Dullsville has its appeal

I have always complained that Perth is a city that is fantastic for bringing up children or retiring but, regrettably, lousy for all the years in between. Perth does not have the hustle and bustle hum of inner city living that Sydney boasts, nor the cultural (and often colourful) centres that Melbourne promulgates. Although our CBD has developed (quite considerably) in the last 3-5 years we are still a miles behind our eastern states cousins when it comes to active inner city living and cultural variety in the form of performing and (for want of a better word) static arts. 

On multiple occasions I have been tempted to move to Victoria, New South Wales or, heaven forbid, even Queensland. A number of factors have prevented me from jumping ship, chief among them have been: family, friends, money and the wonderful outdoor Perth lifestyle. Given my complaints, it is both surprising and somewhat ironic that I often long to exchange life in suburbia for the peace and quiet of Margaret River. I usually manage to make the three hour drive to my parents holiday house (situated just out of Margs) between two and three times a year and I always return (whether the sojourn has been a fleeting 3 days or a more extended break) feeling reluctant to leave this little slice of heaven but rejuvenated and ready to get back to work. 

So it was that last month I called my BF (Amber) and asked whether she would care to join me on an long weekend in MR. No hubby on her part and no other friends on mine, just a girly weekend involving as much wine, food and art as we could both handle. She enthusiastically agreed and we set a date for the second weekend in September. 

In order to maximise our time down south (and capitalise on the chance to eat an extra meal away) we set off mid morning on the Friday. The traffic was good to us and we gossiped contentedly about work, family and friends as city and suburbia gradually morphed into farmland. As planned we made good time and decided that lunch at Wills Domain (situated just off Caves Rd near Yallingup) would be our reward. Wills Domain has always been a bit of a steady favourite with me and my friends, originally it was a small cellar door with approximately ten tables but as we approached the winery it became apparent that it had expanded. The original cellar door building remains but a glassed atrium, of sorts, connects the cellar door to a gift shop and gallery. The addition of the atrium and the extension of the roofed verandah, bordering the cellar door building, has resulted in a much larger restaurant with at least double the amount of tables. 

What had always appealed to us previously about Wills was the wonderful tasting plates. From memory, you could choose from vegetarian, meat or seafood and the plates were a combination of both warm and cold confections big enough to be shared between four people for entree or eaten by one for main. I was a little disappointed that the tasting plates were no longer on the menu but thought that the menu read well despite this. 

View from Wills Domain

Amber wanted the charcuterie plate, a mixture of antipasti, dips, bread and cheese, and since that sounded like enough for both of us I suggested that we order a salad to go with it. Here I felt the menu was a little lacking but in the end we settled with the entree of duck confit, pear and rocket salad. The charcuterie plate was everything that one would expect and the serves were very generous. I was a little surprised when my duck salad arrived and I discovered it was more of a duck confit with a salad garnish than an actual salad. All the same, the serve of duck was both generous and succulent and the salad (although way too small for my liking) was fresh and nicely dressed with a slightly zesty salad dressing. After demolishing both plates we decided that it was only fitting to celebrate our little holiday with dessert. Amber ordered the pannacotta with raspberry fool and honeycomb 'soil' and I had the chocolate donuts with chocolate sauce and creme caramel ice cream.

It quickly became apparent that desserts were not the chef's forte. Amber's pannacotta had a lovely flavour and creamy texture, but the raspberry fool was gluggy and overpoweringly rich when combined with the pannacotta. My chocolate donuts were filled with eclair like chocolate mousse however, both the donuts and the mousse lacked a chocolatey flavour (Amber remarked that they tasted savoury not sweet). The donuts had been drizzled with chocolate sauce but also honey which led to a sickly sweet rather than chocolate flavour. The one saving grace of the dish was the creme caramel ice cream which was utterly divine. Overall, I couldn't help but be disappointed in the changes that Wills Domain has made to its menu.

