Not so Grand

Had a meal at The Cove in the Grand Chancellor recently. Oysters were fresh. Pumpkin ravioli was passable. The place was near enough to empty, but the service was amateurish (being generous, I'm hoping it was work experience night).

When I was a wee slip of a bitch, I had my only experience waiting tables in a taco joint. In this humble establishment I was taught to wait until the customer had finished their entree before advising the kitchen it was ok to commence preparing the main.

I was not taught (even in a taco joint) to ask the customer:
"Have you finished your oysters yet?"
(I hadn't.)
"Because your next course is ready."

Dear me.

The Other Foot

It's kinda nice for me to pick up all your comments and try out your suggestions. Having the shoe on the other foot, so to speak. Following the lovely banter that accompanied the bit on NH coffee I decided to try two things:
Coffee at Amulet
Food at Raincheck

Call me perverse.

Coffee at Amulet was very good. Excellent in fact. I took advantage of the late afternoon sun and the fags in my handbag to sip al fresco. Tres nice. Do I think it tops Aroma? Mmmm, no but only because I really like the whole Aroma concept, and that plus good coffee is a good package.

Now. Raincheck.

My meal was absolutely atrocious. And I am really sorry to say that, because I think they are trying hard. Pink Ling should be thick and sweet, not thin and bitter. The night I was there I heard someone at another table complain about the fish, so it's not just me and my unqualified taste buds. And I'm never impressed by fries that look like McCain Crinkle Cut Home Fries. It's a subtle thing, but it speaks volumes.

But, and this is a good but (nothing like a good but), the cocktails at Raincheck are excellent. Try their English Country Garden on a balmy evening. Fucking awesome. Maybe Raincheck should morph into a cocktail bar with a good light meal/snack menu. This would be something they could manage very well. As it stands now, I will certainly go back to Raincheck time and again for the cocktails. As for the food and the coffee ... prove me wrong Raincheck, I'd like to see you succeed.

GW

Coffee in 'The Strip'

I hate the reference to Elizabeth St North Hobart as "Little Lygon St". Having eaten much gelati in Lygon St in my youth, I know it is a very stupid and pointless comparison.

Anyway (big sigh) ...

I've been on a mission to try some coffee on 'the strip' and here's what I've discovered:

Zum - better than the original. A very small enclave for coffee lovers and sweet tooths alike. My tip would be to grab a street-side seat when the sun is shining (late afternoon?). Speaking of Zum, rumours have it that (a) the old site is to be taken over by a restaurant/club (cool concept), and (b) Zum Salamanca will resurface next door in the old photolab space.

Aroma - is it a record shop, is it a cafe? I love it here, and having just discovered the rear courtyard (which catches lovely morning sun), I have redoubled my efforts to visit Aroma. They do great coffee and the food is rather delish too (my favourite is the avocado on toast - so simple, so yum). The real challenge is to escape Aroma without giving in to the temptation to buy some funky CD (so far I'm not winning).

Raincheck Lounge - Heard good stuff about food and coffee when these guys first opened. Coffee is inconsistent (very bitter today). Last time I was there I sat outside with a menu in my hand, eventually realising the staff had forgotten me. The temptation to partake in a cocktail left and so did I.

Would have contemplated giving Amulet a run for their over-confident coffee-making money today, but they were closed (obviously there is a God!).

GW ;-)

Good Morning Eric

Rumour has it you've been to The Spice in Sandy Bay. Care to report?
Have a gorgeous fun-filled day, Eric.
GW ;-)

Maldini

A rare Sunday night out. Went to Maldini cos Marque IV wasn't open.

The thing about Maldini is that at first glance it is a classy old building with funky big colours on the wall. The second thing about Maldini is that it doesn't pay to look too closely. An overdose of men's bodies with red shirts flapping from their heads adorned the walls, along with a very ugly Venetian festival image and an even uglier red Venetian mask. Sometimes I think plain sandstone has a lot going for it.

The menu was fairly standard, although a couple of interesting options stood out. Couldn't resist the chargrilled sardines on a caremelised onion tart. Really tasty. Actually, really big flavours. It was classed as an entree (although you can order it as a main size). I can't imagine that anyone could face a second course after the robustness of this dish. I liked it, but glad I wasn't staring down the barrel of pork chops or an eye fillet to follow.

I knew I was ordering a tastebud-busting dish, so ordered a garden salad to break it up a bit. Unfortunately, the salad seemed to be last night's antipasto left-overs tossed through some salad mix. It was tart and sweet and completely wrong. As there was no alternative to provide a bit of flavour freshness, this was flavour over-kill and very disappointing.

On a positive note, my eyes greedily followed plates of seafood pasta around the room all night. I spied big mussels, clams, prawns, and so on jutting perkily from bowls of herb-tossed pasta. Defintely worth going back to try these dishes on for size.

Verdict: Maldini passes muster foodwise (except for that stupid salad), but food service was very slow (the very professional and friendly waitstaff looked as frustrated as I was), and interior decor could do with an overhaul. Coffee was better than I remember. I'll go back to try the seafood pasta.

GW.

Kawasemi Moonah

Realising I would starve if I waited for you guys to give me the low down on the new Japanese tea house in Moonah (yes, Zelda, I know you tried to find it), thought I’d drop in today to suss it out. Fearing the worst I was excited to find not a single pre-prepared sushi pack.

The décor is tastefully Japanese, as is the sushi chef! He handed me a menu and I found a range of sushi was available. I ordered the mixed maki (nori rolls). It was made fresh while I waited. Mr Kawasemi (not his real name, I’m sure) handed me my 14 pieces and asked for $10 in return. Fair exchange I thought. And being a Japanese Tea House, sushi is not the sole focus at Kawasemi. There are Japanese curries and all sorts of stuff. And let’s face it, any Japanese menu that has a whole page devoted to Japanese desserts has to be interesting (coffee jelly for example!).

Now, here are my instructions:

Go to Kawasemi immediately. Have a look at the menu, order something that takes your fancy. Then book your staff Christmas function, your bah mitzvah, or your wake. Tell your friends, tell your enemies. I think it’s awesome that something as authentic as this is available in Moonah.

Well done Kawasemi-san!

(Actually Kawasemi is Japanese for Kingfisher)

Kawasemi Japanese Tea House
Dickenson’s Arcade
109 Main Rd Moonah
6278 1322

Rumours

1. Dukkah is moving (actually not a rumour; fact)

2. Atrium behind Rockerfeller's to become Bar & Cafe (hmmm, this too is fact)

3. Rockerfeller's new management giving serious consideration to a wine bar in the Rocker's cellar (please, oh please, oh please)

4. Japanese tea house coming to Elizabeth St city (anyone tried the one in Moonah yet, you're all very slow!)

5. Hill St Grocer mob have purchased the Dodges Ferry grocer

6. Georgie Weston is a big fat blabbermouth (definitely fact)

An Honest Critique

I was chatting with a world-weary busker in town yesterday. He told me it was his birthday. He said he was looking forward to a special seafood meal. He didn't have much money, but fancied a bit of a nosh-up. I asked him where he might go and he said he thought he'd go to the Globe Hotel.

"Do they do good seafood there?" I asked, never having had the pleasure.
"Oh yeah, it's alright," he said.

He then went on to talk about "that place down by the water, what's it called, you know the one ..."
"Mure's?" I ventured.
"Yeah, that one." He said he took a lady there some time ago for a treat.
"That's pretty special," I said, "what did you think?"
"I reckon it's not all it's cracked up to be."

Couldn't help but laugh. Happy birthday mate.

Retrofadism

Vegies bought, the persistent rain prompted a coffee craving. Trudged off to Retro cos it was close and it was open. Hennaed heads, blunt fringes, and the miserable looks on staff faces sent me back to St Kilda in the early 90s and The Galleon cafe.

Coffee duly arrived and I sipped away. It was inoffensive and warm. Not very hot, not very great. But I smiled as I sipped, recalling the recent accusation of my 'McDonald's taste in coffee'.

Today's coffee at Retro: Better than McDonald's, but barely indistinguishable from Hudson's. Oh alright, that's harsh. The milk wasn't frothed to within an inch of its life.

GW ;-)

p.s. I think my taste may have matured a wee frad ... I no longer heart Hudson's, although I remain a coffee guts ... in case you were wondering.

Red Back

I’m a bit of a sook when it comes to driving long distances. I need to stop at least once between Hobart and Launceston. Historically the only reasonable coffee to be found on the midlands was at Zep’s in Campbelltown; a little too close to Launceston to be much use one way or t’other.

Notnymore!

Across the road from the cop shop in Oatlands is the Redback Gallery and Espresso. Noice knitted scarves, interesting glassware, a bit of jewellery, etc, etc. The chick behind the counter is very friendly (and a bit of a radio personality on Midlands FM I hear). She makes good coffee and serves it with little yummies (most recently amaretto macaroons). As a bonus, local characters lounge about the place making for entertaining eaves-dropping.

All in all, well worth the stop.

North Hobart

Thanks to Zelda for dishing the dirt on Sunday night take away in North Hobart (a sad affair it seems) and for letting me know that Conchettas is to become "Taj Palace" or somesuch. Brave choice of locale, given proximity to Annapurna and Taste of Asia. We'll see how that pans out.

And I spy with my little eye a sushi bar about to open next to the BP. Hurrah!

Happy first of spring, as the weather improves so does my appetite. And you know what that means!

Bloody oath!

Turn my back for five minutes and everything goes bye-byes. It seems that Mitsuno is closing down. Apparently I've missed the last ever Sunday buffet (shit) and will not be likely to get a table before they close. I was told they were pretty authentic, but did I listen? No.

Bloody oath. Obviously I'm the tortoise, not the hare in the culinary race in ol' Hobart town.

However, there is a silver (chrome?) lining. I've seen the ads for the little "Japanese tea house" in Moonah. And I reckon we should all check it out.

I'll race ya!

GW the HRB

She's Ba-ack

I've just finished traipsing up the length of the eastern seaboard and have a few snippets for you.

Gold Coast
Too early for the famed Meyjitte Boughenout effort at Q1 (yet-to-be-completed tallest residential building in the galaxy). But, a fairly decent yum cha (by GC standards) can be had at Mandarin Court in Mermaid Beach. I heard a rumour that there is a very groovy cafe in an old 50s beachhouse (apparently there are 50s costumes for diners to dress up in if desired), but alas I couldn't find it before I left. Next time.

