Number 37

273 Bangkok Bites – fast and furious Thai for the movies

August 23, 2015 by Andrew Christie 5 Comments

Well, that didn’t take long.

This is our first go at repainting the bridge and it’s a great chance to check out the changing face of King Street. We haven’t been idle during our short hiatus. We made a pilgrimage back to where it all started at Number 6 where we had lovely quiet meal at Izote. We’ve also checked out Luyu &Yum Yum, which definitely deserves further investigation and a post of its own – if only for the chance to have another of their wonderful whisky sours. Excursions up and down the coast have revealed quite a few culinary highlights including Vietnamese at Newcastle with Camilla and Tim, burgers and retro rock at Catherine Hill Bay pub, home cooked chicken-in-milk courtesy of Peter and Zena down in the banjo picking hills of Cobargo, and a Quarterdeck breakfast on the inlet at Narooma with Lisa and Greg. So much food, so little time. Oh well, we can only eat what is put in front of us, I suppose.

You know you're on the south coast when... — You know you’re on the south coast when…

Bangkok Bites is a relative newcomer to the King Street midlands, replacing the unlamented Simply Noodles. Whereas its predecessor was for a long time, grey and empty, Bangkok Bites is all colour and movement with plenty of saliva inducing smells coming from the kitchen. The decor and the set up is reminiscent of the original Chat Thai, although there aren’t people queueing outside to get in. Not yet anyway. The new restaurant is located in a prime position, close to the cinema and promotes itself as bringing a taste of Bangkok street food to King Street. They certainly have the staff to provide quick turnarounds. Strop counted six in the kitchen and four on the floor. Vroom.

As we were shown to our seats, it was clear that they had squeezed as many tables as possible into the space available – I had to step into the very busy corridor to remove my jacket, holding up the progress of three waitresses. As one poured us glasses of water she told us that the establishment is cash only and BYO. Important to establish the ground rules up front. Luckily we had come prepared with folding stuff fresh from the ATM and a nice little bottle of pinot grigio. The other clientele were all couples of various denominations, presumably lots of date nights going on. It’s not really the place for big group tables, Thai Pothong has that scene pretty much sown up anyway. The colour scheme features lots of red and yellow, with occasional bursts of flames from the kitchen.

The menu is a comprehensive full-colour large-format booklet, full of graphic stylings that match the graffiti mural along the main wall of the restaurant. I went straight to number 37 which turned out to be a noodle dish, oddly called Buddy Bites Noodles. I didn’t read any further, I was just glad not to have to count my way through the menu. Strop fancied Kung Fu Fritters because she is a sucker for corn fritters as should be clear by now. We also continued our duck salad tradition.

The young couple at the table next to us were drinking coke in fake jam jars (handles? can we please end this madness), and having a deep and meaningful discussion about Game of Thrones, how the women have the best storylines (hmm possibly… except for the short guy), and how someone was “not long for this world,” however it was unclear just which world they were referring to. That’s how close the tables are.

Our food arrived quickly and the servings were large. Very large. Number 37 was first, piled high with noodles and dotted with slices of chicken and beef (oh, so that’s the buddy reference, I should have read the fine print). The flavours were clean and fresh but a bit sweet for me – maybe due to the chilli jam marinade used on the chicken. The duck salad was daunting too, basically a roast duck breast, sliced thickly and laid out on a bed of lettuce. On further investigations there were lots of salad bits and dressing hidden under the duck. And it tasted great, just a slightly deconstructed take on salad. Plenty of luscious duck, looking as if it was still waiting for a formal introduction to the onion and coriander. The fritters were tasty and crunchy, and came with big wedges of fried tofu. I ate them because they were crunchy but I still don’t see the point of tofu.

Bangkok Bites is a hectic and tasty experience. The staff are efficient and attentive despite occasionally sprinting from one end of the restaurant to the other. It’s a great place for a pre or post movie meal, and I’m sure it will give the Italian Bowl a run for its money.

