Kepos Street Kitchen - The Conversation

I like to think of this blog as the conversation you should be having with your closest girlfriends at Saturday morning brunch.

"Why won't that bloody idiot text me?" "I queefed during sex last night and nearly died" "I deserve a promotion but because I'm the youngest in the company no one will even consider me" "What does it mean if he wants to snap chat? Surely he wants more than just a picture of my cat?" "I went to get a brazilian wax and the apprentice actually burnt my vagina lip" "What on this menu is paleo? - whatever I'll have the ricotta pancakes."

I realise that many if not all of the questions above are crude and vapid however when in the exquisite company of our BFFs we shouldn't have to sensor ourselves or strive to generate penetrating dialect. 

BTW I never want to hear the words 'generate penetrating dialect' on a Saturday morning when my head is already spinning from the events of last night. There's only one type of penetrating I want to know about and the rest of the story I want in layman's terms. 

I understand that many of you out there have fancy friends who only generate penetrating dialect and thats why you read Heaven on Bourke. Because although Australian politics and global warming are relevant, realising that the guy you fell in love with on Tinder is actually 20kg heavier in real life is an issue you need to address NOW! 

98.9% of the stuff I write about on here comes from conversations I have with my housemates 'aka the Queens'. Where do these conversations take place? In and around The Dirthouse - at breakfast tables all over Surry Hills. 

Last Saturday our dish sesh took place at Kepos Street Kitchen

Althought Kepos Street is technically located in Redfern this popular cafe is tres Surry Hills. Everything from the buzzing atmosphere to the hipster looking waitstaff screams Surry but it's the Middle Eastern inspired menu that keeps you coming back regardless of its slightly ambiguous location.

The first time I stepped foot into KSK I felt as though I was on the set of Sex and the City filming a brunch scene. The interior is cool and clean, with big tables perfect for spilling gossip on. 

As soon as we sat down Ms P received a text message from a guy she has been dating and just like that it was on...

"I don't know why he sent you that - it's so small I can barely see it" "Wtf a simple hey I'm thinking of you would have been better don't you think?" "Ew I haven't even had my morning coffee and he's sending me shit like this."

Waiter - we need coffees pronto! 

Unless you're from Sydney or you are just very in tune with coffee culture you wouldn't know that The Grounds coffee is the best coffee you can get in the city. You may have heard of the Grounds of Alexandria well this delicious blend comes direct from them. I usually go out of my way to drink The Grounds coffee lucky for me Coco Noir just near my work stocks it as does KSK. 

We ordered 2 x long blacks and a soy latte - they tasted sublime as always. 

As the topic of conversation started to drift from dick pics to careers we decided it was time to line our stomaches. 

Initially I disliked the fact that at KSK you can't just order eggs with a selection of sides, however on further inspection I decided that the menu was so well put together that there was really something for everyone. 

Something healthy yet hearty for me - lamb stew with poached eggs. 

Something with zest and variety for Ms P - dad's favourite breaky

And something a little bit naughty (after all it is the weekend) for Ms B - egg and bacon brioche roll

Ms P ordered 'Dad's favourite breaky' $16 which was essentially a warm tasting place consisting of falafel, hummus, labneth, dukkah, hardboiled egg, tomato salad and bread. I highly recommend this meal to those looking to soak up the excess alcohol in their systems from the night before. 

I ordered the spicy chickpea and lamb shank stew with poached eggs on top $19. The perfect combination of spices and fluffy poached eggs made this meal super delicious. The presentation of the dish makes you feel like you're hanging out in your kitchen at home, eating straight from the stovetop. 

Ms B ordered the egg and bacon brioche roll with homemade chilli jam and roasted tomatoes and spinach $14. (for a complete picture of the brioche roll do not see the picture below).

If you have never tried brioche before you need to stop, get up from your couch/desk, go outside and get some into ya right now! Don't be fooled, it looks like a regular roll (maybe a little more on the fluffy side) but as soon as you bite into it, it tastes and feels like a croissant! Once again Ms B picked the best meal of all I mean did you catch a look at that bacon!? I don't say this often but...perfect bacon. 

When we'd finally devoured the feast we were all so full that we could barely mutter a word. To me that is my definition of a perfect brunch - you purge your thoughts, feelings and problems and then you eat! 

Kepos Street Kitchen is an excellent place to do this.

You can find the incredible illustration above and more info on KSK here.

Like many Surry Hills eateries, if you're dining out on the weekend you're going to have to be patient. At KSK you will need to go inside and write your name down to ensure you get a table. After you've finished stuffing your face I highly recommend taking a stroll down Bourke Street, if you keep your eyes pealed on the left you'll see a very dilapidated terrace house. Inside the house is me, compiling all the brunches into stories for you to read.