Degustation challenge - Byron Bay
Thought I'd challenge Byron's best to see if they could make my guts explode. Came close!
1. If you believe the awards in the window, Fins on the waterfront at the Beach Hotel (co-owned by Strop and Delvene Delaney I'm unreliably informed) would be the front-runner. I've been to Fins a number of times, but usually only for post-cheap meal dessert or wine and cheese. Service on this occasion was sadly not up to usual standards. Dishes were plonked down politely in front of us, but with no explanation as to what it was we were eating. Given that I'd made my mind up to be utterly 'degusting' before I arrived, I hadn't memorised the menu. It was a bit like eating blind. Food was good, but the experience was overall a bit of a let down.
2. Take two was at Dish. Ah Dish. I love Dish. I think I could live at Dish. They have the BEST cocktails - try an affotini (espresso martini) or the martini with apple liqueur and cardamom-infused vodka. Yes please! And while you're in the mood to be a boozy lounge lizard, Dish has lovely raised cushioned platforms for you to loll about on. Magic. Anyway - the degustation: This was where I came closest to a Mr Creosote moment. Just a wafer-thin waffle and I would have been guts galore! Food was ace, service was brilliant, my only complaint would be that there was perhaps too much food (fish dishes were spectacular, duck was divine, and the lamb shoulder was wonderful, so I'm not sure which dish I'd scrap - bugger it, have 'em all!).
3. While in Byron we also ate at Olivo. I loved it, but the bloke thought it was a bit of a yawn. Check it out for yourself. Highlight ... as an appetiser, oven-warmed olives were served with our pre-dinner drinks. Very classy.

Next stop - Sydney
All I can say about Sydney is: I love Macleay St Bistro. And if that waiter smiled at me like that one more time I just might have disgraced myself.

Canberra
I have fond memories of Canberra. This trip soon took care of that. Ate at some groovy-looking place in a groovy-looking laneway (Cafe Essen? Something like that). The food looked good (pasta with roast vegetables), but was overly oily and the pasta was stuck together. Couldn't find a decent bar to save myself. Spent three days in our nation's capital feeling completely shitty! The bloody Lakeside Hotel did nothing to improve my mood.

Melbourne
Had the yummiest prawn and lobster ravioli at the Terminus Hotel in Richmond. It was a surprise to me too! My buddy had lamb shanks that easily rivalled those available at Teef (sorry Jim). When in Melbourne I like to dine in shabby style at Supper Inn, preferably at around 1:00am. Kitchen usually closes around 2:30 in the morning, by which time the place is bursting with staff from other Chinese restaurants around Little Bourke St. Gotta be good with clientele like that. I recommend the live pipis and the pigeon (served with the head on). Then, if you're in the mood for a bit of a boogie, check out Transport. It's a three-story venue across the road from Flinders St Station (part of the Fed Square complex). Outrageously tacky 80s disco on the ground floor had me drunkenly serenading the security staff (while somehow avoiding being thrown out). On the top floor is a gorgeous (and incongruous) jazz lounge. Loved it. Another excellent post-Supper Inn bevvie can be found at the Supper Club near Treasury. You'll need someone in the know to take you there (the entry is marked only by a plain wooden door, no sign). And for memories of affotinis, Double Happiness serves a delightful Espresso Martini. Had a lovely lunch at The Deanery, and will eagerly head back there for dinner next time I'm in town.

Back to the apple isle and spent a couple of nights at Hatherley House in Launceston. I only have two words to describe the gorgeousness of Hatherley House .... honour bar!

Thanks for your patience while I was away. And thanks to Ninje for sticking up for my appalling taste and utter lack of credentials. Silly me, I thought having tastebuds was credential enough.

Nighty-night,
GW ;-)

p.s. Due to recent spamming to the HRB comments section, there is now an extra step in adding comments to this site. You're clever bunnies, you'll figure it out.

Marque IV - Hallowed be thy name

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! I’ve got a new toy. Finally, a new restaurant to play with, one that is pretty and shiny and dazzling.

Last night was opening night at Marque IV on Elizabeth St Pier, next to T42. It has taken over the site of what was the abysmal Athena’s. Not sure I love the name, but ‘Marque’ is French for produce I was told, and the IV is in reference to being the fourth restaurant to occupy the site. Clever.

Food
The menu is an exercise in torment. True to their name, it is produce driven, and local, local, local: Marrawah beef, Dootown venison, Spring Bay scallops, Macquarie Harbour ocean trout. There is squid ink risotto with baby abalone, duck, oysters, the list goes on. Choosing is almost impossible, and there are four courses to choose from: appetizers, entrées, mains, and dessert (entrées were around $16, mains were around $30). The better news is that not only is the menu enticing, these buggers can cook! The wine list is good and not over-priced.

Service
Waiters were friendly, professional, and efficient, and knew their menu inside and out. Recommendations were spot on. I saw Jim from T42 buzzing about like a busy bee, and the spunky blonde guy from Teef (and from Brew as I’ve said previously) was also on hand. Do the Teef crew have their fingers in this little pie too?

Ambience
The décor is rich and lush and warm. Burgundy, bronze, gold, with gorgeous and quirky details (such as a 50s conch shell lamp that I’m sure I saw the other week in a second hand shop). The feel is warm luxury. There is even moisturiser in the ladies loo.

All bets are off, I am no longer maintaining my neo-virginal status in anticipation of Meyjitte’s Hobart restaurant. Marque IV is my new love.

A truly divine dining experience, with the holy trinity of food, service, and ambience well and truly covered.

Well done, you rock!
GW

Lunch at Teef

Had lunch at T42 today ... it's been far too long. Afraid I chickened out and sat inside; just a bit too nipply for me to sit outdoors in the sunshine today.

I had a rather interesting red (just the one glass, it was a 'business ladies lunch' after all) - it was Portuguese. Haven't had Portuguese wine before. Rather liked it. It smelt a bit like nail polish, but it was good in the mouth (ah, like so many things). Nice cherry 'finish', as they say. Added a lovely rosy glow to my cheeks.

The biggest problem I have with the menu at T42 is knowing what to order. I'm always stuck between two or three equally interesting choices. Was tossing up between ratatouille risotto and goats cheese and hazelnut ravioli. In the end I ordered the ravioli, because it was served with a sticky shiraz glaze (hmmmm, red wine on winter days and I'm anyone's). The entree size was plenty for me. It was tasty, and allowed the subtle flavours of the hazelnuts, the goats cheese, and the fresh pasta to come through the wine glaze. Yummo.

If only I could have spent the afternoon drinking, eating, talking. (Really, I'm beginning to think I have an oral fixation!)

Cheers,
GW ;-)

Satis - My Heart Aches for Brenna

We gathered newspapers and headed to Satis on Sandy Bay Road for a Saturday morning cuppa. We knew the cafe in the old ramshackle house-and-garden setting next to the Metz was for sale, but had put it out of our minds. It had been on the market a while. Whenever we dropped in we'd ask Brenna if there was any progress on the sale, and "Nah, not yet" was always the answer. But today we were met with new faces and signs reading: "Juice Bar" and "Under New Management". The garden furniture was gone, the sparkling fish pond drained.

Boo hoo, where's Brenna gone?

We settled down on the verandah for coffees and muffins. The wicker chairs were still there, with their plump cushions. But inside the display of gorgeous teapots and pretty dishes and cups and saucers was greatly diminished. A sign said 50% off (better be quick). No more teapots. They will be replaced by "Tasmanian Craft" we were told. Oh.

There were some books on the counter (something about breaking bad food habits - whatever they might be), and a rather large Ganesh-style elephant with a great gob of resin for a teardrop from it's eye. It all smacked of something far too serious.

The good news is that there are little dainties to nibble on from Jean Pasqual. Bad news is the coffee seemed a little watery. But maybe this is just a teething problem. The service is warm and friendly, and the location is great (got to sit on the verandah, no matter what the weather). The sad shame is I only corrected someone the other day who accused me of having another favourite cafe with the reply "No, Satis is my favourite". Well, maybe it was Brenna who was my favourite.

Satis is still there, still pretty, still serving Chai Lattes. But it's just not the same. However I wish Satis the best of luck in its new guise. And I'm sure I'll get over my broken heart for the lovely Brenna. Eventually.

Sigh.

GW the HRB.

Gotta Love Those Guerrilla Reviews

Hilarious! I nearly pissed my pants.

I was slumming on the couch at the lovely art deco Lido Apartments in Launceston. After far too many attacks on the mini bar, I was flicking lazily through the in-house directory. At the back I found some photocopied Launcestonian menus. I thumbed my way through the menus for Me Wah (must get back there to try their Peking Duck, looks good), the Prickly Cactus (must not get back there, ever), the something-or-other Brasserie (I will endeavour to remember their name and go there, the menu looked good), the Jailhouse Grill (where you can have your potatoes baked or as fries ... but fries cost extra), and The Metz.

And lo and behold, there was a little sign of gastronomic sabotage! On the first page of The Metz's menu was stuck a little note that read: Save yourself ... Avoid

ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

The author had gone on to leave a little note on each page of The Metz's menu commenting harshly on their service, their pizzas, even their Tabasco sauce!

ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

But it didn't end there. Under the first note was another, in a different hand, dated 25 May 2005. This one read: Maybe just 1 last chance before you write them off completely, I hear they've changed hands recently

I couldn't bring myself to remove the little missives. Maybe if I stay at the Lido again I'll find more. Maybe hotel directories world-wide will become little repositories for guests' thoughts on the establishments promoted therein. Ahhhhh, what a lovely world it would be.

I toddled off to dream gin-soaked dreams, chuckling all the way.

GW ;-)

p.s. I thought the brasserie with the interesting sounding menu was called something like the Lawrence St Brasserie ... but can't find it listed.

Dukkah

Dukkah is a relatively new little coffee shop in Elizabeth St in town (near the cnr of Melville St, opposite Tradewear).

The coffee's good, and comes with a complementary mini-muffin. I didn't stay for lunch but the menu looks impressive and their display case contains all sorts of yummies: giant “Nanna” meatballs; filo bits; goats cheese stuff; muffins. And yes, they have chocolate brownies that look like they fell straight from heaven. Oh, AND the biggest bikkies I have ever seen (too big to fit in the bikkie barrel I was told!).

Dukkah is warm and groovy-lookin', with good music and a relaxed vibe. Nice friendly staff who deserve a bloody good go from the likes of us. I reckon Dukkah could be next on my list for "business ladies' lunches".

GW

The “Ugly Fish” Has Landed

Fish
Elizabeth St, North Hobart

Fish and bloody chips. Trumped up bloody school cafeteria. Loud, clattering, find your own seat, order and pay at the counter. Oh, they also offer “take out”. (Maybe if you can’t afford your meal you could put it on “lay away” too.) I actually do not care how good or otherwise their fish and chips might be. I’m pissed off. North Hobart has lost one decent restaurant in Lickerish and what used to be a decent deli in the 7 Day Super Store, and what do we have in their place? Pizza and fish and chips. How bloody imaginative. Well done.

