On Sunday mornings, thousands stream through Our Lady of Lebanon Co-Cathedral, a Lebanese Maronite Catholic church in Sydney’s western suburbs. In between back-to-back mass services, worshippers rush to its onsite cafe, Five Loaves.
“Sunday is our busiest day,” says Yasmin Salim, who has fronted the counter for eight years. Lines are long, and diners’ appetites are large: a single customer might ask for 10 pizzas and 10 pastries flavoured with za’atar, the Middle Eastern herb mix. “It’s like at Maccas, everyone wants their french fries,” says Salim. At Five Loaves, “everyone wants the za’atar”.
Across Australia, there are restaurateurs who love to alter altars. Sydney’s Aambra is opening at a heritage-listed house of worship this month, and Restaurant Aptos is taking over a 156-year-old converted church in Adelaide Hills. But a canteen at an operational church is different: deconsecrated venues don’t have to contend with, say, catering communions or preparing post-burial mercy meals – a Five Loaves specialty. Or having food cooked by the pastor’s sister, like at Cafe 72 at Blackwood Hills Baptist church in Adelaide Hills.
Jody Paterson was a longtime parishioner of the church – even before her brother became pastor – but she never intended to run the cafe. She simply turned up to a meeting, objecting to plans for a coffee-chain franchise at the church. “It wasn’t really what our community needed,” she says.
Paterson jokes that her stance backfired, as it led to her establishing Cafe 72 as an alternative. That was more than 20 years ago. “Since then, I’ve learned not to volunteer for anything,” she says.
Coffees were $2 when they opened the cafe and only rose to $2.50 last year. “We help retirees who can’t afford a $5 coffee,” Paterson says. Supermarket discounts also keeps costs low. “If tomatoes are on special, there’ll be a tomato soup,” she says. Food is hearty – lasagne, quiches, curries – and also reflects the expertise of volunteers who cook in the kitchen: Sahar Alsaad, from Baghdad, does a spiced Iraqi-style fish and chips, for example.
The cafe is known for training disenfranchised people and marginalised youth in hospitality, and locals with no church affiliation frequently drop by. “They actually love the cafe so much that they volunteer,” says Paterson.
Churchgoers, meanwhile, shouldn’t linger too long over their flat white or food, lest she drag them into the kitchen. “Oh, so you have Tuesdays off? That’s interesting. Do you know how to wash a dish?”
Paterson is on a ministry wage, but many of her hours at Cafe 72 are spent as a volunteer. “If I retired, I’d probably still give one day a week,” she says.
That sense of dedication and community is also at Five Loaves. Salim has attended its church for more than 50 years – she was baptised there. When some parishioners give up meat during Easter, the cafe puts vine leaves, cabbage rolls and tabbouleh on the menu – which can be enjoyed by Five Loaves’ mix of secular and churchgoing diners.
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Operating the church’s cafe can be emotional, especially with mourners nearby. (A friend tells me Five Loaves’ manoush reminds him of death as he only eats it at funerals.) Then there are massive weddings, featuring honking cars and loud cheers. “It’s more happy moments than sad moments,” says Salim.
Meanwhile, the soundtrack at Terry’s Kitchen in Melbourne is a little different. The Malaysian canteen is located in a suburban megachurch, and the Pentecostal sermons are broadcast over speakers as diners feast on chicken curry puffs and chilli sambal. Chef and owner Terry Tang thinks he has made a few converts. “They come and eat and later they become a Christian,” he says.
Tang credits his restaurant as “a setup from God”. His family are church attenders and the site was the first location he scouted for his restaurant. His son was accepted into the adjacent school, just before he opened Terry’s Kitchen in 2016.
“I’m not here for business,” Tang says. Rather than serving well-known staples like beef rendang and char kway teow, he wants to showcase the diversity of Malaysian cuisine, such as rich Sarawak-style laksa and curry rice with braised pork from his home town of Miri, in north-west Borneo. Sure, he does nasi lemak, but it might be with oxtail curry with pineapple one week and grilled fish the next. His septuagenarian mother prepares kaya (coconut and pandan jam) the traditional way, by double-boiling and stirring it for hours until the jam thickens.
His nasi kerabu (with rice grains tinted blue by pea flowers) features a lemongrass-accented sauce that’s even more laborious to make. But that might be why customers travel interstate for it – just so they can take some home.
And like Paterson and Salim, Tang serves his dishes with a side of kindness. Sometimes, he sees kids requesting lots of dishes and their parents holding back when they order, presumably due to hardship. “We will just give them everything and say, ‘Oh, you’re number 25, lucky customer, get the free food!’”
