Cold Water Company

Flat, Crystal Clear & Cold

It’s darting underneath us, disappearing into the blue, then popping up somewhere else, up and down, round n’ round, showing off. We don’t hang around the first meeting spot for long, it’s too cold, but this morning no one wants to leave. We are all just as thrilled for the early morning company as the pup seal.

It follows us around the back of the island. Boy, they are so quick. Then disappears.

Swimming through the washing machine I find myself coming face to face with a Port Jackson shark. They’re usually hiding in their shark hole, but this one is coming towards me, so I get out of its way and tuck my toes in just in case.

On the last leg in, my fingers cramp and claw. By the time I get out, I’m cold to the bone.

Back home, I get Doza and we walk the streets picking up sticks for the fire. On the way back, the sun finally soaks through my woollen jumper onto my back and warms my whole body. This will last me all day.

My Slice

Lisa Pizza is my nickname, given to me by Dad when I was a kid. Peaches and Cream came first and, after Dad mumbling it for years, one became the other and somehow Lisa Pizza stuck.

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Seam Allowance

I’ve been wearing the wrong size clothes for years because I can’t accept my body has changed.

Today I took my measurements. You know, with a seamstress’s measuring tape.

I accepted the numbers.

I have now ordered a pair of trousers, bras and undies in the correct size. So now I don’t have to cut a V in the back of a waistband and my bra will fit.

I’d like to say I’m okay about it.

I am not.

I’ve even had to stretch a few pairs of leather shoes. What is that all about? Your feet change?

I’ve accepted it practically. Sitting comfortably in my new skin size might take a little longer, if I’m honest.

Limes are packed with juice at the moment. Of course! It’s citrus season. We had tacos tonight and the guacamole had plenty of zing.

Chemical Odour

I’m lying on the bed and inhale a familiar, foul odour. I can’t quiet place it.

It’s been 6 weeks between visits and I’m back getting my brows laminated when I realise that’s the smell of perm solution and burnt hair. Ha! I remember that smell.

I’ve been wondering how and when the perm will make a come back. Five seconds later I’ve learnt there’s a soft wavy Korean perm that I need to have so I book an appointment at a salon in Marrickville.

Then I cancel it. Do I really want to spend the day in a hair salon waiting for my perm to set? No the fuck I do not.

I love watching trends come and go, but this time round, I’ll sit this one out and grab myself some velcro rollers and hairspray from Priceline.

These 18 degree, sunny with blue sky winter days are killing me.

So I stuff my face with small delights and lovely things. I sit on the steps of the surf club, dry the sand off my feet and soak up the sun. It warms me to my bones.

This is a section of a drop sheet on the floor of my studio. Every day I sit on the floor, I paint, draw and play. There’s a man on the moon somewhere in there.

My favourite flavour duos for snacks are slices of Bosc pear & a two bite wedge of pecorino cheese. Hommus with chopped jalapeños. Celery sticks with cream cheese and chives, top each stick with a prawn and make it a good threesome.

At the end of a phone call with James I heard him ask someone at Papas in Haberfield, “what’s your favourite biscuit?” I’ll have 10 of those, he said. Amaretti and cherry biscuits. Whoa. I’m thinking about a sour (cocktail) with those flavours, maybe later.

A friend came back from Tassie with a bag of pink eye potatoes stuffed into her carry on luggage. Her mum said to boil them with butter and chives.

I gave her a bag of Dutch Cream. It’s a spud off.

Sunday Sets

Doesn’t everyone drink Champagne for breakfast?

"Let's get pissed at breakfast," James said. Yes, that sounds good to me, let's do it Sunday. "What will we eat?" I ask. "Pecorino scrambled eggs with prosciutto on toast."

This is stuffing my face with things I love. I make my own events. We are the occasion.

16.9°C | Unusual Weekday Swim | Shark Island Loop

Not everything’s been sweet on the horizon. It’s very hard to get out of bed.

I can’t even contemplate jumping into the water at this hour so I just move towards the kettle and try not to think.

It’s a small crew today, I feel a little wide eyed. Can we wait for a bit more light?

I see shark deterrents strapped around swimmers ankles again.

We take the rip out, or it takes me, I fumble to put on a flipper and my arse slides across the rocks then I'm flipped and face down in the current, sliding into an underwater world that I love.

I expect the water to clear a little. It doesn't. The water stays murky and sharky. I pass a school of big fish on my right so I breathe on my left arm and don't look back.

I hang back for a slower swimmer, of all days, today I wouldn’t want to be left alone out there.

When I get back to the beach I’m kinda glad to be back on dry land, I don’t have the usual pumped up million dollar feeling today. I sit in the sun on my own and soak up the rays.

Wedding Guest Again

Beautiful pieces. I’m just parking these right here for now. x

It’s peak season for QLD strawberries, keep an eye out for them. They taste best with Champagne and for whatever reason you can think of. Or none at all.

x

Best Mates

Rhubarb, Mandarin & Ginger

Two bright pink bunches of rhubarb, washed and cut into chunks for a crumble I never quite get around to making. I get distracted and leave them on the bench until they dry out.

James is twitching, watching them go to waste. If I leave them out long enough he’ll come and take over.

A friend with citrus trees picked a heap of mandarins for us, he squeezes the juice over the rhubarb. The scent is deliciously zesty, the whole house is buzzing.

I’m sent to the fruit shop. “Rhubarb and ginger are best mates,” he says.

I rummage through inhaling the box scent, checking out every piece. I find a knobby chunk that looks fresh and young. He’ll love it.

He macerates the fruits together, sets them aside for the afternoon before stewing them on the stove, low and slow.

In the middle of the night I wake up craving rhubarb. I get up, pull out a tub of yoghurt from the fridge. It’s not been opened so I get to eat the cream off the top.

Tingles and tartness from the rhubarb and a spicy warm hit from the ginger. Satisfied, I go back to bed.

Ginger has something in it that makes me feel better than I did before I ate it. Puts a spring in my step.

It’s worth being picky, look for young ginger, the pieces with thin, almost transparent skin. Then you don’t need to peel it.

Shape Shifting Denim

I dreamt about black skinny jeans. Low waist, mixed with feminine sheer fabrics. It looked raw, modern and super cool. I woke up before I saw the shoe, but in my Alaïa dreams I’m picturing these and if I had to pick a belt I’d choose this cut out belt by Bassike.

