tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23988033987368991152024-02-07T10:08:05.078+08:00Perth Breakfast PaddlesWant to find a good way to spend a Saturday morning in Perth? Going for a paddle followed by a good breakfast with your mates is a great start to the weekend. Reviews are without fear or favour.Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-59399199998128626502013-06-13T05:58:00.000+08:002013-06-13T05:58:32.749+08:00The Final ActLike all good things, even mediocre ones must come to and end.<br />
My beloved Epic V10 Sport has gone to grace Westy's garage, and the boat that started it all, my orange Endorfinn, is awaiting its new owner.<br />
I'm on my way to live in the good 'ole US of A for three years, with Mrs Blue and the Bluelings having entered a new phase of my Gorilla Biscuit career.<br />
Of course it couldn't pass without an anecdote about day I moved. The furniture was being removed into storage, and we had a contractor in the house who after a few minutes of polite conversation exalted me to read a book by David Irving. "David Irving the holocaust denier?" Queried I, thinking that surely he must mean someone else. But alas, he meant the very same. "That guy is a nutcase" said I, explaining how I had visited a concentration camp outside Prague once (Terezin), and that anyone with a skerrick of sanity knew that blokes like the President of Iran were hardly world authorities on unbiased interpretation of history. "It never happened" says the contractor with a straight face. Incredulous, I didn't think he would understand the unnerving irony that he shouldnt be having this conversion with a client when he was a professional oven cleaner.<br />
It's been fun, readers. The last paddle to the bridges on a 10 degree morning saw the most spectacular display by the Swan River dolphins at very close range, almost like they knew it was ending for me. I probably won't be coming back to Perth, and I'll miss the days that you've all shared on this blog.<br />
Sayonara.<br />
Blue<br />
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<br />Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-44194487626193422492013-02-11T20:23:00.000+08:002013-02-11T20:23:05.132+08:00Bettyblue Bistro, Rockingham<div style="text-align: center;">
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<i><u><b>Rockingham Beach to Garden Island - 17km, 2hr 14min</b></u></i></h3>
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"No problem", said Westy. "12km easy downwind paddle. We'll be eating breakfast by 0930" he said. Naturally, things didn't quite turn out the way we had intended due to Seabreeze.com.au and the actual wind direction disagreeing by about 90 degrees. But a plan is nothing more than a basis for change, and in this case, what a great change it was.<br />
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Westy knew a friend of a friend who once met a bloke who's Dad had heard of the Navy, so we were able to meet at Rockingham foreshore, push through the drug addicts, side-step a couple of stabbings, drop the boats off and then go and leave the cars at the northern end of Garden Island. Bad James, Westy and I were joined by Dr Evil, who had risen at an uncharacteristically early time to make the paddle.</div>
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I was a little apprehensive about crossing Cockburn Sound this morning, so I put on my PFD - just in case. As we set off, the wind was not the 15kt sou-easter that we had anticipated, but was definitely either easterly or fractionally nor-easterly, leading us to hug the coastline northwards before reaching across 9km of Cockburn Sound. And what a paddle it was. If you have never paddled around the grain terminals or the BP refinery, or indeed up around Stirling channel then you are missing some of the best small beaches in Perth. These little appendages of paradise precariously hanging off the edge of desolate industrial wastelands are spectacular. At one point we saw what appeared to be a whitewater river running into the Sound to the north of the BP refinery, and when we investigated, the water temperature 150m offshore was about 40 degrees. There were huge garfish in the area enjoying the bathwater temperatures and wondering what the hell we were doing in their spot.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_5zFPzDp5xAKKseF3jHUkD7bCm8xW9Huy9hPnYj0nzY1t2qSowN1s2tU8UBkhME4z-hMoGhozGfn0k5yENZrvuZwnZ1Ihz8tj0sBvByFatvNEmzFd9yoOq-OYB-mDM4Big1YbymE7WM/s1600/P2090008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_5zFPzDp5xAKKseF3jHUkD7bCm8xW9Huy9hPnYj0nzY1t2qSowN1s2tU8UBkhME4z-hMoGhozGfn0k5yENZrvuZwnZ1Ihz8tj0sBvByFatvNEmzFd9yoOq-OYB-mDM4Big1YbymE7WM/s400/P2090008.JPG" width="400" /></a>Being completely shark-paranoid, I was convinced that this was going to be the paddle that saw me looking at what appeared to be a Tarago driving under me as I paddled, but apart from a cool little penguin and a few fish, we luckily saw nothing of the sort.</div>
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As we got to Stirling Channel, Bad James and I had separated from Westy and Dr Evil, and realised that our trajectory didn't quite have the waves straight up our collective duck-runs, so we zig-zagged back towards Henderson until we were directly upwind from where we had parked the cars and made our turn. By this stage, Westy and Dr Evil were about 3km south of us, making directly for our exit point. As soon as we turned, our average speed increased dramatically, and we were regularly catching runners at 13.5kmh across the Sound, punctuated only by a few looks to make sure that the others were not sharkbait and a few funny stories that nearly had me in the drink with laughter. As did a minor collision with Bad James when a runner pushed his Mirage sea kayak nose-first into my trusty steed before he or I could do anything about it.</div>
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In the end, after 17km, James and I arrived first. Shortly afterwards, Westy and Dr Evil were intercepted by the Naval Police, where a sea-borne interview occurred that went something like this:</div>
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Plod (hands on hips and bending knees): "'Ullo, 'Ullo, 'Ullo! What's all this then?"</div>
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Westy: "And the Leb...he pulled out this big gun...and he went, like, Chk Chk Boom!"</div>
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Dr Evil:"Nothing to see here sir."</div>
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Plod: "Move along then!"</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crime in progress! Quick, Robin, to the Batboat!</td></tr>
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It was the longest paddle I had done since this time last year, and after 17km in 37 degrees, we had seriously earnt breakfast. Having uploaded my Garmin data, I'm sure Michelle would be pleased with the 1900 calories that I had burnt, and the elusive ton that is very, very close now...</div>
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<u><i>Bettyblue Bistro, Rockingham </i></u></h3>
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<u><i>"The Boardwalk" Shop 3 & 4, 1-3 Railway Tce, Palm Beach, Rockingham, WA 6168, Ph: (08) 9528 4228, www.bettyblue.com</i></u></h4>
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When we walked in to Bettyblue it was 1120 and we were skeptical as to whether or not we would get breakfast. It turned out that our concerns were valid because had we arrived 10 minutes later then it would have been all over, Red Rover. We were seated in the shade, and the waitress snappily delivered the menus. The place was heaving and young families were eagerly knocking back their scrambled eggs and fried porcine products. At this point they didn't realise how close they were to having four hungry chaps assist them by eating over the top of them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bettyblue Big Vegetarian Breakfast. With...err..bacon.</td></tr>
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It was a pretty easy choice for both Bad James and I - The Bettyblue Big Vegetarian Breakfast ($19), with a side of bacon of course. The potato cake and home-made beans were the clincher. When they came out, the plates were enormous, with massive slices of doorstop-like toast that was lightly toasted just as I like it. My scrambled eggs were beautifully creamy and Bad James' poached eggs were perfectly cooked. The beans had their own ramikins on the plates and, if anything, the bacon was swamped by the spinach, tomato and the delicious field mushrooms that would have been a meal by themselves. Dr Evil and Westy had the standard Big Breakfast and Westy cunningly added Hollandaise sauce to his. The sausages were big and tasty, and really, who doesn't like a big, tasty sausage (fnarr, fnarr)? Again, at $19, these breakfasts are outstanding value and we all agreed that they were one of the better brekkies that we had had in a while, even if we did have to paddle to Woop Woop and back to earn them. <br />
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We were really enjoying these plates of heaven, washed down with some decent coffee. But it was 37 degrees and the sun had well and truly risen above the yardarm by the time we finished. I could have murdered a six-pack of Little Creatures Bright Ale, but alas, I'm back on the wagon for my annual Dry February, this time joined by Mrs Blue. I'm not sure how well its going for my lovely bride - she declared that she would have eaten the glass of the half-bottle of red on the kitchen counter just to get to the wine inside the other day. I did offer that the screw top was a much more convenient and safe method of accessing the contents, and that she wouldn't require more than a day or so of training to learn how to use it. She is also very creative in her use of the English language on occasions such as these...<br />
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But Rockingham being Rockingham, we were just about to leave when a young chap toting a skateboard came past with an awesome mullet that required a picture. The camera just wouldn't come out of my pocket quick enough, and I was almost climbing over tables before I got this outstanding portrait at just the right angle...</div>
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In summary, if you are down in Rockingham, Bettyblue is a deadset great spot for brekky - just make sure you are sitting in the shade! Oh, and as a closer, Westy revealed at brekky that a 3m great white was seen near the channel just before we started paddling. Bastard.<br />
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<b>Bettyblue Bistro, Rockingham - 7/10 (+1 for the mullet!)</b><br />
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<a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1370077/restaurant/Perth/Bettyblue-Bistro-Rockingham"><img alt="Bettyblue Bistro on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/link/1370077/minilink.gif" style="border: none; height: 36px; padding: 0px; width: 130px;" /></a>Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-20306870907040662002012-12-28T12:37:00.000+08:002012-12-28T15:32:24.329+08:00Kava Cafe, Bicton<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b><i>Point Walter to the Bridges - 12km</i></b></u></div>
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Same bat time, same bat channel. This time however, having threatened to do so for weeks, Westy's brother Dr Evil sent a shockwave through the collective Grumpy Old Paddlers by actually turning up! This threw us a little - we didn't know whether to start left or right, or whether to just abandon the whole enterprise and go to the pub. At 7.30am. Still, it was only a couple of weeks ago that we were having a beer post-paddle under the Pt Walter pines at 9.21am, so anything was possible.</div>
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We decided to head down to the bridges, with a 5-strong group of paddlers including Mean Gene, M4P, Dr Evil, Westy and I. Mean Gene relegated us all into the realms of girly-men by showing up in his sparkling new Triton, and dropping the 'I just bought a ski' bombshell as well. Not to be outdone by Westy and I's stock standard Endorfinns, Mean Gene went for the lightweight version and got it fully optioned with a backrest, paddle, six cup holders and a spoiler. Unfortunately the manufacture of the carbon-fibre/unobtainium spoiler was holding up delivery, so Mean Gene took my poverty-pack Endorfinn GL-model for the paddle. Dr Evil was also bolstering the Finn fan club on his Afinnity, whilst having his first Saturday morning off since the construction of the WoopWoop District Hospital and Abattoir.</div>
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I was a bit gun-shy this morning after bending the be-jesus out of my rudder post last weekend on a jumping rock just out from the spit, so pretty much carried my V10 Sport to the Bicton baths before I was brave enough to let the hull hit the water. It was an uneventful paddle to the bridges at Fremantle, but by the time we turned around, the Rottnest parade had begun with bucketloads of boats on the way out. The chop from several caused me to be a little vertically embarrassed and somewhat wet just off East Fremantle yacht club, but unlike my Hawaiian debacle, I was back in and paddling straight away.</div>
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Westy and I had put on the pace from the East Fremantle Yacht Club on the outbound leg and had reached the bridges on our own before catching Dr Evil and M4P immediately after my little foray into submarine life. On the way back a more-middle-aged-than-we-are couple had decided to jump off the Bicton cliffs into the water on a beautiful Perth morning. Well, the bloke had. The woman was stuck on the cliff and no amount of sledging...err..encouragement from us would get her to jump.</div>
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Mean Gene had been paddling around the Point Walter spit for the morning, and when the remaining four of us arrived back, he was way over the other side which gave us a bit of time to get ourselves sorted before breakfast. The council has 'remodelled' the foreshore at Pt Walter, putting in a few boat-like structures, but alas, nothing actually as useful as a shower on the western side. When Mean Gene got back we were sorted in no time and off to breakfast at a cafe that we'd passed a hundred times before but never stopped at...</div>
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<u><i><b>Kava Cafe, <span class="street-address">39a Bristol Ave</span>, Bicton, WA, 6157, (08) 9319 1669</b></i></u></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Kava Cafe, Bicton. Two thumbs up.</b></i></td></tr>
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OK. I had read some not-very-flattering reviews of the Kava Cafe, and when I posted a photo of the menu on Facebook, one erstwhile punter had commented that with those prices they were on something considerably more hallucinogenic than Kava, and suggested that until they were revised that it be renamed the "Crack Cafe". Running on the 4-1 principle of reviews (i.e. four times as many people will go on line to complain about a bad experience than they will to wax lyrical about a good one), I was more than a little skeptical about the bad write-ups. As we were paddling I had deftly deflected Westy's inquiry about whether I had read anything about the place online, lest a revolt over the choice of breakfast venue occur at the last minute.</div>
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I'm glad I succumbed to my devious side, because what we got was something completely at odds with the bad reviews I had read. </div>
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With five ski-laden vehicles, the complete lack of (legal) parking for longer than 10 minutes was an immediate challenge warranting 'innovative' solutions, but it the end it didn't prevent two of the group having to park so far away that they could see the skyline of South Geraldton. At this festive time of year it was asking for trouble to breakfast next door to a bottle shop, but given that we had individually given our home brew a bit of a 'nudge' (obviously not in a Robert Hughes/'Hey Dad!' 'Nudge'-type of manner) a 'long' breakfast was luckily avoided. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCk49w2UcyJv8rirdu0ysaUtMIh43lb6Y4zj18uPZB4xVhzIWPatHMPlT4JKGYNchbOQVlBTD8oeEY_GF-zxPR8OEXaxqqXMXA5bF8IRJXlNXczzLeTXDn6zrZ7v633eyT3JbfQ3v1b4w/s1600/Menu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCk49w2UcyJv8rirdu0ysaUtMIh43lb6Y4zj18uPZB4xVhzIWPatHMPlT4JKGYNchbOQVlBTD8oeEY_GF-zxPR8OEXaxqqXMXA5bF8IRJXlNXczzLeTXDn6zrZ7v633eyT3JbfQ3v1b4w/s320/Menu.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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We barely had our bums on the seats outside when a young lass came and got our coffee orders and it was shortly afterwards that the same friendly staffy (as in 'staff-y' - no reference to a Staffordshire bull terrier) came and efficiently took our breakfast orders.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The hash is hiding - or I may have inhaled it before the plate hit the table.</i></b></td></tr>
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Our coffees arrived in short shrift and breakfast was there very shortly afterwards, which was a big tick-in-the-box after last week's journey through the ages. I had ordered the Spring Onion, Sweet Corn, Potato Hash with Sticky Maple Bacon, Spinach, Roast Tomato and Poached Eggs ($20) having been completely sucked in by the thought of sticky maple bacon. My mug of Flat White had turned up just prior at exactly the right drinking temperature and was just what I needed. I was a little disappointed that I didn't get a Wombat's Arse pattern on my coffee like last week, but it went down well never the less. The breakfast was superb - the eggs were poached beautifully, the hash was delicious and the not-quite-crispy maple bacon was so sweetly salty good that I was almost in need of a bucket of cold water. The only thing that this dish needed was a drizzle of Hollandaise and perhaps a nice slice of turkish toast to complete it. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Westy's Omelette</i></b></td></tr>
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Westy had gone the Three-Egg Omelette with Semi-Dried Tomatoes, Feta Cheese, Spinach and Bacon (Mushrooms available as a bacon substitute - but why would you?) for $17.50. He also had some Ciabatta toast on the side. His omelette looked nicely formed, and Westy's silence seemed to indicate his satisfaction. M4P had the Brekkie Sandwich (Bacon, Fried Egg, Rocket, Tomato and BBQ sauce on Toasted Ciabatta - $14.50) which looked outstanding and seemed to be a very good post-paddle choice. Because it's Christmas, I'm over 40, and have beer-induced memory like a sieve, I have little firm recollection of what Mean Gene and Dr Evil individually had, but I'm pretty sure there was another Three-Egg Omelette and the Kava Breakfast (Two eggs, Bacon, Roast Tomato, Mushrooms and House-made Baked Beans on Toast -$21) involved. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>M4P's Brekkie Sandwich</i></b></td></tr>
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As we contently inhaled our meals over a second brew, it turned out that three of us had recently had to change mobile phones, and it seemed that the common factor of being over 40 had turned three formerly tech-savvy gents into dribbling Mindas unable to do something as simple as answer a bloody call on a Samsung phone. For the record, when the call is inbound, a big green 'button' appears on the screen and no matter how many times you press the bloody thing - where it says 'Answer'! - you won't be connected unless you press <u>and slide</u> the damned thing. Fair dinkum, Samsung. Give us a break. We're blokes. We're genetically unable to read instructions, and generally unwilling to do so anyway. Make it easy on us.</div>
