Category Archives: Australia

Ashfield – Shanghai dumpling joint…

Ashfield is an inner western suburb of Sydney that, when you walk around, you feel like you’re in another country. Wonderfully so.

It’s about 9kms SW of the Sydney CBD, and is largely centred on Liverpool Road. It’s a fascinating part of the city.

fish market signage

acquarium sign

There’s a large multicultural population in Ashfield – 15% are Chinese and 8% are Indian – way above Australia’s average of 1.8% and 1.9% respectively.

Bollywood hairdresser

Ashfield is on my way home from Sydney to Mudgee, so I stopped in to take a look. Some great signage, and some really interesting shops –

Suntronic dummy sheepskins sign

I was hungry though, and wanted a meal before the 4hr drive back home, so I stopped in at a Shanghai dumpling joint, called Shanghai Nights.

I’m not sure why a place selling breakfast food would be called Shanghai Nights, but I was starving and so I didn’t take it up with management.

Shanghai Nights WS ext

outside menu

Management was Wendy, standing in a glass cage at the entrance, making the dumplings by hand. I got the immediate sense that this was going to be a good meal. She put such care into the making of each pork dumpling.

Wendy workinghands on dumpling.2 hands on dumpling

dumplings raw

I sat down, impressed by the cleanliness of the table and the way everything was laid out in such an ordered manner.  There were two small jugs by the tissues – one jug was soy sauce, the other was Chinese vinegar.

Table setting jars & tissues

Sitting at a table opposite were a gaggle of young Chinese boys with outrageous hair and cool attire. They were showing each other the Nike runners they’d just bought.

cool dudes.1

It took a while for the meal to come – the pork dumplings, chicken dumpling soup, and spring rolls. I’m sorry that I don’t have any photos of the spring rolls for you. I am a weak man. They looked so damn good I ate every one of them before I realized I hadn’t taken a photo.

I really should have ordered another serving just for the photo, but I’m a tight arse.

Here are the photos I did take. And the only reason I took these shots is because the food was too hot to eat – and I was bored – so I photographed them instead…

dumplings tv chicken dumpling soup

The dumplings were super hot. I later went into the kitchen and discovered why – they boil them in stock.

boiling dumplings

Tony is Wendy’s husband. Or perhaps he’s her brother. Or he might be her uncle. Or he could be her nephew, or even her father. I couldn’t figure out which. And I think Wendy was confused too. Maybe he’s all of the above.

I did notice a striking resemblance…

But then again I get confused between Chinese and Koreans. Or between Japanese and Scandinavians.


I then went to the bathroom. I judge a restaurant on their bathroom. The bathroom in the Shanghai Nights was immaculate. Except I noticed that the toilet roll was not on a hanger-hook, but in a take-away container on the top of the loo.

toilet closer

On close inspection I noticed that the paper was kind of wrinkled, and hanging loosely off the cardboard core – as though someone had dropped it into the toilet bowl.

I am here to inform you delicately, because this is a food blog after all, that my toiletry business didn’t involve using the wrinkled toilet paper. And so the cause of it’s disheveled appearance will remain a mystery.

toilet roll

I went back out to the table – the cool young dudes were preparing to leave. They posed for a photo for me. They were 17 years old – students studying English. I could imagine them in 10 or 15 years running banks and giving financial advice to retirees like me.

cool dudes.2

I’ll never retire. Too many restaurants on the road to blog about…

(I can’t believe I’m calling myself a blogger… what’s become of me?? I left school wanting to be like John Steinbeck. Or that guy out of MAD magazine…)


As I walked out I noticed that Wendy had been joined by another young lady, and it turned out to be her sister, Lisa.


Lisa and Wendy

I asked Lisa about the marital status of Wendy and Tony, in the kitchen. She was confused too. She wasn’t sure. I wondered if they thought I was from the Immigration Department. I do have a business card now – Bill’s Road Food. It’s very impressive. But it still doesn’t get me free meals.


The bill came to $21.40. Good value, I thought. I have to go back soon and photograph the spring rolls for you. They did look good… too good.

I walked out, and began looking for the store that sold the cool Nikes…

crazy sale

The Mudgee Show – a touch of Nepal…

This week’s Road Food blog comes to you from the Mudgee Show.


The Mudgee Show happens this time each year. There’s a rodeo and livestock judging and competitions for scones and fruit cake and flowers and intriguing artistic use of vegetables.



Fay.2 veggies

I noticed that Fay Spargo was a big winner in the cake section. Fay ripped. She’ll need a trailer to carry home all her ribbons. I should find out where Fay lives and invite myself over for afternoon tea. I want Fay Spargo to be my aunt or grandma.

