Gettin' Fresh in the West

A stranger once told me about this secret old school place - a little grocer that I just had to visit. It sounded glorious. This person described in great detail the chocked up shelves filled with international culinary delights, the fruit and vegetables heaving out of their gingham cloth-lined baskets and the condiments, wall-to-wall condiments that would have me shaking at me knees, drooling in saucy goodness. After hearing about this secret, I had many mornings where I would wake up in a sweat thinking about deli goods and packet pasta whispering names like tortiglioni, farfalle, fusilli and tagliatelle… oh tagliatelle.

I just had to find out where this secret grocer was, but I had no idea how to track down this creepy-but-dreamy stranger. I tried googling ‘secret grocer in the west’ but I didn’t know what suburb the joint was in let alone its name.

It wasn’t until I needed some exciting ingredients to inspire me to cook for a handsome man that a friend suggested I try Altona Fresh. I explained that I didn’t just want to go to a normal supermarket and she said - ‘no way Ali, this is a super secret grocer!’

The name ‘Altona Fresh’ just sounded so flat. So blah. So… well suburban. But good God almighty, I love a challenge and I had a hairy man and his tummy to impress.

Altona Fresh is located on Second Avenue. I liked this a lot - it was like I was trying to find Sesame Street. I drove down Second Avenue looking for a massive supermarket but it was just house after house until I came across a large shed shouting ‘Altona Fresh’ from above. It was nothing glamorous, but neither was my courtesy car I was driving thanks to a brief run in with a shopping trolley. Neither were the ripped ‘mom’ jeans I was wearing all morning after a four hour stint in Newport Centrelink trying to sort out a single parent income claim. Neither was my t-shirt screaming the word Oakley as though it had never left the skateboard pit of 1994. Neither was the scab on my elbow from trying to relive that skateboard pit of 1994.

So I wasn’t in a glamorous state. The exterior of Altona Fresh was a welcome refuge to my unglamorous state. I felt instantly at home. So I entered. With confidence.

It struck me upon opening the front door why the hell had I never been here before. A corner of the indoor market was filled with pasta: fresh, dried, skinny, bulk and oh-so-many different types of sauces to make Italian magic. My dreamy stranger’s description of the beautiful fruit and veggie baskets pulsating with gorgeous seasonal fruit made me silently weep with joy. The deli staff in their tidy aprons slicing meats, the carefully chosen produce from all over the world, the donuts in the display window, the breads neatly stacked, the bags of crunchy nuts, the herbs and holy heck the TARAMASALATA in big bulk containers; my brain almost regurgitated retro recipes across the sparkling clean lino floor. I died and went to culinary heaven. The providore had stolen my heart (and my stomach and my wallet).

I carefully selected fabulous items from the Mexican-styled section (the food theming in this store is out-of-control good); tortillas, black beans, chipolte, avocado, limes and heart-burning hot sauce. I held firm and mentally declined the donut with a bulging heart of custard in the display cabinet next to the register and while paying I asked the lovely lady behind the counter where the best local butcher was. She said one word with confidence: Gugliotta. And directed me around the corner.

Back in the Courtesy Car with my Mexican goods I focus on finding this butcher. ‘He is the best’, she had said.

A & L Gugliotta and Sons literally is just up the road and around the corner from Altona Fresh. Located on Blackshaws Road nestled in a strip of shops with titles like ‘Coin Laundrette’, ‘Hot Bread Kitchen: Golden Oven Bakery’ and ‘Sandra’s Barber’, this fancy butcher got me from the get-go with its fancy storefront lettering.

I pick up some chicken and receive some wonderful advice from the butcher on how to marinate it and also how to impress a man. There were some delicious looking lamb ribs ready for roasting that I will be back for.

So I take my goodies home, marinate, chop and prepare my feast. It’s a success. The handsome man eats it. But the best part of it all was telling him about my adventures in the west, exploring two excellent stores, meeting excellent people who love what they do and the produce they are surrounded by. Perhaps Altona Fresh and Gugliotta are not the biggest secrets in town, but they certainly were the secrets to my successful feast!

