Pass the Kangaroo

It was bound to happen, so now here's the post where I review the culinary delights of Australia. For anyone that knows me, my diet usually consists of mac and cheese and cereal, but a little known secret is that I enjoy eating anything under the sun/moon.

To the world at-large, Australia isn't neccessarily known for its food, although I would imagine Aussie fish has a good reputation (the closest thing I've eaten to fish has probably been sushi, so can't comment too much in that department).

Before getting into specific food that's unique to Australia, let me reinforce the "same same, but different" principle again. They have McDonalds, they have Burger King (although it's called Hungry Jacks for some reason), they have Pizza Hut and Dominoes (although a large is bite-sized) and pretty much anything else a spoiled American can ask for. Yes, even Kraft mac and cheese...bonus! What I'll do is rundown a few of the foods that I've either come across for the first time here, or what may be unexpectedly popular.

Kangaroo:

















Now I know what you're thinking: oh, that poor little cute kangaroo, how could you eat that? Well, if they didn't make em so damn delicious...'roo is a great dish when cooked right. Think a really tender mix between steak and rib meat or something. Had it a few times so far (even in a burger form) and I'll eat the pouch for dessert if it's available.

Meat pie/sausage rolls:


















Along with the kangaroo, this is probably the closest thing we can claim as "Australian food," even though it's really not. I mentioned in the previous post about having pies in the northern beaches, and they really are fantastic. What I didn't mention is they're pretty much what we refer to in the states as a chicken pot pie. Crusty pie, meat/chicken and maybe some veggies inside. But hey, if done right...golden. And there definitely are some places that really get these right. The fast food version for pies is a place fittingly called Pie Face, which also provides sausage rolls, which is a sausage wrapped up in that same flaky crust. A visit to Pie Face in King's Cross at 2am is pie heaven.

Crocodile:













I don't think this is a common dish and I'm not even sure I can claim I've eaten this, but I had crocodile ravioli in Port Douglas last year. It was good, I ate croc.

Kebabs:















I've especially been a kebab fan since moving a stone's throw away from a place called Turkish Delight. Us Americans think of kebabs as shish kebabs, the multiple meat and peppers on a stick meal at BBQs. These kebabs
(pronounced ke-BABBS), are more like gyros at Greek takeout places. My fave is the lamb kebab with sweet chili sauce. It's Turkish and it's a delight.

Thai:














Of course this isn't Australian food, per se, but it's like Chinese food in America: we've pretty much adopted it as our own. Walk down any street in Sydney (even Chinatown) and you're bound to find a Thai restaurant of some sort. You know the drill...pad Thai, curry chicken, curry puffs. It's to Thai for. Wow, I went there and back.

Indian:














Another "foreign" food, but with the influence of the Brits (you know, their wardens that they still bow to), the scent of Indian curry isn't too far off. You just don't see too much of it in the U.S., but they really should pop up more often. I go for it all: beef vindaloo, butter chicken, rogan josh. A really good place in the city is called the Clove on Riley Street. Some red wine and curry may equal the Marrakesh Express to the bathroom for some, but fill me up with seconds.

Banana bread:

















We've gotten into breakfast/dessert territory here, but you really can't visit a cafe that doesn't offer some form of good ole bb. Me like toasted with butter, straight up. Throw in some oj, we're set.

Coffee:


















I'm not a regular coffee drinker, but was a bit suprised to see how popular coffee was, at least in Sydney. I'm also told that it's made very well, and makes sense since those baristas look like they're working hard. If I do spring for some joe, I'll go for a cappuchino. Belisima.

This might require a few sequels of the food post, but that's what springs to mind so far. It's 10:30 at night, and I'm getting a little hungry for some banana bread and Turkish Delight....next up, the grog (translation to come).

Northern Exposure

At the insistence of my stateside friends John and Misha, and my own curiosities, I spent the day heading up to Sydney's northern beaches. Although I had been up to Palm Beach for friends' wedding in October and frequented the aforementioned Manly a number of times, I wanted to explore some of the area between Manly and Palm Beach. Oh, and to sample a famous pie shop that John recommended.















