Dickson Cafe Zeitgeist

There is an odd juxtaposition in Dickson shopping centre, five minutes' drive north of Civic. East meets west, cafe culture meets bingo bourgeois, gourmet saloon meets greasy spoon. It's a microcosm of Canberra itself.

On Sunday (after Trashing it) we cruised over to Chinatown, centred around Wooley Street in Dickson, to check out the Chinese New Year festivities. We were there a bit early, when things were just getting off the ground. The restaurants were all shut of course, it being a holiday, so Rachael's dreams of yum cha quickly evaporated. Much to James' secret delight, as he has never really gotten used to the idea of eating scallops so early in the day.

To pass the time before the fanfare properly kicked off, we wandered across the road, past MacDonalds: the bastion of Westernisation buttressing the long established dowdy shops of Dickson against the prevailing winds of chinoiserie. Over on the other side of the centre, as far as you can get from steamed duck, you will find an enclave of coffee shops. This courtyard is a veritable living zeitgeist, the vibes of each cafe recursing into each other as if the whole thing is an optical illusion and there's really a big mirror where those cyclists are sitting. There are several cafes nestled in a corner, all sharing a common al fresco space. So common, indeed, that when we were there on Sunday the cyclists were all appropriating chairs from neighbouring cafes to support their rapidly metastasizing fluoro empire.

This time we picked Praga. The service here is fantastic(o)--friendly, fast and efficient. The food is just like home made. Like, as if we made it, at home, from ingredients we found in the fridge. And we shop at Aldi, people. The bread was Tip-Top, the ham and cheese were processed slices (ham should not be perfectly circular, as far as we know). The tomatoes looked like Rachael chopped them with a blunt spoon when she was late for a bus--rough and thick. However, the raisin toast was thin sliced. Not the natural order of things.

But is was yummy. And comfortable. We certainly did feel at home, and the price was right. But be prepared for Praga--sit with your back to Hudson's so you can't see the oversized plates piled high with fluffy scrambled eggs, golden hash browns and baked bananas. We didn't have too much endive envy on Sunday, however, as we had sated our inner epicurean at Hudson's the day before.

Hudson's had markedly more lavish food, but worse service, coffee with no chocolate sprinkles and the dubious practice of serving orange juice either in wine glasses or milkshake tumblers. The chai latte was putrid I'm afraid, but the bacon was copious enough to make amends. We will almost certainly try it again, as the aspect is so lovely, but maybe not until next summer. Next time in Dickson will be Deli Marco's next door (well, next door but one--right in the corner is a Vietnamese restaurant, soon no doubt to be squeezed out and reappear back on its rightful side of MacDonalds).

Back, then, to Chinatown, where the firecrackers were about to be lit. There sure were a lot of them. And they sure went on for a long, long time. I think what we have learned about firecrackers from this experience is that less is more. All they do is bang, really (well, they also generate clouds of acerbic smoke and drifts of pink paper fallout that get all over your spring rolls). This was apparently the longest single event in the Multicultural Festival calendar, and I think the crackers were a significant contributor to that status. The consensus: Chinatown is fun on festival days, but a little more fun when the food is inside and things aren't exploding. Be sure to visit next time you are up that end of Northbourne Avenue.