A Crisp Afternoon Out.

What with it being a public holiday here, Mum decided we needed an afternoon out.
Dad and Meri had visited the Core Cider House several months ago and had repeatedly informed us of their enjoyable visit, so this time we decided it was about time we visited it for ourselves... particularly given our penchant for cider.

Though a little crisp out, we settled down on the verandah and quickly ordered a tasting plate of cider while we perused the menu. 

Ranging from extra dry to super sweet, with a sparkling lemon sans sweetness tacked on the end. 

Made from apples, pears or both, the Core ciders range from 'made from the skin and core without the flesh' dry to 'the sweetest part of the sweetest variety of pear'. However none of them could have been described as full bodied, each one completely missing an after-taste or even lingering flavour. 

Sadly, the best of their ciders was probably the mulled cider which was a semi-sweet apple cider enhanced with cloves, nutmeg and honey. 

Having settled on our ciders we chose the food and quickly got stuck in. 

Warm Brie: Thyme & garlic infused brie served warm with caramelised apples. toasted almonds & crispy Turkish bread.

Cheese platter: Picolin fromage de chevre (Fr), Capel Club cheddar (WA), Arrigoni Gorgonzola (It), served with persimmon jam, apple crisps, toasted almonds and water crackers.

Rabbit & Fig Pate: Creamy rabbit pate set on CORE fig & cabernet jam, accompanied with pickled carrot, caramelised sultanas & crispy Turkish bread.

Wedges: with sour cream and sweet chilli sauce.

Being little piggies, we dove in and devoured the lot, washed down with a few hot drinks (see the mulled cider above), before a short wander through around the cultivated lawn area alive with shrieking kids.

To our good fortune, though heavy black clouds loomed, they skirted us allowing us views across the sun dappled orchards.

It was an enjoyable afternoon and I think another visit needs to be in order, with a friend or two (and designated driver) in tow. 

An unexpected glut (Jerusalem Artichokes)

Sometime last year we were given some Jerusalem Artichoke tubers which I duly planted in the vegie garden and forgot about.

Sometime later, Mum and I were both a little surprised to see a crop of sunflowers spring up in the vegie garden, but as flowers are always appreciated, we left them to brighten up that corner of the garden.

Yesterday,  lunchtime was spent complaining about the lack of excessive produce from the garden. Barring limes, there is never so much of a particular crop that I am forced to jump into the kitchen and start preserving the leftover produce. 

Wandering outside to uproot the suckers of the raspberry canes, I pulled out the dead sunflower stalks to make space, and rediscovered the jerusalem artichokes I'd planted an eon ago. From two plants alone I was provided with my desired glut and so got cleaning and cooking. 

Having broken the tubers into cleanable pieces (they look like ginger roots), they were then divided into piles relating to their intended future. 

Clockwise from bottom right: steamed for soup, to pickle, to roast x2

Soup: 

Soup seemed to be the easiest creation and something for which there are thousands of recipes. This unwritten recipe was steamed jerusalem artichokes and garlic, pureed with stock, salt, pepper and cream and served with a dollop of yoghurt. 

The flavour was interesting, nice, and the texture was definitely nutty, as though miniscule pieces of water chestnut littered the soup. 

Pickles

Though not the reason behind this recipe, the internet told me that pickling jerusalem artichokes was a great way to stop these vegetables from being so flatulence-inducing. It also sounded like an interesting recipe and something family and friends were likely to at least try. So after slicing them, dumping them in acidulated water, soaking them in brine overnight and making the vinegar concoction...

... they looked a little like this:

The smell of the flavoured vinegar as this was boiling was amazing so hopefully the slices of jerusalem artichoke are as fragrant and enjoyable enough to warrant making again. 

They'll be ready to eat in a week, so we'll see. 

Roasted: 

The roasted ones got eaten before I could photograph them. I treated them like potatoes as they were supposed to taste like sweeter nuttier potatoes. They were definitely nuttier with a distinct aroma that filled the oven as they slowly roasted side by side with the real potatoes. 

