Sunday, 29 July 2012


Cut & Paste

I've spent the past two weekends a total recluse, head down, cutting and pasting fashion clippings & lovely colours to boards for a work presentation. Stone Roses & 2:54 passing my ears on repeat. Imagine the state of mind I'd been in: a tangle of nerves, excitement, stress - feeling like  a school girl again. 

D-day has been and gone, and I finally feel myself sliding happily back into routine.

Mac Is Whack

Three girls on a quest to find that perfect macaroni and cheese.

Always one with a penchant for the tasty golden stuff, I've set out alongside my girls Maria & Katy to review every last mac n cheese joint in Londontowne. Read about our culinary adventures here.*

*Let's just hope we're not as judgemental on my own mac n cheese skills at this week's southern theme'd birthday extravaganza…might be shooting myself in the foot with this one.

Sweetie Pies Chicken & Fish Fry

By now all ya'll know I'm a veggie…but this jingle (sent to me by my sis) makes me wanna go to Iowa and eat some chicken & fish fry.  Crank it!!

Party Stuffs
It's birthday week ya'll!
While searching for some lovely party stuffs for the upcoming two eight celebration, I came across A wonderland of goodies, I had to stop myself from adding things to the basket.

Chariots of Fire

The Olympics are finally here and Danny Boyle did us proud with that opening ceremony…even if the beginning was a bit LOTR meets Gangs of New York: Five rings to rule them all.

Admittedly I haven't been too excited about the Olympics until now. Funny what seeing a posse of Poppinses defending the dreamworld from giant Voldemorts and child catchers can do. (lollipops and ice creams…) Lest we forget James Bond teaming up with the actual QUEEN - what a lege!

I spent the ceremony jiving around my bestie's living room - trying to burn off the full pizza I just ate and capturing embarrassing pictures & videos to remember the night.

Sunday, 8 July 2012


Kilner Jars

We southerners use mason jars for everything: picklin', preservin', drinkin' our iced still lemonades on a hot afternoon - the jar's sweat trickling down our arms, helping to cool down in the muggy Mississippi heat. 

In a bid to sneak a bit of Mississippi nostalgia into the bluebirdcage household, this weekend I invested in the English equivalent  - the Kilner. (Next it'll be red solo cups)

Ain't they purty?

Impossible Project

So, you were told polaroid film had become extinct? This couldn't be further from the truth! Oh happy day!

Back in 2008, under our grieving noses, the people at the Impossible Project snapped up the last Polaroid plant and began creating new and exciting films for vintage polaroid cameras. Browse their stockists here!

On my most recent trek back to the motherland, my lovely friend Amanda re-introduced me to the wonderful world of  instant photography. As we played tourist for the day*, I was surprised when she pulled out her old polaroid sun 600 and snapped four keepsake photos during the day. I couldn't believe she used one, two, three, four polaroids on little ole me!

*Amanda's post about our day of tourism puts anything I would write to shame - read it & browse her photos here. Beware beautiful food porn.

P.S. Looky who I found while cleaning out mom and pop's attic…(!)

Yellow Cake

Tired of searching the back shelves of American food stockists for a box of yellow betty crocker cake mix (when I should be mixing it myself), I stumbled upon this delicious recipe online.  Okay, I got lazy on the icing and bought a tub of betty crocker fudge topping. It's gives and takes.

Anyway...recipe submitter David, you're a genius. 

Le Temps de L'Amour

Saturday, 7 July 2012

Down in the Delta with the Devil

Set deep in the delta at the crossroads of the blues and rock & roll, lives a little town called Clarksdale, Mississippi. Placed on the map as the home of the blues, it's in this little town that Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil in turn for his bluesy twang. Clarksdale is place of pilgrimage for lonely musicians and now foodies thanks to one Mr. Morgan Freeman and his Ground Zero Blues Club.

Mr. Freeman done sold his soul to da Debil. 

Keeping to the delta's aesthetics, Ground Zero has found home amongst the historically rickety wood & brick fronted shops in the heart of downtown. The porch outside invites you to lounge in hand-me-down chairs, sitting amongst the aroma of an outdoor grill, while the sound of the blues pours from the heavily scribed walls inside. 

Wildly eyeing the menu packed full of Mississippi fried goodness, I opted for the Fried Green Tomato Sammich*: a beautiful poe boy packed with monterey jack & shredded mozzarella that melted under cover of fried green maters and Ground Zero's infamously tangy spiced "Gitback" sauce - a sauce concocted from "an old recipe from mama," so we were told by our waitress, who also made note that, in Mississippi, all infamously tasty things are concocted from an old recipe from mama.

*Note to meat eaters: the dish also comes with smoked bacon…an ingredient that no doubt would make the sammich even more drool-worthy.  Big mmmm to smoked anything!

As pops, sis and I mopped up the last of the gitback sauce, our waitress strolled over, blues in her step, and popped an unordered dish of deep fried cheesecake bites and ice cream in the middle of our table - "Chef made a little extra, and I thought you'd love it. Compliments of the house" she sang in her delta twang. It was the greatest melody I'd ever heard.

In true jook joint fashion, the house band tore up the place with songs of loneliness, hard times and 'Evil Women' - a title which was dedicated towards the table where my sister and I innocently sat.

A harmonica clad mustachio later joined in with the band; serenading an Irish girl from the tables (who was on a delta blues pilgrimage), provoking couples to jive (which they did!) and coaxing drunken middle aged sorority girls to live their dreams of seducing the older gent (which they did! or tried…with my father. In turn meeting my evil eye). 

The open mic then saw Omar, a seventeen year old reincarnation of Robert Johnson - highly gifted with the blues, you could feel the music through his soul; eyes closed in quiet concentration, pulling faces one would only make whilst alone with a lover. The guitar his muse. 

Following suit, a beatnik California man took to the stage to play some "songs from his soul" as he quietly whispered into the mic - strum, strum, strum, "ohmmmmmmmmm" he played out.  "ohhhhmmmmmmmmmm". Cringingly embarrassed, I had my sister escort me to the loo during his set - where I stayed cry-laughing through a diabolical rendition of 'Stairway to Heaven'.

"There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold...Ohhhmmmmmmmm...."

Luckily, the house band took to the stage again. Pops, Uncle Johnny, sis and I settled down for a few more songs and then it was time to go home. 

One of the best night's of my life, we drove home under the light of a fiery red harvest moon. I believe we all had a touch of Rob Johnson's devil in us that night.