Made in Warrnambool

I am on my feet from for 10 hours straight, holding fat people’s thighs and knees in mid-air steadiness. There is barely any time to eat or drink. The generic-bulk-commercial branded tea bags and biscuits are the most welcoming comfort I can practically imagine. Today we fixed a total failure of the femur with more metal than the Terminator. I breathed in so much bone dust/flour from the saw that I might have pancakes forming in my lungs.

It’s good to be back in Melbourne. The food, coffee, bars and late opening shops and restaurants. I had my first good fix at the Dessert House with the deep fried spicy pork ribs on rice. The same dirty dish I would crave after too long a day in the gen med ward. It was here that I decided the sushi platter and the okonomiyaki should be avoided in the future

For some reason, my latter art is not as good this week. I blame the roast. Here is one from last week.

There is a bit of catching up and food to be had this weekend. And cooking too. I missed the kitchen in Melbourne.

It was so alive. Vivid colours just like a Taiwanese children’s encyclopaedia – “Little scientist of 100 topics”. Even Netter would be turning in his grave. I was holding onto a segment of small intestine, orangy-pink colour, surrounded by an array of tiny pulsating arterioles arranged neatly like a fan. I was getting hungry and soon the numbing feeling in the arms from retracting parts of abdomin was hypnotic enough to trasmit me to a few blocks away. The thought of crispy fried chicken filled my mind. Mmmm.

Or the other time on a late ward-round at 6pm without lunch yet. I saw a tall glass of chocholate milk shake on a table near a patient. My note writing turned into thoughts of a cold iced milk-tea from a greasy, Asian restaurant. I was so hungry and thirsty. On the occasions after leaving the hospital at 9 pm while being rostered on till 5:30pm, a plate of good salty and oily deep fried pork spare ribs from Dessert House on Swanston st, or a plate of roasted duck egg shiffon from A1 on Russell st, topped with a cold glass of iced milk tea is just amazing. Then I can bitch/gossip about the day.

Location and environment. Hervé This strongly believed that the environment in which you eat the food plays a vital role in how the food is percieved. Heston Blumenthal let you listen to the sound of crashing waves, wind and sea gulls while eating a dish that lookes like a beach, complete with sand and salty foam. Wonderful. I enjoyed a bowl of wedges at Cape Bridgewater (photo) yesterday.