Momofuku, Sydney.

"I've fallen in love with Australia. I'm just fascinated by the food scene in Sydney and Melbourne. People are excited about food in Australia. It's fresh and it's energetic." - David Chang, Chef/Owner, Momofuku

Mud crab, old bay, yorkshire pudding

Smack in the middle of the Sydney Star Casino, the doors of the first Momofuku outside of the US are now open. After giving up so many earthly pleasures in this lifetime, I am still allowed to eat food. And my god does David Chang do food well.

After creating my user name last November for the Momofuku website, I'd diligently log in every morning before 10am .. the precise time the bookings opened up. Day after day I'd watch all of the green ticks turn to red in front of my eyes. I'd try again the next day, then the next. My whole morning was planned around where I would be at 10am. In a pump class? I'd put my weights down and walk outside, frantically tapping on my phone. Driving on the freeway? Pull over. In a shop? Crouched down, manically trying to secure a highly-coveted reservation.

No dice. I stopped myself from going on twitter tirades many times, for fear of retribution. David is partial to an angry tweet himself, so I didn't want to wreck my chances of eating his stuff. But man I wanted to tweet ... "Momofuku? More like MOMO FUCK YOUUUU."

Finally it happened. I now know *exactly* how Charlie Bucket felt at the first glint of gold. Booking was secured ... on a Friday night no less. 7pm. Sharp.

WE WERE GOING TO EAT AT MOMOFUKU.

What's so good about it? Only everything. Chang is one of the world's most influential chefs. Last year, he was named on Time's list of the 100 people who most affect our world. He's passionate and fiery, a swearing genius.





We walked in to the sleek, dark restaurant bang on 7pm to begin the fifteen-course degustation menu. Taking our seats at the table overlooking the kitchen I was so bloody excited. And self-conscious. The chef's looked at us as much as we looked over to them. The cooking of the food was a floor show - no, a rock concert. And we scored front row seats.

The music was jammin' so I start shazammin'. The head chef walked over and said, "Ahhh, you are shazamming?" Busted. I just laughed - song was Mickey Avalon singing Jane Fonda. I kept having to tell myself to act cool.

The thing about real food is, IT'S REAL. Kind of controversial in today's processed, chemical-laded world. David Chang plays it down, says, "Look, we're not out there curing cancer." He's right. But the thing is, eating such fresh and tasty things reminds me of not only how food is supposed to be, but how life is supposed to be. Something about intention and purpose and passion.

I am not a food blogger. I just like to celebrate good shit.

Hands down personal favourite was the pea agnolotti with parmesan and ham. I just know that every ingredient is specifically sourced and carefully made from scratch. Sometimes I stare out the window and think of that agnolotti. True story.

Lamb neck - daikon, pickled turnips. To be honest I couldn't eat much of it .. it was beautiful, but I kept thinking I AM EATING A LAMB NECK RIGHT NOW.

One of the desserts. Just heaven on a plate. All of it.

Peach, rose, pistachio

After the desserts were done ... out came the pulled pork and brown sugar. I KNOW. How the hell can you eat a main after the sweets? Well, you just do. With your fingers and the juice runs down your arm and you lick. The self-consciousness wears off after a while.

One of my favourite parts of the evening was when a complete loudmouthed wanker and his hooker girlfriend sat down next to us. I had the pleasure of watching the chef's reaction when his mobile phone rang really loudly and he sat there, talking on it. Gold. Both chef's stopped what they were doing and just watched with a shitload of amusement and annoyance. A waiter asked him to get the hell off his phone. I sat there smug, secretly shazzamin'.

The only thing this post is sponsored by is my pants, and how happy David Chang made them after I had finished eating.

Immediately opposite the restaurant is Zumbo's. We went inside and thought about buying some of his famous macarons...

.. but didn't. Too full. I snapped this photo anyway, specifically for my homie Magneto Bold who is the macaron QUEEN. During the night I thought of a few online peeps who would love it - Kim from All Consuming and Beth from BabyMac.

The Everyman Kitchen - a cool chef and baker and cook over in the Americaz - summed it up best after he saw my Momofuku instagram pics.