We enjoyed the food, but were defeated by its sheer volume, and had to request a takeaway container to take the excess home. I’m looking forward to those leftovers.

Our journey home was slightly delayed when Strop was taken by the window display next door at Hum. She was taking photos of The Killing DVD box set because she wanted to copy the knitting pattern. Very Strop.

593 Ladda’s The Thai Takeaway – Number 37’s last hurrah plus afters at Izba

July 11, 2015 by Andrew Christie Leave a Comment

It’s Saturday night and it’s cold and Painting the Bridge is on the prowl for some fresh Thai. And to give Number 37 it’s last ever official Quest outing (until we start repainting the bridge). We’ve been walking past Ladda’s ever since getting the train to St Peters, rather than Newtown, became a more efficient way of questing. Ladda’s window display of fresh ingredients, waiting for their turn to be called up for some wok time, has always been appealing. I wonder why more restaurants don’t do this – it certainly advertises the freshness of the made-to-order menu.

Tonight it is just Strop and I, in an unscheduled outing. We were supposed to be away this weekend but had to cancel those plans as I have had the flu all week and didn’t feel up to driving for hours down to the south coast. Mind you, walking to Ladda’s takes nearly as long, and it’s is a cold night so it is a relief to eventually step into the bright fluorescent lwarmth, and to have our nostrils filled with foody aromas. The staff are mildly surprised, and a bit amused, by our desire to eat in rather than take our food away. Judging by the array of old newspapers spread out on the tables, the shopfront is mainly used as a waiting room for takeaway pickups rather than dining. There are lots of tasty-sounding specials pinned up around the walls on bright orange bits of A4 paper, and plenty of vegetarian options. The soft-shell crab immediately grabs Strop’s attention and I am drawn to something ducky – in this case the salad. We already have our hearts set on these before we remember that we have to include Number 37 in our calculations. Oh well, three mains, it’s a bit like having two mains and a couple of entrees, I suppose. Number 37 turns out to be lamb with green beans. For drinks, we each have a bottle of ginger beer.

Ladda’s has their kitchen up front, occupying half the shop, so you get a good view of the wok work and plenty of sizzles and smells. All the time we were there, the telephone orders kept coming in and the takeaway orders kept going out. It’s a popular place with the locals, and when our food arrives it is easy to see why. The servings and the flavours are generous, and there are plenty of fresh, crunchy vegetables. The lamb and beans are a bit of a hit, tasty, crisp and hot, possibly the best Number 37 ever. The roast duck salad is also very good, although given how cold a night it is we might have done better with a duck curry. The soft-shell crab is excellent, crunchy, with lots of vegetables and a sharp sweetness to it.

If Ladda’s was a bit closer to home I think I would get all our Thai takeaways from there – Thai La-Ong is our current takeaway of choice.

Despite having over ordered, we managed to save enough room for a nice bit of Russian cake at Izba. At last. I opt for their “most famous” honey cake and a cup of Russian Caravan tea (well obvs) but Strop has a bit of trouble with the whole ordering thing. Every cake she selects from the menu is out of stock. She finally settles on the Birds Milk cake, and a decaf coffee.

Luckily, the light, layered, creamy cakes come in bite size as well as brick size so we have no trouble squeezing them in. I really liked the honey cake but I think Strop’s Birds Milk was the winner, despite it’s bizarre name. Suitably fortified, we step outside and struggled home along King Street, through the blizzard of Saturday night incomers.

534 Thai Hot Pepper – Good company is the clear winner

April 25, 2015 by Andrew Christie 1 Comment

Thai time again. At last, it’s been so long that I had nearly forgotten about Number 37. The last Thai restaurant was Newtown Thai II Express, all the way back at the station.