You can find Altona Fresh at 62-76 Second Avenue and A & L Gugliotta and Sons at 314 Blackshaws Road in Altona North. Worth a visit, don’t plan the feast let the experts guide you.

This article first appeared in the March 2017 issue of The Westsider.

Cupcake bedtime treats

When I was a little girl, I had a friend named Kelly. Kelly lived in a small town just near Yackandandah and some weekends our dads would play live music together while we ran around her huge yard pretending to be dancers or fairies or discoverers. Her huge backyard was the best place for a tiny explorer, the garden filled with nooks and crannies; teapots with plants creeping out of them and a kooky concrete boot.

Zoom forward 25 years and here I am reading THIS stunning book titled Cupcake created by Kelly's creative mum Heather Mullen.

It's a breath of fresh air against the stories I've been reading Alfie of late, but all the essential ingredients are still there: the digger, the lighthouse,  the treasure map, the boat, the plane, the thunderstorm and the dragon.

What I adore about this book is that it's not made specifically for just a boy or just a girl, it's made for a kid with an imagination (and maybe a parent too).

Cupcake the cheeky dragon loves his home and shares his favourite places with the reader. After a thrilling thunderstorm Cupcake wakes to find his home has changed from being nature's paradise to a bustling city. He tries to find his way back to the places he loves - the sand, the surf, the mountain, the water but the new city-dwellers keep shouting at him for being too hot!  He goes back to his snug cave and another thunderstorm kicks in for days. The city-dwellers want him to come back so he can stop the storm and he does. Everyone is happy and Cupcake learns to control his temperature.

What I loved about this story was that Alfie had so many questions. The book allows for many interpretations but for me I saw a strong environmental message. Perhaps it was the delightful questions Alfie was asking such as "Does being hot make the ground sad?" or "Can I be a dragon so I can save cities?" that made us read this book over and over again.

Whether or not the climate message rings true to you throughout this story, what both myself and Alfie adore are the wonderful illustrations by Heather which might take you back to your own childhood filled with imaginative journeys through mysterious backyards, discovering tiny Cupcake dragons hidden within flowerpots made of clay.

Heather is launching her new book Cupcake this weekend in Yackandandah at the delightful Yack Station where you can also discover some of the incredible crafts Heather creates.

More info can be found here. Discover Heather and Yackandandah, it's good for your soul.

Sole Searching

When I meet Peter Callea, I’m guilty, sickly guilty. I’m guilty because I haven’t stepped foot into a cobbler’s store in years – I can’t work out if it’s because I chuck my shoes out once they’re done or if my shoes are too cheap to have repaired. Either way, I instantly regret my poor choice in shoes the minute I step into his shoe repairs store.

I’ve brought in a pair of my husband’s Birkenstock clogs that he wears as a chef. They are covered in oil and bits of food. A decade ago, my husband would wear his chef clogs right down to the core, they would last him two, maybe three years. Now they are lucky to last through a whole year, with the prices of his clogs increasing as the quality decreases.

When I arrive, a gentle buzzer rings and Peter comes out from behind a brown curtain next to the veneered wood paneled wall. He stands proudly behind his counter, wearing a neat tradesman’s apron, his white hair slightly wild. He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head at me.

The shelves behind him are stocked full of boxes of shoelaces in multiple colours, Nugget shoe polish in all sorts of tones, brushes, pieces of leather, rivets, eyelets and small tools. Peter doesn’t seem very sure of me but when I pop the clogs on the counter he looks them over and ‘tsks’.

“They don’t make them like they used to. It’s the glue, it doesn’t last.”

It’s true, nothing these days is made the way it used to be. I’m a pathetic time-poor sufferer of the online shopping syndrome, the mass manufactured products that are showcased in emails sent to you at the perfect time once your kid is asleep offering sweet incentives like ‘free shipping’. Why leave the house when someone can bring it to your home for free?

