Autumn Was Way Too Long (friendship edition)

Yes, Autumn, indeed, was way too long. And way too full of exquisite, exquisite plates. In autumn, I was obsessed with all things beans, pinot noir, caviar, roe, dill, silky, pickled, things in shells, purple, orange and warming. I missed writing to you too, so I gathered up my crew to make this an extra lavishing read for you. I am hot off the press from my intern days and busy bee is ready to buzz… So, without further ado…

Here are my favourite plates from autumn: 

1. Spicy Joint’s Cumin Lamb

I’m sorry to my toilet. Peppery, jittery and in the crevices of my teeth a day later. Spicy Joint leans firey Sichuan, but obvi we couldn’t resist a wee trip to Xinjiang. The meat itself is what you can imagine — pull-apart tender, little bits of cream coloured fat (I love those bits) – and the bones are good for sucking on after. You have to come here in a group and you should order the cold chicken doused in a numbing chilli sauce and tidbits of peanuts. Also you should get drunk here and stumble all the way to karaoke after. Everyone get Chinese, NOW! !!! !!!!!! ! !!!

2. Flora’s Fucked Up Squash

King’s Street is not the only street in Newtown btw. The Paisano and Daughter’s stream of restos snuggle like sisters, each with its own colourful interior, lined up along Australia Street. The buttercup yellow sister is sunny-side-up Flora. And she’s fucked. I took my girls from Social Work to catch up here because the menu was completely vego, and more impressively, the menu is actually … good vego. This clementine-hued volcano of golden pippin squash flipped my world. It comes in a hot silver tray and it’s filled with a soufflé of cold pressed squash, cream and manchego cheese. It’s so soft, so soft. And it’s lightly sweet and warm, warm like it cares for you. It tastes like the word hearth. Scraps of little hot burnt bits cling to the edges and they’re fabulous. There’s also an additional crunch from the toasted walnuts and a savoury note attributed to the rosemary and aji chili sprinkled on top. Can someone DM me so we can go to Continental Deli next.

3. Flyover Fritterie’s Aloo Tikki

On this streak of good vego, I debuted my vintage pair of Ferragamo kitten heels by stumbling into this darling hot pink gem in Redfern. Like its namesake, the potato fritter (a deep fried potato cake) is obviously a stellar choice. This divine little thing is doused in a triad of jewel coloured chutney-esque sauces; opaque herby white yogurt (dahi), streaks of mahogany-tinted tamarind and cooling green stripes of mint. Like fireworks, like the sound of bon-bons cracking, like a smile…It’s crunchy, punchy, thrumming and vibrant. What did you expect from Indian food? I could barely walk getting there (wtf vintage shoes) and I could barely walk getting out. The team behind this venue, the labour, the love — I could truly, sincerely taste it. It was my dinner at this place that made me think about what food writing actually meant to me, and how journalism or writing of any sort was not only cultural work but community work too. I knew in my internship, at a publication so well-known and loved, I had to whisper Flyover Fritterie’s name, write it anyway I could. So I did. ( ¬ᴗ¬)

4. Morena’s Graduation Flan (Bumblerina feature)

After a cramped, slightly damp uber ride and treacherous journey through corporate Sydney in a tight ass ASOS dress, Martin Place’s post-office-turned-Morena greeted me with their grand floor-to-ceiling windows and vintage tiling. Nothing made me feel more like the designated princess of the hangout than Morena’s Peruvian flan, which I begged to be included as the finale of my graduation spread. That and the shockingly attentive waitstaff, who swapped our plate in between every dish and kept us extremely well hydrated. When a series of poorly lit, strangely centred photos of Busy Bee and I prompted a Buzzband/Hiveton roast session, this peacemaker of a dessert graced our table like a dove with an olive branch, and suddenly the IG baddie grad photos didn’t matter anymore.

I almost teared up as this silky custard teleported me back to the kitchen with my mum, giggling over an open bottle of fancy Woolies Madagascar vanilla essence . . . (..◜ᴗ◝..) The Suspiro a la Limeña flan is Morena’s star dessert, and the proof is in the pudding. Never have I had a flan melt on my tongue and somehow filled the air with the smell of cinnamon and rich vanilla. Crunching on the tiny rosettes of port meringue in between mouthfuls of the satiny custard made my 3 year degree all worth it, and my fears of unemployment miraculously vanished. Of course, the beehive let me have the last spoonful, and after a horrible rainy graduation ceremony, Morena’s flan felt like a kiss on the cheek.