Tonight we are joined by The Julies who are newcomers to the quest. So we will treat them gently. Mostly. When I arrived (last of course, stopped for a quick beer and to finish reading Bring Up the Bodies), the first thing I noticed about Thai Hot Pepper was the noise. The traffic is incredibly noisy when buses or trucks start up from the traffic lights just outside. It took me two goes to say hello to everyone because it was so loud. Every time I opened my mouth another bus went past. I wonder if the noise is amplified by the wedge-shaped building, jammed into the corner of King and Angel Streets. The restaurant has a long glass front to King St. which also helps in capturing every rumble and vibration, but it does make it easy to watch the police cars sirening their way up and down, busily keeping the peace.

With hellos finally said and arses settled on seats we got down to some serious nattering. It was hectic, the conversation became so frenzied that we kept having to send the waitress away because we still hadn’t managed to look at the menu. My gender disadvantage became obvious early on as the topics lurched outside my comfort zone and into the dangerous territory of the mechanics of breast surgery and child birth. I was on safer ground when the chat veered towards camper vans although there too, I have to admit, my knowledge is mostly theoretical.

When the waitress turned up for the third time we decided we had better take the menu seriously. The first thing was to find out what Number 37 was. Unsurprisingly, it fell within the Stir Fry section – Cashew Nuts in this case, with your choice of chicken pork or beef. We went chicken.

One of The Julies was keen on a mussoman curry as it is relatively mild and she has a physical reaction to chilli. Coughing in her case. My own physical reaction to chilli is hiccuping. I was looking forward to a duet, but nothing we ordered was hot enough to set us off. There are two types of mussoman available – the traditional one with beef and a new one on us: lamb shank mussoman. We had to try that.

The other one of The Julies liked the sound of the panang curry (we went pork for that one) and Strop and I are always suckers for a roasted duck salad. For starters we stuck with tradition: spring rolls, curry puffs, and fish cakes.

Now, I have to admit that in doing my due diligence research (a bit late as it turns out – didn’t take enough notes did I) I realise that we were so busy discussing women’s health issues that we missed the main feature of Thai Hot Pepper. Their BBQ. That’s their speciality apparently, served with Special Sauce. And I’m quite fond of a special sauce. We really are going to have to lift our game on the research front, and preferably before we inflict ourselves on the next restaurant.

Anyway, the entrees were quick to arrive and the curry puffs were the clear winners – somehow managing to be both fluffy and crisp at the same time. And tasty too. The spring rolls were fresh and crunchy but the fishcakes were disappointing. Sometime I’m going to have to remind myself just why it is we keep ordering them.

Somewhere in-between courses one of The Julies wanted to know if there was going to be a sequel to Left Luggage, and if so, why didn’t I hurry up. Okay, of course, yes, just give me a minute, I thought to myself, I’m just in the middle of rewriting it because I decided to change the main character, and that means changing the POV (point of view) in most of the scenes, and I also had the brilliant idea of changing the gender of one of the villains. So more rewriting. These things take time and involve quite a few panic attacks along the way. But don’t worry, it won’t be long. Probably only another seven drafts to go. Oh and I’m about 30,000 words short of a novel, so… you know, I’m sure it’ll be okay. Eventually.

The duck salad was my favourite of the mains. Succulent pieces of duck and a nicely balanced salad. The panang curry was good too – creamy and aromatic. The cashew nut and chicken stir fry was strangely sweet, and the mussoman with lamb shank was a bit disappointing too. The flavours of the curry were good but the lamb shank wasn’t nearly tender enough.

We had a great night out. The food wasn’t brilliant, but it was good enough, and there wasn’t much left behind. The waitress had to make two attempts to clear the dishes away. I was still picking.

The thing about the quest is that it is like any night out: the quality of the company is far more important than the quality of the venue. Thai Hot Pepper is a simple local Thai restaurant with good service and reasonable food.