Fay.3 Fay.4 Fay.6 Fay.5

Fay probably now has a lot of enemies around Mudgee.

There’ll be a lot of bakers and cake decorators around town – let’s call them collectively “The Losers” – who’d want to take her out. I’d be worried if I were Fay Spargo. I’d check the underside of my car of a morning before I turned on the ignition. Walking down Church Street I’d keep an eye on the rooftops for snipers. I’ve heard there’s some roo shooters around town looking for extra work.

If Fay Spargo were to come to an untimely death in the next few months, I’d suggest the cops first question those little old ladies that came second or third in the Mudgee Show Cake competition. Damn sure they’d find their killer amongst that aggrieved lot.

It was raining during the show, which was great for the farmers and graziers because the Mudgee district has been drought affected – however for the show people who make their living following the carnival circuit, it was bad news. Attendances were well down.

Cappucino van stand in rain

The side show folk follow a circuit that takes them all over the country. It’s a hard nomadic life. Mr. Brown, from Brown’s Dagwood Dogs food stand, says he only spends six weeks at home each year. The rest of the time he and his family are on the road, from Darwin down to southern Victoria.

Mr. brown

Dagwood Dogs sign

I love side-show alley, as it was called in my day. There’s something wonderfully dark and tacky about it. Very Ray Bradbury. Something Wicked This Way Comes is one of my favourite books – the story of a haunted carnival that comes to a small country town. That story still creeps me out. Very scary.

I walked through the side-show area and took photos of odd things that caught my interest.

croc pay here tilt winning numbers dolls clowns this shelf winning numbers

If you want something to eat at the show – (and who doesn’t?) – the choice comes down to what particular sort of fast food do you want to ingest: Dagwood Dogs (hot dogs deep fried), Chiko Rolls (we know all about Chiko Rolls now, don’t we..) hamburgers and of course hot chips.

And for desert, there’s  fairy floss. What’s a trip down side-show alley without a bag of fairy floss? A bag of fairy floss sets you back $4, however you can buy a bucket for $10.

A bucket of fairy floss – how good is that?

Buckets $10

I wandered out of side-show alley and got chatting to Miss Mudgee Showgirl – Tanya Wiseby, aged 24. She’s an economic agronomist who’s hoping to represent Mudgee at the Sydney Show at Easter. Tanya’s folks run a property out of town, and Tanya is knowledgeable about issues to do with farming and agriculture.

Tanya Wiseby

I don’t know whether Tanya had to do a swimsuit parade to get the title – that would seem kind of obscene in a drought. But needless to say she was charming and beautiful and very knowledgeable about agronomy. If she goes on to win Miss Universe then you can tell your friends you discovered her first in Bill’s Road Food blog.

At the back of the show, beside the Animal Nursery, was a stall standing all by itself. A stall selling Nepalese food. It was called Nepali Khana. I walked over.

Nepali Kahana

I’ve never been to Nepal, and I don’t even know that I’d ever had Nepalese food before, so I was intrigued. I was also very hungry because I couldn’t bring myself to eat a Dagwood Dog. And last week I’d had to eat a Chiko Roll for the Road Food blog and that ill-fated decision stayed in my intestines for several days. So the thought of having some “proper” food appealed to me – especially a cuisine I’d never tasted before.

Running the stall was a very pleasant and happy young lady named Dayna. She didn’t look Nepalese, and when I spoke to her, she didn’t sound Nepalese. She sounded Australian. But the two fellows toiling away in the kitchen behind her did have a distinct Nepalese appearance – although I have been known to confuse Vietnamese with Arabs.

Suren & Milan

I ordered the Nepalese Chicken with Rice, for $10. While Dayna was putting it in a takeaway container, she told me that she’d met her husband, Suren, on a trekking holiday in Nepal several years earlier. She worked in a bank, and it had been her first holiday out of the country.

working in stall


She ended up living for a year in Nepal with Suren and his family – including his son Milan –  before they came back to Australia, where they got married. They now have full time jobs, but they run the market on weekends, driving out of the city to do country gigs.


Dayna said the Sydney-siders seem a bit suspicious of Nepalese food, whereas the country folk are more prepared to give it a try.

My chicken was delicious. Not quite Indian, not quite Moroccan. A spicy flavour all its own. The meat so tender it melted in my mouth.