5. Pantry Story’s Prawn and Chicken Roll with Yuzu Honey (Hiveton feature)

Very Busy Bee was not here with us for this dish, and for that, my condolences. Plastered over everyone’s feed, it seems like all of Stanmore and the rest of the Inner West comes to spend weekend mornings lining up along the empty shop fronts of Parramatta Road for Pantry Story’s array of baked treats. But our early afternoon Wednesday visit meant no wait for us ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ ! After a few hungry laps around their massive circular display table, Bumblerina and I lock onto one pastry each, which quickly arrives at our little corner table. In its moist and sweet-savoury filling, my choice of the Char Siu Pork Pie surpassed expectations, which is hard to do when you have a Chinese-Vietnamese mum at home, but I concede defeat to Bumblerina’s choice of the Prawn and Chicken Roll. Inspired by Hekeng, an Indonesian prawn roll, the choice to add chicken adds a groundedness to the prawn’s bounciness. The pastry itself is perfect and flaky, with the citrusy, sticky yuzu honey sauce keeping flakes from flying all over their unicorn stools and tiny cat decor peppered throughout the space. You can tell we’re really Asian here because it’s not too sweet (sorry, cliche), but it’s just enough to make up for getting hit by the sliding door between each bite .·°՞(っ-ᯅ-ς)՞°·. 

6. Where’s Nick Wine Bar’s Twice Bean Tussle (Buzzband feature)

BB and I haven’t had a date in forever with the way life decided to infiltrate our precious time together. We pulled through and found each other for a walk-in with Where’s Nick Wine Bar in Marrickville. 

It’s a lovely little space that reminds me of sailors and powdered nose aristocrats; some Victorian plush lounge seats right beside hardwood stools and a barrel-plank table with holes shoved with wine corks. Some self-insert Napoleon portrait is staring at us. And so I ask, is that fucking Nick. With a little bit of a wait for the food and a lovely glass of rosé – for me – and a pinot noir for the wifey, the first dish arrives with no fanfare.

The slow cooked white beans with cavolo nero (fancy kale) and scamorza catches us agasp with wisps of nutmeg. This dish tastes plain, healing in the way that. is.  good.  for.  you !!!! (mum finger wagging). Softly sweet and velvety, the bitterness you’d expect from kale is broken down into a mild herbaceousness that catches on the back of my palate. We mopped each stew molecule with some focaccia as our vessel.

BB tells me to mention the “plat du jour” we had and I blank; my ancestors are quite averse to French, and I share a similar sentiment. It just means the house-special. 

BB loves beans, it beckons their belly, so twice beans we tussle tonight. The plat du jour is a ridiculously lascivious dish; a bean stew in a ragu made of charcuterie meats swims with plump little prawns in the warmest iteration of surf & turf. An undercutting of soft spice carries pockets of salt hidden within curls of the prawns and charcuterie. This dish glides along your cheeks, and is so different from the last one although they use the same beans.

7. Bella Brutta’s Clam Pizza

I took a bad bitch here cos durhhhhhhhhhh. That’s what the BB in Bella Brutta stands for. I’ve been wanting to check out this King Street INSTITUTION for a few years and finally, I found the white girl for it. This pizza is a certified Sydney Bite. If every suburb could be a bite, this would be Newtown’s. There’s a reason why Bella stands strong, suave with its stripey green white awning. For all these years, Bella has served woodfired realness,  and this specific pizza — with chopped surf clams tossed with garlic and parsley — was exceptional. The house chilli oil is brilliant. A notable hero though it’s no Lao Gan Ma — but still rhythmic in its tanginess, almost citrusy in taste. Or maybe the citrusy-bright taste was the parsley playing tricks on my mind. Either way, the final naughty dusting of pecorino on the pie sealed it for me. Belllaaaalissimo !!! (  ≧ᗜ≦) ᕗ

Annnnnnnd that’s a wrap, thank you sweet readers! Thank you my sweet friends! Eat everything, eat with everyone! And stay busy!