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Here is an extract from the Mearld-Hail dated 31st June 2008 after food and wine critic Earl Sandwich and partner Jules Carrot went on a search for the best inner west pub meal. That night, they dined at the Pigs Arms.
Arriving at the hotel is indeed an experience in itself. Tucked away, just of Porcine Ave, the Window Dressers Arms Pig & Whistle, the Pigs Arms to the locals, boasts the most interesting welcome. A sign greets you at the door saying “What lies in front us and what lies behind us are huge irrelevancies to what lies out there…..”, well, what can you say to that Odlaw?
You shuffle via the Ladies Lounge through the bar into the Bistro or as the pink neon light reminds you “The Pigs Arms Bar & Grill” just in case you would forget or in fact if you are ever able to forget.
In the bar a man stares blankly at a wall, humming a tune to himself, so softly in fact that
no one else could hear it. We find out later on that it was Hung One On, a 70’s rock star who had a one hit wonder with an album that nearly everyone alive brought. “One trip too many” they say.
The waitress introduces herself as Belinda, “Glenda’s little sister”. It would seem Glenda is important. I comment that my sister also has that name but often complains that she is never allowed to sit near a window. How odd?
We are seated a table that has a picturesque view over the railway yard. Belinda gives us the menus. We order some drinks, Trotters Ale, as it’s a local brew. Served cold, it emitted a strange misty vapor and an aroma that burns imprints on your brain that are difficult to erase. Drinking this ale became a two way process. As I sipped it, it sipped me. Stranger than strange.
The menu was small however eclectic. It contained all the usual villains, prawn cocktail, grapefruits onto pasta, steak, cake and ice cream. The words “Granny’s wedges are a must for all beer drinkers” emblazoned on the front cover however the curious thing was the way the menu was written.
Prawn cocktail was described as “…innocent little Dendrobrachiata, boiled alive , stripped to the nut, served in a sauce made of the unborn children of Gallus gallus domesticus for some fat git with high cholesterol”, get the picture!
We asked for the wine list. A man approached calling himself “Merv”. A list is produced, listing 34 varieties of Shiraz. “Gez’s” favorite we are told, whoever Gez is. I ask for a merlot, “Mate, this pub is for locals, you know, the unleashed”, absolutely no idea what he means so we pick a bottle and I order another Trotter’s and wait. Jules and I read the menu, Mains. Wow, after the entrées, geeps, I’m afraid to look. Let’s see, Lamb Rack – “The rib of a defenseless young Ovis aries brutally murdered and marinated in the oil of Olea europaea, ascorbic acid, Allium sativum and rubbed in sodium chloride baked in a <>187.7 degree oven. Served with pan fried Solanum tuberosum and steamed piccoli bracci”, Crusted Flathead – “a portion of sample from an ill-fated platycephaliade, obtained by slicing parallel to the spine producing a fillet, pan fried in the oil of Olea europae in a coating of sodium chloride, Piper nigrum and the dried crumbed remains of baked Triticum spp. . Served with deep fried elongated pieces of Solanum tuberosum and a salad of Lactuca sativa, Solanum lycopersicum and Cucumis sativus”, whoa.
Dessert well lets not go there. By this time the Trotters Ale was staring to have an effect. Someone came past, counting everything, “37: John Howard, 38: The GST….”, I see a Dutch couple in the corner playing euchre and drinking Shiraz and arguing in Flemish about Wagner and his Ring Cycle.
Belinda arrives, we order but to her shock and dismay, we didn’t want any of granny’s
wedges. The wine comes and a handsome Greek couple enters and sits in the corner reciting poetry and encouraging the DJ to play Stella Konitopoulou. From my days of researching restaurants if the local’s visit then you know it’s going to be good.
A giant orange arrived at the door shouting, “ Is anyone going to squeeze me?” , the paint on the walls start to peel turning into butterflies, SAS soldiers break through the doors shooting randomly and yelling at everyone to get on the floor, Jules hand mergers with the shiraz bottle and she has snakes coming out of her eyes, a man enters wearing a dinner jacket with monogrammed hankerchief’s, “MJ”, his name is Mike Jones, how I know that I have no idea, Glenda approaches, I hear her say to Belinda “Didn’t order granny’s wedges, what have I told you, if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousands times the antidote to Trotters is in granny’s wedges, sheez”, a lion with a black eye walks up and puts his paw on my shoulder and says ”Here mate have some of this”, I look down and see a bowl of wedges, the lion says “The’ wezzes are goo, weawy goo, eat”. I shove wedges in my mouth and chew, I’m sweating, the lion is looking annoyed, a man approaches, its Jayell, “Quick”, he cries, “Get Hung to reprogram him”, I need my nappy changed and where’s mum I’m hungry, some one is shaking me “Sir! Sir! Sir!”
I wake up. I’m in hospital, St Boars. A doctor and nurse are in the cubicle with the curtains around, they tell me this happens all the time to people not used to the mild hallucinogenic effects of Trotters Ale “You need to order some of granny’s wedges, didn’t Belinda tell you” he says, they smile at me in a peculiar way, they call Jules. As we leave St Boars a giant orange is sitting on the side on the road, crying, “Won’t someone squeeze me?”……..
Big M said:
Mmmm, queer place this, ‘Pigs Arms’ in Inner Western Cyberia. Thought the menu may have improved, but, alas.
This is the second photo we’ve seen of Mr On smiling, is something wrong?
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Hung One On said:
Yes I smile occasionally to put people off.
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Hung One On said:
Viv,
The research I did to write about food at that depth was very interesting. I would hate to do a Raan on the Pigs Arms menu to that depth 🙂
Cheers
Mark
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Hung One On said:
This was supposed to appear below Viv’s comment
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Vivienne said:
Wouldn’t be beyond your reach. Already got the lamb research done – just add stuff about growing almond trees and waiting a year to get a crop and all the hard work that follows, plus keeping a cow and making your own yoghurt and then trekking around the world seeking spices from afar and carefully grinding them in a mortar. Easy peasy!
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Warrigal said:
“As I sipped it, it sipped me.”
You goin’ all Nietzschean on us Hoo. It won’t end well. Perspectivism is only a short, absent minded step from complete relativism.
Nah, musta been the Trotters talking. Getting to the bottom of a schooner is similar to staring into the abyss.
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Hung One On said:
Best laugh I’ve had in a long time
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Lehan Ramsay said:
187.7 degrees. Tricky. Is belinda near the winda some kind of song reference?
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Hung One On said:
Well spotted Lehan, very sharp of you. Yes go here,
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Emmjay said:
Hung, this has to be one of your major and finest works.
The line about Belinda being discouraged from sitting near the window, is an all-time classic.
Three gold stars, fleur de lis and chevrons.
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Hung One On said:
Never forget the creator Emmjay.
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atomou said:
No wonder I avoid Trotter’s!
Give me an ouzo, a Greek coffee and a baklava thank you and you can keep your Trotter’s and your wedgies -or was that wedges?
Strange about the orange. I thought it was lime, myself. Either it was the effect of the ouzo for me or the Trotter’s for you, Hungs. I must investigate.
Jules Carrot!
Where do you get these gems from, mate? Le Targét de Montparnasse?
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Hung One On said:
It either takes years of hard work or just being born a bullshit artist?
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Big M said:
Accurate self assessment.
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Sandshoe said:
Rings a bell.
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Hung One On said:
Seems to be the latter in my case
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Vivienne said:
Looks like I must have wedges on the alternative gourmet menu. They will be in the Greek style.
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