My apologies for yet another hotel review…I do actually eat at restaurants, honest. Just lately however, due to no fault of my own, my dining experiences have mostly been confined to Perth hostelry. I have a couple of other reviews up my sleeve, but metaphors desert me in trying to adequately describe them currently. They will have to wait until, sated with a large glass of Peregrine Pinot Noir I can convey my impressions without chewing my lip or pulling out my hair.
Hence…
As you know, we were kindly allowed a long weekend for Anzac Day, thank you creepy Colin Barnett (is it just me, or does anyone else think he bears a striking resemblance to a dead fish ie. slimy and wet?). After a weekend, in the house, hard at work hunched over my laptop, Monday was the one day Mr Kvetch and I got to relax and enjoy ourselves. So we decided on lunch, and after tossing around many a name, decided to stick close-ish to home and casual and went to the Inglewood. Now, I have been to the Inglewood a few times before, and always thought that it was overpriced for the quality of what you get. That said, they have a nice outdoor area, and the temperature and shade out there was PERFECT. It couldn’t have been better if I had rung ahead to define my specifications.
We arrived about 12:30, and it was reasonably quiet - we got served a drink at the bar with no waiting, and grabbed a table outside. We decided to order the Share plate ($29) and the Spicy chicken skewers with Nasi Goreng and fried egg, coconut and peanut sauce ($12), with a view to ordering more if we were still hungry. The bar was getting pretty busy at this point, but we were happy enough sitting outside and having a chat. Eventually two wait-staff walked by with what was definitely our meal, but they were looking for Table 130, and ours was 129. They went past us, and Mr K and I are pretty sure they wandered around the entire hotel, possibly stopping for a brief kip, before they checked the table numbers and presented us with our food. It was cold, not quite Antarctic in nature, but getting there pretty quickly. It had been on such an epic adventure before eventually reaching us, I am surprised it wasn't wearing Harrison Ford's hat.
Being the fair minded and accurate individual that I am, I am going to review the food as though it were presented to me as I assume it was intended, ie. Hot. The tasting plate had plenty of Turkish bread on it for the size of it, which is unusual in these carbohydrate-phobic (or just making up margin on bread) times. There were plenty of olives and a decent supply of feta. The feta was a bit tasteless, but then it generally is when you just open a packet and scrape it into a ramekin. The chili squid was surprisingly flavourful and tender, especially considering it was cold. I was expecting it to be like chewing a slimy elastic band. The strangest thing on the plate was the ramekin of rust coloured fluid, with a squiggle of black fluid at the bottom. You might think this was olive oil and balsamic, and that is what I thought too…at first. The rust colour I attributed to perhaps chili infusing, but I was wrong. Upon first taste, and I cannot believe I am writing this, I honestly thought they must have been recycling the deep fryer oil. I neither exaggerate nor prevaricate, that is EXACTLY what it tasted like. Mr K, when asked his impression, unprompted, gave the same response. In pursuit of truth, justice, and decent olive oil for all, I persisted in my examination, and I think, just maybe they might have infused the oil with black tea. That would account for both the colour, and the bitterness. Someone please ask them not to bother next time. My god but it was awful.
We interrupt this tasting plate description to comment on the chicken. There were ‘Moroccan’ chicken skewers on the tasting plate. There were also chicken skewers with peanut sauce on the Indonesian thingo. At the time of ordering, we wondered whether they could possibly be the same thing, but they were defined separately as Moroccan and Indonesian, and my slapdash research indicates that the two are separated by the Indian Ocean and the width of nearly the entire African continent. We could be forgiven for thinking they would be different. When the plates arrived, we noticed they looked suspiciously similar in colour and visible spice. Blind taste-tests did in fact confirm these were exactly same item, branded differently. As a side note, they were a good size, and the chicken was both nicely cooked and tender. The Indonesian dish had also a fried egg, nicely runny yoke (too bad it had frosted over subsequently), and a small portion of Nasi Goreng which was quite tasty, although slightly too many peas per capita of rice.
