Lisa’s Blog

Costco: Go big or go home

Mon, 23 Jan 2012 12:02:34 +1100

There’s just something about buying bulk that gets the heart racing. If you’re supersizing fast food, it could just be heart palpitations from all the trans fats, but if you’re on a trip to a Costco warehouse, it’s go big or go home.

I first experienced the bulk buying madness that is Costco several years ago on a trip to Colorado. All I really remember after hopping straight off a flight from Sydney was lots of very bright lights and giant containers of M&M’s.

When Costco finally arrived in Sydney last year, there were scenes of chaos. More queues than at Ikea on a Saturday. So after waiting for the hype to die down, and for an event big enough to qualify a catering budget, I was ready to head out somewhere near Homebush and hit the shelves.

Apparently Sydney’s Costco is in Auburn, although the
website also says Lidcombe. Basically it’s somewhere
near Homebush, or if you’re coming from the city, drive
down Parramatta Rd for a while and you will not miss it.

Finding Costco is fairly easy but getting inside is more
difficult than cracking Fort Knox. You can make it into
the car park and up the lift without a security check but
that’s about it. Only members with picture id are allowed
inside – join up for one year for $60 or tag along with a
member for free. Every member is allowed two guests
but only they can do the purchasing. If you live in the
same household as a member and can prove it, you’re
also allowed in. Once you’re in, you’ve got to have your
membership card on you at all times. I’m a plus one on
the day I visit but am happy to stick close to my member.
Without her, I’d be lost in about two seconds.

Every time we manoeuvre our giant trolley around the aisles there’s something else exciting to see. I beg to be allowed to buy 3 litres of Hershey’s chocolate sauce or the box of couscous you’d need a cauldron to cook but if it’s not on the list, it’s not going in. Sadly that means the Salvatore Ferragamo handbag is out. And the $300,000 engagement ring. Bypassing the Sony flat screens and Canon cameras is another hard challenge but you’ve got to be strong if you’re shopping at Costco.

I’m buying for a hens weekend away so I can
actually use a 1kg box of baby spinach and 36
eggs but if you were a family of four, you’d be
stocking up for WW3. Maybe you’d be better off
looking at the hearing aids or small electrical
appliances. Or maybe you’re from America and
missing your Skippy peanut butter and Swiss
Miss hot chocolate? There really is something
for everyone at Costco…

Costco Sydney
17-21 Parramatta Rd
Lidcombe, NSW 2141
Phone: (02) 8756 4600
www.costo.com.au

Snow days

Fri, 23 Dec 2011 14:26:26 +1100

Along with hot air balloon rides and horse rides on the beach, dog sledding is one of those oh-so-romantic holiday experiences that can be full of surprises. Unfortunately that try-everything-once mentality has me bundled up against the cold at an ungodly hour, winding my way through Colorado’s Rocky Mountains.

Along with six other sleepy passengers, I’m trying to ignore the skidding of wheels as our van loops up an icy trail to the meeting point. Dog sledding doesn’t usually take place when it’s snowing so the crisp, cloudless blue-sky is a blessing but the bite in the air is at its worst and my cheek nearly gets stuck to the window when I doze off.

Suddenly a twisted yowl tears through the
air – I’m wide awake as the barking erupts.

We’ve arrived at the base camp of the Colorado
Mountain Mushers. The clearing is writhing with
animals. Black, brown, white and grey, Husky-coats,
Labrador smiles and sheep dog bandy legs – more
than seventy dogs are straining at their tethers.
Hardy mountain men mill around, their faces
covered to keep out the frost floating on the
morning air.

As the door bangs open, our driver flings out
a restraining arm:
“Always keep your hands and feet in the sled.
And make sure you pat the dogs.”

The last thing I want to do is approach those
snarling creatures. But the men stand around,
watching and waiting for us to get closer.

Great puffs of steam rise up from one beast
as his huffing grows louder. He surges towards
me and I’m on the ground.

Two minutes later, we’re quite intimately acquainted. Wiping doggy saliva off my jacket, I scramble to my feet and give my new friend a pat.

A shout from behind us brings the dog to attention. When the mushers walk up, it’s down to business.

We’re paired off and placed into sleds while the dogs start working themselves into a frenzy. The call from the Musher rings out and we launch forward. There’s barely time to notice the first turn on the trail before we’re careening towards it. The sled runners crunch across the snow as the dogs leap towards the turn. We hit the hard packed snow and sail upwards.

This time I’m making all the noise. A yell rips out before the breath is knocked out of me.

With a harsh call from our Musher, the dogs pull back and the sled thuds onto the icy snow. Without a break, the dogs scuttle around the next corner, anxious to stretch their legs.

