Committee For Lorne: Chris’s Restaurant… The Story Continues

This week, we continue the Story of Chris’s Restaurant as recalled by George Biron. George recounts the story of the famous Roast Potato for which Chris’s was legendary…

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 7.30pm they had a crisp crust and by 9.30pm 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 three 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 walk-ins armed with a roll of $5 notes from Chris that he would convince parents to give to their teenage children to 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 three 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 the A list. Joe and Patrice Saba had a table every night for at least eight (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 (a reminder for me to go soon) at Beacon Point at Skenes Creek near Apollo Bay where the story continues.

In conclusion, it was a really tough but uplifting moment in time. Christos was under a great deal of pressure from many fronts. From the kitchen we were all rooting for him along with the whole town for the best result. The camaraderie inside the shop was extraordinary: that was what I was trying to say, along with a big thanks to Chris on whose shoulders we all rose.

PS I know he is not a saint but he was our Zorba.

George Biron