THE GOOD FOOD & WINE SHOW II

So I wander around this maze of stalls and exhibitors that have everything from gluten free cupcakes to Rekorderlig. 

You name it, it was there.  Herbs and spices, cheeses, wines (one from Heathcote was there! Go neighbours!), pasta, fish, smoothies, cocktails, anti-pasta, magazines, books, health foods, high protein foods, crisps, condiments, chocolates, yoghurt, ice cream,  diet pasta, raw foods, lollies, soda stream, utensils, knives, cookware and cooking appliances. 

It was hard not to loose my mind and spend a billion dollars. 

It was funny, because you would stand there watching some dude demonstrate a chopping utensil that was designed to rescue you from the tiresome chore of… chopping… and everyone was impressed until he told you it was sixty dollars (show special, of course).  Then the crowd would slowly vanish; myself included.

Then there was the dude demonstrating a stick blender.  It looked pretty, and I watched this ‘Swiss Stick’ do everything that my $20 Tiffany stick from Big W does.  Only, it cost $199 (again, show saving of $100). Mmmm…

I tasted relishes, dips, tomatoes, apples, high protein bars, nut cubes, hand made potato crisps, and was offered more wine than I care to think about.  Such a waste on me.

I could have bought myself a special wine glass with a holding strap that goes around my neck.  That way, you have your own glass bouncing around your chest AT ALL TIMES.  Ready for the samples that were freely flowing.

I thought of many people I could buy this glass for, but I wouldn’t want to be responsible for the alcoholism that could result from it.

I could have bought myself a market trolley with Good Food & Wine Show printed on it.  They looked awesome.  They were also fucken annoying when you were trying to get through the crowd or worse: trying to get to your seat at a demonstration.  Fucken things were a pain in the arse.

As per prams, but I’ll come to that in a moment.

No one thinks you’re cool because you were stupid enough to spend $30 on a fancy trolley that tells no one that cares you were at the Good Food & Wine Show.  Seriously; no one cares. 

Except foodies, but they’re spankers anyway.

So finally, I come across my beloved Maggie’s stall.  No surprise it’s packed. 

As I stood back surveying the best way to attack the stall (because I hate waiting and have two free hands to beat through the throng), a young dude comes up to me and shoves a platter in my face.

‘Would you like to sample some of Maggie’s Sparkling Ruby Cabernet?’

‘Ahhh… no thanks love.  I don’t drink.’

‘It’s non-alcoholic.’ He offers.

‘You’re fucking kidding me?  She makes a non-alcoholic wine?’ OMG! I thought Maggie was awesome before, but now… GOD.

‘Yes,’ he smiled, extending the tray out to me.  I took one of the little plastic shot glasses (clarsy), and said again ‘Are you sure it’s non-alcoholic?’

‘Absolutely,’ he said a little nervously.

‘What the difference?’ some tart next to me barked, grabbing one of the shots and downing it in a heart beat.  ‘It’s not going to kill you to have a little taste…’

‘Actually, it could.’ I said, thinking you fucken smartarse.  I’d be more focused on getting your roots touched up than having a crack at me, love. ‘I’m allergic to alcohol.’ 

Now, I’m not allergic enough that I would drop dead from the stuff; I just get very sick very quickly.  It’s more like an intolerance, if that makes sense.

‘You’re kidding?’

‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’ I said, sniffing the shot glass.  Smelt devine!

‘So, you can’t drink at all?’ the tarts tarty friend said.  I had to check her legs for a moment, just to make sure she wasn’t wearing the trademark Frankston white tassly boots, cos she was like clarsy and stuff.

‘Nope.’ I said.  ‘And it’s gonna get very messy very quickly if this has alcohol in it,’ I added, wishing she would fuck off and stop spoiling this experience for me.  All I wanted to do was smell it and savour the taste, just like a spanky foodie. 

‘So, you’ve never been drunk?’ said the tart.  ‘OMG! You haven’t lived!’ she and her friend laughed in total amazement as they grappled with the concept of a sober weekend.

Resolute that my experience had well and truly been shattered, I downed the shot, confident I wasn’t going to start projectile vomiting.  ‘Nope.’  I smiled, placing the empty glass back on the tray.  ‘Thank God, because I know I could end up like some trashy loudmouth that thinks life is all about alcohol!  Imagine that!’  The dude holding the tray nearly dropped it as he burst out laughing.

The tarts just laughed whilst trying to work out whether I was having a crack of not.  Have another drink girls; it might help.

So, the highlight of my day so far, was purchasing a $14 bottle of Maggie Beer’s Sparkling Red Cabernet, along with her show bag, which indeed contained Verjuice and a paste (apricot)! Lee FTW!

