Eat, Read, (M)Other

There's not a lot to report from this Adelaide trip.  I had to use my beautiful Ba Muoi bicycle for transport and didn't even get to Mercato.  It is perfectly possible to cycle or even walk with the wheelchair to Mercato from Mum's, we've done it before, but the weather became very hot and neither Mum nor I were up for it.

We did walk with Daphne to the golf clubhouse over the Boxing Day holiday break.  This is a short, easy walk and we were rewarded with ham and cheese baguettes and glasses of white wine.  Very civilized.

Fleurieu Floosie and I arranged to meet at the Adelaide Railway Station for an adventure.  We had not seen each other for a while so Jill agreed to wear a pink crustacean to facilitate recognition.

It worked, so off we trotted to the Central Market in search of peach juice, for The Floosie has been in a Bellini frame of mind.  Peach juice was not to be had for love nor money (well, not our love or money) so I suggested we lunch at the Kings Head to boost our flagging spirits.  This is a favourite haunt of The Easterers because its menu comes from SA produce only,  Did come...  As we cried out in anguish at the burgers, etc, the bartender explained about new owners, new menu, blah blah blah.  We suggested he make us a Bellini each to sob into, and he did.

The Floosie rejoiced in memories of Venice, and I thought it made an adequate breakfast.  Of course, really it was a ploy to get two bottles of peach juice.  Mission accomplished.  Getting lunch did not prove so easy. I am not the expert on Adelaide eateries that the Floosie had assumed.  I wracked my brains and, after a sobering dash through the lane ways where historical Adelaide lurks, we had a wrap at a food court near David Jones.  But it was a very nice wrap and we were well satisfied though the Floosie was gasping for a nice cup of tea.  It was approaching Seniorella Time when all old ladies and other layabouts must be on the bus / train, so we hot-footed it back to the railway station because there's always a caf there.  Well, my dears, a young person ensured we met the covid reqs and ushered us into the most fabulous restaurant, The Guardsman.  We were speechless at the beautifully restored / renovated station restaurant.  Just the place for the former Ms and Mrs History.  We ordered a teapot of French Earl Grey for two and realised this was the restaurant we'd been searching for:  26 SA beers, 26 SA gins and lots of SA produce on the menu.  We vowed to return the following week.

The Floosie graces a banquette at The Guardsman

More food adventures were in store for me.  Tamasin and Nima took me to an Afghani restaurant in Blair Athol.

I ordered what turned out to be a succulently roasted leg of lamb (much more than a shank) on a mountain of delicately flavoured rice.  Delicious!  I tried the drink which Nima assured me only Afghanis, Iranians, etc liked.  I could drink it (my kefir days probably helped me prepare for it) but I doubt that I'll order it again unless I'm in Isfahan.

I'd like to say we pigged out but it's not really appropriate

The Pearl and I decided to meet up for a Seniorella treat and I, very naughtily, suggested we  eat at The Guardsman.  Unlike the coded Floosie, Pearl was anti covided in a mask and, with her new do, I didn't recognise her!  She removed her mask so we could have a good nosh up at The Guardsman, she having S&P squid while I had Port Lincoln sardines - first time I've ever had fresh sardines despite all that ogling of Italian and Spanish recipe books.    For dessert I had the Fruchoc, a curiosity probably known only to South Australians.  This was particularly curious, being a small and dainty morsel with a removable chocolate dome covering it like an igloo. Good food, wine, service and ambiance.  We lunched for 3 hours and I totally forgot to take any photos.

Greedily I could hardly wait for the following Monday when the Floosie and I were to meet for our promised lunch.  There is something about meeting in a central railway station, a sense of adventure, other times, other places.  I confessed to the Floosie that I had lunched at The Guardsman with Pearl.  After some hissing, stamping of feet and slitted eyes, the Floosie quietened and we proceeded to the restaurant where all looked very quiet.  We enquired at the cafe and were told that The Guardsman doesn't open on Mondays. !!!!!!!  !!!!!!!  Two sets of hissing, stamping and slitted eyes.  We had a pot of tea to calm us down.  Composure regained, we asked the foody-looking Young Things at the cafe to make a list of eateries in the league of The Guardsman: SA food and drink, classily refurbished heritage and not too far away because it was 37 degrees outside. They done good.

