Fame is a fickle food, upon a shifting plate.

I want to dispel a myth. The film industry is not glamorous. At least not from over here where I'm standing it's not.

Oft asked question: Who's in it that's famous? See my heart sink.

Sure, I've brushed shoulders with famous people. But you avert your eyes and do your job.

(I broke this rule once only: on the last day of a film, I told the wonderfully deadpan Bob Newhart how much he had made me laugh as a teenager. He's a lovely and gracious man.)

I have crossed paths with many glamorous people. (It doesn't brush off.) I've ironed countless sheets for these people, I've fluffed their pillows, polished their shoes and taken up their hems. I've cooked for some famous people too -

which brings me to my next point. The film industry in South Africa used to be known for it's extremely delicious on-set lunches. That has changed dramatically in the last few years. It's very dispiriting - after hours of slog, to be greeted by chafing dishes of steaming grey meat, wilted salads, the vegetarian option of mushrooms and patty pans adrift in brown water. Five litres of melted ice-cream to follow.

Thankfully the majority of my work days are not spent on set. I drive and I search and I glean. Lunches are eaten on the hoof, leaning against my car in parking lots, sometimes while I'm driving.

What a treat to finally have a lunchbox from my friend Ammy's Food Maker Merchant in Observatory. I was tootling down Nelson Road when I spotted her tiny shop - a window in a wall, a yellow awning.

Let me explain: that is a cardboard container - completely recyclable. Those are arancini, which I last ate in Rome. They made me swoon - those crispy, melt-in-the-mouth balls of deep fried, tomato-ey risotto with mozzarella centres. Not a trace of oil. Alongside a zingy pesto - so green the herbs must have been growing still, mere minutes ago.

Grated beets and pears. Mustardy, vinegary chunks of potato. Pear and walnut salad. Roasted butternut with black beans and pepitas. The surprising little bursts of flavour - lemon rind, flecks of parsley and mint. Such a fine lunch I have not had in many a long moon.

What else can I say? Ammy offered a fork. I said I'd wait till home. Then I ate most of it before I started the car. I drove away with beet-stained, dill-infused fingers, sniffing them appreciatively at traffic lights. At home I licked the container.

And Dancer and Prancer and Vixen and Comet.

In the library of the long-legged man (well-ordered, comprehensive, quite wonderful), I came across this photograph by Elliot Erwitt:

The Collegiata di Santa Maria Assunta, San Gimignano,
Tuscany, 1965.

I spent a distant birthday in this place, just off to your left. A theatre troupe would practice on the steps in the afternoons and I'd sit and watch them while rekindling my love for ice cream.

 

I think of places in Italy and associate them with ice cream flavours. Bologna is blackberry, Assisi: candied orange peel and fig. San Gimignano is pistachio, served by a friendly white-haired man with no English, but we understood each other just fine.

 

Before my trip, Aida invited me for breakfast and gave me a copy of Elizabeth David's Of Pageants & Picnics, to read on the plane. I thought of her as I sat on that shell-shaped piazza in Sienna, which is lemon and lime.

After she died, Braam gave me her ice cream machine. Italian: of course!

No instruction booklet.

But research reveals that the machine's paddle is called a dasher. I'm liking that, a lot.

 

Experiment 1: mango/chili/mint

Thrilling. Good.

Experiment 2: avocado/banana/honey

The gelato of my dreams.

There is a freezer in my future.

The truth.

Last night saw the opening of Honest Chocolate's first shop. 66 Wale Street, a little ways down from the Plastic Sandwich.

For this, I blew off my Book Club. The proprietors are a good advertisement for their product - they are tall, dark and skinny. The building is beautiful. The packaging is stylish.

Raw cocoa. Anti-oxidants. Traditional methods. ETCETERA.

What does this chocoholic care about all of these trifles?

Not a fig.

All I want is satisfaction.

This chocolate is good, people.

Buy it. Eat it.

Hello Sailor!

As my friend Smutty so succinctly puts it: hou my vas!

Finally made it to Hello Sailor for dinner.

We had:

Chicken liver paté with sourdough toast.

Disco Fries.

( skinny fries, mushroom gravy and cheese, melted under the grill. So wrong and yet... so right )

Vetkoek - light as clouds with crispy edges, curried mince and sambals.

Lamb cooked slow in a complex gravy of tomatoes, rosemary and cinnamon.

A bottomless glass of Merlot.
A toast to my dear Mom who turns 75 today.
A toast to Winter and tummy rolls.

