Hobart is like a great lady of the burlesque. She’s constantly teasing, revealing, and always her colourful history informs the smallest detail.
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.
When we finally reached Southbank, the place was a soggy mess. We pulled up at The Jetty, fanging at the bit. Or hungry, if the slang does your head in.
Turning a pig’s ear into a silk purse? Brisbane nails it. If you like food in the slightest, and are in Brisbane, visit Gasworks Newstead for case in point.
Mary Randles has recently opened Madame Rouge in Brisbane’s now gentrified Valley, where hipsters rub beards and drink copious cocktails.
Ever wonder what fruit picking as a job is like? It’s a hard way to make a living. And picking strawberries, so soft and low, must be the hardest.
Here is just one of my favourite local hangouts. Want a great beer and burger in a cheap and cheerful pub? Preachers delivers a different kind of sermon.
Real men also pick berries! A very small drive from the Hobart CBD, lies Coal River Farm. Fruit of the vine, or canes and trees lie in wait.
Behind the farm gate or over the fence and down the lane? Hobart’s Bathurst Street Farmgate Market delivers the goods in spades. Literally.
Has the hope from the Hope and Anchor Tavern left the building? Not quite, but some things need to change before the pub lives up to its name.