Forgetting oneself – Pelican, St Kilda

Still, by this time three bottles of wine had been polished off (the Sauvignon Blanc proving superior to the Reisling, much to Bruce’s surprise) so Mr Pub Grub enjoyed the ribbing. What’s more, he and his partner were extremely grateful to have been introduced to the Pelican, in Fitzroy Street, something of a St Kilda institution with its scattergun approach to tapas, wide selection of wines and great location close to the promenade – one of the few places Bruce and Fran miss since moving north (Banff pizzas, Mart 130 and the Taphouse pub in Carlisle Street the other major notables). And, come 2.45am, he wasn’t the one dropping his trousers on the Big Mouth dancefloor like a grinning 16-year-old leaving Fran to explain to the very friendly, but thoroughly bemused bouncer that, yes, unfortunately this man was indeed her husband.

Read Full Post »

Czech stodge (in the nicest possible sense) @ Koliba

The restaurant leapt off the Lonely Planet Guide to Eastern Europe’s pages with its promise of traditional Slovenian country fare. Fran was reluctant but, as the city treated them to a downpour of biblical proportions while they walked past its front door, agreed to venture within. To this day she maintains there was horsemeat on the large silver platter, one of many barely recognisable meat-based products floating in a sea of vinegary, cabbage-strewn fat. Whatever the origins, her fright meant more food for Bruce.

Read Full Post »

Quince This, Quail That @ Provenance

Sadly, when he checked the papers the following day, Collingwood had still lost the Anzac Day game in the final few seconds and his guernsey (courtesy of a birthday gift from Fran who must have some hidden agenda to turn her husband into a full-on bogan) remained winless for another week.But, thankfully, the memory of the millefeuille kept the hangman’s noose at bay.

Read Full Post »

Claypots, St Kilda: great fish and oddities

The rough hewn wooden bar with animatronic cat and dangling rubber man, French music, greasy spiced nuts, promise of $5 seafood paella and Sunday swap shops (with oysters) transported him somewhere far away – a nebulous place somewhere near the Mediterranean, perhaps.

Read Full Post »