BREAKFAST WITH BILL. LUNCH WITH HANNAH
So, here I am in Sydney and bloody knackered I am too, I can tell you.
More of that anon on EAT MY GLOBE, but for the moment, suffice to say that the 21 hours of Quantas hospitality took it out of my ageing body more than is good for it during these advancing years.
So, after a run this morning to clear the cobwebs, it was time for a decent breakfast.
For the last few years, Breakfast in Sydney has meant one thing, Bill’s, the eponymous restaurant of perma grinned, blonde uber chef Bill Granger. The acceptable face of Modern Australian cuisine or “mod oz” as I hear someone refer to it recently.
Not far from my hotel, Bill’s is in the desperately chic neighbourhood of Darlinghurst and, with the most modest of signs, it is hard to find. But, it is worth both the walk and the search to find it.
I arrived a little before 9am to find it filled with the achingly hip and well to do who were not having to rush to the office and plonked myself down at a table in the small airy room.
It took a while to get noticed and, when I did, to persuade them to bring me a menu. The service managed to look harried, but be glacial at the same time. It was also pretty gruff with lots of use of the word “buddy” but I guess that is Aussie men for you.
When I did order, it was worth the wait and being called “buddy” even by someone who did not even have a letter of introduction.
An order of scrambled eggs with sourdough toast and sides of gravadlax and ricotta shouldn’t tax a breakfast kitchen too much, but it is often the simplest things that are so hard to get right.
Here they were not just right, but perfect. The scrambled eggs were creamy and just the right side of firm. The sourdough, tasty and with the perfect crunch. I slathered half of my cheese on one slice of the toast and melted the rest in my eggs to make them even more creamy. With some salmon plonked on top and washed down with orange juice, it was as good a breakfast as I can recall.
God bless the weakening Aussie dollar and the strength of the pound as it brought the bill to a massive AU$30 which equates to about £12.50 which is a lot for breakfast, perhaps but not for a meal as necessary and enjoyable as this. Perhaps they can call me “buddy” after all.
After a slope around town and a few hours in The Powerhouse Museum, one of my favourite museums anywhere, I was a bit peckish again. Jet lag I think as my body treated breakfast as last nights supper and now, by 2pm, wanted breakfast.
Fortunately, right outside is Hannah’s Hot Pies.
I am not sure what it is, but I have a thing for all Hannah’s. I used to have a huge crush on a girl called Hannah when I was a schoolboy. I currently have any number of inappropriate middle aged fantasies about Hannah Spearritt, that little chippy who was in S Club 7 and now prances around in her skimpies in Primeval.
Now, I can complete the trio by having wet dreams about this little tease.
This Hannah is not made of sugar & spice but of shortcrust pastry, lean beef mince and gravy. Whereas the dreams of the other two involved mud or whipped cream, here she is topped with a mound of mushy peas for me to eat off her before diving in to the soft yielding flesh beneath (creeped out yet?)
I have said this before, but don’t be too surprised if you see me outside The Houses of Parliament with a sign calling for the legalization of union between a man and a meat pie.
A nice day. Liked Bill a lot. Loved Hannah.
( MORE PICTURES LATER - VERY SLOW CONNECTION)