Picture this - a small dingy room packed with small dining tables, Persian-style rugs hanging on the walls and plastic grapevines hanging from the roof. As I enter the Chinese Noodle Restaurant in Chinatown, it strikes me how other restaurants put so much energy into the inviting appearance of their dining rooms, yet here in this modest little room at first glance, they have it all wrong.

I'm shown a seat in a corner with three other diners bent over their dishes. I slide into my chair - space is economic - but I get there. A pot of hot jasmine tea is plonked down in front of me and I start drinking, eyeing off the other dishes. I notice the window that looks into the kitchen where a chef is busy pounding dough, stretching it this way and that while he casually observes the bustle of the restaurant and before you know it he has a bunch of noodles in his hand. This is the way it's done in the North of China and this place is a portal transporting cuisine from the area.

My first meal arrives - Combination Noodle. The title is devoid of description and in no way prepares me for the explosion of flavour, the saltiness of the pork mince, the softness of the noodles and the freshness of the cucumber. After a while my posture unconsciously mimics that of the other diners - hunched over and devouring my well portioned meal.

Then the soup arrives. Clear, fragrant, golden broth with chunks of unlikely soup vegetables floating inside; chinese cabbage, fresh tomato, green capsicum, lettuce (how much flavor could that have?) I eye the bowl suspiciously, still not pulling away from my Combination Noodle. I can't. I try, but after every bite, I need another hit of that salty soft and cucumber fresh combination.
Finally I plunge my ceramic spoon into the broth. A tomato and a bit of what looks like lettuce or cabbage floats in. Unbelievable! The soup’s tastiness has matched the Combination Noodle. I look up at the working noodle chef in the window with a sweat of subdued excitement - my eyebrows raised, eyes alight, streaming spoonfuls of glorious soup into my mouth. A friend told me once, ‘When you have that soup, you will think about it for days afterwards.' I have been going to that restaurant now for nine years - and I still think about that soup.
I also think about the fried pork buns, the sweet corn, pea and pinenut stir fry, the lamb pancake. These dishes have prevented me from exploring other dishes on the menu.


The waiters in plain clothes slap the bill in front of me as I near the end of my meal. Something tells me they need this spot for a growing line outside. I'm leaving when the waiter nasally projects 'thank you' and edges me out by the elbow ever so subtly. I laugh to myself thinking what just happened. But I understand. This is a functional place - come to eat and then go. What it lacks for in a holistic dining experience it makes up for in the quality of its food. The grapes, the walled rugs - they become quirks which signal 'bloody great meal on its way' and set my salivary glands into overdrive. I laugh as I stroll out, one hand on my bloated stomach. I could almost be offended at the throw out. I feel like turning around and screaming 'I'll be back!' And I do come back. Again and again.