"That Chang ... he's one of the good guys."

He really is.



Momofuku pork buns taste EXACTLY how this song sounds.





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I never knew daylight could be so violent.

I can't see my life ending well.

I've told a few people that they are invited to my relapse party. They laughed. Make no mistake ... my relapse party would be the most hardest corest relapse party ever in the world. Naked hookers would line the driveway with shots of tequila as you drove in. They'd be wearing tiaras and heavy mascara that'd be dripping by the end of the night. Symbolic and all that shit.

There'd be designated areas for designated things. Lube and mirrors. Smoke and heavy music. A sense of resignation.

I shouldn't write things like that but GODDAMN it feels good. I should play it safe. Talk about official life/parenting/spiritual shit, get all deep and then have some kind of light yet profound revelation at the end. My grandmother always told me I would write .. I don't know that she even believed it herself, she just wanted me to believe something good about me. She would probably find some of my writing shocking. I like to believe she would understand. My life was shocking.

When I was 24 I had a dream that I lost my eyes but my grandmother had a new pair for me in a jar of water next to my bed. I put them in, looked, and there was the biggest most magnificent landscape you could ever see. I can still remember it. This dream was right at the beginning of my sobriety journey. My sobriety is about so much more than sobriety. Resilience, redemption, daily death of self. These Big Things. Do you understand? Are you with me?

::

My super-secret awesome number bloggy tip is to have copious amounts of self-loathing. If you mix it with a kind of burning rage and the desire to just write; if you actually dig and look and have something of value to say ... you're on to something. Sometimes I click onto blogs and see the blogger percolating nicely. A few more years and they'll have something really cool.

All this, "Like me!" "Only 200 more followers until I do a giveaway!" If you want followers, you might want to think about where you're leading them so gaily, like the Pied Piper. Otherwise your conga line might crash into itself and people will be confused.

If you're into giveaways, the best giveaway you could do is a giveaway of your own self. Dig.

(I'm a heavily disguised social media maven guru, you know.)

So .. are we cool to leave this post here? I'm ok. I have to return emails and then go put a slow-cooked sausage casserole on. Life keeps asking me to raise up.

I turn up on this page just like you do .. hope this protagonist makes it through! Scoot over and pass me the popcorn.

I wonder what's going to happen, in the end?





"I never knew daylight could be so violent
A revelation in the light of day
You can't choose what stays and what fades away."




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Somebody give the tooth fairy a double espresso. And some gratitude.

Max lost this tooth on Saturday night about 8pm. His friend Zac was having a sleepover and as we all ate dessert, Max twisted his tooth and there it was. My only thought? "Great. I don't have any goddamn money."

It was too late to go to the shops and get some cash out and frankly I couldn't be bothered. I know Max doesn't believe in the tooth fairy any more, and he knows I know he doesn't. But we still play along anyway.

I forgot all about it until at two-o-clock in the morning I sat upright in bed.

CURSE YOU, FAKE FAIRIES OF THE WORLD.

Parents are the tooth fairy, santa claus, AND the easter bunny? I call bullshit.

I went out to my car and went through all the usual shrapnel places  ... $3.55. I waited for the murderer to club me over the head and then go inside and systematically kill all of my children. It didn't happen!

Creeping into Max's bedroom, to find that he and Zac had arranged themselves on mattresses on the floor. After fumbled under Max's pillow for a while I realised it was Zac's pillow, and I was his friends weirdo mum leaning over him at 2am.

I went around to Max's side and do you think I could find that stupid tooth? No way. I gave up, left the coins under his pillow and as I sidestepped the boys I tripped over. Shouting, "FUCK."

One of them woke up and freaked out. "Who's that?"

Before limping out, the fake angry tooth fairy said "THE TOOTH FAIRY." 

Then I couldn't sleep for hours. When I got up, Max came running out, gleefully showing me his tooth.

"Mum! AHA! I hid my tooth to prove that the tooth fairy wasn't real, but I got money anyway. I'll leave my tooth out tonight to see if I get MORE money."

