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Monthly Archives: July 2012

Naughty Becasse

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It’s being called the Winter of Discontent on the Sydney dining scene, and La Triv is Not Happy.

Do I feel sorry for the proprietors going belly up? Most assuredly. Do I pity all the poor waitspeoples who are now forking each other for a shrinking number of hospitality jobs? Most definitely. But for whom do I feel the sorriest? One word.

Me.

And it all comes down to a muffin.

The Zoloko Chocolate Muffin, to be precise.

It was muffinistic perfection, the zenith of the art. And it was made by Becasse Bakery, part of the Becasse empire that’s now gone to the wall. (Because of Justin and Georgia North’s decision to base the beating heart of their operations in that blasted Westfield Sydney complex, if you ask me. But sadly no-one did.)

So Becasse Bakery is no more, and nor is my beloved Zoloko muffin.

I will seek prandial comfort in Misschu’s vermicelli salad on this fine winter day, and pray she’s across her overheads.

20120725-134122.jpgUpdate:  It’s actually a ZOKOKO chocolate muffin.  Proves I was always too busy stuffing my face with them to read their name proper.

 

For the love of Jac+Jack

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Kinski Top

*Sigh*

Those clever girls at Jac+Jack.  This top belongs in La Closetta Trivialista like a bike saddle belongs beneath Bradley Wiggins’s bum.

Bold graphic print?  Tick.  Tunic style?  Tick.  Navy accents?  Tick.  Bit of silk crepe de chine?  Tick.  However, how to sneak it beneath the dusty rafters of La Palazzo Trivialista, then debut it without invoking the ire of Signor Seriousimo?  The days of hiding new purchases beneath the Marital Bed of Deceit for an appropriate cooling-off period (“This old thing???  I’ve had it for AGES!  Shame on you for not noticing how great I look in it sooner!!!”) are over:  Seriousimo was onto that sometime around our first anniversary.  He’s no dumbass, sadly.

Hmm, time for some financial engineering.  Srsly, my skills in this department would put Babcock & Brown to shame.

Hard case

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Get your iPhone stoned (literally) with Weston Weston Jasper Printed iPhone Case

Trivial’s my name, trivial’s my game.  That said, I don’t normally get obsessed with tech-related minutiae, even if it’s blessed with a design edge.

Until now.

I really want this iPhone case, by London architect/designer Richard Weston, a super clever man who may yet make it into the Spunk Yurt on the basis of his unseemly talent (rather than his looks:  slightly too Alan Bennett for my liking).

I drop my phone more often than the average diva hurls one at a PA’s head.  Gods know why.  My current Kate Spade case is in tatters, TATTERS I tell you.  So time for an upgrade.  But the great Deity Google tells me the only way to get Weston’s wares into the Wide Brown Land is via the interwebs, and specifically Net-A-Porter.  NAP and La Triv are BFFs, known to frottage and cottage on a regular basis.  But to buy an iPhone case for AUD50 and pay AUD30-odd for shipping?  Suspect it ain’t gonna happen.

Olden timers

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Old Willie: The Village Worthy

I present to you one William Thomson, someone Google reliably informs La Triv is an Ancestral Personage.  This 1886 portrait was painted by James Guthrie, and is part of the collection of Glasgow Museums — possible hanging right now beneath the dusty rafters of the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum.  It’s called “Old Willie, the village worthy”.

I love this picture for so many reasons.  One, it’s just a gorgeous example of portaiture.  Look how Signor Guthrie has captured every crag and crevice of Signor Thomson’s face!  (God forbid Signor Guthrie should ever have turned his attentions to the currently sleep-deprived La Triv — would need a truckload of Shu Uemura Stage Performer, a Princess among primers, to bear up to the laser-like scrutiny of the  portraitist’s eye).

Two, La Famiglia Trivialista has so clearly sprung from the loins of this man.  The auld cobbler is the spitting image of La Triv’s beloved Grandpa Sam, a native of Kirkcudbright before he answered an ad for fruit pickers and voyaged to the Wide Brown Land when Pappa Trivialista was a wee lad of two in 1951.  And Old Willie even has the same sloping snake shoulders as La Triv’s no. 2 brother, Sport Billy Superdad.

Most of all, I just want to reach into this picture and grab this man, cut through his dour Scotch exterior, and chat to him about his day, his life.  He would have been poor.  He would have been hard-working.  So what did James Guthrie, who was only 29 years old when he painted this, have to do to convince him to sit for a portrait?  Would Willie have thought that a trivial waste of time (gods forbid!)?

