Isa Hotel

My friend and I had lunch and dinner at the Isa, and we both enjoyed our meals. The staff made it a wonderful experience with their outstanding service. Patrick deserves a special mention for helping the other staff even on his day off. Thanks to Sebastian and Sanji for looking after us and making sure our meals were sorted. We'll definitely be back.

I'm from Darwin, and I haven't found a pub meal there this good, whatever the price. I was surprised this place only had 4/5 stars. The food came out fast, the pork belly starter was killer, and my 500 rump was cooked perfectly rare. The crispy chips came on the side instead of under the steak, and the portion was generous. I'm not usually a salad person, but even that was yum. I'd give it six stars if I could. Wicked pub feed, well done!

Black pipes and broad galvanised roofs, red dust and hawks out back. Pink clouds drift from the chimney stack. And here I am in the Isa again, back on that lonely road I never thought I'd travel twice. What does a town like this ask of you? Maybe you lose your job at fifty and grow old and bitter, drink until you can't think straight, or sit at home with the race form and complain. Just over the hill, someone's backyard looks like a postcard, all gentle colour against a hard life on the stations around the Isa. Tonight there's a rodeo ball, with riders, bulls and horses standing proud. In the park, some black people sprawl together and share their money on flagons. There's more to understand before you ride in like Robin Hood. Do-gooders can cause more harm than good when they don't really know the Isa. Across Leichhardt East, fool's gold flashes. People search for Maltese Crosses, sell them to the tourist buses, and look at ghost gums under the moon. Some struggle, some get by, and the lucky ones make a quid and pull through. Others sit at the bar like caged cockatoos. Nothing new around here. It takes a particular kind of girl to stay in this rugged place, holding on to her dignity while the oaths fly. I pay my respects to you. I'll raise a glass to this outback town and its weathered spirit that won't back down. Sticking it out at the Isa takes the courage of a rodeo clown. Black pipes and broad galvanised roofs, pink clouds from the chimney, red dust and hawks in the wind. Here I am at the Isa.

I've been coming here for years, but the place has lost some of its sparkle. The staff seemed untrained and amateurish, my meal order was wrong, and the spare ribs were so dried out I couldn't eat them.