Archives for November 2015

Sydney International Terminal – Top Gear comes to Terminal 1

November 21, 2015 by andysomething Leave a Comment

One of the lasting effects of The Quest (arguably its only legacy) has been to instil in Strop and me a great need to go out on Friday nights. If we don’t, we accelerate the aging process. We end up watching third-rate British crime shows on the ABC, and comforting ourselves with chocolate and whisky.

Friday night is the gateway to the weekend and, by embracing it as fully as our 9:30 curfew allows, we can engage a little known Einsteinian time-stretching effect, to make the weekend longer. It is an altogether better way to start the weekend than to leave it to the normal Saturday morning kick off. I can’t believe that it has taken the Quest to make me understand this fundamental law.

Whatever is going on Friday nights, Strop and I are always looking for an opportunity to turn it into an occasion for drinking, eating and hopefully some laughing.

Well this particular Friday night was a bit different. Keir, one of our multitudinous nephews (you will no doubt remember his famous appearances at the Amazon Steakhouse and Dean’s Diner), was setting off for London to fit in a few months of adventuring before starting uni next year. Strop had the bright idea of trying out the dining opportunities at the Sydney International Terminal, while we farewelled the ridiculously good-looking Keir.

On a ludicrously hot evening, the newly licensed Stropolina drove Strop to the airport, while I, being much more conscious of the state of the environment, caught the train. It was a race worthy of the Top Gear tossers, with me in the role of the one with long hair, the Stropolina as the overbearing one, and Strop as the short perky one. The race concluded on foot, with a sprint along the concourse. It is a bloody long way from one end of the terminal to the other and thoughtlessly, Keir had chosen an airline based solely on the fact that its check-in counter matched the initial of his first name. I finally caught up with Clarkson and Hammond at the check-in lines, where Keir and his entourage (Em, Tess, Will and Charlie) had that zoned-out look of resignation, that one adopts in airport queues. Our arrival was apparently the cue for Will and Charlie (of Mad Mex and Oldtown in Newtown fame) to start entertaining the crowd by limbo-ing their way beneath the retractable barrier thingys.

It was always going to be a struggle to get Will and Charlie to think about food when there was a world of temptation just behind them

Even the efforts of entertainers as sophisticated and nuanced as Will and Charlie were not enough to disguise the fact that being in a queue that you don’t have to be in is the most boring pastime known to humanity. So we left Keir to slowly wend his way towards counter K, and went off in search of alcohol and food.

The dining opportunities at the International Terminal are basically along the lines of a shopping centre food hall – but with Border Force.

We eventually found the airport equivalent of a pub, conveniently located right back down at the other end of the concourse. Unfortunately, the bar was understaffed and we arrived just after a thirty-strong tour group of Chinese travel agents. We eventually got some beers in, but Will and Charlie were too distracted by the arcade games machines to commit to any of the food on offer. While we drank up, and Keir filled in the bits of paper that Border Force were going to need, Will and Charlie re-enacted famous scenes from Top Gear series 19. We had to drag them away from their race around the Nurburgring when a disagreement about the correct line to take on turn 12 threatened to turn into an ugly argument about which of them was the real Stig.

Imagine how much fun they'd have if we put some coins in — Imagine how much fun they’d have if we put some coins in

Acknowledging the wide range of palate sophistication within the group, we decided to embrace the food hall concept, establishing a base camp at a centrally located table. From here each of us could forage for our food of choice, without driving the others crazy. Quite a few of us went the Mexican option, possibly in a nostalgic tribute to Will’s Iron Man period. The boys themselves were only ever going to be satisfied by burgers and chips, while Tess went for chicken and chips. Tess certainly won the battle of the chips. Fat and crunchy with actual potato flavour will always beat thin and flaccid with no discernible flavour. She couldn’t finish her chicken though, which enabled Strop and Em to indulge in the old family ritual of picking over someone else’s bones. I enjoyed my slow-cooked-pork nachos except for the weird liquid cheese stuff that I unwittingly agreed to because I couldn’t hear what the guy assembling my meal was saying. The rest though, was great.

Will suddenly realised he had a vegetable in his mouth and no one was paying attention

Eventually it was time for the man of the hour to step up and take off. After lots of group hugs, and a brief discussion of whether he is better looking than Daniel Craig, Keir disappeared into the tender embrace of Border Force, and the rest of us headed for the car park.

So, if you find yourself in a situation where you are going to have a meal at the International Terminal, take Will and Charlie with you. You’ll have a laugh if nothing else.

