Broccoli chips

OMG I have just discovered a taste sensation - Broccoli Chips. Yes you read correctly, BROCCOLI CHIPS.

They are completely scrumptious!

Ingredients: 97% broccoli, 2% rice bran oil and 1% salt and nothing else. No numbers to decode, no words you cannot pronounce, just three ingredients. Amazing.

Now I must confess I am a HUGE fan of green veggies. Just love them. So these little crunchy morsels of deliciousness are right up my alley. YUM!

I generally stay clear of processed packaged snacks, mainly because they either have wheat, rice or potato - all of which are high GI.

I'm generally okay with that and happily snack on fresh fruit and nuts. However there's the odd time when I really fancy something crunchy, and now I've found it. I am the happiest girl alive right now.

So if you're keen to try them or some of their other kinds like mango (they looked heavenly only they're high GI so off the menu pour moi).

The brand is 'greenday' and manufactured by www.asworld88.com. I found them at an Asian food grocer in Adelaide for $1.95 per box.

Now I'm not popular enough to get paid for endorsements, nor am I sleeping with the boss. I simply love these healthy treats and want them to remain on the shelves. So that means people have to buy them. If you try and love them, be sure to tell your neighbour... Same goes for any children's books you might be into (hint hint, wink wink).

Until tomorrow, if you love something tell the world. You just don't whose table you might be putting food on.

Grace xx

Celebrating a new chapter

I finished my Thermomix training today and am ready to start demonstrations, which involves cooking 6 fresh food dishes LIVE in front of an audience.

I've always loved having an audience and have been known to cook at my friend's houses once or thrice, so this sounds like the perfect place for me until I figure out what I want to do when I grow up ;-)

When I returned home this evening (after 11 hours training), I wanted to celebrate and cracked open a bottle of Moët & Chandon that I got for my 40th.

Chin chin.

A new chapter. A new adventure.

Until next time, celebrate what's new and changing in your life.

Grace xx

Dinner for one

There's something liberating about going out for dinner on your own.

Patrick was called into work this afternoon and I attended our evening appointment with our health care practitioner solo.

I took advantage of the situation and visited my brother's family on my way home. After a quick cup of tea, I took a further detour and stopped by Andy's Yum Cha in Essendon.

This fabulous establishment was founded by one of the chefs that worked at Melbourne's top Chinese restaurant, The Flower Drum. It's the closest thing I have to a 'local' and is only 12 minutes from home.

I decided to dine on one of my FAVOURITE dishes of all time, minced prawns on silken tofu. To die for.

I am now chewing on my greens as I wait for the delicious dish to arrive.

I am comfortable in my skin. I don't feel the need to explain myself by carrying a sign that says 'I have friends, I just like my own company'.

Freedom.

Until next time, enjoy solo moments.

Grace xx

ps. Below is my favourite dish of all time. OMG - Amazing!

Bali Brief - Sari Organik

Pat's feeling much better today.

After two days of not eating, he felt hungry today (despite being up all night watching a rat prance about our room while I slept in ignorance).

We moved rooms.

We hired a scooter.

We drove along a narrow steep path along rice paddies to reach Sari Organik, where I had the BEST organic strawberry lassi I have ever tasted. Ever.

Pat thanks you for all the well wishes, it must have worked.

He loves me... he loves me not...

You may recognise the shoes in this photo from a previous post titled 'Happy Little Camper' however I can assure you that what I'm about to write is not of my shoe addiction. Instead, I'm going to explore my addiction to feeling unloved in response to mishaps.

Earlier today Patrick and I got caught up in our work and consequently skipped lunch. We were both starving as we were preparing to head out for an appointment, when Patrick raided the fridge in search for some 'fast' food (rare in our household).

He claimed one of my favourite smallgoods produced in the Barossa Valley that we affectionately call a 'bum burner'. This tasty savoury delight is made with natural wood smoke in the authentic German tradition and is in a word, delicious.

I'd be lucky to have had half a dozen bum burners in the last five years, so yesterday I decided to purchase two tasty treats - one for the road trip and one for when we returned home, which did just before midnight last night.

Before I had a chance to ask for a bite, Patrick had eaten the entire thing (it's only about five-bites worth). Thinking that he was playing a joke I said "Come on, I know you wouldn't do that - pass it over here," to which he replied, "I am not joking. I was so hungry I ate it all." Then after a small pause he said, "That was so selfish of me".

It was at that point that a javelin went straight into my heart and I became bombarded by the all too familiar "He doesn't love me" inner dialogue. I was so upset that I instantly felt like drowning myself in a bottle of wine, gorging myself on ten KFC hot wings followed by a cheeseburger, several chocolate bars and three ice creams (one of them would have been a Magnum) all while smoking an entire packet of cigarettes (I still have some from a carton I purchased duty free in Hong Kong in 2007 for such occasions).

