Reviewed by Tom
Neal Tacker
The corner of
Little Bourke Street and Market Lane in Melbourne is in prime restaurant
territory. The famous Flower Drum is just fifty meters away, as are several
other hot spots. I stand outside Post Mao waiting for my partner who has joined
me on many a dining adventure, some grandiose and some nothing short of
gruesome.
A young woman
dressed in red silk Chinese pajamas, the Post Mao spruiker next to me outside
the restaurant says, “Come inside. We have tables.” I respond, “I have a
reservation and I’m waiting for someone.” “Aren’t you cold?” I’m surprised.
It’s a warm night, balmy even. “No, I’m comfortable.” “You want Chinese food?”
“Yes, I’m booked to dine in your restaurant.” “You can come in now.” “I’m happy
to wait here.” This nonsense banter continued until my partner arrived. I don’t
believe that she ever understood that I had a reservation at Post Mao.
We go inside
past the fish tank guarding the entrance. I say, “Hello. I have a reservation.
Tacker for two at 8:15pm.” The hostess stares blankly at me. “Upstairs!” she
demands. I’ve learned that there is a birthday party celebration for an
eighteen year old; it’s shaking the ceiling above me. The noise emanating from
it convinces that I don’t want to be an uninvited guest either. Kids streaming
in with bottles of beer proceed upstairs while the hostess and I eyeball each
other like two prizefighters about to go a few rounds. “You go upstairs.” “No,
we won’t” I say. “This table here is vacant. I’ve made a booking, a
RES-ER-VA-TION, for two, not to join a birthday party. Why can’t we sit here?”
She points at the table I indicated. “Here. You sit.” Then she walks away. On a
wall above us is a large mural that features a portrait of Mao and a potted
history including his birth in Hunan province, the Long March, the Great Leap
Forward and the infamous Cultural Revolution. What I’ve just experienced in the
past ten minutes uncomfortably resembles the manner in which Mao treated his
fellow citizens: with contempt.
“Okay,” I say to
my partner, “so this wasn’t the best introduction. Maybe the food is better.
It’s supposed to be the only restaurant in Melbourne, if not Australia, that
specializes in Hunanese food.” I was anticipating an esculent meal. Hunan
cuisine is supposed to be a fusion of Sichuanese, Cantonese, Shanghaiese and
Beijingese. Fuchsia Dunlop’s latest cookbook about Hunan province has lifted my
expectations.
A waiter
arrives. “You want a drink?” I respond, “The wine list please?“ We sit. And
sit. And sit. The waiter returns. “You order?” “Could we see a menu to choose
the food that will go with our wine please?” He strides off. Shortly our menus
arrive in another waiter’s hands. “Do you have yolk-less eggs?” “What?”
“Yolk-less eggs, a famous Hunanese dish. We want to try food from Hunan.” He
points out the Golden Sand Prawns. “Yolk-less eggs?” I ask. “Yes, very good,”
he replies dispassionately. Not so good
really. I still don’t know if they have yolk-less eggs. We are approached by other
waiters who smile, linger a moment and then leave again. The hostess reappears,
“You ready to order?” Apparently she decided that I wasn’t going to bite off
her head. We order a bottle of Delatite Riesling. The original waiter returns,
opens it, pours and asks again to take our order.
We order two
cold appetizers from an interesting list: Hot and Sour Cucumbers and Cowpea
Beans, a Hunan style pickled green vegetable. The waiter returns shortly and
explains that the kitchen doesn’t have the beans. We ask about the Preserved
Turnips instead and then decide to complete our order to reduce the stress
levels I’m beginning to feel from the lack of communication. I wish I spoke
some Mandarin or Cantonese but I don’t, except for hello, thank you and Happy New
Year, none of which will get me anywhere this evening. There is such a distinct
lack of a common language that I feel that I could be in China. That would be a
good thing, but I’m not. This is downtown Melbourne, I’m hungry and I don’t
want to negotiate diplomatically for a meal. What would Mao do? Order a purge?
Demand an assassination of a waiter or two? Consume thirty courses? I want to
try at least a smattering of food to get a sense of this Post Mao Hunan
restaurant but the people who work here are making it exceedingly difficult.
Finally we
order: Hunan Meatball Soup, 3 Cup Duck, Chef Peng’s Beancurd, Pork Ribs in
Bamboo with sticky rice, Golden Sand Prawns (I was suckered into that one) and
plain rice. The soup was insipid but fulsomely healthy, like boarding school
food. A large and plainly flavoured pork and chicken mince dumpling sat in a
dishwater coloured broth along side one lonely bok choy sprout. Both the
cucumbers and turnips were tasty, spicy and refreshing however. The beancurd
dish included an equal amount of beef, something the menu failed to describe
but this was the dish of the night; rich, slightly smoky and not too fiery with
chilli heat and garnished with coriander. The 3 cup duck comprised extremely
chewy bird bits cooked with the same vegetable assortment as the beancurd and
beef dish: carrots, broccoli and red capsicum. It was also garnished with
coriander sprigs. The pork ribs were chopped into bite sized morsels and sadly
were not very succulent. They arrived in a hollowed out bamboo boat without the
sticky rice. The sauce had a slightly grainy texture (the sticky rice?) was
mildly spiced and disappointingly bland. There was no discernible flavour of
bamboo but at least a garnish of diced spring onion and capsicum was a change from
the coriander. The headless and tail-less prawns were fresh, coated in a rice
flour batter that looked vaguely like a golden sandy beach and arrived on a bed
of dried noodles with a, wait for it… coriander garnish.
I want to like
this place. I really do. But the prices aren’t commensurate with the level of
service. They’re at the high end. We’ve spent nearly $150 for two. Apart from
the entertainment value derived from the spectacularly inept service it’s a
lackluster Chinese restaurant with Mao/Hunan gimmickry thrown in for added
attraction or marketing. Perhaps we chose badly but with help from the staff
this could have been rectified. I even tried the “What would you eat?” question
to the waiter but to no avail. Worse still, the BeeGees greatest hits CD on
endless replay that particular night (why don’t restaurants pay attention to
the music they inflict upon their customers?) continues to resonate
unpleasantly in my head days later. Ah, ah, ah stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive…
Yeah, I wish.
Score: 5.5/10
Post Mao
113 Little
Bourke Street
Melbourne
Tel: 03 9663
6003