just do it.

this is going to be a very somewhat honest post about me, my body, and my weight. if you are a guy, feel free to skip it. let's say it is more of a topic that i think girls can relate to. unless you are like the actor who plays finnick in the new hunger games movie, who apparently had major issues after he was cast and torn to pieces by the media and normal people like you and me for not being hot enough. in case you wonder, i think it is bullshit. he is as hot and ripped as it gets and runs around shirtless for a good part of the movie which makes it all the better. but that just shows that it doesn’t matter how hot you actually are, female or male, you can still have a warped body image. anyhow and either way, today is not an eating all the pasta kind of post and you have been warned. 

i was always quite okay with my body. i am blessed with my mother's curves on top and cursed with her curves on the bottom. i started to make peace with that ever since my first boyfriend wrote a song for me with a line that said she has the ass of a goddess and couldn't take his hands of my boobs. but it is an on-going process that peace making business, but by now i’m good with myself on most days.
even on the days when i can’t remember any those sweet song lyrics and am not too keen on my reflection in the mirror, i never care enough to go on a diet, i always care more for pasta. when i quit smoking a few years back however i was very concerned about gaining weight. eventually the concerns about the smoking exceeded and i quit. let's say i didn't gain enough wait that it jumps at you. or at least everybody was kind enough not to tell me should it have been the case.
but still my body has changed over the years. i am 34 now and i can tell. if you want to insist and add a comment about silly beauty ideals of thinness and stuff, go ahead, but this is not what i’m talking about. i am curvy, i have always been, i will always be, and that is great. however i have an ideal of my body. not an ideal of my 16 year old body, but of a body that is the best it can be right now.
i was close to that ideal when i was in vietnam. i ate only rice noodles and sweated a lot and looked lean and fit – at least to my eyes and that's what counts for me. i haven't been on a scale for years. i believe in how do my pants feel? rather than a number. just as age is just a number, weight has always been just a number for me too. when i came back i was so excited for the prospect of real pasta and wine though that i did not only indulge for a day or two but for a few weeks. then came my trip to germany and all bets were off.

i'm not making excuses and neither am i beating myself up. i'm just stating some facts.

yesterday i went to see a cardiologist. despite my yoga, i have been feeling very out of breath lately, and after my dad was presenting with some similar symptoms at the beginning of his illness, i thought i should check it out. filling out a form which asked for my height, i filled in my go to height as it says on my id and what i believe to be somewhat true. when it asked for my weight, i put down the number that i last saw on a scale when i weighed myself some odd years ago. as i still fit into clothes that are many seasons old, i was convinced the number couldn't be that far off and even if, what were the chances that i would be discovered?
i was discovered and promptly proven wrong 20 minutes later. on a positive note i actually am 1.74m and it wasn’t my wishful thinking. hurrah. on a very different note i weigh 10kgs more than i thought i do and i almost fainted when i looked at the scale. little did it help my mood that my heart and lungs are apparently quite beautiful – doctor's words, not mine – and very well-functioning.

10kgs.

and while she told me that my body weight and measurements are all fine and i am healthy, i was shocked. shocked because i don't see the body i want to see in the mirror anymore and now it has an official number to it. now weight has become a number, a number that makes an impact on me.

of course i write this while i am drinking a glass or two of wine, to dilute the shock and to salute my healthy heart. the irony is not lost on me, but i know something has to change. i want something to change. i still don't believe in dieting, but i believe in a proper diet. the good thing is that i am not a snacker and i don't have a sweet tooth, but my weakness is wheat and wine. i know what i have to do to change: more greens. less wheat. even less sugars. smaller portions. less alcohol. more yoga. it’s actually quite simple.

don’t worry this is not going to become a fitness and nutrition blog, i won’t show you before and after pictures, or bore you with talk about kilograms ever again. i just had to share tody. now i will just be very Nike, shut up, and just do it.

travelling home. two ways.

at this point i am comfortable to say that the only thing i like about the French is their macarons and their champagne.

 

after 32 hours of travelling i made it back to cape town. the part when i ate all the ladurée macarons, my last euros could buy, and drank all the champagne at the business class lounge was fun. the part when i was stuck on the plane for an extra three hours at the airport till 2am wasn’t fun. neither the part when i subsequently missed my connecting flight and was put on another one that was also two hours late. and neither when this one was also stuck at the airport for another hour due to a dent, which may or may not have been caused by a poor little bird (captain’s words, not mine – fuck that bird!). did i mention that they put me in the last row, middle seat, and that air france managed to lose my luggage yet again?!
yeah, all so not fun and even the macarons barely made up for it. but as they did, i need to thank marie for telling me about the ladurée stand at the airport. i don’t think it would have even occurred to me to look for it, if she hadn’t told me.
so now i’m back and my luggage too with a little delay. i’m sick and exhausted, emotionally and physically. however i am happy to be back in the sun, with my solar powered fairy lights and a big pot of freshly grown basil on the balcony.
but for all of you who were hopeful that once i travelled back to cold, dark germany in the winter and would be inclined to change my mind about moving there, i have to disappoint you. despite the less than fortunate circumstances i liked it. 

i liked that the people in shops and restaurants were really friendly and generally knew what they were doing. a large number of girls sported an unfortunate choice of eyebrows (as in none, replaced by a black marker line), but while it made them look a bit scary, they were still all really friendly and i think it might only be a regional thing.

oh how i loved that things run on time! except very busy surgeons when they meet you for dinner, but how often will that really become an issue in the future?!

my nephew asked me when i was going to come visit him again (i didn’t get to see him this time around) and so i told him about my plans to move to hamburg where he lives. he was so freaking excited and just kept on asking for real? like really?
so i have to move now before he turns into a snotty teenager who couldn’t give a damn about where his aunt lives. 

