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576 Union Hotel – More connections than Telstra

June 6, 2015 by Andrew Christie Leave a Comment

Tuesday nights. There is something about them and the renewal of old connections. Last time it was Uncle Carl, this time it’s Lisa from Carwoola, and Greg from Kioloa (this is starting to sound like ABC talkback radio). In the dark distant past when the Stropette was still a poppet, and the Stropolina still far in the future, Strop and I rented an historic (run down) cottage on a farm outside Canberra. There were other cottages and other young couples and a few children, as well as chooks and lambs and tiger snakes. That was the year the drought broke, and Hawkey came to power. I remember watching the election results on the television in the living room of one of our new neighbours. When it became clear that labour had won someone shouted out, “Fantastic, I’m applying for an arts grant on Monday.” Aah, those were the days. Lisa and Andrew, her partner at the time, lived in the cottage near the shearing shed, we had the cottage in the front paddock, Jane and Jim were almost next door and Bill and Janette were in the next paddock. The owners of the property lived in the Big House and didn’t mix with the tenants much. We all drifted away eventually, moving into town or down the coast, lost touch, as you do. Heard sporadic news, as you do. And then some nerd became extremely rich by inventing Facebook. And people started finding each other again.

We haven’t seen Lisa since about 1984. She’s been living down the south coast, while we’ve moved to the smoke. Her current bloke, Greg, grew up at Kioloa, which is by way of being one of our favourite little coastal villages. He works for National Parks. Strop and I used to do consulting work for National Parks. Do you know so and so? Really? How is she/he? What are they up to? I worked with them on Biamanga. Or was it Gulaga? Did you know that thingy had moved to Byron? All that. So many connections. Specific ones as well as the general stage of life ones, involving things children do, grandchildren arrivals, and parental departures. We are now the generation that bonds over the shared experience of spreading our parents ashes upon the waters. “They’ve got these recycled cardboard containers now. You put the ashes in them and float them away. Eventually they sink and the cardboard dissolves.” I want one shaped like a viking long boat.

There was a lot to talk about, but we needed food. And drinks. The Union is one of those trendy pubs (I’m looking at you too, Forest Lodge) that has an awful lot of beer taps for beers you’ve never heard of. All with silly names that aren’t really that funny. Strop likes this sort of thing because she is Open To New Experiences, I don’t because I Can’t Stand The Tension, and all I really want is a nice sessional beer. They have a lot of whiskys too, all with names I’ve heard of, and all of which deserve my attention, but that will have wait for another time.

When the front bar was taken over by the Trivia hooligans, juiced up on the excitement of showing off how smart they are, like a bunch of five-year olds who’ve had too much food colouring, we toddled out the back to The Eatery. Unfortunately the heating system didn’t accompany us, so we had to wear our jackets as we squinted our aged eyes to read the big blackboard menu.

The Burger Wars were then reconvened. It has been a while – the last pub on the Quest was the Newtown Social Club, and I can’t remember a thing about that experience. Lisa and Greg decided that they would go the burger as well. However, when Lisa chose the the chickpea fritter burger I had my doubts about whether she was really entering into the spirit of the Burger Wars. I suppose her claim that the last time she had eaten a burger was in 1973, should have been a clue. Greg and I went the meat route. Beef burger with bacon for me, Chinese style BBQ pork for him. Strop turned her back on the Wars altogether and had the salmon. A very disappointing effort.

My burger came with more bacon than the bun could cope with, and the bits that were sticking out beyond their bready blanket were quite cold by the time my gnashers trimmed them off (just a quick tidying-up skirmish before the main confrontation). Generally, the burger was excellent but there were some structural issues with the bun. Greg found his pork burger “Very tasty.” And Lisa really liked the eggplant (I think there is a hipster gag there somewhere but I just can’t get hold of it). She really liked the chips too, “They’re up there with the ones those two Italian blokes make down on the flat there at Narooma.” I don’t think there can be any higher chip praise.

Did I mention that Strop ordered the salmon?

Afterwards we left Lisa and Greg with icecream cones clasped in their icy hands as they headed for the station, while we toddled down the hill towards home. Strop decided that she had met Greg before, in one of the many, many meetings with stakeholders, that working for a Government agency involves.

