Lost In Translation

What makes a holiday a great one? Is it about lying prostrate on a sun-lounger beside a swimming pool that shimmers beneath the sun while liveried butlers bring you vibrant cocktails with garnishes as big as your hat? Or about an urban oasis full of laneways, people and fabulous shoes. Perhaps it’s as simple as quietly retreating to a snug cottage in the middle of nowhere terribly much, with picturesque countryside, a little town to pootle in that looks like a bigger version of a model village and a towering heap of books.

Holidaying in the middle of it all... New York, from Kevin and Amanda

Wherever you are, and how much (or often, how little) you get up to, it’s hard to have a wonderful holiday without there being good food. Even people not ruled by their stomachs let themselves luxuriate in the occasional visit to the dark gourmet side. For those who are already there, traversing the culinary peculiarities of a new location can be a highlight of their trip – or the whole purpose of it!

Or holidaying as far away from it all as possible... Iceland retreat, from Heartthrobs & Villains

I love that the unexpectedness that description on a menu, while (usually) accurate, will often be so vague (whether, sometimes, from their translation to English or, more often, my questionable and very limited translation from another language). This was first discovered in Hong Kong, when the unassuming description of “Chicken with vegetables” turned out to have a complexity, and a sauce, that were all the more of a delicious surprise after their humble introduction. And was then expanded on around Italy, and occasionally in France, on last year’s tour of gastronomic enlightenment honeymoon. Sometimes it was the simplest-dishes that had the deepest flavours. And some of the most homely breads and pastries were more than a match for their sophisticated cousins.

Antarctica - the cuisine's not much to write home about, I suspect. But think of the penguins! Photo via The Daily Green

The latest completely accurate but entirely suprising description is an upside down cake. It’s nothing like the familiar and delicious caramelised fruit offering...

Cake from Intricate Icings

This one seems more hell-bent on trying to defy the laws of physics. Intriguing at a just-because-you-can level, but I’m just not quite sure about it other than as a baking experiment. A very pretty baking experiment, nonetheless...

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Joining The Coven

One Fat Witch scratches the itch

Two Fat Witches are bad for the britches...

Chelsea Market was one of the very first places* I decided had to be visited in New York when pootling online for interesting distractions before the travels. That it was indoors in an old industrial building, open every day and had such a wide range of eating and ogling options sounded very promising indeed. And they have a place called the Fat Witch Bakery. Witch Which only sells brownies. Squee!

When I made it over to the market (sadly penguin-less, as my partner-in-crime had succumbed to the lurgy), it far surpassed my imaginings. The market moniker had given me an expectation of a set-up of temporary stalls and cobbled-together seating, likely heaving with people. The actuality was infinitely more civilised, far more comfortable, and very conducive to passing an enjoyable morning. Or afternoon, or any random time when food might be called for (or justified).

The ground floor of the renovated warehouse-style building that houses the Chelsea Market contains lots of small shops, virtually all of witch which (sorry, those Fat Witches made quite the impression) sell food. There is also a bookshop (for the mental equivalent of sniffing a coffee bean when overload sets in – although it does have a more than decent cookbook section), a kitchen equipment store and a kiosk selling magazines (so you have some reading material to go with your munching. And there’s an Anthropologie as well. All it needs is a bedroom, and I could move right in and never need to leave...

Picture: The compact haven that is the Fat Witch Bakery (as captured with the ubiquitous iPhone camera, sorry)

Food options run the gamut from green grocers with an intriguing mix of deli items, and purveyors of cheese, fish and all sorts of condiments through to take-out soup, salads, sandwiches, Italian, hot chocolate, and gelato, plus there are a couple of cafes. And then, there are the bakeries. Bakeries with bread and pastries. Bakeries with cupcakes, some in impossibly detailed shapes. Bakeries with sugar cookies (just sugar cookies). And... a bakery with brownies. It’s Fat Witch time!

The Fat Witch Bakery was started by Patricia Helding, who used to be a stockbroker before her love of brownies became a full time business. The Fat Witch name, according to the recently released Fat Witch cookbook, stems from one of Patricia’s friends, whose nickname on the trading floor was The Witch, and who joked that, if she kept eating so many brownies, she’d turn into a Fat Witch.

Witches - I love the packaging, too - practical and cute...

The compact store sells a wide assortment of witches, as well as witch mixes (to make your own, with minimal fuss and bother) and witch ends (the crispy crunchy bits that remain after cutting a pan into regular witches, but that are much loved by many as a snack in themselves, or for on ice cream...). Pre-packed witches are also available, wrapped in cellophane – this not only has the advantage of seeing what you’re getting and helping narrow down the choices, but is possibly the most convenient way to eat a brownie on the run. You just open one end, and slide the witch out to be eaten – no sticky fingers, hardly any crumbs (although that might also be a reflection of their wonderfully fudgy consistency) and so much less messy than fishing in a paper bag. The convenience of a pre-packaged witch added greatly to the enjoyment of an otherwise routinely aggravating plane trip back.

