Paul’s Caul… The lucky country

For all those playing at home, I don’t have red hair and a beard and I’m not G-bags Mcfilthy mouth… no, I am not the father of this blog, I’m perhaps best described as this blogs estranged brother that likes to drop by unannounced and expects every thing that’s great about writing a blog whilst having no responsibility at all… yes that is me in a delicious nut shell, I’m simply a man called Paul who has a shit load to say about food and anything even slightly related to it, like travel, drinking and eating of said food.

I’m a chef that has been cooking for overs 20 years all over the place and I have been extremely fortunate to have known G-bags for all of that time. We share a love of food, swearing and most importantly telling the whole fucking world about it, so a blog seemed inevitable. I’m honoured he allows my scribbling’s to be part of foodisthebestshitever and I hope you enjoy them just as much as we love bacon, but lets face it that’s asking quite a lot. P

Paul is the one on the left. On the right is his lovely now fiancee, Lauren
Paul is the one on the left. On the right is his lovely now fiancee, Lauren

Bonjour my friends, I am alive and well living the European dream actually on a train on our way to Prague, my only excuse for lack of writing is pure laziness mixed with equal parts of cheese and pork pies. But with that delicious recipe comes some serious side effects, yes fellow foodies let it be known that cheese and pork products of pretty much any kind contain stuff that makes your belly big, its like magic and not the good magic that pulls fucking rabbits from hats, no on the contrary the fat bastard rabbit would in this case be stuck in the hat.

But this isn’t to say I’m so massive that I could no longer use a keyboard because of my now swollen fingers, not at all it just means that I have to run many km’s everyday just to keep the scales of my existence level (deep shit right there). This has been made extremely easy as I’ve been living in a kind of fairy-tale land in a walled estate with a huge stately hall in which we were living in a tower, so running around said estate was not a hard sell at all.

Pauly in heaven in Amsterdam
Pauly in heaven in Amsterdam

But after now living in France and the UK for the last year and in-between travelling to a ridiculous amount of other countries, I have decided that eating well over here seems a lot harder then when in Australia. Now don’t get me wrong we have eaten some incredible food in every country we have been, but in general the meat to veg ratio is never as low as when in Australia. For example we have just spent the last few days in Berlin and the food was so good, Jagarscnitzel, spatzle, flamchuken the list goes on and on, their bread is top notch but did we see any green on a plate of food? Did we fuck!

It must be against the law to serve veg unless they just see us coming dressed like the super tourist I become once travelling, dressed like a mixture of someone about to climb Everest and a member of the Taliban, they save all of the healthy stuff for the local and leave us slowly dyeing as we gobble down meat in cream sauces served with potato dumpling to fulfil the stodge factor. And before any German readers start to get all high and mighty about me pigeon holing an entire nations culinary delights of the back of a few days eating, I freely admit I may of just walked into the wrong places but its not just Germany, France is very much the same, even salads seem to be filled with so many non healthy ingredients or dressing that you truly find it hard to eat well when travelling. Amsterdam is a little better as was Belgium lots more veg but still nothing like the extensive array of goodness on offer in Australia cafes and restaurants.

Jagarscnitzel with spatzle and mushroom sauce
Jagarscnitzel with spatzle and mushroom sauce

I must say Spain is an exception and tapas lends itself to good healthy eating and we are never disappointed when dining in Española, markets are always filled with delicious fresh veges and fruit and the array of different cuisines is spectacular, even their coffee is acceptable in places.

Now lets get started on England, land of delicious food that makes me so happy as its what I grew up on, but lets not forget that I was one fat little fucker and I now know why… they class potato crisps as veg! That should be explanation enough but I will go on, I find the comparison to America and England getting a little closer as the years goes on, I was freaked out by the choice of sides offered when in America but its now pretty much the same now in England, if you order for instance a pie in an Australian café you may get the choice of chips or salad with it which in my opinion is a good thing, as I like to play the balance game of a little bad and a little good… now if you were to order a pie in England you would firstly have to choose which form of potato you would like with it. Chips, mash or jacket filled with cheese, then it would be the green component, pies are revered in England but generally served in the mushy form but can be ordered garden style (which must mean over cooked and grey) if you were to ask for a side salad instead of the usual you may be lucky enough to get a hospitable chef that will rack his culinary repertoire to find 1 piece of iceberg topped with 1 slice of cucumber and 1 slice of tomato, that its! So not to surprisingly you end up ordering chips because they are fucking delicious and when in Rome.


