Desperately, I scanned the hall for familiar faces – the Colonel, Ronald, the charming Lebanese man who had run the kebab shop when I was in high school – but they were nowhere to be seen.
Instead, the options were slick, shiny and far too fancy. A steakhouse offering a mid-week Wagyu special, an upmarket Vietnamese restaurant with a set menu and, my personal favourite, a romantic wine and pasta bar by the team from Fabbrica.
Has anyone in the history of mall shopping found themselves suddenly craving zucchini flowers and a Sicilian red while strolling through Best & Less?
A pasta bar at Chadstone Market Pavilion. Fancy? Sure.
And yet, baffling as it may seem, this is not an isolated incident. Earlier this year, Chadstone Shopping Centre, a centre so famous it has its own bogan nickname (Chaddy), underwent a multimillion-dollar renovation. Its new food court boasts some of the most respected names in the culinary world, including famed Italian cafe Brunetti, restaurateur David Mackintosh (of Lee Ho Fook and MoVida fame) and Vic’s Meats – the Sydney butcher’s first foray into the Victorian market.
The fancification of food courts slots neatly into the thoroughly modern (but very misguided) belief that the more grandiose something looks, feels and tastes, the better it is. From eating oysters at the football to tasting menus at airports, this desire for every eating experience to cosplay as extravagant has robbed us of everyday delights.
The food court is supposed to be a classless utopia, where anyone and everyone is welcome to take a break from the relentless pursuit of pretending to be better than we are.
Don’t believe me? Let’s not forget when George Lucas, of Star Wars fame (and $8 billion net worth), was photographed alone eating a plate of $6 Hokkien noodles in an Adelaide food court in 2016.
The snap of Lucas, who was wearing a crumpled shirt and looked completely exhausted, was celebrated online as proof of his relatability, while also inspiring some great hashtags, including #MayTheForkBeWithYou.
While I accept that attempting to halt progress is usually futile and the humble food court may be a thing of the past, I won’t give up hope of a return to the glory days. A time when food courts were dimly lit and a bit depressing, but you could still get a doughnut that looked like a doughnut. Sure, it might seem like a stretch, but to borrow a line from Lucas’ Star Wars universe, “rebellions are built on hope”.
Find more of the author’s work here. Email him at thomas.mitchell@smh.com.au or follow him on Instagram at @thomasalexandermitchell and on Twitter @_thmitchell.
Read the full article here