294 Thai Pothong – Attempting to break the record for the most film analogies in the opening paragraphs

April 2, 2014 by Andrew Christie 6 Comments

I don’t want to alarm anyone but I think we may have slipped into an alternate universe. The first clue was that the bouncers working the portal to this new reality, were scrap metal versions of Arnie’s Predator and Sigourney’s Alien mate. The second clue was all the smiling staff who knew exactly what they were doing, then there was the vast field of table- clothed tables, and the balloons. And then there was the food…
It’s King Street Strop, but not as we’ve known it.

We’ve finally made it out of the doldrums. During the last few months, I have occasionally felt like Humphrey Bogart dragging the African Queen through King Street’s fetid swamp of mediocrity. There were even wild water buffalo crashing through the undergrowth this week! Entering Thai Pothong on Saturday night, it’s as if, having given up in despair, we’ve woken up to find ourselves miraculously afloat on a sunny lake. Being a born pessimist though, I’m still going to keep my eye out for a German gunboat on the horizon.
Thai Pothong is bigger than Ben Hur. Quadruple fronted, the tables set up for large parties stretch away into the distance out the back, and yet it always seems to be packed. And they have a gift shop too. It’s all a bit overwhelming for us simple folk.
Tonight is a bit of a celebration. We felt that Thai Pothong deserved the large table treatment, so we have invited a bunch of Painting the Bridge stalwarts (perhaps I will call them The Rivets) to join us in marking a bit over a year of questing, and also what is probably close enough to a half-way point in our journey. We’ve roped in some of the family, the Stropolina of course, and the Stropette and Pancetta up from Melbourne. Jay and Lorinda, have bought young Ned back to try out a new hat, there is Wendy, and Mark, our Thai food consultant. At the other end of our long table are Rebecca and Duncan, and John and Pauline. It is actually Pauline’s birthday, so she has been our excuse to have balloons, although she is a bit perplexed to find her balloons tied to a very prominent Number 69. “I’m not that old.” Of course you’re not dear, we reassure her. She is even more perplexed when two of her balloons are appropriated by Pancetta and Ned. The two junior members of the party are sitting opposite each other, balloons tied to wrists, and surrounded by wranglers. The ever smiling staff have arranged a high chair and special Hello Kitty plates for them.

Well now that everyone is here, what are we going to eat? This is a high class joint, so there are no numbers on the menu. While I am trying to remember how to count up to 37, Strop tries to consult our crew, seeking some kind of menu consensus, checking whether anyone has snuck in any new allergies or undercover vegan tendencies. Unfortunately everyone is too busy talking and having a jolly time to give any serious thought to the menu so we decide, what the hell, we’ll get a banquet. Plus number 37, which turns out to be Prawn Choo Chee. There is wine too.
I had been a bit worried that our cobbled together party, large parts of which have never laid eyes on each other before tonight, may have been a bit stilted. A bit awkward. But you can’t shut the buggers up. Our lot are busy contributing to all the noise coming from out the back in large-table land. We’ve got a 21st going off on one side of us, and another large birthday on the other side. This one doesn’t have any convenient placards announcing the age of the young woman who is the centre of attention, but the number is obviously significant enough to score her a very sparkly pair of earrings in a snappy little velvet box. Well done you.
Then the food starts coming. And it doesn’t stop for quite a while. And it is yummy.
There are little tart things that come in spoons, spring rolls, curry puffs and satays, to get our juices going, then we’re into the green curry, #37, a BBQ pork thing, a chicken and cashew whatsit, and some veggies that I somehow managed to avoid. It is all very tasty, but I think #37 may have been the winner. It is wonderfully coconut-ey and spicy, and brings on an immediate case of chilli-powered hiccups in me. Flavours. The food is full of them. All 14 of us are eating and talking. And drinking and talking. And some of us are still eating but others are being sensible. I’m still eating of course, which is why I don’t have any notes for this part of the evening.
At some point Ned and Pancetta swap sides, so they can see what the other side of the table looks like. Later they join forces to spend a bit of screen-time together.

