A fine old start to my 35th birthday (yes, 35, I know, hard to believe but I have the birth certificate to prove it) as I enjoyed a lie-in while Darren took Ella to nursery. And not even the usual one feather pillow, but two; the other half having decided to donate his and sleep on the crappy foam-filled efforts in an effort to help me sleep a bit better (now that's love).
He returned form the nusery with a birthday cake in a box, and not just any old birthday cake but my favorite specimen, the coffee and walnut cake, which is impossible to buy in the shops because the Aussies haven't cottoned onto it. So having tried and failed to buy one he casually mentioned his frustration to the British chef at nursery, who promptly phoned her mother in Devon to pass on the recipe and whipped one up for him in the style of a good and decent British lass.
Britain 6, Australia 8.
After brekkie we went into the city to see Ralph the jeweller, who's finished making my eternity band and finished making the setting but was awaiting our approval before soldering the two together. The ring looks odd because the white gold hasn't been coated and the stones haven't been set, but so far so good and no guessing what Santa's bringing in his sack. It's nice to have original drawings of the idea for the ring and photographs of it being made because it's the sort of thing that becomes a family heirloom so whoever gets it after I've popped my clogs will know it's history (unless Ella sells it to fund her drug habit - we can only do our best).
At lunchtime we headed to the opera house, which was poignant because I also spent my 30th birthday in Sydney, or specifically, I spent the evening lying on the wall beside the opera house with a bottle of champagne, it being too stinking hot to bring the cake as well. To date it ranks as my best birthday ever, even though we watched the aussies stuff us in the cricket, and it really brought back memories today as we walked past the hotel we'd stayed at and headed to Bennelong point.
For lunch we ate at Guillaume's, which is named in honour of the michelin-starred French chef Guillaume Brahimi. If you look at the opera house it's in three parts; two big buildings and a little building at the back. The little building is a restaurant, one we've always wanted to try and never really been able to justify. We still can't justify eating there (degustation menu $180 per head), but since we had a voucher given to us by some kind souls when we left Warrington, we suddenly found ourselves persons of means so went rubbing shoulders with the great and good of Sydney society, though not before I'd changed out of my flip flops (£7.99 British Home Stores) and into something a bit more suitable.
Thankfully they gave us the table at the very tip of the glass window, which meant (a) we had a full-on view back towards the city and (b) we could exist in our own bubble, ignoring the very posh people behind us, who probably saw me change out of the flip-flops.
Anyway, the food was incredible. Darren had the Barramundi served with a fresh pea and parsley veloute and grilled celeriac and I had the boned rack of lamb with vegetables and parcel of asparagus and ricotta. We shared the thyme-infused baby tomatoes (9/10) as well as the Paris mash (11/10) and Darren took care of the wine sniffing and swilling. I just necked it.
Guillaume's scores well (especially when you're not paying) but alas, they forgot to bring the petit fours with our coffee. Darren was very British about it and kept quiet. I, on the other hand, am now an unashamed Sydneysider, so muttered determinedly about not paying for what I haven't had.
"That was beautiful" I said to the waiter as he cleared the cups. "But can I just confirm we ought to have had petit fours with our coffee?"
"Yes" he replied, looking puzzled.
"Well they didn't arrive". I fixed him with a Sydneysider look.
"Oh I must apologise" he said. "Please accept my apologies".
He returned with the bill two minutes later. "I've taken the coffees off the total" he offered.
"Thank you" I replied.
"And we're not leaving a tip" I muttered to Darren. "I just saved you fifty bucks. I'm such an asset".
2 comments:
Happy Birthday to you lovely Sazzlepops!!
love from you know who
oh bugger. That was meant to be anonymous and now my big mug is all over it and my cover is blown.
Moral of the story. Stop and think before you click.
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