Before I get sucked in by all the hype and cross to the other silhouette, could I please have a pair of these barrel leg beauties.

ps If you like playing with proportion, Amy Smilovic's Tibictionary is worth a read.

Shark Island Loop | Grey Skies, Grey Water

6:30am waiting for some morning light before we dive in. I’m standing on cold concrete and look around me. All the swimmers here today are fast. I didn’t bring my flippers, and it’s too late to bolt to the car. I knew then that I’m going to have to get creative.

The only advantage I have is that some of the ‘gun’ swimmers are scared of sharks, this slows them right down, they want to stay in the pack.

At the first meeting spot I push out first towards the island. There’s only so long I’m out in front before they pass me on both sides, so close, I can tell who they are by their cossies underwater. Now I’m swimming at their feet, bubbles in my face. I’m kicking hard. Counting 3 arms then a breath, 4 arms and breathe, 5 arms and breathe, if I can just hang on.

I’m drafting, this is good.

It’s low tide, there’s enough water to take some risks so I cut corners at the Island. While they swim wide around the reef, I cut across. I keep my breathing to the left, the reef is on the right. Dad always drummed into us as kids, never turn your back on a wave.

When we get around the South side of the island, I'm not as far in front as I expected, but I'm still on their toes. Not far now until the next spot where we stop and I’ll be able to catch a breath.

A wave hits. If I go now I’ll get a good start so I take off, out in front, for the shortest amount of time, on my way back to the beach.

There’s no time this morning to look for eagle rays or blue gropers, I’m flat out just keeping up.

Cereal Packet

I found these pastels on Amazon, 48 colours for $35. It’s a cheap way to play with colours before you commit to the more expensive brands. I’ve been able to discover colours I didn’t think I would love, like this grey.

My favourite place to shop is Parkers in Sydenham, that’s where I shop Sennelier oil and pastel sticks. Oh my, the colours in their range are divine.

I’m still using up old spray paints from Hazelhurst, house paints, charcoal from the fire, anything that makes a mark. Find something you can paint on, even a ripped open envelope is a canvas.

Listening to Joni Mitchell A Case Of You, live.

You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling.

Shark Island Swim | 16°C

Shark Island Swim | Winter | 16°C

5:30am alarm, it’s dark. Cold. I can’t stay in bed another second or I’ll talk myself out of a swim and regret it for the rest of the day.

After a cup of tea, eggs on toast, I’m out the door.

It’s been raining all night and the first 50 metres in the water is murky, we swim through a thick wall of floating red algae. I try not to open my mouth. It’s still dark at 6:30am, we wait a bit and go in anyway. Close to the island, through foggy goggles, I can just make out Roland. He gives me a hand signal and I know exactly what that means.

Look. There’s something underneath us.

I spot a halo of silvery fish flickering, they’re coming up beside me. Inside it, a beautiful, big Grey Nurse Shark cruises slowly beside me, camo grey so perfectly matched to its surroundings you could almost miss it. It glides through the water without any effort then fades out of sight.

I can tell the group of swimmers behind me has clocked it too. I can hear their excitement.

I’ve won the day and it’s not even 8am.

What’s Been Going On

I walked through Mecca drawing lipstick stripes on my hand. By the sixth swatch I find Wild Tulip by Chantecaille, it feels peachy, sticky enough and a bright coral I love. The shade looks like it’s borrowed from my Aunty Nancy’s makeup bag.

I have a few pairs of Dal 1992 knee highs. I like the weird colours like Olive Oil & Citron green. While nothing else on the racks take my fancy, these sheer pops of weird colours make me feel playful and sensual at the same time, which shouldn’t mix but it does.

I’ve even pulled out my red kitten heel sandals from the back of my wardrobe to wear with them just to show them off. I’ve been off heels for a while, but now, the heel is back.

I’m stewing rhubarb for a crumble, soaking prunes for a pudding and mopping up hearty soups with an onion focaccia. Sometimes in that order.

Every day I paint, even if it’s on a shoe box. It’s a throw back to Hazelhurst days, if I needed a sign I’d grab whatever was within reach. Cardboard, paint and posca pens - I love the chisel tip.

When I paint on a canvas I can be too precious, scared I’ll waste my money. When I paint on cardboard or an old drop sheet I feel free, I let loose and I like the outcome better.

Precious Canvas

This is the one canvas I own. Too good to waste just because I didn't like what I painted, so I keep going over it.

Gentle Fires

Walking Doza around the streets I’m picking up sticks to light the fire. I hate the smell of the petrol fire lighters and it takes away the ritual. I park up near Cronulla High underneath a big Banksia tree and fill bags with all the banksia pods on the ground. They make the best fire lighters.

When the fire looks like it’s fading, you gently blow into the cone and it glows bright, a flame comes to life and we’re back in business.

The house now smells of eucalyptus and smoke.

xxx

This week I ate colours, rated myself and hurled the images I see underwater onto the wall. Let’s get messy.

Underwater

Day 1 Painting on a flat pack cardboard box taped to the wall.

It’s quite large, about 1.4 x 2m, I have plenty of room to play.

I’d been taking in these underwater shapes and colours for ages so I didn’t waste any time thinking about it I just started. Turned Leyla Ebrahimi up loud and moved until I felt tired.

Now I’ll sleep on it, day two can wait.

Nose

Now we get dark and dirty. It’s another part of me exploring materials and process.

I went digging and scratching through a layer of old chalk paint and multiple layers of oil pastels. There’s not much more the canvas or I can take.

There’s still power in a piece that’s been fought with rather than loosely composed.

When I ask myself do I like it? I realise that’s the wrong question.

Liking it isn’t the point.

Oranges & Radicchio

Thrown straight into a mixing bowl. Eaten from my lap on the couch. Watching Deadpool & Wolverine.

I usually slice it super thin on a mandolin, but I’ve left the radicchio in big wedges just so I can eat the colours. I add thin, salted cucumber slices. Actually, who am I kidding? Everything’s salted. Fennel, Cara Cara orange, hazelnuts, heaps of pecorino & last night’s roasted sweet potato.

10/10

Why wouldn’t I. I’ve got no one else here tonight to judge.

Peaches & Witches

Somewhere on my way back to shore, a thick fog rolled in. Like most things you encounter in the water, it’s upon you in an instant.

The night before, I’d been reading about witches. My fantasy world & morning swim were colliding. I was expecting Blackbeaks riding Wyverns to fly out of the fog.