With my non-alcoholic bottle of awesomeness in hand, I stood outside the exhibition’s restaurant, reading the menu of Maggie inspired goodness.  How lovely would it have been to sit in there with my pretend wine and a bowl of yummy risotto… however, the concept of a hot dog and chips for $10 won.

How clarsy am I?  Had to check that I didn’t have the white tassly boots on. I’d just rather spend my money on goodies to take home, I figured.  Tight arse, I know; but that’s life.

After my divine culinary lunch, I dumped my purchases at the Drop Zone, and headed back toward the celebrity theatre for the Manu show.  I figured I could purchase one of his cookbooks and get him to sign it later at the book signing stand of the show.  Awesome.

Maybe I would be inspired by his French-ness?

So as I queued up, I was entertained by the family in front of me arguing about being there.  Apparently, one of the daughters ‘wasn’t in the mood’, and the mother was going off crook at her, saying she could have given her ticket to the other daughter’s friend, and the sook could have stayed home.  Fair call, I thought.  Typical teenage unappreciative twat; doesn’t care because she didn’t pay the $30 to get in.

Pffft.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in my isle seat, five rows from the front.  Booyaa!  Downside of an isle seat; everyone needs to get past you.  No biggie, except for the nuffies that have their fucken trolleys in tow.  Seriously.  Wtf?

Not long before the show started, I heard a woman speak behind me.  ‘Excuse me, but our seats are in the middle of the row, and I was wondering if we could swap with you?’ she said to the person sitting behind me.  ‘We have a pram, and can’t leave the pram in the isle whilst we sit in the middle.’

Fair swap, I thought.  Better seats in the middle perhaps…

‘Ahhh… no.  I don’t really want to move.  We’re all together… it’s a family day out.’ A young foodie spanker replied.

You’re fucken kidding me, I thought.  Why wouldn’t you help them out?  It’s not like you can choose your seating.  Fuck me… can’t you cope for forty-five minutes without your family? 

I think the woman was as surprised as I was, and simply replied with an ‘oh…’

I turned around and said ‘You can have my seat, if it helps.  I’ll move into the middle.  I don’t give a shit.  That way, you can be with your pram?’

‘Oh, it’s okay, because we want to sit together as well.’

‘Ahhh… okay.’ I thought.  ‘Well, the offers there.’ I smiled, and turned back to the stage.  Fuck ya then.  I can understand you wanting to sit together, but in a situation like this, would it really matter?

Fucken prams.  Sure, your children shouldn’t stop you from going out and having a good time, but couldn’t the husband look after the baby for the afternoon?  Really?  Is it just me?

Anyway, the show begins with five people being dragged out of the audience and forced to dance on the stage, in salute to Manu’s win on Dancing with the Stars. 

It was uncomfortably cringe worthy.  Only way I could describe it.  As the MC is running through the audience looking for people, I sat there thinking ‘please don’t pick me… please don’t pick me…’ because I can’t stand any unnecessary attention being drawn to myself in any way shape or form, and because I was a fat chick sitting in an isle, I was a prime target.

Thankfully, I dodged that bullet.

However, it’s one of those situations where you think ‘bummer… I could have copped five minutes of humiliation…’ because they got some pretty awesome cookware and show bag prizes!  Well done to them, I say to you.

So Manu start’s his show, and I must admit that it was hilarious!  The dude is funny.  I’ve seen him on Boys Weekend Away, and a little bit on My Kitchen Rules, but I didn’t realise how funny he was.  Natural performer.  The crowd loved him.

After the show, he ran through the crowd literally throwing out prizes to people, which was interesting, because the boxes were fucken massive things like mixers and blenders and stuff… not the type of shit you ‘throw’ around! LOL!  Hilarious!

I must say, I learnt more from Manu’s show that George’s.  George is like an inventor; does all of this fancy shit that you can’t cook at home, simply because we don’t have dry ice and dehydrators to hand.  Manu cooked some beautiful comfort food that I know I could throw on a plate.

I headed over to the book stall: $50 for Manu’s latest book.  That was okay, but the thought struck me to check what time he would be there for singing.  Not for another two hours. 

Fuck that.  I’m done, and I’m going home. Manu’s book can wait for another day.

So, after all the entertainment, crowd jostling, food sampling, slapper tolerating, trolley tripping, whiney foodie wankers, controlling Greek mamas, French toast and rampant children (that should be leashed), it was time to grab my goodies and go home.

One the way home, I called into Iris, and gave her the two jars of Fletchers Gherkin Spread I’d picked up for her.  Both of us have been looking for it in the supermarket for a long time, and when I saw it at the show, I couldn’t get my hands on it quick enough.

Made Iris’ day, which in turn made mine.  Forget my Maggie wine; Iris being happy with her Gherkin Spread was totally worth the effort.

Next year, get yourself to the Good Food & Wine Show; foodie wanker or not.  You’ll love it.

Peace out.