Life, death and negronis.

When I met food blogger Viv Vermaak for lunch, I wondered what kind of quirky things she would write about.

Viv is unconventional. Wild, even.  She writes in an unconventional manner.

We’d agreed to meet at The Leopard in Melville, a delicious and kinda whimsical restaurant with an amazingly creative chef.

It was a good choice for the food blogger and the sex blogger to meet.

I arrived first, ordered a drink and waited. Viv arrived ten minutes late. It was easy to recognise her.

She has blue hair and is a little bit mad and all over the place.

I, on the other hand, wear frocks, lipstick and heels, and am totally sane.

It was a given that we would have a fantastic lunch. And it was a given that I, as a sex writer, would compare the fresh out the sea mussels we were eating to fresh fabulous vaginas.

But I was unsure about Viv.

Would she mention that the caesar salad at this restaurant has the best dressing in the world?

Would she choose to write about the astonishing pork or duck that we were sharing, or would she focus on the most divine Negronis that we were sipping.

That I was sipping; she was on her fourth glass of wine.

Or that the desserts are so fucking good you just have to order a second and then a third?


She chose mostly to talk and write about suicide. As we slurped our mussels out the shells and had apple-atchar dripping down our chins, she told me about her two year death plan.

I am the eternal optimist. Life is good. And even when it isn’t, it will be. I wear rose tinted glasses. I believe in peace and flowers and happiness and that ultimately everything will be fabulous and we’ll all be rich and in love and have gorgeous dresses and great sex until the day we die.

Viv, in her madness, is a bit more realistic.

My perfectly eye-lined eyes got wider and wider as she spat out bits of her death plan with bits of the taro leaf stuck in her teeth.

‘You don’t know what’s round the corner, Viv. You can’t…’

I was out of my chair, almost, pushing her down to stop her stabbing herself to death there and then.

‘I’m not going to do it yet Violet, you can relax a little, jeez, here, have another Negroni…’

So we spoke about suicide and death and also about love and friendship and food and how really, it all goes together.

And sex. Do not forget sex.

In the end it was true romance. We finished our meal then shared a creme brûlée with one spoon.

We strutted out of there in our groovy sunglasses, frocks and blue hair, feeling fantastic, sucking on the smarties that came with the bill.

I realise how much I like this woman. I hope she sticks around for a while.

Here’s a link to her blog. Follow her.

leopard  Tel: 011 – 482 9356.  63a 4th Avenue, Melville.


12 thoughts on “Life, death and negronis.

  1. That poor baby. How very sad. 😔While she may not see the world through your glasses, maybe you could describe it to her.


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