For the last 58 years, Peter has been fixing and mending shoes in his Somerville Road store. He wasn’t always a cobbler, he began his training at the age of 13 as an apprentice in a shoe making factory in Southern Italy where he watched shoes being made for the first few years until he moved to another factory where he was given the opportunity to create. He went on to migrate to Melbourne and worked first at a local tannery in Richmond, then at the Olympic Tyre Factory where he cleaned tyre rims and then a small workshop behind the now Footscray Arts Centre.

“I went to Footscray, along the river, where there were a lot of small factories near the bridge. I saw there was a door open at one of them and I could see a man inside doing leather work. I went in and said I was looking for a job and he asked me if I had worked in a leather factory before. I started the next day. 18 months later I started my own business here.”

When he first opened his store in 1958, business was thriving. The small shopping strip in the Kingsville pocket of Somerville Road featured four butchers, a grocery, gift shop, flower shop and a petrol station.

“Fifty-eight years ago I would start at 6 o’clock in the morning and finish around 7 o’clock in the evening. Back then I would repair 65-70 pairs of shoes a day, this is the time when people would only have one or two pairs of shoes each. Today, I will go for days where no one comes in.

“My profession is the shoemaker. Start from nothing, prepare the leather and build the shoe. Years ago I would put a pair of shoes that I had made in the window and they would be sold that day. Now, no one buys handmade shoes like we used to make. In the beginning I made shoes here in my store but a few years ago there was a fire in my workshop and I lost all my tools. At my age, it doesn’t pay to replace everything, so I stopped making shoes.

“Young people don’t want to learn the trade – you can’t learn the trade in 24 hours - and the old shoemakers will pass away. Soon there will be no one who knows how to repair shoes.”

Peter’s wife Narina pops out to see who her husband is talking to and I introduce myself. Narina invites me to look at the workshop behind the curtain. It smells like leather in the crispest sense. The machines are old and cared for, bathing in natural dusty light sneaking in past the window signage.

As I leave, Peter hands me half of a perforated swing tag. I watch him tie the other half to my husband’s shoe, his hands are old and you can see they have been his lifelong tools. Heading towards the door, I notice a brilliant brown leather brogue amongst a whole wall of shoes showing similar swing tags. I pick it up and comment on how nice it is, but quickly I can see the layer of dust sitting on the toe.

“The problem is, people drop off their shoes with promises to come back, and they never do. I do the work, sometimes very quickly, and I wait and I wait for the owner to return. Most people now don’t come back.”

I place my swing tag in my wallet, next to the receipts for the dry cleaner and the picture framer with a promise I will return.

And I do. After spending $200 on a pair of leather clogs, what’s $20 to have them fixed and looking brand spanking new again? It’s not about the $20 though, is it? It’s about so much more: speaking to someone in a shop who cares about your shoes, understanding an old  school trade, enjoying stories of the past, understanding where your item comes from and most of all watching someone really love what they do and have done for over half a century.

I’ve got another pair of shoes ready for a new sole. This time I’m taking my son with me and I’m hoping Peter can show him how real shoes are made. What a treat.

Cobbler Peter Callea can be found at 220 Somerville Road, Kingsville.

Discover more local stories by Ali Webb at www.houseofwebb.blogspot.com

This article first appeared in the March issue of The Westsider newspaper. 

Fabulous photos by Paul Large.

Once Upon a Time in the West

I love tiny objects, tiny discoveries, tiny treasure. And we all know the inner west is full of them. Walking around Seddon and surrounds I’m always intrigued by the secret tiny lane, opposite the station, that leads to a brass Buddha’s head, to the colourful and oh-so-nineties Simpsons graffiti located on a wall behind Gamon Street; the tiny top of Marge’s blue hair peeking above the fence line.

You don’t have to look too far to find the tiny libraries scattered around the suburbs, sitting on fences, waiting for little hands to reach in and discover magical stories, or for mum’s like me to find a light rom-com or a Mills and Boon raunch fest.

So what are all these Little Free Libraries doing around our neighbourhood?

A community project which started in the US has made its way to Seddon, Yarraville, Newport, Kingsville and beyond, treating local residents of all ages with access to free books in exchange for a book of their own. It’s as simple as take a book, give a book.