 

but seriously i am also moving back for the love of pasta. i mean look at this…

i almost cried when i saw the wall of pasta at karstadt and tried to figure out how i can take all some back. in the end i didn’t take any because my bag was full, but i have planned to return there immediately when i move back and buy all some of it.

last but not least: germany is pretty when the skies are blue and yes, even in winter they sometimes are.

what pastaholic ate for breakfast.

i recently wrote a story for the travelettes about ha long bay. i mention that one of the main reasons why i decided on vietnam was because i love fresh spring rolls so much and wanted to eat as many as i could. and no, before you care to correct me, nobody calls them summer rolls there. pastaholic me however was thinking about pho before going there and got ridiculously excited by the idea of travelling to a country where it was perfectly acceptable to have pasta for breakfast. not even in rome did i eat pasta for breakfast, though i should have and next time i go, i totally will. and while i am very well aware of the difference between noodles and pasta, i was still excited and looking forward to 'pasta for breakfast'.

in case you don’t know what pho is – pho is a broth with rice noodles, usually served with chicken or beef, and notoriously mispronounced by foreigners who end up ordering a hooker for breakfast. i tried my best not to, but i also think that the vietnamese are used to the stupid westerners now and have learned to differentiate if someone is hungry for one or the other.

so we arrived and i ate pho. i ate pho on my first night in vietnam, i ate it at pho 2000 where clinton ate his pho, and at 6.30am after getting off a night train in nha trang with a dodgy stomach at a little side street cafe, barely avoiding pigs feet and blood sausage in my bowl. so i think i ate my way around and really gave it a fair chance. but in the end i realized again, because i kind of knew that already, that i am not a soup/broth fan. it doesn't get me excited at all, ever. unless it’s lobster broth, but even then i would prefer the actual lobster. but i didn't make a big deal out of broth dislike, i just started to eat only the noodles, the chicken, and at pho 2000 the funny, round mushrooms that looked like exploding shrooms from mario brothers, but that were actually super delicious. this was an okay solution for me, but i always felt a bit bad for leaving all the broth. it felt like i was insulting the chef's pho by not eating the broth.

 

the other thing that i realized is that eating noodle soup for breakfast is freaking weird. i really don’t want to sound like a horrible tourist here and i don’t think that my breakfast choices are making the world a better place, but for my palate noodle soup was weird. i thought i was going to be in heaven, being allowed to have noodles all day long, but for breakfast my stomach was like “what the heck? ever heard about eggs? ever heard about a croissant? a dry piece of baguette?”. it got very confused by my repeated attempts to feed it noodles at 7am, something it had clearly marked and stored away under lunch and dinner and after midnight snack foods.

then came the morning when we arrived in hanoi. again we had gotten off a night train which for a change hadn't arrived earlier, hurrah, but nobody had woken us up and so we had to get up, get our luggage, and get off the train in less than 5 minutes. then we had to walk to our hotel for about 10 minutes, backpacks and all, through grey morning streets and high humidity. at our hotel we couldn't check in yet, so we freshened up in the bathrooms, and went off to find some breakfast. even in busy hanoi not an easy task this early in the morning and at least the eggs benedict were still fast asleep. we went to a little corner cafe to have a coffee first and wait for the breakfast place to open.

my stomach was still dodgy, but i decided to ignore it and have an iced coffee with condensed milk. why anyone would drink coffee without condensed milk ever is beyond me and since i knew my days in vietnam were numbered i went for it. eventually more places opened and we had the choice of ordering pho from the stall next to the cafe or to have said eggs benedict for breakfast. my stomach and my wallet both decided that a little chicken noodle broth would be gentler for every party involved. i asked tam, our one vietnamese in the group, to order me a bowl. he did and in return i didn't growl at him when he wanted to take my picture eating pho. which i think says a lot about how mellow i am on holiday, because let’s repeat:

it was before 8am.
i was not feeling well.

implied that i wasn't wearing any make-up and that i don't like to have my picture taken in general. i think i was temporarily mollified though by my pho and by tam's camera, which is a fancy one in a cool, old school cover. and in the end i must admit i quite like it the picture. blame the filter, i blame the pho. the vietnamese seem to have it right – pho in the morning is good for you.

