Encore

Bauhaus West and Kafenes via a hipster parallel universe

May 28, 2016 by Andrew Christie Leave a Comment

Last night someone served me a beer in a jar. It even had a picture of a hipster on the side, just in case you missed the joke. This cannot be allowed to stand. This is just taking irony too far. I’m looking at you Batch Brewing.

However, this assault on my drinking standards may have been just the impetus I needed to get me blogging. I have been bogged down last few weeks, working hard on the new book. Working with my editor and the beta readers, trying to get past fourth draft and into the fifth. It’s coming along now, I hope, having lost a few thousand words from what turned out to be a fairly flabby middle. (I could do with a bit of that myself, just have to find my own personal metabolic delete button). I’m currently editing in hardcopy which makes it all seem more substantial and as if I’m actually getting somewhere. It also makes it easier to get a sense of the thing as a whole, not just a series of scenes. The book will be called Tunnel Vision, and it will probably be finished sometime in September. Fingers crossed. It even has a cover ready to go which I’ll be flashing around like a mad thing at some point in the future.

So anyway, last night Strop and I hit Enmore Road without much hope or inspiration, as we are discovering that Enmore Road is mostly doldrums with a few islands of brilliance. We were meeting up for a drink after work and I’d suggested Bauhaus West, mainly because I had heard good things about it and I didn’t feel like another noisy Friday-night pub. We went to Bauhaus for a drink but ended up staying for a meal once we had a look at the menu. It looked a lot better than a lot of the other offerings nearby. Bauhaus W is somewhere between a bar and a restaurant. It has high stools like a bar, but with restaurant sensibilities.

We started out with a pair of excellent whiskey sours, followed by a Pinot Noir and a very nice beer, spoiled only by its container, which was straight out of some hipster marketing parallel universe.

Deep breath. Move on.

Anyway the menu sounded good, so we ordered a duck confit, some Chinese-y beef ribs, a side salad (not on the menu but happily provided), and chips. The food was very good, but very salty. Especially the ribs. On a Deb rating they would have been off the scale. When we mentioned this to the waiter, he came back with a message from the chef saying that he hoped it hadn’t spoiled our meal, but that we had managed to order the two saltiest dishes on the menu.

The atmosphere at Bauhaus was refreshing, good music, not too loud for us old people, and tables with views out to the street. Not much wrong there. It wasn’t cheap (3 Wendys) but I’d go back for the whiskey sours and the duck confit.

In terms of accessibility at Bauhaus W – okay as long as you don’t want to go to the loo. 1 Susan.

Our progress along Enmore Road has been fairly haphazard, and it will probably continue to be as we have given ourselves a couple of new rules. We will not eat at an empty restaurant, and, we reserve the right to avoid places we don’t like the look of. Which basically means we have no structure at all. Just like everyone else. It also means that our quest has lost any heroic pretence, which was basically all it had going for it.

Oh well.

A couple of weeks ago we had a lovely night out at Kafenes, which is a bit of an institution on Enmore Road. We had been there a long time ago to celebrate a birthday with Wendy, but I couldn’t remember much about it other than the generally warm vibe of a good night out. This is what Kafenes is excels at.

On our recent visit, we dined with Roy, Jill, John and Pauline, not to celebrate anything in particular other than just that we have known each other for a very long time. And that we were all available.

Jill had just had a procedure on her eyes and was successfully carrying off the nighttime sunglass look. It is a look usually favoured by rock stars, but Jill was managing to draw a few glances from people obviously wondering if she was part of the late show at the Enmore Theatre.

It is easy to see why Kafenes is is always full. The food is great, the service is warm and the whole place is completely free of irony. The menu features plenty of grilled protein and lots of hearty oven dishes. It is welcoming and homey in the most excellent of ways. We started out with all the dips and lots of bread. And quite a few wines. I seemed to have been left in charge of the pouring, not a role I am comfortable with, and I may have overcompensated. There was quite a bit of chat too. Then the mains arrived. When Kafenes says main they mean it, the serves are generous. There is still a little Greek doggy bag in our freezer, waiting to be thawed one night when cooking inspiration fails to strike.

