Regular readers of these pages are very familiar with my obsession with Parisian macarons. Although I've recounted my baking traumas and occasional joys, described in considerable detail ways of making macarons and the hazards to psychological health, and told of encounters with the products of many Parisian patisseries, I haven't done any product reviews. Things are changing! Read the results of the Syrup & Tang jury. You can also catch up on the latest misinformed guff from The Age Epicure.

"In Portugal, every website is broken," says the concierge as we try for the third time, in vain, to book a bus ticket online. I suggest that he is exaggerating slightly. Three or four years ago I might have agreed, but nowadays the situation is much, much better. I'm on my way to Portugal. First stop Elvas, a small fortified town near the Spanish border. Getting there is part of the fun.

A real city at last. Seville throbs with life. As the days have passed, I've felt the city-dweller in me yearning for a little more buzz than even Granada had managed to provide. The city is lush with enormous, blooming jacarandas. Beautiful violet blossom seems to light up the streetscape. And awaiting me are fantastic sights and plates and plates of delicious tapas.

The streets are buzzing with people. Where Córdoba felt small, Granada feels distinctly city-like. We turn onto the Calle Gran Via de Colón. Elegant apartment buildings line the street. At ground level are all kinds of shops, from clothing to cafés and numerous banks. As the street comes to its end just southwest of the Plaza Nueva, the streets are buzzing with locals and tourists either loitering in front of the cathedral, wondering why it's closed (this is lunchtime in Spain, stupid!), or popping in and out of the sidestreets which are lined with bars and restaurants.

Córdoba is the first port of call in Andalucía. It's famous for what would have been the world's largest mosque (the Christians buggered that up), and for a smooth gazpacho. It is absolutely crawling with tourists. A pleasant place to visit and, perhaps, to eat.

I awoke to a hangover. A dull pain knocked at the back of my skull. Had I been an alcoholic hypocrite? Heavens, no! This was a very special hangover. Chocolate. Read about a new venture in Melbourne which will certainly keep the bar high for the chocolate scene.

The New Prohibition. Australia's battle against alcoholism, especially under-age and binge drinking, has been in the spotlight over the last weeks. Proposed solutions have been stronger penalties for supplying alcohol to children, graphic warnings on packaging and even the idea of raising the legal drinking age to 21. The concerns are valid, but the message and solutions are often strong on control and weak on social initiative. I give a personal perspective on the complex problem of addressing alcohol abuse and social traditions.

I'm not a great salad eater, probably because leafy ones tend to splash and I can't stand splashy food, but I love this one conceived late last year when apricots had come into season. I made it again recently with dried apricots and it was still pretty damn good, if you ask me. A great combination of textures and flavours make this a winner.

Before the last juicy plums vanish from the markets and fresh produce displays, buy up and bake a cake! This delightfully fragrant cake is dense and moist, strong with the aroma of plum and cardamom and lifted by tangy pieces of plum. The perfect cake for afternoon tea.

Melbourne is alive with the annual Melbourne Food and Wine Festival. A special event as part of the two-week festival is 'A Taste of Slow', held this weekend. I attended two sessions and came away disappointed, with the feeling that Slow Food is still failing to get its message across or perhaps even to know what its message is. I didn't expect to hear clichés about obesity or endure junk science but that was part of what I heard.