I then tried the flatbread, with spinach and pine nuts. Again, $10. I watched how Suren prepared the bread, then grilled it up like a Mexican quesadilla. Cut up into portions on a plate and served with yoghurt, it was scrumptious.

making flatbread.1 flatbread.2 flatbread.3

I noticed that the stall was lining up with customers. The fast food stalls were doing slow business, but the Nepali Khana was doing a brisk trade. It was the only food stall at the show selling food that wouldn’t kill you.

From a holiday in Nepal, falling in love with her Sherpa, living in a remote Himalayan village for a year, to now serving strange exotic foods at the Mudgee Show – what a great story Dayna told me.

I hope she and Suren and their son Milan make a real go of it. They deserve to.

Dayna Suren & Milan

The Chiko Roll – an Australian food icon.

America has the hotdog, France has the baguette, India has the dosa, and Australia has the Chiko Roll.

Chiko roll ad

The Chiko Roll was invented by a boilermaker, and that makes a whole lot of sense.

Frank McEnroe believed that Aussie Rules footy patrons required a hardy warming food that was robust enough to hold in one hand, with a beer in the other. The Chiko Roll was thus invented, and premiered at the Wagga Wagga Agricultural Show in 1951.

Roll on plate.2

The concept of the Chiko Roll was simple – Mr. McEnroe took the Chinese Chop Suey roll, which was popular in Australia at the time, and put his boilermaker skills into adapting it to Aussie football ground conditions.

He used egg and flour dough to make a thick outside tube,  which was then deep fried. Inside was a combination of meat, cabbage, celery, barley, rice, carrot, onion, green beans and spices. It gave the semblance of being nutritious.

More importantly, it was delicious. Especially at the footy on a cold winter’s afternoon.

bite taken.2

The Chiko Roll took off immediately.

By the end of the 1950s Chiko Rolls were sold in most fish-and-chip shops, takeaway joints, milk bars, and at sporting events all around the country. In 1963 the Frank McEnroe’s company went public, and in the 70s at their height of their popularity, there were 40 million Chiko Rolls sold each year in Australia.

Strangely, there was an export market to Japan. They probably used them for karate practice – instead of breaking bricks in half, they broke Chiko Rolls.

Part of the Chiko Roll phenomenon came down to marketing – and the sexy Chiko Chick.

The Chiko Chicks were flagrantly displayed on billboards and in magazines, wearing scanty bikinis and low cut tops – at the time very racy and salacious.

Chicks in surf   Chicko chick on bike

can't knock the roll chiko chick on car

Suggestive and double entrendre catchlines were also used, such as: Couldn’t you go a Chiko Roll? and HIt the Hot Spot and Grab a Chiko.

images  chiko-chicks copy

You didn’t need an overly active imagination to realize that the iconic Chiko Roll looked like a deep fried phallus.

roll as phallus

And when it was sold in its own bag it looked like it was wearing a loose and fallible condom –

roll in condom

Why is the Chiko Roll making a featured appearance in this celebrated Road Food blog? Not because it gives me the opportunity to make cheap and grubby jokes – although that certainly  does appeal.

No, there’s a deeper cultural reason.

In the new millennium, other fast foods have penetrated the market deeper, and the Chiko Roll sales numbers have become somewhat flaccid. However, it’s still very popular with truckers and traveling reps and anyone wanting to have a quick meal on the road.

The boilerplate nature of the Chiko Roll makes it easy to hold while you’re driving – plus in between bites you can put it in various places around your vehicle.

You can put it in your beverage holder –

In drinks holder

You can rest it on the steering wheel –

Driving with roll

You can put it under your sunvisor –

Under visor

You can nestle it in beside the rearview mirror –

Rearview mirror

And you can put it into other places too –

Chicko roll in car.1

All you need is a bit of sauce and you’ve got the complete driving experience…

Ilfracombe Sunday brunch – in the rain…

When you drive into Ilfracombe, in Queensland’s Central West, you see a sign proudly stating: Winner of Tidy Towns Competition, 2003.

I’m not sure about you, but I find that really scary.

Any town that displays a sign boasting that it won a Tidy Town competition eleven years ago is either stuck in a time warp, or is comfortable with the notion that it’s already peaked, and will never reach those exalted heights again.

Both are perfectly legitimate reasons for you to put your foot on the gas.

Ilfracombe welcome

I stopped in Ilfracombe however not to see if I could recognize some faded grandeur of times past – vestiges of the glory year of 2003 – but because I’d heard they have a great Sunday brunch.

I’m a sucker for a Sunday brunch, especially if it’s in a town that won a Tidy Town competition eleven years ago, and still has a sign declaring as such.

