Quest

Thai La Ong – A Valentines Day Saga

February 27, 2021 by Andrew Christie

We’re going out for dinner and I’m nervous. Not covid nervous, Valentine’s Day nervous. I’m expecting crowds, booked out restaurants, purveyors of crappy roses, magicians, even. Due to a series of entwined exigencies now lost in the depths of time, Strop and I managed to exchange our wedding vows on St Valentine’s Day. It is an error we are still paying for. You simply cannot go out for a quiet wedding anniversary celebration on Valentine’s Day, so we usually shift the date to avoid the crowds and complications.

But not this year. This year is our fortieth. Just let that ruby-coloured number sink in a moment. Forty years married. To which should be added The Years Before—a period of indeterminate length—during which we hung out with sufficient intensity as to produce a baby girl. Makes you feel old just thinking about it.

So, our fortieth—our Ruby Anniversary—and we’re in Sydney. King Street beckons. Strop has romantic notions of taking Painting the Bridge back to where it all started, but I don’t think Izote Mexican still exists.

Romance seeps away. Pragmatism builds a bridge. Thai La Ong is still there, and one thing you definitely cannot get in Bermagui is decent Thai food.

This will be a family affair. We are to be joined by a daughter, a granddaughter and a nephew. The Stropolina, the Lagilou and the Chippy.

First off, Strop and I embark on a nostalgic walk from Newtown Station along a sultry Enmore Road to see what has become of the place since we stopped paying attention. It seems a bit tidier. A bit quieter, maybe. Hard to tell really, as it is still the middle of the afternoon. Some new joints. Some survivors.

We end up at the Warren View where things have changed. Covid measures are serious here. There are separate in-and-out doors. The young woman behind the bar wants to verify our log in. Us old folks from the coast aren’t used to quite so much covid-tainted reality. The beers have changed too. Lots of funky, and probably very hoppy, hipster beers from pop-up breweries are available. Watermelon flavoured! Probably rhubarb too. Or turmeric. The very helpful bar person directs us to beverages that suit our individual needs and we proceed through to the renovated beer garden where Strop proceeds to break her knee on an over-sized steel girder holding up our table. It could easily hold up the harbour bridge but has been given lighter duties, no doubt in the service of irony. (Ha!)

The beer garden is airy and feels more spacious than on previous visits. The covid marshall wears a jaunty high-vis sash, and the place is full of families and young children, some of whom are intent on driving their prams, and their hovering fathers, to the edges of navigation. I am tempted by the offerings on the blackboard, but Strop reins in my impulsiveness by reminding me to save myself for Thai La Ong.

On that self-righteous note we drink up and head for the pre-dinner rendezvous at the Courty. Where we run into the Chippy just getting off his bicycle. Timing, eh?

While he finds a convenient pole to chain up to, Strop and I form an orderly queue outside the pub. Covid rules. Numbers restricted. Scan here. Wait there. Some people go out. Some go in. More people go out, we go in. For our convenience, and to avoid crowding around the bar, we can order with our phone. What a wonderful world. Just download the app, create a log in, nominate a payment method, no, not that one, try again, what was it you wanted? Beers. Anything else?

It took a while—about as long as it took for us to start doubting that the system actually worked—but a jug of Coopers and three glasses arrived eventually. Cheers.

Having mastered the system, and anticipating delays, we order more beers. And chips.

The Stropolina and Lagilou arrived. Cheers. Lemonade. More beers. Cheers.

Eventually we peeled ourselves off our stools and headed onto a twilit Kings Street. The crowds were a bit of a freak out for us country folk. Narrow pavements. Single-file negotiations. Strop and I rubber-necking, playing spot the difference.

“Didn’t this used to be…” “Yeah, but look, that place is still there.” “Is it open?” “Hard to tell…”

Definitely no frozen yoghurt places. Still a few burger joints. Plenty of Thai. Perhaps a bit more Turkish.

And Thai La Ong was still there, right where we left it.