Not only does this concept encourage reading, it also shows trust and an element of sharing within a community.

While the Free Little Libraries are that: little, the books inside are not just for the littlies. I discovered crime novels, cook books, diet books, biographies of forgotten sports stars, theories of getting rich quick and, my favourite, a picture book on Roger Moore produced in the early-eighties. I grabbed this beauty off the tiny shelf and replaced it with Tom Wolfe’s Bonfire of the Vanities. I thought it was a decent swap – strong tans, power suits, gold pinky rings and all.

There are almost 25,000 Free Little Libraries in the world, each one encouraging literacy and promoting the love of reading in communities. I found three in my local neighbourhood but I’m sure there’s plenty more to be discovered.

I encourage you to switch off the TV today and journey around the west to score yourself a free book to read in the sun. Don’t forget to replace it with one of your own and share your favourite tales with a new friend. Perhaps write a message in the cover and make a new buddy?

Keep an eye out for your local Little Free Library, some of which look like dollhouses attached to a fence. These tiny colourful gems are dotted around your neighbourhood just for you to discover.

Here are a few of my faves:

5 Hobbs Street, Seddon.

Grab a book and sit on one of the many free swings lining this beautiful street.

183 Somerville Road, Yarraville

The fence alone is a treat to admire. A great selection of current crime novels.

Hedgecorner, Corner of Hansen and Nesnah Streets, Kingsville

This Free Little Library has its own Facebook page. Search Hedgecorner for updates on book avails.

Become a Little Free Library supporter or member at http://littlefreelibrary.org/

This article first appeared in the November 2015 issue of The Westsider.

Photos by Paul Large. 

More Than Just A Milk Bar

It doesn’t matter which store you enter, they all have that familiar soft bell chime the minute you push open the door.

I find it fascinating that even today, in our world of online shopping, fast food, cheap milk and bread, and Status Quo waving big foam hands around, we can still find the classic milk bar on the corner or a corner nearby. And I encourage you to discover your local!

The inner west is filled with classic corner stores boasting shop counters and shelves filled with interesting items from coloured pens to raspberry licorice, mints to hair ties, toilet rolls to onions, the item you have gone in to find is usually there. Milk Bar owners, most likely living above or behind the store, seem to have a knack at having the right ‘last minute’ items you need ready in stock. 

Perhaps it’s because they live and breathe the store 7am-8pm, 7 days a week.

But besides from the highly sought after milk, bread and newspapers, these familiar stores can offer so much more, you just need to pretend you’re a child again.

Stepping into one of my favourite inner-westie milk bars located opposite Williamstown Beach train station, I’m always thrilled to purchase one of the homemade dips or other Lebanese goodies from the counter: cabbage rolls, dolmades, tabouli.  Add to this a sweet treat such as a baklava, Queen’s Finger or a Bird’s Nest and you have yourself a pretty impressive beach picnic. You can’t go pass the kebab though, the spiced minced lamb delight complimented with pinenuts and a dob of this Milk Bar’s special hummus is something to keep going back for.

The Milk Bar on the corner of Ovens and Stephen Street in Yarraville is just as special. This local gem has a glorious display of freshly packed mixed lolly bags placed in a neat grid-like pattern on the counter. There’s 15 lollies in every bag (choc buds, freckles, snakes, teeth, pineapples and milk bottles) and it’s hard to resist picking up a pack for your pocket as you purchase your paper.  

It’s touches like this that make every Milk Bar unique. A point of difference, whether it is the homemade goodies for sale, the ‘vintage’ Tazos on display behind the counter or the brilliant retro-esque signage screaming Mirinda, Kirks, Tarax, Tab Cola, Gobbledock, Ruffles, Smiths, Peters. 

There’s something fun about rediscovering candies from your youth that would make your eyes pop: Big Boss, Fags (now called Fads), Zappo, Hubba Bubba (remember when bubblegum used to be 50c and you’d get a free tattoo?).

