Kuta's Movable Feast
By Jeremy Allan

I am one of those people who finds great difficulty walking into an empty restaurant, even when quite hungry. Besides the often-justified suspicion that the absence of other diners is a reflection of the food quality, the service afforded to the lone customer is seldom satisfactory. I am either fussed over like a invalid, or totally ignored as the staff chats in a corner.
Visitors who share my aversion could well starve in Kuta these days. Main roads and back alleys alike are lined with empty bars and restaurants. It is impossible to discern whether a particular establishment is devoid of patrons for good reason, or is in fact a gem of a place undeservedly sliding toward bankruptcy as tourists continue to stay away in droves.
I tend to avoid dining in Kuta these days, preferring to take my meals at home or in my neighborhood warung. But when some filmmaker friends from Australia came to town last week to shoot more footage on Bali's sporadic efforts at recovery, I found myself dining out almost every night, courtesy of a generous production budget.
One the first night, we decided to try a restaurant a few steps from the Legian Beach Hotel, where they were staying. Legian, once a refuge for backpackers fleeing frenetic Kuta, is now a favored destination for Australian middle-class vacationers. The restaurant we selected sought to serve this market by offering solid Aussie tucker prepared in a kitchen maintaining the strict standards of hygiene. Being just off the plane, and with a couple of new members on their first trip to Bali, we thought this would be a good choice.
Good hygiene was no idle boast. The kitchen, in plain view through a large window from the dining area, was well-lit and spotless. Though the Australians in our party were quite satisfied, my girlfriend and I thought something was missing. Later on, during a midnight snack at our favorite roadside warung - we decided that the purpose of bacteria is to give flavor to food.
The next evening, assuming their digestive systems were sufficiently adjusted to the new environment, I took some of the crew to Warung 96, my favorite Kuta-area restaurant. I did not realize the dinner would include a demonstration of the deficiencies of urban planning. The street in front of the restaurant was ankle-deep in floodwater, a common occurrence during the wet season. As there was no automobile parking available, we had to park on around the corner, hitch up our pants and skirts, and wade through a ten-meter stretch of water of dubious origin to reach the restaurant.
Warung 96, like Jakarta's Seafood 99 and other classic Chinese restaurants known by only street address, brings the Chinese "only-the-essentials" concept to western tourist food. The menu is a mix of steak, pasta, and a few token Indonesian dishes. Service is haphazard, courses come in random order, the noise is deafening, the food is delicious, wholesome, and nourishing.
Ironically, Warung 96, with every table occupied by barefoot diners in shorts or trouser legs rolled up to the knees, was the one busy establishment on the street otherwise full of empty restaurants. Though most of the others offered parking and front entrances located above the water line, the staff could only watch customers stream past to what seems to be Kuta's only floating restaurant. I suppose nothing beats good value for money.
The following evening we also opted for value for money - great value for lots more money, as we cruised down Double Six road to La Boheme, a recently opened Mediterranean restaurant and bar fronting the beach. As expected, La Boheme was free from flooding, although the lack of clearance from our table to the splash pool meant one of the waiters almost did a belly-flop after his lost his balance.
La Boheme was also fairly full, as are most restaurants and bars in Seminyak, Sanur, and other areas frequented by resident expatriates and long-stay visitors. My girlfriend, though not familiar with authentic Mediterranean cuisine, pronounced her meal delicious, a sentiment echoed by us all. La Boheme hit all right notes - food, service, atmosphere - so well that the producer happily paid a bill in the mid six figures, though he knew he would have to do some explaining to the production accountant the following morning.
So what makes bland food, inaccessibility, and high prices so attractive that the respective establishments enjoy a roaring trade while others faced ruin? The answer is probably the age-old secret to business success, finding and servicing a niche market. There is a lesson here for Bali as a whole. Instead of trying to be all things to all tourists, Bali should identify a certain market segment and focus on it exclusively, creating a product, supported by word-of-mouth advertising, that will attract new and repeat visitors under any circumstances.