South West Woks

I liked how the décor of a bland brick walled and rendered cement ceiling had been transformed ingeniously into a Thai retro chic eating venue. The worst of the brick was covered with paintings, red lanterns, hanging parasols and a feature mirror and bamboo bar. Around the large square mirror were arranged fairy lights, record covers of 70s Thai singers, glassware and other retro collectables. Bamboo was used to decorate all the bar, the glass cabinet being used as the register counter, the drinks fridge and the aquarium. There were canvases, coloured metal drinks containers, fans. Butcher paper squares designated each diners place above the tablecloths, above the paper were placemats. A collection of Thai dolls, in glittery fabric that were identical to the dolls that my neighbours used to bring back from overseas travel for my sisters doll collection were seated above the aquarium which set off a visit down memory lane.

The waitress reminded me of Marilyn from Northern Exposure, friendlier and more helpful but with the same inscrutable face and inability to pick her age. She brought out plates of food before you were quite ready for the next course and took away old plates before you were quite ready to let go of the morsels, but it never seemed like interference. The chef, Tim, toiled away in a kitchen behind the 70s era drinks signs hanging off the walls, making soups, curries, salads. Occasionally he’d emerge to help carry out dishes to the large group sitting outside, or check on the progress of their meal. From the distance he looked like a still handsome blonde guy in his forties, and I strained to catch a better glimpse of the source of all this wonderful food and décor. I was half in love with him, ready to imagine a scenario and piece together a story that explained why he was living in South West Rocks, where his restaurant vision came from and how many other people appreciated him the way I did.

Andrew felt the same way about Tim, and it was hard for us to have to leave the restaurant. We were sad we’d decided to eat there on a Sunday night towards the end of the night, meaning we were the last customers to leave. We were rapt when Tim came over to our table and enquired as to how our meal was going. Why hadn’t I made an effort and dressed up for him, instead of wearing thongs and a hooded jumper? Everything about this restaurant brought back what can be so pleasurable about eating out: the vision encapsulated in the décor, the menu put together by the owner/chef; the attention to detail suggested when a chef checks you are enjoying your meal.

Sometimes you come across little gems like this in tiny beachside towns, and you start to fantasize about another life lived. What does Tim do during his down time? Why has he chosen this town to run his small restaurant? Who are his regular patrons? Does he do yoga with Shakti Mudra? (I hope so). For a relatively small town, half of which is made up of holiday houses, it had some very nice little features to it:
A surf club overlooking the main beach.
At least five cafes open on a Sunday
Two café/restaurants within walking distance of the peninsula/camping ground
Several clothing shops, two op shops, a Thai restaurant, a beach front pub
A cinema with a range of mainstream and art house films located in the former School of Arts building constructed in the 1920s.

A historical society museum, national parks and many good beaches.

Even the people at the camping ground were nice. The campsite had access to the beach, and at 7am on the Monday morning all the other campers were also taking early morning strolls along the beach, or using the bathroom amenities, cooking breakfast outdoors, doing all those delightful details that embrace the day.