Peter C.
Yelp
Who would have expected this understated Bunbury storefront facade (with hooded windows and geometric cornices) to open its doors to one of the most impressive meals to have blessed this planet? Upon our entry, my friend and I saw the sacred congregation of customers peppering almost every available table and countertop. We disparagingly asked, "Guess you don't have room for two more?" It was met with the shine of a server's smile and the promise of "We'll see what we can do." Within moments we were beckoned to a small table off from the bar that seemed to have been conjured by magic, the sorcerer ready to wine and dine us for the best meal of our life. Surrounded by a Brooklyn-style exposed brick wall with suspended bare-bulb filament lights, we turned to each other and agreed, "We're in safe hands here."
We scanned the menus, instantly landing on the Aleppo pepper spiced roasted pumpkin dip, the barbecue hellim cheese, the fried Brussel sprouts, and the duck fat potatoes in such swift synchronicity, it was as if we were both possessed to order the same perfect combination of taste sensations. After whispering each dish to one another in unison, we decided it best to order some drinks. I procured an old fashioned and my counterpart a gin & tonic, both of which came within reasonable measure and primed our gullets for the experience we were about to have.
The food arrived just as our server explained, with what could be (to an untrained chef) haphazard dishes one-by-one, but in the skilled timings of our evening, everything arrived just when it should. Each dish became a leg-up from the previous, and each brought with it its own path of decadent enlightenment.
From the first bite of the spiced roasted pumpkin dip, spread over grilled Lebanese breads, we proclaimed the night a hit. "Every other restauranteur, take note." "Pack it up everyone, we're done here. No other patron can have this." As the delusions of how incredibly glorious the food tasted bettered our judgement and bloated our righteousness to own every future serving. But there were more pleasures for our palates that we could not have foreseen if it wasn't for our order being cast moments prior.
We sliced into the barbecue hellim cheese and playfully stacked various combinations of bread, cheese and dip. In exultation we danced in our chair and intertwined our glasses to drink in unison. In that moment we were the happiest we'd ever been. A night too good to hold to ourselves. One to share with our loved ones and future grandchildren.
The brussel sprouts elevated me to ecstasy as the duck fat potatoes grounded me, limp to my chair, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. My neurons lit up like New Year's fireworks and my tongue craving more even though my stomach was telling me it had hit capacity.
I took a sip of my friend's blood orange gin & tonic and I couldn't lay captive to my tongue any longer. I couldn't help but vocalise, "that's gorgeous. That's actually gorgeous."
Legs shaking from climax, we proceeded to the counter to split the bill. A measly $65 each. Many would pay much more for a few hours of sensual sensation and probably leave feeling far less satiated than we did that night.
A zest in our step, having discovered ourselves and that all we are is everything within and without, we strode into the night, passing another man leaned against the front facade. "Impressive, isn't it?" He said to us. For he too knew what we did. That tonight we dined in heaven, and the only sin that bore our future down, was the sad acknowledgement that we couldn't extend our stay to experience it all again.
