Archives for category: Fotografik

[via Peasandthankyou]

So if you’ve been following my feverish tweets on the peanut butter cravings that always seem to constantly seize me good, you’d probably know that DIY Reese’s PB cups would send me into a dizzying ecstasy of sorts. Very comparable to the sort of happiness that, you know, has you pooping rainbows and unicorns from your behind.

Okay, my point is. I will make my own PB cups once I’m done with this schizo disso. 12,000 words, Imma OWN you. If only for the sake of stuffing my mouth legitimately with a sick amount of chocolate and peanut buttttaaaahhhh.

Today I really missed my mom. Sometimes it really is hard to be a 13-hour plane ride apart.

So I just did the next best thing: I made one of her signature dishes for dinner. Soy-glazed baked salmon, packed in a sealed foil packet, just the way she would do it. Although she’d probably grimace if she saw that I didn’t top it with a huge bowl of rice to wipe up all that delicious caramelized soy goodness. That’s another thing you know. In London without my mom, nobody forces me to eat my rice!

I’m pretty sure you can tell by these mofo dark circles, but I didn’t sleep last night. And when I don’t get my hours in, there’s almost nothing that compels me to jump out of those PJs, drag a great deal of concealer under my eyes and get out of the house. But today I did.

For the flea market? Naw, it really wasn’t worth going out on a limb for (or even a pinkie), although I did get to see Shini in the flesh and that really made my day. But of course I was too shy to even say hi, so a quick snap of B grabbing these dusty pink heels from her had to suffice.

We did spend a lot of time crumbling Anzac cookies and forking E‘s sour pasta salad into our mouths, all over hot chocolate and wooden kiwis humping. But really, we could have done nothing at Holloway Road and it would still have been one of the best London Sundays I’ve ever had.

D-16
We are really studying our asses off. I promise.

 

 

 


[via Terry Richardson]

I guess this is why they say the apple never falls far from the tree. Terry is most definitely his mother’s son!

So it all started with these friends on the drawing slicing board

And then they went into the mixing bowl, eggplant-first.

Topped by courgettes.

And baby tomatoes (I love them vine on).

And mushrooms.

Rubbed up with a lather of olive oil, rosemary, thyme, and S&P. Popped into the oven and given a good roasting.

Et voilà. Dinner.

[via Fashiontoast]

That’s one sensational dress. Right there.

I finally initiated L to the wonders of Nantsuttei, quite like how Z got me acquainted with this bowl of garlic-oil goodness. To date I think I’ve already consumed four bowls of Nantsuttei ramen since coming home; all the better to make up for the severe lack of any decent ramen at all in London. But what really amazed me was how we managed to talk for NINE whole hours that night, picking up just where we had left off before.

Because you know, that’s how we roll. My L and me.

Do you think I look like an Asian Edna Mode?

I’m probably not so ballsy, but I’m working on it.

So this is what I’ve been up to: Chowing down on gigantuan hunks of mozarella cheese and chugging bottles of (too sweet) ice wine while overstaying our welcome at A‘s enviable bachelor pad. Trying to play with his extremely intelligent cast and failing like the noob I should be (no broken arms for me; no thank you). (Re)discovering for ourselves – over many dinners, even more drinks and two Semi-final World Cup matches – just how extinct the species of men that B belongs to is. And all this with my unquestionably loyal partner-in-crime O.

And this is what I’ll be up to: More rest. The World Cup finals (Go Oranje!). Project Makeover for B, which means we’ll be binning that mustard shirt you see up there.