Nutella: Are you in or out?

It’s gotta be said, I’m in.  I don’t care for it at all on bread, but as a fall back emergency chocolate supply, it’s a winner.  Just dip your finger in (or teaspoon, for the more cultured among us) and eat.  Craving averted.

So perhaps you can imagine my joy at finding not one, but two Nutella recipes floating around the soc’s this week, and both are dead easy.

Nutella Chocolate Mousse

1.  Chuck a container of cream in a bowl and beat until it is frothy. (I used 300mls)

2.  Blend in half that amount of Nutella. (I used 150g)

3.  Pour into some kind of glass, ramekin or other thingy and refrigerate overnight.  I did it for about 4hrs because: mousse.

Oh my goodness, and sweet baby cheeses, this mousse is tres fantastique (possibly a fancy foreign lingo)

Nutella Cupcakes (kinda like brownies I reckon)

1.  Three ingredients:  280g Nutella, 60g plain flour and 2 eggs.

2.  Blend ’em together

3.  Spoon into small patty pans and bake at 160degrees for a while.  I did about 15mins

Oh hello sweet little chocolatey snacks… yes I do think I will have two… especially good for the cupcak-ily challenged ones like my own self, whose cupcakes usually end up as pretty good door-stops

And there you have it.  Two unreal recipes to get your chocolate on, without even trying.  Don’t say I never give you anything.  See you on MKR or some other cooking show.  As you can tell, cooking is my life and my passion.

*Actually, I use Nutino.  Because it’s about a buck fifty cheaper for the large jar, and I can’t tell the difference.  Sorry Nutella.  Maybe one day we shall meet again when you are on special.

What is your go-to choccie fix?

Last Friday we left The Shire to head over to the Sunny Coast hinterland foothills, to the cute little town of Palmwoods.

Gulp.

I haven’t been to Palmwoods since Hayls passed away last year, and quite frankly, I thought I might live the rest of my days without ever facing up to the ‘woods.  Palmwoods IS Hayley, as far as I am concerned.  I had never been there prior to Hayls opening her first cafe, Sister, there and everything in the street just smacks of her.

In the early days of the cafe I used to spend a fair bit of time there, first in offering moral support (sitting on my arse) whilst Ricki did pretty much everything in the fit out, from painting the front counter, to sourcing furniture and doing the artwork for the walls, and then later, as a ‘bum on a seat’ to make the place look busy (so, still sitting on my arse).

Then Ricki died, and my guts went inside-out for a while.  Eventually I went back, and Sister was a marker for lots of things in our lives.  We went there for work dinners, christmas celebrations, lunches with visitors, bonfire parties in the garden next door (which is now a beer garden), and cuppas at the place Jo and John and Hayls shared above the garage.  The night Coco was diagnosed with her PKD we spent the time waiting for blood results at the cafe.  Palmwoods has seen me laugh and cry more than any place I know.

As we took the turn off I wished with all my bits to keep on driving, and instead to spend some quality time with the tragedy that is the Big Pineapple.  We didn’t.  My throat got all hot and sore at the back, like it does when I’m not letting the cries out.

Nath parked MissXtrailia2013 right out the front of The Lane, so there was no more avoiding it.  We were in Palmy.  And Hayls was everywhere and all around me like I knew she would be.  Except she wasn’t.  And my throat went hot again.

We were meeting John and Olive so I guess if they could be here, if they could immerse themselves in a project that has Hayley written all over it, then I guessed I shouldcouldwould too.

Renae’s Pantry and The Lane are amazing.  In a revelation that will shock, I have to tell you, I don’t have the words to describe what an amazing job the Sirl family have done.  In a tiny space and a disused area they have created a bubbling, bumping place to overflow your stomach and your soul with nourishment.  You can do your food shop with Renae, who probably has gorgeous baby Frankie on her chest, you can chat with Benno about the workings of the world, you can get your delish mexican-inspired dinner from Carolyn and the ever smiling Louisa or you can just sit back with your buddies with a beer and listen to some tunes.