573 Foodarama – An early start and a long walk

May 24, 2015 by Andrew Christie Leave a Comment

It’s early and I’m nervous. Every cafe we’ve been past so far has been closed. This is Newtown, and no self respecting hipster gets out of bed until the rest of Sydney has played 18 holes of golf, or swum to Newcastle and back. 8am is just too early to expect a King Street cafe to be operating. The closest I’ve seen so far on the long walk to nearly-St-Peters is someone mopping a floor. It would be alright if it was just us, but we have Quest guests this morning. Admittedly one of them is the Stropolina, who probably doesn’t count, being family and all, but the other is Jess, and she’s a media professional these days, so she definitely counts. We don’t want her standing around on the icy pavements of King Street, stamping her feet and watching her own steamy breath while we wait for somewhere breakfast-worthy to open. This could be a disaster.

Strop is unfazed. It’ll be alright, she says.

Blind faith and optimism is all well and good when you know things are going… I was just about to start making a fuss when we hove into view of tell tale signs of a functioning cafe: tables, chairs and banners advertising a well known coffee brand.

Saved. Foodarama is an early opener. Everything is going to be alright.

Foodarama has been a long time favourite of Strop. Her go-to coffee spot when she finds herself unexpectedly marooned at this far end of King Street. Despite the fact that I find it hard to believe that she ever unexpectedly finds herself anywhere, I have to admit that Strop has finely-tuned coffee receptors. I have been to Foodarama once, a long, long time ago. It was kind of grungy and nice, with good coffee.

This morning, the Foodarama we find has had a bit of a makeover. It is spick and span and a little bit spartan looking, but at least it is open. Coffees are the first order of business. Campos is the brand and my flat white does everything I need it to, but Strop has higher standards than most of us and finds hers lacking in some indefinable way.

With our coffees warming us up, we chat. Quite a bit. So much so that every time the waitress makes a move towards our table, she is scared away by the intensity of our conversation. Eventually, when our wit and words have settled down to a steamy simmer, Strop calls the waitress over.

Foodarama’s breakfast menu is divided into a big breakfast section and a small breakfast section. Which seems a bit silly to me. Who goes out to have a small breakfast? Slim people maybe.

It is my turn to take on the big brekkie offering, and because I want bacon I shy away from the vegan option towards the Big Fry Up. Oh well, some one has to.

Strop chooses the Moroccan breakfast which promises to come with dukkah, and the Stropolina and Jess both order the breakfast burrito. And orange juice.

We almost forgot the orange juice. Which would have been a pity because it is really very nice, although the Stropolina says she misses the pulp… her mother’s daughter.

The food doesn’t take long and looks good on the plate. My Big Fry Up doesn’t leave much room on the plate for manoeuvring. It is piled high with toast, very nice tomatoes and mushrooms, the best bacon I’ve had in a long time, and some spicy baked beans. The only disappointment comes from the eggs which are a bit too solid for my preference. But still, I’m well happy. Jess and the Stropolina are pleased with their burritos at first, excitedly discovering the jalapenos, but in the end they found the experience a bit disappointing. “Not enough flavours. Six and a half,” is the Stropolina’s verdict. Harsh. Strop too was a bit disappointed by the lack of complex flavours in her Moroccan breakfast.

Mind you no one left anything behind on their plates. Except me, I decided I didn’t really need the second piece of toast. Strength of character, right there.

Of course as we set out on the long walk back, all the cafes were open.

549 The Gallaxy – not quite the cafe at the end of the Quest

May 17, 2015 by Andrew Christie 5 Comments

I’m sold. This place is great. Perfect eggs. Good coffee. The orange juice was freshly squeezed. A nice bright space with plenty of spare room on a sunny Saturday morning. Quiet. No canned music. What more could you want for your weekend breakfast? Service? Sure, just the right amount of care and attention dished up by friendly and efficient staff. Now if they could just spell their name right.

What else? Company. Our breakfast companion was Mark, a long standing PTB stalwart (Painting The Bridge is officially going all acronym now – it makes it look like everyone is saying the name so often that there would be a drain on national productivity if it wasn’t shortened).

We don’t see so much of Mark these days as he is currently dog-less and thus not a regular companion on the circuit around the park. So it was good to catch up. Good to talk about neighbourhood things like “Did you see what they’re doing to the bowling club?” and “What do you reckon your place is worth?” “That much? Really?” and “How’s your new house mate working out?” All that.

