Ruminations and recipes from a small kitchen in a big city.


Lygon Street.

We picked up the girls Sunday morning and were going to take them to Acland Street to see the cake shops (Monarch, Le Bon etc); anticipating watching as their eyes pop out of their heads as they gaze at the amazing arrays of cakes of all kinds.

However, T. had a minor scare and had to make an impromptu appointment at the RWH where she is undergoing 'shared care' with her own doctor, a system which appears to be as good as it can get, offering personalised service together with all the facilities of a major hospital.

The RWH is, of course, just around the corner from Lygon Street. Like thirty seconds walk. While we were waiting, I took the girls along to the park connecting Cardigan and Lygon Streets. We sat there and ate some sandwiches and I said to Canisha and Shanra, 'You know, girls, see that building right over there? That's where your Dad went to school!', pointing out what used to be St George's Church and school.


'And see that restaurant right there? (Sabatini's) That's where your Dad had his eighteenth birthday party!'


'And see the hospital right back there, where we left T. for her appointment? That's where I was born! And see over there (pointing to a place further up Lygon Street) that's where Erin (their Aunt, my daughter) works!'

'Let's go see her now!'

So we did. And there she was, buzzing about serving customers. She gave the girls a kiss and I gave her a kiss and she gave them a sweet from the sweet bowl on the counter and I said hello to the waiters and the guy making the pizzas (she's worked at Papa Gino's for a few years and it's like family now) and then we let her get on with her work and we walked up the street past all the other restaurants to the big bookstore with the children's book department way down the back. The girls fell silent as they pored over the books. Shanra, 3, is into fairies and princesses but Canisha, 8, is over all that and was fascinated with the Egyptology book with the red brooch light on the cover and the pop-up pages showing inside a pyramid.

After a while we went back to the hospital and soon T. emerged. She was just fine but hadn't eaten so back to Lygon Street - Notturno - for a snack, ice-creams for the girls and a long macchiato for me. T. is now 36 weeks and we walk in with the two little girls and the wait-lady says 'Oh my, you two are going to have a baby brother or sister!' and Canisha says 'That's not my Dad, that's my POP and we're not going to have a brother or a sister - we're going to have an AUNTY or an UNCLE!' and the wait-lady says 'NO WAY!' and I just smile and T. just smiles and hopes no-one suggests she's a young-looking grandmother as someone once did; Canisha came to the rescue that time, saying 'She's not my nan: she's my STEP-nan!'

Kids today; diplomats tomorrow.

They loved their ice-creams: rainbow flavour.