The Pantry.. Even the sign is cool

Tasty, locally grown food…. Couldn’t BE fresher

The punters starting to arrive as the sun sets..

Part One of Renae’s Pantry Manifesto

I didn’t want to go there, but pretty soon I didn’t want to leave.  Renae said to me that Hayley pushed her to do something like this, and that she is all around.  I don’t know about that, but I do know that she would have loved everything about The Lane and the Pantry.  The integrity, the quality of the produce, the creation of such a vibrant, lively, happy place.   All a bit like her really.

Gotta go.  My throat is hurting again.

Love your work guys.

All the rest of you: go there, I don’t know what’s better: the food, the company, the shopping or the wonderful sense of being part of an idea who’s time has come.

….From The Ashers xx

One day, not so long ago my friends and I decided we needed a “Work Christmas Party Function”.  They seemed to be all the rage at the time- everyone was having them.  Probably because it was Christmas.  So we booked ourselves into The Long Apron up at Montville, because, we is well fancy.

Fancy Chick Selfie

If you’ve bothered to read this far, I’m guessing you haven’t been to the Longy, as I like to call it, or you would have flicked on by, knowing how glowing and flowing this little essay would be.  So click onto the linky if you like, or take it from me: It’s in Montville, and it’s worth the trip.  It’s bloody beautiful.

Now make no mistake, I am no food reviewer, and if we are to be completely honest here, and I think we usually are, I must state from the outset that I don’t know my Guinea Fowl from my Guiness, but I do know a bloody good deal when I see one, and “McWilliams Mount Pleasant Wine Lunch” for one hundred and twenty five smackers sounded like a beauty.

****

Rose and I arrived unfashionably early (and I mean really unfashionably- they were still clearing out the wedding from the night before) because: Queensland and no daylight saving, and also, the evil geniuses both had parties to attend, and there was not a snowballs chance that we were driving ourselves to a WINE LUNCH.  I think Nath shoved us out whilst MissXtralia2013 was still moving, such was his haste to: 1.Get Unit One to the first party 2.Get Unit Two to the second party 3.Get off the range and back to the coast before he changed his mind and sold his kids for kindling and joined our lunch.  Such was the magnificence of the setting.

A fancy front-of-house lady showed us to the library, and brought us tea to get us out of her way help us settle in.  Bonus.

So we lounged on the lounges, as was befitting for ladies of our standing.

The Long Table at the Longy

After a time, the other guests started to arrive, and we were invited to join them on the lawn, with some NV Champagne Taittinger Brut Reserve.  I said, “That champi has my name on it”, and then wrote it with spit on the fog on the side of my cold glass to  prove it.  See: fancy.

The Taitti

It was a bit of a wait, so there was more champi, and then we were seated and there was something yummy to eat.  I don’t know what it was, but some of it was butter, but not just any butter.  Some kind of crazy butter that was so delicious that I surreptitiously ate it like cheese when no-one was looking.

Then there was a speech by the very cute winemaker who I suspect might be named Phil, and the chef, who’s name may or may not have been Cameron (sorry maybe-Cameron) and the chef’s helper, and did I mention there was champi?  They talked us through the wines and the food, and it was all very lovely and civilised and very interesting and then guess what?  More wine.   This time, TWO: Mount Pleasant Lovedale Semillon and Leontine Chardonnay.  The Lovedale was awesome, but frankly the Chardy was bit shit.  It was a bit nicer with the trout, but still, they can keep that one for the proper wine peeps.  “Gimme the Goodlovin’ “, I said, so they did, and all was well.

Lightly cured king trout, dill, pickled potato and cucumber, rye

I was sad to say goodbye to the crispy stuff, but it was onto the Guinea Fowl, and Lord knows I’d never match that with a white, so we had a Mount Henry Shiraz Pinot and then…. I must say here, I do love a good story, and there was a good story behind the Old Hill, which eludes me now, but suffice to say it was about a Paddock and a Hill and old vines.  I think.  And the old vines were apparently good ole vines.  Amazingly, the wine was then called Mount Pleasant Old Paddock and Old Hill Shiraz.