 

on my mind and in my heart.

i read an article the other day about the cardinal blogger sins. i am guilty of quite a few mainly that i apologize constantly for not writing more. this post however will bring you some new ones. first i am posting a picture that has absolutely nothing today with the content of today’s post. but i just think it is so damn pretty and i took it last week during this one minute the double rainbow was out and i just wanted to share it. because it is just so damn pretty. the second one is that i am telling you i will announce some big news soon, but i’m basically just announcing the announcement. how terribly annoying of me.

in my defence i have been a bit rattled this last week despite the post-holiday blues having worn off. now it actually just makes me a bit sad, my holiday seems years ago. i tried to recreate a few beloved dishes and failed so miserably that i had to console myself with good old pasta, wine, and a number of pecan nut blondies so high i will never tell anybody. in combination with avoiding my yoga mat this has made me feel sluggish and tired.

the content of the announcement still has me up thinking and planning and talking to some people and all i will say for now is that it’s shaping up nicely, but as it is quite big it is also quite emotional. do you hate me yet for all my hinting? i know, i know…

work has been busy.

i haven’t slept well.

i had a fallout with a friend. or at least i think i did. how do you call it if your friend is not returning your text messages, calls, and an email, because he may not like to hear what you have to say because he behaved like a crappy friend in your opinion? for a lack of better word i call it a fallout and it has been on my mind all the time, making me angry and sad at all at once.

i have discovered the bachelor/ the bachelorette for my evening entertainment. and as entertaining as i find it, it makes me really sad that i would find it so entertaining.

my flat is a mess. and i can call it creative chaos all i want, it is still a mess. and you wouldn’t think so when you saw the state of my kitchen, but i actually really dislike a messy kitchen.

so with that said the plan is to spend more time on my mat, reading a book, eating some salad, and doing a major spring clean on the weekend.

what’s happening in your life?

back!

i’m back and all i can really think of is how cold i am. other than that my first 18 hours have been peachy. customs didn’t steal confiscate my rice paper and the customs dog didn’t detect my curry powder which i got for my mum. probably because he was tired from all the fetch he played before cape town airport managed to get the luggage belt moving, you can imagine that took a while.

 

my lovely friend claire fetched me and didn’t mind my request for a bottle of red wine to be brought to me upon arrival. in fact she had put two bottles in my house and cheese crackers and chocolate and roses and gotten my solar powered fairy lights to work and back up on my balcony. she also took me grocery shopping and made me my first bowl of pasta i had in a month while i unpacked and took a shower. now that is my definition of a good friend. thanks, love!

 

after sleeping 9 hours i’m almost feeling like a normal person today and have managed to bring laundry to the laundromat, make a shopping list, go to work, taken the contents of my luggage out and spread out all over my place - wouldn’t want it looking too tidy - and even glanced at my credit card statement, which i think was a very brave thing to do only one day after the holiday was over.

 

i have also started to make plans for yoga, seeing friends, talking to my mum, and going to some events, so i don’t think i will be too sad. i will miss the humidity and the lovely food a bit, because and though you may hate me for saying it – i lost weight despite eating 3 meals a day and all the pringles. but don’t you worry because i expect to be back to normal in no time as the best part about being home is eating pasta and alphen toastie from jason.

 

the one unfortunate thing is that my airbook got sick on the way back and has to go to the doctor tomorrow. bleh. let’s hope for the best, because i need to share a ton of pictures with you and stories of how i “taught” yoga on a junk in halong bay, how the pastaholic didn’t want any noodle soup for breakfast, and how the duck got run over by a motorbike. but until the airbook gets better that will all have to wait and so for now i leave you with a picture of the most awesome thing anyone could ever put on a motorbike - the flying pigs:

 

 

stuff i like in winter.

i'm giving this thing of a regular “feature” another shot. i add the quotation marks because feature sounds a bit too grand for what i have in mind. With the quotation marks you know that i am only somewhat serious or at least pretend not to be.

back when i started blogging i took lots of pictures at least for my standards. whether people enjoyed them or not, i just enjoyed to post stuff. stuff i liked. judging by the comments people seem to enjoy my stories more and that's great. but the other day i was trying to find a category for my blog. But I couldn't as i couldn't find a random, somewhat funny blog with stories about wine, pasta, yoga and failed dates category. nothing came even close. thekla actually had to tell me that my blog would technically fall under the category of lifestyle blog. again lifestyle blog sounds very grand i think. i am much more happy with the random, somewhat funny blog with stories about wine, pasta, yoga and failed dates description. but then i figured, why not? if you can make the shoe somehow fit, just squeeze into it. i have a life, it has a certain style and unless we are talking about men, my taste in most other things is pretty good. so with that and the arrival of my new camera i am taking the liberty of showing things about life again. a new “feature” if you will and i shall just call it: stuff i like.

the first stuff comes with a bit of a confession. two weeks ago i was having a nasty girly moment about an ex's new girlfriend and how she announced on facebook that she was going on a non-carb diet. of course i was gleeful that she a) deemed it necessary to go on a diet and b) she wasn't going to be very happy for a while, because we all know that non-carb diets are a bitch and c) really? You tell the world on facebook? but it must have triggered something because i decided with my impending holiday to have a little self-restraint myself. now i am doing two weeks without wine and pasta, which - feel free to laugh at me – means i am probably more miserable right now than she is, because we know I really don't do well without wine and pasta.

i hope you don't feel the need to give me any dietary advice now. i am not eating fried bacon every morning and i do not expect to look like gisele afterwards. I am not having two of my favorite food groups (pasta and wine are food groups of course) for two weeks just to prove I can. And to eat make room for pad thai. call it half-a-lent in july for atheists.

i am usually not a big snacker or one with a sweet tooth but of course with all other pleasures denied i need something. that something i found in form of yoghurt covered raisins at wellness warehouse. if it comes from wellness warehouse it must be healthy, right, and so i have been eating a few more than a few every day. i wanted to get new ones today to take a picture and to my utter delight i found yoghurt covered peanuts which i bought instead. peanuts, people! i thought they wouldn't last through their picture taking session but to my surprise i like the raisins much more. obviously not enough to not eat the peanuts.

