We’re six weeks into 2017 and the training wheels are officially off! Mostly, I’m just glad that people have stopped chiming “Compliments of the season” (or it’s more sinister abbreviation, “Compliments”) to me. It’s a useless, empty phrase that’s endemic to this southern part of the African continent (read: JUST STOP SAYING IT ALREADY!!!).
“What else am I doing? I’m learning about food and wine and terroir and how to pay attention.” Every once in a while a book comes along that serves as a cautionary tale for overzealous readers, like myself. What is the warning?, you may ask. To remain wary of books that make it on all the popular lists, because once in a while all these media sites will be applauding what could only be described as an over-hyped dud. I was promised a book that would blow my socks off, instead what I read was a book that left me with the feeling of trying badly fitting shoes. It was an uncomfortable experience.
We’ve been experiencing incessant, and much needed rainfall, on this side of the world for going on a month now. The novelty of spending the weekend huddled up indoors, sipping on tea and binging on my favourite shows is beyond old. I recently needed an excuse to leave the house and be bathed before 1:00pm on a Sunday, and lunch at The Mustard Seed provided that much needed (and very tasty) diversion.