Two worlds existed at once. One beneath me, alive with Blue Gropers & Eagle Rays - just as fantastic. The other above, hidden in the fog and left to my imagination.

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In Cronulla there is a tree that I love. It’s got knuckles and bends and loops up to the sky. It’s ugly and breathtakingly spectacular.

Ordinary Dinner

Sometimes dinner is a tin of English style Heinz Beanz on toast. “Fucking lovely” he said. For me, a scraping of Vegemite and butter on yesterday's garlic and rosemary focaccia.

Vegemite hits salty and sharp, then garlic smooth and sweet with pins of spiky green rosemary oils left in my mouth.

15 Grams

Just 15g of Copper Tree butter wrapped in foil, enough for one slather over a chunk of Fenugreek bread. James finds it on the bread board, “Is that for me?”

He feeds me cake.

I open the box expecting a slice but instead find a small whole cake with a sticky crispy coconut jungle on top. I rip a bit off to taste. Dense and dark inside with chewy dates and chunks of sweet apple. We moaned through every spoonful of tart greek yoghurt and cake.

I just found out it’s called Australian Lumberjack Cake, why the bloody hell have I only just discovered this?

Cronulla Beach

Sunrise | Shark Island Swim | 19°C

Sunday - We’re in that splinter of the seasons where it’s warmer in the water than out. Cool breeze hits my bare shoulders. Underneath the water closer to my toes feels like the bathwater’s gone cold. It will get colder from now on in and stay past Christmas.

Tuesday - It comes out of the white water, a shark, suddenly right in front of me. Beautiful mottled patterns along the length of its body, that’s a Port Jackson, good to know, I can follow. It cruises past, swimming in the other direction, completely ignoring me. The shark might not care about me but I can’t look away. I see another swimmer and grab his hand underwater, pulling him in the direction of the shark. We watch it disappear into the seaweed.

I’m just 50m from the beach when I swim over a turtle. The water is shallow here, I can just watch while I’m floating on the surface. I look up, there are no swimmers around, it’s just the two of us. It dives down and around about, we’re both pushed and pulled together wherever the current takes us.

I’ve seen a turtle here before, I wonder if it’s the same.

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Tuning In

I make videos and I’m chasing the sound now.

When I edit a video, Capcut prompts me to remove the background noise. I used to delete it but now I keep it. It’s like comparing an old record to Spotify. It doesn’t feel like it’s touched anyone’s hands.

Lately, I’ve looked so hard my eye balls are sore.

It’s time to train my ears, so this time, replaying a video for the final edit, I close my eyes and listen.

Old recordings of Kookaburras cackling and the lawn mower a street over. I want something live so I clip my microphone to Doza’s harness and go for a walk.

A missed call lands me looking at my voicemails, usually ignored. Staring up at me 3 messages down, transcribed to text, was “Hi mom, give me a call” and when I listened, just 5 seconds, she finished with “I love you”.

John St. 2026

I didn’t love it.

I took a photo of the painting, cropped it and turned it landscape.

I like this better.

What did dad used to say? “We’re here for a good time not a long time” sometimes I get mixed up and say it backwards, before squinting my eyes and shaking it out of my mouth the right way.

and then this.

“When you shatter the chains of this world and forge the next, remember that art is as vital as food to a kingdom.

- Florine to Aelin Galathynius, from Queen of Shadows by Sarah J. Maas

Could this edition be everyone else’s words.

Grub

Burgers and wedges. Doza got James’s last bite before we head out for a walk.

It’s only 6pm but feels much later, it’s dark, wet and there’s no one around except for kids parked up at the end of the cul-de-sac. Their headlights beam across the park, lighting up luminous waves. Crickets sound like ring tones. The No Parking sign lies on the footpath.

9/10

James - Probably one of the nicest burgers I’ve had in ages. Fresh jalapeños sautéed quickly would have made it better for me.

Perfect patties. High heat. I was fucking well happy.

Shouldn’t have eaten three, should have eaten two.

Colourful Dreams

In my studio (Leni’s room) mixing paints hoping to make fluro pink even hotter.

I add little bits of other colours, one at a time, to see what happens. Breaking the seal of Phthalo blue with my Swiss Army knife, just enough paint escapes the tube. I add it to the pink. There’s nothing clean to mix it together with, so I use my finger.

The most beautiful purple appears.

I don’t want to waste this colour. I shouldn’t, but I wipe it on the finished painting.

Funny, I saw this colour in my dreams. Might be just what I need to start on Josephine.

~

If you have enjoyed reading this please hit like, it helps people find me.

~

As we head into the harsh Australian winter I’m so happy to put the electric blanket back on my bed x

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Friday, 8 May. 4:12pm. Um, excuse me. Can you start painting canvases right now?

So I did.

Day 1 - 3 On The Canvas

And knowing when to stop painting.

I think about who I'm doing this for. And I just begin.

It’s finished on day 3. Overworked? Most probably. It’s like I’ve just robbed myself of yesterday.

I bought a scrap of linen to start with. A handful of cheap acrylics, crayons & a few brushes. The brushes feel clunky in my hands and end up discarded & drying out on the drop sheet. I’m using my fingers & palms. They work much better and I let loose.

The pastels, wow. I fucking love them. The oils soften in the heat of my fingers, they’re sticky & tacky, you can push them out of their sleeve like toothpaste. The soft ones crumble, delicate and light. They feel coarse across the canvass, tiny pieces break off and fall to the floor next to Doza. I want the whole rainbow in my arsenal.

When do I know my painting is finished? It’s in the guts I reckon.

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6:30am. High Tide. Shark Island Swim.

The moon is high over the water today, a striking waning crescent. Dark clouds highlight its brightness. You can’t miss it. I wonder about the cycle of the moon and make a mental note to look it up when I get home in case I ask someone something stupid I should already know.

The water is deep, clear and cool. I swim over a mottled eagle ray looking for sea urchins and a big blue groper sways in the current with me.

With every left stroke breath, I watch the sun rise.

I stop and look around hoping to find someone to cut the point with. The sun is blinding, I can’t see any coloured caps.

I’m on my own. The current takes me fast. I’m picked up by the swell, I feel like I’m about to be slammed onto the rocks. The wave hits the rock ledge and throws me back into the safety of the white wash.

I get hit by every set. I duck and dive. I swim across the shore rip then realise I can stand up and walk the rest of the way in.

I get out telling anyone who’ll listen how good the conditions are.

Not everyone agrees.

