I'm guest blogging today over at the lovely Selena Illyria's blog as part of her Australian Heat Week. Go, see me babble about The Bunker - which is going to be FINISHED in a couple of hours (ie Saturday night). Woo hoo.
http://selenaillyria.com/2009/07/australian-heat-week-6-caitlyn-nichols/
Holee Mother of God. I had heard that kids birthday parties were as bad as arranging a wedding (I always want to write weeding? Why is that?) but this week I have experienced this first hand. There were outfits, and cakes, and catering, and bonboniere, and balloons, and decorations...
And the actual birthday itself, several days before the party, led to an influx of barbie dolls dressed as whores and transvestites. Miss Five's take on it was... "I think Barbie needs some knickers on. She can have Snow White's." Yes, in keeping with her reputation the Snow White doll was the only one who arrived wearing suitable underwear (or any underwear at all for that matter).
The party has taken the best part of this week to sort out. But, it was a success - you have never seen so many happy little fairies! The wand decorating which I though would interest them for five minutes kept them all busy for half an hour; and the fairy skirts, which I thought there'd be fights over, were utterly ignored. I now have ten fairy skirts from the Hot Dollar shop that'll fit anyone with a six inch waist or smaller. I'm sure they'll come in useful.
Cooked masses of food. Including sausage rolls, chicken mini-pies, chicken spring rolls...
And of course a pink marshmallows and cupcakes birthday cake.
Hubby, of course, was not to be outdone and made sure it was All-About-Him by 'accidentally' standing on a rusty nail. He is presently at the doctor getting a tetnus shot and may have to have his entire leg amputated due to gangrene - well that is what you'd think if you saw him limping. Oh I KNOW I should be more sympathetic (and I am, no really) but there are leftover cupcakes...
So late last week I changed out of my usual food spattered, snot smeared outfit, got all gussied up (including shoes with a 1.5cm heel and even mascara - which I might add, I didn't even rub into panda eyes until I GOT HOME - yes it seems as I get closer to 40 I am finally learning about makeup) caught public transport (hi there small chinese lady eating raw garlic behind me on the train - I've not forgotten you, no doubt you had no idea I even existed - well how could you THROUGH THAT FUG). And, met up with the sublime Jess Dee at the Lindt Cafe in Martin Place in Sydney.
We had no good reason for meeting up, except that it was an excuse to eat chocolate. I immediately realised we were both on the same page when Jess persuaded me to eat waffles FOR LUNCH - with... wait for it.... NO savories first - because that would've spoiled it. Yes, it was almost as wild as the time I drank a large part of a keg of beer and then went swimming in the Murrumbidgee River downstream from a very dead cow. (Ah CSU Wagga).
Anyhoo. We ate chocolate, drank chocolate and then I bought more chocolate - although not the usual Lindt bars as I knew it was On Sale at Coles for half the price. Oh how thrifty am I?? Did you know that Lindt Lindor balls came in flavours like peanut butter AND cinnamon. I was amazed, but then, as we all know I am very easily amazed. Or is that amused? Er.
Well, we found ourselves all hyped up, unwilling to return to the suburbs from whence we'd come and at a loose end. So we went shopping. Sensibly our first stop was the Sydney GPO building, where poor Jess found herself dragged to a lovely little cheese shop deep underground. Of course I HAD to buy this incredibly stinky brie that I saw there. Stinky is probably a slight understatement, polite people would say it smelled like old socks, but I am not polite (I am, according to my mother; crass and have a stumpy neck). No, that dear brie smelled like a thousand people had farted in a jar and then they had buried the jar under a chook shed and poured decomposing seaweed liquid over it once a week for a hundred years.
So where do you think we went next... Armani? Prada? Tiffanys? Yes. All three. (OH OKAY, we didn't go to Prada because we were scared of the scowly shop assistant creature at the front door). Really though, the brie showed some restraint in battling its way out of my handbag until we arrived in the rarefied atmosphere of Tiffanys. Suddenly every time I stopped to look at something sparkly I could smell it.
Really, its rather difficult to be swanning about pretending that you could actually buy some of the things there, when you smell like a fart in a jar.
Today I finished eating the cheese. Of the last six nights it has made its welcome presence felt every single time I opened the fridge, I have eaten it five. And, coincidentally I have had indigestion five times as well. Yes. A cheese that once I'd have had for breakfast, now defeats me.
sigh.
Am having website issues. There has been a fire at my webhosting people's place. One of the servers that burnt down had www.caitlynnicholas.com on it. SIGH. SIGH. SIGH. Therefore I cannot access the site to update it and it dissapears periodically.