the measuring cup is from o.live, a shop i love with all my heart and my credit card loathes. my friend kate did laugh at me when i showed her, but then again she is a real scientist and couldn't believe why anyone would spend money on these things and put them in their flat as deco.

have i written a post about coconut water? i believe i have. i hate the fact that you can't recycle the little bottles (I hope coco life can take a hint) so i only get it once in while for a special occasion. like today when i can't have wine.

i love how it smells when you walk into enmasse and they have put that smell in a bottle. i have never deemed something like linen spray a good investment before, but i love that stuff on my pillows. i really wish they would make it into a proper fragrance (or can i just use linen spray on myself?).

live as if this is all there is. i guess you could put a tea light in, but i bought it for no other reason as to remind me daily of what it says.  

p.s. i will take the some pictures of stuff outside, i promise, but give me some time. just like any mother of a newborn i am still too terrified to take her, yes, that's the camera, outside. 

Why big girls don't cry and wearing pants is optional.

Last week was a tricky one so I decided to rather be quiet than mope. First of all there was this guy. This guy I met a couple of months ago and we started hanging out. And after a while of hanging out there was a drunk text message from me that suggested we should do more hanging out than just hang out. And so we did. It was clear from the beginning that it was going to be nothing more than that as he was going back to Germany eventually and so really what’s the point? But it was also nothing less and hang out we did. And stargazed. And drank wine. And kissed. And all was so easy breezy and therefore quite wonderful. You know how these things go… and then he left on Tuesday. Which was to be expected and fine, but definitely didn't make for a great start into the week.

In addition I had to have a little surgery on Thursday. Nothing major and again it was to be expected, but also didn't make for a great start into the long weekend. Add on top of this a whole bunch hormones, also to be expected, but my week was basically a goner.

So I took the week as a lesson in learning to go with the flow and the art of letting go. The operative word being learning as we all know how so not good I am at going with the flow and letting go. Me, the masterplanner of all things and life in general. 

 

Though I would like to pretend that it was the picture above and its Thai words of wisdom, which taught me the lesson and got me through, we all know that it is wasn't. As per usual it was only with the help of too much wine, pasta, Grey’s Anatomy re-runs and not judging myself whatsoever, that I managed last week. This morning when I woke up with an emotional hangover and realized it was time to get out of my haven, put on my big girl pants, and get on with my life. I should add here that putting on big girl pants is a phrase I loathe. Mainly because it tend to mix it up with putting on fat girl pants. You know, the pants you put on when you know you will be bloated and still overeating on chocolate. You know you need them, but they are still the most unsexiest, un-ego-boosting of all pants. So in my mind this phrase just creates a very confusing paradox. But basically I had to get up this morning, brave the rain and the confusion and put them on.

When I got to the actual putting-on-pants part, the ones I wanted to wear had shrunk in the washer. And they still fit. True story! Despite it being the day after Easter weekend and a week of major hormonal rage. Has that ever happened outside a fairy tale ever? Nope. Thank you, Monday Tuesday Gods!

This already helped a bit, though I still really didn't want to leave the house. I rather wanted to stay in and eat more chocolates and see how long it would take for my shrunken pants to fit no more. However it seemed the universe was really intended on getting me out of the house and thus it made me grab my Bwanwar fragrance which I hadn't even looked at in months. It’s a perfume I bought a few years back in the Seychelles from a tiny company called Kreol Fleurage and it wait for it! reminds me of my mother. You would think that is a bad thing…or weird at least…that I want to smell like my mother, right? It is not. This scent is my personal equivalent of wearing big girl pants and one that doesn't confuse me. It makes me feel comforted and grown up in a good sort of way. And as it is it seems to find me whenever I need a little something to get me out of the door and into the big girl world.

So now I am curious…is it just me or do you also have a preferred version of wearing big girl pants? What gets you out of the door when all you want to do is clutch the frame and yell I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go! ? And most of all I would like to know – what do guys put on when they need to wear some big girl pants?

P.S. S**t - I found the picture on a travel blog, I really liked and didn't note which one. I did not mean to steal and not credit - promise. If you know it or it's yours, please get in touch so I can credit.

Travelism.

You will be glad to read I managed to get the monster of a sleeping bag washed, dried, and stuffed back into its too tiny case. The washing and drying due to my amazing laundromat though. I also managed to pack my dufflebag and stay within my baggage allowance. All that after I had managed to get myself a last minute stomach bug following a night out with friends and what I thought the next morning far too much Alphabetical. Luckily the pharmacist eased my conciousness and told me a virus was going around. That made me feel much better, because to get so violently sick by red wine would have just made me very sad and probably spoiled my reputation too.
24 hours later I still don't feel like wine or anything but pasta with salt and butter, but I can report  much better health and mood as I am sitting on a delayed and shaky plane to Jo'burg. Yay for me.