The tourists might like it, but as promised on 25 April, I am spewing!

GW

"Business Woman's Special"

Have you seen “Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion”? At their 10-year school reunion the two stars (Mira Sorvino and Lisa Kudrow) pretend to be high-flying execs in order to impress their schoolyard nemeses. Like me, Romy and Michelle suffered high school in the 80s. Also like me, Romy and Michelle had to put up with the popular girls ... in my case, girls I wanted to push into the beaker cabinet in the science room, girls who referred to themselves as "The A Crowd" (wankers).

Anyway, on a road trip to the reunion, Romy and Michelle walk into a diner in their smart suits and ask the waitress if they have a "Business Woman's Special ... because we're business women". (They claim to have invented Post-It Notes, but that’s a whole 'nother pack of giggles).

So, when my girlie friends and I hop out for a rapid-fire one-hour lunch mid-week, I often find myself giggling, tempted to ask for the "Business Woman's Special". But being so restrained (and classy) I don't. But here are my recent efforts at Business Ladies' Lunches:

Knopwoods - food's been back on at Knoppy's for a while now (hurrah). The menu has recently changed and gone are the chilli mussels (boo hoo) to be replaced with nachos, chicken laksa, and a monster beef burger. I had the laksa the other day (very cheap, something like $7 or $9 - excuse my memory). It was presented in a small noodle bowl with a large layer of garnishes on top (bean spouts, fried onion, chopped egg, coriander, etc). The problem was that I found myself having to eat a layer of mulch before I could get to the laksa. This resulted in the laksa tasting bland cos all the yummy garnishes were gone. The laksa needs to be in a bigger bowl (not a bigger serve by any means, great value for the price) so that I can at least get my spoon into it and appreciate all the flavours as they were intended.

Blue Skies - Bet you never thought you'd see the day, but I had lunch at Blue Skies. And liked it, what's more. First day of winter, and I sat in the warm sunshine blissing out. Off came my coat, then my scarf. It was warm. First day of winter my arse! Lunch was pretty good. I'm not convinced that blue cheese and sugar snap peas are an ideal taste combination, and I'm not sure that it's kind to overwhelm succulent and sweet chunks of lobster with blue cheese sauce either. But you know what? It kinda worked. Maybe it was the sunshine, maybe it was just so ace to sit looking out over the water, sun streaming down on my cheeks. The dish was an entrée (around $17 – it was lobster after all) and very filling. But I tell you what; the two behutches who plonked themselves at the next table and complained about how hot it was sure shattered my spell. Whinge, whinge, bloody whinge!

Telegraph Hotel - The old Brooke St Bar goes by the more sophisticated moniker of The Telegraph Hotel these days. They've put some comfy couches into the dining section. I've eaten here three times. About six months or so ago I had a calamari salad that was abysmal (sorry, but the calamari was like rubber bands). A couple of weeks ago our table was served a cold lasagne and a cold soup (which were promptly nuked in the microwave when pointed out, but by then the mystique was gone), and then the other day I shared nachos that left me feeling the other side of well. The Tele is great for a Friday night bevvie (if you can wade past the hordes of lawyers and Hydro employees), but until proved otherwise, this is off my Business Ladies Lunch list.

Fish Frenzy - Have eaten here thrice. Twice having the smoked salmon salad (delicious) and once having the "seafood" chowder (if they'd called it fish soup with carrot and celery they would have been more on the money). Fish Frenzy's salads are definitely a goer. I'm not a huge fan of deep fried stuff, but their chips are great. Prices aren't bad and a good wine list.

Verdict: I would say that Knoppy's is the best value (and what a good venue for a winter lunch in front of that fantastic fire). But please, bring back the mussels; I'm having withdrawal symptoms!

GW

Take-Away & Slippers

I am becoming more bear-like as the weather chills. Not poohing in the woods, just hibernating. Take-away three nights in a row is a definite record for me, and something my innards are not keen for me to repeat. However, it was yum and I was warm (slippers are so cool).

Friday night it was butter chicken from Little India (cnr Harrington & Collins). I put butter chicken in the same category as chai lattes ... sweet and yummy, not real food at all. Cheap ($11 for a large without rice - prefer to cook my own) and such good comfort food on a cold and blustery Friday night.

Saturday was slightly more impressive. A sushi and sashimi platter (in fact "party plate #2") from Sakura in Sandy Bay. Since this place changed hands a while ago, the standard of sushi has gone up a few notches. It's no Orizuru, but it's not trying to be. Compared with some of Sakura's other platters, the #2 has more sashimi and nigiri and less "filler" California rolls. The more raw fish the better, I say. And good value ($38 and we were both stuffed). Washed it all down with a bottle of Wave Crest Riesling while watching "Lost in Translation" (the coincidence only striking me now).

Last night we tried Khaow Thai on Harrington Street. We had a coconut seafood soup and a green seafood curry. Excellent value at a total cost of $19 (including steamed rice), and enough to satisfy two little gluttons like us.

Speaking of gluttony, I know I said I was going to be good until Meyjitte gets to Hobart, but it was cold and I'm lazy. Three nights of take-away in front of the tellie (two sins at once - and who says I don't have a life!) Oh well. Tonight I think steamed vegies and brown rice are in order. Followed by various forms of self-flagellation (anyone got a birch switch I can borrow?).

GW

I Heart Meyjitte

Always the last on any bandwagon, I have finally hauled my arse to Franklin Manor to be seduced by the Anais Nin of gastronomy, Monsieur Meyjitte Boughenout, and his wife Debbie (eerily reminiscent of Sigourney Weaver). You may have noticed in Friday's real estate guide that FM is for sale (the leasehold will set you back around $600 big ones) ... but I already knew (don't you just love being a smart arse know-it-all?).

The food was, well, all I can say is ...

Oh my God, yes, yes, yes, YES!

And guess what, there will soon be multiple orgasms for all, cos the Boughenouts and their little ones are moving to Hobart. Hurrah! Get your credit card balances in order, keep you diary free, and get ready to add your name to what will no doubt be a lengthy waiting list. Rumour has it (in fact, it ain't rumour) that properties around Hobart have been eyed off (including the Elbow Room site). My heart is going pitty-pat as I write.

The sad news is that Strahan will lose its brightest star, which is a shame for such a stunning location. After Franklin Manor, Risby Cove is perhaps the next on Strahan's dining ladder. To compare these would be insufferably cruel. Risby Cove is not bad; the site is lovely and the staff are enthusiastic and friendly. Simplify the menu and you'll be apples.

But getting back to my culinary sex life: I'm going to try to be chaste and virtuous until Meyjitte opens his doors in Hobart, at which point I will attempt all seven deadly sins at one sitting. Woo hoo, can't wait!

GW

A Missive from the Ninja

Faithful correspondent Bingeing Ninja wrote:

Not often am I the first with news but...
Sign went up today (Friday) over old Baker's Delight shopfront in North Hobart. Looks like Zum is about to open a satellite store. Further along Elizabeth Street the new fish restaurant is taking shape and the bar area has gone in – they must of spent a motza all up (and no TV network to help 'em either). Pity about the sign featuring the vaguely cubist fish with "coming soon" below. We've been reading it as "ugly fish coming soon" for the last month and still snicker when passing by (what do they say small things amuse?). And Black Pepper is now open. Yes, I know *another* pizza place but at least they're sticking to just pizza and really Hobart could do with a decent pizza restaurant…. just whacking "gourmet", "wood fire" or "Sandy Bay" in front of a sod ordinary pie doesn't cut it. We shall see. Which reminds me….. am I the only one who finds the McCains new frozen "wood fire" ridiculously funny? And is the Canadian owner of Amulet really going to Bruny Island?
Keep up the good work
bn
PS You might want to check out the boys over at Pinot Island:
<http://www.pinotisland.com/index.php?cat=1>

Thanks Ninje,
GW ;-)

Tuffin on the Loose!

Marketplace - 8pm - Thursday May 19
Onetwelve
112 Liverpool St
Hobart

Tomorrow night the impish Lindsay Tuffin will speak on JOURNALISM & DEMOCRACY IN TASMANIA. A limited (and cheap) bar will be available for those who find listening thirsty work.

And have I got the best ever gossip? But you'll have to wait; one snippet at a time my hungry little poppets.

Media Ball 2005

It’s 3am and I’m just home from the Media Ball. Don’t ask what I was doing there, long unintelligible story. Anyway there was Dancing Queen Peg Putt, ABC’s Peter Gee was going off, and there was the flotilla of Stepford Wives: self-possessed pretty little journalists flouncing about on the dance floor with seasoned old hacks old enough to know better. This was why I came, to watch these shenanigans unfold like gossip. And it was great.

However there is a “but”.

The ball was held at the Grand Chancellor. Hang your head in shame I say. My $85 got me a self-serve buffet: some fairly ok oysters, bland vegetables, dry pasta, and “5 star RSL carvery” lamb. The dessert buffet was fairly comprehensive, but kind of Fitzy’s City Caf. I sat there drinking the crap Stoney Ridge wine, eating my crap dinner, thinking about what I’d get for $85 a head at any number of my favourite restaurants.

Function coordinators need to understand that function food doesn’t have to be crap. It is lazy, unimaginative, cheap, and nasty. I could never recommend the Grand Chancellor’s food for functions. Sorry, it’s as simple as that.

And another thing!

Just back from a hunting trip over the west coast. I wish someone had warned me that jodhpurs and tweed are not quite the go when on the lookout for a thylacine. So ripped off that we weren't on horseback. Those knee high boots just look bloody kinky without a horse in tow! Bloody hell! Anyway, the 1.25 mill is safe for now, but I've got a plan to smoke out the blerry thing - honey on a stick. Works when my dog won't come out from under the house, oughta do for a tiger I reckon. Can't believe no-one's thought of it before.

But back to the real world. Here's what I've found out since returning from yon hunt:

Stepping into the old 'green store' site in North Hobart (the Seven Day Super Store that became anything but super) is something with a fishy logo. Judging by their staff advertisement, they won't be selling waders. I swear, if it's fish and chips I'll spew

Brew now proudly displays two sizes for take away coffee - regular and large. Brillo! And what a bloody tasty large take away coffee I had. Ta boys.

Did I see Maeve O'Mara in the Choux Shop t'other day? Might have been the glare of lights, camera, action, but I'm sure it was. Remains to be seen if it was for that excellent SBS show Ms O'Mara co-hosts, or for the less glamorous Better Groans and Gardens.

Black Pepper Pizzeria is soon to replace Lickerish. Ace. Just what Hobart needs. Another pizzeria in Elizabeth St. My heart sinks.