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Back to Kava, though. I'm really glad that I ignored some of the bad reviews, because I quite liked the whole breakfast experience there. The service was very friendly and efficient but unobtrusive, the menu was good, and so was the coffee. I didn't think the prices out of kilter with the area in any way, and probably if anything the menu was slightly cheaper than their competitors. Extra marks for being next to a bottle shop. I would definitely recommend Kava Cafe - we'll certainly be back!</div>
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Kava Cafe - 7.5/10.<br />
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<a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1517510/restaurant/Perth/Melville/Kava-Cafe-Bicton"><img alt="Kava Cafe on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/link/1517510/biglink.gif" style="border: none; height: 146px; padding: 0px; width: 200px;" /></a>Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-21265784483086014952012-12-18T11:19:00.001+08:002012-12-18T11:19:52.451+08:00The Left Bank, Fremantle<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Point Walter to Mosman Bay and Applecross - 12.4km, 1hr 30 min</b></i></div>
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Westy, Bad James and I rendezvoused at Point Walter on a deadset cracker of a morning for what looked to be our standard Bridges run. As we put in we couldn't help but notice that there was a photo shoot of a skimpy bikini-clad lovely going on just on the other side of the spit from us. It was quite apparent that said bikini wench wasn't exactly Linda Evangelista, but in a comment sure to shock my loyal readership, none of us are Brad Pitt-like specimens either, so we called it even. Helpfully, a few comments were offered regarding brisk, early morning temperatures, puppy-dog noses and the pitfalls of bikinis at that time of day and amongst awkward faux-laughter from both sides we slid the steeds of Neptune into the pancake-flat waters of the Swan, just as Good James sidled up to the bank.</div>
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Given that Good James was only allowed to play for twenty nine minutes this morning we paddled with him back towards Mosman Bay where his ski-trolley was parked. Just as I was getting into the paddling groove a formerly-stationary rock came leaping up from the depths to hit my rudder. A quick check told me that it was still operating, so off we continued. Later investigation back at Chez Miles showed the rudder shaft bent 15 degrees to port, and in dire need of a bench vice which my neighbour was kind enough to provide. Luckily, we got Good James back in time before his ski-trolley turned back into a pumpkin and he was able to get home before the explosive collar device that had been affixed to his neck to ensure timing compliance detonated. We think.</div>
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The lap of Mosman Bay was serene. Barely a breathe of wind, and by the time we got to the red buoy opposite Pt Walter we had decided to go over to Applecross for a look. There appeared to be a few yachts on the water and by the way they were weaving all over the place it was likely that the yacht club had had it's Christmas Party the night before. Although tempted to play Rule Of the Road Chicken discretion formed the better part of valour, and we gave them a wide berth.</div>
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It's been a big week for me at Gorilla Biscuit Pty Ltd. After many head injuries and facial deformities I've finished my time in the face-smashing department, and have moved off the line and into the company headquarters, where I get to smash my face not into dough, but into the formica of a desk. Luckily I'm on leave until March and only have a few months after that until I relocate to one of the firm's international outposts in Rhode Island, USA for a 3 year tenure to teach the North American team how to firmly faceplant on a regular schedule. You beauty!</div>
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Anyway, I digress. We pushed on, through the 3cm waves, and reached a special marker buoy just of the Applecross waterfront. It was here that Bad James came up with the idea of The Left Bank for breakfast. In the past I haven't been very impressed by TLB breakfasts, but we thought we'd give it a go so around the buoy we went and thanks to the wake of a massive gin palace going by at a great rate of knots, managed to surf most of the way back to Point Walter.</div>
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<i><b>The Left Bank, 15 Riverside Road, East Fremantle, WA 6158, (08)93191315, leftbank.com.au</b></i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The view from our table - the best in the beer garden.</i></b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<i><b> </b></i>If you haven't been to The Left Bank, chances are you are either 90 years old or have never been to Perth. It's a deadset cracker of a pub famous for it's Sunday sessions. Recently, and long-overdue they've put tap-beer in and despite distinctly un-1973-like prices (or as we said on Saturday, they've gone from over-priced bottled beer to over-priced tap beer) it is still a great place to sit and spend an afternoon. Although if, like me, you are blessed with a blood nut and skin that is the natural enemy of 60W lightbulbs, you'd best sit inside.</div>
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Or you could spend the morning here, like the group of Pretty Young Things on the tables next to us who were headed off on 3 boats to sit off Carnac Island for the day. If their condition at 0930 was anything to go by, the fish wouldn't have to wait long for a free feed that day. The champers and beer were flowing and all were in great spirits as they wobbled off down to the jetty, several of the ladies with waists akin to our wrists, and pretty much all tattooed hip-cool-fab-groovily.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Definitely a Wombat's arse.</i></b></td></tr>
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At TLB you order at the counter, grab a number and breakfast arrives at your table after a seriously long wait. The coffee was luke warm and pretty weak when it arrived after 20 minutes and 20 minutes before the first vestiges of food appeared, and seemed to have an odd Wombat's Arse-like shape poured into the top...</div>
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Westy and I had ordered the Left Bank Breakfast (bacon and poached eggs on Italian loaf with Roma tomatoes, field mushrooms and Hollandaise sauce - $22), whilst Bad James had opted for the Mushroom Bruschetta (sauteed button mushrooms on Italian loaf with a poached egg and rocket - $17) with a side of baked beans that would provide much entertainment for his tin lids later on.</div>
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Bad James' breakfast arrived just as he began to gnaw on the limestone blocks. Unfortunately all our coffees were long-gone by then and faced with another interminable wait, we had all blown off the idea of getting another one here lest we be still sitting there at Easter. His breakfast looked pretty good though, and there were several satisfied-like grunts emanating from his direction. The rocket was definitely fresh and the egg looked nicely cooked under a drizzle of Hollandaise. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Bad James' Mushroom Bruschetta</i></b></td></tr>
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As Bad James was wiping the last masses of yolk off his forehead, Westy and my Left Bank Breakfasts turned up. Far be it from me to be fussy, but I really like my breakfast to appear whilst it is still hot. Especially when I could have built the Great Pyramid of Giza in the time it took between ordering and receiving the meal. So it was with disappointment that I noticed that the tepid coffee was designed to complement the stone-cold eggs. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>The Left Bank Breakfast - Stone Cold Steve Austin.</b></i></td></tr>
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The second pang of culinary disappointment came with the Hollandaise which was initially very runny and vinegary, but at least it was freshly made, and I have to admit that later on it firmed a little of became better tasting. The egg was nicely cooked and the bacon was in the sweet spot just before getting crunchy. The Roma tomato and mushrooms were spot on. This was a breakfast which held much promise, but by having weak coffee with weird patterns, letting the food get cold and taking so bloody long to get meals to the customers, The Left Bank snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. I'll still go to this iconic pub to have a beer - but I won't be going back for breakfast any time soon.</div>
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The Left Bank - 6/10 (another point when the food comes out inside 30 minutes and WITH the coffee, and another when it comes out hot, inside 30 minutes and with better, hot coffee)</div>
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<a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1370464/restaurant/Perth/Fremantle/The-Left-Bank-Cafe-Bar-Restaurant-East-Fremantle"><img alt="The Left Bank Cafe Bar Restaurant on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/link/1370464/minilink.gif" style="border: none; height: 36px; padding: 0px; width: 130px;" /></a>
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Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-41311843501819607532012-11-24T22:42:00.006+08:002012-12-13T17:36:26.045+08:00Ootong & Lincoln, South Fremantle<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Deepwater Point to the Riverton Bridges and back, 14km. 1hr 40min</b></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1i2Uv5YSzoGzavfAr_vhBFtxqEbyrbDFau1SvRhvbfp4I9VJQyIk1RFzDVCfMqWJNUBYuvVVEuhI2cJvmuVvJGfD92OgOWIy8yrubWccLonSxwYM_Q9RcZC4kbkfGwhrzXU0pigUrw6U/s1600/IMG_0021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1i2Uv5YSzoGzavfAr_vhBFtxqEbyrbDFau1SvRhvbfp4I9VJQyIk1RFzDVCfMqWJNUBYuvVVEuhI2cJvmuVvJGfD92OgOWIy8yrubWccLonSxwYM_Q9RcZC4kbkfGwhrzXU0pigUrw6U/s320/IMG_0021.JPG" width="320" /></a>After a few efforts from Point Walter it was time for a change. Mean Gene and M4P were elsewhere, so Bad James, Westy and I thought we'd give the Canning a bash. We met just north of the dreaded Deepwater Point Cafe (dreaded because of the ordinary food/service at ridiculous prices) at Applecross and set off into a 15kt Sou'easter. Our launch point is a pearler because firstly it's in a well-to-do suburb, and secondly because a riverside walking path in a well-to-do suburb means that there is a bevvy of top sorts pounding the pavement. Apart from us, of course. </div>
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Last night I had been fishing until stupid-o'clock with Boy Wonder - we would have come home earlier but I had caught a couple of tailor and a few stingrays and he was yet to bust the cherry of his new rod (fnarr) so we had to stay until we had used up all the bait or he caught one. He finally did catch a nice tailor which I obviously declared to be the biggest by a country mile, so sated, we went home and hit the hay at 11pm. What the meant to the paddle was that when I rose at 6am after Mrs Blue had been on her morning walk to the Promised Land, I was dead-set rooted. It also meant that my lack of prior preparation saw me reading the owners manual of my Garmin watch at 0610 to avoid a repeat of last weeks debacle where I had no idea how to start the bloody thing. Perhaps, in hindsight I should have read the manual for the Go Pro as well...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>I'm not sure if you can see, but somewhere in this photo is a dickhead who can't use his VIDEO camera.</b></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Anyway, we set off, threading our way through the rather large rowing boats of the Hale School. It was a bit different where I went to school in Sydney - the school boat was whatever one somebody stole on the weekend. At least ours (usually) came with a motor - unlike the poor rich kids at Hale, who had to 'man' an oar each whilst being accosted by a screaming Harpy. Then again, the Harpy was the only one facing the right way...</div>
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"Skyfall" was an early topic of conversation. Despite Mrs Bad James being as keen as mustard to see it, Bad James kindly gave her more quality time with two very young children and selflessly went to see it on his Pat Malone. The verdict - "Not as good as Quantum of Solace".</div>
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The Mirage sea kayak (the Purple Junket Pumper), Westy's Green Hornet Endorfinn and the World's Slowest Epic (something to do with it's powertrain I believe) pushed through the wind fairly well, having narrowly avoided being Hale sea?kill and thundered through the lee of Bull Creek. I'm glad I'm on the Epic, because if I were still on my Endorfinn, Westy and James would be leaving me for dead - I seriously need some paddlefitness. Or even just run of the mill fitness. Before we knew it, we were under the Riverton bridge, watching a chap on a mountain bike towing a home-made trailer with a white Endorfinn on it down to the river bank. What a great rig! It was good to turn around and get the wind behind us, and the splits on the way back proved it. Before we knew it we were back off the Deepwater Point Jetty, festooned in all its glory with signs that said "Dangerous - do not use" - signs that someone obviously walked along the jetty to nail in. As we rested off the shore before coming in, a vision of loveliness (that each of us obviously mistook for our respective wives if they are reading) appeared on the path and someone <u>may</u> possibly have muttered 'Yes (insert wife's name here), of course I love you, but I covet her...' but if they did, the identity of such a person is in 'the vault' and none of us will give up their identity. Staunch as a...err...staunchion.</div>
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Mental note to self and punters - when paddling the Canning, pay attention to the red and green markers and know what they mean. Especially with a surf rudder. </div>
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It was absolutely time for fried porcine product. I had been researching this whilst watching the young Bonobos at work at Gorilla Biscuit. Today we were breakfasting (if that is, in fact, a verb) at the oddly named Ootong & Lincoln, South Fremantle.</div>
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<i><b>Ootong & Lincoln, <span class="street-address">258 South Terrace,</span><span class="street-address"><span class="locality"> South Fremantle</span>,
<span class="region">WA</span>
<a class="postal-code" href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/zip/338/6162/Perth-restaurants.html" style="border: none; color: black; text-decoration: none;">6162,</a> </span>08 9335 6109</b></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO61HjskNdtEkJhL5Z9pIbkgZn9zXzu5fonUl5o_6NlLs0Re-rUZI6HlYKxm9MPFbT1HlSn8Z5O8ux9F_jxA2Q5yhFyZowN-iwxEKlJ1fBkQNfLOLQwrX94vJYwZjqtjifKyLH_aez9fM/s1600/IMG_0034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO61HjskNdtEkJhL5Z9pIbkgZn9zXzu5fonUl5o_6NlLs0Re-rUZI6HlYKxm9MPFbT1HlSn8Z5O8ux9F_jxA2Q5yhFyZowN-iwxEKlJ1fBkQNfLOLQwrX94vJYwZjqtjifKyLH_aez9fM/s400/IMG_0034.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Tried to get a better picture, but some bloke parked his car in front of the place...</i></b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5rA4a2ot0yV1EUa79thR1sf9aceiFj4yz8GJunUsy9E5yQMcUc2gKK5QLVvbNHKEQcToaHm9mKfO5yg8k_qftr2YOjQxyy9m4TXLDLV1MBaRsQfVnCErw_WXM-zJeEHWphaK7Raa70k/s1600/IMG_0027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5rA4a2ot0yV1EUa79thR1sf9aceiFj4yz8GJunUsy9E5yQMcUc2gKK5QLVvbNHKEQcToaHm9mKfO5yg8k_qftr2YOjQxyy9m4TXLDLV1MBaRsQfVnCErw_WXM-zJeEHWphaK7Raa70k/s400/IMG_0027.JPG" width="400" /></a>If you were to put every one of your preconceptions of South Freo into one place, this would be it. But it would only be telling half the story. This place is seriously good. It's not just the formica tables that everyone over 35 grew up with, or the chairs last seen at Nanna's place. It's the crowd, the pooches tied up outside, the waitresses, and, above everything else, it's the raw atmosphere in the place. As soon as I sat down I felt a strange sensation that I'd never experienced, and no, it wasn't puberty. I felt...cool.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSDAoE2J0YcCtvUwz0n15hG_Ni-k6fBbcxu44njuSP0w9NJM8cbV7gZqTioaSh9fZ4CXmqVqj3bvh8EnS-sWImTLSnSeYNz9FeDJQaDbNgbiCdD3qsPuXQxjLsTxiai6zlpFTs8C6XNc/s1600/IMG_0024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSDAoE2J0YcCtvUwz0n15hG_Ni-k6fBbcxu44njuSP0w9NJM8cbV7gZqTioaSh9fZ4CXmqVqj3bvh8EnS-sWImTLSnSeYNz9FeDJQaDbNgbiCdD3qsPuXQxjLsTxiai6zlpFTs8C6XNc/s320/IMG_0024.JPG" width="320" /></a>Let me start with the first experience as I entered. There is a takeaway coffee counter. Takeaway coffees for $3. Drink 'em inside in the takeaway cup - $4. That was enough for me to like the place immediately. From that counter you can also buy muffins and Mexican softdrinks - don't scoff if you haven't had one, because they have a supercharged taste that you won't have had from any other softy. Like our parkwarb effort a few weeks ago, the Mexican Cola did the rounds of our group for a tasting, ensuring that the coldsore did as well...just kidding fellas. Really. But where else in Australia's most expensive city will you find a decent-sized coffee at this price without seeing a cat squat over the cup? Amazing. And I have to say, I enjoyed the double-shot MichelleBridgesSkinnyMilk Flat White more than I have enjoyed any coffee that I have had with any other reviewed brekky. Yes, it's really that good. And it came out quicker than Peter Slipper.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKwRFEpuJtuPAwtJv3V2Maie_h4bQqxAPZQoIMnqCUUFVpLXVWZyA3VuNUi-scExI_FO9ZbIpyN1hiYPHjsdQYKwL5uG2IQRtr13APjJUbWT0NA5ZbHtSw8etTFMP8WWQ4rM7w8B3jO9U/s1600/IMG_0030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKwRFEpuJtuPAwtJv3V2Maie_h4bQqxAPZQoIMnqCUUFVpLXVWZyA3VuNUi-scExI_FO9ZbIpyN1hiYPHjsdQYKwL5uG2IQRtr13APjJUbWT0NA5ZbHtSw8etTFMP8WWQ4rM7w8B3jO9U/s320/IMG_0030.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZF_Mz7KHmcMZEeiEzB4sMLrWEeizWo3lbGkl7Xlgx-m-ORq0-GEh8PKnxfO-LpRlm2LHQVk7MWYQlUFFKueregIN8W3JdPx4qmxLP3T5zoVXrIP8PsaW3dZghDLZukNrcmSoZjh6aOA/s1600/IMG_0028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZF_Mz7KHmcMZEeiEzB4sMLrWEeizWo3lbGkl7Xlgx-m-ORq0-GEh8PKnxfO-LpRlm2LHQVk7MWYQlUFFKueregIN8W3JdPx4qmxLP3T5zoVXrIP8PsaW3dZghDLZukNrcmSoZjh6aOA/s320/IMG_0028.JPG" width="320" /></a>I had checked out Ootong and Lincoln online. Maybe I'm an internet spasmo, but I couldn't find a menu on their website, so I went to the tried and trusted Urbanspoon in a non-cross-promotional sort of way. I knew that I wanted the Smoked Salmon, Avocado, Sweet Potato Rosti, Poached Egg and Creme Fraiche before I even go there. At $19.50, it sounded great, and when it arrived, it was much better than that. It was the breakfast-version of being the only bloke served free beer by a nude Jennifer Hawkins in front of all your mates whilst watching the Beatles at half time during the Grand Final that your team won. In Bergen, Norway. And like that, after I licked my plate clean, I wanted more. The creme fraiche complemented the salmon and sweet potato like they were all products of the same ecosystem. In South Freo-speak. The egg (singular) was a bit lonesome, and could have done with a mate, but bloody hell, it was perfectly cooked so no points lost.The avocado was just a the right stage of ripeness and the sweet potato was unsurprisingly err...sweet, yet deliciously savoury at the same time. Worlds were colliding in my mouth but fair dinkum it was good. In fact, strangely, as I cleaned up every morsel, for about five minutes I was still hungry. And then I wasn't, but I had another coffee anyway, because I could and because the first one I had whilst I waited with James for Westy to get there was as good as I've ever had.</div>
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Westy had the Bacon, Potato Cake, Spinach, Hollandaise, Poached Egg and Mushrooms ($19.50) which also looked sensational, and from Westy's rolling eyes, involuntary spasms and frequent drooling, probably was. Bad James was also pretty happy with his breakfast with the exception that there wasn't much of it, and I was so absorbed that not only did I not ask him what it was, but I didn't take a photo. </div>
