pick me up at the lounge

i was feeling a bit down so daniel my good samaritan friend & usual suspect at large played knight in shining armour & took me out drinking. philanthropy comes easily to him.


as we both know the answer to your problems can be found at the bottom of the bottle. preferably in one of your favoured hang spots, in this case unpretentious boho cocktail bar meets underground restaurant in one. 


this is cafe lounge. dark, kitsch, safe, funky, red. i've been coming here for years. it's still just as good [although it was sexier before they put the outdoor roof on]. damn those natural elements.


and yes, i did feel a lot better after.


cafe lounge
277 goulburn st
surry hills
[02] 9356 8888

urban warriors underfoot

dandelion -- taraxacum officinale F. asteraceae

not only do dandelions give us faeries to make a wish on with their magnificent seed pods & a light breath of fresh air [usually your own] as they float into the blue ether but they're an incredible resilient herb rich in vitamins A to C with some E thrown in for extra measure, not to mention plentiful calcium & iron [toss the leaves into a salad or dice them into an omelette as you would spinach]. 


fat metabolising dandelions also relieve bloating, aid in the expelation of urine, detox liver, treat skin conditions including eczema, relieve breast tenderness in women and are brilliant for a myriad of complaints. cup of tea or room anyone?  


just gather the leaves... use fresh or dried. or the root is also used. preferably harvested away from major streets where they've been exposed to lead. use the juice to help heal wounds and fight nasty bacteria. it is rumoured to also eradicate warts. like all naturalised plants they also tell us a lot about the earth they set seed in. being a daisy they do love the sun but also cope well in the shade.


this one is on my street. as we hurriedly walked into erskineville for saturday morning breakfast for stevie's birthday the morning after the great cornercabana cocktail party clean-up, i couldn't help but stop and wonder at it's beauty under mass protest.


please think twice about pulling one up next time you see it. weeds are merely plants which grow where some humans have determined they shouldn't. they're brave little urban warriors nestling in hostile concrete gaps to enrich our lives with some oxygenising green. in fact dandelions actually exude another type of gas as well as converting carbon dioxide into useable air. they emit ethylene which can aid the early ripening of surrounding crops.


but the best part is the flowers can be made into wine. which brings us back to faeries... 


*skips off into morning sunshine to breakfast*

finger licking good glass prints

otto ristorante is supposed to be one those places to see and/or be seen. thankfully i've already sponged off my barely visible chocolate stains which so rudely ambushed my senses on the cab ride here & temporarily abated my stomach pains with the promise of delicious food/wine & unparalleled company.

i'm not sure that's so relevant in the twilight of its john laws hedonistic days as i carefully manoeuvre myself between tables after the brisk catwalk up the pier to area 8 amongst the fashion week heavy with jimmy choos. luckily i'm wearing rainboots so my stride is more balanced than most. if not a little... less light. 

upon joining my lunchdate with caprioska at the ready, we peruse the wannabe but much portlier karl lagerfields nestled amongst bored bankers & PR moles on the finger wharf. and get down to the serious business of ordering food.

the sensible thing is to start with oysters. sydney rock, some naturale, some gently marinated with 10 year old balsamic & eschalots... perfect.

then he has the carpaccio di manzo. which looks amazing if you like sheer sliced calf, truffle oil, capers, parmesan & baby rocket. me? i'm all about the zucchini flowers a la fiori di zucchina al baccala. this is the third time i've had zuccini flowers in two weeks. one of my preferred seasons of the year. 

this dish is great & the panzella salad divine but i actually prefer my own. it's nice to be able to cook. yet equally nice not to buy groceries & have to clean. zucchini flowers need to be so light they can almost float like tempura feathers on a ricotta blown breeze. still the presentation does kick certain ass.

time ticks by. we eat more. he has the zucchini & i do another entree, pasta this time. which i managed to psych myself out about because the faux bolgonaise sauce with the strozzapreti artisan pasta is just too convincing & my brain can't reconcile calamari mince just is not technically meat. vegetarian phoney.

instead the patate arrosto [chat potatoes in olive oil with rosemary & thyme] became my friends but they were almost cold! had i taken photos too long with my trusty sidekick phone? i content myself to admiring the view of the low bright sun through my grubby finger-printed water glass. my very own. make mental note to use assigned cutlery. chat potatoes are not chips.

and move onto some bad ass dolci in this case the slezione di formaggi which is an incredible cheese plate. the term orgasm comes to mind. hence the smile on my face. noone else seemed to notice. time for tea.