Most probably there are now tidier towns than Ilfracombe, but in the whole scheme of things, if you were to assign one word to the town other than “blinkandyou’llmissit,” you would still veer towards “tidy.”


Ilfracombe was once the “Hub of the West.”

In the late 1800’s, it was a thriving bustling commercial centre, a junction for the shipment of wool to the rest of the world. In those days the town was part of Wellshot station, a huge sheep property (what Americans call a ranch) which was the biggest in the world – not because of its land area, but because it had nearly 500,000 head of sheep.

Wellshot St copy

If you’re not put off by the Tidy Town sign, and you stop and walk around Ilfracombe, you start to get a sense of the history of the place. You see it hidden in the old railway station, and the post office. The pride that the town displays is not in its tidiness, but in its contribution to the growth of Australia.

Railway Stn

Post office

There’s a saying that Australia was built off the sheep’s back. Ilfracombe was at the epicentre of that period where we became rich from what we sheared off an animal, not from what we pulled from the ground.

Wool cart.3

On the Friday before the Sunday brunch, it began to rain. It hadn’t rained in the district for nearly eighteen months. The area had been suffering through a crippling drought, and some graziers were paying up to $10,000 a week to have feed shipped in to keep their stock alive.

The rain that started on that Friday was a huge relief to the local property owners – in fact to everyone in the district – because they all depend on the trickle-down wealth that flows from the land.

I drove the 27kms from Longreach to Ilfracombe on the Sunday morning with my windshield wipers swishing from side to side. It was surreal driving through severely drought affected country in the rain. Luckily I was on tar – because if the road had been dirt, like it was only a few years ago, I wouldn’t have made it. I’d have got bogged.

A small amount of rain on those parched lands ironically turns the ground to mush very fast, and the dirt tracks leading in and out of the properties become impassable.

What that meant was that when I walked into the cafe, it was empty. I was expecting a crowd. In fact I’d wondered whether I should make a reservation. I’d been told that the brunch usually attracted between 60-70 people.

But none of the locals from the surrounding homesteads could make it into town, even in their four wheel drives.

The buffet consisted of tinned baked beans, sausages, bacon, fried mushrooms and potato patties, cereals, instant coffee in urns.

baked beans

eggs Snags etc

On the surrounding walls were huge photos of the early pioneers, and the hey days of the wool boom.

sheep on wall Man on wall.1 coffee table

The Ilfracombe Cafe and General Store has been servicing the local district for more than 100 years.

Man on wall.1

It’s now run by Tim and Judi Johnson, who over the past eight years have built the Sunday brunch up to legendary status within the district.


And really, when I looked at the spread they were offering, I marveled at their skill.

I imagined what it would be like on a normal Sunday – the dining room full of cockies (ranchers) and their wives and families, chatting about wool prices and the sheep markets and what the useless politicians were doing in Canberra, none of them having any understanding what it was like out in the bush.

Around them on the walls were remembrances of a glorious past.

wool cart

I finished my snags and beans, and then made sure that I took my plates back to the kitchen. I didn’t want to leave a mess in this historic tidy town.


Longreach RSL Australia Day dinner

During the week it was Australia Day – January 26th.

It’s a national holiday  – the day we celebrate the “founding” of Australia – when British ships entered Sydney Cove in 1788 and hoisted a flag and laid claim to the country.

founding of Australia

The aboriginal community, and those that support their views, regard the day as “Invasion Day.” A famous aboriginal footballer, Adam Goodes, was named Australian of the Year.

Adam Goodes kicking

Goodesy is not only an amazing Aussie Rules footballer – he plays for my team, the Sydney Swans – but he’s also done a huge amount to battle racism in this country. Here’s a piece from the Sydney Morning Herald reporting on the announcement of his appointment –

Goodes grew up believing Australia was founded on a summer’s day in January 1788 when Governor Arthur Phillip staked the flag of the British kingdom in the sand of Sydney Cove.
”I’ve obviously learnt different since then,” he says. Nevertheless, he finds cause for optimism. ”We are still here, we’ve got a lot to celebrate about being here and that we have one of the longest-serving cultures still alive and kicking.”

January 26th is the height of summer in our country. Traditionally we watch the cricket, we have barbies, we drink beer and eat seafood (prawns & oysters mainly) and snags (sausages).

By the way, we don’t call prawns “shrimp.” We call them prawns. So Paul Hogan’s “put a shrimp on the barbie” was a total falsehood. No-one in Australia ever says that. But hey, it was a great marketing line…

Shrimp on barbie

This year I found myself in Longreach, working. Longreach is a small country town in the Central West of Queensland. In January the temps climb to 45-47 Celcius. That’s 113-117 Fahrenheit .

