“It was a saddler's shop first”
How a workshop on Mitchell Street, a grandmother's rules for feeding a shearing shed and a few green felt tables turned into one restaurant with a casino room.
A long brick room on Mitchell Street
Coolabah Room fills a former saddler's workshop: a long brick room with a pressed-tin ceiling and a row of iron hooks that once held bridles and now hold coats. The venue is operated by WAFFLE ADVERTISING LTD, 85 Great Portland Street, London W1W 7LT, United Kingdom. Day to day, though, the house belongs to the people you meet at the door and at the stove.
Helen Burke grew up on a station along the Darling, where her Nan cooked three meals a day for a shearing team that could eat a paddock bare. Helen left for restaurant kitchens interstate, worked every station of the line, and came home with one clear idea: feeding people well is a craft, and the oldest recipe she knew was her Nan's.
The back of the building was the leather store, a cool, windowless room with a high ceiling that sat empty for years. When we finally laid green felt, set up a wheel and added a few card tables, the room found its purpose almost at once. People who have eaten well like to sit a while afterwards, and they like something to do with their hands.
Nan's four rules, still pinned inside the kitchen door
Feed them before they ask
A shearing shed starts at dawn and nobody thinks about breakfast until it is on the table. Nan's first rule was to have the food ready ahead of the hunger, and we keep to it. Bread is in the oven before the doors open, soup is hot when the first guests sit, and the kitchen watches the room more closely than the room watches the kitchen.
Waste nothing
Mutton bones became broth, crusts became pudding, and the last of the roast went into tomorrow's pie. Imogen Payne cooks the same way. Trimmings go to stock, stale bread becomes crumbs for the fish, and anything left over is turned into something the staff eat standing up at five o'clock.
Tea is always on
There was a billy over the coals from first light to last, and anybody who walked past was handed a mug. Our version is a big pot on the counter in the front hall, free to anyone who comes through the door, whether they are booked for dinner, the felt room or just waiting for a lift.
Pudding is not optional
Nan reckoned a shed that missed its pudding would be sulking by Wednesday. We have never had to test the theory. Sticky date, lemon delicious and a wobbling pavlova leave the kitchen every night, and they are the dishes people mention first when they ring to book again.
A town that feeds itself
Bourke has always been a place where people feed one another. The wharf trade in wool brought crews in and out, the station cooks swapped recipes over the post office counter, and every school fete finished with a table of scones. We think of Coolabah Room as a continuation of that habit, with better lighting and a longer menu.
A room for hands
Anyone who spends a day outdoors comes in with tired, capable hands, and a card table gives them something to do. Shuffling, stacking and passing a deck from one person to the next is a quiet kind of conversation. That is what the felt room is for, and it is why the lamps are kept low.
How the casino room grew in
We did not set out to open a casino room. Regulars at the long table kept asking for a deck of cards after dessert, then for somebody to explain the rules, and eventually for a proper table. Noel Saunders found the wheel, Lisa Rossi trained the first dealers, and the chips have been worth nothing since the very first evening.
The people who run your evening
Noel Saunders
Floor manager
Noel spent twenty years running the night shift at a cotton processing plant, which is why nothing rattles him. He runs the floor from a stool by the kitchen door, knows every regular's table and keeps the felt room quiet enough to hear a card turn. He also keeps the season's chalkboard and has never once confused a Hold'em table with an Omaha one. Ask him about the river and be prepared to stay for another pot of tea.
Lisa Rossi
Croupier
Lisa learned to deal in a card room interstate and brought the habit of explaining everything twice, kindly. She spins the wheel on Tuesdays and runs the blackjack tables on Wednesdays. Her trick for beginners is to deal one hand face up, so the whole table can see why the cards fall as they do. She says the best nights are the ones when a nervous first-timer ends up explaining the rules to the next beginner through the door.
Louise Georgiou
Host
Louise grew up behind her family's milk bar and can tell from the way you say hello whether you want a corner table or a loud one. She answers the phone, keeps the bookings book in her head and on paper, and will find a way to squeeze in one more chair for a late arrival. A jar of boiled lollies sits on her desk, which has quietly become a tradition, and the children who visit always know exactly where to find it.