Yeah yeah yeah.

I sometimes wish I was one of those people who could get away with writing or saying things like “Hell yeah, bitches!” It may not be very proper or polite, but sometimes it just feels appropriate. I am not one of these people though. It makes me sound like an idiot and I am fully aware of it. Today however is one of these days when I just have to make an exception and just go with. So here it is … a triple “Hell yeah, bitches!” for … my Dad arriving today… us going here on vacation here …

… and for pizza nights when it’s raining outside…

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.

Genie in a pizza.

Wise people always tell us that everything, even the bad things, happen for a reason. Then they want us to believe that the reason is not only valid, but good. I haven’t evolved my higher being enough yet and usually have a problem with this “argument”. Till yesterday.
I knew something was wrong with my oven when it made a crackling sound with a little hiss and the lights went off two days ago. I texted my landlord and he called the oven people to come over soonest. Yesterday I spent my office hours thinking what I could make for dinner that wouldn’t involve the oven and went grocery shopping accordingly. An inner voice told me to rather test if the hotplates were working before I went to class. What an ingenious thought. They were not.
I spent my class thinking about alternate dinner options to adjust to the new stove situation. Salad without some chicken or roast butternut is boring and even Thekla’s infamous cabbage/carrot salad is not the same without roasted seeds. The options started to narrow down to Mc Donald’s or pizza. Considering that I had had pizza the night before and can only justify eating MD after a night out drinking heavily, I wasn’t impressed by the choices I had given myself.
Once I left the studio, my hand made the decision for me and automatically opened the door of Col’Cacchio when walking past. Two magical things happened next. First I decided not only to be as healthy as one can possibly get with pizza, but also adventurous and ordered Justin Bonello’s special pizza Greengenie. I have come to terms with the fact that I’m not an adventurous pizza eater; I find chicken on my pizza to be exotic. Don’t ask why. Probably because in Italy they don’t put chicken on their pizza and I like to pretend I grew up on somewhat authentic pizza. So a pizza with whole-wheat base, shitake mushrooms, seeds, and more greenery than your average house salad is quite novel for me. But to summarize the experience quickly now: this pizza made the top 5 of best pizzas I have eaten in my life. Ever. That excludes the fact that I felt I was actually eating something quite healthy; that was just the green cherry on top.
In case you wonder whether I am sponsored by Col’Cacchio, the answer is sadly no, it’s was just good enough to make my night. Though I probably would not have admitted to the fact that I ate pizza twice this week in writing, if it wasn’t for magical thing no. 2 which happened.
So there I sat, sweaty, hungry, bored, just waiting for my pizza and in walked a very familiar face. Before I reveal the mystery guest I have to remind you of my favourite place to eat pasta: Mezzaluna. I think I have written about their sea urchin spaghetti often enough that the term has its own label here. I have also mentioned twice that they closed down, my general sorrow about them closing and pondered where I can get sea urchin spaghetti now. To my utter delight it was Andrea, former chef at Mezzaluna, who walked in last night, recognized me and immediately came over to chat. Not only can I hope to score some free coffee as he is working for Lavazza now, but I can also look forward to a special occasion to host a dinner party as he also cooks for private events. My aunt will be invited for the dinner for sure as she wrote her thesis on the sex life of sea urchins and still wonders if they taste any good. I still wonder how sea urchins have sex. Maybe we will both learn something.

So next time your oven breaks or some other annoying misfortune occurs, don’t despair. You may just learn how sea urchins have sex from the experience. Or at least get a good pizza out of it.

Pizza con stallion.

As some may know, I not only have a pasta obsession, but also a slight pizza obsession. This obsession was born with the help of pizza auntie Sylvi, who taught us all how to make the greatest homemade pizza on a terracotta tile in your very own oven. It was further developed by an ex of mine who loved the pizza so much that he devised a 17 page manual on pizza making, ingredients and recipes. Ever since he has sent it as birthday gifts to friends all over the world.

