Our New Home: One Year On

When we were house-hunting in London, the first thing I'd ask myself when I walked into a house was, "How would you feel if you were puking up your guts in this house?" Probably not the same thought that everyone else had when they were viewing the property, but basically, I was asking myself just how much I'd feel at home - and comfortable - within those four walls.

To do that, I had to think of myself at the weakest, lowest, most vulnerable moment - which, for me, happens to be when I'm puking my guts up from, oh, I don't know, one-too-many glasses of Sancerre or a stomach virus or food poisoning.

It's been a year since we moved into our house and it just so happens that I did puke my guts up one evening after an unfortunate food poisoning incident at a blogger event (I won't mention any names, but just the thought of this particular hotel makes me shudder, and I can't eat sushi for at least another full year).

Before I digress into any toilet humour, I'd like to confirm that my house is definitely a place I can comfortably puke in. Part of it is because I own it, so I don't feel like I'm puking in someone else's house.

The other part is because, well, it's a friendly house. It gives off a nice vibe. It feels like home. I remember crawling (literally, on my hands and knees) back into the guest room bed that night and feeling awful, but also being comforted by the morning light that had begun to make its way into the room; comforted by the way the walls seeemed to sigh in sympathy with me as I retched over the toilet (sorry, TMI).

We haven't "done" everything we'd like to yet (the back garden is due to be completed next week - YAY! But the front will take a few more weeks and we have two bathrooms and a kitchen to remodel at some point ...), but the house is bright, airy and cheerful. It carries wonderful memories of friends and families visiting; John and I laughing; our little niece gleefully plodding up and down the stairs.

I also have really nice neighbors, which I've mentioned before on this blog. We had a street party a few weeks ago and I was feeling pretty rotten (and was later diagnosed with tonsillitis after a panicked call to 111 and a visit to the local hospital when I couldn't swallow food). After I came back from my various trips to the doctor and the pharmacy, my concerned neighbors filled my plate with food, offered me drinks, and - more importantly - rushed up to tell me that I had won second place in the street party bake-off competition. Boom (brownies ftw, btw).

But good neighbors matter, and I often go to sleep at night feeling happy that my street is warm, welcoming, and friendly.

I went to buy some roses last night after work because I like having fresh flowers in our house to enjoy over the weekend. But just as I was about to pay, I spotted these purple thistles and eucalyptus instead. They were a bit wild, but full of character and interest.

That's how I feel about our house. When I first saw it, I thought "yuck" (and right now, with all the bags of cement out front and the dustbowl that's currently our living room, I still think "yuck"). Unlike the pretty, charming Victorian houses directly across the street, ours was a beast of a place that needed "doing up". But when I walked in, it gave me a lovely feeling. And we worked hard to make it a home: filling it with beautiful objects and laughter and memories.

I don't know if I'll live there forever. And saying that outloud (or even typing it, in this case) is hard for me to admit. I have an on-going anxiety about committing myself to one place. But it's perfect for the right here and right now and for the foreseeable future.

And it'll always be a place I'm happy to puke my guts up in (I really, really hope that doesn't happen again. Seriously. It sucked.).

Interior Inspiration: Copper and Wood

So .... I'm a bargain hunter. Sure, I love luxe details, but I bought my agate bookends from eBay and most of the homeware you see on my Instagram account cost £10 and under (see this post for evidence of my bargain-hunting ways). And when I'm back in the States, I scour stores like Target, Marshall's, and Ross for all the clearance items I can get my hands on. There's no shame in my game.

I particularly like a bargain challenge, so when T.K. Maxx provided me with a £20 gift card to spend in their homeware section, I wandered around my local branch (and even drew unwanted attention to myself when I accidentally toppled a stack of trays balanced precariously on the shelf edge - oops) brainstorming ideas for what to buy.

In the end, I went over budget (I said I was "bargain hutner", I never said I was responsible), but I hope you'll agree that my purchases were worth it!