A scream, no, a whoop of excitement prepares us for the trail ahead. The dogs seem to bunch up before pushing out onto the rim of an ice-covered lake.

Our musher cautions the dogs as we get close to
the edge. They’re berated like naughty children as
they bump the icy barrier.

Deeper into the mountains, the trail becomes
more pristine. Unmarred after last night’s snowfall,
the snow covers everything. Bumps and waves of
white ripple out to form an icy ocean either side of us.

Hills, dips and bends in the track break up periods
of eerie calm on the flat trails. As we move through
groves of black and white Aspens, there’s silence
apart from the heavy panting of the dogs and the
Mushers’ occasional calls.

The ride flies by as the scenery blurs and the icy
air stings my eyes. The dogs know when the
homeward leg begins. By the time the last sled
pulls back into base camp, most of the animals
are sinking onto the snow, their eyes lidded over
as their tongues loll in what can only be described
as a happy dog’s smile.

Mountain Mushers
http://mountainmusher.com

Black magic

Mon, 21 Nov 2011 13:11:46 +1100

Once a year hidden high in the Tuscan hills, the streets of Certaldo are given over to the dark side. Under cover of darkness thousands of people converge on the cobblestoned roads to revel in Mercantia, the annual International Festival of Street Theatre. For the past 23 years, the festival has been a big event for trolls, tricksters and grim reapers. We’ve managed to stumble across a world without wholesomeness but it’s all in good fun.

Each night as the sun goes down high above the city
walls the mayhem begins. A funicular ferries crowds
to the town’s peak. When we step off the carriage a
trumpet sounds and it’s a call to arms. Jazz players
get the buzz going, literally pulling people onto the
street to start dancing. The main road is one moving
mass of characters; capes, witches hats, ball gowns,
corsets, there’s no uniform but the energy moves
through us until we’re all in rhythm.

There are stalls selling everything from human-sized
gnome hats to stuffed toys shaped like skeletons.
I pass ghoulish creatures assembled in a very creepy
Cabbage Patch doll collection and resist picking up
a silver Cinderella pumpkin carriage pendant. I really
wish I’d bought that now.

It’s unlikely I’ll see anything, or anyone, like this ever again. Street theatre has a strong history in Italy and here the best, worst and most whimsical is on show. The festival’s website, when very roughly translated, seems to be a Manifesto of sorts. It describes the fourth dimension as ‘the space of our experiment, a theatre for magic.’ And that’s certainly what’s happening.

At one point high cackle cuts the air as a demon on stilts lunges past, his minions cracking their whips to clear the way. We turn one corner to find classical music and around the next stumble into a wedding ceremony for a bride and groom on stilts, dressed in drag.

Along the back wall of the city food stalls are set up for alfresco market style dining. Sangria is dolled out from giant urns, huge hocks of pig rolled out from smoking sheds and vats of homemade paella are going cheap. We grab a few plates of prosciutto and risotto and settle onto the ancient wall to watch the moving acts ramble by.

The festival runs every night for a week but you’d need as long to see each act and that’s without visiting the artisans. Clay makers slick back wet slop from a goblin’s head and alabaster carvers chip at giant slabs, strange shapes just starting to emerge from the grey stone.

Local specialties are on show too. A man sits in front of a basket heaped with black truffles, his elbows resting on locked boxes just in case you want to bulk buy some of his black gold. Sloppy gelato served from big metal drums drips off revellers’ chins but they’re careful to keep the mess away from the fungi.

During the day sunlight casts a rosy glow on Certaldo. With all the charm of neighbouring San Gimignano, it’s got that Tuscan touch without the tourist prices. During Mercantia exploring the town is about people watching. At witching hour, when the kids have been sent to bed, the party really begins. Fuelled by sangria and the electric energy of the night, the crowd surges towards the clock tower. Jazz bands station themselves along the route, jamming, jumping and hitting high notes while herding everyone along. We dance our way to the highest point of the town, the clock tower looming overhead. I can’t hear a word of the bawdy performance on the stage but the reactions around me are enough. Peering past pointed hats, around men in suits on stilts, the best theatre in the world is all around me.

The Mercantia Festival takes place in Summer every year.
For more information, see www.mercantiacertaldo.it/

A Foodie Fashion Week

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 04:36:17 +1000

It’s London Fashion Week, and if you don’t have front row seats, don’t worry. I’ve found the perfect way to find out the hottest looks for this season. The Berkeley Hotel’s Pret-a-Portea – a fashionista’s afternoon tea – is a seasonal showcase of the latest runway looks.

