97 Darlinghurst Road
Kings Cross, Sydney, 2011
(02) 9816 4777
http://www.cococubano.com/
Man, we are amazing. We can commercialise and consume anything, including poverty and communist regimes. Z has mixed feelings about the Coco Cubano chain popping up around Sydney. On one hand, the franchise faux 1950s Cuban decor suggesting impoverished decadence, antique foreign furnishings, and revolutionary baristas in guerrilla greens, subversively preparing expressos and lattes for the freedom fighters dropping in to read their Dan Brown manifestos, check their insurgent emails on their iPhone2. or chat about the countermeasure tactics of Warney and Liz as they sit back and on display in the upholstered sitting room chairs in the breezeway is a textbook study in the postmodern oxymoron of seeking the authentic via the artificial in our disposable consumerist lives. You want the "Cuban" experience? Go to Kings Cross and smoke a cigar while you drink coffee out of a paper cup with a logo on it.
On the other hand, Z has a weakness for artifice and kitsch and loves little havens of fantasy escapism amongst the mundanities of urban colourless concrete, steel, and drab lemming-like hurriedness amongst the unsmiling masses. Tucked in at the back wooden tables, surrounded by pictures of a young strapping Che Guevara and farmers harvesting tobacco crops, reading her paperback Steinbeck, she can pretend for a little while that maybe she is in another country and another time. That is, if they would keep the rumba playing and not Rhianna on the house speakers.
But Z confesses she has a weakness now for a particular dish at Coco Cubano's. It is her nature to fixate on a single dish she likes at a cafe or restaurant and thus will return again and again to the eatery and constantly order that dish (such as the "Newtown" at Burgerlicious, the Chicken Pad Thai at Big Boy Thai 2). Today, she has journeyed to King Cross' version of Havana for her new fave - the Chicken Wrap. It's Sydney pricey at $11.90, since it's "designer" food and you are paying as much for the decor of the franchise as you are the food on your plate. But there is a reason Z keeps going back and ordering it. It's freakin' good!
The wrap is sizable, and toasted. The chicken is succulent and juicy. Z hasn't yet encountered a too dry serving, which can be the gamble you take when ordering chicken. Guacamole, fresh tomato, and rocket lettuce also fill the wrap, and it's brought warm to your corner where you have nestled yourself.
Twice, Z has given the chai latte a go but will not have it anymore, as it's too bitter and lacks the creamy sweet richness she likes. Even drowning it in sugar doesn't quite take the sting out of if.
The overall menu is quite varied, with pizza's, full brekkie fry ups, salads, cocktails, a range of alcoholic delights for those who imbibe, and decadent chocolates under glass to drool over. (Good thing the glass is there to stop the drool from coating the confections). Z knows she will need to drift from the Chicken Wrap one day, but even just thinking about how juicy and luscious the wrap tastes temps Z to go get her second one for today. The decor may be fake, but this dish is the real deal.
Ratings (out of 10)
Chicken Wrap : 10 for taste but 5 for expense. A treat to be had sparingly.
Chai Latte: 1
Overall: 7 It's a fun little place, even if you are an ideological hypocrite for eating there.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Fatima's
294-296 Cleveland St
Surry Hills
With the near-by Belvoir Street theatre sneezing upper middle-class affluenza over the surrounding gentrified streets, parking was a straight up nightmare. It gets to the point where you just have to mentally re-jig your week’s budget to absorb the $90 fine you’re gonna get, then spend the entire meal trying to be ok with it, but ultimately failing.
I was eating tonight in Fatima’s restaurant section which has yum food but I think is probably overpriced. It was $35 a head for a banquet that relied (astutely) on my inability to resist filling up on Lebanese bread and babaganouj. What I’d rather focus on though is the adjoining take-away wing – the jewel in Fatima’s crown.
Her late-night take-away annex resembles a standard kebab shop just enough to engage the muscle memory of pissed stumblers-by, but then pulverises your concept of what a kebab shop can be. Freshly fried falafel and heavy skewers adorned with medallions of real lamb and chicken slow-cooking on the grill. Yes - SLOW-cooking, which you’d think might be a deal-breaker for impatient late night kebab-seekers but Fatima turns this negative into a lucrative triumph like so...
