Everyone has at least one form of housework they really despise. Not the general feeling of annoyance related to cleaning tasks; I mean really, actively loathing a particular chore. For me, this is the cleaning the floors. I will scrub the shower, wash the clothes and quite cheerfully plunge my hand into soapy dishwater (sans washing up gloves. Gloves are for nancies). But sweeping? Mopping? Do I HAVE TO????
Even vacuuming. Most people, forced into household tasks, will jump onto the vacuuming. Not me. The only reason I vacuum at all is because we have a particularly cool vacuum cleaner with lots of flashy lights and super strong suck function.
In every house I have lived, it has been someone else's job to clean the floor. I will take on all sorts of disgusting jobs, such as cleaning the toilet and the grouting in the shower, as long as it is not my job to mop. In our present house, it's normally Nick's job, as he's more sensitive to the dust than I (oh, dusting, that's another job I hate. WHY do people give nick-nacks? They serve no purpose EXCEPT TO COLLECT DUST! I hate ornaments almost as much as I hate mopping).
Having grudgingly noticed the increasing disgrace into which my house has sunk since Nick went away last week, I set aside today for cleaning. Not that I got anything done before 3pm. Far more important to finish my book, watch a few episodes of 'Love my Way' while eating toast and drinking tea. At this point I dressed myself in clothes far too tragic to be seen by the general public. After bashing out a few emails, I got myself organised and somewhat motivated, and am proud to announce that (punctuated by stints reading the paper, contacting schools, eating popcorn (gosh those microwave bags of popcorn are rip offs. What kind of idiot would pay $1.50 for 10cents worth of popcorn kernels? Oh yeah, me...) and looking for new jobs) I have swept, mopped and/ or vacuumed every room in the house. Except my bedroom, that's got too many clothes arranged artfully upon the floor...
Monday, July 30, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Heaven on Burke Rd
Last night I died and went to Naomi-heaven. Nick and I attended a Winter Indulgence Evening at Koko Black, in Camberwell, which was AWESOME.
Koko Black founder Shane Hills originally began life as a rock-candy devotee. Having joined the throngs engrossed by the sweet making demonstrations at rock candy store Suga, Shane opened his own branch of Suga at Chadstone. After a few years of success, he turned his thoughts to other areas of confectionery, and specifically a sweet traditionally more popular than rock candy; chocolate. He spent a long time pondering his ultimate chocolate experience, and through training, tasting and searching the world for master chocolatiers, Shane set out to create that ultimate experience.
Koko Black stores aim for a level of quality in their products (resulting in some of the most exquisite hot chocolate available in Melbourne). This standard is raised in the decor and general ambience of the stores, which create a sense of an old style salon. Sinking into a chocolate coloured leather chair, gazing out onto picturesque Royal Arcade, or simply admiring art nouveau inspired wallpaper evokes a sense of luxury and indulgence, raising the experience of a drink at Koko Black well above a latte at your local.
The Winter Evening of Chocolate maintained a friendly, casual atmosphere, with questions and jokes encouraged, so long as they did not undermine the real focus of the night; chocolate. Attendees were generally chocolate aficionados, who appreciated the experience of being guided through a tasting session of high quality chocolate blends, and viewing and assisting in the process of hand making chocolates.
Koko Black's 44% blend is a true chocolate lover's perfect milk chocolate. With a higher percentage of cocoa mass than many commercial milk chocolate blends, the 44% affords a fuller bodied taste and an extra smoothness, capped with a bittersweet tinge of an aftertaste.
The 60% sports more of a 'snap' than the milk blend, and is less likely to melt in the mouth. With a proportion of more cocoa mass than cocoa butter, this blend is close to the blend of many standard dark chocolates available on the shelf, but the high quality of the ingredients is emphasised in the smoothness of the chocolate as it dissolves.