Oscillate Wildly – Strop wrests the reins from Birthday Boy for a taste of the best ever

November 14, 2015 by andysomething 1 Comment

We visited Oscillate Wildly on Melbourne Cup Tuesday, in the midst of the Festival of Andy’s Birthday. Given the usual shenanigans that mark Cup Day at his workplace, I’d made a special request for him to stay sober, at least until we got to the restaurant. And give him his due, he’d tried to comply.

There were three of us including the Stropolina for the celebratory meal. Andy and I had enjoyed a meal at Oscillate Wildly years before, also for a birthday treat, but under a different chef. So we were definitely due for a re-run. The room is still a small shopfront, the ambience sparse, crisp and calm. The noise levels are low, partly due to the baffling on one wall. Other restaurants please take note.

There are very few choices to make – the degustation, or the degustation with matching wines. Simple. Because we were celebrating, we decided to forego our normal cautious Tuesday approach, and instead opted for the matching wines. Stropolina, encouraged our choice by saying she was old enough now to start learning about wines, so it would be an education for her, and probably tax deductible. It was one of only two decisions we had to make that night, and it turned out to be an excellent choice.

When I had rung to make a booking the previous week, there had been a gentle interrogation about our food preferences, designed to tease out any issues before our arrival. I took the opportunity to ask where they sourced their meat, and was assured that all the animals we would be getting stuck into had lived happy, free-range lives. Tick that box then. Were there any other allergies or intolerances they should know about? No, I said, we eat everything… What about foie gras? Oh, well thanks… no we’d rather not (we’ve seen those images of geese being force fed). It was an excellent way to pre-empt any possible embarrassing situations and ensure things went smoothly on the night.

None of us really knew quite what to expect from Oscillate Wildly. It had been good the first time, and we’d heard positive things about it since, so we were certainly up for a culinary adventure.

It was terrific. By the end of the evening, we were all agreed that it was the best meal we had ever eaten. The textures, the flavours, the combinations and the matching wines couldn’t have been any better. They even included my favourite vegetable: celeriac.

Let me take you though the courses.

First we were treated to an unusual gin and tonic – a favourite when it is in a glass, but this was in a sliver of sugarcane. The waiter told us that to do it justice, we had to suck and chew the sugarcane, but not eat it. He reminded us how we treated paddlepop sticks in the summers of our youf, though I don’t remember Streets making a gin and tonic paddle pop.

The G+T was accompanied by the lightest and crispiest bit of pork crackling dusted with sumac … mmm, crunch.

Then came Scallop, Apple, Potato. It was those ingredients and some more (sage jelly, I think) diced to the tiniest tasty cubes. So many tiny textures too.

Asparagus, Pollen and Gouda had to have some explanation – what is bee pollen anyway? And how many bees are killed in the process of collection? It’s the unused yellow swags of pollen left on the flowers by the bees apparently – and we have it on good authority that no bees were harmed in its collection. I’m still a little dubious, but it did add a dash of sweetness to the spring vege’n’cheese.

Throughout the meal we had wonderful rambling conversations; punctuated by gasps of excitement, as yet another beautiful dish was placed in front of us, and murmured thankyous for each new glass of wine.

The next dish is the one that Birthday Boy is still talking about: Corn, Polenta. It was a treat, and he could have eaten a giant bowl full of the really tasty, really creamy corn. With no discernable polenta – which suited me.

Fish next: Whiting, Radish, Ink. The whiting was crisp on the skin side and melty on the flesh side with a gentle flavour. The radish did its thing and the squid ink was black. The combo was delicious.

Throughout our meal the restaurant filled up, but the good acoustics meant it was easy to hear each other. It was almost as though we were the only ones there.

Pork, Mille Feuille moved us to the first meat course and the first red wine. And it wasn’t just any mille feuille, they were celeriac feuille and they perfectly matched the flavour-packed cube of pork.

It may seem as though the food was a bit of a rush, but everything was perfectly timed, we had plenty to talk about, not just the mouth-watering and beautifully presented food, but a range of scintillating family matters too. Throughout the meal, the two waiters kept us hydrated with tap water and a half glass of wine with nearly every new plate. It was wonderfully civilized.

The second meat dish was Beef, Shiitake, Horseradish, and it was soft, smooth, and delectable. So many tastes, here. So many tastes everywhere.

We were nearly 2 hours in when we were told about an optional cheese course – and… well, Birthday Boy decided there should be no stinting for his birthday. Maybe later, but not today, so yes please, hit us up with the La Mothais, Buckwheat, Honey. Mmmmm, I can still feel the textures in my mouth, meltingly soft goat cheese, crunchy buckwheat and rich honey in a perfect combination.

