sam chalmersIs It Safe
August 2nd 2010 07:16
Soon to come, an article outlining whether or not where you might be spending your sexy dollars is safe or not.
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World Youth Day!
July 3rd 2008 00:45
Sydney-siders face 'unreasonable interference' during World Youth Day
Pope Benedict will arrive in Sydney amid tight security. (Reuters, file photo: Erin Siegal)
Draconian, repugnant and unnecessary. These are just a few of the criticisms of special regulations coming into force for the upcoming Catholic World Youth Day event in Sydney.
Civil libertarians and legal experts say the regulations could see situations such as someone deemed to be wearing an offensive T-shirt being arrested and given a hefty fine.
New South Wales Police say the measures are designed simply to ensure that World Youth Day is a peaceful and happy event.
The event runs from July 15 to July 20, but from today until the end of the month the regulations come into force.
Under the regime SES and Rural Fire Service volunteers will assist police in bag checks at World Youth Day locations.
And anyone deemed to be causing annoyance could be arrested and fined up to $5,500.
New South Wales deputy police commissioner Dave Owens says the regulations do not restrict democratic rights.
"If people wish to lawfully protest, we will facilitate those protests as long as they are law abiding," he said.
"Police officers always maintain a discretion, and I expect them to use that discretion."
There have been suggestions that people could be arrested if they wear a T-shirt that promotes the use of condoms. Mr Owens refused to rule that out.
"There are individual circumstances that will have to be dealt with individually," he said.
'Repugnant'
President of the New South Wales Bar Association Anna Katzmann says she does not understand why the regulations have been brought in.
"They are repugnant for two reasons," she said.
"First of all the Government has by-passed the normal parliamentary scrutiny that would be available if they were introduced by an Act of Parliament," she said.
"Secondly they are an unreasonable interference with people's freedom of speech and movement."
She says there is a chance people could be arrested for trivial offences in the areas that have been declared as special World Youth Day zones.
"These World Youth Day-declared areas are numerous and they encompass places like Sydney University and the Opera House. Places that you and I would travel to regularly, not just churches or church schools," she said.
New South Wales Council of Civil Liberties president Cameron Murphy says he is opposed to the proposed measures.
"A police officer may find someone's T-shirt annoying and on that basis issue them with a fine," he said.
"That sort of thing is likely to escalate any problems that occur rather than prevent them."
The Greens have joined civil libertarians and the Bar Association in calling for the regulations to be cancelled.
Based on an AM report by Barbara Miller.
Pope Benedict will arrive in Sydney amid tight security. (Reuters, file photo: Erin Siegal)
Draconian, repugnant and unnecessary. These are just a few of the criticisms of special regulations coming into force for the upcoming Catholic World Youth Day event in Sydney.
Civil libertarians and legal experts say the regulations could see situations such as someone deemed to be wearing an offensive T-shirt being arrested and given a hefty fine.
New South Wales Police say the measures are designed simply to ensure that World Youth Day is a peaceful and happy event.
The event runs from July 15 to July 20, but from today until the end of the month the regulations come into force.
Under the regime SES and Rural Fire Service volunteers will assist police in bag checks at World Youth Day locations.
And anyone deemed to be causing annoyance could be arrested and fined up to $5,500.
New South Wales deputy police commissioner Dave Owens says the regulations do not restrict democratic rights.
"If people wish to lawfully protest, we will facilitate those protests as long as they are law abiding," he said.
"Police officers always maintain a discretion, and I expect them to use that discretion."
There have been suggestions that people could be arrested if they wear a T-shirt that promotes the use of condoms. Mr Owens refused to rule that out.
"There are individual circumstances that will have to be dealt with individually," he said.
'Repugnant'
President of the New South Wales Bar Association Anna Katzmann says she does not understand why the regulations have been brought in.
"They are repugnant for two reasons," she said.
"First of all the Government has by-passed the normal parliamentary scrutiny that would be available if they were introduced by an Act of Parliament," she said.
"Secondly they are an unreasonable interference with people's freedom of speech and movement."
She says there is a chance people could be arrested for trivial offences in the areas that have been declared as special World Youth Day zones.
"These World Youth Day-declared areas are numerous and they encompass places like Sydney University and the Opera House. Places that you and I would travel to regularly, not just churches or church schools," she said.
New South Wales Council of Civil Liberties president Cameron Murphy says he is opposed to the proposed measures.
"A police officer may find someone's T-shirt annoying and on that basis issue them with a fine," he said.
"That sort of thing is likely to escalate any problems that occur rather than prevent them."
The Greens have joined civil libertarians and the Bar Association in calling for the regulations to be cancelled.
Based on an AM report by Barbara Miller.
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Comments (3)[ Link ]
Posted By: Troy McNaughton - Category: Rants, Chai, Paraphernalia, Inner West, CBD, North Shore, North West, West, South, Miscellany, Food
La Renaissance – patisserie francaise, dans La Rocks
August 29th 2006 04:12
If you walked down Argyle Street in the Rocks with your mother, looking for a quick bite to eat before heading to the piers for an exhibition, you might wander into this sweet-smelling corridor also.
