Back in March a new place was born in West End, a bundle of joy named Goodtime. They specialise in two things, yum cha and social media advertising. For weeks before our visit my phone was in a constant state of notifications, bombarding me with pictures of steamer baskets piled to the ceiling with fluffy dumplings and a gravity defying dish, flying noodles. I wouldn’t give in straight away, I wanted the satisfaction of making the algorithm plead with me a while longer, but I knew that I was only a couple of posts of custard buns away from parting with my money. The tipping point came in the form of a “Special All You Can Eat for $29” post. No need to find the scientific calculator to work out that this could be a viable way to spend a Wednesday night.
Cautiously I booked two tickets, a gimmick like this usually means one of two things; the food is awful and nobody is coming or the food is decent but nobody knows about it? Given the marketing onslaught I had to endure I was betting the first option was more likely but only time and our tastebuds will tell. The All You Can Eat option had been offered since the opening day in December but for a limited time adults were able to eat at kids prices.
After booking the 7.30pm session I looked at the terms and conditions to avoid a fruitless drive down the range. Then I ran them past my lawyer friend to see if there were any loopholes that should make us wary. In hindsight I shouldn’t have bothered, the “mates rates” fee could have kept all and sundry in dumplings for the remainder of the year. This will now become a comfort eating session.
Confusion reigned momentarily as we thought we were heading in the direction of Goodtime but were nearer to Goodlife gym instead. Fortunately the two are within spitting distance of each other. Though the names are similar the ideology around calorie intake couldn’t be further apart. Having arrived early we were told to fill in twenty minutes as they prepare for the next sitting.
Nearby we found Zazu, a fancy watering hole where the bartenders have man-buns and moustaches that are only days away from being classified as noxious weeds. Our drinks quenched what thirst we had but things turned sour when the EFTPOS machines didn’t want to accept our cards. Apparently the issue was the terminals from one section weren’t playing the game with the central register. After seven minutes of various staff trying every possible button combination to brainstorm a solution our transaction went through, the clock was showing 7.32pm. Our sixty minute allocation had already commenced while we were all staring at the pixelated display, swearing under our breaths.
A brisk walk back to Goodtime and we are shown to our seat by a bubbly member of staff. She then transformed into the smiling assassin when she utters the words, “Just letting you know the kitchen shuts at 8:00pm.” Our spirit was broken as we had only twenty-four and a half minutes to banish our hunger, neither of us had eaten all day. EIGHT PM? I didn’t see this in the fine print. Damn lawyer friend. Stupid EFTPOS machine.
As the Ts & Cs mentioned we could only order ten dishes at a time so we made a determination that the ice cream, milk buns, jasmine rice, chips, prawn crackers, soup and edamame were not to be eaten as we deemed them “filler”. From the moment our curly, smiley friend started tapping furiously on her tablet, things instantaneously appeared, though we both resigned ourselves to getting maybe this initial order in the truncated timeframe. For my friend, a butcher by day, food appreciator at night, his mood wasn’t going to improve when the first three dishes to appear were corn ribs, vegetarian dumplings and the Asian green, gailan (how did this make it past our first round of vetting?) I can’t read minds but I was positive he was looking for something that a few weeks ago was making farm noises. His face was distilled disgust.
Before he was able to register any audible complaint the remainder of our order came out in an avalanche. Within a few minutes our waitress was peering under the table to confirm we hadn’t emptied the plates’ contents on the ground. She then ordered more, even exceeding the ordering limit. It pays to be friendly to wait staff. Our joint scowls had morphed to toothy grins. The challenge now was making room for all the dishes on a table. Even with the stacking of steamer baskets only a scintilla of wood remained visible. And the night only got better when Ms Smiley came past and ordered another tranche with ten minutes remaining.
At one point there was that much steam coming out of the baskets we could not see each others faces, our guttural vibrations of happiness the only confirmation of each other’s location. It had only been roughly fifteen minutes since we chopsticks were put in our hands but it felt as if we had been eating since the invention of fire. Our digestive systems working harder than a medic in a video game.
Nearing the 8:00pm cut-off our waitress sashays over to check on our wellbeing before informing us that there is time for one final order and we can stay here for as long as it takes to eat. A proposal that would have been unpopular with staff in the kitchen. Originally we politely turned her down and thanked her for her efforts in getting us fed and watered in such a limited time. She was offended in our rebuttal and made a solid case for one last hurrah (we didn’t need further encouragement). With my mouth full I point to various items on the menu which my fellow eater translates into, “Two of these, three of them, and one lot of those….”, careful to strike that balance between “uncomfortable regret” and “sheer stupidity”. That fine balance was destroyed when she said, “Seeing you travelled such a long way to get here tonight I’ve added a couple of extras.” This is what true love must feel like?
When the contents of the steamer baskets were nothing but paper and crumbs the final toll was tallied. We had to use our four hands, a total of thirty-one plates between us. You need to remember that some of the offerings only had two items per plate. Whichever metric you use to analyse our efforts I guess it gives the same answer, hedonic hyperphagia.
Our favourites – the (piggy) custard buns and the lip tingling Szechuan dumplings, both making multiple appearances on the table and in our small intestines. The miracle of the night was my butcher friend ate tofu (in the laksa) and went back for a second ladle. The fried rice was named after YouTube creator, Uncle Roger. I don’t know whether he would give his stamp of approval but he would at least put it above Jamie Oliver’s version. The least enjoyable? The corn and the gailan, we weren’t the target audience for those two items.
It wasn’t until our drive home when we starting trading notes and uncomfortable digestive noises that we realised we had completely forgotten about the noodles and spring rolls. How could we have made the trip without sampling these two perennial favourites? Was it too late to jam on the handbrake, return to West End and order some to take away back up the hill?
As a way to encourage responsible consumption of dumplings we made a pact that we couldn’t return to the car until we could both fit through the gap under the sign. Special mention to my friend – without his sprint from the across the intersection and shoulder charge I would have been wedged between the posts until the following Monday week.
As I finish up this tale of gluttony the word on the internet is that Goodtime is now “Temporarily Closed For Renovations”. Please don’t point the finger as the two of us. Fingers crossed that the tradies are working hard on the tools so that Goodtime reopens all to enjoy as soon as possible. Whilst not the greatest yum cha (Sunnybank always delivers) it was definitely worth paying a visit, especially at that crazy price point. The drinks from Yeerongpilly’s Slipstream Brewing assisted in washing down the carbs, a symbiotic relationship for all involved.
Dinner: Goodtime (Yum Cha), West End
Pre-Dinner Drinks: Zaza (Dining/Bar), West End