In 1898, the Kirkcudbrightshire Advertiser published a piece about Old Willie, and it included these gemstones:

He is somewhat striking in appearance, and when arrayed in his apron, with an old soft hat on his head and a pair of ‘specs’ on his nose, he has the appearance of having just sprung from some old world scene of a century ago. Hard work has been his lot in life, yet he has never allowed it to blunt the higher aspirations of an active and superior mind…His private life he looks upon as his exclusively to use according to conscience and the dictates of reason. His tastes have lifted him above the sordid and commonplace in human life to the contemplation of the wonderful and beautiful in nature. 

Genetics — and history — are marvellous things.  As is Google.

Yurt-worthy

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For a long time, La Triv has been quietly fascinated by Daniel Johns.  Such a prodigiously talented — yet formally untrained — enigma wrapped in a made-to-order, super ethical and organic rock star sausage casing.

His new National Carrier* anthem, performed with the ACO, has been play-viewed many times here at the Triv Media Control Console.  Hope I don’t wear out YouTube’s tubes.

I think he needs to join Hany in the Spunk Yurt.

*This post and video should in no way be construed as Brand Trivialista endorsement of the National Carrier.  The recent trip to the Troubled Eurozone was taken down the back of the Q****s bus, and was an unparalleled experience in tiny seat pitch, grouchy service and long-haul hunger and thirst.  Based on the overall customer experience, Q****s’s new theme should have been penned and performed by someone more like, hmm, Peter Andre.  

: breaking news :

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Never let it be said La Triv is afraid of tackling Hard News.

This morning, en route to a pick-me-up solo breakfast, your correspondent passed this sight corner of Park and Castlereagh.

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I popped on my sharpest, roving-reporter newshound-style elbows and pushed through the pack to uncover the cause of the cordon. But one copper was too busy yawning and the other so preoccupied with his mouthful of bacon and egg McMuffin that my probing, insightful questions went unanswered.

Stay tuned.

(Oh, and because I know my loyal readers so well [after all, at least one of you three is a blood relative], let me allay a fear which I’m sure is creeping in about now. Despite this recent move toward Hard News, LaTrivialista.com will NOT be going paywall anytime soon. Breathe easy…for now.)

Random Londonings

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The amazing Persephone Ooks — oops, I mean Books, on one of my fave streets, Lamb’s Conduit.  PB is an amazing champion of The Sisterhood.  La Triv had one of their diaries last year and I srsly loved it.

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Greg Malouf is doing amazing things in Skye Gyngell’s place at Petersham Nurseries Cafe, including this divine dessert.  Miss A and I were very, very lucky that La Belle Ange flew over from Dublin to take luncheon with us.

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Miu Mius + cobbles = danger.

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Regular readers may or may not be aware of La Triv’s insatiable obsession with vertical giardinettos — and this is a fab example of the species at Anthropologie on Regent Street.

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I pilgrimaged to Scarlet & Violet, current florist to the stars.  Vic Brotherson is a legend — I honed my amateur floral craft, such as it is, with her at Wild at Heart back in the day.  She deserves to have people like Kate Moss and Nigella raving about her fleurs.  I bought this for the Senior Seriousimos, at whose castello we were dossing and leaving all kinds of underwear and mess strewn about the historical floors.

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Gods I love Regent’s Park.  If I was the Regent, I’d live there on a full-time basis.

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Now, on the coffee front, this was a FIND and a half.  Run by lovely Aussies 1000 times groovier than I could ever have hoped to be when I was living in London at 22, with amazing food and off-the-charts-great coffee.  Trust me, they give good bean.

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*Sigh*.  There are no words.

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The amazing wit and eye of Monsieur Jonathan Adler knows no peer.

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The male JCC alarmed me greatly by suggesting he would quite like one of these.  Thanks, Mr Conran.

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More Conran genius.

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Tried to stalk some celebs in Primmy Hill, but found nowt but this cute battery-op pup.  Both JCCs highly satisfied.

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Was loving my Sugarsole electric bleu pumps, til the unceasing rain turned them into a trainwreck.

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A much-missed fave of Seriousimo’s and mine.  Tell Ashley we sent you.  But whatever you do, don’t go with children — Ashley doesn’t even try to mask his hatred of them.  But once you’ve tried the man’s wares, you’ll forgive him anything.

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Gods, I’m so scared when I go into Ottolenghi that I will suddenly shed all shame and literally dive into one of their carefully orchestrated gourmet displays, motoring in with a mouth as wide as Moby Dick, disgracing myself in front of various Notting Hill glams and their accompanying Russian oligarch sugar-pappas.

But this time I exercised restraint.