I'd been searching for a good, wooden tray for a while but hadn't found quite the right one ... until I spied this stunning, floral-etched tray hiding at the back of a shelf. Made in India, it's beautifully rustic and light to carry, which is perfect for breakfast (or lunch) in bed and for serving drinks outside once the work on our garden is completed.

I also like using it as a display in our house and was pleasantly surprised at just how well it fit in with the other items of homeware we already own, like this market basket and risograph print. 

I can't emphasize how useful trays are to have around in your home - both on a practical and decorative level. They're great for grouping objects like candles or fragrances or accessories, but I also love to use them under bowls when serving food on the table.

After finding my tray-treasure, I continued on with the thought of entertaining outside. I spotted some pretty, clear plastic (but convincingly similar to glass) cups that resembled vintage whisky tumblers but - and here's where shopping at T.K. Maxx can get a little tricky - there were only two on the shelf. Glumly, I tracked down a member of staff (who was so helpful and sweet), but even she couldn't help me track down a family of four tumblers.

Then, I noticed the copper mugs on the bottom shelf: they had gold handles. Gold. Perfect for Moscow-mules, smoothies, mimosas, gin and tonics ... and any other summer drink I'd care to throw in there. I grabbed four and made my way to the till.

(Don't worry, that's water in my copper tumbler in the background - not having a Moscow mule with my pancakes.)

Now I'm just chomping at the bit for our garden to be finished (progress was impeded by heavy rain a few weeks ago) so we can sit outside on our floating bench and enjoy drinks served in copper mugs and food carried out on this pretty tray!

What about you? What's the best bargain you've picked up recently? I'd love to know!

This post was written in collaboration with T.K. Maxx. All opinions and shopping triumphs/disasters are my own.

An "Un-obvious" But Perfect Pairing: Alhambra Reserva 1925 and Coya's Peruvian Cuisine

Unless I'm at the pub or a barbecue, I never think to order beer with my dinner - do you? It seems like a drink that's reserved for laid-back fare: burgers and fries and all that. But my friend, Jodi, is never shy about ordering a beer at dinner - even if we're at a super fancy restaurant. And I love her for it. I thought of Jodi when I recently tried Alhambra's 1925 Reserva hand-crafted, premium lager paired with the exquisite Peruvian cuisine at Coya - an unexpected, but perfect partnership.

The lager itself is smooth-tasting and easy to drink: it has a lovely caramel armoa and a golden, citrus finish - and this is from someone who doesn't indulge in beer very often! Because of this, the lager is perfect when paired with tapas and barbecued meats, so I was curious to see how it would work with Coya's Peruvian menu.

We began the feast with a delicious assortment of ceviche and vegetables: sea bream with amarillo chilli and coriander, salmon nikkei, and yellowfin tuna with ginger and chilli salsa.

I love ceviche, but I don't have the opportunity to enjoy it enough. Of the selection we tried, I loved the tuna the most: the tangy and hot kick of ginger and chilli salsa tasted fantastic when offset with bitterness of the ice-cold Alhambra.

As I scanned the menu, I was most excited for the gambas fritos: crispy tiger prawns cooked with Alhambra and aji rocoto. Like a light tempura, the prawns were served piping hot and we left our silverware on the table, eagerly digging in with our bare hands instead. They were so good that when asked if we wanted seconds, we couldn't help but mumble a feeble, "Yes, please." It's no secret that anything remotely fried tastes fantastic with beer, although the prawns were ever-so-lightly battered and I liked the salsa that accompanied the plate (rather than the heavy mayonaise-based sauces that are typically served with tempura).

As the evening progressed, the dishes that emerged from the kitchen only became increasingly impressive. I couldn't get enough of the langostino tigre: grilled tiger prawns and chilli salsa.

The morsels of prawn we politely scraped from the shell tasted more akin to lobster: sweet and meaty. They proved to be an instant hit when paired with the Alhambra, which seemed to only enhance the flavor rather than detracting from it, as wine can sometimes do.