Now with the re-opening of Massimo’s the obsession has reached an all-time high. I have only been twice, but I am in love already and they know it. I’m already getting special menu updates as I am known as the pastaholic there. Regardless I would not dare to touch anything else there but pizza.

They really do seem to read my blog thoroughly (Which is quite sweet, thank you!), because my request for them to be open on Tuesdays ended in the following twitter conversation:

@anysroad: @pizzaclub_hb Can you please be open on Tuesdays too??

@pizzaclub_hb: @anysroad nope! 5 days a week is more than enough.. we need beauty sleep!

@anysroad: @pizzaclub_hb Fine, then I must come on Wednesday I guess...better give me a reallyyyy nice pizza though!

@pizzaclub_hb: @anysroad ps, we have a very nice Parma ham (not sure about the stallion).

It’s okay, Massimo, Parma ham it is. I’m not sure I would like a stallion on my pizza anyhow. Any Italians with advice on that: pizza con stallion or not??

P.S. In case you are shaking your head and don’t understand a word here, read this Of Italian stallions, hams and husbands for clarification.

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? 

Giraffe pizza speziale.

So my recent giraffe post sparked a chat between Thekla and me, which I simply have to share. It started just after I had posted the story on Facebook:

Thekla: Love it - I think you rock! And you deserve to be moved up the list!!!!
Me: Haha! Thanks - will tell her if she ever replies

Me:  Imagine it was true - sooo cute.

Me:  And the giraffe could play with the kittens too!

I think I have mentioned that I am kitten godmother to THE cutest kittens ever, right?

Thekla:  The kittens could take rides on Mowgli's back!

Thekla:  And we'd get them matching bandanas ‘cause they'd be friends!

Me:  Exactly! But we would have to teach them no clawing on his neck.

Me:  Yay!

Thekla: Otherwise it would cry big tears!

Thekla:  And need some extra filtered water to sooth its nerves.

Me:  Well, I am sure at your house that wouldn't be a problem with your fancy water filter.

There water filter is awesome, you would want to be a giraffe just so you can drink their filtered water.

Me:  And Mowgli would simply love your tub!

Thekla:  And I'm sure my ficus would do for leaves?

Me:  Probably

Me:  But I do think it may eat all the leaves off quite quickly - you know how baby animals are when they are growing.

Thekla:  You can take it to Sylvi's too then she has a few really big ficuses.

Sylvi is our aunt and she has a ficus that reaches all the way to the ceiling.

Thekla:  And Popey can also ride on its back.

Popey is their cat. Technically it is the neighbour’s cat, but he is allowed to come over and gets TLC, is allowed to sit at the dinner table and gets fed with left over prawn tails. This cat has the best life ever.

Me:  And Cesario would have a heart attack

Me:  “Sylva - the giraffe ate all the leaves from the ficus!”

Cesario is her husband. He is a professor and quite prim and proper and very lost without her.

Me:  I rather take him to Nikki - he can nibble on some vines - get used to the good stuff.

Thekla’s sister recently planted a little vineyard in her garden and the entire family is eagerly waiting for the 3 years to be already over, so we can harvest and make wine. We have discussed the problem that it may not be enough for the entire family and that even the immediate family drinks too much for the harvest to last more than one night.

Me:  Bonsai is overrated!

Thekla:  “arrs'ol giraffe... fuck!”

Uncle Cesario does have a potty mouth at times.

Thekla:  With Spanish accent.

Yes, with a Spanish accent. I think it’s his Latin temperament coming through when he curses.

Me:  Hehe.

Me:  Just imagine.

Me:  I wonder if he would get big enough so he could look into the pizza oven.

The two of them started the pizza madness in our family and have a special little oven on top of the regular oven where they bake their pizzas in.

Thekla:  We would make him a leaf pizza.

Me:  I think my yoga teacher has a friend who makes 'raw pizza' - that should do.

Me:  It's just bloody expensive.

Thekla:  I hear they are silly good though.

Thekla:  Wanna try one some time.

Me:  Yes, but not for the baby. As much as I believe kids/animals should get used to eating lots of different things, I don't think they need to be thaat spoilt.