As these feelings of rage, rejection and questioning whether being married to Patrick after such an act would be possible, I bit my tongue (metaphorically). I knew something was going on beneath the surface that was causing all these toxic emotions. Feeling like United States of Tara, I kept switching from observer to being in the midst of fury and dejection.

Even now as I type I feel myself switching through opposing emotions. One minute I am a calm, insightful wise woman and the next - a crazed axe murderer (lucky for Pat, we don't have an axe... I wonder if dental floss can do any damage?).

I may not have had such a strong reaction had it been the last apple Patrick took, as we can easily trot to the local shops and buy more... but we are talking about the last BUM BURNER, which we've not had in this particular household since moving here four years ago - nor is it so easy to replace (an 8-hour drive, or $100 return flight to get another one).

Had this not happened today, I may not have been alerted as to how strongly I react when my 'unloved' feelings are triggered. Since starting Project Grace 2010 200 posts ago (yessirree, you read correctly - yesterday marked my 200th post), I found that the number of these episodes have markedly reduced. So much so, that today really took me by surprise.

As soon as the trigger goes off I experience a sequence of feelings starting with sadness and loneliness, followed by rage and fury that rises in my belly. I then have an overwhelming urge to abuse myself with food, alcohol and cigarettes. The yearning is strong, the desire is magnetic.

Is this longing for intoxication born out of the need to numb the pain, say 'f#ck you' to the world or to slowly kill myself? At this stage I don't know, though my guess is that it is probably a combination of all three.

For many years I did not have the strength, will power or self love to resist. Today I did.

I still don't know why I translated Patrick's self-confessed act of selfishness to mean that he doesn't love me, therefore my addiction to feeling unloved in response to mishaps continues to remain a mystery. I will, however, keep a close eye on this addiction over coming months.

In the meantime I'm grateful for the insight I have gained- though there are moments when I'd like to be vengeful and get my hands on another bum burner, tie Patrick to a chair and make him watch me eat it one teeny bite at a time. Ah, the power of imagination - I feel better already.

Until tomorrow, be sure to dig deeper if your reactions are bigger than what you're reacting to.

Grace xx

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Hush hush - the secret is soul

Last night we had a sleep over at our nephew and niece's house (okay it's their parent's house, but don't tell them that).

After having spent over two months overseas, we had a lot of playtime to catch up on.

'Stacks on' was the most popular game of the evening (imagine layers of people stacked like a pancake with laughter as the syrup) that had us all giggling uncontrollably.

It was getting late for a school night and instead of tucking the little ones into bed, we were invited into the kitchen corner to engage in a hush hush conversation.

"You can take him tomorrow if you want."

"Pardon?"

"We give him one teacher-free day each term and he hasn't taken one this term." And with that, we had permission to take our young nephew out on the town for the entire day (his sister is still a little too young for such an expedition).

We decided to have lunch at Lucia's (pictured above) - a culinary institution located in Adelaide's Central Market. I have long been astounded at how food alone, was able to carry the original 70's decor of orange Formica tabletops and brown vinyl chairs through the ages.

This Italo-Adelaidean icon has gone through three generations, withstanding the pastel 80's and minimalist 90's influences, to have come full circle and be regarded as funky retro in the new millennium. Now that's what I call standing the test of time.

I often wonder what has been the secret to Lucia's success. What I come up with is soul. Sure you can talk about quality produce, consistency, value and not giving into to fads and whims - but it's soul that gives it resilience. It is soul that has seen it live on.

Then I thought about our time here in Adelaide.

While we came to Adelaide for work, we took time out on a 'school day' to have a sit down lunch with four generations of Patrick's family (him, his mother, grandmother and nephew). Sure there are other things each of us could have done that were high on the list of priorities, but we chose to spend time together - and that my friends, is soul.

Until tomorrow, may you inject soul into your everyday life and realise that what lies beneath it all is something else that stands the test of time - family.

Grace xx

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G'day Mussels!

Hello gorgeous people.

After travelling over 3,000km in the south of France, we managed to compress ten days worth of itinerary into six.

We are stuffed. Although that might have had more to do with our last lunch stop than the journey. Or perhaps a little of both.

As we walked through the picturesque UNESCO heritage listed wine village of St. Emilion, we could see people tucking into giant black cauldrons overflowing with Moules Marinière (black mussels swimming in a delicious warm soup of white wine, garlic and a dash of cream - glorious!).

The last time Patrick and I shared this experience together was five years ago in Paris and we've fantasised about it ever since.

Pat was 'unfaithful' in his last trips to France and indulged without me (very jealous). We'd talked about doing it again however our restricted time schedule proved too demanding to indulge.