Sorry about that.
The Book Depository (free international postage): http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/book/9781605043272/Secret-Intentions
Amazon: Click here
Mybookstore and More: I'll update the link the very second it goes live on their website http://www.mybookstoreandmore.com/
Excerpt:
Zani hesitated outside her front door, fumbling with nervous fingers for the right key. She glanced back at Corbin, who smiled genially and made no sign of leaving. Fang, who’d spent the evening alone in her basket, could be heard barking her head off. The moment Zani managed to get the door open, she shot out ready to defend her mistress against all foes.
“Is this your guard dog?” asked Corbin, laughing as Fang’s paroxysms of barking faded into interested sniffing.
“That’s Fang,” she said, grasping at the conversation with relief.
“Fang? An interesting name for such a small, sweet dog.”
“She’s purebred, and her official name is Princess Cherry Wuffles III. The breeder named her, and I couldn’t bear the thought of either Cherry or Wuffles,” babbled Zani.
“Ah, I see,” said Corbin, who didn’t seem inclined to hurry back to the art gallery.
“Coffee?” she asked, her voice catching, even though she was sure he’d refuse.
He nodded. Her heart, which, up to that point had been thudding a little faster than usual, stopped. “Um,” she said after a short pause, during which her heart resumed operations.
“Should we go inside?” he suggested.
“Yes, I think inside would be an excellent idea.” With the air of one who regularly entertained large Frenchmen, she showed him through to the tiny sitting room just inside the front door.
“Very nice.” He examined the room with interest, but didn’t sit down. “Why shorten it to Fang?” he asked, following her up the hall to the kitchen.
“She sensibly bit my brother when she was a puppy. It was more of a firm suck really, but he’s never got over it.”
“So you called her Fang to remind your brother of this?” Perceptively Corbin touched on a can of worms that Zani was not going to discuss. She was keenly aware it may seem mean-spirited to anyone who didn’t know Paul.
“It’s a complicated situation,” she said, and turned away to busy herself with cups and the kettle. Conversation over.
Having the unexpectedly observant Corbin in her home was unsettling on a level beyond the whole mess at Sunberri. The men in her family including Sebastian, the man her father dreamed she’d marry, were all so self-absorbed that they rarely, if ever, asked her about herself, and then it was only to cover social niceties before steering the conversation back onto themselves. She wasn’t used to men who actually listened to her.
One thing was clear.
Her task was to prove Corbin was leaking company secrets in order to take over Sunberri. It was not to have cozy kitchen table chats after art gallery exhibitions.
She tried to think of something that would politely get rid of him, glancing at the phone and willing it to ring. An emergency, nothing too serious, but an emergency nonetheless would be perfect. True to form the phone did precisely the opposite of what she wanted and remained silent. She racked her brain to come up with something that wouldn’t make the next day at work awkward, but decided the best strategy was to get rid of him as quickly as she could, and instead, like Polly, she put the kettle on.
He hadn’t seemed to take her coffee invitation on anything but face value, but perhaps he was just biding his time. She examined him closely for biding. Settled comfortably at the kitchen table, he’d bent to pay more attention to Fang, who gazed up at him adoringly. The tart.
Out of both coffee and milk, Zani put a large mug of peppermint tea in front of Corbin. To his credit he peered into the cup and looked only briefly horrified. Unwilling to get any closer to him than she had to, she retreated to the safety of leaning against the bench top.
“Nice house,” he said, glancing around the kitchen, at its scrubbed wood table, marble bench tops and giant fridge.
She could almost hear him thinking “a bit too nice for an unemployed secretary who lives alone”.
“My mother left it to me when she died.” As most people did when they heard that news, Corbin looked discomforted.
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Oh, don’t be, it was years ago. She died of breast cancer.” Zani adopted a breezy tone designed to put Corbin at ease and declare the subject closed. She suppressed the small twist of grief that always accompanied any conversation about her mother.
“You miss her. No?”
Zani felt a flare of irritation. Bloody man, couldn’t he see that she didn’t want to talk about it?
“No. Yes, I mean of course I do. She died when I was fifteen, and Dad never got over it. He didn’t have a clue what to do with me. It was so hard…”
Corbin looked at her with such sympathy that it made her skin prickle uncomfortably. He didn’t need to know these things; they just made her and her family more vulnerable. Grabbing the cloth from the sink, she briskly wiped down the immaculate bench tops, her back to Corbin, her expression hidden.