I want to clarify that have found exceptions to the rule everywhere we go but it is very hard work, but what we miss the most out of all the meals each day is a bloody good breakfast… no where and I mean NO WHERE does breaky like Australia, plates full of spinach, avocado, bacon, ricotta, sourdoughs, nice honeys and coffee yes coffee lets talk about coffee shall we….

How the fuck doesn’t the entire world know about good coffee? Time after time I get excited ordering my favourite beverage in the world and after finally working out what a ‘long mac topped up’ is in whichever country we are, I then prepare myself for impending misery mixed with extremely hot badly frothed milk, and with a few exceptions I’m never let down… time after time the coffee has no taste and the milk is a non event, quite often its served in one of those ridiculous glasses with a handle too low down which fucks with its centre of gravity, then one sip in and the creaminess disappears and I’m let with a murky cup of brown shit. How can this be? How did Australia become the world leader in coffee preparation? I need to know, and more importantly more Australian Barista’s need to start travelling now.

So we really do miss Australia and all of the incredible chefs and barista’s that it holds, but as it may be quite some time before we come back I just want to let it be known Europe that I’ve noticed what you’re up too and we will be keeping an eye on your progress, but in the meantime sort your shit out and make a decent coffee for the love of god.

Banh Mi… A sandwich, but an effing good sandwich to be sure

banh mi, food, vietnam, pork
I don’t even know where to start about the details of this little adventure, which was the first off Australian soil for this little family unit.

I have wondered if I should try to describe to you my annoyingly deep seeded fear of flying. How when we hit a bit of turbulence I freak the fuck out and start looking around at other passengers only to notice they are all calmly sitting back sipping their cup of tea or cheep domestic sparkling wine, and reading their news papers. Mother fuckers. I am wrenching at that chair like an old diesel mechanic. Seriously, they would need the jaws of life to pry me from the seat in the case of decent turbulence. It would be true to say even the seatbelts would be fighting to put me on to ensure their safety in the case of emergency. I seriously think I need to drink more when I’m flying… Lot’s more…

Anyway, clearly we did arrive at our destination all safe and sound. First stop, Hanoi and the Old Quarter.

Banh mi. The photo may not look much chop, but the flavours... dear good lord
Banh mi. The photo may not look much chop, but the flavours… dear good lord

The Old Quarter is called the Old Quarter because that’s what they damn well wanted to call it. Cut these homies some slack, would you…

We stayed close to the Old Quarter as we had heard that this was the place to go for good cheap eats, and my friends, we were not disappointed.

On the first morning we woke up early and hit the streets. Not literally of course, as we had only just met these streets and they had done nothing to wrong us… yet. We saw power lines attached to trees. Like, rows of power lines attached to trees. It was like the city would be powerless if it didn’t have these trees. That was the first of many noticeable differences between Vietnam and Australia but, as I am not a cat loving Aunt trying to decide which nephew is my favourite, I’m going to move on for now and appreciate ‘nam as the individual and unique snow flake it is.

The boys and I sit and do this thing that is banh mi
The boys and I sit and do this thing that is banh mi

That first morning was when I saw my first banh mi stand. It was like I was a teenager again and I had swapped gazes with that pretty and heaps popular girl (whose name I can’t remember) at the school dance, the dance floor opened up like the red sea, and then she walked over to me and took my hand and we… um… that must’ve been someone else’s screwed up gym class dream there. Sorry about that. Back to the banh mi stand; I saw it from across the street and I knew it must be mine. I pushed my way through a crowd of scooters and small people with very dark and very straight hair, until I had finally reached my target. Now I pointed at the crusty roll the banh mi vendor held in her hand and, pausing momentarily to wipe the drool that was slowly making its way from my lips to my shirt front via way of my beard (not a good look no matter what country you are in. I enquired how much it would cost for my family and I to partake in the much anticipated porky baguette. My enquiry was received with nothing but a blank look followed by a smile. I asked again how much this would cost, this time using hand signals so as to help my cause… alas the gesturing did not bring me any closer to purchasing this holy fruit, but only made me seem like I was trying to signal a small aircraft to land on the foot path.

A nice pic of the first banh mi stand I ever visited. As you can see, we had a nice seat next to the garden...
A nice pic of the first banh mi stand I ever visited. As you can see, we had a nice seat next to the garden…

Still I battled (baffled) on.

After what seemed like an eternity (honestly, I’m sure it didn’t take us this long to finalise the purchase of our house) I had finally secured the purchase of our banh mi.