My goal was to check out the beaches, grab lunch at the Upper Crust and maybe make it all the way "home" to Newport Beach. Now the bus ride is supposed to take me as far as Bondi Junction, but managed to get the ticket all the way to Dee Why, about 20 minutes north of Sydney CBD. Without a map, I was going to make my travels based on memory from looking at a map the night before. I knew that if I hugged the coast and stayed near Pittwater Road (the main highway/road that reminded me of the Mets' farm team, Pittsfield), I couldn't get too lost. In short, as long as the Pacific was by my side, I knew where I was. Soon after getting dropped off and discovering Dee Why's beach, I realized I was stuck in a reserve area, which seemed duly reserved for middle school kids, who were on some sort of science field trip this day. This made me think how miserably I'd fail science and biology still to this day...















The reserve provided another set of scenic views of the northern beaches and surrounding cliffs. While I'm not a huge fan of Sydney's beaches in comparison to others I've graced, the cliffs and hills above provide some of the best viewpoints this side of California.















The reserve area was a nice long-cut, got to have a full vantage point of the area and do some additional hiking in my Ballibong flip flops. As I headed back towards civilization, was really hoping I would find Pittwater Road since your intrpid traveler was getting a bit famished by this point. Not only did I find my way to Pittwater, but stumbled out exactly at the Upper Crust's front door. Sometimes these things work too well... Grabbed the chicken and white wine pie, my mouth is watering just thinking of it. I'll discuss Aussie food in another post, but the meat pies are a staple of life here. I kinda see the infatuation, and sort of think I'm just eating a chicken pot pie at the same time. This one was mighty good and prepared me for a marathon walk.















For the remainder of the day, I stuck close to Pittwater, especially since it was close to the beaches: Collaroy, Narrabeen and Mona Vale. Mind you, this is probably about three miles of walking, many of this either in the sand or along a five-lane road. Lost the scenery of first hike, but caught the flavor of these beaches and their surrounding suburbs. Finally made it to the cusp of Newport, but without a map, didn't know where it and was tired of Pittwater Road. Something tells me I wouldn't have seen Blue Beet or Jack's, anyway.

All in all, not too bad of a venture. Got to discover another area, enjoy a scrumptulescent pie and listen to some newly downladed albums. On a side note, the bus ride back featured a Mormon kid from Oregon, presumably on his mission, try to convert a 75-year-old guy in front of me. C'mon kid, give it a rest. After walking the Northern Beaches, and most of Sydney afterwards, now I need one.

Spitting Images

On a sunny Tuesday morning, I set out for an area of North Sydney called "The Spit." I could toss in a cheeky little joke there about Swallows Harbour next door (doesn't really exist), but will just say it's strange name for such a seemingly nice place. The Spit to Manly path is a famous trail that wraps around the peninsula adjacent to the northern beach town of Manly. If you've been to Sydney, you better have gone to Manly, if anything for the ferry ride. Well, I must've missed this tourist attraction during my first few idle months in town, so decided to hop public transport towards Spit-ville.

After crossing what amounted to a four lane highway, I quickly became one with nature at the foot of the "Scenic Spit to Manly Walkway." I'd really prefer to call it the Spit Trail or Spitsville. Something about going on hikes all of a sudden not only makes you feel like a tree-hugging Ranger Rick, but turns (at least me) into an isolationist. I'd like to avoid other walkers at all costs. Speed up or slow down to get rid of other humans, that's what I say. Just me and the lizards, snakes and spiders out there. Well, only saw lizards and one spider in my three hour tour, but did catch some amazing views of Sydney Harbour.

















I'll digress here, but have you ever gotten a song in your head BEFORE listening to it? That was the case on the trail today, when Lou Reed's "Perfect Day" came into that part of the brain that keeps songs spinning over and over. This was probably in anticipation of listening to his 1972 album "Transformer" later in the day, which I enjoyed while laying on Manly Beach. Tough life, I know.















One thing we are not in this town is landlocked...there's water at every turn, and no matter how many times you've seen the Harbour, it's dramatic and unique from each direction. The walk gets really interesting when entering the Sydney Harbour National Park about halfway through. Here, you can see the best views of the Harbour from atop and afar. From this vantage, the Harbour looks scenic as ever and the opening to the Pacific looks like it will swallow you whole. Within the Harbour, you see hills, trees and suburbs on its edge...it's enclosed and eventually stops. Then there's that opening to the Pacific Ocean, and it goes forever until you hit Ruby's on the Huntington Beach pier (or if I pulled out a map, Santiago, Chile might be a bit more accurate, but who's counting?).
















