enjoy the silence(?)
And so begins the week's transmissions.
Apologies. I really do seem to struggle posting on the weekends, but I'm thankful this is the case. Mere years ago I was twiddling my thumbs between the end and beginning of the work weeks, but now, courtesy of the blessing that is my partner, that era has ceased to be. Good riddance to it, I must say.
The score, this last weekend, was 3 hits and 1 miss.
Hits.
1. Took in Sideways. Paul Giamatti is riveting viewing, as always. I can not believe this man is only 37, but I guess the emotionally worn look he specialises in is how he gets these superb beaten-dog roles. Anyway. This is a highly enjoyable film and definitely worthy of a full review, but unfortunately Simon Doesn't Say today, so this is not to be. It should be pointed out that this is definitely one for the wine lovers; faultless on that front, and guaranteed to have you toying with the idea of a fortnight in Northern California.
2. Speaking of which, I drank a nicely built, albeit youthful, bottle of Redesdale shiraz from, you guessed it, Heathcote. Heady bouquet but the taste is all berry and no cherry, and really in need of some quiet time in a well ventilated cave. I had it decanted and am glad I did so because it took a while to start giving up the good stuff at the table, everything masked behind that driving blackberry punch. So, needless to say I'm thinking about buying a case of the "99 they have for sale on their website.
3. Pulled a little Copperfield in the kitchen and charmed partner into a hypnotic trance with my Tava, the classic Cypriot dish of lamb, potato and tomato. It was just so easy but tasted devilishly good. We have leftovers for the first part of the week too, which no one is complaining about. Would have been great with a glass of the Redesdale but alas they were on different nights; my Cooper's pale stood up quite well, though, thank-you.
Miss.
The miss was unfortunate. Mrs. Jones, which I have spoken about before, has taken on a new chef, Damien Jones, and at the same time changed their operation from fixed price entrée and main to the more conventional a la carte. Two problems.
Firstly, the fixed price meal was a unique selling point for Mrs. Jones, and it worked, with more regulars than you can poke a stick at turning up day in day out, and then also, in turn, for breakfast because they can. With this gone, and the prices up (considerably), one can't help but wonder if Mrs. Jones is only a couple of steps away from a dangerous place.
Secondly, with a change in direction on the food front, an identity crisis has clearly emerged. Jones, the chef, has a Thai bent, not that there's anything wrong with that. Well, actually, no, dammit, there is. If I wanted Thai, I would go to a Thai restaurant. When I go to Mrs. Jones I do so for the Mod Oz with nods to Europe, not for fish sauce. Now the menu features a little from column A and a little from column B. I think this is highly problematic and I will be stunned if this doesn't raise the eyebrows and close the wallets of more than just myself.
These are two significant speed bumps, as far as I am concerned, and I am thinking it could threaten the beautiful relationship I have had with this wonderful Carlton establishment for a couple of years now. In the world of food I'm always reflective and forward thinking, but this would be a great shame. Much as there are places to which one could turn for comfort in the area (Balzari, Moreton's, The Lincoln, or even Interlude at these prices) I for one would be very upset if Mrs. Jones lost its shine.
And that, dear reader, was the weekend. How was yours?
Apologies. I really do seem to struggle posting on the weekends, but I'm thankful this is the case. Mere years ago I was twiddling my thumbs between the end and beginning of the work weeks, but now, courtesy of the blessing that is my partner, that era has ceased to be. Good riddance to it, I must say.
The score, this last weekend, was 3 hits and 1 miss.
Hits.
1. Took in Sideways. Paul Giamatti is riveting viewing, as always. I can not believe this man is only 37, but I guess the emotionally worn look he specialises in is how he gets these superb beaten-dog roles. Anyway. This is a highly enjoyable film and definitely worthy of a full review, but unfortunately Simon Doesn't Say today, so this is not to be. It should be pointed out that this is definitely one for the wine lovers; faultless on that front, and guaranteed to have you toying with the idea of a fortnight in Northern California.
2. Speaking of which, I drank a nicely built, albeit youthful, bottle of Redesdale shiraz from, you guessed it, Heathcote. Heady bouquet but the taste is all berry and no cherry, and really in need of some quiet time in a well ventilated cave. I had it decanted and am glad I did so because it took a while to start giving up the good stuff at the table, everything masked behind that driving blackberry punch. So, needless to say I'm thinking about buying a case of the "99 they have for sale on their website.
3. Pulled a little Copperfield in the kitchen and charmed partner into a hypnotic trance with my Tava, the classic Cypriot dish of lamb, potato and tomato. It was just so easy but tasted devilishly good. We have leftovers for the first part of the week too, which no one is complaining about. Would have been great with a glass of the Redesdale but alas they were on different nights; my Cooper's pale stood up quite well, though, thank-you.
Miss.
The miss was unfortunate. Mrs. Jones, which I have spoken about before, has taken on a new chef, Damien Jones, and at the same time changed their operation from fixed price entrée and main to the more conventional a la carte. Two problems.
Firstly, the fixed price meal was a unique selling point for Mrs. Jones, and it worked, with more regulars than you can poke a stick at turning up day in day out, and then also, in turn, for breakfast because they can. With this gone, and the prices up (considerably), one can't help but wonder if Mrs. Jones is only a couple of steps away from a dangerous place.
Secondly, with a change in direction on the food front, an identity crisis has clearly emerged. Jones, the chef, has a Thai bent, not that there's anything wrong with that. Well, actually, no, dammit, there is. If I wanted Thai, I would go to a Thai restaurant. When I go to Mrs. Jones I do so for the Mod Oz with nods to Europe, not for fish sauce. Now the menu features a little from column A and a little from column B. I think this is highly problematic and I will be stunned if this doesn't raise the eyebrows and close the wallets of more than just myself.
These are two significant speed bumps, as far as I am concerned, and I am thinking it could threaten the beautiful relationship I have had with this wonderful Carlton establishment for a couple of years now. In the world of food I'm always reflective and forward thinking, but this would be a great shame. Much as there are places to which one could turn for comfort in the area (Balzari, Moreton's, The Lincoln, or even Interlude at these prices) I for one would be very upset if Mrs. Jones lost its shine.
And that, dear reader, was the weekend. How was yours?
posted by W at 11:10 pm
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