By the way, I heard part of the Lickerish/State Cinema stoush was over the owner of the cinema (also owner of the restaurant site) wanting to put a walk-through from the cinema into the restaurant. Classy.

Oh, and apparently I got the whole Amulet story completely wrong (see that entry's comment). Silly me.

GW the HRB
;-)

Kissing Pedro at Peppermint Bay

Am I lucky or what! Shouted to dinner at Peppermint Bay by saintly friends who are now guaranteed front row seats in heaven.

As you know, I love The Local at PB, it’s cosy and it’s good. In fact, I’m looking forward to winter so I can sit before their fire and make a pig of myself. The restaurant is something else altogether. It is a vast cavernous space, all polished concrete, high ceilings, quality tableware, and subtle lighting. From outside it looks like a great wave of glass and steel.

On the night of our visit, the restaurant was divided in two, with a wedding taking place on the other side of the divider. The sound-proofing in the restaurant was pretty good compared to the racket heard from the corridor to the loos, but I would recommend the staff avoid competing soundtracks in future. The restaurant’s subtle mood music was no match for the wedding singer’s rendition of Khe Sanh.

We had a really good meal accompanied by excellent wines. The wine list at PB is a marvel. And what’s more, the waiter assisting us knew far more about wine than is seemly for a man of his young years. But take advantage of his fabulous knowledge we did, much to our edumacation.

To round off our meal, on young wine-genius’ recommendation (double his salary immediately, Mr Currant!), we supped on a glass of heaven. It was black, it was heavy, it was sticky, it was Spanish, and it was fucking awesome! Pedro Ximenez by Cardenal Cisneros. Bound to be good with a name like that.

So apart from Khe Sanh (which made us laugh anyway), PB’s restaurant pulled the goods. I’ll be back, and I hope Pedro will still be there cos I’ve now got a serious crush!

John Wayne Instruction Manual @ 112

Remember way way back when I asked to be kept abreast of upcoming events? Well here's one. It's not a foodie thingy, but there's a cheap bar and fucking awesome music on offer.

"John Wayne Instruction Manual"
incl. Alistair Dobson, Joe Pirere, Randall Muir, and Konrad Park
112 Liverpool St (used to be the old Whirling Rainbow Cafe, above Diamondworld)
Friday 8 April, 8:30 pm till late
Door charge: $4 students/$5 workers

Presented by the crew at 112, a community organisation. So go on, pull your finger out and go support them!

GW

Steam Packet (Take 2)

On a whim we returned to the Steam Packet for another bite at the cherry. I was a bit disappointed to find the menu hadn't changed a jot since January, and absentmindedly ordered more or less the same meal as last time. Silly me.

The oysters were once again bloody stunning. Oysters should sparkle on the tongue, and these do, like little bursts of mermaid sherbet. The BBQ duck was also delicious. The steak was a bit overcooked. At pubs I order steak rare so it will be cooked the way I like it, medium rare. I hope I won't have to do this at Steam Packet as well! Surely just a blip. Unfortunately, the pink eyes with rosemary were a bit too reminiscent of “wedges”. Service, as always, was impeccable.

So, when can we expect to see a ‘seasonal’ menu change?

I still have a bit of an issue with the ambience of the Atrium, I have to say. The pelting water feature did wonders for my bladder, which is fine, but I think some music wouldn't go astray. The Atrium is a difficult space, but they'll get it right eventually. At least with the cooler weather the sails have gone.

Nothing the Steam Packet can do about unattractive couples snogging in the glass elevator though (classy).

Polk Salad Annie

Had lunch at Fish Frenzy the other day, and bugger me if it wasn’t good! My friend had the spicy calamari salad and I had the smoked salmon salad (please, can’t we just nickname it the polk salad annie?).

The calamari was a bit oily, but not bad. Loved the smoked salmon though.

In general, for a “business ladies lunch” (admit it, you love Romy and Michelle too) it was fast, cheap, and scrummy.

Can’t comment on the crumbed, deep fried, adulterated seafood, but hey, I’m so cynical I wouldn’t order it anyway. But stuff it! There’s more to life than a fisherman’s basket.

Farewell Lickerish

The plus-side of being locked in an industrial oven for three days is that you lose three kilos without the need for sit-ups, push-ups, or (God help us) lunges. The down-side is having to stand up a very hot date at Lickerish.

Hadn’t been to Lickerish for about a year. On that occasion we got frightfully hammered on Craigie cab sav (how disrespectful!) and ate who knows what. A travesty! Too pasted to recall the food. Mon dieu! Well, we had every intention of rectifying this shameful waste and had planned to go back last week. Then the drunken-hide-and-seek, locked-in-the-oven, cough-cough-cough scenario* stepped up to prevent our best laid plans.

No matter, thought I, another time perhaps.

Now bugger me but Graeme Phillips tells me in this morning’s Sunday Debacle that Lickerish have held their last supper. Rather fittingly on Maundy Thursday.

Maundy (or Holy) Thursday is the celebration of the Eucharist, the commemoration of the Last Supper. Being the day before Good Friday, in our house Maundy Thursday is referred to as Appalling Thursday. Only logical really, and besides, crap stuff seems to happen on Appalling Thursday (having to go to work being one example, the closure of restaurants another).

It is traditional on Maundy Thursday for the rich to distribute alms to and wash the feet of the poor. (No-one washed my feet, or gave me any bucks, so I’m assuming that means I’m not poor. Any of you guys get a cash windfall or a bit of a tootsy scrub? How was it?). Numerous Catholic rituals and celebrations occur on Maundy Thursday, including the reconciliation of penitents.

Which brings me back to Lickerish, cos I hope there is some bloody penitence going on today, because there sure as hell wasn’t any reconciliation. According to Mr Phillips, the story goes that a barney over the lease of the Lickerish site (and lets imagine a bitch-slap, cos it adds to the drama) resulted in the Lickerish girls flipping the bird and flapping off to greener pastures. Good for them.

I'll have to settle for last year's pathetic effort at sampling Lickerish’s grub (I’m sure it was delightful, and I do have a hazy recollection that the young waitress was a treat), but I’m hopeful that the gastro-adventurers will be back with something new to tempt our tastebuds soon, soon, soon.

Farewell Lickerish. I may not recall your fare, but I liked your curtains.

* Children, don’t try this at home.

Bitch's Brew

As you know, I love caffeine en masse but understand that some cafés just don’t serve large coffees. C’est la vie. But recent experience necessitates an obviousism from the ol’ GW: Early on a weekday morning is no time to give me a lecture. Don’t be telling me you can do a large coffee “but it will taste like crap because you lose the crema”. I don’t care. If I cared about crema I’d order an espresso. If I want to pay for (in your opinion) a shit coffee to kickstart my brain, that’s my idiotic choice.

I wasn’t going to dob. But I had a dream the other night (from which I literally woke laughing) that convinced me I had to.

Brew in Sandy Bay. Looks good. Nice boys making nice coffee. All good. Except for those early morning lectures. Gently telling me off is one thing, but hearing you chastise other customers wanting a large coffee is a bit much. Good natured though it may be, it’s a bit rough on the early morning nerves. Give it a rest boys.

You might say: “Don’t like it, go elsewhere”. You might even say: “We don’t need customers who want the coffee equivalent of a bucket bong”. I would say: “Fine, but that’s a gutsy call in a small town”.

To be fair, I understand that you are coming from a good place. You aspire to coffee excellence and you want to teach us the difference between excellent coffee, good coffee, and shit coffee. I applaud that. However, sometimes a customer just wants what they want. Case in point: a country café on the big island lists on its coffee menu the “Why Bother?” – seemingly brewed by waving a coffee bean under the steam while frothing the milk. I agree - why bother? But that’s what some people want and I congratulate the café owner’s good business sense in providing same.

Coffee menus are great places for educating customers, lectures are not.

Reasons to go to Brew: The coffee’s good, not too expensive, and comes with a chocolate-coated coffee bean (dine-in), the coffee-meisters are very friendly (lecturing aside), and the spunky guy from T42 works there. It’s a nice café, personally I prefer Satis, but that’s just the E.M.Forster in me.

The dream I had the other night? I dreamt that I told the head Brew-boy that the décor reminded me of Hudson’s. Oops.

Where Oh Where Has She Been?

There was a silly rumour running about town that I had fallen victim to foul play. Yes, dear friends, it was true. Fate led a dark alley, a drunken Georgie, and a menacing fellow to cross paths.

Not really, but it had the makings of a good fib.

So where have I been? I won’t bore you with sordid details, but let’s just say there is a good reason why children are discouraged from hiding in refrigerators. The adult-version should be this: Playing hide and seek while drunk is fun. Hiding in a recently cleaned industrial oven is stupid. Dangerous even.

Cough cough.
GW ;-)

Surprise!

Holy dooly, surprised twice in one week by two establishments I have less than loved in the past.

1. Rockerfellers sat me on my arse with a gorgeous possum stew. Yes, I did say possum. It was rich and tomatoey with a velvety mash (yeah, yeah, I know, but what’s a stew without spuds?), beans and native pepper berries (almost too dominant, but worked). And the possum? Tasted like chicken. Kidding! Rich and gamey, about half-way between roo and emu (but tastier than a regal shield). I am now inspired to appear on the New Inventors with my very own possum trap attached to mum’s old crockpot. Yum.

2. Meadowbank really blew me away with an outstanding whole smoked salmon. Oh yes, it was whole, it was gently smoked, and it was enormous. It sat pertly upright on its little stand and appeared to be riding a wild wave of mesclun. Eyes sparkling, teeth bared. It was a beauty! If not for the formality of the occasion I would have shoved the leftovers down my top a la Dan Ackroyd in Trading Places.

Hurrah! This is the type of innovation (the possum) and exciting, respectful treatment of grand produce (the salmon) that we’ve all been baying for.

The sad news?

The possum was a fleeting special on the Rockerfellers menu. As I paid my bill I overheard the waitress tell another patron there was no more. And the whole salmon at Meadowbank was not standard fare, but part of a function menu. Fingers crossed, a special request in advance might result in a surfing salmon for you too.

More please. I like surprises.

Goodbye Summer

Summer is over.

There’s not a cloud in the sky. It’s quite warm. But summer is over.

Even though summer has gone, this is my favourite time of year. Winter’s coming, but it’s not here yet. It’s like that last five minutes you steal in bed before you finally face reality and get up.

Soon it will be dark before we leave work of an evening. It will be cold. We’ll get the flu and spend a fortune at the chemist. We’ll yearn for next summer, wishing our lives away.

But not yet.