Butter poached Guinea fowl, mushroom, artichoke, fried brown rice… Not as arty on the plate, but YUMMO

Finally, the edges got a little blurry and everything was a little loose, and we had a CRACKING McWilliams Morning Light Botrytis Semillon, matched with some ice-cream made with lemon leaf that they picked just up the road.  Or off the road.  One of those.  I definitely heard something about the road.

I suspect I impressed and astounded the punters across the table from me with my excellent knowledge of the Botrytis fungus (I did Microbiology in second year you know), before we retired to the lawn to play croquet.

Mandarin, botrytis, rosemary and oat crumble, lemon leaf ice cream

I took a shitload of photos, made best friends for life (or the end of the day, whichever came first) with the Winemaker’s wife Sylvia, promised the National Sales Manager Greg I’d write an astounding blog about the day, threw the croquet ball (? puck? anyway, the round thingy) to show my “good arm from softball (circa 1985)” and at some point, someone brought out a dog, which I may or may not have promised to buy.

So, there you have it, Mc William’s Mount Pleasant: the blog post, as promised.  You were sensational hosts, your people are affable, and even more than quaffable, your wine is the nectar of the angels.  And I shall never buy Noble One again.

…Nor shall I ever have so much plonk on a hot Queensland Summer afternoon.

The End

PS If you would like your establishment reviewed, send me your deets.  I shall consider it carefully (should you promise to pay in wine).  As you can tell, I am nothing if not professional and precise.

Have you been to The Longy?  Do you want to?  (I’m free that weekend, BTW)

Slightly sponsored post… I received free delivery*, as Taco Boy dropped me placating food, whilst taking my husband out to play.

As you know I don’t usually post on weekends, because: party animal, however this day I shall have to make an exception for I have found culinary Nirvana, and it’s name is TACO BOY.

Here is what he looks like:

Taco Boy at Noosa Junction

And unfortunately, here is what he looks like inside:

Get out of the way Angus, I’m trying to get a pic of Taco Boy

However, if you can avoid or ignore “Charming Prince Angus”, ye shall find great riches reside within. Tonight I sampled the beefy riches.  Unfortunately I’m no food stylist, so you’ll have to make do with my shonky photos, but make no mistake, these crispy tacos were muuuuuch better than my pic implies.

Some of you who have seen me eat know I’m a complete pig when it comes to the amount of food I eat (lots), and the way I eat it (fast), and also that Mexican is my favourite food in the known world, so I’m pretty fussy about how I want it. No beans (gross), just the right amount of cheese (too much = stomach ache) and a bit of spice without giving me ring-regret tomorrow.

But I digress: the beef was tender and perfectly seasoned, just the way I like it. The tacos had crunch, and seeing as I had take-away, that’s no mean feat (take-away Mexican is usually a no-go as far as I’m concerned as it ends up a sloppy mess of stooge and sour cream by the time you get home).

I downed the lot in about 2.6 minutes, and was left feeling satisfied without one of those foul cheese and sour cream induced comas, requiring a good lie down on the couch (I may currently be lying on said couch, but that’s not Taco Boy’s fault).

Would I recommend you go to Taco Boy?  Shit yeah.  Tell ’em I sent you.  It won’t make any difference, what I had will set you back $7.90 just the same, but if you go between 11am and 4pm you can get a deal which includes a free drink.

Now please excuse me, I have schoolies befouling the streets around me, and I need to go and be a grumpy oldperson, and look on them disapprovingly from my balcony, jealous in the knowledge that I am: a) old and b) only one more husband’s-stolen-stubbies away from bedtime.

Night peeps. I shall now retire to have sweet dreams of Victor Sifuentes from LA Law (assuming he was actually mexican..?)

PS Piss off yelling schoolies, in my street, it’s bed time you annoying idiots.

