Legend has it that the name of this no-fuss restaurant came from trucks constantly knocking down the original signage as they drove through the tiny lane it occupies. It all began in the 1950’s when Italian migrants that lived in the neighbourhood needed a cheap place to fill their stomachs and today’s restaurant with no name is very much the same deal, dishing up home cooking to the locals.
Don’t go looking for alfresco seats and linen tablecloths as you may just miss the doorway and stairs that take you up to a place bustling with parents and their offspring tucking into over-sized plates of tasty stodge. It’s complimentary bread galore and the cheerful waiters will even give you a simple bowl of iceberg lettuce drizzled with oil. A squeeze bottle of vinegar on the table helps glamorise the salad and that red cordial up on the counter is there for all to share, no charge. It’s been a few decades since I last had red cordal so I brought my own alcoholic adult version to drink out of latte glasses. Noice.
The food is about as glamorous as the surroundings with a chalk-board showcasing homely grub that purely fills the hole rather than titillate the eyeballs. A schnitzel combo (18) just couldn’t be avoided when I saw one go out to another table. This is just like Mums schnitzel, albeit a little soggier, with a gargantuan mound of spaghetti bolognese snugged up against it. A plate this large requires an above average appetite and I’m proud to say I made it to the last strand and crumb. Just.
Pork chops (13) are just that. No fancy garnish … hold on there was a lemon wedge. The meat was cooked quite well and if I can put on my dusty chefs hat there was some good caramelisation going on. Getting down to the boney bits, it was good old finger food.
Next time? I reckon I’ll be going for the liver & onion.