The Floosie and I did a short river exploration as planned, despite the searing heat, then headed for The Strathmore.  We had been told to go to the upstairs restaurant if we wanted heritage but it was still Monday... and the restaurant wasn't open.  More old lady histrionics, then we decided to eat at the downstairs cafe as  long as I didn't have to watch the cricket.  We found a cool and comfy table, and relaxed into our fruity and refreshing cocktails.  I had a very good steak and the Floosie had salmon - both very happy.  And then

the Eaton Mess.  Absolutely delicious though curiously with marshmallow added to the traditional meringue, cream and berries.  No complaints from us.  We returned to the station to have another pot of tea before the Seniorella cut-off.  This time the cafe had closed so FF caught an earlier train and I hailed an earlier 281 bus for a relaxing trip through Walkerville to Klemzig - you take these routes for granted when you have a car.

My final foody adventure was a falooda at another Afghani joint in Blair Athol.

Tamasin introduced me to the delight of falooda, a sort of rose flavoured thickshake with bits of fruit and nuts.  The sort of thing you see when you are overseas but seldom risk trying.  Totally enjoyable but with a tad too much plastic.

When I wasn't hunting and gathering, or tidying up,  I was reading.  Fabulous books fell from the library shelves into my arms.  For some reason they tended to be big books so I had to balance them carefully on my bicycle, particularly if I had shopping as well.  But it was worth it.

This is a beauty, so much so that I went to the Art Gallery and bought a copy.  The weaving is gob- smacking but I also loved her story of growing up along the Murray River.  It made me think of Ian Abdullah's As I Grew Older and it transpires that they knew each other.

The title is cringe-worthy but this is a hugely inspiring book about repurposed buildings in various parts of the USA.  I've made a pledge to choose hotels in repurposed buildings when next I travel.  The Watson, an Art Series Hotel in Walkerville, is a fine example.  Voting with my dollar.

I chose this one because I've always wanted to go to Kyoto - but only when there are no tourists...  I love the traditional Japanese house aesthetic and enjoyed looking at the photos.  The text was in Japanese and English, but the translation did not work well.

I gazed and re-gazed at the photos in this one, mainly to pick out details which may be useful for living small.  Some of the 'lofts' are 3-storey apartments, 'loft' referring to an architectural style rather than attic living.

I thoroughly enjoyed this one.  It was like chatting with a friend.  Linda Woodrow seems to about the same age as me, and wrote the book in the 1990s.  Her ideas on gardening aligned with mine and I would love to know if her approach is still working 20+ years on.

And here's what the trip was all about - My Mum.

The decorations at this house at the end of Mum's street get more extravagant everyChristmas.

Here's an amazing house being built on Fourth Avenue - definitely bucks the trend of all other new housing in the area.  Good on them, though it would look better on a bigger block.

The day I went to the Art Gallery SA to buy the Riverland book, I took a jaunt through the Arts and Crafts room.  This is my home-making credo.

beautiful Louis Comfort Tiffany panels

Not sure about the utility or beauty of a pig on the air-conditioner, but interesting.  I wanted to buy it some wings.

Some of you know of my relentless grieving for my Cruella D'Eville jacket, somehow lost.  I similarly mysteriously lost my boho crocheted cardigan which, even more mysteriously, I found a couple of visits later rolled  up in a carpet at Mum's.  I took this little fella as a sign that I will one day find that jacket.  I could make myself one if I could find 100 more like him.

The former Mrs History and I were most impressed when we spotted this sheeting covering the building works on the Adelaide Railway Station.  I love that it acknowledges the space and grandeur of the building - though we don't know what they are doing to it underneath...  I can think of so many uses for such wrapping.

And that's the Adelaide trip - no Mercato, no beach, no Encounter Bay - but still a good time.