After a quick, and extremely satisfying, yum cha in the Emperor's Garden in Sydney - it's the fresher, plumper prawns that make Australian (prawn dumplings) so much better than those in Hong Kong - we jumped in the van and drove down the east coast.

"My body is screaming for life-giving Chinese, but what if there are no Chinese restaurants?" I worried as we drove through towns with weird names like Gerringong and Ulladulla.

"Don't worry, where there are people there are Chinese restaurants," L said.

In Narooma, L was suddenly stricken with excruciating eye-pain. Some killer Australian insect, like the funnel web spider, probably had got between her eye and contact lens, leaving her bloodshot and bruised. But her other eye was beady as ever, spotting the Ocean Palace restaurant long before I did.

The waiter was apologetic that he couldn't offer us proper Sichuan food, like chicken, as they needed a day to get the crucial ingredients.

"OK, can you just make something with chicken and cashews, hot, very hot, and with some vegetables and stuff?"

He looked doubtful as he withdrew to the kitchen, from which we heard voices talking about us: "… and then she wanted spicy. Yes, extra spicy! And then she said …"

First came some wonton soup that L had ordered, beautiful and very tasty. And then followed this thing, this concoction of fresh, fresh chicken, bean sprouts, cabbage and a deep red, shiny, beautiful broth, almost too wondrous to eat.

But when we did, we both burst into loud jubilation. Spicy but light, crunchy and with the softest, freshest, most melty chicken. It was perfect.

After a while, L stopped chewing. "Look at my eye," she said.

It had gone completely white again.