Little turd. "I don't think it works like that mate." Both boys went off laughing. Later they bought hot chips with Max's money.

Max did indeed leave his tooth underneath his pillow the next night. In the morning he found it was replaced with a rock from the driveway.

Don't fuck with the tooth fairy, dude. She plays roller derby and believes in revenge.



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What else should I be? All apologies.

Sorry if I scare you.

Sorry that I wasn't born a boy. Sorry for being such a shit friend - I have severe trust and paranoia issues. Sorry for hiding in my kitchen that time. Sorry I hate the school run. Sorry about my tattoos. Sorry about the swearing.

I'm really sorry you couldn't make me come. Sorry I couldn't go to your mum's funeral ... my funeral quota is filled. Sorry that I made you feel bad. (Truth is I can't "make" you feel anything. You know that, right?)

I'm really sorry I never went to university. Sorry I thought I was so stupid all this time. What a waste of smarts. Sorry that a recovering alcoholic and drug addict has one of the biggest voices. If it makes you feel any better, I didn't plan it. Sorry for the haters hating. Sorry you are a useless bag of shit. Sorry about your face.

Sorry about the Stolen Generation. Sorry for being so white and privileged and spoilt and so fucking ignorant. Sorry.

I'm sorry I can't be more like you. I'm sorry for failing. I'm sorry for succeeding.

I'm sorry I wasn't carry-over champ on Wheel of Fortune. I'm sorry my father never held my hand. I'm sorry for not commenting on your blog. I'm sorry for being so inappropriate. Sorry I made so many mistakes. Sorry I'll never live in Paris. Sorry I couldn't try harder. I'm sorry I'm still alive. I'll be more sorry when I'm dead.

Sorry I'm so broken. Sorry I'm so powerful.

Sorry.





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Sorry? Spill.









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My Brother From Another Father.

           Cropped his forehead pimple out. That's what good sisters DO.

My brother and I stayed up late last night laughing and talking about how stupid life is. Nothing ever makes sense! I asked him for cupcakes but he bought me a dozen donuts. I heated them up for exactly eleven seconds each. He ate one to my four.

We talked about the death of our fathers, the mines in Western Australia, sex, acid trips, childrens books, girlfriends, apathy, depression, suicide, and relapsing.

I hadn't seen him for a whole year. When this guy was born in 1980, my heart swelled out and I was in LOVE .. used to creep into his bedroom at night and watch him sleep in his cot, terrified he would get taken away from me. I pushed him to the shops in his stroller, bought him stuffed toys with my pocket money, and taught him how to write his name. When he was five I even taught him how terrifying horror films are. (Mate I am SO SORRY.)

I used to covet his pacifier, just really wished I had one to suck. One day when I was about nine, I grabbed one and ran outside, bent down ... and sucked on his dummy.

It didn't feel as good as it looked. So disappointing.

That hot day in summer I felt sick, waiting for him to come home from school and be told the terrible news that he'd never see his dad again. Years later I told him everything I knew about why what happened happened. I believed he had a right to know. I believe you should tell the truth about hard things.

Last night I watched him eat my spaghetti bolgnaise and I love him so hard. I want to make the whole world right, just for him. He is one of the smartest, capable, funny guys I have ever met in my life.

Ladies, he's 31 years old and single ... if you'd like the chance of me being the Auntie of your children, please send through an application. You just need to have a good heart. (Great boobs don't hurt - but the guy's cerebellum is where it's all at, promise.)

We laughed so hard last night, each remembering in intricate detail the other's worst pants shitting story.

He's having lunch with my sisters on Saturday; I'll hear the laughing from here. Just stood on my drive and waved him off. Don't know when I'll see him again.

Bam Bam I got your back, and love you always. You ain't heavy.




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Imitation is the sincerest form of saying "IMMA STEAL YOUR IDEA!"

"You were born an original. Don't die a copy."
- John Mason

I wonder if humans are all born with the same amount of creativity and originality. And over time, it either gets eroded .. or people just stop believing in themselves so they steal and take from others. Sneaky pricks.