“It was a long time ago,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Now tell me, which part of France were you born in?” To Zani’s relief Corbin took the hint and began to chat about his idyllic childhood at La Rochelle, in the west of France. She neatly folded the cloth. But he watched her with an air of speculation that made Zani want to fidget. As if he’d figured out something important.
He finished the peppermint tea with a grimace and placed the cup firmly on the table.
“I should go. Thank you for the cup of…of…it was quite interesting.”
“Thank you for walking me home, and thanks again for giving me another chance to work for you.” Zani began a farewell patter that lasted all the way back down the hall to the front door. Her bourgeoning relief faded when she opened the door, looked up to say a final goodbye and caught Corbin’s eye.
There was an almost predatory gleam, and it put Zani’s senses on high alert. Suddenly she became aware of how close he stood in the narrow doorway. She smelled his piquant masculine scent and the peppermint of the tea he’d drunk. He half muttered a curse in French, and bent toward her.
He’s going to kiss me, she thought a moment before his lips met hers.
Startled, she stiffened and tried to pull away, but his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer.
He is kissing me. Her mouth opened under his gentle pressure and Zani forgot any thoughts of resistance. Her lashes lowered as she gave herself up to the sensation.
She felt giddy, as if she’d drunk too much champagne. Frigid air drifted around them from outside, but she barely noticed. Only Fang shivered as she sat in the hallway and watched the kissing couple with an air of resignation.
Somewhere in the back of Zani’s mind a small voice was shouting. Telling her to stop, telling her that the last thing in the world she should be doing is kissing. But kissing Corbin was like eating Belgian chocolate. You knew you shouldn’t eat another, that one more would be too much, but you eat another anyway. Despite your noblest intentions you can’t resist the temptation. It’s almost an addiction.
He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. Zani twined her arms around his neck and, like butter in the sun, melted against him.
Then the kiss was over. Corbin’s embrace relaxed infinitesimally, and Zani drew away from him. Self-loathing overwhelmed her in seconds. Fury uncoiled in the pit of her stomach and she stumbled ungracefully backwards into the safety of the house, slamming the door.
“What the hell am I doing?” she asked Fang, who stood in the hallway watching her with a quizzical expression. “What the bloody hell do I think I’m doing?”
~~~~~~~
AND, if you needed anymore convincing...
Fallen Angel Reviews: http://www.fallenangelreviews.com/2009/January/RachelC-SecretIntentions.htm
So. Last Friday hubby and I pottered off to the bacchanalian feast that is the Sydney Food and Wine show. Pic of booty... 
I have not attended the F&W show before. Generally I lack the motivation to even know when these things are on - I mean ffs its a miracle my family is cleaned and fed - what more do you people want. However, the knowledge that Kath and Kim's fave beverage is Chardonnay (and no doubt filling up brain cell space that should be occupied remembering what to do when traffic lights turn red) stood me in good stead and the loves at Kampai gave me free tickets for answering the question correctly.
OMG. Well, why did nobody tell me that it was an orgy of drunken middle-aged ladies, porky celebrity chefs and providors flogging everything from microfibre wipes (WTF?) to teabags sewn with gold thread by nubile nymphs living on Mt Olympus (well that's how much they cost anyway - and did I buy them? HELL YES)?
My first celebrity chef spotting was Manu from Ready Steady Cook, he was sitting in one of those vibrating chair thingys and talking on his mobile. I would've skibbled over for a photo, but had a nasty collision with a woman, two wine glasses hung around her neck, one slopping red wine over her left boob and the other slopping white over her right. Mmm. Classy lady. Anyway, she tottered off and fell over a garbage bin, and hubby and I got distracted by the absinthe tasting stand.
Needless to say at 60% proof I was shortly in no state to sneer at anyone falling over garbage bins AND owned my very own bottle of absinthe.
I can go no further without mentioning the chocolate.
Caramelised balsamic vinegar.
Bliss.
Here is a list of what I have to do this week...
So, its going to be a busy week. Plus I've got a couple of catchup posts about my trip to the Food and Wine show and lunch with the divine Jess Dee at the Lindt Cafe. So stay tuned...
So, in the name of perfectionism I have been furthering my hot chocolate quest. Today was the Best By Far. Slightly more complicated that the recipe before, but not much.
Hot Chocolate the French Way
Makes 2 servings
1 ½ cups milk
2 ½ Tbsp. water
2 ½ Tbsp. granulated sugar
1 oz. dark chocolate (at least 70% cocoa)
2oz. milk chocolate (best you can get)
Put the milk in a saucepan and add water, and sugar.
