name the fruit: part one

Ah Bali! What's not to love about nasi goreng for breakfast, eating your body weight in gado gado and the wonderful surprises found in nasi campur? Lucy and I spent two weeks grazing our way around the East and North of this wonderful, tropical island. Posts will follow (including the best spot for authenti vegan nasi campur in Ubud) when head, body and mind are reassembled in the correct time zone.

But first. I saw (and sampled) many wondrous fruits and herbs that I've never experienced before. This competition has no prize but feel free to have a stab at naming this mystery fruit.



And on the tree.



1. Name the fruit.
2. Describe the flavour.

Go on, have a go.

If you grew up eating the mystery fruit, can you tell us a little more about what you used it for.

Update: Michelle and Celeste were spot on with "rose apple" and "jambus". The locals in the north of Bali call is "water apple".

The plant is from the Myrtaceae family, of the genus Syzgium. Not sure exactly which one.

The fruit we ate was pale with a rosy blush. The skin thin and waxy.

Tasting notes: This pale variety was crispy and slightly tart. Though it looked like it would be dry, it was slightly juicy and the flavour had a hint of tonic water. If I was a gin drinker I'd say it would be the perfect garnish for a G&T.

Texture wise, I'd imagine it would go well in a salad. A substitute for a crispy pear perhaps?

Have you ever cooked with water apple?

Melbourne CBD lunch quest continued

I’m loathed to write about my quest for lunch in the Melbourne CBD. Each time I post my top three lunch spots, one falls off the perch. First Sataybar closed its nearby store. Then last time my beloved dosas dropped off the radar. Both Nila City and Sydney Road are long gone. Though the De Graves Street spot is now occupied by the sister shop to the Lygon Street fish/burger/sushi chain that includes a small selection of brown rice nori rolls.

A year or two ago I added Ume Sushi House to my lunchtime treats. Little Bourke Street isn’t usually in my city circuit but it’s now become the eatery of choice on the days that I have enough time to stroll and eat at a more leisurely pace. Nori Rolls aside, the dishes at Ume are generous and appropriately priced in the $10-15 range. Not an everyday lunch choice for me but makes a nice treat.

Though I was taken by their vegetable tempura bento for awhile, it’s just too much food to get through for me as it includes not just a generous array of tempura but also miso soup, small salads, rice AND a vegetarian nori roll.

My current treat is their chirashi sushi. There are so many variations on this dish, often translated as “scattered” sushi, that each restaurant’s version is unique. Ume’s presentation is a delight and the bonito flecked condiment in the bottom right corner (can someone tell the me the name of it?) is a tasty addition.



What's on your lunchtime menu at the moment?



Ume Sushi House
383-385 Little Bourke Street,
Melbourne VIC 3000
Open 9-5 weekdays

choice

You might have noticed I like to eat. There have been a few twists and turns in finding the foods that make my body feel good. Meat and dairy headed the list of childhood favourites. In equal measures, there were the frequent trips to the doctor, blood tests, throat swabs and antibiotics. I’d top the class each year for the record number of sick days.

From babyhood til my early 20’s I ate my fill of fillet steak. I sucked the caramelised fat off the juicy lamb chop bones. Melted cheese on toast was my favourite snack, even better sprinkled with diced bacon. I would have lived on chocolate ice cream if my parents had let me.

Vegetables were a means to an end. I selected a narrow few staples and refused all others. If there was a 2:1 ratio of baked potatoes to boiled vegetables I could almost swallow them down. Fish was crumbed and fried in lard with a side of home made chips on the side.

My later omnivorous years saw me sample snails and frogs legs, develop a fondness for quail and consume the breasts of battery chooks at an alarming rate. The year before I turned my back on meat my favourite thing was homemade hamburgers, the best quality mince, lots of onion, garlic and crispy bacon, topped with a thick slice of cheddar grilled on the bun.

Do I miss it? Not really. I enjoy the lack of “tummy bugs” and never ending colds. Though I eat a much wider variety of foods now, I can feel a little short changed at restaurants. Too often my selection is between one fish dish and a vegetarian option, the later eliminated due to being riddled with dairy products. I hungrily peruse a big fat menu and feel bereft of choice.

Asian eateries tend to offer a vast array of mysterious dishes. While fish and vegetables are common ingredients, so too are meats like pork and chicken mixed in with the so called “vegetarian” delights. While avoiding dairy can be relatively easy, the addition of MSG becomes a harder bullet to dodge. It’s all swings and roundabouts.