The narrowness of the shop means that while you sit writhing in pre-kebab agony, your face is pretty much pressed up against the display glass. What else can you do but survey the trays of glistening baklava, the beckoning lady fingers, the verdant vine leaves, the... cabbage rolls. You end up buying and devouring at least two of these while you wait, and as your contemplation of a third teeters on the brink of transaction your kebab arrives. And it is gooooooood. The felafel is crispy and delicious and all peripherals (tabouli, homous, babaganouj, chilli) taste decidedly homemade.
As an aside: I don’t eat meat but I can remember a time when I did, and I can remember the obstinate paste that a standard kebab paints across the roof of your mouth. And while I don’t want to promote meat-eating, I will say that actual discernible pieces of meat are probably healthier and tastier than a reconstituted cone of lard and lamb scrag. Just saying.
When it comes to late-night kebab purchase it’s a universally accepted fact that after 10pm, expectation of freshness, nutrition and general diseaselessness diminishes - a linear downward progression, reaching 0 at about 2.27am. At this point even Belvoir Street theatre-goers give a cheeky second look to pizza cheese on a bin rim.
But expect 2.30am diphtheria no longer!
Fatima’s offers essentially the same fare as any other kebab shop at essentially the same prices but it’s just better. Out of necessity I’ve learnt to love stale rubbery falafel, microwaved and pressed down with the back of a dirty tong. But sometimes when I’m walking out of some generic kebabery on the edge of town, sagging falafel roll in hand, I recall Fatima’s golden bounty and think to myself IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS!!! Then I inhale the kebab in 10 seconds flat.
X gives Fatima's a Tis'a (9)
Surry Hills
With the near-by Belvoir Street theatre sneezing upper middle-class affluenza over the surrounding gentrified streets, parking was a straight up nightmare. It gets to the point where you just have to mentally re-jig your week’s budget to absorb the $90 fine you’re gonna get, then spend the entire meal trying to be ok with it, but ultimately failing.
I was eating tonight in Fatima’s restaurant section which has yum food but I think is probably overpriced. It was $35 a head for a banquet that relied (astutely) on my inability to resist filling up on Lebanese bread and babaganouj. What I’d rather focus on though is the adjoining take-away wing – the jewel in Fatima’s crown.
Her late-night take-away annex resembles a standard kebab shop just enough to engage the muscle memory of pissed stumblers-by, but then pulverises your concept of what a kebab shop can be. Freshly fried falafel and heavy skewers adorned with medallions of real lamb and chicken slow-cooking on the grill. Yes - SLOW-cooking, which you’d think might be a deal-breaker for impatient late night kebab-seekers but Fatima turns this negative into a lucrative triumph like so...
The narrowness of the shop means that while you sit writhing in pre-kebab agony, your face is pretty much pressed up against the display glass. What else can you do but survey the trays of glistening baklava, the beckoning lady fingers, the verdant vine leaves, the... cabbage rolls. You end up buying and devouring at least two of these while you wait, and as your contemplation of a third teeters on the brink of transaction your kebab arrives. And it is gooooooood. The felafel is crispy and delicious and all peripherals (tabouli, homous, babaganouj, chilli) taste decidedly homemade.
As an aside: I don’t eat meat but I can remember a time when I did, and I can remember the obstinate paste that a standard kebab paints across the roof of your mouth. And while I don’t want to promote meat-eating, I will say that actual discernible pieces of meat are probably healthier and tastier than a reconstituted cone of lard and lamb scrag. Just saying.
When it comes to late-night kebab purchase it’s a universally accepted fact that after 10pm, expectation of freshness, nutrition and general diseaselessness diminishes - a linear downward progression, reaching 0 at about 2.27am. At this point even Belvoir Street theatre-goers give a cheeky second look to pizza cheese on a bin rim.
But expect 2.30am diphtheria no longer!
