Relaxing in the mountains

Walking around a huge amount wasn't on my agenda with a very sore knee.

Instead, I was hoping for a quiet break where I could have some respite from work and the city.

The place I found myself seemed fairly sufficient for that purpose.

The birthday bash was being held in this house with its own large garden and we were all staying overnight.
There were no complaints from me at all.

Getting out of the apartment and to somewhere more spacious was welcome.
I had become accustomed to constant noise and activity of working in the city and living in a full apartment.

The peace and quiet of these surrounds stood in sharp contrast. It was nice to be able to walk through the gardens by myself and to smell the scent of eucalyptus in the air.
As night arrived and the temperatures dropped, we were all able to gather next to the fire.
All of these things were very simple pleasures, but I had clearly forgotten about them until now.

The Blue Mountains

It feels like it's been a long time since I've been travelling anywhere. I don't like the static feeling of being stuck in one place for so long. Living in Sydney, while generally enjoyable, is beginning to make me feel a bit trapped.

The opportunity to get out of the city was very welcome, even if it was a short trip somewhere close.

My good friend Rachel was being given a surprise birthday party and we were all invited up to the Blue Mountains.

I had amazingly never been the Blue Mountains.

Well, that wasn't exactly true.

I "had" been to the Blue Mountains when I was younger. However, this was back in high school days, when we were driven into the middle of the bush and left to fend for ourselves. Struggling through the bush with backpacks, freeze dried food and tarps for shelter was not the most relaxing way to experience the place.

I now found myself enjoying this place at a far more than my previous experience.

Being able to walk at my own pace rather than being forced on a death march seems to have that effect.I was also able to see the famous "Three Sisters".

It was OK I guess.

I didn't understand what all the commotion was about though.
The scenery was admittedly very nice. But I wasn't blown away and I didn't feel the shiver in my spine that I get when I see something truly spectacular.
I wonder whether it's because I am comparing it to other places? Am I being unfair and comparing it to places that are simply too much more impressive? Or maybe it is that I now look through eyes filled with too much cynicism.

Regardless, what I should do, is ignore these thoughts in the back of my mind, and just enjoy the moments immediately before me.

Cooking a cloud

In the last two years, Australia has been taken over by the craze of "Masterchef".

This show was originally from the UK, but it has been reformatted for Australian audiences.

The results have been pretty spectacular. The show has taken over popular culture. It's on 6 times a week and regularly tops the ratings. Who would have thought that a cooking show would have become this popular?

Something that people have become fond of doing is attempting the numerous recipes that are used in the show for themselves.

I was keen to try this myself!

And the recipe I wanted to try was a rhubarb and blackberry soufflé with a crumble topping.

Sounds good doesn't it?

Andy was keen to try the recipe as well. Sadly for Josh, he found himself called away at the last moment. As he grabbed his keys and walked out the door, Andy and I could see him staring hungrily at our preparations.

That wasn't going to stop Andy and I with our attempt at the soufflé though.

I was a touch nervous. I had never made a souffle before (of any kind) and I knew of how temperamental they could be. The last thing I wanted was another macaron debacle that would leave me tired, cranky and with little to show for it.

First thing to do was to prepare the stewed fruit. Lots of chopping and a disturbing amount of sugar later and the stewing of the rhubarb and blackberries was under way.

As Andy continued to stir the stewed fruit, I began to prepare the crumble to top it off with by chopping the hazelnuts.
I chopped the hazelnuts finely and combined them with the sugar, butter, flower and oats. I then spread the mixture out evenly on some baking paper to be placed in the oven.
Things seemed to be going well enough as I put the crumble mixture into the
oven to brown. Nothing disastrous had happened and all our work appeared to be going smoothly.With the crumble nicely browned, and the fruit having been stewed to a point that it now held its shape, we now needed to prepare the ramekins.

A souffle is a delicate thing. Even the most minor of interferences can stop it from rising properly. To prevent this from happening, the ramekins need to be well buttered and sugared. This creates a lubricant that allows the soufflé mixture to rise as it expands.
One layer of butter is brushed on, then another, then sugar is laid over the top of this.
With the ramekins ready and sitting in the fridge. We turned out attention back to the soufflé mixture.

The fruit stew needed to be combined with the egg whites after we had beaten them to soft peaks. These beaten egg whites have a huge amount of sugar added to them.

