AND THAT’S THE WAY IT IS....

Finger Wharf, Woolloomooloo Circa 2016

Woolloomooloo  Circa  2016

Woolloomooloo Back When....

Harry's Cafe de Wheels, Woolloomoolo, Sydney

Harry

The El Alamein Memorial Fountain in Darlinghurst (Kings Cross) - Jus Across the Road from the Hotel I Stayed At

Gazebo Hotel, Elizabeth Bay, Sydney - above and below

Purposely I fly low beneath the radar, flying so close to the ground I’m considering attaching a set of blades around my middle.  Come summer I’ll hire myself out as a lawn-mower to make extra money on the side...or on my stomach.  I won’t try putting the money in my pockets, though.  I could lose a hand or two in the process if the blades are still in motion.

Mostly I keep to myself.  I like it that way.  I enjoy my own company. I understand and laugh at my own jokes; something which pleases me greatly. I’m easily amused. If I don’t get the joke I don’t feel insulted.  When talking to myself, I listen; so much sense is being made! I don’t interrupt; and I don’t get talked over. 

Those not accustomed to a life lived alone believe one who lives a solo life must be lonely.  I don’t know how to spell the word “lonely”.  I had to look it up in “Spell Check”.  I doubt I’ve ever felt lonely at any time during my years on this earth, when alone or not alone. 

A few weeks ago, an acquaintance lost her husband (as in he passed away; she didn’t misplace him. It’s the second husband she’s lost; perhaps she should consider investing in name tags with a return address imprinted thereon).

Anyway, the other day my acquaintance told me about the empty, overwhelming feeling that engulfs her at meal times since her husband’s passing. She explained how much she misses not having someone sitting across the table with whom to share those moments while chomping on a chop bone. 

Suddenly enlightened as if she’d a light bulb moment, she blurted out; “But, of course, you understand that feeling!” 

Too often people presume to assume. 

Without hesitation I answered I don’t. I never have. And this is true...I do not lie.  I found it to be a strange statement for her to have made...in reference to how I felt, anyway.

If I saw someone sitting across from me at my table I’d be phoning the police to inform them an intruder was in my midst, eating my food, rudely infringing my boundaries; asking them to get here pronto; not to spare the horses!  (Either that or I’d put together a doggie bag and send the uninvited, unwelcome visitor on his way. Needless to say, if it was George Clooney the scenario would be different.  Hold those horses!).

Eating alone has never bothered me. It doesn’t make me feel ill-at-ease; it never has, whether at home or out in the untamed world with strangers aimlessly or purposefully milling about. 

Often I’ve dined solo in restaurants, cafếs etc.  I’ve no idea how many times I’ve dined alone in public - always in an eatery of sorts, of course.  I don’t eat in the streets, if that’s what you’re thinking.  Although, once because I had to; I had no choice; meaning -  I wouldn’t allow me another choice.  It was when I was doing the Sales/Marketing for the resort on Hinchinbrook Island.   

In Sydney for whatever reason one night I dined with Rosemary, our publicist who was a Sydney-ite.  She and I got on well. 

Rosemary spoke with a distinct “plum in her mouth”; and sometimes her attitude matched her manner of speaking; and to some she came across as being "hoity-toity". But she and I clicked from our first meeting when she’d visited the island to see what was what; to have some knowledge of the subject about which she would be writing at different times.  Rosemary was a “true” city girl.  

We’d dined at leisure and at length in an upmarket Sydney restaurant somewhere near Woolloomooloo, an inner-city, harbourside suburb.  I forget the name of the restaurant.

Don’t you just love the name Woolloomooloo?  It’s derived from the first homestead in the area, built by the first landowner, a John Palmer.  It is thought the name could be derived from Aboriginal place names...either “Wallamullah”, meaning “place of plenty” – or “Wallabahmullah” – meaning a young black kangaroo.

Rosemary and I lingered long over our coffee and liqueurs. We had a table near a window so watching the passing parade of Saturday night revellers was a fun pastime while we dined and conversed.

The hotel in which I was staying...the same one I always stayed in during my visits to Sydney, the Gazebo Ramada Hotel in Elizabeth Bay (it now is owned by a different hotel group)....was only a little over a kilometre from where we dined.  One time when I was a guest of the hotel an American basketball team was staying at the hotel, too.  I thought I was tall, but I was midget next to those fellows!

After we’d finished our pleasant, lengthy interlude at the restaurant Rosemary and I decided to stroll back homeward. Hailing a taxi seemed pointless.  Having a unit overlooking the waters of Sydney Harbour at Rushcutters Bay, she lived close by.

Woolloomooloo, Rushcutters Bay, Elizabeth Bay and Kings Cross (Darlinghurst) are all within easy striking/walking distance of each other.  In the mid-Eighties it was still safe to walk at night in those suburbs; or, at least it felt that way.  Same applied to Melbourne during those days.  I wouldn’t feel safe doing similar nowadays.   

Finding myself in Woolloomooloo close on midnight I had to do what any self-respecting Aussie would do – even if they had been out dining amongst the elite!  I had to pay a visit to Sydney’s (and Australia’s) iconic venue..... Harry’s Café de Wheels.  Harry’s has been a Sydney tradition since 1938.