Mark drove us to The Gallaxy as the quest frontline has advanced so far that we almost need to take a packed lunch for the trip if we’re walking, and Mark had to rush off for a hairdressing appointment after breakfast. It was a perfect morning, sunshine, more parking spaces than we could reasonably use, and lots of smiling faces wandering about checking out the glory that is Newtown. There were a couple of people sitting outside when we arrived but plenty of room inside. We took a window table looking out onto the passing parade of pedestrians. There was a lot of traffic on the street and a lot of motorbikes. Presumably the sudden outbreak of sunshine had tempted a lot of two-wheelers out of their garages. Unfortunately, they all seemed to be Ducatis making slow but noisy progress through the King Street traffic jam. Oh well, at least they’ll be able to find a decent coffee.

We decided it must be Strop’s turn to take on the Big Breakfast, although she did side step the challenge slightly by going for the vegetarian option. I was half expecting her to order a side of bacon, but no, she played it straight. Mark and I went for the corn fritters. Having had my first choice gazzumped at our last breakfast outing, I decided that going with my gut instinct was more important to my gut than any concerns about doubling up.

The corn fritters were really good, coming with a kind of avocado and tomato salsa, and topped with bacon and a poached egg. Strop’s Big Vego Brekkie was full of tasty but unmeaty morsels, but she singled out the mushrooms for special note. They were perfectly cooked and had that buttery dry melty thing going on.

Our noshing and catching up was only interrupted by a phone call to Mark from his hairdresser wondering where the bloody hell he was. Oops. Got the time wrong didn’t he. You don’t want to do that too often with a Surry Hills hairdresser, you’ll get sacked.

Afterwards, now that he had nowhere special to be, Mark accompanied us to the button shop where Strop was on a mission to get some nice buttons for her new green winter coat. As Strop homed in on the heritage listed genuine vintage green buttons, Mark came over all helpful and fashion conscious, pulling out orange buttons, and yellow. “What about these? Or these? You want something that really pops. These red ones are nice.” It was fascinating, like watching a child skating out onto the thin ice of a lake, ignoring the cracks forming beneath them. As Strop’s smile got thinner, I realised it was time to distract Mark before he plunged into the icy waters. While Strop and the shopkeeper chatted about the historic origins of her chosen buttons, and how she should buy a few spares as they were irreplaceable, I gently pointed out to Mark that Strop rarely needs help choosing haberdashery. Basically, your button store, or indeed your sewing or knitting store, is a female domain, their equivalent of a hardware store, and really, we’re very rarely of any use in that environment.

529 Martini Cafe – Serious about bacon

April 19, 2015 by Andrew Christie 4 Comments

We’ve been walking past this place for a few weeks – but only at night when it is closed. And to tell the truth it doesn’t look like much when it is closed – it doesn’t look like all that much when it is open either. Even so, at 11am on a hotter than average April day (we’re getting used to hearing that phrase now aren’t we) all the tables on the street and inside are occupied. Luckily we are directed to out-the-back where there is plenty of space in a shady, leafy courtyard. Which is fine because we are here for a good talk and it is quieter away from the Saturday morning traffic on King Street.

We are joined this morning by the lovely Emma who has been allowed out on her own by Will and Charlie in a kind of ‘fair-dos’ arrangement following their recent unaccompanied appearance in these pixels. We are going to have a serious catch up chat although, apparently Emma has mis-interpreted Strop’s use of the word serious in this instance and is expecting some terrible news. But there is to be none of that, there has been far too much of it lately. The closest we get to that territory is a bit of consultation on strategies for marshalling teenage angst, and for responding to sympathetic inquiries, when delivered in quantity. It turns out that the answer to the first issue is eternal vigilance, and cake for the second. Sorted. Now for the food.

First up, drinks. A soy latte for Em, juices for Strop and I. Mine is a plain old OJ, which is freshly squeezed and comes with a bit of froth on top. Strop get’s creative and orders an apple, carrot and ginger, which arrives settled out into layers, a bit like a Celia Gullet painting. Em’s coffee comes in a double walled glass glass. Which the waiter helpfully, but a bit unnecessarily, points out keeps the coffee warm and your fingers cool.

The menu is quite extensive and we are so busy doing our not-particularly-serious-chat business that we don’t have time to get very far into it. I am the last to arrive at a decision, mainly because Emma and Strop have stolen my first two choices: Corn fritters, and Souths Eggs. I have to venture further down the page to Mexican Breakfast. Having decided on corn fritters early, it’s about the second item in the list of breakfasts, Emma has a little panic attack about bacon. Not so much the lack of it, but whether there will be enough. Her enquiries on the subject of bacon adequacy with the waitress, doesn’t fill her with confidence so she orders extra bacon. Making good use of this precedent I also order a bacon extra, because the Mexican doesn’t come with any. Strop and I order coffees as well now that our thirst has been quenched.

