Monday, April 4, 2011

Breaking bread

I'm basking in the afterglow of a sinfully sedate weekend, of running, reading and eating.

Lots and lots of eating.

Slices of buttery soda bread, baked fresh Saturday morning by Paddy the Baker, to whet the appetite.

My heart is still in palpitations, just thinking about the clotted cream, scones and delightfully fluffy butterfly cakes, from an afternoon tea I attended Saturday arvo.

Mish and I had a Sunday morning brunch at the rustic 2042. We splashed out to celebrate our first training run together and hatched elaborate pans to compete in upcoming events, including a 29km cross country run.

Easter eggs were inhaled by the handful.

I talked myself horse, when I caught up with some uni mates at the bizarrely named Pumpkin House café. It resembles an army bunker, as the outside is draped in camflougaed coloured mesh sheeting and is lit by small lanterns. There is only one pumpkin dish on the menu (soup) as it specialises in milkshakes served with a side of popcorn.

It’s slightly unconventional to crab load seven weeks before a race, partly because there’s no scientific evidence, but mainly because it’s called over indulging. But it sure is fun.

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