quick! before i disappear down another warren of werk…

the next day, i finally made it to black star pastry. i’d known about this pastry shop for almost 18 months, but never felt compelled to make the trek to newtown. clearly my devotion to grunge only extends as far as listening to 20-year-old pearl jam records and harboring a secret penchant for plaid flannel shirts. the main drag is such… a drag, but a little way down australia street this comforting little nook welcomed us with aircon and neat rows (and bounteous jumbles) of sweet and savoury treats.

the kid made her choice — “sausage roll!” — within seconds of eyeing the pie cabinet in the back before whisking herself back out onto the footpath. meanwhile, there i was, nose to glass case while she sat almost patiently outside pondering the philippe starck gnome stool. my gaze hovered between the black olive baguette stuffed with streaky serrano ham and parmesan, and the golden brown wheel of pastry by the cash register.

you will see that the pastry won, an intriguing wedge of organic weed strudel served with a slab of fresh ricotta and a dollop of plum relish. (i did not enquire about the provenance of the weeds, but i trust they were not related to the scrabbly shoots at our feet.) despite being served at room temperature, the thin pastry still delivered a compelling crunch. the dense and tangled filling, eaten alone, tasted dark green and pleasantly bitter. smeared with ricotta and the sticky sweet and tangy relish, it took on a whole range of complex and happy flavours and textures in my mouth.

by this stage, deborah and LJ had shown up, weak and exhausted from their encounter with the predatory car salespeople of parramatta road, and clearly in need of sustenance. they ended up with a lamb pie each, because deb felt that it might be something they wouldn’t want to share. quite. what showed up was a sturdy-looking puck of a pie, all puffy and golden, filled with tender shredded lamb and vegetables in a light sauce. no gummy meat adhesive here!

it was with regret that i scraped the last strand of bitter green weed from my plate; the silver lining was dessert! my mind was set on the strawberry, watermelon and rose cake, for i had been thinking about it since seeing it over at the unbearable lightness of being hungry many months ago. it was every bit as dreamy as i had imagined: layers of light, nutty dacquoise sandwiching cream and thin slices of fresh watermelon. the combination of creamy and crisp and juicy and sweet was most agreeable, though i failed to detect any discernible rose flavour. the kid began a stealthy attack on the top of the cake, poaching a strawberry, then a half blueberry, then a pistachio, then — brazenly — another strawberry; i had to fend her off with a fork.

she had ordered the vanilla pannacotta topped with a delicate lime jelly into which slices of papaya and slivers of fresh ginger had been set. alas, it proved too gingery for her, and she abandoned it a little way in. i wasn’t quite willing to do an outright trade, but sampled enough of it to report that it tasted fruity and fresh, with a definite bite from the ginger — a perfect treat for a hot afternoon, until the pannacotta liquified beneath the autumnal sun.

when the kid had eaten as much of my cake as i’d let her, she turned her attention to deb’s tarte tatin. again, the pastry was golden brown delicious, and the enormous chunks of soft, caramelised apple most divine.

i may have to rethink my aversion to newtown. perhaps it will not seem quite so out of the way if i make it the destination. black star is surely worth the buses and trains, the grit and the smoke, the draining crush of humanity.