Where To Bring A Korean Chef in Melbourne.
“I did many things in my life, hard labour, army, but the farm was the hardest thing I ever did in my life,” said Han.
There’s this visa in Australia - working holiday visa (subclass 417).
If you’re from an eligible country between the age of 18-30, you can pay $635 and stay in Australia for 12 months. During that time, you can work up to 6 months to support your holiday, hence the name ‘working holiday’.
If you enjoyed your time in Australia and would like to extend your visa for another 12 months, you can pay another $635, and work 3 months in a ‘specified’ industry.
On the immigration website, you’ll see ‘specified work’ defined as agriculture, mining, construction, etc. which means you won’t be in the CBD, but in some rural areas three hours from everywhere.
After another 12 months, you can work for another 3 months to stay for another year. And after that, you may qualify for a temporary visa.
So far, everyone I’ve met who stayed on for working holiday visas two and three did fruit picking. Not a single one looked back in fondness.
I’ve known an engaged couple who broke up because the guy’s family blamed the girl for ‘damaging’ their son as his fingers were literally crooked from fruit picking. I’ve also heard of another girl who immediately got her boyfriend out after witnessing his ‘bed’ in a shipping container without ventilation. I’ve known people who were sexually harassed. Some got paid, but their pay was taken out in exchange for accommodation1.
It’s 2023, and when people think migrants, they’re still thinking ‘boat people’. Yes, that is still happening, but the system has evolved into this Netflix program in which young people have a taste of ‘beautiful’ Australia, and dedicate six months of their lives in instalments to picking cherries and avocados in exchange for two year’s accommodation. Why go for boat people, when you have the youths of first-world countries?
Some of them manage to stay, find a wife, and start a restaurant.
Like Han.
Han’s full name is Hansol Lee2.
He is the chef/owner of Matsu, a four-seater kaiseki restaurant in Footscray.
I was in his Korean car (KIA) with the Korean satnav and the Korean music, on the way to lunch, when he told me his migration story.
As we parked our car and walked to Little Collins, he told me about his previous chef life.
“It’s always a test. You need to earn their trust,” said Han. “The seniors always arrive two hours before start time and work without pay. Which means I have to start three hours before. I polished their shoes, and scrub the kitchen. Japanese are not very good teachers. So there’s always a lot of screaming. I had to tell myself to be quiet and pretend to be deaf for the first three years.”
If deducing is not your thing, Han was the Korean chef I bumped into on the Yakitori balcony. The first time I shot him I told him I’d like to have a chat with him one day for the newsletter (more like he could get me some Yarra Valley salmon roe at a discount).
After Matsu was published he’s booked out until October, and I know he has two days off. One day for his family and the other for admin. His life is busy enough.
My mum-friend Robyn said we should go back to Matsu as soon as possible while he still has the spirit and soul of youth, like witches in Traditional Chinese Medicine rubbing their palms at the virgins’ piss.
So imagine my surprise when Han messaged me first.
We were walking to Roti Bar, with Saravana Bhavan as a backup plan.
Knowing he’s from Korea, I assumed he did not have much exposure to Malaysian or South Indian cuisine. So here’s the rule, if you’re dating or meeting a person for the first time, the food should be comfortable for at least one of you. One has to be in control.
I ordered roti canai, nasi biryani with chicken 65, mee goreng, and satay.
Everything was kinda new to him, but he specifically loved the satay sauce. So much so that he ate the roti with it.
I asked him what he eats at home, he said kimchi jjigae, samgyetang.
Simple stuff.
He’s a little bit nervous because all Japanese restaurants - Sushi On, Kenzan, Minamishima, Aoi Tsuki have been reviewed by Good Food and the chefs and owners are all talking about Matsu, about his turn, speculating his score.
But ultimately, he’s also a little stressed about the new menu.
I told him about the bowl of ramen I had last week - wagyu beef, salmon roe, sea urchin. He made a face of disgust, the reaction I was hoping for.
“When you label yourself as ‘fine dining’, customers expect expensive ingredients, but that is very limiting, because the taste is fixed, I don’t have space to explore” Han said.
I told him my friend Robyn was way more impressed by his tomato and scallop balls than lobsters. Then again, maybe because she has lobsters quite often.
“It’s out of your control, so just be yourself,” I said.
Wow, that’s not cliche at all, Harvard.
After lunch, I wanted to take him to Patricia’s for coffee, but after seeing the crowd of tourists and barristers, I took him to Bench along Little Collins. I saw the barista from Market Lane Victoria Market3.
“Oh, you know everyone,” Han said.
On the way, he bumped into some ex-Kenzan colleagues. He was asking about stations, who’s in, who’s sick, who’s out.
I’m glad that I could start my own restaurant. And I know I can only do it when I’m young. But sometimes I miss the simple life in Kenzan,” Han said.
We took away coffee for my wife, and in the elevator, we bumped into someone who recognized him. Apparently, they have a table for four coming up soon.
“Oh, you know everyone,” my turn.
You think chefs, writers, photographers lead easy interesting lives.
Catching up for lunch on Monday, when you’re having the blues in your cushy office jobs.
The reason we have lunch on Monday is because we have to work weekends.
After coffee, I had to go pick up my daughter to swim and scouts, and he’s going to South Melbourne to look at vintage Japanese plates for the restaurant.
We just make things work, incorporating socializing as part of the workday.
Sometimes, we all miss the simpler life.
Before he jumped on a tram, he told me he was really surprised by the udon I freestyled on the balcony.
“It tasted like it was made by someone who’s made it many times. Seasoning was good,” said Han.
That gave me a jolt of energy and then a surge of doubt as I walked home.
Either I’m good, or he has no idea what he’s talking about.
On the other hand, I also knew a family running a farm who provided great shelter (physical and metaphorical) to the youths, and they were absolutely non-appreciative. Sitting on the couch doom scrolling, not knowing how lucky they had it *shakes head*
Since he runs his own restaurant now, I secretly call him Han Solo. Shhh.
Funny story, once a friend told me his wife is a barrister, and he’s going to pick up her robe. And I heard ‘barista’, and thought it’s a new cafe trend, robe for barista.