I didn’t notice any salt, so I guess that’s 5 Debs. Money seemed okay so I’m going to say 4 Wendys. And I didn’t go to the loo so I can’t comment on that aspect of accessibility so let’s say 3 Susans.

Afterwards we stepped up the road to Cow and Moon for a gelato hit. These days we seem to be spoiled for choice, sharing our after-dinner gelato business between Cow and Moon, Gelato Blue, and Hakiki. And I don’t really have a favourite amongst that lot.

Ballers – an evening with Great Balls of Fire

April 10, 2016 by Andrew Christie Leave a Comment

I’m not really sure what to make of Ballers. It presents as a takeaway joint, with lots of red, white and blue on the menu, and tables that don’t invite you to linger. American colours, American-style menu. Meatballs is the name of the game. One of those menus where you combine ingredients from a series of lists. In this case choose your meatballs, your sauce, and your side. Then there’s a column called balls and buns, full of slider and sub options. it’s all very American in an ironic hipster kind of way. And there are lots of balls jokes. Especially in the loo. But the food is good and fundamentally Italian – apart from the slider business.

We arrived at Ballers after a long walk from the Belvoir Theatre, where he had just been to see The Great Fire, which was a great disappointment. Supposedly, a great new Australian play, it was yet another exploration of middle-class angst. Lots of talking and very little drama – the worst kind of theatre. So by the time we got to Ballers we were both thirsty and hungry.

Our first impression was not good. The place was empty and austere, with hard surfaces and high tables. Not exactly fine dining. We ummed and ahhed outside on the footpath, attracting the attention of the woman who was working at the counter. She scurried outside to entice us in while we were still trying to read the menu, saying “It’s all fresh, only fresh ingredients, all made on the premises, today.” Strop gave her the cold shoulder, turning instead towards the traffic on Enmore Road, but I tried a smile. “Thanks,” I said, “we’re just looking.”

We had a quick look down the road to see what was next if we decided to give Ballers a miss. Another Indian joint. This one also empty. We looked back at the menu again. Maybe it will be okay.

There is something appealing about the idea of a meatball eatery. It even has a special Italian name, a polpetteria. I was keen but Stop took a bit of persuading. In the end, despite the woman’s persistent blather we decided to give it a try. A decision that paid off.

The woman turned out to be the owner’s mother, called in to help out because he was short-staffed. She was very keen. Very. At least knowing why made it easier to accept her enthusiasm.

Strop went first and made the fatal error of choosing a vegetarian option in a place that has meat, if not in their name, in their reason for being. Meatballs. It’s all about the meat. Anyway, Strop has been a long-time ignorer of conventions, so she chose vegetarian meatballs, spicy tomato sauce and mash. I went the traditional route of spicy pork meatballs, tomato sauce and spaghetti. We also got a side of green veggies, a real Italian Peroni and a tumbler of rosé.

The food came quickly. It seemed as if we had only just settled down at the cable-drum tables on the street, when two steaming, enamelled bowls of meatballs were placed in front of us. My spicy pork meatballs were delicious with just the right amount of chilli, a rich tomato sauce and perfect spaghetti. Strop’s vegetarian aberration was okay, as good as might be expected, but the spicy tomato sauce was a bit too hot for comfort. It wasn’t just a bit spicy, it was very hot. The mash was excellent though, rich and creamy and smooth. The green veges were excellent, perfectly cooked, beans, kale, and broccoli, with a light, lemony dressing.

While we were there one other couple came in and sat inside and a couple of delivery orders went out, but overall it looked like a very slow night. I couldn’t help thinking that they might do better if they dropped the American/ironic-hipster imagery, and switched to Italian red checked tablecloths. There is a market for it, the Italian Bowl on King Street has been proving that for years. What’s not to love about delicious meatballs?

The pedestrian traffic on Enmore Road lived up to its eclectic tradition. Tonight there was a lot of brightly coloured hair on the young women, and a lot of black-clad young men carrying pieces of drum kit back and forth. Something for everyone.

