The night last

I spent in Richmond in an amazing set of apartments with hilarious women.

Two of these women looked very familiar. They would be the head of front of house and the owner/chef of the Commoner.

They were trialling a possible chef for a new project (Catherine's) that is opening on Smith St in March. They gave him a budget, let him loose in the kitchen and then asked him to cook for three people, three courses.

I was lucky enough to have the pear tart that he made, and the pastry is actually the best that I have had in over a year. I swooned, despite my predisposition to dislike sweets.
Another clever thing is that the chef is in a 2 person rock band, and they are called Stereo. Brilliant.

Then, we discussed how the Commoner is apparently lesbian central and the problematic nature of hiring decent staff and how to spot a hippie by their footwear. Funnily enough, Catherine looked at my boots and said, 'If you were to ask me for a job I would look at your feet and give them to you. They are no hippie boots. A on the other hand...'
And music festivals.
Hours.
Dizzy, dizzy people.

Oh yes, and liquor licensing.
And the things missing from the Commoner.
And how it was started on a measly twenty-three thousand.
I was impressed.

Anyways, I am looking forward to March, and there was an agreement struck between the ladies of the Commoner that if a chef could not be found, the chef from the Commoner would lend her services.
And everything in this restaurant is going to be about wine. Wine in the glass, on the plate, on the walls.
Wine.

Yes.

Wine.

French like Catherine.

Also, the Commoner is doing Christmas lunch, with wood-oven chickens and potatoes and everything very... Commoner.