We greedily devour autumnal days because soon enough there’ll be no more BBQs. No more salads. No more sitting on the beach and eating sandy fish and chips. No more sunburnt noses. When winter comes, there’ll be no more sipping of champagne in the warm evening glow while the sun lazily sinks.

But winter’s not so bad. There’ll be roasts and soups, stews and breads, curries and casseroles. There’ll be snuggly Sunday sleep-ins, delaying placing that first foot on the cold cold floor. There’ll be open fires and snow on the mountain. And there’ll be the best excuse in the world for drinking red wine.

Bring it on I say!

By Request: The HRB’s Top 10 of the Moment (it may all change tomorrow)

Feel free to piss and moan about this, because God knows by tomorrow I’ll have changed my mind completely. But, as the request has been made and I am titillated by the concept (and easily baited it would seem), here’s my current Top 10 (in no other order than that dictated by the random firing of synapses in what passes for my brain):

Paesano (Italian - West Hobart, 6234 2111). Good stuff: risotto, calzone, gourmet pizzas, cheap. Not so good stuff: size doesn’t make it an attractive dine-in option, but they do describe themselves as ‘specialising in take away’
Steam Packet (“Modern Australian” - Henry Jones Art Hotel, Hunter St, 6210 7700). Good stuff: the food, the service, the wine list. Not so good stuff: a couple of teething issues, but getting there on the whole.
Novaro’s (Italian – Launceston, 6334 5589). Good stuff: it’s all good baby. Not so good stuff: nah, still can’t think of anything
T42 (“Modern Australian” - Elizabeth St Pier, 6224 7742). Good stuff: view, staff, food, coffee, wine list. Not so good stuff: mostly just the evening bar clientele (T42 is a bit of a “scene”)
Sen’s (Asian/Yum Cha - North Hobart, 6236 9345). Good stuff: duck, wonton soup, yum cha, steamed bok choy, custard tarts, cheap. Not so good stuff: take away (unless ordered from the a la carte menu), wine list could be better.
Stillwater River Café (“Modern Australian” – Launceston, 6331 4153). Good stuff: don’t get me started, I’m dribbling already. Not so good stuff: Price, but it doesn’t have to be expensive (unless I’m there, then it’s Family Violence Act time for my wallet)
Siren’s (Vegetarian – Victoria St, Hobart, 6234 2634). Good stuff: vegetarian with imagination. Not so good stuff: Vegetarian Nazism (check the “rules” on the menu)
Satis (Bistro-style Café, not open for dinner – Sandy Bay Rd, Sandy Bay, 6224 0551). Good stuff: the tea, the coffee, the teapots, the cakes and bickies, the bruschetta. Not so good stuff: it’s for sale.
“The Local”, Peppermint Bay (“Modern Australian” – Peppermint Bay, Woodbridge, 6267 4088). Good stuff: great day trip destination, view, venue, food’s good and not expensive, excellent wine list. Not so good stuff: tourists with loud voices/mobiles. (I can’t comment on the main restaurant at PB.)
Mai Ake (Thai - North Hobart, 6231 5557). Good stuff: prawn cakes, bbq octopus, stuffed chicken wings, prawn choo chee, larp gai, basically cheap but good Thai. Not so good stuff: Has lost something since the move to bigger premises, but always a great meal.

If you’re on the list, don’t get cocky. By naming you guys up, you now risk being shot down in flames by a gaggle of people who think you suck. But I like you. Don’t stuff it up.

Asides:
Kafe Kara (Bistro/Café, Hobart). Now open for dinner Fridays. Has always been good for lunch
onetwelve (‘occasional venue’). Hobart’s legal answer to a speak-easy. Cheap drinks, good music, good community events. Watch out for gigs by The John Wayne Instruction Manual (classic funk) and the occasional jazz gig. But you need to be in the know. Go to http://www.onetwelve.blogspot.com/ to get yourself on the mailing list.
Bush Inn (Counter Meals, New Norfolk). Nice view, typical pub fare. Australia’s oldest or longest running or some other bloody “old” status pub. Nellie Melba stayed and performed there. I reckon it’s haunted.
Magic Curries (Indian, Battery Point). Good curries, bad name.

Missing in Action:
These are places that I don’t feel qualified to comment on (yet), despite excellent reputations, because I’ve never been or I haven’t been for ages or I was so incredibly pissed when I did go. But keep your eyes and ears (and taste buds) peeled: Lickerish (Modern Australian, North Hobart), Red Velvet Lounge (Café - Cygnet), Mitsuno (Japanese - Sandy Bay), Franklin Manor (“Modern Australian”? - Strahan), Calstock (French - Deloraine), Criterion Café (Criterion St, Hobart).

And that’s your blooming lot (now you know what happened to Peter Cundall after the fall).

Happy dining!
GW ;-)

What Happens When an Amulet Doesn’t Work?

Once upon a time there was a lady who was having a baby. Her belly was big and round, tight as a drum. The baby was only weeks away. So her friends decided she needed a celebration with cake and cups of tea and presents. A baby shower, it’s called. They rang around until they found a place that promised to provide room for them to talk and laugh out loud, drink their cups of tea or glasses of champagne, oooh and aaaah over little baby presents, and munch on delicious cakes. The girls asked “Can we come at 3?”, the restaurant said “It would be better for us if you could come around midday, that way there will be lots of cakes for you to eat”.

How delightful. Written invitations were sent out to all the pregnant lady’s friends, who promptly replied. Such was their great excitement and joy.

But then a week before the celebration, or thereabouts, the restaurant called and cancelled the booking. They said “We have too many lunchtime bookings. Maybe you could come around 3?” The ladies frowned and scratched their heads in wonder. Too many lunchtime bookings? Weren’t they a booking too? Weren’t they promised room to talk and laugh out loud, room to drink cups of tea or glasses of champagne, room to oooh and aaaah over little baby presents and to munch on delicious cakes? And weren’t all those lovely cakes going to be more plentiful at midday rather than at 3?

The pregnant lady’s friends put their heads together and scowled a little. “We’ve already sent out the invitations, we’ve already got all the RSVPs. We’ll need to tell everyone of the changed booking time. This is a problem.” So the ladies sent out fresh invitations announcing a change of venue, not time. They weren’t happy with having their booking seen as less important than other bookings. “How rude”, thought they.

But one of the ladies decided to play detectives. She rang the restaurant and played confused. “I’m confused”, she said. “I thought we were coming to eat cake with you, but now I think we have to go elsewhere because you have too many other bookings. I’m so confused.” The man on the telephone was most helpful. He checked the bookings list and said “Yes, we have a cancelled group booking. There’s a squiggly line right through it. But it doesn’t say why the booking was cancelled. We don’t have any other bookings at that time”. The lady’s eyebrow arched high above her left eye. “Oh, really. That is so confusing”, she purred. “But thank you anyway, you’ve been most helpful.”

The ladies had their baby shower yesterday, at another venue of course. They had lots of room to talk and laugh out loud, and to sip their glasses of champagne. But they didn’t have any cake at all. Instead they had an enormous lunch. They munched on pizzas and chicken, on seafood and dips. They talked and laughed about the other silly restaurant, and how glad they were that they hadn’t gone there. There were lots of presents for the pregnant lady, whose belly moved up and down with each laugh as she tore off the wrappings to see the gifts inside. She was surrounded by loving friends who cared about her and her baby. She was wrapped in joy. A happy ending after all.

Imagine. Eighteen women charged with champagne and indignation, feeling defensive on behalf of their pregnant friend. Imagine the power of these women as they march about Hobart furiously declaring their anger at the shabby treatment of their friend with the tight round belly. Imagine how this story will grow along with the growing child, how the baby shower was less important than other bookings. Other bookings that didn’t exist at all. Thank you to one of those cranky indignant ladies who regaled me with this story in great and glorious detail last night over a debriefing champagne. "Class act", she seethed, "Dumping a pregnant lady’s booking in case more money could be made from walk-ins. What’s next, strangling small furry animals?"

Amulet n. Something worn on the body as a charm against evil (Collins Australian Pocket English Dictionary)

How ironic.

I’d Eat the Crutch Out of a Low-Flying Peking Duck

In fact I did.

It was fresh from the duck-hangery and still warm when brought lovingly home to me. It was sweet, it was tender, and it was spicy in a star anisey kind of way.

In the past I’ve instructed you all to give the bain-marie at Sen’s a very wide berth. In fact, I would say that unless you’ve sat at a table at Sen’s and ordered from the menu (or the specials board) you deserve what you get and have no right to tell me that Sen’s sucks. I still stand by this mantra. And now my love of Sen’s simple and cheap food for the soul has been strengthened by their blessed duck. To know that this is my rescue from cheap Butter Chicken when I want a Friday night at home has made it all the more sweet. I’m craving more as we speak.

But this long weekend it didn’t stop at the duck (mercy me). On Sunday we had what some may call a “delicate condition” going on. I’d been carousing into the wee hours of the morning and was craving something far more than stroking my own forehead could provide. I needed soothing in a big way, and the only way to get that kind of soothing (from the inside out) is a big bowl of Sen’s wanton soup. Clear broth, bok choy, prawn and pork wantons floating like bloated goldfish. Heaven.

When I have to agonise over menus that make me freeze with petit mals of boredom, it’s so comforting to find that Sen’s (with a little touch of traditional Chinese music to welcome the Year of the Rooster) can still pull the goods.

See, sometimes it really is just the simplest things. And not a mash in sight!

Now Listen Here Young Lady!

I’m in so much trouble.

She pointed her finger and waggled it at me ferociously “Who the hell do you think you are!” I frowned a sulky frown and pursed my lips and scuffed my feet on the floor beneath me. It was worse than the dressing down I got in Grade 10 Home Economics.

On that sordid occasion Mrs Fatso (really, that was her name!) had been standing behind me just as I felt the need to announce how much I hated her daggy menu for our school formal. “Fatso” I declared “wouldn’t know an exciting menu if it jumped out and bit her dimpled arse”. Oops. Mrs Fatso clipped my right ear (I should have sued) and sent me to the back of the room to read Margaret Fulton and write an essay on the gentle art of menu design. Bloody hell she was harsh!

Look, I’m the first to admit that I know jack shit about menu design (I’ve blanked out that essay’s content) or food science (I failed Home Ec). But I do know what does and doesn’t excite me, I do know what does and doesn’t taste good (to me!), and I’m not afraid to tell. But that doesn’t make me right (or wrong if you disagree with me). It’s just my opinion.

I have a mouth, and sometimes it runs away with me. Worse yet I can type as fast as I think (show off!), so I have a wee tendency to regret my actions from time to time. Should I shut down the HRB, banish myself to a dungeon and not come out until I have learnt to be a silent and penitent shadow of myself?

