Chop Chop

Sydney Morning Herald

Saturday May 25, 2002

Helen Greenwood

RESTAURANT REVIEW

Top Choi Barbeque Restaurant, Burwood, Saturday lunch

Helen Greenwood finds a man busy with a cleaver - and succulent chicken, duck and pork.

Burwood Road is one of my favourite shopping streets: fresh air and none of the sameness you find in a mall. A discount store is a few blocks away from a designer kids' clothing store. And there's a mix of nationalities. Gabors, the Austro-Hungarian butcher shop, is across the road from the glorious Leung Tim Choppers Company from Hong Kong. There are a snazzy Turkish restaurant, a great Italian joint and noodle bars with plastic decor.

We scoot past several of these, duck under the railway bridge and park outside the huge glass windows of Leung Tim. At the front are steel vats for roasting Peking duck. Inside, metres of cleavers and choppers bristle like they're from an Akira Kurosawa movie. It's heaven for my friend, a kitchen-gadget addict.

Reluctantly, we peel ourselves away from the umpteen different skimmers, the pastry brushes and the prawn peelers, go past the Leanly Bread Shop, past the Go-Lo and on to Top Choi or, as the sign says, Top Choice.

There's nothing auspicious about this shop-front, apart from dripping ducks and the bundles of lap cheung (dried sausage). Oh, and there's the man in the window, deftly wielding a chopper on a huge block of wood that is soaked and shining with meat juices - now that's an attraction. We stroll by chopper man and the counter where people stand to get takeaway - barbecued pork, chicken and duck - and find a table.

The menu has the usuals: noodle and rice dishes, and noodle and won ton soups. Many of these dishes feature in the photos laid out in a row above the counter, so you can point. But barbecue is the reason to be here and we choose to point in another direction - towards the table behind us, where two young women have amassed a startling amount of food.

We definitely want the soy chicken. The man who takes our order (and turns out to be the manager) suggests a half-and-half plate of Peking duck and barbecued pork, too. First, though, the house soup arrives, a mouse-grey broth. "Very good for the health, it is medicine," he says. "Makes you strong." Yes, and more importantly it tastes good. The light, opaque liquid is slow-simmered from chicken bones - old bones, according to our adviser - pork bones, black bean, lotus root and preserved plums. It has both sweetness and heat, courtesy of the plums and beans.

Nearly everyone has a soup, either the house medicine or a noodley variety. The table across from ours (parents and two daughters) has a family-size bowl and a huge pork joint with gristle that father picks up and gnaws with relish. This isn't a watering hole for hungry shoppers - plastic bags don't clog up the floor. It's a canteen, a stove away from home. Mums who just can't face cooking another meal arrange the family in seats. Grandma is in a wheelchair. Couples with fatigue on their faces from a tough working week talk quietly. Toddlers play with teacups.

The room, presided over by a crimson-lit, two-tiered altar, is full. Folks queue non-stop and lunchers munch on juicy carcasses. It's a wonder that chopper man can keep up with the orders. Next to us, a couple has left a pile of bones and two men, one with a Mittel-European accent, have taken their place. They order like regulars, without resorting to any of the ludicrous pointing that we had to affect. Another two blokes, one in a camel-coloured jacket, the other in an almost identically coloured cardigan, blend in with the blond wood shelf that juts out and serves as a counter for four stools. They are absorbed in their bowls.

Above their heads and to the left, a pane of glass offers a view of the preparation area with bags and boxes toppling off the shelf. Our shiny meats arrive. The chicken is so plump and moist, we forget decor. It's perfumed with ginger and spring onion and soy. All the juices and aromatics run into the fluffy, firm rice which takes them up like a pilaf. The sprigs of lightly steamed bok choy crunch agreeably. It feels as though we are eating something a lot more complicated than chicken with rice and green veg.

After serious questioning, our adviser divulges the trade secret. The chicken is poached in broth till it is about 70 per cent done then basted in hot soy sauce till it is 90 to 95 per cent done. You can see blood at the point of the joint. Chinese don't like their chicken cooked through, he tells us, because it dries out the meat. So right. Still clucking with pleasure, we move to the duck and pork, both good, very different in texture and taste. The duck is meaty and moist, not fatty in the least and has a burnished golden skin. The pork is pink-white, with wonderful caramelised points on the outside, almost like toffee apples. Still, it's not tender enough for the chicken fancier, who retreats to the soy chicken.

We linger even after we only have bones in front of us, nibbling the flavoursome rice, sipping soup and tea. No need for dessert. Nobody is in a hurry to move but nobody stays long either.

We head back to Leung Tim for some post-prandial retail therapy. We forgo the melamine crockery and shell out for a wooden-handled wok, a chopping board, Duralex glass bowls and, almost, a cleaver. Nah, leave it to chopper man. We'll just cruise down the street for a cappuccino instead.

OUT OF TEN

Food 7/10

Go for the soy chicken and the barbecue meats.

Service 7/10

No-frills efficiency and helpful if you ask.

Atmosphere 7/10

Basic but bustling, with chopper man a bonus.

Value 9/10

Filled up for $15.50 on two dishes and soup.

© 2002 Sydney Morning Herald

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