Special March Guest: Off the Chain

The Dinah's Club special monthly guest series continues with a reflective piece from an eater who found she couldn't handle the tooth.

SOME girls love to shop, others prefer to gossip, but I seek a culinary fix to flavour my world. If eating were a hobby I would have it on my CV; it makes me happy, I do it every chance I get, I’m always hungry for more and I’m actually good at it.

People marvel at the amount of food I consume, they say ''hey check out this freak she has three stomachs or something'' or ''are you cow because you just graze on food all day''. Some are suspicious because for someone who eats so much, and has such a small pie hole, I’m not a very big girl.

So when I recently got my wisdom teeth removed and my diet was suddenly restricted to that of a three-month-old all my joy was pulled out with my teeth.

There’s more to getting your wisdom teeth taken out than the excruciating throbbing of your raw gums, the nausea and looking like an obese drooling chipmunk. It’s the boring menu you’re really stuck with that hurts.

They tricked me like a five year-old by saying I could eat all the ice-cream I wanted but after my second bowl of ice cream for breakfast I realised cold liquids weren’t going to satisfy this swollen fat head.

That’s when my relationship with food turned sour like the milk in my fridge I refused to touch without a spoonful of coffee in it - but hot foods and liquids were also out. It doesn’t leave you with much and I don’t care how many different flavours of ice cream there is – it is just not filling enough!

My mum was trying her best cooking all kinds of soup and trying to puree rice until it looked like dogs vomit but my stomach wasn’t being fooled. Eat jelly they said! Try a smoothie they cried! But really, I’m not interested in having custard for dinner again! And liquid foods are all sweet except for soup, which all tastes the same after you add salt.

This temporary fast I call ‘the suffering’ was over soon enough but my teeth taught me one wise lesson: never underestimate the joy of chowing down a hot juicy steak whenever you want.

And that, my friends, is why they call them ‘wisdom’ teeth.

Curry in a hurry

So on Wednesday night I was among an estimated 17,000 people who ate out at an Indian restaurant as a sign of solidarity against racism.

Mia Northrop must have been freaked out by the fact her ''little'' idea had grown into an international event that even had Premier John Brumby chowing down on February 24.

I organised a dinner for workmates at my favourite Indian restaurant Taj Palace in Footscray. It was a hell of a lot of fun, and a good excuse to socialise and eat nice food.

We didn't talk about violence that much and I wonder what the event proves, or achieves... but it got people together and supported local business.

The owners of Taj were thrilled - it was their busiest night ever. Their suggestion: Have it every night!

Looks might not be everything, but they sure are something

One of the things I became fascinated with during my addiction to MasterChef was the concept of 'plating up'. Taste was never the first thing on judges' minds, but rather how the dish was presented.

It's fair enough, too, when you really think about it. No one wants to try food that looks like spew, so unless you make a dish look at least half decent you've lost the battle before the diner has even popped a morsel in their mouth.

At the second meeting of the first food club (still following?) the appetite of our eyes was tested by a dessert dish at Cumulus Inc which looked like poop served up in a large ash tray / small dog bowl. See photographic evidence below:

The thing is, it tasted fantastic - all crumby bits of anzac biscuit, an amazing chocolate mousse, nut ice cream and pistachio biscotti. It just didn't taste AS good as it would have served on the uninspiring but universally-friendly white plate.

Cumulus became the second venue for the food club now known as the Melbourne Food Collective due to unforeseen circumstance. We were planning to visit Boire in Collingwood. The owners, however, had other plans in mind and without notification on their website shut up shop. The sign on the door read: 'Gone to France'. How French!

I had mixed feelings about the Cumulus experience. The service was impeccable and the vast majority of dishes were delicious. However, at times the servings seemed stingy - particularly the vegetable sides - and some of the offerings a little uninspiring considering the price tag.

A highlight was their leg of lamb. That was how it was plonked on the plate - plain and simple -and the slow-cooked meat fell off the bone with just the slightest encouragement. Served with lemon it was delicious, but what really floated my boat was the side of marinated red onion that, when sprinkled on top, brought it to a whole new level.

Mmmmm lamb.

The most amusing part of the evening was another dessert: Rum Baba, which came with a bottle of rum so you could flavour the dish to your taste. Too bad a sailor was in charge of that one - he was liberal enough with the alcohol to set our mouths alight when we tasted a single bite.

Mi casa tu casa

I've managed to join two food clubs in the past two months.

Both are still sorting out names, and rules (hopefully no1 isn't: You don't talk about the food club) but essentially, it's an excuse to eat out and socialise.

Let's call the second club, Second Club. It's first outing was to Casa Farro - a cute Italian restaurant in Carlton. The interior was irreverant minimalism - stripped back furniture, a wall of chopping blocks and light bulbs strung across the ceiling. With such friendly staff, it was almost like visiting one of your cool friend's houses in Fitzroy.

I started off with a Monteith apple cider - a cracking good one if you've never tried it - and an entree of arancini. This set a very high standard. The crust was thin and crunchy and the inside was an explosion of moorish flavour with a filling of chewy rice, pumpkin, peas, mozzarella and fennel. I could have eaten these balls of goodness until I exploded... but instead moved on to mains.

We ordered just about everything on the menu and shared it around. The thin-crust, wood-fired pizzas were top notch, as was the gnocchi. Some of the pasta dishes and a rissotto failed to excite.

But the best was yet to come. The dessert platter sounded good, and tasted even better. There was macadamia icecream, biscotti, sticky date and fig pudding, an Italian donut in lemon curd, chocolate pot and vanilla & raspberry brulee. Each was lovingly presented and tasted delicious. I wolfed it all down with a delightful pinot gris from Mount Langi.

If home-cooked meals tasted that good, I'd never go out for dinner.

I'll eat anything except....

Everybody has something they hate to eat. I avoid zucchini like the plague and would rather eat cadavar than mango (smells like death anyway, so why not?)

I wonder how it happens?

Does it hark back to a traumatic experience of being force-fed as a child? Or slipping on the offending food and injuring yourself? Or touching the item when it was attached to zapping electroydes, a la Bart Simpson and the cupcake style?

I met a guy once who hated fruit and vegetables. Seriously. He couldn't stand even the smallest item of nutrition. To the extent that he would peel the two pieces of pickle from his Big Mac before eating it. I guess when he looked at a watermelon, it looked like this one.

I suppose, if you're hungry enough you'll eat anything. But my appetite disappears when I see offal of any description, deep fried bugs, chicken feet, eye balls... the list goes on.

And why force it? When there's so much stuff I love eating out there, it'd be silly to waste valuable time eating something icky? Unless you hate fruit and veg. If that's the case you should force feed yourself, or die young.