Mangoes World

Welcome to the world of Ms M Mango


Alice, Alice, who the FCUK is ALICE?

Ever since I found out about Alice’s journey in the Master Chef kitchen, I have been more than excited and proud to know her and to support her. She has been very entertaining to watch on TV and has made the show ever more appealing.

It is evident to me that there is much hype around the controversial spectacles that she wears. One thing is clear here; Alice is Alice and has always been Alice. Through those glasses of hers, she is able to view the world in a positive light. A natural learner and a high skilled teacher, her wackiness and consistent eccentric attitude is carried throughout all facets of her life.  Her glasses do not define her; they are not even a vehicle for her personality. They are no more than merely an object that Alice thinks is ‘cool’. I believe that the ‘jury is out’ on that one, but I am able to see through them, just as she is able to do from the other side.

If you knew Alice, you would know that she loves the big ‘daggy’ clothes from the 1990s. I spent one entire school holidays, sorting through her disaster of a wardrobe and making her through out pieces of clothing that were no longer needed. I did not win with the Cockatoo T-shirt or the one with the Tuxedo on it.  But I did try my best.

If you knew Alice, you would know that ‘eclectic fashion’ is her thing. She has never been one to follow trends. She is a trend creator. And not all of her trends I like. She is an individual. And individually she will express herself through choice of colours and styles. (Wait till she brings out her ‘onesies’)

If you knew Alice, you would know that she shares a remarkable interest in fitness. As a school gymnast and a walking promotion for Cross Fit, Alice is never far from an exercise. One year, we walked around a football oval talking of her plans to climb to the Everest Base Camp. And determined as ever, she did.  Alice does everything that she puts her mind to.

If you knew Alice, you would know that she will stop and talk to everyone. As embarrassing as it is sometimes, like when she walked out of shop bowed, and said “sayonara”. Alice is Alice. And Alice loves to talk. She is never without a smile, her glasses and a couple of Sushi Rolls from Chapel St.

If you knew Alice, you would know that she is weird and wacky. She is the ‘dumbest smart person’ I know.  I will not explain that one any further, other than to say she received the Dean’s Award at Melbourne University. Alice’s over the top, exaggerated expressions are no different to any other Drama Teacher who has had a coffee. (Not speaking from experience there.)

If you knew Alice, you would know that her passion in life is food. She not only enjoys eating it but cooking it. For this reason my Dad has put a lock on his fridge. Many times we have sat in the backyard of my parent’s place, pondering the world outside of teaching. Alice has always wanted to do something more. She loves her students, but I really believe that it is the social interaction that really excites her. Her bubbly ‘out there’ peculiar attitude and passion for food has lead my Dad to give her the nickname of “Alice in Saucepan”.

If you knew Alice, you would know that it is all about the food on Master Chef and it is not about her appearance. Her clothes, her glasses and her personality are not indicators of her passion for cooking. They also do not indicate the quality of her cooking. And as Master Chef approaches its final weeks, I am hoping to see Alice in her finest moments. I want her to win. I want her to realize her dreams, because she deserves it just like anyone else. But that is something we are all going to have to wait for….

I wish you luck my love…. And if even if you don’t win, I have nearly wet myself with some of your commentary…

To follow Alice’s progress, please ‘like’ her fan page: Alice Zaslavsky on Facebook

“You do not have to wear glasses to be able to see..”


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Wanted: a place to call home.

Walking up the long driveway to the entrance was a like heading to the gallows. The stench was strong. I had prepared myself for something spectacular. I wasn’t leaving alone. I wanted to make a difference.

Approaching the doors to the confinement, we passed a woman. Stricken with tears, she was leaving. Although confused by her response, I assumed she didn’t find what she was looking for.

We entered the complex left, into the door marked ENTER. Inside it was cold. People were waiting for the lady behind the desk to tell them, to make them happy. To resolve their problem.

Walking forward we entered the yard. Solid buildings surrounded the grassy courtyard. There were cages all around. The noise of the screams, echoed from the tin walls. We didn’t feel the physical pain of the inmates, but we could hear the cry in their voices.

The concrete path leading to the pens, offered little sanctuary to the context of its surrounding. I could see a black shadow up ahead. He moved from his cell and back again. His freedom was short lived. His surface area was none.

I was stumbling. My legs pushed me forward, but my mind was holding me back. I remembered why I had never been there before, but I was here now and nothing was going to hold me back.

On the cages, I could see clothes. A symbol of confinement. They knew they were trapped. We entered the last of the cells. Walking a steady pace, we could see the pain of their surroundings. Black followed by brindle, we knew they knew.

Finally at the end. I see him. He moved from the bed to the front. Careful not to touch, he sat by the edge. Looking up at me I could see the sadness. I could feel his pain. Why was he here?

His eyes were golden. Strong and focussed. He knew he was trapped. He wanted to go home, but didn’t know where that was. He was lost.

I approached him. I looked onto his cell. He was three. He was a Beagle. And no one wanted him. The sadness in his eyes, brought me to tears. Why would no one want him? And more importantly what happens if no one does?

With that I fled. The sadness in his face shocked me. He knew and I knew. I felt his pain. I could never leave my pet. I could never give up on something I loved.

I fumbled through my bag for my sunglasses. I needed something to hide my tears. We left, as quickly as we entered. I was upset. I knew I had seen something in those cages, that would bring me to tears.

Suddenly I had stopped noticing the barking around me. I was entirely caught up in the in the look of that dog. I wanted him.

Walking towards us was a Staffy. His skin was red. He was irritated. I couldn’t decided whether or not he had a serious skin infection or he was a practise dog for a fighting ring. He was friendly. He was happy. He was bounding forward. He didn’t care how he looked.

We left with nothing. I hadn’t come for a dog. I knew I could have been persuaded, but I wanted a dog to call my own. I wanted someone who I could love.

The wonderful work done by The Lost Dog’s Home is not represented here. Their ongoing dedication to the well being of lost animals is something highly respectable. To donate to their cause please visit