At 47 Argyle Street there is: Patronage – check. Baked goods – check. Coffee – check. Seating – check, a little on the street facing west for the evening and the rest in a courtyard, dappled in the morning. It was winter, to be fair, as we were reminded by an otherwise well-dressed young woman sporting stripey socks and thongs to my great dismay – stripey socks have never been so abused and misused.
We squeezed in line and exchanged platitudes of the “oh I think you were next” variety to order at the counter along with those there for coffee and takeaway baguettes and cakes, the latter for which La Renaissance is renowned.
Secret Sydney would appear to have gone cultural this week. In this case, Le Chat Noir and other of that ilk adorn the walls, with posters for art exhibitions and the banter of the server in French to more Francos than I knew were in Sydney combining to create a thoroughly Continental experience.
Once you reach the courtyard out the back (hidden from view from Argyle Street and requiring close relations with the waiters to get through via an even narrower corridor) if it weren’t for the fig trees that thrive in our Sydney sandstone you would swear you were in Europe – complete with the overpowering pretensions of writers (or thespians) wearing more makeup than most men staring pensively into space, pen poised, and clearly not having all that many thoughts worth writing down.
Cross to my mother who drinks her coffee long and black, spurning the delights of sugar and milk, who says anything tastes good after Canadian attempts on the “Americano”, which required much modification via extra shots and the like on my parents’ recent jaunt to Canuckville.
No, my tastes are fully adjusted to the Sydney coffee-zone, and this coffee was quite lovely, complete with tasteful and well-executed coffee art.
Now, let it be testament to the pleasantness of La Renaissance that we dropped in twice in one day. Once for a light lunch (baguettes, light and fluffy and plenty crispy on the outside to the point of injury to the mouth) and later for cake. I can’t even begin to describe the beauty of this particular contribution to the Rocks collective menu. Milles feuilles, chocolate éclairs (which we sampled), brioche, croissants and all number of tarts, tortes and titillations.
Check out the website (they take orders, though these are the crème de la crème, if you will pardon the pun, and prices are reflective) – you have to respect an establishment with a separate section of Cakes for Chocoholics.
Yet there was a mortal sin committed. And I don't mean the cake. The tiramisu was laced. With no warning from the label, or even the fancy schmancy "Tiramisu" badge on top of the slice we ordered, that it contained *gasp*..... orange liquer. NOT IMPRESSED. And no, the individual serves do not look ANYTHING like the picture on the right. There is no orange colour, I swear! Do not be fooled!
Lucky for them I still had a chocolate eclair to hoe into, whilst passing the disgustingly citrus concoction off to my mother.
Mixing dairy and citrus was NEVER a good idea.
Grrrr.
La Renaissance is open seven days 8.30am - 6.00pm. Stop in and say ‘salut’ but beware the lurking liquer.
We squeezed in line and exchanged platitudes of the “oh I think you were next” variety to order at the counter along with those there for coffee and takeaway baguettes and cakes, the latter for which La Renaissance is renowned.
Cross to my mother who drinks her coffee long and black, spurning the delights of sugar and milk, who says anything tastes good after Canadian attempts on the “Americano”, which required much modification via extra shots and the like on my parents’ recent jaunt to Canuckville.
No, my tastes are fully adjusted to the Sydney coffee-zone, and this coffee was quite lovely, complete with tasteful and well-executed coffee art.
Lucky for them I still had a chocolate eclair to hoe into, whilst passing the disgustingly citrus concoction off to my mother.
Mixing dairy and citrus was NEVER a good idea.
Grrrr.
La Renaissance is open seven days 8.30am - 6.00pm. Stop in and say ‘salut’ but beware the lurking liquer.
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Late Night Coffee: Industrie!
August 14th 2006 22:58
The mystery Miss E and I spent 10 minutes last night at about 7 o'clock wandering between St James and Wynyard station looking for a coffee.
Specifically, we wanted hot chocolate - we were tired and I had a train ride I was not interested in being gee-ed up for.
We had just finished a negotiation competition and needed to debrief (aka bitching about the other team and convincing ourselves that we won) - but I was getting sick, we were both feeling stingy, it was cold and we just wanted a quick, hot drink.
Our combined imaginations could not think of a single place to get a coffee. Even bars and pubs with coffee machines close them up around 7 (we suspected); the food court has only just ground to a halt; Verandah Bar on Phillip Street had no chocolate.
Finally, the ever friendly staff at what is apparently the Angel Hotel (commonly referred to as the Angel Place Bar, which by the way has really bad search engine hits - I'm only getting Bar Cupola in the first few listings) directed us down Pitt Street to Industrie: Something or Other About the South of France. (This is not its name, just a tribute. -Ed.)
