Bite-size Stories

What is it they do, these Lake House people? You think you know yourself, but you don’t. Get organised, book a lunch. Plan the drive - just an hour from Melbourne. Start with tiny entrée morsels. Order another. Then give in: the full tasting menu, all nine courses to dessert. Somewhere along the way you don’t notice, and you’re drunk. The lake, the bright wooden cottages - you and all of it, one. Stay the night. You think you should feel remorse, but you don’t. Instead, you throw your credit card out.

I had only heard of this place, few wooden huts by the lake, near the dark forest, and a famous restaurant. You must be an extravagant Arab prince, or a sultan of desert kingdom with  castles  and gold mines to afford a present like this. Our dinner, was more like an art form, a non-existing genre, that made my senses fail, or maybe the wine was to blame? Warm home made bread, first spring flowers on the table, colours and flavours of the Earth in the first weeks of spring, still shivering in wintry cold. We spend the night near the fireplace, extravagant you and I, watching the moon light make frozen air crystals shine. Pine trees tremble in the wind. Through sounds of rain I teach you all about the L'Art de Vivre. Late morning, the sun flooded our room with spring colours. No traces of winter and freezing rain. The Lake House , a place to loose the sense of reality, and find the sense of life. Confit ocean trout, compressed apple, apple cider vinaigrette, hor...