...and a walk back through the gardens trailing the setting sun behind the city to chase trains & return to my hottie [hot water bottle for the uninitiated]. PMT girl kills noone today.


otto ristorante
cowper wharf road
woollomooloo
[02] 9368 7488

to market, to market

no fat pigs except for me although i did espy at the growers markets an organic meat stall which involved some dragging of feet by my dear carnivorous companion. the markets are low-key magic; there is something for foodies of all shapes & sizes.

sheltered beneath one of the original railway sheds - the skeleton shell offers protection from the elements & a leisurely hum. this contrasts significantly with my standard frequented markets in chinatown, which is pure hedonistic death of feet by ubiquitous trolley flattening bustle. eveleigh is so, dear is say it, civilised.

the growers are all personable & happy to leisurely discuss their farms & growing techniques around customers. the fruit of their labours bear testament to the love & pride they take in their craft. it's a very pleasant wander.

for 20 dollars i left "block 11" stand with a large bag of corn cobs, mammothian fennel which smelt like freshly hewn anise, broccoli, tamarillos, basil, yellow grape tomatoes and more... all organic packed with flavour, colour & much appreciated idiosyncrasy.

the proud bearers of the royal easter champion trophy for their alto extra virgin olive oil pose proudly after we discuss finer points of permaculture strategies for the pending mountain olive crop using the hardies mammoth strain. relative newcomers to the olive growing block, they can't keep the smiles off their faces. after winning two handfuls of medals in your market debut, why would you?

much liberal dousing is done in the aid of testing the award winning elixer of gold. mmm, zero defects, zero resistance to seconds, thirds, fourths. they promptly hide the bread as maddened drooling ensues.

perfection comes at a price but at 30 AUD for 750 mls, it's well worth it. i spend my alcohol money for the week & happily suck it up... and head back over to the potato man.

i am edith massey & those potatoes may as well be eggs. eggs, eggs, EGGS! i love the egg man slash potato man from robertson armed with fifteen different varieties.

a big brown paper bag of kipflers are acquired for 5 bucks & he throws in some purple congos to broaden my horizons. sadly, there's no phone number lying beneath the eyes. only eggs. which is fine.

i use these waxy purple skin honeys in the chargrilled vegetable salad later on with the rest of the hoard & prepare to sleep sated, before preparing to face the week on cabbage soup "dreaming of so many little eggies, and i'm still starving, and i'm going to eat them all before i go to sleepie".

eveleigh markets
243 wilson st
darlington, NSW
[next to carriageworks]

a gold star for traffic congestion

recently whilst returning to sydney from a spell away in my secret mountain escape, we were unexpectedly marooned in goulburn for several hours after coming upon a severely blocked freeway. traffic was obviously not budging so with the benefits of my tonka toy 4WD unconventional, err, circumvention of the gridlock enabled an easyish return into ram town.

for those that don't know some of the great delights of goulburn, the rural inland dryland mecca of NSW, it hosts an oversized sheep as some kind of bizarre totem to agricultural prowess. by this token there should really be one in the major port ie. lyttleton, of new zealand standing proud like the grand lady of liberty in new york to welcome arrivals. anyway, i digress.

many hours were tediously killed in this rural anti-hub, an australian counterpart for douglas coupland's shampoo planet, an exposition of mindless mid west misanthropia. not just for gen X.

goulburn is a parched place crippled during drought time by extreme water restrictions. disenchanted youths rev up and down the main drag in hot rods & specced up utes in a dead-end town overshadowed by a maximum security prison, the national police college, a ghost abattoir and a shoe factory with operations long since migrated offshore.

on the back steets in the parks framed by brown grass, right wing family first conventions crackle alive with sausage sizzles on a sunday afternoon as aussie flags fly asunder even on an overcast day.

on auburn street the renovated mall goes off. after loading up on big macs & zesty salads, bottle-bronzed, powder-puffed girls with ironed hair waddle into supre basics. on australia day wknd the store boasted a full window display of a vast range of ozzie ozzie ozzie, & southern cross T shirts & singlets. there's nothing more australian.

after catching up on the various overheard goss in local bars which increasingly fill up with wayward travelers deigning to wait out the pile-up with rumours of overturned trucks on the freeway & no end in sight, we succumb to an extended stay & look for dinner. there's only so many hours one can spend in a pub when there's still another two which could become five or more to go.

enter the golden star. a very brave move by both the proprieters and my fellow shaolin warrior diner. down the road is the remnants of another chinese restaurant which bears the apparent scars of fire-bombing. on arrival this diamond in the rough was a morgue but the service was warm without being suspiciously desperate.

funnily enough by the time we left it was fast filling up with like-minded frustrated nomads, sharing tales between tables in hushed whispers of banked up traffic woes. we just shut up, soaked up the ambience with our fellow pioneers, enjoy the kitsch imagery, baby pink folded napkins, vegetarian friendly menu [featuring a sad but woefully necessary "australian section" starring T bone steak & chips] and the food, which was actually pretty good!