Fatima’s offers essentially the same fare as any other kebab shop at essentially the same prices but it’s just better. Out of necessity I’ve learnt to love stale rubbery falafel, microwaved and pressed down with the back of a dirty tong. But sometimes when I’m walking out of some generic kebabery on the edge of town, sagging falafel roll in hand, I recall Fatima’s golden bounty and think to myself IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS!!! Then I inhale the kebab in 10 seconds flat.
X gives Fatima's a Tis'a (9)
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Citrus Cafe
227 King St
Newtown 2042 NSW
(02) 9557 3582
Z had a mid-morning meeting in Newtown and decided to use the opportunity to grab brekkie in a King Street eatery. After ten paces in the rising heat of the a.m., the words "Air Conditioned!" scrawled across the closed up windows of Citrus convinced this gastronaut to park her moonbuggy and cool her jets inside.
Z contemplated a big breakfast, with bacon, eggs, tomatos and toast but was and is perpetually disappointed that baked beans weren't part of this feast (and they never seem to be anywhere else as well). What's the point of a morning fry up without the beans? Then the magic W word caught her eye - WAFFLES! Bring it on! Even in the A/C, it was still too hot contemplate a Chai Latte, so Z ordered a Banana & Strawberry smoothy (made with fruit, ice cream, yogurt and honey - $5.90), which arrived at the table shortly thereafter in a tall sode fountain glass. It was creamy, handsome, cool, sweet and gone by the time the waffle plate ($14.90) arrived.
The rectangular plate was covered in a pile of cute little waffle hearts, with mixed berry compote in a side bowl, light coloured maple syrup on the other side, and generous dollops of vanilla ice cream and whipped cream completing the landscape of the plate. Garnished with flecks of cinnamon for visual appeal, the waffle breakfast was almost too pretty to eat and too tempting not to. As much as Z liked the smoothy, she regretted ordering it and consuming it before the waffle plate. Stuffed halfway through the meal, she tried valiantly to make a happy plate, but had to surrender two hearts and half a bowl of compost from the end. It was wonderfully decadent.
Sitting near the window, Citrus offers a prime position for watching the biodiversity of Newtown life wander by while satisfying your appetite. At this late morning weekday hour, the cafe was half full, service was cheerful and friendly, and the atmosphere was perfect for an inner city brunch. Z did think it took them quite a while just to make a plate of waffles, but since she was luxuriating in the cool breeze of the air con, she didn't mind.
Order the brekkie and hold off on extras. The serving size will fill your little waffle heart's desire.
Rating (out of 10): 9
Newtown 2042 NSW
(02) 9557 3582
Z had a mid-morning meeting in Newtown and decided to use the opportunity to grab brekkie in a King Street eatery. After ten paces in the rising heat of the a.m., the words "Air Conditioned!" scrawled across the closed up windows of Citrus convinced this gastronaut to park her moonbuggy and cool her jets inside.
Z contemplated a big breakfast, with bacon, eggs, tomatos and toast but was and is perpetually disappointed that baked beans weren't part of this feast (and they never seem to be anywhere else as well). What's the point of a morning fry up without the beans? Then the magic W word caught her eye - WAFFLES! Bring it on! Even in the A/C, it was still too hot contemplate a Chai Latte, so Z ordered a Banana & Strawberry smoothy (made with fruit, ice cream, yogurt and honey - $5.90), which arrived at the table shortly thereafter in a tall sode fountain glass. It was creamy, handsome, cool, sweet and gone by the time the waffle plate ($14.90) arrived.
The rectangular plate was covered in a pile of cute little waffle hearts, with mixed berry compote in a side bowl, light coloured maple syrup on the other side, and generous dollops of vanilla ice cream and whipped cream completing the landscape of the plate. Garnished with flecks of cinnamon for visual appeal, the waffle breakfast was almost too pretty to eat and too tempting not to. As much as Z liked the smoothy, she regretted ordering it and consuming it before the waffle plate. Stuffed halfway through the meal, she tried valiantly to make a happy plate, but had to surrender two hearts and half a bowl of compost from the end. It was wonderfully decadent.