I felt a traitor to my home town not having set foot in this non-Establishment establishment before. Lush, rich fabrics, subdued lighting and candles hit us as we walked in the door, but it took a trip to the bathroom to realise that it extends beyond its pokey opening back and upwards to themed rooms. While the front is neutrals and lounges, the back room is a red lit bar with red retro chairs and green couches, visually stimulating without being overwhelming. There are tables for dining in the middle, which a single party of suits was rattling around in.
But the very nice thing about Industrie (apart from the hot chocolates which we will come to) is that its Monday night emptiness is not fatal.
I'm not into posh, and yet I felt at ease here with my massive uni bag that was a result of the fact that I hadn't been home in a few days. We just wanted a quiet chat, and that's exactly what we got - no loud music, plenty of relaxed but classy atmosphere and exactly what the doctor ordered.
AND THEY DO HOT CHOCOLATES AND COFFEES LATE AT NIGHT!
Honestly, I know tea-totallers who often just want a coffee at a bar/pub. I also know that when I go out, sometimes I need a caffeine hit, and that V or Red Bull is not always what you're after. Combine the fact that it is winter and you start to realise that closing up the coffee machine at some arbitrary time of the evening is downright discriminatory.
And despite its uber-chic appearance, the hot chocolates were very very nice, very very satisfying, and perfectly made with good quality chocolate and NOT FIVE DOLLARS! In fact, they were $3.50, comparable to any cafe on the North Shore, in the Eastern Suburbs or anywhere nice you'd sit down to have a coffee in the CBD.
So we salute Industrie Bar for catering to our rather specific cravings last Monday night and we encourage them to keep their coffee machines running for the cold and the sick who would rather not sit in Maccas.
Industrie Bar is at 107 Pitt St, Sydney, and I imagine it would be a nice place for French fare also - bookings on (02) 9221 8001.
Incidentally as well, I hit my cyber head on this little find today, a list of Sydney bars with a very short comment on each - caveat: it might be a bit cash-for-comment, but helpful nonetheless.
Specifically, we wanted hot chocolate - we were tired and I had a train ride I was not interested in being gee-ed up for.
We had just finished a negotiation competition and needed to debrief (aka bitching about the other team and convincing ourselves that we won) - but I was getting sick, we were both feeling stingy, it was cold and we just wanted a quick, hot drink.
Our combined imaginations could not think of a single place to get a coffee. Even bars and pubs with coffee machines close them up around 7 (we suspected); the food court has only just ground to a halt; Verandah Bar on Phillip Street had no chocolate.
Finally, the ever friendly staff at what is apparently the Angel Hotel (commonly referred to as the Angel Place Bar, which by the way has really bad search engine hits - I'm only getting Bar Cupola in the first few listings) directed us down Pitt Street to Industrie: Something or Other About the South of France. (This is not its name, just a tribute. -Ed.)
I felt a traitor to my home town not having set foot in this non-Establishment establishment before. Lush, rich fabrics, subdued lighting and candles hit us as we walked in the door, but it took a trip to the bathroom to realise that it extends beyond its pokey opening back and upwards to themed rooms. While the front is neutrals and lounges, the back room is a red lit bar with red retro chairs and green couches, visually stimulating without being overwhelming. There are tables for dining in the middle, which a single party of suits was rattling around in.
But the very nice thing about Industrie (apart from the hot chocolates which we will come to) is that its Monday night emptiness is not fatal.
I'm not into posh, and yet I felt at ease here with my massive uni bag that was a result of the fact that I hadn't been home in a few days. We just wanted a quiet chat, and that's exactly what we got - no loud music, plenty of relaxed but classy atmosphere and exactly what the doctor ordered.
AND THEY DO HOT CHOCOLATES AND COFFEES LATE AT NIGHT!
Honestly, I know tea-totallers who often just want a coffee at a bar/pub. I also know that when I go out, sometimes I need a caffeine hit, and that V or Red Bull is not always what you're after. Combine the fact that it is winter and you start to realise that closing up the coffee machine at some arbitrary time of the evening is downright discriminatory.
And despite its uber-chic appearance, the hot chocolates were very very nice, very very satisfying, and perfectly made with good quality chocolate and NOT FIVE DOLLARS! In fact, they were $3.50, comparable to any cafe on the North Shore, in the Eastern Suburbs or anywhere nice you'd sit down to have a coffee in the CBD.
So we salute Industrie Bar for catering to our rather specific cravings last Monday night and we encourage them to keep their coffee machines running for the cold and the sick who would rather not sit in Maccas.
Industrie Bar is at 107 Pitt St, Sydney, and I imagine it would be a nice place for French fare also - bookings on (02) 9221 8001.
Incidentally as well, I hit my cyber head on this little find today, a list of Sydney bars with a very short comment on each - caveat: it might be a bit cash-for-comment, but helpful nonetheless.
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CBD Dilemma – Wentworth: Worth it?
