the lennox point hotel – no longer the bloodhouse
Callum does not quite own the kitchen here, Troy is the chap in charge and the go-to sausage guy.
The lovely girl who runs the bookings and plays the till says Callum is just a sweet puppy-dog.
Pit bulls were puppies once.
Callum assists in keeping the people fed at Rubys; a choice little venue with tables on the top verandah of the pub which itself looks out on the surf and over to the point – which is 4′ to 6′ today with a solid westerly flow and a steady and even groundswell coming all the way across the Tasman from that dense little low sitting off NZ.
Callum says gets out there regularly, and he doesn’t mind visitors from the big smoke, as long as they eat his sausages and don’t sit on his inside – the knife goes everywhere you see.
Sausages, to my fair experience, that are grades in front of anything I’ve eaten (sausage-wise) since 1953.
They are better than good, in fact they are bozo rated – and the pub is a fair venue.
So do yeself a favour. This is good glue.