RESTAURANT BY-PATHS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20929, 20 July 1931, Page 10

RESTAURANT BY-PATHS.

AUCKLAND'S ODD CAFES. GIUSEPPE'S SIMPLE PRIDE. A CHINAMAN NAMED DUDLEY. It takes time to study the dining rooms and eating - houses of Auckland. More especially so if the quest takes the inquirer into dark and sometimes mean streets—to the senses darker by their nearness to brilliant Queen Street '.han they would appear in some distant suburb. The . search is worth while. In the restaurant kitchens of Auckland there are intriguing personalities. As a rule restaurant keepers are a diffident race. This classification does not apply, of course, to the masters of their art who preside in the more pretentious establishments of the city, surrounded by functionaries and with ears assailed by the noises of an incredible medley of instruments. The description is meant for the lesser folk in the vast business of supplying food for Auckland. But, are they lesser? A Culinary Expert.

There is Giuseppe, for instance. His name really is not Giuseppe. It should be, and there are people who call him that. He prefers Tony, and obviously is Italian. At all events, he has a noble soul and his one motive in this disturbing life seemingly is to satisfy the wayward tastes of his customers. And there are many. Rightly so, for Giuseppe is undoubtedly a culinary expert witJi a prodigious capacity for cooking to the true extent the most insignificant morsel fortunate enougli to find its way to his pots. Giuseppe is a man of simple pride. His plump face exudes complacency, and never more than when he strikes his favourite attitude of leaning across his counter, beaming upon his world—which is comprised of four plaster walls, various fragrances from his kitchen, tables of assorted sizes, and customers of all stations in life.

He supplies an alarmingly large meal of one course, and, to those he knows best, invites comparison with three-course meals of precisely the same price. That is the only subject which entices him to speak to any degree. In other' respects he has the diffidence and the aloofness of others of the restaurant race. One feels that, behind Giuseppe's expression of extreme benevolence, there is a history. One feels, too, that he should be on the pinnacle of fame.

Dudley's Long Soup. Dudley is an extraordinarily interesting Chinese. Strange that his name should be Dudley, but the fact remains that it is. He is a person of no small charm, a quality which tends to ease one's selfconsciousness upon entering the chop suey establishment where he is generally to be found. What exactly his capacity is, no one can understand, but it remains that he is Dudley—and a personality.

It is to be understood that the eating house of Dudley is not an entrancing place. It is dimly lit, but that is perfectly in accord with the conventional notion of Ch'inese quarters. The furnishings are scanty, and persistent draughts harass the venturesome customer.- Apart from one or two ancient calendars in Cantonese, it has one true attraction. And that is quite the most important. It is simply the quality of the meals.

In Chinese foodstuffs there is a sufficiency which has an appeal even to the novice who fumbles awkwardly with chop-sticks and ponders on the fascinating mystery of how to mix rich sauce, from Peking, it is said, with the remarkable oil which is an essential part of many Chinese meals.

Tempting the Customer. It is a bewildering business unless one has acquired a knowledge of quaint foods. Fried rice, of course, presents no difficulties, but, in the absence of a menu, one is tempted to plunge desperately into the hazards of chop suey, long soup and other dishes which bear hopelessly unintelligible names.

Several meals in this outwardly uninviting restaurant and it is found that "chop suey" is a term of remarkable elasticity. The chop suey of Monday evening can conceivably bo a meal enticingly different from the chop suey of Tuesday. Long soup looks exactly like spaghetti, but the Chinese would not permit such an easy solution. Not they. It is made of tender bamboo shoots.

What is more important is that a curious by-path of Auckland has been traversed. It has a tremendous allurement. It is an odd fragment of China—not Chinatown, for Auckland possesses nothing worthy of the name. Thero is, perhaps, a veneer to distract the attention of the casual caller from other activities. Yet this, the most interesting of Auckland's eating houses, has a regular clientele. There, are men reasonably prominent in the community who have achieved a certain proficiency in using chop-sticks and a discrimination in the matter of Oriental foods. True Toheroa Soup.

West of Queen Street there is a diminutive restaurant. One enters through a gauze door, which is the only curiosity of the place. But the soup—the toheroa which won the approval of the Prince of Wales—is possibly the richest in Auckland.

These are the oddities of restaurant life in Auckland, which is liberally endowed with Dalmatian and all-night cafes, piecarts to lure the early morning traveller, and the "self-serving" establishments, which aro besieged daily by hosts of business people. These last arc, perhaps, the most fascinating of all. One achieves a sense of pride with the development of ability in retaining possession of pics, bread rolls and a cup of coffee, and fighting successfully with other diners for knives and forks.

Indeed, it becomes a lunch-hour interlude awaited by hungry Aucklanders with a certain anticipation. Further, it has •» fraternal spirit as acceptable as Giuseppe's complacency and Dudley's charm.