Category: other bloggers

Can we take a second to talk about the book, “Gone Girl”? Because holy crap is it good! I’ve made it to the second half of the book and knew that there was a twist in the tale, but man was this unexpected.

If you’re currently reading the book or plan to read the book, stop reading this blog post now. Coz spoiler alert! I am going to quote one the weirdest passages from the second half of the book, so scamper off. If you’re looking for an alternative source of entertainment, may I suggest the following?

And now I shall commence with the spoiler/extract. You have been warned.

“Nick loved me. A six-o kind of love: He looooooved me. But he didn’t love me, me. Nick loved a girl who doesn’t exist. I was pretending, the way I often did, pretending to have a personality. I can’t help it, it’s what I’ve always done: The way some women change fashion regularly, I change personalities. What persona feels good, what’s coveted, what’s au courant? I think most people do this, they just don’t admit it or else they settle on one persona because they’re too lazy or stupid to pull off a switch.

That night at the Brooklyn party, I was playing the girl who was in style, the girl a man like Nick wants: the Cool Girl. Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.”

A few years ago, I could not differentiate between garlic and ginger. I didn’t cook. And I certainly didn’t bake. Cooking and baking were tasks performed by GIRLS. Girls, whose only ambition was to find a husband and pop out some kids. Girls who didn’t want jobs and ADVENTURES. Girls. who liked pink, tiaras and understood the difference between base and foundation. Girls who weren’t me.

A lot has changed since then. I no longer think of females, who can bake and cook as “girls”. I think of them as women; as matriarchs. I think of them as accomplished individuals. I think of them as women, who nurture and sustain loved ones.

This change in thinking, this transformation wasn’t instantaneous. It started with a thought that any individual over 25, who couldn’t adequately feed him or herself, was pathetic. So in 2012, I dedicated one day a month to baking, to learning, to creating, to never giving up, to finding ONE signature dish that I would whip out at EVERY family function.

I learnt a LOT that year. I learnt that you should never ever, ever pour boiling water on to active dry yeast. I learnt that if you DO make the mistake of pouring boiling water onto active dry yeast your (MY) mom will scream, “You killed it!” (Dramatic much?) I learnt that I really hate being screamed at. (Wait. Nope, I’ve always known that.) I learnt that attempting Chelsea Buns isn’t for amateurs and you need some serious baking skills to attempt the feat. I’ve learnt that you should wait for your cupcakes to cool down BEFORE icing them. I’ve learnt that there’s a certain pride and satisfaction that comes with creating something delicious. I learnt that if I put my mind to it, I can achieve almost anything, all it requires practice and dedication. I learnt that friends will describe my salted caramel chocolate tart as, “NOT a dessert. This is pure decadence; a heart attack waiting to happen.” I learnt.

I still don’t like pink, tiara or know the difference between base and foundation, BUT I can bake.

If you’re looking for awesome food blog, may I suggest Joy the Baker? She’s an awesome photographer, storyteller AND cook.


Wes Anderson’s latest offering, “The Grand Budapest Hotel” will be showing at The Labia (a cinema in Cape Town) on 20 March. I simply cannot wait!

Just found the cutest photo shoot ever! Check it out.


Also En-dee! just sent out the funniest invite to her baby girl’s birthday party.

As hard as it is to believe, Baby is turning ONE! We’d really appreciate your presence in celebrating her birthday. The theme is “fairy princesses” and because Baby doesn’t have many friends yet you’re welcome to dress up…if you do I’ll guarantee a party pack and VIP access to the jumping castle:)

If you’re a cousin of mine and you’re coming to the party, kindly refrain from raiding the kiddies table:D


Photo taken at Taal Monument, in Paarl. Taal is the Afrikaans word for language.

Sooo …

In the last 24 hours my fascination with Charleston (USA, not New Zealand) has morphed into an emotion, which sports the same name as a Calvin Klein fragrance. Obsession. This domination of thought can be attributed to Olivia Rae’s blog, Everyday Musings. Seriously, the images on her blog are exquisite and I have spent hours delving through them, wishing that I had THAT much talent.

My love for Charleston was further roused by the knowledge that one could encounter dolphins. In the ocean. You know, in case some of you were a little confused about the habitat niche of dolphins.

Given this, I’ve decided that once I’ve had my fill of New Orleans, I am to spend some time in Charleston, before heading to NYC. I’d originally decided to take a train from New Orleans to New York (Amtrak Crescent line, 31 hours), with the possibility of stopping off in Washington DC. I’m reconsidering this idea. You see, it appears that some of the places I’d like frequent in Charleston are rather “remote”, and inaccessible by public transport. The only logical conclusion is to rent a car. Possibility of disaster = exponentially large.

Seriously. They drive on a completely different side of the road there. I have enough trouble driving, without any extra complications thrown my way. Remember that time I drove into a wall? Of a shopping mall. Or that time I accidentally pinned a car guard between two cars. Twice. And then I gave him R10 as hush money. Yeah well, Friday night I drove into the kerb. Of a road. Not over, but into the kerb. Of a road. Sadly, I was not under the influence of mind-altering drugs. I don’t even have that as an excuse. *Hangs her head in shame*.

Of course, I knew I’d royally fucked-up when my car immediately switched off. It then proceeded to make that sweet grating sound when I tried to reverse my car away from the curb. I’m getting all too familiar with that sweet grating sound that metal makes when comes into contact with concrete.

And let’s not forget my talent for getting lost. I’m the type of girl, who’d get lost in a parking lot. No seriously, I once spent five minutes driving around the parking lot of Mad Phoenix’s apartment complex, because I was incapable of finding the exit.

This US trip is bound to be fun.