Not as busy as in pre-covid days. Almost empty, in fact. It was still early because we were dining with a two-year old, but I imagine that the absence of international students has devastated the cheaper end of King Street’s restaurant business.

But looking on the bright side, they had plenty of room for our little party and Lagilou wasn’t going to disturb any intimate romantic dinners. After a while we realised that there was a steady stream of helmeted take-away riders coming and going. That’s where the customers were—at home, watching Netflix.

Complimentary prawn crackers arrived and were devoured. Then we had to remember the rules of ordering.

Number 37. Ginger Stir Fry. With chicken.

Mussaman curry. Spicy rice with pork belly. Pad See Ew. Duck salad. Boiled rice.

Yum.

Strop and the Chippy distracted Lagilou with drawings of motorbikes until the food arrived.

Yummo.

Duck salad—know what I mean? Ma-ate, you don’t get that in Bermi. Pad See Ew, yum. Pork belly, yes please.

The only real disappointment was the Mussaman which was tough and overly sweet.

We wended our weary way back along King Street in the wake of Lagilou, who wielded a rainbow flavoured icecream cone as if it was a wand, bestowing blessings on all, and asking “What’s your name?” A fitting end to another memorable episode of the quest.

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.

654 Pizza Picasso – The end of the beginning

August 9, 2015 by Andrew Christie 5 Comments

It was a big night, the last restaurant on King Street, and I caught the wrong train. It would have been the right train if I’d left work when I had planned to, but we were farewelling three people from my office that night so the normal Friday drinks routine was a bit stretched. Anyway, I had intended to get the train to Newtown and walk down to St Peters for a bit of a reminisce, it seemed more apt than just crossing the road from St Peters station. More appropriate to the marking the end of the beginning. The Quest will continue, possibly as the reQuest or the beQuest, but this is the end of the original and best Quest.

Unfortunately though, I didn’t adjust my travel plans in response to my delayed departure, so instead of an indulgent stroll, I was rushing down the hill muttering about how St Peters seemed to be getting further and further away. Strop had already texted me to let me know that she was nearly at the pub for a pre-dinner drink. I got to the St Peters end not too late, striding past Pizza Picasso, and noting the table set up outside with a reserved sign on it, thinking that it must be for us because nobody else would be sitting outside a pizza joint in St Peters in the middle of winter. When I got to the traffic lights at the end of King St, I could see Strop chatting away to Ashleigh and Ned in the front bar of the Sydney Park Hotel.

Our party for the night was complete when Paul arrived a few minutes later. He had also been to a function, and like me was already a couple of drinks into Friday night. Paul, Ash and Nedsky, (Blossoming Lotus and Yenikoy) are neighbours and good friends, who live a short dog walk from us. We don’t see them as much as we used to now that our dogs are less agile, so it is good to have a chance to catch up on the Quest again. We didn’t hang around long at the Sydney Park. It is a hardline old-fashioned pub, tiles, taps, and fluoro lights. Although Strop would like to point out that it does serve wine by the glass at $4.50 – so presumably she’ll be going back. It is not exactly a hipster haven though. While a bottle of wine was being purchased, Ned took a sudden interest in the pool table, and Ash and I decided that someone needed to invent hipster darts for all the trendy pubs to go with the craft beer, and to give the bearded ones a new interest as they slide into middle age.

Across the road we were greeted by a very enthusiastic and happy host who directed us to the table I had seen earlier. Pizza Picasso is located in a new building with apartments upstairs and shops at street level. We were the only eat-in customers and were seated outside but off the street, in a kind of forecourt that leads to the entrance to the apartments. There is a bus stop just out the front so we always seemed to have an audience of people waiting for a 422 or a 370, as well as residents coming and going from their apartments.

