Keyword results: Breakfast
When I came onto a bucket-load of figs from a friend's garden recently, I promptly ate half of them, let quite a few go rotten, then decided to save the rest by making fig jam. It was really quite enjoyable.
I cut the fruit up into acceptable chunks and threw them in a pot with the same volume of sugar as fruit.
While this idyllic scene may look like Echuca, the lack of teenagers having fumbly sex on the banks of the river indicate that it is not. It is in fact South Yarra, where teenagers don't generally have fumbly sex. That sort of activity is reserved for the beach house at Portsea.
Anyway, this section is about food and drink, not fumbly sex, so you perverts can just stop reading now.
When not lending their respective gossamer vocals and mad drum skills to the quickening strains of Rise and Demise, Ange and Phil are to be found in the heart of Thornbury, a mere hop and skip from stop 37 on the 112 tram, dishing up toothsome eats that laugh in the face of standard cafe fare.
There's the almond granola with vanilla yoghurt, spiced apple and berry compote, a cloak and dagger family recipe of Ange's.
You know how it happens: you light some candles, pour another glass of red wine and before you know it you're standing on the street watching the fire brigade hose down your rental property. That's what happened to the tenants of number 76 Michael Street in 2007. Happily, Mitte has risen phoenix-like from the ashes, bringing with it tasty breakfast and lunch treats.
Sure, Dexter has its tough side. The Bloody Marys are a peppery concoction of kicks and wallops that will cure a hangover with the swift bitch slap exclusive to Vitamin C. But the bar's only true sociopathic streak is found in Killers, the book of murderers' profiles propped up on the counter, which has enough literary msg to keep you there all day anyway.
Communal tables are fun in theory; banquets of towering cakes, stuffed pigs and candelabras have appeared in almost every given Shakespearean setting and the Hogwarts Dining Room sounds like the best place to eat Yorkshire pudding. But for most, group dining is a reminder of bitchy school camp trough-scoffing.
It's tough being the son of a Greek legend. There you are, minding your own business on the island of Crete when your old man suddenly decides he's had enough and straps some wings on your back. With only R Kelly to keep you going, you head straight for the sun. Woo hoo! I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky.
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