After a few wrong turns, mini Harbour beaches, a gradual decline and 2 1/2 hours, the trail ends right in Manly Wharf. Only thing to say about Manly on this day is that the beach was about 20 degrees cooler than the last beach I visited in Bali and anytime you're there, hit up Burger Me. They say their burgers are bloody good, and I can't argue.















Oh, and don't forget to take the ferry ride back into Sydney. It's bloody good too, especially when you're listening to Transformer along the way.

Balifornication - Pt 2

I like west coasts. Since I've lived on the east coast of Sydney for the last 19 months, the thought of hanging on the beach during a tropical sunset suits me just fine. Made a point each day to see the sun headed for other pastures. No sir, I still don't want cannabis and ma'am, take your hand off my shoulder, do not want a massage either. Other than those minor distractions, the sun setting over the tepid Indian Ocean keeps one mellow. Maybe I should've taken their offers, added to the scenery.















Took a day trip to a place called Ubud on day four. It's a small town that provides a little more traditional Balinese lifestyle. More temples and rice paddies, and the vendors actually keep to themselves. The monkey sanctuary puts you face-to-face with some goofy looking dudes, chomping away on bananas, or anything else they can get their hands on. I didn't trust them from the start, and sure enough, one cheeky little bozo jumped on my backpack trying for my camera. Not sure if he wanted to take some snapshots or thought it was lunch, but was eventually able to pry him loose.



















Back in Kuta, low key restaurants and tiki-tpe bars litter Poppies Gang I and its partner nearby, Poppies Gang II. Beers are about $1.50, meals maybe 10. Spots such as Swell, Bali Aguya, The Treehouse and Kedin's Cafe are tough to pass up. What's funny about staff at bars and retaurants is that they'll hound you to come inside, but then you need a set of flares to flag someone down for another drink. When the tip system isn't in play, all rules are off, I suppose. Some places screen movies at night, which is pretty cool for solo travelers like myself. Although there were a few stinkers in there, was able to finally see Frost/Nixon, good stuff.

I'd be remiss to not mention how Bali was hit by a series of bombings, both in 2002 and 2005. Although a substantisal double blow to the morale of the island and tourism today, things seem to be chugging along nicely in Kuta. They do have a memorial at the site of 2002 bombings, with all the victims scribed on the wall. We were talking the other day about why in Allah's name would someone go after a place like Bali, doesn't seem to harm anyone. But as the only Hindu island in the largest Muslim country on earth....I suppose there are a few tensions there. Here's hoping this island stays out of harm's way moving forward.

Speaking of moving forward (or in this case, backwards), almost forgot about my hotel trade to the Ayu Beach II. The sequel is never really as good as the original, is it? Along with Poppies Lane II, the second incarnation of Ayu Beach Inn didn't leave too much to be desired. Actually, this REALLY felt like a cheap Indonesian hotel room. There were the luxuries of an actual bed and ceiling fan, but this place didn't offer toilet paper or a towel for the shower. Thankfully, my Jacks Surfboard t-shirt served as a suitable towel (not tp!) for two days. This is what you get for about $8 a night. Made my way back to the original Ayu a few days later....room 41, air con, breakfast, pool, civilization.















Since the flight out was not until late, made the most of final day in town. Had one of the hotel's drivers take me south to Uluwatu and Dreamland. More temples and monkeys, except this time I got to rock a sarong. I've gotta say, a skirt in Laker colors suited me well. Uluwatu Beach was also a haven for surfers, some really good breaks with entrance to beach through cave-like setting. On the ride back to Kuta, I was joined by some traveling Swedes and a guy from San Jose, all who were staying at the Ayu Beach. Always good to meet fellow travelers...except when I get back to Bondi and they become dirty Euro backpackers!




















Before heading for the airport, made my way down Legian Rd/St again, soaking up the culture one last time. Final dinner was at Crusoe's Island, which offered the "coldest beers and hoottest girls in Bali." I guess they refer to good looking girls as owls or something in Bali. Friends from Oz mentioned a place called Paddy's, which I assumed was another chill bar where I could catch Champions League or something. Located right at Ground Zero from the bombings, Paddy's is the cheesy nightclub you'd expect in a place like Kuta. Being about 7:30, I waltzed in as the only patron to enjoy their two for one deals. I was amused by the sountrack of the place, which was the Bee Gees entire catalog. Was this a nod to all the Aussie tourists, or just an appreciation of the Gibb brothers' career? All I can say is the 60s songs were typical, yet well-written pop songs. As for the Staying Alive era, disco sucks. Started chatting with a Kiwi at the bar for a bit, before grabbing one last drink at nearby Swell and catching the end of 40 Year Old Virgin (I wanna shave your head).