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I can't finish this review without adding some comment about both the waitresses and the punters. Firstly, the service was top-notch. About a thousand people went to the counter at once, and they were eased through efficiently and happily. There is a wheelchair ramp to the counter with walking lanes (up and down) marked on it - and people used them! The waitresses were friendly, chatty-in-a-good-way, and fast. Having observed one in a short skirt and Blundstones, I was about as impressed as I've ever been until another good sort came over in a "Stop Budgie Smuggling" T-shirt. MD - that applies to you - take the freakin' hint.</div>
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And one last thing. The punters - besides our party of three of course - were generally a breed apart. It's almost like a Boys From Brazil-type scenario where there is some South Freo Eclectically Dressed Beautiful People Cloning Centre set up off Hampton Road. One after the other trundled in as if on some conveyor belt. Even the dogs tied up out the from were good looking (and well-behaved - good effort pooches and owners!).</div>
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I thought about Ootong & Lincoln lots on the drive back to Chez Blue. There wasn't anything that I didn't like. The coffee was the best and most reasonably priced that I've had in Perth and oddly for South Freo did not have to pass through some exotic animal before it made its way to my cup. The portion, which at one stage I thought under-sized by 30%, was in hindsight almost-perfect. Go on, Ootong. Or Lincoln. Or Whoever - put just one more egg in there!</div>
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The waitresses (didn't see any waiters) were spot-on. The crowd was beautiful and numerous. And they let dogs sit out the front, which is a personal favorite of mine. It's settled. I'm coming back. Lots.</div>
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Ootong and Lincoln - you're my new favorite.<u><b> 9.5/10</b></u>. One more egg for a 10...<br />
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<a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1572425/restaurant/Perth/Fremantle/Ootong-Lincoln-South-Fremantle" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ootong & Lincoln on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/link/1572425/biglink.gif" style="border: medium none; height: 146px; padding: 0px; width: 200px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz7RvooaJAGxGHt6oWhNKSA2scuNi1wLahwfeMdEwV22SqP0veOwPYcTvcvAYjxyL7xPsgp16dAv4YjUrwZcbWQnf3gwEigABgMlArOUEhnIoH5QdbaAwMd7Ee-ORR4FqPQVOmJ7Z5R1U/s1600/Google+earth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz7RvooaJAGxGHt6oWhNKSA2scuNi1wLahwfeMdEwV22SqP0veOwPYcTvcvAYjxyL7xPsgp16dAv4YjUrwZcbWQnf3gwEigABgMlArOUEhnIoH5QdbaAwMd7Ee-ORR4FqPQVOmJ7Z5R1U/s320/Google+earth.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-76996953112377754292012-11-21T20:58:00.000+08:002012-12-28T22:23:24.035+08:00Billabong Brewing, Myaree<div class="hx a-f-e" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Lu"><span class="uN" title="72A McCoy Street Myaree WA 6154"><span class="lNSV4b"><span style="color: black;">72A Mc Coy St, </span>Myaree WA 6154</span></span></span><span class="Lu"><span class="hS" dir="ltr">, (08) 9317 2940<span style="color: #0000ee;"><span style="color: #0000ee;"> </span> </span><span class="Wxa"></span></span></span><span class="Lu"><a class="a-n r1 cf3rA" href="http://www.billabongbrewing.com.au/" target="_blank">billabongbrewing.com.au</a></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>A bunch of scruffy-looking homeless chaps at Pt Walter.</b></i></td></tr>
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<span class="Lu">Two weeks ago, post paddle, Bad James lived up to his name and at 9.20 am pulled an Esky out of his car, and five of us sat at Pt Walter, under the shade of a pine tree, drinking beer for breakfast.To be honest, there wasn't any sort of quantity involved, merely a six pack of different beers that we attacked like Oprah does a chocolate cake. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The signs behind do not relate to Bad James.</i></b></td></tr>
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<span class="Lu">Last summer we had had the idea of brewing our own beer, and Billabong Brewing in Myaree had been mentioned, but like many of our CORGIs (Chimpanzee/Orangutan Really Good Ideas), quick as a flash, nothing had happened. This summer, it's different. So after a filling breakfast at Cafe 58, Mean Gene, Bad James, Westy and I met Travis the Beetle at Billabong Brewing in Myaree to lay down two brews - a Wheat beer and Nelson Sauvin Ale (N.S.A. - not to be confused with N.S.U.). M4P is also in on this gig but at the last minute he had to return to Adelaide to do some serious smashing of faces into the dough, working himself into a Bad Boy Bubby clingwrap-frenzy in the streets of Port Adelaide ("That be cat! Be still!").</span></div>
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<span class="Lu">The team at Billabong were very helpful. We knew what we wanted so they pointed us in the right direction and a knowledgeable bloke called Andrew pretty much held our hands (in a manly way of course!) through the process. We separated into two teams, one on each brew and set off on our work. Luckily brewing beer involves a lot of waiting, and what better place to wait than in a brewery. At each interval, we grabbed a six-pack and headed up to the mezzanine level where like lords of the manor we were able to survey our creations brewing.</span></div>
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<span class="Lu">The thing that immediately struck us was that of all the blokes in the place every single one of us was sporting a big cheesy grin. What wasn't there to be happy about? </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Mean Gene can't stop paddling.</i></b></td></tr>
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<span class="Lu">It only took about ninety minutes to make about 12 cartons worth of beer, and the total cost was $360. Where can you buy beer for $30 a case these days? Sure we still have to bottle it soon (BYO bottles or buy them for $75 per batch), but we'll be bottling it IN A BREWERY. One for the case, one for me, one for the case, one for me...</span></div>
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<span class="Lu">Billabong have a shedload of different recipes you can brew. Check out the web site. They also have a 'beer bank' where you can deposit one of your sixpacks and swap it for a different kind. Ingenious! </span></div>
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<span class="Lu">If they did hot food and had big-screen TVs with sports on, I'd never leave the place. Now all I need are midgets and Shetland ponies.</span></div>
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<span class="Lu">I'll do an update on this post once we bottle it. Cheers!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Australian Safety Boots.</i></b></td></tr>
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Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-50030432541437176902012-11-21T19:50:00.002+08:002012-12-28T22:23:54.059+08:00Cafe 58, Palmyra<i><b>Meandering in East Freo - 11km</b></i><br />
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Another cracker of a morning - winds gusting from the west to 15kts, but in the lee of the Bicton cliffs it was serene. I had mounted my new toy - a GoPro camera - on the front of the boat and was taking it for its maiden voyage. Until I get myself sorted to create and edit the video I'll spare you all the entire paddle on video. My geriatric brain is obviously showing signs of Alzheimers because I had a complete mental blank on how to start my Garmin GPS watch and like a good Gorilla Biscuit employee pretty much just screached whilst randomly smacking the screen and pushing buttons until it appeared to work. God knows how I'll get it to stop, because I think it tracked my paddle all the way back down Stock Road as well.</div>
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I was offloading the boat when I saw an old duck from England who had been driven down to Pt Walter by her mate and was intently making her way to the jetty armed with a fishing rod. Oblivious to the wind, she was as keen as mustard to hook in to a massive WA fish, but was destined for the angler's disappointment present in the large Blowie population that lives around the wharf. Feeling sorry for her that she had flown 17000 miles to catch sweet FA, I directed her into the lee of Bicton, and gave her directions to a small, quiet suburban jetty.</div>
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We were only a trio this morning, with M4P flying back to Adelaide after receiving the astonishing news that there were still some uneaten chicken schnitzels at the Coopers Ale House and Bad James spending some quality time at home with his Mum. Westy, Mean Gene and I hit the water at 7.30 and leisurely made our way down river. Mean Gene was a little bit uprightly-challenged from the outset on only his third paddle but sporting a massive set of tackle-busting shoulders, when he gets the hang of things he's going to leave us all for dead. In the meantime however, his frustration was providing much comic relief.</div>
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As we cleared the Bicton cliffs, we went past the Anglo Anglette fishing off the small wharf just as she hauled in a decent-sized flathead. As it landed on the wharf it looked like she was flapping around more than the 'lizard' was as she squealed in some cockney dialect that might have approached joy.</div>
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I'm not sure what happened this morning - perhaps there was a sudden influx of trackie-wearing, VB-drinking, Commodore-driving people into Peppermint Grove requiring the complete evacuation of the wealthy lest their eyes combust at the sight of so many pairs of double-pluggers - but there was an inordinate number of luxurious Gin Palaces cruising down the Swan River. Multiple "Bastards" comments were required, but the wakes of these floating cities offered a golden opportunity to do a bit of surfing in the river.</div>
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A bit of impromptu sprint/interval training occurred up and down Blackwell Reach as I (somewhat unsuccessfully) tried to get into "the zone" right behind several iterations of the Titanic. The V10 Sport was far quicker in a sprint than my Endorfinn, but still being a little unstable on the boat I spent quite a bit of time trying to remain upright. Westy obviously bought a much faster Endorfinn that my old one, because he was powering onto the wakes without too much trouble at all. </div>
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By the time we hauled the boats out, I was feeling it after the sprints and bugger-all paddling in the last few months. What passes for a torso is now bracketed with nothing more than joke-shoulders and my "guns" wouldn't have won a gunfight at the Nerf corral. I was very mindful of this being my last weekend before I was involuntarily enslaved by the Michelle Bridges 12 Week Body Transformation diet, so by God I was going to enjoy this breakfast and the Blokefest immediately afterwards...</div>
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<i><b>Cafe 58 Espresso Bar, 58 Carrington St, Palmyra, 6157, (08) 9339 7155</b></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0CzEIAg9PpiqX54ZNkqT_w0RrNIM8W-2dtvS4D4wreE4ctYjyZoAU0JObbcQ584Tlb0RiwLHKLj36PtlLWiGBE5TK1z5OGmu10YY2SqfDUAOzy000_t0bAtfAlEOWowEVxYL6JMstTHU/s1600/IMG_0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0CzEIAg9PpiqX54ZNkqT_w0RrNIM8W-2dtvS4D4wreE4ctYjyZoAU0JObbcQ584Tlb0RiwLHKLj36PtlLWiGBE5TK1z5OGmu10YY2SqfDUAOzy000_t0bAtfAlEOWowEVxYL6JMstTHU/s400/IMG_0007.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I like this place. I like the tables out on the corner. I like the tables inside, the ones on the verandah, and I like the courtyard. I like that there is a stack of convenient parking. Every time I've eaten here the staff have been very friendly without hanging around like Herpes and fishing for compliments every 5 minutes (read Bernard Salt's piece in the Weekend Australian 10 Nov 12 that describes this phenomena very well). The breakfast menu is bloody good and very reasonably priced, with only the Cafe 58 Big Breakfast over $20 ($23). Sweets and savouries appear in equal portions.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>This (half-eaten) muffin is clearly bigger than Bad James' head.</b></i></td></tr>
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Bad James, fresh from jostling with his Mum for freshly-cooked biscuits, was waiting for us for we had a task at hand soon after. As we walked in to the courtyard at 9.45am, the last of the early breakfast crowd was departing, so we had the run of the place. A chap snappily took our coffee orders whilst we perused the menu. The sun was shining as a friendly lass delivered our brews (hold on to that word for the next post) in near-record time. </div>
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Bad James had already had breakfast and settled for a blueberry muffin, which when it emerged from the kitchen with a forklift and handling team was pretty much bigger than his head. The photo doesn't do it justice - he'd eaten a large chunk of it before I could say "James can you wait for a..." so I asked him to put the top back on (Bad James frequently knocks the top off) for a shot.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Turkish D'Lite</b></i></td></tr>
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Westy went for the Turkish D'Lite (Turkish bread spread with avocado, rocket, grilled tomato and poached eggs - $17) with a side of bacon ($4) which looked pretty good. Mean Gene was into the Bacon and Eggs on Toast (self-descriptive - $15) which also looked delicious. Both these hungry paddlers looked happy with their choices and the empty plates at the end of the meal and almost complete silence from us all in the interval spoke volumes about Cafe 58's meals.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Before.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>After.</b></i></td></tr>
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Obviously keen to transform my body (probably into something resembling Bad James' XXXXXL muffin) in less than 12 weeks, I had Eggs Tuscany (poached eggs and smoked salmon on toast with Hollandaise sauce) ($19) with a unMichelle-sized side of bacon ($4). The eggs looked a bit lonely on the large slices of salmon-covered thickly-sliced toast, and the dish could have done with a little more Hollandaise, but it was certainly tasty, and my just-the-right-strength coffee washed it down well. And the bacon...nice and thick, beautifully cooked, and a pile of it Emma George couldn't pole-vault over. Whilst I'm on the subject of bacon, I had a pint of bacon-brewed beer whilst at the Quarrie Bar at Hammond Park the other day. Couldn't quite taste bacon, but it was a nice brown ale, proving that there is nothing that can't be made better with fried pig. But I digress. I have to say, the breakfast was ample, tasty and outstanding value. The service was attentive without being painful and the staff were all very pleasant, smiley and a credit to the place - the owner should be very happy with them! (Disclaimer - I don't know any staff at Cafe 58!). </div>
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We all enjoyed our meal at Cafe 58, but we were on a tight schedule. In an uncharacteristic fit of planning ahead, we were heading to the Billabong Brewery at Myaree to meet Travis the Beetle to lay down the equivalent of 12 cartons of beer for Christmas - a very blokey way to finish the morning.<span id="goog_1781116239"></span><span id="goog_1781116240"></span></div>
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Cafe 58 - I'll definitely go back, like I've been doing for years. You should too. 7/10</div>
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<a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1370127/restaurant/Perth/Melville/Cafe-58-Espresso-Bar-Palmyra"><img alt="Cafe 58 Espresso Bar on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/logo/1370127/biglogo.gif" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a></div>
Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-48047657821864165852012-11-10T22:15:00.001+08:002012-11-11T07:30:14.916+08:00I Am Bloke. Hear Me Roar.<div style="text-align: justify;">
There is only one word to describe my first Saturday paddle after 6 months - awesome. The weather was perfect - a crisp Perth Spring day, not a breath of wind and not a ripple on the Swan River. It doesn't get any better than this and I felt so lucky to be on the water that I wouldn't have had a bigger grin if my old fella weighed the proverbial metric tonne. Or even an imperial ton. </div>
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A (relatively) big turnout was expected at Point Walter this morning - M4P had flown back from Adelaide just to paddle, Mean Gene was joining the crew, Bad James was in town, Westy was on his first Saturday paddle in a million years (there may be an exaggeration factor applied there) and I had returned from swanning around on the company dollar. At one stage we thought Travis the Beetle was coming as well, until he developed Manflu. The World Health Organisation had quarantined five blocks around his Fremantle residence on hearing of an outbreak of Manflu, so there was no chance of him breaking the containment lines. Good James had also been invited but since he left Gorilla Biscuit Pty Ltd to rape the world's fossil fuels, he had developed a rash from wiping his bum with hundred-dollar bills. Lucky bugger. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVg1bnjQOIlpbcyjVZbZGWY-vpkjUW7VG0Je3qTXkEMDNdlY8AIA-53BO4vOdsvkpq7ecnnAd9fo-QjoK_rOjgfPxpwM4s7354HtsKptk2zFNxdU1CGXkkvuAuVfEqBnLl-fbcVFtpFvs/s1600/DSCF1348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVg1bnjQOIlpbcyjVZbZGWY-vpkjUW7VG0Je3qTXkEMDNdlY8AIA-53BO4vOdsvkpq7ecnnAd9fo-QjoK_rOjgfPxpwM4s7354HtsKptk2zFNxdU1CGXkkvuAuVfEqBnLl-fbcVFtpFvs/s320/DSCF1348.JPG" width="320" /></a>Due to a communications issue I hadn't brought my Endorfinn for Mean Gene, thinking he wasn't coming. When I arrived 20 minutes early and saw Mean Gene keen as a teen queen (yes, I know I'm reaching with that rhyme) I snappily took the F1-like diesel Captiva back home to grab it. In the 45 minutes it took me to return, everyone except Westy had rightly hit the water. Westy has been paddling twice a week for the six months since I left and is bloody quick as I found out last Tuesday, so I was very glad this was a social paddle, even if we were playing catch up. Past the Bicton baths we found our elusive quarries and after mucking around in the wash of some passing speed boats headed up to Mosman Bay. </div>
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Mean Gene was much more stable in Westy's Endorfinn than he was last summer and even on the rare occasion that he fell out, the water was beautiful so it wasn't exactly a tragic event. </div>
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By 0920 the boats were back on the cars, and my waterproof Fuji camera had performed a credible impersonation of a fishtank. The 3-inch screen resembled a porthole on the Titanic. Luckily, as we sat down under a shady tree to sample the Billabong Brewery sixpack that Bad James had brought, he had also brought a camera-phone to prove that we weren't the homeless warbs that we appeared to be should we be (probably deservedly) arrested. </div>
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Next weekend we collectively commence brewing two varieties of beer and a ginger beer (for the lovely ladies that put up with us) in preparation for the festive season. Stand by for a grammatically-poor, tonally-slurring blog. More importantly, the beer-for-breakfast bar has been set, and we were all very happy to pre-sage the fried pig with some very tasty brews. As 40-somethings (the new 30-somethings by the way) all this is definitely socially acceptable. Just ask us. </div>