The staff at Martini are very helpful, although they all seem to have just wandered down from the nearest backpacker hostel. The girl who brings out our breakfast plates is so pleased to have found the correct table that she exclaims in an Irish accent, “That’s good. I’ve only been here two hours.” Strop immediately falls in love and starts thinking up excuses to ask the waitress what her name is, as she is convinced it will be something pretty and Celtic, with spelling that bears no resemblance to pronunciation.

My breakfast is excellent. There are beans that are sweet and fiery with tabasco, a tortilla wrapped around avocado, some cheese, two poached eggs, and the all important bacon. I think the other two breakfasts were pretty good too, judging by the fact that there was none left over. Even Emma’s bacon mountain disappeared, much to my disappointment. I thought I was in with a shot at some leftovers. I thought the coffee was good too, but Strop was less impressed. She’s a hard woman to please on that front though.

I really enjoyed breakfast at Martini. There is something of old Newtown about it. A bit grungy and chaotic, with no sign of hipsterish pretence. It is what it is, which is pretty good. Afterwards Em and Strop headed up the hill to All Buttons Great and Small for a bit of button based therapy. I left them to it and moseyed off to check out rumours of a new joint called Luyu & Yum Yum, which is apparently raising the dumpling bar on King Street.

477 Chill Café – The bacon jam revelation

January 18, 2015 by Andrew Christie 5 Comments

It’s nearly 11am and I am most definitely ready for some breakfast. The previously unnamed café now has a name. New awnings that arrived this week apparently, proclaim it to be Chill. And who are we to argue with that claim? Strop and I have been up early and dashed off for a swim at Wylie Baths in Coogee before dashing back to Newtown for a breakfast date with Jim and Matt. Pretty hectic for a Sunday. For the last few summers we’ve been trying to fit in a Sunday morning swim, but this is our first time swimming at Wylie Baths. We are usually found on the sands, looking into the distance at the far off cliff-straddling verandas and wondering what it’s like over there. Up until now that vague curiosity has never overcome our innate inertia so we have remained interested but ignorant. Well not anymore. Thanks to young newlyweds Tom and Chloe, who held their most excellent wedding on the Wylie veranda with the ocean and the rocks and the sky as a backdrop. It was a very, very nice wedding, and a welcome relief to arrive at such a beautiful venue at the end of a long day.

Strop and the Stropolina, together with Wendy and her sister Sue, had spent the morning doing the flowers (who knew that orchids would need so much wire to keep them all pert and paying attention?). In the afternoon there was a zig-zagging drive up and down the eastern suburbs, delivering them to everyone in need of floral adornment. By the time we got to the baths and had deployed little and big floral arrangements to most of the horizontal surfaces we were ready for a drink. Unfortunately we had to wait for the ceremony. Typical. So that’s why we went straight back the next morning, we knew how beautiful the baths were, but what were their swimming attributes like? Pretty good as it turns out, apart from the risk of urchin spines in the foot. The coffee is pretty good too. So by the time we got to Chill Café we were pretty hungry. Strop and I arrived first, and had a long and mostly amicable discussion about who should be the one to order the big breakfast. In the end I decided that if I didn’t have it I would spend the rest of the day full of regret and possibly resentment, (yes, I am that person) thinking that I had missed out on something. The menu has plenty of intriguing options. Pancakes with Bacon Jam? Yes, that is correct bacon jam, I can hear Homer Simpson now. Eggs Benedict with poached duck eggs? I’ve had duck eggs before but I don’t think I’ve ever had them poached. I looked at my watch, “Come on Matt and Jim, I want to order.” There has been a café here for a number of years but it came under new ownership last year, according to a very informative French-accented waiter who gave up the information only when Strop put the heat on him. It took a moment to establish that when she asked “How long have you been here?”, she wasn’t checking if he had over-stayed his visa, but was referring to the business. When Jim and Matt arrived we went straight into ordering mode. Matt and I went for the big breakfast (it was nearly lunchtime after all), Strop went for the bacon jam (we had to know) and the accompanying pancakes and eggs. She also went for a fruity melon salad, using the flimsy excuse that she was having breakfast and lunch. Jim went for simple poached eggs on toast, due to a funny tummy that was raising questions no one really wanted to know the answer to. Our orange juices came in trendy new I’m-over-it-already-sub-ironic-hipster-jam-jars-with-handles. I suppose the catering supply companies have to move their current stock of faux-retro drinkware, but I certainly hope they aren’t buying any more. The juice didn’t seem to be freshly squeezed but it did come with lots of ice and was definitely chilled.

