Cultural Learnings of Japan for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Australia

Last weekend, KG and I headed to Mikado Restaurant in Surfers Paradise for a sumo-related charity event. We were slightly late, having initially gone to the wrong venue.

Now like any good Malaysian, I've had my fill of Japanese cuisine, read my manga and watched my Sailormoon anime (people under the age of 23, just ignore me). Heck I even took Japanese language classes at school briefly.

However, an actual formal (the formality is to debatable, with a few men turning up in cargo shorts) event with Japanese people is a different thing altogether. For one thing, we stuck out like sore thumbs, having turned up 3 minutes later than the stated starting time. Everyone else was de-shoed and neatly seated, as we scurried to the empty mats.

The Mistress of Ceremonies, had been a sumo sports commentator on NHK for 15 years, so her explanations of the formal traditions and Japanese sumo culture were largely lost on me. I surmise that:

a) Sumos are fat (I never said this was going to be enlightening)
b) They start at 15, and usually retire at 35 and it's hard to get in by 28
c) They bestow upon the odd non-Japanese wrestler Japanese names
d) Their habitats (for lack of a better word) are known as 'stables' (this is where KG and I started making jokes about cattle prods)
e) They wear aprons over their thongs loin cloths.
f) One of the aprons was embroidered with a Samsung logo.
g) Wait a minute, isn't Samsung Korean?
h) I keep mistaking the Korean flag as Japanese

They had this group playing the ceremonial drums; the performance is usually pre-match. Very rousing stuff. I can totally see how their practice sessions would set the neighbourhood's canine population off (on a somewhat related note, I live with a man who displays his level of maturity by repeatedly rewinding to the annoying beeping bit in 2001: A Space Odyssey in a successful bid to annoy our neighbour's dog).

Appetisers. "Egguprantu", the nice lady sitting on my right offered by way of explanation, upon observing my skeptical expression whilst prodding the mystery blue stuff.

The chankonabe, which was explained to us, to be very nutritious and essential to the sumo's girth (read: fattening).

Japanese man: (animated Japanese speech, accompanied with lots of nose pinching)

Japanese woman: Soup! Soup!

Me: ... um, okay. Thank you.

KG: Did he say his nose is going to fall off?

The mochi at the end was unexpectedly unpalatable. KG and I frantically thought of ploys to avoid this delicacy without offending our affable Japanese neighbours. I succeeded by dumping it in a random bowl when unnoticed; KG bravely swallowed away.

I utilised my miniscule Japanese vocabulary to my best: itadakimasu, oishii, atsui, obaachan wa nihonjin (how does one say, Well, we're not sure, but she was adopted during the WWII and she doesn't really look Chinese plus my mother and I constantly get mistaken as Japanese, I mean, you first started speaking to me in Japanese too?).

The friendly couple graciously accepted my bastardised offerings and spent the entire time speaking to us fluently in Nihongo, whilst we nodded away cluelessly. What I did not say: gohan (because my rice was missing; I very nearly asked for goku, the spiky-haired main character of Dragonball) and kitsune (I wanted to compliment the lady on her dress, but I wasn't sure if it meant fox or beautiful).

Montblanc cake. Apparently topped with meronnu, but tasted suspiciously like azuki beans.

KG bought and distributed AUD20 of raffle tickets, which produced a sumo shopping bag (larger than the standard fare, of course) and a SUMO SAKE (14.5% alcohol, 35 standard drinks) for me.

I really wanted the umeshu. Oh well.

Post event KG and I -totally overdressed, by the way- had tea on the balcony of Hard Rock Cafe, huddled under my skimpy blue ombre shawl, watching the Gold Coast lights.

Clear Mountain

KG and I spent last weekend at the Mercure Clear Mountain Lodge. I'd never heard of the place before, the sentiments echoed by Brisbane friends. "Clear Mountain? Where's that?"

Heck, even the trusty old Wikipedia page lacked information.

Our room. True to the Trip Advisor reviews, the room was extremely basic (considering how the RRP is AUD500+ per night - we got it for much less though). I was freezing, having left my jacket in the car and set the room tenperature to a tropical 31C.

It had an ensuite spa. Sadly, the water was pretty mucky and the foamy scud marred the experience.




Dinner was at the inhouse restaurant, Mandy's on the Mountain. The chef's name is Shannon, so I wonder how the Mandy bit came about. We were given the last booking for dinner for the night, which was quite strange, considering how the dining area was about 2/3 empty.

The food was excellent, though fairly pricy. The waitstaff were attentive, in fact, overly so. After our conversations got interrupted the nth time by the waitresses' flirting (yes, KG was very popular that night), the green-eyed monster in me was tempted to sit in his lap/ stab them in the thigh to make a point.

