#scatalogical

Slay Your Poo-Stink with the Golden Fart of a Mystic Unicorn

@valeriane @ceeblathers

I just....

Yes it’s a spray that you use to spritz a toilet bowl and... and... well, to quote them:

To get to my appointment with the Duchess, I had to brave the crush of George Street’s after work foot traffic and narrowly missed being run down by some stressed out executive who came barrelling out of his underground car park exit in his low-slung European sedan without even a passing glance up and down the footpath.  Poor lamb, I’m sure his reckless driving had a legitimate cause.  He had probably missed out on a million dollar deal or something equally upsetting today, the great unwashed really should take more care to get out of his way.  Having me knock on his window and wave brightly probably did nothing to improve his mood, in hindsight I should really have been more understanding of his lack of care and awareness.  Never mind, the experience was soon forgotten as I continued my walk in the crisp evening air through the crocked streets of The Rocks.  I love the sandstone buildings and the feeling that Sydney’s history is all around you there.

I arrived early and tried to get caught up on a few work emails in the lobby while I waited, but the people watching was a serious distraction.  I was sitting next to large expensively attired group, one of whom was wearing an elaborate earpiece attached to a small curly cable that disappeared into the back of his suit.  Perhaps a group of foreign government officials busy spending their nation’s tax revenues?  I didn’t have much time to watch them as the Duchess soon arrived and we headed up to the bar and restaurant.  Blu Bar on the 36th floor was noisy and busy, and while I could see a few blasé faces around the room being worn by the bored moneyed classes they were definitely in the minority to the bright eyed tourists who were busy trying to get a picture of the view.  Which, has to be said, is truly stunning.  The Duchess called it a view to make you fall in love with Sydney all over again, and I couldn’t have agreed more.  I had a hard time concentrating on the conversation the Duchess was having with two of the hotel’s marketing team, I was too busy watching headlights stream over the bridge and ferries dodging by each other in the harbour.

Our entire evening was courtesy of the Duchess’s food blogging work, as the Shangri-la had put on cocktails and dinner for us in the expectation she’ll pen a positive review.  The Duchess had to spend time talking to the team about the origin of the food and drink we were enjoying, all de rigueur details that the average reader of food blogs demand.  Frankly, I’m not bothered about the name of the farm where the chef had sourced the broccoli from, it could have come from Woolies in World Square for all I care.  It’s about the skill of the preparation in my book.  Presentation of the food is important as well, and on that subject someone really should take the chef aside and ask him to take a careful look at the presentation of his ‘chocolate’ dessert.  Lovely taste, no question, but somehow making chocolate mousse into smooth cigar shapes on a plate can’t help but look anything but scatalogical.  The other thing I look for from a good meal is great service, and it would be difficult to find fault in the Shangri-la team’s performance, but I really couldn’t help feeling like the staff were going through the motions of courtesy and service.  To be fair, I guess the niceties of professional hospitality are simply that – a charade of welcome and bonhomie, building the illusion for the customer that they’re a welcome guest to an exclusive and luxurious club.