The sunsets were good, weather warm, ocean almost as warm. Both locals and tourists were friendly, and I was able to practice saying "no thanks" to vendors approximately 500 times. Guns were rocking, beer and food went down easy, too. Oh yeah, after a few phone calls, my visa came through. There's the proof....I'm legal again.

Balifornication - Pt 1

A new visa forced me to leave Australian shores, and while NZ is a fine piece of land, I opted for the beaches, beer, scooters and narrow streets of Bali. Decent Jetstar flight included a memorably depressing movie, named something about Rachel's wedding. The plot revolved around a troubled sister who was in rehab, coming home for her perfect sister's wedding weekend. The real point of this movie was to sap every inch of emotion from depressed people, making the wedding weekend a series of uncomfortable and bittersweet moments. My teeth were getting metaphorically pulled. What one will watch to pass the time when stuck in a flying tube for six hours....

Not long after landing in Denpasar, Bali's major city, I nabbed a $5 taxi, then dropped on Poppies Lane 1, right in the heart and soul of Kuta Beach. Poppies "Lane," and its bretheren, Poppies Lane II, would probably be considered Poppies Alley in most western countries. They're wide enough to fit a scooter, or a few pedestrians, but of course here, they try to fit both, along with cars, which don't really fit at all. After doing my best Joseph and Mary impersonation and unsuccessfully securing a hotel room, the world-reknown Ayu Beach Inn opened its wicker doors for me. Complete with cushy A/C room for about $20 a night and the ambience of a typical tropical bungalow, this seemed like an appropriate place to apply for the new visa. Of course, this couldn't be an easy process, something about declined credit card and being on another visa already...will get to that later. By this time, it was about 12:30, so took a quick trip to the Circle K (only in California aaaand Bali) for a late night snack and first of many Bintangs (local beer).















Setting out on streets of Bali to explore on day one, I quickly discovered the true goal of this island: commerce. The Balinese seem much friendlier than the Vietnamese, but this is probably due to the fact they speak substantial English in the form of "hey bro, cheap prices," "you want transport?" and "you like massage?" I was going to strike up a convo about the decline of print media in western society, but just opted for a smile and shake of the head instead. What boggled me was how each shop pretty much contained the same stock: Bingtang t-shirts, sunglasses and pirated DVDs. But the owners insist that you want their trinkets and cheap shirts more than anything, even though I've just passed 20 of the same. Oh wait, your mini replica Beatles guitar is only 200,000 Rupiahs? Well, I may have to consider.... Some brave souls tried to pawn off cannabis, but I wasn't about to test the Indonesian death penalty.















Of course when you visit the equator in April, one of the first things you'll notice from sunrise on is the heat and humidity that would make South Florida blush. The usual heat measuring stick is to refer something as "Africa hot." Well, since my last trip to SE Asia, I'll refer to Indonesia as "Vietnam hot." I have to question the mental capacity of someone who wears pants or long sleeves in this weather, but the locals probably thought it was unseasonably cool. The pair of jeans I packed took up unneccesary space in my bag and the four pairs of board shorts were well worth it.



















Now these days and nights seem to bleed together into one sunny beach holiday with large Bintangs, Indonesian cuisine, dodging scooters and learning new ways to decline shop vendors. But there are a few moments that stick out for sure. On night one, I decided to hit up the Hard Rock Cafe, an establishment I haven't visited since probably London 10 years back. Jakarta's version of Guns n Roses were playing that night, covering classics from Appetite for Destruction, Use Your Illusion, Lies, etc. Axl was a little tanner and paunchy than I remember, but still had that Sunset Strip scream from the old days. No Slash tophat, but I think it's better when a cover band has their own look anyway. Oh right, they even had the gall to throw out one of their own tunes, just in case an A&R rep from Capitol Records was in attendance. Through this show, it made me realize how GnR was the soundtrack to my early adolecense. Although I was a dedicated "Yo! MTV Raps" fan back in the day, the Guns were the omnipresent band of this era. Needless to say, I didn't hear any songs from Chinese Democracy.

