lf you walk from Marsalforn to Qbajjar all the way around to Xwieni Bay you'll eventually stumble across the famous salt pans. Turn around and look towards the cliff and there you'll find the green door.

My sister and I recently spent a lazy Sunday afternoon in Brunswick Street, Fitzroy. It was lovely to catch up and chill and have a decent, uninterrupted conversation minus our children! Oh and to drink wine mid-afternoon, how so very non-maternal and decadent is that?

Anyhow after hitting our usual haunts - Kleins Perfumery, Brunswick Street Bookstore, Flowers Vasette and Il Papiro we finally ended up at Mario's for coffee and cake. My sister insisted that I try some of the meringue, nut, and fruit torte thingy that she was having. Upon tasting the torte I then insisted that I needed just one more mouthful so to confirm that it was in fact *amazing*!

It was so incredible that I shamelessly hailed down the nearest unsuspecting waitress and enquired as to whether or not 'there were any eggs in the mix'? She stared back at me blankly, unaware of my surreptitious attempt to garner a list of ingredients so that I could replicate this little beauty at home at a later date.

 

After the terrifying earthquake that struck Haiti I too was left feeling overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of the tragedy. Soon after the disaster I read about a first-hand account over on Jeanne's blog of a qualified Boeing 747 pilot who had flown a relief flight to Haiti after the earthquake.

Rather than 'stand idly by as others suffered' Jeanne of Cook Sister and Between Hemispheres decided to organise her efforts and resources and is currently co-ordinating H2Ope for Haiti in conjunction with BloggerAid to raise funds for Concern Worldwide. Jeanne selected Concern Worldwide because of its long track record and quick response after the quake to provide clean drinking water and water purification tablets. This non-governmental international humanitarian organisation founded in 1968 works tirelessly in an attempt to reduce and eliminate extreme poverty in the world's poorest countries.

UN Photo/Logan Abass The United Nations
 

I was thrilled when I eventually stumbled across Anissa Helou's recipe for pistachio nut ice cream, because her recipe is one of the few that doesn't use almond essence. I have no idea why people insist on adding almond essence to pistachio ice cream, because in my opinion the sickly, synthetic almond flavour overwhelms the delicate flavour of the ice cream.

Anissa wisely uses rose water to subtly flavour the pistachio nut ice cream, which in turn gives it that authentic Middle Eastern edge. The only liberty I took was to add the faintest hint of green food colouring, so to make the pistachio nut ice cream all the more appealing to my incredibly fussy eight-year-old son.

I'm happy to report that he loved it!

In fact, he inhaled it!

During the Summer holidays Hoover was determined to learn how to knit. Both my mum and my sister knit, I on the other hand don't. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I haven't knitted in almost twenty-five years. I know it's a crying shame and my mum reminds me just how much of a crying shame it is every time Hoover asks me to show her how to knit, sew or crochet. So rather than continue to lament about my domestic failures I suggested to mum that maybe she should have Hoover over at the farm for a little nanna-grand-daughter-knitting-bonding time.

And so a couple of weekends ago Hoover had a sleepover at her Nanna and Nunnu's farm in Kyneton. It was a special time for my parents and Hoover as they all realised that with the advent of school impromptu visits and sleepovers at the farm will become less frequent. Mum made sure that the weekend was special in that she not only taught my girl how to knit (left handed I might add), but Hoover got to take home her very own pair of smilie face candy pink knitting needles and the beginnings of a very impressive scarf.

Rather than give you a wonderful, rich, decadent dessert this Valentines Day I wanted to share with you this inspiring TED talk that Jamie Oliver gave recently about changing the food landscape in America.

We were only in Nice for a couple of nights, yet there were two very important things that I wanted to accomplish in that short space of time. Firstly, I wanted to visit the Cours Saleya Market in the heart of Old Town and secondly, I desperately wanted to fall into a heavenly big bowl of Moules frites.

That morning while we were at the Cours Saleya Market we just so happened to walk past a very, chic looking bistro called Le Pilou. Yet it was not the brightly painted interior or smart looking waiters that prompted me to make a dinner reservation right there and then. What sealed the deal for me was the humongous bowls of Moules frites that were being rapidly consumed by the satisfied and content looking patrons.

So later that evening just before dusk Gillian, Brendan, Stephen and myself walked along the Promenade des Anglais and headed towards Le Pilou au Cours Saleya. The reality is, you could have blindfolded me and I would have still found my way to Le Pilou as I could smell the intoxicating aroma of the Moules à la Marinière a mile off!

One of the main reasons why I started Gourmet Worrier was so that I could have a place to write as my focus has always been on 'words' not 'pictures'. Yet, very early on I realised that in order to maintain an audience for any length of time I needed to scatter some enticing images throughout my posts, otherwise people would soon tire of my voice.

And so I hesitantly picked up my Nikon and began to take photos of food, food and more food. The reason why I say 'hesitantly' is because I have never considered myself much of a photographer. Sure, I have taken thousands of travel and family photos over the years but I'm just a person who enjoys documenting life through pictures.

One of the ways I deal with rejection is to busy myself with multiple tasks and numerous new ventures. Yes, some of the more enlightened ones among us would refer to this as 'denial' but hey, it's my denial so I guess I'm entitled to outwork it my way.

Cooking is yet another 'coping mechanism' that I employ so to avoid feelings of loss and despair. Hence, the last couple of weeks leading up to D-Day have been a bit of a baking blur for me. Again, the more highly evolved mothers out there will probably laugh at my efforts to cope with the inevitable, but I find that the process in itself takes my mind off the obvious and the end result gives me something tangible and warm to fall into.

Hence, it's currently 11am here in Melbourne and my house is devoid of children, calamity and clamour, yet I will still bake as if I have a cast of thousands to feed. Plus later this afternoon I know beyound a shadow of a doubt that I will have two ravenous school children clawing at the pantry door, so my efforts and this roasted cherry tomato pie with crispy pancetta will not go to waste.

Today is the day when most Australian children return to school and resume their studies. It also happens to be Hoovers very first day of school. To say that our little girl has been dreaming about this day for a very l-o-n-g time is a complete and utter understatement.

The little darling has had to sit back and watch her older brother skip through the school gate and amble off towards his schoolmates for years. She has also had to sit through countless school assemblies, watch her big brother receive umpteen awards and sit through numerous school concerts and swimming carnivals.

This day couldn't have come any sooner for the poor love!

A little part of me hoped that she would be tearful and clingy and that she may even protest or show some sign of distress. But no, not my girl! She confidently hung her backpack onto its designated hook, greeted her teacher with the cheesiest of grins and waved me off without even a backward glance.