Lunch, Certainly not naked

Guru Bob and I caught up for lunch on friday, a fairly regular thing since we both work in the CBD.

Once we’d choose a different eatery each time, but now we  stick with a great noshing place up a narrow, cobbled, crooked  lane way in Melbourne that should lead to an opium den but instead reveals the  ‘Dainty Sichuan Food’, and having eaten there – that word ‘Dainty’,  I do not think it means what you think it means.

So each week we are working our way through the menu.

If you get there between 12.30 and 1.30 PM it also has the advantage of turning into Asian babe central.  I think we can all agree you can never have too much spicy food or being surrounded by Asian babes eating spicy food. Another reason we keep going back is we see stuff people have ordered and we try to order it going on the names. Up till now that has being pretty hit and miss. This time as well as the usual menu they also gave us one of the novices menus which includes pictures of each of the the dishes.

This week it was:

  • ‘cumin pork spare ribs’ – our must always have when we go,
  • ‘ants climbing the hill’ which was surprisingly free of ants, and

ants climbing the hill

  • pork slice hot pot, and when they say hot pot they mean in spice, not temperature.

Mmmmm Pork
We then headed up to catch ‘Watchmen‘ on IMAX but that’s a topic for another post.



  1. Fine vittles there, looks like.

    Doesn’t the Guru always wear a suit, though?

  2. Looks like good eats. I look forward to the post on Watchmen.

  3. Guru Bob is no fool. He knows that szechuan-induced sweating frenzies are Not Good for a suit, so he keeps some of his college-era T-shirts for his lunch dates with El Barneso.

    What’d ya make of Watchmen, Mister B?>

  4. Big, loud – respectfull.

    only one question


    Stood in firelight, sweltering.

    Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night.
    Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone.
    Live our lives, lacking anything better to do.
    Devise reason later.

    Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion.
    There is nothing else.
    Existence is random.
    Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long.
    No meaning save what we choose to impose.
    This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces.

    It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs.

    It’s us.

    Only us.

    Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world.

  5. Yum that looks good.

  6. Looking well Bob. Hey Barnes!

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