On the way home we stopped at Gelato Blue, where I had the best passionfruit gelato I have ever had. Excellent work.

So go to Ballers. Ignore the imagery, go for the food, it’s great.

Sultan’s Table – When in doubt proceed straight to the oasis

April 2, 2016 by Andrew Christie 1 Comment

As I suspected, Olé, the Portuguese chicken place on the corner was next. However we are getting old and cranky and it didn’t take much to persuade us that this was more of a takeaway joint than we were in the mood for. They sell burgers and chicken, and we have already decided that when we get to the end of Enmore Road, Oporto is not on the Encore menu, It was hard to argue any real difference between Olé and Oporto.

“So, what’s next?”

“The New India Times?” Strop ventured.

“Okay, let’s check it out.”

“Finest Indian Restaurant?” I said, more of a comment than a question. “Next?”

“Sultan’s Table?”

“Oh, yeah.”

We crossed the road, weaving our way through a friday-night gridlock of Mazdas and Hyundais, approaching the fabled Sultan’s Table as if it was some kind of oasis. There were plenty of people hanging around outside, either waiting for takeaways, or for a table inside. Luckily there were a couple of outside tables still free which suited us.

Sultan’s Table is a bit of an Enmore Road institution. It always looks busy and inviting, located on a corner, with the big dining room open to the street and every available surface fringed with lights. When we tell people we are now wending our way along Enmore Road, the places they refer to are Hartsyard, “that cheese place with the funny name,” and Sultan’s Table.

We settled ourselves in, and proceeded to over-order. Again. I’m beginning to think it might just be us.

When the Mixed Dips, Mixed Grill, and Imam Bayildi, were on the way, we thought about drinks. Sultan’s Table is byo and of course, we hadn’t. Luckily there is a serve yourself fridge full of soft drinks. We helped ourselves to some culturally inappropriate Passiona, in place of the the ginger beer we really wanted, but which they didn’t have.

Other punters seemed to be ignoring the drinks fridge and venturing further afield. While we were there, a steady stream of runners headed out to the nearest bottle shop, only to return minutes later with armfuls of six-packs and bottle-shaped brown-paper bags.

Another pedestrian of note was an ernest looking young punk, hustling along with a mic stand under his arm. Enmore Road does have its charms.

The dips were terrific. Eight of them, arranged very attractively. Plenty of hot and crunchy-outside/soft-inside turkish bread to wipe around in them. Yummerific.

Imam Bayildi turned out to be a whole eggplant stuffed with goodness, and the Mixed Grill had the tastiest and tenderest lamb I have had in a long time. The chicken and the adana were pretty good too, and there were plenty of salads and flat bread. Yum and double-yum. We managed to sort out all the protein and most of the dips, but there was an embarrassing amount of sumac-coated onion and red cabbage left on the platter when we paid up.

5/5 Debs – just the right amount of salt. (In other words we didn’t notice.)

3/5 Susans – there is an accessible toilet but you might have to move a car to get to it.

4/5 Wendys – pretty good value for more than we could comfortably handle.

I had been looking across the road at Cow and Moon all night and had noted that the queue had not yet stretched out the door and around the corner. Usually when we are ready for a bit of icy sweetness to finish off the evening, the queue is far too long, so we keep walking, heading for Hakiki, or even Gelato Blue. So even though we shouldn’t, we did.

My coffee and blood orange were excellent. Strop’s fortunes were more mixed. Her caramel popcorn was terrific – although in slurping up a taste, I managed to inhale a piece of popcorn which led to a bit of a coughing fit – but her nectarine was a bit too subtle for a friday night wander home, through the crowds of Enmore Road and King Street.

I think our next venture has something to do with meatballs that don’t come from Ikea. See you then.

