I took in bucolic, rolling countryside with an old shearer’s quarters and shed at the top of the hill, with TWAMLEY FARM painted proudly on the roof.
We chose our own table and sat down, picking up menus that lay waiting. The place was half full, and a couple of waiters dawdled, chatting at the bar.
Hobart is like a great lady of the burlesque. She’s constantly teasing, revealing, and always her colourful history informs the smallest detail.
Want to see just how a chef really does it? Last time you watched Simon Palmer, head chef at E’cco prepare his beautiful duck breast with berries. This time, we visit Matt Short, at Madame Rouge, and he very generously shares his “Boudin Noir and Scallops“. Enjoy this little trip behind the scenes and this…
A cosy sit by the fireplace, even in summer? Great pizza, flavours, and atmosphere. Hearth ticked our boxes and then some.
I shuffled, looked down at my new clogs and rubbed one against the back of a leg. He thumbed at two bulbous bags of potatoes leaning, waiting, in a corner.
Beetroot. Luscious, deep purple/pink root vegetables that give so much more than they get. Incredibly good for you and your liver.
If there’s too much confusion, you need relief, and what better than some really good comedy? Even better still if it’s Jokers at the Polish Club.
If you want a change from the street food at the Farm Gate markets in Bathurst Street, where do you go? Ha, just round the corner and into Criterion.
The restaurant world is big. International. Even in Hobart, new venues open every week. What’s the result? Burnout. And the bar has never been higher.