Feeding in the Romp

Feeding in the Romp

Every person I met who has traveled to Australia raves about the fish n’ chips. (Unless they’re from New Zealand. One of my sister’s best mates, who is a Kiwi, says that even the birds fly upside down when they travel over Australia. I guess the thought is that even bird shit is too good for this country. And by the end of my time here, I might have to agree with this sentiment. But that is a series of stories, random encounters, and misadventures for another time. Folks, my belly was tired of cashews and pre-wrapped airport sandwiches and was in need of authentic local cuisine. Now being a native Hoosier, some of my fondest memories of deep-fried fish was from a tiny restaurant in my hometown of Decatur. Natives to Decatur will swear up and down as to the quality of the all you can eat fish fry that is served at The Galley on a Friday night. Indiana is a landlocked state, fresh fish usually means you bought it at your local Marsh (Scotts or Goobers while growing up in Decatur) and cooked it that night. Flash-frozen weeks old tilapia doesn’t quite compare to the fresh catch of the day. Fresh fish on many islands and coastal cities, even the deep-fried variety, can mean your evening meal had its final breakfast, often, that same morning.

I dress in my finest outfit that screams “I’m an American tourist”: camo joggers, USMC t-shirt, joggers, and trainers (a pair of running shoes folks) with socks. I walk down the footpath, past several options, searching for a reasonably priced meal. Meandering past heaps of people headed home from a day spent by the ocean and enjoying the slightly sickly but tantalizing smell of salt, sand, and humans, I find a place where my dreams are about to come true: a locally owned spot appropriately named A Fish Called Coogee.

Google Search Image, Syndey, NSW 2018

It’s a quaint spot, located a block or two from Coogee Beach in the Thompson Bay Area. Common to many restaurants in Aus, there is plenty of outdoor seating. Here there are multiple benches facing the street, one glance to my right and there is the ocean, allowing for a glorious view to enjoy my first real meal here. I walk inside. It’s a tiny hole-in-the-wall hot spot, whose size makes me think of the tiny delis in New York City I visited with my family as a kid. My nostrils fill with an aroma that is definitely not reminiscent of New York but rather a plethora of all types of delicious deep-fried delicacies. A small chalkboard lists today's menu. Simple enough and needed… My brain was jet-lagged from travel. I walk up and order “Fish n’ chips please.” The cashier responds by asking “What kind of salt?” At first, I thought the cheeky little booger was playing with me. (I was to discover this is the kind of humor of many Aussies – taking the piss out of it). But nope. He was serious. I had my option of salts: Kosher, chicken, veggie, Himalayan, and sea salt. The number of salts offered was, at other hotels (bars/pubs) as long as the beer listings.


I took my booty with a cold beverage and found a place to savor and enjoy. The night was setting in. Jovial posh-looking lads walked by and I could tell their night was just starting. I felt both old and young. Tired and exuberant. Overall, I had the desperate nostalgia that I should have done this years ago. But grateful to be here in the now. And soon I was no longer famished but satiated. Jet lag was making its presence even more known. I was ready for sleep. Day one down under was coming to an end. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and savored one more moment. A good end to a g’ day… Mates.

~~~©Dustin J. Casey 2021~~~