Sitting near the window, Citrus offers a prime position for watching the biodiversity of Newtown life wander by while satisfying your appetite. At this late morning weekday hour, the cafe was half full, service was cheerful and friendly, and the atmosphere was perfect for an inner city brunch. Z did think it took them quite a while just to make a plate of waffles, but since she was luxuriating in the cool breeze of the air con, she didn't mind.
Order the brekkie and hold off on extras. The serving size will fill your little waffle heart's desire.
Rating (out of 10): 9
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Guzman Y Gomez Mexican Taqueria
175 King Street, Newtown
(02) 9517 1533
What the hell made me take a 4km round trip to Guzman Y Gomez for a burrito on a day that made me nervously contemplate the boiling point of spinal fluid? In the relative Englishness of last week's weather i didn't even entertain the idea of going that far. But Mexican fare is all about contradiction and counterintuition- "Let's drink tequila and munch on jalepenos in the frickin desert!" they say. In this spirit, the heat gave a context for my expedition and would maybe lend authenticity to burritos that everyone keeps telling me aren't very authentic at all.
Intense heat, like rain, makes you consider your path choices more keenly. Hugging a wall to get half your black t-shirt in the shade, seeking out the rasp of recently watered bushes across your burnt shins, girding yourself for the upcoming expanse of parched, shadeless earth. I paced my journey to perfection and as the town clock struck una y media I strode, almost dryly, across the threshold of Casa de Guzman y Gomez.
This place teeters like a car on a precipice with chain restaurant prosaicness off one side, and inner west/inner city hipster radness off the other. The only thing preventing it from tipping forward into the former is a back seat-full of expertly boisterous, exclusively hispanic waitstaff. "BEGGIE BURRRRITO NO MUSHROOMS!!!" the woman behind the counter echoed my order to the kitchen like a cooee in a canyon. Today my burrito cost 50 cents more than last time ($10.50). Is that cheap? I don't know, i suspect not but i have no frame of reference. I got my number and moved to the side to fill up a little container with Tabasco sauce, and another with chopped corriander. I could also have availed myself of sliced jalapenos, spanish onions and either habanero or chipotle Tabasco brand sauce- as much as I wanted for free.
After a couple of minutes of sighing and muttering crazily to no one about how frickin' hot it was, my order was ready: "NOMBERR EIGHTY-NAINE! BEGGIE NO MUSHROOMS!". I thanked the kindly senorita and started the trip back to the controlled climes of my office space.
I sat devouring my burrito of black beans, guacamole, onions and rice in a sweaty, contented mess- my officeward journey had been more manic than the first leg, urged by my tasty passenger into a pace that was not appropriate for a 40+ degree day. But I tell you what, I enjoyed the s#%t out of that burrito. The people who whinge about GYG's lack of authenticity probably drove air-conditioned to Newtown on an already cool afternoon in August and got their partner to run in and pick up their soft shelled tacos for them. Authenticity is a two-way street. The food is fast and (possibly) cheap, tastes good and seems like it would be better for you than Macca's or a kebab. And GYG's discriminatory hiring practices are to be warmly applauded.
X gives this place an ocho (8).
What the hell made me take a 4km round trip to Guzman Y Gomez for a burrito on a day that made me nervously contemplate the boiling point of spinal fluid? In the relative Englishness of last week's weather i didn't even entertain the idea of going that far. But Mexican fare is all about contradiction and counterintuition- "Let's drink tequila and munch on jalepenos in the frickin desert!" they say. In this spirit, the heat gave a context for my expedition and would maybe lend authenticity to burritos that everyone keeps telling me aren't very authentic at all.
Intense heat, like rain, makes you consider your path choices more keenly. Hugging a wall to get half your black t-shirt in the shade, seeking out the rasp of recently watered bushes across your burnt shins, girding yourself for the upcoming expanse of parched, shadeless earth. I paced my journey to perfection and as the town clock struck una y media I strode, almost dryly, across the threshold of Casa de Guzman y Gomez.