Nuh!

But, the idea of “Hobart Restaurant Bitch” is to have a bitch, not be a bitch. And I don’t want my big mouth to get in the way of a valid restaurant experience, therefore I do not accept freebies or invitations to ‘review’ (the “invitation” from Henry Jones wasn’t actually an invitation), I do not book tables under Georgie Weston or HRB, and I do not reveal that I’m a “reviewer” (mostly because I’m not a reviewer’s arsehole). See, I have ethics.

So there I was this morning getting a bloody good dressing down, having flashbacks by the boatload and feeling right sorry for myself. “Who the hell do you think you are,” she asked again, finger still waggling, “some bloody expert or something?” Hmmm, maybe she had a point. But like my rebellious teenage self, there I stood, sulky and shitty and wanting to fight back. “Expert? Hey, it’s just my OPINION!”. “Who are you talking to?” my husband asked, startling me so that I jumped and dropped my toothbrush on the floor. I looked back at the mirror, she was still there and now sprayed with toothpaste. Oops.

Call me crazy, but I suspect that, like me, you guys like to eat out occasionally, preferably without having your wallets ripped out through your botty holes or your taste buds bludgeoned to death with the boredom stick. I’m sorry if we don’t see eye-to-eye on all things. But I’m not sorry for expressing my opinion. As a consumer with a voice I can say what the hell I like. But via the HRB you get to say what the hell you like too. And that means all of us hungry little consumers can have a say.

And that’s the point Belvedere … as long as I can face that scary bitch in the mirror tomorrow morning.

GW ;-)

Gondwana (sigh)

Jason, Jason, Jason. Where have you sent me? Gondwana … theme restaurant in a time warp. Great Southern Land meets dull 80’s menu.

We struggled with Gondwana’s selection, I’m afraid to say. It took us a rather long time to wade through the options. Unlike Stillwater where a degustation takes the agony of choosing out of my hands, at Gondwana the agony of choosing was not about being spoilt for exciting choice. It was a comprehensive enough menu, but just plain uninspiring.

Calamari … could have been Fish Frenzy, could have been Rockerfellers, could have been my Nanna’s kitchen (admittedly my Nanna does rock with a deep fryer!).
New York Cut of Ocean Trout … perfectly cooked but bland fish (trout just doesn’t compare to salmon in my books, unless it’s raw) sitting on, you guessed it, A BED OF MASH (yawn).

God I sound hard to please. The truth is I’m not! Really! If you have a whole commercial kitchen and a plethora of fresh produce at your feet, there is no excuse for not dazzling my tits off! Seriously!

The most exciting item presented to us was the little “palate cleanser” … vodka and apple juice with a tart little dollop of sorbet. Sheer delight.

Look, the service was good. And laughing boy seems to have grown up and was actually rather pleasant. We were well looked after, we were offered tastes to assist in our wine selection, and so on. But it wasn’t enough to overcome the failings of the menu. The food was not bad, it was just a bit ho hum. And I had such high hopes!

I’d write more, but to be honest I can’t be bothered. Like our be-shackled mates of days gone by, when it comes to the Great Southern Land, we couldn’t wait to escape.

How Do We Learn to Love Wine?

You know how when you’re a kid you love Kahlua and Milk but wine stinks? How do we reach the point where wine becomes pleasant (alright, an obsession)?

I have two very distinct wine-related memories from my childhood. The first is a scene from Daddy Long Legs (an appalling film with Fred Astaire and the revoltingly saccharine Leslie Caron). It is a balcony scene where ol’ Fred and young Leslie are having breakfast and they clink their OJ glasses together. That subtle act is misconstrued by nosy parkers as evidence of an affair (surely paedophilia) because “nobody clinks orange juice”. Hmmmm, I thought, at the age of 7, don’t they? So I promptly made sure to clink my OJ, my coke, my raspberry cordial, but definitely not my water! The second wine-related childhood memory is even more obscure. I recall another charming quote whereby a man states: “A woman’s breasts should fit inside a champagne glass (no, not a flute you tit), as more than a handful is a waste”. Maybe it wasn’t a film, maybe it was Oscar Wilde. Maybe it was my friend Beryl. Can’t remember.

The point (I hear you beg)? The point is, how did these snippets of information feed into my psychic template of the enduring grandeur of wine and champagne? Dunno.

Regardless, at the tender age of 15, I rather precociously and memorably announced to a bunch of 70-year old golfers that the Cabernet Sauvignon Malbec on offer was “not bad for a cocktail”. I recalled at the time that the words on wine labels usually denoted the variety of grape from which the wine was derived … hence the ‘cocktail’. What I was doing drinking wine at 15 with 70-year-old golfers is another story (and not as sordid as you might think!).

Now as a supposed grown-up, I find that my wine knowledge has not expanded exponentially with my increasing years. For example … I recently discovered that sometimes wine labels do not denote the grape from which the wine is derived (shock, horror) … sometimes wine labels tell fibs!!! One of my all time favourite cab savs, for example, is actually a petit verdot (gasp!).

Well. But does it really matter what’s in wine, how it’s made, which type of oak (if any) it’s barrelled in, what the sugar content is, or whether the vintner is a cross-dressing Albanian nun? Who cares, as long as it tastes good, right? Well kind of … I do wish Tamar Ridge well for the sake of the region, but knowing what’s in it (Gunns $$) I can’t bring myself to like it because I can’t bring myself to drink it. What a dilemma!

And what of the wine epiphany … the discovery of a joy-inducing wine that becomes one’s personal holy grail? Alluring, tempting, intoxicating, and yet unattainable (just like me really). Such was my tale of woe, twice. Recently with Lalla Gully Sauvignon Blanc (see my bit on Stillwater River Café), and in the past with a Moorilla Cabernet Sauvignon.

Aaahh, the Moorilla. It was 1993 and there used to be a little wine cellar around the corner from Salamanca that had the most wonderful array of secrets and lies. I found a bottle of Moorilla Cab Sav … 1986! It was only $18! Naturally I bought it, but a word from a wise man made me too scared to drink it (“Only $18 for Moorilla … be careful, be very very careful”). So I was careful. I took it to a family function with half a zillion cousins who I don’t particularly like. Opened the bott. Splashed it about the place like a great big show-off, and downed the one sip left for me in one great gulp. Oh my god. What had I done? It was honestly the best wine I had ever tasted.

It took me another 10 years to realise that no matter how much I pestered, Moorilla were not going to magick me another bottle of the stuff. Quel domage.

These days I still know little more about wine than I did at 15. My palate and nose have been educated, but not my viticultural knowledge banks. But I still know what I like. I like wine. And champagne. Who could ask for anything more?

;-)

The HRB Needs the Info!

Right. Why is it that great food and wine events just sneak up and bite me on the arse? I’m fairly sure I don’t have my head completely in the sand (up my arse maybe, in the sand, no). Why did the five fat Tuscans get booked out before I could organise a table? Why did I not realise Launceston's Festivale had become good? (Or that it's on the same weekend as a FANTASTIC Festivale de la GW?) Why didn’t I know that I’d already missed the fruit wine festival the other weekend? Why, why, why Delilah?

I can take responsibility for my own failings. Sure, I read the paper, but obviously not with all my eyes! And then I get the emails … Hey Georgie, what did you think of xyz? Crikey … did someone forget to tell me that I'm omnipresent, omnipotent, and all those other omni’s (mmmm … champagne).

If Maggie Beer is a guest chef somewhere ... I need to know. If they've taught dolphins to find truffles ... I reckon I'd need to know. If seven sexy sirens are hacking out haggis in Howrah (don’t ask me, I just write this stuff) … I need to know. And if eight maids are milking … I’m probably watching the late movie on SBS … and don’t really need to know.

Please. Have you no’ heard of email laddie? Such a simple concept really … IF YOU LET ME KNOW … I CAN LET OTHER PEOPLE KNOW TOO. It’s called marketing!

p.s. check this out (thanks for the tip boys!) ... I think I'm in love ... http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,1147-1191979,00.html
GW the HRB ;-)

"Is Not ... So There!"

I do so love to be admonished when I'm wrong. I love even more to be argued with for the sake of a good barney. And above all else I love an "is not ... so there!".

Here's an "is not ... so there!" that popped up this afternoon:

" ... the food at prosser's is about 100 times better than the stuff you get at kellys or mures,the new year's eve menu was not overpriced,the reason the that table had crayfish was because they phoned up and asked if was possible to have two for new year which it was. "

Well. That clears that up.
GW

The Axis of Evil

Lipscombe Larder, Hill St Grocer, Salad Bowl … it’s about time a comparison was made between these, Hobart’s dens of iniquity!

Lipscombe Larder, Sandy Bay Road, Sandy Bay.
The reputed mothership of suburban gourmet food stores (aside, of course, from the Wursthaus, which is in a league of its own).
Pretty good basil pesto, although I’m newly addicted to their spinach pesto … I’m hoping not to eat the whole jar in sneaked spoonfuls!
Excellent bread, possibly the best on offer in the foodstore mould. Love their Olive Toscano … could eat it all day.
Fabulous range of cheeses and Tassie wines.
Excellent cakes and chocolates and all that evil stuff.

The Hill St Grocer, Hill St, West Hobart.
Very often in the news, it seems.
Best range of produce this side of heaven. (Just watch me go berserk when the sacks of fresh broad beans or peas are in!) … Great deli section, with excellent variety of pre-prepared meals (try their couscous salad!).
Fabulous range of ‘international’ treats (mmmm, Dutch Breakfast Cake with coffee!).
“Not so squizzy” since their renovations a few years ago, but one still risks serious injury from basket rage at busy times. Such a shame (but what can they do?), as it means that I will avoid the place if it’s “that time of day”.

The Salad Bowl, Macquarie St, South Hobart.
Also undergone some sexy renovations.
Produce is good, good deli section, good bread … but what hooks me every time is their specials in the grocery section … Three tins of crab meat for bugger all, tubs of mussels for next to nothing. Cheeses discounted by the bucket load.
I love a bargain, and if it’s nibblies I’m after … it’s the Salad Bowl for me!

So, in a nutshell each of the triumvirate is unique in its own way. At Lipscombe you risk losing an eye from the proliferation of upturned collars. At Hill St you could be run down by a fleet of Subaru Foresters as you jostle for a park, or you could lose a kidney as you manoeuvre past me in the rush for the peas. As for the Salad Bowl, you’re more likely to be blinded by bare midriffs or rendered olfactorily senseless by the unique aroma of the Tarkine perfume. BUT … If it’s bread and pesto your after, head for Lipscombe. If it’s the full gamut of fresh produce you need (or indeed food advice), go to Hill St Grocer. And if you want a nibbly bargain, scoot to the Salad Bowl.