*** The story of ‘Harry’s Café de Wheels’ goes back to the depression years of the late 1930’s. With the world on the brink of a devastating war, an enterprising Sydneysider by the name of Harry Edwards opened a caravan café near the front gates of the Woolloomooloo naval dockyard. Word spread quickly with Harry’s ‘pie n’ peas’ and crumbed sausages soon becoming a popular part of the city’s nightlife – keenly sought by sailors, soldiers, cabbies, starlets and coppers alike. Harry operated the caravan until 1938 when he enlisted in the AIF during WWII.

During Harry’s time in the Middle East, he was nicknamed “Tiger” due to his boxing prowess and the name stuck. Upon his return in 1945, Harry realised that Sydney hadn’t changed much and it was still almost impossible to get a good feed late-night, so he reopened and the caravan has been operating continuously since.

The phrase ‘Café de Wheels’ came about as the city council of the day insisted that mobile food caravans move a minimum of 12 inches a day. Harry dutifully obeyed and thus the name was expanded to Harry’s Café de Wheels. Before the councils ruling, the caravan was known simply as ‘Harry’s.’

  “Never-Let-a-Chance-G- By-Lee” those in the know call me!

When I suggested we have a pie, Rosemary thought I’d taken leave of my senses.  I could see it by the look on her face. The look, along with her protests, immediately gave away what was going on in her mind. 

Not to be deterred, I was going to do what I wanted to do whether Rosemary liked it or not; or whether she joined me in the bit of fun.  

 I said I just had to have one of “Harry’s” pies...and, dressed in my dining-out-finery, I had to stand on the footpath, near the gutter to eat it.  That is what one should do when devouring a pie from Harry's Cafe de Wheels! 

Too bad if my diner companion felt ashamed or embarrassed, I said she didn’t have to stick around she could move on; I’d catch up with her after I fulfilled a long-time desire.  I believed I may never get the chance to do so again...and I never did get the chance to do so again.  And, boy, oh, boy...what a great, delicious, hot meat pie it was!  A memorable feast!  I can’t remember what I ate that night at the fine-dining restaurant.

By the way, Rosemary, to her credit...joined with me in having...and enjoying...one of Harry’s legendary pies.  We laughed....we had fun.  And I'll bet she still remembers that evening, particularly the last part.

Never once have I felt awkward, conspicuous or out of place dining alone; except for the time I fell off the table I was dancing on, causing steaming soup to spill over a nearby couple who had been, up until then, enjoying a romantic dinner (I think he’d been about to propose – either that or break-up); or the time when I was animatedly waving my arms about descriptively relating a story. I whacked an unfortunate, shocked waiter in the belly causing him to drop four plates of hot food; but I won’t mention any embarrassing moments.

If I allowed inner insecurities, which at times have a wont to sneak in,to take control I’d be in dire straits without a canoe or paddle.  Being embarrassed by dining alone is not part of my make-up (although, Revlon, Estếe Lauder and Maybelline are. So, you see...I’m never alone...the whole gang are here. One or the other or all come along with me on such occasions). 

Let’s face it...who better for me to have as a dinner companion than me?  There’s never any argument over the menu.  I always get my own way; I eat what I want to eat. I don’t mind sharing with me or eating off the same plate or using the same fork.  And, I do prefer paying my own way.

For instance (or a couple of instances, as examples) - if I’d waited for someone to take me to dine at Mietta’s, the once legendary Melbourne restaurant, or be my companion at various venues in Singapore’s Raffles Hotel those wonderful places would never have had the pleasure of my company; or me, theirs!

That’s the low-down on flying solo, close to the ground.  It’s a lot of fun if you allow it to be.

 So, you see...one isn’t always the loneliest number.

Mac & Cheese for One: Place 1/2c macaroni, 1-1/4c milk, salt and pepper in pot; bring to boil over high heat; reduce heat to medium; cook, stirring until pasta is soft and only a couple of tablespoons of milk are left. Reduce heat to low; stir in 1/3c shredded cheddar, 2tbs shredded Colby, a sprinkle of grated Parmesan and 1/4tsp Dijon mustard; stir until cheese is melted.

Naan Breakfast Pizza: Preheat oven 175C.  Fry in a little oil a few thinly sliced onion rings; set aside.  Cook one naan or flatbread in pan, lightly, on both sides; then place naan on baking sheet; spoon pizza sauce of liking on top; cover with grated cheddar, parmesan (or mozzarella) and onions; (add finely-chopped bacon, if desired) crack an egg gently on top; season. Bake 8-10mins.

Poached Salmon Salad: Bring saucepan of salted water to gentle boil. Poach 1 salmon fillet, 10mins. (If skin on, score skin first). Dressing – 2tbls Greek yoghurt, zest of half lemon and squeeze of lemon juice; set aside. Make salad with 12 mint leaves, 2-3 radishes, thinly sliced and 1/4tsp capers; set aside. Remove salmon from pan; season; drizzle with x-virgin olive oil; set aside while you cook 1c green peas; drain peas; cool under running cold water; drain. Place a handful of watercress/rocket on plate; top with salad; sprinkle with 1tbs crumbled feta; top with salmon; pour over the dressing.

That’s How the Cookie Crumbles: Preheat oven 200C. Toss together ½ cup fresh/frozen berries, 1dsstpn fruit liqueur (optional) and 1tsp cornflour; put into a ramekin. Combine 1tbs room temp butter, 1tbs brown sugar, 1tbs rolled oats and 1/2tsp cinnamon in bowl; add 1 crumbled chocolate ripple biscuits and a few choc chips. Pack crumble on top of berries; bake 20mins.