The Last Summer at Chris’s in Lorne
I was a late comer to Chris’s. This little unpretentious 40 seat café had
already made its name for decades as the place to be in Lorne for honest simple
grills and sensational seafood. Chris would start the day early at the pier
bagging the best seafood of the day, big sacks of crayfish, tubs of proper
calamari. Gemfish was the most popular fish du jour. He would make Kakavia the
Greek fisherman’s soup, pure pistachio Baklava and a mess of chocolate mousse
before finalising all the orders and preparing breakfast for his elderly parents
who came from Greece for the southern summer. By the time I started my day
around 3pm Chris had already ensconced himself at the sidewalk table spruiking
the day to the passing parade of regulars booking tables and running to and fro
to the TAB for the day’s bets. Stevie, Sammy and all the other Greek old boys
who ran the café scene in Lorne would gently break each others balls over
coffee and gossip. Kosta, Chris’s younger brother would often call in to
“borrow” a few cray and take the parents up the road to his café to see the
grandchildren.
This summer was different the pressure was on from the big
developers. David Mariner was hovering he had to get Christos to sell up to
realise his big fuck off development A serious charm offensive. Eventually he
made an offer too good to refuse and the countdown was on.
The staff were a motley crew of local grommets, super smart
university students and a few experienced hospitality tragics. Many lived or camped out the back of the
shop.
It was a small restaurant with a small kitchen that did
seriously big numbers.
A big thick flat grill ruled as the kitchen piano. Chris had a remarkably simple system of
service that echoed how Chinese restaurants worked. One of the young Einsteins
would receive the orders and get the raw produce from the fridge, a bowl of scallops, a
couple of steaks, a clutch of calamari etc while
verballing the whole service to the 2 cooks on the grill and stove. Aboyeur and
Garde Manger in one. Crays were
dispatched to order before going on the grill or under the salamander with a
swift cut through the head down the centre for a quick death.
The caller had to have the skills of an air traffic
controller and the patience of a saint to talk through the often 3 sittings
that would smash us on the grill every night in the season. The seafood was
simply seasoned with garlic oil salt and pepper. Broiled on the flat top and
served. The crays were the same or finished with a brandy sauce made a la
minute for each one. There was a real Greek salad with the finest Fetta and
good herbs and the famous roast potato. It took me a while to fully understand
the lore of the potato. It was always Christos who put it on very carefully
around 4pm in a big galvanised crate filled with about 80 big unpeeled but washed
dry spuds not sure of the variety but they were not Kennebecs. There was a
second tray for the 9pm sitting By 6pm they were baked potatoes, by 7.30 they
had a crisp crust and by 9.30 they were nearly hollow with a crunchy skin and a
smoky layer of silken spud. One weekday night just after I started the
delightful Bob Cowcher was due late.
Chris kept us there to wait for his friend with a special bottle. I was
worried that I only had about 3 potatoes left and they were rapidly shrinking.
As I was leaving I said Hi to bob and apologised for the spud and I can still
visualise his smiling response “George I was dreaming about that potato all the
way from New York.” That’s what I call a signature dish.
Service began around 5.30 with families coming straight off
the beach slowly building up to the first official service around 7pm these
diners were well trained to be out by 9pm.
There was a doorman with a job of responsibility who herded
the walkins armed with a roll of $5 notes from Chris that he would convince
parents to give to their teenage children to go and get fish and chips or play
the pinnies while the oldies could relax over a bottle, a cray or a big fillet
steak. There were 3 normal sidewalk tables but often the footpath would be full
of tables of diners right up past the old post office full of happy campers
The heat in the kitchen would come to a screaming crescendo
around 8pm to make sure the 9pm setting was ready to roll.
Chris had a very clever pressure valve installed in the
shape of a punching bag hung in the corridor out the back that he, and all of
us including the diners, would occasionally consult when the merde frapped le
ventilateur.
If we were lucky we could catch our breath before the nine
o’clock rush.
This was the main course. After 9pm the real regulars would
descend on the dining room. Christos knew just where to seat this A list.
Joe
and Patrice Saba had a table every night for at least 8 often a lot more that
would spill into the rest of the room creating a soiree that continued well
into the night. Pinder was buying the Burley Griffin Knitlok mansion. Rennie
Ellis captured these scenes forever.
Chris worked the floor all night sampling the premier cru
BYO’s and generously flirting with his adoring public. It was the toughest
brigade I have worked with. Penny made sure everyone behaved themselves.
A summer of love
tinged with sadness because of course the bulldozers would soon erase this
sacred site. For what?
You can still find Christos Penny and Taki [this is really a reminder to self to go
soon] at Beacon point at Skenes Creek near Apollo Bay where the story
continues.
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