The 74% blend revels in it's bittersweet shock as it enters the mouth, melting to produce a full bodied roasted bean aftertaste which lingers well after the chocolate has dissolved. For me, this is fairly perfect in what I look for in a dark chocolate; the heavy cocoa mass is noticeably present in the bitterness of the initial taste, but the rich aroma retained in the mouth balances any desire for a sweeter flavour.
The evening continued with demonstrations of bailey's truffles, piped by the attendees, highly alcoholic, addictive and delicious. After decorating individualised blocks of 44% to take home with us, it was time to indulge in a Koko Black high tea; hot chocolate served with an ice-cream or mousse martini. Koko Black make all their own ice creams, mousses and sauces. The chocolate mousse martini was topped with crunchy hazelnuts roasted by the KB kitchens, while the delicious vanilla bean ice cream was heightened by the rich hand made caramel sauce.
Prior to this evening, I'd enjoyed KB's hot chocolate (made from melted chocolate, not powder) and their excellent coffee, but this was my first chance to try one of their chocolate spice blends. The cinnamon blend balanced perfectly the bitter and sweet elements of both cinnamon and chocolate, resulting in a sweet flavour which was not overpowering. The standout drink for me was the chili chocolate, b far the best I have tried anywhere. The chili is visible on top of the foam as well as in the reddish tinge to the depths of the drink, but most noticeable as a kick to the back of the throat. The sweetness of the initial chocolate mouthful is boosted by the jolt of the chili, and ensures the chocolate does not overpower in sweetness.
Koko Black founder Shane Hills originally began life as a rock-candy devotee. Having joined the throngs engrossed by the sweet making demonstrations at rock candy store Suga, Shane opened his own branch of Suga at Chadstone. After a few years of success, he turned his thoughts to other areas of confectionery, and specifically a sweet traditionally more popular than rock candy; chocolate. He spent a long time pondering his ultimate chocolate experience, and through training, tasting and searching the world for master chocolatiers, Shane set out to create that ultimate experience.
Koko Black stores aim for a level of quality in their products (resulting in some of the most exquisite hot chocolate available in Melbourne). This standard is raised in the decor and general ambience of the stores, which create a sense of an old style salon. Sinking into a chocolate coloured leather chair, gazing out onto picturesque Royal Arcade, or simply admiring art nouveau inspired wallpaper evokes a sense of luxury and indulgence, raising the experience of a drink at Koko Black well above a latte at your local.
The Winter Evening of Chocolate maintained a friendly, casual atmosphere, with questions and jokes encouraged, so long as they did not undermine the real focus of the night; chocolate. Attendees were generally chocolate aficionados, who appreciated the experience of being guided through a tasting session of high quality chocolate blends, and viewing and assisting in the process of hand making chocolates.
Koko Black's 44% blend is a true chocolate lover's perfect milk chocolate. With a higher percentage of cocoa mass than many commercial milk chocolate blends, the 44% affords a fuller bodied taste and an extra smoothness, capped with a bittersweet tinge of an aftertaste.
The 60% sports more of a 'snap' than the milk blend, and is less likely to melt in the mouth. With a proportion of more cocoa mass than cocoa butter, this blend is close to the blend of many standard dark chocolates available on the shelf, but the high quality of the ingredients is emphasised in the smoothness of the chocolate as it dissolves.
The 74% blend revels in it's bittersweet shock as it enters the mouth, melting to produce a full bodied roasted bean aftertaste which lingers well after the chocolate has dissolved. For me, this is fairly perfect in what I look for in a dark chocolate; the heavy cocoa mass is noticeably present in the bitterness of the initial taste, but the rich aroma retained in the mouth balances any desire for a sweeter flavour.
The evening continued with demonstrations of bailey's truffles, piped by the attendees, highly alcoholic, addictive and delicious. After decorating individualised blocks of 44% to take home with us, it was time to indulge in a Koko Black high tea; hot chocolate served with an ice-cream or mousse martini. Koko Black make all their own ice creams, mousses and sauces. The chocolate mousse martini was topped with crunchy hazelnuts roasted by the KB kitchens, while the delicious vanilla bean ice cream was heightened by the rich hand made caramel sauce.