I have fond memories of visiting Victoria Street (Richmond) in my earlier years in this city. Eating cheap Vietnamese food with friends, leaving cramped, noisy restaurants on hot summers nights, the air humid and peppered with foreign voices. But the safe options I chose so often tasted predominantly salty and unexciting, I’d crave the company and the atmosphere but not the food.

A few weeks ago, armed with a great review from The Age I decided to give Vietnamese food another go. After the vegetarian soup that made my heart sing I knew I wanted to try more dishes from this busy, new kid on the “Little Saigon” block. As we paid a pittance for the feast we’d eaten the manager (like most restaurants on the strip this is a family business, his mother is the cook) talked about the authenticity of the food and offered to let us put ourselves in his hands next time.

I felt so safe there, they don’t add MSG (there’s the risk of pre-made sauces being adulterated but this is food cooked by a woman whose family can’t tolerate the stuff either) and that “vegetarian” means no chicken stock or just a little bit of pork. I couldn’t wait to go back and share the experience with friends.

This weekend I booked a table, knowing the place would be full at lunchtime and half a dozen of us placed our hands in the lovely manager’s hands to be served a seafood and vegetarian experience. My request were that there be only one meat dish (I toss the odd bone to the carnivores) and I had to have the little “rice pancakes” again that I fell in love with on my first visit.

I can’t do justice to describing the meal we ate, other than saying there was some significant envy going on amongst the few Western diners sitting at nearby tables. The “pancakes” (a crispy seafood filled shell served with sweet chilli sauce and coconut cream) were as good as the previous visit, there was also a larger version of the shell filled with bean shoots and prawns, some (non-traditional but yummy) steamed prawn dumplings, an Asian coleslaw with an unknown green vegetable fit for a king that I could have munched on all day, eggplant stuffed with seafood, a rich soy based fish dish counterbalanced by a slowly steamed fish and vegetable soup made at the table. Finishing with a bowl of cleansing soup was a perfect way to restore us after a delicious few hours of eating. The Significant Eater commented the peppered beef dish was the least interesting, so I didn’t feel like I’d missed out on anything.

We ate like Kings and Queens for under $28/head (we bought our own champagne, with minimum corkage charged). Though the place was busy, the meal was well paced so we could leisurely savour each course, spending almost 3 hours to enjoy the food and the company. It's hard to find better value than that.

So now the reveal! What is the name of this place? If you promise to be adventurous and let this gorgeous man order for you then I’ll tell you. There is so much more to Vietnamese food than rice paper rolls.

Thanh Nga Nine
160 Victoria St, Richmond, Melbourne



(Image courtesy of Lucy@Nourish Me)
Fighting over the last of the rice pancakes!

Hellenic Republic and sweet anticipation

My journey to Hellenic Republic (HR) began months earlier, with a media generated yearning to find out what all the hype was about in this new eatery. Its massive popularity meant planning, rather than a chance seat being available when the whim took me. For a while it all seemed to hard until a special occasion came around.

At this point in our lives, most of my friends are Very Busy People, juggling fulltime work, parenting and post-graduate study. A particular dear friend has all three balls up in the air and one of the few times of the year we have one-on-one time is our birthday ritual. Twice a year, near each of our birthdays we find time for a lunch or dinner together. It is usually a long, slow event where we savour the company as much as, or more than, the food.

As these rare events are planned weeks in advance, finding a table at a popular restaurant is never a problem. In fact, it was the woman who took the booking that provided the next ingredient in the total experience that became dinning at HR. Her manner was welcoming and professional; there were no games about “squeezing us in” or mention of any fabled waiting list. But most of all we weren’t subjected to limited times to eat with rigid seating session, common to other busy restaurants. Then came the clincher when she politely enquired about any dietary restrictions. Never before has an a la carte restaurant asked me this. My dairy allergic heart (or rather belly) skipped a beat with excitement over that simple question. I felt included and welcomed, assured I would have sufficient choice of dishes.

As the weeks passed between booking and dinning, my anticipation grew. In a way it didn’t matter where we would be eating, what emerged was a forgotten ritual of looking forward to something new. I’ve eaten in many top restaurants over the last couple of decades but what has been lost in the intervening years is the wait. Good food and great dinning has become so accessible and so often immediate, that this crucial step of savouring has been all but lost.

So finally the day arrived. I arrived on the dot of 1 pm to find my friend seated beside the window welcoming me with a wave. The restaurant was packed, even the few seats at the bar had a couple of people merrily chowing down of plates of food.

Service was efficient and unpressured. We were given guidance when requested, in particular navigating the wine list where every bottle of wine was Greek. After describing the style of wine we were after (white, dry, crisp) a slightly floral, zesty Peloponnesian number was suggested with the bonus that is was the cheapest on the menu ($45). The wine was good and very drinkable, suiting our food choices well.