Because Australia Day is a holiday, all the restaurants in Longreach were closed. And by all the restaurants, I mean all four of them. Even the Chinese – the Happy Valley restaurant. The only place open was the RSL Bistro.

Digger memorabilia Bistro

RSL stands for the Returned and Services League, and there’s an RSL club in most towns in Australia. In an RSL you can get a beer, have a feed, and bet on the pokies or horses.

What could be more Australian?

The Longreach RSL Bistro had an Australia Day special on – Roast of the Day (lamb, of course) and Vegemite and cheese snags. Vegemite is a dark salty paste that we usually put on toast at breakfast. It’s a bit like Marmite in the UK, except it’s edible.

Aussie Aussie Aussie

Many overseas visitors try Vegemite and think it’s disgusting. Our immigration department can usually find a way to shorten their visa. I have to state that I love Vegemite, and I carry a small jar of it with me when I travel overseas. However, the thought of having Vegemite and cheese snags for dinner did not particularly appeal.

But feeling suitably jingoistic, I gave it a go. I liked that each had a little cocktail flag of Australia stuck in it.

Aus Day snags.1 snags demolished

While I tucked into my Aussie Day special, I noticed that there were several tellys catering for the various national obsessions – a cricket match between Australia and England, the final of the Australian Tennis Open, featuring Raphael Nadal, and screens for betting on the horses. All needs were covered.

Nadal lying down Cricket on tv Races on tv

I asked about the snags – they were made especially for the RSL for Australia Day by a local butcher, Savages, and cooked to perfection by the Bistro’s head chef, Andrew.

Justin & Andrew

I thought sausages filled with Vegemite and cheese would be truly putrid, but they were actually quite nice. They are though a delicacy that I would keep strictly for Australia Day, and only when I happened to be in Longreach.

The evening came to a logical conclusion when Nadal lost the championship, and Australia beat the Poms.

Aussies won

It was a great day to be an Aussie!


Toowoomba – Weis’s Restaurant – Buffet pig out

smorgasbord 028

I’ve always had a conflicted relationship with buffets.

When I grew up, they were called “smorgasbords.” An exotic name when you’re young and hungry and living in Brisbane in the early 60’s. Then again, “spaghetti bolognaise” was also exotic in Brisbane in those days, as was “french fries.”

There’s something deliciously gluttonous about the name: smorg-as-bord. Just the sound of it rolling off your tongue gives you the anticipation of gagging excess. It sounds like it should be a verb rather than a noun. “I’m going to smorgasbord these desserts until I’m sick.”

Perhaps that’s why, somewhere between 1964 and now, the word transmogrified from “smorgasbord” into “buffet.” The word “buffet” is more restrained. It’s more dignified. The word “buffet” can be used in polite company. The word “smorgasbord” somehow has a touch of Nordic pornography about it. It’s as though a smorgasbord should have an R rating, whereas a buffet is a G rating – like a Disney movie.

A smorgasbord is like a Lars von Trier movie.

food porn

For me, when I was young, going to an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord was a challenge. A challenge to my manhood. Okay, I was a kid, but it was still a challenge. In fact it was a dare. A shot across my bows. A gauntlet slapped across my pimpled face by the smug restauranteur. It was a duel at lunchtime. Him versus me. His tables of gloriously prepared food versus my rabid rapacious hunger.

The rules of engagement were clear: Let’s say the smorgasbord cost $12.50. Then the challenge was – could I eat more than $12.50 worth of food? Could I be a loss-leader for the restaurant?

In fact, it went deeper than that. The challenge was greater. How much food could I eat before I puked? Before the sight of one more chocolate mouse sent me scrambling to the bathroom, or hurling into a potplant.

Implicit in the challenge for me was: Could I send this restaurant broke? Could I eat so much food, and would the restaurant take such a big hit from me, that it would have trouble paying next month’s power bill?

It was life and death. Survival of the thinnest. I used to go into training when I knew I was going to a smorgasbord. I wouldn’t eat for days beforehand. That’s how seriously I took the challenge.

By the time the doors opened for lunch or dinner on the appointed day, I’d be wild eyed and ravenous. I’d be delirious with hunger. I’d barge in, pushing other patrons out of my way, and head straight for the seafood.

