Archives for March 2014

285 – Kellys on King – Last refuge of the slow-walker

March 27, 2014 by andysomething Leave a Comment

We have finally found out where all the older people in Newtown hang out. On Friday night, when it gets dark and the Young People come out to play, taking over King Street, with their tight skin and their tattoos, Kelly’s is a haven for us slow-walkers. It is the only pub left in Newtown where high-vis fluoro is not worn ironically. Once upon a time it may have been an attempt at an Irish theme pub but now it is more an attempt at a grungy rabbit warren. The place is full of nooks and crannys and sticky tables. But it is jolly, and as I said, on a Friday night it is the last refuge of the Older Person. There are plenty of screens showing rugby, and quite a lot of beer-gut and shaved-head combos (tempted to add “and that’s just the women” but I’ll resist).
It is the kind of pub where the bar staff greet the regulars by name, and are surly to everyone else. The whole place has a kind of “yes we’re unfashionable, but if you don’t like it you know where the door is” attitude.
I quite like it.
Tonight it is crowded and noisy. Strop and the Stropolina have snagged a table halfway between the bar and the front door by the time I get there. There are kids running around, and being herded back to their tables by their parents as Strop gets the orders in. Coopers Pale and a burger for me, wine and Eggplant Parmigianas for the women folk. Strop is starting to develop a worrying disregard for the Rules. “I’m sick of burgers,” she says, leaving me to fight the burger wars on my own. Fine. I will then.
While I’m sulking and taking notes, Strop and the Stropolina blather on in a womenly way about weddings, wedding gifts, school harmony days, getting down with the ladies, Jamie’s Italian, “it was good but we drank a lot of wine,” and Indian brow plucking techniques (I’m pretty sure thats what my notes say).

Very soon we are startled by the rattle and flash of the bistro buzzer. That was quick. The women folk look after the food collection while I go hunting for more drinks. The burger is big and tasty, if a bit overdone. The whole thing is generous to the point of structural inadequacy. It requires a bit of fast fang work to prevent the works squeezing out the side. The chips are excellent and the aioli is hard to resist. I am beginning to think that the general standard of pub burgers is pretty good. I haven’t met one yet that I wouldn’t happily eat twice, but it can be a messy process. I’m starting to wonder whether I should add a bit of a review on the quality of the napkins. Kelly’s napkins are nice and absorbent.
But wait, there is consternation on the Eggplant Parmigiana front.
“Where is the eggplant?” says Strop.
“It must be underneath the chicken,” replies the Stropolina.
After some intense exploratory surgery, a complete lack of eggplant is revealed. I’m expecting Strop to storm upstairs and demand reparations be made, but all she says is “She must have got the order wrong.” I think she doesn’t want to deal with the surly barmaid again, either that or she is actually enjoying the Ordinary Parmigiana. The whole thing disappears quite quickly, and is a lot less messy to eat than the burger.
We linger over drinks, after the food has been demolished. Strop telling us about her new, misogynist, and surprisingly frank, hairdresser. “He’s snipping away, telling me about his wife, and how, as soon as she hit menopause, the sex stopped. I’m like, I just met you. Don’t tell me that!”
Our shock and sympathy is interrupted by a huge islander guy shouting “Yellow 77. Yellow 77, for a free chicken.” It’s prize draw time, and of course we don’t win. We don’t even come within the same colour range, even though the draws go on and on. And on. They’re giving away a lot of meat here. I keep waiting for them to announce that they’re giving away a couple of eggplants.
Afterwards we go in search of dessert and Strop discovers dark chocolate liquorice gelato. That makes her the winner for the night.

