Given the small Australian contingent at work, and seeing as we're two weeks shy of our 1 year anniversary in NY, a few colleagues decided to get together for dinner in Nolita at an Australian restaurant called Eight Mile Creek.
I was braced and ready for akubras, footy on TVs and homesick 22 year olds holding up the bar with oi oi ois, but it was actually a sedate, tableclothed restaurant with lots of charm. The menu had kangaroo, barramundi, lamb and crayfish and I was genuinely torn over this sudden access to Australian flavours. There were also lamingtons, sticky date pudding and pav for dessert: this decision was not so difficult to make. I'm pudding all the way.
We sat outside and sipped a Yalumba viognier and boutique pale ales, and while we started off with a few Australia-related conversations inspired by the menu, and then lots of web shop talk which bored Nat and Justin, we ended up talking about New Yorky things like whether or not to move apartments and face the broker fee hassle all over again, Hillary & Obama, the strange disappearance and total irrelevance of George W in this electoral limbo period, the enduring coolness of iPhones, the start of the basesball season, what to do on the Memorial Day long weekend, the queue at the Shake Shack and the cherry blossoms at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.
Full of booze and sugar, we waved our goodbyes in the street and beelined to our respective subway stops, nary a pause to orientate ourselves and calculate best routes.
Good god, have we become locals?!
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