Style: relaxed, upper market fare 

Service: 3/5

Food: 2.5/5

Wine: 3/5

Ambience: 3/5

We arrived at the house mid afternoon and after a quick trip to Margaret River proper to stock up on groceries, we got the pot belly fire going and, glass of cider in hand, settled on the couches with our fashion mags. Rising early the next morning, we headed to the MR farmers' market. With fresh produce, baked goods and delicious preserves on offer, we returned to the car with a full bag and light wallets. Next it was off to the galleries, first to Yallingup Gallery and then on to Gunyulgup. I admired a colourful little watercolour and ink work by Cate Edwards at Yallingup, unfortunately (for me) her prices have increased somewhat in the last 18months and the price tag simply put it out of my budget. We both had better luck at Gunyulgup where Amber introduced me to the laser cut art work of Sue Codee. An Albany native, Sue creates laser cut silhouettes out of black paper. Whilst her larger framed works had an asking price of $550, I indulged in two of her much more affordable, smaller, unframed works at $55 each and Amber bought a second piece to complement one she had bought previously at the Fremantle Arts Centre. 

Leafy - my Sue Codee works

Old growth - the second of my Sue Codee works

Having had our fair share of retail therapy, and ravenous as a result, we headed to the Berry Farm for some delicious homestyle fare. We both ordered the special snapper with risotto and 'avocado cream' and I indulged in a glass of nashi pear sparkling wine. I have never been disappointed at the Berry Farm and I was not that day, the snapper was perfectly cooked, the risotto had a wonderful creamy texture and the avocado cream was a wonderful complement to both the fish and the risotto. To finish off the plate the side salad was generously sized and dressed with a slightly picante dressing. It was a delicious meal! The nashi pear sparkling wine was every so slightly sweet but not enough so to detract from the meal. We had planned to have dessert but the generous sizing was our undoing and we settled for watching the New Holland Honeyeaters and Green Eyes flit about the foliage of the cottage garden that surrounds the restaurant.

New Holland Honeyeater at Berry Farm

When we had finally digested our meal enough to move, it was off to the Berry Farm shop and cellar door for more goodies. Full to bursting we headed home to collapse in a heap on the couch.

Style: casual, farm fresh food with a slightly gourmet flair

Service: 3/5

Food: 4.5/5

Wine: 3.5/5

Ambience: 4/5

We got off to an early start on Sunday. Amber's folks were staying at their beach house in Dunsborough that weekend so we decided to pay them a visit on our way home. Sitting on the newly renovated deck of their beach house, it was like we had stepped into paradise. The sun was shining, the temperature mild, the ocean lapping gently within 20 meters of the house, I was extremely reluctant to get back on the road. On our way back through Dunsborough we stopped for a little browse amongst the shops and to check out Zin Zan Gallery. A rather cute Gallery with lots of natural light, there was a good range of art on the walls. Works by Carl Hanaapel, Gemma Ward, Barbara Bennet and even my famous Mum (Jane Benzie) graced the walls as well as some interesting indigenous art in the form of lacquered jewellery boxes and textile designs. Zin Zan was definitely worth the stop off. 

After a quick lunch at a local tea house, we headed back to the car with heavy hearts. Amber fell asleep shortly after we cleared Bunbury (she woke herself up snoring about 15 mins out of Perth) and I settled in with some good tunes for the drive back to the big smoke (ok, so maybe 'rather puny smoke' is a better name but you get the picture). Despite our regret that our holiday had not been longer, we both later reported that we felt much more relaxed heading to work on Monday than the week before. I wonder whether country air comes complete with endorphins?

Prada, but not the price tag please!

Friends and family often refer to me as 'a born consumer'. Although I am inclined to agree with them I am always slightly indignant at the label. Don't get me wrong, I love 'consuming'! Whether it is a meal at the latest up and coming restaurant, a pair of 'must-have' ballets from my favourite shoe store, Sambag, or a luxurious shower gel for my swimming bag I am not afraid to admit that I get joy from these purchases. I am the self titled 'Queen of laybys' and could write a 2500 word essay justifying why I 'need' a 10th pair of ballet flats to join the other nine already residing in my wardrobe. But, yes, I have a problem with the title 'born consumer'. Why is this? I suppose it is a matter of pride in my individualism.