Jo'burg hates me. That is my first impression after landing. We are stuck in the parking garage at the airport and the exit queue is not moving. After 25 minutes we are told the booms won't move and we must turn and go to the second floor exit. I'm quite impressed with all cars in line turning at once and reversing without a single scratch and off we are to exit 2. A shorter wait there and then we are told to go to the fourth floor as there is no line further up. We oblige and make our way up only to find an even longer queue than downstairs to begin with. Ruth ignores me when I ask for the second time whether we have wine in the car. After another 20 minutes we are told by the very uninterested parking attendants that the booms don't open and we should go down to exit 1.  At this point I think Ruth and I both scream. So in fact Jo’burg doesn't hate me, but the airport parking loves me so much that it keeps me hostage for an hour before we are on hour way.
A quick pizza at a 24 hour pizza joint, the only place still serving food besides Mc Donald's by the time we are out, and then I am off to sleep like a stone.

The next day I discover to my surprise that except for the dryness, which gets to my skin immediately, I like this city: The sun is out, everything looks pretty, everybody seems friendly, and even the taxis are cleaner than back home.
We start the day at the Neighborgood Market with Eggs Benedict and bubbly (hurrah for a happy stomach!) and explore stalls and shops all around. I like what I see. Somehow everything is a bit cooler than in Cape Town and at the same time less pretentious. No hipsters in sight and no one cares that I have to take a picture of the best cappuccino I ever had in my life.
On my suggestion we spend the afternoon at the Apartheid Museum which we enter by separate entrances according to our tickets which say 'white' and 'non-white'. A simple, but effective way to remind us what it must have been like not so long ago. Ruth and I would have not entered buildings by the same entrance, not even to mention dining together, shopping together, sharing lives as we do now. The museum is beautifully done and laid out with a permanent exhibit that you follow from the beginnings of apartheid to the end as well as special room guiding through Mandela's life. Architecture comes together with art as a visually striking background for the historic story told throughout. Even pictures and exhibit pieces with shock value are set up almost beautifully and neutrally as to allow the visitor to make up their own mind about everything. We are told a story, but allowed to judge and think for ourselves.
After seeing the tiny isolation cells for political prisoners though things start to get to me. I calculate I would be able to do most part of the Bikram series in there, but still scary thoughts come to my mind and I am quite relieved when we move towards the end of the exhibit, showing happier things like video footage of the De Klerk's declaration of the end of apartheid.

After all the history lessons we feel that we deserve a treat and it comes in form of a sushi snack, wine, and a beautiful rooftop view. As you can tell by food choices my stomach is much better and it actually makes me a bit sad that I had cancelled fancy dinner at Cube, but as we later end the day with a pasta dinner, my little world is still all good.

Street art.
Old and new.
The bestest cappuccino.
Coke Tower.
Market breakfast.
Freedom column at the Apartheid Museum.
Neighborgood Market entrance.

Pastaholic goes hunting.

I’m really loving the South African winter right now. Especially when it looks like this…

I didn’t love it so much anymore when all those exciting mushrooms we found, were so slimy when cooked that the sauce has a gluey consistency and we all wish we would have eaten the homemade pasta on its own. The day was saved by homemade tart to fill our bellies instead, lots of red wine to wash it down with, and Catan to make us forget the horror of it.

Needless to say the next time I want a mushroom sauce my hunting ground shall be Woolies & Co.

Non-starving art.

I haven’t been writing much lately and I have to blame the heat amongst other distractions. Yesterday I was thinking about it though and realized maybe one really needs to be a starving artist in order to get any writing done, hot or cold. I’m not starving which is why I’m not writing. I don’t need to write in order not to starve so why bother? Not that I would ever consider myself an artist, but writing can be considered an art, and here I am not writing because I am not starving. Ponder upon that for a moment.
In fact I used the new couple's night apart to make myself delicious prawn pasta. Ian, who in case you haven't guessed is the new boy on the block and according to Thekla I mustn't call him any nicknames, doesn’t like prawns. I find this so incredible that it actually makes me want to stomp my foot on the ground and shout “How can anyone not like prawns, Silly?” I don't, because I am still too flattered by his apparent love of me cooking anything but prawns that I don't want to go there quite yet.
So there with my huge plate of pasta, I, the non-starving artist, had this epiphany that art can never be fed by real food. It is just too distracting. If I have food to eat I will not only eat it and thus waste time I could spend on writing but also watch a movie while I eat thus wasting more time not writing.

Whenever I fantasize that the key to successful writing is probably just getting away, I already fail in the 'planning in my head stages. I can envision myself under an olive tree somewhere in Spain or France. Close to the ocean with a little simple white cottage which has the bare necessities: a bed, a desk, and … well, a kitchen. I wonder how difficult it would be to make my own olive oil. Or could I, the big city girl, ever learn to catch a fish? Then again I actually don't like fish all this much, but maybe when caught myself and prepared with my homemade olive oil it would taste totally different? Then there is the wine, which is of course a reason itself to go to Spain or France or in fact Italy would be great as well. Wine will help my art. To a certain degree. I have known myself to cross the line. The line is reached when each word has to be rewritten twice because my fingers and brain don't want to talk to each other anymore.
My other writing scenario pictures myself in New York. In this little cafe down by Houston Street where they had this amazing Salad Nicoise. Or at Caracas with some arepas and Coronas. Though maybe that might be too noisy and again with the alcohol. Coffee rather. But not Starbucks that's for sure, their coffee just sucks and though Dean & Deluca has the best scones, their table settings are basically non-existent.
See my dilemma? Getting away is even more exiting in terms of food than staying at home where I only have to deal with healthy pre-yoga snacks or dinners to impress the new boyfriend. Don’t even get me started on road trips. I don’t think I would write a single word if my life depended on it. Road trips make my heart and stomach race.
So be happy to read what you are reading right now as I will be off to plan lunch soon while wondering: who has time to write if not an artist who is truly starving or someone who doesn't care about food? These weird creatures apparently do exist. I only know one – my sister in law who as a poor fashion design student in Rome would rather spend her food money on Prada shoes and thus starve. Though keeping in mind that Prada shoes vs. food is a whole different ballgame compared to writing vs. food. A discussion I don’t want to get into as the Prada shoes in my closet are already starting to giggle and I don’t want to upset the pasta in my pantry.

