Jamieson

Today I let the moths out of the purse and treated the MJQ to lunch at Jamieson, a short drive out of town.

It has been the usual cold winter day; as we left town we saw a good number of people in the street who were on their way to or from nearby Mt Buller.   A trip to the snow or a skiing holiday in winter was something I looked forward to each year in the days of long ago.

That was then.

 

Now I prefer to be driving out to a small restaurant for Sunday lunch and I’ll leave the cold, wet and discomfort of the snowfields to younger people.

The restaurant is in an old house and has a space created from opening out two rooms.  There is an open fire and it is cosy and warm; two medium sized groups are already part of the way through their meal.

Mingo's

I finally settled on a Thai green curry fish dish with rice.  There was a problem.  No rice.  Would I be happy with pasta instead?  No.  I want rice.  I am petulant and three years old, stamping my tiny foot in a rage.  The chef is taken aback. 

No, the chef is not so much taken aback but irked that I am sticking to my guns.  Further tossing around of alternatives reveals the rice problem is one the chef is entirely responsible for, he neglected to pre-cook enough rice.

Can I wait while he cooks some rice?  Of course I can – after all I have been the one doing the foot stamping so the least I can do is wait while he cooks the rice.  The heat from the flaming gas jets in the kitchen would fire a rocket to the moon; heating the rice water will be easy and cooking rice does not take too long.

Open fire - well screened.

It is worth the wait, the dish is very good.  We finish our meal and our wine, decline coffee and after a short chat with Mingo the chef, who hails from the Canary Islands, we climb into the Royal Red Wagon and retrace our outward journey.