The lady at the banh mi stand beckoned us toward a small plastic chair – a chair that would be part of a young child’s play set – which was where we would sit to eat our banh mi. This arrangement was clearly more suited to the smaller people of Asian descent who were swarming the footpath around me, but on that child’s play set is indeed where we sat and ate our first banh mi.

My favourite breakfast consisted of banh mi and Vietnamese coffee. If you need a reason to get up in the morning it might be time for you to look at real estate in Vietnam
My favourite breakfast consisted of banh mi and Vietnamese coffee. If you need a reason to get up in the morning it might be time for you to look at real estate in Vietnam

Something happened to me that day as I consumed that sandwich. The whole experience affected me like I never ever dreamt of being effected by a sandwich. It was the smell of the town, mixed with the noise of the streets, mixed with us sitting on children’s décor, and of course the little coal fired oven-crisped baguette filled with a porky meatloaf, cucumber, herbs and chilli dressing.

Holy fuck balls is all I have to say about that.

You see how there is a little cupboard below the meat... that's not a first aid cabinet, that's where they have a little coal oven type set up going on to het the rolls. Genius
You see how there is a little cupboard below the meat… that’s not a first aid cabinet, that’s where they have a little coal oven type set up going on to het the rolls. Genius

Every banh mi vendor has their own version of what can only be described as the National Sandwich of Vietnam, and every single one of these sandwiches we tried, how ever different from the last, was truly effing delicious. They could contain a selection or all of the following ingredients; BBQ pork, braised pork, pork sausage, pork meatloaf/terrine (these folks really love their pork and it is probably no secret that this is a contributing factor as to why I loved this country so much), pate, sometimes chicken, fried egg, cucumber, julienne carrot and radish, heaps of different herbs, mayo, fish sauce, braising juices and chilli paste/sauce on the crustiest of baguette – a parting gift from our old friends “the Frenchies” before they headed home in the 50’s. Très bon.

More bahn mi
More bahn mi

Prices ranged from 10,000dong (US$0.47 or AUS$0.60) for the most simple versions – maybe meat, a few herbs and a dressing – to 50,000dong (AUS$3.00 if you can’t do the math) for a more complex, multiple meats, possibly an egg, all the salads version, or the cheaper, simpler version but sitting in an actual restaurant not eating in the street…

This is something you do need to try before you move on from this earthly coil.

Banh mi are good.


Soz for all of the Asia talk that’s coming up and a recipe for Smoky Eggplant and Pork (kinda knicked from Morning Glory Restaurant, Hoi An)

smoky eggplant, pork, morning glory, vietnam, hoi an
As you may or may not know, Jennee and I have spent the last three weeks with our two boys, Seba and Obi, travelling around the Mid-North of Vietnam and Laos – get a bit of culture and a whole heap of good food into us, yeah?

Well, now we’re back and I feel I should semi-apologise for the talk of these countries that will ensue on this blog over the next while… but not really…

While we were travelling I wrote some stuff down in a small brown writing book that had off white pages and faint black lines to keep my writing neat. How clever of the journal making people. I carried my writing book and a black pen with me in a backpack. I wrote words about the things I saw, heard, touched, smelled and more importantly, ate.

It was an interesting experience to be doing the old pen on paper thing again full time for three weeks. Interesting and good. Really good. Although from time to time I ended up feeling like a student who was completing his away-from-school-journal that his nasty assed parents were making him write about his experience because he was missing school… a lot like what we did to our children, except we got work sheets from the school as well *insert absolutely sinister, deriving way to much pleasure from the children’s suffering, parent laugh here*.

As it seems like it may take me a day or two to properly decipher and amalgamate said journal, I shall get straight into the cooking side of things. The last few weeks have been easily the longest time I have spent out of the kitchen in the last 10-15 years purely because… well… let’s face it, there was soooo much really fucking good food, getting cooked on every street corner in Vietnam, all being sold at what can only be described as ridiculously low prices, like, eat some cracking food and get a beer for the same price as a coffee is going to be in Australia, that there was no way I was going to be cooking on this trip. No effing way.

Now is time for me to return to my rightful place at the stove and off load some of the pressure that has been building in my brain due to the sensory overload that was Vietnam and Laos.

This is an attempt (the first of many I am sure) at the reincarnation of a dish we ate at Morning Glory Restaurant (don’t worry, there’s a post all of its own coming for this little gem of a place… sexual innuendo included) in Hoi An. It was the tastiest little smoky eggplant number and, if you love the tasty of smoky charred eggplant as I do, then you will love this dish. Unless you don’t like pork, in which case you will not like this dish at all. You should leave the pork out. Yes, for those of you amongst us who are of the predisposition that does not for what ever reason believe in the consumption of pork, we here at foodisthebestshitever recommend you omit the pork from this dish.