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<b>Zephyrs Cafe, East Fremantle</b> </div>
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I've already reviewed Zephyr's. It's tops. We arrived there at 10am and sat down at the best table in the house, overlooking the Swan. The food is just as good as it was on the last review, although I don't recall the child-labour last time. The chap delivering our smouldering pig would have struggled to look 12. Even a Hunter Valley Catholic Choirmaster would have thought him too young (too soon?).</div>
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The important part of this breakfast was my discovery that there is such an animal as a Mummy Blog. Apparently someone called Mia Freedman coos and bubbles at the the joys of the crying little shite machines that we spawn. Look, let's be serious. When kids get to the point of sensible conversation...err...actually just conversation at all...they're tops. When all you get is double-ended projectile excretions as you sit down for lunch at the pub then it isn't so much fun. Mummy Blogs...WTF? Apparently Mia makes a fortune out of describing little Lateesha-May's last bowel movements - crikey, is anyone really that interested? If they are, I'm more than happy to blog about my own personal modern use of the cubit measurement (the length of a forearm).</div>
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Punters - there needs to be a revolt against the rise of Mummy Blogs. A counter-culture needs to emerge. It starts here - PBP is it. Send me stories of all things manly and I'll publish them. Unless of course they are un-Australian or lame, in which case I'll forward them to Mia's Mummy Blog. Make sure you are puffing a stogie and imbibing a single malt whilst watching contact sports when you are doing it.</div>
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I am Bloke. Hear me roar. </div>
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Viva Le Coq.</div>
Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-87447744497907319982012-11-10T19:30:00.000+08:002012-11-11T07:25:55.174+08:00Eggs 'n Things, Waikiki, Oahu<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Sorry punters - this review was written months ago and sat as a draft, unpublished. Here it is for your viewing pleasure.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYvEdk9S7aOEO9tLtMOzfxw9Od5nM0a9JuyIJrfwHn-zE_p1cgibTUNFnnx_XLO06F9SZrQsYQ0kSnbqlJfnVVU90h_qa1_wjbSsHSs7kRugbyO75rD5jG2Ez8YF7SaeLb6Lg2RhnZO8/s1600/DSCF1271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYvEdk9S7aOEO9tLtMOzfxw9Od5nM0a9JuyIJrfwHn-zE_p1cgibTUNFnnx_XLO06F9SZrQsYQ0kSnbqlJfnVVU90h_qa1_wjbSsHSs7kRugbyO75rD5jG2Ez8YF7SaeLb6Lg2RhnZO8/s400/DSCF1271.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Diamond Head - from a Waikiki surf paddle.</b></i></td></tr>
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<i> </i> <br />
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Biscuits - the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Gorilla Biscuit 'A' Team on their 6 month mission to explore strange new ugly scones, to seek out new exceedingly ugly employees, to boldly go where no biscuit maker has gone before...There is no other job that will send you halfway around the world just to ensure that you can smack your own head onto a table as often and as effectively. Gorilla Biscuits Pty Ltd is that company.</div>
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In the quest to be a stronger paddler I took some advice from Molokai Geoff last week and arranged a training session with one of the world's best paddlers on Saturday. Zsolt Szadovszki does one-on-one training classes for the meagre sum of $65 per hour, and I've got to say, I was mighty impressed. For an old bloke with a spare tyre more akin to a Mack truck than a Barina, I thought Zsolt was going to near-on kill me, and I wondered if I was wasting the man's time. Those impressions were knocked on the head as soon as I met the man - he was a deadset top bloke and couldn't have been more helpful. </div>
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I met Zsolt at his house in Hawaii Kai, which to the uninitiated is a canal suburb about 20km to the East of Waikiki. It was pretty clear which house was his - 6 Epic skis of varying descriptions were slung under the carport. Since I paddled the V10 Sport the other day, and since Mrs Blue has (kind of) given me the royal seal of approval to get one, I chose one of these for the session. This time, I didn't fall out even once. Zsolt was in a V8, just in case I had issues with stability and felt the need to swap. </div>
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Immediately, Zsolt gave me some great tips on my stroke. The info was coming thick and fast, and seeing that I was going to have a problem remembering it all, we focussed on two areas. I was filmed and after the session, the 'before' and 'after' comparisons were made. 'Before', for example, it was clear that I had no idea what I was doing and when I paddled I resembled a podgy 41 year old bloke trying to breakdance. 'After', I knew where some areas of improvement could be made and when I paddled I resembled a podgy 41 year old bloke trying to breakdance. Clearly, there was a difference.</div>
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An hour paddling around Hawaii Kai made the class worth it. Being coached by a paddling legend was icing on the cake. Now to organise the V10 Sport and get it shipped home on the Gorilla Biscuit Express..."Tell 'im he's dreamin..." says Mrs Blue.</div>
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<h4 style="text-align: justify;">
Eggs 'n Things - 343 Saratoga Rd, Honolulu, Hawaii, +1 808 923 EGGS, <a href="http://www.eggsnthings.com/">http://www.eggsnthings.com/</a></h4>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDDhUeZdqwcYumaTjoBbu7gsS1LdTFR4wWlQ7Dyzh4WmefTGhtdwNXk-_Tf-k8WuVWvEk8OQgzdDaO0GdzTLptuUXVu2II4RqtEs00vg0XTzgSaANdD4_y4xA2va5ihSXm3PLiPr3LZY/s1600/DSCF1268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDDhUeZdqwcYumaTjoBbu7gsS1LdTFR4wWlQ7Dyzh4WmefTGhtdwNXk-_Tf-k8WuVWvEk8OQgzdDaO0GdzTLptuUXVu2II4RqtEs00vg0XTzgSaANdD4_y4xA2va5ihSXm3PLiPr3LZY/s320/DSCF1268.JPG" width="320" /></a>I walked around to Eggs 'n Things at 0730, having seen massive queues out the front on various days. Those of you who read this blog regularly will know how much I hate queues, and particularly breakfast queues. When I got there, at 0730, there was a queue. Apparently Japanese tourists don't party like rock stars and sleep in until midday. Not happy, Jan.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The queue on the left, and the stairway to hell, right.</i></b></td></tr>
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I was, however, there on my Pat Malone, which was my one saving grace and had prepared well for this eventuality by bringing a book. Having been given my buzzer - the place does not taking bookings - I waited for about 20 minutes before I was called forth to ascend the steps of destiny and enter the Holy Breakfast Shrine that was perched above the shop that advertised 'Smoking Implements'. As I climbed towards the light I could almost hear the sound of harps. I was seated at a bench overlooking the US Postal Service truck park, and with that ambience distracting me had not even picked up a menu before the waiter was there to take my drink order. A snappy look over the menu had my eyes rest firmly on Pineapple Tea, and it was there in a flash.</div>
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Eggs 'n Things, whilst obviously serving ...err... eggs 'n things seems to cater to the sweeter tooth slightly more than the savoury. There were shedloads of different crepes, pancakes and waffles and the lady next to me had a plate of five pancakes with a few blueberries, some icing sugar and a pile of whipped cream the size of a human head, in stark contrast to her 40kg-wringing-wet frame. There is also quite the selection of Spam-related breakfast choices. Yes. Spam.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Straight from a can, most likely.</b></i></td></tr>
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I settled for Crab Cake Benedict, imagining a freshly made crab cake drizzled with Hollandaise over two beautifully poached eggs. Computer says 'No'. What came out was the required English muffins with straight-out-of-the-packet crab cakes, barely cooked eggs (the white was even runny <gags>) and the sweetest Hollandaise I have ever tasted. I couldn't finish one, let alone the other. I paid my bill, leaving a tip "Cook the freakin' eggs!!!" and beat a retreat, running back to the hotel, all the while squealing "Make the bad man stop! Make the bad man stop!"</div>
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Never. Again.<br />
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Eggs 'n Things. 1/10. It gets a point for the view - if you like postie vans.<br />
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<a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/br/338/7467/Perth/Perth-Breakfast-Paddles.html"><img alt="Perth Breakfast Paddles Perth restaurants" src="http://a2.urbancdn.com/images/1/badge/featured_blog.gif" style="border: none; height: 48px; padding: 0px; width: 134px;" /></a>
<a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/37/1433312/restaurant/Hawaii/Waikiki/Eggs-n-Things-Honolulu"><img alt="Eggs 'n Things on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/logo/1433312/biglogo.gif" style="border: none; height: 34px; padding: 0px; width: 104px;" /></a>Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-21694668760090638482012-11-10T18:44:00.003+08:002012-11-10T19:07:40.078+08:00A Long Time Between Drinks (Figuratively, Not Literally - That Would Be Silly...)<div style="text-align: justify;">
I start with the disclaimer that this post is not really about a breakfast paddle. I'm really just writing about some great water-related stuff from my few months in the Pacific. Its been a long time - nearly six months - since I've paddled here in Perth. Having spent several of those months in Hawaii and completely missed the WA winter, I returned last weekend, bring my trusty new steed - an Epic V10 Sport - with me.</div>
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<i><b>Wave-skiing at Waikiki...</b></i> </div>
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I had about four paddles in the Sandwich Isles, and even had a paddling class with ocean racing champion Zsolt Szadovzski. Mostly those paddles were more about my swimming technique, but it's the thought that counts. Molokai Geoff took me to the Mokes - near Kailua, Oahu - where I managed to bend my rudder post in a turtle-avoidance manoeuvre in amongst the reefs. In another paddle around Birdshit Rock, I made thirteen attempts to get back on the ski after I fell out just twice, resulting in a purple chest (or that part of my torso that resembles one) the next day and having my left testicle wedged on the outer side of the cockpit (pardon the pun) whilst the meat, other potato and the attached 100+kg of human swung onto the inboard side of the boat resulted in a few choice examples of Australian vernacular such as 'Oh golly gosh my crikey'. Or thereabouts.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Passing Birdshit Rock</b></i></td></tr>
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Birdshit Rock is about 4km out from the mouth of the Kailua Canal. Oddly, having lived in Kailua for 2 years and surfed there almost every day, I don't recall the chop being so significant, but then again, it probably wasn't. In hindsight, the wobbles I was experiencing were most likely self-induced as I struggled with the stability of the slick, long hull. Molokai Geoff had no such troubles on his V12 and even when he did fall off was back in before my blade hit the water. Bastard.</div>
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I was almost run down by a Hobie Cat as I rounded Birdshit, and with constant death-wobbles I couldn't look anywhere but right ahead. Molokai Geoff was yelling, but I wasn't hearing, so it wasn't until the end of the paddle that he was able to describe the vision of loveliness that had nearly run me down with the Hobie Cat. It didn't matter - it could have been crewed by Jen Hawkins, Nicole Kidman and Sophie Vergalas all in the buff - because if I'd looked sideways I would have been out and swept onto Birdshit Rock...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Kailua Canal leading to MG's house</i></b></td></tr>
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The Kailua canal, which MG's house backs on to, is choc full of sea turtles and Hammerhead sharks. The sea turtles are huge and more hazardous to the boat than the sharks as they will take out a rudder if you hit one. What is even better is that only 200 yards up the canal is a pub that also backs on to the water. Pinky's Pupu Bar and Grill is a great place to go on a Sunday morning to watch back-to-back NFL games. And it would be criminal to go past it without stopping for one of their famous frosty fishbowls of beer...</div>
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<tr align="justify"><td class="tr-caption"><b><i>For the victor come the spoils.</i></b></td></tr>
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Unlike Perth where we now have to hand over the deeds to the house just to get a pint, beer in Hawaii is still at decent prices - the fishbowl above? $5. One-litre stein at the Dixie Bar and Grill in Aiea, Oahu - $6.50. And if you think that's tops then it gets better because while I was there the little Aussie dollar was making the greenback look like the Pacific peso. They were almost paying me to drink their beer. Still, I've never been one to shy away from doing a bit of charity work - in this case stimulating the US economy single-handedly.</div>
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What follows below are a few pics from our paddle out to the Mokes, just of Lanikai, Oahu. I'd never been out there before and the route was pretty treacherous due to numerous bomboras, reefs and swells coming in from different directions. On a number of occasions I thought my scone was going to be introduced to the coral at a great rate of knots, only to be pissed and amazed to remain upright. </div>
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The video above is of Molokai Geoff surfing between the two Mokes. My enthusiasm to have a go was far outweighed by my unco-ness on the V10 so I left it to the expert.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifHD8cN0bh07afn1Ar3h-VWfKRmSzi868BKFsd_uT2P_gQn96UPjP4kQvMR1sXx_LvMiDjxMrP2YEJtfldwDT7_TgqIypW4DitZELo6A3rYiaSvCYXhTkvGoGcOBtS4EhcqE1oImA-TQU/s1600/DSCF1303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifHD8cN0bh07afn1Ar3h-VWfKRmSzi868BKFsd_uT2P_gQn96UPjP4kQvMR1sXx_LvMiDjxMrP2YEJtfldwDT7_TgqIypW4DitZELo6A3rYiaSvCYXhTkvGoGcOBtS4EhcqE1oImA-TQU/s320/DSCF1303.JPG" width="320" /></a>The Mokes were awesome - there is the most serene tidal pool on the seaward side, and I was filthy on myself for not bringing a six pack to drink in the thirty seconds of sunlight my bloodnutted body can tolerate before looking like a deadset lobster. You can see how good it was by the video above.</div>
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I enjoyed my time away on a scouting mission for new talent to join Gorilla Biscuit Inc. There are some rather prime examples of Spam-fed monsters over there who would be a great addition to the biscuit line. But after six months away, it is really good to be back home. Thanks for the patience and getting this blog to over 5000 hits. </div>
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<br />Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-89992662587819660182012-07-27T05:04:00.000+08:002012-07-27T05:04:22.632+08:00Magnum 5-0...<div style="text-align: justify;">
Its been a couple of months since I posted on Perth Breakfast Paddles, and this post is a ring in, because I'm not in Kansas anymore Toto. I'm in Hawaii, islands of volcanoes, big surf, Magnum PI, Lost, Hawaii 5-O and the cult of Spam worship (no, I'm not kidding).</div>
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It might be mid summer here but my paddling adventures on the Windward side of Oahu have been anything but smooth waters...</div>
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It was the morning after the night before. Molokai Geoff and I had been out to a great restaurant in Kailua - Formaggio's - and were feeling somewhat the worse for wear. Particularly Geoff, who on our 1am meandering walk home had run his hand along a fence and fed his index finger to an acrobatic pitbull that just wouldn't take “F$$k off!” for an answer.</div>
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After retrieving the car and a spot of breakfast at Whole Foods (a gourmet supermarket – the only place we could get a seat) we went to Twogood Kayaks, owned by local paddling legend Bob Twogood. Bob had kindly agreed to loan me an Epic V10 Sport so I could go for a paddle with the reigning Hawaiian State Surfski Champion, own own Molokai Geoff (his first race ever. Really.) I had never paddled anything but a plastic before so it was with some trepidation that we hit the Kailua canal from the grassy shores of Chez Geoff. MG was on his race-proven Epic V12, and is looking as fit as I have ever seen him. I, on the other hand, was looking like I had been imprisoned in a doughnut factory for the past 8 weeks. My trusty steed back home, the Finn Endorfinn, has a separate footwell for each foot and no footstraps, so the feet-together-and-strapped-in rig of the V10 Ultra was alien. I had anticipated spending quite some time in the drink despite the famed stability of the V10 Sport, as the beam width was significantly less than the Endorfinn. </div>
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As I headed of down the canal, I was blown away at how fast and stable the V10 Sport was. The surf rudder gave it a vastly different feel from the trailing rudder on my Endorfinn, and as I pushed my foot down to turn, the whole boat went with the rudder movement. I was instantly able to get a good leg drive going even after so many weeks without paddling and really enjoyed my first non-plastic paddle.</div>
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The canal was full of very large sea turtles ('Honu' - in the local lingo) as we went past one of my old haunts – Pinkys Pupu Bar and Grill, which sadly looks like it has seen better days. These Honu are not much fun to hit and will apparently take out a rudder quick smart.</div>
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By the time we went past Obama's holiday house (I'm not kidding about that either) the conditions were not favorable for a fat bloke out on his first paddle on a thin bloke's ski. The surf, although not large, was choppy as we paddled into a stiff 15-20kt breeze. I got a surprising distance out before I fell out for the first and only time. I got back on, but not quite in, quickly, and just as quickly was back in the drink. The leashless paddle floated away before MG brought it back and I could remount successfully. <br />An uncommon attack of common sense overwhelmed me (where was it the night before when we were in the dodgiest bar in Kailua?) and I told MG that I wasn't particularly happy about heading out further when the next landmass we would get to would be Alaska, so we turned around, and thats when it really became fun.</div>
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I rode a waveski for years in my late teens/early 20s and loved it. Whilst the ride is a little different, like the ladies at the Coogee Bay Hotel in the mid 90s the V10 Sport only required minor effort before I was picked up. Unlike anything that may or may not have happened back then, this ride was long, satisfying and most certainly enjoyable and I had no urge to take a Crying Game shower when it all finished. MG kindly filmed a heap of stuff on his Go Pro camera during our brief 5km paddle (including my turtle-on-its-back efforts to get back into the boat!), but the thing I was left with was an overwhelming desire to get a V10 Sport. Now. I don't think Mrs Blue will be very happy about that, but hey, forgiveness is easier to get than permission, and five and a half months of absence is surely going to make her heart grow fonder....<br />Isn't it?</div>Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-48969783010797436322012-05-06T18:23:00.001+08:002012-05-06T18:23:19.733+08:00Aloha Perth...In the quest for new examples of hideousness at Gorilla Biscuit Inc, I will be taking to the road for the greater part of the year, starting this week. Whilst there won't be any reviews of Perth breakfast haunts, there may be something from the East Coast (if Bucko lends me a ski and we paddle in the middle of winter!) and the mid Pacific (if Wads lends me a ski between Mai Tais!).<br />
