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| Finger Wharf, Woolloomooloo Circa 2016 |
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| Woolloomooloo Circa 2016 |
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| Woolloomooloo Back When.... |
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| Harry's Cafe de Wheels, Woolloomoolo, Sydney |
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| Harry |
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| The El Alamein Memorial Fountain in Darlinghurst (Kings Cross) - Jus Across the Road from the Hotel I Stayed At |
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.
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.
