“Be sure to eat plenty of meat pies,” said pal Jon as we prepared to depart for three weeks in Australia.
Throughout my life, I’ve had people trying to convince me to enter into some sort of food enterprise with them. Jon is one of those people. Married to a New Zealander whose family he was compelled to visit, he developed a taste for savory hand pies and thought it was a can’t-miss opportunity for a business in California. I was more skeptical. Lately Jon’s business concept has moved on to tacos, but that’s a subject for another post…
Australian Rice Krispies
Back to the meat pies. Arriving in Sydney a day or two before the winter solstice, we checked into our cool Airbnb terrace house in Darlinghurst, a few blocks from the Central Business District (CBD). One of our first destinations was not the Opera House or the Harbour Bridge, but the IGA grocery store. Here, along with milk, Rice Bubbles (the Australian version of Rice Krispies), fruit, etc., I purchased a meat pie — chicken curry, to be specific.
We heated the pie up for breakfast the following morning. It was quite tasty, the crusty flaky and light, almost puff pastryish. All in all good, although perhaps not the stuff of lucrative American franchise.
I had done my research. I was looking forward to a joint called Hayden’s Pies on the coastal road to Melbourne a week later. I Instagram messaged them ahead to find out what kind of pie-of-the-day they would have ready for us when we rolled through. I guess they were busy, as I did not receive a reply.
My childhood pal from Topanga, Geoff, moved to Sydney a couple decades ago and was looking forward to my arrival. We had a nice lunch together, him and me and my family, our first day in the city, and made plans to have him and his mother to dinner at our place later in the week. In between, he wanted to take me for a microbrewpub crawl in his neighborhood in Newtown.
Geoff & I brewpubbing
Still jet lagged, I reluctantly set out in an Uber on a drizzly Saturday night to meet Geoff at Batch Brewing Company. We opted for the six-beer sampler which included several strange flavors (spicy chili and cherry vanilla) that were well executed and enjoyable. Two more joints followed which blend together in my mind and I’m not sure which was which — the beer was fine and I was more focused on catching up with my friend.
Nearing the end of the crawl, we wound up at a record-store-by-day, whisky-bar-by-night, where Geoff ordered us two house-distilled whiskies and two Norwegian lactose beers. “This is a great combo to end the night.” He was right, the lactose beer delicious and unlike anything I’d had. I peeled off the label in the hopes I might find it back home, while making jokes that I was definitely not lactose-intolerant.
Nearing midnight, we found ourselves in a large private club bar watching a distinctly Australian punk pop band playing some pretty darn good music. I yawned deeply while talking briefly with a beautiful Quebecois musicologist (punk rock specialist) and then decided it was time to Uber home, as Geoff was chatting up various women and seemed to be just getting going.
Yellowtail at Baccomatto
The next day, I got another meat pie from the IGA — a “tradie” of beef, bacon and cheese. My wife disliked the “gloppy” texture of the sauce, my kids recoiled from the boingy mystery meat. I ate most of it myself, and it was decent, though again definitely not the stuff of the American franchise of your (Jon’s) dreams.
One-day-away-from-9-year-old daughter Imogen was eager to wear her high heel shoes and special dress for a “fancy dinner”. A bit of internet research later and I had found Baccomatto, a stylish Italian eatery a few blocks from our Airbnb. As we approached the restaurant just as it opened, we helped Immy out of her Patagonia (it’s winter here, remember) and into her dress and high heels, and sat for a meal. The food was delicious and gorgeous — my main course of yellowtail tuna with Roman artichokes and squid ink sauce sublime — and they graciously made ziti and meatballs for the kids.
Imogen approves of Baccomatto
The next day, Geoff texted: “I’m at the fish market. Anything you want or need?”
I had heard about “bugs” — not the kind I ate in Oaxaca, but a crustacean member of the shrimp family unique to the waters of this part of Australia. As eager as my kids were to see kangaroos and koalas, I was to put some unusual seafood onto the plate. Our last night in Sydney before we hit the coastal road south toward Melbourne, Geoff and his mom came for dinner, bearing Balmain bugs. Perhaps the strangest crustacean I’ve ever seen — what appears to be a giant tail is actually its face.
I tossed the snow white meat with butter and a squeeze of lemon, and was not disappointed. It was somewhere between lobster and scampi, and I was able to check off another box on my world’s most unusual crustaceans list.
The next day, we hopped in the mini van early — me driving “on the wrong side and upside down,” as my pal Dr. Lindsay Sharp forewarned me. Ahead: the great coastal road south, supper at Dr. Sharp’s house in the eucalyptus rainforest, Hayden’s famous pies and the great (we were assured by Melbourners) food and coffee mecca of Melbourne.
skinny girls & mayonnaise 