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.

Dumping the Dumpling

I'm going to admit I have a problem, because I know that is the first step on the road to recovery.

I'm addicted to dumplings.

It doesn't really matter what sort - pan fried, steamed, deep fried... I just can't get enough of those pop-in-your-mouth explosions of flavour.

When I travelled in Japan, I ate gyoza every day.

When I was shown how to make my own Nepalese version (Mo Mo) it was the end of me. It meant I had 24-7 access to such tasty morsels... and no one in a restaurant to judge me when I had seconds, thirds and fourths.

It's just too easy.

Step 1: buy a packet of pre-made circle dumpling pastry from an asian grocery (the japanese version with the smiling chef on is best).

Step 2: buy 500g pork mince and 500g chicken mince. Mix it with an egg, garlic, onion and spices to taste (i like chilli, tumeric, cumin).

Step 3: dollop spoonfuls of the mince into the pastry and close into whatever shape takes your fancy. Steam them for 15-20mins

Step 4: Serve them with whatever sauce floats your boat. I like making my own: onion, tomato, coriander, cumin seeds.

Yum.

Or just eat out at places like Camy Shanghai Dumpling Restaurant in Tattersalls Lane and the Oriental Tea House in Collins Street.

If being an addict is wrong, I don't want to right.

Catch of the Day

What is it about going for a swim in the ocean that prompts cravings for fish n' chips?

As soon as I dive under a wave I start dreaming about battered flake, golden potato cakes and crumbed calamari - doused in lemon and tartare sauce.

During a week's holiday at the beach I had F n' C twice: the first was disappointment. We went to a place in Barwon Heads that's at the round-a-bout as soon as you come off the bridge, because Gilligan's was already closed for the night. It all tasted lovely, but everything came pint-sized in cardboard boxes.

We got the real stuff a couple of days later at Ocean View Fish and Chips - massive pieces of flake that were served up the way they should be served up: wrapped in paper.

It tasted all the more satisfying considering we had just been fishing and hadn't caught a single thing.

Special December Guest: Lemon Drop Kid

Welcome to the first of a special monthly series that features a post from a secret guest. Today, Dinah's Club hears about baking from the male perspective.

I rediscovered my love of baking sweets a year ago. In my early teenage years I took a shine to making cakes (chocolate mainly), muffins, peanut butter biscuits... basically anything that came in a quick and easy to make packet. In those days, mixing some powder with a few eggs and chucking it in the oven seemed like a big deal. I'd watch on as the cake painstakingly rose, take it out and slather icing over it and serve it up to my family. The result was good but never great.

My baking rebirth came just before the boom of the Australia's Master Chef. The show isn't the reason I decided to return to the kitchen, but its success and celebration of food certainly spurred me on to follow my passion.

I love lemon tarts, always have. Naturally, it was the first thing I made, but not necessarily the first thing I made well. I made the pastry from scratch, rolling it out, placing it over the tart tin and baking it to a crisp golden brown. In making the curd, I used more than a tad of elbow grease to grate the lemons, squeeze the juice, and whisk the eggs and sugar together. It looked great cooking in the oven, like a lovely golden sunset. I wasn't sure how long to cook it for - the recipe said 15-20 minutes or until just cooked. The first crack appeared soon after refrigeration. More cracks came, like an earthquake splitting Terra Firma. It turned into a messy sight but it still didn't dull the great taste. I knew I was on the right track.

Since then I have made almost half a dozen desserts and each has been a hit. I decided to make special desserts for friends at work. I ask them what their favourite dessert is and scour the Internet and books for recipes. I've made an apple and cinnamon tea cake, a gooey upside-down pineapple cake and ugly but yummy Italian biscuits for a friend on her birthday. I even made some peppermint choc and coconut balls after losing a bet on the Grand Final.

My latest creation was a lime meringue pie in honour of a colleague's 24th birthday. It has proven the biggest hit. The lime was a welcome twist, the biscuit base was easy to make and tasty and the meringue sweet, but not sickly.

I like making things for other people because it gives me a task and the smile on their face when they see their special dish makes me feel happy. It also gets everyone together talking about food and cooking; and of course, eating. My skills are improving and I feel more confident in trying difficult recipes. I have acquired lots of baking equipment along the way including a cool space-age looking whisker, measuring cups, a tarte tin, springboard cake pan, rolling pin and a wire cake rack.

Before, the directions were on the back of the packet and everything was neat and tidy like a school essay. Now, everything seems a lot more haywire. There's pots and pans and flour everywhere, and the measurements have to be oh-so-right and cinnamon is in the house for the first time. But hey, I finally feel like I'm baking.

Mocking the Mocha

I grew up a chocolate lover, not a coffee drinker.

The aroma of those beans was mesmerising enough to try it repeatedly, but the taste was too bitter to turn it into a habit.

One day someone suggested I try a mocha, rather than my usual hot chocolate, and my life was transformed.

My sister (also a non-coffee drinker) shook her head in disgust when I described this new hot drink sensation and said it was a matter of time before I progressed to the cappuccino, latte, espresso and, finally, died a hard-core, caffeine-injecting junkie.

But I haven't changed. I've stayed true to the mocha; that most beautiful combination of knock-your-socks-off coffee coated in heart-melting chocolate.

Out there are those coffee judgers who deem anything less than single source beans from the arse of a Persian cat laughable. A few weeks ago, when I ordered a soy mocha from a highly regarded CBD caffeine haunt the skinny baristo dressed in black complete with ''graphic designer'' rimmed glasses actually winced. Winced!

Don't hate me because I'm different.