Ned and Pancetta try to ignore Strop and Lorinda

Then there is a birthday dessert, with sparklers, and ice-cream, and fruit. We may have even sung happy birtthday, I can’t remember. At some point Mark and I got into a discussion about how Thai Pothong compared to our other favourite Thai restaurants. Thai Pothong is remarkable for the scale of the operation and the quality of the food, which is probably on a par with Thai La Ong and Atom Thai. We agreed that Thai La Ong was still our sentimental favourite, because going there is like going to Thailand, but Thai Pothong is the best place for a Big Night Out.
Our complimentary chocky mints came with a bunch of vouchers for the gift shop, so I think I will return some time, in the sober light of day and make a little purchase. Perhaps a wooden elephant, or a miniature Alien made out of sparkplugs, a mascot for the second half of the quest.

130 Atom Thai – Really strange name, really nice food

June 1, 2013 by Andrew Christie 1 Comment

Strop has been looking forward to this place for ages. “When we get to Atom, there are a whole lot of my work friends who want to come. It’s supposed to be really good.” Well obviously this kind of hype, not to mention the promise of a huge party of people I don’t know, freaked me out. As it turned out though the untimely demise of Jester Seeds threw out all the scheduling and brought Atom forward a week, so in the end only the four of us could make it: our good selves, and the delightful Bev from Liverpool (the original and the best, where the Beatles come from) and John from Telegraph Point (a place with one of the best names ever – it should have a song written about it – I’m thinking a fusion of T.Rex’s classic, Telegram Sam and Wichita Lineman – bound to be a hit).

Before attending the restaurant I manage to fit in a glass of my new favourite beer, Dogbolter, and stop off at the bottle shop where my eyes are grabbed by a label with a trout fly on it and I hand over the cash without further consideration. This turns out to be not-a-great-move on my part. Oh well. Trout flies, they work on trout and me apparently.

Atom is a little bit posh compared to most of the Thai places we’ve been to so far. While pouring your wine the waiters put their non-functional hand behind their backs, holding the bottle by the base, of course. They also place the (paper) napkin in your lap for you, just like the fancy places. There are lots of staff and they are very friendly and good at their jobs. Everything goes smoothly. As Bev and John are Atom aficionados – it is their favourite local Thai – Strop and I promise to relinquish all responsibility and leave the ordering to them – except for number 37.

Being a semi-posh place the menu is not numbered of course. Bev leaps at the chance to do the required counting, soon determining that the 37^th dish is Stir Fried Eggplant with Beef. There is a pattern emerging here: number 37 seems to spend a lot of time in the wok section of the menus. Bev asks if she should have taken into account the specials board in her counting. Strop and I look at her in wonder – aren’t the rules stupid and arbitrary enough already without slathering on another layer of complexity? “No that’s fine,” we say, “No need to count again.”

John loading up on Luv-a-duck before attempting the Barramundi Salad

To go with the eggplant and beef, Bev and John order Miang Goong (prawns and betel leaf) as an entrée, Luv-a-duck Panang Curry (I know, I said I’d let them decide but when I saw the name I had to insist) and their favourite Barramundi Salad.

The conversation wanders all over the place as we work though the dodgy trout fly wine and John’s far more sophisticated offering. I learn that VW Golf’s sumps have an aversion to cattle grids, for instance. Did you know that? And also that a little bit of epoxy applied by a trout farmer can save you a whole new German motor. I also learn that Liverpudlian families are very close. Very, very close. Bev and John took Bev’s extended family on their honeymoon with them. John is undoubtedly in line for some kind of honour come the next Australia Day list, for services to family harmony. While the rest of us are chatting away my dear wife is quietly falling in love with one of the waiters. She can’t taker her eyes off the one with the dimples and his hair pulled up into a bun. “Isn’t he sweet?” she asks no-one in particular. I personally can’t see the attraction but Strop is definitely smitten. She is still talking about the waiter with the dimples a week later.