June 29th 2006 18:55
So Miss E and I were walking around the CBD in the King Street, Pitt Street kind of vicinity the other night looking for a 6pm coffee. It was a bitch.
Thou shalt not drink coffee made by a bartender.
But Miss E had a brainwave and led me by the dirty greasemonkey layperson hand to the lounge of Sofitel Wentworth, 61-101 Phillip Street Sydney. So it’s really a bar. But they get their coffee from elsewhere – trust me, I checked.
And it was lovely. Tasteful lighting, comfortable chairs, less than snooty wait staff considering that we looked like a couple of sleep deprived students in the boggy depths of stuvac hell, and very accommodating of our preference for stimulants over depressants.
Then it started.
Musak. Big time. But what was, I’m certain, meant to be “easy listening” was actually overpowering – too loud, more sax crimes* than you could count without sleeping with a close relative and having children with too many digits, and the white boy version of R&B singing applied to musak classics.
Oooohhh-oh-woo-haaaah-ah-he-he-haaa-ah.
Self-indulgent pianist making sweet sweet love to a microphone with his saxophonist sidekick honking away Kenny G style in the breaks. Wrong with a capital W.
Made me feel a little nauseous. A little on edge. A little too loudly relieved when they finally stopped and we could think and talk in peace.
So our $5 coffees nearly came with complimentary bleeding from the ears.
Tasteful bleeding though it might have been.
* Term coined to the best of my knowledge by Jay and the Doctor, JJJ Radio, listing sax offenders for public safety.
Thou shalt not drink coffee made by a bartender.
But Miss E had a brainwave and led me by the dirty greasemonkey layperson hand to the lounge of Sofitel Wentworth, 61-101 Phillip Street Sydney. So it’s really a bar. But they get their coffee from elsewhere – trust me, I checked.
And it was lovely. Tasteful lighting, comfortable chairs, less than snooty wait staff considering that we looked like a couple of sleep deprived students in the boggy depths of stuvac hell, and very accommodating of our preference for stimulants over depressants.
Then it started.
Musak. Big time. But what was, I’m certain, meant to be “easy listening” was actually overpowering – too loud, more sax crimes* than you could count without sleeping with a close relative and having children with too many digits, and the white boy version of R&B singing applied to musak classics.
Oooohhh-oh-woo-haaaah-ah-he-he-haaa-ah.
Self-indulgent pianist making sweet sweet love to a microphone with his saxophonist sidekick honking away Kenny G style in the breaks. Wrong with a capital W.
Made me feel a little nauseous. A little on edge. A little too loudly relieved when they finally stopped and we could think and talk in peace.
So our $5 coffees nearly came with complimentary bleeding from the ears.
Tasteful bleeding though it might have been.
* Term coined to the best of my knowledge by Jay and the Doctor, JJJ Radio, listing sax offenders for public safety.
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The Courtyard Cafe - the Italian way
June 20th 2006 01:26
Bus drivers should get paid double time when they are nice to people before 12pm. The difference it makes to people’s days is immeasurable – a little compliment of your concession card photo, a bit of banter, gentle and jovial suggestions for people to move down the bus, and of course well wishing for the rest of your day.
Similarly, a bouncy waiter or barista can inject your mood with more than caffeine – but I’m not suggesting you track down those heroine dealer baristas. Get it? Track down? Never mind.
Basically, anyone who sees me within the first 3 hours of waking up needs to take more responsibility for the fragility of my mood and their ability to cause the "start as you mean to go on" ripple effect.
...Butterfly effect. All those effects that chaos theorists like. Mmmmm chaos. Tasty.
At any rate, while you may only stop at a café to grab your morning coffee (although I’m getting really sick of the baby spouts on take-away cups, and the fact that the rim seems to retain coffee that eventually comes out cold onto your hand), the demeanour of the people serving you can set the tone for the day. Sunshine and lollipops are not necessary, but surely if baristas and associated persons did a bit of smiling and ‘how are you’ing they’d get a lot more smiling and ‘how are you’ing in return, making THEIR morning equally tolerable.
And let me tell you, a compliment, provided it is a genuine one, goes a long way. And this was the very Italian opening I received from The Courtyard Café (or Da Capo, it seems to go by either alias).
Its opening hours are not terribly friendly, but Monday - Friday 7.30am - 4pm and
Saturday and Sunday from 9am - 4pm, you can get a very decent coffee and/or food right by the Domain. Of course, you get to think about all the sick people polluting the air around you, since it’s basically inside Sydney Hospital, 8 Macquarie Street, Sydney.
They even serve breakfast all day on the weekend. I say all day. I mean til 4pm because like every other café in the city they are most unfriendly to the 9-5ers. The lunch menu is varied and fairly standard upper-end prices at around $16.
But let me go back to these baristas. They were friendly, chatty, insisted on translating everything into Italian, and said sweet Italian things that Italians should say, like “two beautiful coffees for two beautiful girls”. No, it wasn’t sleazy, but after being pash-raped by an Italian in Venice I have a pretty high tolerance for such things.
