Things I have eaten - part two
Episode forty-four
Last fortnight I revealed how I munched my way around Sydney, during the hottest (and the most humid) March weekend in 150 years. In this episode I am going to take you up to the cool peacefulness of the Blue Mountains, but first…
During the month of February this year, I took part in an online writing course with the Australian Society of Authors (ASA) called ‘Pitch Perfect’. The course is designed to help you think about your writing and how you’re going to sell it to a publisher or an agent. Because that’s what you have to do - you have to sell your work. As cringe as that thought might be for all of us insecure, introverted writers, no one is going to drive down your street, knock on your door, sit on your lounge and ask you if you have a fabulous manuscript for them to look at. Unfortunately.
Doing the course allowed me to be amongst some of the first people to nab a spot at the very popular Literary Speed Dating Event which was held at the end of March. You get three minutes (which felt like six nanoseconds on the day) to sell the idea, the synopsis of your book, to your choice of either a publisher or agent. I pitched to both Harper Collins HQ and Text Publishers, and was extremely pleased to have the ‘please send more’ email from Harper Collins HQ! This is quite exciting because (you may not know) I pitched my novel, The Darlington Baking Society, to the wonderful Ali Watts at Penguin Random House in October last year, and although she absolutely loved it, they already have a lot of ‘feel good fiction’ authors aboard, so couldn’t fit anymore. She recommended I pitch more widely and particularly to Harper Collins HQ, so I’m very slightly (read HUGELY) excited that someone is now reading the first 50 pages of DBS and hopefully loving it! I shall let you know what the response is; I may not hear anything until the end of June (AGONY!!), but c’est la vie, such is the life of an author. Everything moves at glacial pace in the publishing industry, so patience is most definitely a virtue, in fact it’s a pre-requisite!
But we’re here today to drool, err, I mean read about more Sydney Scoffing, aren’t we? So I’d best get on with that.
At the end of last fortnight’s episode (linked here in case you didn’t get the chance to read it)…
… I left you just as my friend, Sandra, and I had packed up our suitcases, dragged them through Sweatland back to the carpark, then drove deftly through the longest, most umbilical, eerily dark, rabbit warren of tunnels I have ever had the chance to experience. Sandra had a little do-dad on her front windscreen and it beeped every now and then, as we drove through another stretch of Sydney’s intestines in order to escape. ‘That one’s probably about fifteen dollars,’ Sandra would wince, ‘That one’s probably about twenty bucks.’ I was like, what? What is this? Extortion? Daylight robbery? ‘Tolls,’ she grimaced.
Being from the little backwater of Perth, over on the western fringes of Australia, I had no concept of ‘Tolls’. Oh sure, we get those scam texts saying that a toll we forgot to pay is due, and we Perthlings always have a bit of a chuckle about those. ‘Tolls? We don’t have any tolls! What nonsense! Isn’t that what our road taxes are for?’
Well, Sydney is a horse of a different colour, and people who live there and drive on the roads have money plucked from their accounts just for driving on the road. Complete madness.
Eventually we were spat out of these never-ending intestinal tunnels, whether it was from the mouth or the … other end, I’m not sure. But there was daylight again! And trees! And spaces between houses! Woo!
And then, a little over an hour and a half later, we were looking at this:
To go from the frenetic, humid, sticky, closeness of Sydney (it’s a really lovely place, don’t get me wrong, I think I’m just a country girl at heart) to the clear-aired, green wonderland of Mount Tomah Botanical Gardens was like learning how to fly. It was cool, the sun was gentle, and there were birds everywhere in this oasis over one thousand metres above sea level. We went for a brief wander before we went to check out what delicious offerings the café had on their lunch menu. Unbeknownst to us, the café was closed for renovations. Gutted! But never fear! We’d bought cheese and bikkies on Sunday for a nibble-night in, and rather magically, there was just enough left over for a picnic lunch. So we had hummus, triple cream Brie, crackers, strawberries, and grapes, and drank the two juices we’d scored been allowed to have from the generous bar fridge at the Grace Hotel in Sydney.