Don’t listen to the cries of “Oh, but it’s so expensive” to shop at our gourmet stores. This is a myth. No-one is suggesting you regularly buy your kitty litter or eau de cologne here, but in the case of fresh delicacies … if you want to prioritise price over flavour, go to Woollies … your choice.

Launceston Scores Again ... Stillwater River Cafe

I wasn’t being a pig. Really I wasn’t, honest. It’s just that the menu was so exciting AND they had a degustation menu. Actually they had TWO specialised menus … one with six courses, the other with eight. You know which one I had. I agonise over spending sixty bucks on a skirt or a couple of hundred bucks on a much needed new vacuum cleaner, but put me in front of a scintillating menu and I go crazy. I need help.

Stillwater River Café is in Launceston’s idyllic Richie’s Mill, hugging the riverbank (just try to pretend Penny Royal World isn’t across the road). I’d had breakfast there (excellent eggs) and coffee (great coffee), but this was my first outing for dinner. It was a beautiful evening. Typical colourful Launceston sunset. Quacking ducks. Smelly rubbish stuck in the reeds just outside the restaurant (mental note: pretend not to notice the rubbish next time).

Course 1. - Saltwater Sashimi Plate - Calamari with Lime/Palm Sugar/Chilli and Scallop with Mushroom Essence/Truffle Oil.
Very subtle. I scribbled a note to myself – “bland but stunning”. Wonder what that means?
Course 2. - Lime/Sugar Cured Tasmanian Salmon with Green Mango, Laksa Leaf Salsa, Dressed Cucumber Egg Noodles, Lime/Pepper Paste.
Cute little “sandwiches”: two thin squares of salmon with shredded green mango in between, unfortunately the taste of fine-ground black pepper dominated the egg noodles. Go easy fellas!
Course 3. - Beetroot Tapioca & Shredded Basil with Saint Agur Blue Cheese.
This was divine, interesting, weird. Yummy too. We also thought that this could make an interesting half-dessert/half-cheese platter option. But in hindsight that was probably the wine talking.
Course 4. - Seared Scallops with Double Mushroom Custard on Roasted Portobello Mushrooms with Tomato Beurre Blanc.
Ever had mushroom custard? Mmmm. Big flavours.
Course 5. - Slow Cooked Octopus with Lightly Spiced Asian Salad with Vietnamese Mint.
We loved this dish, it was excellently placed to freshen the palate after the Scallops and Mushrooms. BUT we had difficulty differentiating it from the appetisers freely found in Vietnamese restaurants (big iceberg lettuce, sprouts, Vietnamese mint, dipping sauce). All this dish needed was an iceberg lettuce to be the real deal. As for the octopus, its only purpose really was to add a lovely texture to the meal, but that’s octopuses for you. I sound negative, but this dish was lovely (just try not to think of Victoria St, Richmond).
Course 6. - Chinese Duckling Consommé with Coriander/Chilli Tortellini.
STANDOUT DISH. Simple, simple, simple. Broth with a tortellini button floating in the middle. But oh my god, it was beautiful. The broth was rich but not overpowering, the tortellini was a joyous burst of coriander and sweet chilli.
Course 7. - Tasmanian Prime Eye Fillet of Beef in Soy and Sake with Roasted Portobello Mushroom, Buttered Parsnip Puree, Ponzu Sauce and Wasabi Fine Noodles.
Simply a beef stack on top of a mushroom with parsnip mash (puree … so that’s what we’re calling it now?). But oh my goodness me, what an example of how this type of dish works when done well. The beef was rare and thinly sliced. Best preparation of a steak I’ve come across in a long while. The parsnip mash (I mean puree) was really yummy. Top marks.
Course 8. - Assiette of Sweets.
Now, my friend Beryl (who is fluent in Kitchenese) tells me that an Assiette means: the Ass-you-get if you eat too many of these sweets!
a) Strawberry and Basil Pannacotta
A little baby pannacotta pretending to be gnocchi, with a strip of honey something and a strip of diced strawberry and basil. Drooooool.
b) Apple and Lychee Salad
Grated apple and rough cut lychees. Didn’t interest me at all. Once again, really overdid it with the fine-ground black pepper.
c) Chocolate and Mandarin
Was it a fudge, was it a truffle, who cares, it was chocolate! I think I may have moaned aloud.

And the wine! I am head over hills in love with Lalla Gully Sauvignon Blanc (1998, $35/$7), from the Pipers River region. Give me a wine whiffing of capsicum and I know I’m half-way there! We also had a glass of a yummy red with the Tasmanian beef … but by that stage I had no idea what my name was let alone the wine’s!

I was too full to order coffee (goodness!). Next time we’ll try the six-course degustation (with wines matched by the glass), which would have worked out much cheaper (and perhaps easier on my full belly). Our indulgence was ridiculously financially reckless ($300!!!). But don’t let our wantonness put you off. Go … even if it’s just to have a coffee or a glass of wine while you soak up the fabulous ambience. They won’t mind … Whatever suits your budget (or in our case, whatever blows ours completely out of the water!!). For my money, chef Don Cameron (surely “Don” as in Corleone!) is a masterful designer of a wonderful food indulgence. However, perhaps call first to check if The Don is having a night off, our replacement chef was in a wee hurry to get home it seemed.

Sad postscript … Have since discovered (courtesy of knowledgeable bloke at Hobart Gasworks) that the Lalla Gully Sauvignon Blanc is rather hard to come by. It seems to be available only in restaurants (and the vineyard I suppose). Sigh.

Has the HRB Gone Soft???

Currently I’m spoiled for choice … and it’s all good. Recently I’ve had good things to say about Steam Packet, I’ve had good things to say about Navaro’s (in Launceston), and I’ve had good things to say about a few other places too. And yet I’m still not finished … I still have more good things to say! But I’m in need of some thinking music before I deliver this new gospel according to the HRB … so please bear with me.

See ... contrary to the Tas Tourism Board's paranoia, I am capable of giving credit when it's due!

In the meantime …

I had a conversation with a friend today. In 36 degree heat we were stumped trying to identify a good place for a bevvie. Not that there aren’t good places to drink, but we were looking for something other than the usual suspects (T42 … or … T42?). We thought of sitting on the domain and just getting a little bit tipsy in the park … but in 36 degrees? In the end I gave up, stayed home, and sipped refreshing tea in the shade.

Much more sensible really!

Snippets

Snippet #1
As if to erase a bad dream from my memory banks, as if to make me feel as though I’m a crazy lady in some kind of delusional state, Jean-Pascal in West Hobart has pulled the God-damned goods!

Some of you may have seen my terrified comment about milk heated in a microwave. Well the good news is you needn’t be quite so afraid. As with all teething problems, this has been overcome.

Jean-Pascal will never be a coffee palace (they use a domestic-style machine), BUT the coffee is serviceable, AND not being a sweet-tooth I was astounded to feel myself pulled inexplicably towards the display cabinet and finding myself wanting three of everything. There are real chocolate éclairs, real house cakes with pert raspberries on top, real profiteroles, and real cakes. There are other real things that I don’t know the name of. And there are very sexy pies. Oh, and the bread rocks.

Snippet #2
Like a mirage I saw it, an ad in yesterday’s Merc. And just to reassure me that I hadn’t dreamt it, there it was again today. A proclamation. Athena’s has been sold. Not wanting to be harsh but, ATHENA’S IS DEAD, LONG LIVE ATHENA’S. To the new owners … please listen very closely to the saddened whispers of diners gone by. We were so excited by the thought of Greek by the river, we were so saddened by the service and the food. Not to mention the bills (some very nasty rumours flying around about those). Please, take Athena’s bull by its mangy horns and show us what you’re made of. And this time, make it worth our dreams.

Could this be The One?

I took the plunge and dived straight into the refreshing waters of the Steam Packet at Henry Jones last night. In a word: excellent. The service was incredible, the food was exciting, I was even inspired to order pork. I NEVER order pork!

Our waiter for the evening was the delightful Chris. He’s a funny guy. Talks you through the menu with a cheeky grin, you half expect a crash of cymbals at the end of his little presentation to signify that he’s a ham. He is. Chris is a ham. When it’s appropriate. And here is the secret talent of the truly talented wait staff. I watched him operate. To each table he presented a different face. To the two cranky pants behind us he was serious and unobtrusive. To the young couple by the Atrium door he was attentive and helpful. We were obviously up for it and so he gave us a floorshow.

Being a funny guy isn’t everything. That’s why I still haven’t been to Gondwana (because of the “funny guy” who used to work at Rockerfellers and is now at Gondwana … dude, you’re not that funny). Chris is not a mere comic in waiter’s clothing, he is passionate and knowledgeable about the Steam Packet menu. This is the other secret talent of the truly talented host (notice I’ve given him a promotion? … Please do likewise Mr Crawford). Chris had sampled each dish on the menu (damned sensible when you think about it). Better yet, he was EXCITED by everything on the menu. He was bursting out of his skin to be asked a question about a dish, any dish, just ask him a question, go on! AND he’s clearly inspired to be working with the chef. He said so.

All good news.

The food? Oysters – six natural and six topped with cucumber pickled in chilli and star anise with frozen olive oil. Gorgeous, and forget fresh, these things were alive and charging me by the hour. Smoked Crocodile. Oh yes, Smoked Crocodile. Looks like bacon only lighter, doesn’t taste like chicken (don’t let anyone tell you otherwise), basically “yum scrum pig’s bum”, except it was Crocodile’s bum. Served with a dazzling beetroot reduction, stir fried baby spinach and tomato, and red onion marmalade (would be so ace on toast!). Mains: Pork Belly (now how’s that pig gonna eat without a belly!) with crispy noodles and shitake broth. The pork was from Winnaleah. It was sweet and moist, as all pigs should be (just ask Porky). Longford Eye Fillet of Beef (perfectly medium rare, tender, yum). Rocket and parmesan salad. Pink eyes with sea salt and rosemary.

Wine? Yes please.

The only real problem I have with Steam Packet is the atmosphere. Henry Jones is a beautifully designed complex. I really like it. But I don’t like sitting to dinner with hotel guests staring absently at me while they check in. Some privacy screens would seem to be the way to go here. Let’s face it, there’s no view to lose. This is the other difficulty Steam Packet faces. We know there are lots of stunning boats and watery-pretty things to look at just outside, but because of the nature of the building’s heritage listing (I assume) it’s not possible for diners to have a view. That’s why the interior design and the menu and the service are so important … and thank goodness they work well here. In fact, it’s kind of refreshing to have a waterfront restaurant whose focus is the food, not the view. But did I mention privacy screens … that guy’s picking his nose while I’m trying to eat my oysters!