Prior to this evening, I'd enjoyed KB's hot chocolate (made from melted chocolate, not powder) and their excellent coffee, but this was my first chance to try one of their chocolate spice blends. The cinnamon blend balanced perfectly the bitter and sweet elements of both cinnamon and chocolate, resulting in a sweet flavour which was not overpowering. The standout drink for me was the chili chocolate, b far the best I have tried anywhere. The chili is visible on top of the foam as well as in the reddish tinge to the depths of the drink, but most noticeable as a kick to the back of the throat. The sweetness of the initial chocolate mouthful is boosted by the jolt of the chili, and ensures the chocolate does not overpower in sweetness.
The evening was a huge success (and by success I mean I ate stacks of yummy chocolates, AND got to take some home!). If this is what is meant by 'death by chocolate' I'm in.
P.S. I wrote this last week, I just hadn't found a way to finish it! Slack, much. I need some chocolate to console myself...
Friday, July 06, 2007
Home among the gum trees
Three and a half days after I arrived back in Melbourne, I embarked upon a three hour drive. In a manual van (making the jet-lagged trip that much more complicated). A van which does not belong to me (making the prospect of a jet-lag induced accident that much scarier). Work had advised that the only shift available pre-school holidays was a three day stint in Echuca. My credit card urged me to take the job. My credit card is wise, and so I heeded its advice.
The trip up was tough. Echuca isn't anywhere near as far as I thought it was, but it could have been on another planet. One urgent coffee stop, three frantic map checks and a U-turn later, I arrived at my B&B in the middle of the country. To quote my sister, "I hate the country". Having spent a few years growing up surrounded by dairy farms, paddocks (with high snake potential), hay sheds (with higher snake potential), chook sheds (with definite snakes. I really don't like snakes) and far more than openness and *quiet* than I am comfortable with, we hold somewhat of an aversion to the country. Sure, it's nice to visit, and I like the way drivers always wave, even if they don't know you, but fairly quickly I get sick of it, and miss the burbs.
Having spent eleven weeks out of Australia, though, and of course comparing it with the various European landscapes through which I was trekking, I found visiting the country really quite soothing. I mean, it didn't hurt that I was FORCED to recuperate from jet lag in a town with little else to do but eat and chill out, and get paid for it. But it was more than that. In Europe, I kept trying to put a finger on why our country-side is different to the European countryside. I came to the conclusion that ours was just bigger. European country areas are fairly strictly delineated, field after carefully bordered field. A Belgian farmer might have a coronary at the sight of an Australian paddock stretching off into the distance.
But that still wasn't it. It wasn't until sunset that it struck me; one thing I had really missed, and a defining aspect of our countryside, are the gum trees. I love the smell, the mottled bark, the feuding birds in the high branches. But my favourite thing about the gum tree is its silhouette. Stark against a lurid Australian country sunset, or ghostly in the early morning fog (and my goodness it was cold and foggy in the country. Brrr), this is an essential image of home for me. Even though I don't identify with the countryside, I feel grounded by gum trees. This might be why I feel so overwhelmed by Melbourne patriotism (is it patriotism if you're thinking of a city rather than a country?) when I near the Yarra; there are gumtrees lining the Yarra all the way from the city to the valley. For me, it's a sign of home. And it's nice to be back.
The trip up was tough. Echuca isn't anywhere near as far as I thought it was, but it could have been on another planet. One urgent coffee stop, three frantic map checks and a U-turn later, I arrived at my B&B in the middle of the country. To quote my sister, "I hate the country". Having spent a few years growing up surrounded by dairy farms, paddocks (with high snake potential), hay sheds (with higher snake potential), chook sheds (with definite snakes. I really don't like snakes) and far more than openness and *quiet* than I am comfortable with, we hold somewhat of an aversion to the country. Sure, it's nice to visit, and I like the way drivers always wave, even if they don't know you, but fairly quickly I get sick of it, and miss the burbs.
