Alright, alright. This is my attempt at offsetting some of my anti-Aussie bitching.
Funny thing—I’m coming to realize that what I appreciate here seems to be what I appreciated most about life back home. It seems I am happiest when the weather is temperate, the food is good, the drinks are flowing, or I’m in the midst of some high-end, glossy department store or boutique. You know what they say: a leopard can’t change it’s spots. I may be walking distance from some of the most gorgeous beaches in the world, but they don’t make my heart leap quite the way discovery of great shopping does. Even if I’m not buying, being amidst beautiful designer frocks and bags and those bright, gleaming makeup counters just feeds me on a different level. The ocean is lovely, and I do love walking by it daily, but when it comes down to it, I’ll always be a city girl.
Back to the subject at hand: giving props to Oz. On one of my excursions to Westfield-at-Bondi Junction (the other tony shopping district aside from Sydney’s city proper), I discovered The Foodhall at David Jones—which is like our beloved Dean & Deluca, but on steroids (though unfortunately, without the outrageously good salad bar).
BUT…what the Foodhall lacks in lettuce, it makes up for in other ways. Better ways. Like an Oyster Bar with champagne. Like a Pasta Bar and Coffee Bar and a God-knows-what-else-bar.
Hold on, did someone say oysters and champagne? Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about! I haven’t partaken of that little delicacy yet, but it’s on my to-do list, along with getting a job and winning the lottery and being “discovered” in the blog stratosphere. I’ll need to accomplish at least one of those things before I can sashay my Southern self up to that bar and imbibe/indulge—let us not forget that I am in the land of Everything Costs Double.
Anyway, the Foodhall is chock full of the most delectable gourmet delights, presented in the most pleasing fashion. There are exotic olive oils and perfectly aligned rows of chocolates and truffles and treats. There’s a mouth-watering array of meats at the charcuterie. There are perfectly crusty loaves and sushi and sandwiches. There are gallons of olives and enough cheese to make any Frenchman gasp eh bien!
It is an eye-popping, gastronomic delight, from one end to the other. Even the fresh veggies are sexy. The product array is vast, the merchandising is tight, the air conditioning is pumping, and the atmosphere is sheer luxury. Whenever I feel like I can’t take Oz anymore, I think I’ll take the train to DJ’s and sip a coffee—or a champagne—very, very slowly.