This is our generously portioned entree. Salmon something-or-rather, with crayfish salad.

KG's snapper. I think it had champagne cream sauce.

My very excellent beef fillet with truffled mash, creamed mushrooms and some sort of red wine and beef jus reduction. It was beautiful.

Apparently, our room should have had, and I quote, "breathtaking panoramic views of the Glasshouse Mountains and Moreton Bay islands", but this is all we could see from the balcony. KG was pretty annoyed but the other suites with spas had been booked out.

The pergola thingie. This place is apparently a hotspot for weddings. There was one going on during our stay.

The improved views from the alfresco dining area.

KG and I then headed off. Upon running out of Twisties (alas, the BBQ flavour is not to be found down under), we drove to Samford in search of food. We also bumped into an ex-colleague and good friend of mine, JL whom I hadn't seen for ages and ages. Noting the size of Australia in proportion to the number of people I know, this event bears mentioning. It felt almost like a rite of passage to my sense of belonging here. I mean, holy cow, I actually bumped into someone. Met a friend, unplanned, more than 100km away from home, in a foreign land (though really, I already feel very much at home here). Whoo-hoo!

View from one of the many Brisbane National Parks lookouts.

KG and I settled in a quiet spot for a picnic of random items from the local IGA. Unfortunately, he failed to appreciate my choice, which had me eating more than 500g of roast chicken wings.

I am avoiding chicken wings for the foreseeable future.

A curious and clumsy kookaburra

I don't know how the residents here relay their addresses with straight faces.

The breathtaking view from Jollys Lookout

Possibly one of the less vulgar quainter street names I've come across

another bloody water

Stolen Recipe Ice Tea (not bad but too chamomile-y for my liking) and Charlie's Honest Smoothie (the colour and texture of Malaysian drain sludge but hey, KG liked it)

Upon my insistence, we headed to Mount Coo-tha. It was almost impossible to find parking, but the view (poorly captured below) was worth it.

Unfortunately in the excitement, we forgot to check out the Japanese Botanical Gardens, which are apparently well worth a visit. Until the next time then.

Yarra Valley

PH and I had never been to Yarra Valley before so Tuesday appeared to be a time as good as any other to set out. He navigated (and spent the entire time calling me a bloody Asian driver) whilst I drove bloody Asian-ly.

Of course, in return I made orgasm noises everytime we passed any livestock.

We stopped at the Lilydale Lake. It was an idyllic day. There was some sort of fat camp going on, with kids sprinting around the place.

Okay, the whole Yarra Valley was incredibly scenic. I have no idea where this one came from, actually.

This lovely set up was at the Wild Cattle Creek Ranch, with its charming bull/ buffalo insignia on all the gates and grills. Sadly, it's only open Wednesdays - Sundays, as were a few other wineries we visited.

The lovely man at Whispering Hills performed our tasting. This was my first, so thankfully PH's geniality eased my anxiety. I deem the whole wine and cheese thing a little too pretentious for my taste but still, I didn't want to appear like an idiot. The sparkling appealed to my naive tastebuds. PH got the Chardonnay, since the Cabernet Sauvignon was unavailable. We also tried a variety of cheeses. KG has a thing for blue cheese, which quite frankly, freaks me out. I nibbled on this French one which came with the rind attached. It was rather strange, chewing on the crispy mold. Didn't fancy the goat cheese, but the last Italian one had a lovely nutty flavour.

We finally arrived at Warburton. It was a lot tinier than expected and fairly typical of little Victorian tourist towns.

Mallards

The Wild Thyme Cafe had received a thumbs up but was closed. We settled at Three Sugars for pie. This one was alright and definitely beat the stuff served at Pie in the Sky hands down. Though nothing will ever replace the steak and mushies from Rock n Roll Bakery in Greenslopes. ♥

Why yes, Chinese DO eat everything

The smaller version of these looks really gross. Like an eyeball attached to a stick.


This is especially for KG. Geoducks (pronounced gwee-ducks) - another (apparently) tasty (not to mention expensive) abhorration of nature. Ignore deeply unappetising physicality.

Weekend down south

X had a massage thingamajig to attend, so we decided to spend the weekend in Sydney. We stayed at the Novotel on Brighton le Sands, which is this really cute, coastal, still kind of bogan suburb 15 minutes away from the airport.


For some weird reason, we were given two double beds. And somewhere along the evening, X's tampering with the remote cost him AUD14.95 when he 'accidentally' clicked on the porn. *cough*

So after leaving X at daycare the conference, I took the 478 on Bay St to the Rockdale station, where I got a train ticket from a grumpy old man to the City. Hungry, I headed straight to the infamous Marigold for dim sum (known as yum char here).