Once beaten, we take turns slowly folding the mixture together. Carefully, we move the spatula through the mixture, ensuring we don't knock the air out of the soufflé. After all of this work, the last thing we want if for a mixture that fails to rise.
Then, we gently spoon the mixtures in the ramekins we prepared earlier, taking particular care to not disturb the butter and sugar coating on the side. We cleaned off the tops with a palette knife and using the tips of our thumbs, we carved sharp edges into the mixture to create a lip on each soufflé.
The soufflé were now ready to be placed into the oven.
I sat in front of the over, waiting patiently. Hoping that they would rise.
Thankfully, all my worries were unfounded.

After they had risen about a centimetre, we took the soufflés out of the oven and added the crumble on top.
A few more minutes and they were done!
It was hard not to feel pleased.

After the difficulties I had faced in making the macarons, I was taking this as a win.

Our soufflés had risen more than I could have imagined, with the crumble perched precariously on top.
It was now time to determine whether our best efforts had been successful and whether the flavour matched the appearance.
Thankfully, the recipe and our best efforts had been a success.
The soufflé's flavour was sweet and fresh, matching well to the lightness of the texture.

I wonder what I should try to make next.

How the professionals do it

My best efforts to make French macarons came up painfully short (on the whole).

The success I had with a few couldn't disguise the failure I had with most of the others.

This reality presented itself again when my housemate Josh brought home a box of macarons made by a professional.

I may have a bit more to do before I reach that level.

Macarons are hard to make

I enjoy baking.

I think it comes from my days back at uni. Living in a self-catered dorm, and rushing between study, work, classes and socialising, there was a need to become efficient with cooking.

It was around this time I discovered the oven. The long forgotten cooking implement in a college full of students.

Baking seemed to provide with the ability to prepare, then walk away.

I would do the prep, shove it in the oven, wander off to do my study and come back to find a hot meal that didn't come out of a packet or a can.

Over time, as my abilities grew, so did my ambitions. I would start baking more complicated dishes and start challenging myself with more difficult recipes. It wasn't too long, before baking became more than merely a convenience, I actually began to enjoy it.

However, there was one thing I never tried to make.

French macarons.

I had always been told about how difficult these were too make. So now that I had a bit of time, why not? How difficult could it really be? Surely this would only take a couple of hours or so and then I would have some fresh macarons to eat.

The first mistake I made was not adjusting the volume in the recipe.

The next mistake I made was thinking that this was going to be easy.

Every single step of the way, I seemed to run into difficulty.

Forcing the almond meal through the sieve, getting enough egg whites, having large enough bowls for the mixtures, getting the egg whites to stiffen....

Two hours in, and there still didn't seem to be anything remotely close to a finished product.

I kept working, and eventually I managed to combine the mixtures and get everything in the oven.

Thankfully "some" of the macaron shells came out looking like I had hoped.
As I left them to cool, I started to make the ganache. I didn't want to make a simple ganache, so I had chosen a more complex recipe that was supposed to give a smoother and more velvety texture.

By the third attempt and two discarded disasters, I managed (with the help of Andy who had grown tired of hearing me screaming in the kitchen) to achieve what appeared to be a semblance of what I had hoped to make.

Time was ticking on past three hours since I had started now.

I slowly began filling the macaron shells with the ganache, boxed them up and put them into the freezer to set.

It had been almost four hours since I had started.

The simple job was clearly not so simple.

What I had was a small batch of macarons that I thought looked the part!
Crispy shells, nicely developed feet, chewy textures and silky smooth ganache.

I'm still undecided as to whether it was worth the trouble though!

A different view (part III)

I need to start carrying my camera with me again.

Part of the fun of taking photos is the spontaneity of finding the shot you like when you least expect it.

Unfortunately, the camera in my phone really doesn't suffice. The grainy photos it takes doesn't do justice to the images I am trying to capture.

One cold and wet night in Sydney, I was wandering out of the public swimming pool having completed some laps as instructed by the physio (Aussie rules football has wrecked my knee) when I noticed another of Sydney's landmarks being illuminated as part of the Vivid Festival.

Seeing St Mary's Cathedral glowing an eerie blue, with strange writing slowly scrolling across the front isn't something you see everyday.

Even though I was standing shivering in the rain, I couldn't help but think that the foul weather we had been having somehow added to this show, with the rain capturing more of the light and adding a glistening shine to everything.

Creating atmosphere

I used to hate buskers.

I found them annoying and generally a bit sad, garnering most of their money from pity rather than actual talent.

However, my attitudes began to change as I started to see that buskers were not merely school children and professional annoyers.

I started seeing genuinely talented performers, people who were dedicated to the craft of performing. Working at Cirque du Soleil also gave me a far better insight into the world of performers, with many of the top Cirque artists having honed their craft as street performers.

