Tables measured out and arranged according to density restrictions. QR codes taped up in the doorway, and discreetly on the corners of our beautiful wooden tables. Sorry sir we’re all booked out and not doing walk-ins at the moment. I’m so sorry ma’am, but we currently can’t accommodate you due to regulations, but please do come back once you’ve received your second vaccination.
We arrange our mise en place on our workbenches in the open kitchen, occasionally glancing towards the door as diners slowly stream in. Spirits are high. Everyone is excited to be out. It’s been so long. Too long.
The sound of the docket printer cuts through the background noise of chatter and clinking wineglasses. Our first dine-in order in what seems like forever. Part of my brain goes into panic mode. Do I even remember how to do this?
262. That’s the number of days that Melbourne has had in lockdown since March 2020. We’ve gone through all the stages of grief. For many of us, several times over. I’ve been separated from my parents for two years now. They’re in Singapore. I lost my grandma last year and had to watch, over zoom, as they cremated her body. They collected her ashes and put them in a cardboard boat and pushed it out to sea. The internet connection was patchy.
The first order is for a table of two. Four courses. Oysters. Fresh yabbies that were delivered alive in a styrofoam box this morning. One was clinging to the lid as I lifted it off and it gave me a fright. Pan-seared barramundi, crispy skin with salsa verde and capers, beurre noisette. Pomme frites and a salad on the side. Honeycomb & pistachio parfait for dessert.
Rum and raisin was Mama’s favourite ice-cream flavour. That’s what she told people, but really, she just liked anything with liquor in it. She loved a cheeky spot of brandy. I don’t know why we never called her porpor. I’d always just assumed that she thought it made her sound old. It always made her happy when people told her she looked young for her age. She really did. She was a handsome woman and took a lot of pride in her appearance. She never missed an appointment at the hairdressers. Her hair was always perfectly set.
As the restaurant fills up, the printer picks up its pace. The dockets pile up and muscle memory takes over. Oil grill. Heat pan. Don’t forget the cucumber allergy on table 41. The lady on 62 is pregnant, she’s not having oysters. I need two flat breads now, straight up. Plates on the pass.
Plates.
We’ve missed putting food on plates. In the past year I’ve probably put more food into takeaways than I have in my entire kitchen career. Having the privilege of knowing exactly how a customer is going to receive the food I’ve cooked is something that I’m never going to take for granted again.
There’s a break in service, and we’re reminded that we still have some takeaway orders to fulfill. It’s the first week of restrictions easing and we had decided to stagger our return. I line up seven takeaway containers on the pass. It feels incredibly surreal to see them sitting next to a stack of warm plates.
I wish Mama had visited me in Melbourne just once. I would have loved to have been able to cook for her in my own kitchen. I guess I am lucky that she did manage to make it to Perth for my wedding in 2012. She looked so glamorous that night, in her tailored cheongsam and sequined sandals. It’s how I like to remember her. Smiling, laughing. Dancing with my father-in-law as the band played popular music from the 60s.
The music playing in the restaurant is upbeat. Nothing too heavy, but classic. The playlist is aptly titled Classic Hits. We hum along as we primp salads and sauce proteins. We’re halfway through the second seating and everyone is more relaxed. The initial performance anxiety jitters have subsided and we’ve settled into the comfortable rhythm of a well-oiled kitchen.
My parents are flying off to Germany this weekend. The told me they bought the tickets a few weeks ago when we were still ages away from opening up in Melbourne. It was the week that our travel restrictions were eased from a 10km radius to a 15km radius. I told my mum I was planning to drive to St Kilda to visit a friend. It’s 13.5km from where I am.
When the last table is served, a bottle of bubbly is popped and the staff gather in the kitchen to share a toast. We’re tired, but happy. Nature is healing. We are all cautiously optimistic, but also aware that it’s going to be a long road to recovery for the industry as a whole. For now, we’re glad that we have a small and committed team to start re-building. It’s going to take time, but I’m sure we’ll get there.
I’ll see you soon too mum and dad. In the meantime, have some wienerschnitzel for me and send me photos on whatsapp.