We then took a couple of hours to walk over some of the 28 hectares of gardens, all with stunningly breath-taking views with the Blue Mountains in the distance. Frequent sits on park benches were had, with and without light chatting. After another short drive, we found ourselves in the roadworks mess right out the front of our hotel, but after chucking a few you-eez (doing U-turns) we managed to get into the carpark, drag our bags through another door, and marvel at the pure loveliness of the Hydro Majestic Hotel.
This is one of those places you read about and think, ‘Gee, I’d love to stay there one day.’ And the day never comes. You just work and eat and sleep and stay home. But this was a special holiday, and Sandra and I agreed we’d both earned a little sneak of luxury, so we spent two nights here. The hotel is very old, it was first built in 1904, and has had a very chequered and at times, sad history. But the oldness of the place is a major part of its charm, as was the 500m walk from reception to our room! Past the hotel kitchen, along the Cat Walk (red walled room in the photo collection above), we followed the multi-dog-legged hallway until it reached a tiny mirror-walled lift, which, with a little groaning and shuddering, lifted us to the black and white carpeted hallway of our wing of the hotel, and eventually to our rooms.
After a cup of tea and a rest, we realised we were ravenous, so for dinner we drove to the nearby town of Katoomba to a place called Aunty Ed’s, which apparently was famous for its fries (we were still craving fries from the sweat-bath of a walk on Sunday in Sydney). Many words might be used to describe this little eatery; kitsch, nostalgic, a step back in time. Picture a low-key restaurant with booths, a few tables, a good menu (we had the chicken parmigiana and fell on them like starving orphans) and everything on the walls, on the shelves, the tables themselves, all the paraphernalia was from the seventies and eighties. Tape decks! Leather suitcases! Matching apricot Bakelite flour, rice, tea, and coffee tubs! Tea towel calendars from 1984! Huge TV sets with frilly lamps and pink flamingos on top! We could barely concentrate on eating while we mentally wandered down amnesia lane remembering all the things we used to have in our houses when we were kids. The schnitzel parmigiana was delicious, nothing extra special, and the chips were hot and salty, but definitely not what we’d been anticipating. The dessert menu was typical of the 80’s - banana splits, ice cream sundaes, etc, but they were a tad pricey and we were full. So we paid our bill and wandered off to find a bottle shop and snuck into a nearby supermarket to get yogurts and fruit for breakfasts and bought some crème caramels for dessert.
The following morning we slept in. Because holidays are supposed to have at least one of those, right? And because we were letting our bodies prepare themselves for the delightful culinary onslaught of a Proper High Tea.
This, my friends, was the highlight of my trip.
I went all out (because you only live once, right?) and ordered the Wintergarden Roederer Premium Pink High Tea.
The Wintergarden bit is just the name of the restaurant within the Hydro Majestic, which was the ballroom in the 1920’s, for you history buffs out there.
The Roederer bit was a glass of vintage rosé champagne - delicate bubbles and the perfect accompaniment to the MONSTROUS yet stunning feast assembled before me.
I started with the scones, which were pink, and a cup of citrusy Earl Grey tea. The scones were warm and light, the jam was sweet and gooey, and the cream was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Drooling already?
I’m just getting started.
Then my glass of bubbles arrived and I began on the savouries. My favourite was also the smallest thing there - a teensy chicken and chorizo tart which just exploded with flavour, with the crispy tart pastry, the softness of the chicken, and the spicy chewiness of the chorizo. I think I may have done a little chair jiggle, it was so good.
There was an okay sausage roll of some description, topped with sauce and thin slices of pickled beetroot (I think…), and an unfortunately dry brioche bun with some liver pâté inside (BARF) sprinkled with some crunchy vegetable of nondescript taste.
But the rest of the savouries were very delicious - a roast beef and spinach wrap (pink, of course), and two finger sandwiches; smoked salmon on rye, and cucumber and cream cheese. Being the clever person I am, and knowing the capacity of my (seemingly) shrinking tummy space, I only ate half of these savouries, a mere taste if you like. Priorities, my dear.
