Let’s all saunter along memory lane. At the age of sixteen, my first job was at a large Public Service Centre, in ‘town’. That was what we called the city centre. During my first day at work, I was introduced to the PS cafeteria.
Now, this was living life in the big smoke! Instead of mum’s good plain cooking, like it and lump it, I could choose a meal. We had some of that at secondary school tuck shops, but here I joined a line. Grabbing a tray to slide along the steel counter, a range of hot dinners awaited. I could buy a cup of coffee for only 5 cents.
My first Public Service meal was a pie and chips, golden and crunchy. These were real chips, nothing like the junk food offerings of our modern world. A lady behind the counter poured gravy over all this, from a large metal ladle. Ah, cuisine!
The devil had tempted me to visit this cafeteria daily, for a pie and chips, or fried chicken and chips. Some other PS clerks ate the ritual full roast dinner, saved cooking at home. Let’s face it, this took place so many years ago. In those times, there were very few cafes to buy food or coffees, considering the short allotment we had for lunch.
Yes, these cafeterias are a fond part of our memory lane. They did lead to our city’s café culture that followed, for a variety of food choices from many lands. In my university days, not long after, I would wander through ‘town’ on my way home via the rail system. Once there were multi-storeyed emporiums in most capital cities. Seemingly, every store like that had its own cafeteria.
I would enter the elevator at G.J. Coles emporium, and alight on the cafeteria floor, lured by the hum of chatter, and the clutter of cutlery. Aromas! Spare seats were hard to find, so I would choose a meal on a cold, wintry day, to share a table with complete strangers. Often, someone would strike up a conversation, then part ways, a face in the crowd. I would eat a pie and more lovely hot chips, a slather of gravy. This was followed by jellied fruit and cream, in a parfait glass, or a banana split. I was working on my bluestocking’s fat hips. Satisfying! The food was served on spotless white plates, promptly removed by women in uniform, always wiping the surfaces. The full roast meal was popular here too, gravy abundant. Arriving home, I was never quite game to tell my mum I had already had my dinner.
One rainy day at university, with my measly pittance, on hungry days in chilly, rainy winter, I ventured into the vast uni caff, as it was affectionately known. In that ancient past, healthy food choices like salad rolls were twice as expensive as good old Aussie pie and chips, plus gravy and sauce. The caff had its own fragrant aroma of hot foods, clouds of nicotine, (now politically incorrect, smoking on our food), as well as suspicious puffs of wacky tobaccy. On most days, the caff held what looked like 1000 students all eating lunch. There sat some professional students, who studied one subject a year in non-vocational courses. They discoursed on their philosophies, the grand revolution that never quite happened, very eloquent chaps with no great practical real-world approaches. Eventually, we all grew up and joined the taxation system. The ivory tower, where everything progressed.
I must say, the cafeterias provided us with a hot meal and a range of limited food choices. I suppose there are staff dining rooms in some workplaces today. These days, I have not been to ‘town’ for ages, it is our restricted pandemic lifestyle. It would all be different. Most of the old emporiums and the PS centres are no more. The cafeteria staff also have all vanished down memory lane. Did you have a soft spot for cafeterias too?