Miss Peaches Soul Food Kitchen

Went there with the offspring, his friend, her cousin and her mother last night. Bussed it to Newtown from the station. Told the young one we'd need to buy a ticket from the ticket window at the railway station, but he knew better: "They only sell train tickets."

So we got on the bus and the driver scolded us for not buying tickets before we got on, tickets he said we could buy at the station. Never-the-less, he accepted my change and let us on. This was good as the next bus would do that route in 14 hours.

As we lumbered down the Princes Highway, every new passenger produced cash. We weren't close enough to hear if the driver chipped the other passengers, but he never sent one away.

Miss Peaches was busy, with the only empty tables inside reserved. This was sad because it was a bit chilly to sit on the balcony, and all the young people around us were puffing like chimneys. Had not been around so many smokers for at least a decade. I could smell that awful smoke--stinking just as much from incinerating filters as the tobacco--in my hair, my clothes, in my throat. I had been under the impression that the numbers of smokers were decreasing here, but it seems that places like Miss Peaches causes them to congregate in one place, spewing out a mighty, poisonous miasma. I will check if the sprog wants to do dinner with his friends again and requires my presence, that reservations have been made inside (and far from the balcony doors) where smoking is illegal.

Food was good. These tiny hamburgers were especially delicious. The fried chicken was sweet and yummy. The rest of the group had massive slices of pie to finish off: banana, strawberry and chocolate-meringue, but I was full enough and didn't crave the sweets.