Let me explain. The title 'born consumer' suggests a level of conformity that I am unwillingly to admit to. For example: I love buying fashion magazines (Instyle and Madison are my consistent favourites), I will pore over the advertisements, fashion shoots and articles, dog earring a page showing a scrummy Prada or Gucci handbag and ripping out pages with ideas on how to achieve the 'perfect corporate wardrobe'. BUT, I rarely, if ever, buy an item I have lusted after in the folds of one of these glossy fashion mags. Why not? For two reasons:

1. although I might love a fashion trend it is rare that I think I can pull it off - drain pipe jeans? Only on a size 6 or 8 with legs a mile long! 8 inch high platform courts? Only if I want to break an ankle walking down the Terrace; and
2. even if I love an item and think I can pull it off it usually falls into one of two categories:

• I can't afford it, at least not if I want to eat for the next three months; or
• I can afford it which means it is a high street store item and if I buy it I will see another 20 girls wearing it within two weeks of me buying it.

Am I being a little melodramatic? Quite possibly, but do I not make a good point? The title born consumer suggests someone who is a slave to the trends advertised in magazines, on television, even on the back of buses. A friend I knew to be neck high in credit card debt once proudly showed me her latest purchase: a Louis Vuitton pink leather wallet. Why did you buy that when you couldn't afford it and you already had a perfectly fine LV wallet, I asked in shock. Her reply 'its the latest out and I just had to have it', left me gobsmacked!

Yes, I am happy to admit I buy much more than I need (who doesn't) and yes, I could save a lot more if I didn't shop as much as I do, but I get a lot of joy from what I buy! Does this make me materialistic, I wonder? Probably. My brother recently put me on to a blog run by two 30ish guys based in America called 'The Minimalists'. The concept behind the blog is the idea of a minimalist lifestyle, reducing your worldly possessions to the bare minimum in order to 'live a meaningful life with less stuff'.

One of the minimalist's recently blogged about the fact he had reduced his possessions to 288, he even posted photos of his, rather bare, studio apartment. Part of me admired his dedication to living a less consumer driven life, another part of me was horrified (288 things! Hell, my jewellery collection alone would be up around 200 items!) and yet a third part of me looked at the photos of his apartment and thought eeekkk! How depressing!

I mean where do we draw the line? Am I materialistic because I have around 200 items of jewellery? What if I told you that half of those items were gifts from loved ones, inherited, passed down, given on a special birthday, graduation or occasion? How about my art collection? I started collecting when I was in my early twenties, now I am thirty I probably have around 20 pieces most of them by artists I have met through my Mum's art gallery, some of whom are dear friends. Should I stop collecting in order to 'live a meaningful life with less stuff'? When do we become so consumed by our self imposed ideals that we can't live without the latest trend Louis Vuitton key ring or (at the other extreme) have to count our belongings in order to justify a meaningful existence?

I don't have the answer to any of these questions and I am not going to pretend I do. All I am going to say is this: I get joy from waking up in the morning to a pastel seascape that hangs above my dresser, I love that I think of a particular friend when I put on the necklace she gave me for my 30th, I feel whimsical when I put on a 5 year old dress that has seen better days but I don't have the heart to get rid of and I get a thrill when I empty my capacious wardrobe onto my bed in search of the perfect dinner dress. If that makes me materialistic or a born consumer then it's worth it!

The great outdoors

Ask anyone who knows me, I am a girl who enjoys her creature comforts. This is not to say I don't enjoy going out into the great outdoors, just so long as there is a hot shower waiting for me when I return to my (preferably) climate controlled abode. Given this insight into my psyche, it is not surprising that when a work friend said we should try a new, trendy cantina called Bivouac my trepidation was evident.

Wikipedia defines bivouac:

A bivouac (pronounced /ˈbɪvuːæk/ biv-oo-ak) traditionally refers to a military encampment made with tents or improvised shelters, usually without shelter or protection from enemy fire or such a site where a camp may be built.^[1] It is also commonly used to describe a variety of improvised camp sites such as those used in scouting and mountain climbing. It may often refer to sleeping in the open with a bivouac sack, but it may also refer to a shelter constructed of natural materials like a structure of branches to form frame may be utilized, which is then covered with leaves, ferns and similar for waterproofing and duff (also known as leaflitter) for insulation.