A bottle of Shaw & Smith Sav Blanc ($44) completed our meal, it could have been that, or the bespoke weather, but I didn’t feel as irate as I might have about the oil recycling or the chicken pulling a double shift.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
The Brisbane Hotel
I would just like to start today’s pronouncement on dining with a Public Service Announcement: I hate the Brisbane Hotel. Contrary to the reasons I normally hate restaurants, this one actually does not historically have anything to do with the food (decent, although the sausage rolls have been on the menu since the opening day), the fit-out (reasonably funky although dating pretty quickly) or the music (fairly cool in summer, unremarkable in winter). It’s the people, frankly. I detest walking into a room (see my opening post) and having the entire heaving mass of people stop, stare, evaluate you as lacking wank value, and return to their espresso martini (no offence meant to espresso martinis – I really like them).
DESPITE all of the above, I had occasion to go there the other night for dinner. I didn’t have much of a choice, someone else was paying…so I decided to be open minded, and I was prepared to forgive the Brisbane its vacuous, lollipop-esque patrons. There was hardly anyone there, so the patrons couldn’t be faulted this time. But it was boring frankly, and it wasn’t the company I was with. The food was ok, if not inspired. Clearly the GFC is having an effect on the chef’s budget - pork is cheap and it had insinuated its way through the menu like a mutating plague. Bacon, pork belly, pork fillet, more bacon – it had more exposure than Eddie McGuire did in the great Channel 9 epidemic of 2007. I hate pork, and though I defend every individual’s right to eat what they like (within reason – if you can adopt it through the WWF, perhaps we should re-think our dining patterns, no?), it shouldn’t come at the expense of me being able to find something appetising and suitable on the menu. As well as the swine issue, I couldn’t find anything on the wine list I wanted to drink, and no, I was not being difficult. It was…boring, blasé, innocuous, vanilla (no offence meant to vanilla either)…
You know what? I liked it better when I hated it because of what it was – at least then it had personality, even if you wouldn’t have introduced it to your friends.
/end Kvetch
DESPITE all of the above, I had occasion to go there the other night for dinner. I didn’t have much of a choice, someone else was paying…so I decided to be open minded, and I was prepared to forgive the Brisbane its vacuous, lollipop-esque patrons. There was hardly anyone there, so the patrons couldn’t be faulted this time. But it was boring frankly, and it wasn’t the company I was with. The food was ok, if not inspired. Clearly the GFC is having an effect on the chef’s budget - pork is cheap and it had insinuated its way through the menu like a mutating plague. Bacon, pork belly, pork fillet, more bacon – it had more exposure than Eddie McGuire did in the great Channel 9 epidemic of 2007. I hate pork, and though I defend every individual’s right to eat what they like (within reason – if you can adopt it through the WWF, perhaps we should re-think our dining patterns, no?), it shouldn’t come at the expense of me being able to find something appetising and suitable on the menu. As well as the swine issue, I couldn’t find anything on the wine list I wanted to drink, and no, I was not being difficult. It was…boring, blasé, innocuous, vanilla (no offence meant to vanilla either)…
You know what? I liked it better when I hated it because of what it was – at least then it had personality, even if you wouldn’t have introduced it to your friends.
/end Kvetch
Monday, April 13, 2009
The Subiaco Hotel....
A girlfriend and I recently met up for a mid week brekkie at the Subiaco Hotel. I was early (or rather, less late), and wandered into the restaurant. It wasn’t at all busy (a nice change) and they told me I could, "sit anywhere", so I grabbed a magazine and took a seat. It didn’t take them too long to take my coffee order, and it was followed by my coffee reasonably quickly. When D showed up (poor girl, parking in Subi can truly be traumatic), it took us awhile to get the waitperson’s attention - they were playing, "I don’t see you smiling meaningfully at me" (A game for 2 or more players), but we did manage to get in another coffee order. We sat and chatted for awhile, and made the fatal error of saying, "Can you please give us a moment" when they sauntered around to take an order. Turning our attention promptly to the menu, and making a choice quickly (it's limited at breakfast time), we then waited…and waited…
….
