CHICHO GELATO

‘A hard earned thirst calls for an ice-cold gelato. Choose Chicho Gelato.’ That is what I think should be on every billboard on Perth, maybe a jingle on the local radio, perhaps even a short spot on community television. I came to this conclusion as I hit the end of the working week. As you might know, early starts and the 9-5ish grind are not my normal operating hours. This week I had a couple of extra classes at the uni so had to adjust when I got out of bed. But, I was happy. I like teaching and it brings a sense of satisfaction to know that you have earned your crust giving students something to think about. I try to make my classes safe for everyone, and, we have all kinds of people in there – kids from religious minorities, kids transitioning, kids up from the country. And they come to us to learn about literature, and, in the process about themselves, life and the world. It is a privilege to engage with them. But, that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my self when I finish up for the day, week or year.

I have friends in the public service and corporate sector, and, without fail, they go out on Friday after work. They are not drowning their sorrows but celebrating the wins they have had and the fact they get to spend the weekend sleeping in or taking their kids to sport or having a sausage sizzle somewhere in the sun. For the most part, I work by myself, with freelancers and academics, and, there is not really a culture of end of work drinks. That makes the rituals more individual, and, this week, I found myself at a late meeting with a community partner in Northbridge. I was done for the week but they were all coming back to the office tomorrow. I was an hour from home by public transport, and, I had a cornucopia of delights right there in front of me. What would I do?

I thought about a beer at any one of the local watering holes from Mechanics Institute to Bivouac to PICA Bar. And, I love them all for dipping into. Then I thought maybe a cheeky pani puri from Sauma down the road, but I am off to Bombay in a month, and decided it was better to hold off until I was in the heartland for that stuff. Then I wondered about some sushi as a snack as I walked to the train station on my way home. It all did not cut the mustard. Drinking alone is not something I want to get into, nor late-in-the-day sushi when dinner will be on the table soon. It also needs to feel like a celebration. 

What else to choose but gelato?

Chicho is, hands down, my favourite gelato in the Perth metro. I might even think it is the best I have had in Australia. When I lived in Melbourne, I had some very memorable moments at Messina in Fitzroy. And when Pidapipo came to Carlton down the road I gave it a red hot go. But Chicho is home. I often go at odd hours – just when they open for a brunch gelato by myself, right after work as people are racing to make their commute, before a theatre show. I am often served quickly and with good humour. This is partly what makes them special. It suggests the attentiveness and care that go into everything they do. From the design to the décor to the Instagram, I find myself thinking, hey, they must really like gelato. They show me what is possible. They lead me towards what is good, and every now and then, you need to be reminded of the fact that there is world class quality right on your doorstep.

For my knock off gelato, I ordered a scoop of this month's collaboration gelato, Pineapple Lumps. This was made with input from Albany chef Amy Hamilton who runs the kitchen at Liberté. I have never had the Kiwi lolly it is named after, so I cannot compare it to that. But it was delicious. It has chocolate crackle bits, chocolate bits, pineapple swirl, creamy gelato. And it is topped with a wafer that has pineapple sherbet inside. It all comes together into a messy good time, a way of taking the essence of pineapple, summer, fun into your mouth all at once. All I can think is that this is the way to celebrate the end of the working week. Gelato is living. Chicho is living. This is living.    When I was a child, my uncle used to tell me that he would buy me an ice cream when he won lotto. That day never came, but we ate ice cream together down by the wharf in Fremantle on more than one occasion. That same uncle liked a knock off beer as well, but here, all I can think of is that he would love this Pineapple Lumps just as much, if not more. And that surely is more than we can ask for from anyone who is serving up happiness for the same amount as it takes to ride the bus home. And the dusk fell and the birds rose to the sky and all was right with the world. More gelato for all! More Chicho to quench a hard earned thirst. Come with me next time I go.

MONSTERELLA WITH IRIS & DAN

What does it mean to find a good pizzeria? Entire civilisations have been built on less than that. Whole worlds come from dough, tomato, cheese; and the advantages of basil, sausage, chilli are unsurpassed by the miracles of humanity from the wheel to the combustion engine to the internet. One can live without those three inventions, but to live without pizza is to live half a life at best.

I have often thought Australian pizza culture has become as good as anywhere in the world. I say this fully aware that what counts as pizza for many people here is to be found in the American fast food chains that dot the suburbs. I myself put too many hours into creating BBQ Chicken Meatlovers in my franchise chain days. They are hours I will not get back, but it does not mean I will eat the pizzas that no one came to pick up. The reason I think Australian pizza culture is excellent though is simply for choice – there is the fast food style as I just mentioned, which sometimes hits the spot after a night of heavy drinking, when you only have $5 in your pocket. Then there are the family run places that make a kind of Australian pizza from the 1990s, a thickish crust with Hawaiian occupying pride of place, but they get the job done and are reliable sources of nostalgia for me. I look at them fondly and every now and then indulge in this type of pizza with a romantic glee. And then, bursting onto the scene lately are the Italian woodfired kind that have brought the original style from the motherland down under where we can feast on San Marzano tomatoes, fior de latte, pecorino, prosciutto crudo. They were a long time coming to Australia, but now they are here, you have to embrace them wholeheartedly. When I lived in Melbourne it was a habit to go to DOC, 400 Gradi, Ladro. It became a kind of indulgence that was also a prayer, a giving thanks to the pizza gods for having blessed my area with their sublime gifts to humanity.