As a verb, to bivouac (alternatively bivouacked, bivouacking, bivouacs also bivouacks) is to set up or camp in any such improvised camp.

As a result I had visions of us sitting on milk crates (not that I have anything against milk crates, I know one hip Leederville establishment that uses them effectively) in a warehouse style establishment being served food (aka gruel) from bubbling vats, whilst drinking cask wine in paper cups. Okay, I might be exaggerating slightly but I was rather concerned. If I had not been discussing the intricacies of Jones v Dunkel with one friend as we walked into the William St establishment my relief would probably have been apparent. As it was, I broke off my conversation to admire the decor. There is a certain amount of utilitarianism in the set up at Bivouac, the seats and tables are non-descript and the walls are a stark white, but this is offset by a simple bar above which hangs two modern 'candelabras' and the artwork of Anya Brock that dominates one length of the cantina's walls.  Anya's works are large, gregarious canvas paintings of birds (the ones with feathers) in bright, almost neon, colours. The artwork combined with the retro lighting and pared down essentials are just the right side of modern without being cold or uninviting.

The bar - including retro candelabras 

I was equally impressed with the menu. Everything from the 'smalls' (a selection of small plates to share) to 'bigs' (main meals to be shared or ordered per person) sounded mouth watering. I did not pay much attention to the wine list except to note with pleasure that it included not one, but three choices of cider.

Some of Anya Brock's colourful birds

Deciding that work mates who shared together, cared together, my friends and I decided to share two small plates and one pizza. We ordered the grilled haloumi, fig, pomegranate and pine nut salad, the trio of arancini and the chorizo and potato pizza.

Trio of arancini

The arancini arrived first. There were three flavours but the obvious standout was the truffle/mushroom one. Unlike most arancini it had a crunchy rather than soft interior and the flavour was delicate rather than the cheesy flavour I have come to expect with most arancini. It was definitely the winner with my two work mates as well. The haloumi and fig salad was quick to follow and did not disappoint. The haloumi and figs were still warm and the combination of crunchy pomegranate, soft, salty haloumi, sweet fig and subtle nut flavour of the pinenuts was marvelous!

The menu

Our empty plates were cleared and the pizza arrived. The pizza base was wonderfully fresh and, although up until now I had always preferred thin crust, I delighted in the floury, soft texture. The chorizo and potato were applied thinly to the pizza which some people might find lacking but I enjoyed as it allowed the base and accompanying sauce to shine. On top of the wonderful food the service was efficient and friendly. I honestly couldn't fault Bivouac in anyway, in fact I was back within a week to enjoy the experience all over again.

My ratings:

Style: modern, casual dining
Food: 4/5
Wine list: 4/5
Service: 4/5

Eggplant, pumpkin, haloumi and green olive pizza

Haloumi and fig salad

Life in the not-so-fast lane

For my 30th birthday this year I received a wonderful, if a little unusual, gift from my work friends: a six lap rally driving experience. I say unusual because I would hardly be classified as a petrol head. Hell! To date I haven't got one speeding fine in over ten years of driving! When I told my brother, Chris, about my present he just laughed at me and I can't say I blamed him! The vast majority of my other birthday presents consisted of jewellery, cooking books and things for the kitchen, so to those around me a rally driving experience did seem rather odd. Perhaps that is incorrect, it wasn't the present itself that other friends and family found odd but my reaction - I couldn't have been more excited!

The thing is that in another life, I would have loved to become a rally or motor sports driver. However, as it takes nerves of steel and lightening fast reflexes, neither of which I have in abundance, I am quite content to putter around in my Honda civic. That does not mean that I don't want the chance to step out of my comfort zone to try my hand at something a little more adventurous every now and then. And so I happily booked my rally driving session for Friday the 5th of August.

The night before I was gripped with sudden consternation - what does one wear to a rally driving session? The information package said full length pants, closed in shoes and no singlets but apart for that offered no real advice. Where my figure hugging Bettina Liano jeans appropriate attire? And surely heeled boots were not the best choice for making rapid gear changes? In the end I settled for my jeans a pair of puma sand shoes and a funky tee. Chris had kindly offered to drive me up to Copeley, which is just short of Northam, for the course and we decided to make a day of it.

