[11:00pm, Sydney, Wednesday, August 2, 2006]
I know that the next time I head back to Australia; I will find myself on the first train/plane out of Sydney. By this point, I was already running out of things to do and see in Sydney. Fortunately, the concierge came through for me, and recommended a trip to Manly Beach. Yes, Manly Beach — where testosterones get filled up, and we all feel as if we are justified to be a man!
Oh, I am sure it is named after some famous dead fart with a funny last name, but I would prefer to believe otherwise.
A trip to Manly Beach would be best done with a ferry traversing 7 miles of water. Yes, I said 7 miles, not some number of kilometers. It was my first time seeing miles being used, and there it was on the information screen on the ferry itself. The ferry is a pretty big one, capable of holding a thousand people, shuffling them from downtown to a single pier that is heavily under construction (so much that there is only one side available to dock on, requiring a wait for the high speed shuttle boat that compete against the ferry on this route. High speed, indeed.
Manly Beach is a wider version of Bonzi Beach, a slightly curved C shaped beach stretching approximately 3 kilometers wide. You get there from the ferry by walking approximately 600 meters through a number of interesting stores and restaurants, mostly gearing toward the town of Manly, instead of the beach — so unlike the East Coast beach towns, which are primarily focused on the tourists, not on the local residents. Well, at least it used to be that way with Myrtle Beach before the influx of chain stores, restaurants, and malls. I am sure it is still true with Ocean City, Maryland, among other smaller beach towns.
Unlike those beach towns, people who live in Manly Beach usually are those who are wealthy enough to appreciate an ocean view, and shuttle to work via ferry, bus, or car (the very long way). Yes, there are tourists, and there are surfers (or at least surfers wannabes — there is a school of surfers in session when I was there). But most interestingly, there are school kids by the hundreds. The sea of blue, green, red, and white uniformed kids all clumped together with peers of the same colors doing a wide variety of activity — rollerblading for the white, beach volleyball for the green, beach-prowling for the blue, and marching here and there for the reds. I am so pleased to see that schools are still interested in activities that would enrich their children’s mind and body outside the classroom environment. Meanwhile, American kids have only 50 minutes for PE, if even that.
There were several dozens surfers out in the water at various points in the ocean, oh excuse me, the Tasman Sea. After all New Zealand just starts around the area of Sydney, so it is not the Pacific Ocean, oh no.
Too bad, there were not sunbathers, but then it was not quite warm enough for the sightseeing events to start — after all, it is the wintertime in Sydney.
Curious about the hill buttressing one the north end of the beach, I decided to take a stroll up the hill. Here is what I learned:
When there is a bump in the road with a sign showing feet, if you are ever in a sense to look toward that crosswalk ever thinking of crossing it, a thick bulletproof steel wall suddenly erects up on both sides of the crosswalks, preventing cars and trucks from crossing until you change your mind about crossing. Or something like that — there is apparently a rule in Australia’s driving that mandates that you not drive across a crosswalk if there is anyone in the anticipation of crossing it, not just those that are making the crossing. You must stop, and you must wait like a good Aussie.
No matter how exclusive a beach is, there is always an even more exclusive one with better surf on the other side of the hill. The hill is apparently called Queenscliff, and the beach is Queenscliff Bay. I also spot a very cute gray/black cat with such rich shiny fur coloring, all eager to stalk birds nearby.
A school bus is just a regular city bus, with a little sign quietly stating that it is a SCHOOL BUS. Kids do get out of school around 3ish, considering the huge influx of kids in the neighborhoods as I was walking back to the ferry.
Instead of collision, you are supposed to use the word smash. Yes, Smash Repair Center was sighted.
Most gas stations were definitely not prepared for the over-$1/liter gas price tag. So how do they compensate? By exposing a slot to the left of the letters, and using that as an indication that there is a $1 added to the actual number provided. So folks, Aussies are not lazy at putting up the signs, there is a reason for the madness. So do not go all hopping in a car heading to Australia for those 39 cents/liter petrol.
That night, Jill was overworked, and wanted to crash and burn, so I chose to ask the concierge to recommend a sushi place. He named a few, so I headed out to the 2nd closest one. Mind you, I asked the concierge to name the most traditional Japanese sushi place within Sydney. When I arrived at my first choice, I took a look at the sushi chef (25-ish year old), and the options on the sushi bar (5-6 fishes visible.) I also took a look at the menu which matches the limited fish options. I knew that this was not the place for me. So I turn around and walked out.
My second choice was Yoshii. It was a fabulous choice by far, and in the end result, despite one snafu, now resides on the top of the “Best Sushi Place Worldwide That I Have Eaten At.” It is a lofty title, competing against hundreds of other sushi places I have frequented in 5 countries thus far. No, I have not been to Japan, so it is quite easy for this list to be mixed up once I learn how to decode “SUSHI” in kanji while wandering around Tokyo and Kyoto.
Why is this restaurant so good? It is the chef, Naoki Fukazawa. According to him, he has worked as a Sushi chef for 26 years. Only 4 more before he start playing with puffer fishes, which he does not quite relish doing. That is right, sushi chefs in Japan are generally required to be on the job for at least 30 years before they are even considered as skilled enough to even be able to weed out the vast majority of the poison within the fish to make it presentable. Even despite that, there is enough poison left to give someone a nasty buzz if they are not ready for it. It is quite a dangerous dish, and makes me wonders how the world Japanese people survived long enough to realize that YES… yes, there is something tasty within all of this thorny dangerous thing.
But how good is he, really? Well, let’s give you an example — squid. Squid is this thick chewy thing that is not quite all that special. It is far worse than octopus in a level of chewy style. But you know what? That is not correct. It is not THAT chewy. The squid I had was actually soft, tender, fresh, and delicious! Granted, if you do not freeze the fish, the tender/fresh part really shines. But how can this squid be so soft and delicious? It is all within the cutting technique that the sushi chef employed. Yes, indeed — the difference between enjoying and tolerating a dish are all within the technique you employ in cutting the fish.
So if he is able to cut up squid just right, imagine how good he was with the staple dishes such as salmon, tuna, and shrimp?! It was one of those rare moments that I truly enjoyed a tuna sushi. It was not a boring bland thing, but an actual tasting dish. He also made escolar (cooked white fish) that was light years better than Sakana in Phoenix, AZ could ever make it. And I love escolar at Sakana!
I must confess, the rest of the meal, a $100 omasake dinner, including the entrees, cleanser, soup, and dessert, were mostly good, yet forgettable. Actually, I take that back, it was the best miso soup I have had anywhere. Instead of a sea-based broth, it was decidedly beef broth that they chose to use, which provides a nice kick to the standard tofu, scallions, and other bits. The tofu was very good too.
The sushi omasake blew me away so much that I was highly appreciative toward the sushi chef, who humbly accepted the praise. I have finally found the next level in skilled sushi making, and I am better for it. Sure, I still love Sakana, but I know exactly what to demand for once I get the mood to go out and have a kick ass sushi meal. Here to hoping that I will be able to eventually find a good domestic location for ultimate sushi.
