So today is Jennees and my wedding anniversary. Eight years of all the best shit anyone could expect from another person. Highs and lows. Blah blah blah.
“So, Grazza”, I said to myself. “It’s time to dust off the ol’ ink well and quill, and write your lucky wench a little love poem type thing. Maybe a Shakespearean sonnet. A bit of what light from yonder window breaks my love for thou o romeo”…
But then I thought she would question it’s origin and possibly be a little bit sick on the new carpet. So, I searched my inner self for something truly “Graz” and this folks, is what I came up with…
You are the ping to my pong.
You are the carnie to my side show alley.
You are the hot sauce to my yum cha.
You are the hip to my hop, the butter to my bread.
Except in the instance of special dietary requirements in which case you are the good olive oil, which I feel, is a suitable replacement for the butter.
And a good loaf of gluten free bread shall replace its tastier, wheat based counter part.
I will love you like that forever.
When your skin is old and wrinkled and it looks like a topographical map of the Andes, and I am so old and senile I can’t distinguish that it’s not.
I will still love you.
The last eight years have been a blast and I’m sure there will be many more blasts to come.
Yeah I know what you’re thinking. Awesome eh. I will definitely be thinking romeo-esque activities and poetry writing for my next career if this cooking thing doesn’t work out for me.
We also went out for breakfast to a place called Harvest Café. It’s been a while since we’ve sat on the deck at Harvest in the little village of Newrybar (much like the last place we visited, Town Café) and like the caterpillar blossoming into the beautiful butterfly… wait, I think this cute shit is starting to take hold… must… fight it. Kill the cute shit. Destroy sense… and sensibilities…
………………………. (this is silence)
Whatever. I have certainly got nary a bad thing to say about the gay man, but the only way I could possibly describe that last sequence of events is gay. Back on track… Harvest has gone from a café/restaurant to a three building big café/restaurant/wood fired bakery/deli/vegetable garden. This place is every chef’s dream, and after breakfast I would say it could fulfil the dreams of many a morning punter as well.
First noticeable difference between Harvest and a lot of other cafes up this way was the amount of staff. There was a lot of staff. In the kitchen and restaurant combined there were more staff than I have fingers and genitalia. I think they’re brewing something big out there; either that or maybe they are all guards for a secret government agency that harbours its offices in the ground deep below the building. Or maybe they are all aliens secretly building a new town to house their alien brothers and sisters upon their descent to Earth (complete with their own kick-ass wood fired bakery for the aliens loaves and fishes thing). Or maybe I should just lay off the coffee… seriously.
We started with the grilled watermelon with mascarpone and praline. It was good, but I decided I am not a fan of warm watermelon, even if it has got pretty little grill marks on it. It was still damn tasty though and I could have done it twice or even thrice with crisp, cold fresh watermelon, but warm it was and into my belly it went.
We had a banging Allpress coffee and, on a side note if I may, I would like to mention that there is some fantastic coffee coming out of the Northern Rivers at the mo’, which makes this an even better home for a coffee addict such a myself.
Jennee ordered the bircher muesli, which is kinda predictable for her. But saying that, I ordered the beans, which is also kinda predictable for me… but really who gives a shit? Not you surely?
The bircher was fresh and bircher-y and had everything Jennee wanted from her muesli. My beans were flavourful and had big fat chunks of sausage floating around in them (sounds like a party I went to once. Wading pools filled with baked beans and… ummm… hehemmm), two perfectly poached eggs, fresh sour dough from the bakery, which was effing delicious. Sour, chewy, great structure, crusty… after we were done I was heading straight to their deli next door to get me some more of that shit to take home. But first, another coffee thank you my good man (or lady as was the case today).
We thanked ours hosts for the lovely breakfast and tipped them generously. One does not want to seem like a tight ass on ones anniversary now, does one.
Off to lovely Byron for a swim and another coffee at our other favourite the Beach Café (although Jennee did declare after the experience at Harvest that this was her favourite now. She said the food was great at both places but Harvest had nicer toilets and Beach Café’s were more of the bog standard public toilet type scenario. I don’t recall visiting the ladies room at either establishment so it was all about the food for me. Both effing top notch!)
If you’re up this way I would defo recommend a visit to Harvest!! Do it. Do it now.
Oh, and happy anniversary Jennee.