284 – Astino’s – We live in hope

March 26, 2014 by andysomething 2 Comments

Strop was worried. “There’s never anyone in there anymore. It used to be popular, but now its nearly always empty.” She was right, for a long time now Astino’s has looked pretty empty whenever we’ve ambled past. It’s a cafe with a big room and large windows onto King Street, so it takes quite a few punters to make it look busy. When we first moved to the area it seemed to be popular, but not anymore.
So we arrived for breakfast without particularly high expectations. Our first surprise was that there were no tables outside. In my memory Astino’s always has tables outside, full of people sipping coffee and trying to converse over the noise of the traffic. Not today. But there is a blackboard outside. Specials. Smashed avacado on bruschetta. Poached eggs with stuffed hashbrowns(?), bacon and eggs on brioche. What’s going on? We were expecting bog ordinary brekkies again.
All of the customers are occupying the tables lining the windows onto the street, leaving the rest of the big room empty. Strop and I join this trend and squeeze onto a corner table at the front. It’s a beautiful sunny autumn morning, and King Street is its usual noisy, entertaining self. In light of the fact that Astino’s has menu items approaching the interesting on its shortish breakfast menu, I have decided to break the cafe suite rule and ignore whatever version of the big breakfast Astino’s do. Also, this is my second breakfast for the morning.

We start with a couple of coffees – which aren’t brilliant, it has to be said. Not awful but… this is Newtown, there is a lot of very good coffee around (although as we are finding, the best stuff is not actually on King Street). Our food arrives quickly which is good, and appropriate given that the place is not exactly heaving.
Strop’s smashed avacado is a very tasty mix with lots of coriander and red onion. My bacon and egg on brioche is exactly that, with a generous (possibly too generous) dollop of very nice tomato relish. Yum. By the time we have finished our food it becomes obvious that our juices are not going to come without some prompting.
The waitress is hand-over-mouth apologetic. “I forgot. I’m so sorry. Do you still want them?” Well, yes we do, that’s why we ordered them. They come quickly, with more apologies, and they are good. We are refreshed. We decide to forego a second coffee and leave on a orange-and-pineapple-juice-induced high note.
While I go outside to try to take a photograph without looking too uncool, Strop pays, which is only fair.
Strop has a habit that freaks me out: engaging people in conversation. She’ll talk to anyone and it worries the hell out of me. Luckily, I’m safely out on the street this time. While it is a risky habit she’s got, it does mean that she finds stuff out. This time she’s found out that Astino’s has just changed hands! And soon they will close for a week for a makeover!! We clap our hands with glee. Maybe new Astino’s will be wonderful.

281 – Cafe C – Do you want commas with your eggs?

March 16, 2014 by andysomething 3 Comments

We’re closing in on Newtown Station now which I’m arbitrarily declaring to be the nominative half-way point for the Quest. Unfortunately the powers that be are making things harder for us – the redevelopment of the station has spawned a bunch of new eateries for us to make our way through before we get there. Oh well – better get on with it then.

This week it is Cafe C, which is an un-themed, run-of-the-mill cafe. It seems to be very popular and it has a great location, right at the end of Erskineville Road, and on the corner of Mary Street. This is a breakfast outing as the Cafe Suite of rules has been invoked. Our guest this morning is Anna, who has come all the way from Five Dock, and passed a lot of very acceptable breakfast venues along the way, so I hope Cafe C makes it worth her while.

It is a lovely saturday morning so we sit near the front where we have a good view of the passing parade. Being near a pedestrian crossing gives you plenty of time to give the crowd a serious once over, and wonder at some of their life choices, not to mention their fashion sense. The downside of being near a busy intersection is the noise. And being Newtown there is always some emergency going on nearby, with ambulance sirens and flashing lights punctuating the roar of semi-trailers and the squeal of bus fan belts. Despite the noise we have a lovely chat, while keeping an eye on the street in case we catch a glimpse of the legendary Goat Man of Newtown. What with the tattoo and body art expo having just been in town, I thought Anna may have been referring to body adornments: someone with horn embellishments or perhaps big floppy ears. But no, apparently she has seen (with her own eyes), a man leading a pair of goats along King Street. I want to believe, but nowadays I’m old enough to need proof. So please let me know if any of you lot have seen the fabled Goat Man of Newtown.