Also, I have added a little rice to the pork mince in the recipe, which the more astute amongst you may notice is not in the pics. This is because as I was winging this recipe I neglected to look at the photos I had taken of the original dish at Morning Glory and realised later that the OG dish did indeed appear to have a little rice mixed through the pork mince. This little number was damn tasty but I think it was just missing the rice to help the pork stick together a little. Anyway, this shit is fully easy, tasty, good. Get on it!

Grill the eggplant over an open flame so it gets all black and delicious looking
Grill the eggplant over an open flame so it gets all black and delicious looking

Get some rice cooking in a rice cooker. This shit is legit
Get some rice cooking in a rice cooker. This shit is legit
Eggplant peeled, cut and looking sweet
Eggplant peeled, cut and looking sweet
Porky goodness slapped on top
Porky goodness slapped on top

Garnished with the good stuff and ready to hit the table
Garnished with the good stuff and ready to hit the table

SMOKY EGGPLANT with PORK MINCE (serves 4 with sides)

500g pork mince
3 medium eggplant
1 large or 2 small onions, finely sliced
3 cloves garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon fish sauce
1 tablespoon light soy sauce
½ teaspoon castor sugar
½ teaspoon ground pepper, black is what they use in ‘nam
A splash of stock or water
1 cup of cooked rice (you can use the stuff you’re going to serve it with)
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
Crisp eshallots* and sliced green chilli to garnish
Stir fried vegetables with garlic and steamed rice to serve

• Grill the eggplant on an open flame as you would for a babaganoush or something similar, except don’t quite cook it all the way through as you will finish the cooking process in the pan. Peel and cut into thumb-sized pieces
• Lay the eggplant pieces in a pan and set aside while you get the pork ready
• Heat oil and cook onions over med-high heat for two minutes or until starting to brown. Add fish sauce and garlic (I feel a knob of ginger, finely julienned, would also be a great addition right now) and cook out for another minute. Set aside
• In same pan stir fry pork mince over high heat until cooked. Season with black pepper. Stir through onion mix including all of the oil, and also stir through one cup of cooked rice… I hope you have some rice cooking**…
• Now to get it all together
• Dress eggplant with soy sauce, sugar and a splash of stock/water and the spoon pork mix over the top
• Cover and simmer over medium heat for 10 minutes, or until eggplant is fully cooked
• Check seasoning and add a little more soy sauce if necessary
• Garnish with a heap of chilli and crisp eshallots, and serve

*Crisp eshallots are available everywhere you look in Vietnam, or Asian grocery stores and probably even major supermarkets in whatever country you live in

**It is totally legit to use a rice cooker. I recommend using a rice cooker. Asians use rice cookers. In Asia it was not uncommon for us to wake to the sound of tens of thousands of rice cookers being simultaneously switched on around the city. True story. Get a rice cooker today.

Getting to Vietnam

Getting to a place like Vietnam will oftentimes require some length of time in the modern miracle know as the airplane (or a ridiculously long amount of time in a boat, but we’re sticking with the flight for now), and is indeed where our journey begun.

We were up at 3am to brush our teeth, powder our noses and generally just get our shit together… fair enough… I guess. But only because that was the time we were required to be up to get our asses on the plane to Vietnam. Smiley faces all up in this piece. Slightly strained early morning smiles, but smiles nonetheless. I can imagine though, that had we not been leaving for Vietnam, the family may have been sporting the upside down smile of the mostly unhappy person.

My special imagination brain also encouraged me to believe that the sexual union, consensual or otherwise, of the rhinoceros and the pony, along with a handful of sparkle dust, would spawn the baby unicorn.

Back to the ever-elusive point.

As I sit in the departure lounge at the Brisbane airport I watch the people. I find something strangely humorous in watching them scurry by, blurry eyed and walking as though they are still wearing their pajamas and slippers. Week, helpless and disheveled.

Well, I guess it is 4am.

This is a good time to be at an airport. The queues are smaller and the… well, just the smaller queues is what it is about for me.

Now fast forward 12 hours.

I am beginning to resemble one of those zombie people from this morning. I feel like I have been hit about the head with a large stick – one with big knobby bits on it. I know what Tyler Durden was talking about in Fight Club, I start to truly appreciate his pain and it makes me contemplate the thought of hitting people around the head and destroying large buildings too.