Thekla:  http://www.ear thshine.co.za/ra w- pizza- takeaway- 2/

Me:  And do keep this thought for yourself at least today - Massimo might get offended!

Thekla:  We can ask them if they make petit giraffe friendly pizzas.

Me: Awe! Cute, man! Let’s ask them tonight!!

So in case you ever wonder what I do at work, read above. In case you are wondering what I’m doing tonight – asking Massimo if he will make my imaginary giraffe a pizza of course.

Nostalgia in a bottle.

When I came home for my first college vacation I had arranged with my brother that I could stay in his new girlfriend’s (now wife and mother of the great Jakob) flat for the two months. Xenia was mainly with him anyhow and the times she was home we got on fabulous. We had fun days together when we put mud packages on our thighs and wrapped them in cling wrap to fight cellulite (I even think there might be photographic proof hidden somewhere), and cooked rice, which was all we could manage when my brother wasn’t around and we wanted to be healthy. Usually we could be found on her brown 70s leather couch in the otherwise empty lounge though, eating Joey’s pizza, drinking red wine and talking about boys. The boy talk got a bit problematic at times as she was obviously talking about my brother. There are certain things a sister doesn’t need to and in fact should never know.

Xenia was great though and everything my 21 year old me ever wanted to be. She worked as a stylist back then, always wore really cool clothes, was happy to share her closet and wisdom and even hired me as her assistant to style a music video. We had a blast and even thought it was a cheesy song, everyone loved it in the summer of 2001 and it was played everywhere.

 

I guess it was at least catchy, because even weeks later I had the strong urge to adjust someone’s collar when it came on at a club.
The other thing we shared was the very girly past time activity of painting nails in each other’s company. Xenia introduced me to a L’Oreal colour which could best be described as orange/coral red and vaguely resembles the colour of this font. She would disagree as for her it was a distinct L’Oreal shade and irreplaceable once they discontinued it. I disagreed with her and have been on a mission ever since to proof her wrong. Over time his led to quite an assortment of nail polishes.

The picture doesn’t do the scenario justice as I forced myself to throw some old bottles out the other day.
A few weeks ago I took out my nail polish bag, apparently it is quite dark in there, and grabbed my newest purchase. Or so I thought. I was getting a bit suspicious when the paint came out gooey. That was a new nail polish?? Then I looked again and I realized that the new bottle was still in the baggy, untouched and wrapped. I lined all 7 bottles of red nail polish up and realized they all of the exact shade of orange/coral red. ALL THE SAME. I swear. It seems that whenever I buy nail polish, I am so thrilled when I think I find the colour being exactly like this old L’Oreal shade, that I don’t realize I have quite a few of them already.
With this knowledge I am not sure whether to shake my head at my own stupidity or smile at the nostalgia of it, because I still buy more. Either way Xenia started a trend on my nails, but was right – the original L’Oreal could not be matched as it went hand in hand with a beige couch and Joey’s pizza.

P.S. I think the mechanic, who looked at my car before I bought it, wanted to put on his sunglasses when he saw it.

Mechanic: That is a very very red car.
Me: I know. Isn’t it great? It matches my nail polish!
Mechanic (thought bubble above his head): Women!

White Tiger C

With White Tiger C I am taking some liberties with the definition of a white tiger. Actually quite some big liberties considering that White Tiger C is not striped, more grey/white than black/white and is in fact not even a tiger. But since I get to decide on content here, he is on my list and in fact leading it. Meet Julian!

He won’t complain much about being called a white tiger here. He is used to much worse name calling i.e. juli-poo or stink bear as our favourites. He is both, but also cute as a button.

I do frequently entertain Jakob and these days Ike with stories about ‘little baby Julian’ and they love it/him both. Their favourites are by far How little baby Julian jumped on the pizza and we still ate it and How little baby Julian pushed the dates wrapped in bacon off the table and we still ate them. I think we were just a hungry bunch.  Therefore none of us understood why people would refuse to eat rice at our home after seeing this picture:

I look at him and want to eat him too!