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Thanks to all who have visited in the last 4 months, topping out at 3000 hits on the site today. There will be more paddling and reviews (and perhaps a new ski) when I return...<br />
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Aloha Perth.<br />
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BlueBluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-66761886572447611032012-04-21T20:28:00.000+08:002012-04-21T20:28:11.621+08:00A Reviewless Few WeeksSorry all. There hasn't been a review in a while.<br />
The idea was to review Cafe 58 in Palmyra today but some doofus forgot his camera. Because of this, Lumos in White Gum Valley got a return visit...<br />
Westy and I did manage to smash our Bridges record today, so some good came of things. <br />
Perhaps next week...Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-82840039077787826382012-04-01T18:26:00.001+08:002012-04-01T18:29:05.439+08:00The Crowded House, South Fremantle<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Coogee Beach to Africa (unsuccessfully), 11.8km</i></b></div>
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<i>The weather started getting rough, the tiny skis were tossed...If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the Endorfinns would be lost... </i></div>
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Whilst it wasn't quite a Gilligan's Island scenario, our attempt to reach Carnac Island by paddling into a solid 15kt westerly was quite obviously doomed to fail very shortly after we left the beach. Conjured up over a bottle of red last night, this paddle was always going to be a little ambitious and thankfully we were able to recognise when we had reached the point where to keep paddling (next stop Somalia) may have been, to put it delicately, bloody ridiculous.</div>
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If you're wondering why there aren't an pictures of this paddle, it isn't because I didn't bring the camera - I spent much of my time on this paddle trying to stay on the ski. Unsuccessfully, I may add. </div>
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The boats went in just north of the Coogee Beach jetty with a light easterly at our backs. There weren't any whitecaps, and whilst Carnac Island looked much further than the 9km that Google Earth had told us, there was no sign of the washing machine that Cockburn Sound would shortly turn into. Seabreeze had picked the 15kt westerly quite well, but the conditions at the start of our trans-Indian odyssey were just the opposite. We were starting out on Lake Placid.</div>
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I had barely started the Garmin when things changed. Easterly turned into westerly in the blink of an eye, and we were smashing into it, but still remaining relatively dry. The first kilometre was still fairly quick, but it didn't take long for that to change as well. To be honest, paddling into the wind wasn't that difficult - it was when we turned around that those cursed trailing rudders made life difficult. </div>
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We were about half way to Carnac when our attack of common sense took hold, and by that stage the chop was throwing us everywhere. We were looking forward to going back with the swell and chop but it soon became clear that any idea of long, fast rides on a clean wave were definitely fanciful. Having made clean turns back towards the beach, it wasn't long before both Westy and I were thrown from our faithful steeds on multiple occasions. I have to admit, as I was climbing back onboard after falling off 4km from the nearest beach, thoughts of the poor bloke who was taken by a Great White yesterday motivated me to complete the exercise somewhat quicker than I normally would.</div>
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After 7 impromptu swims between us, we took a detour to check out the Port Coogee canals, both convinced that between us we had obviously won the $21 million Lotto draw last night, and wondering how 2 Endorfinns would look perched on an Aston Martin Vanquish. The canals offered a little bit of refuge from the maelstrom that had erupted in the sound, and were nice to paddle through. The little beach and barbecue area looked great for the kids so if you're looking for a good spot, this is it. There were heaps of fish in the canals as well.</div>
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By the time we got back to the beach, it had only been just under 12km, but it's safe to say that it felt like 22km. Next time a flare, EPIRB, and large dose of self-preservation will be needed. </div>
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The Coogee festival was in full swing and the car park chockers, so we were glad to be on our way to South Fremantle for a tasty breakfast.</div>
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<i><b>The Crowded House, South Fremantle, 25 Douro Rd, South Fremantle, 6162, (08) 9336 4147, thecrowdedhouse.com.au</b></i></div>
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We were actually on our way to find The Pickled Fig when we saw The Crowded House on Douro Rd, and it looked like just the ticket, so we turned around, got a George Costanza-like parking spot right outside the front door and walked in. I've eaten in another restaurant that used this building many years ago, and it was good to be back - especially when it really looked the goods in its present form. Rustic loaves were for sale behind the counter and looked and smelt delicious.</div>
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The place was almost full, but we were still able to get a good table - does that mean there is by definition an evil table? - near the windows. A vision of beauty with a West Coast American accent soon had some very welcomed coffees inbound, and one look at the menu was enough to make up both our minds with a single word - 'Benedict'. Poached eggs with a barramundi fishcake, spanish onion, fresh mint and caviar with hollandaise sauce on thickly cut toast ($22) is not quite 'Benedict' in the classical sense, but let me tell you, it sounded like just the ticket. Westy ordered a side of mushrooms, as he normally does, and I fought hard to resist ordering a side of bacon having eaten enough to feed a small African nation yesterday.</div>
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As we tucked into another delicious coffee, what came out for breakfast was art on a plate.</div>
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The Benedict was as good to behold as it was to eat. The hollandaise had a tang that was enhanced by the mint and spanish onion, and there was enough of it to cover the meal well. The toast was so light that it melted in my mouth. The barramundi fishcake tasted like it was made to be eaten with poached eggs and hollandaise, only wanting for a little more seasoning. The eggs were poached like they were supposed to be presented on Masterchef, and whilst I like my eggs a little more well done, if I eat here more often I may be converted.</div>
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Westy's side of mushrooms were simply the best I have ever tasted. A semi-sweet sauce coated the perfectly cooked fungi. </div>
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The atmosphere in The Crowded House was very relaxed and this is just the place to read the paper whilst tucking in to a very, very good start to the weekend. There was absolutely nothing I didn't like about this restaurant. The food was exceptional, the service prompt, attentive and definitely easy on the optics, the menu varied and interesting on all counts and the prices reasonable.</div>
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The Crowded House gets a resounding 9/10. <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1549293/restaurant/Perth/Fremantle/The-Crowded-House-South-Fremantle"><img alt="The Crowded House on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/logo/1549293/biglogo.gif" style="border:none;width:104px;height:34px" /></a> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"Hey! I can see Mogadishu from here!"</b></i></td></tr>
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<br /></div>Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-43960855369139828902012-03-24T15:53:00.000+08:002012-03-24T15:53:47.868+08:00Walters River Cafe, Point Walter<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>The Narrows to Point Walter via Mosman Bay, 12.75km, Wind ENE 20kts</b></i> </div>
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I knew it was going to be good today, as I drove down Stock Road in Palmyra. 6.30am on a Saturday morning and two examples of young ladies doing the 'walk of shame' from wherever they had woken up. One was so hilariously funny with birds nest-like bed hair, ludicrously short dress and contrastingly high heels that she could have been the poster girl for 'The Walk'. Either that, or she was a prostitute hoping to get an early start on the competition. Don't get me wrong - I am not being judgmental nor holier than thou. I may have found myself in unfamiliar territory once or twice in my youth - although being a bloke there wasn't much shame involved because most wouldn't normally consider that sort of thing a shameful event. Unless you went for quantity over quality and your mates caught you. Regardless, both girls made my morning only a few minutes after it started.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Bad James sets off.</i></b></td></tr>
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Bad James, Westy and I met at Point Walter with the intention of doing a run to the bridges at Fremantle but when we arrived it was blowing dogs off chains. The kite surfers were speaking some indecipherable tongue loudly and staccato, which seemed to indicate excitement. The thought of coming back into the wind all the way from Freo didn't do it for us so we hatched a plan so cunning that you could stick a tail on it and call it a weasel. A quick car shuffle and call to Mrs Westy later (sorry - but we did know you were already awake!) we were on our way to The Narrows to do a down-winder.</div>
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When we arrived, being in the lee of the city it was very calm, and we slid in with a view to heading for Heathcote before turning tail to the wind and riding the chop all the way back, and that's exactly what happened. It gets quite shallow at the point at Crawley and when the chop hits the seawall of the yacht club at Nedlands it turns the water into a washing machine, so we were able to studiously avoid these places. At one stage we were doing 12.5km/h with 20kts of wind behind us - not bad for two Endorfinns and a big Mirage sea kayak!</div>
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A couple of weeks back my former boss at Gorilla Biscuits Pty Ltd - Mr Silverback - gave me a hint on hand width whilst paddling and I have to say, it's been great. I had my hands too far apart and my paddle not extended far enough, so have widened it by 5cm and incorporated some training tips from ratherbepaddling.com.au and I am now doing faster speeds (slightly) with far less effort. In a shameless mutual promotion, the folks at RBP have recently featured the adventures of the Perth Breakfast Paddlers on their site. Thanks!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Mosman Bay.</b></i></td></tr>
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Speaking of Gorilla Biscuits, things most certainly have been full on of late. Some of the young bonobos and howler monkeys have only been smacking half of their faces into the dough, having not read the company mission statement, and some of the elder chimpanzees have taken to smacking certain other random body parts into the mix in a direct contravention of the Gorilla Biscuit Standing Instruction on Ugly Foodstuff Production. Having been promoted recently to lead a section of face smackers, behaviour like this needs to be stamped on in a merciless Planet Of The Apes fashion, so I have had to bring in a unit of Congolese poachers to instill discipline. The cure can sometimes be worse than the disease, so I have to watch the watchers to ensure there isn't a new line of Gorilla foot ashtrays coming out of the factory. Suffice to say, I haven't worked less than a 12 hour day all this week and yesterday peaked at 15.5 hours. Two beers and I was asleep in front of The Clone Wars at 7.30pm.</div>
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So the paddle this morning was a very welcome and de-stressing one. Even when we turned into the wind to go back across Mosman Bay after having tucked in to the Yacht Club cove for a bit. We weaved amongst windsurfers and kiteboarders as we made our way across to the spit, looking forward to our beloved fried pig and coffee but sensing disappointment all the same.</div>
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<i><b>Walters River Cafe, Point Walter Reserve, Point Walter (08)93309330</b></i></div>
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I need to start with a disclaimer. As regular readers will be well aware, I have never liked this cafe. So I was trying really hard to be objective and go in with an open mind. Things might have changed since I was last there. New owners may have taken over. The view may have justified the experience. Pigs may have sprouted wings and taken to the sky, too.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Giant Baked Beans. Obviously!</i></b></td></tr>
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Little Bbrayyyden (likely spelling) was not a happy chappy. About 4, he was obviously hungry. As was his little friend Tahnee-Lee-Lateesha (OK, I may have made that one up). Their respective mothers were ahead of us in the queue at the cafe, placing their breakfast order with a staff member who had no idea how to use the till. Sure, she is an older woman who is obviously not computer-savvy but I know for a fact that she has been working there for at least six months, having waited 30 minutes for her to make a single takeaway coffee six months ago, so you'd kind of think that learning how to process orders and accept money would be an essential, first-order skill and able to be mastered in 182.5 days. Not so, apparently. 15 minutes later, with us now loudly perusing the lunch menu (at 9.30 am), a change of till operator and with the mothers of the little dears only then having asked their little rays of sunshine what they wanted for breakfast, we finally put in our orders. Bbrayyydens fingerprints and thumb impression was very clear on the muffin under the cover right next to the till, and almost warranted me leaving a Gorilla Biscuits job offer on his table. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Shame-inducing.</b></i></td></tr>
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This place is expensive. Very expensive. But at least they are creative in how they hide how expensive it is with their menu. You can order Eggs Florentine for the eye-popping total of '22' (dollars? bananas?), but the menu doesn't have Eggs Benedict. Unless you order Eggs Florentine with ham (+'4.40'), giving you a total of $26.40. Smoked salmon, instead of ham, will set you back an extra '5.50'. Coffee - I ordered a small mug, rather than the thimbles that they use for cups - is a bargain '5.50'. Luckily, I had sold my two children into slavery yesterday, so I could afford breakfast here today. Also, luckily, Bad James had found a rock lobster near the car, so it took '20' off the bill, and Mrs Westy had dug out an Entertainment card, getting a further discount.</div>
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The coffees arrive 15 minutes later. Some people drink a certain exclusive and expensive coffee that has passed through the intestinal tract of some rare jungle cat/monkey. This cafe may have been developing something similar but things didn't augur well with Bad James describing his first sip as 'like my dogs had chewed up the beans and shat them into the cup'. And he was right (I think). Except the RSPCA would cart me to jail for feeding my dog the debacle in a cup that appeared for my '5.50'.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>'5.5' - on the canine intestinal scale</b></i></td></tr>
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Westy had ordered Eggs Florentine with ham, Bad James went the Giant Baked Beans ('17.60'), and I, obviously flush with the profits from selling the tin lids, went the Eggs Florentine with Smoked Salmon and a side of bacon ('4.40'). The breakfast plates came out just after the dogsh...errr..coffee, and to be fair didn't look all that bad. If they'd got there having imparted, say, '17.5' each.</div>
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The white plates are very large, and whilst the portions of food were a reasonable size, they did appear lost on the wide expanses of these white Serengetis. I wanted the Hollandaise to be jarred by this stage, in fact was screaming for this to be the case, but alas it was made freshly. My eggs were nicely cooked and the bacon portion plentiful. The smoked salmon was also pretty good. The toast slices were large, albeit thin, but could have done with a lashing of butter. I found myself actually enjoying the food, much to my disgust. Westy enjoyed his as well, and James was quite enamored with his Giant Baked Beans which came with a poached egg on top. Silently, we finished our breakfasts and as the cutlery rattled around the plate we left, my wallet empty of nearly '40'.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Is this Perth's most expensive Eggs Benedict?..err...Florentine. With Ham.</i></b></td></tr>
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As we walked to the car, eyes cast down, I couldn't help but feel that it was I who was also doing the 'walk of shame' this morning. After having a great time with my mates I had spent the latter part of the morning doing something that I had previously found to be morally repugnant, and shamefully I had enjoyed at least part of it, even as I was simultaneously disgusted with myself for being there in the first place. My hair was dishevelled and I wore large dark glasses, hiding the inner turmoil that I was experiencing. The only thing left for me was to find my way home from Satan's Kitchen and spend a long time having a very 'Crying Game'-like shower, because I felt dirty. Very dirty.</div>
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Lucky our mates didn't see us.<br />
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Walters River Cafe. 4/10 - The food didn't justify the price. Nor my loss of dignity. <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1370826/restaurant/Perth/Melville/Walters-River-Cafe-Bicton"><img alt="Walter's River Cafe on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/logo/1370826/biglogo.gif" style="border: none; height: 34px; width: 104px;" /></a> <br />
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<br />Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-23580685064685397562012-03-17T23:55:00.001+08:002012-03-18T10:34:23.306+08:00I'm not being lazy!Hi,
My name is Blue. It's been seven days since my last weekend paddle.
Unfortunately Gorilla Biscuit Pty Ltd had a crisis this morning requiring me to smash my face as fast and furiously (TM) as I could, thus preventing me from spending my Saturday morning in a meaningful waterborne manner!
Luckily I did manage to fit 9 holes in at Whaleback this arvo (46 on the front nine in case you're wondering).
I will return next week reviewing one of my least favored places - Point Walter Cafe.