For the perfect brioche roll visit Kepos Street Kitchen and for the conversation you should be having with your girlfriends here is the place to be. 

Much love,

Heaven on Bourke xx

Welcome to Hollywood - Mardi Gras 2014!

Right now the Oscars are taking place in Hollywood - A visual buffet of glitz and glam. All of Hollywood's best players under one roof, a cluster of porcelain veneers, sweeping gowns and radiant skin. At the height of the gala Aussie beauty Cate Blanchett receives the oscar for best actress. Tears fill her eyes as she acknowledges where her acting career began. Blanchett goes on to praise The Sydney Theatre Company before clutching her gold statue and saying with great emphasis, "There is just so much talent in Australia". A rousing applause erupts from the academy.

Meanwhile in Sydney, Australia...

 I'm lying on the couch pouring a potent green liquid into my mouth "heal me, heal me" I splutter. Ms P is slouched over on a cane chair stuffing her face with cheeseburger pizza. An illustration on her forearm of the word ecstasy with a love heart has been transferred onto her face sometime during the night.  

Ahhh my face, my eyes, my throat, my face! I haven't had a pash rash this bad since the year 10 blue light disco and I haven't been this hungover for a year. Come to think of it the last time I was in this much pain was exactly 365 days ago. You may remember a post I did about Mardi Gras 2013, better known as the night I dressed up as Pretty Woman Bob Irwin. Mardi Gras last year here

This year the girls and I were invited to a Hollywood themed house party in Darlinghurst to celebrate the annual Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Parade. 

With a little help from our friends at Base warehouse we were able to transform ourselves from drab to fab (yes those are fake ciggies in our $2.95 cigarette holders).

It's safe to say that Ms P, the Dirthouse's newest addition has had no problem making herself at home in the dilapidated mansion. She has fully embraced all of the DH's rituals including inhaling vodka shots on a Saturday afternoon and getting unbelievably shit faced while still looking classy as fuck.

Queen B looked as though she had just stepped off the red carpet with her scrumptious up do and 1920s inspired makeup.

There's always time for a few quick mirror selfies...

And then as per usual things started to get well...a little blurry.

Somehow we eventually made our way to the house party, conveniently located above the parade. Let's get ridiculous!!

Mardi Gras always raises the serious questions for me.

Why have one shitty, inconsiderate straight boyfriend when you can have two half naked gay boyfriends?

Why spend thousands of dollars on a designer outfit when you can just wear straws and still look unbelievably fabulous?

Why give a fuck what other people think about you, when you can just be happy and love everyone?

I love Mardi Gras and I feel so privileged to live in a city that celebrates the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer and intersex communities not only at the beginning of March but all year long.

There is however one thing I despise about the festival and that is the way I always manage to get insanely off my face. There's always so much love going around that I end up kissing everyone, including the guy at the kebab shop (oh dear).

What can I say that oscar winning actresses haven't already said before? There is a lot of talent in Australia. From the beautiful boys dancing the in cages at Stonewall to the poor yet ambition group of twenty something girls who wake up with the word ecstasy misspelt on their faces.

Us Aussies not only possess the talent to party hard but the ability to love and accept everyone and that my friends makes me unbelievably proud to be Australian.

Happy Mardi Gras!!

Xo

The New Girl on the Block - Queen P

Things change, people grow and sometimes life steers you in a different direction. The trick is not to resist change but to go with the flow. Everything that is happening now is happening for a reason.

If only it was that bloody easy hey! The day Queen K told me that she was leaving to dance on cruise ships I cried like a baby. And then I made her a burnt piece of fish and some Coles crunchy salad in hope that somehow she'd be blown away by my culinary skill, forego her dreams and want to stay in the Dirthouse forever. 

Guess what the outcome was?

The day Queen K left The Dirthouse we went for breakfast at St Judes and then I helped her pack the rest of her Surry Hills life into the back of her little green car. Before she left she handed me her key, looked up at the old house and then looked at me.

"You'll find someone else and everything will be fine" she sighed.

And she was right. 

There's no way we could have just gotten any chick to move into The Dirthouse. In fact like most tenants looking to fill a vacant room we had a list of what we wanted in a prospective flatmate.

• Must be able to recite the chorus to Dr Jones by Aqua
• Must have no problem talking openly and honestly about The Three P's (pooing, periods and penis size)
• Must identify the line between discussing The Three P's and over sharing
• Must bring something new to the dynamic as fiery redhead, blonde bombshell and Dirthouse analyst are already taken
• Extra points for owning any of the following: Vitamix, dehydrator, magic bullet.

