Jana Pleyto
Sandra 1Parmagaina-rama
August 11th 2007 06:49
The 5:37 from Old Museum Station, now gone the way of Spenser Street and written in white on blue as Melbourne Central, is going West to Footscray the first pit stop on my journey to Parmagaina-rama.
This secret is just that: a secret, because of its omission from the directory of all its kind, good and bad: The Super Parma guide. The Parma Sutra. A fantastic website dedicated to that which I am to indulge in tonight, the meal borne from that place in Italy no one can pronounce. Made when a Pig meets a Chicken and they invite cheese as well.
My evening will be shared with a good friend of mine: Boris and Cleetus. Forced into each others dash through time at a type of prison for university aged persons called the Student Village. Now 3 years into our lives we are all still fine friends and will affirm this by the adding of cheese to ham and finally both to chicken.
Boris lives in Footscray ten minutes walk from the Station with the same name. On the way there I pass two old men, old mates sharing a King Brown in the park, Melbourne Bitter I think. Then a malnourished red headed woman dragged by two toy dogs. Past a few sex shops, Turkish internet cafes and the restaurant with the deadly pork rolls.
A few minutes at Boris’ and we head off to the Prince of Wales on Mount Alexander road in Ascot Vale. Another mate of ours Kirk in waiting for us in the TAB with some terrible news: the price of a parma and pot has risen from ten dollars to twelve dollars and fifty cents. A whopping 25% increase or two hundred and fifty cents. So it was with spirits a little low that I went and ordered three parma-pot combinations for $37.50 instead of the previous round figure of $30.
While we wait for the parmas we reminisce about the old establishment that exsited here and the one with it’s name still legible on the front: Jimmy Rowe’s. Since we all lived in the vicinity of this fine place whilst we were in university and the fact that they were good enough to allow us back each week before escorting us from the premises, we frequented this place quite…frequently. But those were wild days, and we’re mature adults now.
The Parmas arrive and they are everything I daydreamed about at 3.30. The breast is thick, well cooked and ample. The accompaniment of seasoned chips is welcomed as is the two varieties of salad: Pasta and the regular green and red variety. The beer is always welcomed and is almost extinct before their arrival.
We are lucky enough this evening to be serenaded by the sounds of an angry Western man losing his rent and cursing the doggies, telling them loudly that he would “see them next Tuesday” and telling them they look disgusting in their numbered vests.
Price increase aside. The Prince of Wales parma is gets my vote.
A quick tour through the streets of Footscary and I’m back to where I started 2 hours ago, just in time to get the train and carry my painful Parma weight home
This secret is just that: a secret, because of its omission from the directory of all its kind, good and bad: The Super Parma guide. The Parma Sutra. A fantastic website dedicated to that which I am to indulge in tonight, the meal borne from that place in Italy no one can pronounce. Made when a Pig meets a Chicken and they invite cheese as well.
My evening will be shared with a good friend of mine: Boris and Cleetus. Forced into each others dash through time at a type of prison for university aged persons called the Student Village. Now 3 years into our lives we are all still fine friends and will affirm this by the adding of cheese to ham and finally both to chicken.
Boris lives in Footscray ten minutes walk from the Station with the same name. On the way there I pass two old men, old mates sharing a King Brown in the park, Melbourne Bitter I think. Then a malnourished red headed woman dragged by two toy dogs. Past a few sex shops, Turkish internet cafes and the restaurant with the deadly pork rolls.
A few minutes at Boris’ and we head off to the Prince of Wales on Mount Alexander road in Ascot Vale. Another mate of ours Kirk in waiting for us in the TAB with some terrible news: the price of a parma and pot has risen from ten dollars to twelve dollars and fifty cents. A whopping 25% increase or two hundred and fifty cents. So it was with spirits a little low that I went and ordered three parma-pot combinations for $37.50 instead of the previous round figure of $30.
While we wait for the parmas we reminisce about the old establishment that exsited here and the one with it’s name still legible on the front: Jimmy Rowe’s. Since we all lived in the vicinity of this fine place whilst we were in university and the fact that they were good enough to allow us back each week before escorting us from the premises, we frequented this place quite…frequently. But those were wild days, and we’re mature adults now.
The Parmas arrive and they are everything I daydreamed about at 3.30. The breast is thick, well cooked and ample. The accompaniment of seasoned chips is welcomed as is the two varieties of salad: Pasta and the regular green and red variety. The beer is always welcomed and is almost extinct before their arrival.
We are lucky enough this evening to be serenaded by the sounds of an angry Western man losing his rent and cursing the doggies, telling them loudly that he would “see them next Tuesday” and telling them they look disgusting in their numbered vests.
Price increase aside. The Prince of Wales parma is gets my vote.
A quick tour through the streets of Footscary and I’m back to where I started 2 hours ago, just in time to get the train and carry my painful Parma weight home
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