Place over medium heat and stir occasionally until the sugar is dissolved.
Bring to a boil.
Remove the pan from the heat and whisk in the chocolate.
Then blend the mixture for about a minute.
Serve immediately
This tastes amazing, just like the Chocolat chaud you get in France. Its incredibly rich, I can only make it through one cup at a time (I KNOW). And a more traditional version wouldn't have any milk chocolate in it.
And this is the strawberry patch. Yes. Also spectacular. I agree.
Postman: What yer doin?Extremely cold. Two degrees at 6am and its crept up to nine now. Have spent the morning sitting still sorting out paperwork and now I'm so cold I'm having nipple spasms. Which men think is HILARIOUS but in fact it bloody hurts. Am wandering around the house with a heat pack shoved down my bra - note to self: remove heat pack before going to the shops.
Anyway, enough about my nipples. I think we all heard enough about them during the breastfeeding years of this blog.
So first to the garden. The apple trees are all planted and no sign of anyone popping-their-clogs as yet. To get good apples, apple trees need chilling hours (ie hours where the temperature is under 15 degrees). Its a bit iffy if I'll get enough chilling hours for some of the northern European types of apple I've planted, such as Cox's Orange Pippin, so I am presently haunting weatherzone and becoming ecstatic with excitement when the temp drops below 15. I expect I'll get over this fairly soon! Why did I not plant ALL low chill apples in my temperate garden such as Granny Smith? Excellent question. I shall do a post on it one day. A long, long post.
My quest for at least some degree of self-sufficiency by the end of the year continues. We've expanded the two vegie gardens on the left and right, and are getting the area around the pool ready for growing things as well. Total growing area is now 38 square metres, and books I've read reckon you can be pretty productive on 30 square metres, so we're getting there.
Just in the last couple of days the Snow Peas have started producing.
And next time I do a beef casserole I'll be harvesting these little beauties - they're Turnips...
I also have two quests on the go at the moment as well. The first is all about clafoutis and the second is all about Hot Chocolate.
Clafoutis is a dessert that at its simplest is baked cherries in a pancakey batter. Only it is SO MUCH MORE. The combination of fruit/s and flavouring in the batter are limited only by the confidence and imagination of the cook, from figs to white chocolate. Also it is tops with custard.
So, to the delight of my husband and children I am presently on a quest to find my signature clafoutis. Today its simple raspberry with vanilla.
Before...
And after...
Hot Chocolate. So its cold. We've established that. And when the kids get home from pre-school/day care I'm giving them some hot chocolate now and then as a treat (and a way of getting something/ANYTHING into Miss Three). Hot-chocolate-at-home is milo and microwaved milk plus child's bodyweight in marshmallows.
Well, yanno, I tasted some the other day and it really isn't that nice. I mean, its just a bit cocoay and whilst the variety I have has Vitamin B in it (to make my kids SMARTER - yeah right), I was just unimpressed.
So I've been fossicking about in search of easy hot chocolate recipes. And guess what. They're even easier than milo and my GOD do they taste good. This morning (for hubby's birthday) all I did was melt Lindt milk chocolate with some hot milk and voila. The best damn hot chocolate you have ever tasted.
It goes like this... Heat milk to simmer (microwave or stovetop). Place 20g chopped up chocolate in bottom of cup. Fill cup up to half way with milk. Stir. Lick spoon. Stir next cup. Add rest of milk. Serve sprinkled with chocolate dust from chopping unless you've already licked it up off the counter top. AHEM.
Now I have the sweetest tooth ever. I can happily eat condensed milk out of the can. But, I did find the above recipe a bit sweet. Am presently experimenting with a combination of milk chocolate and dark chocolate.
So after an excessive amount of hole digging I planted the apple trees in the front lawn.
I'd decided that it was going to stop raining at any moment.
How wrong I was.
It was also appallingly cold.
SIGH.
Meanwhile work goes on apace with The Bunker. Did I mention a while back that I'd decided to chop 25K out of the finished manuscript? Well that painful job is now complete and I'm trying to tie the rest of the book together in a way that makes some sort of sense, meanwhile wondering how on earth I'm going to find 25,000 more words.
I cannot describe how dreadful it is to rename chapter 11 as chapter 8.
Kitchen was trashed.
Oh who am I kidding. Kitchen is always trashed.
Baked some scones.
Baked a cake.
Ate the cake.
OH OKAY. Its the same cake. But I DID bake another one. Its been a cake baking week. 
THEN today...
Oh sigh.