I think then that perhaps it’s not the ocean but rather the conditions of me.

A good state of mind finds a good swim.

Rate My Plate

When I was a kid, my after school snack was a cup of milk with Milo and Vegemite toast. I’d choke on the Milo.

I have grown up versions now.

It's really just a raid of the fridge. Start with something fresh - a Bosc pear, ugly skin but soft and sweet inside. Cheese or hummus, one or the other. I'll cut a small wedge of gorgonzola, just enough to wet your whistle and keep you wanting more. If it's hummus, a small bowl with a tong full of jalapeños on top. Salami, make it pork and fennel. A couple of fresh dates, a row of Arnott's Vita-Wheat crackers. $2. And the magic - leftover panforte from Christmas. Bite-sized, chewy, packed with nuts, dried fruit and spices.

I made this plate for James. He rates it 7.4/10.

I did get a 9/10 for my Shepherd’s Pie this week. Why not a 10/10?

James: “I walked in, it's ready, glass of wine waiting for me, it's delicious, it's fucking well above normal. When you get a 10 there’ll be fireworks, I’ll let you know when that happens.”

Put your chairs up on the table. I’ve gotta clean up this mess.

xLisa

Smells Like Sand and Seaweed

Low tide. 6:30am. 19.8℃. Shark Island Swim.

We shuffle through the sand, I don’t want to step on a stingray. I dive straight into a thick wall of seaweed, slimy and scratchy across my skin. A few strokes and I'm out the other side, floating in clear water, pieces of seaweed drifting around like space junk.

Chin to chest torpedo style, cutting through the chop. It's against us the whole way out. We round the island, turn back, and now the current and wind are behind us. Smooth sailing all the way home.

This is the swimming I love, when it requires effort from me. Too flat and my mind chatters. Chop or swell and I’m right in the moment.

Every morning gets colder from here on in, swimming is a non-negotiable for me, rain hail or shine.

If I don’t go I’m miserable, when I do, I’ve won the day.

Rate My Dinner, You're Kidding?

Rate my chef husbands dinners? What, am I crazy? I don’t bite that hand that feeds me.

This week. Gnocchi. But the little balls of potato weren’t the hero of the dish. Wild rocket, chilli that dances on your tongue, spiky lemon and a good Italian pecorino cheese. It was everything else James brought to the dish.

James rates it a 7/10. “I quite liked it. I liked the flavours. It’s such a classic combination.”

He’s such a beautiful cook and right now he’s only cooking for the people he loves.

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The soles of my feet are bruised, I’m craving a forkful of lasagne and the toilet is broken.

TIGHT HUGS

Click open the heavy side gate, you can’t quite see what’s behind it, but you can already hear the music. Just inside you’re greeted by me & Doza.

The backyard opens up. Draped across the long table is a drop sheet I painted for Charlie and Emma. In the middle of all the colour and chaos - I. We. Love. You. Me.

People are already moving to the music. Excited faces, corks popping, spritz’s mixing, I noticed the surprise in Emma’s grandma’s eyes.

A drink is being poured for you and pushed into your hand.

Peeking out behind the frangipani is a gold velvet couch with kids sprawled across.

They don’t know it then but they’ll be carrying it back inside later.

No One Else Is Cooking For My Kids

James pulls the porchetta out of the oven. My eyes light up, my mouth is watering. It’s golden roasted & bubbling. I bully him into cracking me a slice. I can taste the lemon zest, a hint of chilli, fennel, black pepper, and our garden thyme.

I order him to wrap it up and put it away. Don’t give it to anyone. It’s that good.

Porchetta in schiacciata (Turkish bread).

Score 9.8/10

Why not 10? The crackling wasn’t perfectly bubbly all around the outside.

“It’s so fucking good, do you know what I mean. I could just eat a plate of that.” James

Everyone wants to know what James cooked.

It was my job to roll the Carbonara Arancini, we don’t get excited about Arancini but they’re easy to eat - always a crowd favourite. Plus, it used up the Guanciale in the fridge.

I told my nephew to take home some leftover Lasagne. I didn’t think he’d take the lot.

That’s why I’m left craving lasagne.

The Tiramisu. I ate it as I made it. I ate it as I served it. We’re still eating it straight from the fridge.

James laid out a table of fresh crudités around a ricotta dip with roasted grapes, toasted walnuts, hot honey and crispy sage.

Every time I walked past I would grab a slice of sweet fresh pear. Perfect.

"All that work, such a big week. I'm so glad we did it. Emma was happy, her family was happy. That's all I give a fuck about." - James

HANDOVER

I. We. Love. You. Me.

The painted drop sheet I used as a tablecloth is going home with Charlie and Emma. They’ll hang it along their shed wall.

Not everything that happens at the party stays at the party.
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All Sorts

A throuple we’ve never met is coming to our backyard party in three days.

It’s Charlie and Emma’s engagement party and we’re hosting. Right now I’m grinding coffee beans for tiramisu. Burnt sugar, dark earth, then Kahlua. I breathe it in and soak up the smell as I go.

The menu is still being worked out in James’s head. I get the odd jobs, the bits and bobs. James has ordered a wheel of pecorino, which means I need to find joy and meditation in grating cheese. I’ll psyche myself up for that.

In-laws and all sorts. Starting to wonder where they’ll all fit. How the hell are we going to pull this off?

Footage shot by Josh @jaypeye at Bare Island.

Three Islands

Chalk-on-blackboard feeling under my feet, I confess to my swimming buddies I hate walking bare feet on sand. I feel very un-Australian for saying that out aloud.

We've landed at La Perouse for the second leg of the Three Island Swim. Bare Island.

I’ve been here before, swimming in murky, sharky water, afraid. One year I sat it out because of bluebottles, I’ve regretted it ever since.

Today the sun is out, blue skies, and for the first time the water looks clear.

I’m jumping out of my skin. About 30 of us set off, sticking close as we round the island.

We stop for a photo just before the bridge, it towers over us like a finishing line. Divers make alien shapes beneath us breathing out big bubbles that rise to the surface. I look up. Kids have reeled in their fishing lines. The current funnels us under the bridge, between the pylons. The light changes, we swim through shadows just for a moment. I’m so happy.

You’re always on a bridge, never underneath one.

I make my way back up the sandy path, wrapped in a towel. Every step of bare foot on dry sand squeaks up my spine.

I text James, Heading home to swim Shark Island.

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You know when something takes all your attention and you don’t even notice the time passing?

