I have a twisted admiration for people who can strut down a crowded street filming a selfie video — or casually whip their phone out in a crowded restaurant to snap some hashtag-food-porn. I do both, often. But every time I do, my insides curl into the foetal position and start comfort-rocking. It’s been happening a bit lately, from bashfully asking for a Logies vote (please!) to walking, talking, but-mostly-balking down cobblestoned Degraves Street. I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t flinch in a studio with nine cameras pointed at me. I grew up performing for family videos (cue my infamous Spice Girls beanbag concerts). I love sharing meals and experiences that move me. So, what’s the deal? I’ve got a few theories.

The first is that I studied journalism at a time when we were taught to remove ourselves entirely from the story and stick to sharing the facts. That’s completely changed with the boom and ubiquity of social media (both the “removing yourself” part and the “facts” part). Perhaps old habits die hard. Or maybe it’s the English and Australian in me, two cultures that value modesty, humility and a healthy dose of self-deprecation. Talking about your accomplishments is frowned upon; do it too loudly and you risk a swift swipe from the tall poppy scythe. It’s a pretty yucky human trait, particularly when there’s so much to be gained by lifting each other up.

And then there’s this: even in 2025, I sometimes wonder if I’ve been socially conditioned as a woman to shrink myself. Intellectually, I abhor that. But who knows what’s ticking away below the surface? All I can do is try to be aware of all of the above and stick to trusting my gut, my heart and my palate. This week, they’re telling me to share the scoop on a just-opened Korean-Japanese cafe, a tip from Jamie Oliver that changed how I designed my kitchen, and a lazy recipe for fancy eggs.

This little Korean-Japanese cafe is still in its soft launch phase, quietly tucked beneath a new development on the corner of Langridge and Wellington Streets in Collingwood. For now, it’s open Monday to Friday, 8am to 5pm. Maji – which means “welcoming” in Korean – is run by a former lawyer and her partner, a chef up the road at Cutler & Co. who’s hoping to spend more time here as things take off. The menu is small but thoughtful: a tidy selection of onigiri and Japanese sandos (the prawn katsu is a standout, with a juicy patty coated in a golden, crunchy crumb between two slices of the whitest of white bread). The fried chicken is unmissable and served with house pickles and a spicy-sweet dipping sauce. Maji describes itself as a konbini (Japanese convenience store), its shelves stocked with a small selection of curated goodies, such as fancy tinned fish and intriguing condiments. They’re just getting started, so be kind while they find their rhythm.

51 Langridge Street, Collingwood, instagram.com/maji_melbourne

Here’s an untraditional recipe preamble for you: I had gingival graft surgery a few weeks ago, which is another way of saying a periodontist sliced a piece of flesh from the roof of my mouth and frankensteined it onto my receding gum. Still hungry? Of course you are. I was too, even though eating properly was off the table. Liquids hurt. Anything solid was a no-go. But chawanmushi? Perfect. (Okay, the salt stung like hell, but it was close). If you want a silky-smooth, bubble-free egg custard, steam it gently on the stove. If you're starving and impatient like me, microwave it. It’s soft, savoury, and can be eaten for breakfast, as a snack or an entree.

Ingredients

Method

I’m at the pointy end of what feels like an eternal kitchen renovation. Anyone who’s been through one knows just how much there is to consider. When your life revolves around food and eating, the pressure to get it just right can be paralysing. The big stuff is done now (hallelujah), and working with good people has made all the difference. But I have to give a special shoutout to Jamie Oliver. I mentioned my reno plans to him when he was a guest on MasterChef – yes, it’s been going on that long – and asked if he had any advice. He didn’t miss a beat. Sketch it out, he said. Then he told me to think of a meal I like to cook, and draw a line between all the spots in the kitchen I’d move through to make it. The goal? To ensure as few overlapping lines as possible. Genius.