In hindsight, I think he was motivated more by the thought of the ensuing comic relief I would provide than a burning desire to spend the day with his big sister! Either way I was glad for his company on the hour and half journey. The weather was amazing and once we cleared the city and entered the foothills of Perth we were treated to a beautiful, verdant, green countryside. I had done a little 'googling' earlier in the week and found a winery that sounded promising for lunch. We turned off Great Eastern Hwy onto Old Northam Rd and wound our way round to Lake Charlotte Winery.

I had warned Chris that I had no idea what Lake Charlotte was going to be like so we were pleasantly surprised when we crested the gravel road to look down upon a picture perfect lake on the bank of which rested a decked restaurant surrounded by a lavender and rosemary garden.

Entry to Lake Charlotte Winery

Lake Charlotte

We had arrived rather earlier for lunch (11:45) and the staff were in the process of setting up for the day, that did not stop them from welcoming us in and spending ten minutes getting the portable gas heater going so that we could sit on the enclosed deck. Once we were comfortable the menu was explained to us. Basically Lake Charlotte specialises in meals on 'hot rocks', you choose a style of meat and it is brought to the table on a boiling hot rock for you to cook at your leisure. I had the atlantic salmon, served with lime aioli, while Chris had the 30 day aged beef served with a mediterranean vegetable chutney both meals were served with a side of salad and warm potatoes. Both dishes were absolutely delicious and generously sized.

30 day aged beef on hot rock

We continued to soak up the atmosphere sharing a warmed chocolate brownie with strawberry coulis and cream and tried a glass of the fortified Shiraz. The brownie was completely decadent and I savoured every mouthful, while the Shiraz showed promise but was a little young (2010 vintage).



Warm chocolate brownie



It was only 1pm and we were reluctant to rush off, show we ordered coffees and sat back and enjoyed the ambiance. When we finally asked for the bill at 1:30pm and at $50 a head decided the meal was worth every dollar. My final opinion?

Style: relaxed dining
Ambiance: 4/5
Service: 4/5
Food: 4/5
Wine list: 2.5/5

Well worth the hour trip out of Perth!

We continued on our road trip satiated and content, arriving at the farm on which the rally school is located half an hour after leaving the winery. Upon arrival I was given a declaration form with one of the broadest exclusion clauses I have ever had the pleasure of coming across. I was tempted to cross out 'I have been informed that rally driving may cause injury/disability/death' before signing but did not want to seem like a nit picker. Having signed my life away I joined the other drivers for our safety lesson. 

There were eight of us and I was one of only two females participating. In my Bettina Liano's I felt a little out of place especially as everyone else looked a bit more like the typical rev-head complete with extra piercings, tatts and appropriate rev-head automobiles (i.e. Holdens, Fords and four wheel drives compared to us in Chris' VW Golf). Feeling more and more out of my element as the safety briefing continued I tried to look knowledgeable when the instructor asked 'what should you do if you begin to drift?' and 'how do you prevent over steering or spinning?'. Finally we were asked what car we would prefer to drive - the Subaru Impreza or the Mitsubishi Evo? I pretended to be helpful by saying I didn't mind without letting on that I couldn't tell the difference (all I could think was extra virgin olive oil when the instructor said Evo). 




My turn in the driver's seat

After grabbing a helmet I was off! Having signed off for any damage I might cause to the vehicle, I started slow. My instructor was fantastic telling me when to accelerate, when to brake and where to go. After a couple of laps I started to gain confidence and put my foot down. Just as I was getting the hang of it my laps were finished and I had to head back to the start the watch the others performances. Exhilarated I jumped out of the car with a ear to ear grin only to be greeted by Chris's 'I don't think you got over 50k's once!' Miffed I replied that if felt pretty fast when I was behind the wheel!



Behind the wheel - rounding the curve...





...and gunning it down a straight

 I settled back to watch as everyone else enjoyed their laps and then it was time for our hot laps! My instructor took me for the ride of my life around the rally course. My knuckles were white gripping my seat but my grin could not have been larger! Speechless, all I could manage was 'Wow' as we drove off the course for the last time, my instructor just laughed.

