Today is another celebratory dinner! Approximately 2 weeks after deciding that he would like a new job, Chris went ahead and got himself one at a schmancy 40th floor office, along with a rather respectable raise and some great on-the-job perks. This is especially impressive, given that he had been promoted to senior developer just earlier this year. I know it’s not good to brag – I promise my parents raised me better than this – but I’m just so darn proud of him!
The best Korean BBQ I’ve ever had? It would have to be that time in Seoul where I feasted on a whole 600g plate of pork belly. I’ve never before, or since, had pork belly that was quite so indulgently fatty and delicious. Just the thought of that smoky, juicy pork, wrapped with spicy bean paste and scallions in fresh salad leaves, makes my mouth water. Of course, I haven’t been foolish enough to try and replicate that experience since coming back to Australia. Not only do I think that I won’t be able to find any sensible place that will sell me 600g of pork belly at the degree of fattiness I found in Korea, it also just seems…
After a hectic year of med school and the fervour that was final exams (which I passed by the way, so call me a second-year!), I was itching to get out onto my road trip holiday through New Zealand. And despite being told unanimously by everyone who has ever visited, I was still unprepared for just how stunningly beautiful of a country it was. We spent 13 days driving through the South Island – starting in Christchurch, across to the West Coast, then down to Queenstown and Fjordland, then finally back up to Christchurch via Mt Cook. And although I could talk for ever and ever about the scenery, my love for Lupin flowers, and just how unbelievably blue all…
Nothing beats fried chicken. Nothing beats that salty, crispy batter, and hot, juicy meat. In fact, I find myself zoning out at least twice a week, daydreaming about golden poultry perfection. Yet when it comes down to it, I have fried chicken remarkably infrequently, finding it hard to bring myself to have a meal of nothing but salt, meat, and fat. So when I do finally give in, it is a big event in my calendar, and I spent the entire day leading up to dinner at The Sparrow’s Mill salivating over the meal to come.
As a Melbournian, I treat waiting in line for good food like going to the dentist – a necessary evil to be endured for the greater good. But even I have my limits, and when I turned up at Hawker Chan to find the line 90 minutes long, it became a complete no-go, just like getting 8 fillings done at once. Feeling rather tired and definitely not in the mood for traipsing around the city, trying to find the next greatest thing, I instead opted to head to Bebu for a quiet and comforting Korean meal.
You know what is super duper excruciatingly awkward? When you walk into a restaurant, sit down, and look at the menu for a good 10 minutes, before realising that you’re in the wrong place. At least I realised before the banchan came out. In my defence, Sydney Madang is hard to find. Not only is it one of many on a street lined with Korean restaurants, it’s also tucked away in a side alley, marked out by an incredibly unhelpful sign. In fact, when I finally found the restaurant (after excruciatingly excusing ourselves from the first), I felt as if I had been temporarily transported back to Korea, with its plethora of bustling back street eats.