The food is excellent with the possible exception of number 37 which pales in comparison with the other dishes. The Mian Goong are a perfect start. I could have just kept eating those little bite size taste bombs all night. The duck curry is smooth, mild, full of flavour and the unanimous choice for winner. Close runner up is the barramundi. It has been battered and fried then reassembled into a fishy shape and covered with a shredded apple, onion, mint and cashew nut salad. Double yum.

One of us isn't amused — One of us isn’t amused

I think we have a new candidate for the favourites list here. There are lots of other dishes on the menu that I would like to try but unfortunately that sort of indulgence will have to wait until we have eaten at every mediocre joint on the strip – for that is the nature of the quest.

Next we cross the road yet again to Rice Paper.

129 – Kai on King – Our first casualty leads to food that flees and the thrill of the hunt

May 23, 2013 by Andrew Christie 3 Comments

The first disappointment was Star Trek – a big, big mistake. I tried to defend it from Strop’s scathing assessments but came up with nothing – she even hated the continuity. I have totally blown any action film goodwill I may have been able to generate over the years, in the two and a half hours that travesty took to unfold. It’s going to be payback time from now on – lots of meaningful subtitles and issues-based capital C Cinema. Oh well, I’ll just get on with watching Game of Thrones on my own – no change there.

The second disappointment came in the form of our first quest casualty. We arrived on-site at 127 King Street only to find Jester Seeds a darkened husk. We had only been there the Friday before, when we had a very enjoyable end to our evening at Asakusa, getting merry with exotic cocktails. Now, only a brief week later, it has gone. Our first real-time example of the infamous King Street Churn. We cursed, we ummed, then we turned left and went next door to Kai on King. The quest’s first sushi train. Toot toot – insert link to train whistle mp3 file here.

Now we'll never know what that stupid name meant — Now we’ll never know what that stupid name meant

Sushi train – there is so much to like about the concept. Yum Cha meets industrial revolution? Yum Cha for robots? I don’t know why but I am inordinately fond of a dining experience that involves moving food. It adds a whole other layer of excitement and tension, and it often leads to the deposition of new layers of body fat as well. As the food comes towards you there is lots of anticipatory salivation as you try to work out what it is, then there is the moment of query as it reaches the apex of its trajectory relative to your orbit, “Sushi with green things and black sprinkles on the outside. Do we want that?” While you are trying to decide, it starts to move away from you and panic sets in. Quick get it, you think, before it goes, before someone else takes it. (Just wondering, has anyone ever been tempted to pick up someone else’s bag at an airport luggage carousel? Just to see what happens? No, me either.)

Following our poor choices last week at Asakusa, Strop informs me that she has made a new temporary rule: no more deep fried anything. I regretfully agree as I watch the soft-shell crab sushi trundle quietly past.

As we had anticipated, the Kai on King sushi train contains a lot of sushi, but there is also a smattering of sashimi and little signs advertising hot soupy and noodle-y foods as well. Wasabi, ginger and a very cute mayonnaise bottle go past, and there is a tense moment when Strop decants their contents into little bowls then manages to get the containers back into their original spaces on the conveyor belt as they go past on the return journey, by leaning precariously over the tracks. The ginger is the good not-pink kind, but the bulk wasabi turns out to be disappointingly mild and we resort to the little sachet stuff, which happily produces the correct level of nasal conflagration. Mayonnaise drizzling is very evident in the sushi (a trend I personally deplore), but we still manage to fill ourselves up without too much effort, leaving quite a stack of plates for the cashier person to count.

It's ok, I can do it — It’s ok, I can do it

There is nothing fancy here – it is an adequate, comfy local eatery. They even have a pile of magazines for you to read if you are so inclined or a bit lonely. I imagine it is reasonably popular with local students but I can’t imagine going out of our way to eat here again.

Next up is the highly anticipated Atom – lots of good reports have been word-of-mouthed to us – and the return of Number 37. Can’t wait.