And the coffee! Oh the coffee! I’m pretty skeptish about mochas these days. But this coffee was doubling as dessert so it seemed the only viable option. So I, feeling restrained and self-disciplined, got a large and it was PERFECT. Oddly, it was made with chocolate milk, but it was strangely strangely perfect. It was the perfect sweetness, the perfect amount of coffee – as in, it tasted like coffee, not sugary milk – and it had none of that awful mineral taste you get when they use too much chocolate powder.
And I left so smug and satisfied with myself, my café choice, my scarf that was complimented, and my truly fulfilling mocha that I felt equipped to sit back down to work and study for a good… half hour… before I got bored and restless again.
Death to The Man Who Invented Exams. And his children. And his children’s children.
Similarly, a bouncy waiter or barista can inject your mood with more than caffeine – but I’m not suggesting you track down those heroine dealer baristas. Get it? Track down? Never mind.
Basically, anyone who sees me within the first 3 hours of waking up needs to take more responsibility for the fragility of my mood and their ability to cause the "start as you mean to go on" ripple effect.
...Butterfly effect. All those effects that chaos theorists like. Mmmmm chaos. Tasty.
At any rate, while you may only stop at a café to grab your morning coffee (although I’m getting really sick of the baby spouts on take-away cups, and the fact that the rim seems to retain coffee that eventually comes out cold onto your hand), the demeanour of the people serving you can set the tone for the day. Sunshine and lollipops are not necessary, but surely if baristas and associated persons did a bit of smiling and ‘how are you’ing they’d get a lot more smiling and ‘how are you’ing in return, making THEIR morning equally tolerable.
Its opening hours are not terribly friendly, but Monday - Friday 7.30am - 4pm and
Saturday and Sunday from 9am - 4pm, you can get a very decent coffee and/or food right by the Domain. Of course, you get to think about all the sick people polluting the air around you, since it’s basically inside Sydney Hospital, 8 Macquarie Street, Sydney.
They even serve breakfast all day on the weekend. I say all day. I mean til 4pm because like every other café in the city they are most unfriendly to the 9-5ers. The lunch menu is varied and fairly standard upper-end prices at around $16.
But let me go back to these baristas. They were friendly, chatty, insisted on translating everything into Italian, and said sweet Italian things that Italians should say, like “two beautiful coffees for two beautiful girls”. No, it wasn’t sleazy, but after being pash-raped by an Italian in Venice I have a pretty high tolerance for such things.
And the coffee! Oh the coffee! I’m pretty skeptish about mochas these days. But this coffee was doubling as dessert so it seemed the only viable option. So I, feeling restrained and self-disciplined, got a large and it was PERFECT. Oddly, it was made with chocolate milk, but it was strangely strangely perfect. It was the perfect sweetness, the perfect amount of coffee – as in, it tasted like coffee, not sugary milk – and it had none of that awful mineral taste you get when they use too much chocolate powder.
And I left so smug and satisfied with myself, my café choice, my scarf that was complimented, and my truly fulfilling mocha that I felt equipped to sit back down to work and study for a good… half hour… before I got bored and restless again.
Death to The Man Who Invented Exams. And his children. And his children’s children.
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Brew Cafe Rocks on - one for the Kiwis, brew
June 13th 2006 00:01
"Of course I have played outdoor games. I once played dominoes in an open air cafe in Paris." - Oscar Wilde
So what’s the brewhaha in the Rocks?
Why, the Brew Café of course! At 121 Harrington Street, the Rocks, right next to the Belgian Beer Café, it’s surprisingly close to Wynyard and the CBD, which might help to explain why it’s the perfect venue for business chattery.
The outside is professional, corporate, glass encrusted; the inside is sleek, modern, large enough to accommodate you and your potential client/boss/boy/girlfriend with an odd sense of privacy.
The lighting is natural; you’re away from the hustle and bustle of the street yet part of the cityscape; hidden yet not so intimate as to put the pressure on.
And any meeting of any kind will benefit from the kind of icebreaker that comes from the very friendly black waiter:
“And what can I get for you ladies?”
“A long black for me please.”
“And would you like a coffee too?”
Ah an oldie but a goodie.
How’s the coffee, I hear you ask?
Very decent, I reply.
I don’t think it’s been around all that long, but I rate this café as one to try for the great service, good ambience and the understanding that people who drink coffee ALWAYS want a big glass of iced water. That touch goes a long way with me.
It’s nice to know they care about my hydration. “Moisture is the essence of wetness. And wetness is the essence of beauty.”
So what’s the brewhaha in the Rocks?
Why, the Brew Café of course! At 121 Harrington Street, the Rocks, right next to the Belgian Beer Café, it’s surprisingly close to Wynyard and the CBD, which might help to explain why it’s the perfect venue for business chattery.