Faheem Fast Food – Not entirely a flubboodha-free zone

March 27, 2016 by Andrew Christie 2 Comments

Everybody was all like “Ooh, ooh, I want to come to Faheem’s,” which suited us because more people means more dishes to try. But then of course it was all, “I can’t do Friday…” and “… they’ve changed the roster…” and “…they changed it back again…” then there was, “…this bug is going around the school…” and of course “…jetlagged.” So it was a bit of an easter miracle that four of us were able to synchronise our schedules and home in on Enmore Road on Saturday night.

The final make up of the party was Strop and me, with the Stropolina and her new beau, the Lifesaver, so at least there were enough of us to seriously over order without looking too greedy.

Faheem Fast Food is a bit of an urban legend around our area. Its fluoro lighting, tiled walls, and no-nonsense tables have been greeting taxi drivers, families and hipsters since… well, for a very long time. They serve up splendid Pakistani and Indian dishes in a very timely manner, so much so that it has restored my faith in nominative determinism.

Our first stop though, was a little bar called Midnight Special, because Faheem might be fast but he is not licensed. Strop and I stopped here last Tuesday before going on to see the wonderful Tedeschi Trucks Band at the Enmore Theatre. As well as good beers and an excellent blues soundtrack, they were offering bao buns with a variety of protein based fillings. I thought that the pulled pork with lots of Asian flavours was particularly yummy, but Strop compared the actual bao bun as being a bit like a thong. Which led to a brief moment of confusion until she clarified that she was referring to footwear. On Saturday night the place was a lot more crowded and the soundtrack a lot less interesting (70s/80s hits and misses — all filler, no thriller). We had our one drink and toddled on up the road to Faheem’s with the soundtrack now changed to the Stropolina going “I want to go to that one… and that one too, ooh look at that, it too.” Good that she is so loyal to the family enterprise. I’m not sure what the Lifesaver made of it all, especially when we tried to explain to him the concept of rating accessibility according to the Susan Scale. He was able to point out the best late night kebab spots on Enmore Road though, so he is already proving his worth.

We were seated at the back of Faheem’s, just outside the kitchen, and conveniently close to the help-yourself-to-drinks fridge. My only stipulation on the ordering front was that we had to have something from the tandoor. Strop and the Stropolina handled the rest of it.

In no time at all a splendid spread was laid out in front of us. A whole bright-orange-with-black-charcoaly-bits tandoori chicken, was quickly followed by, dahl, chick peas, a goat korma masala, aloo gosht, and of course, garlic naan.

It. Was. All. Excellent – although the Stropolina did think that there was too much “flubboodha” in the goat. This is her term for any animal-based food that is not meat. She has a very low tolerance for discrete bits of fat, gristle or any kind of connective tissue. We have learned to make allowances as she has so many other redeeming features.

Faheem provides a no-frills service. Help yourself to soft drinks, lassi, or chilled water from the fridge. The glasses are just as likely to be hot, coming straight from the dishwasher, but at least the water is cold. It is relaxed, cheerful, and extremely tasty. You need to go. Now.

In terms of ratings:

Accessibility: 5/5 Susans – and there is a carpark out the back.

Value? Up there I’d say, 4/5 Wendys.

Salt? Didn’t notice, so I guess that is 5/5 Debs.

Midnight Special though, deserves a special accessibility mention. The toilets are up three stairs, which means 0/5 Susans for them.

Next up might be a Portuguese Chicken joint, I’ll have to check and get back to you.

Shaahi Tandoori – Doesn’t always come with a floorshow

March 12, 2016 by Andrew Christie 1 Comment

I blame Strop. I blame her for my complete lack of professionalism in regard to this blogging business. I should have a schedule, and I would have, if only Strop would stop having birthdays. And if she hadn’t married me, we wouldn’t have had to go to Hobart to celebrate however many years it’s been now. And if I hadn’t been cooped up in a big, aerialised, aluminium tube with a bunch of sick people I wouldn’t have caught man flu…

Actually I blame David Walsh for creating MONA. If he hadn’t done that, then we wouldn’t have felt like the only people left in Sydney who hadn’t been to see the wall of vaginas and none of this would have happened.

So on behalf of David Walsh and Strop, I apologise for the yawning chasm that is the last month on this blog. It won’t happen again. Ever. I promise. Cross my heart, all of that. Never, ever. Ever.

