I’m not a foodie. I think it’s a blessing given that I can’t shed the other reasons (i.e. other than indulging in food) that keeps my hormones from fat hoarding. And by this I mean: stress, anxiety, not moving enough, (and believe it or not) not sleeping enough!
In any case, when I say I’m not a foodie, what I essentially mean is I can’t tell the shades of grey when it comes to gastronomical affairs – only the seriously good and bad.
Perth is not a place I had ever wanted to revisit. And so when I was due to head down all so suddenly, I’ve interesting heard enough of how Perth has changed due to the mining boom and it’s has much more to offer before arriving. ‘Sure,’ I thought without a tinge of sarcasm or doubt. I’d give it a shot with an open mind. After all how hard can it be to improve from just having Myers, David Jones, Hay Street Mall and London Court for places to shop, with some hip and trendy restaurants/ bars across (the then 2) rail lines at Northbridge.
Even if you threw in the arty decidedly leftist (as far as Perth would permit) suburbs of Subiaco and Fremantle with their quirky one-off-non-globalization-look-alike-stores, the beach and much raved about seafood/ fish-and-chips shops by the pier, there’s really nothing much in store in Perth to keep you busy.
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Hence, the very fact that Perth has its own Jamie Oliver restaurant is mind-blowing.
Sure, I understand that the mining boom has resulted in 2 years delayed and the controversial cost overrun Perth Arena, massive transportation improvements and infrastructure construction, fancy/ luxurious high-rise apartments and sky scrapers … and even the arrival of luxury high fashion brands like Burberry, Armani, Alexander McQueen, Balenciaga, Proenza, Gucci, Prada taking over real estate space from Salvo, Oxfam, Good Sammy and Army Overrun Store – the latter I had found intriguing in my younger days looking at samurai look-alike star-shaped deadly weapons being displayed beside bottles of liquids that somehow ironically is an antidote for malaria threatening mosquito bites to dish washing liquid and concentrated tea tree oil that’s meant to save you even if your heart is pounding out of your open chest! caused possibly by the other deadly looking sharpened pieces of metal surrounding the bottles of liquid.
But there is was … Jamie’s Italian, situated some 150 meters away from the never-ending constructions that’s happening at the railway tracks that separates Perth CBD from its more artsy (notoriously criminal as well) counterpart Northbridge with countless of chap suey, Vietnamese Pho, and a scattering of Indian cuisine, interspersed with a Lotto hole-in-the-wall kindda establishment, tattoo parlours, Asian grocers, launderette and graffiti-competes-with-the-latest-arty-event-in-town poster facade of vacant real estate.
Other than being in 28 places across UK (I think), Jamie’s Italian is available in Singapore and Australia – Sydney (not surprising) and Perth.
Since there was no queue (oh well, it was a mid-week night), and the food was reasonably priced (relative to how high prices have sky rocketed in tandem with the skyline of not-so-high sky scrapers comparatively in any normal eatery, but definitely exorbitant for noodles tossed in mashed tomatoes in my country of origin’s
currency “seashells”), I gave it a go.
Let’s leave it as: the food and ambiance was within the ‘greys’ of my scale…