Next our taste buds went to another place entirely with Pineapple, Lime, Bitters. It was tart and tasty. Pineapple foam floated over lime sorbet, doused with bitters. It was worth savouring every skerrick.

The almost final flourish was Burnt White Chocolate, Miso, Sesame. It came with accompanying sake. The sweet, salty, burnt, crunchy combo may never be beaten in the perfect pud stakes. Who knew miso could even be pud? Karl Firla (the chef), that’s who!

We had tea/coffee and chocolatey petit fours to finish with an accompanying birthday boy candle.

The deliciousness and pace of the meal with its matching wines had wooed us. Days later we are still quite sure that our weekday excursion to Oscillate Wildly provided the best meal we have ever eaten.

Plan a visit for a very special occasion – or even just a birthday!

Three Queens – Back before the beginning

November 8, 2015 by andysomething 3 Comments

We first noticed Three Queens when we did a bit of a retrospective of the changing King Street scene. What used to be a closed up and unlamented pizza joint was reborn as a bright and airy café on the corner of King and Forbes Streets. Right next door to Izote Mexican, one of our old favourites. So when a breakfast outing was called for, Three Queens sprung to the top of our reQuest list.

The name of the café is apparently a reference to the three owners, two of whom started a café in Surry Hills called St Jude’s, that I have never heard of. So there you go: research done.

There is no actual big brekkie option at Three Queens, which immediately freed us from the usual café Rule. Strop decided to continue with her current fritter-esque fetish and chose the Potato and Lemon Thyme Hash Cakes. I decided on the Queen Plate, as this seemed likely to be the Three Queens’ signature dish and, therefore, equivalent to a big brekky. Also it came with poached egg and leg ham, which is a good basis for any breakfast. The juice choice was limited to orange, which is what I wanted anyway but I’m pretty sure Strop would have chosen something with ginger and dew siphoned from the hairy legs of Himalayan spiders, or some such exotic and trendy ingredient. She tends to keep up with such things, while I am busy watching TV shows about zombies. I think that is the secret to the success of our relationship; she gives me space to study techniques for killing the undead, and I don’t send her up. Anyway, the juice was sweet and cold, and deliciously refreshing.

The café is spacious and light, and refreshingly un-grungy, even with its polished concrete floor. There are big windows, and shelves with plants and carefully selected ‘random’ bric-a-brac. The windows are great to watch the passing parade on the footpath outside. At one point Strop exclaimed, “It’s really funny when people look like their dogs. Especially when they’re pugs.” People watching is our kind of spectator sport.

While not full, Three Queens did a steady trade in takeaway coffee, and seemed to be selling quite a lot of bacon and egg rolls, to hi-vis wearing tradies. There must be a construction site nearby. We had plenty of time to ponder such things as our food seemed to be taking quite a while to come, and a couple of other tables that had arrived after us had already been served. Normally we wouldn’t have noticed such things but, as I said, we had time on our hands. Happily though, the senior staff member on duty, who may have been one of the aforementioned Queens, noticed our wait, and apologised offering free coffees. Which was a really nice and considerate touch. Apparently they had a few new staff members, and a bit of on-the-job training was happening in the kitchen. The floor staff were very good, and very polite. Every thank you from us was greeted with a crisp you’re welcome in reply.

When our food did arrive it was worth the wait. Strop’s potato cakes were very good, and so was my Queen Plate. The poached egg was perfectly cooked, the ham tasty, and it came with an excellent eggplant pickle. The only let down was the labneh, which I have always thought was overrated.

We were having such a good time that we decided to have dessert with our complimentary coffee. Banana bread with ginger butter, it was as good as it sounds. The coffee was good and strong too, I’d have been happy to pay for it.

After breakfast we wandered back along King Street, checking out the ever-changing urban fabric of Newtown.

Russo & Russo – loudly living up to its reputation

November 1, 2015 by andysomething 2 Comments

Our visit to Russo & Russo has been a long time coming. Our first few attempts were thwarted – every time we tried to go something went wrong. Russo²(or should that be Russo x 2? – a question for the mathematicians among you) was the place that started everyone saying we should detour down Enmore Road instead of finishing off King Street, because “there are so many cool places opening up there now.” They were right up to a point, but you know, rules are Rules. And also, in between the handful of shiny new things on Enmore Road at that time, there was still an awful lot of dross.

