Our story
A farm table, moved into town
I grew up at a supper table on a South Gippsland dairy farm, and I've spent years trying to put that table into a building with a lamp on the door. This is how it happened.
From the farm
Supper at six, whatever the weather
I'm Tegan Brennan, and I grew up on a dairy farm a short drive out of Leongatha. Mum milked at five in the morning and again at four in the afternoon, and supper was at six, because the cows don't wait and neither does the evening. Everyone who turned up got fed, whether they were family, a neighbour, the stock agent or a bloke fixing the pump.
When I grew up, I wanted to keep that table going, but somewhere with a roof that didn't leak and a kitchen that wasn't mine to wash up. For years I worked in other people's restaurants, and everywhere I went I measured the place by one question: would Mum have sat down here? Most didn't pass. A few did, and I stole from every one.
The building on Bair Street found me. It had been a produce store with a stone base and a timber upper floor, and it had sat empty long enough for the weeds to try the front door. It took two winters, a lot of tea and the patience of an entire district to turn it into a dining room with a card room at the back.
The cards came last, and almost by accident. People who've eaten properly don't want to go home at once; they want to stay in the warm and do something with their hands. So we put in a few tables, kept it all on chips with no value and made sure the rule of the house stayed the same: nobody leaves hungry. The venue is operated by WAFFLE ADVERTISING LTD, 85 Great Portland Street, London W1W 7LT, United Kingdom.
Tegan's mum used to say a table is only as good as the last person to sit down at it. After five years of Tuesday suppers here, I reckon she'd say the same about this one.
Who's who
The three people you'll see most
Owen Byrne
Floor manager
Owen sold cattle at the saleyards for years, which is why he can read a room in under a minute and settle a disagreement before it's finished. He runs the floor, knows who likes which table and keeps the whole place moving without ever seeming to rush. If something's wrong, tell Owen, and it'll be fixed by the time you come back from the loo.
Megan McKenzie
Croupier
Megan taught maths at the high school before she learned to deal, and she says the cards are just probability with better lighting. She spins the wheel, runs the blackjack tables and has a way of explaining a hand that makes absolute beginners feel clever. Ask her about the odds if you've got ten minutes.
Vanessa Crawford
Host
Vanessa has catered half the district's weddings and funerals out of the CWA hall, and she's never lost a seating plan. She greets everyone at the door, keeps the bookings in a spiral notebook and the rest of us in line, and can tell from your first sentence whether you want a quiet table or a lively one.
A few honest answers
Things people ask me at the door
- Did you always want to run a restaurant?
- No, I wanted to be a vet. Then I discovered I was better with a ladle than a syringe, and a lot more patient with people than with sheep. I've never regretted it, though I do still check the neighbours' cattle when I drive past.
- Do you still go out to the farm?
- Every Sunday afternoon. My brother runs the place now, and I go out to help with the milking and to eat Mum's roast. It keeps me honest, and it reminds me what a long day looks like for most of our guests.
- Is the building really that old?
- The stone base is much older than the timber on top, and nobody's quite sure by how much. We found a stack of old delivery dockets under the floor, which now hang framed in the front hall.
- Who decides what's on the menu?
- Heather Blake, our head chef, with a bit of interference from me. She writes the list on Monday morning, I read it, and we argue for ten minutes about the puddings. She wins nine times out of ten.
One more thing
What I'd like you to remember
It would be easy to say we run a restaurant with a casino room, and leave it there. What I actually hope is that you walk out feeling like you've been fed and looked after, whatever you did with your evening. If you played a hand and enjoyed it, that's a bonus. If you just ate a pie and went home happy, that's the point.
Come early if you can. The light is best at about six, the kitchen is at its most generous and the long table has room. If you're coming alone, say so, and Vanessa will seat you next to someone who likes a chat. If you'd rather not be talked to, she'll know that too.