That’s what I’m chasing.

Who’s A Lucky Duck

I’ve pegged the drop sheet on the clothesline and, with a yellow spray can, painted the words I only want to go home across it. I said I’d stop there. So I did.

This is for Charlie and Emma.

We’re loving the idea of a backyard party. In the middle of planning the engagement, James said, “No one else is cooking for my kids”. I feel that too. So this week we’re prepping. James brings the food, I bring the art.

The painted drop sheet will be the tablecloth.

I couldn’t think what else I could bring to the table.

God Rays

Just an ordinary bunch of people starting their day in an extraordinary way.

Swimming back from The Point this morning, a turtle cut across in front of me, then dipped and disappeared.

Low tide, it’s messy out there - rips pulling, waves colliding from all directions. It’s my favourite kind of swim. There’s so much going on it takes all my attention. Swimming across the peak of the swell and hoping it doesn’t break too soon, making sure I don’t get pushed toward Cabbage Patch reef and working my way through the rip to get back to shore.

I love it. It gets my heart racing, pulls me right into the moment.

By the time I hit the sand, I feel like I’ve been thrown around in the best possible way and spat back out to start the day.

It’s 7:20am.

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This week we poached the last of the stone fruit - peaches & plums, in a vermouth syrup, to carry us into winter. Lovely isn’t it.

I love plums. The tarter the better.

James was on fire. There was a ham, leek and potato soup cooked, portioned and frozen, then jerk chicken prepped for tomorrow. A roast lamb went on a bed of Boulangère potatoes, soaking up all the juices. In the afternoon, three oranges turned into a Spagliato - finishing off a bottle of last night’s Prosecco - and an orange and almond cake. Cavolo nero from the garden was picked, blanched and frozen without me even noticing, ready for a quick, weeknight gnocchi.

When I say we, I mean James.

When he gets going there’s only one gear - top gear. I don’t even try to keep up. I get out of the way and enjoy the intervals and reveals - the smells, the bitter Spagliato placed in my hand or when something comes out of the oven and I’m invited for the first look.

Instead of helping in the kitchen, I started reading a new series - Throne of Glass - my head completely somewhere else. Lost in fantasy. It’s a nice change.

I’ve always read books that help me think better. Brené Brown, The Future Of Storytelling, even Dalí - they all give me a way to see things differently.

This is the first time I’ve picked up something that’s not trying to teach me anything.
I’m reading to disappear for a bit and it’s good.

Oh and I forgot - I do pitch in.
I pick herbs which I love to do.
I grate the parmesan which I do not like to do and this week I made a Yamista

Rate My Dinner

I’m a wildly unreliable judge this week.

I cooked stuffed onion Yamista with potatoes & green beans.
Undercooked onions & potatoes, there’s nothing worse. I didn’t give up, I put it back in the oven another two times. The onions never quite got there. We ate it anyway.
4/10.

Then I gave what should have been a 10 a pretty harsh score.
BBQ pork chop with hot honey, radicchio, fennel, pear and parmesan salad + roast potatoes - one of my absolute favourite salads. 4/10. I was overtired. It was late. I came to the table in a bad mood I couldn’t shift. I ate it, but I didn’t savour it.

I know the guest has a responsibility to enjoy themselves and the same goes for dinner at home. I wasn’t bringing that to the table.

If I’d been judging for the Good Food Guide that night, I would have taken a good restaurant down. Nothing wrong with the food, it was me. I was the problem.

Favourite meal of the week?

A classic, perfectly cooked roast chicken with last night’s left-over Saag Aloo (spiced greens and potatoes) from our local, Tasty Tandoori.
Mouthfuls of flavours we both love.

10/10.

“Fucking good dinner.”
“An uninvited guest lands on your plate and brings it to life.”
- James

Put Another Date in your Diary

That’s what I told my sister.

We’re hosting Emma and Charlie’s engagement. Birthdays are coming up and I’m ready to party. Which is unusual, I’ve avoided birthdays, especially my own - I’m not anymore.

I’m not missing a moment to celebrate.

So what’s the next event you’re adding to your calendar?

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New Shoes

I’ve been swimming with dolphins.

Some mornings we’re out there at sunrise and you can see the moon in the sky while the sun’s rising. Both at the same time. It really is one of those moments where you just think, wow.

On the nights I can’t sleep, instead of lying there worrying about it, I get up and walk Dozer in the middle of the night. It’s quiet, no one’s around. It’s nice.

Best of all, I feel like I’ve stepped into a new pair of shoes lately.

This is Edition 50. I gave myself two years to stick to writing this Substack, so this feels like a bit of a halfway point.

When I hit publish, it’s excitement, fear, and exposure all at once. Same as Edition 1.

If anything, I think I’m drawn to the thrill of it.

What I’m Into

I’ve been playing around with how things feel, not just how they look.

I bought a pair of black 3/4 tights from Cotton On and started wearing them under my skirts. Takes a bit of the pretty out and gives it more of a sporty feel.

Some days that’s exactly what I need.

These Oroton scarves are worth a look. They’re designed by artists, which I love. I can’t stop thinking about this School Boy Scarf.

Mardie’s hot tip: frame it like art. I love this idea.

I’ve actually got a drawer full of scarves, but I’ve never really been able to wear a square well, no matter how I tie it.

What I do love is going into James’s drawers and taking his silk cravats that we picked up in Italy. They just sit better. I love how they look on me.

What I’m not loving as much is how much brown I’m seeing at the moment. You’ve got to be a bit careful with it. It works well as a base - especially with reds and other colours - but brown on brown, I’m not so sure. It feels like something you’ll look back on and wish you hadn’t.

Dinner Rated

Slow cooked shoulder of lamb with mint sauce, hasselback potatoes, green beans and gravy.

The secret to good gravy is it has to be real - roasted bones, leftovers, a bit of fat. Fat is flavour. That’s what makes the meal.

“It’s all about fat really, you know what I mean.” James

Bottle of red wine.

If we’d had dessert, we would’ve been in heaven.

9/10

From Here To Now

I’m a little embarrassed about how much meat we eat.

I was talking to James about it, and now we’re thinking about doing a month with no meat.

We’d eat simply. Whatever’s in season is what tastes best, and it’s what’s cheapest. It also just makes sense right now - meat’s expensive!

I’d be very happy if dinner was a tray of roasted veg.

Plus, I’ve got a chef here.

Could I do a month of no meat?