Strop and Jim considering the merits of a bacon and egg gozleme

There ensued a long and winding conversation that included a discussion on the popularity of egg and bacon rolls, and in particular those at Orange Grove markets. I’m happy to call these the best e&b rolls in Sydney, and possibly the universe, especially with a sprinkling of Tabasco and a squirt of bbq sauce. Apparently the queues are getting so long now that the gozleme and Japanese pancake stalls have included bacon and egg options in their menus to try and cash in on those not prepared to wait half an hour. When our breakfasts arrived Strop had to negotiate with a neighbouring party to lease an under-used part of their table to put her pancakes on, while she ate her fruit salad. Matt’s and my big breakfasts lived up to their names. The plates were enormous, nearly as wide as the table. Luckily, that meant there was plenty of room to array and arrange our food so that we could try out all the possible combinations. Egg + toast = the obvious starting point – lovely yellow yokes soaking into light vienna toast, cut to a reasonable thickness (no need for a steak knife to cut your toast here). Bacon + tomato + mushroom = excellent. Hashbrown + egg + bacon = yes! Egg + bacon + tomato = mmm… Wait a minute, what about these sausages, hiding behind the bacon? Well yes, they go very nicely with everything too.

You really can't tell how much we have just eaten can you? — You really can’t tell how much we have just eaten can you?

In a worryingly short time my plate was empty. Strop’s bacon jam turned out to be just that, jam that was oniony, maple-syrupy and bacony. It came in a little pot and there was plenty for us all to have a try. She was a bit disappointed in the pancakes, which were thicker than she likes (very much a crepe girl, our Strop). All in all Chill is an excellent breakfast option and the coffee is pretty good too. Next week we cross the road and back-track a bit (due to the odd and even street numbers getting out of sync in this part of King Street) to Yenikoy to continue our Turkish interlude.

352 – Corelli’s – When big breakfast becomes big lunch

June 22, 2014 by Andrew Christie Leave a Comment

Corelli’s is a bit of an institution. It seems to have been there forever, on its corner surrounded by the Newtown school and the Greek church. I always imagine it as a place frequented by hardcore Newtownians. The people who only ever creep out into the daylight after midday, all skinny jeans, stringy hair, and bloodshot eyes, desperate for a fix of eggs and coffee before they can even start to think about what plans they need to make for the next night’s debauchery.

That’s certainly what I was expecting when Strop and I rocked up, ready for a lunchtime breakfast. But my fantasies melted away when the long-haired dude at the next table, looking very rock’n’roll, with a fist full of rings that Keith Richards would have been proud of, chatted to his mate about the price of air-conditioning units, rather than the price of drugs. And at the table on the other side of us, the conversation was all about divorce. Oh dear. In a week that saw Newtown reduced to a prop for a Coldplay music video, I suppose it is clear that the place is changing, but I had held out hope that Corelli’s would be a bastion of the old guard.

We sat outside, just off King Street, beside the entrance to the school, underneath umbrellas. I thought we were going to be cold but as soon as we sat down, the sun came out and we started taking off layers of clothing and being grateful for the shade. Aah, midwinters day in Sydney – glad to see there is an upside to climate change – personally I’m quite looking forward to the arrival of Rockhampton’s climate. I wonder if we can get them to hold onto their cane toads though.

We ordered coffees first. They arrived very hot (too hot to hold in a latte glass, which is why god invented cups with handles), and my flat white was doing a remarkable impersonation of a cappuccino.

The menu is pretty much what you’d expect. There were no great surprises or innovations, so Strop set about surprising everyone by ordering the Vego Works Brekkie with bacon instead of vegetarian sausages (shudder). This caused the waiter some consternation but proved to be a master-stroke, because with this conceptual leap, she ended up with everything a regular Works Brekkie had, plus corn fritters and yummy relish. I was frankly jealous as I surveyed my plain-jane regular Works. My orange juice was fine but Strop’s carrot, pineapple and ginger seemed short on pineapple and long on ginger, but then it is mid-winter and we aren’t Rockhampton quite yet.

The poached eggs were excellent with the orange-iest yolks I have seen in quite a while. The coffee was good but not great. The bacon could have been crispier, but that’s just how I like it. All in all it was a good breakfast but not a particularly memorable one. Mind you that could be down to Strop and I only having each other for company.