My store of expat life patience is exhausted. It’s not only the chicken, the water, the electricity, the tiny fridge, the heat, the dull knife, the lack of kitchen drawers, …

Locked out, barefoot and phone-less, in the hot sun, on the balcony of a new apartment where you don’t know a soul. Not good.

Ever done something so dangerous that afterward you were stunned by the stupidity of what you’d done? As an expat foodie living in Indonesia I did just that.

One night my mate came home bearing a gigantic blood sausage, a gift from a Kikuyu farmer concerned about my failure to get pregnant . . .

You think the French drip good taste, elegance, and sophistication? Here is some funky French stuff that may leave you gobsmacked.