But the crowning glory, in my opinion, arrived in the form of these beef ribs with aji limo, which had also been prepared using Alhambra in the recipe.

The sweet and sticky ribs made me involuntarily reach for my glass of Alhambra, which had been magically refilled when I turned my head to make conversation with the rest of the table. With a menu that worked so well with the beer however, I found myself continually reaching for my glass, until I noticed my laugh getting a little bit louder than usual!

I love trying new restaurants and cuisines for the surprises on the menu: vegetables I've never tried (purple potatoes, anyone?) or flavor combinations that need explaining (huancaina sauce, for example). I especially appreciated and admired the presentation of the papa fresca, mashed purple potatoes with summer vegetables, tomatoes, and aji limo (a type of pepper, in case you didn't know - I didn't!). The potatoes had been mashed and delicately piped on top of the vegetable and tomato stew - served any other way, they would have disappeared into the mixture in a probably unappetizing mix of colors. It was clear that the continuity of the colorful decor had found its way onto our plates, much to my delight.

I had high hopes for dessert, and I wasn't disappointed. Mousse de Coco consisted of a coconut mousse carefully arranged into a shell of wafer-thin chocolate to mimic a real coconut. Imagine my surprise when I dipped my spoon in, expecting the hard flesh of a coconut only to discover a lightly whipped mousse and a flaky chocolate shell! I'm always partial to a bit of coconut, so it trumped the Caramelo con Chocolate y Sorbete de Frambuesa for me - salted caramel ganache, pisco and raspberry sorbet - but just. Salted caramel always makes me go weak at the knees.

Just when I thought the evening was over and the last, dreamy mouthful of coconut mousse had melted on my tongue, we were presented with something I can only describe as the most epic and exotic fruit bowl I'd ever seen:

Fruit that I spent the rest of my journey home Googling because I'd forgotten the names: rambutan, passion fruit, and pitaya (or dragon fruit), to name a few. The generous slices of pineapple, papaya, and melon nestled on ice transported me back to tropical holidays in Sri Lanka and Vietnam. Washing it down with my last slug of Alhambra, I momentarily felt like I was on vacation - until jostling elbows with tourists at Green Park tube station reminded me that I was very much not. 

I returned home feeling a little giddy (probably because of the bottomless Alhambra) and a lot like Cinderella. I think I just might request a glass (or bottle!) of Alhambra for my next meal out.

I was a guest of Coya and Alhambra, both of which I loved! All opinions are my own.

Adulting: 10 Thoughts I Have When I'm Home Alone

Sometimes, John travels for work. A day trip to Berlin or Paris, or four whirlwind days in the US which take him to places on opposite coasts, like Boston, New York, followed by Chicago, LA and San Francisco. (No, I'm not sure how he does it either.)

It's not like he's gone for weeks at a time, but sometimes, he'll be away for a week and I'll find myself at home. Alone. Which is what a lot of adults do on a regular basis but is something I still haven't quite gotten the hang of yet. My 80-year-old neighbor knows I'm nervous on my own, so will come over to check on me (last time, we went on a fish and chip date when we both found ourselves home alone - it was adorable and fun) and joke about bumps in the night, to which I shoot evil dagger eyes in response. What can I say? I'm easily scared.

Left to my own devices, these are 10 thoughts that run through my head:

Stuff that mysteriously moves:
That shower gel was definitely not there when I last used it. I definitely put it down here. Logical conclusion: someone's broken in and moved the shower gel. Wait a minute - they still might be here! Hiding in the bathroom cupboard, obviously.

Talking to inanimate objects:
Speaking of acceptable things to do when you're alone, it's perfectly acceptable to talk to an egg you accidentally cracked on the freshly-cleaned stove, right? As in, "WHY did you have to do that? WHY? So unfair. SO. UNFAIR!"