The outside is professional, corporate, glass encrusted; the inside is sleek, modern, large enough to accommodate you and your potential client/boss/boy/girlfriend with an odd sense of privacy.
The lighting is natural; you’re away from the hustle and bustle of the street yet part of the cityscape; hidden yet not so intimate as to put the pressure on.
And any meeting of any kind will benefit from the kind of icebreaker that comes from the very friendly black waiter:
“And what can I get for you ladies?”
“A long black for me please.”
“And would you like a coffee too?”
Ah an oldie but a goodie.
How’s the coffee, I hear you ask?
Very decent, I reply.
I don’t think it’s been around all that long, but I rate this café as one to try for the great service, good ambience and the understanding that people who drink coffee ALWAYS want a big glass of iced water. That touch goes a long way with me.
It’s nice to know they care about my hydration. “Moisture is the essence of wetness. And wetness is the essence of beauty.”
The Rocks... boom tish
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Another day another carrot - Tavolino
May 1st 2006 14:48
Wiki-pic
When you aren’t in the swing of 9-5ly, 7-days-a-weekly, 50-weeks-a-yearly desk jobbery, your one day a week can seem fairly uninviting.
Maybe it’s just because you put yourself in a different timezone to get up for a 9am start and give yourself jetlag. This won’t be the case if you’re a science student.
Maybe it’s because you have no hard and fast rules about mid-week drinking and find your work days falling inconveniently on hangover days. This is the only explanation if you’re a college kid.
Maybe it’s because you try to avoid corporate snobs in your REAL life and manage quite tolerably when you’re forced to leave the house and go to your institution of study. This won’t be the case if you’re an economics or law student.
For whatever reasons, the planets collide and you don’t relish your one, two, three or gods help you more days a week doing ‘serious work’. The best you can hope for is a decent start time, a healthy pay packet and a lunch date.
We trundled, bumping into unidirectional drones, down Clarence Street (two streets back from George Street towards the water) looking for inviting decor, a come-hither smile from a waiter, or a great deal.
We also – high and mighty that we were in our princess gowns on our litters carried by footservants – wanted more options than “that tired looking sandwich or that tired looking sandwich.” This unreasonable demand struck at the heart of Café Civetta on Clarence St, Sydney (who cares what the actual address is if they have no virtual presence and the name is enough to avoid them by). They’re a cute shoebox kind of place with a lot of single people at their own tables… Anyone with a second opinion clearly moved on, as we did to…
www.whereis.com.au
Of course within seconds our choice was confirmed – Kooky Waitress Number 1 rocked up and sung us “hello” (which I always appreciate, just for future reference) and with a flourish and a fanfare offered us on a gold platter (wait for it) the absolute right to sit anywhere we wanted! But the riches didn’t stop flowing, the bounteous chest (erm, treasure chest that is) of Tavolino opened to our hungry, stapler-beaten, open hands.
We were promised the world – any sandwich our imaginations could concoct (pending a quick check of the pantry; Miss E describes the ambience as 1970s kitchen but she is going on some kind of aura invisible to the superunnatural because there was no visual evidence of this to the untrained eye) – we could have asked for green eggs and ham or unicorn hoof or magic mushroom and I have no doubt they would have obliged our fancy.
We were even promised, with grave and world-weary eyes for one so young as our faithful waitress heroine, that here the font of tap water was free for everyone to enjoy, peasants and princesses alike, and that this was NOT a kingdom of tap water for the few who could pay, but indeed an equal and community- minded realm.
No seriously, stop by, if only for the staff.
The troupe included a guy who was almost definitely someone’s brother in law and the world’s scariest and friendliest (the former at first glance, the latter upon communication) might-not-be-but-certainly-could-have-been lesbian. All were immensely obliging, friendly and generally lovely.
- $10 lunch pasta for a huge plate that Miss E rated very highl-E. She notes the creativity to avoid the comfortable tomato base for a vegetarian sauce and dubbed it “interesting and very tasty.”
- Very adequate iced coffee that was CHILLED TO PERFECTION and the perfect sweetness – Miss J* who often accompanies me to Insomnia will tell you that I turn into a spoiled five year old at the mercy of a good iced coffee.
- Great and great big salad with balsamic vinegar – so easy and yet so easy to achieve.
- Steak sandwich that was, while somewhat underdone for my borderline vegetarian tastes, very satisfying and tasty.
OK so maybe my delusional midday state of near catatonia affected my perceptions. Maybe it wasn’t a fantasy land. Maybe I wasn’t truly happy. But goshdarnit, if that’s fake contentment, I’d take it any day.
So to leave you all with a fake smile on your fake faces….
"A British company is developing computer chips that store music in women's breast implants. This is a major breakthrough...
Women are always complaining about men staring at their breasts and not listening to them!"
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
** I may have talked it up but this job is NOTHING to send a text about. I figure if it’s worth 25c it’s even less spectacular that ‘nothing to write home about’, since at the very least that’s going to cost you 50c – more if you’re overseas… Time to update, people!