So far, the first few days in Bali was a good Welcome to the Jungle. Nothing like a Paradise City to relax, although I would need a little Patience to get the visa. Don't Cry, there will be more Bali stories in the next installment.

Bluegrass Revival

I've been thinking alot about the state of Kentucky in recent days. After all, the men's team just named John Calipari as their new coach (great move), I just watched a bio on Muhammed Ali (the Louisville Lip) and last week made an ill-fated effort to hit up a new tapas place in Bondi called Rum Jungle (presumably named after Lousiville's own HST). But the appreciation for all things bluegrass allows me to take part in what could be considered one of many dream jobs. It reminds me to provide an abridged version of a concert review from Kentucky's My Morning Jacket. For those of you that don't know MMJ, they have been on the scene for about seven years now. Placed under the genre of jam band (apparently for their preponderence of facial hair and long hair), they have evolved over the years and made their way into "Indie" (which I suppose is an upgrade), but have kept their jammy roots. Their 2008 release, "Evil Urges" dispelled any remnance of noodling jamsters and put them into the American music mainstream.

When you hear of a band playing in Sydney, it brings on two reactions: awesome! because good bands come along every time Uconn makes the Final Four...and great, this show will only be 150% more expensive than I'm used to seeing them. Nevertheless, when I found out there were still tix available for this show in January, I was both shocked and estatic. While they may not be as known to Sydneysiders, this show would sell out in hours in cities such as Boston, New York or SF. The band was in town to support Neil Young, another concert they would've been great, but through-the-roof expensive.

I hit up the concert with friends James and Marina, who are just the folks to appreciate a great show like this. After reliving their trip to Cambodia and Laos, we headed over to The Metro, an intimate but sizable venue right in CBD. As the band took the stage, the crowd reacted with a revelry of a highly respected act. I've seen this reaction with the likes of Wilco. These are bands that people rock out to, but respect and admire, in part because the critics do the same. Leader of MMJ, Jim James, is a 21st Century rock hero - bearded, enigmatic, wears a cape and loves to dabble in various music forms. OK, he's any rock hero, but doesn't appear to be self-serving in his stage approach. Like a good team at Kentucky, he's a captain, and knows he needs a good support system every night.

One of the great aspects about thir Metro performance is that they played like it was their biggest (or last) performance ever. The amazing thing about the band is that's how they appraoch EVERY show. The band's earnesty and urgency is heard through the voice of James, guitar work of Tom Blankenship/Carl Broemel, organ of Bo Koster and frenetic drumming of Patrick Hallahan. Without going into a song-by-song synopsis, the January 22 gig was a sublime mix of new and old, timid and rocking, standard and improvisational, familiar and even more familiar. Each song seemed perfectly placed, and the crowd energy grew as the show progressed. To make matters more interesting, the venue was a sweatbox and after the first set, it looked like we emerged from Fitness First in flannel shirts.

The extended encore was a microcosm of the show at large: mix of the old and new, but all wonderfully played and appreciated by a spirited audience. The show closed with a 2004 hit, "One Great Holiday," which I first remember hearing on the tragically defunct Indie 103.1. Between the nostalgia factor and ability to drive the audience into a frenzy, this was the cherry on top of what I consider to be one of the best shows I've ever been to. My proof of attendance lies in a miniature camera phone pic, and if Sony Ericsson could make things easier, I'd provide that.

Great job boys, you earned some Kentucky moonshine tonight.

April Showers

This morning, April began by combining three of my favorite things: waking up so early it's dark outside, job interview and riding a bike in the pouring rain (with minimal brakes to boot). If you're not picking up on the sarcasm, well, yeah.

This decision mostly centered around the job interview, as it took place fairly early and a good 15 minutes from my current office. My thinking was that biking into work, even during Monsoon Charlie, was quicker than that monstrosity known as the bus. Plus, I didn't have a pass.

What I didn't plan was ringing out my clothes afterwards. But after the early wake and sopping/more dangerous than normal bike ride, I thought the problems would end. Except the walk to the interview left me almost as wet and with hair looking like Pat Riley. Fortunately for me, the kind woman I was interviewing with had endured the same effects of Charlie. As an aside, they don't name Sydney rainstorms, but I might have to get in the habit.

Interview went as scheduled and the rain subsided throughout the day. The last bit of fun was putting the drenched clothes back on for the ride home.

Do I miss the land of Southern California, with its cars and constant sunshine? Hmmm....