Then, my first trip to Europe truly opened my eyes. I was given a glimpse of a world where even the average street performers seemed plucked from concert halls. Walking through the train stations, I would be confronted by violinists and pianists who played with such emotion that I felt compelled to reach into my pocket for any loose change. I found myself in Bonn, standing in the town square once mesmerised by the Roma performers in their brightly coloured clothes and almost hypnotic music.

And now I find myself with a changed perspective towards the craft of the street performer.
.... even those who are clearly seeking to achieve more through novelty value rather than through skill in their craft.

A different view (part II)

I maintain that living in Sydney during the winter is boring.

This is a city that is made for warmer temperatures.

Through the gloom of the rain and the lack of sunshine, it can sometimes be easy to forget that Sydney is a beautiful city.

During this time of the year, Sydney now plays host to the "Vivid Festival". A reasonably new event, this festival changes the city at night through an enormous light show.

It's amazing to see familiar sights under a completely different perspective.

I particularly liked the constant change of the lighting.

Seeing the Opera House in the multi coloured light reminded me of the importance of seeing things in a different light (sorry for the pun).

Lately I've been feeling bored and uninterested in my surroundings. I've become increasingly blasé towards the daily grind, ignoring the sights around me.

It's not the right attitude to have.

There's always something to see, and there's always something amazing to catch your eye.

If all it takes it is for a slight change to make the mundane interesting again, then maybe it was never uninteresting to begin with.

The lights have brought me a new appreciation of Sydney. The city is and remains stunning.

The lights make it seem as though it is glowing and alive.

And now, it's even filled with new and wonderful creatures to share the experience with.

All I had to do was open my eyes to it.

A different view

Sydney is a strange city.

Many people don't realise that the city of Sydney itself isn't actually that big.

Now don't get me wrong, there are still lots of people here as there's a population of more than 4 million. However, it is hardly the bustling, non-stop metropolis you would expect. Instead, much of the population lives in the huge suburban mass that sprawls out from the city centre.

I found myself in a strange part of town.

Instead of being the middle of the city (where I work) or in and around the high rises, I actually found myself at the very southern part of where the city ends and where the suburbs start.

Standing on the roof of a building, I was able to look North through the centre of Sydney, a far less well known view.

From this angle, there's far less glamour and excitement to this place.

It's amazing how a simple change in perspective can completely alter how you see a place.

Classy as ever

Is there anything that's classier than a moving a mattress on a the roof of a car?

If there is, I'm yet to discover it.

And if you've found that you don't have enough rope to hold the mattress to the roof, isn't it just as acceptable for the four guys in the car to reach their hands out the window and hold on tight?

No safety issues whatsoever....

Not in any way weird

.... and as you can see here, Andy is modelling the latest in winter snake fashions....

People have pets. Lots of people have pets.

A snake isn't the first thing that comes to my mind when I think of pets.

But, as part of moving into the apartment, compatibility with the house pet was necessary.

A snake as a pet is surprisingly easy to adapt to. It really has to be one of the lowest maintenance pets that a person can own (I'm not including a pet rock in my analysis). There's minimal feeding, cleaning, costs, time or energy that is actually needed. In fact, you can pretty much ignore the thing for the 3 weeks between the feedings and it would be fine.

I was personally relatively nonchalant to the prospects of living under the same roof as a snake, but from what I have learnt in the last year, that's the not the same response of all people.

In the space of less than 12 months, I have seen people screaming, people instinctively jumping away and I have even seen one person run screaming at the top of their lungs out of the room when the snake was brought out of its enclosure.

But again, as you can clearly see, that's not the reaction that I have to the house pet....

It's relatively harmless (I hope) and up close she is genuinely a beautiful and amazing animal. Her skin is something to be marveled at and usually elicits comments from me directed at my housemates about how great a belt or pair of shoes she would make (only in jest of course).

There are times that I'm made to jump though.

Those instances usually involve the surprise of Andy or Josh holding the house pet behind my head just before I turn around so that I find myself face to face and inches away from a hissing snake's head..... lovely.

Or they could just hide the pet in my bed.....

Old Melbourne town

Work has been hard. Hours have been long and the work has been crazy.

Being sent off to Melbourne for work was something I both welcomed and dreaded.

It had been a while since I had been to Melbourne, but these weren't really the circumstances I had wanted to rediscover the city in. Moving from airport, to office, to hotel doesn't give you much of an opportunity to do anything.

