A Minor Beef

An old saying advises that one should not eat seafood in a place where you cannot see the sea. It could also hold true in reverse: do not eat beef where you CAN see the sea. This lesson was brought home to me over the course of two drives we have made from this delightful mountain town to the Pacific coast, and the pleasures of these trips thoroughly outweighs any negative vibes brought on by eating a dodgy hamburger.

Our first trip to the coast was a drive to Crowdy Head, a promintory jutting out into the sea featuring a small, picturesque light house. Like all drives in New South Wales, the way was

neither straight nor level, traversing pavement that had last seen an upgrade when Robert Menzies was prime minister. The scenery was fantastic, though, with rolling hills, thick forests, and open cow paddocks that provided an endless array of beautiful views. We stood at the lighthouse and gazed out at the sea, hoping that an errant whale or two might breach during their migrations north from the Anarctic. The place reminded me a bit of another lighthouse we have visited at Byron Bay, the easternmost point of this continent, because there was no development visible on the shoreline to the north and south. The quiet rhythm of the waves always puts me in mind of the eternal, with the ocean providing the heartbeat of our planet. From that point we retraced ourselves to what can only be described as a large metal shed situated along side the road where a oyster market and takeaway stand served up some pretty good fish and chips. There were also at the parking lot of this establishment rack after rack of oyster nursery beds drying in the sun, made more interesting from the fact that I had tried my first oysters just moments before inspecting them. We then made the drive home over the same route as the morning's jaunt. It was a lot of fun and we enjoyed ourselves immensely.

Our second expedition yesterday was over much of the same highway to the costal city of Forster, which reminded me of a miniature Manly with high rise apartments and busy streets. Here Ronald and Jane had some shopping to do, primarily to procure food and litter for the service of the real masters of their home, two cats named Sylvia and Sebastian. They also stopped at a sporting goods store where I purchsed a nice small pair of binoculars which we immediately employed at another seaside overlook which provided an opportunity to look for whales. Alas, there were none of the Leviathans to be seen and we adjourned to a dockside cafe.

Hamburgers are a common enough meal in Australia, and the country hosts such familiar American franchises as McDonalds and Burger King (here known as "Hungry Jacks"). When ordering a hamburger at a pub or independent restaurant, the burgers take a different turn from the plain Yankee model with toppings that include (among other things) sliced beets. Generally speaking these Australian interpretations of the sandwich are quite tasty, but at the aforementioned cafe the opposite was encountered. Instead of ordering fish and chips again (like any sane person would have done) I ordered a hamburger that proved inedible. There were no beet slices, but I suspect there was little beef in the burger as well, and it was smothered in a sweet barbeque sauce that did not do much to improve the flavor. A mild case of indigestion resulted from my culinary escapade, but it did not last long and shortly after returning home I was back on my feet, wiser for the experience: always eat fish at a place that specializes in serving it, and if ever in doubt about the burgers at other establishements, order the chicken schnitzel instead. I have rarely had these flattened, breaded chicken fillets fail me at any pub where I have ordered them. (And yes, they have KFC here too, but the schitzels at just about anywhere else are going to be much superior).