After a great day on the Gold Coast, we didn't feel like going out and foraging for dinner. It was the right time to order in.
We'd already played guess the price of the room service cheeseburger. (I won, nailing it at "34").
It was the same price as the Grand Deluxe B.L.A.T sandwich - which is not really what I'm looking for in a room service type experience, unless it comes along with the ghost of Janis Joplin, and a couple of bottles of Southern Comfort.
I don't know, maybe the ghost of Janis Joplin comes along with the Club ("27"), which is what the Quad Queen ordered.
We already had the bar sorted (minus a Coke), so I got on the blower and got dinner going.
It was evening, and dark out (happens often in the evening), so I brought the two patio chairs in and arranged them just inside the open hotel room wall.
So far, Australia was very much to our liking. It's well run, and clean, even compared to Canada. The people had been universally pleasant, friendly and helpful.
The country is beautiful, and the spring weather fantastic.
The only question left was - could the Aussies make a decent lamb curry?
Our food came 15 minutes before they said it would, and it was all perfect and piping hot. Having just typed 'piping hot', I realize I have no idea what that refers to. Can't something just be 'hot'? What has the piping got to do with it? Does the food spew out a bunch of pipes like springy fake snakes when you pull the lid off of it?
Google it and get back to me.
The room service Sheila brought our goodies in and asked some clear, pointed questions, like, "G'day eyah, ovah heeyah rippah lagoon view, or put ya snag an' tuckah theyah, noy, noy, noy? Yeeyah?"
I smiled and gestured toward the lagoon view.
Then, "Yeyah. Noy. Thank you." Trying to cover all the bases.
Off she went, either satisfied with my room-service savvy, or thinking that I was a demented squatter that had somehow broken into the lagoon room.
The Lamb Curry Korma looked great, and came with a number of sidecars including lime pickle, naan, rice. And papadum. Which is what my mother used to say.
And the Club! It looked just like a "27" Club!
Dinner was excellent. I ate everything they gave me, and found the curry to be just amazing. The lamb was tender, and the curry deeply full of complex, but fresh spicy flavor.
I tasted a lime pickle - it was awful and at the same time, addictive. Somehow, the incredible mixture of tart, and spice made my tastebuds do the Taj Mahal.
The club was reportedly good too - and the amazing steak-cut fries were, umm - very hot. So hot. Quite hot. Hot as fresh fried potatoes.
I loved my curry, but I coveted those fries.
"Can I have a fry?"
"You can have a piece. There aren't very many."
It was everything a piece of a fry should be, especially a steak-cut fry - cut from fresh potato, almost burning hot on the outside, golden - and a little crispy - and the inside was steamy, fluffy po-fection-tater.
We watched Love Boat, and ate and drank, and counted our blessings to be in such a great place, with a wall that opened up into the evening air.
You knew the meal was great because they included little bottles of stuff. I can't resist little bottles of stuff! I always want to take them off abandoned room service carts.
|Little Room Service Bottles of Stuff|
I reached, not making a sound, her back turned.
"Can I have a fry?"
"Please? Just part of one? There's a part of a broken one here that fell off your plate."
"Come on and take it - take another little piece off my cart, now baby."