Milk Bars are still a step back in time – the worn linoleum grey-marbled tiles, the timber and glass counters, the signs unashamedly advertising tobacco, the cans of Tarax lemonade in the fridge. Next time you walk past one, look up and check out the sign display most likely stating that ‘Tobacco’, ‘Cigarettes’, ‘The Herald’ or ‘The Sun’ can be found inside. Take a peek at the fonts used in the familiar words MILK BAR. And poke your head inside, there’s treasure to be found. Grab yourself a Killer Python and a can of Pasito to snack on after your Saturday afternoon lawn mow.

My favourite Milk Bars

Zac and Jenny Take Away Milk Bar, 74 Railway Crescent, Williamstown

Forget lugging an esky on the train, pick up awesome Lebanese goodies for the perfect beach picnic.

TT Milk Bar, 204 Somerville Road, Kingsville

Great selection of Kirks drinks to align with your fish and chips bought next door.

Milk Bar, Corner Ovens and Stephen Streets, Yarraville

Cheapest toilet paper and tissues around.

Milk Bar, 87 Anderson Street, Yarraville

Excellent lolly counter.

Photographs by Paul Large.

This article first appeared in The Westsider, October 2015 issue.

The Barber of Seddonville

There aren’t many ‘men-only’ places left in this city. Apart from men’s toilets, a barber shop seems to be the only likely place you will find five bearded men sitting side-by-side, not saying a word to each other on a Saturday morning.

I’ve always found barber shops mysterious. As a female, I don’t really need to step foot into one, especially as I have a gazillion hairdressers on my door step. But there is something so intriguing about a barber shop. They’re so old school, so classy, so charming. And nothing has had me more intrigued then Doug Howie’s bright yellow barber shop in Seddon.

I’ve got an excellent excuse to visit the barber on this rainy Saturday morning. I’ve got a two year old son with a feral blonde mullet sitting on top of his flannelette collar. It needs a chop. I wait until 10am to head to the barber as I just expected most places open at this time. Not Doug. He’s open from 7am until 1pm on a Saturday.

When I arrive I’m struck by the scent of masculinity: I feel like I have stepped into an Archie’s comic book. I can smell my grandpa and Bryl Cream. It’s really comforting, but so incredibly manly. There’s already three men sitting in the shop on a 1960s tartan lounge surrounded by hundreds (literally hundreds) of vintage toys: a red ride-on car, a nineties neon Simpson wall hanging, a wooden Tiki mask, plenty of books on steam trains, and right smack bang above the central mirror, a poster of a powerful eighties woman donning a hi-cut bikini brief. I can’t take my eyes off her thighs. My son points to the poster and says ‘mummy’. I say, ‘I wish’. The seated men laugh, then look back down at their copies of the Herald Sun.

Doug is dressed just like you imagine a barber should be dressed – in a waistcoat and shiny shoes.  He’s superb when it comes to kids and cutting their hair. My son sits on my knee in front of the mirror which is covered with photos of Doug’s grandson Lachlan. He’s about the same age as my son and you can tell he’s the apple of Doug’s eye.

Are the toys for his grandson? “No, they are just my little world. I’ve been collecting them for years. They’re not for anyone else really, just for my enjoyment.”

Doug has been cutting hair in the area for almost 50 years. He completed his apprenticeship with a Swiss barber in the City, who he says taught him everything.  “He could have sacked me a hundred times, but he was too good to me. I owe him everything. I’ve been very lucky working in this industry.”

Doug seems to have cut everyone’s hair, but the most famous being The Ink Spots, an African American group who rose to fame in the 1940-50s. They were touring Australia in the 1960s when they came across Doug’s hair cutting skills while he was working at a salon in Bourke Street.

Working as a barber in a salon on Somerville Rd, as well as in Newport and now Seddon, I’m interested to know what changes he has seen in the area over the past 50 years.

“There used to be a whole lot of factories and warehouses in the area, so I always had customers seeking short back and sides. When The Beatles came into fashion, barbers almost went out of business – not because blokes were growing their hair, but because unisex salons popped up. I’ve been very lucky, people always need to get their hair cut. Short back and sides has kept me in the business for a long time.”

Recently Doug was told that his lease was up and he would have to move out. The iconic yellow building would be turned into apartments.