You see, I was like a CIA operative taking out the high value targets first. Seafood were high value targets. Prawns? Tick. Oysters? Tick. Crab claws and Moreton Bay bugs? Tick tick. The seafood table was the Bin Laden of smorgasbords.

I knew the cost of each prawn, each oyster, all the seafood. From my first frenzied mouthful I was adding up how much I was taking the restaurant down. I had to blow that twelve buck fifty threshold out of the water. I was aiming for twenty five bucks minimum. Maybe fifty bucks…

After the seafood came the pork chops, the roast beef, the racks of lamb. I left the salads. They weren’t high value enough. Same with the pastas. Who eats salads and pasta at a smorgasbord?

Only girls.

Then came the desserts. Yes, the desserts! I had no shame. I was not one of those people who delicately placed a few things on their plate, took it back to their table, ate leisurely, then returned graciously for a second plate.

Nup, waste of time. Pile everything on high. Who cares if people stare at you? I stared back, while wolfing down my lemon meringue pie as I walked back to my table, juggling a plate carrying a small hillock of sugared treats.

At this stage I should say that when I ate at smorgasbords, I used to place one stipulation on myself – I had to be able to walk out on my own two legs.

On one occasion I was helped out by a couple of mates who half carried me like a wounded soldier, wiping my brow and talking to me soothingly to keep me lucid. Afterwards I couldn’t eat for a week. I begrudgingly marked that one down as a win for the restaurant.

From the restaurant’s perspective, they wanted to make money out of me. Fair enough. It’s a free market economy. However, I regarded this as a mark of disrespect. Did they seriously think I couldn’t eat more than $12.50 worth of food? Were they questioning the magnificence of my testicular sac? Did I not look malnourished? Had they not seen me eat?

Some had, and they barred me from entry. Or they tried to charge me double. One threatened to call the police. They evidently had my photo up on the wall of their office. I’d started a food fight there several months earlier, and they’d asked me to leave. I recall they had no sense of humour.

Here’s my rationale – in an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord, you get to a point where that’s all you can eat. You can’t eat anything more. You’re stuffed full. But there’s still food on the table, which you’ve paid for, and it’s going to waste. It’s YOUR food. So why not put it to good use? Why not throw it around?

Some people like coffee at the end of a meal. Some people like a glass of port. I like throwing food.

I’ve had some memorable food fights over the years in smorgasbords – I still retain images of my brother peeling off a slice of smoked salmon from his nose. And a surfing mate trying to get three-bean salad out of his blonde hair.

One of the most vigorous food fights I ever had was at Weis’s Restaurant, at Toowoomba. My mum had driven us up from Brisbane to have lunch. She loved Weis’s.

It was a while ago now, and I don’t remember the lunch as vividly as my mother, who recalls it regularly with mock wide-eyed horror. What I remember is a crab claw imbedding into a wall. I remember a cone of Weis ice cream sticking out of my sister’s forehead, like a unicorn. I remember laughing so hard I emitted sounds from my rear end, which made me laugh even harder. And I remember my mother trying to slap me, while trying to stop from laughing herself. Thank God she didn’t fart!

Cut to quite a few decades later –

I was driving up to Brisbane from Mudgee (about 8hrs drive) and I suggested to my mum that we meet at Weis’s for lunch. Toowoomba is about 90 minute’s drive from Brisbane, where my mum lives. I knew she still loved Weis’s. She loved the seafood buffet. And if she was totally honest with herself, she’d admit that like me, she relished the prospect of food larceny. That after all these years we could smash a loss on them. That we could win.

But I was concerned. Would they remember me? And refuse me entry?

Toowoomba is a small city,  sitting up high at the top of a range, about 130km to the west of Brisbane, capital of Queensland. It’s nicknamed The Garden City, and has a large flower festival each year. It caters for the rural district further west on the Darling Downs. It’s rich productive land, and the city reflects the relative prosperity of its surrounding population.

Toowoomba flowers

Toowoomba made world news in 2011 when it was hit by massive floods. Several people died, and the cost to the local economy was estimated at tens of millions of dollars.

Towwoomba flooding Toowoomba flood car Floods.2

Weis Restaurant, perched on high ground at the top of the range, was spared flood damage. It’s been an institution in the city since the family established a frozen ice-cream company in 1957. Weis bars – frozen fruit with a band of icecream – are favourites in southern Queensland.

Weis barIf you look up the Weis Seafood Smorgasbord Restaurant on Trip Advisor, you get headlines like:

Awful. Don’t go there.
Never again.
Left with bad taste.
Overpriced and scabby smorgasbord
Don’t waste your money.