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Low Tide, Lock In

Sunrise | Cronulla to Shelly Beach | 2.7km | 22.5°C

I love when a swimmer has a race to prepare for it gives me a borrowed goal to work towards. If I don’t have a goal, I slack off and make excuses.

Give me a deadline like a race day, the promise of a boozy post race lunch, or anything with a date attached to it and I’m in - rain, hail or shine.

And if I don’t have my own thing, I’ll find someone who does. I’ll jump into their training and borrow the goal.

I make it in my head that I’m needed and that makes me show up & lock in.

Not everyone needs their own goal. Sometimes it’s enough to have a buddy who does.

We Rate Our Dinners

New Season Mint Chat Potatoes

Boil them whole, with half a bunch of mint in the water. “That’s how you get the flavour into it,” James says.

It’s something he used to do in restaurants in London and it’s so simple - you can taste the mint in every single bite.

We don’t like them, we love them. And when you get a new potato - young and sweet - and you add mint, butter, salt, pepper, a bit of lemon - even on their own, they’re fucking sensational.

We had them with green beans and grilled lamb chops.

And then we looked at each other.

We hadn’t planned it.

But it was Knappo’s birthday.

There’s a photo of him on the wall, and we’re sitting there eating lamb chops - his favourite. It was a magical moment.

So this one gets a 10 out of 10.

Not just for the food - but everything around it.

Better Women

I’ve done it again.

It cost me $150.

I’ve been obsessed with the colour green lately. Chartreuse especially.

So these show up in my feed, I just had to have them.

Now I’ve got chartreuse denim jeans that were never going to work with what I already own.
I loved the colour. The campaign styling sucked me in.
In real life? Hard to wear with what I own.

They’re now on their way to Jessie in Scotts Head, if she can make them work, she’s a better woman than me.

We Are Billionaires of Life

I’d like to take a moment to thank Mother Nature - the ocean threw me around this morning reminding me I’m as insignificant as a piece of seaweed ripped from its roots. Pushed and pulled wherever the current wants to take me. That feels good.

We ran up and down the beach front laughing, we felt like kids.

Paid subscribers, pull your chair out. Sit down - let’s go deep.

I was maddeningly angry.

So I had to stop and ask myself - is this just an artistic tantrum? I had inner work to do.

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Dinner Rating

James and I rate most sit-down dishes we eat together. It started as a simple score out of ten, just for fun. Now we’re getting serious and building a system behind the score.

Each dish is judged on four pillars:

Flavour - 4
Ingredients / Product - 2
Technique - 2
Presentation - 2

Total: 10

Sunday lunch was Fish & Chips - swordfish, baked potato chips, and a tomato, cucumber, pomegranate, eschalot and mint salad, finished with dollops of labneh, a sprinkle of sumac, and dressed with extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar and vincotto.

Labneh is a Middle Eastern yoghurt cheese - thick, soft and slightly tart - perfect with the salad. The sumac gave it that extra little lift.

Simple food, but very good.

James gave it 9/10.

I asked him where the missing point went.

“The chips,” he said. “There weren’t enough.”

Still, a point had to go somewhere.

Chip scarcity.

While we were talking about the score, James started thinking out loud about how we should judge a dish.

“Score the ingredients - what you put together. Score the flavour, then score the cooking technique - how you cook it.”

He gave an example.

“Like when we did the chicken tikka the other night, cooking on the charcoal - I would have given that two points straight away because it was such a good idea. But the finishing of the dish had to happen in the oven, so I’d have dropped a score there. And the presentation wasn’t too crash hot, so I’d have lost points on presentation.”

Then he summed it up.

“Sometimes the dish doesn’t look very good, but fuck it ate really well.”

His favourite example is the Crispy Duck Salad.

“The variations of sweet and sour - bitter leaves with a sweet dressing. The acidity of fresh nectarines. Hazelnuts with that beautiful earthy crunch. Then the crispy, salty fattiness of the duck which elevates it.”

Watercress brings an earthy note, radicchio a bitter edge, and witlof that crunchy acidity.

“You’re basically hitting five kinds of flavours in one dish,” he said, “it’s so stimulating based on how much texture is going on in your mouth.”

I’m quite excited about this development.

I can hear him in the kitchen now - a whole chook roasting, juices turning leeks, carrot, bacon, rosemary, sage and risoni into a one-pot wonder.

I do love a one-pot wonder.

Wings of a Dove

I was excited to discover the Italians have an Easter cake too.

It’s called Colomba, similar to panettone - light, buttery, scented with citrus & topped with almonds and pearl sugar.

It’s baked in the shape of a dove which feels like a particularly beautiful thing to come across right now.

We had to try one - the Strega flavoured with liqueur cream. There’s a chocolate version online here.

The Skirts

Sadly, I wore my funeral skirt this week.

On the flip side, I also wore my wedding skirt to see Jimmy Carr and 7,000 other people who had also paid for a good laugh.

A little into the show I quietly unzipped the back of my skirt a few inches.

Which made me think waistbands should be adjustable.

Not elastic. I still want the beautiful invisible zip and waistband. Maybe a half-zip and clip option so there’s a little breathing room when we have to sit for a long time.

One of the audience asked him where he gets the inspiration for all his jokes.

“Inspiration is for amateurs,” he said. “The rest of us just go to work.”

Cut The Point

The next morning I was back swimming around Shark Island.

At The Point, there’s always a moment where you stop and decide.

Swim wide around the surfers and avoid the waves.

Or cut The Point and take the waves back to the beach.

I hesitated for a second.

And I thought, fuck it.

Yesterday I was wearing the funeral skirt. Today I’ll take the waves.

It’s wild, slightly out of control and heart-stoppingly exciting.

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This week: vanity, bitter flavours, play, scent and a slightly terrifying first Autumn swim.

Face Fit

This is full contact skin sport.

Eliška told me I needed to see Natasha and booked me in. I didn’t hesitate. I follow interesting women.

I’m lying on my back at Beauty & Balance. Natasha asks if I want to experience buccal - a facial massage that works the muscles from inside the mouth.

I pause.
In my mouth?

The strange things we do for beauty.

Yes. I’m in.

She slides her thumb inside my cheek. Two hands, inside and outside my face. Pinch. Push. Pull. Lengthening muscles. Working my jaw free.

Natasha calls it gym work for your face.

My body tenses at the unfamiliar sensation going on inside my mouth. I feel bones, shapes, some hard some soft. She’s now really going for it.