Yes, I sat all by my lonesome self in the midst of tables of chattering families, nibbling on my yam puffs and prawn chee cheong fun. Unfortunately, I've been nursing a temperamental tummy for a whole week now and that was all I could stomach. The dishes were yummy though.

I then wandered about Market City. The upper levels totally remind me of Sungai Wang. Hunted down some obligatory souvenirs for the colleagues (Smiggle pens) and cosmetics for Maternal Logic. Got myself orange, seafoam green and silver nail polish. The latter is shiny enough to rival bike reflectors, I kid you not. It is made in China though so I wonder if it contains some radioactive evil shit that will shrivel my nails and cause them to drop off.

I walked past all the famous Asian hairsalons (Kippo, Ginger etc) but they were crowded. At last I wound up in one that looked reasonably busy but could slot me in. I forget the name but it was Korean and they cheated me out of a hairwash. The lady snipped away and in 15 minutes, I emerged looking somewhat like a little boy with cleavage (it was the bra, I'll admit). Here, you judge. Just ignore the lady behind me who thought she'd pose along.



The nicest parts of Sydney really, aren't the touristy Opera House/ Darling Harbour/ Harbour Bridge etc (overrated), nor the shopping malls and not even the Chinesey parts where obscure, too-sweet drinks with funny squiggly characters can be found. I discovered the lovely Eastern suburbs hidden between the main streets and Kings Cross. I wouldn't really recommend walking there at night, but I spent several hours on Saturday just wandering about, admiring the intricate lattice of the balconies, the charmingly peeling paintwork and the leafy trees and pavements purple-lined with jacaranda flowers.








See why you shouldn't wander there at night?





My attempt to swim failed as the heated pool is only open until 6pm. I did get to milk my new white bikini (never toss your wet bikini into your beachbag with your evil, evil, but so beautiful green Marc by MJ wallet in it) for all it was worth though. Note to self: Walk around in swimwear around the mall in Gold Coast and nobody notices; do the same in a hotel in Sydney and everyone will stare.

We had dinner at Mezes, which is attached to the lobby of the hotel. It's mainly Mediterranean food. The restaurant was bustling so it was a good thing X made reservations. Our waitress was this incredibly exotic thing with the most gorgeous eyes ever.


My Chai Latter Vanilla which is The Most Awesome Beverage Ever. I took one away again for breakfast. Had I not been completely stuffed from the yummy Seafood Linguine (see below), I'd have had another.


This is unbelievably good. Even better than my boss' mummy's Jewish meatball spaghetti, which is saying something.

NB: Stop calling me your boss! I am not your boss.
Jan: Yes boss.


I convinced X to get the Filet Mignon which was superb. (Top to bottom) Carrot shavings, feta block, filet mignon wrapped in bacon, vegetable filo pastry, pesto *drool*

Even more exquisite was the bill, which totalled AUD54.70 for both of us. This sort of thing on the Coast would have set us back AUD80, at least and probably not been half as good. I would have to say, this is only the second truly positive restaurant experience in Australia I've had, the first being The Balcony in Byron Bay (though they're starting to suck too).

I end our little trip with a picture of men in tights. Poor Batman (whose mask was held together with duct tape at the back) got humped by some idiot drunk. These guys were sporting enough to strike a pose anyway.



We spent Sunday in Manly, which would have probably been a nice place but it rained and poured cats, dogs, goats and dinosaurs and X and I just spent most of the time at the Ivanhoe having lunch. Well, I spent about 20 minutes in the loo which wouldn't flush, which made me flush when I exited, only to face an annoyed pregnant lady who had probably only been waiting forever. Awkward.

Alfresco (though we did sit inside)

We had a craving for Italian so X and I stopped by Surfer's Paradise where he's heard of a great ristorante from a friend of ours.

X: Peter says this place is really awesome.
Me: Peter also happens to be Swedish. They eat meatballs and raw herring. Do you really trust his judgment?
X: ...

Alfresco was packed. There was a table for two outside but I was freezing so we huddled near a heater and (im)patiently waited for an inside table to be cleared.



I had the Risotto Pescatore (AUD26.50) and X had the Fettucine Cabonara (AUD17.50). Both were pretty good. The seafood in my risotto was incredibly fresh, though the baby octopuses were a little rubbery. X's fettucine was incredibly eggy and satisfyingly al dente.



We both had hot chocolates which were yummy, but tummyache inducing. The service was swift, competely negating the need for garlic bread (most risottos I've had require 20 minutes or more of cooking time).