Economics and Sloth

Dining alone today, and suffering the after effects of an expensive weekend, I endeavoured to seek out a thrifty solution to my lunchtime conundrum. There is really only one choice for the truly insolvent in these parts – the famous Lucky Coq. A clever concept, LC was formerly a quite unpleasant pub* which has been completely renovated and re-fitted and now dishes up ‘gourmet’ pizzas for a ludicrously paltry sum. The menu prices range from $7 to $8, but in reality this only applies at weekends, with the weekday lunch price set at $3, rising to a heady $4 in the evening. These beggarly fees appears to defy all logic and ones natural suspicion is that they the must achieve it by supplying an inferior product, made of cheap and nasty ingredients, to keep their costs to a minimum. Thankfully, this does not seem to be the case. Pizzas on the menu include Gorgonzola with Prosciutto, Salmon, Taleggio with Potato and Rosemary, Spiced Lamb… the list goes on. Hardly cheap ingredients! The waiters and kitchen staff appear to be of working age, so they have not resorted to child-slavery to maintain their margins either. Instead, the secret seems to be in the primary clientele… Students. Yes, these appalling buffoons are ten a penny at Lucky Coq, lured like moths to a flame by the promise of cheap pizzas, pool tables and booze. While they munch on their pizza, no doubt congratulating themselves on their parsimonious ways, they swill down flagons of beer, which is never less than full price. Being students, and hence having nothing of worth to do with their afternoons, they don’t stop at one beer like contributing members of society might; instead they glug down one after another until their idle belly’s are full of pizza and ale. The genius of Lucky Coq is luring these dolts with the promise of cheap food, then trapping them and swiftly emptying their loan-swollen wallets into the waiting till. Their system works brilliantly: The place is packed every afternoon and most evenings with these impudent halfwits, blandly imbibing while they endlessly witter on about indie music and limited-edition Nike trainers, read Vice magazine and paw their greasy fringes in unison.
I’m jealous, or course. I too have known the boundless joy of frittering away a Tuesday afternoon in the pub, playing endless games of pool and guzzling pint after pint of European lager. But those days are long gone, and I have no time for this new generation of layabouts. Nontheless, they have subsidised my lunch in a roundabout sort of way, so for that at least, I thank them.

*Note that I often mourn the passing of old boozers, and their subsequent gentrification. But the ‘old boy’ pubs in Prahran are generally lacking in any redeeming features, unless you have a perverse fascination for studying mid-1980’s carpet patterns, or avoiding the penetrating gaze of drunken sociopaths and their snaggle-toothed crones.

Just a quick note on yesterday’s lunch, as it was something of a rushed affair, eaten on the hoof. I had a ham, cheese and salad roll from the always-reliable N Tran bakery. N Tran is worthy of some discussion actually, as it is one of the busiest lunch-spots on Chapel. The place operates at a furious pace, as the staff hold off baying hordes of punters with a never ending salvo of expertly-prepared salad rolls. They assemble and dispatch them with frightening efficiency, using systems and protocols evidently fine-tuned over time. Efficiency aside, the rolls are superb; freshly baked, hot and crusty, stuffed with chicken, coriander, chilli, satay sauce or whatever your whim dictates. Cakes too are good - I had a custard doughnut on this occasion.