In the meantime, please enjoy the following link...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7MKeTiABD4EBluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-26057608637876502362012-03-05T19:53:00.000+08:002012-03-07T18:26:31.493+08:00Point Walter Public BBQ, Point Walter<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Coogee to Point Walter, 17km, 1hour 58 minutes</b></i></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzT-Oot65tcjRVxf3fHVXlRwPq3htfqSIVY2TAoeETyXwpr7RsQRmGDzoku0TXAOo90zZNlYPbkGlXJe0zTew' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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The good news is that The Wad in Hawaii reports that Perth Breakfast Paddles has been de-blacklisted (whitelisted?) from the U.S. Military internet! Apparently Ayman Al Zawahiri - despite all reports to the contrary - does not use this site to plan his evil deeds, although he well may use it to find a good Eggs Benny (hold the ham). </div>
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The Wad has also clued me in to his Youtube channel which is now linked on the right of this post. Despite what some may think, and possibly previous form, The Wads' Youtube channel has nothing to do with nudity, and everything to do with excellent paddling videos on the windward side of Oahu. Not sure what has happened to The Wad over the years but he is half the bloke he used to be - must be the kilos he is leeching out with every paddle!</div>
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So for some strange reason, today in WA is a public holiday. I'm not bitching, that's for sure, but fair dinkum this state is just odd. Anyway - I put the word out last night for a paddle but had no takers so Mrs Blue kindly drove me down to Coogee Beach (just like the one in Sydney, but with no backpackers, no great pub and none of my skeletons in the collective area closet) at stupid o'clock, so I could venture out on my Pat Malone. There wasn't a breathe of wind, and the water was like a mirror. The bottom was clearly visible most of the way to the mouth of the Swan, and it was great to see heaps of people enjoying the morning out on their yachts, jetskis and pretty much any other form of water transport you could think of.</div>
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At one point I thought I had a "visitor" after a massive splash close aboard and I have to admit I was deadset packing it because I was a long way from anywhere! Fortunately, it wasn't a Noah, and I was extremely brave in chastising the shag that surfaced shortly afterwards.</div>
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It had been one of those weeks where the universe had been yielding dividends on previous crap that I had dealt with. A particular pain in the bum had left Gorilla Biscuits Pty Ltd and had me dancing a jig as I smacked my face furiously into the dough. Speaking of dancing, Mrs Blue has got the tin lids singing this disgraceful Gen Y anthem at the moment, and just like irritating earwigs like Spanish Flea and Girl from Ipanema, I couldn't get 'Sexy and I Know It' out of my head for the entire bloody 17km. Boy Wonders mate Ben has unwittingly bastardised one of the lines to say 'I've got passionfruit in my pants and I ain't afraid to show it' which I reckon is the best thing about that bloody song. Seriously, and at risk of sounding like a grumpy old man, music requires instruments. If in doubt see Jet, Eskimo Joe, Paul Kelly, Pete Murray etc etc.</div>
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So 17km later I emerged from the Swan River, ruffling my hair and looking every bit like Daniel Craig in that Bond movie, just as a white, mature Halle Berry came out of the trees with a hot coffee from Pt Walter kiosk! OK. So maybe I didn't look all that much like Daniel Craig, but I'm pretty sure he'll get this good looking one day. Maybe when he's 80. Poor bloke. Along with Mrs Blue, Boy Wonder and the Little Princess, the Westy family was down at Pt Walter en masse - both sets of parents and Mrs Ws best mate Toni had flown over for Mrs Ws 40th on Saturday night.And the timing was spot on for my arrival with Westy and his Dad cooking up a storm on the Pt Walter public BBQ.</div>
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<b><i>Point Walter Public BBQ, Point Walter. No phone, no email, no website and generally clean.</i></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Happy Tin Lids</i></b>.</td></tr>
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So as I made my Daniel Craig-shaming exit from the Swan, Westy was putting the finishing touches to breakfast. My coffee had been provided right on time based on Westys estimate of my time around the Spit, and he had got it exactly right. The free BBQ, about 60m away from the Pt Walter cafe, was going great guns and sausages, bacon and 'rustic' fried eggs were being produced at a great rate of knots, even a yolkless one for Boy Wonder. Instead of taking out a second mortgage to get brekky from the Bank of Pt Walter, the barbie had proved its worth. Bacon and Egg rolls were rolling off the production line in volume and really hit the spot. The tin lids were certainly impressed (i.e. they listened when we asked them to come to eat) and the adults were too. Our group had commandeered our standard spot and there were quite a few families with the same idea. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>'Rustic' eggs!</i></b></td></tr>
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The facilities at Pt Walter are generally good, on average, but a little improvement would take them from generally good to deadset tops. The public toilets are, well, public toilets but the addition of a shower near the BBQ would be excellent, particularly noting that most kayakers put in near the spit. </div>
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This BBQ is clearly a better option than the Pt Walter cafe when you take into account the ludicrous prices and generally hit and miss service that I have had there in the past. To be fair, I'll review the place soon, but I've been saving up for a while so hopefully once I'm into four figures I'll go then. Also to be fair, the kiosk coffee was very welcome this morning and of a better standard than I've recently had there. </div>
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In short, if you love Australia, use a public BBQ. It will encourage skinflint councils to use your rates for something other than bribery, graft and corruption.</div>
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Pt Walter public BBQ. 10/10.</div>
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<br />Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-50350174062350617602012-02-25T18:56:00.000+08:002012-03-01T20:36:15.503+08:00Bluewaters, Cottesloe<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Coogee to Cottesloe, 13.1 km. 1hr 30min, 8.8 km/h</b></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjScyAOamZzSjbQJMKKItG0xDaysaUgDDu5-Eo3GvI0mf3QgHUiRMNORbgwF8c3NFMsS3jitXekpXxomgumyUF6vRGTUpG8baCNRqZvX23YWQoaBNNIUCWyXPGuQ4p4HMRB7lWIwh3_EI4/s1600/DSCF1107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjScyAOamZzSjbQJMKKItG0xDaysaUgDDu5-Eo3GvI0mf3QgHUiRMNORbgwF8c3NFMsS3jitXekpXxomgumyUF6vRGTUpG8baCNRqZvX23YWQoaBNNIUCWyXPGuQ4p4HMRB7lWIwh3_EI4/s400/DSCF1107.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Westy paddles in like a pro. Unlike his paddling companion...</b></i></td></tr>
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Organising one-way paddles is a shitfight. You need even numbers, and everyone needs to bring their car and everyone needs to paddle the whole way. We've learnt this through many previous attempts with an odd number of paddlers, yet we still have the same issue time and time again.</div>
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So late last night when those strict criteria weren't met, and all sorts of angst was being created, I threw my toys out of the cot and cancelled the paddle. Only to call Westy shortly afterwards and put it back on for the two of us who were keen to do the whole thing and had a car available each. Deadset, I really am turning into a grumpy old man as my month of abstinence/beer celibacy nears its end and the dreaded Manflu sets in. Mrs Blue rightly said that she would be calling the Tantrum Police, who, like the Noise Police, occasionally call by the house via surreptitious use of the intercom when the tin lids are out of control.</div>
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This morning's paddle coincided with the annual Rottnest Shark Feeding...errr..Swim. There were shedloads of boats, kayaks, skis and a brace of nutcases who think that swimming 19km to Rottnest Island is an enjoyable Saturday activity. Seriously - that's why there's a ferry you bunch of tightarses! It was a pretty awesome spectacle as they moved off from the beach, and we lingered for a minute after shuffling the boats onto one car just long enough to take it in.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3-umVc1nVfUsKL5eL3DCMpLnTjBIIWZArMmRVBSN5mknRcV2Vovq592tal23JTvdMcKpSS_6tGQppR7p2GrIyArv-n4LEo2_7pvghp6QmckkaZqsgMZ69gXq1eU2cSEDAUNRAKIYgGM/s1600/DSCF1106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE3-umVc1nVfUsKL5eL3DCMpLnTjBIIWZArMmRVBSN5mknRcV2Vovq592tal23JTvdMcKpSS_6tGQppR7p2GrIyArv-n4LEo2_7pvghp6QmckkaZqsgMZ69gXq1eU2cSEDAUNRAKIYgGM/s400/DSCF1106.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The wounded antelope at the back of the pack was looking nervous...</i></b></td></tr>
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When we put in a Coogee (that's KOO-JEE for my East Coast mates, and doesn't sound anything like the Sydney beachside suburb that I used to live in) the wind was a very light Sou'-easter and the water as flat as Julia's approval rating. We'd only been out for about 15 minutes when we were surrounded by a large pod of dolphins just outside the Port Coogee canals. It was pretty awesome I must say. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ulSQCNpLJM3zmJIdGqB6oqi7NsD-ldcq01jJSoojcBUImHxGcd2AzDUCUTHrJna3xQIsJEstO7iLbO5Rl5qB3tp5mj8t_NtPaEsJGwmTLM9UX_aRCjD-3_Fo_MkiRA7PqhtZy8lnToM/s1600/muppets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ulSQCNpLJM3zmJIdGqB6oqi7NsD-ldcq01jJSoojcBUImHxGcd2AzDUCUTHrJna3xQIsJEstO7iLbO5Rl5qB3tp5mj8t_NtPaEsJGwmTLM9UX_aRCjD-3_Fo_MkiRA7PqhtZy8lnToM/s1600/muppets.jpg" /></a>There was only really one topic of conversation going on - the complete debacle formerly known as the Australian Labor Party. I have to admit, I have been giggling like a schoolgirl at the self-destruction of this bunch of retards and every day has been making me laugh longer and harder. My favorite has been the Muppets poster right...but seriously, shouldn't this embarrassment to Australia end by the GG dissolving both houses and having a general election? Windsor, Wilkie and Oakeshott - start familiarising yourselves with Centrelink. Just ask Julia or Kevin where it is...</div>
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We were making a good pace by then, clocking a steady 9.5km/h by the trusty Garmin and kept it up until we passed the river mouth, having ridden a light swell most of the way and rested for a sum total of 8 seconds. The idea was to follow the shore close-in to the beach, but up until the river mouth washing machine it have been mirror-flat so we had paddled a direct line for North Mole, way off shore most of the way.</div>
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Once we rounded North Mole the washing machine stopped but we slowed with the distance to 8.5km/h. Unlike my outing to the Rockingham grain terminal last Tuesday where the ticker ramped up to 180 beats per minute for near on 15 minutes, I managed to avoid the defibrillator being paddled over with a steady 140 bpm pace. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQyRxmN2h-QPHWj3zMHRpfHyak8laPFy2G0QMQ7tuxd90XonkNF4wOI0GqWfD15tNqlIKvdrmEgpqDNHgTS6i5gse364M54TVJnE-plPweQhveRknx2twSWfLktZzsN4KQVfV_RGcYMkA/s1600/google.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQyRxmN2h-QPHWj3zMHRpfHyak8laPFy2G0QMQ7tuxd90XonkNF4wOI0GqWfD15tNqlIKvdrmEgpqDNHgTS6i5gse364M54TVJnE-plPweQhveRknx2twSWfLktZzsN4KQVfV_RGcYMkA/s400/google.jpg" width="400" /></a>I always enjoy the Port Beach to Beach St groyne part of a paddle up this way. It's spectacular. The fact that there was is nice swelling taking us in to the groyne made it even better. What didn't make it better was absolutely fluffing the run in on the wave and painfully getting dumped by a wave the little tacker could have ridden. And, as they say, there is nothing worse than a pain in the Groyne.</div>
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Which reminds me of something I heard on the radio yesterday. Female radio presenter has a segment asking listeners to give her an idea of how bad being hit in the Jatz crackers is. 'Like childbirth', one male listener says, only to be lambasted by the next two female listeners, because apparently NOTHING is worse than childbirth. After some to-ing and fro-ing including a comparison of having a shipping container dropped on your arm and wriggling the stump around for a bit, it comes to a finale. 'Nothing?', says the final (male) listener, 'then why do women want more than one child and why don't I know a single male who wants to be kicked in the nuts again?'. Well said, that man.</div>
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<i><b>Bluewaters, 110 Marine Pde, Cottesloe, (08) 9385 3130, www.blue-waters.com.au</b></i></div>
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I confess. I like Bluewaters. We've been here for breakfast a couple of times and the scenery, both inside and out, is tops. The menu has a couple of interesting items, they do table service and don't mind splitting the bill. They have paintings for sale that normal humans would buy. The waitstaff are attentive and friendly.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4oZ44FlsU3onEZMbnZQPRW5aM50oJgoLi7Klvh5gXEy8mGHPIIMgtdEu8X3_XAkZcCG5SQ5xSWEJlVtDfVrF6yjk0X5bjoKik22y6n7RJhRVuzeMPdabwfT5ZpWeJKppdcGPMirQEcs0/s1600/Westy%2527s+brekky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4oZ44FlsU3onEZMbnZQPRW5aM50oJgoLi7Klvh5gXEy8mGHPIIMgtdEu8X3_XAkZcCG5SQ5xSWEJlVtDfVrF6yjk0X5bjoKik22y6n7RJhRVuzeMPdabwfT5ZpWeJKppdcGPMirQEcs0/s400/Westy%2527s+brekky.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Miss Piggy was shy.</b></i></td></tr>
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So Bluewaters it was. The sky was becoming overcast as we took an outside table, and the waitress pounced like Susan Boyle on a Krispy Kreme. Coffee was upon us like the barista (that's wankish for 'coffee maker') had known we were coming. A little too milky and lukewarm, I thought but gladly drank it anyway. We ordered, and just as quick as the coffee had appeared, so did our breakfast. Westy had gone the Pancakes with Banana, Bacon and Maple Syrup ($17.50) and I went the Scrambled Eggs with Crab and Chilli on Ciabatta ($18.50). As I surveyed Westys choice I was immediately struck with breakfast envy, but then we both realised that there was something crucially awry with his stack-of-three pancakes - the amount of bacon was inversely proportional to the impressive pancakes! And at $7 for a side of bacon that we guessed would be as slim pickings as what was on the plate, the halo over this dish quickly dissipated. Westy though his breakfast very nice but seriously Bluewaters - don't skimp on Miss Piggy. It's not smart and it's not clever. The maple syrup appeared in short supply as well - Manu would not be pleased. On the plus side, the pancakes looked fluffy and thick. And, as I said, there were three.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>I've got crabs.</b></i> <i><b>Honestly, I can explain...</b></i></td></tr>
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My Scrambled Eggs with Crab and Chilli was pretty good. I liked the flavour combo, the ciabatta was nicely toasted, and as far as crustaceans go I am a lazy diner. Any time I can have crab or lobster without cracking it and painstakingly scooping out the little meat there is, I'm happy. The eggs were creamy but again, lukewarm. How could it have come out so quickly, but with the eggs lukewarm? Well, I think there is only one answer to that. The amount was just right though, and I did enjoy my breakfast.</div>
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I would really like to come here for a long swilly lunch one day. When I am drinking again. In 5 days. Perhaps Mrs Blue won't have to call the Tantrum Police the night before a paddle then...</div>
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Bluewaters, Cottesloe - 6.5/10. An extra point when more porcine product appears in a serving! <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1370093/restaurant/Perth/Bluewaters-Cottesloe-Cottesloe"><img alt="Bluewaters Cottesloe on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/logo/1370093/minilogo.gif" style="border:none;width:104px;height:15px" /></a> <br />
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<br />Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-33326993397889867632012-02-19T20:38:00.000+08:002012-03-01T20:35:22.308+08:00The Little Stove, Bicton<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Pt Walter to the Bridges and back (again), 11.25km, 1hr 24 min, 8km/h</b></i></div>
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It was a good week. I had been sent out into the field for a few days to do some market research by the Head Silverback to determine whether or not our biscuits were the ugliest of them all - and came back with the satisfying result that we, without a doubt, have the most authentic gorilla-like faces that imprint the dough. The were some corkers, particularly in Albany, but really, when it came down to the crunch, nothing beats the face-smashers of Gorilla Biscuits Pty Ltd for a hideous snack experience.</div>
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I didn't get back from the roadtrip until late Friday night and the forecast was for crappy weather on Saturday, but undeterred and in spite of a simultaneous 'lets-blow-it-off-tomorrow' thought that we all had, Westy and I decided to go the default option and paddle from Pt Walter again, regardless of the expected 20 knot headwind that we would have to battle into.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju2ZnsYNA4Lu_QNn16EG1XJcphnIRwYuzMxguwi1rCbHpBleziyQqVXeusAUK-zuJPQjluyT81ozwe7B6PueoKiFR4TwhwAps4-E21ql8uGNRA30Sl7uPUzw8JazGk54LfYAnp68tJSXE/s1600/DSCF1096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju2ZnsYNA4Lu_QNn16EG1XJcphnIRwYuzMxguwi1rCbHpBleziyQqVXeusAUK-zuJPQjluyT81ozwe7B6PueoKiFR4TwhwAps4-E21ql8uGNRA30Sl7uPUzw8JazGk54LfYAnp68tJSXE/s320/DSCF1096.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Frodo Baggins joined the paddle briefly</b></i></td></tr>
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The reality couldn't have been more different. Slightly overcast but dead calm with a slight flooding tide. The boats went in and instantly both Westy and I felt like we were, as he put it, paddling through mud. It was surprisingly hard going until we got to the bridges, where the tidal stream then gave us a boost for the return leg.</div>
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I wanted to get a photo of myself out paddling, so handed the camera over to Westy who produced an absolute pearler - I might have to get that one blown up and hung at work. Check it out below - it's a pretty good likeness. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1E38th6VfSoxcSVuOU6bOMfO9xuwnIUAuWxO7OjAF7tWNIiyj4WyUzwg8CzlrTVt9eJoAmFs2uDAXkvtUybbIKPrFA9HJtl1q_PcNNFhwYzlpzLO1s9C2aq1SxnAP-YWmVpys8EGIQQ/s1600/Doctored+ski.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1E38th6VfSoxcSVuOU6bOMfO9xuwnIUAuWxO7OjAF7tWNIiyj4WyUzwg8CzlrTVt9eJoAmFs2uDAXkvtUybbIKPrFA9HJtl1q_PcNNFhwYzlpzLO1s9C2aq1SxnAP-YWmVpys8EGIQQ/s400/Doctored+ski.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>A good likeness.</b></i></td></tr>
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The paddle was pretty uneventful all up, and we stopped for a good look at the mansion in Bicton that my forthcoming Powerball win will buy me before finishing up - again fanging for a feed and a brew.</div>
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<i><b>The Little Stove, 97/103 Harris Street Bicton WA 6157, (08) 9319 9811, www.littlestove.com</b></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAj_KC5iVnv9qVtP9VUS-vqQdGob-20L3V9ru0DF53qHvXW4p5UWJAg5dSGI5t6SoSR8vS-56OCrTy4WdFOiMEggal55NtCpLSN6qqwocMoEzRUqxA8pCPCBjSsJcJHHvwZarxrYIoqPU/s1600/696997-pn-ste-23bargainbites-lge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAj_KC5iVnv9qVtP9VUS-vqQdGob-20L3V9ru0DF53qHvXW4p5UWJAg5dSGI5t6SoSR8vS-56OCrTy4WdFOiMEggal55NtCpLSN6qqwocMoEzRUqxA8pCPCBjSsJcJHHvwZarxrYIoqPU/s1600/696997-pn-ste-23bargainbites-lge.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Flogged from Google images...</i></b></td></tr>
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The epitome of laziness is going to the nearest cafe to the entry/exit point. That would be the extortionately expensive Pt Walter Cafe (and yes, it will be reviewed soon; the savings plan has been going for a while now), but I had noticed a sign on Pt Walter Road pointing to a henceforth-unknown cafe. This made it the second closest and therefore absolved us from the laziness label.</div>
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I have to say though, the first impressions were good. Two brown leather armchairs framed the entrance and there was a healthy crowd, mostly thirty-somethings. A couple of pooches also came for brekky which always gets two thumbs up from me.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>FBC.</b></i></td></tr>