I will admit that it was a nice change being in a different city. Change (even if fleeting) has always been something I've approved of.

For this trip, I found myself in the Windsor Hotel. This is an old landmark of Melbourne. Directly opposite of the Victorian Parliament, it has played host to more than its share of dignitaries over the years.

It's getting on a bit in years now. It's still a very nice place, but age has clearly sapped some of its granduer.

Still, I much preferred this old style of hotel to the new generic hotels. The old fixtures and the wood gave the place a warmth that's wholly lacking in the newer counterparts.

Hotels!!!!!

I don't get it. Why do hotel rooms all look the same?

I had somehow found myself being sent away for work again and ended up in another random hotel.

It was a nice hotel too. Nice area, beach frontage, expensive looking bar....

And yet it was so bland it felt like I had literally stepped into a catalogue. I had somehow ended up in yet another one of the completely non-descript hotels that exist all over the world. I don't think I spent more than an our there outside of sleep.

I don't understand it. Why is there this need for hotels globally to move towards this central, boring, homogeneous state of nothing. Why is there this complete lack of difference between the hotels? If they were moving towards a common goal of class, beauty or comfort, it would make sense. But that is not the case. What they have moved towards is mind numbing, colourless and drab. The rooms always feel empty and they always feel sterile.

And who designs these things? I'm assuming the owners don't just come up with the ideas themselves, but rather they hire people to do the designs. They would PAY people to "design" these things. This would have to be one of the most pointless and unimaginative jobs in the world. A job that consists of stealing an idea that has already been a stolen a countless number of times to ensure that you in no way display any originality or creativity.

... and it's not even a good idea that they're stealing...

A day at the races

I was initially reluctant to go to the races.

I had never been in my life, but as a strict non-gambler (I choose not to gamble for a whole host of reasons), spending a day being surrounded by the activity did not seem the most appealing prospects.

However, after much prodding I decided to go.

And as usual, the lure of going in the members section rather than in general admission helped my decision.

Royal Randwick is actually situated on my bus route to and from work. For well over a year now, I have sped past the race course in the early mornings and evenings. The extent of my interest in this place has been to briefly catch a glimpse of the horses being trained as my bus sped down the road.

I think it is quite amazing how often in life this happens. You pass things by on a day to day basis and never give it consideration. Amazement and wonder can stare you in the eyes, and yet you will ignore it because its shine has been eroded by familiarity.

Now the races isn't something that I would classify in the "amazement and wonder" category, but the idea remains the same.

Here was something that I had ignored. Something that was part of my daily routine that I had neglected.

Even with my personal ban on gambling enforced, I still found it to be a great day out.

Sitting in the sun. Chatting with friends. Having a few quiet drinks.

I also quite enjoyed process of the steward blowing his horn and the procession into the stands to watch the next race.

As the day came to an end, a light rain storm swept through.

People laughed and screamed as they ran inside, to continue the party without the horses.

The domain of Slugboy

Andy and I don't see as much of Josh as we used to.

He's undertaken a disappearing act. While we know he's in the apartment, he really isn't actually there with us anymore.

Even when we do see him, he seems to be a shadow of his old self. It's like we're looking at him through an unfocused lens. It's Josh, but it isn't the Josh we are used to seeing.

There are bags around his eyes, he's often yawning, he's paler and he seems perpetually tired. In the mornings, his wakeup times have been progressively pushed back.

Many people would be concerned by this change behaviour and appearance.

They would be questioning why this was happening and what help they should be arranging for the person.

Not Andy and I though.

We find this situation hilarious in fact!

We may seem callous, but we know better.

All of Josh's behavioural and physiological changes have been self inflicted. He has no one to blame but himself.

A few weeks ago, Josh decided that it would be a fantastic idea to a purchase brand new flat screen television for his room. It didn't matter that his room gets terrible television reception. There was only one main purpose for this purchase.

His PS3.

Night and day, Andy and I now find Josh glued to the television, black controller in hand, ear piece in place, hammering away at the latest Call of Duty game.

His lack of movement and slothful ways have led Andy and I to rename him "SLUGBOY".

His obsession with this game is starting to affect his perception of time as well. Last Saturday, he found himself playing from 10:00 am till 1:00pm, taking a short break for lunch and then playing from about 2:00pm through till 7:00pm. Count those hours. Those are EIGHT hours. What are they again? EIGHT HOURS!

Josh however, was certain that he had only been playing for "three or four hours".

No Josh, EIGHT HOURS.

It appears that even time slows down in the domain of the Slugboy.