As the mining sector begins to swell, the Perth fine dining scene prepares for another wave of neck tatted gourmands to crash down on their shores. For decades Kev only ever dined on frozen food like a culinary Eskimo but now, he is cashed up again and can afford a break from getting Steggled every night.
Kev rolls a dart while perusing fancy menus at the Karratha airport. He is planning to take his misso out for a “kutz feed” on his return to civilization. He doesn't much like all this "fusion shit" so he decides to go with old faithful - Rookpewwwwl.
Before dinner, Kev primes his palate with a 4 pack of Jack & Coke while slipping into his Magistrate Court best: black Billabong button-up, O'Neil jeans, Volcom belt and a pair of leather shoes that are so white they make the young Liberals look like Wu-Tang Clan. He rolls his sleeves up to reveal his LATEESHA forearm tatt and walks down the Kelmscott catwalk flashing all the glamour of the Ascot races general admission toilet.
At Rockpool, Kev is asked if he would like wine pairing with his tasting menu, “nah mate, fuck that, yas give us fuck all each time, nah two bottles of ya best Mer-lowwww ay”. The first course arrives at their table and Kev indiscreetly barks, “farking small as”. A further 4 courses come out and each time Kev is left dissatisfied with the size of his portions. “What a fucking rip, to think, we only paid $20 for that Wah-gooo in Bali the other week, ay”.
By dessert, Kev is fully toasted and grabs a waiter by the arm, “look, we paid a shitload and I’m still starvin’ marvin, reckon yas could do us a steak to go?” A move that truly glistens with all the class of a neon sign outside of a back street massage parlour. His request is denied and Lateesha resorts to the dero diner's deathblow: the 1-star review.
Kev re-buckles his belt and taps his missus on the arse, “let’s go Teesh, tomorrow we’ll go to Hogs Breath and get a decent sized feed, fuck this shit for a joke, ay”
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