We needed food quickly as Ned had to keep his strength up to play footy the next day and express his support for Adam Goodes by tattooing himself up with number 37. I didn’t really pay much attention to the ordering. I’m not really sure why, because I certainly wasn’t taking any notes. In the end we got three pizzas between us, as well as garlic bread. There was some issue about the pizza of the month that I never really understood. It seemed to be linked to a pizza ominously called the Thunder and Lightening, which came with jalapenos and pepperoni. As we were having a vegetarian outing, we got them to hold the pepperoni and replace it with mushrooms. The other pizzas were a vego version of a greek pizza with crumbled fetta and olives, and a kid-friendly margherita.

Paul works in television so the conversation dipped in and out of popular culture as viewed from the living room. There was some discussion about why Western Australia delivers so many bio-pic subjects. So much money, so few people possibly? I claim some expertise in this matter as the only one at the table who has never been across the Nullabor. We then moved on to the evolution of television comedy, holding out for a while against the gravitational pull of the conversational black hole that is Sydney real estate prices. Eventually though we gave in and started being astonished all over again, at the latest auction results. At the last minute though. we were able avoid complete disaster by veering away into the somewhat more interesting eddy of house repairs. Leaky roofs, leaky taps, and when to get a man in.

During this lull the garlic bread and the first bottle of wine disappeared. Paul was quick to react heading back to the bottle shop for reinforcements. Meanwhile, the pizzas started arriving. Ned had quite a time doing tricks with the the melted cheese, while the rest of us were being pleasantly surprised by the quality of the toppings – they were really good. The crusts were thin and light, and everyone else seemed to like them, but I found them a bit biscuity for my taste. The vego Greek was terrific, and the Thunder and Lightening was gratifyingly spicy even without the pepperoni. I didn’t get a chance to try the Margherita as Ned was keeping it tied up in cheesy knots.

We were pretty astonished when a Dominos pizza guy turned up with a delivery for someone in the building. Why? When you’ve got somewhere like Picasso downstairs, why would you choose Dominos. Sometimes I despair. Ned took it personally and started booing the guy.

We were looking forward to dessert. Ned had his heart set on gelato but they had run out, so Ash took him off on a sub-quest. They ended up across the road at Alberto’s. While Ned was having his gelato cravings quenched, Strop, Paul and I were enjoying a couple of saucy puddings. There was some disagreement about which was the better. Paul thought the chocolate was definitely best, but he was wrong. The banana was the definite winner.

It was a great night out, a really relaxed and enjoyable way to end the Quest. As we made our way back up the hill, through the Friday night crowds, Paul was busily reminding us what a great place we live in. Full of variety, full of life. He wasn’t wrong about that, but he was wrong about the pudding.

644 South End Cafe – nearly there!

July 26, 2015 by Andrew Christie Leave a Comment

It’s our last breakfast on the quest, and a chance to catch up with old mates. As we’ve got closer to the end of King Street we’ve had a flurry of activity with lots of people wanting to fill up the dwindling supply of Quest berths. The previous night we had an enthusiastic catch up session with John, Pauline, Jill and Roy. We didn’t have any room for them left on the Quest, so we met up in the Rocks instead, at the Lord Nelson, and had an extremely jovial time. And a bit of a hangover the next day, which made me regret the ease with which I had agreed to that third bottle of extremely drinkable New Zealand Sav Blank. Pass the paracetamol please.

By the time I got to South End Cafe I had perked up a bit but was still feeling that weird lack of temperature control that seems to come with hangovers – or is that just me? Anyway, I was a bit early which gave me a chance to have an excellent flat white to settle things down a bit.

South End is a popular cafe, full of what looked like locals having breakfast or getting takeaways. The front room is quite large with windows on two sides and there is a second room out the back for overflows if needed.

Pete and Mindy (last seen at Lentil As Anything) were our Quest guests for this outing, stopping in for breakfast on their way to the airport to pick up their daughter who has been doing work experience in Fiji (in my day you only got to go to AWA in North Ryde). They arrived just before Strop, who had come straight from a community rain-garden planting session. In between explaining just what a rain-garden is, we managed to order a round of juices. Pete wanted something with ginger, Strop and Mindy had beetroot, apple and something with ginger, and I had orange juice.