The Cafe Suite rules call for one of us to order the ‘big’ or ‘full’ breakfast option – often named after the cafe. However in honour of the imminence of St Patricks day I decide to put a slight bend in the rule and veer away from the Cafe C Brekkie in favour of the Irish Breakfast. This comes with beans, sausage and black pudding, as well as the usual eggs, bacon and toast, so I think that it still qualifies as a big breakfast. Strop selects the fritters with a side of bacon while Anna plays it safe with poached eggs and toast.

I have to say that I thought the breakfast menu was a bit boring. Lots of variations on the usual suspects, but nothing particularly adventurous or new. Or even interesting. But then we are still officially in the King Street doldrums, so what else should I expect. All the interesting and innovative stuff seems to happens just off King Street. It must be something to do with the rental agreements.

When the food arrives, the waiter is embarrassed to explain that when Anna said she wanted two eggs, and toast, he wrote 2 eggs and toast, and the kitchen cooked four eggs, and shared them between 2 plates. Commas, eh? They’re tricky little bastards aren’t they. Anyway he was too scared to take the extra plate back to the kitchen so he just left it there, on the end of our table, in case we got a bit peckish. We didn’t, although if there had been bacon involved it would have been a different matter. The breakfasts were alright. Nothing special but okay. As was the coffee. Strop thought her fritters were somewhat lacking in flavour. There was nothing that seemed to be home-made in my Irish Breakfast. The black pudding was nice enough, and the eggs were well cooked. It was a good breakfast but nothing to write home about. Or blog about I suppose. The orange juice was nice and orangey…

On the way home we bumped into the centenary celebrations for Newtown Fire Station. What are all these fire engines doing parked on the road, we thought at first. Then, ooh look, a brass band, we exclaimed. Who doesn’t love a brass band? That’s right: no one.

“100 Years and Still Pumping” the banner said. Ha!

273 – Simply Noodles – It’s a good question

March 9, 2014 by andysomething 3 Comments

After a three week hypothyroid-induced hiatus (thanks Strop, as always, love your work), that took me in a low orbit, skimming the outer atmosphere of planet Comatose, the drugs are starting to kick in again and I’m mostly back on deck. Unfortunately all we have to celebrate our return is Simply Noodles, so this will probably be a short report. Mainly because I made the mistake of reading up on defamation laws, the basic logic of which, seems to be: our defamation laws are harsh so that your food reviews aren’t. Oh well. I’ve never thought of myself as a food reviewer anyway, more of an urban-safari-ist. So that will have to be my defence.

Simply Noodles. We saw it arrive, way back whenever that was, all modern, with shiny hard surfaces, promising, cheap, tasty Asian noodles served fast to the funky young pre-movie crowd. Sort of an Asian version of Italian Bowl, before that had even arrived. And for a while it lived up to the promise. Unfortunately, that changed. Simply Noodles is still there, though you have to wonder how as the crowds seem to have passed it by, and these days all the modern surfaces just highlight the lack of character. The night we went, there was one other customer who left soon after we arrived, a couple of takeaway customers, and some young women who came in soon after we did.

It’s a one-man operation, run by a guy who bears a striking resemblance to Roy Orbison, if Roy had been Chinese. Though I suspect Roy might have been a better cook. You order at the counter and that is where your food arrives. Roy helpfully shouts at you to let you know it’s time to come and collect it.

I decided on a Chicken Laksa and Strop chose Char Kway Teow which is offered as either curry flavour or soy. I’d like you to ponder that for a moment as we did. Curry flavour. Or soy flavour. We added a couple of beers to the order too. The way things were shaping up we were going to need them.

When the Char Kway Teow arrived, Strop muttered something about a “flavour bypass” before returning to the condiment counter for more soy and chilli. As for the Laksa, I may have had worse, but I can’t remember when. I couldn’t taste much coconut, or anything much else apart from a bit of chilli.

On the way out Strop didn’t give Asian Roy a smile or a thank you – I can’t remember her doing that before. She asked if I thought this was the worst place we had been to. It’s a good question.