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Brynn

@car_boot_lunch

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The car boot critic
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PSG win and the city erupts anyway. Cars on fire. Flares in the streets. Riot police lining the boulevards like it’s 1789 all over again. Napoleon probably somewhere in the afterlife nodding approvingly into a glass of Bordeaux. Whether PSG win or lose, Paris was always built for chaos. And so is the food. Paris doesn’t feed you gently. This city force-feeds you like a goose being prepped for foie gras. Butter injected into every artery. Wine replacing blood. Bread so perfect it makes Australian cafés look like corporate team-building exercises with oat milk. The whole city moves with the confidence of a nation that once chopped off royal heads because the bread wasn’t good enough. And honestly? Fair enough. They walk around with this unbearable confidence because deep down they know no one touches them on food. Italians argue. Spaniards shout. Australians put beetroot on things and call it culture. Meanwhile some old Parisian bloke who hasn’t smiled since Zidane retired is casually serving a baguette that could reset your nervous system. Outside Roland Garros, Monfils limps around the clay one last time while tourists line up pretending they understand tennis scoring. Somewhere nearby, Monet’s water lilies sit peacefully while the rest of the city descends into smoke, fireworks and red wine. That contrast is Paris. Beauty beside chaos. Elegance beside violence. A perfect croissant eaten while someone launches a flare into the sky three streets over. The onion soup looked like floodwater under burnt cheese. Perfect. Steak frites bleeding into pepper sauce like a crime scene. Perfect. No city in the world backs itself harder than Paris. And after eating there again? I get it taken in Paris,France by @car_boot_lunch
7
5 months ago
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It’s almost 2026. I’m half cut on a mountainside in the south of Spain. And I’ve made a call. Arroz de Marisco is my dish of 2025. This wasn’t some planned editorial moment. It landed the way most truths do, sideways and loud. Yesterday, on a tattoo table in Madrid, arguing with a tattooist about what really matters. Portugal’s arroz de marisco versus Spain’s paella. His argument was strong. Portuguese rice is always overcooked. Soupy. Loose. Floating around in a delicious Atlantic seafood stew that barely pretends to be rice. And he’s not wrong. Arroz de marisco is excess in a bowl. It’s a dish that’s carried Portugal through the rise and fall of empire, feeding the nation in portions as generous as the gold that once flowed in after the discoveries of the 1500s. Big bowls. No restraint. No apology. Paella, though, plays a different game. I’ve eaten enough of them to know the chase. That crust. The socarrat. The thing we all hunt like addicts. Everyone swears they’ve had the perfect one. Almost no one can prove it. Finding proper paella crust is like searching for Atlantis. Rarely found, widely claimed, possibly mythical. And when it’s not there, which is most of the time, you’re left with rice that promised greatness and delivered polite disappointment. Arroz de marisco never does that. It turns up every single time. Reliable. Over the top. Wholesome in a way only something completely unrefined can be. Like Ronaldo in his prime. Always there. Always scoring. Entirely Portuguese. So here we are at the turn of the year. Two nations. Two rice dishes. Old empires still arguing over territory, now reduced to pans, ladles, and wounded pride. And me, calling it for the sloppy one. The wet one. The dish that doesn’t pretend to be clever. And yes, I know it’s been a hot minute since I last put pen to paper. You’re all thinking I fell off after bullying half of you into following my Substack. Truth is I’ve been busy yelling into the void about AI, like every other man and his dog this year. No excuses. None needed. Sometimes you disappear. Sometimes you come back. Arroz de Marisco. Messy and generous, a lot like the year itself. taken in Lisboa, Portugal by @car_boot_lunch
15
10 months ago
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At the close of the year, two dishes remain top of mind for me: chicken and fish. Yeah,there’s also that trusty backup—hot chips—but it’s almost a given that when you have chicken or fish on your plate, hot chippies are never far behind. I’ve been thinking about the meals that have stood the test of time and supported economies worldwide: Spanish pork, Scottish venison, Egyptian Tameha. But for me, nothing beats Portuguese chicken and classic British fish and chips. They’re not too dissimilar—both simple, both iconic, and both fueling everyday folks for decades. Portugal and England share the world’s longest-standing alliance, and it’s fitting that these two countries have perfected their respective signature dishes. In turbulent economic times, both meals have remained affordable, satisfying, and consistent. So here are my top five places for Portuguese Frango (grilled chicken) and fish and chips—no particular order, just good grub. My Top 5 Spots for Chicken & Fish 1. Zubirs – Lisbon, Portugal A lovely family from Pakistan who’ve nailed Portuguese BBQ chicken but added their own subtle touches. Try the naan, green chili sauce, and white sauce. 2. Steeles – Cleethorpes, England A true institution with carpeted floors and tea served with your meal. Here, it’s all haddock—don’t even ask for cod. 3. A Valenciana – Lisbon, Portugal Open since 1914, serving a classic menu with impeccable service. An absolute staple for perfectly roasted chicken. 4. The Red Lion – Isle of Wight, England Presentation might be a bit posh, but the pub chef of the year runs the kitchen. Everything tastes fantastic—try the beef crumpets, too. 5. Primavera – Lisbon, Portugal It’s local, classic, and boasts rotisserie chickens dripping over spatchcock chickens. A great spot to watch the football. Eat your heart out. by @car_boot_lunch
11
2 years ago
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The reunion of Oasis is somewhat reminiscent of my reunion with the motherland and its bland postwar colonial diet. Beans, peas, sausages, and brown sauce are like those 90s rock bands that seemed cool when you were twelve, in your 20s. Now that you’re 30, you realising that you have shit taste your taste was questionable, but so was everyone else’s.