We selected four dishes. Of them were two whose reputation preceded them: the fried saganaki with spiced, caramelised figs and the hand cut potatoes (that my friend, a connoisseur of fries declared, “possibly the best chips I have ever eaten”). To balance the meal a grilled whole snapped and a bowl of horta was also ordered.

So did the experience live up to the hype? Once again I caution this is not a review, merely a reflection on a single dinning experience.

As mentioned the wine turned out fine but given it came with an old fashioned cork, I would have expected to be offered a taste. Unlike stelvin seals, up to 1:10 bottles have cork taint and therefore the traditional tasting should apply.

Saganaki: Not being able to tolerate cows milk, a little taste of sheep’s cheese went down a treat. Pairing the figs with the saganaki was ok but it didn’t blow my mind as everyone had promised. The small hair on the sizzling hot plate however was a greater disappointment.

The snapper was perfectly cooked and at around 400 gm just the right amount for two. The only curiosity was the presentation of the dressing to accompany the fish. This was basically a lemon/olive oil emulsion, served in a small bottle. However the said bottle arrived in a clear ice bucket with three carnations peeking out of the top. This didn’t bring back any dinning experiences I had in Greece but maybe it is a regional thing? I know everything old is new again but carnations? In the wine bucket? Odd, very odd.

Horta – I was wondering where they would get chicory at this time of year but given the traditional nature of the dish I was hoping some other wild greens would be on offer. Unfortunately it was silverbeet. As much as I like silverbeet I was hoping for something a little more exciting. It was a traditionally cooked lemony, leafy green served at room temperature but although the literal translation for horta is “grass” or “green vegetable” traditionally the greens were always wild.

We were rather full but wanted to linger a little longer and try one more dish. There are the usual Greek sweets on offer but the cheap and cheeky “spoon sweets” (GLYKO TOU KOUTALIO) caught our eye. A traditional bitter/sweet spoonful (or in this case small plate) of preserved fruit was on offer. We choose orange and cherries. The berries were deliciously tart and the thick swirls of orange rind held on to their innate bitterness balanced by the sweetness of the heavy syrup.

The restaurant is decorated with tasteful Greek touches but suffers from the hindrance created by too many hard surfaces, meaning when at capacity like it was, voices need to be raised to be heard. This makes feel instantly old by noting it, but it does get rather tiring after a while.

Overall, rogue hair and oddities aside I would certainly visit HR again. But the best lesson for me was reacquainting myself with the deliciousness of anticipation. It really did make the experience all the more sweeter. I thoroughly recommend you plan and savour your next big night out and see how it tastes.

Total price $116.50 (4 dishes, 1 bottle of wine, 2 small sweets, 1 bottle of mineral water)

I realised afterwards (though I didn’t check to see if the fish was floured before grilling) our meal was apparently gluten-free. The menu is omnivorous but contains options for most of the common food allergies and dietary choices – including Paleolithic, vegetarian, vegan, low GI and the likes.

Hellenic Republic
434 Lygon Street,
Brunswick East,
Melbourne.
Ph: 9381 1222
Breakfast: Sat/Sun
Lunch - Fri-Sun
Dinner: Tue-Sun

Residential - North Carlton

Residential opened on the quietest stretch of Lygon Street a few months ago. I was going to call it the dead centre, being a scant block from the cemetery but that is not exactly true as Enoteca carves a niche for itself on the opposite side of the road. I’ve lived near the spot for 22 years and businesses on the Princes Hill side of Lygon often seem to struggle. The last scalped claimed being Kin that threw in the towel after only 18 months.

Residential has a good provenance in its co-owner Dur-é Dara, a stalwart of the Melbourne restaurant industry. The layout is crisp and the décor bold. The decoration gets a lot of mention, with Mondrian-esque slabs of colour painted directly on the walls, while off-white blank canvas are displayed mockingly, gallery style. There is a variety of seating, including a large 12-seater table, welcoming those who wish to eat or drink solo.

I don’t believe a review can be written on a single visit. So take my words as a preliminary testing of the waters. Though I have been meaning to get to this latest kid on the block for months, it is usually on a Monday I think of going and as the place is only open Wednesday to Sunday, I often forget later in the week.