One of the instructors putting the car through its paces

All in all it was the perfect end to a wonderful day and I can't wait to try it again!

DL 

Bags: why they should be worn on arms and never under eyes

Move over water-boarding a new form of torture has arrived and it's called a 'sleep study'! The term itself is an oxymoron - you are supposed to 'sleep' whilst being 'studied' by sleep specialists,  instead you fantasise about sleep while studying the ceiling of your hospital room. Upon telling friends and family I was having a sleep study done (after some 10 odd years of terrible sleep patterns and continual tiredness regardless of how long I slept for) almost all reacted with surprise and shock to the idea of staying in hospital overnight in order to have your sleep quality assessed. 'But how can they study your sleep patterns when you are in a hospital bed? Surely that is not conducive to a good night's sleep?' one friend asked. I patiently explained that, no, being in a strange environment (particularly a hospital) was not a guarantee of a good night's sleep, but sleep studies conducted in the comfort of your own home do not yield the same amount of detail that a hospital study does.

So, on Monday night at 8:30pm I obediently arrived at St John of God Hospital. I had been told by the specialist that 40% of the male population suffered some form of sleeping disorder compared to only 15-20% of the female population. As a result, I was not surprised to see that out of the 6 people having a study done only 2 of us were female. Upon arrival I was shown to my private room, complete with en suite bathroom, and told to get into my sleep things. 10 mins later the sleep specialist/nurse began my preparations.

In hindsight I am not sure what I was expecting but it certainly was not the multitude of electrons and sensors that were attached to me. I had two sensors 'glued' into my hair, one behind each ear, one under each eye, two on my chin, two on my back, one on each leg and two strapped around my chest, there was a nasal tube that measured how much I breathed out and also an oxygen sat level reader attached to my finger. Feeling like the world's largest porcupine, wires sprouting from all over, I was helped into bed by the nurse. Don't worry, she assured me, even though you are a human science project plugged into what looked like an enormous battery you can get up to go to the bathroom any time during the night - all I you have to do is press the call button, wait for one of the staff monitoring you to come in, turn on the light on, un-plug the 'battery' from the wall and then you can go to the bathroom battery in hand and be plugged back in after! Needless to say I immediately needed to pee.

The light was turned out and I tried to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. On top of the wires tugging at me whenever I so much as moved my pinkie, there was a red light coming from by oxygen sat reader and a blinking light from one of the straps around my chest. I pulled the covers up over the lights and eventually called for another blanket when I couldn't get warm enough. In the end I did fall asleep for a little while only to wake up boiling hot and disorientated. At one stage during the night one of the sensors on my back came off and a staff member had to come in (torch in hand) to re-stick it. Overall I estimate I slept for a total of 2-3 hours.

I was woken at approximately 6:30am to remove all the sensors etc and had a blessedly hot, high powered shower to try and get all the glue out of my hair. I ate breakfast and then drove to work, trying not to shut my eyes when I was stopped at a traffic light. In retrospect I should have taken the day off work, instead I treated my employer's to the most unproductive day I have ever had before flying the white flag and leaving an hour early for home and the comfort of my own bed.

As much as it was an unpleasant (although necessary) experience, my heart really goes out to the staff who work at the clinic. Not only must they stay up all night watching other people sleep (or at least try to), they have to deal with people at their most disagreeable. The staff member who prepped me for the study couldn't get over how "delightful" and "compliant" I was. In shock I asked her if she normally had trouble with patients. 'Oh yes, I almost got into a fight with one of the patients tonight. In the end I just let him have his way, after all I am only the expert!" Ugghhh, yes I know the type, but I still couldn't understand how someone could be so nasty considering the long hours the staff had to work, and for our benefit too!

Sleeping study - check! Bags under the eyes - thank God for concealer!

On the subject of bags I want to share my current love - my new Kate Spade handbag! I started looking for a new handbag at the beginning of this year. My old Dissona bag was driving me slowly insane due to its voluminous depths making it impossible for me to find anything in it, so I was looking for something reasonable compact but that would still allow me to fit all my essentials.