The peeps that work at airports must get asked some damn stupid questions by unslept folks like me. It would make them question the human race for sure.

Anyway, we played a game of get on some planes, get off some planes and eventually we land on Vietnamese soil… or tarmac… where we are met by our ride. Which leads me to mention something of the driving I have witnessed so far;

•Every single person I saw driving any kind of vehicle in Hanoi was on the same performance enhancing gear as the last. These guys drive like they all want to be the next big thing to hit the amateur racing circuit, or there are no speed cameras or cops in Vietnam, or possibly a combination of all three… Plus they appear paranoid that there is a car trailing us – the black Toyota three cars back to the left

•If in doubt, use your horn. Also if you are driving through a crowd, use your horn. If you are driving a bus, use your horn. Actually, if whatever it is you are driving has a horn, you need to use it… often. It’s like the scooters and cars are conversing. If Hanoi was a musical the horn would be the soundtrack

•I don’t know if I was maybe just being a bit of a fraidy cat but I have to be honest; I did start to freak just a little bit when the driver put a DVD on… for himself to watch… while driving

•Obeying a red light seems to be more of a concept or guideline than an actual rule/law

•Road rules in general seem to be variable at best, but in the chaos it is possible to find order, systems and some kind of barbecued or fried pork product on every street corner and down every alleyway, so that pretty much makes everything OK.


Now I venture into the unknown. An unknown country, language and culture (except what I’ve seen on food docos). I am rocking the truly ignorant white man styles and hoping my nose will lead the way…






The Bad Boy Burger

Like a lot of good stories this one starts at the beginning. It has a middle and an end. Although it does not necessarily like getting its end wet. I, on the other hand, enjoy the wetting of ones’ end from time to time. If you are not Australian, or are at least descendent from convicts, get your cross cultural slang sexual reference book out for that one.

We’re on the same page now, yeah.

So you may remember my cousin AJ the duck farmer and used tea bag collector cum roving reporter for high end food blogs. If you don’t that’s ok. It doesn’t really hold any relevance to the story.

As this goes to press (yeah I know. What a wanker [grab your cross cultural slang sexual reference book again]) AJ is on a holiday in Darwin.

He messaged me last night and introduced me to a wonderful new experience… Being happy to hear from him. With his msg came an attached photo of his dinner, “the bad boy burger”.

This beast needs to be hunted down and killed. It looks like something you would see on Man v Food. It could be a metaphor for the way humans live today. Consume, consume, consume. Over- consume and then consume some more. But damn I want one.

I can feel it king hitting my arteries. I see it clambering for the top rope. The “Bundy Splash*” is imminent, and it will be my heart to take the brunt of the impact. That is certain. Well, that is what I think would happen if I ate this monster.


Bad Boy Burger from Darwin Ski Club—can you handle it???
200g home made prime mince pattie, a whole chicken breast, ham, bacon, cheese, egg, fried onion, lettuce, tomato, beetroot, pineapple & tomato relish served on a toasted bun with crispy chips

*The “Bundy Splash” is a move made famous in the mid 80’s by WWF legend King Kong Bundy.

Pauls Caul… Last call… something

A Tuesday in Perth

Two Pauls and one Lauren, this sounded like a good ratio for a fun day (get you filthy minds out of the gutter) and a Tuesday none the less, not your usual day for an adventure unless you’re…
• Unemployed and found a thousand dollars
• On holiday and in a foreign state/country
• Have a week off work in-between jobs
• You where struck in the head and unaware of the actual day
• Or you’re a chef

Between the three of us we were nearly all of the above, but unfortunately for my bank account it wasn’t the first one on the list. So let me set the mood, turn down the lights of unknowing and light up a few scented candles of knowledge, my dear friend Paul had visited me and it had been nearly 10 years since we had worked in Thredbo together, so this alone was reason enough to hit the town… yet Lauren was also having a week off between jobs so all our drinking stars had aligned and left us with no choice but to get out there and do our very best to do our very worst.