Alarmingly the juices came in jars (hipster alert) but were very pretty and colourful as well as being highly tasty (so I am going to hold off slipping into full anti-jar-rant mode, but as Uncle Carl says, no one ever thinks about the lids, the real victims in this situation).

Food ordering was quite an extended process. Pete has some quite particular dietary requirements. He is allergic to red meat and to dairy. This is not some kind of airy-fairy gluten-free wannabe shit, this is full on anaphylactic carry-an-epi-pen-or-you’ll-die-if-some-arsewit-cooks-the-mushrooms-with-the-sausages territory. So it was great to see the waitress taking it very seriously and checking how things were cooked when she wasn’t sure. She also worked out the cheapest way to order the breakfast that Pete wanted. This turned out to be the Vegie breakfast with a couple of substitutions, to replace the haloumi and the mushrooms. All the service was very good, but this aspect was a standout. And Pete survived the meal, so you can’t say fairer than that really.

Mindy went for a bacon and egg roll, Strop ordered the pea and haloumi pancake, and I had the South End Brekkie (big breakfast equivalent).

The chat ranged far and wide, covering holiday destinations, Fijian markets, all the nasty diseases ticks can give you, the density of foxes in urban areas (8/km2 if you were wondering), and where the best trout are at Fryingpan Arm. Pete drew a napkin map for the sake of clarity. X marks the spots.

The food was good, although I was a bit disappointed that the olives with my brekkie were standard stuffed olives, but on the other hand I had sausages as well as plenty of bacon AND haloumi. One of Pete’s substitutions turned out to be very nice home-made baked beans. Strop commented that she couldn’t really find the haloumi in her pancakes (she could have had some of mine), but they looked great – very green – and the peas with caramelized onions were delicioius. Nothing was left over so it definitely passed that test. We followed up with coffees and tea. I can’t comment on the tea, but the coffee was really good. I would go back again just for the coffee.

It is really heartening to find so many good cafes at the far end of King Street. It is certainly worth a walk in the morning sun to check them out.

609 The End of King Cafe – and a quick King St audit

July 25, 2015 by Andrew Christie 6 Comments

It was a Saturday morning, cold but sunny with no wind thankfully. We set off on a spontaneous adventure brought to you by a cancelled tree-planting session on the Cooks River. The bad weather during the week gave everyone cold feet and led to the last minute cancellation of Strop’s planned outing. So I was allowed to take her out and entertain her on King Street.

With all this superfluous time on our hands we decided to undertake a Painting the Bridge audit. A sort of retrospective tour starting back at the beginning to see what has changed and what has stayed the same. We wanted to map the King Street churn, to see how much has survived, which places have gone bust or changed, and which are completely new.

We started back at the top of King Street and walked all the way to St Peters to our breakfast target, the aptly named The End of King cafe. We had a list and we were checking it twice. The map above is a snapshot summary of how things in the eatery world of King St have changed.

Black dots are places that have closed.
Pink dots are places that have changed their spots (sorry),
and green dots are brand new places.

Overall, while there has been a lot of churn, the picture is pretty positive. Most places have stayed red. Only two restaurants are currently closed, all the others have re-opened as some form of eatery. And there are more than twenty completely new places. Which is great. Some of them look pretty interesting too, and will require further investigation. Izote has lost its place at the head of the queue, with Three Queens cafe sliding into poll position on the corner. Thai la Ong2 has had a name change and is now Alice’s Thai, and Simply Noodles has been replaced by a new and interesting looking Thai place called Bangkok Bites. We’ll have to go and check out their number 37 some time. A few places had changed more than once in the time since we went past. There is a lot of turnover in the Newtown restaurant trade.

By the time we had walked all the way to the End of King we were in a very good mood and were pretty hungry. We decided to sit outside in the sunshine and soak up the other-end-of King Street-ness.