And by some random stroke of a miracle we found her. Introducing...

Queen P

At first glance you'd think that this social butterfly was too fancy to move into our dilapidated premises on Bourke street. But don't let her love of designer things fool you, great quality extends way beyond her collection of Mulberry handbags. 

Not only is Queen P one of the most genuine, selfless and beautiful people I have ever met... but the girl can eat!! This is how we bonded on our first night together in the DH.

Although I hate to admit it I was rejecting her like I did with every other form of change when she walked past my room with which could only be described as the most amazing looking pizza ever.

New girl's got herself a tasty pizza hey I thought to myself cooly, maybe I should go downstairs and make sure she doesn't get any of the tasty pizza on my shitty old nice couch. 

So I followed the hypnotic smell of hot salami downstairs where after a few minutes of me lingering awkwardly in the kitchen she kindly offered me a slice.

One slice turned into four and before I knew it I had basically eaten the entire thing.

"Shit, I'm sorry I ate so much" I said highly embarrassed by the fact that I couldn't control my own mouth.

I was also ashamed because over four slices of pizza I had gotten to know a little more about this pretty stranger who turns out was a lot more like me than I thought. The fact of the matter was that she was actually very lovely and I'd just eaten the only food she had in the house.

"No worries" she shrugged

"There's another one in the oven that should be about done" she got up off the couch and opened the oven, the tantalising smell of meat and cheese erupting into the house.

"Oh, do you you have a friend coming over?" I asked suddenly aware that Queen P may have friends outside of the DH.

 "Nah I usually eat a whole one by myself and didn't know if you were going to be home or not so I made another just in case".

Oh. My. God.

"By the way do you like magnums?" she smiled placing the second pizza down on the coffee table in front of me.

And that was it.

We instantly bonded over our love of food and our superhuman ability to eat ALOT of it, a gift that we are now using for good not evil. 10 days Paleo and counting!!

But how did she get her nickname? What does the P stand for? Well you'll be happy to know that it has nothing to do with The Three P's.

You might remember a post Queen B wrote for HOB at the end of last year. It was a recount of her weekend away at Nelsons Bay. Believe it or not Queen B met Queen P during the weekend at a P themed party where B went as Pamela Anderson. Ring any bells? Refresh your memory here.

Queen P stands for Queen Protractor! She was the legend that turned up decked out in a giant piece of cardboard.

I like to think that I'm a pretty tough chick when it comes to life. Public speaking - love it, job interviews - bring it, breakups - break what? But as soon as you mention the word change there's no telling where my head will be, usually in between my legs as to relieve a panic attack. 

The thing we need to accept is that change is constant and is completely necessary for individual growth and development. Well thats what a tuck shop lady once told me anyway when I refused to buy the new school uniform and nearly sent myself into cardiac arrest. 

"THE SCHOOL COLOURS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN BLUE WHITE AND GREY, NOT BLUE WHITE AND GREEN!@!@#@#@#$$"

Although I miss Queen K dearly, like the school uniform incident sometimes change is inevitable and although its hard to see at first it's usually for the best.

 Now I realise that green actually compliments my skin tone, indirectly making me more attractive in the Tinder photo where I'm wearing teal. Similarly as a direct result of change I now have a new friend in the city.

Moral of the story is whatever change you're experiencing now, embrace it! Although it may be challenging at the moment, you might find that it's exactly what you need to steer your story in the right direction.

Welcome to Heaven on Bourke Queen P

Xx

5 Ways to Stop Feeling Sorry for Yourself on Valentines Day

Rule #1 – of being a big girl in the big city

Minimise the amount of times you stay at home feeling sorry for yourself.

So your tall, rich and handsome lover has gone to Costa Rica, your other handsome, funny and incredibly witty guy is spending the night with his kid, your ex who was meant to take you out to dinner gave up trying to find a reservation because he’s hopeless (but hey you already knew that), two of your best friends are going to a party dripping with gorgeous bachelors and your other best friend looks like this:

Because she’s going on a date with the man that she’s deeply, hopelessly in love with.

None of this means shit because a little voice in your head is telling you that you lost your only form of ID for a reason.

But as you look out your balcony onto the city street below you realise that the reason isn’t going to be easy to find. The first thing you see is a vendor selling perfect long stemmed roses to men on their way home from work. A girl in a figure hugging satin red dress is hailing a cab to take her to a reservation at Café Sydney and even the homeless man in the park is wearing a red hat in celebration of this day of love.

And here you are standing in the dark with no new messages, no declaration of love and worst of all no proof of identity so you cant even get sufficiently shitfaced by yourself.

