One brisk Saturday afternoon in June, we decide to try the esteemed Bourke Street Bakery in one of it newer, humbler locations.
The quiet side-street in Marrickville is flooded with wintery sunlight. We perch ourselves on a pair of rustic, wooden benches under an ice-blue canopy of cloudless sky, and um-and-ah over the mouth-watering menu, finally ordering ourselves a couple of soy latte’s, a pork and fennel sausage roll, and a ginger brulee tart.
YUM.
After hearing rave reviews about this restaurant, we decided to brave the cold on a wintery weekend that we were house-sitting in the area, and check it out for ourselves. Unfortunately for us, it was an altogether disappointing and horrid experience. I can safely say I’ve never sampled more disgusting ‘food’ in all my life (and I use that term loosely). I truly hope that this is the only time I will ever need to write a negative review on this blog.
To start off, the waiter was clearly unimpressed with our choices, as he snickered when we gave him our orders. Not a good start to the evening.
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We totter up the cobblestone steps of The Rocks, my brand-new heels no match for the ancient stones – pockmarked with age and a hundred years of memories I could never hope to fathom. We stop, and I’m allowed to look up, although the entrance of the restaurant is left mysteriously blank and I am still clueless to where we are dining tonight. It is dark inside, dim lighting gently illuminating the stone-brick walls, and the rows upon rows of bottles behind the dramatic, floor-to-ceiling glass paneling. Bottles of course, of sake.
Hattori Hanzo and Pink Blossom cocktails, both made with sake of course.