After the remains of our coffees eventually fossilised and were ready to be dug up and examined by beardy archaeologist types, I ripped off all my clothes and ran screaming naked after the nearest Wait-thing…(ok, it wasn’t that bad, but it was getting close), and we managed to get an order in. I had not had French Toast in what seemed like aeons, so I ordered that ($15) and D had Scrambled Eggs with spinach and feta ($15). It arrived reasonably promptly. And so it bloody should. Aforementioned French Toast was ONE piece of brioche with berries and little bit of yogurt. The eggs came with ONE triangle of Turkish bread toast. Both were tasty, but if we hadn’t been eating slowly while chatting, we would have needed a second breakfast. I would hate to see a male try to survive more than an hour on that type of sustenance. We couldn’t attract the Wait-thing’s attention to get any more coffee, so we left.
Breakfast for 2, $40. Irritation level 3.5/5 (Don’t bother on a weekend, you’re likely to go postal)
/end Kvetch
Where do you think the best breakfast in Perth can be found? I plan to do some serious investigation of my own...
….
After the remains of our coffees eventually fossilised and were ready to be dug up and examined by beardy archaeologist types, I ripped off all my clothes and ran screaming naked after the nearest Wait-thing…(ok, it wasn’t that bad, but it was getting close), and we managed to get an order in. I had not had French Toast in what seemed like aeons, so I ordered that ($15) and D had Scrambled Eggs with spinach and feta ($15). It arrived reasonably promptly. And so it bloody should. Aforementioned French Toast was ONE piece of brioche with berries and little bit of yogurt. The eggs came with ONE triangle of Turkish bread toast. Both were tasty, but if we hadn’t been eating slowly while chatting, we would have needed a second breakfast. I would hate to see a male try to survive more than an hour on that type of sustenance. We couldn’t attract the Wait-thing’s attention to get any more coffee, so we left.
Breakfast for 2, $40. Irritation level 3.5/5 (Don’t bother on a weekend, you’re likely to go postal)
/end Kvetch
Where do you think the best breakfast in Perth can be found? I plan to do some serious investigation of my own...
Monday, April 6, 2009
And for mains...
So, post-Core Luxury Retreat, we went for lunch at the Mundaring Weir Hotel. Neither of us had been there before, and we are rarely in the area,so we thought we'd check it out.
The first trap for young players is trying to find the cafe where you need to order your food. There are flights of stairs, vast unused dining rooms and chairs, more stairs,no signage and you feel like you are on a journey to the centre of the earth.
I like a period piece as much as the next Jane Austen fan, but this was no setting for Mr Darcy. The place feels really cluttered, and quite unclean. We eventually found the cafe/coffee shop and ordered wine and meals. They did not provide a bucket for the bottle of wine which was already warmish, and when we finally found a place to sit, we discovered one of the glasses was dirty.
Wanting to leave the building behind, we headed outside, and started the process of trying to find a table. Think of it a bit like an orienteering course, roped off sections everywhere, grass littered with the product of dozens of duck bottoms, bases for umbrellas haphazardly strewn about the place. They give you a vibrating buzzer thingo to let you know when your food is ready, and you have to re-navigate it all to get back to the kitchen.
Mr K had the Fisherman's Feast, which I had been considering myself (sunny Sunday, bottle of wine, how could you not contemplate fish and chips?), but I was grateful I didn't. At $23.50 for a pub meal, you would expect some fresh fish of some description, and the prawns/scallops/other seafood to be presentable. The prawns clearly came out of a box, but the scallop (yes,1) was intriguing. Obviously breaded, but with the most amazing shape. This was a diamond cut scallop, an absolutely perfect cross section of a cylinder. Unless nature has started producing scallops to some sort of QA specification I am not familiar with, I think we can assume it was artificial and processed. The crab stick was well, a crab stick. I can (almost) understand a suburban fish and chip shop selling this type of atrocity, after all, if you don't want it, you don't have to order it. But for a pub to include it comes under the heading of self-harm. To cap it all off the chips were limp and less than plentiful.