The words that came to mind when I ate a late Sunday breakfast at Residential are “under whelmed”. I arrived at a quiet time and the large café was barely at a quarter capacity, Dur-é was hovering, a barista did his thing in an unhurried manner and two young female waitstaff manned the floor. It was a low-pressure hour, yet the service was haphazard and slow. Not only my own meal, but many other patrons within view suffered from mixed up orders and drinks took a minimum of 10 minutes to be delivered. Apple juice that was supposedly freshly pressed came homogenized from a large plastic bottle, though on delivery the mistake was acknowledged without prompting. My serve of poached eggs and mushrooms was modest, served on a single piece of toast ($13.50). Even the plural “mushrooms” was stretching the definition; though there were two, one was half a medium sized portabello and the second was complete but the size of a 20 cent piece. My dinning companion received only the solo half in his order but with a decent serve of bacon and spinach on the side it didn’t look so measly.

Though I was almost tempted by the sweet option and considered springing a tenner for homemade crumpets, the breakfast menu was adequate but unexceptional. In short, nothing particularly blogworthy.

But what did look interesting was the weekend lunch. We were politely asked to vacate the large table around noon by co-owner and chef David Stimson, as he prepared to set up the Sunday lunch. As we finished our late breakfast we watched an enticing array of dishes bought out including an interesting rolled fish dish, roulade style with a prawn mousse and garlic chives in it’s centre. There was a fragrant pile of chicken pieces in a Indian marinade, lots of vegetable dishes including a tempting bowl of steaming potatoes. But no punters. All dressed up and nowhere to go, those spuds would soon be cold. I almost wished I was hungry enough to eat a second meal. The $30 deal of soup, a glass of wine and the smorgasbord on offer seemed very reasonable and the dishes tempting.

We talked to David as he assembled the meal and it was that conversation that redeemed Residential for me and made us want to give it a second go, with a group of friends for a weekend lunch. We were told that if we called a couple of days in advance he’d make sure there were enough options included on the table for a someone such as myself with some special dietary requirements.

But that’s the problem. Before Residential opened last year Dur-é Dara described it in Epicure as “a café”. Part of Residential's problem is that it is a food business that has got an identity crisis. Despite the blank canvases and acres of laminated timber, it could be a friendly neighbourhood cafe. There is space for prams and a collection of toys at toddler height in an area to one side of the entrance. The regular menu is modest and they seem happy for you to just drop in for coffee or a slice of something sweet. But after breakfast on the weekend all bets are off, no late brunching, no access to the regular lunch menu - it's the set meal or out you go. That doesn't fit with the cafe concept or the cozy area for parents and bubs. In fact we saw one family roll up at midday looking for cafe fare, who sadly left as they wanted a late breakfast, a cafe lunch or something less than $30 a head.

Stay tuned. When this eatery finds it feet it could be a stunner. In the meantime you can see the chef has a great heart, the restaurateur knows her stuff but it has a little identity crisis to overcome first.

Update 22 October
It’s taken awhile for us to go back to Residential, this time for dinner. The mid-week service was even quieter than the weekend brunch had been but there had been changes. It appears that the owners have taken onboard the identity issue. Gone are the Weekend buffet lunches and the menu now offers a few pizzas to meet the need for in between sized meals. They are interesting too – the carnivore had pig cheeks, potato and lemon zest and it was a winner. The rest of the menu has stuck to a daily offering of two soups, a handful of entrees, mains and desserts stay.

Residential has clearly got over the “identity crisis” I mentioned earlier. Dur-é is at pains to welcome newcomers, be at pains to reiterate it’s a place for locals to pop in and call their own – whether they want an afternoon coffee, a quick pizza or work their way through three courses but something still doesn’t work. Is it the cavernous architecture? Not necessarily. The open warehouse style should work well. The problem is when the place is quiet like it was on our last visit, despite softening the lighting you feel exposed. Fill it with people, jazz up the music and the architecture would clearly not be an issue. So what about the food? The food on offer is good. It is well thought out using seasonal produce and the chef clearly knows how to execute it. The problem for me (and I own this entirely with my unusual diet) is I have so little choice.

So, once again I am left under whelmed, yet wanting more. I want it to work. I hope Residential get the formula right. I’m glad it doesn’t bow down to popular food choices – though no matter how excellent the corn bread is, a potato dish on the menu would never go astray. If you are a local, or passing through North Carlton, give it a go and tell me what you make of it.


Residential
499 Lygon St,
Carlton North
Melbourne
Ph: 9381 2388
Breakfast/lunch/dinner Wednesday - Sunday

a taste of Bali on a steamy Melbourne night

For the past twenty years a green oasis has decorated a modest shop front on the West Melbourne side of Victoria Street. Currently the council is in the process of prosecuting the owners of the many pot plants that welcome patrons to Warung Agus. It appears that while the local bars with their sprawling tables and chairs occupying the footpath are permissible (and within the access guidelines safeguarding the rights of the disabled), plants assisting much needed oxygen production are not.