Out of five stars it struggles to get two and a half.

I couldn’t wait to get back!

Weis ext

Hot food area

The seafood was as fresh and delicious as I remembered it.

prawns mini lobstersCrab

The hot foods were pub standard.

hot food.1 fish and chips

The desserts were home made, and yummy.

Desserts Lollies

There were two soups, a machine which dispensed molten chocolate onto marshmallows on sticks, and some desultory cheeses. All in the ambiance of faded rural grandeur.

chocolate machine


Int. Weis Rest

At $49.50 a head, I’d say it was a no-contest. Weis won, absolutely.

As the meal came to an end, my mother looked at me quizzically. “What, no food fight?” she asked, teasingly.

My mother is 86 years old. She’s archly conservative, a former dentist, now a published author specializing in solving true crime murders that were committed in Queensland in the 1800s. Recently the ABC’s prestigious documentary series  Australian Stories did a half hour documentary on her. She’s a highly intelligent woman.

And now she wanted me to throw a lemon meringue pie at her?

I’d always thought my behavioural problems were a consequence of my misspent youth. It suddenly hit me that it’s genetic.

Rylstone Artisan Markets with a Lady Bushranger…

I love a market.

I love discovering a market – driving into a town and seeing a cluster of stalls and crowds milling around, buzzing with excitement. I always have to stop and investigate.

For me there’s nothing more thrilling than walking through a town or city and turning a corner and suddenly realizing I’m in the middle of a bustling market, selling all sorts of stuff that’s particular to that part of the world.

And of course integral to all markets are the food stalls – often run by local chefs who like to turn their hand on market day to making simple but delicious food that can be eaten as you wander through. Invariably these stalls only sell stuff that’s fresh, using produce that’s locally sourced, and of the highest quality. The kind of food you can’t get in a supermarket.

Some of my memorable markets are:

  • The huge Thursday markets in Barcelos, North Portugal
  • The Sunday street markets around 125th Street in Harlem, New York
  • The Saturday markets in Rue Moufftarde in Paris
  • The Saturday markets in Salamanca Place, Hobart Tasmania
  • The Camden Lock Markets in London
  • Pike Place Markets in Seattle
  • The Sunday morning markets in central Krakow, Poland
  • The morning farmers market in Fortville, Cannes France
  • Havel’s Market in the centre of Prague
  • The markets down by the waterfront in Helsinki, Finland
  • The Siem Reap night markets in Cambodia
  • The Temple Street Night Markets in Hong Kong
  • The San Lorenzo markets in Florence, Italy
  • Crawford Market in Bombay
  • The Camel Markets in Cairo
  • And all the tiny little markets I’ve just stumbled across in my travels.

And then there’s the Rylstone markets.

The Rylstone Artisan and Produce Markets are held every second Saturday of the month, and whilst they’re not quite Florence and they’re not quite Prague, they ARE true blue Aussie.

Rylstone markets

Rylstone is a small country town 3 hours drive (240kms) north west of Sydney. To get there you have to drive through some beautiful bushland, ravaged at the moment by drought.

Rylstone trees


Rylstone began life in the mid 1800s, and now has an ecclectic population of about 1000 people, with a mixture of locals who’ve been there for generations, along with a younger hipper “blow-in” crowd who’ve established some cool shops and eateries.

On a Saturday morning the main drag is bustling… (note the lack of parking space.)

Rylstone street

I live in Mudgee, a further 45 minutes drive to the north west – and it has a population of 8000. It’s regarded by the folk in Rylstone as “the big smoke.”

Rylstone, and its sister town Kandos some 20kms away, have developed something of a foodie reputation. Nestled in the surrounding hills and valleys are producers making wonderful cheeses, breads, olive oils, honeys and jams – along with the best poultry, lamb and beef. The Mudgee district also produces some terrific wines.

The Rylstone Artisan Markets are situated in the Municipal Shire Hall and surrounding grounds.

Shire Hall

Opposite is the Rylstone pub.

Rylstone pub

Note that no-one is parked outside the pub because they’re all either at the markets, or hanging out along the bustling main drag.

The pub has a bar called The Lady Bushranger bar. Also note that it has an ATM, and one could place a very cogent argument that the banks are now the modern day bushrangers.

Lady Bushranger

The Lady Bushranger referred to is a local legend. Her name was Jessie Hickman, and she was one tough mother. Her stock in trade was cattle “duffing,” in Aussie lingo. In America lingo it would be called cattle “rustling.”