I start talking through her fingers. She talks back. Then something shifts. I relax and every part of my face begins buzzing.

My skin feels alive. Bone deep.

Vanity

I came across this question recently and it’s been rolling around in my head.

Do you think vanity is a good quality to have?

When I asked Leni, who’s 20, she said, “I care about my worth.” Of course she does. She wouldn’t flinch at the word.

And neither should I.

I want to be more vain, bring more folly - the Dalí kind - theatrical, dramatic, and self-indulgent.

I want to claim the powerful side of vanity and take my pleasure seriously.

Shark Island Loop Mid Tide

My first Autumn swim brings me to my knees and leaves me wide awake.

6:30 a.m., it’s still dark.
After days of rain the water is pea soup green and I can’t see past my hand which leaves me feeling a little exposed. The first 150m sits right on the edge of slightly terrifying, slightly thrilling. It feels ominous.

I ping-pong between swimmers, keeping someone close. Up ahead there’s a band around someone’s ankle. I clock it as a shark repeller and sit on his feet.

Deep open water swimmers come to mind and I borrow some of their bravery.

I sidle up next to Nick and we swim back to shore until the sand finds me. I’m back.

***

The rest of this edition is for paid subscribers.

If you’d like a seat at this table hit subscribe now & pull up a chair.

There are bitter flavours to try, scent experiments, a little curious play - always something worth sinking your teeth into.

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Fill up my glass and I’m all yours. Now I know you’ve noticed me.

There’s real skill in warm, generous hospitality - in making people feel welcome.

And then there’s none at all.

Sometimes it’s as simple as pouring the tea. I’m glad you’re here.

IN & OUT

OUT - Grazing Boards

When I was a kid, Dad’s gorgonzola cheese & crackers came out after dinner. Blue-vein mouldy cheese topped a thin scrape of butter on a cracker.

At some point, cheese & crackers stopped being the last course and have now become the main event.

Why? A grazing board photographs better than it eats. It’s fast to throw together and feeds a crowd.

Replacing a sit-down meal with stand-up nibblies just doesn’t cut the mustard.

IN - Petit Cheese Plate

Let’s have it.
Gorgonzola Dolce.
Dried black muscatel grapes.
Red pickled onion.
Witlof leaves.
Rockmelon wrapped in prosciutto.
Salty crackers.

A woman once said to me, buy the best you can afford. She was talking about shoes. Same goes for cheese.

Start with one good cheese. The best you can afford.

I’d choose Gorgonzola Dolce.

Every good plate needs balance: umami, sweet, salt, acid, bitter. Hit all five and it sings. It’s food math.

↠ Make it small. Leave them wanting more.

If You Want to Do the Maths

You need balance.

Flavour is one part of it. Mouthfeel is the part people forget. Cream against crunch. Silk against snap. When both are in balance, a simple plate becomes a deliberate mouthful. I go deeper into that in the paid section.

A Wedding Skirt & A Funeral Skirt

I just brought the wedding skirt.
The funeral skirt I’ve worn to death.

Both balloon. One black. One brown. This is about the brown.

Deep, dramatic pockets fit a phone & a lipgloss. A generous six-inch hem that almost feels like evening wear in its finish. The fabric is a brown neutral with a slight copper shine - makes this purple & neon yellow pop.

First I wore it exactly how it was styled (bottom right) - white crew neck tee and a V-neck knit, both from Uniqlo. Next I need to style it for a wedding in October.

Splurge on the skirt. Save everywhere else.

Put Your Shoes On

Don’t try your new fits on until you can be bothered getting fully dressed.

The amount of times I’ve put one piece on, looked at it half-done and thought I didn’t like it. Of course I didn’t - I wasn’t dressed.

And if you’re going to splurge on a piece, make sure you can look after it.

Hang Out in the Sun

I spot clean as I go, hang my clothes in the sun and rely on body heat to smooth the creases. Some of my clothes have never seen the inside of a washing machine.

That’s why this lantern skirt works.

It’s made of polyester - and that’s a good thing. Besides chilling out the almost evening-wear shape it does exactly what it was designed to do - be a fundamental in your wardrobe. Something that works twelve months of the year.

Nothing required of me except to take care of it.

BEACH LIFE As Australian as I can get.

I’m going to bed, I want to get up early for a swim.

I hitch my sarong up and straddle my second-hand Facebook Market Place road bike with a gel cushion seat.

Getting on the bike is not one fluid movement and I take the 2km down hill ride squeezing the breaks.

I have to remind myself it’s mine and not to leave it at the beach.

We we wade into calm waters, low tide and just ok visibility. By the time we reach the point we’ve hung around with a couple of turtles, dopey blue gropers and watched a blind shark munching on sea urchins.

I notice something sparkly, a gold helium balloon, half tanked, floating on top of the water. Nick rolls it up and stuffs it down his shorts.

I’m on the receiving end of a solid kick to the cheek so I swim back to shore with a headache. Feet on the sand, I take a moment to soak up the good vibrations.

10am | 32 degrees

Let’s Crack a Mini Buddha Melon.

Add fetta - more than this, more than you think, it’s deliciously salty with the melon.
Mint
Red onion - finely sliced
Squeeze of lime.

If you need to take a dish to someone’s house, don’t take this. No one ever eats the melon salad. I don’t know why.

But I promise you - it’s delicious. Sweet. Salty. Sour. Cold.

And on a day like this, that’s exactly what you want.

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What’s Good For You

I’m old enough to know what’s good for me. Doesn’t mean I always do it.

This week I’ve been oddly invested in curling, looping loops around Shark Island and eating my way through the aisles of a fruit market.

What’s Good For Me is Good for You

Swimming in the ocean is good for me.

Not just because it expands my universe, this week we swam over a pup Dusky Whaler, but because I need it for the socialising.

Dad always used to say, “Join a club.” He lived and died a Dirty Red, and I reckon he was right.

I like my people. We need each other.

STRANGE COLOURS ARE GOOD COLOURS

If I love a shoe and I can’t buy my exact size, you better believe it, I can make it work.

Too big, add sheepskin in the toe. Too tight or too small, I’ve just discovered a shoe expander so now two pairs are coming back out of the closet for a stretch.

These are Common Projects I found secondhand to replace the exact same pair I wore out. I love the colour - I call it strange pink.

Any ish colour, pink-ish, brown-ish, I think of as a neutral.
They’re easy to wear but a hard colour to name.

