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Tag Archives: Alex

Last night was date night… with my OTHER boyfriend.

Alex and I have lived together since August. In seven months, we’ve eaten dinner at home together twice.

When we moved in we had grand plans about waking up and strolling into Newtown Centre for breakfast and then heading off to the beach. Having barbeques in the backyard. Having nights in on the couch with a bottle of red.

Silly us. With Alex’s travel schedule and my I-have-no-idea-what-I-do-with-my-time, we rarely see each other outside the office.

And so, we had to book a date night.

We have this game at the office called “Three Choices.” As in, “Where do you want to go for lunch? I give you three choices…” (What? What do YOU do at your work?) So we based our dinner date on three choices, all in Surry Hills. Longrain for Thai, Il Bareto for Italian, or El Bulli for Spanish.

This was the third or fourth time I’ve been to El Bulli, and I’ve never had a bad experience there. The atmosphere is lively, the lighting is low, the food is delicious. Alex and I had various cocktails and sangria while picking at olives,  garlic and chili prawns, Serrano ham and blue vein cheese mini gnocchi and what I can only describe as chorizo and paella arrancini balls. So, so good.

Afterwards we to Shady Pines Saloon, as I’ve been on a mission to check it out since I read a Bar Zine review touting it as an American style bar, serious about their cocktails.

Last time I dragged a whole group of people there on a Thursday night. It’s down a little back alley in Darlinghurst, no signage whatsoever. The only way I knew I found the place is when I saw a nondescript door with a piece of paper stuck onto it, scrawled with “Gone Drinking.” And thus, my obsession began. I was determined to go back.

So Alex and I stopped in, and for a quiet night in Sydney it was totally packed. As promised, it was like stepping into a bizarre time warp. Lots and lots of taxidermy, extravagant mustaches on the bartenders, people on bar stools bellied up to the bar (a novelty in Sydney, something I sorely miss from home).

I was into the music: Johnny Cash, Muddy Waters, CCR and Rolling Stones all played in the span of a drink. But the best part was the crowd’s attire. There were  men in actual cowboy hats, and women in calf length skirts. Calf length skirts! Where do you even BUY those?

We couldn’t figure it out. Did these people buy these clothes just for this specific night out? Or more mind-boggling… is there a thriving  Old West  subculture in Sydney that has suddenly FOUND THEIR HOME? It was all very confusing, but enjoyable. Calf length skirts, my God.


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Alex has been gone since the first week of December, and I’m over it. Gallivanting all over Europe, while I sit here and melt.
The house smells of whatever it is that is rotting in the fridge, the plants are dead, the liquor cabinet is empty. My hair is a hot mess. (See: Ranga)
Teach him to leave me unsupervised.
Here is us in happier times, when my hair and home were significantly less feral.

He is due home sometime today, meaning I probs won’t see him until this weekend as he will be with his man and won’t resurface from domestic bliss until Nathan’s Thursday night late shift.

Speaking of domestic bliss, I whipped up a mean faux canape spread on Australia day. I say faux because not a one involved the oven : prosciutto wrapped figs, bocconcini with tomato, basil, black olives and pesto, roast beef crostini with wasabi sour cream and arugula, goat’s cheese devilled eggs, and frozen white chocolate mousse with fresh berries.
I’m pretty confident I fooled everyone into thinking I knew what I was doing, when realistically I had googled “easy party recipes” and spent the morning wandering the grocery store asking the clerks what eschalots were and if one could just melt chocolate in the microwave?

So Australia day was passed happily, celebrated in the manner of every other Australian holiday: in the company of friends, swimming, drinking, barbecuing. Life is tough, eh?


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