Having spent eleven weeks out of Australia, though, and of course comparing it with the various European landscapes through which I was trekking, I found visiting the country really quite soothing. I mean, it didn't hurt that I was FORCED to recuperate from jet lag in a town with little else to do but eat and chill out, and get paid for it. But it was more than that. In Europe, I kept trying to put a finger on why our country-side is different to the European countryside. I came to the conclusion that ours was just bigger. European country areas are fairly strictly delineated, field after carefully bordered field. A Belgian farmer might have a coronary at the sight of an Australian paddock stretching off into the distance.
But that still wasn't it. It wasn't until sunset that it struck me; one thing I had really missed, and a defining aspect of our countryside, are the gum trees. I love the smell, the mottled bark, the feuding birds in the high branches. But my favourite thing about the gum tree is its silhouette. Stark against a lurid Australian country sunset, or ghostly in the early morning fog (and my goodness it was cold and foggy in the country. Brrr), this is an essential image of home for me. Even though I don't identify with the countryside, I feel grounded by gum trees. This might be why I feel so overwhelmed by Melbourne patriotism (is it patriotism if you're thinking of a city rather than a country?) when I near the Yarra; there are gumtrees lining the Yarra all the way from the city to the valley. For me, it's a sign of home. And it's nice to be back.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Czech, Kafka, Kundera
Czech writers share certain similarities in their work. Take the two most famous Czech writers, Franz Kafka (Metamorphosis) and Milan Kundera (The Incredible Lightness of Being). Kafka's work is dark, philosophical and, well, kinda weird but beautiful; in 'Metamorphosis' he writes about a man transformed into a cockroach in his sleep. Kundera's intensely beautiful work is philosophical, often gloomy and self reflective and, well, weird; in 'Identity' he ponders whether someone loses their identity if you fail to recognise them; in 'The Incredible Lightness of Being' he tackles the topic of Being through an exploration of (mostly adulterous) relationships.
Having visited the Czech Republic, I know understand why these writers share such commonalities. Czech is a dark, gloomy, weird and intensely beautiful place, which inspires philosophical introspection.
Dark and Gloomy: Czech architecture is the stuff of vampire movies. It's a combination of Art Nouveau, pointed spires, castles and water stained, dark stone. Unlike neighbouring countries, Czech doesn't seem to have suffered too badly from WWII bombings, thus Praha evokes an older era; one in which people believe in horrors and superstitions. The castle looming on the other side of the river looks as though it could house all sorts of nasty creatures, while the church dominating Wenceslas square has the aura of a stern, Gothic watchtower. Doors and windows sport carved details, such as screaming faces within fanged mouths, or rats climbing frames. The blackened statues of the Charles Bridge bear testimony to the climate of Praha- rainy. A sudden and unbelievably intense downpour seems standard for Czech.
Weird: Kutna Hora, an hour out of Praha, is visited for its one tourist attraction. No, I don't mean the exhibition at the cigarette manufacturer. Kutna Hora is home to an ossuary; a bone church. Following massive deaths from the plague, the area had far more bodies than they could bury. So they didn't. Instead the bones were cleaned and used to create decoration inside the church. Yes, decoration. Some of the bones (mostly skulls and femurs) were piled into four enormous pyramids, with candles burning within. Others were used for to more delicate decoration: a coat of arms sporting a bird (made of human bones) pecking the eye out of a skull; crosses reminiscent of pirate flags; the signature of the 'artist'; and a giant candelabra, which dominates the interior of the building and uses every bone in the human body. Gross. But really, really cool.
Introspective: Czech Republic, Czechoslovakia, Bohemia. Whatever you choose to call the area, it is one which has been fought over and dominated by many powers throughout history. Czech Bohemia was part of the Austrian Empire for ages, despite attempts to gain Independence. Once the Empire fell, Czechoslovakia put up little resistance to the invading German army, having learned from failed war efforts in the past. This passivity led to their submission to the Soviet Union, and resulted in Czechoslovakia being hidden behind the Communist Iron Curtain for quite some time. Now liberated, Czech Republic still bears the philosophical and self-reflective air inspired by the dark years of oppression, and the weight of a cloud-heavy sky bearing upon grim Gothic buildings. When looking around can be dangerous or terrifying, people are often led to look within themselves, and their fellow man.