But, at age 70 he’s not going to retire. “This is life, I just move on. I’m going to find somewhere nearby and set up a shop. I’ve got another 30 years left in me. If I go longer I will, if I drop dead I can’t help it.”

I ask the blokes sitting on the tartan lounge why they keep coming back. The tough looking guy reading the train book quickly responds: “Doug’s been cutting my hair since I was five. My dad used to bring me to see him. He used to cut my dad’s hair too. It’s what he did and what I do.”

My son’s cut is complete. He has a little quiff, like Tin Tin, his hair parted with a comb on one side. I think it’s the first time he’s had any product in his hair. His head smells like California, coconut, rum and Old Spice all rolled into one. He’s become a tiny man.

At $10 for a kid’s cut – short back and sides – I will be tracking down Doug’s new barber shop. At the rate my kid’s hair grows, I hope to be seeing Doug once a month for the next thirty years.

Doug Howie’s Barbershop is located at 65 Williamstown Road, Seddon. You can’t miss the bright yellow corner building. Get in quick as it won’t be there for long.

Photos by Paul Large.

This article first appeared in The Westsider.

Hey, dough face!

It looks a bit like a dog's breakfast, but it tastes like vegetable

As you've guessed, I'm on a food wastage free bandwagon. I've been trying to get our weekly food bill down to around $50 and it's bloody tough. The best I have done is $68 and I was hardcore hanging for a steak by the end of the week. But I'm determined as hell to work this out. Why should we have to spend $5200 + a year on food.

Alfie is a morning sleeper - he has a snooze around 9.30am on a Friday for about three hours - he is so knackered from three hardcore days at daycare. This gives me heaps of time to make some excellent food.

Today I've smashed out a good ol' minestrone using the remaining items of last week's veggie box:
Carrots, sweet potato, potato, zucchini, mushies, kidney beans, end-of-packet pasta, stock and the special ingredient is Rocco's passata sauce purchased from my local Italian deli in West Footscray. Nothing tastes better than a nonna's homemade passata!

Whack it all in a pot and bam, there's lunch for the kid and I. The plan is to pick up some yum pumpkin bread from Sourdough Kitchen in Seddon to dip into the veggie mass. I'm going to have to coat the top of Alfie's dish in Parmesan cheese to disguise all the green veg.

For tea, I've made a quick-as-hell pizza dough, from a recipe on Taste. It's a fucking freezing day so I'm hoping it rises in time - it's got only seven hours to do so.

The dough has already started to rise!

It's a little tradition for Alfie and I to head to Rocco's Deli every Friday and stock up with pastas, pestos and other goodies for the week. I'm going to add prosciutto or parma ham to the pizza and maybe a little bit of pineapple... we all deserve a bit of Tropicana in our lives during winter.

It's going to be a lot of funny making these sweet pizzas with my little man this evening.

How good is it when meals for the day are sorted by 11am?A rarity in our house, but what the Helen-of-Troy, it makes me feel freakin' excellent.

Happy Friday punks.

xx

The Welcome Mat

The inner west has only been home to me for four years. When I told my inner Eastern suburban pals that we were moving to the west, they had great concern for me: “But you don’t do drugs? How are you going to get to work in the City? We will never see each other – Yarraville is hours away from Richmond, I will have to catch a V-Line.” And so on.

It was weird only knowing a handful of people in this new pocket of Melbourne we had barely visited before we bought our house. We renovated our shack, got knocked up, had a baby boy, then started sorting through the mountains of stuff that we had held onto for years, not knowing what to do with it all.

Heather Dell High

When I was ridiculously pregnant and enormous, I had daily cravings for Neenish Tarts. The pink and brown pattern would wake me in the middle of the night and I would stare at the ceiling, counting the hours until Heather Dell Cakes opened.

There’s something so charming about Heather Dell. It represents your nanna, through its sweet smell, its window display, its tin canisters on the shelves, the curried egg sandwiches, the biscuits and treats, the photos on the fridge, right down to the local fruit and veg supplier calendar with its perforated months highlighting birthdays, anniversaries and special events.