The breakfast menu looked very interesting, with lots of new and interesting combinations – and no Big Breakfast. This is a bit of a shock and also a relief, because it does tend to tie us down to the same-old, same-old, and can lead to nasty scenes when it isn’t clear who’s turn it is to take one for the team. No such fuss was required this time, we could both have free-form breakfasts.

We had a couple of coffees to start while we studied the menu in some depth and Strop did her soc-med checking in thing. The coffees were good, even though Strop wasn’t as convinced as I was. Her diminished taste buds demand a particularly strong brew, to fire the right messages into her brain and set off all the good feels. But for a normal person (me) the coffee was just the thing. In between having this argument we managed to make some choices about what to eat. I went for a special called Smashed Avocado, mainly because it has everything I fancy including a poached egg. Strop goes for the Smoke Stack because it includes corn fritters and she asks for a bit of the eggplant pickle that featured on one of the other specials, on the side as well. Such a rule breaker, she is. And some juices too. Happily Strops corn fritter is much better than the last time she ventured down the breakfast fritter route. It is light and crisp on the outside. The rest of the Smoke Stack is good too.

My Smashed Avocado is good too, although the signature avocado is not obvious at first. It is buried under a pile of haloumi, some excellent smokey bacon and a lovely poached egg. The egg yolk is the same colour as the wedge of orange on the side of the plate. Yum.

The juice was very good too. “No ice,” Strop commented approvingly to the waitress, who looked a bit surprised. “No, not in this cold weather,” she replied. Quite right too.

As we were sitting outside we didn’t really get a feel for the inside of the cafe until we went inside to pay up. It is crisp and clean, and surprisingly spacious inside. Check it out, you’ll enjoy it.

597 Darley Street Bistro at the Botany View Hotel – Food reviewing gets hijacked

July 18, 2015 by Andrew Christie 4 Comments

“Hey, Mr Andy,” Mark said, following me as I got off the train at St Peters, with my Opal card held tightly in my hot little hand, intent on getting to the scanners before the crowd. St Peters is a very popular station, lots of people get off the train there, but I think we were the only two on that train who were going to the Botany View.

It’s going to be a big night, lots of guest appearances. Strop who handles the bookings and general socialising, is expecting upwards of 15 Quest veterans, and possibly a few noobs, because the Botany View is really the last opportunity to get a reasonable sized crowd together. From here on, until St Peters it’s just a couple of cafes and a small pizza joint. So tonight is a bit of a celebration of the Quest, and of friendship. Or possibly acquaintanceship. Anyway we’ve got people coming from far afield just for the occasion. Uncle Carl will be dropping in from Brisvegas courtesy of Quaint-arse, and Jude is coming from Canberra courtesy of Murray’s and free WiFi. I am feeling a bit of trepidation at the thought of so many guests, because I am not very good at paying attention to what is going on and taking notes, particularly after the second round of drinks.

I am quite fond of the front bar at the Botany View (I like its chaotic pubiness and lack of pretence, but Mark is not so keen – probably due to his latent hipster tendencies), but I have never ventured upstairs to the dining room before. Tonight when we arrive Strop is already ensconced at the centre of a huge table, beer to hand, ready to greet all comers. Once drinks are obtained we start telling Mark about the play we saw the night before: The Dog/The Cat. Two plays really, different writers, but about relationships and pets. Excellent theatre. Strop has been soc-meding it up all day, “I even got re-tweeted by Brendan Cowell,” she exclaims.

Talk of pets, naturally leads on to Mark’s current and lamentable, dog-less status. And something about the RSPCA. Mark notes my attempts to take notes and wonders “What are you writing? No one’s said anything interesting yet.” If I waited for that I wouldn’t get anything down. He suggests that I mention the Botany View’s total lack of a view of anything other than a carpark. Seems like a bit of a cheap shot to me though