My beautiful new Kate Spade bag 

After 6 months of searching and finding nothing but extremely bulky, un-feminine bags I was feeling very jaded. I started looking at some of the more expensive bags on show at David Jones and found a Kate Spade bag that would do the trick. Unfortunately the price tag almost gave me a coronary! I know that many fashionistas out there would not consider a $600 bag expensive but on my wages that is equivalent to a whole month's savings! Feeling a bit depressed that I had found the ideal bag but it was out of my reach I headed home to mope.

A month later I was on eBay searching for a mobile phone cover and thinking what the hell typed 'kate spade handbag' into the search criteria. Not surprisingly there were only a few hits for Australia and all around the $400 mark, then I looked at the international hits. I couldn't believe how many there were to choose from! In the end it took me another few weeks just to decide which one I would bid on.



After getting my ruler out to measure dimensions and calculating the USD to AUD exchange rate I settled on a beautiful beige Elena handbag with gold detailing and a fun pink a purple faille lining.

Just the right size to fit all my bits and pieces!

I made a successful bid of $140 USD (~$135 AUD) my bag was winging its way to me for an extra $35 postage fee. All up I got my brand new (tags still intact) Kate Spade bag complete with dust cover for a sizzling $170 AUD. Goes to show that patience is a virtue after all!

DL

How to enjoy Indian food for dummies

I was not standing in line when they handed out the gene for enjoying spicy/hot/chilli food. When I was younger the mere sight of a peppercorn would send me rushing, gasping for a cold glass of water (of course at that age I didn't know that the appropriate antidote for spicy food is in fact rice, bread or any form of 'sopping' agent and that water serves only to exacerbate), now I can manage the mildest of spicy food. As a result I have always been on the reticent side when it comes to eating Indian food.

This view was reinforced a couple of years ago when I visited Chutney Mary's in Subiaco. I was there under duress and unable to find anything on the menu that sounded promising I asked the waiter (in something approaching desperation) what the mildest dish on their menu was. I was duly informed that the Butter Chicken was exceptionally mild and I would enjoy it. Unfortunately the chef's idea of mild did not coincide with my own and after no more than a couple of mouthfuls, I resorted to eating rice for the rest of the evening. Now don't get me wrong, I love the flavour of Indian food! Its full of creamy yumminess and can be extremely subtle both in flavour and texture. What I hate is the fact that after a few mouthfuls I am no longer able to taste any of these wonderful flavours.

Enough moaning, the reason I am posting this entry is that I recently discovered a most wonderful Indian restaurant. The Curry Tree is on Broadway in Nedlands. It used to be Greco's on Broadway which (due to my brother working there for a time) became somewhat of a family haunt, a ye old faithful to take Nanna for Sunday lunch safe in the knowledge that the food would be okay and the bill wouldn't break the bank. Hence on a particularly wet and windy Wednesday night, it was the obvious choice for a 'family dinner' out. Imagine our surprise when we find that 'Greco's' is no more and in its place is The Curry Tree, a brightly but tastefully coloured restaurant, with linen on the table and a menu chock full of curries and other delightful temptations.

I groaned inwardly when I saw the menu - how to navigate this menu of kormas, rogan josh and vindaloos? After my last experience I decided not to go with the Butter Chicken and instead went for the vegetarian korma which was described as a mild, creamy, peanutty curry. When our dishes came out I couldn't believe what I had been missing all the years! The food was amazing a better yet it was mild! We started by sharing two entrees, the tandoori salmon and cornflake battered prawn cutlets. The salmon was a little overdone for my taste but was beautifully flavoured whilst the prawns' batter was wonderfully light and the dipping sauce (semi sweet and plum flavoured) went with them perfectly.

My brother had ordered the Butter Chicken and not only was it not spicy at all it was the most amazing flavour with hints of tomatoes in the creamy sauce. My vegetarian korma was just as described and the roti and paratha we ordered to go with the dishes were hot and buttery.

I have been raving to everyone (whose ear I can bend for a few minutes) about our wonderful discovery. Already I have my girlfriends organised for our next dinner out and we even took Nanna there for Sunday lunch!!

Style: upper market but relaxed dinning
Ambiance: 3/5
Service: 3/5
Wine list: 4/5
Food: 3.5/5

DL