I, however, changed my mind at the last minute and ordered a Chicken Bruschetta wood fired pizza ($16.50). This turned out to be a wise choice, the sauce was tasty, the chicken appeared fresh, and the crust was appropriately crispy.
Despite all of above, the sun was shining, I had just had a massage, I wasn't at work (always a key ingredient to success), and I was quite prepared to be magnanimous, especially as my pizza exceeded my expectations. But I couldn't relax. It was akin to attempting to nap in the middle of the David Jones After-Xmas sales in Sydney or Melbourne. It isn't going to happen, and if it does, you should probably see your Dr.
The setting here is quite good, they have a niche with the location and the heritage value of the building, it could and SHOULD be so much better! They don't need to serve wanky over-priced meals, but good pub grub, served in clean vessels, would be a great start. And clean the place up - it’s a broken leg (or worse) waiting to happen.
What do you think? Have you been here? Was it a bad day, or this situation normal?
The first trap for young players is trying to find the cafe where you need to order your food. There are flights of stairs, vast unused dining rooms and chairs, more stairs,no signage and you feel like you are on a journey to the centre of the earth.
I like a period piece as much as the next Jane Austen fan, but this was no setting for Mr Darcy. The place feels really cluttered, and quite unclean. We eventually found the cafe/coffee shop and ordered wine and meals. They did not provide a bucket for the bottle of wine which was already warmish, and when we finally found a place to sit, we discovered one of the glasses was dirty.
Wanting to leave the building behind, we headed outside, and started the process of trying to find a table. Think of it a bit like an orienteering course, roped off sections everywhere, grass littered with the product of dozens of duck bottoms, bases for umbrellas haphazardly strewn about the place. They give you a vibrating buzzer thingo to let you know when your food is ready, and you have to re-navigate it all to get back to the kitchen.
Mr K had the Fisherman's Feast, which I had been considering myself (sunny Sunday, bottle of wine, how could you not contemplate fish and chips?), but I was grateful I didn't. At $23.50 for a pub meal, you would expect some fresh fish of some description, and the prawns/scallops/other seafood to be presentable. The prawns clearly came out of a box, but the scallop (yes,1) was intriguing. Obviously breaded, but with the most amazing shape. This was a diamond cut scallop, an absolutely perfect cross section of a cylinder. Unless nature has started producing scallops to some sort of QA specification I am not familiar with, I think we can assume it was artificial and processed. The crab stick was well, a crab stick. I can (almost) understand a suburban fish and chip shop selling this type of atrocity, after all, if you don't want it, you don't have to order it. But for a pub to include it comes under the heading of self-harm. To cap it all off the chips were limp and less than plentiful.
I, however, changed my mind at the last minute and ordered a Chicken Bruschetta wood fired pizza ($16.50). This turned out to be a wise choice, the sauce was tasty, the chicken appeared fresh, and the crust was appropriately crispy.
Despite all of above, the sun was shining, I had just had a massage, I wasn't at work (always a key ingredient to success), and I was quite prepared to be magnanimous, especially as my pizza exceeded my expectations. But I couldn't relax. It was akin to attempting to nap in the middle of the David Jones After-Xmas sales in Sydney or Melbourne. It isn't going to happen, and if it does, you should probably see your Dr.
The setting here is quite good, they have a niche with the location and the heritage value of the building, it could and SHOULD be so much better! They don't need to serve wanky over-priced meals, but good pub grub, served in clean vessels, would be a great start. And clean the place up - it’s a broken leg (or worse) waiting to happen.
What do you think? Have you been here? Was it a bad day, or this situation normal?
Sunday, April 5, 2009
To start...
To properly inaugurate writing my experiences, rather than simply thinking up cutting remarks I could have made at the time, Ms Kvetch presents, "Dietary Disgruntlement and Other Tales: A Surprisingly Nice Weekend". Please note that all wining, dining, staying, and cheese-related experiences are un-sponsored by the providers of said experiences. This is a fact they will be grateful for in general...(but not today - this one is 'Surprisingly Nice').