On the whole we finally have a Hobart restaurant that provides an exciting menu, has talented and well trained staff (who surely deserve a pay rise), and food to match the anticipation. A big fat furry thumbs-up to Steam Packet, and big sloppy HRB kisses to your chef and your staff.

About bloody time!

The Church of Taste

There is no single altar, there are no gently flickering candles and no cloying incense. But I worship none-the-less. I don’t love the shed, I don’t love the rubbish, and I certainly don’t love the ‘street performers’ who want to hassle me when I’m trying to get drunk, fat, and sun-struck in one fell swoop. But God I love Taste.

Not enough tables, too few toilets, too many smelly bins. Too much noise, too many sea critters fried to death. Too many lame pinots. Too many loud wankers on mobiles bitching about real estate, yachts, or “the ex-pat lifestyle”. Pathetic hecklers hassling the buskers in snickered whispers, too scared to get up front and say something worth hearing. Too much money pissed up a rope or vomited later down a toilet bowl.

But God I love Taste.

Having spent the last few summers inconveniently pretending to enjoy Christmases elsewhere, this year was bound to be big. I went three times. The first evening I arrived to join a bundle of friends at a table indoors. Friends now living interstate, who I was so excited to spend a bit of time with in a noisy smelly shed. The second time I popped in for half an hour to say g’day to some family as they sat on tiered seats watching the water and eating mussels.

On the third day we sat at a table flanked by elderly ladies and gents who were enjoying their berries and ice cream. We ate scallops and wallaby from Waji, and drank Stefano Lubiano’s pinto gris (or was it a grigio?). As the afternoon progressed we moved along the table to make room for friends who had joined us. Sitting beside the timber railing, looking over the water, sipping a Meadowbank cleanskin (around 15 bucks). It was a gorgeous day.

I have read what many of you have had to say about Taste and how it could be better. I don’t really disagree. But going to Taste is an art, it takes patience and planning and a bit of saved up pocket money. My gripe with Taste is a more fundamental one … What the hell are The Fish Café, Little India, Sush, and other establishments doing there? Stick to running restaurants/cafes/whatever, and leave Taste to the producers and their talented chefs-for-hire … But back to worshipping at the Church of Taste.

Here’s how I do it:
1. Go in a group and hunt for somewhere to sit
2. Send scouts out to find extra chairs
3. Send blokes to hunt for food
4. Send other blokes to hunt for wine
5. Sit on your arse and enjoy yourself
Easy!

I don’t think of Taste as an opportunity for dining excellence. It is an opportunity for lazy gluttony in the sun. And somehow I always manage to succeed.

GW the HRB ;-)

At Last!

And when I awoke I rubbed my little eyes and whispered, “Surely it’s not morning yet?” I lumped into the shower and then dragged on enough clothes to greet the day. Made it into the car with barely minutes left to get myself to work on time. The car knows its way and rolled me along the usual path.

And then like a surprise birthday present I saw it … the wrapping had come off … the newspapers had come down. Hallelujah!

Jean-Pascal … bread, coffee, GATEAUX!

It’s open, it’s open, it’s really truly finally open.

After what has seemed like an age, the tauntingly sweet looking little patisserie at the bottom of the hill is finally open. I’ve been waiting for months to see what was inside, to see what I could smell and taste. Jean-Pascal … with rumoured links to Jackman & McRoss and possibly even Zum. Jean-Pascal with the sweet little window promising GATEAUX. Jean-Pascal whose window doesn’t promise coffee, but now that the newspapers are down I can see the shining machine. Jean-Pascal who promises little walks down the road to eat little treats and sips of lovely coffee.

Suddenly getting out of bed a little earlier each day seems like such a good idea!


p.s. In case your car doesn’t know the way, Jean-Pascal is on Goulburn Street, next to the fish n chip shop on the corner of Goulburn and Molle.

Tsunami Postscript

With apologies to those generous souls whose activities I am not aware of …

The staff and management of Sisco’s are donating their time and ALL TAKINGS from a special opening on Sunday 9 January in order to support the Tsunami Appeal.

Prospect Wines (purveyors of rather scrummy cleanskins in town) are donating ALL THIS WEEK’S PROFITS to the Tsunami Appeal.

There is a benefit gig at onetwelve (112 Liverpool St – www.onetwelve.blogspot.com) from 4pm onwards on Sunday 9 January with ALL PROCEEDS going to the Tsunami Appeal.

Maybe I’m not so naïve after all … your generosity of spirit proves that business isn’t always about profits, but can indeed be founded on good will and word of mouth.

Thank you.

Tsunami

I attended a dinner party the other night. Small, intimate, nice company. Conversation turned as it would to the Indian Ocean tsunami. We sat looking out over the river and imagined the equivalent damage here. Sandy Bay, gone. Howrah, gone. Before long people began to explore possible explanations for such a disaster: God’s wrath, fault lines, nature’s attrition of over-population, and so on. As I listened I felt a sense of urgency and frustration, without really knowing how to express it. The conversation took a middle class western turn for the worse as members of the party began to discuss how some people would find ways to profit from the devastation in Aceh and other areas. That’s how business works, I was informed.

Maybe I’m more naïve than even I thought.

I don’t want to preach or get all soap-boxy … I would certainly be the last in line to throw the first stone … but can we just put things in perspective for a minute? We are wrapped in the cotton wool of western wealth. We belly ache (well I belly ache) about food and wine and not being offered a cup of coffee. I’ll continue to do this, because my life, your lives, won’t really be changed by this disaster. But in the background I would hope that if not our lives, at least our attitudes will change.

Donate. Time, money, services, best wishes, whatever you can offer. Put it in a kindness cup and offer it freely, without a sense of guilt or a sense of duty. Our lives will go on. I’m off to the Taste today and soon I will celebrate my birthday. My life will go on. But if nothing else, I hope I will never become so complacent as to forget the images of devastation and my own sense of desperation to do what I can to help. Be it ever so small.

New Year's Eve at Prosser's

In the past I have lumped Prosser’s and Mure’s in the same basket … murderers of good seafood, in my humble opinion of course. But then friends from interstate arranged a New Years Eve event to share with us. They had never been to Prosser’s before. I had (hence previous comments on this site about fish drowning in sauces, and the nineteen-eighties being well and truly over). But it had been quite some time and I was gagging for another opportunity to sample Prosser’s fare, as I love the location and I love the idea of Prosser’s. So our dear friend arranged the dinner, booked the table, paid the deposit (!!) and off we went.

New Year’s Eve in Hobart … avoiding the waterfront at all costs has extra-special costs of its own. I’ll give you the heads up … info that I was not privy to before taking my seat at the neatly starched table … Dinner was a set menu at $75 per head, not including wine. Phew, that hurts.

Course 1: Air Freighted Fresh Crystal Bay Prawn Salad with Avocado, Asparagus and Warm Citrus Dressing. I can cope with a prawn cocktail … I’m a big girl, really I can cope. But if I’m going to be served a prawn cocktail, it really should come in a parfait glass and not pretend to be something else just because it comes flat on a plate. Alright, maybe I’m being a bit harsh. The prawns were AIR FREIGHTED. Obviously not a prawn cocktail, silly me.

The second course was MAGNIFICENT. Fresh Local Chilli Salt Calamari with Green Paw Paw Salad and Lime, Palm Sugar and Coriander Dressing. Fresh, zingy, and I could have eaten it all night. Bloody fine gear.

Course 3: East Coast Scallops Lightly Poached in Japanese Dashi Stock and Served in a Mushroom, Lemon Butter (winner best dish tas.). The scallop melange was presented on the half shell. One half shell. Touted on the menu as being the winner of “Best Dish Tas.” … Sorry, it was dull and the sauce was far too reminiscent of the sauce drowning the prawns.

Did I tell you the prawns were AIR FREIGHTED? Ok, whatever.

Then came the trevalla. Blue Eye Grilled with Gremolata Crust On Potato Mousseline and Caper Butter. It was a thick fillet pretending to be a chicken breast, only less dry. The fish was sweet and fresh and not overdone, it was crusted in herbs and served on a mash in a bowl with a bit of buttery sauce. If you’ve read my piece on Tasmanian Times (http://www.tasmaniantimes.com/) about Novaro’s in Launceston, you will know how impressed I can be by a good butter sauce. This wasn’t one of those. Just as I was complaining to my companions about the lack of vegetables with the meal so far, along came a little plate of salad. For all four of us to share. We had to request bread to fill us up a bit more.

Desert … Toffed [toffeed?] Almond and Lindt Chocolate Nougatine Parfait with Seasonal Berries. Translation: Ice cream and raspberries (after extra-large, extra-hot coffees at Hudsons with Fantasia, ice cream is my next favourite indulgence). Just beautiful. Loved it, loved it. And am still wishing I could have had seconds. Mainly because I was still hungry.

Major complaint number 1: After $75 I went home feeling hungry … never a good sign.
Major complaint number 2: Diners at another table were hoeing into crayfish. How did they get to have crayfish? We were not given the option – set menu or nothing. As you know, I do have a tendency to sulk over such things.
Major complaint number 3: We weren’t offered coffee. I was hungry, a coffee would have helped fill my wee belly, but no. No coffee for you, you naughty Georgie Weston. Perhaps I’ll accept responsibility for not being assertive, but before I knew it the bill was paid and I was being ushered out the door coffeeless.

Oh well.

Prosser’s on New Year’s Eve was SO much better than the last 80’s retro cuisine experience I’d had there. But crikey they still have a little bit of work to do. The food was good on the whole. The service was efficient and courteous, despite some clumsiness (our table had not been fully set, but I’ll get over it), but not to the standards of Henry Jones for example. I would have appreciated being taken through the night’s menu and suggestions for wines with each dish would have been dandy. The wine list was pretty average and abbreviated (my companions complained that there were too few wines available by the glass), but reasonably priced. A clever option would have been to match wines by the glass to each dish. But who can fault the ambience? No-one. Oh alright, I’ll have a stab at it: We paid $75 for a New Years Eve dinner. Prosser’s is a lovely restaurant ambience-wise, BUT it could have been any night of the year. A little more effort (no need to be chintzy) to acknowledge that we were celebrating the dying embers of 2004 wouldn’t have gone astray.

Despite the stupidly exorbitant price, it’s nice to see that Prosser’s standards have improved since my last sojourn. Even the décor is a touch more modern. I was impressed enough to be keen to return to Prosser’s to try their a la carte menu, but I can’t recommend Prosser’s for a special occasion set menu. Prosser’s New Years Eve On The Beach? Over-priced and under-special by a very long shot.