No Night Sweats N o  N i g h t  S w e a t s No Night Sweats
Sydney's Post-Punk Bands
I Like Music
Slapp Happy are Terrific
A List of CDs
Text is What I Write
Crime Fiction is Silly
[ The Walking Wounded ]
I went to lunch yesterday at a lovely eatery in Bulli called "Due Mezzi". It was organised by a very close friend who has an exhibition of rather lovely classically composed landscape photographs on  the upper floor gallery space of the restaurant. He invited a range of out-of-towners (apart from Annette and myself, ofcourse) who couldn't come to the opening a month ago, so that they could part with their hard earned cash for a pik-cha or two. (It really wasn't that mercinary, I think...) We had a simply gorgeous lunch with enormous amounts of food and wine and all for a fairly cheap amount. All of the dishes (bar one) were cooked delicately and to perfection. The one dish in question was your standard Italian style tripe in a rich tomato sauce. Now, I'll come clean here : I enjoy eating creamy, deep fried sheep's brains; I love underdone chargrilled liver; I can put away a plate of well cooked kidneys in no time at all and, finally, I've been known to enjoy sweetbreads of all varieties (although I wouldn't make a habit of it) but tripe is the one thing that I simply can't handle. The sauce, like all of Lorenzo's dishes, was gorgeous but as those extremely tender strips of stomach lining glided down my throat I had quite a few problems keeing them there. At least it wasn't covered in white sauce and onions!!!
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