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A quick scan of the menu was enough to leave the impression that The Little Stove certainly caters to the Bicton Yummy Mummy set, with lots of yoghurty, muesli, fruity choices but not much in the way of fifteen varieties of fried pig as we always look for. It wasn't much of a decision to go for the Big Stove ($18) big breakfast and the mega coffee ($6.50). If you are choking back at the thought of $6.50 for a coffee as I would normally, let me clarify that it is a pint glass. </div>
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The Big Stove came out with eggs to order, in my case scrambled and Westys case poached, bacon, two slices of toast, homemade beans and mushies. My scrambled eggs were creamy, and the bacon plentiful. The beans were tasty, as were the mushies, but in the end they were just a distraction from the main event. The brown toast was thickly sliced and delicious with the butter, eggs and bacon on top. The coffee was pretty good, served at the correct temperature i.e. hot, but not so that the roof of my mouth becomes the skin on the coffee, but for a flat white it was probably a little too milky and more like a latte. The Little Stove offers three varieties including Arabica and a Dark Roast. </div>
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I must have been pretty hungry because my plate was empty before I remembered to take a photo!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4fgiUnBy_QGNsE4wVGTC13BOAQ_7Fkt2NCOh2jeo7U1x5b4juV-ZvUJQKQ81rxYrmojdVvAaCkGSlv1SJDpKg7eXdQJab2u2708qpbyPYwh8YI0jONnUnMCIbJtsqmV7I9R7XlJwQ5E/s1600/DSCF1103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4fgiUnBy_QGNsE4wVGTC13BOAQ_7Fkt2NCOh2jeo7U1x5b4juV-ZvUJQKQ81rxYrmojdVvAaCkGSlv1SJDpKg7eXdQJab2u2708qpbyPYwh8YI0jONnUnMCIbJtsqmV7I9R7XlJwQ5E/s320/DSCF1103.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Sorry. There is no "before" shot.</b></i></td></tr>
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I liked the Little Stove experience, from the menus printed on grid paper that you would have in a school folder to the prompt, friendly, male-customer-encouraging service. For a bloke though, and particularly one who has just earned a hearty breakfast, the brekky menu was a bit of a disappointment. No Eggs Benny, for starters. Limited choices of pig. Yoghurt has no place being served on a Saturday morning - unless it is drizzled over a porcine product for some obscure reason. I did note a pile of wine glasses though. Perhaps after the 29th...</div>
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The Little Stove - Very good service, good fair, limited menu selections. 6/10 <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1492129/restaurant/Perth/Melville/Little-Stove-Bicton"><img alt="Little Stove on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/logo/1492129/minilogo.gif" style="border:none;width:104px;height:15px" /></a> </div>
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<br /></div>Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-78699114622359930072012-02-11T14:40:00.000+08:002012-11-22T15:46:06.392+08:00Cafe Lumos, White Gum Valley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7PGHKwSWwrt98Z0x79YaOhGrV8NLikNemX-gCez5_XfeCxzY0LZ5HvA1vnGHV4yD-VLeavcW6kAdaLcQXahXHe9rVGoRdYfFSUV1M4aJHoSqa3YdEBGBC_IPSUfYsG09AXLkZiQEr-w/s1600/Rounding+the+point+again.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7PGHKwSWwrt98Z0x79YaOhGrV8NLikNemX-gCez5_XfeCxzY0LZ5HvA1vnGHV4yD-VLeavcW6kAdaLcQXahXHe9rVGoRdYfFSUV1M4aJHoSqa3YdEBGBC_IPSUfYsG09AXLkZiQEr-w/s400/Rounding+the+point+again.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><b>Pt Walter to the Bridges, 12.8km, 1 hour 36 min, 8km/h average</b></i></div>
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'Twas a great morning for a paddle - a gentle Nor'westerly wind and slack water throughout. The car park was as empty as the river. Travis was missing in action, having probably not received the late-night text from me to gee up the paddle, so Westy, M4P and I slid the boats into the water just before 7 am. We hadn't done the Pt Walter paddle in quite a while so it was good to be there again.</div>
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The afternoon before had also been spent at the river with Mrs Blue and the little bluelings having a great time with a bunch of our friends, who were finishing off the week with a couple of ice-cold pigs ears and a bottle or two of Passion Pop. Unfortunately I am taking my annual month off the P155 at the moment. I have a month on the wagon every year to prove to myself that I'm not a raging alcoholic, and I choose February because it's the shortest month. I feel a bit cheated this year being a leap year and all, and may have to switch to the method a friend of mine uses - the lunar month. Everyone was a bit worried as to whether or not I'd be OK to drive after three Passionas in the first hour and one every hour after that, but despite the obvious sugar high we made it home OK, if not a little quicker than usual and with an unexplained glowstick chain around my neck. If you haven't spent a Friday arvo down by the river, give yourself an uppercut then get on down there.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiI-KIx9eL__DDflUP6e0peGad8r66PKl7xkPjaaMhx-OZery-umuX1rAJXsHav8J7Xu194UyUTdUd1PU9poCnItqRSUoEEstPXt9yvWQ33P2Nc_KNNRVYULPJfz22coqkef9Jt354Alk/s1600/Rounding+the+point.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiI-KIx9eL__DDflUP6e0peGad8r66PKl7xkPjaaMhx-OZery-umuX1rAJXsHav8J7Xu194UyUTdUd1PU9poCnItqRSUoEEstPXt9yvWQ33P2Nc_KNNRVYULPJfz22coqkef9Jt354Alk/s400/Rounding+the+point.jpg" width="400" /></a>But I digress. The pace was pretty sedate until I took a sidetrip right inshore at Bicton whilst M4P and Westy took a direct route across the reach into East Fremantle. Looking up from my trip into Blueworld they were a bloody long way away so I spent the next 10 minutes putting in the big ones trying to catch them, much like I do every time I paddle with Westy these days. Graciously they waited for the fat bloke at the East Fremantle Yacht Club, and I finally dragged my arse back to the pack long enough to take a few quick photos as we rounded the bend past Zephyrs. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"Is that guy waving at us?"</b></i></td></tr>
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It was here that we were being waved at by a bloke on the shoreline. Waving back, we continued, but he persistently kept waving. Acknowledging the international sign of distress we pulled in to find out that the bloke had been at Pt Walter and had seen one of us drop a phone. Being a Good Aussie Bloke (GAB) he surmised that we'd have to go past Zephyrs and followed us down there to give it back. It's not often that random acts of kindness occur these days, so GAB, if you're reading this, two thumbs up and if you see us again, we'll shout you a carton.</div>
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So it turns out the ladies of the house have taken up something called Zumba (apparently it's pronounced 'Zoom-bah' rather than my feeble attempt that rhymed with Rumba). In fact Mrs B was kind enough to explain to me what a 'shimmy' was as we drove home last night. Dangerous stuff, that. I almost drove off the road. Apparently the instructor is a 40 yo mother-of-one with the toned body of a 20 yo pole dancer. OK, so I made that last bit up, but that is a blokes prerogative. I have promised to come down and witness this hedonistic devil-summoning dance class at some stage, with my fellow paddlers and a carton of coldies in tow. This was not received well, not even when I promised to shimmy my way in with my wet Speedos, straight from a paddle!</div>
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The rest of the trip was uneventful and paddling in toward the Matilda Bay Brewery on the return trip took us well out of the wind and provided a bit of variation on the normal trip. As we pulled in back at Pt Walter after a minor grounding on the large inshore rock, we were all looking forward to breakfast at one of M4Ps local haunts.</div>
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<i><b>Cafe Lumos, 1/16 Minilya Avenue White Gum Valley WA 6162, (08) 9335 5332</b></i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>That's the owner. The Red Sea parted as we arrived.</i></b></td></tr>
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Firstly, don't park in the 10 minute parking zone outside the convenience store next to Lumos. We didn't, and indeed had to park on the verge some way away, but the shop owner was livid enough to ring the bastard parkies who sensing blood turned up immediately. UnAustralian, I say.</div>
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I'd heard about Cafe Lumos in the local rag, where their lunchtime menu had been reviewed, and had mentioned this to M4P. Mrs M4P patronises Lumos regularly, so we thought we'd give it a crack for breakfast. </div>
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Through habit we ordered at the counter, but Cafe Lumos has efficient table service as we found out with a post-breakfast second coffee.
One of the things that really took me was seeing the owner picking
herbs from the pots out the front to put into the dishes - nothing
groundbreaking but something I thought was pretty cool nevertheless.</div>
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The standard of your average suburban local cafe has gone through the roof in my humble opinion, and this is a good example of how a little bit of effort can reap rewards. When we got there it was packed to bursting, with all the tables set up outside and spilling over to the front of the furniture shop next door. Luckily, as I walked in, a bench table right out front cleared just like Moses parting the sea. Or it could have been that I just stank after the paddle. Regardless, we got a good table. </div>
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The menu is spoilt for choice - there are some dead set corkers on there including French Toast with bacon, banana and maple syrup (my mouth is watering as I write this). But I couldn't go past the Rosti Benedict ($19) - poached eggs on thick bacon, atop potato rosti and drizzled with Hollandaise sauce. M4P thought the same, but Westy went the Corn Fritter Special ($19) - two massive corn fritters with poached eggs and bacon sandwiched in between and sour cream on the side. Substituting Hollandaise for the sour cream was no problem.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Rosti Benedict. No. 1 with a bullet.</i></b></td></tr>
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Cafe Lumos Rosti Benedict - go to the top of the Eggs Benny index. The potato rosti was brilliant - the fried strands of potato seasoned perfectly and sticking together in a thin cake. The eggs came out just the way I like them - medium well and not forming a yellow lake when broken, and the bacon was thick and supple. The coffee - a mug of flat white ($4.30) for me - came out with a creamy top and, although a little weak, wasn't bad and was definitely the right drinking temperature. With just a little higher concentration of coffee in the cup it would have been excellent, but I'm just being picky now. The second coffee, a regular, rather than a mug, was perfect.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Corn Fritter stack. Bigger than your head.</i></b></td></tr>
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Westy was equally pleased with his choice which, when it came out, was bigger than his head. We have a saying - never eat anything bigger than your head and Westy declared that he had too much food so half a corn fritter came winging my way (excellent!). Fair dinkum - it was beautiful, and I think deserves a permanent place on an already-good menu.</div>
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The staff at Lumos were friendly and efficient. The owner came over to take an order and say g'day and the waitresses were pleasant - in manner and appearance - but not intrusive. </div>
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Cafe Lumos, in its leafy Minilya St setting has just rocketed right up to the top of the list with the Hungry Paddlers. If only it was on the river...but I suppose then we'd never get a table. Just be careful where you park...</div>
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Three Thumbs Up - 9/10. And we'll be back. Lots.<br />
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<a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1550760/restaurant/Perth/Fremantle/Cafe-Lumos-White-Gum-Valley"><img alt="Cafe Lumos on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/link/1550760/minilink.gif" style="border: none; height: 36px; padding: 0px; width: 130px;" /></a>
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*** As an addendum to the Bastard Parkies theme, I got fined $85 tonight whilst parked outside NIB stadium, thus confirming my theory that all Parkies are illegitimate. </div>
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<br />Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-28281086516233605402012-02-04T19:44:00.003+08:002012-03-08T17:02:25.334+08:00Canning River Cafe, Wilson<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Canning River, Thornlie to Applecross via Bull Creek, 20.6km, 2 hours 37 minutes.</b></i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Entry point - Ilford Place, Thornlie</i></b></td></tr>
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The sea, she was angry that day.</div>
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Or so we thought after a quick scan of seabreeze.com.au. With Travis and M4P missing in action, Westy and I decided that it was a good morning to hunt the white whale - breaking the 20km mark. Having looked at Urban Paddler's website we decided to replicate his Canning River run, from Thornlie to Deepwater Point, and customise it to crack the 20km. </div>
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After a bit of car shuffling at Deepwater Point, we trekked off down the Leach Highway to parts unknown, putting in at the end of the cul-de-sac at Ilford Place, Thornlie. Firstly I would recommend that those who own flash carbon fibre or composite boats completely ignore this start point. Secondly I would recommend that any future paddlers from here consider taking a hedge trimmer, machete and shotgun. It was a great place to paddle from but we were dodging and weaving through all sorts of spider webs, trip wires, poison darts and big, rolling rocks like something out of Raiders of the Lost Ark before we found any sort of open water about 3km in. The going was very slow and the growth so thick at one stage I was sure that I saw a Leyland Brother (obviously the one that is still alive!) and the Bush Tucker Man...</div>
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Once we got over the tree stumps, man-traps and the like, the river was spectacular. In fact it was so placid and quiet that it took us nearly six kilometres of paddling before we saw our first confirmed fellow-human. The sound of our bow-waves was pretty much all we could hear.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Kent St Weir - This is not a slippery dip for skis...</b></i></td></tr>
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Before we knew it, we were at the Kent St Weir. Having never been there before, we had talked of just powering straight over it, thinking it might be one of those slippery-dip type weirs that we could slide right down, but luckily common sense prevailed because it was a sheer drop with a lot of concrete at the bottom of some very shallow water. The cafe on the Canning River, near the weir and imaginatively name the err...Canning River Cafe was generating alluring smells of coffee and fried pig and had recently put out $18 breakfast-for-two vouchers on spreets.com.au, and Mrs Blue had urged me to get one. Stupidly, I didn't, so naturally we decided to go there after the paddle so we could pay full price.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Warsaw (there's lots of Poles)</b></i></td></tr>
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We settled into our stride after porting the boats around the weir, focusing on our (lack of) paddling technique. It was good to think of something else besides the disastrous week at the Gorilla Biscuit Factory, where the African Savannah Cookie (ASC) section had been thrown into chaos because of a complete failure of the Elephant Proboscis Unit (EPU) - a machine that gradually lengthens employees noses into elephant trunks for biscuit image authenticity. Unfortunately the failure of this device had quite the effect on company morale, with the natural disappointment that we couldn't produce our entire range of gob-smackingly ugly biscuits.</div>
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It wasn't long before we got to the Riverton and Shelley Bridges and began to see more signs of life on the river, including a chap who had put a new exhaust on his V8 Commodore that made it sound uncannily like a Datsun 200B, and make him look like a good candidate for erectile enhancement.</div>
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As we rounded the bend into familiar parts of the river around Rossmoyne the wind finally gave us a bit of assistance, but we were completely stuffed as we neared Bull Creek, with 16km showing on the trusty GPS. It was quite obvious that we were going to be short of the 20km trip, so it was necessary to prolong the agony by going right up Bull Creek to add a bit of distance. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"You were in a 4G inverted dive with a Finn Endorfinn?"</i></b></td></tr>
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Past the Mount Henry Bridge was when we saw our tax dollars at work. I'm all for schools getting federal funding, but if it is supporting $15000-per-term St Smithers Exclusive Private Rich Gentlemans Finishing School so Reggie Huntingdon-Smythe-Smythe can row a brand-spanking new carbon fibre 8s scull, then screw it. And the river was covered in them, all being yelled at by a bloke in a boat with a megaphone who had completely missed the idea that it's the megaphone that amplifies your voice, and there is no need to actually scream into it. </div>
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The definition of heartbreak isn't arriving at your destination when you are still 1km short of your goal and completely rooted, but isn't far off it. What was worse was the thought of going up to the Canning Bridge and then having to turn back into a 20kt headwind, but we did it anyway, almost falling off the boats as we pulled back in at Deepwater Point. We made it - and just like Captain Ahab we had caught the 20km white whale and this time it didn't look like me in budgie smugglers.</div>
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<i><b>Canning River Cafe, Cnr Kent St and Queens Park Road, Wilson, WA 6107, (08)93584884</b></i> </div>
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http://www.facebook.com/CanningRiverCafe</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>"A cafe. It's on the Canning River. What should we call it? Hmmm, something catchy...</i></b>"</td></tr>
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It's pretty well known that I'm as tight as a fish's bum. I'm not quite so bad that I wouldn't shout if a shark bit me (which is Un-Australian), but I don't like paying full price if I can help it, so when this place looked and smelt great as we paddled past it I almost refused to come here out of principle, having stupidly not bought the Spreets voucher.</div>
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And what a mistake that would have been.</div>
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Attached to some sort of eco centre (wasn't the Canning River full of raw sewage poo-kayaks not so long ago??) and situated on a park right next to the Kent St Weir, this place - although a little out of the way - is, in a word, tops. Offering tables as well as a counter-top seating overlooking the river, this cafe has it all. The menu has enough variations on the standard to make it interesting without being over the top, the prices are reasonable, the view excellent and the staff friendly and helpful - they even look you in the eye when they talk to you (personal favorite)!</div>
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So having paddled for nearly 3 hours, Westy and I were beyond hungry. I could have chewed the bum out of a low-flying duck (quack!). The Canning River Cafe doesn't take cards - except err... in the ATM right next to the till, which threw me a bit but only long enough for both of us to order a Big Breakfast ($19) and coffees.</div>
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As we sat down we thought that this would be a great place to bring the tin lids, what with a playground, the weir, ducks, and the Castledare Railway just down the road. In fact, if I wasn't on the wagon for the month of February (a yearly ritual to prove that I am not a raging alcoholic - If you're going to do it, I recommend the shortest month) I reckon I would have staying here for a swilly lunch as well.</div>
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There were plenty of skis and kayaks coming up the river to the weir, including a chap on a pedal-powered Hobie kayak with a sailing rig. I assumed that he mustn't actually have had any arms to require that level of laziness.</div>
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The coffees and brekky came out pretty quickly. The Big Breakfast came out with scrambled eggs, tons of bacon, a sausage, fried tomatoes, mushrooms, a potato cake (no, not a scallop or a hash brown - it was more a type of fried mashed potato and was very tasty) and two very large and thick slices of toast. There was also quite a selection of communal help-yourself sauces available. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcf7TCnBvMHw0CU7QzOiZol4i4nGwlWz6PZUnSoSrvfcF7rSLbv1uePtJODecF4S5qlgcLcuwEzz654vQox-Q7IEbNus9T_-U9c4GyTi97b3P2K4H0gqy5ydYIMrWXG5w-WR5kLDVSLM/s1600/DSCF1075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcf7TCnBvMHw0CU7QzOiZol4i4nGwlWz6PZUnSoSrvfcF7rSLbv1uePtJODecF4S5qlgcLcuwEzz654vQox-Q7IEbNus9T_-U9c4GyTi97b3P2K4H0gqy5ydYIMrWXG5w-WR5kLDVSLM/s400/DSCF1075.JPG" width="400" /></a>My scrambled eggs - Westy had poached - were cooked perfectly. They were aerated at all, had a nice amount of butter mixed in, and were bloody good. I always like to pile my bacon onto buttered toast and put the scrambled egg on top, and the bacon was cooked just right to be able to do this. There was no stringy bits, rind or knuckles and it was cut nice and thickly. In fact the whole breakfast was outstanding, and really hit the spot with a couple of hungry paddlers. We liked the package so much that we had to stay for another brew.</div>