While this little slice of Melbourne is not far from home it is still a car ride away, so we tend to only get to eat there a couple of times a year. But each time is a joy as Balinese food is such a rarity in this city. Over the years the menu (or the homely décor) has not changed, though the prices have kept pace with inflation. The yellow laminated menu is full of old favourites familiar to any traveller who has ever disembarked at Denpasar, such as gado gado, Babi Guling and nasi campur.

While the food is not highly spiced, the dishes are served with sambals on the side to satisfy all palates. Last night (or more accurately, early this morning) we got an unexpected surprise as the chilli sambal was much hotter than usual. But generally, this is a safe place to bring someone with unadventurous or spice-averse tastes as most dishes favour palm sugar and coconut more than fiery heat.

Some highlights include:

The Toge (gado gado) comes with generous cubes of fried tahu (tofu), cassava crackers, blanched vegetables and a generous dousing of satay sauce. There is no egg, which makes this a vegan friendly dish.

The SE cannot go past the roast pork (babi guling), which he swears is always succulent and comes complete with crackling. It is a dish best shared, as like the other meat and fish dishes, is not accompanied with vegetables.

My favourite seafood dish is Be Pasih Asem Manis, flathead tails cooked with tamarind and coconut milk which is served with roast potatoes. The flavours are simple and hit the right note of sweet, sour and salt.

A great way to get a taste of Balinese food is by ordering Nasi Campur. On the island this is a term that literally means “mix rice”, used to indicate a mini smorgesbord of dishes of the day. At Warung Agus it doesn’t vary – a large dish arrives with rice, tempe (crispy and delicious, tasting of kepchap manis), tahu, sesaur, pecel with peanut sauce. The carnivorous version has the addition of satay pork and chicken, babi guling and spicy chicken.

There are 8 main vegetarian/vegan dishes (most containing tofu or tempeh which provides good protein options for non-meat eaters) as well as 5 seafood (3 entrée and 2 main) dishes. Carnivores are well catered for with variations on pork, chicken and lamb. For those that didn’t get enough palm sugar in the ‘savoury’ courses, there are 5 desserts to choose from.

Warung Agus must be one of the few places in Melbourne to sample the Balinese firewater otherwise known as arak. Before my first trip to Bali I enjoyed a pre-dinner tipple of arak with lemon and sugar but after tasting it straight on holiday - my arak days are over! Drivers are advised to not touch the stuff, due to it’s high alcohol content. Co-owner Mary has been known to be diligent at policing that policy. Bintang beer is also available, along with a moderate selection of mostly Australian ales and wines.

Warung Agus is a delightful, family run eatery. Agus cooks up a storm, while Mary and their daughters provide personal and friendly service in the front of house. While a similar meal in Bali would be significantly cheaper, the food keeps the dreams of tropical holidays simmering between visits (and you won't get Bali Belly!).

Warung Agus
305 Victoria Street West Melbourne
Phone: (03) 9329 1737
Prices: mains High teens to $30
Note: Warung Agus is currently only open for dinner, Thursday to Sunday. As it is family run, the restaurant closes when they go on holiday. If in doubt, ring first to make sure it is open.

is it just me, or didn't I get it?

I walked down a familiar alleyway. One that I used to work next to, where a colleague’s client was once assaulted. The place had changed. No huge dumpsters stinking of garbage. Not a discarded syringe in sight. (Which made me think – the best way to “clean up” the streets of Melbourne is to put in more bars and restaurants, have a doorman keeping an eye on things.)

So our arrival at Canary Club was unexpectedly delightful. Nestled next to the exclusive Kelvin Club, the mosaic studded entrance way was welcoming. We told the guy on the door that we were here to eat, yet strangely instead of giving us a table downstairs, ushered us up to the club area, where we were to dine semi reclined on large day beds.

Perhaps we were the wrong demographic. The staff were professional but it got under my skin after a while to be asked every ten minutes “is everything alright ladies?”. I aint no lady! I also find that kind of over servicing a tad intrusive when you are obviously in the depths of conversation. Yet, when it came to clearing empty glasses there was no asking whether we wished to drink more.

Canary club serves tapas, it had been offered as the place to go when Movida is (inevitably) full. Yet the two places are like chalk and cheese. Canary Club seemed to have a forced atmosphere. The DJ was doing his stuff, very quietly at that hour of the night. Most people upstairs, lounging, were there to eat as well. Though some sweet young things seated around one of the few tables, clutching their drinks looked like they were there for action, though none could be found.