I chose a Caramel Witch for me, and couldn’t resist a Wicked Witch for the Other Penguin. His ability to devour packets of Mentos in a single sitting would prompt the minty brownie to be a good choice on any occasion, but the fact that I was about to hop in a cab and hurtle uptown to meet him at the Gershwin Theater to see Wicked sealed the deal. And it was topped with sparkly green sanding sugar. What more could you need?

Seen the show? Now, eat the brownie! (Not seen the show? The brownies are still great!)

The Witches were moist and fudgy without any oiliness or sticking-to-your-teeth-glugginess. The top had a faintly crackly texture which yielded a gentle crunch upon biting, before the delicious squishiness of the middle. There are people who like cakey brownies, people who like fudgy brownies and people who would secretly prefer to just eat the batter without showing it the oven. As a card-carrying member of the latter of these groups, this is one of the few brownies I’ve encountered that retains an element of the sneaky batter eating pleasure after being cooked (and without being very deliberately undercooked).

The Caramel Witch was more squidgy-centred as a result of its inner layer of melted caramel, rather than having a distinctly separate layer – its caramelliness** is easier to discern when compared to an Original Witch (not that that’s an excuse to eat two Witches in one sitting!). These features, when applied to the Wicked Witch, made one of my least favourite combinations with chocolate (try as I might, I just don’t get mint. With chocolate or without) into something that made me want another bite. Maybe that’s the definition of witchcraft...

* Found via We Heart New York
** I’ve now tried to write that down no less than five different ways, and every single one of them looks like a spelling mistake. Giving up, and going with the most obvious option. I’d harrumph, but Witches obviate the need for harrumphing.


Urbanspoon has more on the Fat Witches here, too...

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Eating In Midair

Before booking the flights for our trip, there was a lot of researching various airline options. Did they have individual entertainment systems? How much leg room was there? Was the service reputedly dreadful when Trip Advisor was consulted? Did they have disproportionate numbers of (eep!) mechanical issues? Would there be any of the budget left to spend on the rest of the trip if all of the above were addressed, and did it really matter, given that air travel is at best, reduced to an vague inconvenience that can hopefully be slept through?

Food on planes was not perhaps a major consideration (especially after that shopping list of other factors), probably owing to my fairly firm conviction that it is generally, at best, inoffensive and, at worst, inedible (and also an inconvenience that can hopefully be slept through, and definitely not woken for meals).

Eye mask: Annabel Trends via Mini Travel Mates

There’s something very reminiscent of school about air travel – you get told what you can do, where you can be, when you can eat. You get in trouble if you make inappropriate jokes. The food, also, perhaps has certain similarities with the kind of thing I imagine finding in boarding school and that requires the existence of tuck boxes and the occurrence of midnight feasts. Sorry, accidentally fell into an Enid Blyton book. Back now.

Picture: Koadmunkee on Flickr (not exactly what we had, but it gives an idea - and flying is quite enough without starting getting out the camera, as far as I'm concerned...)
And yet, so many airlines are convinced that the way to deliver “superior customer experiences” (because air travel is also riddled with management-speak, generally in PA announcements at volumes able to be clearly heard by those experiencing temporary deafness, and able to cause temporary deafness in those who previously didn’t have it) is to overdo the food. They hire name-brand chefs to consult on the menu, and everything comes with a range of salty, fatty and wholly unnecessary sauces which, despite widely varying descriptions, taste like they came out of exactly the same tin.

Whatever you do with the food, the physical limitations of being 35,000 feet above the ground are likely to mean that simpler is better. Gastronomic experiences are better savoured comfortably in a restaurant rather than delivered, re-heated, in a compartmentalised tray. Not that I’m biased, or anything.

What I hadn’t expected then, was that airline food could actually be... tasty. Singapore Airlines, all the way from Sydney to Rome, successfully proved me wrong. The food for those of us not at the pointy end was better than most of what I’ve come across in my (all too few) trips in business class with (ahem) other airlines. The menu actually described what was available (because deciding solely on the basis of “chicken or beef” without knowing any other information rarely is an indicator of an enjoyable meal ahead), and it. On these flights, the (barely audible) rattle of a trolley prompted a thought that there might be something quite enjoyable. The Other Penguin and I actually swapped half-way through our dinners to try out the other option, which proved equally tasty. The chicken fried rice served for supper has particularly stayed in mind as just the right sort of thing for the time of day and the circumstances. And, while I still firmly believe that an omelette has no place whatsoever where a tray table is involved, the Singapore Airlines ones bore a resemblance to actual eggs which was entirely new for meals in mid-air.