Because then there was the top tier. Five little pink-hued artistic works of deliciousness which were mostly based around strawberries and raspberries (my two faves). First up was a teensy layered cup of panna cotta - berry coulis sandwiching a blancmange-y tasting middle which perhaps had a tiny bit too much gelatine in it. The pink chocolate shavings on top were yum. Next was a little square of what seemed to be a traditional Victoria sponge cake; light as a whisper, joined with that same butter-rich cream that was served with the scones and a perfect amount of jam. A mini raspberry mousse tart with gold-flecked fresh raspberries was next, and although not particularly flavourful, it was quite delicious. Then there was another little round dessert, suspiciously similar-looking to what was in the little panna cotta jar, just without the jar. The piece de resistance was a pink Opera Cake, thinly sliced light chocolate sponge, layered with a raspberry mousse. I think there was also a layer of white chocolate mousse in there as well, which just took it to a whole new level of yum.
By this time I could hardly breathe, I was so full, and Sandra was also struggling. Food wastage is not an option, however, but I had no more tummy space to fill. A couple of tables away, we saw another pair of women who were also struggling to finish, ask for take away containers for the leftovers. Genius! So we followed suit, packed up our leftovers, took them to our rooms, fell into a food coma for ten minutes, then got changed and drove back to Katoomba to walk off our gluttony.
The walk was just what we needed. It was cold, so we wore jeans and boots, clutching our jackets around us as the chilly afternoon gully breezes whipped around. We walked through the shops in the very pretty autumnal town of Leura, then to Katoomba to take in the evening view of the stunning rock formation called The Three Sisters. We walked quite a bit, and sat chatting equally as much, enjoying the point in the evening when lights came on in the park and the Blue Mountains can be viewed in the twilight. Absolutely stunning, but very cold, so we hustled back to the hotel and nibbled on our post-high-tea supper. Then, like the amazing grown ups we were (because I have never had a holiday like this before), we sauntered into the Belgravia Bar & Lounge and enjoyed a quiet drink to celebrate/commiserate our last night.
We packed up for the last time on the Wednesday morning and drove to Penrith, where we enjoyed our last meal together overlooking the Nepean River. I had a delectable lamb salad with Persian feta, pomegranate arils and a light lemon dressing, before we took the final part of our journey back to the airport.
Parting is such sweet sorrow.
Sandra and I bravely smiled & swallowed our tears away as we said a hasty goodbye at the drop-off zone of the Sydney airport. Then she was on her way back home, a two and a half hour drive away, and I was checking my suitcase in, blinking away the water leaking from my eyes.
I spent the three hours before my flight pouring over the photos on my phone, sipping on a hot chocolate, and purchasing a salad for dinner. All too soon I was back up in the sky in the middle of a plane all by myself again, feeling refreshed but saddened, on my way back to Perth. I can’t honestly tell you what the salad was that I ate. It was nice, but I was sad. Isn’t it weird how your emotions play a role in enjoying a meal?
In the weeks since returning from my trip, life plods on relentlessly. I bake for my customers, I bake for markets, I cook for my family, and I try and squeeze in time for writing. I take care of my family, catch up with friends, and try to remember to take care of myself, the relentless ache in my right arm notwithstanding.
Sandra and I have already planned our next holiday, and we’re hoping that life won’t get in the way and make us wait four years again.
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed my trip as much as I did, especially the high tea bit. I remember reading something just before I went to Sydney, and it went something like this:
It’s not spending money on a holiday.
It’s purchasing memories.
And that pretty much summed up my holiday.
Take care, catch you next fortnight with some more delicious observations.
Maggie xx
By the way, I’ve started a second blog here on Substack, where I chat about faith, following God, and finding our way. You might like to check it out here:
So glad that I ate lunch before reading this or I would have been raiding the pantry for something delicious to consume! It certainly tickled my taste buds! ❤️
Loved this journey and like the quote at the end.