Well, well, well.

Mummified finally went out for a big night on the town to a big name restaurant in Melbourne that shall remain nameless so that no one can trace my general greedy guts-ness.

Yes, I know it is not a word but it is now, so there, because I said so, go to your room.

Ahem

When did food get so tricksy ? The service was fabulous but there was foam this, jelly that, sweetness, sweetness, sweetness. Put chocolate back where it belongs I say - in a box from Lindt.

Is it my jaded mummified palate ? Have I sunk to a new low and now regard a fish finger and mash as the height of haute cuisine ? I don't think so.

Perhaps it is the trickery that annoys me. I want my food simpler. The fresh ingredients we have here simply don't need that kind of adornment. Some sure, I am not advocating a return to the cave, but it is jolly distracting.

Having said that, the pork belly with the crackling was to die for. The foie gras - fabulous and try not to think about the goose. Coconut icecream - a bit watery but pretty good. The soft cheese - so gorgeously ooozy and creamy it was obscene.

Oh yeah, and it was all very, very rich - hence the 2am posting while my stomach recovers.

For those in the know - go the 5 course degustation - you will not be able to manage more without having to get assistance from your chair. A bien tot

Mummified

Harriet Houdini - a doggy tail

Harri was bored and sick of her bed
so she snuck out the gate to play up instead

Harri Houdini climbed on the roof,
looked down and thought
oh dear, I'm a goose

Harri Houdini jumped in the pool,
swam for a bit and felt very cool

Harri Houdini hid under the house,
dug a big hole and found a small mouse

Harri Houdini was now very tired
so she popped through the laundry
and went back inside

THE END

Sanity seems to be back - or at least on a flying visit. Must be the fact that most of his molars are now in place and the fact that the little guy is now sleeping properly - bless him.

Was going through some stuff and found a poem I wrote during the delirium of the first 6 months. I kind of like it. It is dedicated to Great Uncle Geoff who, I found out today, wanted to be a poet but ended up working the land before becoming a journo

Heat seethes in through unknowing cracks
the fan pitter patter putts, trailing off like a defeated schoolmaster

My son guzzles at my breast
vigorous appreciation
expressed in happy snorts