Food Safari 12: Walgett Sporto

It was time for a Federation meeting again, so in the bus we got and off we set, down the Castlereagh, braking hard for the 64 trillion emus that thought it was a good idea to meander across the road without warning.

There was a change of venue for the meeting, and so it was that at about half five in the afternoon we pulled into the gravelly car park of Walgett Sporto.

Like lots of clubs in small regional towns, the Sporto was something of a memorial to lost glories. Even the smell in the foyer – a mixture of cigarette smoke that’s somehow got into the aircon, ageing carpet fibres, schooners of Tooheys New – brought upon me a Proustian moment, my own club land Remembrance of Things Past. The honour boards were filled with winners in singles and doubles events for year after year after year until, in recent times, the names are replaced by those two poignant words “Not Played”.

Inside, the club was almost empty. The Chaser was on the telly and its gravitational pull was as strong as that of a black hole. A Federation meeting or … $2,000 if you choose to take four steps, or [dramatic pause] $45,000 if you choose to take six steps. And against The Beast!

But I am, if nothing else, a dutiful person. The meeting was in a side room and was, essentially, two hours of a growing rage that was as impotent as it was intense. Teachers being defunded from prisons. TAFE being torn apart. NAPLAN. But we motioned and resolved and, at the end of it, staggered towards the bistro safe in the knowledge that we’re just a bunch of irrelevant piss ants a long, long way from Decisionsville.

But, hey, it was Parmy Thursday!

This is where I make an unAustralian confession. I’m not a fan of the parmy. When did they become a Thing? For as long as I can remember the burger was the benchmark in pub tucker. The modern parmy is a gigantic object that could not possibly have come from a single creature but must have been stitched together with fencing wire or blended into a smooth pulp before being reconstituted, like a meaty Pringle. Being “of my time”, I went for the burger. In this case the $15 Texas burger.

I wasn’t sure what to expect (I should have read the description on the menu but, like, who does that?). In what way was it “Texan”? What actually is Texan cuisine? I know that Dubya once nearly choked on a pretzel but then I think that happened in Washington, where he’d been seduced by fancy Yankee snacks. I’d have guessed maybe a kind of smokey rib sauce. And Cajun. Do they have Cajun stuff down there or is that somewhere else? Must Google.

The Walgett interpretation of the Texas burger had onion rings, which I didn’t immediately connect with Texas. Though I could imagine Dubya choking on an onion ring. It also had barbecue sauces and melted cheese. It was grand!

Which was the general consensus all round. The lady at the counter was lovely and cheerful and made us all feel welcome, and the food was pretty quick to arrive. They even catered for S’s bizarre request to accompany his parmy: “mashed potato and salad”. I didn’t think of myself as a food snob till now but that’s just wrong.

Chuck stole the show with his mixed grill. It had everything, including corn on the cob, which neither Chuck nor I had seen on a mixed grill before. It was becoming quite a night.

The piece de resistance was, however, the dessert cabinet. There were no madeleines, so I couldn’t extend my weak Proust metaphor, but there were …

… profiteroles and Snickers cheese cake!!!! Here is our expert dessert fondler Mr B about to tuck in. How was it, Mr B?

I think that face says it all. Out of shot, his leg is kicking like a dog having its belly scratched.

The Sporto bistro belied the down-at-heel feeling I felt when I first went in. It was a really friendly place. If my Texan burger didn’t truly evoke the wide-open plains or the Sierre Madre, I’m frankly buggered if can say what, if it didn’t taste of onion rings, it should have tasted like.

The winner was of course the dessert cabinet. Well, we were all winners on the night. Apart from those sacked teachers, dismantled TAFEs, NAPLAN coordinators, etc etc.

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