Before we were so rudely interrupted, I seem to remember a trip to a surprisingly enjoyable Indian restaurant. In terms of sub-continental cuisine on Enmore Road, Faheem’s Fast Food casts a very long shadow that hides all other curry joints. I had never noticed Shaahi Tandoori before this visit, but I’m pretty sure we’ll go back. Particularly for the Goat Curry and the Salted Lassi. Yummo.

We sat at the front table with an excellent view of the buses roaring past, and the passing parade of pedestrian punters on their way to the Enmore Theatre. Tonight the crowd appeared to be predominantly of a certain age and greyness. Well, the men were, I suspect a bit of colouration was at work in many of the women’s hair. One of the entertaining things about a night out on Enmore Road is the changing nature of the street crowd depending on who is playing at the Enmore Theatre.

A very sweet and attentive young woman took our order which included Paneer, Chicken 65, Aloo Mattar and Garlic Nan, as well as the goat and the lassi. One of the problems we have found with dining on our own is that we want to try a lot more dishes than we can actually eat. We usually make a pretty good effort though, a clean plate is a good plate, but we pay for it on the walk home.

The Paneer was a bit heavy for my taste but the Chicken 65 was terrific. Basically fried chicken but with all the flavours. I’ll go back for that one too. The Goat Curry was dark, succulent and spicy. Lucky we had the Salted Lassi. I’ve never had it before and it was terrifically refreshing, as well as easing the effects of the chilli.

While we were working our way through too much food, Strop caught a glimpse of a pair of nephews walking up the other side of the street. As she leapt to her feet and rushed out the door I took the opportunity to nab another piece of fried chicken. Strop waved and hallooed across the road, and Keir and Charlie waved back. I kept eating.

Five minutes later Keir and Charlie showed up at Shaahi Tandoori. Apparently their family were just down the road at Cow and The Moon having a refreshing gelato. Young Charlie’s tolerance for watching his aunt and uncle eat food that he wouldn’t touch with a light sabre, was understandably low, so they didn’t stay very long.

Strop and I were back to enjoying the food, trying to decide if we could discreetly undo our belts a couple of notches, when Keir returned. This time he and Charlie had Emma and Will in tow. While Em came and joined us at the table, Keir and Will, proceeded to put on a floorshow outside on the footpath. Enmore Road has everything you need for a night out. You can see part of the show here.

When Charlie couldn’t stand it anymore, Em took her tribe and headed for home, while Strop and I wandered back down Enmore Road.

At the Enmore Theatre the reason for the greying crowd became apparent. Icehouse were playing.

Faheem’s Fast Food is next up on Enmore Road, I’m looking forward to the comparison.

And now for the ratings: Accessibility – 5 Susans; Value – 4.5 Wendys.

Scrambled – We’re big fans

February 7, 2016 by Andrew Christie 4 Comments

For our first breakfast on Enmore Road we’ve arranged quite a party, or rather it arranged us. Strop and Jill had been looking for an opportunity to catch up while Jill’s sister Monica was in town, but the only opportunity available was Saturday morning for breakfast at Scrambled. We all live such busy lives these days that we hardly get to see each other. Anyway, it turned out that John and Pauline were also in town and keen to catch up too, so they invited themselves.

Strop and I were just setting out, a bit late and wondering which was the quickest way to walk to Enmore Road, when Roy, Jill and Monica pulled up in front of us, offering a lift in return for advice on parking. So we got there 15 minutes early, rather than 15 minutes late, and Strop had plenty of time to negotiate seating arrangements for our party of seven. After a bit of encouragement from Strop, the waiter gave up the information that there was a secret room out the back that we could use. The back room looked as if it didn’t get used much except to get to the car park, but there was a big table and plenty of room for us to spread out. The main advantage was that it was quiet, and with all of us getting a bit harder of hearing these days, that is a rare relief at a Newtown cafe. The front of Scrambled is quite noisy because of the traffic, exacerbated by the nearby bus stop.