Since Paul had never been to WA we decided a trip on the swan river was in order, and since I couldn’t find any L.S.D anywhere a boat trip would have to suffice. Then I remembered that I don’t own a boat or in fact know anyone with a boat, or even like boats for that matter (I actually do like boats, just not when they’re on water) so I brilliantly came up with a solution. We would get a bus to the Barrack St jetty and have a pint at the Lucky Shag. Brilliant as that plan was I found we still where not on the river and whilst I was being mocked for ordering a mango beer (delicious it was by the way) I came up with another more water orientated plan and this was Baldrick like in its cunning, my plan was as followed…
We would finish said drink get a ticket for $1.80 and take the ferry across to south Perth, it was the simplicity that was so amazing and the less then two dollars we had to spend which just sealed the brilliance of this plan. So off we went on the Swan River and let me say it was a thrilling 5 minute adventure on the open water, on the way I let my Face book people know what we where up too, it was along the lines of “south Perth come at me” so we disembarked from ‘S.S Boring as shit’ and strolled over to InContro, one of my favourite restaurants.


And InContro did not let me down, it always has such professional staff and amazing views, this much is a given. But what makes it stand out for me is the fact it is run by true hospitality folk. Anna, who runs front of house is my kind of person. Anna is real. She is a beautiful lady who knows people and really knows how to run a restaurant. She is not someone who is in the industry until something better comes along or until her non-existent acting career takes off. If I could clone Anna I would and risk the backlash from all those religious folk that think dolly the sheep was the wooly devil.
As Anna was making myself and my guests welcome Pete the chef came out from the kitchen to welcome us as all great chefs should, he walked straight up to the table and already knew both Pauls and Laurens names, we where very impressed and surprised until we worked out he had seen our for mentioned Face book check in and cleverly guessed we where heading his way. Very sneaky Pete very sneaky indeed!!
But then as usual Pete enthusiastically suggests that he just sends out some dishes for us all to share, this gives me tingles in places men should not make me tingle, so after a quick grey goose caprioska our first few dishes came out it was a ‘talegio and pumpkin Arancini’ which I love as taleggio is my favourite, but a small point for all of you out there especially wait staff… Arancini actually means risotto ball so if you call it arancini balls what you’re saying is ‘risotto ball balls’ … it like saying ATM machine it’s a small thing but it really annoys me*.
My rant aside it was delicious and came with another dish of Victorian pulled curd cheese (I forget the name) regardless it came with Spanish anchovies, oven dried tomatoes and pesto, it was served to us by our waiter in old school silver service style (nice touch when done well, and it was).
Next came a cake stand with Lamb cutlets, Mandurah whiting and Rottnest scallops all were delicious and superbly cooked as you’d expect from Pete and his team.
In the mean time we had drank our way through one bottle of Joseph pinot grigio and a 2008 Hensche Mt Edelstone so we were as to be expected very happy with ourselves, the state of the universe and everything else.
But we were still not willing to let this lunch end so we asked for the menu, I already knew what I wanted as the steak tartare here is exquisite, then tragedy struck they had removed it from the menu. So I asked Pete if he would be so kind and without any hesitation he obliged me and went to make me my tartare, my counterparts ordered the half duck to share. When my tartare arrived it was sublime, Pete serves his version of the raw beef and egg dish by allowing the customer to create there own dish, he serves it with all the possible accompaniments and you get to add whatever you like, for me it…. Raw beef, egg yolk, shallots, chives, capers, gherkins, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper….amazballs!!!!
Their duck was also cooked to perfection but I was to busy relishing in my tartare to really care. We then ordered three serves of their chocolate filled donuts with ice cream, as you’d expect donuts, chocolate and ice cream are delicious!!! Who’d of thunk it….

We left nearly three hours after arriving and would have been very happy to stay there forever but we decided to leave and find our way towards Il Publico as there was a Mexican fiesta about to happen and felt it our duty to be part of it. We ferried it, taxied and walked our way to Beaufort st and decided to drink a bottle of champagne in must wine bar before entering the Mexican…this in hind sight was unnecessary and a tad over zealous.

Il publico

This review will be a lot shorter as quite frankly I was completely smashed and it all seems like one hazy memory in my mind. But the tequila with sangria was a revelation and amazing, their taco’s where incredible, their corn was scrumptious and the mescal was the final nail in my drunken coffin. I had gone there to see my friends Micah (or micha as the flyer said) and oli dj but I barely lasted till they arrived, I did manage to see them have a quick chat with the gang as well as chat to Liz another friend that was there…but what I said to anyone is a mystery to me, I did manage to get home thanks to a very friendly Iraqi gentleman who as far as I remember liked boxing, wrestling and an Iraqi restaurant on Wanneroo rd (must find that one next time).

All in all a great day with exceptional company, food and alcohol had by all and by all I mean me… Perth is a great town with so much to offer so stop your complaining people learn to have fun and if that isn’t working get really drunk.

*I think that it is fair that this “special” way of using words annoys you. It annoys me quite a lot too, my good man. G