This place teeters like a car on a precipice with chain restaurant prosaicness off one side, and inner west/inner city hipster radness off the other. The only thing preventing it from tipping forward into the former is a back seat-full of expertly boisterous, exclusively hispanic waitstaff. "BEGGIE BURRRRITO NO MUSHROOMS!!!" the woman behind the counter echoed my order to the kitchen like a cooee in a canyon. Today my burrito cost 50 cents more than last time ($10.50). Is that cheap? I don't know, i suspect not but i have no frame of reference. I got my number and moved to the side to fill up a little container with Tabasco sauce, and another with chopped corriander. I could also have availed myself of sliced jalapenos, spanish onions and either habanero or chipotle Tabasco brand sauce- as much as I wanted for free.
After a couple of minutes of sighing and muttering crazily to no one about how frickin' hot it was, my order was ready: "NOMBERR EIGHTY-NAINE! BEGGIE NO MUSHROOMS!". I thanked the kindly senorita and started the trip back to the controlled climes of my office space.
I sat devouring my burrito of black beans, guacamole, onions and rice in a sweaty, contented mess- my officeward journey had been more manic than the first leg, urged by my tasty passenger into a pace that was not appropriate for a 40+ degree day. But I tell you what, I enjoyed the s#%t out of that burrito. The people who whinge about GYG's lack of authenticity probably drove air-conditioned to Newtown on an already cool afternoon in August and got their partner to run in and pick up their soft shelled tacos for them. Authenticity is a two-way street. The food is fast and (possibly) cheap, tastes good and seems like it would be better for you than Macca's or a kebab. And GYG's discriminatory hiring practices are to be warmly applauded.
X gives this place an ocho (8).
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Blue Plate Bar and Grill
Blue Plate Bar and Grill (Formerly South)
24 Young Street
Neutral Bay
9935 - 2942
http://www.blueplate.com.au/
(Reservations recommended)
Z decided she wanted to try Sydney's version of "authentic cajun food", so the trio headed north for South, only to discover South was now incorporated into the Blue Plate Bar and Grill, a short walk away. At least the menu still featured "Yankee favorites" for homesick North Americans. The native North Americans in the trio would be the judge of just how authentic said foods would be.
Z favoured New Orleans fare with a starter of gumbo ($15) and a main of jumbalya ($26). The gumbo came in a deep bowl and probably could have sufficed as a meal itself with a side salad and perhaps a slice of bread (although sadly, we didn't notice cornbread or hush puppies on the menu, which would have been appropriate side fare). As for authenticity, the gumbo was savory and spicy - a mix of okra, celery, chicken, sausage, shrimp, and spices, but lacked the thickness that distinguishes gumbo from soup. The jumbalya was overpriced for the size of the portion, and was too pasty. Real jumbalya is loose, not stuck together like a stiff risotto. Again, it was spicy but the flavor was too heavy on the tomato. Alas, the Aussies haven't quite done it the way they do back home.
D went for a Waldorf Salad for starter ($15), hoping to reawaken a taste memory of having sampled it before at a buffet in Canada, and cleared his plate in a matter of moments - the cool mix of apple, grapes, nuts, celery on lettuce, coated in a homemade mayonnaise hitting the spot. He followed with the waitress recommended Cajun Chicken ($24), grilled in spices, and accompanied by sweet corn on the cob, and mash potatoes. The chicken was well grilled but juicy, retaining a perfect flavor while the corn was equally juicy and delectable. D had no problems clearing his plate.
S started with good but unremarkable Guacamole Dip and chips, ($12) then wavered between the Crispy Duck and the Salmon ($25), before deciding on the fish. Her plate smelled wonderful as the thick, succulent slice of salmon sat atop a block of smoked wood, giving our whole table a faint scent of a warm cozy wood fire in the hearth of a cabin. It sent Canadian D right back into his childhood, while Z recalled rugged up American winters, defrosting herself in front of the fireplace. S also devoured her salmon, and sides of asparagus and rice. Happy plates all round for the Gastronauts!
Z's mouth was on fire, so some ice cream was in order, which evolved into ice cream with a side of pecan pie ($12) for Z and a shared apple pie ($12) and ice cream split between D and S. The Pecan pie was authentic, heavy on the corn syrup and sugar, richer than Richard Branson, while D was disappointed the apple pie was more "pie" than "apple". It resembled a small meat pie, with apple and some sultanas hiding inside. S also capped off with a decaf cappuccino.