Each season the chefs recreate signature bags, clothes,
shoes and even sunglasses in cookie, cake and chocolate
form. Fashion and food. Who would have thought?

On a recent trip to London, I was lucky enough to spend
an entire afternoon sequestered in the Berkeley’s leather
armchairs, working my way through the 2011
Spring/Summer Collection.

When the tea stand is put down on the table, there’s
only one of each item. Like a Prada sample sale, you’re
readying your forks to fight it out over the best bites.
Luckily, there’s more in stock and the friendly staff will
keep replenishing the plates until you call it a day.

We start with savouries. This is definitely not a traditional
afternoon tea – forget scones and cream – but there’s
still crustless cucumber sandwiches. I prefer spoonfuls
of quinoa and artichoke and bite sized crab sushi.

The real show stoppers are the desserts. Paraded on
three tiers of Paul Smith’s psychedelic Thomas Goode
crockery, the sweets are almost too cute to eat. We’re
guided through the “collection” by a waiter. First there’s
the adorable Miu Miu vanilla bikini biscuit – a buttery
take on sailor chic swimwear. Tom Ford’s light pink
chiffon summer dress even comes with sparkly silver
cuffs – entirely edible of course. The Stella McCartney
citrus print dress is given new life as a zesty mousse
but you can’t go past Jil Sander sunglasses and crème
de menthe.

As usual Marc Jacobs is bold and beautiful – an intense
raspberry and lychee cream “jumpsuit” is wrapped up in
a dark chocolate flower belt. Shoe lovers will shovel
down the Roger Vivier black and white layer cake but
it turns out I’m a Chloe girl, devouring a gold chocolate
clutch with crunchy praline.

This season’s hottest look has to be Victoria Beckham’s
tote – the tiny, peach-flavoured bag is perfect right down
to the crocodile print. And who could forget Tony Burch’s
strawberry and rhubarb bavarois dress with its big,
gold button.

Like any designer goods, there is a price tag. Pret-a-Portea
starts at 36.50 pounds, add a glass of Laurent Perrier
Champagne and it’s 46.50 pounds or really indulge with
Couture Champagne for 53 pounds.

Pret-a-Portea is served daily, 1-5.30pm
The Berkeley Hotel
Wilton Place
Knightsbridge
SW1X 7RL
+44 (0) 20 7235 6000

Café Cre Asion

Mon, 8 Aug 2011 14:39:56 +1000

Hiding in a concrete dead zone between Central Station and Hyde Park is Café Cre Asion. This tiny hole-in-the-wall cafe ticks all the boxes for a laneway eatery.
Hard to find – tucked in the elbow join of Goulburn St and Wentworth Avenue in Sydney’s CBD.
Exclusive – the eight stools are hotly contested property.
Minuscule – just 22sqm of space, too tight to spread out your Saturday broadsheet.
And way too cool for school – the entire place could be lifted straight from the page of an Ikea catalogue.

Yu Sasaki is the chef behind the counter, his shy, reserved manner a counterpoint to the brightly coloured macarons taking up all the space in the display cabinet.

Not another macaron café we say? Cre Asion gets away with the bite sized treats because until now city folk had been forced to schlep it to Adriano Zumbo’s in Balmain or Manly and Baroque in The Rocks for their macaron fix. When I met up with a friend for lunch last week, she came with a list of orders to take back to her CBD office.

They had to wait until we got sticky munching Jamon Serrano and Heidi Farm gruyere toasties ($8), served on sourdough baked fresh in house. The crusty, thick cut bread slathered in gooey gruyere reminds me of rustic lunches in Europe.

It’s nice to follow up the hearty meal with a dainty macaron ($2.70 each) Sasaki has perfected. Green tea, blood orange, strawberry milk and yuzu are some of bold flavours he produces, along with old favourites salted caramel, vanilla, coffee and pistachio. Top on my list is Dear Chris, a homage to Christine Manfield and her deconstructed Golden Gaytime dessert. The crunchy chocolate and hazelnut praline combination shows off the skills Sasaki gleaned in two years in the Universal kitchen. Given his time with Manfield, I’m not surprised by Sasaki’s commitment to pulling out flavours and letting them speak for themselves.

He celebrates his home town too – with
Sencha, green and herbal teas sourced from
Shimane Prefecture on the Japanese coast.

A commitment to real ingredients isn’t
restrained to macarons. It’s evident in bottles
of tap water filtered with chunky charcoal
sticks and cups scented by sprigs of rosemary.

Café Cre Asion
21 Alberta St Surry Hills
creasionmacaron.com

What’s a laneway cafe without a bit of guerilla knitting?