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?

Poor me.

Yesterday was Bastille Day and I read a comment on Twitter that said 'The French invented kissing and toast.' The toast reference struck me as a bit odd (I thought toast was a truly American invention) and the kissing of course reminded me of the Frenchman, which was no good. I was also having quite a busy and productive day so to make it all better I decided to treat myself with the epiphany of comfort food: The Poor Man's Meal. As you will without a doubt already know, it is pasta. It manages to be even more comforting than all the other kind of pasta dishes as it originated from my Mum, with a bit of help from Jamie Oliver I think, and then made its way to New York, where it became a staple amongst Gladys, Marie, and I. It not only tastes great, but has a double amount of good memories attached.
My Mum started the craze years back and has slightly altered the recipe over time to suit her tastes, but whenever I go home, I know it is the first meal I will get and I get it in the original version.
Once I introduced it to the girls in New York, they loved it so much, that we started making it all the time. It quickly became known as ‘The Poor Man’s Meal’ as we would especially make it towards the end of the month when money was tight. WhenI tell you now what is in it, you will think us the most decadent college students ever. You cannot get any further from Ramen Noodles (Two minute noodles for the South Africans) than that.
Zucchinis are drenched and fried in lots of virgin olive oil with crushed chillies. Pasta is tossed into that and than topped with mountains of Parmesan. My mother would add a bit of saffron to it as well, which I remember because I have managed to mess up quite a few of her good fabric napkins over time. Last night I used Turmeric instead, but even without the saffron it is by no means close to Ramen or any other student budget appropriate meal. Why? Well, as you can tell by my end-result picture – I am and always was incapable of not covering my entire plate with real Parmesan.

P.S. In case you wonder, the picture above represents amounts of cheese appropriate for picture taking and was tripled right afterwards for eating.

What's cookin', Pastaholic?

After lots of Pastaholic stories and how I came to be one, I’ve decided that it is time to actually show what kind of pasta I usually eat. The ritual that happens in my house about every other night finally documented. If you are hoping for a recipe, don’t. I don’t do recipes, a fact that almost caused my last boyfriend and I to break up. Which we did eventually, but not due to recipes or lack thereof. I also don’t do complicated so if you really wanted to re-cook what I made last night, you could just take the ingredients and put them all together. It’s quite simple really.
I had a somewhat serious hangover yesterday. I came to realize that may have been because after bubbly and red wine I decided to almost single handily finish a beautiful bottle of desert wine as everybody else was going for the grappa. No headache though, which speaks for the quality of the wine. Regardless, I wasn’t a happy girl and whenever I get niggly due to too much alcohol, I start day dreaming about pasta. Obviously that is not the only occasion when I think of pasta, but this situation is a sure, reoccurring thing. Through the grapevine, I found two new food blogs and got very inspired by Chris’ Vongole. I got intrigued by the pictures, yes, but even more so by the suggested combination of drinking rose champagne with pasta. Where have I been all my life?? I mean I love pasta, I love rose champagne. I sounds like a match made in heaven.

Pasta + rose champagne or pink bubbly as we would call it here = Perfection

I’m not sure why I have been sticking to stupid old red wine with pasta when it clearly calls for a nice cold bottle of Old Man’s Sparkles. Though to be honest here, that wasn’t the plan for last night. Because I’m a) scared to make vongole by myself and b) I had a date. So if there was to be any drinking done, it would have to be in company. Not ideal for the way I felt.
Then I stars magically realigned. First I found this recipe from Sweet Paul, which was so profound and so beautiful and did not require any vongole and then my date cancelled.
You know you have become too good of a single if you are happy when a date cancels just so you can stay at home and eat pasta. But the feeling was good and I’m sticking to it. Here is what I did last night:

I love trying new pasta shapes and though this one wasn’t quite as exciting as I wish it would have been, it worked perfectly for what I had in mind.

Fresh prawns from Woolies – I totally lucked out as my store usually doesn’t carry them and I seemed to have found the last packet. They were delicious.

I’m not sure of their proper names, but these are blackish/green/red tomatoes from PnP. I am totally obsessed with them as they are full of flavour and the colouring is just freakishly cool.

Garlic, of course.

Parmesan grated two ways.

I forgot the lemon zest, but it actually turned out – it did not matter. And with or without the rose champagne (I was being good yesterday, so I can go to &Union tonight) it was so good, I could not not finish the entire pan.

Before & after.

Sorry no pictures of me in a bikini before and after summer. Instead I will just tell you all my plans for the weekend and on Monday we will see what I actually did. So let’s see what is on the agenda...

