photographer. His reply: A photographer is only as good as the model he has. My ego was bruised and ever since I blame him for my unwillingness to be in front of a camera.

Last weekend I decided it was time to grow some balls though and finally have my picture taken for this blog. I chose the best person possible for this mission impossible: my friend Thekla. Some knowledge about photography, a good camera and most important of all – she always sees me with a loving eye and tells me when to lift my chin.

A couple of hours later it was mission accomplished and it didn’t even hurt. Here are the funny face take-outs:

From top left: Funny fish face, Why is the sun always shining?, Yes, I am a supermodel, I ate too much pizza, What the heck is he doing?, Get it off!

The picture I finally decided on will be up here soon. It was a hard battle to pick the right one, but in the end I picked that ONE because it is just very me: Sporting a slight ironic smile, showing bra strap, messy hair up, and sunglasses* – me in a nutshell. And also it is quite cute.  At least I like to think so. Dare to disagree!

*Another item on the What I Wore Today list which I forgot and is quite essential. I think I need to re-do that list...

B Day.

My cousin Thekla invented something what I will now call the ‘Birthday Day’ or short ‘B Day’. It started with her sister and her four children. Thekla realized soon enough being an aunt of four can not only do serious damage to your wallet, but also the one thing kids with this many siblings don’t get enough is one-on-one attention. So over the years it became her tradition that she would spend a day with each of them on their own as their birthday presents.

She would watch Barney with little Ike, Vampire movies with the girls (I got to go along to one of the premiers and almost became deaf by teenage girls having screaming fights over Jakob and Edward - we are still a divided family on this front), and Brownie baking with Max. The kids love it. It’s their day.

So when Thekla’s birthday came around, I decided to do the same thing. Even though she had given me a ‘list’ of sensible present options (I did ask for it!), I decided - no, a day it would be. A Thekla day.

Here the itinerary of our fabulous day/date:

10h30 Bikram yoga - taught by me.

I had really wanted her to come back only once more and take my class. So she did. And I have yet to get nicer compliments on my teaching from anyone. So nice I almost want to add a smiley face here.

13h00 Lunch at Café Milano.

Thekla, who thinks pastry is the anti-Christ, is now converted. I solemnly swear that I will never eat pastry anywhere else again. It wouldn’t be right and it would just make me cry.

15h00 Pedicures at the Cape Royale spa.

Thekla discovered a scar afterwards on her toe, which had been there since she was seven, but apparently hadn’t been seen in years. Now with her toes all scrubbed it resurfaced (mind you my feet were in worst condition, that’s probably why scars don’t stick). Added bonus for me: I managed to walk out of there without nicking my nail polish anywhere. It’s still intact now. Probably for the next five minutes knowing Murphy’s law.

16h00 Cocktails at the roof top bar.

To sum up in one sentence what I need to do to change my life according to her: Get hammered and stalk guys.

No comment.

17h00 Getting ready at my flat.

Two lovely glasses of chilled Pinot Noir thanks to my amazing clients.

18h15 One more glass for the road.

18h30 Six course tasting menu at La Mouette and lots of dirty talk. 

Two best friends and bubbly. What’s not to love?

22h15 Driving home.

One left over macaroon (only slightly chewed on at one corner) for Adam.

23h00 Me, my flat and I.

Another glass of Pinot Noir for me. And the amazing feeling of having made someone’s day and of someone having made my day.