Icouldn’t help but wonder while poking through onion rings the size of donuts what Australians normally eat. This was after all, The Australian Pub we had come to. And I’m still not sure if I was confusing authentic Aussie cuisine with the homogenous dude food of Pacific Beach that surrounds the place.

But then again, one doesn’t slide away with a full knowledge of Mexican food after eating at Chevy’s. Nor can we gain insight into the joys of German-Austrian cuisine by wolfing down the slime dogs at Wienerschnitzel. Unfortunately, we Americans demand too much Americanization from eateries that might otherwise take us to places we’ve never been. And when you’re running a kitchen of any persuasion in skateboard town, you had better add soft tacos and jalapeno poppers to the menu for when the boardwalk crowd rolls in.

The said menu is peppered with more wily idioms than actual Down Under dishes. Outside the “Brekky” category filled with typical morning fare, the Digger’s Dish is simply ham steak with grilled pineapple. The Road Kill is grilled chicken on sourdough. And the Jackaroo translates to a regular one-third pound burger.

Things start getting a little serious, however, with the Aussie Burger, a half-pound patty topped authentically with a fried egg, bacon, grilled onions and beets. Though loveable, I felt my arteries caking with plaque by the fourth bite. And the accompanying onion rings didn’t help matters as I probably could’ve squeezed a cup of oil out of all that beer batter.

Since a good deal of Australian pub grub hails from England, it came as no great surprise to find Meat Pies, Fish and Chips, Bangers and Mash and Shepherd’s Pie in the lineup. The latter was disappointing in that it came drowned in cheddar cheese only to upstage the goodness of the mashed potatoes buried underneath. Sadly, the ground beef at the bottom tasted briny, as did the filling in the Aussie Meat Pies, which might explain their Australian slang term “mystery packs.”

One of the most interesting food memories I have from visiting Australia a few years ago was trying the omnipresent Vegemite, a yeasty vegetable extract that looks like bicycle oil and tastes too strange for words. Here, my companion weathered through it when spread over toast before claiming that he wouldn’t come racing back for more. A cold glass of Hefeweizen beer with a fat lemon wedge helped push it down.

The bar also carries a few Australian labels such as Tooheys New, Victoria’s Bitter and of course the all-too-familiar Foster’s Lager. But the kicked-out atmosphere appears more facilitating to the Miller and Budweiser set. And by the time we left, I was “fed up to the back teeth” as the Aussies might say, with the jukebox cranking out music at the same time the Daytona 500 blasted from a wide-screen television.

We also couldn’t fully embrace the boastful claim on the menu that reads: “Best Wings in the World!” Customers are afforded 10 different sauce choices that include everything from Buffalo-style and “hells bells” to spicy garlic and Cajun. We chose the basic “hot” wings, which flew out of the kitchen in less than seven minutes. As expected, they were too rubbery. And with no discard bowl in sight, we tossed the spent bones back into the serving basket that also contained what we think was ranch dressing.

Pool tables occupy the front bar section, which leads into an adjoining room soaked up with a few booths and green plastic chairs set around a large table. Service was surprisingly above board, although few would dispute that the place lands squarely in the “dive bar” category rather than the unique pub atmosphere we hoped it would be. The maps and pictures of Australia cluttering the walls somehow all journey back to a less idyllic Pacific Beach.

Got a food scoop? Send it to fsabatini@san.rr.com.