We spent a recent Saturday night at Core Luxury Retreat in Mundaring. It was a happy accident, I found it on Mundaring Tourism website (I googled ‘accom + perth hills’, otherwise I wouldn’t have know there WAS a Mundaring Tourism website), and we booked and paid on a Thursday (no EFTPOS or credit card facilities, you have to pay by direct debit, which is a wee bit detracting for spontaneity factor). We just went off the website photos, which has been a source of some discomfiture in the past (how do they manage to make a kennel 2x3m look like a 5 star bedroom, even temporarily?), but for a pleasant change, we were not disappointed. We stayed in a ‘modern contemporary’ room in the Lodge proper, the cabins being booked out for the weekend. It was selectively but adequately furnished, LCD TV, robes and slippers, complimentary Verissima aromatherapy pack (awesome lip balm!), chocolates, and a modern shower ensuite. The only real drawback was the lack of bathroom door, which although providing a light and spacious feel to the room, also provided excellent wee acoustics. Personally I feel that there are some things about Mr Kvetch it is appropriate for me NOT to be familiar with, and that is one of them. Overfamiliarity is the death of romance. Any more than a night, and I may have needed to take a turn around the garden until it was deemed safe to return...
The Lodge and gardens are beautifully done, fantastic use of stone, wood, and the local surrounds, completely built by hosts Yvonne and Greg. All of the water is sourced from rainwater tanks, the energy used is solar, and all waste is recycled, so no need feel guilty about the level of your self-indulgence (you may not feel guilty about self-indulgence, for me, its genetic - I just 'feel the fear and do it anyway'). There is a lit infinity pool and deck looking out to the State forest, which is where we chose to have our complimentary welcome platter and bottle of sparkling, and ended up being where we spent our entire evening. Note to Self for next time though: do not leave bottle of tropical strength mozzie repellent at home. The mozzies were remarkably commando-like little bastards – I didn’t feel a thing at the time, but was on anti-histamines for a couple of days afterwards. How they managed to get through the crocodile-esque skin on the bottom of my feet is a mystery...Yvonne did warn us that they were likely to strike at dusk, and disappear upon full darkness, but I don’t think they could have wreaked that much havoc in the short space of a hills sundown.
Yvonne or Greg will drive you to and from the Loose Box if that is where you’d like to have dinner, but not being in the mood for a possibly hit-and-miss degustation ($150pp, not including vino) I opted to bring some platter-y type ingredients of my own. I went to Fig Jam in Mt Hawthorn, and picked up some Buche d’Affinois (the Queen, or King of cheeses, I am not sure which, but it is definitely one of them. The Emperor of cheeses maybe?), Fourme D’Ambert (heavenly) and some Aristos seeded mustard hot smoked salmon (was a bit dubious about this, but it turned out to be quite pleasant, far more appetising than the man himself). A bottle of Oyster Bay Chardonnay (boring but nice enough) and we were ready to go. A note about this; in many of the places we have stayed, the staff/proprietors tend to be a little precious about the consumption of one’s own vino. My answer is that if they provided something worth drinking, one wouldn’t need to bring one’s own vino...causality, lazy wine selection. Yvonne had no such issue, due to the nature of her accommodation, and was quite happy to offer the use of her fridges for our benefit.
When it got a little chillier we headed into the Cabana beside the pool, it’s well fitted with fridge, mini-kitchen, table and chairs, CD player and stacks of CDs, and is where breakfast is served in the morning.
Breakfast is continental – organic yogurt, cereals, approximately 4 million types of tea and coffee, fresh bread, muffins, danishes etc. The only real drawback is that it is communal, and my previous experience with this was again confirmed. You walk into the breakfast room/lounge etc, and everyone stops what they are doing, stares at you, ducks their head and continues on. The silence is so deafening that the clatter of your spoon in your coffee cup resembles a helicopter taking off, and you are not even (always) hungover. If you are going to have a conversation with your partner, its conducted in funeral toned whispers, and someone has always snaffled the New Homes section of the newspaper before you get there. Core was no different in this respect, except for the appalling couple who left before us, and left all of their plates, cutlery, serviettes etc on the table. As everyone who had breakfasted previously had tidied their breakfast detritus away next to the sink, I fail to understand why they could not follow this basic example of consideration for others, however He was the type to wear a jumper casually knotted over his shoulders and a pair of deck shoes even when not on a boat, so that explains a fair bit. So does the reading of the Fin Review on a Sunday morning (I feel sure he wasn’t enjoying it though, it was just part of his look. How he must suffer for his artifice!). Karma evened things up when we discovered an entire untouched bain marie of fresh croissants.
