FOR THE LOVE OF FOOD AND GOOD PEOPLE
WORDS BY SHANNON GREY
Mum’s embroidered cushions and dinky teacups all say that ‘home is where the heart is’. But when you’re 15,000 kms from the ones you love, Shannon Grey reckons the kitchen is your next best bet. After all, mum’s cushions also say ‘the stomach is the way to the heart’.
It’s Christmas night and it’s snowing outside. My housemates and I—our arms full of crockery holding turkey, gravy and roast vegetables—walk through our building, downstairs and along the hall to our friend’s apartment. There are thirteen of us here tonight. All of us are far from our hometowns and the people we normally spend Christmas with. If only our parents could see the impressive contingency planning that went into delegating and cooking each household’s dish for the night. My own contribution, a chocolate self-saucing pudding, was still bubbling away at home in the slow cooker, timed to be finished perfectly for the end of the main course.
The first time I entered the world of sharehouse accommodation I was twenty years old, and I had just moved to Canada from Perth. To say that my sharehouse experience was the standard or the ‘norm’ for the first time you live out of home would be a lie. I’m one of those people that lived and worked at a ski resort and never shuts up about it. I was thrown into staff accommodation where I didn’t know a single person in my building, and certainly not the people I was going to be living with. What I came to realise very quickly was that it was less a sharehouse confined by my apartment, and more a resort-wide sharehouse. Everyone was in the same position, and soon some of us would become family.
It was 8 pm, dinner was finished, and I’d received a few knowing looks and affirmative nods that everyone was ready for dessert. I quickly popped back upstairs to retrieve the well-talked-up pudding. I opened the door to the smell of rich chocolatey goodness and went to peek through the lid to check if it was firm. To my absolute horror it was not. It was liquid. After thirty seconds of utter confusion, I discovered that the slow cooker had been set to ‘LOW’ instead of ‘HIGH’ for the four hours it had been cooking. It was an overconfident chef’s nightmare. Carrying just the accompanying vanilla ice cream back to my friends, I couldn’t look them in the eye as I told them of my slow cooker faux pas. The disappointment was clear. A new plan had to be made. We would head up to the bar for a few drinks with more friends like we had planned, and later we would come back to my apartment to eat the pudding once it was done.
As the last call for drinks rang out across the crowded bar, I went to get my jacket and found a group of eager faces waiting for me. What ensued was exactly what you can imagine eight inebriated people sitting around at 2 am eating messy, saucy spoonfuls of chocolate pudding and vanilla ice-cream looks like. It was glorious.
I think I knew it at the time, but even more so in the years since I’ve been back in Australia, that some of my best memories and friendships were forged through food. From my co-worker who drove me to get groceries in town on my first day of work after seeing me try to get by on some seriously average ready-made meals from the ski resort’s general store. To the ginger cookies and seasoned chicken drumsticks that (nearly) made a man fall in love with me. To calling my Mum to send over more jars of the Turban Chopstick’s butter chicken because I’d made it for someone and the news had spread. To text messages from a friend years later asking why the Pinterest pasta recipe we used to cook once a week just doesn’t taste the same now that we are back in our home countries (this may or may not have something to do with the insane quality of cream cheese in Canada). You don’t need a fancy kitchen, or quality ingredients, or even a fully functioning stove. All you need is the energy of the people around you that want to eat and care about what you’re cooking.
It’s fair to say that in moving to a city like Melbourne I was never expecting to have the same sense of intimacy with the people that I shared, dined, or cooked food with.
‘You don’t need a fancy kitchen, or quality ingredients, or even a fully functioning stove. All you need is the energy of the people around you that want to eat and care about what you’re cooking.’
Since moving here I have been trying to find the places that make you feel like you’re coming over for dinner. To find restaurants, bars and cafes that make you feel like you’re one of their regulars, from the very first time you walk in the door.
When I went to eat somewhere at the resort I knew the wait staff, the chefs, and the dishwashers. I knew the people who served me drinks at the bar and who didn’t get mad when I forgot to pay my bill and had to come back the next day. I knew the people at the cafes, and the ice-cream shop, and I was even friends with the locals who delivered the produce. It was like a small town on steroids. It was wonderful.
There are still opportunities in big cities like Melbourne to find the threads of shared experience and connection through food. What I’ve discovered is that the city is full of these places. Whether they’re on main streets, tucked away in hidden laneways, on trendy rooftops, or out in the suburbs; there are places and people that bring a sense of familiarity; that if you close your eyes can feel just like coming home to a place full of people you love.
The thought of having to live with other people you’ve never met before can seem really daunting—just like learning to cook or dining somewhere in a new city. Not every meal will be a success, and not every restaurant or cafe will be what you’re looking for. It seems too simple to say that food brings people together, but it’s the simple things, the smallest, seemingly insignificant threads that anchor our relationships with ourselves and the people we love.
FOR THE LOVE OF GOOD PLACES TO EAT
It’s the people (not just the food) that make for good dining. Here are some Melbourne favourites where the bartender remembers your drink, the chef is okay with adjusting to your low spice tolerance, and the waiter brings out your favourite board game to your table every hungover Sunday afternoon.
GOOD TIMES
214 St Georges Road, Fitzroy North
@goodtimespasta
MERCADANTE WOODFIRED PIZZERIA
123 Lygon Street, Carlton
@mercadante_pizzeria
NEIGHBOURHOOD WINE
1 Reid Street, Fitzroy North
@neighbourhoodwine
PICCOLO MONDO
240 Lygon Street, Carlton
@piccolomondomelbourne
SHANGHAI STREET
303 Elizabeth Street, Melbourne
@shanghaistreetelizabeth
THE HARDWARE SOCIÉTÉ
10 Katherine Place, Melbourne
@hardwaresociete
THE NEW BAY HOTEL
329 New Street, Brighton
@newbaybrighton
WHITE MOJO
115 Hardware Street, Melbourne
@whitemojo