The food was ok. It’s tapas, which is always a challenge to create a balanced meal. We ate a generous calamari salad, the seafood just the acceptable side of cooked before becoming chewy and the vegetables were heavy on raw sweet onion and rocket. There were some swordfish skewers, attractive and tasty. My friend had a serve of slow cooked lamb that she said was enjoyable.

I had a fino from the very small selection of Spanish Sherries. I would have had another, if asked.

While there was nothing wrong with Canary Club, it was like a child that hadn’t grown into its clothing yet.

The website describes the place as:

Situated at the end of a typical Melbourne laneway, inspired by the tapas bars of Barcelona, Canary Club draws you in and greets you upon arrival with its rich tapestry of Gaudi styled tiles.
Set over two levels, it has the essence of the funky Hairy Canary - with a six metre cocktail bar downstairs and a sexier lounge area upstairs. The large chocolate day beds create an ambiance of decadent naughtiness.

Perhaps my experience of tapas bars in Barcelona is a tad out of date but it didn’t remind me of them at all. Having seen the Gaudi tiles, there mosaics are pleasant but not in the masters league. I just got the feeling the designer had never been to Spain.

As for decadent naughtiness, if the cutie at the door that led us in person upstairs had lounged with us and fed us by hand. Now that would have created the atmosphere they were after.

While Hairy Canary has been around long enough to be a Melbourne institution, it has got ambience sussed without trying to force it. Canary Club feels more like a wannabe cousin than a younger sibling.

But who knows, it might just grown into what it wants to be. One day.

why words sometimes have to paint a thousand pictures

I was eating a meal somewhere recently, the dim lighting struck me as not so much a mood statement but one to deter pesky bloggers from snapping the food. Really, that was the first thought to enter my head.

The place was Seamstress. Despite it being lunchtime, being a converted warehouse windows were scarce, hence the aforementioned subtle lighting. Though my camera sat in my bag and I was eating with someone who had a greater handle on using the manual settings than I, silently I had a little internal dialogue that went along the lines of this:

AOF – What a great place, I wonder if I can take a good photo of the lovely fabric swathed on the ceiling?

Me – Are you here for a romantic special meal with your partner or would you rather be an observer annotating the experience?

At that point I made my decision. Camera stayed in bag and full attention spent on the experience of being in the moment.

Nor do I think it is entirely fair to ‘review’ a restaurant on one sitting, so hence forth unless it is a multi-visit affair I consider any mention of these experiences merely a snippet of my experiences, like the précis of my Tasmanian trip.

But back to Seamstress – what struck me most was not just the elegant flavours of the Asian inspired food on offer but also the art of waiting.

At lunchtime the place was rather quiet. None the less the waiter first established his credentials offering us a seat on an unpopulated side of the room rather than the comfy banquet. Why? Because, there was a large group of ladies who lunch with a booking and he didn’t know about us but if it were him, he’d like a little space from them to enjoy our meal.

Impressive.

Now the SE is a hard-pressed student, doing lunch (or dinner) anywhere flash is a rare treat. This makes it something to be treasured and enjoyed, rather than just another place to tick off the list. Feeling like we were in good hands and with a dry sherry in front of us, we shared our food preferences with our accomplished waiter and let him create an impromptu degustation with paired wines. What arrived were wines that I would never have picked but were of course perfect with the flavours in front of us. My appetiser cup of broth was mushroom rather than the standard carnivorous variety. While the SE chowed down on the oxtail dumpling of the day (I seem to remember he groaned on tasting them, a good groan that is), I had a lovely dish of stuffed shitake mushrooms. While he had quails (boned, exquisite offering that they were) I opted for a small crab dish. Next we shared a treasure chest beancurd with many different mushrooms and another seafood delight (featuring smoked prawn meat on skewers wrapped in rice noodles and fried– ah smoky fish, my favourite!) with rice.

With each course our trusty server bought us separate wines to match our palates and choices, even with the shared dishes.

By now I was one sherry and 3 wines down and you can see why the food details may have become a little sketchy (and their website features a different menu to the one we sampled last week). This is not my usual weekday lunching habit I can assure you.

In this state we were coaxed into dessert with a promise to customise it to be dairy free and the next thing we knew a sticky, ambrosial wine was placed before us and another deep fried offering, a kind of banana spring roll paired with a pineapple (rather than blue cheese) sorbet and an aniseed infused sauce.

With our lovely waiter about to go on a break (we’d been there over 3 hours at this point) he farewelled up with a sweet sherry with his compliments to bookend our meal.