* Delivery is not a thing: that was my “fee”

Tuesdays are pretty “Meh” around here.  Monday is a big work day, and frankly, I’m physically tired after working my fingers down to the proximal interphalangeal joints stumps until 8pm, and beyond. The desire some of my gorgeous people have for optimum performance is relentless.  And invigorating.

However, as I have revealed previously, I am, by nature, a sloth.  I live in my head, and in my house, preferably without leaving either one too often.  Case in point: I once went eight days and nights without leaving “the compound”.  Working from home, and shopping online allows hermits like me to seem almost normal.  Almost.  Before you freak out and think Nath has me locked up under the stairs (cos Lord knows I do require reining in from time to time, as Mr Boags well knows), the compound does include going out the back gate and over to the beach.  It’s part of my property after all.  My beach.  My sand.  My lifeguard (oh yessiree Bob).

So Tuesday.  Meh.  Housework.  Jobs.  Reading groups at school.  Thinking about how not to exercise, or feeling guilty about not doing it.  You know, all the things that have to happen every week, no matter how well you did them last week, and will still need to be done again next week, not matter how well you did them this week.  And the week after.  Sometimes the banal rituals of life just get to me.

I try to remind myself to be grateful.  To remember how lucky I am to live here.  To have this beach at my doorstep.  To have this view.  To have this wide open sky.  To have the warmth of the sun on my back.  To be alive and healthy and happy and loved.  But Tuesdays.

Today gorgeous Lani invited me to have coffee with her, and she chose Bistro C .  I love Bistro C.  I love the noise and the view and the fun, fast and cheeky service.  I love the food that never skips a beat, and the music that lifts my mood, and the view.  I may have mentioned that view.

Laguna Bay. Easy on the eye, she is.

Still, I was Tuesday grumpy about Hastings Street today.  The Tri is on this weekend, and that bloody Seahaven reno is still going on, and so I knew parking would be scarce and tossers would be everywhere. I muttered and mumbled myself into a parking space right out front, and then grumbled and griped right up to the front door.

And then it happened.  Noosa magic.

The blue-eyed guy greeted me with a grin and said, “Sure, sit wherever you like”.  Then coffee came with smiles and speed.  Water came often, and without fuss.  The sun warmed my skin.  The breeze fluttered along my forearms and tickled my nape, and those Tuesday Bluesdays just flittered off.  I looked out at that big blue bay and remembered all the times I’ve sat here, in this spot, and marvelled at the luck and cunning that landed me here on this squeaky white sand.  Once a tourist, and now here planted.

Coffee and muffins and Lani arrived and we sat and we talked and laughed and solved the problems of the world, or at least of our own minds, and together Laguna Bay and that Bistro Sea just acted like a salve to my fragmented soul.  Sure, I still have the boring to do.  And the things that ail my mind are still there, worrying away and burying deep, but seeing this place through the eyes of a tourist lightened me.

Bistro See.

Opens your eyes it does.

So now I’m another bloody food blogger…

Do you have a Bistro C?

What day is your Bluesday? 

**This is not a sponsored post.  I paid for my own damn coffee and muffin. 7 bucks. Get onto it.

I just heard some shocking news.

Brace yourselves.

Apparently there is some world wide shortage of cacao beans or whatever the hell bean it is that makes chocolate.

That’s right: World wide. Shortage. Chocolate.

Sorry everyone, but I don’t give a shit about you lot, I’m stockpiling.

I just checked the pantry, and I’ve found some cooking-chocolate chips: hidden.

I snuck into Liam’s room and found his remaining Easter Eggs (They might be going a bit white-ish, but they’ll do): hidden.

I’m not bothering with Coco’s room, she won’t have any.

Tomorrow I’m going to the shops, so look out Coles and Woolies and Aldi, you aren’t gonna know what hit you.

Remember when you have some left and I don’t, who worded you up.

You’re welcome.

So I guess now I’m a food blogger.  (Recipe book coming soon.)