Talking to insects:
Speaking of talking to things, it's also acceptable to talk to a bumblebee when taking out a bunch of dead flowers and get caught by someone walking past, right? As in, "Hey you! No, I don't think you'll like these: they're WAY past their sell by date." (Yes, this actually happened.)

TV consumption:
Don't find that reminder that pops up on Netflix every so often a little ... judgemental? You know, the one that says, "Are you still watching Gilmore Girls?" YES I AM, DAMMIT! I AM STILL WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS, AND YES, I AM ON EPISODE 20 AND IT'S STILL SUNDAY. LEAVE ME ALONE.

Out-of-control-Googling
Examples: "How can you tell an egg is bad?" "Meningitis symptoms" "Gilmore Girls IMDB" "How can you tell frozen tortellini is bad?" "Allergic reaction rash" "When to call 999"

Etiquette:
It's perfectly acceptable to use a cotton wool pad as a napkin if a proper napkin isn't available, right? Right? (By "available", I mean, within an arm's reach from my position on the sofa.)

Bedtime:
I have no concept of how late it is when John's not home. Mostly, it's because I'm afraid of the dark (but then I can't sleep when the lights are on, so I have to wear an eye-shade and ... it's complicated), so while our normal bedtime on the weekdays when John's in is 10:00 (he gets up for work at a crazy hour), if I'm sleeping solo, I'll only reluctantly drop off at 12:00 or 1:00 a.m.

Shapes in the dark:
That shape by the door: bathrobe? Or girl from The Ring? Probably the bathrobe. But ...

Noises in the dark:
Someone is definitely in the house. They've somehow managed to not trigger the alarm that I accidentally trigger almost every day and are on their way up the stairs. Quick! Plan your escape route, Jaime. Maybe through that open window you're sleeping next to ... the same one letting noise from the street in.

Possible weapons to defend myself against said imaginary intruders:
In no particular order: fly spray, hairspray, dry shampoo, a spiky cocktail ring I bought at Accessorize 8 years ago that could definitely gouge an eye out, if necessary. Ooh! Also: a vintage glass decanter. That would hurt if thrown over the head.

I mean, is it just me? Please tell me it's not just me.

Instagram Changed Its Algorithm and Everyone Hates Me

 

So, Instagram recently rolled out its new algorithm, which happened to coincide with my decision to turn off the notifications on my phone because they were stressing me out and causing me to hyperventilate. Every time an Instagram notification popped up on my phone's lock screen, I'd automatically pick up my phone, open the app, and respond to comments/see who had liked my post. It was usually a comment like, "Great work! Follow 4 follow?" but still, somehow I cared, and for some reason, I still checked.

 

"You've got to turn those off," John observed one day as he noticed my phone repeatedly lighting up as we were trying to enjoy lunch outside in our not-even-close-to-being-finished-garden. Goodness knows why I even felt the need to have my phone outside with me - I'm not an on-call surgeon. I stared into space, munching on my sandwich as my phone repeatedly lit up. "It's really stressing me out!" he pressed. Tired of his wheedling, I turned off the notifications and checked my phone every other hour or so, but noticed that the number of likes on my photos had dramatically decreased.

 

Of course, I had no idea that this new algorithm was the reason for the sudden drop because (you know, unlike the widespread panic a few months ago when everyone was like, "MAKE SURE YOU TURN ON YOUR NOTIFICATIONS SO YOU DON'T MISS A SINGLE POST!" and I was like, nawwwww) Instagram didn't make some grand announcement about it. 

 

So, I blamed it on turning off the notifications. I relayed this to John, who tried to explain to me with the tone and patience he uses to explain something to our 2-year-old niece why the two had no correlation whatsoever. I only half-believed him, then became convinced that everyone became suddenly and completely uninterested in my photos. Or that they found them annoying/irrelevant. Totally logical conclusion, right?

