Fark, but it's hot ...

... 11pm, still 28 degrees, though it seems a cool sea breeze has kicked in.
I'm so glad we leave on the coast, not inland, it's even hotter there, and burning too boot.
This is why I insisted living within 6km of the CBD! (Actually, that's a fib, I just didn't want a long commute, but it's paid off in so many ways!)

It's true ...

... but you should worry anyway.

From here.

Last night, during our emergency shop ...

... (we'd neglected to do any shopping at the weekend you see), I popped a bag of "Traditional Dutch Recipe Cats Licorice" into the trolley.
Mr Brown gave me a funny look when I did so but I just assumed he was being cheeky about my popping sweeties in the trolley.
This morning, as I placed the bag of little salty black cats into my work bag Mr Brown went "O, I see now, that's a relief".
"See what?"
"Those are for you, it's not Cats' Licorice".
Yes, Mr Brown thought I was buying licorice for the cats. Tonight we will not be eating oysters for dinner, not a single one.

Tonight Mr Brown and I ate dinner over the sink ...

...It seemed easier with all the oyster related mess and all.
We had 2 dozen oysters from yesterday. I'd carefully packed then in an esky, on ice (but with plenty of newspaper between the oysters and the ice) in the bathroom. A very hot day was predicted and we didn't want the poor wee buggers dying before we got home.
I made a lovely mignonette of raspberry vinegar, eschalot and black pepper for the raw course. Expertly shucked by the inimitable Mr Brown, who's a bit of a shucker (teee hee)!

Next course was the steamed jobbies. I had to buy a new bamboo steamer at lunchtime. Sydney is not kind to bamboo steamers, the humidity tends to make them go moldy. Still, I guess if I use it often enough the steam will kill off any nasty mold spores.

A couple more than the recommended minutes were required, due to the sudden arrival of the blessed southerly buster, breezing through the house.

I popped some Tetsuya's Vinaigrette for Oyster's, beefed up with a little more ginger & soy on the steamed ones, and burned my greedy fingers on the shells.

Mr Brown scrubbed the shells which we will dry outside and then crush, for adding to the compost. I'm sure the bebe tomatoes will appreciate the gesture.

Oyster odyssey ...

... Today Mr Brown and I joined a tour to the Hawkesbury River at Brooklyn.
I'd booked a while ago, when the tour was set for October, the day after our anniversary, it was to be a treat. However, the dust storm back in September buggered things up at the river and the tour was postponed until today. Still, something to do on a Sunday afternoon is nice.
The tour, run by Urban Graze, was on a real oyster farm, lease, and oyster farmer Steve, gave us the run down on farming in the river since the nasty QX oyster disease hit the Hawkesbury.These are mere bebes.

These are the poor buggers that sacrificed themselves for our lunch.

They don't look that appetising really, all lumpen and muddy.

Steve introduced us to the bebe oysters, they start on his leases about the size of 1/2 a matchstick. Yep, even the bits of sand there are bebe oysters. Quite cute really. Because the QX disease hits the native Sydney Rock Oyster, they can't be farmed anymore. The Pacific Oyster, in it's natural state is a feral pest. So, Farmer Steve farms Triploid Pacific Oysters, they have 3 chromosomes (I think), and can't spawn. They are basically mules.

First off the bebe oysters are grown in bags. Then they get moved to baskets. They get tumble cleaned from time to time in these.

Not yet ready for eating.

Apparently the buggers will just keep growing and growing if you let them. This monster was bigger than Mr Brown's manly man hands (please note, today he wore blue).

Before we ate we had a bit of a wander about the processing bit. Don't the curtains make a nice touch? They go in here.

Through here.

High tech stuff that made the boys go ooooooo.

And they get shot out here, and off to market they go.

I'm afraid I failed oyster shucking, little bastards didn't want to die and their screams made me feel bad. Luckily Mr Brown is deaf to the screams of oysters and shucked like he was born for it. To be fair, it was a cheat, he practically grew up on oyster leases, back in the middle ages.
Going in "the back way".

Bingo, opened and murdered in it's own little bed.

We (ehemm) shucked the whole tray full.

Then Mr Brown's special talent was recognised and he was put to work pouring the fizzy wine.

The lunch extras, Hawkesbury River Prawns, sweet and delicious, Darling Mills greens (which we get bags of from our local market on Saturdays).

The lovely Tara from Urban Graze made up a couple of mignonettes to try our oysters with and steamed some with ginger and shallot. I've not been a fan of the cooked oyster, but it seems that's just because the ones I've tried have been baked or bbq-ed to death. A very light steaming is all that's required.

After lunch we went out on a punt to look at the leases.

It's rather beautiful country as well as being excellent oyster territory.

An old oyster farmer's hut, lovely position but a little derilct for my taste.

Really lovely to be out on the river, and yes, we did eat some straight out of the river, quite a few actually.

And to top the day off, we were mooned by a pelican at the carpark.

A lovely day was had by all, the food was wonderful, the oysters were fantastic and only $10 a dozen to take home. Guess what we're having for dinner Monday night. Yes, Monday, even Mr Brown couldn't face another oyster today. I never thought I'd live to see the day.

When in New York ....

... I admired a blanket, a Pendleton Woolen Mills Indian Blanket. It was in the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian gift shop. I noticed it on our first day I believe. I did not buy it that day, I thought it was silly to buy a "big" souvenir on the first day of our holiday. So I waited and waited and since I could not stop thinking about it, I bought it, close to the last day.

I like to accessorise with cats, clearly.

It's a magnificent blanket, soft, densely woven, warm but not too so. It will suit for a while, since this weekend is the weekend I put away the winter doona (the wafer-thin one). So for now it's just a sheet and the blanket that almost got us pinged for excess baggage ('tis quite heavy).

A note on the pinkness of the sheets. Yes, I sometimes dress the bed in pink, sometimes flowers too. Mr Brown does not find this an affront or a threat to his masculinity, not even the slightest. I know this, I've asked him. He looked at me like I was insane.
I only asked because, at the time, I worked with a young fellow who would not wear shirts other than white or blue. Suggestions of a nice pink, purple, pale green were met with snorts and comments along the line of "I'm not a poof". Nobody was suggesting such a thing (not that there's anything wrong with that), but may one just say that if one's sexuality is so fragile that the wearing of a pink shirt may turn you, just go with it!
The young fellow had once noticed, you see, new floral sheets I'd purchased and had by my desk, waiting until home time. He'd expressed concern on Mr Brown's behalf, having to sleep in such girly sheets. Didn't I care that he would be humiliated by such a thing.
I cared, it just hadn't occurred to me, and it turned out, I was right not to worry.
Plenty of other things to worry about after all.

Possum came out at 2:30 this afternoon ....

... into the full bright day light. She's supposed to be nocturnal.
She did the usual, asked for something to eat, so she got a nectarine and a couple of tiny tomatoes.
But Google told me an adult possum out in the day means "something is wrong with the animal" requiring capture and assessment.
Guess what I did! Go on. Yep, I panicked, I called W.I.R.E.S and babbled about "my possum" and would someone come check her please.
Apparently it's probably the heat and I'm not to worry, since I could see no sign of injury.
But I'm keeping an eye on her.
Don't tell Mr Brown.

In other news, water on the moon, apparently. Googlemoon is the result.