mostly we felt thankful that we weren't stuck out on the motorway immobile without the basics of food water to help alleviate the boredom of extreme traffic congestion which often precedes road rage.

i am reminded of all this because this week NSW roads minister says "fur will fly" after a major traffic delay on the F3. motorists were stuck for up to twelve hours after a fuel tanker overturned and blocked the flow and contingency plans failed with a capital F.

thousands of people stranded for hours in their cars, isolated without news, water or food. it's scary how fast everything can break down and how unlikely heroes are made, jobs are lost, epic tales are told.

once more yesterday i sat in an environment where i was privy secondhand to people relating their experiences to strangers placed in a common bond which broke the unspoken barrier of public non-communication.

and it made me think of the unlikely little shining star which fell off the flag in the town of the golden fleece that day & saved us against the flow.

golden star

chinese restaurant

151 auburn St
goulburn NSW 2580
(02) 4821 0388

fush n chup heaven

being a "kiwi" by birth, fish and chips are my soul food. for instant comfort zone all i need is a hot newsprint package with a hole torn in the side whilst my sticky little greased up fat fingers fight the heat & pungent fumes to oil slick up my greedy mouth and lips.... aaah, heaven. just add tomato sauce and stir.

increasingly it's becoming difficult to actually capture the perfect mix. and as an afficionado of such matters, my experienced taste buds, finicky pseudo vegetarian oil cooking requirements [yes, some people still cook in lard, i've even come across whale fat before] and eye usually baulk at what is on offer in sydney. however there are a few rebel chippies which buck this trend, most notably the original fish and chip co based on glenayr ave on the lazy back streets beyond the shiny hub of the beach itself.

they deliver to puritanical pilgrims like myself fish and chip perfection. it's not until i finish licking the last snail trail of delightfully salted grease from my fingers, like a neanderthal desperately sucking marrow from a bone that i remember something grossly inconvenient. this is deeply considered whilst sculling something artificial and fizzy in a can. the whole reason i'm on a month long sabbatical from alcohol in some unlikely kudos wager [at this time of year] with friend and fellow punk monk ky is that i seem to have mysteriously lost my waistline.

"world famous in bondi" <-- to find the original fish and chip co just follow the sexy skanky sound trail of bob marley wailing out onto the streets from the dim eames lamp-lit interior which cast shadows onto retro aqua blue wallpaper which blanket the red formica tables.

it seems a shame to leave. if only i could stay here for every meal. but then the image of gilbert grape's mother come to mind...

original fish and chip co

163 glenayr ave

bondi beach

delicious deco delight

rockpool bar & grill... 1930's style shouldn't be compromised by 21st century rhetoric. let the pictures impart the heritage style with a classic neil perry flavoured twist.

back alley swish

what i love about a really good restaurant sans shine far far away from the fray is like a shared secret they are passed from one special friend to another. this is how i was introduced to sydney madang, hidden like a trove of treasure clustered amongst the vertical skyline in an overlooked alley off pitt st in the middle of the CBD. and so it is passed on.

nestled right under the nose of the city akin to its authentic seoul counterparts where the complimentary pan chan juxtaposes the soft urined concrete surrounds humbly scattered with real life practicalities of bins & waiting stools with such an injection of colour, texture & flavour that the urban air blend is perfect. just dirty enough. more kim chi?

after ordering the requisite local beer, hite, which looks eerily like the brewery has multiple products reaching into the oral hygiene market with a one size fits all branding campaign [gotta love the gagging for a wide mouthed smile stripe & changeable temperature indicator icon in cool minty blue].

next up is the serious business of food ordering & there is no possible way we are going past the seafood & vegetable with udon shabu shabu. thankfully we are an easily convinced two but a third could easily be accommodated with the feast that ensues. the gas barbecue is ritualistically delivered & turned on. then efficiently replaced when it runs out of steam...

there's no going back now as the plates of food arrive: 1 x vegetables & several asian varieties of mushrooms [hi ron], 1 x plate of seafood [mussels, octopus, calamari, scallops, prawns] and 1x dish of udon with fresh shallots to pile in at the end.

this is interactive dining at its best. we tong ingredients in a swish swish [literal japanese translation of shabu shabu which describes the mix action] motion with wonder into the broth as we salivate in anticipation of what comes next. once the glass noodles are clear the pace whips into a frenzy as the melting hotpot of goodness permeates to die for edible smoke [now with extra spice]. at 53.00 AUD this dish is sublime decadence & extremely good value for shared food [we don't quite finish it but loosen belts trying].

we finish by cleaning our teeth on another bottle of beer leaving the comfort of the back streets to sparkle & shine our pearly [w]hites back out amongst the bustle. if the neon signs were in kanji/hanja i could almost believe we're not in sydney anymore dorothy.

sydney madang restaurant

371A pitt st

sydney

+61 [02] 9264 7020