Who all go to Doyles

It is the last refuge of the older set,
too recent to be an institution, established
too long to be taken for granted except by
the restless souls of the 60’s and 70’s and their
doting families, plus a few trendy air-heads who
arrived recently at the realisation ‘this is where
it is at’. There are older restaurants in Watson’s
Bay, obviously wiser purveyors who have 

the uncompromising wherewithal not to
compromise their culinary skills or hire non-immigrant
itinerants to serve in their kitchens. For them
the crowds that wash in and out with the tide,
exhilarated by the fast ferry ride, are a distant
but useless domesticated beast of burden bearing
magical wallets filled with undesirable coin of
the realm. And who all go to Doyles.
© I.D. Carswell