That's chef Maggie in the background, like a dervish in the kitchen. This is my kind of place.

Twas a perfect rainy night in Observatory. Hipsters and muscle cars. Dragon breath walking back to my car.
Full as a tick.

and Fi. This is for you.

I chose this especially for you.

My mini-project yesterday was this: my friend Elsibe asked me to put together a gift hamper for a photographer friend who helped her out on a shoot. These are all things that I use regularly or buy for special treats. I love them all.

• Ines Rosales Seville Orange Sweet Olive Tortas. Each one individually wrapped in printed wax paper like a present. Crisp and full of sesame seeds, with a light coating of sticky orange marmalade. From Spain. R 36.95 at Pick 'n Pay.
• Sabarot Depuis Green Lentils. Delicious cooked with butter and fresh herbs, as a side to a grilled Lamb chop. France. R 30.50 at Willoughby & Co.
• Creme de Marrons de L'Ardeche. Sweet chestnut paste. Spread over buttered filo pastry, roll into a cigar shape and bake until crisp. Or failing that, eat with a spoon. France. R 43.95 at Giovanni's.
• Bonne Maman Forest Berries Preserve. France.    R 35.95 at Woolworths.
• Willie's Delectable Cacao Dark Chocolate. Indonesian 69, with light caramel notes. UK. A serious treat: R 49.95 at Woolworths.
• Roasted Almond Nut Butter. Ditto as for the sweet chestnut paste. Or on bread. South Africa. R 27.00 at Health For Life, Gardens Centre.
• La Chinata Pimenton de la Vera. Sweet smoked paprika. Spain. R39.95 at Giovanni's.
• Vrede En Lust 2005 Simond. Shiraz/Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot blend. South Africa. This is one of my favourites and a secret... it's only R 32.00 at Wine Concepts, Lifestyle Centre.                    

The Trans-Continental Bake-Off.

Or: Die dinge waarmee jy my in 'n wip kan vang.

Every now and then I come across a recipe that I just know in my bones will be delicious. If it contains baked apples and brown butter and ground almonds and cardamom... it is added by default to the list of things you can catch me in a trap with.

So I was nattering away on Skype to The Man with the Generous Heart aka Our Agent in Berlin and we decided to make this together:

Brown Butter Spiced Crisp
 

  Granny Smith apples, unpeeled. Sultanas and lemon rind. Also added: a dash of cloudy apple juice to 'get it going'.

It's always advantageous to have a partner to share a crumble with. (A sneaky dish this - before you know it, you've eaten the whole thing on your own.)

I had sparkly company in the form of The Fantabulous T, who is visiting from Blighty. She is quite the expert - the crumb was analysed and pronounced most satisfactory.
 

 And this just in from Berlin: 
 

 Lilt, ek het die fotos met my cellphone gemaak. Ek stuur die nou ook vd foon, want ons het mos huisgaste. En hulle woon waar my computer is.
Ook nie asof ek eintlik tyd gehad het vir enigiets nie.  Vandat ek begin het om die koek te bak, met I., was dit meer soos damage control. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.
 

 In die middle vd beurre noisette kom die gaste aan. Reg vir aandete.
Stuur hulle op hul eie boontoe, terwyl ek wag vir die botter om 'n hoër pitch te sing. Terwyl ek water kook en knoffel skil.
Exchange pleasantries terwyl ek die botter inroer, met I. wat insist: ek wil, ek wil.  Alles klaar, in die oond.  Skink wyn in vir die grootmense, klein potjie op die plaat met hot chocolate vir die kinders.  Die pasta sousie begin solank simmer, die water kook al amper.
Net toe kom C. met 'n week se groceries wat in die yskas moet kom, blomme wat gesny en in 'n vase moet kom, die tafel word weggeskuif vd muur en gedek vir 7.
People and sauce can wait, pasta cannot.
Dit was die eerste halfuur van ons drie-dae-besoek.
 

 Uiteindelik, apple crisp vir nagereg.  Voordat ek nog 'n foto kan maak, is driekwart weg.  Ek dink dis 'n goeie teken.

Making Manti.

 I spent a few hours yesterday afternoon making Manti, or Turkish style Ravioli. Following the Moro recipe, I made and rolled out the dough, made the filling (finely ground lamb with mint, parsley, oregano, shallot, allspice...) and stuffed about forty little triangles of thin dough. Cooked them in hot chicken stock, served with garlicky yoghurt and caramelized butter. Worth all the trouble? Definitely, we ate them with much happiness and a big chopped salad.