I had booked myself a massage, per options on the website – meditation classes and life coaching/discussions (?) are also offered, but I drink far too much coffee to meditate effectively, and life coaching – well, its very easy to tell people what's wrong with them when it isn’t you, no? I could make a fortune...however back to the subject at hand. Lisa, who does the massages, was very professional. She does an Indian style massage, which was both relaxing and invigorating. These occur down in the gym, which was thankfully free of anyone else, and the only sounds you hear are country type ones...birds, wind, the alpacas in the pasture next door. If I didn’t live 40 odd minutes away, I would certainly be looking to see Lisa more often. Getting a good relaxing massage in Perth is difficult I find. I see a fantastic no-nonsense crew for my dodgy back, shoulders, neck, left ear etc, but sometimes you don’t want to be fixed, you just want to lay there, oozing gently. Beauty salons, which tend to offer these things, are staffed by 18 and 19 year olds who often wouldn’t know professionalism if it smacked them across the back of their pointy little heads, and I am sure they discuss the state of your cellulitey legs on their cigarette breaks. Day Spas, of which I am a huge fan, quite often do better, but I had a rotten experience with one recently, unprofessional fuckers, so they are off my list too. But I digress, if you do spend a weekend at Core, consider Lisa, she may have winced at my cellulite, but I didn’t notice it...
All up? Core Luxury Retreat was a fabulous place for a night away, and more if you can manage it. We left feeling like we’d had a proper change of scenery, and we will be definitely be going back, hopefully soon...I need more lip balm...
We spent a recent Saturday night at Core Luxury Retreat in Mundaring. It was a happy accident, I found it on Mundaring Tourism website (I googled ‘accom + perth hills’, otherwise I wouldn’t have know there WAS a Mundaring Tourism website), and we booked and paid on a Thursday (no EFTPOS or credit card facilities, you have to pay by direct debit, which is a wee bit detracting for spontaneity factor). We just went off the website photos, which has been a source of some discomfiture in the past (how do they manage to make a kennel 2x3m look like a 5 star bedroom, even temporarily?), but for a pleasant change, we were not disappointed. We stayed in a ‘modern contemporary’ room in the Lodge proper, the cabins being booked out for the weekend. It was selectively but adequately furnished, LCD TV, robes and slippers, complimentary Verissima aromatherapy pack (awesome lip balm!), chocolates, and a modern shower ensuite. The only real drawback was the lack of bathroom door, which although providing a light and spacious feel to the room, also provided excellent wee acoustics. Personally I feel that there are some things about Mr Kvetch it is appropriate for me NOT to be familiar with, and that is one of them. Overfamiliarity is the death of romance. Any more than a night, and I may have needed to take a turn around the garden until it was deemed safe to return...
The Lodge and gardens are beautifully done, fantastic use of stone, wood, and the local surrounds, completely built by hosts Yvonne and Greg. All of the water is sourced from rainwater tanks, the energy used is solar, and all waste is recycled, so no need feel guilty about the level of your self-indulgence (you may not feel guilty about self-indulgence, for me, its genetic - I just 'feel the fear and do it anyway'). There is a lit infinity pool and deck looking out to the State forest, which is where we chose to have our complimentary welcome platter and bottle of sparkling, and ended up being where we spent our entire evening. Note to Self for next time though: do not leave bottle of tropical strength mozzie repellent at home. The mozzies were remarkably commando-like little bastards – I didn’t feel a thing at the time, but was on anti-histamines for a couple of days afterwards. How they managed to get through the crocodile-esque skin on the bottom of my feet is a mystery...Yvonne did warn us that they were likely to strike at dusk, and disappear upon full darkness, but I don’t think they could have wreaked that much havoc in the short space of a hills sundown.