I questioned the authenticity of eating moules in St. Emilion seeing it's not exactly on the water. Yet in this stunningly beautiful village, we found it impossible to resist the intoxicating aromas. I convinced myself that being less than 100km from the ocean was a near enough and we sat down to succumb to the overwhelming temptation.

Verdict? To die for.

This culinary triumph was washed down with a glass of St. Emilion, which I wouldn't ordinarily marry the two together. Red wine and seafood is often considered a 'no no', yet I continued to breach wine and food etiquette in favour of what I really wanted.

It takes courage to go against the grain. Even at a restaurant. Ordering dessert before mains (Pat), coffee with your cheese (Pat's dad), red wine with seafood when you're 100km from the water (me). However sometimes you have to flex your muscles and choose what you want, despite it being 'wrong'.

We had a delicious lunch and a memorable day... and I have little regard for what the waiter had to say.

Until tomorrow, be brave and flex your muscles - choose what you want!

Grace xx

ps. The title of this blog is what Patrick often says when I get home from the gym. It's a cute pet greeting and I thought it appropriate.

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Milder Dick-Jogurt

One thing I love about travelling is discovering all the little nuances in languages.

Everything from funny road signs to a-la-carte menu items, there are words to be learned (if not chuckled at) all around.

My last night in Germany culminated in an apres-concert dinner. It was a farewell to those leaving the Darmstadt Staatsoper company and a 'woohoo, it's summer holidays' for the remainder of the performers.

As I sat down to peruse the menu, I noticed a rather interesting dessert. Milder Dick-Jogurt (the Germans pronounce 'j' as 'y' for example 'ja' is pronounced 'ya').

"Hmmmm... " I wondered what Dick Yoghurt was, and what made it milder (obviously NOT asparagus).

Unable to contain my amusement, I chuckled aloud and photographed the menu for your delight.

I learned that 'dick' means 'thick' and so the yoghurt in question had nothing to do with the male anatomy and all to do with its consistency.

Until tomorrow, celebrate international nuances by realising that there ought be no barriers to humour and laughter. It unites us all, irrespective of language.

Grace xx

PS. Congratulations Germany to your 4 - nil win over Argentina at this year's soccer World Cup. You guys sure know how to celebrate. I've never seen live car-surfing before. Makes my couch-surfing look positively lame.

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Swiss Cheese

This morning I decided to take a self portrait from our balcony, which overlooks the village main street and its amazing alpine backdrop.

Stunning.

Please take a moment to appreciate this particular photo, as I contorted myself into strange positions to ensure everything was in reasonable shot.

This exercise revealed that my body is unaccustomed to Cirque de Soleilesque twists and turns, and I was challenged to replace my grimace with a convincing smile.

After several failed attempts, and being disturbed by my constipated expression, I came up with a brilliant solution to utter 'cheese' before each camera click.

And then it came to me, Swiss cheese. I laughed.

Swiss cheese can turn a dull, uncomfortable moment on its head in no time. So too can the queen of le fromage suisse, Suzi. She owns a fabulous cheese shop here called Fromage Etc, which is the social, culinary and information hub of Champéry.

Susy invited me to her daughter's end of school year break up, which consisted of a mini concert of adorable primary school children singing cute French songs. It concluded with kids scrambling for their free ice cream, which marked the beginning of their summer holidays (I never received free ice cream at school, these kids are on a winner!).

After the show, Susy organised for me to read my book 'Nubsy McNoodle Wanted A Poodle' to a small gathering of English speaking children. Who'd have thought that Zia Grace (AKA me) would be putting on a show in Switzerland? It was fabulous and I was thrilled.

So as I sit here on my balcony overlooking the village main street with its amazing backdrop of the Swiss Alps, I remember Swiss cheese. It makes you smile naturally thus instantly eliminating unwanted constipated expressions. And so too does reading to children.

Until tomorrow, have at least one Swiss cheese moment a day.

Grace xx

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Don't forget your toothpaste!

I spent most of yesterday working on several jobs.

One for a photographer, one for a magazine and one for the little boy who lives down the lane (AKA my husband).

I just love having a portable office. All I need is internet access and occasional power to recharge the batteries. Somehow working in Paris is so much more inspiring than when I'm in Tullamarine. I wonder why?

Tullamarine is home to Melbourne's international airport. It's a working class suburb that doesn't raise too much interest - unless of course you're a fan of Hollywood superstar Eric Bana, who grew up there (hopefully there's something in the water and yours truly might be the next big thing).

As a result of spending most of my day working, I really don't have much to tell. Unless of course strolling to one's local organic grocery store to purchase lunch ingredients is deemed worthy blog fodder.

It is?

Okay.

I ditched the Birkenstocks and Puma runners (AKA trainers) for a pair of black Colorado Mary-Jane heels for the excursion (comfortable and stylish). As I walked down the cobbled street (pictured in yesterday's post) I noticed the local market was packing up for the day "Bummer!" I thought, "I didn't know that it was on today".

