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I am so very full. Spose that's what happens when you ingest half a cow (... and entree, and dessert, and drinks both alcoholic and non) in one sitting.
We went out for a belated birthday dinner tonight; wound up at The Meat and Wine Co, which appears to be a South African steak chain. Getting down there was a breeze, and the noise levels and lighting were much to my liking. We were lucky enough to get a booth rather than a table - the booths were closer to the entrance (not to mention the floor to ceiling wine racks) so they were better lit. The food was lovely and my grass fed fillet cow was melt-in-the-mouth stuff, which is pretty amazing given that I'd asked for medium. Thought I couldn't fit in more until I remembered the chai infused creme brulee on the dessert menu, and my stomach contorted itself to make room.
Just as importantly, the place didn't have any of the pretenses you might expect from a restaurant fronting the Yarra. There were people wandering around in jeans and sneakers, and young babies being hauled back to their tables by their mothers. The staff were friendly in a conversational way, too, rather than a 'I hear the blue cheese and vodka sauce is excellent, madam' way. Though if they had said that, they'd have been right - blue cheese and vodka work surprisingly well together on top of steak. Maybe that's just a difference of culture between Sydney and Melbourne though. I'd expect a similarly priced joint up there to at least be a bit more showy in its clientele.
The one thing that marred the evening - well, sort of - was our trek back home. We came out of the restaurant and called a taxi, assuming that 'Queensbridge Square across the road from Crown Casino on Queensbridge Street in Southbank' would be enough information for the call centre people to place a request, but no. Apparently they need a street number, even if you're across the road from what is arguably the most well known building in the whole damn city, and you have someone with an easily spotted white cane as part of the party. Never mind that the place you're calling from doesn't really have a street address since it's in more of a restaurant precinct doover than on a streetfront. Matt ended the phone call with "Don't worry about it, we'll just walk instead."
Which we did. Well, Matt sort of stalked angrily and I trotted to keep up. I realised halfway across the pedestrian bridge that we could've just gone back into the restaurant and asked them to call a taxi for us, but by that stage I didn't mind so much. I've never seen the Yarra at night before, with all the city lights shining on it and everything looking so deceptively clean and bright because the darkness hides all the grime. It was lovely, and we'll have to go back at some point when Matt isn't hell bent on bringing down all taxi company call centre operators. :)
Eventually we hit the corner of Swanston and Flinders, where we finally got a taxi. It's a good thing Matt knows that end of the city so well; I had thought the same cab rank was down on Elizabeth, several streets over. Never mind that I cross the road near that corner every day to commute to work. Whoops.
We went out for a belated birthday dinner tonight; wound up at The Meat and Wine Co, which appears to be a South African steak chain. Getting down there was a breeze, and the noise levels and lighting were much to my liking. We were lucky enough to get a booth rather than a table - the booths were closer to the entrance (not to mention the floor to ceiling wine racks) so they were better lit. The food was lovely and my grass fed fillet cow was melt-in-the-mouth stuff, which is pretty amazing given that I'd asked for medium. Thought I couldn't fit in more until I remembered the chai infused creme brulee on the dessert menu, and my stomach contorted itself to make room.
Just as importantly, the place didn't have any of the pretenses you might expect from a restaurant fronting the Yarra. There were people wandering around in jeans and sneakers, and young babies being hauled back to their tables by their mothers. The staff were friendly in a conversational way, too, rather than a 'I hear the blue cheese and vodka sauce is excellent, madam' way. Though if they had said that, they'd have been right - blue cheese and vodka work surprisingly well together on top of steak. Maybe that's just a difference of culture between Sydney and Melbourne though. I'd expect a similarly priced joint up there to at least be a bit more showy in its clientele.
The one thing that marred the evening - well, sort of - was our trek back home. We came out of the restaurant and called a taxi, assuming that 'Queensbridge Square across the road from Crown Casino on Queensbridge Street in Southbank' would be enough information for the call centre people to place a request, but no. Apparently they need a street number, even if you're across the road from what is arguably the most well known building in the whole damn city, and you have someone with an easily spotted white cane as part of the party. Never mind that the place you're calling from doesn't really have a street address since it's in more of a restaurant precinct doover than on a streetfront. Matt ended the phone call with "Don't worry about it, we'll just walk instead."
Which we did. Well, Matt sort of stalked angrily and I trotted to keep up. I realised halfway across the pedestrian bridge that we could've just gone back into the restaurant and asked them to call a taxi for us, but by that stage I didn't mind so much. I've never seen the Yarra at night before, with all the city lights shining on it and everything looking so deceptively clean and bright because the darkness hides all the grime. It was lovely, and we'll have to go back at some point when Matt isn't hell bent on bringing down all taxi company call centre operators. :)
Eventually we hit the corner of Swanston and Flinders, where we finally got a taxi. It's a good thing Matt knows that end of the city so well; I had thought the same cab rank was down on Elizabeth, several streets over. Never mind that I cross the road near that corner every day to commute to work. Whoops.