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Canning River Cafe - Two thumbs up and 8.5/10. <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1644721/restaurant/Perth/Canning/Canning-River-Cafe-Wilson"><img alt="Canning River Cafe on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/logo/1644721/biglogo.gif" style="border:none;width:104px;height:34px" /></a> </div>
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P.S. Tip for blokes considering buying frilly knickers for their wife's birthday - DO NOT mention to her friends or anyone connected to her friends that you did your research by googling "redhead lingerie". It won't end well, even if the research was 'thorough'.</div>
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<br />Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-65800513863363332892012-01-27T15:58:00.004+08:002012-01-27T15:58:54.352+08:00Newsflash!<i><u><b>"Perth Breakfast Paddles" banned by US Military as militant extremism!</b></u></i> Our Hawaiian correspondent Aussie Geoff (supplier of wholesome Gorilla Biscuits to the U.S. Armed Forces) reported that when he attempted to check out the latest, the Navy and Marine Corp Internet had blacklisted the site, quoting 'militancy' and 'extremism'. Obviously outraged by this slight, Aussie Geoff was later seen calming down at a no-waiting-period Christian fundamentalist gunshop purchasing a belt-fed heavy-calibre weapon with 'Praise the Lord' engraved on the barrel. Apparently it was for 'home protection'...<br />
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In other news an Al Qaeda terrorist killed in Afghanistan has been found with a copy of the Eggs Benny index in his pocket...<br />
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I thought I was just writing about hungry paddlers, not causing the downfall of Western civilisation.Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-76038597802918363342012-01-26T16:53:00.003+08:002012-03-08T17:00:44.001+08:00Beach St Cafe, Fremantle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><b>Port Beach to North Cottesloe via several surf breaks, 13.2km, 2 hours</b></i></div>
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It was an early start, with thoughts of the Narrows to Fremantle<i><b> </b></i>until a last-minute text message from M4P arrived saying he couldn't come, and so without the required fourth car to do the car shuffle, we decided on an ocean paddle from Port Beach. And with that decision, what a magic hand the fickle finger of fate dealt us. </div>
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The car park was absolutely chockers when we got there at 7am, so full in fact that Travis had to put in some way north because he couldn't find a spot. Luckily Westy and I managed to park and it wasn't long before we were paddling north to join Travis at a leisurely pace. It was steaming hot even at this early hour and the day promised to be as brutal as the previous day's 41 degrees. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the water temperature felt like it was about 27 degrees, and as we looked at the vista of beaches before us we thought about everyone that had to work today, and how it sucked to be them. Those who thought that life particularly sucks were the crew of the sheep ship berthed at Fremantle that was quite obviously at least partly laden with its unfortunate cargo, as the stench attested to...</div>
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Westy, fresh from his work trip to Istanbul was raving about the place as we paddled North, and in particular his trip to Gallipoli and his other trip to Troy. Curiously, no mention of enhanced Gorilla Biscuit-making techniques or recipes came out...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Travis the Beetle and Westy</i></b></td></tr>
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There was a nice little reef break near the Beach St groyne, but after a few dismal attempts to catch a wave whilst paddling into a stiff 15kt Easterly, Westy and I were dismissed by Travis the Beetle and made our way up to check out the beautiful people of Cottesloe. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicHPectd8lw04HSgMBZ6d17-cHr0WzPVyiWk7BSuAIeuzMnADD91SMS7gfWYbfOUG6yjZGYSvu7SHPOU4eolaZkqlJ84H5i6dDx7Thj88JYNtmhjTyqquJndqcRsmOYU1DEQPBKxPky_E/s1600/DSCF1057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicHPectd8lw04HSgMBZ6d17-cHr0WzPVyiWk7BSuAIeuzMnADD91SMS7gfWYbfOUG6yjZGYSvu7SHPOU4eolaZkqlJ84H5i6dDx7Thj88JYNtmhjTyqquJndqcRsmOYU1DEQPBKxPky_E/s320/DSCF1057.JPG" width="320" /></a>Just off Cottesloe Beach we were joined by a pod of dolphins for about 5 minutes, with the mammals initially looking like bastard sharks swimming underneath the ski, and it was a great feeling just to sit and watch them for a bit, right outside the Indiana Tea House. There was all sorts of stuff going on at Cottesloe, from Nipper contests to the massively-shite Havianas pool float world record attempt, where a gazillion people form a daisy chain of tools on floating Havianas thongs. I know I hate sharks but....</div>
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On the way back south, we were again joined by our dolphin mates, as Westy and I, with moderate success, attempted to keep pace with a couple of chaps on Think Evo ocean racers. Having picked up Travis, we all enjoyed the human scenery along the length of Leighton Beach, paddling very close to shore, with many calls of 'Mine's alright, but I don't fancy yours much, fnarr fnarr' coming straight out of Viz magazine. Oddly, I'm pretty sure I heard the same words being spoken on the beach...</div>
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It was about at this time that we saw a dog about 20 metres ahead, swimming some distance out from the beach. We headed towards him, and just as we got here some blokes head popped out of the water about 30 centimetres from Westy, scaring the crap out of both of them. After a few choice words from Aquaman, we continued on.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9YDqGzG7z_B0X7QMS3vQlCaxXDam_6eGWtev8o1AgL51fWHfOjmZi9h9RV7eyewF0YE_qoGlfVjhXNbNqz0Yxz222D4fiqzsFgwcdFj-5asg_2HoLahIv87WD_x1768aluXyCzE9FyIs/s1600/DSCF1058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9YDqGzG7z_B0X7QMS3vQlCaxXDam_6eGWtev8o1AgL51fWHfOjmZi9h9RV7eyewF0YE_qoGlfVjhXNbNqz0Yxz222D4fiqzsFgwcdFj-5asg_2HoLahIv87WD_x1768aluXyCzE9FyIs/s320/DSCF1058.JPG" width="320" /></a>A further attempt to catch a wave in didn't end well for me, as the nose dug in, I skewed sideways and was thrown out, losing my beloved tattered yellow cap and sunnies to King Neptune. A brief search of the beach failed to produce anything, so with a heavy heart I put back in and continued south, welcoming the sun burn I was feeling, in self-flagellation for stupidly losing my prized possession.</div>
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As we arrived back at Port Beach I was pretty sure that the burglars in Balga must have been having a great time because it looked like everyone in Perth was on this beach. Threading my way through the throng carefully I spotted an opening and sped through towards the beach, only to have a family of four come out of nowhere, yelling 'Banzai' and throw themselves in front of the ski in a kamikaze charge that ended like you would expect a kamikaze charge to end.</div>
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Dead set, it was an outstanding paddle (notwithstanding my missing hat!) and only happened because the fickle finger of fate intervened - thanks Fate! </div>
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Travis bailed when we got back, admitting with a squeak that he is a mouse, rather than a man, and showing us Mrs T's thumb print, clearly visible on his forehead. Of course with Mrs Blue and the tin lids still in England, I am able to make remarks like this...</div>
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With vultures following us through the car park, we exited stage right to the Beach St cafe in Fremantle for a well-needed breakfast.</div>
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<i><b>Beach St Cafe, err...Beach St, Fremantle, 93357208</b></i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Photo courtesy of lovefreo.com because I forgot to take one.</i></b></td></tr>
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Westy had been here for brekky not so long ago, and it came with a strong recommendation. <i><b> </b></i>The menu is on a blackboard as you walk in, and we ordered at the counter. There was a mix of cyclists, people with dogs (this is a dog-friendly place), families and shedloads of those really irritating small flies.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Eggs Atlantic</b></i></td></tr>
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One thing Beach St has going for it is quite obviously the great view. It's located opposite a ferry wharf, with plenty of parking available. There is lots of grass and shady trees around should you feel the need for a post-feed snooze. <br />
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Westy ordered his customary Eggs Benedict ($18.50), and I ordered Eggs Atlantic ($18.50), which was scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and spinach in it with a side of avocado, and sitting on a toasted baguette, with Hollandaise sauce. The Eggs Benny was huge, with lashings of thick bacon supporting the poached eggs. Westy remarked that it was more like a Big Breakfast with Hollandaise on it. My Eggs Atlantic wasn't quite as big, but the eggs were tasty, so much more so because the spinach was simply added to the mix rather than boiled to within an inch of its life like it was last week in South Perth. Unfortunately, the baguette was burnt, and the one teaspoon of jarred Hollandaise didn't do the dish any favours. The mug of flat white wasn't the best I've had, but certainly wasn't the worst, and I was more interested in the ice-cold ginger beer at the time.</div>
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Service was prompt, although a bit of a dump-and-run style, but then again its that sort of place. If you want witty repartee from a waitress then you probably have a few issues to address, as well as a removal to arrange...</div>
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In the end, it wasn't bad. The portion sizes were good, service quick and it was just what was needed after a paddle. With a little more care and attention (and more Hollandaise), Beach st could score much higher. 6.5/10 <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1512528/restaurant/Perth/Beach-Street-Cafe-Fremantle"><img alt="Beach Street Cafe on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/logo/1512528/biglogo.gif" style="border:none;width:104px;height:34px" /></a> </div>
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<br />Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-33139852682809251502012-01-22T12:59:00.000+08:002012-12-28T22:22:29.388+08:00Atomic Espresso, South Perth<b><i>South Perth to Burswood, East Perth and return - 12km - 1hour 30 minutes</i></b><br />
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"Hi. My name is Blue. It's been seven days since my last paddle..."</div>
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Having been forced into joining Lazy Paddlers Anonymous for the last week, I probably should have said this as I lugged my ski down to the South Perth foreshore, carefully avoiding the broken bottles that clearly showed the high water mark. With the Gorilla Biscuit Factory swinging back into full production after the break, I had found myself furiously smacking my face down onto the table for first couple of days (just to get back into the swing) and then into the dough continuously for the remainder of the week, so no opportunities to skive off on the ski arose.</div>
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I was joined this morning by Travis the Beetle, freshly back from Deliverance, USA where he had suffered a broken ankle whilst being chased by a couple of chaps wanting him to squeal like a pig. Or he could have done it skiing - it was one of those reasons, anyway. Travis had wantonly ditched his ankle brace to get back on his Stand-Up Paddle Board, hoping to get his leg working properly again. Westy was unable to join us, having been sent to Istanbul to check out the Turkish delights at the company's new facility, where rumour has it that the biscuits are far uglier than ours. M4P had decided to become sharkbait in the surf this morning and James the Clingwrap Killer was out on his bike. So it was only Travis and I that set off under threatening skies for a lap around the island and a trip into East Perth. </div>
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It had been about a month since Travis had paddled, and even with his injury you wouldn't have known he had anything wrong with him. As it was, every time he slowed down I made oinking noises that mysteriously seemed to get him to go faster.</div>
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The jellyfish were out in force this morning and like a serial killer at Camp Biggest Loser it appeared that every second dip of the blade was absorbed by blubber.</div>
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Despite the threatening skies, it was still pretty warm as we lazily paddled along the foreshore, checking out the Bootcamp classes and many other early risers pounding the pavement. </div>
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As we rounded the North East corner of Heirisson Island (where the causeway crosses) Travis commenced a lap back around the island but to lengthen the paddle I headed up around the Graham Farmer Freeway bridge. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>East Perth. More lighthouses required.</i></b></td></tr>
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It was on the way back that tragedy almost struck. As I diverted from the safe route to salute the rich people in the Mediterranean-like canal of East Perth, I came too close to the point at Claisebrook, grounding on a rock that was only barely marked by two bloody big lighthouses. The ski instantly took a 20 degree list to port, but instead of abandoning ship immediately, I thought about breakfast. It was about then that I tripped and fell into a Moldovan 'dancer'...err..lifeboat, to thickly-accented shouts in my head of 'Women and children last!'. </div>
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Having survived my grounding and with no sign of either women or children onboard, I was able to right the ship and keep going, after a lap into the private lake of the rich and famous.</div>
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I once again met Travis, just north of the island and we pushed forth back to our cars, just in time to see a council ranger pull up in the space right in front of the Bluemobile. Having taken the chance that we would be back before the paid-parking period commenced, and failing dismally, I put the big ones in to at least have my door open and be making some effort to go before he started booking people. </div>
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If there is one thing that I hate more than bastard sharks, it's bastard parkies. Like referees, it is a special child that grows up thinking 'I want to be a parking inspector'. So it was that I observed Mr Bastard Parkie pull up in a space that someone else could have used, not pay for it, and then start dishing out tickets to people who, like himself, had no ticket on their windscreen. He probably kicks disabled puppies for fun, just after he's finished putting broken glass on the foreshore where paddlers put in from. Bastard. </div>
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But all in all it was a good paddle - barely any traffic on the water, not much wind and only a little current. Just what I needed after a week of nothing.</div>
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<i><b>Atomic Espresso, 21 Mends St, South Perth, 08 9368 0990 </b></i></div>
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I make it a rule never to queue for anything, particularly pubs. It's an English habit, and it smacks of bad management. But with every other place in South Perth full, we joined the queue of two for the Atomic. I've never queued for breakfast before, so was keen to see if it was going to be worth it. The 15 minutes that we waited were spent perusing the menu, which was extensive and reasonably priced. When we finally were seated it was outside with a nice breeze blowing down Mends St.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Mrs T's Eggs Benny. Who knew phones could take pictures??</b></i></td></tr>
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The Atomic doesn't take cards - just cash - a bit of an oddity, but it wasn't the end of the world, and when I ordered (at the counter, after queuing again!) I was greeted with a 5ft tall blond vision of loveliness. In fact, seated all around us were the beautiful people as well so the contrast of we two old men was stark. I ordered Eggs Norwegian ($17.50) - scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, capers and red onion on sourdough with spinach and a small dollop of creme fraiche. I'd put a photo here for you but my camera jagged in (or it could have been that I didn't charge it...). It was pretty tasty, with the eggs scrambled lightly and flatly, and the smoked salmon, capers and red onion combo working a treat. The spinach was, well, it was spinach. Like a dose of cough medicine, you know it is going to be bad, but there it was so I ate it anyway.</div>
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Mrs Travis and little Travisette joined us, and so the index could continue, Mrs T thoughtfully ordered the Eggs Benny. The eggs were nicely poached and the Hollandaise came in its own little pot rather than smothered all over the place, like it should be. Mrs T was satisfied, if not wowed by the Benny. Luckily her phone was at hand for the morning's only picture...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>No relation to Mrs T.</b></i></td></tr>
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The tall flat white coffee ($5) was passable, lukewarm and nothing to rave about. </div>
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In short, when you're hungry after a paddle you'll eat anything - even boiled spinach. Having to queue, then queue again to order, and no card facility was three degrees of inconvenience. And whilst the food was pretty good (standfast the spinach), the wait wasn't justified. The staff and the clientele were mostly good sorts, and that certainly didn't hurt the ambience, but I wouldn't go out of my way again to come here again for breakfast. </div>
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Atomic Espresso - 6/10 <a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/338/1452096/restaurant/Perth/Atomic-Espresso-South-Perth"><img alt="Atomic Espresso on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/logo/1452096/minilogo.gif" style="border: none; height: 15px; width: 104px;" /></a> </div>
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<br />Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398803398736899115.post-6628647247978791632012-01-19T19:45:00.000+08:002012-01-28T07:04:39.399+08:00The Mandurah DuelMandurah. You don't really need a passport to get there, and it isn't that far away unless you live in Joondalup. Likewise, I'm pretty sure the people of Mandurah would equate Joondalup with South Geraldton.<br />
At 10am on Sunday, I loaded the Endorfinn onto the truckosaurus, packed a cut lunch and a Thermos, and set off down the worlds most speed camera-infested road to my first paddling race. Having stopped halfway for a cup of tea, a Bex and a little lie down, I soon arrived, and met my fellow paddlers Brett the racing snake and James, of glad-wrap fame. After doing the obligatory car shuffle, receiving a race brief ("Estuary - turn left and follow the boat, Ocean - turn right, keep Australia on your right, then take the first right") we made our way to the start point - The Cut at Port Bouvard.<br />
It's a very nice part of the world in Mandurah and Bouvard. The canals are spectacular, as are the Taj Mahals that are built upon them. After some sound advice from my old boss at the Gorilla Biscuit Factory, I had been drinking a shedload of water for the previous 24 hours, so by the time we got to Bouvard it wasn't long before I was standing waste-deep waving to the occupants of Buckingham Palace, with a very relieved expression on my dial.<br />
The Mandurah Duel is a 14km race with the vast majority of paddlers on composite ocean racing skis taking the ocean route whilst a few, mostly on the slower, plastic surf skis paddle the estuary. Needless to say, your fearless correspondent was paddling the estuary.<br />
Despite putting my water bladder in upside down, rendering me a thirsty paddler, and my moobs flailing to-and-fro as I kept up a cadence, I ended up coming in about 20 minutes quicker than projected, in 1hr 27 min. I didn't come last, I actually overtook people, I never stopped paddling, and in the end won a shirt.<br />
And the moobs? I think they're down to a C-cup.Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03341569359925051523noreply@blogger.com4