Sorry what was the moral of this story again? I was momentary distracted thinking of ways TO KILL MYSELF. 

Oh yeah now I remember. One should not feel sorry for ones self especially on Valentines Day. But how exactly do we go about this?

5 Ways to Stop Feeling Sorry for Yourself on Valentines Day

1. Throw away your phone, or put it in a shoe at the back of your closet. Looking at pictures of Roxy Jacenko's excessive floral display on Instagram is not going to make you feel better about yourself.

2. Do not permit yourself to lay across your bed and look out the window longingly for more than 30 seconds at a time. This includes throwing head down on pillow in a dramatic manner. Just don't do it.

3. Whatever you do, DO NOT SIT ALONE IN THE DARK. Put the bloody light on please love.

4. Start feeling sorry for someone else (e.g. watch any reality TV show preferably Kim Kardashian and Co)

5. Realise that this feeling will pass!!! Valentines Day doesn't last forever (thank fuck).

Above is a picture of me currently taking my own advice, minus the phone thing...what if the love of my life tries to contact me tonight?

Thanks Dad.

Valentines Day...is Shit

So I met Mr R for breakfast in Potts Point

Which turned into a private salsa dance lesson in Surry Hills. 

And then somewhere between the cuban basic and the dile que no I realised that all of this was just Mr R's way of buttering me up to tell me that he was going overseas again. 

"Where?" I scoffed as the instructor walked over to the CD player to restart the track.

"Costa Rica" he replied sheepishly pretending to adjust his arm in the mirror. 

"And whenever you're ready" said the instructor somehow sensing the tension in the room. 

He pulled me towards him, a look of distress growing rapidly on his face. I couldn't tell what was bothering him more, trying to stay in time with the music or me. 

With ten years of dance experience under my belt I was able to put all of my focus into showing him how pissed off I was. 

back middle, forward middle, back middle, forward middle. Like the true Aires I am, I soon grew impatient and attempted to steer him into one of those cross the body moves. 

and like the true man he is, immediately after I changed direction he fucked up. 

"Paige you need to stop trying to lead" the instructor sighed.

"He will take you into the dile que no when he is ready".

"What does dear-le-care-no mean anyway?" I pouted.

"Tell her no" said the instructor giving Mr R a look as if to say mate you need to keep your bitch under control in my studio. 

The instructor walked back across the room to restart the music and I took a step closer to Mr R who was trying his hardest not to look at me (which is fairly easy when you're 6 ft 6). 

I dug my chorus shoes into the floor and wrapped my arms around him. 

"Did you hear that lover" I whispered

"dile que no is what you do when one of those hot Costa Rican babes come up to you and ask if you would be interested in some hot local sex."

He laughed. But we both knew that I wasn't joking.

And that is the story of how Mr R left me for Costa Rica the day before Valentines Day.

That is a picture of the roses I received last V-day, a gesture of love that I certainly won't be getting this year. 

Any girl who says she doesn't care about Valentines Day is lying. In fact I'm fairly sure that V-day was invented just to make life harder for single girls. You can't go out of the house without seeing big red hearts plastered over shop front windows and its near impossible to get a dinner reservation on the 14th of Feb let alone a brazilian bloody wax a week leading up to the nonevent. 

Ok so I was mega hating on Valentines Day that was until I found a way to make this Valentines Day as painless as possible. 

Yep a Tinder party, genius! 

The perfect antidote to a seedy love ridden day - a beachy Bondi bar full of sweaty single men. 

And then as I was retrieving my credit card from my wallet (to purchase a sexy V-day dress of course) I realised that my licence was missing. 

For three hours I turned The Dirthouse upside down in hope that the piece of plastic with my mugshot would reveal itself. 

Gone. My only form of photo ID.  

Even though I'm well over the legal age I knew that there was no way I was going to be let into Bucket List without it. Even Bill gets asked and he's a middle aged dad who has lived in Bondi for 20 years. 

So that was that.

The girls were going to go to the Tinder party and I was going to be forced to stay home alone on undoutably the worst day of the year. 

I don't know how long I flailed on the couch for, long enough to make my eyes swell up to the size of golf balls. Suddenly the sound of my phone ringing cut through the wall of pain. 

"Hello" I answered without identifying the number

"Well, well, well look who finally answers her phone" said the all too familiar voice.

Fuck. My ex. The reason why I steer clear of Waterloo Coles, don't eat mandarines and am allergic to Scorpio men. The only man who I have ever truly loved and the only man who can cause me more pain than an episode of Deal or No Deal. 

"What do you want?" I accidentally let out a throaty sob - not attractive.