I ended up consoling myself with a selection of delicious biodynamic produce that included pickled sardines (OMG delicious), the sweetest cherry tomatoes and the most amazing to-die-for Chèvre (goat's cheese). Being in France, I was obligated to wash it all down with a glass of vin rouge. Bliss.

So what's with the toothpaste? I virtually hear you ask. Well this is the funny bit. When I went to brush my teeth after lunch, I had to be sure I grabbed the toothpaste.

What do you mean? I know you're thinking.

Well the first time I went to brush my teeth in Paris, I had the most bizarre experience. I put the paste on the bristles and proceeded to brush my teeth only to have the most disgusting taste permeate throughout my entire mouth.

Baffled by this, I grabbed the tube to investigate further. Turned out I was brushing my teeth with Ayurvedic mosquito repellent - GROSS! My mind raced back to the moment I was packing my toiletries bag. I remember swapping my large tube for this smaller one thinking it would save me weight. Now, after purchasing real toothpaste at an insane $7.87 per tube, I have two tubes, a hole in my budget and no weight saved. Thankfully the mosquito repellent was all natural and non-toxic, but 100% horrible!

Until tomorrow, make sure your substitutions are suitable substitutes.

Grace xx

PS. As for the Mary-Jane heels, it must have been enough to pass as a local. The lady in the store spoke to me in fast and furious French. When I looked puzzled she spoke more slowly asking if I have just moved to Paris (in French). When I shook my head 'no', she continued in English. This local experience is exactly what I was after. Victory!

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Sugar Coated

Here in Australia, it is traditional to serve 'fairy bread' (pictured right) at children's birthday parties.

Fairy bread is sliced white bread smothered in butter or margarine, then sprinkled with sugary coloured beads that we call 'hundreds and thousands'.

While it's pretty, colourful and crunchy - one would seriously have to question it's nutritional value and what it teaches children about what we consume at celebrations.

I'm not about to stand on a soapbox and rant about this with a waving finger. I am simply exploring my own upbringing, how much I LOVED fairy bread and comparing where I am now with the advantage of 20/20 hindsight.

So what brings me to this point?

Remember how I said I'd been feeling really tired these last few days? It turns out that my insulin levels were through the roof and have been causing a domino effect, causing my pancreas and liver to go bonkers (Australian for crazy).

This completely puzzled me as to my knowledge, I have been consciously consuming low GI (Glycemic Index) foods for several weeks - I even pick the sultanas out of my weekend muesli (I have a super-smoothie breakfast on weekdays). I was instructed to write everything down to see if we could uncover what I might be missing.

Turns out, my gluten-free bread is higher GI than I am permitted and that different information sources have different values for foods I considered 'safe', like polenta (corn maize) - some say high, some say low, some say medium.

OH MY GOD WHAT AM I TO BELIEVE?

I am becoming frustrated with trying to do the right thing and finding out that it's those 1%ers that are undermining my efforts.

Then my monkey mind took me on a random nostalgic journey of sugary foods that I once consumed with no consequence (or at least I thought they had no consequence), and it brought me to fairy bread. I have vivid memories of the magical party treat looking all tempting and delicious at the beginning of a party - but by the end the colour had bled, thus staining the bread.

Is that what happens to us?

Are we like fairy bread that is bright and vibrant when fresh, then over time become stained by the hundreds and thousands of high GI foods that we've consumed without awareness? And can those stains ever be removed?

Where I'm at right now is looking at my reality - without sugar coating anything. It's a scary space to be in, but a necessary one.

Until tomorrow, ask yourself whether there's anything you've sugar coated that you could do without?

Grace xx

Pseudo foods

Isn't it funny how we still want to consume what we love minus the things that make them considered 'bad', thus rendering them unlovable... and yet we go ahead and order them anyway.

Skinny soy decaf latte with sweetener translates into something like 'I love coffee, but know I shouldn't have caffeine, dairy, fat or sugar... so I'll render it to something of it's former self in an attempt to satisfy my palate whilst playing by the rules'.

Why do we do this?

It's NOTHING like what we love, and yet we're prepared to settle for it.

Why not opt for moderation and have a small amount of what we love with all its deliciousness and naughtiness?

Perhaps it's the moderation part that stumps me... maybe I don't know what moderation is with 'illicit' foods. Perhaps saying I can have a little is like a 'get out of jail free card' and I treat is as an 'all you can eat' allowance because tomorrow I'm going back to being 'good'.

Why oh why oh why do we torture ourselves?

I'm hoping my upcoming sojourn to France will reveal how they manage to balance cheese, patisseries, coffee and wine into their svelte stylish selves.

Until tomorrow, may you enjoy cream with your coffee minus the guilt.

Grace xx