It was a very humid morning, so the waiter turned on the wall-mounted fan, which immediately started blowing the pages of the menus around. Without consulting the management, we decided that it wasn’t really that hot, and we would rather not have the distraction of pages flapping back and forth, so we turned it off. While we were enjoying a bit of calm air, we ordered a round of coffees, and got on with the important business of catching up. The waitress that brought our coffees immediately noted the lack of a gale in the back room, and turned the fan back on. We were all too busy chasing flying napkins and menu pages to ask her why. Presumably it was company policy.

Not long after, when we had managed to weigh everything down, John called wondering where we were. There were a few minutes of confusion before we realised that he and Pauline were sitting out the front, guarding “a very nice table” in the hope that we would turn up shortly. I don’t think we ever worked out exactly how long they had been sitting there, but in the end our private room, trumped their “very nice table”.

Now that we were all co-located we got serious about what was on offer on the menu. John and Pauline were the only ones who had been to Scrambled before. They used to live nearby and be regular visitors. It also turned out that since moving to Braidwood, John and Pauline had become neighbours of the previous owners of Scrambled. This bit of knowledge was enthusiastically received by the waiter who proceeded to query John about details which, judging by his expression, quickly outdistanced John’s knowledge on the subject. But even so, small world and all that.

Scrambled’s breakfast menu is very spacious, each category given it’s own page on the clipboard. It was Strop’s turn to have the big breakfast, so I was free to try out the scrambled eggs, which seemed appropriate given the name of the establishment. Strop went for the Aussie Big Breakfast with scrambled eggs, of course, while I went for the Spanish Scrambled eggs. John and Pauline both chose the Green Scrambled eggs, but with different sides. Roy had a breakfast quesadilla, Jill the English Country Scrambled, and Monica went for eggs Benedict.

After the waiter had taken our orders, Pauline decided she was sick of having her hair blown back and forth, and wanted to see if the fan could be stopped from oscillating. It turned out that it could, but only by blasting the gale at either John or me. We decided it was more democratic to share the breeze, and for Pauline to perch her glasses on top of her hair to stop it blowing about. In the meantime our juices had arrived. The orange was very good, Strop had something green that she said was delicious, and Jill had a purple berry smoothie, which oddly came in a purple tinted glass. Apparently, it tasted alright though.

While Pauline was away from the table, checking out the facilities, the fan waitress returned and decided that it was still too stuffy and turned the fan up a notch. As soon as Pauline was back, she was up on her chair, turning the fan down again and asking us why we hadn’t stopped the waitress. We shrugged collectively. “She’s too fast for us.”

In order to reduce the tension, someone asked about John and Pauline’s integration into Braidwood society. They proceeded to regale us with their adventures, including the great quilting committee conundrum, and the recent coup d’état at the museum. It seems when you move to a small country town, sooner or later you have to choose sides. I guess the trick is to be on the winning side.

I had pretty much finished my breakfast before I remembered that I was supposed to be writing a review. When I asked what everyone had thought of their food the responses were all enthusiastic. My Spanish scrambled eggs were excellent, packed with cheese and chorizo and peppers. The only negative aspect was that they had cooled down a bit before they got to the table, probably due to a small kitchen trying to get all our breakfasts out at the same time. Monica’s eggs Benedict seemed to be another victim, their arrival delayed by an unfortunate accident, when her first set of poached eggs were transferred to the kitchen floor rather than to the plate.

While I was remembering my responsibilities, I remembered that we have had a request to comment on accessibility issues. On this front, I can report that the main cafe space has a short ramp up from the street, but if you want to get to the back room there are steps everywhere – up down and sideways. And don’t even ask about the toilets. Strop rated it one Susan out of a possible five, on the accessibility front.

Another friend wants us to lift our game on the subject of value for money. So given the quality of the food, I would give Scrambled four out of five Wendys.

The staff were excellent, and were very accommodating about splitting the bill. On the way out the waiter asked me if everything had been okay, which it had, and also to give his regards to the old owners in Braidwood. Us grey haired blokes, we all look the same.