Yvonne or Greg will drive you to and from the Loose Box if that is where you’d like to have dinner, but not being in the mood for a possibly hit-and-miss degustation ($150pp, not including vino) I opted to bring some platter-y type ingredients of my own. I went to Fig Jam in Mt Hawthorn, and picked up some Buche d’Affinois (the Queen, or King of cheeses, I am not sure which, but it is definitely one of them. The Emperor of cheeses maybe?), Fourme D’Ambert (heavenly) and some Aristos seeded mustard hot smoked salmon (was a bit dubious about this, but it turned out to be quite pleasant, far more appetising than the man himself). A bottle of Oyster Bay Chardonnay (boring but nice enough) and we were ready to go. A note about this; in many of the places we have stayed, the staff/proprietors tend to be a little precious about the consumption of one’s own vino. My answer is that if they provided something worth drinking, one wouldn’t need to bring one’s own vino...causality, lazy wine selection. Yvonne had no such issue, due to the nature of her accommodation, and was quite happy to offer the use of her fridges for our benefit.
When it got a little chillier we headed into the Cabana beside the pool, it’s well fitted with fridge, mini-kitchen, table and chairs, CD player and stacks of CDs, and is where breakfast is served in the morning.
Breakfast is continental – organic yogurt, cereals, approximately 4 million types of tea and coffee, fresh bread, muffins, danishes etc. The only real drawback is that it is communal, and my previous experience with this was again confirmed. You walk into the breakfast room/lounge etc, and everyone stops what they are doing, stares at you, ducks their head and continues on. The silence is so deafening that the clatter of your spoon in your coffee cup resembles a helicopter taking off, and you are not even (always) hungover. If you are going to have a conversation with your partner, its conducted in funeral toned whispers, and someone has always snaffled the New Homes section of the newspaper before you get there. Core was no different in this respect, except for the appalling couple who left before us, and left all of their plates, cutlery, serviettes etc on the table. As everyone who had breakfasted previously had tidied their breakfast detritus away next to the sink, I fail to understand why they could not follow this basic example of consideration for others, however He was the type to wear a jumper casually knotted over his shoulders and a pair of deck shoes even when not on a boat, so that explains a fair bit. So does the reading of the Fin Review on a Sunday morning (I feel sure he wasn’t enjoying it though, it was just part of his look. How he must suffer for his artifice!). Karma evened things up when we discovered an entire untouched bain marie of fresh croissants.
I had booked myself a massage, per options on the website – meditation classes and life coaching/discussions (?) are also offered, but I drink far too much coffee to meditate effectively, and life coaching – well, its very easy to tell people what's wrong with them when it isn’t you, no? I could make a fortune...however back to the subject at hand. Lisa, who does the massages, was very professional. She does an Indian style massage, which was both relaxing and invigorating. These occur down in the gym, which was thankfully free of anyone else, and the only sounds you hear are country type ones...birds, wind, the alpacas in the pasture next door. If I didn’t live 40 odd minutes away, I would certainly be looking to see Lisa more often. Getting a good relaxing massage in Perth is difficult I find. I see a fantastic no-nonsense crew for my dodgy back, shoulders, neck, left ear etc, but sometimes you don’t want to be fixed, you just want to lay there, oozing gently. Beauty salons, which tend to offer these things, are staffed by 18 and 19 year olds who often wouldn’t know professionalism if it smacked them across the back of their pointy little heads, and I am sure they discuss the state of your cellulitey legs on their cigarette breaks. Day Spas, of which I am a huge fan, quite often do better, but I had a rotten experience with one recently, unprofessional fuckers, so they are off my list too. But I digress, if you do spend a weekend at Core, consider Lisa, she may have winced at my cellulite, but I didn’t notice it...
All up? Core Luxury Retreat was a fabulous place for a night away, and more if you can manage it. We left feeling like we’d had a proper change of scenery, and we will be definitely be going back, hopefully soon...I need more lip balm...
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