Jessie Hickman lived in a cave outside of Rylstone around the early 1900s, and is reputed to have escaped custody one time by stripping off in front of the local copper until she was completely stark naked. The cop got such a fright he averted his gaze, and she slipped away.

Hall int

Walking into the Shire Hall on market day, the first stall you encounter is a food stall run by Ali, a former Sydney chef. She sells delicious home made quiches and wraps and muffins. All sourced from local produce.

Ali at stall

Ali used to cook for the Sydney Dance Co, the jazz clientele at The Basement, and other prestigious establishments. She did catering for the Big End of Town, but a back injury put a premature halt to her burgeoning career and she went bush – and now the Rylstone locals benefit from her relocation.

Vegetable quiche bicuits Chicken quiche

I try her free range chicken with roasted vegetables quiche, ($4.50) accompanied by her own secret mustard mayo recipe, and the combination is yummy! The quiche tastes like it was made with enormous generosity of spirit.

Further into the hall is a stand selling the most delicious home made jams, marmalades and relishes. Run by Frances, her produce has blitzed the local show awards.

Jams stall.1Ribbons

jars top shot

She makes her jams and relishes from fruit trees on her own property, which is a ways out of town. What she can’t source from her own trees, she gets from other farmers in the district.

Jars closer.2 jars closer.1

I buy a jar of her spicy Tomato Relish, for $8. Perfect for hot dogs and hamburgers. (I would road test it soon!)



I wander outside, careful not to take any chairs, tables or furniture with me, and see a stall selling icecream. I feel like an icecream after my chicken quiche with mustard mayo.

Rebecca WS

Rebecca runs the stall and while she scoops me out a macadamia and wattleseed icecream cone, she tells me that she was given a home icecream maker several years earlier. Ever since she’s wanted to make innovative and unique icecreams.

WS scoop

My icecream is creamy, flavorsome and quickly disappears. Beautiful. And like nothing I’ve had anywhere else.

What with Ali’s chicken quiche and her home made mustard mayo, and Rebecca’s heaped icecream cone, I’m now feeling a bit full. Then I catch sight of the stall next door – the Rylstone/Kandos Rotary Club cook-up.

Rotary group shot

I wander across.

Run by Amanda and David, along with Graham, they make hamburgers with sausages and eggs and bacon with fried onions, for $5.

Sausages and bacon

The money goes towards Rotary’s charitable work, and their youth programme. Rylstone/Kandos Rotary Club is helping some of the young kids around town, but as well their funding goes towards helping victims of natural disasters and conflicts overseas.

Feeling charitable, I order a hamburger.

Cut now to a cross section of my stomach –

Think of it like a geological cross section of a mountain, with various strata showing the ice-age, the dinosaur age, the neolithic age, and the disco age etc…

cross section

My stomach cross section has Ali’s chicken and roasted vegetable quiche swimming in her secret mustard mayo, then on top of that is Rebecca’s macadamia and wattleseed icecream, fragmented with slightly digested bits of sugared cone, and now on top of that I’m about to put the Rylstone/Kandos Rotary Club hamburger, with bacon, egg and fried onions?

Then I remember Frances’ tomato relish!

I open the jar and liberally douse the innards of the hamburger with the relish. This will either enhance the eating experience exponentially, given that the relish is from an award winning producer – or it will make me puke.

I’m so eager to try it I take a bite before I realize I haven’t taken a photo!

hamburgerThe hamburger is delicious. The relish is spicy and full of flavour. The egg and bacon aren’t too greasy – they’ve been cooked just right – and the toasted bun is fresh and yummy.

Not only that but I feel good that my $5 is going towards worthwhile charitable enterprises.


However, the whole eating experience  is now starting to sit uneasily on my stratified stomach. So I have a Coke Zero.

I find that Coke Zero is like a broad spectrum antibiotic. It lays waste to everything in its path. In this case I suspect it de-stratified my stomach. Who says that sugar chemical substitutes can’t have redeeming features?

I must say I haven’t met a Coke Zero I didn’t like.

As I walk back to my car, parked on the main drag, (yes, I was lucky enough to get a parking spot!), I think about all the markets I’ve ever been to in my travels around the world. And I wonder what it is about a market that excites me so much.

It’s the opportunity to learn more about where you are, through the remarkable people who run the stalls. And that’s what I loved about the Rylstone markets. In meeting and chatting with Ali and Frances and Rebecca and the Rotary folk, I learnt more about my country, and about the spirit of the people who live here.

So second Saturday of the month if you’re passing by, drop in to the Rylstone Artisan and Produce markets and stratify your stomach – that is, if you can get a park…