"What's wrong with you?" He questioned immediately.

"Lost my fucking ID, left my passport in Noosa and will now be forced to spend Valentines Day alone in my piece of shit house." as you can tell i'm never one to hold anything back. 

"When's Valentines Day?" He asked in true sociopath style.

"I'm going" I threatened miserably.

"Ok, Look. Let me take you out to dinner we'll go wherever you want." 

I paused for a very long moment.

"Where ever I want?".

And that is the story of how I agreed to spend tomorrow aka Valentines Day aka the day of love with the man I hate most in the whole world. 

Yay.

Happy Valentines Day to all my lovely ladies. 

The Tinder party is open to anyone with the app. 

And please all my single girls with legitimate photo ID go forth and grind on many men on my behalf. Unless of course you are a single girl spending V-day in Costa Rica and in that case the tall, uncoordinated man is mine. 

Until next time.

Xox

Back to Reality: Noosa - Sydney

Another month in paradise gone in a blink of an eye. You can't say that I didn't get a lot done this Summer, in fact I managed to tick a lot of things off my list.

• Went to a festival
• Which reaffirmed the fact that I do indeed hate festivals
• Visited Byron Bay
• Took The Queens to Noosa
• Performed "I Touch Myself" to my high school peers drunk at the Noosa Heads Surf club
• Stayed in On The Beach's luxury ocean view suite...
• With a boy
• Used the resort's pool for the first time as a guest and not as a delinquent trespassing teenager.

Thanks to Mr R and The Queens I felt as though I was seeing Noosa for the first time through fresh eyes. Yeah the Hey Bill snow cone bitches on the beach still push my buttons (only because one of them used to bully me in grade 9) but my appreciation for Noosa certainly increased as did the size of my bum after five days of fine dining. 

I didn't want to leave and seriously considered changing my flights many times but the fact that my life and the mysterious Mr R were waiting for me in Sydney was enough to eventually get me on a plane.

I couldn't part with Noosa completely so I put my best friend Alana in my suitcase and brought her back home with me.

As soon as we landed we dropped off our luggage at The Dirthouse and headed to Bondi Beach.

A coffee from Icebergs and a lengthy perve at the local personal trainers was enough to get us back into the Sydney spirit.

Later that afternoon we reunited with The Queens, who were ready to show Alana how to (for lack of a better phrase) get loose.

We started off with a bucket of beer at The Bucket list...

And another....

Then changed from beachy (sandy) chic to city (a little more cleavage + higher heels) chic to meet with fellow Noosa girl Rita at Pelicano.

And then Somewhere between a mojito and a margarita I saw him.

"Holy shit" Queen B spat.

"Remain calm" Rita hissed.

All four girls eye balled something behind me. My stomach did a backflip, a front flip and finally a bellyflop as I suddenly felt a warm hand on my shoulder.

"Look who it is" said a familiar voice.

I turned around. And there looking handsome as ever was Bill. We said a few things, the girls said a few things and then just like that he was gone.

Double Bay is Bill's neighbourhood so I should have known. Maybe I did know. Maybe I was hoping after two months I'd run into him and with the support of my four best friends I'd be ok.

I wasn't. Very soon margaritas turned into tequila shots and I was really ready to show Alana a good time.

Sometime between 2am and 5am we found ourselves attending an intimate party at The Shangri-La.

A food party that was...

And the rest is just a blur of spag bowl and duck fat fries.

The next morning we woke up with sore heads and tomato sauce stains on our dresses. Feeling less than fresh we dragged our sorry asses back over to Bondi for the Saturday farmers markets. While most of the local talent were sipping green juices and nibbling on bliss balls Alana was busy ordering 'sticky ribs'.

You've got to give it to her...the girl can eat!

We ended the weekend with some drinks at Cruise Bar. After a couple of ciders I was feeling alive again.

Cheers to Sydney!

Cheers to girlfriends!

Cheers to...

*Beep Beep*

A text message flashed up on my screen.

Happy to have you back in town x

That c*nt. 

*Beep Beep*

And then another but this one was from someone else.

Hi gorgeous, can't wait to see you. Dinner tomorrow? R

A good friend is a friend who agrees to one or ten more rounds of drinks in a time of emotional distress. Let's just say that Alana is the best friend in the world. 

                                                                                   *

The next day I watched Alana get in a cab and drive away in the direction of the airport. I really wanted to go with her but I knew that I had to stay here. 

Eventually I covered my disgusting puffy face with sunglasses and a visor and got in a cab to Bondi. 

He was waiting for me at the Icebergs with a fresh coconut.

I wanted to tell him that I loved him but he looked distant,

yep back to reality.