Day 5: Sydney
And what a night it was!
Full details, as you'd expect, can be found on the website's Music Pages, as well as the LHoC Music blog (same content, different location), and tapping out that content took care of most of the pre-checkout time at the Hilton, with the process of composition interspersed with phone calls from Madam to advise possible complications after an electrical storm on the Gold Coast and a quick excursion in search of a substantial breakfast since I wasn't sure whether, or when, we'd be having lunch.
Cafe Rosso in the Galeries Victoria took care of that concern, and while there isn't much room for variation in the big cooked breakfast, what arrived was the usual substantial offering that combined to fill the gaping hole after the previous night's excitement relegated dinner to the status of a toasted sandwich and provide the fuel to keep things going until a meal opportunity some time later in the day.
With the Hilton offering an eleven o'clock checkout, the game plan after breakfast was to wait till a quarter to eleven, and then hoof it across to the night's accommodation (Travelodge Wentworth) where I could tap away on the iPad till the shuttle bus lobbed Madam on the doorstep and we could check in.
Which was the way things panned out, though as you might expect there was the odd complication in the form of a later discovery that I'd left the mobile phone charger in the room at the Hilton, something that isn't as hard to accomplish as you might think.
The bench beside the glass topped desk featured an array of assorted items, all of them black, and most of them with cables attached.
As an Apple partisan, I'm used to cables and such being a distinctive white rather than a blend in with the surroundings sable. The sight of a white cable (this is what I managed to convince myself in hindsight) would have registered as something that needed checking while the little black devil just blended in with it's non-Apple brothers and sisters.
In any case, that was still a while away.
In the meantime I tapped away, and Madam's arrival was the signal to check in and head off to World Square in search of lunch.
Now, the lunch side of things was very much Madam's department and at this point in time I wouldn't have recognized Din Tai Fung if the establishment had come up and taken a nip at my big toe.
The first sign that we were in for something special was the sign outside the premises advising that the establishment had no link to any other operation in Australia.
Obviously, I thought, there must be imitators.
Inside, I found what amounted to a variation on the old yum cha theme, with the main difference being that rather than having women wheeling around trolleys of delicacies and trying to interest the clientele, here there was an order form on the table, you made your selections from it, and the desired delicacies were delivered to your table.
Like most such operations, Din Tai Fung operates on the pack them in and whack it out principle, which means it isn't the place to be whispering sweet nothings without being overheard by nearby lunchers. That also means you're likely to be treated to intimate details about subjects you'd prefer not to hear about, but proximity, in the absence of an operating manual for debutant dilettantes, turned out to have it's advantages.
Obviously sensing confusion, the girls next door broke off an in depth discussion of the realities of the Holocaust as portrayed in movies and developing personal relationships to offer advice on ordering and suggestions about the items on offer.
That advice pointed us towards the establishment's trade mark, the quite wonderful soup dumplings. Novices are pointed towards the first item on the dumplings menu (the pork version $10.80 for eight), which we duly tried, and on advice from the neighbouring table I had a go at a spicier version that I was subsequently unable to locate on the menu that the Urbanspoon app links to, along with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc that similarly fails to feature.
Based on this visit, Din Tai Fung will definitely be getting a return visit, and with a number of operations scattered across the globe, it looks good as an option wherever we're wandering.
A word to the wise, though.
Madam's hardly a big eater, and with lunch an uncertain proposition Hughesy had filled up with a latish big breakfast, which meant we were limited to single serves of the items already mentioned. Next time it'll be a case of skipping breakfast, hopefully after a light supper the night before and lobbing on the doorstep at opening time for a serious dumplings gorge over lunch.
We took a bit of a wander from there, working our way back to the Travelodge for a rest, abbreviated by the discovery that the mobile phone charger had gone missing, a hike across to the Hilton, where I was told the item wouldn't have made its way through the system until the morrow.
Interestingly, there was no suggestion that the charger wouldn't turn up, and nothing to suggest the matter was of such little significance as to be beneath the establishment's attention.
Hardly the reaction, in other words, that you'd get from your common or garden Australian but we've outsourced it offshore customer service operation.
From there, since we were in the neighbourhood anyway, Madam wanted a gander at the State Theatre, based on reports of the visually opulent art deco interior, which of course wasn't accessible though the first section of the foyer gave a reasonable indication of the glories within.
The hike back to the Travelodge took us along a circuitous route in search of the most likely dinner option (just to scope it out, you understand).
Due to defects in the memory department I was looking for Siam I Am rather than Spice I Am, and walked straight past the establishment in question, which had, fortunately, registered on Madam's consciousness, so once we'd sorted that minor detail back at the Travelodge I took a quick stroll round to the nearby wine merchant, where a bottle of 2003 Mesh Riesling set me back a very reasonable $27.
A quick rest was followed by a decision to hoof it down to Spice I Am early, a decision that meant we arrived just in time to snaffle the last free table, thus eliminating the need to queue for a seat at a place that apparently doesn't take bookings.
And it's obvious why they don't.
Plonk a Reserved sign on a table that has been booked for, say seven thirty and you're denying yourself the chance to get a couple of seatings through that table beforehand, which is an important consideration in a BYO operation that doesn't charge for corkage.
At the same time you won't be encouraged to linger, so after we'd finished Madam's Pla Tod Ka Min (deep fried marinated sand whiting with turmeric, salt and pepper) and my Pad Prik King and a serve of steamed rice between us we still had about a quarter of a bottle left when we were getting the time to move on signal.
We'd started with a couple of fresh spring rolls and walked out pleasantly sated, heading back to base with the rest of the Riesling, which was duly demolished, prompting a decision to head around to the bottle shop to see if they had something suitable in a dessert style, which would probably have come in a half bottle.
As it turned out they did, but what was on offer was slewed towards the top of the range. Disinclined to return empty handed I grabbed a bottle of Pizzini Pinot Grigio, which turned out to be a very pleasant strong on the pears through the nose and across the palate style, very pleasant but probably better preceding the Riesling than following it.
Still, it made for a rather pleasant nightcap.