But what the actual eff ew cee kay (I can't swear here, because my mom's friends read this blog), you guys. Why did it even matter? When did I start measuring my self-worth by the number of likes or page views I get in six minutes or an hour or a day or a month or a year?

Maybe when a PR started referring to the words I thought up in the shower and the photos I so painstakingly edited as "content" (which I prefer to think of as "stories", instead). Maybe when someone said to me, "If I were you, I'd really start paying attention to your DA score." Maybe when I went to bed feeling close to tears because I chose to watch Grand Budapest Hotel on Netflix with my husband after dinner instead of working on my backlog of blog posts. Because ... wasn't this whole blogging thing supposed to be, you know, fun?

 

Anway, I'm keeping those notifications firmly off - if my photo of a single monstera leaf basking in the warm glow of the morning sun doesn't garner 100 likes, it doesn't matter (although, I was pretty proud of that pic). If my DA drops to an all-time low ... it doesn't matter. I've decided to (figuratively) step off that social media scale and stop obsessively checking how much I "weigh" in terms of social influence.

An Interior Design and Screen Printing Workshop @ Heal's With Occipinti and MK Design

A few weeks ago, I arrived to Heal's sweaty and breathless, having literally run from Taste of London in Regent's Park to Tottenham Court Road. Well, okay, not literally, but I did sprint up a few escalators and brisk-walked my way to the second floor of Heal's, where I was greeted by this impeccably chic and trendy pair: Ashley McDow, founder of Occipinti (a beautiful interior design house specializing in luxury wallpaper and textiles), and interior design extraordinaire, Mathilde Kubsiak of MK Design.

Flustered didn't even begin to describe how I felt, but Ashley and Mathilde were warm and chatty, as were the other participants in the workshop. I'd never been on any sort of interior design course before, so I was super interested to hear all of Mathilde's tips, given her incredible experience in the interior design industry.

Before getting our hands dirty mixing paint for the screenprints, we learned about different paints and color palettes from Mathilde, which was so helpful and interesting! I usually leave painting to the professionals, but after hearing about Mathilde's favorite colors and her penchant for statement walls, I felt inspired to be a little more adventurous in undertaking our next house project.

Feeling ambitious and yet slightly spaced out from my earlier rushing around, I somehow thought it would be a good idea to design and cut my own pattern. Right. Luckily, Ashley was kind enough to lend me her iPad for tracing, and - inspired by the monstera plants neglected growing in our house - I proceeded to make my own leafy pattern.

Mixing the paint was another story: I accidentally dropped in too much yellow and was left with a rather ... for lack of better words ... baby-food looking green. "You don't like it," Mathilde declared, at my elbow. "I can see it in your eyes!" She patiently helped me add more blue and white to my mixing cup until it became a more acceptable avocado green.

Here's Ashley's deft and expert hand demonstrating the color mixing process:

Summoning my courage, I eventually made my way to Ashley's position at the front of the table, where she talked me through each step. Of course, she had made everything look incredibly easy and I kind of froze when it came to committing to making the actual screenprint.

But with Ashley's guidance, I tentatively scraped the paint over the screen and my pattern, before walking away with this cushion cover and tea towel, which I'm pretty darn proud of:

Do you have any experience in screenprinting? Would you ever like to learn? Let me know in the comments below!

My attendance at the workshop with Ashley and Mathilde was complimentary (thank you!). All opinions and monstera-inspired screenprinted cushion covers my own. Find more information about similar workshops here.

5 Prohibition-Inspired Cocktails You Need to Try at MASH London

So, the Monday post-Brexit was depressing. Tensions were high; moods, sour. After work, Natalie and I headed straight for MASH - an American steakhouse with a Danish twist (intriguing!) - near Piccadilly to check out their cocktail bar, and to let go of some of the uneasy anxiety we'd been feeling throughout the day. 