Beautiful: Everywhere you look in Praha, an amazing sight greets your eyes. It might be the sparkle and gleam of a Swarovski store, the modern counterpart of traditional Bohemian crystal-smiths. It might be the sun setting over the river, and setting the spires of the churches, castles, bridge gates alight. It might be the intricate detail in a building only just noticed, although you've passed it frequently. Despite attempts to tread them down, the Czech's have stubbornly clung to their language, their traditions, their identity, and have created beauty reflective of their world. Their world may have metamorphosed for a time into something dark and unpleasant, but it's clear that here is a nation unwilling to give up on the incredible lightness of being.
Having visited the Czech Republic, I know understand why these writers share such commonalities. Czech is a dark, gloomy, weird and intensely beautiful place, which inspires philosophical introspection.
Dark and Gloomy: Czech architecture is the stuff of vampire movies. It's a combination of Art Nouveau, pointed spires, castles and water stained, dark stone. Unlike neighbouring countries, Czech doesn't seem to have suffered too badly from WWII bombings, thus Praha evokes an older era; one in which people believe in horrors and superstitions. The castle looming on the other side of the river looks as though it could house all sorts of nasty creatures, while the church dominating Wenceslas square has the aura of a stern, Gothic watchtower. Doors and windows sport carved details, such as screaming faces within fanged mouths, or rats climbing frames. The blackened statues of the Charles Bridge bear testimony to the climate of Praha- rainy. A sudden and unbelievably intense downpour seems standard for Czech.
Weird: Kutna Hora, an hour out of Praha, is visited for its one tourist attraction. No, I don't mean the exhibition at the cigarette manufacturer. Kutna Hora is home to an ossuary; a bone church. Following massive deaths from the plague, the area had far more bodies than they could bury. So they didn't. Instead the bones were cleaned and used to create decoration inside the church. Yes, decoration. Some of the bones (mostly skulls and femurs) were piled into four enormous pyramids, with candles burning within. Others were used for to more delicate decoration: a coat of arms sporting a bird (made of human bones) pecking the eye out of a skull; crosses reminiscent of pirate flags; the signature of the 'artist'; and a giant candelabra, which dominates the interior of the building and uses every bone in the human body. Gross. But really, really cool.
Introspective: Czech Republic, Czechoslovakia, Bohemia. Whatever you choose to call the area, it is one which has been fought over and dominated by many powers throughout history. Czech Bohemia was part of the Austrian Empire for ages, despite attempts to gain Independence. Once the Empire fell, Czechoslovakia put up little resistance to the invading German army, having learned from failed war efforts in the past. This passivity led to their submission to the Soviet Union, and resulted in Czechoslovakia being hidden behind the Communist Iron Curtain for quite some time. Now liberated, Czech Republic still bears the philosophical and self-reflective air inspired by the dark years of oppression, and the weight of a cloud-heavy sky bearing upon grim Gothic buildings. When looking around can be dangerous or terrifying, people are often led to look within themselves, and their fellow man.
Beautiful: Everywhere you look in Praha, an amazing sight greets your eyes. It might be the sparkle and gleam of a Swarovski store, the modern counterpart of traditional Bohemian crystal-smiths. It might be the sun setting over the river, and setting the spires of the churches, castles, bridge gates alight. It might be the intricate detail in a building only just noticed, although you've passed it frequently. Despite attempts to tread them down, the Czech's have stubbornly clung to their language, their traditions, their identity, and have created beauty reflective of their world. Their world may have metamorphosed for a time into something dark and unpleasant, but it's clear that here is a nation unwilling to give up on the incredible lightness of being.
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