There's a pâtissier in Sydney who has been attracting some attention for his Pierre-Hermé-esque creations. There's a chocolate-brand concept store which (I believe) introduced Sydney to macarons. There are serious pretzels to be had in a chain bakery. And there's delicious Thai food. I bring you new tales of (failed) macarons and cakes from the Emerald City, plus other tidbits.

Last week saw the announcement of a significant increase in the minimum wage in Australia. Bang! Restaurateurs have been complaining about how this sort of increase would hit really hard and the flow-on would be large increases in costs to diners. But just how good is their maths?

"In Portugal, every website is broken," says the concierge as we try for the third time, in vain, to book a bus ticket online. I suggest that he is exaggerating slightly. Three or four years ago I might have agreed, but nowadays the situation is much, much better. I'm on my way to Portugal. First stop Elvas, a small fortified town near the Spanish border. Getting there is part of the fun.

A real city at last. Seville throbs with life. As the days have passed, I've felt the city-dweller in me yearning for a little more buzz than even Granada had managed to provide. The city is lush with enormous, blooming jacarandas. Beautiful violet blossom seems to light up the streetscape. And awaiting me are fantastic sights and plates and plates of delicious tapas.

Córdoba is the first port of call in Andalucía. It's famous for what would have been the world's largest mosque (the Christians buggered that up), and for a smooth gazpacho. It is absolutely crawling with tourists. A pleasant place to visit and, perhaps, to eat.

Strange. I'm dining fine in Australia, yet the menu isn't French, Italian or Mod-Oz. Some of the staff and chefs speak a cuisine-appropriate language, but are most likely home-grown. The cuisine is usually regarded as meat-heavy and conservative. George Calombaris's very modern food successfully marries cutting edge with Hellenic tradition at The Press Club. It's hard to imagine you could leave this restaurant without a serious dose of gustatory satisfaction.

An inconspicuous old redbrick building in the Berkshire village of Bray bears a sign of a webbed foot, a feather and a duck's bill, all with cutlery handles. This is The Fat Duck, Heston Blumenthal's restaurant, closely associated with the molecular gastronomy movement. Join me for a description of the four-hour lunch you might experience. You'll need an open mind, a tolerance of theatre, and a good credit limit.

What do you do when you find dinner too enjoyable? How is an irritable, jinxed diner like me to cope with a meal which delivers no disappointments and offers barely a scrap to quibble about? I felt embarrassed at how effusive I was. I sat through the meal thinking of all the people I needed to tell. I was dining at one of Melbourne's most avant garde restaurants, Interlude.