salmon

“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.

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.

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

576 Union Hotel – More connections than Telstra