Update and… caffeinate!
PS. For my niche audience: Trainspotter's Paradise... or How to Bomb Wynyard.
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Flatlining flat whites... Find the Elixir!
April 25th 2006 10:02
#1 on my birthday list, in case you're wondering...
"One more cup, and it's a hoo-wup sha-wup for me!"
This week I want to enlighten you all to the more affordable end of Strand shopping - lunch at Cafe Elixir!
This, of course, means you will have to order your iced coffee with skim milk, but it's a small sacrifice for the cafe WITHOUT the queue for sandwiches. This is not because they suck, but because they have more seating than you'd expect and possibly because they don't appear to do takeaway sandwiches. This is not lunch ala desk - so workaholics can stop reading now - but a great place for an affordable sit-down meal in the centre of the central business district!
Again, they do a mean smoked salmon sandwich that is wholly satisfying. Again, stay away from the chai - it's that powdered rubbish. Elixir's coffee has never let me down, and it's one place I do always order strong cappuccinos from.
Also, they stay open til 6pm during the week (at least Thursdays... hm, will check that) putting them a dishrack slot above the punters who shut up at 5pm.
On that note, I wanted to have coffee with a friend who lives on the North Shore on Sunday afternoon and you couldn't get a coffee for love or money.
I even tried flattery - which might get you everywhere but you'll still be sitting there with a cold, empty, mug-shaped hand.
Brewhaha in Hornsby closed at 4pm; the Red Leaf Cafe in Wahroonga closed at 5pm; the Pymble Cafe (by this stage I was getting desperate - think stationside - this place is ordinary if homey) wasn't even answering their phone. It's not like it was Easter Sunday either!
Anyway, Luxe is under half management (the previous business partner pulled out) but the change of name to Elixir fills me with optimism that it will only improve. It's not a place to go with big groups, but to be alone without being alone, to people watch, to chat, to be amongst the city rat race whilst feeling superior at your sit-down lunch, it's a pearl.
And now.......
A guy and a girl are going out. They quite like each other. But they go to a party and our old friend Vodka gets in the way, meddling harpie that she is. They have an argument about something really stupid, like who makes the other feel more wanted, valued and respected, or whose parents are more hostile.
The next morning, after crashing in their clothes, the girl feels like she's slept in a bikini full of sand. She rolls over and sees the guy gazing into her eyes contently. She also sees little brown grains of she-doesn't-know-what all over the bed.
Seeing her confused face, her loving boyfriend sings to her:
"There's nothing better than waking up with Fulgers in your cup!"
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Stone the crows... at The Rocks!
April 11th 2006 00:41
“I went to a cafe that advertised breakfast anytime, so I ordered French Toast during the Rennaisance.”~ Steven Wright
Apparently on George Street in the Rocks there is a nice little bakery with a wide selection of goodies for take-away devourment. This, however, is not the scene for today’s story.
It was a humid, wet, late summer afternoon. The Rocks is not too friendly for the umbrellaly challenged: chronically short on eaves to walk under; aggressive taxi drivers who make you wait to cross the road; cascading torrents of water making their way, ungainly, down the hill.
I decided to take shelter from the elements in a café (which should be the hospitable refuge for any wanderer in Sydney, since we don’t have too many English-style pubs with open fires and cosy décor), but since it was after 5 o’clock this proved to be a challenge.
Why do they all assume that everyone goes to bars and pubs after work?
Everyone knows there isn’t a pub in Sydney that can make a decent coffee. Yet café opening hours tend to be geared to little old pensioners and at-home mums, with no regard for those of us confined to lands starved of cafes until 5pm when we are free to sit and relax over our jitters-inducing beverages of choice.
So I lost myself wandering down a sidestreet, in the hope of stumbling across a lesser known venue, and finally I came across a terrace café, large waterproof umbrellas keeping the vast majority of its tables dry. For the rest, well, there’s no doubt in my mind that the sugar would be stuck together.
It was the Baker's Oven Café, 121 George St, The Rocks.
I thought yes, al fresco, the smell and the sound of rain lulling my mind into a state more conducive to calm reading. But choosing a table was difficult: The mummy table was too cramped (I have personal space requirements, plus I needed to concentrate); the daddy table was too wet; and the baby table, as usual, was a mess. But Goldilocks always chooses the lesser of three evils (porridge wouldn’t by MY choice), so I sat and waited for a rather inattentive waiter to clear it.
I waited and waited, but still my prince didn’t come. Finally I asked him. He seemed confused and asked if the two coffee cups on the table were mine. Apparently all “girls” who sit at his tables look the same. Okay, I’m not THAT distinctive, but nobody likes to get the feeling they’re generic looking.
As I waited for my $4 pineapple juice (and what does it have to do with an apple anyway?) I looked around at the other patrons. Two whinging poms, two camp suits, and a group with an unrecognisable European accent. So between tourists and pretensions I wasn’t surprised when my $4 juice came in a bottle.
