Does anyone actually enjoy moving house? Of course it does quite depend on where you’re going, the circumstances and so on, but surely no-one likes packing. It’s a drag. Perhaps it’s my neat-freak tendencies that spoil the ‘fun’, but honestly what’s there to like about having half packed boxes lying around the house, just waiting to be tripped over? Come on, don’t say you haven’t yelled expletives at a box because it was ‘in the way’ (and not you just being a clumsy soul). Does it sound like we’re in the middle of moving house? Mmm. Buh-bye Sydney. It’s been nice knowing you for a year.
It’s very tempting to leave packing to the absolute last minute, rather than having the house looking like a mini-tornado’s hit it for any extended period. However, there’s one ‘department’ (because I’m a little anal and divide the house into sections for organisation purposes) of moving/packing etc. that can’t be ignored for too long, without some serious waste occurring. The aspect in question is food. Continue reading
On Monday afternoon we ventured into the city with one destination in mind. Max Brenner Chocolate Bar. The previous evening my sister had taken part in her very last ballet performance at the Sydney Opera House (next year she moves on to a different school/company/whatever you want to call it), and celebration seemed due. Unless you have squillions of money screaming to be spent (both at the chocolate bar and the dentist) or possess the superpower to eat/drink as much chocolate as you like and be none the worse for it, Max Brenner is not going to be your everyday, regular café. For most ordinary citizens it’s a café for special occasions. A place to frequent when you wish to spend some quality time with others and eat a lot of chocolate. Consequently you would think that Max Brenner would be jumping over houses to provide a space that facilitates savoring the moment and encourages customers to ‘stay a while’. For some unidentifiable reason they have failed to do so. 
We’re that family. The one that “pffts” its way down the Christmas aisle in the supermarket. The one that bemoans the playing of Christmas carols on any day prior to Christmas Eve. The one that blatantly abuses the ‘commercialisation of Christmas’. We discreetly purchase our gifts, not wishing to be associated with the cheery, festive Christmas-shopper crowd (though if it’s Christmas Eve its more likely to be bug-eyed and flustered in nature). What’s that you say? We’re a family of miserable Christmas haters? Whatever gave you that impression? Sheesh. Because despite our Grinch-like facade, we actually do enjoy Christmas. And golly gosh, we even have traditions of our own. What kind of traditions might a family ‘allergic’ to most Christmas related festivities have? Why, those pertaining to food of course. 
Taste Without Waste 