They are definitely more flavourful than potatoes, but I'm not sure they really can be compared as they seemed nothing alike in taste, texture or aroma. Not sure they're likely to become a standard part of my diet any time soon.

Now to determine what to do with the other two plants still in the vegie garden. 

Whingin' Mingin and the evil one

This is a post for my sister. Who though interesting enough and technologically savy have both decided not to have a twitter account and have in fact eschewed social media all together*.

However working together (for the first time in their lives) they would like to remind my sister that they are more interesting that any moggy she may currently be cuddling

We have the fat (old) lumux/lummox

...and the basket case who is constantly confused as to whether a plastic bag...

 or paper bag...

or box constitutes a basket. 

Never have two pussy cats looked so innocently at one another. 

In the naughty corner:

Patrolling the roof (and pretending she can't get herself down)

just plain crazy

 Learning to share...

because it's essential when there's only one heater on.

 Sunning oneself.

Dominating the vacuum cleaner

Pretending that she can dominate her sister.

Dominating the parcel shelf.

Sleepy time

The only comfy spot. For once she found a soft bunny rabbit to cuddle as opposed to her usual hardback book.

Model looks.

And, in case you've forgotten...



*Mingin did at one point have a My Space account until she realised she would be expected to befriend her sister. 

Rediscovering Charles James

I'm a museum nerd, just slightly.
Unfortunately, not to the extent that I have surreptitiously hosted birthday parties within the four walls of my favourite museum, but just enough to keep tabs on the exciting exhibitions around the world that I can't get to, thereby depressing me completely.

The one that initiated the recent bout of depression is Charles James: Beyond Fashion at The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I discovered the exhibition through the media on this year's Met Gala, and was thrilled to see that appreciation of the beauty and skill of James' constructions is becoming mainstream again after so many years.

Though each dress is in keeping with the general styles of the era, at the same time each one is in a league of its own, standing out as a sculptural masterpiece.

One of the explanations for this is that James did not design to flatter his customers' figure. Rather than taking an imperfect body and using his skills to hide the flaws and emphasis the virtues, he would create an ideal, flattering shape with built-in corsets and bombast so that it was perfect, before draping it in fullsome layers of fabrics. This means that many of his later gowns could quite literally stand up on their own, some weighing as much as 50 pounds.




However the rigidity of the shell and underlying engineering was cocooned in soft drapery that gave the visual impression of complete weightlessness, gliding on air, provided the wearer herself had the grace and sophistication to carry it off.

*The delight in seeing Marisa Tomei wear an original Charles James to the 2011 Academy Awards was dulled by the lack of poise with which she wore the dress. In fact, I felt she made the dress appear almost lifeless, even when compared with a museum mannequin.

Unfortunately, James was not the most diplomatic of couturiers and was equally at home being charming or insulting and abusive towards the very women who were his clients. However for these women, the magic of wearing one of his dresses and achieving that memorable grand entrance into a ballroom made it all worthwhile. As Marc Jacobs said [James] understood human nature, how people want to adorn themselves and be spectacular.  

While James is known for his sculpted ball gowns and cocktail dresses, he is also renown for the fluidity of his early evening gowns and coats. Although still finely sculpted, his coats and jackets demonstrate a surprising softness through the cut of the shoulders or the way the heavy fabric has been allowed to hang before morphing into pleats and hems. Curving lapels were preferred to harsher rectilinear lines, while pockets and pleats are hidden into seams to address practicality and provide some flex and movement to the piece. 

Though Charles James has been appreciated by the fashion world for many years, and his few designs (he only designed about 1000 pieces over a 50 year career) were painted, and photographed  by the leading fashion photographers of the day, it is really only Cecil Beaton's photo below that seems to be recognisable to the general public. And even then they don't necessarily realise that the exquisite gowns are all Charles James. 

Hopefully this exhibition will correct that. 

*Most of the images of gowns are from the The Metropolitan Museum of Art's collection.