And yes, the food smelled great and was well presented, but it was nothing you couldn’t find at a suburban café of any repute or even a nice pub. In the end, the ‘nook’ I had stumbled upon was nothing more than the amateurish side-project of what should not have quit its day job as a bakery. Their only practice in customer service seemed to be bagging and charging; the bill, by the way, came to my table WITH my order, and the menu seemed to imply I was supposed to pay for it upon delivery. Where was I, McDonalds?!?
A word on that: there are divided opinions on the proper time to supply the bill.
Some like it to be sitting ready on the table just in case they want to leave. Personally I think that it pressures you to depart when it’s sitting there looking at you, and you’re certainly not inclined to add to it. In a well run establishment, catching the eye of the wait staff and getting the bill should be a 30 second operation once you decide you’re ready to go.
And one more glaring problem was the state and smell of their dank, dirty, broom cupboard of a bathroom. Nothing makes you more ready to leave than unpleasant amenities.
So by all means sample their culinary delights from the shop on George Street, but for the love of good café experiences take it down to the water or something. The Rocks is famous for their pubs and bars, but as yet I haven’t had a satisfying café experience there.
Last time I made the mistake of ordering an iced coffee without inquiring as to the temperature of their ingredients. Yes, the weather was hot. But that’s precisely the reason I was after a COLD drink. I can only imagine the struggle the icecream had against a HOT glass, HOT expresso and the LUKE WARM milk they undoubtedy had sitting on the counter for coffees. Needless to say it was spectacularly defeated.
So if anyone knows a decent café in the Rocks area, do let us all in on the secret, or next time we’re there we’ll have to drown our caffeine deprived sorrows at one of the hundreds of good pubs there. And all these moderately healthy café types will turn into alcoholics and it will be on your head.
Until next time, remember:
“The voodoo priest and all his powders were as nothing compared to espresso, cappuccino, and mocha, which are stronger than all the religions of the world combined, and perhaps stronger than the human soul itself.”~Mark Helprin, Memoir from Antproof Case, 1995
And avoid the Bakers Oven Café, 121 George St, The Rocks.
It was a humid, wet, late summer afternoon. The Rocks is not too friendly for the umbrellaly challenged: chronically short on eaves to walk under; aggressive taxi drivers who make you wait to cross the road; cascading torrents of water making their way, ungainly, down the hill.
I decided to take shelter from the elements in a café (which should be the hospitable refuge for any wanderer in Sydney, since we don’t have too many English-style pubs with open fires and cosy décor), but since it was after 5 o’clock this proved to be a challenge.
Why do they all assume that everyone goes to bars and pubs after work?
So I lost myself wandering down a sidestreet, in the hope of stumbling across a lesser known venue, and finally I came across a terrace café, large waterproof umbrellas keeping the vast majority of its tables dry. For the rest, well, there’s no doubt in my mind that the sugar would be stuck together.
It was the Baker's Oven Café, 121 George St, The Rocks.
I waited and waited, but still my prince didn’t come. Finally I asked him. He seemed confused and asked if the two coffee cups on the table were mine. Apparently all “girls” who sit at his tables look the same. Okay, I’m not THAT distinctive, but nobody likes to get the feeling they’re generic looking.
As I waited for my $4 pineapple juice (and what does it have to do with an apple anyway?) I looked around at the other patrons. Two whinging poms, two camp suits, and a group with an unrecognisable European accent. So between tourists and pretensions I wasn’t surprised when my $4 juice came in a bottle.
A word on that: there are divided opinions on the proper time to supply the bill.
Some like it to be sitting ready on the table just in case they want to leave. Personally I think that it pressures you to depart when it’s sitting there looking at you, and you’re certainly not inclined to add to it. In a well run establishment, catching the eye of the wait staff and getting the bill should be a 30 second operation once you decide you’re ready to go.
And one more glaring problem was the state and smell of their dank, dirty, broom cupboard of a bathroom. Nothing makes you more ready to leave than unpleasant amenities.
So by all means sample their culinary delights from the shop on George Street, but for the love of good café experiences take it down to the water or something. The Rocks is famous for their pubs and bars, but as yet I haven’t had a satisfying café experience there.
It's old... The Rocks, 1900
So if anyone knows a decent café in the Rocks area, do let us all in on the secret, or next time we’re there we’ll have to drown our caffeine deprived sorrows at one of the hundreds of good pubs there. And all these moderately healthy café types will turn into alcoholics and it will be on your head.
Until next time, remember:
“The voodoo priest and all his powders were as nothing compared to espresso, cappuccino, and mocha, which are stronger than all the religions of the world combined, and perhaps stronger than the human soul itself.”~Mark Helprin, Memoir from Antproof Case, 1995
And avoid the Bakers Oven Café, 121 George St, The Rocks.
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