Tomatoes are gone. Basil has bolted. Quinces and chestnuts are clamouring. Produce makes a parade of the seasons and so do appetites: a hot-weather hankering for salad and sorbet turns into winter’s fierce cry for the succour of soup. I heeded the hollering one recent chilly night and followed my soupy sixth sense to Springvale.
Twenty-three kilometres south-east of the city, this is one of Melbourne’s most multicultural suburbs with residents born in 99 countries and three-quarters of households speaking a language other than English. Vietnamese is predominant but many other languages are sprinkled in the Springvale singsong.
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