Healthy ego helps to take it on the chin
If restaurants are about people, then they are surely about egos, too.
And Chris Lucas, who put Chin Chin together, and then gave it the momentum to hit Melbourne like an eating and drinking tsunami, has a healthy ego. Chutzpah is the Yiddish euphemism: you've just got to admire the self-belief.
I met Lucas maybe 13 years ago; he'd bought a restaurant in St Kilda - urban myth had it he'd made money in IT in Japan - and set about schmoozing the media. It was all a bit creepy, and I really didn't expect he would make an impact.
Lucas has proved me profoundly wrong just about every year since.
Melbourne's Chin Chin restaurant.
He has made a huge impact on Melbourne dining; he would like you to think the impact is broader, and he may just be right. The Botanical was his coup; it remains a benchmark for critical acclaim and mass popularity in "fine dining, redefined". Then came Pearl, which he turned into Baby.
But while Baby was being born, the Chin Chin cult was not only conceived but delivered, kicking and screaming into the world like an Aerosmith guitar solo.
Chin Chin has been a game-changer. I don't think anyone can deny it. From the way it was launched, with a dedicated social media campaign on Facebook and Twitter that just seemed to massage that "I want the thing I can't have" hype, to the remarkable persistence of demand for tables, its look, vibe and formula have inspired many restaurateurs around the country.
Like Botanical, critically recognised (key staff, like the manager and head chef, are A-Team players) and at the same time, wildly popular. Mind bogglingly busy since it opened, in May 2011.
Lucas says they do between 6500 and 7000 "covers" a week. Or 12,000 bunches of coriander; whichever statistic impresses you more.
It means a kitchen still working at 1 am, some Sundays.
"People want to eat the way they do in an international city; time slots don't work," Lucas says of the no-bookings approach. "It's not just about the economics."
At the core is the product: a fun atmosphere, as Lucas says. One that's worth the wait, he'd probably add. Consistently strong, unpretentious food most of us can't be bothered trying to cook at home. Fair prices, for both the food and wine. And fancy cocktails with Asian pretensions. And a wine approach that is abreast of what's happening. Staff that give a hoot, know their product.
From the cartoon-ish wall graphics, CBD warehouse look to the waiter with an apron that says "Wine Guy", the place has identity.
"Story telling has become a part of this game," Lucas says over pad thai, salmon baked in a banana leaf with a delicious paste-y Thai crust and smoky, chilli-ish beans. "It's one of the reasons I wanted to go through the exercise of doing this book."
This book is a celebration of the place as much as it is a collection of its recipes, stories and history. Like Paul Wilson's Botanical before this, Chin Chin The Book is self-published; it meant employing a writer, an editor, designers and a photographer. It also meant a lot of time and hard work for chef Ben Cooper, the disarmingly mohawked family man (pictured on our cover) who happens to be one of the finest Thai chefs in the country.
"I'd like to think that thoroughness is emblematic of the place," says Lucas, now working on his next project, a new restaurant he hopes will do for Japanese/Korean food what Chin Chin has done for Thai.
"I think Chin Chin has filled a gap in this city."
Chin Chin The Book costs $49.95 and is published on Wednesday. chinchinrestaurant.com.au
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Chin Chin passion fuelled by family and food
THE joy great food brings has been at the very heart of my life. Chin Chin is not only among my proudest achievements, it's also the culmination of a long journey that began in childhood.
To understand my restaurants, one needs to understand where I have come from and what life experiences have laid the foundations for my approach to food and dining.
My father was a Greek immigrant who turned to cooking in his newly adopted home. As a young boy during the 1960s, my time was spent in a working-class pub in rural Geelong surrounded by a fascinating blend of new Australians, as they were called - Greeks, Italians, Russians and the like mixing it with Aussie tradies and wharfies. As an only child, my playground was Dad's workplace, the pub. It was a magical time to me, listening to music emanating from the bar every night and running around the kitchen trying to make out like a chef.
In those formative years, my father and mother not only gave me my working-class values, they also introduced me to the love of beautiful food built around their European culture. I was intoxicated by the wonderful array of aromas that would waft from the kitchen on a daily basis.
It was a diverse group that passed through the doors of that hotel, but food was the element that united everyone; weekday dinners, special occasions, birthdays and Christmas Day were all celebrated with our extended family in the pub over a banquet of marvellous dishes. The meal was the centrepiece of our family and our business lives.
My father had high ambitions for me, none of which involved being a chef or publican and certainly not a restaurateur. He would sit me on the bar and refer to me as Christopher Columbus, shouting beers and proudly announcing, "My son will be the first Lucas to go to university".
To my dear old dad, getting a good education was his one and only dream for me. "Get out of here!" he would yell. "Reading books will give a you a good life, not working your arse off in a stinking hot kitchen!"
But the lure of the pub had me hooked; the noise, the mateship, the heady mix of heat, the clanking plates and those smells. It was all I wanted. To me it wasn't a question of if, it was just a matter of when.
That proved to be two decades later when I bought the well-known but ailing Botanical in South Yarra. My passion for food had driven me back into the business, and my life had come full circle. I may have graduated from university and embarked on what would become a successful corporate career, but at the end of it all I still wanted nothing more than to return to that pub and its bustling kitchen.
Chin Chin for me was a natural next step from the Botanical. Having spent many years in Asia during my career, I had become a street food devotee. From the tiny hidden laneways of Tokyo to the hot and steamy streets of Bangkok, my love affair with local flavours verged on an addiction. When we were planning Chin Chin, I knew I wanted the food to be not only accessible but also truly authentic. The restaurant itself had to capture the welcoming, frenetic and raucous energy of the 24/7 street and food markets of Asia.
The twin successes of the Botanical and now Chin Chin have been based on those early hospitality lessons from my father. No matter how busy the pub was or how many hours he'd worked during the day (frequently up to 15), he would always have a smile on his face and the dining room would be brimming with people from all walks of life. It was a fun atmosphere.
In an industry that too often takes itself too seriously, my restaurants are based around the simple but powerful idea that everyone, regardless of background or age, should be able to enjoy amazing and exciting food at a reasonable price and the experience should make them smile.
From the very first night we opened the doors in May 2011, I feel that Chin Chin has become the people's restaurant. And like that old pub where I grew up, it has been fuelled by the noise and energy of so many people who make up an amazing team: the behind-the-scenes people, the guys and girls in the kitchen making every dish sing with flavour, those pouring the drinks. Then, of course, there's the people out in the dining room having the time of their lives.
If you've been a part of that noise and energy, I thank you.
- Chris Lucas
Chris Lucas is the owner of Chin Chin.
Source: The Australian, 26 October 2013