First is spa appointment after work today. The only reason that may not happen, is if I decide I should rather spend the money on more wine than to be tortured. After that I it is class, home, more House and more delicious Woolie’s chicken balls (Balls formed out of minced chicken, people!). Then sleep. Feel I need to catch up; self inflicted deadlines gave me bad dreams last night.
Tomorrow will obviously bring more yoga and the delight of going to the toy store and buying pink things with glitter and little dogs that come in pink bags and all the things, I always wanted when I was little and couldn’t afford. Now that I make my own money, I guess, I could, but people would think me weird. So Genie’s birthday is the perfect opportunity. I volunteered to help at her party on Sunday as we are going rock climbing at Cityrock. Not sure if my knee will be up for it yet, but my shoes and harness are begging to come out and play. That came out very wrong.
Other than that I have firmly planned to finish my DIY project, watch Hangover II and take glorious pictures of all that is happening.

And in case you miss it – Pastaholic also has plans. I shall call it:

Pastaholic’s weekend: Happy days in Cape Town.

I was promised to be cooked pasta for this weekend. Unfortunately I have the sneaking suspicion that it won’t happen; a girl has a six sense for these kinds of things. So to have a good back up plan, I decided to treat myself with this recipe:

http://domesticgoddesses-sa.blogspot.com/2011/05/very-good-friend-of-mine-just-had-her.html

Theka’s friend who recently had a baby got it all the first time around and I got nothing. No fair. So now I have to do it myself or quickly have a baby. The latter would at least require a date first, but if I was getting one, I wouldn’t be required to make pasta myself, so therefore it seems a catch 22. Either way pastaholic shall have pasta this weekend and be happy for it.

Spirited away.

To understand my weekend recap you have to understand something about me first: I am a very loyal person on a positive note, turn the notion around I am also a creature of terrible habit. I will go to the same restaurants and order the same dishes and if my re-reading of favourite books is any indication, I have a serious problem. I guess it’s the German control freak part in me that likes to know exactly what I’m getting when getting something.

This weekend though the German in me was pushed down the rabbit hole thanks to my friend Ruth who was here from Jo’burg and made my other side, the I-want-to-be-a-good-host-and-show-her-lots-of-fun-new-things side.
So after a lazy Saturday – no habit breaking there – we started with a really late dinner at Societi Bistro, a place I have always wanted to go and never made it. So that was very new and exciting to me, even more so as I ordered soup, something I never ever do, but it was well worth it. So was the pasta with boereworst, which conveniently comes as a starter portion as well. I realized that though I’m a pastaholic, I usually don’t order pasta when going out since I always think I can do it better. The exceptions was Mezzaluna’s sea urchin pasta and to my knowledge they have now closed. Which calls for a sad moment of silence. So after realizing that I should order pasta when out more often, we were off to Tjing Tjing, a bar very much to my liking, which unfortunately doesn’t happen as often as I wish in Cape Town.
Sunday dawned with a late sleep in, also a thing of luxury I don’t often do. I decided to take Ruth to Cafe Milano for breakfast and treats, but since the maitre d’ wasn’t so keen on seating us as she first pretended to be we fled to Manna Epicure. I know, people have a love/hate relationship with this place mainly due to their steep prices, but I only love it and always felt it was worth every penny. To comply with the ‘taming the creature of habit’ theme of the weekend I did not order my usual sandwich, but poached eggs with salmon, avo and coconut bread. Again in capital: COCONUT BREAD.

THE coconut bread in all its glory.

I rarely rave about a single item of food , but this was just out of the world and deserves to be mentioned in screaming capitals. I asked to buy a loaf. The price? Jaaa, let’s not go there. I will rather take my favourite foodie Thekla for breakfast and have her recreate the recipe for me later.
With full bellies we made our way to the National Gallery for the Tretchikoff exhibit I had been longing to see in ages. It wasn’t as exciting as I thought it would be, mainly due to the fact that two of my favourite pictures weren’t shown. DRUM magazine however had a photo exhibit on, which was stunning and inspired me very much to learn a bit more about South Africa’s history. Something a history nerd like me should have done upon arrival years ago. Not too late hopefully.
Art by the hour was enough for both of us and we indulged in a lot of very un-arty, but very funny episodes of Weeds. Yes, everybody, season six is out and available at DVD Noveau!
I peeled myself off the couch eventually as a new hot yoga studio in town has opened and unlike my studio they offer late Sunday afternoon Bikram, which I love. Mind you, I had to drive all the way to Constantia, but it was so worth it. Yogaspirit is one of the most beautiful studios have seen so far with the same bird prints I have at home, lots of wood and serenity.

 For those of you, who I don’t tell my dreams to daily – I have been dreaming of a yoga studio with rosewood floors over and over. I am not sure I would be able to tell the difference between rosewood and any other wood, but my dreams know the difference. Neither do I know whether the wooden floor at Yogaspirit is made out of rosewood, but it was the closest I have found so far and it made me quite happy. First practise without me having an angry tantrum about my knee not performing the way I want it. Chances are, I will make the to the middle of nowhere again (No offense people from Constantia, but you live far far away!).

And the moral of the story? Lesson learned. The creature of habit was tamed and is happily purring into the new week. Purr purr.

P.S. Spirited Away is the name of the movie I like loads. In case you don’t know it, check it out. It’s eerie yet beautiful and very cute.

Quizzing the teacher.

Here my answers to the questions any Bikram Yoga teacher should ask themself:

1. Why do you like it hot?It reminds me of August in New York – the best month in the whole world!

2. As a child, what did you want to be “when you grew up?”
A dentist, a hairstylist, a secret agent, a princess and funny enough a woman in Africa.

