Rubbish Eat Rubbish Grow

South Melbourne Market is my market. Not Queen Victoria. That one belongs to the tourists now. This one still belongs to the people who come to eat.

I walk in for one thing. The outdoor paella station at Simply Spanish.

There is a sit-down restaurant inside. Fine. But I never go in. The real cooking happens outside, on the pavement, in a pan wide enough to feed a street.

You watch it happen. The rice goes down. The stock follows. The chorizo starts to bleed its oil into everything around it. Chicken thigh. Mussels. Vegetables. No prawns. Nobody misses them.

Let’s talk about the rice. That is where a paella lives or dies.

Here it is cooked right. Slightly al dente. Still holding moisture. Not dry. Not mushy. Each grain carries the flavour of the pan without turning to paste. That balance is hard. Most kitchens miss it in one direction or the other.

Simply Spanish does not miss.

The chicken thigh stays tender. The mussels open clean and briny. The chorizo does the heavy work, threading its fat and spice through the whole plate. Nothing shouts. Everything belongs.

Around AUD30 a portion. You eat it on the benches outside, standing room away from the crowds moving through the market. Steam rising. Spoon in hand.

Add the chili sauce. It costs about two dollars. Do it. A small spoonful lifts the whole thing, adds a low heat that sits under the smoke of the rice. It earns its place.

Simply Spanish call themselves one of the best paellas outside Spain. I do not usually agree with a kitchen’s own words.

This time I do.

It is the best paella I have had. Full stop.

I have eaten here more times than I can count. Every Melbourne trip, I come back. It is one of the few places that always makes my list of the best restaurants in Melbourne.

The market changes around it. The stalls shift. The crowds thicken and thin. The paella station stays exactly where it should be, doing exactly what it does.

There is no performance to it. No plating. No theatre beyond the fire and the pan. Just a man cooking rice over open heat, the way it has been cooked for generations, in front of anyone who cares to watch.

You eat it on a bench with a plastic fork. That is part of it. Paella was never meant for white tablecloths. It was meant for the street, for shared pans, for people standing close and eating together.

That is what you get here. The honest version. The one that matters.

If you find yourself at South Melbourne Market, skip the queue for the trendy stalls. Walk to the paella station. Order a portion. Pay the two dollars for the chili.

Then stand there and eat it while it is still steaming.

Good food needs no explanation. This was one of those meals.