I am lucky, and happy, to be back in Western Australia and when I am up in Perth, I have an excellent place around the corner from where I grew up and usually stay. It is opposite my primary school on a non-descript street in a quiet suburb, but it is revolutionary. It is Monsterella. I went there tonight with friends of me. They are pizza tragics or connoisseurs or aficionados, and I wanted to take them to my neighbourhood place. The branding is excellent and the atmosphere convivial. Would they appreciate the food?

We start with lamb skewers – tender morsel that are salty and doused in lemon, straight from the wood oven with a char on the outside. And then, it becomes pizza o’clock. What to choose? So many and yet there are so few of us? We get one each with the plan of sharing them all – a Miliano, a Frankie, a Ronaldo. The Miliano has sausage, caramelised onions, pecorino and it fuses into a rich, flavoursome, umami bomb of deliciousness. The Frankie has cherry tomatoes, fior de latte and prosciutto, and it is over too soon, a balanced pizza with a good crust to boot. And the Ronaldo comes with salami, chilli, rocket. It is hot, just the way I like it.

Pizza like this is a gift to the world, a kind of generous offering from the gods that we cannot ignore, even if we are in a suburb that no one has heard of. People travel for Monsterella and my father tells me this includes those from ‘south of the river’. That is at least a thirty-minute drive. It goes to show you how  much good pizza matters to people. My friends and I are satisfied. This is a good life.

LOUIE AND CHAN HAPPY HOUR

As you may have guessed, K and I are fairly local creatures. We like our neighbourhood with its dogs and strollers, old people in furs, joggers running along the Hudson; we walk in Central Park and visit the Museum of Natural History; and it is close to work for me, so much so that I can get there in a half hour walk. That is a luxury in New York and it always feels relaxing to be in the Upper West Side. But, dear reader, we also like to get out of our neighbourhood, and are especially prone to visits in the Village (East, West and Greenwich).

The Village as you will know is a mythic place in a mythic city. It is curious to be living in New York when you already know so much of it before. You recognise the yellow cabs honking as soon as the light goes green, the hot dog vendors with the steam rising from their carts, the people playing baseball, the beggars with their cardboard signs, the commuters with their satchels. It feels eerily familiar and there are landmarks on my daily route, be that Tom’s, the restaurant in Seinfeld, or Columbia University itself where the names of Herodotus, Cicero, Plato loom on the library I walk into. To be certain, I had visited the City several times before this time not least when I lived in Philadelphia some years before. But it is different to be here for an extended period. Often I am reminded of Frederico Garcia Lorca when he wrote in ‘The King of Harlem’ in Poet in New York,

They.

They who drink silver whiskey by volcanoes

and swallow little pieces of heart on the frozen mountains of the bear.

With this, what I mean to say is that being in New York obeys another kind of logic, a kind of dream logic. It has a different reality to the one I am used to. That is why the Village is so appealing – for its layers of history, for its ongoing dynamism, for its wonderful stores and interesting people, for all the things that make this city great for artists and writers and diners. Here, one can wander, and forget for a moment, the divide between rich and poor or whatever else it is that seems to ail this place.

For us, the biggest challenge is living within our means and there are better deals in the Village than where we live. I have been out for cheap Vietnamese and good slices in between browsing bookstores and sitting in Union Square. For anyone interested in deals, thankfully, there are happy hours all over New York. Often beer or wine comes for $5, cocktails for a touch more, and, oysters are $1. I cannot resist that and to my mind there is not many better ways to spend $10 (plus tip).

This night we were catching up with friends before going to gallery openings in Chinatown. One of K’s friends had a show around the corner and she recommended a small, intimate, tasteful restaurant called Louie and Chan. It is darkly lit, kind of hushed and reverent. As always, we take a seat at the bar. I might add that it is dark outside, having just ticked over to five o’clock. One minute earlier and we would have been an abject couple without a sense of decorum or the punctuality to time our run for happy hour.

We settle in and, as always, our glasses are filled to the brim with ice water. The barman pours us a house red, a light, fruity Italian with echoes of cranberry. The high quality wine is why this place was recommended to us, but what sets their happy hour apart is the food on offer. For $5 one can get a wood fired pizza with buffalo mozzarella, torn basil leaves and hot salami. It is a little bigger than the slice you can get from any corner here, which sell plain cheese for between $1 and $3. But the quality at Louie and Chan is exceptional. The ingredients are fresh and the flavours mingle perfectly on the palate. This is the happiest of hours that makes one smile to be in New York. But, what is a romantic Italian meal without pasta?

This is where Louie and Chan truly excel. The pasta is chewy and dextrous, a kind of pliable noodle with a delicate tomato sugo dusted with parmesan in an umami rich splendour of flavour that is recognisable, comforting and always pleasurable. This happy hour is really worth it, and, for when we leave our little bubble, a beautiful reminder of why New York is a city to behold and savour.

Louie and Chan
303 Broome Street, New York NY 10002
Subway: B, D at Grand Street; F at Delancey; M, J, Z at Essex Street.