Now all I need is someone to wear them in for me.

Hang around the fruit aisles long enough and people can’t wait to tell you their food memories.

For me, it’s picking up a plum that just fell off the tree, warmed by the sun and bursting ripe. I ate it standing there, juice dripping down my arm, while setting up a wedding on a vineyard in New Zealand. And then even earlier memories, smashing macadamias open with a rock in the backyard of our grandparents’ place in Earlwood.

Then things get interesting.

Prickly pears, with their vibrant yellow or hot-pink flesh. Eat them chilled. I love the crunch of the seeds, I didn’t at first but I’m starting to enjoy a seedy chew.

Here’s how to open a prickly pear so you don’t end up covered in prickles.

Soursop surprised me too - ugly on the outside, soft and juicy inside. Mangosteen, with its deep purple skin, finished with a perfect little flower on top. Frog melon, achacha, custard apples, you name it I eat it.

The aisles of a fruit market are a pretty exciting place to be, especially in Summer. Who would ever have imagined!

Here’s a link to Whole Farms where I lead socials and you can watch as we eat our way around the aisles.

TARTY & TAHINI TREATS

Tahini & Dark Chocolate Cookies, hooked you at Tahini? - made by Brickfields, you can also find them at weekend markets.

I brought myself a Lunar New Year dark chocolate treat from Haigh’s - I’ve just got to try not to eat it until the 17th.

And a little something James made for me with my favourite fruit cherries and his, figs, yoghurt & granola.

READING BETWEEN THE LINES

Whenever I want a book, I text Grant at my local bookshop and he orders it in. I sometimes wonder what he thinks of me, piecing me together from the books I buy.

The Future of Storytelling by Charles Melcher. I wanted that one to learn. It looks at how stories are changing - virtual reality, immersive worlds. I don’t quite get VR yet, but this feels like a fun way in. The design of the book & it’s art work matters to me too.

All Fours by Miranda July. That came from an old book club group chat - someone recommended it, and I thought, fine, I’ll give it a go.

The Physiology of Taste by Brillat-Savarin, the gourmand who said, “Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are.” Right up my alley.

And Les Dîners de Gala - Dalí’s enormous, gilded devotion to excess and appetite.

Taken together, it’s less a reading list than a personality leak.

EYE CATCHING

Marina’s Barnacle ring.
This would sit nicely on my pinky.

How good is the word barnacle.

Be my own Valentine

Happy Valentines Day - these are saved in my wish-list. This is how I imagine my life. Then I put my swimming cap on, the silicon slaps my forehead and I realise I’m not in Kansas anymore.

About to crack the Haighs chocolate early and make a cup of tea.

Ohhh…. the chocolate is wrapped in gold foil. How very good luck this is for me.

Lisa

xxx

SCENT

I know someone who’s New Years resolution is to smell better.

The scents I love are simple and green: crushed eucalyptus leaves, mandarin oil left on my fingers, the sharpness of pepper. I can reach up to a pepper tree, pull a branch down, drag my fingers along the leaves and the smell sticks.

I’m fussy. I haven’t bought a fragrance in years. Until now.

Remember childhood scratch‑and‑sniff stickers? That’s what Abel website feels like to me.

I can smell the colour. Cut grass.

I took their fragrance finder quiz it felt like a personality test, on my way to a cult.

The website is playful, interactive, gently guiding you all the way to click‑to‑pay. A masterclass in website design and experience.

On another top note, I’d love to try oud - a Middle Eastern resin perfume that’s burned, letting the smoke perfume your clothing, hair, and body. Has anyone?

I notice a colour palette first.

Then it seeps into my life.

I get quietly obsessed.

One day, I’ll look around and realise I’m sleeping under sheets in this exact palette and I’ll wonder… how?

SPACE

Except my bedroom is yellow.

I see rooms as colours. It might have something to do with Feng Shui, I’m no expert, but I like the idea that spaces carry energy and yellow is grounding, warm and soft.

It’s Chinese New Year soon, in February, so clean your windows & get your space ship shape to welcome in the chi.

OLD RED RALPH

Since seeing Ralph Lauren in my feed so much, they’re sponsoring the Australian Open, I came across this vintage red RL jacket. I love that the colour is still saturated and bright.

You can see it here while I play the piano.

What a treat.

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MY WONDERFUL LIFE

I’ve just received the best gift: live music.

Tom Odell and his band rolled through Sydney on the Wonderful Life tour. As he said, “what a fucking joy to be here.” I think he meant it. We felt it. Suzy whispered in my ear, “I love a bit of cussing.”

A soul‑enriching performance. I’ve been listening to I Know ever since.

Hear that piano.

MIDNIGHT WALKS

Getting home from the show meant a midnight walk with a friend.

Quiet streets, warm night air, I was really happy to be there.

It felt unusual. I liked that.

MOVEMENT

I think today is the best day of my life
Gonna rent a bicycle and ride around the city

Lyrics from Tom Odell’s Best Day of My Life

I did exactly that - except we rode the Central Otago Rail Trail in New Zealand.

If you love magnificent scenery, Whittakers chocolate, home made scones and new friends, get on a bike and get going.

You’ll appreciate the local Pinot Noir at the end of the day even more.

Here’s the trip we did, if you fancy a ride. My arse still hurts.

We fell in love with Chard Farm and came home with a bottle of their delicious Viper Pinot Noir, in their gardens I found these blooming artichokes.

WHAT I’VE LEARNT THIS WEEK

Slipstone peaches just means the flesh comes away from the stone easily.

Some people like to eat grapes with seeds - they like the crunch and the nutritional benefits - who would have thought! I’d spit the seeds out.

White peaches are sweeter than yellow. Yellow flesh photographs better, which is probably why they’re more popular. Look at this photo from Gimlet (below).

Brooches are in.

A group of jellyfish is called smack.

Gimlet via their Instagram page and only available after 9pm, very cool.

A new table-side dessert has joined our menu at the height of stone fruit season. It highlights the alchemy of flambé, which lends a certain theatre to our dining room.

Perfectly ripe Mildura peaches are gently poached with vanilla and verbena, before they’re flambéed tableside with butter and Cognac. We cut a generous slice of chiffon cake to serve with these peaches, alongside house-made amaretti biscuits, a scoop of French vanilla ice cream, and a drizzle of bright peach syrup.

Drooling.

Be nice if you pushed your chairs in :-) got to bring in the good chi.

Lisa