So what I am left with is a memory of a thoroughly enjoyable dinning experience, one of the best conversations I have had with the SE for months and an appreciation of the waiting profession. Because outside of the industry this is a skill that is under appreciated. We are quick to get grumpy when waiters don’t do their job well. From the staff who have mastered the art of not making eye contact, to the over eager ones who can wreck everything with their neediness to be assured that everything is going ok, every five minutes.

But the ones who do their job well are not only the masters of timing (not too slow, not too fast – paced at the patron’s own rhythm) but are given the opportunity when invited, to share their knowledge of the menu and wine list and create a holistic dinning experience. These are the people who effortlessly earn their tips and take pride in their profession rather than see it as something to do while they wait for their big break. They make you feel like you’ve been the most enjoyable customers they have ever had the privilege of serving and not in a sucky kind of way. These are artisans, not amateurs.

So I raise my glass (one of many) to the professionals who make or break a great breakfast, lunch or dinner. And out of a mark of respect, you won’t see me taking furtive snaps of the food, jotting notes in my moleskin or making pointed comments about the décor to my companion. I’ll be the one lapping it all up and having a fine old time.

Thank you.

eating Hobart

The Apple Isle

With so many great suggestions in hand, our trip to Hobart was one, long picnic (albeit in slightly Arctic weather).

The first meal was on waking bright and early. We’d planned to get up at a decent hour and head off to the Salamanca market. Just after opening the place was buzzing already and we dived into the first café with a name I recognised and fortified ourselves with caffeine and sustenance.

Retro Café, reminded me of something out of Brunswick Street in the ‘80s. Fortunately I’m fond of Fitzroy boho so I warmed to it immediately. As promised, the coffee was excellent. In fact it was the pick of the crop in my time in town. Food included the usual hot and cold breakfasts on the menu but the specials board had a number of enticing options. My friend went for a veggie stack of roasted tomatoes, other vegetable offerings, poached eggs and pesto while I opted for some local smoked salmon served with eggs, spinach and hollandaise. Serving sizes were decent and though the most expensive of the three cooked breakfasts I had in town (still reasonably prized in the teens) it was the largest and left us feeling satisfied.

Stepping out the door of the cosy café and back into the market I wished we were staying somewhere we could cook, as the fresh produce looked great. The next few hours were spent wandering and grazing. Taking in Battery Point, scoping out Jackmas and McRoss, looking at the scenery and making a final market sweep (and sampling some tempura mushrooms from a market vendor that we just had to try) before entering Knopwoods for some mulled wine by the fire.


Berries in winter - Salamanca market

Though we’d been eating all day, there was still dinner to look forward to. Orizuru a modest Japanese restaurant on the water came highly recommended and despite the weather sushi was just about all we were able to fit into our stomachs. Sharing a dinner platter for two ($47) – the sushi, sashimi and nori rolls were fresh and certainly up to standard. Being Tasmania this also came with oysters that I am told were excellent. Considering the location, the restaurant was surprisingly understated.

Fortified by warm sake we headed off to the wilds of North Hobart in search of entertainment. But that’s another story!

Sunday started considerably later than the day before. With aching eyeballs we headed off for a bracing walk to Jackman & McRoss, the much talked about bakery in Battery Point. Scoring a table beside the window we finally managed to get the eye of the hesitant young waitress a to order some much needed coffee. My long black, though drinkable lacked substance and I’d rank it bottom of the three brews I had in town. While the hot breakfast specials were modestly priced my eggs and spinach with aioli on a chunk of white sourdough was more entrée sized. The aioli was a little sparse and appeared to have been grilled. Though tasty it left me wanting. Or at least that was the excuse I used to justify ordering a more jumbo sized chocolate croissant. My friend was seduced by the porridge, scented with orange and served with glazed figs. The little soufflé dish of cooked oats looked good but wasn’t quite as exciting as she’d have hoped. Sadly there were no carnivores with us to taste test the savoury pastry topped with a slice of black pudding, which was one of the most unusual ‘danishes’ I’ve ever seen on offer.