We are soon joined by Jude and her friend Debra, and Uncle Carl straight from the airport, on time. Naturally all the locals are running late. The new arrivals trigger off another round of drinks and a halt to my attempts to take notes. Even if I had tapped out more notes it probably wouldn’t have helped. My last entry is QAnya’s tales, and no, I have no idea either. Thank you Mr Autocorrect. Eventually the locals arrive, Wendy, Keren and James, Linda and Matilda, and last but not least Rebecca and Duncan. A few prospects have pulled out at the last minute so we are a total of thirteen. Obviously a lucky number. We set one of the tables adrift as there are plenty of other punters looking for somewhere to park their plates, and squeeze up nice and close. It’s talking time. Quite loud talking, including lots of “And how do you know them?” discussions. Despite the disparate nature of the group everyone gets on alarmingly well. There might have been some more drinks. Every time I turned around there seemed to be more wine bottles on the table.

At some point food was suggested. I started talking about a burger but Strop interrupted me. “It’s a named restaurant at a pub! No burgers are necessary.” Really? Yes, she’s right, we are at the Darley Street Bistro apparently, so the Burger Wars are cancelled. We haven’t had a named pub restaurant since Animal at the Newtown Hotel, which was quite a long time ago.

Despite having a name the arrangements are all very pub: you order at the kitchen and get buzzed when the food is ready. There are acres of blackboard menus covering the walls, so you have plenty to read as you queue up to order. Strop and I timed our run to hit the peak, when the queue stretched halfway up the stairs. But that was okay, we weren’t in a hurry, we had plenty of chatting and drinking to do. The menus start out with pub staples (burgers, snags, etc) and get more exotic (and expensive) as you approach the kitchen. I was sorely tempted by the beef shoulder wrapped in pancetta, but finally settled on the salmon with scallops. Everything sounded good and looked good too. One of the advantages of the queue is you get a good view of everyone else’s food as they squeeze past with their orders. Strop went for the Orecchiette (pasta – I had to ask), with Swiss Brown mushrooms. We were nearly the last of our table to order, so we were able to keep drinking while they were getting stuck in. Linda and Matilda must have been disappointed by my lack of note taking because they started doing it for me, and emailed it to Strop.

A bit presumptuous I think you’ll agree, but here you go, this is what they thought:

Chicken breast w rosemary and celeriac mash. Delicious. The beans were cooked to perfection, as was the chicken – moist with crispy skin. OMG

Pork belly w crispy crackling, yummy cabbage stuff and celeriac mash. Oh my. And very tidily presented. Neatest parcel of pork belly I’ve ever seen! I don’t even remember them collecting my plate.. Maybe I ate it 😐

Fish and chips. “It’s good but not amazing.”

Orecchiette “very tasty and creative. A bit too oily but great flavours and very yummy crumb”.

Barramundi quesadilla – tex mex with a twist. Lovely, wouldn’t say it’s mind blowing but I blame Matilda for suggesting that it might be. Now onto the duck pasta thingie….

Duck farfalle – looks better than it tastes – it looks like a bad hair day and it tastes like a bolognese. It’s more complex than first thought. Something crunchy (hazelnuts?) gives it a few extra points.

The sticky date pudding came with a drunken date. Do I need to say the rest? Very nice – salty caramel and just yum.

The last crumble in Newtown is hot and once my tongue has recovered I will tell you if it tastes any good. Quince crumble. Officially delicious according to James.

41 years of relationship mistakes and we’re still going says Cath who let Andy choose the sticky date pudding while she was left with some cheesecakie thing that was less than perfectly satisfying…

I think I am just going to leave that last bit alone – except to say that the quince crumble had been my first choice, but unfortunately Keren and James nabbed the last one. I would have been cross with them, except that James recommended that I try an excellent hipster stout. Which I did, a couple of times, just to be sure. This may explain to the next day’s paracetamol consumption.

On the food front I will add that the salmon was probably worthy of a double yum and that Mark wouldn’t shut up about how good the beef shoulder was.

All in all it was a wonderful evening which only ended when the staff requested that the last of us vacate the dining room. Duncan and Rebecca stumbled on to a conveniently timed bus, Carl tottered off down Union Street to visit a friend, while Strop, Mark and I wended our weary way home along King Street. Just as it should be.