The sausage rolls hit hard, and the warm ales hit even harder. Still, that doesn’t stop you from devouring a packet of greasy pork scratchings and being called a Saffa in every pub you enter. It’s a bittersweet experience to indulge in a country that feels so close to home yet so distant at the same time. It’s a love-hate relationship; you’re an Aussie when the cricket is on and a Kiwi when the rugby kicks off. Nevertheless, I’m sure Oasis has probably split up by the time it took me to write this. taken in England by @car_boot_lunch
8
2 years ago
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I must admit I’ve been slow to acknowledge Portuguese cuisine, despite living in Portugal for nearly a year. Respect is earned, not freely given, and Portuguese food is no exception. Let’s take a brief historical detour: Portugal was the first European nation to reach Japan, renowned for its superior boats and the largest waves on the planet. Anyway, a brief history lesson for you before I digress any further. Interestingly, the Japanese word for thank you is “Arigato,” remarkably similar to the Portuguese “Obrigado.” Coincidence? I think not. However, Portuguese cuisine doesn’t receive the same acclaim as Italian, French, or Greek food. This could be due to its heavy use of oily, pungent fish, which isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Yet, you all slam back a cheeky Nando without thinking, nor did I before I got fired from there in 2008. But today, I’m here to present to you, the reader, a few humble meat sandwiches: Bifanas, Prego, Sande de Rojão, Cachorrinhos and Pica Pau. These aren’t sandwiches for keyboard warriors; they’re better suited for the hardworking type, those accustomed to physical labour, hoisting masts, and sloshing back a few Karenekas on the docks before making the maiden voyage to Japan. taken in Portugal by @car_boot_lunch
24
3 years ago
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You'd think the country responsible for the stock market, banks, telescopes, blue tooth, and the submarine would have some serious culinary prowess. Instead, all they've got is a few fried meatballs, potatoes, Heineken, and stinky fish sandwiches. It's like when the Dutch arrived in Australia and saw 'nothing,' I arrived at their local tavernas and saw the same blinding neutral colour palette. But, hey, the Dutch learned their lesson when they finally gave back Suriname in the 70s. They got the hint and welcomed Surinamese food with open arms. Barra, Roti, Kip Sate, the works. It's like discovering the meaning of juxtaposition in year 10 art class – Surinamese cuisine is a God among Men. Except, whoever the f*!k invented Feebo, that sh!t slaps! taken in Amasterdam , Netherlands by @car_boot_lunch
8
3 years ago
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Italy is one of those places where you simply relish every meal. Feeling unwell? You still eat. Full already? You continue to eat. Offered antipasti at a wine tasting? You accept. It’s not about expressing satiety; you take in the culinary experience. They serve bread to sate your hunger? Consume it, and prepare for the next course. This is the cuisine that shaped Franco Cozzo. You’d be so lucky to savor it again. There are children in the world starving and you have the audacity to tell a local wine producing, cheese making, salami slinging, pasta rolling farmer that YOU are too full to eat. Remember, it’s not as if they’ve merely offered you instant noodles and a slice of cheese. So, when in Italy, feast, carb load, and metaphorically perish on the same hill where the local pig was slaughtered. taken in Bologna, Italy by @car_boot_lunch
11
3 years ago
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Chef Calombaris can’t be entirely blamed for slipping a few extra pennies in his pocket when taking sole custody of the Gyros. None the less the Greeks were onto something even if the Ottomans weren’t entirely convinced. Yeah yeah I know, boots missing. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. taken in Athens, Greece by @car_boot_lunch
10
3 years ago
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I was wrong when I thought some of the earliest origins of the car boot scene began in Türkiye. Classic, ignorant Australian. How could I pass up Egypt, "The Mother of Civilisation?" Yeah, nice quote, @joebiden . It is gratuitous of you to make an appearance in Sharm, but you're taking my thunder a little. Next time, just @ me, and we can collaborate on arrival. I'm only 40minutes down the road. I'm not sure if you got the message, but @albomp couldn't make it to @cop27_egypt so I thought I could cover for him and my country. Slide in my dms, and let's get lunch before you leave. I know a few places you might like. taken in Cairo, Egypt by @car_boot_lunch
5
4 years ago
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There’s nothing funny about the food here in Türkiye. Albeit I’m still trying to draw a long bow between overpriced raw fish with green oil and flowers. A product of Dictator Dan and an expression of champagne socialism in the inner north. It’s true, I’ve hit the big time and my agent insisted I take it his culinary craze to the big stage. Next stop, Egypt. by @car_boot_lunch
3
4 years ago
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It’s no surprise that the earliest origins of the car boot beverage can be located all the way back to Kapadokya, Türkiye. With a country so culturally rich and diverse it’s hard for me to take credit for such an explosive culinary scene. As it is tradition here in Turkey, you can see, the watermelon not only fills the cup but it also covers the boot. This provides nourishment and respect for the boot and not only the consumer. Something I will be bringing back to local scenes in Australia. 🍉 taken in Kapadokya by @car_boot_lunch
6
4 years ago
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Yeah yeah I know, there are no car boots. But did you really expect me to walk out into the car park and post up on Amigos boot? Hell nah, Merells in Mexixo is enough for this Gringo. Tacos ain’t even really the thing in PV but when your only option for a Torta and Taco is an old kebab shop, what’s a Gringo meant to do? Fucking ask me if I want to add avocado for $4. Bra, it’s guacamole and La Hormiga give you that, radish, 4 salsas, cucumbers and pickled onions for free. Slap you for 34 pesos and let you bring the beers. taken in Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco. México by @car_boot_lunch
25
4 years ago
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