We had tried to get to Russo² in the middle of the Quest, to celebrate a Strop birthday but decided we needed a larger venue for the celebration. As soon as we got to St Peters, Russo² leapt to the top of our wish list. We even made a booking, but then I got the flu and we had to cancel. A month or so later we tried again, and this time the arrangements stuck.

So here we are, accompanied by that well-seasoned regular Quester, Mark, and relative newcomer Debra, previously spotted at the Botany View Hotel.

Russo²is a serious foody type of place. Proper. And for the occasion we are having dinner at a proper dinnertime: 8pm. Which is worryingly close to my bedtime, but then I’ve always been a risk taker.

Before dinner we met up at that well known pre-Enmore-show-drinks venue, the Duke of Something, which happens to be next-doorish to Russo^2. Debra was there first (keen) and had bumped into a work colleague and her husband who were pre-show drinking before getting their fill of RockWiz. I had noted the crowd outside the Enmore, on my way from the station. The footpath was full of grey-haired men of a certain vintage who looked as if they had once been well acquainted with stadium-scale rock shows, but were now more interested in superannuation than supergroups. My peeps really. Once we had a quorum, and Deb’s friends had trotted off to test their rock-n-roll knowledge, we adjourned to the restaurant.

The first thing we noticed was the noise. Popular restaurant + lots of hard surfaces x confined space = LOUD. Strop blamed the marble tabletops, but I tend to blame all the people enjoying themselves. Whatever the reason, we needed to have line of sight of each other’s lips before we could have a conversation.

The menus came in a series of glossy (and quite heavy) old 1970s coffee-table books. Luckily we only had to read the first few pages unless we really wanted to know about Old World Visions on a New Continent. The food sounded much more interesting. We ordered a round of cocktails and got on with negotiating the rocky terrain that lay between the menu and our collective food intolerances and prejudices. This took a bit of time but we seemed to have reached a solution in which Mark basically got to choose, as he has an issue with seafood, and the rest of us got to veto. This entente cordial seemed to be working a treat until the waitress arrived and Strop performed a neat little coup d’état, outflanking us all by the simple expedient of ignoring everything that had been agreed to that point. She left the choices up to the chef on the proviso that he respected the boundaries of our various cuisine-based concerns. By this stage the rest of us were all so hungry, that the only response to Strop’s beaming request for approval was a few muttered What-evers.

The cocktails were excellent. I have no idea what they were but they were refreshingly cold and lemony. The first dish to arrive was what looked like a plate of chocolate profiteroles but which turned out to be filled with yummy duck liver pate. Very Hester Blumenthal I thought to myself as I licked every last skerrick off my plate. El Yummo. Next up was a ricotta dish with herbs and something crunchy – there may have been a few beans in there too. Doesn’t sound like much, but you should try it, your mouth will thank you. So far, so good. By this time Strop’s coup d’état had been forgotten as we looked forward to the next dish. That is the great pleasure of this type of dining. Living on the edge, not knowing what you will be asked to eat next. In this case it was asparagus with garlic milk. And grapes. This was not just any asparagus; according to Mark this was the best asparagus I’ve ever eaten. I have to agree with him.

So far the food was excellent: imbued with Italian sensibilities, it was clever and surprising without being pretentious. Above all, it was delicious. Things got a bit more complicated with the next dish. Risotto. Beetroot risotto. Salt-baked beetroot risotto in point of actual fact. And it turns out that Debra has a previously un-mentioned intolerance to salt. Had we been ordering from the menu … well, the salt-baked bit would probably have been noticed and avoided. As it was, Deb couldn’t come at it, and I have to admit that the deep-red risotto was quite salty. Not enough to stop the rest of us from polishing off her portion, but for someone who doesn’t like salt it would be a challenge. I suppose those are the risks of leaving the food choices up to the chef. The staff were very good about it, and provided another round of asparagus for Debra.

The next dish was pork neck with celeriac and radicchio, less stunt-oriented than some of the previous dishes, but wholesome and excellent nonetheless.

This was followed by another surprise. A clever version of cheese on toast: crostini with cheddar and quince. And lastly a dessert that was described as a Sardinian brulée, with freeze dried blood orange. As far as I was concerned it was all YUMMY. I have no higher praise to give. It is the best meal this project has been presented with so far.

When the bill arrived it came in another book, this time a text on Italian Verbs. It is a pity that Debra didn’t enjoy the food as much as the rest of us. Next time we might have to go to the trouble of reading the menu and choosing for ourselves. Probably safer that way.