3. Tell us about your first kiss: who, when, where?
Kim Roth, 20 years ago, in a tent at a family party

4. What’s your most prized possession?
These days my sheep wool slippers. In general my scarves.

5. What is your most embarrassing moment on the teacher’s box?
I don’t have a box. Kind of sad now that I think about it. If I had one, it would probably have been the time when I said “And now bring your weight into your balls.”

6. What’s the best/worst thing about being a Bikram Yoga teacher?
Best: The way people smile at you when they leave the studio.
Worst: Lots of sweaty laundry.

7. Describe your perfect yoga shorts.
Indestructible cotton shorts from the GAP.

8. What’s the first thing you think of when you wake up in the morning?
I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, can I stay in bed please?

9. Have you ever been in love?
Yes, I think so.

10. Say one nice thing about the person who first told you about Bikram Yoga.
My lovely, wonderfully crazy sister-in-law. She is lovely and wonderfully crazy.

11. Words or phrases you overuse:
What not.
And then ...

12. Do you remember what your first Bikram class was like?
Uncomfortable due to the floppy, polyester running shorts I was wearing.

13. What’s your guilty pleasure?
Pinot Noir and pasta.

14. Do you have a “most memorable Bikram moment”? First class I ever taught. I walked in, stood in front of the class and felt a very profound sense of purpose.

15. If you could have any job, what would it be?
Travelling writer or writing traveller.

16. What’s your favourite smell? Coconut.

I wasn't kidding.

When I tweeted (Is that the correct use of term? All still so new and exciting...) yesterday that my hair made me look like a cupid on acid. Here is the proof:

Pure madness going on, I know. Do excuse the quality of the picture, I have read blogging 101 and know the rule of providing good quality images, but in all fairness it just ain’t that easy when you live by yourself. Also I didn’t want to get any closer to myself as I had just come from work and was all shiny. I hope you do get the idea why I just shake my head when people ask me why I don’t let my hair down more often.
I must say though my Paul - my hairstylist - did cut a nice layer there in front. I think he must have been over excited that I allowed him more than “The usual, Paul”, because he also suggested that we could get married. Don’t think about asking. Besides that he is about 20 years older than me, I do still believe, son or not, he is gay.

Paul (in cute, endearing Schwitzerdütsch accent): Well, you and I could just get married.

Me: Are you proposing to me?

Paul: Well, if you want to see it as that. Take it or leave it!

Apparently this loveliness, the fact that we both don’t enjoy clubbing anymore and the discount he would give me on my haircuts should have won me over in a heartbeat.

After my picture taking session I was moving on to DIY projects and then got distracted by Glee. The disc just happened to slip into my computer. I love Glee. I admit it. Make fun of me now.
So there I was getting my stomach used to alcohol again as tonight bubbly tasting is on the agenda, happily singing along and eating cold pasta as a pre-pasta-dinner-snack (yes, I actually did have more pasta for dinner later). Eating cold pasta out of a colander is the best thing ever. I still remember a play date with my friend Kathrin when we were about 12. I came over to her for lunch and we had Spaghetti Bolognese. After stuffing our faces we played board games and ate the entire cold left over spaghettis out of the colander as a post-pasta-lunch-snack. Good times.

Now the actual excitement of the day. My bag was published. Apparently not only guys care what’s in a girl’s bag. All my secrets revealed here: http://www.brandslut.co.za/brandbag-vol-5/

I do a want to add a few things which were cut for space reasons I guess (is there such a thing as space reasons on the Internet??). Otherwise people may think my bag is really weird and I wouldn’t want its’ feelings to get hurt.

Canvas Bag from the little shop on Kloof Street with my last name’s initial. - Of course A was already sold out, because it took me forever to make up my mind whether I wanted to spend R 80 on it. All I can say now – best R 80 spent ever.

Second pair of favourite Prada Sunglasses. – Since I have moved here I have lost 5 pairs of sunglasses. Unfortunately I have a slight addiction problem with expensive sunglasses. First pair of these got stolen in a smash and grab, but I found them again and since it was my second pair they gave me a ‘discount’.

Original Prada sunglasses case. - This will make sense in a bit.

Nokia loan phone courtesy from Vodacom. - It’s just so sad, I won’t dwell on it here.

Piazza Sempione cuff. – Such a diva, too big to work with so I usually put it back in my bag by 9am, which is a also quite sad. For the cuff. It’s so pretty. Must remind myself to finally repair smaller cuff sibling, which actually doesn’t mind when I wear it while typing.

Sunglass Hut case. - I bought this when I thought original case was lost. Then I found the original case and for some reason felt the need to carry both around for a couple weeks. Guess I didn’t want either to feel left out.

Dior Homme memory stick. - This was a PR gift for my former boss. I ‘borrowed’ it from him as he doesn’t know how to hold a mouse (“No, George, you don’t hold it like a remote control.”), so I figured he definitely doesn’t even know what a memory stick is.

Fuji FinePix camera. - Not shown for obvious reasons, but represented by USB cable. Which is actually never in my bag because I will leave it at home and then get mad at myself for not being able to download pictures elsewhere. Like today.

Keys on Marc Jacobs keychain/ coin purse. - Unfortunately very old and doesn’t want to be photographed without extensive photoshop, which I am no good at.

The rest is just is. Nothing to write home about.