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Pub dinners are a cut above the pack at the Carlisle Castle, writes Nick Dent. 
The look of disappointment on Dr Love’s face says it all. First I drag him out of his comfort zone all the way to Newtown. Then I take him down some shady side-streets to a grungy looking pub – practically an old men’s pub. “Relax,” I say, and we pass through the narrow front bar into another room that contains … a pool table. And some old men.
At last we find the bistro area. And to be honest, the fitout’s hardly Philippe Starck. But the atmosphere is civilised; there’s a mix of young and old, gay and straight; and most importantly, there’s a table free for us.
The Doc has brought along a couple of lady friends and clearly expected that his food reviewer housemate would take them all somewhere flashy.
But now his playboy reputation is in danger. Fret not, my aggressively heterosexual compadre – The Carlisle’s chef, Michael Carter, is no mere short-order cook. Like at any pub, you have to order and pay at the counter and grab your own cutlery, but the meals are restaurant standard.
We decide to nibble on some salt and pepper school prawns with lime aioli ($12.50).
These are fried whole mini prawns, heads’n’all; the shells are soft and chewy and the heads are delish. One of our guests gets squeamish, but the rest of us tuck in, and pretty soon school’s out for good for those peppery little guys.
There are daily specials such as my wedge of crispy skin pan-fried blue-eye cod ($21). Thick, white and juicy, this omega-3 rush reposes on a flavoursome salad of lentils, beetroot chunks, shaved fennel and rocket. The Doc, meanwhile, has a T-bone steak on mash ($22.50).
I know which one of us gets the Heart Foundation Tick of approval. T-bones are standard pub fare, of course, but this one’s extra tender and served in a very good, slightly sweet mushroom sauce.
The girls have rump steak and roast chicken, which both look great (Carter’s no slouch with presentation), but something in Dr Love’s expression warns me not to ask to taste their meals. Of course not – there are such things as manners, you know!
A shared dessert gelato is a trio of pistachio, chocolate and crème caramel flavours – my three faves in fact – but overpriced at $9. Come on dudes: it’s just three smallish scoops of gelato.
I’ve been accused of being Darlo-centric in this column. Knowing perfectly well that many SX readers reside near the silver mile of King Street, I’ll try to be more inclusive in future. When even a backstreet neighbourhood pub can rise to the occasion, I’d be mad not to drop by more often.
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