Rocco's Role

I’m greeted by a friendly ‘ciao’ when I enter Rocco’s Delicatessen. The store smells good, like a home cooked meal. Rocco smiles at me and there’s a definite twinkle in his eye. Everything about this place is familiar, like I have stepped back to a moment in my childhood.

Rocco and his wife Adriana opened their store in February 1977, 38 years ago. The store is full of reminders of the past, from the vintage signs behind the counter reminding you to purchase a TAB cola or how you can be a mod while smoking a Virginian Slim, to the family photos behind the register and the sound the door makes when you open it.

A Conversation With... Mark Briggs

I have lived in Yarraville for four years and during that time I have seen the village catapult to being a place where you could get away with wearing filthy tracksuit pants, to an uber-hip inner city suburb where smackie-dacks just don’t pass.

Why? Perhaps it’s all the yummy parentals cruising around the hood with their pimped up prams, or the Sun Theatre with its amazingly awesome choc tops, or even the retail therapy ranging from second hand stores to unique fashion? No. You know what’s brought the change from old school to cool? It’s Mark Briggs.

If you don’t know Mark by now, let’s get you up to speed. Yarraville’s latest acquisition is the former Head Chef of Vue de Monde, was named The Age’s Young Chef of the Year in 2013 and has trained with the best, working in renowned kitchens such as Fifteen London, La Tante Claire in London, and The Old Manor House in Romsley, UK. Now you can find him on your doorstep, at Dig A Pony.

I’m married to a chef and whenever I explain what my husband does for a living, people jump up and down clapping and squealing about how lucky I am. What a lot of people don’t understand is that chefs don’t really spend that much time at home cooking for their family, as they are normally cooking for you. So in a sense, you are a part of that extended family.

When I asked Mark about cooking at home he said he likes to put on a roast, but, with his signature smirk, “my wife complains that I make too much of a mess”.

Being a chef is not just about dishing up good food, and with Mark’s incredible experience to date, creativity and inspiration can start with a simple staff meal.

“I’m always thinking about food and idea’s come up all the time, whether I’m at the market, watching TV or cooking a staff meal”.

“My favourite staff meals to cook are childhood favourites or a traditional local dish. It’s really exciting when one of the chefs buys a load of ingredients that I’ve never heard of and cooks up something from their own childhood memories.

“I have also experienced a lot of awful staff meals. I mean, the staff meal is a place where chefs can test out flavours and ingredients.  Some don’t always go to plan. One I will never forget was a sausage and bread stew. The chef who made it still gets a hard time about it six years later!”

(Don’t worry, I asked Mark – that chef doesn’t work at Dig a Pony!)

So what do the people of the inner west like to eat? Apparently we are a trendy bunch, who love our food.

“The healthy options are always popular along with the unusual, like tripe and liver. It’s great to cook for locals who have a good knowledge of food and appreciate fine ingredients.  We are always trying to bring something a little different to Yarraville: new tastes, flavours and dishes – and so far it seems to be working!”

“I love spending my days off at local haunts Cobb Lane and the Cornershop in Yarraville where I can always find excellent dishes. For dinner, I can’t go past a steak at The Station Hotel in Footscray. We are so lucky to be surrounded by so many great options for dining!”

When Mark explained that his favourite people to cook for are his friends and family, I couldn’t help but ask the question as to who the most famous person was that he has ever rustled up a meal for.

“It would have to be Ferran Adria from elBulli in Spain. But if you are talking famous people known to everyone it would probably be David Beckham or Rod Stewart”.

Phew! From Maggie May to Yarraville, it seems like Dig A Pony might be the place to be this summer or autumn or winter or spring – the menu changes with the seasons. So get in quick and try something new.

Dig A Pony is open Tue-Sun from 5pm. Closed Mondays.

58 Ballarat Street, Yarraville
www.digapony.com.au

(Photos copyright Paul Large: flickr.com/people/pmlarge)

This article first appeared in The Westsider, November 2014 edition. (http://thewestsider.com.au/a-conversation-with-mark-briggs/)