I was in Burwood this morning (long story after a scary night but all is well and I’m relieved but tired) which is about half an hour from where I live.
Nestled under the clock towers inside the red brick shop fronts are a host of Asian business, predominantly Chinese and Vietnamese. The grocery store owners greet and thank you in Mandarin. There are at least 8 kinds of dried Chinese mushrooms and 4 of dried Chinese sausages. I’m making clay pot chicken in a rice cooker this weekend and I’m crossing my fingers I’ve chosen the right brands. Perhaps I should have asked the store owner just in case.
Mr SSG found nirvana at the Vietnamese bakery next door where he devoured a chicken roll before I had a chance to take a photo of it. That was after we shared a cheese and bacon topped Vietnamese bread roll. It has been years since I’ve last tasted the airiness of the bread inside that light but thick crust.
The promotional posters that grace disused buildings all advertise Asian pop events. Just minutes away at the train overpass, the posters were all advertising Indie pop.
We had back to the car and walk past orange tiled rooves and white window panes, the essence of post war suburbia.
The drive home takes us through the ‘Italian’ suburbs with their gentrified streets and sidewalks heavily dusted with autumn leaves.