Happiness at last

At last, Friday has arrived and a sociable civilised luncheon with like-minded gourmands beckons! The venue is non other than the mighty Patee Thai at Revolver, a great favourite among my companions, but curiously under-patronised by the Chapel St horde. Thank god for small mercies I say. Today it’s just us and the local methadone support group, who wander down from the clinic to claim free soft-drinks on a Friday afternoon. More of that later though… for now lets concentrate on the food!
The stand-out dish on the lunch menu at Revolver is Beef Basil with Fried Egg. It’s a staple which my erstwhile companions tend to blindly cling to, but being something of a renegade in this regard I take a punt on Gai Nam Dang, which is deep-fried, then stir-fried chicken with oyster sauce and chilli - I’m particularly attracted to the double-frying aspect of the dish. In spite of the tempting description, I find the short wait unbearable as I start to regret my audacious choice. The sense of unease measurably deepens when the Beef Basil’s trundle out, and the other chaps begin smugly hoeing into their bowls of steaming goodness. “What have you done?!” heckles a panicky voice in my head. Patee Thais menu is full of booby traps and false turns which mock the unwary. But will it reward the bold? Fortunately my Bolivian ‘Pacena’ beer calms the nerves as I tensely await the delivery – a superb find this lager, not overly fizzy with a charming malty characteristic. And then my food arrives…
Oh what sweet relief! It looks magnificent; a fragrant bowl of deep-fried chicken pieces coated in a slightly sweet, tangy, hot sauce with a pile of steaming rice on the side. The format is essentially the same as the Beef Basil – meaty stir-fry, rice, and salad – a hearty bowlful to warm the soul on a wintry Melbourne afternoon, and I am delighted with my choice. Fortune favours the brave they say, and thankfully the old adage rings true for once.
The atmosphere at Revolver is very much a draw-card for me. Initially, I was wary of the place as a lunch venue, synonymous as it is with wild eyed and firm-jawed post-161 hooligan’s gurning long into the morning, but as a week-day lunch venue it is superb: Cavernous and almost church-like within, it has a quiet charm all of its own. Add to that the excellent beer selection and you have quite a winning formula. As we left today, a curious pan-pipe version of ‘Hey Jude’ was filtering through the sound system and as the methadone recoveree’s chatted and played pool, I found the ambience took a turn for the surreal.
Walking back to the office, I ducked into an old Greek bakery just up the road and bought a piece of Semolina cake. I’d always seen it and meant to try a slice and I was delighted with my purchase… This cake has the density of damp sand and, I fancy, a half-life of several millennia. I certainly struggled to polish the thing off, but I know I’ll be going back for more next week!

A good lunch today and the spring is back in my step!

Lost in Prahran

I was forced to lunch alone today and feeling in need of a familiar feast, I headed directly to Williamson’s pie shop – a purveyor of pies, pasty’s and cakes which I hold in some regard.
Williamson’s menu is quite a lengthy affair but today I acted with great decisiveness and swiftly ordered the Steak and Pepper pie. After yesterdays catastrophe I was feeling cautious, and fortunately the S and P did not disappoint, with its unctuous yet piquant filling and satisfyingly dense crust. But the problem with a pie is that one is never quite enough… Rich? Yes. Hearty? Undoubtedly! But filling? Well… hardly. Two pies would be filling, but it seemed likely that this course of action would shroud my afternoon in a sort of nauseous stupor. What to do? Idly staring out of the pie-shop window I considered my options. Fruit? Hardly comfort food. Instead I headed back the counter and purchased a Pecan Tart which I chewed thoughtfully as I wandered back to work. Unremarkable but satisfying would be an adequate summary of this little morsel.
Despite my pleasant repast, I found my lunchbreak pervaded by a gloomy sensation and ambled back to my desk feeling rather downtrodden… perhaps Friday’s midday sojourn will be a more upbeat affair.

The shock of the new!

Feeling a compulsion for something different, I persuaded the chaps to go to Amici today. A decision I was to rue!
Amici is one of those slick modern bakeries that serve good coffee and attract throngs of nattily-dressed mummies. Their range of agreeable-looking pastries and sandwiches is quite comprehensive and, somewhat bamboozled by the choice, I settled on a Tandoori Chicken salad roll. This is a combination I normally shun, but some hidden urge seemed to guide my choice today.
Sadly, every suspicion I had ever harboured about this kind of populist fusion food was realised as I grudgingly bit through the chipboard-like crust and into the arid core.
The chicken was dry and lacking in any discernible flavour, while the bread was bordering on stale. In fact, only the cucumber saved me from choking on this miserable artefact, and my determination to finish the thing was quickly rewarded with pangs of indigestion.
Annoyed, I vowed to make the best of the situation and ran inside to buy something from Amici’s tempting sweet selection. I settled on a custard doughnut, thinking that they would be hard-pressed to stuff this one up… how wrong I was! The dough was dry and the custard rather bland. It lacked the gooey moreishness that characterises even the lowliest doughnut. How could they get it so wrong?
The other chaps both had roast beef and mustard rolls and were extraordinarily pleased with their choice, so I am left with a nagging uncertainty about the whole experience. I will be re-visiting Amici soon to unearth the real truth.

Hopefully tomorrow will tell a different tale, as my culinary exploration of Chapel St and environs continues unabated!