GOOOOAAL!

Love Supreme was quite the culinary experience. A non-descript exterior made the chaos within extra surprising. The kitchen spilled out into the restaurant, with stacks of plain brown pizza boxes and sacks of organic flour competing for space with the tables and chairs and a wine bar that'd nestle easily in the corner of a boutique hotel. My waiter had a full-on Salvador Dali moustache and I wondered whether he might be an aspiring actor or avant-garde muso. Bloke was exceptional at his job – the type who makes every customer feel like a VIP. Can't say I'd wanna be friends with *all* of the clientele, though. The unpretentious gals next to me were happy to share a gag. But then there were obvious poseurs like the guy who walked over to the umbrella stand to take a call on his mobile. I swear he only did it so he could lean on one of the longer ones and affect a Steed-esque stance. To the fare, then. Unsure of the different main dish sizes, I didn't order an entree. (Should have got a few of the deep-fried zucchini flowers as they looked awesome.) Played it safe with a medium pizza topped with West Aussie sardines, mozzarella, capsicum and salsa verde. God, it was good – a rich aroma and strong flavours. Well suited to the hand-harvested grenache I was drinking. How's this for cute? The first glass said "love". The second glass said "supreme". And the third, fourth and fifth glasses said "thanks", "for", "noticing". I'm joking. The third glass also said "supreme" and the enchantment was dispelled. Pudding was an old-skool apple-and-rhubarb crumble. The chunky bits brought back memories of the biscuits my oldest younger sister and I would bake with Mum's leftover pastry when we were kids. That alone was worth the amount at the bottom of the bill. Incidentally, I should explain – I was in Paddo to appraise Mexican football flick "Rudo Y Cursi" at the Chauvel.