Winding our way through the curving streets of Soho, we made our way to a basement that had been a ballroom in its previous life, the art deco elements still intact. It was quiet (and remained relatively so for the duration of our visit), though keep in mind we rocked up at 6 pm on a Monday night and ... who downs five cocktails on a schoolnight? 

These ladies. 

We sat down to peruse the new prohibition era-inspired cocktail menu featuring spirits from the Czech Republic and beyond - certainly not names I had been familiar with before. Unable to dodge my tendency to pick anything remotely sweet and creamy, I immediately gravitated toward the "5 Dollar Milkshake": Jack Daniels, Disaronno, vanilla ice cream (this was key), fresh mint, bourbon biscuits, sea salt, and cream. 

True to its description, my drink arrived in a beaker reminiscent of a milk-bottle and tasted exactly like a hard shake. Thick, creamy, and extra cold, it could be easily sipped after dinner in lieu of dessert.

Natalie was a bit more grown-up and ordered "NYC Calling" - Hudson Four Grain Bourbon (the bar is known for its impressive 220-strong whiskey selection), Bacardi 8, creme de cafe, Martini Gran Lusso, maple, sea salt solution and angostura bitters. 

Between bites of mac 'n cheese balls and rosemary fries (served with an epic lime chilli mayo), she moved on to the "Lexington Manhattan": pineapple-infused Georgia Moon (a corn whiskey that comes in a delightful jar complete with vintage label), Lillet Blanc, sugar, and orange bitters. 

And before I knew it, I heard myself ordering yet another drink from Steve: a "Nucky T" - a coconut-y, lime concoction that tasted very much like a holiday in a glass. Feeling a bit wobbly, we took a break from our delicious drinks to tour the restaurant.

Apart from MASH's American-inspired cocktail menu, I was also thrilled to see an extensive list of American wines featured in the menu and - yes - in particular, a generous selection of Washington State wines. Just seeing the words, "Walla Walla" (a city in Eastern Washington) instantly made me nostalgic for home. 

After the grand tour of MASH's impressive wine cellars, we returned to our seats at the bar, only to find our cocktails had disappeared. Secretly thankful (as I was nearing my quota for the evening) but slightly sad to not have those last few sips, we continued chatting. When suddenly, Steve appeared with a flash of a smile and returned our glasses to us, which had been chilling in the fridge - awaiting our return. "Egg white doesn't taste very good warm," he explained, as we laughed. 

At this point, feeling somewhat merry (borderline boisterous, I'd even say), we became less reserved about asking Steve for information on every single spirit in each cocktail while simultaneously discussing why the French make the best bread and butter (MASH bakes their own bread on-site, and their butter is sourced from Isigny Saint-Mere, Normandy). During the course of our conversation, talk turned to clientele when Steve revealed that Tuesday seems to be "first date night" at the bar. In fact, a newly engaged couple recently returned to tell Steve that they met at the MASH bar on their first date and were celebrating their engagement there! Adorable, right?

Meanwhile, we'd finished our second round of cocktails when Steve came out with this clincher: "You've got to try the BLT," he said. "You've never tried Becherovka? It's Czech. You have to try it." We waved off his offer, but suddenly, an ice-cold ceramic tumbler was plonked on the bar, rolled in lemon sugar, which Steve made himself (we also had an in-depth conversation about how this lemon sugar is made, but I'll spare you the details).

You guys.

It tasted like iced Christmas. I have no other way of describing it. It was so full of cinnamon-y goodness, we drank it in about 5 minutes flat ... and might have had problems hopping off the bar stools when we tried to leave (the stairs back up to the street seemed very, very long and oh-so-far away).  

The next morning, I had a roaring headache (unsurprisingly). But I could still remember the taste of that iced Christmas cocktail (AKA "BLT"), which I declared to be the drink I'd serve "if I ever got married ... oh wait, I already am! HAHAHA!" 

Clearly, it was a good night. You should try it some time.

Natalie and I were generously hosted by MASH at 77 Brewer Street, London, W1F 9ZN. All opinions are my own.