Over all, it was satisfying, but also ridiculously expensive for the portion sizes and meals. American fare is not difficult to prepare, and certainly the North American contingent of our trio could do as well if not better than what we were served. We did like the decor of the Blue Plate Bar and Gill, which resembled more of a New York City high end restaurant, with its floor to high ceiling windows, chandeliers, and burgundy drapes and wallpaper, than a "bar and grill". Middle American fare being peddled at high end prices. The service was good and the waitstaff was attentive and in good spirits.
Go for the experience and atmosphere, but invite an American friend over to your house to cook for authenticity and savings.
Ratings: (out of 10)
Z= 5.5
S= 7
D= 7
24 Young Street
Neutral Bay
9935 - 2942
http://www.blueplate.com.au/
(Reservations recommended)
Z decided she wanted to try Sydney's version of "authentic cajun food", so the trio headed north for South, only to discover South was now incorporated into the Blue Plate Bar and Grill, a short walk away. At least the menu still featured "Yankee favorites" for homesick North Americans. The native North Americans in the trio would be the judge of just how authentic said foods would be.
Z favoured New Orleans fare with a starter of gumbo ($15) and a main of jumbalya ($26). The gumbo came in a deep bowl and probably could have sufficed as a meal itself with a side salad and perhaps a slice of bread (although sadly, we didn't notice cornbread or hush puppies on the menu, which would have been appropriate side fare). As for authenticity, the gumbo was savory and spicy - a mix of okra, celery, chicken, sausage, shrimp, and spices, but lacked the thickness that distinguishes gumbo from soup. The jumbalya was overpriced for the size of the portion, and was too pasty. Real jumbalya is loose, not stuck together like a stiff risotto. Again, it was spicy but the flavor was too heavy on the tomato. Alas, the Aussies haven't quite done it the way they do back home.
D went for a Waldorf Salad for starter ($15), hoping to reawaken a taste memory of having sampled it before at a buffet in Canada, and cleared his plate in a matter of moments - the cool mix of apple, grapes, nuts, celery on lettuce, coated in a homemade mayonnaise hitting the spot. He followed with the waitress recommended Cajun Chicken ($24), grilled in spices, and accompanied by sweet corn on the cob, and mash potatoes. The chicken was well grilled but juicy, retaining a perfect flavor while the corn was equally juicy and delectable. D had no problems clearing his plate.
S started with good but unremarkable Guacamole Dip and chips, ($12) then wavered between the Crispy Duck and the Salmon ($25), before deciding on the fish. Her plate smelled wonderful as the thick, succulent slice of salmon sat atop a block of smoked wood, giving our whole table a faint scent of a warm cozy wood fire in the hearth of a cabin. It sent Canadian D right back into his childhood, while Z recalled rugged up American winters, defrosting herself in front of the fireplace. S also devoured her salmon, and sides of asparagus and rice. Happy plates all round for the Gastronauts!
Z's mouth was on fire, so some ice cream was in order, which evolved into ice cream with a side of pecan pie ($12) for Z and a shared apple pie ($12) and ice cream split between D and S. The Pecan pie was authentic, heavy on the corn syrup and sugar, richer than Richard Branson, while D was disappointed the apple pie was more "pie" than "apple". It resembled a small meat pie, with apple and some sultanas hiding inside. S also capped off with a decaf cappuccino.
Over all, it was satisfying, but also ridiculously expensive for the portion sizes and meals. American fare is not difficult to prepare, and certainly the North American contingent of our trio could do as well if not better than what we were served. We did like the decor of the Blue Plate Bar and Gill, which resembled more of a New York City high end restaurant, with its floor to high ceiling windows, chandeliers, and burgundy drapes and wallpaper, than a "bar and grill". Middle American fare being peddled at high end prices. The service was good and the waitstaff was attentive and in good spirits.
Go for the experience and atmosphere, but invite an American friend over to your house to cook for authenticity and savings.
Ratings: (out of 10)
Z= 5.5
S= 7
D= 7
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