Case in point: fellow Australian blogger Chantelle Ellem from Fat Mum Slim. I first knew of Chantelle when we were featured in THIS article together a few years ago. Her blog is creative, whimsical, original .. just like her. I sighed, when I first clicked over - she is amazing.

In January this year, Chantelle created her own photo-a-day challenge. She did not invent this genre, at all. But she *did* invent the everyday prompts, the hashtag, and her own button using a cool and distinctive style.

So many people around the world joined in ... I got so excited I kept emailing her. On Instagram alone, the #janphotoaday hashtag was used 171,875 times. It went so well that people begged Chantelle to do it again for February, so she did.

The #febphotoaday hashtag was used a whopping 715,024 times. The awesome thing about it was, a lot of people found new people through this. I love seeing what others on the other side of the world are doing, and how they interpret the prompt.

Chantelle thought of these prompts from her own head ... radical, huh?

So one day last week, after I dyed my hair PURPLE (which I didn't end up getting fixed - it'll fade. Thank you for telling me to own my hair, by the way) ... I was mucking around with some completely narcissistic black-and-white self portraits and took this photo:

I simply called the photo "Clean" .. because I like the double meaning of clean from the shower, also clean from all of the crap I have ever polluted my body with over the course of my entire life. I also like this photo because I'm not being my usual middle-aged gang-signing idiot. But my god, MY NOSE. I always forget exactly how cauliflowery it actually is!

Anyway, then I upload it to Instagram, have a browse, and see Chantelle's new March photo a day prompt. (I stopped doing them back in January, because true to form I never finish what I start. Know your limits, people!)

I was struck with how cool that lime colour she used is:

..... but I was HORRIFIED to see that the last day of March said "b & w self portrait." Chantelle would think I copied off her and I didn't! I just did a wanky black and white self-portrait of my accord, I swear. Chantelle then uploaded the new March challenge to her blog - AND IT WASN'T THE LIME GREEN ONE. The above lime green one is a FAKE. This is the real one:

Let's all agree that anybody in the world is allowed to do a photo-a-day challenge. Chantelle didn't invent that. But she DID invent the hashtag, the style, the font of her own. I call bullshit on copycats. So did Chantelle over in her post HERE today. (But in a much nicer way.) She even used this pic which I just stole off her:

Like Sandi says to Danny right before she throws her pom-poms down .. "You're a fake and a phony and I wish I never laid eyes on YOU."

In conclusion: I really want a nose job.

Wait - that's not my conclusion. My conclusion is .... make your own shit. It's not that hard.

For example, I have an awesome idea for a photo-a-day challenge. It can be called PHOTOS OF THE SEAMY UNDERBELLY OF LIFE. My fonts and style will be all swirly and black, with skulls and shadows. Some of my prompts would include things like:

1. Nightmare
2. Failure
3. Pain
4. Something you regret
5. Clothes you look dumb in
6. A junkies coffee table
7. Your last big cry
 ...etc.

I think it would be a hit. The dark things in life have feelings too, you know.

Chantelle, if I can be bothered to get my own idea off the ground instead of lounging around googling noses? You're goin' DOWN.



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My Skyclimber.

This is one of the best photos I will ever take. We got out of the car and I saw the sun setting over the water, so I asked him to climb across the monkey bars. He couldn't at first, said it was too slippery. So he jumped down, picked up handfuls of dirt and rubbed his hands in it like a gymnast does powder.

I don't know who taught him to do that. That's what happens when your kids start really growing up - they do shit of their own accord. It's awesome and terrifying.

He made his way across the first few bars, and I was snapping away until I got just the right shot.

It makes me tear up. I cannot believe this big, gangly boy used to be no bigger than my pinky nail. That he grew inside me, and came out with such a lifeforce that just burst me open into a thousand pieces. He makes my heart warm. The bridge of his nose tells me he will be strong in the world. He recited spelling words the other night that made me punch the air ... guy can spell like a CHAMP. Like me!

I hope he inherits only good things from me.

I want him to change the world and stand up for himself and to think. To look around, and see who needs helping. To learn his hard lessons with grace.

Probably the biggest thing I can teach him is to never give up. It's the one thing I keep learning, over and over again.



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