Picture: Singapore Airlines omelette by Koadmunkee on Flickr

And Swiss Air, which I’d expected to be the budget-and-efficient leg of the travels, also turned out to be a pleasant surprise. It took the approach I am convinced all airlines (or at least, all airlines that aren’t Singapore Airlines) should subscribe to, which is the simpler the better. Also, Swiss Air had Swiss chocolate. And when a transfer through Zurich involves: Arrive. Hurry though terminal to bus, glancing briefly at snow-capped mountains. Do not collect $200 or any chocolate., this is resoundingly a plus. And it had sandwiches, fresh ones with warm bread rolls and pastrami. Tasty enough that even pickles weren’t offputting.

Picture: Roo Reynolds on Flickr

The other flights on the trip were more the sort of a vague inconvenience to be slept through. Continental on the trans-Atlantic leg was unremarkable, with an unsurprising emphasis on the pre-packaged. Continental across the US was remarkable solely for being, in both penguins’ view, a far longer flight than appropriate for having a paid food service. On a JetStar flight for a couple of hours, it’s a good way to not be overcharged for what you don’t need. On a five and a half hour flight from New York to LA, it’s not much fun. Even less fun when you discover how bad the options to get anything to eat are at Terminal 2 at LAX.

Air New Zealand continued the theme of vague inconvenience (thankfully, it also continued to be slept through, although only because the Other Penguin stopped flight attendants from trying to wake me up for beverage service). And Air New Zealand was remarkable only for being so much less impressive than its reputation, and my previous flights with them, had prompted me to expect. Both in terms of food and service, it didn’t hold a candle to Singapore Airlines and was well below the how-does-it-compare-to-a-Lean-Cuisine? test which is how I tend to think of airline food.

If anybody’s still with this post by now, you’ve probably got a pretty good feeling of how flying from New York to Sydney feels. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you some chicken rice for the journey, but perhaps it’ll at least help send you to sleep! Would love to hear about any airline experiences you’ve had, and who you think makes eating in mid-air a bit less of a chore.

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Not An American Elephant

If you go to London... even the elephants wear Paul Smith stripes! 

Picture: London Daily Photo

Something about the wearing of Paul Smith, especially in London, makes me think of the Estelle / Kanye West song, American Boy...

“Dressed smart like a London bloke

Before he speak his suit bespoke”

If you venture out as far as the wilds of Northumberland, even the castles are snazzy – they wear balloons...

Picture: Eglingham Hall by Tim Walker (via Curved White)

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Travelling Light...

When somebody tells me I can’t (whether that’s in the sense of mustn’t, oughtn’t or - worst of all - wouldn’t be able to) do something, it’s like a red rag to a bull bolshie cow... Except it appears that an exception has at last been found...

Penguins do not travel light. Penguins like to make sure they are covered for every eventuality, unlikely occurrence, conceivable detour or one-in-a-million random requirement. And have a choice of outfits to wear. So, much as I’d love to be one of those light-footed types casually swinging a squishy leather overnight bag as I skip past the baggage carousel, with the fluorescent lights sparking off my golden hair, my silk scarf fluttering gaily in the frosty air-conditioning and a waggle of beagles left helplessly in thrall in my wake, this is unlikely to ever eventuate.

Picture: Fancy and Fondant on Etsy 

This one is, I think, far more appropriate for a waddling penguin huffling down the endless corridors common to all airports, trying not to drop a trail of extra magazines behind her and worrying that she forgot her cardigan and that she didn’t eat her apple and will thus be accosted by a boggle of beagles...

Picture: Fancy and Fondant on Etsy

This is when I also realise that penguins need bigger beaks... rather than small beaks that make a lot of noise...

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Travels With A Penguin

I can’t believe I’m getting quite so excited about the prospect of somewhere I’ve not been before as this... but I am...

Picture: 3 Lambs Graphics on Etsy

I’m not expecting the streets to be paved with gold or anything, but if this exchange is anything to go by, New York could have quite the burgeoning penguin population... there’s something a little Noo Yawk about it...

Picture: Frantic Meerkat on Etsy

I think a penguin in a mink coat trumps a turducken any day of the week (although not to eat, I hasten to add).

All of this has been prompted by the booking of flights yesterday. While this penguin isn't planning any mink coats any time soon... she is going to visit New York. Eeep!

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Préoccupante à l'avance

How far is too far in advance to be thinking about what to wear on holiday? Is it in any way less ludicrous to be contemplating what to wear in six months' time when it's (a) in Paris and (b) on my honeymoon? Didn't think it was, but not too bothered!

On the weekend, I found a cute little black t-shirt dress and, in the same place, a pale grey zip front dress which I think would be a fabulous layered light coat over the top. I tried it on and felt terribly Isabel Marant (at least, as much as it is possible to be on a sticky Saturday afternoon in Sydney)...

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