There was a tavern in the town

After the small funeral for the baby born still we went to Pumpernickles. His siblings played in the ball pit and the family sat down to lunch. I wonder how many families have gone to Pumpernickles after a burial, but you can’t just walk in there now for a lunch at the suburban tavern in Shiel Hill, it’s been repurposed as an event centre. One of the casualties of the plague has been suburban life, which seems ironic since everyone has started staying close to home.

But the taverns have been closing for years. Which seems a shame to me, who doesn’t like a pub meal or a fisherman’s basket in a cosy room with questionable decor set aside for families. Pumpernickles had the bonus view of the sea, the cemetery close by is also prime real estate in this sense.

In 2012, we buried my grandfather with the baby and the box of ashes he’d gone to pick up from a shelf. They were what was left of the grandmother who spent most of her life in Seacliff Asylum, and whose whereabouts he didn’t know until it was too late. Asylums should have been a place of refuge, but most of these institutions have closed now too. Which would have been for the best if our sense of community wasn’t also full of conceits.

The website for the Shiel Hill Venue Centre promises decent discounts if you spend enough at the bar, but when there’s no tavern, you can’t go there on a whim and decide if you want a Surf n Turf or the ubiquitous Thai chicken salad that started appearing on menus in the ’90s. Thai meant any kind of tang.

The Normanby Tavern closed in 2020, and seems a definitive victim of the plague. No more quizzes and karaoke nights, no more pepper steaks, although they seem to have fallen out of fashion. It is being turned into a 10-bedroom residential unit. The closures of the taverns are a sign of that other growing problem: the housing crisis.

I first tried a pepper steak at the Fairfield Tavern in 1986. It had a lot of cracked pepper on it, like tiny crushed volcanic rocks. I was determined to enjoy it as a child because coming out to the tavern was a treat. I was at the age when I couldn’t distinguish between a tavern and a restaurant. Nana used to talk in a hushed tone about La Scala, the Italian restaurant I have seen photos of that looked like it belonged in New Jersey not Musselburgh. I wonder what was considered Italian food in Dunedin the ’80s. I asked my friend John whose sister owned the place but he couldn’t remember so I had to use my imagination.

My Italian genes would probably shudder but I’m not a food snob and they had some amazing decor and also did weddings. The flower arrangements, flouncy curtains and the cherubs were spectacular. I find the new decorating style of most of these places quite dismal, (why do they all use those thin bony chairs for weddings?).

The Fairfield Tavern closed in 2005 to make way for a residential subdivision, a victim of progress and the bypass, I guess. In 2019 the ODT reported that former staff and patrons were planning a three-day reunion to happen over Anniversary Weekend. Three days! That sounds nice even though it’s the same length as a tangi. Viva La Familia!

People remember these places so fondly. The Fairfield Tavern had the advantage of a lush outdoor area, a forest even, and a playground for the children. It probably also hid some legs sticking out of bushes. I’m not thinking of sex, it was a family place, I’m thinking of the people who had too much to drink, the true suburban pastime.

Thank God Mitchell’s in Caversham is still open. When I googled taverns in Dunedin only three came up on the map. The other was St Kilda Tavern, a place I’ve never been. But one of my only hobbies is reading menus online and it looks like you can get a seafood chowder and wedges. That will do. Although I have to confess that sometimes seafood chowder makes me nervous. I feel the same about fish pie. Fish belongs in batter, that way nothing’s the matter.

The Mornington Tavern has diversified, it has moved on, it has evolved. It’s called a taphouse now, which means they probably sell the atrocity known as sour beer. My friend Julz used to work there, I’m biased, but she is one of the best table hosts in Dunedin. But even she works at a tapas room now. I enjoy tapas but the portions are very small, has anyone else noticed this?

If you’re looking for family atmosphere you might have to go out to Milton or closer to home in Mosgiel, or north to The Golden Fleece in Waikouaiti. I was also determined to enjoy my meal when I was last there in 2011 (under previous management). But the person I was with was upset the fish and the vegetables were from the freezer and I sat there mute, chasing formerly frozen corn, peas and carrots around my plate as he complained loudly. My steak seemed quite grey for red meat. It’s true the best blue cod was just down the road fresh in the sea and that the vege man had the best bagged up deals, swapped for a couple of gold coins, in the honesty box but that’s not the point.

We’re here for the atmosphere, I hissed. I looked up at the taxidermy sheep with marbles for eyes sitting dusty in the rafters and it felt like only we understood each other.

 - Talia Marshall