The block I live on in downtown Sydney, Australia is close to a grocery store; Woolloomooloo Woolworth’s — it’s oooooooo so good — and even closer to a slice of Sydney’s infamous Restaurant scene. This [combined with my stove-less, cutting-board-less, view-less (but cheap-and-in-a-great-location) dorm room] gives me every reason to put down the can-opener and head out my front door.
They call food “tucker” in Australian.
NEWTOWN
Hartsyard — Tucker so good it wants to eat itself. Smoked lambs ribs or whipped cheese with stuffed peppers. I saw a dish with popcorn involved; definitely going back.
Korean BBQ — Plate full of raw meat. I loved it.
Cheeky Czech — Aren’t they hungry for vegetables in that country? I was lacking nutrients and on a sodium overload.
THAI
A list of puns:
SauteThai Restaurant, ChatThai, ThaiRiffic, Thainatown, ThaiOne, Thaitanium.
Garfish or, The Manly Tumble
Good view. Average menu but a bruise on my ego forces me to remember that there’s a slippery floor.
CBD
Sushi is Sydney’s fast food; good, cheap, healthy, and located on every corner.
Sushi Train– Sushi, but slightly more expensive. It rotates. On a conveyor belt. Mechanical delivery comes at a cost.
Gelatissimo — Ice Cream Store and dinner for grown ups.
Meat & Wine Co. — This is the only country that I know of where you can (legally) eat their national emblem. ‘roo is delicious when it’s sizzling, ta.
Bodhi — Vegan yum cha, fake meat still doesn’t taste like real meat but their dumplings have brought me back.
*******A nod of deep respect to The Irish in my life*******
Curry cheese chips.
CRONULLA/MIRANDA/SOUTH SUBURBS
42 — Homemade lamb roast, bag lunch the next day; hospitality at its finest.
STANLEY STREET
Bippi’s
The dust is clearly marked, vintage 2005.
That’s Bippi in the background. And that’s my best Australian mate, Rusty, in the foreground. He says a clichéd “G’day”. You can also see Franco the “Koala Bear” who is attached to my keys; we go everywhere together except that Franco doesn’t know that I ate his girlfriend’s rump during a dining experience mentioned earlier in this post.
Stanley Street Merchants
When ordering scallops seared is an operative word; raw scallops are less good than raw oysters. (The first time I’ve seen finger limes, Nancy!)
British Indian Tapas
Continentally confused. Where is this restaurant from? Where is this waitress from? Do the Vietnamese eat chickpeas? And, sorry, can we have a doggy bag??
The Twin Italians
Two completely unrelated restaurants from the same motherland. The best bit? The awkwardness as you sit on the veranda discussing which one is better.
An interesting sidebar: Australian customer service is generally poor because the country (mostly) doesn’t tip (due high wages). And so, for those of you who’ve eaten with me in this country, I sincerely thank you for your water glass.
You can all see where this post has taken me, predictably… towards dinner time. And yes, to answer your no doubt lingering question, I’m off to read something intellectually demanding like a menu.
Bon Appetit,
‘mi
When I walk through the stairwell a smell leaps up, greeting me like a pooch who’s been alone all day. It’s not terrible as I have my own room with a window (although as you can see, the skylight is obstructed by a brick wall translating to minimal actual sunlight and my plants dying every other week). On the ‘bright’ side I enjoy purchasing new shrubbery and am only moderately worried about being reported for herbuse.
Adventuresam 