All the lovely bread for sale at Jackman and McRoss, Battery Point

Our final dinner was a stunner. It had taken a little coaxing to talk my companion into walking past the nearby Thai restaurant and trek up Elizabeth Street once more, in the gentle rain and darkness. But dinner at Royal Thai was definitely worth the journey. Recently relocated to flash new premises, this was some of the best Thai food I have eaten outside of Asia. I swear I have to go back to Hobart with a large group of people solely to sample a wider variety of dishes. We’d already decided that our bodies were craving vegetables and flipped to the vegetarian section at the back of the menu. There was a lot to choose from. Feeling a little tired and cold we opted for comfort choices of noodles and curry. What was delivered to our table by the friendly and efficient waitress was pad Thai and green curry at its best. The noodle dish was presented authentically with peanuts, chilli, bean shoots and lemon on the side to season ourselves, while the curry was freshly spiced with notable flavours of basil and chilli but balanced by a whole range of other notes. Not a huge fan of dessert, I couldn’t resist a combination of sticky rice, banana and black beans, wrapped and steamed, providing a satisfying and not too sweet way to finish the meal.

Our final meal of note was back at Salamanca place for breakfast at Zum. This sleek eatery would not have been out of place in Paddington or South Yarra and was buzzing at 9 o’clock on a Monday morning. There was even a local TV celebrity at the next table. Coffee was good and served promptly. Almost as enjoyable as Retro’s it made a close runner-up in my tally sheet. I succumbed to the delicious local smoked salmon once more, which was served on a well executed thick round of roesti with spinach and hollandaise. This was the winner, satisfying, well presented and a “potato pancake” cooked to perfection. We stayed awhile chatting and savouring both the food and the atmosphere.

With still so many unexplored food options, Hobart is a town I’d definitely return to. We filled three days easily, navigating the inner city on foot. With carry-on only luggage I was restricted in what I could bring back to the mainland but the market and nearby deli’s had so many treasures it was hard to restrain ourselves. I’ll give you a peak of those tomorrow!

Retro Café
31 Salamanca Pl
(03) 6223 3073

Knopwoods Retreat Tavern & Wine Bar
39 Salamanca Place
(03) 62235808

Orizuru Sushi Bar
Victoria Dock
(03) 6231 1790

Jackman & McRoss
59 Hampdon Rd.
Battery Point
(03) 6223 3186

Royal Thai
199 Elizabeth St
(03) 6234 1366

Zum Salamanca
29 Salamanca Place
(03) 6223 23239

...and one more thing I've been doing

A neighbourhood bottle store often has tastings of delicious wines and sherries. When the regular e-newsletter came out during the week I earmarked a small portion of my Saturday afternoon to spend in the back of their shop.

I’d only had Billecart-Salmon once before. Despite it being a fine maker of champagne the situation left a bad taste in my mouth. In a now defunct city restaurant named after a common vegetable, when I ordered some innocuous rose, the sommelier gave me the B-S rose champagne instead. Seeing the fine beading in what should have been a still wine, as well as the glass it was served in, I asked him to double check my order before tasting it. He came back with the assertion it was the rose I ordered and when I was about a third of the way through this delightful sparkling but obviously not the wine I had requested - I asked again and this time the maitre-d, a woman trumped up with her own self importance, came to the table explaining the mistake and suggested I continue drinking it but they would charge me the actual price, being 3 x that of the drink I had ordered. I found this outrageous, told her so very nicely and she whisked the glass off me and replaced it with the one I had asked for in the first place. It would be a fair guess to say I never ate there again, despite the organic food being pleasant enough.

In the unpretentious surrounds of my local, it was time to make friends with this champagne and loose the bad memory that had been lingering. There were 4 non-vintage varieties on offer, all hovering just above or below the $100 a bottle mark. With the exception of the aforementioned rose, the nose smelt strongly of strawberries and cream.

First off the rank was the Brut Reserve. Finely beaded, with a slight sweetness it was creamy in the mouth. A drop you could imagine swanning around with in your hand at some reception, while nibbling on canapés. The Significant Eater, who isn’t the most discerning drinker, gave the first mouthful a “wow, I can taste the difference” exclamation.

Number 2 reacquainted me with my old friend the Brut Rose. This was a drier wine, delicately tinted the gentlest pink. I wouldn’t have said no to another glass, but despite liking a drier wine I would have takes the Brut Reserve in preference.

Number 3, the Brut Blanc de Blancs, was thumbs up the winner for the Significant Eater. A tad drier than the rose and would pair well with savory food. It was lively in the mouth and it made me briefly have delusions of a lifestyle I can’t afford.

The final tasting was the Demi-Sec. The strawberries and cream aroma was particularly noticeable and was a distinctively sweet wine, though not cloying. We did the unthinkable and not finish the tasting glass. The blanc de blancs had spoilt us!

Alas, we went home with 2 bottles of Spanish Sherry to put in the fridge. Now the weather is warmer, a drop before dinner occasionally is a refreshing (and cost effective) aperitif. But friends and anonymous blog readers, if you ever get the urge to show your appreciation you now know what to do!